Page 24 of Whispers in the Quarter

The memory fractures, splintering into a thousand sharp-edged pieces as my phone buzzes again. Still in Grandmother’s kitchen, but the past clings to me like swamp mud.

Alex: You’ve learned to wear her face well, little shadow. But can you wear her death?

My hands shake as I set the phone down. Jazz stirs on the sofa, his musician’s intuition probably sensing my distress evenin sleep. Five years ago, I would have hidden that tremor, would have earned one of Alex’s cutting remarks about weakness.

“Even shadows bleed, child.”Grandmother’s voice echoes in my memory, a counterpoint to Alex’s lessons.“The trick isn’t not feeling—it’s choosing what to do with those feelings.”

I move to Grandmother’s herb wall, fingers brushing dried plants that hold both healing and harm. Alex taught me to kill with these same plants, but Grandmother had taught me their true nature first. How had I forgotten that lesson? That everything in nature has both light and shadow, and the choice of which to use lies in the wielder’s heart.

“You’re thinking too loud, Melody,” Jazz’s voice, rough with sleep, cuts through my spiral. He hasn’t moved from the sofa, giving me space while letting me know I’m not alone. So different from Alex’s constant hovering, his suffocating presence.

I think of Lucas too, probably in his lab right now, channeling his brilliant madness into keeping me safe. His chaos is nothing like Alex’s calculated cruelty, though both burn with similar intensity.

My phone buzzes one final time.

Alex: Time to come home, little shadow. Your sister is waiting.

The words should terrify me. Instead, something crystallizes in my chest—hard and sharp and certain. Alex might have taught me to be a shadow, but he never understood what that really meant. Shadows aren’t just darkness; they’re proof of light.

I am not the same broken girl he found in the bayou. I’m not just his weapon anymore. I’m somebody’s Melody, somebody’s Chimera, and my own damn self besides.

“Well,” I whisper to the ghosts of who I used to be, “let’s show him how shadows dance.”

9

LUCAS

PRIVATE RESEARCH NOTES Dr. L. Gautier Project: Saint’s Evolution

Fascinating results from preliminary trials. Subject shows natural predisposition toward darkness when ethical constraints are removed. Chemical catalyst merely reveals existing tendencies.

Personal Note: Must remember to document Saint’s reaction to truth serum. His acceptance of natural state is proving even more beautiful than anticipated.

The fluorescent lightsof my private lab hum at precisely 60 Hz—I measured it during one of my more manic episodes last week. Fascinating study on the effects of sustained light frequency on cellular degradation. The burn mark on my left palm provided some delightfully unexpected data points.

I giggle, picking up a vial of my latest experiment. “What secrets will you share tonight, my lovely?”

The door clicks open behind me. Not the usual hesitant knock of my assistants, who’ve learned to approach my privatelab with appropriate caution. No, this is the confident stride of someone who thinks they belong here.

“Working late again, Lucas?”

Ah. Ethan. I carefully school my features before spinning in my chair, though I’m sure my smile still shows too many teeth. “Blake! Come to join me in my nocturnal pursuits? I was just about to test the most fascinating compound. The effects on human tissue are absolutely?—”

“Lucas.” Ethan’s voice carries that weary fondness I’ve come to recognize. He looks... haunted. More so than usual. “We need to talk about Beaumont.”

My fingers twitch involuntarily toward the rack of samples from my Chimera’s latest work. “Tragic business, that. Heart failure, wasn’t it? These society types really should take better care of themselves.”

Ethan drops a file on my desk. Crime scene photos spill out—beautiful composition, really. The lighting captures the subtle bluish tint of the victim’s skin perfectly. “Cut the act, Lucas. This is the third death this month with the same chemical signature. A signature that looks remarkably similar to?—”

“To a completely natural cardiac event,” I interrupt, my smile stretching wider. “Really, Blake, you’re starting to sound positively paranoid. Though the epidemiological implications are fascinating. Perhaps we should study the correlation between wealth and unexplained mortality rates? I have some lovely graphs...”

“Lucas.” He cuts me off.

“Speaking of fascinating research,” I continue on, deliberately knocking over a stack of papers to obscure my latest analysis of my Chimera’s work, “let’s talk about your obsession, dear friend.”

Ethan frowns, that adorable furrow appearing between his brows. “My what?”

“Oh, come now.” I spin in my chair, watching him with newly focused interest. Years of friendship, and only now am I seeing the delicious potential. “Your rather magnificent fixation on our vanishing vigilante. It’s really quite beautiful, you know. The way you pursue her with such... passion.”

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