The Mirrored Shard

sun burned. There was a dot in the sky here, too—the pernicious influence of the Old Ones had extended even into the land of the dead.

I was distracted by the movement, which had grown larger and faster, a wave of advancing chaos across the black sand.

I stopped walking and watched, mesmerized, as the horizon ceased to be a line and became a lacy black pattern against the pale violet sky.

A buzzing reached my ears, overriding the air-raid sirens and the wailing of the wind across the vast sands, and too late I realized that whatever was coming at me was sentient, alive and hungry.

The sand moved as if it were the skin of a living thing, lifted and formed into a swirling mass that appeared to be made of mouths and teeth.

I screamed, I think, as the first stinging bits of the thing touched my exposed skin, and then turned to run. It was all too clear now what had chewed those bodies on the road to pieces.

It was a curious sensation, to run but not breathe. I didn’t get winded, but my limbs got heavier and heavier, and I started to feel detached from my body as I sprinted, as if I were floating just outside, watching the black tide encroach on me.

As I passed the overturned caravan, something darted out and grabbed me by the arm, whipping me around and slamming me to the ground.

Hands jerked me inside the wreckage of the caravan, and I thrashed reflexively to get free. “Quiet!” someone hissed in my ear. “They hunt by sound. I need you to be quiet.”

I stilled myself. If I had had a beating heart it would have been thundering in my ribs. I’d gotten used to danger, enough so that when somebody who could get me out of it told me what I needed to do, I didn’t panic. I’d have to thank my father for that, if I ever saw him again.

And apologize, because I was rapidly realizing that this entire expedition had been a terrible, terrible mistake.

The black cloud passed over the caravan with a scream, and the hands relaxed their grip on my arms. “Sorry,” the voice said. “But I’m not about to get eaten on account of some Walker too stupid to know about the screaming sand.”

I crawled out of the caravan and slumped in the dirt, grit digging into my palms. “Sorry. I’m new here.”

The figure, who turned out to be a man not much older than me, snorted. “Yeah, I figured that out on my own.”

“Well, you don’t have to be a prat about it,” I told him. “It’s not my fault I didn’t know about those things.”

“Thing,” said the man. “The sand is alive, a parasitic hive mind that tracks its prey by noise.” He pushed his dark hair out of his eyes. It was as unruly as my own and covered with a thin layer of dust.

“All right,” I said. “Thanks for the information. I’ll try to stay quiet on the road, but I’ve got to be going.”

I stood, and the man regarded me with such intensity that I folded my arms across my middle, self- conscious under his gaze. “You’re not just a Walker, are you?” he said at last.

I sighed. “I don’t even know what that is.”

“Souls who escape the Catacombs,” said the man. “They wander, lost, unable to ever find rest. But you’re not wandering. You have a purpose.”

“I’m looking for someone,” I said. I filed away the information about the Catacombs. If Dean was here, that was as good a place as any to start.

“Aren’t we all,” the man muttered. “I’ve been waiting for my brother for decades, but unlike me, he’s got the good sense to keep on living.”

“Well, good luck with that,” I said, unwilling to be sidetracked by another soul who just wanted to keep my attention and freedom for themselves. “I really do have to be going.”

“I’m sorry,” the man said, standing and following me back to the road. “But I have the strangest feeling that I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

“I don’t think so,” I told him, taking a step away to keep my distance. “I don’t know you.”

Yet there was something familiar about him as well, even though I didn’t want to admit it. Something about the way the man carried himself, his direct stare, his mossy green eyes …

It clicked, like a gear slotting into its mate. “You’re Ian,” I said, my voice coming out so soft with shock that the wind nearly carried it away. “You’re Ian Grayson. My uncle.”

The man’s face slackened, and he took a step away from me. “Archie’s child?” He blinked and swiped a hand over his face. “I mean, I suppose it’s not so outlandish that he’d have a child, but …” He reached for me, but I still didn’t trust him that much, so I took another step back. “It’s unbelievable. You look just like him.”

Ian was staring at me as if I were his brother in a wig. “I’m sorry,” I said. “But I really do need to be going.”

“You can’t go by yourself!” Ian exclaimed. “This place is an eternal hell. Nothing good can survive here.”

I turned back to him and fixed him with my own gimlet stare. “You don’t know me. Ian. What makes you think I’m any good?”

Before he could reply, I started walking again—straight to the polluted city and whatever lay within.

I looked back after a few minutes and saw that Ian was following me, his lanky stride the same as my father’s. Both could close a gap quickly, and sure enough he caught up.

“How are you even here …” His mouth crimped. “I don’t know your name.”

“Aoife,” I said. “My name is Aoife Grayson.”

“I see. You’re Archie’s oldest?”

“Youngest,” I corrected him. He wasn’t trying to keep me from walking, so I decided to let him tag along. “I have a brother.”

“Amazing.” He shook his head. “Never thought Archie’d do it. Get married, I mean. He always had girls around him, but he was so damn devil-may-care he scared them off just as quickly. And he was never interested beyond a few dates anyway.”

He looked me over, this time with a critical eye. “Your mother must be a knockout.”

“Oh yes,” I said, trying and failing to keep the bitter tinge out of my voice. “She’s very pretty. And very crazy.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you.…” He sighed and gave me a sideways smile. “See, your uncle Ian never had a way with words. I was never the impressive one.”

“You didn’t have a Weird,” I said. “I know. I read my father’s journal.”

Ian flinched. “You’re blunt like him too.”

I thought about spilling my guts to Ian, telling him that I’d never really known my father before a few months ago, about my time in the care of the city, about everything, but I didn’t. I just walked. I didn’t know Ian, and that meant I had no reason to trust him. The fact that we’d just stumbled upon each other made me even more resolute to keep things close to my vest. After all I’d seen, coincidence was not something I’d ever trust again.

“Yes,” I said at last. “I suppose I am.”

We walked for a time, keeping our eyes on the horizon for more signs of the screaming sand. “I’ve gotten pretty good at avoiding it,” Ian told me, “but sometimes it catches you. Not to mention the Walkers. Some of them are feral, just rabid scraps of the people they used to be, and they want to feed on you.”

“Like zombies?” I said, thinking of Cal’s magazines, stories of creatures raised from the dead by magic or science.

“What’s a zombie?” said Ian.

I thought about how long ago he’d died, and sighed. “Never mind.”

“You don’t belong here,” Ian said in a rush. “Your soul may be solid as the rest of us, but your body, wherever it is, is still breathing. I can tell just by being near you, and if I can tell, then others can as well. However you got here, whatever happened, you have to leave.” He stopped and pushed his hair out of his eyes, a repetitive, reflexive gesture as it was long and covered his eyes. “It’s not safe for you here.”