In Light's Shadow

Chapter 1Early Friday morning, October 27, 2000 Gavin Paul Booker did not want to go to the Northern Carolina Provincial Zoo with Cooper Road Elementary’s entire third grade class. He especially did not want to go as one of the required-by-law adults. He had plenty to do in the library: finish up fall book orders, write lesson plans, finally purge the vertical file. The expected order of his day, its regularity and normalcy, had been shot to hell. Yesterday, Carrie Dunn, the principal, had waved all his objections aside, her Duke mug in hand, filled with hazelnut coffee he had just made for her. He should have known something was up when she came into the library after the she had made sure the red, white, and blue eagle-and-shield-and-star flag had been raised. She had that look. He handed her the coffee, watching her warily. “I see another one of your fish jumped the tank again.” “One of Christopher’s kids left the top off and I think the filter needs cleaning and—” “Maybe another fish feeder tomorrow. They’re going to the zoo, and I need you to go.” “Carrie…” “One of his room mothers can’t go. The law saws three adults per twenty kids. We’ve got sixty-three total third graders, and we’re short one adult. You know imperial school law as well as I do. It’ll be fun, Gav, I promise.” “What time does the bus leave?” Gavin sighed. He knew he would give in. “Be here at 6:45. Drive behind the bus so you can get there at the same time. Have fun!” Gavin groaned. Now here he was, at the zoo. Fun, yeah, right. Carrie owes me a pitcher, not just one beer, Gavin thought, as he, twenty-one third graders, the class’s teaching assistant, Eloise Capshaw, and their teacher, Christopher Phillips, waited in line at the RJR Nabisco Rocky Coast habitat to see the polar bears, sea lions, seals, and sea birds. His leg still smarted from where the damn swan had bitten him. Letting water birds wander around loose in a marsh at the zoo entrance was carrying the natural habitat idea too far. Especially if the birds bit. The zoo staffer who had shooed the bird away had blamed it on last night’s earthquake that had left cracks in the sidewalks and upset all the animals. Polar bears all looked the same: big, white dirty rugs flopping in and out of ice water. The kids had a ton of annoying questions. That earthquake yesterday—what would have happened if it had been here? Would all the animals and birds be free? If he had to explain one more time why there were no elephants in the Northern Carolina Provincial Zoo, that they were all in older zoos, or in Africa and Asia, zoos on the other side of 30 West or 179 East, the post-war quarantine lines, he would explode. Nowhere on the zoo’s 550 acres—the largest natural habitat zoo in the country—were there any animals from anywhere in the Old World. Polar bears, sea lions, seals, river otters, bison, elk, alligators, black bears, grizzly bears, wolves, Southern Columbian monkeys, jaguars, panthers, parrots, imperial eagles—but no elephants. Five miles of trails, in and out of the Prairie, the Rainforest, the Tundra, the Sonora Desert, and all the rest—habitats and animals only from Northern, Central, and Southern Columbia, and the Caribbean islands. He should have trusted his gut, called in sick, and pulled the covers back over his head after the alarm went off. The morning news on the radio, which he tried to ignore, had only made his feelings of unease worse. A new volcano in Buncombe County had exploded. The city of Asheville and the entire eastern half of the county had been evacuated. Skies that had been grey for weeks were greyer all the way to Raleigh. Army surplus gas-and-ash masks, get them now, at the Imperial Post, and these approved stores…Flights were being canceled across the country. Yesterday’s earthquake, 7.5 on the Richter scale, just south of Raleigh, had killed hundreds attending the last day of the Northern Carolina Provincial Fair. The chairman of the Executive Board of the Imperial Columbian Church of the Rational Christ, Scientist, had called for a National Day of Prayer. Government scientists had no explanations for the earthquakes or the volcanoes or tornadoes or the killer thunderstorms slamming the country. Paranormals were suspected. Shower, breakfast, suppression meds, a particular herbal tea to reinforce the binding spells, pick up all Grey’s toys four days after the boy had gone back to his mother’s. Get the gym bag he usually kept at school, put in just-washed running clothes. Daily mirror check: dark brown hair, brown eyes, glasses, almost forty-one, normal school librarian. No interior light in his eyes, no iron blemishes, no pointed ears. Razor blades clean (steel and copper), safety razor, wooden handle, unused, wrapped in gauze, no bloodstains, old scars barely visible. One last check to be sure all the plastic sealants on steel appliances were still working. No cracks, no peeling. Gavin had almost turned around going down the stairs, but he got in his car (sealant still good on the handle and door, still undetectable by normals), and after driving to school, set off on the eighty-two mile trip, following the bus and the parent volunteers. He wished he had carried some of the protective herbs and flowers from his office, or snagged a little bag of gemstones from one of the teachers he knew kept them in their desks. Or asked Carrie for hers. His own bag would be better, but a borrowed bag was better than none. Gavin would have bet that the half of the teachers who had herb pots also had a necklace or a pocket stone or charm or talisman. He knew Carrie carried a small, leather bag with an assortment of stones—an amethyst, different colored topazes and quartzes, citrines, a moonstone—which she changed from time to time. Carrie’s herbs were tucked away in a back corner of her office, right next to the official birthday portrait of the Emperor and his mother. But neither mentioned it, nor did any other teacher at Cooper Road Elementary. The half that kept the pots, little boxes, and bags could not quite trust the half that didn’t. Now here he was at the Provincial Zoo, still feeling uneasy. Gavin took some comfort in that he didn’t feel quite as uneasy about the field trip as he had when Carrie initially talked him into going. Maybe the uneasiness, stomach knots, and intestinal cramping were just a hangover from the rest of his life and the disruptions to its order and regularity. Three phone messages in one week from his mother after five years’ silence: Call me, it’s urgent. Or the other messages with the angry voice of his ex, Sophia: We need to talk as soon as possible. Call me. Gavin shook his head as he took up the tail end of Christopher Phillips’ third grade. The other two classes were on separate tours. It had taken him a good long while to put things back together, as much as he possibly could, after Sophia had divorced him two years ago. But he had returned to the placid life he had built after slamming the door to his mother’s house behind him and not looking back. Finished graduate school, got a job, got married, started a family, jogged every other day, like any normal. Not like fairies who got married in fours, with all combinations of gender configurations. Men lying with men, women with women, are an abomination, paranormals are an abomination, had been the theme of more than one church service when Gavin was growing up. Never mind all the other so-called paranormals, witches, and the rest of the First Folk. If he could just extract that tape loop out of his head. Gavin sighed. At least he had Grey. Having his three-year-old son every other weekend had become part of the rhythm of a life, a normal life. And he had the golden boy again. Okay, okay, so the polar bears hadn’t been so bad, although he did want to strangle the next person who used “cute” and “bear cubs” in the same sentence. Gavin loved the otters in the Streamside habitat—if he could choose to be any animal, he’d be an otter. Sleek, dark, free, and at play forever. Were there any wereotters? If there ever had been any in the New World, they had probably been hunted to extinction years ago. “Okay, wave good-bye to the otters, and then up this path. Let’s go.” The next exhibit was the Bestiary of Evil. And it wasn’t uneasiness or intestinal cramping Gavin now felt—it was a solid, dark fear. Maybe he could wait outside. Hearing Christopher read the required history signs about the government campaigns after the Second Great Crusade—the vampire extinctions, the bounty paid per fang, the capture of almost all the evil magical beasts—didn’t help. Gavin knew his fellow teacher had faun-skins and vampire heads on the walls in his living room and a faun horn backscratcher in his bedroom. Christopher had hosted the faculty Christmas party last year and he had proudly pointed them out to everybody on his house tour, and reminded everyone just how evil and nasty vampires had been. “I’ll wait out here,” Gavin said to him softly, so the children wouldn’t hear. “I feel a bit queasy.” Christopher gave him an odd look. “Gav, you know we have to go inside. The children can’t go in without the required number of three adults. It’s school law; you know that. You, me, and Eloise.” He nodded at his teaching assistant. Eloise Capshaw was at the front of the line with two kids who had mobility issues. “Every Columbian child by the age of eight shall be made aware of the physicality of evil. No child shall be made aware without adult protection. This is why we do this field trip every year.” He held up his hand and turned quickly to face the class. “Hey, Peter! Where are you going? Stay with the class,” Christopher called out. “Back in line and stop playing with your gas mask. Just carry it. Now. Oh, I meant to tell you, Gav, I like your mask—where’d you get it?” he added. “A Sears Gash—gas-and-ash, get it?” Why, oh, why did I let Carrie talk me into this? “I know it’s the law; I just feel funny, that’s all. Maybe it’s something I ate; I’ve felt kind of nauseated all morning.” And I’ve had weird dreams all night long, but Mr. Faun Hunter doesn’t need to know that. “Come on, we won’t stay long. Peter, stay with the group.” “Mr. Phillips, Peter is picking on me, make him leave me alone!’ “She’s a baby, Mr. Phillips, afraid to go see the monsters. Scaredy cat, scare—” “Peter. Leave. Her. Alone.” Christopher knelt down to talk to the tiny girl. “Latisha, is that true?” She nodded. “Mr. Phillips, she can be my buddy. That okay, Latisha?” Gavin asked. She nodded again. Peter glowered. “Thanks, man. You’re a lifesaver.” Christopher stood and faced the class. “Everybody, hold hands with your buddy. Peter, are you paying attention? Janey, eyes forward. Peter, that’s it, put your name on the board when we get back. Go join Mrs. Capshaw’s group.” “Peter, over here.” Eloise waved her hand and a sullen Peter trudged over to stand at her side. “Now, class, don’t touch the glass. This is the Bestiary of Evil. Bestiary comes from an old word for beast…” Christopher went on, giving the required speech and making sure every kid was accounted for, that each name was checked off the official roster he had to send in to the Northern Carolina Provincial Department of Education. Thus, the imperial decree of “no child unexposed” would be met. Last in line, Gavin took the hand of Latisha, a waiflike, towheaded little girl who never had much to say. She clutched his hand as tightly as she could. The bestiary was not inviting, even though it drew almost as many people as the other areas of the zoo put together. Entering it was like stepping into a cave, the entrance a black mouth of rock, and then the hallway of dark, tumbled rocks that led to the cages. They must do something to make it so quiet, a silencer or something, Gavin thought, as he and Latisha slowly walked through the darkness. The kids whispered even without Christopher’s urging. By the time they got to the other side of the cave and stepped into the muted light of the cage room, the rest of the class was ahead of Gavin and the little girl.