Page 1 of Crimson Shadows
PROLOGUE
Adelaide
Thunder crashes, jolting me awake at the stroke of midnight. I can hear the clock on the mantlepiece downstairs strike the hour.
Happy thirteenth birthday to me.
Rain lashes against my bedroom window, creating haunting shadows on the walls. I’ve always loved storms; they seem to fit in with the way I see the world, in shades of darkness rather than light, which is weird because my surname, Légère, means light. But tonight feels different. There’s a charge in the air that has nothing to do with lightning flashing, splitting the sky before the thunder rumbles, making it feel like the ground is going to part.
I burrow deeper under my duvet, trying to shake off the unease creeping up my spine. It’s just the weather. Nothing to be scared of.
But deep in my soul, I know different. I can’t explain it, but something isn’t right.
I jump when there is a loud, insistent knock at our front door.
My heart rate spikes. Who is that?
I slide out of bed, my bare feet hitting the thin carpet.
The knocking continues, growing more urgent with each passing second.
Curiosity overrides my better judgment. It could be someone in trouble out there in this storm. I creep to my bedroom door and ease it open, wincing at the slight creak. The landing is dark, but a sliver of light spills up the stairs from the entryway below.
I tiptoe to the top of the stairs, crouching low to peer down at the front door.
My mum peers through the peephole and curses, her French accent strong due to her anger. She opens the door a crack, the chain pulled taut as she grips her dressing gown tighter.
“What are you doing here?” she hisses through the gap.
A man’s voice answers, low and urgent. “Please, I need to see her. You can’t keep me away forever.”
I strain to see past Mum, but the gap in the door is too small.
“You need to leave,” Mum snaps quietly. “You can’t be here.”
“I can, and I am,” the man insists. “Let me in so we can talk.”
A chill runs through me at his voice. It’s chilling, forceful. I’m scared.
“Go away,” Mum says and tries to shut the door, but the man slams his hand against it, and the chain snaps. Mum gasps and steps back as I stare down, frozen in horror. The stranger in the doorway has dark hair and pale skin. His clothes are soaked through, rainwater pooling at his feet on our tattered and soggy welcome mat.
Mum’s voice drops to a whisper, but I can still make out her words. “You can’t come in.”
The man makes a sound of frustration. “Let me in, Edie, you can’t keep me away from her.”
“I can and I will. She is protected. She is a child.”
“I’m aware,” the man hisses. “You are actively keeping me from her, Edie, and this is going to end badly for everyone.”
“Is that a threat, Rand? Go to hell where you belong!”
The stranger takes a step forward, but he seems to come up against an invisible roadblock, and I see Mum tense. He curses, but then his face falls. “Please,” he says, his voice breaking. “I’m begging you. Just five minutes.”
“I said no.”
“Damn you, Edie!”
In one fluid motion, Mum reaches for something in the side table drawer near the door. I can’t see what it is, and I strain my eyes and crane my neck to get a better look. I should be running, hiding, but I can’t move. I’m frozen to the spot. Mum thrusts the object towards the man’s face, and he hisses loudly, an unnatural sound that slides over my nerves like nails down a blackboard.
