Page 17 of Soul of Shadow
“I’m serious,” said Charlie, flipping the sticker over. “There is nothing—”
“Whoa,” said Abigail, interrupting their conversation by shoving her phone in front of their faces. “Did you guys see this?”
Lou and Charlie leaned in to get a closer look.
It was a reporter from their local news station. She stood in front of the carved-up tree from which Robbie’s shoes had once dangled.
The latest information in the case of Robbie Carpenter has officials scratching their heads.
Charlie leaned in closer, not wanting to miss a word.
Most recently, officials discovered a similar pattern of disappearances in Minnesota, the reporter was saying.Last week, in the small town of Biwabik, three kids went missing over the span of a week. The only evidence they found were several trees marked up with the same Nordic drawings present in Silver Shores.
“That is… eerily similar,” Abigail said.
“It is.” Lou seemed to be getting more excited now, her momentum building as she spoke. “It must be a copycat killer. You know—when one psycho gets wind of what another psycho did and decides to replicate it.”
“I know what a copycat killer is,” said Abigail, switching off her phone. “You don’t have to be obsessed with murder like you to figure that one out.”
“I’m notobsessed with murder,” said Lou. “I merely hold a healthy psychological and anthropological curiosity about humanity’s ability to—”
“Serial killers and croissants?” came a voice from behind. “Count me in.”
The girls looked over their shoulders to find Mason looming over the bake-sale table. At his side, looming a few inches over Mason’s head, was Elias. Charlie inhaled and looked down at the table, searching for something to do with her hands. Stickers. Yes, stickers.Two dollars for a slice of pie, three dollars for a pack of three mixed cookies…
“Get lost, Mason,” said Lou. “Our perfectly stacked pastries don’t need your hijinks today.”
“Hijinks?” Mason asked innocently. “That doesn’t sound like me at all.”
A long, pale hand reached down to the table, nearly brushing Charlie’s arm as it picked up one of the chocolate chip cookies. Charlie inhaled, her gaze snapping up to where Elias hovered just over her shoulder, but he wasn’t looking at her.
“And what’s this about perfectly stacked?” he asked, setting the cookie on top of a chaotic pile of pies and chocolate croissants and cake slices.
“Oh God.” Lou dropped her head into her hands. “Not you, too. I was hoping your arrival would help turn Mason into a regular human being.”
Elias’s eyes lit up, as if he found this comment particularly amusing. “Oh?” he asked. “And what, pray tell, is he now, if not a regular human being?”
“He’s an alien,” said Lou confidently. “Sent by his alien masters to unleash chaos on Earth in the form of stupid pranks and half-witted remarks about women’s breasts.”
“Chaos, eh?” Elias turned to Mason, eyes sparkling. “I happen to love chaos. In fact.” He clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Sounds like you could step it up a notch.”
“Hmm.” Mason rubbed two fingers on his chin. “You know what, brother? You’re right. We’re seniors. It’s time I stepped up my game.”
“What game?” asked Abigail sharply. “Whatever it is, I won’t have it messing up this bake sale. I promised Dr. Schneider that this would go off without a hitch.”
“Relax, Abby.” Mason plopped down into the chair beside Abigail, who flinched. Mason knew as well as Charlie did that Abigail hated being called by anything that wasn’t a full and properAbigail. “We’re here to help.” He winked at Charlie. “What else are big brothers for?”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Elias take the seat across from her. Her pulse picked up speed. She was acutely aware of his presence, of that strange heat radiating from his skin. It felt like a live thing. Like an invisible being that could wrap itself around her, pulling her into its warm embrace.
“So.” Mason clapped once, looking around the table. “Howcan I be of assistance? The art teacher told me I have an eye for design. Maybe I can be in charge of table aesthetic.”
“You?” Lou scoffed. “I’ve seen your bedroom. The only eye you have is for dirty laundry and tacky band posters.”
“What were you doing in my bedroom, Louise?” Mason picked up a snickerdoodle and started to slip it into his pocket; Abigail snatched it away. “Stealing a lock of my hair to perform a voodoo spell that will make me fall in love with you?”
“In your dreams, Hudson,” said Lou airily.
Charlie looked back down at the stickers she was labeling, holding in a laugh. Lou and Mason did this all the time. It was natural for Lou to pick fights; snark and sarcasm were her daily flavors of choice. But her feud with Mason went back almost a decade—likely to the first time Mason let loose a tarantula in Charlie and Sophie’s bedroom during a sleepover.
