The night wind was as cold as a ghost escaping an operating room, tiptoeing along both sides of Maple Street. The snow under the ground lights was mottled, like secrets quietly spilled. The bite mark on my thumb still hadn't faded, and after sprinting through the heart-pounding alley outside campus, I hadn't had time to reflect on how Lucien had waved away the attacker—hadn't even had time to ask if he was human. All I could hear was the crunch of gravel beneath my shoes, like a well-behaved ghost hiding inside its own skin.
The wooden fence outside my house still bore scratch marks from stray cats. The mailbox, lined with brass studs, stood there absent-mindedly. I finally let out a breath, pushed open the door—and there it was: the warm yellow light over the dining table, and my father looking up with a furrowed brow.
"You're home late," he said, voice shaky like a line from an old tape recorder.
I sniffled and threw myself into the chair, hand still gripping the zipper on my coat pocket. "Club ran late."
He stared at me, as if trying to see through the shadow clinging to my back. "Dylan didn't drive you home tonight?"
"He's not a full-time chauffeur." I tried to smile, but couldn't quite hide the lingering dread.
His gaze softened, like sunlight through shatterproof glass. "Dinner's still on the stove. Heat it up yourself."
I nodded, but inside my head was a blizzard of questions. "Did Mom ever—" The sentence betrayed me and slipped from my mouth. My father stiffened, like a leather shoe snapping a dry twig.
I shut my mouth and headed straight upstairs. My room was still frozen in time—just like three years ago. A cheap plastic skeleton hung by the bed, "Dracula" and "Where the Wild Things Are" lined the shelf. The wardrobe door leaned slightly off-center, hiding the water stain on the wall. The only thing that had changed was the worn photo album at the edge of the desk—the most easily overlooked clue my mother had left behind.
I locked the door and sat down, my heartbeat finally slowing. But my mind replayed not just Lucien's urgent warning—it also circled that impossible force. What exactly was he? I wished I could uncover the world's secrets the way Dylan did, but reality always felt like scratching an itch through gloves.
I stared at the album, trying to catch a shadow I was close to forgetting.
I turned to that page: Mom leaning against the crooked maple at the end of the street, the sleeves of her shirt loose and casual. A faint smile curved her lips, and just beneath her ear, a delicate silver clavicle chain gleamed, carved with a barely visible flower. On the back of the photo, in crooked handwriting, two lines read:
"Speak not under the moon, unless guided by glimmer.The silver lock opens the door—don't look back."
I touched my neck. Empty. That necklace had vanished the night before she disappeared—leaving behind only fog, and the knot my father kept buried in his chest.
I curled up on the bed. My phone lit up—
A message from Dylan: "Podcast recording flopped tonight—are you alive? That stretch of Maple Street? Old guy says it's crawling with creepy stuff. Don't play cool. Drop me any clues."
I typed out a few lines, then deleted them. What was I supposed to say? "Some dark-haired anomaly might be a time-traveling mutant who just soloed a 300-year-old Texas mountain lion"? He'd probably start another "Alien Masquerade" series.
The light stretched my shadow long across the room. I reached into my drawer, pushing aside a stack of old journals. At the very bottom, a worn-out jewelry box popped open with a soft click.
Something inside gleamed faintly, almost as if glowing on its own. It lay there quietly: a silver clavicle chain with a fine, round pendant. The flower engraving was familiar, the scent even more so—it sank right into my lungs.
A sharp pang pierced my chest. I stared at the necklace, confused—How? Mom had taken it with her. How did it end up in my drawer?
I didn't dare breathe loud. My fingers trembled as I reached for the pendant. The moment I touched it, an unnatural chill spread through my skin. Under the light, a soft bluish glow rippled through the inside of the locket.
"Don't open it," logic warned, "Something's wrong." But curiosity and fear were always twin sisters in me, forever fighting over the steering wheel.
I clicked the clasp, trying to pry it open. At that exact moment—snap—the entire room went dark.
The blackness rushed in, heavier than the silence outside. I thought the power was out—until I heard a faint scraping outside my window, like something brushing across the glass.
I held my breath. All I could hear was the pounding of my own heart. The necklace was now smeared with a thin trace of blood. A memory not my own suddenly forced its way into my mind: dappled moonlight under the maple tree, someone chanting in the distance, my mother leaning close to my ear—just one sentence—
"Little Liv, no matter what you see, don't—"
Tap. Something hard struck the window.
I nearly fell out of my chair. When I looked up, there was Lucien, pale in the night, waving at me like he'd just wrapped up a Broadway rehearsal.
"You scared me half to death!" I hissed.
Outside, he tilted his head, clearly holding back a laugh.
"Apologies, Miss Chandler," he drawled, lips curled in a smirk that couldn't hide the tension in his eyes—maybe even fear.
"How did you get up to my window?" I snapped. "Can you fly?!"
"Modern architecture is very climbable," Lucien shrugged, his voice as smooth as a bass line. "You're paler than I am. What happened?"
I hesitated, then held up the necklace by the window. "It's—wasn't this supposed to vanish with my mom? Ever seen anything like it?"
Lucien froze. A memory seemed to detonate behind his eyes. His expression turned cold. "Old European craftsmanship. A Van family heirloom. Why do you have it?"
I pushed the window open a crack. "Get in. Before my dad sees you being dramatic on the windowsill."
He vaulted into the room like a dancer trying not to wrinkle the carpet. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took the necklace from me.
"There might be a code or compartment inside. Some families used to hide secrets in pieces like this." He gently pressed the back of the pendant. Click. A hidden panel popped open, revealing a faintly scented, faded slip of paper.
Lucien looked up at me, voice serious now. "You sure you want to read it? This might lead to real danger."
I nodded firmly. "I'm tired of living in someone else's riddles."
He handed me the note. I unfolded it. My mom's handwriting was so familiar it made my tongue go numb:"Before midnight. Bring the silver lock to the old maple. No one else. Trust your shadow."
As I read, my mind buzzed. "Shadow... She used to play this game with me, 'Follow Your Shadow,' late at night. You think she—?"
Lucien frowned. "Your mother knew the night better than you think."
Cold wind drifted through the open window. I tucked the necklace under my collar. "You being all mysterious—are your vampire council buddies looking for her too?"
The air seemed to freeze for a beat. "You found out earlier than I expected," Lucien sighed, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You're not made for greenhouses, are you?"
I shot him a glance, managing a dry smile. "So... tomorrow night, you're coming with me? To find this 'maple secret'? You cover me. Don't let any werewolves snatch me."
Lucien nodded, though something lingered in his eyes.
"My job is to keep you away from worse monsters," he said, voice low, "but this key... only responds to you."
Heavy footsteps thudded down the hallway. I yanked Lucien's coat and shoved him into the closet. He rolled his eyes and disappeared.
My dad opened the door. "Why's your light off?"
"Socket's broken. I'm using my flashlight."
He looked around carefully, saw only me in pajamas and messy hair. "Don't stay up on your phone all night."
"Got it, Dad."
Once the door shut, I exhaled and dragged Lucien out of the closet. He clutched his coat like he'd survived a horror movie.
"Tomorrow night. Eleven. Maple tree," I said, eyes steady. "If I get lost, you're obligated to come find me."
Lucien gave a sly smile. "You're braver than I thought. Braver than most old vampires."
I rolled my eyes. "Please. I saw you inhale before diving into the closet. Don't pretend."
Lucien looked like he was about to argue, but his voice dropped instead. "Until then, keep quiet. Especially around Dylan. And especially... Marina."
I froze. Marina. Her name summoned her image like a curse. Last week outside the tavern, she stood with a cigarette between her lips, eyes like knives polished on bone.
"She's not just after missing pets," Lucien warned. "She suspects you. And your family. She won't be kind."
My fingers clutched the silver pendant. The silhouette of the maple tree stirred in my memory like my mother's whisper.
The next day's sun was pale as diluted milk. Dylan waited at the school gates in his worn sneakers, eyes full of gossip and worry.
"Dream about aliens last night?" he asked, handing me a cream bun. "Podcast broke 30 streams today. Someone swore there are real werewolves in town."
I pointed toward the school building. "Then you better not wander tonight."
He raised an eyebrow, leaning in. "I saw shadows moving in your room. You livestreaming ghost stories now?"
I blinked, then played along. "I was going through Mom's stuff. Turns out she was pretty good at making up stories."
Dylan's face faltered, then slipped back into its usual smirk. "Want me to crash at your place tonight? Guarantee full security."
I smiled and shook my head, but my heart pounded. Just mentioning her made the nerves buzz.
In the hallway, Lucien nodded at me from across the crowd, his eyes smoldering like kindling about to catch. Marina stalked the school like a living ghost, cold and deliberate.
She suddenly stopped in front of me. Her pale gold hair fell over her shoulders, eyes sharp enough to strip secrets from bone.
"Olivia Chandler," she said softly, voice cutting through the air, "mind your shadow. This town's nights like to collect stray secrets."
She walked away, and Lucien's gaze locked with mine like a silent alarm.
At lunch, I turned the necklace over and over. Mom's handwriting haunted me: Trust your shadow. If not for Lucien and Dylan—if Marina weren't closing in—I might've hidden forever.
But now, I thought, every secret is an island, and my fear and curiosity are the tides pulling them together.
At 9:30 p.m., I slipped out of the house, necklace on, coat zipped. My backpack held a flashlight, notebook, and hidden stash of chocolate.
As I passed the stairway, my shadow stretched out long, nearly touching the yellow light in the kitchen.
Outside, Lucien was already waiting. His expression was carved from stone.
"Ready?" he asked quietly.
I took a breath and nodded. "If this whole thing turns out to be nothing, you're not allowed to snitch to my dad."
Lucien smirked. "Don't worry. I'll only tell him about the stolen chocolate."
The maple's shadow loomed like an ancient sigil, draped in the night. The silver pendant rested on my chest, warm with my mother's memory. My steps moved forward, my heartbeat louder than the midnight chimes.
I thought, before this night ends, I need to learn how to trust my shadow—and the love my mother buried beneath her riddles.
The wind stirred the leaves. A shadow slipped out from under the tree, as if waiting for someone long lost.
I took a deep breath, and stepped into the night.