Casting Shadows (The Ash Grove Chronicles)

  Casting Shadows:

  Book Two of the Ash Grove Chronicles

  Copyright © 2012 Amanda DeWees

  Lyrics to “She Says Yes” copyright © 2012 Amanda DeWees

  All rights reserved. Except for brief excerpts in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the prior express written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art by PhatPuppyArt.com; cover design by Bookish-Brunette.com

  Visit the author at amandadewees.com or on Facebook as Author Amanda DeWees.

  Synopsis: In this sequel to The Shadow and the Rose, Joy and Tanner must protect their unborn child from those who think the baby has been corrupted by the evil Melisande. Meanwhile, William and Maddie’s friendship founders, and she must find a way to warn him that his life is in danger.

  Prologue

  December

  The figure in grey stood at the back of the auditorium, a dot of stillness in the frenzy of the audience. The crowd was shouting, chanting, clapping in the steady rhythm of a heartbeat, but no creature known had a heart so huge. No mortal creature, at least, he thought with an inward smile. The noise was so great it was like a physical thing; he could practically feel the building throb with it, as if at any moment the walls might give way and the roof fly off.

  He was glad he had brought earplugs. His master—no, he must remember to use the conventional parlance: his boss—might relish this kind of display, but it gave Reed a headache.

  The steady chant erupted now into screams of delight. Their idol had succumbed to their incantation and had returned to the stage for an encore.

  The other band members hadn’t bothered leaving. They knew an encore was inevitable. But the young man everyone had come to see took plenty of time, making them wait, giving their excitement an edge of anxiety, before sauntering back out to pick up his guitar again. He wore an insolent grin and tight jeans that sat low on his hipbones, showing off a muscled torso, and the girls in the audience were shrill in their appreciation when he struck a few bodybuilder poses.

  Reed shook his head impatiently. This ridiculous posturing was beside the point. The important thing was the music.

  But at last, seeming to feel that he’d dragged out the anticipation long enough, the young man at center stage nodded to his bandmates and brought his hand down on his guitar in the opening notes of the first encore.

  The roar of the crowd immediately doubled; even with earplugs, it made Reed wince. The air vibrated with their excitement. But over the wall of sound came the voice of the young man on stage, amplified by a sound system that could have taken a whisper across the state line.

  “She keeps her options open wide,” he sang, and the screams that rang out in response were like what Reed imagined Hell must sound like. He would have to remember to ask his boss if that was really the case.

  “Always wants more and never less.” He grinned as he sang, basking in the frenzy he was creating. The stage in front of him was now littered with more lingerie than Reed had ever seen outside a shopping mall.

  “A little something on the side / Just get in line and she’ll say yes.”

  The girls in the audience were saying “yes” now, screaming it. The star fed off their worship of him; Reed could see how it spurred him to sing more passionately, attack his guitar more powerfully. He was sweating, shining in the bright lights. Glistening drops flew off him as he flung his head back, eyes shut, his whole body taut as if an electric current were running through him.

  Guitar solo.

  This was where he really excelled, and the audience knew it. They punched the air and jumped up and down as the impossibly dexterous fingers tickled blazing notes from the guitar. Faster than seemed humanly possible, tempo and volume building, building…

  Reed watched, fascinated, as veins began to stand out on the musician’s arms and forehead. His chest was beginning to heave as if he was having trouble drawing enough breath to power this frenzied performance. Bassist and drummer exchanged worried looks: something was wrong.

  The tempo increased. The star was playing faster than his bandmates could keep up with; one by one they dropped out, rhythm guitar, bass, keyboard, drums. The crowd was thrilled. Virtuosity like this was clear even to those whose musical appreciation was limited to drumming on the top of their school desks.

  It was too much. He wasn’t going to make it.

  The solo built to its peak and soared over it. His bandmates eased back in as the music found structure again, raced toward the final power chords that would wrap everything up.

  Fingers poised over the strings, the young man in center stage drew out the suspense just as much as he could without losing the thread of the song, before ending the tease with the final, resolving note.

  And collapsed.

  Some of the fans took this as more showmanship, roaring, waving their lighters in the air. But then some of the screaming took on an anxious edge. The bassist stepped over to the prone figure of his bandmate and touched his shoulder. He didn’t move.

  A black-clad figure in the wings spoke urgently into his headset. Roadies and security men ran onto the stage, laying the young man on his back, checking his pulse, testing his reflexes. The house manager stepped up to a microphone to ask everyone to disperse.

  This part was all too familiar to Reed. He smothered a disappointed sigh and melted back into the wall as the hordes swarmed past. It was his single greatest skill, being inconspicuous. But at a time like this, he didn’t have to make an effort to go unobserved. High on the mixture of adrenaline, excitement, and horror, the fans were gabbling to each other or tweeting the news on their phones, and paid him no notice.

  “Reed here,” he said quietly. Anyone paying attention would have assumed he was speaking to someone via Bluetooth, except that there was no device visible. “I’m afraid we’ll have to keep looking. The new vessel has proven too weak.” He seemed to listen for a moment. “Yes, dead or next door to it. He’s of no further use to us.” Then he smiled. “But our first choice may still be available. It’s just a matter of finding the right bargaining chip, and with a young lady involved…” He listened again. “Yes, my lord,” he said. “I’ll return to Ash Grove right away. The next vessel is as good as yours.”

  Chapter 1

  November 2

  It wasn’t standard procedure when a hospital discharged a patient for the entire female staff (and some of the male) to gather to say goodbye. Tanner Lindsey had spent less than 48 hours in the hospital, and was perfectly restored to health except for the eight stitches on his chest, but it wasn’t often that Clay County Medical Center had celebrities in its care—especially (as one of the nurses said to Joy) any as gorgeous as he was.

  Joy Sumner stood off to the side of the main hospital entrance, watching tolerantly as another group of nurses in brightly colored scrubs clustered around her fiancé for a photo. This was her first real glimpse of the furor Tanner could cause. Without meaning to, almost everywhere he went he became the center of attention. A steady stream of nurses and PAs had come to his room throughout his stay, ostensibly to check his stitches or his IV, and Joy had finally started ordering them away so he could get some rest.

  Her view of him was blocked as taller people jostled her out of the way. “Watch it,” she said loudly. “Pregnant lady here.”

  But they didn’t seem to hear or care. She realized that these weren’t
hospital personnel: bearing cameras and microphones, reporters had descended. She noticed a van with the local TV station’s logo, and other vehicles, unmarked, presumably from wire services.

  “Joy?” came Tanner’s voice, and he pushed through the crowd to stand by her side. “Everyone, please give my fiancée some room.”

  “Fiancée?” demanded one of the reporters. “Did you and Melisande split up over your engagement?”

  “The contract I signed with my agent expires tomorrow. It’s purely for professional reasons that I’m moving on.”

  That was one way of putting it. The accurate way would be that Melisande, the legendary supermodel and Tanner’s mentor, was a succubus who had tried to consume his life force and had almost succeeded in killing him. Thanks to Joy’s intervention, the she-demon was now a shriveled bundle of bones and hair, and in no position to set the record straight—or to come after Tanner again, thank goodness.

  “Were you surprised by Melisande’s decision to retire?” another reporter asked.

  “Retire?” said Tanner blankly.

  “In a statement to the press earlier this morning, it was announced that Melisande was retiring from public life due to health issues and would no longer be mentoring rising stars like yourself.”

  “Who announced it?” asked Joy. The creature had been physically incapable of making statements to the press even before being taken into custody by the secret council at Ash Grove High School for the Performing Arts, the hub of supernatural activity in this tiny corner of North Carolina.

  The most persistent of the reporters answered. He was pudgy with a short beard, like the wacky best friend in a slacker comedy. “Melisande’s PR agent, Raven, made the statement. He said that her cosmetics company would continue to operate, but that Melisande’s role would be strictly behind the scenes from now on.”

  Joy and Tanner exchanged a troubled look. Raven was Melisande’s right-hand man, and had not been present when the succubus had been vanquished. Joy wondered how much he knew about the fate of his employer, and what his feelings might be toward those who had defeated her.

  “You didn’t know about this, Tristan?” The reporters were pressing closer, intrigued by this hint of conflicting stories. “How did Melisande take the news of your engagement—and impending fatherhood?”

  “Please, no more questions today,” said Tanner. “My fiancée and I just want to have a quiet life out of the public eye.”

  “You’re not leaving the business, are you?”

  “Yes, I am. I’m not going to do any more modeling. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’d like to go home.”

  That brought another wave of questions. “Where will you be living now?” was the loudest.

  “No comment.” Tanner smiled to soften the words, and cameras flashed again, and there were cries of “Tristan, over here!” as the photographers angled for good shots as he and Joy made their way through the onlookers to the place where her father’s car was parked and her friends William and Maddie stood beside it.

  Few of the photographers seemed interested in her, and that didn’t surprise her. Apart from the shock value of her visibly pregnant belly, she wasn’t photogenic, and she knew they made an odd-looking couple: Tanner, a nationally famous print model under the name Tristan, had the build of an Olympic swimmer and the face of a Pre-Raphaelite saint, whereas Joy was short, freckled, a bit pudgy (not even counting the baby weight), with a whimsical face that a snide classmate had once compared to that of a Pekingese.

  The bearded reporter trailed after them, cameraman and sound tech in tow. He called, “There have been rumors that Melisande was at the center of a religious cult and that your injuries were sustained when she tried to use you as a human sacrifice. Is that true?”

  Tanner pulled up in shock. “Where did you hear that?”

  The reporter grinned. “A source I can’t reveal.”

  “Who do you work for?” asked Joy warily.

  “I’m a freelancer. Name’s Standish Billups. So, care to comment?” He edged closer and held out a digital audio recorder. “How did you end up in the hospital getting stitches, Tristan?”

  Joy, seeing him hesitate, squeezed his hand. “No comment,” she said for him.

  William and Maddie were waiting for them in the pickup area with Joy’s father’s car. “Where’s Dad?” asked Joy after she had hugged her friends and they had exchanged shy greetings with Tanner. They didn’t know him well yet.

  “He was looking a little frazzled, so we made him stay home and let us pick you up,” said Maddie Rosenbaum. She had no problem bossing people around. She was in the drama track at Ash Grove High School, and perhaps because of her theatrical training she had a knack for projecting her voice and her personality. She and Joy had been roommates before Joy’s suspension, and Joy already missed her—bossiness, sarcasm, and all.

  “Don’t worry,” interjected William Russell. “He’s fine, just a little tired from getting the house back in order.” William knew that Joy would be concerned that her dad was overexerting himself after having spent the past year in Oklahoma undergoing cancer treatment. William thought of things like that. He was more soft-spoken than Maddie (not that that was saying much) and cute in a nerdy way, with a thin frame, an untidy head of dark hair, and glasses. He was one of the star students in the music track, and Joy knew it was only a matter of time before he became famous.

  “So, Zoolander,” said Maddie, sizing Tan up as they got in the car, “am I going to have to take it easy on you because you’re walking wounded?”

  He smiled. “I wouldn’t want you to rupture something. Snark away.”

  “It’s no fun if you give me permission,” she complained, but without her usual energy. She craned around in the front seat to survey him where he sat next to Joy in the back. “It must be weird for you, settling down in small-town North Carolina after all your time in Hollywood and New York.”

  “Yeah, kind of. But I’m going to be much happier here.”

  “Are you going to keep on modeling, or do something else?”

  “Maddie, come on,” objected Joy. “You’re worse than the reporters.”

  “No, I don’t mind,” said Tanner. “I’m definitely getting out of modeling. I don’t want to have anything to do with that life again.”

  “I can see why you’d be burnt out on it,” said William. “After all the weird stuff with Melisande.”

  “Yeah, it must have been freaky,” said Maddie. “Joy told us how Melisande went bat-poo crazy and tried to kill you. She turned out to be some kind of cultist, is that right?”

  This was the story Joy and Tanner had decided on for her friends—and the one that that reporter had somehow cottoned onto. Since the whole thing was over and done with, Joy didn’t see the need to try to convince her friends that a supernatural element had entered their lives.

  “Yes, she thought she had mystical powers,” said Joy. “And she’d gathered a lot of people around her who thought so too. But let’s not talk about that, okay? William, how are things going with Aerosol Cheese?” That was the band William and some of the other Ash Grove senior guys had started.

  “Fine, I guess,” said William. “We’ve got a couple of gigs lined up already this month, and hopefully we’ll get picked for the solstice music festival in December. Tanner, I hear you play guitar?”

  “Used to. It’s been a while, but I’d like to get back to it. What do you play?”

  “What does he not play?” laughed Joy. “Guitar, piano, violin…”

  “Trumpet,” added Maddie. “Harmonica, cello…”

  “Never could get the hang of drums, though,” said William comfortably. “So much for my childhood dream of being a one-man band on the vaudeville stage. You should come rehearse with us, Tanner. We can always use another guitarist, especially if Eric ends up leaving to start a band of his own. Honestly, it would be kind of a relief. He’s got chops, but he can be really obnoxious.”

  “Tell me about it,” sa
id Maddie. “I used to go out with him.”

  “Was he obnoxious before then, or was that just the effect you had on him?” asked Tanner, and William snorted with laughter.

  “Yuk it up, Fabio,” said Maddie darkly. “At least I’ve never driven any of my exes to try to kill me.”

  Joy stiffened. That was out of line. But Tan just said, “Give it time,” and ducked as Maddie threw a pack of cigarettes at his head.

  It was great to see him joining in the banter. Tan had lived the life of a celebrity toy boy for the last two years, and had been a self-confessed loner before that, so he didn’t have a natural knack for being part of a group of friends. Joy was proud of him for making the effort, and grateful to her friends for making him feel like part of their group—even if that meant being subjected to Maddie’s sharp tongue. Maybe this wouldn’t be too tough a transition for him after all.

  William pulled off the two-lane asphalt road running parallel to the Hiwassee River and turned onto the steep driveway shared by the Sumners and two other houses on the hillside. The little Craftsman-style house came into view, and when they pulled into the driveway Joy saw her father waiting for them on the front porch. As soon as William cut the motor and they got out of the car, she could hear the rushing sound of the river where it flowed at the foot of the hill, on the other side of the road, and her happiness increased. It had been almost a year since she had moved out of the house into one of the school dorms, and it was wonderful to be home again—and with the two people she loved most.

  Gail and Jim Brody, longtime neighbors and friends, were waiting as well. Gail was watering newly planted pansies next to the front steps, and straightened with a smile. Not yet thirty, she had been almost like a big sister to Joy, helping to ease some of the loneliness after the death of her mother, Anna Merridew Sumner. Gail set down the watering pot, wiped her hands on her jeans, and pulled Joy into a hug. “Joy, you’re getting so big! I swear you’ve expanded a month’s worth in two days.”