The stranger introduced himself as the man’s shadow. Astonished, the scholar was nonetheless a little amused to see him again. The shadow told him many tales of his adventures and how, since he was able to slip in anywhere and see all those things that the powerful wanted to keep hidden, he had done very well for himself. He had become quite wealthy.
The scholar marveled at this, for he had remained poor. The shadow invited the scholar to travel with him, and offered to pay his way. This was a bit too much for the scholar’s pride, but in the end, he relented.
Away they traveled to a place where they could take the waters, with the shadow claiming he hoped it might heal his lack of a beard. As they went, the shadow made all the decisions and paid for all that they ate and drank. Soon, the shadow began to treat the scholar more like a servant.
Many people from all over came to the healing waters, and the shadow met a princess who had come to cure a condition she had—one which allowed her to see things too clearly. She took a look at the shadow and told him that he had come to the waters in the hopes he might grow a new shadow. He laughed and said that she must be cured already, because his shadow was right there. And he indicated the scholar.
The idea that his shadow was so much finer than anyone else’s intrigued her. That night they danced together and she told him of her country. He had been there, and had such a breadth of knowledge that she quickly fell in love with him.
She wanted to marry him but needed to assure herself of his wisdom, since a ruler ought to be wise as well as knowledgeable. She tested him by asking him a series of difficult philosophical questions. The shadow laughed, saying they were so simple that even his shadow could answer them. And when she put the same questions to the scholar, he answered them so handsomely that she agreed to marry the shadow immediately.
That evening, the shadow made the scholar an offer. He could live with them and be wealthy all his days if he would tell everyone that he was the shadow, and the shadow was the man.
The scholar refused. He said he would go to the princess and tell her everything. But the shadow told him that if he tried, the shadow would tell the princess and her guards that the scholar was a liar.
Be reasonable, he said. I am the one who is going to marry her, and they will listen to me instead of you.
But the scholar insisted. And all was as the shadow predicted. The shadow told the princess’s guards to seize the scholar and they did. By the time the shadow and the princess were married, the scholar had been put to death and was no more.
* * *
Charlie closed the book and saw that they had left I-91 and were weaving through back roads toward Blue Ruin. Putting her hand on the leatherette cover, she tried to put aside the story itself and focus on why Salt had given it to her.
He wanted her to believe that Red wasn’t just a threat to the world, but to Vince. She shouldn’t care, but she had to admit that she did.
Hatred of Salt burned in her gut, but no matter how much she despised him, no matter how sure she was that he was deceiving her, she was equally certain that he hadn’t lied about everything.
The chauffeur pulled into the lot and parked beside her Corolla. She got out, taking the book and the hundred-dollar bookmark with her. Salt had promised to pay, after all.
The matte black Rolls-Royce was back on the road, speeding away into the late afternoon, as Charlie opened the door to her car. She held her breath until the engine started its usual miserable sputtering. Her purse was where she’d left it, in the back seat. Her phone was there too, with a missed call from Posey and another from work.
She ignored those and called UMass’s bursar’s office to try to straighten out whatever was wrong with Posey’s account. She got a busy signal. When she tried again, the call went to voice mail. Between one call and the next, the office had closed and was going to stay that way through Veterans Day.
Frustrated, she drove home. It was just after four in the afternoon, and the house was quiet. Her sister either hadn’t risen from bed, or had shut herself up in her room. Exhausted, Charlie went straight to her mattress and face-planted on it. When she woke, the house smelled like something was burning. She found that she’d been clutching the red book to her chest, as though it were a stuffed bear.
In the kitchen, Posey glared at a sheet pan of blackened cookies. “You didn’t come home last night,” she said. “Neither did Vince. And … what are you wearing?”
Charlie looked down at the athleisure the spa had picked out for her. With a shrug, she sat on a chair and tried to pry up a cookie. She could use some sugar. “Vince left. Packed up his stuff. He’s gone.”
She’d expected Posey to be thrilled, or at least smug, but she appeared shocked instead. “You dumped him?”
Charlie shook her head. “No. I told you. He left.”
“But why?”
“Because his name isn’t really Vincent Damiano. He’s Edmund Carver, and he’s filthy rich, and he’s supposed to be dead.” Charlie sighed, gave up on the cookies, and went to pour herself some cereal.
All they had were bran flakes, boring, and purchased by Vince at her request. She poured them into a bowl.
“Seriously?” Posey said.
“I think he’s in trouble,” Charlie said. “I mean, obviously he’s in trouble. But he’s in more trouble, and it’s got to do with his missing shadow.”
Vince had been thirteen when Salt took him in, troubled and probably desperate for stability. What might he have been willing to do for that?
She bet the answer was absolutely anything.
Posey poked at the burnt cookies with a slightly melted plastic spatula that was probably leaching toxins into their baked goods. A chunk of one came off. “Who’s after him?”
“It’s a little bit of a complicated story. Do you remember Mom’s old hocus-pocus friend Rand?”
Posey wrinkled her nose. “That old guy that was always hanging around with you. Didn’t he die in some really weird way?”
“He was murdered,” Charlie said.
Posey shook her head. “No, that’s not it. They found him with another body in his car. Suicide. Or murder-suicide. I remember now. Dad blamed Mom for letting you go off with him all those times. He was worried that guy had done stuff to you like everyone figured he did to that girl before he killed her.”
Her father had, of course, said absolutely nothing to her. Until this moment, Charlie hadn’t known he’d been aware of Rand’s existence. It was hard to balance her surprise with annoyance at Posey, who apparently thought that Charlie just misremembered one of the most horrific events of her life.
“Rand was murdered,” she said. “I know, because I was there.”
Posey began to open her mouth, possibly to object, and then abruptly closed it.
“Vince’s grandfather killed him. Lionel Salt.”
“Why were you there?” Posey asked, her voice much quieter and less sure.
“Because Rand was a con artist,” Charlie said. “And I was his helper. Like a magician’s assistant, but for crime.”
“So nothing like a magician’s assistant,” Posey said.
Charlie ran her finger through the blackened crumbs. “Look, Rand wasn’t the best guy. He was vain, and irritable, and conned me into working for him in the first place. But he taught me a lot. And he didn’t deserve to die, and definitely not like he did. No one deserves to die like that.”
“You always told Mom you wanted to go with him.” Posey bit a cookie, then made a face and put it back. “I thought that he was buying you stuff, and back then I was envious, but then later I didn’t know what to think. You always had money. And, well, he was a creep.”
When she put it like that, it did sound bad. Charlie wondered more than ever what their mother had thought she was doing with Rand, and why she’d been okay with it.
Charlie chewed her good-for-you cereal, frowning.