A Plague of Shadows by Travis Simmons Page A

something was wrong. Her heart hammered in her chest as her feet pounded across the wooden floor. She was lifting the latch and pulling the door open before her senses caught up with her and screamed it might be a darkling . But it wasn’t. Deep inside, she knew that it wasn’t a darkling, she could sense it . . . somehow.
    People didn’t walk around at night. It was just something that didn’t happen. For that reason alone, she knew something was wrong.
    Rorick’s blue eyes were stormy and rimmed with red. His nose was red and swollen. He’d been crying, and that alarmed Abagail. Rorick didn’t cry.
    He stood there in the rain for what seemed like ages. Abagail stood breathlessly, waiting for him to say something, waiting for him to do something other than drip all over the place. Dolan eased past his daughter, onto the porch, and ushered the young man inside.
    “Leona, go get a towel,” Dolan ordered his youngest daughter. “Rorick, what’s happened?” Dolan asked him, pressing him into a chair heedless of the puddle that formed under Rorick. He handed the towel from Leona to Rorick, and sat patiently for the neighbor to gain some sense.
    Abagail closed and latched the door against the banes of the night. It was bad luck to have the door wide open while the Sleeping Eye ruled the sky. Even worse luck to have Hafaress’ Hearth nearly extinguished from the rain at night.
    She went to the kitchen, poured Rorick a large tumbler of ale, and brought it back to him. Dolan nodded as Abagail pressed the cup into Rorick’s hand, mindful not to touch him with her shadow-laden hand.
    “It’s spreading,” Rorick muttered, and then sniffed back his running nose. Abagail pulled the hand back to her chest.
    “What happened, Rorick?” Abagail asked him.
    He shook his head, his face scrunching up again, but whatever tears might have slipped out of him this time were swallowed back with a gulp of ale.
    “The shadow we saw in the woods?” Rorick started.
    “Yes, I killed it earlier tonight,” Abagail said.
    Rorick shook his head. “It killed my parents.”
    “What?!?” Dolan asked, shooting to his feet.
    “How’s that possible, I thought you killed it?” Leona asked Abagail.
    Abagail opened her mouth to say something, anything, but nothing would come out.
    “There must have been more than one,” Rorick said. “I was cleaning up for dinner, heard a huge commotion downstairs, and when I came down they were dead, smeared with shadows, carriers of the plague.”
    “Are they at peace?” Dolan asked, a polite way to see if Rorick burned the bodies.
    He nodded. “The entire house is gone.”
    Dolan’s mouth thinned to a line. Rorick had burned down the entire house.
    “What happened to the darkling?” Abagail asked.
    “I didn’t see it anywhere. I went looking for it, but I couldn’t find it.”
    “The night is their domain, it could have been hiding anywhere,” Dolan consoled.
    “If only we’d found it earlier,” Rorick said, looking at Abagail.
    “It likely wouldn’t have helped,” Abagail said. “There was one in here right after we went searching in the woods.”
    If Dolan wanted to say anything about the danger they’d put themselves in, he didn’t comment.
    “And the plague has spread in you,” Rorick said, taking hold of Abagail’s arm, careful not to touch the darkness marring her palm, and pulled it closer to him. Abagail knew from earlier that there was no use in trying to pull away from him, it would be fighting a losing battle anyway.
    “Something strange happened when I got home,” Abagail started.
    Dolan frowned. “There’s no time for this now,” he told them, cutting their chatter short. “Abagail, you need to go pack, Rorick, you’re going with her. Leona, I’m sorry, but you will need to go as well, it’s the only chance that you will be safe. Your aunt can keep you safer from the shadow plague than I can.”
    Leona stood, her face tense, her eyes wild. “No, I can’t.