Where Shadows Dance (Ghosts & Shadows Book 2) Read online

  Wherever we were, it was warm and humid, even though it was night. Sweat was forming along my brow and under my hair that was now sticking to the back of my neck. It didn’t help that Juna was walking briskly, as if she really believed that she could walk away from all this.

  Good luck with that.

  “This has to be a dream,” she muttered, totally ignoring me again. “I’ll wake up soon. On the plane. Maybe we’ve already landed, and the officer is trying to wake me up now. Wake me up, please. Anytime. Like right now would be great timing. I swear, I’ll be nicer to you, or at least I’ll stop trying to piss you off.”

  “About that parole officer,” I said, trying to sound all calm and indifferent. “Did you kill someone or what?”

  She glanced at me, like it was beneath her dignity to talk to someone from her dream / hallucination. “Or what.” She glanced around. “I need to see where I am.”

  We reached one of the trees and Juna quickly scooted up the trunk and along a large, low branch that jutted out over the pond. She sat down and stared out at the view. After a moment, I joined her. Off to one side, I could see the sharp edge of the plateau. Below that was a gravelly slope that eventually disappeared into a forest that stretched out in all directions. There were no lights below us. Above, the sky was so thick with stars that even without the moon, I could’ve seen quite clearly. The only sound was a slight whistle from the wind.

  “I’ll just wait here until I wake up,” Juna mused.

  I stared at her. She looked like she was in a trance. Her eyes were sort of glazed over. I figured they were some shade of brown or dark hazel, but I couldn’t be sure, as she hadn’t really looked at me. We sat in silence for a few moments. Finally, I couldn’t stay quiet.

  “Hey, this is real,” I stated and grabbed her arm. “You’re not going to wake up. This is it.”

  She pulled away from me and kept staring ahead. I noticed a bird off in the distance, soundlessly but swiftly flying towards the plateau.

  “Wow, a sign of life,” she muttered. “Maybe this is like the Wizard of Oz.”

  That sounded stupid and weird, even to me. And I’m used to all sorts of stupid and weird. We continued to watch the bird for lack of anything else to do. As it flew closer, I got a better sense of its size. I realised that it must be fairly big and probably carnivorous: it had the shape of a hunter, like an eagle, with long, sharp talons, although its beak was long and sharp looking. That didn’t match with the eagle image I had in mind.

  And this was definitely no eagle. This thing was way bigger than an eagle. After a minute, I re-evaluated my estimation: it was huge. It was the size of a station wagon. Not a small station wagon; more like a stretched limousine version of one. And that’s not including the wings. And it was pretty obvious that the car-sized, carnivorous bird was flying in our direction, its black eyes fixed squarely on us. Then, as my brain re-oriented itself to the unbelievable size, it dawned on me: it wasn’t even a bird. It was a flying reptile, as in prehistoric, dinosaur-era, meat-eating, flying reptile. I had a pretty good hunch what was on the menu at that moment.

  “Ah, Juna,” I whispered. “I think you’d better move. Like, now would be a good time. I’d even say it’s a ‘peachy’ time.”

  She still didn’t get it. She kept watching the mutant beast flapping closer and closer. Then, suddenly, the trance broke and she clued in that maybe this wasn’t the best time for stargazing.

  “Oh… my…”

  “Go!” I shouted. I pushed her out of the tree and jumped into the water behind her, just seconds before the reptile dropped altitude like a bomb and swooped down at us. It shrieked as it snapped its huge snout or beak or whatever you call it. Just as Juna and I came up for air, the branch we’d been sitting on slapped the water heavily, knocking me under. The water was dark, warm and saline. It seemed heavier than water should be, or maybe it was my clothes pulling me down. I felt more than saw the movement of something else in the water. Then a hand grabbed mine, pulled me to the surface, and I was breathing again.

  “Thanks,” I spluttered at her as we began to swim towards the shore. She reached it first, turned around and screamed. Something lunged towards me and landed heavily on my legs. I didn’t bother looking back, but tried to drag myself out of the water, except that I was slipping backwards. No, I was being pulled backwards.

  I glanced behind. A set of small but lethally sharp teeth was holding on to the cuff of my jeans. I kicked at the end of the snout of whatever kind of beast it was. Juna grabbed both my arms and began to pull. I kicked again and looked forward, just in time to see the mutant flying lizard begin another descent towards us.

  Yeah, I know what you’re thinking: why didn’t I just turn into a ghost? Well, that’s the great thing about reading a story rather than being in it: you aren’t actually there. You aren’t being attacked by two monsters. So, yeah, you think of things that the characters don’t. Like: turn yourself into a ghost, Ash, and float away to safety.

  Well, I didn’t. Instead, I screamed incoherently at Juna while I frantically kicked with my free leg. The jeans material ripped and I tore free. Juna fell backwards while I fell on my face into muddy goo. Flying Monster (my personal and highly unscientific name for it) zoomed over us, screeching in frustration as its claws skimmed just above our heads. We tugged free of the mud, but there was no time to clean ourselves up. Before Pond Monster (yup, that’s my name for it) could crawl out and have a second go at my pants, we pushed ourselves up and ran out of the trees towards the edge of the plateau, scattering droplets of mud as we went.

  When we reached the edge, we just kept on going. We hurtled down the steep slope, skidding on uncovered, loose stones. The stones shifted treacherously underfoot. I did (finally) consider floating away, but I had no doubt what Juna’s fate would be if Flying Monster got within reach. I could feel the rush of wind behind me as the bird reached the plateau’s edge and began to fly downwards, towards us.

  The beast was silent, except for the wings pumping against the air. Its claws were right behind me. It was almost sitting on me, and I flung myself forward, pushing Juna to one side and out of the way. The reptile’s outstretched talons missed, but one of them knocked me over; the blow sent me sliding across the gravel. Sharp rocks sliced into my palms and knees. The reptile screeched in frustration and then veered sharply around to try again.

  Ignoring my torn hands and knees, I pushed myself up and ran on, my breath harsh and jagged. Ahead I could see the relative safety of the forest. Assuming there wasn’t anything large and carnivorous already waiting for us in there.

  “Head for the trees,” I yelled.

  So close. We were almost there when I saw the winged reptile flying towards Juna from the side. She didn’t notice it. I shouted at her, but she didn’t hear me. I started to dematerialise, thinking I could distract it but even as I veered towards her, a long, sharp talon snagged at her shirt. Its breakfast or dinner secured, the creature began to pull her upwards. Her sneakers smacked against treetops as she struggled to free herself.

  “Oh, this is so not good,” I breathed out as I zoomed upwards. We were now well above the forest and still going up. If I could reach her, maybe I could pull Juna into the veil, like I had done with Sara, one of my ancestors, when she had fallen off the roof of a building in 18th century Boston.

  I was almost there when her shirt tore, the sound lost in the whistling of the wind, and she was plummeting through space again (her new favourite pastime, apparently). My momentum carried me past the reptile. I spun about in time to see a small tornado appeared right above the trees, right below Juna.

  And then the flying reptile flew through me, and I got to see all the cells of its internal organs and the disgusting details of its semi-digested meal. By the time that nasty experience was over and I was floating freely, Juna had vanished. And I don’t mean she had fallen into the trees. I mean she had disappeared completely from the Dinosaur Era, along with the tornado.

&nbs
p; Chapter 2

  Before meeting Juna, it had been a calm, quiet period of reflection since my first adventure as a ghost had ended. I had reflected on all the questions left unanswered. I’d also wondered what Sara and her brother were up to. Sara was my great, great, great, great grandmother (give or take a few ‘greats’). She was the reason I had been pulled back to the days right before the Boston Tea Party and the launch of the American Revolution. Eventually, I managed to help her find her dad, who was wanted by the British, and get them out of Boston in time (hey, it was the least I could do for family, right?).

  The whole thing had started when my very eccentric Great-Aunt Bibi had given me the Book of History for my birthday. It turns me into a ghost and allows me to travel to other places and time. There’s just one little hitch: I can’t choose what place or date. Oh no. The book decides where and what time period I can go to. Seriously irritating. Since my first, and last, adventure, the book had been a blank page, so to speak. No portals into the past. So I had sat around for the past few weeks, trying to distract myself with various activities like homework and planning summer camping trips with my friends. Every morning and evening, I would flip carefully through, checking for any picture that looked brighter, fresher, than the others, without success.

  I guess now it had finally woken up.

  Well, first thing I did on returning from my close call with the man-eating dinosaurs was to search the Book of History for any indication of where Juna had gone. I saw some of the old paintings I had gone through when visiting Boston back in the late 18th century; they were all faded and closed. I saw a lot of blank pages, which I don’t remember seeing before. But there was no sight or shadow of my not-so-ghostly friend.

  Talking about shadows, I hadn’t seen any shadows moving through the air lately, and I figured that was a really good thing. Around the time I started my previous ghostly adventure, I also started seeing shadows where there shouldn’t be any. Or rather, I saw other people’s shadows come to life and move around, usually towards me. Bibi had warned me not to let them touch me. I kind of screwed that up when I was bitten by a shadow dog while trying to steal a rowboat with Sara. It had all been for a good cause, but I was still a bit worried about that bite. I mean, it can’t be a good thing, right? What if it gave me shadow rabies or made it easier for Kali to find me or… You get the point.

  So apart from losing Juna and wondering if the shadow dog’s bite was going to give me any trouble, I was feeling pretty good. I was still alive, a dinosaur hadn’t eaten me, no shadows were stalking me, it was summer holidays and I was going camping in a matter of days. Not bad, considering all the crazy stuff I’d witnessed a few weeks ago. Yeah, I know: I should’ve known better.

  So there I was, back in my room in the 21st century, slumped down at my desk, and listlessly flipping the heavy, ancient pages of the book, about to give up. And suddenly, there she was. I couldn’t tell if she was sleeping or dead, but at least I’d found her. I always tried to look at the positive side of things.

  I slapped my ‘do not disturb’ sign on my door, and thumped my hand down on the painting. My fingers tingled as the page sucked me into the veil. I looked quickly to each side. I saw only the long corridor of light and pretty much nothing else. I didn’t see Mir there, and I didn’t miss her, either. Mir is this really annoying spirit girl who floats around in the veil, giving me unwanted words of obscure wisdom that never make sense until after the fact.

  So I continued through and floated down amongst the tall trees towards Juna. Her shirt and jeans were grubby and ripped in several places; dried blood caked patches of her skin and clothes. Basically, she looked a mess. I wondered how long she had been lying there. I wondered if she was still alive.

  “Uh,” she groaned.

  Ok, second question answered: she was alive.

  She licked her lips and winced; her lip was split. It looked nasty. She shifted her legs (always a good sign; at least, she hadn’t broken her back), then grimaced. And that’s when we both heard gasps and shuffling of feet nearby. I looked up and was glad I was still invisible. I really would have scared the spit out of these guys if I had materialised out of thin air.

  “Darn it all, now what?” she muttered. Her eyes opened slowly, as if even that was way too much effort, and she saw what I was staring at: a circle of men, staring – and a few glaring – at her.

  That’s not the part that had me worried. They all carried some sort of weapon, machetes mostly, but I noticed a rifle or two. And all those instruments of pain and death were pointing directly at Juna. The men were clearly studying her, grappling with what to do with her. To be fair, she didn’t look like someone you would really want to invite home.

  “Oh, just peachy. Can my day get any better?” she mumbled. She glanced over at me. “Hey, Ghost Boy. A little help would be appreciated here.”

  I stared at her, somewhat stunned. I was still fully invisible (as opposed to translucent or transparent), in what I think of as ‘full-ghost mode,’ floating above a fern. How the heck could she see me? No one was supposed to be able to see me when I was in full-ghost mode. I glanced at the men. They seemed equally confused, for a different reason. They were wondering who the heck she was talking to.

  “They can’t see me,” I whispered, gesturing to the men who were all muttering amongst themselves, probably wondering if she was dangerous or crazy or a bit of both.

  “Well, that’s a real pity,” she snapped sarcastically. “I wish I could say the same.”

  “Fine,” I hurled back, my face flushed hot and my hands clenched into fists. I grimaced as I felt a sharp bolt slice up my leg, but I ignored it. “Be that way.” Before I could reconsider, I zoomed through the veil and glared back at her.

  Yup, real mature.

  She could still see me.

  Dang, that’s annoying! I slammed the book shut. Let her stew in that mess for a while, I thought. Maybe next time she’ll be a bit more grateful.

  Yeah, I know: it was a little… ok, very petty of me to just leave her there. And later on, I felt a smidge guilty. But at that moment, I was too distracted by the pain that was shooting up and down the outside of one of my legs. I pulled up my pant leg and gasped. There was a long, thin, black bruise, like the shadow of a scar, that hadn’t been there before. It was itchy and painful and hot to the touch. It was also in the same place where the shadow dog had bitten me. As my irritation faded, the shadow scar also cooled down, and eventually it disappeared.

  But, somehow, I knew it could always come back.

  Chapter 3

  “Ashish.” My mom’s voice reverberated authoritatively through the house. “Shanti.”

  “Coming,” I called back, the thrill of excitement still buzzing through me. I almost bumped into Shanti as I hurtled out of my room.

  Arching her eyebrows upward (which made her resemblance to Mom even more pronounced) and widening her large brown eyes until they almost bulged out of her head, she whispered to me, “A whole week.” She grinned mischievously, dimpling her rosy cheeks, and tucked her long, dark hair behind her ears before bouncing downstairs.

  My smile widened as well. I hadn’t been overly excited about the prospect of a week alone with Shanti and Shahnaz, an older cousin of ours, but now that the book was open again, I would have plenty of undisturbed time to explore.

  “But, Mom,” Shanti protested just as I entered the living room where my two youngest sisters, Anjali and Gita, were squirming in great excitement on the sofa. They were having an animated discussion about the upcoming summer camp they were going to. I gathered the camp included lots of horse riding and dangerous levels of sugar consumption. Shanti was standing beside the bookshelf, her expression and posture the embodiment of protest and dismay. She was staring at Mom.

  My mom was a no-nonsense kind of person. Let me put it another way: no one argued with her, not even my dad. The fact that Shanti would even attempt to left me in awe. When my mom was serious, her dark eyes narrowed in
warning, and she always flicked her long, black braid off her broad shoulders for emphasis. Just like she was doing right at that moment.

  “No ‘but, Mom’,” she interrupted, her eyebrows arching upwards as she waved a hand dismissively in front of her. “The two of you will clean out that attic.”

  “But, Mom,” I exclaimed, unable to stop myself. Anything but the attic. Washing dishes and take out the trash for a month. But not the attic. “I’m supposed to help the guys prepare for the camping trip. It’s this weekend!” I didn’t mention my own plans for exploring the past some more.

  “And I have baseball practice all this week,” Shanti added.

  Mom just waved her hand again, swatting all our protests out the window. “You and Ashish have plenty of free time, even with all that preparing and practice. There’s no school, no homework, no nothing but a mess upstairs. The attic needs a good cleaning up, and that’s what the two of you will do.”

  My groan was as heartfelt as Shanti’s. The attic wasn’t just any old mess in need of a clean up; it was a complete disaster zone. Visualize an earthquake in a giant landfill, throw in a tsunami for good measure, and you may just get a picture of how bad it really was. There was at least two generations worth of junk. Actually, make that three generations: my parents had bought this house from an uncle who’d inherited it from his parents, and no one had bothered to take out their boxes and debris. Every available space and air pocket was crammed full of stuff; we might actually need oxygen tanks, it was so full up there.

  Now, some people might’ve viewed it as a Treasure Island for flea market junkies. Given that I didn’t like flea markets, the attic was more like a hazardous waste dump that I was supposed to wade through. It would take the whole week just to clear an area to work in. All my brilliant plans for the week had just been shot down.

  Anjali and Gita twittered at our discomfort, but hushed up when Shanti shot them a dark ‘just you wait’ look. I pitied anyone who received one of those looks from Shanti. But in this case, I made an exception for my two youngest sisters. They deserved whatever was coming at them. Besides, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity to care about their fate.