Free The Conclave of Shadow by Alyc Helms Page A

and an address on Berkeley’s campus, but that was fine. I could sort out the rest with her tomorrow. I rubbed my eyes. The sigils were starting to dance as well from a combination of exhaustion and bad lighting. I couldn’t do anything more with them, not in this format.
    â€œTime to William S. Burroughs this shit,” I told the empty apartment. I fired up the printer, checked paper and ink levels, and set the pictures to print while I hunted down a pair of scissors.
    I found a pair in Shimizu’s side of the bathroom. I suppose I should have looked there first – she was obsessive about split ends. By the time I returned to the living room, the printer was quiet and my laptop had gone into sleep mode, leaving the apartment dark enough that even I had trouble making out shapes. My gut rolled, and a shiver crawled up to kiss the back of my neck. I tightened my grip on the scissors. Sometimes being afraid of the dark is silly.
    Sometimes, it makes absolute sense.
    I hesitated in the hallway. There was no light there, and I’d shut off the bathroom light after I’d finished my rummaging. The living room switch for the lamps was all the way across the room next to the entry alcove. My bedroom door yawned open behind me, another potential danger unless I could reach my bedside lamp. That was the problem with century-old Victorians and questionably legal in-laws. Neither were known for their robust overhead lighting.
    So, retreat, forge ahead, or accept that I was being paranoid? A sound like a whisper of silk dragged across wood decided me. A footstep. I wasn’t alone. Flipping Shimizu’s scissors underhand – better for slashing that way – I darted around the corner, going for the table we used as desk, eating surface, and occasional craft workspace. I didn’t need much light. Just enough to give me an edge over whatever shadow monster had invaded my home. All I had to do was hit a key, knock my mouse an inch.
    My stocking foot hit something not-wood and slipped out from under me. I fell fully prone, with only enough wits to fling my scissors aside so I didn’t end up a cliché. I could just see my gravestone: Missy Masters. She ran with scissors .
    My chin smacked hard against the wood floor, and it was only luck that I didn’t bite my tongue in half. And then something descended on me, heavier than shadow, thick as a waterlogged wetsuit. It pinned my arms to my sides, and I feared if I rolled over, it would wrap around me and cover my face. I’d seen people suffocated by living shadow before. I didn’t want to be among that number.
    I crossed my arms and brought my knees up underneath me, trying to peel the shadow over my head like a latex prom dress. It got stuck halfway off, binding one arm against my head, but at least my other arm was free. And my legs. I rose to my knees, flailing with my free hand while I used my forearm to keep the shadow veil from closing over my face. Didn’t need much light… just enough to…
    My hand caught the curved wood edge of the table. I grabbed it and dropped back to the floor, using my weight as counterbalance to pull the table down with me. My elbow banged hard into the floor, jamming my nails into my forehead, but my hiss of pain was lost in the louder crash of the table toppling over onto me and my attacker. Light danced crazily across the walls, my view of it half-obscured by the thing wrapped around my head. I twisted again, and this time the creature slackened enough to let me pry it off and fling it aside. I caught sight of something flapping across the room, fleeing the laptop screen’s light.
    It disappeared into the darkest corner of the ceiling, right above the entry, blocking my escape route out of the apartment.
    I scuttled back on my ass, fumbling for the laptop. It had fallen on its face, and the clamshell bend was the only reason it was casting any light at all. I grabbed it and turned it