Shadowed (Fated) - By Sarah Alderson Page 0,24

She blinked then and Evie saw a trace of the old Margaret in the flare of anger that gripped her face in the second before her fingers curled around the door and she slammed it in their faces.

Ash slid his foot into the crack just in time.

‘Mrs Locke,’ he said, wedging his shoulder against the door and speaking through the gap, ‘we just came to ask you one thing and then we’ll go. I promise. We’re not here to cause you any more grief.’

Margaret didn’t move her weight from the door.

‘Please?’ Ash tried again,. ‘It will only take a moment.’

There was a pause and then the door flew suddenly open, sending Ash stumbling into the room. Vero and Evie stepped gingerly over the threshold.

Margaret had crossed to the window and was standing there with her back to them. Her shoulders were stiff, her head held high. Evie scanned the room quickly. Piles of books were spread across the desk and stacked up on the surrounding floor area. She couldn’t read the titles from where she was standing but they looked old and dusty, not exactly the latest Stephen Kings and Jodi Picoults. The sight of all those books reminded Evie that Margaret had once upon a time been researching the Hunter family tree. Evie wondered what she was now studying and why she was even bothering.

‘What is it?’ Margaret asked in a hoarse voice as if she’d spent the last two months crying. ‘What do you want?’

‘We think maybe you have something we could use,’ Vero said.

Evie watched Margaret’s shoulders tense as Vero pressed on. ‘A shadow blade?’

Margaret whipped around, her eyes now bright and alert. ‘Why do you want a shadow blade?’ she demanded.

‘Because we’re finishing what Cyrus started,’ Ash answered calmly. ‘We’re going after the unhumans left in this realm. The ones that came through before the gateway closed. There are more Originals than the one we killed in the Bradbury and we can’t fight them with normal weapons. We need shadow blades.’

Margaret’s expression darkened. ‘Why are you still fighting them?’ she asked.

Ash shrugged. ‘Someone’s got to.’

‘And if we don’t, then won’t Cyrus have died for nothing?’ Vero added. ‘He died to end this thing. The least we can do is make sure it really has ended.’

At the mention of Cyrus’s name, Margaret collapsed backwards against the desk, grief taking over, her shoulders slumping in defeat. Evie fought the instinct to reach forward and place her hand on the woman’s shoulder and … and she didn’t know what exactly. She just knew that she felt something of this woman’s pain and wanted her to know that she understood it.

She kept her hands glued to her sides though, knowing that the last thing Margaret would want was her sympathy.

‘I know you wish it had been me,’ Evie said quietly.

Margaret’s head instantly flew up.

‘I wish it had been me too,’ Evie continued, faltering over the words. ‘And I want you to know that I’m going to kill Victor once this is over. I promise you that.’

Margaret frowned at her for a moment before the tension evaporated from her body. She hung her head. ‘I’m sorry I handed you over to Victor,’ she said.

Evie blinked at her in astonishment. She hadn’t expected that. ‘I understand,’ she said as the silence stretched on. ‘I would have done the same.’

The two of them stared at each other for a few more seconds, recognition and understanding passing between them, and Evie felt a portion of the ache inside her ease a little. Margaret too seemed to pull herself together. She strode to the cabinet on the wall and threw open the doors, revealing an impressive display of weaponry – both antique and modern. When she turned back towards them they could see that she was holding something.

Evie stepped forward, her gaze dropping to the slender blade lying across Margaret’s palms. It had a long hilt, and the blade was shaped like a dagger. Evie tried to imagine an unknown warrior forging it centuries ago in the dark desert of the Shadowlands. Margaret offered it to her and her fingers closed greedily around the hilt. It was so light it practically floated upwards out of Margaret’s hands as though normal laws of gravity didn’t apply to it. The others pressed in on her for a look. The blade was as long as Evie’s forearm and was glowing slightly, like a pearl under water.

‘Thank you,’ Evie said, looking up, but Margaret had already turned away and