Shine Read online

  PRAISE

  FOR

  SHADE

  “Shade is a hauntingly good story and an intriguing beginning to a new series.

  Jeri Smith-Ready proves again why she is one of my very favorite reads!”

  —P.C. CAST, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE HOUSE OF NIGHT SERIES

  “The perfect combination of mystery, ghosts, and romance.”

  —LISA SCHROEDER, AUTHOR OF I HEART YOU, YOU HAUNT ME

  “A fully satisfying read. Smith-Ready changes the world completely by simply

  changing our ability to see.”—PUBLISHERS WEEKLY, STARRED REVIEW

  PRAISE

  FOR

  SHIFT

  “This sequel to Shade will not disappoint fans of paranormal romance with its

  blend of action, star-crossed lovers, and entanglements, both dangerous and sexy.”

  —BOOKLIST

  JERISMITHREADY.COM

  LIFE CAN CHANGE IN AN

  instant, and no one understands that better than Aura. It’s been almost a year since her boyfriend tragically died. She’s finally letting go of Logan’s violet-hued ghost, but not her search to uncover the truth about her past.

  As the first in a generation that can see ghosts, Aura is convinced that she has a connection to the Shift. She’s trusted Zachary, ever patient and ever by her side, with all that she knows. But when the government threatens his life in an attempt to learn Aura’s secrets, she will stop at nothing to protect herself and the one she loves . . . even if that means betraying her own heart.

  0512

  JERI SMITH-READY is an award-winning author who lives in Maryland with her husband, two cats, and the world’s goofiest greyhound. Like many of her characters, Jeri loves music, movies, and staying up very, very late. Visit her at jerismithready.com or follow her on Twitter at @jsmithready.

  Jacket designed by Jessica Handelman

  Jacket photograph copyright © 2012 by Monica Stevenson

  Author photograph copyright © 2006 by Szemere Photography

  SIMON PULSE

  Simon & Schuster, New York

  Watch videos, get extras, and read

  exclusives at

  TEEN.SimonandSchuster.com

  SHINE

  Read the Shade trilogy

  Shade

  Shift

  Shine

  Also by Jeri Smith-Ready

  Wicked Game

  Bad to the Bone

  Bring on the Night

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  SIMON PULSE

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  First Simon Pulse edition May 2012

  Copyright © 2012 by Jeri Smith-Ready

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event.

  For more information or to book an event contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.

  Designed by Mike Rosamilia

  The text of this book was set in Adobe Caslon Pro.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Smith-Ready, Jeri.

  Shine / Jeri Smith-Ready.

  p. cm.

  Sequel to: Shift.

  Summary: Seventeen-year-old Aura must decide between two loves— ghostly Logan and very alive Zachary, her Scottish research partner—as she tries to unlock the mysteries of the Shift and of her past.

  ISBN 978-1-4424-3945-0 (hc)

  [1. Ghosts—Fiction. 2. Supernatural—Fiction. 3. Love—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.S6634Sj 2012 [Fic]—dc23 2011045611

  ISBN 978-1-4424-3946-7 (pbk)

  ISBN 978-1-4424-3947-4 (eBook)

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  To each of you,

  for bringing books to life

  “A light began to glow and to pervade the cave . . . and to melt the earthen floor into itself like a fiery sun suddenly uprisen within the world, and there was everywhere a wandering ecstasy of sound: light and sound were one; light had a voice, and the music hung glittering in the air.”

  —George William Russell, “A Dream of Angus Oge”

  Chapter One

  My phone glowed bright in the dusk-drenched cemetery. But the words on its screen filled me with a dark, heavy dread.

  FLIGHT 346: NO STATUS.

  I reloaded the web page for my boyfriend Zachary’s flight, then forced myself to look away. Calm down, Aura. But the black-on-white words left an afterimage floating in my vision.

  NO STATUS. Blink. NO STATUS. Blink. NO STATUS.

  To obliterate the image, I focused on Logan’s headstone beside me. His birth and death dates were etched in granite, seventeen years and one day apart. But the stone would never mark the date and time most important to me and to everyone Logan had haunted.

  June 22, nine p.m., when he’d passed on for good. Five minutes ago. After eight months as a ghost, Logan had finally found peace.

  A feeling I wouldn’t share until this stupid airline’s flight-status page started making sense.

  The silence was getting to me. On this hot, still evening, no breeze stirred the trees. The two violet-hued ghosts wandering among nearby graves didn’t speak to me, maybe mired in memories of their own lost loved ones.

  I plugged my earbuds into my phone, which automatically started the music player. It shuffled to a Snow Patrol song Logan and I had always adored: “Make This Go On Forever.” For the year Logan was my boyfriend, and for the last three months when we were just friends, Snow Patrol was always our band.

  “The final word in the final sentence you ever uttered to me was ‘love.’ ”

  My throat lumped as I realized that lyric was true.

  “Don’t forget me, okay?” Logan’s golden-white glow expanded, erasing the violet from his ghostly form.


  I laughed, because it was ridiculous. “I’ll never forget you. I’ll never forget your voice or your face or your dumb jokes. And I’ll never forget your love.”

  He’d hushed me then. I’d thought it was because I’d gotten too cheesy, but now I realized it was because this song lyric had come to life.

  Logan filled the silence with one last “I love you, Aura.” Amid a final ethereal embrace, his light faded, then winked out.

  It already seemed like hours ago. Fear was replacing the peace Logan had left behind. Staring at the phone screen that gave me no answers, I felt more alone than ever.

  The bouquet of white roses I’d brought seemed to glow against his dark gray headstone. I pulled out a single bloom to keep for myself. A stray thorn scraped my palm, leaving a thin red stripe but no blood.

  The song’s last, quiet chord seemed to call to the handful of stars appearing above. They were a pitiful showing compared to the silver-studded sky blanket Zachary and I had lain under last night.

  Hmm. Our star-gazing field was only a half hour from this cemetery north of Baltimore. I longed to return to the field, to feel close to Zachary. But first I wanted to be sure his flight had taken off.

  My voice mail alert bleeped. I sighed at Aunt Gina’s half-hour-old message. Why couldn’t she nag me via text like everyone else’s mom did?

  The music stopped while her message played:

  “Aura, it’s eight thirty. Don’t forget we’re getting up at five a.m. for your DMP interview, and we still need to go over what you’re going to tell them about Logan’s concert. I don’t want to be rehearsing in the car on the way to headquarters.”

  “Fine.” I deleted the message and returned to the browser, which I refreshed again.

  This time nothing happened. The status page for Zachary’s flight was now blank.

  “Damn it!” My outburst drew the attention of the nearest ghost, a boy near my age wearing an old-fashioned high-school football uniform, the kind with leather helmets. Since ghosts are captured in the happiest moment of their lives, this guy could’ve been older than his apparent seventeen when he died. I imagined his “best day ever”—winning the state championship while his favorite cheerleader shook her pom-poms just for him.

  The song switched to the swelling opening strains of Arcade Fire’s “Ready to Start.” The drums slapped my brain and the guitar crunched my nerves.

  Propelled by the music, my longing took on an edge. Zachary had been unofficially deported for causing trouble for the Department of Metaphysical Purity. We’d sworn to meet up in Ireland for our birthdays in December, in defiance of every obstacle. But I honestly didn’t know if I’d ever see him again.

  Hell, I didn’t even know if his freaking plane had taken off. All I knew was that in the airport, he and Logan had met for the first and last time.

  In a fresh browser window, I brought up the airline’s home page again, then thumbed in 346, Zachary’s flight connecting through London on his way to Glasgow, Scotland.

  The site paused, searching, searching, searching. . . .

  My grip on the phone grew slippery with sweat. I fidgeted with the seam of one of my worn black Skechers.

  What was I worried about? Was I creeped out by the headstones’ lengthening shadows and the slow pacing of the ghosts? Like everyone in the world born after me, I’d lived with ghosts my whole life. They never scared me, unless they turned into the bitter, toxic versions of themselves known as shades, which were still pretty rare.

  In the corner of my eye, something moved, dark and gray. I yelped and spun around, yanking out my earbuds. A squirrel skittered away to watch me from the top of a low-set headstone.

  “I gotta get out of here,” I muttered. “This place is making me crazy.” Clearly, since I was now talking out loud to myself.

  My phone buzzed, making my heart leap. Maybe it was Zachary with news about his flight.

  But then it warbled the ring tone assigned to my best friend Megan. The screen said TIFFANY. I’d replaced my contact names with code versions after the DMP had confiscated my phone last week. Last night Zachary and I’d bought new phones, both red, to communicate solely with each other.

  “Hey!” I answered. “Guess who I saw at the cemetery?” Everyone, including me, had thought Logan had passed on at his farewell concert two nights ago.

  “Are you still there?” she blurted.

  “I was about to leave. Gina’s bugging me to—”

  “But you’re not driving now?”

  “No,” I said impatiently. “Aren’t you gonna guess who I saw?”

  “Aura . . . you don’t know, do you?”

  “Know about what?” My laugh was nervous, even though Megan was known to go Maximum Drama over celebrity breakups and cafeteria gossip. “What happened?”

  “You’re sure you’re not driving.”

  “Megan! What?”

  She paused for the length of a shaky breath. “What was Zachary’s flight number?”

  The world stopped. Even the nearby ghosts seemed to halt in their tracks.

  “Why?” I whispered with what felt like my last exhale.

  “It just came on the news. A London flight out of BWI. It took off at eight thirty and—it went down. Flight 346.”

  My body went numb. My eyes fixed on a stranger’s grave across the lane. A pensive angel stared back from her perch on a rose-marble headstone.

  “Aura? Are you there? Was that his flight?”

  I could barely feel my lips part. “Uh-huh.”

  “Oh my God.” The last word was a squeak.

  I swallowed, ready to topple. “Did they—were there any—” The word “survivors” wouldn’t come.

  “They’re saying there was an explosion. It came down in—” Her voice broke. “Aura, I’m sorry. It came down in pieces.”

  Chapter Two

  I couldn’t breathe. I clutched the ridge of Logan’s headstone to keep myself upright.

  Zachary. Zachary dead. Zachary gone forever.

  Not possible. Not him, too.

  A low drone began inside my head, like the buzz of distant bees. I squeezed my eyes shut, remembering the last I’d felt of Zachary—his soft, dark hair threading through my fingers as we kissed good-bye. Now my fingers felt nothing but the hard granite marker of death.

  “Aura, don’t drive. I’ll pick up your aunt and come get you.”

  “Unh . . .”

  “Promise me!”

  “I’m in the cemetery.” My voice seemed to come from a mile away.

  “Just stay, all right? We’ll be there in fifteen.”

  I hung up, then stared at the phone’s blank screen, where I would never again see Zachary’s name.

  “No.” My tone was low and firm, as if this new reality was a naughty dog to be scolded. Zachary couldn’t be dead. It didn’t feel real.

  But when Logan died eight months ago, it hadn’t felt real either, even with his body in front of me—and his ghost beside me.

  I slid my hand along the front of his headstone, over the quote, FOR WHAT IS SEEN IS TEMPORARY, BUT WHAT IS UNSEEN IS ETERNAL.

  Wait.

  His ghost.

  Zachary could be a ghost, like many people who died suddenly. But he could only haunt the places he’d gone during his life.

  I had to see him.

  I grabbed my bag and the white rose, then stumbled toward my car, weaving among the graves.

  There was no one in the cemetery to stop me, so I drove fast, tires squealing. The car careened down the narrow lanes, banging its bottom on the uneven pavement.

  My mind darted through all the places Zachary and I had been together. My house. His apartment. The Inner Harbor. Our star-gazing field. He had to be somewhere, wanting me to find him.

  But if I saw his ghost, that would make it real.

  I slammed on the brakes, skidding through the wide iron gates. The car came to a stop, a stone’s throw from the busy four-lane road.

  I shifted into park, m
y right arm like jelly. Tremors swept through me, building in waves until even my teeth chattered.

  “No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no.” My foot stomped the floor with every word. “No, no, no, no, no, no, NO!”

  I pressed my forehead to the steering wheel. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t think, I could barely breathe. A flood of tears was dammed behind my eyes, waiting to drown me.

  “Zach . . .”

  My phone rang, as if in response. I grabbed it, seized by a delirious hope.

  Which died when I saw the name on the screen.

  I answered. “Dylan, it’s not—I can’t talk, I’m—”

  The tears came at last, gushing like a cranked-up faucet.

  Logan’s younger brother spoke slowly. “Oh my God. It was Zachary’s flight.”

  I heaved a sob in response.

  “Where are you?” he said. “I’ll come get you.”

  “Cemetery. Megan and Gina—coming—”

  “Logan’s cemetery? That’s here in Hunt Valley. I’ll be there in, like, ninety seconds.”

  “Don’t hang up. Please.”

  “I won’t.” There was a shuffling noise, then the jingle of keys. “Mom, I’m taking the car!” Then Dylan spoke into the phone again. “They don’t care, they’re so glued to the TV news about the crash. I don’t even have my full license yet. Where are my fucking shoes? Swear to God, I can never find anything after the maid people leave. It’s not their fault—Mom picks up everything ahead of time. Yeah, seriously, she cleans the house before the cleaning ladies come. Is that insane or what?”

  I pressed the phone against my ear. Dylan’s rambling chatter felt like my last, thread-thin link to sanity.

  “Here they are,” he muttered. “I’ll put them on in the car.” A door creaked in the background. “Hey, are you sure Zachary actually got on the plane? Like, did he call you or text?”