Candance jogs through the hot city evening—something that usually brings her calm. But tonight, she attends the biggest work event of her life.
Nerves about the dinner keep plaguing her.
Then she trips over a little old woman in the street. The woman warns her: Avoid the dinner tonight. Something wakes.
The cryptic warning rattles Candance. And that’s before she realises what the consequences of her decision will be…
For anyone who’s ever had to choose between what society tells them they should want… and being true to themselves.
Shadows Never Lie
CRACKPOTS AND STALKERS
It’s the shadows that tell you who someone really is, much more than what they look like or even how they act. People can train themselves to cover up anything; but the shadows never lie. Of course, I couldn’t always see the shadows. It took my own shift to realise how. But once I knew, I could never go back to how I had been—even if it meant I had to live with my own shadow.
Candance ran down the street, brown hair slicked back in a ponytail, sweat sheening her forehead and dripping down her cleavage.
The late evening sun melted over the street, turning everything honey-coloured, and everyone else seemed to react by becoming slow themselves, like the light had turned viscous. Candance alone sped through the evening, keen to get her jog over and done with so she could hit the shower and get ready for dinner.
Usually, jogging was enough to let her zone out and forget the worries of the day; this evening, not so much. Flashes of deep blue satin, glimmerings of diamonds and the faint rush of applause intruded on her quiet, threatening to steal her concentration away entirely.
Frustrated, Candance ground her teeth and pounded harder against the pavement. I will not be distracted, she told herself. I will not be distracted.
The conflicting scents of hot tar, exhaust fumes, and freshly cut grass mingled in the air, and she breathed deeply, counting out her strides as she did. In-one-two-three, out-one-two-three, and on and on down the street until formal dinners faded from mind and she forgot about everything except her feet hitting the concrete, her arms pumping at her sides and the steady rhythm of her breaths.
She turned the final corner for home feeling more centred than she’d managed all week—and cried out as she ran into a person standing hunched in the middle of the path. A crack in the pavement seemed to leap up and tangle itself around her toes, and before she knew it, Candance’s palms scraped the ground, quickly followed by her knees.
Hissing, she lifted her hands to survey the damage. Fine gravel had embedded in her skin and the heels of her palms bled. Her knees weren’t much better. Wincing, she struggled to her feet. Well, this is going to look amazing with my gown, she thought, and pursed her lips.
“You shouldn’t go, you know,” said a voice, and Candance whirled to face the stranger. A woman, though her voice had been deep enough to belong to a man, old but not frail, hunched but not weakened.
“Go where?”
“To the dinner tonight.”
Candance’s heart leapt in her chest. “How do you know about the dinner?”
The woman simply shrugged. “Don’t go.”
Heart pounding now with adrenalin as well as exertion, Candance licked her lips. “That’s none of your business.” She turned away.
“Suit yourself,” said the woman. “Most people prefer not to have an audience is all. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”