Page 9 of Soul of Shadow
“Swear to Odin.”
“Odin?” she asked.
“You know,” Elias said, pointing at the tree behind her. “Odin. King of the Norse gods? Like Zeus, only more badass?”
“Can’t say I know much about Norse gods,” said Charlie.
“Well, you should probably brush up,” said Elias, raising his eyebrows at the carving of Odin’s Knot. “Seems like it might be pretty relevant here now.”
Charlie glanced at the carving, then back at Elias. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. How did this boy know so much?Was he just a freak, obsessed with Norse mythology? It seemed like too much of a coincidence.
“So.” He smiled again. “Are you a senior, too?”
“Junior,” she said, still eyeing him. She should probably find Lou. It wasn’t safe for her to be with this boy alone.
“Got it. Well.” Elias clapped his hands once, then rubbed them together, looking up at the sky as if checking it for the time. “I should probably be off, then. It was nice to meet you, Charlie.”
Charlie glanced over her shoulder, hoping she would find Lou walking toward them. “Sure. It was nice to meet you, t—”
But when she looked back, he was already gone.
She stood there for several seconds, staring at the place where he had been.What on earth?Had hesprintedaway? But surely she would have heard that, same as she should have heard him sneaking up on her from behind. What waswiththat boy?
Shaking her head, she turned around to continue her search west.
It was only then that she realized he’d called her by her name.
And she’d never given it to him.
5
The car door slammed behind Charlie as she stepped onto the pavement of the Silver Shores High School parking lot.
Two more doors slammed. Abigail double-checked the contents of her bag again while Lou eyed everyone around them with interest. The three of them had started carpooling their sophomore year, when Charlie turned sixteen and got her license—she was the first—and had continued the tradition ever since. Neither Lou nor Abigail ever offered to drive, but Charlie didn’t mind. She liked being behind the wheel. The feel of the Bronco humming beneath her, under her control.
Plus, though she would never say as much, she hated driving alone. Mason always caught a ride to school with one of his many friends, leaving the Bronco to Charlie without a fuss for once. She should have been relieved, but if she didn’t have someone else in the car with her—even with music blasting—there was too much quiet. Too much space for the sadness to creep inside.
Ahead of them, Silver Shores High loomed tall and stately. It was a stunning piece of architecture: a Georgian-era masterpiece with red brick, tall white pillars around the entrance, and a belltower that stood far above any other building in town. Grand staircases wound throughout the building. The classrooms looked like paneled sitting rooms. The whole place smelled vaguely of old books.
As they crossed the parking lot, Lou and Abigail prattled on about their expectations for homecoming that year: who would take whom, how the asks would unfold, whether or not there would be drinking at the after-party. It was junior year. They were no longer underclassmen but not yet burdened with the responsibilities that came with being a senior. (Well, Abigail might have disagreed.) Charlie should be having, as Lou had insisted no less than thirty times in the last three days,the time of her life. Charlie could barely pay attention to the conversation.
Still, she knew that Lou would call her out sooner rather than later, which meant it was time to tune back in.
“So, did the infinity scarf come with the pumpkin-spice latte, or was it the other way around?” Lou was asking Abigail, pointing to the offending items in question.
Abigail wrinkled her nose and tightened her grip around the Starbucks cup in her hand. “I would never drink a pumpkin-spice latte.”
“Right, I forgot,” Lou said. “You only drink plain black coffee, like a sixteen-year-old serial killer.”
“I’m not the one who is actually, definitionally obsessed with serial killers.”
Lou reached behind her head and started knotting her auburn hair into a bun. She pulled out a few strands to dangle beside her freckled face. “It’s a passion of mine.”
“Watching every documentary ever made about Ted Bundy does not qualify something as apassion. Besides.” Abigail adjustedher purple scarf as she eyed Lou’s tiny skirt. “At least I’m dressed appropriately for the weather.”
“It’ssixty-five degreesoutside.” Lou rolled her eyes. “Sweet Jesus. Every year, the calendar hits September first, and you start acting like the leaves have already fallen off the trees.”
Abigail pointed over at a patch of grass behind a red Chevy pickup. “And just what do you callthat?”
