Shadow Chaser Read online

  “It’s bad, isn’t it?” he said. “It’s okay, you can say it. I know that my face is breaking out.”

  “Well,” she said slowly, “it does seem to be . . . getting worse. Maybe you should try to see a doctor . . .”

  Jonah sighed, thrust his hands in his pockets, and walked forward, ahead of her. He didn’t want to hear it. He had already tried the Chinese remedy, and it hadn’t worked. And he didn’t see how she would want to be around him looking like this anyway.

  He ignored her calling out his name and kept walking along by himself.

  Jonah knew something was wrong before he rolled over in bed the next morning. He felt achy and slightly chilled, but his sheets were soaking wet, like he had been sweating. When he did try to move, he felt the sheets chafe against his arm like sandpaper.

  “Ahhh . . . ,” he moaned.

  What was more, he was having a harder time opening up his eyes than usual. His face felt large and puffy. Forcing his eyelids open, he managed to push himself off the bed and stand in front of the mirror on the back of the door.

  “Oh man,” Jonah said, leaning closer into the mirror. “Oh man!”

  It wasn’t just his face anymore—his entire body was covered with red sores. He was wearing only gym shorts and no shirt. His face still had dozens of spots, but now his chest and arms had even more. And just like the ones on his face, they were red, swollen, and painful to touch.

  Jonah suddenly felt queasy. He lurched for the door and hurried down the hallway to the bathroom. He barely made it.

  When his stomach mercifully stopped heaving, he sat on the floor, leaning against the cold metal wall, locked inside a stall, clutching his knees to his chest. The cold actually felt good on his back, and he held himself still, trying to gather his thoughts.

  “Jonah?” a soft voice called. He could tell it was David, but he rolled his eyes and tried to ignore it.

  “Jonah, I know it’s you,” David said. “I saw you go in there. And I kind of heard you too.”

  Jonah still didn’t respond.

  “Do you need me to go get a doctor?” his friend persisted. “Or at least one of the nuns?”

  “No,” Jonah said finally. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m . . . okay. Just some more sores.”

  “You’re okay, huh?” Jonah heard the doubt in David’s voice. “Well then, let me see.”

  Jonah knew David wasn’t going to give in. Reluctantly, he reached up and slid the lock open, pushing the door outward and looking up at his towering Ugandan friend.

  “Oh, Jonah,” David said, crouching down beside him to get a better look. He reached out his hand but must have thought better of it, drawing it back. “You look horrible. This all happened since last night?”

  Jonah nodded. “I don’t know what’s going on. I woke up, and this is what I found.” He held up his arm in front of him, counting the red splotches.

  “That’s some teenage outbreak,” said David. He grabbed Jonah’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “The only thing I know is that you really need to see a doctor. And I don’t want to hear any arguing.”

  Jonah wasn’t in the mood to argue anymore.

  Sister Patricia, after looking him over with great concern, immediately sent one of the sisters to him with the urgent care facility around the corner from the convent. “At least for now,” Sister Patricia had said, concern etched on her face, leaving Jonah to think that her preference was actually to send him to the hospital.

  He walked out of the doctor’s office a few hours later with four different prescriptions, along with a warning not to use any more Chinese remedies on his skin.

  One more stop by the pharmacy, and they were heading back with a bagful of medicine—an antibiotic “for extreme cases like this,” the doctor had said, plus three different types of creams and lotions. Jonah found that he also was leaving with a little more hope. He didn’t even want to wait until he got home to take the pill. Stopping at a fast-food restaurant and sneaking into the bathroom, he swallowed a huge pill and began rubbing the lotions all over.

  Jonah avoided the rest of the quarterlings that afternoon, but by that evening, he was hungry, and the delicious smells wafting down the hallway made his stomach growl.

  He snuck into the dining hall behind David, trying as best he could to hide behind his friend. Jonah was almost as tall as him, though, and it wasn’t long before he noticed Rupert lean over to Bridget and whisper something in her ear while looking in his direction.

  Trying to ignore it, he picked up a plate and loaded it with lasagna, salad, and a hot garlic roll.

  He sat down at the end of the table, David across from him. Eliza, who had been watching him from a distance, immediately excused herself from her friends and came to sit beside her brother.

  She looked up and down his arms and at his neck and face. “You look terrible,” she said, taking a bite of lasagna. “What did the doctor say?”

  Jonah sighed and went through it again with her. “It’s just a skin rash or an outbreak of acne or something.”

  Eliza raised her eyebrow at him, a cloudy look on her face. “I don’t know . . . It doesn’t look like any acne I’ve ever seen before.”

  “Just because you’ve never seen it before doesn’t mean it’s not normal, okay?” Jonah said.

  “Yikes, sorry,” she said, her face darkening. “I’m not making fun of you. I’m just trying to help.”

  The others slowly came over at different times during the meal to check on him. Even Frederick stopped by on his way to dump his tray.

  “Wow, Stone, it’s getting worse,” he said. “Who would want to look like that the rest of their life?” He shrugged his shoulders and walked past him.

  Jonah picked up his tray, scowled at everyone in the room, and slammed it down a little too hard on the dirty dishes table, sending his fork and spoon flying across the floor. He collected them as everyone stared, a few of them stifling their laughter, and he bolted from the room.

  But even Frederick’s teasing couldn’t keep Jonah from getting just a little bit excited about class. Camilla looked at him long and hard as he came in, demanding he push up his long sleeves so she could have a better view of the sores on his body. She muttered something under her breath that he couldn’t hear, glanced over at Marcus and Taryn, but said nothing to him, only excusing him to go to his class.

  “All of your individual angelic gifts will be tested in your exams,” offered Marcus as they joined him for Angelic Warfare. “You will need every bit of your giftedness, and then some. The best thing is to be prepared for anything.”

  They scribbled notes furiously as Samuel told them about the written portion of the exam.

  “Your written exams will begin next week,” he said, looking down at his notes on his podium. David was the only one in Jonah’s group who seemed to be looking forward to them. “They will cover all the areas we have already studied and the reading that has been assigned that we have not had time to cover in class.”

  He went on to speak so fast Jonah could barely keep up, listing most of the books of the Old Testament and the New Testament. On top of that, there were the books Famous People in Angelic History and Prophets and Their Prophecies. Jonah had scoured the prophecies book, but the other one he hadn’t even opened yet.

  I am in trouble, Jonah thought to himself as they left.

  The next ten days were spent practicing every night, with the intensity growing each time they gathered together. The quarterlings worked on everything. Jonah ended up with mountains of note cards as he studied with Eliza and David, trying to keep up. With each card he added, Jonah felt another pound of weight added to his shoulders. They were also working harder and harder at their skills in battle and in the spiritual arts. Everything would be tested, all of their skills, culminating in the final battle simulation.

  Jonah could feel the tension rising among his friends, and the competitive natures of some of the quarterlings were really starting to show. F
rederick had taken to turning every conversation he could back to his skill with the bow and his powerful angel strength.

  Any hope Jonah had of the medicine helping was slowly fading. He continued to apply the lotions several times a day and take the pills on schedule, but his face and arms weren’t getting better. In fact, he was pretty sure the sores were multiplying exponentially. He tried to focus on the exams, but Jonah was feeling worse every day. His stomach hurt, the sores itched and stung, and his head throbbed nonstop. It made it tough to concentrate, and he felt as if he were walking around in a fog most of the time.

  Two days before the midterms were to begin, he lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, daydreaming about acing his exams. He looked down at his arms again, and the sores that still covered them. He heard the names some of the quarterlings had begun to call him in his head. Maybe the exams would be a chance to gain some respect from his fellow quarterlings. No matter what he looked like.

  A MEETING OF SHADOWS

  A man in a dark business suit walked out of a prominent building, passing by the flags in front that represented the peace-seeking nations of the world. He strolled over to a street vendor, who had parked his red cart along the street. He paid for his cup of black coffee and walked across the street, taking a spot on a bench beside a set of steps leading down to the subway.

  He watched the cars, buses, and cabs zoom by. His eyes were drawn to the masses of people shuffling by on the streets around him. They were rushing by, most looking either worried or depressed. He gulped the coffee, a drop dribbling down from the edge of his lip.

  After a minute, he couldn’t help but smile. So many of them, living meaningless lives—worried about the wrong things. Throwing their lives away.

  They were lost, longing for something they knew nothing about. He slowly breathed in and reveled in this.

  Another man sat beside him on the bench. He was tall and very thin, wearing old jeans with holes worn through. An old military jacket covered his gaunt body. He had gloves on his hands, except for his fingers, which poked through holes that had been cut out. A knit cap topped his knotted blond hair.

  The man in the suit turned toward the other, as if just now noticing him.

  “I don’t suppose you have a good report for me this time?”

  The man in the old jacket glanced up, making eye contact for only a second. Long enough for the other man’s eyes to flash a defiant red at him before returning to brown.

  “Phase one is underway and going quite well,” the man reported. “The boils are all over his body. They are covering his face. And the good news is, they will only grow more painful.” The man began to tremble, almost breaking out into a full belly laugh, and then caught himself under his master’s glaring eye. “He’s trying to treat them with medicine, of course. They always do. It never works.”

  “Good,” Abaddon said, stroking his chin. “Very good. I’m pleased with the progress.”

  He looked up at the building again. He had promising work going on inside. There were heads of state, presidents, and diplomats here for a series of important talks. He was making headway, planting seeds of distrust, dishonesty, greed, and even a few well-placed thoughts of war here and there. Often that was all it took.

  But his mind had continued to drift back toward the pesky quarterling.

  He stood, took in a deep breath, and drank down the rest of the coffee, throwing his cup in the trash can. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he glanced back down at the other man, who had been watching him carefully.

  “It’s time to begin phase two,” he said.

  For look, the wicked bend their bows;

  they set their arrows against the strings

  to shoot from the shadows

  at the upright in heart.

  Psalm 11:2

  WRONG PLACE AT THE

  WRONG TIME

  The floor of the convent’s basement was littered with empty coffee cups and tall glasses of fizzy soft drinks with straws. Almost every chair was occupied by a quarterling, but the room was quiet, having taken on the feel of a library. The written portion of the quarterlings’ exams was tomorrow, and class had been cancelled that evening so the students could prepare. The nuns had set up a lounge for them in the basement—complete with bookshelves full of the convent’s reference books, some books the angels had brought them, comfortable old couches and chairs, tables for studying, and even some old arcade games—including a Ping-Pong table, a mini basketball hoop, and a foosball table.

  Jeremiah was sitting at a table across from Bridget and Lania, supposedly studying, but at the moment he was balancing six books on his head. The girls were giggling.

  “Better get to work, Jeremiah,” Jonah said, passing him with a fresh soda in his hand. Jeremiah ignored his brother.

  Jonah had been studying with David, Eliza, and Julia for the last four hours, and he was exhausted. Jesus’ miracles, the order of the plagues in Exodus, the twelve tribes of Israel . . . everything was getting mixed up in his head. He was hoping the caffeine from his drink would help him concentrate a little harder.

  “Nahum was not a minor prophet, David!” Eliza said, taking off her glasses and flopping them down on the table as Jonah sat back down in his chair.

  “Yes, he was,” said David, as calmly as possible, but Jonah could see that even his normally unflappable friend was getting heated.

  “I can’t believe you would even suggest that Nahum would be—”

  “Guys!” Jonah broke in. “Come on. Maybe you need to take a break.”

  Eliza sighed. “No, we need to keep at it.”

  Jonah watched as she buried her head in her notes again, flipping through note cards and mouthing words to herself. He knew she could keep this up for the rest of the night. No one could touch Eliza when it came to good study habits. David and Julia were about to follow her lead, picking their cards back up too.

  “No,” Jonah replied. “You need to take a little time and get out of here. It will do you some good. Aren’t any of you hungry? I’m starving.”

  Julia and David looked up at each other and squirmed a little in their chairs. No one answered.

  “That’s what I thought,” said Jonah, standing up again. “Come on, let’s go outside and grab some dinner. We’ll be gone for an hour and then come back and dig in again. Eliza, what do you say?”

  “We’re supposed to eat in the dining hall,” she said without looking up from her notes.

  He rolled his eyes. “We’re just going to get more stressed if we stay here, and we all need the fresh air.”

  “Are you sure it’s safe, Jonah?” Julia met his gaze with her dark eyes.

  “It’s just dinner,” he chided. “And let’s go somewhere besides a burger joint. Then we’ll come straight back. Promise. I want to watch the NBA game tonight anyway. The Heat are playing the Knicks for a preseason charity event at Madison Square Garden!” Jonah’s favorite player, LeBron James, was in New York City tonight, playing hoops. He nodded to Eliza, who was glaring at him. “In between study sessions, of course.”

  They finally relented.

  “We need to change clothes first,” said Julia, standing up with Eliza.

  “Change clothes?” Jonah said. But knowing he’d won them over, he relented. “Okay, sure, we’ll do that. Meet you in the lobby in fifteen minutes?”

  Jonah and David climbed two flights of stairs in seconds, their long legs taking them three at a time. Jonah changed into a clean T-shirt and a pair of jeans. He saw Abigail’s scarf sitting on his dresser and, like he sometimes did, grabbed it and stuffed it in his pocket. For some reason, he liked to carry it with him. It made him feel safer, even though Abigail had been taken up to be with Elohim and couldn’t help him any longer.

  The girls bounded toward them as Jonah was checking his watch for the sixth time.

  “Finally ready?” he said. The girls had taken longer than fifteen minutes.

  Eliza smirked. “We’re girls. Cut us some sl
ack!”

  “Well, I’m ready to eat the biggest steak I can find,” said Jonah as they walked out into the dark, humid air and onto the street. A delicious scent wafted through the air from somewhere nearby. “I think we should just follow our noses and see what smells so good.”

  They walked toward the smell of grilled beef and spices and ran into a crowd of people all headed toward a brightly lit area.

  “Times Square,” Eliza observed, pointing to the yellow neon billboard advertising a Broadway show. “I haven’t been down here in a long time. It’s pretty much the craziest place on earth.”

  Jonah grinned. “And one of the most fun.”

  “Well, you’re in a good mood, considering we have the biggest exam of our lives coming up tomorrow,” she said. “And considering all of your . . . skin issues.”

  “Yeah, well,” he said, staring down at his arm. “I need to do something to forget about this for a while. Forgetting about the exam for a few minutes would do you some good too, you know.”

  They walked along, the crowd growing larger by the second.

  “This is the craziest place I’ve ever seen,” said David as they passed a building and the street on their left opened up. “Where do all these people come from?”

  Jonah couldn’t help but be in awe of the scene too, as more lit street signs and people than he had ever seen in one place came into view.

  “It doesn’t matter how many times I come here,” he said, loudly so they could hear him above the street noise, which was almost as distracting as the lights. “I never get used to this place.”

  The street was awash with sights and sounds. People were talking, music was coming out of different restaurants and bars, a guy with an electric guitar was playing on the street corner, and there were booths selling purses, art, and souvenirs lining the sidewalk.

  Even though he was excited to be out, Jonah found himself watching people as they walked by, looking for glints of yellow in their eyes. He forced himself to stop. You can’t be paranoid all the time, Jonah.