The Shadow by Kelly Green Page A

chain-link fence at least eight feet high, with a dented metal sign that read “B&B Scrapyard.” To say that it was out of the way was an understatement. The closest house or store I’d seen was at least half a mile away, up the hill. If something went wrong, my safest bet would be to run past the scrapyard and throw myself off the cliff into the bay, which in itself didn’t seem very safe.
    The entrance was bolted with a metal chain whose links were each about as big as my head. Inside the fence was a dusty lot filled with cars that looked like rusty buckets. There was no fence in the back, because the lot tapered downward toward the sea without stopping. The grass had grown so high that it was coming up through the bodies of the cars and spilling out.
    In the middle of the lot was a modest house covered with shingles of dark wood.
    “Alright, Brooke,” I said aloud. “Let’s see how well a chorus girl can scale a fence.”
    The answer, in this case, was not very well.
    I grasped at the metal with my sweaty little hands and slipped backwards. I found I had very little upper body strength. Luckily, my feet were small enough to fit comfortably into the individual spaces of the diamond lattice, and, after a few minutes of grunting, panting, and saying some very unladylike things under my breath, I was inside the B&B Scrapyard.
    I kept my eyes peeled for a murderous pit bull as I approached the house, because it seemed like the sort of place that would be guarded by a murderous pit bull, but none appeared.
    Instead Leo did. His face appeared in the front window, and I ducked behind a rusted tractor for a minute, the tall grass itching my face, until he passed out of sight.
    Strangely, I wasn’t frightened. I had moved beyond frightened into a territory of human alertness that I could only recall seeing in spy movies. The situation I’d found myself in was so dangerous that it barely resembled real life, and so I felt more like I was playing a video game, pressing buttons to run, jump, and move my little blond body this way or that. The only difference was that I had one life, and if I didn’t fix it, I’d be stuck in the game forever.
    I ran to the front door and listened for footsteps. When I didn’t hear any, I gingerly turned the knob and entered. The living room of the Krancik house was as dark as the blackened wooden shingles that covered the outside, and the floor was littered with board games, puzzles, and action figures—so many action figures that it looked like all the action figures in the world had gathered for a rally. Behind that was a dining room with windows that overlooked the bay. The light bouncing off the water was blinding, even though it was overcast, because the interior of the house was so dark. The house smelled like a pirate ship: salty and dank and moldy and filled with men. But, strangely, it also smelled like burnt chocolate chip cookies.
    There were voices coming from behind a closed door, which I figured led to the basement. I could barely make out what they were saying. “Wait till I get back,” someone said. I ducked behind a lounge chair of scratchy plaid fabric and waited.
    A moment later, Leo emerged from the basement door and hurried into the kitchen, which I could see a bit better from behind the chair. Orange linoleum lined the floor. The Kranciks desperately needed the assistance of an interior decorator.
    The smoke alarm went off, but Leo must have waved a towel in front of it, because it stopped just as soon as it began. “Oh man!” he yelled. “Burned the cookies.”
    Who eats chocolate chip cookies when they’re torturing someone?
    Leo emerged from the kitchen with a plate of blackened, shriveled chocolate chip cookies and reentered the basement, shutting the door behind him.
    I needed a way to get Leo out of the basement so that I could sneak in and rescue Paul—if Paul was even in there. I ran into the kitchen and spotted the smoke detector mounted high on one of