PARANORMAL AFTER DARK

Twenty Paranormal Tales of Demons, Shifters, Werewolves, Vampires, Fae, Witches, Magics, Ghosts and More

Including works by ~

NOREE COSPER

KIM FAULKS

HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY

ANN SIMKO

CALINDA B

SUSAN STEC

RACHEL MCCLELLAN

STACY CLAFLIN

AIMEE EASTERLING

KYOKO M

SARAH M. CRADIT

MADISON SEVIER

MARISSA FARRAR

EDEN ASHE

GRAE LILY

CONNOR KRESSLEY

HEATHER MARIE ADKINS

KATIE SALIDAS

NICOLE ZOLTAK

PARANORMAL AFTER DARK is a Multi-Author Bundle, copyright 2016 by Bestselling Boxed Sets. All individual titles copyrighted by the individual authors. Published February 14, 2016 by Bestselling Boxed Books.

Cover Art Design 2016 by Jennifer Munswami at JM Rising Horse Creations

All rights reserved.

Ebook Edition

PARANORMAL AFTER DARK

20 Paranormal Tales of Demons, Shifters, Werewolves, Vampires, Fae, Witches, Magics, Ghosts and More

Limited Edition Boxed Set!

This massive collection of full-length paranormal stories from today's USA Today and Amazon Bestselling Authors will keep you up all night reading!

From USA TODAY Bestselling Author, NOREE COSPER, A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE –– Gabby and the Van Helsing family must stop a drug that enables demons to possess humans from spreading across New York. or it will be Hell on Earth.

From Bestselling Author, KIM FAULKS, END OF DREAMS –– A young woman and a hard-bitten detective are trapped in the middle of a paranormal war they never knew existed.

From author, HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY, HAUNT ––   Death is not the end. Adelaide is used to battling souls, but when the Civil War begins, something evil wakes up. And this time, It wants her.

From Bestselling Author, ANN SIMKO, DARK CROSSINGS –– Cross and Kale Delancey were born for one purpose; to be studied for their paranormal abilities.

From Bestselling Author, CALINDA B, HEADSPACE –– Can a virtual mistress, helping people’s every fantasy come true, attain her own satisfaction – or will the elusive O only be a dream?

From USA TODAY Bestselling Author, SUSAN STEC, THE OTHER F WORD –– Wandermere is anything but your typical fairy forest kingdom, with mouthy teen fairies in designer knockoffs and texting on their smart phones.

From Bestselling Author, RACHEL MCCLELLAN, UNLEASHED –– A teenage girl discovers a boy close to her has ingested a stolen drug from a nearby medical research facility, unleashing his dark and evil alter-ego.

From Bestselling Author, STACY CLAFLIN, HIDDEN INTENTIONS –– Clara's spent countless hours with William, the love of her life, without him finding out her dark and deadly secret. Will her supernatural secret doom their love?

From Bestselling Author, AIMEE EASTERLING, THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL –– A bloodling shifter born in wolf rather than human form must reclaim his humanity and save his pack.

From Bestselling Author, KYOKO M, SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS –– The dynamic supernatural duo of Seer Jordan Amador and her husband the archangel Michael is back, trying to solve a deadly case.

From USA TODAY Bestselling Author, SARAH M. CRADIT, ST. CHARLES AT DUSK –– Set amidst the lush and vibrant backdrop of New Orleans, the story of Oz and Adrienne; of forbidden love, and startling heartbreak.

From Bestselling Author, MADISON SEVIER, WICKED BY NATURE –– No one wants half-witch, half-demon  Selena Barnes to marry a mortal, but as secret after secret gets unearthed, she learns that’s the least of her problems.

From Bestselling Author, MARISSA FARRAR, UNDERLIFE –– In a desperate bid to save his son's life, Tom heads into abandoned areas of the London Underground, where something sinister awaits, something dark and shadowy that wants out.

From author, EDEN ASHE, DRAGON’S REDEMPTION –– Born a Hunter female, the last thing Lily Cage needs is an attraction to Dallas The Destroyer, the scariest dragon in existence.

From author, GRAE LILY, MILAN’S RETURN –– Can two lost souls, desperate for a fresh start, navigate a treacherous journey and a mystery that surrounds Milan's past to finally have something to live for?

From USA TODAY Bestselling Author, CONNER KRESSLEY, THE BREAKERS CODE –– If Cresta and Owen can't stop a prophecy before the sun comes up on her seventeenth birthday, Cresta is destined to end the world.

From author MR GRAHAM, THE MEDIUM –– A kind-hearted vampire, unable to kill, is trapped between his peaceful nature and the will of a sadistic master of mind-control.

From Bestselling Author, HEATHER MARIE ADKINS, WICCAN WARS –– Cade and Ever come from two worlds with very different ideas regarding magick, but a common enemy forces their opposing covens to unite - and their love to ignite.

From Bestselling Author, KATIE SALIDAS, CARPE NOCTEM –– Becoming a vampire is easy. Living with the condition, that is the hard part.

From Bestselling Author, NICOLE ZOLTACK, A QUESTION OF FAITH –– If Crystal can’t figure out what her magic is capable of, she won’t just fail to protect those she loves and end the war—she might start the apocalypse.

A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE

(Van Helsing Organization Book #2)

BY NOREE COSPER

Copyright © 2015 by Noree Cosper

Try a little Brimstone to bring out the demon in you.

Gabby thought the brimstone drug was destroyed. However, now a multitude of demons plague New York, and from the look of their scaly skin, the drug has taken hold of the Big Apple. When Gabby finally uncovers the mastermind behind it all, she realizes this battle won't be easily won. Faust is unlike any demon Gabby has seen before, capable of possessing multiple entities at once; he’s even manipulated a corporation of vampires into spreading their own version of brimstone. If Gabby and the Van Helsing Organization don't put an end to Faust's plan, it'll soon be Hell on Earth.

Copyright © 2012 Noree Cosper

Editing by Rebecca Hamilton and Samantha Le Fantasie

Cover Art by Alexandria Thompson

The book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without the permission of the author. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Prologue

AS OULIXES SAT sat on the bench, he crossed the ankles of the man he possessed and leaned against the wall. Bits of the crumbling brick grinded away into his hair. The humans had abandoned this part of the Subway tunnels decades ago, but that didn’t mean the place was empty.

An immaterial woman in a long coat passed by him and stopped on the edge of the platform. One foot dangled over the edge before she completely disappeared. In a few moments, she would be back to repeat the process all over again. The woman, like the other apparitions on this platform, were just imprints, mere memories of what had tainted this railway station. Mostly harmless, and useless, unlike a real soul.

He raised a hand. His true hand, dark blue and clawed, was semi-imposed over the mortal flesh. It held a spiked chrome chain that extended through the wall and beyond his sight. The chain, like his true form, existed beyond the material world, and it connected to a human soul; one that he had a claim on. He smiled, relishing the memory of how he had gained this particular contract. It hadn’t been easy, or legal, but Oulixes didn’t have to deal in legal. The mother had been desperate to stop her daughter’s abuse at the hands of her husband. She never even thought about the deal she made. A drunken woman was all but useless to him. The daughter, however, a soul of innocence, that was a prize that many demons dreamed of obtaining. Only he could. Well, he and his other selves.

Light filled the arched tunnels, causing Oulixes to blink. Booted feet clacked on the steps to his right. He straightened and watched the man descend. Highlights reflected in his white-blond hair from the lamps in the ceiling. He looked a little thin in the black long coat he wore. His red lips twitched to one side in a smirk as he crossed his arms and looked Oulixes up and down.

“Are you the broody one of us?” The man’s smooth voice echoed through the forsaken halls. “Sitting here in the dark?”

Oulixes stood so that he towered over the thin man. “I’m the one who will strip the flesh from the bones of that body you ride.”

The incubus smirked. “I doubt Faust would allow that. Not when you have a package to deliver to me.”

Oulixes gritted his teeth. The seed at the core of his essence kept him from ripping that arrogant face apart. He had a mission. “Let’s get this over with.”

The incubus held out his hand, and Oulixes slid the chain into it. The chrome color shimmered and lightened, taking on a purple tint. The incubus ran a tongue over the chain and sucked in the breath.

“Succulent,” he said. “Such anger. I bet she’s wild in bed.”

“All yours to test out now,” Oulixes muttered.

He narrowed his eyes. Now that the exchange was over, he could rip into this little weasel and claim the power for his own. The pressure within him thrummed, sending jolts through his essence like the lash of a whip. No. That wasn’t part of the plan. He gritting his teeth, pushed past the incubus, and headed up the stairs. In just a few feet, he would be above ground and on his way to claim other souls. He didn’t need the jaded, angry girl’s contract. Her soul had become bitter with the realization of her fate. The Cambione was welcome to her for whatever plans Faust had. He could find someone else pure and spend his time breaking them..

At the top of the stairs, instead of an exit, a decaying brick tunnel stretched out before him. He stopped and blinked. What in the Seven Thrones? He spun around and let out a guttural curse. The stairs had been replaced with the tunnel as well. His steps echoed off the stone surrounding him as he quickened his pace. He must have gotten confused. Human architecture was mind boggling to him with its materialistic laws and strange angles, but there had to be another turn or a door somewhere. If not, he could always abandon this body and find another not trapped in this underground pit. He sighed loudly, relieved to see another turn ahead. But as he rounded the corner, he realized this new tunnel stretched out beyond both the range of the body’s eyes and his own perception.

Oulixes growled and slammed his fist into the bricks. The walls shook with the force of his blow and the stone beneath his fist crumbled into bits of rubble as dust sprayed into the air. Once the air cleared of the particles, a hole the size of his head revealed a passageway identical to the one he was currently in, including a hole on the opposite wall. He took a step back as his mouth went dry, and he scanned the tunnel. Someone played games with him. He felt their eyes on him, and he shuddered. He’d been in this body for too long.

A sharp pain burst in his abdomen, spreading past the physicality of his body to his own essence, and his hold on the human he rode slipped.

Iron.

The tunnel broke away into little bits of dust and darkness before it dissolved. Oulixes stood in the subway station with it vaulted ceilings and ghosts. In front of him stood the incubus with his hand on the iron dagger buried deep in Oulixes.

“I think any value you had is gone,” the incubus said. “I can find a better use for that piece of Faust you carry.”

Oulixes dropped his control on the body and let his essence pour out of it in a dark red light. The incubus flashed in a pale purple light and caught Oulixes. He inhaled, and Oulixes felt himself being drawn in. He tried to fight, but the iron had already weakened him. He couldn’t escape. Soon, he knew nothing.

Chapter 1

ON A NORMAL night I would have been chasing a demon down with my sword in hand, not standing in line outside of a club with the base of the music pounding into the bricks against my back. My definition of normal was skewed from most people.

I shivered and hugged my arms to my body as a gust of wind pummeled me, forcing me to spread my legs to keep balance. I’d bought them on a whim weeks ago, even though I would have very few occasions to wear them. Tonight was such a night. I was here to do a little business and have a lot of enjoyment. Besides, they went well with the white, V-neck mini dress that accented my black hair.

Esais stepped in front of me, and I breathed a sigh of relief as the blustery assault abated by the wall that was his tall, broad-shouldered frame. He grinned at me with a boyish smile and brushed a lock of his cinnamon hair out of his face. Tres winked at the three girls standing in front of us. They burst into giggles and whispered amongst themselves as their gazes drank him in. It was no surprise. Michelangelo himself could have sculpted the boy’s face with those high cheekbones and smooth skin. Many girls had found his full lips kissable in the last three months. Adrian stood in the rear of our group with his back to us, his ponytail, the same color as his brothers’, brushed against the back of his black long coat as he scanned the line behind us. Marge stood beside me, tapping her foot out of time with the beat that pounded through the door of the club. She shoved her hands in the pockets of her maroon leather jacket and the tips of her blonde hair blew into her face as she turned to glare at me.

“Why here?”  Marge’s voice cracked the cold night air like a whip.

“Lucy’s idea.” I wrapped my arms around myself. “She wanted to celebrate her reunion with the boys.”

Esais adjusted his square glasses. “We’re not boys, Gabby.”

“Lucy still thinks so,” I said.

“Who gives a damn about them,” Marge said. “Why am I here?”

“Well, do you have any new leads about your contract?”

She snorted. “Not since I found out that Oulixes died.”

“Lucy can find the new demon that has your contract.”

Marge let out a low growl and stared ahead. I didn’t blame her. She only had a few more years until a demon claimed her body and soul for a contract she didn’t make. Such a thing shouldn’t have happened since the person who owned the soul was the only one who could sell it, but here we were. Marge’s mother had tried to protect her in some misguided way, but it had just made Marge’s predicament worse.

“Just have some fun, Marge,” Tres said. “Even Adrian came.”

Adrian glanced at his brother with his good eye. What was left of his other eye was covered by a black leather patch. He stood six feet tall—shorter than his brothers but still enough to tower over me—and a reddish beard ran along his jawline and connected with a thin moustache.

“If I didn’t, Lucy would pout,” he said.

Tres pulled down the sleeves of his grey suit jacket and smirked. “She probably just wants to have a few drinks, and then the night is ours.”

The bouncer’s muscles bulged underneath his black t-shirt as he waved us forward. I swaggered in. The blue and purple search lights flashed throughout the club. A glass dance floor hovered over a pool of water, lit so it gave a wave effect off the walls. Fast music pounded as a sea of bodies gyrated. One long bar lined the walls around the dance floor. Metal stairs led to the second floor.

Marge scowled and rubbed her ear. “How long do we have to be here?” she yelled.

I scanned the crowd. Dancing on top of one of the raised platforms in the middle of the dance floor was a girl with black pigtails. She wore a white shirt cut to her midriff that closed by only one button. The purple bra was visible through the shirt even in this light. She wore a short, black skirt with ripped purple tights underneath. Knee-high black combat boots completed her ensemble. Her arms were raised above her head as she bounced up and down to the music. I pointed her out to Marge.

“Her,” I said.

Mage did a double take. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“She’s not,” Tres said. “Lucy’s always been a party girl. I bet she’s wild under the covers.”

I shuddered. “That’s disturbing on many levels.”

“What?” Tres asked. “I can’t enjoy the beauty of a woman?”

“She’s like our big sister,” Esais said.

“She probably changed your diapers,” I said.

Adrian raised a brow. “She would have been a child then.”

Esais frowned, his eyes going distant as if he was trying to catch hold of a memory eluding him. They didn’t know about Lucy. Interesting that she and Jonah had kept their secrets despite being almost family to the Van Helsings. With everyone meeting in New York, and given Esais’s unique abilities, I doubted it would stay a secret for long.

Lucy glanced in our direction, and our gazes met. A grin spread across her face. She hopped off the platform and pushed her way through the dancers. She bounded up the stairs and practically threw herself into Esais. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, and she laughed.

“It’s so good to see you,” she said.

He grinned, hugging her tight. “Hey, Lu.”

She pulled away and turned to Tres. “Hey there. Look at you all grown up and sexy.”

Tres gave me a look as if to say “you see?” before spreading his arms out for a hug. She pulled him close before turning to Adrian.

“You look better outside your cage,” she said. “I’m glad you broke free.”

He chuckled, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I was only waiting for the right time. Ms. Di Luca provided the right reason.”

She glanced at me with a smile. “Hello, dearie. Good to see you again.”

I smiled but remained where I was. I didn’t want to invade on the brothers’ reunion with her. “You as well. It’s been a few years, hasn’t it?”

She nodded. “I think it was that demon in Germany.”

“Hmm, that was fun.” I pulled Marge forward. “This is Marge Devereux.”

“Ah, yes, the one searching for her own demon,” Lucy said. “A pleasure to meet you, dearie.”

“Yeah, whatever. Where is it?”

Lucy took a step back with a frown. “No need to rush things. How about we enjoy the night and start tomorrow?”

“Not interested. Can you find it or is this another waste of my time?”

“Most likely, I can. However, it would be easier with my cards, which I don’t have.”

I touched Marge’s shoulder. “You can wait one more night. Why don’t we visit Lucy tomorrow for a reading?”

Lucy studied Marge for a few moments. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s it? You’ll think about it?” Marge mumbled. “Why the hell am I here at all?”

“I wanted to meet you and get a feel for you before I did a reading,” Lucy said.

“So I had to pass some sort of test?”

Lucy winked at her. “Maybe I just wanted to see if you were hot.”

Marge scowled and muttered, “Fuck this shit.”

Lucy laughed and turned to the brothers as Marge stalked toward the exit. “Let’s get a drink. I’m parched.”

I stared after Marge. I could try to drag her back, but it would make her angrier. Besides, why should I ruin my night? I would find her later when she calmed down and convince her. I followed behind Lucy as she led us to the closest bartender to order drinks.

He approached and leaned down, his blue-dyed hair fading so that brown roots peeked through. He looked at us with one eye that wasn’t covered by a straight lock of hair that had fallen to cover the right side of his face.  “What can I get you?”

Esais did a double take as Lucy ordered the drinks. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the bartender. Lucy turned and handed me a frozen peach-colored beverage. She waved to the row of shots that sat on the bar for the brothers. She raised a matching drink to mine and downed it. I sipped, winching at the ache the cold brought to my head but enjoying the peach flavor that mixed with the warm bite of alcohol.

“So tell me all the juicy tidbits,” Lucy shouted over the music. “We have a lot to catch up on.”

Tres shrugged. “Nothing much, just enjoying the city.”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “And the girls in it?”

He laughed. “Maybe.”

“You need to show me around. You probably know the best clubs, unlike your brother here.” She waved her drink in Adrian’s direction. “What have you been up to?”

Adrian tapped his fingers on the bar and gave her a smile. “I’ve been busy with the security system for the new office.”

“New office?”

Adrian nodded to Esais. “He decided to take Jonah’s words about building father’s dream of a hunter organization seriously. So, we have an office.”

Lucy grinned and poked Esais in the side. “Look at you, trying to be all responsible. Please don’t say you’ll be as boring as Dad.”

Esais glanced at her and chuckled. “No one can be as boring as your dad. I just thought we need some place to settle, and New York is a hub—is that the right American word?”

“I get what you’re trying to say,” Lucy said.

“And they decided to start paying Marge,” I said. “Mostly because she didn’t want to do anything that didn’t concern her demon anyway. So, now they have an employee.”

“You’re not getting paid then?”

“And be on the same level as Marge?” I threw my head back and laughed. “I have enough of a nest egg.”

Mostly from antiques I’d liberated from demons and sold over five centuries, but it ensured I didn’t have to find work.

Lucy finished her second drink and grabbed Tres’s arm. “Let’s dance.”

Tres merely laughed as she led him to the dance floor. Adrian stood up with the shake of his head and disappeared into the crowd toward the bathroom. Esais held his full shot glass, still watching the boy behind the bar who had served us our drinks. The boy appeared to be in his mid-twenties and thin, as if he hadn’t had a good meal in a month. He leaned against the bar, watching the dancers. The holes in the elbows of his shirt didn’t match the artful slashes in the upper sleeves.

“That’s your type?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

He blinked at me. “What?”

“If you’re interested, you should go talk to him.”

“I, no . . .” He shook his head and laughed. His gaze traveled back to the boy. “There’s something different about him. I can sense it.”

I narrowed my eyes and studied the boy through my second sight. The world shifted to gray and the landscape was outshone by the rainbow of colors drifting from the dancers. I focused on the boy, blinking at the torrent of colors swirling about him. The aura was a representation of the human soul, and his was a state of desolation. The inky black of despair, livid blue of fear, and a muddy red anger mixed with the azure of loneliness and the burnt sienna of hunger. He didn’t have anyone in the world looking out for him. I swallowed the ache in my throat. I’d had several times in my life where I’d been in the same position, lost and alone. Only my need to destroy Allegra had kept me on my path. His aura formed a halo that swirled around his head like gold dust caught in sunlight.

Hmm, I hadn’t seen something like that in quite a while. I let my gaze pass over the blur of drunken auras until it came to rest on Lucy as she swayed wait with the music. She burned bright and blazing with pleasure. Her aura peaked into two spikes at her crown with a red sparkle.

“Well?” Esais asked.

I turned back to him and kept from wincing at the bright golden white light that surrounded his aura. It almost obscured the winged figure that stood behind him. The angel seemed to have grown since the last time I checked, almost as if it had gotten closer. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I let my vision returned to normal and rubbed my eyes.

“You should talk to him,” I said. “He’s not tainted or anything, but he’s special. And he could use a friend.”

“Are you trying to play matchmaker?” he asked, crossing his arms.

I chuckled. “Not anymore. He’s in need, and you have a way with people.”

He flushed and ran a hand through his hair. I pushed him in the direction of the boy. He glanced back at me with a smile before approaching. I turned back to find myself alone in a sea of strangers. Tres was back at the bar, several seats away, chatting with a young redheaded woman. She batted her eyelashes at him and laughed. He would be lost for the night. Lucy and Adrian were on the dance floor, moving to the music. I chuckled at how Adrian’s stiff movements contrasted to Lucy’s wild gyrations. She was all head shaking and flinging hair. I frowned. I really needed to talk to her about the bartender, but she would brush me off if I interrupted her. I would have to find a chance tomorrow when she was in a serious mood.

The music beckoned me to the dance floor. Everyone was occupied, and it was time I had some fun of my own. The tense muscles in my shoulders relaxed as I undulated my hips to the quick tempo and let my mind wander.

An angel had gifted Esais with power of telepathy, the same as a spirit had granted me the ability to see souls and other entities. Mine was useful in hunting demons. Actually, all three of the brothers had gifts from different spirits. Lucy and the young bartender were something else. Nephilim. My son might have been one if he had survived long enough. I scrunched my eyes closed and swallowed hard.

No point in dwelling on what could have been. There’s only what is.

The music filled my ears, pounding in rhythm to my pulse. Fingertips brushed my upper arm, and I spun around. Adrian caught my swinging arm at the wrist. We stared at each other, frozen for a few seconds before he raised our arms. The people around us blurred as he twirled me. We stopped as he pulled me against him. His fingers slid down my arm and over my hips as we began to move to the song. I rested my arm on his shoulder and my gaze locked in his with my heart racing a mile a minute. One corner of his lip lifted.

What about John?

There went my head again, acting the voice of reason. The beat shifted as the song changed, and I pulled away from him. He gave me a mock bow, and I curtseyed with a smirk. I slipped through the crowd and grabbed my coat on the way out. I had spent enough time enjoying myself. Marge’s time grew shorter and someone needed to kick her out of her stubbornness. One of us would be going to sleep with a few more bruises tonight.

Chapter 2

THE KEYS JANGLED in my hand as I opened the door to our office and slipped in. Adrian had complained how easily the keys could be lost. He claimed his new system would eliminate the need for any kind of key access. His project was still unfinished. So, for now, we used the keys.

Adrian. My heart sped up at the thought of his name. What had that been about tonight? Sure, he had stopped resenting me for living while his family died, and had been less antagonistic in the past three months, but I had proven myself against Ose in Texas. I had risked my sanity to rescue Adrian and his brothers from that devil. Over the last few months, Adrian had come to accept me, even found me useful, but I doubted it went any further than that. And what about John? Despite my misgivings, I’d slept with him. Would this change our long friendship? Was he expecting more? I really didn’t know since we hadn’t seen one another since we parted ways in Texas. I shook my head. I needed to stop mulling over this. A good workout would distract me and help me think with a clearer mind.

I kneeled in the corner of the entry hall and ran my finger over the spiral of writing carved into the floor. The angular symbols started tiny in the center and grew larger until the edge of the spiral was the size of a sunflower seed. Each corner of every room held a similar symbol. I chuckled softly. Jonah had blanched at the amount of quicksilver I’d use to paint these devil’s traps. He’s always had a thing for money and rare alchemical ingredients, and quicksilver was one of the rarest. Most people thought it was another word for mercury, but it wasn’t. It held tremendous magical potency. This would make damn sure that no demon or devil stepped foot here.

I passed by the glass doors and walls on either side of me that led into two large rooms. When this building thrived, the left had been a diner. We’d kept the kitchen and added a few tables. You never knew when we would have to work through several days, and to have food onsite was just brilliant. The right had been some sort of store. Tres had gutted the place and turned it into an infirmary with Adrian’s help. I walked past the elevator to the stairwell. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with that tiny deathtrap, even on my best of days.

When I opened the door to the fourth floor, the thudding of a foot hitting leather and a woman’s grunt greeted me. Marge had become predictable in the past month. If she wasn’t out roaming the streets in search of her demon, she came here. I slipped into the office we were using as a makeshift changing room and dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top. The main room had been cleared of the cubicles of the previous occupants and navy blue mats spread over the carpet. Marge worked over one of the three punching bags that hung from the ceiling in the left corner of the room. Along the wall were weight benches and other contraptions that looked as if they belonged in a torture chamber. I grabbed the bag and steadied it as Marge landed a solid kick. The impact vibrated up my arms. She hopped back, her hands held in a defensive position and her mouth open as she panted. Her eyes narrowed as she leveled a “Go to Hell” glare at me.

“What the fuck was that?” Marge asked. “She made me go to that shithole, just to say no?”

“She said maybe,” I said.

“So, this was all some game to her.”

“You were being a bitch. Do you expect everyone to take your abuse?”

Marge sneered and slammed her foot into the side of the bag. “Fuck it. I’ll do it on my own.”

“How long do you have left?” I asked. “Five years?”

A hard kick thudded against the bag.

“When your contract is up, the demons don’t kill you. They use your body for whatever they want; they ride you, and there’s no way to stop them. Banish them, and your soul goes to Hell with them.”

A shock reverberated through my hands and to the rest of my body.

“That is if you manage to live that long. If you die before your contract is up, your soul is claimed.”

“I’ll figure something out.”

I ground my teeth together. Marge constantly grated on me, but I didn’t want to see her lost. Unfortunately, it seemed that all she understood was violence. I shoved the bag forward. It caught Marge in the side, and she stumbled back with a grunt.

“Fine,” I said. “Reason doesn’t work on you. Let’s talk in a language you do speak.”

I leapt forward, aiming a punch to her gut. She sidestepped and brought her arms up, spreading her legs. “You wanna fight?”

“If you win, you can go and do whatever it is you want with your last years. If I win, we go to Lucy tomorrow.”

She smirked. “Let’s do this.”

“Prepare to have . . . what is the term? ‘To have your ass kicked?’” I said.

Marge snorted. “Whatever, Old Lady. Just make sure you don’t hurt your back or anything.”

Marge walked to the comer of the closest mat. She bounced slightly on the balls of her feet as she brought her fists up. I took my place at the opposite corner and pulled my arms up. I felt more comfortable with a weapon in my hand, but this was just a sparring match. Luckily, Eskrima taught a variety of methods, including barehanded. Marge specialized in Taekwondo, focusing mainly on kicks. I had to watch out for her deadly feet.

We stared at each other across the empty space between us, waiting to see who would break and make the first attack. Marge let out a breath of air with a small yell and charged me. She leapt into the air and thrust her foot at my chest. I stepped to the side and lowered my shoulder a little. My arm wrapped around the thigh of her extended leg, and I pushed forward. She flipped backwards and landed on the ground.

Without wasting a breath, she rolled up to one knee. Her other leg swung around and caught me in the weak point in the back of my knee. Her momentum knocked my feet out from under me, and I landed flat on my back. She stood up, with her fists raised and a grin on her face.

“Getting slow in your old age,” she said.

I rolled away from and rose to a crouching position. I lunged at her, staying low, with my elbow pointed out. I connected with her abdomen, and she doubled over with an oomph.

“You waste time gloating,” I said. “It makes you slower than these old bones.”

She straightened, and we circled each other, scanning for the slightest muscle twitch or twist of foot. Now was my chance. I could take her down if I was fast enough. She wouldn’t expect an offensive strike from me. I hopped in, hooked my foot around her left ankle, and jerked. She tumbled backwards, her shoulder slamming into the mat as she hit the ground. I was on her before she could recover, jamming my knee into her throat.

“Dead,” I said.

She glared at me but laid her hand flat on the mat in our symbol for submission. I stood up and held my hand out. She pushed herself up and stood, her eyes never meeting mine.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said as I headed to the door. “Around the bright and early time of noon.”

Chapter 3

A FEW MOMENTS after I knocked, Lucy flung the door of her hotel room inward. Her hair was a mess with one large tangle lifting the left side several inches away from her face. The eyeliner from the previous night had smudged, giving her two rings like a raccoon. She blinked at us with bleary eyes.

“Oh, hey.” She stepped back to let us in. “Welcome.”

I whistled as I stepped into the living room. Clothes draped across the back of the peach couch, a blanket lay in a pile on the Persian rug that covered the wood floor, and her leather jacket was tossed over one of the chairs. A movie blared from the television.

“Star Wars?” Marge raised an eyebrow.

“I like it, and I needed something to play while I took a nap.” Lucy smiled and rubbed her hands together. “Let’s start with some coffee and breakfast.”

“We’re here for a reading,” Marge said.

“Oh, I know, dearie, but I need a bit of a pick me up,” Lucy said in her crisp English accent that enunciated the consonants.

I sat on the couch, pushing some of the clothes to the side. “Coffee would be wonderful. Cappuccino if they have it.”

“You think they have one to your standards?” Lucy asked.

“It’s a five star hotel. What else would your money go to?”

She smirked as she walked to telephone. “Silk sheets and a maid service.”

I waved Marge to sit down. Her eyes narrowed, traveling from me to Lucy. I tilted my head, raising an eyebrow, and mouthed the word “patience”. She sighed, crossed her arms, and began tapping her foot again.

“Well, that’s done,” Lucy said. “They should be prompt.”

“Let’s hope so,” Marge said.

Lucy sat, turned the volume of the television up, and grabbed a small wooden pipe and lighter. Her crossed feet rested on a stack of magazines on the coffee table as she leaned back, grinning as she watched the movie. She lit the substance in the pipe and inhaled deeply. She blew out a puff of white smoke, and the room filled with a pungent smell, like burning sage.

“Seriously, pot?” Marge crossed her arms.

Lucy held the pipe out. “Want some?”

Marge glared at me. “What the hell?”

Lucy smirked. “It helps me focus.”

“If you start babbling in tongues, I’m leaving.”

I sighed. Lucy was always a wild one who preferred the base pleasures of life. Even all the years I had known her, she still hadn’t matured. There was a knock on the door. Lucy sprang up and let the bellhop push in a small cart with a coffee pot and two cups. My cappuccino was set separate. I picked it up and took a sip. The warm liquid filled my mouth, and the heady aroma erased the lingering smell of burnt herb.

“Now, let’s get down to business,” she said once she had a cup of coffee in her hand. “Gabby, can you clear the table?”

I scooped up the magazines and set them on a different the table near the wet bar. I threw the empty beer bottles in the small trash bin. Lucy pushed the coffee table to the center of the floor and sat on the floor facing the couch, pulling out her tarot deck. She motioned Marge to sit across from her as she began to shuffle.

The backs of the cards had two rows of symbols. The ones on the left gleamed in white and consisted mostly of connections of lines, triangles, and circles. The row on the right was red and looked more like tribal scrawling. The edges were rounded but held circles. I recognized four of the white symbols from the Hermetic spells I sometimes performed. They were four of the archangels: Michael, Gabriel, Rafael, and Uriel. I stared at the red symbols, especially the one that stuck out the most to me. It looked like a backwards C that had been pressed inward and leaned against a triangle with the point down. In the center of the top curve of the C was a large dot. I knew the symbol for the Throne of Lust well. I’d done almost everything in my power to learn about that particular part of Hell since the demon who cursed me was from there.

“New deck?” I asked.

“Mmmhmm, I drew them myself.” Lucy glanced up at Marge. “You need to shuffle. Keep your thoughts on the question you want to ask the cards.”

Marge cut the deck in half and flicked her thumb on the edges so that both stacks of cards mixed together. She repeated this a few more times and pushed the cards to the middle of the table. Lucy took the deck and dealt out ten cards face down. The first and second formed a cross in the center of the table. The third was placed below them, the fourth to the left, the fifth above, and the sixth to the right. Cards seven through ten were placed in a vertical line to the right with the seventh on the bottom.

“This is the Celtic Cross,” Lucy said. “It’s one of the most popular spreads. I like to use this for first timers because it gives me an overall view of the situation at hand.”

“So get on with it,” Marge said.

Lucy gave a half snort, half sigh and flipped over the first card. It depicted a dark-haired woman in a red Grecian style robe. In her right hand, she held a sword, pointing up, and in her left, she held a set of scales. The card was upside down, facing Lucy.

“Justice,” Lucy said. “This card’s position represents what is currently influencing you. I’m getting a sense of injustice that you feel.”

Marge snorted. “No shit. My mom sold my soul to a demon.”

“This doesn’t only imply what happened to you. This is the whole situation. The reverse of Justice could also mean vengeance. You have to be careful not to lose yourself; it’s what they want.”

Marge glared at her. “Right, because the contract on my soul is nothing. How about you just find my demon so I don’t end up as one of Hell’s bitches.”

“You don’t need a contract to end up in Hell. People have been doing that all on their own for centuries.” Lucy flipped over the next card. “This represents the obstacles you face.”

Her gaze met mine with a deep frown before looking back down at the card. This one I knew personally, though the picture was unique. A woman with hair blacker than a starless night and goat legs perched on a pillar. Her breasts were bare and bat-like wings spread out behind her. In her hand, she held two chains connected to a man and a woman. I shivered at the purple flames in her eyes as she stared up at me with pouty, sensual lips. Lucy had drawn this card on the first reading she ever gave me. It spooked her enough that she refused to do another.

“A lot of fortune tellers say this represents the base desires we must break away from,” Lucy said.

“But?” Marge asked.

“But we are all hunters here. I think we all know that real evil affects our lives. I’m getting a feeling that this represents that more than anything else.”

“Right, so what does that mean?”

“This demon is going to do everything in its power to stop you.”

The next card was a picture of a skyscraper with a cloudy night sky behind it. Flames leapt up from the base of the building and lightning struck the top.

“We are still dealing with your past. This time it’s the distant past,” Lucy said. “The Tower represents a time of turmoil. Your father’s abuse and what your mother did puts us in this situation.”

Marge’s eyes narrowed at her. “How the hell do you know that?”

“It’s my job to know such things.”

“Bullshit. You’re just some party bimbo who thinks she can see the future.”

Lucy chuckled and raised her hands. “You’re still sitting here. Where else do you have to go?”

Marge clamped her mouth shut and glared down at the table. Lucy turned over the fourth card. A young man with red brown hair held a wooden staff. His face held a youthful mischievousness.

“The Page of Wands,” Lucy said. “This is what is in your recent past and how it influences you now. I would say that meeting the Van Helsing brothers and Gabby will bring you closer to your goal. It already has, right?”

“This isn’t shit I don’t know,” Marge snapped.

“Listen, the first of these cards set up your question. Besides, I get the feeling that your demon is deeply connected to Gabby and the boys.”

Connected to me? How was that even possible? It wasn’t like I knew every demon in Hell. The only one I knew that would be connected to me and the Van Helsings was Ose, but he was dead. As far as I knew, the few lackeys he had were with him in Texas, and they had perished by the edge of my sword.

“Let’s continue,” Lucy said, cutting me off as I opened my mouth.

Marge rolled her eyes, but this time she kept control of her tongue. Lucy flipped the next card. A female angel wearing a golden helmet held a trumpet to her lips.

“Judgment,” Lucy said. “Which is apt because that is what you want, freedom from not only the bonds holding you but from your past. The problem is we can never be truly rid of our past. It shapes us.”

The sixth card was of five people: a woman with dark hair, a woman with strawberry blonde hair, and three men with cinnamon colored hair. They held staffs which crossed in the middle of the picture.

“This card is what the future holds in store for you. The Five of Wands shows there’s going to be a lot of conflict. I see several different entities in competition with one another.”

“Like others after my demon?” Marge said.

“Or others demons that want you.”

“I’m getting tired of all the possibilities.”

Lucy shook her head and moved to the next card. It depicted a woman in a chariot driven by two lions. Her blonde hair whipped out behind her. A crazed look filled her face.

“The Chariot. You want this badly, but you need to be careful your ambition doesn’t impede you.”

“My ambition is to kill this demon. How the hell am I going to fuck that up?”

“You’re so busy thinking about killing, you will miss the clues around you. Like this reading.”

“I haven’t seen shit useful in this.”

Lucy folded her hands in her lap. “If you’re going to act like this, we might as well stop now.”

“You have three cards left,” I said. “What could it hurt to finish it? Less time than wandering the streets.”

Marge grumbled. “Fine.”

The eighth card was a man with a reddish brown beard and an eye patch over one eye. He wore a dark, hooded robe. Goose bumps rose over my arms as I stared at the card.

“Lucy, what were you thinking when you drew these?” I asked.

She smiled mysteriously and turned back to Marge. “The Hermit. You also try to keep yourself apart from those who can help you. Remember your cause is their cause.”

She turned over the next card and stared at it intently. It was of a wheel divided into quarters. Ringed around it in two circles were the same angelic and demonic symbols as on the backs of the cards. It was reversed.

“There are situations in your life that are coming to a close. I see major changes coming, and not all of them in you favor. Remember that you have weathered other storms, you can weather this one,” she said.

“What events?” Marge asked.

Lucy just shook her head. “I’m uncertain exactly what, dearie, but they are major.”

The last card was of a tall figure in a black cloak holding a scythe. On the scythe was one of the angelic symbols. It looked like an hour glass with two sickles extended from the middle on each side. One skeletal wing extended from the figure while a white, feathered wing curled behind him.

“Death,” Lucy whispered. ”Whether you fail or succeed, you’re in for a transformation, and it’s going to be a difficult one.”

Marge stood up. “What kind of bullshit was that? How was that supposed to help?”

“It’s supposed to give your insight on what you are up against and what you have aiding you,” I said. This was turning out to be a mistake.

“How about giving me a straight answer?”

“Fortune telling is rarely straightforward,” Lucy said. “From what I read, your best bet to your demon is connected with Gabby and possibly the Van Helsings. From what Gabby has told me, it probably has something to do with how you met.”

“Ose?” Marge frowned. “He didn’t have anything to do with my contract.”

“But you were still there.”

“I was chasing down a lead from that biker gang. A lot of good it did,” Marge muttered. “They didn’t give me shit useful.”

“But you met Gabby and the Van Helsings. Even though you were chasing different demons, or a devil in Gabby’s case, you still ended in the same town.” Lucy looked at me. “Why don’t I do a reading for you to see if we can get a clearer picture?”

My eyebrows rose. This was a change. “You’re sure?”

“It’s been years. I think I’m better. Besides, these are my special cards.”

I took Marge’s place as Lucy shifted the cards. Marge paced behind us, muttering to herself. This time, Lucy laid out the cards in a horseshoe pattern from left to right. She flipped over the first card, and a shiver ran through me. The Devil. The image forever haunted me. She frowned at the picture and shook her head.

“Your past. Brought upon by evil,” Lucy said.

“Allegra,” I said.

“Maybe, there are a lot of others. You’ve led a life of bloodshed. It still drives you.”

“How much of that is from the card.”

She chuckled. “I know you. Part of my job is reading the people as well as the cards.”

She flipped the next card. It depicted a sword surrounded by rays of light. It was reversed.

“This is your present. The Ace of Swords,” she said. “There are a lot of illusions surrounding those around you. You’re being played.”

The next card depicted a dark-haired man on a throne with a sword in his hand. His face was blurred that I couldn’t quite see the features.

“King of swords,” Lucy said. “There appears to be a strong forceful man in your life. The two of you may be at odds, but he could be a foundation for you.”

An image of John came as did, strangely, Adrian. “Great. Which one?”

Lucy laughed as she turned over the next card. A werewolf in a half-man, half-wolf form howled at the giant moon in the sky.

“The Moon,” she said. “Your situation is steeped in deception. This is the second card that has talked about trickery in this reading. You need to be careful. Nothing is as simple as it seems.”

The fifth card was of a dark-haired woman crowned with stars and seated on a throne, holding a scepter.

“The Empress,” Lucy said. “Others are going to look to you for guidance on this.”

She flipped the next card. A holy woman in robes sat holding a scroll. A pair of ghostly white wings floated behind her.

“The High Priestess.” Lucy’s hand hovered over the card. “Have you had any dreams recently? Different from usual?”

I bit my lip as my child’s screams and Allegra’s laugh echoed in my head. My dreams never really changed. Almost every night, I saw my husband’s and child’s death at the hands of the demon who cursed me. I shook my head.

“Well, you may start. Pay attention to them. They are going to reveal something necessary.”

The last card was Death.

“Again,” Lucy whispered.

“So, I’m going to die again,” I said.

Lucy shook her head. “No, maybe. Death represents a major change. The status quo is about to break.”

I rested my hand on my chin, frowning down at the card. “What is that symbol?”

She peered at it. “That’s a representation of Sariel, the Archangel of Death.”

Marge turned back to us with her arms crossed. “Great, but what did any of that have to do with my reading?”

I stood and stretched. “I think we’re going to have to figure that out ourselves.”

“Again. What was the point?”

“Insight,” I said. “We have a few more clues.”

“No, we have a whole bunch of vague bullshit.” Marge threw her hands up. “How did this get us any closer to finding out the name of the demon or where it is?”

“It was more preliminary,” Lucy said. “However, with your attitude, I’m not sure I want to go ahead with the ritual planned.”

A shiver ran up my spine. There was only one ritual that I knew of that Lucy would use. “That’s highly dangerous. Lucy, it could hurt even you.”

“Which is why I’m not going to risk it if all she’s going to do is rant like a spoiled brat.”

Marge’s fist clenched. “You’re one to talk. I don’t even know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“The Ritual of Delphi will allow Lucy to be an Oracle for a brief time. She can answer three questions you have. But you can only have the ritual performed for you once. Ever.”

I knew from experience. I’d had my own moment in front of the Oracle. With her help, Dimitri and I had found Allegra. Unfortunately, I’d failed to kill her, and Dimitri had been injured. I sighed.

“So, I can ask anything, and I won’t get this vague bullshit?” Marge asked.

“It won’t be like the Tarot cards. Though some of the other things she says may be a little weird,” I said.

“This is what I came here for.”

Lucy crossed her arms and sucked the inside of her cheek. “All right, but after this I don’t want to hear anymore bitching.”

“If I get the name of my demon, sure.”

Lucy turned toward the bedroom. “I need to get the supplies. Move the tables and couches. We need all the room we can get. And someone turn off the smoke detectors.”

Now was the first and probably only chance I had to talk to Lucy alone. I followed her into the bedroom and shut the door behind me. I turned the volume up on the television. She glanced at me as she dug through her suitcase and pulled out a small plastic bag filled with black rocks.

“You need to tell the van Helsing brothers you’re a nephilim.”

Chapter 4

LUCY SCRUNCHED HER nose; her eyes filled with confusion. “Why would I need to, dearie?”

“Esais came across a nephilim last night. It’s only a matter of time until he knows,” I said.

Lucy pulled a large black bag on the bed and took out a stack of bronze braziers. “I don’t see how that has anything to do with me.”

“Your power isn’t the most inconspicuous. If you get injured once, they will know.”

She shrugged and set a large plastic bag filled with herbs on the bed. “So, I won’t get hurt.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Look, you really need to tell them. If they find out on their own, there will be conflict. I see a lot of arguing and pointing fingers. Adrian especially won’t like it.”

“It’ll be fine. You shouldn’t worry so much. I’ve known the boys their whole lives. We’re pretty much family.”

And I wasn’t. I was just a stranger who barged into their lives a few months ago. A relic from their family legacy. Still, I got to see the fallout from the brothers keeping secrets from one another. Adrian hadn’t known about Esais’s telepathy or Tres’s power to heal. To say he’d been a little upset when he did find out was an understatement. I sighed. Perhaps Lucy knew better, though. It was more her business than mine.

“Let’s concentrate on getting this ritual to work,” Lucy said.

“How many times have you been successful?” I asked.

“Including yours, once. I’m hoping for my second success tonight.”

I blinked at her. “Let’s not tell Marge we’re pinning all her hopes on a mostly untested ritual.”

She grinned at me. “Understood.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Take the braziers and set them up in a circle around the center of the room. Pour the herbs in each one.”

I carried the braziers into the living room. Marge crouched on the floor, gathering the stack tarot cards that must have fallen while I was in the room with Lucy. Her mouth was pressed in a thin line and she held one of them up. The front was white with a gray symbol painted on the background. A stick figure stood in the center holding a scepter. Long strands stream from under a crown on its head.

“Wasn’t this one of your cards?” she asked.

I took the card. Color began to fade in the background. The arms of the stick figure fleshed out. The skin turned a rosy peach and the hair thickened to black locks.

“Interesting,” I said.

“Is this some sort of sick prank with you two?”

“No. Lucy’s turned her deck into a talisman. It reacts to the person she is reading for.”

“Like those necklaces that you made for us in Texas?”

“Yes, but those protected us against Ose’s madness.” I handed the card back to her and placed the braziers on the floor in a circle. “A Talisman depends on your intent upon its creation.”

“What are those for?”

“The circle for the ritual. It’s to keep the power she’s manifested inside.”

Marge snorted. “Why? She’s just going to spout some mumbo jumbo.”

“It’s a little more than that. Lucy’s going to call on the power of Apollo. It should give her the ability to answer your questions.” That is, if Lucy could pull this off.

“And those bowls are supposed to help.”

I poured the herbs. “Braziers. And Lucy needs to empower it.”

“Why won’t it work like that binding circle you taught me to trap demons?”

I emptied the bag into the last of the braziers. “That was a symbol. The pattern and the writings powered the whole thing. At least enough to keep demons bound and powerless.”

Lucy stepped out of her bedroom, carrying a large box with a bowl balanced on top of it. She wore a red shawl draped around her shoulders. “Are we ready, dearie?”

“Yeah. I’m not here for a tea party.”

Lucy set the chest in the middle of the circle I made and picked up the bowl. She pulled a knife from her belt and held both out to Marge. “I need some of your blood for this to work.”

“What?” Marge said the word like she wanted to hurt Lucy with it.

“It’s to attune the ritual to you. Otherwise it won’t work.”

“This better not be a curse.”

Lucy smiled. “Why would I need that? You’re already living on borrowed time.”

Marge let out a half growl. “How much?”

“Just a few drops.”

Marge raked her finger on the point of the blade and let the blood drip into the bowl. I handed her a handkerchief as she stepped back. Lucy took the bowl back to the chest and set it on the floor. I sighed, sat on the desk, and crossed my arms. There wasn’t much for me to do now but sit and watch. I had to be here just in case something went wrong.

Lucy pulled out two candles with holders, a long wooden stick, and a lighter. She placed her bowl and the two candles back on the chest and lit the stick. She lowered the stick to the brazier sitting in the East and lit the herbs inside. She followed the circle clockwise, chanting softly as she lit the rest of the herbs. Smoke rose from the braziers and intermingled, creating a hazy veil between Lucy and us. A musky scent filled the air.

For a moment, I closed my eyes and allowed my second sight to take over. The room became a misty gray. Mage sat on the pillow, her impatience and anticipation flaring. She wanted this so much that it buried the disbelief she had. I turned my gaze to the circle and saw nothing but a thick gray curtain. I blinked and let my vision return to normal. Lucy sat before her chest and lit the contents of the bowl in front of her. She raised the veil above her head and leaned over the bowl.

“The Arabian vapor rises toward Olympus,” she sang in a light, breezy voice. “The shrill rustling lotus murmurs its swelling song, and the golden kithara, the sweet-sounding kithara, answers the voice of men.”

She inhaled loudly, and her voice gained a slight burr to it. “And all the hosts of poets sing your glory, Apollo, famed for playing the kithara, son of Great Zeus. Beside this snow-crowned peak, oh you who reveal to all mortals the eternal and infallible oracles.”

Lucy rocked back and forth as she continued to breathe in whatever fumes rose from the bowl in front of her. With a wheezing breath, she threw her head back and let out a rasping giggle. She sort of rolled to the side while still sitting and lolled her head to the right with her gaze landing on Marge.

“You have questions, Marguerite Devereux.” Her voice started out a raspy whisper and rose to a high pitch. “Ask them.”

Marge looked at Lucy as if she was crazy and glanced at me, opening her mouth. I gave her a slow, solemn shake of my head, hoping she would understand not to ruin her chances by making a smart ass comment.

She rolled her eyes and straightened her shoulders as she turned back to Lucy. “What demon has my contract?”

Lucy leaned back, cackling, and ran one hand up her chest to her collarbone. “Ah, yes, the deal of Deception. The Throne of Lust possesses your contract.”

I blinked. Interesting. We’d believed Wrath was the one we were after. Apparently, we were wrong. Hell was divided into kingdoms, called Thrones, according to the Cardinal Sins. They were each ruled by a devil who was also called the Throne. Naamah was the Throne of Lust, and Allegra served her. Maybe this is what Lucy meant by our connection. My right hand twitched. This could be more beneficial than I thought. If we pushed hard enough, perhaps I could bring Allegra to me. Marge glanced at me with her brow furrowed. I shrugged with my arms up. She sighed and turned back to Lucy.

“Who is the demon that killed Oulixes?” Marge asked.

Lucy ran her hands up her face and through her hair with a manic grin on her face. “Cambione absorbed the original holder of your contract and took everything that was his.”

Marge looked back at me and mouthed “Cambione?”

I shook my head. I’d never heard of that particular demon. I would have to check my books to see if it was mentioned, but it was a long shot. Hell held so many and most weren’t documented. There was a theory that demons were human souls damned to Hell, but I hadn’t found any proof of that.

“Where can I find Cambione?” Marge leaned forward to where her nose was inches from the smoke.

Lucy raked her nails down her cheeks, leaving deep red marks in her skin. She slammed both hands on the chest and dropped her head. A low wheezing whine emanated from her. “Forty and eight three nine one by seventy-three and eight six oh four.”

Blood ran in rivets from her nose, her ears, and the corners of her eyes. Her cheeks concaved so that the bones stuck out like pointed sticks. She jerked, and her body stiffened with her hands in a claw like position. She let out a throaty breath and the candles sputtered and the smoke from the braziers wavered before they began to dissipate. She went limp and collapsed to the side of the chest. Her whole aura looked wispy, as if something had drained it. The usually vibrant blues and yellows had faded to pale washed out imitations of their true color. She would need a few days to recover. Lucy’s stamina was no match for something that drained on her soul.

“What the hell was that?” Marge followed behind me.

“The ritual makes her a little crazy, but her answers are accurate. We have a name and a location.”

“Location? When did she say a location?”

I laid Lucy on the only side of the bed not covered with clothes and luggage, pulled the comforter over her, and brushed her hair from her face. She would be out for hours, but she’d succeeded.

“Well done,” I whispered to her and turned back to Marge. “The number she gave. They were longitude and latitude.”

“And where is that?”

“I can find out.” I pulled out my phone and dialed Adrian.

“This had better be important,” he answered.

“As if you were doing anything important.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“I need the location to some coordinates.”

“What is it for?”

“Possible demon.”

“Are you going after it now?” His voice held a tone of interest.

“Marge and I.”

“I’m joining you.”

“I thought you had important things to do.”

“Give me the coordinates,” he said with a slight edge.

I gave them to him. “Come and pick us up at Lucy’s hotel.”

“I’m on my way.”

Chapter 5

I STARED UP at the brown brick building across the street. Firelight tried to make its way through the dingy windows that lined the four stories. The world had given up hope on any safe habitation for this place long years ago. Streetlamps flickered on as the shadows swelled at the fading dusk.

“So, this is it?” Marge asked.

I nodded, scanning the street. It was a narrow two lanes with a few cars parked along the curb. A group of street rats stood on the corner in heavy jackets and sagging pants, laughing and talking to each other.

“How do you want to do this?” Marge asked.

“The blueprints show that there is a door in the back,” Adrian said, looking at his phone.

“Let’s go down the street and come up through the alley. If those kids are spies, they won’t see which way we went,” I said.

“We’re here to kill the demon, right?” Marge asked.

“We’ve been over this. We’re not going through the front.”

“Fine.”

We headed down the street, around the corner, and into the alley at the backdoor of the building. I climbed the rickety chain-link fence and hopped down the other side. I pressed my back to the wall of the building and rubbed my hand over the handle of my sundang to calm the buzzing that raced through my veins. The lose chain clattered against the metal pole as Adrian scaled over. Marge landed next to him and brushed her legs as she stood. Adrian pointed to the concrete steps and a small metal door that marked the back entrance. With the nod of my head and crept to the door, slid my fingers in the crease, and pulled it open a crack, peeking in.

The hall was almost completely dark, with only the light from outside. I pulled out a small flashlight from its hook on my belt then shone it down the hall and over the dirty white paint that flaked from the walls. I slipped in and headed deeper inside, pausing at an intersection before a staircase for the others to catch up. I nodded to the right and pulled out my sword. Adrian pressed his back against the wall with his gun drawn. The pistol looked like something out of a science fiction novel. The grip looked like it belonged on a 17th century flintlock while the barrel and cylinder was that of a revolver. Two metal tubes traveled from the back of the gun to attach where the sight should be.

Marge waved me along with a sour look on her face. I pushed open a door on the opposite side of the staircase. Bits of trash littered the worn carpet and dirt layered everything. The already muted colors faded as I scanned the room with my second sight and ghostly furniture replaced the barren shell. However, there were no demons lying in wait for us. I shook my head at the others and moved to the next apartment. We cleared the first floor in a few minutes, finding nothing. We stood in front of the door labeled basement.

“Second floor first,” I murmured, and Adrian nodded.

I took a deep breath and crept up the stairs. Halfway up, I switched off the light.  A pale yellow glow emanated from the hall above us and music thrummed from somewhere farther back, shaking bits of paint from the walls. The first room held a dirty mattress with the springs poking out of it in places. Needles, bits of paper, and cigarette butts were scattered across the floor. Marge scanned the room, her lips curled into a sneer.

“A drug den,” she said.

“Come on,” Adrian said. “Let’s see if we can find the demon.”

In the third room, we found the first living person. Living was relative. He lay on the floor, his eyes glazed and a vapid smile on his face. A syringe rolled from his hand and onto the floor.

I nudged him with the tip of my boot. “Hey.”

His head lolled to the side.

I sighed and looked to the others. “This will take a while. How about we split floors? If we find anything we call. Otherwise we meet back here?”

They nodded and moved back to the stairs, arguing quietly about which floor they would take. I moved on. Two doors down, I found two girls that looked a little livelier. Very little. They leaned against one another in sitting positions in one corner of the room. A phone with a glassy front blared music, and their head bobbed out of time with it. I let my second sight take over and gasped. Muddy orange mixed with a dull gray and brown in their auras. Physically, the drugs had unbalanced them, but that wasn’t the worst. The auras had withered and rotted, leaving small holes throughout.

What had caused such damage?

I crouched in front of them and reached for the baggie lying on the floor. Bile rose in my throat as I stared at the mustard yellow powder that clumped in the corner. Ose’s grinning face came to my mind. The devil that had killed the Van Helsings parents and older brother, had developed a drug to make humans easily possessed by demons. It had radical side effects, like warping the human to look more like the demon. It shouldn’t be here. I’d destroyed him along with the drug.

One girl raised her gaze to me and smiled through her stringy bangs.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” I replied. “You look pretty happy.”

She rested her head against the wall. “This stuff is amazing.”

“What’s it called?”

“Blasphemy.”

Well, some demon actually had a clever thought.  “Where can I get some?”

She pointed her finger to the floor. “See the man downstairs.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t see anyone.”

“He must be way down,” the other girl said, and the two burst into laughter.

I stood and headed back into the hall. The rest of the floor was filled with much of the same. I stood at the stairwell with my arms crossed, waiting on Marge and Adrian.

“Well?” I asked when both had returned.

“More junkies up top,” Marge said. “I couldn’t find anyone handing the stuff out.”

“Same for the fourth floor,” Adrian said.

“One said he’s downstairs,” I said.

“Basement then,” Adrian said.

“Right.” Marge grinned, nodding to an ancient contraption in the center of the hall. There were no doors, just a rusty metal gate. “Want to take the elevator?”

I wrinkled my nose. “I’m not going in that death trap.”

“Come on. It can’t be that bad.”

We took the stairs. Marge liked to give me shit, but she knew the elevator would give away our position if there was a demon down there. Halfway to the basement, a purple haze lit the stairwell and a spicy musk clogged my nose. I paused, holding my hand up to the others. Two voices mixed together in a steady cadence. I couldn’t make out the words. My grip on my sword tightened, and I hugged the wall as I snuck down. Like the rest of the building, the basement was empty of any furniture or boxes, but someone had decided to fill the space with a glowing purple circle painted on the floor. Strange symbols lined just inside the ring, curvy and hooked in a primal fashion, like the ones on the back of Lucy’s tarot cards. A triangle filled the center, and a man lay in the middle of it with his eyes closed and dirty hair clinging to his face.

Two demons stood outside the circle chanting. A set of horns peeked out from the hood of one, and a tail poked out from the bottom of the robe the other wore. The light of the circle pulsed with the rhythm of their chants. I felt the pressure building. Marge snorted and pushed past me, heading for the closet demon.

“No, Marge, wait,” I hissed, and my hand brushed against her coat, but she slipped away.

Her kick caught him in the middle of his back, and his chant broke as he stumbled forward. He turned just in time to get caught in the chest with a sidekick. The force knocked him into the circle, and all hell broke loose. Literally.

When the demon’s foot crossed the line of the circle, a reddish purple flame ignited. It licked his legs and traveled up his body in a flare. He barely had time to scream before he was ash. The fire filled the entire circle, incinerating the man in the middle within seconds and gouts flared out at the walls.

“Get out of here,” I yelled to Adrian.

I ran to Marge, coughing as the reek of brimstone caused my eyes to water. The other demon had pulled out a dagger and swung it at Marge. She ducked and slammed her heel into his knee. He screamed. I grabbed his arm, spun, and tossed him into a burning part of the wall.

Marge glared at me. “He was mine.”

I waved to the havoc around us. “No time. This place is going up and us with it.”

I grabbed her arm and sprinted to the stairs. A piece of flaming ceiling chose that moment to come crashing down on us. Marge tackled me, and we went tumbling to the side. Bits of flaming plaster caught me in my shoulder and arm, burning holes through my jacket and searing my flesh.

“We’re stuck,” Marge yelled.

I swung my head to the staircase. The ceiling blocked our only exit in a purple inferno. I was going to die down here, burned by that freakish flame I hated. My breath caught in my throat, and I gripped Marge’s arm. No, there had to be another way out, some small opening we could get through. I hopped to my feet and ran to the rubble. My hands dug at the debris, the flames searing my flesh. The more I pulled away, the more slid down to replace it. Marge yanked me back.

“What the fuck!” she said.

“There has to be a way out,” I wheezed. The smoke was already clogging my throat.

I reared back and forth, but she held tight.

Her fingers dug into my arm. “Ok, stop. I’ll try to find something to dig us out.”

The fire covered the walls, lighting the room in a violet luminosity. The stone blackened and disintegrated in a matter of seconds where the flames kissed. The shadows flickered as the inferno surrounded us. It was too late. My legs gave out from under me, and I curled up in a ball. Marge hovered around our blocked exit, looking for some point to kick away. She covered her mouth with her arm, her chest heaving in wracking coughs. It didn’t matter. Soon, the rest of the world would topple down upon us.

The smoke drifted toward a corner near the ceiling where a hole formed. The concrete of the wall crumbled and mixed with the ash in the air. However, it didn’t fall like it was supposed to. My mouth hung open as the tiny bits debris shimmered, moved together, and began to form into a set of stairs as the hole grew. Adrian’s nanites were hard at work creating an escape for us.

You brilliant man. Not that I would ever admit it to him out loud.

I was on my feet in seconds. “Marge.”

She turned, but I was already over to the steps. Adrian waved us up from outside a small hole. The steps remained solid under my swift run. I collapsed to my hands and knees on the gravel, gagging and gasping. My hands screamed at the rough grit that grated into the raw flesh.

Pain never felt so good.

Chapter 6

WE SCURRIED DOWN an alleyway like rats trying to escape a fire, except it was the police and their unwanted questions that we ran from. Moments after Adrian rescued us, we could hear the sirens growing closer. I was the first to bolt, followed by the other two.

Marge moved ahead of me with an unsteady gait. The debris had caught her as well, leaving her butt and the back of her legs a raw mess of burnt flesh. We stopped at the opening of an alley, six blocks away from the inferno while Adrian scanned the mostly empty street. A crowd had gathered on the corner to watch the blaze. I could only guess what they were whispering among each other. The place had been a drug den, so the police would most likely call this a chemical fire, but there would be the few who would wonder.

“Wait here,” Adrian said. “I’ll get the van.”

I leaned against the wall with my good shoulder and glared at Marge. “You rushed in again.”

“And?”

The van pulled up before I replied. I waved her to the back with my mangled hands and turned to wrestle with the door. Adrian pushed it open from inside. I hopped in and managed to close it by myself. He eased the car into gear.

“What happened back there?” he asked in a voice as cold as the artic.

“Rituals are volatile, especially summoning. They were pulling energy from another plane of existence. When Marge kicked him into the circle, it broke, and all that energy they had built up backlashed.”

“But that circle that Adrian and Tres broke around the demon in Texas didn’t do that,” Marge said.

Adrian and Tres had gotten into a fight when we’d had a demon bound for questioning. It escaped when the circle had broken.

“It was a binding, a large symbol that traps the being inside it. The writings and sigils keep the entity bound. There’s not a whole lot of power put into it, unlike back there.” I jerked my head in the direction of the blaze.

“So what?” Marge asked. “We shouldn’t stop a demon summoning?”

“You have to ground the power without breaking the circle. Though any sort of disruption has interesting effects. As with banishing rituals,” I said.

“What were they summoning?” Adrian asked.

I shook my head. “Something from the Throne of Lust.”

I knew that fire—dreamed about it often enough. Sometimes, instead of seeing the murder of my husband and child at the hands of the demon Allegra, I saw our home being consumed in purple flames. All that would be left would be me and Allegra. I was bound to her for eternity by this curse she laid upon me. I stared out the window and let the silence engulf the van as my chest tightened painfully. Once again, I was helping someone else, while Allegra roamed free somewhere. I took a deep breath. I had all the time in the world; Marge didn’t. Besides, this drug proved that events were deeper than just one demon.

Adrian pulled into the underground garage of the office and parked beside a black sports car. “Esais and Tres are here.”

Marge made a limping rush to the door, and I was not far behind. I closed my eyes and counted to ten, letting out a slow breath. Each step sent a sharp bolt to the burns on my back. Marge shook her head at me and headed up the stairs. Esais and Tres waited in the infirmary, and their faces filled with concern when the two of us stumbled in.

“What happened?” Esais asked.

“Just a little fight with hellfire,” I said.

“You should see the demons,” Marge said. “Crispy.”

Esais raised one eyebrow. “You found something?”

I pulled the bag of powder from my pocket and handed it to him. Tres pointed me to the two exanimation tables in the back of the room. I wrinkled my nose at the astringent smell of alcohol.

“I finally get to see the sexiness under all that leather.” Tres peeled off my jacket and the long sleeved shirt beneath it.

I gasped at the sting of the fabric pulling from my burned flesh. A rush of cool air soothed the raw agony. Marge hobbled to the other examination table, and with a strange hopping climb, she got on top to lie on her stomach. Esais leaned against the doorframe, studying the contents of the bag. Through winces and sharp intakes of breath, I told them what happened.

“So, this is the drug from Texas?” Esais asked with a frown.

“I think so, but I never saw one of the patients in Texas before they were possessed by a demon,” I said.

“So you somehow screwed up,” Esais said.

Tres stared at him with his jaw slack. I opened my mouth to give him a snappy comeback and froze when our gazes met. My flesh prickled as I broke out into a cold sweat. His eyes had paled to white, like quartz crystal, but that wasn’t the worst. It was the look. He could end my existence with a thought, and no part of my curse would bring me back. Eternal peace was in those eyes, and damned if I didn’t nearly fall to my knees and beg for it. I looked away, frowning. What was I thinking? This was Esais.

“You were there, too, Saint Esais,” Marge said with a snort. “And this isn’t Menrazine, unless people decided to free base an anti-psychotic.”

“With this city, anything’s possible,” Adrian said as he pushed past Esais.

Esais stepped back into the corner of the room and stuck his hands in his pockets. His eyes had darkened to their normal steel blue color, and his face wore a troubled look as he listened. What the hell had that been about? He was upset the drug had been let out, but was that other just a part of his telepathy? I was going to have to watch him.

“And the demons in the basement mean the formula somehow got out,” I said.

“We’re going to need to analyze it,” Adrian said.

He looked to his brother who shook his head as he swabbed a cotton pad over my wounds. I hissed as the alcohol seeped in, sending the burn through my veins.

“I can take a look,” Tres said, “but I don’t know what to look for.”

He pressed his hand against my wound. The burning faded, and more comfortable warmth replaced it. After Tres was finished, there wouldn’t even be a scar. Unfortunately, he would have to cause pain on another living being to balance what he healed. It was the way his gift worked.

“I can contact Jonah,” I said. “He knows alchemy and can see if it’s brimstone.”

“He’s the one you sent Menrazine so he could destroy it in the first place,” Marge said. “Who says he’s not the one who let it get in the hands of someone else.”

Esais threw his head back and laughed. “Impossible. Jonah would be furious even hearing that.”

“So? He could be lying.”

Adrian snorted and shook his head while Tres cast a doubtful glance at Esais.

“Impossible,” Esais said, still chuckling. “I’ve known Uncle Jonah my whole life. He wouldn’t do such a thing.”

Tres said, “The stick wedged up his ass wouldn’t let him do anything dirty.”

I opened my mouth and closed it. I’d known Jonah even before Esais was born, and there were things he’d done with alchemy that would make all three brothers blanch. Brimstone was a substance similar to sulfur, but like quicksilver, it held other properties. Hellish ones. We had determined before that the base of the drug was made with brimstone. Who’s to say that he didn’t want to experiment with this new drug? Knowing Jonah, he had probably already experimented with the stuff. Still, he wouldn’t betray them, and he definitely wouldn’t let something as dangerous as that drug out, unless by accident. I bit my lip and held my doubts to myself. I would talk to Jonah first.

Tres moved over to Marge and held up a pair of scissors. “Looks like we’re going to have to get you naked.”

Marge glared at him until the grin faded from his face. He couched and started cutting her pants from her. Marge’s jaw stiffened at the first touch of his hand. The red mass of raw flesh became smooth and white as his hands passed over it. With a silent chuckle, I stood up and stretched.

“There’s another option,” Adrian said. “Who analyzed Menrazine in the first place?”

I paused with my arms sill raised in the stretch. “John? I doubt it.”

“Why do you say that?” Adrian asked. “What has he done to prove himself? Supply you with information every now and then?”

My lips pressed in a thin line. “He wouldn’t betray me like that.”

“What? Not after he slept with you?” Adrian smirked. “No, that doesn’t ever happen.”

Heat traveled from my neck to my face. “No, he’s been there for me since I saved his life.”

“People change,” Adrian said.

“So, your precious Uncle Jonah could have, too.” Marge held up her hands when all three brothers glared at her. “I’m just saying, we shouldn’t rule him out because you consider him family.”

“Look.” Esais raised his hand. “I don’t really trust him, either, but we need to prove this is the same . . . What was it called?”

“Brimstone would be the base. The new drug is called Blasphemy.” I tried to keep the heat from reaching my voice. “I’ll call Jonah and see if he can look at it.”

“Does he have to come here?” Tres asked, looking like a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

“I think he’ll be too busy to care what girls you’re seeing.” Esais chuckled.

“He’ll still give me that disapproving look,” Tres said.

“How about you concentrate more on fixing me and less on whining,” Marge snapped.

Adrian chuckled and headed to the door. “Well, now that we’re moving to unimportant talk, I have things I need to work on.”

I glared at his back as he left. How could one man get me so riled up? True, he didn’t know John like I did, but that didn’t mean he had to suspect every person. John had always been ready to help me when I called, and he’d always come through.

So, why couldn’t I push the tiny voice in my head saying Adrian and Esais might be right?

Chapter 7

I LEFT TRES to tend to Marge’s wounds. Esais remained in the doorway with his arms crossed and his forehead wrinkled in thought. With a deep breath, I traveled up the stairs to the second floor. The air in the hall was thick with new paint smell from the white walls. My feet made no sound on the new red carpeting as I found an empty room to call Jonah in privacy. He answered on the third ring.

“Ms. Di Luca.” His London accent rang through the background noise of conversation. “What can I do for you?”

“You sound like you’re in the middle of something,” I said.

“I’m in Italy actually. I’m attending a conference at the Vatican.”

I gritted my teeth and forced a laugh out. “Oh, your expertise has become invaluable.”

“Possibly, a panel has been called on the fact Hell is using modern means to damn humanity. I’m here to present the Texas case.”

“Why my case? Couldn’t you find another for them to steal?”

“Gabby.” His voice rang with an exasperated patience. We’d been over this before. “The church has changed over the centuries.”

“They may not burn heretics at the stake anymore, but they’re still judgmental asses.”

“They are becoming more accepting.”

“Only because their dirty laundry has been aired.” They deserved it, too. The big group of hypocrites spent centuries persecuting others only to commit the worst of sins.

“What was it you wanted?” A change of subject. Smart man.

“I found a drug that has similar effects as Menrazine.”

“That is unfortunate. I destroyed the batch you brought to me. Are you sure it was the only one?”

“Ose was working alone. He wouldn’t have shared with anyone else.” I bit the inside of my cheek. “You didn’t keep any for your experiments?”

A small crackle of static filled the silence of his pause. “You believe I would have been foolish to risk such a thing?”

“I don’t know, Jonah. You play with other questionable substances. Who’s to say you weren’t trying to find a better way to keep yourself alive?”

“I do what is necessary, but within limits. I wouldn’t do something like that when we have seen only negative consequences.” Jonah’s voice held an icy stiffness to it.

“But that’s how experimentation starts,” I said. “If you say you didn’t, I believe you.”

“Who is in control of this new drug?”

I explained my night’s adventures. “We’re not sure if it is the same. We need your expertise to verify.”

“So, you question me but still want me to verify?” Jonah sighed. “If this leaves the city, it has the potential to spread nationwide.”

“I’m aware, Jonah, but we need to know what we are dealing with.”

He cleared his throat. “I cannot leave. Send Lucy to me with your sample. I will look into it and contact you when I know more.”

“She’s probably still unconscious, but I’ll leave her a message.” My phone chirped in my ear, and I glanced at the screen. “Jonah, I have another call coming in.”

“I will call when I know something.”

I took a deep breath and switched to the other call. “Ciao, John. This is a surprise.”

He chuckled, his voice sending a delicious shiver up my spine. “I hope it’s a nice surprise.”

“Well, that would depend on why you’re calling,” I said.

He sighed. “Unfortunately, it’s not good news. What happened to the drug you took from Texas?”

The delicious shiver turned to ice. “It was destroyed. Why do you ask?”

“I’m working on an article for a company named Erebus. I’m in New York for a press conference. One of their subsidiaries, Acesco, is releasing some sort of super drug. I’ve heard rumors about the testing. The kind that makes me think maybe Menrazine isn’t gone.”

A sick feeling settled in my stomach. “I’ve run into a similar situation. As I said, what I had of the drug was destroyed.” I paused. “What happened to the sample I gave to you?”

Horns honked and the indecipherable buzz of background conversation feed into the line. “I gave it back to you. Don’t you remember?”

An image of Ose’s long fingers reaching for me flashed through my mind followed by a rush of fear. Darkness surrounded me, and once again, I was in the coffin that devil had trapped me in. I rubbed my eyelids and swallowed hard. Ose had driven me to the brink of madness, but I’d made it out. It was over.

“You might have.” I tried to keep the shakiness out of my voice. “Texas is a little unclear for me.”

“You think I would have sold the drug?” The quiet hurt in his voice reached me through the phone.

“No, but I had to check. I don’t understand how it got out.”

“It looks like I’ll have to prove myself all over again.” His voice lightened. “Care to join me for the press conference tomorrow? Say Nine AM?”

I smiled and swallowed the ache I felt. “That sounds like an excellent plan.”

He gave me the address. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

“Me too.”

I hung up and tapped the phone to my cheek in thought. I would need something to find this company’s secrets. Lucky we had an expert in technology just down the hall. Adrian sat at a desk in one of the offices, typing on a laptop with various tools and pieces of mechanical equipment scattered around him on adjoining tables. I blinked as one of the machines grew before my eyes. New chips formed on a board out of thin air and a round glass lens became surrounded by black plastic.

“Is this a camera?” I asked.

He glanced up from the laptop to the device I was pointing at and nodded before focusing on the screen again.

“It’s really amazing seeing your tiny robots in action.” I leaned in for a better look. “How are they building from nothing?”

He pointed to a pile of pipes, discarded cellphones, and CDs. “They’re breaking down those on a molecular level. The molecules are being used to build the new device.”

I tilted my head. “This still sounds a lot like magic.”

He snorted. “When you get science this advanced, it tends to seem like magic to those incapable of understanding it.”

Did he just insult my intelligence? “But magic was the basis for modern science. What would chemistry be without alchemy? Astronomy without astrology? Even your robots could be attributed to ancient Jewish golem creation.”

“We have moved beyond such antiquated practices.”

“Have we? Vampires, demons, even spirits still exist, though science denies them.”

“Most scientists do because they have no substantial proof. Magic doesn’t always work for those who try.”

“That’s because they don’t understand.”

He smiled. “And that is the beauty of science. Once something is built, the common man doesn’t have to understand how the device works to use it.”

I opened my mouth to respond but stopped, realizing I didn’t have an argument for that point. Summoning wasn’t the only part of magic that had to be exact; it applied to almost any of the five magical practices of talismans, symbols, rituals, incantations, and alchemy. The symbols, timetables, and pronunciations were complex, and one mistake meant either the magic wouldn’t work or that there would be dire consequences.

“You use magical symbols with your gun,” I said.

“You were correct about the demons and spirits,” Adrian said. “Until I can discover a scientific way to destroy them, I have to resort to less efficient methods.”

“I’m sure your muse will give you an idea.”

He sighed. “Once again, I mentioned the muse as a metaphor.”

I shifted to my second sight. The colors dimmed to a dull gray, and the new equipment was replaced by that of a previous era. In place of the laptop was a typewriter. Certain time periods left an impression on the Eclipse, the spirit world. I turned my attention to Adrian and the colors blooming around him. Greens and yellows mixed with a small amount of red. He had a brilliant mind, but he still had a lingering anger. However, his emotions weren’t what I was looking for. It was the woman standing over his shoulder.

She stood out amongst the gray haze of the spirit world. Her hair was in golden ringlets that flowed in a swirl design to the side of her head. A white toga hung on her athletic form and came to mid-thigh. Golden sandals adorned her feet, leaving her manicured toes open. She had an angular face, high cheekbones, and a pointed chin. Her lips moved, and Adrian’s fingers flew over the keyboard.

“Right,” I said. “And that part about hearing a woman speak to you in your dreams?”

“Lots of men dream that. Maybe I just need sex.” He arched his eyebrow. “Interested?”

“Like I could ever compete with your robots. Maybe you should make yourself a woman.”

“Perhaps. In any case, it is just a dream.”

I sighed. One night, a couple of months ago, I’d gotten him to explain where he got his ideas. It took a bottle of alcohol. He rarely drank, but we were celebrating our victory over Ose and the destruction of the drug, so he’d made an exception. He described his muse as a vision from a dream. She’d been exactly like I’d just seen her, but the next day, he’d denied she was real.

“How can you rely on my ability to see demons but deny that I can see your muse?” I asked.

His eye twitched, and he stopped typing. “I’m not one of your emissaries. I don’t have any special abilities.”

“Except for the ability to create things way beyond any current scientific advancement.”

He smirked. “Intelligence is hardly a supernatural thing.”

“Are you sure? Solomon was granted wisdom by an angel.”

He snorted and continued to type. “Solomon is long dead, and most of his story borders on mythical.”

“He was real, but that’s not the point. Spirits can grant intelligence.”

“That’s not something I want.”

“Why do you hate them so much?”

He stopped and looked directly at me for the first time. “They come from the same place as demons.”

“The Eclipse is vast. Not all spirits are like demons.”

“Have you ever spoken to any of them? They could all be demons trying to fool you.”

“I can tell the difference. I see them. I can see the taint demons leave on humans. Neither of your brothers nor you have that.”

“That doesn’t mean they should be trusted,” Adrian said. “Eventually they will corrupt you.”

I shook my head. I was getting nowhere again. I should’ve just been happy that Adrian finally accepted me as an asset and I was no longer a monster to him. I cleared my throat.  “This isn’t why I came in here.”

He turned back to the screen. “Why then?”

“I need things to spy on this Acesco Company at their Expo tomorrow.”

He stiffened and stopped typing. “Why Acesco?”

“John says they may have a version of brimstone.”

“How convenient.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why would he tell me about it if it was him?”

He shrugged and opened a desk drawer. “Because he wants you to fall for whatever game he’s running.”

“Can you get me something or not?”

“You’re probably not going to have time to set up room surveillance. You’ll want something that will bug a person. I can come up with something that can send short wave radio signals, but someone will have to be near with a receiver. What time?”

“Around nine.”

He nodded. “Meet me in the parking garage at seven.”

“Wait, what?”

“I said someone needed to receive. Who else is competent?”

“So you’re going to sit in a van and listen in. Kind of creepy,” I said. “I will see you tomorrow then.”

He rolled his eyes. “I count the time apart.”

Chapter 8

AROUND NINE, I left Adrian in his van in the garage of the Acesco building. John stood outside of the tall skyscraper with his hands in the pockets of his long coat. The wind ruffled his sandy blond hair, and he smiled at me when I approached.

“How are you so tan for winter?” I asked.

“It’s sunny in Florida.” His smile spread into a grin. He held up a set of laminated cards attached to a plastic clip. “Your credentials. You get to be my protégé.”

“Sounds interesting,” I said. “What do I need to do?”

“Look pretty.”

I rolled my eyes. “What a job.”

He pulled me through the double doors into a large lobby with vaulted ceilings. My high heels clicked against the black and gold marble floor as I followed John into the small crowd standing by leather chairs. Men in buttoned up shirts with sports jackets and women in power suits huddled together in abuzz of conversation.

John turned to me. “So, how are you liking New York?”

I wrinkled my nose, scanning the crowd. “It stinks, it’s loud, and there are so many people. Worst of all, I can’t see the stars.”

He chuckled. “Too bad you can’t live in the middle of nowhere.”

I sighed. “Unfortunately, nothing happens there.”

A thin man with hollow cheeks moved closer to us and pushed his glasses up his nose.

“Hey, Roda. Decided to lay off the small town crap?” He crossed his arms over his white buttoned shirt.

John pulled off his coat and draped it over his shoulder. “I go where the story is, Aaron.”

I let my gaze linger over John’s athletic body, admiring the way the tailored gray suit accentuated his broad shoulders. I cleared my throat and removed my jacket.

Aaron glanced in my direction, and his lips curved in a leer. “And who is this?”

“This is my new assistant, Gabby. She’s still learning the ropes.”

“So nice to meet you, Gabby. I hope we become good friends.” He held his hand out to me.

His palm was damp, and he rubbed the space between my index finger and thumb. I pushed back a shudder and smiled at him. His gaze roamed from the black skirt I wore to where my red vest was pulled tight against my breasts.

“A pleasure,” I said.

When Aaron held on longer than he needed, John cleared his throat. Aaron gave him a quick glance and released my hand.

A smiling blonde woman approached the group. “We’re ready to get started, if everyone would follow me into the Atalantia conference room.”

Aaron looked at the moving crowd and gave me a quick glance. “Well, if this putz can’t help you, be sure to come to me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.

Aaron hurried to be one of the first to enter the conference room. I rubbed my hand on my skirt and brushed my tongue over the roof of my mouth trying to rid myself of the sourness. John raised one of his eyebrows in a quick motion and mouthed a silent wow before he sauntered towards the conference room. I chuckled and followed behind him. A small stage stood in the back of the room with a podium in the center.

I took a seat next to John in the middle of the room and scanned the conference area. The light green carpeting accented the honey wood panels lining the walls. Several reporters leaned over their chairs to chat with each other. A woman with red hair sat in one of the chairs behind the podium. Her skirt rode up her thigh as she sat with her legs crossed and talked with a man beside her. His face was narrow and ended in a pointed, reddish-blond goatee, which matched his combed back hair. His eyebrows were arched high in the middle, which gave him a wicked look.

The blonde woman stepped up the podium. “Welcome. You all have the privilege of learning about our new innovative product. Now, I’d like to introduce to the mastermind behind it, Raina Benson.”

The redhead stood and approached the podium to the sound of applause. A smile spread across her mauve lips. I narrowed my eyes and concentrated until a soft pop echoed in the back of my head. My peripheral vision blurred with a rainbow of colors. They pressed on me. I focused on the figures on the stage. Raina’s hair and her blue suit faded away and was replaced by a shadow. Her features disappeared into a dark gray. A red glow emanated from the creature’s eyes as she scanned the audience. No life pulsed in that aura. I swallowed as my throat became dry and a chill ran up my spine. Somehow, vampires had gotten a hold of brimstone. Adrian’s sudden interest in this company made more sense.

“. . . Percent of Americans live with obesity . . .” Raina’s speech drifted through.

The man behind her shifted in his seat, but it wasn’t actually a man anymore. His true face was one half comedy mask and one half tragedy mask. Two thin, long horns sprouted from behind the mask. A green light shone from the two eyeholes. His body was bright red and a thin whip-like tail moved behind his chair. Unlike the woman, life flowed through the body he wore. Well, the demon explained how a vampire had gotten their clammy hands on the brimstone.

“Our innovative new product boosts metabolism to amazing speeds . . .” Raina continued.

I closed my eyes and let my sight return to normal. As a dull ache settled behind them, I flexed my fingers, resisting the urge to rub my forehead. A television screen showed a smiling woman playing with a small child. They faded away to white and blue letter spun into existence forming the word “Synergy”.

“Synergy stimulates the brain, suppresses hunger, and gives you that boost of energy . . .” Raina raised her hand to the screen. “We hope to have Synergy released to the public within a year. I’m ready to take any questions.”

The audience stood in a rush and the room became almost deafening with the barrage of questions. Aaron stood in front, his face filled with eagerness. Even John held his pen up, trying to gain Raina’s attention. I left him to it and pushed my way to the aisle where I waited in the back with my arms crossed.

After twenty more minutes of questions, Raina ended the conference. She let the blonde take over while she and the demon walked down the aisle. I slipped out the door, pulled a small spray can Adrian had given me from my purse, and got into ambush position. The door swung open and hit me in the shoulder. Perfect. I gave a small cry, stumbled into Raina, and pressed down on the nozzle, squirting the contents onto her skirt. Adrian’s nanites were now on her and ready to send transmit to him. I stepped back with my eyes wide.

“I-I’m so sorry,” I stuttered.

She glared at me and shouldered past me to the door. The demon paused, grabbing my arm to steady me. I gulped back the bile that rose in my throat at his touch and tried to put on a look of chagrin. He tilted his head at me and a slow smile spread across his face. He raised my hand, my fingers still curled around the small can.

“And what do we have here?” the demon asked.

Chapter 9

THE DEMON RAISED an eyebrow, waiting for a response from me. I blinked at him, putting on my best confused look on.

“My perfume?” I asked.

“You spray perfume on in front of a door?” he asked.

“No.” I drug the syllable out. “I was putting it away when said door rammed into me by your boss. You should probably hurry after her. She seemed busy.”

“Hmm, I’m sure I can catch up. Tell me, what is the scent?”

The door in debate swung open again. I stepped back to prevent getting hit and pulled my arm away, resisting the urge to rub where his hand had been. John stepped out with a searching look on his face. His face brightened when he saw me.

“There you are,” he said. “I was wondering where you disappeared to.”

He straightened up and cleared his throat when he saw the demon. “Forgive my assistant. Was she bothering you?”

The demon smiled. “We were just having a discussion about odd grooming habits.”

John raised an eyebrow at me and glanced back at the demon. “Okay. Well, if you have a minute, can I ask you a few questions, Mr . . .  ?”

“George Neumann,” the demon said. “I can answer one question, so make it good.”

John held out a small recorder. “Why has Acesco decided to begin a new weight loss line? Aren’t there enough on the market?”

Neumann smiled. “Why, we want to change the world, of course.”

He gave me a small wave and turned away, walking through the lobby.

“Thanks,” I murmured.

“No problem,” John said. “So, what now?”

“Now’s our chance to learn anything interesting. Hopefully, before he starts telling Ms. Benson to strip,” I said. “Come on.”

We kept several people between us and the demon, watching as he stopped at the elevators and stepped in when the doors opened. With John behind me, I headed for the stairwell on the side of the wall. I took a deep breath, opened the door, and rushed down the steps. When I reached the parking level, I let out the breath I’d been holding. A moment later, John came up behind me.

“Why down here?” he asked.

I walked to the black van and pulled open the passenger door. Adrian glanced my direction with one hand on the large set of headphones he wore as I slid in. He turned the dial on the van’s radio to his left. John leaned over my lap with one hand on the head rest.

“Did it work?” I asked.

Adrian looked at me like I was a fool. “Of course.”

“So, how are the rest of us going to listen?”

Adrian looked at John. “Get in.”

I squeezed into the space between the seats and pulled my skirt as it rode up. John climbed into my vacated spot, shutting the door behind him. Adrian pulled the cord of the headphones from the rest of the radio, and the soft crackle of static filled the van.

“This had better work, Faust.” Raina’s voice drifted from the speakers. She spoke in short clipped syllables.

“Weren’t you one of the testers?” a pleasant male tenor asked. “Didn’t your humans taste as delicious as promised?”

A muscle twitched in Adrian’s jaw as he stared hard at the radio. John looked at me with eyebrows pulled together, but I just shook my head and mouthed the word vampires.

“The subjects did show an improvement in taste,” Raina said.

“Then it works. All you have to do is sell it to the cattle,” Faust said.

“I have yet to see this susceptibility to suggestion you spoke of.”

Faust’s quick laugh rang through the van. “Trust me. They’ll be like putty in your hands.”

“They had better. Mr. Durnovo doesn’t stand for betrayal, even from your kind.”

Adrian stiffened.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Faust said. “However, we need to tread carefully. There was a demon hunter at you little conference.”

“Oh? Was she sniffing you out?” Raina’s laugh was high and cold. “I’d say that’s a problem you need to handle.”

“Maybe, but she’s been known to associate with a certain family of vampire hunters.”

There was a long pause.

“I’m not too concerned. We have dealt with hunters in the past. We can squash these as well,” Raina said.

“I have another meeting. Shall I see you later this afternoon?” Faust asked.

There was a shuffling of paper. “Don’t keep me waiting. I want to go over the numbers of the latest group.”

“Of course not.” Faust’s laugh was cut off by the thud of a closing door.

Adrian switched off the radio and leaned back in his seat, staring at the concrete wall through the windshield.

“So what was that about?” John asked.

“I’m betting Faust is the demon I saw at the press conference. It sounds like he’s sold this Synergy to these vampires.” I kept my gaze on Adrian, looking for any hint of acknowledgement.

“We have to get back to the office,” he said. “I want to go over this recording again.”

John looked between us. “I guess that’s my cue to get lost then.”

“Wait,” I said as he pushed the door open.

I climbed out after him and moved from the van. He smiled at me and brushed his thumb across my cheek. “I get the feeling he doesn’t like me.”

I shrugged. “Adrian prefers machines. He only tolerates people. Do you know anything about this Faust?”

He shook his head. “And by your question, I guess you don’t, either.”

“I know about the legend. I watched Goethe’s play when it was released.”

“So, research session at my hotel? Or is this something you want to do with the Van Helsings?”

The van backed out of its parking space. Adrian stared at us, tapping his fingers on the wheel.

“One moment,” I yelled before turning back to John. In a softer voice, I said, “I can meet you in a couple of hours.”

He leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Room 302 of the Lexington Hotel.”

I squeezed his hand before letting go. “I’ll bring the books.”

“Does that mean I’m supplying dinner?”

“Don’t skimp.” I grinned at him and climbed into the van.

Adrian sped out of the parking lot, and I grabbed onto the armrest not to slide out of my seat. He weaved in and out of the traffic.

“Is the office on fire or something?” I asked.

“I don’t want you to miss your date,” he said.

“It’s not a date. It’s research.”

“Right,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll get a lot of work done.”

“I’m talented. I can accomplish a lot in one night.”

He snorted. “If you spilt your concentration between two jobs, you’ll never excel at either.”

“Two words. Time Management.”

“Right.”

“Don’t worry. It’s something you’ll never see.” I stared out the window for the rest of the ride.

Adrian pulled into the garage of the office without getting us killed. He slammed the door behind him and hurried into the elevator. I loosened the death grip I had on my seatbelt, climbed out of the van, and took the stairs. In the lobby, Esais leaned against an empty desk piled with boxes, his arms crossed and an easy smile on his face. Lucy stood in front of him with one hand on her hip and the other holding the stick of a lollipop that was in her mouth. Her duffle bag sat on the floor beside her.

“Wow, you look . . . all business,” Esais said.

“I was doing some investigation with John and Adrian.” I turned to Lucy. “How are you feeling?”

She grinned, though it didn’t hide the shadows under her eyes. “You know me. I bounce back from anything.”

I pressed my lips together in a thin line and gave her a level look. “Are you sure you’re okay to leave?”

Lucy nodded. “I should be back in a couple of days.”

“Oh.” I grinned at her. “You don’t plan on staying for a party with the priests?”

She rolled her eyes. “New York is much better than those stuffed robes.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “In my day they were pretty lecherous.”

Esais chuckled.

“That was five hundred years ago.” Lucy glanced at her wristwatch and picked up her bag. “Well, I’ll see you in a couple of days. Don’t have all the fun without me.”

“I’m sure there will be plenty of fun for you when you get back,” Esais said.

Lucy left with a bounce in her step. Once she was gone, I tuned back to Esais. “Where are Tres and Marge?”

“Marge said she was going to talk to her contacts in the city and see if they knew more about the Blasphemy. Tres is going on a date.”

I snorted and headed to the stairs. “We should talk. Adrian’s probably at his computer already. This one has him on edge.”

Esais raised an eyebrow. “What’d you find?”

“Vampires,” I said.

His face became serious. Vampires were always a serious subject for the Van Helsings. Each member had taken an oath to hunt supernatural creatures that preyed upon humanity, but vampires were their specialty. They knew that one day they would face Dracula, thanks to the curse the fiend had laid on their family. As long as their legacy continued, he survived.

Esais followed me up to the second floor and into Adrian’s office. Adrian looked up at us from his laptop and slid the headphones down with an annoyed look. I updated them on the press conference and described Raina’s shadow body from what I could see of the Eclipse.

“So, what kind of vampire are we dealing with?” I asked.

“Strigoi,” Adrian said.

Esais tilted his head and raised his brows at his brother.

“I haven’t forgotten the training,” Adrian said.

I looked between the two of them. “Well, would either of you explain what a Strigoi is? It’s not one of Dracula’s brood right?”

“No,” Esais said with a tone of relief. “Though they are also a Slavic type.”

“Strigoi are basically shadows of the dead. They have somehow managed to feed on enough blood that it’s allowed them to take a physical form,” Esais said. “They act and look like normal living people, eating, breathing, breeding.”

I blinked. “They can have children?”

“The males can impregnate human women. Most don’t carry to term, though.”

“How do you tell them from humans?” I asked.

“Strigoi don’t cast shadows,” Adrian said.

“How do you know what kind she is?” I asked. “You didn’t even see her.”

Esais crossed his arms and looked to his brother with raised eyebrows. “You didn’t?”

“He stayed in the van so we could get a good recording,” I said.

“Well?” Esais asked Adrian. “How can you be sure?”

Adrian sighed. “I have had a run in with vampires from this company before.”

“Seriously?” Esais asked. “When?”

Adrian typed on his laptop with his eyes narrowed on the screen. “Years ago.”

Esais grinned and gave a whistle. “And I thought you’d run from the family business. Here you were hunting all on your own.”

“If that’s what you want to believe, sure,” Adrian said.

“So what do you know about them?” I asked.

“Acesco is a subsidiary of a company named Erebus. Erebus is a multinational corporation that has its fingers in everything from weapons to pharmaceuticals. Looks like Acesco has moved up since I last dealt with them.”

“So these Strigoi are working with a demon. You think it’s Brimstone?” Esais asked.

“I think it’s too much of coincidence for it not to be. That is, if Jonah can verify Blasphemy is made from brimstone,” I said.

A chill ran up my spine as I felt something in the back of my head. A sort of black iciness gripped me. I rubbed my arms and glanced at Esais. He chewed his lip, his hand resting on his chin as he listened to Adrian. Memories began to rise. A vision of the bar in Texas where I first met the Van Helsing brothers filled my head, strong enough I could almost smell the stale cigarette smoke and beer. I closed my eyes and imagined a thick iron wall surrounding me. The chill disappeared as the presence faded.

“Was that you?” I asked Esais.

He blinked at me. “What?”

“In my head just now. Were you going through my memories?”

“No.” He frowned and narrowed his eyes. “I don’t sense any foreign minds. Whoever it was has retreated.”

“If anyone was there,” Adrian said.

I gave him a dirty look. “If the demons or vampires have a mentalist, we have to be careful.”

“I’ll handle it,” Esais said.

I nodded. “I’m meeting with John to see if we can dig up some information on this Faust. It’s time to crack open some old tomes.”

“Do you need help?” Esais asked. “I was going on a date, but I can always cancel.”

Adrian snorted and put his headphones back on. A smile spread across my face, and a mix of happiness and unease filled me.

“No, that’s great. You deserve a bit of fun,” I said. “Is this the boy from the club?”

Esais nodded, his smile making the room brighter. “His name is Viktor.”

“You have to introduce us. For now, have a great night. I just need one favor.”

“What’s that?”

“Can I borrow some books?”

Chapter 10

I CLOSED MY eyes and rubbed my eyelids. They ached after hours of squinting at the small, faded writing in these old books. I’d been lucky though. Out of thousands of demons, tales of Faust had been recorded. Understanding what it meant was a different matter. I sighed, pushed the book off my lap, and flopped back on the king size bed. John looked at me from his post at his laptop on the small desk beside the television across the room.

“That doesn’t sound like the sound of triumph,” he said.

“I found something, but it’s vague,” I said.

“Want to take a dinner break and talk about what we found? Maybe we can come up with something together.”

My stomach rumbled, and I chuckled. “That sounds wonderful.”

He picked up the hotel phone on the desk while I pulled the book to me once again. The words were hand written in a tiny, shaky cursive. My mouth moved as I translated the Latin into Italian. I shook my head; still this revealed nothing new.

John hung up and walked to the television and switched it on. The screen showed dancing lights as Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” filled the room. I smiled, closed my eyes, and swayed with the music. The mattress shifted, and his breath tickled my cheek. There was a small rustle of paper.

“Wow,” he said. “How can you even read this?”

“Patience.”

“So what have you found?”

I looked back at the book with a sigh. “Well, most of it is this tale of how Faust made a deal with the Devil.”

John snorted. “Which one?”

“Lucifer, actually. I don’t know what he got, but according to this account, he somehow tricked the Devil on his deal.”

His hand slid up my leg to behind my knee. “How is that even possible? This is Lucifer we’re talking about.”

I shrugged. “According to this, he lived a happy life and died an old man.”

“Well, that goes into some of the stories I’ve come across trying to read up on his legend. Are you sure he wasn’t already old when he made the deal?”

“Maybe, but this passage says he got out of the deal but still became a demon. And this is where it gets weird.”

“Wait, what was that about him becoming a demon?”

I looked up. “There’s a pretty substantial theory that humans become demons.”

“So, they’re not all fallen angels?’

I grinned. “No, those would be devils. Demons are considered to be their children, but I don’t think it’s in the biblical, begetting sense.”

There was a knock on the door. John stood up and opened the door for the room service attendant to wheel in a white clothed cart. He lifted the cover, allowing the steam to rise from the food. Two plates filled with thick cut steaks, roasted potatoes cut in small wedges, and bright green asparagus sat on the table. My mouth watered as the aroma of meat seared in garlic and butter reached my nose. The attendant placed the plates on the small table with along with wine in the middle.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” the waiter asked.

“That will be all, thanks,” John said.

John held out my chair for me before he sat in his own. The first bite of the steak almost melted in my mouth, and I closed my eyes to savor it. John popped open the bottle and poured wine into my glass. I sipped, letting the dry, red liquid mix with the tang of the red meat.

“You didn’t get this from here,” I said.

John wagged his finger. “No, I had them special order it. So, how did Faust’s story get weird?”

I waved my fork. “Well, since he tricked the Devil, when he did become a demon, he didn’t belong to any Throne.”

John leaned forward. “So, he’s a free agent, like Ose?”

I shook my head. “Ose was originally from the Throne of Greed. He somehow managed to break free. Faust has always been a free agent and, this account seems to warn about Faust’s ability to make those he possesses into him.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know, but Faust can apparently possess other demons.”

“Demons have no bodies. How is that even possible?”

I threw my hands up. “And now you see why I’m lost. Did you find anything interesting?”

“Nothing really.” He set his fork on his plate, stood up, and held his hand out to me. “Come on. Let’s take a mental break.”

I took his hand, and he pulled me close, wrapping his arms around my waist. He rested his chin on my shoulder as we swayed to the music. I shuddered, breathing in his scent, and the clump of tense muscles in my back began to relax. I deserved a little bit of fun. After all, the others were out enjoying themselves instead of going over musty tomes. Except Adrian. He’d probably work all night, the way he was acting. I smiled as I imagined him hunched over his computer, muttering to himself. Why was I thinking him at a time like this? I was in the arms of the man I wanted.

I shivered as John pressed his lips against my shoulder. His fingers trailed up my back. I pressed against him, running my knee along his inner thigh. My lips parted in a half pant as warmth spread from my loins and into my stomach. His musk mixed with the spice of aftershave surrounded me, and I couldn’t get enough of it. He swung to the side and dipped me to where I hung in his arms. We laughed as he lifted me up into his arms and carried me to the bed. I pushed the books aside and he climbed over me, staring into my eyes, his breaths ragged.

“That’s one hell of a dance,” he said.

“It’s only just begun.”

Our lips meshed, opening to allow our tongues to twine together and the heady aftertaste of wine and garlic danced on my on taste buds. John pulled away with a shuddering breath. He unbuttoned my jeans and slid the zipper down one agonizing tooth at a time. John’s eyes burned like a blue flame as they traveled up my body. He glanced at the wall and screamed.

I jump, shattered from my haze of desire at the shrill sound in my ears. John scrambled from the bed, knocked over a chair, and pressed his back against the window while his eyes never left the wall. I rolled off the bed and faced the wall, ready to deal with whatever horror was coming out of it. A small black spider crawled across the wall.

I glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

He jerked his gaze to me. “Just kill it.”

I slammed my shoe on the tiny creature on the wall and looked back at him. “Amazing. You’re willing to go after demons but freak out at one spider.”

“I can’t stand them. They’re just small and disgusting.” He let out a long breath, closed his eyes, and gave a shaky laugh. “I guess I ruined the mood there.”

The fire inside of me had cooled to a simmer. I opened my mouth to say we could rekindle something but stopped and studied him. The blood had drained from his face, giving a sickly grey to his tan skin. He gripped the window sill as his eyes darted from the walls to me. I knew that kind of fear. I fought it in every tight space and every crowd. It had taken me a long time to overcome it. I sat down, gathered the books to the nightstand, and leaned back against the headboard of the bed, patting the space beside me. He hesitated, scanning the room again, before joining me. He laid his head on my chest, and I ran my fingers through his hair in a gentle motion.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.

“No.” His voice held an edge of finality.

I sighed. As much as John was there for me as a sympathetic ear, it didn’t extend the other way. He kept this wall up when it came to anything personal. He rarely spoke of his wife and her possession or the fact I’d been the one to save him from her. He said he’d forgiven me, but I never really knew if he held some sort of resentment.

How much do you know about him? A small voice whispered. Maybe Adrian and Esais are right.

I tried to push the thought away, but it stayed with me in John’s silence.

Chapter 11

I STOOD IN the parking lot of a group of warehouses by the riverfront and studied the metal buildings with their square, segmented windows. Several workers moved around the outside of the first building. I pulled my jacket tighter around me at the brisk wind that traveled over the waterfront. The overcast sky grew darker as the sun began to set.

“These look pretty crowded. Are you sure there’s a demon here?” I asked Marge.

“Apparently we’re looking for the abandoned one. Coker said he’s heard some weird shit about the rave that happened here a couple nights ago.”

“And who is Coker again?” Adrian’s voice drifted from the small device in my ear. He’d given us a new toy to test out.

“He’s a guy who keeps an ear out on occult shit for me,” Marge said. “I get some good relics from him.”

“So, he’s like John,” I said.

“Except he’s useful. He actually found a demon,” Marge said.

“Maybe,” I said. “And John is tracking another demon that he found.”

“Ladies, this isn’t a competition.” The tiny bud still carried the annoyance in Esais’s voice. “Let’s get to work.”

I adjusted my sword, tucking it deeper into my long coat. Just touching it made me feel a little better. This was the first lead I’d had in a few days, and all the research for others was starting to drive me insane. Gazes followed us as we moved past the warehouse, and a few of the men, all with human auras, greeted us with whistles. The fourth warehouse stood closed and abandoned with boarded windows. I moved to the door and attempted to slide it to the side. It moved an inch before stopping with the clank of a metal chain. Some of the boards had been pried away from the windows above us, revealing only blackness from inside.

Marge pulled a collapsible grapple and rope from her belt and aimed it at the space below a window. The grapple flew through the air and hit the window ledge with a metal thunk. She pulled on the rope a few times before nodding to me. I used my feet to walk up the wall as I climbed, and once I reached the top, I signaled her to follow. The metal walkway shook with a steady squeak as I landed on it from the window. The only light shone from the few dingy windows, so I pulled out small flashlight, moved to the t-section, and panned over the space around me. The walkway hung suspended with metal poles and was only about three feet wide with a small rail. Trash littered the concrete ground at the bottom.

“Ok, we’re in,” I said. “Can you hear me?”

“Clearly,” Adrian said. “What have you got?”

“So far it’s empty,” I said. “Are you coming, Marge?”

There was a huffing of breath. “Hold your horses.”

A shadow moved out of the corner of my eye, and I ducked down. A breeze ruffled the top of my head as a green, scaled hand swiped where my chest would have been seconds ago. I rolled back into the darkness and came up, pulling a knife from my boot as I shone the light on what attacked me.  A being in rags glided forward. Its face was covered by a worn hood.  I shifted to my second sight to see what sort of monster we were up against. The soul of the human who owned the body had been devoured by a demonic snake woman. A chill ran down my spine. I should have guessed from the scales and tail. A lamia. I had hunted one in Paris in the twenties with Dimitri Van Helsing, the boys’ great grandfather.

I gulped back the bile that rose in my throat and let my vision return to normal. This was ridiculous. The rag covered creature turned our direction, her clawed feet made a scraping sound against the grating. She stopped halfway at the intersection, its head turning at an angle impossible for a human. Green scales covered the creature’s hairless head and traveled down her body.

“Gabriella Di Luca, I thought you would look more formidable. After all, you killed my sister.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Was that a poor way of saying you thought I’d be taller?”

“I have waited over ninety years for this.”

“I take it you mean Lola,” I said.

“Was that what you called her? Must have been the human you killed with her,” the creature said.

“Is there a point to this?” I asked.

When she opened her mouth again, I flicked my wrist and flung my knife at her. She ducked to one side, and the knife bounced off the pole. It skittered across the walkway, over the edge, and hit the ground with a distant ping. She hissed at me, baring the long fangs.

I smirked at her. “The conversation was growing dull.”

The demon growled and came at me. I used one of the poles to swing around so that I came up behind her, then drew my sundang. The light reflected off the wavy blade. The lamia brought her talons in an upward rake to my chest. I hopped back and brought my blade up in a defensive stance. The metal grating shook beneath me, and I pulled back to the intersection to allow Marge to come and stand beside me.

“Hey, scaly bitch,” Marge said. “Are you Cambione?”

The demon paused and tilted her head to the side and her eyes narrowed to slits. “Who are you to know that name?”

“If you were Cambione, you’d know. We can do things the easy way or the hard way.” Marge cracked her knuckles. “Please say the hard way.”

The lamia gave a hissing laugh. “Come, human. I will rend your flesh from your bones.”

Marge grinned. “Hard way it is then.”

The lamia crouched and leapt at Marge with her arms outstretched and her claws flexed. She brought both hands down to attack Marge in two long crossing slashes, but the Cajun girl pulled back and raised her arms defensively with her hands in fists. I stepped on the rail, swung around a pole, and brought my sword across the demon’s back. She screeched and spun to face me.

“Gabby, what’s going on?” Esais asked from the ear bud.

“We’ve run into one of the demon hybrids,” I said.

“Do you need help?”

I looked from the lamia stumbling around to Marge, drawing her leg up in a kick. “No, we can handle this.”

Marge brought her foot down on the backwards joint of the lamia’s leg. She let out a shriek and turned, throwing its arm back to hit her. She slammed against the rail and the entire walkway wobbled. The demon flailed its arms to try to keep her balance. I stood and brought my blade across the creature’s stomach. She howled in pain as blood gushed from the wound, and light reflected off of her black claws as she raised a hand towards me. I ducked down, grabbed onto the railing, and half hung off of the side of the walkway. The demon took two steps back from me and clutched her stomach, but the blood ran through her fingers.

Marge jabbed her foot in the lamia’s wounded leg again, and the crack echoed through the building as the saint’s bones imbedded in her boots did their job. The demon screamed and leaped into the air, rearing both her arms back. One caught me in the abdomen, and my foot slipped, leaving me dangling over the edge. My sword slipped from my hand as I struggled to hang on. Marge stumbled back as she was hit by the other hand and went over the railing. There was a thud and a loud crack. The lamia latched onto the wall and scuttled out the widow we’d opened. I hooked my foot on the metal grating, scrambled up, and lay on my stomach, panting. Marge lay below me with one arm twisted in an odd angle below her.

“Marge?” I called.

She didn’t move.

“Damnit Marge, answer me.”

She only did with silence.

Chapter 12

I TOOK THE metal stairs to the first floor two at a time then kneeled in front of Marge’s motionless form. I breathed a sigh of relief when her chest rose and fell. Her forearm was bent backwards, and the flesh had torn at her elbow.

“Esais, we need Tres here, now.”

“What happened?” Esais asked.

“Marge is hurt.”

“Show me.”

I blinked. I didn’t remember Esais’s telepathic range being so broad. In Texas, he was able to reach us from a few miles, but now I was almost twenty miles away from the office. His presence filled my mind, accompanied by his choir. Their voices flowed through me, and my heart pounded with their cadence. Images of climbing into the window and scouting the warehouse came to the surface. My heart sped up as images of the fight replayed like one of Lucy’s movies. I came back to reality to find Esais and Adrian standing over me. Tres was already kneeling beside Marge.

I gaped at Esais. “What just happened?”

He smiled mysteriously. “Time is a tricky thing with memories.”

I got to my feet and glared at him. “In other words, you kept my mind occupied until you arrived. You can’t just go in my head and do that without me knowing.”

He raised his brows. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was such a problem.”

Adrian’s gaze met mine. “Slippery slope.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Esais asked.

“All gifts have prices. I wonder what yours will be, and how far will it drag you down?”

Esais’s face went white. “For the love of God, I’ve read her mind before. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“I let you before,” I said as a chill crawled up my spine. “Have you done it without me knowing?”

Tres cleared his throat. “Have you done it to us?”

Esais’s eyes widened, and his jaw stiffened. “Of course not!”

“Not yet anyway,” Adrian said. “But will the time come when you decide it’s necessary?”

Esais’s narrowed his eyes as he glared at his brother. Adrian met his glare straight on with a mask of arrogance. If he pushed any harder, he might have been the first to find out what Esais’s breaking point was, but maybe that was what he wanted. Tres gaped at both of them with his mouth open as his hands hovered over Marge’s unconscious form.

I nodded to her. “How is she?”

“Multiple broken ribs, broken arm. She got lucky, though. There’s no internal bleeding. I can heal it, but only if I get some action. This is building up.” He held up his right hand.

Esais broke his stare and looked down at Marge and his brother. “Heal her so we can leave. I’m going to have a look around.” He walked off without another glance at Adrian or me.

“I will take upstairs,” Adrian said.

He walked off with an almost self-satisfied look on his face. Tres ran his left hand from Marge’s shoulder down her arm as he straightened it out. The bone of the elbow shifted under his skin until it looked normal and the ripped skin smoothed together like putty. He stepped back, shaking his right hand as he massaged his forearm. In Texas, he had plenty of opportunities to use his power. I’d even seen him cause someone’s flesh to tear open by itself. Ever since we arrived in New York, he’d been playing more than looking to his duty. I hadn’t seen him heal anything life-threatening, nor had I seen how long he could wait until ill repercussions started. With the problems we had already, it was better to keep this one under control.

“How bad is it?” I asked.

“Not bad. Just a strong itch I need to scratch.”

“We’ll make sure that happens,” I said.

“What happens?” Adrian returned with my sundang in his hand.

Esais came up behind him with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed. His brooding expression looked a lot like I’d seen from Tres on many an occasion. For Esais it looked odd. I guess he didn’t like being called out for something he didn’t believe wrong. Adrian handed my sword back to me.

“Grazie,” I said. “Your brother needs some relief.”

“I thought that’s what the redhead you left with earlier was for,” Adrian said.

“Well, I was interrupted,” Tres said. “She’s probably found someone else now.”

Adrian scoffed. “Oh, the sacrifices you have to make for the family cause.”

“Like you know anything about it.” Tres wrinkled his nose and gave him a sour smile.

“Enough!” Esais said. “We have other things to deal with. What was this thing you fought?”

“A lamia hybrid. Lamias like to eat children and search for a mate to breed their own children. It never really happens, though. It’s like some sort of curse for that line of demons,” I said.

“I’m guessing they’re from the Throne of Lust?” Esais asked.

I nodded, frowning. More demons from that throne. They were making a major play, and I seemed to have gotten caught up in the middle of it. Lust always plagued me, but was it any wonder. Allegra, the very demon who cursed me, belonged to it, and her master constantly tempted me into succumbing to them.

Esais rubbed his forehead. “And it got away with no way for us to find it.”

I glanced down at the congealing blood on my sword. “Not true. Is Lucy back yet?”

“Tomorrow,” Esais said.

I held my hand out to Adrian. “Give me a napkin or piece of cloth.”

“And I would have that because?” he asked.

“You have tiny robots that make things,” I said. “Come on.”

He sighed, removed out a piece of paper from his jacket pocket, and held it in the palm of his hand. The edges disappeared as if being eaten by an invisible fire. It grew smaller and smaller until it disappeared into nothing. A small white dot formed in the center of his palm. The white spiraled out into a cloth handkerchief. I shook my head. Modern Science couldn’t explain that. I took the handkerchief and wiped my blade. I rubbed the cloth together, making sure all the blood soaked in.

“Lucy may be able to track the lamia with some of her blood,” I said. “We just need to be patient.”

“We are the picture of patience.” Esais sighed and looked at Adrian. “What about you? Do you have anything yet?”

“No,” Adrian said.

“What is taking so long?” Tres asked.

Adrian stared him down. “Infiltrating a corporate network takes time.”

“In the meantime, we’re stuck sitting on nothing while the demons run the city,” Esais said.

My breath caught in my throat, and I sputtered. Once again, an artic presence washed over my mind, numbing me from the inside out. My hand shook so hard my sword slipped, and I had to catch myself before dropping it. The pressure in my head grew, and I stumbled, grabbing onto Adrian for balance. I scanned the walkway above us, looking for any signs of my attacker.

“What is it?” Esais’s gaze followed mine. “Is the creature back?”

The presence vanished.

I stared at him as I rubbed my arms. “Was that you in my head just now?”

His forehead scrunched up as he frowned. “No.”

“Well, something was.” I scanned the building with a shiver. “It was so cold.”

He paled and swallowed hard. “Are you suffering any headaches?”

“No, it was just nosy,” I said. “I thought you were looking into this thing.”

“I am, but it seems to be interested in you. No one else has said anything.” He looked to his brothers. “Maybe you’re imagining it.”

“I’m not imagining this.”

“This past week has been pretty stressful. Maybe you should take some time off while we wait for Lucy,” Esais said.

“I’ve been dealing with stress all my life and haven’t had an issue,” I crossed my arms and glared at him.

“Except in Texas,” Adrian said.

I shook my head. “That was supernatural influence. This is probably the same.”

“Either way, you can take a couple of days off. Visit John or something,” Esais said. “We’ll call you if the world ends or we find a lead.”

I pressed my lips together in a thin line. “We got what we came here for. Let’s get out of here.”

“That may be the smartest thing you’ve said today,” Adrian said.

I gave him a withering look and headed up the stairs. I was not going crazy, not like in Texas. Maybe it was some demon playing with me, like Faust. Just because I couldn’t touch this threat, didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

Chapter 13

JOHN WAITED FOR me at the edge of the pier that overlooked the Hudson River. Snow crunched under my boots as I walked to him, rubbing my arms as the cold seeped through my wool coat. He grinned at me with his nose slightly red.

“When I called, I expected to meet you back at your apartment,” I said. “Not out in the middle of a frozen park.”

“You sounded like you needed something more comforting.” He pulled me close for a warm hug.

I inhaled his aftershave and felt warmed in a different kind of way. He took my arm and pulled me to the end of the pier to a telescope sitting in the middle. I looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“You said you couldn’t find a place to see the stars,” he said. “Well, I give you the stars.”

A smile crept on my lips. “So this is why you brought me here?”

“Well, I do have a little information about the demons.” He pushed me to the telescope. “First, enjoy.”

I leaned forward and placed my eye in the viewer. A group of stars shone brightly and so close against the deep black. I reached my hand out, even though I knew I was still thousands of years away. A sense of longing filled me, an emptiness I couldn’t explain. I wanted to join them in that vast emptiness.

“That’s Canis Major. It holds Sirius, the brightest star in the sky,” I murmured.

“I thought you might appreciate it,” John said.

He moved closer to me, to where his chest brushed against my back and his breath warmed my cheek. It tingled along my chilled skin and spread through my body, causing a light fluttering feeling in my chest. My nipples hardened, rubbing against my bra. My lips parted as I drew in a ragged breath and pressed my hands against his warm chest. The stars were lifetimes away, but John was here with me now, so close his spicy aftershave filled my nose.

“It’s . . . beautiful.” I cleared my throat and turned back to gazing through the eyepiece. “So, what information do you have for me?”

“Well, I dug up a little more on Faust. Apparently, those he possesses do become him, and all have his ambition.”

“I don’t see much difference from other demons. Well, other than the ability to possess other demons.”

“How about the fact he can possess multiple victims at once? Humans, demons, and God knows what else.”

I tilted my head. “What?”

“From what I can understand, and you are much better at this demon stuff than I am, he can leave pieces of his essence in others. It gives him control over them.”

“Wouldn’t that weaken him? How the hell does he control more than one at the same time?”

John shrugged with his hands at the level of his shoulders, his mouth drooped open in a half-lost look. “You got me. I guess he doesn’t have complete control. Like they have minds of their own? Apparently his puppets, not really sure what to call them, have been known to kill one another to gather more Faustian power.”

I blinked. “Wouldn’t that be counterproductive for him?”

“Hey, I’m only giving you what I know. I’ll leave your brilliant mind to figure it out.”

“That’s . . . interesting.” I stared into the sky, trying to digest this new information. “So, any idea what he wants with this drug? Is he looking for more demons to possess?”

John sighed and stuck his hands in his pocket. “No, but I think this Cambione is one of him. At least from what information I could get.”

“That makes Faust the ringleader in this,” I said. “I wonder if he has Marge’s contract.”

John shook his head. “Cambione probably still holds it. He’s the one who claimed it.”

“I still haven’t found him. My leads have been taking me everywhere else,” I said.

“Where have you been looking?”

I snorted. “Well, I’m sure you read about the weird purple fire in Brooklyn?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Wrong place. Cambione is operating on a richer scale. He has someone as a go between for the lower end.”

“The lamia,” I said. “She’s constantly on the move.”

“He also has several runners in the club scene. You might try there if you can’t find her.”

I sat on the pier, wrapped my hands around my knees, and stared up at the night sky. There weren’t any clouds. John had really chosen the perfect night to pull this off. He knew me so well and went to great lengths to try and bring me small bits of happiness. John sat and leaned in close to me. He rested his hand on my chin, turned my face toward him, and studied me for several moments. What could he possibly see? My face had to be as shadowed as his.

His voice was soft with concern. “You sounded really upset earlier.”

I lifted one shoulder, trying to seem nonchalant. “Just a little argument.”

“That tone in your voice means it’s nothing little.”

“It’s just . . .” I pressed my lips together. “I’m either being stalked psychically, or I’m going insane. Again.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I keep feeling this presence in my mind. I don’t know where it’s coming from. It’s not—” I bit the inside of my cheek.

John didn’t know about Esais or the others’ power. I doubted they wanted me spreading their secrets around, especially since they didn’t trust John. Was I being a fool by placing so much trust in him? After all, hadn’t the night in the hotel proven how little I knew of him?

John leaned forward. “Not what?”

I shook my head. “It’s probably just in my mind. The others haven’t felt anything. They think I need a break.”

John gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “They don’t know you like I do. Whatever it is, you’ll beat its ass.”

I chuckled. “You have a lot of faith in me.”

“Of course.” He brought my hand to his lips and kissed my fingertips. “You’re my savior, after all.”

“Even from spiders?”

His chuckle held a strained cord. “Yeah, about the other night . . . It’s something I’ve never gotten over since I was a kid.”

“That was a pretty big reaction.”

He shuddered as he stared out over the frozen water. “They’re always around, just watching and waiting, with their spindly legs and glittering eyes.”

“I’m surprised this is the first time I’ve heard about this,” I said.

“Well, we all have our secrets.” He shrugged. “Besides, I thought this wasn’t a real relationship, just friends with benefits.”

“Even friends know a lot about each other, like their fears.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “This is more than just the spider thing, isn’t it?”

“No.” My voice had a slight edge to it. “It’s just you know so much about me . . .”

“You still don’t trust me.” He stood up and paced. “For Christ’s sake Gabby, what is it going to take?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I . . .”

“Fine, you want to know about me? My favorite color is emerald green. I like Classic Rock, but you already know that since we’ve listened to it together. I live in a one bedroom apartment and bust my ass to bring you information to hunt demons.”

“John, stop.”

He spun and faced me, pointing his finger out. “It’s really messed up, you know. You want me to get you this information, yet you don’t trust me. How does that make sense?”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

The air deflated out of him, and he sighed. He sat a few feet from me with his shoulders slumped. He met my eyes directly and spoke in a quiet voice. “Seriously, what do I have to do?”

“Talk about yourself,” I said. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“And that will really make you trust me?”

I rested my hand on his. “It’s a start.”

Chapter 14

I CROSSED MY arms and watched Adrian type furiously at his laptop. Bits and pieces of old electronics lay strewn across the desk and the tables along the wall.

“Anything on Aceso yet?” I asked.

“That’s what I’m currently working on.”

I walked around to peer over his shoulder. “Well, what do you know about the main company?”

He sighed and half closed the laptop before I could read anything. “I will tell you when I have compiled everything. Shouldn’t you be out chasing demons?”

“I’m still waiting on Lucy to get back to me.”

“What about your boyfriend? Isn’t he doing something?”

I shook my head. “No word.”

“That must be a strain.”

“My relationship is fine, thank you.”

“I’m sure. You know trust is the key to any relationship.”

“I do trust him.”

“That pause in your voice says otherwise.”

“Yes, we can all rely on your wisdom. Because you are such an expert on relationships.”

“You would be surprised. I have a bit of experience in failed ones.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. That was interesting. He kept his face neutral as he typed away.

“This is not an opening for a heart to heart. I have work to do,” he said. “It would get finished faster without people pestering me.”

I wandered out, wrapping my arms around myself. My pace slowed to a crawl as I climbed up the stairs to the fourth floor. How much did I know about Adrian’s past? His schooling in America, his incarceration for arms dealing left a whole lot of room for things that weren’t covered. It was the same with John. I never knew he feared spiders. I was so focused on hunting demons, I never noticed how little he talked about himself. I let out a sigh. He couldn’t have betrayed me, which meant I’d somehow lost the Menrazine in Texas during my bout with madness. Anyone could have picked it up. I swallowed at the sudden dryness in my throat. Marge jammed her shoulder into me as she stomped up the stairs past me.

“Hey,” I exclaimed.

She glanced back at me with a death glare. Deep shadows lay in a valley under her swollen eyelids and her skin had taken on a sallow quality that was visible even in this dim light. She exited to the fourth floor and slammed the door shut behind her. I took the rest of the stairs two at a time and caught up with her in the small hall near our makeshift locker rooms.

“What’s with you?” I asked.

“Nothing. I swear, you are so damn nosy.” She threw her hands in the air.

I crossed my arms. “You look like hell. When was the last time you slept?”

She snorted and turned to the locker room. “I don’t need a vacation like you did. I have a demon to find.”

“And not sleeping has gotten you closer? Did you find Cambione, and I just wasn’t informed?” I looked around and spread my hands wide.

She scowled. “Look. If you have any news, let me know. Otherwise, fuck off. I’m fine.”

With that, she shut the locker room door in my face.

My phone in my pocket vibrated and started playing “Wandering Stars” by Portishead. I sighed and pulled it out. Lucy’s name flashed on the little screen.

“Please tell me you were successful.” I said.

“Not exactly.” Her voice crackled over the phone.

“What do you mean, not exactly?”

“I think the drug is interfering with the dowsing.”

“You couldn’t find anything.”

“No, it just keeps moving, and it takes forever find a location.”

“We’re going to have wait longer.”

“No, the last location I managed to get was in Queens, but she seems to be on the move again.”

“It’s worth looking into. Give me the address.”

I fumbled in my jacket for a pen and piece of paper as my heart raced in my throat. This wasn’t what I was expecting, but at least it was a lead. There might be demons for me to kill even if the lamia wasn’t there. I wrote down the address, hung up with Lucy, and stepped into the locker room. Marge glared at me with her shirt half over her head, looking more laughable than intimidating.

“Looks like you’ll be earning that paycheck. We need to find Esais,” I said.

“Cambione?”

“I doubt it.”

She scowled and crossed her arms. “Then why should I care?”

“Because you’ll enjoy it better than the punching bag.” I sent my thought out to Esais. “Where are you?”

“In Adrian’s office. Come here, I want you to meet someone,” he sent back.

“I have to talk to you anyway.” I looked to Marge. “Come on. The faster we get this done, the faster we get out of here.”

Adrian’s office had become crowded. He still sat at his desk with a sour smile on his face while Esais stood on the opposite of the desk with his back to me. Beside him stood a young man with slender shoulders and dark blue hair that brushed the bottom of his neck. Tres leaned against the wall near the door with his cell phone in his hand.

Esais turned around and smiled at me. “Gabby, Marge. I’d like you to meet our newest member. This is Viktor.”

The boy turned around and nodded at me with a smile.

“Hello,” he said in a light Southern American accent.

I took his hand in mine. “Gabriella Di Luca. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Marge looked him up and down. “New blood, huh. He doesn’t look like much. How many monsters has he killed?”

Viktor’s smile disappeared, and he scratched the back of his head. “I haven’t killed anything, actually.”

“So, why are you here?” Adrian looked to Esais. “Please tell me this isn’t some sort of relationship whim.”

Esais glared at Adrian. Viktor’s face turned a deep red, and he cleared his throat, looking at the ground. There was a moment of silence where the whir of Adrian’s laptop was the only thing heard.

Marge let out a choking laugh.

“Seriously? I should have guessed.” She yanked her thumb behind her at Tres. “I would have thought the pretty boy, but he chases too many girls.”

“Jealous?” Tres asked.

“Nope.”

Esais turned his glare on Marge and Tres before returning to Adrian. “No, this is not because we’re involved. Viktor has a gift that has drawn attention. He wants to know how to defend himself.”

“Take a Karate class,” Marge said.

“Not helpful,” I said, turning to Viktor. “But she has a point. This is a life thing, not a job, or a hobby, and it will put you in more danger. If all you want is to protect yourself, we can give you basic tips.”

He shook his head. “Oh, I want more than that, honey. Esais says I’ve been gifted, and I want to use it to help others.”

“What kind of gift are you talking about?” Tres asked.

“It’s easier to show,” Viktor said.

He scanned the room until his gaze landed on a stack of plastic compact discs on the table and his brow furrowed. The discs rattled, shook, and lifted into the air. They circled around the room, making a rainbow pattern on the walls as they caught the light. Tres gasped. Adrian gripped the edge of his desk, and his smile disappeared. Esais crossed his arms and grinned.

“Damn, so he’s another emissary freak, huh?” Marge said.

“Not exactly,” I said. “He’s a nephilim.”

“A what?” Adrian asked in a cold voice.

“Like the biblical half angels?” Esais asked.

“Sort of. That’s where they got their name, because I think some of the first wore born from angels.” I tried to think of a way to explain. “You all know of Greco Roman mythology, correct?”

We looked at Marge.

She glared at all of us. “What? I’m not stupid. I know. What do they have to do with this?”

“The emissaries would be the avatars of gods while the Nephilim would be the children of those avatars, like Hercules,” I said. “I don’t really know the extent of their powers, though.”

“So, what else can you do?” Tres asked. “Besides parlor tricks?”

Viktor’s brow furrowed again, and Tres rose in the air. His eyes widened and a muffled curse left his lips. His body was frozen with hands clutching his phone and elbows close to his sides. Viktor smirked and stood with his arms crossed as he surveyed his work. Tres lowered back to the ground gently.

“All right,” I said. “But he still needs to be trained.”

“I’ve already started on lore.” Esais looked at Marge and me. “But I want the two of you to handle his combat training.”

“We’re busy,” Marge said. “We have a demon to catch.”

“Or four,” I said. I updated them on my conversation with Lucy.

“So, the lamia’s not there,” Tres said. “Seems like a waste, but hey, have fun. Is this over? I have a date.”

“Cancel it,” Esais said. “You’re going with Gabby and Marge.”

Tres scowled. “Why can’t Adrian go? Or you and the new guy?”

“I’m working,” Adrian said. “Something you really need to learn.”

“And I need to train Viktor. That leaves you.” Esais crossed his arms. “You’ll have to play later.”

Tres’s shoulders slumped, and he muttered to himself. “Fine.”

“Be ready in fifteen minutes,” I said. “Marge, you’re driving.”

Tres snorted. “We’re going to die before we get there.”

Chapter 15

“THIS IS STARTING to become a pattern,” I said as I stared up at the abandoned building in front of us.

“I guess they figured that if it works, why do anything different?” Marge said.

The address Lucy had given me belonged to a dilapidated brownstone, squished in between several others. A metal fence surrounded the porch of the first floor, though the gate lay on the ground. Graffiti covered any available space on the wall, including the boards that covered the windows. A set of rickety steps led up to the second story, green metal balcony, also covered in graffiti.

Tres pointed to the front door on the first floor and the boards that lay scattered around it. “Looks like someone has been here.”

“Let’s pay a visit,” I said.

“I’ll check around back,” Marge said.

“We’ll wait for your signal.” I touched the tiny bud in my ear. “Can you hear us?”

“Every word, unfortunately,” Adrian said. “If there’s any trouble, we’ll swoop in and save you again.”

I snorted. “I didn’t need saving. We needed Tres more than you, and since he’s with us, we’ll be fine.”

There was a muffled crashing of wood from inside and Marge’s voice echoed in the house and my ear. “All right, you bitches, it’s time to pay up.”

I sighed. “That’s wasn’t exactly what I meant when I said signal.”

Tres chuckled. “But it’s definitely hers.”

I flung the front door open, pulled out a flashlight, and moved in with my sword ready. The front room held only a threadbare, brown couch and a coffee table with the finish worn away in multiple places. I kicked aside a pile of trash and moved to the hallway. Marge rushed at me and stopped short a few feet.

“Oh, just you.” Her voice held a note of disappointment.

“Nothing?” I asked.

“Not up here,” she said.

“There’s a door,” Tres called from the living room.

I paused with my hand on the door. “They already know we’re here. So be ready.”

The door swung inward and revealed a set of concrete steps. A wall at the base of the stairs and the rail blocked any view of the basement, but a dim light beckoned from below.

My footsteps made no sound as I moved down the stairs. A long table was pressed against the wall opposite the stairs lit by a small lamp. Tubes and beakers of a variety of sizes sat in stands on the table filled with dark liquids, and fire heated a Bunsen burner in the middle, emanating a sickly sweet smell. A figure slumped in a chair in the corner of the room.

I moved to where I could see the darkened area under the stairs and shone my light. The beam caught the flash of a brown arm. Tres gave a shout from upstairs, and there was a loud thump.

I shone the light under the stairs again. Marge and Tres could handle whatever they had upstairs, and I sure as hell wasn’t turning my back on whatever was down here. The light caught the creature full on this time, reflecting her orange eyes.

She was short and stocky with most of her muscles in her legs. Tufts of fur sprouted all over her body, but the most prominent was a tan mane around her face and head. The cat demon snarled at me, flashing her pointed fangs, and pounced. I flung myself to the side, and she went flying into the table with a crash.

I dashed closer and slashed her across her back with my sundang. She yowled as her dirty white t-shirt became soaked with blood. She spun, grabbed a stool from under the table, and slammed it into me. I staggered to the side and my hip slammed into the side of the table. Pain shot through it and raced through my upper leg. That would leave a bruise.

As the demon swiped her claws at me, I ducked and slashed my sword across her stomach. She grabbed the blade, yanked it from my hand, and flung it across the room. I ducked to the side to avoid the swiping claws of her other hand, grabbed a glass beaker from the table, and smashed it into her face. Her face sizzled and popped, and she covered her face with a yowl.

I leapt for my sword and came up in a roll, holding it. The cat demon removed her hands from her face to reveal burnt fur and melted red flesh. She scanned the room with her ruined eyes. A loud series of thumps filled the room followed by a crash behind me as something heavy hit the bottom of the stairs. It sounded too hard to be human, or so I hoped. The cat demon growled and leapt that direction, coming to land beside the stairs with her nose twitching in a sniff.

Marge raced down the stairs, with the attention focused on the small stone creature at the base. I tackled my demon and wrapped one arm around her shoulders. She reared up, trying to throw me off, but I held on. I ran my blade across her throat. She gave a choking mewl and staggered backward as blood poured from the wound. I tossed her body to the side and turned my attention to Marge and her adversary.

The stone demon rolled off of the stairs and stood up. It looked as if a man had been squished to the size of a child, but it had kept its width. It leveled its gaze at Marge and she froze with her entire body stiffening and her joints locking.

I came up behind it and slashed my blade along its neck. Metal grated against stone to no avail. That was fruitless. The stone demon turned my direction, and I averted my eyes. It gave an annoyed rumble, like grinding stone, and slammed its fist into my solar plexus. The air gushed out of me, and I clutched my stomach, backing up. Tres raced down the stairs, past Marge’s paralyzed form, and laid his hand on the demon’s back.

“Let’s see if you still bleed,” he said.

His eyes squinted for a moment. The sound of cracking stone filled the room, and blood seeped from around Tres’s hand. The creature spread out its arms and spun. Tres flew back into the stairs, knocking Marge over in the process. I scanned the room. There had be something to bash this abomination to death.  My gaze fell on a fire extinguisher near the table. I dropped my sword and grabbed it. Tres got to his feet as the squat demon waddled closer to him. He held his right hand out with his fingers spread wide.

I slammed the fire extinguisher into the crevice of the stone demon’s back. The crack widened, causing more blood to gush from the wound. It streamed down its back and stained the gray stone a dark red. The demon swung its arm at me, but I side-stepped it and bashed it again with the metal canister. It dropped to its knees, but I didn’t stop. I kept slamming the extinguisher into it until the demon stilled. I stood over my fallen enemies, panting, and glanced over at Tres.

“Remind me never to make you mad,” he said.

“This isn’t angry,” I said and glanced at Marge. “How about her?”

He kneeled over her and started inspecting her. “Her joints appeared to have stiffened. Interesting effect.”

“That particular kind likes to paralyze its victims and sexually assault them,” I said. “Though I didn’t know its physical form would turn out to be actual stone.”

“So, you’ve seen these things before?” Tres asked.

I pointed to the stone remains. “This was a Trauco. The other”—I pointed to the cat demon—“was a Bajang. They’re both less powerful kinds from the Throne of Lust.”

“More from Lust,” Adrian said in my ear. “I wonder what this purpose is for summoning this many.”

“She always wanted power,” I said. “I guess this gives her an advantage over the others.”

“She?”

“The ruler. Naamah.”

“So what were they doing there?” Adrian asked.

I limped to a crate by the table and opened it as Tres continued working on Marge. Bags filled with a yellowish power lay stacked on one another. I picked up my flashlight from where I had dropped in during the fight and walked towards the slumped figure in the corner. A black slick liquid covered the figure from head to toe, shining a slight rainbow reflection in the light my flashlight.

An orang. Another demon from Lust. His head rested on his chest and his arms hung on the arm rests. A plastic tube came from one of the limp arms and was attached to an I.V. bag hanging from a metal stand. Blackish red liquid filled the bag. I reached forward and clamped my hand on the wrist. Nothing. I turned back to the table and scanned the contents of the still intact beakers. The same liquid filled several of them. I turned the flashlight back on the man, and a sick feeling rose in my stomach.

“They were making Blasphemy,” I said. “And they were using demon blood to do it.”

Chapter 16

MARGE JAMMED HER foot into Victor’s knee and sent him to the ground for the third time. She hopped back with a satisfied smirk and brought her fists up. Esais covered his face with his hand and gave a loud sigh. I shook my head from my position beside Esais on the bench.

“Watch your left side,” I said.

They’d been at this for almost an hour. Viktor was panting, and sweat poured from his face. He hadn’t called for a break though. Every time Marge knocked him flat, he just got back up and took the position I’d taught him. He picked things up quickly for someone with not a lot of training.

“Your mind is jumbled,” Esais said.

I glanced at him. “Are you looking places you’re not supposed to?”

“Not on purpose. You’re being loud.” He cleared his throat. “Do you want to talk?”

I chewed the inside of my cheek, debating on where to start. “John says he gave the remaining Menrazine he had back to me when we were in Texas.”

“But you are having trouble believing him?”

I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. “I don’t know. I was going mad there. It could have happened. And if it did, well . . .”

“You think this is your fault.”

“Isn’t it? Either way, I let that drug leave Texas. Now we have God knows how many demons in the city and who knows where else Brimstone could be.”

He sighed. “You shouldn’t lay the blame at your feet alone.”

“Who else? You, Marge? No one else put their trust in John.”

“But you needed to find out what we were dealing with. Did you have any other options?’

“None that wouldn’t take weeks.”

He gave me a soft punch in the arm. “Stop wallowing. What do you plan to do about it?”

“Make damn sure that this doesn’t get out.”

He became very still, and his voice softened. “That may take great sacrifice. Are you willing?”

I stared at Viktor and Marge until they blurred to only two figures moving. What was I willing to sacrifice to fix my mistake? My life, definitely, though I’d learned long ago that was almost impossible. The lives of those I cared about? Not if I could help it, but Marge and the Van Helsings knew the danger of this life. My mind? I’d rather not spend eternity condemned to insanity. What was the risk involved if I let this get out? Human souls lost . . . a multitude of demons walking the Earth. I nodded to him. He sighed and patted my hand.

“Well, I believe we’ve tortured Viktor enough,” Esais said. “I’m taking him out to dinner.”

I looked over at Viktor and Marge. Marge had him on his knees this time with a sadistic look of pleasure on her face. He deserved some time off.

“Ok, that’s enough for today. Be here at the same time tomorrow and pick up again, barring any emergency.”

Viktor nodded and turned to Marge with a grin. “Thanks for the fun, sweetheart.”

“Oh, don’t,” I said. “You’ll make her think she’s doing something right.”

Marge smirked. “He likes the way I teach.”

“God help us.” Esais stood  and picked up the gym bag beside him. He moved to Viktor and kissed him. “You ready to get something to eat?”

Viktor grinned shyly. “Are you cooking?”

“Ugh,” Marge said. “I’m out of here. Searching for demons has got to be better than this.”

Scowling, she stalked to the elevator. Esais watched her go with a chuckle and wrapped an arm around Viktor’s shoulders. They waved to me as they left, chatting to themselves. I moved to the center of the mat, closed my eyes, and rotated my neck, letting the tension fade away. I breathed in deeply as I counted to ten and exhaled. My body moved through the different stances automatically, and I let my mind wander. Doing this practice helped me focus on what was important.

The demons were using their own blood to create a drug. Who was the mastermind behind this? Faust or Cambione? Or they could have gotten it from another entity altogether. No, that felt too complex for this, too many fingers in the pie, so to speak. I had to kill the both of them and take care of this multi-headed snake. Unfortunately, I didn’t even know what Cambione looked like, and Faust was in the middle of a corporation full of vampires. Once again, I had to remind myself that patience was a virtue.

I took a deep breath and stood up straight with a more relaxed body and clearer mind. I grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat from my brow. I was at a loss on what to do for the evening. Marge couldn’t patrol all of New York for demons by herself. With a soft hum, I changed clothes and headed to the first floor. Adrian pushed past me on the stairs, carrying a large bag.

“Where are you headed?” I asked.

“Out,” he said.

“Obviously. But to where?”

He stopped and looked at me. “Out.”

He continued down the stairs to the parking garage. I frowned, my forehead wrinkling. Adrian hadn’t left his computer in days unless forced to. He had to have made a breakthrough with Acesco, but why was he hiding it?

I took the stairs two at a time until I reached the garage. He was closing the back doors of the van. I sucked in a quick breath and sprinted toward him. I slid into the passenger seat as he was starting the ignition. He turned his head and glared at me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

“Coming with you,” I said. “You’re being secretive, and I want to know what you are up to.”

“I’m not your boyfriend,” he said. “You don’t need to follow me.”

I gritted my teeth. “You don’t need to be scouting dangerous places on your own. This has something to do with Acesco, doesn’t it?”

“I’m perfectly capable of handling this myself. You would just get in the way.”

I buckled my seatbelt. “Deal with it.”

He stared at the steering wheel. “Fine.”

He pulled out of the parking lot and into the night. Adrian parked three blocks away from the Acesco building, got out of the car, and opened the back of the van. I climbed out. When he handed me the bag he’d been carrying, I blinked at its lightness.

“Since you’re here, you might as well be useful,” he said. He pulled out a rifle case and slung it over his shoulder. “Come on.”

He led me to an alley across the street from our target, pulled out a set of binoculars from the bag, and studied the building for several moments before handing them to me. I put the device to my eyes and scanned the building. Most of the windows of the five stories were dark as the employees had gone home hours ago. Adrian scooted forward and peered at the entrance.

“It looks like two security guards. One at the desk, one who patrols,” he said.

“You can tell all that from a few minutes?” I asked.

He glanced in my direction. “No, I’ve been watching this place for days.”

I blinked. So much for assuming he hadn’t left our office. He reached in my bag and handed me a folded bundle. It rolled out to reveal a long black coat with a hood. I held it up to my shoulders and looked at him questioningly.

“The coat will render you virtually invisible. It bends light around you.” He pulled one of his own out.

“You made this?”

He nodded. “I only had time to make two. One was supposed to be my backup. Let’s hope both work.”

Adrian pulled out a rifle case and opened it. He put the gun together in quick, sure movements. I paused with my arm halfway in the coat.

“Are you planning on sniping the guards?”

“I have to take out the security system. Then we will sneak into the building and deal with the guards.” He kneeled and positioned the rifle.

“So you’re going to shoot out the cameras?”

“It’s a dart containing some of my nanites. They’ve been programmed to infiltrate the security system.”

I looked from his face to the rifle. He wasn’t behind a computer this time. “How do you actually give commands to those things?”

He tapped his head. “I implanted a radio chip in my head that relays all my mental commands. Can we get on with this?”

“Right.” I shut up.

He aimed to the left of the door and pulled the trigger. The gun clicked and made a whooshing sound, jerking his shoulder. He stood up.

“We should move. We have maybe half an hour,” he said. “Head around back. There’s a loading area we can sneak in through.”

I nodded and took the alley. One truck sat empty in the parking lot. The light above the door flickered. I leaned against the rail, keeping my gaze on the truck. Adrian shifted around behind me for several minutes before the door opened with the squeak of metal.

He held the door open for me. I pulled out my sword and stepped into the warehouse. A metal rail divided the walkway from the loading area below. It was mostly empty, with a few boxes scattered throughout. I waved to Adrian and climbed over the rail. I headed to the door across the room. With Adrian’s guidance, we snuck through the halls to the front of the building. I crouched down, peeking around the corner.

One of the guards sat at the desk while the other leaned over, one hand resting on the marble counter surrounding the front of the desk. He chuckled at something on the screen of the television in front of them. The low babble of voices drifted to my ears. They didn’t notice my crawl toward them until it was too late. I took out the standing man with a hand chop to the back of his neck. The other one gaped at me for a second before he stood, his chair toppling to the ground. He reached for his gun, but Adrian slammed his fist into the man’s face, and the man dropped.

“Nice punch,” I said.

“Practice with Tres.” He moved down the hall. “Do something about them.”

I pulled a coil of rope from my belt, making a mental note to get more. I probably wouldn’t get this back. I left them tied and tucked away in a janitor’s supply closet down the hall. Cliché, I know, but it worked. Adrian stood behind the security desk, typing away on the computers.

“The server room is on this floor. Lucky you. No elevator ride,” he said.

I smirked at him. “I could have taken the stairs.”

“Come on.”

I followed him down one of the halls to a set of double doors. He swiped a card against a black square on the wall and the doors opened with a beep. The room held rows and rows of metal computer boxes that were almost as tall as I was. Adrian moved to the far corner of the room and sat down in front of a monitor and computer.

Adrian sat down, and his fingers moved over the keyboard rapidly. He pulled out a box with a cord and connected it to the computer. I moved to watch over his shoulder. A file come up with a head shot of Raina Benson. Her brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and a pair of square glasses rested on her nose. A forced half-smile hovered on her lips.

“She looks a little different from the conference,” I said. “Still cold, but less rigid.”

“I guess she enjoys vampirism.” His lips pressed together in a thin line.

“Were the two of you close?” I asked, and my heart sped up for some reason as I waited for his answer.

The small box to his side beeped, and he pulled it free. “We’re done here.”

He stood then walked out. We headed down the same hall we had entered. My gaze bored into his stiff shoulders as I walked behind him. He was so closed off. Honestly, learning anything about him as like pulling teeth. Why did I even care, though?

The dim lights flickered. A shadow pulled itself from the wall, stood upright as a person would, and blocked our way out. I took a step back, trying to wrap my mind around the fact a shadow had become three dimensional. I turned and found another shadow forming behind us as well.

Damn. Trapped.

Chapter 17

“VAMPIRES?” I ASKED.

He nodded but kept his gaze focused on the one in front of him. I put my back to him and pulled my sword from its sheath. If it harmed demons’ actual forms, perhaps it would do something against these monsters. The vampire’s form in front of me undulated, thickening until it became three dimensional. My own shadow reached up and slapped my sword out of my hand. Its black finger brushed across my skin, leaving a chill behind that burned my flesh and left a deep ache in my bones.

“Damn,” I whispered.

“Throw this.” Adrian put a small marble in my hand.

I didn’t look too hard at what he handed me. I just lobbed it at the vampire. It shattered against the ground and a puff of yellowish smoke exploded around the creature. It contorted, and a harsh cough emanated from it. The smell of garlic filled the air. The figure rushed from the smoke. Pale skin had replaced the shadow along with straw-colored hair. Adrian jerked his arm and there was another sound of breaking glass and the stench of more garlic.

The vampire in front of me glared at us as he pulled a pistol from inside the jacket of his charcoal suit. I swore, spun around, and yanked Adrian to the ground with me. We hit the ground in a roll, and I came up on top with my face just inches from his. His breath warmed my skin. The boom of the gun firing echoed through the hall, and shots flew over our head. The other vampire jerked and stumbled backward. Adrian stared at the gun with his eye narrowed. The blond vampire gaped as the handle of his gun began to disappear. I rolled off of Adrian, leapt to my feet, and ran toward my sword. My fingers grazed the handle before I slammed into the ground with all of the air in my lungs leaving me.

As the second vampire sat on top of me, blood dripped from the wound of his chest and onto my face. I tried to squirm out from under him, but he tightened his knees around my thighs. He pressed one hand on my chest, forcing me against the floor while he jerked my head to the side and exposed my neck with the other hand. With a hiss, he buried his fangs in my neck. An icy burn replaced the initial jab of pain. The cry I would have made died in my throat as a numbness replaced any warmth I had.

My fingers fumbled along the edges of the stake on my belt. If I could just get it free. The vampire’s grip on my head and chest relaxed as he began to lose himself in draining me. I pulled the stake out and jabbed it into the vampire’s neck. He jerked away from me with a growl as his hand went to his neck. I writhed out from under him and scuttled to my sundang as he tugged the stake free. I didn’t stop moving until I was on my feet and well away from him with my sword in my hand. Adrian wrestled with the blond vampire farther down the hall. The vampire in front of me hissed again and pulled out his own pistol. The shots resounded in the air. I dodged down, rolled forward, and came up in a crouch. My blade swung in an upward arc and severed the hand holding the gun.

The ringing of gunfire in my ears muted his screams. He clutched his stump to his chest with his face twisted in an almost comical visage. These creatures really could feel pain. Well, I would be sure to put him out of him misery. I leapt up and spun, letting my sword follow the momentum of my body. It sliced through his neck and severed his head from the rest of his body. I expected more blood, but I was wrong. The creature’s form dissipated into wisps of shadow and his clothes crumpled to the ground.

I stepped back, leaned against the wall, and panted. My hand moved to the burning wound on my neck, and my hand came away wet with blood. Surprising. My blood felt frozen inside my veins. I didn’t know how it could even flow. Adrian pushed the other vampire against the wall and staked him. He turned and his gaze sought mine. He moved to me, pulled my hand away, and inspected my wound.

“I have a first aid kit in the van,” he said in a faraway voice before turning away.

I used the wall to prop myself up as we made our exit. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, the chill had returned, and I seemed to have a perpetual shiver. The night air drove me to my knees. I tried to stand but my legs wobbled and I collapsed to the ground again. Adrian glanced back me and shook his head with a sigh. He wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me up. His arms radiated heat and I leaned as close as possible as we hobbled back to the van. I pressed my hands against the full blast of the heater as he drove for several streets before stopping to tend to my wound. At the touch of alcohol on the bite, I sucked air between my teeth.

“You’re experiencing symptoms of hypothermia,” Adrian said. “It’s common from a Strigoi’s bite.”

“S-so, b-blood loss and hypothermia,” I muttered. “I d-don’t see how their victims survived.”

“Many didn’t. In the past, Strigoi used to be rare. They controlled their numbers in order to stay hidden. That’s changed now.” Adrian pressed his lips in a thin line.

“How?”

“Erebus, the parent company of Acesco, has taken to hiring groups of humans whose main purpose is to feed them.”

I blinked. “So they’re paying humans to allow vampires to feed off of them?”

His lips twisted in a wry smile. “Well, that and the possibility of immortality. Supposedly everyone has a price.”

“How do you know so much about this company?” I asked.

“They’re vampires,” he said. “I’m a Van Helsing.”

“So are Esais in Tres, and they sure as hell don’t know about this.”

“Are you sure about that? Why do you assume you know us that well?”

I swallowed hard and crossed my arms. I hadn’t noticed when my hearing had started return to normal, but it had left an ache in my head that only compounded the chill and my sluggishness. Adrian could have told his brothers about this, and this was their way of handling it.

“I know you well enough,” I said. “Esais would have taken more active interest if he knew humans were being used as food.”

“And he would have gone riding in to save people who chose that path?” Adrian taped the bandage to my neck and started the car again. “They made their choice. We need to focus on destroying the vampires and the drug.”

I shivered at the possibilities Synergy could have on the populace, or was that just the hypothermia. Wait. “No, it’s more than that. You know Raina Benson. Who is she to you?”

“Another vampire to kill.”

I sighed. “You’re not going to tell me.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“What about Esais and Tres? Is it their business that you’re running off to fight vampires by yourself?”

“I don’t have to answer to them. Or anyone. Despite what you think, I am a grown man.”

“Really? Because you were all set on coming on your own tonight. What if you had dealt with those two by yourself?”

“You were the one bitten.” Adrian pulled into the garage of the office. “You should see Tres and see if he can do anything.”

He slammed the door as he exited and headed up the stairs. I hopped out and sprinted to catch up. The parking garage blurred around me, and the world tilted. I leaned against the back of the van and swallowed hard.

“This isn’t over,” I called after him.

“Yes, it is.” He disappeared behind the closing elevator doors.

Chapter 18

WITH A DEEP breath, I knocked on John’s door. My heart thudded in my ears as I leaned against the doorframe and rubbed my upper arms. The chill from the vampire’s bite lingered despite Tres’s touch. By the time he had allowed me to leave, Adrian had disappeared again. I’d been commanded to go home and rest, but how could I sleep with these questions burning in my mind?

John pulled open the door and blinked at me. “Gabby, hi.”

I took in the wet tips of his hair and the way his shirt clung to his chest. “Did I interrupt anything?”

He glanced behind him and back to me. “Nothing that can’t wait. What’s up?”

“I thought I would drop by and see if you could help me get to sleep.”

His eyes smoldered, but he frowned as he studied me. “You’re shivering.”

“Long story,” I said.

He wrapped an arm around me as he guided me through the door and to the bed. “One that’s obviously on your mind. Sit and I’ll make you something warm. Then you can tell me.”

I sat down cross-legged and pulled the blanket up around my shoulders. The thought of hot liquid coursing through my body sounded delightful, but even more, I wanted John’s body against mine. He moved to the small coffee maker and pulled out several packets from the little stand.

“Coffee or tea?” he asked.

“Tea,” I said. “That coffee is awful.”

He grinned. “You are such a food snob.”

“Wouldn’t this be a coffee snob?”

“But I know you.”

I chuckled. He turned back to the coffee maker. I brought my knees up to rest my chin on them as I watched him. What had I been thinking in suspecting John? He’d always been one of my staunchest allies. He constantly put himself in danger just to find information I needed, and he always listened to me drone on about my problems.

He had secrets, but he wasn’t the only one. Adrian’s face flashed through my mind, followed by the picture of Raina. I shook my head and smiled up at John as he approached with a steaming mug in his hand. I wrapped my hands around the porcelain and breathed in the sweet scent of cinnamon and apples.

“I think the hotel stocked it special for the holidays,” he said.

I laughed. “I forgot that is was almost Christmas.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t think you paid attention.”

“I don’t really.”

He walked to the window and pulled aside the curtain. The lamplight reflected off the glass and obscured the city he stared out into. I sipped the tea, and the hot liquid spread through my frozen body.

“What are you looking at?” I asked.

“Nothing.” He turned back to me with a smile. “So, do you want to tell me what happened?”

“Vampires,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve pissed off that corporation?”

“Adrian and I snuck in to get more information. Humans aren’t the only guards they have.” I rubbed the tender spot on my neck where I’d been bitten.

“You’re upset at being bitten?”

“I’m cold, not upset.”

He sat down beside me. “You are. It’s why you showed up at my door.”

I sighed. “Adrian is hiding his previous relationship with Raina.”

John gave a soft chuckle. “Of course.”

I glanced at him. “What?”

“Nothing. So, he’s got secrets. This isn’t news.”

“These are dangerous. She’s trying to distribute the brimstone, and he’s holding back. I think he wants to deal with her on his own.” I stood up and set the empty mug on the table.

“He’s a vampire hunter, Gabby. I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.”

“Not with Faust.” I crossed my arms. “I feel like I’m dealing with this in the dark, and it might get one of us killed.”

He came to stand a few inches away from me. “Some things you just need to let go of.”

I met his gaze with narrowed eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You have issues with not being in control. You’re upset because he’s handling this on his own.”

I threw my hands up. “Which is what I just said.”

“You’ve said he was brilliant.” He put his hands on my shoulders. “You need to trust in his skill. Or is there something more to this?”

I glanced away from him. “It just makes me uneasy.”

“If it was one of the others, would you worry this much?”

“Of course I would.”

He gave a sad smile. “All right. You need information. Leave it to me.”

“I didn’t come here to ask that of you.”

“Are you sure about that?”

I opened my mouth and shut it. Maybe I had subconsciously. I’d relied on John for information so many times in the past. Lucy would have been too cryptic, and Adrian was family to her. For the most part, I could rely on John and not have to worry about the familial outburst that would happen if I told the others.

“Yes,” I said. “I could use your help.”

“Done.” He brushed his thumb along the line of my jaw. “You know, there are other ways to warm you up if you’re still cold.”

My coat brushed against his shirt as I stepped closer. “And what do you suggest?”

His breath tickled my ear, causing a shiver to race up my back. “This room has a very large tub…”

“You look like you may have enjoyed it already.” My voice came out with a slight burr.

“Not as much as I will with you.”

In one swift motion, he scooped me up and carried me into the bathroom. John set me on the edge of the tub and kissed me on the cheek as he reached past me to twist the faucet on. A rush of water echoed against the crème-colored walls and white tiles, and stream rose, filling the room with lavender.

When I reached to pull my coat off, John’s hands covered mine.

“Let me do that,” he said. “I’m here to take care of you tonight.”

My lips parted with a trembling breath as he slid my coat off my shoulders and tossed it to the floor, followed by my shirt. I lifted my hips, balancing on my hands, as John tugged off my jeans and silk panties. He crawled between my knees and trailed tiny kisses along my thighs, up my stomach, and to my breasts. His tongue darted out, tracing along the edge of my bra while he unhooked it from the back. I climbed in the tub and sighed as the heated water enveloped me, but it was nothing compared to the flame erupting within as I watched John drop his robe and walk toward me.

“Is there room for me?” he asked.

I scooted forward. “It wouldn’t be any fun if there wasn’t.”

He climbed in behind me with his thighs cradling my hips and his arm snaked around my waist, pulling me closer so I could feel his growing hardness. The hair on his legs rubbed against my soft skin, sending delightful shivers through my body. I tried to turn around, but he held me still, and something wet and spongy caressed my shoulder blades. I gave a small moan as the tension in my muscles eased under his expert touch.

“Do you like that?” He nibbled on my earlobe, sending another shudder through me, and the sponge stroked across my ribcage and down my hip.

I turn so that I straddled him with my hand braced against his firm biceps. Beneath me, I felt his cock stir to full attention. I arched my back so my breasts thrust forward with my rosy nipples hardened to stiff buds.

“I thought I should make it easier for you to get the front,” I said in a husky voice.

With a grin, he leaned forward and took one of my nipples into his mouth. I gasped and let my hands trail over his shoulders and down his chest. He caught them before they reached his waist.

“Oh no,” he murmured. “I’m in charge tonight.”

His hand slid down to toy with my clit as his mouth found my nipple again. My fingers dug into his chest, and through sheer willpower, I managed not to lower them. How I wanted to explore every inch of him, though.

I bucked my hips slightly, sliding my slit over his shaft. His groan mixed with mine as my slippery lips rubbed over the head and my nub brushed against the silken skin of his cock. I lifted up so I positioned his cock at my entrance, but he grabbed my hips before I could thrust down.

“Not yet.” His gaze locked with mine.

“I can feel that you want me.” I wiggled my hips against him.

He sucked in his breath. “This about you giving up control.”

He shifted me so I once again glided down his shaft, and his thumb found my clit again while his other hand held my hips still. My blood raced in my veins at every flick of his fingers as the pressure in my loins began to build, sending an aching need through every molecule of my body.

“Please,” I whimpered.

His chuckle vibrated against my ear. “I’m here to please.”

He lifted me up and, with one powerful thrust, he impaled me. My rejoicing cry bounced off the mirror and walls as we became one. He cupped my neck and brought my mouth to his for a bruising kiss, and our tongues danced and swirled as he pounded into me, causing the water to slosh over the lip of the tub. Our fingers twined together as I rode wave after wave of pleasure, letting him guide me to the heights of ecstasy.

Chapter 19

MY DREAMS WERE interrupted by ringing. John’s arm lay sprawled across my stomach, trapping me against the soft satin white sheets. He gave a soft groan and rolled away as I sat up in my bed, and, after wiping the tears from my eyes, grabbed my phone.

“Hello?” My voice sounded hoarse.

“Gabby, are you still in bed?” Lucy asked.

Pale sunlight streamed through the thick white curtains. I ran a hand through my hair and licked my dry lips.

“I had a long night,” I said.

“Well, get up. I found her,” Lucy said.

“Found?”

“The lamia. But we need to move now. I don’t have enough blood to track her again.”

I flung the blanket from my body and hopped out of bed. “We? Are you going?”

“I thought I would. I need to get out of this hotel room,” Lucy said. “And I want to try out these new knives Adrian made for me.”

“Fine. Where?”

“Meet me in the abandoned Subway tunnel on Worth Street.”

“I will try and call people see if we can get more backup.”

“Just hurry.”

I dialed Marge’s number as I pulled on my jeans and hiking boots. The phone went to voicemail. I slipped my shirt and jacket on and tried Tres and Esais. No answer. I grabbed my sword and my bag of supplies. John raised up on his elbows and stared at me blearily as he pushed his rumpled hair away from his face.

“Off to save the world so early?” He cleared his throat.

I smiled at him. “Something like that. Lucy has a lead.”

Hi sighed and collapsed back on the pillows. “Damn, I was hoping to spend the day with you.”

I sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over to give him a long soft kiss. “Duty calls and all that.”

His hand cupped my cheek as his tongue ran across my lips. “I guess I’ll have to dig up the dirt you want so you’ll come back sooner.”

“Or you could just call.”

“As long as no demons threaten the world.”

“Right. But you knew that came with the package.” I headed to the door.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” His voice softened as he watched me turn the knob. “Gabby, be careful.”

“Don’t worry about me.” I gave a two fingered wave and left.

“Esais, can you hear me?” I sent out mentally as I sprinted down the stairs.

Silence greeted me. Strange, usually he answered me. I pulled out the tiny communication device and stuck it in my ear, pausing at the door that lead to the lobby.

“Are you listening?’ I asked.

“I wouldn’t say I’m waiting to hear your voice,” Adrian said.

I breathed a long sigh. “At least I got someone. Look, Lucy found the lamia.”

“Excellent. You can now redeem your poor record.”

“My record’s not poor.”

“One lamia. Zero Gabby. I’d say that’s a poor record.”

Bastard. “Are you coming?”

“No, I am in the middle of something.”

I hailed a taxi on the street, hopped in, and gave directions. “Would that something be staring at your computer screen and a certain red head you refuse to give information about?”

“Either way, I will not be joining you. But I will be here to speak if you need advice.”

“I think I can handle it, thanks.”

The cabbie pulled up on the corner of Worth Street. I handed him cash and climbed out. The street was slightly busy for this time of evening. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and headed to the abandoned subway. I slid past the barriers and flicked on my flashlight. Lucy waited for me at the bottom of the stairs. She bounced a little on the balls of her feet and waved me over.

“Which way?” I asked.

She pointed left down subway tunnel. “Down there.”

“Lead the way.”

She climbed off the platform and waited for me to follow. “Careful of the third rail, Dearie, we don’t want to electrocute ourselves before we find the demon.”

I trailed the light over the graffiti on the walls and down the dark tunnel. I took a long, deep breath and climbed in after Lucy. We walked close to the wall, and I concentrated on Lucy’s back. After twenty minutes of walking, she stopped and held up a small silver pendant. It was an inverted teardrop, the point stained with a dark substance. It quivered pointing to a maintenance door covered in rust. She pushed at the door several times before it opened with a creak that echoed through the tunnel. I followed her in and down a set of metal stairs that quavered and squeaked under our weight.

“What are you expecting to do to her?” I asked, trying to focus on something beside the walls that were so close together.

Lucy stopped and grinned at me. She pulled out two small, round punching knives sheathed in her belt. She fit them between her middle and ring fingers and curled her hands into fist so the blades stuck out. I shone the light on them. A small round symbol was engraved at the base where the blade met the handle. I’d seen it before.

“Those are the blades Adrian made?” I asked.

She nodded.

I tapped the earpiece. “You’re giving out weapons now?”

“Well, everyone needs to be able to fight a city full of demons.”

“I didn’t know you could produce that.”

“Why couldn’t I? It’s just a symbol.”

“It’s more than just a symbol. I’ve told you this before. They take precision.” I fiddled with the handle of my sword. It didn’t feel so unique anymore. “Have you given any to Marge?”

“No, these are the first.”

“So, you’re putting Lucy in danger and hoping they work?”

“They work on the bullets, the symbol hasn’t changed. I’m just looking for any differences.”

The pendant in Lucy’s hand vibrated again, and she sheathed her knives. “Come on. I don’t want to lose her trail.”

We turned down and hall, and the walls became a crumbling brick. The floor came to an angle with a dip in the middle. My feet became immersed in stagnant water, and a stench arose.  I gagged and focused my light ahead of us. My heart pounded in my head so hard I swore it thudded through the corridor. We twisted and turned through several halls until we arrived at a small room. There were three other tunnels connected to it. Lucy’s pendant began to spin like a fan at full speed. She stared at it, biting her lip, her brow furrowed.

“Problem?” My voice had risen several octaves.

“Hmm, it should give us a path . . . but . . .”

I wiped the sweat from my brow and drew a shaky breath. Why was it so stuffy down here? I almost missed the bite of the winter wind. I rested my hands on my knees and bent my head down, counting to ten. I looked up again and the world turned gray. Lucy’s aura sparkled with a mix of excitement and confusion. Something flickered in the corner and darted out direction.

“Merda.” I leapt up and shoved Lucy from the center.

She stumbled to the side with a grunt, leaving me to face our attacker. I gasped. The lamia slithered towards me on a long tail with her scales scraping against the stone. Her eyes glowed with the malevolence as she grinned in anticipation.

I tried to dodge, but she was too quick. Her tail closed in around me, trapping my arms to my side. I struggled, my breath caught in my chest, my eyes wide. I whimpered as the coils tightened around me. Lucy moved in and threw two quick punches at the creature’s tail, leaving blistering wounds where they struck. The lamia hissed and backhanded Lucy.  The girl’s small form flew across the room and slammed into the wall with an echoing thud. She stood and staggered, rubbing the back of her head. The lamia looked down at me with her long fangs extending over her pale lips. Lucy came from behind with her fist raised. She jabbed one of the punching knives into the middle of the lamia’s back. The demon half turned her torso, reached behind, and grabbed Lucy’s arm. A snap echoed through the room, and Lucy cried out.

“Gabby?” Adrian said from the earpiece. “What’s happening?”

I gave a choking grunt as the tail constricted again. My breath came out in short pants, and the world started spinning. The lamia looked down at me and bared her fangs in a sadistic grin.

“Gabby, breathe,” Lucy said. “I’ll get you out of there but you need to focus.”

What the hell was she saying? I was focusing on the fact that this snake monster was trapping and squeezing the life out of me. I was going to die in this tiny hall, just like a grave, a coffin. I screamed, and the lamia laughed.

“Count to ten with me Gabby,” Adrian said. “Breath in and one . . .”

Two, the air filled my lungs. The scales scratched at my skin, and my prison grew tighter. My chest ached, and I felt a pop from inside me. Lucy pulled out a large bottle and tossed it at the tail. It burst and sizzled with a puff of steam rising. The lamia let out a shriek, and the coils loosened, allowing me to scramble out and to the far corner of the room. I patted my side and found it empty. My sword was somewhere under all that snake.

I pulled a canister from my belt and lobbed it. White smoke surrounded the lamia, and she screamed again. She rushed from the holy water mist and right into Lucy. I hurried to my sword.

Lucy brought her right blade up to bury it in the lamia’s chin. The creature snatched her head to the side and brought the back of her hand up to smack the blade aside. She reached for Lucy with her other arm, but Lucy rolled off the side and came up in a crouch. I welcomed the adrenaline that pumped through me and abated the pain in my side. I moved forward to block the demon from pursuing Lucy.

I brought my blade up to slash diagonally across her stomach. Her nails clacked against the metal as she caught the blade. She hissed at me.

“You were so talkative before? Did you lose your tongue?” I asked.

The forked tongue in question flicked out from between her pale lips, and she snapped her teeth at me. “No need to converse with the dead.”

“I doubt you could kill me. Lola was inadequate. You’re not much better.” I jerked the blade away from her and spun low to deliver a quick slash to the lower part of her tail.

Lucy snuck around to her other side and jabbed both of her blades under the creature’s ribs. She screeched and flicked her tail so that the tip slapped against the back of Lucy’s knees. The girl toppled over with a grunt, and the demon slid her scales over her until she covered Lucy. I brought my blade across her abdomen, hoping to cut deep and disembowel her. She slithered to the side, and the sword only gave her a shallow cut. Green ichor from the shallow wound and a sickly sweet smell mixed with sulfur filled the air. Lucy pulled herself free and stood, panting. We glanced at each other, and with a slight nod, we rushed her.

I spun around and leapt up, trying to latch onto her shoulders. Lucy went in low, aiming for her stomach. The demon grabbed me and swung me into Lucy. We both went flying and crashed in the wall.

The lamia’s jaw distended, and she gave a hissing roar, her eyes narrowing into slits. She rose up and bashed her fists into the ceiling. The walls shook, and a rumble filled the room. Small stones fell from the brick. Her second strike hit her mark, causing the room to quake. Bricks, dirt, and rock tumbled down around her.

We were bathed in darkness.

Chapter 20

I CHOKED AND sputtered as the dust clung to the inside of my lungs. I pulled myself up, trying to untangle my limbs with Lucy’s. She groaned and shifted away from me as she sat up. Blackness surrounded us, and my flashlight lay buried.

“Do you have a light?” I asked.

Her clothes rustled, and a small, pale light erupted, giving her face an eerie glow. Blood ran from a jagged cut across her forehead and over her eyebrow. The bleeding quickly stopped, and the cut sealed itself starting from the outer edges.

I stood and held my hand out to her. “How’s the arm?”

“Fine,” she said.

“Adrian, can you still hear us?”

“The earbuds are sturdier than that,” he replied. “What happened?”

I scanned the pile of broken bricks, concrete, and rock that stood before us. If the lamia had survived, there was no getting to her.

“The lamia brought the room down on us,” I said.

“Do you need to be evacuated?’

I turned to the open tunnel behind us. It wasn’t the one we came through, but at least it was a way out. I touched my side and winced. Hopefully we wouldn’t become lost down here.

“Not yet,” I took a deep breath and counted to ten. “Lucy, can you get us out of here?”

“I think so. Not sure.”

“Great,” I said. “Let’s go. I’m starting to itch.”

We walked for what seemed like hours all the while the ache in my side grew to a sharp pain. Lucy stopped at one tunnel crossing and looked at the compass in her hand. I leaned against a wall and panted, sweat dripping down my face.

She put a hand on my arm. “Just a little farther.”

“I’m going to need Tres,” I told Adrian.

“I’ll call him,” Adrian said. “Esais and Viktor are here. I’m coming to get the two of you.”

The brickwork became newer as we walked, and soon we turned and found ourselves in a hall with metal steps and a maintenance door. We stepped into the subway tunnel, and I breathed an almost sigh of relief. Just a little farther, as long as we didn’t get run over. The tunnel was dark, but we stayed close to the wall just in case.

Lucy gave me a boost onto the platform, and I groaned, lying on the dirty tiles in agony for several moments before I held my hand to help her up. I leaned on her heavily as we climbed the stairs. I breathed in the first breath of night air and savored it with its smell of exhaust and oil.

“We made it out.” I tapped the ear bud. “We’re on the corner of White and Centre Street.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Adrian said. “Try not to draw attention to yourselves.”

I glanced at Lucy’s dirt-streaked face and our grimy clothing. He had a good point: people were already giving us sidelong glances as they passed. I pulled Lucy back into the entrance off the subway tunnel and leaned against the stair railing as we waited. Thank god it wasn’t long before Adrian pulled his van to the curb. Lucy helped me into the back, where I stretched out in the long seat while she climbed into the front. Adrian sped out into traffic and soon had us in front of the office. Once inside, I stared at my hated foe, the elevator. My gaze traveled to the stairwell, and my side flared with pain at just the thought of it.

“Come on,” Lucy said. “I’ll be inside with you.”

I remained where I was. I could still feel the lamia’s scales scraping against my skin. I didn’t want to be trapped again. Lucy took my arm and gently pulled me inside the elevator. I squeezed my eyes shut and counted toward ten. I reached seven when the doors slid open with a ding.

Tres stood in the hall with his brothers, Viktor, and a curvy redhead who pouted her mauve lips and clung to Tres’s arms. They all looked our direction as we stepped out. Tres pressed his lips together into a frown.

“Bring her inside,” he said. “Delilah, wait here.”

She crossed her arms over her ample breasts and gave him a glare. “This had better not take long. You said dinner.” She tapped her red heeled shoe on the carpet.

I leaned close to Lucy. “Is he dating courtesans now?”

Adrian, who caught the last words, snorted but managed to hold his laughter. Everyone, sans Delilah, filed into the room. Esais and Lucy helped me onto the examining table. Tres ran his hands over my abdomen, and I gave a small hiss as he pressed down on the sore spot of my side.

“Cracked rib,” he said. “Should be easy to fix.”

“She got away,” I said. “Again.”

“Well, we have more of her blood. So I can always dowse and find her again.”

“That hasn’t worked out very well,” Adrian said. “I have another plan. I have looked over the information from Acesco, and there are three warehouses ready to ship Synergy.”

My skin under Tres’s hands began to tingle and warmth spread through me. It tickled in my veins like tiny bubbles. The stabbing ache faded under that warmth. I breathed a sigh of relief and sat up.

“How soon?” Esais asked.

“Soon enough. We should move immediately,” Adrian said.

I coughed. “Does that mean tonight?”

He looked me up and down with a long sigh. “Tomorrow night, then. We will need everyone because we’re going to have to hit all three warehouses at once.”

Viktor raised his hand. “Does that include me?”

Adrian’s jaw tightened and he looked to Esais. “Well?”

“He needs to get some field experience,” Esais said. “I’ll be with him.”

“And me,” I said. “He hasn’t had nearly enough combat training to leave the two of you alone.”

“Then Adrian and Lucy will take one and Marge and Tres will take the last,” Esais said.

Marge groaned. “Not the pretty boy.”

Tres made a face. “I’m not looking forward to it, either.”

“This isn’t a social gathering,” Esais snapped. “Work it out.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket, it was a miracle it still worked. I pulled it out and checked the screen before I held it up for Lucy to see.

“Your father.” I hit the answer button. “Hello, Jonah.”

“Gabby, do you have a cold?” Jonah’s voice crackled with a slight static.

“Just dusty,” I said.

“I dread to ask. I’ve finished analyzing this Blasphemy. The base is indeed Brimstone,” he said.

Esais nodded to me once and moved closer to Adrian. The two of them began speaking in low voices while Viktor looked on with his brow furrowed. Tres moved over to Lucy while continuing to bicker with Marge. Lucy shook her head at him and moved closer to me with a questioning look. I held one finger up and turned my back on the group.

“I’ve pretty much surmised that,” I said. “Did Lucy tell you about the other possibility we found.”

“She did. I’m quite interested in this company.”

I glanced at Adrian and chuckled. “They seem to be popular.”

“Yes, well, the conference is wrapping up here in Venice in two days. I shall come to New York after.”

“You’re getting out from behind your desk?”

Lucy raised her eyebrows.

“I have a feeling you will need my legal expertise as well as my occult advice,” he said with a long sigh. “Also, has anyone had a chance to study a human under the effects of this Blasphemy or the other one, what was it called?”

“Synergy,” I said. “I saw what their souls looked like. Almost like it was being eaten away. I guess that’s what makes it easy for the demons to possess them.”

“And it just spirals out once possession has taken place. Hmm,” Jonah’s voice trailed off for a moment. “If possible, could you find one of the users who haven’t been possessed?”

The abandoned building the demons had used for a drug den flashed through my mind. If there was one, there was sure to be others. “It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Very good. I think it may prove useful, in learning more about this. Try to keep the children out of too much trouble before I arrive.”

“Of course,” I said.

“Please let my daughter know I will call with the details of my arrival.”

“She’s right here, if you wish to speak with her.”

Lucy lifted up her hands and shook her head, backing away slowly.

“Unfortunately, I have a meeting to attend. I will speak with her later.”

“Very well, Jonah. Thanks for the information.”

“Well?” Esais asked as I hung up.

“The good news is we aren’t dealing with a new way to turn humans to demons. Same as Texas,” I said.

“Is there bad news?” Tres asked.

“Depends on how you feel about Jonah coming here in person,” I said.

His shoulders slumped. “Horrible news then.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Marge said. “Are we done with this sewing circle?”

Esais crossed his arms. “Not yet. Adrian had a plan for tomorrow.”

“You will each have eight charges you need to plant in the warehouse. Once they are planted, we will send a signal that will cause the charges to explode in all three locations.”

“That’s it?” Marge asked.

“Patience is a virtue,” I said.

She snorted. “Not one of mine.”

“Obviously,” Esais said.

Adrian glared at us all with his one eye. “There will be some sort of security, most likely guards, cameras, and an alarm system. I will also provide you with nanites to infect the system for a short period. Make sure you finish within that time.”

“How long do we have?” Tres asked.

“About twenty minutes.”

Tres shrugged. “That’s not too bad.”

“You say that now,” I said.

“OK, so cut security, run in, plant bombs. Got it,” Marge said. “Anything else?”

“For now, no,” Adrian said.

“Please make sure you’re not endangering human lives,” Esais said. “We don’t want them caught in the explosions.”

Marge shrugged. “They shouldn’t be there and working for vampires.”

“They probably don’t know,” Esais said.

“Their fault for being blind.” Marge pulled the door open. “Later.”

Delilah stood from her spot on the wall and walked to the doorway. Marge shoved her to the side with one hand and continued down the hall, ignoring the protest and scowl she received. Delilah turned her brown eyes on Tres and gave him a petulant look.

“Are you done with your little secret meeting?” Her voice took a high pitch. “I’m starving.”

“We just need to do the secret handshake,” Adrian said.

It was my turn to hold back the laugh that rose in me as Tres glared at his brother. Esais just shook his head and took Viktor’s hand.

“I suggest everyone get some rest,” Esais said.

I grabbed the remains of my jacket and headed out. I was in need of a hot bath and a warm bed. How had I ever missed all this action? As much as that thought came, I knew deep down I lived for times like these. Even if I broke my curse, I doubted I would live a normal life. This was all I knew.

Chapter 21

THE SECURITY GUARD slammed his car door shut and switched on his flashlight. He passed it over the parking lot and rubbed his large stomach. I ducked down behind the car the three of us were hiding behind as the light made its way in our direction. Esais narrowed his eyes, staring off into the darkness.

“Two guards,” he whispered. “Both human.”

“I guess they don’t want to spring for the undead kind of protection,” I said.

“Eternity as a security guard? Not the kind of thing I would sign up for,” Viktor said.

I chuckled softly.

“I’ll handle them, you get to the camera,” Esais said.

I pressed my body against the wall of the warehouse and crept to the door. A small black camera was bolted in the wall above the door, impeding any further movement. I touched the small bud on the inside of my ear.

“Camera at the door,” I said.

“Can you reach it at your height?” Adrian’s cool voice echoed in my ear.

“Funny. I’m not that short.”

“Put the device I gave you on it. The nanites should do the trick.”

I climbed to the stoop while keeping as close to the wall as I could. It took me rising on my toes, but I managed to plant the device on the camera. The small red light blinked off. I waved to Viktor and Esais. They did a half-bent, fast walk to the guard.

Esais shook his head. “No keys.”

“I doubt they would really trust these humans with access to their merchandise,” I said.

“I got this,” Viktor said.

His hand hovered a few feet from the door and a click echoed from the handle. He pushed it open and motioned for me to go first. I pulled out my sword and new flashlight and stepped inside. The dim lights hung over rows of metal shelves filled with cardboard boxes. They towered over me as I walked between them. I shivered, scanning the tops of the shelves. Something could be crouched up there, ready to ambush whoever walked in uninvited. I shone the lights over them and found nothing.

“Clear so far,” I said.

I moved past the shelves to a more open area of the warehouse as Esais stepped inside, followed by Viktor. The center was mostly clear of shelves and the floor descended in a ramp down to the loading dock where three large, metal doors stood shut. The air conditioner rumbled to life, its rattle echoing through the open building. I nodded to the stairs along the left of the wall leading up to a landing. A metal bar guarded the walkway that lead to several offices. Esais slit one of the boxes open with a knife and pulled out a white bottle. On the label stood a woman in a sports bra with her hands on her hip. Synergy was written across the bottom in yellow dynamic letters. I raised my flashlight up the shelf, spanning the rows of boxes stacked, and gave a low whistle.

“This is a lot,” I said through the earpiece. “Adrian, Marge? What have you found?”

“A shit ton,” Marge said. “The warehouse is full of it.”

“Boxes and boxes,” Tres said.

“Ours, too,” Lucy said.

“How did they make so much so fast?” I bit the inside of my cheek and stared at the wall.

Esais looked to me with a troubled expression. “If it comes from demon blood, they have a lot of demons somewhere.”

Adrian said, “They are using the Blasphemy users.”

A chill ran through me. “All they have to do is take them from the drug dens, like the one we found.”

Viktor cleared his throat. “Or from the night clubs. There has been a rumor going around in the club I work at about an awesome new drug.”

I swallowed hard as a sick feeling rose in the pit of my stomach. “Let’s get to burning this. If this spreads across the country, I don’t know if we can stop it.”

A truck rumbled outside. I froze, waiting for it to pass, but it only grew closer. Esais stiffened and grabbed Viktor, pulling him behind one of the shelves. I crouched behind another one and cut off my flashlight.

“We have company here,” I whispered.

“We have some of our own, dearie,” Lucy panted in her microphone with the background of grunts and gunshots. “But it looks like they were already here.”

The engine of the truck cackled and puttered in its mechanical laugh and was accompanied by a steady beep right outside the left metal, roll-up door in the loading dock. The roar of the truck was cut, and two doors slammed. The click of a lock echoed through the warehouse, and the door slid up with the screech and rattle of metal. Boots thumped across the concrete, and the room was bathed in a yellow light. A tall, thin man with a long, pointed nose stood at the power box. He nodded to the second man, this one with a thick barrel chest, who pulled a ramp from the truck.

“Grab those boxes over there,” the thick one said. “The bitch queen will have our asses if we don’t hurry.”

I switched to my aura sight. In the corner of my eye, I could see Esais’s bright radiance which eclipsed Viktor’s sparkle. I turned my head and focused on the two newcomers. Both were devoid of any color. Their shapes had disappeared, leaving behind only shadow.

“Vampires,” I sent to Esais.

“They’re taking the drug out,” Esais sent back.

“Looks like it.” I clutched my sword tighter and pulled out one of Adrian’s garlic smoke marbles. “I’m ready when you are.”

The thin man drew closer to us. A few more steps, and he would see me with just the turn of his head. I shifted on the balls of my feet, ready to spring at Esais’s word. The vampire pulled a box from the shelf one down from our hiding spot and turned to walk back to the ramp. He took two steps, froze, and clutched his head with a pain-filled cry. There was another cry from the large vampire at the truck. Excellent. He’d gotten both of them. The box tumbled, stopped only a few inches from the ground, and slammed into the thin vampire. He stumbled back and blinked, looking around in panicked surprise.

I tossed the smoke bomb at his feet. It flared to life in a quick flash, and the scent of garlic and sulfur filled the air. The vampire stumbled out of the smoke and pulled his gun, his gaze landing on me. He fired several shots off. I dove behind the shelf, hitting the ground. The bullets hit the boxes with a dull thud.

“What the fuck is going on up there?” the other vampire called.

“I thought you had him?” I asked Esais.

“Their minds are slippery,” he said. “I will deal with him.”

The thin vampire moved until he was only a foot from my cover. He turned his head back. “Just a pest, I have her trapped.”

I lunged at the vampire and swung my sword at his neck. He stumbled back with wide eyes, his aim going sideways as he fired his gun again. The shot echoed against the concrete as bullets careened into the boxes above us. Esais hopped over the rails and disappeared from my view. There was another shout from the vampire below, and I grinned at my opponent. It was time to send the dead to their eternal slumber. If it had to be with blades and stakes, so be it. He raised the gun at me point blank.

“Let’s see this miss you,” he said.

I spun my wrist and brought the blade up again, severing his hand. It and the gun clattered to the floor. The vampire looked at the bleeding stump and his face twisted, the cheeks becoming hollow. His roar bounced off the metal walls, becoming louder and louder. Viktor leapt out of his hiding spot with a stake clutched between his hands. He raised it and jammed it into the vampire’s back. The creature spun around with black veins creeping into the whites of his bulging eyes. The shadows that belonged to the shelves bent and flickered, twisting into thin whips.

“What the hell?” he snarled.

“Damn,” Viktor said. “That’s harder to aim than I thought.”

“Try the front,” I said.

In a flash, the black tendrils ensnared Viktor’s arms and legs, forming in viselike grips. He fought against him, but they tightened around him until he could barely move. The bonds lifted him off of the ground, stretched him out spread eagle, and started pulling. The damn vampire was about to draw and quarter Esais’s lover. Not if I had anything to do with it. I brought my sword up in an angle slash along his back. He ducked out of my swing and grinned, flashing his fangs.

Viktor continued to struggle in his bonds, but they had stopped pulling. I feinted to the left, twirled, and came up behind the creature. His momentum brought about his doom quicker as my sword was already swinging at his neck when he tried to turn and face me. Small tufts of shadow drifted where he once stood. Viktor dropped to the ground with a mix between a groan and exhalation of breath. He stood slowly, rubbing his shoulders, eyes scrunched up and lips pressed together. The other vampire shouted in pain from the dock. At least someone seemed to be doing well.

“Esais?” Viktor called, and he ran towards the loading dock.

I pulled myself off the ground and joined him. Esais had another stake in his hand, and he seemed to be facing the vampire. Half of its face was in ruin from what looked like acid. I hopped down and joined Esais. The vampire snarled at the two of us and leapt at Esais. He slowed in midair. Esais slipped underneath him and rammed the stake into his heart as I ran my blade through his neck. His body didn’t even hit the ground.

I sheathed my sword and pulled out the charges. “Let’s set these and get out of here.”

We each took two and split up. I took the upstairs with the offices while Esais and Viktor divided up the ground floor. We crept from the warehouse and across the parking lot like the shadows we’d just fought.

“Mission successful, here,” I said. “Everyone else alive?”

“Yes,” Adrian said in a grim voice. “Are you away from the warehouse?”

“Yeah, we’re three blocks away,” Esais said.

“We’re done,” Marge said. “Why did I get the warehouse with no action?”

“Look on the bright side,” Tres said. “You get to push the button and get a light show.”

“Send the signals then,” Adrian said.

Esais pulled out a small remote and pushed a button. It gave a small beep. Yellow and orange lit the sky form the direction of the warehouse and a large boom reverberated through the night. Smoke billowed up like a giant cloud. I crossed my arms and watched with a smile. I was starting to like fire; it had a certain beauty in its finality.

“We shouldn’t stay here,” Esais said. “We’ll meet back at the office.”

“Great, you’re buying drinks,” Tres said.

I chuckled and followed Esais and Viktor back to the car. I couldn’t blame Tres for wanting to celebrate. We’d finally had a victory in this whole mess. I wanted to hold onto this feeling of triumph for as long as I could.

Chapter 22

TRES MET US in the lobby when we arrived. “Any injuries?” His gaze landed on me in particular.

I rubbed my shoulder. “Just sore this time.”

He gave me his charming smile. “Well you know, I could give you a massage. Rub the aches away and a few others.”

“Mmm, still haven’t given up, I see,” I said.

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

“Stick to you courtesans,” I said. “They probably appreciate the flattery.”

Esais gave a soft chuckle and shook his head. “I’m going to grab a sandwich. I’ll meet you upstairs.”

“Me, too,” Viktor said. “I’m starving. Does hunting always build an appetite like this?”

“Only the good ones.” I glanced at Tres. “Where’s Marge?”

“She said she had better things to do than sit around and talk. If we need her, call.”

I shook my head. “And Adrian and Lucy?”

“They just went upstairs to talk.” His phone buzzed and he put it to his ear. “Hey, beautiful. Give me a little longer.”

I left Tres to his current flavor and headed up the stairs. Now that we had a victory, we needed to keep the momentum going, Adrian had to have had more information, maybe on where they were making Synergy.

Adrian’s voice left his room. “Is this from your mother?”

I stopped at the hint of cold accusation. Damn it, Lucy. She’d said she would be careful. I warned her of this, and Adrian, out of all of them, had discovered her secret. At least with Esais or Tres, there could have been a little more understanding.

Lucy sighed. “Look, it’s not a big deal. I’m still the same Lucy you’ve always known.”

“If we ever really knew you. You’ve been hiding this our whole lives, haven’t you?”

“So, I heal really fast. That’s actually a boon to being a hunter. You don’t have to worry about me being injured. Tres doesn’t have to expend energy. It’s really useful.”

“So, this would make you immortal, like Gabby.”

The elevator dinged, and Esais, Viktor, and Tres stepped out, chatting and laughing. I stepped into Adrian’s office. Lucy turned with her mouth slightly open and her eyes wide. Adrian sat at his desk with his chin resting on his hands.

“Maybe this is a conversation that should be shared with everyone,” I said, keeping a pointed gaze on Lucy.

“You knew about this?” Adrian asked.

“Know about what?” Esais asked from the door.

“Wow, things look a little tense,” Tres said. “This must be good.”

Lucy looked directly at me with her eyes narrowed. She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. “Fine. I guess you were right.”

“Who was right about what?” Esais asked, looking around. “What’s going on?”

“Apparently, Lucy has been hiding a gift of her own all these years,” Adrian said. “I watched her get almost eviscerated by a vampire only to have the wound disappear.”

Esais and Tres turned confused looks at Lucy. She raised her arms in a half shrug and chuckled.

“What can I say? I’m difficult to kill. Not like Gabby, of course, but I get by,” she said.

“So, you’re an emissary?” Esais asked.

“No, I’m like your boyfriend who’s hiding in the hall. You can come in, dearie. Let’s all join in on this little drama.”

Viktor stepped in the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, hun, this didn’t seem like my business.”

“Why have you never told us?” Esais asked.

“Because there are some things in my life I don’t like discussing,” Lucy said.

“But you can heal yourself.” Tres’s eyes were alight. “This is part of what you are.”

“Reckless,” I said under my breath.

Lucy gave me another silent glare, which she then turned on the brothers. “Well, I wasn’t the only one to hide things from this family, was I?”

Esais cleared his throat and stuck his hands in his pockets while Tres looked down at the floor. Adrian met her gaze unflinching. He would, of course. He was still in denial that he had any power at all.

“I mean, I had to hear about your abilities from Gabby when she called me last month. So, don’t play that betrayed act with me.” Lucy let out a huff and crossed her arms.

“We haven’t seen you in years, Lucy,” Esais said. “I mean the most we had was phone conversations with you and Uncle Jonah.”

“Yeah.” Tres snorted. “Not really the best way to have that conversation.”

Viktor stepped forward and gave her a wide grin. “Great to meet another one. You know any others?”

She looked him up and down before a smile of her own crept to the corners of her mouth. “No, I haven’t looked. I’ve never really been interested.”

Viktor’s smile faltered a little. “Well, just know you’re not alone.”

“She never was,” Tres said.

“You honestly have no problem with this, do you?” Adrian sighed. “Of course not.”

“Why do you have such a problem?” Tres asked. “It’s Lucy.”

Adrian stood, resting both hands on his desk. “Because all these gifts are poison. We know nothing about the entities that supposedly granted them. There’s no such thing as a free lunch.”

Esais swallowed and crossed his arms with a long sigh. “We have no idea if they even ask a price.”

Adrian shook his head. “This is going to turn on us, eventually.”

“If you say so,” Tres said. “As much as you hate them, these powers have saved our asses, or your asses, more than often.”

“For now,” Adrian said.

Tres shook his head. “So, what now? The warehouses are gone.”

“We need to find the factory they made Synergy in.” I looked to Adrian. “Where is it?”

He sat back down and began typing on his laptop. “I’m still looking into that. This information is heavily encrypted.”

“So we’re back to waiting,” Tres said. “Excellent. I know how I plan to wait.”

“Actually, no,” I said. “We still need to find Cambione. John mentioned that he runs in a more expensive crowd than the dens, and his runners usually hit clubs.”

Viktor nodded. “Like I said, there are rumors. And I noticed some new regulars.”

“So, we start there,” I said. “We find one who can lead us to Cambione. Also, we need to find someone on the drug for Jonah. He wants to study the effects before they are possessed.”

“So we’re adding kidnapping to breaking and entering, and arson.” Viktor chuckled. “Life has gotten more interesting.”

“Don’t forget supposed murder,” Tres said.

I shrugged. “Call it that, but maybe we can find a way to help these people. They’re as good as dead after they get possessed.” I looked to Adrian. “Can you come up with somewhere we can hold the ones we bring?”

“I suppose I could multitask,” he said.

“Try to be gentle. These people don’t really know what they’ve gotten into,” Esais said. “We’ll split up. Tres and I will join Viktor while he works.”

Lucy crossed her arms and grinned at me, her annoyance forgotten. “Looks like I get to show you around my favorite spots.”

Chapter 23

I SCANNED THE few patrons of the bar. “This place seems pretty empty.”

Lucy chalked the tip of her pool cue. “Yeah, most are at Paradise Lost for the Sons of Salem concert tonight.”

“Paradise Lost, really?”

She looked up and smirked. “We’re heading there next.”

“Why not first? That sounds like the best place.”

She shrugged. “It hasn’t started yet, so I figured we could check this place first.”

The worn, green felt dragged against the calluses on my fingers as I arranged the multi-colored balls into a triangle on the pool table. The light reflected off the balls from the hanging lamp above the table. I scooted out from between the tables, grabbed my own pool cue, and motioned for Lucy to start the game. She leaned over, positioning her cue and aiming for the white ball. The colored balls clinked as the white one slammed into them then spread across the table.

Layers of posters, flyers, and Polaroid’s covered every inch of the walls. I wrinkled my nose at the charcoal, concrete floor. It had probably been closer to white at one point, but years of neglect would do that. A boy with spiked blue hair fed coins to the jukebox and pressed a few buttons. Megadeth blared as he made his way back to the bar and slapped his palm down several times. The bartender’s stretched t-shirt slipped up off his large stomach as he walked to the boy. At the other end of the bar, a couple leaned in close to one another, laughing and slamming back shots.

“All in all, things turned out all right,” Lucy said. “You didn’t really have to nose your way in.”

“I still think you’re lucky that Esais and Tres found out as well.” I took her place at the table, aiming for the number two ball. “You still haven’t told them everything. You and Jonah.”

She cleared her throat. “That’s a bit more complicated. I don’t know how much Dad wants to talk about that, and it would raise a lot of questions if I just talked about my part.”

“Well, you both should consider it.”

She chuckled. “You are just tired of being called an old woman.”

I grinned at her. “I’m still older than both of you combined.”

The white ball sent the number two spinning towards the center left pocket. It slid in with a thump. I stood and scanned the bar again, this time with my second sight. The pinks and oranges of lust swirled around the couple. Ahh, young love. The bartender had a dull brown of boredom. The boy’s aura was a mess, however. All throughout the dull gray of illness and the bright red of anxiety was  rot I bumped Lucy’s hip with my own and cleared my throat. When I gave a slight nod to the bar, she glanced at me and then behind her. The boy tapped his foot against his stool and downed the last of his beer.

“Dealer?” she murmured.

I shook my head. “I think he’s waiting for one.”

“Then we wait, too. Your shot.”

I approached the table, took my shot, and missed. Lucy took over again. I tapped my fingernail on my pool cue as I watched the man for a few more minutes. He looked like he would bolt at any sudden movement. I needed to approach this a little more gently.

“I’m going to get us some beers.” I headed to the bar and slid in the seat next to the boy. “Two Guinness.”

The boy looked me up and down and gave a thin-lipped smile.

I smiled back. “It’s quiet in here.”

“Won’t be after the concert.” The bartender set two mugs in front of me.

I looked back. “You not interested in the band?”

“I’m waiting on someone,” he said.

I nodded and tried to look disappointed. “Ahh, a girlfriend.”

He stared at me for a moment and laughed. “No, no. Just someone I’ve got to meet first. Though if you’re going and you want to meet up, I’m all for that. What’s your name?”

I grabbed the mugs and stood up. “Gabby, and I’ll think about it.”

Lucy was leaning against the table. “Well?”

I handed her the beer. “We wait.”

I sipped my beer and set it down. I wanted to keep a clear head, but it would have looked odd to be at a bar and not drink. After fifteen minutes of switching back and forth on the pool table, Lucy nudged me.

“Isn’t that?”

I looked up and blinked at the familiar redhead that came down the steps from outside. “Tres’s courtesan.”

Lucy snorted. “That’s too pretty of a word. Whore works fine.”

She did look the part as she unzipped her leather jacket to reveal a black bra underneath. She nodded to the bartenders and sat two stools away from the spike-haired boy. He flicked his gaze to her and said something. I moved around the table and bent over, so I could look like I was focusing on the game and still keep an eye on the two of them. The rot had eaten away at her aura, worse than the boy next to her.

“She looks a lot different than she did the other day,” Lucy said.

The short dress she’d worn at the office was an entirely different style than her hard rock leather now. Her attitude here was more laid back, less impatient. The bartender set a small glass in front of her. She downed the liquid and gave a high pitched laugh.

“If she’s the dealer, maybe it’s not a coincidence she was with Tres,” I said.

“You don’t think Tres . . .” Lucy said.

I shook my head. “But he has a weakness for women and demons play on weakness.”

She stood and pulled out a cigarette and nodded up the stairs. She and the boy headed out.

“Well, Dearie, I feel like a smoke,” Lucy said. “Care to join me?”

“Sure,” I said.

I paid the tab and headed up the stairs with Lucy. When I stepped outside, a brisk wind blew through me and carried the sound of the cars on the road to my ears. Delilah and the boy stood near an alley several buildings away. She glanced at us as she slipped something into his hand. Her eyes widened, and she turned to rush away in the opposite direction.

“I got her,” Lucy said. “You get the boy.”

I moved so I was blocking the stairs of the club. “Did she have anything good?”

He shifted his gaze around and tried to look confused. It came out more of a shady expression. “What are you talking about?”

I tilted my head and raised my eyebrows. “I’m just looking for something good. Did she have any?”

“Oh,” he smiled. “Yeah.”

“Damn,” I said. “Do you know where she was headed?”

“She said something about the concert.”

I smiled and stepped to the side. “Thanks.”

He nodded. I brushed against him as he walked past me and slipped my hand in the pocket of his coat, grabbing the small packet inside. I walked down the street in the direction Lucy had headed. She ran up to me.

“I lost her,” she said with a pant. “She got in a taxi.”

“It’s fine,” I held a small plastic bag filled with yellow powder. “I know where she’s headed. Let’s get Marge on this. If we’re lucky, we might have a chance at Cambione tonight.”

Chapter 24

THE BASS OF the music vibrated the sidewalk as we approached the club. A neon sign reading Paradise Lost flickered in the night. Marge stood apart from the line with her arms crossed and one foot tapping. She wore a black leather jacket and jeans. Her brows were scrunched together as she scanned the street.

“This had better be worth it,” she said as we joined her.

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Why? Have you found Cambione yet?”

She scowled.

“So, any lead is worth following. But if you want to continue sitting on your ass as your time ticks away.” I gave a broad wave down the sidewalk.

“Ladies,” Lucy said. “Let’s not waste time arguing.”

“Why not? What’s a little more time to waste?” I asked.

“Someone’s on edge,” Marge said. “So why here?”

Lucy explained Delilah in short clipped words as we stepped in line. I closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them, an array of colors greeted me. Most were muted and muddied, people looking to ease the pain of their daily lives with alcohol and drugs. Still, the ones in line were all human. I sighed and let my sight return to normal. Staring through the looking glass too long at so many people made my head hurt.

“And Tres has become even more useless,” Marge said.

“Don’t be so certain. This girl may be our only lead.” I rubbed my left temple.

The bouncer eyed the three of us; Marge in her jeans, Lucy in her short skirt and boots, and me in the leather pants. He grinned at Lucy and waved us in. She patted him on the shoulder as she passed. A haze filled the air, making the already dim room harder to see in. The smell of smoke invaded my nose and clogged my lungs. I coughed. A large dance floor took up most of the club with the stage in the back of the room. On the stage, a band tried their hardest to blast my eardrums to oblivion. The singer half-growled, half-screamed indecipherable lyrics into the microphone. Bodies pressed together in front of the stage, jumping to the beat.

“Do you see her?” I yelled to Lucy.

“Hold on.” Lucy climbed on one of the barstools and started scanning the crowd.

“Found her,” she called.

She hopped down and darted between two bikers, making her way to the dance floor. I pushed my way through, keeping an eye on Lucy’s pigtails. She grabbed the arm of the redhead and dragged her to the edge.

“What the hell?” The girl glared at Lucy.

“You know what,” Lucy said. “Does Tres know you’re dealing drugs?”

“And?”

Lucy glanced around the club with an annoyed expression. “Let’s talk outside.”

“No, Sons of Salem are on. You got a problem, talk to Tres.”

Marge grabbed the girl’s arm and twisted it behind her back. She used it to steer Delilah toward the restroom. Several people shot looks at us as we passed, but most moved after seeing Marge’s expression.

“Ow, ow. Hey, let me go.” Delilah twisted and turned, trying to break free of Marge’s grasp.

Marge spun her around and pressed against the wall of the bathroom. “OK, bitch. Where the hell are you getting the Blasphemy from? Are you spying on us for Cambione?”

Delilah’s eyes widened, and she began to stutter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The door to the bathroom slammed open and a group of girls with multicolored hair came in. They paused, glancing at us, before moving to the stalls and sinks. Delilah shoved Marge back with both of her hands and bolted through the open door. I grabbed for her, and my fingers caught the bottom of her jacket. She yanked hard, causing me to lose my grip, and slipped through a group of leather-clad drunks.

Marge turned her glare on Lucy. “You couldn’t have predicted that?”

“I’m a fortune-teller, not a seer.” Lucy followed me out the door.

I switched to my second sight. The rot-eaten aura darted and weaved through the rainbow, making a path to the exit. “She’s leaving.”

I maneuvered through the crowd after her. The cold air blasted my face as I stepped outside. Delilah was running across the street, almost at the corner. I took off after her with Marge and Lucy close behind me. It didn’t take us long to overcome her. She was in five inch heels after all. I slammed into her and rode her to the ground. She slapped at my face but I grabbed her wrist. She opened her mouth to scream and I punched her. She reeled back, slamming her head on the concrete.

“We really should move somewhere more private,” Lucy said. “We’re attracting attention.”

I nodded to the subway entrance. “Help me, Marge.”

Delilah didn’t resist as we lead her down the stairs. She held her head and moaned. I sat her on the bench, and she put her head between her legs.

“You bitches are psycho.” Her voice was muffled at that angle, but I could hear her New York accent now that we were out of the club.

“This could go easier for you,” I said. “Answer Marge’s question. Did Cambione send you to spy on us?”

She glanced up at me, her hands gripping the sides of the bench. “He said he’d make it worth my while. Pay me extra, you know.”

Marge leaned in and gripped Delilah’s shirt in her fist. “What have you told him?”

“Just that you people are fucking insane. Talking about monsters and shit.”

“You sell Blasphemy. You had to have seen weird things,” I said.

She opened her mouth and then closed it, shaking her head. She pushed Marge’s hand away from her and stared at the ground.

“Where is Cambione tonight?”

“He’ll kill me,” she said.

“That’s very cliché, dearie. You do have options to prevent that,” Lucy said. “Such as getting on a bus and leaving.”

“Besides, I can make you wish you were dead.” Marge turned her head from side to side and a loud pop echoed through the subway station.

I kept my expression impassive and pushed down the queasiness that came with the thought of Marge’s methods. Delilah looked scared enough that we shouldn’t have to resort to torture. The girl looked at us, her mouth opening and closing several times. Tears left black stains down her face, and her blue lipstick was smeared across her cheek.

“Fine,” she said. “He throws a party in the penthouse of a hotel. It changes every night.”

“And tonight?” I asked.

“It’s at the Surrey. I was going after the show but . . .” She looked at the three of us and shook her head.

“Is there a code to get in or anything?” Marge asked.

Delilah sat up and crossed her arms. “6669.”

I rolled my eyes. “As clever as most demons.”

She blinked. “What?”

I darted forward and swung my fist at her. She started at my movement, her eyes widening and her mouth opening, but she had no time to duck out of the way. My blow caught her in the temple, and she slumped against the bench.

Lucy blinked at me. “That was a bit harsh.”

Marge let out a choking laugh. “Wicked.”

“Get the Blasphemy off her.” I stepped away and put the small comm in my ear. “Adrian, I need to pull you away from your computer.”

A sigh reverberated through the little device. “In trouble already?”

“Oh, ye of little faith. We have a location, and I need you to pick up our captive.”

“Oh? And where am I making this pickup?”

I gave him directions and tapped the earpiece again. Marge stepped up and searched her pockets. She pulled out three bags of yellowish powder and shook them at me.

I nodded and grinned. “Well, ladies. Once Adrian takes Delilah off of our hands, we can hunt.”

“About damn time.” Marge’s eyes glittered as she cracked her knuckles. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

Chapter 25

WE TOOK A taxi to Manhattan. There was no way I would get in the cramped underground subway. It was just an opening for trouble. I stepped out of the car and let my gaze travel up the hotel. The lights of the city reflected off the glass windows and shone on the white and red brick of the building.

“Well?” Marge asked.

“We need to assess what we’re getting into,” I said.

“Are you planning on scaling the outside?” she asked.

I continued to stare at the building, biting my lip in thought.

“Oh, hell no. That’s fifteen floors up.”

“Then we go undercover,” Lucy said. “This will be fun.”

“Fine,” I said. “Party girls, I take it?”

Lucy brushed a stray lock of her hair out of her face. “Just follow my lead. Gabby, take off your shirt.”

“What?” I glanced around the street as a couple passed. “Here?”

She waved her hand. “In the elevator or something.”

She swaggered to the door, blowing a kiss at the doorman as he held the door open for her. He didn’t notice. His gaze was focused on some place in the distant sky. I frowned at his large pupils and waved my hand in front of his face. He didn’t look my direction.

“Gabby,” Lucy hissed.

I walked inside and blinked at white opulence. The floor was a white and gray marble with a rectangle in the center that looked like a looping dragon. The Surrey was one of New York’s upscale hotels. Only the best for the best or at least those who had money to pretend they were the best. The lobby was empty except for the concierge and the bellhop.

“Excuse me,” I said. “We’re guests for the Presidential suite.”

The concierge turned in my direction, but his eyes looked past me.

“Passcode?” he asked in a monotone voice.

“6669,” Lucy said.

He set a plastic card on the counter. It had a darkened strip like a credit card, but the hotel’s logo was on the front. He pointed behind us. “Take the elevator to the top.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I glanced back at the hotel employees as we left the desk. Both stared at the floor with blank expressions. Their bodies swayed from side to side ever so slightly.

“I think they’re hypnotized,” I said. “The doorman, too.”

“That explains how people can come and go without the staff questioning it,” Lucy said.

“They probably got the whole hotel,” Marge said.

“Let’s continue under the assumption that everyone might be a potential threat,” I said.

I stopped and stared at the metal double doors. Merda. Climbing the stairs in a building this tall would take too long. I took a deep breath and pushed the button. Lucy patted me on the shoulder. We stepped inside. I stood in the middle, closest to the doors. My stomach dropped as we rose. The lights at the top counted off each floor we passed. I breathed in slowly and exhaled. I swayed a bit. My face was on fire. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard.

“Gabby, take your shirt off.” Lucy reached over and yanked Marge’s shirt up.

“Hey!” Marge pulled them back down.

“You have to look the part at least,” Lucy said.

“Fine,” Marge let her pull the shirt back up.

I slipped my long jacket off and check that my sword was tucked in its sheath on my back.  I pulled my shirt over my head and put my jacket back on. “So, we have at least one demon that can hypnotize. I’m betting on a succubus.”

“Two with Cambione,” Lucy said.

“I’m hoping for more,” Marge said. “A real party. Just remember that Cambione is mine.”

“There probably will be . . .” I put my hand on the doors to steady myself. Floor ten. “Bystanders there.”

“They’re druggies,” Marge said. “They chose to be here. Fuck ‘em.”

“Just because they wanted a good time doesn’t mean they deserve to be hurt,” Lucy said with an edge in her voice. “They didn’t know what they were getting into.”

I spoke with an equal edge. “Maybe they should learn there are consequences to their actions.”

“So now you’re anti-drug?” Lucy asked.

“It’s a crutch, and not everyone has your stamina.”

The elevator dinged. I stepped out without waiting for Lucy’s reply and breathed in the sweet air outside that deathtrap. One of the two doors in the narrow hall held the sign of stairs while the other vibrated with the thrum of loud music from within. I knocked and stepped back, checking to make sure my sword wasn’t obvious under my jacket. It opened, and a demon dressed in black lingerie to offset her mauve skin greeted me. Two tiny horns peeked out from the ebony curls that cascaded down her back. Warmth filled my loins and spread through the rest of my body. Marge gave a sharp intake of breath and Lucy stepped closer with her mouth slightly agape and her cheeks red. I gritted my teeth. Fucking succubus.

Her gaze traveled from our faces and down our bodies, lingering on our breasts and hips. “New meat.”

I widened my eyes and let a giggle escape my lips. “Love the costume.”

She smirked and held the door open. “Thanks. It’s like a second skin.”

We stepped inside, and she sauntered to a couch in the middle of the room. She straddled one of the men sitting on the couch and ran her hand under his blue t-shirt. He flashed his white teeth in a grin and ran his hand up her thigh to her rump. Her tongue darted out from her full lips, and she trailed it over his jawline. Another succubus, this one with a pale lilac shade of skin, was lip-locked with a man. Her fingers gripped his short hair as she rocked her hips against him. I cleared my throat and adjusted the collar of my jacket. The air hung moist and heavy with the musk of lust.

“Make yourselves at home,” the first demon said as her playmate kissed her neck. “There are party favors in the kitchen.”

“The good stuff?” Lucy asked.

The succubus laughed. “Oh, you’ll have to wait for Cambione for that.”

“And when will that be?” Marge asked with her lip curling, though she had a slightly glazed look in her eyes.

I elbowed her. “You know. I could use a drink.”

I pulled Marge into the kitchen and Lucy followed. The counters were filled with a multitude of liquors. Crystal glasses sat to the side. I spun on Marge, glaring at her.

“You need to stay calm.” I kept my voice low. “Patience.”

“But.” She let out a deep breath and ran a hand through her hair. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

“Succubae exude an air of lust,” I said. “Especially for those that are attracted to women. Then they seduce and drain the life out of their victims.”

Marge’s face turned crimson, and she scowled at me. “We should just fucking kill them.”

“I know, but this is our chance at Cambione. Don’t screw it up like last time.”

She snapped her mouth shut and crossed her arms.

“Let’s worry about getting those men out before the fighting starts,” Lucy said.

“That’s not going to happen,” Marge said. “Those demon bitches aren’t giving up their meals.”

“She’s got a point,” I said.

“You don’t care?” Lucy leveled her gaze at me. “They know nothing of what they’ve gotten into.”

“The same could be said for anyone who gets involved with demons,” I said. “There are always casualties.”

“Let’s try to make less, then,” Lucy said. She held my gaze for several moments.

“Fine,” I said.

Marge rolled her eyes. “What are we going to do then?”

“We should assess the situation more,” I said.

“What’s there to assess? We wait any longer and they’ll be fucking them into husks,” Marge said.

“Are you all right?” the demon called.

“Fine.” I grabbed a glass and poured liquor from a random bottle. I paused at the door and nodded at Lucy and Marge. “Come on.”

The lilac succubus had stood up and was leading her prey to one of the doors to the left. His eyes had a glazed look about him, and he blinked several times. He gave her a dopey grin, sat in one of the chairs at the glass dining table, and pulled her down for a kiss. I walked around the couch, my mouth opening to say something, when the door behind them opened.

The man who stepped out paused upon seeing us and ran a hand through his white blond hair. His abdominal muscles glistened in the low light, like he’d been oiled. If I had felt warmth earlier, now it was like fire. My nipples hardened, brushing against the soft fabric of my bra. I drew a shuddering breath and reached under my jacket. Lucy gave a low moan behind me. I pressed my lips together and narrowed my eyes at the incubus in front of us. It would be a cold day in hell before I fell to these petty tricks. His gaze raked over the three of us, and he grinned.

“Well, well,” he said. “If it isn’t my Marguerite. And you’ve brought the famous Gabriella Di Luca.”

A chill ran down my spine. “Cambione, then.”

He gave a little mock bow.

“Give me my contract.” Marge stepped in front of me. She tried to level her dirtiest look, but couldn’t quite pull it off with the semi-glazed look in her eyes.

“Oh, but that merchandise has already been sold,” Cambione said.

“Who has it?”

He wagged his finger at her. “That would be telling.”

“The hard way then,” I said.

I darted to the side, pulling my sword from the sheath on my back. My boot landed in the side of the succubus in the chair, and she fell from the lap of her prey. My sword slashed across her throat in a quick move, and there was a flash of purple from the wound as she fell limp, her eyes staring at nothing. The stench of brimstone filled the room. The man in the chair started screaming while Cambione and the other succubus blinked in surprise. They expected more banter. I was over it. It was best left in Lucy’s movies.

“Capture,” I told Marge as she leapt over the couch at Cambione.

The mauve demon stepped in front of her and unsheathed her claws. Cambione smirked and crossed his arms. Lucy circled the couch, blocking the demons’ escape and produced two punch daggers from her sleeves.

“I have some claws of my own,” she said.

I pulled out a knife from beneath the jacket I wore. I’d taken a page from Adrian’s book and inscribed a binding symbol on its blade. He’d expect the sword and pay less attention to the knife. Once we had Cambione trapped, I would leave him to Marge. He smirked at me as I approached and stepped to the side to push the door behind him open. The lamia sprung from the darkness with her yellow-eyed gaze locked on me.

Chapter 26

THE LAMIA FLEW through the air at me. I jumped to the side to avoid her attack, and she crashed into the table. The boy screamed as her tail slapped him from his chair. He slammed into the wall with a loud crack and slumped to the floor. The lamia rose from the destroyed wood with her claws spread and a glare for me.

“Cambione has told me you can’t die,” she hissed. “I think I will rip your arms off and watch you suffer.”

Lucy stared down the succubus with her eyes glazed and her breath coming out in short pants. The demon grinned at her as she traced her tongue along her lips. Dammit, Lucy needed to get it together. Somewhere in the distance, a man was screaming. The lamia blocked my view of Marge. She jeered at me, and I could smell the blood on her breath from the five feet that separated us. I went low, aiming for the upper part of her tail and twirled so that I came up behind her. She flicked her tail at me. It hit me in my hip and sent me stumbling into one of the walls. Cambione rushed past me, sliding the patio door shut behind him. He gripped the side of the wall and began to climb it.

“Son of a bitch,” Marge yelled.

She had the succubus in a grip by her head. Marge slammed the demons face into her knee and twisted the creature’s neck. She let the body fall and sprinted to the patio. I glanced back in time to dodge the lamia’s claws aimed at my face.

Marge ran back through the room. “He’s headed for the roof.”

“Marge, wait,” I called.

The lamia wrapped her tail around my foot and flung me into the couch. It broke under my impact with a loud crack, and the man who had been huddling there and screaming bounced and tumbled to the floor. I scrambled to my feet before the demon could pounce on me. She crashed into the couch, turning it into nothing more than splinters and torn fabric. The man crawled backward until he was pressed into a corner. His nostrils flared as he gawked at the snakelike monstrosity in front of him. I’d have to deal with him later.

The lamia’s hand flew out to strike my face. I ducked down, and it hit the wall, smashing through the plaster with a loud clatter. She jerked her arm free and turned to face me with another hiss.

“Stand still. I thought you were supposed to be brave,” she said.

“Oh, I am. I’m just not stupid enough to let you catch me again.”

I leapt into the air and landed on her back. She twisted and clawed at me, but I held on tight. I dragged my blade across her throat. Black blood poured down her chest, and she made a gagging sound. She flung her shoulder back and dislodged me from my perch. Purple smoke puffed from the gash on her neck, and she dropped on the floor. Lucy stood over the body of the succubus Marge had killed. She blinked at me with a confused look on her face.

Marge met us halfway up the stairs. She scowled down at us, her fists clenched. “Did he come this way?”

She slammed her fist in the wall, cracking the plaster. She stood there for a moment, just staring at the wall. Poor girl. I’d been in her place multiple times. I would have Allegra in my grasp only to have her slip away, laughing. I took a step towards her.

“Don’t,” she said. “Just go upstairs and look at the circle on the roof.”

I nodded and slid by her, pulling Lucy with me. Cambione or one of his demon lackeys had painted a circle in the center of the roof. It was actually two concentric circles with a large triangle in the center. In between the circles were symbols painted with quick almost messy strokes. They had a very tribal look to them. At the Cardinal directions was one of the symbols I’d seen on the back of Lucy’s tarot cards. It represented Throne of Lust. I walked the entirety of the circle.

“Summoning circle, like the other one,” I said.

“Looks like they are calling more up each night,” Lucy said. “That’s a lot of demons, even for this city.”

I sighed. “Once again, our main culprit has escaped.”

“We have some leads however.”

I snorted. “Not good ones.”

Lucy looked around. “Maybe the men downstairs know something.”

We headed downstairs Marge was still in the same place. She’d made a fist-sized hole in the wall. She rubbed her bloodied hand and watched us descend the stairs. She didn’t say anything but followed. Both of the men had remained where I’d left them, one huddled in the corner while the other sat slumped against the wall. I checked for a pulse. It was faint. Lucy hauled the other one up and set him on one of the chairs.

Lucy looked at the man in the chair. “Tell us how you knew the party would be at this hotel.”

He blinked at her. “What? What the hell was that? Who are you people?”

I moved next to Lucy. “Focus. How did you know about the party?”

“I g-got a text,” he stuttered, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, that ain’t happening again,” Marge said.

“What else have we got?” Lucy asked.

“Computers,” I said. “Adrian should be able to take a look if he’s not too caught up in his little project.”

“It shouldn’t be too hard to get the files from the concierge,” Lucy said.

“Yeah, I doubt these zombies will miss them.” Marge looked over the remains of the room and the two men. “What about this?”

“We’ll take them with us,” I said. “I’m sure Jonah would love to have more than one person to test.” My gaze traveled to the remains of the lamia and two succubi. “We’re going to have to clean this up.”

“How the hell do you propose that?” Marge asked. “The cab driver ain’t going to look the other way when we drag a snake body out.”

“Looks I may need to call Adrian again.” I let out a sigh and crossed my arms. That was not a call I was looking forward to. Hopefully, by now, he’d gotten our first guest situated. I pulled out my phone.  “You two deal with the computer. I’ll handle our cleanup and exit”

After a short conversation with Adrian, I began dragging the bodies together. His arrival sped things up and, thanks to his tiny robots, the room looked as if hell had not come to earth. We loaded the bodies, both living and dead, into his van where it was parked in the delivery area of the hotel. I stared out the window as we drove back to the office.

Somewhere, Cambione and a whole nest of demons were hiding. I just had to find them and end this infestation.

Chapter 27

A HEAVY HAZE hangs in the room, casting odd shadows in the purple light. The air is filled with soft sighs and little moans. Arms wrap around me from behind and fingers trail up my stomach to my breasts. My nipples harden as the thumbs circle around them through the sheer gown, sending a delicious chill down my spine. I swallow and wet my dry lips with my tongue, allowing a moan to escape my lips. A deep heat is building in my loins. I lean back against a solid chest. Teeth graze my earlobe, and a man’s chuckle echoes.

No, something isn’t right. That chuckle is too light and too triumphant for anyone I would trust. I pull away and turn to face him.

Cambione crosses his arms and smirks at me. “Well done. I see the stories of that strong will of yours are true. But then, you wouldn’t have resisted Mother for so long if it wasn’t.”

A low moan catches my attention. On a bed of silk in the corner of the room lays Marge. A succubus, her skin the color of roses, lies next to her and trails her hand down Marge’s abdomen. Marge arches her back as the demon’s hand slips between her thighs.

“She was almost as strong. It’s taken several dreams to get to her.” His smooth face becomes marred with a scowl. “Of course, it took me having to loose valuable tools. No matter. You and Marguerite will make better substitutes.”

The world shifts, and I am lying on a bed. The silk beneath me slides along my bare skin, sending a shiver up my back. Cambione hovers above me. His knee spreads my thighs apart. I catch my breath sharply, and my hips rise in anticipation. Coldness erupts in the pit of my stomach as I stare into his pale violet eyes. It moves through my body, dousing the fire he’d lit in me. I sit up, push him to the side, and climb from the bed. I march over to Marge and the demon and yank them apart, causing the succubus to tumble off of the bed with a surprised yelp. I wasn’t going to fall for this game, and I’ll be damned if I let Marge fall prey either. I wrap my hand around her wrist and drag her through the haze to a wooden door that seems an eternity away.

“You’re right,” I call behind me. “I’ve resisted your mother. You’re nothing compared to her.”

“Maybe I haven’t used the right incentive.” His voice floats from in front of me. John materializes from the mist and gives me his light grin. “Would this be better?”

My heart pounds in my chest, but I narrow my eyes. “I’m not fooled by cheap imitations.”

I step around him, lugging Marge with me. She stumbles along with dull, lust-filled eyes. I fling the door open and step through to our freedom.

The last thing I hear is Cambione’s laughing words. “Oh, how little you know.”

Chapter 28

I PAUSED IN the foyer of our office and rubbed my hands together, blowing on them. The temperature dropped when the sun had set, and already the melting snow was turning to ice. Last night’s dream had left a chill colder than any winter. This wasn’t the first time the Throne of lust had invaded my sleeping world. Naamah, or Mother, as Cambione called her, tended to do more often than I cared to admit. However, this was the first time I’d had someone else with me. I had to find Cambione and kill him before he broke Marge’s mind. Our new guests would be the perfect place to start.

The door opened behind me, and my hair whipped around my face at the wind that came in uninvited. I smiled at the two people who entered. Lucy struggled to push the door back in place while holding a large plastic bag. Her father held another and brushed small flakes of snow from his black long coat. He removed the bowler hat and looked down at me, laugh lines crinkling as he returned my smile.

“Jonah.” I took his hand in mine. “How was your flight?”

“Don’t get him started again,” Lucy said. “He complained during the entire taxi ride.”

“It was the poorest excuse for first class that I’ve seen,” Jonah said in a crisp London accent.

He turned his gaze to me, and I was caught in his clear gray eyes. His salt and pepper hair was trimmed from when I’d last seen him months ago. His beard was short and neat. He hadn’t aged much since I’d met him, but he had one of those youthful faces. I chuckled to myself. Youthful with a little help, that was.

“How have you been? How did the conference go?”

Jonah let out a long sigh. “Long-winded. There was a lot of skepticism, of course. Some priests actually believe that the demons are just as hidebound as they are.”

“So they’re as useless as always,” I muttered.

“Don’t discredit them. The Pope is a forward-thinking man. I expect to see changes in the near future.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Where are the boys?”

I glanced around. “I just arrived myself. Adrian is probably upstairs, though.”

“And were you able to procure what I asked?”

I smiled. “Upstairs. We have three that Adrian has made accommodations for.”

He nodded with a smile of his own and squeezed my hand. “Shall we, then?”

They didn’t try to push me to take the elevator. Lucy and Jonah knew me well enough not to fight me on the little things. We climbed the stairs to the second floor which Esais had claimed most of as the library. It had taken him months to fill the shelves with old books of different creatures and lore of magic. Before Viktor, I think he’d chosen it as his sanctuary. Now he rarely seemed to be around long enough to enjoy it. The library once again went neglected as I unlocked a door across the hall from the stairs. When I opened the door, shouting met my ears.

Tres turned his glare from his brother onto me as I stepped inside. “Did you think I’d just let you lock my girlfriend up like a lab rat?”

Tres threw his hand out in the direction of the three occupied cells against the wall. Delilah sat on the cot of hers with her knees pulled up to her chest and tears running down her cheeks. They were probably fake. Her gaze fell on me, and she made a small squeak, pressing herself against the wall and making herself as small as possible. Adrian had spent hours turning several old offices into a secured guest facility. Each cell was blocked off from the center of the room by a large pane of shatterproof glass.

I raised an eyebrow at Tres. “You know she used you to spy on us for a demon right?”

Tres’s jaw worked, like he was grinding his teeth together. “That means she deserves to get locked up?”

“It would be stupidity to let her go. Who knows what she’s told Cambione already,” Adrian said. “Did the two of you have a lot of pillow talk?”

Tres stiffened as redness crept up his face. “Fuck you, Adrian.”

“I’m more interested in what she knows of Cambione,” I said. “Besides, she’s dealing and using Blasphemy. Jonah needs to study someone.”

“Why not the other two?”

Jonah cleared his throat. “More individuals would produce better results. I need to know how long brimstone stays in their system and how much damage has been done to them.”

“I’m a doctor. I can do that,” Tres said. “Without locking them up.”

“You were more interested in sleeping with her,” Adrian said.

“Besides, we’re looking for a more mystical effect,” I said.

Tres clenched his fists. “If Esais was here, he wouldn’t stand for this.”

I glanced at the door. “Where is Esais?”

“Not here,” Adrian said. “He’s once again slipped off the radar. All of them.”

Jonah walked to stand in front of Adrian and inspected him with pursed lips. “I don’t remember you being this tall.”

“Well, I’m not Esais,” Adrian said. “But I may have gained a few inches since you last saw me.”

“Yes, your time in America at school.” Jonah sniffed. “Among other things.”

“You can say prison,” Adrian said.

Jonah stiffened, and I cleared my throat. He glanced in my direction, but Adrian kept his gaze on the older man. This was the consequences Jonah had to pay for keeping his distance with the brothers. His decision wasn’t unwarranted with the secrets he wanted kept. However, nothing was staying hidden with this family. Adrian may not be as forgiving of Jonah.

Lucy pushed past me and put her hand on Tres’s shoulder. “I know you’re upset, Dearie, but I think you’re pushing your anger in the wrong direction.”

She turned her gaze to Delilah in her cell.

Delilah glared back and yelled, her voice muffled by her glass prison. “These bitches are lying and crazy. I don’t deserve to be here.”

“Who do you believe?” Lucy said. “Your family or—”

“Forget it,” Marge called from the doorway. “He’s gonna believe the piece of ass.”

She leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed. She was dressed in a one piece black vinyl bodysuit with a black corset over top. She tapped the heel of her high heeled boot and smirked at me. Oh, hell. Tres’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. Adrian blinked and shook his head.

Lucy gave a low whistle. “Trying a new look, dearie?”

Marge tilted her head to the side and smiled at Lucy. “I think it suits me. Wanna give it a try?”

“Excuse us.” I grabbed Marge’s arm, not unlike the previous night, and yanked her out into the hall, shutting the door behind us. “What the hell happened to the girl with the ‘fuck all’ attitude?”

Marge shrugged. “Wasn’t working out.”

“You need to fight him and the dreams. I thought you wanted to stay out of hell.”

“What’s the point? I’m damned anyway. We don’t even know who has my contract.”

“Cambione is still alive. We still have a chance.”

She crossed her arms and snorted. “Yeah, how well has that worked out for you? I don’t have centuries.”

“So, you’re just going to give in and become . . .” I waved my hand up and down. “This.”

“I might as well stop denying what I want,” she said.

I eyed her outfit again. “I’m not even sure what that is.”

She seemed to have accessorized with her usual hunters gear along with—was that a whip?

The door swung open, and Adrian looked out at us. “I hate to bust this little chat up, but I need to speak with the two of you.” He turned his gaze to Marge. “That is, if you haven’t traded hunting for a one eight hundred number.”

She smiled at him. “I’m still down for hurting things.”

He stepped out, followed by Lucy and Tres. Tres had his shoulders hunched, and he wouldn’t meet any of our eyes.

“Jonah needs time to examine our guest.” Adrian’s gaze scanned all of us. “I have the location and blueprints of the Acesco factory. I figured we can get out of his way and put an end to one of the drugs.”

“How are we going to do that?” Lucy asked.

I’m in,” I said.

Marge snorted and crossed her arms. “You sure your old bones can handle it?”

“Better than you in those boots,” I said.

She scowled.

“I’m staying here,” Tres said. “You have them, you don’t need me.”

“No,” Adrian said. “I’m not leaving you here to bother Jonah with your whining.”

“Besides, how long has it been since you hurt something?” I asked.

Tres muttered and leaned against the wall, looking at the floor.

Lucy turned to Adrian. “So what is the plan?”

Chapter 29

THE ACESCO FACTORY occupied an entire side of the street. It was a three story L-shaped monstrosity surrounded by a fifteen foot, white brick wall. A small guard shack with a window stood outside the only gate and it was occupied. As I lay flat on the roof of another building across the street, I scanned the walk through the binoculars.

“One guard on the outside,” I said. “The fence is lined with metal poles and it looks like cameras. We can probably get the gate open if we take the guard out.”

Adrian sat hunched over a black rifle. His head was down, and he fiddled with something closed to where his eye should have been. He turned to the rest of us with his eye patch in his hand. What looked like a small camera lens protruded from his eye socket. It was attached to a metal casing that was flush with his skin around his eye. Tres snorted.

“Are you bionic now?” he asked.

“Something like that,” Adrian said.

“What the hell is that?” Marge asked.

“Something I came up with to allow me to quantify patterns.”

“That’s a bit vague, Dearie,” Lucy said. “What sort of patterns?”

“Energy, life. If it works correctly, I should be able to differentiate between a vampire, a demon, and a normal human,” Adrian said.

A remnant our conversation about magic drifted through my mind. “Does this allow you to see spirits?”

“Perhaps.” Adrian turned back to the case, pulled out several pieces of a rifle, and began to put them together. “I will handle the guard. Gabby, handle the gate and security system.”

I blinked at him. “Aren’t you the technological genius here?”

He took a small black cylinder out of the case and held it out to me. “Even you should be able to do this. Just place it on the computer. The nanites and I will handle the rest.”

I glanced around at the others. “I guess they just get to sit around.”

“For now,” Adrian said. “They would wreck something.”

“Hey,” Lucy said. “I rarely wreck anything.”

I slipped on a black ski mask, climbed onto the fire escape, and took a series of ladders down to an alley. I pressed my back against the wall and stared across the street. The figure inside didn’t move as a car sputtered down the street with is motor echoing in the air. After the taillights vanished down the hill, I traversed to the shack in a crouching walk. The guard sat slumped in his chair with his chin resting on his chest. I squeezed in the security station behind him and leaned over to reach the computer built into the desk. A loud amalgam of a snort and snore emerged from him. I paused with the small black cylinder in my hand, but he continued to sleep.

I pressed the cylinder to the front of the computer and backed up to the wall. The three monitors that hung from the ceiling blinked through the two floors of the underground parking lot and on several angles of the three story building.

I touched the communication bud in my ear and spoke. “It’s on the computer. How long will this take?”

“It should only be a minute for the nanites to do their trick.” Adrian’s cool voice echoed in my ear.

I backed to the doorway as I continued to watch the monitors. The screens flickered with tiny white lines and froze. I pulled off the black ski mask covering my face and sucked in a long breath.

“It’s frozen,” I said.

“We’re on our way,” Adrian said.

I pressed the green button on the wall near the door and the front gate slid open with a metal squeak. Lucy crossed the street first, followed by Adrian and Tres. Marge stalked up last with her hands jammed in the pockets of her windbreaker and her hip swaying as she walked in those heeled boots. A scowl marred the delicate features of her face. I slipped through the gate as it began to close. Adrian headed down the road to the underground parking garage.

“Why can’t we just bust down the front doors again?” Marge nodded to the right where the visitor parking spots sat before the double glass doors.

“Stealth, guile, the police,” I said. “We’ve talked about this before.”

“I stop paying attention to your little meetings once you say whose ass we are kicking.”

I snorted and kept walking down the ramp. Yellow lights flickered over the empty concrete as we paused at the single metal door that led into the building. Adrian pulled out a card with a dark strip on the back and ran it through an electronic reader connected to the handle. A beep and a click echoed through the garage, and he pulled the door open. I inhaled and counted to ten, letting the others travel up the spiraling concrete stairs first. My hand hovered over the sheath of my sword. Marge hissed behind me.

She waved her hand at me in an impatient manner. She always acted like she had somewhere better to be, though the only place she had to go home to was a shabby hotel with bad television. She should be enjoying this place. The possibility of a fight was high. Then again, that was probably why she was waving me on. Adrian waited for us at the top and closed the door behind us.

“Second floor,” Tres said. “Shoes, formal, lingerie.”

Lucy sniggered.

“The servers should be down that hall.” Adrian pointed to the left. “We need to wipe them of the information.”

“Lead the way,” I said.

We followed him around the corner. Two figures dressed in blue guard uniforms appeared at the end of the hall. They stopped at the sight of us, one of them reaching for the gun on his belt. I pushed Adrian behind me, drew my sword, and crouched in a sprinters run.

“Vampires.” Adrian drew two stakes and tossed one to Tres.

Marge ripped off a metal canister from her belt, pulled a ring pin, and rolled it down the hall. A pale mist, blue in the light, rose from the opening and around their feet. A mix between a roar and a scream burst from the guard on the right. I charged in, keeping low to the ground, and swung my blade at his leg. Black smoke erupted from the deep gash on his calf, and he toppled over. He clutched his leg and let out a monstrous cry again. Adrian didn’t give him a chance to continue. He pushed the creature to the floor and jammed the stake into his chest. The vampire convulsed. His skin blackened, and he shrank until nothing remained but wisps of shadow in a security uniform.

Tres rushed forward, his hand extended to touch the second guard’s shoulder. The guard grabbed him, spun, and pressed Tres against the wall. Black claws extended from the fingers that wrapped around Tres’s neck. Lucy uttered an expletive and grabbed the guard’s arm. The guard caught Lucy in the chin with his elbow and sent her flying into the opposite wall.

I brought my sword high and swung it at his neck. The blade passed through as he shifted into a shadow, and Tres slid through his immaterial fingers and to the ground, choking and coughing. The shadow floated in an amorphous mass between us. I gripped my sword tighter. It would do nothing to the monster now, but I needed to get to Tres.

A holy water grenade passed through the shadow, spraying mist as it went, hit the wall, and landed in Tres’s lap. Smoke rose from the shadows, and it undulated in a frantic rapid pattern before it disintegrated. I straightened up and held my hand out to Tres.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

He stood with a hoarse groan. “Wonderful. Can we get this over with?”

“Don’t worry,” Adrian said. “Your girlfriend will still be in her cage when we return.”

Tres glared at him. “Fuck off, Adrian. I don’t need this right now.”

“Is it possible you could save your bitching until we are not in a factory full of monsters?” I asked.

Tres turned his glare at me, and I stared him down. His shoulders slumped, and he looked away, pressing his lips in a thin line. I’d stared down much worse than a child in the middle of a temper tantrum. Marge gave a soft snort of amusement and walked down the hall. She stopped at the door at the end.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” she asked.

Adrian joined her. “This is it. I should only be a few minutes.”

Adrian swiped his card again and entered the room. I remained at the end of the hall, watchful for any more guards. Tres leaned against the wall and kept his arms crossed. He wouldn’t meet anyone’s gaze and stared off down the hall. Lucy chewed on her lip and looked between him and me. I shook my head. He could pout for all I cared, as long as it didn’t get one of us killed. It wasn’t my fault he’d chosen the wrong woman to sleep with. He was learning that the hard way now.

“This is boring.” Marge picked up one of the grenade canisters she’d thrown.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” I said. “Not everything in life can be high action.”

Adrian came back out. “Done. Third floor has the labs.”

We headed up the stairs. I busted out of the tiny death trap with my hand gripped around my sword. A white, empty hallway greeted us.

“Were there only two guards for this entire place?” I asked.

“Most likely not,” Adrian said. “Keep an eye out.”

The hallway split to a turn to the left and continued straight. I paused at the hall and peered around the corner. Two doors stood across from each other, both with electronic key cards. Windows lined the walls, revealing the inside of the rooms. The room on the left was filled with rows of white pod-like machines that were attached to a metal tube hanging from the ceiling. The room on the right held a table with computers built into it. Another glass window covered most of the far wall and overlooked a dark room.

“What are those pods?” I asked Adrian.

“They produce the actual pills.” Adrian pulled out several small cylinders and turned to the rest of the group. “Take these and place them inside the machines. Once they are set, I will command the nanites to travel through the tubes to destroy the formula.”

“If you could do that, why did you have us burn the warehouses?” Marge asked.

Adrian stared at her as if she was stupid. “I could not be at all three at once, and I don’t have the range to control them from such distances.”

“You need to figure a way around that.” I grabbed three of the cylinders.

“I could set up a relay system, but thatwould be difficult, time consuming, and irrelevant.”

“Do we need some sort of suits when going in here?” Lucy asked.

“That’s more to keep the drug sanitary,” Tres said. “Since we’re trying to mess them up, no point.”

Lucy shrugged and took a handful. Adrian split the other between Marge, Tres, and himself. He ran his card through the slot and held the door open. We slipped inside. I took the second row, opened the porthole like door, and attached the device to the inner side.

“I thought we’d be killing more things,” Marge said. “This is janitors’ work.”

“I’m sure they are saving something special for you,” Tres said.

We finished and exited to the room. Adrian stared at the pods for several moments and nodded. He turned to the other door and we gathered in the small room. He typed a few strokes on a keyboard and the monitors lit up as well as a row of buttons. The room past the window held ten tall, cylindrical pods along the walls of the room. Humanoid figures floated in clear liquid with tubes attached to their arms and masks over their heads.

“What the hell?” Marge said.

She leaned forward to peer through the glass, her hand landed on one of the backlit buttons. A screen at the top of the pod closest to us lit up with a list of numbers. Blood flowed through one of the tubes and was deposited in a glass jar attached to the side of the pod.

“I think we found our source,” Adrian said in a grim voice.

“Open the door,” I said.

I moved to the first pod and studied the gray furred female with my aura sight. The bajang possessing the body glared at me with its liquid silver face twisted in rage. The human’s aura was in shreds, and the demon had started to consume the human soul. Every pod was filled with an angry hellspawn.

I put my hand on the glass. “Can you see it, Adrian?”

“The patterns read as a human and a possessing demonic entity.” His voice came over the speaker.

Tres pushed past me and moved to the next pod. He pushed a button on the top, and the screen lit up. “Vitals appear to be normal . . . and they’re awake.”

I leaned forward and inspected the glass. Etched on was a Star of David surrounded by two concentric circles. Astrological planetary symbols lined the space between the circles with their precise lines and curves.

“They’re bound,” I said.

Lucy gave a low whistle. “They went through a lot of trouble for this.”

Marge walked to a pod on the opposite side of the room. “How do we get this open so we can kill it?”

“There may be a way to destroy them all,” Adrian said. “A kill command.”

He stared at the computer with a look of concentration. A shadow rose up behind him and another moved in front of Lucy. I opened my mouth to warn them, but I was too slow. The shadows materialized into two guards. The one in front of Lucy tackled her, pushing her against the wall. Adrian half–turned, but the vampire behind him slammed his head into the computer. Adrian slumped over the screen, and his hand hit the keyboard. The lights in our room turned red and a loud beep echoed through the speakers.

“Release activated.” A monotone female voice filled the room.

The first vampire’s eyes widened. He shoved Adrian to the ground and typed something rapidly. The door slid shut. I ran to it and pulled on the handle, but it stuck fast. The vampire that held Lucy turned and yelled something to the other. Lucy slammed the back of her arm into the inside of his elbow. She slipped out from under him, flicked her wrists, and her punch daggers slid into her hands. The vampire turned back to her with a look of surprise.

“Gabby.” Tres backed to the center of the room with his gaze on the pods.

The lights on the panel blinked on all of them, and tiny words flew across the screen, too small for me to make out. Marge and I joined Tres in the center of the room, our backs to each other. As the doors opened, a metallic smell filled the room and liquid splashed against the tiled floors and covered our feet. There was a mechanical whirring, and the demons slid from the positions in the pod to the ground.

“Finally,” Marge said with a short laugh. “And I thought this was going to be a bust.”

Chapter 30

“YOU WANTED VIOLENCE,” I said. “Here it is.”

The first demon to notice us was a bajang. She was smaller than the one I’d fought in the abandoned apartment, and a dark brown fur covered her body. She snarled at us, her muscles tensing and her claws extending. She leapt at us with a growl. I moved forward and brought my sword in an arc over my head. The blade sliced through her stomach as she passed over me. Blood sprayed on me, and she tumbled to the ground a few feet past Tres. Three small stone figures surrounded us, with their eyes beginning to glow. I looked to their feet and backed up.

“Avert your gaze, Marge,” I said. “We need you for this.”

“Not happening again.” Marge flung a canister to the ground.

Mist, red in the flashing lights, rose around us. Guttural hisses filled the room, and the demons rescinded, their figures becoming slightly hazy in the mist. The pounding of stone on metal rang through the air, and I spun around to the secondary door in the back of the room. A short, stocky trouco demon bashed into the door with its stony shoulder.

“They’re trying to escape,” I said.

“On it.” Tres took off through the mist.

“Wait,” I called.

I reached out a hand to catch him. My fingertips slid along his shirt, but I couldn’t get a grip. Damn it, Adrian was already unconscious. I wasn’t about to lose Tres. The mist cleared after several feet, leaving only the emergency sequence of the lights. Tres had his hand on the back of a short stone demon at the door. Cracks formed from his fingers, spreading up along the trouco’s shoulders and lower back in a spider web pattern. It shuddered and let out a cry like that of a rumbling avalanche.

A sharp crack came from Marge’s direction. A black tip of her whip flew past me and into another bajang, wrapping around her ankle. The creature yowled as she was jerked off of her feet and back to Marge. The bajang hissed and raked her claws into the girl’s shoulder. She scowled and slammed her foot down on the demon’s knee. She could handle that. I needed to get to Tres.

A humanoid figure blocked my path. Its body was covered with dark oil that gleamed with reddish shimmer in the flashing lights. Another orang, except this one was alive. I swung my sword in an upward arc. A slash appeared, extending from its left hip to right shoulder. The oils spread across the wound and covered it, leaving no trace of the wound behind. It snatched my arm, and its hand melted into liquid that coved my hand. I gasped and tugged, but the stuff was like being trapped in quicksand or mud. Pulling would do no good. I ran around to the side of it, turned, and, using the small momentum I’d gained, flung it into the mist. I was pulled off my feet and after it. We both hit the ground. The oil began to bubble, and the demon’s body was subsumed into convulsions. The liquid trapping my hand slid away as the creature dissolved into a slick puddle.

Marge stomped the crumpled figure on the ground with a crazed look of pleasure on her face. I got to my feet with a shake of my head and went after Tres once again. He’d been pulled away from the door and was stretched between two of the fluid orang demons. A truaco slammed its stone fist into Tres’s midsection. Another tuaco pounded the door. The handle gave way with a loud pop, and the door banged open. The demon clomped out of the room. No time for him.

“Marge, use another can,” I yelled.

She gave a grunt of exertion. “I only have one left.”

“Adrian can make more,” I said. “As long as we get out of this alive.”

I jabbed the pommel of my sword into the truaco’s head. His fist stopped in midair and it turned his head in my direction. I ducked my gaze away from his face and aimed for his shoulder. It raised it arm to knock my hand away. The goo surrounding Tres’s left hand contracted, and a crunch sound was covered up by Tres’s scream. Both orangs pulled in opposite directions.

“Marge!” I said.

“Fine.”

The can landed at my feet in a clang, and the mist spread with a hiss. The truaco rumbled and stumbled away from us toward the door. He barreled into a bajang who was trying to escape. The bajang landed on the ground and yowled as the truaco stepped on her in its haste to escape. Marge didn’t waste any time and pounced on the fallen demon. She rammed her foot down on the creature’s neck. Tres pulled free of the melting orangs and clutched his hand to his chest.

I ran down the hall to the observation room and flung open the door. Lucy stood over a fallen vampire with a stake in her hand. She rammed it its chest, and he burst into tendrils of shadow. I knelt beside Adrian and, with my heart racing, I touched the side of his neck. His pulse thrummed against my fingertips. I let out a sigh of relief. Footsteps sounded from the door. I spun with my sword ready. Tres stood at the threshold, panting, his hand cradled against his chest. Marge was a few feet behind him. I stood up and moved to Lucy, crossing my arms over my stomach. She looked at me with a worried frown. Tres ran his good hand over Adrian, lifting his head up and moving his eyelids.

“Well?” I asked with my voice slightly hoarse.

“Concussion. He needs a hospital. And so do I.” He lifted his battered hand. “I can’t do anything with this.”

“Worthless,” Marge muttered.

“We can’t take him to a hospital with that.” I pointed to the device that now took the place of his long missing eye.

“Tres looks down at him and his shoulders slumped. “Well, someone will need to take him home while I go to the hospital.”

“Can you wake him?” I asked. “Otherwise, leaving here is going to be difficult.”

He slapped his hand against Adrian’s cheek in three sharp taps. Adrian groaned, his eyes blinking rapidly. He tried to sit up but ended up laying back again with his hand covering his eyes. Marge leaned back and glanced down the hallway with narrowed eyes.

“We need to move,” she said. “Several of those demons escaped.”

“Hopefully they’ll occupy the guards.” I moved to stand over Adrian. “Can you walk?”

He sat up slowly. “I will manage.”

“I’ll help him,” Lucy said. “Give him a shoulder to lean on.”

“Fine.” I looked to Tres. “How about you?”

He gave me a faint smile. “I can walk.”

“Marge, lead the way. I’ll take the rear,” I said.

We crept through the hall, wary of demons and vampires. Shadows flickered and growls echoed from one end of the hall. The door to the stairwell hung open with the handle and lock a busted mess. Marge pulled it open and leaned over, peering inside. She waved her hand forward and headed down the stairs. She stopped at the bottom and turned the handle. Nothing happened.

“Move,” Adrian said.

Marge stepped aside. Adrian’s hand dropped halfway through his wave, and the metal on the door began to disintegrate. What was left of the handle popped off under the force of Marge’s foot. The overhead lights flashed red as we sprinted through the garage. Marge shot her grapple and climbed over the wall. A few moments later, the gate opened. The guard still lay unconscious at his post. We didn’t stop running until we reached the van three blocks away. Lucy snatched the keys from Adrian, prodded us into the seats, and then took off. The tires screeched as she turned the corner. I grabbed the armrest to keep from sliding into Marge.

A cacophony of voices filled my head, followed by Esais. “What has happened to my brothers?”

I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed my temple. “They’re all right. We’re headed to the hospital.”

I mentally replayed what had happened at the facility.

“Which hospital?”

“Lucy, where are we going?” I asked.

“New York Methodist Hospital,” she said.

“I’ll meet you there.” Esais said, and the song stopped assaulting my brain, leaving only dull throb behind.

Lucy took another sharp turn and ran through two red lights. “Almost there.”

“Try not to get pulled over.” I rubbed my head again.

Lucy pulled into the parking lot of the hospital, and the tires screeched as she stopped in front of the Emergency entrance. “You help Tres. I’ll take Adrian home.”

I slid the door open and hopped out. I opened the front passenger door and helped Tres out. Marge squeezed past the gear shift and claimed Tres’s vacated seat. She stared up at the four story square building with a bored look on her face.

“I’m with Lucy,” Marge said. “No point in me waiting here.”

“Thanks for the help,” I muttered.

She looked at the three of us with a smirk.

“You got this. Besides, I’m sure Esais will rush to his brother’s side as soon as he finds out.” She looked into the parking lot at the two approaching figures. “Oh look, here he comes now.”

Lucy sped away with a squeal of tires, and I turned to face the music with a deep sigh.

Esais raced toward us with Viktor in tow. His mouth tightened into a thin line, and he swallowed hard as he looked over Tres. “I’m sorry.”

Tres laughed a hoarse laugh. “The world’s not ending. We just need to get patched up.”

Esais gave him a strained smile. “Let’s get you checked in.”

Esais took Adrian’s arm and guided him through the doors. Tres followed behind, rubbing his wrist. Viktor watched them go and let out a long sigh. I paused and turned his direction.

“Are you coming?” I asked.

He gave me a fleeting smile before he crossed his arms and looked down at the sidewalk. “Not really sure if I belong here.”

“I know it feels strange, but I think Esais would want you there.”

He shrugged. “Maybe, but do the other two? I mean, you have to admit that Adrian hasn’t exactly welcomed me with open arms.”

“That is his issue. He’s like that with everyone,” I said. “And he’s not even here now.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I just don’t want to come between them. They’re really lucky to have each other.”

“You don’t have any family?” I asked.

He gave a bitter laugh. “None I want to call family.”

“That bad?”

“I was a freak to them. A blasphemy.” He shook his head. “Ironic, really.”

I blinked. “Why ironic?”

He cleared his throat. “Nothing. Nevermind. Thanks for listening, Sweetheart, but I’m freezing. I’m going to try and find some coffee.”

I chuckled and stepped up so the door opened. “Well, if you want to talk any more, just let me know.”

Esais sat in one of the black plastic chairs along the wall. I wrinkled my nose at the stench of old blood under the astringent sanitizer. I sat down next to him and crossed my ankles. He stared at the floor with his fingers laced together on his knees.

“Did Viktor leave?” Esais didn’t look up.

“He’s getting coffee.”

Esais ran both hands down his face. “This is my fault.”

“They’re hunters. They’re going to get hurt.”

“I should have been there.” He gave a harsh laugh. “I thought I could have a private life. Obviously, I’m not meant to.”

I reached over and touched his arm. “They’re not children. You don’t need to hold their hand through everything.”

“When I don’t, this happens.”

I leveled my gaze to his. “Don’t you dare guilt yourself into giving up what little happiness you have. Both Adrian and Tres are fine. You can’t be with them all the time.”

He opened his mouth to speak when Tres opened the door near the nurse’s window. His hand was covered in a white cast, leaving only the fingers free. I blinked. That had been fast. I glanced at Esais.

“Did you push him ahead of others?” I asked.

“I had to do something,” he said. “He didn’t take the place of anyone in danger.”

“Good to know,” I said.

He met them halfway across the room. “So?”

“Broken, what else?” Tres shrugged. “It will take some time to heal. Looks like I’m out of commission for a while.”

“Will you be able to do anything for Adrian?” I asked.

“Not at the moment.” Tres snorted. “He’s got a concussion. He needs to be watched over for the next couple of days. I’m sure he’ll back to his irritable self by tomorrow. ”

Esais nodded and gave a faint smile. “I guess I’ll be spending some quality time with him then.”

“Just don’t change his music,” I said.

Esais stared down the hall. “All right. Let’s get out of here.”

“What about Viktor?” I asked.

He cleared his throat and looked to the ground. “He’s going home. It’s just going to be us for now.”

I stared at him, but he wouldn’t meet my gaze. I threw my hands up and followed them out to the van. It was no surprise Viktor felt alienated. This wasn’t helping. However, all I could do was offer the advice. I had too many crises to play matchmaker.

Chapter 31

THE NEXT DAY, I sat with my feet propped up on a desk in the office Jonah had commandeered. He leaned forward and peered at his tiny handwriting in his leather bound journal while he held a small vial in one hand. White foam fizzed at the top of it, like a shaken carbonated beverage.

“Have you found anything?”

“A few things,” he said.

I sat up a little straighter. “Well?”

“I will explain everything to everyone once.” He pressed his lips together in a thin line. “That way I will be less suspected of anything.”

I sighed and sat back. “You’re still upset.”

“You thought me capable of causing this.”

“What do you expect? You aren’t exactly on the straight and narrow like the brothers believe.” I wave a hand at the various vials and jars of ingredients on the edge of his desk. “You use vampire blood. Who knows if you would decide that Brimstone could have some useful application?”

His hand gripped the desk tightly. “The vampire blood is so I can continue with my oath. I have no legacy. Lucy is . . .”

“I know,” I said. “But it was questionable.”

“Even if I did, I’d never let it spread to such a degree that it has.”

“I apologize.” I crossed my arms a leaned back. “However, you haven’t been exactly truthful to everyone. Do you ever plan on telling them?”

He picked up a pen and wrote in neat strokes. “Now does not seem like the time.”

“I know you were able to keep things secret by avoiding seeing them often, but you can’t hide forever. They’ve probably already noticed, especially Esais.”

“I will consider it once this crisis has been taken care of.” His phone buzzed and he put it to his ear. “You’ve returned? Good.”

He hung up and looked at me. “Lucy has brought dinner. Could you gather the others so we can speak downstairs?”

“Marge isn’t here,” I said.

“Someone else can update her later.”

I climbed to the third floor. Adrian sat at his desk with his head wrapped in a white bandage. He glanced up from typing at his laptop and nodded to me. I froze as my heart fluttered. What was this? I shoved my hands in my pockets and leaned against the doorframe.

“How’s your head?” My voice sound hoarse.

“It would be better if people stopped asking me,” he said.

“Sorry,” I said. “Esais been bothering you all night?”

“He hovered some. He finally fell asleep a few hours ago.”

“Jonah wants to see speak with all of us. Lucy brought dinner.”

Adrian stiffened. He shut the laptop and stood, straightening his shirt. I chuckled. The Van Helsing brothers could be fearless in the face of vampires, but Jonah gave them the air of children with their hands in the cookie jar.

I stepped into the hall and searched the empty offices. Esais lay on a small portable mattress with his arm curled under his head. The air became cold and thick with an oppressive presence. I stiffened and pressed my back against the wall. Something heavy pressed on my mind and sent an ache through my entire body, causing my body to stiffen. Tears flowed down my cheeks as memories surfaced. Esais coughed and gave a moan. The pressure abated as he sat up, rubbing his face. I turned my head from him and sucked in a long breath of air. Could that have been him, or was I imagining things like he claimed?

He blinked at me. “Are you watching me sleep?”

I chuckled softly and glanced at him from the corner of my eye. “I came to wake you up.”

“Good, because that would have been creepy.”

“Jonah is here. It looks like he brought dinner for us.”

He stood and stretched with a sleep-filled smile on his face.

“Food sounds good.” He smacked his lips together and wrinkled his nose. “I think I’ll freshen up first.”

“Can you find Tres then?”

“Sure.”

I turned to the door with a nod.

“Gabby, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” My voice was just above a murmur.

I rushed from the door and down the hall, almost running into Adrian. He placed a steadying hand on my shoulder and looked past me from where I came.

“Running from your ghosts again?”

I shot him a glare and moved to the stairwell, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me to the elevator. I bucked, but he held tight.

“One floor. You’ll be fine,” he said.

I pressed against the back corner of the elevator with my hands flat against the wall. My stomach felt like it rose when we started to descend and the walls drew closer in. I closed my eyes.

Inhale, I thought. One. Two. Three. Exhale. One. Two. Three.

“So what had you running down the hall like a vampire was on your tail?” he asked.

I swallowed hard. Should I tell him? Would he believe me? “I think there’s something wrong with Esias.”

“He’s just upset that he’s not Superman.”

“What?”

He shook his head. “Why do you think something’s wrong with him?”

“I keep sensing this mental presence when he’s around, but he acts like nothing is wrong.”

“And you’re sure it’s not in your mind? You have been under stress lately.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m imagining things,” I muttered.

Of course he didn’t believe me. I had no proof. Hell, I wasn’t sure if I believed me. I continued to breathe as I forced the images of being trapped between floors from my mind. Adrian had his little machines. He could always make a way out for us. I would be all right. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. I rushed out of them and leaned against the desk in the lobby.

“Congratulations,” Adrian said. “You’ve lived through two floors of the elevator.”

I glared at him. “I’m not in the mood to be taunted.”

“Who said I was taunting you?” He put a hand on my arm. “He has been acting different. It is possible this is something from his ‘gift.’ Or he’s just caught up in the newness of the boyfriend. Why don’t we keep a closer watch on him?”

I nodded, crossed my arms, walked down the hall, and opened the door. Three round metal tables spread across the black and white tiled floor. A black counter divided the front from the kitchen. Adrian moved to help Lucy take cardboard boxes out of the sacks and set them on the counter. The smell of spiced chicken and tomato drifted through the air. Jonah was already seated at one of the tables and spoke on his phone. I opened one of the boxes and steam rose from the rice inside, warming my face and leaving behind little beads of water.

“Greek?” I asked.

Lucy nodded. “Dad got a feast for us.”

The door opened with a squeak, and Tres stepped in with his arms raised above his head, followed by Esais. Tres’s eyes had a drooping quality and he wore a wide smile on his face. Esais’s hair had a slight ruffled look to it, though it looked as though it had been set that way on purpose.

“I’m here, so we can get this party started,” he said.

“Surprising,” Adrian said. “You’re actually on time for something.”

Tres made a sarcastic sad face at his brother and walked to Jonah. He spread his arms wide. “Uncle Jonah, thanks for the meal.”

Before Jonah could reply, Tres pulled him into a tight hug, patting him on the back. Tres stepped back and wrapped an arm around Lucy’s shoulders, giving them a tight squeeze with his good hand. Esais held his hand out to Jonah and leaned close to speak with him quietly.

“You’re in a good mood,” I said. “How is your hand?”

“I’d probably be in agony, but the pills they gave me are awesome.” He grinned and wiggled the fingers of his casted hand. “And I can still be a little useful. Watch.”

His hand brushed my cheek, and a small scrape I’d gotten from the fight the night before. A warm tingle spread through my face. My fingers ran across my smooth cheek. He grinned.

“Only little stuff, so try not to be yourself,” he said.

He stepped past me to inspect the counter. A loud smack echoed through the room followed by a sting that erupted from my right butt cheek. I turned to glare at him, my hand clenching in a fist. He sidestepped out of my reach and winked at me. His gaze drifted over the food.

He sighed. “I could really go for some mici or even good sliade from home. What about you, Adrian? Are you too accustomed to American fare?”

“Pot and kettle,” Adrian said.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Tres asked.

“Your choice in women. Your hunter instincts are horrible.”

Tres glared at him, his face turning a bright red.

“We all make mistakes,” Esais spoke up. “He’ll know better next time.”

“Right,” Tres smirked. “Now I’ll have to do a background check on every girl I date.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Jonah said. “I could arrange that.”

I coughed to cover the laugh at the look of dread on Tres’s face and held up my plate. “Shall we eat?”

“Yes, I’m starving.” Lucy set her plate, piled to a peak with meat and rice, on the table.

“Speaking of our guests.” Esais sat across from me. “How long do we plan to keep them against their will?”

“Until we find a way to cure them.” I took a large bite, savoring the warm roasted chicken and spices.

“If that’s possible,” Jonah said.

Esais frowned, his eyebrows furrowing. “There isn’t another way?”

“We could let them go, become possessed and be forced to kill them. This way, at least they have the protections of the office.” I turned to Jonah. “So, what have you found out?”

He cleared his throat and patted his mouth with a handkerchief. “As I said, both samples of the drugs contained brimstone. They looked to be from the same formula.”

“It has to be Faust,” I said. “What have you found from our guests?”

“The Brimstone has been changing their physiology, metaphysically that is.”

Adrian frowned. “How do you mean?”

“I doubt it could be something any physician would be able to see. For instance, they all display severe allergic reactions to holy water, but all normal ingredients that are in holy water give no reaction.”

“I think I said it before, but it’s weakening their souls,” I said. “Probably how they can be possessed so easily.”

Jonah nodded.

“I believe the change is allowing them to become malleable for the demons to change their form.” He stared at the wall, his gaze growing distant. “Now we have the possibility of this becoming an international incident. What can you tell me about this company?”

Adrian straightened and began going over what we’d learned. My phone vibrated from the pocket of my jeans and “Wandering Star” echoed through the room. I gave an apologetic smile in response to the glare Adrian shot me and stepped out into the foyer. John’s name flashed across the screen.

“Hey,” I said, the warmth I felt coming out in my voice. “I was just starting to miss you.”

“I need to see you.” He spoke the words in a shaky rush. “I think I may be in trouble.”

A chill ran up my spine. “What’s wrong?”

“Not over the phone. In person.”

“All right? Do you want me to meet you at your hotel?”

“No, some place public. Rubello’s in twenty minutes.”

He hung up, and I stared down at my phone, trying to shake the sick feeling rising in my stomach. He’d sounded desperate, like a man out of options. Something had gone wrong. I just hoped it wasn’t something that would snowball into a disaster.

Chapter 32

I TOOK THE small set of stairs down to the darkened bar and wrinkled my nose at the stench of old cigarettes mixed with fresh ones. Rubello’s was one of the few places in New York where smoking was allowed inside. It had something to do with it being called a Cigar bar. Lucy had explained it to me a few nights ago, during our patrol of different clubs, but I’d only half paid attention. John waited for me at the bar with a lit cigarette in his hand. I sat beside him, clasping my hands together on the counter. He didn’t look up from his whiskey glass.

“Since when do you smoke?” I asked.

“I needed something for my nerves.” He glanced behind him with narrowed eyes. “Is there anyone here who is a blasphemer?”

I raised an eyebrow. “A what?”

He waved his hand in a circular motion with his palm up. “Someone using the drug.”

“Oh. Interesting term.”

I glanced around. The booths along the wall were filled. Men and women in business suits chatted and laughed over salads and glasses of wine. The world faded around me and a pop went off behind my eyes. I blinked at the myriad of hues that shifted around the patrons. Some of the auras touched and blended with each other, all were slightly muddied from inebriation, however none held the corrosion effect of Blasphemy. I turned my attention to John. A dark anxious red mixed with a muddied gray of fear swirled around him. Whatever this was, it had him pretty bad.

“They’re clean,” I said.

He let a huge sigh, and his shoulders slumped.

“What’s this about?”

“Cambione’s after me. I think he’s sent several of his flunkies to follow me.”

My heart pounded in my ears, and my chest tightened. “Are you sure? How can you tell?”

“I’ve seen the same people hovering for the last couple of days.”

“Are any here now?”

He shook his head.

I shook my head. “That’s really strange. Why you? I mean, I was the one who had a direct confrontation. He should be after me.”

“Yeah, well maybe he knows about us.”

I swallowed, my mouth dry. “I’ve put you in danger.”

He gave me a faint smile. “It’s all right. I knew what I was getting into.”

“Could it have been whoever gave you the information?”

John shook his head. “The thaumaturgist I talked to tries to stay away from demons. It had to be Faust. He knew me from the conference and after I’ve been looking into your whole Raina Adrian thing, he’s probably not too pleased.”

I straightened. “Did you find anything out?”

“Of course that’s what you’d want to know in all this.”  He drained his whiskey glass in one swallow. “Not a whole lot you couldn’t find out if you knew how to use the internet. He used to work for Erebus.”

“That’s the main company for Acesco, right?”

“Yeah, big on weapons and tech. Their president started to branch out and bought a few other companies about a decade back. Anyway, interesting bit of information I did find, Adrian got put on some sort of special project with Raina. That is until he ran off with some company secrets and got involved with arms dealing.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “What was the name of the project?”

“Apotheosis.”

“Like deification? What were they working on?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? The rest you’re going to have to find out for yourself. I’ve got other problems.”

The bartender stopped in front of us and pointed to John’s empty glass. “You want another?”

John laughed. “Sure. It might be my last.”

I frowned at him as my chest tightened again. “Don’t say things like that.”

He shook his head. “Why not? My best bet is to make sure the bastard is dead.”

“Then we’ll kill him.”

“Do you know where he is? I sure as hell don’t and it’s probably not the best idea for me to go looking for someone who’s out to get me.”

“I’ll find him and get his attention,” I said. “You lay low.”

He snorted. “I don’t think that will work. He’s already set his sights on me. I doubt he’ll just let me go.”

“I don’t think he’s that relentless.”

John gulped down his new drink and muttered. “It’s too late.”

He really wasn’t giving this one up. “Then come back to the office with me. We have protections.”

He made a face. “As much as I’m sure the Van Helsings would love putting me up, I’d rather not be a sitting duck. I’ll just lay low, keep moving.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I won’t be able to protect you if I don’t know where you are.”

He laid his hand on top of mine. “I’ll call you to let you know I’m all right.”

I nodded, looking at his hand. It shook ever so slightly and felt light, like it was disappearing, and I wouldn’t be able to hold onto it. I’d gotten John involved in this, and now I couldn’t keep him safe. No, I could. I just had to do what I did best. Kill the demon who threatened what I cared about.

“I can at least get you somewhere safe,” I said.

He shook his head. “Sorry, but you have this habit of attracting the wrong kind of attention. Just kill him. Soon, Gabby.”

I stood and pulled my hand away. Any words I wanted to say wouldn’t leave my constricted throat. I jammed my hands into my pockets and clenched them into fists as I headed for the stairs that lead outside. I wouldn’t—no, couldn’t—fail John. He’d put himself on the line so many times for me. He’d more than repaid me for saving his life when we first met and hadn’t asked for anything except for a little love in return. I needed to start checking the hotels in town. Cambione had to be set up in another one. Once I’d found him, I would end his wretched existence, save John, and free Marge.

I glanced back to see a tall man in a long coat. He walked with a pace that matched mine but stayed several yards behind me. How long had he been there? He hadn’t been at the bar. I must have picked him up somewhere along the way.

John was right.

I always seemed to attract the wrong kind of attention.

Chapter 33

I SPED UP my pace and turned the corner. Thanks to John’s paranoia we’d met somewhere public, leaving me without my sword again. A dagger rested in a sheath in my boot, covered by my jeans. My jacket concealed the stake on my back hip. I had a couple of Adrian’s garlic pellets and some holy water. Not a whole lot to work with. I let out a sigh. I really missed the old days where I could vanquish a demon with a few well-enunciated words. Thanks to the Brimstone, that was all but impossible in this city.

I turned a corner, pausing at a newsstand, and then quickened my pace. He’d been joined by a friend. I slipped past a family of five and darted down the stairs into a subway station. The reek of unwashed bodies and old urine surrounded me. My throat closed up, and my heart raced. People huddled at the platform as they waited for the next train. In a panic, they could crush me, and I would have no chance to get away. I doubted anyone would stop my stalkers if they wished to grab me. I needed to get a good look at them and didn’t plan on dragging them around the city.

My mouth moved as I counted to ten silently and joined the crowd. The two men slipped down the stairs and moved to stand behind me at an angle. I glanced at them out of the corner of my eye. One was staring at me. No good. I didn’t want to let on I knew they were following me just yet. The train pulled up, and the doors slid open. I followed the crowd in while making sure I would be in the same car as them. They stepped in right before the door closed.

I stared at the floor and let the colors of the people surrounding me wash over. Waves of blue pushed against greys, reds, and orange. I raised my eyes until the men were in my sight. The void around them sucked in the colors from the humans. Shifting shadows obscured their faces and body.

“Esais,” I called mentally. “I have two vampires following me. I could use a little assistance.”

Every minute I waited, my unease grew. He never took this long. I rubbed my closed eyelids. He’d really picked the most inconvenient times to make himself unavailable again. Tres and Adrian were in no condition to help. It looked as though I would have to handle this on my own. Thank God I’d thought to bring a stake. Now to get them somewhere private.

As the train slowed to a stop, I pushed my way past several bodies to the door. It slid open, and I rushed out. With a long breath, I headed to the stairs. The wind hit me full in the face, stinging my nose and cheeks, and I wrapped my jacket tighter around myself as I hurried down the sidewalk. Moments later, the vampires emerged from below. The taller one stuck his hands in his pockets and searched the milling people. Our gazes met, and I turned away, quickening my pace.

I scanned the buildings. There. The narrow alley across the street would work. I jogged over with my hands jammed in my pockets, kicking aside the bits a trash that rolled in the wind. The sickly sweet tang of garbage hovered in the back of my throat as I came to an L-shape end about twenty feet down. I turned the corner and pulled my knife from my boot and a garlic pellet from my pocket. Footsteps drew closer. A skittering can echoed in the air, followed by the sound of shushing. I counted to ten and tossed the pellet.

“Shit!” one of them yelled.

I pulled my stake out and rushed around the corner at them. The taller one was bent over, heaving, while the other had his back to the wall and was waving his hand in front of his face. I moved in front of the tall one and slammed my knee into his face. He staggered back. I jammed the stake toward his chest, but he pushed it aside with his arm. The other grabbed me from behind and threw me into the wall. My back exploded in pain, and I tumbled to the ground. The taller vampire pounced. I rolled out of the way and came up in a crouch with my dagger raised. They moved closer cautiously. Strange. Neither seemed willing to pull their guns. Were they actually worried about attracting attention?

The shorter one moved behind the dumpster and shoved it toward me. It came flying at me with the screech of metal against concrete. I dove to the side and right into the tall vampire. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against his chest. I struggled against him as my feet lifted off the ground, my breath coming in ragged gasps. He sank his fangs in my neck, and I screamed. A burning sensation raced through my veins and my head began to spin. A chill crept though my skin and down my bones. I had to get free, but I couldn’t get my arms to move.

“Hey, lay off man. They said not to hurt her too much,” the shorter one said. “Ms. Benson’s gonna be pissed if you eat her.”

The taller one pulled away with a satisfied gulp. Now that his teeth were out of me, the chill receded and feeling returned to my fingers. I flipped the knife around in my hand and buried it in his arm. He screamed, and his grip loosened enough for me to squirm out. I landed on my feet, spun around, and jammed the stake into his heart. The vampire vanished into fading shadow and cold. I turned and hopped away before the shorter one could attack. Not that I needed to worry. His mouth hung agape in surprise at the death of his partner. His eyes narrowed, and he hissed at me, baring his fangs.

I snorted. “Really? You’re going the cliché route now?”

His sneer turned into a grin as he glanced behind me. I spun, but I was too late. A giant meaty hand encircled my arm. He loomed over me, thicker than both the tall vampire and short vampire put together. He wasn’t fat though, it was all hard muscle and a barrel chest. His grin spread across his craggy face.

“She’s a fighter, eh?” He didn’t take his eyes off of me.

“She just killed Charlie,” the short one said with a whine to his tone.

“He was sloppy.”

I brought my knife up to stab him in his eye. He caught my arm and twisted. A snap reverberated through the alley, followed by my scream. He swung me around and sent me stumbling into the brick building. My now broken arm slammed into the wall and sent a shot of white hot throbbing through me. I panted, swallowing the rising nausea. The walking mountain approached me with a swagger. No man should be that big.

The world went grey, and I gasped when I saw the true form. There should have been a shadow, a thing with no soul, but there wasn’t. Instead, a giant, green gorilla approached me, using his elongated arms to propel him forward. I was up against a demon possessed vampire. This night just couldn’t get any better.

I ducked from his grab and danced around him. No way in all Seven Thrones of Hell would I let him trap me with my back against the wall. I swallowed hard and forced the pain into a tiny part in the back of my mind. I had to somehow get in close enough to stake him while avoiding those giant arms.

The short vampire hovered in my peripheral, trying to get a good shot in. I stepped back to the intersection so I could have a good view of both. The giant roared and charged me. I ducked, but the other one leapt in my path and tackled my legs. My hands scraped against the concrete, and the stake slipped from my grasp. The force jarred my broken arm, sending rivets of agony through it. The demon stopped from a full run, grabbed me by my hair, and slammed my face into the concrete.

White light burst in my eyes. I groaned and brought my hand to the place where he had me. I tried to pry his fingers apart, but his grip was an iron vise. I jerked my head forward, and a sting spread across the back of my head as some of my hair was ripped out. It still wasn’t enough. He had too much.

“You’re only hurtin’ yourself, girlie,” he said.

He slammed me against the ground again. Blood welled up in the cuts the street left on my forehead. My nose broke under the pressure. I panted and pulled harder at my hair. I had to get away. I couldn’t be trapped. Trapped meant a continuous death, lost in darkness and cold.

He sighed and yanked me toward him. I slammed into the back of his chest, sandwiched by his huge bicep. One hand came over my mouth and nose, blocking all air. I slammed my fists against him, ignoring the agony to my broken arm. My eyes fluttered, and a floating sensation came over me.

My body went limp, and I fell into oblivion.

Chapter 34

PAIN PULLED ME from the depths of unconsciousness. It came to me even before the light. My arm throbbed in a constant ebb and flow, eliciting a groan from my lips. I blinked at the grey steel ceiling that greeted me. That wasn’t right. I should have been dead. Instead, I lay in a barren prison with my right arm held to my chest in a sling.

I sat up, scanning my surroundings. A plain gray room surrounded me, and the walls were as bare as the metal slab I lay on. Chains jangled as I moved, and a cold weight shifted on my wrist, keeping me trapped within a few feet from the wall. The rough material of the white gown I’d been dressed in rubbed against my skin and looked more like a sack than and actual gown. My head and neck were bandaged. Whoever my captors were, they wanted me in good condition. My laugh bounced off the walls of my prison. Who was I kidding? I knew full well who had me.

As if on cue, the door slid open, and two large men in charcoal gray suits stepped in. They moved to each side of the door and pressed their backs to the wall. Raina’s heels clacked against the floor as she walked through the door. She stopped a few feet from me and crossed her arms, her gaze traveling over me with a cold inspection.

“You don’t look like much,” she said. “It’s hard to believe that you’re some bogeyman of demons.”

“It helps to look inconsequential.” My hoarse voice betrayed the confidence I was trying to convey. I glanced at the door. Maybe I could break my thumb, slip the cuffs, and make a run for it. No, it would never work.

She gave a sharp bark of a laugh. “Well, we’ll see about that. I have a few questions, and you are going to answer them.”

“Am I?”

She waved her hand, and her goon on the right moved forward. He drove his fist into my solar plexus. I crumpled on the metal bed with my good arm wrapping around my stomach. My shoulder screamed, but it was nothing compared the wave of sickness and woe that arose in my abdomen. I gasped, chocking on my own saliva. So, this how things were going to be.

“Now, how do you know Adrian Van Helsing?” Raina asked.

I coughed. “I don’t.”

The goon yanked me up into a sitting position by my shoulders and kept me in a vice like grip. Raina stepped in front of me. Her hand gripped my chin and she dragged my gaze to her. Her eyes were a pale green, like frost on leaves.

“I can make you beg for death,” she said.

I gave a hoarse laugh. “You’re too late for that threat.”

A cruel smiled formed on her lips. She dragged her nails across my cheek, leaving four wet gaps in my flesh. She turned from me. “Restrain her to the table and bring me my tools.”

The goon slammed me on the table hard enough that my head bounced, sending waves of dizziness. He pulled leather straps from the bottom of the slab and pulled them across my chest, waist, and legs. My arms were forced above my head, sending screaming agony through my broken bones. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead as I struggled against my bonds. Raina loomed over me and pressed me down against the table with one hand on my chest. Light from the ceiling reflected off something metal in her hand.

“So, once again, tell me of your relationship to Adrian Van Helsing.”

“What is your relationship with him?” I asked. “You seem a bit obsessed.”

A sharp sting began on my collarbone and traveled down my chest. My body became a conduit of pain. Tears pricked my eyes, and Raina blurred to an indistinct form above me. My throat went dry as the present meshed with the past. The lights dimmed to a soft yellow, and I could almost smell the mix of candle wax and piss. The figure above me spoke in harsh syllables, always with their questions. The church had claimed I’d killed my own husband and child.

“I’m not a heretic,” I whispered.

“No, no. I need you to focus.”

Cold water splashed on my face, and I gasped, fighting against my restraints. Raina held a jug in her hand as she scowled down at me I lay back with a cough and closed my eyes. I needed to send my mind someplace different. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t survive this.

“Where is Adrian?” she asked.

I breathed in, counting to ten, and breathed out. I conjured the sound of the sea in my ears. I could see the diamonds in the night sky as I stood with my feet buried in the sand. The waves crashed against the shore with a hiss, and the wind carried the salty mist against my face. I hummed a tune while I spun in circles and danced across the beach. I stumbled as my body was wracked with a heaving cough and blood sprayed across the white sand, only to be consumed by the ocean.

“What are you doing?” a man’s voice asked from somewhere in the distance.

“She is proving difficult.” Raina’s voice brought me back to the metal room and my pain.

I moaned and squinted at the figure in the doorway. Faust had his hands in his pockets with a frown on his face.

“Perhaps you should take a break,” he said.

“I haven’t gotten the information I need,” Raina said. “All this is doing is making me hungry.”

“I don’t see why you chose this. So much blood is bound to tempt you.”

“I enjoy it that way.” She brought the knife to her lips.

I turned my head as another fit of coughing grasped me. Liquid invaded my lungs, sending small bubbles up to burst against my lips. Every breath was a struggle, and the world slipped out of focus again.

“Damn, it looks like I may have cut too deep,” Raina’s voice echoed.

“Enough for today,” Faust said. “You can start again fresh tomorrow.”

The last notes of his voice drifted away and were replaced by a loud buzzing. Everything blended together as the few colors in the room faded to white.

Chapter 35

THE WAVES ROCK the sail boat as I lay on the deck, soaking up the sun. The warm rays kiss my upraised face, and I smile. The skirt of my long dress flutters in the strong wind. A woman’s husky chuckle tickles at my ears. I blink in the brightness, trying to focus on the figure that has invaded my private world.

She leans against the bow of the boat with her golden skin glittering in the sunlight. This isn’t a metaphor. Her skin is actually golden. Her night black hair caresses her shoulders and hips, amplifying her naked glory. A small chain of small purple stones hangs about her waist. She smiled at me with the perfect pouty lips and my own mouth opens in a pant as a heat sweeps through me in places the sun can’t touch. I sit up, running a hand down my neck and collar bone.

She holds a hand out to me. “Come to me, my daughter. You have suffered long enough.”

I stand, take two steps toward her, and stop as a chill wind passes over me. I glance up at the sparkling stars. When did it become night? Sirius winks at me from her position in the cosmos. The female before me frowns, and heavy clouds roll in, covering the glittering jewels of the night. The boat rocks as the waves pick up.

“Careful,” she says. “There is a storm coming.”

Lightning illuminates the black clouds rolling overhead, and the boat heaves to and fro. I grab the side to catch my balance.

“How many more storms do you want to endure?” she asks. “Come to me. Mother will protect you.”

Her hand remains outstretched before me. It would be so easy just to agree. How warm her embrace must be. I could stay wrapped in her arms forever. Her purple eyes hold a promise of all I lost. I could have thousands of children to replace my Marco. Men would adore me, turning their eyes from all others.

And you would be just like Allegra.

The thought kills all the remaining heat in my body. No. I wouldn’t become what I hated most. I take another step back so that my legs press against the edges of the boat. She lowers her hand with a long sigh.

“Why must you be so stubborn, Daughter?” she asks.

I stare down at the churning depths of the sea before meeting her gaze. “I’m not your daughter.”

I leap over and let the icy water drag me under.

* * *

I GASPED AWAKE and stared at the gray ceiling above me as I tried to catch to first few breaths of air. The coppery stink of blood filled the air. Naamah had visited me, which meant I must have died again. Though Allegra was the demon to curse me, Naamah was the one who constantly tempted me with her honeyed lies. With each death, it grew a little harder to resist her. Someday, I wouldn’t have the strength to do so. I swallowed hard and tried to focus, but my head kept swimming. I drifted into unconsciousness.

Someone was standing over me. I moved my arm to reach for my sword, but something impeded my movement. That’s right. I was trapped on this metal table. They must have come back with more questions. I blinked up at the figure and found Faust instead of Raina. He ran a finger down the side of my cheek, and I resisted the urge to shudder in revulsion.

“You still twitch in your sleep. I take it your dreams haven’t gotten any better,” he said softly.

“What the hell do you know about my dreams?” I glared at him. Who did this demon think he was?

He chuckled.

“I know more about you than you think.” He shook his head. “You have really caused a lot of trouble, dear girl. Destroying our warehouses, and our supply. To say Raina is livid is an understatement.”

I stared at him for several moments. “What? You’re expecting an apology or something, hellspawn?”

“Oh no. I’d never expect that. I should have been more cautious when I saw you at the conference.” He rubbed a lock of my hair between two fingers. “No matter. We’ll just make more, after we kill your friends.”

I stiffened. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Unfortunately, you won’t be here to do so. You see, I contacted Allegra. She’s just dazzled to know that you’re all wrapped up and ready to be delivered for Naamah.”

A chill ran through me. Oh, Dio. As much as I wanted to find Allegra, this was not the condition I wanted to be in. God only knew what she would have in store for me. Allegra would make Raina’s little interrogation seem like child’s play, and she would do it just for the pleasure of breaking me.

Faust patted me on the cheek. “I’m sure we’ll get to know each other even more intimately in the future.”

He walked to the door. “Get some rest. You’re going to need it.”

I strained against my bonds, but they held tight. The ache in my broken arm reared up, and I fell back against the table. It was no good. I was trapped. I breathed in and calmed my mind. Panic wasn’t going to do me any better than it had when they started the torture.

“Esais, I need you,” I called out mentally.

Nothing.

I swallowed at the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Had they already gotten to them? No, they wouldn’t have questioned me so hard. So, where was Esais? Maybe Raina had something that prevented telepathic communication. They had no way of knowing about Esais’s gift, though. I would just have to keep trying.

And if you can’t reach him? A small thought floated up. Allegra will come and not even death can save you.

My mouth went dry. It had been a good long run. Who did I think I was to actually try and win against an entire Throne? As much as I focused on Allegra, Naamah was the power that backed her. If only I’d been able to kill Allegra. She was the conduit for this curse keeping me here.

The door slid open. I stiffened, waiting to see who it was this time. My jaw dropped. It wasn’t Raina with more pain or Allegra with her own brand of torture. It was the sweetest face I’d ever seen.

Adrian’s.

Chapter 36

ADRIAN WALKED TO the table and his lips pressed together in a thin line as his gaze ran over me. “You look like hell.”

I glared at him. “Less gawking and a little help please.”

He unbuckled me from the table. “Can you walk?”

I pushed myself into a sitting position with a groan. I could see why he asked. The entire front of the gown was now red. The blood had darkened and left a sticky congealed mess that caused the fabric to cling to my chest. His frown deepened as he stepped closer and placed a hand on my shoulder. Concern coming from Adrian? I had to look horrible.

“It looks worse than it is,” I said. “I’m glad I actually reached Esais. I thought something might have happened when I didn’t get a response.”

Adrian frowned. “Esais didn’t tell me you were here.”

“But how?”

“You’ve been gone for two days, ever since running out on Jonah’s meeting,” he said.

My hoarse laugh echoed off the walls. “I guess you can really lose track of time in here.”

“I accessed Acesco’s systems and found a reference to you.” He turned to the door, clasping his hands behind his back. “I came to free you.”

“Alone? Are you insane?” I stood, took a few steps, and the room spun a little. I leaned back on the table with a pant. “She knows about you.”

“I expected her to figure things out eventually. Besides, no one should be left to monsters. Please tell me you’re not going to need a shoulder to lean on.”

I locked a steely gaze with him and took a few steady steps. “I think in can manage. Just needed to adjust for a moment.”

“Good. We need to get out of here.”

“Wait. Both Raina and Faust are here. We can’t pass this chance up.”

Adrian raised the eyebrow above his good eye. “How are we going to do anything? We don’t even know if they are here.”

“If we leave now, we may never get a better chance. Once they find out what you did, Raina’s going to send whatever legions she has after you and your brothers.” Not to mention Faust and Allegra will be after me.

He sighed. “We are in their center of their compound. Just the two of us would be suicide. I don’t have enough nanites to bring this building down, and you are missing your favorite weapon.”

I narrowed my eyes, my voice dropping in temperature. “I’ve fought in worse conditions. Alone. Besides, Faust hasn’t used Brimstone. I can banish him.”

It wouldn’t solve my problem, but it could delay it enough I could prepare. “What do you have with you?”

“Two holy water grenades, ten of the garlic bombs, three stakes, and my guns,” he said.

“The one that can kill demons?”

“As well as one I’ve modified to shoot petrified wood bullets.”

I chuckled. “One of the old ones from World War II? I’d heard rumors about that.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on his face. ”Something like that. That still leaves you without a weapon.”

“Give me some of the garlic bombs and the demon gun.”

“You’re not that good of a shot.”

I made a face. “I can hit occasionally.”

He stared at me, his debate not evident on his face. “Not happening. That is insane. First rule of hunting vampires: attack them when they’re weak.”

“Are you here at night?” I looked at the doorway, but only saw the opposite white wall, lit by electricity.

He snorted. “Of course not.”

He spread his arms and pointed to the navy blue jumpsuit underneath the jacket with the nametag of Stan. “Nobody questions the new maintenance guy.”

He kneeled beside a large metal toolbox I hadn’t seen before, opened it, and pulled out a rolled up piece of cloth. I grabbed it out of the air and it unfolded into another blue jumpsuit.

“You could have just handed it to me,” I said.

“Put it on. I swiped it from the janitor’s closet when I found out you were here.”

I slipped into it, turning my back to Adrian as I dressed. He held out a wet towel and a ball cap. Good point. I probably looked like a bloody mess. I wiped my face off as best I could and hid my hair under the hat.

“Where are we, and how far do we need to go?” I asked.

“Underground, he said. “We need to get to the first floor and out the back entrance.”

“You are giving me some sort of weapon right? I’m not just going to hang in the back and hope no one notices me.”

He sighed and handed me one of the holy water canisters, a couple of the garlic bombs, and a stake. “Try to make it last.”

“That will depend on how many guards there are.”

“Look, it’s in the day. We’re going to have more trouble with the human authorities if we get caught. I don’t think Raina wants her little setup exposed.”

“If you say so.” I waved my hand to the door. “Lead the way.”

The hallway was narrow. I swallowed hard and kept my gaze on Adrian’s back. Fluorescent lights shone from the ceiling and reflected off the eggshell-white walls. We passed several unmarked doors before turning to the right. I clenched my fist and wiped the sweat from my brow. Just a little farther and we would be free. When I saw the figure standing at the elevator, my heart thudded and sank to my stomach. He took up most of the width of the hall. Adrian came to a stop, and his hand hovered over his gun. The hulking monster grinned down at both of us, flashing a fang. It was the same vampire from the alley.

“Interesting,” Adrian said. “Your size won’t save you.”

“He’s possessed,” I said.

“And that makes any difference?”

The demonic vampire gave a roar and charged us. He hit Adrian with the back of his hand and sent him flying into the wall. Adrian’s guns skittered across the floor as he landed on the ground. I tried to duck out of reach, but the demon’s hand tangled in my hair. My forehead met the wall and white pain burst behind my eyes. The room spun, and I pressed my hands against the wall to keep myself upright. The demon’s grating laugh rattled around in my ears. It changed to an angry roar of pain as the hall filled with white mist. Adrian must have thrown one of the grenades. The demon shoved past me in his haste to get out of the holy mist. I stumbled, tripped, and toppled onto Adrian. He gave an annoyed sigh, pushed me off of him, and stood.

“Find my guns.” He sprinted down the hall after the demon.

I gritted my teeth against the waves of agony shooting through my arm and stood. Adrian reached the edge of the mist and stopped. A few feet from him, a door stood open. A large arm, red with sizzling blisters, reached out from the doorway, grabbed Adrian by his throat, and yanked him into the darkened room. I scanned the hall, my breath coming in short pants. Where the hell had his guns gone? There. A small black square in the corner. I rushed to it and scooped the revolver up. It was plain with no tube. This had to be the one that shot the wooden bullets. Damn, where was the other one? I would probably need both to kill the demon. The second gun lay near the doors of the elevator.

Adrian gave a strangled cry from the room. I scrambled to the other gun and opened the chamber on the first one. Wooden bullets scattered across the floor. I unloaded the second gun and grabbed several of the woodened bullets. Please let this work. Adrian told me the symbol wasn’t created until the gun was fired. The gas from the tube created enough heat to burn it into the bullet. I was on my feet and down the hall in a matter of seconds. I leaned against the wall and peered into the room.

The demon had Adrian pressed against the wall by his neck. Adrian’s face was turning blue as the demon squeezed harder. I held my breath as I crept behind him. I pressed the gun to his back and pulled the trigger. Black wisps of shadow wafted from the neat hole in his back. The demon stiffened and turned to me with a look of shock on his paper-white face. He burst into a cloud of shadow that dissipated on the air. Adrian dropped to the ground, gasping and holding his throat. I knelt beside him.

“Can you speak?” Please speak. I had no idea how to fix a crushed windpipe.

He voice was hoarse. “Help me up. We need to go.”

He groaned and clutched his side as I helped him up. I gave a low laugh as we hobbled to the elevator with his arm around my shoulder. We stopped to pick up his gun and several of the bullets. We didn’t know how many more we would have to face to make our escape. I pressed the button and took a deep breath and focused on Adrian reloading his guns with a quick ease. I could do this. The doors opened, and I gulped in a huge breath before stepping in.

“Which way?” My voice was at a higher pitch than normal.

“Up two floors. We’re leaving through the parking garage.”

Adrian groaned when I jerked both of us out into the garage. He waved to our right in a half-hearted hand gesture. I scanned the rows of cars for any sign of movement. The yellow light from the ceiling cast eerie reflections over the shiny chrome and glass surrounding us. Our footsteps echoed against the concrete walls.

“Not far now,” Adrian said. “To the left, at the end of the row.”

Car doors slammed near us, and I stiffened. The next voice froze the blood in my veins.

“Just the man I wanted to see. It looks like you were right about her being the perfect bait.” Raina’s shrill words surrounded us.

Faust stepped away from the car he’d gotten out of and into the light. “Don’t scurry away just yet, little mice.”

Chapter 37

WITHOUT WASTING TIME thinking, I ripped the pin from the holy water grenade and flung the canister toward them. Adrian pulled away from me and tossed one of his garlic bombs. We escaped in a hobbled sprint to hide between two parked cars. I peered past the metal bars that ran horizontal and separated this level from the lower one.  It was a short drop. I glanced at Adrian and tilted my head. Could he handle it? He gave a soft snort, crawled under the bars, and dropped down. He didn’t make a sound despite the fact it had to hurt. With a wince for him, I followed his example to land with a small thud beside him and into an immediate crouch. We darted between the cars until we were a small distance away from our escape point.

“Well,” I whispered. “We’re as far down as we can go unless you want to make a break for the elevator again.”

Please say no.

He shook his head. “She’ll have the guards all over the place. That building is a trap.”

He peered up at the slanted drive that led to the next level. “We need the van.”

“I could cause a distraction and you could run for it.”

He gave a hoarse laugh. “I’m not that quick. Let’s reverse that plan. You get the van.”

I blinked at him. “You’re joking. I have no idea how to drive.”

“You’ve been in enough cars to at least get the basics right?”

I gave a hesitant shrug. “I guess.”

“Good. Then listen closely. Right pedal for gas, left for the brakes. Turn the wheel in the direction you want to turn, otherwise keep it straight. And please, try not to hit anything. You only have to go a few feet.”

“Are you sure you can distract?”

He smiled coldly. “I’m just going to talk. She likes to talk.”

I shook my head. Well, she had talked a bit when torturing me. I’d stopped listening. I squeezed his hand and crawled to the front of the car. The smell of motor oil clung to the back of my throat. I pressed against the rail and slid past the front of the bumper. The sound of high heels echoing became louder. I froze behind the bumper and ducked my head.

“There’s no point in hiding. You have nowhere to run,” Raina called. “Besides, I’m sure we can have a civil conversation.”

“I see you made the wrong choice,” Adrian’s voice came from farther back than I’d left him. Had he moved already?

She laughed. “As opposed to going to prison? I saw what happened when you opposed. Besides, he offered me ultimate power.”

“Prison is better than becoming the abomination you are. You already had power and you still let him seduce you, fuck you, turn you into a monster, and you’re still his obedient, little bitch. How’s that ultimate power working out for you?”

I blew a silent whistle. So, Adrian’s plan of distraction was to drive her into a rage? I peered around the car. She glared into the distance with her fist clenched. It seemed to be working. She hadn’t even looked my direction. I moved past a few more cars until I got to a point I could climb up.

“You know nothing about us.” She gave an angry growl that changed to a chuckle. “Still an asshole, I see.”

“Coming from a bitch like you, that’s a compliment.”

“You’ll see how much of a bitch I can be. I have special plans for you. I plan on taking the amount of loss you caused me out on your hide.”

He laughed. “You have more to worry about besides me.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of your little family. Imagine the Van Helsings are actually vampire hunters. I suppose you’ll tell me Dracula is real, too.”

“He’s just a myth,” Adrian said.

“Well, your family isn’t that impressive.”

“We’ll see. You may be surprised.”

I slid under the bars and crawled between two cars on the next level. Hopefully he could keep her bickering until I brought the van around. He had to have more weapons there, though unfortunately, my sword was still at the office. Footsteps sounded near me, and I pressed my back against the car. I peeked through the windows. Two of Raina’s thugs walked in my direction. They blocked the way between me and the van. I pulled out one of the garlic bombs and a stake. If I snuck past them, they would still hear the van coming. It was best to take them out now.

I tossed the bomb, and a yellow cloud covered the area. I leapt out and jammed the stake into the back of the first vampire. The body folded in on itself until nothing remained but escaping shadows. The other turned my direction and pulled out a gun. I ducked under his arm before he could point it at me, got in really close, and shoved the stake in his chest. The gun clattered to the ground as he dissolved. I picked it up. My armory was running low. I could use the extra firepower. I cradled my broken arm to my chest and counted to ten. I let my breath out slowly, willing the pain to leave with it. It worked for three seconds before the throbbing began anew. Dio, let there be pain medication in Adrian’s van as well as weapons. The shadows flickered overhead and the level darkened to dusky gray. That was weird. The vampires didn’t have their powers in the day.

Faust’s chuckle washed over me. “Raina’s a special girl. Very few like her are able to survive vampirism.”

Only a few feet away, he leaned against the front bumper with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. My pace slowed and died. I pulled the demon gun from under the jacket and held it behind me.

Faust waved to the van. “Is this yours? You won’t need it.”

I raised the gun and fired several shots in quick succession. The grin on his face disappeared, and he jumped to the side. The bullets pieced the grill with one shattering the right headlight.

“You really should put that away. You’ll hurt someone.” He ducked behind one of the cars.

“That’s the plan,” she said.

I leapt on the hood of one of the cars, the metal whining under me, and pointed the pistol at Faust. The light above me fizzled into blackness with a small buzz. As Faust’s laugh filled my ears, I gripped my gun tighter and narrowed my eyes. The darkness receded to a muted gray world as a small pop bloomed in my head. Faust’s glowing crimson eyes stared at me from behind his true face, the comedy and tragedy mask. I pulled the trigger.

With a shout of pain, he fell, gripping his left knee. I’d hit him! He crab crawled away until his back was against the rails. I rushed him and leapt at him. He gave a groan as I landed on his chest. I pressed the gun to his head.

“Oh, but I do need it. Looks like this is goodbye,” I said.

A shout echoed from the lower level. Faust turned his head to peer below us. The shadowy form of Raina towered over Adrian on his knees with her fingers pressed into his head.  The vibrancy of his yellow and green aura leeched away into a dull cloud. My heart pounded in my throat and reverberated in my ears.

“How many bullets do you have left?” Faust asked. “I doubt enough for both of us.”

He was right. I’d used several already on the vampire and at Faust himself. If I didn’t do something, she was going to kill Adrian. But what would I have left for Faust?

“His life or mine?” Faust’s grin widened. “We both know what choice you’ll make. We’ll see each other again, Gabriella.”

If I couldn’t kill him, well, there were other ways. I aimed the gun at Raina and began chanting the words to banish his ass back to hell. Faust’s eyes widened. He shook his head and a light flared in his eyes before his body went limp. Damn, he’d escaped. I pulled the trigger. The bullet missed Raina’s chest and caught her in the shoulder. She staggered back, and her aim dropped. That was all Adrian needed. He lunged forward and pressed his own gun to her chest. His shot, which boomed through the garage, didn’t miss her heart. She gave a shudder with a surprised gasp and the darkness dissipated. There was something almost romantic about the way she disintegrated in his arms. I shook my head. Sometimes, I’m too morbid.

“Are you all right?” I called to him.

“Just get the van.”

I climbed into the driver’s seat, pushed the keys in the ignition, and started the van. I stared at the gages in the glass panel. John had once tried to teach me how to drive. One bent bumper and scarred tree later, he’d given up. Still, I remembered a little of his advice. I jammed my foot on the left pedal and switched the gear to the D. I lifted my foot and the van rolled forward. My stomach did a small flip. I spun the wheel and the van shifted and turned. So far, so good. I rolled along at a crawl down to the next level. Adrian waited at the end. I slammed my foot down on the brake and the van jerked to the stop, jostling me forward.

Adrian walked to the driver’s side and opened the door. “Move.”

I climbed to the passenger seat and relinquished the power to him. I let out a long breath and rolled down the window. My body itched to be out of this metal death trap, but that wasn’t happening for now. Adrian raced through the rest of the garage and sped up as we approached the exit. I gripped the armrest and covered my face as we crashed through the little wooden obstacle blocking us from freedom. The guard in his shack ran out, but he was too late. Adrian had already melded with the other traffic on the street. It was over.

Chapter 38

WE DUMPED THE van a few blocks away. I huddled next to Adrian, supporting my broken arm near him as we walked down the street. Adrian’s face was locked in a blank look, but his ragged breathing betrayed how much he struggled against the pain in his ribs.

“Lucy, can you hear me?” He stared straight ahead as he spoke. “I found Gabby. I need you to pick us up.”

He stopped and leaned against a brick wall. “On Fifth and 186th. We’ll be waiting.”

I scanned the sidewalk. A man in a pale gray suit passed us with a cell phone to his ear. I sighed. The vampires had taken mine along with everything else I had on me. Thank god that I’d left my sword at the office when I’d gone to see John. Adrian leaned against a concrete pot that held a small tree. Little flecks of snow hung on the bare branches. I cradled my injured arm with the other and stood next to him.

“Why didn’t you call her for back up earlier?” I asked.

He sighed. “It would have taken her a while to get to the building, and I for one didn’t want to wait in a cell like yours.”

I nodded. “I prefer the cold to a cage as well.”

He snorted.

“Raina dispersed. Faust has escaped. That leaves Cambione,” I said.

“Faust is the one who started this,” Adrian said.

“Ah, but his plans are ruined. He’s going to have to start over again and we can be waiting when he rears his head. Unless you think he’ll go back to Asceco, or Erebus.”

Adrian shook his head. “Perhaps. It depends on how much the CEO wants this wonder drug as opposed to how much Faust has screwed him.”

I chuckled. “Is he that big of a badass?”

“He’s a corporate boogeyman,” Adrian said. “Being a vampire is the least of his power.”

“Let’s hope that Faust didn’t have a chance to show how good his drug was. Maybe he’ll be dealt with by your business leech.” I stared down at the pavement and lowered my voice. “Raina was a nephilim, wasn’t she?”

“Mmm.”

“How long have you known about them?”

“We were on the same project together. Raina claimed she wanted to study them and learn more. I didn’t find out about her secret until later.” He shook his head with a small laugh. “Of course it wasn’t the only secret she was keeping.”

“What else?”

“Her vampire lover, Durnovo. Thanks to him I ended up in prison.”

“So, now that she’s dead, you’re look for a way to go after him?”

He stared at the passing traffic and his jaw tightened. “Let’s worry about things here and now, like is there any aspirin around here?”

I shuffled to the newsstand close by and bought a packet from the huddled man behind the counter. Adrian downed the pack dry in one gulp. I pressed close to his side, grateful for the warmth that radiated from him as the cold seeped through my pores and settled in my bones. My eyes fluttered, and I leaned against the pot. A car pulled to the curb, and a window rolled down to show Lucy peering at us from the driver’s seat. I let out a long breath of relief. I helped Adrian into the passenger seat. I climbed in the backseat, and Lucy pulled away.

“What in the bloody Thrones of Hell happened to the two of you?” she asked.

“Vampires,” I said.

“Demons,” Adrian said.

“Well, I hope they’re dust on the wind.”

“Not all,” I said and laid my head back against the seat.

Lucy moved through the traffic and spun a U-turn. She had us back at the office within ten minutes. Tres hurried around his desk and helped Adrian onto one of the examination tables. Adrian leaned forward with a groan and struggled to remove his jacket and shirt with Tres’s assistance.

“I hope whatever it was, it was worth it,” Tres said as he pressed his good hand on Adrian’s abdomen.

“Well, they no longer have the formula to make more Brimstone-based drugs,” Adrian said.

“That is excellent news,” Jonah said from the door. He moved to stand beside my table. “Lucy informed me that you may need assistance.”

Tres gave him a weary smile. “I could use an extra hand.”

I snorted as he turned back to examining Adrian. Jonah looked to me with a raised eyebrow. I sighed and began the long story of one night.

“Hold still,” Tres snapped at Adrian. “You know how hard this is with a broken arm.”

“Physician, heal thyself,” Adrian said.

Tres glared at him. “You don’t think I’ve tried?”

“He’s right,” I said. “You really need to figure out why you can’t.”

“Well, it’s not happening right now,” Tres said. “So, shut up so I can deal with you, then I’m going to lie down. This is exhausting.”

I frowned. “That’s new. I thought you had more of an itch to hurt people.”

Jonah gave a choking cough beside me, and I gave him a look. “That’s how he described it.”

Tres snorted. “Those weren’t my words, but it’s still there along with this deep feeling of exhaustion.”

“We really need to learn more about your abilities,” I said and looked at Adrian. “All of yours.”

Adrian closed his eyes and lay back. “Just get it over with.”

Tres leaned over his brother and closed his eyes. The bruising around Adrian’s throat faded, leaving only pink healthy skin behind. The shadows that had hovered under his eyes disappeared.  He sat up with a sigh and nodded.

“Do me a favor.” Tres turned his gaze to me. “Try to stay out of trouble. I don’t have enough energy to keep this up. If demons come knocking, send Lucy or something. At least she heals herself.”

Speak of the devil, and she should appear. Lucy knocked on the doorway. “Gabby, you need to take this phone call. John has been calling a lot. He sounds desperate.”

I hopped off the table. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“You were busy,” Lucy said.

I rushed to the next office and picked up the phone. “John? What’s wrong?”

“He’s after me,” John’s voice crackled through static. “Every time I think I’ve lost him, he’s there again.”

“Who’s after you?” I asked.

“Cambione, Gabby. I can’t run much more.”

“Where are you?”

“Central Park. Please come. I need you now.”

“I’m coming.” I hung up the phone and spun around to find Lucy behind me.

“You really aren’t going to listen to Tres,” she said.

“Sorry, demons don’t stop just because he needs a nap. I won’t let them get John.”

I pushed past her and headed up to the fourth floor. The pressure in my chest weighed on my lungs and heart. So, was this Faust’s revenge? He was sending one of his pieces after my lover. I stopped and closed my eyes as my throat tightened. It didn’t matter if he did. I would save John. I just had to hurry. My sword lay on the bench, next to my bag, just where I’d left it. Lucy stepped into the room with her arms crossed.

“Well, you are going to take part of Tres’s advice.” She held up the keys. “I’m not letting you go alone.”

Chapter 39

LUCY PARKED HER car off of 72nd street. I pushed opened the door and bolted out of the car before she even got her seatbelt off. She called after me as I rushed down the trail toward the Strawberry Fields Memorial, but her words were mere murmurs against the blood pounding through my ears.

Please let me be in time, I chanted in my head.

I stopped at the memorial and caught my breath, resting my hands on my knees. The concreted disc with the word Imagine that served as a monument to John Lennon had been cleared of snow. The area was strangely empty of people, even for winter. He said he’d be waiting here. My heart squeezed in my chest, and my stomach tightened. A man’s scream echoed from the copse of trees. I took off in that direction.

Branches scraped against my face and caught in my hair and against my jacket. I ignored them and kept going. I burst into a small clearing and stopped. Cambione had John on his knees. The demon had his hand around his neck as he stared into his eyes. He glanced in my direction, smiled, and twisted his arm in a quick motion. A snap echoed through the air. The sound sent a jolt that tore through my chest and pierced my heart. I’d been too late. A pale light rose from John’s blank eyes and filled Cambione’s. He inhaled deeply and smiled back at me.

A buzzing filled my ears and the world around us became distorted. All that was clear was the demon in front of me. The demon that needed to feel the sting of my blade over and over before he met oblivion. I didn’t even realize I had drawn my sword, but it was in my hand as I rushed at him. He dodged to the side with a laugh as I sliced at his chest.

“You’ll have to be a little faster than that, Gabriella,” he said.

I couldn’t form words, so I gave a rage-filled scream and rushed him again. My sword met only air. I spun around with a pant, but he had disappeared. His laughter filled the clearing.

“I thought you were this fearsome demon slayer. You look pretty pathetic here.” His voice echoed around me. “Come and see if you can find me.”

White mist slithered in from the trees and surrounded me, so thick I could barely see a few feet in front of me. I tightened my grip on my sword and moved forward, scanning as I went. The bastard still had to be around here. It didn’t matter what tricks he had. I’d find him and make him bleed for what he’d done. A silhouette undulated to my left. I spun and lashed my sundang out to cut it down. The blade sliced through the mist and nothing else. I gave a growl and moved forward as Cambione’s laugh pounded in my ears. There. A figure stood in the mist in front of me. I sprinted, leapt, and tackled him to the ground. I brought my sword across his throat and froze.

Lucy stared up at me with wide eyes. The clouds above us broke and the sun peeked through. The mist vanished. It didn’t just dissipate—it disappeared in an instant, leaving us alone with the dead trees and John. I turned back to his body. His face was turned to the side, and he stared off at nothing. He’d fallen at an odd angle with one arm trapped behind his back. I knelt beside him, straightened his limbs, and placed his hands on his chest. I gripped the sleeves of his sports jacket, and I swallowed hard. Tears burned my eyes and threatened to spill from the corners. There were too many. They trailed down my cheeks as I bowed my head. I gulped back the sob rising in my chest.

“Give him eternal rest, O Lord, and may Your light shine upon him forever,” I whispered in Italian.

Lucy grabbed my shoulders and pulled at me. “We have to go. We don’t want anyone to catch us here.”

I held on tighter. This would be the last time I’d see his face. I’d never hear his laugh again or feel his fingers on my skin. Why hadn’t I been more patient with him? He’d begged for my help, and I had failed him. I’d always had more important things to worry about.

Lucy half-carried, half-dragged me to where her car was parked. I stared at the steel-gray clouds and prayed the rain would start pouring from the sky. My prayers went unanswered. I sat stiffly in the seat of the car, blind to the world passing by the window. The sorrow I’d swallowed churned in my stomach and turned into a boiling heat. Someone would pay for this.

“Not today,” Lucy said. “You are in no shape mentally to handle the demon.”

I gripped the handle of the door. “We can’t just let him get away.”

“He won’t get away, Dearie. But you need to sleep and mourn. Otherwise, you’ll be running on rage, and you’ll make mistakes like you did with Allegra.”

I gritted my teeth. It wasn’t that I hadn’t tried to kill Allegra multiple times, even without my sword. Somehow, she’d known I was there and had always laid a trap for me. I’d thought having Dimitri there would help, but that had proven futile. The results had been the same, except that Dimitri had nearly gotten killed. I seemed to get the people I cared about hurt or killed while the monster got away. Not this time. The monster would pay for his sins. I’d see to it personally. I would do it alone, so this time, if I failed, I would be the only one to die. Lucy was right, though. I couldn’t go after him now. I’d proven myself unfit in the clearing.

As we sat in more traffic, the burning knot in the pit of my stomach unfurled. It traveled up and constricted my chest, pressing until I released the first sob. I leaned against the headrest of the backseat and cried until all that remained was exhaustion. Lucy remained silent, but her arms were comforting as she led me to my apartment.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” Lucy asked.

I shook my head.

She left. I curled up with a pillow clutched in my arms. There, I found that I did have more tears to shed. They continued until I fell asleep.

Chapter 40

THE STENCH OF burnt flesh pervades through the room, sinking into the wood floor and walls. It stains the house with the tragedy that happened mere moments ago. I sink before the fireplace and shift through the smoldering cinders, unmindful of my own hands burning. The pain cannot be greater than that in my heart. I pull the tiny body to me as a new set of tears wash down my cheeks. My poor Marco. He’d only just seen his first year. I would never see his first steps, watch him grow tall, or find a good wife.

His body crumpled to ash in my arms and I’m left to clutch my chest. Sobs strangle my throat and create a vise in my chest. What had I done? I’d meant to protect my husband. Instead, the demon sought her revenge by destroying everything I held dear. I crawl to Dario, ignoring the ever growing pool of blood that surrounds his body. I take a shuddering breath as I avoid the gaping hole in his chest. His head is turned from me with a lock of dark hair splayed across one cheek.

I caress his cheek and pull his face towards mine. I gasp and the world grows artic. John Roda, not my husband, stares back at me.

I woke in a darkened room with a hoarse wail. I clutched the pillow tighter and buried my face in it. Once again, I’d failed to keep my lover safe. Another demon had taken someone dear to me. I would never have a chance to rectify things between us. I sat up. Maybe I still could. I grabbed my house phone and called Lucy.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Better,” I said. “But I need a favor. Can you meet me at the Lexington Hotel on 5th street with your séance materials?”

Chapter 41

LUCY MET ME in the lobby of the hotel. She was dressed in jeans and had a black duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She studied me for several moments with a concerned expression. I gave her my best smile to show her I was all right.

“Ciao,” I said, crossing my arms around me.

She rested a hand on my arm. “Hello, dearie. Are you sure you want to do this? His soul might have already moved on.”

I took a deep breath. “I need to do this. I need closure.”

She nodded. “How are we getting in?”

“We need a key.”

“He didn’t give you one?”

“I didn’t visit often.” My voice shook. I never had time. There had always been the demons and the Brimstone to worry about. John, once again, became secondary.

She looked over at the clerk and back to me. A mischievous smile lit on her lips. “I’ll handle it.”

A few minutes later, she came back with the key. She waved it and headed for the elevator.

“Nothing a little money, flirting, and maybe a flash of tit won’t get you,” she said.

“What if he’d been homosexual?”

“Then there would have been more money.”

The elevator ride was thankfully short, and we got off on the third floor. Lucy slid the key card in the slot and the door opened with a click. I held it open to let her enter first. I took a deep breath and let it out in a slow release before I entered. The maid had been there during the day. Both beds were made and his laptop and briefcase were set on the desk. The police must not have found him yet. I swallowed hard, but it did nothing to alleviate the bad taste in my mouth. I’d had to abandon him there. Police questions would have been too inconvenient. I couldn’t even show him the respect of a vigil or burial.

“Let’s get on with this,” I said.

We pulled the small dining table to the middle of the room. Lucy drew a circle with chalk around it while I moved the chairs. She pulled out candles, a knife, and a large metal mirror. I raised an eyebrow.

“What? I’m setting the mood and the mirror will help me see the other side better,” she said. “Not all of us have your gift. I’m surprised you’re not doing this yourself.”

“I can see spirits, not hear or speak to them. Besides, do you know how hard it is to call a spirit to possess you and try to have a conversation with it?”

“Hmm.”

I sat down and watched as she powered the circle. There was a difference in vibration once the circle closed. The air smelled cleaner and lighter. Lucy sat across from me, closed her eyes, and took several deep breaths. She pricked her finger with the knife. Three drops hit the surface with a small splat.

“O ye spirit of John Roda, ye I conjure by the Power, Knowledge, Wisdom, and Virtue of the spirit of God, and by the Holy name of God, Eheieh, which is the root, trunk, source, and origin of all other Divine names,” Lucy said.

I stared down at the mirror even though I wouldn’t be able to see anything. It was sympathetic magic more than anything else. It allowed Lucy to focus enough to connect to the Eclipse. What she would see would be in her mind.

“I conjure thee, and I powerfully urge ye, O spirit, in whichever part of the Eclipse ye may be, that ye shall be unable to remain in any other part of the Universe, or any pleasant place that may attract ye, but that ye come promptly to accomplish our desire, and all things that we demand from your obedience.”

Lucy’s shoulder’s jerked and her head fell forward, her pigtails brushing against her cheeks. A shudder passed through her body and her hand tightened on her knife.

I frowned. This wasn’t right.

“Lucy?” I asked. “John?”

She gave a small whimper, and her head lifted. She looked in my direction with wide eyes but they seemed to stare past me and a million miles away. Her hand patted the table until it found mine. I tried to pull back, but she held on tight. She jabbed the point of my finger with the knife.

“Ow, Lucy, what the hell are you doing?”

She pulled my hand forward and let my blood drip on the mirror. “O Adonai, most holy, most righteous, most almighty God, who sees all, grant Gabriella the ability to see what vision I see until this ritual be complete.”

I threw my head back as my mind was filled with images.

I climb out of a car and slam the door behind me. I slip my hands in my pockets and walk towards a two story warehouse. I look up at the sky and the constellation as a feeling of satisfaction fills me. I’d gained more power. I was so much closer to being the First. I run a hand through my hair and inspect my face in the reflective glass window of the warehouse. Cambione’s face. I gasped. I, no Cambione, pauses and looks around. A sense of being watched fills me. Someone is riding me.

The sound of breaking glass filled the room. I stared up at the ceiling of John’s hotel room and panted. Lucy held the handle of the knife over the shattered mirror.

“What was that?” I asked.

“When I tried to call John, I got the demon instead.” Lucy pulled a marijuana cigarette out of her pocket with shaky hands. “I’m damn lucky it didn’t notice me at first. Otherwise, you’d probably be talking to it face to face right now.”

The nauseous feeling in my stomach grew as I glanced at the bed. It couldn’t be. But I knew who had the answers. I snatched the cigarette out of her mouth before she lit it.

“Hey! I need that for my nerves.”

“No time. Call the others. We need to catch Cambione before he moves again.”

“And how are we supposed to find him?”

I close my eyes, picturing the night’s sky from Cambione’s view. “The stars will guide us.”

Chapter 42

THE CLOUDS BROKE, and I could see the small patch of stars that weren’t eaten away by the city lights. Before me was the warehouse from the vision I had through Cambione’s eyes. If I stepped two feet to the right, I would be in the exact position as he was. A car engine rumbled through the night as it drew closer. I ducked behind Lucy’s car as lights flashed in our direction. She crouched next to me, her gaze steady in that direction. The car drew near, its silver color reflecting in the lone lamp from the warehouse.

“That’s Tres’s car.” Lucy stood.

I pulled myself up and avoided bumping the cast on my broken arm. “They couldn’t think of anything less conspicuous to bring?”

“Adrian’s van is gone. Besides, does it matter?”

No, I supposed it didn’t. I wasn’t planning on stealth. Tonight we were going to end it. I turned back to the warehouse with my eyes narrowed. Doors slammed and footsteps approached. The air grew warmer as I was surrounded by my allies. Everyone was here, including Esais and Viktor. Even Jonah had put on his work clothes and pulled out his cane sword.

“So, this is it?” Marge asked. “Doesn’t look like much.”

“It never does,” I said.

The building was two stories and a mute gray brick that matched its siblings that lined the street. A lone lamp hung over the concrete steps that led up to the front door, but light shone through the dingy windows of the first floor.

“What’s the plan? More sneaking?” Marge asked.

“I’m going through the front door,” I said.

Marge grinned at me and nodded her head. “Finally.”

“Are you insane?” Adrian asked.

Esais frowned. “I’m not sure if you’re emotionally stable enough to do this.”

I pulled out my sundang. “Trust me. I’m a master at fueling my anger in the right direction.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Esais said.

Adrian shook his head. “You are going to be a liability to us.”

Esias sighed. “Maybe it’s best if you stay behind.”

I clenched the handle and gritted my teeth. Stay behind? And let Cambione get away again? No way in hell was I letting that happen. If it wasn’t for Lucy and me, we wouldn’t even know his location.

Lucy put her hand on my shoulder. “I have her back. I don’t have to worry about it as much.”

The back of my neck grew hot at the thought of any of them having to look after me. I was older than everyone combined and had been through more death and demons than anyone should have to. Jonah cleared his throat and I raise my gaze to meet his.

“Please,” he said. “It would do our hearts some good to not see you die tonight.”

I sighed and nodded.

“So are we going?” Marge said.

“There are two doors and the loading docks,” I said. “We need all the exits covered. Lucy and I will take the front.”

“Viktor and I will take the loading dock.” Esais turned to his boyfriend. “Do you think you can keep them locked down?”

Viktor smirked. “Easily.”

“I’m taking the back then,” Marge said. “But I’m not staying there. I’m finding Cambione.”

“I will cover the back door,” Jonah said. “They shall not get past me.”

Adrian pulled out a stack of holy water grenades and held some to Tres. “We can toss theses through the windows.”

“And back up who needs help.” Tres took two of the grenades.

“Good,” I said. “We use that as our signal."

We snuck to the door as the others crept to their positions. My boot slammed into the handle. It caved under the assault with the sound of splintering wood and groaning metal. I pushed Lucy through the door and stepped up so we stood side by side. A bajang rushed us with wild eyes intent on the open doorway. Lucy stepped forward and rammed her punch dagger into the demon’s stomach. Her second blade punctured the soft section under the creature’s chin. I turned at movement behind me and found Tres in the door way. Perfect. With Tres covering the door and Lucy occupied, I could sneak off to find Cambione.

“Make sure nothing gets out,” I said to Tres before heading into the mist.

Tres called after me but he stayed where he was. I stepped over a puddle of metallic liquid, most likely once one of the oily demons. Shouts echoed throughout the warehouse along with the blast of gunfire. A hand wrapped around my arm and jerked me back.

“You’re not getting away that easily, dearie,” Lucy shouted over the clamor.

I shook loose and pushed onward. I was going to kill Cambione with or without Lucy at my side. Another bajang stumbled into my path and I lashed out in an arc, slicing her from hip to shoulder in a diagonal cut. She fell with a choking gurgle, but I didn’t stop moving. A brown haired figure hunched over a table, choking or shuddering. My heart sped up. Esais? He spun around and screamed at me wordlessly. His face was streaked in red blisters and blood streamed from the corners of his eyes. Right, not Esais, demon. I slashed him in his midsection. He crumpled to the ground, clutching his abdomen.

Jonah’s shout reverberated from our right, causing Lucy’s eyes to widen and her lips press into a thin line. She raced in his direct and, with a long sigh, I followed. He hunched down, clutching his shoulder with a cane sword clutched in his hand and three demons towering over him. Lucy rushed forward and burred one of her blades in the back of the middle bajang. The hellcat howled and swung around with her claws aimed at Lucy’s face. Jonah’s usually stoic look disappeared into a scowl and he jammed his sword to the hilt between the bajang’s shoulder blades. The creature gave a gasping mewl as she collapsed.

Platinum blond flashed to my left. Cambione raced up the stairs to the second floor, his face in ruins and panic in his steps. Marge followed after him with a grin on her face. Hell, she wasn’t going to kill him alone. I glanced back at Lucy and Jonah who now stood back to back as they fought off their two remaining demons. They could handle it. I sprinted towards the stairs after Cambione and Marge.

A silver tentacle glittered in the lights as it wrapped around my wrist and yanked me off of my feet. I gripped my sword tighter as I was dragged across the floor with the concrete scraping against my hands and arms. The orang attached to the tentacle leaned over me with its face rippling like a pool with a stone dropped in it. I rolled to the side, cut through the bond holding me, hopped to my feet. I took one of the holy water grenades from my belt at tossed it at the demons feet. As it gave a high pitched gargle and spammed, I raced toward the stairs. The longer these nobody demons delayed me the more I lost my chance of killing Cambione myself and avenging John.

Chapter 43

THE CLANG OF metal echoed as I sprinted up the stairs to the row of offices overlooking the bottom of the warehouse. Faust yanked the door open and ran inside one of the center ones with Marge right behind him. She stopped in the doorway and swayed back and forth. I came behind her and shook her shoulder. Her eyes widened and her cream completion paled as she whimpered.

“Snap out of it, Marge.” I gave her a small push so I could step inside the office. “He’ll get away if you fall for his tricks.”

I gritted my teeth with a muttered curse at the empty office and the open adjoining doors on the right and the left. He could have gone either way. I turned back to Marge, who stood with her arms wrapped around herself and trembled. Sweat beaded on her forehead and she gave shallow pants and stared and some point just past my shoulders. I didn’t have time for this. With a sigh that overshadowed the gunfire below, I stepped forward and made a shallow cut on Marge’s arm. She blinked and jerked her arm to her chest as she gave a small hiss and stepped back.

“Fuck,” she muttered.

“Glad to see you’re with me again.” I flicked the tip of my blade toward the ground. “Thought I’d lost you to Cambione’s dream world.”

She glared as she stepped up beside me. “Aren’t you supposed to be with your babysitter?”

“She’s lousy at her job,” I said. “Come on before he gets away.”

“Fine. I’ll double back to the stairs and make sure he doesn’t get away.” She rushed out the door and down the walkway.

“Works for me,” I said to the empty air and headed through the left door. I dashed through two offices with their chairs and desks passing in a blur and burst through to door of the last one on the row. Cambione turned with his hand on the door leading to the walkway and he smirked at me. Cheeky bastard wouldn’t be smug when I was through with him. I stepped forward and blinked as a violet light flashed before my eyes.

John reached toward me. “Gabby.”

I shuddered. No this wasn’t real. My arm dropped to my side and sword hung loosely in my fingertips. The light brightened, and I stood in front of his bed in the hotel. He leaned back against the pillows and laughed up at me.

“Are you planning on killing me?” he asked.

I looked down at the sundang and furrowed my brows. Why did I have it out again?

He held his hand out. “Come here.”

I took a step forward and stopped with the shake of my head. Something wasn’t right here. John shouldn’t be lying in bed with that sexy smile on his face. My heart twisted in my chest as tears burned my eyes. John had died and no tricks from the hellspawn responsible would change that. I took a step forward and slashed at the bed with a low growl. The vision shattered in a thousand parks of violet. Cambione’s eyes widened as his leer vanished.

“Your lies can’t fool me,” I said in a cold, soft voice.

He chuckled. “Actually, they’ve been fooling since the beginning. You’re just too blind to see it. Your precious John was a part of me long before I took his essence.”

A chill crept up my spine. “What?”

Cambione took the opportunity my momentary confusion caused and lunged at me with a small knife aimed at my stomach. I batted it away with the back of my empty hand and it slashed against the top of my hand. I spun and attempted to disembowel him with a swift slash. He ducked to the side and buried the knife in the back of my calf. A sharp burning sensation spread through my leg followed by numbness and I fells to my knees. Cambione rushed to the door with a loud laugh. It crashed open, slamming him in the face before he touched the handle. He fell back and hit the ground with a groan.

Marge loomed in the doorway, panting with her eyes wide and a twisted grin on her face. “You forgot about me, jackass.”

She tramped forward and slammed her foot in his midsection. His breath his body in a whoosh and he gripped his abdomen. With gritted teeth, I pulled the knife from my left and rose to my feet. Marge pushed Cambione on his back and stomped down on his chest.

“That’s for those stupid dreams,” she yelled.

His breath wheezed as he laughed. “Even if you kill me, neither of you will be free.”

“No,” I said. “But it’s so satisfying.”

My sundang swung down on his neck and severed his head from his body. His eyes lit up violet for an instant before the life and light vanished. I let out a long shuddering breath as my throat tightened and willed the ache in my chest to ease. This wasn’t the time for tears. Besides, I didn’t want to hear Marge’s mouth on it. I wiped the blood from my sword, ripped a part of my shirt, and bandaged my leg. I limped down the stairs without another look at my fallen enemy.

“Are we clear?” I asked trough the comms.

“Just taking care of the remainders,” Lucy said. “Where the hell did you run off to?”

“To finish things,” I said.

I hobbled to the table I’d come across during the chaos of battle. Many of the bottles and beakers had been shattered, their liquid running together in multicolored pools. A suitcase of plastics bags filled with yellow powder was sprawled across the floor with some of the plastic broken and powder spewing out.

Adrian walked up behind me. “I will handle this.”

“Your way is better than fire I suppose.” I said. “I leave this to your capable hands.”

Lucy put an arm around me. “I’ll drive you home.”

I shook my head and pulled away. “I’ll be fine. You should stay here with your family. They might need help.”

I walked out the doors and into the cold night and wondered the night until I found myself at the frozen lake John had taken me to. With a sharp intake of breath I eased down on the pier and gazed up at the stars. Cambione’s words replayed in my head, filling my stomach with a queasy flutter. It had to be a lie. He’d wanted to throw me off my game so he could escape, like Faust managed to.

I pulled my good leg to my chest and wrapped my arms around my knee as the tears began to fall, leaving artic trails down my cheeks. Vengeance wouldn’t bring John back to me. He’d risked his life many times to help stop demons and had died for it in the end. I stared up at the twinkling lights in the vast blackness and gave a long sigh. Cambione was dead, Brimstone had been stopped in both its forms, and fewer demons roamed the Earth. Those thoughts warmed the ice in my heart.

Epilogue

FAUST LEANED OVER, clutching the rail on the subway as the body he wore was caught in the throes of a hacking cough. He pressed his forehead against the window and breathed in a shuddering breath once it was over. He wanted to blame the human body he inhabited, but that would be a lie, and Faust knew about lies very well.

No, a piece of him was missing. Destroyed by that damn woman. It had been a substantial amount since Cambione had been working on collecting as much of Faust as he could. Now it was just gone. The hole it left in his essence burned and at the same time felt cold and empty.

He needed to get somewhere safe and recuperate. The Thrones were out of the question. His many enemies would jump on the chance to attack him while he was this vulnerable. He couldn’t show Naamah his weakness, either. She would consider this a failure and might very well throw him to the others, or come up with a worse punishment. That left hiding in the mortal world. This body was suitable enough, but he sure as hell wasn’t staying here with that demon slaying bitch and her group. Maybe somewhere warm, like the Caribbean.

The subway car came to a stop. Faust followed the herd out and climbed up the stairs to the airport. He got within a hundred feet and froze. Sweat beaded down his forehead and he swallowed hard. If he went any farther, that would be the end of him. He could feel the ward in every part of his being, keeping him trapped in this frozen wasteland. Someone didn’t want the demons leaving this city.

Who, though? Gabriella? No, he should have had her twisted around enough that she wouldn’t have thought of this. Besides, this wasn’t her style of binding. It felt more . . . holy.

Faust cursed under his breath as he backed down the stairs to the subway. There were other options. Whoever this was couldn’t have blocked every escape. He would find a way out of the New York and rest before returning to give Gabriella a special reward.

* * *

Check out the first in the Van Helsing Series:

A Prescription for Delirium

http://amzn.to/1PT1fML

www.noreecosper.com

* * *

About Noree Cosper

USA Today Bestselling author, Noree Cosper loves writing about magic in the modern world. While growing up in Texas she constantly searched for mystical elements in the mundane. She buried her nose in both fiction and books about Wicca, Religion, and Mythology. Everyday became an adventure as she joined a group of role-players, acting out her fantasies of vampires, demons, and monsters living in the world.

She embraced her nerdom wholeheartedly.

Noree grew, but never left her love for fantasy and horror. Her dreams pushed her and her hand itched to write the visions she saw. So, with her fingers on the keys, she did what her heart had been telling her to do since childhood. She wrote.

Join Noree’s Mailing List:

https://my.sendinblue.com/users/subscribe/js_id/2b8uq/id/1

Read More by this author!

http://amzn.to/1PT1OG6

www.noreecosper.com

Sign up for more bargain boxed sets at:

www.hotboxedbooks.com

JUMP TO...

A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE by NOREE COSPER

END OF DREAMS by KIM FAULKS

HAUNT by HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY

DARK CROSSINGS by ANN SIMKO

HEADSPACE by CALINDA B

THE OTHER F WORD by SUSAN STEC

UNLEASHED by RACHEL MCCLELLAN

HIDDEN INTENTIONS by STACY CLAFLIN

THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL by AIMEE EASTERLING

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS by KYOKO M

ST. CHARLES AT DUSK by SARAH M. CRADIT

WICKED BY NATURE by MADISON SEVIER

UNDERLIFE by MARISSA FARRAR

DRAGON’S REDEMPTION by EDEN ASHE

MILAN’S RETURN by GRAE LILY

THE BREAKERS CODE by CONNER KRESSLEY

THE MEDIUM by MR GRAHAM

WICCAN WARS by HEATHER MARIE ADKINS

CARPE NOCTEM by KATIE SALIDAS

A QUESTION OF FAITH by NICOLE ZOLTACK

END OF DREAMS

The Immortal Destiny Book One

BY KIM FAULKS

Copyright © 2013 by Kim Faulks

She’s on the run from vicious murderer.

He’s prepared to risk it all, for one last shot at the killer who got away.

A young woman and a hard-bitten detective are trapped in the middle of a paranormal war they never knew existed.

Their only hope of survival is a group of immortals called, The Family and an unborn son, a child who will forge a new world… if only he can survive.

End of Dreams, The Immortal Destiny

Copyright © 2013 by Kim Faulks

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in, or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, or mechanical, without express permission, of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

ISBN: 978-0-9871841-7-7

At the end of dreams, when the mortal world falls, the angel Azrael will appear.

Born unto this world, he will bring chaos, death, and ultimately creation.

Sun against moon, the tides will turn and witness the battle of flesh and blood against eternal life. The war for survival will be fierce and many will fall. But be warned. When the dust settles, only one will remain.

Chapter 1

Edric

“I WANT MY mommy.”

Jessica Porter cried a river of blood, which seeped from a cut underneath her eye to fill the hollow of her tiny ear. The dark trickle glistened under the harsh overhead lights, and slipped silently along the stainless steel bed. Edric Hasting turned to her and smirked. “Sure, when we’re done, I’ll take you to her.”

The little girl forced a smile and nodded. Her tight blonde curls fell into her eyes and he reached out to brush them away. She whimpered. She wanted to please him and would do anything he asked, in return for the promise of going home. Just like all the others.

Her brows pinched at the inner edges and her eyelids closed. A look of peace washed over her. Her pink lips were gone, now matched by her chalky skin. She was a bloody, porcelain doll.

His mother had kept dolls just like her. Boy dolls and girl dolls with chubby faces and rotating limbs. They filled the corners of her bedroom and covered her bed. They stared at him when he entered, white porcelain dolls with glassy eyes that found him no matter how hard he hid. When he closed his eyes he still saw them, their ugly faces and vacant eyes. He wanted to destroy them all.

Edric looked at his work. The rush took hold and he trembled. One less doll to ruin. He held on to that powerful feeling, allowing it to permeate every cell in his body. He felt invincible. Alive.

“Look at me, Jessica.”

She opened her green eyes and focused on him, fighting the sleep that called her. She saw him now, really saw him, and her lower lip trembled. “Are you the bogeyman?”

He beamed and shook his head, placing the knife down in front of him. “No. Of course not, silly. Do you want to know my name, Jessica?”

She jerked and groaned. The blood ran freely. “No. I want my mommy.”

Edric’s stomach hardened and he pursed his lips. Why can’t she let me have my fun? Why does she have to take this away from me? His hand clenched into a fist. She is just like all the others.

Edric lowered his head, as the adrenaline rushed through his body. He ground his jaw. His gaze hard and focused as the need to hurt fill him. He grabbed the hacksaw and turned toward her. “I’ll tell you my name, Jessica. I’ll tell you what they call me.”

He grabbed her arm, bending the elbow until it bowed unnaturally. She screamed. The knife wounds gaped like greedy, open mouths, all over her body. Jessica’s high-pitched wails seemed to pierce his head and drive a nail through his skull. A vein jumped frantically near his eye.

“Shut up.”

He gripped her elbow harder. Blood-curdling howls forced that imagined nail a little deeper. He pushed down and the tool’s teeth bit as he moved the saw back and forth.

He stared into her eyes and smiled. “They call me the Woodcutter.”

Chapter 2

Eve

EVE TUCKED HER hair behind her ears and straightened her blouse before stepping inside Hurrow’s Federal Hotel. Narrowed eyes and glassy stares followed her all the way to the bar. She sat down on a ruptured leather stool, listening to the juke box belt out some hit from back in the eighties. The song sounded vaguely familiar. Like something Mother had once listened to—before she became a Christian, before she found God.

“What’ll it be?” The bartender’s voice boomed beside her. Eve jumped and her heart sped. He gripped the counter, leaning forward. He was waiting for her to say something, anything. Eve opened her mouth. But no words came, so she closed it again.

This was her first drink. In her first bar. On the first night of her new life. She was finally away from her mother’s controlling rule once and for all—she was free. She stared back at the bartender as a feeling of hope fluttered low inside her belly like a weighed-down moth. Even his scowls wouldn't dampen her mood tonight. Eve couldn’t help but grin.

The bartender no longer glared at her, but exhaled, closed his eyes and swore. Beer? No. Sex on the Beach? I’m not saying that. Eve’s gaze danced along the row of bottles, trying to find something nice which didn’t look like liquid fire. “Umm. May I have a glass of champagne?”

His brows shot upwards, hovered there for a moment before his forehead creased. “Champagne? Does it fucking look like we serve champagne?”

Like a ghost, Eve’s confidence dissolved, as though it had never been there at all. Someone behind her laughed. A woman who called out behind her, “Champagne? Who does this bitch think she is?”

Eve’s face burned.

“Don’t give the girl a hard time, Trev. Can’t you see she’s nervous? Just give her something sparkling and make it expensive.”

Keeping her head still, Eve glanced sideways at the man sliding onto the seat beside her. He was older, by a lot. His pitted face and long, greasy hair matched a black ensemble of leather jacket and dirty jeans which covered his stick-like physique. He caught her staring and winked. Tiny black stumps she guessed had been teeth were revealed with a smile. She looked away and slid from her seat, her eyes drifting to the door. “No. I’m fine, thank you. I… I’ve changed my mind.”

The stranger caught her arm with a soft hold. His touch made her wince. “Nonsense, come on. You’ve come all this way. Just have one little drink.”

It wasn’t his conviction that made her hesitate—it was his words.

She had come a long way. A lot farther than the four-hour bus ride with one suitcase to her name. Her longest journey was the road she’d traveled within herself. Her fight for freedom, even though she was afraid to be alone, but more afraid she’d give in and go back, so the loneliness was bearable. You won’t survive, you’re too weak. Her mother’s parting snarl still haunted her.

Eve’s vision blurred and her throat thickened, cutting off the air to her lungs. She inhaled sharply, wheezing, coughing. The stench of sweat and nicotine filled her nose as tears blurred her gaze. She thought she’d be able to leave behind all the hurt and the hateful words. There was no new life, here or anywhere. Only the baggage of her old one she dragged behind wherever she went.

Her hair fell into her eyes and she shoved it away with the back of her hand, along with a tear. She’d never escape her father’s suicide, or the depression and Valium which followed. Eve took in the bar, now that her rose-colored glasses were gone. She didn’t belong here. She didn’t belong anywhere. But she had nowhere else to go.

The bartender slid the frosted glass toward her. The drink wasn’t champagne, but at this moment, she didn’t really care. Tiny bubbles surged from the bottom to break free on the surface. She’d tried to break free and yet somehow she still failed. The bartender waited patiently while Eve dug for a crumpled ten-dollar note. Her fingers skirted the tiny yellow pill lodged in the crease of her pocket, her weakness and her disease. She grabbed both the note and the tablet while the stranger beside her opened his wallet. His thick pile of bills was hard to miss. He pushed a twenty along the bar.

“No… please, it's okay.” She might be a lot of things, but she’d never be bought. Not for a drink in a bar, not for anything. “I can pay myself.”

She palmed the pill and slid the note across the bar. The bartender nodded snatched up her crumbled bill. “Looks like she be buyin’ her own drink tonight, Matty. You just run along now and leave the young lady alone.”

The stranger pushed off the stool to tower over her. A flash of rage filled his eyes and Eve was paralyzed. His lips slithered back over his gums. Her scalp quivered and her hands shook. He loomed over her, breathing heavily and pinning her with a piercing glare for what seemed like forever before he stormed away.

Her cheeks buzzed with heat and her hands trembled. She shoved the pill into her mouth and washed it down with the fake champagne. She wanted for one moment not to feel hurt and humiliation. She wanted for one moment not to feel anything.

For Eve, time wasn’t measured in weeks or days, or even hours. She counted time by the minutes and seconds it took for the magic pill to dissolve the grip clenching her insides, so she could breathe.

Valium and alcohol made for a dangerous combination. By the time she swallowed the last of the bubbles, she felt off-balance. The room spun out of control and took her stomach with it. Her heart beat frantically and the walls closed in around her. The barroom chatter became screams of laughter. The raucous roar was too much for her and Eve slipped from her seat, leaving the stares and snide comments behind, and stumbled for the doorway.

The November air was thick and warm. Eve fanned the bottom of her shirt to catch a breeze and headed for the alley which would lead her home. The haunting bay of a dog caught her attention. Her heavy thoughts were captured by that woeful sound while she turned and stumbled in the dark until hands dug into her back. She was shoved hard against the side of a building. The brick walls were unforgiving. Her head cracked against a wall and the pain slashed like lightening through her head. She stumbled sideways and lifted her hand toward the back of her head, her thoughts frozen.

“Fucking stuck-up bitch! You think you’re too good for someone like me?”

Eve’s world seemed slow and thick, like syrup. The snarl in her ear became distorted. She didn’t understand his words, but revulsion shot like cold fire through her veins, fighting the effects of the pill. He pushed his hand inside her shirt to fumble at the cup of her bra. Her thoughts sharpened. She screamed.

The stranger from the bar invaded her field of vision. He gripped her jaw and squeezed. Eve ignored the pain and whipped her head from side-to-side in an effort to break free. But he held on, snaking his leg around hers to pull her tight against him. Please God, no. Not like this… not like this. “Get away from me! Let me go!”

“I’ll show you. I’ll show you good, you stuck up little bitch!”

“No, plea—”

Her words were silenced by his mouth. Eve felt violated, filled with revulsion… sickened by his touch and the fear of what might happen next. His hands were everywhere. Not one part of her body was left sacred. His tongue slithered in and out of her mouth. His fetid breath, forced into her lungs, became hers as she struggled to breathe.

Valium fought against the adrenaline, pushed along by the rapid fire of her heart, Eve hit, scratched, and kicked with everything she had. Her arms felt like lead, her movements seemed as though she moved underwater. She tried to escape his touch, rolling her shoulders forward and tucking her chin down. He held her still, and his hands burrowed deeper, finding the soft flesh of her nipple. Eve's stomach rolled and the taste of acid filled her mouth. Her attacker stopped moving, his frantic fingers left her bra. Has he given up? Please God….

“I said, take your hands off her.”

A new voice bounced around the alley, low and threatening. Her attacker stilled, but he didn’t let her go. The sound of his voice reverberated against her body as he spoke. “You best be on your way. This doesn’t concern you.”

Eve thrashed, using her weight to break free. He held on, his grip on her mouth became harder, distorting her frantic words. “Pease, pease. Hep me.”

“Shut the fuck up,” her attacker growled into her ear.

The deep voice bounced around Eve once more. “I’ll not say it again. Let the woman go.”

“Or what? You best fuck off or—”

He pulled her forward and slammed her back against the wall. Her shoulders took the brunt of the impact and her head snapped back against the brick. Agony roared inside her skull, the pain took her breath away and dominated her thoughts. White lights sparked in her vision. She stumbled and her knees connected sharply with the sidewalk. Screams from her attacker filled the air. Eve lurched forward as hot wine and acid flowed from her mouth, spilling onto the pavement. Helpless, she rode the waves of panic and revulsion until only dry heaves were left.

She wiped her mouth and glanced sideways. Her attacker flailed on the ground. His body jerked and thrashed in the air and then was slammed to the ground by a blur of a hand. She caught a glimpse of a face, a beautiful face hidden behind savagery. Eve covered her ears, but his screams drilled through the gaps of her fingers. A loud snap fractured his wails. Eve looked up to the night sky. Please… please make this stop.

And the night became silent like the moon above her.

Scared to move, she stayed still and sneaked a glimpse at the fight. The streetlight cut a triangle across the alley entrance, dividing light from the dark. Shiny black shoes and the bottoms of perfectly-creased pants seem to glide toward her.

“It is okay. I will not hurt you.”

Eve wrenched her hands from her ears to grip the edges of her torn blouse.

“You have nothing to fear from me.”

Her rescuer knelt before her, his hand outstretched. The street light illuminated his broad cheek bones, revealing arctic blue eyes and glossy black hair.

Eve searched those eyes for kindness and compassion. She found none. It's enough he just saved my life, isn't it? Her gaze shifted to the unmoving feet of her attacker.

“He is not dead, merely asleep.”

Eve turned back to her rescuer. He waited for her to take his hand, like he had all the time in the world. She reached out. Her own hand hovered in the air and trembled before she grasped his and he helped her to stand. The minute she felt steady on her feet, she snatched her hand away and gripped the edges of her shirt tightly. Forcing the words through the pain in her jaw, she whispered, “Thank you.”

“Please tell me you are okay. When I saw him hurting you I thought he had already—”

She cut him off, needing to stay the words for her own reassurance. She wrenched her hand from his grasp. “No. Thank God.”

He stared at her, his eyes reflecting the street light. He smiled. “Yes, thank God. Although you really should be thanking me.”

“I’m so sorry, please forgive me. Thank you, thank you so much, Mr…?”

He shook his head and smiled.

He doesn’t want to give me his name. He’s afraid I’ll drag him into this mess… Into my mess. Can I blame him? “I am grateful for everything you’ve done for me. I’m Eve.”

“Eve. That... is... a beautiful name. The name of the woman who begat the fall of man, if I remember correctly. How... fitting….”

He moved closer to her, drawing her into his gaze. In this moment, Eve no longer stood in the darkened alley with the remnants of cheap wine drying on her lips. Instead, she floated, caught in his ice-blue gaze.

Her mind slowed and then stilled. Her panic eased until everything apart from this stranger seemed to fade away. His words were hypnotic. “May I walk you home?”

“Yes.” She answered before she’d had a chance to think it over. Her response had been so automatic. Should I really allow a stranger to walk me home at night? Shouldn’t I be concerned? Those questions seemed to slip through the numbed fingers of her mind. Instead of fleeing in fear, she found herself nodding and taking his hand when he held it out once more.

He walked beside her, not too close so they touched, nor too distant, giving her space to slip away.

“Are you afraid of me?”

His question was carried to her on the soft night breeze. Even though she wanted to pretend she hadn’t heard him, shame forced her to answer. This man had risked his life to save her. But she couldn't lie, not even to herself. Honesty forced her to accept the fact Valium was a way for her to cope, hiding the truth from her and everyone else—the truth that everything scared her.

“Look at me.”

She stopped, glimpsing the door to her apartment building in the corner of her eye. Keep walking, don't stop, said a tiny voice inside her.

“Eve. Look at me.”

There was something about his voice, something so spell-binding and compelling. It was hard not to look, impossible to not obey his commands. Eve turned toward him, yet somehow a part of her was urging her to run. But she couldn’t run, she was frozen. Eve stared into his bottomless eyes, unable to tear away from his gaze, or his touch.

“You are exactly what I am looking for, someone pure and so... tender.”

His accent was so strange, old-fashioned and rigid. It wasn’t Australian that she was sure of. It wasn’t anything she knew. He trailed his fingers down her jawbone. His finger hovered on the end of her chin and then lifted her face to his. His words were jumbled, whispered phrases she couldn't quite catch. All she could see were his perfect, soft lips. “Shall you succeed where others have failed?”

He didn’t wait for her answer. Instead he stepped closer, towering over her. “Well, we shall see, won't we?”

He stared into her eyes, as though he seemed to savor this moment, before lowering his head. “Ahh, humans,” he whispered, and then he kissed her.

Chapter 3

Adley

“ADLEY... WHERE THE hell are you? He’s… getting away.” The strained voice panted through the hands-free mic in his ear. The sound of feet clapped like distant thunder followed by a whispered prayer. “Please, please don’t let him take my boy.”

Adley Scott pushed the Commodore harder, watching the tachometer surge while he gunned the engine. He replayed the voice of his best friend inside his mind. This is Senior Constable Nathan Danver ID number 4659. I need all available units at the children’s playground at Mountainstone Park… a man… a man has just taken my son…. “I’m almost there, Nathan. Hold on. I’m almost there.”

Cars pulled off the road and out of his way. Adley doubted the flashing lights and sirens were as effective as the gunning engine and speeding metal which headed toward them. The wheel spun in his hands, obeying his control, although not without a fight.

He scanned the cars and trees, searching for the park entrance sign. “I’m almost there. Where are you?”

“Running… east… path… up… mountain.”

Catching a glimpse of the Mountainstone Park sign, Adley turned the car into the gravel area and drove until the trees stopped him. He wrenched on the handbrake, skidding the car to a stop at the bottom of the embankment. “I’m on my way, Nathan. I’m coming.”

He grabbed the two-way, slammed the door shut and locked it. He needed to keep the line of communication open with Nathan, so he’d use the radio to contact the Police Communications Radio Room, VKR. The trail stretched out before him and he took off, leaving the vehicle behind. The muscles of his thighs hardened under the strain as he raced up the mountain. One lone thought resounded through his head. Please. Let Luke be alive. Let this be an average perv….

“I’m… gaining… on… him.”

The voice wheezed in his ear, hard and dry like a desert wind, before a thump and then silence. “Nathan? Nathan, can you hear me?”

He pushed harder. His footing slipped and he reached out to break his fall, his shiny new shoes no match for the shale terrain.

“Is it him?” The Woodcutter? Please let it be some run-of- the-mill perv who has Luke. Anyone else but him. “Nathan. Nathan, answer me, for fuck’s sake!”

The radio remained silent.

He’s dead… Nathan’s dead and now the Woodcutter has Luke. The hair on the back of Adley’s neck lifted and a cold chill swept through him. He gripped his fists tighter and pumped his arms. The trees swayed and Adley shook his head, warding off the thoughts, even though this fit the Woodcutter’s modus operandi perfectly. East, he went east. Just keep running. It felt like his lungs had caught fire as he crested the hill. He sucked in the hot afternoon air and stared at the divided trail. East or West?

Two female hikers walked toward him from the west, their binoculars bouncing off heavy breasts. He shoved the two-way in his pocket. Palming his shield with one hand, Adley grabbed one of the hikers with the other. “Did you… see someone… chasing… a… man with a kid?”

The heavy-set female shook her head quickly and stepped away from him. “No.”

He turned east and prayed his partner was right, pushing his body off into a sprint once more. “Nathan… Nathan, can you hear me?”

This is Matthew all over again… isn’t it?

He shook his head, his knees and ankles jarring as he sped along the path. No, it’s not.

Yes it is, admit it. In three days you’ll be called to an alley where you’ll find his body… and it’ll be cut into pieces. First it was Matthew and now Luke. You’ll have no one left.

A clearing emerged before him. People stood gawking at something… no… someone… fuck! Wide-eyed women clutched children to their bodies, and a group of smirking teenagers huddled around a bark bench. Adley yelled, but it was no more than a whimper. His lungs felt like sandpaper. “Move!”

No one took any notice. He spat, hoping to dampen the desert inside his throat, and tried again. This time nothing came out but a wheeze and a few drops of precious saliva. So he used his body and pushed through the crowd to where Nathan knelt.

From between Nathan’s denim-clad legs, an arm waved at Adley. The limb jerked under the pressure of being twisted at an unnatural angle, the cruel pressure gleaned from every drunken bar fight and Nathan’s twenty years on the force. The piece of shit on the ground was going nowhere fast.

“Luke?” Adley managed to gasp. Nathan jerked his head. Adley’s gaze followed the motion, toward  a spot in the shade where Luke sat, playing with the ugliest dog he’d ever seen. Adley made for the boy, picking him up in one sweep and crushing him against his chest. There were no words, just the release of fear's hold, leaving him numb.

“Gross, Uncle Adley. You’re all sweaty.” Luke pulled away and wiped at his face.

“Are you okay, Luke? Did he hurt you?”

Gut-wrenching images came to life inside his mind. But the worst ones had not been realized, no, not this time. This time, what was left of his family was still alive.

“No, he didn’t hurt me, Uncle Adley. But I think he hurt Buster. I heard him yelp.”

He ruffled Luke’s hair and stared at the bulging eyes of the dog, its jaw slack and covered by drooping jowls. “What the hell is that thing?”

“He’s a pug! Dad bought him for me today.” Luke’s smile was infectious. “Isn’t he awesome?”

Adley smiled back. “Yeah. Awesome. You sit tight and I’ll go and see if your Dad’s okay.”

Luke glanced over to where Nathan knelt on top of the perp. His voice grew quiet and his little fist gripped the dog’s lead. “He tried to hurt Buster. He tried to take him away.”

Adley had been at his job long enough to understand what Luke was doing. The horror of what he’d just been through was too traumatic for his fragile mind to admit it wasn’t the hound the bad guy was after. So the dog replaced him. Projecting his fears onto the dog would be the only way Luke could cope.

The lump in Adley’s throat felt like an unseen force choking him. “Well, Buster’s safe now, Luke. Nothing’s going to happen to him. He has me and your father here to protect him.”

Luke dropped his gaze to the dog, his eyes shining bright as the child’s tears threatened to fall. He reached up, wiped at his face and turned away. “See, it’s okay, Buster. I told you Uncle Adley would come and he’s going to kick the bad guy’s ass!”

Adley felt his heart soften and swell. He flashed a smile and ruffled Luke’s hair. “Don’t let your Mum hear you swear like that, or she’ll kick my ass.”

Luke smiled up at Adley and then sat cross-legged on the ground, pulling on the dog’s lead. The mutt yapped and tried to pull his head through his collar. Luke held onto the dog tighter. His playful voice sounded like Vivaldi to Adley’s ears as he turned away; sweet and innocent. There’d been a moment when he didn’t think he’d hear that sound again.

Cold, hard anger shored up his softened heart as Adley strode to where Nathan sat waiting. Adley and Nathan exchanged a look only those on the force could ever understand. The thought of what could’ve been was now replaced with what had to be done. An unspoken rule came with the badge—no one messes with a copper’s kid.

Nathan nodded toward his belt, “Got your cuffs? I left mine at home.”

Adley reached around his back, unhooked the cuffs from his belt and slapped them into Nathan’s open palm. “What happened?”

“I brought Luke and his new dog up here to play. I only took my eyes off him for a minute. A fucking minute. The next thing I know, the goddamn dog was yelping and this piece of shit was dragging Luke into the trees. A few more seconds, Adley…. If I’d have been slower, or Jesus, if Sarah had bought Luke up here….”

“Christ….” Adley mumbled, rubbing his face.

The ratcheting sound of the cuffs drew his attention to the scum sprawled between Nathan’s bent knees.

“Get the fuck off me!” The bastard screamed, writhing on the ground while the cuffs tightened. Nathan stood, dragging the offender with him.

Adley stared into the perp's eyes. That first instant when Adley met a criminal’s gaze told him more than any lie detector ever could. Hard brown eyes snapped up and held his gaze for a second before the perv’s face contorted into a smile.

“Adley Scott, meet Edric Hasting, the fucker who tried to kidnap my son.”

Adley followed Nathan’s movements as his former partner rifled through a black leather wallet before throwing the worn leather onto the ground before him.

Nathan twisted, patting down the outside of Edric’s trousers. He reached in and drew out a closed pocket knife, a roll of grey tape, and a folded piece of white paper. The sight of the knife and tape clenched his gut. His breath left his chest and for a long time nothing replaced it, only his thoughts filled him. They tore at his heart. Grey electrical tape… just like…. He lifted his eye to look at Edric Hasting. How many times had he seen tape just like this? Only in his memory, the tape was splattered with blood.

It’s just a coincidence, nothing more. Don’t read anything into this that isn’t there. Not everything is about you. He tried to listen to the voice and work this case just like any attempted kidnapping. My reaction could be wrong, he argued with the voice in his head… although it never had been before.

Adley reached inside his pocket and grabbed the evidence bag he carried. He opened the wallet and reached for his radio while Nathan kicked the perp’s legs and shoved him to the ground. “Sit.”

“Corland one-five mobile to VKR,” Adley said into the radio and waited.

A minute later Communications responded, “Go ahead Corland one-five.”

“Can I have an ETA on the other units?”

“Stand by, Corland one-five… Corland one-five ETA for Corland nine will be fifteen to twenty minutes. He can make it sooner if you need.”

Adley looked over to Nathan, knowing how stretched their resources already were. There was only one patrol car on the road and they were caught at a service station hold-up. The boys would want to be here, but there was nothing else they could do. “That’s okay VKR, tell them I have this under control and while I have you, I’d like a license check on an Edric Hasting. That’s Hotel, Alpha, Sierra, Tango, India, November, Golf. Date of Birth, one-nine-zero-five-seven-eight.”

“Copy, Corland one-five, stand by for details.”

He waited for what seemed like an eternity while the sound of the constant radio chatter rolled in his ear. “Ah, Corland one-five, is your radio secure?”

Nathan’s head snapped up. Adley lowered the volume with shaking fingers before he stepped away. “Yes, go ahead, VKR.”

Adley concentrated on the words VKR spoke, while inside his head he built a different case file, one filled with haunting images and bloodied, grey tape.

“There’s nothing on the license check. But I do have a flag for a note on file under that name and DOB, in relation to questioning back on fifteen December, 2011.”

Adley’s gut clenched in warning. Acid burned all the way up into his throat as he urged, “What was the questioning in relation to, VKR?”

“It was in relation to Operation Hansel and Gretel. Edric Hasting was part of the area sweep and was questioned at length.”

The screech of metal jerked his attention away. A swing moved in the breeze. It swung back and forth with no laughing child to carry, its purpose now empty. He stared at the few faces that stayed to watch the show. Go home, he wanted to shout, don’t you know there’s a killer out here? Most of the parents had left and would probably never come here again. Not after today. If they had seen what Adley had, they’d never leave their homes again. His gut twisted inside out, a payback, complete with acid reflux and ulcer pain. It screamed, I fucking told you so!

Adley rubbed his stomach and rocked forward on the balls of his feet. He could feel his jaw tighten and the corded muscles of his neck pulled taut as he looked to Luke. He watched his godson hug his dog tightly to his thin chest. Questioned at length… why? The thought came back to him and he jerked the radio to his mouth. “Sorry, Radio, Corland one-five. Does the record say why, or the outcome of the questioning?”

“Sorry, Corland one-five, nothing else is on record.”

Communications carried on while he searched his mind for the name, for any reference to an Edric Hasting in the files which covered his desk. He could recall none. “Thank you, VKR, over.”

Twelve case files covered every inch of his desk. The media called the operation Hansel and Gretel. The eight-by-ten forensic photos haunted Adley. It was a make-or-break case, the Inspector warned him before he handed over the folders. That had been at the beginning. That was before his Matthew became victim number five. Case solved or not, Adley felt he would be broken anyway by the end. But he now had something to live for. Something he could do right. He would make sure Luke was safe and put this animal behind bars.

Nathan drilled him with a torn expression of wanting to know and not wanting to, all at the same time, as he yanked Edric Hasting to his feet. Adley shook his head, sparing his best friend from the devastation of knowing it could be him. If nothing else, Adley could do that. He bagged the wallet, the knife, and then stopped. The paper was well worn, the edges creased until the scrap had torn through in places. He unfolded the grubby page and stared at the markings denoting parks and streets. Adley studied every scratch on the paper, knowing each highlighted location intimately. He should—each crime scene was etched into his memory. Locations where twelve murdered innocents had been found. Twelve murders and thirteen markings marred the page before him. Luke Danver would have filled the score. Adley tried not to allow his emotions to show, but the hurt struck too close to home.

“Sick sonofabitch!” Adley growled. A plastic bottle rattled as it pitched along the ground in the wind. The tap, tap, tap noise increased the faster it spun. Adley’s heart jacked and spiked, matching the sound, and his breathing followed suit. His actions were not those of a hardened cop now, not anymore. They were those of an uncle in mourning.

Matthew’s sweet face rushed at him. Memories of his nephew were all he had left. Shining grey eyes, just like his mother’s, and crooked front teeth. Adley had been there since the moment of Matthew’s birth, until the seven-year-old’s death two months ago. Adley’s nostrils flared. He felt his face flush as the pain took hold. Ripping pain, shredding him apart from the inside, it seemed to Adley his wounds would never, ever heal.

Adley strode to where Edric waited. The handcuffed perv watched him with eyes that glittered with something akin to excitement. A twitch of his lips flashed his teeth for a second. He should be watching Adley with fear. Adley cocked his fist and lashed out, catching Edric fucking Hasting squarely on the jaw. The powerful beating of Adley’s heart and rush of air in his lungs blocked the world out. Nothing else mattered in that moment, nothing but revenge.

Edric’s head snapped back. He stumbled and swayed backwards. The suspect tried his best to remain upright, his arms clasped tightly behind him with the cuffs. Do it…do it…kill him now. Kill him for Matthew. Adley wanted to, he ached to see this piece of shit draw his last breath so he’d never hurt another child.

Edric righted himself, his face lowered, hidden from view. Adley sucked in air, waiting for Edric to turn around, waiting for the voice inside to argue again. His conscience remained mute.

Adley's gaze drifted to Nathan and dropped to the ground in order to hide his thoughts from his mate. Adley knew this was the same tape. The folded map only added weight to his suspicions.

“What?” Nathan growled, demanding answers he couldn’t give. Not yet, not until he knew for sure. Nathan didn’t understand. He’d given up being a detective for general duties a long time ago, needing the regular hours for his family. They might have ended as partners, but still remained close. Adley wouldn’t hurt Nathan on a suspicion. Electrical tape wouldn’t hold weight in court. Hell, most of the men in Corland had some type of tape in their cars. How could he prove otherwise? But the map was the key. Twelve murders and thirteen marks... Not everyone had that though, did they? The thought sent a shock through his body… the map was the key to this whole thing.

Adley had been taken off the case after his nephew’s body was found. His change of duties didn’t stop him from working the case on his own time. The images of Matthew’s tortured body killed something inside him. While the damage to his nephew had been visceral and cruel, it had also been quick, and for that Adley was thankful. But the killer coined the Woodcutter had changed. His need for cruelty seemed to grow and he began keeping his victims alive longer.

The image of little Jessica Porter was one Adley knew would haunt him for the rest of his days. He still saw the photos when he closed his eyes at night, photos of fingers and hands sawn and bloody, blonde curls. She was someone’s eight-year-old daughter, someone’s granddaughter, and someone’s niece. Adley shook his head. I’ve got to do it. I’ve got to do something.

His heart was in the driver’s seat now. Adley thumbed down the latch on his holster. The torn remnant of his heart urged him to draw the gun. Do it. Do it for Matthew. Do it for Jessica. He yanked out the gun and shoved the hard metal into Edric’s bleeding face, pressing the muzzle against his temple. The bastard’s smirk is gone now, isn’t it?

“Jesus Christ, Adley. No!” Nathan kept his voice low. “Stop, lower the gun.” The shocked gasps and screams of terror echoed around Adley. He wasn’t listening. This wasn’t about Luke or Nathan anymore. Couldn’t they see why he had to do this, why he needed Edric Hasting to die?

Adley froze, caught between his obligations and his own need to understand. Some part of him asked, Why? He lowered the gun and eased his finger off the trigger. He shook his head, needing to make sense of all this.

A smirk washed over Edric’s face, and a hard knot formed in the back of Adley’s throat. He wrenched Edric close, smashing his face into the perp’s. His tormented scream tore from his mouth, “Why?”

Adley waited for an answer. Waited for the strength not to pull the trigger and spray Edric’s brains all over the swing set behind him. It wasn’t the murder charge Adley would face that stopped him. It was the fact that he’d never get closure for his broken sister.

Lila now lived in Richmond Clinic, a psychiatric hospital specializing in rehabilitation of the broken. She was lost to Adley, lost underneath a fractured mind that understood all too well her little boy was never coming home. Lila needed to know this monster was never going to hurt another little boy ever again. She deserved closure, but she deserved to know her brother wasn’t going to maximum security to get it.

Adley snorted. His breath passed between him and this… this thing while he waited. There was no answer, only a spark of recognition passing between them. An understanding of what Edric Hasting was and what Adley had to do. He had to put this thing away for good, the right way.

Adley eased back, letting Edric’s shirt go, before he turned to face Nathan’s shocked. “I’m good, man. I’m all good.”

“What the fuck has gotten into you?” Nathan growled. “Luke is sitting there watching you pull your gun, for fuck's sake.”

Shit. Luke. Adley spun to where the child sat burying his face into the dog’s fur, his face bright red and blotchy as his tears fell. “I’m sorry,” was all he could say, torn between doing the right thing for his best friend and the right thing, period.

Adley holstered his firearm, ignoring the twitch in his trigger finger. “I’m okay now. You best get Luke home. You’ve been gone too long. Sarah’s got to be getting worried.”

“Can I trust you not to off this guy on the way back to the station?”

Those words stung. He’d never had to justify himself before, especially not to Nathan. He nodded and bent down, picking up the zip lock bag with enough evidence to convict Edric Hasting of twelve counts of murder, in his mind at least. He just had to make sure everyone else saw this as well.

He grabbed the chain on the cuffs and used them to push Edric forward, past the crowd. They moved out of his way, a silent parting of the sea of parents and children.

“Because I can.”

The thing in front of him spoke as they broke free from the trees. Adley looked at the back of Edric’s head. In his mind, he saw the exit hole from the bullet, and white speckled blow-back as clearly as though he’d actually pulled the trigger. He didn’t want to answer, but the desire to understand was overwhelming. “Because you can what?”

His voice, devoid of any inflection, made cold sweat break out on Adley’s neck and chest. His gaze darted to the cuffs, making sure they were secure. “Back there you asked me why. Because I can.”

Chills rushed along Adley’s skin and even though the sun still beamed in the sky, his world felt a little darker, a little colder. Acid made its way into Adley’s mouth and his stomach clenched. He licked his trembling lips and swept his hand across his forehead. Jesus Christ, what the hell is this thing?

Adley gripped the handcuffs tighter at his back and pushed him faster toward the car. Hasting’s low chuckle seemed to slap him across the face and he fumbled with the keys, hitting the unlock button. Adley wanted to be free of this thing, he wanted Hasting gone.

He grabbed the door handle, and swung it open while Edric said quietly. “Adley Scott… hmmm… say, didn’t you have a nephew once?”

Adley’s scream felt like it tore something in his chest. He tasted blood as he inhaled sharply, wrenching air into his lungs. Adley shoved Edric down into the back seat of the car before he slammed the door shut. He couldn’t kill him. I can’t kill him. But fuck, he wanted to. Adley placed his hands on the bonnet of the car and dropped his head while his body shook with rage and frustration. He focused on the dirt and the grass seeds clinging to his black pants. He focused on anything else, anything but what sat in the backseat. He had to get himself under control. He had no choice. Adley had to think about Luke. He opened the driver’s door and slid into the seat. Not once did Adley look into the mirror. Instead, he started the ignition, gripped the wheel with both hands, steeled his resolve, and headed for the station.

“I want in, Sarge.” Adley stood hunched over his Commanding Officer’s desk. “I can get this guy to talk.”

“Not gonna happen, Scott. Leave it be.” His commanding officer didn’t bother to lift his head as he scribbled on the pile of paperwork on his desk.

Adley wasn’t going to be dismissed so easily, not when he knew what they didn’t. “I’m not gonna get shut out of this one, Sarge. You don’t understand. I think he’s the—”

“Stop!” growled his CO, slamming his fist down on his desk. The papers jumped and the pens rattled. “You couldn’t just leave this alone, could you, Scott?”

Adley wasn’t following and he didn’t want to. All he wanted was to make his CO understand. Adley was convinced he was the only one who could get this piece of shit to come clean. He was already ten steps ahead, taking the opportunity to plan the court orders to search Edric Hasting’s house and car—

“Are you listening to me, Scott? Have you even heard a word I’ve been saying?”

Adley pushed off the desk and eyed his CO, now understanding what was happening. They were shutting him out. “Yeah, I understand real well. Thanks for having my back, Sarge.”

He shook his head, the movement followed by the booming voice of his CO. “Stay out of it. That’s an order.”

He shook his head. There was no way he was staying out of it. He didn’t care what they said.

“Then your gun and your badge. Now, Scott.”

Adley glanced up at his scowling CO. He knew in his heart there was no help for him here. He turned sideways and wrapped his hand around the butt of his Glock, feeling the familiar bite of the textured grip against his palm. The leather holster cuddling the firearm seemed to hug the metal, refusing to let go. Slowly Adley coaxed the weapon free, feeling the weight of his act. The force was the only family he knew.

What would he do now? This was the only job he’d ever had. Sweeping the release catch aside with his thumb, he yanked the magazine free and slammed the slide back. The chambered round ejected into the air, the dull brass-jacketed bullet glinting under the pitiless fluorescent lights. The ammo, harmless now, bounced end over end across the CO’s desk before rolling off the edge. How could he protect Luke now?

Adley slapped the weapon into his superior’s outstretched hand. He pulled out his badge and flipped open the leather cover, taking one last look at the soaring, wedge-tailed eagle and the motto he had built his career on, punishment follows closely upon crime. He closed the cover, feeling his shoulders sag and his hands shudder and jerk, refusing the commands from his mind. He threw his badge on his CO’s desk. The thump of metal felt like his own heart.

Adley straightened his shoulders and ground his teeth. This was no time for weakness or defeat. His suspension wasn’t going to stop him from doing the right thing. The loss of his badge wasn’t going to stop him from protecting those he loved. Adley would do his investigating on his own time, which he now seemed to have plenty of. He looked down at the slip of paper in his hand— suspended with pay pending an investigation. Yeah, he had all the time in the world.

Three weeks dragged by before Adley was rostered back on duty. He’d given numerous statements of the events in the park. The questioning seemed to focus more on the fact he’d punched the piece of shit and had drawn his firearm. Not once did they ask about the information Adley had given them. For all intents and purposes, the department didn’t seem to care.

He strode to his desk and sat down, staring at the file for some bullshit case of employee theft laying on his desk. He inclined back and stared at the other desks, packed tightly together like a freaking call center. Some of the other detectives sat hunched, typing furiously. No one paid him any attention. That was, until Nathan walked through the door.

Adley’s calls to Nathan had gone unanswered during his suspension. He knew he acted badly. But, given the chance, he would’ve explained. Nathan’s gaze seemed to darken when he saw Adley. His former partner’s long strides quickly covered the distance to where Adley sat. There was something going on here, something he didn’t understand at all.

Righting his chair, Adley started to stand when Nathan’s fist whipped him square in the jaw. He stumbled back, taking the employee fraud file with him. Papers scattered across the floor while Nathan leaned over him. His blood-shot eyes and creased clothes told Adley he hadn’t gone home. His friend was sleep-deprived and that shit drove you to the edge. “Fucking attempted abduction charge, that’s it! Thanks to you.”

The room spun, but Adley got to his feet. His heart ached more than his jaw as he faced his best friend. “I don’t understand, Nathan. Because I roughed him up a little? Fuck that shit! What about resisting arrest, hindering police investigation? We can find some charge to hold him on.”

Nathan snarled, but the sting was gone from his eyes. “They’re off the table now. They were lucky to get him on the attempted kidnapping.”

“Jesus, Nathan. I’m so sorry,” Adley started, but Nathan cut him off.

“Save it. Save your bullshit for someone else, Scott.” Nathan’s voice grew softer when he turned away from Adley. “What am I supposed to say to him?”

Adley stood silent, not wanting to provoke Nathan any further. He was angry and hurt; both would drive him to do things he would never normally do. Like end a friendship. Adley swallowed the lump that had appeared in his throat, but the thing wouldn’t go down.

Nathan stood with his back toward him while he asked the question again, even though Adley had no answer. “What am I supposed to tell my son when he wakes screaming in the middle of the night?”

The vision of Edric Hasting taunting him arose in his mind. Adley Scott… hmmm… say, didn’t you have a nephew once?

Adley wished desperately he’d pulled the trigger. He’d failed to save his godson, just like he failed to save all the other kids who’d become Edric Hasting’s next victims.

“Tell Luke we’ll protect him,” Adley croaked, forcing the lump down. “Tell him we won’t stop until he’s safe.”

Nathan whirled on him, backing him over the desk as a tear slid down his face. “You don’t get it, do you? It’s your name he screams in the middle of the night, Adley. It’s your face that makes him piss the bed in fear. Jesus, seeing you pull your gun. He’s fucking terrified of you!”

Adley slumped down on his desk, as everything good in his world fell from view. He now pieced it all together. The unanswered phone calls. The cold shoulder from every other officer at the station. They all hated him, every last one. Adley looked up at the man who had once been his best friend. Could he blame them?

Adley had spent enough time with Nathan to know this would eat at him. He would turn bitter and depressed knowing he turned his back on his best friend. Nathan would pull away from Luke and he would take this out on Sarah. He would blame himself. He was too good a friend not to. So Adley had to change that.

“Fuck you.”

Nathan looked up at him, fresh tears gleaming in his eyes. He blinked, forcing them to fall. A blank look crossed his face. “What?”

Adley may well have ceased to exist, for he felt just that empty. He forced the poisoned words from his mouth. “You heard me. Fuck you and fuck your family. You weren’t there for me when I needed you. Just like you’re not here for me now. Fucking hypocrite.”

Nathan flinched and the color drained from his face. He lifted his finger, jabbing hard into Adley’s chest. “Weren’t there for you? Sarah and I were the only ones who’ve ever been there for you!”

“Yeah?” Adley spat, pushing into those jabs as he stood up to Nathan. “So Sarah can tell everyone at the school what fucking saints both of you are? How you’re taking care of the broken copper and his psychotic sister? You look at me every fucking day, and don’t think for a minute I don’t know what you’re thinking. Your mouth says you’re sorry, but your eyes say something different, friend.”

“Yeah, what’s that, Scott? Don’t hold back, mate, lay it all out on the fucking table!” Nathan’s face flushed red from shouting.

The slam of his CO’s door boomed inside the office. He’d heard it enough times to know his superior was watching him, but he refused to move his gaze. “Your eyes tell me you’re glad it was Matthew and not Luke, that’s what they tell me.”

Adley braced himself. He withstood not one, but three hard punches, before he went down under a hail of blows.

Two months later, after a stint with the Tactical Action Group, he came back to scornful looks and turned backs. It seemed his only friends on the job were now the boys in Forensic and a few officers who’d transferred and hadn’t yet got on board with the ‘ignore Adley Scott’ program. So when the word got around a new recruit had been assigned to transfer Edric Hasting to Bartley’s Island, Adley made it his mission to find out who that officer was.

Bartley’s Island was a medium security prison about four hundred kilometers away, just off the coast of Queensland. The place was notorious for its high inmate rape stats. Adley came in early and scanned the officer’s work logs for the next day until a comment, Transfer caught his eye.

Colin Murray was new to Corland. He’d been relocated from one of the inbred country stations where everyone knew each other just a little too well. He smiled and held out his hand when Adley approached him. Colin liked to talk, a lot. Adley played nice for the first fifteen minutes, and then the chatter just got on his nerves. It came up in conversation; Colin wanted to make new friends. He was a nice enough kid, but Adley would save him the heartache. Adley wasn’t friend material. He’d proven this with Nathan. All he was interested in was Colin’s assignment the following day—transport duty. Adley thought his scheme was going to be difficult. He was expecting a barrage of questions when he explained what he wanted the younger officer to do.

Colin shrugged and nodded, “Sure. No skin off my nose.” The deal was done. Adley turned up the next morning, logged on at the station and collected the court documents from Colin, ready for the prison transfer. His partner for the trip was Detective Rachel Gordon, from a specialized station, probably Liaison.

He drove into the underground park at the double doors used for prisoner transfers and motioned to the toilets. “Gotta go. You mind signing him out?”

Rachel sighed, grabbed the documents and got out of the car while Adley headed for the toilets. He needed to make sure no one saw him anywhere near this job. Fuck, he felt like he was in high school again, hiding out in the men’s room. He just hoped to Christ no one noticed and raised the alarm. He eased open the door to the parking lot, checking the car while he rubbed the back of his neck and scratched his face until the watch house boys walked Edric Hasting out and secured him in the backseat.

Adley made one final adjustment to the microphone strapped to his chest, making sure it would pick up every word, and strode out. This was his last chance with Edric. One last chance to get anything on record he could use to arrest the scum for the twelve unsolved murders haunting him.

Adley slid in behind the wheel, fighting the urge to look at the thing in the rear vision mirror. He didn’t have to.

“Well, hello again, detective. How’s life treating you?”

Adley ignored him. He also ignored the cocked brow Rachel gave him.

The trip was quiet, uncomfortably quiet, as Adley left Corland behind and headed along the country road. He looked into the rear vision mirror. He would never forget this face. The broad cheeks and strong jaw Adley saw didn’t match Edric’s lifeless brown eyes.

“Take a good look around, Hasting. Won’t be long now and all you’ll be seeing is the mattress, face down with your ass in the air.”

“Fuck you.”

Adley’s skin crawled, but he smiled with a sense of triumph. He was finally getting somewhere; he was finally getting to Edric. “You know there are a lot nicer places than Bartley’s. I hear they paint the shower floors to cover the bloodstains and the condom machine is always full.”

The face in the rear vision mirror sneered back at him. Adley had found a weakness and he’d exploit it as much as he could. “Yeah, won’t be long now. If only there was something to bargain with, huh?”

A snort came from the passenger’s seat. He turned to look at the detective. Detective Rachel Gordon was a senior detective. Why she’d volunteered to spend an entire day doing this was beyond him.

“So how come the request?” Adley said. He'd been trying to break the awkward silence since they left. One-word answers and her cold personality were making conversation extremely difficult and they were only half-way there.

“Got kids.”

It was the most she’d spoken all morning, even though her terse explanation didn't make any sense to Adley.

“Cool,” Adley said, exhaled with a slow shake of his head. How hard was it to have a conversation with this woman? “I've been working the child murders for the past year now.” He watched for any reaction in the backseat.

“Congrats.” Rachel looked out her side window. The low chuckle in the back made him snap his head up.

“You got something to say, Hasting?” Adley asked before he flicked his eyes from the road to the mirror and back to the road.

“Yeah, I got something to say. How's the investigation going for you, detective?”

Adley glanced up and stared at the reflection of evil. The strong jaw, full lips and smooth skin would have looked handsome on anyone else. What emanated from inside made Hasting as ugly as hell.

“Holy fuck, what’s that crazy bitch doing?” Rachel yelled.

Adley jumped and snapped his attention back to the road. The brakes came to life, screaming as he pumped them. It wasn't so much what Rachel yelled which grabbed his attention. It was the fact that she spoke at all.

The tires of the car skidded and he turned sharply. The car careened sideways, failing to respond to his commands. Adley pumped the brake, narrowly avoiding a woman dressed in white. The vehicle skidded to a stop.

Adley scanned the rearview mirror, making sure he hadn’t hit the woman. She stood in the middle of the road behind him, waving her hands wildly and making her way toward the car. Adley dropped his gaze to the thing in the backseat, searching his eyes for any sign of recognition, any sign this was a setup. But there was nothing. Edric didn’t turn to look at the woman. It seemed like he didn’t even care. All Edric seemed interested in was staring at Adley.

“Don’t worry, detective, she’s not my type. I like them younger, much younger.” Edric laughed.

Adley hit the automatic window button and stuck his head out the window. He wrenched his head back over his right shoulder and looked behind the car as the woman made her way over to them. The sun blinded him and cast her silhouette into a shadow, obscuring her face so he couldn’t get a good look.

“What the hell is she doing? Do you see a car anywhere?”

Adley ignored the nit-picking questions from his partner and concentrated on the woman and what sat in the back seat. “Protocol says we can't stop for her.”

The shape moved in front of the sun and reached for the boot of the car. Adley was already reaching for the radio, ready to call another unit until he saw the smeared blood her hand left behind on the back passenger’s window where Edric Hasting sat.

Adley stared up into amber brown eyes, only now seeing the splattered blood across her chest. She reached for him with crimson-stained hands, Adley made out her words by the movement of her lips as she spluttered. “Please, help me.”

“Jesus, are you okay? Are you hurt?” Adley fumbled on the door before he realized his duties and jerked his head toward his partner. “Call through to VKR.”

He was out of the car in a second, reaching for the woman, who started to slump against the side of the car. Her eyes fluttered and her body sagged. He reached her just in time to break her fall.

Rachel’s nagging voice bombarded him from inside the car. “What’s going on? What’s happening?”

“She’s fainted. Just give me a freaking minute.”

He reached for her wrist and felt for her pulse. Her eyelids twitched, and then her eyes flew open. “Are you okay?”

“My boyfriend is hurt… we had an accident. I think… he might be dead.”

He glanced back at Edric and then to his partner. “Jesus. We can’t stop… we have to….”

“Please, you have to help me! He might be dying!”

Adley scanned the melaleuca trees alongside the road, searching for any sign of a break in the tree line. “Where did you crash?”

“Somewhere over there, I think.” She pointed at the spindly grass trees which lined the road. “I was knocked out and when I woke up, Mark was hurt bad. There was blood, so much blood. I tried to help him, but I passed out.” The woman glanced toward Rachel and then to the backseat. Her sobs sounded painful and sincere. “I don’t know how long I was out. It could’ve been hours.”

Adley eyed Hasting in the backseat. The murderer stared at the woman in a way which made his skin crawl. If they needed to give this woman a lift, there was no way he was letting Rachel share the back seat with this thing. As much as he hated the idea, he’d rather sit back there than risk having either of these women next to someone like Edric Hasting.

He leaned over and grabbed the first-aid kit from the glove box. “Stay here and keep an eye on the prisoner. I'll go look.” He motioned for the woman to lead the way.

Adley followed her down the road. She crossed the black asphalt, which disappeared into the blazing horizon, and he breathed deep. The air was humid, cooling with the evening.

“Just over here.” She stepped off the road and headed toward the spindled trees. Adley followed, using his momentum to run up the small bank.

Something struck him.

Adley stumbled backwards, waving his hands through the air before a sickening thud echoed in his ears. He fell backwards, rolled, and came to his feet at the edge of the road. He reached to touch his head and then lowered his hand to stare at the blood which coating his fingers.

“What the hell?” The haze of white struck him again. Pure instinct forced Adley to hold his hands up, defending not his face, but his chest and neck. A loud crunch made him gasp for breath as pain became a torturous song, reverberating through his body.

Pain and the sickening sound of his tearing flesh told Adley he was about to die. Sharp teeth slashed at him. The woman in white was almost a blur around him, ripping into his body. And somehow, amidst the pain, he wondered why something so beautiful would be trying to kill him.

Blood splattered his face as he absorbed another blow, sending him staggering backwards. He vaguely registered the fact it was his blood. The warm substance soaked through his shirt and ran down his stomach as he fought for his life. It all happened so fast. Adley fell to his knees as the sound of gunfire rang out.

In a daze, he forced his head to the side. He didn’t want to take his eyes off the woman in white, yet he needed to find the source of the shot. Oh, God, no! Rachel stood in her practiced shooter's stance, holding her upper body rigid. Still the bullets went wide. He could see she was panicking. Her gaze jumped from him back to the woman and she fired at his attacker.

The virginal, blood-soaked dress was shredded with the impact of the bullets. Flesh and blood rained on him and part of her intestine smacked him in the face. The creature laughed. Her eyes glinted with a murderous gaze. She turned from tearing into his thigh, stalking Rachel now, until their silhouettes blended into one.

The woman never flinched as the forty-five caliber Glock gouged her body with hot lead fragments. Her dress bloomed in the back like red roses as the bullets hit their mark. Rachel's scream pierced through the fog in his mind. His eyes were heavy. Sleep called to him, sleep where there was no pain and he wanted to drift away. But something inside him held on. He could just hear the click of the trigger as it found the empty chambers of Rachel’s gun. Adley tried to speak, tried to save Rachel’s life. Keep fighting. Don't give up….

He rolled carefully on to his side. Pain lashed his body. Adley ground his teeth together to stop from screaming out. The drive to save another cop outweighed his pain and fear. He needed to help her. He needed to do something to give her the chance to fight back.

Adley pulled at his holster. He drove down the release catch and jerked out his gun. He took aim, praying he’d find the mark as this bitch now lowered her head to Rachel’s neck. He fired two shots. The woman in white stumbled forward. The back half of her head now decorated the silver Commodore in flecks of red and white.

She staggered and twirled like a drunken ballerina toward Adley, hissing like an enraged animal. The sound made his blood run cold. His blurred vision ran red. That animal wore his blood, and his partner’s blood. He wouldn’t let this be the end. Again, shoot… her… again! He took aim, but his hand wobbled and his eyes failed to focus. Shoot her! He had to try. Please God... don't let... me.... Movement was a battle of his will against his body. Adley tried to focus for one more second... one more shot... but he just didn't have the strength. His view of his partner dulled. He forced his eyes open.

The bitch snarled and turned back to Rachel. Shoot! He screamed inwardly, panic filling him, but it was too late. He just didn’t have anything left in him. Their attacker lifted his partner high.

His eyes closed… darkness. He forced them open.

With one hand, the creature tore his partner’s head from her body. His heart skipped, losing time like an old watch.

Darkness. He forced his eyes open.

His partner’s headless body buckled and fell before the creature. A wig sailed through the air in an arc toward him… no, not a wig.

Adley prayed the darkness would come again.  This time he wouldn’t open his eyes.

Rachel’s brown hair parted as her head came to rest in the gully next to him. The bloodless orbs that were once hard, critical eyes stared at him in a ghastly game of peek-a-boo. Her mouth hung open, laughing… screaming… Adley whimpered and tried to move away, but his body no longer obeyed his commands. Instead, he stared at the blood and mucus seeping from her neck, and shivered in the hot Australian sun. His skin burned under the glare, his sweat-stained shirt stuck hard against his back.

The pain started to fade and he wanted to find peace... and yet somehow his senses sharpened in one last-ditch effort to scream with life. One final ‘fuck you’ to death. The hysterical screams from Edric Hasting filled his ears and he couldn’t help but smile. The image of Nathan, Luke, and his Matthew accompanied the sound. He felt a twinge of guilt his best friend would never know how much it hurt him to leave things the way he did.

It won’t be long now, whispered a voice somewhere inside his mind, Edric scorching wails serenaded him. It wouldn’t be long for either of them.

Chapter 4

Edric

THE METALLIC SCENT of blood drifted in, waking Edric instantly. His eyes snapped open, his senses on fire. He knew this scent so intimately. The redolent scent of death aroused him, and not just from his slumber. Releasing himself from his straining pants, he enclosed his hand around his growing thickness. That scent was where he found himself, locked between the scalpel and tender flesh. This pleasure was the moment he lived for, when he came alive.

Pain was what he craved and this was what he gave himself, squeezing until he throbbed and then released, before he slid his hand along his shaft. The brutal pulling and gripping only made him thicker, harder. He closed his eyes and inhaled, willing the scent into his lungs and body, calling forth the images that excited him the most—fragile cries on the cusp of delirium, as they screamed for a mommy and daddy who’d never come.

When he could take no more of the violent pleasure, he jerked, releasing his seed in a silent river along his stomach. As always, he felt disappointed the euphoria couldn't last. But, even his disappointment was short-lived. For the chase was what excited him the most, and his thoughts lingered on the one who got away. The boy... the copper's kid.

A pile of clothes sat neatly on a chair next to the bed. Edric stood and shed the remainder of his prisoner’s garb. His legs trembled, but he made his way into the small bathroom. He turned on the icy water, and stepped in, relishing the water’s driving sting.

The killing of the two police yesterday came as a surprise, a pleasant one. Although at the time he thought he, too, had met his end. His surviving was a fate he hadn’t counted on. When arrested, he’d prepared himself to spend the next three years getting jacked in the ass and eating more than his fair share of cock, until he was released, or dead. After tearing the door off the car and snapping his steel cuffs like cheap plastic, she’d casually told him her name was Mercy and she’d been waiting for him. Watching her, huddled in the back of the police car, he’d thought she was the most exotic killer he had ever seen. He’d never seen anyone so inhumanly powerful, but she had to be human... she couldn't be anything else.

As she tore into the female detective, he felt a fire burn him from the inside, and for a moment, he thought this must be what love felt like. But he was unsure. He loved no one and nothing.

He lathered his body under the cold water and took the razor to his face, which left him feeling fresh and clean. His thoughts turned to escape. The police vehicle was parked in the garage at the back of the house. He’d driven it here under Mercy's instructions. Normally he wouldn't have taken too kindly to others' demands, but instinct told him to do whatever this killer said. He’d need to hurry, burn the car, and move on alone. As fun as Mercy was, or could be, he worked alone.

He dressed and wiped the surfaces with his dirty shirt, placing it along with his other clothes in a pile on the floor. He’d leave no trace of himself here, or anywhere for that matter. He’d need to disappear and lay low somewhere after burning the car. The police would be all over it, once it was found, and then they’d be on the hunt for him.

The scent of blood still lingered, although it wasn't as strong as before—pity. He pulled the sheets from his bed, bound his clothes, his towel, and went in search of the source. The scent grew stronger as he moved deeper into the house in hunting for his host. At first, his gaze passed her over. She sat motionless, like a statue, all legs and brown flowing hair. Her white dress was the thinnest slip over her voluptuous body, clinched tightly at the waist. His eyes were instantly drawn to her pale skin and the curves of her breasts. No bra? Nice, the less I have to cut off.

Then she smiled and he felt the pit of his stomach drop away. His instincts screamed—on high alert, though no threat was made. No one had ever made him feel like this before, no one. So why did she?

He tried to suppress the urge to flee. He was the apex predator here—not this woman. He wanted to walk over and drive his fist between those brown eyes, to show her who he really was. He was swept away in the fantasy. How long until she broke? Until she begged for mercy? He licked his lips as the image of her torn body filled his head. He wondered how she’d hate it if he took her with his body as well as his knife. Mercy... yes, he’d make this bitch scream.

“Do you know why my Master named me that?” she said, her voice as seductive as her body.

Master? “What?”

“Mercy. Do you know why my Master named me Mercy?”

Could she have read my mind? Surely no. Play it cool. “No, why’s that?”

“It’s simple,” she said as she uncrossed her legs and stood, covering the distance between them in a blink of his eye. “Because I have none.”

He could feel the blood rush from his face. She watched him intently.

“Well, I'm not sure what this knight in shining armor thing is, but thank you. I'll take the car and burn it. Don’t worry, there won't be anything left to trace it back to you.”

She laughed. The bark echoed inside the room around him. Yet somehow he knew her amusement wasn't because he was entertaining. “You are such a delicious creature, you know?”

He made sure his tone was steady. He weighed his response carefully, feeling as though his life hinged on avoiding the wrong tone and the wrong response. “Yeah, how so?”

“So... limited.”

He blanched and his gut churned, whispering that something in this scene felt totally fucking wrong. “Okay, how about I just leave now?”

He turned and moved quickly, the siren in his gut screaming now. The fucking thing was so loud he couldn't think. All he could do was feel the warning. Get out!

He made it to the end of the room before the blurred, shapeless form sharpened, leaving her standing in front of him. He turned his head back to look at the spot where she’d stood only a heartbeat ago. There was no way she could've moved that quick... there was no fucking way.

“Sorry, Edric. But I can't let you go. Not after all the trouble I took getting you here.”

Easy. He stopped and moved backwards. He was still in control here. He wasn’t going to run screaming like a fucking girl. “Yeah, well. Thanks.”

“Always in control, aren't you?” She strode forward, like she was the hunter and he was her prey.

Goddamn, she was fucking amazing, gliding along the floor toward him. He was caught between wanting to fucking worship her or run. You wouldn’t get far even if you did. The revelation made him stop. There was nothing he could do while he watched her advance except listen to the voice in his head that wasn’t his.

“I have been watching you for a while now, Edric. I know all about your dark little secret, your fondness for little children.”

He shook his head and smiled. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

She clucked her tongue, the scolding gesture stopping his panicked thoughts. “What if I told you I wanted to help you, Edric? What if I told you I could make you the greatest killer to walk this Earth?”

Her boast was as mesmerizing as her body. The ego in him wanted to listen, wanted to nod his head and discuss fucking details. Easy. He warned himself, knowing he was vulnerable at this moment. “Not sure what you've got going on here, but I think you have the wrong person.”

“Pity, I thought they would look good on you.”

The words left his lips without him even realizing; her seduction was better than he thought. “What would?”

“These,” she said and launched her body at him, throwing him to the ground. He grabbed her arms and pushed, trying to throw her off. But she was strong, unbelievably strong, and he was no slouch. He’d been an athlete, with a strict regime of running, swimming, and weights, but as hard as he tried, there was no way he could make her budge. Her hands were like a vice around him. She opened her mouth, the white incisors elongated and sharp. Jesus fucking Christ, they’re fangs. “What the fuck?”

He used one hand to hold her off and tried to skid backward on his ass with the other. But he went nowhere, his legs seemed useless.

“Like I said, what if I could make you into the greatest killing machine of your time?” His arm buckled from her relentless forward motion and her face came close to his.

He knew where the scent came from now. The scent of blood, hot and thick. Dear God, it’s her, it’s coming from her. He forced himself to speak, hating the piss-weak sound which escaped, but there was nothing he could do about it now. “And in return?”

“In return, you get to kill all you want. I want you to kill pregnant women, all of those swollen stomachs brimming with life. Your knife will run through them like butter. You will kill, and you’ll kill for me.”

His numbed arm seemed to fall of its own accord from her chest. Images of sliding a knife through a tautly-rounded stomach filled his head. Seconds ticked by, timed by the beat of his heart until he smiled. And she did too. Her eyes sparkled. For a moment, the feeling of love came back. The knowing—although chilling—was very, very real. “I think I'm in love.”

“Then lie still now.” She reached out. Her hand felt cool to his chest when she placed it over his jerking heart. The pressure from her delicate limb was undeniable, pressing his back onto the grimy floor tiles “I could tell you this won’t hurt a bit. But then, I wouldn’t be true to my name, now, would I?”

Her growl reverberated through her hands and into his body, shaking loose a stream of urine. Fear called his name, and then made him hers.

“Wait, no!”

The impact of her bite was so sudden, he had no time to react. Mercy whipped her head from side to side, taking his body along with it. He beat at her head, his fingers ripping into her hair while he fought for his life. Bloody images flooded his mind, but they weren’t of him. Wide frightened eyes, red-rimmed, pleaded with him. Please, they whispered, don’t hurt me…

These same words were in his mouth. His feet flailed and he punched at her face until she stopped moving. Hair the color of rich cocoa hair fell alongside her face, hiding her expression from him. He lay on the ground, his feet kicking in the air as he tried to get free.

Please… don’t hurt me….

She lifted her head to stare down at him, this angel of mercy no longer dressed in white. No, now she was dressed in scarlet.

Her mouth and chin were covered in glistening red blood, dripping onto his chest. Pain roared through his body, pouring out of his throat and his mouth. But there was no sound. No shriek of pain to fill his ears, only the useless hiss of air.

Air bubbled below his chin, bursting to splatter her dress and pop against her arm. He didn’t understand. What was happening to him? Why can’t I move, why can’t I get up and move? His mind fired… get up, get to a hospital. Fired… minutes, that’s all I have to get help... minutes. Fired… I… I… and his body failed.

He stilled for a heartbeat… and then he was kicking, thrashing in the air, fighting. The more he panicked, the more flecks of blood sailed through the air around him. He tried to breathe. Something that had always come so natural evaded him. Cool air coated his throat and metal trickled down into his chest to fill his lungs. He tried to cough, but more of it came. Thick, metallic, choking. He was drowning in his own blood.

No!

Fresh blood shot into the air and then fell like grisly water fountain to coat his face. He dragged his hand along the floor, pushing it against his body to reach for his throat in one last effort to save himself.

He shouldn’t have done that.

Bone shards pierced his palm where the once-soft flesh of his neck had been. He stared up at her, understanding now why he could no longer speak. Hot spurts of blood caused his fingers slip into the jagged hole that had once been his throat, his cold hand warming while he faded away.

“See you on the flip side,” Mercy whispered, her white teeth shone bright, her full lips stretched, stretched into a cruel smile.

Chapter 5

Rashda

THE ANGEL AZRAEL has come, Rashda. It is time.

Rashda closed her eyes, exhaled and opened herself up to her gift once more. A vision of Azrael appeared before her, his presence alone demanding. Calculating, guarded eyes hid everything from her, as though he were some secret she should keep but never know. His body was made of flesh and bone. A mortal’s body. Like hers, mortal was far from the truth. His wings spanned the breadth of the cavern behind him, where she stood. The rustling of feathers sounded like whispers, enticing her closer to hear the secrets they held.

Death rode on those black wings. Death, destruction, and ultimately creation, as the prophecy foretold. A prophecy she had guarded alone for hundreds of years, but not anymore. With Azrael born into human form, Rashda knew the time of prophecy had ended. The battle for survival would now begin.

Rashda turned away from the vision, instead reaching out to touch the words of the prophecy. She ran her fingers over the words carved into the heart of the mountain Lythe while the angel waited before her. Flesh and blood against eternal life. The war for survival will be fierce and many will fall. But be warned. When the dust settles, only one will remain.

The language had been carved by hands which were no longer of this world and had not been for many lifetimes. How she wished she could have known them, those bloody, calloused hands that spent so many years gouging this unforgiving rock, desperate to convey this message. The words carved into the stone had taken form, and he stood before her now. Rashda could only hope the Family would survive.

Rashda trembled under his gaze, frightened not for her, but for humanity itself. This was the first time he had come to her. Usually she saw only the destruction he would leave behind.

“We're not ready.” Her voice trembled in the dark, although it was not the dark she was afraid of.

His tone reflected the rock around them. “You don’t have a choice.”

“Is there no other way?”

“No.”

Rashda’s heart sank. Her spirit felt weighed down by the knowledge of what would now happen. This coming war would leave no one untouched. Tears welled in her eyes while she stared at the angel. “Please, Azrael. What about the others, what about my sister?”

He ignored her, instead stretching out his wings. “Send the message, Rashda. My birth is near and you know what happens if I am taken. The future rests with my human mother and the detective. The future for everyone.”

A cry escaped her lips as a glimpse of the future came to life in her mind. A future where the human woman and the detective had failed. Where life was no more and vampires ruled this world. Where the remaining humans were hoarded like cattle and the evolution of the soul was ended by sharp fangs.

Rashda bowed her head in acknowledgment, trying to swallow back the bitter taste her vision evoked. “I understand. I will send the message.”

Azrael nodded and turned from her, his features melting into the darkness. He stopped and gazed back, piercing her with arctic blue eyes. “Remember, the humans are not to know what I am.”

Rashda nodded, unable to speak; because her throat felt like a desert. She watched Azrael disappear into the inky blackness, leaving his harrowing words behind. A sob broke through her clenched lips as she opened her eyes and collapsed to the ground. She gripped the fabric of her white dress, clenching it tight, and unleashed her anguish onto the mountain floor. Her fists made no mark on the mountain, but the icy floor permeated her dress, quelling the torrent inside. Her body shook and she reached out to touch its icy walls. The mountain was more than her home. It was her prison. The endless granite walls served as her bars, her last hold on reality.

“You care too much.”

She lifted her head to the voice. The Mistress of Shadows seemed to float from the darkness to her right to hover before her. Her black and silver hair splayed out around her body. The strands lashed her skin like a wild hurricane and at the center of this storm were obsidian eyes. Her Mistress was only one part of what was called the Balance. She was one half of right and wrong, yin and yang, mortal and immortal. This balance was what life and survival of all species depended on.

The Mistress moved to stand beside the Master of Light. Both beings created a barrier where shadows fought against radiance, one as powerful as the other. The Master towered over Rashda while she lay on the mountain floor. White pants hugged the outline of his lower body, the seductive curve of his thighs eclipsed only by his rippled stomach and strong, bared chest. His hard jaw and blazing orange eyes were outlined by a mane of blonde hair.

Rashda answered her Mistress’ question, holding her voice strong and true. “Is that not my purpose? To care and to fight for them?”

Her Mistress’s brow rose. “You care for the humans that much?”

Rashda’s answer was simple. Her reply was the same as it had always been. Her sister, Kali, had been born a warrior. Rashda had been born to see and to feel. Neither she nor Kali had been left unscathed by their ordained purposes. “I care for life.”

“You do realize vampires will win? It is inevitable, my child. Save your tears for after the battle when the immortals have won, for they will be tears of joy.”

Rashda held her stomach and rocked forward. No, this cannot happen. The vampires will not stop, not until every living thing in this world is dead. The thought alone was traumatic. But their ruthless destruction wasn’t the worst of it.

“Then why do we fight? Kali, Grimm, Harmony, Smoky, Jinx, and the star child? What of the star child, Mistress?” Rashda pushed herself up from the floor to face the luna goddess.

The Master’s eyes searched her own and then sought the darkness where Azrael had disappeared. “It is time?”

Rashda nodded, wondering how he had known and whispered, “Yes, my Master.”

He turned back to sneer at her, “Why do this? Let them fight it out and see who is left standing, as the prophecy says.”

Rashda whimpered while the blazing eyes of her Master bore into her. She withdrew, curling her body away. He had always frightened her and his indifference to the mortal world worried her. She turned to the Mistress, begging with a look to say something, to come to her defense, as she had done so many times before.

“She has to try,” said her Mistress. “It is their role to play, is it not?”

The Master huffed and turned away from her, staring at the prophecy on the wall. The words carved into the rock were beyond even Rashda’s years. It was only by the connection she shared with these primeval beings that the symbols and the words were revealed, along with their meaning. She guessed this language was as old as the Master and Mistress themselves, in the time when the Earth was no more than a glimmer in the vastness of space.

A sun was carved on the back of an image of an angel. And in the sun’s belly lay the moon. The picture was of Master and Mistress as one. A wild vine was woven around the sun creating a platform for the words of the prophecy. And although the image was breathtaking, it also filled Rashda with fear, for the ancient dialect foretold of a war. Rashda thought this time would never come—how wrong she was. In the heart of this circle was the sun, the flames etched so finely, that in flickering candle light, you would almost swear they moved.

“Fine. Let her send the messages. It will do no good in the end. It is already written that immortals shall win.”

His gaze burned her like hot coals and she couldn’t help but cry out. He lunged for her, grabbing her by the shoulders with searing hands. “This time the meek shall not inherit the earth!”

“Please, Master of Light. She is trying to uphold the Balance. Leave the child alone.”

He straightened and stepped back, never taking his eyes off her. “Remember your place here, Seer. Remember your vows.”

With that cold warning both he and the Mistress disappeared, plunging Rashda into the darkness of the mountain once again. She swallowed her fear and gathered herself. The Family had a job to do. Someone had to fight for the mortals. Someone had to fight for life against the overwhelming sea of undead.

Rashda and her sister Kali, along with the others, were named the Family. A group of immortals who were the last of their lines and for some, that line hadn’t been very long to start with. Most of them came from different species, Grimm was a lycan, Smoky a djinn, Scribe was the star child. Harmony and Jinx were two of the original vampires created.

Each was led here for a reason. Each sacrificed their freedom fighting for the Balance. They fought against the vampires, forgoing more than their lives in the process. There were many who had been killed, for immortal, by definition, only meant harder to kill.

“Rashda, it is time.”

Her head snapped up as the voice of her Mistress invaded her thoughts. How long had she been sitting here crying? She nodded, wanting to wipe away her tears, but her hands refused to move. Instead her body slumped and numbness filtered through her mind, weighed down with her sacrifice.

Rashda and her sister Kali were born from the Mother of All, Parvati herself, Rashda being the eldest. For her, the title of older sister carried with it great responsibility. It was this duty that kept her here, hidden from the outside world, hidden from Kali herself. For Kali, she allowed her spirit to be held captive. For Kali she suffocated, allowing her calling to be used for the whims of others. For Kali, she wept.

The Mistress bent toward her as Rashda’s soul shifted within the confines of her body. Her Mistress’s last instructions were the chains that bound her here. “Remember your vows, Rashda.”

Rashda’s breath was a conduit. On the sixth breath she felt herself soar and she left her flesh behind. Rashda opened her spirit to the mountain and moved through the walls. The shimmering flecks in the granite sparkled like stars upon the night sky as she passed through the mountain to where the remainder of the Family lived. She sensed their locations and pulled away, instead turning to the room occupied by the star child, Scribe.

She hovered over the tiny mound in the bed. His chosen body confined his brilliant form, a star in the form of a boy. His flashing machines… computer... blinked at her, waiting. Rashda could feel Scribe’s presence though the machine. She could feel his fingers fly across the keyboard and his words raced across her mind. Her spirit moved within the machine. Electric currents moved at her will, opening the files she needed.

The words of Azrael echoed through her spirit. The future rests with my human mother and the detective. The future for everyone. She had to find the detective. She had to find a way for him to locate the human woman. She had to find a way to make him care.

Inbox… New mail… ascott@blazemail.com.au... Subject: Guardian.

To Adley Scott,

You do not know me. My name is Rashda and I need your help. There is a young woman who is in trouble. You will find her by the side of a road. Within her body, she carries a great burden. Do not dismiss this message, guardian. Only you can help her. You must bring her to the mountain Lythe. Here, the Family will protect her. Heed these words Adley Scott, for you are the guardian and the future shall be held in your hands.

Rashda.

Chapter 6

Eve

THE PUDDLES OUTSIDE swelled until they joined one another around Quinn's Pharmacy. Closing time couldn't come fast enough. Eve watched the clock, willing it to move faster while stacking the last of the vitamins on the shelf. Fifteen minutes to go.

Rain battered the front windows and the wind howled under the door as though it were a banshee and wanted in. Eve pulled her cardigan tighter over her body, stretching the moth-eaten holes wide in the brown weave. The old threads provided not only warmth, but comfort, something to sooth her frail nerves. With some effort, she pushed herself up from the plastic footstool, closing the cardigan tight. She was tired—no, more than tired—she felt downright exhausted.

The bell over the front door announced a late customer. She dragged her swollen belly around the piled boxes toward the counter, where she could see the back of a hooded jumper move through the aisle. “Can I help you?”

Eve spoke louder than normal, compensating for her lack of enthusiasm and the thundering rain. The customer—a man, by his build—either ignored her or hadn't heard. She stepped from behind the counter, finding him in the first aid aisle. “Can I help you, sir?”

She could almost feel the faceless shadow taking in the curves of her body under her now too-thin cardigan. Her hand unconsciously went to her rounded stomach, creating another barrier for her child from his gaze. Eve stood transfixed, wanting him to move and reveal his face, not to her, but to the camera above the counter.

“We have no pseudoephedrine here. It’s kept offsite by the pharmacist, same with all the morphine and codeine, if that's what you're after.”

Her voice was strong, even though the sound died away in the howling wind. She'd had drug addicts in here, strung out and looking for the easiest fix. She'd even been held up with a syringe filled with tomato sauce while a skinny man twitched and screamed at her for drugs. She had handed them out, calmly and carefully. But there was something about this man. His controlled manner told her he was different.

His movements were slow and deliberate. He turned away from the bandages to stand directly in front of her, never once looking at the shelves behind the counter. Her stomach rolled with an awful feeling, causing her to grip her cardigan closer. Get him out of the store. Her gaze sought out the front door and the locks which would protect her. She cleared her throat, not wanting to appear weak or vulnerable. “We're closing up now, so you'll need to make your purchases.”

“We?”

“Yes, the pharmacist and I. We have the police coming to escort us to our cars. They'll be here any minute now.” She looked toward the clock.

“Police?”

“Yes, the police.” Eve watched him move toward the front door.

Every heartbeat seemed to last an hour. The shrill of the bell cut the silence, signaling her prayers were answered.

Eve moved, racing to slam the deadbolt home and peering through the metal bars. The thick darkness pushed against the light of the street lamp, causing the yellow halo to contract around the metal footing. There was no movement outside, nothing but the blur of rain pelting the glass.

Maybe I should call the police and get them to drop me home? The ticking clock reminded her she had no time to waste. The few precious hours she had until she started work again needed to be spent sleeping. She’d have to wait at least a half hour for the police to escort her. Eve glanced once more out into the night and sighed with resignation—she’d walk instead.

She opened the safe chute and dropped in the day’s takings. Alone, she switched off the lights before leaving by the back door. Mr. Quinn should’ve been here by now. If he wasn’t, his tardiness meant only one thing, his wife had relapsed. Cancer of the brain was killing his wife. She had mere weeks to live. Eve’s heart sank as the realization dawned that something bad had happened. She’d lock up without him and give him one less thing to worry about in his time of need.

Despite her comfortable runners, her feet ached. Not much longer until I’m home. Eat, sleep, and work, this was her life. But not for much longer. Soon, she’d become a mother. Eve caressed the top of her expanding stomach. Her child was all she had. He was more than her future. He was her reason for living, for being a better person, for being a stronger person. She was determined to give him all the things she never had—starting with a mother who loved him.

She’d known from the very first moment she’d have a boy. The thought of a girl never felt quite right. Every thought and every image she had was about him. The only thing evading her was his name.

It took her longer than normal to get to her building. The icy rain flogged down, soaking her to the bone. Speed was limited to a waddle, bypassing the puddles surrounding the pharmacy and navigating the slippery paths to the external stairs guarding her building. She was behind on rent again. Her pay from her second job at the cafe had been short these past few months in retaliation for her pregnancy. Eve tried to leave, but jobs were limited and no one wanted to hire someone pregnant. Until the baby was born, she was forced to put up with the way her boss deliberately shorted her pay. This meant going without luxuries and then necessities to survive. For the past three weeks she had to forgo rent as well. Eve had no real plan for after the birth, she’d apply for government assistance for a while and then look for something she could fit around being a mother.

The metal rungs of the fire escape were slippery from the rain. As much as she hated putting her and her son’s life at risk, there was no other option. The internal stairs were guarded by the building superintendent. She had managed to avoid him, but it wouldn’t be long before she would be broke and homeless. So, she held tight and climbed the ladder which led to her apartment, one careful step at a time.

Eve gripped the bottom of the window and lifted until the balky frame squealed and ground to a halt halfway. The wood had swelled from the winter rain. The muscles in her arms bulged and her back ached, but she kept trying. She rattled the window in the frame, trying desperately to get the swollen casement open those last few inches. But her efforts were useless.

Eve crawled in through the window, dragging her swollen body over the bottom of the frame. At the last moment she lifted herself too early, catching the back of her head on the frame. “Oww, shit, shit!”

Tears welled in her eyes. Pain tore through her scalp. She stepped back, making sure she was well clear of the window this time before she straightened and shoved the stubborn frame down. Her chest tightened and sobs fought their way free. Depression waved a white flag inside her mind, enticing her with little yellow pills and a trip to oblivion.

She hadn’t touched Valium since that night in the alley. The night her life changed in more ways than one. Only fragments of her memories remained. Most were too hazy to recollect.

The bar and the attack were clear in her mind. The humiliation accompanying those memories made shame heat her cheeks. The memories of her rescue blurred. Sky blue eyes and thick black hair were the things she remembered. The kiss stayed with her—the kiss that stole her breath and resolve.

She’d been a virgin the night of the attack, barely kissed and never touched. When she awoke with an ache between her thighs the next day, she knew she’d lost two things, her virginity and the memories that went with something so special.

Eve navigated through the lounge room to the other end of her apartment. She veered off course, knocking her shoulder against the protruding kitchen wall and moved to the left, reaching the front door. She reached out in the dark until she found the light switch. She flicked it on, but nothing happened. She tried again, and again, and again. Dropping her head against the wall, her tears fell. No power meant no hot food and no hot water. The reminder notice from the power company was stuck to her fridge, beside all the other bills. She had no way to pay them.

Crying isn’t going to help. Get it together. She inhaled deeply. She couldn’t allow herself to be weak again. Eve headed to the kitchen and squinted in the dark, trying to help her eyes adjust, needing to see the cot. She’d sold what was left of her jewelry and belongings to buy the painted timber crib. The second-hand bassinet was all she had to offer her son. It sat in the middle of the apartment, the light from the moon illuminating the small bed like a white beacon in the dim room.

Tears stung her eyes. She brushed them away and turned to the bedroom. The light from the moon didn’t shine into the room, like it did in the lounge and kitchen. In this room, the lack of light left her to fumble in the dark until she found the torch beside the bed. Her stomach ached with an endless hunger she could no longer ignore.

Her body was feeling the extra weight she now carried. It didn’t matter how much food she bought and ate, she was always hungry. Her legs were thin, her arms hard and bony. Even her face had changed, no longer round and healthy, now drawn and sickly. She forced herself to go into the kitchen, instead of the bed she craved. The tins of thick soup sat on an otherwise bare shelf. She’d have to make do for tonight. Tomorrow morning she was scheduled to work at the café. She could steal food then. Day-old food no one would miss, then she’d buy food when she got paid and be okay. Eve grabbed the tin of chicken soup and searched the drawer for the opener as the gnawing hunger turned savage. The beam from the torch shone on every utensil she owned, every one she didn’t need and not the one she did. Eve blinked back the tears, refusing to be undone by a damn opener, but it was useless, the tool was nowhere to be found.

The torch light glinted off the edge of a knife. In desperation, she grabbed handle and punctured the top of the can with the blade. Tiny white chunks of potato hovered underneath opaque liquid. She didn’t think, just lifted the can to her lips and swallowed. Food. In that moment there was nothing she wouldn’t do for food, for shelter, and for safety. The basic survival needs put everything else in perspective.

She gulped down the contents, wiped her mouth, and stared at the crib. Despite the fact she sat in the dark, it was as though the light burned bright. She could still see every painted knot in the timber and smell the sunshine on the sheets. This was her time, these few seconds where she dreamed about what it was going to be like to be a mother. She didn’t have a whole lot to go on, more the how-not-to-be, instead of the other way around. Unlike her own mother, she’d be kind and loving, and she wouldn’t hold herself back. She’d give her child everything she never had. Someone who loved him would be a start. Eve washed her hands before walking into the lounge. She touched the crib, running her hands over the smooth frame and the soft, thick quilt. The wall of her stomach bowed outwards. She covered the bulge with her hand, feeling the life-kick inside her, knowing that soon she wouldn’t be all alone. “Please hold on honey, just a little while longer.”

Sleep called to her, but she knew there was no way she’d settle, not without a wash at least. She headed for the bathroom. It was freezing in her apartment, so cold her teeth rattled. She longed for summer, for relief from the endless cold of July and for the baby she would hold in her arms.

The water was still warm when she filled the hand basin, but it soon cooled against her skin. She washed and dressed, piling on her track pants, T-shirt, and a thick jumper in an effort to get warm. She slipped into the bed. The cold sheets took her breath away, but she warmed slowly under the covers. I need to sleep. So tired. I’ll feel better in the morning. She sighed and her eyes closed. It will be all better in the morning.

An icy sensation traveled down Eve’s body, dragging her from her dream-filled state. She shifted in the bed. “Go away. Too tired.” The frigid feeling continued, trailing between her breasts, reaching for her neck. Eve groaned and lashed out. Her hand connected with flesh.

She screamed. Opening her eyes, she kicked the sheets, pushing against the headboard. The sound of her heart thrashed in her ears. The darkness left her blind. She leaned to the side and searched beside her bed for her torch, finding only the hard wooden floor.

The heavy thump drowned out everything else. Eve breathed deep, trying to calm her heart while she listened. She drew her knees up to protect her stomach while her hand skirted over everything but the hard metal torch. It’s just a dream, a stupid dream. If she told herself enough times, she'd believe it. It's just a dream and there's nothing here. Adrenaline left her slowly, giving way to exhaustion. Eve tried to relax and slipped down into the bed—until the darkness moved.

She scrambled up in the bed to cringe against the headboard, her voice a screech. “Who's there?”

The dark didn’t answer.

Resuming her frantic search, her fingers skimmed cold metal and she snatched up the flashlight. Finding the button with her thumb, she flicked it on and waved the beam across the foot of her bed.

A man stood at the end of her mattress. His arms hung by his side, his head tilted toward her, partially hidden under the dark blue, hooded jumper. It was the same man from the pharmacy. Here in her home, in the dead of the night.

Eve’s mind froze and then kicked into gear. Her breaths came out sharp and painful. The choking groan burned and caught in her throat. She clutched her stomach with one hand while she bounced the torch beam around the room with the other.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

The narrow beam illuminated his chest and left his eyes sunken black hollows. He didn’t answer. He stood there, staring. Every sound made Eve jump. She could hear water drip. The slow trickle jacked her heart rate and her trembling increased. It’s not real, it’s not real. Please God, let this be a dream. She closed her eyes, squeezing them until the muscles on her face ached. When she opened them, he was gone.

Eve shone the torch around the room, finding each corner with the wavering beam. Her hand trembled. She found nothing. There was no man standing at the end of her bed, no dripping water to drive her crazy with fear. She listened and searched with her wavering light for what seemed like hours. There’s no one here. Eve felt foolish. Only a pregnant woman with an over-tired imagination who needs more sleep…. But first, I need to pee.

Her heart slowed to normal and stillness replaced the speeding of adrenaline in her veins. Eve straightened her socks, pulled back the covers, and swung her feet to the floor.

She left the torch, knowing the way by feel alone, and made her way around the bed. For this feat she’d need two hands. She gripped the door frame and worked her way toward the toilet. Cold from the bathroom seeped through her thick socks. She jerked down her pants and groaned as her warm body met the icy seat. Eve closed her eyes and let her body relax, trying her best to shake off the nightmare. A creak echoed through the apartment, the sound of footsteps on a worn wooden floor.

Her wooden floor.

She yanked the paper and wiped, pulling up her tracksuit. Her senses were wired, listening for every sound. A low groan shattered the silence. The sound started, stopped, and then started again in a constant drone. She reached for the wall, sliding her hands along the cold tiles. She was caught in no-man’s land between the bathroom and the bed. Her foot slipped and she caught herself before she went down. Her heart throbbed and sped. She focused on the sound, forcing her feet to move, and made her way into the lounge room. The glow of the moon cast a soft beam through the front room, illuminating the source of the sound. The cradle rocked side-to-side. The movement caught her gaze. She searched the darkened room.

“Is anyone there?”

Eve closed the distance and placed her hand on the cradle, stopping the motion, cursing herself for leaving the torch behind. Surely I didn’t leave the window open?

She couldn't feel a breeze. Her mouth felt dry and she swallowed. Just check the damn door, stop being a wimp. The shadows stayed silent as Eve walked over and checked each window. They were still closed. “Please tell me. Is anyone there?”

The cradle moved, sounding like a scream. Eve jumped, covered her mouth and she shuffled toward it. Just stop it, please just stop it. She grabbed the smooth rail, stilling its motion once more. Cold fingers trailed along her hand, grinding her fingers onto the timber.

“Remember me?”

Eve drew breath to scream. The sound was ended before it began. A hand gripped her throat. She lashed out with her fist and her feet, her blows slapping wet clothes and a hard body. She scratched and kicked, fighting with everything she had, until pin-pricks of light burst in her eyes. Her body grew heavy.

“Shut the fuck up! We’re not here to hurt you.”

He relaxed his grip. Eve choked and wheezed. Sweet cold air filled her lungs. Someone behind her laughed. It was a soft, woman's laugh. Eve grabbed her throat as she sucked in the air. This can’t be happening again. “I have no money, or drugs, if that’s what you want.”

“Drugs. You think this is about drugs? What is your name... what is your fucking name bitch?”

“My name…is Eve and I... don't have anything.”

She could feel his breath. It was cold, so cold. It reeked of old tin. The edges of his hood skirted her cheek. The fabric dripped and water ran like a tear down her cheek as he leaned in. “You have nothing? In that case, my mistake. I'm sorry for disturbing you.”

Before Eve had a chance to speak again, he was gone. She searched the darkness for movement or sound—there was nothing. Her lower lip trembled and her eyes darted to the door. Don’t do it, she pleaded with herself. Don’t… run.

The need to survive overrode everything else, including her common sense. Eve pushed off, her socks sliding on the floor. She held onto her stomach, her gaze locked on the front door. She took the corner into the kitchen too close and her shoulder slammed into the wall. Eve rebounded and kept moving. Nothing else mattered, not money, food, or pain. All she cared about was her son.

Laugher sounded in front of her. Eve stopped and turned, searching for a way out. A soft sigh to her left made her spin in the direction of the front door and her only hope of escaping. A scrape, a step sounded all around her now. She pushed forwards, her outstretched hands hitting the front door.

The sound of his voice made her feel like the walls were closing in. “Where do you think you’re going?”

She clawed at the lock, her hand shaking so hard her fingers kept sliding off the metal.

“You’ve hurt my feelings, you know? I mean, I thought we were getting along. I thought we were fucking connecting!”

Something punched her. She felt the crunch in her shoulder and she slumped to the floor. He gripped under her arms and pulled her body against his. His groin pressed so hard against hers, his erection dug into her thigh. He was… excited, underneath his clothes. Revulsion rode the bile in her belly all the way into her mouth. Images of her future invaded Eve’s mind. He’s not going away. He’s not going to leave until I’m raped, dead, or both….

Her voice trembled. “Just tell me what you want and I can get it for you. Money, drugs, all you have to do is just say the words.”

He lifted her, pressing harder against her. She closed her eyes, shutting out the feel of his body on hers.

“I want you. That's what I want. I'm gonna cut up this pretty little body of yours and rip that child from your stomach. And when you're lying there, bleeding out on the floor, I'm gonna snap its tiny little neck.”

Her son kicked, as though he fought not for himself, but for her, too. She swallowed the sobs burning inside her chest. Eve wanted to cry, she wanted to give up, but that was the old Eve, when she was weak. She wasn’t weak anymore. She knew she couldn't fight him. Outsmart him? Maybe. She buried her revulsion. “Do whatever you want, but please don’t kill me and don't hurt my baby.”

“Shut the fuck up, or I'll slit you open right now.”

He pushed back the hood with one hand before his palm grazed her body. He dug his fingers into her breasts. She cried out and he dug harder.

Eve stayed on her feet only because his grip on her throat and her fear kept her awake, kept her fighting. My baby... I won’t let you down. She struggled against her attacker, but his crushing grip pulled her closer. His lips were dangerously close to hers. Please God, no. His hand skimmed her stomach and thrust between her thighs, pulling at them until they parted, even though she clamped her legs tightly together.

She cried out and he crushed his lips down on her mouth, swallowing the sound. He moaned as though enjoying her cries of terror. And then he squeezed harder. She fought for her son. Every blow, every scream was for him. Get away… get… away… Eve kicked, aiming for his balls. She hit soft flesh. He jerked back and hissed. Eve kept on kicking. There was nothing she could do, but fight. She clawed his face and neck until her fingers burned, twisted her body until it could go no further. Fight. Fight. Fight.

Fists banged against the door. Each strike to the wood caused her to jolt. The thunderous sound rebounded in the room. Her attacker's hand dug deep between her legs and gripped her sex before thrusting her aside.

“Hey in there! Is everything alright?” Her super’s voice penetrated the wooden door. Eve felt a surge of hope in response to his rough bark. “I’ve called the police. They’re on the way!”

“Shit. Kill her, Edric, and let's get out of here.”

The woman's voice came from behind her attacker. She sounded emotionless and cruel. Eve wanted to call out to the super. She wanted to keep screaming. But she stopped, trying her best to be quiet, while inside she begged for the police. Please hurry.

“You said I could have time with this one!”

Eve slid further away and prayed she would go unnoticed. Did she know Edric? Was he somehow connected with the night she became pregnant? Eve held her hand over her stomach. Is he connected to the father of my baby?

“The next one, okay?” The woman's voice sounded closer. Eve slowed her breaths and tried to ease her racing heart. “Rip out her throat. Kill the baby and let's be done with it.”

No! Eve felt her feet leave the floor. She choked, gasped, fighting for her chest to move and inhale the cold air. It felt like her spine was stretching, almost breaking in two. Her child kicked and rolled inside her. “Please… my baby.”

The woman’s cold voice mimicked her cries. “My baby. She's just like all the others. Do her and let's get out of this dump.”

Eve was jerked against her attacker’s chest. She kicked, but her blows hit only air. He bowed her body backwards, his grip entwined in her hair. The bones in her neck crunched. Cold fire cleaved through her head as he dragged her into the lounge room.

She could feel his cold breath along her neck. It was like ice, like his touch. Shouldn’t he feel warm? Panic filled her as he lowered his head. Needles gouged into the hollow of her neck, followed by the wetness of his tongue. Eve froze. My baby’s going to die and it’s my fault. My son is going to die.

Eve’s world flooded back. Not the world in which she lived, but her future—her son. She let her body sag against his, breathing through the fear threatening to overwhelm her. She dropped her body low, molding it around his, before she pushed upwards, ramming her head under his chin.

The grip on her hair loosened. She hit the ground with a thud as the sound of fists pounded the door.

His screams felt sonic. The sound vibrated through her as she moved, trying to get away. “Fucking bitch!”

Eve was too slow. It felt as though a freighter smashed into her face. She flew backwards and smashed against the wall and then the floor.... Breaths. That was all she had for a while, breaths and a heartbeat. She couldn’t move. Not open her mouth to scream, nor move her legs to run. Her thoughts were filled with nausea and pain, retching and gnawing. Slowly she wrapped her arms around her stomach, covering her child as much as she could.

A splintering sound ripped through her apartment from the front door. The green energy efficient hall lights seemed to cover the floor like an eerie fog. Eve watched the light flicker and listened to the erratic beat of boots on her floor as they headed toward her. Lights blinded her and then moved away, dazing her. Bombs seemed to detonate inside the room. White flashes, like fireworks, sparked all around her. The room came alive with the sounds of lightning and thunder. Screams followed. Gut-wrenching screams. It sounded like hell was unleashed inside her apartment.

If she had any strength left, she might have prayed. Instead, she focused on one thing. Her stomach was as still as a grave. Eve ran her hands over her belly. Please… please, move. There was no movement. No turning inside her or pressure from his feet or his hands, fighting for a way free. Nothing. Eve sobbed. It felt like something ruptured inside her chest—like her heart.

No, no, no, this isn’t happening. Please be alive. My baby… Eve rocked back and forth. Her tears blurred the dim while she strained every sense, trying to feel some sign of life inside her womb. In her darkest fears, she could see her baby. He floated inside her, lifeless.

There was nothing else to live for. She stared at the darkened shapes of the officers as they moved through her apartment. Her hope of surviving this slaughter left her. She may as well be dead, too.

Her hand was pushed from below.

Her breath stopped.

Her baby kicked.

She followed the movements with her fingers. Please, please be alright. As though he heard her plea, he lashed out, kicking hard, like her ribs were a field goal. Even though she fought against the discomfort, she laughed. My baby’s alive.

Something big slammed into the wall. Something warm and wet splashed her face. Eve reached out. She then jerked her hand back and froze. Flashlights danced around the room. They swept from the ceiling to the floor, highlighting the form in front of her, before moving off. Torn black clothes, covered in blood, were all she could make out in the gloom. Something glinted. A shield… a police officer’s shield.

“Move… get… out.”

His words were garbled. He reached out, touching her thigh before his hand slipped, striking the floor. Eve pulled back before she realized he was talking to her. He was trying to save her. She scooted forwards, reaching out to him in the dark. Her fingers touched something wet and sticky. She pulled back.

“Please,” he whispered. The words were faint. She leaned so close their bodies touched. “Tell my family I love them.”

He wheezed. The choking noise was harsh, as though his breath was taking rather than giving him life. Then the harsh breaths were no more.

He tried to save her even as he lay dying. She had to do something. Eve reached for his gun, jerking it from his holster. She didn’t know the first thing about using a gun, but she didn’t care. She gripped it hard in one hand, her finger slipping to rest on the trigger while she used her other hand to wriggle backwards. Gun fire echoed in front of her. Grit sprayed her face. She searched the room, trying to get her bearings.

That wasn’t me… that wasn’t me….

Eve could just make out the white rectangle of her refrigerator, so the kitchen must be in front of her. She scanned the scene to the left. The green lights from the hallway caught her attention. Her front door lay in shards, pieces dangling from the hinges. Somewhere in the room a man screamed. She steadied the gun and took her finger off the trigger. Keeping it in front of her, she moved. Eve kept low and crawled over the dead officer in front of her. Her belly slid easily across his, helped by the slickness of his blood. The sticky moisture left her cold and wet.

A thump sounded beside her. A heartbeat later, a face came at her in the dark. Eve cowered against the wall to get away. It was the face of a woman. Her white skin and dark hair made her look like an angel, an angel of death.

A man lay underneath the woman. He kicked and screamed, fighting for his life. His struggles were useless. She pulled away from Eve, her features blurring in the dark, but still recognizable, and turned her attention back to the man underneath her.

Eve made out the sheen on her long white teeth, teeth which disappeared into his flesh. The sound of ripping, tearing, filled her ears. Eve let out a whimper. She moved faster, scuttling like the cockroaches she despised. She surged forward, heading to the kitchen and the front door next to it. If she could get there, she’d be able to run. She’d be able to hide.

A hand gripped her foot and dragged her backwards. Fighting the cold grasp on her ankle, she twisted her body so she slid on her side instead of her stomach.

“There you are,” the woman growled at Eve.

She whimpered and lifted the gun. The muscles in her arms quivered from the strain and she held her breath. The muzzle bounced around in the air in front of her, moving off the woman’s face and back on again. Please. She prayed the bullet would find its mark. “Don’t come near me. I’ll shoot… I’ll shoot you.”

The woman snarled and moved toward her. “I’m going to tear your fucking heart out, you little bitch.”

Eve slipped her finger back onto the trigger and jerked back. The sound of the click was unexpected. Eve expected a boom. She expected the screams of her attacker. She expected death. Instead, she received laughter and a wave of nausea.

Eve kicked, catching her attacker in the head. The woman’s grip tightened, pulling Eve down on top of her. The woman’s hands dug into her calf, her thigh, and then her stomach. She dragged Eve underneath her.

“Hey!”

The woman turned and hissed at the intrusion. Footsteps thundered toward Eve. One minute the woman was on top of her, snarling and laughing, and the next she smashed into the wall. Eve pulled her legs in tighter, covering her body. The splintering sound filled the air. Eve was pierced with long shards and she raised her hand to protect her face and felt… wood. Her heart sank as she lifted the spike up to her face. Even in the dim she could see the white painted edge of what had been her white timber cradle.

The cradle was all she had for her son. It was all she could ever afford. She gripped the largest fragment of the white timber and pushed herself up. This was her cradle, her son, her fucking life! She could feel the wood digging into her palms as she gripped the shard. She no longer cared. She could already see in her mind what she needed to do. The piece of wood was thin and long, but sharp enough to hurt, sharp enough to kill.

“You fucking bitch!” Eve shoved the point into the woman with every ounce of strength she had left. The splintered wood pierced the woman’s body.  Eve drove the makeshift dagger home, pushing the jagged point all the way through. The sickening squelch made her turn away. A howl tore through the darkness.

“Mercy! Mercy! No, no. No!”

Anger left Eve quicker than it came, taking with it every ounce of energy. There is no mercy here, not in this apartment, not in this life…. Something hard and heavy hit her, knocking her to the ground. Her new attacker stood over her, the glow from the moon illuminating his face. His hood was gone.

He picked the woman up and held her arms. Eve could see the broken, white sliver jutting out below her body. She couldn’t look away.

“What have you done?” Edric screamed, moving in on her. His face came into view, full of anger and rage.

Eve was done, she had nothing left. No more fear, no more anger… there was nothing but exhaustion. The sound of footsteps pounded along the hall. She couldn’t yet relax. “I killed her to protect my son. That’s what a mother does. And I’ll kill you, if I have to.”

Edric looked down at the woman in his arms and jerked her against his body. “Mercy, please wake up!”

Eve couldn’t look away. She was transfixed by the grief in his voice. Mercy crumpled like paper. One minute, he held her. The next, she dissolved, falling through his outstretched hands like rain.

“Police. Don’t move!”

Edric dropped his arms. The roaring sound of officers filled the room. They barked their orders. Their combined shouts were deafening. “Police. Don’t move!”

Edric stared down at her. “I’m coming back for you. And when I do, you’ll fucking beg me to kill you.”

In an instant, he was gone.

Chapter 7

Grimm

GRIMM WATCHED HARMONY drive her glove into the punching bag. Her bones were too delicate to be a warrior, but she was showing some damn potential.

“Hit. It. Harder!” His tone might’ve been harsher than necessary, but he didn't need to hold back. After all, she was used to him pushing her.

Harmony swung, throwing her whole body into the punch. She overbalanced, slamming into the bag.

Grimm groaned. “You're not making love to the fucking thing, Harmony. It's not asking for a damn body slide. Just fucking punch it!”

He could see her eyes water. But she held her shit together, straightened her spine and tried again, this time making the one hundred and fifty kilo bag jump in the air. Better—but kept his praise to himself and barked, “Again!”

They’d been at it for over an hour. Her shirt was drenched with her sweat. It hugged her body, emphasizing her curves under the long sleeves. Why does she always wear long fucking sleeves? He shoved his pale hair from his eyes. This woman triggered something inside of him he didn’t like. So prim and proper. He wanted to break down those walls. He wanted to—

“Please stop staring at me.”

He jerked back to reality and realized she was watching him watch her. Harmony folded her arms across her chest, defensively. He looked down at the floor while his wolf growled and paced inside him. Her long brown hair and frantic eyes reminded him of a frightened little rabbit. Prey, whispered his wolf inside his mind. He shut his animal off and turned away, feeling the twinges of disgust. Grimm was angry, angry at everyone and everything. He was not only the last of his line; he was the last of his species, the last lycan on this godforsaken planet. His reality weighed heavily.

He found himself in good company, however. The mountain Lythe was where the rejects of the immortal world gathered, ready to throw themselves into the next suicide mission, for the greater good of the Balance. They were known as the Family. He was sure it’d been a joke at one time. A joke which seemed to have stuck.

His nostrils flared and he drew in Harmony’s panicked scent. He didn’t mean to frighten her. But somehow the vampire triggered his wolf, and it was his nature to attack and consume the weak. He hated to think about her like this. Why couldn’t she be more like… Kali? He closed his eyes and inhaled, calming the beast within.

Harmony was a vampire princess of some kind, although she refused to speak of her life. He’d overheard Jinx talk about her once, the ancient male vamp’s cold disdain indicating not someone of royalty, but a leper. Jinx wouldn’t answer Grimm’s questions, only muttered he wasn’t getting involved in Harmony’s mess. Grimm guessed they all had something in their past they would rather forget. For all the vampires both Harmony and Jinx had killed, or helped kill, over the years, they still showed little or no remorse. So in his book, they were the good guys.

The door opened and the star child, Scribe, entered. Scribe’s movements reminded Grimm of a goddamn dandelion. His smile was full and radiant, lighting up the room when he entered. Everything about this kid was fucking light. Grimm sighed; must be his time of the month. He sucked in a deep breath, attempting to control himself, and heard his shirt tear. Shit, he needed to lay off the weights.

Grimm glanced at the star child. “What do you want?”

Scribe winced and spoke in a soft, hurried tone. “Sorry to interrupt your training, Harmony, Grimm. But there was another message.”

Grimm sensed Harmony move and he followed her with his gaze. She smiled at Scribe. “It's okay, honey. You don't need to apologize.”

“Just let the kid say what he came here to say, woman. Jesus....” Grimm turned to the boy and stared into lapis-colored eyes. “What message?”

“Rashda emailed the detective again.”

“Shit. Are you serious? Shit! How does she not understand that she puts us all in danger when she contacts the fucking human? What if he traces the email back to us?” Grimm threw his head back to growl at the ceiling. He wanted to howl, needed to do it because his skin was on fire. But hearing an animal’s howl freaked everyone out. This damn mountain echoed like you wouldn't believe. He jerked his gaze to the tiny figure. “I thought you told me the password couldn't be cracked. Unbreakable was the exact fucking word, correct me if I'm wrong.”

“Leave him alone, Grimm. Can't you see the poor child is trembling?”

Scribe shuffled backwards and dropped his gaze. “I'm sorry. But the password should’ve been unbreakable. I designed it myself.”

Harmony voiced what Grimm was already thinking. “Have you told the others yet, honey?”

Honey? Christ on a fucking stick, this woman is driving me nuts!

“No, I came straight here when I found out.”

“Okay, well, the others will have to be told.” Harmony leaned down and grabbed her towel. Grimm could see her hand shake when she reached for her water. He reacted, seizing her wrist. “When was the last time you fed?”

Harmony cried out and snatched her hand away. His wolf snarled. “Jesus, I'm not going to hurt you!”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean....” Her gaze widened. She clutched the towel tightly to her chest.

“Don't worry about it,” he growled and strode from the gym. He should’ve known better than to get in her face. He should’ve known better than to care.

He marched down the hall, making short work of the corridor. At almost six-five, he was the tallest in the Family. But was he the most deadly? Hell no.

He stepped into one of the cavern rooms. The most deadly of them all sat on the ground with her legs crossed. The white cord of her headphones lay over glossy midnight hair, and the sound of her meditation hummed through pursed lips.

Kali was the scariest woman he’d ever met in his entire four hundred years, all in a five-foot-four package… go figure. He wasn't quite sure how old she was, and he sure as hell wasn't game to ask. But he’d guess the moon had looked a hell of a lot younger back when she was born. He was glad she fought beside him. As dangerous as she was, he knew she’d never hurt him. Right?

As though Kali knew what he was thinking, she turned her head, meeting his gaze. She never broke her chant and turned back to her meditation, her priorities seemingly in stone. He waited for her to finish, shifting from one foot to the other like a nervous fucking prom date. Then the humming stopped and she rose. Her movements were fluid, like a rushing tide.

“Rashda's sent another email.” He listened to the others gather into the room behind him. No one said a word.

He stared around the room and waited for them to say something, anything. Why was he the only one pissed by this? The white overhead light beamed straight down, leaving the black granite walls in inky blackness. Over the years, they’d made this home, creating a kitchen, medical rooms, a gym and their own bedrooms—he eyed Kali—for those of them who slept, anyway. The rest of the great mountain was used as garages, storage, and meeting rooms such as this. The mountain was sacred, in a way. It had always existed, while the Earth changed around it. Immortal in its own right, the mountain remained for them.

Harmony and Scribe watched him from one side of the room, their eyes aglow with either fear, or nerves, he wasn’t sure. Why were they so fucking nervous? It wasn’t as though he was about to shift in front of them, was it?

Jinx stood to his left. The vamp's kohl-lined eyes watched him intently. Jinx wasn’t like the half-bred shit that walked the Earth today. He was primitive, but deadly nevertheless. The overhead light bounced off the metal on his face. Piercings, a black Mohawk, and a lanky body covered in leather, completed the New Age look. Punk-rocker, or whatever it was nowadays—Grimm could never keep up, and he didn’t want to.

Smoky, the old djinn, stood next to Jinx. His curly black hair, blue eyes and Middle Eastern looks belied his true age. He didn’t belong here with them. He belonged amongst the rich and beautiful. His piercing eyes flickered red with the flame of his immortal soul. Grimm had always felt uncomfortable in his gaze. Maybe it was because they were more alike than either wanted to admit. Smoky’s looks may have remained youthful, but his stature showed his age, bowed down by the passing world around him. Like Grimm, all he wanted was to be with his family once again.

He turned away from the djinn and faced Kali, now feeling like a dead man walking as he stared at the piece of paper and read the email. She ignored him and pulled at her black mp3 player and headphones instead. “Well? Did you hear me?”

Her voice was quiet and controlled. “Yes, I hear perfectly.”

“And….”

“And what? You made a statement about my sister. Had I known you required a reply I would have answered immediately.”

And that was the problem with this woman. All soft and complying, like she had all the time in the world to do whatever he asked. It fucking unnerved him. He rephrased the question. Grimm couldn’t help the fact his tone was still biting, being his time of the month and all... God, he even felt bloated. “Have you spoken to her?”

“You know I haven't.”

Easy now, Grimm. “Well, she seems to be doing the email dating thing with the detective again, and this time she gave him our fucking number.”

Chapter 8

Eve

EVE HUDDLED AGAINST the wall of her apartment, her body shaking uncontrollably while she tried to piece together what had actually happened. Police surrounded her in the dark, their white beams burning her eyes as the light from their torches swept over her and then around the room.

“Are you okay, Miss?”

She was frozen, unable to speak. What would she tell them? No, I’m not okay, not at all. Instead, she nodded and lowered her head on her knees, wondering if she could even find the words without sounding delusional? Kill her and let's get out of here, the woman, Mercy, had said. Kill her, kill her, kill her…. Those words were all she thought about. That and the way Mercy had disappeared right in front of her eyes.

“Miss... are you hurt?” An officer knelt in front of her. “Can you hear me, Miss... Miss?”

Eve cried out and lifted her hands to ward off blows that never came. In her mind, she was still fighting, still battling to survive.

“It’s all right now. You’re safe.”

Sirens sounded in the distance, the wail increasing until the noise fell silent outside the building. Eve lifted her head and stared at the officer while he spoke to her. He sounded distorted and distant. “I’m going to touch you, okay? We’re going to get you checked out at the hospital.” He gripped her by the arm. His comforting smile grew wide as she stood and then froze. “Jesus, you’re pregnant.”

The activity around her and went into overdrive. People were everywhere. Torches, voices filled the air. She was carried more than she walked past the other officers. They stared at her. Their whispers reached her. “So bloody lucky. She's the only one who's survived. It’s got to be the Abortionist.”

Their words meant nothing to her. Not much did in that moment. Her fight might have been over, but now she was left to pick up the pieces of her fragile mind. Easier said than done.

The hall lights illuminated the haunted stares of the officers as they ushered her down the stairs and onto the street. It should be she who comforted them. They’d risked their life to protect her. It was their friends who lay dead in her apartment. As hard as she tried to stop them, the visions still lived. Torn and bloody, those brave men littered her floor and her mind. Eve feared they would for a very long time.

An officer helped her to the back of an ambulance, where a paramedic stuffed packets of gauze and vials into a bag. He glanced up at her, and then packed faster. His frantic voice matched his speed. “I’m on my way.”

“Don’t bother. This is the only survivor.”

The paramedic’s eyes widened. His hands stilled on the straps of the backpack. Eve could almost see the question by the expression on his face. How on earth did she survive? She had no answer to give. “Are you sure?”

Eve turned at the sound of footsteps heading toward them. Another paramedic appeared from the door of her building. His gaze swept across her body and ended meeting her gaze as he stripped off bloody surgical gloves. “Eve?”

She nodded and moved out of the way as he stopped before her. “I know you’ve had a really bad night and you’re probably in shock right now. But we need to get you over to the hospital so the doctors can check you and your baby, okay?”

He had kind eyes and his voice was gentle. Eve found herself nodding. The officer let her arm go. “I’ll have an officer meet you at the hospital when you’re finished. I know it will be hard, but we need to get as much information as possible. We need to find this killer before he attacks again.”

I’m coming back for you. Her attacker’s words echoed. Eve shivered.

“Okay, that’s enough for now.” The paramedic pushed the officer out of the way and took her by the arm. “Let’s get you up on the bed and over to the hospital, eh?”

Eve stared at the nametag on his green uniform: Chris. He wrapped a white blanket around her shoulders and helped her into the ambulance. He climbed in and pulled the doors shut, locking them in place. The ambulance lurched forward, the white fluorescent lights above brought back the image of the haunting white dress of her attacker. Eve shivered, knowing she’d never look at the color the same again. He unhooked a blood pressure cuff and wound it around her arm. The machine whirred and pressure built. Eve checked her blood pressure once a week at the pharmacy. It was always well in the healthy range, but maybe not today. “You're not back there anymore, you know. You survived and you're going to be okay.”

The ambulance braked and Eve rolled sideways. Chris caught her, stopping her stomach from hitting the side of the stretcher. When the ride smoothed out he grabbed a folder and pulled a pen from his top pocket. “I’ll need to get some details from you. Can you tell me your name?”

Eve gave him what few answers she could, until she couldn't force herself to speak anymore. She just wanted to be left alone, but her thoughts were just as cruel. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the life within her. After a while, he stopped asking questions and pulled the cuff from her arm. The ambulance came to a stop.

She was lost in a lounge room full of blood and horror until the back door was yanked open and her stretcher was pulled forward. She opened her eyes with a start, gripping the bed frame tighter.

“Easy, eh? Can't you see the poor girl's in shock?”

“Sorry,” his partner muttered. The bed slid out, slower this time, and Eve was wheeled into the hospital through thick plastic doors. A doctor and a group of nurses waited. She tried to turn away from them. Their horrified gazes only increased her unease.

“Jesus.” The doctor muttered, “What are we looking at here?”

“She isn’t. The blood’s not hers.” The paramedic confirmed what she already knew, that she was covered in someone else’s blood.

The doctor glanced up at the paramedics. “Anyone else alive?” The silence which followed shattered her already-broken heart. “Jesus….”

“Let's get you hooked up. Okay, Eve? We want to check the baby's all right,” said a nurse, smiling at her. Eve blinked and followed the bloody white blanket they pulled off her and disappeared in a hurry. Doctors and nurses rushed through the ward in what felt like a frenzy. Eve couldn’t keep up with the movements. The nurse fussed over her. “How far along are you, hon?”

“Thirty-three weeks.” Her own voice sounded hollow and detached. “I think… I think I want to go home now.”

“Well, we can't let you go until we've made sure you and your baby are okay, can we? I’m going to hook you up to the sonogram.”

Eve fought the overwhelming urge to get up and walk out. If this had been just about her health, she would have. But her child deserved more of her; more strength, more determination. The monitor buzzed. The nurse lifted her shirt, carefully slipping a wide belt under her back and around her stomach. Eve broke out in goose bumps, shivering. The sharp, astringent stench coupled with the glaring lights only made her want to run and hide.

She needed normal, she needed safe. A sound caught her attention, soft at first, a faint flutter that grew louder when the nurse dug the scanner into her stomach. Eve stopped breathing. Her baby’s heartbeat absorbed all of her attention. The beat galloped through the speakers.

“Who’s your doctor, Eve?” The nurse pulled her attention away. She reached for her hand, scraping under her nails. The bloody scrapings fell onto a piece of white paper which the nurse folded and placed into a bag. Eve didn't answer. She held on to that sound with everything she had. “Eve, honey, I need to know who your doctor is so I can access your records.”

“I don't have one.”

The nurse’s silence drew out before she spoke again. “Do you mean you don't have a doctor now? Who was your doctor, honey?”

“I haven't been to a doctor.”

“Eve.” The nurse’s chastising tone sounded like Eve’s mother. She stepped into her line of sight. “You mean, never?”

Eve’s neglect wasn't born out of total disregard or ignorance. She made sure to check her blood pressure every week and used the scales to track her weight. She could barely afford to survive, let alone handle the medical bills which were sure to overwhelm her. Food, clothes, and the few utility bills; those she could juggle because had been essential. She wasn’t going to let some nurse make her feel bad for being poor. Eve turned away and stared at the speakers, holding onto those precious, warped sounds while anger was replaced by guilt. “Well, let's get a good look at your baby then, shall we?”

The nurse disappeared and returned with a trolley, complete with a monitor and a device like a barcode scanner from the pharmacy.

“What's that for?”

“I'm going to press this onto your stomach and we’re going to get a picture of your baby on the screen. I'm sure you'd love to see him—or her—wouldn't you, honey?”

Him, it’s a him. Eve didn’t need any scan to tell her that, she’d always known. The thought of seeing her son silenced her, while her heart pounded inside her chest. The nurse pulled at her shirt. The blood-soaked fabric clung to the mound of her stomach. The nurse pushed the stiff fabric out of the way and turned back to the machine. Eve stared at the blood on her stomach. Blood everywhere. She whimpered and wiped at her belly. Some of the blood had dried, staining her body with blotches of dark blood. The nurse turned back. Her eyes widened. “Wait. You can’t… do you know who’s blood this is, Eve?”

Eve stared at her as the images came to life inside her mind, her attacker, the officer. “Let’s see if we can get you cleaned up, okay?”

She slid open a metal drawer on the trolley and grabbed more swabs, soaking the tip until they were red before reaching for alcohol wipes. The moistened wipes felt cold against Eve’s skin, the sterile scent pungent before evaporating. The nurse wiped until most of the blood was gone. “See, it’s coming right off.” She picked up a bottle and squeezed gel across her stomach.

“Let's have a little look, shall we?” She dug into her stomach with the device, tilting the broad head until an image displayed on the monitor. “Here we are. There's the placenta and the cord and there we are... oh, it looks like your baby is shy, Eve. Let's see if I can angle this better and get a good look.”

She squeezed more of the gel across her stomach and pushed with the wand. Her baby’s head splashed across the screen. “Here we are, there is the head, and.... oh, wait a minute....”

As though he knew they were watching, her baby turned his face toward them. He stared at Eve through the monitor. Something spread out behind his body, flashing across the screen. For a second, Eve would’ve sworn the blurred shapes looked like wings. The nurse gasped and the screen went black. “I... I... don't think that’s right.”

Eve felt her stomach sink and the room swam. Eve tightened her grip on the bed. “What was it?”

Eve tried to sit up, but the wand pressing against her stomach held her firm. “Nothing.” The nurse didn’t bother to look at her. “The machine is broken, that's all. I’ll try again.”

She grabbed the instrument and pressed against her stomach. Pain ripped along Eve’s side, but she held her breath. The nurse pushed down harder, deeper. Pain flared and Eve cried out. She felt something give inside her. Something was very wrong. “Please… stop.”

Eve tried to shift away. But the nurse didn't seem to care. She didn’t even look up, her once-caring demeanor now replaced by ruthless determination.

“You're hurting me. Stop it. You're hurting me!”

“How?” She whispered. The vague image on-screen turned from the black and white blobs showing the placenta and cord, to her son’s body. Then the screen dimmed and turned black.

“I said, stop it!” Eve yanked the belt that bound her to the machine and wiped the gel from her stomach with the sheet on the bed. Her bloody shirt was cold and hard, but it was all she had, so she yanked the hem down over her bump and sat up. Her feet hit the floor as she slid from the bed.

The nurse reached out for her, but Eve wrenched from her grasp. “Wait, Eve. We're not done.”

“No, but I am.” No one tried to stop her as she made for the exit and out into the night. She fought back a sob and failed. Hot tears slid down her cheeks. Eve kept on walking.

Cars flew by as she stumbled back to her apartment. No one slowed or stopped. She didn’t blame them. Eve followed the road into town while the sun rose in the sky. The light filled the gaps between the buildings with hues of soft yellow and glaring gold. Daylight was here and all Eve wanted to do was curl up and cry.

The sunrise was beautiful, although alien. The sharp gravel on her soft socks made her progress painful and slow. Her apartment building loomed like a bad dream in front of her. She didn’t want to go back inside. But what choice did she have? She had nowhere else to go. Her attacker’s words came back to her. I’m coming back for you. The police said they would come back to get her, they would make her safe. But how could they, when they weren’t safe themselves? Nothing they could do would help her. If she stayed here in Hurrow, death waited for her and her son.

The morning sun hadn’t yet touched her apartment. The building sat shadowed and still, as though the radiance knew what’d happened here and wanted no part of it. Neither did she. Her feet became heavy the closer she came to the building. Eve pushed through the glass door and climbed the stairs, one slow step at a time, until she stopped just before the landing of her floor. Why am I even here? What’s there to come back to? Death was all that came to her, their death, followed by hers. The bark of a voice cut through the silence of the early morning. The voice was followed by a static squelch of a police radio and Eve stopped before she reached the top of the stairs. What had she come back for? To be questioned, to be poked and prodded and ultimately locked up when she told them what’d really happened? Who would believe her when she could hardly believe what she’d seen with her own eyes? She gripped the rails as she descended back down the stairs. There was nothing here for her anymore, not in this building, or in this town. Her only chance of surviving this was to run.

Her footing slipped and Eve stumbled. Her finger skimmed the cold steel of the rail and grasped hold of the metal, clutching it tightly to keep from falling. But it couldn’t stop her from plunging head first into the feeling of hopelessness. She sank to the stairs silently, landing on her butt. Where would she go? She had no money, only a blood soaked T-shirt and no shoes.

An image came to her. A pair of worn shoes and faded jeans she’d left at the café. She clung to that memory. Her heart soared. Clean, warm clothes and… the café… had money. It wasn’t much, a few hundred dollars they kept for the next day’s till, but it was enough to get her out of here. Could she really do that? Break in and steal? The radio cracked out loud again, she caught a word here and there… they were looking for her. She didn’t have much time. She thought about her decision hard, yeah she could steal. She touched her stomach, she’d do whatever she had to.

Eve retreated down the stairs and searched the streets in both directions, squinting, trying to hear a siren over the racing of her heart through the glass door before exiting the building. The cops would be after her. She was hunted by both the good and evil. She’d have to be careful. She stepped outside and keeping close to the shadows, she hobbled along the sidewalk, the soles on her feet aching from the harsh ground. The dark hid her as Eve slipped from shadow to shadow, hugging the buildings to where the café waited.

Hurrow’s Coffee House was still swathed in darkness by the time Eve reached its doors. Her gaze darted from one end of the street to the other. Each time a stop light changed, her heart leapt at the red glow. Sensing no one around, she slipped down the side of the building, heading for the rear of the café. The barstool used by the smokers sat outside the back door. It was a policy not to smoke near the café, but implementing and enforcing did not go hand-in-hand, not in this place, anyway.

Eve picked up the stool. Her back spasmed, flaring like her conscience. Her knees unlocked and she dropped the stool to rub away the cramp at her back, unable to do anything about her mind and inhaled deeply. She reached for the chair and gripped the metal tight. She ground her teeth and lifted. Holding onto the legs, she swung, aiming the hard plastic seat for the middle of the window. The sound of shattering glass echoed in the alley. Eve jerked her head around to peer into the darkened street, watching for movement from the street, praying no one heard. There was no security in the café. Her boss considered an alarm a waste of money. At this moment, Eve was thankful for his parsimony. She used the chair to break off the shards of glass and scrape a narrow path through the glittering pieces lining the floor before she tiptoed through. The small safe was in the office. The day’s takings would be gone to the bank, but there would be the money for the next days till.

She was used to finding her way around in the dark, but not with her heart hammering like she’d have a cardiac arrest any second. Eve stopped and breathed deep, slowing the stampede inside. She searched for movement in her belly and waited… waited. She touched her hard stomach, needing to feel him—to know he was okay. Her stomach was still. The rattle of a garbage can outside jacked her heart rate. Eve jumped and cried out. She gripped the door frame and whimpered. The muscles along her jaw bulged and she ground her teeth. Her fingers pained as her grip on the doorframe hardened. I can do this. I can do this. Eve’s hollow statement became all she thought of—even though she didn’t really believe it. This mantra pushed all of the doubts and the madness aside. Her breathing eased, as did her heart. Slowly she forced herself to straighten. I can do this… I’ve got to do this. I don’t have a choice.

A flutter in her stomach had her searching her bump. The feeling passed as quickly as it came, but the soft touch was real. Her son was okay and his well-being was what she held onto as she stumbled for the office. Her hands shook as she swiveled the dial of the old safe. It took her four tries, as though her fingers had a mind of their own and knew what she was doing was wrong. The lock clunked and the door swung open. Eve knew exactly what she was doing as she reached for the money that wasn’t hers. The guilt hovered around the edges of her determination, trying to muscle its way in. She struggled to rise, clutching the roll of money in her hand. Stepping out of the office—moving quicker now that she’d done the unthinkable—she headed for the old locker she used.

The shoes and jeans looked like the finest designer clothes in the weak light from the rising sun, leaking through the barred glass in the employee lounge and she whispered a prayer as she pulled her bloody sweat pants from her body and jerked on the cold denim. The sound of her sneakers dropping to the floor made her jump in the dark. She worked her feet into her joggers and searched the other lockers for anything warm she could use. No one locked their stuff away. There were no keys even if they wanted to. She found a jumper. The stale scent was sharp and she stifled a sneeze. She pulled the thick garment and the cold retreated. Soon I’ll be warm. Eve rifled through each locker in the short row. Her heart leaped, but this time from joy, when she spied a canvas backpack squished in the bottom of a lower locker. Groaning from the pressure, Eve bent, snagging a strap. Swallowing back the fear and the nausea triggered by her guilt, she thrust the money into the musty pack and turned toward the prep area.

Whatever she could carry, she took. Even though exhausted, she found a surge of energy as she moved behind the counter. She grabbed the container of biscuits and emptied them into a plastic bag which she dropped into her backpack, followed by bottles of water. She lifted the pack, feeling the weight. She was torn between wanting to take as much as she could carry to ensure survival, and fear she’d only weigh her already heavy body down and slow her escape from Hurrow. Speed trumped comfort. Eve turned away from the bottled juice and day-old cakes, trying to swallow back her hunger. With a cry of failure, she turned around again. Grabbing a bottle of orange juice, she wrenched off the lid, wincing with pain. The sun was rising fast now. She could see the sharp splinters of wood from the cradle through the pale skin of her hands. That bought a vision of Mercy, impaled on the sharp stick she had held. Gagging over the memory, Eve resolutely lifted the bottle to her lips. Her son needed this. She couldn’t be weak now, she had to swallow, and then get out of here. As she made her way back out the shattered window, she shivered underneath the thick jumper—but this time it wasn’t from the cold. At this moment there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do to protect her son, first murder and now, break and entering. She didn’t want to think about what was coming next.

Eve forced her tired legs to take longer strides, making her way out of the café and down the alley. She pushed her body beyond her limit, eager to leave Hurrow behind. Her hips ached after a while and the strain on her calves turned them hard and heavy, like stone. She slowed. Each breath was like fire in her lungs as she kept to the edges of the darkness. Orange lights flashed ahead. She stopped. Long minutes crawled by. All she could see from her hiding place was the daylight growing brighter and brighter. Clapping a hand over her nose so she didn’t throw up the juice, she wedged as much of her body as she could behind a dumpster that reeked of old diapers and rotting food. The flashing lights grew brighter, bouncing off the blank blocks of the building across the street. Squeezing her nose between her thumb and fingers, Eve’s heartbeat thudded so loud in her head, she thought surely the police could hear. Something darted across her foot. A cordlike something—oh my god, is that a rat?—coiled around her ankle. She screamed, the sound thankfully muffled by her hand. The lights crept closer. She gasped, choking on the acrid stench when the street sweeper rolled slowly into view. Eve didn’t have to push her tired legs to rush from the alley. Which way? The highway was only a few blocks east, so she turned right.

The buildings and streets were left behind with each step Eve took towards the highway. She was leaving Hurrow behind, in her mind as well as her sight. The town was surrounded by cane fields. The tall, bamboo-like stems were almost ready for harvest. They crowded the two-lane road, cutting out the town lights behind her, hiding her. The rustling of the cane was like whispered voices which were haunting. Her mouth was dry, her heart racing as movement cut to her left through the field. Eve bit her lip. There were animals in there, feral pigs and dogs. It wasn’t safe to walk out here alone and she was in no condition to run.

She walked faster, although her legs screamed. Pulling her jumper tighter did little to stave off the cold, wet chill of a wet dawn that headed into morning.

How had this happened? One minute, she was just a woman trying to make it on her own and the next she was someone dangerous… a murderer. Murderer… a voice echoed and a rustling in the tall cane beside her bought her to a halt. She listened, scanning the stalks which moved in the wind.

A chill spread through her body, the tendrils cutting off her breath as those words slithered into her head. I’m coming for you, blonde bitch… I’m going to make you fucking screammmmmmmmm…

Eve cried out. She stumbled, turned, her rubber soles slipping on the loose gravel. She ignored the pain. Instead she grabbed her stomach with both hands as pain flared inside her chest, and fled.

Chapter 9

Rashda

THE SMELL OF charred flesh and smoke overpowered Rashda's reasoning and this vision of the future filled her with panic. Her spirit stood in the burning wreckage of an enormous airplane. Which airplane this was and why it burned, were questions she was here to figure out. But most of all, she was here to stop this from happening.

Her body still felt the effects of the metaphysical voyage. She writhed on the rock floor of the mountain Lythe, clawing at her throat, trying to inhale the air she so desperately needed. She felt as though she was dying, even though part of her knew she couldn't die.

Flames lapped at her spirit’s body in the plane, burning through her clothes. Even though she tried to reason through the panic, she still flailed. Wind-milling her arms, she slapped at her chest and thighs in a desperate attempt to put out the fire. Humans screamed all around her. They cried out when she passed them, clutching at her to help their loved ones, desperate to survive. It's okay, the Family can stop this.

Flames leapt at her as Rashda moved through the rows of seats. She beat at them, whispering I'm so sorry to those who screamed and burned. A word echoed inside her mind. Bomb. She now knew what had happened here. This plane had been bombed, but why? There must be a reason she was shown this, an important one. She had to figure out what that reason was.

Rashda lingered at the next seat. A mother clutched her son. They were both dead, but their love was eternal. She had sheltered her son before the plane hit, as though the mere presence of her flesh and blood would somehow save him. Rashda's heart ached, although she knew this was only a premonition. It hadn’t yet happened, this thought didn’t stop her for reaching to her chest in response, whispering a prayer to the Mistress to have mercy and grant them a long, fulfilling life before she moved on.

The next row was empty. She saw nothing that would indicate someone had sat here at all, and if not for the seat belts which were unfastened, she would have moved on. Those empty seats disturbed her.

Rashda reached up and touched the melted overhead cabinet. The metal singed her fingers. She cried out and gripped her hand. The pain blossomed and flared. She had to open the compartment… she had to know. She gripped the latch again with her burning hand and pulled it open. Bags and debris of wallets, cards, lipsticks, and books were strewn everywhere. A mobile phone and a set of car keys sat in front of her. The vision of who owned them filled her. A young woman stood at the window of an airport. Her soft auburn hair shone under the fluorescent lights as she stared out onto the tarmac, waiting for a plane which would never land, waiting for her husband… Stop it! You have to focus. She closed her eyes, willing the image away.

She had to concentrate. Answers would only come if she cleared her mind and listened. She was their only hope. Rashda left the bowed and buckled plastic door open and turned to the belly of the plane.

The mid-section had been blown apart. The explosion punctured the top half of the cabin, leaving the metal hull in jagged shards. Her steps faltered at the sight. She didn't want to go any further. She didn't want to see anymore. Each time her gift forced her to see, she bought back a piece of the horror to dwell inside her, and left a piece of herself there, floating in the etheric world.

She swallowed a hard lump in her throat and stepped forward. She couldn't quite see where she was going. The black haze in front of her face hovered like a curtain that wouldn't part. Rashda reached down, steadying herself on torn leather seats. She tripped on something that wound around her leg. She cried out, shaking her leg in hopes of getting whatever it was to let go, but the slick coil wouldn’t budge. The restraint wound tighter and tighter. She ran her hand over her thighs and her legs until her fingers felt something thick and rope-like. She pulled and it came away in her hand. The soft texture made her think of a handbag, the handles ready to ensnare those who walked past. But when she lifted it through the smoke she could see there was no bag, only some kind of rope which went on and on.

She tested the substance. The rubbery texture left behind a thick, slimy muck on her hands. Intestines—and that's their blood all over my hands. The hijacker’s blood.

Back in the mountain, her body reacted. She screamed and shook her hands. The drops of blood flew into the air. Her breaths came in short, sharp pants. “Get it off me. Please, get it off me.”

It’s hijacker's blood, but it’s not human blood... She rubbed her hands against the soft fabric of her dress, staining it bloody and black. But, if not human, then what?

Her hand shook as she bought her finger to her lips. At first her mouth refused her commands to open. Even though her stomach heaved and her mind screamed, she knew what she had to do. “It's not real. And I'm not here.”

But the bodies around her demanded this. This was her gift, this was her sacrifice. She parted her lips. She touched her tongue. And even though she’d never tasted their blood before, her gift knew them instantly. Her eyes widened. Vampires.

She should have known. They had been the cause of too much devastation. Vampires were slowly taking over the immortal world. Their half-bred offspring infiltrated human communities and industries until it was hard to know who was and who wasn't undead anymore. This wasn't the way it should be. The subversion of nature went against the unspoken laws. Laws that had evolved throughout time. Laws which hid immortal from mortal.

The vampires were changing this, making their own rules, blurring the lines of existence. And this bombing was just another example of how far they had gone. Rashda released her finger from her mouth and rubbed her hand across her thigh, eager for this to be done. The who was now accounted for, but the why was still a mystery.

The screams of the passengers had ceased, leaving only moans and whispers of prayers in their quiet moments of desperation.

“It's okay.” A voice came to her through the smoke. A man? She moved forward, straining to hear his voice. “There’s something better out there for you. You’ll be safe. Rest now. Go with peace.”

She couldn't quite see him. The smoke was too thick to see more than a foot in front, but she could hear him—most of all, she could feel him.

Rashda focused her energy on him. The wave of peace washing over her felt so pure, it left her breathless. His energy was unlike any human's she had ever felt, calm, serene, and purposeful. Yes, this human had a purpose.

She stepped forward, fighting through the smoke to get to him. He was so close. She could hear his breathing, his murmured words and yet it wasn’t until she was almost standing on top of him that he materialized. He was hunched over a woman who lay on the ground. His dark hair fell to cover his face. His words seemed to embrace her spirit as he spoke. He must have sensed Rashda coming, moving through the ruptured metal, because he looked up and stared at her. His face was blackened and bloody. Truth, love, and a fierce determination radiated from his brown eyes.

His essence was a beacon for her spirit. She felt herself wanting to reach out and touch him, to help him. He lifted his gaze. His eyes widened. A surge of hope, compassion and understanding flowed between them. A knowing of both the greatness and hopelessness they faced. They were two beings on opposite ends of the scale, mortal—immortal, who fought for the only thing that mattered—love.

Rashda felt as though they were lost in this moment, until he turned back. He held on to those who were passing, as though he wanted their last moments to be filled with love and not pain. He waited, holding on until he was sure he was no longer needed.

His voice wavered. “I need to help them. I have to do something.”

He stood and looked around, ready to find the next person to help, to comfort. Before Rashda could reach him, his knees buckled. His hands grabbed the aluminum frame of the nearest seat to stop his fall but missed and he fell to his knees. “I have to help them.”

Rashda wrapped her spirit around him, holding him against her as he faded into her arms. “But who will help you?”

His last word was a whisper, an echo lost in time and space as she felt his spirit leave. “You.”

Rashda came back to her body in a rush. The awakening forced her back into her physical form. She rolled over and wrapped her arms around herself as the vision receded. This was the Balance. This was what she had given everything up for. This was why the Family needed her.

Cause and effect was their nemesis. What happened to humans because of immortals was felt like ripples throughout time and ultimately impacted on the struggle between the Master of Light and the Mistress of Shadows. So, what happened now—or in this case—what could happen—needed to be stopped.

Cold mountain water trickled through a crack in the wall. Over time, the fissure had widened, worn down by the steady stream until it made a hollow in the hard floor below. Rashda came to her body. Rising on trembling legs, she stumbled to the small pool. She dipped her hands into that frigid puddle, letting the reviving liquid run over her hands, her face and down her throat. The cold ripped through her head, driving spikes through her temples. The pain was instant, bringing her back to her surroundings. She required neither water nor food to survive. Her body lived in a constant state of balance, her immortality absolute. But the intense feeling of the water grounded her to the mountain, to the Earth, and to her body once more. Rashda breathed and coughed, ridding herself of the acrid taste of smoke in her still-burning lungs. When she was recovered, she called to her sister.

The connection between them was delicate. It was a one-way call that always went unanswered. She yearned to hear her sister’s voice, to hold her in her arms and talk like they had done for centuries. There had never been two sisters more opposite; their dark hair and pale complexion was where their similarities ended. But it was their love for each other that kept them here, fighting for the Balance in their own way.

Her Master and Mistress would be watching. Her vows to them were the shackles which bound her heart. She would say no more than was necessary and there would be nothing back. She was forever alone.

Flight AC033 from Vancouver to Sydney, in one week. There will be vampires aboard who have a bomb. They must be stopped at all costs, my sister.

She felt her Master's touch. Normally his warmth filled her, comforted her, knowing her sacrifice never went unnoticed. But this time, comfort was not what she felt at all. When the feathered, warm touches of her Master left her, Rashda felt fear.

Chapter 10

Edric

EDRIC HASTING WAS wounded, but not in a way his new body could heal. Mercy had been killed, and as a consequence, severed his connection to this new immortal world. He tried to swallow the thickness in his throat, but it was stuck like a piece of rotten flesh. How he’d changed. In mere months, he’d become so powerful and yet so weak. Mercy was the only thing he needed, the only thing he craved, and now… now she was no more.

The memory of his birth came back to him. His true birth—his vampire birth, all those months before. When he woke on that cold tiled floor—dead—he’d been changed forever. He was a new species. He’d searched his mind and his body for what had made him… him. His heartbeat was gone. His lungs sagged lifeless in his chest. Both organs were now unimportant. Edric hunted his memories and his mind faded.

He clenched his fists. Muscles popped, ligaments screamed with the pressure. His body still worked, but it was different. His memories were still there, but they’d been changed. They’d changed to a pale recollection of the trophies he once had. They were lifeless, every… single… one. “It’s gone, all gone!”

In his memory, Mercy sat on the opposite side of the room. Her eyes were wide, sparkling with life he now knew was a lie. Edric snarled. Mercy had lied to him. She… lied… to… him. Fucking bitch! He smashed his fists on the sides of his head, desperate for the color to return to his faded world. His dolls were the only thing he cared about, the only thing he had left. They’d been the only thing that kept him alive, kept him sane in a world that made no sense to him at all. They were gone and he’d never get them back.

“You’ll live again, Edric. I promise you. Once you realize what you’re capable of, you won’t need your memories. You’ll create them, live in them, every day. You’ll know what it truly means to be untouchable.”

He climbed to his feet. “Fuck you, bitch. I’m out of here.”

She clucked her tongue and chuckled, “It doesn’t work like that anymore, Edric. But let me show you how it does work.”

His new body flinched involuntary when Edric recalled what happened next. He’d been punched in the chest. The blow punctured like a screwdriver. He screamed, clutched his hands over the drilling pain and stumbled backward. He felt his incisors soften and stretch, only to re-solidify into steel-edged spikes. He spun, ready to take the fucking bitch down, but there was no one near him. Mercy remained on the other side of the room, smiling. He was struck so hard he felt his ribs give. The unseen blows came again, and again. He was thrown backwards and collided with the ground. Dazed, he scrambled to the wall and screamed as the unseen force penetrated him again, burning him, tearing through his mind. Mercy laughed, although her lips never moved. She laughed inside his mind.

Edric knew in that moment the unseen force was her. Mercy was doing this. He stared down at his torn, blood-soaked shirt, expecting to see the garment drenched with fresh blood. He reached for his throat, but the cool column of flesh was whole. Under his rib cage, his useless lungs felt shredded. Mercy cleaved through what presence occupied his flesh and bones, ripping him apart in one minute and rejoining him in the next. Lightening seemed to streak through his body, piercing bone and shattering cartilage. Power blew his circuits and fried his brain.

Edric was filled to overflowing. His muscles twitched, his cock grew hard, and the desire to fuck and fight overwhelmed him. He pumped his hips into the air like he was a Viagra junkie, a fucking whore. He climaxed hard, shooting his load inside his pants as Mercy gave him one last lick of energy and left.

Although, she never really left him. She couldn’t. He knew they were connected now, in a way he’d never felt before. The same energy that coursed through her now coursed through him. In that moment, he understood how dangerous she was. How fragile his existence had been and still was. He was weak compared to her. Power was her leash and she had him whipped. What they shared was more powerful than anything he’d ever experienced. No human connection on this earth could compare.

Two weeks after she turned him, she’d sat next to him. The smile on her face was cruel and her eyes glowed with excitement. “It's time.”

Those two words were all he needed. They were on a mission, one bigger than all of them, or so Mercy said. Her orders came from a voice on the phone. A vampire who was never to be questioned and never to be betrayed, unless Edric wanted the status of undead revoked. Edric wanted to know more. How could he trust something or someone he didn't know? Mercy refused his questions. In the end it didn't matter. He was given more than he could ever dream of, more power than he’d ever felt before, a free reign to kill as much as he wanted, and someone to share his bloody thirst with.

Their first kill had been euphoric. He and Mercy hunted the woman together. For the first time in his life, he completely shared himself with another. The terror they inflicted took him to a new high. Afterwards, they fucked, rolling around in the blood and gore. It was a high he wanted to experience again and again.

Now Mercy was gone. Edric sat in this empty house. His rain-soaked jumper had turned grey, covered with the ash of his maker. He floated, tethered to nothing and no one.

He clenched his fists. His hands should be soaked with her blood, but they were clean. Edric closed his eyes, replaying the night in his mind. The blonde bitch fought savagely. At first he loved stalking her, playing with her, letting her think she’d gotten free, only to reach out and grab her again. The power he’d felt as he toyed with her. He listened to her screams and watched her frantic attempts to get away. Then it had all gone wrong…. He wanted Mercy back… he wanted his connection back and to feel a sense of purpose in his life once again. Most of all, he wanted the blonde bitch dead. He threw the knife. The blade clattered to the ground. He slid down the wall, his purpose gone.

His body shook with anger. The blonde bitch mocked him with her life and Mercy’s death. His failure to kill her was all he thought about, all he saw. Over and over, Mercy died in his arms and fell away to nothing but ashes. Edric drove his fist, feeling the gyprock crumble. Over and over again he punched and smashed, until he reduced the walls to nothing more than white jagged teeth. He was angry at himself for running, for leaving Mercy there, for leaving the blonde bitch alive. He screamed until the sound became too much to bear.

The ringing of a mobile tore him from the endless replay inside his mind. The insistent tone pulled him to his feet. He stumbled through the house, dazed, yet entranced by the sound, until he found his way into the bedroom they’d used together. The black handset vibrated beside the bed. He made his way to the bedside table and stared at the flashing screen. Three letters spelled a name Mercy had entered into the phone. A name she’d both feared and respected. The name of her Master. It seemed GOD was calling, so he’d better fucking answer. He picked up the handset and hit the button.

“She’s gone, I take it.”

The voice on the other end was both calm and controlled. The deep drawl indicated the caller was probably American. Edric wanted to demand to know who he was. Only greed and a keen survival instinct kept him in check. Edric forced back his fangs and spoke carefully, “Yes, Mercy is gone.”

“And this is her... discovery?”

“My name is Edric—”

“No names!” The shout cut him off. The caller’s tone left no room for argument. Not if he wanted to live, he guessed. “You require a connection, and from now on that will be me. When I call, you answer, and you will do what I tell you. Is this clear?”

Edric's fangs jutted over the tender flesh of his lip. He didn't like being anyone's puppet. But he was smart enough to know when he needed to shut up and play dumb. “What do I call you?”

The laugh which came from the handset made his skin crawl. “Well, seeing as how I now know your name, I guess you can call me God.”

Silence lingered between them, and it was in this silence where the rules were spoken and acknowledged. Neither of them would back down, and each needed the other. He would follow as long as it served him, and in return he would continue to do God's bidding. After that, well, he’d always had a reputation for biting the hand that fed him.

“Very well, we have an agreement. Keep to your current plan, Edric. Remember—pregnant women. Find them, and kill them all. None must be left alive.”

He had been turned for this very reason, to hunt and kill without remorse. Mercy had said it was because of a plan, one which she wasn’t meant to understand, only to be a part of. “Tell me, why all these women?”

The silence lingered. “How dare you disrespect me with your question? Hasn’t Mercy taught you better?”

“Don’t you say her name! Without her I’m nothing, nothing! So if you want me to do your dirty work, you better give me some fucking answers!”

God hissed.

“You could say it is in our best interest if a certain child is not born.”

“How do I find this fucking child? What if I fail?”

“I cannot and will not let that happen! Do you understand what I am saying?”

The phone cracked with the sound of inexorable screams. Edric jerked the phone away from his ear. He felt something inside his own body loosen. The display flashed green. God was waiting. He understood what was happening, how his usefulness determined his fragile existence. He'd better not fail. He bought the phone back to his ear and answered, “Completely.”

“As my descendant, I take thee, Edric, as unto my own.”

Something inside his chest tore. He clutched at his breast. His flesh and bones were ripping, tearing. Edric clawed at his clothes until his chest was bare. The pain signaled the fusing of him to another, all over again, only this time there was pain. He screamed and fell to the ground. His mind and his body burned as the power from his new Master surged inside of him. Wave after wave of excruciating pain engulfed him until he was pushed to the brink of destruction. Then, abruptly, the pain died away, leaving his body twitching as it tried to reconnect. Edric Hasting had a new Master now, and this one packed a whole lot of punch.

“Continue with your work. I shall be in touch.”

Chapter 11

Adley

ADLEY SCOTT WAS a dangerous man, no longer tied to the department and to the laws he once sworn to uphold. Now he was free to hunt Edric Hasting.

‘Honorable discharge’ had been written on his paperwork; his government pension was assured. On paper it seemed so neat, so well intentioned, and supportive. The family he’d come to know and respect so well had shed a tear and waved goodbye to one of their own. But that wasn't how it went down at all.

The snarling looks from his co-workers said it all on his first day back after the attack. He walked back into the office floor knowing the time spent in hospital and then rehabilitation hadn’t changed a thing. They hated him just as much as they had all those months ago when he pulled his gun on Edric Hasting in front of his best mate’s son. Their indifference didn't bother him. In fact, he hardly noticed. He was already seeking out his case files.

Adley spotted the folders, splayed underneath a mountain of paperwork—other cases which seemed far more important than the twelve unsolved murders they covered. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. The usual police banter which buzzed around him seemed out of place, disrespectful even.

Adley felt his chest moving like a piston, forcing air in and out of his body. Anger clouded his vision. He tried to hold that river of rage inside, but the shit leaked out. He strode over to the desk. He pulled at the files, scattering the papers on top across the desk and onto the floor.

“Hey! Scott! What the fuck?”

The detective behind the desk yelled and pushed up from the desk, his gaze blazing. He was a man apparently quick for a fight. A phone rang. The nagging tone had been the only noise on the entire floor as everyone watched him, frozen.

“Adley, mate. It's okay, just calm down.” Someone moved into Adley's line of vision and he turned, holding fast to the files. He wasn't going to let anyone take them again. The detective held out his hand defensively. For some reason, Adley couldn't remember his name. Blonde hair, blue eyes, home invasion… the Clareton case… Simons? “Simons, yeah. I want these reassigned to me. I'm taking over.”

Simons nodded and shrugged. “Sure, whatever. We'll go clear it with the CO. It's not like there's been anything new on them anyway.”

The other officers looked at him strangely now, like he’d stepped across the blue line, and there was no way of getting back. He glanced at the young detective whose desk he’d just trashed, feeling somewhat embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“It's okay, man. It's cool.” The detective shrugged it off.

Adley turned away and glimpsed Nathan standing toward the back, watching him. Adley nodded, but there was no response. His old mate’s indifference seemed to sum up the situation perfectly. He didn't belong here anymore.

He took the cases back to his desk to review the notes he’d taken during the initial investigations. Simons was right, there was nothing new. It was as though Edric Hasting had dropped off the face of the Earth. There was only one other addition to the file. A burnt-out car hidden in an abandoned garage yielded slightly smudged print that was traced back to the piece of shit. One fingerprint was all he needed to give him hope. To give him purpose. Adley knew in his gut the murderer was not only alive, he was on the run.

Four weeks after he came back on duty, his CO called him into the office. He'd spent the preceding month hounding other departments, investigating disappearances and abductions of children in their area. His CO scowled at him. “You've got to stop with the investigations, Adley. I'm getting complaints. You gotta let it rest.”

Adley knew when his CO used his first name, he was in deep shit. His gaze wandered around the desk. The closed file lay face down. It was his file, it must be, otherwise why would his CO bother to hide it?

He could sense hardness in his Sergeant, a finality that’d never been there before. A sense of relief washed over him as his boss started. “The guys don't feel confident working with you anymore, speaking as a friend… I am your friend, right, Adley?”

He didn't respond.

“Right. As your friend, I gotta say it'd be best for all concerned if you retired. Now, I know what you're thinking and I've cleared it with the top. Honorable discharge is what you'll get, full pension and the works. We think it’s best ‘cause honestly, you’re not right, mate. You’re really not. I think if you went to the shrinks and talked to them, they’d change your fit for duty status, and we can all get past this. What do you think, mate?”

Adley thought they were all cowards. A bunch of spineless fucking cowards and he wanted to say the word to their faces, every last fucking one. But he thought about his superior’s suggestion for a moment. He thought about being unrestrained by the department and police procedures. And the more he thought about it, the more he wanted that freedom. He lifted his head, staring at his CO. “Where do I sign?”

The scanner crackled to life beside him, drawing him back to the present. The night before, he’d listened to the verbal gunfire of police codes and panicked officers calling for urgent assistance. He’d tracked the killer south. Edric was winding his way through the larger cities in Queensland before jumping back to the smaller towns. There was no pattern Adley could discern. The killings seemed random. All he needed was one good lead, one act of randomness that really wasn’t random at all. If he could just find that one fucking clue, he could figure all this out. Then instead of chasing Edric, he’d be waiting, ready for the piece of shit before he killed again. The steering wheel squeaked from the force of his grip and he forced himself to relax. It’d do no good to get all worked up just yet. He could miss something vital.

Edric Hasting was close. He could feel it in his gut. And after almost eight months of hospital beds, physical therapy, and endless hours of compulsory counseling to ensure his pension, he couldn't think or feel anything else. He was obsessed.

Adley listened for the codes that would lead him to another brutal murder. Edric's methods had changed after he’d escaped. At first, Adley assumed the piece of shit was dead. But there’d been no body and the reports turned up nothing he could use. This, combined with the fact there’d been no more child murders, lead the detective to believe either the bastard had been killed somewhere else, or somehow the child murderer he tracked had changed.

Adley had come to the end of his investigation not long after retiring from the force. He had nothing left to go on. For the first time, he had to face the fact—he’d failed. He sat in the hollow shell he called his home with a bottle of bourbon, intent on drinking himself to sleep, when his tears started. They didn't stop, not for a full hour, until he was wrung dry. The late night news repeated an earlier story, most of which he missed, until one shattered voice fought through the fog. The children, God all these children. Who could do something like this? What kind of monster… and then it hit him.

Children. Pregnant women. They were the same. This killer, the Abortionist, had started killing not long after Edric Hasting disappeared. Adley started to look into this new string of murders. The more information he read, the more he was convinced he knew who the Abortionist was—Edric Hasting. It had to be.

The Abortionist gained his reputation killing the unborn child first, and then taking his time with the mother. There’d been four murders confirmed to have been committed by the same perp. The wave of hysteria surged with every new murder. The panic was still rising. This suspicion gave Adley hope he’d catch Edric Hasting and put to rest the demons of his past.

His car became his home and the endless blacktop stretching out before him was his future. Edric Hasting was not only getting more proficient, but increasingly eager for his next victim, and so the numbers grew. Week by week, there were more. More cases and more roads to cover—endless roads and dangerous territories, underneath this southern sky.

The last time, he’d missed the Abortionist by hours. He was so close, so fucking close! If only he’d been able to get there, he could’ve saved her life. The woman, a twenty-two year old, was found by her husband... the poor bastard. The screams he’d heard when he pulled up to the house still played in his head. That’d been two weeks ago, and by the frenzied pattern of murders, Adley feared it was only a matter of days before Edric struck again.

His car’s high beams swung wide and cut through yet another endless field of flowering cane, outside just another Outback town. At first he didn’t register the shape moving along the side of the road. But, as the car neared he slowed and moved the vehicle toward the center of the road.

The rising sun behind him illuminated long blonde hair, so he assumed the lone figure was a woman. By the way she moved, he thought she might be injured. She stumbled along the crumbling bitumen, the edges gouged and dangerous for weak ankles. He eased his foot off the accelerator. A memory formed inside his head, reminding him of the day when he’d stopped for another woman on the side of the road. An encounter that’d left him for dead. Adley pressed the accelerator. There was no way he was stopping, no matter what she looked like. What kind of woman walked along the road in the middle of the night, anyway? At that moment, she turned to look back at him, her frantic eyes staring right into his through the bug-splattered windscreen. The headlights illuminated the shape of her body and his gaze was drawn toward her stomach.

Shit, she’s pregnant.

Chapter 12

Grimm

GRIMM FELT ANTSY as hell. His wolf wanted to run, hunt, and enjoy the power tonight’s full moon would bring. But his priorities changed in a matter of minutes. The Family had been given another job. Rashda had spoken, and well, the Family jumped. That’s how it was.

Kali relayed the information given her by her sister. It seemed a group of vamps planned to hijack and blow up a goddamn airplane. He couldn't help but be impressed by both their balls and obvious lack of fucking brains. Balls were one thing, but balls and stupidity, now that was fucking lethal. All the Family seemed to do lately was to kill and clean up after the oversized fucking mosquitoes. Grimm, for one, was sick of seeing their white pasty skin and manic fucking eyes. His kind should’ve wiped them from existence when they had the chance.

“Hey... you still with us, or what?”

Grimm jumped, noting Jinx had moved to stand next to him. He pretended to stretch to cover his step to the side, putting some distance between them. The vamp made him nervous as fucking hell. It wasn’t the stench of blood or luminescent skin which made him anxious. No, it was a whole different reason. ‘Accident prone’ was not the right phrase for Jinx. Jinx was aptly named. The dude had caused each of them to test immortality a number of times. Drowning, head-on collisions, even a grenade or two. You name it, the vampire caused it. But as far as vamps went, he was all right. You just knew not to walk under overhead power lines near him.

Grimm cleared his throat and looked to Scribe. “Yeah, keep going.”

“The schematics for the plane are attached here. You’ll need to memorize the layout before you leave. As far as I can determine, the bomb or bombs will be on the vampires. So you’ll need to make sure the detonators are taken care of—after the bombers, of course.”

Scribe’s soft voice seemed oddly inappropriate for the topic under discussion. “If you need anything else, let me know. Until then, I’ve secured your tickets and phoned Foster to fly you to Vancouver today. We can’t have you missing the connecting flight.”

Gareth Foster was a human, and as far as humans went, he was pretty damn cool. The ex-Air Force pilot had some skills in the air, Grimm would give him that. He’d flown them over restricted air space once or twice and always managed to sneak in and out without so much as a muttered ‘fuck’ in the cockpit. Foster had been contracted to the Family after some pretty intense interviews about ten years ago. Some of those interviews may have involved a little intimidation and a lot of screaming, especially when Grimm turned and showed Foster his wolf. The poor bastard hadn't recovered from that yet. Grimm was sure he would. He just needed a little more time. Another decade or two oughta do it.

“Okay, anyone have any questions?” Scribe rolled up the diagrams, formally ending the group meeting. Grimm watched Smoky move toward the armory to check their weapons for yet another mission. The djinn was an excellent marksman. He’d once fought alongside Grimm, Kali and Jinx. The four of them made up the response team. But somewhere along the line, the old man had grown somber and withdrawn. Eventually he stepped down, leaving the group, but he could never leave the Family.

He took a role in the armory, making sure they were equipped with whatever weapons they needed. Once they finished, he saw to their weapons. Guns, knives, and everything else they carried were cleaned, serviced, and tested, until they almost fired themselves. They felt the old man’s absence while they moved around in the human world—one less soldier to back them up. His absence mattered, but no one commented, no one said a damn thing.

“Well, you two will need to be fed, then.” Harmony moved toward the kitchen and a second later the clang of pots and pans filled the air.

Harmony was the most functional of them all. She moved among humans as though she were one. Grimm couldn't understand why she liked humans as much as she did. Then again, she had no reason to hate them, not like he did.

Grimm made his way to the front of the mountain and the outside world. His wolf was restless and sometimes the mountain wasn't big enough. In times like these, he needed to get out.

He slid into the black Alpha Hummer. With a lover’s touch, he made her purr and then hit the button on the garage. The car was his pride and joy, but still a close second to the Harley sitting next to her. Normally the bike gave him the sense of freedom he craved, but not today. Today he felt raw.

He could say it was because of the mission and the whole fucked-up immortal balance thing going on. Hell, he'd been telling himself that for the past two hundred years, but deep down, he knew the real reason. He was just too afraid to admit it.

Denial was useless. Each full moon that called to his animal to fuck or fight also drove home once again the fact he’d never find another to mate with and one day raise his young.

Humans had invaded their land and ripped away their way of life. Humans gouged the Earth, infecting the land with their crops and buildings, destroying their forest, tree by tree, until there was nothing left. He had been so young, barely one hundred years old when he first saw them. Food, his animal howled—but his father cautioned him to stay away. As much as he wanted to blame humans, he couldn’t. The numbers of his species had dwindled. The humans merely accelerated a process already underway.

The cruel way their females gave birth was the main factor for the difficult regeneration of their line. Unlike the other non-human species, his kind didn’t live forever. Tempered by their genetic make-up and the way they lived, they remained strong. Despite each pregnancy, their numbers dwindled.

Their women remained in their human form to carry their young until the eleventh moon. If they made their way past the seventh without turning into their wolf, thus aborting the baby, it was miraculous. He could still see their faces. They haunted him in his dreams. He’d been too young to understand, but as he aged and their numbers decreased, he realized all too well. He could only watch from afar as their bellies swelled with each passing moon. Their terrified, gaunt expressions said it all as they fought the change with an unrivalled determination. Most didn’t make it. He could still hear their screams of pain and anguish as the moon called and they were too exhausted or weak to ward off their own nature. Their screams turned to howls as they shifted, and in the morning they carried a child no more.

The females who aborted were shunned by the other women of the pack. They were deemed unfit for breeding, but while the pregnant women continued with their struggle, those failures at motherhood became useful for another purpose—to fight for the pack or to fuck.

Those who clawed their way through to the eleventh month did so with the weight of their line on their shoulders. The birth was a life or death struggle, not for the baby, but for the mother. On the night of the eleventh full moon, the baby would hear the call of the moon, and they would shift inside of their mother’s womb.

The screams of the birth would haunt their mates forever, as their pup fought its way into the world. Their claws were designed for destroying and the soft flesh of their mother provided minimal resistance. If the women survived being shredded from the inside out, they were left permanently scarred. It was a cruel existence, born from blood and death, only to belong to the moon for as long as you lived. But it was their life, a lycan's life. That was, until the humans came.

To remain secret, they built walls around their compound and forbade any communication with the humans. Outside their walls, they were branded a cult and, instead of the peace they so sought, they became the focus of prejudice and scrutiny. Their walls were broken, their forest ripped from the ground, and their food was either scared off, or eaten. His kind perished around him—some by their own hand—unable to carry on, leaving him alone.

The engine roared as he pressed the accelerator harder. Thirty minutes later, he hit the outskirts of the city, where the hills gave way to apartment buildings. Life went on. In his four hundred years, he had seen the world change until it had become unrecognizable, while inside, he still burned with anger.

Hate threatened to consume Grimm. It felt like there were two of him, two wolves tore at his soul. One wolf was full of abhorrence, ready to take on the world with each injustice it felt. That wolf’s young, amber eyes only saw what it needed to fuel its anger, all the injustice and contempt, and ignored everything else.

The other wolf inside him was older, more controlled. His soft brown eyes watched the other wolf with a sense of loss. The mature wolf was able to see hating someone or something served no purpose. The bitter emotion only stained his soul with the poison he swallowed, while his enemy lived free, oblivious to the constraints that bound him. The two aspects of himself were at war with each other, fighting for every emotion and thought, as though Grimm’s feelings were their only source of food. They were hungry—oh yes they were. The choice he had to make was just a matter of which one he would feed.

The older wolf showed him humans didn't deserve the devastation of their kind. They were as much victims as he was in this whole mess called life. Why should they be blamed for vampire’s desire for greed and blood? That understanding was why he couldn't turn his back on them, even after all they had done.

So, he fed the old wolf inside of him, while the other bared its fangs and howled in desperate anger. Now they were getting ready to fight for these humans, to bleed and die for them if needed. All in the name of the Balance he’d been left to uphold.

Grimm was the last of his line, a lycan warrior. One to be feared. One to be known. His gut hardened like stone and his hand gripped the steering wheel harder. His wolf was restless, eager to fight. And he would go down swinging.

Chapter 13

Eve

SHE WAS TOO far from Hurrow to turn back. The lights of the town faded to a glow in the distance as her attacker came at her through the cane. Eve could hear the snap of broken sticks and his voice drifting to her on the wind. Edric’s back to finish what he’d started—to kill me and my son. She stumbled along the road, knowing she was too far out to turn back. She’d never make it alive.

The pain in her back made her nauseous. So she concentrated on breathing and shuffled as fast as she could. She should’ve bought a weapon, a knife, anything. Stupid! The headlights from a car cut over the slight incline behind her, washing over her with a white light. The intensity grew with each second that passed until the light became blinding. Eve lurched forward off the asphalt and onto the gravel shoulder. She’d wave the driver down. He could help her, even if only by taking her to the next town, until a single thought ran through her mind. What if it’s not Edric in the cane? What if he’s driving the car?

Eve turned and stared into the light, instantly realizing this movement had been a mistake. Her heart thundered inside her chest. She tripped and stumbled. Her vision filled with iridescent sparks everywhere she turned. Eve caught herself before she fell, but pain tore through her ankle and she screamed. She stumbled to the side and waited for the car to pass. Instead of kicking gravel into her face, it slowed, pulling up alongside of her.

“Do you want a ride?” A man barked over his disappearing automatic window. Eve shook her head and kept on limping, watching the car out of the corner of her eye. Eve could hear the car change gear a second before he called out. “Fine.”

She kept the car in her peripheral view and walked with a rigid determination until the car disappeared and she could pretend no more. The pain from her ankle bit, like a taipan snake with each step she made. She should've taken the lift. How much longer could she walk? How long would it take for her attacker to hunt her like an animal and kill her? Her heart sped with the thought and she whimpered like a pup. Stupid… stupid. The sound of a car stopped her and she stepped off the road, looking around for somewhere to hide as the car pulled alongside her once again.

“Look, I'm sorry. Get in. I'll drive you wherever you need to go, you shouldn't be out walking at night in your condition.”

She would’ve told him off if she could, but she had no other choice, so she bent her knees to stare at him through the window. Her ankle pained, forcing her to nod. Please let me be safe, just this once. “Thank you.”

She limped around the back of the car, opened the passenger door and slid in, pushing her backpack beside her feet. The car was warm and filled with the scent of burgers, dirty clothes, and smelled faintly of deodorant. The aromas only intensified when she closed the door behind her. He watched her from the corner of his eye which made her feel uncomfortable. She clicked the seat belt in place before he put the car into gear and pulled away.

“Are you cold?” He twisted the knobs, moving his hand over the vents and turning them in her direction.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she shivered, aware of his every move beside her.

The high beam from the car lit the road ahead as the stranger accelerated. He seemed in a hurry to get somewhere, and that was fine with Eve. She needed to get far away from Hurrow and the monsters it held.

A voice blasted through the car. Eve jumped in her seat and held her breath until she realized the sound came from a scanner. The voice continued in short, loud bursts. The man lowered the volume, leaning toward the speaker while he attempted to drive.

Crime Scene 401 going off at Unit 12 Bartlet...

Crime Scene 401. Copy.

Ah, VKR, do we have an ETA on 402 and 403?

...

Crime Scene 401. ETA is approximately fifteen minutes. They’re stocking up on supplies. Over.

Yeah. Thanks VKR. It's gonna be a long one. Over.

The car swerved across broken lines before it veered back, the violent motion pushing Eve hard against the door. Great, escape a homicidal maniac to get wiped out in an accident. Maybe I should say something? She licked her lips and was sure she smelled her own nervous sweat. “So, where are you headed?”

“Fuck, fuck!” He drove his fist down on top of the steering wheel so hard Eve heard the keys in the ignition jingle. “Wait... no, it's okay… fucking husband did it.”

She swallowed and glanced at the police scanner from the corner of her eye. The way he drove, the way he spoke was aggressive. Why was he listening to a scanner? Was he searching for someone? Was he searching for her? It’s a bit late to be asking these questions now. Something I should’ve thought about before I got into the bloody car. Eve shifted in her seat. She drove her fingers into the cushioned door handle, but her sweaty palms caused her hands to slip. Determinedly, she grabbed the handle again and dragged her swollen, aching body as far from him as possible.

The scanner exploded with chatter, and then died mid-word. He pressed the buttons and moved the dial, with no luck. The thing stayed silent. Eve whispered a plea for it to stay like that.

“Goddamn dead spots. You’d think with the amount of money the government takes, they could put it to better use and upgrade these towers. There are blackouts the whole way through Queensland—what the fuck!”

Eve was thrown forward. The tires squealed and the car shuddered, braking hard and swerved sharply to the left, crossing the center lines. The belt cut hard against her pelvis and under bump. The jolt had Eve reaching for the dash with one hand and her seatbelt in the center of her chest with the other, as a flash of grey cut across the headlights.

He glanced over at her as he pulled the car back to the right and accelerated. “Are you okay?”

Eve swallowed her heart back down and nodded. “Yeah, I think so. What was that?”

“A goddamn roo. It just cut through the cane in front of me. We almost wore the bastard as a bonnet ornament.”

Eve’s chest ached from the sudden jolt and her speeding heart. She shifted in her seat and pulled at the belt across her waist, searching for movement inside her. Her baby gave a kick, and then another one.

“Sorry ‘bout that. I should’ve been paying more attention. It’s this bloody cane. You can’t see a damn thing. I’m Adley, by the way.”

“I’m Eve. They just started cutting the cane, so it won’t be long until it’s new again.”

She knew as soon as she said the words, they’d been a mistake.

“Eve,” he repeated. “So you come from here? Did you walk from the last town, Hurrow?”

Her stomach hardened and her head throbbed. She should’ve said nothing. She should’ve just shut her mouth. Now she either had to lie, or be rude and just not answer.

“Hey, did you hear me? Did you come from the last town?”

His voice boomed inside the small space. Her heart beat the walls of her chest like a helpless child. She stared at him from the reflection of the window, unable to speak. It wasn’t his tone, or his demeanor which disturbed her, but she could feel him staring, waiting for something. A lie? She looked down and studied her hands, which grasped the mottled green wool at her chest. Her knuckles glowed white. They passed several miles where the cane gave way to small crops she couldn’t quite make out. Eventually the mood inside the car seemed to soften and he turned his focus back to the road.

“I came from Sansford, two towns back.”

“Sansford…. Did you see anything when you passed through there? Or the last town, Hurrow? Lots of police cars or anyone unusual?”

“Everyone's unusual nowadays.” Her voice was no more than a whisper. “What are you, a cop or something?”

“Yeah. I mean, no.” He focused back on the road and his voice grew quiet. “I used to be.”

He urged the car faster. Her weariness settled in. The road blurred, dragging down her thoughts. Her throat was parched and she reached for her bag. The sweet oat biscuits were on top, the bottled water underneath and she reached for them both. She held out one of the biscuits. The edge was broken, but it would still taste the same. “They’re yesterday’s, but they’re still good.”

He turned toward her. His dark, sunken eyes sparkled under the green dashboard lights and shadowed his unshaven cheeks. Eve felt naked under his intense gaze until he shook his head, turning his attention back to the road. “No, thank you. You need it more than I do.”

“I’ve got enough for the two of us. Besides, when was the last time you ate?”

He stilled, his brow furrowed. “Shit, I... I don’t remember.”

There was something about this man. Something soft underneath his hard exterior that made her want to care for him. She held the food out toward him even though her arm grew tired. “I have more. So, it’s okay.”

He reached out and took the biscuit. “Thanks.”

She ate, taking nibbles, listening to him demolish the food in two bites.

“I haven’t had Anzac’s in ages, especially not homemade ones. They’re good.” Eve handed him another and this time he took it without a fuss. The mere act of sharing food eased the tension between them. “So, where’re you headed?”

It was a simple question, one asked in polite conversation. Eve would’ve answered, but she didn't know. She hadn't thought that far ahead. Her only focus tonight had been staying alive and getting as far away from Hurrow as possible. “I'm heading for Sandy Point. My... husband’s waiting for me there.”

“You’d think he’d have driven up here to get you, given your condition and all.”

Her face grew hot. “Yeah, well... our car broke down and we haven't the money to fix it. He didn't want me to walk, but I need to get there before the baby comes.”

“Looks like you’re due any day now. Do you know what you’re having?”

“A boy.” She prayed he was wrong and she wouldn’t deliver this baby until she was somewhere safe. Running from a monster, where would she be safe?

“You’re safe here, you know. I mean, you look kinda wrung out. So, if you want, you can sleep.”

He fumbled his words with an awkwardness that made her smile. “Thank you.”

She rolled up her jacket and placed it under her head and against the door. He never took his eyes off the road, and never looked at her once. But she could tell he was watching her, just like she was watching him. You’re safe here. The echo of his words whispered inside her mind. Somehow, here in this car, with this stranger, safe was exactly how she felt. Eve wound the seat back slightly and adjusted the seatbelt under the swell of her belly before she closed her eyes.

No monsters came for her this time. No echoes of her own darkness or despair. Only the hum of the motor to soothe her, and the rhythmic sounds of his breathing as Adley sped her away.

Chapter 14

Edric

SOMETHING WAS HAPPENING to Edric, something that’d been slowly changing in the weeks since he lost Mercy and found God. It wasn't the surge of power or the connection he felt when he attached to his new Master. It was something entirely different.

The cold, empty feeling started when he slid the knife home on his fourth victim. At first he brushed the letdown off, forcing the rush of excitement until he felt the high once more. But his body failed to respond, leaving his flaccid cock cold and lifeless in his hand. His mind argued his impotence was due to the pressure he was under. The constant weight of his new Master’s demands overshadowed the euphoria he once had, dragging him under.

The void inside didn't ease.

Instead, the darkness spread like a plague, until he was sure he was dead. The pleasure he once took from watching the moment of death was now nothing but a farce, intent on leaving him as hollow as his victims. To prove his existence, he sliced himself. In the wake of his blade, red drops welled, only to be abandoned when the edges of his flesh knitted themselves back together. He wasn't dead. He was very much alive. Only he didn’t feel alive.

Edric’s new body no longer needed human functions such as breathing, or eating. His only food was human blood—pure blood, which he was running out of. To continue killing, he needed to remain cloaked in the world in which he once existed, the human world. Even though his new body was faster, stronger—immortal—he still felt cheated of the excitement he craved.

Until he thought of her.

The blonde bitch invaded his mind, both while he was awake and when he slept. Her terror and her desire to live was like a living fucking wallpaper inside his head. Over and over, he saw her ram the wooden shard into Mercy's chest. The hurt, the anger, was fuel to his fire. He wanted to see that look again, that moment of pure barbarity, when the blonde bitch snarled and screamed with rage. He wanted to hold her face in his hands and feel her lips around his cock. He wanted to plunge into her with his body as well as his knife. And this desire became all he could think of.

Every one of his victims was a row of Jane Does on the end of his blade. Their deaths to him were dull, meaningless, while inside his fantasy, the blonde bitch raged.

“You seem to have lost your touch, Edric.”

God’s tone was disapproving as he waited for another meaningless update on Edric’s progress. God knew exactly what he’d done. Their connection was like a blow-by-blow account. Why he insisted on these unenlightening phone conversations confused and bugged the shit out of him.

Edric continued to do God’s work. He traveled from town to town, skipping some, and then doubling back to hunt and kill. But he took no pleasure in killing now. His actions became mechanical and sloppy. He knew he’d lost his touch.

“Yeah well, don't worry, I haven't failed yet.” Edric growled.

“No you haven't. But I must wonder, Edric, who is she? This human who’s branded inside your mind? She seems to occupy your thoughts more than she should and you’re making mistakes.”

Edric snarled back, unable to stop himself. The blonde bitch rose like bile in his throat. “She is no one! Have I been caught? No. So leave me the fuck alone!”

Silence. Not even a breath. Not even a whisper. Edric knew he was losing his mind. He was unraveling from the desolation of his essence. Until all that filled him and kept him going was the thought of finding her.

“Control yourself, Edric,” God growled. Edric could feel death upon him. God’s power squeezed his inanimate life until he doubled over with the pain and sank to the floor. “Let me remind you of our arrangement. You exist because I allow it. I have not made you into ash because I’ve yet to tire of you. Do you understand your position here?”

“Yes,” Edric cried.

“Good. Kill her and move on.”

Edric lay curled and whimpering like the fucking dog he’d become, the phone still pressed against his ear from fear he might miss some word of God’s. He felt thick gunk squeeze from his eyes and stopped whimpering. He wiped at his face and stared at his hands. Clumps of congealed blood lay in his palm, blood that wasn’t even his. Tears… they were tears that slid from his eyes. Jesus… what have I become? Sobs wracked his body and he gripped his stomach. He had no purpose, he had no life… he had no—

He stopped, mid-thought, frozen. An image filled his mind and he clung to it like a fucking life raft. The blonde bitch fueled his fire and filled his useless fucking existence. This was his only purpose. His grip unclenched from his empty gut.

God wanted him to kill.

He would kill them all.

He would kill because of her.

Edric Hasting smiled.

Chapter 15

Eve

THE REVVING OF engines bought Eve back to reality. Wiping grit from her eyes, she tried to orient herself. She longed to remain in her dream rather than enter this greyed-out existence. Her fantasy ended anyway when the real world shouldered her dream aside.

The towering semi-trailers sandwiched the vehicle and idled with an out-of-control beat, shooting plumes of white exhaust into the air to settle around them. She was in a stranger’s car, in the middle of nowhere. This would’ve normally freaked her out, let alone the memory of what happened last night. But for now she was alive, she was safe and warm—a little too warm.

Eve pulled at the layers draped across her. A sudden snore caused her to jolt and she looked at the man who’d stopped for her last night. He was wedged between the seat and the steering wheel. He looked uncomfortable, painful even. His left hand was outstretched toward her, like he was pleading for her to save him. Her thoughts darkened and she pulled away. She couldn’t save him. She could barely save herself.

The car was definitely lived-in. Files littered the back seat. A towel and what she guessed was a shaving kit lay near the back door and rubbish littered the floor under her feet. It looked as though he’d done this many times, sleeping where he parked, living on the road. She turned from the backseat to look at him in the light. Her eyes roamed his body and his face. She remembered how he made her feel—protected and safe—and how did she repay his kindness? By leering at him. Her cheeks burned in the cold morning air.

She lowered her gaze down to the stack of thick files by his side. The folders were bent, the edges dog-eared and ripped, worn down with use. The word confidential caught Eve’s attention. The bold, red stamped word decorated every file she could see, enticing her to pick one up and read it.

The impulse to read the folder was so overwhelming, her hand shook when she reached out. Horrified, she jerked back and instead she turned her attention outside the car, to the now desolate, abandoned truck bays surrounding them. But intrigue and instinct had her turning back. Eve winced and forced her body to bend as she grabbed the file and pulled it onto her lap.

She listened to the pace of his breathing over her heart’s pounding, her mouth arid like a desert wind. She couldn’t stop herself. She opened the file. The words ‘Department of Police Prosecutions: Record of Interview: Detective Adley Scott’ made her stop. A memory drifted to the surface. What are you, a cop or something?

Yeah. I mean, no… I used to be.

That voice inside urged her on, telling her there was more to Adley Scott than she could see. Her heart felt heavy, knowing she was betraying his trust, but still, she found herself rifling through the pages, one at a time.

There were so many entries, names of women, dates, and locations. The words time of death halted her rapid scanning and her breath. She glanced at Adley again. His breathing was steady and even. His snores peaked and then fell. She swallowed hard and turned back to the file. The last entry was dated two weeks ago. Now only more questions plagued her. Why was he living in his car and haunting the roads? Why wasn’t he a detective anymore? And more importantly, why did he really stop for her last night?

Something was happening here. Something she didn’t quite understand. It was as though the universe suddenly saw her, as though it said, Aha! There you are, Eve. I’ve been looking all over for you. The attention filled her with panic, the spotlight unwanted, forcing her to fight just to stay alive from the nightmares of this world.

Fighting to stay alive for her and her son was all she thought about. So, like a voyeur, she opened the door and stepped into hell. Victim: Sebastian Hayden. DOB: 12-05-2005 Sex: Male. Address: 9 Granville Street. Preliminary Report showing sixteen incision and lacerations wounds ranging from point three centimeters to twenty centimeters….

Her heart raced. Her hand fluttered to her stomach. Dear God, he was just a child. Eve was frozen, caught up in words that ran together in a jumble of medical terminology and detailed measurements. The only things that changed were the names... Jesus, the names, all children... Stephanie Krass DOB: 20-12-2003, Lilly Norman DOB: 11-06-2004, Matthew Scott DOB: 01-05-2006…. They kept coming. She stared at them, pages and pages of names, birth dates and details until all she saw were blurred streaks of black and white.

And then there were the photos….

The last photo made her cry out and almost drop the file. Every muscle in her body reacted. Her stomach jerked, as though holding tight to the life within her. Eve tried to close the pages. She shouldn’t be doing this. Her invasion of Adley’s life was far too graphic and far too real. She moved to close the file, until she saw the last name. That stopped her. Beside the name was a single phrase carrying with it so much torment, she felt an overwhelming need to understand. Next of kin, Adley Scott.

Eve looked at him, now realizing why she felt such an instant connection. She wanted to reach out, to touch his scars and give him comfort. So much pain and loneliness must haunt this man. She knew what that felt like.

She no longer cared about privacy. She had to know him. Her heart raced and her vision tunneled, forcing out the useless motion of the outside world, until all she saw was him.

Adley was handsome, even with the scars on his face. His black hair was flecked with grey around his ears, adding character to his masculine features. She wanted to reach out and touch him. There was nowhere else to look and nowhere else she wanted to look. His parted lips quivered as he inhaled. They looked soft, tender… inviting. She could see herself sliding her fingers across them, feel them shudder under her touch. She could no longer stop herself from staring. Her gaze dropped to his chest, watching it expand with each breath.

The white T-shirt he wore had seen better days. It was stained with black smudges, the edges unraveled. His skin was raised in goose bumps, and it wasn't until she looked down that she saw why. He’d covered her with his jacket to keep her warm. The black hooded material resurrected memories she’d rather keep buried, but as she lifted it to her face, she knew this was where the similarities ended. Eve inhaled his scent and felt something deep inside her come alive. Her skin tingled and warmed. Her heart blossomed with each beat as she inhaled. She couldn’t stop herself from holding the fabric against her, knowing his scent was inside her body, deep in her lungs.

He had more muscle than she’d ever seen on a man close-up. His body was smooth, yet hard, flowing in curves and ridges. His shirt molded around the ripples of his stomach, until it disappeared under the buckle of his jeans.

She wondered where Adley was going and who would be there when he arrived? He probably had a wife, a family. She searched for a wedding band on his finger—there was none, but didn’t mean much, her own father hadn’t worn one. A man who looked like Adley did was never single for long. She clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth together, and her mood darkened. Eve was suddenly angry. Envious of a wife she didn't know and would never know. She hated her. Hated that she was able to have everything Eve couldn't. She wanted him, even if it was just the idea of him.

She looked away, not wanting to stay on this out-of-control emotional rollercoaster. But the photographs pulled her back in, smothering the heat simmering inside her until her blood ran cold. The children called to her. Their horror screamed at her, tearing at her heart, demanding to be known. Their tiny bodies had been slashed, stabbed, and torn. Their death was laid out on the glossy prints before her.

“You shouldn't have touched that.”

Eve jumped, causing the photos to slide from the metal fastener onto her lap and beside her on the seat. She quickly grabbed them, forced them back into the file, and slapped it shut, wishing the world would swallow her.

She glanced up at him for a second and then dropped her gaze. He kept his eyes closed, giving her the decency to be ashamed in private. She quickly placed the file back between his seat and the console and sat frozen, unable to tell a lie and yet humiliated by the truth.

It wasn't only her act of betraying him which shamed her. It was the way she’d watched him sleep. Thinking about him. Wanting him. Her desire slammed into her, lighting a fire from inside and chasing the breath from her body. He opened his eyes and stared as though she was nothing more than glass.

“I… I’m sorry….” Her mind surged with emotions like waves, battering the seawall inside her. What could she say? What excuse could she give?

He yawned and stretched. His fingers brushed her arm. And although the touch was fleeting, the sensation stayed. He ran his hand through his hair. One lock rebelled, falling forward. She had to stop herself from reaching out and brushing it back. Instead all she could do was stare at his lips, soft and tender. Her thoughts stilled. Her emotions seethed from the maelstrom inside her, reducing her to one overwhelming need. Eve had never wanted to kiss a man like she did now. The moment lingered until he dropped his gaze and it was over, as though it had never happened at all. With shaking hands she held out his jacket.

“I guess you’re hungry?” He took the jacket.

Her stomach answered with howl. “Yeah.”

“Good. So am I.”

He started the car and she stared out the side view mirror; anything to stop from staring at Adley. White exhaust shot out behind them, billowing into the crisp morning air . They drove out of the truck stop, heading south.

Most of the town was still sleeping when they pulled up outside the café. Only one other person waited to be served. Eve reached out to grip the edge of the lounge, and with some difficulty, slid into the booth. Her body groaned, protesting with pain. She yearned for a soft bed. When this is all over. When I’m safe.

“Good morning.” A waitress sidled up to the table. She looked like a kindly, older woman, pen poised over a pad. She glanced down at Eve’s stomach and then back up to her and smiled. “What can I get you, hon?”

She ordered a hamburger and water. It wasn’t the usual breakfast order, but being pregnant had its upside. Her unusual food choice would be seen as another craving. But bread and meat would fill her until dinner and wouldn’t make a dent in the money she had left. Surviving was more than safety, it was food and shelter. Money was another battle she had to win. Adley placed his order and handed the waitress the menus, watching her return to the counter before speaking.

“So Eve, I have this problem.” He slid his finger around the top of his water glass, keeping his focus on the table. “The problem is, your story doesn't seem right. I mean, I can see you’re most definitely pregnant. But the loser husband doesn't wash with me.”

Eve kept her head down, trying and failing to think of a lie that might get her out of this mess. She could just not answer and leave and be on the next bus out of here. She looked out of the window, searching for a bus stop, a timetable… anything. With what money was left in her pocket she wouldn’t get very far. Her hand gripped the table, her body making the decision to stay on her behalf. It wasn’t just the money. Something else stopped her from running. Something more than the files she’d found this morning. She’d felt it the moment Adley stopped for her on the side of the road.

Her instincts told her to trust him. Trust… it was such a hard thing to do, especially when doing so meant confiding in someone other than herself. But survival was another matter. Her chances of survival might be slim with this stranger, but she knew she had no chance on her own. Eve gazed at the scars across his face and into his haunted eyes. She put into motion something she knew was unforgivable. She drew him into her fight to survive.

“I lied to you last night.” Eve started and once she did the truth poured out of her like an open wound. “I did come from Hurrow. I was afraid to tell you.”

His eyes widened. She had his full attention now. “Tell me what, Eve?”

Please, God help me. “I was attacked in my home last night and now… now he’s after me.”

“Who was it? Your boyfriend? Friend?”

She shook her head as the memory of last night swirled like a noxious cloud. The way he mauled her breasts and between her thighs. Eve shuddered and clenched her legs tight. “I don’t know who he was. It just all happened so fast.”

Adley stared at her until the silence became almost painful. She could feel her face burn and she looked away breaking the connection. Had she been wrong to trust him? Yeah, what was I thinking? I’m better off alone.

“It's okay. I can find my own way from here. I appreciate all you’ve done.” Her body ached with exhaustion and the blisters on the back of her feet made her bite her lip with each step, but Eve heaved her body along the cushion in surging movements until she stood and grabbed her bag. The waitress looked from plating their food as she neared. She wiped her hands on a towel as she stepped toward the counter. “Everything okay?”

“Can I grab my order to go instead, please?”

The waitress's smile was soft and sympathetic. “Sure, hon. No problem.” She glared at Adley and then moved back to quickly wrap her burger and place it into a bag. “You take care of yourself now.”

Her motherly concern washed over Eve. She nodded, wishing this woman was her mother, and not someone else's. “I will. Thank you.”

“Wait.” Adley leapt over the table to grab her by the arm. “Please Eve, come back to the table. I’m sorry I….”

She shook her head. The decision was already made. She was on her own.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…. Fuck, I’m no good at this.”

His tone was tinged with defeat, stalling her. Hope flickered inside her chest. She would do anything. Endure any hurt and humiliation, as long as she was safe.

“Stop… Eve, please. Can you tell me what he looked like?”

Eve closed her eyes tight, she didn’t want to remember.

“Do you know his name? Was it Edric Hasting?”

Eve could feel the life drain from her. She reached out, clawing at the counter as her knees gave way.  Adley sounded so far away… so far away.

“Whoa, Eve… Eve…?” Adley was a haze but she felt strong arms around her, cradling her against his body. She tried to speak, to say something, but his face darkened. Eve could hear the waitress cry out, her words warped and garbled… ambulance?

Eve grabbed his shirt as she fell to the floor. “No! No ambulance. I… I can’t go back there.”

“Wait. I think she’s coming around….”

Eve concentrated on breathing, pushing back the darkness with each breath. Adley brushed her hair from her face with one hand while the other held her tight. “You scared me for a moment.”

Her world sharpened and she slowly sat up. “Sorry. But no ambulance, okay? I mean, I’m fine now.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause you look really pale.”

Eve dropped her head into her hands. She tried to inhale, but the air felt heavy. “I don’t know. I really don’t know anymore.”

Adley slid out from underneath her and, though she was heavy and awkward, he helped her to stand. Her mind was still racing, still trying to figure out how Adley knew her attacker’s name.

I’ll be back for you, bitch. Her attacker’s words haunted her.

“Eve… Eve! Jesus… you look like you’re about to be sick. Come on, you need to sit down.”

She didn’t dare move. She instantly reached for her stomach as the words tumbled from her mouth. “Wait. How did you know it was him… tell me… tell me!”

A deep line formed between his brows as a storm moved in. His kind brown eyes darkened. “It was him, wasn’t it? Edric Hasting.”

She forced the whisper, terrified the mere mention of his name would conjure him into her life once more. “Yes, but he wasn’t alone. There was a woman, a beautiful woman with long dark hair. At first I thought she was there to help me. But she was cruel and vicious.”

Adley’s grip on her arm tightened until she cried out. He dropped her arm as though she’d somehow burned him and stepped back.

“There was a woman?” He reached for his chest, rubbing a spot near his heart. “She’s alive?”

“She was alive, but not anymore. Now she’s dead.”

His gaze was jerked toward her. “What? How do you know?”

This was the real test. She was not only about to confess murder to a former detective, but she was about to tell him there was no proof. She had no other option. It was either take her chances on her own… or tell Adley what he wanted to know. She prayed to God she could trust him. Eve inhaled and looked into Adley’s eyes. “Because I killed her.”

Chapter 16

Grimm

GRIMM, KALI, AND Jinx stepped off the jet at Vancouver International Airport and straight into a seventy-kilometer-an-hour Arctic wind. The Cessna Bravo piloted by Fraser made the sixteen-hour flight as comfortable as possible, stopping only to refuel before taking off again. The leather seating and fully decked-out cabin were luxurious, but the opulence was wasted on Grimm. Heading into a bomb-filled Boeing 747 kinda had that effect on a lycan.

Grimm grabbed his backpack, tightened his leather jacket, and lowered his head, making his way toward the glass double doors of the Vancouver Airport terminal. They had only hours before they were on another plane, this time for the flight back home. Flight AC033 was already illuminated on the terminal screens. Grimm glared at the humans as they hurried passed.

Ants, the lot of them, invading where they weren't wanted and destroying everything else. They scurried around him, dragging suitcases, trolleys, and children. There were so many. Their line thrived. Their proliferation only emphasized how his kind hadn't. His nostrils flared as the scent of a woman called to him, and he swallowed. Twenty-four hours and he was free, twenty-four fucking hours of torture. The full moon’s call had followed him all this way, its power was undeniable. Grimm fought the need to dry-hump anything female in his vicinity.

“Grimm.” Jinx tugged on his arm. “You okay, man? Kali said we should try and scope out the perps before they board. Maybe we can all save ourselves a job, huh?”

Grimm nodded and turned to Kali, feeling his desire take one fucking huge nose-dive. She stared at him with guarded eyes, eyes that saw every twitch his body made and no doubt analyzed it. He’d thought about fucking her more than once. But he’d prefer to keep his parts intact and he had a feeling she would take great delight in skinning this wolf alive.

Kali returned his nod; her black hair swaying when she moved. Any mortal would pass her by without as much as a glance. Maybe they’d even smile and move out of her way. So pretty and delicate. How could someone so small be a threat?

She moved like a midnight river, soft, smooth, without so much as a jerk or twitch in her step. Her black hair and wide-bottom black pants floated behind her. Grimm caught the sweet smell of jasmine and the scent of her skin. Her leather bomber jacket would not only keep her warm, but would hide a weapon no metal detector would ever find.

The sword lay along her back, strapped over her black t-shirt. The hilt nestled neatly between her shoulders, the tip of the blade ending at her lower back. He’d watched her draw the blade and fight more times than he could count, and she still mesmerized him.

The first time he’d seen the scimitar lying in the weapons room he couldn't help but touch it. He’d been with the Family for about a year when he found himself alone amongst the rows of weapons in the armory. He grabbed the automatics, the knives, and the blades. Nothing excited him until he saw the sword on a bench by itself. He ran his fingers along the blade, touching the white porous surface until it sliced him, cutting deep into his flesh. His blood trickled from the wound, falling and disappearing into the handle. He cursed and turned to grab his discarded shirt, intending to wipe away the evidence on the blade. But when he turned back there was none.

He lifted the blade and ran his finger along the carved skulls and the jagged edges of their open mouths.

That’s when he saw it.

The mouths moved.

The fucking things moved.

The blood from his wound had slowed to a trickle. And so help him, he didn't fully understand why he’d done it. But he squeezed the cut, forcing his blood to run freely once more and dripped it over the blade. The viscous fluid ran up the handle, defying gravity, crawling over the screaming skulls to slip inside their mouths. Grimm screamed like the fucking girl he was and dropped the blade. The sound of his terror bounced off the walls and he ate his fist so the others wouldn't come running.

He’d never touched the blade again. Just to know something like that existed gave him nightmares. In his dreams, he could hear the thing call for him. The weapon knew him now. It knew the salty taste of his blood. And it wanted more.

Kali moved along the row of baggage attendants before stopping at a human male. Grimm could see the human react. His eyes widened at the sight of her and he adjusted his posture, sticking out his chest and flexing his arms. Grimm couldn't hear what she said, but he could guess. Her downcast eyes glanced toward Grimm and then back to the human, telegraphing fear—a good act, since fear was something he doubted she’d ever known.

The man met his gaze and glared. He brushed her hand and whispered something before turning toward a computer. The attendant’s fingers flew across the keyboard. He bent down, grabbed a piece of paper, and then slid it across the desk to her.

She whispered something to the human before she turned and made her way back to Grimm. The man waved his hand in the air, catching Grimm’s attention. His gesture was quick and to the point. He slid his finger across his own throat and nodded to Grimm, mouthing the words, you touch her again and you’re dead.

Great, another fucking fan. Grimm waited for Kali to stop before him and jerked his head to the human. “What the fuck did you tell him?”

Her gaze hardened. “Whatever it took to get this list.” Kali handed him the piece of paper. “This is the current passenger list. Those marked with red have yet to check in.”

He scanned the page, searching for something which would help them find the vamps. Some of the bloodsuckers took their founding father’s name. Not many people had the last name of Xhair or Gdahen anymore. A name like that stuck out like dog’s balls. Grimm didn’t think finding the bombers would be that easy. It wasn’t. He scanned the list twice and all he saw was a lot of fucking red.

“You stay here and watch for those checking in. Jinx and I will do a little recon and see if we can find anything.”

When he looked up, she was already gone, moving through the crowd. Stupid humans, couldn’t they see death moved among them? Grimm let out a growl. Kali had as much tact as hardened concrete. She didn’t ask his opinion. She didn’t find out if he had anything important to share with the group. She gave orders and expected him to follow them like a good dog. He had feelings, too… dammit, he had feelings, too! An ache formed in his chest. He rubbed it and whimpered… Jesus, his nipples were sore.

Grimm checked his watch, fifty minutes until they were called to board. Fifty minutes until he and five hundred and twenty-three other passengers kissed their asses’ goodbye. He moved past the row of attendants, heading toward the back of the terminal.

“Hey, you!”

Grimm glanced at the male attendant who pointed, crooked his finger and motioned him over. Shiiiit. He strode to the counter, feeling a flash of satisfaction when the human had to look up at him.

“I’m letting you know I gave her my number.” The human sounded as though Grimm should know what that meant. “If you hit her again, she’s going to call me. I’ll come and get her first, and then I'm coming for you.”

The human looked so serious, it was almost a shame to ruin his expression. But if Grimm had learned one thing in the pack, it was never to back down. Grimm leaned forward, the growl vibrating inside his chest like rolling thunder. His gaze narrowed on the man. “Then I'll be sure to leave the fucking light on.”

The human’s eyes widened and his face turned the color of pastry dough. That suited Grimm just fine. It was better the human was scared of him. Then maybe the fool might stay away from the real danger. Grimm spun, sensing Kali behind him. He caught sight of her, hidden among a group of humans. They moved away from her. She was like a drop of oil in water. Kali stared at him with a smirk on her face before she turned and disappeared, blending with the humans around her. Yeah, it was better the human was scared of the threat he saw, rather than the one ready to sneak up behind and carve him up with a savage blade.

The scent of humans became overwhelming. Their anguish at leaving their loved ones tasted bitter, invading his senses in one moment, and then turning to the sickly-sweet scent of love and joy in the next. His gut rolled and nausea took hold. He pushed his way through the crowd, seeking solace and respite until he found himself staring at the massive Boeing 747s.

The squadron of waiting planes sat, noses toward the terminal. The pilots moved around inside the cockpit and the handlers scurried around on the ground, already loading their bellies with bags and suitcases. Grimm headed toward the entrance marked Authorized Personnel Only. This would lead him down to the tarmac. His hand was on the door, sliding it open, when he froze… vampire. The scent was subtle, but it was there. The stench of blood mixed with fermented, rotten grapes. Once detected, the smell was unforgettable. Grimm stepped out the door and leaned over the rail, searching the stairs for the source as he inhaled. There was no one there.

The door banged closed behind him. He spun, pulling it open. There it was again, that faint scent. All he could see was humans. All he could smell was humans, and amongst the sickly stench of them, the scent of the vampire was lost.

He scanned the crowd, searching and moved back into the human current. The call came through the speakers, Flight AC033 to Sydney, Australia, is now boarding at gate number two. Grimm searched the airport signs with annoyance. How the fuck am I supposed to find Gate two? Grimm and the sea of surrounding humans pushed past crowded baggage carousels. He could feel his panic rising. He needed to get out of here… he needed to fight something!

Gate Two materialized in front of him, beside rows of hard plastic chairs. He stepped to the side, glad to be out of the sea of rushing humans so he could fucking breathe. Get this job done and I get back home. Maybe I can take a vacation to the Swiss Alps? Yeah right. No vacation time with this job. The two attendants looked up as he strode forward. As usual, their reaction to him played out like a scene in a movie. They smiled, smoothed down their shirt to emphasize their chests, and reached for the lip gloss and perfume. God they were so predictable… even if one was a guy.

Grimm shoved his blonde hair from his face and scratched at his stubble, searching the foyer for Kali or Jinx. They hadn't yet made it this far. Grimm exhaled slowly. Thank the Master they hadn't caught the sexual display of the attendants.

Humans crowded the rows of plastic chairs. Those who didn’t have family to see them off huddled over phones or iPads. Others waited with their family, holding them. Family… don't...  don't think about it. A little girl ran out of the line of chairs squealing. She didn’t look where she was running, only laughed and stared at the man chasing her. She smacked into Grimm, bouncing off his legs and plopping down onto the ground on her bottom. Grimm didn’t know what to do. Something inside him took over and he reached for her. The child’s eyes were already beginning to water as he picked her up. She stared up at him, her bottom lip trembling.

She felt so tiny in his arms, yet so full of life and warm against his chest. He stared down at her little fists, now clenched around the collar of his shirt, holding fast to this life and to her future.

“Bad man!” The little human girl growled and he stared into the dark spot inside her blue iris, her spirit fierce and vibrant. His heart felt as though it twisted, pain flared although he was not injured. Her innocence washed over him. She reminded Grimm of one of his kind.

The man snatched her from Grimm’s arms. He didn’t have to see the man’s face, he reeked of fear. “Sorry… I… ah… we were playing.”

Grimm’s lip pulled back in a sneer. “I wasn’t going to hurt her.”

“I’m sorry.”

But it was too late. The damage was done. Just go, Grimm snarled inwardly. The second boarding announcement came over the speaker and the human disappeared with the child.

The vamp, Jinx, walked toward him. He stood out from everyone else around him. Black spiky hair and dark, lined eyes caused a scene and as usual the humans around them turned to stare at him. He wasn’t as tall as Grimm, or as muscular. But he was as deadly, just not in a rip-your-throat-out-and-drink-your-blood kind of way. Most vampires these days were no more than a sub-species, consisting of any blood-crazed idiot strong enough not to kill their victim and instead turn them. Jinx was different.

“Find anything?”

Grimm shook his head. “You ready for this?”

Jinx raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, why?”

“Nothing. It’s... ah fuck, I dunno. I need to get this done. I feel like the walls are closing in on me, man.”

“Nothin’s gonna go wrong. This is just another mission. We’ll go in, kill these fuckers, and get out of here.”

Grimm wished it was that easy. Maybe it would be. Maybe he was blowing this shit way out of proportion. He brushed his hair back once more. If he kept this up, he’d be fucking bald by the end of the trip.

Kali walked toward them with a frantic swish of black fabric. “Anything?”

“Nope and nope.” Jinx, answered for him.

She nodded and then moved to line up amongst the chaotic humans. Kids laughed, cried, and screamed while frustrated parents either ignored them, or gripped them mercilessly. Jinx and Grimm followed and he inhaled, whispering a prayer. Please don’t sit them next to me. Jinx pulled out his ticket at the last moment. Grimm waited behind them, ready to board once Kali and Jinx were seen to. The male attendant ignored Jinx and instead reached for Grimm's ticket. The female attendant shouldered the male out of the way. There was a shuffle, blood was almost spilled. The female won and snatched Grimm’s boarding pass. She smiled at him. Grimm felt his wolf react.

His animal growled in eagerness, ready to be devoured by her pink-frosted lips. No matter how hard he tried, Grimm couldn't stop the vibration. The sound escaped. He tried to cover it with a cough, but his effort seemed pointless. The male attendant blanched and stepped back, eager now to process Jinx's ticket instead and move them along. But the female was another matter. Grimm could hear her pulse rocket. His nose filled with the scent of her desire, which only enticed his wolf. Fuck.

She handed back his ticket and grabbed his hand. “There’s still another fifteen minutes before your flight leaves.”

The statement was obvious, and so help him, he was fucking tempted. Like a pathetic child, he fumbled, lost for a response that didn't start and end with yes.

“He's with me, so back off.”

The attendant’s gaze shot toward the voice, as did Grimm's. At first he froze, and then all he wanted to do was laugh. Jinx stepped closer to Grimm and glared at the airline employee.

Her mouth dropped open. Like Grimm, she was lost for words. “Sorry… I didn't know.”

Jinx’s tone was cold. “And now you do.”

They moved off together, and once Grimm was sure they were out of earshot he clapped Jinx on the arm. “Thanks, man.” Grimm enjoyed this moment for a whole fucking second until the realization hit and the laughter turned cold and hard inside his chest. Either Jinx was one hell of a fucking actor, or…. He’s really in love with me.

Grimm couldn’t help but stare, open-mouthed, at the vampire now. He replayed every interaction they had in the last one hundred years, searching for anything that would give weight to the suspicion. All those claps on the back… were they really hugs? Jesus, they’d even bunked together once… “Jinx.”

The vampire turned, shifting his bag from one shoulder to the other. “Yeah?”

“You don't... I mean... that's cool and all... but you gotta know I don't swing like that.” Fuck, he sounded pathetic. I mean what the fuck had just happened in the last five seconds?

“Don't flatter yourself, lycan. Even if I was that way inclined, you wouldn't be my type.”

Relief flooded through Grimm. “Jesus that's good, that's real fucking good.”

“Just get your head in the game, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” Although getting his act together was easier said than done, he sighed and headed toward the plane.

He’d thought by flying sixteen hours and escaping the full moon in Australia, the distance would’ve settled his wolf. But for some reason it hadn’t. If anything he was more unsettled. He had a bad feeling about this trip. There was something he couldn’t put his finger on.

Get my head in the game…. Yeah right.

Jinx stepped into the plane. Instead of heading left toward first class, where they usually flew, he turned right and headed toward the overcrowded and almost frenetic-feeling economy. Their seats were forty-seven E through to G, in the middle of the plane—right in the thick of things.

The plane was already more than half full. Crying babies and yelling parents set the bar for what was going to be one awesome fucking experience.

“Can I stow your bag for you?”

Grimm shook his head, but kept his eyes locked like lasers on the overhead compartment while he stowed his luggage. He tried not to breathe. Not fill his lungs with her scent. But no matter how hard he tried, her smell wormed its way inside. The scent was delicious. He wanted to rub himself on her, coating his fur, until he smelled like her. He groaned and leaned against the compartment. The power of her scent hit him between the eyes and between his thighs, his cock stirred. He knew more about this human woman than he wanted to know. She was ovulating.

“Sir, are you okay?”

“Mmhmm.” He moaned and nodded, knowing he was acting weird. He couldn’t avoid her any longer. Hell, knowing his luck, she’d think he was a terrorist and he’d be thrown off the bloody plane.

“He's okay, just ate something bad.” Kali came to his rescue. He took a deep breath and turned toward the attendant. She was plain, eyes dull and lifeless, with only a hint of make-up. Her brown hair was tied back in a pony-tail. His wolf didn't care though, the fucking beast was ready to lie down and rut with anything that moved. Fuck, even the leather seats were bound to feel good.

“Sorry, I’ve been sick all day.” He shoved his bag into the compartment his mind focused. Feigning nausea, he crossed the aisle and crammed his body into the narrow row of seats to get to the center. He was exhausted and snarly by the time he squeezed his thighs into the seat.

She watched him, the seconds feeling like hours under her scrutiny. “There’s an air-sickness bag in the pocket, in front of you. If you need another, let me know.”

Then she moved on to hassle the next lot of boarders.

“Fuck, dude, you look like shit. You okay?”

Grimm nodded, but he was struggling to understand what was going on. The full moon's call had never hit him this bad before, and never during the day. The day belonged to the Master. It was his respite from the Mistress’ demands. This felt like the Call, but it had been so long since he felt it, he couldn’t be sure. And besides, there were no female lycans left.

Female wolves of his kind released a scent that overrode all others when they were ready to be mated. This compulsion was named the Call. Every male lycan in a forty-mile radius either ran toward the female, or hid in fear of betraying his mate. But the call was too strong for many to resist. So they ended up trying to fight their way through the wall of snarling, snapping males that always surrounding any female in heat.

The need slammed into him like a freighter. He tried to breathe through the rapid spiral of desire, but inhaling deeply only made his suffering worse. Instead, he gripped the arm rests and heard steel snap. Grimm hadn't felt the Call for the last two hundred years. But as the scent grew stronger, his memories returned, and with one long soulful whine, Grimm knew one thing.

He sure as fuck felt it now.

Chapter 17

Eve

“OKAY, EVE, I want you to tell me everything you remember.”

Her heart raced, pumping fear through her body. The memory of that night hovered under the surface, looking for a way in. She took a deep breath, trying to still her racing heart. “Everything?”

“I know this is hard for you. And I promise, I’ll explain later, but please trust me when I say there’s more to this than the attack on you. A lot more.”

She began her story driving out of one town, and finished as they approached another, over a hundred kilometers away. There were things she left out, the scan at the hospital, and stealing money from the café. Those things Eve kept secret. But everything else was as she remembered it, every last terrifying detail. And as she relived her nightmare, her heart sped and her voice strained, growing higher and louder until she froze. The silence that followed her final word felt like shell-shock.

“Jesus,” he whispered. He looked at her and she saw her own shock and confusion mirrored in his brown eyes. “It’s a miracle you survived.”

“The entire time I kept thinking, this is a mistake, it can’t be happening. They’ve got the wrong apartment. They’ve got the wrong person. But there was no mistake, was there?”

“No, there wasn’t. You fit his profile.”

He turned to her and his gaze softened. It was the first time she felt him not look at her like she was trouble. Eve’s stomach fluttered. It’s just the baby… but she knew deep down, her child reacted to Adley’s voice. The effect wasn’t just felt by her. She dropped her gaze and shifted in her seat, staring at the road ahead.

Towns blurred as they sped from one town to another, turning away from the Outback to head toward the clear blue Queensland coastline. And as they drove, Adley told her about the files. How he captured Edric after he abducted his godson, and the murder of his partner on their way to deliver Edric to prison. She took it all in, even when the horror was too much. She listened to every word, absorbed every painful memory he shared.

Somewhere between the ticking odometer and the emotion in his voice, Eve fell in love.

It wasn’t the heroic images his words brought to life affecting her, but what he didn’t say. His silent sacrifice had gone unnoticed by everyone, including his friends on the force. Not to her. To her, his words said one thing while his body said another. His tone became quieter at the mention of his friend and the way they’d drifted apart. He was okay, he said. He didn’t hold a grudge against the police force either, when they asked him to retire. But his white knuckles on the steering wheel told a different story.

They stopped at a service station on the outer edge of yet another town. While Adley refueled, Eve left to use the restroom. She hurried along the aisles, heading for the women’s toilet. Spray-painted images covered the door in a crude illustration of the female anatomy, complete with breasts and a hollow between their legs. She flinched, recoiling from the sight, and headed for the toilet stall. Her own feelings of sexuality were not lost on Eve. The father of her child materialized in her mind, like a dream. She wished she could remember something about him, something other than dark eyes and a powerful presence. But he was lost to her.

Sharp, internal jabs made her inhale sharply, bringing her back to reality in a rush. She exhaled, sliding her hands under her T-shirt to caress her swollen stomach. Her skin stretched tight, expanding outwards further than she thought possible. The outline of a tiny foot pressed through her stomach.

It seemed she wasn't the only one affected by the surfacing images of her child's father. He’d been her first. The stranger who’d saved her in the alley, her first and probably her last. She tried to envision what it’d been like, picturing a fantasy of desire which rode the waves of adrenaline, ending with mind-blowing sex. But the reality was denial first and then shame.

Eve finished up, left the stall and washed her hands. She averted her eyes from the door as she made her way to the counter. A pimply guy reclined on a stool, picking his nose and reading a men’s magazine, probably filled with half-naked women, oblivious to her. He looked older than her, his smugness looked well-worn. It was probably him who’d drawn on the walls in the bathroom. Eve pictured him laughing with his mates.

Eve grabbed chips and a chocolate bar and plonked them hard onto the counter to get his attention. He reached over to the till and rang up her items without moving from the tilted chair. “Six-fifty.”

She handed him the money, trying her best to hold back her anger. She grabbed the items from the counter, turned and stopped. “That picture on the door is disgusting. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

His gaze narrowed on her, turning cruel. “I should be ashamed? I just fucking work here and deal with bitches like you, who think you’re somehow better than the rest of us. How old are you, anyway? You can’t be any more than eighteen. Just another teenage slut and you shoot your mouth off at me for a drawing on a toilet door?”

Eve shook her head, wondering how this had turned on her. “I’m not a… slut.”

He nodded toward her hand and then stared out the window. “There’s no ring on your finger and your old man over there looks old enough to be your father. So take your stuck-up, prissy little twat and fuck off.”

Her mouth went slack; her brain emptied. She wanted to snap back a reply, to hurt him, like he hurt her. Instead, her lips trembled and tears blurred her vision. She turned and ran into a chip stand. Packets spilled across the floor. But she didn’t stop, she didn’t even slow. She wanted out of here.

Adley looked up as she moved at a waddle, trying her best to run. She held up her hand to shield her eyes, there was no way she was going to cry in front of him. The car blurred, she swallowed a sob and fumbled for the door.

“Whoa, is everything okay?”

She didn’t stop, only nodded and clawed at the door handle, unable to hold back the tears any longer. Adley reached for her, stopping her hand gently with his. He lifted her chin and searched her weeping eyes.

“Tell me.”

She shook her head. “It's nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing. What happened in there?”

“It’s okay, really. I’m… he’s just a pig.” She turned to glare back at the store.

“What did he say to you?”

“Please. I just want to go.”

His hand didn’t move. She could feel him lean in, crowding her. “Talk to me Eve, or you leave me no other choice than to suspect the worst.”

She couldn’t look at him in the eyes, only stare at his hand on her arm, gentle, yet forceful. She spoke as a tear slid down her cheek to fall and splatter against his hand. “There was a crude image of woman on the wall of the toilet. I told him it was disgusting and he should be ashamed for leaving it there. He said I shouldn’t be offended, because I was giving it away for free, then he called me a slut. But, I don’t want any trouble, Adley. We can’t afford….”

Adley didn’t seem to be listening, because Adley was no longer there. Eve looked up, catching sight of him as he disappeared through the plastic strips which covered the service station door.

The silence that followed was deadly and her heartbeat seemed so very slow, waiting for Adley to return. A loud crash came from inside and then the store fell silent. Eve scanned the roads, keeping an eye out for other customers until Adley threw the plastic tassels aside and strode out, holding something in his hand.

“What do you say we get out of here?” His hard tone ended the sentence for him. Now.

Eve grabbed the car door. She jerked the handle and climbed in. But Adley didn’t start the car straight away. He sat there, looking down at his hand. She could tell there was something he wanted to say. Then he turned, staring at her with a look that was both fierce and protective. Electricity sparked between them like the beginning of a storm. She could feel the pull and she knew he could feel it, too. His chest rose and fell a little faster. His lips parted as though they waited patiently to kiss her. His eyes dropped to her mouth. Eve could almost smell ozone inside the car.

“Here,” he croaked, holding out a small blue bear. “Something for the baby.”

Eve took the toy, glancing at his hands. His knuckles were bright red and she followed them as he reached for his seat belt with one hand and started the car with the other. It wasn’t until he drove off, accelerating fast down the highway that she really looked at the bear. Its fur was soft, and the toy had tiny black eyes and a pink smile. A little red heart was embroidered over its chest.

It was more of gift from a boyfriend than for a baby. But she didn’t care, the gesture and the bear was beautiful. It was the first thing someone had given her without expecting something in return. Did he expect something in return? Her heart sped at the thought. Eve glanced up, finding his intense gaze now directed at the road. He glanced at the rearview, but not at her. Even though the moment between them passed, a restlessness lingered inside her.

It wasn’t until she turned the bear over that she saw the tiny specks of blood which covered the back. She jerked her head up, scanning his face, his arms, and his hands. “Adley, are you hurt?”

“No.” He glanced over and caught sight of the splatter. “Ah, shit, sorry.”

He reached over to wipe away the blood. His face hovered dangerously close to hers, his lips one slight movement away. Eve thought about the sound she’d heard in the service station and she now knew what the crash was. She didn’t feel an ounce of sympathy for the kid. He deserved to be taught a lesson. But Adley’s actions now raised some important questions.

Eve had felt it from the moment she woke, a connection to this man, a desire. She assumed her attraction was her hormones, and her need for safety, but somehow she knew this feeling was more than that. And she didn’t think it was only she who felt their connection. Eve stared down at the bear. It wasn’t his blood this time, but if it came to it, would he bleed for her?

Adley was like no man she’d met before. He was hard, cautious to the point of being rude. But when he looked at her, when he searched her eyes for answers to unspoken questions, he answered one in kind. Would he bleed for me? Yes… yes he would.

Chapter 18

Adley

WHITE LINES BLURRED before Adley, both on the road and in his heart. He’d more than once swerved to the wrong side as they tracked Edric Hasting to the next town and the next murder. Eve sat beside him as the odometer spun, never once complaining, even in her condition.

Her presence, at first, was grating. Her quiet demeanor was not what he expected of a woman her age. He could tell she was nervous around him. But the more he tip-toed around her, the more uncomfortable she became. So, he stopped trying and for once in his life, he let his guard down. They talked, really talked. Not surface stuff or watered-down versions of events. He kept from going into detail about some things, like Nathan and the force. And the reason he pushed himself so hard, stuff he didn’t think she’d understand. But everything else poured from his mouth like a leaking tap. Eve listened to everything and her grating, quiet demeanor became soothing, cathartic in a way. For once in his miserable life, Adley talked until there was nothing left and when he finished, they sat in silence.

There was a strength about her. A quiet resolve he’d grown to like and now wanted more of—a lot more. The way she described her attack was incredible, one small pregnant woman against two blood-crazed monsters. Somehow, he knew if it’d been anyone else they would’ve been slaughtered. But not Eve. She was a fighter.

He had no plan about where this was headed, neither the hunt nor their relationship. The pregnancy should’ve been an issue for him, a deal-breaker on any account. God knew, he didn’t really know how to handle any of this. But if he was honest, he didn’t see her like that. He saw her and her baby. They were a package deal. And damn if he didn’t think about it more than once, her and him, together….

He didn’t ask about the father. He figured she’d tell him when she was ready—a drunken one night stand or a childhood sweetheart who wanted one last try. That unknown man didn’t matter to him. As fate would have it, she wasn’t with those guys. She was here, with him. When they neared the state border, Eve asked if she could look at his files. At first he’d been hesitant. Then he found himself nodding, allowing her to pull the photos and reports onto her lap. Reading the gruesome case files couldn't have been easy for her, staring at the bodies, the pregnant women murdered. Even for the seasoned detective like him it was hard.

Little broken bodies lay in a macabre display on the glossy prints. More than once, he watched her clutch her stomach, her breath stilled for a moment. He knew exactly how she felt. The morgue photos still affected him the same way. Adley drove and she read, thumbing through page after page.

Her small sob drowned him in a river of pain and anger, as it had so many times before. Detachment was something he’d learned to live with. Something he could hold onto, while the world carried on.

“Do you want to tell me about him?”

He pretended to focus on the road, while inside he panicked like hell. The rusted locks on his secrets were breaking free, one after another, and he guessed it was time to release his ghosts. He’d been waiting, secretly hoping he could share the story closest to his heart with her.

“Matthew was my sister’s boy. He was all she had… hell, he was all I had.”

There was silence for a while. Long enough for him to think she hadn’t heard him.

“I’m so sorry.”

She placed her hand on his arm. He couldn’t remember how many times he’d heard those words... I’m sorry. “I’m sorry” meant secretly they were glad it was you and not them. But when she said those words, he didn’t feel cruel sympathy. Her compassion radiated like a winter’s sun. Her genuine warmth filled him, until his darkness withdrew.

He swallowed Eve’s soft nature and sweet sorrow as though he was a starving man. And, God help him, he wanted more. In between the talking, the service stations and the case files she read two things happened.

One, Eve mumbled that something had changed for Edric Hasting. Her hands were a blur as she flicked through the pages. Adley stared at the road, but his concentration was on Eve. In the last months, Edric had seemed erratic, more than once leaving items behind at the crime scene. He’d become more dangerous. He’d become deranged. Seeing the case through Eve's eyes made Adley realize what Edric’s motivation was now. Edric’s motivation now was—her.

From the contacts he’d made as a detective, he’d gained a lot of respect from outside departments, one of them the Australian Federal Police. His contact with AFP had allowed him access to their files on Edric Hasting's latest victim. He’d compiled them in a separate folder. The new files quickly became thicker than the twelve cases he’d bought with him. The last three victims shared a similar quality, which until now had escaped him.

“He’s targeting not only pregnant women, but now blonde, pregnant women.” She may have been mumbling to herself, but he was intrigued. “His prior victims have always been different nationalities, hair color, and eye color. There’s been no other pattern in these new murders except for their pregnancy.”

Eve held the photo of his latest victim. The bloody scrawl left on the wall had police baffled. I'm coming for you blonde bitch. Adley slowed the car and pulled over.

Eve stared at him, holding out the photo. “This is about me, I know it is.”

Adley took the photo from her shaking hand. “Those words could mean anyone, Eve. It doesn't mean it's you.”

“I'm the only one who’s escaped and it’s exactly what he said to me. He's targeting these women, because he wants them to be me.”

She looked so small then, like a frightened little bird. His mouth went dry and his heart thumped wildly. I won't allow that to happen.

Adley cleared his throat and moved back onto his side of the car. “Let's find somewhere to stay tonight and we'll start off fresh in the morning, okay?”

She nodded and turned to look out the window. He wanted to reach out to her. To pull her into his arms and hold on to her tight. She was scared as hell and barely holding it together. He needed more than to hold it together… he needed her.

He spun the wheel and moved back onto the highway, accelerating past the speed limit. They were about four hundred kilometers south of the last murder, and at this very moment he’d rather have been four thousand.

He drove in silence, wondering what she was feeling. Wracking his brain as to what he could do about it, he drove into Barky. The town looked deserted. Panicked faces peered from behind closed curtains and doors. There was a killer on the loose, heading this way.

Adley had the desire to keep on driving until this world and their problems only haunted his rear vision mirror. But no matter how many kilometers he drove, or how many motels they stayed in, he knew Edric Hasting wouldn’t stop until Eve was dead.

He waited, sitting in silence, trying his best to provide something, anything, even just his presence.

“I’ll go and book us in.”

She nodded, her face still hidden from him.

“It’s going to be okay.” His throat tightened. “Eve, look at me.”

She turned to face him, her face bright and shining with fresh tears she brushed away. He wished he could do the same for her pain, brush it away with his touch.

He moved in slow motion and pulled her into his arms, lowering his mouth to hers. Her lips were salty and soft under his. Her mouth tasted so sweet, he could barely restrain himself. Eve moaned. The sound vibrated in his mouth, filling his body with her warm breath. He pulled away slightly and kissed the corners of her sad smile. He moved back to slide his lips across hers, until he could stand it no more and pushed deeper.

The seconds slowed. Every movement her body made was catalogued inside his racing mind. He didn’t want to frighten her, but he knew the line had been crossed, and there was no going back.

She pulled away and he let her go. He moved back onto his side of the car. She stared, open-mouthed, at him and he panicked. “I’m sorry.”

I’ve ruined everything. How could I be so stupid? He reached for the handle and almost fell out of the car before he turned and strode toward the office. What have I done? I’m a fucking idiot.

Adley hit the glass door harder than he realized, making the tiny bell jump and clang above him. An older woman behind the counter jerked her gaze up toward the bell and then settled on him with a scowl.

“I’ll get this one, Marie.” A man about the same age appeared from behind a half-closed door. He wiped his hand on a rag and nodded in greeting. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m after a room for the night for me and a friend.”

“Aha.” He mumbled and made his way toward the window and looked out at the car. “Where abouts you from?”

“We’ve come a long way. We’re on our way to visit her mother.”

The stranger walked to the grubby glass and peered out. In that moment Eve turned toward them.

“Seems kinda young, ain’t she?”

Adley didn’t care about what others thought of him. But to see this stranger raise his brows and pass judgment on Eve pissed him off.

“She’s pregnant,” Adley growled, but held himself in check. “I’m just trying to keep the girl safe. All I’m asking for is two rooms. We’ll be gone first thing in the morning. You won’t even know we were here.”

The motel owner nodded. They were scared. The police warnings only increased their panic. One of this country’s worst killers could be in their town, under their very nose. He couldn’t blame them. He’d be just as protective. The man walked back behind the counter and grabbed two sets of keys from the board.

“Now, these rooms are on the house, if what you say about your friend is true. I won’t have a pregnant woman out on her own when a crazed killer is on the loose. So let’s go out and see this friend of yours and make sure she’s okay.”

Adley sighed and made his way out to the car with the motel owner in tow. Getting angry would get him nowhere. The motel owner obviously didn’t care about money, the place looked deserted. But underneath he was still a good guy. Like Adley he still cared. He cared about Eve. Adley didn’t think Eve could handle another night on the road. She moved slower now. He could tell being cooped up in the car made her ache, although she hadn’t said a word. He had no option other than to show this old man what he wanted so Eve could at least sleep on a real bed with clean sheets.

Adley walked around to her side and opened the door. “Eve, the kind gentleman here wants to make sure you’re okay. Can you step out of the car?”

Her brow pinched and she looked from Adley to the stranger and back again, “It’s okay,” he urged, his voice softening.

She opened the door and heaved her body out, her face reddening with the strain. He hadn’t realized how big she was now. Her body seemed dwarfed by her stomach. Her clothes were stretched, pulling at the seams.

“You okay, Miss?” The man asked. Eve nodded, lifting her head to look him in the eye. She had more guts and determination than someone her size and in her condition should have.

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for your concern, but Adley’s taking good care of me.”

She held her ground beneath the motel owner’s scrutiny. The old guy nodded and handed Adley the keys. “The kitchen’s closed after dark. I won’t have my wife out here after sundown. Like I said, rooms are on the house. You be sure to lock up safe. And there’s a connectin’ door if you need it.”

He turned to go and then stopped and added. “Honey, you look like you're ready to give birth any minute, now. How much longer do you have to go?”

Eve glanced to Adley and looked away. “I’m not sure.”

His laugher crackled through the air. “What you mean you’re not sure?”

She shrugged. “I guess he'll come when he's ready. I'm overdue by about a week.”

Adley felt like he’d taken a punch to the gut. He bent over. Everything grayed... everything except for her. He could feel his face burn while he counted the weeks they’d been on the run. Has it really been that long? Oh God, two months. Shouldn’t she have seen a doctor by now? A midwife… someone?

“I'm fine, Adley, really. If there was a problem, I would’ve said something.”

His words came in a fevered rush. “I'm so sorry, Eve. I didn't think.”

“Well, you're gonna have to at some point, I’d expect, son.” The old man gave Adley a glare before he stomped off. Adley’s head pounded so hard, he expected it to split. How could he have not thought of the obvious? Of course, at some point she was going to have her baby. What the hell will I do then? How can I chase a monster with a baby on board and where will that leave me and Eve? As though on cue, Eve walked around to the back of the car and pulled the lighter bags from the boot, waiting for him to grab the heavier ones. They’d fallen into a rhythm, moving from town to town, showering at truck stops, eating at roadhouses. They were almost seamless.

Eve must have felt his hesitation. She stopped unpacking but didn’t turn around. “It doesn’t matter, Adley. I never expected anything from you. All I wanted was for you to keep me and my baby safe and that’s what you’ve done.”

But it does matter… because you matter. Adley handed Eve the key to her room and reached to take the bag from her shoulder. She stopped his hand with her own. “I don't need your pity. I can do this on my own.”

She grabbed her things and walked away, her body swaying in a painful-looking gait. Just let her go. Jesus, he wanted to, and if this feeling had been only physical, he could’ve walked away. He’d done it before. But this was different with Eve. Adley grabbed his bag and laptop from the car and followed her, stopping at the room next to the one she disappeared into. He’d never felt so fucking useless. He wanted to hit something. He wanted to hurt something. Those were the things he could do for her. He didn’t know how to be there for her emotionally. He just wasn’t programmed that way. You’d better figure it out or she’ll leave you, just like everyone else.

Adley threw his bag on the bed and went to work setting up the laptop. He’d been spending every moment he could searching the internet for information, no matter how ridiculous. The victim’s wounds intrigued him the most. They were always in the same place. And that familiar punch to his gut told him that similarity was the key. He pulled out the coroner’s reports of the injuries. The wounds punctured the skin and pierced the jugular vein, like two needles—two needles that were the exact same width apart in each murder. Like a bite. As ridiculous as the notion sounded, one thing came to mind. Vampire.

He’d been a police officer for most of his adult life, assigned to some of the roughest neighborhoods. He knew the immortal species existed only in the minds of teenagers and bored housewives. There had to be another reason for the marks. No matter how hard he tried to find another reason, he couldn’t. He sat back, remembering the day he was almost killed, the way the woman in white had moved. The way she’d lifted his partner off the ground and tore her head from her body with her bare hands. There was no such thing as vampires….

A knock on the door snapped him back to reality. He moved the blinds aside, catching sight of Eve at the door. He cursed and reached for the handle. How long had she been standing there? Anyone could’ve seen her.

Adley jerked open the door. “You okay?”

“Sure,” she snapped. She was angry and he didn’t blame her. He’d acted like a jerk kissing her. Jesus…what kind of man can’t even control himself? They stood there in silence, Eve looking at the ground while he looked at her. “I’m going to get something to eat. I wanted to let you know.”

“Sure. I'll grab my things.” He moved around the room, picking up his wallet and reaching for his phone.

“No. I need some time alone. I'm just letting you know I'm going out.”

He couldn't deny the sting he felt. “Why? Where are you going?”

“Out. Is that okay with you?”

He wanted to say No, it's not okay, but he’d overstepped the line. The kiss was bad enough, but when he pulled away, he’d just made his mistake worse. On top of his pathetic advances, she was scared and pregnant and she needed him to help her. The urge to protect her was overwhelming. All he could do was nod and mutter. “Please, don't go too far, or be away for too long.”

He didn't know if she heard him, or if she even cared. She turned and walked out, leaving him standing there with his phone in one hand and his heart in the other.

What am I doing? He was supposed to be finding a killer, not falling in love. But, he had fallen in love. Adley sank onto the bed, staring at the open door where she’d been only moments ago.

He, Adley Scott, wasn't head over heels in love. The feeling wasn't anything so nice and neat. This love was like an undertow. He’d been sucked beneath and washed away. And now he was stranded on this unfamiliar island and far from home.

Chapter 19

Grimm

EXCITEMENT MORE THAN instinct pulled Grimm from his seat. His heart thundered like a fucking locomotive on a downhill run. He moved fast, riding high on the scent of the female lycan—until he was jerked back.

His head smashed into the back of the seat. His canines carved their way through the tender flesh of his bottom lip, filling his mouth with the taste of his own blood. A hiss filled his ear. “What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing?”

Grimm thrashed out of Jinx’s grip. Desperation filled his voice. “You… don't… understand. There's a—”

“No. You. Don't understand,” Jinx growled through clenched teeth. “You're gonna get us kicked off the fuckin' plane!”

Grimm’s top lip peeled back from his teeth. He drew the scent of anger and frustration in from the vampire with each breath. He could see the fight happening, fists and fangs, blood and flesh. Someone would get hurt, and in this moment he was ready to sacrifice it all. He stared at the vamp. Grimm twisted his fingers into the black knit polo Jinx wore, yanking the vampire closer. He felt his own canines bite into his bottom lip, pleading with Jinx to understand. Jinx would fight him, even if it meant he was killed in the process. Grimm inhaled, and the scent of the female lycan filled his body, like a stake to his chest.

His wolf howled and snarled, desperate to get her. He couldn’t control his beast. There was nothing he could do. He shuddered, his wolf was taking over. Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. The motion was so quick it was barely noticeable. But he noticed.

Kali stared at him with cold, dead eyes. Ice ran through his veins, stopping his wolf in his tracks. Nothing else mattered in this moment. He focused on Kali as though his life depended on it… because it did.

Her arm was raised over her head, her hand hidden under the curtain of black hair at her neck. He knew she was reaching for her sword. For the white death that called to him in his dreams. Grimm was one wrong move away from death. He could heal quicker than most immortals, and compared to a human, he was damn near invincible. But he knew without a doubt, the sword Kali unsheathed would take his life in the blink of an eye.

He understood all too well Kali was prepared to pull that sword, slice him neatly between his ribs and slide the blade back home without anyone knowing she’d moved. The only thing stopping her was the mission.

The sound of the engines roared and the plane rolled forward, heading down the runway. He stared at Kali and she at him, both waiting… waiting for destiny to step in and right the wrong.

Grimm inhaled and the connection between them was gone, only fear now kept his animal at bay. Is this how the last of my line was meant to die? On a cramped plane surrounded by fucking humans? Decide now, because Kali will end me here and fucking now. His wolf sniffed the air and retreated quietly, with his head lowered and his tail tucked neatly between his legs. This mission was going to kill Grimm, and if it didn't, well then Kali just might.

The plane lifted and climbed, slipping past soft, white clouds until all Grimm could see was blue. His wolf whimpered. The air was no place for a lycan. His place was on the ground, amongst the trees and the rich earth. But this was where they were needed, so there was no backing down. The man who sat on the opposite side of him gave Grimm a nervous-looking smile and turned back to his paper. Grimm started to glare at him, and then stopped. He cocked his head to one side. He was picking up something strange from this human… something weird. The sooner they were off this flight the better.

An attendant in a navy blue skirt headed his way and at the last minute reached out, grabbing her arm, pulling her close. “Can I order a drink… please?”

Her firm tone bordered on scalding. “We’ll be bringing the cart around as soon as we hit a stable altitude, sir.”

Breathing through a wave of desire and pure terror, he forced himself to relax and leaned forward to pull his jacket from his body. His temperature soared, causing him to break out in sweat. His shirt stuck fast to his skin, outlining his massive chest. She looked… no fuck that, she panted, with her lips parted and her eyes bulging, but he didn't care. He’d play whatever card he could, as long as he got a goddamn drink.

His tongue felt thick inside his mouth and his lips dry and cracked. He licked his lower lip, grazing the soft flesh with his teeth and leaned into her, his voice a growl. “Not good with flying.”

Her eyes danced over his body, moving from nipple to nipple as though she could almost feel them between her teeth. He groaned, low and sexual, passing it off as though he was unwell. He could feel her pulse spike for a moment. The rapid tempo caused her eyes to widen and he heard her catch her breath catch in her chest. Then she relaxed, her expression glazing over as his pheromones filled her with desire.

He felt a twinge of guilt about using this human, knowing she’d do whatever he wanted with just the right amount of motivation. She lowered her body so her silk shirt rubbed against his palm. His gaze fell from her charged blue eyes to the glimpse of her milky breasts. She whispered. “Let me see what I can do.”

She moved away and his hand cooled from the warmth of her body. He leaned back into the seat and closed his eyes, waiting for her to return and said. “Stop staring at me.”

“Then stop acting like a jerk.” Kali’s controlled hiss sounded deadlier than a scream.

He tried to distract himself by watching the passengers in front. A young kid flailed and kicked like he was having a fit or fighting with someone Grimm couldn’t see. The back of the seat slammed into Grimm’s knees. Fucking humans.

Tiny bottles slid into his hand. He looked up at the air-hostess and found himself staring at those creamy breasts once more. His cock stirred, punching at the zipper of his jeans and he groaned as a breathless voice whispered in his ear. “Just let me know when you need more.”

He nodded, twisted the cap off the bottle, and swallowed the contents in one gulp. Liquid fire slid down his throat and into his belly. He downed all four bottles. The heat burned inside his gut and the biting liquor went straight to his olfactory sensors, blunting his ability to detect the scent of the female lycan.

The plane smoothed out when they hit altitude. The seatbelt sign blinked once, and then switched off. Grimm had his belt unsnapped and was on the move less than a second later. The kid in front poked out his tongue between a moustache of green snot, then froze as Grimm rose. The child’s little eyes bulged and then he started crying again. Disgusted, Grimm moved on, climbing over the man who sat next to him. There was at least one vamp on this flying fucking tin can, who was determined to blow up everyone in it. And as much as he hated these human pests, he’d be fucked if he’d let that happen.

Grimm headed towards first class, stepping into the ocean blue lights separating the wealthy from everyone else. Scornful gazes turned his way when he entered, except for a blonde with plastic breasts, a fake tan, and more diamonds than Louis Francois Cartier himself. She stared at him like she was hungry and he was her next meal. He turned away and breathed in, scenting the air for an aroma of rotten grapes and the female lycan. He got a whole lot of nothing.

The older vamps were good at disguising their scent, so he couldn't rely on smell alone. He scanned every movement of the bodies in front of him, looking for something he could tear apart. Vamps moved different from humans, their movements were quick and fluid, as though the world stood still around them. So he focused on the movement of their bodies, allowing his wolf to sift through the stench of everything else.

First class was clean, no vampires in sight. The blonde with fake tits motioned him over with the crook of her finger. Well no vampires of the immortal kind anyway. He turned away and headed into business class. He stopped outside the first class door and pretended to drop his wallet, scanning the first three rows. Socks, bare feet, and open nappy bags were all that filled his senses. His stomach rolled and he fought the urge to gag, and then moved on. He performed this ritual twice more, cursing at the sheer volume of humans, until the heady scent of the Call slammed him to the floor. He dropped his head and trembled, as his wolf growled in encouragement. Please Mistress help me. He couldn’t lose it again. He couldn’t let them down.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Grimm shook his head. Long, creamy legs caught his attention, legs that seemed to go on forever as he lifted his gaze. Grimm shuddered and held his breath. He thought of scuttling back toward first class, where the air was clean and there were no temptations. The woman grabbed him and moved close. His lungs screamed, burning… needing air. He couldn’t hold on much longer.

“Sir?”

His vision blurred. He let go, sucking air and breathing in the Call. The scent trail permeated the air around the woman in front of him. He whimpered and breathed deep, drawing her essence into him. Grimm lifted his head to stare into the green eyes of the female lycan.

Mistress above, she’s pure sex.

Her gaze narrowed, her nostrils flared. She knew what he was amongst the stench of the humans. She smiled, but her gaze was suspicious and careful. He knew what she’d be thinking. The sheer magnitude of this encounter resurrected the hope he’d held in his heart for hundreds of years… if she was alive, could there be others of his kind?

“I think you you’d better come with me,” she growled and pulled on his arm. Every word, every touch, was like a detonation of TNT. His muscles quivered. He didn’t think he could stand and he knew he couldn’t fucking speak. He crouched there, like a helpless pup. Even though the Master ruled the skies, he knew the Mistress was there somewhere, watching waiting. Even though he was trapped in a plane with vamps and a bomb, he gave thanks. Thank you Mistress, thank you for hearing my call... his eyes blurred. For giving me a future. This lycan will be mine and carry my own flesh in her belly. I shall never forget your generosity and will never again stop my wolf from hearing the call of the full moon. We shall rejoice with you once again.

Tears slipped from his eyes. He didn’t wipe them away. He wore them with pride and followed her. His mission was abandoned. For this sweet second, there was nothing else he’d be able to think of anyway. The pull on his flesh was far too strong.

His instinct was in the driver's seat and his desire in overdrive. She opened the curtains of the crew compartment. He slipped in behind her, then closed the door.

“The bathroom would’ve been too cramped for someone as big as you,” she whispered, turning on him, her eyes aglow. “Or on second thoughts, that may not be such a bad thing.”

Her name badge said Helena. He knew that ‘cause the stitching was shoved in his face when she climbed on top of him. He knew it was pathetic, but he couldn't stop saying her name over and over inside his head. He wanted to know her. He wanted to be inside her so badly, he was an inferno inside.

“I can't believe I am actually standing in front of you. I thought I was the last.” His words thickened and formed a lump inside his throat. “All these years... all these years I’ve been alone.”

Her laughter was sharp and cold and her eyes… Jesus, her eyes…. “I’m not sure what you mean, honey. But I'll be anything you need.”

She leaned back, using the small steel basin of the galley to support her weight as she pulled at the buttons of her top and spread her legs wide, letting her skirt ride high, showing him the paradise he wanted to see.

The sight of her made him insane. Inside his mind was a violent storm, filled with wild thoughts of their joining. But no matter how much he needed to be inside her he desired to be with her more. Instead of reaching for the zipper of his jeans, he moved his hand to her face, drawing those yellow-green eyes to follow his motion. He reached behind her head, freeing her hair until it spread around her shoulders and over his hand.

“You are so beautiful... our children will be spoken of for lifetimes to come.”

Her brows lifted. “Children?”

“We have to, for our species. We’re all that’s left, Helena. You and me.” His gaze darted from one of her perfect eyes, to the other.

She moved off the sink, and grabbed his arm, maneuvering him until his back was against her. She pushed her hips into his ass. The outline of her body, so soft against him, was perfect, like they were made for each other. “You think I’m a lycan, don't you, wolf?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. What the hell was she saying? He didn't think she was a lycan, he knew she was.

“You can’t fool me. I could smell the Call on you a mile away,” he murmured, feeling an overwhelming urge to close his eyes. “I… I’m feeling…”

There was something wrong here. His thoughts faded, like someone reached inside his head and swirled them around. There was something he should be doing, some... mission he had to....

“Ahh, wolf. I’m no lycan.” A silken voice whispered in his ear. He was pushed harder against the basin. The soft body behind him felt so good, it was all he could think of while her voice continued to beguile him. “But do you want me to tell you a secret?”

He was helpless, tied to the scent of the Call, and the feel of her body. He could nothing but nod. “I am no lycan. But I am fucking one and I’ve got to tell you, she is spectacular.”

She hissed and reared back. Something shone in her hand. Something sharp… a knife. He realized too late what was happening. This was no lycan… this was a fucking vamp and she had him trapped in her power. Grimm closed his eyes, knowing he was about to die and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it. His last thoughts were of Jinx and Kali. No matter how hard he’d tried, he’d failed them. I’m sorry.

The moment the knife pierced his skin, her spell broke, hurtling him back to reality with a hot poker in his stomach. He turned and grabbed her arms, ramming her against the opposite wall.

“Is everything okay in there?” Someone called from the other side of the curtain.

“We’re fine. I’m just sick,” he huffed, wrestling with the wildcat. Her teeth lengthened, she kicked and scratched, and bent her head to tear into his hand.

“Oww. Fucking bitch!”

He moved, grabbing her hands and pulling them over her head. She was no match strength-wise, but damn, she could move. She whipped her leg around, narrowly missing his pride and joy. He looked past the knife protruding from his belly and stole a precious instant to look at his crotch, just to make sure. He clenched her wrists and heard her whimper. He searched the cabin for something he could use to carve this bitch apart and found nothing.

“Fuck.” Grimm looked down at the blade he guessed was nestled somewhere between his splenic artery and his fucking kidney. He would’ve liked to pull the knife out slow and easy. One wrong move and he could be out of commission for at least a day or two. He pinched his lips together and shuffled in the small space, trying his best to deflect the blows coming too close to his face. There was nowhere he could go.

“You’re not gonna win, lycan.” The vamp laughed.

He changed hands, grabbing the vamp’s wrist with one hand while he wrapped the other around the hilt of the knife in his gut. He stilled, breathed, focused, and slid the knife out as quickly and as cleanly as possible.

“You can't stop this plane from going down, just like you can’t stop us from owning the world. There are too many of us.” She wept with laughter. The sound fucking pissed him off.

He lifted his eyes, catching sight of her throat, the muscles working as she laughed before he answered, “Not if I can help it, bitch.”

His hand blurred as he flipped the knife, gripped the handle, and lunged forward. The blade sank deep into her throat. He could feel the muscles contracting against the steel, until her laugher died away. Her eyes flew open. Blood spilled like a waterfall from the gash in her neck to cascade over the breasts he’d wanted to touch only moments ago. Then he realized what he’d done.

This vampire may not have been a lycan, but she knew where one was. The scent of the Call was proof of that. He was about a second away from ending the only hope he had of finding her.

The curtain rippled, drawing his attention. A blur of black stilled him. The movement was so fast he couldn’t track her. He didn’t have to, he knew who the new combatant was. The vampire didn’t see her coming and didn’t stand a chance. Kali’s fluid movements cut through the air. Her blade slit the vampire’s sternum from top to bottom and pierced the cabinet behind her. The wound in her throat would’ve healed. But as Kali withdrew the blade, cleaving the vampire’s chest in two, he knew there would be no coming back. He could see her shredded heart harden and whiten, and then tiny cracks broke along the skin as the body turned to ash, crumbled, and then fell to the ground.

Kali turned to him, glanced down at his wound, now almost healed, and muttered. “Nice job, wolf,” a second before she was tackled head-on.

The vamp that plowed into them was almost as big as Grimm himself. Poor bastard didn’t have a chance. Kali’s movements were quick and light. She grabbed his shirt and kicked up her legs. Tucking her knees into her chest, she vaulted over him. Mid-flight, she twisted, pulled back her blade and ran it back through the massive vamp’s head. the weapon exited through his mouth, between his fangs. She wrenched the blade free and drove it through his chest, leaving a hole Grimm could see through. He stared at the vamp, watching his legs start to shake. The leech’s body hardened, cracked, and crumbled to the ground. The compartment looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in a month.

“Holy… shit.”

Grimm swiveled at the sound. An air marshal stood in the doorway, wide-mouthed and staring. His gun wobbled in the fucking air like he was having a fit. Jesus, this was all they needed.

“P-ut… put down the s… s-word.” the marshal stuttered. “And get on the floor, both of you.”

Grimm growled. This fucking mission couldn’t get any fucking worse. He stepped forward and reached for Kali. He’d push her behind him, in case the marshal was jumpy with his finger on the trigger. But she shook her head and threw her blade to the floor. It seemed she had other ideas. Kali opened her arms wide to show the marshal she was co-operating and lowered herself to the floor. As usual, the human turned his attention towards Grimm, not bothering with her any longer.

A flash of black whipped across Grimm’s vision. The cop buckled. Kali lowered him slowly to the ground and picked up her blade. The marshal’s breathing was deep and strong, Kali had knocked him out. She reached over her head, sliding it back in place and looked at the floor with disgust. “I was not lying on that. This carpet is filthy. And there is no way I would be caught dead underneath you, lycan.”

Grimm chuckled and then groaned. He clutched his stomach. “It’d probably be me dead underneath you, destructress.”

She nodded and stepped over the marshal. “Take care of that, will you? And next time wolf, don’t stray too far.”

Her words were like a blow, shaking him from this moment to another where he had strayed too far and almost got himself killed. Before he knew it, he was back there, back with the cold damp scent of the forest….

As frightening as the immortal was, she never failed to find him when he needed her the most. The wide tear in his shirt from the knife was bloodied, even though his body was mostly healed. There was no way he could go out like that. He sighed and cursed under his breath, then pulled his shirt off and replaced it with the marshal’s.

The air marshal was a solid guy, but not nearly as big as Grimm. So his shirt was snug, short, and much to his disgust... pink. He looked like a fucking back-up dancer for Britney Spears.

He picked up the marshal and carried him to the toilet, placing an Out of Order sign on the outside, before he slid the latch closed and backed out. Jinx stood outside, his eyes glowing white, mesmerizing the humans seated in business class. The passengers gazed at him, spellbound. Brainwashing was just one of Jinx’s little tricks. The mind-fuck weirded Grimm out.

Kali took off, leaving Grimm and Jinx to finish up with hocus-pocus shit and follow.

“Everything okay, Grimm?” Jinx stared at his chest. “You’re wearing some other guy’s pink shirt. Is this the part where you say it’s you, and not me?”

Grimm laughed and tugged the hem, which rode dangerously close to his navel. “Nah, everything's cool. You’re still my one and fucking only.”

Jinx’s inflection was as flat as a tombstone. “Yay for me.”

They passed their empty seats. Grimm noticed the human he sat next to was still missing. He turned his head towards Jinx and motioned to the empty seat. “Say you haven't seen the guy who’s sitting next to me, have you?”

“No, he took off a while ago. I haven't seen him since. Sorry, man. I gotta keep checking the rest of the plane.”

“Okay,” Grimm said, watching him walk away. There was something about the human that nagged at him. He wasn’t a vamp. But for a second when he sat, Grimm could swear he caught a sense of other about him.

A muffled yell made Grimm groan, and then he took off, pushing men and women aside as he headed toward the back of the plane and the cargo hold. The questions started. “What's going on? Who is in there? Are we going to crash?”

The sound of body-on-body contact grew louder the closer he came to the blue barrier at the end of the plane. He wrenched the accordion door aside and was hit in the chest with a spray of blood. Jesus fucking Christ.

He slammed the divider shut and hit the tiny thumb latch before trying to make sense of the scene around him. Jinx was underneath two vamps, trying to hold his own and by the look of it, failing miserably. Two air hostesses lay in the corner, one still twitching. Her neck was a bloody hole. It was obviously her blood Jinx wore. Grimm felt a twinge of sympathy, before he snapped himself out of his mental fog. Kill first, worry about the rest later.

Grimm lunged for a vamp who was buried up to his molars in Jinx’s leg. He pulled, and then jerked, but the fucker wouldn't let go.

Shit. There was nothing he hated more than the taste of blood-sucker. But given the circumstances, he didn’t have a whole lot to work with. Grimm opened his mouth and attacked, tearing dead flesh until there was nothing left.

Grimm dropped the vamp’s head where he stood. Bodies littered the floor. Jinx was hurt bad. His flesh was bright pink, trying to heal itself as soon as he was torn and three vampires on Kali was soon becoming a losing battle.

Kali was a blur as she fought off the other three vamps, slicing her way toward a fatal blow. Her attackers defended themselves, unable to attack, not yet anyway. But Grimm could tell she was tiring. Her movements were slowing, the grunts of exertion getting louder. Any minute now, they would have their turn.

A door on the far end of the compartment opened. Grimm caught sight of an empty space on the other side. The baggage compartment? He didn’t have much time to wonder, as a muscle-bound vamp moved around the others, heading his way.

Grimm focused on the vamp and inhaled. His size wasn't the issue. He’d taken on bigger and lived to tell the tale. The black vest his new opponent wore was the problem, the one with lots of pretty wires and a blinking green display, which was counting down, nineteen minutes and fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven....

Chapter 20

Edric

THE BLONDE BITCH had become his constant companion, but for the sake of his own survival, Edric upped his game. He moved from town to town, state to state, and the Abortionist left behind a wake of broken and dead, like a massive tsunami.

The police couldn’t catch him. No one could. Even without Mercy, he was invincible. His high was their pain and he watched them bleed before him, like he was God Himself. After the fifth murder, he noticed something inside him had changed. No longer did he pick his victims as they came to him—blonde, brown, black hair. No, now he was after one type of woman in particular. It was as though he hunted the blonde bitch all over again. None of them felt like her though, none possessed the right ingredient he craved.

God was happy with him. While this arrangement was being fulfilled, he enjoyed the benefits his Master allowed, more income and more power and most of all, pure blood. It seemed as though God siphoned his power to those he chose and right now, Edric was riding fucking high.

“I have a surprise for you.” God assigned him another detail, and then tempted him again. “Something you’ll enjoy very much.”

“Yeah, what's that?”

The dream played out like a movie inside his mind. At first, he panicked, until God's voice filtered through, laughing. “Relax, enjoy the ride.”

In the vision, Edric sat in his car watching a world that blurred and then cleared, from the wipers. The scent of ozone hovered in the air. This was somewhere he didn’t recognize, but he knew it all the same, just another shitty town on another shitty day. Another day where he killed for God and waited for her. He stared through the rain-streaked window at an old weatherboard house. The yellow walls were the color like the nicotine-stained walls of his childhood, although this one had no dents from his mother’s fist.

Edric shifted in his seat and looked at the blurred outside world. He could almost hear his mother call him, her drunken slur cruel, Edric, Edric baby come to mommy… I promise I won’t hit you. Edric, Edric you little fuck, get back here! Edric’s gut clenched and he could feel the sweat break out on his skin. He wanted to get out of here. He wanted…

The ominous feel of death had followed him here. He didn’t want to go in. He didn’t want to see what God had planned for him. His vision shook like an earthquake and projected him inside the walls. He now stood in a bedroom. The mottled brown carpet stuck to his feet as he tried to move, but the more he struggled, the harder the dirty carpet held him.

He couldn’t go back there, to the childhood he once had. He was different… he was better. Panic seized him, twisting his gut. He could almost hear his mother’s voice, calling for him to help her. No… no way was he going back there, to find her passed out underneath another nameless man who beat him. He wasn’t going to do this again. He was in charge. He… was… in… charge….

“Easy, Edric.” God chuckled. His master’s laughter was humiliating. The vision shook once more. He was projected through the door and into the motel room. Edric squeezed his eyes closed. He didn’t want to see his mother again. She was dead. He’d watched her drown in her own vomit, he’d watched her die. Hysteria took hold as he heard her voice.

At first he didn’t understand.

He’d been expecting someone else… but not her.

His eye’s shot open and he hissed.

There she stood. Not his mother, but the one he fantasized about… the blonde bitch.

She twisted her misshapen body in an effort to grab something from the end of the bed. Her honey-blonde hair fell to one side, framing her face. He wanted to reach out and grab her. He wanted to throw her onto the floor and take his knife to her pretty face. But he couldn't move. He could only watch her.

“You should get going.” A man came from a room to his left and walked over to where the blonde bitch waited. Edric felt his brain fire randomly. At first he didn't understand what was happening. His past had somehow intruded into his future. No, this isn’t right. This. Isn’t. Fucking. Right!

The man with Eve was the detective. The one who’d arrested him, Adley fucking Scott.

“No, I watched you die.” Edric snarled and tried to jerk out of this hold he was in, remembering the way the detective went down. “I watched you fucking die!”

Had he really? From the back seat of the unmarked car he saw Mercy attack this man. But, did he actually see the cop die? A chill swept over him. No… he hadn’t and now he was here with her….

The copper had aged in the last few months, but the hunger was still there, gnawing, eating him away. Edric could sense the detective’s need like it was his own. He walked toward Mercy’s killer and she turned to him, sliding her hands around the detective’s waist. He held her, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. And then they kissed.

Edric felt the connection like a knife in his gut. “Get the fuck away from her.”

She was his and only his. Edric’s rage poured out of him like water from a broken dam. He launched himself toward Adley, desperate to get bloody. Whatever force had held him in that spot, let go. He swung his fist, but the blow passed through them as though they were made of air.

The blonde bitch moaned and the detective drew her harder against him. The sound was throaty and seductive. Edric could feel the detective’s reaction, it mirrored his own. “Get the fuck away from her, copper, or so help me God, I’ll tear your fucking heart out!”

“I love you, Adley.”

He jerked as though he’d been slapped. The heat of his rage vanished as he focused on her. “Do you hear that detective? She loves you, and I bet you love her too, don’t you? I’m going to let you watch, the first time anyway. I’m going to lay her out bloody and torn. Her screams will haunt you, Adley Scott. Even in your death.”

Chapter 21

Grimm

“SO THIS MUST be the legendary Family. I must say, impressive is not the word I’d use.” The vamp snarled, heading toward Grimm.

He might’ve been speaking the ancient dialect of the snowdragon for all Grimm cared. All he could hear was the snapping of numbers on the bomb’s display, which was now eight minutes and decreasing.

“You know you can never win, right? There’re too many of us for you to—”

“Yeah, I know. I can’t kill all of you, blah, blah, blah. You fucking vamps talk too much,” Grimm had had it with all the holier-than-thou chit-chat. All he needed to do was knock this fucker out and Jinx could do his thing with the bomb, stopping countdown.

The dog-tag tattoos on the vamp’s arm and the buzz-cut he wore screamed ‘military’. And though he put up a good front, Grimm understood two things with blinding clarity. One, he was heading for a world of hurt, and two, the enormity of what he and the rest of the Family faced.

Vampires were everywhere. The Family had been so busy cleaning up the mess of every damn immortal species, they failed to notice the one kind who schemed. Vamps were the cockroaches of the immortal world, invading every mortal organization, until soon they’d be the only ones left. Where would that leave the rest of them? Where would that leave the humans? Grimm clenched his fists, readying for the fight.

“What the hell is happening here?”

Grimm spun at the sound, eyeing the human who was the missing man seated next to him. There was that feeling again, like a vibration. Grimm focused on him, searching his muscled frame and brown eyes. He was human, but there was a trace of other. He’d never known anyone that felt like this before. The imprint lingered like a spiritual aftertaste. What if they weren’t just sent to save this plane because these were humans… what if they were sent to save one human in particular? The man’s gaze bounced from Grimm to the vamp with the ticking fashion accessory, and then back again.

Grimm cursed as this thought resounded inside of him. He watched the man track the spray of blood to the bodies of the dead hostesses, then to Jinx.

Kali grunted with exertion behind him, he glanced back at her, watching as another vampire joined the fight.

“Holy shit... holy shit.”

Grimm didn't really want to kill this odd human, but the risk of exposure was too great to let him live. He’d make his death quick. A snap of the neck and it’d be bye-bye before he knew it.

Grimm took a step toward the man and was smacked in the back by a flying vamp. There wasn’t enough room for fighting. The cramped space barely left enough room to swing a cat, let alone a wolf. Others would hear the commotion.

“You... you're trying to stop this aren't you?”

Grimm swore under his breath and reached for the human, keeping the bomb in his sight. Maybe I can just scare him off? And if by chance they survived this fucking flight, Jinx could wipe his memory. Grimm set his sights on the bewildered man. “You don't want to be here. Go back to your seat.”

The human shook his head, invoking a growl from Grimm. “No, there’s something going on here. Something I need to understand.”

Fuck! He didn’t have time for this. “What you need to understand is this, you’re gonna get yourself killed if you don’t go back to your seat, now for fuck’s sake!”

The human was shaking and clearly terrified, but he set his feet and lifted his clenched his fists. Grimm could see the muscles in his jaw working while he surveyed the bloody chaos and found Grimm’s gaze. “I don't know who you are, but I’m sure somehow I’m meant to be here. I’ve had a message from God… a woman. She told me this would happen. She told me to my place was to fight.”

Grimm inhaled and expelled his breath slowly as something inside of him shifted. Fuck. Now why the fuck did he have to go and say something like that? Respect bloomed inside the lycan. “You stay here and you might see things you wish you hadn’t.”

“Consider me forewarned,” he said, then threw himself onto the nearest vampire.

The lunge was well-executed. Grimm couldn’t help but be impressed, although the man went down like Grimm knew he would—like a bag of shit.

Kali snarled and the flash of black caught his attention. She whipped her body from side to side, the clash and clang of blades sounded like a shaken cutlery drawer. Her movements had slowed, until the tirade of blows was one-sided. Grimm wrenched her attackers off her, his fist smashing bone, bathed in blood—vampire blood. Kali stood there, her sword hanging by her side, unable to protect herself, or them, any longer. The look on her face was one of pure terror. Her creamy pallor now looked like ash.

“Kali?” He called to her, but he couldn’t stop fighting. He surged forward stepping in front of a blow that’d been meant for the human—a killing blow.

“Can't... stop... Grimm!” Kali cried. He reached for a vamp, as the bastard latched onto her neck. Grimm’s hand slipped and the over-sized mosquito reared back, hissing, before tearing into her flesh once more. The sucking sounds of triumph and satisfaction filled the air.

Grimm fought, grabbing his throat.

“Grimm.” Kali stared at him. Her eyes were wide and soulless and a wisp of black mist trailed from between her lips. His wolf whimpered and Grimm shuddered. He knew whatever was happening was bad—Kali never called him by his name.

Chapter 22

Edric

A WOMAN EXITED the building and waddled across the street in front of Edric’s car. He’d been waiting for eternity after she’d entered the doctor’s surgery.

This was his life now, waiting. Watching and killing. Their faces blurred into a bloody scream, and one more demand from God. He’d become nothing more than a murdering robot.

Edric could feel his human feelings fading. What few he had to start with. The thought disturbed him for a moment. He found himself longing for the vibrant crimson emotions he’d never had. Now his world was grey.

Something was missing. Someone, more to the point. He longed for another to share his pain, his suffering. He longed for Mercy and to feel their connection again. The need was so intense, it felt like an addiction. But when he closed his eyes and tried to remember his maker, all he saw was Eve. Her murder was the only thought that made his heart race and bought back color to his world. For now, he searched for her amongst the endless line of victims. None of the others he’d hunted were even remotely special. None had the quality he was after—until now.

He’d spent days watching every supermarket and doctor's surgery until he found her. Her golden hair was the same shade of blonde as the bitch. He wanted to wrap her hair around his fingers and listen to her screams echo inside her chest as he cut her sternum open.

The blonde climbed into her yellow Suzuki Swift. He followed her into the stream of traffic. She pulled ahead. He wondered if she felt safe and protected. The constant media hadn't helped his plight. The bitches now hid behind locked doors and semi-automatic guns.

Neither would help them—not now.

She turned into the parking lot of a grocery store but he drove on. He’d followed her home the day before, when he found her shopping. Careful to make sure he wasn’t noticed, Edric parked down the street. He gathered his tools, locked the car and glanced back at the house before he started walking. The street looked like so many others. The winter grass stunted and sparse, bare branches would bloom come spring—unlike his victims. There were so many houses, so many women for his knife, he wondered when would it end? Only God knew.

He walked up her driveway. The flat, inlaid stones were sleek and shiny from a mid-afternoon rain. His boots squeaked slightly as he made his way around the back of the house.

Edric pulled out his lock pick set and slid the metal into the groove, before giving the hooked end one sharp twist. The handle popped open, and he was in. A little dog raced toward him, all teeth and bright black eyes. He grabbed the animal’s soft white fur, the coat quickly turned red with the slash of his knife.

Animals disgusted him. But they hadn't once. They’d been the start to this very road of salvation and gave him an edge to hone his skills. Their killings had been fun for a while. Now they were little more than a hindrance. Something in the way of the real fun.

He threw the little body into the trash and wiped away the glistening puddle. It would be of no benefit to frighten the woman before he made his presence felt. As he thought of her yellow hair, he hardened inside his jeans and licked his lips. He wanted to make his presence felt in a big way.

This one’s hair was not quite as long as the blonde bitch’s, her face not as soft and beautiful. But he’d felt that unmistakable tug in his gut the first time he saw her. She wasn’t his blonde bitch but he’d take her anyway, again and again.

He wandered through the house, noting the male clothing in the basket of dirty laundry and circled back around to the kitchen, to look at the time. He’d need to work faster than he would’ve preferred. He didn’t want some husband breaking his stride. There was a method to breaking down a human. He knew the method well, but it took time, and time was wasting.

The squelch of wet tires caught his attention. He moved back into the laundry, listening. He moved back behind the wall while the key slid into the lock and the door opened. The footsteps sounded so close, he was sure he could reach out and touch her, so close he could do some damage.

From behind the laundry door he sneaked glances of her while she carried the two bags of groceries and set on them on the counter before re-locking the back door. He moved behind her quietly, his shoes no longer squeaking from the wet.

“I'd ask you not to scream. But experience has shown me, it's inevitable.”

She whirled, her eyes wide with fear. “Who… who are you! What are you doing in my house?” She stumbled back and knocked her hip into the counter, but she had nowhere to go. He’d stop her before she even moved.

“It's okay.” Edric brushed back the strands of blonde hair from her face. “It’ll only hurt until you die.”

She drew breath to scream. The sound probably would’ve been a bone-chilling scream if he hadn't hit her, a loud bone-chilling scream, which would’ve carried outside. He couldn’t have that. He punched her in the stomach over and over. His blows forced the air from her lungs. She doubled over and hit the floor. He walked casually back to the counter and drew the largest knife from the block.

“Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to work I go.” He smiled and turned toward her.

The blonde scooted backwards, leaving a smear of blood across the floor. He moved fast, leaving her to whimper and moan as she tried to track his movements. The whimpering was the same with each victim. This can’t be happening. This just a dream.

“Please, no. This can’t be happening. It’s just a dream.”

She kept pushing back into the wall, even though she could no longer move. The knife was like an extension of his body. He whipped the blade back and forward. Cutting her dress down the middle, he jerked the fabric free from her arms. The blonde was left in nothing but her white lace panties, her swollen belly stretched tight and laced with stretch marks.

He bought the blade up to his face. In the metal, he watched his reflection change until he caught sight of her in the steel. There, right there…. His body surged and thickened, hardening in his jeans, while the memory of her returned. The feral anger, lips drawn back, ready to strike—just as she’d looked that night. Here she was. He closed his eyes, capturing the memory once again.

“There you are, you fucking bitch.”

When he was ready, he opened his eyes and moved toward the woman. With her image held tightly in his mind, he could imagine this was her. He grabbed the woman’s hair and pulled her up. The tearing of her scalp started her screaming again. He whipped his hand out, catching her mouth. Sweet silence filled the air again.

But the image in his mind wavered, crumbling like sand in water, and with it went his desire. He rubbed himself hard, squeezing and releasing. He needed to ride that edge again. His body betrayed him, leaving him soft and unresponsive.

“No!” He squeezed his eyes closed and searched for her. But she was gone. His heart lay silent in his chest. If revived, the organ would’ve been racing, driving his rage through his veins like a spike. He turned to the cowering, bleeding woman and in this moment saw only the woman he sought, but couldn’t find. She disgusted him. “Now, this is about to get messy.”

Chapter 23

Grimm

HE’D SEEN KALI change into this black mist once before and the decimation that followed was aptly named a plague. The black plague was here. There was no other word for this phenomenon. Complete destruction was all that would come now.

The whistle of an object cutting through the air caused Grimm to jerk his head up. But the warning came far too late for him to move and he was hit from behind. One second he was standing and the next he was on the floor with metal spikes piercing through his brain. Grimm clawed the floor beneath him, frantically holding on to his snowed-out world. He had to stop this. He had to stop Kali….

He sensed movement above him. A voice growled, “As I said, not impressed.”

Grimm tried to move his hand. He tried to stop what was about to come. Death was the only thing Grimm could think about. Death was all he saw. Not just the vamp’s death, but… everyone’s. Visions of the dead called to Grimm, dead humans who unknowingly stumbled into a fight between the Family and a group of demons many years ago. The black plague who was Kali would take no prisoners and know no allies. They were all dead. Every. Last. One. Of. Them.

He groaned and tried to roll into a sitting position. The room spun. Grimm could hear the human speaking to others, just outside the door. The brave stranger was trying to calm the other passengers. The attempt was obviously not working.

“Grimm… Jesus, about fucking time.” Jinx’s face came far too close, the image swayed and blurred. “You gotta go and calm the humans down. I’ve hypnotized most of them, but there might be others. I’ll stay here with Kali. Hurry. Go!”

Jinx jerked him off the floor. His head roared. Pain chased away the last dull thought and the level of shit they were in came flooding back.

He caught a glimpse of Kali, now no more than a hovering cloud of death, before he was ushered past the human and out the door… His heart twisted inside his chest, cramping, clenching, knowing they were all gonna die. He’d failed everyone.

An older woman with spiky grey hair and weathered skin grabbed what was left of his shirt. “I feel strange. I’m not sure what’s going on here?”

Jinx had done a half-assed job with the trance work. This woman looked high more than anything else. A few of the other passengers pushed their way to where Grimm stood. One woman carried empty food containers and a swollen stinking air-sickness bag. Grimm sniffed the air and instantly regretted the act. His stomach rolled and he gagged. “What’s going on in there? Where are the hostesses?”

He stared down at her. What the fuck was he supposed to say? He cleared his throat and tried not inhale. “Have you heard the good news about our Lord Jesus Christ today?”

Her eyes rolled and the woman groaned. “Fuck, this is all I need, some bible-bashing freak I can’t escape from.” She spun on her heel and strode off.

A yell had him wishing to God he knew what was happening in there, and in the next second he was glad he didn’t. Vampires shoved at the door and knocked him out of the way. He stumbled back and held out his arms, creating a barrier between them and the doped-out humans.

The black plague followed them. It seeped from the compartment. Black tendrils of smoke reached toward him. Grimm backed up, forcing the humans to take a step back, or risk being trodden.

“What is that?” The fearful question came from behind him.

“Jesus, is it smoke? Is the plane on fire?”

Grimm felt a ripple of fear echo the rising pitch in their voices.

“I don’t smell smoke. Maybe fog?”

What came for them wasn’t smoke, nor fog. The black death snaked its way around the vamps in front of him, killing, consuming. The smoke wasn’t even Kali anymore. The vamps were lifted into the air. Trailing black soot hovered around them, wafting over their faces. They kicked and thrashed, dancing a crazy version of the Macarena, as blood oozed from their eyes and trailed from their nose. The black mist devoured the undead until whatever existence they’d once possessed was gone, and then dropped their lifeless bodies to the ground.

“Get back.” Grimm pushed at the crowd behind him. The mist reached out, snake like fingers edging toward them. “Just get the fuck back!”

Grimm held out his arms, using his body to shield who he could, knowing his actions were useless. In seconds they would be dead anyway. The black plague rose in a cumulus cloud, the shadow of unspoken horror brought to life. The humans behind him mumbled their slurred disbelief. They didn’t understand the atrocity they were witnessing. But he knew.

“Please,” Grimm whispered. His legs shook and he fought the urge to be submissive. The black plague hovered. Death, decay, and the scent of something older than the dirt filled his senses. He pleaded not for himself, but for the war—for the Balance. “Kali, please.”

The black plague waited, floating within reach, yet not moving to take hold. He glanced at the lifeless vampires on the ground. Immortality was no match for what Kali had become. So why did the plague stop now? What was she waiting for?

The mist took shape before his eyes, sculpting itself until the image of Kali appeared. Is it her? Can she hear me? She reached out to him, inching slowly, before she stopped. Kali wrenched her hand back, staring at him with a look of fear. Fear for what she’d become. Fear for what she could do. Then the murderous fog recoiled and swept back underneath the compartment door like the back draft of an inferno.

“What. The. Fuck.” Someone gasped behind him, breaking the silence.

Grimm waited, hovering on the precipice of everything going to goddamn hell before he surged forward. Grimm grabbed the first shirt he could reach and began heaving dead vamps into the baggage compartment, but he darted nervous glances through the receding mist, searching for Jinx. When he’d tossed the last one, he forced his balls out of his gut and stepped through the door.

He found the vampire trying his best to become one with the tiny lockers in an attempt to get as far away from Kali as possible. “I don't know what happened. I'm not sure what to do.”

“Just relax, okay. It’s Kali. You go out and finish spelling these humans and I’ll take care of her.”

“I’m not a witch you know?” Jinx snarled. “I don’t do spells.”

Grimm punted the vampires into the corner and searched the remainder of the compartment. “The bomb?”

“The plague... I mean, Kali killed the vamp after he went after you. I pulled out the wire and the countdown stopped.”

Grimm found his tattooed arm and rolled the vamp over. Sure enough, the display was stuck on thirty-three seconds. It was a close call, real fucking close.

“I think...” Jinx started. “I think the plague is trying to turn back into Kali, but she’s stuck.”

A tiny voice seemed to come from the ground. “Wait.” Grimm spied the mobile phone and pointed to the floor. “Jinx. The phone, get it.”

The vampire dug underneath the torn mess of arms and bloody torsos to pull out Kali’s phone. Grimm urged him to hurry. He wouldn’t be happy until the dead vamps were turned to ash. He could hear Scribe’s voice calling them. The faded sound became clearer as Jinx wrenched the handset from underneath dead bodies, holding the phone to his ear with an expression of distaste. His gaze bounced from Grimm to where the plague hovered in the corner, before he nodded and used the phone to gesture toward what used to be Kali. “Scribe wants us to put the phone close to her.”

“What? Why?”

“He said Rashda wants to communicate with her. I don’t know how, but he said to hold the handset out to her.”

“Rashda is in the phone, as inside the fucking thing?”

Jinx shrugged. “I guess.”

“Well? Hold the fucking thing.”

Jinx stared at the vampires around him, and then shook his head. “I can’t.”

Grimm got it. Dead vamps everywhere and Jinx was worried that Kali might add to the count. She didn’t hurt Grimm when she had the chance and he’d enough of being up close and personal with the goddamn plague. But this was Kali.

Grimm took the phone from Jinx and stepped forward, stretching his arm to its full length, holding the gadget gingerly between two fingers. He’d have to get close to her… to it. The phone wobbled in the air as he shook. Jesus, he felt like a fucking girl. “Kali?” The high-pitched squeak that came from Grimm confirmed his gender for good. Yep, fucking sissy….

The sound echoing through the device was distant, like a recording, but he quickly realized this was her, this was Rashda.

The chant was like nothing he’d heard before. Rashda’s voice filled the compartment. Long, sorrowful sounds drew him into every word, every inflection, and Grimm couldn’t help but be swept away.

Jinx’s voice jerked him from the trance. “Scribe said Rashda will calm her, so Kali can… turn back. She’s our only hope.”

“She?” The human muttered behind him. “That voice. I've heard it before.”

“No way you could’ve,” whispered Jinx. “There are not many beings alive who’ve ever heard that voice, human, or otherwise.”

The black droplets fused together, one after another, until the weightless outline of Kali appeared before Grimm once again. She looked at the phone in his hand and the voice calling her. She reached for the handset and Grimm could feel the cold brush of death against his skin. The plague was no more than a tremble away from taking his life.

Grimm tried to stop from flinching and whimpered. Kali jerked her ghostly hand back, and the black of her body faded to grey like the passing of a thunderstorm. The outline of her body hardened, as did the seductive curve of her lips. The last darkened wisps of smoke divided into strands to her glossy black hair and floated to drape the collar of her shirt once more. Out of death emerged a tiny, trembling, Kali. Grimm knew physically she was okay—every body part was where it was supposed to be. But there was something missing. Something only he could see. The sparkle in her eyes was no longer there, the glimmer stifled by the sheen of her tears as she stared at the phone.

The human moved toward her, reaching out. Grimm shouted, “No, don't touch her!”

Rashda’s voice wafted through the air, filling the silent space. “I’m telling you it’s the same voice. I had a dream about someone who looked like her. But, your eyes are dark. Hers were the most vibrant shade of purple I’d ever seen, iridescent almost.”

The soulful voice on the phone wavered, stopping mid-chant, then continued. The voice of the human drowned her out. “She held me as I burned. She rocked me and whispered everything was going to be okay. That I was going to be okay. She told me there were bigger things out there for me. Important messages I needed to tell others of my kind. A messenger is what she called me.”

“It wasn’t Kali?” Jinx sounded as engrossed in the story as Grimm. He now understood this human was important—for the Balance. Why else would the vamps choose this plane to bomb? What part Sebastian had to play in this macabre dance of life and death Grimm didn’t know, but what he did know was they just risked their lives to find out.

The human shook his head. Kali’s strained voice answered. “Purple eyes? That is my sister, my Rashda.”

Chapter 24

Rashda

THAT IS MY sister, my Rashda... Those words were the first Rashda had heard from her sister. She stood in the cavern, listening to Kali's voice, and her soul soared like an eagle on a summer’s day. Rashda held onto the sound of her sister speaking, even when others drowned her out. She held on like Kali was her life raft. Then, in the midst of pure elation, reality came crashing down.

What had she done? The repercussions of this could only be... catastrophic.

The crime had been done. Her crime. But who would pay the price for this betrayal? Not her, she was sure of that. She made an oath to the Master and Mistress, an oath she’d never forgotten. They gave with one hand only to take with the other; this was the divine order of things, Rashda understood that. Kali would be safe and protected, and in return Rashda would stay here in the darkness. But now that agreement was at risk, one phone call had broken her oath. Rashda’s stomach felt heavy. She had nothing left they could take. But the humans had their future, and her Family had their bonds to each other. The Master and Mistress would remain absolved, and they would take all.

Rashda pulled back into her physical form, then ran. She raced along the cave walls, desperate to get to the crevice.

Please. She prayed. Her panic climbed until the searing emotion drowned her. She bounced off the edge of the wall, and pushed her way into the crack in the mountain. Please, this is not their fault. Rashda fell to the ground, desperate for her soul to soar and reach her Master and Mistress. Her thoughts centered on one thing. She would seek their counsel and atone for her sins. She could not bear to exist in a world she alone had damaged by her foolish actions.

Breathe, Rashda, relax. She focused on her breath, trapping the air in her body, slowing the urgency. Until she felt herself lifting, hovering outside her body, before she flew.

She looked back at her body as she drifted away. Her soul’s capsule was so small and insignificant. Her skin was luminescent, glowing in the darkness. She longed to reach out and touch her face. But instead, she directed her spirit upwards, in search of the veil and the punishment for her actions.

In the time it took to inhale once, she felt the weight of the veil upon her. Murky, bottomless, bearing down upon her soul, she pushed her way through. But as hard as she struggled, the thicker the veil became until she found herself standing outside the wall, unable to enter.

The veil—to her—was closed.

She tried again, pushing, digging, and giving it all she had. She searched for a weak spot in the barrier, some rift, or ripple she could enter. But there was none.

Please, let me in. The fault was my own. She pleaded and begged, but her entreaties went unanswered. Weighed down by her sorrow, she dropped like a stone from the sky. Pain lashed her body as her spirit re-entered her human form. Snarling like a wounded animal, Rashda pulled herself to her feet. She clawed her way along the walls, jerking and screaming with the pain of her failure.

“It is my fault. Don't you understand!” Her anger rebounded along the mountain wall. “Get back here! Come back to me!”

Rashda gripped what was left of her resolve and held on. The end was coming, washing her away to crash on the rocks below. Her anger was directed at her Master and Mistress, but she knew was just angry with herself.

But she was still here, wasn't she? Still confined within these walls, away from her sister and the only family she had known since leaving her home? She alone had made the decision to sing to Kali. The old song of their home was something she’d known would calm her blood. The melody always had.

She had betrayed her Family, she had betrayed her oath. She stilled. Her anger left her and questions crept in to take its place. Had she really broken her oath? Words were spoken, yes. But the connection had only been one way. She sang, and her sister listened. And when her sister came back to her body, she answered a question, which she had overheard. There had been no loving re-connection. She had damaged nothing.

Is this true? She projected this thought out into the etheric plane and waited... The response did not come from her Master, or her Mistress. Instead, her own instinct answered the question. She looked up to the mountain wall and realized she had made her way back to the beginning, and the end of it all—the prophecy.

This was their pain, their loneliness. This was why she was here, and why she would remain until the very end. This was all about the child. She had to find him. She had to save him.

A cold breath blew along her spine and her senses tingled. Something was wrong here, something was different. Power pulled at her spirit and before she had a chance to ready herself, she was dragged from her body and pulled upwards.

She flew, pulled by an unseen force past mountains and rivers toward human houses, until she found herself drawn to one house in particular. Her soul moved through the brick and mortar, until she stood inside.

Rashda hovered near the floor in this human house. A woman sat against the back door to the house. Her legs were pulled up against her body and she was crying. Rashda moved closer. She could feel this woman’s pain, sense her terror. But she had never been called to interfere in their lives before. Why now?

Rashda came closer to the terrified woman. She was with child, and judging by the size of her belly, she would give birth soon. Movement to her left caught Rashda’s attention. A man entered the kitchen, moving toward the sobbing woman. At first Rashda thought he was here to help. He kneeled before her, his voice low and calm. Rashda moved closer, drawn by the woman's fear and the man’s lack of emotion.

“Now, repeat after me. My name is Eve.”

The woman shook her head. Her honey colored hair fluttered around her face. “Please, you have to believe me. My name is Helen. I… I don’t know any Eve.” Her face was awash with tears, the trail lined with black mascara. “I can get you money, if that's what you want? Just please, I’m begging you, don't hurt me or my baby.”

The man’s smile was menacing. Rashda flinched. Something was very wrong here. The woman stared at him. Her voice dropped to no more than a whisper. “This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening to me.”

The man lifted his hand. Rashda gasped, her soul shuddered. He jabbed the long blade at her. He flicked her hair away from her face with the tip. The woman whimpered, pulling away. But there was nowhere to go.

“Eve!” he screamed. The woman cringed, appearing determined to draw her swollen body into the wall.

He turned the blade over and ran the tip down her cheek, digging into the soft flesh. “Eve.”

The woman whimpered. She clutched her stomach with one hand and reached for her face with the other. Blood welled between her fingers, running over her hand like thick, red rings with rubies that leaked to drip onto the floor.

Her attacker raised the knife to his mouth, sliding the blade along his tongue before spitting. “Fucking tainted blood.”

No! Rashda’s soul cried. She felt her body, back in the mountain, cry out the same denial and raise a hand in defense for this woman. But this horror was far from anything her flesh and bones could stop. She wanted to flee. To tear her spirit away from the horror which she was sure would come. But something stopped her.

Rashda hoped that some higher power would intervene. Please, show this human woman some mercy, Mistress. Someone loved her. She was someone’s daughter, someone’s love. And if allowed to live, she would be someone’s mother. Rashda waited for her prayer to be answered. Waited, while the knife rose in one fluid arc. Waited, as her attacker’s last command was given, filling Rashda with dread.

“Say the words. Say. My. Name. Is. Eve!” He gripped the knife with one hand and enclosed his fist around the blade, drawing his flesh down, slicing deep. The woman cried out, moving beneath him and he hit her with his torn hand. Tiny drops of blood flew through the air toward Rashda, splattering on her spirit self. She reached up, wiping the cruor from her face and trailing her fingers across her lips. Her tongue snaked out drawing the essence of this murderer’s into her mouth. Her eyes widened, No…

His body shook as he loomed above the small woman. But he held the knife steadily. With a laden heart Rashda understood there would be no savior, no one to protect this woman in her darkest hour. There was no one here but her spirit self. This killer’s hand was far too practiced for her prayer to be answered. And as this murderer’s blood became part of her soul, she was slammed with a row of images, and she knew this was no ordinary evil.

Pictures scrolled through her mind, a montage too cruel for Rashda to hold on to. But these images held onto her. Bodies lay out before her. Tiny red ringlets which were once blonde, now clumped, rusted, and broken. Little hands outstretched and trembling, as life was snatched away. Before Rashda was able to understand one from the other, they changed. Bodies torn, bleeding and crying. Begging to go home. Screaming their last pleas around the grunts of this killer and the weapon made of tempered steel.

“Mistress, have mercy.” Rashda cried as the woman before her screamed. Rashda’s soul fell to the ground, dragged down by the depths of despair.

Insight struck like lightning and Rashda realized with blinding clarity why she was here. Why she could not leave this human woman. Rashda moved her spirit to kneel beside the woman and breathed deep.

Her spirit calmed. The panic retreated, although the burden still remained. She was not sent here to save this woman, and this moment was not a glimpse of the future. This was happening here. This was happening now. All Rashda could do was help her transition to the next plane, along with her unborn child.

He was not just a killer, this man. No… he was a destroyer of innocent souls. Rashda lifted her head. Her spirit saw him now for what he really was. Those were not just images—they were his memories.

His soul was blacker than any other she had known, and she had known more than a few in her time. His time on Earth was limited, no matter that he was now dressed as an immortal. His was a false immortality. His being was insignificant to her. She knew where souls like his were headed. Her soul quaked with the knowledge of what his spirit was to endure.

Humans called it Hell. But Rashda knew better. She knew Hell was no more than a figment in a mortal's imagination. The book humans called The Holy Bible was used as a syphon for power and money. The reality was not one of fire and flames with a horned leader at the helm. Hell was so much worse.

A soul's pain and torture wasn't endured at the hands of another...  that would be too easy. The darkness was endured from one's own cruel soul in a never-ending cycle of one's terrible existence. Rashda looked upon this murderer, this abomination. She knew this cycle had already begun. All that was needed was the removal from this world.

“I'm coming for you, blonde bitch,” the murderer breathed. Then his knife slashed through the air. The sweep of the blade ended before Rashda realized it had started. Silence now filled the void.

Rashda moved closer to the mother who would never hold her babe. “I’m here for you.” There was nothing her spirit for could do to stop this barbarity. The woman’s blood spilled across the floor, she screamed and clutched her stomach as the knife re-entered. Rashda kneeled over her. “I am here, child. Look at me.”

The woman bucked with the blows of his knife. Rashda watched helplessly as this woman was jerked forward, dragged by her feet and splayed out along the tiled floor. His sharp knife dug into her flesh, cutting her panties and bra away.

Rashda concentrated on the dying female, touching her face, drawing her away from the degradation of her body. This was why she had been sent here, to witness this atrocity. And she now understood why.

This was the monster sent to kill Azrael and the woman who bore him. A name came to her. Eve. This was not her, only one of many he had killed in his pursuit. Eve was the woman this monster searched for, the one he desired—the one he must never find.

Rashda cradled Helen’s face in her hands and stared into her eyes. In this moment, the murderer was of no consequence. Rashda poured her love and compassion through this human’s eyes and into her very soul. It wouldn't be long before she would shed the confines of her mortal body. The blood drained from the woman’s face. Her lips faded to ash and her labored breaths eased, while her body was thrust back and forward. The motion might have hypnotized this woman, if not for the terror involved.

“Come to me now. I am here to guide you. Leave this world with me. Your oasis beckons.” Rashda held the terrified woman’s gaze with her own, waiting, watching for the moment when she could do what her own spirit demanded, and ease this human’s pain.

The woman’s eyes opened wide and rolled back in her head. The whites were cracked and stained with blood. The sickening thump of steel hitting flesh caused Rashda’s spirit to fade. She held onto what strength she had. This woman needed her and this is why she was here, to ferry her to somewhere she would find peace. Grunts and groans filled the air while he rode this woman. The motion became harder, faster, slaps of skin on skin built to a brutal peak. Rashda reached forward and wrapped her arms around this sad, scared, sacrificial lamb. She held her tight and as she felt this woman’s silver cord break she carried her skyward.

A sense of connection caused Rashda look back. Not to the horror of what this mortal had endured, but to a man who walked up to the house and knocked on the door. His name came to her instantly. Adley Scott, the guardian. Rashda was torn between a sense of duty to this woman and the need to protect the detective. She turned her gaze to the spirit of this woman and her child in her arms and knew what she had to do. Rashda prayed to the Mistress to protect the detective and headed for the stars.

The woman’s soul sighed in her arms. Her brutalized, mortal body was now left far behind. Rashda looked down at her and smiled. The woman’s gaze widened and she whispered. “My God. You’re beautiful.”

Chapter 25

Grimm

“RASHDA CAME TO you? A human?”

Jinx voiced the words racing through Grimm's mind. The implications took hold. There must’ve been a reason this human was visited by the immortal, a good reason, but why?

“What did she say to you? What did my sister say?” Kali pulled herself upright.

Grimm made no move to help her. She wouldn't have allowed it anyway. They stood there, stunned, and waited for the human to answer.

“I... can't really remember for sure. But what I do remember was how complete I felt when she was near me. Like I had found a piece of myself I’d lost. You know what I mean?”

Kali gripped the bench. Grimm could see she was shaking, barely holding it together. He stared into her eyes and saw something he never expected to see. A tear slid down her face. One lone drop hovered on the edge of her jaw for what seemed like eternity until it let go, before she answered. “I used to.”

They were speechless, holding on to the moment out of respect, love, and sacrifice. Grimm suddenly realized the phone was quiet now. The beautiful voice was gone. “What now?” The human turned to him, acting like he thought he was now a member of this group of lone rangers. But that wasn’t how this worked. Mortals were on one side and the Family on the other. The line had been drawn a long time ago. There was no going back.

“Now, you go back to your life and we clean this mess up,” answered Kali.

Grimm and Jinx moved toward the partition. The only evidence left of their wounds now was their torn, bloody clothes, which matched weary expressions.

The man shook his head, looking at them. “I don't think I can do that, not now.”

“You don't have a choice.” Her answer was cold and blunt, allowing her to slip back into the persona of controlled Kali once more. For a moment, Grimm wished her other side would stay a while. He was fond of her.

The argument continued. The human was a tenacious son-of-a-bitch, Grimm would give him that. “But, I do have a choice in this.”

Grimm could see his problem. The guy was caught somewhere in the middle, having some sense of knowing, yet unable to know it all.

Kali reacted before he had a chance to stop her—and then he was too afraid to.

“You human. Do you not see this?” Her fragile voice hovered on the cusp of a scream. “This is who we are.”

She pointed to the pile of dead vamps as she grabbed his shirt and jerked him close to her. The human’s eyes widened as he backed toward the partition door. Grimm could hear his breath catch. The dude looked like he was about to bolt. Grimm’s heart pounded inside his chest. He had to save the poor bastard somehow… but fuck.

“We are death to you, human. Live your life while you still can, and forget we ever existed.”

She let his shirt go and stood there. Her dark eyes now seemed wounded. In this moment Kali didn’t look fearful. She looked lost. Her pain mirrored his. He’d never seen her like this before. She’d always been unwavering, undefeatable—the one who’d be left standing when this all went to hell.

Grimm stepped toward the tiny immortal. For once, she let him hold her. He could feel her body trembling and he held her tighter, pressing her harder against him. Her head nestled against his chest. Her glistening black hair was all he could see. And the simple connection was enough. Enough to know she was here, enough to know that a small part of her felt the same as he did.

“I want my sister.”

Her words were whispered into the muscles of his chest, her breath warm and moist, sticking what was left of the hideous pink shirt against his skin. He stared over the top of her head and into the human’s eyes.

The members of the Family were trapped in this battle, until the end of time. Unable to go on, and unable to go back the way they came. Fighting and killing for something they didn't understand themselves. While inside they remain damaged... broken.

“You were saved for an important reason, human.” Grimm held his gaze. “Find out what that reason is. Search within yourself for the answers, for all of our sakes. Rashda came to you. She’s shown you the way. Now it’s up to you to find the strength to walk the path.”

The human’s brown hair was splattered with blood, Grimm saw it glisten in the overhead light as he nodded, then opened the door. He stopped before he disappeared and glanced back over his shoulder. “My name’s Sebastian. I just wanted you to know.” He stepped out of the compartment, leaving them alone.

“Get off me lycan.” Kali growled against him.

He stepped away, giving her what she wanted, but he knew being alone wasn’t what she needed. She smoothed her hair, pulling out her prayer beads in one hand while the other reached around her back to touch her blade. Beads and a blade saved her, in one way or another.

“Kali and I will get this cleaned up. Jinx, you go out and deal with the humans.” Grimm motioned toward the door.

Jinx nodded and left them. Grimm glimpsed Kali reach behind her back and Grimm took a small step back. He didn’t want to be in swinging distance. He suspected Kali’s white death was the only weapon in this world that would end every immortal in this world. There weren’t a lot of weapons they could bring onto the plane, so they had to travel light. Grimm turned away, but couldn’t resist a last look over his shoulder, his spirit aching for her. Seemed they didn’t need weapons anyway.

He gently turned over the dead army vamp and eased off the black webbing attached to the bomb. His hands shook as he opened a black carry-on and placed the device into the bag. He’d set the timer once he was sure there was no one left on the plane, destroying what evidence remained. The two air hostesses lay crumpled on the ground, their throats savaged and their bodies torn. A feeling of defeat crept up on him, surprising him with a stab to the heart.

Kali’s blade found their hearts and as the edge punctured through their flesh, their bodies shriveled and turned white before they crumbled and disappeared into a small pile of ash.

Jinx had already entranced the rest of the humans with his hypnotic stare, so by the time Grimm and Kali emerged from the compartment, everything was almost back to normal.

Sebastian nodded when Grimm glanced his way, as they took their seats. After a while of listening to the chatter around them, he leaned in. “I'll never forget what you've done for me and for everyone. I'll never forget you.”

This was more than any human had said before. They didn't need his gratitude, but Grimm couldn't stop his heart from lifting in his chest in response. He glanced at Kali. Her eyes were closed, her body still. She’d returned to her normal controlled state, closed off from them once again, as though the moment in the compartment had never happened at all.

Grimm relaxed into the seat and closed his eyes. He could hear Jinx and the human talking across him. He tried to block them out. His body ached, his chest felt soft and tender. This battle was finally over. They’d won—for now. At this moment, the Balance was restored.

“Wait. You okay? Hey. Hey! Breathe!”

Grimm felt an elbow impale his tender ribs. His eyes flew open and he turned to where Jinx had reached over Grimm to grab hold of the human. The vampire’s stricken look had Grimm shooting forward, knocking Jinx’s hand out of the way.

“I just gave him some of my nuts.” Jinx held up the open, metallic bag. “They’re just peanuts.”

Sebastian’s face was now turning from bright pink to blue, like a vibrant sunset, although not quite as romantic. The human thrashed and clawed at his throat.

“You've got to be fucking kidding me!” Grimm roared and grabbed the human.

“Breathe... breathe, dammit.”

The human stopped struggling and his arms went limp.

“Is he dead?” someone demanded from behind Grimm. “Jesus, I think he’s dead.”

Grimm turned to stare at a chubby woman, her questions aimed at Grimm like a deadly sword. “No, he isn’t dead!”

Grimm turned back to him, taking in the human’s glazed stared. Fuck, the dude looks dead. A wave of dizziness washed over Grimm and he shook his head. No… no… no! If he allowed this human to die their battle would have all been for nothing. The weight of this burden was too much to bear. He gulped down air to stop from screaming and searched the plane for someone to help them.

“Move! I’m a doctor. Get out of my way!” A man pushed Grimm aside. He could only watch helplessly as the physician grabbed the man from his arms.

“You see, you were doing it all wrong. This man is choking. His head has to be tilted at exactly a forty-five degree angle and you are to strike the patient in between the shoulder blades, like so.

Grimm couldn’t stop himself from snapping. “I don't need a running commentary, doctor. Just fucking save him, please!”

A tiny white object flew from the human’s mouth, hitting the chubby female rubber-necker in the face.

A cheer filled the cabin. The human took a breath, coughed, and inhaled again. Slowly the man’s color returned, and as the human opened his eyes, Grimm couldn’t help but mutter. “When I told you to find out why you’d been saved, I didn’t mean for you to ask your maker, human.”

Sebastian slumped into his seat and nodded. His chest expanded and the glazed stare faded as color flooded back into his face. He swallowed and croaked. “Thanks. Again.”

Grimm lowered him back into his seat and then dropped like a stone back into his own. The spotlight wasn’t lost on the doctor. The man puffed his chest out, focused on the crowd. “Yes, well. That’s how you save a choking victim.”

“I'm sorry, Grimm.” Jinx shook his head. “I almost killed him. I almost killed the freaking human.”

It wasn’t safe for immortals to be around Jinx, let alone a freaking human. Grimm couldn’t help but feel sorry for the vamp. “He's okay Jinx, look at him. He’s fine.”

The human leaned forward. “I’m fine, really I’m okay. It was just an accident.”

“We fight an army of vampires. Disable a bomb, and stop the entire plane from being killed—by me. Then, he almost kills the one person we’re sent to save with a fucking peanut?”

Kali's comment summed up Jinx, exhibiting the same amount of confusion Grimm felt.

“You, my friend, are a walking fucking accident.”

Chapter 26

Adley

ADLEY STARED AT the empty doorway until he couldn’t take the silence any longer. He snatched his keys off the table and raced toward the car. If he followed Eve, staying back far enough, she’d never know he was there. He’d park and watch her, just to make sure she was safe.

He slid into the driver's seat and started the engine. Night time would soon be here. She wasn’t safe out alone. He headed out of the parking lot. Would she go left? Right? Right led to the center of the town, to shops and cafes—that’s where he’d find her. She couldn't have gone far. He spotted her white shirt and uneven gait pushing through the door of a café. Relief washed over him. He searched for somewhere to park. All he saw were cramped car spaces that were filled. The only place to pull up was at a No Parking sign. Fuck it! He wrung the steering wheel and drove on.

He slowed and scanned the street for somewhere to turn. His gaze skimmed along street signs and filled car parks, searching for a turning signal, anything. His jaw clenched, his grip tightened. A man sat in an old Ford, his windows down, staring across the street, his elbow protruded from his window. There was something familiar about the way he tilted his head. Adley’s instinct screamed like the lead singer at an ACDC concert.

His dark brown hair came into view. When Adley drove past, he turned, keeping his attention on the driver. The outline of his face was like a kick to Adley’s balls. His foot slipped from the accelerator and everything else slipped from view. Everything but that man in the car.

It was him.

Edric Hasting.

The murderer is here.

Adley’s heart pounded inside his chest as the Commodore coasted by. He searched his rear and side mirrors, swinging his gaze back and forward, melding that image into his brain. It’s him. There was no doubt. Edric Hasting's face would haunt him to his death.

The blast of a horn snatched Adley’s attention back to the road. He trampled the accelerator, and then braked before he yanked on the wheel, aiming for a break in the oncoming traffic. He raced back the way he came and simultaneously reached across the passenger seat.

While he searched the line of parked cars for the older Ford, he flicked the lever for the glove box compartment. His fingers found the sharp, patterned grip of the unregistered Glock. The serial numbers had been filed off by some drug-dealer, a parting gift he gave himself—fuck the departments gold watch he’d take Edric’s death any day.

He leaned to the side and shoved the gun into the waist band of his jeans, as he caught sight of the empty parking spot. His hand slipped on the wheel. Adley slowed the car and finally stopped in the middle of street. Car horns blared behind him, but their sounds were dull and muffled inside his head. He didn’t pass me… He didn’t pass me. Adley spun, searching the traffic both ways. But there was no sight of the Ford or of Edric Hasting.

He stumbled back to the car and slumped into the seat, jerking the door closed. The horns behind him seemed louder how, blaring like the pounding of his heart in his ears. He had been ready to end it all. To kill the murderer in the middle of this street and now… now he was gone.

“No… no!”

Adley gripped the wheel and inhaled hard, blowing out his anger so he could focus. The bastard was here for a reason. He was right here, right fucking here! He ripped the gear shift into drive and shot forward, pulling over to the side of the road and stopped the car. Horns blared as they passed him. He didn’t care.

The gun dug into his hip as he climbed from the car and looked around through narrowed eyes, trying to see what had drawn Edric to this spot. Why was the bastard here? A barber shop sat in the middle, a chic women's clothing store sat on one side and on the other, the building to the left appeared to be an office. A vein pulsed in the corner of his eye, and sweat trickled down his brow. There’s got to be something!

He breathed deep, trying his best to keep calm. The desire to kill Edric Hasting was overwhelming. Ridding the planet of this scum was all he thought about. But, if he was honest, he was scared as well. When Adley could put his emotions aside, and think like he was trained to do, the rational somehow became irrational. The way Edric’s MO had suddenly changed. How he seemed to evade the police, time and time again. And the day of the attack, the day Adley barely survived being savaged by something no words could describe. His partner had been brutally murdered in front of him, while Edric vanished without a trace. At first nothing made sense, not when Adley applied what he already knew. So he stopped thinking rationally and started from scratch. And when he did, a new image emerged. From the case files and Eve’s account of what happened, he knew in his gut, Edric Hasting was now very different. He’d changed and he’d become… a vampire.

No matter how many times he tried to argue with himself, he kept coming back to the same goddamn answer. Edric Hasting was no longer human. A vampire sounded crazy, but when his hold on reality was already fucking thin, instinct was all he could follow. Instinct was all a washed-out cop had left, and when his instinct told him to believe the unbelievable, he had no other choice.

Adley got out of his car and took off toward the offices. The cool, sterile scent hit him as soon as he stepped through the automatic doors. A doctor’s office… Is the piece of shit injured? A surge of hope spread through Adley.

A row of seated women looked at him above their magazines. Some shifted in their seats. Others touched their hair and bit their lower lip while their heated gazes raked him. The physical scars he carried made him look harder and more dangerous. He knew some women liked that. Confused as to why Edric might be here, he headed to the receptionist.

“Can I help you?” A young woman stared over the rim of her glasses.

The lie rolled off his tongue, like he’d practiced it many times. “I'm a detective assigned to the local station and I’m investigating some strange offences in the area. Have you had any theft or any incidents in the past few hours?”

“Incidents. What kind of incidents?” He had her attention now, so much so, the ringing phone was all but forgotten.

He smiled, trying his best to ease the situation. All he wanted was for her to confirm or deny his wild thoughts. “Just anything at all suspicious?” He winced slightly. What he wanted to ask sounded absurd. Any guys with pointy white teeth and no pulse? Jesus, even in his head, the question sounded insane.

“Umm, you’re gonna need to be a bit more specific. Just wait a minute would you?” She held up a finger while she answered the phone.

Shit, he was wasting time here. Why would Edric care about this place anyway? Adley searched the office. Women were staring at him. Pinned—and embarrassed—by the heated gazes, he decided perhaps he’d missed something about them, something important.

One woman had a swollen stomach. The bump was slight, but noticeable all the same. He stared up at the shiny golden plaques which sat beside the receptionist, Purdita Bowles, IVF Pregnancy and Women’s Health Practitioner. The world closed in around him.

He spun back to the receptionist, his heart racing, that damn vein near his eye convulsing. “I need to know if there was a blonde woman here not long ago?”

The receptionist held up her finger again, and continued to talk on the phone. Adley reached across the desk and pressed the button, ending the call.

“What the fuck?” The receptionist snapped and stood. “Why—”

“I need to know if there was a blonde, pregnant woman here in the last hour or so?”

“Um, there are a lot of blonde, pregnant women here… it’s an IVF clinic.”

“You don’t understand.” Adley tried to keep from losing control, but all he could hear was the ticking of the clock, screaming at him. Every wasted second could mean this woman’s life!

Adley gripped the counter. His fingers tuned white with the pressure of his grip. He had nothing else to go on. Nothing else he could say to make her understand. Poison ran though his veins.

Hate had corrupted him—had changed him. And as he stepped back, lifted his shirt, showing this woman the gun in his hip, he realized he no longer knew himself.

“I think you better run and get that doctor now, before I tear this fucking place apart.”

The receptionist stumbled back, and dropped the handset of the phone. Her gaze caught on the sight of the gun on his hip. The color drained from her face and she lifted her head to glance at the seated women behind him. He reached for the grip of the Glock with one hand while he placed the other on the counter. He leaned forward, catching her panicked gaze and growled. “Run!”

She stumbled sideways until she cleared the counter. The sounds of her heels on the hard floor echoed as she fled down the hallway to her left. He hurtled over the counter and rifled the desk. A blue, bound appointment book lay open near the phone. Adley wrenched the book toward him. He scrolled down the page of the afternoon’s appointments. One stood out to him, the red ink still fresh-smudged across the page as his fingers ran down the list. Her name was the last one ticked and scrawled with ‘paid’. This had to be her. Helen Leir….

Adley ripped the page free and turned. The yellow phone book caught his eye as he took off around the counter. He snatched it from the shelf. The hysterical voice of the receptionist drifted down the hallway. He had to hurry. The police would be here any minute.

The pregnant women watched him differently now as he raced past them and out of the building. The glare of the sunlight hit him like a blow as he raced for his car. He fumbled for the handle of the driver’s side door. He threw the phone book and the torn page onto the passenger’s seat, then jammed the key into the ignition and twisted the key, listening to the engine kick over. Adley resisted the urge to tramp the accelerator. He didn’t want to draw any more attention than he already had. The flash of a white coat caught Adley’s eye as he pulled out into the street. Guilt circled the wagons inside his mind. He’d done what he needed to do… the end justified the means—his argument sounded hollow.

He turned into a side street and pulled over to the side of the road and grabbed the page and phone book, praying Helen Leir was listed. The pages shook as he flicked through to L and scrolled down the pages of names finding one listing. K&H Leir. Adley punched in the address into his GPS, and then tramped the accelerator. The automated voice gave directions in a continuous stream. He drove at break-neck speed. Eve… The pain of not seeing her one last time cut deep. His heart gave a yelp before he turned his focus back to the road.

The GPS voice spoke amidst the blaring over-speed alarm. Adley glanced at the street number clicking by as he rocketed through the quiet suburb, until the voice announced his arrival. He parked two houses down and switched off the engine, searching for the old Ford.

What if I’m wrong? He didn’t want to think about the consequences of a misguided guess. He got out of the car, leaving the hiss of the radiator behind, and crept back up the path to the driveway. A yellow car sat beside the house. The vehicle wasn’t the Ford. Adley ran his hand across the hood. The metal was still warm. Whoever had driven the car hadn’t been home long. He reached behind his back and gripped the Glock, while he stepped up to the front door and knocked.

There was no answer. Adley held his breath, listening for anything other than the pounding of his own heart. A soft knock, knock, knock sounded from deep inside the house. He looked along the street, knowing he was about to descend into Peeping Tom status, if he was caught. He hoped he was caught. A shocked occupant would mean the woman was okay and he was wrong… Adley stepped back from the front door and made his way around to the back.

The knocking sound grew louder when Adley walked along the side of the house and stopped at the back door. Something was striking the door. He placed his hand lightly on the wood, feeling the thump reverberate. The square glass panes were covered with some type of curtain, so he couldn't see a damn thing. The noise grated on what was left of his nerve. What the fuck is that?

He lifted the gun, ready to smash down the door, but he tried the lock first. The knob slipped from his sweaty palms. He gripped the metal harder, twisted, and pushed.

Blood.

All he saw was blood.

Movement to his right was so fast, he didn’t have time to think. He bought up the muzzle of the gun, searching the kitchen in front of him. But, Jesus… Jesus… blood was everywhere. A body was spread wide atop the once-white tiles. A woman’s body. The tips of her blonde hair splayed out in clumps like a red-dipped Medusa. The flesh of her stomach was sliced and spread open. Pale, pink organs hung over the cage of her ribs. Her entrails decorated the once-white tiled floor like untwisted sausages. Adley’s legs stopped moving. Everything stopped, as though the world around him was frozen. His eyes were captured by that sight and he was unable to look away. A tiny fist protruded from between her organs. Adley couldn’t help but stare at the tiny fingers complete with nails. He followed the doll-like arm to a little chest and the frozen effigy of the unborn child’s face.

Adley choked back a cry and swallowed a rock, which formed in the center of his throat, at the same time as he caught sight of a blur. He lifted the gun and was firing before he realized he’d even aimed. The movement was so fast he couldn't track it. He swung the gun from side to side, catching sight of an arm, a leg—nothing that would give him the center of his target. Until the blur stopped and the murderer appeared.

Although, he wasn’t the Edric Hasting he’d known. He was now very different. The bastard came for him, all fangs and deadly eyes. Adley took the blow in the stomach and flew through the air before he hit the ground, hard.

Edric was on top of him a second later. He threw Adley across the potted plants like he weighed nothing at all. Adley squeezed off a shot before he hit the ground—and his head. His aim wasn’t perfect, but the bullet hit the filthy fucker. Edric whirled and stumbled. A second later he was hitting Adley with the force of Mack truck. Adley would’ve loved to have taken another shot, but he was too busy trying to keep Edric from breaking his goddamn neck. He hit the ground with a bone-snapping jolt that knocked the wind out of him. Adley struggled to his knees and took aim.

“Where is she, detective?” Edric snarled. He didn’t seem to care about the gun, as though being shot didn’t matter to him at all. “The blonde bitch. Where are you hiding her?”

Edric stepped forward, his head lowered slightly, like a beast stalking his prey. “I dream about her, you know? Her blood on me, inside of me.” He rubbed his chest, his hand slipped lower to cup his cock. Adley’s gut hardened and fell away. Ants made of ice crawled across his skin and he shivered.

Shoot him. Empty the fucking magazine into this sick fuck and be done with it! He wanted to. But he had to know. He had to try and understand. “Why?”

“Why? Why what, detective? Why be what I am?”

He stopped with his head cocked to one side. His eyes narrowed. “And you know what I am, don’t you, detective?” Edric’s voice slithered along Adley’s skin, constricting his gut. “You know exactly what I am. Why don’t you say the word, detective?”

“Yeah, I know what you are.” Adley growled. “You’re a sick, fucking bastard, who enjoys torturing women and children!”

Adley stared at Edric’s mouth as the cold chill filled his gut. The piece of shit mouth cracked open in a smile. Adley stared at his incisors, extended over his lower lip. The hair on the back of Adley’s neck stood up as his wild-ass theory turned into reality. His eyes glanced at the gun and then back to Adley. “You think that worries me?”

Adley heard the faint sound of sirens over his pounding heart. It was now, or never. He didn't think. He couldn't think. He had to end this fight, here and now. The image of Eve came to him and the desire to protect her overwhelmed him. He’d do this for her. He bought the gun up swiftly, took aim and fired.

He was hit, thrown into the air, and smashed to the ground in the spot where only a heartbeat before, he’d been standing.

“I want you to understand detective. I want you to get the full fucking picture. So, I want you to tell me what I am.”

Edric’s fangs were so close they grazed Adley’s cheek. He didn't want to speak. To say the word would make this all too real. But as his world tilted and spun, he knew he’d been right all along. “You’re a fucking vampire.”

Edric's eyes sparkled. There was life in his eyes now, life where there’d been none before. This animal was no ordinary killer now. Adley could find no name, only a word—annihilation. He leaned in close. The scent of blood wafted and the manifestation that had been Edric Hasting smiled. Two long fangs grew over the flesh of his bottom lip. They glistened in the sun, traces of flesh and blood stuck between the deadly white spikes.  Adley shuddered and glanced toward the open door.

“She was delicious, detective. But not as delicious as your honey-blonde whore will be.”

Adley allowed the killer to have this moment of gloating, and he used these precious seconds to his advantage. The bastard never saw the bullet coming. Adley lifted the gun and in one smooth motion and fired into Edric Hasting’s face.

Chapter 27

Eve

EVE DIDN’T KNOW who she was angrier with, herself or Adley. How could she let this happen? Fall in love with a stranger? What kind of woman am I? The guilt and shame she could almost ignore, but she couldn't ignore the look of revulsion on Adley's face after he kissed her, or the way he clawed at the door to escape. How had she been so bloody stupid and so incredibly wrong?

She sat in the diner, looking out at the shining, alternate world, the one that always seemed to hover just out of reach. A place where dreams came true and people lived happy lives. Where you were raised with parents who loved you, then you met the man of your dreams and he swept you off your feet. That world was meant for everyone else, but not for her.

The waitress slid a plate along the counter. The sound startled Eve and she crashed back to reality.

“Sorry.” The waitress looked down at Eve’s dirty clothes first, then her swollen stomach.

Eve stared at the plate, her sandwich blurring with her tears. She knew how she looked—young, pregnant, and alone. The look of contempt from the waitress was enough to push her to the edge. Could she just leave and walk away? Her heavy heart wanted her to consider doing that in one moment, and chastised her in the next.

Her thoughts turned once again to Adley. There was something between them. I know there is. Eve touched her lips. And I know he felt it too. Her heart set a new beat when he was near, it skipped and then smashed against the walls of her chest.

She’d known she was attracted to him from the first morning and the feeling had grown every day they were together. So why would he pull away from her? Was he afraid to love… or afraid to love her? Her hand drifted over her hard stomach and she felt the muscles tighten under her hand. She’d been having twinges all day, her stomach hardening and then easing. There was no pain and no need to worry Adley. He had to be afraid to love her. There was no other reason.

Eve took a bite of her sandwich. She’d grown stronger than she ever thought possible. Leaving her mother, barely surviving on her own, but she’d made it somehow. And she would do it again in a heartbeat, every cold night, and every hungry day. But being without Adley now, she understood how much she cared, how much she craved. She didn’t think she could walk away…. Not like that. No, she had no other option. She had to fight.

She refused to wipe her face, allowing her tears to dry as she finished her meal. They’d be the last she’d shed. Instead, she would fight for him, for her son, and for their love.

She made her way back to the motel, her hormones providing a roller-coaster ride of emotions. She was going to walk up and tell him how she felt, and if he didn’t feel the same… well, she’d just have to deal with the consequences.

Walking back to the motel was difficult. Every step now was like pushing a wheelbarrow uphill. But Eve put her body on auto-pilot and let her mind roam elsewhere. She didn’t know how this would play out. Putting herself out there… putting her heart out there. Maybe Adley would leave her, frightened off by the notion of a young pregnant woman clinging to him… No, he wasn’t like that. And neither was he the type of man who’d lead her on. Somehow, she just knew him. He’d be kind. He’d let her down gently and at the end when this was all over… they’d part as friends. Being friends was better than nothing, wasn’t it? Eve swallowed hard. Yes, if she couldn’t have the kind of love she hoped for, then she’d take what he’d give.

She rounded the corner of the motel parking lot and stopped. The car was gone.  Has Adley left me here? Maybe he was hurt, angry and left… She was sure the baby booted her chest, or it could have been the wrenching of her heart. She walked up to his room, her heart in her throat wishing she could turn away and run. There was no note stuck to his door. Maybe he’d left one on hers.

There was no note on the door to her room either. Despair wafted over her like a foul stench. Her hands shook as she gripped the safety chain. Tears blurred her vision, making it impossible to slide the fucking thing across. She clenched the metal links in her fist, feeling the flesh of her palm pain under the pressure. He was gone… gone. A sob escaped and she screamed her hurt and shoved the chain across.

Anger fought the ache in her heart, neither won. She brushed her tears from her face. She wasn’t going to let him leave her like this. Her back killed, neither standing, or sitting helped. What she needed was a hot bath, something to take the pressure off for a little while, and then she’d go after him. She’d find Adley and do, or say whatever she had to.

The sight of the deep bathtub caused her to groan. She nodded, urging herself to hurry. What if I can’t find him… what then? Eve’s hand fluttered to her stomach. She shook her head. I can’t think like that. She swallowed hard and felt the anxiety closing in, the fire already starting to burn inside her.

She glanced up and caught sight of herself, her eyes wide and dark. I can’t go back to that again. The memory of the Valium dulling her thoughts returned. Her son kicked her and she doubled over.

“It’s okay. I’m not doing that. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The pressure inside eased and she breathed deep. She pulled off her clothes and carefully stepped into the bath. Her thoughts were painful, her head ached. She needed a minute to relax, enough time for her to think. Eve stayed there, slowly washing until the water grew cold. With a heavy heart she climbed out of the bath. There were no answers here, none she could find. She dressed, tied up her wet hair and walked to the window. Pulling back the corner of the old curtain, she looked out. Darkness had fallen in the time she’d spent in the bath. The outside world didn't look as inviting as it had an hour ago. The car space still sat empty. As hard as she tried not to imagine the worst, it came anyway. Had he really left? Maybe he hadn’t really cared at all?

The empty spot where Adley had parked gave her no answers. She let the curtain drop and walked back to the bed. She was tired, emotionally drained and feeling vulnerable and for tonight, there was nowhere else to go. She pulled back the covers and climbed into the bed. What hope she had was now gone, left with the love she felt. The ache in her chest left her numb… as though she’d died inside. Her eyes closed and the last thought she had was of Adley. Where are you?

“Eve! Eve, please!”

The cry and thump on the door jolted her awake. Her heart thundered in her chest and at first, the terror of another night returned.

“Eve!” Adley cried. “If you're in there, please open the door. I... I need you.”

The desperation in his voice clawed at her very soul. Eve fought frantically with the sheets to get to him. “I'm coming.”

She scrambled from the bed and stumbled to the door. She switched on the light and tore at the safety chain, which rattled in her hands and finally came free. She jerked the door open. Adley stood outside, his hands braced on the door frame, trembling. He looked defeated.

“Adley… what happened?”

He didn't answer right away. He just lifted his head and stared right through her with dark, haunted eyes. “I failed you.”

The meaning of his words was lost on her. She shook her head. “No Adley. You could never fail me. Come in, please, and we’ll talk.”

He waited there, as though he debated with himself, before he stepped inside. The front of his shirt was dark. The fabric clung to the hard muscles of his chest and stomach. Eve held onto the door and stared. The stains looked like… blood. She reached out and touched his chest.

“Adley, are you hurt?” He shook his head, his shoulders bowed as if under an invisible weight. His shirt was cold, slick. She slowly pulled her hand away, her fingers were sticky, wet, glistening under the harsh motel lights. The metallic scent of blood filled the air. Eve stared at Adley and stumbled back. Memories assailed her, dragging her back to the night she had worn the blood of another. The room around her faded as the crimson staining her hand seemed to become brighter.

She’d never seen Adley like this before, cold and withdrawn. As though he’d been changed from the man he was hours ago. What the hell happened? She was shaking the last of the sleep from her mind now, waking up with a blinding clarity. Something was very... very wrong.

Adley hadn’t looked her in the eye since she’d opened the door. The ground was the focus of his attention, although she knew he was aware of every movement she made. He trembled as he dropped his head. Eve stood transfixed. Unable to understand what was happening.

Adley Scott was weeping.

Fear, love, and an innate desire to protect drew her to him. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled his body into hers. At first he resisted, but she held on. “Eve, don’t. I'm covered in blood.”

Without thinking, she tore at the buttons on his once-white shirt, exposing his chest, button-by-button, until he grabbed her hands. He pushed them against his chest, until the bones in her hands ached from the pressure. She wouldn’t pull away. She wouldn’t wince. He searched her eyes for something, fear, rejection? If that’s what he expected then he would be disappointed, for those emotions were far from what she felt. For the first time in her life, she allowed her true feelings to burst free.

“Don’t,” he muttered. Panic welled in his eyes. But the word carried no emotion, as though he expected her to be the one to leave and he was helping her make up her mind.

He tried to pull away, but she was the one who held fast, gripping him with all the strength she could muster. He put up a fight. But she held on, pulling him closer, centimeter by centimeter, until his breath warmed her face and the friction of his heaving chest pressed against her stomach.

“I love you Adley.” Eve said the words before she had a chance to realize their power. He froze. His breathing stilled, and even though she knew he might never feel the same, Eve poured out her heart in whispered words. “This feeling I have for you isn't something I planned, and God knows, it's the worst possible timing. But I can't help how I feel… I’m in love with you.”

She waited for him to say something... to say anything.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I can’t….”

Eve’s heart felt like it shattered into a thousand pieces. The shards felt as though they sliced her insides into ribbons. She dropped her head and pulled away from him.

He grasped her arm as she moved, his fingers digging a little too tight. His other hand worked furiously at the buttons of his shirt until he dropped the bloody material to the floor. “I can’t hold you against all the blood.”

He stood bare-chested. And even though his muscles were tight, his chest sculpted and hard, and his presence demanding, she knew, of the both of them, he was the most vulnerable. Eve moved against him, sliding her hand along his neck, feeling where the scar on his face disappeared into his hair, and pulled him down to her.

He dropped his face into her neck and she held him gently. He needed comfort. He needed her. Adley inhaled and Eve could feel his breath against her ear. He was readying himself, inhaling sharply, waiting as though there were no words he could find. She had to be the one to help him find his way.

“Adley, just tell me what happened.”

Eve jumped at the touch of his hand on her stomach. Adley pulled back instantly until she relaxed. She reached for his hand, guiding his fingers back to her stomach. Her hand stayed on his. His fingers splayed wide, covering the top of her bump, holding on to her. Her son kicked and then pushed against the soft confines of his cell, as though he, too, craved the touch of this man.

Adley sank to his knees like a landslide. He looked up into her eyes and held her stomach, running his hands over her unborn child. Her son kicked and pushed as he followed the touch of Adley's hands.

“I failed you.” Adley’s voice was slow and controlled. The soft circular motions of his fingers were mesmerizing, as though his words would be balanced somehow with his caress. But as he spoke, she realized this physical comfort wasn't for her benefit. It was as though Adley used the physical connection to her skin to find the words he desperately needed to say.

“I followed you when you left. I wanted to make sure you were safe. I know you were angry with me after what happened and I didn't blame you. I should never have taken advantage of you like that.” He shook his head. “When I saw you enter the diner, I thought I could just watch you and drive back. But when I drove past the cafe I saw him... I saw Edric Hasting.”

Eve jerked. “Don't worry, as soon as I tell you what happened we’re leaving. I've found us another place to stay. It’s not a motel, so he won't find us there. You see, I figured out he was waiting for someone, another victim....”

“Oh, God.” She somehow felt responsible, as though she was the vortex to this tornado.

“I was able to get her address from the doctors. I thought I could save her... I thought I could save you... but, I was too late, he was already....”

Please no. Eve didn’t want him to continue. Whoever is out there, take care of this woman and her baby. The memories of Edric’s attacks were brutal enough. Eve’s body reacted automatically. Her thighs clenched together and the echo of his words haunted her as though they’d been spoken yesterday. I'll be back for you bitch, and you will scream for your death.

“I tried to kill him. I really tried, Eve. But there was nothing I could do. I even emptied my gun into his fucking face. But he just shook off a full clip like they were flies.”

His words made no sense. How can someone get shot in the face and walk away? “I don't understand. That doesn’t make sense. How?”

“I know what he is, Eve,” Adley whispered. “I’ve known for a while. But the thought of it was too unbelievable and I know as soon as I say what he is you’re going to think I’m crazy. But Eve, I’m not crazy.”

“Just say it.” In her mind, she already heard the word. Deep down she’d known Edric wasn’t normal. He wasn’t human.

Adley stared into her eyes. “Edric Hasting is a vampire. I know this sounds crazy, but you have to believe me...”

So many things about the night he attacked her didn’t make sense and she knew her reaction to Adley’s statement wasn’t shock. She’d known all along something unnatural was happening. The glint of long white fangs came back to her. The bone-chilling screams of the officer who came to help her… they couldn’t even help themselves. But the moment Eve knew that her attackers were something other than human was the moment she watched Mercy disintegrate and fall to the ground in a pile of ash. From that moment, she’d known. But forcing herself to come to terms with the realization that vampires were real was another matter. Her body sagged, her panic surged as the realization took hold.

“I do believe you. I think I’ve known all along and I’ve been too afraid to admit it. Being a vampire explains everything. What I saw that night wasn’t normal. I saw her disintegrate right in front of me, Adley.”

Everything was sinking in, making sense in a bizarre kind of way. Reality to her made no sense. It didn’t explain what happened that night, and what was still happening. But this did. “It still doesn't explain why he is after me?”

“I don't know, Eve. There is still too much of this I don’t understand. Pieces of a puzzle I can’t put together.”

“What pieces? I don’t understand?”

“I should have told you this before. But I wasn’t sure, Eve. I mean, how can someone tell me things which haven’t even happened?”

The walls were closing in around her. “Who’s telling you things, Adley?”

“I’ve been getting these emails for a while now. They told me things which hadn’t even happened, things about you.”

Her breath caught. “Me?”

He stood, towering over her once again. “She told me I’d find you by the side of the road and...” He caressed her stomach. “You were carrying a special child. She told me I had to protect you. She told me you had to be kept safe at all costs. I didn’t understand, still don’t unders—”

Eve grabbed his arm and now she was the one who squeezed tight. “Who, Adley? Who is emailing you?”

He squeezed her hands. “Her name is Rashda.”

Chapter 28

Grimm

NEWS CREWS AWAITED the passengers of Flight AC033. Thirty minutes and ten seconds after touching down at Sydney International Airport, the bombs detonated, resulting in the passengers being held for questioning for over three hours.

The explosion rocked the airport. Luggage was strewn across the tarmac and there were reports of two bodies found still inside the plane. Men carrying cameras trailed behind take-charge women who jostled each other for the sound bite of headline news. Grimm could hear their questions being fired at anyone in the hopes they’d get something useable about the bombing. There had been nothing anyone could tell them and when the frustration mounted, they turned to something a little less exciting—a choking victim.

“I'm so sorry.” Jinx’d been muttering the same damn thing since almost killing the human. The vampire blamed himself. He’d become quiet since almost killing the human and seemed to sink lower into a somber mood as they disembarked. Grimm winced as a microphone was shoved in his face. The snapping of a camera earned the photographer a warning growl.

“This is Karen from the Channel 7 News Crew. I was wondering if you could tell me about the bombing?”

“ No.” Grimm’s answer was apparently so direct, she was momentarily stunned, but she bounced right back. Man, these humans were tenacious little fuckers.

“Okay, can you tell me anything about the choking incident?”

A sharp elbow and a quick shake of her head cut off the rumble that threatened to erupt from Grimm’s chest before anyone seemed to notice. Kali stepped in front of him, pushing the reporter aside with nothing but her stare. The reporter jostled for a place next to Grimm. Kali stepped forward and pierced the reporter with an icy stare.

“Oh.” The reporter swallowed and the color drained from her face. She stopped walking, but the camera man failed to notice and smacked into her. Grimm saw the camera getting a close up of the back of her head and couldn’t help but smirk. She swiveled, her bark as ferocious as any lycan’s. “Watch where I’m going, or the only thing you'll be filming is your freaking kid's birthday party!”

She turned, giving Grimm one last look, and avoided Kali's gaze before she stalked away.

Grimm laughed. “Remind me to never get on your bad side, Kali. I never want you to smile at me, okay?”

“Just keep walking, lycan.” Her tone made the hair stand up on the back of Grimm’s neck.

The feel of her body on his still lingered, indenting his mind like an old worn mattress. He glanced at Jinx, making sure his attention was elsewhere, before he turned back to Kali. He took a small step toward her, his actions slow and deliberate.

“Don't,” she said quietly, taking one step away. She read his actions before he’d even made a move. His words turned to powder inside his mouth, his hand hung like a dead weight at his side. He turned away and found the human standing in the middle of the mass of media.

The human’s eyes found Grimm’s through the crowd and the man nodded. Grimm returned the nod and he couldn't shake the feeling that everything was okay. That everything had a purpose and this purpose was on track. This sense stayed with him as they stepped off the escalators and walked over to a driver holding up a sign; the Family.

There was only one thorn on this perfect bloom. The scent of the Call still lingered inside him, like the unrelenting full moon as it passed from the full phase. They’d killed the only being alive who knew of another lycan. Being pissed off wouldn’t change anything. She was out there and this knowledge alone settled his wolf. He would find her. Even if it was the last thing he’d do on this earth.

Kali slid into the limousine first then Jinx and Grimm followed. They were driven straight from the international airport to private one where Fraser waited to carry them back home. He couldn’t wait to get back, and start his search for the female. This occupied his thoughts as the world dropped away. They left the river of concrete and blue cargo containers behind and headed for the clouds. Grimm didn’t fight the heavy pull of his eyelids. He was exhausted and smelled like dead vamp. But before he drifted asleep, he felt something press into his hand. He opened his eyes and looked down finding long, elegant fingers entwined in his. Kali's eyes were closed. Her lips drawn tight, but he knew she was awake. He could smell her exhaustion, her guarded need which mirrored his own. There’d be no sleep for them, either of them. The best they could hope for was unity.

They touched down on a small airstrip not far from the mountain and drove the rest of the way. They needed showers and sleep—those of them who did sleep anyway. As soon as they were inside the mountain, Kali left them. Grimm watched her disappear. The others were waiting in one of the meeting rooms, their eyes glued to one of the screens. They glanced up as he entered and dropped his bag to the floor.

Harmony stared at the empty doorway, waiting for Kali to enter. When it was obvious she wasn’t coming, Harmony looked to him. “What happened? What did you do?”

“Nothing,” he growled.

The others stood around the computer with Scribe at the controls, the airport scene playing out before them. “This is Alicia Summer with Channel 7 News and I'm here with the Sebastian Miller, who escaped death when he choked on a peanut aboard flight AC033. Sebastian, can you tell us what happened?”

The image of the human filled the screen. He still wore the same crumpled clothes and expression as when they left the plane and all the nasty shit which went with it. “Well, the act itself was a bit silly. A friend gave me some peanuts and one became lodged in my throat. I’m embarrassed to say I panicked”.

“So there are reports from the doctor on board, ah, a Doctor Moss. I’m told you actually died and came back. Was there anything you can tell me about that moment Sebastian?”

“Well, Alicia, I’m probably going to come off sounding crazy, but I wanted to let everyone out there know I am just a normal person. I have a house, a mortgage, and work in a factory for the minimum wage.” He spoke directly to the camera—“just like you. But an amazing thing has happened to me. I’d like to say this was as a result of a peanut, but it’s been something I’ve become aware of for a while now.”

The camera cut back to the reporter. Her body was bent forward, leaning into him. “And what’s that, Sebastian?”

“That we humans are changing, and not for the better. We’re killing our lands, our rivers and each other. We’ve veered off our path, the one we should’ve been living all along. Now, I may not have all the answers—after all I’m just a nobody—but I’ve experienced something I can only call divine and I’m here to tell you, there’s so much more to this world than what you and I know. God spoke to me and she told me to wake up. We all need to wake up.”

The reporter froze and dropped the microphone. The thump of the mic echoed through the speakers and Grimm heard the reporter muffled voice as she spoke. She must’ve realized no one heard her and she knelt and grabbed hold of the microphone before she spoke again. “I’m sorry, did you say she… God is a she?”

“Yes, I believe God is a she.”

Grimm felt like the human was talking directly to him. Actually, he knew he was.

“I’ve met some pretty interesting people of late who’ve shown me more compassion and love than I’ve experienced in a long time. They’ve put me back on track you know? They’ve given me something I’ll never forget.”

The camera cut back to the reporter. For a moment, she seemed stunned. Her microphone dropped from view and she quickly lifted it when she realized the camera was now pointed at her. “Wow… okay. That’s an incredible story Seb—”

The human wasn’t done yet. He stepped forward, taking her by the arm, and drew the camera’s attention. “I'm sorry Alicia, but this isn't a story. This is a message, one which was given to me, and now I’m giving it to you. We have to change, we have to evolve. Otherwise, we’ll all perish. I’m asking you out there to find me, to join me in this cause. I may not have all of the answers. But I’ve been given a glimpse of what we can become... and my vision was beautiful and inspiring... My Name is Sebastian Miller and my address is 51 Spring Valley Drive in Morningside. Come and find me. Together we’ll build a better way of life.”

Scribe spoke first. His quiet-spoken words screamed the importance of what had transpired. “That was a YouTube clip from today and at the moment the video’s had over a million hits... and climbing. I'd say your mission was a success.”

He didn’t need the star child’s words, but fuck, it felt good to finally let go. To let the past forty-eight hours become nothing more than a bad dream while he slept for a week. “Thank God that’s over. I need a shower and sleep.”

“I'm sorry, Grimm. There isn't time. We were hoping you’d return in time, otherwise Harmony and Smoky were going to have to do this alone.”

Grimm swiveled towards the others. “What do you mean? We almost got our asses blown up out there. We're fucking done!”

“I'm sorry, but it's not for me to say.” He turned to the computer. “You have exactly one hour before you are to leave again.”

Grimm didn't mean to sound desperate and angry. But this wasn't just his life on the line. Being tired and strung out could get you killed, regardless of who you were. “What’re we risking our lives for this time? I mean, it feels like we’re fighting a losing battle out there. No sooner do we get back but we have to take off again. When does this shit ever stop?”

“You’re to go out and bring back—”

“Who?” He was ready to give up. He was done. Grimm had his own life to live. There was another of his kind out there, waiting for him to find her. With the female lycan he could have his own family—a real family. He shook his head and stepped towards the door. He was done.

“You have to, Grimm. This next mission is everything we’ve fought for all this time. The angel Azrael is here... the prophecy has come.”

At first he didn’t understand, and he didn’t want to. But the name Azrael conjured stories from his past. Stories told by the elder wolves. Stories he thought he’d forgotten.

Scribe recounted the prophecy. His version was somewhat different from the one told by Grimm’s father, but the meaning was the same. Death, destruction and ultimately creation for all or none. Only fate would decide.

In Grimm’s mind, Scribe’s voice was replaced by his father’s growl as he sat amongst the other young wolves. Although they were immortal, time for them was precious. They knew with the arrival of the humans, their life was threatened, so it was moments like this, sitting around the fire, listening to stories from elder wolves that made the moment magical. In his mind Grimm saw the log crackle in the fire, shooting blazing embers up into the darkened sky. He glanced around at his friends. They were young, skinny, and hungry. Hungry for knowledge and hungry for power. Grimm, along with the others all thought they’d survive, that they’d be victorious and take back their forests from the humans. How wrong they’d been.

This human world won’t last forever. Grimm’s father held his gaze, flames flickered in his golden eyes. There will come a time where the lycan clan will rule and humans will fade away. That time will come. Our eventual triumph has been foretold in the great prophecy.

When will the humans leave our forest? He’d asked, hanging on to every word the elders spoke.

His Father created a vision of the future in Grimm’s mind, one which saw them rise to the top of the immortal world, where they were meant to be. When Azrael walks the Earth, he’ll sweep across the great forest and carry us to our rightful place. There, our women will bear our young and live for eternity. We will run free across the lands, drink from the purest rivers, and eat the flesh of the boar every night. But most of all, we shall sleep safe and sound in the embrace of the moon. This is the prophecy and we will rejoice.

“Grimm, are you listening?” Scribe’s voice cut through the memory like a rusted sword. When he was a young wolf he’d believed his father’s tale, they all had. As his kind perished, he realized the prophecy had been nothing more than a lie, a story to tell the pups around the campfire. Something to give them hope when all hope was lost.

“I know what you’re thinking, Grimm. The prophecy isn’t meant for us to wield as a weapon, no matter how fragile our existence has become. I know you must feel angry and hurt. We all feel the same. To realize the prophecy is not our prophecy is devastating. But this is why we’ve been fighting all of this time. This is why we are here. Now more than ever, the Family has to stand together.”

Scribe kept talking. But Grimm wasn’t listening anymore. This, for him, was a light bulb moment. He now understood how insignificant he really was. How insignificant his species was. He looked at the others, how insignificant they all were. He wanted to be selfish. He wanted to scream how this wasn’t fair. Why did they have to give up everything and get nothing in return? Movement behind him caught his attention and glanced back at Kali. She’d showered and changed and was now back here, ready to go out and lay her life on the line once again. Yeah, he wanted to be a selfish bastard. But where would that get him?

So it had come down to this? Vampires against humans? Immortal against mortal? Grimm shook his head. Humans didn’t stand a fucking chance. Scribe’s words had somehow filtered into his thoughts and left a stain. The prophecy had been here all along. Carved in the walls of this mountain they’d called home for far too long. He’d always wondered, why this place? Why here, in the middle of nowhere, on this desolate and majestic continent of Australia? And now he knew. This was where the prophecy waited.

How could they’ve known? The angel Azrael was coming and with him the destruction and the creation of a new world. Just not his world. The YouTube clip had finished playing. But the words of the human lingered, I now know there’s another way to exist and it isn't like this... He was more accurate than he knew. A change was coming. A change which had been foretold for thousands of years. There was only one being alive who knew how this would end, and it was now Grimm’s mission to bring him back to where he belonged—here.

“The angel will be born soon by the human woman. And there’s a protector. The same one Rashda’s been emailing, the detective Adley Scott. There are others who know the angel’s coming. Vicious, powerful vampires that will stop at nothing to get what they want. What they want is the angel—”

Grimm cut him off. His exhaustion evaporated into determination. “You don’t need to worry, Scribe. You give us the location and we’ll bring the angel back.”

“Right. You’ll need crossbows and guns.” Smoky headed for the armory, returning minutes later with two heavy duffel bags loaded with weapons.

The mood in the cave was somber, shell-shocked. “Right. Let’s get this done.” Grimm walked over and grabbed the two bags. He was almost out of the cave before he stopped. “Wait. What of the mother and the detective?”

Kali answered for the rest of them. “We’ll bring back who we can. But the child is the mission here. We must protect him at all costs.”

Chapter 29

Edric

EDRIC HASTING STOOD underneath the concrete bridge, concealed by the night and the drug dealers who haunted this area. They paid him no mind. His ravenous gaze and blood-splattered clothes spoke louder than the cheap phone and watch he carried. He needed somewhere dark and quiet. Somewhere he could hide and think.

Water from a broken pipe washed away the tainted blood. The disappearing blood was cruel to watch. He was hungry and weak. Pure blood was what he needed, and the blonde bitch was what he desired. Both evaded him.

Wet leaves stuck to his face. The smell of dirt and wild animals flooded his senses, taking him further away from what he once was—human. Was this what he’d been reduced to? Living under a bridge and washing poison from his body in a dirty mountain run-off? Edric leaned against the cold concrete, lowered his head, and touched the side of his face. The bullets from the detectives’ gun had blown away part of his face. It wasn’t just his looks he was worried about. He couldn't see out of his right eye. He would heal, but slowly, given his weakened state.

He felt sure he was missing something about the detective, a niggling thought hidden amongst the constant pain of hunger. The arrival of police had prevented him from ending the detective's life. The pain, the deformity, had been worth the look on the detective’s face when he realized what Edric had become.

His phone rang, the annoying tone fraying what was left of his human thoughts. He barred his fangs, hissing as it vibrated along the concrete floor. He snatched the handset, and answered. He knew who was calling. Even though this dog was on a leash, his confining collar didn't stop him from wanting to bite.

“You disobeyed my direct orders Edric, and I'm curious as to why?”

The growl resounding in his chest died away as Edric battled to control his emotions. “I'm fucking hungry that's why. I need food.”

The phone came alive in a hiss. “Then you should have waited, you dumb fuck!”

Edric’s body screamed. His hunger was its own animal, tearing him apart from the inside. “I need to find pure, or I'll go insane.”

“I told you to kill the detective and then go after the woman, didn't I? Must I do everything my fucking self?”

God's anger was no more painful than his hunger. The twin pains were the same to endure. “I can't think... I can't... fucking stand this anymore. The constant hunger. The constant fucking pain!”

A sigh echoed down the line and his torment eased. “I forget what a child you still are, Edric. I must admit I had hopes for you. High hopes, but it seemed I was mistaken. The one you seek has pure blood, you fucking idiot. That’s why she carries the prophecy!”

God’s power dropped him to the concrete. He whimpered and scuttled away from the phone until a rock wall prevented him from going any further. He cried and rocked. The intoxicating power he’d been given so freely was ripped from him, its barbed veins shredding his immortal soul as it left him.

“Now.” God reached through the phone to his vampire ears. “Kill the detective. Do whatever you want with the woman. But I want the child brought to me. Alive. Do I make myself fucking clear?”

The phone stayed silent while Edric’s body convulsed.

“I'll take your silence as a yes... don't piss me off again Edric, or I will end you.”

He screamed as the sting of God's power returned, tearing through his body like a white-hot poker. The gut-wrenching sound halted life around him. Humans and animals alike froze and looked out into the night. The thunderous sound of their frantic heartbeats filled his ears. Whimpering, he curled into a ball on the ground. His crimson tears fell, soaking into the concrete below. He just needed…

The vision God gave him returned. The detective and the blonde bitch stood inside the derelict house. He could hear the bitch and the detective talking about him. Their whispers of the hunter instead of the hunted disturbed him at first. Garlic, a cross, holy water.... He moved toward them, hovering just out of view, protected by the one-way shield God held in place.

He stood behind them, mesmerized by the sound of pure blood pulsing through her veins. His hunger threatened to overcome him, but he held on, drawing out the pain. His tongue snaked along his lower lip. He moved closer while she spoke. “This is going to work, Adley. I'm sure of it. Once this sick son-of-a-bitch is gone, then the rest of our life is ours.”

The detective wrapped his arms around her. Pulling her close, he kissed her hard. His words were muffled by her golden hair. “I love you, Eve.” A growl escaped Edric's gritted teeth as he lay huddled on the cement.

He wanted to end the detective then. The idea of seeing her terror once again fueled his desire. He held on to that hope as though his pathetic existence depended on it.

Edric relaxed his corded muscles. He unwound his legs from his curled position and slowly pulled himself up from the ground. With a renewed sense of purpose, desire and hunger drove him from the shadows and he headed toward the town.

The house had looked bare, as though they hadn’t been there long. Edric knew they’d be moving around. Motels were where they would hide, the cheaper the better. Edric stepped inside the first phone booth he found. He flicked through the directory with lightning speed, tearing pages from their spine. He needed to think like them. Their vulnerability was repulsive and exciting all at the same time. He’d end the detective and take the blonde bitch and her child to God. Maybe God would let him keep her? He’d let her live if he could control himself from sucking her dry. The desire to taste pure blood was a drug, stronger than the need to use his knife. Stronger than the need for sex.

Mercy told him of the rise of her kind. Vampires blended with the human population, until you could barely distinguish one from the other. Some of them held positions of power. He suspected God was one of them. Vampires were determined to ensure their survival, no matter the cost. So while humans slept, comforted by their illusions of safety and hope, vampires did not. Instead they spent their nights taking over the world.

There was one problem with this plan. Without the vampires even knowing, humans were rising up to spit in their faces. For centuries, vampires fed on humans. Their hypnotizing gaze left the human weak, but alive, so as not to draw suspicion to their race. Those weakened humans became sick. The venom of a vampire’s bite coursed through their veins, forcing them to their beds with a fever. There once weren’t as many vampires as there were today. But the sickness had been enough to incite panic and the malady named a blood disease. This was before the days of medical science and their diagnosis had been archaic, at best.

Some humans survived. They recovered slowly, until they became healthier than they’d ever been before. The vampire venom had changed them. It sheathed their human cells with a protective layer, rendering their blood tainted, unfit for vampires. In their ignorance, vampires continued to feast, spreading the disease from home to home, town to town, and city to city. Those humans who bred with survivors passed along this genetic mutation to their offspring. And before the vampire colony knew it, their food source had become almost non-existent.

Pure blood was a rarity. Those humans who were found were kept on blood farms. They created a food source for the expanding numbers of vampires. These were perilous times for humans. Vampires were determined to succeed in becoming the apex predator by any means necessary. The blonde bitch was one of them, a pure blood. She and her child were an important find. This must be the reason God wanted this child so desperately, although Edric saw a greater need for the blonde bitch rather than the child she carried.

Edric shoved the pages of the directory in his pocket and stepped out of the phone booth. He caught his reflection in the glass. The left side of his face was sunken and misshapen, hideous. The fucking detective would pay for this. He’d take his time before he tore him apart. Then she will be mine. He’d spread her out on the floor next to her lover and he’d spill his seed deep inside her. This image would be the last the detective would witness. But his violation would be only one of many for her.

He set out into the night, hunting them from motel to motel. He searched for the dingy lodgings in his vision, the one where they would be waiting. He looked for the detective’s car, peering inside windows. He forced open locks on reception doors. The first two motels were a bust. There was no sign of them and he left quickly, moving onto the next one. The third motel, flashed its ‘no vacancy’ sign. This didn’t deter him. The town was frightened. They’d heard the Abortionist was coming and they were determined to keep him out. He broke the lock on the office door and made his way behind the counter. The vacancy book lay open at the last entry and he scanned the list of names stopping at the vehicle's description—Silver Commodore CMW-896—and its occupants, Adley Scott and Eve Johnson.

The rooms were listed as 12 B and C. He looked toward the line of the darkened rooms. Edric stopped, trying his best to think, but as always, his hunger won. They were here, asleep in their beds. They had to be. He walked out of the reception area and headed toward their darkened doors. The detective would be first. Once he was out of the way, Edric could get comfortable. There’d be no rush.

The blinds were closed and the car wasn't parked in the lot. They could have hidden the vehicle somewhere, although something didn’t seem right. He gripped the door handle and pushed down on the lever, breaking the lock. The door swung open and Edric stared at the darkened room. A loud click sounded behind him.

“Step away from the door, Mister. I don't know whatcha want with these folks, but the police are on the way.”

Edric let the door spring back before turning. The first thing he noticed was the shiny, double-barrel shotgun aimed at his face. He stared into the eyes of a man he suspected was the motel owner. His torn, white singlet barely stretched across his stomach. But his eyes were all business, determined and deadly. The motel owner's gaze found the deformed side of Edric’s face and winced at the sight of him.

“Hells bells,” he muttered. The tip of the barrel wavered slightly.

“Lower the gun and fuck off.”

“I can't do that. No, sir.” The motel owner steadied his gun. “Now, step away from the room and we’ll sort this out when the police arrive.”

Edric moved before the fat fuck had a chance to react. One moment he was standing in front of the barrel. The next he stood behind the owner, with his hands gripping his throat. “Now, let’s try this again.”

He squeezed slightly, just to let this human know who was in control. The soft flesh of the man’s thick neck dispersed under the pressure of his fingers and the grind of tendons and bones travelled up through Edric’s fingers and into his hand. He missed this… missed hurting for pleasure and not because of demands. The man grunted and then thrashed in his arms, throwing himself into a punch. The man used his round body as a lever, pushing Edric away. He let the man go and stepped back, his blows swinging wide.

Edric made no effort to move as the barrel of the shotgun lifted toward him. He expected the blast, but the shards of metal that ripped through his body still hurt like hell. He stared down at the hole in his stomach and his torn, bloodied shirt before he lifted his gaze. He drew his lips back and spat. “That. Fucking. Hurt.”

The wound in his gut burned like fire, the smell of gunpowder and his own seared flesh filled the air. The fat fuck stood there, mouth gaping, staring at the huge fucking hole in his body slowly knit together. “You should be dead…. What… are you?”

Edric ignored the questions and took a small step forward. “Look at me.”

The motel owner tore his gaze away from Edric’s stomach to his face. Edric moved again, his movements slow, shepherding the man inside the room. The motel owner staggered and stepped back.

Darkness swallowed the human as he stumbled through the door marked 12B. Edric followed him inside and switched on the overhead light. The room was lit in a dusty yellow hue. The man glanced toward the office as Edric closed the door behind him, and then looked quickly away. Who did he look for? A wife… a family?

Edric couldn’t help but smile. “I didn’t come here to kill you, only to find the detective and the woman he’s with. I’ll stand back and let you walk out of this room, as soon as you tell me where they’ve gone.”

The man tried to speak, but all that came out was unintelligible wheeze. He stopped, swallowed and tried again. “You’re gonna kill these people if I tell you.”

Edric kept his voice calm, his movements passive. “The detective and I are old friends and I wanted to catch up with him for old times’ sake.”

“I don’t believe you. You mean this girl harm. Why else would they run?”

“Listen to me!” Edric snarled and sprang forward. “Tell me where they are, or I’ll gut you like a goddamn fish.”

Edric knew as soon as he said the words, his threat was wasted. His determined gaze was old school. “I served for my country in Vietnam, lost my mates, lost myself there for a while as well. So I made peace with death a long time ago.”

Edric dropped his head slightly, his voice no more than a growl. “You might be willing to face your death, but is your wife? Your family? I’ll break them slowly. I’ll make them beg and scream before I kill them and then I’ll kill you.”

The motel owner paled, and the glassy sheen of anger in his eyes dulled as Edric drew out his knife. “Tell me what I want to know.”

“My wife, she means nothin’ to you.” The man lifted the shotgun and pumped another shell into the chamber. “And you won’t kill her if I’m already dead.”

Edric moved fast as the human swung the muzzle around. But it wasn’t fast enough. The motel owner stared at the office as he aimed at his own chest and pulled the trigger.

The blast tore through fat and flesh. Edric could only shove the muzzle out of the path of his heart. The shot tore into his side instead. The motel owner fell to the ground, his shirt black and bloody. He tried to stifle his screams by clamping shut his mouth, but the sound would still travel.

“You stupid fuck!” Edric screamed. He spun as a light in the office building illuminated the closed blinds. He turned back to the fat piece of shit rolling on the ground. It’s been a while since he broke someone for just the hell out of it….

Edric reached down and gripped the screaming man by the base of his neck. He tore open the door to the room and dragged the man across the parking lot and toward the brightly lit office. He’d get the information he wanted—even if it took him all night.

Chapter 30

Eve

EVE STARED AT the emails scrolling across the screen. Emails from someone she didn't know, but who seemed to know a lot about her. They were dated well before Adley first picked her up. Well before the murderer had come for her. Eve’s mind was filled with questions. How and why?

You must bring her to the mountain Lythe. Here, the Family will protect her. She didn’t know of any Family and she had none of her own. When she focused on these words, she felt no fear or caution, which was strange. Her lack of anxiety concerned her. Eve glanced at the name. This Rashda seemed almost desperate to get her to this mountain. How could someone she didn’t know, know so much about her? She glanced up, her gaze following Adley as he hastily repacked their bags. How could this Rashda know so much about him?

“Okay, let’s go.” Adley hauled their bags and his laptop to the car and threw them in the boot while she made her way around the car and climbed awkwardly into the passenger’s seat. Eve could feel Adley’s fear and it called out her own. As he drove, he told her what had happened. She listened to him over the gunning of the motor, although she sensed he left out most of what happened out of his story. But the ending, he didn’t leave out the ending.

His brutal battle with Edric had been cut short by the sound of sirens. Although Adley didn’t say the words, she could tell the arrival of the police had been the only thing that saved his life. Adley recounted how he shot Edric. How he emptied his gun into the side of Edric’s face and still the killer remained, not just alive, but standing. Adley’s voice sounded hollow, his words reduced to a whisper.

“I couldn’t argue with what I saw with my own eyes, what I knew in my gut. The smug bastard was tormenting me, urging me to say the fucking word so I’d know once and for all how… untouchable he is.”

Eve kept her eyes straight ahead as they weaved in and out of the residential streets. Adley needed get this out of his system, he needed to get what happened right in his own head and if she said a word, she’d frighten him off.

“He wouldn’t leave me alone, digging and digging, getting under my skin. I had to say the word for myself more than anything. I’ve been trying to find a way around what I knew he was. The puncture wounds. His change of MO. It didn’t make sense. It was like he’d changed, not just his victims, but his entire life. I knew as soon as I said it, that it was true. Fucking vampire, do you believe that?”

He turned to stare at her in the darkened car… “Yeah, I guess you do.”

They drove the same street three times before Adley turned the car down a narrow driveway that led to the back of an old house. The hopelessness of their situation crept up like the cold to blanket her.

If Edric possessed even half of the abilities written in books, or displayed on screen, then Eve knew it was only a matter of time before her stalker found them. And when he did... Eve glanced at Adley, forcing the branding of his profile on her memory. How much longer do we have together?

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, turning his head to give her a look she felt, though she couldn’t actually see his eyes. “I know this isn't anywhere near good enough for you or the baby. But it’s the best I could find.”

She was thankful for the darkness in that moment. Heat crept its way into places that took her breath away. The memory of his lips spread like a fever. Her body was weighed down by her son, but her heart soared. She wanted to reach out to him, to touch him, but she was a coward. The silence lasted for a heartbeat, a precious heartbeat and was gone.

“I don’t want you going in until I’ve made sure it’s safe. I'll get the bags and take them inside. Then I’ll come back for you, okay?”

“Okay. Wait, Adley.” He turned toward her in the dark. She could feel his gaze searching for her, needing her. If she angled her head forward, she could almost brush his lips with her own. The memory of that moment today felt so fresh, so real... and so wrong for him. She didn’t need him to love her out of pity—or worse—obligation. She muttered softly. “Nothing.”

He paused before stepping out of the car. “Lock the doors behind me and sound the horn if you see anything at all.”

He didn’t wait for her to answer. He shot out of the car, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She could feel his confusion. One minute, it seemed as though he wanted her just as much as she wanted him, and then… nothing. Like a tap. Off, on, off, on. And she was left hanging, that perfect world still out of reach.

The jabs in her side increased. Her baby pressed harder, searching. It seemed it wasn’t only Eve who craved the touch of this man, or felt the need to belong to him. Vulnerability wasn't weighed on the fragility of the future, or what she had to gain, or to lose, but from the hurt she carried from her past. Pain built on pain created a fortress inside of Adley and she guessed his walls had been built to last. Before, she would’ve given up and walked away without a fight. Now, her need and her son’s need prevented that. She wouldn’t… no, she couldn’t allow that to happen.

Adley had fallen to his knees, back in the motel. And in his moment of desperation and pain, she witnessed the real him. The one he hid not just from her, but she suspected from the world. Adley's foundations were broken and she planned to see that his walls came crashing down. There’s no going back. Not for him and not for me.

He emerged from the house, scanning the night before making his way back to the car. He motioned her to unlock. Eve lifted the button before opening the door and struggled to stand.

“I've put your bag in the main room. The owners have left the power on, so at least you'll have hot water.”

She struggled into the house and Adley followed, locking the door behind them. The wooden floor groaned underneath her steps. The musty scents of staleness and old people choked her, conjuring memories of her cold and unwelcoming grandparents before they passed. She held her hand over her face and tried to breathe

Adley took her hand, leading her to the right of the hallway. “If you leave on the bathroom light and close the door you’ll be able to find your way around.” He followed her gaze and murmured. “I’ll open the window until you go to sleep and let some fresh air in. I’m sorry Eve. I’ll make this place better tomorrow, I promise.”

She lowered her hand and tried to smile. He was doing all he could to keep her alive, she had no right to make him feel bad. “It’s fine, really. A little fresh air is all it needs.”

He nodded and pointed to the front of the house. “I'll be in the room over there, if you need anything.”

She followed the movement of his hand to the room at the front. The windows looked out onto the street. “Don't you think it’s dangerous, being so close to the road? What if… he gets in?”

His words barely reached, but his stare was as hard as stone when he answered. “Then I'll know about it first, before he has a chance to get to you.”

He strode quickly to the large window, yanking the dirty cord to snap the blinds closed. Her world was reduced to these four walls. She could hear him moving around in the room and fought the urge to follow him so she could keep him in her line of sight. He disappeared into a darkened room to her left and switched on the bathroom light. The yellow glare from the naked ceiling bulb showed her a bedroom. The iron bed frame he expected her to sleep on was rusted, reminding her of the blood on her hands from touching Adley’s shirt drenched with Edric’s blood… no, he’s a vampire now he has no blood… his borrowed blood. Eve shivered. The coverlet was edged with limp tassels, lying on the ground.

“It's late,” he said softly, avoiding her gaze. “You best get some sleep.”

Her body was exhausted and her nerves were frayed, but she didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to finish what they started back in the motel, even if she could only hold him. She moved toward him, but he shuffled back, just out of reach. “Not tonight, okay. We'll talk about everything tomorrow, Eve. You need to get some rest.”

He left her with the sound of his fading footsteps. She wouldn't push him tonight. Both had all they could cope with. He moved quietly around the house, checking the windows and doors before returning to the front room. Eve waddled into the bedroom and placed her bag on the floor, not bothering to unpack. There’d been too many motels and cramped nights in his car for her to care any longer.

The musical sound of Adley's laptop powering up triggered an ache inside her chest. He was so close, yet in this moment, he seemed so far away. The ache spread throughout her body as she pulled down the covers and climbed in between the cotton sheets. Their stale fragrance was sharp and bit at her senses. Eve sneezed and wrapped her arms around herself, settling in the bed. The old house ticked around her and as the time slowly passed, she felt so very small.

Adley’s typing sounded frantic at first, then slowed and eventually stopped. Eve closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. But, tonight, sleep evaded her. Vampire…. Mother of God, how had her life become a B-grade version of every vampire story ever made? Where was the fairytale version filled with teenage angst? In her life, in the real story, there was only darkness and death while she ran screaming to find the truth. There wasn’t a cruel bitch alive who’d dream this shit up. “Fuck you.” She spat into the darkness as she started to tremble. The words tasted like poison—felt like poison. But they were real, and so were her hate and her terror. She held on to them tight.

She shifted in the bed, moving from the warm outline of her body to the cold sheets and waited while they warmed once again, listening to Adley snore in the next room. He was exhausted and he needed his sleep. If she could just lie next to him, she’d be able to drift off as well. She pulled back the covers and rose from the bed and quietly made her way to the front room.

Against the soft blue light of the computer screen, Adley looked peaceful. He lay on a makeshift mattress made of cushions from the lounge. He slept on the floor while she had the bed. His legs were curled up into his stomach. His body was barely covered by a rug that wouldn't warm him.

Caught between loneliness and fear, she stood watching and shuddering, mesmerized by the rhythmic sound of his breathing. This moment was so precious, this stolen moment was all she had. She sighed. Adley sat up with a start and looked around, finding her in the dim room. “Eve?”

“I'm sorry, go back to sleep.” She mumbled, but made no attempt to move.

“What's wrong?”

She felt like a child. “I... can't sleep. I'm terrified.” He sat up and the thin blanket slid to his waist. Her face burned with her carnal thoughts. But, God he looked so good. “Can I sleep with you?”

“No, Eve. I'm not going to let you sleep on the ground.”

Warm tears sprang her eyes and the familiar feeling of rejection filled her once more. She managed to stumble in a half-turn without tripping over her swollen feet before his voice stopped her.

“But if you promise no more wandering, I’ll lie beside you.”

Her heart caught on a beat and she answered a little louder than she’d intended. “Okay, I promise.”

Adley closed the laptop with one swift movement. Her heart raced with every heavy step he took behind her, each one bringing her closer to her piece of the dream… to be loved, held… to be normal. She pulled back the blankets and slipped into the sheets, her heart pounding and her ears straining. The bed dipped beside her. The springs groaned and pinged. She waited for a second, and then reached out her hand until she feared to go any further. She could feel the warmth from his body, one slight movement and she was sure they would touch. In the darkness, while she lay beside Adley, something happened she never thought possible she finally lay beside the man she loved.

Each breath, each sound became a slow, sweet torture. She was careful not to move until his breathing deepened. With some effort, Eve slid toward him until his hand met her stomach. His breathing stilled. She froze.

“Please, don’t go.” Eve whispered.

He moved, but not away from her. She thought her heart might kick him harder than her son kicked her when she felt his hand slide beneath her head. His arm was a welcome weight across her tummy when he pulled her close curling around her like snuggling up to her was the most natural thing in the world. .

Eve leaned into his strong frame, craving his warmth and scent. She wanted to be skin-to-skin, and putting her head on his chest and her arm across his waist barely made her feel close enough. Her soul sighed, leaving her floating. All the tension, all the fear left her. There was nothing but truth here, truth that for this night, she belonged to Adley and he belonged to her.

She watched him in the darkness. His parted lips became her focus. She remembered the way he kissed her, how he tasted, how his tongue felt against hers. She wanted that feeling again. She dug her elbow into the mattress and with every muscle straining, she rose and brushed his lips with hers. She closed her eyes, drawing in his breath. She kissed him again, moving against his lips softly. Then she pulled back and opened her eyes.

He stared at her with his lips still parted slightly. Her heart beat harder. Warmth spread throughout her body, lighting fires where none had burned before.

“Later,” he murmured, lifting his head before dipping back down, his lips eager before pulling away. “We need to sleep.”

Eve settled against him and closed her eyes. Before, she’d been too angry to sleep. Now, she buzzed with desire. She pressed her lips together, the feel of his lips still lingered.

Eve woke first. Her eyes fluttered open, chasing the end of a dream where she was kissing Adley and he was kissing her back.  A snore beside her jolted her fully awake. Adley lay next to her, his body curved around hers, his hand splayed across her stomach protectively. Had the kiss been a dream?  Something inside her chest fluttered.

Her gaze left Adley’s sleeping form and she stared around the room. The house looked different in the light of the day. The nicotine-stained walls outlined furniture that was no longer there. She could see the place was fairly clean, although bare. Whoever lived here had either died, or was now somewhere else, permanently. Silence lingered like the dust that danced in the air. Eve relaxed before it dawned on her—the reason for the silence. She jerked her head to the right. Adley’s brown eyes held hers.

“Morning,” Eve murmured, smiling. The smile didn’t last, though. Hope died away when she saw something was wrong. His brow dug deep and his gaze hardened. He looked angry, ready to lash out. She flinched away. His hand fell away from her stomach. She wanted to tell him it’d all been a mistake, to say it was okay if he didn’t feel the same about her. Even if those words were a lie. She opened her mouth, but no words came, nothing but the hiss of air.

“I can’t… I mean… I won’t....” He growled, glaring, until her fear sprouted wings. “Oh, fuck.”

Adley pushed her back into the mattress, his lips smashing against hers. He stroked her face, leaving her lips to kiss the skin of her neck. His lips were so sensitive there it made her shudder, he dipped lower to the groove of her throat and then he kissed his way back to her lips. The stubble on his chin left a fiery path, a pain she reveled in because the discomfort meant his touch lingered. His lips trailed a line of warmth across to her ear. His heated breaths were captured by the shell of her ear, sending this warmth spiraling into her ear, and provoking a shiver that seemed to encircle her nipples. Her body melted, moving against him as he curled around to kiss her.

“I'm sorry,” he said. His brown eyes were no longer angry, but searching and scared.

She wouldn’t let this chance go by. She grasped his shirt, pulling him back against her. “I’m not sorry at all. I want this Adley… I want you.”

He shook his head and refused to meet her eyes. “God, you’re so sweet and so beautiful. I can’t do this to you. You deserve better than I could give you, you deserve better than me. I just wanted you to know… I feel… ah, shit.” In a voice so fragile and torn he whispered. “I’ve fallen in love with you.”

“I’d do it all again.” Eve whispered the words summing up how she felt.

Adley frowned. “I don’t understand what you mean?”

“I’d suffer all the heartache, all the loss. All the fear and the hurt. I’d go through it all again to find you and hear those words. I’d do it all again, for you.”

The bed dipped as he moved to the side, and when he reached out to touch her, his hands shook. “I want...” he started, gently turning her toward him, “I promise to be gentle. God Eve, I promise to be so gentle.”

“Yes,” She trembled as she moved against him. Her thoughts were a blur, her baby, her heart. A whirl-wind of confusion which centered around one constant need and that need was Adley. She licked her lips, her teeth chattered. “I want this too. Just take it slow, okay?”

He took it slow, kissing her softly, holding her as though she were made of glass. She could feel him trembling. He’s scared, just like I am. She wanted to comfort him, to hold him and protect him. She’d never in her life felt emotions so pure and powerful. There was no going back now, even if she’d wanted.

In this moment, she lived. In this moment, she loved.

She pulled at their shirts, exposing her stomach and the scars of her pregnancy. Adley lips stilled as he touched her swollen stomach. “My God you are beautiful.”

No one had called her beautiful before. When Adley spoke the words, she believed them. She wanted to be beautiful for him. He lifted his hand from her thigh, reaching behind to yank his shirt of in one quick movement. Her breath caught as her gaze swept over him, from his chest to his stomach. Thick scars marred his body. The jagged line swept up the center of his stomach and over his chest, like the life line of his palm. Like her, he was damaged in more ways than one. They were a perfect match.

He waited for her to finish her inspection, panic surrounding the edges of those honey brown eyes. She knew that look. He was waiting for her to pull away, waiting for rejection. He would find none with her.

“What's going to happen after this Adley? With us, I mean.”

His face softened as he looked at her. “Well, first we're going to get through this thing together. Then, I'm going to find this murdering fuck and kill him. After that, well, it's up to you. I won't pressure you Eve, but I can't think of my future without you or, our son—or daughter—in it.”

Tears blurred her vision and slid freely down her cheeks at the sound of those words and the hope that sparkled in his eyes. For the first time in her life, loneliness withdrew its claws from around her heart. She could see them so clearly now, together, the three of them. With Adley she would find her home… with Adley, she had finally found where she belonged.

“I love you, Adley. Once this nightmare is over, I want us to be together. The three of us. I want us to be a family.”

“Family... a real family,” he whispered.

The words resounded through her very soul, those words sounded so right.

“Our family,” she finished, sliding her hands along his chest as though the mere touch was making it real. This was her moment and she felt different, bolder than ever as though his love… his promise to her had somehow unbound her from the chains that had crippled her all her life.

“God, we make a perfect couple, don't we?” Eve muttered. The thick hair on his chest was cross-hatched with scars. She tried to touch each dark hair, caress each hard ridge of scar tissue, awed by the things he’d survived to earn those flaws She wanted to be always touching him. “Both of us broken and damaged.”

He barked, his laughter filling the room. Eve brushed his hair back from his face. “Before you came, I didn’t think I could be saved. I didn’t only leave the force, I left myself back there. Jesus, I’m ashamed to say this now, but I was prepared to end it all, to kill this guy and then myself. There was nothing else to live for… until now.”

She knew this was what he needed, something not just to live for, but to fight for.

“I tried not to love you, Eve. I tried so fucking hard, knowing I’m not the kind of man you need. But I can’t keep lying to myself, or to you. My heart is scarred more than my damn body. But if you want it, it’s yours.”

“Yes I want your heart. I want everything.” She answered with a growl. Her movements were awkward, yanking his pants down, but mostly tearing at her own clothes, knowing he would be slow and careful. She didn’t want slow and careful. She wanted him now.

Desperation thundered like a stampede inside her, but she willed herself to slow. Pulling his head down, she kissed his eyes, the scar on his cheek and hard line of his jaw. This feels so right. They were the same, her and Adley. The same fears, the same hopes and dreams. Like his heart, hers was scarred too, torn and now reassembled. The jagged edges of her heart were now fused together with gold, becoming stronger, and her scars spelled a name—his name.

He slid from the bed and tugged at the opening of his jeans. Letting them fall where he stood, he shoved down his briefs. Her body stiffened and her breath caught at the sight of him. His body was hard and beautiful, his arms were strong, shoulders were rounded and thick and she ached to have them around her. His abdomen was muscular and the trail of hair down the center of his body led her gaze to something she’d experienced, but never seen.

She was torn between wanting to look at his body and her embarrassment. Her face burned. “It's okay. You can look at me, Eve.”

Her gaze lifted before her head followed. Dear God, he is gorgeous… Eve let her eyes linger on his face, his lips, remembering how they tasted. She dropped her gaze to his chest, skimmed past his abdomen before faltering at the juncture of his thighs. His length lay against his leg, hard, demanding. Her body hummed with an underlying current at the sight of him. She’d never wanted something like she did him. Is this what if felt like to be loved? To be wanted... God if so, how had she ever lived before?

“I'll be gentle,” he whispered, climbing onto the bed. The muscles in his shoulders and arms rippled as he made his way next to her. She hadn’t gotten very far with the buttons on her shirt. The top gaped, exposing the swell of a pale breast. Adley slid his hand along the row of buttons, until his fingers met her flesh.

“God, I’ve never felt skin so soft.” His body pressed against her, curving around her hips so he could lower his head to her breast.

Eve froze, not out of fear, but sensory overload. Adley’s fingers worked at the remaining buttons on her blouse and spread the fabric aside. He carefully pulled at her shorts and her panties until they came away, leaving her naked. The current inside her buzzed like an overworked power line as his fingers traced the swell of her breast to hover over her nipple. Her breath caught. He lifted his head. His fingers stilled.

“Is this okay?”

She nodded and reached for his neck, feeling the hard corded muscles, pulling him harder against her. This feeling was unlike any she’d felt before. She felt desperate, yet scared time would slip by and this moment would be over. As much as she wanted him to take her, she yearned to be in the moment.

Her hands trailed low, dipping into the pink groves of his scars and sliding between his legs. He shuddered and closed his eyes, rocking backwards, as he groaned, she hoped with pleasure. A family, her family...Adley Scott was hers. She wrapped her palm around him, feeling his life pulse in her hand.

He felt so good, his length grew, the skin there stretched so tight, turning hot as she stroked his length again and again, needing to learn what he felt like. “Eve,” he whispered. “Stop, or I'm going to....”

She slowed her hand, but didn't stop. She didn't think she could. Just the feel of him against her sent her into overdrive. He stroked her thighs, gently slipping his hands between them, encouraging her to spread them with a twist of his hand and an eager look she couldn’t deny. Her body burned under his touch as he guided his hand to places she never touched. His fingers dipped inside her, in slow languid thrusts until she shuddered, her body jerking with a mind of its own. She had wanted this for so long and her body was so sensitive. The undercurrent inside her sparked and burned. He lay at her back and gently coaxed her onto her side.

“I think it's best.” His voice became a growl. “For the baby.”

Adley cradled her against his body and slid his hand along her thigh. He lifted, placing her leg on top of his. He broke the kiss to whisper against her mouth. “You can stop anytime you want, okay?”

Eve licked her lips and nodded. She could feel him against her. His length probed at her opening, stroking her buttocks. She craned her head back and twisted, arching her body so she could kiss him. His kiss was desperate, his tongue searching her mouth, his length pushing against her opening.

She vaguely remembered nodding, but she was sure it was more of an urging and felt him push inside her. The gentle rocking of his hips lulled her into a delirium, one that she felt sure would push her into oblivion. The feel of him both overwhelmed her and crazed her and she ground her body harder against him, meeting his rise with a mind-shattering stop. She wanted more and each time he rose she pushed against him, their bodies thumping together in a delicious sweet sound. She felt his hand on her hips and slid down the front of her. His fingers delved between her thighs, picking up speed to match his hard thrusts. She bit her lip as a cry escaped. The energy under his fingers was shorting out, sending sparks as he rubbed harder, faster. Lightning ripped through her body and she reached for him, grasping hold of anything she could to stop from coming apart.

“I… love you.” The admission seemed torn from him.

Adley cried out, holding onto her to stop her from falling. He bucked, lifting his body and hers from the bed as she felt him spill deep inside her. Her heart raced, her breath flew from her lungs and she felt… wonderful. He held her tight against him, the part of his body still inside her growing soft and she smiled. It was one of those big, teeth showing smiles, those ones where you couldn’t have hid it even if you tried…

“I love you,” Eve murmured.

“Say it again.”

“Adley Scott. I love you.”

Chapter 31

Rashda

THE MASTER AND the Mistress were at war—with each other. Their anger with one another had been steadily increasing since the Family saved the messenger on the plane. Cruel words and torment built into a deafening crescendo until it peaked. They reached through the veil, calling to her with ferocious claws and hungry eyes. Rashda could not help them. Their battle, as always, was their own.

Rashda gripped the mountain wall, hovering, one foot in this world and the other in theirs. She felt every lash of pain. At first she tried to shield herself, but her strength was no match for their power. She did the only thing she could do. She opened herself up to the pain, the hurt, and the anger.

Her soul was ripped and torn. Her only solace was the cold stone surrounding her. In this moment, the Balance was precarious, hinging on a word, a look, a lie, while on Earth, vampires moved one step closer to reigning. The birth of the prophecy was upon them all. No one could feel this impending moment more than she.

Rashda knew what was coming. She had seen the future in the eyes of the murderous half-breed vampire, Edric Hasting. The desire, the greed, filled him and she knew without a doubt, he was not working alone. Whoever controlled him was powerful. They would stop at nothing until they had the newborn angel in chains. Once he held the babe captive, they would bend him until he broke, and this world would become a haven for the undead.

Failure weighed heavily on her soul. She had tried her best to reach out to the detective… her best had not been good enough. They were still alive, but for how much longer she didn't know. She was afraid for them, for the visions of what lay ahead spread like a disease—a sickness of the heart.

Prayer was all she could give them now. While the Master and the Mistress waged a war no one would win, she whispered to the walls. Her words of old were given to the mountain. Protection, guidance, and incantations flew from her mouth in one breath, while the fate of the killer was spat with poison in the next. When her prayers were done and there was no more she could do, Rashda gripped the rock and climbed to her feet.

Step after step she took, slowly at first, until anger forced her on. Rashda had not been given the blessing to know birth, to hold her own in her own hands. She had been born empty and confined. But even though her body failed, her sprit was born a protector. In human terms, she had been given a key but no car to drive. The key was powerful, the key was deadly, but without the body and the motor she had nowhere to go. Damn you! Damn you all to hell…. She moved like the current in this vicious ocean, tearing at the walls and screaming her agony.

If I could only make them see! If not the humans, then she would implore the Master and the Mistress—she had to do something! She closed her eyes and left her body, making her way to higher ground. Unlike before, this time the veil parted easily, allowing her to slip by. Rashda was greeted by a blood-red sky. The moon bled, the sun appeared gouged and ravaged. She had never seen such destruction of pure beauty in all her existence. They had hurt each other, one no more damaged than the other. She was suddenly saddened by the sight.

“My Master. My Mistress.”

“Rise seer, make your offering,” the Mistress snarled.

With trembling voice she spoke. She made an offering that felt weak and worthless, given the bloody view before her. They waited for her to finish. Their response—“And in return?”—felt heavy upon her soul… or the weight she felt in her breast could have been her remorse.

“This has to end. There has to be something we can do?” The words tumbled from her lips. But when they spoke, they didn’t favor her, they spoke only to each other.

“What is done, is done. And what will be done is out of our control, as it is yours. Vampires have planned this from the birth of their existence. They can no more change their ways than you or I,” the Master spat, throwing his hands in the air.

There was something about the display, something that didn’t sit right with her. The Master snarled and lashed at the moon with the energy of the sun. His actions felt too… forced. Backwards and forwards, they argued and with each word they hurled, their anger grew. Their callous words were not befitting their positions. Her Master and her Mistress waged a war neither would win and one no mortal could survive. “Please.” Her plea fell upon deaf ears. While they argued, her spirit shook. She clenched her fists and her tone crackled like lightening across the sky. “We have nothing left! We have been fighting a war we never started... fighting your war. We cannot keep doing this. Please, I beg of you, stop!”

If her soul could have cried in Heaven, it would have. Her pain was no less real here than it was inside the confines of her body. She was so tired of being here. So lost, torn away from everything which kept her whole—for this?

“Why would we stop?” demanded the Master, turning toward her.

The heat of his direct gaze burned, but she held herself steady. “We cannot fight a war that is already won, Master.”

“But your fight has only just started has it not?” he bellowed, and when he turned in her direction, Rashda’s soul felt scorched.

“Their numbers grow every day within the human world. We cannot hope to fight every single vampire on this planet. We are weak and exhausted. Let us go and find some peace before the end, please I beg of you!”

“And let vampires inherit the Earth?” He raged, and then stopped cold, his voice reduced to a whisper. “No….”

“Master?” The Mistress of Shadows moved towards him. Her voice wavered. “What is it? What is wrong?”

“I... I....” He stuttered. His panicked gaze swept towards her and his screams filled the Heavens. “The prophecy… he’s here. They have to find him. They… must… stop….”

Rashda froze, was unable to move, until she felt the Heavens shudder around her, and then she was moving, racing towards him.

“Get back!” He screamed, and dropped to his knees. “Get back, both of you.”

The Master shook, at first he trembled and then fell to his knees. The air around her hummed like a live wire, sparking flashes of lightening ripped through the air. Rashda’s spirit froze, unable to physically do anything. She wanted to help him, but her spirit was grounded, stuck in this in-between world and there was nothing she could do to help him. A sound escaped her, a cry which drew his gaze. His blazing eyes had burned only a heartbeat ago, but now were bloody, blackened, and raw. His skin cracked and blistered, blood ran in rivulets like veins on his skin. And from his shuddering, yielding form he reached out—needing her. A blast of energy flayed from him like a whip and Rashda was knocked back. She screamed as she fell. The pain was savage, tearing through her spirit like a rabid dog. Still she held on to the celestial world around her.

“Rashda!” He screamed while a flare ripped through the Heaven towards her. “He… he has come!”

Stars exploded behind him. The bright flashes of light lit up the sky like fireworks, leaving her dazed. And for the first time Rashda could see the Heavens burn like an infernal rain from Hell. Clouds caught alight and burned red like brushfires, and then they too burned out and emptied the sky.

The Master of Light screamed. The sonic blast was deafening.

Then he turned as black as a moonless night.

Chapter 32

Adley

ADLEY WATCHED EVE as she wandered around the house, peering into cupboards and rooms that didn’t belong to them, but which they’d made theirs all the same. Her oversized shirt blew around her, lifting to expose more of her thigh each time she reached to open a cupboard, searching the house. She was devastatingly beautiful and she was more than he deserved. He still couldn’t believe they’d made love only minutes before. Eve seemed like a dream, a beautiful, perfect dream.

Behind her swollen stomach, she was slim and perfect, but she was strong, stronger than he gave her credit for. He smiled to himself. She was someone he could love for the rest of his days. Her beautiful brown eyes darted here and there, shy and inquisitive at the same time. His heart raced, just from looking at her.

His body still buzzed after their lovemaking. In a way, he was as inexperienced with love as her. Sex was one thing, hot and meaningless. Like a wildfire, one minute you were insatiable, then on fire, and in the next minute you burned out. But this… what he felt now, well this was something altogether different. She is so young, so pure and I’m  hardened, beaten….He pushed the doubts aside. But they clung, determined to ruin his happiness.

This moment was all he asked for. For the horror of their world was far too close, waiting just around the corner, ready to take it all away in a second’s notice. He turned his focus back to Eve. “Well, I guess I’d better get you some breakfast.”

She peeked at him over her shoulder, giving him one of those shy smiles that made him feel alive. God, she’s breathtaking. He wanted to move, he knew he needed to move, but he was captivated. He wanted to remember her like this. This perfect image, with her covered in his clothes. This was the image he would carry with him when he died protecting her.

A lump formed at the back of his throat. He came back to the moment with her staring at him, frowning. “Are you okay?”

He nodded, moving to her side. He touched her, moving from her stomach to cup her breast. “I’m more than okay.”

“Well you better hurry with that breakfast. I'm eating for two you know, and your son eats a lot.”

He smiled. My son. He’d never imagined he’d ever hear those words. He’d never imagined he’d find someone like her.

“Well, I’m really hungry, so I’ll have two hash browns and can you get me—”

She stopped speaking and froze. The color drained from her face as she stared toward the front of the house. He was moving before he thought about moving. Reaching for his gun on the bedside table, he threw himself toward the doorway in front of her. He quickly searched the house, moving from one window to the next, before he turned back. Only her eyes moved, they were wide, filled with fear and her gaze held onto his. “Eve, what is it?”

Her breaths were shallow and in a fragile voice she whispered. “I... think my waters just broke....”

He looked down to the trickle of bloody liquid snaking its way down her leg to splatter around her feet. A sound rumbled from her throat, deep, painful. Adley ran for her and pulled her into his arms. Her thin body tensed, her muscles quaked, and under his hand he felt her bear down.

“We need to get you to a hospital.”

“No!” she cried. “No hospital. He’ll find us, he’ll be waiting….”

She was right. Edric would be waiting, scanning the hospitals, the doctors. They had nowhere to go. Jesus… the baby…. Eve bent forward and groaned deep. He felt powerless. His feeble attempt to help was limited to carrying her to the bed.

Minutes passed like hours, and then hours felt like days, as Eve groaned and rocked. He felt so helpless while she groaned in one second and whimpered in another. But she fought. And when each wave of pain passed, another was quick to take its place.

He dragged a chair to the side of the bed, but he couldn’t sit or stand, he couldn’t do anything but stare at the woman he loved in her agony. He passed the time bent over her, dripping water into her mouth and smoothing back her sweaty hair while the shadows crawled across the wall. Eve fought through the contractions. She thrashed and kicked, bearing down with each peak as her contractions lengthened until there was only the beginning of one and no end. He grabbed what he could, stripping the bed of the blanket, knowing this was the moment the baby would be born, Adley prayed with all he had the child and Eve would be alright. He glanced at her, her eyes were wide. Her lower lip trembled. She looked so frightened.

“It's okay. Everything's going to be okay. We’re going to get through this.”

His words were for her benefit, because he felt fucking helpless.

“Adley...” She sobbed and his panic spiked. He threw the sheets beside her and moved to the end of the bed. Her legs were splayed wide, the fabric of her panties wet and dark, sticking to her body. He had to get them off. He swallowed hard, pushed her shirt up over her belly and carefully pulled the ruined garment down her legs. Eve splayed her thighs wide, her cries turning guttural and focused. She pushed, straining with the force of the contraction.

He held her hand until she relaxed. “You gotta let me go baby, but I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He’d watched the training videos of women giving birth, but until now, he’d never seen the real thing. Her legs were stretched wide and he could feel the blood drain from his face at the sight of the flesh bowing out, stretching and thinning in the most tender of places.

“You’re doing so good, Eve. Your baby’s almost here, a little longer and it’s all done.”

A dark patch of hair and the tiny mound of a head pushed through. The first sight of his child made Adley’s heart pound. He hadn’t conceived him with Eve. He knew by blood this child belonged to another man. But from his fist touch of the baby’s wet hair he was Adley’s child. Adley had bled for them. He’d fought for them. And if needed, he’d die for them. He glanced up at Eve.  Her beautiful face contorted with pain and he knew he loved her with a blinding clarity that could only have been fate. He’d never find this again, not in this lifetime.

Eve's grunt quickly turned into a howl. She pushed. A tiny trickle of blood slipped through, sliding down the white flesh to soak into the white sheets. “Adley… I think I've wet myself.”

The trail of blood thickened, soaking through the bedding, spreading out towards him. She was losing at lot of blood. He didn’t think hemorrhaging was normal.

“It's okay Eve. I'll take care of you,” he whispered knowing his words were a lie. How in the world can I save her from this? He gathered the sheet and held it to her body, trying his best to stem the flow. He caught the baby's head as it slipped through, and held his son carefully while her blood trickled over his hands. Eve panted. He glanced up and his breath caught. Her skin was not as bright now. Dark circles surrounded her eyes and her bloodless lips were no more than an ashen line. Adley knew then he was going to lose her.

“The baby,” she whispered.

“You’re almost done Eve. One more push… one more push and it’s done.”

She bore down, grunting like an animal. Adley held his child carefully as the rest of his tiny body slipped free. Eve collapsed on the bed. He doubted she could speak and she could barely breathe. He stared at the tiny bundle he held in his hands. The baby made no sound, or he could’ve been screaming for all Adley knew. He couldn’t hear a thing.

She hadn’t even lifted her head to stare at the child she’d wanted for so long. “Eve?”

He moved around to the side of the bed and touched her arm that lay limply by her side. Her skin was cold and her hand was sticky with her own blood. A cold, hard hammer beat against his chest and words were mixed with denial. “No. No…No… Please God, no! Eve… Eve!”

He held the baby and reached for her, her skin was slippery with sweat and blood. Tears clouded his vision, but he had no time to wipe them away, he searched for her wrist, for a pulse… for anything. He found nothing, no beat in her veins, no life in her eyes. His shaking hands felt along her neck, turning her head to the side while he whimpered and prayed.

The baby stretched his chubby arm, tiny fingers flexing as he reached for his mother. The memory of his nephew, Matthew, returned. He’d been months old before he was able to focus on anything. But only minutes old, this baby was staring at Eve, needing her.

Adley held him close, his perfect little body felt soft. His thick black hair shone in the light and Adley couldn’t help but touch him. The baby looked up, his startling blue eyes held Adley’s. He couldn’t look away, he didn’t want to. A voice inside his head said there was something not right here… the force building between them. Pressure hummed in the air around them, growing louder with each second. His chest hurt, his ears were ringing… screaming until they pained.

Then his child smiled at him.

The sun went out.

And the Earth was plunged into darkness.

Chapter 33

Eve

HER MEMORY OF childbirth was vibrant at first, deep twinges which grew longer and more painful as they went on. Time was mapped first in minutes, and then in seconds and finally, by the never-ending peak of pain. Eve could recall her body working like she’d never felt before, her stomach tensing, her muscles rippling, bearing down as she delivered her son. Then her world stared to fade, the vivid colors bled from her surroundings fading to a stark white. The memory of this loss filled her. She’d felt disconnected—as though she no longer belonged in this world or this body… she wasn’t herself anymore. Eve fought, clawing at anything she could hold to, desperately needing to stay, but the bleached world fell from her grasp.

Until the woman came.

Like a dream, she’d hovered on the edge of reality. An angel. Her intense violet eyes were the first thing that caught her attention, they were vibrant in a world leeched from color. The woman’s pale skin was framed by glossy black hair. In any other moment, Eve would’ve called her stunning. But in this moment the only word that came to Eve was sad. The woman’s haunted gaze filled her mind with a mother’s yearning love, but this wasn’t her mother. Eve didn’t know her at all.

The woman moved closer until she touched Eve’s face. Love poured from this woman through her caress, love that filled her with a warmth and beauty she’d never felt before.

The woman’s soft fingers slid softly down her cheek as she captured Eve’s gaze and whispered. “This is not how this ends, Eve….” The air around this woman grew frigid and earthy. The scent took Eve’s breath away until icy claws choked her.

The colors from this woman’s eyes bled into Eve’s purified world. Violet and black turned into pinks, and shades of yellow, until one-by-one, the colors of Eve’s world returned. Her breath was warm on Eve’s cheek, and slowly the cold withdrew and she was filled with warmth. A voice called Eve, Adley’s voice. He pleaded and prayed in a deep, choking sound, overshadowed by the shrill cry of a baby… her son.

Eve breathed deep and opened her eyes. White-harsh sunlight filled her vision, blinding her. She could hear Adley crying and she used his love to bring herself back into this world and to him.

“Adley….” she croaked. Her throat was sore and tender and her body felt as though it belonged to another. But she was alive, and somehow she felt this was a gift in itself. She had come back not just to her son but to Adley. This man had become not just her savior, but the other half of her soul.

The pull on her breast forced Eve awake. She looked down into the eyes of her son. She felt like she’d been waiting for him forever. And now, here he was. His midnight hair, already thick and curly, lay against his forehead. In the direct gaze of his ice-blue eyes, she forgot how to breathe.

Eve. That is a beautiful name. The name of the woman who begat the fall of man, how... fitting….

“Eve, are you okay?”

Adley touched her carefully. She blinked, breaking the trance.

“Yeah, I am.” She smiled, gripping his hand tight. “Just thirsty.”

There was something important. A knowing which hovered near, but just out of reach….  Her son… there was something about her son. Eve focused, searching her memories but each time she felt the answer draw near, it seemed to slip away, growing more distant than before.

“Let me help. You kinda got your arms full.”

Eve let Adley take her son and moved her legs, one at a time, over the side of the bed. Her legs shook when she stood, even though inside she felt strong, like she could move the world. She made her way into the shower. The old plumbing shuddered and groaned. The spray at first was piercing, shooting the hot water like darts against her skin. She was so very cold. So… so cold. Adley left her there, leaning her head against the rusted, brown tiles. One question clouded all other thoughts. What happened to me… what really happened?

She stepped out of the hot water, patting dry where she could reach, not caring that her clothes clung to her body where she was still wet. Her thoughts were already turning to survival. They needed a plan and a good one and while this feeling of invincibility filled her she’d do whatever she could to ensure their survival.

When Eve returned, the sight of her son lay nestled in a pile of soft blankets and sheets made her stop and stare. Adley had pulled the ruined mattress from the bed and placed another down for her. She focused on his strong hands working quickly along the bed, pulling taut a clean sheet and tucking it under before moving back to her. She’d never imagined someone would care for her like he did. His love was something she’d only dreamed of. But he was here… he was real and she wasn’t letting him go.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I am. Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Of course. I love you, Eve.”

Their son wailed. Adley bent down and scooped him up while Eve sat down onto the bed and held out her arms. His little body, wrapped in a ripped sheet felt warm against her. She lifted her shirt and released her breast to his insistent whimpers. Sparks shot through her skin while he drew on her nipple. His tiny cheeks sucked in, drawing what he needed. Adley hovered around her, touching her and then moving away. The smell of food caught her attention and felt her mouth water when he returned with a bowl of soup which he placed on the dresser. Eve couldn’t help being amused, does Adley think she can eat and nurse their son at the same time? The suckling sounds at her breast set her priorities for now.

“So, do you have a name picked for him yet?

She shook her head. “I tried, but none quite fit him.”

“You've got plenty of time. Right now, you need to eat and rest. You... you lost a lot of blood, Eve… I was scared there for a while.”

She could hear his fear in the tremble of his voice. She was alive and she was strong. Her life was filled with purpose and it was this sense of purpose that would ensure their survival. Eve glanced down at her baby. His eyes were closed. He drew at her breast once more and then released her. She carefully placed him next to her on and then took the bowl Adley handed her.

“I'll eat while you fire up that laptop. We need to find a way to kill this bastard.”

Motherhood fueled her fire. Inside, she felt stronger than she ever had before. Adley shook his head, looking at her strangely. “You amaze me, you know?”

The two of them looked so perfect, the two men in her life. Eve couldn’t help but smile. “As do you.”

Adley reached for the laptop. “He's a vampire, right?”

The word filled her with fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of losing what she’d fought so hard to keep.

A hard lump formed in her throat and she fought to swallow it. The birth and the appearance of the angel with violet eyes felt ominous. Eve couldn't stop feeling as though everything was about to change. A feeling of overwhelming loss filled her. Their survival depended on how successfully they could fight, and at this moment there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do to make sure her son and the man she loved survived.

Her voice was thick and broken, betraying her determination. “We have to find something to use against him—garlic, crosses, holy water. If he is a vampire, he can be killed. I've killed one before, so we can kill another.”

“Do you remember anything from that night when you killed her? Anything she might have said or done?”

Adley sat cross-legged on the ground in front of his laptop. He scooped a spoonful of soup in between pecking at the keyboard. Eve thought about the night she killed Mercy. Her memories of that night were filled with so much blood and terror, it was hard to recall any one thing in particular. Yet her fear was overshadowed by an innate sense of determination to stay alive. She looked down at her son. And to protect what’s mine. “I’m sorry, no.  It was dark and I was so scared. All I can remember is that I reacted. I grabbed what I could reach and I stabbed her… I knew it was either her or me.”

Adley squeezed her hand. “And I’m so glad that you reacted like that. Anyone else would’ve crumbled. But not you… no, not you. You’re stronger than you think, Eve.”

“Am I?” She blinked away her daydreams and nightmares, fastening her gaze on Adley. “I can’t help but feel I’m living on borrowed time.”

A flash of concern clouded his face and he left the laptop to crawl to her, pulling her into his arms. “Don’t say that. Do you hear me Eve? Don’t you say that. You will get through this.”

His response came to her in stereo through his chest and reverberated in her ears, accompanied by his racing heart. She’d scared him. Guilt flooded her. She tightened her arms fiercely around him, pleased when his heart rate slowed.

“I’m sorry, Adley. You’re right, we’ll get through this.”

But her heart hadn’t raced. Its beat was steady and sure, unwavering, like her thoughts. This was more than a suspicion—it felt like a foreshadowing. Still she cleared her throat and released her hold of him. He moved back and she forced a smile for his sake and continued. “Now, where were we? Female vampire....”

He moved back to the laptop, keeping her in his sights until he settled down. “Okay, the cradle was wood, right?”

“Yes, painted white.”

“It acted like a stake through the heart, killing her, turning her to ash. So, we know this works in killing them. Now, we need to find out how to slow him down, and then we can set a trap for him.”

Her grip tightened on the sheets, her skin crawled with the thought. “You don’t mean lure him to us?”

“It’s the only way, Eve.” His gaze sought out their son sleeping beside her. “We can’t keep running forever. If we can take him by surprise, we can use it to our advantage. We can be free of this… we can start our life over again. A fresh start, just the three of us… and more if you want.”

Her breath caught. Was he saying… he wanted more children… with her? The thought of more children with Adley flooded her with warmth. She held his gaze and nodded, saying yes to everything, the trap and the future. “Okay, we’ll lure him to us and then kill him. But once this is over, it’s just the three of us. If there are others like Edric and Mercy it doesn’t have anything to do with us. It isn’t our fight and we walk away, okay?”

Adley smiled and nodded. “Deal. We walk away, hell, we’ll goddamn run away. Change our names, change states. We’ll go live on Kangaroo Island, or somewhere far away from anyone else.”

“That sounds perfect.” And his romantic notion did—just too perfect.

Adley powered off and closed the laptop. “I have to make a quick trip into town. We need food and other essentials and I can’t put it off any longer. You’re safe here Eve, no one knows we’re here and I’ll leave you with my gun.”

She shook her head. “No, you take it, Adley—”

He cut her off, rising from the floor and stepped toward her. He touched her face, and then her jaw, tilting her head up. “It isn’t up for discussion. I’ll leave it next to the bed in case someone tries to break in. I’ll be as quick as I can, okay?”

Eve could see the torture in his eyes. “I’ll be fine. I can have a scout around this place and see what we can use as weapons.”

“That’s my girl. I’ll be so quick, you won’t even know I was gone.”

He kissed her lightly on the lips before straightening and glancing at their son before moving away. Adley returned moments later, he placed his mobile and phone on the dresser. “I programmed triple zero in, all you have to do is press call if anything happens and I mean anything Eve. It doesn’t matter how trivial it is. I’ll be listening to the scanner.”

Seeing him leave blurred her gaze with tears and she wiped them away as the sound of his boots faded and the click of the lock signaled Adley had left. Eve rose carefully, making sure she didn’t wake her son.

Her steps were quiet as she made her way through the cupboards of the house, looking for anything that could be of use. An old broom sat in the corner of the doorway, the bristles flat and hard and the old wood worn. She thought the wooden spindle would make a fine weapon. She tugged on the handle, wrenching it backward and forward until the brush gave way. The turned wood felt light in her hands. Its sawn-off end now needed to be carved to a point. She had something she could use. Something she could fight with.

As Eve hefted the broom handle, she thought about her life. She’d never really stopped fighting, whether her enemy was the cold, hunger, or Edric Hasting. The outside world faded out as she searched her memories, her thoughts and actions, trying to find the end and the beginning of it all. But, there was no defining moment she could find. Somewhere in the midst of running for her life and meeting Adley, she’d become strong, determined, no longer a victim—only a survivor. The handle was the start of all she’d become. Eve would fight for those she loved. She’d fought and she’d won once before, and she would do it again.

The minutes flew by as she scoured the house and small tin shed, gathering everything she could find. Knives, an axe, and broken chair legs, she laid them all out. She carved the wood broom handle to a point. The spike wasn't neat, but she felt hope the makeshift stake could put an end to a vampire. The sound of a car slowing caused Eve to stand. Her stomach churned and her breathing quickened. She glanced toward the bed where her son lay sleeping. She gripped the sharpened boom handle and moved toward the front of the house as the last word reverberated inside her mind…vampire… She’d spend time wondering how this had happened later. How something out of a horror movie had become real.

The sound of the slowing car passing had her heart racing. Eve peeked through the faded lace curtain, catching a glimpse of a car driving past. She had to hold on. Adley would be back soon… She rubbed her arms to chase away the goose bumps. Please, Adley hurry….

Chapter 34

Adley

ADLEY LEFT BEHIND his heart and his future as he drove from the house. The hollow inside his chest throbbed. He spun the wheel toward town and eased down the accelerator. He hated to leave her, but he needed to fuel the car, find clothes for his son, and food.

He’d hated lying to Eve. But he couldn’t look into those precious eyes and tell her the truth—that for him there was no future and no getting out of this alive. He pressed harder on the accelerator as tears filled his eyes. He’d made peace with his death before he met Eve. He knew what needed to be done—but fuck if that woman didn’t test his resolve. That image of the future with her almost bought him undone. He pressed hard on the brake and the car skidded and stopped, jolting his body forward. He swung into a park while his mind re-captured the image.

In that moment when he held her and spoke of a life they’d have on an island where the cold winds blew straight from Antarctica he believed every goddamn word. The image was more than a dream—it was real—it waited for them. Isolated from everyone else, the image burned so bright in his mind. Eve stood on a gentle slope with the sound of the ocean pummeling the rocks behind her. The icy wind caught her hair and tossed the gleaming strands behind her. Her cheeks were rosy, matching her lips from the cold. She was happy… so damn happy, it was painful to see. In this vision she reached for him, guiding his hands to swell of her stomach—his baby, an addition to their family. He turned his head to find his son, who walked amongst the herd of kangaroos, his quiet manner causing no more than a twitch of their ears as they hopped along, nibbling at the ground.

Adley pressed his hand against his chest as the ache grew. He moaned and leaned his head against the steering wheel. His tears fell, splashing onto his lap. She will find happiness… she will find it with someone else… He gripped the wheel, clenching it until the skin on his hands stretched and burned.

“No!” Adley pulled himself forward and smashed back into the seat. “No. No. No!”

Fairness. Failure… those went hand-in-hand. His sense of duty dueled with his heart. What kind of man was he, if he didn’t fulfill his promise to his own flesh and blood? What kind of man would he hope to offer Eve, if he was weak and a failure?
But he’d do it… he’d find a way to survive this, and find absolution with Eve. As long as she was safe he’d be happy, that thought was all that kept him going.

Adley fought with his demons and stared out of the windscreen. Bright colored stalls spread out across the front yard of a white church. Books, food, and second-hand clothes. Adley’s gaze followed a family who wandered from one display to the next. The adults held hands while their two kids ran ahead, laughing and smiling. Adley ran his hand through his hair as inside he ached. Adley had to look away, catching sight of the billboard sign at the front. Market this Sunday, fruit’n vegies, bric-a-brac and kid’s items. Come, join the festivities and say farewell to Father Christian.

Kid’s items… Adley opened the car door. He jogged across the road, heading towards the stalls, scanning the displays for anything he could take home. He was running out of money fast. His police pension was slow to be deposited and quick to go, most used on fuel, motels and food, so for now, second-hand items were his only choice. Adley caught sight of a stall filled with new baby clothes. He headed in that direction.

Her copper hair gleamed in the morning sun as a woman stood up from her seat. “Looking for anything in particular?”

Adley nodded and tried his best to return her smile, “I’m looking for a baby seat for the car and some clothes, the cheaper the better at the moment.”

“Sure, how old is your child? Different ages need different seats.”

Adley looked at his watch and replied, “About an hour.”

“Oh, wow. A newborn.” Her eyes brightened. “I have just the thing you need and I was going to sell it cheap, too.”

She moved towards the back of the stall, leaving Adley alone. He glanced down at his watch, possessed by a need to hurry. They had a lot to plan. First he needed to move Eve and the baby somewhere safe, and then make plans to lure Edric Hasting to his death.

And then he’d let Jesus, or whoever was up there have the last say on things. He would never forget the moments he’d shared with Eve, traveling from one town to the next. They’d been the best times in his life.

The woman returned with a plastic car seat and two piles of second-hand clothes, one pink and the other blue. Adley was reaching for his wallet before she placed them on the ground. She placed a folded pile of cloth nappies and pins, as well as a few soft toys inside the rigid plastic seat before she straightened.

“Thank you, that’s perfect. Can I grab the blue clothes? How much do I owe you?”

“I reckon fifty for the lot. Is that okay with you?”

“Better than I’d hoped.” Adley handed over the money and grabbed the items before taking off toward the car. He still had to get fuel and food before he could get back to her. Eve would be surprised with the clothes and the nappies. In his mind he could almost see her smile as he carried them into her.

Her smile occupied his thoughts as he drove to the petrol station and then to a grocery store. He loaded the trolley with food and camping essentials. He planned to find Eve somewhere isolated to stay, where no one would find her and she’d be safe. He hurried to fuel the car. Every second away from her was a second too long.

Chapter 35

Edric

EDRIC STEPPED OUT of the shower, and turned to watch the last traces of blood disappear down the drain. The two bodies in the bedroom were unrecognizable. True to his word, Edric took his knife to the older woman, his movements slow and deliberate, until the man had cracked. But breaking him had taken a long time—too long, Edric realized as bright sunlight replaced the dirty yellow glow from the overhead bulb.

He still didn’t have a lot to go on. A few words the man overheard as the detective threw their bags into the car and handed back their key. An abandoned house close to the reservoir. The image of the weatherboard house in his vision came back to him. The knee-high grass and mound of mail at the bottom of the letterbox would stand out. Edric pulled on his jeans and stared at his shotgun-blasted shirt. He wrenched open the motel owner’s drawers and shoved the fat bastard’s clothes around. He grabbed the smallest T-shirt he could find and yanked it on. At least it wasn’t filled with holes. The set of car keys lay on top of the drawer, next to a roll of bills. He’d need time, money, and a place to keep the blonde bitch after today. He glanced around at the blood splattered room. Not here though, somewhere private, away from everyone and everything. He wanted to spend some time with her… he wanted to get to know her real well. He snatched up the keys and the money.

The beep from his phone had Edric spinning and searching the blood-soaked room. The green, illuminated display caught his attention and he strode over and snatched it up. God had called.

He wanted answers. He wanted the baby. Edric stalked out of the bedroom, while he imagined what it’d be like to be on his own. Ties would be cut, pain would follow. But he’d be on his own. He’d be free… free to hunt, just like old times and his own private supply of pure blood.

The car was parked behind the motel. The dark blue Camry was a lot newer than the old Ford he’d been driving. He needed to find the detective and woman, kill Adley Scott, and get the hell out of here without attracting attention. He unlocked the doors and slid inside, still thinking about severing the vampire ties he had. Maybe it was time for him to be on his own. Maybe it was time to find a different prey… God’s berating snarl came back to him, he nodded… maybe he’d finally found the ultimate quest.

At the intersection he made a left onto the main road heading back out of town. Edric searched for the billboard map of the town he’d passed on his way in, rubbing his arms and clawing at his neck. He was coming down off the high of killing and now the unbearable hunger was back. He gripped the steering wheel and whimpered, pressing harder on the accelerator.

Edric slowed when he caught sight of the sign, and jerked the wheel to the left pulling up alongside the billboard. The reservoir sat on the western edge of the town. The streets looked small and winding. He’d need to drive slow and careful—he wanted to catch them quick. Kill the cop and then spend time with the woman. He scratched at his face and his teeth punctured his lower lip. He was so close now… so fucking close he could almost taste her. He spun the car around and turned right.

He knew God wanted the child, but all he cared about was this woman—he’d finally get justice for Mercy and pure blood to satisfy his appetite. His plan was simple, kill the detective and the child, and take the bitch hostage. She’d be his personal supply of pure blood—until he tired of her anyway. He’d have to be careful not to bite and infect her. He could bleed her into a cup and then wait for her to heal before he sliced her again.

Before he knew it, the reservoir loomed ahead. The massive concrete tanks cast shade across the clusters of houses below. Edric slowed the car and turned into the first street. If the old yellow house was here, he’d find it. At first they all looked the same, the grass an ensemble of weeds that hadn’t felt the cut of a blade in a while. Children’s bikes and broken swing sets littered front yards and children of all colors ran from one side of the street to the other. The tightly-packed houses seemed like housing commission properties, unkempt and unloved. Finding one run-down house amongst these would be harder than he thought.

He’d been cruising the narrow streets for over an hour when he first spotted the faded yellow house. He hid the car behind an old semi-trailer and sat, watching the area before opening the door and climbing out. He was sure this was the place. In his vision the colors seemed brighter, cleaner… but as he surveyed the filthy windows and flaking paint he knew that this was the place.

Chapter 36

Adley

ADLEY SWUNG THE car into the driveway and pulled up at the back of the house. He grabbed the bags of supplies and made for the door.

“Eve. It’s me, open up.”

The door flew open and Eve stood there gripping a broom handle, the end carved to a point. Her eyes were wide. He could see the pointed shaft shaking and his instinct pinged like sonar. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“He can’t find us here, can he?”

Jesus. Her voice sounded so small and strong at the same time. His heart ached inside his chest. “Why?”

“A car just crept past… it freaked me out.”

He dumped the bags onto the counter and rushed to the front windows. “How long ago and what kind of car was it?”

“A second before you pulled in. It was a dark color… blue or black maybe. I don’t know what kind, I’m sorry.”

He touched her arm, trying his best to calm her. “It’s okay. It’s probably nothing, you know. But just to be safe, I’ll check.”

Would Edric Hasting still drive the same car? Adley wouldn’t if he was a wanted murderer. He’d be changing it all the time, swapping plates, always on the move. He was almost to the windows when a shadow cut across the front of the house. Adley’s heart exploded in his chest. He drew the gun, his hand shook as he followed the shadow which stopped at the door. Eve… “Grab the baby! Eve take the car, run!”

The front door exploded inward, knocking Adley off his feet. His head smashed into the opposite wall and he went down as Edric Hasting lunged for him. He couldn’t focus on the blows because all he was listening for was the bang of the back door and the sound of his car. Just give her a chance to get away… give her a chance to run.

The back door slammed shut. Eve was gone. Adley rolled to the left and lashed out with his feet, driving them into Edric’s ankles. Feeling them buckle under the force of his blow, he kicked with all his might, sweeping Edric’s feet from beneath him. The vampire fell to the ground and immediately used his hands to push his body upright.

Hasting no longer looked like the killer he’d once been. His hollowed face was badly misshapen. One eye was white and the socket drooped open, the same eye he’d emptied his gun into the day before. He looked sick and desperate. A dangerous combination in anyone, let alone a vampire.

Edric’s smashed Adley on the side of his face. He felt bones crunch in his jaw as the force of Edric’s return punch smashed him into the wall. He gripped the Glock, even when he fell. Adley took aim as best he could and pulled the trigger. He fucking fired until empty clicks replaced the crack of gunfire. His world narrowed to just him and Edric. His training took over.

Adley swung, pounding his fist into the side of Edric’s jaw. Flesh came away from the vampire’s face, sticking to his knuckles and Adley felt himself lifted and slammed into the wall. The room blurred and then sharpened before he was hammered again. He heard something inside his head crunch from the impact of Edric’s fist and he had to find a way to break his fall… if he went down there’d be nothing between the people he loved and this fucking monster. In that second it took him to reach out he reminded himself of something which made him smile. The house was empty. There was only him and the vampire left.

His Eve was safe.

Adley took on Edric using every move he’d learned. Every combat lesson he’d endured came back to him. Get on the outside, don’t let him hold me down and attack. He moved as fast as he could. He pummeled the vampire with quick jabs before he gut-punched the bastard.

All his skill made no difference. Adley may as well have been blowing kisses. His face, go for his face. Adley changed tactics. Using his fingers like spikes, he drove them into the vampire’s eye. The membrane burst. He dug his fingertips deeper. A trail of white mucus slid down Edric’s face.

The vampire screamed and lashed out before he reached for his eye. “My fucking eye!”

Run for the stake. Adley turned and raced for the kitchen. He made maybe two steps before he was wrenched back. Searing hot pain lashed his shoulder, the same one the female killer had torn the day Edric escaped from his custody. Adley felt sharp spears puncture his shoulder, slicing through the muscle like a sharpened blade. He’s bit me! Adley howled. His knees buckled. The image of Eve came back to him. She shimmered on the horizon, small and ferocious, charging toward him, with a stake in her hand like a spear.

Screams tore through his head, but they were not his screams. Howling, high-pitched screams that reverberated through Adley’s body. He fell forward. His arm buckled. He had nothing left. His body was ripped and ruptured. His vision blurred red, bit he blinked, trying to breathe through the pain and saw delicate hands reaching for him.

Eve wasn’t a vision. She was real and she was here. He pushed her hand away, his words a slur. “Go… leave me. Run…”

The stake hit the ground beside him. Her face came close to his as she gripped him under his arms. “Come on. Please, Adley.”

She was strong, so strong for such a little thing. In a way, she was stronger than he was. Adley struggled to help her lift him, setting his aching jaw and willing his knees to lock. The nauseating smell of old blood and flesh smothered him. Using her as a crutch, he hobbled toward the kitchen and the back door.

“I’m going to fucking murder you. You fucking bitch!”

The sound of Edric’s screams urged Adley to move faster. But his efforts weren’t enough. He barely stumbled through the kitchen door when he felt the vampires’ arms encircle him like bands of steel, wrenching him away from Eve. She flew out from under him. He came to rest with his back against the microwave. Edric moved into his field of vision, although he was a blur.

“I’m going to fuck her copper, and then I’m going to gut her. And when I’ve ripped that kid from her stomach, I’m going to fuck her again and again until she… is… dead.”

Adley tried to block out the images Edric’s words hurled into his mind. He already knew what waited for Eve. Instead of the blonde woman he’d found the day before, it could’ve been Eve who lay in that empty house. Eve, on that floor sliced open with the tiny hand of his son protruding from her stomach.

“I’m gonna take my time with her, when you’re gone.” Edric’s jerked his head toward Eve. “I can almost taste her blood.”

Adley closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. He could hear Edric walking toward her. He could hear her whispered breaths “No. No. Stay away from me… get away from me… Adley… Oh, God… Adley!”

With his good arm, Adley pushed his himself upright and turned away from them. The red canisters of butane gas lay beside the microwave. He’d bought them for the gas stove. To cook and care for her, and now… now… now she’d be dead if he didn’t do something.

The urge to close his eyes and sink into blessed oblivion overwhelmed him. But he held on. He gripped the counter with his raw, bloody hands and stabbed at the microwave door. With a focus that came from hearing Eve’s whimpers he shoved the gas canisters inside, slammed the door closed and pressed, start…

“He was only six.” He kept his voice steady. “Matthew Scott one of your victims. He was only six. He was also my nephew.”

He used what strength he had and lunged for the vampire who now had Eve pinned to the ground. He wrapped his one good arm around the murderer’s neck and fell back, yanking Edric off her.

Edric fought, thrashing his legs, gouging into Adley’s side with claws that seemed made of metal. Adley’s knee buckled and he fell on the unforgiving linoleum, but he took the sick son-of-a-bitch with him.

The beep of the microwave sounded like a starter’s gun. He was on the downhill run now. This sacrifice wasn’t just for Eve. It was for those twelve unsolved cases that now sat underneath a pile on someone else’s desk. It was for his Matthew. The kid’s freckled face and curly brown hair haunted him, but not for much longer.

Adley dug into the floor with his heel. He wrenched his body inch by agonizing inch closer to where the oven hummed. Adley prayed that the end wouldn’t be long now… He took one last glance at Eve… His Eve who pulled herself backwards, bloody red scratches on the side of her neck and he used that image to hold onto the animal in his grip. Edric shoved upwards, taking Adley with him as the vampire stood.

The red butane canisters were swollen now. The metal sides were bowed out by the pressure. As Adley swung the vampire around to face the microwave he saw the first sparks of gas ignite.

The fireball exploded around him. Shards of tempered glass ripped through his flesh. Get up, he demanded. He opened his eyes and pushed up on his elbows to find the vampire writhing at his feet. Get up and finish it. But Adley could do no more and he closed his eyes. There was no pain… not anymore… there was no anything.

“Adley… Adley, are you alive? Jesus, please tell me you’re alive.”

He could hear her. But his mind told him no, it was a dream—a beautiful dream.

“Please.” He wanted to open his eyes and see her. But he was so afraid she wasn’t real. “Please don’t die on me. I love you.”

The sound of her voice pulled him from the brink of blessed oblivion. He forced his eyes to open, they seemed stuck, swollen. But he could see enough, and he watched helplessly as the burning body of Edric Hasting shuffled to his feet behind her, looming over her tiny frame. Adley tried to reach for her, forcing his hand to move, only to feel the wisp of bright hair fall through his fingers when Edric yanked her away like a rag doll.

His son’s screams fought through the shut-down process threatening to drag him back into unconsciousness. He forced himself to focus and his vision cleared. He watched as Eve flailed, striking the vampire with heels that seemed made of rubber, so easily did her small feet bounce off the bastard’s shins. She fought and the vampire roared.

Edric shook her, looking like a child throwing a temper tantrum with a baby doll. Her hair flew about her face, her arms and legs snapped back, time and time again. Adley clawed the slick floor, inching forward, desperate to reach her. His soul cried out as he stared helpless. His Eve tore at what was left of the vampires face until he jerked her against him, stifling her blows. Adley screamed, but it was too late. The vampire wrenched her head to the side. Edric’s long incisors sliced the delicate skin on her neck like paper.

Her blood shot high, arcing into the air until Edric fastened his lips over the crimson stream. Eve’s screams tore at Adley’s soul. He dragged himself forward. The vampire sank to the ground, taking Eve with him. Edric flayed her neck, opening the wound wider. The whole time he gnawed at her like a rabid rodent, he was moving, maneuvering his body so he knelt between her splayed legs.

“No!” Adley screamed, pushing his body along the floor with his feet. “Get off her!”

Edric raised his dripping face from her neck and Eve’s limp body draped backward, falling over his arm like a worn-out winter coat. “Yeah!” Edric screamed. “Fuck, she tastes good!”

Adley reached the vampire just as Eve moved. She grabbed her neck and lashed out with her feet, kicking Edric squarely on the jaw. That’s my girl, Adley thought, keep fighting Eve. Just… keep… fighting.

Edric hissed and reached for her shirt, jerking her upper body off the floor as though she’d been stuffed with cotton. Adley saw the clenched fist a second before Eve’s neck snapped back. The crunch of bones shattered something inside him. Her body—and his soul—went limp.

Adley’s vision darkened at the edges. He howled with rage, rearing onto his knees in one last, desperate attack and fell on top of the vampire using fists, teeth, anything he had left. His rage and hate wasn’t enough and he was tossed into the wall like he was nothing more than a piece of waded paper. The crack of his head impacting with the kitchen wall and sent shock waves throughout his body as the room darkened around him.

When Adley came to, he stared at the ceiling which now hovered at an odd angle. Pain flared like fire when he tried to focus.

Slowly, the room sharpened. The first thing he saw was blonde hair. His Eve was dead. He knew without touching her. No one could survive those injuries. Her throat was missing, only shredded flesh remained. Her shirt had been ripped open and her bra pulled down, exposing her breasts. He closed his eyes, pleading for death. He no longer pleaded with God to survive, as he’d had done many times before. He wanted to let go, to slip away and find her again, on the other side.

The whimpering cry of his son kept him here. The reedy wail anchored him to this moment, and to his pain. His bellows escalated, filling the room. He wanted to move, he wanted to try, but he had nothing left. He watched helplessly as Edric loomed over his son and gripped the baby by his arm, dangled him like a yo-yo.

I failed them… Movement from the doorway to his right caught Adley’s eye. The biggest man he’d ever seen charged in, and behind him, a tiny woman in black followed.

The tiny woman in black moved so fast he had trouble tracking her movements. She stopped before Edric. Adley opened his mouth to warn her, but before he could she whipped a blade from behind her back and slashed at the air. His son was dropped. His little arms reached out to find only air. The big man leapt and hit the ground with a thud, catching his son.

Adley caught the assassin in black glance toward his son and then to his Eve. She had the eyes of a killer, cold and calculating—like Edric Hasting. Her blade cut through the vampire like air. Blood flew into the air as the assassin moved like a Japanese ribbon dancer. Edric Hasting screamed and clutched at his body until she drove that white blade through his chest and out the other side. Adley wanted to smile, he wanted to laugh as Edric stilled. But all he could do was sigh, there was nothing left to fight for—the murderer Edric Hasting was finally dead. The assassin withdrew the blade from his body. Adley could only stare as the vampire broke apart and crumbled to the floor like ash.      He closed his eyes for a moment—or forever—he didn’t know. Voices pulled Adley from his slumber. He caught a word here and there. “Is the human woman gone?” Adley opened his eyes to watch the man kneel beside Eve, and then turn toward him.

“This one is still alive,” the stranger growled, moving toward him. “Do we bring him with us?”

The man towered over the tiny woman and held out his son. “Here you take the… baby and I’ll take the human.”

She shook her head and backed away, staring at his son as though he was dangerous. Adley tried to lick his lips, tried to beg her… please take him….

“Kali, you can’t carry the human… what if you hurt him?”

The assassin glanced over her shoulder at Adley and then back to his son. Adley shivered. He could feel his soul grow restless inside of him, wanting to leave this world for another existence. The tiny woman reached out and took his son, holding him as though he were made of glass.

“Bring him.” Adley heard her say and his body was lifted into the air. His arm fell out of the man’s grasp, and he reached for his Eve as they passed. Her vacant eyes stared up to Heaven.

Tears slid down his face as the stranger carried him from the house. The glare from the sun was too harsh. He closed them, and a moment later, the sound of the rotor blades filled the air. The sun cut in and out, the light flickering against his lids. He opened his eyes and watched the blades turn. The motor grew in pitch and the blades moved faster, spinning until they were a blur, just like the attack had been. Adley tried not to think, not to feel, but there was nothing for him here in this world. He stared at the blades, the steel sharp, fast. His death would be quick.

The man cradled him tighter against his body and he felt so small. Adley tried to speak, but there were no words worth saying. The only word that waited was stuck inside him, like a stopper for his soul. Eve.

The man who held him looked down. Pain echoed through his sky-blue eyes. His mouth moved as the stranger spoke, words that were snatched away with the roar of the motor. But Adley caught enough by the movement of his lips. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry you lost your mate.”

Chapter 37

Grimm

GRIMM CLENCHED THE human to his chest. The smell of blood and charred flesh triggered his wolf, but his inner beast was tamed by the sorrow he felt. The human was in a bad way, drifting in and out of consciousness as they carried him from the building.

If not for the moment he’d cried out for his mate, Grimm would’ve thought he’d be past the point of saving.

Kali sat across from him, cradling the reason they were here, the angel Azrael. Death and destruction hid inside his tiny fingers, fingers wrapped around the destructress herself. It looked surreal watching them, knowing what they were, and for a second Grimm felt as though this had been written.

The message Rashda had left was haunting him and his wolf wanted to acknowledge in kind. Spoken by the star child, the message was delivered with soft, careful words. But the message itself was anything but. The beginning of the end has come. And it has come down to us, once again. A half-breed vampire is in danger of changing the prophecy. You must stop this. Find the angel Azrael and bring him back here, alive. Do what you can for the others, but sacrifice all for Azrael. Be safe, my Family. I shall not be far away.

Kali hadn’t spoken a word since they heard the message. It seemed, as always, the words were for her more than anyone else. Grimm looked out of the helicopter; the vibrant pink and orange sky was too perfect for the horror he’d witnessed. The sun burned red in mourning, much like the human he cradled.

For the first time in a long time, he planned to let his wolf run. He’d denied himself his animal form far too long. He was born into this world through sacrifice. The way of the wolf was through strength, determination, and above all, knowing who he truly was. He’d been running from his true nature, hoping somehow he could change who he was. He realized now, he couldn’t.

There was another lycan out there who felt the call of the moon. He was determined to find her. His Mistress called to him and he found her high in the sky, eager for the night to be hers once more. The mountain rose, and he growled in anticipation of the hunt, the scent of the wilderness thick and heady.

“Easy,” said Kali, bringing his attention back to the present. “Give the human to Jinx. He’ll take him to Harmony. You need to run, wolf.”

He tightened his arms around the human and dropped his head to look at the man. He’d passed out not long after taking off, and Grimm was glad. He somehow felt an attachment this human. He, too, fought the vampires. But Kali was right, Grimm needed to run. He needed to hunt… he needed his wolf.

The helicopter touched down with a jolt. Grimm held the man carefully as they exited. Jinx reached for the man in his arms.

The vampire looked awkward. “Be careful with him, vampire.” Grimm stepped back, his shirt sticking to his skin from the human’s blood. “Make sure she heals him, you understand me?”

Jinx nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Harmony’s blood was so pure, a drop or two would heal this human’s body, just not his heart—that would have to heal on its own. Grimm peeled off the bloody shirt and threw it onto the ground. The sky was already darkening and he could feel his wolf’s impatience.

Kali cradled the tiny angel against her and strode past only grab his arm at the last minute. “Don't be going too far now wolf. You wouldn't want to find yourself all alone and in trouble.”

Her words were a reminder of all the times she’d saved him. He nodded. Tears filled his eyes. The bush called to him, the scent and the sounds. Grimm left the others back at the helicopter. His tears slid down his cheek as an insight, so profound, fought through to the surface. Why had this taken him so long to understand?

Family wasn’t forged by bloodlines, a name, or entitlement. Kin were those who shared the endless, dark nights and lonely days. They were the ones who stood by your side in battle. Who fought your demons with you, and sometimes, for you. Whether they were real, or not. Family were the ones who found you, even if you were the one who found them. His family might not be lycan. They might not share his same blood. But they were family just the same.

They were his family.

Chapter 38

God

VICE PRESIDENT RICHARD Gordon smiled at the First Lady. He patted her arm and leaned close, whispering, “Will you excuse me for a moment. I am feeling a little off color.”

Courteous as always, he waited for the concern to filter through. Her eyes lost her usual sparkle, and her brow narrowed as she turned her full attention to him. “Are you okay, Richard? Would you like me to get the doctor?”

He held his breath, holding back the scream trapped inside his throat. Control was the key. He exhaled slowly and smiled. “No, it’s fine. A little too much of the lobster, I’m afraid.”

The President, who stood surrounded by suits and glamorous women, laughed. The sound was rich, baritone, and infectious. The Vice President gave a quick wave, catching the President’s eyes and motioned he was leaving.

Echoing his wife’s concern, the President mouthed, Everything okay? Richard smiled and nodded, urging the President back to his conversation. It was almost four am, and the function had ended long ago. The hanger-on’s were the only ones left, eager to get one last drink and one last moment with The President of the United States. The Secret Service agent followed him as he headed toward the glass doors, until he held up his hand, stopping him.

“I just need a walk in the fresh air, Mike. Can you hang back on this one?”

His agent nodded and lifted his hand to his mouth. Richard left him and striding past the agent manning the door. “Would you like me to get the car, Mr. Vice President?”

“No.” He snapped, and then calmed himself. “Just, give me a moment, will you?”

The agent nodded and reached for the door. His curt response was pre-programmed from years of training, making the agent more detached, while Richard had spent his life trying to be more human. “We have the perimeter safely surrounded. We’ll be watching, sir.”

Richard was in no mood for their pointless guard. He bit back his response, puncturing the soft flesh inside his mouth as his fangs extended. He shivered as he hurtled down the stone steps. By the time he reached the manicured, hedged gardens, he was shaking as the fever took hold.

He didn’t falter as the connection to one of his line was severed. He didn’t utter a single word when all hope of his kind succeeding failed. He ran through every thought, every conversation he’d had with the child killer, like a check list inside his mind—searching for the moment this had all gone to hell.

Mercy had failed him. Her offspring was too weak, and too fucking self-obsessed to do what needed to be done. Richard’s fists shook before he relaxed them, willing his body to calm. If the bitch hadn’t already met her fate, he would’ve ended Mercy himself.

The angel had not only survived, he’d fallen into the hands of a group of rogue immortals called the Family. The survival of Richard’s line rested on his shoulders. It was not only his duty to lead his kind to the forefront of this word—it was his right. This dream, like his kind, was now dead. He only needed to watch it fall apart and turn into ash.

His phone vibrated. He snatched mobile from his pocket and looked at the display—it was blank. He answered.

“You disappoint me. I expected better from you.”

The muscles in Richard’s jaw bulged. He wasn’t used to being on the other end of a reprimand. “I understand. I played my ace and lost. The game is done.”

The silence on the other end felt like a slap. His body shuddered as rage coursed through his veins. There was nothing that could be done. The Family had won.

“The game isn’t done until I say it’s done.”

“Bullshit!” Richard spat and turned, making sure he was still alone. “The child lives, doesn’t he? We’ve failed. All that’s left is to pull back, and ready ourselves for war.”

“It will be a war you will not win, Richard. Your kind will be eradicated and forgotten just as fast. Everything you’ve done will all be for nothing.”

“Maybe I can request a meeting with the Master and the Mistress. I can plead our case.”

“They don’t care about your case,” the caller snarled. “They’re too caught up in the fantasy they lived in. They cannot see that not everything can be manipulated for their own enjoyment.”

Richard was backed into a corner and there was no way out. Being hemmed in was a feeling he didn’t like at all. “Tell me again, why do you care?”

“It is simple really, I don’t care. But, I do offer you a solution if you’re willing listen.”

Hope surged in his chest, but he wasn’t stupid. He thought the situation through carefully. The caller was right, they couldn’t win the war. There were far too many immortals unaccounted for. They’d be wiped out. Richard swallowed and answered. “I’m listening.”

“First, the Family must be destroyed. Find them and kill them all. You will then see the path you have to take and it will take you to your rightful place at the top. That is what you want isn’t it, Richard?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Find the Family, and this time don’t fuck it up. There are no more chances, Richard. Do you understand what I am telling you?”

He nodded, and then realized he hadn’t spoken. The caller continued, as though he had. “Very well, then.”

“Wait! How do I find the Family?”

The caller chuckled and answered. “Tell me something, Richard. Whatever happened to your first wife?”

He hadn’t spoken her name in a hundred years. The thought of her still triggered the beast within him. “Harmony?”

“Mmm, Harmony, what a delicious little morsel she is.”

He answered quickly, his voice raw and gravelling. “Was—Harmony is dead.”

“Is she now?” The seductive tone was filled with the promise of secrets not yet uncovered. “Well, what if I told you, you’re in store for a family reunion of sorts. Although, I don’t think it will be a particularly happy one—for her.”

“She. Is. Alive?” The caller had Richard’s full attention now. His fangs lengthened in response and his body came alive. Memories flooded back, memories of pain and torture. Memories fueled with the desire to control, to own—to possess.

“Can you guess where she’s been hiding? Can you guess who she fights for? Come on. Let me give you a little hint….”

Richard didn’t need a hint. The answer followed on the heels of rage that impaled him like a stake through his heart. “The Family.”

The caller laughed. “Yes, and that’s how you’ll find them. Pure, gentle Harmony. She wasn’t so pure in the end, now was she?”

The call was ended as the sound of footsteps echoed to Richard’s ears and long before the agent found him in the dark. “Excuse me, sir. Your car has arrived to take you home.”

Vice President Richard Gordon nodded, and followed the agent back to the house. His car was waiting, just as the agent instructed, although tonight he wouldn’t be returning home.

Tonight, he planned to bury the dead.

Epilogue

AN ANGEL SHIMMERED on the horizon. An angel with the most intense, violet eyes Eve had ever seen. And with each breath Eve took, this angel came closer. The guardian smiled. Pain ripped through Eve’s chest. She clutched at her body and screamed.

“It is okay now, Eve.” The angel whispered, stepping closer.

Eve needed to wake from this dream. She needed to get back to something… something she couldn’t quite grasp. The harder she tried to remember, the further the answer moved and this feeling seemed familiar.

“You have done all you can, child. It is time to go.” The spirit moved toward her and as she did, Eve’s thoughts blurred and streaked like a wet window pane.

“Stop. Get away from me.”

The angel stopped moving, hovering just above where she lay. Her violet eyes no longer sparkled.

“I cannot do that. I am sorry, but your time has come.” The angel moved quickly. She swept down and picked Eve up. At that moment everything came flooding back.

Adley. My son.

We were fighting a murderer.

Adley was trying to save me and he was hurt.

God, he was hurt bad.

I need to save him. I need to wake up…

Eve caught a flash of red and turned to look over her shoulder. But she was held steady, the grip around her unyielding.

“You don’t want to do that, Eve.” The angel spoke softly. Her hands—soft, yet firm—touched Eve’s cheek. The compulsion to look back was strong. She had to know what was happening. “You don’t want to see what is down there. Focus on me, Eve. That’s the way. Focus on me.”

The glance back had been no more than a second. But in that second, Eve felt her world crumble. She couldn’t grasp what the image meant, but there was blood everywhere… so much blood.

“I have to get back. I have to get back to them.”

Adley’s face haunted her as she felt herself soar, cradled in the angel’s arms. He screamed her name, and the cry rang out loud, shattering the eerie stillness that cloaked the angel like the soft down on a baby bird. Eve wanted out of that entrapping velvet, but her hands and feet refused to obey her commands to. All she could do was stare into Adley’s ever-smaller, stricken eyes.

The angel caught her gaze as they drifted higher. “I am sorry. You were truly born to be together.”

The world darkened as the beautiful creature rose higher and higher and the day became night. Stars sparkled in an endless, jeweled blanket. Any other time, she might’ve acknowledged their beauty. But the night inside her had no stars. It had no moon—just like she knew her days would have no sun.

In her heart, Eve understood what had happened. Where she was and what would happen now. None of what came next mattered to her. Eve felt as though the vampire had reached into her chest to squeeze her heart until it burst.

They stopped moving. The angel set her on her feet in the center of the sky.

“I thank you for giving us Azrael, and for your strength and determination to keep him safe. I am truly sorry this has happened to you.”

“Please, wait. Who are you?”

“My name is Rashda, and I am from a group called the Family. We live in an immortal mountain that is part of and yet apart from the mortal world. We fight against the half-breed vampire and his kind. Adley will make a good addition to our fight. I promise you, we will take good care of them both.”

Rashda pointed. But Eve wasn’t ready to let go of the one being who knew she loved Adley. She grasped her robes, refusing to turn in the direction the angel pointed. Rashda’s smile seemed sad and her beautiful violet eyes glittered with unshed tears. “Wait here, Eve, and the Master or Mistress will summon you. Do not be afraid of them. But do not move until you are told to. Do you understand, child?”

Eve closed her eyes as the soft touch feathered against her cheek. The feel of Rashda’s hand was so smooth and so light, Eve’s tears disappeared with the stroke. She felt the angel’s love for her transferred through this simple act before the touch disappeared. Eve opened her eyes.

She was alone.

The two she’d been warned about strode back and forward between the stars and seemed to be arguing. She tried to block the couple out, but the sound of the female’s anger wouldn’t let her look away. They glided closer. The woman’s hair and clothes looked dark and wild against her pale skin. The glossy strands of her hair seemed polished by the sparkle of the stars and drifted out around her.

She argued with him, throwing her hands into the air while she paced. He stood motionless. His long blonde hair reflected a light Eve couldn’t see, as though the radiance came from each strand that draped across his shoulders and over his bare chest.

Eve couldn’t understand what they were saying. Fists and open palms gestured in a way that told Eve neither of them was backing down from their disagreement. She might’ve stood there for days, or minutes, she had no heartbeat to mark the passing time that Eve stood there, watching, waiting until the woman stalked forward, pointed to Eve and then disappeared.

The man turned to Eve, His gaze poured light over her, like the beam of a torch in the night, stinging her eyes and making her breath catch in her throat. She cried out and shielded her eyes with torn fingers… fingers that ceased to hurt. The light faded, as though he had ceased to exist and she dropped her hand and blinked. He strode across the night sky toward her. The closer he came, the more he began to resemble someone familiar, or someone she felt should be familiar. His long blonde hair disappeared, and was replaced by short, black hair. His eyes, which had seconds ago burned bright like fire, now glistened blue like ice. Eve couldn’t think, she couldn’t breathe. A memory returned, glossy black hair and crystal-clear eyes that shone under the moon… in the twinkle of a star, Eve was back in that same alley as though the event that changed her life happened yesterday. Eve. That... is... a beautiful name. The name of the woman who begat the fall of man if I remember correctly. How... fitting….

Her breath caught as he drifted toward her. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t do anything but re-live fragments of her son’s conception. In her mind, this man was braced himself above her, the muscles of his shoulders and arms rippling as he rode her. Eve felt that moment now, skin to skin, slick with sweat and desire, she felt the moment their bodies joined and the rush of her orgasm as he shuddered inside her.

“I must admit, you have amazed me, Eve.” He moved close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath on her cheeks. “For such a fragile human, you’ve shown more courage and determination than I have seen for thousands of years. You’ve succeeded where others failed, time and time again. It was… impressive really.”

His appraisal of her fight to survive felt demeaning, as though the last months of her life had been nothing more than a game. A game played through blood, pain, and the tears of others, but not his.

“I don’t really understand what’s happening here. But I need to wake up. I need to get back to Adley and my son.”

“Our son,” he corrected. “The angel Azrael is our son, Eve, and I’m afraid there is no going back.”

Eve breathed deep and steadied herself, as her mind reeled with his words. She couldn’t be side-tracked by what he said. Not ‘angel Azrael’ or anything else. His words weren’t important. The only thing that mattered was getting back to them.

“Please, I’m asking you to help me. Just let me wake up.” She was unable to bear the pity in his gaze… because to accept his sorrow meant she couldn’t get back. No, no! Her mind screamed, but she feared letting the sound escape. Eve searched for strength in the stars.

“I can’t help you wake up Eve, because you’re not asleep. Your soul has moved on to the next phase of your life. You are no longer part of the mortal world.”

No! Her body trembled. His words were cruel. She wanted to lash out and hurt him as she was hurting. And yet, somehow she knew what he said was true. In the moment when the angel, Rashda, carried her upwards, she saw something she didn’t understand, something too terrifying to comprehend. But she understood now. When he spoke, the image came back to her.

“Your body was broken Eve. Your neck was snapped, ceasing the flow of blood to your brain. There’s no coming back from that.” He stepped closer. “So fragile… so very fragile, and yet at the same time, so strong and determined.”

No sun, no moon, no stars… forever...

Eve screamed. She clenched her fists and lashed out at the father of her son. “Adley!”

He took her blows. His arms held her gently until she had nothing left. She sagged, feeling as though all the dreams she’d dared to have weighed her down as though she were nothing more than an empty vessel, filled with sharp shards of rock.

“Your sacrifice hasn’t gone unnoticed Eve. On this plane, you’ll be considered the harbinger of the greatest era the mortal world has ever seen. Because of this, there are certain luxuries.”

He pointed to a crack in the darkness, a sliver of light, which brightened as a door opened. Eve ducked, hiding her eyes against his chest until they adjusted. Then she saw them. Adley, cradling her son in his arms.

She lunged forward, running as fast as she could but still, the movement felt too slow. Adley looked happier than she’d ever seen him, like he was different somehow. Like this was too good to be true…

Her steps faltered, and she stopped as her doubts took hold. Adley and her son stood just out of reach, waiting. Yet she was unwilling to travel those last few steps. The sight of them was so real, so perfect. Her heart urged her forward, screaming for her to move. Instead she forced herself to look back over her shoulder to the father of her son. “Are they really here?”

He nodded. “They are real enough. You can be happy there Eve, truly happy for all of eternity. Don’t you think you deserve that… to be happy?”

As much as her heart demanded for her to take that last step and fall into their arms, she couldn’t. If she was dead and they were really here, that could only mean one thing. Edric Hasting had won and the two people she loved in this world were dead.

She didn’t hear him move, but the father of her son touched her arm. The caress was gentle and comforting. “They’re an image of those you love and you can be happy here with them. Until the time comes that they join you for real.”

They were an image? They were only a mirror? Without a soul to comfort her? While on Earth, the real people she loved fought in her name and for her love? No, this isn’t happening… I won’t have it. “Send me back.”

He shook his head. His smile faded. Eve glanced back to the imposters. The temptation to go to them was not as alluring as it’d been moments ago.

Her resolve hardened and Eve stepped back from the shimmering doorway. She turned her back to them, though the act was the most difficult of her life, even knowing they weren’t real. She focused on the father of her child, who Rashda had called the Master—the one who’d started this all. “Send. Me. Back.”

His eyes narrowed and his top lip drew back. His expression had been compassionate only moments before, but now morphed into one of rage. “It can't be done, Eve. Your life is here, waiting for you. Go and be a mother and a wife. You can know joy for the rest of eternity!”

Eve gritted her teeth. She didn’t think, she just acted, taking a step toward him, forcing him to step back. “I don't care. I want the man I love and the son I gave birth to!”

“You want to go back to pain and misery? To the fleeting moments humans have left in this world? Because if I send you back, that's all you will have!” The veins in his neck bulged.

His anger was like a bucket of cold water to hers. She searched his eyes, trying to find some connection, so she could make him understand.

“If it means I have a chance to get back to them, then yes, that’s what I want. If it means I’ll die a thousand times, then that’s what I’ll do.”

He searched the darkened sky, as though the answer was out there somewhere. Never in her life had the night felt so cold and lonely as it did in that moment. Eve crumbled to her knees.

“Very well,” he said quietly. Eve thought at first she imagined he spoke. She lifted her head and searched his face, praying her ears hadn’t betrayed her. “But there’re some things even I can’t control. One, if I send you back, I can’t guarantee what form you’ll take, or where you will be. You may go back as a man for all I know.”

Eve swallowed and nodded, “I understand.”

“No. Eve. I don’t think you do, not yet anyway. If I send you back, there’s no guarantee you’ll have any memories of your former life at all. You may live another complete life. Love another. Have children to another, never knowing what you’ve given up. Are you still willing to sacrifice everything for this one chance?”

She opened her mouth to speak. For her there was no option.

“Before you answer, I want you to do something. Come and stand by my side.”

She got to her feet, feeling small and insignificant. He gestured to the night sky, as though the stars were His peasants, lighting candles for His pleasure. “Find the brightest star you can… please.”

Eve turned and scanned the myriad of diamonds which studded the velvet sky until a star caught her eye, its sparkle radiant, and she pointed to it. “That one,”

“It is beautiful, isn't it? But, what about this one,” Eve followed his finger to a star and when she focused she realized it sparkled as bright as the star she picked. “Or, that one... or that one.”

Each star now shone like the one she chosen only seconds ago, each vibrant sparkle pulled her away until her star faded inside her mind.

“You see, there are an infinite number of stars out there, each which shines as bright as the rest of them. Just like there are infinite numbers of possibilities on how this will turn out. You have achieved something magical in your life, something others could never have dreamed of. You have transformed yourself from this shy, fragile being, into someone of tremendous worth.”

“I don't want to be anyone of tremendous worth. I want to be a mother, a wife to my son and Adley, and I’m willing to take this chance.”

He stood silent for a long time until he answered. “Very well, Eve. I’d hoped I could change your mind, but I can see now that you’re set on this foolishness.”

He moved close to her and leaned over. She felt the same hypnotic stare that subdued her in the alley all those months ago. He brushed his lips across hers. The kiss was light and tender. She panicked for a split second before he pressed his mouth down hard and gripped her tight against him.

“Good luck Eve,” he said inside her mind. “You're going to need it.” The kiss deepened. Her body trembled, and the shudders grew in intensity until she thrashed in his arms.

Adley, I’m coming….

Her eyes flew open and she drank in the ocean blue of his gaze as her soul shattered.

The world around her was dark. It stank of death and blood. She inhaled sharply, fighting off blackness inside her mind. Her stomach rolled—the stench was overwhelming.

She opened her eyes slowly. The fog bled into the light. Muffled voices that hovered on the edge of a dream sharpened, their tone demanding and cold. “Hose them down. They stink, and I won't have our blood smelling like shit.”

She lay on her side, her knees drawn to her chest. The coldness licked at places air shouldn't touch. Metal bars dug into her thighs and shoulders. The cries and whimpers of others filled the air. Their pain and suffering touched her heart.

Where was she? She tried to remember, but everything was one big blur. Pain cut through her, splitting her head in two. Her lips trembled and she whimpered. She touched the sides of her head and winced. Her flesh was torn. There was something wrong, something missing, something… important… she tried to recall.

The thought danced around the edges of her memory, taunting her, until the realization stepped closer. Hair, that's what's missing, my hair. Long blonde hair echoed through a memory. A memory she tried to grasp.

A hand gripped her leg and she cried out, pulling her knees in tighter against her.

“It’s okay, honey. It’s just me. I thought you were a goner when they dragged you back in, girl. You stopped breathing for a loooong time. I thought for sure you was dead.”

She focused on the hand. At the center of her vision, the image sharpened. She followed the hand to an arm and then upwards to where a woman stared at her. The woman’s naked, ebony skin tricked her into believing the blindness had returned, until the ebony scarecrow smiled, and her white teeth gleamed in the dimness.

“Yes, sir. I have never seen a wild cat in action, but I sure seen one in you tonight. You gave it your best shot honey, we are thankful. But, you best be careful now, ‘cause they’ll be watchin’ you.”

She swallowed, trying to work her throat to speak. A croak was all she could manage. “Where are we?”

“They must’a given you a good knock for you to forget this piece of paradise,” the woman patted her leg softly. “We’re in a blood farm, honey. The vampires drain us and fuck us till we almost dead. Then they throw us in these cages until the next time. Yes sir, a real piece of paradise. You sure you don’t remember nothin’?”

Her bottom lip trembled. But she pinned it down with her teeth and shook her head carefully. The pain bit back. Shouldn't she remember something, anything? My name, what's my name... Rachel, Veronica, Sally, Lucy, Katherine... They were names she could recall, but somehow they didn't connect, somehow they didn't feel real. “Please. Can you tell me my name?”

Eve, whispered through her mind. My name is Eve, at the same time the woman beside her answered. “Why, it’s Tracy, honey. Your name is Tracy.”

* * *

If you enjoyed this story and want to find out more, you can find me here at Haunting Fiction:

http://www.hauntingfiction.com

* * *

About Kim Faulks

I'm a Aussie girl who loves stories about the underdogs and the things they've done to survive. Nothing is off limits in my books. I love writing bad guys just as much as the heroes and finding that point of no return. My books are usually hot, action-packed, and always... always dark.

Read at your own risk.

If you’ve enjoyed this story I’d love to hear from you.

Don’t forget to sign up for my newsletter to grab a free book and be notified of my next release.

Kim, xx

* * *

Read More by this author

http://amzn.to/1VQo2sW

http://www.hauntingfiction.com

Sign up for more bargain boxed sets at:

www.hotboxedbooks.com

JUMP TO...

A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE by NOREE COSPER

END OF DREAMS by KIM FAULKS

HAUNT by HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY

DARK CROSSINGS by ANN SIMKO

HEADSPACE by CALINDA B

THE OTHER F WORD by SUSAN STEC

UNLEASHED by RACHEL MCCLELLAN

HIDDEN INTENTIONS by STACY CLAFLIN

THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL by AIMEE EASTERLING

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS by KYOKO M

ST. CHARLES AT DUSK by SARAH M. CRADIT

WICKED BY NATURE by MADISON SEVIER

UNDERLIFE by MARISSA FARRAR

DRAGON’S REDEMPTION by EDEN ASHE

MILAN’S RETURN by GRAE LILY

THE BREAKERS CODE by CONNER KRESSLEY

THE MEDIUM by MR GRAHAM

WICCAN WARS by HEATHER MARIE ADKINS

CARPE NOCTEM by KATIE SALIDAS

A QUESTION OF FAITH by NICOLE ZOLTACK

HAUNT

By HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY

Copyright © 2016 by Heather Hambel Curley

Death is not the end.

In 1859, eighteen-year-old Adelaide Randolph has a secret: she’s a member of The Secret Six: six women who hunt errant spirits in their hometown of Harpers Ferry, Virginia.  They are the daughters of dead mothers—the last line of defense protecting the bustling town from the dead.  Adelaide is focused.  She’s determined.

And then she meets Thomas.

Thomas Cooper is an armory worker.  He’s a scoundrel.  He drinks too much, he’s vulgar and rough: and he wants her.  It’s too easy to fall in love with him and, suddenly, Adelaide would rather have trysts with him than focus on slaying specters.  But when John Brown raids the Ferry, hell bent on starting a slave uprising, everything starts to fall apart.

A creature, a dark shadow man, is stalking her.  As the Civil War rages towards Harpers Ferry, Adelaide is forced make a decision that could change everything: can she sacrifice a generation of men in order to save one?

The scourge is coming.  And this time, she’s not sure she can stop it.

Copyright © 2016 by Heather Hambel Curley

No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, or photocopied format without written permission of the author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author.

War has taught us, as nothing else could, what we can be and are.

–Oliver Wendell Holmes “Bread and Newspapers,”

Atlantic Monthly September 1861

Chapter 1

THE TEA WAS scalding.  It was confounding to Adelaide Randolph how anyone could serve such hot liquid to guests, but then, perhaps the girl being so young—and with no mother to train her—didn’t know better.  She resisted the immediate impulse to spit back into the cup, instead choking the boiling mouthful down in one gulp. It was more appealing to suffer a fuzzy-feeling tongue for a few days than appear less than a lady in front of her fellow Society members.  There’d be talk.

Adelaide’s unladylike choking and sputtering did not go without notice by the Society head, Lucy Daingerfield.  She cast a disapproving glance over her own teacup for a moment and then began, “It has been three hundred and forty-seven days since a Shadow was seen in Harpers Ferry, Virginia.  I call this meeting of the Harpers Ferry Ladies Society to order.  May our scribe make it known in attendance today are Miss Annabeth Frankel, Misses Adelaide and Sarah Randolph, Miss Mary Roeder, Miss Susan Hamilton, and of course, myself.  Now—”

“Wait one moment, Lucy!”  Susan squinted down at her written words.  “I can’t write as fast as you can talk.  Three hundred and forty-seven, you said?  Are you absolutely certain?”

Adelaide stared down at her cup and idly traced the dainty floral pattern with her fingertip, carefully avoiding the mistake of another sip of tea.  Hopefully, Susan would remember the “i” in her name for once.  There was enough complaining the last time Lucy made the “scribe” update the minutes.

“Of course I’m right, you twit.  We chased that creature down from Jefferson Rock and you’re damn lucky Annie had the wits about her to fend it off with sage.  The holy water did nothing.”

“Probably because she did it wrong.”  Annie Frankel elbowed Adelaide in the ribs and snorted, trying to choke back a laugh.  “I feel as if there’s more to it than muttering incantations you stole from a ‘supposed’ book of witchcraft.”

Lucy ignored her, sitting silently for a few moments until Susan was ready.  She then cleared her throat and continued with her soliloquy.  “Might the scribe also make note that the Harpers Ferry Ladies Society wishes to thank Miss Mary Roeder for opening her parlor to us for our meeting today and for supplying our tea and cakes.”

Mary’s cheeks flushed and she looked down at her hands.  As the youngest of the society at thirteen, she was barely in her corset and blushed at every compliment given to her.

Lucy loudly cleared her throat and glared at Susan.  “Well?”

“I’m ready, keep going.”

“I did, however, receive note from our Sisters in Frederick that a spirit was seen along the banks of the Rappahannock.  Chase was given but the creature retreated back from where it came.”  Lucy closed her eyes and thought for a moment.  “Unless there is anything from our last meeting we should revisit, I will turn the meeting over to Miss Adelaide Randolph.”

Adelaide took a deep breath and handed her tea cup to her younger sister.  “Today I have with me the latest issue of Godeys Ladies Magazine—August 1859, Susan—which features a very interesting article on headdresses for balls.  According to Moniteur—”

Susan didn’t even look up.  “Spell that, Addy.”

Adelaide rolled her eyes but complied.  “As I was saying, according to Moniteur, ‘Headdresses for balls are nearly always round, but much fuller behind and at the sides than in the front. They are generally a mixture of velvet, gold, and silver ribbon, pearls, and even diamonds.’”

“Diamonds.” Annie Frankel sighed in approval.  “Could you imagine the sparkle once candlelight hits hair bejeweled in diamonds?  Although, it possibly isn’t the best choice when hunting spirits and shadows.  You wouldn’t want diamonds bouncing all over the place, now would you?”

Adelaide offhandedly nodded in response and studied the magazine.  “I believe they attach like our normal baubles, with the pin going straight into the hair.  I doubt the matter of spirit chasing was taken into consideration during their construction.”  Thumbing carefully through the pages of Godeys, she stopped at a full color plate. The four ladies in the picture were clothed in beautiful gowns, each with a flounced skirt. Holding up the magazine to her fellow society members, she said, “Notice if you will the hair adornments of the lady on the far right. Her hair is parted down the middle and has ringlets beside her ears. Although I cannot ask her to turn around so we can see the back, I am assured by the article I read you ladies that her hair must be pulled in a chignon. The fullness, of course, is made by a cleverly hidden hairpiece. Notice the woman standing to her left. Her hair adornment is made of the same red and evergreen garland as the sash on her gown. It seems to me that she used excess garland and constructed a matching hairpiece. It is a lovely way to ensure precise exactness.”

The ladies nodded in agreement. She handed the magazine to Annie for further examination and added, “I highly recommend the purchase of this edition of Godeys as there are also several beautiful needlework patterns within its pages.”

Lucy nodded in approval. “Thank you, Miss Randolph.”

“It was, in fact, my pleasure.” Adelaide smiled demurely and adjusted her hoop skirt to retire to her seat next to the somewhat drafty window. She almost giggled at the thought of missing the chair and landing on the floor in a mess of petticoats and hoops. Lucy would probably insist on her dismissal from the Society on account of vulgarity.

As self appointed president of the Harpers Ferry Ladies Society, Lucy Daingerfield had the distinction of being able to allow and forbid members into their club. Membership required the ability to communicate with and, more importantly, destroy walking spirits.  They were the daughters of dead mothers.  They were the secret six; protecting the living from the dead.

Still, she forbade every potential new member.  Adelaide felt there was something irksome about it all, since they had started the society before any member had reached the age of ten.  Since that time only one other person, Mary Roeder, had been allowed in.

Lucy smoothed down her flawless blonde hair and turned to the next speaker of the meeting. “Miss Frankel will now speak briefly on local interest items pertaining to our fair town.”

Annie rose from her chair, her pale yellow cotton dress contrasting sharply with her black hair and deep eyes. “In matters pertaining to the living.  According to sources—who I shall not reveal—Miss Elizabeth Wade is once again engaged, though this time to a gentleman from Charlestown.   He is apparently a ‘dashing young lawyer’ and will finally earn Elizabeth the social stature she thinks she deserves.  You may all recall her comments after the departure of her last beau.”

Sarah and Adelaide exchanged knowing glances.  Elizabeth had registered to marry Mr. Cook only months prior and decided she did not want to be the wife of a school master, lock tender, or book-agent—she was much above that.  In her own private review of the situation, Adelaide would have been more concerned that the man could not decide on his occupation and talked incessantly.  The Society reflected on his abrupt departure from Harpers Ferry for weeks.

Annie continued.  “Mrs. MacGrogan has gone into confinement, and speculation has it that Mrs. Hayes will soon go as well.  This, as you all may be aware, will be Mrs. Hayes’ first child.”

“Of note, Mrs. Hayes was in the family way prior to her marriage to Mr. Hayes.” Lucy fluttered her eyelashes.  “Don’t put that in the minutes, Susan.”

“Finally,” Annie glared at Lucy, “though it does not pertain to our fair town, Mr. Ebersole received a letter from his cousin in London.  They dedicated a new bell in May and are calling it ‘Big Ben.’  I find it to be quite charming to imagine a bell named Ben.  As for matters pertaining to the dead, as Lucy previously noted, it has been three hundred forty-seven days since a spirit has been seen in Harpers Ferry.  Excellent work, ladies.”

“Thank you, Miss Frankel.” Lucy nodded in approval at Annie as she took her seat.  “As for matters of new business, I’ll go first.  As you all know, my eighteenth birthday is quickly approaching.  I am planning an extravagant party; do be sure to make time for a get together in October.”

Adelaide resisted the urge to roll her eyes.  When she turned eighteen a few months prior, it certainly didn’t warrant announcement at a Society meeting, nor did the eighteenth birthdays of Annie or Susan earlier in the year.  Perhaps that was just another advantage Lucy had created for herself.  She seemed to do that a lot.

Lucy plowed on. “Second order of new business. I propose to my fellow Society members the idea of initiating a sewing circle.  Those women from the Frederick Ladies Society had an article written about them in the Virginia Free Press last month.  Absurd.”

Susan didn’t look up from her notes.  “We talked about that last month, Lucy.  I think they auctioned a quilt off to help fund the construction of the new Episcopal Church in Frederick City.”

“The Frederick Ladies are vile.” Lucy suddenly shrugged and dropped her sophisticated façade.  “Besides, we do it anyway.  We might as well make it official.”

“A vote then.” Annie spoke up.  “Those in favor?”

Each in attendance nodded.

“It is unanimous!” Lucy grinned.  “Does anyone else have new business?”

The room was silent.  Adelaide averted her eyes from Lucy’s face and feigned interest in a large crack in the wall’s plaster.

“Very well.  Scribe, please note that our next meeting shall be in one week.  It will be hosted by Miss Frankel.  Thank you for your attendance ladies.  Be alert.  Be cautious.  And always be attuned to Those we can’t see.  I declare this meeting finished.”

“Thank you all for coming.” Mary always sounded embarrassed when she spoke to any of the older girls, perhaps because each was several years older than she.  “It was an honor to hold the Society meeting here today.”

“Thank you for your hospitality.” Adelaide tied her bonnet ribbons in a bow at her throat.  “Ready, Sarah?”

Her petite sister stood up and headed to the door, adjusting her bonnet as she maneuvered around the couch and several rickety chairs.  “Good day, ladies!”

They stepped out of the stuffy Roeder home and out onto the street.  Susan paused in the doorway.  “Hold on you two. I have to give Lucy today’s minutes.”

Adelaide stopped walking and let her eyes lazily drift up the hill before her.  From where she stood, she could clearly see the steeple of St. Peter’s Catholic Church.  She dreaded walking up the steep stone steps to the churches that stood guard over town.  It was so slippery and, being Episcopalian, her family had to walk far past St. Peters to their church, St. Johns.  She wasn’t afraid to admit—and it might have been a sin—but halfway up those stairs in the summer and she was ready to convert to Catholicism.

Susan finally scampered out of the Roeder home.  “Sorry.  I don’t know why Lucy insists on keeping the minutes.  I’m the secretary, after all.  She made me be secretary.”

The three started down High Street, crossed Shenandoah Street, and headed towards home.  Susan followed; her sister having paid visit to Adelaide’s stepmother prior to the society meeting.  The wind tugged mercilessly at their skirts, and Adelaide frantically pressed her hands against the steel hoopskirt to keep her petticoats from showing.  The sky above the bordering Potomac River was colored by the black smoke billowing from the Armory.  It visibly settled in the humid afternoon air, thick with sulfur.  Adelaide often wondered if the famous Harpers Ferry Armory tapped down into the depths of Hell, fueled by Satan’s scorn and vehemence—it would explain why the dead seemed to flock there.  It made sense: all the guns manufactured there were potential weapons of war for the United States government.

“There’s David.” Susan nodded towards her older brother, who was just leaving the Armory grounds.  “Hello, David, hello!”

“Good afternoon, fair ladies.”  David stopped near the gate to the Armory and bowed deeply.  He lifted his hat to the young women and then nodded to the gentleman beside him.  “Are you ladies acquainted with Mr. Cooper?”

He didn’t bother to wait for an answer.  “Thomas Cooper, you know my sister Susan.  These are Mr. Randolph’s daughters, Adelaide and Sarah.”

Thomas Cooper’s smile revealed a dimple on his right cheek, edged by dark, wavy mutton chops that hung fashionably past his chin.  A piece of his dark brown hair fell across his forehead as he lifted his hat to Adelaide and her sister. “It is a pleasure to meet you ladies.”

His dark blue eyes met Adelaide’s in an instant.  She looked away.

“Mr. Cooper works in the Armory alongside me.” David continued.  “I have yet to meet a finer worker.”

“Your brother exaggerates, I assure you.”

David laughed.  “It has been a pleasure to see you, dear sister.  And always an honor to be in the presence of the charming Randolph sisters, but we must continue on our way.”

He didn’t have say where they were headed: everyone knew that Armory workers could always be found at White Hall Tavern engaging in bawdy and ungentlemanly behavior such as drinking too much whiskey and playing cards.  But there was something about the way David talked that made Adelaide feel like it didn’t matter.

Mr. Cooper lifted his hat again.  “A good afternoon to you, ladies.”

As the girls continued down Shenandoah Street, Adelaide paused momentarily and looked back towards their former companions.  Thomas Cooper stood where they had parted, hands deep in his frock coat pockets.  He was staring back.

Chapter 2

“BLESSED BE THE tie that binds, our hearts in Christian love; the fellowship of kindred minds is like to that above!” Adelaide ran her fingers along the crisp edges of the hymn book as she sang along with St. John’s congregation.  “Before our Father's throne, we pour our ardent prayers; our fears, our hopes, our aims are one our comforts and our cares!”

Reverend Bates raised his Bible into the air.  “After this manner therefore pray ye: Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen."

“Amen.” She placed the hymn book back on the pew rack and quietly followed her older brother, Robert, from the church.  She could feel her younger brother’s—which brother, she wasn’t sure—heavy footfalls behind, tromping across the wooden floorboards.  Any closer and he would stomp on the hem of her skirt.  Repeating the Lord’s Prayer always made her feel better, though, she wasn’t sure how well the words they recited as one kept the dead at bay.  Spirits walked their streets.  They lurked in corners and pawed at the Armory gate.

Words alone didn’t stop them.

She squinted in the sudden bright sunlight.  Susan Hamilton made a beeline for her and Sarah.  “Do you see the way those boys flock around Lucy?  It’s vulgar.”

“On a Sunday, no less.” Annie Frankel joined the group.  “And she shuns Elizabeth Wade for her actions with... well... half the town.”

Adelaide laughed quietly.  Sometimes she doubted if the rumors about Miss Wade were true, but Annie was convinced.  She said it was easy to tell, based on the way Miss Wade walked.  Adelaide had her doubts on that too.  She’d been with men.  She didn’t walk any differently now than when she was an Innocent.

“Good afternoon, Miss Randolph.”

She turned and found herself looking up into face of Thomas Cooper.  He was tall and slim, with broad, strong shoulders.  “Mr. Cooper.  I wasn’t aware you attended St. John’s…but I’m delighted you do.”

He nodded, his eyes transfixed on hers.  Adelaide tried to tear her gaze from his but found that she much preferred looking into his steady blue eyes.   It made her pulse quicken.  “You look radiant today.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to him; she hardly knew him.  After a moment that passed like the beat of a heart, he looked around nervously, as if unsure of who might be watching them.  “It’s been a pleasure to see you again, Miss Randolph.  I should let you enjoy the rest of your Sunday.”

Before she could beg him to stay, he strolled to the stone steps and, in a few swift strides, disappeared down the hill.

“Addy, are you listening?” Susan narrowed her eyes, sharply resembling Lucy Daingerfield.  “You... ah, I see where your thoughts are.  Thomas Cooper.”

Adelaide widened her eyes innocently.  “What are you talking about, Susan?  I was being polite.”

“Is that a fact?”  Annie giggled and pointed a gloved finger at her.  “I’ve noticed you always have an easier time being polite to the handsome gentlemen in town.”

“Shhh!” Adelaide hushed their giggles.  “If Lucy hears you—”

Susan rolled her eyes.  “Yes, if Lucy hears us we all know what will happen.  We’ll have to listen to her blather on about Armory workers and not associating with them.  She’s the expert, after all, being the paymaster clerk’s daughter and always sees it fit to tell us who is quality and who is to be shunned.”

Adelaide smirked.  “My, Susan, such vinegary words.  I thought Lucy was your friend.”

Susan didn’t answer.

“Well, I’ve heard rumor,” Annie leaned forward, “that Lucy speaks quite fondly of Mr. Cooper.  And I’ve also heard that he’s said quite…complementary things about her.”

Adelaide rolled her eyes.  “Did you hear that from Lucy, Annie?  Because you know quite well she says she likes whatever happens to be in discussion at the time.”

Annie shrugged.  “I’m just telling you what I’ve heard.”

“That one seems foolish, though.” Susan’s words echoed Adelaide own thoughts.  “First, I can’t imagine any man with soundness of mind to have affection for Lucy.  Second, I have yet to see them speak.  I’m not even certain Mr. Cooper knows who Lucy is, but I’ll ask David on your behalf, Addy.  If anyone knows it would be David.”

“I think it’s just foolish talk, Susan.”  Adelaide fell silent.  Movement on the hill caught her attention; it was brief, almost a wisp, but it was there.  Something was standing at the edge of Harper Cemetery.

Annie turned, her skirt swinging outward with the movement of her hoop.  “What do you see?”

“It was fast.”  Adelaide shook her head, searching the hill for any further movement.  “There and gone, really, but I feel it.  I sense it.”

Susan and Annie exchanged a look.

“Addy, you go this time.”  Sarah elbowed her sharply.  “I’ll stay here and watch for Poppa.”

Adelaide nodded, pushing her reticule into her sister’s hands.  “Annie, you swing down from the far side of the cemetery.  I’ll take it from the front.”

She didn’t audibly respond, but began climbing the stone staircase ahead of Adelaide.

Taking a deep breath, Adelaide cut across the front courtyard of St. John’s and climbed the stone steps up into Harper Cemetery.  Her mother and baby sister were buried up here, as were so many of Harpers Ferry citizens that she’d faced in a dark side street or along the banks of one of the rivers.  Digging her hand into pocket she’d sewn into her skirt, she pulled out a pocket watch.

It was the only thing she had of her mother.  The watch was supposedly fashioned by the original watchmakers who came across when the country was settled in the 1600s and blessed by a native priest.  However it had actually come into being, she didn’t know.  It didn’t matter; all she knew was that this one timepiece, mottled and nicked from time, only ran backwards.  It was something about that descending time, something maybe in the gold it was fashioned from, that was able to stop the spirits.

Most of them.

She crossed the cemetery slowly, craning her head from left to right.  The creature was standing at the top of the hill; it had been looking down at the congregation standing outside the church.  Not all spirits seemed to recognize the living, in fact, many seemed to be nothing more than an echo of the living being, trapped between this world and the next.  It was the ones who were cognizant, who acted out of their own desire, that were dangerous.

And then she saw it: it was standing in front of a headstone, its arms clenched at its sides.  It seemed to move slower than Adelaide did, like it was in a different time stream separate from the concrete present.  The body was draped in gray, the skirt and stringy, greasy hair blowing to the side.

The air around her was still.

“I can see you.”  Adelaide spoke quietly, side stepping down the row of stones in front of where the spirit stood.  “You don’t belong here.  You’re dead.”

The spirit stood still.  It ignored her.

“You need to depart from this life and enter the next.”  Adelaide pressed her thumb into the watch clasp, urging the face open.  “And if you won’t go on your own, I’ll take you there myself.”

The creature finally looked up at her.  Its face was expressionless, the eye sockets in the skull black and gaping.  There was no jaw and the tongue lolled outward; it stared at her and, deep in her mind, Adelaide could hear its raspy, grating voice.  Death…approaches…

“You don’t scare me.”  Adelaide locked her knees, rooting herself into place.  “I’ve looked into the eyes of the dead before and I have no fear.”

The spirit slunk backwards, melting through the headstones behind it.  At that moment, Annie darted out from the woods, her hands out in front of her.  She thrust a crucifix forward at the creature, driving it back from her.  Adelaide couldn’t made out the words her friend was saying, but she knew it was a chant in Latin.  The words seemed to bite into the creature; it was as if what Annie was saying dug into the rotted flesh of the spirit and started ripping it apart.

Using a headstone to separate herself from the creature, Adelaide held up her pocket watch and flipped the face back.  “The power of Christ protects me, spirit, and you will depart this life to the next.  Now.”

The spirit screamed.  A beam of light, hazy and opaque, shot out from the watch and into the ghost.  It writhed against it, trying to force its body against the pull of the light; bucking and stretching and squealing.  The watch blazed hot in Adelaide’s hand.  She gritted her teeth against the pain—she had to see this through.

With a howl that cracked the tombstone at Adelaide’s knees, the creature was yanked backwards and into the watch.  At the very last instant, it jammed its arms against the gold and clawed for her arm.  You…will see…death.

Adelaide stared at it.

Annie was at her side, flinging a handful of sage into the creature’s face.  There was a sizzle, a pop, and then the arms crumbled to dust.  The spirt was sucked into the watch and, in an instant, the face swung shut.  The timepiece shuddered.

And then everything was silent.

Annie was breathing heavily; sweat dripped down her forehead and she dragged her sleeve across her face.  She leaned heavily against the stone in front of them.  “Did it hurt you?”

Adelaide shook her head and shoved the watch back into her pocket.  “No.”

“What did it say?”

“Nothing important.”

Annie shoved back from the stone and circled around it.  She glanced over the headstone the creature had stood at, her brow knitted in a deep frown.  “Andrew Staunton.”

“The man from the Armory?”  Adelaide shrugged her shoulders.  “He shot himself.  I remember, I was only eight or nine, but I remember it.  They pulled him out of the river right afterwards, but his head was half off his neck.”

“I don’t think that thing was Andrew Staunton.”

“You know why he killed himself, right?”  When Annie shook her head, Adelaide continued.  “He was having an affair with his sister-in-law.  She was only sixteen, she killed her sister and then drowned herself when it secret came out.”

“So was it the wife?”  Annie glanced at the stone.  “Or was it the sister?”

Adelaide smoothed down her hair and then cocked her head towards the staircase.  “It doesn’t matter who they were.  What matters is that they’re gone now.”

They walked down the staircase and back into the church’s courtyard.  Sarah ran up to Adelaide and linked her arm around hers.  “Did you get it?”

“Of course.”

“Poppa’s looking for you.”

“Here I am.”  Adelaide looked back at Annie and Susan, who had crept up to the group.  “It’s been almost a year since we last saw one.  What changed?”

No one spoke.

“I could understand,” Sarah spoke slowly, as if she was feeling it out, “if someone had recently died.  But that’s not the case.”

“It’s gone.  Perhaps it was a fluke.”  Adelaide saw her father waving his arm at her from the top of the stone staircase; she lifted her hand in acknowledgment.  “We’ll discuss it at our next meeting.”

With Sarah at her side, Adelaide rushed to the staircase and followed her brothers and father downward, carefully picking her way across the sloped cuts of stone.  Poppa was always in a hurry to get home after services, since his child bride was nearing the end of her pregnancy confinement.  Adelaide hated her and the feeling was mutual.  She’d rather face a thousand shadow specters than have to spend one moment in conversation with that woman.

Sarah grabbed her elbow as they reached the bottom of the stone steps.  “I haven’t forgotten, by the way.  You are rather distracted by Thomas Cooper.”

“There are more important things than men.”  Adelaide cast a sideways glance at her sister.  “And I’m not distracted, Sarah.  I hardly know him.”

“But you could easily be distracted by him.” Sarah smirked.  “I know you, Addy.  We’ve been sisters what, sixteen years now?”

“That’s what happens when you’re two years younger than me.”

“You’re avoiding the question, Addy.”

She laughed quietly, thoughts of the creature in Harper Cemetery dissolving from her mind faster than the spirit had been pulled into the watch.  “Maybe I am.  But it’s none of your business and I refuse to speak of him further.  I don’t know him.  He doesn’t know me.  We merely exchanged greetings after service and there’s unsightly or vulgar about that.”

“You’re hopeless.” Sarah announced as they reached the corner of Ferry Lot, the section of Harpers Ferry nearest where the Potomac and Shenandoah Rivers met.  They hurried up the back staircase to the living quarters above their father’s dry goods store.  Adelaide hoped she could finish preparing supper early enough to relax on the large portico off the second floor parlor before the evening chill set in.  Sometimes she liked to stand outside and simply stare across the two neat rows of white Armory buildings.  There was something strangely elegant about the Armory complex, from the compact little engine house closest to the house to the tall smokestack of the Smith and Forging shop that reached high into the air.  The Armory was the lifeblood of Harpers Ferry and somehow beautiful—even if it cut a large black stain into the sky.  Its intentions were pure, there was no question as to its function.

Sarah followed her to their shared bedroom in the back corner of the house.  Adelaide’s fingers flew down the tiny hooks and eyes on the front of her fitted brown bodice.  “I got the feeling today that Susan doesn’t care for Lucy Daingerfield.”

“I don’t blame her.  I don’t particular care for her either.”

“We’ve known her since we were children and she’s never changed her behavior.”  Adelaide pulled her brown skirt over her head then untied her petticoat and hoop skirt.  “I don’t understand the sudden change.”

“I think Lucy considers herself the queen of Harpers Ferry sometimes.” Sarah wrinkled up her nose.  “Maybe all of the time.  You know she’s never on the hunt with us.  When we face spirits, she always hangs back.  She’s afraid.”

Adelaide slipped on her corded petticoat and then yanked her blue work dress over her head, carefully tucking her pocket watch in her hidden pocket.  “Well, she may be the Queen of Harpers Ferry, but she looks like a bird.”

Sarah covered her mouth and dissolved into giggles.  “Addy!”

Grabbing her apron, Adelaide dashed out of the room and headed to the kitchen.  Since Rebekah—ahm, Mother—was in her pregnancy confinement, cooking for the family fell entirely on Adelaide’s shoulders.  The rest of the household chores were divided between her and Sarah.

She wadded her apron in one hand and carefully lifted the lid from the pot atop the stove.  The brisket was finally starting to get tender, soaked in a beef broth and onions.  After replacing the lid, she walked over to a storage barrel and fished out several potatoes.  Since the beef was almost tender, now was the perfect time to add potatoes.

Sarah walked in as Adelaide started to cut the potatoes in half.  “Do you need help?”

“No, it’s under control.  I think Rebekah could have handled this on her own.” She looked up from the potatoes.  “Can you ask Robert to bring in some more water?”

Sarah nodded and left the room.

Adelaide piled the sliced potatoes into a small wooden bowl and carried them over to the cooking stove.  After removing the pot lid, she slowly added the potatoes to the beef brisket; the thick aroma of boiling meat and onions immediately filling her nostrils.   Her stomach ached for supper, but her mind was still on her confrontation in the cemetery.  You will see death.  What did that even mean?  Death was commonplace, everyone dealt with it.  Children, mothers in labor; women who got too close to fires and were incinerated while standing in their crinolines.

It had been a year since a shadow had crossed the Ferry.  Something had changed—but she still didn’t know what it was.

The door swung open with enough force to slam against the wall.  Robert lugged a large bucket of water into the work room.  At nineteen—the oldest in the family— he worked with their father in the family dry goods store.  He had no interest in apprenticing at the Armory, although their younger brother Luke, at thirteen, had already begun his apprenticeship.

“A fine wife you will make, Adelaide.” Robert loudly sniffed the air.  “I can only hope it tastes as good as it smells.”

She rolled her eyes.  Her brothers didn’t know anything about the spirt hunting abilities.  It was probably for the best.  “I’m grateful for your vote of confidence.”

Robert set the bucket down and wiped sweat from his brow.  “I needn’t remind you of the Cornish hen incident.”

Adelaide put her hand on her hip.  “Robert, that’s not fair.  I had never made the hens before.  They weren’t really that bad, they were just a little dry.”

“A little dry.” Robert leaned against the doorframe.  “Little sister, I could have written a letter on the skin and mailed it to London.”

She snatched a rag from the table and threw it at him.  He caught it and laughed heartily.  “A noble effort, Fair Adelaide!  But, you’re no match for me.”

“Fine, if you’re so critical of my cooking ability, you don’t have to have to eat the brisket.” She lifted the pot lid and stirred the contents with a wooden spoon.  “All the more for me.”

Luke burst through the door.  “Addy, Poppa wants to see you and Sarah in the parlor.”

Adelaide sucked in a deep breath.  This had better not be about her disappearance from church. There was no way she could explain the situation to him; he’d never believe her.  Setting the wooden spoon down on the table, she stuck her tongue out at Robert.  “Pest.”

Sarah was waiting for her in the hall and, linking her arm through Adelaide’s, they walked into the parlor together.  Their father sat at his writing desk and turned as they entered.  He removed his spectacles.  “Hello, girls.”

“Hello, Poppa.” They chorused.

“I have something for you two.” He patted his pockets and frowned, obviously pretending he couldn’t find what he was looking for.  “Now where did I put that envelope?”

Sarah giggled.  “Poppa!”

He withdrew a small, cream-colored envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket.  “Ah, here it is. For you, my dears.”

Being older, Adelaide took the envelope from Poppa and looked at the front.  In fancy swirled blue ink was written: Misses Adelaide and Sarah Randolph.

Sarah crowded next to her.  “Oh, Poppa, who’s it from?”

Adelaide carefully tore the envelope open and pulled out the matching cream-colored paper.  She unfolded it and read out loud, “The honor of your presence is requested at an ice cream social in celebration of Miss Lucy Daingerfield’s eighteenth birthday, to be held October 10th, 1859.”

Sarah squealed.  “Oh, Addy!  Ice cream!  Such a rarity.”

Adelaide stared at the exquisite invitation, excitement boiling up in her stomach.  Regardless if Lucy was a vinegary, spoiled, bird-like girl, she wasn’t going to miss a social.  Especially not a social that promised ice cream.

* * *

HER MIND WAS still on the ice cream as she walked to the vegetable market Wednesday morning.  Because of her chores and responsibilities at home, she had not yet had a chance to gossip about the social with Susan or Annie.  Sarah was all atwitter at the thought of ice cream—which they never had because it was so expensive—so she was useless to discuss the matter with.  She tried to stay focused, tried to stay alert incase another shadow crossed…but it was difficult.

She clutched her large basket and walked down Shenandoah Street towards the Market House.  Even though there was so much to do that day—cooking, washing, mending—the promise of the social made everything else seem insignificant.  The creature in the cemetery?  Probably just a fluke.

As she drew near the Master Armorer’s house, Lucy Daingerfield’s home, her eyes fell on a broad shouldered, familiar figure dodging carriages and people as he crossed the filthy street.  He was making his way to her.

Her lips twitched up into a grin.

“Mr. Cooper,” their eyes locked as he fell into step next to her, “it’s a pleasure to see you again.  Are you headed to the market?”

Thomas Cooper shook his head.  “No, Miss Randolph, I’m taking my lunch right now.  I’m renting a room past Market Street and sometimes it’s nice to leave the Armory grounds.  Can I accompany you as far as the market?”

She nodded.  Another welcome distraction.  “If I may ask, you’re not from Harpers Ferry originally?”

“Does my peculiar accent give me away?”  He chuckled, sliding his hand to hers and taking the basket from her.  His touch radiated heat across her shoulders; her pulse launched into a frenzy.  “No, my family is from Massachusetts and I was previously employed at the Springfield Armory.  I can earn a much better living here.  The work is all very specialized.”

“I’m sure.”  She could easily lose herself in his eyes, wide and blue the shade of the sky as the sun rose.  “Say what you will about Springfield, but Harpers Ferry is the dominant armory and arsenal.”

“I find it all very fascinating.” He smelled like smoke and gun oil, but there was something about the scent that she found appealing.  “The intricacies of the weapon, the sound of the machines... but I’m sure the subject bores you.”

“Not at all.” She gazed up at him as they walked, spreading her lips into a coy smile.  “I don’t know a lot about industry of gun smithing, but I think it’s very interesting.  And you make it more so.”

“I could talk to you for hours about the process,” he slid his hand to the crook of her elbow, pulling her to him and guiding her around a pile of muck on the path, “and I assure you, at that length, you will find yourself bored.”

“I think I’d enjoy it, actually.  We could make our own entertainment if the conversation grew dull.”

He nibbled on his lower lip, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a grin.  “There’s something about you, Miss Randolph…something I can’t quite figure out.”

“Oh?”

“You’re different than other ladies I’ve met.”

“I’ll admit, sometimes I’m too bold.”

He reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.  His fingertips brushed against her cheek; his touch sent heat coursing through her body.  “No.  It’s something else.”

She glanced at him.  True, she was different—she was one of the six.  But there was no way he knew that.

Right?

“I’m just me, Mr. Cooper.  I don’t pretend to be anything other myself.”

“I find I quite like you.” His mouth clamped shut with an audible plop, his cheeks flushing crimson.  Evidently he’d said too much.

She swayed to the side a step, casually brushing against him.  “I find the feeling to be mutual.”

They walked in comfortable silence to the market, a trip that had never seemed so short.  Thomas Cooper paused momentarily and said, “It has been an honor, as always, Miss Randolph.”

“I look forward to that discussion you promised me, sir.  I won’t forget.”

He reached out, gently brushing his fingertip down her hand.  “And I would never let you down, Adelaide.”

Desire thrilled down her spine and crossed her lower abdomen.  His eyes were intoxicating, just one touch made her feel like her knees would give way under her.  His lips curled up in a lopsided grin and, after a beat, he walked away.

She watched him continue down Shenandoah Street and reflected on Sarah’s comments the day before.  Her sister was right: she most certainly was distracted by Thomas Cooper.

And she had the feeling, though perhaps presumptuous, he was rather distracted by her.

As she watched Thomas’s trim, but muscular, figure continue down the street, she saw a dark figure hovering at the mouth of the alley.  It was watching her.  You will see death.

But when she looked again, it was gone.

Chapter 3

ADELAIDE WAS NOT immediately aware of anything worse than tending her father’s dry goods store.  It was very rare that this happened, thankfully, because she found herself bored senseless minding the shop in Poppa and Robert’s absence.  As usually happened, they had cause to wait at the railroad depot for the delivery of goods, which needed to be counted and checked before being brought to the Ferry Lot.  Poppa preferred the store not close and, as the eldest child after Robert, it was her responsibility to take.

There were more important things to worry about: like the spirit she and Annie stopped in the cemetery or the specter watching her from the alley next to Market Street.  No spirit activity for almost a year, and now, two within a matter of days.  What did that mean?  You will see death.  It didn’t make sense; she’d seen death.  Everyone had.

All go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again.

Her thoughts drifted to Lucy’s social, now only a week away.  She and Sarah had begged, pleaded, and bartered to convince Poppa they needed new dresses to wear to the social and prevailed.   He allowed them to each choose material from his shop, but at this point Adelaide wasn’t sure she would be finished with the bodice before the social.  Running the household since her daft stepmother wouldn’t, keeping watch for wandering spirits, and staring out the window to catch a glimpse of Thomas Cooper leaving the Armory grounds took up time.  She needed more daylight hours.  Either that, or a stronger constitution.

It was a rare peaceful moment in the shop.  She busied herself by pawing through a variety of trimmings among the textiles.  There were so many different kinds of laces and cording.  She could spend hours poring over the different fabrics and buttons and baubles; as much as she hated being in charge of the store, she loved dreaming about the gowns she could make with some of the more expensive fabrics.  She ran her fingertips over a bolt of pale blue silk.  It would make a gorgeous ball gown.  She could just picture Lucy Daingerfield’s ears turning red in anger and jealousy if she had a gown made from this fabric.  It would serve her right.  She was a snotty, spoiled brat, who headed the spirit hunters group, but refused to do her share of the combat—

The shop door opened.

Adelaide shifted her weight from one foot to the other and turned towards the ware cluttered main room.   “If you need help finding anything, just let me know.”

She didn’t realize who stood in front of her at first; his figure silhouetted by the bright light pouring in from the front doors.  He remained silent for a moment and then said quietly, “I didn’t expect to see you here, Miss Randolph.”

Thomas Cooper.  Adelaide smoothed down her glossy brown hair and smiled sweetly at him.  “Sometimes my father leaves the store in my charge.  I’m capable of more than just being pretty.”

He chuckled.  “Pretty doesn’t even come close to describing how fetching you are, my sweet.  Please, call me Thomas.  You don’t need to be so formal when we’re alone.”

“And do you enjoy being alone with me, Thomas?”

He sucked in a sharp breath.  “I’d plan my whole day around such discreet meetings, if it were possible.”

She nervously leaned against the counter, bumping her arm into a stereopticon.  The picture viewer nearly crashed to the floor; she grabbed it at the last moment and steadied it.  “See how you distract me from clear thinking?  I’m like a bird flapping around in the dirt.”

“Hardly.”  He leaned towards her, resting his elbows on the counter, and caressed the inside of her wrist with his fingertip.  “It’s me who is distracted.  I barely remember why I came in here.”

She pouted.  “Not just to see me?”

“If I’d known you were here alone, I’d have been here sooner.”

Adelaide let herself get caught up in his eyes, his gaze locked steadily on her.  His lips were full and pink, his bottom caught in his teeth as he nibbled the tender flesh.  She wondered what his lips would feel like against hers; what his mouth tasted like.

Movement at the door caught her attention.

She tore her gaze from his and looked over his shoulder.  Standing on the threshold was a dark spirit, its shroud pooling on the floor and tendrils seeming to curl outward.  Her breath caught in her throat.  There was something about this spirit, though, something familiar.  She was overcome by the smell of lavender and, for a moment, her vision clouded; darkness threatened to swallow her up.

“Adelaide?”

Thomas was staring at her, his brow knitted in a frown.  “What’s wrong?”

She fluttered her eyes, again looking towards the door.  The spirit was gone.  “Nothing.”

He glanced behind him and then looked back at her.  “Did you see something?”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s nothing.  Really.”  She leaned across the counter and touched his strong jaw line, turning his face back towards her.  “I’m more interesting, anyway.”

“You are.”  He again nibbled on his bottom lip.  “And I’m completely captivated by you.”

She felt her cheeks heat up.  He was too enticing.

The shop door opened again; this time, a man walked in.  He didn’t act as if he’d seen anything lingering in the doorway.

Which he probably hadn’t.

Thomas spoke louder, craning his neck to look at the wall of wares.  “Just a few items, Miss Randolph.  I’d like a pound of cheese, a pound of bacon, and two loaves of bread.” He paused.  “How much per pound of coffee?”

She squinted at the tins of coffee along the far wall.  “12 ½ cents per pound.”

“I’ll take a pound of coffee.”

Walking behind the counters, she crossed to the shelves of coffee and tea, pulling a canister down.  “Good afternoon, Mr. Boerly.  I’ll be with you in just a minute.”

Boerly was tall and good natured, stocky and strong.  He ran a small grocery at the opposite end of town and had an infectious smile—and impeccable sense of humor.  “You know my impatience, child.  Ha—good natured ribbing, of course.  Nothing to worry about, my dear, I just wanted to check and see if the saws I ordered from your father had come in.  The saws in my possession now are worth about as much as a comb.”

“I think my father is still waiting for delivery.”  She measured out Thomas’s coffee and glanced at a stack of paperwork on the counter.  “It’s been delayed because of some problem with the railroad, but he should have by week’s end.  I hope that won’t cause you too much trouble.”

“Send those brothers of yours over.  They can fix my front steps.”

“I’ll do that, sir.  It’s likely they were the ones who broke them in the first place.”

Mr. Boerly chuckled.

Adelaide carefully wrapped the pound of bacon in brown paper and tied a cord around it, then retrieved two loaves of bread from a basket by the counter.  She looked up; Mr. Borely had already left the store.  “Would you care for anything else, Mr. Thomas Cooper?”

“You.”

“Hmm…it’d amount to no more than bending me over the counter and I prefer much more than that from you.”

“I think that’s all for now.”

She carefully added up all his items.  “It will be fifty-eight cents.”

He counted out a few coins and handed them to her.  As he did, his rough hands brushed against hers.  “Your hands are very soft.”  His voice was quiet.

Her lips spread into a coy smile.  She handed him back the two coins she owed him.  Their fingers touched again; this time he caught her hand in his.

“There’s something about you.” His eyes were locked on her.  “I am so captivated by you…and I want to know you better.  Be alone with you.”

Before she could respond, the door swung open and several gentlemen walked inside.  Thomas squeezed her hand and let her go. “Thank you for your help, Miss Randolph.  Perhaps we’ll see each other again.”

She smiled at him, slowly wetting her bottom lip.  “Soon, I should hope.”

He gathered his purchased goods from the counter and swiftly departed the store.  Adelaide watched him pause outside the window and touch his fingertips to his hat.

He left her breathless.

* * *

“ADDY! I CAN’T find my blue ribbons.  Where are my blue ribbons?”

Adelaide rolled her eyes.  She wanted to grab her sister by the shoulders and shake her until she calmed down.  Instead, she picked the blue ribbons off the bed and handed them to her.  “Will you tighten my corset?”

Sarah dropped the ribbons back onto the bed and spun her around.  She grabbed a hold of the corset laces and yanked on them.  Adelaide jerked backwards.

“I don’t want to pass out, Sarah.” She hissed.  “Make it a little looser.”

She loosened the strings.  “Better?”

Adelaide nodded and grabbed her pale green bodice from the bed.  She finished the final stitches only hours before.  “Thank you.”

“We’re going to be late.” Sarah ripped a brush through her thick brown hair.  “Lucy will throw us out, I just know it.”

Adelaide pulled her hoopskirt up and tied the cords tightly around her waist.  “It can’t be helped now, Sarah.  We’re doing the best we can.”

Sarah helped her pull her petticoats and skirt over her head.  Together, they fastened the tiny hooks and eyes.  Adelaide spun her sister around and carefully began braiding her long hair.  With several quick flicks of her wrists, she wound it into a tight chignon and pinned it in place.

“Hurry, do mine.” She turned her back to Sarah and patiently waited as her hair was styled.

There was a knock at their door.  “Girls?  Are you ready to go to the social?”

“Nearly.” Adelaide called out.  This was ridiculous: chores and cooking and caring for the household was finished. And, of course, the one social event they’d been looking forward to attending, they were now running late.  “We will be out in a moment.”

“Addy, twist the sides.” Sarah had divided Adelaide’s hair into three sections and braided the middle section.  Adelaide quickly twisted one section of hair and waited while her sister intertwined it with the main section.  As soon as Sarah secured both twisted sections of hair and the plaited chignon to the back of Adelaide’s head, they grabbed their cloaks from the bed and thundered downstairs.

“We’re ready, Poppa.” Sarah called out.

Their father smiled broadly, but there was an undercurrent of pain in his voice.  “Look at my two daughters!  The very image of your mother.”

Sarah and Adelaide exchanged pleased smiles.

He offered his arms and escorted them out the front door.  The October air was warm as the summer heat fought to live on to mid-month.  The mountains surrounding town loomed black against the fading sunlight, seeming to close in around them like an army of giants.

Adelaide’s eyes drifted to the Armory complex.  She saw a group of men loitering at the gates—immediately she realized one was Thomas Cooper.  Even from the distance she was at, and in the dying sunlight, she could see his eyes locked on her.  She slowed down her pace, staring across the street at him.  It was as if time itself stopped; he was that close to her, yet, she couldn’t just stroll across the street to be with him.  Her pulse quickened.  God, she wanted him.  The way he looked at her, the way his blue eyes lit up when he saw her and how his dimple dotted smile etched across his handsome face.  She should have just let him lean her over the counter and take her.  Right here in the store.

The thought alone made her pulse pound between her legs.

“Adelaide.”  Her father’s voice was sharp, he glanced over his shoulder at her.  “Don’t dally.”

She cast one more look at Thomas and then hastened her pace, rushing to catch up with her father and sister.

Poppa dropped them off at the iron-gate in front of Lucy’s house.  “I will be back in a few hours to bring you home.  Do not leave without me.”

Neither Sarah nor Adelaide looked back at him as they rushed up the steps.  “We won’t!”

Esther, the Daingerfield’s house woman opened the front door.  “Good evening ladies.”

“Are we late?” Adelaide asked breathlessly.  Her eyes drifted beyond the woman’s shoulder, to the staircase leading up to the second floor of the mansion.  A spirit stood at the top, writhing and moving from side to side; its features twisted and clouded by continual movement.  It seemed confused, almost lost.

Sarah had stopped beside her, her hands trembling as she unfastened her cloak.

“No, Miss, you’re just in time.” Esther didn’t seem to act like she saw the creature on the staircase.  She held her arms out.  “Here, give me your cloaks.  I’ll take you over to the other ladies.”

She led them into the formal dining room, with its nearly ceiling high windows draped in luxurious cream colored fabric.  The matching tablecloth was covered in orange, yellow, and red leaves.  In the center of the table were several different sized gourds and in each corner of the room sat a fat orange pumpkin.  Lucy was seated at the head of the table, dressed in a dark red silk gown.  Her blonde hair shone in the candlelight, almost like it was being bathed in sunlight.

She caught sight of them.  “The Randolph sisters!  I am so glad you both have arrived.”

Adelaide smiled and looked around at the other members of the Ladies Society.  She pulled out the chair next to Annie Frankel and eased down into a sitting position.  The moment Esther left the room, she glanced at Lucy; trying to keep her voice calm.  “I don’t mean to alarm you, but there is a specter at the top of your staircase.”

“I know.”  Lucy spread her napkin across her lap.  “It’s my mother.”

Adelaide almost choked.  “Your mother?”

“I asked the same question when I got here.”  Annie rolled her eyes, glaring across the table at Lucy.  “She’s charmed it or something; has it trapped in some kind of limbo.”

“It’s a containment spell.”  Lucy pursed her lips together; Adelaide wanted to reach out and smack the attitude right off her face.  “Spirits cannot pass barriers that are set around them.  I read it in a book of spells and, when she returned home the week before last, I charmed a barrier around her.  Now she’s here.  With me.”

“Lucy, you can’t do that.”  Adelaide exchanged a look with Sarah.  “Your mother is dead.  That thing at the top of the stairs?  That’s not her.  It’s a reflection of what she was—nothing more.”

“You’re just jealous my mother came back and yours didn’t.”

“I’d rather my mother be dead and in Providence.”  Sarah shrugged.  “It’s ghoulish having her traipse about upstairs, don’t you think?”

Lucy stared at her.

“The week before last?”  Adelaide drummed her fingers against the table top.  “That’s when we saw the spirit in the cemetery.  And then, just this morning, I saw one in my father’s store.”

“Three spirits?  Did you destroy the one in the store?”  Susan’s eyes were wider and more bug-eyed than usual.

Adelaide shook her head.  “I was…in the middle of a conversation and it disappeared before I could react.  But you’re wrong, Susan, there was a fourth.  I saw it in the alley on my way to the Market House.”

“It’s an omen.”  Annie said simply, as if it were matter of fact.  “Something opened a portal between this dimension and the next.”

“Enough.  The lot of you are spoiling my birthday.  Esther!” Lucy called shrilly.  “Esther, we’re ready to begin.”

Adelaide leaned over to Annie.  “Couldn’t Mary Roeder make it?”

Annie shook her head so hard that her looped and braided chignon moved around on the back of her skull.  “She wasn’t invited.”

Adelaide gasped.  Susan shot her a look from across the table.

“Lucy doesn’t think she’s in the same class as the rest of us.”  Annie leaned closer, dropping her voice to a near whisper.  “The girl dispatched the spirit of her own mother.  I think she’s in a class far above us, if you want my opinion.”

Adelaide blinked.  How could Mary Roeder not be in the same class?  Her father owned not only the confectionary on High Street, but also the White Hall Tavern and another local shop.  Annie’s father owned a clothing shop, her father owned the dry goods shop in Ferry Lot, and Susan’s father owned a tobacco shop.  Lucy, on the other hand, was the daughter of the paymaster clerk of the Armory.  The only difference between their fathers was—

“But, you see, her father is German.” Annie confirmed Adelaide’s thoughts.  “Lucy thinks he’s some kind of savage.”

Adelaide rolled her eyes.

Esther returned to the dining room, carrying a silver tray loaded with sparkling clear glass dishes.  She carefully set a dish and a spoon in front of each attendee.  Adelaide marveled at the rich, creamy confection, dotted with rosy strawberries.  Her mouth watered.  It was almost enough to forgive their host for being so beastly.

But not quite.

She waited for Lucy to lift her spoon and take a bite of the frozen cream.  Once she had taken the first bite, Adelaide daintily dipped her spoon into the ice cream.  It met her lips with a delightfully cold shock.  The rich cream and sweet berries melted in her mouth.  Delightful!

“I have heard,” Lucy said in between bites of ice cream, “that the very first president of our country, George Washington, loved ice cream so much that he bought his very own ice cream machine.”

“I can understand why.” Annie dipped her spoon back into her bowl.  “This is exquisite, Lucy.  And, no doubt, costly.”

“Thank you.” Lucy looked pleased.  “I enjoy giving the best to my very best friends.”

Adelaide found that she couldn’t quite bring herself to meet Lucy’s steely blue eyes.  The fact Lucy had specifically not invited Mary Roeder nagged at her mind; Mary was good enough to attend Society meetings and provide treats to them—even destroy the specter of her own mother—but she wasn’t good enough to come to the birthday party.

“Did you notice how dashing Mr. Cooper looked at Sunday services this week?” Lucy spoke in an offhanded manner.  “I’ve asked my father what he knows of this gentleman.  After all, I’m entering my courting age.”

Adelaide shot a look across the table, nearly dropping her spoon into her dish.  Lucy was staring directly at her.

Sarah’s face had drastically paled; her spoon clattered to the tablecloth and left a strawberry pink stain.  She fumbled for it, quickly dapping at the mark with her napkin.  “I’m sorry, I’m so clumsy sometimes…”

Lucy ignored her.  “My father tells me that he is nearly twenty-four, but I don’t really feel that’s too much older than me at eighteen.  I didn’t want my father to know why I was asking, of course, but I did learn that Mr. Cooper comes from a very fine family in New York.”

“Massachusetts.” Adelaide muttered.

“What did you say, Addy?”  Lucy smirked; again, Adelaide wanted to smack her across the mouth.  The wretch knew what she was doing.

“I said, I think he hails from Massachusetts.”

Lucy’s smirk broadened; her face resembled the twisted grin of a shadow specter about to pounce.  “And how do you know that?”

“As a matter of fact, I’ve had many conversations with Mr. Cooper.”  Adelaide ground her teeth together, trying to keep her expression blank.  “He paid me a visit at the store just the other day.”

Lucy snorted.  “You’re so apt for exaggeration, Adelaide, honestly.  Well, regardless of where he’s from, I am planning to have my father introduce us at a Sunday Service.  Perhaps this coming Sunday.   My father surprised me with a new gown today and I plan to look my best when I meet him.”

Adelaide pursed her lips together and stared at her ice cream dish in silence.  All of a sudden, the cream tasted bitter in her mouth.  “I think you’ll find, friend, that his affections are solely directed at me.”

No one at the table spoke.

Lucy’s cheeks turned pink, but her expression was blank.  “Then he’ll just have to choose between us, won’t he?  The paymaster clerk’s daughter…or the shop keeper’s daughter.”

The spite practically dripped down Lucy’s face.  Adelaide felt the eyes of the other girls on her and, for a moment, she had to clasp her hands together in her lap to keep from throwing her ice cream dish across the room.  Lucy got everything she wanted.  Any gown, any bauble, any ridiculous pet or pony.  She was spoiled rotten.

And Adelaide was not about to let her have Thomas.

She stood so abruptly that her hoopskirt flung against her chair, tilting it backwards with a crash.  “And I guarantee, he’d choose me over you every single time.”

Lucy’s jaw trembled slightly.  She remained silent.

“I need a breath of fresh air.  Sarah,” she looked down into the saucer wide eyes of her sister, “I’ll see you at home.”

Without waiting for anyone to respond—she didn’t expect them to, anyway—she lifted the front of her hoop upwards to keep from tripping over it and stormed out of the room.  Esther passed her in the entryway, pressing her cloak into her hands and then rushing into the dining room.  Obviously, the woman had been listening at the door.

She probably hated Lucy, too.

Throwing the cloak over her shoulders, she clasped the doorknob in her hand and yanked it back.  She’d rather face Poppa’s anger for walking home alone than spend another moment with that vile woman.

And then she stopped.

The spirit was still wandering at the top of the stairs.  Deep in the recesses of her mind, Adelaide could hear sobbing.  This wasn’t a spirit that stalked them or was bent on causing a ruckus in town.  It was here against its will—because Lucy always got what she wanted.

Reaching into the carefully concealed pocket in her gown, she pulled out her pocket watch.  Climbing the first few steps, she pressed the clasp to open it and turned the face to the creature.  “The power of Christ protects me; I command you to depart this life for the next.”

Pure light flowed from the watch face.  It enveloped the spirit and grew brighter and brighter; a light so brilliant that Adelaide had to shield her eyes.  Soundlessly, the spirit dissipated and the light dissolved upward.  It was gone.

Chapter 4

HE WAS WAITING for her at the conclusion of Sunday service.

“You looking fetching today, as always.”  He caught her hand in his and brought it to his mouth, brushing his lips against her knuckles.  “Are you attending the festivities in Arsenal Square today, lovely girl?”

“I could be convinced to go,” she fluttered her eyelashes at him, smiling sweetly, “if you’re going.”

“I didn’t up work up courage to ask your father permission to walk there alone.”  He flashed his dimple dotted smile and offered her his arm.  “Walk with me?”

She slid her hand to the crook of his arm, leaning close to him.  “You actually asked him?”

“Damn right I did.”  He slid his free hand over hers, gently caressing her knuckle with his thumb.  “I spent the whole service trying to figure out what to say to him.”

“You must have been convincing.”

“I always am.”

He was patient as she picked her way down the stone staircase, holding tightly to her arm to keep her steady on the slanted cut of rock.  Once they were on street level, he leaned over and pressed his lips to her cheek.  “Where were you off to all dressed up the other night?  I wanted to cross the street and carry you off to keep for myself.”

“An ice cream social at Lucy Daingerfield’s house.”  Adelaide wrinkled up her nose.  “It was miserable, as I should have anticipated.”

“She’s tenacious.”

“She’s revolting.”

He laughed, touching his head to hers.  “You were the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Oh, stop.  You’re being far too complementary.”

“Not at all.  The men I was with?  The bawdy comments they made about your lithe frame and gorgeous face were appalling.  I made it known that you were spoken for—by me.  And then, once they meandered down the street, I sat across from the Daingerfield house and waited for you to leave.”

“You waited?”

“I wanted to make sure you were safe.  And then you left early, running down the street like you were chased by the devil himself.”  He glanced at her.  “What happened?”

“Nothing…out of the ordinary.” Adelaide hesitated and nuzzled her face against his shoulder.  “She insinuated she was going to have her father introduce you since now she’s of courting age.”

“Well, my love, she did have him introduce us.  But, unfortunate for Miss Daingerfield, my heart belongs to someone else.”  He laced his fingers around hers, gently squeezing her hand. “You.”

Her heart skipped out of cadence.  In that brief hesitation, he again touched his head to hers, pressing his lips to her temple.  His voice was raspy and low, almost a purr in her ear.  “Do you think we can find a way to be alone today?  Even for just a few minutes?”

“Absolutely.”

The entire town—even those who didn’t attend Sunday services—gathered in Arsenal Square, the grassy lawn between Large and Small Arsenals, where the weapons from the Armory were housed.  It was the last day of fall celebration; the final town event before the cold and ice of winter slowed everything but musket production to a stop.  There was a quilt auction, a pie auction, firemen’s brigade races, and several lengthy and dull speeches by Mr. Beckham, the magistrate of Jefferson County.  Adelaide saw Lucy standing with Susan and Annie, her pale face flushed red at the site of Thomas Cooper so close to her.

She only let him go to take part in the firemen’s brigade race.  Sarah joined her in the shade of Large Arsenal, sinking down in the grass next with her skirt billowing out like a pillow.  “He’s infatuated with you.”

“So?”  Adelaide kept her eyes on Thomas as he lined up behind David Hamilton, laughing and running his hands through his hair.  He was strikingly handsome, his dark blue eyes and longish, brown hair his own style, not necessarily the same as all the other men around him.  He’d taken off his frock coat and left it with her, instead rolling up his shirt sleeves as the other men had, in anticipation of the water filled bucket relay.

“Lucy’s so mad that she spit on Susan.”  Sarah snorted, shaking her head in obvious disgust.  “You took the one thing she wanted and couldn’t have: a man.”

“He walked me from the top of the stone steps to the bottom.”  Adelaide smiled broadly as Thomas looked at her, shrugging his shoulders and cocking his head towards the bucket.  He was adorable; she wanted to stick her finger into his deep dimples and kiss his soft, full lips.  Talk about infatuation: there was nothing she wanted other than him.  “She’s mad about that?”

“Addy, please.  He asked Poppa for permission.”

Mr. Beckham stood in between the two lines of Armory workers, laughing as he dropped his hands to signify the start of the race.  The men in the front of the lines dashed forward, dunking their buckets into the barrels of water and rushing to the next man.  The goal was to get as much water into the back barrel as possible.  Thomas’s brow was furrowed in concentration, he looked like he was ready to pounce on his competition.

Adelaide smirked, elbowing her sister in the ribs.  “He’s handsome, isn’t he?”

“We’re not having this conversation.”

“Is Lucy really mad?” Adelaide tore her eyes from Thomas’s muscular back, glancing at her sister.  “Or is she just irritated that I have something she doesn’t?”

“I have no idea—just that she’s screaming to Annie that you should be removed from the Society on the grounds of being a traitor.”

Adelaide burst out laughing.  What a fool.

Her eyes stayed locked on Thomas as he ran the race, his strong arms supporting the weight of the full bucket of water.  She cheered and clapped for his team—men she’d grown up with, the brothers of the ladies in her social circle—and when they won, she nearly bowled Sarah over.  Thomas was embraced in the arms of his friends, but his eyes were locked on her.

Heat flushed across her cheeks.  Even after all they’d said to each other, his secret looks and obvious appreciation of her figure, his steady glances made her blush.  She knew he wanted her; she knew his body was responding to her touch, but she wasn’t necessarily ready for the entire town to know that they desperately craved each other.

He was still laughing when he returned to her side.  Nodding at Sarah, he reached down and pulled Adelaide to her feet.  “And you thought I could only smith guns.”

She laughed, wiping dots of water from his cheek with her thumb.  “I never said that.  But, I’m proud of your prowess.”

He shrugged his frock coat over his shoulders, running his hands through his hair to control the wild curls encouraged by the heat of the sun and the spilled water during the relay.  “They could at least award us an additional five minutes of break time, yeah?  The things I could do to you in those five minutes.”

Adelaide let him pull her into his arms, again pressing his lips to her forehead.  Sarah squirmed to her feet, awkwardly taking several steps backwards.  “I think Annie is calling me over to them.  Congratulations, Mr. Cooper.  It was…um…a fine show of skill.”

He didn’t respond, his eyes locked on Adelaide’s.  She waved her sister away.  “I’ll see you at home, Sarah.”

Several local musicians gathered on a hastily built bandstand, entertaining the crowd with familiar folk tunes and hymns.  Thomas reached forward and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, gently trailing his fingertips down her cheek.  “Do you want to go for a walk, my sweet?”

“Of course.”

He led her from the shade of Large Arsenal and through the Ferry Lot, the streets empty except for a few drunks stumbling in and out of the hotel a few doors down from her father’s dry good’s store.  In their seclusion, he slid his arm around her waist, pulling her to him.  “I’m glad we’re finally alone.”

Her breath caught in her throat.  “I’d ask you to come inside with me, but my damned stepmother is in confinement.  I’ll be honest with you, Thomas, I think my father only married her because she’s pregnant.  She’s my age.”

“You’re all I care about.”  His lips trailed across her jawline, he slowed for a moment and stroked her hair back with a soft touch.  “Let me court you.”

“We’ve just been introduced.”

“I want you.” He blurted the words out as if they’d been bubbling in his mouth for days.  “I want to touch you and kiss you and know that you’re mine.”

They walked into the Armory complex, his arm sliding from her hand to again cradling her around her waist.  The silence was comfortable, but she felt like she had to respond to him.  “You don’t have to court me just to have me, Thomas.”

“I’m greedy though, my sweet girl.  I want you all to myself.”  He hesitated in front of one of the similarly constructed narrow white buildings.  “This is where I work, day after day.  Just knowing you’re that close to me.”

She squirmed from his embrace, standing on her tiptoes to peer through the plate glass window.  “Do you work all those machines?”

He chuckled, resting his hand against the small of her back. “Most of them.  I file and fit, forge and carve.  I work with my hands.”

“So, you could say you’re good with your hands?  Able?”  She cocked her eyebrows upwards, pressing her back against the whitewashed building.  “I’m just curious.  I prefer a man who is skilled with his hands.”

He slid his arms around her waist, pulling her body against his.  “Maybe I should just show you.”

“I wouldn’t say no.”

His mouth was close to hers, his lips in such proximity that she felt like he could just dip his head forward and kiss her.  He lifted a hand to her cheek, tilting her face towards his.  “Can I kiss you?”

She nodded, not entirely confident of her ability to speak coherently.

He cradled her cheek in his hand and pulled her to him, lightly pressing his lips against hers.  The kiss deepened instantly, his mouth prompted hers open and his tongue caressed hers with light, gentle laps.  As they kissed, he slid his hand down to her waist, pulling her against him.  It was soft and sensual, enough to show how much he wanted her, but not enough for either of them to lose control.

Pulling away, his grin was lopsided, his dimple perfect against his smooth cheeks.  “Everything you do makes me want you more.”

She pressed her lips to his again.  “Good.”

* * *

LATER THAT EVENING, she sat on the edge of her bed and idly ran a brush through her long hair.  He’d kissed her once, but that wasn’t going to satisfy her for long.  She was infatuated with him: from his lash lined blue eyes, to his broad, muscular shoulders, to his trim waistline.  Thomas was a gentleman, though.  A rouge, but an inherent gentleman.  One kiss in the Armory complex and then he’d guided her back to the festival in Arsenal Square.  They’d laughed and joked with their friends, but his hand never, ever, left hers.

She was falling in love.

Sarah pulled the quilts closer to her chin and glanced at her.  “I hope you’ll be able to sleep tonight, considering you’re sharing a bed with me and not Thomas Cooper.”

“You exaggerate, Sarah.” She muttered, pulling the blanket over her head to hide her flushed cheeks.  “I don’t expect him to bed me after one kiss.”

“He obviously wants to, Addy.  I saw the way he looks at you.”

Adelaide’s mind drifted back to the afternoon with Thomas, their affection concealed by the strong gates of the US Armory.  His touch was soft, but his fingertips pressed against her flesh with intensity.  Her body craved him; she wanted more than just a kiss.  “I don’t want to talk about Thomas Cooper anymore, Sarah.  Let’s just sleep.   We can dwell on my lustful behavior in the morning.”

Sarah rolled to her side, facing the wall.  “Bed him if you want to, I won’t judge your behavior.  I’d bed him.  Sweet Jesus, Addy, his body looks like it was cut from solid granite.”

Adelaide stared into the darkness of the bedroom, her cheeks flushing at the memory of his touch.  Thomas was strong and sinewy, his body tight from the physical labor demanded from his employ at the Armory.  But she’d felt his erection through his trousers, the response of his body when she kissed him and pressed her body against his.  He wanted her, as much—if not more—as she wanted him.

“I’ll issue no further comment on Thomas Cooper’s body, Sarah.  Go to sleep.”  Adelaide pressed her fingers to her lips, thinking of the way he’d kissed her.  She wanted that again—and soon.

And she wanted more than just the soft caress of his lips.

* * *

ADELAIDE AWOKE WITH a start.  It seemed like she’d just fallen asleep seconds ago, her body jolting and twitching as she drifted into slumber.  She wasn’t entirely certain what ripped her from her desirous dreams of Thomas; it sounded like wet wood popping and crackling in a fireplace.

Being careful not to wake Sarah, she crawled out from underneath the covers and crept across the bedroom, stepping over the floorboards she knew would creak under her weight.  Pressing herself against the window, she peered into the inky blackness outside.  She could barely make out the nearest Armory buildings in the moonlight, but didn’t see anything amiss out in the street below.

She crawled back into the bed, drawing the covers up to her chin.  Sarah murmured unintelligible words in her sleep and snuggled further down the mattress.  Adelaide cast one final glance towards the window and pulled the covers over her head.

It was difficult to fall back asleep.

* * *

Monday, October 17th, 1859

“ADDY, WAKE UP.”

Someone was shaking her shoulders; her eyes shot open.  “Robert?  What’s wrong?  Has the baby come early?”

He started rousing Sarah.  "No, something has gone wrong at the Armory.”

Adelaide raised up on one elbow and stared at him, her pulse pounding so hard it felt like it might be visible in her throat.  Thomas worked at the Armory.  What if something had happened to him, what if he was hurt?  “What’s going on?”

“Mr. Boerly has been shot.” Robert peered out the window facing the Armory.  “Luke said on his way to work this morning a man told him to turn around and go home at once.”

“What are you talking about?” Sarah’s eyes widened.  “Is Mr. Boerly–”

“I don’t know.” Robert’s voice sounded hesitant, like he knew more than he was letting on.  “You need to get dressed.  Poppa wants us ready to go to the cellar in a moment’s notice.”

With that said, he left the room, leaving the sisters to exchange frantic glances.  Adelaide’s body trembled as she crawled out of bed and, for a moment, she thought her knees wouldn’t hold her upright when she stood.  She’d been warned she’d see death.  Was this it?

The loud chime of the Lutheran church’s bell shrieked out from Church Street.  She jumped, her breath catching in her throat—the bell never rang this early.  Each strike, each continual peal, was a sign: a warning.  Whatever was happening was bad.

She glanced at the time piece pendant Poppa had given her for her sixteenth birthday.  It was nearly seven o’clock in the morning.

She threw her corset on over her chemise and glanced at Sarah.  Her sister looked terrified, her hands visibly shaking as she buttoned her dress.  “Addy, what could possibly be going on?  Why would someone shoot Mr. Boerly?”

Adelaide pulled a petticoat over her head and knotted it around her waist.  “I don’t know, Sarah.  Maybe it was an accident.”  She grabbed her work dress and hastily pulled it on over her petticoats.  Not even bothering to pull back her hair, she raced from the bedroom.  Sarah was only a step behind.

The church bell was still ringing.

Poppa was seated at the table, his hands cupped around a mug of coffee.  The smile on his face upon their entrance clearly betrayed the worry in his eyes.  Before he could say a word, however, there was a pounding on the door.  “Elijah!  Eli, open up!”

Adelaide recognized the voice: it was Mr. Frankel, Annie’s father.

Her father nearly upended his coffee cup as he rose from the table, opening the door and motioning him inside.  “Philip, is there news?”

Sweat trickled down Mr. Frankel’s face.  “Eli, they’ve taken prisoners.  They have men held in the Armory buildings.”

“Who are they?  What do they want?”

Mr. Frankel shook his head.  “Only Mr. Barry and Mr. Young have spoken with them and Mr. Barry was almost shot where he stood.  Young says that he was on his way to the Rifle Works when they stopped him.  They told him they were here to free the slaves of Virginia.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Eli.” Mr. Frankel stared at Adelaide’s father.  “Young says that it’s Ossawattomie Brown.”

Sarah grabbed her hand.  Adelaide had only heard the name Ossawattomie Brown once before.  His real name was John Brown; he murdered several men in Ossawattomie, Kansas, not long ago.  He butchered and murdered them in their homes, claiming that he was an abolitionist set on redeeming the wrongs of slavery.

Mr. Frankel continued, unconcerned that Sarah and Adelaide stood in the room.  “He handpicked some of his prisoners, drove them in straight from Charlestown.  The rest are workers from the Armory.  Grabbed them as they arrived to work.”

Adelaide felt lightheaded.  Thomas.

“Boerly?” Her father’s voice sounded hoarse, as if he already knew the answer to his query but felt he needed to ask anyway.

Mr. Frankel shook his head.

Poppa didn’t respond.

“Eli, we may have a chance yet.” Mr. Frankel lowered his voice.  “We moved those weapons up from the Armory in the spring, remember?  When the Shenandoah threatened to flood again?”

Poppa nodded slowly.  “Yes, of course.  We stored them up towards Bolivar.”

“We have to get those guns.” Mr. Frankel hesitated.  “We still don’t know how many raiders there are.  They planned this well.  The first thing they did was capture every gun in the Arsenals.  They’re in the Rifle Works, too.”

Poppa straightened slightly, his droopy, bulldog face wrinkled in a frown.  He looked angry.  Determined.  “Robert.”

Her brother dashed into the room, no doubt listening from the hallway the entire time.  “Yes, Poppa?”

“I want you to get the flintlock from the trunk beside my bed.  Mr. Frankel and I are going to see about arming the town.”

Robert’s eyes widened.  “Poppa, I want to go along.”

“No.” Their father’s voice was firm, it was the tone he used when the conversation or debate was over.  “You need to stay here and take care of your mother and sisters.  Tell Luke and Levi they are in your charge.  Your word is as good as mine.”

Adelaide felt like her feet were rooted to the floor.  She exchanged a glance with Sarah and Robert.  Neither spoke.

Robert followed their father to the door and, without another word, closed it behind him and Mr. Frankel.  He turned the lock and then rested his forehead against the frame, exhaling the air from his body with an audible groan.  Finally, after a moment, he turned to her and said, “I’m going downstairs to the store.”

“Robert, no!” Adelaide stood in front of him, blocking him from moving away from the door.  “You heard Poppa: you have to stay here with us.  What do you expect me to do if they get inside?  Stab them with a crochet hook?”

Robert grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her aside.  “Addy, they could come up the backstairs from the store and right into here.  If they really want to get into the house, they will.  But I’m going to stop them from stealing from us as they break in and murder you.”

He pushed past her and stormed out of the kitchen.

She chased after him.  “Robert, I’m serious.  What if someone tries to get in through this door?  What do you expect me to do unarmed?  Give me a gun.  I’ll shoot them myself.”

He burst into their father and Rebekah’s room without knocking.  Rebekah and their youngest brother, Levi, looked up from the book she was reading to him.  Without looking at their stepmother or even acknowledging her presence, he walked to a trunk against the wall and pushed the lid back.

“What’s going on?” Rebekah closed the book, keeping the place with her finger.  “Robert, what are you doing?”

“My father told me I needed to protect the house.” Robert grabbed the flintlock and powder pouch out of the trunk and kicked the lid down.  “I’m going downstairs to keep them from coming in the store.”

“Stop him.” She stared at Rebekah, willing the woman to, for once, do something other than sit and stare blankly.  “Tell him he needs to stay up here and protect us.  There’s no point in worrying about the store if we’re all dead.”

“Adelaide, protecting the store is protecting our home.  Without incoming money, we can’t well survive.  Can we?”

Adelaide glared at her, her voice frozen in her throat from the slag’s mind-numbing idiocy.  Rebekah was barely older than she, yet felt it was her position to boss them all around; acting like she knew what was in their best interest.  Adelaide didn’t think Rebekah would know what was in their best interest if it hit her in the face.

“Arm yourself with the fire poker.” Robert reasoned, pushing past her again.  “Stay near the door.”

Adelaide opened her mouth and then promptly closed it.  There was no arguing with the situation at that point.  She turned to the fireplace and grabbed the poker from the stand.

Sarah followed her back into the hallway.  “Useless hag.  The only orders I’ve ever seen her give have been to us, you know that as well as I.  If you ask me, she was after Robert the whole time and only settled for Poppa.”

“You don’t want to know what I think.”  Adelaide shoved the poker into her sister’s hands.  “Watch the door.”

“What are you doing?”

Adelaide returned to her bedroom and peered out the window.  “I want to know what’s happening.  We have to be able to see the street and I want to know if Thomas is okay.”

“Get away from the window!” Sarah sounded panicked.  “Addy, they’ll shoot you, just like they shot poor Mr. Boerly.”

“I’m more concerned about the spirit of Mr. Boerly.  Cut down like that?  In the street?”  Adelaide couldn’t tear her eyes away from the silent Armory buildings.  What if all the workers were dead?  How close had her brother Luke come to joining them in their captivity?  And Thomas…

“Addy, please!” Sarah’s voice was already at a near sob; she’d always been a hysterical child.  “Please leave the window!”

She could see movement along the fence surrounding the Armory.  From the angle and distance, Adelaide couldn’t make out who the people were: whether they were raiders, citizens or, worse, spirits.  She had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, like her soul had frozen against her spine.  She was hardly conscious of stepping away from the window and allowing Sarah to drag her back to the kitchen. Her vision was clouded, her mind practically throbbing from the heavy, gnawing sensation that they were on the cusp of some nameless atrocity.  Something was coming.

And it was worse than Ossawattomie Brown.

Sarah pushed the poker into her hands.  “What do we do if they come in?”

“We have bigger problem than that: Boerly.  You know as I do that shot like that—dead in an instant—leaves something behind.  His spirit is going to be lost.  Confused.”  Adelaide frowned.  She reached back and tied her hair with a piece of cord.  “It could be vengeful.  The last thing we want is some creature roaming around town, bent on going after flesh and blood.”

Her sister buried her face in her hands.  “I wish Poppa would come back.  I want him to come back and tell us what to do.”

“We know what to do.” Adelaide tightened her grip on the poker.  “Be alert.  Be cautious.  And always be attuned to Those we can’t see.”

Sarah nodded.

Poker in hand, Adelaide walked back to their bedroom and pulled her pocket watch out from under her pillow.  When she returned to the kitchen, Sarah was just finishing up a salt circle around the outer extremes of the room.  “I wish we’d thought to ask Lucy how to do a containment spell.”

“We didn’t think this would happen.”

“I bet it works better than salt.”

Adelaide sat down on a stool near the stove and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself down to the point where she could feel the presence of spirits.  It was dangerous to open herself up like that, but what other option was there?  They were supposed to stay inside.  She’d have to lure them in…if they were close enough to the Ferry Lot to respond.

The odor of sage tingled her nostrils.  She opened her eyes; Sarah sank down against the far wall and leaned her head against it, binding the herb with red cord.  “Will it be over soon?”

“I’m sure it will be,” Adelaide exhaled deeply, the sage tickled her nose, “but that’s when our troubles will begin.  Annie was right: the other spirits were an omen.  They knew this was coming.”

“This damned town is marked.”

Adelaide didn’t respond.  Maybe it was.  Her mind was racing in a hundred different directions: worrying about the town, worrying about the raiders, but moreover, worrying about Thomas.  It consumed her, the worry that he could be laying in the Armory complex, bleeding—dying—she couldn’t handle it.  Something deep in her brain pricked and pulsed.  She’d have to face spirits tonight.

And she couldn’t handle it if one was him.

The uncomfortable silence of the house was occasionally broken by the crackle of gunfire out on the street.  Adelaide wanted to clasp her hands over her ears and block it all out.  Anything could be happening out there.  Boerly was dead.  Men were prisoners in the complex.  What about her father?  Annie’s father?  Jesus, everyone could be dead.  She and Sarah wouldn’t know until it was too late: until the raiders came for them.

Or the spirits.

The rays of the morning sun did little to cheer her.  The only good thing about daylight was the fact spirits couldn’t utilize shadows to their benefit.  They had no place to hide.  In the same regard, though, there was no cloak of darkness to cover the potential carnage in the streets.  She had to find a way to keep busy.  Distracted.

Without speaking to her sister, she set the poker on the table and pulled some crusty bread from a box near the door.  She unwrapped several pieces of pork from brown paper and tossed them in an iron pan.  Using a knife, she scooped lard out of a barrel and dropped it in the pan with a satisfying plop.  After she placed a lid on the pan, she set it on the hot embers in the fireplace, burrowing it down so that it would cook faster.  While the meat cooked, she used the knife to cut a wheel of cheese into smaller portions.

Sarah watched in silence.  She slowly got to her feet and poured water from a wooden bucket into a kettle and placed it on top of the cook stove.

“Coffee?” Adelaide asked.

She nodded.

They prepared the food in silence.  Adelaide scooped water out of the bucket with a mug for Levi and began to distribute the food onto white porcelain plates.  A piece of cheese, a slice of meat, and a hunk of bread for each plate.  Juggling two plates in one hand and one in the other, she carried the food down the hall to her stepmother and brothers.  Luke and Levi dug in to the food like ravenous dogs.  Rebekah, on the other hand, smiled and set the plate next to her on the bed.

“You have to eat.” Adelaide knew she sounded uninterested.  She didn’t actually care what ‘Mother’ did.

Rebekah looked down at her swollen belly.  “I know.  But–”

Adelaide interrupted her.  “You have to eat.  If Poppa finds out that you pushed food away in your condition, he won’t be pleased.”

She returned to the kitchen and brought mugs of coffee in for Rebekah and Luke; Sarah was behind her with Levi’s water.  Even though he was eleven and more than welcome to have coffee, he insisted he thought the drink tasted like boiled feet and would have no part of it.

She didn’t give Rebekah the opportunity to make additional comments on eating or not eating or, more likely, what she thought Sarah and Adelaide should be doing to pass the time.  She set the coffee mug on the bedside table with enough restraint as to not spill the hot liquid and then left the room.

Even just the thought of talking irritated her.  It was easier to take lunch in the kitchen.  Setting her plate next to the fire poker and her pocket watch on the table, she nibbled on a portion of cheese.  No doubt all over Harpers Ferry, other women and children were doing the same: holed up and hiding, slinking around their homes like trembling rabbits.  The men were out handling things.  For Christ sake, the Ferry was a city.  Robert wasn’t out running through the woods shooting wildlife, improving his marksmanship on a daily basis.  They’d last fired Poppa’s flintlock when they were twelve—and she was a damn better shot.

Sarah held her bread to her mouth, but didn’t take a bite.  “We should bring Robert a plate.”

“I don’t think he wants us downstairs.”

“But he might be hungry.”

“I’m sure he can smell the pork.” Adelaide glanced at her.  “He’ll come up and get it.”  She wasn’t sure that was necessarily the truth, but also wasn’t sure she wanted to go downstairs to the store either.  Eventually, she’d have to, though.  She had to do her part of this; the part others didn’t know existed.  At this point, she wasn’t sure which was the more frightening: the desires of the living or the cravings of the dead.

They ate in silence.  Even though she was hungry, Adelaide went through the motions of eating, but found no satisfaction in the taste.  Her mind was focused on the activities outside. On what could be happening to Thomas.  Time seemed to drag on; lunch lasted hours in her mind.  Every breath was taken in hesitation.  Her ears throbbed waiting for the sound of gunshots echoing in alleyways and across buildings.

When they had finished eating, Sarah left the kitchen to collect the dishes from the boys and Rebekah.  Adelaide placed the remaining meat, cheese, and bread on a large platter in the center of the table.  Poppa and Robert would be hungry if they returned.

When they returned.

She used a rag to wipe the plates clean.  When Sarah returned with more dishes, she didn’t look up from the wash basin.  “Did she eat?”

“A little.”

Adelaide rolled her eyes.  How was this woman supposed to be a mother when she could barely take care of herself?

They finished cleaning up the lunch dishes and then settled back into their posts.  Adelaide left the poker on the table along with the knife she had used to slice the meat and cheese.  Sarah returned to her seat on the floor and lit her bundle of sage, gently fanning the smoke out with her hand.

Although she would never say it to her sister, Adelaide wondered why Poppa hadn’t come back yet.  He and Mr. Frankel should have been able to find the weapons in the upper areas of town and distribute them.  So, why wouldn’t he come back to let them know what was going on?

“Do you think they left Mr. Boerly’s body in the street?”

Adelaide didn’t know how to respond to her sister.  “It depends on where he fell, I suppose.  There’re raiders in the Rifle Works, the Arsenals, the Armory…it might be too dangerous to pull him out.”

Sarah opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the explosion of gunfire.  It was close this time, too close, like someone was shooting from the base of their staircase.  Adelaide could feel the percussion in her chest.  Her courage disappeared like water on dry, cracked earth.  Jesus, they were here.  Now it was happening, now death had come for them.  She scrambled to the floor and crashed into her sister as they both dove under the table.

“What do we do?” Sarah was so close, she nearly burned her face with the sage.

Levi was loudly sobbing at the far end of the hall.  “Addy!  Sarah!”

Adelaide shoved her away and crawled out from under the table.  They had to get out.  The only option was the backstairs and through the store, but that would only work if the raiders weren’t already swarming around down there.

Sarah grabbed her arm and jerked her backwards.

“What is the matter with you—”

Sarah hushed her.  “Listen.”

Someone was thundering up the back staircase.  The pace was frantic, with an obvious urgency to reach the top as quickly as possible.  Adelaide’s breath caught in her throat.  She’d run out of time.  This wasn’t like staring down a specter, this was terror that stiffened her into paralysis.  You will see death.  Maybe the creature was right after all.  May this was it.

The person stopped behind the door.

Sarah clutched her arm harder and tried to pull her into the hallway.  “We can make it down the stairs to the store, come on.  Don’t just stand there!”

The unseen figure began pounding on the door.  Adelaide wanted to turn, wanted to run—but then she stopped.

The pounding on the door continued, but over it, she could hear a voice calling her name.  She took several steps closer.

“Addy, no!” Sarah hissed.

Adelaide wrenched her arm away from her sister and ran to the closed door.  Pressing her ear against the wood, she could hear a muffled voice.  “Addy, are you in there?”

Without giving Sarah enough time to protest, she fumbled with the lock and flung the door open.  Thomas Cooper burst into the workroom.  He slammed the door shut behind him and relocked it, then turned and threw his arms around her.  He pressed his lips to the top of her head.  “God, you’re all right.  I’ve been so worried about you, sweet love.”

“What happened to you?”  She buried her face against his broad chest, inhaling the familiar scent of tobacco, smoke, and the musky scent of cologne.  He was okay.  He was back in her arms—thank God.

“It was a nightmare.”  He held her tightly, cradling the back of her head with his hand.  “We were met by armed men at the Armory this morning.  They used the Armory buildings like a prison; marched us in lines and told us that if we moved we’d be shot.”

She looked up at him.  “How did you get away?”

He stared at her, his blue eyes wide, and then dipped his head down, crushing his lips against hers.  “All morning they talked about reinforcements showing up.  They promised that the slaves would come and be armed.  Finally, we did see people walking across the bridge—but it wasn’t slave reinforcements.  It was half the damned town, plus men from Martinsburg and Charlestown.”

“And they let you go?”

He nodded and kissed her again.  “What’s left of them are holed up in the fire engine house.  It was absolute chaos, Adelaide.  One of the raiders was literally ripped apart in Hog Alley.  There’s blood everywhere.”

Adelaide shuddered.  Shadow specters were drawn to blood; the terror and tragedy drew them in.  “Is it really Ossawattomie Brown?”

“They say they’re going to free the slaves.”

“He murdered those men in Kansas.  What did we do to him?  There’s no slaves here, we only have freemen in town.  Like Mr. Shepherd.”

“Shepherd’s dead.  Killed on the town side of the bridge; Christ, there’s bodies everywhere out there.  I’m just glad to see you’re all right.” He looked down at her, running his index finger lightly across her cheek.  “I heard rumor that the raiders were going into homes and dragging people out.”

“We’re fine.  Scared, but intact.”

“Good.” He pulled her against his body, tucking her head down against his chest.  “Where are your father and brother?”

“Poppa went into Bolivar with Philip Frankel to retrieve guns stored there during the spring floods.  Robert is downstairs in the store.”

“Is he armed?”

“He’s been down there for hours.  He has Poppa’s old flintlock.”  Gunfire crackled from outside; she flinched.

Sarah was still huddled in the hallway.  Adelaide heard her cry out, her voice like the mew of a kitten.

“He needs to rest.  I don’t know how much longer this standoff is going to last and if he’s been down there all day, he’s going to be exhausted.” He cradled her against him, gently rubbing her back.  “It’s like hell out there; raiders firing into groups of men, indiscriminately blasting around corners and into windows.  They’ve…they’ve shot Mr. Beckham.  He’s dead.”

Sarah and Adelaide both gasped.  How would killing the mayor help free the slaves?  Mr. Beckham was such a dear man, albeit a little high strung, and a wonderful mayor.  He always had a smile on his face.  Adelaide’s eyes brimmed with tears.  “Why would they kill Mr. Beckham?  He doesn’t own slaves.”

“If they can line up a shot, they’re going to take it.  It doesn’t matter who they’re aiming at.”

She pushed up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.  “I’ll take you downstairs.  The last thing I need is for my brother to shoot you because he thinks you’re a raider.”

He caught her hand in his, lacing his fingers around hers and let her pull him to the back staircase, mumbling a quick hello to Sarah as they passed.  In the stairwell, he squeezed her hand.  “So, you’ll take me?  Vulgar girl.”

She elbowed him, managing to smile.  His humor, his closeness—just having him near her made everything seem better.  “Bent on the counter, remember?”

“I should be so lucky.”

The staircase ended in a small storage area; a doorway led into the dry goods store.  Adelaide made Thomas slow before crossing the threshold.  “Robert.  I’m coming in.”

“No, damn it, Addy.”  She could hear her brother stomping across the wooden floorboards.  “You’re going to end up getting us both shot.”

He stopped in the doorway and stared, raising his musket up level with Thomas’s chest.  His eyes dropped to their intertwined hands.  The gun stayed raised.  “Who the fuck are you?”

“Calm down, you idiot.”  She almost snarled at Robert.  “This is Thomas Cooper.  I’m courting him.”

Thomas caught her eye with his; he smiled broadly, his obvious delight punctuated by his dimple.

“He’s giving you a reprieve for a while.  You should be thankful: he spent his day captive in the Armory, whereas you just sat here in the dark.”

Robert glared at her, but then turned his focus to Thomas.  He finally lowered the musket.  “They took you captive?”

“I work at the Armory.  I’m a gun smith.  They grabbed us as we crossed into the complex; said they’re here to free the slaves.”

Robert seemed to consider it.  He handed the musket over and craned his neck from side to side, rolling his shoulders back.  “The door’s locked.  It’s hard to stay covered and peer out the window, but if you get in the right place behind the counter, you can see the Armory complex.”

“I think I’ve seen enough today of what they did.”

Robert clapped his hand on Thomas’s shoulder.  “We’ll work in shifts.  That way we can be both be fresh…just in case.  If you have to fire, though, just be careful.  The frizzen slips sometimes and it has a nasty habit of misfiring.”

“I’ll take a look at it.  It probably just needs adjusted.”

Once Robert retreated back up the staircase, Thomas set the musket on the counter and pulled her into his arms.  “So, we’re courting?”

“If you still want me, that is.”

He leaned over her and started kissing her throat.  “Court you…kiss you…make love to you...”

She sighed softly.  His mouth against her felt incredible, his lips so soft and gentle.  It was almost enough to make her forget what was going on outside... what she’d felt earlier.  She was more interested in feeling Thomas: against her.  Inside her.

Just as her eyes were about to fall closed, she saw movement at the door.  It was brief; nothing more than a wisp.

And then it charged.

She twisted in his arms, forcing him back from the counter as the creature slammed against the wood.  It was snarling and snapping, the jaws dripping with thick, black rot, and clotting blood.  Half of the creature’s skull was gone and the blood caked skin flaps shifted each time it thrashed against the counter.  It was fixated on them, but it was young; still fumbling and uncertain of how to maneuver its new form.

Thomas reached out to push her behind him.  She jerked away from his grasp and wrenched her watch from her pocket, facing the creature.  “Impetro tergum.”  Get back.

The creature stared at her.  Its tongue lolled out from its mouth and it growled at her, the jaws moving up and down as if it was trying to speak.  What made it human, though, was gone.  Its eyes showed little to no recollection of the living world, the iris’s clouded with dried blood and burst cataracts.  It foamed, it writhed—but she knew him.

It was Thomas Boerly.

“Tu es mortem.”  You are death.  “You don’t belong here.”

It snarled at her, eyes watching her movement.  It focused in on her pocket watch.  In that moment, in that pause between beats of her heart, it lunged at her.  It missed, slamming its body against the counter.

Her brain seared as it again focused on her eyes.  She could smell the decay; hear its dying consciousness.  Purge.  Purge.  Not but with blood.  Purge.

Thomas yanked her back from the creature and tried to push her behind him.  “My God, Addy, stay back from it!”

“No, you stay back.”  She kept her eyes trained on the creature but slid her free hand to Thomas’s chest, gently pushing him backwards. “Trust me.”

“Adelaide, I do, but this—“

“Just stay back.”

The creature paced back and forth, switching its glare from Adelaide to Thomas.  He can’t save you.

“I’m not asking him to.”  Her thumb hovered over the watch clasp.  “Go now, or I send you.  Nunc vadam aut ego mitto vos.”

The lips peeled back in a grin, blood oozing through the broken teeth.  It’s coming. Purge.  It can’t be stopped.  Purge.  It won’t be stopped.  Purge.  It will consume.  It will consume all.

Enough.

She jammed her thumb into the clasp, bracing her arms out in front of her.  “The power of Christ protects me, Thomas Boerly, and you will depart this life to the next.  May God protect your broken soul.  Discedite.”  Depart.

The watch flared red hot against her palm and a burst of light engulfed the creature.  It screamed, throwing itself backwards from the wrenching force pulling it across to the next life.  Bucking, twitching; digging its claws into the floorboards, the fight was futile.  The heat of the watch and the light in the room intensified.  And then, it was over.

The room was silent.

Adelaide clutched the watch in her hand for a split second—just to make sure the watch face was secure—and then dropped it into her pocket.  Her palm was throbbing.  There wasn’t time to examine her flesh for burns: that would have to wait.  She glanced at Thomas.

His eyes were wide, his hair tousled from the force of the spirit desecration.  He grabbed her hand and pressed her tender palm to his lips.  His hands were trembling.  “Shit.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I don’t even know what that was.”

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.  Fuck.  This was a problem.  In all the years she’d faced spirits and protected the Ferry, not once had someone other than The Six witnessed a spirit crossing over.  People wandered around town; they lived their lives in happy naiveté, oblivious to the war around them.  They didn’t want to know.  Their minds kept them from seeing them: brains filtering out the movement of spirits or the stare of the dead.  What they refused to acknowledge, in their minds, couldn’t hurt them.

How wrong they were.

She pulled him into her arms, standing on her tiptoes and crushing her lips to his.  The kiss deepened and she held him in place, pressing her hands to his cheeks and cradling his face.  The caress of his tongue calmed her, it both soothed and excited her.  “It’s complicated.”

“That was Thomas Boerly, I know it was, Adelaide.”  He chewed on his lower lips, his brow knitted in a frown.  “But he’s dead.  I saw the body.”

“He died twice.  He had to, his soul was lost.  Confused.  And when that happens…the soul comes back.  I assure you, though, what you saw was not Thomas Boerly.  It was a specter of what he had been in life.”  It felt as if she was being too blunt in her explanation, but there wasn’t time to start at the beginning with him.  When I was a little girl, I watched my mother send her own father to hell.

He was staring at her, twisting his lower lip between his thumb and index finger.  “You want me to believe that thing was a ghost.”

“Call it as you want, Thomas, but the important thing is that it’s gone now.  It crossed over.”

“You sent it to hell.”

“Heaven.  Hell, whatever the next life brings.”  She shrugged.  The details weren’t important, god, if only she could make him understand that fact in a short amount of time.  “Death isn’t the end, Thomas.  And when they get lost, when they come back, I force them over.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes searching hers as if he was forcing himself to comprehend what she was saying.  He probably was.  “I trust you, Adelaide.”

“I’ve never had to explain this before.  I just,” she sighed, “I learned this from my mother.”

He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to her forehead.  “I don’t have to understand it to believe you, my sweet.  That’s the definition of faith.”

“It’s not just me, it’s Sarah as well and…ah…a few other ladies in town.”

“You defended me.”  His lips curled up into a coy smile, but she could still feel the tremble in his hands as they cupped her waist.  “You are quite an enigma, Miss Adelaide Randolph.  I think I’d enjoy getting to know every inch of you better.”

“We can start now.”

He chuckled, pulling her into an intense kiss.  His tongue lapped across hers, his hands pressed her body against him and slid from her hips to her corseted breasts.  “It’s my turn to protect you, beautiful girl.  You tend to matters of the dead, but I still have to stave off the living raiders.  This danger has to end—no one is coming to save us.  We have to save ourselves.”

“Danger is always out there, Thomas.  Even when you can’t see it.”

“We’ll stop Brown.  I promise you.”

She snuggled against him, resting her head against his chest.  The sound of his heartbeat soothed her pricked nerves; it brought her down from the panicked rush that consumed her when she faced a spirit.  There was no doubt that Thomas would protect her from the raiders.

She was more worried about the dead, though.  Something was coming.

And she wasn’t convinced she could stop it.

Chapter 5

AS DARKNESS FELL over Harpers Ferry, a malevolent feeling permeated the cold, damp air.  Adelaide lit several oil lamps and candles to brighten the kitchen and, although it lit up the space, it did little to brighten her spirits.  Her body—her very soul—was beyond fatigued.   Something had woken up in the Ferry, something that was waiting just outside of her consciousness.  It was different than a restless spirit or a lost soul.  It scared her.

Adelaide took pride in not scaring easily.  But this?  It was different.

Sarah was starting to doze on the floor, a frying pan, sage bundle, and knife in easy reach.  She seemed to give a good example.  Adelaide was ready to crawl into bed and forget what was going out outside, to wake up and the raid be over.  The souls gone.  At this point, she’d be satisfied to put her head on the table and close her eyes for just a moment…

Just as her eyes began to fall shut, she was jolted awake by the sound of Thomas’s footsteps on the backstairs.  He pressed his lips to her forehead and slumped down in the chair beside her.  “I’ll be the first to admit I’d fallen asleep when your brother came down for his shift.”

“I offered to keep you company.”

“I offered to ravish you, my beauty, but the moment was ruined by ongoing commotion from the engine house and Miss Fouke wailing for the captured raider to have fair trial.”  He winked, his lips spreading into a sly smile.  “At least, that’s what you said.  I wasn’t bothered.”

“What’s going on out there?”

“You don’t want to know.” He pulled her hand to his cheek and nuzzled her open palm.  “People have taken to the streets.  They’re hell bent on revenge now; I watched them drag Brown’s son to the railroad bridge and shoot him until he was cut to pieces.”

Adelaide grimaced.  All the death—all the anger—in town was no doubt drawing souls back to consciousness.  She tried to dismiss it and instead focus on Thomas.  It wasn’t as easy as she thought.  “Are you hungry?  I made soup earlier and we have some day old bread.  Not the best meal, but it’s better than nothing.”

“You spoil me, my sweet.”  He pressed his lips to her open palm.  “Do you…ah…think you’ll have more trouble tonight?  I mean, if Brown’s boy comes back.”

Sarah made an audible choking sound in her throat and dropped the soup ladle against the pot with a clang.

“It’s fine, Sarah, he knows.”  Adelaide hesitated and then stood, pushing her sister away from the soup pot and scooping the stew into a small porcelain bowl.  “Mr. Boerly came back.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Yes, Sarah, in a situation such as this I’d make light of dispatching spirits.”

“But he saw it.”

Adelaide set the steaming bowl of stew in front of Thomas. Before she could straighten, he caught her arm and pulled her to him, quickly pressing his lips to hers.  “I know your dirty secret, Miss Randolph. At least one of them.”

“Rake.”

“You make me that way.”

She grinned at him, trailing her fingertips across his jawline.  Before she could respond, the moment was shattered by pounding on the door.  “Girls?  It’s your father.”

“Poppa!” Sarah squealed.  She scampered across the room and threw herself at the door, jerking the locks back and nearly hitting herself in the face as she pulled it open.

Their father walked in and wrapped his arms around Sarah.  “Sarah.  Oh, Sarah, don’t cry.”  It was at that moment Poppa noticed the male presence in the room; that he realized Thomas Cooper was sitting at the table, spoon in hand.  His relieved expression clouded over in an instant.  Accusingly, he looked from Thomas, to Adelaide, then back to Thomas and snapped, “Cooper.  What are you doing here?”

“Poppa, you remember Thomas Cooper.” Adelaide stepped in between them.  “He was held captive in the Armory today and, when released, came to our home to make sure that we were okay.  He’s hungry, Poppa, I had to thank him for his kindness.  He and Robert have been splitting shifts downstairs to make certain we and the store were safe.”

Poppa’s brow furrowed.  “My daughters were alone.”

Thomas cleared his throat, obviously disconcerted by Poppa’s cool anger.  “I know sir.  I mean, that is to say, I knew your whole family was alone.  I knew you too good a gentleman to sit back while Brown attacked.  And, with your home in such proximity to the Armory, I wanted to make sure everyone was okay.”

“I’m sure you can understand how compromising this looks.” Her father continued to glare at her, while directing his speech at Thomas.  “My daughter, letting a man into our house…my unattended daughter.  The whole town knows you two have been spending time together—brazen time, touching in the streets—and if they knew you were here, like this?”

“Poppa, Thomas asked me to court him and I’ve accepted.”  Adelaide blurted it out; no sooner did the words leave her mouth did she realize how little the declaration was going to help the matter.  “So it’s not brazen or scandalous.  It’s fact.”

Thomas squeezed her hand.  He faced her father, unblinking; unafraid.  It didn’t seem as if he cared what the older man thought about him being with her—alone or not.  “It would have been just as easy for one of those raiders to cross the street and gain access to your home.  And your daughters.”

It was bold, perhaps too bold.  However, either her father was mollified by Thomas’s rushed explanation or he was too tired to argue any further.  He shrugged and unwrapped Sarah’s arms from his waist.  “Give me some soup too, Adelaide.  I suppose I should thank you, Mr. Cooper, for attending to the safety of my family.  It’s hell out there.”

Adelaide noticed her father didn’t actually thank him.  Regardless, she was relieved the potential confrontation had been quelled, even if only for the time being.  Placing a bowl of soup and a mug of coffee in front of him, she reported, “Rebekah and the boys are asleep.”

“Good.” Poppa held the mug under his nose and closed his eyes.  “They’ve posted a guard around the engine house.  Brown has no escape now.”

“It’s like a rabbit trap my brother and I used to make when we were kids.”  Thomas paused to take a sip of soup.  “I heard forces have arrived from Winchester, Baltimore, and Frederick City to keep him from escaping.”

“Most of the raiders have been killed.” Her father held the soup spoon to his lips but didn’t take a bite.  “Do you remember John Cook?  He was the school master here for quite some years.  I’ve heard word that he is one of the raiders.”

“Christ, Cook too?  I hadn’t heard that; the bastard.  He fooled us, he made us trust him and then made us like lambs to slaughter.”

Adelaide’s vision pricked peppery black spots and her stance waivered; she grabbed onto Thomas’s shoulder for support.  Mr. Cook, Elizabeth Wade’s former lover?  He was always so nice.  Such large blue eyes and a kind demeanor... how could he do this to Harpers Ferry?  He knew them.  He knew them all.

“Four of our own have been killed.” Her father didn’t seem fazed that Cook had betrayed them.  Either that, or he was too tired to care.  “I was there when Beckham was shot.  It was unspeakable.”

Thomas scooped the last bit of soup out from his dish.  “Robert and I have worked out a shift, taking turns and guarding the doors downstairs.  We just switched out.  I have no problem staying up and keeping an eye on things up here while you rest.  I’m not tired.”

Poppa nodded gratefully.  “I would appreciate that, but you’ll need sleep as well.  I’ll join you and Robert’s system: with three of us and the declining situation outside, we should be fine.”

Thomas nodded.

Poppa glanced between him and Adelaide.  “If you don’t mind, Mr. Cooper, I’d appreciate it if you take Addy to her room and make sure it’s secure.  The window faces the Armory and the engine house and, if you don’t think it’s safe, I’d prefer they sleep in the parlor.”

Thomas nodded seriously.  “Yes, sir.”

Adelaide bit her lip, trying to hold back a grin, and nodded to the hallway.  “This way.”

“And Cooper,” Poppa’s voice interrupted them before they’d walked two paces towards the bedrooms, “I’ll be timing you.  Don’t make me lose trust in you already.”

Adelaide rolled her eyes and kept walking, leading Thomas to the room she shared with Sarah.  He wrapped his arms around her as they looked out the window, pulling her close to him.  There were mobs of people swarming in the streets; in the dim light they looked like ants covering a discarded piece of fruit.  With the glow of torches and the silvery moon, she could make out the shape of the engine house.

Thomas pressed his lips to her forehead.  “There’s no escape for them.  It’s only a matter of time.”

“Why us?”

“Why not us?  The guns are all here, we make them and store them.  Brown thought he could arm an uprising of eighty thousand.  But no one came.  I’m not sure he thought we’d fight back, either.”

“They could have killed you.”

“I think they knew we were skilled in gunsmith work.  They’d have forced us to join them.”  He turned her body to him, wrapping her in his arms.  “You, beautiful girl, need to stop worrying.”

“Easier said than done, I assure you.”

He chuckled and then leaned over, gently pressing his lips to hers.  “If you need company in your bed tonight, you know where to find me.”

“Then stay.”

“I’m fairly sure your father will shoot me.”

She stood on her tip toes and kissed him, gently nibbling his bottom lip with her teeth.  “Keep me safe tonight.”

“Always.”

* * *

Tuesday, October 18th

ADELAIDE’S EYES FLUTTERED open sleepily.  She looked towards the window and was greeted by gray skies and rain dotted window panes.  It seemed the sun didn’t even have the courage to come out.  Being careful not to disturb Sarah, Adelaide eased out of bed and quietly crossed the room to the window.

She was shocked to see the engine house surrounded by men in uniform.  Soldiers?

“Addy, I’m awake.” Sarah whispered sleepily from the bed.  “What’s going on outside?”

“I don’t know.” Adelaide kept her eyes fixed on the raider’s makeshift fort.  “Soldiers are all around the engine house.”

Sarah sat still for a moment, then crawled out from underneath the covers and crept to Adelaide’s side, her body trembling like a trapped bird.  They watched in silence as uniformed soldiers stood stiffly around the engine house, seemingly waiting for something to happen.

Adelaide cracked the window open slightly, in hopes that they could hear something—anything—to let them know what was going on.

“Addy, I don’t think anything is happening.” Sarah chewed on her bottom lip.  “I think they’re just standing there.  What’s it called…cautiously waiting?  It’s what militias do.”

“Why don’t they go inside and drag them out?” Adelaide questioned.  “There are by far more soldiers than raiders.”

As they stood whispering, Adelaide noticed a handsome man with an outlandishly large hat step away from the engine house and casually wave the hat around.  Almost as if on cue, several soldiers suddenly rushed into the engine house.  They were only momentarily hampered by the strong door and then disappeared inside as if gobbled up by the building.  In that instant, several gun shots crackled through the air and then, abruptly, silence.

Adelaide squinted at the small building, almost as if staring at it as hard as she could would allow her to see through the brick walls.  “Was that it?  Is it over?”

Agonizing moments ticked past.  Finally, a few soldiers emerged from the engine house, firmly carrying a gray haired, grizzled man between them; the man was obviously unconscious.  His thick, gray beard nearly touched his chest and, even from the distance Adelaide was at, she could tell his coat was covered in dirt and blood.

“Is that Brown?” Sarah asked.  “That’s who started all this?  Why, he looks like an old man.”

The two soldiers unceremoniously dropped the old man on the ground outside the engine house.  One by one, other men were dragged outside and left in a row in the grass.  Some of the men writhed in pain, a few barely moved at all.  Still others were obviously dead, staring up at the sky with empty eyes and slack jaws.  Adelaide wondered who these men were; what made them believe Brown’s plan would work.  Did they really think that the citizens of Harpers Ferry would just sit back and let them take over the town?

Sarah tugged on Adelaide’s chemise.  “Their souls will rise, Addy.  If Boerly came back, these men will come back as wraiths.  They’ll be bent on destruction this time.”

“So we wait.  Be alert.  Be cautious.  And always be attuned to Those we can’t see.”

After quickly fastening her corset, Adelaide shrugged her work dress on over her head, checking to make her watch was concealed in her pocket, and then began lacing up her shoes.  She heard someone pounding down the hallway, their running steps sounding like the trip hammers of the Armory.  It was Robert: suddenly yelling, pounding on the closed bedroom door. “It’s over!  They’ve got Brown!  They’ve captured old Ossawattomie Brown!  Poppa just came in from the street, the Marines clubbed the old bastard right over the head.”

Adelaide didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath.  “Thank God.”

She and Sarah quickly finished getting dressed and raced down the hall to the kitchen.  Her father and Thomas were just sitting down at the table, mugs of steaming coffee in their hands.

“Is it true Poppa?” Sarah squealed.  “Did they really catch him?

He nodded.  “Most of his raiders are dead, either in the engine house or in the river.  The town’s half lost their minds, why, they shot lead into one poor soul’s corpse all yesterday afternoon.”

Adelaide set a plate of sliced bread and cheese in the middle of the table, smiling shyly at Thomas.  Even tired, he looked handsome: his eyes droopy and his hair tussled from leaning against the wall for hours.  “What happens now?”

“I heard the colonel who led the assault, Robert Lee, will take Brown to the prison in Charlestown.” Thomas caught her hand in his, quickly squeezing it before he let her go.  “He’ll await trial there.  One of the lads from the Armory is betting it’ll be a fast trial: the whole county is in an uproar.”

It was over.  Robert’s words continued to echo through her mind and Adelaide hungrily savored them.  Now everything could return to normal.

“I’m going to go back downstairs and take my shift in the store.” Her father glanced from Thomas, to her, and then back to Thomas.  “Courting my daughter, are you, Cooper?”

Thomas nodded.

“Then I can trust you to keep her safe.”  He took the flintlock off the table and then pushed a Harpers Ferry rifle into his hands.  “I’m sure you know better than anyone how to use this.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get some sleep.”  Poppa started his descent on the staircase.  “If you’ll stay, I’d like to keep up our shifts throughout the day.  Just in case.”

“Yes, sir, absolutely.”  Thomas ran his hands over the rifle, expertly checking the condition.  He glanced towards the staircase as if confirming her father was gone.  “Do you want to tuck me in, my beauty?”

“My pleasure.”

She led him to her bedroom, glancing outside the window as she straightened the bedsheets for him.  The bodies were still outside.  “Don’t be alarmed if you wake up in a few hours and I’m sleeping beside you.”

“I’d rather wake up feeling your body next to mine than alone in this big, empty bed.”  He shrugged his frock coat off and rubbed the back of his neck, obviously stifling a yawn.  “God, I’m tired.  Just lay with me, just a bit.”

“And let you take advantage of me?”

“Yes.” He chuckled, reclining back on the bed and opening his arms to her.

She curled up next to him, their bodies pressing together, and nuzzled her face against his shoulder.  Sliding his hand into her hair, cradling her head, he kissed her tenderly.  “Keeping you safe was all I wanted during this hell.  Even when they had us in the Armory, I kept looking towards this house, wondering if you were okay.  God, it’s all I could think about.”

“I’m much better now, actually.”

He kissed her again, a smile playing on his soft lips.  “Do you think your father would let me sleep in here with you tonight?”

“I’m sure he’d have something to say about it.”

“We’re courting, though.  Practically married as far as I’m concerned.”

She laughed and touched her lips to his; it was tantalizing.  His hands tightened around her waist.  “If you desire me, just say so.”

“Christ, I want you more than anything.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“Knowing that your father or brother would no doubt walk in on us and throw me out the window.”  He chuckled, sliding his hand up to her corseted breasts.  “I crave you, Adelaide.  Being close to you like this…I just want to lift those skirts up and touch you and—“

Sarah walked into the room and stopped short, her jaw dropping.  She immediately turned on her heel and dashed back into the hallway.  “Jesus, Addy, close the door next time.”

Adelaide groaned, touching her forehead to Thomas’s shoulder.  “It’s impossible to find privacy in this house.”

He slid her hand to the front of this trousers, pressing her palm to the bulge in his pants.  “I need you.  I’m in pain, beautiful, don’t you feel bad?”

Leaning close to him, Adelaide wetted her lips.  “I could make you feel better.”

He sucked in a sharp breath.  “You know I want that.”

“And I want you.”

He lowered her onto her back, crawling on top and simultaneously hoisting her skirts up and nudging her legs apart with his knee.  Rocking his hips against hers, he gazed into her eyes as he simulated his rhythm against her body.  It was mind blowing; tantalizing.  “I want every inch of you, I want to kiss your body and be inside you.”

She bit her lip, the pressure of his body between her legs felt incredible.  Pressing her hands to his cheeks, she pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him.  It immediately deepened, his tongue prompting her lips open and sliding into her mouth, gently caressing against hers.  As the kisses grew hungrier, more passionate, his hands dropped to her skirt and slid to her legs.  He fumbled with the fabric of her split leg drawers; his fingers slid against the soft flesh of her inner thigh.

His eyes were locked on hers.  “Do you want more?”

She nodded, spreading her legs more to give him better access.

His hand slid between her legs, his fingers trailing down her tender skin  He leaned his head to hers and he kissed her, his fingers reaching deeper with each sharp breath she inhaled.

And then he stopped.  Leaning over, he pressed his lips between her legs and then crawled up to her body, crushing his mouth against hers.  “I’m petrified your father or Robert will walk in on us.  I smith Harpers Ferry guns.  I don’t intend on being shot with one.”

“They can keep their opinions to themselves.  Robert has dalliances all the time and my father impregnated that fool of a girl in the other room.”

He touched his forehead to hers, holding her against his body.  “Just lay with me, until I fall asleep.  Then I’ll know you’re safe.”

“I feel safest with you, Thomas.”

He snuggled against her and rested his head against the soft curve where her neck met her shoulder.  “Then I’ll never leave.”

Chapter 6

October 19, 1859

EARLY WEDNESDAY MORNING, Adelaide was ripped from deep sleep by the sound of screaming on the streets below.  She jolted up from the nest of blankets she and Thomas had built on her bedroom floor—the only way her father would allow them to sleep together—and frantically tried to untangle a bedlinen from around her leg.

Thomas was scrambling to his feet beside her and stood first, firmly pressing his hand to her shoulder and raising the rifle. “Stay down.”

Sarah had nearly slid off the bed and into her lap. She dug her fingers into Adelaide’s arm.  “Addy?  Is it happening again?  What’s going on?”

Adelaide’s heart pounded so hard in her chest that she thought it would rip through her chemise.  She fumbled underneath her pillow for her watch—this could be anything; it could be another one of those creatures she and Thomas had faced before.  Damn it, where was the watch?

The door to the bedroom burst open and a figure swung a lantern wildly from side to side.  He lunged at the bed and was across the room in a heartbeat.

Sarah screamed.

“It’s me!” Robert yelled.  “Calm down.  It’s just me.”

“Jesus.”  Thomas lowered the rifle, exhaling loudly.  “I could have shot you.”

Adelaide clamped her hand over the watch and jumped up from the floor, shoving her brother backwards.  “Robert, you fool, what are you doing?”

He pushed past her, handing the lantern to Thomas, and peered out the window.  “My God, there’s a mob out there.”

Sarah burst into tears and clutched wildly at the quilts, trying to pull them around her tightly.  “It’s happening again!  It’s happening again!”

Robert grabbed the lantern back from Thomas and stormed towards the door.  “Come on, old man, we have to get downstairs.  My father’s missing.  Girls, stay here!”

“The hell?  I am not staying here!” Adelaide wrestled her arm away from Sarah.  “You’re not leaving me alone when Poppa’s disappeared and the whole damned town is coming undone.”

She followed her brother and Thomas down the dark hallway.  Thomas slowed to a stop in the corridor, hanging back while they walked into their father’s room.

Rebekah stood in the middle of the room, her hands holding on to her swollen stomach.  “Robert, where’s your father?”

“Get back into bed.” Adelaide snapped before Robert could answer.  “Robert, tell her to get back into bed.”

“Adelaide, do not speak to me like I’m a child.” Rebekah retorted, without even an ounce of force to her voice.  “I am your mother.”

There was nothing Adelaide had to say to that woman.  How dare she think she replaced their mother?  “What do you mean, he’s missing?  Was he not there when you went down to stand guard?  Answer me, damn it, I am not a child.”

Robert pushed past her and headed towards the door.  He stopped so fast and Adelaide almost slammed into him.

Their father was standing in the doorway.  He rubbed his eyes, obviously exhausted.  “Bekah, what are you doing out of bed?”

She pouted like an infant.  “I’m scared—I can’t see what’s going on out there.”

“They’re saying a league of Brown’s abolitionists and slaves are butchering people in Rohrsville.” Her father strode over to Rebekah and firmly led her to the bedside.  “You have got to stay in bed, my dear, and protect the child.”

“Are the Marines going to Rohrsville?  Did you hear, Tom?” Robert leaned into the hallway.  “I’ll go along, Poppa, old Ossawattomie Brown has got to be stopped.  Enough men have died because of his—”

“Robert, that’s enough.” Poppa helped Rebekah hoist her heavy body into the bed.  “The Marines are staying here.  There are a few detachments still on route from Maryland; they will go on towards Sandy Hook and Rohrsville.”

Robert tapped his hand against doorframe.  “What are we supposed to do?  Wait for them to come back?”

Poppa pulled the quilt around Rebekah and smoothed her blonde hair off her forehead.  “Take post in the store, Robert.  I’m going to see what I can find out.  Cooper, you come with me.”

Adelaide followed her father into the hallway, but stopped when she reached Thomas.  He immediately pulled her into his arms.  “Do me a favor, sweet girl?  Stay away from the windows.”

Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, she tried to blink them back.  “Be careful.”

“I will.”  He pressed his lips to hers and hugged her tightly.  “I’ll be back when I can.”

Adelaide watched him disappear down the dark hallway with her father.  Her fear for his safety was immediately replaced with her hate for her stepmother.  Anger burned inside her chest.  Here she and Robert stood, his real family—his own children—and he comforted Rebekah.  The woman was infuriating with her smarmy grin and the innocent routine she gave their father.  Once, they’d been friends.  She’d visited for meals and called on her and Sarah in the afternoon.

That’s how she met their father.

That’s how she’d weaseled her way into the family.  She’d charmed him and batted her long lashes at him.  He was lonely.  She was young and soft and beautiful.

“He seems to care you for you, Addy.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion of him, Rebekah.  Try your best and stay away from, do you understand?  I don’t need you stealing more men out of my life.”  She practically spit the words at her.  “Were you ever actually my friend, Rebekah?  Or did you just use me to get closer to my father?”

Rebekah craned her neck and peered over her stomach.  “Addy...”

“No, forget it.  I don’t want to know.”  She turned away from her; she was afraid if she didn’t, she’d reach out and slap her.  “I’ll go check on Luke and Levi.”

She stormed out of the room, crossing the hallway and into the blackness of the boys’ room.  She could barely make out the tip of Levi’s nose peeking out from underneath his heavy wool blanket.  Luke, on the other hand, nearly knocked her over as she entered the room.  “Is it Brown?  Has he escaped?  Are you going to marry that Thomas Cooper?  I work with him, you know.”

“Poppa is going to find out about Brown,” she guided him backwards, “so get back into bed.  As soon as he gets back, I’m sure he’ll wake you up and tell you.”

“But Addy,” Levi whimpered, “it’s not safe out there.  You know what happened to Mr. Boerly.”

Adelaide bit her lip and pulled the blanket down so she could see Levi’s face.  She knew more than he realized; things she wanted to forget.  “The men who shot Mr. Boerly are in jail in Charlestown or receiving their punishment from God.  Poppa will be fine.  Luke, get in bed.”

Luke threw himself forward and bounced on the mattress.  “Where’s Robert?”

“Here.” she replied vaguely.

“Where?”

“In the house.”

“Where in the house?”

“Luke.” Adelaide snapped, exasperated.  “It doesn’t matter where Robert is precisely; besides, how should I know when I’m here arguing with you?  The sooner you go to sleep, the sooner Poppa will be back to tell you what is going on outside.”

Luke did not look convinced.

She smiled encouragingly, though in the dim light she doubted either of her brothers could tell.  “Everything will be fine, I know it.  Just... just stay in bed.”

Once outside their bedroom, she lingered in the hallway for a moment to make sure Luke stayed put.  The only noise coming from the dark room was of the two boys whispering conspiratorially.  She was satisfied they would be asleep in a matter of minutes, so she padded back to her and Sarah’s bedroom.

Sarah was sobbing into her pillow and looked up when Adelaide walked in.  “Robert told me what’s going on outside.”

“Robert doesn’t know what’s going on.”  Adelaide peered out her window at the mobs of people on the street below.  It was nothing like when Brown was in the engine house... these people seemed angry, not scared.  In the soft glow of lantern light, she could see that many of the men were armed with rifles.  It was unsettling, as in the darkness it was impossible to tell if the armed man was a friend or a stranger ready to raid the Ferry again.

She shuddered and stepped away from the window.  “I thought it would be okay when Brown was arrested, but it looks like his followers are picking up where he was stopped.”

As Adelaide crawled into the bed next to her, Sarah pulled the blanket over her head.  Her voice was muffled as she spoke, “I don’t understand.  I’ve heard that Brown says he’s doing God’s work.  But why would God want this?”

Adelaide leaned up against the headboard and stared up at the ceiling.  She rubbed the gold back of her pocket watch.  “I don’t know, Sarah.”

“Maybe God is punishing us for our sins.”

“Maybe.”

Sarah was silent for a few moments.  Finally, she pulled the blanket from her face and sighed.  “I don’t think that I will be able to sleep tonight.  Not with Poppa out there.”

“Not with Thomas out there.”  Adelaide glanced down at the blankets where she’d slept next to him than night.  He’d whispered bawdy things in her ear, kissing her neck, until he repeatedly confessed his love for her.  She’d fallen asleep in his arms.  “I’m not going to be able to sleep until I know he’s safe.”

Sarah propped herself up against the headboard.  “Well then, we’ll be awake until it’s over.”

“If it ever is over.”

Chapter 7

A SHARP PAIN in her neck jarred Adelaide out of a deep sleep.  She pawed at the air; her eyes fluttering open and gradually focusing on the bright room.

The specter of a man was hunched over her.

She choked back a scream.  The creature still resembled the human it had been: black eyes bored into hers, his dark curls trailing off in misted tendrils.  A gaping hole in his throat showed where a bullet had torn away the flesh in life and it was tearing her, digging bone sharp nails into her neck.  She bucked against it, trying to jam her hand under her pillow for the watch.

It was holding her down.

Her fingers brushed against metal and she twisted, stretching her fingers; reaching, craning to reach it.  She bumped it again—

–and heard the scrape as it slid in between the mattress and the headboard, clattering to the floor.

“Damn it.”  She sucked in a breath, kicking her leg outwards and impacting with her still sleeping sister’s leg.   She couldn’t see Sarah—she hit her again.

The girl barely squealed, immediately rolling to the floor.

“Watch.  Get my watch.”  Adelaide squirmed under the creature; it was pinning her down and keeping her in place with black powder stained hands.  Its smell churned her stomach: rot, sweat, and shit.  “Sarah, hurry!”

Its hands slid to her throat.  Her air supply was cut off; it seemed to rest its full weight on her windpipe.  She started to choke. “Sarah….”

She heard a sizzle; gray tendrils of smoke rose into the air.  Sarah jumped onto the bed and trust the flaming bundle of sage at the creature.

It howled, reeling backwards and flinging itself out of bed.  Adelaide didn’t wait.  Coughing and choking, she scrambled onto the pile of blankets on her floor and jammed her hand underneath.

Her fingers made instant contact with the watch.

The creature was upon her again, clawing its way up her legs.  Hands seemed to be everywhere on her body.  It pushed her skirts up, its mouth curled into a toothless, dripping smile.  You will be mine.

She jammed her finger into the clasp of the watch, her fingernail snapping backwards.  Her vocal cords strained and pain radiated down her throat.  “I command you to cross to the other side now—face your judgment with God.”

The watch slammed into the creatures face. It screamed, writhing as light enveloped it, and Adelaide squeezed her eyes closed to keep from being blinded.

And then everything was silent.

“Jesus, how did it get in here?”  Sarah dropped to her knees beside her, helping her roll up into a sitting position.  “Are you okay?”

Adelaide nodded, coughing and clearing her throat.  Pain seared in her jaw and neck.  “I think so.”

“They’re getting stronger.”

“Maybe not; I’ve never had one get that close before.  Are there scratches on my neck?”

Sarah leaned forward, studying her skin.  She touched her fingertip to the side of her neck; Adelaide flinched.  “No, but you have bruise right here.”

“That’s how it woke me.”  Adelaide swept her hair over her shoulder, covering the mark.  “Good thing for that, yeah?”

In her sister’s silence, she realized the strange silence outside.  There was no yelling, no sound of the armory machines grinding to a start.  It was like the hesitation between a flash of lightening and the roar of thunder; uneasy anticipation.  Waiting.

Adelaide eased to her feet, tucking her watch into her dress pocket.  “Stay here.”

She crept into the hallway; she could hear muffled voices coming from the work room.  As she walked, she smoothed down her skirts and forced her breathing to a slower tempo.  Hopefully, they hadn’t heard the scuffle.

Thomas, Robert, and her father were seated at the table, all with mugs of hot coffee cupped in their hands.  Adelaide smiled at Thomas, thrills radiating down her spine.  He was still here.

He winked at her.

“Good morning, my little rosebud.”  Her father sounded tired, she doubted any of them had slept much the last few nights.

“What’s going on outside?”  She coughed again.  Slowly, acting as if her movement wasn’t out of the ordinary, she dipped a mug in the water bucket and took a quick sip.  It soothed her raw throat.  “Was it more of Brown’s men?”

Her father’s face broke into a lopsided grin, but his eyes remained glassy.  “Straight to the heart of the matter, so much like your mother.  No, child, it wasn’t more of Brown’s men.  It was... well... a misunderstanding.”

Adelaide stared at him.  “A misunderstanding?”

Robert ripped a hunk of bread from the loaf.  “Some dandy from Maryland thinks the darkies are chopping up people in Rohrsville, so what happens?  All the little townsfolk from Sandy Hook flee for their lives—to here.  The only problem, it turns out, is there’s no massacre.  No bloodbath.  No nothing—especially not in Sandy Hook, ‘cause they’re all here.”

Adelaide stared at Thomas, at first not sure she was hearing her brother correctly.  Only hours before she thought they were living their nightmare again and it was all a mistake?  He nodded.  “We’re hosting quite a lot of visitors this morning.”

“What are all those people going to do?  We don’t have room for them here.”

Her father lifted the mug to his face and breathed in the steam.  “They’re going back to Sandy Hook, now as a matter of fact, escorted by a group of Marines.”

“You should have seen it, Addy, I’ve never laughed so hard.” Robert slapped Thomas on the back, as if this was some kind of private joke between them.  “One man brought a hog with him.  Isn’t that funny?  A practically full grown hog, just squealing away on the stoop of Frankel’s shop and trying to wriggle away down Shenandoah Street!”

“Robert.” Poppa cast a disapproving look at his son.  “Many people brought valuables with them.  Not just that particular gentleman.”

Thomas snorted, choking back a laugh.  “Maybe he’d brought his supper with him.  After all, the hog is just premature bacon.”

Robert laughed loudly, patting his hand against the tabletop.  “Yes, well, regardless of the reason that he had it, there was a hog on Frankel’s stoop.  Can you imagine the look on old Phil’s face to see a hog—not to mention twelve other people—sleeping on the stoop?  He’d look like that Baptist minister did when he lost Tom Gallaher in the current during last Easter’s baptism!”

Poppa laughed and then immediately turned serious, as if he would not allow himself a moment of lightheartedness.  “You can be certain, Adelaide, there was no butchering going on in Rohrsville last night.  There is no slave uprising, not in Sandy Hook and not here.”

She thought for a moment and then said quietly, “Will there be?”

Her father didn’t answer.

* * *

“THEN SHALL THE dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it.” Rev. Bates held his Bible in the air and made the sign of the cross.  “We commit the body of Thomas Boerly to the earth and his soul to God.  ‘In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.’”

Huddled next to Thomas, Adelaide looked up from Mr. Boerly’s casket and glanced uncomfortably at Mrs. Boerly and Thomas, Jr.  The frail woman was leaned heavily against her son, her entire body shaking with each guttural sob that she gasped out.  As several men eased the casket into the pit, she dropped to her knees.  Her black skirt billowed out around her like a cloud.  She reached her gloved hand towards the casket and, with her other hand, covered her mouth with a handkerchief, moaning unintelligible words.

Adelaide turned her face to Thomas, pressing her face against his arm.  Thomas Boerly had died twice: once by raider’s shot and again when she destroyed his spirit.

Thomas squeezed her arm and nodded towards the stone steps.  She was grateful to leave Harper Cemetery.  Every movement around her made her think of the creature that held her down on her bed.  She didn’t want to think they were getting stronger, but maybe they were feeding off the negative energy and terror the raiders brought into the Ferry.

She and Thomas followed her family at a slight distance, her arm safely tucked in his.  At the bottom of the stone steps, she glanced towards Frankel’s store and nearly smiled at the thought of a big pink hog perched on the front stoop.  “There was really a hog on the stoop there?”

“I thought it was dead at first, but I guess it was just sleeping.  Next thing you know it was just running around, squealing and trying to bite people.  It was ludicrous.”  He chuckled.  “Your friends looked somewhat shocked to see us together…so close together.”

“I hadn’t seen any of the Society ladies since the Raid, so it was good to know they were okay.  I’m sure I’ll be the subject of much scandalous chatter amongst them now.”  She rested her head against his shoulder.  “I didn’t see Lucy at the service and that’s quite a shame.  I wanted to see the look on her face when she finds out we’re courting.”

As they walked past Arsenal Square, dodging around slower moving citizens, they passed several uniformed Marines patrolling Shenandoah Street.  Most loitered around Large Arsenal or crouched in the shade of the two buildings, but a few actually seemed to be taking mental inventory of all passersby.  She looked up at Thomas, “Do you think that the Marines will stay here for good?”

“Depends on what happens with Brown I guess.”  His lips curled into a smile.  “Why, do you feel safer with them here?”

“I feel safer with you.”

He cupped his hand over hers, gently squeezing it.  “Good.  Once they start up the Armory again, expect me to call on you constantly, just to be assured you’re safe in that big, lonely house.”

“I have some parts of me that I’d like you to check for safety.”

“I fancy the sound of that, sweet girl.”

Adelaide’s eyes lazily followed the Winchester and Potomac rail tracks running parallel to the street, finally settling on the larger brick Arsenal.  She inwardly shuddered.  There were several thousand weapons in there—all weapons produced at the Armory—and they had all been in the hands of Brown and his men.

“That creature,” he spoke slowly, his tone much softer than it was before, “or, rather, spirits like it.  Have you seen others?”

“It had been a long time since we’d seen any at all.  There seem to be more; a constant flow.  But the ones we’ve seen since the raid?  Those were the results of life’s cord being cut too soon.  We know why these specters were there. It’s the ones that appear out of no consequence that you have to worry about.”

His eyes searched hers as they waited to cross into the Ferry Lot, his brows knitted in concern.  “Is your watch the only thing that stops them?”

“Sage stops them, my watch destroys them.  Annie has some stones and gems she swears do the same, but I’ve never seen it.”

He was quiet for several moments, keeping her body close to his.  Finally, he stopped walking and cradled her cheek in his hand, tiling her face up so he could look at her.  “It’s one threat I can’t protect you from.”

“I’ll be okay, Thomas.”

He pulled her into a tight hug, rubbing his hands down her back.  “You have to be okay, Adelaide.  I can’t live my life without you in it.”

* * *

SHE DIDN’T SEE him again until Sunday Services and, even then, afterwards he was caught up in conversation with Robert.  Reluctantly, she joined Sarah, Annie, and Susan in their typical meeting place: on the well worn path to Jefferson Rocks.  She positioned herself so she could keep her eye on when his conversation with her brother ended.

“Did you hear what happened to Lucy?” Annie pursed her lips together, looking almost gleeful.  “During the raid, I mean.”

Adelaide shook her head and peered over Annie’s shoulder at a group of Marines speaking with Mr. Roeder.  “No, I haven’t talked to her.  In fact, I haven’t even seen her.  What happened?”

“Her father was one of the men kidnapped and held in the Armory.” Susan paused.  “And from Annie’s sources, Lucy is still beside herself with panic.  She refuses to leave the house.”

Annie shook her head in disgust.  “She seeks attention more than anyone I know.”

“Is her father going to allow that?” Adelaide asked.  “She can’t stay in there forever.  We all went through a lot, but you don’t see any of us milking it.”

Annie shrugged.  “My sources say she has taken to bed; she claims that the very thought of leaving her room makes her faint.”

“That’s too pathetic to be true; just who are your sources, Annie?” Adelaide crossed her arms, her attention turning from her friends back to Thomas Cooper.  He was headed in her direction.  “Never mind, keep your secrets to yourself.  I have other matters to attend to right now.”

She clamped her teeth on her bottom lip to suppress a wide smile and walked away from her friends.  His face lit up and he reached his hand out to her, easing her arm around his.  “Were you spying on me, Miss Randolph?”

“Of course not, Mr. Cooper.”  She grinned at him.  “I just happened to see you take leave of my brother and thought I’d make my way to you and say hello.  Hello.”

“You were all that I could think about.”

Adelaide leaned against him.  “All pleasant things, I hope.”

“Bawdy and vulgar, as always.”

She laughed, squeezing his arm with her free hand.  “Was he prattling on about the Marines and their inability to ever leave the Ferry?  He’s obsessed with what will happen to Brown or when the trial will take place.”

“There are a lot of rumors going around right now.” There was a tone in Thomas’s voice that she didn’t necessarily like, almost as if he was aware of something she wasn’t privy to knowing.  “There’s talk of renegade slaves ready to pick up where Brown left off.  I’ve heard that some politicians are calling for an end to slavery.”

“I guess that is a good reason for the Marines to still be here, then.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, walking down the stone steps together and down the street towards the Ferry Lot.  He touched his temple to hers, reaching up and trailing his finger down her jawline.  “There’s so much more that I want to say to you.  Things I was too nervous to say the night of the Raid.  I was focused on keeping you safe.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible, my darling.  Even when you call on me, my father forces Sarah to be in the room with us.  He thinks we’d use that time to do inappropriate things to each other,” she smiled coyly, “which is exactly what I’d want to do.”

“It might be possible.”  He paused, eyeing the Marines in Arsenal Square.  “Do you enjoy ciphers, sweet love?”

“I suppose.”

“We can write to each other, using a cipher, and say as we please.  And because of the code, even if our letters are found, our thoughts will remain secret—as long as we keep the code secret.  All vulgarities and inappropriate imagery will remain between us.” He smirked, brushing his lips against hers.  “But you mustn’t tell anyone, not even the ladies in your little ghost hunting society.”

“Well, of course not.” She playfully poked his dimple.  “It wouldn’t be a secret then, would it?  But what shall our code be?  It would need to be something not easily deciphered.”

“I have given that thought, too.”  He pressed a piece of brown paper into her hand.  “Look at it later, when you are alone.”

“Fair enough.”

“I will write to you soon and tell you what I’m too shy and innocent to say out loud.”  He chuckled and then turned serious, looking into her eyes.  “I promise.”

* * *

THAT NIGHT, AFTER what must surely have been an hour of writhing around their shared bed, Sarah’s legs jerked in her sleep induced ritual and her breathing became slow and even.  Slowly, Adelaide eased into a sitting position and slid to the floor.  Her eyes had already adjusted to the darkness so she was able to move swiftly to the bedside table and relight the candle.  If Sarah awoke, she would insist she was using the chamber pot and needed the extra light to find it under the bed.

She’d purposely left her Sunday shoes underneath the bedside table.  Sitting on the floor, she reached into the left shoe and pulled out the crumpled brown paper.  Gingerly, she unfolded it and smoothed it out against her leg, staring at the light pencil markings.  Written in neat, uniform handwriting was:

A PROMISE

1  2345678

She stared at his handwriting for a few more moments and then carefully refolded the paper.  She never wanted this to end; she was so intensely attracted to him.  He made her body feel like it was on fire—he made her feel like her soul was complete.  It was too easy to fall for him: something in that sweet smile and those big blue eyes.  He made her feel like she was at home, like being with him was exactly where she belonged.

Emotionally, she was losing herself to him: it wasn’t just fun and desire and having a good time.  This was suddenly more than just a casual courtship.  She was falling in love with him.

Hopelessly, madly, intensely in love.

Chapter 8

“IT HAS BEEN sixteen days since a Shadow was seen in Harpers Ferry, Virginia.  Are there any other new items of business?”

When no one responded, Lucy stared at them critically from her perch atop her bed.  “There must be some new business.  We haven’t had a meeting in weeks.”

Adelaide was conflicted as to if what she, Annie, Susan, and Sarah were present for actually constituted as an official meeting of the Harpers Ferry Ladies Society.  Lucy had insisted that Esther bring up the dining room chairs and arrange them in a semi circle around her bed so they could conduct the meeting “in comfort.”  It looked like a meeting—for the most part—and sounded like a meeting, but Mary Roeder had not been invited and the only real gossip any of them had was about Lucy.

“I heard that Brown will be hung in Charlestown during the first few days of December.” Susan piped up.  “I am under the impression that it was a very swift decision by the courts.  My father was very surprised.”

“Good.” Lucy looked indifferent.  “That man’s actions have caused me to lose my strength.  I swear to you ladies, I feel as though my life’s blood has been thinned by his very presence.”

Adelaide stared at Lucy.  She certainly didn’t look weak, or thin for that matter.  In fact, she was starting to look a little plump in the face.

“Annie, are there new matters in town?  Concerning living or dead; I mean, you lot are out there all the time.  Surely you’ve seen something.”

Annie snorted, her lips pursing together in a smirk.  “Adelaide Randolph is courting Thomas Cooper.”

Lucy opened her mouth and then closed it, glaring at Adelaide as if she could wish death on her simply by staring hard enough.  “Whore.”

“She said courting, you vile slag, not bedding.”  Adelaide fluttered her eyelashes sweetly.  “Though, given the chance, I would.”

“Well, fine, if there’s no new business, when shall we have our next meeting?” Lucy pursed her lips together, looking quite like a trout.  Her cheeks were flushed from her internalized anger.  “Our standard week?”

“That’s fine.” Annie answered for all of them.  “Whose turn is it to host?”

“No.” Lucy shook her head firmly.  “We shall have it here again.  I just can’t bear the thought of how tiring it would be to travel to someone else’s home.  Scribe, please make note that our next meeting shall be in one week.  Miss Adelaide Randolph is excused from the next meeting.”

Susan didn’t say anything but scribbled at her papers furiously.

“I declare this meeting finished.” Lucy sank back into her pillows.  “That is all ladies, if you’ll excuse me, I need my rest.  Susan, please leave the minutes on your chair.  I will have Esther collect them later.”

The society members obediently filed out of Lucy’s bedroom; Adelaide kept her eyes on the back of Sarah’s head as they descended the staircase, afraid she would burst into laughter at Lucy’s behavior.  Once safely on the street below, Annie groaned and elbowed her in the waist.  “You’re lucky a miracle didn’t occur and she leap out of bed, just to strangle you.”

Adelaide giggled and pulled her wool cloak tighter around her body.  “She’s a jealous wretch, one of the many tragic victims of the Brown Raid.  She’s said it herself.  Didn’t you hear?  She repeated it a hundred times.”

“How tired could she get traveling to someone’s house?” Annie hissed.  “I live across the street from her.  She literally would have to fall out the door and roll across to my home.  We’d hoist her up the stairs like a delivery of readymade trousers.”

Adelaide snickered.  Annie was right: her house was diagonal from Lucy’s house.  In the evenings, if Lucy didn’t have the blinds drawn, a person could sit on Annie’s front stoop and look directly into her bedroom window.  In fact, when they were younger, they’d done it.  It was wholly uninteresting.  It looked like all Lucy did was gaze at herself in the mirror.

“I’ll see you ladies tomorrow.” Annie cast an sideways glace towards Lucy’s house a final time and then picked her way across the filthy street to her home above her father’s readymade clothing store.  Once she was safely inside, Sarah and Adelaide parted ways with Susan and began the trek back to Ferry Lot.  As they approached Arsenal Square, Adelaide saw Thomas heading across the street, obviously coming from the tavern.

Her body ached to be close to him again, her fingers twitching to grasp the rough fabric of his frock coat.  His arm barely brushed against hers as he started past, the light breeze catching the smell of smoke and alcohol from his clothes.

“Hello, Miss Randolph.” He caught her hand and pressed it to his cheek.  “I would love to stay and chat with you, my sweet, but you should get inside where it’s warm.  I’ll call on you later.”  He lifted his hat and acted as if he was going to continue on down the street.  He turned and, almost as an afterthought, said, “Oh, Miss Randolph.”

She grabbed Sarah’s arm to slow her down and turned back to him.  “Yes, Mr. Cooper?”

Shyly, he pressed a square of white fabric into her hands.  “I believe you dropped this, Miss Randolph.”

Adelaide smiled sweetly at him, feeling the paper hidden beneath the fabric.  “Thank you, sir.  I wouldn’t want to lose this.”

He lifted his hat again.  “Good day, my darling.”

Sarah’s lips were pursed outward, looking quite like she had bitten into a tart apple, but somehow she restrained herself from making a bawdy comment about Thomas.  She stared past the Arsenals towards the Ferry Lot.  “Next thing you know, you two will be kissing on the street.”

“Everyone knows we’re courting, Sarah.  I’ll treasure the look on Lucy’s face for the rest of my life.”

Sarah laughed and then turned serious.  “Do you think things have changed?”

Adelaide tightly grasped the handkerchief and note in her hand, trying her best to conceal it in her palm so no one—especially Sarah—would notice.  “What do you mean?”

“Just things around here.” She nodded in the direction of a few US Army troops milling around the large arsenal.  A group of them had been housed in the large arsenal—of all places—since the raid.  “I don’t know... things feel different.  Today’s meeting wasn’t even fun.  It seemed like a chore.”

“We’re outgrowing it.  We can stay on the hunt without weekly meetings.”  Adelaide shrugged.  “Lucy likes attention, though.  It makes sense that she would use something like the raid to her advantage.”

Sarah fell silent.  After a few moments, she spoke up again.  “Do you think we’ve changed?”

“I don’t think so.” Adelaide replied.  There was uncertainty in her voice—she wondered if Sarah noticed.

* * *

THAT NIGHT, AFTER Sarah had fallen asleep, Adelaide huddled against the candle and unfolded the note from Thomas.  Even though they had been passing notes for weeks, she still got shivers of excitement when about to read a message from him.  They were full of desire, eloquent and detailed descriptions of what he wanted to do her, how he wanted to touch her body.  She craved him.  She wanted to feel his body respond beneath her fingertips and hear his throaty gasps when he was at his most vulnerable moment.

She smoothed out the creases and looked over his carefully written figures:

6 f6nd 5y78lf th6nk6ng 8v83y d1y 1b4ut y4u3 l627, th8 w1y y4u3 54uth t17t87 wh8n 6 k677 y4u.  6 c1n 7t1nd 6n th8 13543y g34und7 1nd l44k u2 t4 y4u3 w6nd4w—ju7t th8 th4ught th1t 6 c4uld 7t81l u2 th8 4ut76d8 7t163c178 1nd b8 6n y4u3 1357 51k87 58 c31v8 y4u 5438.  6 w1nt y4u.  8v83y n6ght, 6 d87638 y4u.  H4w h13d w4uld 6t b8 f43 y4u t4 7n81k 4ut76d8 1t n6ght 1nd c458 t4 58?  6’d 588t y4u 4ut76d8; y4u w4uldn’t h1v8 t4 w1lk 1l4n8.

Once translated, his note read:

I find myself thinking every day about your lips, the way your mouth tastes when I kiss you.  I can stand in the Armory grounds and look up to your window—just the thought that I could steal up the outside staircase and be in your arms makes me crave you more.  I want you.  Every night, I desire you.  How hard would it be for you to sneak outside at night and come to me?  I’d meet you outside; you wouldn’t have to walk alone.

She peered over the side of the bed to make sure Sarah was still sleeping.  Once satisfied that her sister was deep in dreams, she slipped her hand underneath the bed frame.  Several weeks ago, she had hidden a piece of brown paper (from Poppa’s store) against the mattress.  Keeping an eye on Sarah and the doorway to their room, she tore off a small slip of paper.  Adelaide composed her thoughts carefully and then wrote:

My only fear, my love, is that the soldiers in Arsenal Square will arrest me and drag me back to my father.  Otherwise, I’d be in your bed this very night.  Promise me that won’t happen and I’ll be next to you, naked.  Don’t blush, a girl can be in touch with that side of herself just as much as a man.  I won’t hide my body behind clothes when we’re alone together.  I want you to kiss and touch all of me.

Several minutes later, she looked over her coded words with pleasure:

5y 4nly f813, 5y l4v8, 67 th1t th8 74ld6837 6n 1378n1l 7qu138 w6ll 13387t 58 1nd d31g 58 b1ck t4 5y f1th83.  4th83w678, 6’d b8 6n y4u3 b8d th67 v83y n6ght.  2345678 58 th1t w4n’t h1228n 1nd 6’ll b8 n8xt t4 y4u, n1k8d.  D4n’t blu7h, 1 g63l c1n b8 6n t4uch w6th th1t 76d8 4f h8378lf ju7t 17 5uch 17 1 51n.  6 w4n’t h6d8 5y b4dy b8h6nd cl4th87 wh8n w8’38 1l4n8 t4g8th83.  6 w1nt y4u t4 k677 1nd t4uch 1ll 4f 58.

It was perfect.  She carefully folded the paper into as small a square as she could and tucked it in the toe of her left shoe.  Passing notes on the street had been impractical almost right away—after all, how much could she drop in the street for him to retrieve—so they concealed notes in a space between bricks in the Armory gate’s wall.  It made her pulse race: their steamy exchanges just left out in the open, available for anyone to stumble upon.

Adelaide crawled into bed and settled against her pillow.  Writing out her fantasies to him was only going to be entertaining for so long.  She wanted to feel him inside her; to feel the pressure of his weight on top of her when they made love.  And she knew when it finally happened—once wasn’t going to be nearly enough to satisfy either one of them.

Chapter 9

“SARAH, DO NOT let those loaves burn!”

Sarah dashed over to the stove and cautiously touched the top of bread.  “They’re fine, Addy!  Don’t you trust me?”

Adelaide wiped her wrist across her forehead, no doubt leaving a trail of flour behind.  Even though it was cold outside, the heat of the oven made the kitchen nearly unbearable.  “It smelled like something was burning.”

“Well, it’s not.”

She sprinkled some flour into a loaf pan and then dumped the bread dough in with a dull plop.  “I think we made too much dough.”

Sarah looked from the remaining dough on the table to the loaves cooling near the window.  “I suppose... but maybe you can bring some over to Mr. Cooper.”

Adelaide didn’t look up at her sister and instead turned her attention to another loaf pan.

“What’s that?” She could tell Sarah was smirking.  “Is there something you’d like to tell me about you and Mr. Cooper?  Something full of verbs and adjectives and fully descriptive of his prowess?”

“No.” Adelaide pounded her fist into a portion of bread dough.  “There isn’t anything to tell you about me and Mr. Cooper.  I haven’t experienced any of his prowess.  Yet.”

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

Adelaide glared at her sister.  “Sarah.  Stop it, you’re being childish.”

Sarah regarded her silently for a few moments and then frowned.  “You’re hiding something from me.”

“Sarah.”

“You are!” Sarah scrambled around the table and grabbed her arm.  “You have to tell me, Addy.”

“There’s nothing to tell, Sarah, because I’m not hiding anything.” Adelaide looked at her seriously.  “I would tell you if we’d been physical, I guess, if you forced me to do so.”

Sarah studied her for a moment and then sighed.  “What kind of sister are you?”

“We’ve kissed, that’s all.”

“All?”

“Yes, that’s all.”  Adelaide’s lips twitched into a smile.  “I did, just one time, feel his arousal through his—“

“Something smells delicious in here, girls!”

Both Sarah and Adelaide jumped at the sound of their father’s voice.  He strode into the kitchen with Robert close at his heels, and surveyed the bread loaves and unbaked dough.  “That’s... well, that’s a lot of bread.”

“I’ll eat it.” Robert broke off a hunk of bread and popped into this mouth.  He spit it back out into his palm.  “That’s hot!”

“It’s fresh.” Adelaide smirked.  “Did you have fun in Charlestown?”

Poppa wrapped some loose coffee in a small pouch and placed it in the kettle.  “It was hardly a pleasure trip, Addy, strictly business.  Is your mother sleeping?”

Adelaide wadded up her apron and used the fabric to protect her hand as she pulled a loaf pan from the cook stove.  “She was last time we were in there.”

Poppa filled a mug with water, presumably for Rebekah.  “She’ll probably be thirsty when she wakes up.”

As their father left the work room, Robert reached into the back of his pants and slapped a rolled up paper on the table.  “Take a look at this.”

Adelaide wiped her hands on her apron and unrolled the paper.  Across the top was boldly printed: Proclamation!

Sarah peeked over her shoulder as Adelaide began to read out loud, “In pursuance of instructions from the Governor of Virginia, notice is hereby given to all whom it may concern, that, as heretofore particularly from now until after Friday next the 2nd of December, strangers found within the County of Jefferson, and Counties adjacent, having no known and proper business here, and who cannot give a satisfactory account of themselves, will be at once arrested.”

Adelaide exchanged a glance with her brother.  “Because of Brown’s execution?”

Robert nodded.  “You should have seen Charlestown, Addy, Poppa said it was martial law.  We had to request passes from the provost; that took forever.  Then we had to show them whenever we were asked by the militia which, let me tell you, was all the time.  I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“That’s horrible.” She gasped.  “Those poor people.  How can you manage daily activities?”

Robert shrugged.  “There weren’t a lot of people out.  We were stopped so many times and questioned.  I thought we were going to be arrested.  One militiaman told Poppa that they’re afraid someone is scheming to set Brown free before he’s hung.”

Sarah started reading out loud, where Adelaide left off, “That on, and for a proper period before that day, strangers and especially parties, approaching under the pretext of being present at the execution of John Brown, whether by Railroad of otherwise, will be met by the Military and turned back or arrested without regard to the amount of force, that may be required to effect this, and during the said period and especially on the 2nd of December, the citizens of Jefferson and the surrounding country are emphatically warned to remain at their homes armed and guard their own property.”

Adelaide drew in a sharp breath.

“There are armed patrols all along the road from Charlestown.” Robert reported.  “And the Ferry’s own military guard is in formation in front of the Arsenals already.”

“You told them, Robert?”

At the sound of her father’s voice, Adelaide thrust the proclamation behind her back and into Sarah’s hands.

Robert nodded.  “Yes, Poppa.”

Poppa leaned against the doorframe and smiled.  Adelaide could tell that his smile was forced.  “Well, my dears, we’ll just have to spend the next several days in doors.”

* * *

ON THE DAY of Brown’s execution, Poppa stuck to his word and insisted they all stay inside the house.  He posted Robert in the kitchen—next to the side door—and then went downstairs to guard the store.  Luke and Levi took it upon themselves to stand post with Robert, leaving Adelaide and Sarah to do what they did best—avoid Rebekah.

“I think I’m going to start working on Christmas gifts.” Adelaide announced to Sarah.  “It’s only a few weeks until the holiday.”

Sarah giggled.  “Planning on tying a ribbon around your waist and giving yourself to Thomas?”

“I was thinking of crocheting collars for Annie, Susan, and Mary.” Adelaide ignored her sister’s sass and crouched down, pulling a crate out from underneath the bed.  They kept every issue of Godey’s and Peterson’s. Poppa had been more than happy to provide the crate to keep the magazines from piling up on the floor.

Sarah picked up a copy of Peterson’s.  “Not Lucy?”

“Of course not.” Adelaide grabbed several issues of Godeys and flipped through them quickly.  “My main concern is to find the pattern.  I think it was in an issue from the last few months.”

“Hmmm.” Sarah studied an article in the magazine.  “Addy, let’s dye my hair.”

“Sarah, you can’t be serious.”

“I am.” She pointed at the magazine.  “This is from back in March.  They give the recipe to make black hair dye.  One pound of bruised gall-nuts—”

Adelaide broke in, “Sarah, I’m fairly certain gall-nuts, bruised or otherwise, are not just sitting around the store waiting for you to use them.  They have to be ordered.”

Sarah ignored her.  “Boil them with olive oil until they’re soft... then you dry them and grind them up into a fine powder.  Then mix with equal parts willow charcoal and salt, also ground up into a fine powder.  Finally, add powdered lemon and orange peel and boil in twelve pounds water.  It should mix into a salve, which can be put in the hair and covered with a cap until it’s dry.  But, the article says that you have to keep doing this because your hair grows fast and your roots will show.”

“I don’t know about that, Sarah.” Adelaide continued to flip through her issue of Godey’s.  “That recipe doesn’t sound like it would turn your hair black.  Besides, why would you want black hair anyway?”

“Why not?” Sarah shrugged.  “Annie’s hair is black and I think it looks really pretty.”

“Well, I think brown hair is better.”  Adelaide paused.  “Can you imagine how Poppa would react?  I can.  Besides, can’t you just buy hair dye?”

Sarah furiously shook her head.  “Peterson’s says that it’s not good to use to use the packaged dyes because it has nitrate of silver in it.  Apparently, that’s very unhealthy for you.”

“Maybe you should tell Poppa, in case he sells it—oh wait, here it is!” Adelaide smiled triumphantly and studied the pattern.  It didn’t look too difficult and, luckily, she thought she had the right size crochet thread in her sewing basket.

Sarah flipped back a few pages.  “Well, I’m going to try to style my hair like this.  Where is the iron?”

“On my side table.” She looked up from the pattern.  “Be careful when you heat that up.  The last time I curled my hair I almost burned my ear.”

“I know.”

Adelaide grabbed her sewing basket and the crochet pattern and settled next to the window.  In the silence, she wondered what was going in Charlestown—if Brown was dead.  She had heard rumor that his wife was waiting in the Ferry; waiting for them to bring his body to the rail station so she could accompany it back to New York.  For as wicked a man as Brown was, his wife didn’t deserve that.

Before she could finish the first chain, Sarah’s squeal echoed down the hallway.  “Addy!”

Adelaide dropped the crochet hook and rushed down the hall to the kitchen.  Sarah was standing next to the stove, holding the hair iron in one hand and a clump of her hair in the other hand.

Their brothers looked horrified.

“What happened?” Adelaide cried, dashing to her side.  “What did you do?”

Sarah burst into tears.  “I think the iron was too hot!”

“It smells like burned hair in here.” Levi wrinkled his nose and pinched his nostrils closed.

“Hush.” Adelaide hissed.  Turning back to Sarah, she tilted her sister’s head to the side.  “Did you burn yourself?”

“No.” she sobbed.  “But... but... my hair!”

Adelaide pulled Sarah’s hair back and gently twisted it into the shape of a chignon.  Stepping to the side, she studied her face carefully.  “I don’t think anyone will be able to tell.  The rest of your hair hides the bald... hides the spot.”

“Yes, you are lucky that you burned hair from behind your ears.  Otherwise, you’d look like a stud horse.  You know, tuft in the middle, bald on the side?” Luke glared at Robert.  “Why did you kick me—I’m only being honest.”

“You should never be honest to your sister.” Robert muttered.  “You should tell her what she wants to hear.”

Adelaide scowled at Robert, but before she could do much more, she heard Rebekah calling.  She exchanged a glance with her sister.  “Do you want to see what she wants?”

Sarah clutched the clump of hair to her chest and pouted.  “I’m too upset.”

Rolling her eyes, Adelaide stormed down the hall to her parent’s bedroom.  “Is everything alright, Rebekah?”

She was leaning up on one elbow and didn’t even bother to reprimand Adelaide for not calling her “mother.”  Frowning, she gasped out, “I think... the baby is coming. The pain is steady and even, every five minutes or so.”

Adelaide opened and closed her mouth several times, but could not think of anything to say to her.  Finally, she backed out of the room and rushed back to the kitchen.

“Rebekah is having the baby.” She announced to her siblings.  “Somebody needs to go get Poppa.”

Without hesitating a moment, Robert jumped up from the table and ran out of the room.  Luke seemed to think for a split second and then dashed after him.

Adelaide poured more water into the kettle and set it on the stove to heat up.  This wasn’t how she’d intended to spend her day.  Rebekah was a waste and she had a feeling, once this child was born, she’d be the one taking care of it.  Another chore.

When she turned around, Levi was sitting silently at the table, staring at the tabletop.

“What’s wrong, Levi?”

“I don’t want Rebekah to have the baby.” She noticed his lower lip quiver slightly.  “Momma died when she had a baby.  Remember?”

She sighed and squatted down beside him.  “I know.  Trust me, I know... but I don’t think that God would take two mothers from you.”

Adelaide certainly didn’t believe herself, and she honestly didn’t care, but it seemed to soothe Levi.  He’d been too young when Momma died, he didn’t remember that night.  Adelaide did.  Momma had bled to death; dark red blood had gushed out so fast, like a dam had burst inside her.  No one had time to react, it was of the midwife’s opinion that she didn’t have time to realize what was happening.  Baby Lydia died three days later.  They buried her next to Momma at the far end of Harper Cemetery.

Pushing the memories from her thoughts, Adelaide filled a mug with cool water and walked back to the bedroom.  “Here, Rebekah, I brought you some water.”

“Thank you, Addy.” She clutched the bed sheet in one hand and accepted the mug with the other.  “Did someone go to get your father?”

“Robert and Luke went downstairs.” Adelaide bit her lip.  The pain etched on Rebekah’s face was severe.  It reminded her of how her mother looked when she started having trouble with the delivery.  “Is there anything I can get you, Rebekah?  Do you need anything?”

She looked like she was fighting back tears, somewhat reminding Adelaide she was barely older than her.  “No, just your father.”

She dabbed Rebekah’s forehead with the corner of her apron, not entirely sure what to say.  “It’s okay.  It’ll be okay.”

“Bekah!” Poppa burst into the room and crossed to the bedside in two strides.  “It’s finally time.”

The midwife, Mrs. Potter, strode into the room right behind him.  She was carrying a large market basket and an armload of blankets.  “Did you boil any water for me, girl?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Adelaide answered.  “It’s on the stove now.”

“I’ll need it, dear, right away.” Mrs. Potter perched on the edge of the bed.  “How quickly do the pains come, my dear?”

Adelaide didn’t wait to hear her answer, but instead walked back to the kitchen.  Gathering her apron in one hand to lift the kettle from the stove, she carried it down the hall at a steady pace, being careful not to spill the boiling water on her skirts.   It wasn’t easy; the water sloshed back and forth, threatening to spill over the edges with every step.

The bedroom door was now closed.  She timidly tapped on it with the toe of her shoe, jumping slightly when Mrs. Potter flung it open.  With apron covered hands, she accepted the kettle and then promptly closed the door in Adelaide’s face.

* * *

SHE FELT THAT there was some sort of gesture from God’s Providence that night.  It was only hours before that John Brown paid his debt to Virginia and hung from the gallows in Charlestown.  Once his evil had left the world, God allowed the innocence of her baby sister, Elizabeth, to be born.

They named her after Adelaide’s mother.

Chapter 10

April 1860

ANNIE SHOVED THE stereopticon viewer into Adelaide’s hands, but kept the card turned over in her lap.  “I’m not going to tell you how I came into possession of these.”

“If you stole them, Annie, I don’t want anything to do with it.”

“No, I didn’t steal them.  I acquired them from a lady in town who found them under her brother’s mattress tick.  Of note, I sent her there looking for my pearl broach which, regrettably, she didn’t find.”

“Oh, so it was a man you bedded?  That at least eliminates the women in town, so…honestly, the person in question could be any one of 1400 or so gentleman.”

“Slag.”  Annie elbowed her and then fixed the card into the front of the viewer.  It was a nude woman, reclining back on a lounge with her dark ringlets falling over her breasts.  She still had on silk stockings.

Adelaide glanced up from the viewer.  “And?”

“It’s French.”

“Do you want me to make some kind of comment?  Because I’ve seen breasts before, Annie.  Now, if it was a nude gentleman, I might have something to say.”

“I have an entire box of them: light hair, dark hair; fat and thin.  There’s something for everyone.”  Annie passed her a slim box.  “Just like Armory workers.”

Adelaide fixed another card into the viewer, this one a skinny blonde in a chemise with her legs spread.  “I’d think a man would be less embarrassed to spend the day with a whore.  At least that can be done in the privacy of a back alley.  This requires payment and purchase.”

A loud thud echoed from the staircase outside the parlor.  Anne looked towards the door and took the viewer back from her.  “Would you take photographs like this?  For a certain Mr. Cooper?”

Adelaide’s cheeks flushed.  “Waiting for a likeness to be captured is long and daunting.  I don’t think I could hold a vulgar pose for that long.  And, honestly, if he wanted to look up my skirts, all he’d have to do is ask.”

“I know he stayed at your house the night of the raid.”

“We’re courting.”

“So that means your father lets him sleep in your bed?”

The noise from the staircase sounded again, a patterned pounding like feet hopping from one step to the other.  There was a soft laugh, a sing song jumble of words Adelaide couldn’t quite understand.  “He slept beside my bed, on the floor.  Next to his musket.”

“Where did you sleep?”

“Next to him.”

The sound from the stairwell was louder and this time, it was the distinct sound of someone treading up the stairs.  Annie was staring at the doorway, her brow knitted in concern.  “Tell me you don’t hear that.”

“Someone of the stairs?”

“There shouldn’t be anyone on the stairs.  Our quarters are private.  My father is down in the ready-made store and there’s no reason he’d send someone up here.  None.”

Adelaide swallowed hard, sliding her hand into her pocket.  “We could look.”

Annie slid to her side, reaching underneath her bed and pulling out a small glass bottle.  Holy water.  “It’s laughing.”

Not only did Adelaide hear laughter, but she heard soft singing and whistling.  It wasn’t a vengeful spirit or angry.  If she had to guess, it almost sounded…lost.  She pulled out her watch and cocked her head to the door.  “Come on.”

Annie slowly slid the box of the stereopticon cards underneath her mattress.  “She isn’t hurting anyone.”

“Neither was Lucy’s mother.  But they don’t belong in this life, they’re gone.”

“I think she’s just residual.  She doesn’t know she’s gone.”

“Annie.”  Adelaide stood, awkwardly clinging to the bedframe as she maneuvered around her cage crinoline.  “That’s all the more reason she needs to cross.”

Annie pulled a small, leather pouch from her bedside table and shook out several colored stones.  “For protection and cleansing…just in case.”

Together they crept out into the stairwell.  There was a large landing at the top of the staircase; on the bottom floor, an L shaped hallway led to the exterior door in one direction and to Frankel’s Ready Made Clothing store the other.  Midway down the stairs, Adelaide could see a young girl dressed in the shift style, low cut gowns of the early century.  She was staring at the wall, silently; her behavior suddenly very sullen.

Adelaide clutched her watch at her side.  The spirit knew.  She knew they were coming for her.

“Aliquam requiem puer.”  It’s time to rest, child.  Adelaide descended several steps closer to the girl.

But I like it here.  It reminds me of my Momma.

“Videbis iterum verberabat.” You will see her again.

The girl shook her head and began skipping down the steps, humming an off key tune.

Adelaide glanced back at Annie.  She nodded and then pulled the stones to her mouth, whispering an incantation in unfamiliar words and phrases, possibly even another language.

Stepping down two more steps, Adelaide pressed her thumb to the watch clasp.  “Vade cum Deo, fili mi.”  Go with God, my child.

The watch face swung open and soft, pure light poured down the staircase.  It lit up the stairwell like the first rays of sunlight, enveloping the little girl in a warm, buttery glow.  She started giggling, swaying from side to side as the watch drew her in.

And then she was gone.

Annie was still standing at the stop of the steps, her fist locked around the stones.  “Do you know troubles me about this?”

“That she didn’t want to go?”

“No.”  Annie started walking back towards her bedroom.  She stopped.  “She’s never once responded to me.  Since I was a child, she’s walked up and down these stairs, singing and humming.  God, it must have been fifty years ago when she died.  My father told me she’d been playing on the stairs and slipped.  Broke her neck at the bottom.  But, Addy, my entire life, she’s never once spoken.  It’s was the same movement, the same song, over and over again; every time I saw her.  What changed?”

Adelaide hesitated.  “Are you sure she was residual before?  Or did you just not see her often?”

“I’m positive.  I could have followed the pattern alongside her.  My first attempts at divination were trying to contact her.  I’d see the apparition and I’d hear her, but she never responded.  She never stopped moving.  What made today different?”

“Something’s driving souls out of the grave.  Like that thing we saw in Harper Cemetery.”  Adelaide looked down at her watch, running her fingertip over the well-worn gold exterior.  “I feel like something’s coming, like Brown’s raid was just a distraction.”

Annie shifted the stones in her hand, her eyes still transfixed on the lower level.  “It think it’s worse than that, Addy.”

Adelaide stared at her.

“I think it woke something up.”

Chapter 11

Late July, 1860

THE SUMMER’S HEAT was overwhelming for the month of July and it seemed to only get worse as the days progressed towards August.  The rivers were down, the soil parched.  Adelaide had taken to sitting on the portico in the afternoons to work on her mending and stay away from the overbearing heat of the indoors.  She felt damp all over, the sweat soaking into the waistband of her underdrawers and making her, on the whole, feel uncomfortable.

But work had to continue.  There were still chores to be done, washing to do, and baking to do every day.  Nothing got to pause just because of the heat.

She was also suffering from another, continual heat: her desire for Thomas.  The intensity of his eyes and the pressure of his fingertips; everything they shared together building up the need—the craving—for each other.  His letters were full of constant yearning; she remembered most of his last transcribed message:

Surely there will be a time we can meet alone.  Or, perhaps, I shall just have to work the nerve to call on you one morning, well before your father needs your help in the store, and have my way with you…let you touch me wherever those nimble fingers of yours want to touch.  Knowing you are just outside the gate of the Armory each day drives me mad; knowing the feel of your skin and the taste of your lips yet unable to touch you again is enough to bring me to my knees.

If she didn’t feel his touch between her legs soon, she was going to have to do it herself.

“Did you put rocks in here or apples?”  She turned the crank of the cider press as hard as she could, but it refused to budge.  “Sarah, honestly, this shouldn’t take so long.”

“It’s the heat.” Sarah peered into the upper bucket of the press and experimentally poked a finger inside.  “It’s just jammed, that’s all.  I’ll fix it, just give me a moment.”

Adelaide stepped back and mopped her face with her apron.  It was sweltering outside and she was covered in sweat and sticky apple juice.  Though the sleeves of her work dress were rolled up, it seemed every other piece of fabric was sticking to her.  Her underdrawers, her petticoats, her skirts; layer upon layer of sweat drenched fabric and a chafing corset were enough to drive her mad.

“I hate a surplus of apples.”  She complained to Sarah, waving a few inquisitive bees away from the juice.  “The amount of cider we produce is not nearly equal to the amount of work we put into this.”

“And, on the whole, decidedly unfair.” Sarah withdrew an apple core from the bucket.  “Try it now.”

Adelaide forced the crank around; it moved markedly smoother this time.  “Better.  Though, I would be happier if we were finished.”

“It isn’t long now, just the rest of this basket.” Sarah motioned towards a half full basket of apples.  “Do you see those two gentlemen in the Armory yard?”

Adelaide was glad her face was so flushed from exertion or else Sarah would have seen her blush.  “I do.”

“The one is Mr. Cooper.”

“And the other is Mr. Hamilton.” Adelaide glanced up at her sister.  “Is there a point to your statement, Sarah?  Because you could help more.  Anytime.”

“It was merely an observation.” Sarah dropped a few more apples into the press.  “He’s watching you.”

Adelaide cranked harder.  “Mr. Hamilton?”

“Don’t be daft.”

“Sarah, I don’t have time to be daft.” Adelaide gritted her teeth as she worked through the apple cores.  “I want to get this finished so I can rinse off.”

Sarah wiped her brow with her apron.  “I think the smell of apples is refreshing.”

“Certainly, but I smell of apples and sweat.” Adelaide wrinkled her nose.  “I reek.”

Her sister giggled.  “It’s a good thing you are downwind from Mr. Cooper, in that case.”

Adelaide cracked a slight smile, but continued with her work.  Part of the apple cider was for their personal use, the rest her father would sell in the store.  She wasn’t entirely sure what made working the cider press a woman’s job.  It seemed that Levi was perfectly capable of running the press, yet, Poppa never made him.  It was unfair.

“Marvelous work, my dears.” Her father strolled down the steps and over to the cider bucket.  “I had a feeling those were juicy apples.”

Adelaide wiped her brow before sweat streamed into her eyes.  “Yes, Poppa.”

He studied the remaining apples in the basket.  “Adelaide, I need you to tend the store for me while Robert and I attend to business matters in Charlestown.  It won’t be for more than a few hours. I expect Robert to do his fair share this time.”

Adelaide groaned and momentarily ceased turning the crank.  If there was anything she hated more than making cider, it was tending the store.  “But, Poppa, the cider.”

“No arguments, Adelaide.” He motioned to the staircase.  “Sarah can handle it.  Now, you get upstairs and get cleaned off.  I’ll not ask you again.”

Defeated, Adelaide stormed up the staircase and into the house like a reprimanded child.  She quickly peeled off her wet work dress, corset, petticoats, and chemise and tried to dry some of the sweat off with a rag.  It helped a little, as did dry a pair of dry underdrawers and a chemise, but she still smelled apples.  It was nauseating.  She slipped her corset around her body and fastened it, tying a cage crinoline and two petticoats on before yanking a brown and ivory striped gown over her head.  Poppa demanded she look her best when tending the store, but there wasn’t time to style her hair.  Instead, she shook it loose—again smelling apples—and twisted it into a plain chignon.  It would have to do, especially on such short notice.  She didn’t even bother to change her stockings.

Her father met her in the store and kissed the top of her head.  “That’s a good girl.  We’ll be home before long; mind the store until then.”

She watched him clamber up into the wagon next to Robert.  It seemed to take extra effort on his part, the heat was really getting to everyone.  Not that winter was a real treat, but it would be markedly better than the humidity of summer.

The store, as it had been most of the day, was empty.  She figured it would be slow, since the Armory workers wouldn’t get paid for a few more days.  Once their wives had the pay in hand, though, the store would be bustling.  The Armory and factory workers in the Ferry made the money, but it was usually their wives who spent it.

She settled down on a stool behind the counter and picked up the latest issue of Peterson’s magazine.  Idly, she flipped through the pages and scrutinized a pattern for a knitted shawl.  It was beautiful, but she hated knitting.  It seemed just when she had her project started, she’d get her knits and her purls confused.  She’d much rather spend her time crocheting.  Or spirit hunting—nothing beat the thrill of adrenaline as she forced a specter to cross to the other side.  Or guided it, as the case was with the child in Frankels.  It was still so strange…

Adelaide put her head down on the counter and fanned the back of her neck with the magazine.  She was sweating already.  Besides that, her back hurt from hunching over the cider press crank all afternoon.  The heat seemed to boil over her collar and hang in her face like a thick, wool blanket.  Between the heat in the store, the pain in her back, and the constriction of her corset, she was beginning to feel sick.  What a miserable day.

Sliding a hand up to her throat, she quickly unbuttoned the first few hook and eyes.  It wasn’t ladylike and nowhere near proper, but she would take the chance.  If anyone came into the store, she would quickly turn her back and re-hook them.  Besides, she felt less suffocated without the collar pressing into her throat.  She unhooked a few more, tugging the dress fabric and chemise away from her skin.

Even Peterson’s had occasion to mock the current fashions.  Skirts were at their most ridiculous circumference, but supposedly, it was how Queen Victoria wore her gowns.  If it was good enough for the Queen of England, it was certainly good enough for her.  There were times, though, that Adelaide longed for the gowns of the past.  She had read of light, flimsy gowns with low cut necklines and sheer fabric.  What a treat that would be in comparison to the high necked, long sleeved, bell skirted gowns of the present.  Movement would be less restricted; she’d be more nimble as she combated the dead.  That’s what she needed.  Or a man’s trousers—now that would be ideal.

The door to the store creaked open and quietly closed, a nice change of pace from the usual slam most patrons delivered.  Someday, the glass panels in the door were just going to shatter.  She figured it was Sarah to declare the cider finally finished, so she only looked up lazily, not bothering to button her bodice.  “If you’re here to gloat about the cider, you can just leave.  I’m not in the mood.”

She nearly fell off the stool when she saw Thomas instead of her sister.  Regaining her composure, she spread her lips into a coy smile.  “The cider isn’t ready yet, if you’re wondering.  I noticed your eyes on me.  Highly inappropriate.”

“No, I’m here to see you.” He leaned against the counter and cocked his head towards the door.  “I saw your father and brother just left.”

“They’ll be back soon.”

“You must not have been expecting anyone to be a patron of your store today.” His eyes were locked on her exposed underpinnings; he glanced upward and into her eyes.  “Though, I must ask: which of us is highly inappropriate?”

“It’s been slow today.” She trailed her finger across the top edge of her corset.  “You’ve seen me now, Thomas Cooper.  Now what?”

He placed his hat on the counter.  “I told you, I came to see you.  I took to lunch when I noticed your brother bring up the wagon.  As I’m sure I’ve mentioned to you, my sweet, it was my desire to see you alone again.  Short of breaking into your home and carrying you away, this is the best I can manage.”

Her pulse quickened, desire radiating across her low abdomen.  She squeezed out from behind the counter and took a few steps away from him.  “It is unbecoming of a gentleman to be so desirous of a lady.”

Thomas laughed and caught her arm as she passed.  He pulled her close to him; she could smell the whisky on his breath.  “Am I not always a gentleman around you, Miss Randolph?”

She reached up and trailed her fingertips down his cheek, wetting her lips with her tongue before she spoke.  “To be sure, you most certainly are, Mr. Cooper.  Though, your letters, at length, sometimes are quite bawdy.  And to me, a girl so innocent.”

“I don’t think you’re quite as innocent as you claim to be, my lovely.”  He cradled her cheek in his hand, sliding his hand back into her hair.  “At least, I hope not.”

“Is that what you want?”

“You’re what I want.”

She squirmed out of his embrace and slid back behind the far counter, leaning up against the bolts of fabric on display.  She pursed her lips together coyly.  “My sister could come in any minute and catch you back here.  Or David Hamilton: certainly he must be outside looking for you.”

He laughed again and followed her behind the counter.        “He’s not.”  He suddenly stopped his advance and put his hands on his hips.  “You will soon run out of room, Adelaide.  Don’t think I won’t chase you around this store until I get my hands on you.”

“Perhaps that’s my intention.”

“Is it?” He seemed to think for a moment, and then lunged forward and grabbed her wrists, pulling her to him.  “Then by all means, let me oblige.”

His eyes dropped to her exposed throat and he reached up, gently trailing fingertip across her hot skin.  Her pulse pounded; it was like his touch radiated down her body and in between her legs.  She could see the desire in his eyes.

He pulled her against him and guided her face to his.  His face broke into a shy smile and very, very gently, he kissed her.  It was soft and sweet, his lips gentle against hers with just the hint of his mouth parting and caressing her lower lip.  He swept her against the back wall, pressing awkwardly against her hoops, and cupped her cheek with his hand.  “You smell like apples.”

She burst out laughing.  “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.” He kissed the corner of her mouth and then tilted her chin up so she was looking directly at him.  “I like it.”

He pressed his lips to hers again.  The kiss deepened almost instantly, his tongue lapping against hers and exploring her mouth at a maddeningly gentle pace.  He pulled back with a soft smack.  “It was worth waiting for.”

Before she could say anything, he dipped his head down crushed his mouth against hers.  It took her breath away; his lips were soft, the rhythmic movement of his tongue in her mouth turning her on to the point she sighed softly in her throat.  She felt drunk with the heat and the pressure of his body against hers; she wanted to pull him up the back staircase and into her bedroom.  She knew he wanted it, too.  He kept her pinned in place against the wall with his hip, but had raised his hands to the front of her dress; fumbling with the hooks and eyes to further unfasten them.

She heard a noise.

Her eyes shot open; there was movement at the door.  Someone had paused on the threshold, had hesitated before entering. The figure was looking over their shoulder towards the road, their arm extended upward as if in greeting to someone still in the Armory grounds.

“Damn it.”  She pulled away from Thomas, motioning for him to drop to the floor.  “Someone’s coming.” There was no time to get him to the backdoor; no time to get him out of the store before they were caught and her reputation as ‘Mr. Randolph’s sweet eldest daughter’ was tossed right out the window.

David Hamilton strolled into the store, squinting in the darkness to see her against the back wall.  “Oh, Miss Randolph, a good day to you!”

She yanked a fabric remnant off the shelf and slid it over her shoulder, trying to hide her unbuttoned dress.  “I’m sorry, I was working back here, just…doing inventory.  The gas lights aren’t turned up in here yet.  My eyes are used to the dark.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, I won’t be here but a minute.” He glanced around the room.  “Have you, per chance, seen my esteemed friend Mr. Cooper?  I thought I saw him enter your establishment but a moment ago.”

“Mr. Cooper?” She glanced down at Thomas, seated on the floor by her feet, his knees drawn up to his chest.  “Um…no, I haven’t seen Mr. Cooper today.  Does he fair well?”

“Haven’t seen him?” David walked over to the counter across the room and picked up a hat.  “Isn’t this his hat?”

She froze.  “That?  Uh…no, no, I don’t believe so.  A gentleman was here earlier, interested in purchasing that particular hat.  I was distracted…and…forgot to put it away.”

She inwardly groaned.  What a horrible, unconvincing lie.

David didn’t look like he believed her, but set the hat down.  “Are you quite certain you haven’t seen Mr. Cooper today?  You can tell me, Addy, really, I won’t speak a word to your father.”

She felt the bottom of her hoop being lifted.  Thomas’s all too inquisitive hands trailed against her leg, working their way up to her knee.  His fingers were long, but she could feel him stretching to reach the tops of her stockings.  He started pulling them down.

It got hard to think; she coughed.  She could smell the whisky on her breath from Thomas’s kiss.  “No, no I’m quite certain.  If you see him, do give him my best.  As always.”

“Oh, I will.” David bowed slightly and swept his hat off his head.  “My dear friend always wishes the best from you.  At times, I wish I hadn’t introduced you two; perhaps then I would have had a chance to win your affections.”

Adelaide blushed.

“Well, I’ll bid you a fair day.” He hesitated as he turned to leave the store.  “Should you see Mr. Cooper, tell him I’m looking for him.”

“I will.” Adelaide nodded.  “A good day to you as well, Mr. Hamilton.”

As soon as the door slammed shut, she glanced down at Thomas.  “He’s looking for you.”

“I’m certain he knew I was here.” Thomas stood up and pulled her back into his arms.  “Though, I will say the view seemed better down there.  I should wonder what is underneath a lady’s skirts?”

“Just more skirts, I can assure you.”

“Ah.” He slid his hands down her waist and hips, then reached up and tugged the fabric remnant from her shoulder.  “Maybe you could show me.”

She smiled coyly.  “Are you sure you have enough time?  I would hate for you to be late returning to the Armory.”

“There’s always enough time for you, lovely.”  He dipped his head down, pressing his lips to her throat.  His mouth trailed down her shoulder to her collarbone and he paused, gently nibbling on her tender flesh.  “Let me have you.”

She squirmed out from his arms, gently pressing her fingertip to his lips.  “Give me one moment to close the store.”

“Just one.”

She squeezed through the gap between the counters and walked to the front doors, flicking the lock into place.  After shoving the ‘closed’ sign in the door, she retreated to Thomas’s arms.  “Follow me.”

“I don’t plan on letting you go.”

She led him up the back staircase and into her corner bedroom, shutting the door behind him.  He swept her up against the door and then kissed her, his hands cupping her waist.  His kiss was so passionate, so intense; it felt like all the desire that had been building between them was being poured into one kiss.

He pulled away, cradling her face with his hands.  “Take your clothes off for me.”

She unfastened her dress and crinoline, shimmying out of the heavy clothing in one movement.  The skirt billowed out around her ankles, the weight of the cage and petticoats pulling everything down together.  Stepping free of the fabric, she edged to him and pushed his unbuttoned shirt from his shoulders.  Her fingers trailed along the curves of his muscles.  “Unfasten my corset.”

He reacted immediately, reaching around her and unlacing the cording.  The dull ache in her ribs from the release of tension was distracting, but in that moment, he dipped her down on to the bed, tugging her chemise up and over her head.  She kept her eyes locked on his, knowing his eyes were locked on the curve of her breasts.  She wanted him to look—she desperately wanted him to touch her.

He pulled her into deep kiss, easing her down on her back and then straddling her so that the obvious bulge in his drawers hit her between her legs.  Even that felt good.  Gripping her hips, he guided her up and down so that they feigned his rhythm, grinding against each other and their kiss deepening.  Every movement of their bodies, every lap of his tongue or caress of his hand was turning her on; it felt like bolts of lightning were radiating across her lower abdomen.  Just making the motions of sex wasn’t what she wanted; it was getting to the point where the pleasure each time he pressed against her was going to just drive her over the edge.  He was grinding against her; he was moaning softly in his throat every time his cock touched her between her legs.

She was so engrossed in the soft sighs in his throat and the feeling of his body against hers, she barely moved when he dipped his head down and licked her left nipple, gently nibbling it.  She slid her hands from his shoulders and into his hair, prompting him to keep his head where it was.  He trailed his tongue to her other breast, promptly sucking on her nipple and cupping the opposite with his hand.  His mouth was hot, his fingers easing from soft and teasing to pinching and rolling.

She was going to lose her mind.

He suddenly raised his head up, pressing his lips to hers with a gentle smack.  His eyes were locked on her, his gaze wide-eyed and intense.  “I can’t wait anymore.”

She nodded, pressing her mouth back to his.  She’d never needed someone so desperately in her life; every inch of her craved him.  She felt like her soul needed him.

He pushed up off of her, hesitating only long enough to slide off his drawers.  Adelaide scampered backwards up the mattress, unfastening her underdrawers and pulling them off, followed by her stockings.  She tossed them off the bed.  Thomas was watching; he ran his fingers through his hair, brushing his bangs to the side, and then crawled across the bed to her.

Easing himself down on top of her, he slid his hand between them and adjusted himself, then with one firm thrust of his hips, he entered her.  Adelaide arched her back, digging her heels into the mattress.  “Thomas…you feel amazing.”

He moaned softly in his throat, pressing his lips to her collarbone.  “Adelaide…God, you are so perfect.  This is absolutely how I wanted it to be…”

She wrapped her legs around him, raising her hips up to meet his in that already familiar, steady rhythm.  He felt incredible, the way her cradled her in his arms and braced his feet against the footboard to fuck her harder.  His lips searched out hers; they were kissing and having the best sex she’d ever had in her life—every movement he made inside her was better than the last.  Her skin felt hot, salty with his sweat, and she felt like every place he touched sizzled like water against hot coals.  Jesus.

“Adelaide…shit.”  He kissed her again, his lips curling up into a smile.  “You are incredible.  You feel like you were made for me.”

“Thomas…Thomas, don’t stop.”  She mumbled the words against his lips and ran her hands through his brown hair.  “I’m so close. Already.”

“I want you to cum for me.”  He touched his forehead to hers, pressing his hands to her cheeks.  “Only me, Adelaide.  I don’t want you to give it to anyone but me.”

She arched her back again, trying to flex her legs higher up his back.  “I won’t, Thomas…fuck, right there.  Right there.”

He chuckled, trailing his lips down her throat. “Such language for a lady.”

“You have me in a panic.”

He laughed again, sliding his hand behind her head and loosening her hair from her chignon.  Keeping his rhythm steady, he shook her hair free and stared at her, his lips curling into a smile.  “You are so beautiful.”

Before she could respond, he dipped back down and kissed her, sliding his hands back into her wavy hair.  Adelaide let her eyes flutter closed, letting him take control of her.  Every movement he made, every gentle lap of his tongue against hers, made the passion boil up in her body.  She felt alive, like she was sailing the stars; like every ounce of her soul was wrapped in his.

He suddenly pressed his palms into the mattress and pushed himself up, pulling out of her in one smooth motion.  She didn’t have time to say anything; he scrambled down the bed and pressed his face between her legs. His tongue lapped soft circles over her clit while he dipped his fingers inside her.  Intensity and pleasure radiated through her body and down to the tips of her toes.  She nearly squealed out loud, promptly clapping her hand over her mouth.  “Thomas!  Oh my god…don’t…don’t stop.”

He barely moved his face from her skin.  “Do you like that, sweet love?”

“God, Thomas, yes.”

“Say it louder for me.”

“YES!”

He slid up her body and lowered his weight down on her, entering her again.  This time, he dropped his hand to her leg and nudged it upward.  “Adelaide, I am so close for you.”

“Then cum for me.”  She held his head steady, staring into his wide eyes.  “Show me how much you like the way it feels.”

“Shit, I love the way it feels, the way you make me feel.”  He pushed her other leg up and eased them both over his shoulders.  Rising up more on his knees, he changed his rhythm to a somewhat more frantic, faster pace.

Adelaide bit her lip.  It felt like…it was like nothing she’d ever experienced.  She couldn’t tell if he really was hitting her deeper than anyone ever had—possible because she’d only been with two other men—or if it was just because it was him.  It didn’t matter; each thrust brought her closer to the edge, watching his brow knit in obvious pleasure turned her on even more.

“Beautiful girl…” his eyebrows arched upward and he pitched forward, pulling her back into his arms and crushing his mouth to hers.  He cupped one of her breasts in his hand, trailing his kisses down her throat.  “Oh, Adelaide, I can’t…uh…I can’t last much longer.”

She slid her hands from his shoulders to his face, cradling him by his cheeks.  Guiding his lips back to hers, she stared up into his eyes.  “It’s okay.  Just cum for me.  Please…please Thomas, just for me.  Cum for me.”

He buried his face against her neck, tightening his hold around her body.  Both his breathing and his rhythm quickened, faster and with a pitch of frantic pleasure.  She heard him suck a sharp breath through his teeth and he stiffened, his climax inside her—the soft twitching and firm pressure of his hips—was enough to push her over the edge again.  They were both gasping for breath; the passion still hanging in the air and heavy between them.

Pushing up onto his elbows, he pressed his lips to her forehead. “You are amazing.”

“You should have found a way to get me alone sooner.”  She nuzzled her face against his, his muttonchops tickling her cheek.  “I hope your affections are only for me.”

“You’ve stolen my heart.”  He kissed her lips gently and then studied her, his gaze intense.  “I’m falling in love with you.”

“And I with you.”

They laid pressed together, kissing and softly talking, their sweaty legs tangled together for several minutes.  He then exhaled deeply, leaning over the bed and pulling his pocket watch from his trousers.  “I have return to the Armory and, no doubt, the inquisition of David Hamilton.  I’d rather stay with you…but I can’t be late.”

“I know.”

He helped her dress, lacing her corset for her and covering her neck with kisses when she should have been fastening the hooks and eyes of her dress.  Everything about him overwhelmed her: the taste of his mouth, the feeling of his soft lips against her skin; the way he cupped her waist.  He kissed her deeply—one final time—before they walked downstairs and into the store together.

As she unlocked the front door, he plucked his hat up from the counter.  “You will be quite a distraction to me for the rest of the day.”

“And you to me.”  She straightened his cravat.  “I’m not sure how I’m going to get through the day, craving you, and knowing that you’re just right across the Armory yard from me.”

He smiled broadly, running a fingertip down her cheek.  Taking a few steps backward, he walked to the door, planted his cap on his head, and turned back a final time.  “I’m completely captivated by you, my love.  The next time I get my hands on you, I’m never letting you go.”

And with that said, he walked out of the store and into the street, crossing through the muck to get back to the Armory gate.  Before he went through the open gate, he turned and looked back at her, cocking his head up in acknowledgment of her presence.

Everything had changed between them—just like she knew it would—but it felt like they were closer than before.  Like the bond was stronger.  But the look in his eyes, the way he touched her, was different.  It was like he didn’t want to let go.

And she knew, without a doubt, she didn’t either

Chapter 12

November 1860

“...SIX MILK CROCKS, eight gallon jugs, two water buckets, four... no, wait, five iron shovels, twelve glass lanterns.” Robert paused and glanced over his shoulder.  “Am I going too fast?”

“No.” Adelaide looked over her list of store inventory.  “You said five iron shovels?”

“Five.” He nodded towards a small barrel next to her.  “What’s in that one?”

“It says nails.” She nudged the barrel experimentally with the toe of her shoe.  “So, I’d assume nails.”

He stared at it for several moments.  “That’s only a half barrel; make sure you mark it down as a half barrel.”

“I think we already marked it down.”

“Check it.” Robert insisted.  “Poppa wants this done right.”

Adelaide flipped a few pages back and studied her careful notation.  “Three half barrels of nails.”

“Okay.” He crawled down from the step ladder.  “Do you want to measure the coffees and teas or should I?”

“I’ll keep writing it down, but I am indebted for your generous offer.”

As they headed to the front of the store, David Hamilton burst through the door.  “Lincoln won the election.”

Adelaide opened her mouth to speak, but was immediately cut off by Robert.  “What?”

David leaned heavily against the door.  “Marcus Day sent word from Washington, apparently he heard that South Carolina is in an uproar.”

“But how could Lincoln have won?” Robert frowned.  “He wasn’t even on the ballot.”

“The Democrats were split—hell, Douglas only carried one state.” David glanced at Adelaide.  “Sorry Addy, I shouldn’t speak like that in front of you.”

She rolled her eyes.

“South Carolina threatened secession if a Republication—or Douglas—won.” David exchanged a knowing glance with Robert.  “Now we just wait to see if they follow through.”

* * *

IT TOOK ALL of two days for the whole town to be split over the newly elected president.  Adelaide wasn’t entirely sure what all the fuss was about—after all, there were not that many slaves or freemen in Harpers Ferry.

“I should have been allowed to go with Poppa.” Robert angrily pounded his fist against the counter.  “I’m the oldest; and twenty at that.  I’m an adult.”

Adelaide stifled a yawn and carefully folded the latest edition of The Virginia Free Press in half.  “I think that’s why he made you stay and mind the store.”

Robert frowned.  “It’s just like this whole mess with South Carolina.  Lincoln should make ‘em stay.”

“The Press quoted a New York paper today,” she unfolded the paper and located the article, “‘We hope never to live in a republic whereof one section is pinned to the residue by bayonets.’  I agree with that... in a manner.  Let them go, why fight about it?”

Robert glared at her in silence.  Finally, he muttered, “If you were a man, you’d understand.”

“Maybe I understand better than you think.” Adelaide snapped back.  “Since you are so superior to me, dear brother, I’m certain you can mind the store on your own.”

She yanked her bonnet off the hook and stormed out the front door, allowing it to slam shut behind her.  The force rattled the glass in the pane.  The door nearly closed on her hoop, but she didn’t let it slow her down.  Although it would be pointless to discuss her stupid brother with Annie, she was by far better company than being alone.

Her friend was surprised to see her.  “I thought you were at the store with Robbie—ert.  Robert.”

Adelaide waved her hand dismissively.  “You value his company much more than I do.”

“Okay... we won’t talk about Robert.” Annie turned back to the fabric squares spread out on the parlor floor.  “Want to help me piece this quilt?”

Adelaide looked at field of squares.  “It doesn’t look like you’ve started.”

“I haven’t,” Annie settled down on the floor, “so you’re just in time.  Take off your hoop and squat on down here.”

“As much as that sweetens the pot...”

Annie had already threaded a needle and thrust it in her direction.  “Fine then, sit in the chair.  I’m thinking the pinks and greens together and then the blues and whites.”

Adelaide sighed and picked up a few pieces of pink and green material.  “I’ve been here all of five minutes and you’ve put me to work.”

“Right,” Annie smiled charmingly, “but just wait until you hear what I heard from one of my sources.”

“Go on.”

“Well.” Annie leaned forward, but kept her eyes on her quilt block.  “I was told by a certain someone that Mr. Lesch will not be attending our church anymore.  He’s apparently going to go into Charlestown to attend service.”

“So?” Adelaide made a series of tiny stitches and then pulled the thread through the fabric.  “He’s not the first to leave our church.”

“Maybe not, but he’s the first to leave our church because he won’t listen to a ‘darkie loving’ preacher.”

“Annie!” Adelaide stared at her.  “You can’t be serious.”

She nodded.  “Well, I don’t agree with him—Mr. Lesch is a drunkard and a cheat—but who would have thought he would speak about Rev. Bates that way?  And then leave in such a manner?”

“I read in the Press today that Georgia is ready to arm the whole state.” Adelaide paused.  “But it is the Press’s opinion that the President doesn’t take any of those threats seriously.”

“It’ll all blow over.” Annie measured out an arm’s length of thread.  “Have you heard Lucy’s new excuse for not leaving her bedroom?”

“I haven’t spoken to Lucy in weeks.”

“Oh, well, let me update you.” Annie set her quilt block down.  “Apparently, she felt she had enough strength to walk downstairs for breakfast.  She claims that she was immediately overcome and fell to the ground; scraping her ankle on a rough floorboard.  It must have been bad enough to rip her ankle off, because our wash woman says she hasn’t gotten out of bed in almost a week.”

“She’s nothing if not consistent.” Adelaide sighed.  “What was it last time?  Dysentery from tainted greens?”

“This time she says it’s from over doing it; that she shouldn’t have taken her health for granted.” Annie shook her head.  “I’ll tell you, Addy, my father would never allow this behavior to continue.”

“She’ll eventually run out of injuries and illnesses and then she’ll throw her dead mother into it again; that she just can’t cope with losing her mother.” She hesitated.  “I was the one sent her mother to the other side.  That night we argued about Thomas Cooper—and argument I went on to win—as I was leaving, I just went up and did it.  And I’m not sorry.”

Annie giggled.  “I’m actually quite proud of you.  You know, my only regret is that I’d heard there was to be a Christmas ball at the Daingerfield manor.  Now, of course, it has been cancelled due to Lucy’s ill health.”

“Pity.  I wouldn’t have been invited anyway.”

Annie picked a fuzz off of her quilt piece.  “You could have spent more time with the enchanting Mr. Cooper.”

“Annie, I’ve already bedded him.”

“What?”  Her eyes widened, her lips twitching up into a poorly concealed smile.  “When did this happen?”

“Recently.  Maybe a few times.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“How…Christ, I have so many questions.  I don’t even know where to start.”  Annie chewed on her bottom lip.  “How do you find time to bed a man when your father is only a staircase away from you?”

Adelaide shrugged.  “That’s simple: he can see the house from the Armory grounds.  He just waits until Poppa and Robert leave on business.  You’ve been with a man, Annie, you know it can be done with haste.”

“How is he?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Come on, tell me.  I’m just curious about his physical attributes.”

“His physical attributes are my concern only, but if you absolutely must know, he satisfies me.  Repeatedly.”

“When you say satisfy—“

“No.”

“Fine, be uptight and dull.”  Annie nudged a few more squares of fabric towards her.  “Besides, there are more important things to deal with: what does Robert really think about me?”

“Robert?”  Adelaide wrinkled up her nose.  “I find him to be just about as enchanting as a slug.  And as good a company, too.”

“Addy!” she giggled.  “That’s terrible.”

“If you consider him material for a husband, you need to know these things,” Adelaide paused, “he makes odd noises when he sleeps.”

Annie laughed and leaned back, dropping the quilt squares on her lap.  “Oh, Addy, think about it, in the next few years we’ll be married and still sitting in this parlor, complaining about men.”

“I’m not complaining about Thomas, I’m warning you about Robert.”  Adelaide shook her head, reflecting again on Thomas’s tender touch.  “He chews with his mouth open.”

“You won’t sway me.”

“His feet smell like the inside of a goat.”

“Addy!”

“I’m just trying to be helpful, Annie, these are things that you need to take into serious consideration if you’re interesting in courting Robert.”  Adelaide tried to hold back her laughter, but failed.  “Because courting is just the first step to bedding.”

“Let’s go tell Lucy, just so we can see the look on her face.”

“Annie.”  Adelaide giggled.  It was tempting.  Every touch they’d shared, every place he’d kissed her body and caressed her with his tongue.  God, she’d be furious.

Despite the satisfaction, she wasn’t about to give Lucy the privilege of knowing what she and Thomas shared.  Let the slag dream.

Thomas was hers.

Chapter 13

December 1860

ADELAIDE WAS SO transfixed on not burning the eggs that she didn’t hear her father enter the kitchen.  She jumped when she noticed him out of the corner of her eye.  “Poppa!  Were you out this morning?”

He smiled at her, she could tell it was forced.  He had been feigning good cheer as of late, real smiles were rare.  “The eggs smell delicious, Adelaide.  Are they almost ready?”

“Yes, sir.” She glanced at the thick slice of ham sizzling in the skillet.  “Is something wrong, Poppa?”

“Make sure that Sarah brings the bread to the table.” He retreated out of the kitchen, leaving Adelaide standing in stunned silence.

The ham crackled, jolting her back to reality.  She poked it experimentally with her fork—it seemed done to her.  Unceremoniously, she dumped it on a serving plate.  Maybe Sarah was in trouble... yes... that was it.  It explained Poppa’s strange behavior perfectly.  That would be a welcome turn of events.

She carried the ham and eggs to the table and then dashed back to the kitchen to grab the potato cakes.  Passing her sister in the hall, she hissed, “Don’t forget the bread.”

Sarah’s was on her heels.  “Does Poppa seem distant to you?”

Adelaide shrugged, secretly delighted at the thought of her sister being scolded.  “Maybe a little.”

“He is always so melancholy during the holidays, do you think that’s it?”

She shrugged again and pulled her skirts away from the stove as she leaned over.  “I don’t know, Sarah.  He just seemed distracted, not necessarily melancholy.”

Her father, Rebekah, and the boys were already seated at the table when Sarah and Adelaide brought the rest of breakfast into the room.  Adelaide set the plate with potato cakes on the table and then took her seat next to Robert.

As if on cue, they all bowed their heads and folded their hands.

Her father prayed, “Bless this oh Lord, for the gifts we are about to receive.  For the hands that prepared it.  For the strength it will provide.  Amen.”

“Amen.”

“Amem!” Elizabeth shrieked, from her child’s chair behind Rebekah.

Poppa smiled.  He carefully cut the ham and passed a portion to each awaiting plate.  The rest of the food dishes began their slow cycle around the table.

“Luke, pass me the butter dish.” Adelaide motioned to the glass dish beside him.

Luke critically examined his slice of bread.  “I’m not done with it.”

“How can you not be done with it?” She asked.  “You’ve buttered your bread, potato cakes, and eggs.”

“I’m not done!”

Poppa loudly cleared his throat.  “There’s something I need to tell you all.”

They fell into silence.

“The Union,” he took a deep breath, “has been dissolved.  South Carolina formally seceded from the Union last night.  They’re saying the South Carolinian congressmen will leave the House of Representatives today.”

Adelaide stared at her father.  She wasn’t sure which surprised her more: the fact that the Union was broken or the fact that South Carolina had meant what she said.

Robert put his fork down for a moment and then quickly picked it up again.  “Does this mean Virginia has called up troops, Poppa?  Are we going to force them back in?”

“Now, Robert, calm down.” Poppa held up his hands for silence.  “This doesn’t mean anything.  But I want you all to understand not everyone agrees with South Carolina.  People will be split on this—just like they were with the President.”

Adelaide stared at her plate and sighed.  There were only four days until Christmas and already the spirit of the season had left her heart.

* * *

April 1861

Friday the Twelfth

“HOW MANY STATES have left the Union?”

Adelaide glanced at her brother out of the corner of her eye.  “Seven, Levi.  Just as many as when you asked me last time.”

“Which ones?”

She inwardly groaned, but played along with him.  “South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, and Texas.”

“Which president is ours?  President Jefferson or President Lincoln?”

“President Lincoln, you know that.” Adelaide glared at him.  “Why do you keep asking?”

He shrugged his thin shoulders.  “So many left at first, it seemed like there was always a new one added to the list.  But, Addy, who’s right?”

Rebekah interrupted Adelaide before she could answer him.  “Why don’t we talk about more pleasant things?  Addy, did Annie Frankel finish that lovely quilt?”

“Not yet.” She kept her eyes on running the stitches of her hem relatively straight.  “Annie gets distracted very easily.  It’s getting there, though, last time I saw it she had all the piece work done.  I think she’s sewing the backing on now.”

“I think your brother enjoys Annie’s company.” The corners of Rebekah’s mouth perked up as she restrained her smile.  “Do you think he’ll court her?”

“I’m sure it’s in his overall plan,” Adelaide smirked.  “I’m hoping Annie is smarter than that.”

“Have you thought about courting yet, Sarah?” Rebekah exchanged a glance with Adelaide.  “You’re getting to that age.”

“Well... ah... well, there are some nice boys who attend our church.  But they’re just friends; I don’t really want to court any of them.”

“Like who?”

Sarah avoided looking at Rebekah, so Adelaide answered for her, “She fancies David Hamilton, Tommy MacGrogan, Joseph Barry—”

“Tommy MacGrogan is the blacksmith’s son,” Sarah broke in, “and Joseph Barry is much too old for me.  Besides, he’s just... just... ehhh.”

“Ehhh?” Adelaide glared at her sister.  “Mr. Barry happens to be quite nice.  I heard he writes poetry.”

Sarah rolled her eyes.  “Oh, yes, I’m sure history will remember Joseph Barry for his writing ability.  That makes him perfect marriage material.”

“That’s not the gentlemanly ability I’d be most interested in, if I were you.”

Sarah stamped her foot on the ground.  “Make Adelaide stop, she’s being a pest.”

“I never said you were going to marry Joseph Barry or Tommy MacGrogan.  I simply said they were friendly... you know, sharing the love of Christ.”  Adelaide choked back a laugh.  “You were listening during Sunday service, were you not?  How we should share Christ’s love?”

“Like you share Christ’s love with Thomas Cooper?” Sarah muttered.

Adelaide glared at her.  The last person she wanted to describe her relationship with was her stepmother—and certainly not with her brother in the room.

But Rebekah didn’t seem to be listening.  Her attention was fixed on the window.

Adelaide looked up in time to see several men run past.  Strange.

“Did you hear shouting? “ Rebekah turned her body towards the window, nearly pressing her face to the glass.  “Sarah, can you see anything from the portico?”

Sarah put her book down and walked to the next room.  After a moment, she yelled, “Just a lot of people.  I hear them yelling, but I don’t know what they’re saying.  Shall I go outside?”

Another man ran back past the window, heading towards the Armory.

Rebekah put her patch work down.  “Levi, go ask Poppa what’s going on.”

Just as Levi was getting up, the door flew open and Robert ran into the room.  “The Confederates fired on Fort Sumter this morning.  Old man Burns got a telegraph from his brother in Charleston.  He said he can see the Federal ships out in the water—we’re at war!”

Chapter 14

April 1861

Saturday the Thirteenth

THE WAIT FOR Sarah to fall asleep was maddening.  If Adelaide hadn’t known better, she’d have guessed her sister was doing it out of spite.  It was worse than waiting for water to boil: it was like trying to stare down the river and will it not to rise.

The eventual soft snores gave her slumber away.  It seemed like Adelaide had been staring at her in the dark for hours.

In one fluid motion, she slid from the mattress and to the floor, tugging her stockings and drawers up and then lacing her leather boots.  Puckering her lips, she exhaled as much air from her lungs as she could and then fastened her corset; with a struggle, she shrugged on her striped dress.  It probably didn’t matter what she wore.  She doubted his attention was ever on her clothing.

Securing her hair back with combs, she crept to the bedroom door and eased her cloak from the hook.  Her progress down the hallway was like maneuvering through a hedge maze as she read the marvelous palace of Versailles once boasted: stepping left to right and back again, avoiding the floorboards she knew would squeal like a stuck pig.  Through the kitchen, down the staircase and then—

––Silence.

The Ferry Lot was still well lit, the glow of the hotel and saloons spilling out into the street.  The Army put a stop to citizens loitering outside after dark, but most of the more bawdy establishments in town still catered to the vices and desires of patrons.  There were still ways of getting around as long as you knew the cut-throughs and back alleys.

From the edge of Ferry Lot, Adelaide crept along the outer border of the Armory, picking her way across the macadamized Potomac and Shenandoah Streets.  The camp set up in Arsenal Square was quiet, except for a few pickets who didn’t seem as if they were paying attention to anything moving in the dark.

Something else was out there, though.  She could sense it, she could feel it watching her from somewhere; the heights above town perhaps.  It thirsted for something. Craved it.

She jammed her hand into her pocket and squeezed the watch.  A delay in getting to Thomas was the last thing she wanted.

The wind was tinged with frost, kissing her cheeks and the back of her neck as she walked.  She pulled her cloak tighter around her and clutched it together at her chest.  Whatever was out there didn’t feel like a spirit.  There was something different about it, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

She kept walking.

The majority of the Armory workers lived in a compact lot spanning the banks of the Shenandoah River.  Rows of houses were crammed into a small area: rundown buildings with cheap rent and no questions asked.  Thomas lived in a neat little white building, where his wage allowed him to rent a room and a half: a bedroom and a utility room.  He’d set up a table and small cupboard in the extra room, using them mainly for tinkering and gun work, but the top three shelves of the cupboard were filled with books.

Adelaide smiled at the thought of her bookish Thomas.  He was as vulgar and roguish as all the Armory workers were: he drank, his hands were calloused, and his muscles taut from years of manual labor.  But there was a sweet side of him he only showed to her, the real Thomas Cooper.  He was well educated back in Massachusetts and loved books; he loved maps and the mechanisms of gunsmithing and time spent trying to track the constellations.  He was insatiable for her body and he held her, without fail, like she might crumble and fade away.

It was too easy to lose her heart to him.

Something in the road ahead of her caught her eye, jolting her out of her repose.  It was in the center of the street, legs planted firmly underneath in a stance of defiance.  It glowered at her, it stared.

The moonlight shifted; it was gone.

Adelaide bristled.  She wanted to convince herself it was a trick of dark and light, of a shadow reflecting off the road and the window of a nearby building.  But it wasn’t.  It knew what she was.  It was waiting.

She dodged a pothole in the street and crossed to the other side, weaving and wandering through the alleys between buildings.  His house wasn’t far now, just a little further and—

A figure stepped out from around the corner.  She bit back a scream, skidding to a stop and nearly toppling over in the process.

“It’s me.”  He yanked off his cap, his dark waves sweeping down into his eyes.  “I didn’t mean to scare you.  I’m sorry, my lovely.”

She exhaled sharply.  “Thomas, don’t do that.  I almost shrieked out like a rattled pig.”

“Do you actually know any rattled pigs, my beauty?”  He cupped his hands around her waist and pulled her to him, pressing his lips to her forehead.  “I saw you walking and tried to catch you sooner, but you veered off into this labyrinth.”

“I saw something in the street.”  She rested her head against his shoulder.  It felt safer in his arms.

He guided her in the direction of his house.  “Probably my shadow.  Francis Barnes has enough light pouring out of his window that I’m surprised no one has requested fire assistance.  He’s an odd egg, that one.”

Thomas’s rooms were on the second story of the building.  He led her up the staircase and unlocked his door, motioning for her to go inside first.  It was small but comfortable.  It had only been two nights since their last rendezvous, but he’d rearranged the furniture in the utility room again.  “You still can’t decide where to put that cupboard?”

“I think it looks better next to the blue chair.”  He shrugged off his frock coat and draped it over one of two straight backed wooden chairs at his table.  “Of course, the blue chair belongs in a dump so that isn’t saying much.”

“I think it’s lovely.”

“No, you’re lovely.  We’ve just had a pleasurable time in that old chair.”

She laughed.

The early edition of the day’s newspaper was spread out on this kitchen table, the front page filled with reports from “the front.”  Adelaide slid it down and glanced at the headlines:  The Summons to Major Anderson to Surrender; Reckless Bravery of the Confederate States Troops; Sixteen Hours of Fighting; Anticipated Attempt to Reinforce Fort Sumter.  It was hard to believe that any of this was happening; it wasn’t like the raid, Adelaide couldn’t look out her window and witness it.

Her eyes dropped to a larger paragraph and she quickly started reading.  “Civil war has at last begun.  A terrible fight is at this moment going on between Fort Sumter and the fortifications by which it is surrounded.”

“Do you want a drink?”  Thomas motioned to a bottle of amber colored liquid on his small kitchen table.  “Finest bourbon I could get Roeder to sell me.”

“Are you trying to ply me with alcohol?”

He chuckled, unfastening her cloak and draping it over a chair.  Pulling her into his arms, he cradled her body against him.  “No.  I’m a gentleman.”

“No, you’re a scoundrel.”  She pressed her lips into a coy grin, sliding her hands up his broad shoulders.  “I’m scared about the war, Thomas.  The country split?  A fight at Fort Sumter, God, what’s happening?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.”  He started unbuttoning her dress, tugging her sleeves from her shoulders.  “The only thing you need to worry about is if I’ll let you go home tonight, or if I’ll just keep you here with me.”

He didn’t give her a chance to respond, instead pressing his lips to hers.  His hands worked the laces of her petticoats and corset; she shimmied free of her dress and underpinnings and yanked her chemise over her head.

He pulled the combs out of her hair and set them on the table, reaching back and shaking her glossy brown hair free.  “God, you’re beautiful.”

Heat flushed across her cheeks.  She fixed her attention on unbuttoning his shirt and freeing him from his trousers.  “Stop.”

“You are, every inch of you.”  As soon as she tugged his shirt and trousers to the floor, he scooped her up in his arms and through the threshold to his bedroom.  Easing her down on the bed, he scrambled next to her.  His hand slid between her legs and he caressed her, pressing the tips of his fingers to her clit in a soft, circular motion.  He tangled the fingers of his other hand in her hair and gently pulled her head back, trailing his kisses across her throat.

Her eyes fluttered closed, a smile playing on her lips.  “I guess no drink, then?”

“No.”  He dropped his mouth to her throat and nibbled the flesh of her collarbone.  “I can’t look at your body and not want it; want to be inside you.”

“You’re insatiable.”

“So are you.”  He pulled her upright and onto his lap.  “You ride me tonight, beautiful girl.”

She balanced on her knees for a moment, adjusting his cock beneath her, and then slid forward, easing him inside her body.  The feeling was incredible; her eyes almost rolled back in her head.  He was so hard and the way he touched her on the inside, how deep he seemed to reach, prompted her into a faster rhythm.  Every movement felt better than the last.  She felt like her body and her soul were a kaleidoscope: swirling and twisting and waltzing with his.

He held her tightly, pressing his hands flat against her bare back.  “Where did you learn how to do this?”

“I didn’t.  I do what feels good.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist and laid her on her back, lowering his weight on top of her.  It took a moment to adjust, but once her legs were wrapped around him, he took control of the rhythm.  “Not all women are like you.”

“I’ll take it as a complement.”  She arched her back, anchoring her crossed ankles up higher to adjust how deep he could thrust in and out of her.

He bit his lower lip, his eyes fluttering at the feeling.  “Do you touch yourself when we’re not together?”

“It doesn’t feel as good as you, but yes.  I think about your mouth between my legs.”

He moaned in his throat, crushing his mouth to hers in a deep kiss.  “Swear to me, Adelaide, swear you won’t give it to anyone but me.  Christ, you’re amazing; baby…I…I can’t…”  He braced his hand against her hip, holding her in place.  “Give me second. I don’t want to cum yet.”

She ran her tongue across her lower lip.  “Hearing about me touching myself turns you on?”

He cradled her face with his hand, nodding.  “Fuck yes.”

“What about if I told you I slide my fingers inside sometimes, feeling how wet and silky I am…”

“You need to stop.”

“Oh?”  She pursed her lips together coyly.  “Why?”

“Because I’m really close and…”  He trailed off, his eyes wide and full of delicious intensity.  “Fuck it—I’m not going to deny what I want.  I’m going to ravish you.”

“Good.”

He tipped her knees forward, pressing them towards her shoulders, and touched his forehead to hers.  Their eyes were locked on each other as he made love to her, his hands tight on her hips to hold her in place.  They climaxed together, her cry of pleasure muffled only by the pressure of his lips against hers.

In the silence of the bedroom, she let her eyes close as she kissed his forehead, his skin wet and salty from sweat.  He smelled of musk and bourbon and sex; the scents combined both comforting and arousing.  Their time together after love making was the best: just lying in the candlelit bedroom, enjoying the feeling of their skin touching, and talking.

She opened her eyes to look at him.  Standing next to the bed was the figure from the street: a shadow man, his face obstructed by the dark except for two, red glowing eyes.

Adelaide scrambled out from underneath Thomas, yanking the bedsheet over her breasts.  She cursed, fumbling for her dress.  Where was her dress, she needed her watch—

–the man was gone.

“Addy.”  Thomas scrambled to her side and grabbed her by her shoulders, pulling her to him.  “What’s wrong?”

She almost couldn’t speak; her body was trembling.  “It was him, I saw something.  Not a spirit, but something watching me.  I saw him on my way here and…and he was in your room, now, by the bed.”

Thomas crawled off the bed and walked around the small room, leaning over and checking beneath the frame.  “There’s no one here.”

She pressed her hands to her face.  “I swear to you, he was here.  He was watching me.”

“I’m right here, love.”  He pulled her into his arms again, forcing her hands down so he could look at her.  “I’m not going to ever let anything happen to you–ever.  I swear.”

Adelaide swallowed hard, pressing her cheek to his bare chest.  “Hold me.”

He pulled the blankets around them, easing her down beside him and cradling her in his arms.  She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was still there, watching her.  Waiting.

She kept her eyes open, well into night.

* * *

Sunday the Fourteenth

THERE WERE A lot of people missing from Sunday morning service.  Adelaide’s mind was not on Reverend Bates’ retelling of the tribulations of Paul and Silas; instead, she counted the people absent from the pews in front of her.  Seven people were missing from the pews in her direct line of sight.  She wasn’t about to look around to survey the rest of the sanctuary—Poppa would have his strap out in an instant.

She caught up with Annie and Susan as soon as service ended.  Annie screwed up her nose and excited related, “You’ll never guess what Lucy’s newest ailment is now.  It seems she was dining on a breast of chicken—”

Before she could finish her story, several women gasped and pointed towards the stone steps leading up from High Street.  Mr. Burns had scrambled to the top of the stairs, seemingly with the devil himself on his heels.  He struggled to catch his breath and hunched over, hands on knees.

Reverend Bates hurried to his side.  “Why, Samuel, what’s the—”

“Fort Sumter surrendered yesterday.” Mr. Burns gasped out.  “Now there’s rumor Lincoln is sending troops from Washington to force the rebel states back into the Union.”

“He can’t do that.” Susan spoke quietly.  “He only acts in his own interest.  We didn’t want him elected anyway—the ballots should have been called into question.”

“Right, Susan.” Annie rolled her eyes.  “Mr. Lincoln is just going to ignore the fact that South Carolina forces attacked a Federal fort.  Fired on it.”

“It’s not a Federal fort, it’s in South Carolina,” Adelaide countered, “so, technically, it’s a Confederate fort.”

Sarah pushed past Annie—interrupting her before she could interject more Federal lexicon—and grabbed her sister’s arm.  “Addy, Poppa says it’s time to go.”

Adelaide shrugged off her hand.  “In a minute, Sarah.”

“No, he says now.” For the first time, she noticed how nervous Sarah looked.  “He said to go straight home.  He’s staying to talk with some gentlemen church members.”

Adelaide looked back towards the door to St. Johns, where many of the male congregants—including her father, Robert, and Thomas Cooper—disappeared into the inky blackness of the sanctuary.  Reverend Bates closed the doors without further word.

Adelaide turned back to her friends.  They were all silent.

* * *

Thursday the Eighteenth

“HURRY UP ADDY.  We’re always waiting on you!”  Robert huffed and pounded on the bedroom door again.  “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

Adelaide picked her bonnet off of the bed and flung the door open.  “What are we going to be late for, Robert?  To stand around and wait for Mr. Barbour to grace us with his presence?”

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her down the hall.  “Well, now, we don’t want to miss it, do we?”

Jerking her hand away from him, Adelaide carefully positioned her bonnet over her chignon and tied the ribbon in a bow.  “I’m not a child, Robert.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Robert smirked.  “Isn’t your birthday coming up?”

“You know it is.”

“Twenty.” He held the door open and waited while she squeezed her hoop gently and pushed through the narrow opening.  “Shouldn’t you be married off by now?”

“Shouldn’t you be married off by now?” She retorted.  “You’re older than me.”

“I’m also better looking than you.  At any rate, I saw you and Tom Cooper writhing around on your bedroom floor.  Please, my only real surprise is that you aren’t already carrying his child.”

She jammed her elbow into his side as hard as she could.

Sarah and Levi were waiting for them at the bottom of the steps.  Levi put his hands on his hips and loudly complained, “Poppa and Rebekah already left.  They said we could meet them near Arsenal Square.”

As Adelaide fell into step next to her sister, Sarah elbowed her sharply in the ribs.  “You assume Mr. Cooper will be there?  How fast will you abandon me for him?”

“I should think all the Armory workers would be there.” Adelaide paused.  “I mean, Virginia’s status in the Union is rather newsworthy.  And don’t think of it as abandonment, think of it as respite from my cheerful personality.”

“If he wants to keep you, he can have you.”

“He’s already had me, Sarah and I assure you, he wants to keep me.”

Sarah snorted.

Arsenal Square was swarming with people.  The crowd had begun to overflow into the street, causing wagons and carriages to slow down to an unusually slow pace.  Much of the remaining open space in the square was taken up by women’s bell shaped hoopskirts.  It wasn’t going to be particularly pleasant to push through all those hoops to find Poppa and Rebekah.

Sarah tugged on her sleeve.  “There’s Annie and Susan over there.”

“Is that...” Adelaide squinted in their direction.  Her shoulders drooped.  “Lucy’s with them.”

Her sister groaned.  Adelaide agreed with her malcontent; if there was one thing that could spoil the day, it was Lucy.

They pushed their way through the mobs of people to reach them, even though Adelaide would have been just as satisfied to avoid a Lucy encounter.

She smiled at them, a little too broadly.  “Dear Sarah, how nice to see you.  And…Adelaide.”

“Always a pleasure, Lucy.”  Sarah responded for both of them.

Adelaide promptly turned to Annie, only to find her engrossed in Robert.

Sarah elbowed her.  “So... Lucy... the spring air does you well?”

Lucy took a deep breath, acting as if speaking drained energy from her.  “I’m holding up.  The warm air is invigorating, though.”

Adelaide started to look around for someone else to talk to, but Lucy continued chattering, “The winter air was so damp this year.  It felt like the frost had settled against my lungs, I tell you, it was so hard to breathe sometimes.”

She couldn’t bite her tongue any longer.  “Perhaps you should consult a physician.”

“Oh, my father has brought in the finest physicians.” Lucy glared at her, almost as if she was offended that Adelaide had spoken to her.  “I can assure you, my father has provided the best medical treatment for me.  He will be sending me to Berkeley Springs soon for a treatment in their luxurious hot springs.”

“That will be lovely.” Adelaide noticed Thomas standing with several other Armory workers not far from their position.  Even with the distance between them, she tried to catch his eye with her gaze.  He broke into a broad grin and cocked his head, motioning for her to join him.

The scandal.

“If you ladies will excuse me.”  She shoved past Lucy and through the mob of Harpers Ferry citizens, pushing and excusing her way to Thomas’s side.  Good God, how she wished she had eyes in the back of her skull to see the look of appall on Lucy’s face.

The Armory workers with Thomas tipped their hats to her at once, in a wavelike effect from one side of the group to the other.  He slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, flashing her his dimple dotted grin.  “Gentlemen, this is my lady, Miss Adelaide Randolph.  Addy, these are the gentlemen I work with; bawdy and vulgar the lot of them.”

She smiled at them, then nuzzled her face against his shoulder.  “Like you?”

“Absolutely.” He pressed his lips to her temple.  “You know you find it charming.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd and, peering between several large hats, Adelaide could see a large man in a top hat waddling towards Arsenal Square.  Judging by the crowd’s sudden interest in him, she assumed it was Mr. Barbour.  He was accompanied by a spectacled, gray haired man that she did not recognize.

“Is that Barbour?” One of the workers stood on his tip toes to see above the people crowded in front of them.  “He’s a fucking gibface.”

“Honestly, Graham, the lady’s been here for less than a minute.”  Thomas shrugged, turning his attention to the curve of Adelaide’s chin, trailing his fingertip down the side of her face. “I’ve never seen him before.  Could be.”

The supposed Mr. Barbour held his hands in the air and signaled for silence.  “Ladies and gentleman!  I would like to thank you all for gathering, so that we might discuss the historic events of yesterday.  Mr. Osborne and I have brought the legislations news, directly from the convention in Richmond.”

Adelaide looked up at Thomas and pursed her lips together in a coy smile.  He winked, smiling enough to again display the deep dimple in his cheek.  He was so handsome; the thought of him captivated by her made Adelaide’s pulse quicken.  “We could be spending our time in better ways.”

He brushed his lips against hers and quickly straightened.

“Virginia has broken away from the Union!” Mr. Barbour’s voice squeaked with excitement.  “I trust the citizens and workers in our fair town will cooperate with our new government and give allegiance to our new country!”

The crowd around them erupted—and at first, she thought everyone was cheering.  After a few moments, she noticed how angry a bowler capped gentleman a few paces ahead of them looked.

She glanced at Thomas. He shrugged his shoulders and pulled her into a tight hug, quickly kissing her again.  “Let them celebrate their new country.  I’d rather go and find somewhere more private to celebrate on our own.”

“I agree.”

At that moment, the bowler capped gentleman angrily poked his index finger at another gentleman.  She couldn’t hear the gentleman’s response, but in an instant, the bowler capped gentleman shoved him.  The second man stumbled, pitching backwards.

Thomas grabbed her around the waist and pulled her around him, blocking her from the man’s fall.  Two of the Armory workers brushed past him and, after a moment, she could hear them yelling; demanding the fight break up.

“I’m taking you home.”  Thomas wrapped his arm around her, guiding her around the clog of arguing citizens.  “One fight is going to turn into twenty.”

They plunged in the crowd, Thomas pushing his way between belled skirts and arguing men to head towards the Ferry Lot.  Music was playing, people were still singing and cheering, but there was a low rumble, an anger sweeping through the mob.  Her pulse quickened; she needed to find her sister.

Out of the corner of her eye, Adelaide saw a figure running down High Street, frantically waving his arms.  She stopped in her tracks.  “Thomas, what’s he doing?”

Thomas squinted, taking her hand tightly in his.  “That’s Mr. Burke.  He’s been stationed at the telegraph office all week.”

As he ran, Burke kept a hand firmly planted on his hat to keep it from flipping off the back of his head.  The confinement of the crowd barely slowed him down; he rushed right up to the lieutenant in charge of the guard at Large Arsenal.  They carried on a brief but animated conversation before the lieutenant disappeared into the arsenal building.

She edged closer to Thomas.  “What’s going on?”

“I don’t like it.”  He was focused on the crowd, looking between top hats and around ladies’ huge skirts.  “Damn this crowd.  Come on, this way, we can try and cut through the Armory.”

Adelaide turned and looked back towards Large Arsenal, staring at the closed door.  Though Burke had made his way back through the crowd, the lieutenant had not emerged from the building.  She had never seen someone deliver a telegraph with such urgency, such panic.

One of the Armory workers shoved through the crowd, forcing his way to them.  Grabbing Thomas’s shoulder, he shouted to be heard above the roar of the crowd.  “Take her home, Tom.  Go home now.”

Thomas tightened his grip on her hand.  “What’s happening?”

The man nodded towards the arsenal.  “Burke says a big force of Southern boys are on their way here.   They want the Armory—and Lieutenant Jones wants volunteers to stop them.”

“Jesus.”  Thomas pulled her close and pressed his lips to her temple.  “Do you see your brothers and sister anywhere?  Nicolas, do you know Robert Randolph?  I’ll take her home if you find the rest of her family.”

“No, they’re over there.”  Adelaide pointed through the crowd to where Robert and Sarah were huddled.  “I see them.”

Thomas followed her line of sight and nodded.  “Nicolas, stay with her.  I’ll be back in a moment—if I’m not, you take her back to Ferry Lot until I get here.”

She watched him plunge into the crowd, forcing his way to her brothers and sister.  Even during Brown’s raid, Thomas had remained calm for the duration.  She’d never seen him so panicked, so driven to get her back to the safety of the Ferry Lot.

She was petrified.

* * *

“LORD KNOWS WHAT those Southern boys will do to us when they get here.”

Adelaide rolled her eyes and yanked her needle through the thick fabric.  Mr. Burke’s news had caused an uproar in town; their father suggested she and Sarah put their time to good use by making bags to bury the silver in.  Thomas had returned to the Armory.  “Just what do you think they plan on doing to us, once they get here?”

Sarah plucked a silver pitcher off the shelf and added it to her growing pile.  “Horrendous things, I’m sure.”

Adelaide shook her head.  “But why?  We’re a Confederate state now, I guess, and it would be rather foolish of them to attack their own people, don’t you think?”

Sarah ignored her.  “Do you think we should bury all the stemware?”

“Be serious, Sarah.  What will we eat with if we bury all the stemware?”

Her sister put her hands on her hips and surveyed the kitchen.  “I think this is everything…does it look like this is everything?”

“Momma’s candlesticks.”

“Ah.” She left the room in a flurry of hoops and loose hair; a torrent of disheveled femininity.

Robert stormed into the kitchen.  “Are you finished yet?  I’d like to get this in the ground before it’s too dark to see anymore.  How long does it take to make a fabric bag?”

“Two fabric bags.” Adelaide corrected.  “And it takes quite some time.  First you have to measure, then you have to cut the fabric, then you have to pin the fabric, then you have to sew the fabric—”

“Fine, fine, whatever.” He picked up one of the bags.  “But are you finished?”

“Almost.”

He groaned and surveyed the pile of silver.  “You can’t be serious.  How is all that going to fit in two bags this size?”

“It’ll fit.” Sarah returned with the candlesticks and snatched the bag from his hands.  “Did you make the hole big enough?”

“We’re going to end up digging this stuff out tomorrow, you know that?” He leaned against the wall and twirled his hat around his finger.  “This is all a lot of work for nothing.”

Adelaide secured the knot at the end of her stitches and clipped the thread tail.  “Are you doing a lot of work, Robert?  Because it certainly doesn’t look like it.”

He glared at her, but said nothing.

Adelaide helped Sarah load the silver into their freshly made bags; luckily, everything fit.  Robert secured the openings with rope and then sulked down the hall towards the back stairs.  Sarah and Adelaide followed him, making it outside just in time to hear Levi declare, “Why, I think you could bury me in this hole!”

He was actually right, as the hole was deep and wide enough for him to sit in comfortably.  Robert looked pained.  “Get out of there, look, can’t we just hurry up and get this done?”

Levi scrambled out of the hole.

No sooner did Robert set the bags of silver into the hole, Luke began quietly shoveling the loose dirt back on top.  In the deepening twilight it was easy to imagine him burying their innocence; hiding something more valuable than silver in the ground.  There was something in the darkness and silence of that moment that struck her, something that quieted each of them.

Once the hole was filled and tamped down, Robert carefully repositioned the blanket of grass he had peeled to the side.  He stepped back and surveyed the work, slowly nodding in approval.  “That’s not half bad.  We’ll have a heck of a time finding it when we come back to dig it up tomorrow.”

He looked so certain in that moment that Adelaide almost believed him.

* * *

AN EXPLOSION RIPPED through the silence of her slumber, shaking the floor beneath the bed.   Adelaide bolted upright.

“What was that?” Sarah shrieked, clambering up into a sitting position.  “Was that in here?”

Adelaide noticed a glow on the wall.  Leaping from the bed, she dashed to the window and threw back the curtains.  She smelled the smoke.

The Armory was on fire.

“My God, Sarah, get out of bed.” She grabbed her paletot and threw it over her shoulders.  “The Armory is on fire!”

She raced into the hallway, nearly tripping over Luke and Levi.  Luke pushed her forward.  “Go Addy!”

Sarah and Rebekah were only steps behind as they ran down the back staircase.  As Adelaide rounded the front of the house, she stopped in her tracks.  Both arsenal buildings were on fire, flames reflecting off the surrounding buildings and reaching up into the black, starless sky.  The smoke was so thick, she could barely make out the people, black shapes against orange flames rushing around the buildings.  Arsenal Square was clogged with men and women, whites and blacks; everyone in a frenzy to put out the flames.

She heard Robert scream her name.  “Go upstairs and get buckets.  Bowls, whatever you can carry.”

Hiking up the bottom of her paletot, Adelaide thundered up the stairs and burst into the kitchen.  In the flickering light of the fires outside, she grabbed the water bucket and two large wooden bowls from the table.

The water from the bucket sloshed against her ankles as she rushed back down the staircase.  Robert was waiting at the bottom of the steps.  “Go with Sarah and Rebekah to the Armory.  The whole complex is going to burn!”

She didn’t even respond, just turned on her heels and ran to where Sarah and Rebekah stood waiting.  “Take the bowls.” She thrust the wooden bowls at Sarah and then darted off towards the Armory gates.

It was a scene out of the bowels of Hell.  Flames licked at the white walls of the armory buildings, smoke seemed to pour out from every crevice.  A few men had wheeled the wooden fire engine out of the engine house and were dragging the hose towards the armory warehouse.

“What do we do?” Sarah shrieked, clutching the bowl to her chest.

“I don’t know.” Adelaide glanced around frantically.  “Go to the water tower?”

Mr. Kitzmiller slowed as he passed, obviously overhearing Sarah’s hysterics.  “They’re forming a bucket brigade by the canal.  You’d be of use there, the Carpenter Shop and Bell Shop are burning out of control.”

The smoke grew more oppressive the further they ventured into the armory complex.  Mr. Frankel was there and spotted them as they approached the Carpenter Shop.  “Ladies!  We can use those buckets and bowls over here.”

Adelaide handed him the bucket.  “Can we do anything to help?”

“No, this is men’s work.” He passed the bucket to the man next to him.  “You just stand out of the way.  If you want, you can try to wet the flames with the bowls.  But keep back from the building—and from the canal.  We don’t need to be fishing you women out from the water.”

Adelaide wasn’t entirely sure how they could extinguish flames without getting water from the canal.  Finally, she noticed an untouched rain barrel off the side of the Bell Shop.  She grabbed Sarah’s arm and cocked her head towards the barrel.

Sarah nodded and followed at her heels, closer than her shadow, to the side of the shop.  A group of men and a few women were on the far side of the shop, but the flames on the near side burned brightly, untouched by water.

Adelaide took one of the bowls back from her sister and plunged it into the rain barrel.  After a second, she pulled it back out and threw the water through the broken glass window of the shop.  She could hear the sizzle snap as water splashed against flame.  It was a satisfying sound.

Smoke billowed up from the building, heat flooding her eyes with tears.  She tossed another bowl of water into the building and, in that moment, she watched a shadow cross from one side of the room to the other.  Her breath caught in her throat—was someone was trapped in the building?

The figure stopped moving.  It turned and faced her, staring at her through the flames.

It was the shadow; the creature who’d been watching her.

And just as fast she recognized him, he was gone.

Stepping back from the barrel, Sarah pushed past her and threw another bowlful through the shop window.  “What’s the matter with you?  Don’t stop!”

“I saw him.”  She sputtered, staring back into the flames.  “The dark man, the shadow.  He was in there.”

“Do you think he set the fire?”

Adelaide stumbled backward and dipped the bowl into the water.  “No, but I think he was waiting for it to happen.”

As the fire inside began to die, the black smoke pouring out the windows grew thicker.  Coughing and gasping, they began a quick succession of turns, filling their bowls and then dousing the inside of the building.  Several men and a woman gathered on the opposite end of the building, dunking buckets into a wheelbarrow full of water and tending the flames she and her sister couldn’t reach.

After several passes, Adelaide peered into the inky blackness of the Bell Shop.  Between her and Sarah’s work on their end and the people on the opposite, the fire seemed to have been extinguished.  She held her hand up to stop Sarah.  “I think it’s out.”

Sarah set the bowl on the edge of the barrel and wiped her forehead with her wrist.  “God Almighty... do you think we saved the machines?”

She didn’t have an answer.  Looking past her sister, she saw Thomas Cooper inspecting the side of the Carpenter shop.  After several moments, he turned to a gentleman beside him and discussed some unseen issue with the white stone.  He motioned towards the Bell Shop and, in doing so, saw them standing next to the rain barrel.

He excused himself from the other gentleman and hustled in their direction.  His face was streaked in soot; he cradled her face in his hand and roughly kissed her.  “Are you okay?”

“God, Thomas, happened?”

“It was that fucking Jones.  He’s outnumbered, he can’t get reinforcements, so he torched the Armory and Arsenals.  That jackass is already across the Potomac and gone.”

“He’s just going to let the militia stroll in and do what they want?”  She looked back at the Bell Shop. The embers were glowing red and crackling—and in that haze of settling smoke, she could feel the Shadow Man.  He was still watching her.

“You need to go home.”  Thomas pressed his lips to her forehead.  “When those Virginia boys get here, they’ll rip the place to shreds when they see the destruction.  I don’t want you out here when they show.”

“But what about the fires?  The Arsenal—”

“The small arsenal is gone.” Thomas put his hand on her waist and pushed her towards the Armory gates.  “They got the fire out, but all the guns inside went up with it.  Christ, I don’t even want to think about it.  The guns, the machinery.  Shit.”

“I saw what happened during the raid, Thomas, I don’t want you out on the street either.”  She held onto his frock coat, yanking him around to face her.  “Fires?  Militia?  For God’s sake, the war isn’t in Harpers Ferry.  The war is in South Carolina.”

“It’s on its way here.”

She looked through the Armory gates at the Arsenals.  Smoke was pouring out of Large Arsenal, but Small Arsenal was completely destroyed.  It was like a view of Hell.  “I saw him again, Thomas.  Something’s watching me.  Not a wraith.  Not a specter.  It’s something else.”

He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against him.  “As soon as we check the buildings and make sure the fires are out, I’ll get my rifle and come to the Ferry Lot.  Wait up for me.”

She nodded.

“Adelaide,” Thomas cupped her chin in his hand, holding her in place, “be careful.”

* * *

Saturday, April 20, 1861

THEY WERE A city without a nation.

Adelaide peered out the front glass window of her father’s store, staring at the soldiers swarming the streets.  They’d practically shown up overnight: men from Kentucky, Tennessee, Maryland.  More piled off the trains each hour.

“Adelaide, the floor isn’t going to sweep itself.”

She glanced at her father out of the corner of her eye and resumed sweeping.  “Poppa, will we attend church service tomorrow?”

“Yes, Addy.” He pushed a large barrel towards the counter.  “Military occupation cannot keep us from serving the Lord.  Remember Joshua and the Israelites.”

“Yes, Poppa.”  That certainly didn’t make her feel any better—Joshua and the Israelites fought to get to the Promised Land for years.  Certainly this type of struggle couldn’t last for years.

“When you go to market on Wednesday, though, Robert will be going with you.” Her father faced her.  “I have already discussed it with him.”

“Yes, Poppa.”

The door to the shop swung open, nearly banging off the wall.  Adelaide jumped at the sudden motion and was shocked to see Annie Frankel squeeze through the narrow passage.  “Good afternoon, Annie.  How—”

Annie didn’t let her finish.  “Lucy Daingerfield and her father are loading a wagon.  She’s leaving.”

“Leaving?”

Annie nodded furiously, her chignon bobbing up and down.  “For good.  Addy, you’ve got to hurry up or she’ll be gone.”

She wasn’t actually sorry to see Lucy leave the Ferry.  Lucy was spoiled brat, a hateful girl who always got what she wanted and would step on anyone she could just to get more.  Still, they’d been friends since they were children.  She turned to her father.

Without hesitation, he grabbed his hat from a nail in the wall and walked to the back staircase.  “Sarah!  Robert!  Come at once.”

They pounded down the stairs, Sarah’s eyes growing wide at the sight of Annie.  Their father motioned to the door.  “Sarah Jane, come with us.  Robert, you’ll mind the store.”

Robert didn’t have time to argue.  They were out the door in an instant, Poppa leading the way through the masses of soldiers.  Adelaide had to scamper like a rabbit after him; he took such long strides.

Sarah clung to her arm.  “What’s going on?”

“Lucy’s leaving.” Annie reported.  “This is your last chance to speak your mind to her.”

Adelaide rolled her eyes.  “God, Annie, don’t be so dramatic.  You’ll miss her?”

Annie didn’t respond.

Arsenal Square still faintly smelled of burned gunpowder and scorched wood.  Sure enough, outside of the Master Armorer’s house, a black horse was hitched to an overloaded wagon.  Lucy was perched in the front seat, a thick patchwork blanket tucked around her.

She saw their advance and raised a hand in hello.  The corners of her pinched mouth barely turned up in a smile.

“Lucy?” Sarah leaned against the wagon, her fingertips resting on the outer edge.  She almost sounded sincere.  “Where are you going?”

“We’re leaving.” She whispered.  “Father is taking me to North Carolina.”

Adelaide snorted.  “What could possibly be in North Carolina?”

“My mother’s family.  Father says it will be much better for my health; you know, the country air and all.”  Lucy glared at her.  “Don’t act like you’re concerned for my wellbeing, Adelaide Randolph.  You’re just upset you can’t gloat your bedding of Thomas Cooper anymore.  No one’s left to care that you’re a whore.”

Adelaide crossed her arms, pursing her lips together.  “I’ve never heard Thomas complain.”

“John?” Poppa walked around the wagon to Lucy’s father, either not hearing the conversation or ignoring it.  Adelaide hoped it was the latter.  “Why such haste?”

Lucy’s father was a positively delicate looking man: thin and fragile, with pale flesh that seemed reminiscent of onion skin.  He was delicate in constitution as well; in the whole time she’d known Lucy, Adelaide had never heard him speak a harsh word.  At that moment in time, however, his eyes were steady and focused.  “Look around, Eli.”

Her father looked taken aback.  “We’re at war, John.  This town has train depots, they’ll be gone soon enough.”

“They’ve evicted us from the house.” Mr. Daingerfield hoisted a chair into the wagon.  “Military business or something like that.  We have nothing left, Eli.  My home is gone.  It won’t be long before they take over the Armory.  I’m leaving before it’s too late; this town is damned.”

“But John—”

“The stress of this is killing my daughter.” Mr. Daingerfield put a final crate into the wagon, then brushed his hands on his pants.  “You would do the same, if you were me.”

“I suppose I would.”

Esther and Paul, two of the Daingerfield’s servants, stiffly stood on the walk beside the wagon.  Neither had said a word during the exchange between Adelaide’s father and Lucy’s father; they acted like they didn’t even hear what was going on.  Seeing the wagon was full, however, obviously prompted Paul to say, “Should we ride in de wagon, sir, or walk behind ye?”

Mr. Daingerfield spoke like he was instructing a child.  “You’re not coming with us, Paul.  You’re staying here.”

“But we’s part of de house, sir.” Paul stressed.  “Youse got the rest of de house in de wagon.”

Pulling his hat off and gently rubbing his temple, Mr. Daingerfield closed his eyes for a moment.  “You’re free now.  I don’t want you to come with me.”

“But, sir,” Esther whispered, “we don’t know what being free is.”

Mr. Daingerfield shook his head and, ignoring his former servants, extended his hand to Poppa.  “It has been a pleasure, Eli.  I’ve never known a more fair shop keep.  You’re a good man.”

“As are you, John.”

Annie looked up at Lucy, shading her eyes from the sun.  “Lucy?”

“I suppose this is the end of the Ladies Society.  And the Six.”  She leaned over and handed Annie a pale leather bound book.  “For our Mission.  You’ll need it here, I’d wager.”

Annie answered for everyone.  “Be alert.  Be cautious.  And always be attuned to Those we can’t see.”

Lucy continued to stare down the street, towards the confluence of the Potomac and Shenandoah rivers.  “And then there were five.”

Mr. Daingerfield swung up into the seat of the wagon and grasped the reins in one hand.  “Ladies.  You have been wonderful company for my daughter.”

Adelaide stepped back from the wagon.  “Goodbye, Lucy.”

“Goodbye Addy.” Lucy still would not meet her eyes.  “Goodbye Annie, Sarah.  Perhaps we’ll see each other in happier times.”

Sarah was the only to respond.  “Perhaps.”

Mr. Daingerfield snapped the reins; the horse lurched forward.  “May God save your souls.”

Adelaide, Annie, and Sarah stood together, watching in silence as the overloaded wagon lumbered down Shenandoah Street.  Slowly, it made the sharp turn up High Street and for a moment, Adelaide thought all their belongings would spill out on the Confectionary’s stoop.

“She’s gone.” Sarah shook her head, her expression of disbelief and amusement.  “I can’t believe she’s gone.”

Adelaide cast a glance at Esther and Paul.  Judging by the bewildered, uncomfortable looks on their faces, she had the feeling they couldn’t believe it either.

* * *

SHE SNUCK OUT of the house that night to be with Thomas.  It was becoming their ritual—even when they didn’t make love, they just laid in his bed together, touching, talking and kissing until he walked her home before sunrise.

That night, though, he was more insatiable than usual.  His mouth and hands were everywhere; he pinned her down and took her from behind before rolling her over and cradling her in his arms, his rhythm switching from frantic to slow and intoxicating.  The climaxed together, his lips curled up in pleasure and his forehead against hers.

As their breathing gradually returned to normal, they laid together in a comfortable silence; their legs in a sweaty tangle.  The room was lit by a solitary candle and the glow reflected on his damp skin.  With her head pressed to his chest, she trailed her fingers down the curve of his upper arm and biceps.

He pressed his lips to her temple.  “I have to tell you something.”

“You can tell me anything.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment.  She could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and, in the silence of the bedroom, she heard the pace quicken.  Finally, he took a deep breath and said, “You heard about the riots in Baltimore?”

“Yes.”

He sighed.  His arms tightened around her body.  “Understand... I have a duty to my home.”

Panic welled up in her throat.  She knew where this was going—this was a conversation she didn’t want to have.  “Harpers Ferry is your home.”

“It is now,” he trailed his fingertips down her ribcage and then gently cupped her hip, “but Massachusetts is where my family is, it’s where I was born.  You know that.”

Tears seared her eyes.  She pulled away from him, pressing her palms to her face.  Crying would make him feel worse, but she couldn’t hold it back.  He couldn’t leave her.  Not like this.  “But you’d be... one of them.  You’d be against us.”

“No, no, sweet love.”  He pulled her hands from her face and kissed away her tears.  “It isn’t a matter of the Union or slavery or anything; it’s loyalty to my home.  I’m going back to Massachusetts.  I don’t want you to think I’m a coward or less than a man—it’s my duty.”

Her tears flowed freely.  “You can’t.  Thomas, you can’t, you won’t come back.”

He pulled her into his arms, cradling her body against him, and with one hand, held her jaw steady.  His eyes were locked on hers.  “I swear to you, I’ll come home.  And when I do?  I’m going to marry you, Adelaide.  I’ll never let you go.”

She choked back a sob, but nodded.

“Look at me.”  He touched his forehead to hers.  “I’m coming home to you, Adelaide Cooper. Rebel shot is no match for Massachusetts steel.”

She managed to smile.  “I love you, Thomas.”

He held her tightly, his body trembling as he struggled against the tears welling in his eyes.  “God, I love you too, Addy.  And it’s going to be okay.  I am certain the war will be over quickly.  I’m only going to enlist for three months and just think: I’ll be back here in time for Christmas.”

She pressed her face against his chest.  “Do you really think so?”

“That’s what everyone is saying.” Thomas tilted her chin up and trailed his finger along her jaw line.  “Besides, I have to come back.  Do you really think that David Hamilton can handle the work for both of us at the Armory?”

She managed a weak smile and shook her head.

“Of course not.” He pressed his forehead to hers and then kissed her; deeply, urgently.  “Stay with me tonight.”

She nuzzled her face against his and nodded.  It didn’t matter to her how late she finally stumbled home or if her father disowned her.  The town could think of her as a whore—she didn’t care.  All that mattered was him: the feeling of his skin and the soft pressure of his lips against hers.  With war, came death.

And she desperately didn’t want to lose him.

It was borrowed time; this perfect place of desire and lust and happiness that she’d fallen into could crumble at any moment.  All she wanted was to hold him and touch him and pretend he was hers for the rest of her mortal life.  That he adored her more than anything.  That she was his.

Please let me keep this memory.  Just this one.

Chapter 15

May 1861

“ADDY, I’M READY to walk down to Market Street if you are.”

“I am.” Adelaide grabbed her market basket while at the same time attempted to tie her straw-hat ribbons around her neck.  “Is Poppa down at the shop?”

Robert nodded and rested his head against the doorframe.  “You don’t need a lot, do you?  It’s such a hassle going to the market now.”

“We only go on Wednesdays.” Adelaide followed him down the steps.  “Though, if you want my opinion, Rebekah should be going; at least sometimes.”

Robert pulled his hat down to block the sun.  “I agree.  Baby Lizzie’s what, two now?  Rebekah hasn’t lifted a finger since she married Poppa.”

“Useless.”

“Even more than you.”

Adelaide elbowed her brother in the ribs, but laughed.  It felt good to laugh, she’d felt melancholy since Thomas left the Ferry.  She hadn’t heard from him at all—and it terrified her. He could be busy, of course, but there was that nagging fear that he’d been hurt.  Or worse.  The thoughts consumed her; it chewed at the back of her mind every day.  Sometimes just breathing was an unimaginable task.  “Just marry Annie Frankel, Robert, be done with us.”

He laughed.  “Who would bother you, then, Adelaide?  Luke?  Certainly not Levi.”

Once around the house, Adelaide inwardly groaned as they approached the guards posted at short intervals along Shenandoah Street.  They were like a small stone in one’s shoe—irritating and impossible to ignore.  It had been almost a month since they’d lined up along the street to, supposedly, guard the citizens’ best interests.  It was her opinion they were more interested in harassing anyone who passed.

She and Robert walked past the first two guards without incident.  The third guard, however, held his hand up and motioned for them to stop.  Adelaide recognized him from her last trip down Shenandoah Street.  His head was shaped like a lemon.  “Hold up, a moment.  Where are you two headed?”

“Market Street.” Robert motioned towards the open air market.  “My sister is going to purchase some vegetables.  Just like last Wednesday.”

“Where are you coming from?”

“Our house.” Robert motioned back towards the house.

“And where would that be?”

“Ferry Lot.”

“Where?”

Robert pointed towards their house.  “Right there, on the corner.”

“What streets would those be, sir?”

Robert sighed impatiently.  “That would be Shenandoah Street and Potomac Street.”

The guard nodded slowly.  “Do you have your pass on you, sir?”

Robert shoved his hand in his pocket and withdrew a square of paper that identified him as a Harpers Ferry citizen.  He handed it to the guard, who looked it over and slowly nodded.  As he handed it back, he stared at Adelaide with beady, black eyes.  “You too, Miss.”

She handed him her pass.  The way he looked at her made her feel uncomfortable, like he was scrutinizing even line of her figure; constructing in his mind what she must look like in her corset.

Finally satisfied, the guard waved them on.

“I heard this morning that North Carolina has seceded as well.” Robert smiled encouragingly.  He was probably just happy she was outside for once and not moping indoors. “Isn’t that where your friend moved?”

“Lucy Daingerfield was not my friend, Robert.  That ended when I took up with Thomas.”

“Such lewd behavior.  I had no idea you had that kind of conduct in you.”  He glanced at her and chuckled.  “I’m proud of you, Adelaide.  You’re not a snooty society girl like I thought you’d be.”

“I never had any complaints from Thomas—that I can assure you.”

As they neared the next guard, he held his hand up.  “Could you stop a moment, folks?  I just have a few questions to ask you.”

Adelaide groaned.

“Where are you two headed this fine morning?” He drawled when he spoke, making him sound like he came out of the back woods.  He probably did.

Robert pointed at Adelaide’s basket.  “We’re going to the Market House, down there on Market Street.”

“Where did you come from?” The guard asked.  “What area of town?”

“Ferry Lot.” Robert jerked his thumb behind him.  “Down by the Armory.”

“Ah.” The guard looked down the street.  “What’s your name, sir?”

“Robert Randolph.”

“Do you have a pass, on you, Mr. Randolph?” the guard looked at Adelaide.  “You too, Miss.”

They handed him their passes and, once he was satisfied, continued down the street.

By the time they reached Market Street, all but three of the guards had stopped their progress.  It was infuriating to Adelaide and felt like such a waste of time.  Why stop them?  They lived in Harpers Ferry—they weren’t the enemy.  She knew better than to pose this question to Robert; especially not in the open like they were.

“I just need a few things.” She glanced at the displayed produce.  It was a good thing, as it seemed the last few times they went to the market there was less and less food.  What was available often seemed to be inferior quality, like it was left out in the sun too long.

She picked up a Ruffled Yellow tomato and experimentally squeezed it.  Ruffled Yellows were her favorite, not because of their flavor, but because of their pretty, pleated texture.  If nothing else, they would make a good base for stew.

After placing a few Ruffled Yellows in her basket, Adelaide turned to the picked over piles of Brandywine and Cherokee Purple tomatoes.  There weren’t many good ones left.  She’d have to make do with some undersized pieces—but it was better than nothing.

Robert took the basket from her.   “What else do you need?”

“Beans, potatoes, lettuce.” She ticked them off on her fingers.  “We’ll see if any fruit looks good.”

“It doesn’t.  Trust me.”

They pushed through the crowd towards the bean display.  Yellow pea pods, Great Northern, Navy: plenty to choose from, which was a pleasant surprise.

As Adelaide debated between a handful of Great Northern and Navy beans, a uniformed guard pushed his way beside her.  She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye; he was doing the same to her.

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

Her breath caught in her throat.  “Yes?”

He looked her in the face.  “Not you.  Her.”

The woman beside Adelaide partially turned, it was Mrs. Wilson.  “Can I help you, sir?”

“Are you William Wilson’s wife?”

Her eyes narrowed.  “Yes.”

The soldier motioned towards another group of guards near the entrance to the market.  “You’ll need to come with me, ma’am.”

“Excuse me?” She took a step backward.  “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Ma’am,” the guard was irritatingly patient, “if you come quietly, this will be a lot better for you.”

“Better for me?” She turned to Adelaide with pleading eyes.  “I told you, I haven’t done anything.”

“Ma’am, we need to speak to you about some comments you and Mr. Wilson made of late about the Union.”

“This is unbelievable!” Mrs. Wilson squawked like a plucked rooster.  “I am a private citizen!”

The guard snatched her basket away from her and threw it on the ground.  Adelaide had to take several steps to the side to avoid being hit.  “I’m not going to tell you again.  We’ve read some correspondence sent to you—”

“You stole my mail?” Her mouth gaped open.  “How could you do that?  I’m an old woman; I haven’t done anything!”

Another guard grabbed Mrs. Wilson’s arm.  “Ma’am, don’t make us carry you out of here.”

The woman’s shoulders slumped and, with an exaggerated limp, she allowed the guards to lead her from the market.  Adelaide could hear her loudly complaining as they pulled her down the street, insisting that she was innocent of all charges.

Robert shook his head and stepped around his sister.  “Let’s hurry it up, Addy.  I don’t want to be out here any longer than we need to be.”

She dumped some beans in the basket.  “What are they talking about?”

“You know how old Mr. Wilson is.” Robert handed her a head of lettuce, but kept his eyes on the soldiers still loitering around the vegetable stalls.  “He never shuts up about the glorious old Union.  If he keeps it up, he and his wife will be keeping house up in Yankee territory before long.”

“Can they just drag her away like that?” Adelaide picked through some potatoes and placed a few into the basket.  “I thought the military had rules.”

Robert shrugged.  “Don’t worry about it.”

“Where do you think they took her?”

“I said don’t worry about it.” Robert looked around nervously, like someone might overhear them.  “Look, do you have everything?”

“I just need some fruit.” Adelaide nodded towards the baskets of apples.  “Just get some of those.  I wonder if they charge more for the worms in them?”

Robert withdrew a rolled up cloth sack from his pocket and pushed his way over to the apple baskets.  Once he had filled the sack and paid for all the stock, he sharply grabbed Adelaide’s arm and pulled her out to the street.  “The last thing I need is for your mouth to get us sent to the guard house.”

“Oh, calm down.” she snapped.  “You overreact.”

Robert scowled, but didn’t respond.

Halfway down Shenandoah Street, Adelaide noticed David Hamilton strolling along the street, darting around mud puddles.  He caught sight of them and immediately headed in their direction.  “Friends!  It is not a glorious morning?”

“Something like that.” Robert muttered.  “Are you on lunch from the Armory?”

David swept his hat off and smiled broadly at Adelaide.  “No, I’ve quit.”

“Quit?” She repeated, her eyebrows twitching up in surprise.  “But why?”

“I’ve enlisted.” David puffed up his chest proudly.  “Friends, you are looking at Private Hamilton of the Second Virginia Infantry, Company K.”

“Well, now, David.” Robert slapped him on the back.  “That is wonderful!”

“It’s something that has pressed my mind for some time.” David straightened.  “I felt it my duty to protect the fine state of Virginia.  Will you be enlisting, Robert?”

Robert kicked a stone into a puddle.  “I have given it thought.  I need to speak with Father about it, obviously, since I am his partner in the store.”

“Certainly, certainly.” David nodded.  “The war will be over before long, anyway.  You’d best enlist before them Yanks surrender!”

Robert cracked a smile.  “I would hate to miss all the fun.”

“I hate to rush away, dear friends, but my sister has promised me a fine supper, fit for a general.” He swept his hat off and shot Adelaide a lopsided grin.  “It is always a pleasure to see you, Miss Randolph.”

“Indeed.” She returned his smile.  David had been persistently pursuing her affections since Thomas’s departure.  “You will give my best to Susan?”

“Of course.”

She watched him saunter down the street for a moment and then turned to her brother.  “I thought you asked Poppa about enlistment.”

“I did.”

“He said no.”

“I know that.”

She scrambled to keep up with his long strides.  “Why lie to David, then?”

“Because Poppa insists on treating me like a child.” Robert switched the basket to his other hand.  “Which is bad enough—I don’t need my friends thinking I’m a coward.”

“He’s not treating you like a child, he’s being reasonable.  He’s old, Robert.  He needs help in the store.”

Robert sighed.  “Oh well, everyone says it will be over in a few months, anyway.  The Armory’s losing a lot of workers, though.  I wonder what they’ll do about the lack of manpower.”

A guard stepped out in front of them.  “Excuse me, sir, but can I see your pass?”

Robert made a face.  “But we just came through here.”

“I don’t recall you coming through here, sir.”

“Only ten minutes ago!” Robert held up the market basket.  “We were headed to Market Street.  Now we’re on our way back.”

“That may be, sir,” he sounded bored, like their presence was intrusive to him, “but I still need to see your pass.  You too, Miss.”

She ground her teeth together, trying to restrain herself from audibly groaning.  As she looked up at the soldier to hand him her pass, she saw a shadow hovering in the middle of the street. No one else on the street seemed to see him, but he was clear to her: the breeched trousers and smartly buttoned jacket.  His face was still too shadowed for her to see his features, but she could see the cocked hat and the direction he was staring.

He was watching her.

* * *

“CAN YOU ROLL up my sleeves again?”

Adelaide glared at her sister.  “Honestly, Sarah, you act like today is the first day you’ve done laundry.”

She shrugged.  “I rolled yours up.”

Groaning, Adelaide wiped her hands on her apron and crawled around the wash basin to Sarah.  “You only make excuses like this when it’s your turn to scrub clothes.”

She rested her hands on the wash board.  “No, I complain about laundry as a general rule.”

Once her sister’s sleeves were rolled up, Adelaide crawled back over to her basin of clear water.  “If our family depended on you, Sarah, we’d never have clean clothes.”

“Maybe.”

Adelaide laughed and pushed the clothes back and forth in the water, doing her best to rinse out the lye soap.   “I saw David Hamilton today.  He’s enlisted in the Confederate Army.”

“Really?”  Sarah leaned back and stretched her arms over her head.  “I figured he would.  A lot of gentlemen around town are enlisting.  Though, I am surprised he hasn’t asked to court you yet.”

“I would have said no.  My heart belongs to Thomas Cooper and no one—ever—will replace him.”

Sarah suddenly straightened, looking past Adelaide to the front gate bordering the yard.  “Luke?  What are you doing home so early?”

Her younger brother shrugged his shoulders and sat on the bottom step.  “I got sent home.  They closed the Armory.”

“What are you talking about?” Adelaide pulled her hands out of the water and dried them off again.  “They can’t close the Armory.  That’s all this damned town has left.”

Luke pulled his hat off and ran his fingers through his thick hair.  “Told us they needed the machines.  They want to move everything down to Fayetteville... said we’re too close to the Yanks here and could lose it all in one swoop.  They don’t want to risk it.”

Adelaide almost overturned the wash basin as she scrambled to her feet.  Holding up her skirts so as not to trip, she dashed through the gate and skidded to a stop beside Potomac Street.  The Armory gates were wide open.  Soldiers swarmed through the buildings, occasionally emerging to drag machinery and supplies to awaiting wagons.

Sarah anxiously twisted her apron in her hands.  “What’s going to happen to us now?”

Adelaide was not sure how to answer her.

Chapter 16

THE LETTER WAS sitting on the work table.  Adelaide did not notice it when she first walked in to the kitchen that morning. Only after she turned back to the table to beat eggs for breakfast did she see it.

She set the ceramic bowl down on the table and placed the unbroken eggs inside to keep them from rolling off and smashing on the floor.  The paper had not been on the table when she cleaned up the kitchen last night—she was positive, as the last thing she had done before bed was wipe down the table.

My dear family,

This morning I head to Maryland.  I plan to join the first Federal unit I come upon.  After watching our own Confederate soldiers destroy the Armory, I cannot in clear conscious sit still and let this continue.  It is my hope, in time, you will all forgive me.

Very truly yours, I remain son and brother,

Luke

Her body felt like it was swaying from side to side and, for a moment, her vision clouded.  Luke always took everything so personally, always took it to heart.  He wasn’t that little obnoxious boy anymore; he was... just...

Gone.

The letter was fluttering in her hand.  It took her several moments to realize it was her hand trembling, not some invisible force trying the wrench the paper from her fingertips.

As tears began streaming down her cheeks, she rushed from the kitchen and screamed for her father.  Maybe there was still time to stop him.

Chapter 17

June 14, 1861

“SO, APPARENTLY, HE was traveling on the pike from Charlestown and saw these farmers.” Annie giggled and capped her finger with a thimble.  “They were on their plow horses and were practicing a cavalry drill.  Can you imagine?”

Adelaide laughed.  “Big plow horses?  I don’t imagine they’d be fast.”

“That’s not the best part.” Annie shook her head.  “The commander was shaped like a boulder.  Each time he yelled at them—or laughed at them, as the case may have been—he would wobble his head around and his cheeks would jiggle about like a dollop of jam.  Mr. Ebersole said that it was like a train derailment. He couldn’t stop watching. ”

“I tell you, if that’s the leadership we have, there is no way we can win.” Sarah rocked her needle back and forth through the quilt.  “Fat generals?  Plow horses?  Those Yankees won’t want us back in the Union.  They’ll be too ashamed.”

Annie set her quilt blocks down and brushed her hair back from her face.  “Are there any new incidents of spirit activity?  Addy?”

She shook her head.  “Not since I saw the Shadow Man—that’s what I’m calling him now—outside of Thomas’s house and in the Armory.  It’s still so odd: when I saw it, I couldn’t move.  My mind couldn’t function to pull out my watch and try to force it to the other side.  I just looked.  It looked at me, it stared, and then it was gone.”

“That doesn’t sound like a spirit.”  Annie lifted the mattress from her bed and slid her hand underneath it.  She pulled out the book of witchcraft Lucy had left in her possession.  “I think it’s more like an archdemon, an upper echelon creature that commands the hordes of dead we face.”

“But why now?”

Annie flipped through the book.  “It could be a wraith, I suppose.  The creatures we fight, the souls of the dead returning here for whatever reason or another, respond to the wraith.  It’s the war.  They come as harbingers of death.  Remember, this all started before John Brown raided the town.  These things started coming back when they knew death was marching toward us.”

“Fair enough.”  Adelaide shifted her weight from one hip to the other, and then slid her hand into her pocket.  She clenched the watch.  “So how do we get rid of it?”

“I don’t think you can.  It looks like you have to wait until—“

She was silenced by an explosion so strong that Adelaide thought she felt the house shift on its foundation.  She stared across the quilt into her sister’s wide eyes—not again.  Not again.

It felt like she was rooted to the chair; terrified if she moved, the building would come crashing down around her.  They were all frozen, like a picture likeness of themselves, staring at each other’s stricken faces and clutching at the quilt as if somehow it would hold them to reality.  Adelaide wasn’t sure who moved first, if it was her or another beside her, but after a moment’s hesitation they were all crowded around the window overlooking Shenandoah Street.  Even from that distance, she could see a column of black smoke rising behind Ferry Lot.

“They blew up the railroad bridge!” Sarah squealed, pressing her finger against the glass.  “My God, again?”

Annie backed away from the window and ran towards the door.  “I think there’s smoke coming from the Armory, too.”

Adelaide ran after her, picking up her skirts and dashing down the stairs as fast as she could.  Annie barely had time to unbolt the door before Adelaide was on top of her, pushing to get outside.  She pulled the door open and the two stumbled out onto the front stoop—and right into a crowd of people staring at the Armory complex.

Even though four shops partially blocked the view, Adelaide could see the long main building of the musket factory on fire.  The thick black smoke billowed upwards, partially obstructing the towering smoke stack.  Flames were erupting from the other main buildings of the Armory: the very buildings they had all struggled to save only two months ago.  Not as much smoke rose from the railroad bridge.  From what she could see, it looked like most of the bridge had already collapsed into the river.

She felt like she was watching the whole scene through somebody else’s eyes.  Gentlemen ran down the street, rushing past slow moving soldiers to extinguish the flames rising from the Armory buildings, but Adelaide didn’t hear them.  She could feel the wind push loose strands of hair against her forehead; it barely registered in her mind.  It was like a dream: dizzying, a horrible memory of the Raid or the burning of the Arsenals.

As she pressed her hand to her forehead, Adelaide finally realized the columns of soldiers marching past them were not marching towards Armory—they were leaving.

“What was it, some kind of signal?” Annie scoffed.  She raised her voice to the passing men.  “Why don’t you help us?  You’re going to let our whole town burn?”

“First they take all the machinery, the weapons, and the tools.” Adelaide leaned against the doorframe to steady herself.  She couldn’t wrap her mind around what she was seeing.  “Now they burn the buildings.  I don’t understand why?  What did we do wrong?”

* * *

IT WAS QUIET after the Confederate soldiers left.  As far back as Adelaide could remember, the only time Harpers Ferry had been that quiet was after John Brown’s Raid.  The Armory was silent, people generally stayed indoors—Poppa refused any request to leave home to call on friends or Society meetings.

She sighed and rested her forehead against the cool glass of the parlor doors.  The sky had turned a mottled gray; the summer sunlight blotted out by thick, pewter colored clouds.  It looked like a sagging slate roof about to collapse over Harpers Ferry, heavy with the collective sorrows of those left behind.

“I’m willing to wager the Shenandoah will flood.” Sarah spoke up from the couch.  “Or maybe the Potomac... or maybe both.”

“That’s a rather safe wager to make.” Adelaide momentarily closed her eyes.  “Since both flood when there’s a lot of rain.  We’ve had a lot of rain.”

“I don’t think that Poppa’s had many people in the store this week.  Levi said he’s kept the door locked most of the time.”

Adelaide turned from the doors and flopped down next to her sister on the horsehair couch.  “He’s kept the doors locked since the soldiers left because of all the theft.  Remember when Mr. Simpson had all that tobacco stolen from his dry goods store?”

“Yes.  I figured that was why Mr. Simpson left town.”

“It’s likely.”

“Adelaide.” Robert strode into the parlor and tossed his hat at her.  “You don’t look busy.”

“You’re wrong, dear brother.” She tossed the hat back at him.  “I am actually quite busy.  I’m testing the stability of this couch.”

Robert made a face.  “Poppa and I are going to Martinsburg in the morning.  I need you to pack a basket with some meat and cheese so we have something to eat on the way.”

“Why are you going to Martinsburg?”

“Poppa wants me to sell some goods to Jacob Selby.” Robert cocked his hat down low over his eyes.  “All that fish is just sitting there, ready to rot.  I guess he wired Selby and asked if he wanted to buy it cheap.  Mr. Selby is a fine gentleman, but he’s tight with money.  Any bargain is a good bargain to him.  Anyway, we’re going to Martinsburg with a loaded wagon.  He’s only coming to supervise, of course, I will be in charge of the actual transaction.”

“Oh, of course.” Adelaide sighed.  “You can’t manage on your own?”

“No.”

Against her better judgment, Adelaide followed him to the kitchen and pulled a large basket from a nail in the wall.  “How much do you think you’ll need?”

Robert sat down at the table and plucked his hat off his head.  “We’re probably not coming back until the next evening.  You said it yourself: it’s a long trip.”

“I don’t expect you to sleep in the wagon.”

He spun the hat around his finger.  “No, we’ll either sleep on Selby’s floor or get a room in a boarding house.”

She cut a large chunk of cheese into several smaller wedges and wrapped them in a cloth.  “Do you want any of this chicken?  It should still be good in the morning.”

“It doesn’t look all that good now.”

She rolled her eyes.  “It’s fine, I just cooked it today.”

“That’s the chicken I ate for supper?”

“Yes, Robert, that’s the chicken you ate this afternoon.” Adelaide glared at him.  “We all ate it this afternoon.  As I recall, you personally ate nearly half a bird.”

“Oh yes, put some in too.  It was really good.”

She cut the chicken down into more manageable pieces, wrapped them in a section of brown paper, and placed them in the basket next to the cheese.  “Was that enough chicken?  If you think you need more meat, I’ll put a little of this pork in, too.”
“No, I think that should be enough.” He peeled a scrap of meat from the chicken bone.  “Poppa said he hasn’t been feeling well lately.  He’s getting those headaches again.  If you want my opinion, I think he’s worrying too much about the store.”

She lowered her voice.  “Is it losing money?”

“I think so.” Robert picked at his hat.  “I think people are afraid to come out and shop.  Eh, it’ll pick up soon.  The war will be over by Christmas, so what does it matter?  We can manage until then.”

She tucked half a loaf of bread in the basket.  “Right, over at Christmas. I’ve heard that before and I still don’t believe it.”

It had been six days since a Shadow was seen in Harpers Ferry, Virginia.

And she still hadn’t heard from Thomas.

* * *

June 22nd, 1861

“HAVE YOU SEEN Levi?” Adelaide stirred a large pot of cooking oats and tried to peer down the hallway towards his room.  The door was shut.

Sarah picked through a bowl of berries, occasionally tossing aside rotten fruit.  “I think he’s still out on the porch.  He’s trying to watch them replace the floor on the railroad bridge.”

“He can’t see the railroad bridge from the porch.” Adelaide hit the wooden spoon against the pot to shake off oatmeal.  “There’s a building in the way.”

“I don’t think he knows what else to do with himself.”

Adelaide pushed back the lid of the sugar barrel.  “This can’t be the last of the sugar.”

“Are you asking me?”

She slid the lid back into place.  “No, I’m telling you.  We’re almost out of sugar.”

“Maybe we can get more from downstairs.”

“I don’t know.” Adelaide stared at the sugar barrel as if the pressure of her gaze could fill the barrel with more white crystals.  “I didn’t think there was any sugar left downstairs either.”

“We can’t be out of sugar.” Sarah retorted.  “Our family owns a dry goods store.  We should be able to get whatever we need.”

“You would think.” Adelaide muttered.

Levi trotted into the kitchen.  “Robert and Poppa are home.  The wagon just stopped in front of the house.”

“Fine, we can have Poppa settle this.” Adelaide pulled the oatmeal off the heat.  She could hear Robert yelling for her from the base of the stairs.  “Are you coming down, Sarah?”

“In a minute.”

Robert thundered up the back stairs and burst through the back door.  “Didn’t you hear me yelling for you?”

“I was on my way downstairs now, Mouth.”

“We had an accident.” He shoved past her and grabbed a chair.  “Poppa’s hurt.  I’m not sure I can get him out of the wagon on my own.”

Adelaide’s stomach lurched.

Without another word, Robert hoisted the chair up and darted out the door.

“What happened?” she lifted her skirts up and thundered down the stairs behind him.  “Is he okay?”

“We were past Charlestown, on the pike.” Robert set the chair on the ground and then reached up to grab Poppa’s arm.  “They came out of the weeds.  I don’t even know how many there were.”

“Who?”  He was maddening.

“Soldiers on horseback.” Robert hoisted her up into the wagon.  “Help him stand up.”

“Poppa, are you okay?” She brushed some dirt from his shoulders.  The side of his face was scratched raw, blood matting his thick gray whiskers.  His left eye was starting to swell shut.  But looking closer, Adelaide realized his dark brown coat sleeve was soaked in blood.  “Your arm!  Poppa!”

“Adelaide, calm yourself.” Poppa leaned heavily against her.  “It’s just a cut.  It will mend.”

Robert continued, seemingly oblivious to her concern.  “Roy spooked.  The wagon flipped over—Addy steady him—and he was pinned.  Bastards didn’t even stay to help me lift the wagon.”

Poppa groaned as he eased a leg down to the chair.  “Robert, do try and restrain yourself.  It can’t be helped now.”

“Is it broken?” Adelaide jumped down from the wagon and slipped under Poppa’s good arm to support him.

“The wagon landed on him.  On top of him.”

“We have to get Doctor Marmion or Doctor Starry.”

Robert shook his head.  “We have to get him upstairs first.”

“Would you two please stop talking like I am not here?  I’m not a child, we’ll get upstairs and then Robert will fetch the doctor.” Poppa patted her arm gently.  “It’s fine, Adelaide, stop worrying.”

“Poppa, just take them one at a time.” Robert put his foot on the first step.  “There’s no hurry.  Addy go up behind him.”

Holding onto her skirts with one hand, Adelaide carefully followed Poppa up the steps.  He seemed to be dragging his left foot behind him, almost as if it hurt to put his weight directly on the ball of his foot.  After she watched him for a moment, she realized that he was favoring his whole left side, not just his foot.  “Do you want to sit at the table, Poppa?  Maybe have some water?”

“No, he should go lay down.” Robert helped Poppa step across the threshold and into the kitchen.  “Let’s go into the bedroom.”

Poppa reached out towards the table and unsteadily shuffled towards it.  “No, Robert, let me sit down a moment.  I just need to rest.  I feel like my eyes are spinning in their sockets.”

Reluctantly, Robert helped him ease down to the chair.  “I think we should get you into bed before I go get Doc Marmion.  You don’t seem to have sure footing.”

“Beh.” Poppa waved his hand dismissively.  “I told you, Robert, I’m bruised and just a little lightheaded.  Doctor Marmion will be there in a few minutes—I can assure you I’m not going to fall apart in that time.”

Rebekah burst into the kitchen, a sashaying tempest of hoops, blue silk, and lace.  “Oh, Eli, what happened?”

Poppa grabbed her hand pressed it to his unscathed right cheek.  “Nothing I can’t handle, Bekah dearest.  Just a little accident with the wagon, that’s all.”

Adelaide pressed a wet rag to Poppa’s forehead.  “Rebekah, can you get Poppa some water?  Please?”

Rebekah looked at her vacantly, almost as if she hadn’t the faintest idea where they stored the cups.  Or the water.

“That’s okay.” Adelaide shoved past her.  “I was headed that direction anyway.”

Sarah scrambled to the water bucket and quickly filled a mug.  “Here you go, Poppa.”

Poppa squeezed his eyes closed and then blinked furiously.  Shaking his head, he pressed the wet rag over his face and mumbled, “Close the curtains, child, it’s so damn bright in here.”

Adelaide exchanged a look with her brother.  The kitchen was anything but bright—especially at that time of day.  It was, probably, the darkest part of their house.

She had the feeling it was time to go get Doctor Marmion.

* * *

June 27, 1861

“POPPA, DO YOU want to get out of bed today?” Adelaide pushed back the curtains and forced the window open a little more.  “It is a very nice day out.”

It took him a few moments to reply.  “N-no, Addy.  I... think... I’ll just lie down a little longer.”

“But, Poppa, you’ve been in bed all week.”  She pulled back the cover and checked the bandage over his arm.  It was covered in pus again—and had to be changed right away or else he would start to stink.

Her father sighed but allowed her to lift his tender arm.  “You know I have gout in my leg, Adelaide.  It is one of the hazards of getting old.”

His voice was weak, like it was an effort to force out the words or for them to make the trip from his brain to his mouth.  The robust, iron kettle rumble of his bass voice had been gone for days—she didn’t understand it.  How could a broken arm make the rest of him sick?

“Poppa.” Adelaide tried her best to sound cheerful.  “Do you want some breakfast?  I can make you some oatmeal or maybe a bit of toast?”

He slowly shook his head.  “No... no... I’m not very hungry right now.  Maybe later.”

“You have to eat something, Poppa, you have to stay strong.”

He was barely audible.  “I’m so tired, Elizabeth, just let me sleep.”

Adelaide swallowed hard, her breath catching in her throat.  “I’m not Elizabeth, Poppa, that was Momma.  I’m Adelaide.”

Poppa studied her closely, his once bright blue eyes now sullen and watery.  “Of course, Adelaide, that is what I meant.  Forgive me.”

“It’s okay, Poppa.”  She forced a smile.  “You rest.  I’ll go tend to the morning chores.”

He nodded, seeming to not look at her face but past it, like there was some unseen point of interest behind her.  She touched his hand—startled at how cold and clammy it felt—and gently squeezed it.

It pulled him out of his trance.  He smiled weakly and said, “I do love you, Adelaide.  I hope I do not disappoint you.”

A lump immediately formed in her throat.  Poppa, although affectionate with them, rarely professed his love.  “I know, Poppa.  I love you too.”

He didn’t return her gentle squeeze.  Instead, he closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

Adelaide could feel tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.  Not wanting her father to see them, she turned and quickly hurried out of the room.  He would be fine.  He was just a little tired.

As she walked down the hall towards the kitchen, Adelaide heard a soft voice call out from the parlor.  “Addy!”

She stopped short and took a few steps backwards.  “Yes, Rebekah?”

She was seated on the couch, holding Baby Lizzie on her lap.  More accurately, Baby Lizzie was sleeping and happened to be on her lap.  Rebekah wasn’t cradling her or clutching her—Adelaide had seen people hold blankets with more affection.  “He hasn’t used the chamber pot in nearly two days.”

Adelaide frowned.  “The sheets aren’t wet.”

“I know.” Rebekah bit her lip.  “No water is going in, no water is coming out.”

She pressed her head against the doorframe.  “I don’t understand how he got so sick, so fast.  He just has a broken arm.”

“Maybe we should fetch Doctor Marmion again.”

“He was just here yesterday.  He couldn’t do anything then.  What makes you think that he can do anything now?”

“What are we going to do, Addy?”

Adelaide stepped into the parlor and gingerly sat next to her.  “He’s strong, Rebekah, he’ll get through this.”

“He’s not strong, Addy, that’s the problem.” Rebekah looked down at the top of Baby Lizzie’s soft brown curls.  “I know you don’t think it, but I love him.  I really do... and... I’m too young to be a widow.”

Adelaide wasn’t entirely sure what to say to her.  Uncomfortably, she gently patted her arm and tried to hold back her own tears.

Rebekah collapsed against her so quickly, at first she thought her stepmother had passed out from the constriction of her corset.  Adelaide realized after a moment, though, that she was sobbing.

Out of the corner of her eye, noticed a dark figure step out from the wall.  It stood next to her; her cheek was bathed in ice chilled air.  Adelaide.

But when she turned, no one was there.

* * *

June 28th, 1861

OTHER THAN CIDER making, there were few other things Adelaide hated more than doing laundry.  The stench of the soap, the way her knees ached from squatting on the ground—worse yet, it was perpetual.  No sooner were all clothes scrubbed and dried, did a new batch need tended.  It was particularly dull that day, as Sarah had volunteered to handle dinner for once.  It was about time:  she was eighteen for goodness sakes.  Adelaide had been in charge of cooking since she was fifteen.

She pulled a sopping wet chemise from the soapy water and rung it out as tightly as she could.  Then, she untwisted it, shook some more water loose, and re-twisted it into a tight ball.  Once satisfied that most of the soap was rung out, she tossed the rolled up chemise into the clear water.  Doing laundry on her own took twice as long as it did with Sarah’s help.

Sitting back in the grass, Adelaide stretched out her legs and yawned.  What a day.  Now was as good a time as any for a break.

Her legs ached from squatting on the ground and it look her a few moments to stand up.  It felt warmer than the inside of an iron stove.  Heat seemed to settle in between the heights and just stay there.  She wiped her face with her apron and sighed.  It was times like this she wished she could jump into the Shenandoah River and take a swim.  With all the soldiers taking pot shots at town from the Maryland shore, though, it was foolish to go down towards the river.  In fact, it was foolish to leave the clothes out in the yard to dry—not only did the Yankees want to kill them, but they wanted to steal all of their clothes, too.

From her position in the yard, Adelaide could barely make out movement at the far end of Shenandoah Street.  Curious, she walked to the edge of the fence and peered down the street.  Whatever it was, it was covering a lot of ground very quickly.

Running as if pursued by the devil himself, lines of gray clad soldiers poured down High Street and spilled down onto Shenandoah Street.  The “commotion” at the end of the Street was more soldiers—apparently circling around Harpers Ferry from the pike.

Adelaide felt like she was standing in a still river, frozen up to her knees and unable to move.  The wind whipped her skirts around her ankles, but she was too engrossed at the sudden onslaught of men.

A group broke off in her direction.

Her legs sprang back to life.  She tried to scream—it came out more like the squawk of a pinched chicken—and darted across the lawn towards the stairs, leaping over the laundry water.  She waited to hear the sound of gunfire, to feel the bullets slam into her back.        But no shots came.  She reached the stairs unscathed.

She had to get inside their house and bar the door before the mob of soldiers reached her.  They couldn’t get inside, God, what would they do if they got inside?  With no traction on her shoes, she slipped and fell forward onto the steps, hard, and scraped her hands against the boards.  Glancing sideways, she finally realized that the soldiers were not in her pursuit, but instead were filing into the Armory yards.

She didn’t hang around to find out why.  Jumping to her feet, she thundered up the remaining steps and into the kitchen.

Sarah was waiting on the other side of the door.  “Who are they?  What’s going on?”

Adelaide couldn’t even answer her.  She slammed the door shut and frantically pushed the lock in place.  Maybe they could move the table in front of the door; anything to keep the soldiers out.  It was like the Raid all over again—but these raiders were sanctioned by the government.

Sarah seemed to echo her thoughts.  “Can we push something up against the door?  Maybe jam the knob with the chair back?”

“Maybe we should go to the cellar.” Adelaide headed towards the hallway and abruptly stopped.  “Do you think we can get Poppa down to the cellar?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Sarah snapped.  “Now, do you think we should move the table?”

“Sarah, I don’t know what to do!” Adelaide frantically tugged at her hair.  She was panicking.  It was hard to think through panic, everything seemed like the wrong choice.  “Where’s Levi—he’s not outside is he?”

“No, he’s in the parlor.”

A faint breeze, barely enough to jostle the shades, carried the scent of smoke into the kitchen.  Adelaide left Sarah standing beside the table and rushed down the hall to the bedroom.  Looking out the window, as she had so many times before, she could see soldiers filing into the Armory.  The neat rows of buildings were already engulfed in flames.

Sarah leaned over her shoulder.  For a moment, she didn’t say anything, but finally muttered, “There’s nobody left to put the flames out now.”

Before Adelaide could respond, the earth shook with an explosion.  She and Sarah both screamed; she dropped to the floor and pulled her sister down with her.  She could hear Levi calling her name from somewhere down the hall.  “Stay there, Levi!  Just stay where you’re at.”

She didn’t want to move.  With every ounce of her soul, she wanted to slide underneath the bed and wish it all away.

Levi screamed for her again.

“Come on, Sarah.” Adelaide tugged on her sister’s sleeve.  “Get up.”

She shook her head.

“Fine, stay here.”  She scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping over her skirts, and headed to the door.  One step in the hallway, however, and she was halted in her tracks by a horrible, loud shriek of metal on metal.  It sent shivers down her spine, rocketing across her shoulder blades like lightning.  Instinctively, she covered her head with her arms and then turned back to Sarah.  “What was that?”

Sarah stared at her, her eyes wide.

Adelaide heard the thunder of footsteps rushing down the hall and was nearly bowled over by Robert.  “Addy, I think we should brace that side door somehow.”

“What in God’s name was that noise?”

“A locomotive.” Robert pushed past her, heading towards the work room.  “They pushed it off the bridge.  Right into the damn river—it was easy, considering they blew the damned bridge up again.”

“Who?” Sarah piped up, still stretched out on the bedroom floor.  “Who are they?”

“The god damned Rebel Army, who do you think?” Robert turned and grabbed Adelaide’s arm.  “Help me with this table.  Ready?  Push!”

She gritted her teeth and pushed as hard as she could.  The heavy oak table lurched forward slowly.  “Again?  This is still Virginia, isn’t it?  Why do they constantly attack us?”

Robert shrugged.  “I would have guessed the Armory and Arsenals, but they’ve been shut down for months now.  Your ideas, for once, are as good as mine.”

Sarah hovered in the doorway.  “Shouldn’t we go down to the cellar, Robert?  Wouldn’t we be safer, there?”

“I doubt it.” Robert pulled his cap off his head and ran his hands through his thick brown hair.  “We’d never get Poppa down there, anyway.  Has he woken up at all today?”

Adelaide shook her head.

Robert sighed and stared at the door.  They could hear the sounds of destruction outside; crashing and roaring coming from the Armory.  Even inside the house, the air was thick with smoke.

Adelaide could feel tears threatening to spill over her cheeks.  “Robert, what are we going to do?”

Her brother didn’t answer her.

* * *

June 29th, 1861

A FRANTIC POUNDING on the side door jolted her out of a deep sleep.  Adelaide sat up slowly, surprised that she had fallen asleep in the middle of the day like that.  After the events of yesterday, though, it was surprising she could nap at all.

Robert beat her to the door.  “Who is it?”

“Annie Frankel.”

Robert shoved the table away from the door on his own, but it moved only far enough for Annie to squeeze inside.  “What are you doing here?  You shouldn’t have—”

Annie pressed her lips to his.  “Just stop, Robert, you don’t understand.  My father is making us leave town.”

“What?” Adelaide stared at her.  “You’re leaving?”

Annie burst into tears.  “After yesterday, he says it’s too dangerous.  He’s been packing a wagon all day.  We’re leaving half of the store wares just so we can get out.”

Robert opened his mouth and then promptly closed it, making a soft plop sound with his lips.  Finally, he managed to say, “Where are you going?  Are you going to come back?”

“I don’t know.” Annie threw her arms around him, pressing her forehead to his shoulder.  “But I don’t think that my father wants to come back.  Not after that fool John Brown and what happened yesterday…but that’s not why I’m here.  You have to come with us.”

Robert and Adelaide stared at her.

“My father says that he’ll help you load a wagon.” Annie rushed.  “Grab what you can and leave.  Now.”

“We can’t move Poppa.” Robert said slowly, shaking his head.  “I don’t think he’d last a trip, especially when you don’t know where you’re going.”

“You can put him in the wagon.”

Robert looked at Adelaide.

“What about Luke?” Her filled with tears.  “We don’t know where he is and if we leave…we may never find him.”

Robert was quiet for a moment.  Finally, he dipped his head down and kissed Annie’s forehead. “We have to stay.  We can’t move Poppa, not as sick as he is.”

“Please!”  Tears streamed down Annie’s face.  “You can’t stay here.  It isn’t safe!”

Robert buried his face in his hands.  “I don’t know what to do.  Maybe we could—no, Annie, we can’t go.  We have to stay.  For Poppa.  And Luke.”

In that heartbeat, Annie seemed to resign herself to the truth they couldn’t leave Harpers Ferry.  Her shoulders drooped slightly, but she recovered quickly and threw her arms around Adelaide.  “I will miss you so much, Adelaide Randolph.  You are my best friend.”

Tears spilled over her cheeks and she squeezed her friend tightly.  “What am I going to do without you, Annie?”

She smiled, tucking a small leather pouch into Adelaide’s pocket.  It was Annie’s pouch of protective stones and gems.  “One thing is certain, you won’t know all the best gossip!”

Adelaide managed to laugh through her hiccupping sobs.  “I truly will be behind times.”

“Write me when you marry Thomas Cooper.”  Annie cast a sideways glance at Robert and Adelaide immediately excused herself from the room.  They needed their privacy and besides—Sarah would want to say goodbye.

Her sister knew something was wrong the moment she stepped in the parlor.  Sarah put down the mending and stared at her, eyes as wide as saucers.  “What’s happened?”

Adelaide felt her lower lip tremble.  Putting her hand over her mouth, fresh tears spilled over her cheeks.  A wail was building up in her throat, all she could do was slowly shook her head.

Sarah rushed to her side.  “What’s wrong?  Addy?”

“Annie’s family is leaving.  She’s here to say goodbye.”

“The Frankels too?” Sarah whispered.  “There’ll be no one left by month’s end.”

Sarah linked arms with Adelaide and together, they walked back to the kitchen.  Annie pulled away from Robert, immediately throwing her arms around them and burying her face against their shoulders.  “My dear, dear friends.  A person only says goodbye when they plan on saying hello again.  We will be reunited; and in the meantime, we’ll write each other.  Agreed?”

“Of course.” Adelaide sniffled, running the back of her hand over her cheeks in a futile attempt to dry them.  “Write as soon as you get to…wherever you are going.”

She nodded.  “Stay safe, dearest Randolphs.”

They followed Annie out the door and watched and she hurried down the back staircase.  She headed a few steps and then turned, waving again.  “Remember, it isn’t goodbye, so much as ‘until we are next together.’  I feel very strongly we shall meet up, as soon as this war is at an end.”

Adelaide watched her friend walk away, her familiar gait bobbing around the side of the house and away; away from them and away from Harpers Ferry.  Deep in her heart, she knew that Annie was wrong.  They would never see her again.

Chapter 18

July 1st, 1861

“ADDY, WAKE UP.”

Her eyelids felt heavier than an iron kettle.  She squinted at the candle thrust in her face and peered at her brother in the darkness.  “Robert?  What are you doing?”

“I think…I…ah…Poppa’s gone.”

Adelaide rubbed her eyes.  “Gone?  What do you mean, gone?”

“He’s passed on, Addy.”

For the first time, she realized Sarah was not in bed next to her.  “No…you must be wrong.  He’s just sleeping.”

Robert shook his head.

Her heart began to pound.  He must be wrong; either he was wrong, or this was some horrible nightmare.  She was bound to wake up in a few moments, Sarah next to her, rain glistening on the moonlit windowpanes.

She could hear her sister wailing.

Adelaide looked up at her brother, barely able to make out his features in the faint glow of candlelight.  “How could this happen?  He had a broken arm and some cuts.  The bone was set—Dr. Marmion was certain he’d be okay.”

“He was wrong.”

“What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

You’re okay, Adelaide told herself as she struggled out from underneath the tangle of blankets.  Deep down you knew this was going to happen, that it could happen.  You’ll be alright.

She followed Robert down the dark hallway to Poppa and Rebekah’s room.  Her father looked just as he had before she went to bed: his white hair a sharp contrast to the thick, gray beard on his chin.  He looked like he was asleep, his mouth hanging open a little.

As she looked closer, though, she knew.  Her father was dead.

Adelaide’s body began to shiver uncontrollably.  She sank to the floor next to her sister and sobbed. She sobbed for Poppa, sobbed for the father Luke would never be able to tell goodbye, and the man her baby sister would never know.

But she also sobbed for what she knew was going to happen next.

* * *

“WE’LL BURY HIM next to your mother.” Reverend Fairley was a big man with thick, curly black hair.  He was such a contrast to Reverent Bates, the man he had replaced at St. John’s once their brave minister had left to fight for the Confederacy.  “Dr. Marmion has asked Mr. MacGrogan to help with the coffin.”

Robert nodded solemnly.  “We’re indebted to them.”

Reverend Fairley clapped him on the shoulder.  “Your father was a good man and strong in the Lord.  He has taken his place in glory, as the good book promises.  He left this mortal life as we all would wish to—surrounded by family and with the praises of his Savior on his lips.”

The good Reverend obviously envisioned a much different death than had actually taken place in the bedroom.  But, he was right: everyone wanted the Good Death.  A Good Death was much less like death, but more like a passing on to another phase of life.  Or, at least, that’s what everyone said.  Adelaide knew different: she’d seen spirits writhing and churning in pain, lost in muddled confusion and trapped between this life and the next.

“When will we go up to the cemetery?” Sarah whispered.  “For the service?”

“Oh, no, you can’t do that” Reverend Fairley looked at them strangely, like they weren’t privy to a dark secret.  “Didn’t Robert tell you?”

Sarah and Adelaide shook their heads.

“I’m sorry, ladies, but it’s much too dangerous.” Reverend Fairley looked away from them.  “Not with all those Rebs along the river.”

Adelaide’s eyes flooded with tears.  “We can’t even give Poppa a proper burial?”

“He’ll have a proper burial, Addy.” Robert snapped.  “Just no pomp and circumstance.”

She buried her face against Sarah’s shoulder.

* * *

THAT NIGHT, ADELAIDE sat on one side of the door and Sarah on the other.  Waiting.  It was only a matter of time before his spirit made its move.  There was a pattern now, something they could try and monitor to anticipate what would happen.

She traced her finger over the sides of the watch.  First, someone died in the Ferry.  Whatever barrier was broken or portal opened, maybe by John Brown, it kept the soul from crossing over.  It emerged, lost, hours or days later.  They’d seen it with Thomas Boerly and the raider who attacked her.

It still didn’t explain what the Shadow Man was—or why he was watching her.

She glanced at Sarah.   She was slumped forward, her hand still clenched around the sage bundle, but was asleep.  And lightly snoring.

Adelaide rolled her eyes.  It was a good thing the watch was in her possession.

They’d propped a looking glass against the wall across from his bedroom, as neither wanted to see him in that form.  Adelaide balled up her fist and rubbed her eyes.  It didn’t chase away her exhaustion.  For all intents and purposes, they were orphans.  Their mother died so many years ago and now Poppa.  They had Rebekah, but was she worth?  Nothing.  She was daft and feeble, she couldn’t even care for the child she’d birthed.  That left Adelaide—who was only two years younger—to care for Lizzie.  And the cleaning.  And the cooking.  And the—“

Something moved in the mirror.

She bolted upright.  There was an almost inaudible thud and it slithered to the hardwood floor and then, after a moment when it was no doubt feeling out its strength, she heard two soft taps on the window.  It was trying to figure out how to get out of the room.

Crawling to her knees, she rapped her knuckles against the portion of the wall furthest from the doorway.

It knocked back.

She dropped her hand down, almost all the way to the floor, and knocked again.

The response was almost instant.

It was damned fast.  She wasn’t sure if she’d faced one this quick before, but if she had, it had been out in the open.  There was nothing she could use to block it or slow it down.  This was going to be a problem.

But there was no time to debate it.

Positioning her thumb above the clasp, she pressed herself as close to the wall as she could and locked her eyes on mirror.  Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.

She kicked the outer doorframe.

Movement flashed in the mirror; she pressed her thumb into the clasp and squeezed her eyes closed, tears welling against the lids.  She could hear it screaming, feel the pull as the light dragged it out of one life and into the next.

And when it was over, she sank down onto the floor and wept.  He was gone.

Chapter 19

July 4, 1861

ROBERT DIDN’T BOTHER to look up from a stack of papers, addressing her from the opposite end of the table.  “I’m not as good a businessman as Poppa was.”

“I think you’ve done a fine job.”  She slapped dough into a loaf pan, pulling her hands out to swat at a fly.  “Really, Robert, you’ve done the best you could.”

“If there weren’t so many soldiers running around the Ferry, we might have half a chance.” He sighed.  “There’s hardly anyone left in town and those that are here, aren’t really interested in buying dry goods.”

Adelaide tried to smile encouragingly at her brother, but feared it looked more like a grimace.  “That’s why I’m baking bread.”

“Yes, bread we can sell.  Maybe we’ll make enough to buy more flour so you can make more bread.”

“Sarah and I can do seamstress work.  You just won’t let us.”

“I can also smuggle whiskey across the river,” Robert slowly stood up from the table and perched his cap on his head, “but a person has to have some moral restraint.”

Adelaide rolled her eyes.  Robert Randolph: the great moral compass.

“At any rate I must return to the shop, if only to sink into further depression at the lack of sales.” He hesitated in the threshold, his hand gripped on the frame.  “Keep the doors closed.”

“The doors are closed, Robert.”  She retorted.  “That’s why it’s one hundred degrees in here.”

Either he didn’t hear her, or he ignored her.

It was hard to believe it was the fourth of July.  When Virginia had been part of the Union, it had been a day of celebration.  Now, as part of the ‘glorious Confederacy,’ she was regulated to baking bread all day.  The heat was unbearable: it hung in the air and felt like it was stuffed in her throat, choking her.

“Maybe we could make pies, too.”

Adelaide jumped at the sound of Sarah’s voice.  “Well, we could, but what would we put in them?  There are a few apples left, but not nearly enough for a pie—never mind the fact that there’s no sugar.”

Sarah stared at the bare shelves against the wall.  “There has got to be something we can do.”

“As it gets closer to autumn, I thought we could use pumpkins and squash to make pies or bread.” Adelaide paused.  “Assuming the war lasts that long.”

“Right.  It’s supposed to be over by Christmas.”

No one believed that anymore.  Adelaide gathered her apron in her hand and carefully pulled two loaves of bread from the stove.  As she set them down to cool, she thought she heard a popping sound, different than the usual crackling sound of the fire.   “Did you hear that?” She turned to Sarah.

Sarah shook her head.

Picking up the two fresh loaf pans, Adelaide turned towards the stove.  She heard the popping noise again.

“That’s gunfire.” Sarah hissed, backing up towards the door.  “Where is it coming from?”

Adelaide could hear Robert thundering up the stairs.  He burst into the kitchen and grabbed her so forcefully, she dropped the loaf pans on the floor.  They hit the wood with a clatter; dough splattered across the floor and her skirts.

“Move.” He pushed her towards the hallway, grabbing Sarah’s arm and yanking her behind him.  “Get on the floor!”

Adelaide was too scared to question him and fell to her knees on the hallway floor.  Sarah huddled beside her; her eyes locked on Robert as he disappeared into Rebekah’s room.  After a moment of muffled discussion, he began hollering; screaming for Rebekah to get out of the room.  There was the sound of a scuffle and then his voice, almost a roar, “Fine!  Just die in there, I don’t care.  Go to Hell where you belong.”   After only a few seconds she dashed into the hallway, Levi running out of the bedroom on her heels.  He threw himself at Sarah.

Robert picked his way past them and thrust Lizzie into her hands.  He ducked back into the bedroom and then emerged, shoving past her and squatting down at the end of the hall.  He set a rifle down on the floor and then sank down against the wall.

Adelaide stared at the rifle.  It wasn’t Poppa’s old flintlock, it was one of the guns that had been manufactured at the Armory.  “Where did you get that?”

“What does it matter?”

“Did you steal it?”

“No.” Robert picked a few bullets from a pouch.  “I traded some stuff for it.”

“Like what?”

“It’s not your concern, Adelaide.” Robert snapped.  “I did what needed to be done.  That’s the end of the discussion.”

* * *

THIRTY MINUTES OR so later, the sound of gun fire abruptly stopped.  The silence that settled over them was all too familiar.  It was the pinprick of nerves, of waiting for a noise or crash from within the house.   That’s when it got bad: when the silence fell apart.

“Do you think it’s over?” Rebekah whispered.

“Could be.” Robert stretched his arms over his head and yawned.  “But we’re staying in the house and away from windows.  You know how they are: they’ll be firing into windows whenever they can line up a shot.”

“Can I finish baking the bread?” Adelaide asked.  “Or, at least, finish up the dough on the table?”

Robert hesitated.  “I suppose.  But only so we don’t waste all that dough—we need the money to buy more flour.  Either that, or no one eats.”

* * *

July 5, 1861

ADELAIDE HAD SERIOUS doubts about the soup.

It wasn’t so much that she doubted Sarah’s ability to cook, it was just that they didn’t have much in the way of ingredients.  She could smell the “stew” and it smelled…a lot less like stew than it should.

Groaning inwardly, Adelaide studied Levi’s trousers.  He had hit such a growth spurt, it seemed like she was always letting out the fabric to cover his ankles.  Levi was turning out to be so much like Luke: tall and spindly.  Before her thoughts could turn to grief over missing her lost brother, Robert strode into the room.  He dumped an arm load of fabric on the floor in front of her.

She raised her eyebrows.  “What’s this?”

“This is all the fabric that was left downstairs.” Robert reported.  “I want you to use it all up.  Make as many shirts—plain, men’s shirts—as you can for us to sell to the soldiers.  We can make a lot of money off of them.”

He looked uneasy.

Adelaide ran her fingers over the fabric and nodded slowly.  “If Sarah helps, we can probably whip up a few every couple days.”

“Good.” He hesitated.  “Addy…there’s something else.”

She frowned.  “Something else?”

“Yes.”

“Spit it out, Robert.” Adelaide sighed.  Whatever he had to say was bad, he might as well just say it so she could mourn and move on. “Get on with it.”

“Frederick Roeder is dead.” He blurted out.  “He was shot last night.”

She stared him.

“Joseph Barry told me.” Robert slumped down in one of the high back chairs.  “I guess Roeder walked down to the railroad office for some reason.  I can’t imagine why.  Someone shot at him from the Maryland side.  Hit him, punctured his bowels—don’t make that face Addy or I won’t tell you—he dragged himself all the way back to the Confectionary.”

Adelaide’s stomach lurched.  The Roeder family lived above the Confectionary.

“Barry says Mary found him on the back stairs, covered in blood.  There was nothing anyone could have done, Addy, not Doc Marmion, not Doc Starry.  He died in her arms.”

There was nothing to say.

* * *

LONG AFTER THE sun had set and the crackle of gunfire fell silent, Adelaide crept down the outside staircase and made her way down Potomac Street.  She just had to be sure—she needed to know that Mary had dispatched the spirit of her father.  The girl had sent her mother to the other side well before she’d known any of the other, so called, Secret Six.

But her father crawling from the railroad office, bleeding from his bowels and dying when he reached the Confectionary?  Mary was a composed, smart woman, but caught off guard?  Anything could happen.

The imprint of death in the Ferry was an odor she couldn’t escape.  It was like the movement and stalking of spirits: most people didn’t notice it.  They blocked it out.  But Adelaide smelled it all the time, the sweet coppery, rank stench of decay.  It was thick near the Armory, no doubt from accidents, the raid, and the murder of so many over the last few years.  Though she’d never seen the spirit, she knew the raider ripped apart in Hog Alley was still there.  It was as if he’d come part of the soil itself; his moans and screams carried on raindrops and the bite of wind.

She squeezed her watch.  It had become a burden.  The Six had vowed to protect Harpers Ferry from errant spirits and specters, to guide them to the next life and cleanse the town.  But this?  This was like a plague.  They swarmed the Ferry; they were searching for something.

And that thought terrified her.

Roeder’s Confectionary was silent.  She’d heard a jumble of information about what happened to the children after Frederick died.  Mary and her six siblings were orphans now.  Some were saying the children were hiding in the upper floors of the Roeder house, above the Confectionary, while others said the children had fled into Maryland.  Adelaide wasn’t sure which was truth and she wasn’t entirely convinced it mattered.  She only cared that Frederick himself was at peace.  And, if he could have peace, she at least wanted him to be clear of the Ferry.  Death needed to be the end—not a stained continuation.

She exhaled, blowing the air from her lungs and at the same time opening her consciousness to the spirit world.  In one smooth movement, she slid her hand into her other pocket and touched her fingertips to the stones Annie gave her: the protection stones, the projection stones.  She needed the bloodstone and the water sapphire to help navigate the dark realm, but in that same sense, she needed protection.  Some stones offered both.

Some stones, according to Annie, drew the dead to your very soul.

She heard the scrape of a leather bottomed shoe against stone; it was so faint, she at first thought she imagined it.  The smell of baking bread overwhelmed her, the heavily accented voice of Frederick Roeder in the nearby train yard, an echo from when he sold pies to hungry travelers, overwhelmed her.  These were the traces of life.  It was the dissipation of what had been, not the fragmented soul clinging to reality.

And there was something else.

Adelaide strained her ears, trying to will the sound into her mind.  It was like trying to hear one person in a crowd of a thousand men all talking at once.  The voice was low and steady, it repeated the same thing over and over.  She couldn’t understand, though; the words were muffled and jumbled.  She could hear her name in that chaotic cadence, she could hear—

An energy grabbed her from behind and yanked her around the Roeder House, throwing her into Hog Alley.  There was no time to buck away from the binding-like pressure.  It dragged her up by her hair and slammed her against the brick exterior, her head impacting against the bricks. The force was suffocating; her vision clouded with encompassing black, peppered with bursts of white light.

And then, her vision cleared.

Pressing her against the wall was the Shadow Man.  He hunched over her, staring at her with dilated red eyes and, for the first time, she could clearly see his face.  His flesh was pale, like sun bleached bones; his lips pursed and thin.  He had no eyebrows and his blistered head was hairless—somehow this made his features seem to bulge.

She tried to wrench her wrist from his grasp; she had to get away from him.

His lips peeled back in a snarl, revealing stained, yellowed teeth.  “Your watch won’t help you now, Adelaide.”

“Who are you?”

“Death.”

“I’ve faced death before.  I don’t fear it.”

He chuckled, the laughter rattling in his chest like a hollow drum.  “I am death embodied, girl.  You should fear me.  You will learn.”

“This town is protected.”

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head backwards, trailing his finger across her throat.  The broken nail bit into her flesh.  “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

“Enlighten me.”

He leaned forward, sucking in a deep breath.  The expression on his face changed, the snarling grin disappeared.  “I smell your blood.  I know what you are.”

She jerked her head away from him.  “Redire ad inferos.”  Return to hell.

“I rapiam transi et sequere me.” I’ll drag you behind me.

“What are you?”

“I’m a reaper.”  He let go of her hair and pushed her against the wall with more force.  “You cannot stop what’s coming, Sin-Eater.”

She stared at him, her terror momentarily brushed away by curiosity.  “What did you call me?”

“I smell it on you, the vile blood of degenerates and detested paupers.”  He spit on the ground next to her.  “But I was there, centuries ago, when the living were so afraid of the dead, they cast their iniquities onto a Sin-Eater.  Your people consumed them—all the debaucheries, all the hate and lies—and let the souls of the dead merrily cross into the next realm.”

“And what does this have to do with me?”  She again tried to shove him away, but he was too strong.  “I don’t consume sins.  I protect Harpers Ferry.”

“No, you catch the ones I let you catch.”  He pulled her away from the wall and again slammed her into it.  Her vison clouded, the pain in her spine making her legs go numb.  “That watch of yours was forged by Sin-Eaters, it was blessed in pagan rituals of this New World, this new realm of immoralities and death.  This town, this vile pit between two rivers, is a vortex.  A passage to hell.”

“I won’t let you—“

“You have no choice.  The scourge is coming.”

She sucked in a sharp breath.  Something about the word—scourge—chilled her to the deep recesses of her mind, the place where she could reach out to souls of the dead.  “You’ll kill me.”

It wasn’t a questions.  It was a statement.

“Fool.” His jaws snapped close to her face; she flinched.  “My interest isn’t in the soul of a Sin-Eater.  Your time is marked.  The scourge will happen, as it has before, spawned by the fall of man’s dignity.”

“The war.”

“The war.”  He repeated.  He thrust his hand to her throat, tightening his grasp and cutting off her breath.  “The dead will descend on Harpers Ferry and until I’ve had my fill, they’ll keep coming.  They’ll flood here.  And there’s nothing you or your watch or your stones can do.”

“Et bellabunt adversum te, et si necesse est moriens.”  I'll fight you, with my dying breath if I must.  She spit at him.

He roared with laughter, grabbing her chin and squeezing her jaw.  “Superuacanea delectabiles vitae.”  A waste of an entertaining life.  “You’ll let this scourge happen.  Sin-Eaters look away during this season—they always have and they will continue to for as long as man insists on the folly of war.  Leave it alone, child.  I’m not asking you: I’m telling you.  The scourge will happen.  And once it’s over, your troubles will end.”

She wrenched her face away from him.  “You know nothing of my troubles.”

“No?  Not of Thomas Cooper, the mortal who took your heart when he left; the man who promised to write you but is now consumed by the duty of the Federal Army?”

Rage boiled in Adelaide’s core and she shoved him away, breaking free of his hold.  She ripped the watch out of her pocket and held it in his face.  “If you touch him, I’ll send you to hell myself.”

His red eyes glowed, reflecting the aura of the watch.  The scowled smile was still spread across his lips, but he looked less confident.  “Don’t give me a reason to take him, Sin-Eater.  Give me your bond, swear to me on the soul of your lover, that you’ll let the scourge happen.  You won’t interfere.”

“I’d die for him.”

“Your oath.”

She cocked her head in a nod, her elbows locked as she held back the tremor that threatened to radiate through her body.  “The scourge will happen.”

His lips spread into a wider grin, his eyes shining with some kind of internal light.  “I’ll hold you to it, Sin-Eater.  The death of a nation is on your hands.”

And then she realized the consequence of her promise.  In saving Thomas, she set up a generation of men and boys to die in war.

The Shadow Man looked satisfied.  He knew she’d figured it out; that she now understood how firmly he held her to her inherited trade in souls.  She sacrificed them all to save one.

And she knew, if given the choice again, she’d save Thomas.  Every time.

Chapter 20

October 16, 1861

ALTHOUGH SHE WOULD never admit it to anyone, Adelaide felt better under Union occupation.  That wasn’t to say Colonel Geary or Major General Banks were necessarily better men than their Confederate counterparts.  There weren’t.  Those left in town still had no rights, no privacy; citizens were hauled off to Federal prison for being Southern sympathizers, all of Mr. Herr’s grain was utilized—apparently a government term for stealing—by the Yankees.  It wasn’t fair, but it was markedly better than the prior chicken thief Rebels.

“So, here’s the bad news,” Robert sighed loudly, snapping her out of her fixation on the sorting of souls, “with all of Herr’s grain gone, it’s going to be much harder—and more expensive—to get flour.”

“How hard?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Maybe we can barter with what’s left.” There were more important things to worry about, like the so-called scourge.  “I won’t whore.  Don’t even ask.”

“Christ, what do you take me for?” Robert rubbed his hands over his face.  “We’re going to have to figure something out—and soon.  There’s no money left.”

“There has got to be something.  We’ve ground our fingers to the bone baking and building and sewing.”

“There’s not.”

Gun fire crackled from the heights.  It had become an everyday occurrence; Adelaide barely flinched.  “Maybe we can sell more shirts.”

“There’s no fabric.”

“We can buy fabric.”

“With what?” Robert glared at her.  “There is no money.  We used it to buy food, remember?  We’ve hocked everything we could, we’re down to what’s on our backs and a few shit baubles that no one wants.  What do you expect me to do?”

Adelaide looked down at her scuffed shoes.  “We can’t give up.  Not after what we’ve been through.”

“I have some ideas.”

She frowned.  He made her nervous with his ideas.

Robert shrugged his shoulders and turned his face away from hers.  It was the same movement he used to make when their father would ask him to do chores and Robert pretended not to hear.  “Look, it will be fine.  We beat them Yankees good at Manassas; the war will be over in no time.  Then everything will be back to normal.”

The scourge is coming.  “Normal?” Adelaide shook her head.  Her brother was wrong.  “We haven’t had normal in two years.”

In an instant, the entire room shuddered.  An explosion unlike any she had ever heard before ripped through the narrow valley.  It was promptly followed by another.  And then another; seeming to roll down Shenandoah Street from the Charlestown Pike.

Adelaide dove to her knees behind the counter, pain slamming up her thighs as she fell to the ground.  Robert immediately dropped down beside her and pressed her head to his chest, covering her face with his arms.  Before he could utter a word, explosions roared down from Loudoun Heights, shaking the very floor beneath them.

She clapped her hands over her ears and screamed, “What is it?”

“Cannonade.” He yelled, his voice barely audible above the incessant roar.  “The bastards are firing at each other.”

She was too terrified to cry, her body began to shake uncontrollably.  It was like Armageddon, as described by the book of Revelations.  Perhaps this was it: perhaps Christ had come to take his faithful home. Or, maybe this was the scourge.  Death flooding into the Ferry, the scream of artillery their funeral march.

“I have to get everyone out from upstairs.” Robert screamed in her face.  “We have to get down to the cellar, just stay right where you are.”

“No, no!” Adelaide furiously shook her head.  “You can’t leave me here alone.  You have to stay!”

“Addy—stop it.” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her violently.  “I’ll be right back.”

“Please don’t leave me here.”  This was like nothing she’d ever experienced, this wasn’t the scare of a specter entering her bedroom or the terror she felt when Levi fell into the river and was almost washed away.  This was everywhere: it rocked her body, it reverberated in her chest.  She felt it to her soul.  You will see death.

Robert pulled away and pushed her back against the counter.  “Stay here.”  With that, he ran towards the door.

Artillery exploded outside, echoing off of the heights surrounding town.  It seemed to be all around them and on top of them at the same time, as if the cannons were outside in the street aimed directly at the building.  Adelaide cringed with every blast.  It felt like a hammer was smashing against her body, her chest shuddered with each reverberation of the cannonade.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see soldiers running past the front windows of the store.  Whatever was happening on the other end of Shenandoah Street was serious enough to bring them out from safety during the artillery barrage.  She wanted to run out to the street and stop them, to beg them to return to the shelter of the Arsenals.  They were lambs to the slaughter.

But she couldn’t break her vow.  Sin-Eaters looked away—and she was going to have to do the same.

Someone clapped a strong hand on her shoulder.

She shrieked and jerked away.  “Robert!”

He yanked her to her feet and pushed her towards the back of the shop.  “I told you I’d be right back.”

Rebekah, Levi, and Adelaide’s sisters were huddled near the far counter.  At Robert’s beckoning they scampered over, practically moving as one unit.

“Stay behind me,” He cautioned, peering out the front door, “if anything happens…”

“Shut up, Robert.” Sarah broke in.  “We know what it means to run, you damned fool.”

Taking one final look outside, Robert yanked the doors open and shoved Adelaide out on to the front stoop.  “Run through the alley.  Don’t stop, not for anything, until you get to the cellar door.”

He didn’t need to remind her.

She hoisted her skirts up above her ankles and broke into a run.  The alleyway between their house and the drug store next door was narrow—she never could have had made it a hoop—and clouded in shadow.  The other end seemed so far away. Immediately, she panicked, afraid that someone was waiting at the other end to grab her as she rounded the corner.  Spirits, she could handle.  The Shadow Man wouldn’t bother her.  But a man, a soldier, ready to grab her and utilize her like a commodity?

Damn them all to hell.

Sarah was two steps behind.  As they burst into the narrow shaft of sunlight at the other end of the alleyway, she darted around and threw herself full force at the cellar door.  “It won’t open!”

Robert pushed her aside.  He thrust a key into the padlock and threw it into the grass, yanking the doors open.

Artillery shells rocketed down from Loudoun Heights, bursting through the air and impacting buildings; in the ground or into the cliffs surrounding town.  It was impossible to tell what the cannoneers were aiming at; for all Adelaide knew, it could be them.

“Addy, go!” Robert grabbed her elbow and directed her to the stone steps leading down into inky blackness.  She carefully picked her way down, clapping her hands over her ears as another shell burst towards the center of town.  If death and the Shadow Man were waiting for her—she was ready to go.

The darkness swallowed her.  She squinted, trying to make out any shape in the blackness, and took a few steps forward, hunching over slightly since the space did not have much height.  Her shoes crunched on broken glass and other assorted trash on the cellar floor.

The moment they were all down in the cellar, Robert took a few steps down and slammed the doors behind him.  They were plunged into complete dark.  The musty, rotten stench of the enclosed space, no more than a hole in the ground, was overwhelming.  Her body swayed.  It was disorienting, almost dizzying, to stand in a space and feel the eyes of death watching her.  Waiting.

A spark of light.  Robert lit a match and picked his way down the rest of the stairs, pushing past her.  Levi held out a lantern and carefully steadied it while Robert pressed flame to wick.

The darkness subsided slightly.  The cellar walls were packed dirt, but the ceiling overhead was made by the shop’s floorboards.  It was not a place meant for human habitation; in fact, the family mainly used it as a trash bin.  Garbage was everywhere.  Adelaide swept her foot across a patch of ground, trying to clear enough debris from the dirt floor so she could sit.  It didn’t help much, as there were bits of glass and bone still ground into the dirt.  She untied her apron and spread it flat, hoping she wouldn’t get cut through the fabric.  The depth of the cellar muffled the sounds of the artillery blasts somewhat, but the percussion made dirt shower down from the walls.

Sitting down on the apron, she pulled her legs up and rested her chin on her knees.  “How long do you think we’ll be down here?”

Robert laid his frock coat on the dirt and sank down.  “Depends on how much ammunition they have.”

Adelaide glanced over at Sarah.  She was clutching Lizzie to her chest, glaring at Rebekah, her lips pursed in a thin line.  “Sarah?”

Her sister ignored her.  “Don’t you want to hold your child?”

Rebekah, who was squatting uncomfortably in the center of the floor, did not answer.  Instead, she stared down at the ground, visibly disgusted by the condition of her surroundings.  She should have been happy to be alive, but from the look on her face, she would have preferred death over being in the filth incrusted cellar.  It wasn’t that Adelaide wanted the woman to die…but, she knew she wouldn’t have objected if the scourge devoured her.

“You’re a horrible person.” Sarah blurted out.  “And a worse mother.”

Rebekah’s normally dead eyes flashed in anger.  “What do you want me to do?  I don’t know how to take care of a child.  I didn’t even want her—”

“Stop, just stop.” Robert bellowed.  “It’s bad enough out there.  I don’t need you two clucking at each other like angry hens.  We are a family, like it or not, and you can either shut up or have a go outside.  I don’t want to hear another word from either of you about this and if I do?  I’m shoving you out the door myself.”

Rebekah and Sarah fell into a hostile silence.  Sarah glared at her across the cellar, cuddling and bouncing Lizzie in her arms.  Rebekah continued to rigidly crouch on the floor, staring straight ahead.

Adelaide wanted to shake them both.  This wasn’t the time.

Levi pressed his face against her shoulder and whimpered quietly.  “It is like a grave down here.”

“Don’t say that, Levi.” Her voice wavered as she wrapped her arm around him and pulled him close.  “We’re safe.  We’re protected.”

“We’re going to die down here, aren’t we?”

A blast rumbled through the ground.  She ruffled Levi’s sweaty hair and recited, “Lord, how are they increased that trouble me!  Many are they that rise up against me.  Many there be which say of my soul, there is no help for him in God.  But thou, O Lord, art a shield for me; my glory, and the lifter up of mine head.  I cried unto the Lord with my voice, and he heard me out of his holy hill.  I laid me down and slept; I awaked; for the Lord sustained me.  I will not be afraid of ten thousands of people, that have set themselves against me round about.  Arise, O Lord; save me, O my God: for thou has smitten all mine enemies upon the cheekbone; thou hast broken the teeth of the ungodly.  Salvation belongeth unto the Lord; thy blessing is upon thy people.”

Levi sighed and set his mouth in a thin line.  “I don’t think God can hear us from down here.  Not with all the crashing and bashing of artillery.”

“I should think,” Adelaide squeezed him gently, “that is when He can hear us the most.”

* * *

THREE HOURS LATER, the shelling stopped.  It didn’t end abruptly, but trailed off slowly with a few bursts subsiding into silence.  It reminded Adelaide of a storm, almost out of earshot but still able to rumble across the sky in a last, weak show of fury.

Their house, those around them in the Ferry Lot, and the Armory buildings seemed unscathed.  However, she could see a deep, gaping hole in the row house roof next to the Harper House.  She wondered if anyone had been upstairs when the shell smashed through the brick.  She prayed they hadn’t been, but she knew better.  Harpers Ferry was marked.  They were all targets of the scourge.

“Do you remember what we were doing two years ago?” Sarah shifted Lizzie to her other hip.  “October sixteenth.”

The memories crushed down on Adelaide like a heavy weight.  Of course she remembered.  “Brown’s Raid.”

“Maybe he was right.  Maybe this land can only be purged with blood.”

Adelaide looked away.  If only her sister knew.

Chapter 21

December 1861

HARPERS FERRY WAS left a husk.  There was enough housing for well over two thousand people, but nearly nine-tenths of the buildings were empty. Adelaide felt like she had lived a thousand lifetimes in a few short months.  She had watched good people loot their neighbor’s houses, innocent citizens hauled away to prison, and their own Confederate soldiers sink so low as to steal a grave marker from the cemetery.  What use was a tombstone?  Was it some sick reminder of their desolate valley?  Or how the damn Reb Army killed that part of Virginia?

It was almost Christmas and the war didn’t seem like it was anywhere close to ending.  They’d stopped saying it, even in jest.  What hope was there?  It was supposed to be a short war, the Rebs would whip the Yankees…but more and more, reports seemed to show they weren’t ready to give up the South.  She determined the scourge hadn’t taken full effect yet.  The souls trickled into town, lumbering and staggering, but there was still not constant flow.

It made her nervous.

She tucked a heavier quilt around her bed and carefully smoothed it out.  The air was crisp and cold.  In the summer months, the cool breeze never seemed to make its way into the house, but in the winter, they couldn’t keep it out.  As she straightened, she stared out the window facing the Armory complex and frowned.  The curtain was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor.  She picked it up and reached to fasten it back in place, only to find the rope gone.

She stormed out to the kitchen and glared at her older brother.  “What did you do with the bedroom curtain?  No, never mind the curtain.  Where’s the rope?”

He took a sip from his mug.  “I took it, just like I did from all the windows.”

“Why?”

“Because I sold it.  We needed food and we needed money to get it.”

Adelaide threw her arms in the air.  “Who wants to buy rope?  People don’t have money to buy food, why waste it on rope?”

“I sold it to some guys from a Pennsylvania battalion.” Robert was calm, like there was nothing out of the ordinary with what he’d done.  “Then I sold some more to some guys down here from Martinsburg.”

Adelaide stared at him.  “Why would soldiers buy rope from you?”

“Because I cut it up and told them it was the rope that hung old John Brown.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.  She stared at him, stunned, for several moments before stammering, “That’s dishonest.  You damned liar.”

“They bought it.” Robert shrugged.  “Hey, if you don’t want to eat food purchased with dishonest money, you’re more than welcome to get your own.”

“What am I supposed to hang the curtains on?” Adelaide shoved her hands into her apron pocket and then slammed them back on her hips.  “You know those Rebs on Maryland Heights will shoot at lights in the windows.  You’re putting us at risk?”

“I did what I had to do.”

Adelaide was tired of hearing him say that.  He always thought he was right, regardless of what his choices were or who he hurt in the process.  They were always wrong; inferior to him.  He had no idea how strong a woman she was, how she put herself at risk to protect the town.  She was a Sin-Eater. She was strong, she was smart and agile. And no man—especially not a daft fool like Robert—was going to make her feel like she was worthless.

There was nothing in the house she could use to hang up the curtains, she was sure of it.  They didn’t even have locks and bolts on the doors anymore: the Rebs had come in and taken everything for scrap metal.  If it hadn’t been for the damned Confederate Army, she would have still had the curtain rods.  It’s your part of The Cause, they had reasoned, You’re helping free us from Northern aggression.  It didn’t matter what anyone thought, they took it anyway.  She didn’t even care about restoring the Union or the Southern Freedom anymore.  She just wanted it all to go away.  Let the scourge end, let the souls be taken.  She wanted to be in Thomas’s arms, to be more worried about not getting pregnant than the fear of not surviving another day.

“Who do you think you are?  Poppa?  Fine, just fine.  You know, don’t even worry about it.  I’ll rip apart our cage crinolines.  We’ll use the steel to hang the curtains.” She wanted to hit him with something. Or spit at him.  Christ, he acted like the only person he cared for was himself.  She’d slam the door to punctuate her distain of him; she’d prefer if his hand was caught squarely in the closure.

“Addy, look, I’m sorry.” Robert caught her wrist and yanked her back.  “There are some brooms down in the shop.  I’ll cut the bristles off and you can hang the curtains on the handles.  Then we’ll tack the sides down with a few nails.  It’s not ideal, but…but no one is buying brooms right now and it just makes sense.”

“You sound like you’ve given it a lot of thought.”

He sighed.  “You’re an impatient child, never hearing me out.  Do you really think that I would let you and Sarah get shot through the windows?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Who would cook for me?  Annie Frankel’s gone and Rebekah probably can’t even find her way to the kitchen, let alone properly construct a meal.”

Adelaide managed a smile, but before she could speak, a loud pounding on the back door broke the jovial atmosphere.  Panic flushed down her breast bone; she stiffened.  A knock wasn’t a welcome sound.  People weren’t venturing outside these days, not with the constant threat of being shot, and the armies had already picked their house clean.  What was left?

Robert stared at the door, he brow knitted in a frown.  “Who could that possibly be?”

“Don’t answer it.” She grabbed his arm, trying to keep him still.  “Maybe they’ll just go away.”

He pried her fingers from his arm, pushing her away from him.  “Someone finds an empty house, they just stroll on in and steal what’s left behind.”

She cautiously followed him, her curiosity getting the better of her, but she lingered a few steps back.  “What if they—”

He held up a hand to silence her.  Leaning over the table barricading the door, he sternly called, “State your business.”

A muffled voice answered.  “It’s Mr. MacGrogan.  I have something for you.”

Robert turned his head slightly and exchanged a glance with Adelaide.  She shrugged.  She was less versed in dealing with matters of the living: if it was a specter at the door, she’d be ready with her pocket watch.  Out of habit, she reached her hand into her pocket and touched the cool metal.  Be alert.  Be cautious.  And always be attuned to Those we can’t see.

After hesitating a moment, Robert shoved the table back, but only enough for the door to open a crack.  The cold air seeped through the narrow opening and bit at Adelaide’s exposed cheeks.  She shivered.

Mr. MacGrogan slid an envelope through the crack.  “My son sent some letters through friends on the other side of the river.  He sent this along with it.”

Before Robert could study the envelope, MacGrogan was gone.  Adelaide didn’t blame him: it was foolish to be wandering around the Ferry Lot, especially with the pot shots the Rebs were taking at them—their own people.

After he pushed the table back into place, Robert held the envelope into the light and studied the front.  His eyes immediately widened.  “It’s from Luke.”

She dashed to his side.  “Luke?  Sarah, Levi, come quickly!  Luke wrote us a letter!”

Sarah and Levi thundered down the hallway, huddling around Robert as he carefully ripped the envelope open.  He slid the paper out and unfolded it.  As he did, a neatly stacked wad of greenbacks slipped out and almost fell to the floor.

Sarah snatched it up.  “Look at it all.  There must be thirty dollars here!”

“What does the letter say?  Read it!  Read it!”  Levi bounced and hopped, shifting his weight back and forth from one foot to the other and then back again.

Robert cleared his throat.  “My dearest family:  I hope this letter finds you all in best of health.  I am none too worse for wear, though, I must say my physical being would surprise you!  Soldiering is hard work and I find myself growing stronger, yet still thin.”

Sarah giggled.  “He’s always been thin.”

Robert continued.  “I have joined a fine regiment.  My monthly pay is more than enough to satisfy my needs.  I have enclosed some savings for you and hope you can use it for something special.  Perhaps buy some delicious sweet cakes from Mr. Roeder…”

Adelaide cringed.  Mr. Roeder had been dead and in the ground over five months.  She still wasn’t sure his spirit was gone.

“I have yet to see any serious engagements.  We spend most of our time drilling and looking stern.  Our commanders are very knowledgeable and I enjoy the company of my fellow soldiers.  Though none are from the Ferry, most come from Frederick City and know the area well.  I know it will dishearten my dear sisters to hear of my involvement with those from Frederick, but I can assure you these are fine gentleman.”

It was almost enough to make Adelaide smile.

“I must apologize for not writing.  I promise I will do better.  We are always on the move and it is difficult to pass letters.  One never knows if they will actually reach their destination.  I request you keep me in your fervent prayers, as you are always in mine.  I remain very faithfully yours, your son and brother, Luke.”

It had been sixteen days since a spirit had been seen in Harpers Ferry, Virginia.

And her brother didn’t know their father was dead.

Chapter 22

February 7th, 1862

ADELAIDE COULD HEAR her brother thundering down the hallway like a galloping horse, getting louder as he drew nearer.  He always sounded like he was trying to trap a scampering mouse under his boots.  Without knocking or requesting permission to enter, he burst into the bedroom and said, “You need to grab what you can and get out of the house.”

“What?” She glared at him.  “Robert, what are you talking about?”

He reached out, yanked her to her feet, and then did the same to Sarah.  “Just shut up, grab what you can, and get out.  The damn blue bellies are going to torch the house.  We have five minutes—and only because I begged on your lives.”

“What?” Sarah shrieked. “Why are they burning the house?”

Robert didn’t give her time to answer.  He bolted out of the room, immediately beginning to bark orders at Rebekah and Levi.

Adelaide glanced around the bedroom, the stark realization hitting her like a sledge hammer.  There was no possible way they could take everything with them—not in five minutes.  They would never be able to get it out of the house.  Damn them.  Damn the war and the deliberation of states rights or freedoms or whatever the hell it was that made this happen.  It was a rich man’s war, but it was the poor man who was dying.  It was the poor man’s family who was forced to suffer, to be humiliated and raided and have everything taken away.

She ripped the quilt off the bed and threw it on the floor.  “Pile the linens on here, as much as you can.  We’ll use it to drag down the stairs.”

Sarah nodded and began stripping the bed.  She moved mechanically, like she was a windup clock.  Her face was blank, but her eyes were filled with tears.

Adelaide snatched her spare wool stockings off the floor and yanked them over the stockings she was wearing, quickly followed by two pairs of summer stockings.  It stretched them out but she didn’t care.  There wasn’t time to care.

“Should I put the petticoats on here, too?” In the process of stripping the bed, Sarah struggled to pull on extra stockings as well.  “Clothes?”

“Put as much on as you can.” Adelaide yanked a skirt and bodice over her clothes.  “Don’t debate, Sarah, just do it!”

How would there be time for everything?  Tears began streaming down her cheeks.  This was her home, she’d lived here her whole life.  Her brothers and sisters were born there.  Her parents died there.  Now she only had five minutes left inside its walls.  Damn the northern bastards.  To them, they were Rebels, to the Rebs they were Yankees.  They were damned either way.

“Can you handle this?” Adelaide threw her thick, blue wool cape over her shoulders.  “I should get dishes from the kitchen.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Still in her stocking feet, Adelaide thundered down the hallway to the kitchen.  Her mind felt like it was ensconced with thick fog.  She blindly grabbed wooden bowls, utensils, and mugs and dumped them on the table.  What did they use every day?  What would they need?  Everything!  How could they survive without everything?

Robert stormed into the kitchen and dumped a few large bundles on the floor.  “Adelaide, you have got to hurry. There isn’t time.”

“I know.” She struggled with the over sized soup kettle.  “Help me!”

He jerked the soup kettle from her hands and set it on the table.  “Whatever you can fit in this is all that goes.  I’m sorry, you’ll have to do without.”

It was a ridiculous notion.  There was no way everything they would need could possibly fit in a kettle.  She frantically shoved a cooking pan and the plates into the kettle.  “Are you taking loads down now?”

“Uh-huh.” He hoisted the bundles over his shoulder and staggered to the door.  “Please hurry, Addy, we’re almost out of time.”

“Addy!”

She hesitated for a moment.  There was still so much she needed to bring, so much more they needed; that they depended on.

“Addy, help me!” Levi sounded desperate.

She tossed two loaf pans into the kettle and then hustled down the hall to him.  “What’s wrong?”

His quilt, like the one she and Sarah shared, was piled with bed linens and clothing.  He looked at her, his bright eyes brimming with tears.  “I put Luke’s clothes on here, too.  I can’t tie it closed.”

Adelaide grabbed the edges of the quilt and, with Levi’s help, muscled them together.  With a tug and a twist, the bundle was closed.  “Go help Rebekah and Lizzie. I’ll take this downstairs.”

Robert’s voice echoed through the house.  “Hurry up!”

“Help me, Robert, I can’t carry this alone!” Sarah ran past the open door.

Adelaide hoisted Levi’s belongings over her shoulder and stumbled down the hallway, passing Robert as he dashed through the kitchen.  He cast her a sideways glance.  “Can you handle that?”

“Yes.” She gritted her teeth and lurched out the door.  From the top of the stairs, she could see several bundles on the sidewalk.  There didn’t seem to be enough; certainly they had managed to get out more than that.

Thundering down the stairs, she curled her toes over the edges of each step to prevent herself from tumbling face first to the ground.  A few rough knots in the wood dug into the soles of her stocking feet, but she tried not to let it slow her down.  There was too much left to do, too much left to try to save.

Then she saw them: soldiers standing next to the steps.  They made no move to help her.

Adelaide dumped the bundle of Levi’s belongings on the ground with the others.  It caught her cloak as it slammed to the ground, jerking her to one side by her throat.  Shoving it away and wrenching her cloak free, she turned on her heel and rushed back to the stairs.  The smell of smoke was already thick in the air.

Robert squeezed past her on the staircase.  “Help Rebekah.  I’ve got to get the kettle from the kitchen and what I can from my room.”

Running back into the kitchen, Adelaide slowed a moment to see if she could throw anything else in the kettle and then dashed down the hall to Rebekah’s room.  A room the slag had shared with their father.

Not surprisingly, Rebekah was standing in the middle of the room sobbing hysterically, wringing her hands together.  Sarah was darting back and forth, dropping things on the quilt and obviously doing her best to determine what Rebekah and Lizzie would need most.  Everything was just sitting out as it had been, like the fool hadn’t even tried to collect clothes and belongings to take with her.

“Why aren’t you helping?” Adelaide screamed at her and jerked Lizzie off of the floor.  “Are you just going to stand there while this house burns around you?”

She sniffled.  “I can’t do it, Addy, I can’t take this anymore.  I don’t want to be here.”

Adelaide thrust Lizzie into Rebekah’s arms and, resisting the urge to slap her, hissed, “We don’t want you here either.”

Rebekah stared at her, her mouth gaping.

“Get out of here.” Robert raced into the bedroom and helped Sarah fold the quilt up around Rebekah’s belongings.  “We’re out of time.  Levi, on your way out grab that kerosene lamp from the parlor.  Sarah, take these candles.”

Adelaide grabbed her sewing basket from Sarah’s outstretched hand and ran towards the kitchen.  It didn’t feel like five minutes; it didn’t feel like time should be up.

As she was outside and racing towards the street, a horrible realization jolted through her.  She had left her shoes inside.

Adelaide turned back towards the house, nearly crashing into Levi.  She handed him her basket.  “Take this.”

“You can’t go back in there.” He shrieked.  “Addy, Addy, don’t!  The downstairs is already on fire!”

“I have to get my shoes.”

She was in a daze.  Back up the stairs, pushing past her sister and Rebekah as they rushed outside; yanking away from Robert as he tried to stop her—she couldn’t leave her shoes in there.  She could hear Robert arguing with the soldiers outside, they must have been right behind her.

Adelaide burst into the bedroom and grabbed her black shoes off the floor.  As she straightened, her eyes landed on the window at the far side of the room.  She hesitated.  From her position in the doorway she could see the smokestack in the Armory.  Even after having looked at that scene her whole life, it was still captivating.  She remembered standing there during John Brown’s Raid and years before when they watched the Potomac River threaten to spill over into the Armory complex.  The finality of it all hit her.  She would never stand in this room again, never wake up in this bed.

Her eyes flooded with tears and she stumbled back from the door, immediately slamming into someone.  She jumped at the sudden impact and screamed.

One of the Yankees from the sidewalk was standing in the hallway.  He reached forward and roughly grabbed her arm, yanking her forward.  “You better get out of here, Secesh, or we’ll take this house down with you in it.”

She wrenched her arm out of his grasp and squeezed past him, clutching her shoes to her chest as she ran.  He must be chasing her from behind, he had to be behind her, ready to reach out and jerk her backwards.  She could almost feel his hands on her shoulders, his breath on her neck.

But she was never touched.  Bursting out the back door, Adelaide rushed down the stairs and ran as fast as she could to Robert’s side.  When she turned back to look at the house, she realized that the whole Ferry Lot was burning.  Every shop, every home, every respite; everything was spitting out thick black smoke and showers of sparks.  Everything.

A shudder of weakness spread across her knees and, for a moment, she thought that she might collapse.  Her vision was peppered with dark blotches and shadows; she felt like her head was spinning like a top.  It only took a moment for her eyes to clear, but tears now flowed freely, leaving icy streaks down her cheeks.  How could the Yankees do this?  What had they done to deserve it?

“What are we going to do?” Sarah wailed.  “Where are we going to live?”

Robert vigorously rubbed his face as if he was trying to wipe away the cold and tension.  “I don’t know.”

“We can’t just stay outside.” Adelaide whimpered.  “Robert, we’ll freeze.”

“Just give me a minute, okay?” He glanced around and then heaved a large quilt wrapped bundle over his shoulder.  “Here, help me move all of this into the Armory yard.”

Adelaide dragged the cooking pot full of kitchen wares across Shenandoah Street and through the gaping entrance in the Armory gate.  Robert had followed the gate to the grassy area beside the engine house where, not all that long ago, the corpses of John Brown’s raiders had been laid in their death ranks.  Their blood had soaked this ground; she could almost feel them watching her, delighting in the destruction.

Robert dumped the cloth bundle on the ground. “You’ll be safe here, for the time being.”      She sank down onto the grass and stared through the gate’s iron bars as flames engulfed the Ferry Lot.  Smoke billowed into the sky from the burning buildings, pouring out like water from an upturned pitcher.    All she could see of the house was the upper portico, but she knew by now the flames had engulfed their living quarters.  Their clothes, their books, their furniture; it was a sobering effect on her soul.  She felt numb. She couldn’t bear to watch, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

Sarah dropped to her knees beside her.  “Well…if nothing else, the silver is safe.”

“We should have left with Annie when we had the chance.”

Her sister didn’t respond.

Adelaide rested her head against the cold bars of the gate and stared out at the Armory grounds.  Piles of bricks were scattered across the open areas between buildings and in the road.  There were heaps of gun barrels, heat-bent from the fires last year, rusting in the spotty sunshine next to the large workshop.    It was all such a waste.  The Armory had been their lifeblood, their sustenance.  Now, with the buildings burned and the machinery stolen, there didn’t seem to be a chance it would ever manufacture arms again.

As she stared at the charred buildings, the Shadow Man slithered out from a gaping doorway. He stared at her.

The folly of man will always be death.

* * *

A SHORT TIME later, Robert walked back into the Armory.  His pace was brisk.  “I found us a place to stay.  Let’s go—we take it all in one trip.”

Adelaide could still feel the heat of the fires at Ferry Lot.  Part of her was content to stay in the Armory yard; at least it was warm there.  Regardless of her personal feelings, though, she struggled to her feet and grabbed as much as she could, hoisting two bundles across her back.  Rebekah, true to form, carried Lizzie on her hip and nothing else.

The walk down Shenandoah Street felt cold and unfamiliar, each footstep made with trepidation.  She felt like a refugee in a strange town.  The familiar buildings loomed around them, the upper windows staring blankly like empty eyes sockets.  They’d watched Annie’s house burn shortly after Christmas, now all the windows of her father’s store below were broken out completely.  Adelaide cast a passing glance into the inky blackness beyond the paneless doors, feeling unseen eyes boring out.  For an instant, she thought she saw shifting movement in the darkness.

There wasn’t time to stop and be sure.

“This way.” Robert motioned up two steps and onto the wooden decking in front of what formerly were several shops.  He pushed against a narrow door and disappeared inside.

“Mr. Mathews’ grocery store?” Adelaide lingered in the doorway.  “You’re not serious.”

Robert frowned.  “Mathews left town nearly two years ago.  Besides, there used to be a boarding house on the second floor.  There are some beds upstairs we can use.”

It was an oddity to walk into Mr. Mathews’ store.  In the past, she had only been in there a few times, when Poppa was out of some staple or another.  Mr. Mathews was nice enough, with a distractingly bucked shaped head and a penchant for visiting White Hall Tavern.  He had shared the interior of the store—and the rent—with a tailor.  The layout was much like their father’s store, with shelves and counter tops overloaded with goods.  The last time Adelaide had been in the store, every available space was crammed with goods and wares, from crowded on the floor to hanging from the ceiling.  Now everything was empty.  The room smelled musty and damp, like the windows had been left open and the rain allowed to seep into the wood.

“Once we get all of this upstairs, I’ll come back down and bar the door.” Robert trudged through the sea of debris and papers scattered on the floor.  “No one’s been in here for awhile, so I don’t think we need to worry about anyone coming for it now.”

“But if we can break in, who’s to say someone else won’t?” Adelaide muttered.

“I didn’t break in.” Robert shoved her forward.  “It’s an abandoned building.  This is how war works, Adelaide.  Take or be taken.  Here, watch your step on these stairs.  They’re steeper than the ones at home.”

It was like a thorn in her heart to hear him mention home.  They wouldn’t be going back home to the Ferry Lot again.  Harpers Ferry, home that is was, seemed more like a rotting corpse.

At the top of the stairs, a doorway led to what Adelaide assumed had been a sitting room or receiving room.  Two large windows looked out over Shenandoah Street on one side of the room while a short hallway branched off to three doors.  Since it had been a boarding house, she guessed there were a few bed frames in each room, that is, if they hadn’t been broken down into firewood already.

Robert confirmed her guess.  “They all have mattress ticks.  I think for the time being, we should all stay in one room.  It seems safer that way.”

Sarah looked up at the ceiling.  “What’s on the third floor?”

“Three more rooms.” Robert nudged a door at the hall’s end open with his hip.  “This one is the biggest room.  Bring everything in here.”

Closely following Robert, Adelaide dragged her bundles into the room and dropped them against the wall.  The room was as gloomy as the rest of the building.  Three beds were haphazardly shoved against the wall and a small was table overturned between the two furthest from the door.  There were no windows in the room, but even from where she stood, Adelaide could see a crusted chamber pot resting in the shadows under the closest bed.  The smell in the room was revolting, no doubt from the dank, moldy walls coupled with the soiled mattress ticks and filthy chamber pots.

Robert’s eyes must have followed her gaze, as he said, “There are privies on the other side of the building, if you’d rather use them.  I’ll rinse that out for you.”

“It won’t help the smell.”

“It will.”

Sarah dug into the bundle from their bedroom and pulled out the bed linens.  “Which bed do you want?”

“The one farthest away from that.” she nodded towards the chamber pot.  “How about the far one?”

Sarah nodded.

The mattress tick was horribly stained and the thought of putting their clean linens on it made Adelaide’s stomach turn.  The unavoidable question of what the stains were seemed to stick in her brain; it made the bile boil in her stomach.  She felt her throat constrict in a dry heave, so she quickly turned her back to the mattress and asked, “Robert, is there any place to cook in here?”

“There’s a small cook stove downstairs.”

“Is there a table?”

“Not that I saw.”

She sighed, noticing that Rebekah looked none too pleased with their accommodations.  Part of Adelaide couldn’t blame her, as her opinion of the building was less than glowing, but the other half was disgusted by the very sight of her stepmother.  She’d been a useless waste of space since Poppa first wed her—and he’d only done that because she was pregnant.  And if sleeping in the pigsty that was their new home would make Rebekah miserable, Adelaide would spend a thousand lifetimes sleeping on that stained mattress.

Chapter 23

March 1862

THE GREAT PRESIDENT, Thomas Jefferson, once described the view from the heights above Harpers Ferry as “worth a voyage across the Atlantic.”  After what had happened in the past three years, that could not be further from the truth.  The town of Harpers Ferry looked like a diseased corpse, the flesh half rotted away, the underlying bones exposed.  Buildings were falling apart, bricks and stone littered alleyways and were shoved haphazardly from the street.  The bridge across the Potomac River had been rebuilt, but the rest of town was still practically in ruins.

Since the Armory burned, the Ferry had been practically deserted.  There weren’t many people left.  Most fled when the war began and it seemed only the very old, the very stubborn, and the very stupid were left behind.  Everyone, regardless if a citizen or a refugee from another town, stayed indoors so it was hard to tell exactly how many people remained.  All but one of their friends—Susan Hamilton—had long since left.

Almost overnight, though, trainload after trainload of soldiers dumped into town.  The Ferry was now a “Union Supply Depot” and host to literally thousands of Union soldiers.  With the soldiers came something they hadn’t seen in a long time: money.  Greenbacks were flying through town and Robert took advantage of it.  He opened their free rooms to boarders and with the money earned from the constantly filled rooms, they were able to buy flour again.  Food filled their stomachs and the stomachs of all those residing in the boarding house.  It was almost…pleasant.

With flour and sugar now available to them, Sarah and Adelaide tried to fill the shoes of a sorely missed Frederick Roeder.  People—soldiers and citizens alike—always wanted to buy loaves of bread or fruit pies.  They could barely keep baked goods on the shelves.  Bread was the easiest to make, so they focused their attention on keeping fresh loaves constantly available.

Adelaide perpetually felt like she was covered in flour.  It gritted underneath her rolled up sleeves and along her collar.  She knew each time she wiped the sweat from her face, she was getting more flour all over her body.  It was worth it though, in order to earn more money for the family.

Sarah checked the loaves currently baking in the cook stove.  “These are about done, I think.  Do you have the dough ready for the next batch or do you need me to help?”

“No, I’m ready.” Adelaide pounded the tacky dough with her fist.  “But you’re going to have to let those pans cool a little so the bread bakes evenly.”

“I know.” There was a pause.  “I’ve given it some thought, and I think the Stipes girls are whores.”

Adelaide wiped her face with her apron, considering her sister’s declaration.  “I’ve always thought that.”

“Really?”

“Of course.” Adelaide studied her.  “You certainly must think there is something a little vulgar about the four of those women in that house.  And all those men coming and going?  Granted, I could be wrong, but the implications of those appearances are less than proper.”

Sarah nodded.  “They’re always impeccably dressed.  All my combs are broken, yet theirs are new.”

“Anna’s nice enough, I guess, but I think Martha and Medora are hideous.”

Sarah giggled.  “Medora is just funny looking.  Her eyes are too close together, I think that’s the problem.  She crochets nicely, though, I saw a scarf she made once and it was exquisite.”

“Most everyone has a redeeming quality.  Well, if they’re whores, they are in good company.” Adelaide arched her back in an attempt to ease the tension resulting from leaning over the table all day.  “I’ve noticed an awful lot of those dirty women here recently.  The provost licenses them, though, so they’re not going anywhere.”

“I think there’s a house of them down the street, in one that the Armory workers used to rent.”

“Well that narrows it down.” Adelaide muttered.  “You’ll have to be a little more specific, Sarah.  Almost all those houses down there were rented by Armory workers.”

“That little white one behind the Presbyterian Church.  You know which one I’m talking about.  You’re just being—oh!” Sarah cut herself off.  “Susan, hello!”

Susan Hamilton swayed into the back room dressed in a dark blue cotton gown, her hoops slowly swinging from side to side like a bell.  In Adelaide’s opinion, the years of the war had not been kind to Susan.  Her once full cheeks were now gaunt, her eyes dull and framed by dark circles.  She had become more vocal in the past few years, no longer the quiet girl of their youth.  She smiled brightly at Adelaide and Sarah.  “Robert said that it was okay to come back.  Are you two still baking bread?  That’s what you were doing last time I was here.”

Adelaide was slightly taken aback by the overwhelming scent of lavender that clouded the room as Susan drew closer.  “It seems that’s all we ever do—well, bake bread and do laundry.  If it isn’t one, it’s the other.”

Susan laughed lightly.  There was something different about her, something Adelaide couldn’t quite put her finger on.  “I wanted to let you know I received a letter from David yesterday.  He asked me to give you his best.”

Susan’s countenance seemed perfect: her sandy colored hair glossy and bound back in a tight chignon.  Adelaide felt like a gritty pauper next to her friend.  Her work dress was soaked in sweat and covered in flour, her chignon had come loose and hung limply against her damp neck.  She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.  “He fairs well, then?”

“As well as one can expect.  I don’t think that army life suits him, but he makes the best of it.  Have you heard from Annie or Lucy?”

Adelaide shook her head.  “Not since the letter from Annie last month.  I did hear word from Mary Roeder, though.  She married a man in Maryland.”

“I think it was partially out of desperation.” Sarah chimed in.  “Her brothers and sisters are so young.  She couldn’t take care of them on her own, not without a job or way to support herself.”

Susan was visibly surprised by the news.  “Mary’s just a baby herself.  She’s what, all of sixteen?”

Adelaide shrugged.  “Her parents are dead.  She had to do something.  I can understand what drove her to it, though.  I certainly never thought Sarah and I would be supporting our family by baking bread.”

“No, you thought you’d be married to Thomas Cooper by now.” Sarah smirked.  “Isn’t that right, Adelaide?”

She felt the heat flow across her face.  “Thomas Cooper seems to have forgotten about me.  I haven’t received word from him since the day he left the Ferry…I don’t even know if he is of this earth anymore.”  She didn’t want to think about it.  She wanted to keep assuming he was just busy.  The reality, though, was that her heart was breaking.

“We do what we can to survive.” Susan said simply.  “I certainly don’t see anything wrong with that.”

Adelaide piled fresh, warm loaves of bread into a cloth lined basket.  Keep busy.  “We’re doing the best we can.  Do pardon me for one moment.  I’ll be right back, I just need to take this out to Robert.”

There was something about Susan that didn’t sit well with her; a look in her eyes that wore away at Adelaide’s soul.  She wasn’t certain of what it was, but there was something wrong.  Something different that hadn’t been there a few weeks ago.

Robert was tacking a new price list on the wall next to the door.  “Oh, good, you have more bread.  I was starting to think maybe you ate it all.”

Adelaide wrinkled her nose.  “I should be so lucky to be you, to only sell the bread, not slave away up to my elbows in dough.”

Robert arranged the bread loaves on the shelf behind the counter.  “Get used to it.  We’re going to need more than this if you want to get through the rest of the week.”

She sighed.  There was always something.

When she walked back into the back room, Susan and Sarah looked startled, almost as if they weren’t expecting her to interrupt their conversation so soon.  Ignoring it, Adelaide dumped some flour into the cooled loaf pans and said, “Get ready to mix up some more dough, Sarah.”  Her mind raced.  What could possibly be so important—or horrible—that her sister excluded her from knowing?

Sarah rolled her eyes, a trait Adelaide was certain she picked up from her.  “He’s never satisfied.”

“If nothing else, dear friends, at least it’s warm in here.” Susan smiled.  “At any rate, do you have any more fruit pies left?  I’ve taken on some more work and have some extra money this week.  I thought I would spend it on myself.”

“I think there may be a few apple pies left.” Sarah peered into the main room, as if she could see the pies lined up on the counter from across the store.  “But I imagine the price is expensive, since it costs us so much to get the apples.”

Susan waved her hand dismissively.  “Money isn’t a problem.  It is always so nice to see you two, especially since so many have left the Ferry in the past few years.  I shall visit later in the week…perhaps when you’re less busy.”

Adelaide nodded.  “Of course.  Though, finding a time when we are less busy will be difficult.”  As she mixed the next batch of bread dough, she watched Susan, pie in hand, sashay from the store, the door almost closing on her skirts.  Without looking at Sarah, she commented, “Do you find it odd she isn’t struggling for money?  What employment could she have that pays so well?”

Sarah shrugged.  “She seems the same to me.”

It was a blatant and obvious lie.  Adelaide wasn’t sure what was going on with Sarah and Susan.  She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

* * *

AS SPRING BEGAN to settle over the Ferry, they gradually fell into a groove.  The family was by no means well off, but they managed and lacked no necessities.  They steadily earned enough money from the boarders and the sale of baked goods to keep food on the table.  There wasn’t quite enough, however, to reopen as a dry goods store.  They were only able to sell what could be made.

There was no money for gifts on Adelaide’s twenty-first birthday.  Sarah cooked a simple dinner of warm bread and potato stew, and afterwards they were entertained by a fine performance by Levi and Lizzie.  Levi played several different roles for her enjoyment, including President Davis, General Lee, and the scoundrel Turner Ashby.  Lizzie, although she was only two years and did not have much command of language, was rather masterful as Abraham Lincoln.  Adelaide thought the realism was striking.

Perhaps the best portion of the night, though, was the fact that Rebekah left her alone.  The moment she finished eating, she retired to her private bedroom, citing a headache and a desire to sleep it off.  She always felt “the children” should do all the work while she rested so, of course, Adelaide knew better.  On this day, she felt it was the best gift anyone could have given.

“At least let me help you clean up.” Adelaide tied her pinner apron around her waist and pinned the top below her collar.  “I feel bad watching you do all the work.”

Sarah shook her head.  “No, you just sit there and suffer through it.  It’s my gift to you and you know I’m not usually this nice of a person.”

Adelaide laughed.  “Sure you are.”

Her sister wetted a cloth and began wiping down the table.  There was silence for a moment and then she said quietly, “I wanted to get you something.”

Adelaide watched Robert through the doorway as he tried to teach Lizzie how to hold a broom.  It wasn’t working, a fact which was making Levi double over in laughter.  “I know, Sarah.  It’s okay, really it is.  It was a very nice evening—the only thing that could have made it better would be to have had Luke here.”

She hesitated, her back still to Adelaide.  “Susan gave me an idea how to make money.”

“Susan isn’t known for her brilliant ideas.”

Sarah abruptly fell silent, seemingly lost in the clattering and clanking of dishes.  Finally, she continued, “But the idea made sense.  I just…I couldn’t…”

Adelaide turned in her chair and stared at her sister.  “Sarah, what are trying to say?”

She faced her, her eyes filling with tears.  “You were right about Susan, Addy, she’s whoring herself out to the soldiers for money.  Some of them give her good money, presents even.  One officer sent her a whole bottle of perfume.  She said it was from Paris, but I saw the bottle and I think it’s just from Martinsburg.”  Her words were coming out in a jumble, hurried and rushed like she had uncorked a bottle brimming with pressure.  “She showed me the money she’s made and told me what to do…she even found a soldier to do it with.  Some Pennsylvania boy, he gave her the money and took us down to the engine house.  She waited outside and I went in with him.”

Adelaide’s stomach lurched.  She expectantly twisted her apron in both hands; she didn’t want to hear anymore.

“I tried, Addy, I really tried.  He was very nice about it, told me how pretty I was and how long he had been away from home.  But, oh, how he smelled.  He smelled awful and his uniform was disgusting.  I didn’t even want him to touch me.  So, I ran.  I ran outside the engine house and Susan called me a coward.  But I couldn’t do it.  I ran all the way back here.  I’m sorry, Addy, I really wanted to get you something nice for your birthday, but—”

Adelaide jumped to her feet and threw her arms around Sarah.  “No.  I don’t want you to sink to that.  Everything is fine the way it is, don’t worry about silly birthdays.  Promise me, Sarah, promise me you’ll never do it again. Be with a man because you want him, not because you want paid for it.”

She furiously nodded her head.  Her face was buried against Adelaide’s shoulder, so her sobs were muffled enough not to be noticed in the other room.

Adelaide was stunned.  As if it wasn’t bad enough that Susan had turned to whoring, now she wanted to drag Sarah down with her.

* * *

“I HAVE MORE bread for you, Robert.  Is there room on the shelf?”

He took the basket from her and set it on the counter.  “There’s always room, especially with how loose these Yanks seem to be with their greenbacks.”

Adelaide poked a finger through a hole in her apron and wiggled it.  That would need fixing.  “I wonder why?”

He shrugged.  “Yanks in Tennessee whooped the Reb Army a few days ago.  The news just got up here today; some place called Shiloh or something like that.”

“What a funny name for a town.”  She tried to keep her tone even, but her heart launched into a rapid cadence.  The scourge.  They were coming.

“Whatever it is, it must have been big because I heard the Tavern is having trouble keeping glasses filled.” He handed the empty basket back to her.  “Maybe you could make a few extra pies today, too.  I’m willing to wager we could sell them easily.”

“We have a few cans of peaches left.  I may be able to make them into pies.” Adelaide paused.  “I haven’t actually used canned fruit to makes pies before, so I can’t guarantee they’ll be any good.  I’ll try though.”

“Sounds good to me.” Robert shifted a few apples towards the center of the counter.  “If they’re good, maybe I’ll buy a few more cans.  I’ve heard they’ll last indefinitely and it would be great to have fruit on hand when it starts getting cold.”

“We’re not even in the summer months yet and you’re already thinking of winter?  Why, sometimes I think—” she stopped short, staring as Susan Hamilton approached the store.  Adelaide hoped at the last minute she would veer off course and continue down the street, but she didn’t.  She pushed the door open and flounced inside.

“Hello, Addy.” She smiled coyly, fluttering her eyelashes at Robert.  “And hello to you, sir.”

There was the overwhelming smell of lavender again.  Adelaide studied her closely, trying to see some physical difference between herself and her friend.  Something in the way she carried herself or something in the way she dressed.  Other than the drawn face and sunken eyes, she looked no different than she had since they were girls in the Ladies Society.  Or when they’d stalked spirits together, like when they’d crouched in the shadows on Virginius Island: waiting for the soul of a crushed man to stumble from a factory building.  Susan wasn’t that girl anymore.

“What can I help you with today, Miss Hamilton?” Robert asked.  “Or are you here to call on my sisters?”

Susan smiled at him, a smile so sweet it made Adelaide’s stomach lurch.  Before she had an opportunity to utter one false word, Adelaide rounded the counter.  “No, you’re not welcome here.  Get out.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Adelaide opened the door to the store and pointed outside.  “I want you out of the store this instant.”

Susan looked confused, her brow knitted in a deep frown.  She took a few steps towards the open door.  “What’s the matter with you, Addy?”

“I know what you are.” Adelaide hissed.  “I want you to stay away from my sister—and my brothers.  We were friends, Susan.  We were the Six.”

“You still believe in childish games, Addy?”

“It’s not a game.”

“I’ve moved on to more adult business.”  Susan pursed her lips together and raised her eyebrows.  “I thought you would have by now, especially with how you carried on with Thomas Cooper.  If he were here now, I’d be curious to see who he’d want: a girl who still believes in fairytales or a confident woman.”

Adelaide balled her fists at her side, digging her fingernails into the tender flesh of her palm.  “You aren’t welcome here; your kind aren’t welcome.”

Susan looked taken aback for a moment and then narrowed her eyes. The corners of her mouth tightened; the grimace making her look even older.  “If that’s how it has to be.”

“It is.”

Without another look, Susan flounced out the door and slammed it shut behind her.

There was a finality to it.  Good, let her go.  If she considered the task of spirit stalking a game, then she was a danger to Adelaide and Sarah.  It wasn’t a joke—it was staring death in the face and choosing to do their duty anyway.

When she turned around, Robert was staring at her.  “What just happened?”

“She,” Adelaide jerked her thumb towards the door, “is selling herself for money.”

He did little to conceal his surprise.  “A whore?”

“She tried to talk Sarah into doing the same.  I can’t believe Susan—of all people—would sink to that level.  Remember when she was so frightened the year we had the temperance march and she refused to leave Lucy Daingerfield’s house?  Now she’s whoring?”

“Her brother’s off fighting the war, her father is lame, and she’s the oldest of five girls.” Robert shrugged.  “What else could she do?”

“You condone it?”

“No, but I can see where she thought she had to do it.” He paused.  “Unless she likes it.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“She might, it’s not out of the question.” He smirked.  “I know how you carried on with Thomas Cooper. Lord knows what you two did together when he got you alone in Poppa’s old store or back behind the Armory.”

“Which is none of your business.”

“You must enjoy it if you were willing to sneak out at night to be with him.”  He laughed, no doubt at what she was sure was a horrified expression on her face.  “Well, I like it.”

“Robert.” Adelaide rushed to his side, ignoring how inappropriate their conversation was, and grabbed his coat sleeve.  “Who have you been with?”

He looked smug.  “I’m not telling you.  It is none of your business—sound familiar?  Hurts when it’s thrown back in your face, eh?”

“Come on, you must tell me.” She pleaded.  “It was Annie Frankel, wasn’t it?  You and Annie Frankel.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Well, as long as it wasn’t Susan or one of those vile Stipes girls.” Adelaide thought for a moment.  “I still say you should tell me.”

“And I still say it’s none of your business.  Unless you’d like to give me a list of those you’ve been with.”

“It was Annie.  That confirms it.”

They both dissolved into laughter, but quieted down considerably at the sound of footsteps on the floorboards above.  The pace seemed odd, as it wasn’t an even left followed by right followed by left. It was halting.  It dragged.

The pocket watch burned against Adelaide’s thigh.

She stood up abruptly, knocking a stack of advertisements off the counter.  “I’ll check on her.  Is…ah…is Lizzie up there?”

“No, Sarah and Levi took her down to see the MacGrogan’s baby chickens.  Why?”

“No reason.”  Adelaide forced herself to walk at a relaxed pace to the back of the store.  Once she was out of her brother’s line of sight, though, she yanked her watch out of her pocket and broke into a run.  She took the stairs two at a time; she wanted to be wrong.  She didn’t want to see what was up there.

She almost crashed into it.

A wraith hovered in the sitting room, fumbling around the doors as if it was looking for a way out.  The creature was still fresh, still recognizable.

It was Rebekah.

“Shit.”  Adelaide stumbled backward, almost falling onto the couch, and slammed against the wall.  The apparition didn’t seem as if it noticed her at first, its attention still focused on the boarding room doors.  How had this happened?  The slag wasn’t sick or hurt, she was just a pompous bitch.

“Adelaide?”  Robert was calling for her downstairs.  “Is everything okay?”

The spirit turned, staggering across the room.  It had heard Robert’s voice.

She thrust the watch towards it.  “I know it’s you, Rebekah.  You’re dead.”

It stopped walking, its body turning to her voice.  The head flopped forward at an ugly angle, the neck seemingly attached to the skull by a few sinews and veins.  It snarled, taking a halting step towards her.

“I hated you in life.  I won’t mourn you in death.”  Adelaide jammed her finger to the clasp, the watch face flinging open.

Nothing happened.

She sucked in a sharp breath and flipped the watch over.  It was running backwards, as it always did, but the light wasn’t emitting from the face.  This wasn’t supposed to happen.

The creature swung at her, bladelike fingernails swiping at her face.  Adelaide threw herself to the side, rolling and tumbling in a mass of skirts, and out of the spirit’s reach.  She struggled to her feet.  “This isn’t possible.”

It turned to follow her, already gaining endurance and agility.

“Is she okay, Adelaide?  What’s going on?”  Robert’s voice was getting closer, she could hear his footstep on the stairs.

The creature stopped, again drawn by his voice.  It writhed around, jerking its body in the other direction, and made a beeline for the sitting room door.

Adelaide had to think fast, she could only do the first thing that came to mind.  In one smooth movement, she smashed a vase of flowers against the side table and sliced a glass shard across her open palm.  She bit back a shriek, instead centering her pain on the gash, squeezing her hand into a fist to increase the blood flow.

She held her palm out to the wraith.

It smelled her blood instantly, stopping in the doorway.  Slithering backward, it was like a cat on the prowl for a mouse: slowly stepping from side to side, adjusting its movements as Adelaide crept to the door.  She knew she only had one chance—and she had no idea if it was going to work.

She broke into a run, throwing herself at Sarah’s bedroom door and pushing inside.  A bundle of sage was right where her sister had left it—on her pillow—and Adelaide grabbed it, again bolting out the door and around the creature.  It hadn’t anticipated any of her movements, it lagged behind; still fixated on the scent of her blood.

Running into her bedroom, she dropped her watch and the sage on the bed, instead snatching up a small container of matches.  She struck one.

It fizzled out.

Marked.  The creature lurched into the room, its cataract clouded eyes focused on her.  This soul is marked and cannot be sent to the other side.

Adelaide struck another match, pressing it to the sage.  It didn’t light either, she cursed.  “All souls can go to the other side, they all have a choice.”

Not those taken.

There was one match left.  Adelaide grabbed her watch and held it out, pressing her finger to the clasp.  The face swung open; the creature took a step back.  “How can a soul be taken?”

The creature stared at her, moving from left to right to try and avoid direct exposure to the watch.  It seemed like it was pushing it away, but it wasn’t emitting light like it should.  Why—because the creature was marked?

She set the watch down long enough to light the final match.  It sparked.

The creature was on her in an instant, rearing back on its haunches to pounce.  Adelaide jammed the lit match into the bundle of sage and shoved it and the watch in front of her.  The wraith was startled, stumbling backwards.  It snarled again, its eyes burning red.  She was marked by the reaper.

“Then he has what he wants.”  Adelaide drove it away from her, pushing it towards the window.  “Get out of this house. Accipe eam et vade anima.”  Take her soul and go.

It continued to stare at her; baring yellowed, loose teeth from already rotting gums.  This is your final warning, Sin-Eater.  Stay away from the scourge.

With a scream, the creature charged at her, at the last second changing direction and running through the door.  The shriek grew quieter as it ran down the hallway, but then she heard a loud crash.  A shatter of glass.

The watch face slammed shut.

Footsteps thundered down into the sitting room and, in a moment, Robert burst into her room.  He stared at the burning sage and the blood dripping from her palm.  “What the fuck happened in here, Adelaide?  What was screaming?”

She stared back at him.  There was no way she could explain what had just happened in a way he would believe her.  He simply wouldn’t.

“Where’s Rebekah?”  Robert turned and ran from the threshold.

Adelaide was right behind him.  He’d stopped in front of Rebekah’s private quarters, the largest room at the end of the hallway.  Pounding his fist against the wood, he yelled, “Rebekah!  Unlock the door.  Let me in.”

“She locked it?”  Adelaide wrapped her apron around her bleeding hand, then wedged herself between Robert and the wall.  She knew what they were going to find, she knew the woman was dead.  “We don’t have keys to these doors.”

“She must have done it from the inside.”  He slammed his shoulder against the door, throwing the weight of his body against the wood in an attempt to break it down.

It didn’t work.  He shoved her aside.  “Back up, I’m going to kick it in.”

Adelaide stepped back.

Robert kicked the door as close to the knob as he could.  One kick and then two; the door shuddered on its hinges.  A final kick—

–the door burst open.

They both ran into the room.  Robert grabbed her shoulders and tried to turn her away.  “My God.”

She’d seen everything.  The only window in the room was broken, obviously where the creature had flung itself from the building.  Rebekah was reclined back on the bed, her ankles still neatly crossed and her arms flung out to either side.  Whatever had claimed her did so quickly: her throat was ripped open, her larynx clearly visible in her throat.  Her eyes were open, her face expressionless.

Blood was everywhere.

“Jesus Christ, who could have done this?”  Robert pushed her from the room.  “Do you think it was a boarder?  A soldier?  Fuck, what in Christ’s name are we supposed to do?”

Adelaide opened her mouth and then promptly shut it.  It was a warning.

The scourge had begun.

Chapter 24

September 10, 1862

THE AIR IN the Ferry was heavy with more than just the crisp snap of the reddening autumn leaves and polluted stench of the rivers.  The mobs of soldiers milling aimlessly around town seemed to be on edge, wary of any change in the winds of war that continued to rage against Virginia.

The Randolph’s burgeoning dry goods store was booming.  Although they had competition in the form of Mr. Egan’s dry goods shop further down Shenandoah Street, there was always a crowd of soldiers purchasing bread, food staples, and mending services from them.  Robert insisted their dry goods store consistently did well due to the fact some soldiers just came to see Adelaide and Sarah.  Adelaide was not certain this was actually the case, but if so, she felt that it was her part of the war effort.

The Ferry was still bustling with soldiers, their families, and refugees from other towns, but there was a disconcerting feeling in the air.  Robert, when pressed, claimed he did not know what—if anything—was going on and insisted they not query the soldier-patrons of the store.  Too many questions made the local military suspicious—and Harpers Ferry citizens had been arrested for less.

Adelaide straightened a row of glass medicinal bottles, dusting the tops as she moved along the shelf.  Even in the middle of a war, men still bought tonics for their hair and treatments for a variety of ailments, like consumption and gout.  She wasn’t entirely sure the patent medicines worked, but officers were always plucking them off the shelf.  Perhaps they also thought the medicines cured other ailments, such as those spread by the whores in town.  Whatever the appeal—and regardless of what concoction those bottles contained—they sold a surprising amount.  Robert kept the prices up.

Movement outside the window caught her eye.  She edged closer to the glass, even though she knew exactly what was out there: the ranks of the dead.  They were soldiers; souls tramping down the streets of town in a seemingly endless column.  Sometimes it thinned out to a few stragglers or mangled torsos crawling to the confluence of the rivers, but the march never completely stopped.  She’d warned Sarah to just leave them alone—to let the death march continue unabated—and try and carry on as if everything was fine.  Part of Adelaide felt as if she was betraying who she was, that by not trying to help the souls she was breaking some vow she’d never agreed to take.  Sin-Eater.

But to save Thomas, she’d make the same decision a thousand times over.

The scourge continued.

A soft voice prodded her from her thoughts.  “Excuse me, do I pay you for the bread?”  The young woman was timidly standing at the counter behind her.  She was probably close to Adelaide’s age, maybe a little older, and was dressed in a faded and mud stained green dress.  Her hair was pulled back loosely at the nape of her neck and unruly blonde curls peaked out from underneath a simple straw hat. There was a shy smile playing on her lips, but her eyes were drooped with exhaustion.

Adelaide nodded.  “I thought my brother was here but, yes, I can handle it.”

“He was.” Her voice was raspy, like her throat was sore.  “He gave me the loaves and told me I could browse a bit more before paying.”

“Did you want anything else?”

She shook her head, jostling a blonde curl from her chignon.  “No, this is fine.  He said it would be a dollar for them?”

That was a little below the actual cost of four loaves of bread.  Blue eyes and blonde curls were Robert’s weakness and, obviously, he was willing to give this girl a discount based on her looks alone.  “Uh, if that’s what he said.”  She shoved the woman’s crinkled greenback into her apron pocket.  “I haven’t seen you in town before.  Are you here visiting a beau?”

“No, my family and I were driven from our home.”

A refugee.  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.  Did you travel far?”

“From Frederick.” Her face fell, her red rimmed eyes filling with tears.  “The Confed’rate Army was drawing close to town, so my mother decided we should leave.”

Frederick.  Adelaide didn’t blame her—those pompous women in the Frederick Ladies Society would have been enough to drive anyone from town.

She continued talking, unfazed or unaware of any scowl on Adelaide’s face.  “My aunt formerly lived here in Harpers Ferry…but we can’t find her.  I guess she left, the Yanks are boarding horses in her home.”

Adelaide cringed.  It seemed that half the vacant buildings in town were being used as stables or barracks for soldiers.  “So many of our town have left over the past few years.  At times it seems foolish to have stayed.”

“I don’t know what we will do now.” The girl sighed sadly.  “We can’t go home.  Even if we wanted to, I’m not sure we can get back through the Reb lines.”

“Do you and your family need a place to stay?  We have a few rooms upstairs for board.”

Her face broke into a smile, revealing a deep dimple on each cheek.  “Thank you, but we’ve already taken a room down the street.  It is indeed a kind offer, though.  We won’t be staying here long. My mother’s family lives in Pennsylvania and we’re trying to make our way there.”

She nodded.  “My name is Adelaide Randolph.  And you are?”

“Sallie Zittle.”  Her smile widened.  “It’s nice to meet a friendly face here in Harpers Ferry.  I must admit, this town isn’t quite what I expected.”

“You should have seen it before.”

A tall, thin Yankee, a shock of red hair peeking out from underneath his cap, swaggered up to the counter.  He smacked a greenback down in front of her.  “I wouldn’t pay ten dollars for this godforsaken town.”

Adelaide stifled a grin.  Henry Baden, a soldier from an Ohio brigade, was becoming a regular at their store.  “Mr. Baden, you’ve been opinionated about our town since the first day you set foot here.”

“Perhaps,” he tossed an apple into the air and then squeezed it experimentally, “but you can’t tell me that Armory is not in a most sad state of affairs.”

“Oh, I agree with you sir, it is.  Formerly, I lived next to the Armory and I can assure you, it was a fine and magnificent complex.” She paused.  “Are you going to buy that apple or are you just going to bruise it?”

He tossed her a coin.  “Old Bobby Lee is going to send his Rebs to your Ferry, you know that, right?”

Sallie stood frozen in place, staring at Henry with blue eyes as large as saucers.  Adelaide patted her hand reassuringly.  “Don’t listen to him, he’s always insisting General Lee is hiding up on Loudoun Heights, just waiting for us to fall into slumber so he can murder us in our beds.”

Henry took a big bite of the apple.  “Is your sister around, Miss Randolph?”

“She’s upstairs today, caring for our younger sister.” Adelaide fluttered her eyelashes innocently.  “Why?”

“Just curious.”

“Shall I express your curiosity to her?”

Apple juice trickled his chin.  “If it pleases you.  I’ll come back later, when she isn’t as busy.  Unless she’s been abducted by Bobby Lee; then, well, I guess I’ll see her in Richmond.”

Adelaide watched him lumber his lanky frame out the door and saunter across the street to a waiting group of soldiers.  Henry Baden was a whirlwind, much as David Hamilton had been: constantly moving about town, flitting from Sarah’s side and then back to his Yankee friends.  His similarities to David made her sad.  She wondered how he was faring in his service to the Confederacy.

“Was he being serious?”

She turned and faced Sallie, who looked somewhat disconcerted by their Yankee visitor.  “Mr. Baden is sweet on my sister, so he’ll find any excuse to visit our store.  I would think if we were in danger of an attack from the Confederates, someone would warn us.”

Sallie didn’t look convinced.  “That’s why we left Frederick.  I would hope we wouldn’t have to go through that again, especially so soon.”

“If you’re trying to stay away from the war,” Adelaide’s voice was barely above a whisper, “this was the wrong place to come.”

* * *

September 12th

RUMORS OF AN imminent attack began flying around the Ferry, mostly perpetuated by the soldiers on garrison duty in the streets.  Henry Baden stopped several times a day, first to charm Sarah and then to fill their ears with the latest news.  Adelaide wasn’t sure she believed any of the gossip, but one thing was certain: there were fewer soldiers on the streets than there had been previously.  In passing, Henry explained it was because they were all stationed up the hill in Bolivar and on Maryland Heights.  They were waiting for something, watching high above the Ferry.

From the upper floors of their building, Adelaide could see the glow of fires on Loudoun Heights.  There were men stationed on the eastern slope and, from what she had heard, they were boys in gray.  They kept the blinds drawn, nervous that any flicker of candlelight from their room could be considered a target.  It made her uneasy, nervous.  Not only were they being watched from above, but from all sides.

And still, the dead flooded the Ferry.  The only benefit to keeping the blinds drawn was that she didn’t have to see their faces anymore.

As suffocating as simply existing had become, she found herself clinging to everyday tasks to stay motivated.  They’d only salvaged one hairbrush from their house in the Ferry Lot, so the typical routine before bed took much longer than it had in years past.  It certainly didn’t help that Lizzie was a squirmy three-year-old priss.  Her hair was thick like Adelaide’s and Sarah’s, but seemed to tangle upon itself.  Adelaide attributed this to her mother.

She snagged a snarl with the hairbrush, jerking Lizzie’s head backwards.  The little girl whimpered, “Ouch!  You’re hurting me!”

“I’m sorry, little miss,” Adelaide tried to separate the strands with her fingers, “but it will only be worse if we let it go.”

She started sniffling and Adelaide knew they were only moments away from a full blown tantrum.  Since Rebekah’s death, the tantrums had gotten worse: screaming, kicking, and occasionally throwing herself on the floor.  Perhaps she thought, as Adelaide sometimes wondered, Rebekah let herself be killed because of them.  She’d hated life.  Instead of fleeing Harpers Ferry, she gave up and let the hate and sadness consume her.  She never had a chance to fight back.  Guilt, on occasion, seemed to overwhelm Adelaide—not so much for Rebekah’s sake, but for Lizzie’s.

Her attention, as well as Lizzie’s, was caught by the sudden movement of the bedroom swinging open.  Robert ambled into the room, tossing his frockcoat in a heap on the bed.

“Hi Robbie!” Lizzie squealed, clapping her hands and smiling up at him.

“Hey squirt.” Robert’s glance caught Adelaide’s from across the room.  “Addy, can I talk to you in the hallway for a moment?”

“Yes.” She handed the hairbrush to Sarah.  “Will you finish for me?”

Sarah nodded.

Adelaide followed him out into the dark hallway, lit only by the buttery glow from his thin, beeswax candle.  His features looked sharp in the shadows, but his eyes were serious.  As soon as she was in the corridor, he shut the door.  “I think you should know,” he hesitated, “I heard rumor tonight that they’re going to evacuate the Ferry.”

A sharp pang of anxiety swept through her stomach.  She wasn’t sure how to respond.  “When?”

“I’m not entirely sure it’s going to happen.” He rubbed his eyes with his free hand, his face bathed in faded gold glow from the candle.  “But if it does, I wanted you to be ready.”

“Should I get some things together?”

“No!” Robert scowled for a moment and then started again, slower and quieter this time.  “No, I don’t want the others to know.  If I was certain it was going to happen, it would be one thing.  But I don’t.  Besides, I have a few loaves of bread and apples ready to go…just in case.”

Adelaide nodded and turned back to their room.  Before she could open the door, Robert grabbed her arm and jerked her backwards.  “I’m serious, Addy.  Don’t make me think I shouldn’t have told you.”

“I know.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to compose herself, hoping her face was expressionless.  Walking back into the room, she smiled at Lizzie.  “Are you ready for bed?”

Sarah frowned at her.  “Is everything okay?”

Adelaide hoisted Lizzie up and plopped her down on her bed.  “Everything is fine, Sarah.”

“Are you sure?”

She couldn’t look at her sister.  “Yes.  There isn’t anything to worry about.”

* * *

September 13th

THE ATTACK STARTED at nine in the morning.

Artillery exploded around them, shaking the building to its very foundation.  Each shudder knocked more plaster from the ceiling and rattled the panes of glass in the window, almost to the point where it seemed the building was about to collapse.  Adelaide could feel the percussion of every blast in her chest, freezing the breath in her lungs.  She raced up the stairs to the bedroom, nearly crashing into Sarah as she rushed out, Lizzie on her hip.  “We have to get to the cellar.  Get downstairs now.”

“Where are you going?  Where’s Levi?”

“He’s downstairs.” Adelaide ripped a blanket from the nearest bed and then ran into the hallway.  “Go, Sarah, don’t wait for me.”

Robert met them at the bottom of the stairs.  “There’s no cellar in this building.  You’re going to have to run.”

“Where?”

He grabbed the back of her head and wrenched her face towards the street.  “That two story white house right there, where the Fechts used to live.  It’s abandoned.”

“It’s out in the open; we’ll be in their line of fire.”

“That’s why you have to run.”

Adelaide stared down the street to the squat, white house.  It seemed so far away, so open to any bullets that could be raining down from the Heights.  They couldn’t reach it—not without getting shot.

Robert didn’t give her any more time to think.  He wrenched the blanket from her arms and shoved her out the door.  There was nothing she could do.

Except run.

Adelaide thundered down Shenandoah Street, stomping through the grit and grime of the road, dodging around spirit soldiers clad in tattered uniforms caked in blood.  Her corset constricted against her rib cage, making it difficult to gasp a full breath of air into her lungs.  The house never seemed to get closer.  The dead were everywhere.

Sarah was suddenly at her side, grabbing her arm and pulling her down the street.  The gunfire only seemed to get louder the further they ran.  Adelaide’s skirts tangled around her legs, threatening to trip her with each step.

And then there was Mr. Barry, frantically waving them around the Fechts house to the open cellar door on the side of the building.  He didn’t say a word, just helped them down the stone steps and into the inky blackness.  Adelaide hit her head off the low ceiling.  In her haste to grab quilts, she hadn’t even thought to grab a supply of candles or a kerosene lamp.

Robert handed Lizzie down to Sarah and then clambered down the steps.  Mr. Barry waited until Levi scampered down the stairs and then eased himself into the hole and shut the cellar door behind him.

They were in complete darkness.

Adelaide heard the sound of a match strike.  A small flicker of light came to life across from her.  Robert touched the match to a beeswax candle and then swept it around the dank, cramped room.  It was much smaller than their cellar in the Ferry Lot had been and there was broken glass, pottery, and rusted, broken nails all over the floor.  She was immediately thankful she’d brought a quilt with them this time.

“There isn’t much kerosene left in this lamp.” Mr. Barry reported, his voice heavy with disappointment.  “Unless you brought a whole box of candles, we’ll have to spend a lot of time in the dark.”

Robert nodded.  “Or hope this ends quickly.”

* * *

September 14th

THE ROAR OF artillery thundered all around them, sounding like it came from each of the Heights around town.  Even deep inside the pitch black cellar, the air seemed infused with the vibration from the blasts.  They were nearly out of kerosene and completely out of candles.  If the attack lasted much longer they would also be out of bread.

It was nothing like the last artillery attack.  It was louder.  It came from everywhere.  It was unending.

* * *

September 15th

SILENCE.

There’d been silence before, punctuated by one final artillery blast.  But now it was over; it had to be over.

Mr. Barry cracked the cellar door slightly, allowing a beam of blinding sunshine to filter into the chilly hole.  He opened it further and stuck his head outside.

The sunlight was unbearable. Adelaide squinted her eyes shut and covered her face with her hands.  The only Godsend from the open door was the air that filled her lungs.

Robert spoke up from the ground.  “What do you see out there?”

“I think it’s over.” Mr. Barry responded.  “There’s MacGrogan.  Let me see what he knows.”

With Mr. Barry out of the cellar, Robert climbed over Adelaide and crawled up a few steps.  He looked outside.

“Well?”

“Well what?” Robert scowled.  “There’s nobody out here.”

“Where did all the soldiers go?” Sarah asked softly.

Robert shrugged.  “They must all be up in Bolivar.  Wait, here comes Joseph again.  Maybe he has news.”

Mr. Barry squatted down.  “You won’t believe this.  All the blue bellies have been captured.”

Sarah gasped out loud and grabbed her sister’s arm.  Adelaide knew her thoughts had turned to Henry Baden; she prayed he hadn’t been in the middle of the firefight.

Robert ignored their commotion.  “You can’t be serious.  How can that be?”

“MacGrogan says they all surrendered, all thirteen thousand of them.” Mr. Barry nodded towards Bolivar Heights.  “Jackson’s Rebs had ‘em surrounded.”

Robert brushed his hair back and pulled his cap down low.  “So now we’ll be under Confederate garrison.  There’s always something, isn’t there?”

Adelaide crawled out of the cellar and stretched her cramped legs.  It felt so good to stand up, to stretch her arms out over her head.  The air was heavy with the smell of sulfur, somewhat like the smell of rotten eggs.  What there was of a breeze carried smoke down from the heights.  It seemed to settle around her face and sink into the fibers of her clothes.  But it was worth it to be out of the cold cellar.

The entire town was empty.  Streets that just days ago had been full of soldiers were now deserted, except for a few straggling ghosts making their way down from Bolivar—the dead from the battle.  Adelaide wondered how the living soldiers fared, wondered about Henry Baden up on the heights in Bolivar.  Was he was alive or dead?  Would they ever actually know?  She followed close behind Robert, glancing down the street to the burned out ruins of the Armory and the Ferry Lot.  From the distance, with the smoke and tension thick in the air, it seemed like another world; like staring through a stereopticon viewer.  The image wasn’t real, but seemed to be leaping off the flat card.  That’s where the specters were headed: something in the Armory complex was drawing them in, the vortex the Shadow Man mentioned.

“What do you think will happen to all the Yankees?” Levi asked, plucking an apple from the counter display.  Their store was little worse for wear, other than crumbled plaster on the floorboards.

Robert shrugged his shoulders and took the apple back.  “Maybe they’ll go to a prison camp?  More’s the worse for us, though, since those blue bellies were so loose with greenbacks.  Rebs never have money, just that worthless Rebel script.”

Sarah sat Lizzie on the counter and brushed dirt off her dress.  “Levi, will you take her upstairs and tell her a story?  I want to heat up some water for a bath.  We all could use one.”

“Do I have to?”

“You can either deal with her or you can get the bath water ready.”

“I’ll take her.” Levi scooped Lizzie off the counter and swung her upside down before flipping her across his shoulders.  “Come on Miss Biz, let’s go upstairs and I’ll tell you a story.”

“I want to stay here.”

Adelaide didn’t hear Levi’s response, but was certain it was a comment less than flattering to Sarah.  Pushing past Robert, she slid behind the counter and looked over the shelves of bread.  “It doesn’t look like anything was bothered while we were gone.”

“Anyone left in town stayed inside. Robert peered out the door at the vegetable bins.  “Those blue bellies were in such a hurry to get at the Rebs, they didn’t have time to be interested in our wares.”

Sarah, having put a kettle of water on the stove to boil, bunched her apron in her hands and leaned against the door frame.  “Robert, do you think many were killed?”

He looked irritated by her question.  “Why do you ask me these things?  I don’t know.  I have no way of knowing.  I’m sure we’ll hear later on; don’t worry about it now.”

“But—”

“Sarah.”

She huffed.  “Fine.”

Levi strolled back into the room, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.  “She’s asleep.  Are you going to make me sit up there and watch her?”

“No.” Robert crossed his arms.  “Go and count the vegetables outside.  I want to make sure they really are all there.”

Levi groaned and stared up at the ceiling.  “I should have just stayed upstairs.”

Adelaide stifled a giggle.

Robert shook his head as Levi let the door swing shut with a slam.  “Honestly, that boy is growing up too fast.  Nearly twelve.  Where’s time gone?”

Sarah’s voice was soft.  “To think, Luke would be nearly seventeen by now.”

“He’s still nearly seventeen,” Adelaide hesitated, “wherever he is.”

The front door creaked open and a gaunt man with a thick gray beard slunk in to the store.  His worn gray uniform was patched in several places and covered with dirt and dried blood.  His feet were bare.

Adelaide exchanged a glance with Sarah.

The soldier eyed the wares on display with unconcealed interest until his steely eyes landed on the loaves of bread behind the counter.

Robert positioned himself in front of the shelves and crossed his arms.  “Can I help you, sir?”

The Reb stared hungrily at the bread.

“A wise decision, sir.” Robert remained firmly planted.  “We’ve had to raise our cost to twenty cents a loaf, but that’s still the lowest price you’ll find.”

The man turned towards Adelaide, his haunted gaze freezing the blood in her veins.  She felt her knees buckle and she grasped the counter uneasily; he looked at her like he wanted to ravage her.  His body reeked, the stench seeming to hover around him like a thick cloud.  To her horror, his hand reached towards their display of apples.

Heaven bestowed upon her at that moment the strength to step to the side and block him.  “I’m afraid you’ll have to pay first, sir.”

“My captain is right up the street.” His eyes were transfixed on the plump red apples and he moved to her other side.  She blocked him again.  “He has plenty of money.  He’ll pay.”

“Fine.” Robert’s voice grated like metal on metal.  “We’ll all wait for your captain.”

The man edged closer to Adelaide.  “But he’s right up the street.”

“You’ll pay first.”

Adelaide prayed the man would not push her aside.  It would have been so simple for him to shove her away; she felt as if she didn’t hold on to the counter, she’d be pushed over by the slightest touch.  Dead souls she could handle: it was the living who scared her.

Providence once again prevailed.  The man eyed her a final time and then slunk out the front door.  It slammed shut behind him; she jumped at the sound.

Robert sighed in relief and put his hand on her arm.  “Are you okay?”

She nodded.

Levi burst through the front door, his face having paled considerably.  “They’ve arrested Mr. Ebersole!  Dragged him right out of his house!”

Even though the door was closed, Adelaide could hear the sounds of a growing commotion and shouts echoing down the street.  Robert seemed very calm, strolling to the front of the store like he was off on a business call.  He pulled the door open and stepped out on the stoop, looking down Shenandoah Street towards the Charlestown Pike.

Sarah took a hesitant step from behind the counter.  “Robert?  What’s going on?”

Adelaide didn’t feel as timid as her sister looked.  Hovering in the doorway next to Levi, she stood on her tip-toes and strained to see over Robert’s shoulder and down the street.

Her breath caught in her throat.  A line of Confederate soldiers were crossing Bridge Street, rapidly marching in their direction.  The man who so desperately wanted their bread and apples was yelling to his comrades and pointing at their door.  “There’s food in there.  Shoes too.  And clean shirts!”

“You boys stay in ranks.” A man in front, presumably an officer, yelled at the men.  “I’ll not tell you again!”

“Bread?” A voice cried sharply.  “I haven’t tasted fresh bread in ‘bout five months.”

The line of soldiers began to fall apart as more men caught interest in the shop.  A fair-haired man wearing a golden colored wheelman’s hat jumped out of ranks and into the street.  He quickened his pace as he saw them crowded in the doorway.

“Levi,” Robert still looked and sounded remarkably calm, “I want you to go upstairs and get Poppa’s old flintlock out of the chest.  Lock yourself and Lizzie in the bedroom and don’t open the door for anyone.”

Levi stared at Robert.  “But—”

“Now Levi.” Robert pushed them back from the door and slammed it shut, rattling the glass panes in the wood.  He clicked the lock in place then braced his body against a flour barrel.  Slowly, the full barrel slid across the floor and up against the right side of the double door.  He heaved another barrel against the left door, then stepped back a few paces to survey his barricade.

Adelaide stared out the front window—her feet felt like they were rooted to the ground—as the small group of soldiers grew larger.  “Robert…”

He whirled around, looking at her and Sarah as if he was just now noticing their presence.  “Get behind the counter.” He commanded, thrusting his index finger in a downward motion.  “Stay down and close to each other.”

Her heart pounded loudly in her ears as they hurried around the counter.    Sarah sank to her knees next to her, trembling, and held her apron over her face.  Heavy wooden boards weren’t going to protect them from Confederate steel. Adelaide pulled her close and squeezed her, then peered around the counter.

The mob was in an uproar now and several men began pushing against the door.  The flimsy lock Robert had installed was no match for their combined force and the barrels of flour certainly could not hold either.  The barrels smashed to the ground, spilling an avalanche of powder across the floor.

Sarah screamed.  Adelaide was to her feet in an instant.  Her sister’s shriek ended in a choked gulp as she scrambled after her, grabbing and clawing at her arms.  “What are you doing?  Get down.”

There was a rush; a tumble.  Men pushed each other to get through the narrow doorway, fighting to get inside.

“Get out of my store!” Robert roared.  Adelaide had never before heard rage like that in his voice.  “Are you gentlemen or animals?”

The fair-haired man shoved her brother aside and headed straight for her.  “Give me all of your bread right now.  I want all of that bread on the counter.”

“No!” Adelaide screamed.  Her body began to tremble; she prayed he didn’t notice.

“Miss, I want that bread.”

“You’ll have to pay, just like everyone else.”

A man with long brown hair darted towards the edge of counter, trying frantically to reach the bread behind her.  Robert was across the room in an instant and wrestled the soldier back.  “You’ll not go back there.”

Greedy hands snatched at the apple display, knocking it to the floor with muffled thumps.  Two men pushed and shoved each other, immediately breaking into a fight over an already bruised and somewhat crushed apple.

The fair-haired man reached across the counter and grabbed Sarah’s arm.  He hoisted his musket up with one hand and motioned at the shelving unit.  “Give me the bread.  Don’t give me a reason to shoot you, Miss, I’ll do it.  I will.”

Sarah jerked away and stumbled back against the shelves.  Her hands were trembling, but she managed to pick up two loaves and place them on the counter in front of the soldier.  He grabbed one loaf, but Adelaide snatched the other back.  She pushed it into Sarah’s hands and screamed in her face, “Don’t you dare give him more bread.  Are you daft?”

Before her sister could respond, Robert’s figure caught Adelaide’s attention.  He pushed his way to the door and ripped the license from the wall.  “I am allowed to run this store!  I have a license.  You must pay for these goods.”

A Reb snatched the paper from his hands.  His eyes scanned it quickly and, for a moment, Adelaide thought it would all stop.

It didn’t.

He burst out laughing.  “This is a Yankee license.  Do you honestly believe that I’ll honor this?”

He ripped the license in two and dropped the pieces into the sea of flour on the floor.  Taking a step forward, he stared at Robert, a slight smile playing on his lips, and growled, “I think we need to discuss this matter elsewhere.”

Out of nowhere, two men grabbed Robert’s arms and dragged him out the front doors.  He struggled and pulled against them, but even his strength was no match for the two combined strengths of the Rebel soldiers.

“Robert!” Adelaide screamed.  Terror spread across her chest.  They couldn’t take Robert, not her brother.  She pushed her way from behind the counter, past the men carrying shoes and shirts; men with hats filled with eggs and pockets filled with apples.  She grabbed the first weapon she saw: a broom for scouring pots.

She swung at the man on her right.  “Get out!  Get out of our store!”

Each hit was more satisfying than the last.  Adelaide swung again and again, and in this fashion was able to make her way out of the store—hitting and pushing and screaming.  As soon as her feet hit Shenandoah Street, she screamed for Robert again.  The Rebs were dragging him down the street, down towards the old Armory complex.  She had no doubt in one of those buildings he would meet up with Mr. Ebersole.

“No, Adelaide.” Robert yelled over his shoulder.  “You stay there.”

The Rebs swarmed around her, part falling back into their marching line with loaves of bread skewered on their bayonets.  A soldier made a grab for the squash in the wooden bin.  In retaliation, Adelaide hit him with as much force as she could muster.  “Leave it be.”

“I’ll do as I please!”  He tried to yank the broom from her hands, pulling and shoving her around, but she held on tightly.  “You Yankee whore.”

Adelaide kicked at his knees furiously, clawing, shoving; doing whatever she could to stop him.  Two firm hands grabbed her waist and wretched her away, tearing the rough handle out of her grasp.  It dropped to the ground.  She screamed, struggling against the man’s powerful grip.  Her hands were burning, maybe bleeding.  “Let me go, you fucking bastard.”

“Either he takes the squash,” the Reb hissed in her ear, “or we take you.  It’s been painfully lonely in the field these last few years and your body—”

“You let her go!” Sarah threw herself from the doorway and straight into the Reb’s side.  Adelaide stumbled back a few steps and then lurched forward; snagging the broom off the ground.

It was too late.  Almost all of the squash was gone.

The man in the wheelman’s hat pushed her towards the door.  “Get back in your store.”

“No.”  Tears were streaming down her cheeks now; her scream sounded pitiful to her own ears.  “You get off our property.”

“Get back in your store.” He spit chewed apple in her face as he yelled.  “Get back in now!”

“You’ll have to make me.”

Adelaide knew the threat was a mistake as soon as it left her lips.  He yanked the broom from her hands and threw it aside.  With his apple firmly clamped in his teeth, he lifted her off the ground and shoved her inside the building.  She stumbled backwards, immediately tripping over the upturned flour barrels and slamming to the ground in a heap of flour covered skirts.

He stopped for a moment, a brief hint of concern flashing through his eyes.

“Get out of here.” Adelaide didn’t want his help, not in the least.  He felt guilt for pushing her to the ground, but not for ransacking their store or arresting Robert.  His attitude was so offensive to her she couldn’t even look at him.  “Just get out of here.”

He stared at her, obviously torn over the proper course of action to take.  Finally, and much to Adelaide’s immediate relief, he turned on his heel and walked away from the store.

Sarah was immediately at her side, the broom in hand, and fell to her knees.  “Did he hurt you?”

Adelaide shook her head and stared at the store in silence.  Crushed apples were scattered on the floor, along with shattered glass from a jar that had fallen from the counter.  Entire bins were overturned.  Broken eggs oozed from a countertop, dripping to the floor and clumping together with the spilled flour.  Tears flowed freely down her face and a dull rage burned her soul at the thought of all the food they had taken.  Why?  For what reason?  They couldn’t buy food like civilized people?  They’d rather steal and ruin lives?  God damn them all—let the scourge take them.  Let their souls feed the Shadow Man.

Sarah was sobbing, her hunched body wracked by her gasping.  She leaned heavily against Adelaide.  “I’m sorry, Addy.  All the bread is gone.”

“It’s okay, Sarah.” Adelaide replied wearily, putting her arm around her sister.  “We tried.”

“He pointed his musket at me.  I didn’t know what to do.” She cried harder, the brave exterior she displayed only moments ago shattered like the jar.  “I thought he might—”

“But he didn’t.  We did what we could.” Adelaide bit her lip, closing her eyes for a moment.  Who was going to protect them now?  “At least they didn’t hurt us.  At least they didn’t get upstairs.”

“They took Robert.” She whispered.  “What do we do?”

Adelaide’s mind raced.  Every thought was jumbled, she didn’t even know where to start.  Robert was gone.  The scourge was ongoing—she didn’t want to leave the house and risk getting caught in it.  She’d be helpless; the creatures could smell her, feel her.  And there was nothing she could do to stop them.  “We have to get him back, that’s what.  I just…I just don’t know how.”

“You’re the oldest now.” Sarah sobbed, pressing her palms to her forehead.  Her voice was shrill, probably just moments away from a meltdown.  “We’re in your charge.”

“Don’t talk like that.  Robert will come home to us, it’s just a matter of time.  Look, I’m going to go upstairs and check Levi.  You start to clean this mess.”

Adelaide climbed the back staircase, taking two steps at a time.  She had to remain calm or everyone else would fall apart.  All she had to do was remain calm.  Everything would be fine.  We’ll be fine.

“Levi.” She pounded on the bedroom door, only daring to speak as loud as it would take to be heard in the room.  “Levi, open the door!”

Adelaide heard the lock click and the door swung open.  Levi stared at her with his serious blue eyes and exclaimed, “What happened?  It sounded like one of those artillery pieces was down in the store.”

“They took everything, everything they could carry.  Robert’s been arrested, the store is in shambles—listen to me, there’s no time to waste.”

“What?” Levi stared at her, his lips quivering.  “What did Robert do?”

“Addy…you need to come down here…” Sarah’s voice from the lower level was shrill, more a squawk than a yell.  “Hurry.”

Something in the tone of her voice made Adelaide shudder.  In that split second, she made a decision; began to formulate a plan.  “I want you to bundle Lizzie up as warmly as possible.  Climb out the window in the back room and go down to Mr. MacGrogan’s house.  Tell him what happened and tell him Sarah and I will be along later.  Don’t stop for anyone.”

“But Addy,” Levi grabbed her hand, “what if—”

“You don’t stop.” Adelaide paused midway down the hall.  “Wrap the flintlock in linen and bring it with you.  Now, go Levi!”

She picked up her skirts and rushed down the stairs.  There was nothing in the world she wanted more than to not step back in to the store.  She wanted to turn around and hide; to go back into the cellar at the Fecht’s house and wish it all away.  A deep breath, it didn’t seem to fill her lungs.  This didn’t feel like life anymore: this was a nightmare.  She wanted it to end.

Two armed Confederate soldiers stood in the middle of the room, their eyes locked on Sarah.  Through the front doors, Adelaide could see two more guards on the stoop, one standing on either side of the threshold.

“Haven’t you bothered us enough?” She snapped, circling around the counter and standing in front of her sister.  “What more could you possibly want?”

“We’re ordered to post guard at your store, Miss.” One of the soldiers, his face red from either sunburn or exertion, rattled the words off like he’d memorized them.  There was no emotion, no sympathy.  “General Jackson wants all stores in operation to be under guard, at least until everything in town is situated.”

“Do forgive me if I am not excited by this order.” Adelaide put her hands on her hips.  “As you can see, we’ve already met the ‘liberators’ of our town.”

The other soldier tipped his hat.  “I apologize for their behavior, Miss.”

“We had muskets pointed at us, sir.  And why?  Because we live in this town?”  Adelaide spit on the floor, glaring at him.  “A mumbled apology doesn’t make up for two years of abuse—from both armies.  Blue?  Gray?  You bastards are all the same.”

“I’d watch your mouth if I were you, Yankee.”  The red faced Confederate stared at her, his eyes filled with rage or lust.  Both repulsed her.  “Treason will get you hung.”

Treason?  It was laughable.  She hadn’t pledged her allegiance to either army, except by force.  In the end, she hated both and had no reason to support either side.  Country.  Whatever they were calling each other these days.

Turning her attention from the soldiers, Adelaide leaned across the counter and yanked Sarah close to her. “Save what you can.  We’ll burn the rest.”

She nodded.  “I’d rather face the dead a hundred times over than this.”

Adelaide looked outside at the vegetable bins.  The remaining goods would draw Rebels like honey drew flies.  She’d certainly had enough of that nonsense.  As she headed towards the door, one of the guards called, “Where are you going, Miss?”

“To clean up the mess your comrades made.  We need to eat, too, and I have to salvage what I can before it rots in the street.  It’s bad enough we have to rot in this damned town.  I’d rather not starve.”

Neither man spoke, but instead walked to the back of the store, most likely either to stand guard or decide what they wanted to steal.  Adelaide inwardly groaned.  If any God was still listening to her, she prayed Levi and Lizzie crawled out the back window and got to Mr. MacGrogan’s house without being seen.  Consequences, it seemed, were more dire than usual.

The posted guards promptly stopped her the moment she stepped outside.  “Where are you headed? It’s not safe to be outside, Miss, especially not a lithe girl like yourself.”

Adelaide pointed to the nearly empty vegetable bin.  One Reb nodded, but she noticed both stared at her as she moved to the bin.  She knew their eyes followed her every movement; boring into her body as she inspected the wooden bin.  It infuriated her.  She was not some whore down on her knees for their pleasure—she was a citizen wronged by the Army who was supposed to save them all.

The bin was thoroughly ransacked.  Adelaide gathered a few missed potatoes and onions from the ground and placed them, along with the remaining, somewhat rotten, squash in her apron.  With a huff, she stormed back inside, allowing the door to slam shut behind her.

“Was there much left?” Sarah asked.

Adelaide opened her apron.

She groaned.  “Maybe enough for a pot of soup…if we add several gallons of water.”

The two soldiers remaining in the store headed to the front door.  Before stepping outside, one stopped and turned back.  “I suggest you women stay indoors today.  It’s probably in your best interest.”

Adelaide nodded.  Damn him and his opinion.

When they were outside and the door safely shut, she turned to Sarah and grabbed her arm.  “We need to get out of here.”

“There’s no way we can get out the front.” Sarah paused.  “Did you send Levi through the window?”

“Yes.”

“I guess our only option is to follow suit.”

Adelaide dumped the vegetables in a basket and quietly followed her sister upstairs.  Pulling her blue wool cape over her shoulders, she slid her hand into her pocket and squeezed her watch.  Just in case.

“Do you ever think we should have left?  I mean…like staying was a mistake?”

“No.”  Adelaide fastened her cloak at her throat, casting a sideways glance at her sister.  “Everyone else abandoned the Ferry.  We’re all that’s left of the Six.  We have a job to do.”

“But we’re not doing it.  We’re letting them just pass through town—we’re not even trying.”

“That’s the way it has to be, Sarah.  Trust me.”

Her sister blocked the door, forcing Adelaide to stay in the room.  “What happened that night at Roeder’s?  Why are we just letting this so called scourge happen?  These things are just walking past us.  We’re not helping, we’re not protecting anyone.  We’re just letting it happen.”

Taking a deep breath, Adelaide yanked the hood over her head.  “Are you ready?”

“No.  I want to know, Addy, this is ridiculous.  We’ve abandoned everything we were supposed to save.  You saw what happened to Rebekah.  I hated that woman, I did, but she didn’t deserve that kind of death.  Or after death.  You let that happen.”

“Because I made a deal.”

“With who?”

“The devil, the reaper, I don’t know.”  Adelaide squeezed her eyes shut.  “You have to trust me, Sarah.  He said that it’s happened before, with every war this…this collection of souls happens.  We can’t stop it.  We can only stand by while it happens and let him take his fill.”

“You doom them to death?”

“My watch couldn’t save Rebekah.  All I can do is protect us and wait this plague out.”

“What if it was Thomas?”

“I’m doing this to save Thomas.”  Adelaide wanted to smack her sister.  She just needed to listen, for once in her damned life, and do what she was told.  Repeatedly.

Sarah stared at her pointedly and, for a moment, Adelaide thought she was going to push the issue further.  Instead, she simply pulled up her hood and motioned towards the door.   “Let’s go.”

They crept down the first few stairs and then Adelaide held her hand up to stop her sister’s descent.  She paused to listen.  There were no sounds coming from the store, it didn’t seem like the soldiers had come back inside.

A few more steps.

Only silence.

At the bottom of the staircase, she edged to the door and peered into the main room of the store, trying to stay in the shadows as much as possible.  It was just as they had left it—empty—but she could see the figures of the two soldiers on guard just outside the doors.  If one man turned his head for just a moment, he would be able to see them at the window.

That meant they’d have to hurry.

She grabbed Sarah’s arm and pulled her over to the window.  “Do you want to go first?”

Her sister bit her lip, glancing from her, to the window, and back again.

“Just go.” Adelaide dragged a crate over and positioned it under the window.  Sarah stepped on the crate and then hoisted herself out the window.  She moved so slowly, like she was struggling through a vat of molasses.

Once her sister was safely outside, Adelaide glanced towards the front door one final time—just to make sure it was still closed—and then stepped onto the crate.  It wasn’t until she was straddling the windowsill that she thought she heard a noise coming from the main store room.

She froze.

She heard the noise again, the distinct sound of footsteps.  But the sound wasn’t coming from the store or the threshold.  It was coming from the staircase.

Something was upstairs.  Whether soldier or spirit, it was coming.

Grasping the edge of the sill, Adelaide swung her leg over the ledge and dropped to the ground.  Before straightening completely, she grabbed Sarah’s arm and pulled her away from the window, motioning for her to stay silent.  She wasn’t entirely sure what she would do if someone looked out the window; if they were seen.  Her eyes stayed transfixed on the sill, watching, waiting for any sign of movement.

There was nothing.  No shout of the living, no tearing or ripping of the doomed dead.  Adelaide scrambled to her feet.  She didn’t want to assume getting out of the building was the easy part, but walking directly past posted guards was going to be substantially more difficult.

Sarah seemed to read her mind.  “I think we’ll be okay if we just keep our hoods up and our heads down.  Don’t stop walking.”

Adelaide hesitated for a moment and stared up at the immense cliff looming above them, topped with St. Peter’s Catholic Church.  The area behind the row of buildings and the rock face was small and narrow.  If it wasn’t for some previous tenant installing a window in the back, most likely for easy waste disposal, they would have been trapped in the store.  It was like the noose that hung old John Brown—the war was circling tighter and tighter around the Ferry.  Before long it would cut them off completely.

“Addy, come on!”

Adelaide followed her sister along the path behind the buildings, finally squeezing through the narrow gap between the rough cast stone building and the privies.  Shenandoah Street was crawling with soldiers in gray uniforms; they swarmed like black flies around rotted meat.  Mr. MacGrogan’s house was still a good distance away, she couldn’t even see it from where she stood.  She wasn’t sure they could make it, even if they ran.

But what other option did they have?

Before Adelaide could force herself to take a step forward, her heart started pounding.  Her pulse raced, bile boiling up in her stomach and throat until she felt lightheaded.  Her hands shook.  Her breathing sped up.  She wanted to stop her sister: tell her this was a mistake.  Out in the open, out from the supposed safety of the building, they were vulnerable to spirit attack.  The soldiers—dead or alive—could rip them apart.

The connection between her mind and her feet, however, was not complete.  Each footstep felt numb, as if the ground had disappeared beneath her like fog along the riverbank.  Adelaide’s eyes were transfixed on her shoes: she was too afraid to look up, in case one of those soldiers in gray was ready to stop them or, worse, she looked into the face of the dead.

They skirted along the edge of Shenandoah Street, trying to blend in with the cliff as best as two diminutive women in blue and red cloaks could manage.  To Adelaide’s amazement, they were getting closer and closer to the Presbyterian Church.  Mr. MacGrogan’s house was just a little further down the road.

The man’s voice seemed to come out of nowhere.  “Where do you two think you’re going?”

Instinctively, she grabbed Sarah’s arm.  He’d probably been behind them the whole time.  “We’re... we’re…we have to get to our brother.”

He stared at Adelaide as if she was speaking a foreign language.

“Please, help us.” Sarah pleaded.  “Our brother was arrested, our store robbed.  We didn’t do anything, we just need someone to help us.”

The soldier looked suspicious, but before he could do anything, Adelaide saw Mr. MacGrogan and Levi running towards them.  MacGrogan waved his arms to get the man’s attention.  “Sir, these ladies are in my charge.  They are on their way to my home, they’ve done no wrong.”

The soldier motioned at Sarah with his rifle.  “What is she talking about?  Her brother being arrested?”

Mr. MacGrogan huffed into his bushy mustache.  “She’s speaking the truth.  He was pulled right out of his store.”

“He must have done something to warrant an arrest.”

“He’s all we have left.” Adelaide let her hood fall away from her face and stared up at the man with wide eyes and a pouty lip.  Sometimes, a man could easily be manipulated with doe eyes and a sweet face.  She hoped he was such a man.  “Can’t you please take us to him?  We just need to know what’s going on and if he’s okay.”

He stared at her for what seemed like an eternity.  Finally, he sighed loudly and said, “I can’t make that decision, Miss, but I’ll ask my captain.  I’ll see what I can do.”

Relief washed over her.  “Thank you, sir.”

Without another word, he walked away from them and headed toward a group of soldiers standing next to the Market House.  Adelaide was at too far a distance to make out any words he was saying, but he pointed in their direction numerous times and seemed to emphasize his point with frantic hand gestures.  It started to make her nervous.  He was drawing far too much attention to them.

Mr. MacGrogan seemed to notice this as well.  He crossed his arms against his broad chest and asked, “Have you given any thought as to what you’ll do if they don’t take you to Robert?”

Adelaide didn’t have time to think about it, even if she wanted to.  One of the soldiers approached their group and pulled his hat from his head.  “Ladies.  My corporal tells me your brother was arrested.”

“He didn’t do anything.” Sarah blurted the words out in a rush.  “He was trying to protect us.”

The soldier held up his hands.  “I’m sure it must have seemed that way.”

Adelaide clamped her lips shut.  It was that way.  The soldier wasn’t there when it happened, how could he be a judge of what occurred in the store?  Again, as always, it was their word against soldiers’ word.  And townspeople were never believed. “Sir, we just want to see our brother.  We want to bring him home.”

“He’s been arrested.  I can assure you he isn’t going anywhere.”

Adelaide didn’t trust herself to speak.  Sarah, however, was enraged.  “Can’t we just see him?  Surely you can permit us that, if nothing else, seeing as how your Johnnies ransacked our store.  We have nothing left, sir, but our family.  And most of them are dead.”

He seemed to consider his options for a moment and then sighed loudly.  No doubt he considered them a hassle, more paperwork he didn’t want to deal with.  Looking down the street towards the Armory ruins, he brushed his sandy hair back and replaced his hat on his head.  “Aye, against my better judgment, I’ll allow you that.  But if either of you cause a disturbance, I’ll arrest you too.”

Adelaide answered before Sarah had the chance to open her mouth.  “Agreed sir, we won’t be trouble.  There will be no disturbances or outbursts.  I assure you.”

He turned back to the soldier who had originally stopped them.  “McDowell.  Go ahead and escort them down to the engine house.  Let Ritchey know it is with my approval.”

‘McDowell’ cocked his head towards the Armory.  “You know the way.”

Sarah, Levi, Mr. MacGrogan, and Adelaide silently trudged through the muck of Shenandoah Street in front of the soldier.  It was almost as if they had an unspoken agreement that a single utterance—no matter how small—would bring their journey to an abrupt end.  Dead soldiers from the battle on the heights were slowly filing with them, their figures fading in and out of sight as they were drawn to the complex.  She wasn’t sure if the spirits sensed them or even cared.  They were focused on the neat lines of Armory buildings, at that unseen entrance to some other life.  She held her breath.  She could feel her watch burning against her thigh, the heat searing through the fabric of her skirts.

The soldier stopped the group at the Armory gates.  “Wait here.”

Adelaide knew he was going to give his captain’s permission for their entrance into the engine house, this was just some formality, but her eyes were transfixed on the ruins of the Ferry Lot.  Their house had been reduced to nothing more than a brick skeleton.  The upper floors had been completely destroyed when that damned Yankee Tydnale set it on fire back in February.  At some point—when exactly, she couldn’t recall—what was left of the house’s upper half had crashed into the store below.  Only the ash blackened exterior bricks remained.  Even from where she stood, she could see nothing was left in the pit: the grimy hole that had once been Poppa’s store.  The floor was gone; she could see the murky depths of the cellar below.

They had justified their actions as keeping the Confederate sharpshooters from using the upper floors as nests to pick off Union soldiers.  As far as Adelaide knew, there weren’t any Confederates in anyone’s upper floors.  Just families.

Having been so captivated by the shell of their former lives, it startled her when McDowell returned.  Sarah shot her a look of impatience.  “I don’t know why you stare at it so, it’s not like we can go back.”

It was an appropriate thought as they walked into the complex.  There was still something strange about walking into the Armory grounds, especially after so many years of being barred out by an iron gate.  The immense buildings had stood silent for so long, stripped of all the machinery.  The men were gone.  The soaring smokestack of the Smith and Forging Shop stood vigil over the battered buildings, like a solemn minister over the casket of a murdered man.  Glass shattered.  Metal twisted.

The engine house—referred to by many soldiers as John Brown’s Fort—was surrounded by armed men.  Adelaide was not at all comfortable approaching the engine house, since she remembered what happened inside.  Not since the night the Armory burned had she been so close to it.  She’d never seen the inside.

Now they were led directly to the doors.

Robert was seated on a squat barrel.  When he saw them, he jumped up and crossed the brick floor in a few swift strides.  “My dear sisters, Levi!  It does my heart good to see you all.”

They threw themselves into his arms.  Tears burned the back of Adelaide’s eyes, but she blinked rapidly, willing them away.  “Are you okay, Robert?  When are you coming home?”

He squeezed them tightly.  “Lizzie is with Mrs. MacGrogan, I take it?”

Adelaide peered up at him through her tears.  “Why do you avoid my question?”

Robert sighed and looked at his siblings; stared at them like he was savoring the vision of their likenesses.  “They’re talking conscription, Addy.”

Levi’s voice was barely above a whisper.  “What does that mean?”

Adelaide stared past her brother’s shoulder, stared at the spattering of holes in the brick walls.  One of Brown’s raiders—Thompson perhaps—had been bayoneted to the wall at the end of the raid.  She wondered which hole had pinned him to his death.  She wondered if he was even really gone or if his soul still wandered the streets of the Ferry.  “It means he isn’t coming home.”

“Is that true?” Sarah whimpered.  She clutched at his frock coat.  “Tell her she’s wrong, she’s always wrong.”

Robert laughed bitterly.  “And to think, it wasn’t that long ago that David Hamilton was urging me to join the ranks of Virginia’s Army.  Now I am forced in, Ebersole too.  At least I’ll have someone from home to march with.”

How he could be so calm about it?  Adelaide felt like his words reached into her soul and ripped it to pieces.  Unable to hold it any longer, she sank to her knees and began to wail.  Maybe John Brown was right; maybe Virginia was a guilty land.  But her brother didn’t deserve to pay for her sins.

* * *

GOODBYE CAME TOO quickly.

The captain repeated himself as if he thought they hadn’t heard him.  “I’m sorry, but I cannot allow you to stay any longer.”

Robert gathered Adelaide and Sarah in his arms.  “Give Lizzie a kiss for me.  Levi, you take care of Sarah and Adelaide—you’re the man of the house now.  I’ll be home soon enough, so don’t get too comfortable in your new position.”

Adelaide stood on her tip toes and kissed his cheek.  “Don’t go.  Maybe you can change his mind.  We need you here.”

“I can’t, Addy.” He hugged her, then tweaked her nose as he had done when they were children.  “You know I love you three.”

They nodded.  Adelaide’s vision blurred with tears.

Taking one last look at them, Robert backed away a few steps and took a deep breath.  “Just go.  It will be easier.”

Anxiety boiled in Adelaide’s chest and for a moment, she thought she would be sick.  She stumbled, nearly tripping over her skirts, out of the dim engine house and into the cold September sunlight.  Robert was wrong; there was nothing easy about walking away.

The captain looked at them, a hint of pity crossing his rugged face.  “This isn’t easy for you.”

An understatement.

“He’s only doing his duty for his country.” There was a pause.  “The duty he wanted to do years ago.”

Adelaide didn’t believe him.  It was a lie, a lie he had perpetuated and potentially believed to clear his own conscience.  But her brother was doing his duty in Harpers Ferry: he was taking care of his family.  They had been a family of eight.  Now there were only four left.

As they turned to follow Mr. MacGrogan home, the captain spoke up.  “There’s just one more thing.”

Adelaide turned and stared at him.  Hadn’t he taken enough from them?  Now he wanted their time?  “What?”

“I need your allegiance.”

“To what?”

“The Confederacy.”

* * *

September 17, 1962

“ARE YOU SURE I cannot convince you to stay longer?  You are no burden, I can assure you.”

Adelaide forced a smile and patted Mrs. MacGrogan’s hand.  “I’m certain.  We’ll be fine back at our home, I promise.  Running the boarding house and baking bread will keep us busy.”

The woman sighed.  “I will send Mr. MacGrogan to check on you—and often.  And don’t hesitate to come here anytime.  You are always welcome.”

Adelaide hugged her tightly.  “I shall remember that and call on your hospitality whenever possible.”

Picking Lizzie up, she adjusted her skirts and stepped out the door.  There had been a strange rumbling sound, like the distant roar of thunder, all day.  The sky was a mottled blue, but not nearly dark enough to signify poor weather.  The noise was disconcerting to her, since too much rain could overflow the rivers.  Without Robert, Adelaide wasn’t certain how they would weather a flood.  Sarah and Levi trudged ahead of her, but before she could ask their opinion, Sallie Zittle fell into step at her side.  “Addy, I heard about your brother.  I am so sorry.”

There were less than three hundred actual residents of the Ferry left—mostly all barred inside their homes—and yet word still traveled remarkably fast.  “He’s still down there, but they won’t let us see him.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Adelaide nodded absent mindedly.  “I told you it was impossible to outrun the war.”

“You were right.”

Adelaide listened to the distant tumult, still curious of its origin.  “Have you any idea what that noise is?”

She shook her head.  “It sounds like a storm is coming.”

A storm certainly made sense.  Perhaps Levi should start bringing goods upstairs now, in case the rivers did start to crest their banks.

Sarah opened the door to the store and then promptly stopped in her tracks.  Adelaide poked her in the back.  “Don’t be obnoxious—get inside.”

“There are people in there.”

She and Sallie stood on their tiptoes, trying to see over Sarah’s shoulders. Finally, unable to see around her sister, Adelaide squeezed past her and into the store.  Men were crowded on the floor, huddled together so tightly in spots that it was difficult to see the floorboards beneath.  Several men leaned against the wall; one gentleman holding his head in his hands, staring at the window with vacant, empty eyes.  A man perched precariously on top of the counter, his arm draped over his face.  The smell in the room nearly made Adelaide vomit: it was almost as if someone had turned over a privy on the floor.

All eyes were transfixed on women in the doorway.

Adelaide stared at them, speechless, for a moment and then blurted out, “What is going on here?”

A man, his white shirt almost completely red from blood, stepped out from the back room.  “Are you looking for someone?”

“No.  We live here.”

His shoulders drooped, disappointment registering in his red rimmed eyes.  “We’d hoped it was vacant.”

“Well, it’s not.”

“Please, Miss.” Leaning up against the doorframe, he wiped his hands on an apron, leaving smears of blood behind.  “They’re wounded.  They won’t be no trouble.”

She softened.  Not only were the men obviously battered from the siege, but they looked half starved.  These weren’t the men who had broken into their store and arrested Robert; these seemed more like the left over husks of men who had faced death—and made the decision to march forward anyway.  “Have you enough water?”

“No.  Some of them haven’t had water since before battle.” His eyelids looked as if they were ready to shut, for sleep to come as he stood.  “We used what was here.  I just don’t have enough able men to walk down to the river and get more.”

Adelaide cast a glance at Levi.  There was no need to speak; without a word, he walked to the back and retrieved the water buckets.  Judging by the paleness of his face as he walked back through, she knew that something bad was taking place in the back.

“We should make some bread.” Sarah murmured, taking Lizzie from Adelaide.  “They look so hungry.”

Adelaide cleared her throat.  “Is there any way we can help?”

He looked relieved, but somewhat sad.  “Thank you, Miss, but I doubt you’d be interested in the help I require.”

“At least give me the option to decide, sir.  I’m small, but I’m strong.”

“These men,” he nodded towards the men crowded practically on top of each other in the main room, “have not yet been tended.”

“That is a manageable task.”

He hesitated. “I pray you don’t have a weak stomach, dear lady.  What I have seen during this war would bring a grown man to his knees.”

Adelaide swallowed hard, but stepped forward, picking her way through men.  “If I can help, I will do my best.”

He handed her a pile of dirty, bloodstained strips of cloth.  “Bandage what you can.  If the wound is too gaping, it may just need a few simple stitches.  I…ah…I won’t make you do that.”

She took the bandages and headed towards one end of the room.  As Adelaide passed her sister, Sarah grabbed her elbow.  “What about bread?”

“If you want to scrape the flour off the flour, do as you wish.” Adelaide paused, her brow knitting in a frown.  “Actually, take the leftover squash and potatoes.  Maybe we can make some soup—you could always go see if Mr. Egan has anything left.  Or the MacGrogans.”

“I’m not cooking in the back…not with them.”

“Then cook at Mr. Egan’s and bring it over.” Adelaide took a bucket from Levi as he passed through the room.  “I don’t care, Sarah, just do something.”

Sallie touched her arm.  “Let me get a cup.  I’ll help you pass out the water.”

Taking a deep breath, Adelaide squatted down next to the first soldier.  His lips were black from gunpowder and his face darkened with dirt, but was accentuated by piercing blue eyes.  “Thank you for your kindness, Miss.  It’s been…it’s been so long since I’ve seen hospitality.”

Sallie handed him a cup of water.  He looked so grateful, so overjoyed, that Adelaide nearly broke down into tears.  She bit her lip.  “You’ll have to forgive me, sir, I don’t know where you’re hurt.”

“Oh, just my feet.” He adjusted his position so she could reach the bottoms of his feet.  “My feet were sore before, but I stepped on pieces of a busted shell.  That didn’t make them less sore, I can rightly tell you that.”

Adelaide peered at the bottom his feet, immediately certain he understated his wounds.  The soles were nearly rubbed raw, crackled and black with dried blood.  Large gouges criss-crossed each foot, no doubt where he had stepped on spent metal.  “What happened to your shoes?”

“I can’t remember the last time I had shoes.”

Someone tugged on her skirt.  “Miss…oh, miss, can you help my friend?”

Adelaide turned slightly and looked at a young man lying on his stomach next to her.  The side of his face was caked with blood, obviously it had poured from a gash in his scalp.  “One moment, sir, let me finish with this gentleman and I will tend to you.”

“He’s so tired.” He tugged at her skirt again, leaving prints of blood on the faded fabric.  “I think he’s drifted off to sleep.  He’s lost an awful lot of blood, Miss, so if you could hurry, I’d be much obliged to you.”

Adelaide finally looked past the soldier to the man lying next to him.  He looked so young, probably younger than Luke, and his blood soaked jacket was draped on his thin, boyish shoulders.

The man was dead.

* * *

IT WAS NOT until later that Adelaide discovered the roar was not thunder, but the sound of artillery drifting over from a tiny town perched against Antietam Creek in Maryland.  They were told the casualties were beyond all comprehension; men torn to shreds by artillery blasts and musket fire.  Men talked of seeing a pink mist: watching their friends literally disappear into nothing when struck by canister or grape shot.

Most casualties, it seemed, didn’t live long enough to make it all the way to the Ferry.  But their souls did, by the tens of thousands.  It was the most she’d ever seen at once.

And yet, the scourge continued.

Chapter 25

April 29, 1863

SPRINGTIME IN THE Ferry had never been singing birds and cherry blossoms.  It was typically rainy or overcast, in years past making it feel like a veritable bath in the grit and grime from the Armory and the industries on Virginius Island.  Now, however, the breeze carried the stench of rotting horses down into Lower Town from the heights in Bolivar.  Adelaide carried a small bottle of homemade peppermint oil in her apron pocket for the times when the sweet smell of death became unbearable.  Summer was rapidly approaching: it was only going to get worse.

The Rebs—and her brother with them—were long gone.  The Yankee Army had returned to the Ferry, but this time, it seemed different.  It almost felt like…hope.  General Kelley seemed nice enough, but more importantly he seemed intent on bringing the Ferry back to a state of normalcy.  After the departing Rebs tore down the railroad bridge, Kelley had it rebuilt.  He chased out looters.  He sent soldiers to check on her and her sister daily.  With all the Yankees in town, the greenbacks flowed again from the boarders they kept and the bread and pies they sold.

Maybe the Rebs were gone for good.  It certainly seemed that way: Kelley’s men seemed to be doing a good job keeping them out.  And from what Adelaide heard, General Hooker was driving the Rebs deeper into Virginia.

Sallie was turning out to be a marvelous help when with everyday chores like baking bread and running the shop.  The more Adelaide got to know her, the more she hoped her family would stay in the Ferry for good.  She seemed to know precisely what was going on around town—perhaps an even more knowledgeable gossip than Annie Frankel had ever been.  The most recent rumor she perpetuated, the thing that kept them the most occupied, was the persistent report that many Unionists in western Virginia were calling for secession from the state; to return to the Union.

“Do you really think anyone would show up for a vote?” Sallie wiped flour from the bread pans with a damp cloth.  “I’ve heard there will be a Federal guard posted.”

“That will certainly keep any southern sympathizers away.” Adelaide took a quick swig of water from her mug.  “It doesn’t sound like much of a vote, in that case.”

Sarah shook her head.  “You two contemplate so!  Women have no right to vote; what difference will your words make?  They just cause discontent to you and frustration to me.”

Hearing the front door of the shop slam, Adelaide rose from her seat and walked into the main room of the store.  “How can I help—”

Susan Hamilton.

Adelaide narrowed her eyes.  God, even seeing her was an irritant.  “What do you want?”

There was a hitch in her step as she sauntered to the counter, almost as if each movement was an irritant to her body.  Her eyes scanned the few remaining medicine bottles on the back shelves.  “Oh, Addy, this is a business call.  You wouldn’t turn away a paying customer, would you?”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t.”

Susan ignored her quip.  “Do you have any curatives for rashes?”

Against her better judgment, Adelaide surveyed the bottles and asked, “What kind of rash?”

“A private one.”

“Susan.  Do you mean a rash acquired from a gentleman?”

She looked uncomfortable for a split second, but then returned to her haughty demeanor.  “We are no longer friends, Adelaide, you don’t have to show false concern.  It doesn’t matter from where the rash was acquired. I just need something to make it go away.”

But Adelaide was concerned.  She had overheard soldiers talking about the rashes they caught from the whores in town.  It started out innocently enough, with a blister that caused no pain.  Then it moved to rashes and fevers before turning to horrific ulcers and eventually, death.  “At least tell me, is your rash in one place, or is it all over?”

“It’s…starting to go all over.”

“Susan, if you have caught something from a gentleman soldier, the only thing that can cure it is salts of mercury.” Adelaide hesitated.  “We don’t have that here.”

“Surely you must have something.” Her eyes frantically scanned the labels.  “One of those bottles must have something in it to help me.”

“Susan, I told you, you need salts of mercury.  If you won’t listen to that, the best I can do is give you this.” Adelaide handed her a tall, dark bottle labeled laudanum.  “I can’t guarantee that you will see any improvement, though, but it claims to be a curative for all ailments.”

After examining the bottle, she asked, “How much?”

“One dollar.”

Susan handed her a crumpled greenback.  “It’s worth a try.”

“I’ll pray for you.”

“I don’t think God can help me now.” She sniffed indignantly.  “Oh, and I have something for you.”

“Do you now?” Adelaide eyed her cautiously.  “And what is that?”

Unceremoniously, she dropped a paperback volume on the counter.  “It belonged to David.”

It was a small reproduction of the New Testament, well worn and water stained.  “Why do you have David’s testament?”

“Because my brother is dead.” She said simply.  “He was killed at Sharpsburg, but his body was…it…it took this long for word to reach us.  He always spoke highly of you, so I thought you’d like to have this.  I certainly don’t.”

Adelaide stared at the testament, too overwhelmed to weep.  The thought of David Hamilton being dead, left to die alone on the field in Antietam, left her numb.  She didn’t hear even hear when Susan left the store.

Chapter 26

May 12, 1863

WORD REACHED THEM that on May 10th, two days earlier, General Stonewall Jackson died of wounds suffered in the aftermath of Chancellorsville.  Sarah took it as a sign that the war would soon draw to a close.  It stoked the embers of Adelaide’s old southern sympathies and part of her mourned his loss, but it made her fear retribution from the South.  Rumors that the Rebs were swiftly drawing up from the Valley strengthened with each passing day.

The confidence of the soldiers in the Ferry seemed perched on a rocky precipice.

They lived as if nothing was amiss, as if the war was not constantly encroaching on the Ferry.  What else was there to do?  They’d been going through the same thing for the past three years.  It was becoming a sort of sick routine: bake bread, sell bread, stay away from the windows, watch your mouth around the Yankees.

“I’ve heard some of the Yankees want to rebuild Large Arsenal.” Sallie commented, breaking the silence that had fallen over their baking.  “They want to turn it into a bakery.”

Adelaide nodded and rubbed her nose with the back of her wrist.  “I heard that the same.  There’s just not enough food to go around with all these soldiers in town.  I wouldn’t mind it, necessarily, since most of our income comes from the boarding house.  It’d actually be nice to relax for a while, huh Sarah?”

Her sister was staring into the main room of the store.  Her face paled considerably.  “Addy…”

Before Adelaide had a chance to respond, two armed soldiers burst into the back room.  One leveled his musket at her.  “Are you Sallie Zittle?”

Her breath caught in her throat.  She couldn’t speak, instead shaking her head so hard her chignon loosened on the back of her head.

Sallie threw the metal loaf pans on the floor and, with the soldiers distracted, lunged for the door.  The men were faster; the soldier in the back grabbed her by the neck and jerked her backwards.

Sarah screamed.

The shriek broke Adelaide out of her paralysis and she dove forward, grabbing the soldier’s other arm.  “What are you doing?  Let her go!”

He shrugged away from her.  “She’s under arrest.”

“Arrest?  Why?”

“She,” the first soldier motioned at Sallie with his musket, “is a spy.  She’s been passing messages to the Rebel cavalry for weeks.  We’ve followed her from Frederick and kept our eye on her.  Caught her passing letters to Stuart just last evenin’.”

“Lies.”  Sallie spit at him.  “You’re just looking for an excuse to harass the women of town.  You bastard Yankees get off on it.”

The soldier dug his fingers into her hair and yanked her head backward.  “Shut up.”

Adelaide leapt at the soldier holding Sallie.  “Stop it!”

The other soldier grabbed her, pushing her against the wall.  “Don’t give me an excuse to arrest you too, Secesh.”

“You have no proof she’s a spy.”  Sarah cowered next to the cook stove, holding the poker out in front of her.  “Leave us alone.”

“We don’t need proof to arrest her.”  Keeping one hand on Adelaide’s shoulder and holding her in place, the soldier fished in his pocket and withdrew a letter.  “But in this case, I have it: intercepted, just last night.”

He started reading, “My dear general: you will find the Ferry easiest to enter by the pike.  The railroad bridge is too often a target and easily protected on both sides.  The Federal provost here is idiotic.  Plenty of times, the rumor of your closeness has been passed, but the Yankees fail to take proper precautions.  It will be easy to overrun them, as Brown did those many years ago.”

The soldier holding Sallie yanked her head backwards again.  “Is that enough proof, Miss Zittle, or should he continue?”

She spit at him, bucking against his grip.  “I’ll never deny my loyalty to Stuart and the Cause.  If it’s wrong, send me to hell yourself.”

“Did she ever talk to you about her sympathies to the Southern Cause?”  The soldier loosened his grip on Adelaide’s shoulder, allowing her to take several steps away from him.  “You can be honest with me, Miss.  She took advantage of your kindness.”

Adelaide shook her head.  “She said she and her family were refugees from Frederick.  That’s all.”

He nodded.  “My apologies for the interruption to your day, Miss.”

Adelaide stood, her feet feeling like they were rooted to the floor, and watched as Sallie was dragged out of the store.  She thought the girl was their friend.

And she was wrong.

* * *

AT THE END of the month, the citizens of the Ferry found out on June 20th, the votes had been cast and state secession approved.  They were no longer in the state of Virginia, but the newly formed, member of Lincoln’s Union: West Virginia.  Of nearly 200 voters from the Ferry, only one voted to remain in the Confederacy.

The scourge continued.  Adelaide never saw Sallie again.

Chapter 27

Mid-August 1863

THE POTOMAC RIVER spilled over her banks during the middle of July, almost like the collective tears of Lee’s disaster in Gettysburg had flooded straight to the Ferry.  With all the soldiers—both dead and living—pouring back into town, Adelaide didn’t have much time to dwell on what had happened to a reported 50,000 men in those three, sweltering days.  She watched it: the solemn, listless, line of soldiers heading to the Armory complex.

She and Sarah were back to baking bread every day and, in comparison to sitting up all night trying to keep dead soldiers from getting into the house and crossing the persistent into light, Adelaide welcomed the change of pace.  It was getting easier to ignore them and just let them continue, unabated, to the entrance to hell.  Only a few wandered into the house.  Those they quickly dispatched.

It had been a day since a Shadow was seen in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia.

The soldiers proclaimed that Bobby Lee was gone for good.  While the new Provost Marshall, Major Pratt, got organized in his office on High Street, several soldiers finally got the bakery in Large Arsenal up and running.  With the greenbacks circulating again, even the Market House was able to provide a better selection of wares.  Regardless of how many years Adelaide had been going to the market on Wednesdays and Saturdays, she was still always so indecisive of what to buy.  With blockades still in place, there wasn’t as much to pick through as there had been when she was younger, but at least it was getting better.

She loaded up her basket with several pieces of chicken wrapped in brown paper, some carrots, onions, and celery stalks, and a large wedge of cheese as a special treat.  The fruit was overripe, unlike how it was on Wednesday when it was under ripe.  She was fairly certain it was the same fruit from earlier in the week.

It was the peak of summer and miserably hot.  The heat seemed to have a thickness, settling around her face and body like she was wrapped in a wet, heavy quilt.  Flies buzzed around the food and darted in her face, no amount of waving her hand in their direction seemed to make them subside.  Although she didn’t particularly look forward to going back to their boiling brick house, it would be markedly better than standing near the stench of sun spoiled meat.

As she walked home, Adelaide adjusted the basket to her other hand.  It always amazed her how heavy the basket could get when it seemed like she bought so little.  At least there had been some marginally fresh chicken left.  They had been living on potato and meager vegetable soup for so long—just the thought of chicken soup for a change made her hungry.

She pushed her way past a group of soldiers standing near Mr. Egan’s Dry Goods Store.  The Yankees were typically bawdy and vulgar when they gathered in groups; commenting about her looks, her lithe, corseted figure, the shape of her mouth.  As she passed, she thought she heard, instead of lewd chatter, someone call her name.  Slowing a bit, Adelaide searched the faces around her, studying each for some flicker of familiarity.  There were none she called friend, none who she recognized, so she continued walking.

“Wait!  Adelaide, is that really you?”

She stopped and turned, one foot in the street as she prepared to cross.  A thin, broad shouldered soldier was dashing down the street behind her, his hand pressing against his sword and sidearm so as to not lose them in his frantic run.  What could she possibly have done this time?  She hadn’t spoken to anyone, she simply had gone to the market and purchased food.

His face seemed unfamiliar, though partially obscured by a patchy beard and rather unimpressive mustache.  The blue uniform he wore looked like it had been drenched and then rolled through the dirt, caking mud in the wool fibers and staining the trousers.  “How do you know my name?  I haven’t done anything, sir, I can assure you I was just at the market.  See?  Just food in my basket.”

“Adelaide.”

“Do I know you?”

“Of course you know me.” He pulled his cap off, revealing a mop of sweaty brown hair.  His voice struck a chord in Adelaide’s soul, but it was the haunting blue eyes that chilled her straight to the bone.

Thomas Cooper had returned to Harpers Ferry.

Chapter 28

ADELAIDE STARED AT him, struck mute by suddenly seeing him after so many years.  He wasn’t dead or caught up in the scourge.  He was here.  Alive.  All she wanted was to be in his arms; she dropped the basket on the ground and threw her arms around his shoulders.  He smelled rank, of sweat and an unwashed body.  She didn’t care.  It was really him.  “What…what are you doing here?”

He laughed, lifting her up and spinning her around.  “I’m with the 34th Massachusetts, we’ve been assigned to garrison duty here.  God, Adelaide, you’re more beautiful than I remember.”

“You never wrote me.”  She cupped her hand to his cheek, the familiar structure of his high cheekbones and strong jaw making her fingers feel like they were tingling.  “I thought you were dead.”

His eyes were locked on hers, his hands tight around her waist.  “I’m sorry, my love, I am.  Christ, it’s been nonstop duty since I left.  We were in Washington for what seemed like an eternity and on the move and garrison.  Never mind that, tell me how you are.  Can I escort you home?  Where are you living?”

“In Mr. Matthew’s old grocery store.  We’ve been there nearly two years.”

He gathered up the spilled vegetables and fruit, and carried the basket in one hand, placing his other at her low back to guide her forward.  “I saw the ruins of Ferry Lot.  When did you come back to town?”

“We never left.  Only about a hundred of us stayed, everyone else fled; I’d say, probably in the first year of the war.”

He looked taken aback.  “My God, Adelaide, I’ve heard what’s happened here.”

“You have no idea.”  She kept looking at him, her body already craving his touch.  Her mind and flesh remembered how his hands felt, how his mouth tasted.  Time wouldn’t have changed that.

“And your family?”

“You wouldn’t even recognize them.  Sarah is nearly twenty-one, Levi fourteen.  My baby sister Lizzie is four now and considers herself quite the important lady.”

He waited a moment.  “And everyone else?”

Adelaide shook her head.  “There is nobody else.  Luke and Robert fight on opposing armies and my father is dead.”

The color drained considerably from his gaunt cheeks.  “I had no idea.”

“You could not imagine the things that have gone on here; what we’ve seen.” As they reached the front door of shop, Adelaide turned to him and smiled shyly.  “Look, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be so melancholy.  Join us for dinner.  I bought chicken for stew.  I’ll make biscuits and we can…make up for lost time.”

He set the basket on the front stoop and took her hands in his, bringing her knuckles to his lips.   “Of course.  I’ll have to get permission from my major, but I’m quite certain it won’t be a problem.”

“Until then, Mr. Cooper.”

As he turned to walk away, Thomas stopped and quietly said, “My feelings for you never changed.”

She ran to him and threw her arms around his shoulders.  Their lips met; the kiss was hungry, desperate.  He cradled her head with his hand and locked her place, his mouth prompting hers open.  The bristles of his beard tickled her as his jaw moved and his tongue lapped against hers.

When the kiss ended, he kept her head against his.  “The thought of you is what has sustained me, Adelaide.  Your smile, your touch.  Being this close you again…I feel like this is the first real breath I’ve taken in three years.”

And then he kissed her again.

* * *

SHE CARRIED ON as if Abraham Lincoln himself was coming for supper.  “Sarah, sweep that floor again.  He’ll think we live in a barn.”

“Providence save us, Addy you twit.” Sarah crossed her arms, not budging from her perch atop a stool.  “Are you a girl of eighteen again?  He’s just a man.  There’re plenty of them around here and you choose the one you’ve already had.  You need more variety.”

“I don’t want variety, Sarah Jane.” Adelaide scowled and stirred the soup vigorously.  “I’ve had variety and I prefer the one my soul adores.”

Thomas Cooper showed up for supper freshly shaven and a clean uniform, most likely borrowed from someone else as there certainly had not been enough time to launder his.  Adelaide nearly tripped over herself showing him to the table, blathering idiotically how Levi showed quite a skill at woodworking; how in better days his skills may have translated to work at the now defunct Armory.

Sarah rolled her eyes in disgust.  Levi giggled deliriously and ducked away Adelaide’s ability to snap a towel at younger siblings.

Thomas swore the soup was the best he had tasted in years, though it was Adelaide’s opinion the carrots were too crunchy.  As the meal progressed and Adelaide felt more at ease, they filled him in on all that had happened over the course of three years, from how many times the railroad bridge had been blown up to the death of David Hamilton.  She related how nearly every private residence had been turned into barracks, every church a hospital, and every garden a graveyard.  Everything she said, she did at a frantic, rambling pace.  She couldn’t help it: it was him, really him.

After Sarah had cleared the table and insisted she would take care of the dinner dishes, Thomas and Adelaide sat on the front stoop of the house to enjoy the somewhat cooler evening air.  He sat close to her, his thigh pressed against hers.  With him next to her again, she almost felt like the last several years hadn’t happened.  She felt safe.  Alive.

“So many are gone.” He stared towards the river for a moment and then touched his head to hers.  “I’m off pulling garrison duty while David is cut down on the field of battle.  And Frederick Roeder?  Your father?”

“We have certainly had a rough time of this war.”

“If only I hadn’t left you.  If only I had stayed.”

“The Ferry Lot would have still burned.” Adelaide sighed, melancholy at the thought of the past years.  “My father still would have died, David as well.”

“Did you see more of…ah…them?”

“It’s only been six days since I last saw one.  I face them all the time.”

“Even your father?”

She stared at his hands in silence for several moments, then nodded.

He exhaled deeply and pressed his lips to her temple, trailing his kisses down her cheek.       “There is so much I want to say to you.”

“Then say it, Thomas.”  She pursed her lips into a coy smile.  “We don’t have any secrets, especially as familiar as we are with each other…skin to soul.”

He kept his face close to hers, his lips brushing against her skin as he murmured, “Sometimes I thought, if I had written, my very words would have burned through the paper.”

“Why didn’t you write me?”  She tilted his chin up so she could look into his eyes.  “I know you were busy…but…Thomas, I was worried about you.  I was terrified you were dead.”

He reached out and trailed his fingers down her cheek.  “Everything we did was nonstop, drilling and garrison duty and forced marches.  I wish…I wish there was some way I could make it up to you.”

“There are ways.  But I’m going to make you wait.”  Adelaide looked away.  “Thomas…the thought of losing you... I can’t even begin to explain how much it scared me.  I received no word from you—I didn’t even know if you made it to Massachusetts.  You said yourself you knew what happened here and yet you never wrote to see how I faired?  To know if I was even still alive?”

“I had no idea you had stayed.”

She rolled her eyes.  “What choice did I have?  My father was dying.  Luke was gone and Robert after him; even if I could have left, where would I have gone?  We thought…we thought it would end.  With each new commander we thought: surely this must be the last.  This one will keep us safe, this one will stop all the fighting and all the dying.  But they never did, Thomas, they simply don’t care.  They burned the Armory, they shelled the town, and yet they still squabble over who will control the rubble and ruins that are left.  But then, if you had taken the time to write, you would have known all this.  Will I forgive you for leaving?  Absolutely, but I think part of me will always hate you for it.”

Thomas was silent for a moment, staring at his well worn boots.  He appeared less surprised at her words than she did, as if perhaps he had expected her anger all along.  “I deserved that.”

“You certainly did.”  She exhaled sharply, then nuzzled her head against his shoulder.  “And now we move on from it.  What’s done is done.  We can’t change it.”

He touched her fingertips with his, slowly sliding them forward until he had intertwined his fingers with hers.  He squeezed her hand gently.  “Do I still hold your favor?”

Adelaide smiled.  “Of course…even if you are a Yankee.”

“And I still love you, Secesh.”

“Such a scandal, in that case.”  She giggled.  “If anyone catches us in a lustful embrace, what will a soldier like you do?”

“I’m going to marry you.”

They huddled together in comfortable silence.  As he held her, his free hand slid to her cheek and turned her face to him.  “There were nights when we were in camp, cold nights, when I thought about you—thought about us—in my bed.”

She wetted her lips, reaching up and brushing a strand of his dark hair back from his forehead.  “Did it keep you warm?”

“Not as warm as your body did; those skinny little legs of yours wrapped around me.”

She leaned closer to him and pressed her lips to his cheek, trailing her mouth towards his.  “Do you need me to keep you warm tonight?”

“Every night.”  He traced the curve of her jaw with his fingertips and tilted it downward, kissing her.  It was tantalizing: he’d brush his tongue against hers and draw in a sharp breath, but then pull his mouth away.  He knew exactly what he was doing.  She felt like she could feel the blood coursing through her veins.  Her body felt alive, passion and desire and sheer lust like the sizzle of a lit match as it got wet surged through every inch of her body.

He murmured, “sweet love” against her lips and then dipped his head down, kissing the area of her neck just below her earlobe.  His hands were at work just as much as his mouth, gently squeezing and sliding down her waist and hips.  “I want to show you how much I missed you.”

“Where can we go?”

He kissed her throat again and then grabbed her hand, pulled her off the stoop.  At a quick pace, he led her around the building to the narrow, grassy stretch against the rocky face of Church Hill.  It was too dark to see, but she didn’t need light.  She just needed him.

With one hand, he pulled her skirts upward and pinned them between their bodies.  He slid his hand between them and fumbled with his trousers.  “This will last all of five minutes, I’ll warn you.  It’s been a long war.”

She pressed her lips to his to muffle her laughter.  “There’s always tomorrow, too.”

“And every day after that, Christ, I need you.”  He reached underneath her and cupped her thighs, hoisting her up and steadying her against the hill.  It was awkward and unsteady, but when he adjusted himself against and her thrusted inside her body, she was sailing the stars.

In that moment, time stopped. Nothing else mattered: not the war, not the destruction around them, not the warnings of the Shadow Man.

The only thing she needed—the only thing she wanted—was him.

* * *

“ADDY, WHAT ARE you doing?”

Adelaide looked up from the cook stove and scowled at her sister.  “What does it look like I’m doing, Sarah?  I’m trying to make corn muffins.”

“We’re out of lye soap.”

“So?”

“I need you to go and get some more so I can finish the laundry.”

“Sarah.” Adelaide scooped the last of the batter from the bowl.  “I’m in the middle of this.  Why can’t you walk down and get it yourself?”

“Because I’m asking you.  You know quite well if we leave the laundry out there, it’ll be gone when we get back.”

“No one’s watching it now.”

“Lizzie’s out there with it.”

“Make Levi go.”

“He’s upstairs fixing the frame of Lizzie’s bed.  She was jumping on it again.”

“Sarah, honestly.” Adelaide untied her apron and slammed her wooden spoon on the table.  “You are useless.  And an irritant.  And probably a slag, knowing you as I do.”

Her sister smirked.  “If you’d rather finish the laundry, I’ll go to Mr. Egan’s and get the lye.”

Adelaide ignored her.  “Keep an eye on the corn muffins so they don’t burn.  And tell Lizzie she’d best keep from jumping on the bed or she’ll be sleeping on the floor.”

Crumpling a few greenbacks into her pocket, Adelaide tied her straw hat ribbons at her throat as she walked to the store.  Maybe she’d see Thomas—that would make the trip worth it.  He was busy during the day with his “military duties” and, although she wasn’t sure what all that entailed, sometimes she’d curl up against the upper window and watch him order soldiers around Arsenal Square.  They’d march back and forth, sometimes wheeling and dropping to the ground, or lunging forward with fixed bayonets.  He was patient, but firm.

She’d always enjoyed those qualities of his disposition, especially when it came to the way he made love to her.

She was so preoccupied in her thoughts that she didn’t see the soldier step in front of her until she’d nearly walked into him.  He made no effort to move to the side; she veered around him.  “Pardon me, sir.”

“No, no, pardon me, pretty lady.”  He lifted his cap, revealing greasy blond hair.  Odor seemed to waft off his body like steam: sweat and foul, unbathed skin.  “Why don’t you stay and talk to me a while?  I could use the company.”

Adelaide kept walking, keeping her eyes locked on the door to Mr. Egan’s store.  “I’m in a hurry, sir, and have no time for idle chatter.”

“Now, now, pretty lady.” He darted around her in an obvious attempt to block her path.  “Don’t be like that.”

“I told you.  No.”

He steadily followed her, matching his pace to hers, but fell silent.  She could feel his eyes on her body; could hear him tramping behind her.  There were always soldiers like him around.  There always had been, regardless if Federal or Confederate happened to be in town.  They seemed to get bored with the whores and would start harassing any woman on the street.  It was disgusting.  Yet, she’d found Sarah in the embrace of a Pennsylvania soldier once.  And Henry Baden.  Maybe they weren’t all bad.

This one, however, was more of a letch.

She ignored his persistent questioning and slammed the door shut in his face as she entered Mr. Egan’s store.  He stayed outside—good, maybe he got the message.  “Hello, Fannie.”

Mr. Egan’s young daughter was stacking canned goods on a shelf behind the main shop counter.  She turned and grinned, revealing several missing teeth.  “Hello, Miss Adelaide.  It is certainly hot today.  Those soldiers smell worse than ever.”

“You can smell them before you see them.” Adelaide glanced behind her.  The soldier was leaning against the door, but was still outside.  “It feels like it needs to rain and take the humidity out of the air.”

“You are quite right.”

“Have you recently lost teeth, Miss Fannie?”

She had asked the correct question.  Fannie’s eyes lit up and she nodded so hard, her blonde ringlets bounced up and down.  “Why, yes, I have!  I’m nearly nine, now, Pa says I’m getting all my lady teeth.”

Adelaide laughed.  “Something like that.”

“Can I help you find something, Miss Adelaide?” Fannie pushed back her shoulders and stood straighter.  “Pa’s in the back, but I know where everything is.”

“I need some lye soap, for laundry.” Adelaide knew Mr. Egan kept it behind the counter.  In fact, she could see it from where she stood, but would allow Fannie to “find” it for her.

“Lye soap.” Fannie tapped her chin.  “Yes, yes we do carry lye soap.  Just let me find it for you and you can be on your way.”

The girl walked to the far side of the shop, as far away from the soap as she could have gone, and began searching the shelves for the lye.  Adelaide waited patiently; the girl was bound to come back this way. Besides, it was more time to let the lecherous soldier lose interest in her and wander off.

“I saw you talking to one of those soldiers yesterday.” Fannie said, rummaging around a box boldly labeled coffee.  “Do you like those Yankees?”

“Well, that Yankee used to work in the Armory.” Adelaide answered carefully.  Like didn’t even begin to describe how she felt about Thomas.  “So, yes, I like him.  We were courting before the war.”

“Some of those Yankees are nice,” Fannie persisted, “but some of them are terribly despicable.  One of them called Pa such terrible names yesterday because he spat on the floor and Pa told him not to expect to rate in our store if he spat on the floor.  Can you imagine?  Look, Pa even put up a sign.”

“It’s hard to imagine someone would do that to your Pa.”

“I know.  But some of them are nice, not all spit on our floor, it was just that one—oh, here it is.” Fannie finally caught sight of the lye and handed the package to Adelaide.  “I have to be honest with you, Miss Adelaide, I don’t know the price of this here lye.”

“That’s okay, Miss Fannie.” Adelaide smiled.  “Go ask your pa and I’ll wait right here to pay you.”

When Fannie finally came back and the lye was paid for, Adelaide thanked the girl and headed back out to the street.  The errand took much longer than she’d anticipated.  Knowing Sarah, she hadn’t kept an eye on the corn muffins and they’d be gnawing on charred bricks for supper.

“I was wondering when you’d come back.”

Adelaide inwardly groaned.  The blond soldier stood to the side of Egan’s shop, just out of view from the window, and spit a large brown stain of tobacco on the ground.  A bit of juice dribbled down his chin.  “I bet those legs of yours are long.  Firm.”

“I’m too busy to engage in idle chat, sir, but your concern is appreciated.”

“I ain’t interested in chattin’.”

He blocked her path again.  When she moved to walk around him, he’d darted to the side and reached his arm out to corral her back.   His eyes were fixated on her, his lips curled into a smirk, and he moved with agility—he grabbed her arm and yanked her to him.

She bucked against him, jamming her hands into his chest to try and shove him away.  “Leave me alone.”

“Oh, I will,” he leered at her, more juice dribbling down his chin and dripping down onto his uniform, “when I’m done with you.”

“I’d die before I let you do that.”

“Fight me more, Sescesh, and I’ll see that happens.”

She stared at him, her breath frozen in her throat.

Hands clapped over his shoulders and wrenched him off of her.  Thomas slammed him against the stone wall of the dry goods store, pinning him in place by his throat.  He was seething.  “Is there a problem, Private?”

“No problem, Captain.” The blond man held still, his head locked against the wall and his eyes staring straight ahead.  “Just speaking to this pretty lady, here.”

Thomas dropped his hands from the soldier’s throat.  He possessively clamped his hand on her arm and pulled her to him.  “This lady, Private, is with me.  She’s under my protection.  You’ll leave her alone—you won’t speak to her, touch her, or even look at her.”

“Aw, sir, I wasn’t doing—”

“That’s an order, Private, not a suggestion.”

The soldier stood at attention, his back a straight as a board, and then saluted Thomas.  “Yes, Captain.  I apologize, sir.”  He didn’t glance in Adelaide’s direction, didn’t act as if he even saw her anymore.  Like a kicked dog, he scrambled down the side of the street and disappeared around the corner of the Master Armorer’s house.

Thomas cupped her face in his hand and studied her.  “Are you okay?”

“Yes, thanks to you.”

“I’ll walk you home.”

She smiled at him, sliding her hand into the crook of his arm and leaning close to him.  There was some about his navy blue uniform and his ordering other men about; something that made her desire him more.  He’d been in her bed all night last night, but still, she already wanted him again.

“He won’t trouble you again, I promise.” Thomas touched his head to hers.  “I’ll see to that.  Even so, perhaps I should consider moving my belongings to your boarding house.”

Adelaide cupped her hand over his and traced her fingertip over the rise and fall of his knuckles.  “I don’t believe we have open beds available right now, but I’ll check.”

“What about your bed?”

“Ah, yes, now that bed actually does have an available space.”  She pretended to look him over; his lips curled up in a grin.  “I think you might be the right…fit.”

“Perhaps. From my experience, the…fit seems like it was made for me.  I enjoy it,” he pulled her closer, “every time.”

“As do I.  In fact, I wouldn’t mind testing the fit again now.”

He chuckled and leaned against her, pressing his lips to her temple. “You will wear me out, sweet girl.”

“I’ll accept the challenge.”

“You’ve convinced me.  And we’ll try until we get it right.”

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING, Adelaide, her sisters, and her brother walked to the Provost Marshall’s office on High Street for registration.  Even though they had, in the past, sworn their allegiance to the Union, Major Pratt was under orders to have every individual in town—both resident and visitor—take the oath.   As the oldest in the family, Adelaide went in first.

The office had once been a tailor’s shop but the Union Army had quickly renovated it to better suit their needs.  There were two writing desks crammed into the room, making it seem smaller than it probably was.  Someone had taken the time to place a bench awkwardly beneath a window, leaving very little room in the front of the building for townspeople to wait.  Adelaide assumed that was the bench’s purpose.

Major Pratt was not in the office that morning.  Instead, Mr. Moulton, a gentleman who introduced himself as Provost Clerk, told her he would be issuing passes all day.  Very soft brown curls peaked out from underneath his cap and his serious brown eyes were framed by dark lashes.  He looked like a sweet man, quiet, and rather unassuming.

His position with the army though, made her nervous.

“Now, Miss Randolph,” he shuffled through a stack of papers, “this won’t take but a few moments and then we’ll have you on your way.  Now, you’re a resident of Harpers Ferry?”

“Yes, sir.” Adelaide nodded.  “I was born and raised here.”

“Where about do you live?”

“A ways down Shenandoah Street.  We own a small shop and take in boarders.”

“Have you always lived there?” He made notations on a sheet of paper as he talked, and Adelaide noticed he had very uniform handwriting.

“No sir, we used to live in the Ferry Lot, directly across from the Armory.  But Tyndale burned it back in ’62.”

He nodded and continued writing.  “Do you plan on staying here?”

“Yes, sir.  We’ve made it this long. I don’t see any reason to leave now.”

Mr. Moulton nodded again.  “Will you submit to taking the oath of allegiance?”

“Yes, sir.”

He pulled out another sheet of paper and carefully wrote her name on the first line.  “Have you the ability to read, Miss Randolph?”

“Yes.”

He handed her the sheet of paper, at the top of which was written Head Quarters, Middle Military District, Harpers Ferry West Virginia.  Office Provost Marshal.  “Go ahead when you’re ready.”

Adelaide cleared her throat.  “I, Adelaide Randolph,  do solemnly swear that  I will bear truth faith, allegiance, and loyalty to the Government of the United States, and support, protect, defend and sustain the Constitution, Government and laws thereof; that I will maintain the National Sovereignty in its integrity, any ordinance, resolution, or law of any State, Convention or Legislature to the contrary notwithstanding.  That I will discourage, discountenance and forever oppose secession, rebellion and the disruption or severance of the Union; that I disclaim and abjure all faith, fellowship or sympathy with the so-called Confederate States and Confederate Armies, and pledge my property and my life to the sacred performance of this my solemn Oath of Allegiance to the Government of the United States.  And further, I will not attempt to trade or have any correspondence directly or indirectly, or have any business transactions whatever with any person living in the so-called Confederate States, unless under the proper Military supervision and approval.  And that I do this with a full determination, pledge and purpose, without any mental reservation or evasion whatever, and that I will well and faithfully perform all the duties required of me as a true and loyal citizen of these United States,” she thought of Robert, still somewhere with the Army of the Confederacy, “so help me God.”

“Very good.” He took the paper from her hands and smiled encouragingly.  “Now, because of problems in the past, all passes must have a descriptive list attached to them so they are nontransferable.  I’m just going to ask you a few more questions.  What is your age?”

“Twenty-two.”

He stared at her face for several moments, like he was trying to capture her features in his memory, and then made a few notations on the back of a pass.  “Would you agree that you have brown hair, blue eyes, and a fair complexion?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know your height, Miss Randolph?”

Adelaide shook her head, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks.  “No, sir.”

“That’s okay, Miss, just stand against the wall.” He stood from his position at the writing desk and directed her to a certain position.  There were a series of lines drawn in the plaster of the wall, obviously marking height.  “Just hold your chin high, yes like that, and look straight ahead.”

Adelaide knew she was blushing furiously at the humiliation of being measured like that, in front of a gentleman she didn’t know.  Mr. Moulton, however, didn’t seem a bit fazed by it.  He counted up the marks on the wall and exclaimed, “Five foot, five inches.  Very well, you can come back over here now.”

She prayed the ordeal was over.

“Just one last item.  You need to sign the back of the pass.  Have you the ability to write?”

“Yes sir, I do.” She replied, taking the pass from him.  “Do I sign on the line at the bottom?”

“Please.”

Adelaide carefully inscribed her name at the bottom of the pass.  “Do I carry this with me?  That’s how it has been in the past.”

“It needs to be pinned on your clothing at all times.” Mr. Moulton answered.  “It can’t just be on your person, it needs to be visible if you are out.  You’ve been under the jurisdiction of martial law before, though, so I’m sure you understand what that means.”

No rights for private citizens.  No freedoms.  Searches, questions, and curfews…basically, soldiers doing as they wanted to, when they wanted to.  Still.

“You’ll have to come back once a month for a new pass.” Mr. Moulton continued.  “That one is only good for thirty days.  Do you have any other questions?

Adelaide thought for a moment and chose her words carefully.  “Yes, my youngest sister is four, nearly five.  I assume she’ll need a pass, but I’m not certain how she will take the oath.  She cannot read.”

“She’ll definitely need a pass.” He nodded furiously, his hat sliding forward on his head.  “It will be up to you to make sure it is pinned on her.  You can come in with her when I issue the pass.  It’s a much shorter process to register children.”

Easier was an understatement. Lizzie was simply asked if she agreed to be a good citizen of the Union.  Mr. Moulton wrote down her description, measured her height, and had her “make her mark” on the back of the pass.  Adelaide was proud of her sister: her mark was just a very large capital E.

Once Sarah and Levi had been through the grueling issuing process, they headed home.  It had taken twice as long to get the passes as it had under previous military commanders.  Major Pratt, apparently, was very thorough.  Mr. Moulton didn’t have any straight pins, so he cautioned them to keep the passes in hand in case they were stopped.  Adelaide held on to Lizzie’s pass, Sarah held on to Lizzie.

As they made the turn off High Street, Adelaide caught sight of Thomas standing casually against a lamppost.  He walked over and fell into step next to her, taking her arm in his.  “You have your passes, I take it?”

“Freshly issued.” She showed him the slip of paper, flipping it over to show him her signature.  “Were you waiting for us, Captain?  Just making sure we keep our rebellious activity to a minimum?”

He smiled impishly.  “Perhaps.  You looked like you needed an escort home, which I, as a soldier in Lincoln’s Army, am more than willing to provide.  These streets are dangerous, you know.”

She adored the way he looked in his dark blue jacket and light blue trousers.  The cut of the fabric suited him well, highlighting his broad shoulders and trim waist.  “Things have changed a bit around here.  You can feel it.”

“It’s a husk of its former life.” He briefly turned and looked towards the Armory grounds.  “When we first marched down from Bolivar, I thought they were just scorched.  It wasn’t until later when I walked through, that I realized the destruction.  Sometimes I think I’m going to hear the trip hammers start up…I can still smell the grease and smoke.  I wake up thinking it’s time head to work, to stand with David Hamilton and fashion those guns…”

Fannie Egan darted out of her father’s store and pushed past them, calling out, “Sir, sir, wait!”  Adelaide paid little mind to the girl.  “It’s been like this since you left.  There has never been a time—”

She was cut off by a gunshot so loud, so close, that she thought it was right beside her head.  Thomas pulled her to him and then shoved her into the narrow doorway of Annie’s old house, covering her body with his.  He motioned to Levi and Sarah, still a few steps ahead.  “Get inside!”

Over his shoulder, Adelaide watched several men in blue tackle another soldier, knocking his rifle to the ground.  Lying in the middle of the street, a dark blue kepi only inches from her outstretched fingers, was Fannie Egan.  A pool of dark red blood was spreading from the back of her head.  Even from where she stood, Adelaide could see half of Fannie’s skull was gone.

A woman across the street started screaming.

Adelaide stared numbly from her perch on the stoop.  Fannie’s mouth was still open and blood soaked her blonde hair, the obliterated portion of her face more like rotted meat.  She had just been standing there full of life.  Now she was dead.

Thomas pulled her down from the stoop and pushed her towards the house, yelling orders over his shoulder to the gathering group of Union soldiers.  Inside the store, Lizzie was clinging to Sarah, her cheeks flushed and wet with tears.  Adelaide marched right past them and to the back staircase, feeling the tension to sob building up in her chest.  She was sick of the war, sick of the ghost of death that always seemed to hang above the Ferry like storm clouds.  So many innocent people had died there, first Frederick Roeder and now Fannie Egan.  Three years of the damn war and nothing had changed.  It was only getting worse.

She burst into the bedroom and resisted the urge to scream and kick the bed.  Damn it.  It seemed like everything would be okay when Thomas returned.  He’d protect them and they’d be safe and all of this shit would stop.  The Union Army, the Confederate Army, whoever happened to be occupying the town at the time never cared if anyone was safe.  They cared about their strategy and their battles.  Residents of the Ferry got stepped on, they got pushed around, they got murdered—and things never changed.  The war continued.  The death was endless.

“Adelaide.”

She turned and looked over her shoulder.  Thomas was standing in the doorway, his revolver in hand.  “Adelaide, they caught him.  It’s okay, Major Pratt will handle it.”

“I’m sure he will.” Adelaide pressed her palms to her forehead, digging her fingers into her hair.  “Just like the Provost Marshall before him handled it.  And the General before that and the commander before that.  It never ends, Thomas.  No matter how much blood is spilled in these streets, it never ends.”

Thomas didn’t say anything.  He quietly closed the bedroom door and unhooked his waist belt, placing it, with its hanging sword, and the revolver on the chair next to the bed.  He pulled her to him and cupped her cheeks in his rough hands.  His fingertips stroked her cheekbones, tracing down the side of her face and finally tilting her chin up towards him.  “If my love for you could win this war, it’d have been over three years ago.  You’ve lived through hell.”

Adelaide stared up at him, searching his deep eyes.  “She was just a child.  We’ll bury her and I’ll send her spirit to the other side, but when will this end?  The portal won’t shut until they’ve had their fill, but I can’t do this anymore.  I can’t remember how many we’ve stopped.  The spirits, the wraiths.  I don’t want this on my shoulders anymore.”

He touched his forehead to hers, sliding his hands back into her hair and gently cradling her against him.  “I know, sweet love.  I know.”

“I remember their faces.  All of them.”

“You shouldn’t have to carry this burden alone.  I wish…I wish I could help you in some way.”

“It never used to be just me.  Before the war, there were the other girls but they’re gone now, too.”  She stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his.  “You’re all I have left.”

Thomas leaned over and kissed her softly.  “I’ll always love you.”  He kissed her along her jaw line and then moved to her mouth; deeply, urgently.

Adelaide kissed him back, sliding her hands up to his shoulders.  He tasted of tobacco, but she didn’t care; she had always craved his touch, always craved being with him.  Thomas moved his hands from her cheeks and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him and kissing her harder, running his tongue against hers.  Moving his hands to her hips, he pushed her down on the bed.

Her heart fluttered in her chest.  “Thomas, you have to be quiet!  They’re just downstairs, they can’t hear us.”

He kissed her again, wrapping one arm around her waist and using his free hand to guide her onto her back.  “I’ll be quiet.”  His hand slid from her side to her skirts; he began pulling them up, shoving petticoats aside.  Letting his hand linger on her drawers for a second, he used his knee to spread her legs apart.  “I’m more worried about you being quiet.”

Adelaide reached up and brought his face back down to hers, pressing her lips to his again.  Thomas fumbled with the buttons on his trousers and then pulled away, looking at her intently.  “God, I love you.”

“I love you, Thomas.  Since the first moment I saw you.”

He leaned down and trailed his kisses down her neck, murmuring something against her skin that she couldn’t quite understand.  Moving his hand back between her legs, he slowly slid one finger inside her, quickly followed by another.  She squirmed against him, her breath caught in her throat.  Thomas pulled his finger out and touched his forehead to hers.  “I’d do anything to make you forget this war.”

“Just don’t stop.”

He lowered his full weight down on her, cupping his hand behind her knee and tilting it forward to her shoulder.  She was ready to succumb to the drunken, tingling feeling of his rhythm; she wanted to close her eyes and lose herself in him.  Her eyes began to flutter shut, she felt him adjust his cock against her, ready to slide inside her.

And then she saw Fannie.

The girl was standing beside the bed, staring at her.  Half of her face was gone and only one eye was left.  Blood tricked down her chin and the one remaining eyebrow was cocked down in a frown.  Not all the Yankees are nice.  I just wanted to give him his hat back.

Adelaide gasped, shoving herself upwards from Thomas.  She fumbled into her pocket, yanking her watch free from the folds of skirt fabric.  Just seeing the form of the girl made her cry; tears streamed down her cheeks.  “I’m sorry, Fannie.  This wasn’t supposed to happen to you.”

He won’t save you, Miss Adelaide.  Yankee or Rebel, all they want is the blood of this town.  Thomas Cooper—

Adelaide couldn’t stand to hear anymore.  She jammed her finger against the watch clasp before she even held it out in front of her, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain and the light.  The watch burned against her palm, hotter than she’d ever felt before.  It was worse than the child in the stairwell years before: Fannie Egan was pure.  She was cut down trying to help someone.

She could barely hold the watch steady.  This wasn’t supposed to happen.

The moment the watch face slammed shut, she dropped the watch to the mattress and burst into fresh tears.  Thomas scrambled up and pulled her into his arms, tucking her head to his chest.  “I’m sorry, sweet love.  I’m so sorry.”

“I just want it to stop; all the death and dying.  I just want it all to go away.”

He pressed his forehead to hers, smoothing her hair back from her forehead as he murmured, “I love you, Adelaide, I love you more than anything.  And I promise you, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

“I think I love you more.”

He kissed her tenderly, trailing his fingertips down her cheek.  “Impossible.”

Chapter 29

Early November, 1863

NIGHTMARES ABOUT FANNIE Egan plagued her.  Every night, she woke up in a sweat, tears streaming down her cheeks.   If only she’d stopped the little girl as she ran past, if only she’d asked her what she was doing and had Thomas take the kepi.  Maybe things would be different; maybe she’d have lived.  Thomas held her against him as she cried, promising her that he’d keep her safe; that he was an officer with the Federal Army and he’d let nothing—and no one—bother her family again.

But all of Thomas’s promises couldn’t stop the scourge.  It couldn’t stop the flow of the dead.

The air already turned cold well before winter, but by the first full week of the month it was almost unbearable.  Levi had taken to prowling around windowsills, checking for the flow of icy air and any loose woodwork he could tack down.  Adelaide wasn’t certain he knew what he was doing, but his work somewhat stifled the flow of air in the store and back room.  He was good at what he did.

Adelaide was facing a new problem; one she had not experienced in quite some time.  Since Mr. Egan and his wife left the Ferry after Fannie’s murder, food was harder to acquire.  Part of the problem was, of course, the blockades, but it seemed like there was suddenly less food available.  Thomas was somehow able to get extra food for her, but it still seemed like there was never quite enough to go around.  Some nights she went to bed hungry.  And some nights, she pretended to be full so the others would eat.

Hours after she retired to bed Adelaide still lay awake, staring into the darkness of the bedroom.  She felt hungry and cold, but certainly not tired.  It wasn’t even the coldest time of the year yet and the quilts seemed to suddenly lack the appropriate thickness.  She didn’t remember them being so thin, so threadbare.  There was no way she would be able to get enough fabric to make new quilts.  But then…she and Sarah still had several fancy gowns left.  It could be possible to cut them up and make new quilt tops.  The way the war was going, there wouldn’t be a need for fancy gowns anytime soon.  Maybe it was time for them to serve a different use.

She wondered how Thomas was able to keep warm downstairs, going over seemingly unending piles of military paperwork, with only one Army issue wool blanket.  He cradled against her every night and pulled her chemise up so they slept skin to skin.  But still, she knew he didn’t stay in bed all night.  Something drove him to check and recheck the security of the doors and windows.  Sometimes he had paperwork, somethings he kept the fire going at night.  Every morning she woke up with him beside her.

She wondered what he was doing now.

Rolling on her side, she shook the thought from her head.  He told her he had paperwork that needed done, things that simply couldn’t wait until the next morning.  Everything was fine.  He was just perpetually restless.

But it gnawed at her mind.  It wouldn’t hurt anything to creep down the stairs a little, to see if he was still awake.  He most likely was hard at work; she could then just turn around and go back to bed.  Maybe then she could get some sleep, once satisfied that he was warm enough and would be cuddled up next to her at any moment.

Slowly, she slid out from underneath the covers and fished around in the darkness for her heavy wool shawl.  As soon as she found it, she wrapped it around her shoulders and crept to the bedroom door.  Her decision to go downstairs was obviously a mistake, she saw that, as the entire building was as cold as a frozen bucket of water.

The hallway was pitch black, forcing her to walk slowly as she made her way through the main sitting room.  Part of her was terrified of bumping into someone, but she quickly realized the only one daft enough to be walking around at the time of night was her.  The boarding rooms were silent.

As she reached the top of the staircase, she could see the soft glow of a candle flickering on the walls below.  He was still working; she should just go back to bed now.  Something inside her pushed her forward, slowly creeping down the steps.

He was reading a stack of papers by the candlelight, his blanket pulled up over his chin.  He caught site of her almost immediately.  Without saying a word, he set the papers down and pulled his blanket back, motioning for her to crawl underneath it with him.

She hurried down the remaining steps and crawled onto his lap.  “I didn’t think you’d still be awake.”

Thomas pulled the shawl from her shoulders and spread it on top of the blanket, tucking both around her.  He pulled her against him and vigorously rubbed her arms.  “Just looking over something from the army.  Nothing important.  God, you’re frozen, what are you doing up?”

“I can’t sleep without you next to me.  I’ve become spoiled.”

“I shouldn’t be too much longer, my beauty.” He peered down at her chemise.  “Though, I am not at all convinced you can be warm in that, with or without me.”

She idly ran her fingertips along his white linen shirt.  The buttons were sewn on unevenly; it was distracting.  “I lost everything else when they burned the house in Ferry Lot.  But, honestly Thomas, since when do you let me sleep with clothes on?”

He ran his hands across her belly and along her sides, from her ribcage to her hips.  “Skin to skin is the best way to keep warm.  Are you ever cold with me next to you?”

“No.  Admittedly, though, I’m cold now.”

“I can change that, beautiful.”  He slipped his hands underneath her chemise and slid them up her abdomen until he reached her breasts.  He flicked his fingertips over her nipples, pinching them and twisting them; seeming to savor each sigh that escaped her lips.

Thomas laughed quietly and tugged her chemise over her head, tossing it onto a chair near the mattress.  “I suppose this paperwork can wait until tomorrow.”

“I’d like to think you enjoy me more the monotony of Army matters.”

He caught her breasts in his hands.  “I adore you, Adelaide.  Those big blue eyes, that pouty bottom lip.  God, just seeing you naked...”  Leaning his head forward, he pulled one of her nipples into his mouth and flicked it with his tongue before nibbling the tender flesh with his teeth.  “I’ve craved you for years; you were my most secret fantasy.  My favorite dream.”

“Then why not have me now?”  She leaned forward, pressing her lips roughly to his.  “I’m not a dream anymore, Thomas. I’m yours, every night.  Whenever you want me most.”

He sucked on her nipple and tugged on it with his teeth; teasing her as he slid his hand between her legs.  Slipping one finger, and then a second, inside her, he pulled his lips from her breasts.  “I don’t just want you, Adelaide.  I need you.  Being away from you made me realize that I can’t live my life without you in it.”

She didn’t even know how to respond, all she could do was press her lips to his.

After a moment, he broke the kiss.  “I think this paperwork can wait until morning. In fact, I think I need to get you upstairs.  Now.”

* * *

SHE SPENT THE entire night wrapped in his arms.  Just as the sun was beginning slice through the darkness, Thomas roused her with light, teasing kisses along her bare shoulder.  Adelaide rubbed her eyes and turned to look at him.  “Stay just a little while longer.”

He laughed and smoothed the hair back from her forehead.  “You know I can’t, sweet love.”

“I’ll make you breakfast.  All we have are potatoes: fried for breakfast, baked for lunch, and stew for dinner.  Frying them won’t take long, you can have coffee while you wait.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead.  “I have morning formation; I’ll just see you later on in the day.  Baked potatoes and potato stew are exactly what I wanted today, actually, so I’m quite excited.”

“You’re sweet.”

He chuckled, rolling her onto her back and kissing her.  “Sweet on you.  Finding you here has made all the difference, Adelaide.  I was afraid coming back would bring back too many painful memories…but I found you.  Coming back to Harpers Ferry wasn’t coming home—coming back to you was finding home.”

Chapter 30

January 1864

WINTER SLAMMED INTO the Ferry like an artillery shell against a wall.  Every exposed surface—from lampposts to the stone stairs—was encased in a translucent glaze of ice.  The town was buried under a foot of snow which, literally, brought the Union Army grinding to a halt.  Ice on the railroad tracks kept supplies and troops from entering the Ferry.

The food started to run out depressingly fast.

The dull ache in her stomach never seemed to go away.  Lizzie got the first bites of what little food they could acquire.  Adelaide quickly learned to suppress her gag reflex, choking down nearly spoiled meat and moldy bread.  It was better than nothing—although, not by much.  Their saving grace was turning out to be a meager store of canned goods carefully rationed to last as long as possible.

The air seemed to be constantly tinged with ice.  Adelaide did her best to portion out the wood so it lasted longer, but it always seemed so cold: the meager fire and nearly threadbare quilts hardly seemed adequate.  Thomas began dismantling the shelves from the main store room and broke them down for firewood.  At night, he would bundle her up in his blue frockcoat and tuck the blankets around her, getting up seemingly every few minutes to stoke the fire in the tiny bedroom fireplace.  He never complained, kissing her gently every time he snuggled back into bed.

Adelaide stirred the pot atop the cook stove, not even looking forward to eating the stew.  It wasn’t so much stew: it was more like a pot of soaking vegetables and a little bit of chicken stock.  She had added too much water, but wanted to feed as many of the boarders as possible.  There were so many extra now.  Several men had even opted to curl up on the floor in the upstairs sitting room rather than chance the elements outside.

“Hello, my darling.” Thomas strolled into the back room and quickly kissed her cheek.  His lips were cold against her skin.  “Levi’s taking the shutters down from the side of the building.  We’ll be able to build that fire up again for you shortly.”

“If you can stay a bit, the stew will be ready soon.” Adelaide replaced the pot lid.  “I can’t guarantee that it’s good, but it’s hot.  It’s vegetable flavored, so at least there’s that added benefit.”

“No, that’s alright, I’ve already eaten a nutritious Army issued meal of rotted pork and hardtack.  Save the stew for the others.” He set an armload of blankets on the table.  “I wanted to bring you these now, before someone else snatches them up.”

“Blankets?” She ran her fingertips over the heavy brown wool.  “Where did you get these?”

He was quiet for a moment.  “A few men in the 34th died from the frost last night.  I figured they wouldn’t mind if I passed their blankets on to someone who was in need of them.  Adelaide…my sweet, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Thomas, you know that.” She began folding the blankets up neatly, her heart heavy at the reason they were available to her.  “Is something wrong?”

“Can you describe your friend Susan Hamilton?”

“Susan?” Adelaide frowned.  “Surely you remember Susan, David’s sister.  She was there when we met.”

“I do.  But I need you to describe her to me.”

“Susan is roughly my height sandy brown hair and a freckled complexion.  Her mother was Irish, so her cheeks and nose are spattered with freckles.” Adelaide thought for a moment.  “Her nose is crooked, she broke it when we were children.  She slipped on the stone steps after church one Sunday and tumbled down.  I think her front tooth was chipped little from the fall.”

“Was she ill?

“Susan whored herself for money.” Adelaide shrugged her shoulders, resting her hands on top of the blankets.  “I haven’t spoken to her much in years.  Has she done something wrong?”

“You’re going to need to come with me.” Thomas put his hand on the small of her back and led her towards the staircase.  “Make sure you dress warmly.  It’s bitter out there.”

“Thomas—”

“Adelaide, this isn’t a request.” He looked at her seriously, his voice firm.  “Major Pratt asked me personally to find a local to help with…with this matter.”

She didn’t question him a second time.  Going upstairs, she pulled on an extra pair of stockings and another heavy, wool petticoat.  As she grabbed her cloak, Sarah stuck her head in the room.  “What’s Thomas—I mean, Captain Cooper—waiting for?”

Adelaide shrugged.  “I don’t know.  He told me to come with him.”

“Are you getting arrested?  Probably for seducing a Yankee officer, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“No, Sarah, he’s not arresting me.  Perhaps you should learn to mind your own business.”

Thomas was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.  He wrapped one of the brown wool blankets around her shoulders and led her to the front door, shielding her from the icy winter blast.  “It isn’t a far walk, just to the Provost office.”

The air outside seemed nearly as cold as the air inside, but was punctuated by a frozen, bone chilling wind.  It tugged mercilessly at them, biting through Adelaide’s layers of clothing and numbing her body.  She followed Thomas silently, picking her way across the patches of ice on Shenandoah Street.  If it were not for Thomas’s strong, steady grip, she would have fallen several times.

It wasn’t much warmer in the Provost Marshall’s office than it had been outside, although the lack of wind made a huge difference.   Her first thought was how nervous Mr. Moulton looked.  When they came for their new passes each month, he always looked exuberant behind the desk.  This day, however, he looked haunted.

Major Pratt was a strikingly handsome and good natured man.  He stood as Adelaide entered the room and whipped his hat from his head.  “Thank you, Captain.  Miss Randolph, Captain Cooper says you are familiar with a young woman, a resident of the Ferry.”

“Susan Hamilton?”

“If asked to, could you identify her from sight?”

“Why, certainly.” Adelaide nodded confidently.  “I have known her for years.”

Major Pratt motioned for her to follow him.  Thomas escorted her around the writing desks and past wide-eyed Mr. Moulton.  Before walking any further, Major Pratt held up his hands.  “I want you to prepare yourself, Miss Randolph.  The young lady I want you to identify has passed on.”

Adelaide turned and stared accusingly at Thomas.  “She’s dead?”

“Now, we don’t know that yet.” Major Pratt attempted to smile reassuringly, but it looked more like a grimace.  “It could be someone else…”

Adelaide peered past him into the small room behind the main office.  She could see a body laid out on a cot, but from the distance she was at, could not make out any features.  “I’ll do my best.”

Major Pratt led her into the room and firmly rested his hand on her shoulder.  “Just look briefly. If you don’t know her, just say so.  I’m sorry to make you do this, Miss, but I’d rather give her proper burial than in a potter’s field.”

He pulled back the blanket.

The body on the cot was covered in a horrible, blotchy rash; the nose and chin blackened from frostbite.  Her mouth hung open slightly and the swollen tongue protruded from blackish-blue lips.  The rope used to hang her was still around her neck.  It was evident she’d hung there for quite some time before someone found her.

She knew, without a doubt, it was Susan Hamilton.

She managed to nod, quickly turning away and pressing her face to Thomas’s shoulder.  Major Pratt said something, but she wasn’t listening.  Damn Susan.  She was spoiled and self-centered and no more than a husk of the girl she’d been.  She’d let the war consume her.

And now she was dead.

That night, long after Thomas had fallen asleep, she stood at the window and watched a lone spirit trudge down the street towards the Armory.  It was Susan; what was left of her.  Adelaide knew there was a part of her, deep inside, that wanted to run out to the street and send her to the other side.  Susan didn’t deserve to be caught up in the scourge.

The rest of her didn’t care anymore.

The Shadow Man had the warriors; had had the innocent and now, he had the damned.

She let her walk.

Chapter 31

April 1864

AS THE WAR approached its third year, yet another Union commander was put in charge of Harpers Ferry.  He wore a ridiculously pointed beard and waxed his mustache.  One of his arms was crippled—someone said it had happened at Antietam—but he managed to keep the buttons on his fancy uniform bright and shiny.  His name was Max Weber and there was something about his rigid stature that reminded Adelaide of another German, Frederick Roeder.  As fastidious as his person was, General Weber was actually very kind.  He had a surprisingly witty sense of humor.

There was another surge of troops into the Ferry.  It reminded her of the surge the previous summer, with all the trainloads of supplies and soldiers rolling into town.  The sudden temperate weather and abundance of food seen to feed the war machine; sparking renewed angst and hate between the armies.

However, with large troop movements, inevitably there would be some sort of battle or skirmish or some other nonsense.  Her intuition was correct.  One night, after making love to her, Thomas held her, silent for so long she thought he’d fallen asleep. “I have to tell you something.”

Adelaide didn’t answer.  She snuggled closer to him and pressed her face to his chest.  “Don’t.”

He sighed and stroked her hair, resting his chin on the top of her head.  “We’re being sent to Martinsburg as extra protection.  I hope not to be gone long…but you never really know with these things.”

“When do you leave?”

“First light.”

She clung to him, her eyes welling up with hot tears.  She always felt like there was something he never told her; things that all the soldiers knew but never passed on.  They said “Old Jube” was on the move, but neglected to mention where he was on the move to.   The Ferry?  “I almost can’t remember what it’s like to be apart from you.”

“We’ve made quite a home for ourselves, haven’t we?  Living in sin together, the Captain and his beautiful Sesech.”  He chuckled and pressed his mouth to her shoulder.  “I’ll only be up the road though, really, so if you need me, you can just send a telegram.  Only God himself could stop me from getting back to you.”

“I always need you.”

“Our orders have us coming right back to the Ferry, so you don’t have to worry.” He kissed her gently.  “Really, darling, you don’t.  It’s only Martinsburg.”

The next morning, she watched 34th march down Shenandoah Street towards the pike, their rifles perched smartly on their shoulders.  It may only have been Martinsburg, but it felt like he was leaving her for good.

* * *

BY MID-MONTH, reports reached The Virginia Free Press about a battle in the Shenandoah Valley.  The articles reported the 34th Massachusetts had taken part in one particularly violent battle, but surely it must have been a misprint.  The 34th wasn’t in the Valley, they were up in Martinsburg.  Adelaide shoved the paper in the cook stove, silently praying Thomas would be home soon.  She forbade Levi from bringing anymore issues of The Press home.

Souls marched upon the Ferry, flooding through the streets by the thousands. There were more than she and Sarah could handle on their own.  The best they could do was protect the family, barricade the store, and watch for the wraiths; vengeful and bent on destruction.  This was what the Shadow Man had warned her about; this was what he was waiting for.

The scourge was never going to end.

* * *

THE 34th DIDN’T march back into Harpers Ferry until early July, their tight blue ranks noticeably thinner.  Adelaide waited impatiently for Thomas to come home to her, constantly looking up each time the door opened.  Sarah poked at her with a wooden spoon.  “He’ll get here when he gets here.  If you keep up this behavior, you’re going to burn the bread and make us all miserable.”

Adelaide scowled.  No matter how old Sarah got, she was still as impossible as a child.

Finally, she heard the door open and when she glanced out, she saw his familiar figure silhouetted against the light.  Adelaide dropped her dishrag and ran out to the main room, throwing her arms around his shoulders.  “I missed you so much.”

He wrapped his free arm around her tightly, his other hand clenched his hat.  Adelaide’s brow furrowed slightly.  The stench was awful; she had to hold her breath in order not to gag.  His uniform, his hair, his very being reeked of sweat, bowels, and a sweet coppery smell that couldn’t be anything but blood.  Regardless, she pressed her cheek to his shoulder and tried to sound like she didn’t notice.  “I’m so glad you’re home.”

Thomas was silent, just resting his chin on the top of her head.  When he pulled away, his gaze was intense but there no smile on this face.  “You don’t know how glad I am to see this god damned town.”

Something had changed in his eyes, like a harsh reality had set in and taken root in his soul.  His shoulders were hunched, almost as if the very weight of the war had settled on his back.  A change so fast, so obvious, scared her. “Is all well in Martinsburg?”

“We weren’t in Martinsburg.” He rubbed his eyes.  “We were down in New Market and Lexington…look, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“What happened?” She touched his arm.  This wasn’t like him, the change scared her.  “Are you okay?”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.” He snapped.  His face twisted and his eyes fell downcast.  He pressed his forehead to hers.  “I’m fine, just…just understand that.  We got caught up in a battle and we lost.  Just leave it at that.  I don’t want to talk about it—not now, not ever.”

Late that night after he made love to her, after he thought she was asleep, Adelaide heard him softly sobbing into the pillow.  When he had calmed down, he rolled against her and held her tightly, wetting her neck with his tears.  He slept restlessly, tossing and turning; occasionally crying out and waking her up.

Thomas stayed true to his word.  He never again mentioned New Market and Adelaide never asked.  It wasn’t until several months later that Mr. Moulton let it slip that New Market was the Shenandoah Valley battle she had read about in The Press.  Midway through the battle, the 34th learned the Rebel shot was coming from the guns of children: cadets from the Virginia Military Institute.  When the Yanks realized they were shooting at boys, they turned and fled the field.  The Rebs called it a victory.  They had beat Lincoln’s Army!

So Lincoln’s Army burned the Institute to the ground.

Chapter 32

July 1864

ADELAIDE WAS JERKED out of a deep sleep by a sudden pounding on the front door.  Thomas was already on his feet and out of the room before she had the chance to sit up completely, still groggy from her dreams.  She could hear him conversing with someone in hushed tones.  As they talked, she pulled the bed sheet over her, not entirely certain where her chemise had landed when Thomas had recklessly pulled it from her body.

The front door slammed shut and she heard his footsteps on the stairs.  When he walked back into the room, he immediately pulled his trousers on over his drawers.  “I’ve got to go, sweet love.  Just go back to sleep.  I don’t expect to be gone long.”

“Is everything okay?”

He lightly kissed her lips and then pulled on his white linen shirt.  “Don’t worry about it, just get some sleep.”

She obediently laid back down and watched him finished dressing, though in the darkness she could only vaguely see his movements.  He kissed her again and then thundered down the stairs, out the front door as if the devil was on his heels.

Fishing around on the floor beside her, Adelaide located her chemise and pulled it over her head.  He was lying to her.  Someone wasn’t who worried wouldn’t have run that fast.

* * *

AS HER EYES fluttered open, Adelaide squinted into the harsh light from a kerosene lamp.  She hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep.  It seemed like she had stared at the ceiling for hours.  “What’s going on?”

Thomas leaned over and pulled her up into a sitting position.  “We have to go, right now.  Just get everyone dressed and get your passes.”

She knew by the tone of his voice not to question his command.  Pushing the sheet back, she scrambled to her feet and ran down the hall to wake up Sarah.  Her sister was never easy to wake from dreams; she pushed her away and tried to pull the pillow over her head.  “Leave me alone.”

“Thomas says we have to go.” Adelaide tugged her work dress over her head, trying to button it up and collect Lizzie’s clothes at the same time.  “Come on, Levi, get up.”

Sarah finally sat up.  “Is something wrong?”

“Something’s wrong.”

Her sister moved considerably faster.

Thomas met them at the top of the stairs.  As a light breeze blew in the open window below, Adelaide could smell smoke drifting in from outside.  “What’s happening?”

“General Weber burned the bridge.” He guided her down the stairs, using the lamp to light the way for Sarah and Levi.  “They’re going to shell the Ferry; you need to get up to Bolivar.  You’ve got to run.”

“Are you sure?” The glow of the burning bridge lit up the outdoors like it was twilight.  In the light, she watched soldiers run down the street, obviously scrambling towards the Heights.  “There are still people in town, surely he’d warn us.”

“He’s not planning on it.” Thomas grabbed her arm and pulled her out the door.  “Rebel skirmishers are on their way here, they think there are already sharpshooters hiding in town.  Damn it, Adelaide, just get up to Bolivar and find a place that’s safe.”

He handed Levi the lamp and pointed towards High Street.  “Go that way and don’t stop until you get into town.  I can’t promise the provost won’t stop you, but you’ve got to try.”

A soldier, obviously waiting for him, handed Thomas his sidearm.  “Come on, Cooper, we’re gonna catch hell for this.”

“I know, I know.” He turned back to Adelaide for a moment and kissed her forehead.  “Be careful…just be careful.”

Adelaide realized how terrified he looked.  She nodded and took Lizzie from Sarah.  Without saying anything more to him, she led her brother and sister down the road and made the turn up High Street.  It was a precarious street, a steep hill leading all the way up to Bolivar.  There were quite a few homes on the way but, not surprisingly, all the windows were dark.  She ran; a slow, desperate run.  Lizzie felt heavier than a barrel of flour, bouncing painfully on her hip with each step.

She expected to hear the sound of artillery at any moment, based on Thomas’s description of the situation.  There was nothing, not even the sound of gunfire cutting through the still night.  Adelaide felt like eyes were watching them in the darkness: Rebel sharpshooters perched in the upper floors of buildings, waiting to shoot them dead, or maybe souls she hadn’t dispatched.  She didn’t want to find out.

As she ran, something lurched out from the overgrown brush along the road and slammed into her side.  She choked back a scream, stumbling backwards and pitching into the road.  As she fell, she twisted her body and tried to land on her back to cushion Lizzie.

When she hit the ground, the air seized in her lungs; her brain couldn’t function.  What was it?  Where had it come from?  Maybe it was a man, maybe a soldier or the blast of a shell.  Maybe she was dead already.

But then she heard the hiss behind her.

There wasn’t even time to bark orders at her siblings; the creature was on her before was steady on her feet, throwing her back into the road.  She bucked her body against it, squirming underneath the pressure pinning her arms to her sides.  The face was rotted almost beyond notable features and the jaws snapped at her throat.  It snarled, snorting at her; the weight of its writhing body heavier than she expected.

Sarah was behind her, screaming in Latin.  Either she said it wrong or the words no longer had effect—nothing was happening.  Adelaide forced her hand down to her pocket, sliding it between her body and the mottled, raging spirit on top of her; reaching, clawing, straining her hands for her watch.

It snapped at her face; she jerked her head to the side, narrowly avoiding the jaws.  Her arm felt like it was about to rip from the socket.

She felt the cool kiss of metal against her finger.

In one fluid movement, she popped the clasp and yanked the watch out of her pocket.  Pure, white light was already flooding out from the face of the watch; it knocked the wraith off of her and into the middle of the street.  Adelaide rolled to her side and held the watch out in front of her, steadying the watch with two hands.

The creature screamed in the street, twisting and jerking as if the light burned its flesh.  It violently shuddered a final time and then slammed backwards, its body disappearing into the watch.  Pain radiated her wrists at the impact.  She grunted, sucking a sharp breath through her teeth.

The watch face slammed shut.

Sarah ran to her side and helped her struggle to her feet.  “Jesus, what was that?”

“Maybe one left from the fight on Bolivar Heights, I don’t know.”  Adelaide struggled to catch her breath.  “Let’s get off the road, come on.”

Levi pointed to a burned out church.  “Do you think that’s someplace safe?  It’s abandoned.”

“We can try.”  Adelaide nodded and then grimaced.  Her wrists were throbbing.  “I don’t want to be trapped inside without a way to get out, so let’s stay near the doors.”

They huddled together inside, leaning up against each other for support.  The floor was littered with rubble and trash, but was free of glass and wood slivers.  They wouldn’t be comfortable for long, but sitting down after running the road to Bolivar was a welcome relief.  She tried to push the creature out of her mind.  It caught her off guard, she hadn’t been ready.  Mistakes like that could dangerous—where was her head?  Were they counting on her to mess up?

As Levi extinguished the kerosene lamp, Lizzie looked up at Adelaide and asked, “Is Jesus mad at us?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we had to leave home.” She shrugged her small shoulders up and down.  “We never have to leave Harpers Ferry.  The soldiers usually let us stay.”

It suddenly occurred to Adelaide that Lizzie had never known a time without the war.  She was born at its onset.  To her, it was completely normal for the town to be crawling with soldiers; the starvation, the degradation, was nothing out of the ordinary.  She didn’t remember Luke or Poppa.  She didn’t know Harpers Ferry before it was a burned out, rubble strewn, pit.

The stillness of the night was broken by the roar of artillery from Maryland Heights.  From where they sat, Adelaide could see the orange flash of fire when each piece exploded.   Every ten minutes or so, another round of shells was lobbed down into Harpers Ferry, presumably to flush out those sharpshooters.  They huddled together tightly, covering their ears to try and block out the deluge.

It had been less than an hour since a Shadow was seen in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia.

And may God save their souls.

* * *

WHEN IT WAS finally safe enough to slink back down the hill, they met up with Joseph Barry, who had taken count of casualties.  Their church, St. John’s, had been shelled practically to pieces.  The roof was completely gone.  Bricks were strewn about everywhere; half of the buildings in town seemed to have damage of some sort, even theirs.  At least four citizens of the Ferry had been killed, one of which was a young girl.

They didn’t hear of any Confederate soldiers killed, probably because there weren’t any in town.

Mr. Barry stopped a scruffy soldier midway down High Street.  “Was Early repelled?  The attack stopped?”

The soldier puffed on a cigar, no doubt stolen from someone’s store.  “What attack?”

“They said Jubal Early was on his way to take the Ferry.” Adelaide spoke up.  “Was he stopped?”

He blew smoke in her face.  “There weren’t no attack; Old Jube never even planned on coming here.  It was just a ruse, but damn if Sigel didn’t fall for it.”

They stared at the soldier.  Adelaide was certain her face reflected the incredulous look on her sister and Mr. Barry’s faces.  All the shelling, all the people killed…for a ruse?

“Guess it’s a good thing, though.” The soldier took another puff on the cigar.  “There ain’t no one more treacherous than a soul from Harpers Ferry.  You people will pledge allegiance to whoever happens to be standing in town at the time.”

Chapter 33

August 1864

SHE COULD ALWAYS hear Thomas enter the store before she actually saw him.  The sword hanging from his waist belt always clattered in the scabbard and, regardless of how many times he entered, he always banged it off the doorframe.  His boots would clunk across the wooden planks of the floor and then he’d be beside her, always right beside her, kissing the back of her neck or her throat and always taking her breath away.

As she stood at the cook stove, stirring a large pot of vegetable stew, she heard the clank of his sword and the clunk of his boot.  She smiled.  He was home, finally; it was like they were their own little family.  He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and squeezed her tightly.  His lips trailed down the side of her throat.  “That smells delicious.”

“It’s almost ready.” She tapped the spoon against the side of the pot.  “I made biscuits too.”

“You’re too good to me.”  He drew her earlobe into his mouth, nibbling and sucking on the tender flesh.  His arms were still locked around her waist.  “I have something I need to tell you.”

She sucked in a breath.  She didn’t have to see his eyes; she knew full well the tone of his voice meant his message wasn’t good.  “Very well, go ahead.”

“The 34th is leaving.” Thomas held her tightly against him, keeping her from moving from his embrace.  “We’ve been called down to the Valley.”

Adelaide closed her eyes, clutching onto the wooden spoon so tightly she thought it would snap in half.  She fought her tears back; she clamped her teeth on the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.  “Why?  Why can’t you just stay here?”

“A detachment is staying, but I’m not part of it.” He finally allowed her to turn and pulled her into a tight hug.  Dipping his head down, he kissed her forehead.  “I tried, Adelaide, I’m sorry.  I don’t have a choice.”

She stared at the straight line of shiny brass buttons down of his frock coat, giving herself several moments to control herself.  Hearing the sorrow in her voice would only make him feel worse.  “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow.” He sighed and kissed the top of her head as he held her against him.  “It’s a long march.  I would have told you sooner…but knowing only makes it harder.  I’ll write you, I promise.”

“No you won’t.”

He pulled on her long braid trailing down her back, forcing her to look at him.  “I’ll try this time, really I will.  Christ, Adelaide, I’m going to miss you.  I’d rather die than break your heart.”  His eyes were moist with tears; he searched her face, as if he was memorizing each line and curve.

“Just come home to me,” she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, “as quickly as you can.”

He nodded, gently caressing her face with his hand.  After a moment, he trailed his fingertips down her throat and dropped his hands to her shoulders.  He started unfastening the buttons on the front of her dress.  “I’m goin’ to wear you out tonight.”

Her pulse was already pounding between her legs; she craved his intimate touch.  “Then, what are you doing now?”

“I’m getting and early start.”  In one fluid movement, he swept her up against the wall and started pulling her skirts up.  He pinned her in place with his hip and crushed his mouth to hers.  As he did, he slid is middle finger inside her.  His eyes were locked on hers and, after he slid one finger in and out a few times, he dipped his index finger inside as well.  “You feel like silk.”

His fingers felt impossibly long inside her, reaching deeper and caressing her in ways no one ever had.  He’d crook his fingers, he’d work them in and out.  His kiss was frantic, hungry; pleasure radiated across her low abdomen.  The combined feeling of his fingers and his deep kiss pulled her closer to the edge; she could feel the ecstasy building between her legs.

He must have felt it building from inside because he suddenly slowed down, again adjusting his hand and sliding his body against hers.  With his fingers still inside her, he started kissing her throat.  “I want to taste you.”

“Then take me upstairs.”

His eyes were still intense.  He dropped her skirts and took her hand in his, pulling her to the staircase.  At the top of the stairs, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom, kicking the door shut with his foot.

* * *

THEY STAYED UP together nearly the whole night, making love until he couldn’t anymore and then just holding each other and whispering until they both drifted off to sleep.  He rose early, dressing wordlessly by candlelight.  She watched him from their bed, staring at the flex of his strong shoulders and the strong curve of his upper arms.  She knew every inch of his body; she was going to miss feeling him next to her, snuggling against her as they slept.

He fastened his waist belt in place and carefully adjusted the sword and scabbard.  “It will be fine, Adelaide, don’t look so violently ill.”

“This is the third time we’ve had to say goodbye.”

He pulled her to her feet, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her tightly.  The metal of his sword was cold against her bare hip.  “I know, but look how many times we’ve been reacquainted.  And you know how much I love reacquainting myself with your body.”

She smiled, not willing to let him go yet; not willing to let him disappear from her life all over again.

Thomas kissed her again slowly, deeply; his tongue lapping against hers tenderly.  Then he cupped her chin in his hand and stared into her eyes.  His brow was knitted in that deep intensity, his gaze so penetrating it was like he could see into her soul.  “I love you, Adelaide.  I’ll come home to you, I promise.”

He took a step back and then another, and then walked from the room, never looking back.

She dressed in her best gown and hoops to see him off, instructing Sarah to style her hair in a fancy chignon.  They stood together on the front stoop as the remaining members of the 34th marched down Shenandoah Street.  She caught sight of Thomas once, sword in hand, walking along the lines of soldiers.  He smiled at her and winked, then turned back to his men.

And then, he was gone.

Chapter 34

Late September, 1864

PEOPLE NEVER KNOCKED on the shop door.  It was always open to any and all patrons.  When Charles Moulton knocked on the door that afternoon, Adelaide felt as if her heart had stopped beating—either that, or it was pounding as such a rapid pace she could no longer feel it anymore.  Fear rose up in her chest; she felt as if she were John Brown walking to the gallows.  There was no way he would pay her a visit, unless he was the bearer of bad news.

“Mr. Moulton.” She forced a smile, holding the door open.  “Please do come in.”

“No, thank you, Miss Randolph.” His hat was clutched in his hands and he was twisting it, nearly into a ball.  He coughed.  “I just wanted to let you know I received word from the Valley.”

She stared at him, waiting.

“Your captain was not among the list of wounded or dead.” At his words, Adelaide breathed a loud sigh of relief and relaxed her grip on the doorframe.  He continued, as if he hadn’t noticed the change in her demeanor.  “But Major Pratt was killed at Fishers Hill.  About a third of the 34th’s numbers have been lost so far.  I wanted you to know Captain Cooper fared well, since I know you haven’t heard from him.  Major Pratt’s body will pass through here on its way back to Worcester this coming week, in case you would like to pay your respects.  I know you were acquainted with him.”

Adelaide bit her lip.  This was her fault.  “He was a fair man.”

“He was, indeed.” Mr. Moulton’s eyes looked distant.  He coughed again.  “I must return to the Provost Marshall’s office; I have the sorrowful task of sending the telegram to his wife. I bid you a good day, Miss.”

Following the news of Major Pratt’s and his comrades’ deaths, Mr. Moulton was never the same again.  And then, he died.

The soul collection continued.  But her absolution would never come.

Chapter 35

Early 1865

SOMETIME IN THE midst of all the death and suffering, Abraham Lincoln was reelected as president of the United States.  The election itself didn’t even come to Harpers Ferry; no ballots were ever cast by the remaining citizens of town.  It wasn’t really a surprise: most citizens of the Ferry didn’t care either way.  When under Union garrison they were called “Rebs” or “Secesh” and when under Confederate garrison they were called “Yankees.”

Even General Sheridan seemed to harbor an intense loathing for the Ferry, mostly due in part to the raids run by John Mobley.  Somehow, Sheridan had the understanding that Mobley was one of them, that he was just another displaced citizen.  Truth be told, Adelaide had never seen the partisan bastard before, although, someone said he had been in town during John Brown’s Raid to shoot at the old man.  She didn’t remember him. But then, her memory of those early years of the war were only of her and her relationship with Thomas Cooper.

With all the reports of guerilla attacks, General Stevenson, the new commander of the Ferry, established a stricter code of conduct and routinely searched homes for Mobley and his raiders.

There were bounties placed on the heads of both Mobley, Mosby, and their respective marauders.  Secretly, even Adelaide would have turned them in for the one thousand dollar reward.  Apparently she was the only one, for the only man arrested was a murderer named “French Bill.”  They hung him up on Bolivar Heights, but from what Joseph Barry confided to her, it was the most brutal hanging he had ever seen.  He felt the Union Army had had been barbaric and tortured the poor man to death.

And when she sent his soul to the other side, his spirit’s head was so brutally torn to one side, he could barely fumble his way to her.  She almost pitied the creature.

By late March, Levi had found his repairs of the lower floor satisfactory and set about fixing odds and ends on the upper floors.  He refused his sisters’ offers to help, insisting he could handle it himself since he was now a man, and spent most of the daylight hours puttering around upstairs.  He had grown into such a quiet and serious young man, content to spend his days alone.  Adelaide knew part of it was shame: shame at being too young to fight and not old enough to take care of his sisters.

He thumped down the stairs and set his hammer on the windowsill.  “I’m going to need more nails.”

Adelaide held a mug of lemonade in front of him.  “You’ll get a fair price at Mr. Parmenter’s store.  Do you want some pork first?”

He nodded and took a seat at the table.  “Sure, thanks.”

Sometimes the deepness of his voice startled her; reminding her too much of Robert and, in a way, of their father.  “Did you get much work done on the room?”

“Yes.” He gulped down some lemonade and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  “I replaced that whole windowsill in the bedroom finally.  It looks a lot better now, I think, but what I really want to do is fix that far wall.”

“Maybe Mr. MacGrogan could help you.” Adelaide suggested, cutting a slice of bread from a warm loaf.  She placed it on the plate with the pork and a generous helping of fried potatoes.

“Maybe.”

“Addy, can you get this knot out for me?” Lizzie tiptoed her way into the backroom.  Adelaide didn’t know why her sister insisted on only walking on the tips of her toes, but it was a trend that was starting to irritate both her and Sarah.

They had taught her to sew early on and now Lizzie was old enough to help with the mending.  She just hadn’t quite gotten the hang of keeping an eye on her thread, so it had a nasty habit of tangling up on her.  Adelaide pulled a straight pin from her apron and carefully worked at the knot.  “Are you helping Sarah out there if she needs it?”

“She doesn’t need it.”

From the table, Levi snickered.  Adelaide eyed her youngest sister closely.  “But if she asked for help, you’d do so?”

“Well, yes.” Lizzie sighed haughtily.  “I’m not a child.”

Adelaide resisted the urge to smile.  Five-years-old and Lizzie was already set to take on Sheridan himself.

“Addy!” Sarah rushed into the backroom and motioned wildly towards the front of the store.  “Mr. Barry says they’ve got Mobley!”

Adelaide dropped Lizzie’s sewing down on the table.  She grabbed her cloak from the chair and threw it over her shoulders, clasping it at her throat as she ran behind Levi through the store.  They pushed through the doors into the crisp, cold air just in time, as a group of soldiers were parading a corpse on horseback down Shenandoah Street.  From where she stood, she could see the blood caked in his brown locks; the rivers of red having flowed down from gaping bullet holes in his skull.

They followed the macabre spectacle down Shenandoah Street, pushing through the growing crowd of people to get a better look at Mobley. A few soldiers pulled the corpse off the horse, dragging it to the corner of High Street and Shenandoah Street.  Someone brought out a chair and placed it out Stevenson’s office, propping Mobley’s corpse up as if he were sitting and waiting for his turn with the commander.  The gathered crowd of citizens and soldiers cheered.

The great John Mobley, the devil of Jefferson County, was a plain, ordinary looking man.  He looked to be around Adelaide’s age.  His eyes were still open, white orbs against his bloodstained face.  It was hard to believe the man, helpless in death, was the murderous scoundrel who had tormented and taunted them for so long.

Townspeople and soldiers alike immediately set about cutting pieces of Mobley’s uniform for souvenirs.  Levi was through the crowd and back in a matter of moments, proudly displaying a tarnished, blood spattered button.  He had ably snatched as it was knocked to the ground and bounced towards him, nearly having his hand crushed under another relic hunter’s boot.  Adelaide shook her head and turned back to the store.  The spectacle of death, regardless of the corpse’s identity, did little to impress her.

Long after night fell, Adelaide huddled against the ruins of Roeder’s Confectionary, a bundle of sage smoking in her left hand and her watch clasped in her right.  It could be tonight.  It could be days from now—no matter how long she had to wait, she would.  She and Sarah were the only two left.

Sure enough, though, in the last hours before dawn something crawled out from the corpse.  She watched it lurch forward, gaining its bearings.  Testing out its strength.

She stood, holding the sage in front of her.  It hadn’t seen her yet.  “You’re not John Mobley anymore.  You’re dead.  You need to cross over into the next life—be it Heaven or Hell, your soul must pass on from this world.”

The head turned.

And then it was in front of her, speed and agility like nothing she’d ever seen.  It tore at her.  The mouth snapped and it staggered, clawing at her face.

She stumbled backwards, slamming against the glass window of the jeweler’s shop.  Her balance was off—she could feel herself falling.  “I’ll be the one to send you straight to Hell.”

She pressed the clasp.

High Street was suddenly as bright as if the sun had risen.  She squeezed her eyes closed and waited, gritting her teeth against the searing pain as the creature shrieked.  It had almost been on top of her when it pounced the same time she opened the watch.  The dissipating spirit howled and screamed; she could feel the force of it being jerked away and into the light.

And then, it was silent.

The body stayed propped up in that chair, late into the next day.

It had been eleven hours since a Shadow was seen in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia.

The scourge was over.

* * *

ON APRIL 9, only days before Adelaide’s birthday, General Lee surrendered.  The war was over.  There were no parades in Harpers Ferry; no fireworks or picnics along the river.  There was no great gathering in Arsenal Square as when the war began, no balls, no celebrations.  Everything seemed the same to her.  The Union Army stayed put; the new military commander, General Hancock, set upon keeping order in town and catching Mosby and his Rangers.

The war was over.  It didn’t even seem real.  No major battle had been fought in Harpers Ferry, yet nearly all of the buildings had been torched, shelled, or destroyed by the army.  The railroad bridge had been burned nine times; they had changed hands between Confederate and Union rule fourteen times.

The Armory was nothing more than rubble: scorched bricks and splintered wood.  Adelaide had a feeling that they would never go back to the glories of the past, not unless the army rebuilt the Armory—and that didn’t seem like it was going to happen.

If there was any celebrating happening in Washington, it ended five days later.  President Lincoln was murdered; a final casualty in the war that had put the Ferry through four years of hell.

It had been thirty-eight days since a Shadow was seen in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia.

Yet misery was there to stay.

Chapter 36

Mid-May 1865

“I THINK THIS is the last of the silver.” Levi shook dirt out a pitcher and then handed it to Adelaide.  “I don’t remember digging so far down.  It was just these two bags, right?”

“Right.” She wiped it with a damp rag, and then studied the pitcher closely.  “It doesn’t look much worse for the wear.”

“It should just polish up fine, really.” Levi picked up the dirt crusted bag and carried it into the store.  “I’ll get to it after lunch.”

Adelaide rolled her eyes and followed him indoors.  The Ferry seemed different now, as if the air around them was cleansed not only from war, but from the stench of lost spirits.  As the Shadow Man had said: once the rebellion ended, the scourge would be complete.  “You and food, Levi, I swear.  You must schedule your whole day around eating.”

“So what if I do?”  He shot back, his lanky frame silhouetted against the open doorframe.  “You really should take it as a compliment, Addy.  If you cooked like Sarah, I’d never eat.”

“I heard that.” Sarah shrieked, storming out from the back room and threateningly motioning at him with a wooden spoon.  “Come closer and say that to me.”

The front door swung open behind them.  Adelaide turned, smiling as she spoke, “Can I help….”

Her voice trailed off.  A soldier, clad in a blood and dirt stained gray uniform, leaned heavily against the door and a crutch.  One foot was bare and covered in dirt and muck; the other was gone, the pant leg hanging limply from an amputation roughly above his knee.  He clutched his cap in his hand, his dark hair sticking out in all directions.  Even though his dirty face was covered in a thick, brown beard, Adelaide would have known him anywhere.  She didn’t trust herself to speak.

It took her a moment to compose herself.  She ran across the room and into her big brother’s arms.  “Robert!  You’ve come home!”

He kissed her cheeks, squeezing her chin in his hand.  “A few fingers and a leg short…but home.”

Sarah and Levi were upon them at once.  They clutched at Robert, sobbing, pushing each other to get in closer; nearly knocking him to the ground.  He was so thin, practically starved, and his uniform hung on him like a death shroud on a skeleton.  Adelaide had seen the dead in shrouds.   Her brother looked worse.  She was momentarily afraid their tight hugs would crack him in half.

“Look at you all.” He began to sob, his tears leaving wet trails down his dirty face.  “Why, Levi, you must have grown a foot since I last saw you!  And my sisters, oh, my beautiful sisters.  You all look so well, so healthy!”

Adelaide was at a loss for words.  She was just thrilled that Robert was okay.  Levi babbled on and on, telling Robert about his renovations, the body of John Mobley, and his reconnaissance of the silver.  He promptly switched to Robert’s bodily wounds, inspecting the remaining two fingers on his left hand and beginning a deluge of questions on where the wounds happened, when, and how many Yankees he killed in retaliation.  Sarah reached over and tugged at his shirtsleeve.  “Hush, Levi, you’re going to make him wish he’d stayed outside.”

Robert laughed and squeezed them all again.  “You three haven’t changed a bit.”

But they had.  Something in each of them, Adelaide thought, had died since that day nearly six years ago when Old John Brown crossed the railroad bridge.  As she stood there, watching Lizzie shyly observe Robert, realizing the girl didn’t remember who he was, she knew they would never be the same again.

It had been one hundred and eight days since a Shadow was seen in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia.

* * *

TOWARDS THE END of July, as Adelaide squabbled with Sarah over whose turn it was to cook supper, she heard the familiar sound of a sword and scabbard hitting the door frame, followed by the clunk of boots on the wooden planks of the floor.

He was finally home.

She ran into the store room, throwing herself into his arms.  “Promise me that you’ll never leave me again.”

Thomas lifted her up, spinning her around, and peppered her lips with kisses, both passionate and soft.  He pulled away, but kept his forehead pressed to hers.  “I refuse to live another day without you, my sweet sweet love.  I can’t live without you.  I love you, Adelaide, that’s all that got me through the war.”

She pulled him back into a deep kiss.  “I love you, Thomas.”

“Marry me.”

“The answer has always been yes.”

Their reunion that night was passionate: he made love to her with his eyes locked on hers. But there was something different about him.  She would later describe it to Sarah as a stark reality, the visions of battlefield death and dismemberment never quite fading from his mind.  It haunted him: their faces, their voices; it was always with him, no matter how far he got from the fields of death.  He would never speak to her of what he had done during the war, nor of the 1864 battles he fought in the Shenandoah Valley.

* * *

LESS THAN A week after he came home, he married her next to the ruins of St. John’s church.  Thomas wore his uniform, with the rank insignia of major.  Almost everyone they’d known had long left the Ferry.  Reverend Bates had been killed in Spotsylvania years before.  The chaplain of the provost performed the ceremony; their guests were her family, the MacGrogans and Mr. Barry, and his Union brothers in arms.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she repeated the vows of marriage to him.  She’d waited for this day for six years: through death, through the scourge, through the destruction of the Ferry and for four, long years of war.  This made them husband and wife, but her heart had belonged to him since she was eighteen-years-old.

The chaplain held his Bible over his head and lowered it in the sign of the Cross.  “Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.  You may kiss your bride, Major Cooper.”

He stepped to her, cradling her face in his hands.  Tears brimmed his blue eyes but he’d never looked happier.  Pulling her to him, he pressed his lips to hers.  There were times in life, when a kiss literally could take a person’s breath away.  The first time he kissed her, for example, or when he kissed her the first time he came back to the Ferry with his Massachusetts men.  Thomas’s kisses were always passionate, but kisses like this—kisses so intense; so soft and tender yet at the same time full of something so deep—made her feel like time stopped.  It wasn’t a kiss of lust or even a kiss of plain old love.  This was a kiss from his soul, from that brief pause in between heartbeats.  This was the definition of how he felt: a wordless act; a connection between them.

It had been one hundred and ninety days since a Shadow was seen in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia.

And although they waited, Luke never came home.

* * *

Want to read more by this author?

Try WITH ME NOW (The Lazarus Society Book 1)

http://amzn.to/1NIWleY

http://heatherhambelcurley.wix.com/home

* * *

About the Author

Heather Hambel Curley writes sassy paranormal fiction and historical fiction.  She lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and two sons and, when not writing, she works as a disability claims analyst.  She is represented by Rossano Trentin of TZLA.

Although she’s never seen a ghost in Harpers Ferry, she was a volunteer with the National Park Service’s living history department and archeology departments at Harpers Ferry National Historical Park in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia.  The Armory and Arsenals were destroyed during the American Civil War, but guests can still visit many buildings described in Haunt.

Heather also enjoys visiting the Caribbean, running, One Direction, and getting tattoos.  You can follow her on Twitter at @Heather_Curley or visit her blog at heatherhambelcurley.com.

* * *

Read More by this Author

http://amzn.to/1QA89oz

http://heatherhambelcurley.wix.com/home

Sign up for more bargain boxed sets at:

www.hotboxedbooks.com

JUMP TO...

A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE by NOREE COSPER

END OF DREAMS by KIM FAULKS

HAUNT by HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY

DARK CROSSINGS by ANN SIMKO

HEADSPACE by CALINDA B

THE OTHER F WORD by SUSAN STEC

UNLEASHED by RACHEL MCCLELLAN

HIDDEN INTENTIONS by STACY CLAFLIN

THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL by AIMEE EASTERLING

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS by KYOKO M

ST. CHARLES AT DUSK by SARAH M. CRADIT

WICKED BY NATURE by MADISON SEVIER

UNDERLIFE by MARISSA FARRAR

DRAGON’S REDEMPTION by EDEN ASHE

MILAN’S RETURN by GRAE LILY

THE BREAKERS CODE by CONNER KRESSLEY

THE MEDIUM by MR GRAHAM

WICCAN WARS by HEATHER MARIE ADKINS

CARPE NOCTEM by KATIE SALIDAS

A QUESTION OF FAITH by NICOLE ZOLTACK

DARK CROSSINGS

The Darkling Book One

BY ANN SIMKO

Copyright © 2015 by Ann Simko

Cross and Kale Delancey were born for one purpose; to be studied for their paranormal abilities.

When Cross convinces his twin to escape from ‘The Department,’ he is shot. Blinded and separated from Kale, Cross’s memories are wiped. He is given a new life. A past in which he believes Kale is dead. With no memories of his life at The Department, this new Cross is safe, he is malleable. He can still be studied, but without the risk. His entire life is scripted and Kale is threatened with his safety unless he places nice and does what the department wants.

Until ten years later, Cross begins to remember. The department brings him back in and all bets are off. Cross isn’t fourteen anymore. He’s pissed and he wants his brother back.

DARK CROSSINGS

By Ann Simko

Copyright © 2015 by Ann Simko

All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.

Published by Coyote Moon Books

through Createspace

November 2015

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this book can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.

ISBN-13: 978-0692587751

Published in the United States of America

Cover Art by Fiona Jayde

Edited by Judith B. Glad

Coyote Moon Books

“I am terrified by this dark thing

That sleeps in me;

All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.”

––Sylvia Plath, Ariel

“But they can't know how the dark space inside me is growing. I lie to them. I can't get out of the dark hole. 'Peace is here' it whispers.”
––Lurlene McDaniel, Breathless

“God is evil. Sometimes he lets you live.”

––Stephen King

Chapter 1

CROSS DELANCY DIDN’T want to die. He also didn’t want to live, at least not like this. This wasn’t a life. It was barely an existence. He tried to suppress a groan as he turned on the narrow cot and failed. His twin brother, across from him, pretending to be sleeping.

“I know you’re awake,” Cross said. His bruised ribs pulled as he spoke and he couldn’t quite keep the pain from his voice.

“Shhh, keep your voice down. Do you want them to come back!” Kale’s whisper was louder than Cross’s normal voice. Cross knew his brother was scared, hell, he was scared. But anger was quickly replacing the fear. He liked the anger way better.

“I don’t care if they come back.” Cross braced his side and rolled to his back. The anger dissolved as quickly as it came leaving hot tears rolling down his face. “I can’t take this anymore, Kale.” He swallowed hard and wiped the hated tears with the back of his hand. “We gotta get out, they’re gonna kill us if we don’t.”

“They’ll kill us for sure if we even try!” Cross heard Kale slide off his cot to sit next to him. “I know it sucks, but you’re making it harder than you have too. Just give them what they want and they won’t beat you.” Kale was crying now too.

Cross hated that. They weren’t kids anymore. They were fourteen, practically grown men. They shouldn’t be balling to each other like babies, but Cross didn’t feel grown up. He hurt from the beating Tanya’s goons had given him earlier that day. His one eye had almost swollen shut and he was pretty sure a couple of ribs were broken. Those guys sure weren’t treating him like a baby.

“I can’t,” he said.

“No, you won’t. There’s a difference.” Kale sounded all pouty now, but Cross felt the frustration in his brother. “I don’t get you man. All you have to do is show her what you can do. She knows you’re lying when you say you can’t do anything. I know you know that. Why can’t you just show her? What’s the big deal?”

Cross sat up with a little difficulty and a grunt of pain. He swung his legs off the side of the cot to face Kale. “What’s the big deal? You are so dense sometimes, Kale. Tell me you haven’t been inside her head, you know what she plans to do with us. We are nothing more than freaks to her. Something for her to use until she can’t use us anymore. I know you know that!”

“So what then? You let them beat you to death? What do you think you’re proving? That you can take a beating? Come on man, I can get in your head too, you know. We can’t leave here, Cross. What would we do in the world if we ever got out? I’m not dense. Maybe I just have a better sense of self- preservation than you do.”

The anger was making a comeback, partly because Kale was right. As much as Cross hated to admit it. They had been born and raised within the walls of the Department. Tanya never failed to let them know they were nothing more than property. They had no say in what was done to them. No rights. They were things, not people.

Freaks.

Cross disagreed.

“Why do you think she wants to know what we can do?” Cross said.

Kale picked at his clothes. “I don’t know. I just know what happens when we say no.”

“You can make people do whatever you tell them, you don’t think she wants to use that?”

“I told her I wouldn’t use it to hurt people. I won’t.”

“She’ll find a way to make you, Kale. You’re lying to yourself if don’t believe that. If she found out what I can do, you better believe she would use that too.”

“You don’t know that!” Kale said. “You don’t.”

Cross tapped the side of his head. “Like hell I don’t. She wants to bottle us up and sell us to the highest bidder. I won’t pretend to understand why, but I understand one thing. If we let Tanya use us the way she wants, then she will truly own us. Body and soul.”

“So what do we do? I don’t want to die.”

“Not exactly on my list of things to do either. But let me ask you something. Wouldn’t you want to do the things we talk about? All those dreams we planned in that crappy treehouse they built for us when we were little?”

Kale wiped his hands down his face and sat cross-legged on the floor next to Cross’s cot. “Sure I would. But they were just dreams. Stupid dreams. They’re not real.”

“What if they could be? Think about this for a minute. All those things Tanya wants us to do. She thinks she knows what we’re capable of, but only we know the truth. What if we did it Kale? What if we showed her exactly what we can do?”

Kale’s eyes grew wide and terrified. He shook his head and backed away from his brother a little. “No, we can’t!”

“Oh we sure can. You just don’t want to.”

“She’ll kill us for sure if we try.”

“Not if we get out. I can’t take this anymore, Kale. We are not property. We deserve a real life, but I can’t leave without you. I won’t.”

Kale’s eyes glimmered with unshed tears, his whole body vibrated with fear. “You’ll never give her what she wants.” It wasn’t a question. Kale knew the answer as well as Cross did. They could read each other’s thought as easily as reading words on a page.

“She’ll kill me first.”

Kale took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Then she’ll have to kill both of us. When? When do we do this?”

Cross felt a grin spread across his face. Despite the beating, he felt light. A weight had been lifted from him. He had no idea what the future held, but he thought, they might actually have a chance at one.

“No time like the present.” Cross stood. He pushed the pain down and did what Tanya had wanted him to do for her.

With both hands he made a scooping gesture in the air around him. The room temperature dropped as a glowing light grew between his hands. It grew until it was a seething ball of energy waiting to do as Cross commanded. He turned and saw Kale’s face brilliant in the light.

Vaguely aware of the alarms his actions had caused he felt far more confident than he should. Confident? Hell, he felt invincible. “We can do this, man.”

Kale gave him a tentative nod. “I won’t hurt anyone, I won’t.”

“Not asking you too. Come on, we got company. Just help keep me on my feet, I’ll do the rest. Stay close.” Cross felt Kale’s hand grip his arm. At his brother’s touch, the energy he had called up doubled in intensity. They had linked their powers and together they were stronger. Cross sent all that seething energy toward the locked metal door that kept them in a cage.

All that power at his command. Cross knew what he could do, he had just never done it before. He had never had the chance. With every step out of that room his power grew. As did his arrogance. A part of him understood he killed people as they navigated the maze that was the Department. The larger part didn’t care. Kale’s voice was a small annoying buzz inside his head. He felt his brother’s fear, his distress, but Cross was drunk with power. All the times Tanya had him beat, tortured to try to make him show her what he could do.

What do you think of what I can do now, bitch?

Instinct moved him forward. Anger was his motivation. He would take as many of them down as he could and when they were dead and this Department was nothing more than smoldering debris under his feet, he would take Kale and they would both get out.

Giddy with power, he heard Kale’s warning too late. Cross focused on the sight in front of him and tried to make sense out of what his mind was telling him.

A man appeared with a gun in his hand. Cross’s attention had been on finding a way out, he hadn’t sensed the danger until Kale’s urgent scream and the sharp jolt of pain as he was pushed.

He was floating. He was nothing. Darkness smothered everything.

Chapter 2

Ten years later

FINN DOYLE’S VOICE was calm, rational even. It was the voice he used when nothing else worked. The voice he used when the situation was about to go tits-up, out-of-control bad. Cross tensed in the back seat of Crown Vic and waited for the bad. He gripped Niko’s harness with one hand and the back door handle with the other as he tried to determined just how screwed the situation had become.

“Danny, I don’t want to hurt you, I mean does it look like I could hurt you? Come on, we just wanted to talk to you and your sister. What’s with all the drama?” Finn’s voice held the right amount of sincerity, the perfect lilt of honesty with a dash of contriteness thrown in but Danny King wasn’t buying the bullshit. Finn was out of the car walking toward the teenager. Cross could read Danny’s terror from where he sat inside the car.

“Finn, this kid isn’t interested in having a conversation, you do know that, right?” Cross said.

“Relax, I got this,” Finn’s voice was quiet. Danny and his sister were deep in the cemetery now, they wouldn’t hear. “Besides, Vic is circling around to the other side. Between the two of us, we can handle this.”

Cross didn’t have to be psychic to understand the kid was unhinged, but it helped. “I think you’re underestimating the hell out the situation, partner.”

“And I told you, I got this, partner.”

As if to emphasize Cross’s concern on the escalating conditions, a soft whoosh accompanied by a rush of heat blowing through the open car windows stressed exactly what Danny thought of Finn’s pleas for rational actions.

“Danny, stop! You have to stop it now!” Sybil, Danny’s younger sister screamed at her brother.

“I’ll stop when they fucking leave us alone!” Danny was seventeen, scared out of his mind and playing with fire. Literally.

The problem, however, was Danny wasn’t quite up to the challenge. He could almost control his fire abilities. It was the almost part that scared Cross. He felt the instability in the power Danny was trying to calling up. The situation was getting out of control and he wasn’t at all confident Finn understood the danger they were in.

“Finn, we need to get out of here,” Cross called from the car. He wasn’t even sure Finn could hear him anymore.

Super-heated air rocked the car sideways. Exposed skin on Cross’s face and hands tightened in the heat. He smelled singed hair and hot metal and knew play time was over.

“Finn?”

If Finn answered him, Cross didn’t hear it.

Time to scramble. He was sitting in what amounted to a metal roasting pan and the kid had just lit a fire under it.

Danny King was out of control. Cross opened the car door, barely keeping hold of the dog as they jumped out. A moment later the driver’s side burst into sudden searing flame.

A few feet from the car he tripped. As he slammed into the ground he lost both his wind and his grip on Niko’s harness. He lay flat and breathless in the tinder dry grass of the ancient cemetery trying to coax air back into his lungs and hoping he was far enough away from the burning car. He smelled the stink of burning leather and scorched electrical circuits. The pops and crunches of the car as it was consumed by the flames filled his ears.

Too close.

He whispered Niko’s name and crawled forward. He tried to call again but only inhaled acrid fumes and smoke. He choked and coughed. Tears streamed down his face as he fought just to breathe. His searching hands found a headstone and he hoped it was big enough to shelter him. He used it to pull himself to a low crouch while feeling for more obstacles with outstretched hands. Niko was gone and his cane was in the car, dammit. He hated feeling helpless. He hated being afraid. But right now he was both of those things.

He tried once more. “Niko! Come!” His voice was hoarse but it had more volume to it this time.

Where is she?

Sudden fear for Niko gripped him. Did the heat get her? Did the flames? With everything happening so fast, Niko could’ve easily become confused.

Danny and Sybil were yelling at each other. Somewhere close. Sybil sounded terrified. Cross could relate. Both kids had fire talents but zero training. That made them more dangerous than a toddler with a machine gun. Cross stumbled forward, putting another headstone between himself and the car. The grass would soon catch, if it hadn’t already. Grass fires spread faster than he could walk.

Where the hell is Finn?

“Niko!” he yelled once more, and the hot air scorched his throat. This whole acquisition had officially gone down the crapper. The only thing he could do now was try to get clear. He just remembered the two way and pulled it from his jacket pocket. After fumbling with the controls, he tried to call Finn but all he got was static. He tried to find Finn’s unique aura, but he couldn’t calm himself enough to accomplish that relatively simple task.

A wet nose, a soft whine and the next moment Niko was frantically licking at his face. She had overcome her instinctive fear of fire and came back for him. Sweet relief flooded through him as she nosed under his hand. Cross reached for the familiar leather grip of her harness and followed her lead. He had no idea if she was leading him deeper into the cemetery or toward the entrance. He tried to put the heat at his back but everything was hot.

He stumbled over another low headstone. Niko was doing her best but Cross wasn’t listening to her cues. He was scared and he knew Niko sensed it. They were both moving as fast as they could, hopefully in the right direction. Cross did the best he could without his cane as he shuffled his feet over the uneven ground. He didn’t want to fall and lose Niko again. He hoped Finn was safe.

An unnatural silence replaced the fire’s roar.

He was out of time.

The gas tank blew up.

Chapter 3

CROSS HAD A killer headache. The loss of his dark glasses in the stumbling dash across the cemetery and the annoying play of shadows, across his visual field didn’t help. Neither did Jenner Coben’s annoying rant. Cross’s boss and the director of the Paranormal Containment Unit, was in the middle of ripping everyone on his team a new one. Cross sat across the desk from Coben wishing he was home in bed. Wishing he was anywhere other than here. Medical had cleared him with first and second degree burns and some minor scrapes and cuts. Niko, her fur slightly singed, sat at Cross’s feet as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened a few hours ago.

“Not only did you ignore standard operating procedure,” Coben yelled at Finn. “You failed to even call the situation in.”

Finn paced in front of Coben’s desk. “The heat messed with the reception, and even if it hadn’t, exactly when would you suggest I should have called it in? When Danny sucker punched me at his parents’ or as we were chasing him across town? Or maybe when we cornered them in the freaking cemetery and he tried to fry us with the flaming ball of death?”

“It should’ve never gotten that far. Cross, what the hell happened out there? I thought you profiled these kids.”

Cross wiped a hand over his face and leaned back in the chair while trying to ignore the escalating pain in his head. “I did. Nothing in their profile suggested they would run. Danny is a classic bully. Loud but basically unorganized and easily intimidated. He should’ve backed down, he shouldn’t have run.” Sharp needle like spikes in his head made him wince.

Coben oblivious to his pain continued his rant. “Well, they ran and guess what? They’re still running. Now I have, not only the parents flipping out that we lost their kids, but Tanya is breathing down my neck asking why the hell these two are not in our custody. Do you want to tell me why, instead of a nice quiet acquisition we have two extremely volatile, and unpredictable, pyro kinetic teenagers on the run?”

“You okay?” Finn had finally sat down, and now leaned over to whisper in his ear.

A sudden image of his dead brother flashed in Cross’s head. Kale giving him that stupid half smile like he used too. It was a flash. There and gone again but the pain it brought with it, stayed. Cross grunted in answer to Finn and hoped Coben would get to the point soon.

“This isn’t Cross’s fault,” Victor Harris, the third member of the acquisition team said. “We all thought they would come in without a problem.”

“The parents were on board with all of this,” Finn said. “They were relieved when I told them we would take the kids in.”

“Then what the hell happened? Cross is your profiler and far be for me to state the obvious but he’s also your psychic profiler.” Coben was working it now. He was pissed and Cross was his primary target. “You told me these kids weren’t a problem. You told me this would be a routine acquisition. Exactly which part of this would you consider routine? Someone explain this to me.”

The voices around him grated on him like grit in an eye. He knew Coben asked him a question but damn if he could remember what he had said. Another image slammed into his brain. This time it stayed longer. He saw two boys. Kale and him as kids.

Did you ever wonder why they keep us like this? What did we do that was so bad? He heard himself ask his brother in his head.

“What?”

The images evaporated. He realized it was Coben asking him the question. But in his mind Coben was the one he was trying to explain things too.

“Why do we do this?” Cross asked. “Why do we hunt these kids, these people? What did they do that was so terrible they deserve to be locked away, studied as if they’re specimens. Freaks.”

Cross put a hand to his head as the pain cranked up. He was a ten-year-old whispering in the dark to his brother. He was fourteen, the sole survivor of an accident that had claimed his twin’s life. He squeezed his eyes tight, but the pain was all hot and furious trying to bite its way out of his head.

He thought maybe he stood. “It’s not fair the way you keep us.” He grunted and a hand clutched his arm. He leaned into someone. Niko pushed under his hand and he gripped her harness. “We’re people, just like you, only a little different.” He wasn’t sure if he was speaking the words or if they were simply in his head. He didn’t think it mattered. His knees buckled, something wet and warm leaked from his nose. “I can’t live like this anymore Kale, I can’t.” His hands went to his face.

There was only the pain.

Taking bites out of his mind.

More images flashed in agonizing slideshow. Kale. It was just Kale, now as everything else faded.

Out! I need to get out!

Kale grinned at him from inside his head. And then, even the pain stopped, and Cross had a brief moment to wonder- is this death?

Chapter 4

FINN HAD ASKED him once if the blind dreamed. Of course, Cross replied. But the dreams varied. He’d lost his sight at fourteen. Cross only remember bits and pieces of that day. It almost like looking at someone else’s life.

A friend of theirs from school was showing off his dad’s short-barreled revolver. “It’s not loaded,” Joey had he said as he aimed at Kale. “I checked, the barrel’s empty. Bang bang, you’re dead.” Joey sneered like he was a gunslinger and pulled the trigger. The barrel was empty, but Joey forgot to check the chamber.

The bullet struck Kale below the breast bone, killing him. It had missed his spine and had gone straight through him, hitting Cross sitting just behind him. They told him he was lucky. The bullet had spared his life taking only his sight.

Cross disagreed. Losing both his brother and his sight in one day didn’t feel especially lucky.

He didn’t dream often. Maybe he just didn’t remember them. But when he did dream, they were either auditory, from his life after he lost his sight, or they were from before the accident. He liked those dreams best because in them he could see like he used to. But he hadn’t dreamt of Kale in a long time.

In his dreams his brother was always forever fourteen. Tousled brown hair, dark eyes and a cocky half grin that Cross never could imitate.

This dream started off no differently. Kale sauntered through the door of the hospital room where Cross lay on the bed. That’s when he understood he had ended up in the medical unit of the Department.

“Man, when you crash and burn you do it in style,” Kale sat on the end of the bed and cocked that grin.

“I never was known for my subtlety.” Cross studied his brother. “I’ve missed you.”

“Sorry. I’ve been keeping an eye on you, so to speak, but it’s been a little tricky trying to talk to you.”

“It’s a dream Kale, my subconscious. You have no control over that. I don’t even have any control over that.”

“Well, see that’s why I’m here now. This isn’t actually a dream. It was easier, safer for you to believe that before. Things have changed.”

Cross narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t a dream?”

Kale shook his head. “Remember when we were little, we would talk to each other up here?” Kale tapped his head.

“Telepathically?” Cross remembered. The psychic abilities he used for the department had been shared by his twin. But he still didn’t understand. “You’re dead, Kale. I can’t telepathically communicate with the dead.”

“And this is where it starts getting weird. See, I’m not dead, man.”

Cross stared for a second or two. “What?”

“Yeah, look, I know I’m asking a lot of you right now, but I’m short on time. I need you to remember two things, okay?”

“I don’t understand.” And what an understatement that was.

“Just listen. All we ever had was each other, I know you remember that much. That hasn’t changed. That will never change. First, don’t trust what anyone tells you but me, not Finn, not Coben. Especially not Coben.”

“How do you know about Finn and Coben?”

“Just be quiet and listen. The second thing is what I’ve already told you—I’m not dead, man. Things are going to start happening fast.”

“What things? Never mind. Don’t answer that. I must have seriously hit my head because this is whacked.”

“Can you trust me? Can you just do that for me? Please?”

Cross considered his brother sitting next to him and decided what could it hurt? “Trust you? What the hell, sure why not. So, let me get this straight; you’re not dead, this isn’t a dream and trust only you. Is that it?”

“I’m not playing with you, just remember it. This is going to get ugly man. I wish I could help you more, but I can’t. Not yet. She promised me she wouldn’t bring you in, she promised me you would stay safe. She lied, so now it’s my turn.”

“What are you talking about?” A small pain started at the base of his skull and Cross remembered the pain when he was in Coben’s office.

“This isn’t what was supposed to happen.”

“Kale?”

“Just watch your back. If you need me, just think about me, I’ll know up here.” Kale touched the side of his head then gave Cross a long hard look he didn’t understand. He hopped off the bed and seemed to just walk away. Then everything when dark again as the dream, or whatever it was, faded.

Cross opened his eyes and blinked to be sure he was really awake. The familiar play of shadows greeted him as did Niko. She pawed at him and he realized that she was lying next to him on the bed. Cross roughed the fur at her neck. “At least I know I can trust you, can’t I girl?”

“Hey, you’re awake.”

Finn’s feet hit the floor with a quiet thud. Cross smelled the harsh chemical clean he associated with hospitals and underneath that, Irish Spring, the soap Finn favored. It seemed his partner had been sitting vigil over him. Well at least part of his dream was right. He was in a hospital. But he needed Finn’s confirmation anyway.

“Where am I? What happened?” The last thing Cross remembered was being in Coben’s office and then the nightmare quality slideshow he still didn’t understand.

“Medical. You had, I don’t know what you had, but it scared the crap out of me.”

“I can’t remember,” Cross said. In light of Kale’s warning be it real or not, he decided to keep what he did remember to himself for now.

“I don’t doubt it. You were babbling nonsense then dropped with your hands over your face. You were screaming man, like someone was killing you, then you stopped and went limp. That scared me more than the screaming. You were bleeding too, from your nose and ears.”

“Wow that sounds dramatic.”

“I thought you were dead. Seriously, don’t do that to me again.”

“How long have I been here?” It didn’t feel long, but that meant nothing. When he woke up after he lost his sight, he thought a day maybe two had passed. Then he found out he had been in a coma for over a month. That blew him away, all that lost time. He wondered what happened to time when it got lost.

“Just a day. They’re still running tests and shit but I’m just happy to see you awake.”

Niko laid her head on his belly and Cross contented himself by stroking her silky ears. He had no idea what strings Finn pulled to let him keep Niko here, but he owed his partner one. Niko was the one constant in his life. She was with him 24/7, for the last three years. It was a bond no one else would understand. She wasn’t just a dog, she was his life, his eyes. His friend.

Something about the visions he had in Coben’s office stirred to life. “Finn?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Cross rubbed his eyes and the pressure building there. “Have you ever asked yourself if what we do is right?” A memory or maybe a feeling of being trapped like a rat in a box settled over him. He didn’t like it.

“What we do?” Finn sounded concerned.

“We take people against their will and we put them in cages,” Cross couldn’t understood why he never questioned that before. It seemed so horrible and clearly wrong to him now.

“Dangerous people, Cross. People who have aberrant abilities, who’ve demonstrated they are a threat to the rest of us. We keep this city safe from those aberrancies.”

“Danny and Sybil King weren’t aberrancies. They’re just kids. They never hurt anyone. They’re just confused as to what was happening to them. All they need is someone to explain it to them. They don’t need to be locked away from the world.”

“The people we lock up are monsters. You know that, at least you used to know that.” Finn sounded like he was speaking to a confused child.

The headache that never went away crept from the back of his skull and wrapped itself around Cross’s head. “I think maybe you got that backwards. We fear them because they’re different. We fear what we don’t understand, so we lock them away and make them perform for us. Maybe we’re the ones who should be locked up. Maybe we’re the monsters, Finn.

“Cross, partner, you’re scaring me a little here. Maybe I should get the doc.”

“I don’t think I want to do this anymore.” Cross winced as the pain dug itself in deeper. “I don’t think I ever did.” Cross grunted and grabbed his head. Even through the pain he sensed another presence in the room. He recognized Coben’s aura but there was someone with him. It had to be the pain, but Cross couldn’t get a clear read on the man.

“Cross, we need to talk,” Coben said.

Cross was sure he beyond talking.

“And in about five minutes he will in no condition to listen if I don’t intercede now.”

The man seemed as if he should be familiar to him, but Cross was sure he didn’t know him. If everyone would just stop talking he could figure it all out.

“And I need answers, Gabriel. This can wait,” Coben said.

“Not if you still want him in one piece it can’t. I need to remove the blocks now. They’re crumbling and he’s receiving conflicting information. It will destroy his mind if we wait, and then what good will he be to you?”

Cross put up a hand, it was all he could manage. He wanted them to stop, wait, something, he wasn’t sure and he never got a chance to ask as white hot pain stabbed at his brain, his eyes. He struggled to focus on something other than the pain but it was nearly impossible. Flashes of light exploded inside his head. He was coming apart.

Warm hands touch either side of his head. He wanted to object to the unwanted contact for about a half a second, but then sweet relief flooded his system. The pain backed down.

Relax.

He understood the man Coben had called Gabriel was speaking inside his head. Everything went quiet. All the noise he hadn’t even been aware of disappeared. The sharp-edged, hungry pain dulled, and with Gabriel’s soft cotton-whispered words Cross didn’t understand, it faded until it was only a memory. The words soothed the hurt, they calmed the panic. Much like a mother hushing a babe to sleep, like balm on a wound, Gabriel entered the mental cacophony that was Cross’s mind and left only serenity in his wake.

He opened his eyes. The normal shadows that were all that was left of his sight, greeted him. No pain. His head rested back on the pillow as he took a moment to catch his breath.

“Cross?”

He sighed in contentment. “Yeah.”

“Are you ready to listen now?” Gabriel said.

“What did you do to me? I’m not objecting, but… I,” Cross couldn’t find the words. “What did you do?”

“You were experiencing something called a psychic intrusion. As you are aware, it can be quite excruciating. If not taken care of, it would have destroyed your mind. Torn it apart, actually. Not a pleasant way to die.”

“I’ll agree with you on that. I have no idea what a psychic intrusion is, but I think I should know you. I do, don’t I?” There was a familiarity about the man, but he couldn’t remember anyone named Gabriel. Now that the pain was gone Cross could detect his psychic aura. His energy signature was familiar but Cross couldn’t understand why it should be.

“In another life, yes, you knew me. What I just did was remove several layers of psychic blocks that had been placed in your mind a little over ten years ago.”

“Psychic blocks?”

“Walls, if you will. Fortresses built around your memories. They were beginning to weaken. Your past was leaking into your constructed present like a dripping faucet. Small events from your hidden past were starting to bleed into the reality we created for you. The intense headaches, the confusion, the memories that made no sense, were caused by the incongruities trying to make sense in your mind. They couldn’t. If I hadn’t torn down the blocks, your mind would have been ripped itself apart.”

“Keep talking.” Cross was calm. It was as if he had waited on this moment for a long time.

“You and your brother were born here. This Department was the only home either of you ever knew until you were fourteen. Your mother was brought in much like you bring in your acquisitions. Her name was Maria, do you remember her?”

Cross squeezed his eyes closed in an attempt to recall a face to go with the name. He got fleeting images of a dark haired beauty who he ran to for comfort. He had always been told his parents died in a car accident when he was very young. The people who raised him were foster parents. “Only bits and pieces.” Cross opened his eyes again. “Nothing concrete. I was told she died.”

“She died when you and Kale were thirteen.”

A sudden image slammed into Cross’s brain. He angled his face toward where Gabriel sat beside him. “She killed herself. Didn’t she?”

“Yes. Your mother was a delicate thing, both in body and in spirit. She couldn’t handle it when we took you and your brother away from her. You were more than old enough to be studied on your own. She disagreed.”

“Studied?” his stomach rolled as that trapped rat feeling came over him again.

“This Department exists because of people like you and your family,” Coben interrupted. “You’re dangerous, unpredictable. People, normal people were getting hurt. People were getting killed so this Department was created to control people like you.”

“People like me,” Cross repeated.

“The freaks,” Coben said with utter disdain.

“Some of us chose to help the department,” Gabriel said. “We thought if we could understand what it was that made us different, we could help the others learn to control their gifts. If they weren’t a threat then we could help them return and live productive lives in society again.”

“You were the exception,” Coben took up the thread of the story again. “The only reason for your existence was to be studied.”

“Coben, please.” Gabriel said. “It would be better if he learned everything from one source. His mind has already suffered a huge insult, let me take it slow with him. This is a delicate situation.”

Coben clearly didn’t like being told what to do but he reluctantly let Gabriel have his way. “Delicate my ass, but yeah, whatever. Do it your way, just do it quick.”

Cross heard Gabriel sigh then he leaned on the bed rail and continued. “Your mother, Maria, had a unique talent. She could push people. She could tell someone to do something and make it seem like it was his idea all along. It wasn’t the power of suggestion. From what we could figure out, she could actually rearrange a person’s brain waves. We’ve never seen anything like it before. She objected when we wanted to see how far she could take it.”

“You wanted her to hurt people.” Cross didn’t know if it was a memory, but he knew it was the truth. He could read that much from Gabriel.

“Yes,” Gabriel said. “Technically we wanted her to tell people to hurt themselves or someone else. The military applications alone were staggering to think about. Then we wondered what would happen if her talents were mixed with psychic abilities.”

“You.” Cross understood now why the man felt familiar to him.

“Me,” Gabriel agreed.

“You’re my father.” Cross didn’t need him to confirm it. He understood that much. He could feel it.

“Guilty. I always preferred to call it a biological contribution.”

“You bred her like an animal. You used her as a means to an end. You threatened her family if she didn’t agree. And after we were born you threatened her with our safety if she didn’t play nice.” Cross got all that in one huge mental info-dump from Gabriel.

“And when we didn’t need her anymore, she took matters into her own hands. I found her hanging in her quarters a few months after you and Kale were taken away.”

Cross was grateful for the comforting numbness that wrapped around him. He understood that was Gabriel’s doing as well. Whatever he had done to keep his mind from tearing itself apart, also kept him from feeling the outrage, the injustice, the anger he knew he should. It was as if he was learning about a fascinating story instead of his own life. A life that had been taken and then hidden from him for the last ten years.

“The images I had.” Cross said.

“Memories.” Gabriel confirmed. “When you were fourteen you decided you had enough of us. Or as you put it –”

“I was tired of being a lab rat.” Cross could remember the words but it was as if they belonged to someone else.

“Yes. You wanted out. You convinced Kale that you could both just leave. You didn’t care what the cost of your freedom was, you were going to leave. You have to understand Cross, we thought you had no abilities. Kale had inherited his mother’s pushing abilities and believe me when I tell you he was not afraid to use them. He also was a mildly gifted psychic. We had no idea you had been holding out on us.”

“What abilities? I’m psychic to some degree, but nothing more than that. Lately not even that, just ask Coben.” Cross wished he could see Coben’s face to see if he got the jab.

“There was that one incident with the kid in police custody,” Coben said.

Cross struggled for a memory and then it hit him. “That was one time. It never happened again. The department cleared me.”

“You nearly incinerated the station. You have no idea the red tape I had to go through to explain what happened. We almost brought you in then, but Finn convinced us to wait and continue to watch you.”

“Finn?” Cross’s attention shifted to where he knew his partner still sat next to his bed.

“And this is where this gets a little tricky,” Gabriel said.

“Yeah, like it’s all been fairly straightforward so far.”

Gabriel ignore him and continued. “We discovered what you could do only when you used those abilities to try and escape.”

“What exactly am I supposed to be able to do?” Cross asked.

“You have the ability to manipulate energy.”

Cross snorted. “Come again?”

“You are able to gather up ambient energy and using your own body as a conduit, use that energy in any number of ways.”

Memories slammed into his mind, shadowy images of melted metal, heat and heady power. The same images he had before collapsing in Coben’s office. “We tried to get out.” He wasn’t talking to Gabriel. He was trying to sort it all out in his own head.

“You did.” Gabriel agreed.

Cross wiped beads of sweat that had popped up on his brow away from his eyes. “I did that to them. I killed them?” He didn’t want to believe that he was capable of such an act, but he needed to know.

“Yes,” Gabriel said. His voice sounded calm, so matter of fact. How could he sound so calm? Cross remembered something else. “It was you, wasn’t it? You were the one who shot me.”

“You surprised us. We had no idea that you and Kale were synergistic. When linked together the power the two of you wielded was staggering. Over a dozen agents died trying to stop you. Some of them so badly burned by the energy you killed them with, they had to be identified with dental records. They were good men and women simply doing their job and you killed them with no thought or remorse. They were in your way and you thought you had the right. I confronted you. Kale was scared, but he would’ve done anything for you and you even used that.”

Cross shook his head. “No.”

“You can deny it all you like. I know you can feel the truth of it. You come by your psychic abilities honestly. I got in your head that day and knew what you planned, which way you chose to get out and I headed you off. I gave you a choice. You could stand down and let me take you back –”

“Or you would kill me,” Cross could almost grasp the memory. “I tried to kill you.”

“And I tried to kill you back. Kale shoved you out of the way. The bullet meant to take your life put you in a coma for over a month. When you woke, you were blind.”

“So why keep me alive at all? You had the choice.” Anger, betrayal and confusion were beginning to work through the numbness.

“If it had truly been my choice you wouldn’t be here now. I would have finished what I started. Whether you remember it or not, you are a dangerous man, Cross.”

Coben spoke up again. “Tanya wanted you alive, but you were unpredictable, volatile.”

“Imagine that, a hostile fourteen-year-old, especially one who’d been kept hostage his whole life.”

“That attitude is exactly why we did what we did,” Coben said.

“And what exactly did you do?”

“We needed you alive, we wanted to study how you did the things you did, how you manipulated energy, but we also needed you to control Kale. The one thing we absolutely could not allow was for you and Kale to get together again. If you knew he was alive we knew you would stop at nothing to get to him.”

“Kale is alive?” He hoped but he didn’t want to believe it, not if it wasn’t true.

“Yes,” Coben said.

Cross let out a shuddering breath, he gripped Niko simply to have something to ground him. “You let me believe he was dead, all this time.”

“It was necessary. Kale would work with us if we agreed to keep you safe. So we made a choice. We gave you a new life. Wiped all your memories and gave you new ones. Ones we thought you could live with. Ones we thought would make you complacent. Your entire life has been carefully orchestrated, Cross. From the implanted memories, to your foster parents, home schooling, colleges. Your placement in the department. All of it planned, all of it played out according to script. Even Finn.”

He turned once more to Finn. “What about Finn?”

Coben’s voice sounded as if he might actually be enjoying destroying Cross’s life with nothing more than words. “Finn was put in place when you were hired as a profiler for the department. He is, for lack of a better word, your babysitter.”

Cross felt heat spread through him. He was breathing faster than he should. He felt like he was floating. His reality had been turned inside out and upside down. “My babysitter?”

His partner remained silent. No denials. No outrage at what Gabriel had said.

“Technically your job was real. Finn and you are partners, but his main job was to watch you. He wrote monthly reports on any problems with the psychic blocks or your implanted memories. Everything was going smoothly until last night.”

“Why tell me all this now?” His voice sounded hollow. He couldn’t deal with Finn’s betrayal right now. “Why not just do what you did to me ten years ago? Why the big reveal. If everything you told me is the truth, then you want something from me. Something I couldn’t give you the way I was.”

He heard Gabriel grunt. “We knew this day would come. When you collapsed yesterday my vote was to kill you before you woke up.”

“At least you’re consistent,” Cross said. “So why am I still alive?”

“Your brother has been in contact with you,” Coben said. “Don’t bother to deny it. He already admitted it. He had one rule, no contact. He broke that rule because he understood what was happening to you. He also told Tanya he would refuse to cooperate if we hurt you. For the last ten years, he’s done everything we’ve asked of him just to keep you safe. He wasn’t happy when he found out we brought you back in.”

“I want to be with him.” To Cross it wasn’t a request. Kale was alive. After ten years, he learned his brother was alive. All he wanted was to be sure, to touch him, to make sure he was real.

“Not happening,” Coben said.

Cross swallowed down the sudden anger that flooded through him. He wanted to smash Coben’s face. He wanted to smash something. Instead he took a breath to calm himself.

It didn’t work as well as he would’ve liked. “Fine, it would be easier with your help. But I can find him on my own. I remember we had a psychic connection when we were kids. What do you want to bet we still do?” He flipped the covers off and put a hand on the bed rail with every intention of getting out of bed, and with Niko’s help, finding his brother. He didn’t know how, but if Kale could contact him, then Cross would sure as hell figure out a way to find his brother. He heard Niko jump off the bed and then in the next instant he felt cold metal encircle his wrist. A harsh ratcheting sound and then the clang of metal on metal.

He moved his hand and was brought up short. Handcuffs. Someone had just handcuffed him to the bed. Cross yanked hard on the cuff. It hurt his wrist and he didn’t care. The anger he’d tried to push down flared to life. “What the fuck? Get these off me, now.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. His barely contained rage was in every word. Niko whined, obviously distressed.

“We don’t need to do it this way, Cross. It’s up to you.”

“It’s up to me? Fantastic. Unlock the cuffs.” Panic begin to take the place of the anger. “Coben, you can’t just lock me up. I didn’t do anything!”

“It’s not what you did,” Coben said. “It’s what you’re capable of doing that concerns me.”

“And if I don’t agree? What then? You going to have Gabriel shoot me again?”

“I don’t think it will come to that, but we do have Kale. It might be in his best interest if you cooperated.”

And just like that everything changed. He didn’t even consider that. Coben’s words froze Cross to the core. We have Kale.

“You said you needed him,” Cross said, hoping they really did.

“We do. I didn’t say we would kill him. Perhaps we’ll only make him wish we did.”

“So what, you put me in one of the glass walled rooms down in the containment unit? So, I’m one of the freaks, now?” Panic definitely was winning out over anger. Cross didn’t like that. Anger felt much better.

“You were always one of the freaks,” Coben said. “You just never knew it.”

Cross pulled on his wrist again. “Jesus, Coben. I work for you.”

“Not anymore. If you behave, we’ll keep you in medical until they clear you. Finn will stay with you. If you’re good. Maybe we’ll even set you up in one of the secured witness apartments. Call it a professional courtesy. If you give Finn a hard time, your brother will be the one to pay. That, and perhaps we might make one of those glass-walled rooms available. As I said, your choice.” Cross heard Coben leave, his soft-soled shoes scuffing the floor as he walked away. He paused. “Oh and the dog…”

That got Cross’s attention. “What about her?” Everything was on alert now. Coben had managed to find the one thing that meant more to Cross than his own life.

“Can’t let you keep it.” Niko’s tags chimed on her collar as she whined. Her claws scrabbled on the smooth flooring as she was being pulled or dragged out of the room.

“Wait, Coben, no. You can’t take Niko-” the thought of being without her had Cross in full-blown panic mode. Begging was not beneath him. “Coben, please. Don’t do this. She’s my eyes, man. I’ll do what you want, whatever you want. Please just don’t take Niko.”

“I’m sorry, Cross. For whatever that’s worth, I truly am sorry.” He heard shoes on the floor, heading to the door, two pair, Gabriel and Coben he assumed.

Cross tried to jump out of the bed but both Finn and the cuffs keep him there. Niko whined once as she was being led away from his room.

“No, God, Coben, please don’t do this. Finn stop him, you have to stop him.” Tears streamed down his face with the pleas. He didn’t care, any pride he might have had left with Niko. Cross listened, but Niko was gone. He shoved Finn’s hand off his chest. “Get the fuck off me,”

Finn took his hand away. Cross gave one last futile yank on his cuffed wrist, pulled his knees up and lowered his head into the crook of his free arm.

“Cross…” Finn’s voice cracked.

“Just tell me one thing,” Cross said, his head still buried in his arm. “Was any of it real? I trusted you, I thought…” Cross didn’t know what he thought anymore. “Fuck it, just fuck it all.”

“It’s not like Coben said. It was real, it is real. You and me, that’s real.” Cross heard the emotion in Finn’s voice. He could’ve looked in his head to understand exactly what was real, but he honestly didn’t care. He was pulled apart and didn’t know how to put himself back together again.

“So Coben lied, you’re not my babysitter? Your real job wasn’t to keep an eye on me?” A sudden thought occurred to him. “Jesus, you knew, didn’t you? You knew Kale was alive.”

“Shit,” Finn sounded miserable which only made Cross furious. What right did he have to be miserable?

“Leave me alone, Finn. Leave me the hell alone.”

“I can’t.” The words were barely more than a whisper, but Cross heard him.

“Right. Babysitter.” Cross lay back on the pillow and tried to figure out what the hell happened to his life. Two days ago he was finishing up his report on the King kids. Yesterday he was fighting for his life in an abandoned cemetery and today… Holy hell, today…

“What happens now?” he said.

“Exactly what Coben said. He’s planning on housing you in one of the vacant secured apartments. If you were anyone else, he’d put you in containment.”

Containment was where the department placed new acquisitions until it could be determined how dangerous they were. One room with a front glass wall. Security depended on what abilities the person housed there had. No privacy, no contact. Food and water delivered through an anteroom.

The secured apartment was no less of a prison, but a gilded one. A small living space with a bedroom and bath. The door opened with a key card and cameras recorded live feed from every room. The illusion of privacy was just that, an illusion. The apartments were only a step up from the containment units and were earned with good behavior. It didn’t give Cross any comfort that Coben wanted him there. “Yeah, I’m lucky like that.”

The spectrum of raw emotions he had just been through in the last few moments left Cross exhausted. He despised self-pity, but thought he was due one moment. “I thought you were a friend.” Cross angled his face toward where Finn stood by his bed. “Was any of it real? I thought…” His voice trailed off, he didn’t know what he thought anymore. He wasn’t sure if Finn’s answer even mattered.

“That part was real. I am your friend.”

Cross choked out a laugh. “I could almost handle the rest of it, but you Finn,” He lowered his head and grinned. “I wasn’t expecting that. I gotta give you credit though, you played the part to perfection.”

“You don’t understand.”

That brought Cross’s head back up to face Finn. “Really? What part do I have wrong? I might be blind, but the ears work just fine. So let me recap, basically I’m an experiment that went wrong –”

“Cross –”

“No, no let me finish. My entire life has been a lie. Everything I remember, my childhood, my parents. All lies. The father I remember grieving for has been instrumental in wiping my past away to keep me, what? Malleable?” Cross pulled on the handcuffs as he spoke. “And you, Finn. My friend, who turns out to be nothing more than a glorified babysitter, hired to keep an eye on me. Did they pay you extra to get me to trust you? They should have, because let me tell you, you did a hell of a job.”

“That’s how it started, man. I won’t lie to you, but it’s not how it ended. I am your friend. You have to believe me on that.”

Cross laughed. “You won’t lie to me? I have to believe you, trust you? That’s good, Finn, that’s really good. Coben threatened my brother if I don’t do what he wants, that’s the only thing I trust right now. That’s what I believe.”

He was tired and done with talking, done with lies. He turned away from Finn as much as he was able with one hand restrained, closed his eyes and tried like hell to shut the world out for a little while. He needed quiet, he needed peace. He needed to find his center to make sense out of the mess he was in. It was doubtful any of that was going to happen, but he refused to say another word to Finn.

Sometime in the night, sleep took pity on him. He wished he could have said the same for his dreams.

Chapter 5

TANYA SANTIAGO SAT behind Jenner Coben’s desk with her feet propped on the polished wood because she knew it would piss him off. A live feed of Cross Delancey freaking out in medical played on Coben’s computer. That she accessed his computer would piss the man off as well. She sincerely hoped so. Technically, as the department’s director, Coben was her boss. Tanya was one step below him as the head of the containment unit. She considered it a temporary inconvenience. Someday this office would be hers.

Her chief of security wrapped his arms around her from behind and bent down to nuzzle her neck. “Think we have time for a quickie before Coben comes back?” He turned her around in the leather chair to face him. “We could do it right on his desk,” his hands fondled her breasts. “The fat prick would never know.”

Tanya trapped him between her long legs and considered Robert’s less than subtle request for a half a second. She turned back to look at the monitor again and saw Coben take Cross’s dog and leave medical. She reluctantly freed Robert and smoothed her skirt down. “As much as the thought delights me, Coben seems to be finished with Cross.” She stood and was nearly as tall as Robert’s own six- three. “Coben and I have business to discuss. So, go stand in the corner, put on your stern face and pretend your job is just to keep me safe from all those scary freaks down in containment.”

“My job is to protect you from all those scary freaks. Fucking you is a perk.” Robert pulled her to him and grabbed her by the hair as he ravaged her mouth. Tanya pushed him away and pretended to be annoyed. It was a game between them that she enjoyed immensely.

As Robert stood in his corner looking all tough and proper with his hands clasped in front of him, Tanya leaned back in Coben’s chair and waited for him to enter.

He opened the door dragging the dog beside him. Gabriel walked behind them, then stopped when he saw Tanya.

It took Coben a moment longer. “Will you take this animal please,” he said to Gabriel. Gabriel took the dog, and only then did Coben turn and notice Tanya.

“You were supposed to meet us in medical for the briefing.” He glared at her, obviously annoyed that she not only blew off an ordered meeting but had come, uninvited to his office.

Tanya waited a beat, and only then did she relinquish his chair. “I didn’t see the need. Gabriel was the one you needed, not me. Cross is already overwhelmed by the things he’s learned. When he’s ready, trust me, I will inform him what his place in all of this is. I have a feeling he isn’t going to like my rules one little bitty bit.” She slowly moved from behind the desk and let Coben sit in his chair. “Nice touch taking the dog.” She reached down to touch the lab on the head but the dog lifted a lip in a barely audible growl. She withdrew her hand and met Gabriel’s amused expression.

“Dogs are such excellent judges of character,” he said.

Tanya sneered at him and moved in front of Coben’s desk. “So Cross Delancey is finally back where he belongs. What I need to know now is, how dangerous is he? I won’t lose any more people to him. Tell me he’s unbalanced, tell me he’s a threat and I’ll send Robert down to medical right now to but a bullet in his head.” She spared Gabriel a caustic glance. “And I can guarantee Robert will not miss.”

“I thought you said you needed him not only to keep Kale in line, but for the things he can do,” Coben said.

“I do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have options. I can control Kale with or without Cross. It would be easier with, but not impossible without. Just tell me he’s not a threat.”

Coben motioned to the live feed from medical still on his monitor. “I’m assuming you watched the interaction. Right now Cross is trying to figure out what we want from him. We’ve effectively removed all his support systems, outed Finn to him, introduced him to a father and a brother he thought were dead, told him his entire life was a fabrication. Hell, I even took away his dog.”

Tanya watched on the monitor as Cross was sedated to prepare him for transportation, as she ordered.

“All right, as long as you’re certain, then I guess Cross Delancey gets to live- for now. But I’m through coddling him, Coben. He is mine for the rest of his life, agreed?”

“Agreed,” Coben flicked the monitor off as Cross was being lifted from the hospital bed to a transport litter. “Cross is a smart guy. I’m sure he’ll figure out his place in the scheme of things on his own. I’m assuming security is in place.” He glanced at Robert standing still and silent in the corner.

“No worries, sir,” Robert said. “We’ve managed to contain more dangerous people than Cross Delancey. My team can handle him.”

“I hope so,” Coben said as he tidied his desk. “For everyone’s sake. Keep me informed. Maybe if he cooperates we can show him it’s not so bad. Maybe we can even give him the dog back if he behaves.” Coben looked at a smudge on his previously pristine desk top. Tanya glanced at Robert and smirked. Coben took a tissue from the dispenser and rubbed at the mark. “What about Kale?” Satisfied that the desk was once more spotless he balled the tissue up and tossed in the trash can.

“Leave Kale to me,” Tanya said. “It seems I have been a bit too lenient with him lately. That needs to change.”

“As long as everything is in its place,” Coben said.

“All neat and tidy,” Tanya said, a small smile on her lips. “You did well with Cross, Gabriel,” she said as she walked past him. “I think he might hate you most of all.” She gave the dog a wide berth and left the office with Robert at a respectable distance behind her. She could practically feel his eyes on her ass and regretted they hadn’t had the time for that quickie on Coben’s desk.

Chapter 6

GABRIEL STROKED THE dog’s silky ears. He could feel Niko’s anxiousness. Her world was in almost as much chaos as Cross’s. She whined and cried for Cross. Gabriel rested his hand on her head.

Animals were far less complicated than human beings. They operated on a simple set of directives. Dogs in particular were easy. Gabriel soothed Niko much the same way he had soothed Cross. In a way she could understand, Gabriel imparted to her that Cross was safe, she was safe. He asserted himself as pack leader and when he withdrew from her mind, she sat with her tail wagging, looking up at him waiting for him to tell her what to do next.

He liked dogs. They were very calming. When your life existed of trying to constantly filter out other people’s thoughts, when, if he let it, his world would consist of nothing but the voices in his head, a dog’s loyalty and simplicity was extremely comforting. Once, long ago, Gabriel had almost let the voices destroy him. But then he had learned how to control them. He allowed only the noise he wanted, in. It was a talent that had saved his sanity. He took Niko to the fenced in yard outside his quarters to do her business, and then made her comfortable inside.

He felt Tanya’s presence before she knocked on his door. She didn’t have to knock. They both understood that. For her to allow him the courtesy told Gabriel one thing – she wanted something from him and she wanted it badly. He waited until she knocked, his courtesy extended to her. She hated it when he acted on her intentions before she had a chance.

“Please come in,” he said from the sofa. Niko had curled up on his lap and he had no intention of disturbing her. Besides he was tired. They both knew his comfortable apartment and his lack of guards or locks were just illusions. Gabriel was just as much a prisoner at the department as Kale or now Cross. The difference was Gabriel had accepted his role, embraced it even. As a reward he was allowed this limited freedom and of course, the illusion. If he didn’t think about it too hard, it was almost as if it were his choice.

Tanya opened the door and let herself in. Behind her, was her ever-present shadow, Robert. Head of security and Tanya’s flavor of the month. He had lasted longer than the others though. Gabriel reluctantly had to give the man credit for tenacity at the very least. He did not make it a habit of exploring Tanya’s thoughts but from the little time he had been in her head, he understood one thing about her. Loyalty was not one of her best qualities. Tanya used people for what she could get from them and when they gave her everything they were capable of giving Tanya disposed of them. Apparently Robert had a lot to give.

“I need to talk to you,” Tanya said. She eyed Niko nervously. “Does that need to be here?”

Gabriel ran a hand over Niko’s head soothing both of them. He felt her dislike for Tanya and liked her all the more for that. “I promise she won’t bother you, but if it makes you more comfortable…”

Bedroom, please, Niko.

Niko jumped off the sofa and trotted down the hall to Gabriel’s bedroom. Gabriel raised his brows. “Better?”

Tanya gave a short exhale, something she did when annoyed. “I suppose it will have to do. Robert,” she spoke to the man without looking at him. “Wait for me outside.”

Gabriel couldn’t tell from the man’s body language but his thoughts betrayed him. He was not at all pleased at Tanya speaking to him like an underling. Even if that’s exactly what he was.

Robert closed the door behind him as Gabriel made himself comfortable.

“What can I do for you, Tanya?”

“I want to know your thoughts on Cross.”

“I already told Coben what I thought. You were there.” Gabriel wasn’t about to let Tanya know how tired he was. Tanya and the paranormal division made an art form out of using other people’s weaknesses against them. Gabriel knew that well. He’d lived the better part of his life exploited by his own weaknesses.

“I know what you told Coben. But I want you to tell me what you really think.”

“I would tell you to relax. Cross is, at the moment, emotionally and physically compromised. He is of no threat to anyone except perhaps to himself.”

“He won’t kill himself,” Tanya said. “He doesn’t fit the profile.”

“For once I agree with you. I saw nothing indicating that in my brief time linked with him. But not being suicidal does not necessarily mean he won’t cause himself harm.”

“So, what would be your advice concerning Cross?”

“I’d suggest to take it slow and don’t push him. Let him adapt to his circumstances, to the things he learned today. He has an entirely new reality to accept. Allow him the time to do that and then you can hammer him again. You plan on developing his abilities, as you did with me, with Maria, with Kale.”

Tanya said nothing. She just continued to watch Gabriel.

“If you want him, then you need to work with him, give him something in return.”

“The dog?”

Gabriel shrugged. “It would be a gesture he’d appreciate. Don’t make him fight you. You won’t get what you want from him that way.”

“You know, Gabriel, I think this might be a momentous occasion. I actually agree with you.”

“I still think this is a mistake,” Gabriel rubbed his eyes. They all seemed to forget that what he did for them taxed him. Removing the blocks from Cross’s mind had been a delicate process. One he almost didn’t manage. But what Gabriel learned in that brief time is what Tanya had come here for. If honesty is what she wanted, he would not disappoint her. “He’s dangerous. Maybe not now, but once he understands what he’s capable of, he will be.”

“We’ve watched him since he was fourteen, and he hasn’t proven that once. Whatever aggressive tendencies he might have had were altered by the bullet you put in his brain. I won’t kill him now just because he makes you nervous.”

He leaned forward and made sure Tanya was paying attention. “You’re the one who’s nervous and again I would say with good reason. But your need to exploit him is stronger than your good sense.”

“Careful Gabriel.”

“You wanted honesty? You wanted truth? Then listen to me carefully. This is a mistake,” he repeated. “Cross is a sleeping dragon.”

“Dragons don’t scare me,” she said.

“This one should.”

Tanya walked around his apartment completely at ease. She was a woman used to getting her way. She didn’t like being told she was wrong. A look of condescension settled across her features. Tanya Santiago was always so sure of herself. It would be her undoing, Gabriel was certain of that.

“I’ve waited ten years for this particular dragon of yours to show me his teeth. I don’t think he has any. I think you’re worried about nothing.” Tanya stopped in front of Gabriel still sitting calmly. “Tell me you can control him. Tell me, regardless of how dangerous you think he might be, that you can control him.”

It wouldn’t matter what Gabriel told her, Tanya wanted to hear only her version of the truth. He was too tired to have this conversation. He gave her what she wanted to hear. “He’s under control,” he said and then added in his mind- for now.

Tanya met Gabriel’s gaze with unnerving intensity. “Very good. I won’t forget your help with this Gabriel. I never forget those who are beneficial. We will talk later about how to proceed. Right now I need to bring Kale to heel. He has been a very bad boy.” She grinned and then turned to the door. “Don’t worry about your dragon, darling. I believe he is toothless.” She opened the door and walked past Robert without so much as a glance. Robert closed the door and Gabriel was left alone once more.

Niko came out from the bedroom and resumed her place in his lap. Tanya’s last words kept playing over in his head. He had a bad feeling about the way they were handling Cross. With his hand on Niko’s head he spoke to the closed door. “It’s not the teeth you have to worry about, my friend,” he said. “It’s the end of the dragon’s tail that’ll get you every time.”

Chapter 7

CROSS WOKE WITH woke with his hearing muffled and his memory shredded. There were holes in his memory he couldn’t account for and that scared him. He opened his eyes and shadows greeted him as did the musty scent a place accumulates when left unattended for too long. No echoes, no whisper of soft soled shoes. There was a feeling of emptiness about this place. He didn’t like it. If this was not medical and it wasn’t home, then where the hell was he? A TV was on in another room and the bed he lay in had no rails. He wasn’t restrained. Whoever put Cross here, didn’t worry about him going anywhere.

Out of habit he reached down for Niko only to remember she wasn’t there. That pang of loss hit him hard. He pushed it down and sat on the edge of the bed. A wave of dizziness rocked him for a moment and he waited for it to pass. When he searched the bed with his hands, he found a folded cane next to him on the covers.

Without Niko, the cane was the only way he had to find his way around. At least someone had thought about his needs. With one flick of his wrist he flipped the cane open and heard it lock into place. It wasn’t the one he was used to, but it was a reasonable replacement.

Someone had taken his glasses off again. He felt for and found a bedside table. Next to the lamp he nearly knocked over were his glasses. He must be in one of the secured apartments, but he’d never known how they were laid out. With one hand in front of him and his cane sweeping an arc at his feet he walked in slow halting steps, trying to find the door.

He was out of practice navigating an unfamiliar environment without Niko. First he bumped into the nightstand on the other side of the bed, which toppled the lamp sitting on it. The light bulb popped when it toppled to the floor.

“Shit.” He tried to avoid stepping on the broken glass, but something sharp pierced his heel. As he hopped on one foot, his cane bumped into something hard. A chair?

Frustration built. He was doing everything wrong. He stopped moving and listened. The muffled noise from the TV came from his left, so that’s where the door should be. Using the bed and the cane as guides he felt his way around with one hand extended in front of him until he felt the wall. From there it wasn’t too difficult to find the door. Before he had the doorknob in his hand the door opened. The volume from the TV increased and disoriented him. But then the scent of bacon and eggs made his stomach growl. He might still be pissed but that didn’t mean he wasn’t starving.

“I heard something break. You okay?” Finn took his elbow. Cross jerked free. The last person he wanted help from was Finn.

“Kind of a loaded question, considering the circumstances, don’t you think?”

Finn sighed.

Cross took a few hesitant steps into the living area and realized as much as didn’t want it, navigating would be a lot less frustrating with Finn’s help. He pushed the hair from his face. “Okay, you want to help me?”

Finn misunderstood and moved to guide his elbow.

Cross shook his head. “Not like that. Mind if I borrow your eyes for a minute or two? Just until I get my bearings.”

“What? Oh, yeah, sure. Have at it.” They had used the technique a few times over the years. Cross had the unique ability to enter a person’s mind and then literally see out of that person’s eyes. It wasn’t Cross’s sight, he was limited to the other person’s observations, but it did have its advantages. Like now, when he had no idea the layout of a new place. Finn could help orient him, so he could mentally map it.

Cross closed his eyes to shut out the shadows and took several calming breaths before sending his energy into Finn. When he felt entrenched in Finn’s consciousness, he opened his eyes. An immediate rush of light and color overwhelmed his senses. He rocked back a little. Even though he had been expecting it, the sensory overload got him every time. Finn took his arm and this time he didn’t object. Little by little his brain began to accept the stimuli and process it as his own even though the information came from Finn. The light dimmed to a comfortable level and the color spectrum evened out until Cross was seeing the room much as Finn did.

“You good?” Finn said. He turned to look at Cross. As a result, Cross saw himself. It was a weird moment when that happened. Seeing yourself literally through someone else’s eyes.

“Yeah. Just walk around the room slowly.” Cross stayed where he was as Finn did what he asked. The apartment was set up much like Cross had imagined. There was a small living area divided from a kitchenette and by a bar with a couple of stools. The front door was off to the left, and as Finn turned, Cross saw another door. Finn opened it to reveal a bathroom. Next was the bedroom door he had just left. As Finn walked in, Cross realized it was a lot smaller than he’d thought as he groped along the walls. The broken lamp lay on the floor, its shade dented.

“Walk the length and width of the room, will you? Count your steps.” It wouldn’t be a precise measurement, but it would help. When he crossed the room both ways, Finn came back to stand next to Cross once more.

“That’s good, I think I’ve got it,” Cross took hold of Finn’s arm. When he withdrew from Finn’s mind, there was a moment of nausea and dizziness. He steadied himself with a firm grip on Finn and opened his eyes.

“Okay?” Finn said.

Cross blinked to get used to the shadows once more. Somehow they always seemed darker when he came back. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Wow, don’t hurt yourself on that gratitude,” Finn said.

Cross didn’t want to, but he grinned a little and changed the subject. “How long have I been here?” He moved with a great deal more confidence toward the smell of food.

“Couple hours. You were only supposed to out a few minutes. Guess they were a little generous with the sedative.”

Cross found the kitchenette bar and pulled himself onto one of the stools. “They didn’t need to sedate me. I think Coben’s threat to hurt Kale would’ve sufficed.” He heard Finn move to the kitchen side of the bar.

“They don’t trust you. Here” Finn placed a plastic bottle in Cross’s hand. “Water. Medical told me to give it to you as soon as woke up. Said you’d be thirsty.”

Cross took the bottle and drank deeply as Finn put a plate of food in front of him. “Scrambled eggs at three o’clock, bacon at nine.”

Cross ate without speaking until his plate was empty. He had seen the surveillance cameras through Finn’s eyes. Everything he said or did was being recorded so there was no point in a real conversation. He had nothing to say to Finn anyway.

He pushed the plate away and considered Finn for a moment before speaking. “So now what? You’ve done your job and successfully placated me with food and water. If this plays out according to the department’s standard operating procedure, that would make you the good cop. That means the bad cops should be walking in any minute now.”

“Jesus, Cross, why do you have to be so difficult? I don’t think you understand. This isn’t a game. Tanya is in charge now, not Coben. She’ll get what she wants out of you. Believe that. For God’s sake don’t put her to the test.” Finn almost sounded sincere. Almost like he truly gave a shit about what happened to Cross.

Cross laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry. How truly inconsiderate of me to be difficult. What a bastard I am. I really should thank Coben. Oh and Gabriel, you know, the father who tried to blow my fucking head off when I was fourteen. The same guy who erased my entire life up to that point.

“And let’s not forget you.” Cross paused for dramatic effect and to try to contain his emotions. “Thank you, Finn. My friend, my partner. Thank you for lying to me, thank you for betraying my confidences, my friendship.

“Now tell me, who should I thank for locking me up, drugging me and monitoring me like a freaking test animal? Coben, Tanya? How about what they’ve done to my brother? You know, the brother everyone, including you, told me was dead. Who do I get to thank for that?”

Cross slid off the stool. He wanted to hit something, anything, but settled on throwing the cane he still held, in Finn’s general direction. He didn’t think it hit him but something broke with a very loud and satisfying crash.

“Trust me. I’m not playing any games. They took Niko. They took my entire life and then told me it was a lie. They took my brother. My brother, Finn. Now you tell me, what else could they possibly take from me?” His breath came in ragged gulps as futile anger surged through him.

A soft click and the door locks disengaged. He sensed the changed in air pressure and the scent of fresh air as the outer door opened.

“That’s enough.” Cross recognized Tanya’s voice. The door locks clicked back into place behind her. She wasn’t alone. The slide of a jacket being adjusted, more than one pair of feet moving. Subtle cologne mixing with her perfume. He wanted to send out psychic energy to see who he was dealing with but that took more focus than he was able to muster at the moment. Anger always impeded his abilities.

“And you must be the bad cop,” Cross said. He was beyond caring what they did to him. If Tanya wanted a fight, he was more than willing to bring it. Let her try to lock him in a glass walled room. Let her fucking try.

High heels clicked across the wooden floor to stop a few feet away from Cross. “Finn, you can leave. Your job here is done,” It was clear Tanya did not expect to be argued with. Finn did anyway. A small part of Cross respected him for that.

“Wait a minute, what do you mean I’m done? Coben told me to stay here with him until further notice.”

“Consider this further notice,” Tanya said. “You’re being reassigned. Coben will let you know what your next assignment will be. Until then I am putting you on two weeks paid leave.”

“No fucking way. Six years and all of a sudden I’m reassigned?” Finn’s voice rose with every word.

“Sucks, right?” Cross said.

Finn ignored the comment. “You can’t do this, Coben told me-“

“Coben may be in charge of the department, but I’m in charge of containment. Which means, that I am in charge of Cross. I have no further need of a babysitter so if I say you’re reassigned then you are reassigned. Leave on your own, Finn or Robert will escort you out of the building.” One of the presences Cross had sensed with Tanya shifted, Robert he presumed. Tanya never went anywhere without her security.

Finn let out a growl. “This is fucked.” He walked toward the door. The locks disengaged but before he left Finn paused. “I’m sorry, Cross. For whatever that’s worth. I’m sorry.” He walked out, the door closed and the locks clicked back into place.

“Are we done with all the drama?” Tanya said.

“I want to see Kale,” Cross said.

“First rule. You don’t get to demand things. You don’t get to ask questions. You get a free ride one time because I understand this is difficult. But the sooner you accept your place, the better it will be for you.”

That was almost amusing. “Accept my place? As what? A specimen?”

Tanya sighed. It had a sad sound to it. As if she had expected more from him. “Ten years ago, you tried to walk out of this department. In the process you killed a dozen men and woman under my command. Do you remember that?”

“No, I know that’s what everyone tells me I did, but no, I don’t remember. Maybe the bullet Gabriel put in my brain has something to do with that.”

“That’s all right because I remember it well enough for the both of us. You want to know what you did? I wish to hell you could see so I could show you the pictures but the description will have to do. As you tried to walk out of the only home you ever knew, you surrounded both you and Kale with a shield of pure energy.

“My agents weren’t trying to hurt you. They were only trying to stop you. They were armed with Tasers and Co2 guns- tranquilizers. Non-lethal force.

“I don’t know how you did it, but from what we could gather at the time, you boiled them alive inside their skin. Almost as if you trapped their own body heat inside them and then looped it back until they cooked. These were the same people who guarded you every day. Brought you food, kept you safe.

“We were your family Cross and you turned on us. Twelve men and women. Twelve funerals, twelve families I had to explain to as to why their loved ones weren’t coming home. So you’ll forgive me if I am less than sympathetic to Gabriel’s treatment of you ten years ago. As far as I’m concerned losing your sight was a small price to pay for what you did.”

The things she described, the things she said he did, they didn’t reconcile with who Cross always thought he was. “I don’t remember,” he said more to himself than to her. He tried to remember something, a feeling, anything. All he got were the images of the dead bodies surrounding him.

He didn’t think he was the one responsible for their deaths. He couldn’t be. “I don’t believe you,” he said finally. He couldn’t have done the things she said. He was sure of it. If he killed those people the way she described, then maybe he did deserve to be locked up.

“I don’t care what you believe. I know the truth, I was there. Even as a child, you always thought you were better than everyone else. You could have helped this department achieve great things, if only you weren’t so arrogant. You never cared about anyone except yourself and I can see that time has not improved that particular character flaw.”

“You used us. You bred my mother just to satisfy your curiosity for God’s sake, and you call me arrogant. I might not have all my memories but I think I do recall that about you, Tanya.”

Cross heard Tanya’s security move quickly. He put up a hand to ward off the expected assault. His arm was gripped hard.

“No, let him talk, Robert. I want to know what he does remember.”

The grip on his arm tightened for a moment before releasing him. Cross resisted the urge to rub the spot. “You want to know what I remember?” Cross thought it was ludicrous. “Sure, I’ll tell you what I remember. Up until about two days ago I worked for this department. I remember thinking I was protecting people from some pretty unstable forces out there. I remember thinking my brother was dead. That I grew up with foster parents because my own were killed in a car crash before I could even commit their faces to memory. I remember being shot in the head by the same bullet that killed my brother. Only now I understand that none of that actually happened. I don’t remember killing those people like you said, but I do remember the anger. Most of it directed toward you.” Cross gulped air as that anger flared to life inside of him. “Maybe you should remember exactly what made you so afraid of a fourteen-year-old boy that you had to brainwash him to make him safe.” From somewhere deep inside of him Cross listened to that anger. He raised his hands and scooped raw energy out of the air. He felt it seething as he held it between his palms.

“I’m giving you one chance to stop this now, Cross.”

“Why? So you can put me in a cage like you did with Kale?” Kale, God he needed Kale now. Kale could tell him what happened that day. He was the only one who could. He would believe Kale. “I want to talk to my brother.”

Cross never heard Robert move this time, but in the next moment his entire body seized up with pain. He dropped to the ground, unable to breathe, unable to move. The energy he had collected dissipated. His entire world was pain. When he could, he sucked in air and rolled into a ball grunting out small noises he never heard himself make before.

“That’s what’s called an attitude adjustment. Robert just discharged a Taser into you. That was the lowest setting. Do you understand?”

“Fuck,” Cross choked out the word. He had never felt anything like that before in his life. At least not that he could remember. He was pretty sure he never wanted to feel it again.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Stand up.”

Cross did his best to comply, but his body still wasn’t taking orders from his brain. A rough hand pulled him to his feet and shoved him into a chair. All Cross could do was breath. “I’ve been more than patient with you,” Tanya said. “That little demonstration you just provided is more than justification for what I am doing. You see, Cross, whether you remember it or not, you are one of the dangerous people you used to protect us from. You might not remember what you are capable of, but I sure as hell will never forget.”

“What the fuck do you want from me?” Cross yelled when he finally caught his breath.

Instead of an answer the Taser was shoved into his side once more.

Cross sucked in air and tried to back away, but he had nowhere to go. Once more raw pain coursed through him as he fell to the floor again. It was worse this time. He was sure the Taser wasn’t on the lowest setting anymore.

Again rough hands grabbed him and threw him back in the chair. His body still seized from the jolt it had taken.

“You don’t ask the questions.” Tanya reminded him. “As far as Kale goes, let me make this perfectly clear. You’ve been told your brother is alive. That’s as much of a concession as you get. That’s more than I wanted to give. You will not talk about Kale. You will not even mention his name again. And you most certainly will not see him, let alone speak to him. Ever. If you break any of those rules or dare to threaten me again there will be no more warnings. I will do nothing to you. I will punish Kale. Do you understand?”

Cross’s body still shook with remembered pain. He might not believe the things Tanya said he did, but he sure as hell believed she would do exactly what she said she would to Kale. He swallowed and lifted a shaking hand to wipe at his face.

For the first time since he woke up in medical, Cross was afraid. He hated that. He hated that Tanya made him feel that way.

Holy fucking fuck!

“Do you understand?” Tanya asked again. He felt the Taser pushed against his side and jumped at the contact.

“Yes. Yes, I understand.” He held his hands out in submission, hoping the answer would satisfy her. He froze until he felt the Taser prongs removed. He let out a pent up breath, then slid off the chair and collapsed to his knees.

“That’s better,” Tanya said. “Now we can begin.”

Something cold started deep inside of Cross.

Begin what?

Chapter 8

CROSS COULDN’T REMEMBER what she wanted from him. Whatever it was, it was clear he was not satisfying her demands.

Tanya would ask him a question. He would answer. Robert would hit him, or if he was feeling particularly creative, he would use the Taser.

At first she wanted him to show her what he was capable of doing. She wanted him to try and call up the energy as he had when he threatened her.

He couldn’t. He didn’t know how.

He tried to tell her that, but she wasn’t interested in excuses. Tanya wanted results and Cross failed her at every turn. Eventually he lay in a heap on the floor, crying like a child, begging her to stop, promising her things he couldn’t possibly give her, if only she would stop. He didn’t remember being taken to the bedroom, he didn’t remember much of anything except Robert and the Taser.

He didn’t want to move, for fear they were waiting for him to wake up to start all over again, but stiff muscles begged for release. He turned to his back and an involuntary groan escaped his lips. He desperately needed to talk to Kale. If he ever needed his brother to show up in his head, it was now. But maybe Cross could show up in Kale’s head. Cross had told Finn the truth about them communicating that way when they were younger. But that had been before a bullet and little brainwashing had messed with his abilities. He didn’t know if he could contact Kale that way anymore. Until recently he had no reason to try. He’d thought Kale was dead. As much as Tanya wanted to know what Cross could do, he wanted it more. He simply couldn’t remember how.

Kale. It all came down to Kale. If only Cross could talk to him, he could figure everything else out on his own. Tanya might be waiting for exactly this. Maybe that was the purpose behind the endless questions and beatings.

Cross didn’t care. Kale. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on his brother and nothing else. Just Kale. It wasn’t easy. He hurt everywhere and he had no idea if what he was doing was even feasible. The only image he could grab onto was that of his fourteen-year-old brother. Cocky grin, messy hair and attitude.

I need you, man.

His brother had told him he was the only one Cross could trust. Kale had been the one to warn him, the only one who had watched out for him even when he wasn’t aware of his presence.

But what if Kale was just another lie.

Cross couldn’t write him off that easily. He’d done that once already when he believed Kale to be dead. The bond they had ran far too deep. If Kale was alive, he deserved more than becoming only a ghost of a memory.

You there, man?

Cross was too desperate to feel stupid, so he tried again. Hell, maybe he was going crazy, at this point he didn’t care. A quick slide into insanity might be preferable to this reality.

Come on Kale, if you are alive, I need you now.

“Hey man.”

Cross opened his eyes. Kale was sitting next to him on the bed “Hey.” He didn’t question why he could see Kale. He assumed it worked much the same way as when he saw through Finn’s eyes. He didn’t wonder why after days of silence his brother had finally appeared to him. As relief surged through him, all Cross could feel was gratitude.

“Told you they were fucking with you,” Kale said.

Cross grunted out a laugh. “Can’t argue with the truth.” He turned his head to get a better look at his brother. He looked like he always looked, forever fourteen.

“Are you a ghost, Kale? Or am I crazy?”

“Are they still going with the whole, Kale’s dead, thing?”

“They told me a lot of things, not the least of which is that I’m a sociopath with homicidal tendencies.” Cross motioned to his eyes. “They also told me you saved my life.”

“Fuck that. Fuck them. No way. This is not what was supposed to happen. You were supposed to stay safe. Listen to me. I don’t have a lot of time, but you need to know, no matter what they tell you, no matter how they mess with your head, this- you and me? That’s real. You trust this and nothing else. Do you understand?”

“And how do I know you’re just not something else they’re messing my head up with? They told me you were dead, then they told me you were alive. I don’t know what to think.”

“Point taken. Okay, here,” Kale pulled up the sleeve on his right arm and turned it over. From wrist to elbow there ran an old faded scar. “Do you remember this?”

“I don’t know what I remember anymore,” Cross said.

“Just look.” Kale took hold of Cross’s left arm. He rested it on his knee and pushed the sleeve up revealing an identical scar.

“Let me help you remember.” Kale held out his hand.

Cross took it, he had never touched Kale before when his brother appeared to him. The hand he grasped was solid, and cold like marble. A slight static shock flowed through him at the contact. Then suddenly a flood of images filled his mind. Kale was helping him to remember. He was seeing Kale’s memories.

A tree house built under a sky light in the enclosed garden. It was small and they were always guarded when they used it but it was the best place a ten-year-old boy could ever ask for. For Cross and Kale it had been a refuge. The ritual had been Kale’s idea, of course, but Cross had no problem with it. He wasn’t scared. He remembered thinking–this is cool.

He didn’t know where Kale had gotten the knife, let alone how he sneaked it past the guards, Tanya would have had a fit but that, too, was supremely cool. “It’s a promise,” Kale told him. “A promise made in blood can never be broken, understand? It’s the most excellent promise anyone can ever make and is broken only on the threat of death. So, don’t make it unless you mean it. Okay?”

“What’s the promise?” Cross was already rolling up his sleeve.

“That no matter what else happens, we’ll always be there for each other.”

“I don’t need to cut myself to promise you that.”

“I know, me neither. But that’s now. What about when we grow up? What if we forget? This will remind us. This will cover all the ‘what ifs’ that might ever happen, you know?”

That had made sense to Cross, but at ten he could never see how he would need to remind himself that he and his brother would always be a part of each other. But it seemed very important to Kale, so he’d nodded and he solemnly swore the oath.

Kale held the blade under a candle’s flame until it was red hot and then made his little speech. “I will always be there for you, no matter what. I would give my life for you, Cross.” And then without any hesitation he sliced his forearm. The blood had been impressive, but it hadn’t scared Cross. It took a hell of a lot to scare either Delancey boy. Then it was Cross’s turn. He’d repeated word for word Kale’s speech, substituting his brother’s name for his own, and then he cut his arm. It hadn’t hurt nearly as much as he’d thought it would.

With both wounds bleeding freely, the brothers placed their arms together so the blood would mix. It was a purely symbolic gesture since they were identical twins. Their blood was already shared.

They’d never told anyone.

Cross remembered now. He glanced down at his arm. Faded but still visible was the thin scar. A promise made in innocence. A promise he’d meant with all of his heart. He looked over at Kale. He stared into eyes he imagined looked much like his own. He saw hope in those eyes. Hope that Cross recalled the past that still shone brightly for Kale. He also saw raw need and desperation. Cross wasn’t sure for what. “I remember.” The memory was faded, but it was there. Cross nodded in thought. “I remember.”

“I would still give my life for you, Cross. They’re going to tell you I did things, bad things. I didn’t, at least not all of it.” Kale gave a quick jerk of his head, squeezed his eyes closed for a moment and wiped at a thin trickle of blood coming from his nose. He looked like he was in pain.

When he opened his eyes again his voice was quiet. “Okay, this is the important shit. You gotta go man. You gotta find a way to get out of here, because they’re never gonna let you go. That was never part of the deal. If you don’t believe anything else I told you, you have to believe that.”

Cross examined the marks on their arms, identical but opposite, just like Kale and him. “I believe you.”

Kale nodded in approval. He seemed relieved. “Good. I think I can give you something to work with here,” He squeezed his eyes shut as if some external force was trying to vie for his attention. Cross felt it too. “Wait for a distraction, you’ll know it when you see it.”

“Maybe it’s not overly apparent, but I can’t see anything. I’m blind, remember.”

“You can see through other people, use that. Use anything you can. They’ll kill you if you stay. They’ll end up killing both of us. I’m going to try and take out the generator. Everything here, the locks, alarms, all of it, is electric. If I can mess with the system, it’ll give you a chance. Take it.”

“What about you? How can I get to you?”

“Don’t worry about me. Just get out.” Kale paused for a moment. He reached out to touch Cross but at the last moment pulled his hand back. “I’m real Cross, don’t let them make you believe I’m not.” Without waiting for Cross to answer, Kale vanished and Cross’s world went dark once more. He rubbed the scar on his arm and felt a little lighter. He decided he didn’t care if he was losing it.

He chose to believe in Kale.

I would give my life for you Cross.

A part of him wondered if that was exactly what Kale was planning to do.

Chapter 9

FINN SAT AT the small outdoor café in SoHo waiting for Vic. An expresso sat in front of him growing cold. He had tried to stay away, but he couldn’t get the image of Cross as he left him in that room, out of his head. For two days he’d roamed his loft, but he had no appetite and sleep wasn’t to be found. Tanya had locked him out of the department computers, even deactivated his ID key card. He had no way to get information. That was what was keeping him up at night.

Last night he took a chance and called Vic. Finn figured Vic would either help him or tell Tanya what he was trying to do. He honestly didn’t care either way. There was no way he was going back to work for her after this. Not after what she did to Cross. Finn had told both Tanya and Coben months ago that Cross was nothing like they thought he was. He recommended taking him off their radar. Coben had made noises like he agreed with Finn. Apparently not.

Finn glanced at his watch. Vic was late and not for the first time, Finn wondered if he was being set up. He nervously surveyed the area around the café to look for any obvious government vehicles. When he turned back, Vic was sitting opposite him at the table. His stylish gray Armani suit, crisp with seams so sharp you could cut yourself on them. Black reflective glasses gleaming in the afternoon sun.

“Shit, you scared the crap out of me,” Finn let out a breath. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

The barista came by and took Vic’s order. When she left, he turned to look at Finn for the first time. “I almost didn’t. You are officially persona-non-grata. Anyone talking to you or seen with you is going to end up in the same boat.”

“Then why are you here?” The man didn’t look the least bit worried. He sat back relaxed and in control. Finn had always admired that about Vic, but right now it only annoyed him.

“Because I don’t like ultimatums. I don’t like what went down with you, and mostly I really don’t like what is happening to Cross.”

The barista came back with Vic’s black coffee. Vic charmed her with a smile, and took a cautious sip.

“How is Cross?” Finn said.

“He’s been with Tanya for the last two days. How the hell do you think he is?”

“Fuck. He doesn’t deserve this. The worst part is he thinks I betrayed him.”

“Really? That’s what you think the worst part is? The way he might perceive your actions in all of this. Jesus, Finn. She spends all day asking him questions he has no way of answering and then her security guys discipline him with a Taser. I have the joy of watching it all on live feed.”

Finn closed his eyes trying to get the image of Tanya having Cross tortured out of his head. When he opened them again he realized what Vic had just said. “You’re on the monitors?”

Vic seemed to understand where Finn was going. “Don’t get any ideas. I can’t help him, Finn. No one can. Tanya owns that boy now.”

“He was our partner. We were a team. I can’t forget about that. Can you?”

“I can if I want to keep my job.”

Finn played with the small ceramic espresso cup. “What did I do? What the hell did I do?”

Vic took off the sun glasses. His soft brown eyes narrowed as he spoke. “You did your job.”

“My job? I betrayed my partner. My friend. I don’t think that was in the job description. Can you really sit there and tell me that after all the time you’ve spent with Cross, he’s nothing more than a job to you?”

Vic retuned Finn’s glare, his expression unruffled. “I wouldn’t be sitting here if I did.”

Finn put his head in his hands. “Jesus, we eviscerated him. I know he started out as a job, an assignment but I swear that’s not how it ended up.”

Vic studied Finn for a long while as he sipped his coffee. The scrutiny made Finn nervous. “What?”

“I don’t know, I guess I’m not buying the whole ‘woe with me’ thing. Exactly what did you expect would happen to Cross in the end? As much as you want me to tell you it wasn’t your fault, you know differently. Cross was your job. There was never anything else. You were hired to profile the profiler. You can’t deny that now because you like the guy.”

Shame sat like a hot rock in the pit of Finn’s stomach. Truth was something he had no defense against. “Yeah. Guess I was a little too good at my job.”

“Did you honestly think Tanya and Coben would forget about him?”

“I hoped.”

“And who the hell have you worked for? Seriously Finn, face the facts. You did the job you were hired for. Now when Tanya does exactly what you knew she would do, you’re sorry? You want to know why Cross thinks you betrayed him? Because you did.”

Finn narrowed his eyes and stared right back at Vic. The words stung all the more because he couldn’t deny them. “I guess I thought I could protect him, shield him if I had too.”

“Didn’t quite work that way, did it?”

“No, it didn’t.” Finn sat back. Vic sipped his coffee as if he were on vacation. Not a care in the world. “Why did you come here?” Finn said. “You could have told Tanya or Coben I called, and they would have made sure I never set foot back in the department.”

“I guess I could have, but then I would have missed the opportunity to make you squirm a little before.”

Finn sat forward, his attention fully focused on Vic. “Before what?”

“Before I tell you Cross is not as alone as he thinks he is. That’s what I came here to say.”

“What’s that mean?”

Vic finished his coffee and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Do you really want to help Cross or do you just want to wallow in self-pity?”

“Do I really need to answer that? Yes I want to help Cross. I don’t care if he hates me. I know he has that right. I helped to put him in Tanya’s hands and I would like to make that right if I can. So I guess the next move is yours. My hand is on the table. If you are here for Tanya then I guess I’m screwed. If you’re really here to help Cross, then tell me what I have to do.”

“Don’t do anything stupid Finn. Stay clear of the department. Do exactly what Tanya wants you to do and forget you ever knew Cross Delancey.” Vic stood, put a couple bills on the table, straightened his jacket and walked away.

Finn watched his back as he disappeared into the crowd. He had no idea what Vic’s word games meant. All he could think of were the images Vic had placed in his head-Cross at the mercy of Tanya and her security team. He pushed away from the table in frustration. “Fuck.”

He wondered if Cross would survive long enough for Finn to tell him his side of things. Vic’s parting words were not lost on him, but Finn knew one thing. There was no way he was sitting back and waiting for something to happen. No way in hell.

Chapter 10

ROBERT GAVE ONE final upward thrust and shuddered as he came. Tanya bit the side of his neck gently as she collapsed on top of him. The man might have his flaws, possessiveness being one of them, but damn, he could curl her toes in bed. He had lasted far longer than her other lovers because of that alone.

She rolled off of him and reached for the sheet that had been kicked to the floor sometime in the last hour. As her heart rate returned to normal and Robert sprawled next to her, she reached for the remote. She saw his scowl of disapproval as the monitor flared to life. Tanya turned on the live feed into Kale Delancey’s cell.

“Seriously? Can’t you forget about that freak for more than an hour?” Robert said.

“Darling, you forget your place. That freak pays your bills.”

The black and white feed showed Kale pacing the small confines of his cell. There was no audio but Tanya didn’t need one to know her charge was agitated.

“It’s not like he’s going anywhere. I don’t get it. You got a sick thing going on with him. I don’t like it.”

Tanya let the feed play, but she put the remote down and turned to face Robert. The man was all hard long lines of nothing but muscle. His face wasn’t bad either. His most attractive quality, however, was he did what he was told. All those things were reasons he shared her bed. But his jealously over how she chose to keep Kale in line might push him out of it if he wasn’t careful. “You don’t tell me how to handle Kale. We’ve had this discussion.”

Robert clearly didn’t like being dressed down but his tone changed. “Yeah, I know. I know. I just don’t get it, that’s all.”

“You don’t have to get it, Robert. All you have to do is continue to keep me satisfied and leave Kale to me. He is fragile and now that Cross is back in a cage where he belongs, Kale is going to act out. I expected this. We’ve made plans for this, have we not?”

“Yes.” Robert sounded petulant now, which annoyed her.

“So, we follow through with those plans and we have nothing to worry about. Kale requires energy to push. We simply keep him exhausted. If he has no energy left, he can’t push, he can’t contact Cross and he will do as I say. Simple.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it, darling. You just have to follow orders. Besides, with Kale occupied doing busy-work, I will have more time left for non-work related activities.” Her hand slipped beneath the sheet so Robert wouldn’t have to think too hard about what she meant. His mood immediately improved. Tanya didn’t object when he assumed the dominate position this time. He needed to be mollified and besides she had a better view of the live feed from this angle. She didn’t care if Robert understood why she handled Kale the way she did.

All she cared about was the fact that she was the one in charge. She called the shots. No one would tell her how to run her unit. No one would deny her because she was female. No one would take anything from her ever again. What was hers, would stay hers. She would fight to keep it that way.

Sometimes it seemed that was all she ever did, fight just to keep what was hers. First it was her body. When her own father took that from her as a child, she fought just to live. When she grew up, she fought her way out of that life and learned, when she entered the military, that life would always be one fight after another. The trick was to win them or learn from them.

There was never defeat. This was no different. She had learned one lesson from her father that would not be forgotten. Sex was as much of a weapon as any knife or gun. And Tanya was a fast learner. She wielded that particular weapon with practiced expertise. Even with Robert, there were no emotions involved. Emotions are what nearly destroyed her when she was young. They were a weakness, and Tanya was not weak.

So, as Robert grunted and sweated on top of her, she watched Kale and she planned exactly how she would use him to gain control over his brother. That was the real challenge, and Tanya would do whatever was needed to win. Anything less was simply not an option.

Chapter 11

HE HAD NEVER done anything like that before. The amount of energy he used was terrifying, even for him. But Tanya had convinced Kale he could do it. More than that, she told him if he wanted to keep Cross safe he would at the very least try. What else could Kale do?

Even before they had brought Cross in, Tanya had him practicing something new. She wanted him to push from a distance. She had talked to him about it but she hadn’t had him try it until now. It had worked with the subject in the next room or even on another floor of the same building. Never any farther.

Today’s plan was to push everyone in a crowd. A crowd more than two miles away. When he objected and told her he couldn’t, that it would take more energy than he had, she’d told him in graphic detail what she would have done to Cross if he failed.

So he pushed. All of them, all at once. It wasn’t a difficult suggestion- she simply wanted him to tell all those people to look at their watches at the same time. Just a quick glance at their left wrist whether they wore a timepiece or not. And it had worked. It had worked even better than he’d expected. It worked so well the results scared him.

Maybe it was good thing Tanya kept him locked up, away from everyone.

His nose started to bleed before he was even through. Now Kale lay on his back in his little room, staring up at the ceiling. His brain felt as if it was leaking out his ears. He wiped blood from his face with the back of his hand.

Getting hit by a truck might have been more pleasurable than what he had just been through. He remembered his face hitting the concrete floor of his room as the push ended. Apparently someone had seen fit to drag him to his bed. He didn’t remember.

He opened his eyes expecting the pain in his head to increase and he wasn’t disappointed. He brought a hand up to rub the pounding behind his eyes and noticed an IV tubing taped to the back. He had no memory of them doing that either.

Guess they thought I did a good job.

Normally if Kale over did it, he was left to his own devices until he healed, but then he was usually trying to piss Tanya off, not help her.

He desperately wanted to contact Cross. He needed to give him the distraction he promised. He had to help him get out. But he couldn’t. Not now. He didn’t even have enough strength to search for his brother’s unique aura in the mass of humanity at the department. This was the closest physically they had been in ten years.

Tanya would not be happy if she knew Kale had been in contact with Cross again and Tanya was a scary person when she wasn’t happy. He knew it was only a matter of time until she figured it out. He never could hide things from her from long.

But this time it was more important. He didn’t care what Tanya did to him, but right now he couldn’t contact Cross if he had to. He was totally tapped out. Even the hand he lifted to his head felt too heavy and he let it drop back to the mattress. Blood smeared on his arm where it had brushed against his face. When he looked down, he saw more blood on his shirt and even on the mattress.

Damn.

He closed his eyes and had nearly drifted off despite the headache, when the door opened. He feigned sleep, knowing full well who had come to see him.

She sat on the edge of the mattress near his knees.

He opened one eye. Maybe it would hurt less if he only used the one eye.

“I’m proud of you Kale. It worked perfectly.” Tanya seemed pleased. One manicured hand pushed hair from his face. “You have to be more careful,” she whispered. “We almost lost you. Can’t have that now can we.”

“Cross?” The single word cost him, but he needed to know. If he couldn’t find out on his own, maybe Tanya would do him this one favor and tell him about Cross.

“Cross is none of your concern. You know that.”

Kale squeezed both eyes shut. “Please.” He despised the pleading tone in his voice but he was too hurt and too wiped out to even pretend to be witty or devious. What was worse, he knew Tanya knew that as well. He understood that was the point. If he was exhausted, he couldn’t help his brother.

“Please, what, Kale? Please tell you that Cross is alive? That he is devastated now that he knows the truth about his life? Tell you that Coben and Gabriel totally destroyed him, that we have isolated him from everyone and everything he thought of as the truth or a friend? Or please tell you that you were instrumental in bringing him in? That now the betrayal is complete?”

Tears leaked out from behind Kale’s closed eyes. No matter how hard he tried not to hear her words, Tanya had made herself understood. She placed a soft kiss on his cheek and wiped the blood from his face with the sheet that covered him. “Now why would I do that Kale, when I know exactly how it would make you feel?”

Silent sobs shook his chest at her words. What had he done? He had only wanted to protect Cross. His entire life– that had been his singular goal. To protect Cross. He had only managed to drag him down into the pit with him. The monsters were swarming and Cross didn’t even know how to identify them.

What did I do?

“Why would I tell you that in your condition? Rest, Kale, heal.” A gentle hand caressed his face. “No further contact. Is that understood?”

He didn’t need to answer. He hated that Tanya knew exactly how her words had affected him. The mattress moved as she stood. With his eyes still closed he heard her walk to the door and knock to be left out.

I’m sorry, man.

He knew Cross couldn’t hear him, not now. But he would do exactly as Tanya told him do. He would rest and he would heal. And when he was well enough he would make strong on the promise he had made to himself all those years ago. He would keep his brother safe. Tanya might not have realized it yet, but she had started a war that Kale was more than willing to finish.

Hold tight, man. This isn’t over.

Chapter 12

CROSS MADE A decision. He wasn’t crazy and Kale wasn’t dead. Whether or not that belief was based on reality didn’t matter. Not anymore.

For nearly a week he waited for Kale’s distraction and when it didn’t happen, Cross understood what he had to do. He could stay where he was and let Coben and Tanya dictate his actions, or he could take control of his life.

Bit by bit anger replaced the sense of helplessness that had nearly overwhelmed him after he’d learned the truth. If there was one thing Cross could never be accused of, it was being helpless. Stubborn pride was what helped him survive those first months of learning how to cope without his sight.

Even if everything Coben and Gabriel told him was the truth, there was no way he was rolling over for them.

No fucking way.

He would deal with this the way he dealt with every obstacle in his life. Head on with no flinching. He desperately needed to find Kale. His brother was alive, and Cross would find him. No maybe about it. But first he needed to find his way out of the room they had locked him in. Yeah, anger was a perfect fit for his situation. The bastards had Niko. That alone was motivation enough.

If Kale wanted him to leave, Cross had no problems with that. Thanks to Finn he now knew the layout of the apartment. The apartments were a few blocks away from the Department’s main building, but were staffed twenty-four seven if anyone was staying there. Each unit was rigged with audio and video surveillance devices which fed into a command center staffed by one or two agents.

Cross had no idea if he was the only occupant of the three-unit complex. But it didn’t matter. The units were all on the first floor, so no stairs or elevator to navigate. That simplified things.

No one had come to wake him yet, so it was still early. He wished for his braille watch so he knew what time it was, but apparently total disorientation was what Tanya was going for. One of the security guards had the TV on in the next room. Although they didn’t have a set schedule, Cross had managed to figure out a routine of sorts.

Tanya never came to him first. It was always one of the guards. So far it had only been two. Robert usually came in with Tanya a few hours after the first guard would wake him up. Cross had heard Robert call him Bernard. He was by far the larger of the two, but Cross felt Robert was the bigger threat. Robert displayed independent thinking. That made him dangerous.

As far as Cross could figure out, Bernard’s main job was to exhaust Cross before Robert and Tanya had at him. He had to give the guy props, Bernard was exquisitely good at his job. First thing he would do is turn on everything in the apartment that made noise, TV, radio, stereo, anything that could disorient Cross. It worked beautifully. Once the assault on his senses started, Bernard would begin the physical attacks.

Cross’s cane had disappeared the first day, so he was left with only his mental map of the apartment. Bernard would rearrange things to purposely trip him up. It was childish and it shouldn’t have bothered him to the extent that it did, but Tanya was very good at psychological warfare.

They always made sure he had enough to drink, but food was hit or miss, as was his sleep. He could pretty much count on starting the day hungry and tired. Bernard would make him breakfast, which Cross was more than welcome to eat, but first he had to find it. It could be anywhere in the apartment or even tipped onto the floor.

They were keeping Cross so mentally and physically spent that there was no way he could even think about using his psychic abilities or, God forbid, contact Kale.

When Tanya and Robert showed up, the real fun started. She was obsessed with having Cross recreate the energy he had used to escape ten-years ago. Once he had managed to form a ball of psi energy in his hands. If he hadn’t already been so exhausted he might have been able to do something more with it, but it only lasted a few minutes before it dissipated.

That only increased Tanya’s efforts.

By this point Cross was close to his breaking point. That morning when he heard Bernard out in the main living area, Cross was glad for the noise. Feet wedged against one wall of the narrow bedroom entry and his back against the other, he inched up until he was directly above the door. All he had to do was wait. Bernard was predictable. A few minutes after he engulfed the small apartment in noise, he barged into the bedroom.

Bernard stopped in the doorway and clapped his hands. “Time to rise and shine!” It was the same line every time.

Cross dropped. He spread eagle and let go. Gravity did the work for him. His weight flattened Bernard. Cross figured he had one shot at this. If Bernard got to his feet, Cross would never get another chance. Tanya would lock him in that glass walled room for sure.

As soon as he touched the floor, Cross rolled and came up fast on his feet. Keeping Bernard’s general location in his head, Cross aimed and hoped to hell he made contact. A low roundhouse and the heel of his foot hit Bernard soundly on the side of his head. From the sound and feel, it was a direct hit. Bernard grunted, but Cross took nothing for granted.

He found Bernard’s hair and used it to know where to drive his elbow down hard across the guard’s nose. Bernard went limp without a sound.

Cross was breathing heavily. His hands were wet with what he assumed was blood. He almost laughed with the shock that he had actually done it.

“Don’t get cocky,” he muttered. “You aren’t out of this yet.” He felt around Bernard’s neck. Finding the lanyard he ripped the ID badge off. Now all he had to do was get out before whoever was watching the monitors realized something was up.

Finn had once told him that no one liked monitor duty. Most of the time the people slept at their posts. Especially early in the morning or late at night. Cross had no idea what time it was and he was too keyed up on adrenaline to try to send out any psychic feelers. All he had going for him was speed and surprise.

It took him two tries to find the door. Then he couldn’t find the key-swipe and when he did, precious seconds ticked by as he had to swipe Bernard’s ID a few times until he heard the soft click of the locks disengage. He had never heard a more beautiful sound.

Sweat poured off him as he closed the door behind him. “To the left, ten steps to the outer-door.” Cross had heard them come in enough times that he started counting how many steps they walked and from which direction. The room wasn’t meant to be escape proof. Guess they figured a blind guy wasn’t going to get too far.

He heard no alarms, no one running after him, nobody yelling at him to stop. Every step he expected either a bullet or the fucking Taser to stop him. Sliding a hand along the wall, Cross counted out the steps to the door at the end of the hallway. He almost fell out of it when it pushed open.

The air rushed over him as he opened the door and stepped outside for the first time in days. The sounds of the city washed over him as he felt for and found a railing leading down stairs. When he reached the bottom he had no idea where to go next. No cane, no Niko, nobody to help steer him in the right direction.

Everybody was moving too fast for him to get a clear lock to use anyone as his eyes. He froze in place until he heard the alarms blare behind him. It would only be a matter of seconds until they found him if he stayed where he was.

“Shit!” His heart slammed against his ribs as Cross stepped into the Manhattan foot traffic. He had never been more terrified in his life. People buffeted against him and turned him around. Twice he stepped off the curb, fumbling against parked cars. Only when he stepped on something sharp did he remember he was barefoot. They had taken his shoes when they took the cane. He found the side of a building and used that as a guide of sorts, but he had no idea where he was going or in which direction. For all he knew he was standing directly in front of the door he just left.

He heard running. Feet hitting the pavement hard and fast, Cross had no doubts that the runners were looking for him.

“He can’t have gone far, I want this area completely canvassed.” Robert’s voice. He was close. Way too close.

Cross froze, unsure what to do, when someone grabbed his arm. His first instinct was to fight. He tried for a simple jujitsu grip but was surprised when his move was countered.

“Take it easy.”

He didn’t recognize the woman’s voice. “Fuck you.” His wrist was in a lock, any move he made only increased the pain.

“Yeah, you’re a real charmer.”

Cross tried to get free, but a small, sharp pain in the side of his neck caused him to suck in his breath. A moment after that, his face was on the concrete and he forgot he was supposed to be fighting back. The noise of the city muffled and then went quiet. His last thought was one word. Caught.

Chapter 13

KALE LAY BACK on his bed and stared at the ceiling. It had been days since his last contact with Cross. It had taken him longer than normal to recover after the massive push Tanya had him do. But now he felt strong, edgy and very caged. Nerves tingled through his system. He needed information and all his normal avenues had been shut off to him. That worried him.

He closed his eyes and searched for Cross. His brother had always appeared to him as a bright light in a dark sea of souls, but as he searched the complex where he was kept and even beyond, all he found was the darkness. He knew they had Cross, but he had no idea where they had him, but he never had trouble finding him before.

He’d always found his brother. Always.

Cross, where the hell are you, man?

Instead of an answer, the door to his room opened. He hadn’t sensed anyone approaching, which showed him just how preoccupied he was. No one surprised Kale.

Tanya sauntered in and the door closed behind her. The deadbolt and electronic locks clicking into place. Locks were as much a part of Kale’s world as isolation. The ceiling lights highlighted her high cheekbones, the full mouth. Such a beautiful monster.

Tanya approached him in two easy steps. “Kale,” her voice soft, his name a purr. “I hate to see you so upset. You know you’re special to me. When you’re in pain, it hurts me as well.” She moved closer to him and placed a soft hand on his face. Kale closed his eyes at the contact. The warm vanilla scent of her filled his head. “Talk to me Kale.” Tanya’s hand slid to his wrist as she pulled him to the bed. Kale sat next to her. She kept her hand in his, and leaned in so her face was close. “Come and tell Tanya what’s wrong.”

One finger traced the contours of his face, down his cheek, along his jaw, to rest at the hollow of his throat. He could feel the trail her touch had left on his skin as if it were fire, and he grabbed her hand to pull it away.

He didn’t want too. He wanted to keep her hand on him. He wanted to feel something other than the cold and pain. He took a deep breath inhaling the scent of her and gathered his courage. He opened his eyes and tried to sound sincere. “No, not this time, Tanya.”

She looked confused, hurt even. “Not this time, what Kale?”

“You know what.”

“I can see you’re upset. I care for you Kale. I know you find that difficult to believe sometimes, but it’s the truth. All your life, all I’ve ever wanted is what was best for you. It hurts me to see you like this. I can help. That’s why I’m here. I want to help you.” She tilted her head to look at him as her free hand gently pushed the hair from his face.

She always sounded so sincere. Every word the truth, and exactly what Kale was desperate to hear, to believe. He hated that he needed her, that despite the fact that he knew she was using him, he wanted her.

God how he wanted her. How he wanted anyone.

He tried to pretend the isolation didn’t matter. But it did. Kale craved what was denied to him. Simple human interaction. Even when he and Cross were little, he was the one who always did as Tanya asked, because it meant he got to see people, to talk to them. To pretend he was normal, if only for a little while.

Back then Cross had been his only companion and that had nearly been enough. But when they took Cross away and locked Kale in a little room it had almost driven him insane.

Maybe it had. Some days Kale wasn’t sure. Tanya starved him of affection and then gave it to him in small doses to control him. Kale understood what she was doing. He could see it easily, but he was helpless to tell her no.

“You know I care for you. Haven’t I always taken care of you?” Tanya pushed the hair from his face in a gesture that was both loving and terrifying. She wanted something from him. Something big. Kale could feel it.

“I can’t.”

“Kale,” her voice was soft, believable. He always wanted to believe her.

His skin felt hot, it tingled where she had touched him. She was the only woman who had ever touched him. The only person for years, who had ever touched with him with something other than pain.

He wanted to pull her close. He wanted to push her away. He was so cold and her touch burned his skin. He shook with the need for her. He wanted to be warm if only for a little while. Tanya chased the cold away. She also froze his soul every time they were together.

Her hands slid down his neck and began to unbutton his shirt. Kale knew he should push her away. Tell her to get her hands off of him. But he had been alone for so long.

He tried to forget the way his body betrayed him. He took a deep breath and forced himself to remember Cross. “Where’s my brother?”

Tanya tilted her head. “Kale, we’ve had this conversation many, many times. But I’m a patient person. I’ve told you, Cross is none of your concern. You do what you’re told and your brother stays safe. What part of that is hard for you to understand?”

He pulled her hands off of him. He shivered from fear and false bravado. “The part where you brought him in. The part where you decided to change the rules. Cross isn’t safe, not anymore.” He didn’t like the way his voice shook as he said the words. He wanted to brave, he wanted to be strong for his brother.

Tanya kissed him gently on his cheek and then moved so her lips lightly brushed over his. Kale breathed in the scent of her. She was like a drug to him. He needed more warmth, the cold was killing him. He let out a shaky breath, touched her hair and even as he hated his weakness, he kissed her back. His body hardening. The fire burning in his gut spread. He felt alive. But when did what he feel ever matter. He fought to remember what was so important only a moment ago. “I know you brought him in, I could feel him,” Kale pull her closer.

Tanya let him. “And how exactly did you feel that, Kale?” she breathed into his ear. “You were in contact with your brother, weren’t you?” Her voice had lost its seductive tone and was now accusatory. “What is my number one rule, Kale? The one rule you choose to break time and time again?”

Kale pushed away from her. He couldn’t think clearly when she was near him like this. “No contact,” Kale said.

“But you have contacted him, haven’t you?” She closed the distance between them, her lips trailing down his throat. “I’m disappointed, Kale. But I can forgive you, all I need is for you to tell me the truth.” She sucked his ear and little shivers of pure lust bubbled through him.

“You and Cross are up to something. I want you to tell me what. I want you to tell me exactly what you told him.”

Panic washed over him. As loving and gentle Tanya could be, she could be just as cruel and hard. He had the scars to prove it. “No,” he shook his head.

She looked disappointed at the answer. “Kale,” she purred, as her fingers weaved through his hair. “We both know that’s a word you are never to say to me. We both understand the consequences of that word. But I can forgive the indiscretion this once, if you’ll do something for me. It’s what you want anyway. I want you to contact Cross, for me, Kale.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him deeply, her body moving against his.

He was in hell. He was in heaven.

He turned with her in his arms and pushed her down on the small bed. She let him, but as he started to work the buttons on her blouse she placed a hand over his.

“Will you do that for me, Kale? I am concerned about Cross. He’s lost—we need your help to assured that he is well. Isn’t that what we both want?

“No tricks, I will allow you to break the rules this one time. Will you do that for me?” Her breath was sweet and warm on his skin. Maybe this time, she meant it. The concern in her eyes seemed genuine, as did her desire for him.

God, he wanted it to be real. He needed it to be real. His heart beat wildly against his chest, his need for her nearly overwhelming all else. He had to concentrate just to get the words out.

“Anything, I’ll do anything.” he said as his tongue tasted her neck. He straddled her as she undid the button of his jeans. She shoved his pants down past his thighs and then he sucked in a breath as her hand glided over him. Her hand gripped him too tightly, hurting him, but he didn’t object. The pain was penance for his giving into her. He embraced the pain.

“Hell,” he grunted, as his body took over and gave her what she demanded of him.

They had played at this game for far too long for him to object to it now. Tanya always got what she wanted from him and Kale – Kale got what he craved. He wanted to be stronger than he was, but the truth was he never would be and Tanya knew that.

“Find your brother for me, Kale. Can you do that?”

“I tried,” His shaking hand slid up her thigh, pushing her skirt with it. “I can’t find him.” He stopped and suddenly realized what she was saying. “Wait. Are you telling me Cross got out?”

She stared up at him. “We need him back. He has been deceived. He’s vulnerable right now and we know how to help him. He may have been drugged. He’d be helpless. You wouldn’t want your brother helpless, would you?”

Cross needed to be safe.

She arched her body against him and images of his brother vanished. All that existed was the woman beneath him.

His hands found her naked breasts. Then his mouth.

“Would it be difficult if he was drugged?” Tanya breathed in his ear.

“Yes, his energy would be dampened.” His heard his own voice husked with desire.

Tanya clasped his face in both her hands and his attention was suddenly riveted on her words, not her body. “Then you will look for him again? You’ll tell me where he is? I don’t want to hurt him, I only want to help him understand what is happening to him. You could be together again. Wouldn’t you like that, to be with Cross again after all these years?”

Kale’s head cleared a little. He could be with Cross again? “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes I would like that.”

“Then you will help me find him, won’t you?”

“Yes. I’ll help Cross.”

I promise.

Tanya smiled and Kale took what she gave him. She helped him shed the rest of her clothes and wrapped her legs around his waist.

Kale knew what she was doing, but he was so alone.

He hated Tanya and he loved her. The woman had manipulated him on every possible level and it sickened him. She isolated him, made him need her, she made him love her. He was lost. This was hell and Tanya Santiago was his devil.

Chapter 14

SHADOWS AND LIGHT. That’s all Cross saw as he opened his eyes. Nothing new. He put a hand to his head to try and stop the pounding there and sat up. In that instance he remembered. His attack on Bernard, his panicked run, his confusion. And then the woman on the street. Before the uncertainty could build into fear and the fear into panic, a quiet voice startled him.

“Hey, you’re awake.”

The voice came from the corner of the room off to his left, it was female and Cross didn’t recognize it. “Where am I? Who are you?” He turned toward its source and tried for intimidation.

“My name is Maizey and you are safe Cross Delancey.” Ireland sang in every syllable of her words. She didn’t sound very intimidated.

Cross rubbed the back of his neck, the source of the pain. “You’ll forgive me if I choose not to believe just your word.”

“You don’t really have to now, do you?” Maizey moved from where she had been sitting and came closer.

He tensed slightly until he heard liquid being poured.

“Here,” she placed a glass in his hand. “For the headache.”

Cross eyed her suspiciously.

“It’s just water, love,” she laughed. “The sedative leaves you dehydrated. Come on, drink up. I have someone who has been waiting to meet you.”

“And what if I want to stay right where I’m at?”

“Then I guess I’ll have to bring him to you. I understand the nerves, but believe me, you have never been anywhere safer in your entire life. Go ahead, have a peek. I know you want to.”

Cross understood what Maizey was saying. She was inviting him to have look inside her head. If she was trying to hide something from him, he would be able to tell. He hesitated only a moment before sending psychic energy in her direction.

He had never entered a more open mind. Most people have walls around their psyches. It was purely instinctive, not something done on a conscious level. Cross normally had to pick his way through several layers of protection before he found the truth of who a person was.

Maizey had no layers. No walls. She was refreshingly and candidly open. She had a vibrant aura about her.

Cross found the experience a bit unsettling. He had never met anyone who seemed so alive. The first thing he learned was that she had told him the truth. He was safe here, where ever here was. Not the Department, of that he was at least sure. He felt no threat from her or from the people he sensed around him.

The second thing he learned was the kicker. He pulled the seeking energy back inside and canted his head in her direction. He wasn’t worried over his safety now, but he was, without a doubt, intrigued.

She let out a hearty chuckle. “Weren’t expecting that, now were you? Come on, love, let’s go meet Charlie.” Maizey took Cross by one arm and gently guided him out of the room. He sensed the space he walked through was closed in.

“We’re underground,” he said. It wasn’t a question, he knew it to be a fact.

“Safer that way. We have tunnels under every part of this island and most of the other boroughs. But our main division is here in Manhattan.”

“Why?” he said.

“Why is it safer, or why underground?”

“Both.”

“We are safe here,” a deep voice filled with rich baritones and a pronounced Irish brogue answered Cross. He swiveled his head to the left and waited for the man to speak again. “From your Department of Paranormal Research. This place is a safe haven for people like us.”

“Charlie?” Cross assumed.

“Indeed. And it is my pleasure to meet you at last, Cross Delancey.”

Cross detected no threat from these people, and he sensed a lot of lives in the small area surrounding him. If Maizey was to be believed these people had saved him from Tanya, and wasn’t that just ironic. Just a few days ago these people had been his job, his quarry. “And you definitely have me at a disadvantage. It was you that took me off the streets before Tanya could?”

“Not me specifically, but yes we made sure the Department did not get you back under its thumb.”

“Let’s start with why and work up from there.”

“I have waited for this day for over twenty years,” Charlie said. “Now that it’s here, I find myself uncharacteristically at a loss for words.”

“Okay, how about I start with some questions.” Without waiting Cross turned to where Maizey still stood. “When I read you, I found that you’re like me. You’re a psychic.”

“You flatter me. I am nowhere nearly as talented as you, but yes, I have the ability. I’m also telekinetic to a small degree, but mostly I can make people see whatever I want them to see, or whatever I don’t want them to see.”

“That was you. You made them lose me in that crowd.” Cross thought he was beginning to understand now.

“Well I had to do something, love. You were like a lost little lamb out there. Ten seconds more and they would’ve been the ones to jab you with a needle. I can guarantee you wouldn’t have woken up in as pleasant surroundings.”

Cross’s hand went to the tender spot at the back of his neck again. “Thank you, I think. So this place… All of you here…”

“Have some ability or another that would greatly interest that Department you worked for.” Charlie said. “Most of us have hidden the truth of who we are our entire lives. Here we don’t have to do that. Here we can be as free as anyone can be.”

“How do you know me?” Cross said. “How did you know where I was, or where I would be?”

Charlie let out a sad heavy sigh. “We knew where you were because we have inside information.”

“What? You mean you have a mole in the Department?” Cross considered that and then dismissed it. “No. No way. I would have known. That was my job. To figure out who deviated from the norm, who had aberrancies. I would have sensed it.”

“But you didn’t. That’s how good my guy is,” Charlie said. “Trust me, he was instrumental in giving you the time you needed to escape. But to answer your second question. I have known about both you and your brother since the moment you were born.” Charlie sounded almost wistful when he spoke again. “You both look very much like my Maria.”

Cross’s breath caught in his chest. “Your Maria.”

“My daughter, Cross. Maria Clarey, your mother, was my daughter.”

Chapter 15

THIS ONE WAS going to be tricky, but Kale was reasonably sure he could pull it off. Tanya wanted him to find Cross. He knew he couldn’t simply stick with the ‘“I can’t find him”’ line. There was no way she would buy it.

He had felt Cross in his head for days now, but he hadn’t contacted him. Mostly because Tanya wanted him to. Just the fact that Kale knew his brother was alive sent relief surging through him.

Tanya was furious that her team had lost him. It took a great deal of effort just for Kale to keep from smiling about that. Cross always could take care of himself better than anyone Kale had ever known.

When she entered his room followed by Gabriel, Kale was shocked. He was seldom allowed to see or talk to anyone save Tanya. His isolation had been strictly enforced. If they needed to move him, he was always sedated first. Tanya always had him experiment with his powers through the walls of his room, never face to face. Not for years. For her to actually bring Gabriel to him, told Kale one thing. She was desperate. She wanted Cross back and no one was going to stop her.

Kale wasn’t sure he could stop her. He only knew he had to try, because there was no way he was leading Tanya to Cross. No way in hell. Kale would pay for that disobedience. The price would be high, probably messy and undoubtedly painful.

“I assume you recognize your father,” Tanya said.

Kale snorted. “My father. Yeah, whatever.”

Gabriel looked older than Kale remembered him. Deep lines were etched around his eyes and mouth, but he still wore the same smug expression. Kale hated that expression. He understood Gabriel’s psychic powers were strong. Big fucking deal. Kale was stronger, but he wasn’t going to let Gabriel—or Tanya know it. Neither Tanya nor Gabriel understood exactly what Kale was capable of. He was counting on that.

“This is what’s going to happen,” Gabriel said. It was clear he wasn’t pleased with being told what to do any more than Kale. At the end of the day Tanya owned him as much as she owned Kale. “I am going to link with you and you are going to find Cross.”

Kale turned to Tanya. “I’m crushed. Don’t you trust me, darling?”

Tanya stroked Kale’s cheek with a crimson nail. “Not even a little. Gabriel will basically piggy-back your psychic energy. You are not to alert Cross to his presence, and don’t tell me you can’t keep his presence hidden. I know you can. I want you to find out who has him, where they have him, and I want you to tell me. Do you understand, Kale?”

“And if I say, no? If I just say screw you and decide not to help you find him, what then? What are you going to do to me? Hurt my brother?” Kale shook his head. He had been thinking about it since she left him spent, but with a clearer head. She didn’t care what she did to him.

“Cross is, for the first time in his life, out of your control. He’s safe. So if you can’t hurt him, then who? Me? Are you going to beat me, torture me? Kill me?” Kale put a fist under his chin and pretended to ponder. “Do what you want to me. I really don’t care anymore.” That wasn’t entirely true, but Kale was proud of his bravado.

Tanya kept the scary grin on her face and circled Kale as if appraising his worth. “Ah, Kale,” she sighed. A disappointed parent trying to teach the wayward child a lesson. “I know you don’t care what happens to you, and you’re right, I can no longer threaten you with your brother’s well-being. So what am to do?” She went to the door and rapped lightly. A girl was pushed through the opening. She couldn’t be more than fifteen and she was clearly terrified as she looked around with wide, tear-filled eyes. Her hands were tied in front of her and Robert held her by one arm.

Tanya smoothed the girl’s hair away from her face. The girl cringed at her touch.

“This is Sybil. Cross and his team were supposed to bring her and her brother in a few nights ago. Instead they managed to level an entire cemetery. While her brother is still out there, we did manage to find sweet Sybil.”

Kale knew Tanya. He didn’t need to sneak a peek in her head to know this was not going to end well. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

He didn’t want to look in the girl’s eyes. It was as if she understood what was happening as well. “Look, I had to try, okay? Gabriel can go along for the ride if he wants, but I swear I’ll find Cross, and I’ll tell you exactly where he’s at.”

Tanya seemed disappointed. “Now, why couldn’t I get that level of commitment from you before I had to go and threaten this sweet young thing?” She held a hand out to Robert who handed her his handgun. She held it to the girl’s head.

Sybil squealed when the barrel touched her temple “Find your brother, Kale and let Gabriel in. If you lie I will kill her.”

Kale held his hands up as if to stop her. “Okay, okay. Just chill.” He flicked a nervous glance toward Gabriel. “Go, do your thing man, just stay in the background, I’ll cover your presence. He’ll never know you’re there.”

“He’d better not,” Tanya said.

Kale felt Gabriel inside his head a moment later. This wasn’t going to be easy. He closed his eyes to concentrate and then focused on Gabriel’s energy inside his own mind.

Kale pushed Gabriel.

I’m doing what she wants, I’m looking for Cross.

It was a delicate thing to accomplish. Gabriel had seen him use his gift. He had been in Kale’s head when he had pushed other people. Kale had no idea if he would see past the trick this time.

If he did, Kale knew he had killed the girl just as sure as if he’d pulled the trigger. He waited for a moment and pushed Gabriel again, this time a little harder.

I’m looking, I’m having difficulty tracking him down- too much pressure, I’m looking!

“He’s looking,” Gabriel told Tanya. “You have him a bit ruffled with the girl, but he’s looking.”

Kale smiled on the inside. It was working, now if he could just keep it up until he spoke to Cross. It was almost like splitting a piece of himself off and keeping it blind to what the other part was doing.

Cross! Where ever you are, please, man let me in.

Kale searched in the dark for Cross’s energy and almost immediately found him. When Kale zeroed in on him, he was a little startled to find his brother had been looking for him. He took the energy offered to him by Cross, combined it with the ambient energy surrounding them, and materialized inside Cross’s mind. That connection was there for him as it always had been.

But there was something different about Cross. Something that hadn’t been there before, not for a very long time. Kale understood an instant later when Cross opened his mind to him. Kale’s energy materialized in front of his brother. Cross looked good, rested, his mind felt at peace.

“You’re okay?” The image of Kale sat next to Cross on the narrow cot. His brother was alone, but Kale could sense a lot of people nearby.

“I’m good, I was worried about you. I wasn’t sure how to go about finding you. You were always the one to come to me.”

“Where are you Cross? Where is this place?”

Cross ran a hand through his hair and shrugged. “I’m not really sure. I waited for your move, a distraction. When one didn’t come, I took matters into my own hands and got out.”

“I know,” Kale looked sideways at Cross. “You pissed a lot of people off.”

“I didn’t get you in trouble did I? Tanya didn’t hurt you?”

Kale narrowed his gaze at Cross. “I can handle Tanya.” Kale suddenly understood what was different about his brother. “You know. Don’t you?”

“Yeah, I know the truth. What I did when we were fourteen. What happened afterwards. What they did to me. What you did to keep me safe. What you’ve done all these years just to keep me safe. Kale…”

“My choice. It has always been my choice.”

“I’m going to get you out.”

“Tanya’s looking for you. That’s what I came to tell you. Don’t worry about me. You stay clear of that bitch. If I don’t contact you, it’s because I can’t. Do you understand?”

“Then I’ll find you –”

“No, you’re not listening to me. I didn’t spend the last ten years keeping you safe just to see you wind up exactly where I am.

“Don’t contact me, Gabriel will pick up on where you are. Stay as far away from this hell hole as you can. Run, Cross. Do what you wanted to do all those years ago, and just run. I got your back, man. I always have.”

Kale felt Gabriel pressing him for information. Tanya wanted answers and Tanya wasn’t good at being patient. He withdrew from Cross’s mind. He didn’t want to, but he knew he had to. He couldn’t hold Gabriel back for much longer.

He also knew the lie he had to sell. The tears weren’t hard to manufacture, and neither was the mental fatigue. Both were real, but not for the reasons he wanted Tanya and Gabriel to believe. He broke contact with Cross and stopped the push on Gabriel. The result left him unbalanced and he staggered. A moment later Gabriel ended the connection and Kale was alone inside his head.

He had fallen to the floor. With a hand on the bedframe, he righted himself. Tears leaked from his eyes as he pulled himself to sit back on his bed.

“What did he learn?” Tanya asked Gabriel. It was clear the information wasn’t coming as fast as she wanted it. “Did you find him? Where’s Cross?” she demanded of Kale.

He hadn’t counted on using so much energy just to keep Gabriel out of his consciousness. He had planned on pushing her to believe him. Now he was going to have to make do with lying. “He’s dead.” Kale put venom and guilt, pain and anger behind the words. “You goddamn bitch. He’s dead.” He lunged for Tanya, but the fatigue was real enough. Controlling Gabriel’s thoughts, while communicating with Cross, had tapped him out.

He fell to his knees and settled for leaning back against the bed and glaring up at her. It was a truth. In his mind, he would never see Cross again. He hoped to hell Gabriel didn’t look too deeply at the words. He was too wiped to block him, or push him.

“What? How?” Tanya didn’t sound happy. The hand holding the gun wavered as she took a step toward Kale.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I only know he’s dead.”

She turned to Gabriel. “Is it true? Is Cross really dead?”

“His grief is real, but I couldn’t get a clear read when I was in his head. He was blocking me. I’m not sure how, but I only saw what he wanted me to see.”

Kale panicked. He stood, and wobbled until he could lean against the wall for support. “No, that’s not true. He saw what I saw. I couldn’t get a clear read on Cross because he was dead. Energy still surrounds the body for a few hours after death, so he hasn’t been gone long. That’s why I had a hard time finding him. That’s why it seemed like I was blocking you. I swear I wasn’t! I swear it.” He was breathing too fast and sweating freely. He’d blown it. He underestimated Gabriel and he blew it. Fuck!

Gabriel shook his head. “He’s lying. I’m not sure what he did, but I know he’s lying.”

Tanya kept her gaze locked directly on Kale as she put the gun up to the girl’s head and pulled the trigger. Sybil’s head erupted in a fine spray of pink mist. Gray mattered splattered the walls of Kale’s room as her lifeless body dropped to the floor like a bag of wet laundry.

“No, no.” Kale couldn’t seem to turn away. The girl’s eyes were open and stared up at him, accusing him, blaming him for her death.

“You killed her Kale. No one else, just you. You put your brother’s life ahead of this girl’s.”

Kale slid down the wall to sit on the floor. A puddle of blood spread out from Sybil’s head in a growing circle.

Tanya gave the revolver back to Robert. “Take care of this.” She motioned to Sybil’s body. “Then you get to have some fun. He can’t push you. Not like this.” She looked over her shoulder at Kale. “Just don’t kill him. I’m not done with him yet.”

Robert made eye contact with Kale and his mouth twitched. “Yes ma’am.”

Kale squeezed his eyes shut. He had gambled and lost. Payback was coming and it had a hard on for Kale.

He had played with his guard’s minds over the years. Pushing them, making them believe they were seeing things that weren’t there. Creating the things he knew terrified them the most. It had been his only form of entertainment. They hated him, but they couldn’t touch him, because Tanya said so.

Now she had given each and every one of them the permission for a little payback.

He heard Robert pull Sybil’s body from his room and when he looked up he saw the swath of bright red. Her hair had painted the floor in blood.

A moment later three muscle-bond men joined Robert in his room. The door closed behind them with a final metal clang.

“You sure he can’t pull any of that shit on us?” one of them said.

“Look at him. I don’t think he could shove a six-year-old down the stairs right now,” said Robert.

The first guy looked like a shark circling prey. “Sweet.” He shook out a coil of rope.

They were right about one thing. Kale couldn’t fight back if he wanted to, but that didn’t mean he still couldn’t screw with them a little.

The third man had grabbed both of Kale’s wrists so Shark-guy could tie his hands together.

Kale grinned and waggled his brows. “Boo.”

Shark-guy dropped the rope and double-timed it back to the door.

Kale winked. “Gotcha.”

“You son-of-a-bitch,” Shark-guy returned to where Kale still slumped next to the wall. He tied the rope too tight around his wrists, but Kale still grinned.

“You little fuck. Let’s see how long it takes me to beat that cocky look off your face.”

Kale saw the backhand blow coming and a moment later tasted blood. His brain buzzed as he felt them hoist him to his feet and loop the rope around a hook above his head on the wall.

His little cell had doubled as a hospital room for him more than once and the hook on the wall had been used to hold IV bags. Today it held Kale. His shoulders burned as they took his weight.

“Yeah, this is going to be fun,” the first guy said. They all closed in on him and Kale closed his eyes. Maybe they would forget Tanya’s instructions and just kill him. Maybe if they did him that small favor, he could finally find his freedom after all.

Chapter 16

“MY MOTHER...” CROSS couldn’t finish the sentence. “You’re my...”

“I’m your grandfather.” Charlie clarified for him.

Cross needed to sit down. His knees buckled and someone helped eased him down to the ground.

“Quite a lot to take in all once,” Charlie said.

“I don’t...” Cross shook his head. “I don’t understand.” He only had vague memories of his mother and he wasn’t sure those could be trusted. “I don’t remember her very well. They took my memories. They took me.”

The enormity of what had been done to him suddenly hit Cross hard. He angled sightless eyes toward where he thought Charlie was. “I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be anymore. What’s real, what’s fake, who’s using me and who I can trust. I don’t even know what or who I should be running from anymore.” He was suddenly exhausted at trying to figure it all out. Too many secrets, too many lies, not enough truths.

A warm calloused hand touched his face. “That’s what family is for Cross. To help you find your way through the maze of lies and deceit,” Charlie said.

“What if you can’t tell the difference?”

“They have hurt you so much, my boy. Just like they hurt my sweet Maria. She blamed herself for letting them have you and Kale. She was too good, too unspoiled, and they warped what she was until it broke. Until she broke.” Charlie’s voice was sad but resigned as if he had already grieved through a lifetime’s worth of pain. “I can feel you teetering on the brink, Cross. I can help you. If you let me.”

Cross had heard the words before, from Gabriel. He gave him a hard grin. “Everybody, suddenly, wants to help me, Charlie. What makes you any different?”

“I’m all for keeping that cynicism alive and kicking,” Charlie said. “But what makes me different is I can actually help you see the truth.”

Cross grunted. “That would be a great trick. I don’t even know what the truth is anymore. How you could show it to me?”

“Well you got me there, I can’t show you anything.”

“You just said you were going to tell me the truth.”

“No, what I said is that I could help you see the truth.”

“I’m not in the mood for word games here, Charlie. Just tell me what the hell you want from me. You didn’t save me from Tanya out of the goodness of your heart. You want something from me. What is it?”

Cross heard Charlie move to sit in front of him. “What I want Cross, is my daughter back. But Gabriel Delancey and Tanya Santiago took her from me. What I want is a world where people don’t hunt each other for what they can take. A world where my grandsons are not treated like someone else’s property. I want to live without the fear of being taken from my home in the middle of the night because I am not what everyone else considers normal.” Charlie’s voice had thickened with emotions.

“What I want, Cross are my grandsons, safe with me.” That strong calloused hand touched his cheek. Charlie cupped his face. “I understand your reluctance to trust anyone ever again. I’m not asking you for that. My small talent is a simple one, but perhaps for you it might be the most important one.

“I can help you see past the lies and deceit, Cross. Past all the horrible things that have been done to your mind, I can strip it bare and allow you to see the naked truth. There will be no buffers, nothing to shield you from what you will learn. But when it is done, you will know, without a doubt, what is real and what it is they want you to believe.”

Cross sucked in a breath. “You can do that?”

“Yes, I can do that, but the truth isn’t always easy to accept. Sometimes it can do more harm than the lies.”

Cross didn’t even have to think about it. “Do it.”

“You can’t pick and choose what you see. I can’t soften it.”

“I get it, I can’t move forward if I don’t know who to trust. Do it.”

He heard Charlie sigh. “I can’t erase the damage caused by the bullet. But the things they hid from you, the things you thought were the truth, I can show you what is fact and what is fiction. First I need you to relax. Maizey.”

Cross had nearly forgotten the girl was in the room with them. He felt her hand under his arm.

“Here, love.” She led him to a low bed, or cot. “Just lie down and close your eyes.”

“What exactly does he do?” Cross did as she asked and closed his eyes.

“He’s already doing it,” she said. “Open your eyes, Cross.”

When he did he saw Maizey standing next to him. He turned and took in his surroundings. He stood in the middle of nothingness. A vast, white, featureless space surrounding him. He turned back to Maizey and realized he shouldn’t be seeing anything at all. “Where are we? How am I seeing this? How am I seeing you?”

“You aren’t really,” she said. “This is your mind Cross. What you’re seeing is your interpretation of reality.”

“My reality is a fuzzy white nothing?” he motioned to her. “What about you, I don’t know what you look like. Why am I seeing you?”

“Your reality is what you imagine it to be in your head. You hear my voice and in your mind you imagine what I look like. The nothing around us is there because you have yet to imagine what the world around you looks like. Once Charlie leads you into familiar territory that will change.”

Cross thought he understood. She was right about one thing, Maizey looked exactly how he had imagined her. Long auburn hair, with freckles splashed across her cheeks and nose. Bright blue eyes that sparkled when she smiled. She looked exactly how she sounded. Beautiful with attitude. If this wasn’t real, Cross couldn’t say he minded very much.

“Why are you here with me? If this is my reality, my truths, why are you a part of it. I just met you.”

“We have found that sometimes the truth can be, shall we say, unsettling. People can lose their way, reject what they are shown and then not know how to get back to where they started. I am here as an anchor. A lifeline if you need it, a guide if you want one. If you don’t need me I will be in the shadows waiting to help you find your way out.”

“You linked with me,” Cross said. He could feel her in his mind, now that he knew to look for her. But her presence was amazingly subtle and unobtrusive. A whisper. A mere suggestion of a whisper. If she hadn’t appeared to him he would never have known she was there at all.

Maizey nodded. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s safer this way.” She closed her eyes briefly and then smiled as she opened them. “Charlie’s ready.” She motioned behind him and Cross turned to find his past.

He saw himself and Kale. They were six, maybe seven. Wires connected them both to monitors as men and women in white coats hovered around them. Kale and he lay side by side. His brother made faces, trying to get him to smile, but Cross knew he wasn’t in the mood to smile. He was mad. He watched the little boy he used to be and he knew he was visiting a memory that had been taken from him. Tests and more tests.

Can you make the numbers on the monitor go up, Cross? Can you move the pencil on the table? Come on, try, you can do it.

Yeah, he could do it, but there was no way he was gonna, not for them. Especially not for her.

Tanya.

The tall blond woman sat at the edge of the bed and smiled at him. He remembered how much he’d hated that smile. How much he’d hated her. He could feel it seething through him now just remembering. How could he have forgotten how much he hated Tanya?

Small isolated things. The tree house built under the skylight in the indoor garden, a small attempt at normalcy. Kale and he looking up at the stars at night through the skylight, a promise made in blood and innocence, planning a future they both knew would never happen. The one thing that remained constant was his love for his brother and the anger. The anger and the hate he had at everyone. God, how he remembered that. How he felt that.

He remembered the punishments for disobedience. At first they were simple, but as Tanya realized withholding dinner was getting her nowhere, she became more creative. The beatings, leaving him tied and broken in his room, isolating him from Kale, from his mother. Tasers had been a favorite method of persuasion. One, as Cross remembered, that had almost broken him. For years he had managed to keep what he could do from them. But as shock after shock coursed through his twelve-year-old body he very nearly gave her what she wanted. He had managed to hold out- or rather pass out. He had known he had to get out or die in the attempt. If he didn’t, when Tanya was finished with him, or when he convinced her he was of no use to them, she would have him killed. He’d known this because he had been in Tanya’s mind. He understood what she had planned for both him and Kale. They were both to be rented out on military and private contracts. They were nothing more than a commodity to Tanya.

Cross hadn’t fully understood what that meant back then, but his resolve to leave only hardened with the knowledge. It took some doing but he convinced Kale they needed to leave. Always the peacekeeper, Kale had tried to protect Cross from Tanya. He would show her anything she wanted, do anything she wanted if only she would leave Cross alone.

He can’t do anything. I would know if he could! Cross had heard him tell Tanya that, more than once.

But Cross could do things. Things way cooler than peeking around inside someone’s head. And Kale knew that.

Fourteen. They’d melted the locks on their room. Easy peezy. That was one trick Kale had never shared with Tanya- their ability to manipulate ambient energy and use it as a weapon. It was stronger when Cross and Kale linked together.

They were stronger together.

That was the one secret they both strived to keep from her.

“Nothing stops us.” Cross had told Kale. “If we stay here, she’ll kill us. We get out or we die. We die together.”

It was a promise.

God, he could still feel the determination. He remembered feeling terrified as armed men shot at them.

They’re trying to kill us! And then in the clarity of Charlie’s truth, Cross looked again. The agents surrounding them held Tasers and big rifles with darts- CO2 guns. Tranquilizers.

Tanya had told him the truth. All those people. He had killed all of them. Not one of them was trying to kill him. They were only trying to stop him. How could he not have seen that?

His breath caught in his chest as another truth forced its way into his memory. He had known, and he hadn’t cared! He could feel it all now. As clearly as if it were happening all over again. He remembered targeting the men, he remembered killing them. He’d felt nothing at their deaths. No wait, he did feel something – he’d felt vindicated.

He remembered Kale trying to stop him. But nothing was stopping him.

Except a bullet.

Cross went to his knees in his white-hazed reality and try to block the memories, but that wasn’t an option, Charlie had warned him. “No more. Please, no more.”

But the truth couldn’t be stopped. Maizey appeared at his side and helped him up as the memories continued.

He felt hatred, intense hatred and it was directed toward one person. The only person he hated more than Tanya was Gabriel. They might have made it out if not for Gabriel. Images and feelings came at him hard and fast. Anger and fear and then a brief moment of blinding pain.

Waking up. Confusion, darkness. Understanding what they planned to do to him, and being helpless to stop it.

Cross squeezed his eyes closed at that revelation- he remembered being awake and blind, and listening to them discuss what they were about to do to him. My God, how he had fought them. He had tried to refuse Gabriel access to his mind, but he was too weak. Gabriel was too strong.

They took his memories. They took who he was and made him into what they wanted him to be.

Anger, shame and guilt overwhelmed him. Cross opened his eyes and found only the white nothingness once more. Where was he? What had they done to him? He didn’t like this anymore, he wanted out. But more than that, he wanted to hurt someone, lash out at the injustice, at the rape of his youth, of his mind. But that rage had been at the core of the boy who had murdered twelve people without a second thought.

My God!

“Cross?”

He whirled toward the voice and found Maizey standing there. What was she doing there? He needed to hurt someone, he needed to let the anger out. God how he needed to let the anger out, but not at her. He gulped air but couldn’t get enough in his lungs. Sweat ran down his face, everything spun around him.

Falling.

A hand under his arm steadied him.

“Let me take you home.” An angel’s voice with an Irish lilt. His blue-eyed angel with the red hair.

“Home,” Cross considered the word. “I don’t have one anymore.”

Maizey smiled and his anger melted. “Yes you do, love. Come back with me.”

Cross took her hand and the white nothingness faded into shadow and light.

Cross opened his eyes, the anger only a memory. The guilt very much alive. He took a breath and felt Maizey’s hand still in his. “Did you see it too?”

“Aye, I did.”

“I killed those people.”

“I know. Not that they didn’t deserve it.”

“They were only trying to stop us and I killed them.”

“And if they had managed to stop you, Tanya would have had them kill you and your brother when you were no longer of any use to her. I could see that. Don’t you feel any guilt over their deaths, they weren’t worth it. That is Tanya manipulating you again.”

“Maybe I do belong inside a glass-walled room,” Cross said.

“If I thought that was true for one minute I would never had brought you back here.”

“I remember. I remember everything.” He sat on the edge of the bed and waited until Maizey sat next to him. “All these years, Kale has stayed there to protect me, hasn’t he?”

“Yes.”

The voice that answered him wasn’t Maizey’s, and it wasn’t Charlie. Cross recognized it easily enough, but that didn’t explain why he was hearing it here. “Vic?”

“Surprise.”

“You? You’re the inside guy?”

“Imagine that. I pulled one over on a psychic,” Vic rumbled out a laugh.

“How? I would’ve known.”

“But you didn’t, now did you?” Charlie said. “You promised Vic and Finn you wouldn’t look in their heads. If there was one thing we were certain of, Cross, it was when you made a promise you kept it. You had no reason not to trust Vic, so why would you go back on your word?”

“Finn?” Cross felt like he was looking at his life from a completely different angle. Like a prism moving in the light, it showed you something different depending on how you look at it.

“He doesn’t know. But you have to understand something, Cross, he fought for you.”

“Sure right up to the moment he turned me in.”

“He never turned you in. You did that all by yourself. He played along to keep an eye out for you. Right now he’s suspended. Tanya pulled him from your case. He called me, wanted me to help find out anything I could about you. He wanted to help you, regardless of what it cost him. I just thought you should know that.”

Cross considered that, but he wasn’t ready to deal with his feelings toward Finn yet. Another thought pulled him to his feet. “I have to get Kale out of there. He’s protected me all this time, and now it’s my turn. I don’t care what happens to me, but I have to get Kale out of there.”

“Do you even realize where ‘there’ is?” Vic said. “Tanya has that boy’s head so royally messed up, I don’t even know if he wants out. No one sees him but her. No one talks to him but her. She has him so totally dependent on her, he doesn’t know how to think for himself anymore.”

Cross shook his head. “No, he’s come to me. All these years I was never sure if he was real or imagined, but he always came to me. He warned me this was going to happen. He has always been watching over me, looking out for me. I refuse to believe Tanya owns him so completely.”

“What do you mean, he’s come to you?” Vic sounded confused and maybe even concerned. Cross wondered if he had just betrayed his brother, but then decided these people had saved him. For better or worse he had made the decision to trust them.

“Up here,” Cross tapped the side of his head. “Ever since I woke up blind in the hospital all those years ago. He would appear to me in my mind.” Cross considered that with his new-found truths. “He was trying to look out for me, protect me, all these years.” He turned his head in Vic’s direction. “It’s my fault he is where he is. My fault Tanya has kept him the way she has. What the hell have I done to him?”

“Don’t put that on yourself,” Vic said. “You did what you had to do and so did Kale.”

“He’s my brother. I’ll get him out of there if I have to do it on my own.”

“No one said you had to do it on your own,” Vic said. “I just said it wasn’t going to be easy.”

The hatred and the anger he remembered from the first time he tried to get them out flared to life inside of Cross. It felt good. He didn’t want to forget how good it felt. He didn’t ever want to forget that again. “Charlie, will you help me?”

“We’ve waited over ten years to get you back, both of you. I don’t think there’s anyone in these tunnels who wouldn’t help you.”

Cross had finally finished what he’d started when he was fourteen. He had gotten out. But the price had been too high. His sight and his brother.

Tanya had kept Kale like a pet. She’d twisted the truth and used him to perform for her. And Kale had let her to keep Cross safe. If Cross had known, he would have killed Tanya years ago. He knew now. “I am bringing Kale home.” The tone of his voice left little to be argued with.

“We,” Vic corrected. “We, are bringing Kale home.” He clapped Cross lightly across the back. “Welcome to the Underground, Cross. Welcome to being one of the hunted.”

Chapter 17

FINN WAS ON his third beer. It was a particularly hoppy IPA that tasted smooth going down. Normally he would have appreciated that, but as he watched the sun set over the harbor, all he could think about was how messed up things were. Finn lived in a renovated 19th century firehouse in Battery Park. It was narrow but the open loft and exquisite views more than made up for the lack of floor space. The original wrought iron spiral staircase and fire pole had been preserved. The top of the front wall sported twenty foot arched windows looking out over the harbor. Finn loved sitting in his loft looking out over the water. He loved this hectic, noisy, dangerous city. This is where he normally found his center, his peace. But the last five days that peace eluded him at every turn, as did sleep.

Go someplace warm, Tanya had told him.

Screw that.

His head buzzed with the effects of the alcohol, but he wasn’t nearly as numb as he wanted to be, or as he intended to be. He could still think coherently and that wouldn’t do. He didn’t want to think tonight, because when he did all he thought about was what a douche he was. He pulled on the beer, leaned back in his chair, planted his feet on the loft railing and thought about Cross. What the hell happened? Just a few days ago life had been good. Now here he was suspended, alone, and cut so far out of the loop he didn’t know how to get back.

When Coben and Tanya approached him about a special assignment, Finn had no problems saying yes. Fresh out of the academy and open to the possibilities the secret department offered him, Finn was eager to earn his stripes.

All the paperwork on Cross Delancey made the guy sound like a slightly less evil version of Hannibal Lector, minus the cannibalism. Between him and his brother, they had killed over a dozen special agents in less than twenty minutes with nothing but the energy of their minds. That was when they were fourteen.

He remembered the briefing Tanya had made him watch. A short taped session with Kale Delancey shortly after Cross had been shot…

The film had been in color, but the quality was poor. It showed an obviously upset young boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen years of age. Dark hair worn long and unkempt, bangs nearly hiding the dark eyes beneath. The boy was tall for his age, close to six feet already, but he was thin, all long legs and arms.

At first he was alone in the room. He couldn’t sit still, he paced back and forth, tried to sit, then jumped up again, obviously agitated. Soon a door opened and a woman entered, a younger Tanya Santiago. The boy went directly to her. “Is Cross okay?” His eyes glimmered with unshed tears, and his voice went up an octave on the last word.

Tanya put a hand on his shoulder and led him to a chair at the table.

“Kale, we need to talk, okay?”

“I need to know how Cross is. He shot him, Gabriel –He shot him.” Shock, tension and exhaustion were evident now as Kale all but fell into the chair.

“I know, Kale. Right now I need you to calm down and I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?”

“We just wanted out, can’t you understand that? Cross and me, it’s not right the way you keep us here. We just wanted out.” There was no conviction behind the words. They were empty excuses made by a boy who knew that his punishment was at hand.

“You and Cross killed over a dozen of my agents. They had families. They were just doing their jobs. And you and Cross killed them because they got in your way.”

Tears tracked down Kale’s face as he shook his head. “They would have killed us. We felt that.” Then one last shred of bravado made an appearance. “If I killed them, I could kill you too, you know. I want to know how Cross is and I want to see him, now.”

Tanya smiled, like an indulgent parent considering her misbehaved, but much loved child. “You won’t kill me, because I hold Cross’s life in my hands.”

“He’s alive?” a small spark of hope flared in the boy’s eyes, the defiance that had been there moments ago now gone.

“He’s in a coma, but yes he’s alive. If you want me to keep him that way I suggest you put away the attitude, and behave yourself. If Cross lives, you will never see him again. That’s the first thing you need to understand. But his life will very much depend on what you do. If you step just a little out of line, he dies.

“Do you understand, Kale? If you do not do exactly what I tell you to do, he dies. This ill-conceived escape attempt has cost both of you. It may yet cost Cross his life, it has cost you more than that. I’m through coddling you.”

“What do you want?” Kale said.

It had been apparent to Finn the boy was broken, but Tanya was nowhere near finished with him. She stood and rapped once on the locked door. A man was pushed through when it opened. He looked terrified.

“Who’s that?” Kale said. The man obeyed Tanya’s pointing hand and sat in the chair opposite Kale.

“It doesn’t matter. I want you to push him. I want you to tell him to do something he wouldn’t normally do.”

“I won’t hurt him. I already told you I wouldn’t do that.”

Tanya lovingly patted his face. “Yes you will, because if you don’t, I will have them kill Cross. Right now, before we even know if he will survive the coma, I’ll have them yank the tubes out that are keeping him alive and I will let him die.”

“No,” the man whimpered.

“I’m sorry,” Kale said softly, but still loud enough for the microphones in the room to pick it up. His face hardened and stared intently at the man. Kale tilted his head to one side as if he were considering something interesting. “I think you should break your fingers, one by one.”

The fear left the man’s face as he stared back. “Really?” He spoke it like he wasn’t sure it was the best idea.

Kale took a deep breath and his voice took on a confident tone that hadn’t been there before. “Yes, definitely. I really think you need to.”

The man considered the request for a mere moment and then nodded in agreement. “You know, I really think I need to break my fingers.” He took his left index finger in his right hand and bent it back at a severe angle. The snap of his phalanges breaking under the pressure was clearly audible on the video. He didn’t yell with the pain. He simply moved on to his next finger and repeated the process.

When all four of his fingers had been broken he looked at Kale quizzically. “What about the thumb? Technically it isn’t a finger. Should I break that as well?”

Kale looked to Tanya begging her with his eyes to stop. She placed her hand on the man’s shoulder, clearly pleased with what Kale had done. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

Kale looked relieved as he turned back to the man. “No, you don’t have to do that.”

“Did I do it right?” the man wanted to know. It was obvious he was concerned that he might have failed the task.

“You did fine,” Tanya told him. “Why don’t you go to medical to have your hand taken care of now.” She rapped on the door and ushered the broken man outside. The door closed again and it was just her and Kale alone once more.

“You’ll take care of Cross?” he said.

Tanya nodded. “I’m impressed. Tell me, was it difficult to get him to do that? I mean to override his basic sense of self-preservation. How did you do that?”

“I don’t know how, I just know I can. It’s easy, like breathing.”

“What else could you have made him do?”

Kale lowered his head to the table. He seemed exhausted and it was clear he didn’t like what he just made the man do. “I don’t know,” his words were mumbled as he spoke into his arm. “Anything. I could have had him do anything.” He looked up at her again, and his face was impossibly young and innocent.

The film froze there centered on Kale’s face.

Finn had never forgotten the anguish in Kale Delancey’s eyes as he was forced to hurt that man. Tanya had easily convinced him then that the boy was one of the most dangerous human beings on the planet.

Kale had been in custody ever since and, according to Tanya, not a threat. Cross, on the other hand, they assumed was manageable as long as he didn’t remember his past. He had amazing abilities the department wanted to tap into.

Damaged by the bullet in the shooting, the kid had suffered brain damage resulting in his blindness and global amnesia of the event. The department, or rather Tanya and Gabriel had made the decision to exploit that. They’d wiped Cross’s memories and reprogrammed him with a new life.

They told Cross who they wanted him to be and how they wanted him to behave. They told him his brother was dead. No brother, no family, the only memories he had were the ones the Department gave to him. His job working at the department was scripted. The post-trauma paranormal abilities he exhibited were for the most part harmless if not fascinating. He was controlled, and Finn had been put into place to keep him that way.

His babysitter.

The first time Finn had met Cross, he was disappointed. Where was the terrifying homicidal maniac the Department had brainwashed in order to control?

Cross was a quiet introvert who preferred to spend an evening home alone with his dog to going out drinking. Dark glasses hid more than just damaged eyes, to Finn they hid a damaged soul, one that Cross tried to hide from the world. At first Cross was hesitant to show the profiling abilities he was supposedly hired for. Until one case changed everything between Cross and Finn.

A kid they had been watching in Harlem. Loner, no friends, stayed out of trouble and off the grid, did everything he could to keep from being noticed, until he made a mistake. He popped a 24/7 gas station.

His name was Derone, he was sixteen years old and the claim was he could manipulate the elements. Finn had badged his way into the NYPD interrogation room where the cops had him detained.

One of the Department’s techs had been monitoring the police frequencies. The local police often had run-ins with these kids long before the Department even knew they existed. Finn and Cross had been sent to run interference but the cops already had him in custody.

In the six months they had been working together, Cross had taken a back seat to Finn in every investigation, spoken only when he had to and never initiated any overtures of friendship. Other than an amazing ability to read people, Finn had yet to see anything remotely terrifying about Cross. But he dutifully wrote his monthly reports to Tanya and Coben.

Derone didn’t look particularly dangerous to Finn as he sat down at the table and kicked back. “Derone, I know you’re probably scared right now, but I’m not a cop. What I am is maybe a way out for you. These things you can do, they freak you out, right? That’s why you do the drugs, so you don’t have to deal with the things you don’t know how to control.”

Derone spoke for the first time. “You don’t know dick,”

“Finn, we need to leave. Now.” Cross, who had been standing next to the door, moved closer to Finn, his attention directly on the boy in front of him. Derone gave a crocodile smile to Cross.

The hairs on Finn’s arms stood on end. He got that little ping, the feeling when someone had a gun pointed him.

“See, this boy has some sense to him,” Derone said. He didn’t moved but all his attention was on Cross.

Finn glanced from the kid shackled to the table to his partner.

A single bead of sweat ran from Cross’s temple. His partner tilted his head to one side as if listening to something only he could hear. “Finn, get out of here.”

It was a warning given nearly too late. The temperature in the room rose to that of a blast furnace in a matter of a few seconds. Finn watched in fascination as blisters formed on the back of his hands. The next thing he remembered was Cross stepping fast in front of him. Finn was never sure exactly what went down, but apparently one of those suppressed talents emerged.

Later Finn learned that Cross had slipped into Derone’s subconscious. He had known the kid was about to fry both of them. In that single instant before Derone turned the interview room into a frying pan, Cross took all that lethal energy and contained it in a ball of white hot compressed energy. He pushed it, all of it, back inside the kid.

Cross had taken a portion of that energy and surrounded them with a protective bubble. Derone and everything in that room evaporated in a superheated firestorm. Cross emerged relatively unscathed. Finn suffered second and third degree burns on his arms and a concussion from when Cross had knocked him to the floor. He would’ve been dead if not for Cross. Derone was dead, the interview room was toast and Coben had a lot of explaining to do to the NYPD.

Everything changed after that day. Cross refused to talk about what he had done. It was as if it never happened. Tanya and Coben took a heated interest in Cross. They grilled him mercilessly. Cross answered all their questions as honestly and thoroughly as he could. When they realized they weren’t going to get more from him, Finn was told to press his partner, to throw him into the deep end to see what other secrets he might be hiding.

But Finn took a different approach. Cross had outed himself to save his life. That was a debt Finn took seriously. Weeks later, after a quiet, uneventful night, Finn offered to drive Cross home. But instead Finn turned toward his loft. Cross picked up on the change in direction immediately.

“Ah, my apartment’s two blocks back.”

“Yeah, I know. I was wondering, maybe you might want to have a drink or three with me. I mean, if you want. You freaking saved my life man and I hardly know you. It’s just, partners should know each other.” Finn shrugged and realized Cross couldn’t see him.

When his partner said nothing, Finn felt stupid about asking. “Yeah, okay, it was just a thought.” He was about to turn around when Cross spoke up. “You got any decent scotch?”

Finn grunted. “My mother is Scottish and my father is Irish. What do you think?”

It was the first time Finn had been with Cross anywhere outside of work. It was as if he was meeting an entirely different person. When they got inside Finn’s loft, Cross looked up toward the ceiling, twenty feet above them.

“Feels open in here.”

Finn went to the bar and cracked open a fifth. “The views are killer. From the loft you can see clear across the harbor. It used to be a firehouse. They were going to tear it down and I bought it for a song. Did most of the work myself. Straight up or on the rocks?” Finn asked.

“Straight,” Cross accepted the glass and Finn waited for his reaction. Cross sipped the whisky and then stopped and turned his head in Finn’s direction. “Wow.”

“Yeah, I know. My grand-da got this for me last time he was in Scotland. This, my friend, is eighteen-year-old Bunnahabhain single malt. Perfect balance of smoke and peat- in my not so humble opinion.”

“If I knew you had this I would have insisted on saving your life a lot sooner.”

Finn clinked glasses with him and Cross lifted his drink in solute, then sipped the scotch again. “So, why am I really here, Finn?”

“Really? Are you ever not suspicious? Seriously, I’m not allowed to invite my partner over for a drink? Does there have to be ulterior motives involved?”

Cross sipped again and seemed to consider that. “Which question do you want me to answer first?”

“Come on, I don’t know about you, but this job takes up every aspect of my life. I have no friends outside the Department. If you thought I had ulterior motives, why’d you come?”

Cross leaned on the bar, and rolled his drink between his hands. “I’m sorry, but I get this weird nervous vibe from you every time we’re together. Almost like you’re afraid of me.”

That put Finn on the defensive. “You promised me you wouldn’t, you know, get in my head.”

Cross raised his brows. “And I didn’t. Jesus Finn I didn’t have too. Hell, Coben could have picked up on the vibes you give out, and Coben is pretty much clueless. I don’t know, maybe it’s the psychic thing,” He motioned to his eyes. “Or the blind thing. Sometimes I freak people out.” He shrugged and finished the scotch. “I guess I expect it. I’m used to it.”

“Really, you get that from me?” Finn had no idea he was that transparent. “No, man, it’s not the psychic thing. Well, okay, maybe a little bit the psychic thing. It is kind of unnerving to have your own personal bullshit detector as a partner. I always feel I have to watch every word out of my mouth. It gets a little exhausting after a while, but no, that’s not it.”

“So, the blind thing then.”

“Why the hell would that bother me.” Finn was frustrated. How could he explain it to Cross when he couldn’t even explain it to himself.

If Cross never took a look in his head than Finn knew he didn’t realize what Finn’s real job was. But that sure wasn’t the reason for his edginess when he was around Cross. He stopped thinking about that when he realized Cross wasn’t a threat.

“Okay, so maybe it was the glowing ball of death and destruction.”

“Yeah, that was definitely a little unsettling, but I see weird every day, so again, no.”

“Then what?”

“It’s you, man. You know?” Finn sighed and filled both their glasses again. The scotch was tasting good and left a nice warm trail down his throat. It also gave him the courage to say what he wanted to say. “We’re supposed to be partners, right? That means we’re supposed to trust each other- with our lives.

“I don’t even know you, not even a little. How am I supposed to trust someone I don’t even know? You come into the office, you do the time, then you either grab a cab or occasionally let me or Vic drive you home. That’s it. I know nothing about you personally. You don’t say one word about what’s going on in your head. It might have escaped your attention but I am not psychic. I actually need people to talk to me on occasion so I can understand what they’re thinking.”

“Well, you could’ve asked,” Cross said.

Although he couldn’t have seen the eye roll, Cross seemed to realize he’d earned it. “You are way obvious, Finn. I don’t have to see to know half of what you want to say is written all over your face. You’re an expressive guy, an extravert who gets his energy from external sources, people, places.”

Cross sipped more of the scotch. “And for the last six months you have had to put up with me. I don’t like people. I’m not big on talking or sharing my feelings, and you take that and turn it around to make it all about you. It isn’t.”

“I thought you said you weren’t in my head.” Finn didn’t intend to sound defensive but it came out that way.

“I wasn’t.”

“Right. Then how’d you know all that?”

“Coben pays me good money to be a profiler. I happen to be very good at it and you’re ridiculously easy to read.”

Finn let out a long breath. “Now I feel like an ass.”

“If the shoe fits and all that,” Cross grinned. “But I could have opened up more. You’re right, though, I guess I have ‘trust issues’.” He made quote marks with his fingers when he said it.

“You saved my life. I’m not sure if I thanked you for that,” Finn said. “In some cultures that means you own me.”

“I think we can forgo that,” Cross took off the ever-present dark glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose and then his eyes.

“Headache?”

Cross grinned. “Always, it’s okay. It only bothers me at night. When it’s quiet and there’s nothing else to think about.”

“I get that. Not the headache thing, but the too quiet at night thing.”

“Night’s suck.”

“Yeah,” Finn agreed. He wondered what kept Cross awake in the night. He wanted to ask but didn’t feel he had the right.

He had never seen his partner without the glasses before. He looked disarmingly young and innocent without them. “Do you remember what is was like to see?” He realized how personal the question was and regretted it almost the moment it was out of his mouth. “And crap, I really didn’t mean to ask that. I am an idiot.”

Cross downed the last of the scotch and shrugged. “It’s okay. Give me a refill and I’ll tell you you’re not an idiot.”

Finn poured him another hit. He was feeling the alcohol and thought maybe Cross was a bit buzzed as well. “Yes, but will you mean it?”

“Ah, that would require a degree of drunken debauchery I’m not prepared for and one I’m sure you don’t have enough scotch to reach.”

“And you have a sense of humor, that’s something I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Cross downed the shot fast and Finn topped him off. His partner was definitely feeling the scotch. Alcohol was a wonderful equalizer.

“There’s a lot you probably wouldn’t guess about me, but yes, I remember what it was like. Not a lot, but yeah some things.”

Finn was seeing an amazing thing : Cross Delancey sharing a part of himself. There was no way in hell he was writing a report up on this. Coben and Tanya could go fuck themselves- or each other, for all Finn cared.

“What things?” Finn said.

“Colors, I think. I’ve been blind nearly as long as I could see so sometimes I’m not sure if what I remember is real or just my imagination. I see people as different amplitudes of energy. Not colors but in my head I always give them names. The higher the energy frequency, the hotter the color I give them.” He shrugged. “Sounds stupid saying it out loud”

“Not at all. So what am I? What kind of energy am I?”

Cross raised his brows and the corner of his mouth lifted in an amused lilt. “You’re easy. I see you as non-stop movement. Your energy is vibrant, but hot. You are how I remember red. Warm but unpredictable. Red can burn you if you’re not careful.”

Finn laughed softly. “That’s kind of cool, I think.”

“I don’t remember much more. Faces of people I knew, places, it’s all one big blur in my memory. But there is one thing I remember for a fact. Kale. I remember Kale clearly.”

Finn almost choked on his drink. Coben and Tanya had told him they were never sure what Cross remembered about Kale. “Your brother?”

“Yeah. I know we were identical twins, but I never saw it, you know? Kale never cared how he looked. His hair was always too long, but yet he somehow always managed to pull off cool without any effort.” Cross smiled warmly at the memory. “And he had this half-cocked grin thing going for him. I never could duplicate that grin.”

Cross lowered his head and seemed lost in his past. “I miss that stupid grin. I miss my brother. I always felt as if half of me was lost without Kale.” He shrugged and put the dark glasses on once more, hiding his eyes, and his memories at the same time.

Finn raised his glass. “A toast,” he said. “To brothers,” He waited for Cross to lift his own glass and then they clinked and downed the shot.

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Cross said.

Finn filled their glasses again. “I don’t. It seemed like such a perfect salute, I didn’t want to kill the moment.”

Cross nearly inhaled his scotch. “You’re an ass.”

“Well then, to asses.”

Cross clinked glasses with Finn once more.

They finished that bottle of his grand-da’s fine scotch that night and began a friendship that had spanned nearly a decade. Until Cross found out it was all a lie.

Except that it wasn’t.

Not for Finn, not really. He never put everything in those reports to Coben and Tanya. Just enough to keep them happy. But in truth there hadn’t been much more to report. The psychic thing and the one-time ability to channel ambient energy seemed to be Cross’s only talents. He had honed them both over the years, but Finn had downplayed that as well.

In his own way, Finn tried to protect Cross as much as he could. He’d shielded him from Tanya and Coben every chance he got. Didn’t matter though, Cross still believed Finn had lied to him, betrayed him. Sold him out.

Maybe he had. He hadn’t told Cross the truth, was that the same as lying? Finn thought maybe it was.

What truly ate at him though was the look on Cross’s face as Coben told him all Finn ever was, was his babysitter. That look of hurt and betrayal is what kept Finn awake at night. The truths they had shared, the secrets, the past. The doubts that clawed away at the back of his brain, Cross had told Finn all of these things. Not all at once. Cross did not trust easily, but Finn had worn him down. Finn had made Cross trust him.

It was fully dark now and the harbor lights filled his windows. It always amazed Finn how beautiful this city could be at night. The darkness could hide the ugly things that existed in the light. At night all Finn ever saw was the beauty. That was the illusion.

He wondered if Cross saw beauty in his darkness. Or if his friend understood that sometimes the illusion was all you ever got.

Chapter 18

HIS CELL PHONE woke Finn. The buzzing aggravated the headache and his mouth tasted like he’d licked an ashtray. He grabbed the phone and put it to his ear. With his eyes still closed he put one hand to his temple to appease the pounding there. “What?” his voice was a whisper.

“Rough night?” Vic’s voice was annoyingly chipper. Finn turned over to look at the clock, thinking he had missed something for work. Then he remembered he didn’t have to worry about work.

“What do you want, Vic?”

“You weren’t answering your door. I wanted to make sure you didn’t die or anything.”

“Wait. What? Where are you?” Finn sat up on the edge of the bed still holding his head. If he didn’t it might fall off his shoulders.

“Standing outside your loft. I come bearing caffeine and sugar.”

“You’re here?” Finn tried to process that but all he got was caffeine. “Okay, uhh, hold on. Right there.” He threw his phone into the tangle of covers, pulled on a pair of jeans and stumbled down the spiral staircase. Appalling sunlight stabbed at Finn’s eyes and brain.

As promised Vic was waiting outside. “You better have coffee or I will have to kill you.”

Vic held out a Starbucks Venti. “Double shot of espresso.”

Finn cracked the lid and took a cautious sip. He leaned against the doorframe and sighed in ecstasy. “You can live.” He turned around and walked back inside, knowing Vic would follow him.

He sat down cautiously at the bar. Vic propped one hip against the opposite side of the counter. “I was going to ask how the time off has been treating you, but I can see.”

“Don’t judge. There better be something in that bag that is mostly sugar.”

Vic tossed him the bag and Finn caught it. Inside were two massive bear claws. “Oh, God. I knew there was a reason I kept you around.”

Vic wandered around the loft picking up empties and dumping them in the trash. “I’m not sure a double shot is going to help.”

“Shut it. I’ll take some ibuprofen and down some water. I’ll be fine.”

“Uh huh. So what has you binge drinking, when I know for a fact that you are supposed to be somewhere warm and far away.”

“Coben might have the power to take my badge and lock me out but he cannot tell me what to do on my own time.” Finn downed four Motrin with the coffee.

“You sure about that?” Vic said. He motioned to the window overlooking the street. “Brown Honda, four or five spaces down.”

Finn leaned forward just enough to see what Vic was talking about.

“Been there all night. Just changed shifts as I was pulling up.”

“Watching me? Son-of-a-bitch. Why?” Finn rubbed a hand over his face.

“Cross got out.”

Finn lowered the cup he was about to sip from, certain he misheard Vic. “What?”

“Cross is out, as in he is in the wind. The entire department at her disposal and Tanya could not hold one blind guy in a secured building. It would be fair to say she is pissed.”

“Holy shit. Cross got out.” Finn grunted out a laugh. “That’s awesome. But why is she having me watched, I had nothing to do with it.”

“Well as far as they know, Cross has no resources, no place to go for help. He is alone and blind in a city he doesn’t know how to navigate without help.”

“Again, why watch me? I’m the last person Cross would come to for help.”

“Maybe. Maybe they think you might want to appease that guilt a little and try to find him.” Vic seemed to coolly appraise Finn.

Finn didn’t like that at all. “So, what? You’re here to feel me out? What makes you think I care what happens to Cross one way or another?”

Vic pulled an empty out of the trash. “This does. How long have we known each other? In all that time how many times have I seen you get plastered? I’ll tell you. Never. The Finn Doyle I know doesn’t like to lose control.”

“Bullshit.”

“Truth. I’ve seen you put a few away, have a good time, nothing wrong with that at all. But this Finn? Sitting in the dark alone, drinking until you pass out? That’s not the Finn I know. That’s guilt, pure and simple.”

Finn narrowed his eyes. “Then I guess you don’t know me as well as you think. Thanks for the info and the pick-me-up, Vic, but you need to go now.”

“So you can try to lose your tail and put out feelers for Cross? Tanya’s got your ass, my friend. She’s got your front door covered, your phone tapped and a GPS on your wheels. You’re not going anywhere she won’t know about ten seconds after you leave.”

“If that’s true then she knows you’re here, too. How’re you going to explain that you warned me about her guard dogs?” Finn was trying like hell to figure out Vic’s angle but he kept coming up blank. “What’s this all about Vic? Why are you here?”

Vic pursed his lips and silently regarded Finn for a long while. The man looked like he had something to say, so Finn let him have the time to figure it out. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“What if I told you, that I knew where Cross was? What if I told you I could take you to him?”

Now Finn was confused. “Then I would tell you that if any of that was true and if Tanya does have my placed wired, you are in one shit-load of trouble.”

Vic seemed to think about that. “Yeah, I don’t think so. Maizey, why don’t you introduce yourself to my good friend here.”

“Hello, love.”

Finn turned. A young woman with long red hair stood behind him. He hadn’t heard anyone come in the door. He would’ve have heard that. He was pretty sure he would have heard that. “Who are you? How’d you get in?”

The woman stood next to Vic and gave Finn a wide grin. “I walked in through the front door, love.”

“Vic, I am not amused. Tanya sent you. Take Red here and get the fuck out of my house.” Finn couldn’t come up with any other explanation. Vic was sent here to see if he would flip. To see if he would try and find Cross on his own. He would, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Tanya or Coben in on that. And right now he wasn’t letting Vic in on that either.

“God, I hope not,” Vic looked smug. “No one saw us come into your loft Finn. No one is listening to us now. As far as Tanya or anyone who is listening is concerned, you’re still passed out.”

There wasn’t enough caffeine or sugar in the world to appease the monsters pounding on the inside of Finn’s head. All he wanted to do was go back to sleep and Vic and the chic he brought with him had worn out their welcome. “And as interesting as all that might be, I don’t care. Get out and take her with you.”

“He is so not a morning person,” Vic said to Maizey. Suddenly the amused expression Vic had worn since Finn had let him in changed. “I’m not fucking with you Finn. I have never been more serious. But, knowing you like I do, I sense a little demonstration is in order. Maizey, if you would be so kind.” Vic sat down at the bar.

“So, let me see, what would convince you?” Maizey circled around Finn, her brow creased in thought. “Well, it would seem you already realize that I might be a person of interest, as your Department calls us, but you’re still not quite sure if I’m friend or foe just yet.”

“What part of get out are you having difficulty understanding?”

Maizey appeared amused. “You wear your anger like a shield, as you do your humor. You despise people getting too close to the truth of who you are, so you try to keep them at a comfortable distance. That is exactly why Cross scared you at first. Not the rumors of his instability, no you didn’t believe that. What scared you was the fact that he is a psychic. He could worm his way through all those layers and walls you put up for everyone else. That’s why you had him promise to stay out of your head.”

Finn narrowed his eyes at the woman. “Yeah, I get it you’re a psychic. Now get the fuck out of my head and get the fuck out of my house. Both of you.” His voice was controlled fury. He tried to control the temper that boiled just beneath the surface. He hated this, the violation, the taking of what was his and his alone. The fact that she spoke the truth only fueled that anger. Maizey did not seem impressed.

“You also care very much for Cross.” Maizey continued. She stood dangerously close to Finn, but didn’t seem threatened by his words or his clenched fists held stiffly at his sides. “You were so young and so very eager to make a name for yourself when you graduated from Quantico. You believed every word they told you about us. The deviants. The misfits. We were dangerous and you, my dear Finnegan, were so altruistic. You wanted to protect the good people of this city from all the dangerous freaks.”

Finn put a hand to his head as if that could stop her from prying. “Stop it.”

“Then you saw Kale Delancey and you secretly wondered exactly what everyone was so afraid of. When you met Cross, he wasn’t the monster they told you he was.”

Finn collapsed on the nearest chair. “No, he wasn’t.” His voice was a whisper, his thoughts in chaos. “Please stop this.”

Maizey knelt on one knee next him and took his hand. Finn, the anger gone, was now only numb. “He became your friend.”

“Yes.” He closed his eyes and decided he might deserve this private hell. “And I betrayed him.”

“You faked the reports to Tanya and Coben. For years you tried to protect me. Didn’t you?”

Finn’s head snapped up at the familiar voice. Standing behind Maizey was Cross. It didn’t occur to him to ask how he was there. “Guess I didn’t try hard enough.”

“I wanted to kill you back in medical. I thought you used me. You lied to me and I wanted to kill you for that alone.”

“How are you here, Cross? Why are you here? Are you planning on killing me now?” Finn glanced from Cross to Vic to Maizey. His head hurt, he was dizzy and he had no more fight left in him. If Cross wanted to killed him, he didn’t care at the moment.

“You can go from anger to self-pity quicker than anyone I know,” Cross said. “No, I’m not here to kill you. I broke my promise.” Cross tapped the side of Finn’s head. “I had a look too and Maizey pretty much summed it up. I was the job until you got to know me, until you started to question things that were going on in the department. That’s when you started faking the reports.”

“Then why are you here?” Finn said to all three of them. “Did you feel a little psychological payback was in order? Mission accomplished. If you’re not here to kill me, and you’re satisfied I’m not going to turn you into Tanya, then I’m asking you one more time to get the fuck out of my house.”

Vic merely laughed. A deep rumbling noise that was oddly disturbing in its total lack of humor. “Oh we’re not nearly done here.”

“What the hell do you want from me?” Finn said.

“I’m not who you think I am,” Vic said.

“What, are you one them?” Finn said. “One of the freaks?”

“I’m just as ordinary as you. My job at the Department is just a front. I guess you could call me a spy. I belong to what we simply call the Underground. Not everyone out there with special talents is dangerous. Not one of them wants to end up in one of those glass-walled rooms. When they brought Cross in this last time, I knew exactly what they had planned.” Vic looked like he just ate a bug at the thought. “I wasn’t going to let that happen.”

“You were on the monitors the day he got out. You helped him.” Finn was beginning to understand. The understanding didn’t make him like it any better.

Vic shrugged. “No one likes monitor duty so no one objected when I volunteered. When I saw Cross was making his move, I simply gave him the time he needed, and then made sure the lovely Maizey was waiting for him when he made it out.”

Finn rubbed his still-aching head. “So one more time. Why are you here? Why tell me all this now?”

“We weren’t sure we could trust you until Maizey and Cross had a look. Sorry.”

Maizey winked at Finn.

“I owed you that, I guess,” Finn grudgingly admitted. Didn’t make him any less angry at the uninvited intrusion. “And what exactly did you learn? Are you going trust me, or kill me? Whichever it is I would appreciate if you would get on with it.”

Maizey stood directly in front of him. “I don’t usually look without permission, but we needed to know who’s side you would be on if push came to shove.

“You’re are a good man, Finn Doyle. You are a loyal friend. When it became clear to you that Cross was no longer an assignment, you did everything in your power to shield him from those who would do nothing but exploit him. You would have helped him if he asked it of you, but Cross felt betrayed by you and took fate into his own hands.”

“We need your help,” Vic said finally getting to the point.

“My help? You’re the inside guy. What can I possibly help you with?”

“When Tanya and Coben put you on Cross’s case all those years ago, she also brought you up to date on Kale, right?” Vic said.

Finn didn’t like where this was heading. A cold slimy fist gripped his gut. “Yeah, and how does that help you?”

“She gave you his files. You know where she keeps him, the level of security she has on him.”

“I need to get my brother out,” Cross said. “And I need your help to do that.”

Chapter 19

IT WAS BAD this time. Tanya had him beat before, but never like this. When they finished they left him hanging by his wrists. Kale lost track of time. The pain settled into the deep muscles of his shoulders and back. It couldn’t hurt more if they had set him on fire. He couldn’t feel his hands, but the blood flowing down his arms had long grown cold and sticky by the time they finally came to cut him down. Kale couldn’t remember most of it, but he understood what they had done every time he moved. Every time he took a breath.

Someone had put him on his bed, but that was the only courtesy he was to receive. Both eyes were swollen, the right one completely, the left still had a small slit he could see out of. His nose was broken and clogged with dried blood, so he had to breathe out of his mouth. He tongued all his teeth, there were a few loose ones, but all were presented and accounted for, thank you very much.

Kale had no idea had much time had passed, he drifted in and out of consciousness. No one came to tend to his injuries. No one came to clean him up. No one came to give him water.

No one came.

Kale was alone, maybe that was the plan. They were just going to leave him in here until he died. Maybe they would leave his body here as well. He thought he might even be okay with that, because Cross had gotten out. He had kept his promise. His brother was safe. He only wished doing the right thing didn’t hurt so badly.

Then his memory kicked in and he remembered the girl—Sybil. My God, Tanya had killed that poor girl. Tears leaked from his swollen eyes as Kale wished he would pass out again. He didn’t want to think about the girl.

He didn’t know how many more Sybils, Tanya could threaten him with, but he knew she would do anything to get what she wanted. He could push her, he knew that. He could tell her to let him go, he could tell her to walk him out of here and then forget about him. He almost had a dozen times over. But he couldn’t. He didn’t want her to forget about him. A part of him didn’t even want to leave.

For ten years, this little, windowless room was all he had ever known. Tanya was the only person he knew, the only person he was allowed to see, to talk with, to touch. He could communicate with Cross telepathically but it wasn’t the same. He knew nothing about the outside world. In truth the thought of going into the world outside his room terrified him. How could he leave? Where would he go?

Maybe he was as dangerous as Tanya told everyone he was. Maybe it was a good thing he was locked up.

Tanya loved him, Kale was sure of that. He failed her. That was why she punished him. He deserved it. He should never have tried to lie to her. Tanya knew everything. He was a fool. She was right, it was his fault that girl had died.

Kale squeezed his eyes closed and tried to hide inside himself. The heavy metal door of his room opened. Fear caused Kale to hold his breath. If they started in on him again, he was sure he would die. He let his pent up breath out and prepared for the pain.

A slight weight settled on his mattress. Even with his eyes closed, he knew who had come to him. Her energy was as familiar to him as his brother’s. Dread and relief coursed through him. As much as he hated being alone, the thought of why she had come to him was terrifying.

“Look what you made me do, Kale,” Tanya’s voice was soft and held regret and sadness. She touched his face and he flinched at the contact.

“Can you see?” She lightly touched his swollen eyes. Kale nodded once and tried to curl away from her. He felt her leave the bed and thought she would leave him alone again. He searched for the darkness but couldn’t find it. A warm wet cloth touched his face and he hissed as the water caused the wounds there to burn.

Tanya gently pulled him to his back, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out. “Shh, be still. I’m just cleaning you up.”

The warmth of the water and gentleness of her touch was deceiving, he understood that, but for now, all he could think about was someone cared enough not to let him die all alone. That thought nearly brought him to tears, but crying would hurt, so he kept his feelings in check.

“Why do you make me do these things to you, Kale?” The cloth moved over his eyes removing the dried blood. It hurt, but the warmth soothed him. Hurt by hurt, she methodically cleaned every wound she had ordered them to put on him. When she came to his wrists, he grimaced and let out a hiss. His vision was blurry but he could see the skin there was shredded. The wounds deep. He had fought hard.

“Do you think I like telling them to hurt you like this? Don’t you think I knew how much they wanted to hurt you?” She wrapped his wrists in clean bandages and then leaned over and placed a soft kiss on his shattered lips.

“I need to hear it, Darling. I need to hear the words.”

Kale turned his face away from her. She grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. “Tell me. Tell Tanya and I’ll make all the hurt go away,” She held a bottle of water out to him. He was so thirsty.

Kale tried to grab it but she held it just out of his reach. “Tell me.”

“I’m sorry.” The words were barely audible but Tanya had heard him. She grinned and helped him drink. He gulped and the cold water spilled over his chest as he greedily swallowed. She pulled the water away.

“Why are you sorry Kale?”

God he hated this, but he had no pride left. He couldn’t even remember what pride was anymore. He chose to stay. He chose to live this way. He was pathetic and he deserved anything and everything Tanya did to him.

“I lied to you.” His lips split open again and blood ran down his chin. Tanya took the cloth and wiped it away.

“Will you help me find Cross? Or do I need to find another innocent child to convince you?”

“No!” he said the word loud and everything spasmed. He clamped his eyes closed and caught his breath. “No,” he said quieter. “Don’t do that. Please.”

“You will help me?”

He nodded.

“Say it, Kale. I need to hear you say it.”

“I’ll help you find Cross, I’ll help you bring him back.”

My god, what have I become?

“That’s my Kale. That’s my darling. Now Tanya will make the pain go away.”

Kale felt the sharp sting of a needle pierce his arm and then a few moments later, the hungry, demanding pain, fuzzed around the edges. If there was a God and if he chose to show Kale mercy, he prayed. He didn’t think his prayers would be answered, he had learned long ago he was on his own. But there was always a chance, so he prayed that if betraying Cross was his only choice, then maybe this God would be kind enough to see that he never woke up.

* * *

THEY WERE EIGHT or nine, Kale couldn’t remember. Tanya had locked them in their quarters after punishing Cross for not cooperating. Nothing new there. It killed Kale every time.

“Why can’t you just do what she wants?” Kale cried as Cross curled up on his bed. His face was bloody, from falling when they used the Tasers on him. Kale could tell by the careful way he moved it hurt more than Cross let on.

“Because she doesn’t own me,” Cross said.

“I don’t understand you, all you have to do is show her what you can do. What’s so bad about that?”

Cross turned to look at him sitting on the floor next the bed. “Because it won’t stop there. What happened when you showed her what you could do, huh? Yeah, she wanted you to use it- on people. She wanted you to use it to make people do stuff.” Kale looked at his feet. Cross was right, but he couldn’t stand to see his brother hurt like this.

“If they think I can’t do anything, maybe they’ll leave me alone.”

“Or maybe they’ll kill you before you convince them. Please, Cross,” Kale was crying harder now. “Please, I couldn’t take it if they killed you. You’re all I have. I don’t want to be alone.”

“Then why don’t you push her? Why don’t you push Tanya and tell her to leave us alone, tell her to just let us out of here.”

Kale backed away from the bed as if Cross were a snake ready to strike. “I can’t,” He shook his head denying even the possibility. “I can’t do that, Cross.”

Cross grimaced as he turned to face the wall. “Yes you can. You just don’t want to. There’s a difference.”

Cross didn’t understand. Kale couldn’t push Tanya. Tanya was nice when you did what she wanted. Why couldn’t Cross just do what she wanted? Kale knew his brother was hiding his talents, and that was one thing he absolutely would not tell Tanya. He had sworn to Cross he would keep that secret and Kale kept his promises. Cross always talked about the day they got out of here, out of the Department. Kale didn’t like to upset his brother, but he understood something Cross never would. They were never leaving this place. This small facility was home and it always would be. Kale saw no point in antagonizing the people who had the power to hurt you. He didn’t understand why Cross did.

He would never understand that.

Kale!

Someone calling his name. The scene behind him faded. He wasn’t a child anymore and he was the one who had taken the brunt of Tanya’s fury this time.

Kale?

Go away.

He didn’t like this dream anymore.

“Kale.”

Kale opened his eyes, at least the one that wasn’t completely swollen shut. Cross squatted on the floor by his bed. For a moment he thought Cross was still part of his dream, then he understood. Cross had a found a way to come to him. Not physically, but the way Kale had appeared to Cross over the years. Manifested energy.

“Not too shabby,” Kale smiled and then winced as the healing cuts split again on his lip.

“What has she done to you?” Cross looked appalled.

“You can’t come here to me anymore, Cross.” Kale tried to sit up but his broken body decided that probably wasn’t a good idea. He clutched his side and made do with turning so he could see his brother better.

“She did this to you because of me, didn’t she? She did this because I got out and now she wants you to help her get me back.”

Kale saw the anger flash across his brother’s face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Cross. I tried, but she killed her. She killed that poor girl right there.”

Cross looked where Kale pointed. He knew Cross could see the blood that still stained the floor, Kale could see it too. He could feel Cross inside his head. Getting answers to questions was quicker this way. Kale didn’t object, it was something they used to do all the time as kids.

“Sybil? Sybil King? She killed her? Why?” Kale could feel the anger radiating from Cross. He needed to make this better, but he didn’t know how.

“It was my fault. This is all my fault. I lied to her – told her you were dead. I hoped she would just leave you alone if she thought you were dead. She told me what would happen if I lied, but I did it anyway. I thought I could lie to her. That girl died because of me.”

Cross shook his head. “You listen to me. Tanya killed Sybil, she is the only one who is responsible for that. Do you understand me?”

Kale didn’t understand. “I tried Cross. I always seem to try and I always fail. I’m sorry. She’s going to make me look for you again. If I don’t do what she tells me, she’ll kill someone else.” Kale looked away. He was ashamed of what he had become. “I wish I could have been more like you. I wish I could have been stronger, braver. You were always the strong one Cross. You were always braver than me. I’m glad you got out.”

“Stop that. Stop saying good bye to me. We aren’t done here. All our lives you were the one who tried to protect me, Kale. Now it’s my turn.”

Kale shook his head. He didn’t like the look on Cross’s face. He knew that look. That was look he put on when all hell was about to break lose. Kale was pretty sure he didn’t have it in him to confront hell at the moment. “Let it alone, Cross. You have no idea what she is capable of. Stay safe, stay hidden.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so. Tanya Santiago is responsible for our mother’s death, she kept us isolated and imprisoned, used us, beat us and experimented on us. She took my memories and gave me a lie as a life. You, she manipulated on every imaginable level. She kept us from a family we never knew we had, Kale.” Cross’s face grew serious. “I’m not afraid of Tanya. Not even a little.”

Kale wasn’t impressed. Cross didn’t know the Tanya he knew. “You should be.”

Cross turned Kale’s face toward him, his eyes gentle but his voice determined. “You listen to me. I got your back. I’m coming to get you out of here and when I do we are finishing what we started ten years ago. We are both getting out of here. I promise you that.”

Kale wanted to believe him.

“Do you understand me? I’m coming for you, don’t you ever doubt that. Don’t you for one second forget that. Stay strong Kale. You aren’t alone.”

Then Cross was gone.

You aren’t alone.

Kale turned to face the wall. His body screamed in protest.

He sure felt alone.

Chapter 20

GABRIEL SAT ON sat on his sofa in his quarters. Niko, Cross’s dog curled up next to him sleeping. He pet her silky ears and opened his eyes. The dog soothed him. Gabriel knew what Tanya had done to Kale. He didn’t approve, but then no one ever asked for or cared about his approval when it came to Cross or Kale. Gabriel told them they could not be controlled. Tanya told him Kale was not a problem, and Cross would be in hand soon enough.

Gabriel had told Coben and Tanya if they wanted to still study Kale, they needed to kill Cross. That’s what he told them when Cross was in a coma after the boy tried to escape, after he had tried to kill his own son. That’s what he told them when Cross was brought in a few days ago. Cross was dangerous, but no one wanted to listen to him.

Now Cross was gone and Kale was groundless. A child who worshiped at the shrine of Tanya’s lies. Beating him half to death wasn’t going to garner Kale’s cooperation, all that was going to do was elicit Cross’s wrath. The loyalty his sons had for each other was boundless. The only thing Tanya did right concerning Kale and Cross was keeping them apart. Now that Cross knew Kale was alive nothing would keep him from his brother. Nothing.

Gabriel knew that boy. He had been in his head many times when he was younger. Cross hated the intrusion and learned how to block him, but Gabriel knew how to enter undetected. He knew, when Cross was young, he had been holding back from Tanya. The raw power Gabriel sensed seething just beneath the surface was terrifying.

He had tried to tell Tanya. “Cross is gasoline just waiting for a match. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

Tanya waved off his concern. “I’ll break him darling. Just wait.”

Gabriel was still waiting.

He knew either Cross or Kale would try to get in touch with the other. Without Tanya’s permission or knowledge, Gabriel had set up a series of energy markers inside Kale’s room. Psychic trip wires. If anyone manipulated energy inside Kale’s room, Gabriel would know about it. Tanya might be confident in her ability to control his sons, but Gabriel always was a believer that forewarned was forearmed. Cross’s mental barriers were completely removed, it was only a matter of time until he understood the enormity of what had been done to him. Cross was not known for his forgiving nature.

A little over an hour ago. Gabriel’s tripwires alerted him. With Niko still resting her head on his lap, Gabriel found Kale and opened the smallest of psychic cracks into his son’s subconscious. If he stayed there without interfering or probing, whoever was manipulating that energy shouldn’t know he was there. Just like a fly on the wall.

Gabriel could never see anything when he entered someone’s mind, it was all a mental impression. But he was amazed at what he picked up. Kale was dreaming when Gabriel first entered his mind. Besides the nearly overwhelming pain he could almost physically feel from Kale’s injuries, Gabriel could sense the mental cracks as well.

Kale’s sanity balanced on a table of air. If Tanya’s plan was to break Kale, then he would have to say she succeeded. A part of Gabriel hated Tanya for that. That was the part that wanted to save Kale. The caring surprised him. Gabriel had prided himself on being merely part of an experiment as far as Kale and Cross were concerned. He never claimed to want to be a father to them. Maybe because he knew it would never be allowed. Convincing himself he didn’t care hurt less than admitting his feelings. But having Tanya break one son to get to the other found Gabriel at odds with how he thought he felt about everything.

Kale’s dream was interrupted by the energy that brought Gabriel here. It didn’t surprise him in the least when he recognized Cross’s familiar signature. What he felt, however, was much stronger than any energy vibe he ever got off of Cross in the past. Gabriel wasn’t sure what, but something had changed. The anger that had prompted a fourteen-year-old to go on an unprecedented killing spree was present combined with a new found knowledge that Gabriel found terrifying.

This Cross wasn’t confused. This Cross wasn’t undecided. This Cross had an agenda and was very motivated.

Gabriel stayed in the furthest recesses of Kale’s mind. Cross was distracted by his brother’s pain and his own anger. When he was certain that Cross had left and Kale was sleeping, he backed out.

He opened his eyes and found Niko staring at him. “Well, now what am I supposed to do with that?” he asked the dog. “Tanya would love to know Cross is out for a little post traumatic revenge.” Niko perked her ears at Cross’s name. “What do you think, Niko? I still think your master is dangerous. But do I let Tanya try to bring him in or do I keep this little gem all to myself.” Gabriel considered his own question. He knew the answer. He’d wanted Cross dead for ten years. Now he might have the chance to do what should have been done all those years ago. Or he could try something altogether different.

He could help his sons.

“Tanya and Coben are not going to like this. But they refuse to see Cross for the danger he is. They think he can be tamed, they think he can be controlled. They tried, I’ll give them credit, they did try, but this sleeping dragon has just opened his eyes. Cross is awake and he is hungry for blood.”

Niko cocked her head as if she were considering an answer when a light rap on the door had her jumping from Gabriel’s lap. She growled softly in her throat as if she knew who waited on the other side of the door. Maybe she did. Gabriel sensed Tanya’s presence and tried to figure out what she was doing at his quarters.

“Come in, Tanya. The door’s not locked.”

Niko’s growl grew as she hid behind Gabriel.

Tanya wrinkled her face in disgust as she looked at the dog. “You still have that thing here.”

Gabriel soothed Niko with a touch. “I like her company. What do you want?”

Tanya looked from the dog to Gabriel. Her dark eyes, while always hard, and suspicious seemed to consider Gabriel as if he were a new species she was sure was poisonous. “I need to ask you a question.”

“Then ask.” He didn’t like this. Tanya wasn’t here for a social visit. Tanya didn’t do social. He could have looked in her head, but it was difficult to read someone and talk to them at the same time. She would know what he was trying to do.

She stepped further into his quarters, her finger trailing along the surfaces of the furniture as if looking for dust. “You know what I’ve had done to Kale.” It wasn’t a question. He didn’t treat it as one.

“Of course.” She didn’t ask how he felt about what she had done, so he kept that to himself.

She stared at him for a moment before continuing as if she was trying to read him. “I need to know, whose side you’re on.”

Now he was totally confused. “I get a choice?” He tried to make light of the subject until he understood what she was after.

“At the end of the day Gabriel, when you have to choose a side, I need to know are you going to stand with us, or are you going to side with the freaks?”

“Maybe if you told me exactly what you’re talking about I could answer that.”

Tanya observed him. “I think this department has been quite lenient with you, wouldn’t you say? We have allowed you a great deal of latitude, you can come and go as you please. You’ve helped us on any number of cases and we appreciate all of that.”

“But?” Gabriel knew where she was going now.

“But,” Tanya continued. “You’re not the only psychic I have at my disposal. You might be the most talented psychic I’ve ever known, but I do have backups.”

“And your back up detected my presence when Cross contacted Kale.” There was no sense in denying the truth. But he had to wonder why Tanya had someone watching Kale. He also wondered how he could have missed that.

“Why didn’t you tell me what you were going to do? That worries me Gabriel.”

“How do you know I wasn’t going to report what I found out to you? It only just happened, Tanya.”

“Don’t insult my intelligence. You would have told me.”

“Or not. Maybe the real question is why you thought it was necessary to find another psychic. I’ve helped in all manner of things over the years. Why would this be any different?”

“Because this time it involves your sons.”

“You had Kale beaten to bait Cross in.” He thought about that and chastised himself for not thinking about it sooner.

Tanya dipped her head in acknowledgement. “And when he comes, I need to know, whose side will you be on?”

“You’ve made a mistake Tanya.”

“I don’t think so.”

“That arrogance is going to be your undoing. This all started with such altruistic notions, do you remember? We wanted to save lives, maybe even eliminate war. We wanted to improve the human condition.”

Tanya laughed, the sound like bells in the winds, delicate and beautiful. Gabriel knew better. He understood the monster behind the beauty. “Hitler claimed much the same thing when he employed psychics. Please Gabriel, don’t tell me you actually believe the hype we’ve spun for funding. The people we keep here are not interested in saving humanity. They most certainly don’t care about improving the human condition. Most of them are trying their level best to take humanity down an evolutionary trail we could never come back from. This is Darwinian mentality at its purist. We cut off the serpent’s head before the serpent can do the same to us.”

“Sounds a lot like a sister organization from a few years ago. Its leader claimed much the same thing. To better humanity at the expense of innocent lives.”

“You mean The Program?” Tanya scoffed. “The General and his experiments were never sanctioned by our government.”

“Neither is this Department. Technically.”

“John McKinley was insane. There is a difference between what that man did and what we do.”

Gabriel didn’t think so, but he also didn’t feel like arguing. “So you want to know which side of the evolutionary scale I sit on, is that it?”

“Something like that. What you can do? I can use that, I can respect that. But the things Cross and Kale can do? The things that the other people we have contained here can do? They need to be handled carefully. They need to understand their place. They cannot be allowed out in the general populace.”

Gabriel gave Tanya nothing. “Do you understand what you’ve done? Because I’m not sure you do.”

“If you’re talking about Cross, I know exactly what I’m doing. He isn’t a threat. The energy levels he displayed when he contacted Kale were not much more than his norm. We can control that. We can control him.”

“Then you’re an idiot. You’ve nearly pushed Kale over the edge, beat him almost to death and for what? To bring Cross to your door? You have a selective memory Tanya. Cross isn’t fourteen anymore.”

Tanya stepped back. “And I think I have my answer. It’s a shame, really. You were such a helpful freak. Stay out of my way Gabriel and perhaps you can still be of use.” Tanya turned and walked out the door. The locked clicked loudly into place a moment later.

Chapter 21

CROSS PULLED OUT of Kale’s mind. His breath came in fast gulps and sweat dripped from his face, rolled down his chest, his back. He had never manifested energy like that before. It took more out of him than he realized. Or maybe it was simply the emotional toll seeing Kale had taken on him. In all the times Kale had appeared to him over the years his brother had appeared to him as a fourteen-year-old boy – the last memory Cross had of him. This was different. For the first time in nearly ten years, Cross looked upon his adult brother.

The things Tanya had done to him made him want to hurt someone – badly. The man Cross saw was thin, it was obvious Kale had not been treated kindly over the years and recent abuse had been more than evident. Kale had been beaten terribly. His face bloody, bruised and swollen. By the way he tried not to move, his ribs were hurting. Bloody bandages encircled his wrists and fresh blood dripped from split lips. This changed everything. His plans went from figuring out how to get Kale out, to saving his life.

“Cross?”

Finn’s voice brought him back to the present.

Finn’s loft.

Maizey and Vic sat near him. Cross squeezed his eyes tight trying to purge the image of Kale broken and bleeding, out of his head, but then decided that he wanted the image to stay. That image would motivate him and right now Cross was very motivated.

When he thought he could speak, he turned in Finn’s direction. “Kale tried to help me. He warned me about Tanya, that she would stop at nothing to bring me back. He told me to run.” Cross lowered his head. He kept his voice low and even because if he didn’t he would scream. “Tanya somehow found out that that he helped me.”

Finn seemed to understand. “What did they do to him?”

Cross raised his head again and glanced in Finn’s direction. “They beat him, Finn. They beat him so hard he could barely move. That’s what my brother did to keep me safe. That is all he’s done since he was fourteen. They took my memories and scripted my life, but at least I had a life.” The anger could not be contained any longer. Neither could the guilt at what had become of Kale. Tears leaked from beneath the dark glasses. “I wasn’t linked with him very long, he was so weak. He couldn’t hide anything from me this time. Did you know, Finn? Did you know she keeps him in a small room? Like a pet.” Cross’s voice waivered. He took a moment. When he spoke again his voice was calmer, but the emotions were still as raw. “Since he was fourteen, that’s all he’s known. While I went to school, dated girls, had friends, all Kale has ever known is that one room and Tanya. Did you know Finn?”

“No, I swear. Tanya told everyone he was unstable and unpredictable. She said she was the only one who could control him. I had no idea what that meant.” Finn sounded sincere.

“And you never thought to find out for yourself? You never once thought to tell me he was still alive?” Cross leaned forward with his head in hands. “My God, what the hell did you people do to us?” Cross didn’t know which emotion to embrace, disgust, nearly overwhelming guilt or the anger that he now knew had always fueled him. All he could see in his mind was Kale, broken and bleeding because of him. And his brother was still trying to protect him

Run!

No way.

Not a chance.

“Listen to me.” Finn’s voice was quiet but intense. “You came here because you wanted my help. I don’t know what I can do to get Kale out of there, but I’m in.”

“I won’t let him die there,” Cross said. “Don’t tell you’re in unless you understand what that means. You saw the tapes of our escape attempt when we were fourteen? You saw what we did?”

“Yes.”

I’m not fourteen anymore. What I could do back then?” Cross felt the power stirring to life inside him. He desperately wanted to show them exactly what he was capable of. “That was nothing. I’m not afraid of doing what I have too.”

“I get that. When I tell you I’m in, I’m telling you I’m all in.”

“I would do this alone if I had to, but it would be better if I didn’t.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Maizey put a hand on his shoulder. “There are hundreds of us down in those tunnels. Some are too scared, or too young but there are more than enough to amass a respectable force against Tanya and her department.”

“Thank you.” He had meant it when he said he would do it alone. But help was good. It was very good. “When we tried to walk out of there all those years ago, I had no plan. Just arrogance. My powers are stronger than they were then, but I’m also smarter. We need a plan. I want Kale out of there in one piece. Risking his life is not an option.”

“Understood,” Vic said. “Why don’t we introduce Finn to the underground and we can figure out that plan. Maizey is impressive, but she can’t keep the smoke screen up indefinitely.”

Finn looked a bit unnerved. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, but we just walk right out of here? No one will see us?”

Maizey said. “Have a little faith Finnegan.”

“Faith. I’ll get right on that.”

It took everything for Cross not to go to Kale now, but he wouldn’t be helping his brother if he went in with only his anger as a shield. He had to wait, and so did Kale.

I’m coming man. Hold tight.

Chapter 22

VIC AND MAIZEY led them to a homeless shelter not far from Finn’s loft. With Maizey still shielding them in case they had company, Vic walked to the back room and entered a closet and pushed the back wall. The wall slid away and a hidden spiral staircase emerged. Without a word, they followed Vic down into the dark. A back door to the tunnels.

Finn looked down at the impenetrable black. “Have faith,” he whispered and started down one step at a time. About two minutes in light began to leak up from below. After being submersed in total darkness the dim lighting made him squint. The only person who seemed comfortable traversing the stairs without light, was Cross.

“How do you do this all the time?” Finn whispered. His voice was unnaturally loud in the confined space. “It’s terrifying.”

He heard Cross laugh. “It’s amazing what you get used to when you don’t have a choice.”

“Almost there,” Vic said from ahead. The light grew brighter and as they reached the bottom, a soft yellow glow showed Finn the underground. The stairwell opened into a long tunnel that Finn recognized as a subway. A very old, abandoned subway tunnel. Golden arches spanned the ceiling in beautiful mosaic patterns. No rails just concrete and dirt for a floor. Graffiti lined the walls along with tables, chairs. Sleeping bags were strewn about. Small children played in the shadows as their parents or guardians watched them. The adults looked up and gathered the children to them in fear as they entered.

As they recognized Vic and Maizey they visibly relaxed and let the children resume their play.

Tunnels led out of the room at various intervals. “What is this place?” Finn said.

“Exactly what it looks like,” Vic said. “There are dozens of abandoned subway lines all around the city. Most people have no idea what is right below their feet. Some entrances have been completely hidden, others destroyed. This was once the City Hall Line. It’s been abandoned since 1945. People thinks it’s haunted and we try to encourage that belief.”

“Wow. How many live down here?”

“Two hundred more or less. They come and go as they wish as long as they are sure they aren’t being followed. Most have ways to keep their passage undetected,” Vic explained.

A stab of guilt hit Finn. “We did this,” he said. “The Department. We forced these people to live like this.”

“Most of the ones we brought into the Department were rogues, Finn. They were dangerous. Those are the ones who don’t care who they hurt. I have no guilt in handing them over to Tanya and Coben,” Vic said. “But sometimes the innocent ones get caught in the net.”

“I had no idea. There are so many. I didn’t know.” Finn watched a little girl around two or three. She tossed a ball in the air and then kept in there with an invisible force. Finn could see the air shimmer around her as she manipulated the ball. He didn’t know what she was doing, but it was kind of cool. It was also kind of terrifying.

“You!” A man came from one of the tunnels and immediately focused on Finn. He pointed a meaty finger at him. “You’re the cocksucker who brought my boy to that place!” The man ran straight at Finn with a clear agenda. It happened so fast no one had time to react. The man was on Finn in a moment. He tried to dodge the punch but the guy was fast. A fist made exquisite contact with his jaw. Finn went down and the man followed him raining punches to his face and body. Every time Finn thought he could evade the assault, the guy was right there. Finn never got in one punch of his own.

“Will! Calm down.” Vic was on the guy trying to pull him off.

The assault stopped and Finn glanced up. Vic had the guy’s arms pinned behind him. The guy was fighting to get free.

Cross put a hand under Finn’s arm and helped him back to his feet. The room spun a little but he stayed on his feet. He wiped blood from his face with the back of one hand.

“What is he doing here, Vic? You tell me that. What’s this little prick doing in a place we all thought of as safe?” Will looked like he wanted to take Finn apart piece by piece.

“He’s here to help,” an older man said. He wasn’t a big man. His voice was soft, but it was clear the amount of respect he commanded. “I’m sorry, Will, I should have prepared all of you that Vic was bringing him here. I promise you Mr. Doyle was fed false information when he did the things he did for the department, as was my grandson.”

Finn raised his brow at that. Cross’s grandfather?

“I’m sorry for the less than warm welcome Mr. Doyle. But I’m afraid most of the people down here have not have favorable experiences with the Department of Paranormal Research. My name is Charlie. Let me see what I can do about those injuries.”

“It’s okay, he clocked me good, but nothing worth complaining about.”

Charlie held his hands up in acceptance. “Let me know if you change your mind. You might want to get some ice on that eye. It’s already starting to close.”

Finn resisted the temptation to touch his swelling eye.

Will looked resigned, but not so much that he wasn’t ready to give Finn another go. “How is he supposed to help? He’s the reason most of us live down here in the dark.”

Cross stepped in front of Finn. “He has information I need to get my brother out of there. He promised he would help. Trust me, if he doesn’t, if he looks for one second like he’s going to flip, I have no problem putting him down.” Cross’s voice was soft. He held his head at an odd angle as he spoke, as if the words hurt him to speak them.

Finn wasn’t sure if Cross was serious or not.

“Yeah, and why should we be trusting you any better?” Will took a step toward Cross. “No offense Charlie, I understand he’s family, but until just a few days ago we were hiding from this one too.”

“He didn’t know any better, Wills. He does now,” Charlie said.

“Oh, I see, so because he knows ‘better’ now, all is forgiven. All the people, all the children these two have handed over to that place, we’re just supposed to forget about that. We’re supposed to trust them with our lives now?” Will, approached Finn and Cross. “I don’t know about anyone else here, but my trust needs to be earned, not given.” Will had about two inches on Finn and stood in his face glaring down at him. His eyes all hard dark slits. Finn held his ground. The guy had gotten the better of him once. It wouldn’t happened again.

“Back off, man,” Finn warned him.

Will stayed where he was.

“It won’t be so easy next time,” Finn said.

Will gave Finn a nasty sneer. “Next time nobody’s going to pull me off you.”

“Yeah, we are all sincerely impressed by the manly display of testosterone. Can we please dial it down a notch or three,” Maizey shouldered her way through the crowd that had been forming a circle around Will, Finn and Cross. She stepped between Will and Finn and shoved Will back with a hand on his chest. “We get it, Will. You don’t like them, you don’t trust them. Too fooking bad, love. Trust or no, these boys just might be our only way to finally shut the Department down for good, or at the very least give us a way to fight back.” She put a hand through Cross’s arm. “So unless you have a better idea, go hate them in private – and quietly. You’re giving me a headache.”

Will didn’t seem very happy about getting dressed down by Maizey in public, but he took a step back. Maizey did not seem impressed or intimidated. Finn was liking this girl just fine.

“If we’re finished getting to know each other,” Charlie said. “I want to discuss strategy and pick Finn’s brain. I need to know how the compound is laid out, security, weapons. I’m sure Cross has questions about Kale.”

“And as important as all that is,” Maizey snugged Cross’s arm to her. “I think you all failed to notice this boy is about ready to drop.” All eyes were suddenly focused on Cross. Finn noticed he swayed slightly under Maizey’s firm grip. His legs bowed a little and his one hand held his head as if it were too heavy to hold up on its own. “I’m afraid he’s not used to tapping into the kind of energy he needed to manifest in front of Kale like he did.” A thin trickle of blood ran from Cross’s nose.

Finn was at Cross’s side in an instant, trying to see behind the reflective lenses. “Jesus, this is what happened before, when he collapsed outside the department. Cross, you okay?”

Cross didn’t answer. “Is he all right?” Finn turned to Charlie who in turn looked to Maizey.

“He just over did it, Love. Help me get him somewhere quiet where he can rest. I’ll take care of him.”

Finn took his partner’s other arm and followed Maizey. “When you’re done Finn,” Charlie said. “Find your way back here. While Cross rests we need to talk.”

Finn nodded and then turned to tend to Cross.

Chapter 23

MAIZEY LED CROSS down a series of tunnels and turns. Finn helped to keep him on his feet, but Maizey sensed the overwhelming fatigue crashing down on him. They stopped outside a small cave-like room that, with the help of soft drapes, pillows and lighting was warm and inviting.

“Put him here.” Maizey pulled back the covers on a small cot and Finn helped Cross onto it. She pulled his shoes off and tried for a convincing grin. “He’ll be all right, Finnegan. Think you can find your way back? Charlie will be waiting on you.”

Finn seemed hesitant to leave Cross. Maizey stood and faced him. “I’m not going to hurt him, love. I understand how hard this must be for you. He’s been your responsibility all these years and now you have to share him.”

“I hate psychics.”

Maizey laughed. “I know. Go on now with you. I’ll take care of your Cross for you.”

Finn paused only a moment turning and walking back into the tunnels.

“He’s worried.” Cross’s voice was soft, his faced pinched and tired.

“Aye, I feel that too. I also know what you’re feeling now as well. Come love, let me help.” Maizey sat on the edge of the bed and took Cross’s dark glasses off. Behind them his eyes were closed. A bright red smear of blood trickled from his nose and trailed down his chin. She took a cloth to wipe it clean when he stopped her.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Just tired. Talking to Kale, I wasn’t expecting it to take so much out of me.”

Maizey pushed his hand down and wiped the blood away. “If that’s all it was, love, I would have let you stay where you dropped. You forget, I can get inside your head too.”

“And I really wish you wouldn’t.”

“Stop being stubborn. What were you planning on doing back there? Falling on your face? You were barely holding it together.”

Cross leaned back into the pillows and sighed. “I hate psychics.” His voice held humor even as his face sagged in exhaustion.

“I know, now, shut up and let me take care of you.” She moved off the bed to get fresh water and rinse the rag. “Now while you lay there and try to be quiet I’ll answer the questions you don’t have to ask. See, there are some advantages to being psychic.”

Cross opened his mouth to say something when she stopped him. “Shh, lay there, be still and listen. You might have learned the truth about who you are and what you are capable of but that doesn’t mean you know how to use that power surging through you just yet. You’re a little out of practice. What you did to make contact with your brother was the equivalent to that of a beginner runner doing a marathon. Right now you’re paying the price for that, understand?”

Cross gave her a small nod. Maizey came back to sit on the bed and placed a warm wet rag on his eyes. The scent of lavender and vanilla filled the room, Cross exhaled and the tension seemed to drain from his body. Maizey placed her hands on either side of Cross’s head and closed her eyes to focus. Maizey didn’t need to dig too deep to know Cross suffered far more than physical pain. The emotional turmoil of discovering what had been done to him, of understanding what his brother had sacrificed for him all these years, ate away at him. He tried to keep everything folded up and buried deep inside of him. But no one had given him a chance to take a breath the last few days let alone compartmentalize his feelings. Maizey could feel the cracks breaking at the surface of the calm he projected. She also knew he wasn’t going to be able to keep the pretense up for much longer.

If Cross lost it, she feared the uncontrolled anger he had let loose when he was younger would look like a minor incident in comparison. She didn’t want to help Cross because she felt sorry for him. She did, but that was beside the point. If Cross didn’t learn to control the volatile mix of power and emotions boiling through him, he might end up destroying them all.

Her fingers gently caressed the side of Cross’s head and she felt him sink deeper into a relaxed state. “I know you’re hurting love, I can help with that.” She kept her voice soft and mellow.

Cross tensed slightly under her hands. “Gabriel told me the same thing not too long ago. That didn’t work out so well, so thanks, but no.” He took her hands and held them between his own.

“I’m not Gabriel. I have nothing to hide from you.”

“Everyone has something to hide, Maizey. No one shows their true selves, everyone tells just enough of the truth to get what they want.”

“Fair enough. What if I showed you the truth of who I am, would that convince you? I would let you in, so you wouldn’t have to exert yourself, no need to go poking around in my head, I’ll lay it all out there for you, the ugly, naked truth. You would know if I was lying to you. If I did that for you, then would you trust me enough to help you?”

“What makes you think I need your help?”

Maizey sighed. “Because Cross, what you fail to understand is terrifyingly clear to me. You have no idea how to handle the powers inside of you. Some of them, you don’t even realize are there. If you don’t let me help, you are going to let that anger you try so very hard to hide, rule you. If you do, none of us are getting out of this alive. The only person who will survive is Kale. If you’re dead, who will save your brother then? Who will care what happens to him when no one alive will he even know he exists? He will belong to Tanya, body and soul until the day he dies.” Maizey meant every word, she had seen it all come to pass as one possible future.

“So if laying myself bare before you is what it takes for you to trust me, then I will show you anything.”

Cross let her hands go. “I wish I could say I could trust you without doing that –”

“But you can’t,” Maizey finished for him. “I get that. You have been lied to and manipulated your entire life, let me show you there are people out there who are worthy of your trust.” Maizey took his hands and placed them on either side of her head. Cross instinctively understood what to do. She opened her mind to him. For a psychic to do that would be the same as standing naked in front of a crowd. The barriers she kept in place fell, the half-truths we all are comfortable with, dissolved. Maizey allowed Cross Delancey into the most private parts of her soul. Sex wouldn’t have been as intimate as what she and Cross were about to share.

A little girl of six or seven just learning she was different. A mother dead in child birth, a father who never forgave that child for the one thing she could never change, her existence. The forced isolation, the days of no one talking to her. A mean man who fed her and clothed her but starved her emotionally. Being punished for what came naturally to her. Beaten to make her stop what she didn’t know how to control. Growing up, a teenager who knew the things inside of her were bad, they were wrong. Ashamed for who, and what she was, but hating the man who was her father, for keeping her this way. Resentment kept her soul company. It fed on her misery and nursed her hatred.

Anger made her strong, so she let that anger take her over. Ambushing her father as he came to feed her was easy. The door unlocked and she pulled him inside, the anger a force within her – she was so strong. She didn’t realize he was dead until she saw the blood. He wasn’t supposed to die, she only wanted –out!

Stupid drunk, stupid daddy. Fell and hit his head. The fire was an accident, the candles that lit her small room fell with him. The cheap worn carpet went up with a whoosh! And suddenly the curtains were an angry hungry flame that ate everything in its path. She stood there until it was almost too late and then the way to the door was blocked. The flames searching for her. Finding her.

The fire had tasted her but she survived. Charlie had found out about her through his information network. He had watched her and now he had saved her.

The little girl who had grown into a beautiful teenager had grown into a woman because Charlie took her in. Her beauty had been a price she was more than glad to pay. As she looked at the melted ruin of her face and arms, she often thought what price can one place on freedom?

She didn’t want the scars on her body to matter, they were nothing compared to the scars on her soul, but they did, they kept her as much a prisoner as her father. Then she learned something about herself that changed everything. She might not have any control over the way she looked, but she could control how others saw her. It wasn’t hard. Maizey picked a mask and that is the face she showed to the world. Not many knew her secret, the way the scars still burned and stretched when she moved, when she talked. The ugliness that went far deeper than her skin.

The shame.

Then learning what Charlie had planned. She could make a difference instead of wishing she was something she wasn’t. Learning how to love herself. Learning to forgive her father and then learning to forgive herself.

Understanding she was willing to do anything to keep others from going through what had been her life.

Maizey surfaced from the memories. She had given Cross the chance to see her as she truly was. He didn’t need sight to see her, he only needed Maizey to allow him inside, and she had. With her illusion removed, she took his hands and guided them over the taught ridges and valleys that was her face.

“This is who I really am, Cross.” She watched his face closely, looking for the telltale signs of shock or disgust. She waited for the hands beneath hers to jerk back as he understood what he touched was not the beautiful girl she had shown to him in his head. “You wanted truth, this is my truth. This is who I am behind the magic. If what I showed you was a lie then I’m sorry. Sometimes we deceive ourselves so much it becomes difficult to know where the lie stops and the truth starts. I guess the lie has become comfortable to me over the years. The lie is how I see myself.” She didn’t cry now. She was glad of that. Showing him her truth was one thing but showing him the shame she felt by way of tears was something else altogether. She still had some pride left to her.

“That truth is yours now,” she said. “You can do what you want with it.” She suddenly felt very small. Her truth wasn’t noble or self-sacrificing. It was ugly and selfish and for all her psychic prowess, she couldn’t begin to think of what Cross would think of her now. Cross moved his hands from her cheeks to her eyes, where lids were pulled tight with scar tissue, to her misshaped nose and down to the nearly lipless mouth. He moved his head as if he were seeing her with his eyes and not his hands. Shame washed over her. She wished, for all her truths, that she could be beautiful for him. She wanted to be beautiful for him.

His one hand cupped her face as the other smoothed her hair. He held her gently as if she might break if he touched her wrong.

“I have spent nearly my entire life in the dark. I stopped judging what I couldn’t see a long time ago. What I consider beautiful is what most people don’t even know how to look for. Would you like to know how I see you Maizey?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice to speak. He still held her face in his hand and felt the movement. “I see you as a bright powerful force, all crazy yellows and reds. You are energy and movement. You are warmth and caring. You feel like home to me.” He brought both hands back to hold her face.

Wanted or not, tears burned tracks down her face at his words. She knew he felt them as he held her and wiped them away with a thumb. “But mostly what I see when I look at you is hope. I see hope, Maizey. And hope is the most beautiful thing there is.” Cross leaned in and kissed her ruined mouth and for one still moment, he made her feel beautiful.

Chapter 24

A CALMNESS SETTLED over Cross as he released Maizey. He wondered if it was something she had done to him to make him feel this way. If it was, he couldn’t say he objected.

“Now you know,” she said.

He felt the truth in Maizey’s words, in the past she’d shared with him. She was no threat to him. Shame washed over him for a moment.

“Now I know,” he agreed.

“Will you let me help you?”

“This will help me free Kale?”

“Yes.”

“Then, yes,” Cross said. “I believe you. Do what you have too, show me what you need too, but understand one thing before you do.”

“And what would that be, love?”

Cross reached a hand out and found her face once more. He let his fingers move lightly over her features. She had put the illusion back on. “I understand what drives you now, and you know the same of me.”

“Aye, I do.”

“Then you understand that Kale comes first. Whatever it takes, my life or anyone else’s, Kale comes first. He’s sacrificed too much of himself for me already.”

Maizey took his hand and held it for a moment before kissing the palm and letting it go. “I know. And that is exactly why you need to learn what I have to teach you.”

“As long as we’re clear.”

“As glass, Love. Are you ready to learn exactly what has all those people in that department of yours scared shitless at the thought of losing you?”

Cross grinned and spread his hands giving her the go ahead.

“Well then,” Maizey took a breath. “Let’s start with what you do know. The psychic ability is a given, I am confident you know what you’re doing when it comes to delving into other’s psyches. As for the ability to manifest energy, you obviously knew how to do this before they messed with you, before you were injured, do you remember how you did that?”

Cross almost said no, when one thing, one single incident came front and center. “There was one time. Finn and I brought this kid in- real unstable abilities and sociopathic tendencies on top of that. Short story he was about to kill Finn. I interceded.”

“How?”

He thought about how to explain it to her and realized he couldn’t even explain it to himself. “I don’t know. I knew I had to do something. All I remember is being angry. This little shit was about to kill my partner and I was going to have a front row seat. I wanted to hurt him, I remember that. The rest,” Cross raised his shoulders in a helpless gesture. “I didn’t do anything. It just happened.”

“You did it, the power’s always been there. It’s part of who you are. I felt that much, but because of what they did to you, it’s been pushed so far into the background, you forgot about it, but when you needed it, your reflexes took over. All we need to do is coax it back out into your conscious life.”

She was right, he could feel that power simmering inside of him. He always could, like a caged animal still and quiet waiting for the time to pounce. Cross simply needed to let it out of the cage. He closed his eyes and pictured Kale bloodied and beaten in his cell, he thought of the life his brother must have had and what had been done to both of them. He felt familiar anger begin to bubble through him and then, yes, he found that caged beast and cracked the door open.

Energy flowed through him. It was like taking a breath, natural, instinctual and easy. He opened his eyes and the room was brighter. He followed the glow and realized he held a glowing ball of pure energy between his hands. It pulsed and waited for him to do something with it. It also scared the crap out of him. “Well shit, now what do I do?”

Maizey laughed not at all worried at what she was witnessing. It was as if previously homicidal men manifested power in her presence every day. “What do you want to do with it?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Then don’t. This power, this energy comes from you, Cross. It’s yours to command. You can use it as a weapon, or you could simply let it go.”

“Let it go?” Cross wasn’t sure he completely understood.

“Let is dissipate back into the singular elements from which you collected it.”

“I can do that?”

“You can do that, love. Just let it go,” she said again.

Cross wasn’t so sure, but he trusted Maizey. He opened his hands and gently released the energy there. Through his shadowy vision he saw the brightness he had been holding expand until it covered the ceiling above them and then it separated. Cross saw this as brilliant glowing specks. Then the specks faded and rained down on both of them. Cross feared for Maizey’s safety but to his complete and utter surprise she laughed.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. “Like falling stars.”

“I didn’t hurt you?” Cross said, a smile on his face.

“No, Love,” Cross felt her touch his face. “You did it and that’s only the beginning, but first would you like to learn how you can see again?”

Cross brought his head up and stared at where he knew she sat. “What?”

“It’s not like you used to see, but would you like to know how to use that power to see when you want?”

Cross’s heart rate bumped up and his breathing quickened. “You can do that?”

“No but you can.”

“How? I’m blind Maizey, no amount of energy can fix that.”

“It won’t be sight, not like before, but it might be something you can use to get by with. A sort of sight is better than none, right?”

“How do you know I can do this?”

“Well, from what I can gather from looking around the nooks and crannies of your subconscious, this is how it works. When you lost your sight, it took a while, but you began to rely on other cues, your hearing, touch, you remembered details of the physical world so you could navigate, right?”

“Yes.” He still didn’t understand, but he was definitely intrigued.

“Okay, that was how you adapted physically, but what you never realized was your other abilities adapted as well. You just learned you always had the ability to manipulate energy, but that too adapted to your loss of sight.”

Cross thought he understood what she was getting at. “The first time I tried to get out.”

“Yes, you saw the threat and turned it against the person trying to hurt you. Without your sight you didn’t know how to do that. Thanks to Coben and Tanya you forgot you even knew how.”

“But my body remembered.” Cross said. It was starting to make sense.

“And it adapted. Now as you gather the energy around you, your mind can stream it back out. Energy can’t be destroyed, but it can be transferred. So my best comparison would be radar. You ping energy out, it bounces off objects around you and they become visible to you. Does that sound right?”

Yes,” Cross was excited now. “You think I can do that?”

“It’s all about control, Cross. Right now when you gather energy to do anything, you go for broke. In essence, you’re using a sledge hammer to crack open an egg. You need to only take what you need. I can’t tell you how much or how little, but I think once you realize what to do it will come naturally to you now that you understand. Want to give it a try?”

Cross exhaled and tried to relax. Nerves crawled like ants along the inside of his skin as he attempted to focus. He used his hands to gather the energy around him, he tried to keep it under control but it was difficult. The now familiar tingle danced between his hands as he kept the power whirling quietly. “Okay, now what?”

“Now, instead of expending it out, absorb it inside of you.”

“What? You’re kidding.”

“Trust me, love. It won’t hurt you. This is what you were born to do.”

Cross considered that. “I don’t know how.” The energy between his hands buzzed like angry bees waiting to be set free.

Maizey sounded infinitely patient. “Yes you do, trust your instincts. Charlie removed anything that could have blocked you, now all you have to do is stretch yourself. You can do this Cross.”

Sweat beaded on his head. He was breathing fast and he wasn’t nearly as confident as Maizey gave him credit for.

Trust yourself.

Cross took a breath and let it out fast. He wanted to take that ball of seething energy and compress it, make it smaller until it slipped right into him. So that’s exactly what he did. He molded and squeezed and pressed and as he did he felt heat, but it didn’t burn. The more he pushed, the warmer he felt—on the inside. It was a good feeling, satisfying like eating after along fast. His palms touched each other and Cross understood that he no longer held the ball of energy, it was now inside of him.

Maizey was right, this felt right, natural. He didn’t think he needed the sledge hammer to see, so he opened a very small doorway in his mind and let the energy trickle out in a slow steady stream and as he did, the world around him lit up in a blue-electric pulse. He laughed as he realized what he had done. Actually it was more like a giggle, Cross didn’t care. He had done it.

He turned to see Maizey sitting beside him. “I see you.”

Maizey smiled and Cross was sure he had never seen anything more beautiful. “There you go, love. Now you can’t keep this up 24/7, but I think you’ll find it doesn’t take much to ‘keep the lights on’.”

“No, this is like breathing. Now that I know how, I don’t even have to think about it.” He stood and turned in a circle. “I can see.”

“You can, but remember what I said about running that marathon? After a while you’ll be able to do this without payback, but you need to work those mental muscles out a little bit at a time.”

“I’m almost afraid if I stop I won’t be able to do it again,” Cross said. It was the truth. He didn’t trust himself to call up his sight again, but he did trust Maizey. He let the rest of the energy out slowly, as he did he took in every detail of the room he was in, the colors, the fabrics, but mostly he watched Maizey and as the last of energy left him, like a breath exhaled, his sight dimmed and being in the shadows again was all the darker for having been shown the light.

He was standing in the middle of the room when his knees buckled. He had no center, nothing to reference up from down. Cross was standing one moment and the next he was spinning. Maizey caught him before he hit the ground, or floated away, he couldn’t tell which.

“And that would be the marathon,” she said as she brought him gently down to his knees.

“Ah, right,” his hand went to his head to try and stop the spinning. A queasy rolling gripped him. Maizey half dragged him back to the bed, Cross tried to help, but his brain stopped taking requests.

“This gets easier, right?” he hoped.

A light kiss on his head and a blanket was thrown over him. He curled into its warmth and tried to will his world to be still.

“Infinitely. I promise, but for now just sleep.”

“Don’t leave,” his words slurred and an uneasiness gripped his heart at the thought of waking up alone in the dark. He held a hand out and felt her fingers, cool and slender, wrap around his.

“I’m right here, love. I’ll be right here when you open your eyes. Trust me.”

Cross squeezed her hand and let sleep suck him under.

Trust me.

Those words followed him down as he realized he had done just that.

Chapter 25

THE PLAN WAS full of holes, both Vic and Finn knew it, but it was the best that any of them could come up with. It could work. It probably wouldn’t get them killed. Maybe.

“Tanya took my badge,” Finn reminded Vic.

“I am aware of that.”

“I can’t come with you.”

“You can if Maizey hides you.”

Finn paced in circles and rubbed his head. “What makes you think she hasn’t moved Kale?”

“Because whenever she moves that boy, she puts the entire building on lockdown and doubles security. She hasn’t done that. But she has sequestered herself down in the tombs for the last few days. Something is up.”

The tombs. Two floors beneath the streets of Manhattan was a place very few people knew existed let alone have ever seen. That is where the most dangerous freaks were kept. Restricted entry. Excruciatingly tight security. Motion and heat sensors every few yards. If alarms sounded it was never a drill and the guards there were instructed to shoot to kill. No exceptions. Tanya was Lord and Master of the tombs and as far as Finn knew there was one and only one occupant locked down there alone in the dark.

Shut away from humanity, sunlight, and all contact, save Tanya was where Kale Delancey existed. To say he lived would be an unfair exaggeration.

“I was only ever down there the one time. Tanya wanted to convince me that Kale was the least dangerous brother. Took me twenty minutes to get through security. I never even saw him face to face. She took me to the control room and I watched a live feed.”

“What did you see?” Vic said. Finn knew he was curious. Everyone who worked for the paranormal department had heard about Kale Delancey, but almost no one saw him. He was an urban legend. Except Finn knew he was real, he had seen the man. He had no idea how rare that was until years later.

“I saw Cross,” Finn said. “If Cross had been kept a prisoner for the last ten years. I don’t know what I was expecting, but he was just one man, sitting there staring at nothing. I felt sorry for him, not afraid of him.”

“Said the man about the caged lion right before the lion ate him,” Vic said. “Look, as far as I know, they still think I’m the faithful employee. I’m due back tonight, I’m on night shift. Thought it might be easier to get to Kale then.”

“This is suicide, you realize that, right?” Finn said.

“Relax, man. I don’t do suicide. This is the best I have right now but feel free to chime in if you think of something better.”

Finn sat down opposite Vic and spread his hands giving him the go ahead. Vic reached behind him and pulled rolled paper from a cardboard tube. They looked like schematics. “This is the complex. All the upper levels here,” Vic pointed to the two different levels shown on the paper. He pulled another paper from behind the first and placed it on top. “And this shows the two underground levels. Kale, as far as anyone knows, is in the bottom most level.”

Finn leaned in and studied the schematics. “Where did you get these?”

“I’m not the only one at the department with a hidden agenda. Suffice it to say, we have more inside help than just me.”

“Like who?” Finn was beginning to feel like everybody was keeping secrets from him.

“You don’t need to know right now, when you do I’ll tell you.”

“Screw that Vic. I’m putting my life on the line here. I think I should at least know who I’m trusting that life too.” Finn was liking this less and less.

“And if Tanya finds out who gave me these, she will have no problem killing him, or torturing him for information about who he’s working with. I think we all have something at stake here, Finn so don’t play the life at stake card with me. Everyone here has played that card more times than I can count. Just trust me, these are accurate.”

“I don’t like not knowing all the facts, Vic. I feel like my ass is hanging out in the wind here. Everyone wants me to trust them and I’m not sure I can do that.”

Vic’s eyes darkened as he hardened his face. “Then walk. You don’t want to help us get Kale out of there, I can show you the door right now. How’s that for trust?

“All these people here. They live this way because of the Department that, until recently, you worked for. They trusted you because I vouched for you. There are families here, Finn. They trust the lives of their children on my word that you are not going to bring Coben and Tanya and half the department down here to scoop them up like they’re unpapered pollos crossing the border.”

Vic walked around the desk to stand in front of Finn. “I get the uncertainty. I understand it, but I don’t have time to wait around for you to get comfortable with trusting us. You are either in or you are out.”

Finn stared back into Vic’s very black, very angry eyes. He felt like an ass. Even Cross, who had more reason than anyone not to trust him, had decided Finn was worth the risk. He didn’t want to die. But sometimes dying for the right thing was better than staying alive for the wrong ones.

“I’m in,” he said. He held Vic’s gaze a moment longer. Vic seemed to consider his decision then gave him one brief nod.

“All right. Then let’s see what we can come up with to get Kale out of that place and still be alive at the end of the day.”

Pulling the schematics closer to him, Finn studied the drawings. “Alive works for me.”

Chapter 26

TANYA AND COBEN were in the control room watching a live feed of Kale. He curled into himself on the thin mattress. She had ordered all his bedding removed. Leaving Kale only the bare mattress and the clothes on his back. The temperature in his room had been turned down to a chilly fifty-five.

“If you kill him, we’ll have nothing to barter for Cross’s cooperation,” Coben said.

“I don’t intend to kill him,” Tanya said. “I simply want him miserable.”

Coben watched Kale shiver. “I would say you succeeded. You said he’ll do what you want. Isn’t this a bit much?”

Tanya swallowed her disgust. For the life of her she couldn’t understand why Coben was in a position of power. He didn’t have it in him to do what was necessary to get the job done. “Think about it. We know Cross and Kale have been communicating telepathically. Possibly for years. We also know they would do anything for each other, so it’s reasonable to believe that Cross knows what I’ve done to Kale. He is going to come for him. And when he does he’s mine.”

“I understand that, I approve of that, but why make Kale miserable?”

Tanya bit down the fury that bubbled through her. How dare he question how she handle Kale? She pushed down what she wanted to say and put a pretty smile on her face. “Because Coben, Kale is dangerous. My hold on him is tenuous. I want him incapable of pushing anyone. He requires energy to push. If he is hurt, feverish and uncomfortable, he can’t control, influence or push anyone.

“I want him miserable, Coben, because he’s not as dangerous that way. That is, unless you can think of a better way to control him.”

“You could sedate him.”

“And where would be the motivation for Cross to come and save him? I need him hurt Coben, so Cross will risk anything to save him. If Kale were simply sleeping, there would be no urgency. Without urgency, Cross would be careful.

“I don’t want him careful, I want him reckless.”

Coben looked back at the monitors once more. He didn’t look much happier, but he did appear resigned. “Don’t kill him. I have government contractors willing to pay a lot to use that talent of his. I need him alive, Tanya. Alive and willing to do whatever you tell him to do. Is that clear?”

“Don’t worry Coben. You’ll be able to whore him out soon enough. And if you’re lucky we’ll be able to offer his brother as an added bonus.”

Coben considered that, then grunted. Without another word he left the control room.

Tanya glared after him. She glanced down at Kale for a moment and then pushed a button on the console.

“Yo,” her chief of security answered.

“Robert, how is Kale doing?”

“Hurting.”

Tanya considered. As much as she hated to give Coben credit, he did have a point. Kale was of no use to her dead. “Give him some water, clean him up and give him something for the fever.”

“Yes, ma’am.” No hesitations, no questions, Robert would do as he was told. That’s how it should be. Coben should take notes from her security team. “Robert?”

“Yes?”

“There’s no need to be gentle, am I clear?”

“Absolutely.”

“Don’t do any additional damage, take care of him, but no hand holding.”

“Understood.” Robert ended the conversation.

Why are you doing this, Coben had asked her.

Because I can.

* * *

KALE WAS SO cold. He shivered and pain spasmed in his chest and he couldn’t breathe. Cross needed help. Kale could hear his brother calling for him. He tried to find Cross, but he was in a maze. Every turn he took ended in a dead end. Cross kept calling.

“I’m coming, man!” Why couldn’t he find him? One more turn, one more hallway and then… There! He saw Cross at the end of a long tunnel. He tried to run, but he hurt too badly. He forced himself to keep moving.

As he got closer, he realized it wasn’t Cross who waited for him at the end of that tunnel.

Sybil King stood there. Her hair was matted to her head with blood. She grinned at Kale with crimson stained teeth. “You can’t get out,” she said. “You’re going to die here and when you do, I’ll be waiting for you.”

Sybil laughed and Kale shivered with more than just the cold.

Kale opened his eyes and pain greeted him. He was sweating, and yet he shivered from the fever that ravaged his body. His arms were being lifted and as his vision cleared he recognized Robert peeling the filthy bandages from his left wrist.

He grimaced as scabs and skin were pulled off with the gauze. The wounds smelled horrible and an awful yellow fluid mixed with the blood. Kale tried to pull his hands away but Robert grasped them firmly.

“Take it easy, Kale. Just getting you cleaned up. Thirsty?” Robert held out a bottle of water and Kale grabbed it with his still bandaged right hand. He gulped and spilled more water than he swallowed. He didn’t care. He was so thirsty.

Robert held out some pills to him. “Here, you’re burning up. This’ll help.”

Kale downed them with what was left of the water. He eyed Robert suspiciously. He had never been like this. He had never helped him. He had certainly never been alone with him before.

“Why?” Kale said.

Robert took Kale’s other wrist and ripped the stiff bandage off causing more blood and pus to roll down Kale’s arm.

He hissed with the pain and grimaced.

“Because I do what I’m told,” Robert said. “Maybe if you did that, you wouldn’t be where you are now.” He scrubbed the wounds on Kale’s wrist. Kale pulled his arm back and held it against his chest. “Stop. Please, it hurts.”

“Like I give a fuck.” Robert reached for his arm again.

Kale was too tired to fight him. Then he remembered his dream. Sybil King with her blood matted hair waiting for him.

He squeezed his eyes closed and understood that was to be his end. That reality was as clear to him as the pain Robert caused him. He glanced behind Robert to the door of his room. It was open.

That door was never left open.

Maybe it had been laziness on Robert’s part, or maybe he was afraid to be locked in a room alone with Kale. Or maybe Robert was confident that Kale was too weak to cause him any trouble.

Kale remembered Cross calling for him in the dream, He thought he remembered Cross coming to him earlier, but he wasn’t sure if the memory was part of his delirium or just another dream. But one thing he knew for certain. If Cross knew what Tanya had done to him, his brother would come. Tanya was counting on that. He shook his head. “Not gonna happen.”

“What?” Robert didn’t even bother looking at him as he asked the question. “What’re you talking about?”

Kale saw one chance. Maybe they would catch him. Maybe he didn’t have the strength. He didn’t care. He didn’t fucking care anymore. He had to try.

He pulled his arm away from Robert and waited until Robert looked at him. “Stop.” It wasn’t a hard push. Barely more than a nudge but Robert stopped what he was doing. His face blanked and he looked at Kale for further instructions.

Kale’s bruised mouth pulled up into a small smile. He tried to sit up. “Help me.” Robert helped him sit.

The room spun a little but Kale ignored it. He was never going to get a second chance at this. “Tell me where Tanya is.”

“At the main house.”

“I don’t know what that means. Explain.”

“She’s not in this complex today. That’s why I’m here.”

“She’s not in this building?”

“No.”

“Okay, Robert. Listen carefully. You are going to take me from this building.”

“I can do that.” Robert told him. Kale was reasonably sure he could make everyone around them forget they even saw him with Robert. It wasn’t hard to push him, but Kale knew it would probably get more difficult the longer the push went on. If he was well, this would be a piece of cake, but pushing someone was a delicate matter. It required a great deal of concentration.

Like a well-trained athlete, Kale had practiced this his entire life, Tanya had seen to that. Pushing was like breathing to him. Except that right now, Kale was feverish and in pain. Getting Robert to guide him out of the complex was going to take every bit of concentration he had.

He had no idea how to get out, no idea of where to go or what to do once he was out. But out was infinitely better than in. He would worry about what to do if he actually managed to pull this off. He would have preferred to push Robert into taking him somewhere safe, but he didn’t think he could keep it up that long. He was shaking now with the simple effort of keeping Robert’s attention on him.

“Go.” Kale stood and swayed. His head swam and his concentration wavered for a moment. When his vision cleared Robert was shaking his head and looking confused. Kale pushed him again, a little harder.

“Help me, take me to a back door. Someplace no one will see me.”

Robert blinked, his face compliant once more. He put an arm under Kale’s to support him. Together they walked out of the little room that, for the last ten years had been Kale’s world.

He tried not to think about that. If he thought about that he wouldn’t be able to concentrate enough to push Robert.

They passed no one in the hallways but Kale noticed the cameras and other devices on the ceiling. “How are we being watched?”

“Thermal sensors, Motion detectors, security cameras.”

“Are they all on?”

“Just the cameras now. I was with you so the thermal and motion detectors weren’t needed.”

“Tell them to turn the cameras off.”

Robert took the phone from his belt and pushed a button. “Turn the cameras off on this level.” He looked at Kale. “They want to know why.”

Kale took a breath. Pushing Robert was getting harder every minute, but he was committed now. He could collapse later. He held out a hand for the phone. “How many levels need cleared for me to get out?” He asked Robert.

“Two.”

Kale put the phone to his ear and pushed the person on the other end. “Shut down the cameras and everything that would alert anyone to anything not normal for…” He looked to Robert for help.

“Sub levels one and two.”

“Sub levels one and two,” Kale repeated. “Oh, and you won’t remember this conversation.” Kale handed Robert the phone. “Go. Fast.”

They met four more people as Robert guided Kale up and out. Kale pushed them each in turn. But he was slipping. He hoped wherever Robert was taking him, it was close.

After what seemed like a few dozen eternities. Robert stopped in front of an emergency exit. It took Kale a moment to understand. “Here?”

“Yes.”

“This is out?”

“Yes, there is a stairway that leads up to street level.”

“And where will I be exactly when I go up there?”

Robert’s face creased in thought. “Back alley. I think.”

“Perfect. You’ve done well Robert. Now I want you to do one more thing for me.”

“Yes?” Robert waited for his final instructions.

“I want you to go back to my room and lock yourself in. Stay there until someone comes to get you. You will not remember any of this. I did not push you. You don’t know what happened to me. Understand?”

“Sure.”

Kale closed his eyes briefly and swallowed. Adrenaline helped but without Robert’s support he wondered just how far he would get without falling flat on his face. Without waiting to find out, with one hand bracing hurt ribs Kale pushed open the door and staggered up into the light.

Chapter 27

UTAH CASE DIDN’T hate her job. Seriously, there were way crappier ways to make a living. Being a barista in the slightly upscale Blue Bean coffee house wasn’t bad. The hours sucked and people were rude and obnoxious. But hey, she was in New York. She had made it. So she could definitely put up with whatever life threw at her until she figured out what to do with the very expensive degree her parents had made sure she got.

Twenty-six-years old and she still didn’t know what she wanted to be when she grew up. Did that make her pathetic?

She had already turned all the stools over and locked up inside. As she went out into the alley to empty the trash, she checked to make sure she had her pepper spray. It was getting dark and that’s when all the wack-a-doodles came out. She turned to go back in when she noticed the security chain dangling around the light pole she had chained her bike to that morning. No bike now.

“Fuck!” she pulled the chain loose and flung it against the dumpster. It made an impressive loud thwack as it hit the metal.

That’s when she saw a foot sticking out from the side of the dumpster jerk out of sight. She unclipped the pepper spray and held it loosely in her hand as she cautiously peered around the dumpster.

The foot was bare and bloody, the sole shredded. The she heard a low moan. The moan is what did her in. She was getting ready to back off and just let EMS handle the guy when she heard the moan. It was sad and pitiful and Utah couldn’t walk away now. Patron saint of impossible causes – that’s what her mother called her. Maybe she was just stupid.

“Shit.” Mad at herself for even looking, she edged closer, pepper spray held in front of her, finger on the trigger.

“Dude, hey, you okay?” Utah stepped closer to get a full view of whoever the foot belonged to. “Holy shit,”

The guy curled up next to the dumpster looked like he had been on the losing end of a MMA cage fight. His eyes were swollen and bruised. His lips scabbed with dried blood. Fresh blood ran shiny and red from his nose and ears. Both wrists were circled with horrible oozing wounds. He shivered as if freezing.

She squatted down next to him. “Hey, hang on, okay? I’m going to get you some help.” She pulled out her phone.

The man’s eyes opened, just tiny slits, but he was in there. “No.” The hand that caught hers was hot and slick with sweat.

She shook her head. He was obviously delirious. “Dude you so need help.”

“They’ll find me.”

Oh, crap. “They? Like in the police?”

He shook his head. “Tanya. Please help me.”

“Me?” Utah almost laughed. “Man, I can’t even make rent and still buy groceries most months. Seriously, I have no idea how to help you. Let me call 911, man. You look like you’re about ready to kick it. If this Tanya did this to you, the cops will get her.”

“You don’t understand.” The guy opened his eyes wider and pulled himself up until he was slumped against the dumpster. He coughed and squeezed his eyes tight, as if he was hurting bad. When he opened them again his eyes were glassy but he seemed more focused. “They’re looking for me.”

“Why? Dude, what did you do? Why do they want you?”

He closed his eyes again but this time he looked like he was concentrating like mad. He took one hand and scooped at the air as if he was gathering imaginary balls and holding them.

Utah was ready to chalk him up as one of the crazies. She was backing away from the guy and had pressed 911 into the phone, but before she could hit send, a glowing ball of moving light flowed between the guy’s hands.

He held it there as it pulsed and sparkled. Then he took it and threw it up above them. The light dissolved into a million points of beautiful light that looked to Utah like dazzling fireflies. It rained down on them like a cool shower. Utah held her hands out as the sparks of light danced briefly on her skin. Then the light faded and the alley was in darkness once more. Utah looked in open mouth wonder at the man sitting next to the dumpster.

“That’s why,” he said. More blood flowed from his nose and he gave a small grunt as his head slumped against his shoulders and his eyes closed.

Utah was afraid he might be dead. She cautiously crept up to him and placed a shaking finger on his neck. A fast bump bump bump ran under her fingers. She pulled her hand back and ran it over her hair. “Oh shitohshitohshit.” She walked in rapid circles and tried to calm down.

“Okay, think, Utah, think!” She hit the side of her head as if that might jar an idea out of hiding. She should just call 911. The dude had to be crazy. But that thing, the light thing, what the hell was that? The only thing she could think to do was the last thing she wanted to do. She called her brother.

As she waited for him to answer she looked at the unconscious guy. “Dude, I swear if you’re crazy I’m going to kill you.” On the fifth ring, right before she was getting ready to hang up, her brother answered.

“Utah, hey.”

“Yeah, hey Jude. How’s it going and stuff?” How’s it going and stuff- brilliant. “Umm. Listen, I really hate to bother you, but, yeah- someone stole my bike and I can’t get hold of the roommate – not that he would come get me anyway, but you know how weirded out I am with the subway, uhhh…”

“Someone stole your bike?”

“Uh, yeah. Came out back and there it was, well I mean there it wasn’t, just the chain all cut, and yeah, no bike. I mean maybe I shouldn’t have called. I don’t know what I was thinking, I’ll walk, it’s cool.”

“Where are you?”

She exhaled. “Work, in the back alley. That’s where I keep my bike. Kept- kept my bike.”

“You can’t walk all the way to Harlem this time of night.” Jude sighed. “All right. Stay where you are. I can be there in ten minutes.”

“Thanks man. You’re a life saver, seriously.” Utah ended the call and squatted down next to the guy again. She touched his forehead with the back of hand like her mom used to do when she was sick. His skin was hot, like blister-inducing hot. “Okay, weird light dude, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I didn’t call 911. But you might wish I did. I just lied to my brother to get him here and he is not going to like this one little bit.”

Utah sat down next to the guy and tried to figure out what the hell she was going to tell Jude when he got here. Her brother was a lot older. He was the favorite child, the golden boy. Jude could do no wrong in their parent’s eyes and Utah was the big oops. The -I–thought-I-was-in-menopause-oh-crap-I’m-pregnant-kid.

He never tried to make her feel like a failure, but he couldn’t help it. The guy had an entire alphabet behind his name – MD, PHD – he taught at Columbia, she never was sure what exactly but he was pretty important. She was doing okay most of the time as long as she didn’t stop to compare herself to Jude.

She kicked at the guy’s leg, suddenly pissed at him. “You sure as hell better not die before he gets here.”

A few minutes later Jude’s Mercedes SUV turned into the alley. She had her bike stolen and he came to save her in a freaking Mercedes. Families. Sometimes they were they easiest people to hate, and the hardest to love. Maybe because you knew that no matter what you threw at them they would always take it and still be there when you really needed them.

Jude got out of the car searching the alley through the glare of the headlights. “Utah?”

“Over here.” She stood to the side of the dumpster and waited for him. “Promise you won’t be mad.”

“Mad? What are you talking about? Why would I be mad about your bike getting ripped off?”

“Not about the bike. Jude, he needs help.” Utah squatted next to the guy as her brother came around the side of the dumpster.

His eyes went wide when he saw the guy. He hesitated for maybe a second before bending down. He felt for a pulse and lifted the guy’s eyelids. “Jesus, what the hell happened to him? Do you know him?”

“Haven’t a clue and no. I came out to empty the garbage, saw the bike was gone and found him. Looks like he got hit by a bus.”

“Looks like he got hit by something, Jesus.” Jude took his phone out.

Utah put her hand on it before he could make the call. “No,” she shook her head.

“No, what?” he looked at her suspiciously. “What’s going on, Utah? Why don’t you want me to call for help? Why’d you call me instead of 911?”

“He was scared, told me someone was looking for him. Jude he was so scared.”

“I bet he was. You’re unbelievable.” He took his phone back.

“Wait, Jude, please. Okay I know I mess everything up, I work in a job I’m over qualified for and mom and dad are constantly disappointed in me. I get that, but this isn’t about me.

“Look at him! He didn’t want me calling for help because he knew whoever was looking for him would find him if I did. Do you want whoever did this to find him? You’re a doctor. Didn’t you take an oath or something? Please, I didn’t know what else to do. Will you help me help him?” She decided to keep the glowing ball of light thing to herself for now.

He stared at her, his face completely neutral. Utah hated it when he did that. She could never tell what he was thinking. Just when she thought he was going to leave, or worse, call for help, he pulled the guy upright. “Help me get him to the car.”

Utah went to the guy’s other side. “Thank you Jude, Thank you!”

They dragged him the few feet to the SUV and laid him on the back seat. Jude closed the door and looked at Utah over the roof. “Don’t thank me. You’re going to detail the inside of my car and get out every drop of blood this guy bleeds on it.” He got in the driver’s side and waited for her.

“Oh absolutely, you bet.” She got in and Jude backed out of the alley and sped off toward his apartment.

Chapter 28

ROBERT SAT IN Coben’s office with his head in his hands. He tried to block out Tanya’s rant. He’d already been chewed a new one and then some. Something more than humiliation consumed him. He was mortified, ashamed and fucking pissed off. He swore if he ever saw Kale Delancey again he wasn’t going to wait for the guy to try and push him, he was putting a bullet in his brain. He didn’t give a fuck how valuable the psycho was. This was personal. He didn’t remember anything, but it was more than obvious what had happened.

“You just walked him to the door? Then you went back and sat in his room for three hours until someone noticed something was wrong!” This time it was Coben who was stating the obvious. Robert lifted his head and stared at him.

“He pushed me Coben. Something Tanya assured me he was incapable of doing.” He shot Tanya a sideways glance. Anger was beginning to replace his humiliation. “It’s not like I simply decided to let him go, for God’s sake.” He turned to Tanya. “You knew better than anyone what Kale was capable of and you sent me in there by myself. So don’t try to pin this all on me. You gave me orders. I followed them while you had lunch with the upper echelon. So maybe instead of trying to figure out who to blame we should be trying to figure out how to find him.”

Tanya and Coben both surprised him by looking embarrassed. Coben cleared his throat. “No one is trying to blame anyone, Robert. You’re correct. Kale is weak and injured. He has never been outside before and he has no resources. He can’t go far. Are you up to getting a team together?”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Then do it. You have the authority to do whatever is necessary to find Kale and bring him back.”

Robert stood. “My pleasure.” He was turning to leave when Tanya stopped him.

“Robert, I want him back here alive. Is that understood? You sedate him and bring back – alive.”

He clenched his fists and answered with his back still to her. “I understand.” He left the room and mentally prepared a list of agents he wanted with him for the hunt.

She wanted her little pet back alive. He knew why. Everyone knew. Perverted bitch, she got off on the freak. True, she seemed to be the only who could control him, but still, it was sick. She wanted him alive? Yeah, well, accidents happened. Didn’t they?

* * *

FINN ANSWERED HIS phone on the second ring. His watch informed him it was five in the morning, but without windows or daylight it was hard to tell. He missed the light. He’d been underground for only a day, but it was a day too long. He pushed the claustrophobia down, checked the caller ID and answered.

“Vic? What’s up?”

“Kale got out.”

“Say again?”

“You heard me the first time. I don’t know details. But this place is a nut house right now. Apparently Kale’s security screwed up big time. He was supposed to be compromised, in other words- safe.”

“What did he do?”

“He pushed them. Guess Tanya didn’t think he could. Look I don’t know anything more than that. I don’t know where he went, or if they have any leads on him, but it’s been about twelve hours and that boy is in the wind. Word is he is not in great shape so he couldn’t have gone far.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. Gotta go. I’ll try to come in later today, but it’s tight here. Might be better if I stay away.”

“I hear you. Stay cool. Thanks for the heads up.” Finn sat there with the phone in his hand trying to understand, what this meant. He needed to tell Cross, but he had to do so carefully. He knew his partner. Cross was going to act first and think later. That wasn’t what they needed. They needed information. Kale getting out changed everything. This was no longer a rescue mission

One of Finn’s best attributes, as one of his instructors at Quantico had told him, was to see beyond the static. In other words he had the capability to see the next three steps in the equation. It made him an excellent chess player and an even better agent. He sat up, fully awake now and thought about what Vic’s news meant. Their goal up to this point had been to rescue Kale. All of them had been willing to do whatever it took to see that goal accomplished.

Kale just changed all that. He’d taken matters into his own hands and rescued himself. Now all they had to do was find him. Before Tanya did.

Considering the psychic connection Cross shared with his brother, finding Kale shouldn’t be terribly difficult. They simply had to find Kale before Tanya did. That was step one. Step two was the hard part. Tanya wasn’t used to losing. And she had lost both Cross and Kale. That meant they were all officially righteous targets.

Tanya was going to use every man, every weapon, and every trick at her disposal to get them back and exact revenge on anyone she thought responsible. That would include Finn and everyone in the Underground.

Tanya had an organized team trained for situations just like this. Finn had a group of paranormal misfits who would rather kill him than help him. Go team. He had to do the impossible with only the improbable for help.

He needed to bring Kale in to safety which right now meant into the Underground. Then what? If either Cross or Kale stayed here, Tanya would find them. It wasn’t a question of if, but when. And when she found them, every man, woman and child in these tunnels would end up in the crossfire or worse, in a glass-walled room. Or dead.

“So we don’t let that happen.”

Finn jumped at the voice. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts he hadn’t heard Cross come in. The large common room was, for now empty of everyone save Finn and Cross. “Shit,” he pressed his hand on his chest. “Don’t freaking do that.”

“Which part? Scare you, or get in your head?” Cross walked confidently to the table where Finn sat.

“Both.” As he watched Cross take a seat, it hit him. “Hey, don’t take this the wrong way, but aren’t you blind?”

A sly grin spread across Cross’s face. “Yeah.”

“Then explain how you just walked in liked you own the place.”

“Pretty sweet, huh? Maizey showed me.”

“Showed you what?” Finn moved a hand in front of Cross’s face. He caught it and stared at Finn. Stared directly at him.

“How to use the energy around me to see. Sort of.” He let Finn’s hand go. “It would seem when I lost my sight, my paranormal abilities adapted, only with Gabriel’s mind-fuck I never knew it.”

“You can see?”

“Not like before, not like I used to, but yeah. I can see. It’s kind of beautiful. I absorb the energy around me. When I let it out again, it pings off objects around me. Everything shows up in glowing blue and white. Like electrons dancing on the edges of light.”

“Sort of like radar?”

Cross appeared to think about that. “More like a lateral line. You know, like how a shark finds prey?”

“That’s pretty freaking cool.”

“Infinitely better than not being able to see, but it does have its limits. I can’t keep it up for very long. It takes energy to use energy. I get tapped out after a while.”

Finn grinned. “So you’re just showing off now?”

“That and I was curious. I wanted to see what you looked like.”

“And now you’re jealous, right? Cause now you know I’m a chick magnet.”

“Yeah, sure.” Cross lowered his head and laughed. “Actually you look exactly how I imagined you. Except you didn’t have blue hair.” When he raised his head he looked directly at Finn. “Now that the party trick is over, I do have a suggestion.”

“About Tanya. And I thought you promised you wouldn’t look in my head.”

“You really want to go there Finn? As far as I’m concerned anything or anyone that gets me out of this mess alive is fair game. Any promises I made to you before I understood what happened to me are null and void. If you have a problem about that, I gotta say I really don’t care.”

The expression on Cross’s face as he spoke concerned Finn. Not because Cross looked pissed off, but because he looked utterly empty. Finn would have preferred pissed.

“Fair enough. So what’s your suggestion?”

The empty look gave way to something else. Finn couldn’t decide what it was, but he was certain about one thing. Cross was teetering. This was not the collected, methodical man he had worked with for the last decade. This was someone he didn’t recognize.

“First,” Cross said, “I would say I agree with you. We need to find Kale. I’ve been trying to contact him, with no luck. If he’s in worse shape than the last time I contacted him, it’s no wonder. I’ll work on it.”

“Okay, and then once we find him, what do we do then? We can’t put these people in danger. They gave us refuge and if we stay we’ll repay them by bringing a war to their doorstep.”

“I agree.”

“So what do we do?” Finn said.

Cross suddenly resembled the homicidal fourteen-year old Finn had seen pictures of. “We bring the fucking war to Tanya.” Complete and total hatred laced through every syllable.

“You’re kind of freaking me out a little here, partner,” Finn said. Cross looked like he wanted to hurt someone- anyone, very badly and Finn was the only person in range. The hairs on his arms stood up. He wasn’t cold, he was scared.

“I’m not your partner, not anymore.”

“Who the hell are you then? Because I’ll tell you something. You sure as hell don’t resemble the Cross Delancey I knew a few days ago.”

“That’s because I’m not. That Cross was never supposed to exist. He was created by Tanya and my father. He died when I learned the truth.”

“And this Cross? How does this Cross differ from the one I knew?” Finn eyed Cross with more than a little concern.

“This Cross is never letting anyone take anything from him again. This Cross is strong and doesn’t give a fuck. He’ll do what has to be done.” No empty look this time. Anger was the mood of the moment.

“And what needs to be done, Cross?”

“Tanya and anyone who helped her put Kale in that room for ten years, who decided taking my life from me and let me live a lie, they need to pay. Whatever it takes to accomplish that is what needs to be done, Finn.” Without another word, Cross turned away from him and walked out of the empty room.

For the first time, Finn almost felt sorry for Tanya. He didn’t think she knew exactly what she unleashed when she showed Cross the truth.

Chapter 29

KALE OPENED HIS eyes and immediately understood two things. He wasn’t in his own bed and he wasn’t alone. He didn’t know if that was a good thing and decided to err on the side of fear. He sat up quickly, or at least he gave it his best shot. Pain was a vice gripping his ribs and stealing his breath. He grimaced as his arm braced his chest. He didn’t even come close to sitting up.

“Hey, hey, take it easy. You’re safe.”

A few blinks brought everything into focus. A man he had never seen before sat next to the bed and next to him was a young woman. She was vaguely familiar, like someone he remembered from a dream.

Then it all came back to him. Pushing Robert. Stumbling through to the outside. Wandering aimlessly before collapsing next to the green garbage bin in the alley. A girl. The same one sitting next to him now. He’d been sure she would call someone and he would be back inside when he woke up. She hadn’t.

He was out.

He was out!

What the hell did he do with that?

He had never been so terrified in his entire life. Turning to get a better look at the girl, he said, “Thank you,”

She smiled and he was certain he had never seen anything as beautiful in his whole life. She had short spiky blonde hair streaked through with purple. Her eyes were an incredible clear blue. They hypnotized him.

“I thought you were dead,” she said.

“Not far from it,” the man said. “What’s your name?”

Kale watched him adjust the IV attached to his arm. “You a doctor?” he said instead of answering.

“Yes.” He laid the back of his hand on Kale’s forehead. “What happened to you? Utah said someone was after you? Care to explain that?”

“Not really.” He looked at the girl again. “Utah?”

“Dude, you scared the crap out of me. I mean I went to take the garbage out and you know, found my bike gone and then damn, there you were looking like, wow, bad dude. You didn’t want me calling EMS and I didn’t know what else to do so I called Jude.”

Kale’s eyes flicked to the man next him. “Jude?”

The guy gave him a quick nod. “And your name?”

He couldn’t think how it would hurt to tell them. “Kale, my name is Kale.”

Jude didn’t look happy. “Okay, Kale. Let me explain something to you. I didn’t take you to the hospital against my better judgment and because I have a soft spot for my baby sister. That doesn’t mean I don’t think you shouldn’t be in one. As far as I can tell, someone, pretty much beat the crap out of you, fairly recently. If I start from the top and work my way down, you have a serious concussion, your nose is broken, you have two very impressive shiners, not a clue if there is any eye damage. Ribs? Without x-rays hard to tell but I would bet more than one are broken. Your midsection is a patchwork of bruises and you’re pissing blood so let’s put a little internal damage on that list.

Your wrists? Jesus, I don’t even know if I want to ask. It sure as hell looks like you were restrained and not in a nice way. The wounds are severely infected and I am fresh out of antibiotics. You have a fever and, until I started the IV were pretty dehydrated. All I’m doing is putting a Band-Aid on one big fucking problem.”

Jude stood, and Kale could see the frustration in his face.

“So, do you want to rethink that request about not going to the hospital? Because I’m telling you pal, there’s not a whole lot more I can do for you here.”

Kale braced one arm across his ribs and tried to sit up, Jude pushed a pillow behind him. He grimaced as he moved but managed to keep the groan to himself. “Where am I?”

“My apartment. Manhattan, a few miles from where Utah found you. No one saw us bring you here.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Since last night. Twelve, fourteen hours.”

Kale didn’t want to get these people involved, not with Tanya. Jude was right, he needed help. It was a very big world and he had no idea how to navigate it. He needed Cross. So like it or not, these people had just adopted him. He only hoped he was up to protecting them if it came to that. Knowing Tanya he had no doubt it would come to that. Twelve hours and he still hadn’t been found, meant that Tanya had no clue to his whereabouts.

Yet.

That was good. He wondered how Utah and Jude were going to take what he was about to tell them.

He held his wrists up. “Rope,” he said. “And yeah, they weren’t very nice about it. After they tied me, they hung me by my wrists. All that weight bites pretty deep. That’s when the real fun started.”

“Holy fuck,” Utah said.

“I don’t remember much of it, but when they were finished they left me hanging there for a few hours, until Tanya finally had them cut me down.”

“You mentioned her before. Who is she?” Utah said.

“Complicated answer,” Kale wiped a hand over his face. Every now and then his vision would blur or double. “How prepared are you for a story you probably won’t believe?”

“The ball of light,” Utah sounded like she was talking to herself.

“The what?” Jude turned to look at her.

Kale grinned. He had forgotten what he had shown her. A simple manifestation. A party trick. It had taken barely any effort and had obviously impressed the hell out of her. He wondered if he should do something more impressive to convince her brother he wasn’t crazy. “Yeah, the ball of light.”

“I thought I imagined it. I didn’t, did I?”

Kale shook his head.

“Mind telling me what you’re talking about?” Jude was looking at Kale like he was an escaped psych patient again.

“Okay, this is the ‘You aren’t going to believe me’ part,” Kale took a deep breath and jumped off the cliff he had been standing on. “My name is Kale Delancey. My twin brother, Cross and I were born and raised in what we called the Department. Officially it’s called the Department for Paranormal Research.”

Jude raised his brows. “Paranormal?”

“See that’s where all the ‘You don’t believe me’ part starts coming into play. Hang on. It gets way better. So Cross and me, we have these, abilities. Talents, if you will. The Department is very interested in learning how we do what we do. Tanya runs the place. She is, shall I say, quite protective of me.

“When Cross and I were fourteen, he convinced me we should try to escape. That didn’t end well. They shot Cross. When he didn’t die, Tanya and Coben- he runs the place with her- decided Cross was way too dangerous to bring back the way he was, so they wiped his memories and reprogrammed him. For the last ten years, he believed I was dead and his life was anything but what it had been.

“Except last week Cross started remembering his real past. So Tanya brought him in. The short version is Cross escaped and I wouldn’t help Tanya find him.” He motioned to bruised and beaten body. “She was just a tad disappointed in my decision.”

Jude’s face turned a violent shade of red. He looked like he was about to rupture something he might need later. “Wait a minute,” he said to Utah. “It’s gotta be the head injury. Or the fever. He’s delusional.”

“Show him,” Utah said.

Kale let out a quick breath. “This is really a lot more impressive when I’m stronger.” He scooped the ambient energy surrounding them and formed the glowing ball of light between his hands. He wanted to do more, but he was tired.

“Technically this is called psi energy. I take energy from whatever surrounds me and use myself as a conduit.” Kale let the ball of light grow. The look on Jude’s face was pretty hysterical. It always hit the scientific ones the hardest. “Like I said, this isn’t very impressive, but I’m not exactly working at my best here. I can do pretty much anything I want with it, this will have to do for now.” He gestured the light up and left it drift to the ceiling, and then made a small flick of his wrist. As it had in the alley, the energy dissipated into a million tiny sparkles that rained down on them. Kale closed his eyes and rested his head back. He really was feeling pretty crappy, but the day he couldn’t do that- would be the day they buried him.

“See?” Utah sounded like a proud parent. “The light thing.”

“How did you do that?” Jude said.

Kale shrugged. “How do you know how to breathe? I just do it. That’s one of the reasons Tanya wants me back.”

“What else can you do?” Utah said.

Kale was feeling lightheaded. “I can push people.” He closed his eyes wanting very much to go back to sleep.

“What’s that?”

“Utah, he needs to rest, let him be.”

Kale suddenly remembered Cross. “Pushing is how I got out. That’s my big thing. It’s why Tanya wants me back. It’s also why she thinks I’m dangerous.” Kale attempted a laugh. He didn’t feel very dangerous.

“Back up for one minute. You said you and your brother tried to get out when you were fourteen. How long have you been there? How long has this Tanya had you?”

“All my life, man. All my life.” Kale slid down inside the warm covers, but before he stopped resisting and slid into oblivion, he made one final request. “I need to find my brother. I need to find Cross.”

“Cross, is he like you? Can he do things, like the light?” Utah said.

With his eyes still closed, Kale smiled. “Cross makes me look like a bad street magician.” His voiced slurred a little and he fought off the oblivion. “I need to find Cross.” He tried to sit up.

Jude kept him in place with one hand. “How far do you think you’re going to get like this? Come on, you have my word, I won’t tell a soul you’re here. You know Utah is tight. So rest. Let me take care of you. When you’re better, we will all look for your brother together, okay?”

Kale was sure he had heard him wrong. “You’ll help me?”

“Yeah, now sleep.” Kale felt Jude’s hand slide over his eyes, closing them. He couldn’t stop the slow slide into sleep this time.

Jude rested his arms on his knees, his hands clasped. He stared at Kale Delancey for what felt like a long time. Utah disturbed the silence.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” It was an honest answer.

“Are you really going to help him?” Utah sounded like she thought he might go back on his word.

He didn’t like that. He turned to face her. “I told him I would. I have never gone back on my word before and I don’t intend to start now.”

“But?” Utah knew him far too well.

He didn’t like that either. Jude wiped a hand over his face and continued to stare at Kale Delancey. “But, what are we supposed to do with him, Utah? The guy is hurt and sick. This isn’t a hospital, I don’t have the things he needs here.”

“You found the IV. Maybe you can find some antibiotics. You can help him, I know you can.”

“He needs more than good intentions. I happened to have a liter of saline for a class I was giving to my pre-med class on starting IVs. That was luck.”

“So write a prescription. You’re a doctor, so you can do that, right?”

Jude stood and looked to the ceiling, briefly trying to rein in his frustration. “Ever the eternal optimist.” His little sister never changed. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“So write one for me. It might not be exactly what he needs, but it’s better than nothing, right?”

Jude just stared at her. “Well, yeah. Why didn’t I think of that?”

Utah stretched and yawned. “Sometimes the smarter you are, the more difficult it is to see the simple solutions.”

Jude grunted out a laugh. “Apparently. Hang on, let me find the number I need to call this in.” It didn’t take long, to call in a prescription for an antibiotic in Utah’s name at a local pharmacy.

“I’ll pick it up. Are you going to be okay alone with him?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I can handle him.” Jude paced around the apartment. Not being in control never suited him well.

Utah seemed to sense his mood. “Okay, what is it?” She sat at the bar in his kitchen and looked totally at ease. Like she found half-dead, men on the run and hiding from subversive organizations every day.

“What is it? Seriously?”

“It’s the glowing ball of light thing. Isn’t it?” She nodded as if answering her own question. “It freaked me out at first, too.”

“And yet you failed to share that little piece of information with me when I brought him home.” He nailed her with a looked that he hoped told her how unbelievably blasé she was being about this whole thing.

“I knew you wouldn’t have believed me. I mean, really, Jude, you saw him do it and you still don’t believe it, do you?”

“I don’t know what to believe. I really don’t. Maybe it was an illusion. Granted a hell of a good illusion, but it had to be just an illusion.”

“Why does it have to be? He called it psi energy. I mean I don’t have a dual degree, but I’ve heard of psi energy. It’s a real thing.” Utah opened his fridge and pulled out a carton of orange juice that she started to drink from. He snatched the carton out of her hand, poured the juice into a cup and handed it to her.

“Psi energy is something that strange people on the internet believe is real. Like some people like to believe in Hogwarts.”

“He’s not crazy, Jude.”

“It’s a theory, Utah. That’s all it is. It isn’t real.”

“I don’t know, it sure as hell looked real to me.” She put the glass of juice down and leaned forward.

Jude knew that look. His sister had the clueless thing down to a science but he was one of the few people who knew just how brilliant she truly was. Utah wasn’t comfortable with it, so she downplayed it – like totally. She wasn’t downplaying now.

“Look, I know you Jude. You require all these facts and logic for you to confirm that something has merit.”

“It helps.”

“Yeah, but it isn’t everything. Are you going to try and tell me that we, as a species, know everything there is to know? You always told me seeing is believing. Well you just saw what that man did and you still don’t believe him. The problem is, you can’t put all your facts in a neat little algorithm, so you simply dismiss what is right in front of you. I think it actually physically hurts you to stretch yourself into the realm of what if.”

“That’s not true. As a scientist I ask myself, ‘what if’ all the time.”

“Yes, but the answer only satisfies you if you can prove it.”

“What’s wrong with a little proof?”

Utah walked around the bar and squatted next to where Jude sat. “Facts and logic aren’t everything. Five hundred years ago we were convinced the earth was the center of the universe. Three hundred years ago we were burning women at the stake for being witches. Two hundred years ago we thought it was a fine idea to enslave our fellow human because they were a different color. A hundred years ago people were dying from diseases that don’t even exist today. Twenty-four hours ago you were convinced that using your own body as a conduit for manipulating energy was just a preposterous theory.” Utah took Jude’s hand. “We are highly fallible creatures, Jude, prone to misconceptions, misdirection and prejudices. Facts and logic only go so far. When they fail, sometimes all we have to go on is faith.”

Jude held her hand and gave her a tired smile. “Says the agnostic.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t believe in anything. We both saw what he did, Jude. If we choose to believe in that, that we choose to believe the rest of his story.”

Jude took a deep breath and glanced over at his sleeping patient. “Is it really that easy for you?”

She raised her shoulders. “Right now, you’re wishing you never picked up the phone when I called you, or that you had called 911 when I did. The facts, Jude, are that you didn’t. You brought him here and you agreed to help him. He can’t not exist now, just because it’s uncomfortable for you.”

“So in other words we do the right thing even if it doesn’t make any sense.”

She stood and kissed him on the head. “Exactly.”

“I hope this Kale Delancey understands just how lucky he is, that he collapsed in your alley.”

“If he doesn’t, he soon will. I’m going to go get his medicine. You try not to let him die before I get back.” She took some money from his wallet on the table, blew him a kiss and walked out the door.

Jude watched her go and then turned back to the still sleeping Kale. “I’m not supposed to let you die, so how about you help me out and keep breathing.” He propped his feet up on the bed, closed his eyes and waited for his sister to come home.

Chapter 30

THEY NEEDED SUPPLIES. Maizey was the logical choice to leave the tunnels to get them. In a pinch she could be anyone, or no one at all. She didn’t mind, in fact she volunteered. She understood the necessity of living the way they did, but she couldn’t say she liked it. Knowing there was all that rock, and dirt and buildings just above her head made her a little bit claustrophobic. She could handle it but she didn’t mind leaving when she had the chance.

Armed with a pocket full of cash and a list, Maizey headed off to the nearest CVS for medical supplies. She was also searching for any clues to Kale’s where abouts. Since he and Cross were identical twins, it would stand to reason that their energy would read the same if not very similar. So as Maizey walked the streets of Manhattan, she searched for Kale. She looked for a person’s unique energy signature like a dog homed in on a scent cone. But instead of a scent, Maizey sought the unique trails of energy people left in their wake.

If Kale was anything like his brother, he should have left an extremely vibrant trail. She cast out her psychic feelers, but all she got was the chaotic rush of the people nearby. Flat dull auras, nothing remotely interesting and the psychic noise was giving her a headache. She lowered the intensity of her search as she walked into the CVS and grabbed a basket. She had started filling it from her list when a girl entered the store. She had short blond hair streaked with purple. The psychic energy surrounding her nearly overwhelmed Maizey, even at the subdued level she was receiving. But the energy she sensed from the girl was not her own. It was cast off and a very recent cast off.

Maizey closed her eyes and let the energy envelop her. This girl had recently been exposed to an incredibly powerful psychic and its signature was familiar. She opened her eyes and smiled.

She had just found a trail of bread crumbs leading directly to Kale Delancey.

Part of her was elated, the other part was worried. If Maizey could detect Kale’s energy this easily, she was sure Tanya had people at her disposal who could do the same. She needed to get this girl off the streets. Better yet, she needed her to get to Kale.

Maizey kept an eye on the girl. She was in line to pick up a prescription. Maizey paid the cashier and left the store. Once outside she bought a hot dog from a corner vender and ate it while waiting on a bench.

The girl left the store a few minutes later and headed, at a leisurely pace toward the Upper East Side. Maizey could have followed her with her eyes closed. That’s how strongly Kale’s energy permeated her.

She finished her hotdog and then started to gradually close the distance between them until she was directly behind the girl. Sending out a delicate tendril of psychic energy, she confirmed two things. The first, was that she had definitely been exposed to Kale. The second was that she had no idea Maizey was following her. She learned quite a few other things about the girl as well. The girl had a strong, open mind. All of her feelings were right on the surface. Maizey read her as easily as words on a page. She learned the girl had helped Kale, and she was returning there now. As the girl slowed to cross the street, Maizey stood next to her. Just another face in the crowd.

“Utah?”

She spun around and Maizey saw surprise and fear in her eyes, but only for a moment. She was good at concealing her true feelings. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

Maizey smiled and shook her head. “No, but I think we have a mutual friend.”

“How do you know that? How do you know me?” All attitude and suspicion.

Maizey liked this girl. Subtlety wasn’t going to work so she decided to just go for it. “Kale Delancey.” Utah’s pupils dilated, she sucked in a quick breath, and she backed away.

Maizey didn’t have to get inside her head to know Utah was trying to decide if she should deny the name or just run. She pressed a little deeper into the girl’s thoughts and understood the source of her fear. Kale had shared a lot with her.

“I’m not Tanya. I’m a friend.”

Utah blinked twice. “You know about Tanya?” She still wasn’t sure which way to jump.

“I know a lot of things. I know your name is Utah Case, I know you found Kale yesterday, I know your brother is hiding him in his brownstone about a block and a half from here, and I know right now you’re trying to protect him. Please believe me. So am I.”

Utah let out a breath and her body language softened in a heartbeat. “Are you like him?”

“I don’t think there is anyone quite like Kale, but yes, I am, in my own way.”

“That’s how you knew all that? Who I am, about my brother?”

Maizey nodded. “We’ve been searching for Kale. I’m glad you found him before Tanya.”

Utah bit her lip and Maizey knew she was struggling with trusting her completely. Desperation seemed to have made the decision for her. “He’s hurt and he’s sick, really sick,” she held up the bag from the pharmacy. “This is medicine for Kale, but he needs more than just antibiotics. Jude, my brother, he’s a doctor but he can’t do much for him at his place. Can you help him?”

“I can, but I need you to trust me. Think you can do that?”

* * *

UTAH WAS EXCITED and nervous. But mostly excited. She had to remind herself to simply breathe and try to act normal. That was hysterical. Act normal. Her notion of what was normal had been flipped on its head in the last few hours. She took a deep breath. She didn’t even have the key out of the lock when Jude pulled the door open and yanked her inside.

“Jesus, where the hell have you been? I kept having these visions of you being kidnapped by the people looking for him.” Jude snatched the bag of pills from her.

“Sorry. I would’ve called but my cell died.”

“Why can’t you ever remember to charge it?”

“Jude, we need to talk.” Utah said as he disappeared into the kitchen, apparently to get something for Kale to wash the pills down with. As he did, Maizey appeared where there had been nothing, and next to her, Kale’s brother. She jumped a little at their sudden appearance. Knowing Maizey had concealed herself and Cross was one thing. Actually witnessing them become visible was another.

They were supposed to wait until she told Jude they were there, but she guessed Cross was impatient. She couldn’t blame him. If it had been Jude lying there, she wouldn’t have waited either.

Jude came back from the kitchen. He was opening the bottle of pills and had yet to notice Maizey or Cross. “He’s really feverish, I don’t even know if I can wake him up enough to make him swallow these.” He glanced up and froze.

“Jude, these people can help him.”

“What have you done?”

Maizey had knelt at Kale’s side. She stood now and faced Jude. “She did the right thing. So did you. I’m Maizey. This is Kale’s brother, Cross. We’re here to help.”

Jude had yet to move. Utah watched his expression change as he tried to come to terms with what was happening. “You said yourself, he needs more help than we can give him.”

Jude looked at Utah for the first time since entering the room. “How do you know they’re not the bad guys?”

“They convinced me.”

“Look we can explain everything later,” Cross said. “Right now, Kale is what matters.”

Utah knew the guy was blind, but he sure as hell looked like he was seeing his brother. He looked like he was seeing everything.

He knelt next to the bed and took off the dark glasses. Without them the resemblance between him and Kale was startling. Cross closed his eyes and held Kale’s hand.

Utah quietly moved next to Maizey and whispered. “What’s he doing?”

“He’s trying to find Kale.”

Utah must have looked as confused as she felt.

Maizey explained. “We can’t move him like this. Cross is trying to bring Kale’s consciousness back to the surface. Once he does that he can help him feel better for a short while.”

“So you really can help him?” Utah still didn’t understand completely but she was content to watch. Jude looked like he was ready for an epic meltdown. But he was quietly, if not suspiciously watching.

“Yes, then we can help him.”

* * *

THE FIRST THING Cross saw when he walked through the door was Kale. Not through a veil of manifested energy, but through his newly acquired sight. Maizey had asked him to wait until Utah had a chance to prepare her brother for them, but he couldn’t. She’d also warned him to use his sight sparingly. He understood, but he had been practicing. He could turn on the lights for hours at a time without it draining him now. When he walked through the door he sensed Kale’s presence and couldn’t wait another moment.

Lying on a sofa in the corner of the room, Kale lit up in Cross’s visual spectrum like a beacon. Cross let Maizey guide him to the bed. He could have managed it on his own, but his feet didn’t seem to want to move. For the first time in ten years Cross was physically in the same place as his brother.

He reached out and touched Kale’s hand. The skin was dry and so hot. “You’re real,” Cross whispered. “I should never have doubted you.” He glanced up to Maizey. Kale was in far worse shape than he realized.

Maizey met his eyes and he heard a brief whisper in his head.

Do you need me to help? She was asking if he needed her help to wake Kale up. He shook his head and took off his glasses. They interfered with his blue and white spectrum vision. He closed his eyes and let his consciousness flow into his brother.

The first thing he felt was the pain. He grimaced as he tried to get a handle on that. Cross had forgotten when he shared a consciousness, he shared everything, joy, sorrow and pain.

Kale’s pain was huge. Broken bones, bruised flesh and the perhaps the worst of it, a massive infection that had spread from the deep wounds in his wrists. He pushed past all of that and moved deeper into Kale’s mind. Where would his brother go in his memories for comfort.

A shared memory came to him. Yes, he knew where to look for Kale.

Cross pictured the place in his mind, and suddenly the tree house appeared before him. It looked like a dream, incomplete, but with enough form to give it substance. Cross looked down at himself and smiled as he saw his fourteen-year-old self. He climbed the rickety ladder and soon he was sitting next to his brother. “I found you.”

Kale glanced up with that stupid half-cocked grin. “How’d you know to look for me here?”

“It was one of the few places we ever had any real privacy. It’s where you always ran to when you were hurting. You’re kind of hurting now, Kale.”

Kale grimaced his agreement. “Yeah, but I got out.” His tone was one of pride.

“I know.”

“Tanya did a number on me though, man. I think I might be dying.”

“Not if I can help it. That’s why I’m here, Kale. Do you remember when we got sick as kids? Remember that bad reaction I had to something they injected me with? They were all worried. Do you remember what we did?”

Kale’s eyes widen as he did remember. “We shared it.”

“We shared it,” Cross agreed.

Kale considered that, but he looked worried. “It’s too much, Cross. I can’t share this with you. It would hurt you, too.”

“I can handle it. Listen, I told you I would come for you and I did. You already did the hard part. You got out. Now I need you to trust me to do the rest, okay?”

Kale still didn’t look sure. Cross clutched his brother’s arm, the one with the scar. He turned it over. “I would die for you, too Kale. But not today. Okay?”

Kale looked at the scar and then he looked over at Cross. “Okay.” He sounded exhausted.

Cross gave him a quick nod. “Let me take what I can and then you follow me out, understand?”

Kale nodded back.

Out. Cross wanted to share the pain and the hurt so that Kale could wake up. So they could travel. Finn should have everything they needed by the time Kale was ready. But time was not their friend. Tanya and Coben were out there looking for both of them. They needed to move fast, but first he needed to help his brother. This time it was his turn to save Kale.

He began, slowly at first, to syphon the worst of the pain to his own body. It wasn’t real no matter how it felt. Cross wasn’t actually hurt. He was only fooling Kale’s body into thinking it wasn’t as injured and as in pain as it truly was.

He was sharing the shock and the pain. When Kale was stronger, he would give it back. The tricky part was, while his mind knew the difference in what was real and what wasn’t, his body didn’t.

He seized up as the worst of the pain knifed into his system. Having dealt with his own pain all too often, he knew how to keep it at a manageable level. But this pain was almost more than he could handle, it shadowed his new vision and threatened his balance.

He sensed Maizey at his side. “You okay?”

“I’m good,” he said. If he thought about it too long, Kale’s pain would surface, but for now it swam in lazy circles beneath the surface of his consciousness. He couldn’t keep it there for long, but hopefully he wouldn’t have too.

“Kale?”

“Here, man. Good to see you, Cross. I mean really see you.” His brother’s voice, his real voice, was quiet but he was there. He was awake. More than that. He was alive.

Overcome with raw emotion, Cross held out a hand and felt Kale take it. They hadn’t been close enough to touch in a long time. Such a simple thing, to touch his brother’s hand. He had thought he would never have the chance to do it again. Cross held on tight.

“You good?” he asked Kale. He wanted to say so much more, but the words wouldn’t come. He felt Kale’s presence in his head. His brother understood.

“A little shaky, but yeah, I’m good.”

“What the hell just happened?” Jude’s voice. “What did you just do to him?”

“He made it possible for Kale to travel,” Maizey said.

“Travel? He’s in no shape to travel. Where do you want to take him?”

“Jude, I know this is a lot. But hey, if you can handle the glowing ball of light thing, you can handle this.” Utah said.

“Maizey,” Cross said. “Will you explain what’s going on to the good Doctor? It might save some time.”

“Jude?”

“Just start talking,” Jude said.

“Actually, this will be easier.”

Jude took a step back, let out a short gasp and then fell silent. Maizey had just entered his mind. She would calm him and show him exactly what had happened and what they needed to ask of him. She would show him the truth in a way he could accept. It was an invasion, but they were precious short on time.

“Hmm, Finn is outside.” Kale said.

Cross raised his brows. “Right on time for a change.” Then he sensed something else.

“I feel it too,” Maizey said.

“What?” Utah said.

A moment later Maizey’s cell phone rang.

As she answered it, Cross said. “We have company.”

Chapter 31

TANYA PACED HER office, trying to see through the anger. She needed to control the rage boiling beneath the surface. In a space of two days she had lost not one but both Delancey brothers.

Cross, she could almost understand. He probably couldn’t remember a time when he had belonged to the Department. Even if the truth was something other than what he remembered, his outrage and escape while not acceptable, was understandable. Even predictable.

Kale, on the other hand, was a personal betrayal. Tanya had prided herself on being able to control Kale. He had never seriously denied her anything in the past. Of course he’d put up mock protests but in the end, Tanya always got what she wanted. Always.

She should have realized without Cross as leverage, Kale would be unpredictable. She thought the girl’s death had him sufficiently terrified. He always seemed so afraid of his powers, Tanya had honestly never thought he would use them to escape.

But he had.

Now both of them were in the wind. They both should have been scooped up within hours of their escape. But forty-eight hours later and they were both still missing. Which told Tanya they’d had help.

Cross had to have had assistance in leaving the complex.

She considered every possibility and every time she came up with the same conclusion. There was a five minute loop on the surveillance video. Five missing minutes. A lot could happen in five minutes. Cross had probably only needed three to get out. The loop gave Vic a plausible excuse for why he hadn’t realized Cross was gone sooner. Tanya found the excuse shaky, but Vic had never been even a blip on her radar before. She let it slide until she looked closer at the man.

Tanya wanted to hear it again from the man himself. She planned to confront Vic with what she suspected, and see his reaction.

A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts. “Come.”

Robert opened the door and Vic followed him in. Tanya waited as Vic made himself comfortable in the chair opposite her. Robert stood at the door, hands clasped in front of him, his side arm visible at his hip.

Vic seemed entirely too at ease. “Any news on Kale?”

Tanya tried to read his body language, but he gave her nothing. He leaned back in the chair, one ankle crossed over a knee, his arms casually resting on the chair arms.

“No, nothing. I was wondering if you might have heard anything from Cross.”

“Nada. But I’m hardly the first person he would’ve come to for help. What about Finn? I know you told him to take a vay-cay but do you honestly think he’s going to do that?”

“No, I don’t. Which is why I’ve had him under surveillance since Cross escaped. But you know that, don’t you Vic?”

“Well, I assumed you would, but I didn’t know it for a fact until now.”

Tanya deliberately placed her hands on the desk and slowly stood. She walked around the desk to face Vic, leaned back with her arms crossed. “You’re a smart guy, Vic. That’s probably why you have the job you do. But for the sake of expediency and to cut through all the bullshit would you mind if I just cut to the chase?”

Vic chuckled. “As if you need my permission.”

“For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how someone like Cross, and by someone I mean, blind, could get out of a secure building on his own. I get him taking down the guard. That was a pretty sweet move. But it should have been stopped there. The room was monitored, cameras following Cross’s every move. Live feed. But, you know that part because you were the guy watching the monitors.”

“That’s never been a secret. You saw the feed. Someone messed with the system, and there was a five minute loop.”

“And who would have known how to do that?” Tanya said.

“Well, that’s obvious, don’t you think?” Vic never once changed his self-satisfied expression. He still appeared relaxed and confident.

“Indulge me.”

“Cross had inside help.”

Tanya choked out a laugh. “Do you think?” She paced slowly in front of the desk, keeping her eyes focused on Vic. She was done playing. “You set the loop, Vic. You silenced the alarms and you made damn sure Cross got outside before anyone even knew what was happening.

“I was an idiot not to see it sooner. Gabriel checked the discs, there was no trace of psychic manipulation on them. It was manually looped. You said so yourself, you were the only one who had access for the time in question. I have to admit it though, you got me. I did not see that one coming.” Tanya stopped pacing.

Vic put his hands up in a, what can I say, gesture.

“You’re not going to deny it?” Tanya wanted to smack the cocky grin off his face.

“Would you believe me if I did?”

“Not for a second.”

“Then I suppose it would be a wasted effort, wouldn’t it?”

Tanya fought the urge to have Robert shoot the arrogant bastard. Everything she had put into place ten years ago had fallen apart because of this man.

Cross had slipped through her fingers, and now Kale had somehow managed to get out of the most secure building in the entire East Coast. She took one quick step toward Vic and pulled her hand back. She swung her arm back to slap him hard across the face.

He caught her wrist and then bent it back. The pain was intense. He used her own forward momentum against her. He had her on her knees in a moment.

Before she could utter one word, or even make a sound, she heard the soft snick of the slide on a Glock.

Vic let her go.

She looked up and saw the barrel of Robert’s Glock kiss the side of Vic’s head. His hands rose out to his side.

Tanya stood and smoothed down her skirt. “Thank you Robert.” She wanted him to pull the trigger. She wanted that badly. Tanya closed her eyes for a moment and fought to rein back the need to hurt Vic. “You’re lucky I need you.”

She turned as if to leave, but then spun quickly. No open hand this time. Tanya closed her fist and hit the bastard in the face as hard as she could.

Vic’s head snapped to the side and blood spurted from his nose. But he was still smiling, showing teeth stained red by the blood.

“You’re not going to get them back, you know. Either of them.”

Tanya took a moment to compose herself. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Vic. I have the entire power of this Department behind me, plus I have rooms and rooms full of freaks, with all sorts of wonderful abilities, who would do just about anything for a little freedom. Maybe even turn on one of their own.” She watched with intense satisfaction as Vic’s grin faltered the tiniest bit.

“Get him the fuck out of here,” she told Robert.

Robert cuffed Vic’s wrists. “Where do you want him?”

“Put him in the deepest, darkest hole you can find.”

Vic’s laughter as Robert pushed him out of the room infuriated her.

She was no closer to finding Cross or Kale, but now she had someone who knew where they might be. Vic Harris might think he was tough, but even the strongest man could be broken. Tanya had yet to meet a man she couldn’t break.

Chapter 32

JENNER COBEN WAS not happy. “I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all.” He sat behind his desk and read Tanya’s report. Gabriel stood by the door while Tanya sat on the other side of the desk.

“This doesn’t exactly thrill me either. We can work with it but we need to move quickly. Every moment Cross and Kale are out there is dangerous.”

“Dangerous to who? Do you really think they’ll put the public at risk?” Coben said.

“Kale? Not in the condition he’s in. But Cross?” Tanya gave a small laugh. “Coben, we gave him every reason in the world to unleash that anger he’s buried for ten years. Now you tell me if you think he’s going to be judicious about who he unleashes it on. The sooner we have him back the lower the body count will be.”

Coben sighed and shook his head. “Might as well get this over with, but I’m warning you Tanya, this man was one of my agents. He’s not one of your play things, like Kale. If you hurt him there better be a damn good reason for it.”

Tanya held his gaze for a moment too long, but Coben refused to look away. She finally broke the eye contact and walked to the door. She opened it and spoke to the guard Coben knew was there. “Bring him in.”

A moment later Robert brought Vic into Coben’s office. He hands were cuffed in front of him. His one eye swollen, and dried blood was on his face. Coben narrowed his eyes at Tanya. “You told me he was fine. This doesn’t look fine to me.”

“Oh, please, Coben. Robert barely touched him.”

“Vic, are you all right?” Coben said.

Vic grinned. “I’m touched Coben.”

“All right, let’s get this over with.” Coben continued. “I’m disappointed in you Victor. I can’t tell you how disappointed. I trusted you and this is how that trust is repaid?”

Vic laughed. “Gee, Dad. I’m really sorry.” Robert punched Vic hard in the kidney. Vic grunted and doubled over but the smile never left his face.

Coben stood pushing his chair back. “Was that necessary?” he said to Robert. “ It doesn’t need to be this way, Vic. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I know you to be a reasonable man. Answer our questions and I promise you won’t be harmed.”

Vic straightened up as much as he could. “You’re clueless aren’t you Coben. It doesn’t matter what you promise me here in your nice neat office. The moment Tanya and her pet dog here get me alone I guarantee you they will see a need for violence.”

Coben threw a look in Tanya’s direction. “We’ll see about that,” Coben returned his attention back to Vic. “First I want to hear it directly from you. You helped Cross leave? You silenced the alarms and doctored the monitor feed?”

“That I did.”

Coben wiped a hand over his face. He thought maybe it had been a mistake. All Vic had to do was deny it and he would have cut him free. But now he was tied in. Vic openly admitted his involvement in front of not only him but Tanya and Gabriel. He asked the one question he desperately wanted an answer too. “Why? Why do this Vic?”

“Why?” Vic sounded incredulous. “You can stand there, look at me and then ask me that? Coben I don’t think you’re a bad guy, but I do think you need to be a bit more informed on what happens in your own department.”

“What are you talking about, I know exactly what happens in every aspect of my department.”

“Oh, then you’re aware that the black widow over there,” Vic gave a nod to Tanya, “Takes great pleasure in torturing your new acquirements. Jesus, she kept Kale in a cage for ten years, and when Cross proved to be too much for her to handle, she altered his memory, all because he objected to being owned. These are people Coben, they have rights.”

“These people are dangerous. You certainly had no objections in doing your part in caging them. Why all the moral outrage all of a sudden?”

“Yeah, some of them deserve to be here, but you cast a net and didn’t even care who got caught in it. Some of the ones I brought in, I also let go if I could- erased their records. You have no right to do the things you do.”

“The government gives me the right.” Coben moved around his desk to stand in front of Vic. “It’s you who are misinformed Vic. This department exists for one reason. To protect the public. Do have any idea the plans we have in motion? The things Kale is capable of doing? He could save millions of lives if his talent is used in the right way.”

The cocky grin left Vic’s face for the first time since entering the office. Coben liked that. “What are you talking about?” Vic said.

“You know what Kale can do? Pushing people.” When Vic nodded, Coben continued. “Then think about this Vic, how many good men do we lose every year in military conflicts? How many people do you know personally who’ve been killed in combat?”

“How could Kale help with that?” Vic was trying to figure it out, but Coben could see he wasn’t having any luck.

“Imagine this, Vic. The United States in in the midst of a conflict. Before things escalate, we bring Kale with us to peace talks, or negotiations, or anywhere he can have access to the people who have the power of opposing governments. Kale pushes those key people, he tells them to do exactly what our government wants them to do. We can stop a war before one shot is fired. Think of the lives that can be saved.”

Vic looked horrified. “Imagine this Coben, what if the people with the power want to do away with, let’s say a foreign political leader they deem dangerous. What if they have Kale tell this person to put a gun in his mouth.” Vic shook his head. “You’re not God and Kale isn’t a weapon.”

“Yes, he is darling,” Tanya spoke for the first time since Vic entered the room. “He’s my weapon and I want him back. Enough explaining. I want you to tell me where Cross is. If we find Cross, we find Kale.”

“What makes you think I know where either of them are? I just opened the door.”

“Well I think that’s where I come in,” Gabriel pushed off the wall he had been leaning against. “I don’t have to explain myself here, do I Vic? You know all I have to do is look inside your head and I can find out everything you know about Cross and Kale. You also know that if you fight me when I do this, it can cause damage to your mind.”

“You’re going to do it anyway, why all the drama?” Vic stilled grinned, but Coben thought it faltered just a bit.

“I’ve known you for over ten years Vic,” Gabriel said. “I respect you, but at the end of the day I do as I’m told just like everyone else. I would rather not turn your mind into pudding. You know I can find out what I need. You also know that you could simply tell them what they want to know.”

Vic raised his shoulders. “I don’t know where they are.”

Gabriel lowered his head as he approached Vic. He looked to Coben. “You sure you want to play it this way?”

“Just do it,” Coben said.

Gabriel met Vic’s eyes again. “I am sorry my friend.” Coben watched as Gabriel closed his eyes and in the next moment, Vic’s face creased in pain.

This was not going to end well.

Chapter 33

WE HAVE COMPANY.

As soon as the words were out, Jude’s apartment door exploded in a fiery burst.

Cross felt the heat a moment before the door shattered. “Get down!” He instinctively took what energy he could from the explosion and formed a shield around them all. The shock wave forced him down and back, until his feet slid on the smooth wooden floor.

His shield held, but he hoped to hell it didn’t have to hold for long. He was still carrying most of Kale’s injuries and pretty much running on fumes. The energy for his shield came from the fire that now burned all around them. Whoever was attacking them realized what he was doing, and was compensating for it.

His shield buckled and shrank a little around the edges. Everyone huddled closer.

“Oh, shit.” Cross grunted with the effort of keeping them from frying as the building burned around them. He went down to one knee to pull more strength from the energy around him.

Danny King stepped through the ruined doorway. “You! This is all your fault. You should’ve have just left us alone. It’s your fault they took Syb!” Danny said.

Cross had no idea how Danny King had found him or what had happened to his sister. He did know they were all going to die soon if he didn’t do something and do it quickly. He tried to syphon power from Danny but failed.

Then a sudden surge of energy hit him. He felt a hand on his arm and his brother’s familiar aura inside his head.

Power surged through Cross’s hands. Together they were close to unstoppable. Keeping the shield in place, Cross stood. He took the fire pouring from Danny and funneled it into a swirling mass of seething energy. Cross manipulated it as if it were a lit match. With an effort of pure will, he took control of the fire. He compressed it until it was nothing more than a single flame, and in one movement, smothered it.

Now the danger came from the building burning around them.

“What happened to Danny?” Cross said.

“Down. When you took control he collapsed,” Maizey said. “It’s getting hot in here, Cross.

“Get us out of here, Maizey. Kale and I can keep the shield up for a while longer.”

“Everybody grab hands, stay tight, and follow me,” Maizey took Cross’s hand and lead them to the door. Even with the shield up, smoke choked him and made his eyes water. “Get Danny,” he told Maizey.

“He just tried to fry us!” Jude protested.

“Just get him.”

Cross heard Jude drag Danny into the protective shield and heave him over a shoulder.

“Stairs,” Maizey warned. Sirens were in the distance and getting closer. They needed to get out of here. Stumbling, coughing, clinging to the railing they inched down the stairs.

“Are we clear?” Cross yelled when they eventually reached the bottom.

“We’re good,” Maizey said.

Cross dropped the shield. When he did, Kale broke contact and the power that had been tripping through him dissolved into a bone-weary exhaustion. He hurt everywhere as his world spun around him. He could only imagine how Kale must feel. When he fell to his knees and felt hands on him, it didn’t occur to him to object.

“Finn?” He hoped.

“Yeah, man. Jesus I won’t ask what happened. I got a pretty good idea. I couldn’t stop him.”

“It’s okay.” The sirens were nearly on top of them. Other people were in the street to watch the fire or see what was happening. “We need to disappear.”

“I got wheels,” He heaved Cross to his feet. The world wobbled a bit but his knees held. Cross felt for Kale and helped him stand.

Finn led them both into a van of some sort and everyone else clambered aboard. “Jesus, Danny King? Really Cross? The guy just tried to barbeque you.”

The air was heavy with smoke and heat even inside the van. “I can handle him, just go!”

Finn obviously realized the time for arguments was not now. He put the van in gear and peeled out just as the first fire truck pulled up. “What if someone saw us?” Finn said.

“Go it covered,” Maizey said. “I had all of us and the van concealed. No one saw anything but a very nice building on fire.”

The girl had some serious skills. If Cross didn’t feel like he was about to pass out he was sure he would’ve been impressed.

“Crap. It was rent controlled too,” Jude said.

“I’m sorry, man,” Kale’s voice was quiet and sounded weak.

A low moan came from the floor near Cross’s feet. Danny was starting to wake up.

“I got this,” Kale said.

“You’re barely hanging on as it is,” Utah said. “Let someone else take care of him.”

“Well unless there’s someone else who can push him, I’m it. Don’t worry this doesn’t take a lot out of me.” But before Kale had the chance, Danny slumped against the wall once more. Unconscious or passed out.

Utah sighed in obvious relief. “Thank God. See, now you don’t have too. Just relax, okay?”

Cross was relieved. He didn’t have it in him for round two with Danny. In an enclosed metal box. He shuddered inwardly just thinking about how that might have played out. “Where are we going, Finn?”

“Back to the tunnels. Right now it’s the safest place for us. Kale needs attention and you have looked better.”

“I’ve felt worse.” Maybe. “What about him? Danny. He’s not going to wake up in a good mood.”

“I got him,” Maizey said.

Cross looked in her direction. “What do you mean, ‘you got him’?”

“I pushed him, told him to go to sleep for a couple hours and when he woke up not to be so angry.”

“You pushed him? You mean Kale pushed him.” Cross was confused.

“Wasn’t me,” Kale said.

“One of my best kept secrets,” Maizey said.

“You can push.” Cross wanted to curl up into a ball and go to sleep for about a week and all he’d done was fight off a flaming ball of death. Maizey had pushed Danny while camouflaging the van and six people. “Damn.”

The next moment he was on his back feeling more than a little nauseous. He couldn’t remember going down, but apparently impressing Maizey with his fortitude wasn’t in the cards for the day.

He closed his eyes and wondered if she’d pushed him too. Didn’t really matter. Either way everyone was going to have to figure out how to survive without him for the immediate future.

Chapter 34

TANYA SAT BEHIND the tinted windows of the Cadillac escalade, secure in the fact that she could not be seen. Vic had been a bust. It turned out he really didn’t know where Cross had gone.

Gabriel had been thorough but he had concluded the man knew nothing. It was a pity, Vic’s body had survived Gabriel’s less than delicate mental inquisition. Tanya would have to decide what to do with the rest of him.

Right now she was depending on the young Asian sitting next to her to find the Delancey twins. He was trying his best not to appear nervous but his constant hand wringing and fidgeting told her different. His name was Woo, and he had a talent for seeing in a non-visual part of the spectrum. He could see the auras people with special abilities gave off.

People like Cross and Kale Delancey. They didn’t even have to use their abilities. All they had to do was to have been in a place for more than a few minutes. Their presence would leave a psychic signature, a shedding of energy that permeated everything they came into contact with. It was, according to Woo, like looking for a shadow, or a scent left behind.

As far as Tanya knew. Woo was one of a kind. She had promised him improved living quarters, perhaps one of the secured apartments Cross had escaped from. But only if he led her to the Delancey brothers.

The trail Woo followed led to a burnt out brownstone on the Upper East Side. The area was still taped off and trucks surrounded the building. The fire that had hollowed it out, smoldered and firemen with hoses fought to douse it for good.

“They were here,” Woo said. “Both of them and not too long ago. Their presence is very strong here. Exceptionally strong.” Woo took a breath. “This fire was caused by a person with abilities. A battle of wills was fought here. Fire against fire- or against something as potent as fire. A lot of power.”

“Can you track them?” Tanya said.

Woo snickered. “Yes. Someone concealed them, but she can’t hide them from me. I could see this trail with my eyes closed. So much power. Wow!”

“Concealed how?”

“From the visual spectrum. But whoever did this didn’t plan on concealing them from the magical spectrum.”

“There’s no such thing as magic,” Tanya said.

Woo shrugged. “Magic, abilities, power. It’s all just semantics. Whatever you want me to call it, I see them. I can track them.”

“Just give Robert directions.”

“I did good, right? You’ll take me out of that room? I mean, I can’t go back there. It’s been years. Please.” Woo sounded desperate and unsure of himself. Tanya knew he was neither. This was all a game to him.

“I don’t have Cross or Kale back yet. When I do, then we’ll talk about an upgrade in your accommodations.”

Woo picked at his cuticles. Tanya noticed they were raw and bloody around the ragged edges. Someone was going to pay for making her spend time with him. He was a pathetic sociopath and borderline schizophrenic.

Cross and Finn had brought him in about three years ago. Woo had been hunting down his own kind- people with abilities and systematically killing them. He had tracked them with their own auras. When asked why, he told Tanya it was the only way to keep his head from exploding.

Woo heard voices, lots of freaky little voices telling him to do horrible things.

They’d tried hundreds of drugs over the years they had him. But the normal psych meds had no effect on him. He was unbalanced and dangerous, but right now he was Tanya’s best chance to find one or both of the Delancey brothers. But there was no way in hell Woo was buying any time out of his cage. Tanya might be desperate but she wasn’t stupid. She would use Woo like she used everyone – to achieve a goal. He meant nothing to her.

Woo directed Robert out of Manhattan and into Harlem. “They’re weak now, very weak, but their auras are truly spectacular.” Woo sighed. He looked as if he had just been watching porn.

He looked directly at Tanya. “Such power. I’ve never felt anything like this. You can’t take this one.” He giggled. “She’ll destroy you.”

Who he was talking about, Cross? Kale? More likely no one, just another voice is the chaos. “I’ll take my chances. Just find them.”

Woo nodded eagerly. “Find them.” He told Robert to take another turn, then suddenly he sucked in a breath like he was in pain. His expression went from amused and confidant to furious in a heartbeat. “No… Nonono! How could she do that? No one has ever done that to me before.”

“What happened,” Tanya said.

“She found me. No one ever finds me!”

“What does that mean?”

“It means she found me! How else do I need to fucking say it? She realized I was tracking her and she blocked me.” Woo hit the seat in front of him. “Bitch, no one gets away from me. No one!” Apparently Woo forgot he was hunting for Tanya and not himself. He grew more agitated and began kicking the seat, Tanya glanced at Robert who pulled the SUV over and calmly reached around and shot the Taser probes against Woo’s thigh.

Woo went rigid and then went limp. When he lay stunned, Robert uncapped a needle and injected a sedative.

Only when Woo was unconscious did Tanya move.

She put her head in her hands for just a moment. “Do we know who the burned building belongs too?

“A professor at Columbia, some doctor by the name of Jude Case,” Robert said.

“Get Woo back into a secured cell. Then I want everything there is on this Dr. Case. Family members, friends, anything. What do Cross or Kale have to do with him? I need information Robert, and I need it now. All we know is they were headed for Harlem. Set up patrols throughout the borough. They cannot just fucking disappear.

“Find them. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

Tanya tried not to scream in frustration. Was Cross Delancey worth all of this? Perhaps when she got them back, she would kill Cross in front of Kale, just to teach him a lesson. Any future escape attempts would lead to immediate consequences to one of his fellow freaks. Any disobedience would be dealt with in the same manner. If he pushed anyone other than who Tanya told him to push, another innocent would die.

Kale would learn his place. Once Tanya had him back, that was the one thing she had absolute certainty of.

Chapter 35

GABRIEL COULD SEE the end game. Not the exact circumstances but the pieces were in play and there was only one logical ending. He didn’t want to be around when it all went down. He was aware his actions had brought him to this moment. Some of them he regretted- deeply and some of them he did not.

His part in recent events was in some small way an apology. It made very little difference, but he wasn’t seeking absolution. The best he could hope for, if he was still alive at the end of the day was to be able to sleep at night.

Vic Harris was one such apology. Gabriel hadn’t had to destroy Vic’s mind to discover where Cross had fled, but Tanya didn’t need to know that. Once he extracted the information, he’d simply implanted the suggestion into Vic’s subconscious that he was very tired and needed to sleep soundly for a while. Tanya had believed his lie. He hadn’t worked with her for over ten years and not learned how to manipulate her.

Tanya might indeed discover where Cross was hiding but she wouldn’t learn it from Gabriel. He might be a few decades too late, but he was finally accepting his parental responsibility. His sons might be dangerous, but in his opinion Tanya was more so.

Gabriel had one last task to accomplish. And then he could take Niko and walk out of this place. The thought was oddly liberating.

* * *

VIC SAT ON the cold concrete of his dark cell and wished he knew what was going on. What bothered him more than the lack of water or food or light was the lack of knowledge. He was in the dark in more ways than one.

Gabriel had at him, and that was a less than pleasant experience. Vic had worked with Cross for years, but never once had he pried into Vic’s thoughts. Gabriel had no such ethics. It was a violation Vic had difficulty coping with. He could defend himself against any manner of physical threats, but he had no defense against something like that. Gabriel pried open his mind like a can of tuna and had a peek inside. Vic couldn’t remember anything and had only just woke up a few hours ago. Vic was alone and confused as to what he had learned. He feared he had betrayed Charlie, Maizey and the entire Underground. But if that were the case, wouldn’t Tanya have come to talk to him by now?

His head was pounding and his belly churning, either from lack of water or Gabriel’s indelicate probing. He was having a hard time seeing a way out of this one. They hadn’t killed him yet, so the fact that he was still alive gave him hope that Cross and the Underground had somehow eluded Tanya and the Department.

He was just drifting into a restless sleep when the cell door creaked open. He squinted, raised a hand to shade his eyes as he tried to determine who had come for him.

Instead of the expected security guard, he heard soft footsteps just before a cold nose pressed to his face. His visitor was Niko, Cross’s dog.

“She knows you.”

Gabriel stood in the doorway. Vic tried for an I don’t give a damn front, but he knew Gabriel could see past it.

“She should. I spent a lot of time with Cross and her over the years.” Niko sat down and put her head in Vic’s lap. For some reason that made him feel better. He ran a hand over her head.

“What do you want?” His gut clenched at the thought of Gabriel prying his mind open again.

“Redemption?”

Vic screwed his face up in confusion. “Come again?”

Gabriel tossed a small rectangular object to Vic. It landed on the floor next to his hand.

When he picked it up he saw it was Coben’s ID badge. He looked to Gabriel for an explanation.

“I wanted to apologize for any discomfort I caused you. I needed my probe to look convincing to Tanya. When I looked in your head I found out some interesting things.”

Cold fear gripped Vic.

“Not only did you help Cross get out,” Gabriel continued, “But you have, for the last several years, been an informant to an underground organization consisting of people like Cross and Kale. People like myself with abilities the Department would be interested in. You help shield them from this department.”

“They are good people, Gabriel. All they want is to be left alone. To raise their children in peace like everyone else. Why can’t you understand that?”

“I do. I do understand that, Vic,” Gabriel said.

Now that Vic’s eyes had adjusted to the light, he could see how tired Gabriel looked. His normally impeccable attire was rumpled, Vic might even have to say disheveled. His silvery hair was mussed and he needed a shave.

“I could never be mistaken for father of the year. I helped to hide the truth from one son and ignored what was happening to another. I can’t go back and change that. What’s done is done.”

Vic held up Coben’s ID. “What’s this all about?”

“I decided to do something I should’ve done years ago.”

“What’s that?”

“Grow a spine. I told Tanya that you knew nothing more than what you already told us. Right now she thinks I broke your mind. She’s trying to decide if you are anymore use to them.” He indicated the ID badge. “That will get you out of here. I’ve cleared the way. You won’t encounter anyone and the badge will open the doors. I won’t stop you, and I won’t tell anyone what I know.”

Vic got to his feet. “How do I know this isn’t a trap? An excuse for Tanya to kill me trying to escape.”

“Since when does Tanya need an excuse to kill anyone? It’s not a trap, Vic, I would ask you to trust me but I understand how ridiculous that would sound. Look at it this way, what do you have to lose?” Gabriel stepped aside and offered Vic the open door.

Vic put Coben’s ID around his neck. “How did you get this?”

“I have other talents besides violating people’s innermost sanctums. Coben won’t know its missing for a few hours, but if I were you I wouldn’t waste any more time asking questions when you could be getting out of here. Use the fire exits. All the alarms have been disabled. I would have arranged transportation but the department vehicles are easily traced.”

“It’s New York, I’ll manage.” Vic paused in the doorway. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, but thank you.”

Gabriel shook his head. “Just do whatever you have to, to keep my sons out of her hands.”

Without another word, Vic walked out of his cell.

Chapter 36

WHEN CROSS AWOKE, he couldn’t remember where he was for a moment or two. In the tunnels. He was still in the chair next to Kale’s bed. Someone had taken his glasses off and covered him with a blanket. He could hear no echoes of footsteps, no hushed voices. Only the sounds of the night greeted him. It almost felt as if they were alone.

Shadows, all that was left of his vision, greeted him, which told him nothing about the time of day- or night. Sitting up, he felt for and found Kale, still sleeping. He felt rested and decided to use his newly-learned sight. He was amazed at how simple it was.

Everything around him lit up in a subdued blue, not the bright blue/white he had experienced before. Apparently his new spectrum had its own limitations. He saw Kale stir as if he knew Cross watched him. Maybe he did. His brother braced his side with one hand and sat up. He gave him that well-remembered cocky grin.

“Hey,” Kale said.

“How’re you feeling? You look better, more with it than before.”

“Yeah, I’m good. Wait. What do you mean I look better? How would you know?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot you don’t know. Maizey taught me a way to see. Sort of.”

“You can see?” Kale waved a hand in front Cross’s face. Cross caught it and held it. “Not real sight, not like before, but yeah enough to get around on my own. It’s kind of pretty, like blue energy surrounding everything. Only thing is, it taps me out if I use it for too long.”

“That’s kind of cool,” Kale just stared at him for a long while.

Cross understood, he stared back. “I can’t believe you’re here. I thought you were dead, Kale. They told me you were dead.” He shook his head as shame burned his face. “All the times you came to me, I always thought it was a dream. You know, just wishful thinking. If I’d known you were alive, I would’ve come for you. You have to know that, Kale.”

“Which is exactly why you had to keep believing I was dead. If I told you anything else, Tanya would’ve brought you in years ago. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“I could’ve got you out. We could’ve both got out.”

“You don’t know Tanya. I do. Trust me it was better this way.”

“Better for who? I spent all this time thinking my brother was dead. I thought I lost you. I did lose you,” Cross tried to control the swirling emotions coursing through him and couldn’t decide if he should be pissed, sad or relieved. He settled on a combination of all three. He should have known Kale would understand. Not only did they both have the psychic thing going on, but they were twins. They always knew what the other was thinking.

Kale put a hand on Cross’s shoulder. The simple contact almost made Cross break down. “You never lost me,” Kale told him. “You’re the one who found me.”

Cross took a deep breath to collect himself. “I don’t plan on losing you ever again. Got it?”

Kale gave him the sideways grin again. “Yeah, man, I got it.”

They let the moment hang there in the silence, content to simply be together again after all the time lost. After a while Kale started to look around the room. He tried to stand and found himself tethered to the bed by an IV attached to his arm. He pulled it out and put his hand over the small wound until it stopped bleeding.

“I’m pretty sure, Jude isn’t going to like that,” Cross said.

Kale shrugged. “I’m fine. Trust me, I’ve been in worse shape and I’m still alive. Come on.” Kale motioned for Cross to follow him.

For a moment it felt like they were kids again, trying to get into trouble just to piss everyone off. “Come on where?”

“Outside. I want to go outside.” Cross tried to keep up with Kale as he navigated the maze-like tunnels as if he’d been born in this place. Then he realized Kale was simply following his nose. Cross could smell the fresh air cutting through the stale air. Cross imagined if he had spent the last ten years caged inside, he would have been able to pick up the scent of fresh air just as easily. Still, he couldn’t help but be impressed.

The tunnel exit opened in front of them. Kale picked up speed until he stepped outside and lifted his face to the gentle night breeze. The early November night was chilly. Cross wrapped his arms around his chest to ward off the cold. He realized Kale wore only a short-sleeve t-shirt and jeans and was barefoot.

“Aren’t you cold?” Cross said.

“No way. This is great.” Kale opened his arms and with his eyes closed and head lifted toward the night sky, he turned in a circle smiling blissfully.

Cross looked around at the dirty little lot that delighted Kale, and that pang of guilt hit him again. This littered, abandoned lot, with grass growing out if the cracks in the concrete and smelling of urine, was the best thing Kale had seen in forever.

Despite the guilt, it still made him smile. Kale was happy and that was an amazing thing. Cross just wanted to watch him for as long as he wanted to stay there. He watched until his sight slowly dimmed and left him in the dark again. He swayed with the sudden lack of visual input. Funny how after all the years he had spent in the dark, he had become used to the light again so quickly. Now the dark seemed all the more lonely to him.

He reached his hands out hoping to find something to steady himself with.

Kale’s hand slipped under his arm. “Hey, whoa there, you okay?” he led Cross to the concrete steps. “Sit.”

“Yeah, guess I overdid it with the sight thing. Damn, I’m in the dark again.”

“You can’t control it?” Kale sat next to him on the step.

“Working on it, but the bottom line is I’m still blind. I’ll always be blind.”

“What do you remember about that night?” Kale’s voice sounded like he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“You mean when we were fourteen? The night we tried to get out?”

“Yeah. Do you remember it?”

“Some of it. Some of it is like a story someone else told me. Charlie took away the blocks they placed and showed me the truth, but he couldn’t fix the damage caused by the bullet.”

“Charlie?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, you were really out if it on the way here. Charlie is Maria’s father. He’s our grandfather, Kale.”

“We have a grandfather?” Kale sounded excited.

“Apparently. Anyway, Charlie has this ability to let a person see the truth. But like I said, there was a lot of damage from the bullet. What I remember most is more of a feeling than memory.”

“Anger,” Kale said.

Cross looked in his direction. “Yeah, exactly. Every time I think about that day, all I get is a lot of anger.”

“You were pissed man. I mean more than usual. I know they messed with your head, made you into someone you weren’t but I remember you Cross. You were always the other half of me. You used to tell me you were the better half,” Kale laughed quietly. “The day before you went all postal…” Kale paused.

Cross heard the hesitation in his voice.

“What, Kale? What happened?”

Kale took a deep breath and let it out all at once. “You never showed them what you could do. You hid it. I didn’t, because I thought Tanya would be happy if I did what she wanted.”

“But she wasn’t.” Cross could remember bits and pieces.

“No, no way. She knew you were holding out on her. The day before, she beat me in front of you, to try to get you to do something.”

Cross tried to remember that day. It was all a fuzzy picture in his head. “What did I do?” Cross hoped to hell he’d showed her something. He hated to think he had allowed his brother to take a beating because of his stubbornness.

“Nothing. You didn’t have too. I pushed them.” Kale sounded pleased. “Told them to leave us alone and they did.”

“Holy shit. Bet Tanya wasn’t too thrilled about that.” Cross couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Kale getting one over on Tanya.

“She wasn’t. That’s when you said we had to get out of there. You said if we didn’t they were going to kill us, or make us kill someone else. Someone innocent. You said if she wanted to see what you could do, then you were going to fucking show her what you could do.”

Kale paused, swallowed audibly. “We showed them all right. Together we killed a dozen of her people before Gabriel shot you. He was aiming to kill you. I tried to push you out of the way. Guess I wasn’t fast enough.”

“Hey, I’m still alive.”

“But your eyes man.”

“Kale, it’s cool. You saved my life.”

“Did I, Cross? They took everything away from you. All your memories, your eyes, everything that made you who you were. They programmed you into who they wanted you to be. They told you I was dead and gave you a lie to live. Exactly what did I save?”

Cross reached for Kale’s hand in the dark. When he found it he held tight. “This. Despite what anyone did to us, despite all the lies, all the manipulation and bullshit, we found each other. Right here, right now, I have my brother back. You saved us.”

“I missed you Cross,” Kale said.

“Back atcha man. Right the hell back atcha. I would have looked for you, Kale,” Cross said. “If I had known, if I had even guessed you were still alive –”

“I know. It’s okay, Cross.”

Anger at what had been done to them half a lifetime ago surged through him suddenly. “No it’s not. They took your life just as surely as a bullet would have. The only difference is, the bullet would have been more merciful.”

Kale put a hand over Cross’s. His voice was one of reason, one of acceptance, and that almost made Cross angrier. He didn’t want to be reasonable. He sure as hell didn’t want to be accepting.

“I can’t change what they did.” Kale said. “Would I like to? Hell yes, I’d like to do a lot of things if given the chance, some of it good, some of it not so much. But one thing Tanya did teach me was you can’t go back, you can only go forward. It might have taken us ten years, but we finally made it right.”

“We might have found each other, but we haven’t made it right. Not by a long shot.”

Kale was silent for a while, and when he spoke again, he obviously decided he had questions of his own. “Cross, how old are we anyway? I’ve been trying to do the math in my head, but I lost track of time a long time ago.”

Cross opened his mouth to answer and found he couldn’t. The simple question brought the enormity of what had been done to them front and center once more. “We are twenty-four,” he finally said. He heard sadness etched into the words and hoped Kale didn’t notice.

“Wow, really? Damn we’re old. Hey, didn’t we promise each other we were going to get drunk and laid on our twenty-first birthday?”

“We’re a little late for that. I’ve already gotten drunk and laid. Not necessarily in that order.”

“So chicks go for the blind thing, huh?”

Cross couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. “You’re still a pig, Kale.”

“What’s your point? Hey, come on. I’ve been locked up for the last decade. My experience with the opposite sex has been, shall we say, limited.”

An unwanted image of Tanya seducing a sixteen-year-old Kale slammed into Cross’s brain and every trace of humor he might have felt vanished. He knew Kale felt it too.

“It was my choice too, you know. It’s not like she raped me.”

Cross heard defensiveness in his tone. “I know.”

“I don’t think you do. I know what you think about it. I can feel what you feel, remember? The disgust, the anger. I feel that.”

“But for her, not for you. Can’t you understand that?”

“You weren’t there. She was the only person I had contact with. She made it that way. I realize that, but it doesn’t change the fact she was my jailer and my salvation in one package. She made me fall in love with her, so I would do anything for her, and I very nearly did.”

They were both shivering now. Cross could feel Kale as he sat bunched up next to him, but neither moved just yet. “What did she want from you?”

“The same thing she wanted from you. The only difference was, she had a lot longer to try and get it from me.”

“Tell me.” Cross knew the answer, he also knew Kale needed to say it. He needed Cross to forgive him for the sin of trying to survive.

“She wanted me to do the things she told everyone I did. She wanted me to push people to do terrible things. Sometimes to themselves. Sometimes to other people. I refused and then she killed them anyway, in front of me – told me I was to blame for their deaths. She would leave their bodies inside my cell for days. Desensitization, she told me.

“That was bad. I would have nightmares they were still alive and talking to me. I could smell them, you know? She told me she would kill you if I didn’t do what she wanted. But I could always find you, up here.” He tapped the side of his head. “I knew you were okay. When she saw that wasn’t working she started a more primitive, but effective method of getting me to cooperate with her.”

“The beatings,” Cross guessed.

“If you want to civilize it, you could call it that, but yeah pain is a very reliable persuader.”

“You gave in?” Cross wouldn’t blame him if he did. He couldn’t say he wouldn’t have done the same after only a few weeks at Tanya’s hands.

“Once.” The admission cost Kale. Cross didn’t need to see to know the pain Kale was in. “She wanted me to push someone. She wanted me to have him kill someone else.” He paused and Cross knew he was collecting himself.

“He was just some guy, I never saw him before. She hadn’t given me anything to eat for days, kept me awake, and increased the beatings. She promised me it would all stop if I just told the guy to go home and kill his wife. She said I wouldn’t be to blame, I was only the one who told him to do it.

“Even then I knew that was bullshit, but I was tired and hungry and hurt. So I did it. I pushed the guy. He did exactly what I told him to do. He went home and he beat his wife to death because I told him to. Tanya had it recorded.

“After that, Tanya was obsessed, but I swore she would kill me before I ever did that again.”

Cross could feel the torment Kale had been in, the guilt that still ate at him every day. The conflicting emotions he still had for Tanya. “How old were you when this happened?”

Cross could feel Kale shrug, a quick up and down movement of his shoulders. “Maybe nineteen or twenty.”

“She wore you down, Kale. You weren’t thinking clearly.”

“I was thinking just fine.” Now Cross heard anger in his voice, anger at himself. Cross would have preferred that anger directed at Tanya.

“I was thinking if I do this one thing, I can eat, I can sleep, and I can stop wondering if someone’s going to beat the crap out of me in the middle of the night. I understood what I was doing, Cross, and someone died because I wasn’t strong enough to say no to her one more time.”

Tanya was very good at her job and Cross very much wanted to hurt her. “You’re strong enough now, aren’t you?”

“Doesn’t bring that guy’s wife back.”

“Always move forward,” Cross reminded him. “So, now we figure out how to stop her. For good, right?”

He felt the slight hesitation. It was barely discernable, but he felt it. Even after everything Tanya had done to him Cross was certain Kale still had feelings for her. He didn’t need to confront him with that fact, Kale was aware Cross knew. There were no secrets between them. What Cross knew, Kale knew. It’s how they were made, it’s what they were always meant to be. They were each part of the other.

“I can’t help it,” Kale said. His voice revealed his shame. “I don’t know if I could bring myself to hurt her.”

Cross understood. As horrible as it sounded, he could see how it must have been. Kale, young, alone, starved for affection, attention and Tanya as beautiful as she was deadly, grudgingly giving him both in small quantities until he was desperate for more. Kale would have done anything for Tanya.

He still would.

“You don’t have to hurt her. I wouldn’t ask that of you. All you have to do is not stop someone else from doing what needs to be done.” Cross felt Kale’s pain at the thought of Tanya being hurt, but he knew Kale understood.

“She told you she wouldn’t hurt me if you did what she wanted. She lied to you. You have to know that. She used you.”

“I know.”

The admission changed nothing. “We’ll get through this, Kale, me and you. I think we’re overdue on some good luck for a change.”

“We move forward,” Kale said.

“Forward,” Cross agreed. They sat in silence for a moment. “Could you do something for me?” Cross said.

“Name it.”

Cross wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know, but then curiosity won out over caution. “Charlie showed me the truth, which memories were fake, but not everything is clear. They all seem real to me.”

“You want me to tell you which ones are real and which ones are fake?” Kale said.

“Yeah, do you mind?”

“Lay it on me, man.”

“Okay. You already told me the tree house was real. What about camping? I remember Mom and Dad taking us camping somewhere when we were little, maybe six or seven? There was a campfire, tents, marshmallows, fireflies in mason jars – the works.”

“Sorry, man, never happened. I wish it was true. I think I would have liked camping, but no, that one was implanted. Tanya would’ve never let us out of the department for that.”

“Damn, really? That was a great memory. What about Dad? What about Gabriel?”

“What about him?” Kale’s voice changed. The subject of Gabriel was obviously not one he wanted to talk about. “Let me make this easy for you, Cross. Gabriel wasn’t a father. He said it himself to me more than once. All he was to us was a biological donation. Half of our genetic code. To him we were never anything more than an experiment.”

“He told me he loved me. I think I remember that.” Cross knew how that must have sounded, but even with Charlie’s help, the memories and the truth were difficult to sort out in his head.

“He told you whatever would get him what he wanted at the time. A nice memory of the perfect family kept you docile, kept you in line. That’s all they wanted.” Kale’s anger was obvious. Cross felt it too.

He sighed. “Okay, we never went camping and Gabriel flunked parenting 101. What about our mother?”

“She was the real deal, or as real as they let her be anyway. Maria did what she had to do to survive and to protect us. But I don’t think she fully understood what the government intended to do with us. To her, we were always her children first. She protected us the best she could, and when they took that control away from her, she couldn’t take it anymore.”

“She killed herself,” Cross said.

“The bastards killed her just as surely as if they pulled the trigger.”

“She called you her wild child.” Cross smiled at the memory.

“And you were her thinker. ‘Always thinking, Cross, always thinking.’ She used to tell you to stop thinking so much and just enjoy life, do you remember?”

“I remember.” He was quiet for a long while after that. Cross remembered his mother’s eyes, they were dark and gentle, her quiet laugh and the way she would kiss each of them on the forehead when she put them to bed at night. He didn’t want to know if those memories were real or not. He chose to believe they were and moved on.

“One more,” Cross leaned back against the steps and angled his face toward the night sky. He closed his eyes, not that the view changed – black was black, but it helped him think. “I remember us sneaking out at night. We would lie on our backs with our hands behind our heads and stare up at the stars. We would look for the constellations, Orion, Ursula Major, Cassiopeia, and The Seven Sisters.”

He could almost see it again in his head, the night sky a velvet drape with the stars set like sparkling jewels within it. The Milky Way, Andromeda, the entire universe there just for them. The perfect backdrop for two little boys with impossible dreams. “We would tell each other the plans we had for the future. The things we wanted to do, the things that meant so much to us. It almost diminished their importance by putting it into words, – but we understood. We told each other everything under those stars.”

Cross turned toward his brother, his blind eyes open. “Please don’t tell me it didn’t happen. Tell me that much, at least, was for real.”

Kale’s voice when he spoke again was quiet. “Yeah, Cross, that one’s real. I remember it too. Many a great scheme was planned, looking up at those stars.”

“I wish I could see them, just one more time. It’s funny the things you miss when you know you’ll never see them again. Most of the time I’m okay with it, but if I could have my eyes back just for one moment, my real eyes, I would want to see the stars again. I always wondered if they were really as beautiful as I remember them, or if time warped what I see in my mind.” He let his head roll back and opened his eyes as if he were looking up at that star-filled sky. “Are the stars out tonight?”

“Yeah, they are,” Kale said.

He sat up straight when he heard Kale move. “Just stay there like that.”

“Why?” Cross was more suspicious than concerned.

“Trust me. Just do it.”

Cross leaned back against the steps again and let his head loll. His weight on his elbows and his legs splayed out in front of him.

Kale sat behind him on the top step, one leg on either side of Cross. “Just relax. I think I remember how to do this.”

He placed one hand on either side of his head. Cross felt Kale’s fingers placed all around his skull, just the tips of them touching him.

Like a door being opened in a dark room, light flooded in. His dark world went nova. His eyes involuntarily squeezed shut at the assault, but then gradually the light dimmed, he opened his eyes little by little.

He was looking out at the night. He was looking out at this night. Cross looked through his brother’s eyes and the light from countless stars set in the black velvet of the sky looked back at him.

It wasn’t like he remembered it at all. It was better. The universe stretched out forever in that clear, cold November night. He could see Orion the Hunter, and the seven sisters clustered together for warmth, or protection. He saw the wispy swath of the Milky Way as it stretched into forever.

He saw two little boys planning for dreams they couldn’t possibly know would never come true. It made him sad, but mostly it made him grateful. He had gotten his one chance.

“Thank you, Kale,” he whispered. His voice thick with emotions he had trouble putting a name to.

“Shush,” Kale told him. “I’m freezing my ass off here, so just shut up and look for as long as you want.”

Cross shut up, and in the brilliant dark, two brothers stared up at the night sky and silently spoke the secrets of a lifetime worth of stolen dreams, while the stars bore them witness and kept their confidences.

Chapter 37

DESPITE KALE’S PROTESTS that he was fine, Jude had re-started IV fluids and antibiotics on him. His fever was down and he looked more comfortable. Cross had gradually released his control of Kale’s pain as Kale regained his strength. Now Cross was beyond exhausted. He was dozing in a chair next to Kale’s bed until a voice in his head woke him. At first he thought it might be a dream, but he heard it again after he woke.

I need to see you.

No dream. Cross recognized the voice. He closed his eyes. Get out of my head, Gabriel.

I have something of yours I’d like to return.

After a moment of confusion, Cross realized what Gabriel wanted to give back. He could feel her presence through the mental connection his father had made.

Niko.

She misses you.

Where are you?

Outside the south 4th street station in Williamsburg.

Cross’s heart rate jumped. That was the abandoned subway station the underground used to come and go. If Gabriel had tracked them here, the entire underground was in danger. Gabriel seemed to sense his fear.

Tanya has no idea where you are. Or even where I am for that matter. I came on my own. I’m unarmed and alone. Just see me. Please, that’s all I ask. Let me say my piece and then you can do what you like to me.

Gabriel was right, Cross would be a fool to trust him. But he had Niko. Damn it. Trap or not, Cross owed it to Niko to at least try to get her back. But he was making a mistake. Cross felt that in every fiber of his being.

Stay where you are. If I sense anyone with you, I swear I’ll kill you before they take me.

Fair enough. I’ll wait for you.

Cross touched Kale’s head and hoped he wasn’t putting everyone he cared for in jeopardy for a dog. No, that wasn’t fair, Niko was far more than just a dog to him.

He couldn’t feel any deception in Gabriel’s words, but the bastard could be clever. Perhaps clever enough to convince his son he was telling the truth when he was actually setting him up for an ambush.

Cross had regained enough of his strength that he was able to use his sight to navigate the twists and turns of the dark empty tunnels. It took him about twenty minutes before the exit burned a bright hole in the dark. A soft whining followed by a happy, frantic barking told him Niko knew he was there. No need for stealth. Gabriel would know he was there as well.

Cross entered the light and saw Gabriel trying to restrain Niko. His normally calm and composed guide dog was straining at the leash. Cross gave Gabriel a quick glance and then squatted down to Niko’s level. Gabriel released the leash and Niko leapt at Cross.

She nearly knocked him over but seemed to remember her training at the last moment. Rolling over, she gave Cross her belly and whimpered with excitement. He hugged her, rubbed her belly and told her how much he had missed her. He was almost as excited as the dog.

“She missed you terribly,” Gabriel said. “You can see me? Ah, a gift from your new friend.”

Cross didn’t bother to reply to that. He realized Gabriel knew about Maizey. He took a strong hold on Niko’s leash. There was no way anyone was taking her away from him again. “What do you want Gabriel?”

“Is Kale all right? I know what Tanya had done to him. I would have stopped it if I could have.”

“If you knew where I was, you know Kale is here and I’m betting you know exactly how he is. Stop wasting my time. You said you needed to talk to me. So talk.”

Gabriel leaned against the brick wall behind him. Cross realized it was the first time he had seen the man since he was fourteen. Time had not been a friend. The dark hair he remembered had thinned and turned white. It surrounded his head like a fuzzy halo. His eyes were clear, but held a deep sadness. Or maybe it was guilt. If there was any justice in the world, Gabriel had paid for keeping his sons imprisoned. For trying to kill one and using the other.

“I know how you feel about me,” Gabriel began.

“No. you don’t.”

Gabriel tapped the side of his head. “Yes. I do. And I deserve all that wonderfully cultivated hate.” He looked down as if he couldn’t take Cross’s scrutiny. When he looked back up, resignation was all Cross saw. “I wanted to warn you, Tanya is closing in on you. You might want to think about relocating somewhere out of the loop.”

Cross almost laughed at that. “You came here to warn me about Tanya?”

Gabriel took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I did, but not like you think. Did you ever stop to wonder why it was so important that Tanya kept you alive all those years ago, why she kept Kale the way she did?”

Cross narrowed his eyes at Gabriel, trying to understand where he was going with this. “To use us. She bartered Kale’s cooperation by threatening my safety. She watched me to see if I remembered my abilities. I know this already.”

“You know only a small part of it. Tanya might be a lot of things but stupid isn’t one of them. She has an entire building full of freaks, some more powerful than you. Why then would she risk everything, the entire stability of the program to retrieve you and Kale?”

“Because her ego won’t allow her to lose.”

“Maybe, but that’s not the whole story. Tanya has made the department a lot of money over the years. Money she and Coben have grown accustomed to.”

“Money? From who? For what?” Cross tried to understand what Gabriel was talking about, but he was coming up with nothing but blanks.

“The military. Tanya has been contracting out Kale on a limited basis for years now. He’s agreed in part to keep you safe. He’s also insanely in love with her. As sick and twisted as that sounds, Tanya made sure he was totally dependent on her. She orchestrated every aspect of his life and manipulated him to do what she wanted.”

Cross put a hand out. “Wait, back up. What would the military want with Kale?”

“Really? You can’t figure that out for yourself? Or maybe you just don’t want to. Think about it. War has always been an economic shot in the arm for this country, but unpopular wars are political murder. A president who can prevent or peacefully side step what could be a bloody and long confrontation? That’s pure political and economic gold.

“Put Kale anywhere near the enemy. Have him push whoever is in charge. All of a sudden a civil war breaks out between the powers gearing up to do battle with us. They take each other out and leave us to reap the benefits. We win by attrition. No American lives lost.”

Cross opened his mouth. And closed it again as what Gabriel said made sense. “She’s made him do this?”

Gabriel arched a brow. “How do you know if the absence of a conflict was simply that, or if the conflict was avoided by other means?”

“They paid her to have him do this?”

“Paid the Department, yes. When you started to get your memory back, she understood exactly how dangerous that could be. And how profitable. She managed to convince Coben it was worth the risk.”

“What risk?”

“You, Cross. Tanya underestimated you when you were young. She thought you were hiding your abilities from her, but she had no idea what you and Kale could do together.”

Cross thought he understood now. “We’re stronger together.”

“She wants to use that. She thinks she can control that.”

“What do you think?” Cross almost wanted Gabriel to challenge him.

“I think I know you better than Tanya.” Gabriel had yet to move, but he watched Cross with great interest.

“Tanya’s interest in us didn’t seem to bother you before. If I remember correctly, it was you who put a bullet in my head with the express intention of ending my life. Now you want me to believe you have altruistic notions about warning me, helping us?”

“Altruistic isn’t the word I would use.”

“That I believe. So what’s in it for you?”

“Tanya has grown tired of me. Or perhaps she’s simply tired of trusting me. Either way I think you understand the limited lifespan of people Tanya has no further use for. I simply wish to disappear.”

“You tried to kill me and you ignored what was happening to Kale all these years. Now that you realize you’re the one in the crosshairs, you want to hide. Why even tell me? Why not just leave?”

“Maybe because I’ve changed.”

Cross choked out a laugh. “Don’t try to bullshit a psychic. You haven’t changed. You’re just scared. You’re afraid Tanya is going to start to treat you like one of her caged ‘specimens’. Your privileged life has ended and you don’t want to end up down in the mud with the rest of us.”

“Yes.” Gabriel’s gaze was unnervingly direct and honest.

“You want Kale to hide you from her, don’t you?” Cross was baffled by Gabriel’s gall. “Why should he, after what you’ve done to us? Why shouldn’t we let Tanya do what she wants to you?”

“Maybe because I’m the only one who knows where you are. Maybe because I am sorry for my part in all of this. And maybe I don’t like what I’ve seen. I still think you’re dangerous, Cross. That hasn’t changed.”

“Then what has?”

“You’re dangerous because we made you that way. I understand that now. But the power you bear is tempered by the kind of man you’ve become.”

“You mean the kind of man you programmed me to become.”

Gabriel shook his head. “No. Despite everything we tried to do to you, you are still a good man.” He touched the side of his head “I know that. Tanya is the one who is truly dangerous. What she’s done, what she plans on doing... it might be too little too late, but I want no part of it or her anymore.”

Cross tried to see a trap, a lie, but all he saw was a tired old man. He saw no deception behind Gabriel’s words. If he didn’t help him, Tanya would use Gabriel to find the Underground. He understood exactly why Gabriel stood there so confidently in front of him. It was in Cross’s and Kale’s best interest to help him disappear. “If I ask Kale to do this, can I have your word that you will never be a part of our lives again?”

Gabriel gave a quick dip of his head. “Done. But before I disappear into oblivion there is one thing I would like to give you.”

“Just go away Gabriel. We don’t want or need anything from you. You can’t start to be a father now. It’s too late.”

“Perhaps, but I’ll try to assuage my guilt anyway.” Gabriel held out a folded piece of paper.

Cross considered it with suspicion.

“Take it.” Gabriel said.

“What is it?” Cross took the paper but didn’t look at it.

“A chance. I grew up in rural Pennsylvania. My grandparents raised me. It was a good childhood, one I never appreciated until it was too late. I ran away when I was very young. Lived off the streets until the Department found me.”

Cross opened the paper and read it. There were two sets of numbers on it. He recognized them as latitude and longitude.

“My grandparents died years ago. They left their farm to me but I’ve never been back. My sister has taken care of it. Your aunt. We’ve been in touch,” Gabriel touched the side of his head. “Up here. She’s like me, but she was smart enough to hide it. She’ll take you in, if you want.”

Cross looked from the paper to Gabriel’s face. “Does Tanya know about this?”

“I never told her about my past. When she asked I told her everyone who mattered was dead. It wasn’t a lie. She has no clue about the place. You and Kale and anyone you want to bring with you, would be safe there.”

“Why? Why do this for us?”

“Does it matter?”

Cross tried to figure Gabriel’s angle. “If you’re lying, I’ll kill you.”

“You might have to wait your turn for that.” He gestured to Niko and a sad smile spread across his face. “Take care of each other.”

Without another word Gabriel Delancey turned and walked away. Cross wondered if he would ever see him again. Part of him didn’t want to say goodbye. The other part hoped the view of Gabriel’s back disappearing into the shadows would be the last he ever saw of the man.

Too much had happened between them for Cross to forgive him. But let him go?

Cross stepped back into the tunnels and let Gabriel go.

Chapter 38

KALE OPENED HIS eyes when he heard a voice in his head. He bolted upright, understanding immediately he wasn’t dreaming.

Kale, I miss you.

He knew that voice, how could he forget it. Tanya had no psychic abilities, but Kale was used to listening for her thoughts over the years. It was like having a number on speed dial. If Tanya wanted to contact him all she had to do was think about him. Even here. Tanya called for him and he heard her.

He wanted to answer. Sudden longing nearly overwhelmed him. She was close.

You left me, Kale. Why would you leave me?

He knew he should ignore her, shut his mind off to her. He tried to do just that, but the side of him that he loathed, the side Tanya had created, was stronger. He missed her terribly. Despite the beatings, the isolation, the mental anguish she had caused both him and Cross over the years. He wanted her. He needed her.

You kept me like a pet, you beat me, Tanya. You hurt Cross. You would have killed us.

Oh, Kale, I love you, I miss you. I would never do that to you. It was simply discipline. You used to understand discipline. Your brother was the one who has caused all this trouble. Come back to me Kale. Come back now and I promise no one else will get hurt. Please Kale, come home.

No one gets hurt? Not even Cross?

Trust me. I just want you home safe. Come back to me Kale. Come home.

Home. He longed for that. The comforting quiet of his isolated room. Everything here was loud and big and too much. Kale didn’t understand the rules here. Being back with Cross was more than he could’ve ever hoped for, but maybe Tanya was right. Maybe he needed to go to her. Maybe then everything would be all right again.

Cross would understand. They would all understand.

He squeezed his eyes closed for one moment trying to make a decision. When he opened them again he knew what he had to do.

Where are you, Tanya?

* * *

THEY HAD FOLLOWED Gabriel to the abandoned lot and equally abandoned factory across from an old unused subway entrance.

“You’re sure they’re down there?” Robert said.

Tanya gave Robert a smug, self-assured expression. “I had Bernard put the tracker on the dog’s collar when Gabriel came to see me. It was working perfectly. It would seem Woo was right to suspect he was up to something. He had no idea his little good dead would accomplish this entire underground’s downfall. Gabriel had no idea we played him.”

“Kale bought it?” Robert said.

“Please, as if there was ever any doubt.” Tanya took her phone from her jacket pocket and smirked. “I own that boy. He understands that.” Head down, she smiled as she sent a text to her man following Gabriel Delancey.

MISSION COMPLETED?

The return text read: I FOUND HIM.ONE SHOT. TARGET DOWN.

GABRIEL IS DEAD? Tanya texted back. She wanted to be sure.

Her man replied: I DON’T MISS.

She said to Robert, “It seems I was right. Vic did have information, Gabriel decided to keep what he learned to himself. No one gets the better of me, Robert. Remember that. Gabriel has paid the price for thinking he was smarter than me.

“Kale will be back with us momentarily, and then we will take care of Cross. Coben will be pleased. Everything will soon be all neat and tidy again. Inform everyone watching the tunnels not to interfere with Kale when he comes out. Let him come to me.”

Robert picked up his radio but paused before pushing the button. “What about Cross?”

Tanya pursed her lips. “In a perfect world I would want them both, but for once Gabriel was right. Cross is dangerous. I can deal with Kale, but Cross is fair game, along with everyone else down there.”

“Even the kids?” Robert didn’t sound concerned over the thought of killing children. He simply wanted clarification.

“Kids grow up. Kill them all. I want no one around to cause problems. We still have Kale as well as every freak at the department.”

Robert unslung the sniper rifle and got into position. “Understood.” He lay on his belly and rested the rifle on the low window sill. He put one eye to the scope and waited for Kale to show.

Tanya knew he was nervous. She could see the thin sheen of sweat on his face. He had every right. The people they hunted were dangerous and unpredictable.

“Trust me, Robert, this is all going to be over shortly.” Robert’s answer was to wind the rifle’s strap around his wrist making it more secure on its perch.

Tanya watched with him.

The arrogance. Cross had thought they could simply walk out. She would make him understand no one ever got the better of her. And if Kale thought he had paid for his disobedience before, he would be in for an unpleasant surprise when she got him back. He would understand exactly the price of disobeying Tanya Santiago.

Chapter 39

UTAH WASN’T USED to blending in. All of her life she felt out of place in her very up-tight, very upper class family. Often, she wondered if her parents took the right baby home.

This place was different. Hidden away in the dark. Away from the prying eyes of the city and surrounded by those who hid what made them different, Utah fit. She felt a peace here she had never known before. It would all be so perfect if she wasn’t worried over Kale.

He tried not to show it but Kale was miserable. He was scared and despite being with his brother again, he was so lonely. His physical injuries were healing, thanks, in part, to Jude. But Utah could feel the conflict inside the guy.

She didn’t go to him. She let him have the much-needed reunion with his brother, but she watched. Utah kept to the periphery and she watched Kale. They gave her a place to sleep, but with so much going on, Utah was left alone for the most part.

One night when sleep eluded her, she found herself in the deserted common room. With only the shadows for company, she tried not to think about Kale, when he materialized from one of the tunnels.

Utah felt his nervous energy immediately. She had no special abilities like everyone else here. She didn’t need any. Kale’s body language spoke for itself. He moved hesitantly as he walked into the common room. One hand was wrapped around his middle as if his stomach hurt him, the other clenched into a fist by his side. He looked brittle, as if he would break into a thousand pieces at any moment.

She didn’t want to startle him, but Utah decided she had left him alone long enough. “Kale?” her voice had been soft, but it echoed off the empty walls surrounding them.

He jumped and turned toward her. For a moment Utah doubted her decision as terror filled Kale’s face. He took a step back until he seemed to recognize her. “Utah, you’re here? I didn’t know you were here.” He visibly relaxed when he saw they were alone in the common room.

“You’ve been kind of out it. I thought I would give you some time to get used to things. To be with your brother.” She couldn’t seem to think of one intelligent thing to say. Utah wanted to ask him so many questions, but mostly she wanted to hold him, stroke his hair and tell him it was going to be okay. She didn’t think Kale had been held enough in his life.

The guarded, hunted look left his face and Kale’s lips lifted into half a grin. Utah thought he looked so different when he smiled. “I should have asked. Jude’s here, I should’ve realized you would be too. I’m sorry I didn’t ask.”

“Well, you’ve had a lot on your mind. It’s no big deal.”

“You saved my life,” Kale took a step toward her. “That’s kind of a big deal.”

Utah bit her lip and worked up the courage to see if Kale was as dangerous as everyone told her he was. She slid off the table she had been sitting on, took a deep breath and told herself to trust her gut. This man would not hurt her. This man needed her. “They wouldn’t let me near you. Jude took care of you, but everyone told me it was best if I stayed away from you. They told me you’re a dangerous man.”

The grin faded from Kale’s face as he took a step away from her. “They’re probably right.”

“I said that was what they told me. I didn’t say I believed them.” Utah listened to her heart and took the step needed to take his hand in hers. He lifted his head and his eyes met hers. She felt the need in him to run, but she also felt her touch was not altogether unwelcomed. “If I thought for one moment you were dangerous, I would never have asked my brother to help you. I would have called 911 and walked away. Look, I might not be psychic or have any special powers like you, but I don’t need any.

“See, my parents made sure I got a really good education. Top notch universities. They wanted me to study something I could make a living from, instead I took courses in the things that interested me. Things like human behavior. Do you want to know what I learned with the hard-earned and begrudged education my parents’ paid for?”

“What did you learn?” Kale said.

“That people can be horrible to one another. They can manipulate and bend you until you don’t even know who you were before they started. The can be cruel and heartless and totally without compassion to those they think beneath them.”

“Okay, and this has what to do with me?”

“Your Tanya? She did all those things to you Kale. I know you can’t see that, or at least you can’t see it clearly. There’re all sorts of labels and complicated explanations for what she did to you, but they don’t matter, what does matter is how she made you feel.”

Kale’s expression hardened as he jerked his hand out of Utah’s. “You don’t know anything.”

Like hell I don’t.

Utah may have had doubts, but not anymore. Kale sounded like a petulant child denying the truth. In a way, that’s exactly what he was. A child. The thought of what had been done to him, what had been denied to him, made Utah furious.

“Where are you going, Kale?” Her voice was soft, her tone gentle.

“Out. I’m just going out. Aren’t I allowed or am I a prisoner here too?” Kale glanced around the room nervously.

“No, you’re not a prisoner. You’re free to come and go as far as I know. But From what I’ve been told you’ve spent the last ten years in one room. The only person allowed to see or talk to you was this Tanya. I gotta tell you Kale, I can’t see someone like that taking a late night stroll, all by themselves in a deserted area of New York. I don’t care if you can do the glowing ball of light thing. You’re not that brave.”

“You don’t know me. You know nothing about who I am.”

“You’re right. I don’t know you. But I would like too. If you let me, I would like to get to know who Kale Delancey is. Not the guy who was kept locked up all of his life, but this guy,” She gestured to him. “I would like, more than anything, to get to know the Kale Delancey standing in front of me.”

All the anger that had been there a moment ago dissolved leaving Kale looking defeated. When he raised his head to meet Utah’s gaze, his eyes were flat. She didn’t like that. “That Kale doesn’t exist.”

Utah moved in quickly before Kale could back off again, she grabbed both his hands and held them tightly to her chest. “But he could. Don’t you see, Kale? You’ve been given something most people would die for—a second chance. A do-over. You get to prove to all those people out there who think you deserved to be locked up, that they are wrong. You get to show them who you were meant to be. Who I know you are in here.” She placed a hand over his heart. “I don’t know where you’re going, but I have a feeling that if you leave, you are letting that chance slip away.”

Utah watched Kale closely. The edgy, guarded posturing, softened to be replaced by the conflict and uncertainty he was desperately trying to hide.

“I don’t want to lie to you. Please don’t make me.” His eyes pleaded with her to let him go.

“I don’t want you to lie to me either, so how about this. Before you do or say anything else, just listen to me, okay?”

He said nothing but gave her a quick nod. He wanted to be saved. Utah could feel it. She guided him to one of the benches and sat down next to him. “You don’t owe this Tanya anything. I know you can’t see that because she has you all twisted up inside.”

“I don’t want to talk about Tanya.”

“Tanya is exactly who we need to talk about. Because I have a feeling she isn’t anywhere near done with you.” Utah didn’t miss his nervous glance to the tunnel exit. “I know you love her. She made sure she was everything to you. She got you to do things by threatening that love and by threatening Cross.”

“That’s not how it was. You don’t understand. She loves me.” His words were almost like a plea. They held no conviction.

Utah gently placed a hand on his face and turned his head until he was looking at her. “That’s not love, Kale. Not even close.”

All the fight seemed to go out of him as he turned away from Utah. “I don’t know what I know anymore. I don’t know what I feel. All my life Tanya has been there. She could be horrible, brutal, but if you did what she wanted, she…” Utah could see Kale trying to find the words.

“She used you, Kale. She manipulated you. Kept you isolated and used your loneliness to get what she wanted out of you. If you played nice she pretended to give you what you needed- love. If you denied her, she hurt you.” She turned his hand over and touched his bandaged wrist. “Love doesn’t work that way.”

“I know. I’m not stupid, I’ve always known but I don’t know how to say no to her. Sometimes I don’t think I want to say no to her.”

“That’s where you’re going. Isn’t it? Tanya’s out there waiting for you.”

Kale looked anywhere except at Utah. She stepped directly in front of him and forced him to look at her. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

“If you tell her no, Kale, then you can start to say yes to the people who want nothing more from you than what you’re willing to give.”

For the first time Kale lifted a hand and touched Utah’s face. “People like you?” His voice held a note of hope that gave Utah the courage to do what she had wanted to do for days. She leaned in close. “Yeah. People like me.” She kissed him and felt him melt in her embrace.

He broke the kiss and touched her lips with a finger. An expression of pure wonder lit up his face. “I have to go and do this. Tanya doesn’t own me as much as she would like to think. But it’s hard.”

Utah touched her forehead to his. “I know.” Her voice was a whisper. “But I think you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. Prove them wrong. Prove them all wrong, Kale. Then come back to me and I’ll teach you what love is supposed to feel like.”

Kale pulled back and held her face with both hands. He smoothed her hair, his eyes intent on hers. Then without another word he turned, and slipped away into the shadows.

When he was gone, a shadow that was Maizey stepped into the light. “You were here this whole time?” Utah said.

“I was prepared to stop him. I heard Tanya in his head. I was prepared to do whatever I had to do to keep him away from her.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Maizey stared out into the dark where Kale had disappeared into. “I’m not really sure. Something changed after you talked to him.”

“He’ll do the right thing,” Utah said.

“I guess we will all find that out together. I’m not sure what you did Utah, but I am sure of one thing. I think you just might have saved us all with nothing more than a kiss.”

Chapter 40

CROSS WAS NEARLY back to the main hub after meeting Gabriel when a piercing pain in his head dropped him like a stone. A moment later he heard Gabriel’s voice in his head.

Trouble! Tanya…

Cross got back to his feet as the sudden pain faded. He sought Gabriel’s now familiar energy, but found nothing. In one clarifying moment he understood. Gabriel had been followed.

Cross thought he might be dead. And Tanya knew exactly where the Underground was.

Cross tried to contact Kale, but his brother was either ignoring him or blocking him. Either way worried Cross. He found Finn’s energy immediately.

Tanya has found us.

Finn would understand the urgency without the warning being spelled out. Tanya had brought the fight here.

With Niko in tow, Cross ran full speed into the tunnel and found himself staring down the twin bores of a double-barreled shotgun. He tried to back up but only succeeded in falling.

Finn pulled the barrel up. “You almost got yourself killed!” He pulled Cross to his feet. “What’s happening? Tanya knows where we are?”

“I should’ve been more careful, Gabriel called a truce. He gave me Niko back and said all he wanted to do was disappear. I don’t know why, but I believed him. Tanya must have had him followed. I think she had him shot. I felt it. I heard him. He said it was Tanya.”

“Okay, right. Now what do we do?” Finn said.

“She’s got us outnumbered and outgunned. Charlie already moved a lot of the women and children out, but there are still some left down here.”

“Are you trying to make a point here, because I gotta tell you, you’re failing miserably and depressing me at the same time.”

“You don’t get it, Finn. It doesn’t matter what Tanya throws at us because there’s one thing she doesn’t have. Me and Kale. She can’t win. She has to know that.”

“I hate to tell you this, but Kale is gone.” Maizey walked into the room. She seemed calm but Cross could feel the turmoil simmering just beneath the surface.

“Gone? What do you mean gone?” Finn said.

“Trust him.” Utah followed Maizey into the hub. “He’ll be back. He promised.”

Cross held up his hands. “Everybody be quiet for a minute.” The noise in the room hushed to a level where he could concentrate. Kale didn’t want to be found, but Cross found him anyway. It was almost like looking in a mirror. He would recognize his brother’s unique signature anywhere. What concerned him was the other energy signature he found with Kale’s. He opened his eyes. Betrayal and confusion vied for his emotion of choice. “No.” The word was a whisper.

“He’s with Tanya.” Even saying the words hurt.

“I know,” Maizey said.

“What do you mean you know?”

“I could’ve stopped him. I chose to let him go.”

“Son-of-bitch! He chose her over us? Over you, his own brother? Why?” Finn was close to shouting.

A part of Cross had always known it would all play out like this. “He didn’t. He didn’t betray us. He’s sacrificing himself.”

“He’s still protecting you,” Maizey said.

“I know he’s your brother, but are you sure he isn’t going to flip?” Finn said. “He’s been in Tanya’s pocket all his life. That’s not going to be an easy monkey to shake off his back.”

“He isn’t going to side with Tanya. You’re just going to have to trust me on that.”

“If you’re wrong every single person in these tunnels will pay the price. The things Kale can do…”

“He isn’t going to flip. I trust him Finn.” Cross could feel Kale in his head so strongly it hurt. He knew his brother and he knew exactly what he intended to do. “He doesn’t plan on coming back. He’ll die to keep me safe. To keep all of us safe.”

Utah’s eyes went wide. “No. We can’t let that happen. He’s never had a chance to live his life. We can’t let him die like this.” She sent pleading looks to each of them. “We need to go and bring him back and we need to let this Tanya Santiago understand exactly who it is she’s dealing with. She messes with one of us, she messes with all of us.”

Finn raised his brows at Utah’s words. “I sure as hell don’t want to have to deal with her if Kale doesn’t come back. I’m in.” He stepped next to Utah and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I let Tanya have him once and did nothing to help him. Not happening again.”

Danny King separated himself from the crowd and came to Utah’s other side. He placed a hand on her other shoulder. “I get to help take down the bitch who killed my sister? Hell yeah, I’m in.”

One by one the other men and women in the tunnel surrounded Cross and Utah in a circle, their hands connecting them, the things they could do uniting them. Cross felt it. They might each have their own reason but like Kale and him, together they were stronger. They were joining forces to save Kale Delancey not only from Tanya but also from himself. They shared a common goal.

Freedom.

The right to live without fear. The right to use what made them hunted, to feel the sun again without the fear of becoming caged.

If Tanya wanted a war, the people of the Underground were more than ready to oblige her.

Chapter 41

KALE HAD LEFT Utah and walked to where Tanya waited. Her words still echoing in his thoughts. Cross was trying to get his attention, and he couldn’t concentrate. His head was a mess and that was not a good thing when dealing with Tanya.

He had to do this. No one else could. He knew Tanya better than anyone. She was poised to take everyone in the Underground down to get what she wanted. And he was what she wanted.

Cross was powerful, maybe even powerful enough to stop her, but Kale didn’t think that victory would be worth the lives it would cost. He made a promise to protect his brother. He couldn’t stop protecting Cross now just because the power that had slept inside of him was finally awake.

Cross was only now learning how to use his talents. Thanks to Tanya, Kale had spent years honing his unique skills to perfection. He could this win this war before it even started.

As strong as her hold was on him, he didn’t want that, not anymore. What he felt for Tanya was ugly and dirty. When Utah had kissed him, it was different. Scary, but in a good way, something he would’ve like to explore. Only that too came with a price, and it was one he wasn’t willing to pay. Not anymore.

He just needed a little time to do what he had to do, and he needed everyone to leave him alone so he could do it. He didn’t want to push Cross, or Utah or any of the new friends he’d made, but he had no choice.

Kale stopped walking and closed his eyes. He wasn’t far from the underground, just outside the door, so he wouldn’t need Gabriel’s help. He could feel them, the people there, hundreds of them but he didn’t need to push them all. Just the ones who gave the orders. He focused on Charlie, Maizey, Finn and Cross.

I know what I’m doing. Do not come out of the tunnels. Keep everyone safe inside. Give me twenty minutes. It will all be over in twenty minutes.

Charlie and Finn gave into the push without question or hesitation. Maizey fought back. He had never tried to push anyone like her before, someone who could do what he did. In the end he proved stronger. Her mind gave into the push and he felt her relax.

That left only Cross.

Pushing Cross was like trying to hold onto sand. His mind slipped out of Kale’s mental grasp again and again, until he realized he was wasting time.

Cross, stop! Let me do this!

Let you die? I just got you back. No way. Don’t do this Kale. We can beat her together.

She has the exits surrounded. She’ll kill all of you to get to me. I know you feel that.

She can try. Not happening, man.

They need you to keep them safe, I need a few minutes. That’s all I’m asking. Just a few minutes, and I can end this without anyone else dying because of me.

I’m not letting you sacrifice your life. Not for her and not for me. Stop protecting me, Kale.

Kale blocked Cross’s thoughts.

His brother’s last words repeated in his mind.

Stop protecting me.

No way. Kale thought.

Never.

Chapter 42

DAMN IT, KALE!” Niko leaned hard against Cross’s leg. He was upsetting her. He put a hand on her head in an effort to calm them both. Kale thought he could simply give himself up to that bitch without giving him any say. That was never happening again. Not while he still drew breath.

“What’s wrong?” Maizey wore a content, almost sleepy, expression. She touched Cross’s face lovingly.

He could feel a residue of Kale’s push on her. He could sense his brother’s energy covering Maizey’s. Like a sticky sweet syrup it coated her own thoughts and only allowed the push to come through. Both Finn and Charlie had the same energy residue. They all lacked any sense of urgency. Cross shrugged off Maizey’s touch impatiently.

“He’s going to get himself killed. We have to help him.”

“No, he said he could handle her,” Finn said. “It’ll be fine Cross. Relax.”

Cross wanted to slap Finn’s complacent expression right off. He fought the urge to scream at them all knowing it would do no good.

“He pushed you. Kale pushed all of you.”

Maizey’s languid smile faltered a little. He might have the best shot of getting through to her. To help her to overcome Kale’s push, he concentrated only on her.

Every second was one less he had to try and save Kale, but if he let panic in, Tanya won. He ignored the fear and fought through Kale’s push to reach Maizey. Maizey. Wake up, listen to me and wake up!

Maizey’s thoughts still drifted, but Cross seized them before they slipped away. Maizey, my beautiful Maizey. Please listen to me. Please see me!

“Cross?” She blinked like someone coming out of dream. His vision clouded over and the last of his beautiful blue and white sight faded.

“Yes!” He took her face in his hands. She was only shadows and light to him now. “Do you see me? Can you hear me?”

“What’s happening? What’s wrong?” Her voice registered confusion, but Cross knew he had done it. He had broken through to the Maizey underneath Kale’s push.

“Tanya.”

“She’s here.” She understood immediately. “Where’s Kale?”

“He’s gone to her. He’s still protecting me, only this time he doesn’t plan on getting out alive.”

“My God. He pushed me?”

“And Finn and Charlie. I thought I had the best shot of getting through to you. I was right.”

“Who else do we have to help us?”

Cross grinned and held his hands out. “We’re it sweetheart. There’s no time to gather up the troops. You stay here and get everyone ready to move out. When Finn comes out of it, he’ll know what to do.” Cross started for the tunnel exit when Maizey grabbed his arm.

“Nice try, but if you really wanted me to simply stay behind and babysit, you wouldn’t have wasted time waking me.”

“There’s no time for this Maizey. I don’t want to argue with you—”

“Then don’t.” She pulled him in and kissed him hard and fast.

When she pulled back, his head was spinning. He didn’t mind.

“Let’s go get your pain-in-the-ass brother and bring him home. I really need to talk to him. No one pushes me.”

“Not very good odds,” he said.

“I thrive in the face of dismal odds. Besides I owe this Tanya of yours.”

Maizey was right. He did want her with him. The fact that she was willing to go with him despite that neither might survive only confirmed what he had been thinking for a while. “I love you, Maizey.”

“Of course you do.” She took his hand.

Before they left, Cross asked Finn to look after Niko. Even under Kale’s push, Finn agreed. He didn’t understand why he was keeping her safe, but that didn’t matter. Niko didn’t like being left behind, but Cross couldn’t let her go with him. Not now.

* * *

AS SOON AS he emerged from the tunnel, Kale felt Tanya’s men all around him. They were terrified, but held their ground as he slowly walked toward the dilapidated structure where Tanya waited.

For the first time in his life he believed Tanya’s hype. He was the monster everyone thought him to be. Power surged through him, waiting to be called on. All it took to hold it in check was the memory of what she had done to Sybil. To Cross.

To him.

Kale felt no fear, no hesitation. He did exactly what Tanya had taught him to do. Exactly what he knew she always wanted him to do. With one small push, the men and women surrounding him dropped their weapons. They were lucky he didn’t tell them to put the barrels to their heads and pull the triggers.

It didn’t matter. She could believe she’d won. She could believe Kale was still her puppet.

Hell, maybe he was.

The wide, empty entrance to the building was full of shadows. He sensed her there, but he couldn’t see her until he crossed the threshold. At the sight of her, all his plans, all his anger dissolved. Even in the shadows her blond hair glowed like gold in firelight. He had always loved her hair. The way it smelled like flowers and the way it flowed like warm silk as it swept across his body when she took him.

“I missed you, Kale.” She held out her arms.

He closed the gap between them and fell into her embrace. As she wrapped her arms around him he sighed in contentment. He held on to her tightly, afraid if he let her go she would disappear. Afraid he would.

Tanya pulled back just far enough to kiss him. For a moment he forgot why he was there.

“You came to me. I wasn’t sure you would,” She caressed his face. “Why did you leave me Kale? How could you do that to me?”

He had an answer to that. Didn’t he?

He fought to remember what had seemed so vital only moments ago. She was a drug to him. He forgot everything but her when she was near. Then his brother’s voice sounded in his head, begging him to wait. To stop. Telling him they could do this together. Utah, Jude, Maizey, and all the people who were counting on him. His friends.

His friends.

He moved away from her, squeezed his eyes closed briefly. Despite wanting her, he took a step back. He needed to do this quickly or he would never do it at all. “You brought Cross in. You planned on using him like you used me all these years. That wasn’t the deal. Cross is off limits. You changed the rules. I can’t let you do that.” Kale never felt braver than he did with those few words.

She undid him with a giggle. “Oh my. You can’t let me? Since when do you tell me what to do Kale?” Her smile vanished replaced by an ugly sneer. Gone was the woman he lusted for. There was only a vicious viper poised to strike. “You have no rights here. You never did.”

Tanya walked a small circle around him, as if judging his worth. “Let me tell you exactly what is going to happen here, Kale. You will either help me bring Cross back in, or you will help me kill him. The choice is entirely yours. You are mine, Kale Delancey, since the time you took your first breath to the time you take your last. I will dictate how you live and how you die, and you should thank me every day for that privilege.”

Kale had heard variations of the same speech all his life, but this time he wasn’t locked in a cell. This time she couldn’t make good on her threat to kill Cross if he didn’t cooperate. This time Kale had a choice.

But standing there in front of Tanya, he found it more difficult than he had imagined to make that choice.

He couldn’t think! There was too much noise in his head, too many people crowding his thoughts. The world was so very big and so terribly intimidating. Not at all like he’d imagined it would be. He almost wished for his small windowless room, if only for the quiet it provided.

“Why do you always make it so difficult Kale?” Tanya took his chin in her hand and held it. He looked into her eyes. A small predatory grin played upon her lips. “Tell me what I want to hear, darling, and everything will be all right. Just say the words and Tanya will make it all better.”

“Was any of it real?”

It clearly wasn’t the answer Tanya wanted. “Was what real? What are you talking about?”

“I loved you. I still love you. Did you ever love me? You’ve said the words, but did you ever mean them? Did you ever feel them? Was any of it ever real for you, or was I nothing more than a thing to you. No more important than that girl you slaughtered in front of me.”

Tanya made a face, annoyed with him. “For God’s sake, Kale there isn’t time for this. If I didn’t love you, why would I be doing any of this?”

“I’ve asked myself that very question almost every day for the last ten years. I’m not sure what you feel for me, Tanya but I’m beginning to understand it’s not love. It never was.”

“I’ve had enough. I was going to forgive you. I was going to be lenient with you when we got back. But if you insist on making this more difficult than it has to be, fine. We can play it that way.

“I wanted to take Cross alive, but you need to be taught a lesson. You just killed your brother, Kale. Robert, take him and let’s get on with this.”

Kale knew Robert was there, hiding in the shadows. He could’ve pushed him, he could have killed him, but he had wanted to trust Tanya. He had needed to know.

He understood now.

The soft spit registered in Kale’s ears, and then with a thought and a small flick of his hand there was nothing.

He took a moment to enjoy the silence in his mind.

Tanya stood exactly where she had been. Her unmoving eyes were focused just behind where Kale had been. He turned to where Robert stood, tranquilizer rifle aimed at where Kale had been and a dart with a red tassel suspended in mid-air. The bright orange explosion that had propelled it out of the firing chamber was frozen just behind it.

“That’s new.”

Kale turned. Cross and Maizey were framed in the doorway. His brother walked slowly toward him, apparently unaffected. Maizey, however, halted in mid-stride, with her wild red hair around her face like a fiery halo. Frozen in a moment of time.

“You just stopped time, Kale. How did you do that?”

“I didn’t know I could do that. Why didn’t I stop you too?”

“Same reason you can’t push me, I guess. Can you unstop it?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure how I know that, but yeah I can. I thought I told you not to follow me. She means to kill you Cross. I didn’t come here to be with her. I came here to stop her.” Kale touched the dart meant to incapacitate him. It moved. He turned it around so it was aimed at Robert.

“You can’t stop her,” Cross said. “She’ll kill me when she figures out I won’t do her bidding. She’ll never let you out of that cage again. You have to know that. This will never be over if she lives.”

“I know.”

“I can do it if you want. I know this can’t be easy for you.”

Kale passed a hand in front of his brother’s eyes. “You can’t see.”

Cross caught his hand. “Everything has a price. But for the first time since I lost my sight, it’s all perfectly clear. I’m not letting you do this alone. We finish what we started ten years ago, or we go down trying. We are stronger together.” Cross gripped his hand.

Kale felt the power that coursed through him. Through them. “I’m not as brave as you,” he admitted.

“You don’t need to be. You saved me all those years ago. It’s finally my turn to return the favor.”

“I don’t want more people dying because of me. Because of us.” Kale wanted it to be over. He wanted to go someplace quiet and just be. Cross understood that. He was the only one who ever understood.

“I know.”

“I can push her. I can tell her to forget about us. She can’t look for us if she doesn’t know we exist.”

Cross shook his head. “Would that balance the scales? Bring justice to everyone Tanya has hurt?”

“Would killing her do that? It won’t give you back your eyes, or me the last ten years. Why do we need to kill her, Cross?”

“Because she deserves it!” Cross yelled and his voice cracked.

Kale felt the emotions his brother had tried so hard to keep hidden come to the surface. They were like a raw wound, open and bleeding.

“She deserved it when we were fourteen and she tried to keep us in a cage. She deserved it when she used our mother, just to make us. God, Kale I’m trying like hell to understand you. I get that she was all you had all those years. I get the feelings you have for her, but are those feelings stronger than what we have? Are they worth the people in those tunnels who think of you as family now?”

Kale watched Tanya as Cross spoke. He was right, Kale knew that, but Cross was wrong about why. “No, she’s not worth all that.”

“Then kill her. Now. Or I will.” Cross scooped the ambient energy surrounding them into his hands to form a glowing, surging ball of deadly light. The temperature surrounding them dropped as the ball of light in Cross’s hands grew. All his brother needed to do was direct that lethal force toward Tanya. It was exactly the same way he had killed all those people when they tried to escape ten years ago.

It was the power Tanya craved when she tortured Cross.

“No! This is why. This! No more death, please. She’s made me hurt so many people. Made me kill them.” The memory sickened Kale. “I’m not like you Cross, I never was. I don’t understand how you could kill her, as if her life means nothing. You’re more like her than you know.”

“I’m nothing like her.” Cross stepped toward Tanya, still frozen in time.

“She uses people. I always knew she used me. It’s who she is. She doesn’t care who she hurts as long as gets what she wants. She killed Sybil King right in front of me. Put a gun to her head and blew her brains all over me, just to prove she owned me. To prove I would do anything for her.”

“And you think I’m like that?”

“You’ve killed people to get what you wanted, to get out. Most of them never hurt us. Now you want to kill Tanya when there’s another way.”

“I killed them because I knew if we stayed we would end up dead, sooner than later. You knew that too. I don’t kill because I like it, I killed to stay alive. I would still kill to stay alive, to keep the people I love alive. Pushing Tanya won’t change her, Kale. Can’t you see that? If she lives she will still hurt others like us. Other innocents like Sybil King will die because we didn’t do the right thing now. Like you said, it’s who she is. Some people don’t deserve a second chance.”

Kale heard the truth in Cross’s words. If he didn’t want more innocent blood on his hands, he knew what he had to do.

“I can do it,” Cross said. The power seethed in his hands, waiting for him to call on it. “We can do this, just like we tried to do before. She doesn’t get to win this time.”

“No. It has to be me. But not like this. She needs to know it was me.” Kale nodded toward Maizey as he took the knife from the sheath on Robert’s hip. “Go to Maizey and hold her still. She’ll keep moving when I start time again. You need to be prepared for Tanya’s people in the courtyard. I pushed them. If something happens to me, the push will stop.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you, Kale.” Cross didn’t want to, but he did as Kale asked. He let the energy still pulsing in his hands scatter above them. For one moment the abandoned warehouse, with its decay and neglect, was beautiful in the starry fallout. Cross wrapped his arms around Maizey protectively.

Kale embraced Tanya, with the knife positioned between them.

Get ready, he thought to Cross. Then he leaned in close and whispered in Tanya’s ear. “I have loved you since I was sixteen. I will always love you.”

With his thought, time returned. Tanya surged forward, only to be held in place. Her face registered confusion, and then anger. Kale heard Robert collapse behind him as the dart meant to sedate Kale found its mark.

“How? What did you do?” Tanya fought against Kale but he was stronger. He whispered to her and she calmed. He then moved away just enough so he could place the knife in her hand.

“I can’t kill you, But Cross is right there is nothing good inside of you.” Tanya stared at the knife, as if trying to figure out what it was she held. Kale knew her confusion wouldn’t last long. He had mere moments to do what he had to do. The right thing, despite what his brother thought.

“You’ll use me to get to them. You will always use me. I can change that.” He stepped back and raised his arms out from his sides.

And then he pushed her.

“Kill me.”

“No!” Cross screamed.

Kale kept his eyes on Tanya as the push took hold and her face went blank. She brought the blade up and down again in a deadly arc. Agony stabbed through Kale’s chest at the same time he heard a single gunshot.

Tanya’s face creased in pain and surprise. She teetered forward, pushing the knife deeper.

Kale fell on his back, with Tanya on top of him. After the first shock, there was only numbness.

He sensed Cross calling out to him. He felt his brother’s grief but most of all he felt Cross’s life. He had kept his promise. Cross would be safe now from Tanya. Everyone would be safe.

After all those years of being terrified Tanya would kill him, he finally understood death wasn’t something to fear. It was to be embraced.

Kale struggled to take one last breath, and then he gratefully embraced his death.

Chapter 43

SEARING PAIN IN Cross’s head crippled him. His chest was on fire as he tried to breath. Not his pain.

Kale’s.

Kale!

The pain dissolved and the connection between them was severed.

Kale? Talk to me!

Someone’s hands were on him helping to stand. Maizey.

Gunshots and screams from the courtyard.

“Kale’s hurt.” Maizey’s voice was a forced calm Cross couldn’t begin to feel.

“Where?” His hands searched frantically in front of him. “Where is he?” A soft unmoving shape. His hands found his brother’s face. “Kale? God, Kale?”

A familiar energy appeared in Cross’s mind.

“Vic? Oh thanks the gods, we thought you were dead!” Maizey’s voice sounded relieved, but all Cross could think about was Kale so still beneath his hands.

“Not yet, sweetheart. Not yet and I would like to keep it that way.” Vic’s deep voice held no trace of its usual humor.

“Vic? What’s happening? Kale won’t wake up. What about Tanya?” Cross tried to contain his anxiety. “Where the hell did you come from?”

“First things first. We still aren’t out of this. Maizey, can you handle the company coming in hot from the front courtyard?”

“My pleasure,” Maizey said.

Cross felt a flicker in his mind. Kale. On the floor. He found his brother’s limp hand and clasped it. Like a ghostly touch, the faint burning in his chest told him Kale was still alive.

As suddenly as it began, the battle in the courtyard stopped. Everything was calm. Quiet. That didn’t make him feel safe. It scared him.

“What’s happening Vic.” Cross was having difficulty concentrating, despite the quiet.

“I shot Tanya. But not before she got Kale. We need to get him some help and fast.”

“He’s not dead. Just tell me he’s not going to die, Vic.” Cross sensed Vic kneeling on the other side of Kale. Felt his ghost touches in his head as he examined Kale.

“Why did he do that? Push her to kill him?” Vic said.

“He believed if he was dead, Tanya couldn’t use him to hurt anyone, anymore. Particularly me. The idiot.

“I told him we could do this together!” Tears spilled down his face as anger dissolved and grief took its place. “I just got him back, Vic. He can’t die now. He can’t.”

“I’m not about to let that happen. Not if I can help it.” Vic pulled Kale into his arms.

“I can help,” Cross said. “I can take some of his pain, share his injuries.”

Maizey burst in, breathless. Energy radiated off of her in great spiking waves. “You’re in no shape to share anything, Cross. He’s near death.”

“Do you think I care about myself?” The fourteen year old boy who didn’t care who he killed surfaced. Rage bubbled through him, and for once he did nothing to dampen it. It right, it felt good. It felt powerful.

“Cross,” Vic’s voice made it through his wrath. “What are you doing? We aren’t the enemy.”

Energy seethed and whirled between his hands like a living thing. It wanted to be used. It wanted to be set free. And Cross wanted that too. He longed for it.

Maizey laid a gentle hand on his arm. “If you do this, love, then Tanya wins. None of us will walk away from here. No one but you. This won’t save Kale. You will have made his sacrifice meaningless.”

Cross flinched from her touch. “I don’t care.” But his words held no conviction. The energy between his hands lessened a bit in its intensity.

“Yes you do.”

“After everything he’s done for me, after all these years. Now, when he needs me most, I can’t help him?”

“He’s not dead yet, love,” Maizey said. “If you take on his injuries you both might die. If you release that energy you’ve gathered, you will prove to all those people at the Department you are just as dangerous as they believe you to be.”

“If he dies, I don’t think I could live with myself. Maybe I deserve to die. Maybe I am dangerous.”

“We need you Cross. Those people in the tunnels need you.”

She was right. He hated it, but she was right. As his hatred and frustration drained away into defeat, the energy dissipated, leaving Cross groundless. He staggered and Maizey was there, her hand keeping him steady. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted.

“Yes, you do. Choose life, Cross. Choose us.”

He gulped down tears, fear and raw pain. Vic shouldered his way past them carrying Kale, Cross let Maizey take his arm and help him follow them down into the dark.

The dark, where hope and fear existed side by side.

* * *

KALE OPENED HIS eyes. Just little slits against the light. His mind was like a blank slate. No memory. He blinked and rubbed the grit from the corners of his eyes. His hand felt heavy, as if it didn’t belong to him. He let it fall back to his side. He didn’t know where he was and it didn’t occur to him to be bothered by that. This wasn’t his room at the department. To big, to light and airy.

Where am I?

Dead? Maybe. That thought didn’t bother him either.

Little snips of memory began to flit in and out of his brain.

Tanya.

Had Tanya killed him? He tried to sit up because it seemed like he should.

A soft hand on his shoulder gently stopped him. “Let’s just take it slow, okay?”

Kale stared at the hand, followed the arm up, and looked into a face he didn’t recognize. A woman sat next to his bed. She had shiny brown hair pulled back from her face and very kind eyes. She was older than him, maybe fifty. He had never met her before. He was sure of that.

He wanted to ask who she was, but his voice refused to cooperate. A short raspy noise was all that came from his throat.

The woman took a cup from a side table and helped him to drink from it. Water had never tasted so good.

“I’m Ingrid. I know you have a lot of questions, but let me start by telling you that I’m a friend and you are safe.”

Kale swallowed. “Cross?” The word came out this time but his voice sounded rusty, like it hadn't been used in some time.

Ingrid swept hair from his face. “He’s here and safe. He’ll be upset he missed being here when you woke up.”

Kale closed his eyes and sought his brother. He needed more than this woman’s word. Almost immediately he found Cross and he relaxed. He grinned as he understood that Cross had not only heard him, but was now on his way to wherever he was.

He must have fallen back to sleep. When he opened his eyes again, Cross was there holding his hand so hard it hurt. Kale didn’t mind. It confirmed they were both alive. “Hey.” His voice sounded more like the one he was use too, but still soft and weak.

“Don’t ‘hey’ me,” Cross said. He sounded like he was mad, but he was smiling. He was also looking directly at Kale. No dark glasses.

“You can see.”

“Yeah, I’m getting better at it. God, it’s good to see you awake. How are you, man? I mean really, how are you doing?”

Kale tried to hitch himself up a little in the bed, but didn’t have the strength.

Cross offered a hand and helped him to sit against a pillow.

“Where are we? What is this place? Who’s Ingrid?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Cross relinquished Kale’s hand and sat back in his chair.

Kale rested his head back against the pillow. Nothing came to him at first. But then images floated across his memory. One face stood out from the rest. “Tanya,” he said, and that one image opened the flood gates. “Tanya.” He remembered it all and closed his eyes. “What happened? I remember…I pushed her. I thought she killed me. I wanted her…” He opened his eyes and found Cross staring back at him.

“You nearly got your wish,” Cross said. “There was nothing wrong with your push. Tanya tried to do exactly what you told her to do.” Cross pointed to the bandages covering half of Kale’s chest. “She stabbed you. Nicked a major vein. You almost bled to death. You should’ve bled to death.”

“Then why aren’t I dead?”

“Because a hell of a lot of people made sure that didn’t happen. Jesus, Kale, I want to be furious with you. I told you we could handle her together. Why? Why did you think you had to do that?”

“I thought if I was dead, then you wouldn’t have to worry about her using me anymore. And she couldn’t use me to hurt anyone else.” He tried for the cocky grin. “It seemed like a really good idea at the time.”

Cross sighed and Kale knew he was trying hard not to smile.

“Okay, so that’s the part you remember. I suggest you hang to something for the rest because it’s a bumpy ride.” He crossed one leg over a knee, but kept his eyes on Kale. “While you were deciding to be all self- sacrificing and noble, Gabriel was paying me a little visit. He gave me back Niko and told me all he wanted was to be free of the department. I didn’t trust him, but I guess he was telling me the truth. Tanya had him killed.”

“Gabriel’s dead?” Kale wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“I felt him it.” Cross tapped the side of his head. “Up here. I felt his pain and then I felt him die.”

“Wow, I thought he was always Team Tanya, you know?”

“Yeah, me too. What he didn’t tell me was that Tanya had finally caught onto Vic. He was the one who helped me. She had him roughed up, locked him in a cell. Probably would’ve had him killed. Gabriel let him out.”

“Vic shot Tanya that night. He blames himself for this.” Cross indicated Kale’s injuries. “He doesn’t like losing.”
Kale sucked in a breath. “Then Tanya is dead. Was this the bumpy ride you were talking about?”

“Part of it. Gabriel gave me something. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, wasn’t even sure I trusted him enough to use it.”

“What did he give you?”

“A second chance,” Cross said. “This place. He told me about this place. He grew up here. Ran away when he was a kid and never came back. But his sister stayed.”

Kale thought about that. Little pieces were beginning to fall into place. “Ingrid.”

“Yeah,” Cross said, “Ingrid. She’s our aunt, Kale. She’s like us. You know- different. The Department isn’t going to just forget about us because Tanya is gone. They know about the tunnels. They know everything. We couldn’t stay there and be safe.”

“Where exactly are we?”

Cross pushed out of the chair and went to the windows. He raised the shade and lovely, soft moonlight invaded the room. “Paradise, man. Paradise.”

Kale struggled to see out of the little window, but all he saw were tree-tops and the pale light of the moon. But Cross was right, it was a far cry from his cold little cell at the Department.

“Gabriel told me no one at the Department knew about this place or Ingrid.”

“So we’re safe here?”

“You are very safe here.” The voice from the doorway had them both turning. Ingrid stood there. She had a kind face, Kale decided. Soft and smooth, but her eyes were tough looking. Like she had fought a lot of battles and won them all. Then he remembered she was his aunt. His blood.

Family.

“I thought I told you to go slow with him,” she said to Cross. She came and sat on the edge of Kale’s bed. One hand touched his forehead. “For two weeks this boy has given me nothing but sleepless nights.” She lowered her hand. “I won’t have you putting him at risk now. I worked too hard to keep him breathing. Out.”

“Wait,” Kale realized what Ingrid had said. “Two weeks? I’ve been out of it for two weeks?” Cross turned back, but Ingrid shushed him with a look and shooed him out the door. Cross gave an embarrassed shrug.

Later, man. I promise.

Ingrid sent Cross a disapproving look. Obviously she had heard Cross’s thoughts.

This is going to be interesting.

“Indeed it is.” Ingrid said. “I told your brother he had a few minutes. He’s had that and more. I know you have more questions, but you’re weak and you need to rest. Everything will fall into place when it is time. Sleep. I’ll know when you’re awake. You’ll be stronger next time. I promise.” She kissed Kale on the head, pulled his covers up, and smoothed a hand over face. “Sleep Kale. No one can hurt you here.”

Kale believed her and closed his eyes.

When they were outside Kale’s room, Ingrid quietly shut the door and glared at Cross.

“I’m sorry, he needed to know. I needed to tell him.” Cross looked, of all things, uncertain.

“Am I really all that scary?” Ingrid tried not to laugh. “It’s okay, Cross. I’m not sure I could have done better if the situation had been reversed.” She took his face in her hands and studied him with concern. “You need rest as well. You took far too much of his injuries. He is still too weak for you to give them back. They’re yours now, you have to treat them that way.”

“I’m fine,” Cross said. “I’m great, now that I know Kale will pull through.”

“Hmmm, he might pull through, but you, my dear Cross, are stubborn and just this side of fine. Get some rest. You’ll be no good to anyone like this. You need to be strong for what is coming. You need to be strong for all these souls who, like it or not, look up to you now for answers.”

“I don’t have any answers. I’m just trying to do the best I can. I’m just trying to do the same thing they are. Survive.”

Ingrid gave him a side-way glance. “Well like or not, those people look to you for answers, and I think we can do a lot better than just survive, nephew. Perhaps we might even manage to figure out how to live.”

“There’s more of them, you know. The ones still kept in cages back at the Department. I’m responsible for putting some of them there. I have to make that right. I can’t leave them there.”

Ingrid wiped a thumb softly across the bruised flesh under his eye. He was worn out and feeling guilty. She could feel that as easily as she felt the tears on his face.

“We won’t leave them. I promise. But for now, you need to rest. I’ll look after your brother.” She led him to his room down the hall. Once he was lying on the bed, she placed a small sleeping spell on him. He would be angry over the deceit, but he would feel so much better in the morning if he slept without worrying about everything. She took his shoes off and covered him, dimmed the light and left the door opened a crack. He was sound asleep before she left the room.

With both Cross and Kale sleeping, Ingrid walked on silent feet through her house. She made sure Vic and Finn were settled in. She checked on every one of her charges and soothed raw nerves and left calmness in her wake. Only then did she go through her nightly routine.

All the locks were checked, the candles blown out. When she determined everything and everyone was safe and secure, she went to the back door and turned on the small porch light. The one she had turned on every night since Gabriel had run away as a child. Just in case he came home in the dark. Ingrid wanted him to know she had never forgotten about him. She still waited for him.

The light wasn’t bright, just a small beacon in the dark.

A little glimmer of hope in the night for all those who were lost to find their way home.

* * *

Find out more about the origins of The Department and how it led up to Dark Crossing with the first book in my Coyote Moon series: FALLEN. Also look for the next book soon to be out, CROSS ROADS. a bridge book between Coyote Moon and my new Darking series!

http://amzn.to/1VQe7n7

annsimko.com

* * *

About Ann Simko

When not writing, Ann Simko works as a nurse at a level one trauma center. Her first novel Fallen was originally published in 2009, where it became the number one best seller for thrillers in her publishing house for almost a year. She writes thrillers, anything with a ticking-bomb type of plot, maybe with a wee bit of paranormal thrown in for fun.

She lives in rural Pennsylvania with her husband who puts up with her over active imagination, two scary teenagers who try to ignore her, three very large dogs, six cats and five extraordinarily large lawn ornaments otherwise known as horses.

* * *

Read more by this author!

http://amzn.to/1VQeeze

annsimko.com

Sign up for more bargain boxed sets at:

www.hotboxedbooks.com

JUMP TO...

A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE by NOREE COSPER

END OF DREAMS by KIM FAULKS

HAUNT by HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY

DARK CROSSINGS by ANN SIMKO

HEADSPACE by CALINDA B

THE OTHER F WORD by SUSAN STEC

UNLEASHED by RACHEL MCCLELLAN

HIDDEN INTENTIONS by STACY CLAFLIN

THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL by AIMEE EASTERLING

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS by KYOKO M

ST. CHARLES AT DUSK by SARAH M. CRADIT

WICKED BY NATURE by MADISON SEVIER

UNDERLIFE by MARISSA FARRAR

DRAGON’S REDEMPTION by EDEN ASHE

MILAN’S RETURN by GRAE LILY

THE BREAKERS CODE by CONNER KRESSLEY

THE MEDIUM by MR GRAHAM

WICCAN WARS by HEATHER MARIE ADKINS

CARPE NOCTEM by KATIE SALIDAS

A QUESTION OF FAITH by NICOLE ZOLTACK

HEADSPACE

BY CALINDA B

Copyright @2013 Calinda B

Vienna Venetta, gifted mutant psychic with an extraordinary twist, has phenomenal intuition and the ability to make people think they actually had the experience she pulls from their mind. She operates a high tech, fantasy reality business, as a sought after virtual mistress, in her private room known as Headspace. Vienna's very successful in her virtual, high tech world but in her real life, she's never climaxed. That's been her secret since high school.

When Vienna confides her secret in Jonas, her long time best friend, he wants to help, promising success by her birthday. Only thing is, he's in a committed relationship with a steady girlfriend. When his shrewish girlfriend becomes jealous over his friendship with Vienna, will he cut off the friendship and break her heart? Or will Vienna pull the plug, ending the friendship? Find out in Headspace: Seattle. Year 2052.

Published by Sumner McKenzie, Inc.
Kingston, WA, 98346

Ebook Edition

Copyright @2013 Calinda B
All Rights Reserved

License Notes:

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people, but it can be lent according to the retailer’s coding. If you would like to give this book to another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to an online retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Preface

Seattle. Year 2052 -

REMEMBER THOSE MAD Max movies from a million years ago? How they lived in barren, apocalyptic circumstances, scrambling along the desert like motorized rats, using what’s left to fashion their reality? Seattle’s kinda like that. Whole world, actually. Only it’s not so much sterile, as it is a mash up of techno meets nature wipe-out. You do what you can to survive. Make ends meet. We’re all struggling to get by. To pick up the pieces of this sorry world and shape it into something recognizable.

Me? I managed to score a job as a virtual fantasy mistress. More like created it. I’ve got crazy mutant skills no one on planet Earth can quite comprehend. They’re more along the lines of my “need to know reality” and no one, and I mean no one, needs to know about them. The only thing my customers need to know is how to find me, how to pay me, and what device they need to get before they show up.

I’m good at what I do. Clients pay me big money. I’m wealthier than I could ever be working mainstream. And right now, I’m trying to come up with some new marketing material.

I type on my keypad, I’m an enactor of your fantasies. Your wildest dreams. Anything you want to try. It all comes true in my Headspace.

I wipe the screen with my hand. No. Too cheesy. Needs more mystery. I try again.

Does your headspace need a jump start? Welcome to my world, where fantasy collides with your deepest desires in an explosion beyond your wildest dreams. I chuckle. Kind of dramatic, but not an exaggeration. I erase and try again.

Let me enter your mind, access your fantasies, and enact them with you. Let’s have some fun, shall we?

I cock my head and study the words before me. They hang in the air, awaiting their fate. I like it. It’s simple. To the point. I snap my fingers and the words dissolve, fading in a stream heading to some marketing firm in Malaysia. The finished materials will be delivered to my marketing distributor by ten tonight.

Satisfied, I power down the computer, and prepare for some relax time, when my pulse-com chimes in my head. A fleeting thought buzzes through my mind, wondering if the person calling me will be the one who enables me to find love. I mean, come on—anyone can act out a fantasy. All you have to master is Moaning 101. Few manage to find and maintain true love.

Chapter 1

“SO,” I BEGIN, twirling a long lock of purple hair around my finger. The purple lock is surrounded by blond hair. I have Nordic features—blond hair, light blue eyes fringed with blond lashes, pale skin—but a rebellious streak in me calls for touches of bold color from time to time. “What if I told you a secret?” Where the hell did that come from? I nervously pick at a scratch in the desk, flicking it with a long, purple painted nail.

“I’d say, ‘What this time?’” the male voice on the other side of the phone answers. He chuckles. “You tell me everything.”

“I do seem to.” I picture his dark wavy hair and intense blue eyes. His eyes are like liquid heaven. Sometimes, when he looks at me, he makes me squirm like he’s sliding his fingers inside my secret longings and finding places I’d rather not feel…or else want to explore wholeheartedly with an abandon I cannot afford.

I imagine his six-foot-four-inch body clad in jeans and a clings-to-every-muscle, recyclable, thermoplastic, 3-D fiber, high-tech, T-shirt, which is his uniform of choice. The man is sexy, sexy, sexy. And he’s taken, taken, taken. And even if he were available, I’d run. It’s as it should be, I think for the millionth time. No deep love for me. Not in this lifetime. I pick up a pen from my desk and tap it thoughtfully on the scratched wood and dinged-up silvery titanium accents.

“What are you doing? What’s that tap, tap, tap sound?”

“Tapping a pen on the desk, why?”

“That’s what I thought. Nervous? Or contemplating using your skills on me?”

“Maybe both.”

“What are you nervous about? Is this about your past? You’re not daydreaming about your abusive upbringing again, are you? Anything you need to share? You know I’m here for you.”

“Nope. I’m good.”

“Oh, we both know you’re way better than good, V.”

His voice lands like a lion’s purr in my ear, dangerously sexy, strumming some silvery strings inside my soul. Stop it, stop it, stop it.

“Sure you don’t want to share?”

“No, thanks.” I erect my tidy inner walls again, one solid brick at a time.

“Didn’t think so. You never like to talk about your past.” He sighs. “You know I’d listen.”

“That’s not what it is.” My heart is racing a little too fast. Beads of sweat form on my upper lip. The thought of being with Jonas, or any real live man for that matter, causes pure terror to bubble and brew inside.

“Okay, so why are you contemplating accessing my mind? Is this about me or you? If it’s about me, the answer is yes.”

He pauses and I can almost hear him smiling. He’s always joking about how much he wants me.

“I’ll just tell you,” he continues. “You don’t have to read my mind or manipulate it to get at the truth, you know.”

“I know.” Early on, I learned I’m a little different from other people—I can mess with people’s minds and make them think they’re seeing and experiencing things. I’m like a psychic with a twist. It’s a very strange skill to be able to access people’s minds. It feels like a burden, like not only do I have to know things about myself I’d rather not know….such as how freaked I am about having an intimate connection…I have to “hear” the thoughts, fears, insecurities, and drivel everyone drags around.

As a result, I put up sturdy walls to keep from knowing everything I don’t need to. No future reading for me. None of that bullshit about whether your dead grandma can hear you, or will you get the promotion, or yes, Billy wants to ask you to the prom.

Not that I couldn’t do it—I simply prefer pulling people’s fantasies from their minds, like naughty golden strands of dirty deliciousness, and weaving them into reality. To me, that’s safety. It’s power. Whereas intimacy? Pure, horrifying terror.

“Maybe it will work this time.” I smile, feigning my invincible, invulnerable personality. Inside, I’m a jumbled mess. I really want to know if I’ll be judged by him if I tell him my secret.

“Probably not. I like my version of reality just fine and don’t like to have my mind accessed without consent.”

“I can always use the practice. You’re a challenge. And you know I can’t enter your mind without consent. Permission must be granted or it’s a mental violation.” Only thing is, people’s minds are like messy, leaky faucets. They spew thoughts and desires like an oil rig blowing its load in the sea thinking no one can sense them. We’re all electromagnetically connected. And I have to work to not access their mental crap. Hence, my walls. I nod to myself, satisfied. Who said I need to share secrets or let myself be vulnerable?

“Vienna, if you want an all-access pass, I can…”

“Never mind.” I tug my purple lock. Let’s move this conversation along.

“I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again. You want in, I’ll let you in…all the way in. But not that way. Not the way you’ve told me about.”

A flush creeps up my face. “What are you and the missus having for supper tonight?” I ask, attempting to change the subject.

“My girlfriend and I are having tacos and copious amounts of beer. Or rather, I’m consuming copious amounts of beer. You can join us if you like. Quit stalling. What’s your secret?”

I frown at his admission of beer consumption. Something’s going on with him. “No, thanks. I have to work. And she acts like your wife. And I’ll get to it…The secret, I mean.”

“You’d best act fast, Vienna. I’ve gotta jet in ten. I’ve got to get to an appointment across town.”

“What kind of appointment?”

“Dentist. I hate going to the dentist.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“I know, right? So, spill the beans, girl.”

I can picture him, his direct blue water gaze searing into me, inviting to be let in on a deeper level. I swallow. Push a piece of glossy plastic around in circles with my fingertips. Bite the nail of my index finger. Unbutton the collar of my high-tech jumpsuit—the one I wear when I work.

“Vienna?”

“Still here. I’m gathering courage.” I smile at the phone, staring at it.

“Wow, this sounds serious. Are you finally going to tell me what you do for a living?”

“I already told you. I’m sort of a counselor.” Not.

“Well, Ms. Sort-of-a-Counselor, I’ve got a serious problem. I can’t stop looking at porn holograms. They’re dancing all around me right now, as we speak.”

I burst out laughing. I know he’s not looking at a porn holo. He’s probably looking at the Lumber Liquidators visual or Handyman High-Tech Hardware. But Jonas always seems to know just what to say to make me laugh. “Which one? ‘Bitches and Beauties’?”

“No, ‘Naughty Temptresses.’ They remind me of you.”

“Ha! That’s what you always say.” I like our teasing repartee. It’s light. It’s fun. And, man, oh, man, it’s safe.

His voice lowers to a caress. “It’s true. When are you going to let me love you?”

I swallow, frightened by the intrusion of his sexy voice. I’m glad he can’t see my face right now. My cheeks are blazing hot. “You do love me,” I say, twisting my purple hair.

“Really love you.”

“You can love me as much as you want. But you’ve got a longtime girlfriend, remember? She’s the one you get to have sex with.” I try to keep it light.

“Get to or have to?” he mumbles.

“What?”

“Nothing. You know I think you’re exotic.”

“So you say.”

“And unique.”

“Heard that, too.”

“And sultry.”

“Uh huh.”

“And I think you’ve made it your mission to package yourself in such an appealing way and not be available.”

“You’re the one who’s not available.” I’m grinning. We’re back to playful, thank God. We play this game all the time. “You’re with…what’s her name?” I blank out on her name, even though I know it by heart.

“Oh, come on, V.”

“Oh, right, it’s Jenner. Jenner Cartwright, your bitchy mean-as-sin girlfriend. Former high school cheerleader and Up and Comer in the game called Life. Jenner and Jonas, also known as Joner, which rhymes with Boner.” I sing the last sentence.

He laughs.

I like it when Jonas laughs. He’s got a great laugh. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“For the secret? I’m listening.”

I take a deep breath, clench the edge of the desk, and blurt it out. “I’ve never had an orgasm.” What the fuck, Vienna? Who slipped you a truth bomb?

He laughs again. “Then I’ll have to counter with ‘Well, baby, you’ve never been with a guy like me.’ Seriously, what’s your secret?”

“I just told you.” I wish I could die right now. If I had a gun, I’d use it.

“Are you kidding?”

“No. Dead serious.” No response. “Jonas?”

“I’m still here.” He breathes deeply into my ear. “No joke?” he says softly.

“No joke.” Now that it’s out there I feel ashamed. My face heats to boiling and I suddenly want to be doing something else—anything. Why, oh, why did I think it was a good idea to tell my longtime best friend Jonas about the secret I haven’t told a soul?

Oh, sure, I’ve had plenty of encounters. Tall, short, fat, skinny, and sculpted. Men who professed to be awesome lovers. Men who seemed to have never done it in their lives. I even loved a couple of them, or at least I think I did. None of them managed to give me an orgasm. Good thing I have a gift in mastering voices. I can fake it like crazy.

“Uh, I’ve got to go, Jonas,” I say.

“You’re going to have an orgasm by your birthday,” he blurts.

A sarcastic laugh burbles from my throat. “Right. In a couple months, I’m going to miraculously achieve what I’ve never achieved before. And who’s going to give it to me? You?”

“Maybe.”

“Don’t think your girlfriend will like that.”

“I’m coming over, Vienna.”

“What? I thought you had to get to the dentist’s?”

“I do. Then I’m coming over. I’ll need a drink after whatever Dr. Bob seems to think I’ll need.”

What is it with him and drinking all of a sudden? “Well, sure, but I thought it was taco night at the Joner’s house. And I told you I have to work.”

“It’ll be quick. I want to talk to you about what you just said and what I just said.”

“Uh, okay, but I’m kind of sorry I told you. It’s my secret.”

“Now it’s out in the open. Or at least it’s a shared secret. Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you in about an hour and a half. And Vienna?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for trusting me with your secret. It means a lot to me. Seriously, a lot.”

“Okay. You’re welcome.” Kind of. “I’ll see you in a while.” This was a big, huge, horrifying, worst day of my life kind of mistake.

Chapter 2

A MINUTE LATER, my heart begins to hum pleasurably, thanks to the pulse-com chip embedded behind my ear. I softly stroke my lips to answer.

“Hey, it’s me, Kaama.” His voice enters my ear like a purr.

“Hey, Kaama.” Kaama’s my skinny wild-haired techno-geek friend from high school. Geek or not, I’ve seen some of his dirty fantasies, and they look hot as Hades. Sometimes the men you think are the strangest can give you the satisfaction you’ve been craving.

“Just wanted to check and see how the new system’s working.”

“So far so good.” I reach out to pet Nigel, my sleek Savannah cat, who’s jumped onto the desk. Hey, kitty.

Hey, human. Get under the chin, will you?

Like this? A side effect of my special abilities is animal telepathy.

Purrfect. Nigel is a cross between a domestic cat and an African wildcat known as a serval. He’s got beautiful black markings along his golden fur, long ears, greenish-gold eyes marked by black streaks called “Cheetah tears,” and a bit of a bad attitude about life, like his mistress—me. We get along quite well.

“You didn’t accept that new upgrade the pulse-com ads are pushing, did you?”

“Hell, no. You’ve made it so much better than that. You’re a genius.”

“I am that, true. So it hums in your heart when a friend calls?”

“It does. It just did when you called. It’s a very pleasurable sensation.”

“Good, that’s good. And when someone you don’t like calls?”

“It buzzes like a fly.”

“A stranger?”

“Static. All I hear is static.”

“How does the ‘ignore’ feature work?”

“Great. I tap my right cheek and the caller gets a ‘do not disturb’ message.”

“‘Send to message memory’ work okay?”

“Yep, I just run my fingers through my hair and it takes a message.”

Kaama chuckles. “You’re sure old school, V.”

“Because I don’t see a projection of who’s calling?”

“Right.”

“Yeah, well no one has the badass system I’ve got. And those other people…” I wave my hand in the air. “They don’t have the freak skills I have. I like the element of surprise. So much of the time I sense and know things ahead of time, it’s good to be surprised now and then. I think your system kind of scrambles the impulses; otherwise I’d know who it was each and every time. I’m telling you, you’re a frigging genius.”

“Thanks. Oh, and how about if one of your clients calls?”

Kaama’s perhaps the only one who knows what I do. He helped me create the means with which to do it. “Mmm,” I reply, closing my eyes. “I get a series of distinct sensations like someone is drawing a feather down my cheeks or tenderly pushing a drop of creamy oil along the skin of my neck.”

Kaama laughs. “That was your brilliant touch. Foreplay.”

“We make a hell of a team, Kaama.”

“Suit working? It makes you look so effing hot, V.”

“Yep. And thanks,” I say, my mind jumping on Jonas. Damn. Why did I spill my secret?

I’ve got a high-tech jumpsuit wired to my brain, the client and my Headspace room. It’s made from a silky see-through fiber extracted from sour milk. The fiber was developed a couple decades ago but has withstood the test of time for its ability to regulate body temperature and blood circulation. Right now it’s not working all that well—it’s trapping a lot of heat inside of it and I mean a lot. I wasn’t this hot a minute ago.

Beads of sweat are forming along my neck and face. I pluck at a couple of the highly sensitive electrical nodes on the suit. These nodes help me do the magic I do at my job—take my special ability and allow me to sense and feel what a client is thinking, craving, and desiring, and project that fantasy into the space around me for his personal enjoyment. I fan my face with my hand. I’m thinking, feeling, and sensing that telling Jonas my little secret was a bad idea. I don’t need any nodes to determine this.

The sensation of soft feathers pulses down my face, distracting me. “Speaking of suits and systems, I gotta go. It’s time to get to work.” We disconnect and I enter the room I call the Headspace Hall of Sexual Delights, or just Headspace, stand in the middle of the room, take a deep breath, and assume the voice of Sultana, one of my crowd-pleasing favorites. I stroke my mouth as I reaffix the nodes and get ready for action. “Hey, big dog. Who wants to come out and play?”

“Sultana,” comes the oozy, dripping, oily voice. “It’s me.”

They always speak as if they know me personally, not just a projection of my personality. I roll my eyes. Ew. It’s that guy. Little do they know that when I’m in this sexual headspace, I can access whatever I need or care to know about them. It’s a one-way street, and only I know the way. I let my voice melt into a silky purr. “Hello, handsome. What can I do for you today?” I already know the answer.

Today Captain Jack—that’s the name he uses—wants me to pretend I’m his love slave, get down on all fours, and stick my tongue between his toes while he comes all over my hair. Revolting. It makes me want to regurgitate the toast and strawberry jam I had for supper. He wants me to fawn all over him and let him know that he’s The Man. Ew, ew, and double ew. Good thing it’s all virtual fantasy.

“Get down on your knees, you bitch,” he commands.

I roll my eyes again. I know outside of this room the guy is a pathetic loser. He’s fifty pounds overweight. Smokes Camels. Drinks bourbon, neat. His wife wants to leave him. He’s in a dead-end job. This is the only place where he feels a sense of control. “Anything for you, baby,” I say, dropping to all fours and closing my eyes in disgust.

“Why can’t I see you? Are you trying to be coy, you little bitch?”

I look up. There’s something wrong with the terminal that powers this space, which means there’s something wrong with me. I can only see it as what it truly is—my nondescript back room, instead of a fantasy virtual playroom, with every toy imaginable.

There’s a plush sheepskin rug that covers the entire floor. This is in case I have to do elaborate floor play—no sense in getting scuffed knees. Although I could enact the entire scene without moving a muscle, I believe in taking advantage of the time and staying fit. A few overhead lights illuminate the room. The walls are simple, unadorned, and see-through when I want them to be; completely opaque when I have visitors.

They are made of plastic and a “special secret blend” alloy that only Kaama knows the formula for. There are delicate fiber-optic strands no bigger than a human hair woven throughout. It’s highly specialized, high-tech artistry. Thanks to Kaama’s mad skills and my abilities, I can project whatever fantasy my customer wants onto the walls and into the scene. I can appear as whatever they need me to be. Redheaded, blond, brunette, rainbow-hued tech-rocker chick, tall, curvy, slender, athletic—whatever they want, I can deliver in this minimalistic, empty-of-furnishings room, as long as it doesn’t involve feeling or intimacy.

I scan my high-tech suit. All the nodes are in place. I glance at the power terminal on the wall in the hallway, just outside of the room. It appears to be functional, too.

“Do you have your Headspace headpiece in place?” I ask Captain Jack. To access my Headspace, my clients have to wear a special headpiece Kaama created.

“Of course, I do. Do you take me for an idiot?”

“Never! I would never do that!” I pause, frowning. I’m feeling vulnerable…frayed…like stepping onto an ice arena with no knowledge of how to stay upright. Shit.

“I paid for it. I read the instructions. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Of course,” I soothe. “I’ll have this fixed in a quick sec.”

“I’m pretty good with technology. Let me take a look at it.”

“No!” Get it together, V. I pull my long tresses. The system’s programmed to dissolve on contact if someone tries to take it apart to see how it operates.

The client stiffens. When he’s in here, he doesn’t like to be told what to do.

“I mean, no, baby,” I quickly soothe. I’m angry with myself. I should never have spilled to Jonas. It’s going to cost me my job. “You’re tired. You’ve had a long day. Let Sultana take care of you.”

“She’d better hurry up.”

You just told Jonas your secret, Nigel conveys to me from outside the room. There’s your problem.

I know, I growl at him. Back off.

He blinks at me with catlike arrogance, through the transparent walls, turns, and saunters away.

Augh, I silently moan. A case of vulnerable interruptus. I have got to stay cool, calm, and in control to do what I do in here. “One second, big guy,” I say to Captain Jack. “There’s a wee technical glitch but I’ll have it handled in just a moment.”

“You’re killing me. I pay good money for you, bitch.”

“I know, I know, but…” I close my eyes. Will myself to button up every chink in my armor. Will myself back to control, control, and more control. The lights splutter and blink. Suddenly I am plunged into Captain Jack’s head. He’s standing before me looking every bit like that long-ago character from my grandparents’ lifetime, Captain Jack Sparrow, a.k.a. Johnny Depp. If I didn’t know what a loser my client is, I might be turned on. “This one’s on me,” I say demurely. “Also, I might need a spanking.”

“That’s all right, kitten. Let Daddy Jack take care of you. I know you meant no harm. Now get down on your knees and lick my toes.”

The Headspace game proceeds from there, without a hitch. I lick, entice, provoke, stimulate. He comes on my hair, or that’s what he thinks he does. In truth, he probably came all over a towel in his dirty office space. The only real hitch is the sense of cooties I get from Captain Jack. I’ll need a good long shower tonight. But first, I’ll have to deal with Jonas and my unraveling emotions.

Chapter 3

ONE HOUR AND thirty-two minutes later, Jonas is on my doorstep. The guy is nothing if not prompt. His palm is pressed to his swollen cheek and he looks none too happy.

I’ve had plenty of time to fortify my armor. I’m cool, calm, and collected. In control. I’ve got this. “I take it you had more issues at the dentist than you anticipated?” I say, easing the door open for him.

Even though I knew he was coming, I’m always cautious about answering the front door. It’s part of the job hazards. One time a client found out where I live. I don’t know how he found me, but he did and he stood on my front stoop for an hour until the police arrived to take him away. He said he was in love with me and would die with me or die without; I said I’d never met the guy in my life and they carted him away. Ever since then I’m a little bit paranoid.

“They extracted a tooth,” he mumbles. “We’ve progressed in our culture in some amazing ways. We’ve developed some unbelievable technologies. But…dentistry is still dentistry.”

“Gah! You got that right!” I exclaim. “Well, come on in. I’ll get a couple of cold ones out of the fridge and be right with you.” Before I follow him inside I take a look at the street I live on—or, what’s left of it. I live in what used to be a beautiful, old, established suburb of Seattle—the Greenlake District.

The once-pretty little lake’s polluted as a cesspool, the street is falling apart, many of the trees lining the sidewalk are dead—a lot of what the hippies and activists professed would happen, did happen. I know, I know—sometimes things have to get way worse before they get better—but still it makes me sad when I scan the neighborhood. With a sigh, I close the door and follow Jonas into the living room.

“Are you ever going to tell me about your mysterious closet?” he asks, pointing to the door to the Headspace.

“What’s to tell? It’s a closet. Full of ghosts, skeletons, and secrets.” I wink at him, wincing inwardly, and meander into the neat and tidy kitchen to get us some liquid refreshment. When I return, my signature swish and rolling hips in action—I mean I do have a nice ass, all things considered—we twist off the tops, tap the bottle necks together, and pour a generous swig of delicious amber liquid down our waiting throats. Some things, at least, haven’t changed. Micro brewing is one of them.

He frowns, as if remembering something. “I thought you had to work tonight. Do you get to show up buzzed?”

“Oh, I took care of a client while you were at the dentist. I’m done for the day,” I lie. Please don’t pry. I love our friendship and don’t want to mess it up.

He looks at me and smiles. “Took care of a client, huh? That sounds dirty.” He waggles his eyebrows at me. Takes another gulp of beer.

“Not like that.” I roll my eyes. Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask.

He sits on the couch smiling.

“This is awkward,” I say. “Since when do you not have anything to say?” I pour a sip of the slightly bitter, honey-colored brew in my throat and swish it, making it bubble and burn the inside my cheeks.

“Since you started the secret spill, I guess.”

“That was a dumb move. Can I take it back?” I lean forward, letting my forearms rest on my thighs like a guy. My long blond and purple hair sweeps along my hands. I shake my head, tossing it behind me.

“Not on your life. I like you sixteen times more since you shared your secret.”

“What do I have to do to merit twenty?” I smile. I’m feeling cocky. Arrogant. In the control zone.

He cocks his head and studies me. “Never had an orgasm? Ever?”

“Not unless they’re so inconsequential, I don’t have a clue what the fuss is about.” I eye him suspiciously and take another swallow. “How much time do we have to spend on this topic? I’d rather move along. Let’s talk about you and your girlfriend. Why, exactly, are you with someone you complain about?”

He sets his beer bottle on the side table a little too forcefully. It slams against the bronze and glass-like polymer with an angry thwack. “Oh! Damn it! Sorry.” He picks up the bottle and kisses it in apology, giving me a smoking hot, sidelong glance.

Damn it. I pick up the inner brick he’s jostled loose and quickly shove it in place.

Once more he places it on the table but he’s much gentler. Ignoring my snide remark, he says, “Orgasms are incredible. Orgasms with someone you love are amazing with a cherry and hot fudge on top.” He gives me one of his signature gazes, the kind that slices through my armor. The tip of his tongue darts out and slides along his lips.

Fuck. Oh, no you don’t, I think. You can’t get to me again. I look away, take a long swallow of my brew. “Like the kind you and the missus have?”

“I wish you wouldn’t call her that.”

“Okay. Your longtime ‘wishes she was more’ girlfriend. Better?” I press the bottle to my chest, trying to calm my hammering heart. “It’s hot today.”

“Every day is hot thanks to global warming. And no, not like the kind Jenner and I have. They’re adequate. They get the job done.” He smirks and wipes his forehead with his sleeve. “Geez, none of us had any idea it could get this bad, did we?”

“You mean those of us who were toddlers, babies, or non-existent specks in our parents’ eyes when all the global-warming talk ensued? No. I was fully preoccupied with not getting a beating at a tender age.”

Jonas winces.

He looks at me with something like sympathy, which I loathe. Do not, do not, do not ever feel sorry for me. The past is gone, along with the people who inflicted it on me. I’ve moved on. “Can you wipe that sympathy face off? You know how much I detest someone feeling sorry for me.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that you…that I…never mind. I apologize.”

“Apology accepted. So why don’t you tell me how I can get to the elusive orgasm by December twelfth. Will it come with a bow? In a box? Will Santa himself deliver it as a pre-Christmas gift?” I admit, I’m intrigued when I’m in my invulnerable place…when we’re sitting around, chatting like a couple of guys.

He takes another healthy swallow, pauses, and then finishes the beer.

“Need some bravery, huh? Want another?”

“Yeah. No. Jenner hates it when I come home smelling of beer.”

“Does that happen often?” I ask, picking up his empty.

“Yeah, lately. Lately it does.” He looks off into space. “I’m not happy, Vienna. I’m not happy with her anymore. I…I feel as if I’m outgrowing her.”

“It’s about damn time. She’s a bitch. Always whining about what you did to her and what you do to her and how you take all the credit for everything. I get ill just listening to her.”

“Yeah…” Jonas says, and his voice trails off. “I…she…I thought you and I could…”

I interrupt him. “Hook up so you could have an excuse to leave her? Hell to the no, Jonas. Hell to the fuck no. I will not be someone’s excuse to leave his wife or girlfriend or significant other. No. That’s a commitment I made to myself a long time ago. You want me? You take the steps to extract yourself from the situation that you’re in and then we’ll talk. Only then…” Oh, my God! I silently scream. You didn’t say that!

I saunter into the kitchen, wishing it didn’t look stupid to sprint, screaming, into the next room, and fetch us a couple more beers. “We still won’t know if it will work. Or if you’re the guy whose cock I’ll come around,” I say, when I hand him his beer. There. Better. Calm as a carrot.

Jonas laughs his deep laugh again. “It’s a tempting thought.” He takes a sip and looks at me. “So. You’ve had a guy go down on you?”

Wham! It’s like he detonates my inner fortification. I splutter and choke on my beer. “Puh-leese, Jonas! That’s none of your business!”

“Have you?”

“What do you think?”

“Knowing you, the answer is yes. Big cocks inside?”

Is yours big? I quickly punt that thought. “I’m not going to answer that.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Lots of foreplay?”

“Jonas!” I say, batting the side of his head. “This conversation is getting much too personal!”

“I’m just trying to help,” he says, laughing.

“I didn’t tell you because I needed your help.”

He instantly sobers. “Why’d you tell me then?”

“I don’t know. I, uh…” I look away from him. I told you because it’s starting to become an issue. I’m starting to wonder if there’s something wrong with me. I told you because you’re perhaps the only person on the planet whom I trust. Okay. I give. I told you because I want you.

Good food today. Thanks. Nigel wanders and sits on the floor, staring at me with his golden green gaze. I could’ve told you this would get awkward. He lifts his paw to his mouth and pauses. You should’ve asked me. I would have told you true. His tongue darts out to moisten his paw, and he starts grooming.

Yeah, well keep it to yourself.

This is going to mess with you big-time.

How do you mean?

You’ll see. He chews and tugs at a toenail, making tiny clicks as his teeth snap together. I think you dropped raisins on the floor. One of them’s stuck to my claw. He pulls with his teeth. There. Ick. He spits out the raisin. It could be for the best, it could be for the worst. Only time will tell.

“Gah,” I blurt. I shoo away my saucy, know-it-all cat.

“You and your cat. You always stare at one another as if you’re having a conversation.” Jonas cocks his head at me. “Why did you tell me?” Jonas says again, this time softly. He reaches across to touch my cheek with his finger.

The caress feels smooth, silky, and intimate. I’m about to drop my head back on the couch, drop my drawers and spread my legs as wide as they’ll go. “Jonas, don’t. What are you doing?”

He brushes my lips with his rough thumb. “You’re my friend.”

“And I want to keep it that way.” I gently push his thumb away, trying to calm my frantic breathing. His touch does feel good. Too good… “I’m not some science experiment.”

“I know that. Neither am I. I have needs, you have needs. Maybe our needs could meet in the middle.”

“So, we’re back here again, huh? You’ve had too much to drink.”

“No,” he says, looking me right in the eyes. “I haven’t had too much to drink. We’ve only had one beer. I’ve never had enough of you.”

Jonas’s boldness is making me nervous. I get kind of squirmy inside. This does not make me feel comfortable, at all. “Jonas…stop. This is the beer talking.”

“The scant beer consumption only made me tell you things I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time. I think I’m with the wrong woman.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” I eye the front door. Maybe I should shove him toward it.

“That just means I have a lot to look forward to.”

I roll my eyes. If you only knew. I think of Captain Jack and Horny Dude and Lonely Guy and Hot Rocket and all the various guys who enter my Headspace. No, Jonas and I are never to be more than friends. A creamy sensation slithers down my throat. “Uh, Jonas? My pulse-com’s going off. I gotta go. I told you, I’m working tonight.”

“At your mysterious job as some sort of counselor? The one where you get to show up buzzed?”

“One and the same.” I squirm.

“I thought you said you were done for the day?”

“Could be a client emergency. I serve a need for my clients and when the need arises…” I shrug.

“You heed the call,” he says, unfolding to his entire six-foot-four-inch height. For a snap second his eyes narrow at me.

My eyes sweep up his muscular body. Intense heat spreads through my body. I quickly turn away.

“I know when I’m not wanted.”

“It’s not that,” I protest, standing. Good lord, it’s not that. It’s that I want him too much. I wonder who slipped me the Spanish Fly.

“I know, I’m kidding.” He reaches to give me a hug like he always does only this time he holds me a little longer than usual. “You feel good.”

“Thank you.” I let myself linger a little too long, feeling his hard heat begin to form against my belly. Stop this. I push him away, blowing out my breath in one forceful sigh. “You do, too. But we’re still, and always will be, good friends, and duty calls.”

“Got it. I’m not going to let this topic go, though.”

“Which one? Your horniness or…?”

“All of it.”

I shake my head. “Please let it go. It’s a tender topic.”

“I’ll be gentle,” he says, winking.

Fuck.

He leans over and brushes my cheek with his lips and lets himself out into the sultry autumn evening.

Chapter 4

My client has been waiting in the antechamber of the room—a virtual world Kaama helped me devise. It’s got a comfy couch, whatever virtual refreshment the client would like, food, and alcohol. There are no drugs in there—there are never any drugs, real, virtual, make-believe, or otherwise. I insist that my clients enter this space literally drug-free. Their energy is too chaotic otherwise and the game gets all weird. I slip into my Headspace and quickly affix the nodes to my jumpsuit. “Hey, big dog, who wants to come out and play?” I answer, in my typical greeting. This time I’m using the voice of Katiana.

I’ve zipped my inner walls together like the one of the three pigs who hastily built his house out of sticks. It’s shaky, but it will suffice.

“Hey, sugar, how’s about some love?”

I smile. Devon is one of my favorites. Devon is his real name, not just his avatar. He’s beautiful inside this room and out. In here, he likes to show up as a rock-solid, six-foot-six-inch chocolate skinned linebacker just after the game. He’s got dimples and a smile like liquid sunshine. He’s a big, beefy guy who’s a personal trainer out there in the real world. Out there, he’s a devoted husband and father. He likes to come in here and get his masculine groove on from time to time. “Hey, Daddy, what’s your pleasure this time?”

“Oh, you know I like it rough, baby. Show me you know how a big man likes it.”

“Oh, you know I do, Daddy. I’ll be your little minx any time.” I know his wife is devoted to him. I know she treats him right. She just refuses to let go in bed when she’s with him. She likes hers vanilla. I like mine however they want it.

I settle onto the plush sheepskin. I’m tired tonight and the beer has gone to my head. This scene will only be conducted mind to mind, for me at least. I close my eyes and away we go. “How was the game tonight, big dog?”

“Brutal. But we won. We’re heading for the championship.”

“Oh, I know you are. You’re a champion in here every day.”

“Oh, baby, you just say that because I know how to please you.”

“You do please me right, baby. I can’t get enough of you.”

“Show me. Show me what you mean.”

“All right, darlin’.” My Katiana 3-D image slinks up to Devon. She switches her hips side to side like a wild pony. I’ve dressed her in a form-hugging, low-cut, glittery gown and high heels. Her makeup has been applied to perfection. She looks pure diva delicious, worthy of a linebacker.

Devon slips the dress off of one shoulder. He caresses Katiana’s shoulder with his smooth fingers. “Damn, girl, how’d you get skin so soft?”

“I know you like your woman soft and smooth, baby. But a girl’s gotta keep her secrets, doesn’t she?” Saying the word “secret,” I think of the secret I’ve just spilled to Jonas. The Headspace sputters and darkens.

“Hey!” Devon calls. “Where’d you go?”

Shit! Don’t you go getting all vulnerable, V! I take a deep breath and bring myself back to control. The Headspace resumes in all its glorious detail. “Just a little techno glitch, sugar. I might need a man to look at it…a man like you,” I purr.

“Oh, baby, I’ll do anything for you, you know it.”

“Then, show a girl what you’ve got.”

“You mean this thing?” he says, unzipping his fly and releasing his generous length. “Is this what you’re wanting?”

“Oh, yeah, baby. Put that cock where it belongs.”

“It belongs inside of you, sugar, that’s where it belongs.”

“You got that right, Daddy. Give it to me.”

“Why don’t you give me some of your secret sauce, baby?”

I know what he wants. He wants some of my energy. I’m tired. I waver. Devon is a favorite. “It’s going to cost you extra, baby.”

The green lights ding in the corner, letting me know he’s made a hefty deposit.

I blow out my breath and relent, deciding to give him the twist of lime to my already mutant psychic skill set martini. “All right, Daddy, here it comes.” I close my eyes and access that sweet, ecstatic place inside. I can’t do this with everyone. If I didn’t like Devon so much, I’d never do it with him, either. It’s like an ecstasy trip, only without the drugs and side effects. It’s a way of connecting that’s so much more than skin and bones. It’s pure soul to soul heaven. I take a deep breath, pulse my inner muscles, draw a stream of bliss up my spine, and reach out with my mind to connect with his.

When the energy hits him, his head falls back in rapture.

My mind goes all trip-hop, dreamy high, in my own personal love buzz. It wouldn’t feel this good if Devon wasn’t such a great guy. This is better than any drug, synthetic or otherwise. Better than a night on ‘shrooms.

“Yeah, baby,” Devon purrs, tripping with me. “So good. So damn good. You’re like the best drug ever.”

This is why the money keeps rolling in. This is the rumor floating around the virtual fantasy world, that there’s this crazy chick with a pure bliss love potion and if she likes you, she’ll give you some and you’ll never be the same.

“Shit.” Devon draws the word out, slow and fluid. “You’re incredible. More, baby. Give me some more of your intoxicating juice.”

I know I shouldn’t. The last time I did this with him, he got so addicted to coming here, I worried he’d leave his wife. “I can’t, sugar, you know that.”

The lights in the corner glint green with a boatload full of money.

I sigh and give him some more energy. I know this might be a problem. But it’s Devon, and he’s a good guy, I tell myself.

The game proceeds. He pushes my avatar against the wall. Yanks up her dress. Slides down her silky thong. Sticks his fingers into the dark, slick world of her secret garden. Pulls her brunette hair while he’s rocking his hips into her from the front, from behind, with her bent over. He’s experimental tonight. Trying out new positions. He pulls out, coaxes her back around to face him, takes his big, muscular arm and pins her to the wall. Makes her say his name over and over and over when she comes, like a chant for mercy.

When she comes…my mind interjects. I only imagine it when it happens. I’ve seen enough movies and virtual slut shops and techno-sex to be able to master the moves. I’ve never known what it’s really like. For a moment, I close my eyes. I should never mentioned it to Jonas. Can he give me that longed for orgasm?

The thought slithers from my mind like the snake in the Garden of Eden. Once again the room starts to fade. Damn, damn, and double damn! Zip it up, Vienna! “Oh, baby,” I moan, pushing those thoughts away, and the Devon and Katiana Headspace returns. “Oh, Devon, oh, Devon, oh, Devon! You get me so hot, I lose control.”

“That’s right, baby. That’s how a man does it. A man knows how to get his girl off and good. Tell me how good it is.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe! This one was the best one yet!” In this Headspace, I scream and yell and moan and buck my avatar’s hips against Devon’s. He shoots into Katiana, gripping her ass. Only thing is, I’m lying on my little wooly rug, curled into a ball and he’s making love to a fantasy. When I’m in this Headspace, I can have whatever experience I like and I don’t have to move a muscle. And I also don’t get to have an orgasm, I pout. I hate to pout.

Chapter 5

“HELLO, GRAMMY,” I say to my elderly grandmother. She’s sitting in the corner of her room at the elder-care, adult-living facility, high on a hill overlooking downtown Seattle.

“It’s just so sad,” she says. “Every day I look outside and every day I remember what it used to look like. Seattle used to be so pretty.”

I’m feeling unsettled, restless, like I’m becoming unglued and parts are hanging, separated from each other like a broken dolly. “And it will be again.” I wander up and plant a kiss on top of her silvery hair. “Restoration teams are active everywhere.”

“Yes, but there just aren’t enough of them to go around.” She sighs and turns to me. “We lost so many from the illnesses in 2045. Entire cities were virtually destroyed.”

“I know. I know, Grammy.”

“That global purge of wilderness areas in favor of millionaire resorts really got my goat. Gaudy, opulent, over-the-top dwellings sprouting on top of Half Dome in Yosemite? The Alaskan wilderness turned into a hunting paradise and luxury lodge for bored, wealthy businessmen with time on their fat hands?” Grammy shakes her head. “And the oil spills and natural disasters of the early twenty-first century seemed like childish precursors to the devastation that followed. It’s a wonder any of us lived through those sorry years.” Grammy and I had been two of the “lucky” survivors. The rest of my family had been wiped out, leaving me and Grammy clinging to each other for family support. Thank God I have Jonas. He’s always felt like family.

All the turmoil left our political system in shattered ruination. The left blamed the right and the right blamed the left. Everywhere, politicians bickered while the people pulled up their bootstraps and got to work with restoration. The general public lost itself in debauchery and wild, crazy behavior—like my Headspace affords them. We endured so much tragedy for so long, we all seem to live as if there’s no tomorrow.

My thoughts drift back to Jonas. After the destruction of life as we knew it, Jonas’s work boomed. He’s good at what he does, honest and fair. And he’s always in demand. And he’s so fucking hot I want to climb on top of him and fuck him until…

“You look upset today, dear. What’s up?”

My grammy always senses when something is up. And, man, oh, man is something up. It’s probably huge and extends from between Jonas legs. Or, at least, I want it to be. “You know my friend Jonas.”

“Yes,” she says, looking over the top of her reading glasses. “Go on…”

“He came over yesterday and was all, ‘I want to leave my girlfriend,’ and ‘you and I should be together,’ and crap like that. You know how I feel about guys and gals hooking up when they’re already mid-flight.” I swallow, hard, hoping my naughty thoughts of Jonas disappear into my blood system.

“Yes, dear. You have a good strong value about that. It’s admirable.”

“I do, but…” My voice trails off and I stare out the window. The Space Needle stands in the distance, dark and vacant. It’s like a ghost town in that part of the city.

“But Jonas is one fine piece of ass, isn’t he?”

I nearly fall out of my seat. “Grammy! I can’t believe you said that!”

“What, you think I don’t have eyes? Whenever you bring that boy over, I think to myself, ‘that’s the kind of boy my Vienna needs.’”

A red flush creeps up my face. Where’s a gun when you need one? “What makes you think I need a boy, Grammy?”

“I don’t mean it that way. I know you’re independent. I just meant that you rarely date these days.”

“I just haven’t found anyone date-worthy lately. The good ones are all taken.” Plus, there’s that little issue of mine.

“You think I believe that for a second? Vienna Katrina Venetta, you could have any man you want. You’re gorgeous, you’re barely thirty, you’re fun, funny, creative—you are one catch of a girl.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’m just not in the mood to date.” Not after experiencing all the kink I see at night. Seriously, my various avatars have been flogged, whipped, and gagged. I’ve been made into a dinner plate laden with gourmet delights for my lover to choose from. Fantasy versions of me have been powdered, oiled, hung from chains, tortured, and shackled. I’ve been hoisted onto a pedestal and worshipped, then literally pushed from the pedestal and made to grovel at the guy’s feet. I’ve done three-ways, two-ways, six-ways. I’ve done it on the virtual beach, in the middle of a crowded fantasy baseball stand, on a train, at a carnival, in the middle of Times Square. People are strange. And when they’re safely behind the virtual wall, the sky’s the limit. And I know this is merely fantasy, but since I’m so sensitive—I mean, I wouldn’t be this good if I weren’t—it takes a toll on me.

Sometimes, after a particularly intense session, I have to lie low and sleep for days, only getting up to feed Nigel and relieve myself. Then, it’s back to my sanctuary boudoir I go to rest up for Headspace time.

“Let’s get you into your walker and scoot, Grammy. We don’t want to be late to your appointment.”

“Oh, my, no, we wouldn’t want that,” she scoffs. “Not that it matters. These parts have had their heyday.” She gestures to her body.

We’re going for her yearly checkup today. It doesn’t really matter when her appointment is. She knows as well as I, with the limited medical care we have in this city these days, it will take an act of God to get in and get out in less than four hours. People line up, try to bribe the staff. Some have even stabbed themselves to get seen for something else—blood-letting always gets to the front of the line. I help her to her feet and she shuffles along in her colorful walker. It’s got bells and all kinds of danglies hanging from it. She likes to make a grand appearance wherever she is.

A half hour later, I pull up to the medical facility, hop out, and race around to open the door for Grammy. “Now you just sit over there—right there, Grammy, on that bench. I’ll park the car and be right back.” After circling the lot for ten minutes, I snag a spot, park, and race back to get my grandmother.

“There she is now,” Grammy’s saying to someone.

I’m looking right and left to find safe passage through the circling vehicles. When I make my way past the cars, I look up to see Jonas helping my grammy to her feet. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. Is he trying to torture me? Is this some kind of sick game?

My heart does a pitter-pat and other parts of me do things they’re not supposed to do—like get all moist and slick and scream, “In here, get in here now and show me what you mean by ‘I’m going to have an orgasm by my birthday.’”

I dash across the asphalt to Grammy’s side. “What are you doing here?” I ask Jonas. The words emerge in a more accusatory tone than I’ve intended.

He gives me a curious “what the fuck is wrong with you” look as if he can see my thoughts. A grin flashes across his handsome face. “Wrist sprain.” He holds his right arm aloft. “This isn’t my week.”

The look he’s rocking says maybe it is his week and he’s scored a kilo of satisfaction, big time. Asshole. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. It’s part of the job. We’re so short staffed, I have to oversee the projects and work the jobs sometimes. Can I assist you two ladies? Help you in any way?” His eyelids lower to half-mast and a small smile curves the corner of his sexy mouth.

Oh, yeah. The words he’s saying sound innocent enough but I know he knows more than he should about me. “Nah, I’ve got this.” I move between Grammy and him possessively. I wish I’d never told him my secret. “Well, I’ll see you around. Good luck with your sprain.” I practically shove him away and try to hustle my grandmother through the double doors.

“My legs don’t go that fast, Vienna. Slow down!”

“Sorry, Grammy.”

Jonas chuckles behind me. “You know as well as I do this always takes time. Let me help.”

“You’ve already done enough,” I call over my shoulder, referring to his offer to help me with achieving an orgasm. “I’ve got this.”

“Really? You know where to find me if you change your mind.” He laughs and strides away.

“Gah! He’s everywhere now. We used to only see each other…oh, never mind, we always see each other. We just don’t usually bump into each other.”

“He’s in your radar, girlie. He’s done something to catch your attention.” She reaches for the elevator button.

The barely functional contraption shudders to a stop. The doors open and more people than should be allowed in there burst from the opening, like freed rats. They speed around my grandmother and me as if we’re boulders in a stream. Once the elevator has emptied, I help my grandmother into the lift, followed by a few other people.

“Hold up!” a male voice calls. Jonas joins us. “I’ve been redirected.”

Come on! Who or what is playing with me? I want to pound my forehead into the dented, metal wall of the elevator. “Let me guess…third floor?”

“That’s the one.”

“So women’s health has merged with general medical?”

“So it seems.” He stands next to Grammy and punches the elevator button for the third floor. At the second floor the lift stops and oodles of people get on, pushing us against the back wall. Jonas quickly moves ahead of my grandma to keep her from being crushed in the throng of people.

I’m pressed into the back corner, but I peer over the head of a woman to smile gratefully at Jonas for protecting my grandma.

He catches my eyes and lingers, lost in serious thought. Again, his fucking, goddamned tongue slides slowly along his lips.

His gaze makes my breath catch. That same warm sensation from earlier spills through me, like someone knocked a glass of warm, creamy honey all over my insides.

Once the doors open, we all discharge into the waiting area, eager to get out of the stifling space.

I need a drink. I need a job around the city. I need to lay with Jonas and…

“Here, I’ll wait with Evelyn while you check her in. That will be quicker and easier on her. Then, when you’re done, I’ll head up to check myself in.”

“What, so you don’t have anything to do today?” Why is he being so nice to me? Does he feel sorry for me now?

“Sheesh, V, whatever I’ve got to do can wait. Your grandma’s needs are more important than mine. Women’s needs are important. She’s like royalty.” He smiles at her.

“You’d better believe it.” She grins back at him. “Now, fetch my tiara.”

“Plus, she’s fed me enough dinners, I owe her, big time.” He winks at Grammy and puts his arm around her shoulders.

He’s never put his arm around my shoulders. I blink like a moron. “Uh, thanks, Jonas.” I smile gratefully, thinking of all the meals we’ve shared. When Grammy had an actual house, she used to cook for Jonas and me, our friends, her friends, whoever was in the neighborhood, whoever was in need. Jenner even came over a couple of times but her smart, bitchy mouth collided with Grammy’s no-nonsense, straightforward sense of manners. Grammy chided her, Jenner bristled, and she never came back.

Once I’ve got Grammy checked in, Jonas goes to stand in line. I stare at his well-shaped ass until he turns to look at me, like he can sense my gaze. He smirks.

I force my gaze to skitter past him, pretending to look at the nurse’s station before picking up a pair of well-used SkinScreen displayers and place them on my scalp. I adjust the volume and twirl a dial to focus the screen display on my forearm.

I scan the contents by running my fingers over my wrist. There’s a revised edition of a book called Women’s Sexuality. I glance at my grandmother. Grammy struggles to stay awake. I idly flip through the pages. There are clinical drawings of penises and vaginas and black-and-white photos of men on top of women and women on top of men being projected onto my skin. The whole thing looks so clean-cut and sterile, it makes me laugh.

Grammy jerks and glances at my forearm. “What’s so funny?” she asks.

“Oh, this book makes it sound so apple pie wholesome. Sex, I mean.”

“Here, let me see.” She reaches for her purse and retrieves her reading glasses. “Well, that’s how the parts fit together. After you master that, the real fun begins.”

“Oh, and what’s that?” I ask, starting to feel nervous.

“Depends on what kind of partner you have.”

“What do you mean by that?”

She eyes me speculatively. “You have had sex before, right?”

I scoff. “What do you think?”

“You seem pretty savvy to me, Vienna. I’d say yes.” Her eyes drift shut.

I sigh. You have no idea. Grammy and I share a lot about a lot, but my business is my business. Plus, this sex issue I’ve let out of the bag is nobody’s business but mine. Yeah, right. Only now it’s mine and Jonas’s. I flip another display of the book by stroking my fingers across my tender skin and my eyes land on an article called “Haven’t Doesn’t Mean Can’t: On Women and Orgasm.”

I quickly look up to make sure Jonas is nowhere near me. I spy him still standing in line. I turn so Grammy can’t see what I’m looking at, should she awaken from her doze. I read, If a hypothetical woman and her partner only have intercourse for thirty seconds, without any other sexual touching, kissing or buildup—and with no focus on stimulating her in ways that are likely to lead to orgasm—then our hypothetical woman is unlikely to experience orgasm. That doesn’t mean she’s dysfunctional; it just means she and her partner are not doing much to produce orgasm.

“So now I’m a hypothetical,” I mutter.

“What did you say, dear?”

“Nothing, Grammy, resume your doze.” I continue reading: Now we know that virtually any woman can climax–and indeed have multiple climaxes–if the circumstances of her life are right. But the truth is “coming” isn't that easy if you're a woman. Nearly all men can come without difficulty, but women aren't built that way. That doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you. It just means you need more practice. This one makes me burst out laughing. They have no idea how much “practice” I get, at least when I’m in my Headspace. I lift my gaze. My eyes track Jonas striding over to me, grinning like he’s holding the keys to the universe.

“What’s so funny?” he says.

“Nothing,” I say, pressing my hand over my forearm.

“You’re sure twitchy.”

“Am not,” I say, like a teenage girl.

His delicious, pink candy tongue finds the corner of his mouth.

I want to suck on that tongue, drawing it into my mouth like a lollypop.

He taps my nose, getting my attention.

“Huh?”

“What were you reading?”

“Nothing, it was nothing.”

“It looked like something.”

“It wasn’t.”

“It looks like something interesting.” His arm snakes out to grab my wrist.

I slam my hand on top of his. “Let it go, Jonas. It’s just a book. I was reading a book and I found something that was funny, all right?”

“Okay, all right, you’re sure touchy.”

“I have a right to be. I had an impulsive moment I now regret. And I’m paying for it.”

He keeps his voice low, trying to be discreet. “Damn, Vienna, telling me a secret shouldn’t tweak you out that much. You’ve told me plenty of secrets over the years.” He rakes his hand through his dark wavy hair. “Unless you want me to fulfill my promise,” he whispers in my ear.

I push him away. “You’re right. I’m being stupid.” I remove my hand from the skin display.

“I wouldn’t say stupid, but awfully edgy.” His eyes glance over to my arm. “Women’s Sexuality, huh?”

“Yes, now drop it.”

“Consider it dropped,” he says, putting both his palms in the air. “But you don’t need a book to overcome your…”

“Drop it,” I say in a menacing tone.

We sit in awkward silence.

“It doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you,” he whispers.

“I said drop it,” I hiss.

“It’s normal.”

“It’s not normal. I’ve had enough sex in my life. It should have happened by now.”

“Not even with Elias?”

Elias used to work for Jonas. He had a hot body, was funny, kind. I dated him for about six months before we broke it off. We had sex a lot but I think he knew I was faking it. He told me one night I was frigid. I told him he was an asshole. Besides, he wasn’t Jonas, I think and want to beat my head against the wall. “No! Not your business! Now can we fucking drop it?”

“Okay, okay,” he says and once again makes a gesture of surrender. “It’s dropped.”

“Okay,” I say, changing the screen display to something to do with medical advances using howler monkeys. I flip the screens without registering a word displayed on my arm. All I’m wondering is what Jonas’s lips would feel on mine, what size cock he has and what kind of magic he can do with his junk.

“But Vienna?”

“What?” I say, slapping my thigh with my hand. The SkinScreen makes a garbled screech in my ear. “Would you please, please, please drop it?”

“Christ, Vienna! I was only going to ask you out to dinner. Jenner has her watercolor class tonight.”

“Oh.” I turn to look at him and am met with his sincere, open gaze. I’ve always liked that about him. He’s an honest man. But the gazes he’s giving me lately are, well…they’re different…way different.

His blues eyes slide into my head like sensuous fingers, parting my resistance. My mouth opens slightly and I draw my tongue along my lips.

Jonas swallows, his gaze never leaving mine.

I’m literally beginning to unravel from his touch, thread by thread. It makes me extremely apprehensive. I can’t do my job if I’m vulnerable. I blink and wrench my eyes from his. “Will she get all pissy about it again, like she did a couple weeks ago?”

“Nah. We had a talk about how I get to have friends, she gets to have friends. Hell, she meets with her co-worker Brian every day for lunch. I’m the one who should be jealous.”

“Are you?”

“Not really. The guy’s a dick. If she wants him, she can have him.”

I nod my head. His words sound like something a guy would say to cover up his vulnerability. “Okay. Where do you want to go?”

“Feel like Italian? Luigi’s has managed to stay the course and they’re pretty much open every night.”

“Italian it is, then.”

A harried-looking nurse pops her head out from behind a swinging door. “Evelyn Peabody?”

“Over here,” I call and I gently shake Grammy’s shoulder.

Her eyes pop open and I help her to her feet and guide her to the back room for her yearly check-up, giving Jonas a small wave as we depart. “See you later,” I call out to him.

He nods, grins and laughs. “Oh, yeah. You’ll do more than see me.”

He’s got schemes in his head, I can tell. I can’t tell what they are but I have a pretty good idea what they are…or maybe I’m mixing up his fantasies with my own.

Chapter 6

AT LUIGI’S LATER that evening, I scan around for signs of Jonas. I find him sitting in a dark, intimate corner booth. He’s staring at his hands as if they’re someone else’s.

“What’s going on?” I say, settling next to him. The atmosphere is dark, red glass and black tiled intensity. Shadows are cast around the room like walls, lending each table the illusion of complete privacy.

He jerks, as if surprised, and brightens as he regards me. “Nice outfit.”

“Thanks.” I felt like such a girl when I dressed tonight. I put on this outfit and that one, scrutinizing myself in the mirror before discarding garment after garment. I finally deemed my appearance complete, once I’d dressed in greenish bronze see-through leggings, a white and black silk tunic with a slash of black leather going from my right hip to my left shoulder, and a sleeveless long black leather jacket. “Why do you look so gloomy?”

“Not gloomy anymore,” he says with a smile. His gaze rakes over me like a feathery caress.

I shiver and try to compose myself. “You looked like you were contemplating having to choke kittens with your bare hands a second ago.”

He winces. “That bad, huh?”

“Uh huh. That bad.” He’s wearing a black jacket and a gold and black shirt that’s open at the top to reveal his dark chest hair.

My fingers twitch, wanting to touch the curls of hair. What is wrong with me?

The man dresses casually during the day but, at night, he knows how to rock a good look. I’ve always appreciated the way he looks. My eyes wander over the face of my friend—the friend I love and now seem to obsess over, like he’s the needle filled with sex I want to plunge into my arm. His dark hair is pushed back from his face. I love his dark blue eyes…his chiseled face…his chin…his full lips that usually curve into a smile when he’s around me. My gaze sweeps down his throat to his wide shoulders. I swallow, remembering we’re just friends—good friends. Great friends. The best of friends. He’s the safest of the safe. He’s someone I can count on. Uh huh. Right.

A waiter hustles to the table. “Can I get you something to drink?”

I eye him for a second. He’s a study in angles, opposites, and art. His hair has some sort of product in it that allows him to curve and shape it like a clay sculpture. It pierces the air in spikes on the right and flows down to his shoulder on the left, like a glam actress from the early nineteen hundreds. His face has been made up Greta-Garbo-Hollywood style on the side with the spiky hair, and modern Nuevo Imagina on the Garbo side. There’s this trend flowing around called Nuevo—it’s Nuevo this and Nuevo that and it seems to mean “whatever the fuck I want it to be.”

A slight smile curves his lips. There’s a row of tiny, tiny diamonds along the top left lip. I’ll bet they’ve been affixed with a perma-product. Those babies are going nowhere until he wants them to—and until he applies a generous amount of solvent to his skin. “Well?” His shoulder goes up and down in a quick, practiced gesture.

“Sorry. I was just admiring the scene.”

He twirls in a circle. “Admire away.” His eyes flick to the room and back to me. “But do it fast. This place is jammed tonight as usual.”

“What are you having, Jonas?”

“Mezzaluna, on the rocks.”

“Vodka, huh?”

“You got it.”

I cock my head at him for a second. I’ve never known him to drink anything more than a beer or a glass of wine. “I’ll have a beer,” I say to our exotic waiter. “What do you have on tap that’s cool and amber?”

“I’ve got just the thing,” he says, smiling mysteriously. “Let me surprise you.”

“Surprise away.” As he hustles off, I turn to Jonas. “Okay, now’s your chance.”

“To do what? Watch you getting off on someone who’s mastered Nuevo Imagina fashion? Any fool can do that.”

A small smile creeps up my face. “Jealous?”

“No!” he says quickly. “Of a gender bender? Hardly.”

“Good. Because I was thinking you could even the playing field by telling me what’s bothering you.”

“Even the playing field as in that topic we’re not talking about? I shoot because you spilled?”

The words ‘shoot’ and ‘spill’ land between my legs, making me sit up and pay attention. It’s either that, or slither to the floor, grabbing Jonas’s pants as I fall, resulting in his naked legs wrapped around my head. “One and the same. And yes. You spill next. Take the heat off of me.” I smile, saucily.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I had words with Jenner before I left but what’s new?”

“What kind of words?”

“Sharp and angry words. The kind that slice and dice.”

“Who stabbed first?”

“She did. She told me I haven’t been paying enough attention to her.”

“Haven’t you?”

“I always pay the same amount of attention to Jenner. How can you not? She demands it.”

“Yeah, but is it ever unasked for, spontaneous bursts of affection?” I pick up a fork and twirl it between my fingers wondering what it would feel like to run my fingers between his legs. I drop the fork with a clatter.

He blows his breath out between pursed lips. “Not for a long time.”

“Well, I’m no expert in LTRs but I know they can go up and down—sometimes easy, sometimes work.”

“Ours is all work. It’s like a construction project. Not only that, it’s so damn fragile, I have to wear gloves and whisper all the time. Some days I get it right and she’s kind. Some days I don’t and she’s a bitch. I just never know what’s going to set her off.”

“You’re such a good guy, Jonas. I hate to see you getting yanked around by her. I feel protective of you, like a lioness.”

“That makes me think I’m a child, V. Not what I was going for tonight.” His leg relaxes against mine.

A jolt of electricity jump starts me and I pull my leg away. “Sorry. You know I’m as loyal a friend as there is.”

He flashes me a grateful expression. “That I do. We’ve been friends a long time. How’s the counseling job going, by the way? Is this the kind of thing you do with your clients? Get them to spew their innermost thoughts?”

“Oh, sure,” I say, a little too quickly. “Exactly right. You got it.”

“So you’ve been doing this job for four months,” he says, probing deep.

“Yep. That’s it. Four months.”

“I thought you told me six?” A cynical, suspicious look darts across his face.

“What? Oh. I did. Six months. Sorry, I got distracted.”

“By?” His gaze blasts through my brain like a cannon ball. Yet again, I feel my insides ooze with wet, creamy desire. I reach for my forehead and rub. I can’t, I won’t, I mustn’t. I feel like I’m losing my mind. I scan for our waiter.

“It beats the last job, huh?”

“Yeah.” Come on waiter dude, come on! “Selling clothes to the rich and entitled wasn’t my cup of tea. I had a bad attitude. Good thing I quit first or else I’d have been fired.”

“You make good money doing what you do?”

“You could say that.” I’ve already pulled six figures. “I manage.”

“Tell me again—where’d you get the training to do that kind of thing? Don’t you have to have a degree or something?”

He knows I haven’t been telling the truth. I’ve been so vague with details, Jonas seems to have endless question whenever we see each other. It’s getting harder and harder to keep the secret. Plus, I can never remember what I told him last time. “Oh, you know.” I wave my hand breezily in the air. “You can get any degree you want via contextual computing platforms.”

He scoffs. “You got that right. The other day, I was reading about up and coming technologies. The newer chips are the size of a human cell. They can be inserted into your skin with nary a pinprick of sensation. My phone chip hurt like a mother when I got it inserted.”

“Yeah, mine, too.” I finger the place behind my ear where mine is, remembering how long it took to heal.

“Anyway, these new ones are connected to your home’s mainframe and they monitor all your habits. Once embedded, they surround your body with electrical impulses. And get this,” he says, sitting up excitedly. “The damn things reproduce inside of you. Once they’ve been planted, they grow like little invading weeds.”

“The kind of weeds that grow where they’re not wanted?” I blurt.

“One and the same. When what you really want to grow is…” He reaches out a finger to push a strand of hair away from my cheek and leans closer like he’s going to…

I shudder and pull away, brushing away his hand like a pesky, unwanted fly. “Why would anyone want something like that inside them? That sounds so…so…so invasive!”

“You know how the ridiculously rich are. They get bored easily. So these things—they monitor your breathing when you look at something. Hell, they even observe and track your olfactory and skin sensation. They’re that sophisticated. And they monitor facial gestures—the miniscule clues that flash across our faces when we’re regarding something we want. Even the snapshots of your iris that BuyScanners take while you’re shopping are fed to the chip.”

“I can’t stand those. You can’t even wander through a small corner store without being spied on.”

“Not unless you have Blocker Goggles on.”

“I don’t trust those either. I think they were developed by a company that wants you to think you’re safe. They probably enhance the connection the BuyScanners make with your body.”

Jonas shakes his head. “Agreed. I’ve taken to sending someone else to do my shopping for me. Remember when I told you that I have an assistant who gets me what I need?”

“Yeah, so?”

“It’s my own act of rebellion to the complete lack of privacy we live in.”

Maybe that’s why he blocks me from entering his thoughts. “Yeah, but you can afford it. What do the poor have to protect themselves?”

“Nothing, but they’re not the target audience. The BuyScanners want to find out what people with money are after. It’s the CrimeScanners that are watching the poor. They assume if you have no money, you’re more prone to criminal behavior. We all know it’s the ones with too much money to watch out for.” He taps his fingers on the table. “Anyway, back to the new chip technology. They’re programmed to monitor behaviors and patterns and deliver what they decipher. I hear the ones that are really good have a suite of educational services built within seconds of you desiring to learn something. Did you use something like that—the educational services modules?”

“Uh, kind of,” I say, eager to switch the topic. “I wonder what happened to our waiter.”

“And then you connect with your clients in some similar fashion? Mental highways? Those always seemed weird to me.”

“Uh, well, they serve a purpose, Jonas. When you use Neural Nodes to hook people up to one another, it does enhance the connection.”

“How do you know that?”

I get a little twitchy. “I read about it.”

“And what about those avatar salons?”

I start to squirm. This topic is cutting way too close to the bone. “What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you heard of them? They’re springing up everywhere. People take these designer drugs and then they log into Super Rooms, like the holographic rooms that were in use a few years ago. They build their avatars and then they get to watch them interact from inside the Super Room. I suppose the ones with the vivid imaginations do better than the others. But still…whatever happened to the thrill of human contact?” His arm drops next to mine and his little finger strokes my hand.

I reach for my water as if I’m parched. I pour the entire glass down my throat, much to his amusement. I don’t like where this conversation is headed. I know Jonas has strong convictions but I didn’t know he doesn’t care for fantasy. And that’s exactly what I do for a living now—only my business is far more sophisticated than the avatar salons. Kaama’s technical skills combined with my freakazoid skills makes people think they’re having a real experience. They swear they really, really, really just had sex with a version of me. In an avatar salon they know it’s just fantasy. “People these days need an outlet. Life has sucked for the last decade or two. Even you might deserve a little fun now and then.” I’m starting to get defensive.

“I suppose, but people spend far too much time in the fantasy realm. There’s plenty to be done in real time.” His exploring hand lands on my thigh and he strokes in soft, sweeping circles.

Sweet baby Jesus, save me. I look up to see our waiter swishing over our way. He’s a gender bender for sure.

Jonas’s hand jerks away as if he’s been burned, leaving a scorch mark on my leg.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Jonas is in a pissy, pissy mood tonight. Jonas is in a dangerous mood tonight. He’s crossing long established boundaries and I’m starting not to care.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your drinks.” The waiter winks at me and sets a tall glass of amber liquid on the table. A slice of lemon floats in the foam. Specks of dark brown something rest on top of the lemon. I take a sniff. “Vanilla?”

“Madagascar’s finest.”

I take a small sip. “Mmm. Delish!”

“You asked for cool and amber. This is amber.” He points to my beverage. “And this is oh-so-cool.” He waves a hand up and down his torso.

I laugh. “You got that right.”

The waiter plunks the Mezzaluna in front of Jonas. He bats his lashes. “And there you go!”

“Thanks.” Jonas looks up at him and gives him a manly glare.

The waiter smiles indulgently. “Don’t worry, sugar, you are so not my type. She’s the one who’s caught my eye. The name’s Magicka, by the way. Magicka Santorini.”

“Hands off. She’s my friend.”

“And she can defend herself, thank you very much,” I say, stopping the macho madness. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Magicka.” I extend my hand to him.

“Girl, the pleasure is all mine.” He kisses my hand before releasing it. “Mm mm mmm, you smell good.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Jonas bristle. “Let’s order.”

After Magicka sashays away with our order, I turn to Jonas. “You’re always happy, Jonas. That’s one of the things I can count on. And I doubt that Jenner’s snark today was any different than usual. It’s what she does.”

“You’re right about that.” He takes a healthy slurp of vodka. “It’s me who’s changing. I told you. I’m getting tired of it. I want to move in another direction.”

Nope. Not pursing that line of thought. “Have you told her that?”

“All the fucking time. So much so that I’ve given up. Now it’s just ‘yes, dear’ and ‘no, dear.’ It makes me sick. It makes me feel weak. And I tell you what—I do not like feeling that way. I’m a fucking man, goddamn it. I’m no one’s bitch.”

I frown. I’ve known Jonas for about eight years. He’s been with Jenner half that time. Before that we both dated around, never with one another. I’ve never seen him this way. “Yeah, but you are a nice guy. I know you. You want to do the right thing.” I shrug. “Maybe it’s time for a switch. Maybe that’s what’s right.”

He brightens, grinning at me. “I was hoping you’d feel that way.”

“Not like that, friend.”

His eyes turn puppy soft with longing. “We’d have a wonderful relationship. You know that we would.”

“We already do have a wonderful relationship. It’s easy. It’s not messy or complex. It’s something I can count on when I’m blue and delight in when I’m happy.” I take a long swallow of my drink, smacking my lips. I glance around the room. Anything to keep the focus off of Jonas.

“And you could be howling with pleasure when you’re turned on.”

I smirk and reach for my beer again. I pretend to be all cool and together but my insides have decided something else. I’m wet where it counts, hot where it matters, and my heart is beginning to pound with a vengeance. “Off-limits topic, remember?” I wipe my lips with my soft napkin. Jonas says nothing so I take another swig of the frosty ale. “Remember?” I ask, facing him.

When I meet his eyes I almost cough and choke. He’s looking at me with an openness that’s fall-in-and-take-a-swim enticing. It’s like he’s torn away any façade he puts up when we’re out goofing around. There’s this new Jonas—this undiscovered mystery Jonas—looking back at me. “Jonas, don’t…”

“Don’t what, Vienna?” He continues to gaze at me.

“You’re making me…”

“I’m not doing anything except looking at you the way I’ve always wanted to look at you—adoringly, with a generous dose of desire.”

I swallow, hard. I drink him in. I know I shouldn’t, but he looks so fine, so delicious, so inviting, I’m at a loss as to how to behave right now. I reach for a straw of truth to put between us. “Jonas, I told you I won’t be the excuse that lets you free yourself.”

He nods but doesn’t look away.

I wrench myself away from his gaze once more and stare at the other diners. My gaze lands on a couple in the shadowed corner across the room. I blink. “Isn’t that Jenner over there? I thought you said she was at art class.”

Jonas’s head whips around to see where I’m looking. “So that’s what’s going on. I guess she’s decided to meet Brian in the evenings, too. I wondered what her new interest in art was all about.” His face turns an angry, blotted red.

“It might not be what you think,” I say reassuringly, thinking and who’s calling the kettle black, hmmm?

“Oh?” His voice is laced with sarcasm. “And what might it be?” He starts to scoot out of the booth.

I lean over and grab his shirtsleeve. “Not so fast, cowboy. Cool your jets.”

“Hell, no, I won’t cool my jets. My jets are burning at full throttle right now.”

“I can see that. Calm down. This is not the time for an angry confrontation.”

He downs his vodka. “This is the perfect time for an angry confrontation. It will be in front of everyone. She always wants to look perfect in public.” Once again he scoots away from me.

I lunge across the table, grab his arm, and hiss at him. “Stop it, Jonas.”

A few diners have turned to stare at us. Jenner and Brian are too far away and too absorbed in each other to notice anything.

“It’s okay, he just received an alarming pulse-com,” I say to the onlookers, trying to get everyone to mind their own business. “I’ve got this.” At least it takes the focus off of me and him.

An older woman nods and turns to her companion. The other diners follow suit and I turn back to my friend. “Now you calm the fuck down, Jonas. You don’t know what she’s doing or why she’s doing it.”

“Yeah? Well, she sure looks cozy doing it, whatever it is.”

“What’s Brian do for a living?”

“He’s an event planner for the high and mighty.”

“So maybe they’re planning an event.”

“And what might that be? My funeral?”

“Don’t be dumb. I’m sure you’ll get to the bottom of it. Hasn’t she ever planned an event with this guy before?”

“Well, yeah, she’s got some pricey clients at her work.”

I scoff. “At her ‘work.’” I make quote marks around the word. “And what work might that be besides sponging off of you? She’s a volunteer at the Nuevo Opera. She helps sell tickets. What kind of a job is that?”

“Yeah, I know. But sometimes her duties there extend to making sure a diva is treated in true diva fashion. But you’re right. I don’t want to make this evening about her. I want to enjoy my friend.”

“And your friend wants to enjoy her friend.” I smile warmly at him. “So let’s do that.”

Our salads and freshly baked bread arrive and we set to eating. The beer, food, and camaraderie are making me feel warm and relaxed. “I really think you’ll sort all this out with your girlfriend, as much as it pains me to say that. You’ll get your head on straight.”

“So we’re back here again.” Jonas signals for the waiter. “I’ll have another one of these,” he says, pointing to his drink. His eyes flick over to where Jenner is sitting and back to me. “Now I know what you mean about topics you wish you didn’t have to discuss. I had almost gotten her and bozo Brian out of my head.”

“Things have to be dealt with. You can’t sweep a topic under the rug just because you find it uncomfortable.”

He gives me a pointed look. “You do hear yourself, right?”

“Oops. I do.”

“So don’t go getting all pop psychology on me since we haven’t touched your forbidden topic once tonight. I gave you my word.”

“Got it.” I gesture to our gender-bender waiter and point down at my empty beer glass. He nods and I turn back to Jonas. “It seems we’ve gone down the wrong road this evening.”

“It’s not going the way I’d planned.”

“And what was that plan? That you and I would sail off to bed and be happy ever after?”

He chuckles. “No. That’s a great idea, though. I merely wanted to have an easy outing with you. Life sucks lately.”

I reach out to touch his hand. We touch affectionately all the time but this time Jonas’s return squeeze feels a little too intimate. His fingers find their way to the top of my hand and start stroking, back and forth, back and forth. They wander up along my tender wrist and make slow circles along my forearm.

“So what happens?” he asks softly. “What happens that stops you from coming?”

My heart jerks up into my throat, catapulted from my clenching stomach. I decide to pull up my big girl’s britches and put my money where my mouth is. I swallow. “Kissing really turns me on. I love a good kisser. I love to have my neck bit. I get all turned on from having my nipples sucked. I love surprises, too—a kind of touch I’ve never felt before, or some technique the guy has mastered. But then, when the attention drifts downward, I…” My gaze falls away from him. This is too hard. I’ve never talked about this before…not since…. My eyes squeeze shut, trying to trap memories where they’re supposed to remain—locked tight, buttoned down, buried deep.

“You what? I know this is difficult to talk about. I’m here for you.”

“I don’t know, I just disappear. I get all tense. My mind fills with negative bullshit talk—this isn’t going to happen; will it happen; no, it won’t. It’s nonstop. By that time, I have left the building, as far as awareness goes. Gone, baby, gone. And then the guy pumps, he shoots his load, I fake it and that’s that.”

He threads his fingers with mine and pulls my hand into his lap. “That sucks, Vienna.”

I don’t think he means to do this, but my hand brushes something hot and hard under his slacks. I inhale sharply. Then again, how can he not know?

“What?” He pulls my hand out from under the table and kisses my knuckles. “Don’t ever be afraid to share with me, V. You know that anything you say is safe with me.”

“I know,” I breathe. “But I’ve never talked with anyone about this little problem of mine.”

He smiles. “A little problem needs a big solution.” He laughs at his own joke. “Sorry, but you set me up for that one.”

I smirk and shake my head. “So, since I’ve answered your questions, will you promise to get more details before you explode—with Jenner, I mean?”

“Yes.” He releases my hand and pushes his hand through his hair wearily. “She did lie to me…I’ve got her on that one.”

“True,” I say and we both glance over at her. I look back at him. “I’ll add that to your evidence file, sir,” I add playfully.

“And,” he says, “I do believe I’ve got her on cheating on me. Evidence is being presented right now.”

I turn my head to see Jenner and Brian standing up from their meal. Brian walks around to Jenner’s side of the table. He takes her coat and holds it out for her to slip her arms into. When she complies, he wraps his arms around her, and kisses her hair and neck. He swirls her around and kisses her full on the lips, apparently not caring whether or not anyone sees them. When he releases her, she looks breathless. She turns to leave and her head pivots to see me and Jonas staring straight at her. And that’s when the fun begins.

Chapter 7

I HAVE JONAS’S body out of my vehicle and guide him up my front steps. The guy is trashed. After confronting Jenner and Brian, he decided going on a bender was just the ticket. I decided being his designated driver was my duty and responsibility as a friend since his heart was set on getting wasted. Even though his vehicle would have guided him home safely, it wouldn’t have taken the good care that I’ve been taking with him all night. I’ve listened, raged along with him, commiserated, and soothed. I’ve guided him to the bathroom, waited patiently outside, wiped the vomit from his lips when he emerged, and guided him back to the table. And finally, I said, “enough’s enough,” and hauled his ass to my vehicle. We’ll get his car in the morning.

“I’m fine,” he protests as I guide him up the steps. “I could have driven.” It comes out sounding like a slurred mess.

“Yeah, yeah, I needed the company. Roll with it.” I doubt he’ll remember a thing.

Nigel greets me when I open the front door. Where’s he sleeping? He asks with a sniff. Not on my couch, I hope.

I glare at him and steer Jonas toward the couch.

Nigel leaps up onto the back of the couch and snarls. Oh, no, you did not. You can’t leave him there. He stinks. And that’s where I like to nap.

“You don’t nap at night,” I say. “You prowl.”

Have you checked the time lately?

I tap the time chip in my left index finger. “24 October, 4:24 a.m.” flashes in front of my eyes. “Oh, no,” I groan. “It’s a good thing I make my own hours.”

Yeah. About that. You know that service you use to field potential clients?

“HoloMess 500, yeah. What about it?” The name makes me laugh. It’s a warehouse of bots in Southeast Asia. Those warehouses seldom see a human inside them. Anyway, something got lost in the translation of “messages” and it became merely “Mess.”

You know how they try to reach you when there’s an urgent message?

“What are you getting at?” I grab a blanket from the closet and drape it over Jonas’s snoring form.

I’m talking about the disturbance—they tried to reach you tonight. They kept trying to access the mainframe and it kept messing with my Zen prowl.

“The mainframe? Why would they do that?”

Did you request a “do not disturb”?

“No, I…shit, I’ve been way preoccupied! Jonas decided to go on a bender tonight and it took my total focus. He’s not in good shape right now. That’s why I brought him home. Damn! The pulse-com system sometimes can’t get through if you’re preoccupied. You can intentionally turn it off but tonight it just couldn’t reach me. I was too upset and busy taking care of Jonas.”

Exactly. Hence, there’s been this hum in the house for hours. It’s been driving me mad. And now you drop a smelly, drunk man on my bed? You’re going to pay for this.

“What will you do? Wage a protest? Hunger strike?” I wander toward him and scratch his head. My hand moves down his back, right in front of his tail. He loves that spot. He starts to purr.

Stop it.

“You know you don’t want me to.” I move up to his chest, stroking his silky hair and feline muscles with my fingers. He purrs louder.

Stop it.

“Stop it some more? You’re a hoot, Nigel. Now, I’d better check that message.”

All I have to do is draw the digits of the com number I need in front of my face to place a call. I do this and an automatic voice answers.

“This is HoloMess 500. Please enter your five-digit identity code.”

I write it in the air.

“Thank you. Now enter your six-digit business code.”

I comply.

“Thank you, Vienna Venetta. You have eight messages. The messages have been labeled urgent. Here is message one. ‘Sultana, you don’t know me—yet. My name is Himeros. You’re going to want to know me. Com me. Any time, day or night.’”

I roll my eyes. They all think they’re all that. I flick my fingers to delete it.

“Message two. ‘Sultana, I’m your next client. You won’t want any more after me. I guarantee you’re going to like what we do together. Com me. Seriously. Any time.’”

I cock my head. Someone’s impatient. Once again, I flick my fingers and the com is deleted. Messages three, four, five, six, and seven are similar in nature. The only difference is a growing edge to the voice. It disturbs me to hear it. This com caller is going to need to be vetted, big time. I have a service that vets potential clients to ensure that no one is a psycho, serial killer, or deranged in any way. Even though this is just a fantasy game, I still don’t need to contact the headspace of a crazy person. Like I said, I feel everything about them—who they are, what they think and feel.

The last message does the complete opposite of the first seven. It turns me on so much, I’m stunned. It’s like the guy has reached up into my pussy and found the place—that place. His voice snakes down my throat and into my chest. It insinuates itself up my thighs and parts my tender lips. It’s deep and delicious and makes me feel like an orgasm is on the way. Could it be that this guy will help me unlock the secret code inside? At least it would keep me from crashing and burning with Jonas. I make a mental note to get the guy vetted pronto, and then make my way into my bedroom to crash.

Chapter 8

WHEN I ENTER the kitchen, Jonas is sitting at the table with a huge mug of coffee, an ic e pack on his neck, and his head in his hands. “Hey,” I say softly. “Not doing so well?”

“Got a Hangover Zapper?” he asks, without looking up.

“Nope. Never had the need. I’ll call for one if you like.”

“Would you? That would be fantastic.” His head slips out of his hands, down to the table, and hits with a dull thud. The ice pack slides to the floor. “That’s better. One area of sharp, shooting pain instead of throbbing needles and dull ache everywhere.”

“Oh, honey, I hate to see you this way.” Back in control, I pick up the ice pack and place it on his neck. Last night at dinner must have been an aberration, a mere slip up. We’re back to friends again.

“Jenner’s pulse-commed me fifteen times,” he says. “Or is it twenty? I’ve lost count.”

“Just turn the com off.” A stab of jealousy lances my chest. Fucking bitch. I reach into the cupboard for a porcelain bowl wishing I could smash it on the countertop and use the shards to slice Jenner’s perfect face. Whoa, girl. Calm down. “I don’t suppose you want anything to eat.”

“Hell, no. Just get that Hangover Zapper here soon and I’ll be fine.” He rolls his forehead side to side on the table. The ice pack drops to the floor once again.

“It doesn’t do much good on the floor.” I pick it up and set it next to him.

“It’s not doing anything on my neck.”

I shake my head and set about getting my breakfast. While I’m moseying around the kitchen, I pulse-com the pharmacy. “Can you deliver a Hangover Zapper? Rush order? Yeah, yeah, I’ll pay. Just get it over, fast.” I did just make a boatload of money. My mind drifts to the new client and his avatar. Strange guy. I make a mental note to vet him today. Find out who the hell he really is. And never talk with him again—ever. I’m done with thoughts of orgasm. Finished. Back to my normal cool. Why vet him then? I ignore that pesky thought and pour myself a cup of tea.

“That counseling job must pay well,” Jonas mumbles from the table.

“It does.”

“I’ll pay you back. Those things are pricey.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s going to be worth it if you pitch Jenner.”

“Because you want me?”

I chuckle and take a bite of cereal. “Yeah, that’s it. I want you.”

“A guy can wish.”

The door-pulse hums and I head to answer it. The Hangover Zapper rests on the front stoop. I pick it up and wander back into the kitchen. I place it against the back of Jonas’s neck and press the on switch. A soothing trill begins, building in intensity. Blue light emanates from the Zapper. It spreads across Jonas’s head and moves through his body. It pulses orange when it finds muscles and veins that are tense, full of toxins, and sluggish. The light lingers until it’s restored to blue. Then, it seeks out the next place in need of restoration.

Within minutes, Jonas lifts his head, cocks his head left and right, and sighs. “Thanks, V. I can move again.” He regards me with his beautiful blue, hooded eyes. His mouth parts slightly and his wicked tongue slowly draws across his teeth, grazing his upper lip. Once again, there’s that openness. It’s like he’s inviting me in, without pressure. Letting me see him. Laying his cards on the table, face up. Letting me see the sweet spot, that space inside that only gets revealed through intimacy.

It’s a disconcerting, beguiling expression. I’m starting to feel like a trout in a lake of possibilities, closing my mouth over that one juicy morsel attached to a hook. Stop it. For me to take the bait means having to become intimate and transparent myself. Not going to happen. Good thing there’s still time to open up, let go the hook and slip away. I look away. “Hangover gone?”

“Not entirely, but it’s manageable. These things…” He gestures to the device on the table, breaking eye contact. “Aren’t that good. They can’t erase stupidity, only ease it.” He looks up at me, smiling. “Much better.”

I chew thoughtfully on my protein-and-grain snacks. Food hasn’t changed much over the years. Cereal is still cereal. This one just has added syntha-protein. “Want some?” I point to my bowl.

“Yeah, thanks. Now that the hangover has subsided, my stomach is growling.”

While I retrieve his bowl, I ask, “So what will you do with Jenner? How will you boot the bitch?”

“She wants to try to work things out. I owe her that much.”

Bile spurts in the back of my throat. “You owe her? Who says?”

He gives me a sidelong glance. “I do. I have a strong sense of fairness, in case you haven’t noticed. And no better possibilities have presented themselves.”

Ouch. “Oh, I’ve noticed. I see it more as you let her walk all over you.”

The look Jonas fires at me is one I’ve seldom seen. “I just want to do the right thing,” he snarls.

For a second I am taken aback. Have I pissed him off? “Easy there, I meant you no harm. I happen to care for you.”

“Care for me.” He makes air quotes.

His snapping sarcasm stings like a whip. Moisture fills my eyes. I blink and turn away.

He softens. “I know that. I want to give her a chance to explain. It’s bad enough she stepped out on me. She thinks I’ll understand if I give her the chance.”

I roll my eyes and say nothing. When I get the hum in my heart, indicating a friend is calling, I stroke my lips and step out of the kitchen, quietly open the front door and slip outside. “Hello?”

“Hey, girl, how’s that sexy hunk of man meat?”

“Hey, Magicka,” I whisper. When he gave me his number, it made sense to program it into the friend list. I had an instant warm connection with him. I slip out the front door. “What are you doing up so early?”

“I never went to bed. I’ll probably crash as soon as the drugs wear off.”

“What drugs?”

“The drugs of extreme excitement, that’s what. Oh, my, that was quite an exciting evening. First, your friend and his wife…is she soon to be his ex?”

“She’s not his wife, and no, they’re going to try to work things out.”

“Oh, my. I don’t think that’s what he wants. He was looking at you last night, girl, as sure as the moon was bright.”

I get all hot and weird inside. “We’ve been friends for years. Just good friends.”

“Huh uh. No, sir. You cannot sit there and tell me the boy only wants to be your friend. That boy had desire all over his face.”

The heat inside intensifies. I aim to redirect. My pussy is getting willful and out of control. It’s wearing me out. “Thanks for all your help. With getting him out of the restaurant, I mean.”

“That skank-ass blond was going to drill him a few new ones if I didn’t. Could you believe her? She was the one caught red-handed and she’s blaming him?”

“I know, right? And now he wants to work things out.”

“Sounds like the boy has a case of the ‘Do-the-Right-Thing Guilties.’”

“What do you mean by the ‘guilties’?”

“Oh, some men are so possessed to do the right thing they fail to notice what the right thing really is. They’re so afraid people will cast them in a poor light, they hang on to misery long after misery has left the building. It’s like they perpetuate a shell of their life instead of reaching for something better.”

I frown, trying to wrap my mind around what he’s saying. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“He’s clinging, girl. Afraid to step off that edge. He wants to change but is probably so wrapped up in the life he’s built with her that stepping off the edge doesn’t seem appealing. He’d rather stay safe.”

“Rather stay safe than get happy and try something new?” Himeros flashes in my head. Maybe I should take his next call.

“We all have our own rhythms, darling girl. We all move with our own sense of timing.”

“I suppose,” I say, twirling a lock of hair. “So what did you do after you got Jonas in the car?”

“Oh, my, goodness. I met up with my own sexy hunk of man meat. Mm hmm. We tripped it, stripped it, and flipped it. Hold on a second, honey.”

Murmured, hushed tones greet my ears until Magicka starts talking again.

“He’s awake, dear heart. I’m going to scoot. You and your boy take care, now, you hear? I’m signing off.”

I meander back into the house and find Jonas sitting in the kitchen, talking heatedly to someone. Sounds like a Joner conversation to me. I have a violent, irrational urge to grab the connection and yell at her, saying, “He’s mine, bitch!” I sure hope he finds a way to step off that edge. For the teensiest, tiniest moment, I think, and I’ll be there to catch him. My eyes widen and I actually flick my hands at that thought, telling it to get far, far, far away from my consciousness. Another thing I never want to be is someone’s rebound queen—ever.

Chapter 9

IT’S BEEN AN interesting week since I last saw Jonas. Devon’s been blowing up my HoloMess, asking for daily encounters. I’ve set a limit on two, and no more energy sharing—with anyone.

Back in my own personal zone of control, I picked up a couple new clients who proved to be both amusing and entertaining. They’re twins and they booked me for the entire week. Each night they’ve appeared as someone different. The first night they sauntered in as the Brewer twins, circa 2015, all sun-bleached blond and surfer-boy buff. We did it on a surfboard in the sea, bobbing in the waves. Each guy took turns with me. As awkward as it sounds, I even went down on one of them, sitting at one end of the surfboard, while the other pumped me from behind. You can do what you want in my Headspace and defy natural laws—like falling off the surfboard when a wave hits. That stuff doesn’t happen unless we let it.

They arrived the next night as the Twin Foxes, Albert and Ebenezer Fox, famous poachers from the late eighteen hundreds. That night the avatar Juliana was to be the “game” they were hunting. A huge reward was set for their capture. An even larger reward was set for my avatar’s capture. Once they caught me, I was bound, gagged, and treated to innumerable delights by the twins.

Tonight, they promised a “special treat.” At half past ten, I’m beckoned by a silky sensation along my throat. I stroke my lips and I wander into my Headspace for some fun. “Hey, big dogs, who wants to come out and play?”

The scene immediately shifts to baked summer hills and sparse grass plains. Puffy white clouds linger in the summer sky.

Two huge roan stallions prance into the space, bearing two Greek gods, Castor and Polydeuces. Thank heavens I excelled in my Greek mythology courses. Here we are in ancient Greece again. The horses’ necks are covered with foamy sweat as if they’ve been racing to get here. They toss their heads as they stand, impatient, excited, eager to move.

I immediately split into two avatars, Phoebe and Hilaera, known as the “daughters of the white horse,” who married the twins, defying their intended husbands. I and me look at each other and shrug. It’s the first time I’ve experienced myself as two entities and I’m curious to see what happens. My avatars are dressed in simple gowns draping to sandaled feet. One of us wears an earthy orange chiton. The other sports a green tunic. All that hooey about Greeks wearing nothing but white is just that—hooey.

Castor and Polydeuces are built of solid muscle. Their skin is burnished gold with touches of green, like oxidized copper. They dismount their stallions at the exact same time, like it’s a choreographed dance. They strut before me—I mean us—they strut before us, giving us time to take in their strength…to admire their long foreskin-covered phalluses hanging proudly between their legs. My two avatars coo and compliment. It’s odd to have two perspectives going on at the same time but I manage to roll with it. In one mind, I’m demur and shy. The other avatar is bold and outspoken.

“What say you, maidens?” the one called Castor asks. “Think you could find us pleasing to run off with?”

“You are fine to behold, sir, but we are betrothed.”

“We think otherwise,” Polydeuces claims. “We are here to prove you wrong. Wouldn’t you rather have us?”

“Why, yes, fine sirs, you are without a doubt handsome. Your strength is legendary. But our betrotheds will not stand for this. You must leave us and get away while you can.” I’m enjoying this fanciful play. I always was a sucker for make-believe. One of me, the shy one, bats her eyelashes and looks at her feet, dusty in the heat of the midday sun.

The horses whinny and scrape the ground with their hooves.

“Our steeds grow impatient. Let us leave. Together…”

Two horses with riders appear in the distance. They gallop with a fury in our direction.

“Oh, it’s our betrotheds! Get away, fine sirs!”

In synchrony, the twins leap onto the backs of the stallions. One of the horses rears in the air. The men kick the flanks of their steeds, move toward us, and scoop us up onto the backs of the equines. “Hold on!” they shout in unison.

I’m so caught up in this fantasy I’ve forgotten that it’s all a virtual world. Both avatars cling to the backs of the gods. Our long hair whips in the wind. The men’s hard muscles radiate heat to our breasts and bellies. We’re tickled by hair, flesh, and sweat while the muscled animals beneath us propel us forward, stimulating our kitty-cats to arousal.

We out-race our captors and find ourselves in a green and blue oasis. We stand at the opening to a breathtaking cave. We’re surrounded by green trees and golden grasses. Below us lies beckoning turquoise water.

“Care for some refreshment, brother?”

“The horses are thirsty,” Polydeuces responds. “And I’ve got a thirst that needs quenching as well.”

The two men shrug, spur their horses forward, leap, and we fall down, down, down into the cavern, landing with a mighty splash. I’m surprised we all remain on the backs of the horses, but in a fantasy world, you can do as you please—it’s like a dream, where reality isn’t the same as when you are awake.

The horses swim to the edge and haul themselves out of the water. They lower their heads and drink from the cool clear water.

Castor turns and grabs my Phoebe avatar and lowers me to the ground. He deftly dismounts and scoops me up in his arms. He wades hip deep into the water, lifts my sodden skirts and lowers me onto his shaft where he proceeds to rock me against his hips, making gentle splashes as he moves.

Polydeuces pivots, takes my Hilaera avatar and moves me to the front of him. “I’ve got wood that needs waxing. What say you?”

I glance down at his throbbing heat. “Oh, yes,” I breathe, fully engaged with my avatar.

He coaxes me to spread out along the neck of the roan. I lean forward, allowing my arms to drape around the sweat-soaked muscles of my strong steed. I grab onto the stallion’s coarse-haired, reddish mane. Polydeuces grabs my hips, lifts me, and leans into me, entering me from behind. He pumps vigorously.

No foreplay here, my Hilaera avatar thinks. Unless you call “capture and flee” foreplay.

Nor here, my Phoebe avatar agrees.

Still, when the men release inside of us, we moan, shriek, and wail as if we are having the orgasms of our lives. All the while I could be doing my nails, I’m so uninspired.

After that, HoloMess 500 interrupts to see if I’ve accepted Himeros as a new client. I haven’t vetted him yet but I’m in an expansive mood so I take the bait. He pulse-coms within seconds.

“Hey, big dog, who wants to come out and–”

“Can you feel me inside your pussy? You’re soaking wet and I’m big and hard and inside you right now.”

“Why, yes, I…” I start to stammer and lose control because he’s right. It does feel like he’s inside of me. I take a deep breath. I need to be in control in here at all times. This is my Headspace. “Who wants to know and why?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Sorry, but the rules are you tell me who you are, I access your headspace, and then we play.”

“This is just a game.”

“That’s right.”

“So, let’s play by my rules. You don’t like them, you don’t have to play.”

I’m busy scanning him to see who he is beyond the pixel wall. I get fragments of images, nothing more. He’s wealthy. He’s got a wife—wait! He’s got several wives. None of them know about the others.

“That’s my business,” he interrupts.

“What?”

“You scanning me to see who I am. That’s my business. Now do we play or not?”

The green lights go off in the corner indicating the guy has put money in my account for his pleasure. A number flashes indicating it’s twice as much as I usually get paid for a first session. I regard it and frown. The red lights go off in my head. Big, blaring red flags finally get my attention. There’s something about this guy that bothers me. Something’s not right here. Is he some sort of mental, stalker case like the guy who tracked me to my home? “I’m going to issue you a refund.”

“Keep it.”

“I don’t think this transaction is going to work.”

“We haven’t even begun.”

“Yes, I’m afraid we have. And it’s not going to work.”

“You haven’t even seen my avatar.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It will when you see me.”

Against my better judgment I say, “Okay, hot stuff, show me,” glad he can’t see my eye roll and scathing smirk. Some guys think they’re all that. I sink onto the sheepskin rug, prepared to be unimpressed, and wait. “I’m waiting.” Nothing happens. I start to unplug from the session when the room changes. We’re in the headspace of Himeros, a lesser-known Greek god of sexual desire.

He stands before me, completely naked. He’s muscular. Gorgeous, shimmery golden wings extend from his ravishing shoulders. His huge, ruddy cock hangs, slightly aroused. It’s one of the most beautiful cocks I’ve seen in my life. It says desire. It promises pleasure. It speaks of endless satisfaction. “Do you know who I am?” he asks in a soft, rich voice.

“Sure,” I say nonchalantly. I lick my lips. “You’re Himeros.” I know my Greek mythology. Inside, I’m quivering with anticipation.

“What do you know about me?”

“You’re a Greek god. You hang with Aphrodite. You’re the god of uncontrollable desire.”

The room has changed to a stone temple. Soft torches illuminate the walls. I can’t tell if this is his doing or mine. He’s in my Headspace and I don’t know who is in control here. This is both disturbing and intriguing.

“Are you feeling me?”

My pussy is throbbing. Sure enough, I do feel uncontrollable desire. I want this avatar. I want to play with him like I’ve never played before. I decide to roll with his rules. He’s probably a control freak like me. This could be very interesting. “Oh, yes, Himeros, I feel you.”

“I told you you’d like me.”

“Liking my clients isn’t part of the job description. Servicing their needs is.”

“All I want to do, baby, is to get you to come.”

I pause. Does he know about my little problem?

“Don’t you want to come around my hard cock?”

“You know I do, sugar. I want to come and come again.”

“Yeah, well I heard you have a problem with that.”

I pause again. Jonas? Nah, the guy has made his position on fantasy sex quite clear. “What are you talking about?”

He laughs.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Himeros.”

“I don’t have any problems.”

“Really?” he says in a mocking tone. “I was led to believe otherwise.”

“By whom.”

“One of your clients. We shared a couple drinks and quite a few stories. He says you’re hot but cold.”

Fucker. This guy confuses me. Once again, I start to unplug from the session. I’m going to keep his damn money for the upset he’s caused me.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Unplug me.”

“Look. This is supposed to be a game. It’s all a fantasy. I don’t know who you are and how you came to find me but I don’t like you. We’re done.”

“You’ll come around.”

“No refund.”

“Suit yourself. This has been fun.”

“Take my pulse off your list.”

“You’ll want me to call.”

“I doubt it.”

His mood shifts and once again I’m filled with desire. It overwhelms me. It’s like a tidal wave of sensation that crashes through me and rocks me to and fro. I fall, I literally fall to my knees. “What do you want me to do?” I breathe. “How can I be of service?”

“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough,” he says. He sparks out of the room and I’m left wanting, yearning, desirous of more. I roll onto my back. I place my fingers between my legs and push apart the wet silk. I stroke. Excitement builds. I stroke some more. Pleasure intensifies. I push a finger up inside. This feels good. This feels great. And then that persistent little voice starts inside, reminding me why I never touch myself, never play with toys, have given up trying. You’ll never orgasm. You’re thirty years old. Haven’t done it yet and never will. You lost that ability when you…

I try to push that voice away but the more I push, the louder it gets until I can’t hear anything else. Finally, I get up, turn off the pulse-com and head to my bedroom to fall asleep, or at least try to. And I swear to myself that I’ll never accept a call from this Himeros guy again. Whatever his thing is, I’m not playing. Not in my Headspace.

Chapter 10

AFTER MY WEEK of non-orgasmic-as-usual action with my clients, I decide to take a few days off. My bank account is fat and I’m wiped out. Working in my Headspace is harder than it looks. It requires a lot of energy to merge minds with another. It’s a breathtaking autumn day and I need to get out. I pulse-com Jonas to hear what’s happening with him. They guy who answers is not the guy I know and love. It’s like an imposter has taken his place.

“Hey, V,” a weary voice greets me.

“Hey. What’s going on?”

“Not much. You?”

The conversation is so stilted, I falter. “Not much,” I finally manage to say. “I, um, I wondered if you wanted to go grab a bite with me. It’s a pretty day.”

A sigh lands in my ears. “I’m afraid not, V. We’re working on the Joner Restoration project over here.”

“Okay, so?”

“So, no on grabbing a bite.”

“Okay, maybe tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid not. We’re trying to work things out.”

A burst of sudden rage pummels my gut. “What, so that means you don’t get to have any friends anymore?”

“Oh, I still get to retain a few.”

“Are you kidding me? Which few? Am I on the list?” A stiff silence cuts a hole in my ear. “Are you fucking shitting me, Jonas? Have I been booted from the list?” More stabbing silence. “I should be at the top!” Tears erupt from my eyes. I will never, ever in a thousand years understand a dysfunctional couple like Jonas and Jenner. “Seriously?” I say to the silence. “Jonas? Talk to me.”

“I’m sorry, V. This is over. I can’t do it. For now.”

The pulse-com echoes in my ear, letting me know Jonas has disconnected. Disconnected! My friend of umpty-ump years has disconnected from me! “Fuck him,” I yell into the room. “Fuck him and his ancestors.”

Nigel saunters into the room. Having a little upset? He parks his haunches and sets to grooming his paws. Keep it down, will you? I’m trying to digest.

“Grrr,” I respond. “Grrr, grrr, and double grrr.” I’m hurt, angry, and bewildered. I reconsider. It was just a moment. We can work this out. I pulse-com Jonas back. No one answers. He always answers me, even if he’s in a meeting. I wait a few and try again. Nothing. Impulsively, I pulse-com my new friend, Magicka.

“Hey, girl, what’s doing? I’m about to go out on a date.”

“Lucky you,” I grumble into the phone.

“Oh, my, honey, whatever’s the matter? It’s not a date date. Want to come along?”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much company. I just got stood up by Mr. Inched-Away-from-the-Edge. We’ve been friends for years! Now, suddenly, I’m on a watch list, courtesy of jealous bitch girlfriends who go out on their man and then have the nerve to tell him who he can and can’t be friends with!” That came out stronger than I intended. “I’m sorry to burden you with my shit. Sorry. Go on your date. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re coming with me and Dean, darling. I insist. We’ve got two pairs of caring ears and need a little drama. Give me your address.”

I sheepishly mumble it into the com. I hate to appear weak or incompetent. I especially hate to appear weak.

“I’m there in fifteen.”

The pulse-com echoes in my ear. While I wait I decide to get to the task I’ve put off all week. I pulse the company that background-checks my clientele.

“Yes, this is Insight. How may I help you?”

“A client contacted me several times on October twenty-four. I haven’t vetted him. He appears as an avatar called Himeros. What can you tell me about him? Any psycho behavior?”

“One moment. Checking.”

I idly pet Nigel while I wait. A whirring sound comes through the pulse-com like a million tiny bees’ wings.

“We find no records of such a person.”

“Look deeper. He has to be in there. He got my number. He was persistent. He has loads of money.”

“One moment. Checking.”

You could just ask me, Nigel communicates, purring loudly.

Right.

Seriously. I’ve got great instincts. How could I be such a good hunter without good instincts? He stands up, arches his back, and settles back on the arm of the couch.

Thanks for the offer but I need to know about him before he enters my Headspace again, not after.

I’m just offering.

Thanks.

“We’ve traced the call. It came from an area outside of our jurisdiction.”

“What are you talking about? The world and beyond is in your jurisdiction. It says so on your marketing material.”

“This came from a remote location, outside of our jurisdiction.”

“How is that possible? You have access to everywhere.” The drone-like voice starts to repeat the same information, but I cut it off. “Never mind. Tell me what you found out.”

“The individual in question resides in a remote location outside of our jurisdiction.”

“Okay, okay with the ‘outside your jurisdiction’ bit. Can you tell me what you found out?”

“The individual in question resides in a remote location outside of our jurisdiction.”

I sigh. “Go on.”

“The location is known as the Shiver Strip.”

“Well, that’s provocative.”

“It’s a small chain of islands in the southern Indian Ocean. It is only accessible via remote boat echoing. The tides must be perfect to get there, so access is limited.”

“Remote boat echoing, huh? That’s not used much. That’s a pretty advanced technology.” If Himeros used RemBoats to find his home, he’d also have to be highly skilled to manage to get there. “I picked up that he has a few wives. Do you see that as well?”

“The individual in question has wives in other parts of the world.”

“How is that possible? If it’s so hard to get there, how can he get off the Shiver Strip?” Saying the phrase makes me smile.

“While we don’t have access to the person in question, due to his residing outside of our jurisdiction, we do show traces of his movement outside of the scope of the unreachable location.”

“And? Criminal record? History of psychosis? Anything?”

“Since the individual in question is outside of our jurisdiction, we show no records of such conduct but that may be because he resides—”

“Outside of your jurisdiction. I know, I know.” This is starting to feel like a fruitless endeavor. “Can you tell me anything more? Anything at all?”

“One moment. Checking.”

More whirrs and clicks greet my ears. I tap my fingernails on the sofa, staring out my sunshield window.

“The person in question is known to have a fondness for cattle.”

“Cattle? What does that have to do with anything? For what with cattle?”

“That’s all I can tell you. He’s restored an endangered species of cattle. The person in question is…”

I disconnect before I have to hear what jurisdiction he’s immune from. This is a mystery. The guy lives in a remote location. At least that explains one thing—he can’t know anything about me…can he? How can he even access Headspace? Where would he have received his headpiece? An island chain outside of the reach of Insight would hardly be able to get shipments—of anything. How does he live? Where does he get his food? From his interest in cattle? Areas severely ravaged by the destruction are seldom fit for even insect life.

Since it’s not my problem or concern, I’ll let it go and focus on other things—like the elusive orgasm and how I can get my friend back. He can keep dating the bitch queen. He does not get to cast me aside without a fight.

Chapter 11

MAGICKA ALERTS THE door-pulse twenty minutes after he said he would be here.

“Girl, the traffic! I tell you what. I almost broke a nail getting here.”

I scan his attire up and down. “Turn around.”

He pivots in a slow circle.

Today he’s divided his hair into quarters. He’s got a section of dreads. A section of spike. A section of perky braids. Lastly, there’s a section of more of the sleek early-Hollywood glam actress. His clothing matches the hair—a quarter Rastafarian, a quarter future-punk, a quarter farm girl, and a quarter ball gown, complete with jewels.

“How do you do that? Keep all the segments connected, I mean. I’d think they’d fall off.”

“Do you like it?” he says, swirling again in a dramatic circle.

“Yes, I do.”

“Then, that’s all you need to know. Trade secrets and all that. Let’s roll.”

We head out to his mode of transportation, a classic Cadillac roadster from way back in the 1930s. Highly specialized trans-mode restoration teams have taken to putting current Super-Smart-Car technology in the shells of old cars. The name of the game these days is reuse, repurpose, and restore. No more claim and rape of resources. It’s not that the planetary inhabitants’ morals are improved. We just can’t afford to make any more mistakes. We all need to make do with what we’ve got.

“Nice wheels, Magicka!”

“Thanks. They’re Dean’s. He’s got bucks. I’ve got friends. I’m a mere waiter, don’t forget.” He opens the car door and says, “Dean, this is the wonderful woman I told you about—this is Vienna.”

Dean is another flamboyant gender bender. He sports a full-on Alexander Skarsgård vintage True Blood bad-boy look on one side, coupled with a futuristic female-model kind of makeup from the Nuevo trendzies, current news we can access if we have the right pulse-com subscription. You can see people riding public transportation, sitting in cafes, or even walking with Nuevo trendzies news displayed in front of their retinas. I peruse it from time to time, too. Dean’s full-bowed Kewpie-doll half-red lips dotted with jewels were popular last week.

“Hi, Dean. Thanks for letting me tag along.”

“No problem, sugar,” he says and winks at me. “Now huddle up and let’s zoom.”

I hop in between them, sandwiched between their two distinct fragrances and unique looks, and away we speed.

The Cadillac navigates us over to Capitol Hill. As a child, my mom told me that “the Hill” used to be fun, flamboyant, and full of color, mostly occupied by gays. Today the only color that exists is the two men next to me. The streets are in disrepair. Buildings are gone, vacant, or in a state of decay. “Why are we over here?” I ask. “This place is dead.”

“Not entirely,” Dean answers. “There’s a place here you’ll just die for when you see it. The owner, a guy named Kayos, got tired of waiting for a restoration team so he took matters into his own hands and built himself a gem.”

“What’s it called?”

He glances over at me and smirks. “Gem.”

“Oh. You set me up for that one.” I give him a wan smile.

“Just trying to cheer you up.”

“Thanks.” He looks ahead and frowns. “People are starting to find out about this place. Look. A line is forming.”

“Should we go somewhere else?”

“Oh, no,” Magicka responds. “Dean does enough favors for Kayos; we should manage to get something.”

“What kind of favors?”

Magicka arches his perfectly painted eyebrows. “A girl never kisses and tells.”

“Oh. That kind.”

After we find a parking place, we walk around to the back of the restaurant. Dean knocks at the door. It opens, words are quietly exchanged, and soon a bleached blond, statuesque guy I assume is Kayos, due to his exuberantly warm, full-lip contact greeting of Dean, ushers us inside. He leads us up a set of stairs and seats us in a private area overlooking the whole dining area.

“This is quite a place. I’m Vienna, by the way.”

He gives me what seems like a vapid “blond handshake,” bats his blond lashes, and says, “Kayos. My pleasure. And thanks.” He waves a hand toward the downstairs. “Well. As you can see my fans are waiting. Chantel will be by in a bit to take your orders.” He leers at Dean. “I’ll give you my order before you leave. I’ve got some junk that needs sorting. A field that needs plowing. And a hole that needs to be plugged.” He laughs and saunters off, swishing his hips side to side.

“No subtlety there,” I say.

“None whatsoever,” Dean says.

“You guys have it easy.”

“In what way?” Magicka picks up his napkin, opens it with a shake and drapes it in his lap.

“Oh, you know. Sex for you is easy.”

“It’s got to be hard before it gets easy.” He flashes me a wicked, knowing smile. “And I am never easy, girl, I guarantee you that.” He snaps his fingers at me and smiles.

“Funny.” I roll my eyes. “I just meant that you…you know…you’re not all complicated like women. You can…”

“We can what, darling?” Magicka turns the tiny vase of flowers on the table so that the flowers lean their heads in my direction.

“You know…you can orgasm easily. Ka-blam. Like that.”

“We can indeed. Ka-blam!” He turns to Dean and the two men laugh. “Not so easy for you?”

He says it innocently enough, but a warm flush creeps up my face, as if he has read into my secret. “Not really.” I hope what passes for nonchalance has worked. “I kind of have to work at it.” Move it along, Vienna, move it along. “Have you ever done it with a woman?”

“Me? No,” Dean says. “Never had the interest. You’ve had a few confused moments, right, Magicka?”

“I wouldn’t call them confused. More like healthy exploration of possibilities. And what I learned was that it wasn’t possible to be with a chick.”

“Why not?”

“No wood to build a fire. It just could not, would not happen. I tried.” He shrugs. “I even used my tongue.” He waggles his tongue suggestively at me. “But the taste is not to my liking. I prefer something a little muskier…a little manlier.” He glances at Dean and winks. “But why all this talk about the complexity of the female body? Yours looks fine to me.”

“Oh, no reason,” I say quickly. “I was simply musing.”

“Well, let’s muse about your heart. Yours sounded pretty broken when you called.”

“Yeah. Can you believe it? Jonas is miserable in his relationship. But he lets her yank him around by the short hairs. And to take me off of the friend list!” I quickly turn away as tears flood my eyes.

“Ouch,” Dean commiserates.

“Super ouch,” Magicka adds. “You’ll work it out. This could be his confused phase.”

“What’s there to be confused about? He told me he was getting fed up. He caught her red-handed with another man. Doesn’t sound that complex to me.”

Magicka pushes his spoon to the edge of the table. He nudges it off the edge where it falls with a clatter. “Sometimes it seems like a long fall when you’re standing at the edge.”

“But he wouldn’t have to fall that far!” I protest. “What are friends for? To catch you when you fall!”

“Uh huh,” Magicka says knowingly. He and Dean exchange a look.

“What?” I scowl at them before glancing around the room. “Where’s our waitress?”

“She’ll be along. Don’t fret.” He gives me a searing look. “I think you have more than friendly feelings for your boy.”

“He’s not my boy. He made that clear. He was my friend. My friend! We did things together. We confided in each other. We’ve always been there for each other. We’ve consoled and comforted. Laughed and joked around. And then, at the end of the day, we go home to our respective lives. It’s been a perfect friendship.”

“Sounds like a bit more than that to me,” Magicka says gently.

I meet his gaze. His eyes are almost lavender in hue. They’re a bluish-purplish blend of softness right now, peering out of his colorful, made-up face. They appear deep and wise and kind. “You’ve got pretty eyes.”

“Thank you,” he says, and he doesn’t look away. “Yours are beautiful. As is all of you.”

I look away. “Thank you. Thank you for saying that.”

“Surely you know that, girl.”

“I’m not feeling it right now. I’m only feeling…” I cut the words off lest I burst into tears.

Magicka reaches over and pats my hand. “There, there, girly girl. Dean and M are here for you.”

“Thanks.” I cast my eyes over the patrons below. The room is jam-packed. People line up in the entrance waiting for tables. Waiters and waitresses practically run from table to table. The kitchen is barely visible from where I sit, through a wide rectangle in the wall. Two men in white uniforms are tossing, sautéing, chopping, and hustling their butts off to get the food out. The front door opens and a familiar couple steps inside. My heart slowly slides to my feet and lands with a thud on the floor. It rolls to the edge of the balcony and hurls itself off the edge.

At that very moment, Jonas looks up and spies me. Our eyes lock and for the briefest of moments I think everything is going to be okay. Heat and longing flood my insides. I know he feels it, too. His perfect girlfriend Jenner yanks on his arm to get his attention and the moment is lost, sucked into in the din of the room.

Magicka looks at me, pivots to see what I’m looking at, and exclaims, “Oh no, girlfriend. Huh uh. That man does not get to come in here and destroy our day. He does not get to mess with your head and your heart. Not today. No, sir. Not on Magicka and Dean’s watch. Isn’t that right, Dean?”

Dean smiles indulgently at him. “You’ve got the softest heart. Doesn’t he look all badass and bitching?” Dean says to me. “Inside he’s a pussycat.”

“Uh huh.” I pick up my napkin and wipe my eyes.

“Talk about a good friend.” He leans over and kisses Magicka on the cheek. “We’ve been friends for a long time, too, haven’t we, honey?”

Magicka fans his face with his hand. “Oh, my, yes, longer than time itself.”

“Did you two ever…you know…try it as a couple?”

Magicka spurts out a laugh. “Did we ever! I thought we were going to kill each other.”

“See? That’s what would happen with Jonas and me. If we ever tried that, it would end our perfect friendship. Not that it hasn’t already ended. But that’s what I mean. He told me he wanted to be with me, that he thought he was with the wrong woman. But I know it would be a mess.” I realize I’m talking in one long breathless stream but I can’t stop myself. “You get it, right? It’s better to merely be friends.” I regard each of them and snap my mouth tight, shutting off the babble stream.

“Just listen to you, girl. You’ll never know unless you try.”

“But now we don’t even have a friendship! We have…we have…we have nothing!” I fear a whole tempestuous flood scene about to happen, thanks to my betraying eyes—betrayed heart is more like it. I grab my napkin and press it against them, willing them to hold back the floodgates.

“Let it out,” Magicka soothes. “Just let out the pain. We’re here for you.”

“But I’m in a public place,” I sob. “I don’t like to be seen this way.” I glance down to see Jonas seated at a table. My vision of Jenner is obscured by the balcony. I can only see Jonas. He’s staring at me and he looks miserable. He knows, he has to know, he did this to me. He has to know he broke my heart. He has to know that by staying with Jenner he’s destroying any possibility of happiness. For us, I think and I quickly lob that thought across the room.

“It’s his decision,” Deans says softly. “A man has to make his own choices.”

“Yeah, but it’s wrong,” I wail and the floodgates burst open. Wouldn’t you know it, at this very moment, that damn waitress Chantel makes an appearance? I flash a hot, huffy glare.

“Boy trouble?” she asks.

Now everyone is up in my business. “Uh huh,” I say, sniffling.

“Get a vibrator. They’re easier to manage,” she advises.

Everyone’s full of super suggestions right now, I think with a scowl.

“We’re only trying to help,” Magicka says, as if plucking that thought from my brain.

“I know. But right now the only person who can help me is sitting right below me with his demon girlfriend. I want to carve her eyes right out of her head.”

“I’ll hold her head,” Dean says.

“Not me, I’d break a nail,” Magicka adds, looking shocked.

“And I’ll take your order,” Chantel says. “You’ll need food first.” She taps the menus.

“We’ll all have your famous burgers,” Magicka declares. “And make sure to bring that girl something stiff.”

“No, thanks, just ice tea.”

“I wasn’t offering you a drink. I was suggesting something a little warmer, taller, and more delicious. Chantel can probably find you a little ‘something-something.’”

Right. Like I need another random sexual encounter, virtual or real. The avatar Himeros flashes before my eyes. Maybe I will have to let him call me again. I’ll take the block off his number. He did make me pretty horny. So I don’t know anything about him. It’s all a fantasy in the end.

Chapter 12

AFTER WE’RE DONE with our brunch, I decide to visit Grammy. Magicka and Dean drop me off amidst plenty of air kisses and wishes for me to either kick Jonas’s ass or find someone new. I don’t say this but it’s hard to replace so many years of friendship just like that. And all that sharing and connection? Irreplaceable. Jonas and I click in all the right ways.

I knock on Grammy’s door and wait for her to answer. I knock again. Finally, I hear movement inside and she shuffles to the door, appearing as if she’s been asleep.

“Vienna!” she exclaims and wipes her eyes. “What a nice surprise. Come in.”

I stand in the doorway, hesitant. “Did I wake you?”

“Oh, merely dozing. Come in. Please.”

I enter and immediately burst into tears.

“Oh my, dear, what’s the matter?” She searches her tiny room for a tissue. She finds a box and brings it to me, extracting a tissue for me to blot my eyes and nose.

“Thanks, Grammy.”

She perches on her sofa, patiently allowing me to finish with the waterworks display. Her eyes drift about her small room, landing on the crystal vase of flowers…the knickknacks and curios she’s collected over the years…the holo-screen viewing device embedded in the wall…the window that overlooks the neighborhood and the city in the distance…and finally, me. “You can talk to me, you know. Who am I going to tell?” She reaches a wrinkled hand over to take my hand. The embrace is soothing, like being enveloped in marshmallows and chocolate milk. I feel as if I am twelve years old and I scraped my knee and Grammy is soothing me, like she’s done my whole life.

“You’ve got friends in this joint,” I joke. “They’ll talk.” I blow my nose noisily.

She shakes her head. “No. I think I’ve earned your trust over the years.” She picks up the small waste receptacle and holds it out for the tissue. It lands and immediately begins decomposing.  “Here.” She extends another tissue to me.

“Thanks.” I dab at my eyes. “So, it’s Jonas.” Just saying his name causes another tidal wave to erupt. “He scratched me off his friend list,” I wail. “Me! Vienna! His longtime friend!”

“Oh my, that must hurt.” She gives my hand a squeeze. “You’ve been friends a long time. Your heart must feel as if it’s in a vise-grip!”

“It does. Like it’s in your waste receptacle, more like it.” I glance at where the tissue used to be. “And the enzymes are eating it, posthaste.”

“How do you know you’re off the friend list?”

“He told me as much. He said he couldn’t go to lunch with me today and not tomorrow and that he and Jenner are working things out…they’re working things out! What’s to work? He caught her with another man and this is how they work things out?” I sniffle some more.

“He’s a man, honey, and men have to sort things out in their own way.”

“Yeah? Well, their way is stupid. I saw him in a restaurant earlier and he looked miserable.”

“I imagine he’s not happy with his decision either. Just be patient.”

I splutter. “Be patient? Be patient? Why should I be patient? He’s the one who’s being an asshole.”

“Oh, honey.” Grammy leans over and folds me in her slender, frail arms.

I’m lovingly swallowed in cologne, wise thoughts, and buckets of love. That’s when I really lose it. That’s when my lungs fling their remorse about, trying to cast away all hurt and anger and sorrow. When I’ve finished, a feeling of peace quietly beams from my insides. It’s a small beam of peace, more like a penlight than a sun, but it’s what I’ve got finally, and I’m grateful.

“Thank you,” I say, easing away from her. I look at her now moist shoulder. “We’re going to have to get you another shirt. This one’s soaked.”

“It’s warm today. I needed the moisture.” She smiles. “Feeling better?”

“Yes.”

She glances away and then faces me square. “Vienna, I know Jonas has been your friend for years but all these feelings point to something more. Are you in love with him?”

“No!” I protest. “I love him, but I’m not in love with him.”

“Okay.”

“What? I’m not.”

“I heard you.”

“And anyway, even if I was, it would never work.”

“Okay.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“I’m just listening.”

I sigh. Glance at her wise face. Her light blue eyes peer from underneath folds of skin. I’ve always loved her eyes. Her skin is soft. Not as wrinkled as her peers. She’s got a warm smile. One chipped tooth, right in the front. She says it happened a long time ago but never told me what happened. Her curly salt-and-pepper hair is short. I adore her. She’s always been my safe haven. I decide to take a risk. “I’ve got this…this problem, Grammy.”

“What is it?” Her eyes are like searchlight beams probing my skull with gentle persistence.

“It’s…well, I’ve never…” My eyes cast about wildly for something to land on. Finally they land on Grammy’s kind face. “I’ve never had an orgasm. I don’t know how.”

“Not even with Liam?”

I shudder before my eyes meet hers with defiance. “I don’t want to talk about him—ever.” Liam was my high school sweetheart. I loved the guy and I mean loved, body, mind, soul. He was my first sexual partner, too.

We snuck away one night. I’d waited in my bedroom listening to the rattling hum and snore from my parents room next door. When it reached the right pitch and intensity, I slipped out the window. I met Liam down at the boat dock where his father ran a boat recovery and rebuild business. He jingled the keys at me when he saw me. Then, he whisked me into his arms and kissed me breathless. Because of my uniquely fucked up sensibilities, I began to tremble. Freak that I am, I used to shake like an earthquake when I became overwhelmed by another’s energy. Liam thought I was just scared. I was. I could sense every thought, every sex-crazed desire in his head. And in my youthful inexperience, I didn’t know what to do with it or how to deal with it.

“I know you loved him, honey,” Grammy says, patting my hand.

“So what!” I say, as if I’m still a teenage girl. “A lot of good it did to love someone!”

Liam took my hand and led me inside the warehouse filled with boats in various states of repair. We climbed into a yacht. “Are you sure we should do it in this one?” I was so shaky I could barely walk.

“This one’s the best. Wait until you see the inside.”

We explored this opulent craft using the ray of his flashlight.

“What if someone hears us?”

“Who will hear us? It’s two a.m. and the harbor’s quiet.” He turned to me, grinning impishly. “You’re not going to back out of this, are you?” His eyebrows knit together when he saw me shaking. “Vienna! What’s going on?”

“I’ll….b-b-be…..o-k-k-k-ay in a m-m-minute,” I said through chattery teeth. At least I hoped I would. I’d gotten shaky at times before but never like this. I’d been learning to put a wall between me and whoever’s headspace I encountered. I couldn’t do that with Liam. I loved him too much. I was too vulnerable.

“Did he do something to hurt you?” Grammy keeps up with her probing questions.

“No! He…I…I don’t want to talk about it. It’s just that…that’s when I…when he…I couldn’t do it then, Grammy, and I loved Liam.”

He led me into the master suite, all slick and white and crystal and metallic luxury. The bedroom was a palace of love, or that’s what my teenage mind thought.

Liam tugged all my clothes from my body, tossed his to the floor, and pressed me against him. I shuddered and shook. Images from his mind flooded me. I could feel his lust, his love, his kinky desires. I knew what he wanted and I could make him feel as if he was getting it, even if I just lay there, curled in a ball. I couldn’t control it, though, couldn’t control my own response. He lay me down and stroked my skin.

“You’re sure different, V,” he said, smiling down at me.

“Different how?” I managed to say without teeth clattering. I gazed at his muscular form through tear-filled eyes.

A baseball player, his body was lean and solid. He wore his dark hair short which only emphasized his blue eyes. He kissed away my tears before sliding a hand down between my legs and urging them to part. “Different awesome,” he replied.

He placed his fingers between my legs and moved them tentatively, gliding up and down my wet, tender folds. “Does this feel good?”

“Uh huh,” I said. “A little too good.” Flooded with his thoughts and mine, they got all tangled up into one mess of want, desire, need, and commitment. I wanted new experiences. I wanted to be accepted as I am, freak or not. Liam wanted marriage. He wanted babies. He wanted me.

He pulled a foil packet out of his pants pocket, tore it open, and rolled it on. He eased between my legs and grabbed his erection.

“Let me see that before you put it inside of me.” I’d never seen a boy’s cock hard like that. It was a curious thing. I’d seen my brothers’ when we’d gone to the lake and they’d gone skinny-dipping. But those were just shriveled up “pee funnels,” as they called them.

Liam’s was long and sturdy, eager to get the job done. It pulsed with excitement as he held it up as an offering…as a gift.

“Okay,” I breathed. “I’m ready.”

“It might hurt.”

“How do you know?”

“I read about it.”

“Oh.”

“Are you ready?”

“Are you?”

“You tell me.”

“Okay, then; I’m ready.” I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Open your eyes. Watch.”

I shook my head.

“Come on, V, I want you to see me inside of you.”

I cracked one eyelid and peeked at him. “My parents would kill me if they knew what I was doing.”

“That’s your parents’ job. They’re mean. My dad would just pat me on the shoulder and say, ‘Good job, Lee.’ He’s cool that way. And he knows I love you.” Liam pressed the head of his heat against my flesh. “Ready?”

“I told you I was ready.”

He inched into the opening. I clenched and gasped. “Ouch!”

“Too much?”

“A little. Give me a minute.” Filled with a mix of pleasure, want, and torment, I could sense everything inside of Liam’s head. All his pride at being a baseball player. All his pride at being my boyfriend. He was a good guy. A really, really good, decent guy. And I was nothing but a worthless female. My mom and dad went out of their way to inform me of that, every day. They were abusive and unkind. Mean and manipulative. I couldn’t wait to leave home. “Okay, more,” I said.

Liam obliged, urging his cock inside of me.

He gave a little shove and I yelped with pain.

“Shhh, sweetheart.” He put the flat of his thumb between my legs and made tiny circles against me.

“That feels good, Liam. That feels really good.”

He smiled and it was like the sun had risen. He looked at me with joy and happiness scribed all over his face. He pressed deeper inside of me, still stroking my little bud with his thumb.

The tense sensation didn’t feel so good but his thumb felt wonderful.

“I don’t think I’ll last very long,” he gasped. “I’ve been practicing but you…you feel too damn good, V. I had no idea you were going to feel this good.”

His hips started to pump. His heart poured a stream of sensation into me. His thoughts went wild, like an out of control forest fire. They battered my fortified walls. They bashed against my chest. His love, it wanted in. The pleasure he evoked in me wanted release. The shame I felt over who and what I was—this freak with these stupid empathic mind-stalker abilities—rose up like a warrior with a sturdy axe, determined to conquer any positive thing I might be feeling. I wondered if I was going to just split apart from the intensity. I couldn’t control my spasming body. I shook like a never-ending earthquake. Pleasure built inside of me. My body writhed and trembled. I was just about to let go into something incredibly pleasurable, I knew it.

Liam let out a strangled yell. His head arched back as he thrust inside of me.

Wait. Was he outside of me?

“Vienna! Oh, God, Vienna!” He collapsed on top of me, his face contorted in anguish.

“Are you okay? Liam?”

“You broke it. You broke it!” He yelled and cursed, his body racked with pain.

“What did I break? What?” I shoved him off of me and scanned his arms and legs.

“My dick! You broke my dick!” His hands were shoved between his legs trying to quench the pain.

I pulled his hands away and stared, slack jawed, as angry, bruised, red and purple welts started to swell on his suddenly limp, tender flesh.

“Jesus, V, help me. Help me! I’m in agony here.”

“I don’t know what to do! I don’t know what to do! How did I do this?”

“When you were in convulsion mode,” he said through clenched teeth. “Shit. I couldn’t keep it in. It slammed against your hip and broke.”

“Oh, God, Liam, I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay, V, it’s okay. You didn’t mean to do it. Go find me some ice, okay?”

Even then, while he was in pain, he was kind to me. I didn’t deserve his kindness. I was rotten to the core. I scrambled off the bed, ran into the tiny kitchen and returned with chips of ice scraped from the bottom of the ice tray. “This is all there is.” I gently pressed them against his swollen flesh, not caring if my hand turned blue and lost all feeling. He was the only thing important.

“I know you didn’t mean it, baby.” He stroked my hair. “We’ll get through it. I’ll be okay. I’m tough, remember?”

“N-n-no, Liam. You’re too g-g-good for me. I c-c-can’t do this.” I sobbed and wailed.

“You can’t do this?” he said.

“I’m nothing. Nobody. You’re something. Somebody. And I hurt you. I hurt you! I’m a freak! I’m no good.”

“Vienna, stop. Stop saying this. Calm down. Stop this.”

I couldn’t stop. My body was on its own wild ride and my mind was filled with negativity. All the thoughts my parents beat into me were true. Every one of them. I was a worthless piece of shit. A mutant weirdo. A sensitive psycho who destroyed men. And with my nutcase abilities, I’d never be good enough for Liam.

It proved a sick, twisted initiation into my tormented sexuality, perfect for the likes of me. I mean, who wants to be known as a cock breaker? I imagined wandering through high school, shrouded in clouds of whispers.

“Did you hear what she did to Liam? She broke it. Yeah, broke it. She's such a freak.”

I vow, then and there, to never get close to a boy again.

“I wondered.”

“What did you say?” I shake my head to get back to the present.

“I said I wondered. I wondered about you. I always wondered about you and Liam and I’ve wondered about you ever since.” Grammy continues to pat my hand. Pat, pat, pat. Pat, pat, pat. She clasps it in her warm, parchment skin and presses it to her chest. She pulls it up to her soft lips and kisses the knuckles.

I frown. “Why did you wonder?”

“Because, for one thing, if you had a guy who was giving you something wild and satisfying, you wouldn’t go through them so quickly.”

“Yeah, well…” I stare at my fingers. “No wild wow in my corner, that’s for sure.” Unless you count my fantasy-filled job. Or unless you count Jonas.

“And I haven’t seen you date much. Not lately anyway.”

“Yeah, I’ve kind of given up, I think.”

“It’s more common than you think.”

“How does that help me?”

“I’ll bet you haven’t talked about it with anybody.”

“Just Jonas.” I groan. “I can’t believe I confided in him the other day.” I stand up and start to pace. My jeans and purple tech-T feel like they’re going to suffocate me. I tug at my collar, trying to loosen it. “I told him my secret and now I feel like it was the thing that pushed him away.” I run a hand through my long locks.

“I doubt it pushed him away. It probably made him feel close to you.”

“So this is how he repays me?”

“You said he and his girlfriend were having problems.”

“Yeah, for a long time. He said it was getting worse.”

“Women are smart. She probably sniffed it out—that he was feeling closer to you, that is. That probably caused her to react and wield whatever shred of power she has.”

“Oh, she’s got more than a shred. She’s got her hands clenched around his balls and she’s squeezing hard.” I mimic the gesture, bearing down on invisible cojones before realizing that I’m doing it to Jonas in my minds. “Gah!” I fling my fingers away in disgust.

Grammy laughs. “Feel better?”

I smile. “A little.”

She pats the sofa next to where she’s sitting. “Sit, dear, you’re making me dizzy.”

I pace over and drop beside her.

“Let him work this out. Let him have the space he needs to sort things out. He’ll feel better about himself if he does that.”

I turn and glance away. “Yeah, well, there’s this thing he promised me.”

“What’s that?”

“He promised I’d have an orgasm by my birthday and I laughed and said ‘Who with, you?’ and then he said maybe and I said ‘No way’ and he said…” I snap my mouth shut. I’m babbling again, like a chattering monkey. When I get nervous I babble.

Grammy laughs again. “Oh, so that’s the problem. Secretly, you thought maybe he was the answer to your dilemma.”

My face scrunches. “Maybe.”

Grammy takes my chin in her gnarled hand and turns it to face her. “Vienna,” she says softly. “I told you it’s not unusual for a woman to not have an orgasm, especially through intercourse. It may surprise you but most women have to learn how to orgasm. Some of us need more stimulation than others. I did.”

“What are you saying?”

“That I needed a lot of foreplay to orgasm. Your grandfather had to use his tongue, his fingers, and sometimes I had to do it myself.”

I swallow and blush. “Really?”

“Really and truly.”

I try to look away. “That’s a little too much detail, Grammy.”

“You shared. I’m helping. You don’t think I was going to let an orgasm get away from your old Grammy, did you? I wanted what was mine. I had a really supportive guy to help me get there. He knew if I was happy, he’d be happy. Sometimes you just get lucky that way.”

“If you say so.” This conversation was getting way too intimate. And I sure didn’t want to tell her what happened to Liam long ago. “Need me to trim your hair?”

Grammy patted her hair. “Does it need it?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Then by all means.” She slowly stands, pressing her hands into the small of her back. “I’ll get the scissors. And you…” She gives me a piercing gaze. “You get yourself out there and date a little bit, you hear me? This orgasm thing is not something that’s a done deal, written in stone. You need to find the right guy.”

Too bad the right guy is no longer available. Not to me, anyway. I sigh and consider Grammy’s advice. Okay, Jonas, space you want, space you got. It might take time, though, to let go of you. But if that’s what you want…I can’t finish that thought. It’s not what I want in the least. I’m going to have to find distraction in the meantime. Himeros… He might distract me for a minute but he’s really not the answer.

Chapter 13

I DISCONNECT FROM Magicka. I’m going to a Craze tonight. Then, I’ll see to my clients. Maybe I’ll meet someone. Crazes are wild parties. Everyone shows up with an anticipation that anything might happen. And it might. The hosts all try to best one another. At the end of the year they’ll be judged for the “Best Fucking Craze in Seattle.” Local Crazes then compete for regional, then nationwide. Magicka assured me that tonight’s Craze promises to be extra fun as it’s being hosted by Kayos. Our instructions are to wear nothing but black. That should be easy as it matches my mood.

We push open the big double doors to the warehouse in downtown Seattle. The warehouse overlooks the water. I’ve been to this place for parties before. But tonight all the windows have been covered in blackout screens. The space is illuminated by red throbbing lights making everyone look as if they’re in a blood bath. Either that or Satan’s Hot World of Delights. There’s an odd fragrance in the place, like someone has a rose garden planted in the middle of the room. It’s hot, sultry, and misty. It’s disturbingly sexy.

The second we’re inside someone rushes over with a tray of beverages. The beverages all appear to be red. I wonder if it’s the lighting or if they’re really red. I take one and let a tentative sip cross my lips. “Mmm. What is this?”

Magicka answers. “It’s Devil’s Juice. Haven’t you had that before?”

“Can’t say that I have. What’s in it?”

“Dean tells me that it’s part vodka, part amaretto almond liqueur, cranberry juice, and vampire blood.” He winks at me.

I scoff. “You know and I know there are no such things as vampires.”

“Tell me that after the effects have kicked in.” He waves to someone in the corner.

“What effects?”

He peers at me, watching me intently.

When I start to shift side to side he says, “That one. That one right there.”

I feel stoned, dreamy. Like all my muscles just decided to go on strike. Like when I move, I’m moving through a fluid world and it’s pressing against me like strong caressing hands, holding me, molding me, guiding me. “Holy shit, Magicka, what’s happening?”

“I should have warned you. That’s just phase one.”

“What’s phase two?” I start to say but it hits me like a truck. “Oh. Oh. Ohhh.” I feel great. My body kicks into electric anticipation. It begins to buzz and hum, like the floor is an electric socket and my feet are fully engaged. “Shit,” I manage to say. “Holy shit.”

“I’ll be your guide until you get the swing of things.” Magicka takes my arm and navigates me to the corner, where the person he waved to is standing.

“Hey, Mag,” coos a big, beefy guy. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Vienna. She’s a Devil’s Juice virgin.”

The guy’s grin widens as if he’s just hit pay dirt. “Is she now? I can help.”

“I don’t need your help,” I slur. The words roll around in my mouth like frozen peas sticking to my cheeks. I try again. “I. Don’t. Need. Help.” There. Much better. I smile.

“Yeah. And I was born yesterday. Here, Magicka, let me take her off your hands for a few.” He grins wider.

“Not on your life, Cro.” He turns to me. “This is Cro, by the way. He’s all talk.”

“Looks like he’s all muscle,” I say, eyeing him savagely. “Oh, yeah, you’ve got some muscle, baby.” I run my hand over his biceps. Let them work my way up to his immense shoulders. I’m just about to run them down his stomach into his pants when Magicka plucks my hands away.

“Calm yourself, V. You’ll get your self-control back in a minute…or sixty.”

“Why should I get control of myself? Tonight seems to be about letting go.” I lurch toward Cro, who seems only too eager to catch me.

“You’ll have to relive every moment of tonight tomorrow. That’s one of the perks of this drink. It heightens post-whatever memory, for good or for bad.” He nods at Cro and hustles me away.

“Wait!” I try to squirm back to Cro but Magicka is surprisingly strong.

“You wait. I should have warned you. You should have read the fine print.”

“What fine print? I need this, Magicka. I need to let go some more.” I seize another Devil’s drink from a tray and attempt to pour it down my throat.

“Oh, lord, girl.” Magicka plucks the drink from my hands and extends it to a woman who is on her knees in front of a man. She takes it, tosses it back and continues her quest.

Are they doing what I think they’re doing? Magicka is hustling me away. “Wait! I want to watch!”

“We’ll watch from over here,” he says, guiding me over to a set of stairs. He guides me up the steps to a balcony.

There are several tables up here. Couples and threesomes are all huddled around the tables, engaged in murmured discussions. One woman is on her back on one of the tiny tables, getting thoroughly licked by a hulking male. Another woman is kissing a man while fondling the breasts of the woman who is grasping the guy’s hard heat.

“Is this some kind of sex party?” I splutter.

“It’s whatever people need it to be,” Magicka says firmly. “Except for my needs. I didn’t know I’d have to be a babysitter tonight.”

“I want to be down there,” I wail. I frown. It sounds like someone else is talking through me. I stare at Magicka. “Am I acting weird?”

“A little odd, maybe, but it’s all you, girlfriend.”

“What does that mean?” I shove him with my palms, feeling confrontational.

He catches my hands in his and his eyes roll. “It means the Devil’s Juice is an enhancement. It enhances whatever’s inside. I suspect you are extremely horny right now, incredibly frustrated, and I have no intention of taking care of your needs.” He sweeps a lazy gender-bender gaze up and down the length of me.

“Who says I’m horny? I get lots and lots of sex. Nightly. Whenever I want.” I clap my hands over my mouth. Does this drink have truth serum in it?

Magicka sighs. “That may be the case, babycakes, but you’re either not getting the good stuff, your partners have left you unfulfilled, or you have some sort of physical problem we’re not aware of.” He shakes his head.

I gasp. “What do you know?”

“I know I can’t wait until you get a hold of yourself, that’s what.” He looks down at a waiter and snaps his fingers at him. “Let’s get you something to take the edge off the edge.”

“I don’t want anything. I’m fine.”

“Uh huh,” he says, not listening to me.

While we’re waiting for the waiter to come up to the landing and take our order, a voice crackles through the atmosphere via the pulse-effect media system. There’s a spider’s-web grid of minute micro-filaments lining the ceiling of the warehouse. They channel the sound. The media system allows the speaker’s words to spread through the warehouse with accurate, crisp tones, as if the speaker is talking to each one of us directly.

“Okay, everyone, tonight’s festivities are about to begin.”

I lean into Magicka. “What’s he talking about?”

Another eye roll. “Just listen, honey. Please.” He turns to me and shakes his head.

“The lights are about to be dimmed. When they do, we’ll call out a body part and your job is to connect with another person’s lips, arms, legs, or whatever we call out and explore. We’ll turn the lights back on whenever we feel like it. People caught in further exploration, besides what was called, will be eliminated.”

The room hushes.

“So what does it mean to be eliminated?” someone calls.

“If you’re eliminated, you’ll be guided out of the building.”

A collective groan ensues.

“And you’ll want to stay to the end, I guarantee it. We’ve got a mega grand prize for the winner.”

“How do you win?”

“If we pick you, you won.” The voice laughs maniacally.

“What do we win?”

“Wait and see.”

“Why should we wait and see?” The person asking all the questions is sure persistent.

“Because you’ll want to. I’ll make it worth your while.”

“And who are you?” the belligerent voice asks.

“I am Kayos,” the voice states and we’re instantly plunged into darkness. A few people shriek in surprise. “And the word is…”

We all wait for our instructions.

“Not with me, whatever it is, girl,” Magicka utters, scowling.

“Fingers,” Kayos booms.

“Fingers are safe,” I whisper to my new friend. “Even for you. Magicka? Where are you?” It’s so black I can’t see my hand in front of my face. Groans, giggles, and whispers punctuate the air.

“Silence!” Kayos commands.

We all fall to our task, silent. I crawl on my hands and knees and find the face of someone who feels female. Her skin is soft and smooth. My fingers explore. They brush the silky exterior of the face before me. They trace the contours. They finger the texture of her clothing. My own face and shoulders are being similarly explored. The Devil’s Juice makes me explore with abandon. The lights flash on for just a second, bursting like a flashbulb. I blink and catch the face of a raven-haired beauty inches away from me.

“You’ve been revealed,” Kayos says, dramatically. “Good start. We’ll eliminate the cheaters and be with you in a second.”

“You’ll never find us,” a voice calls.

“Want to bet? I’ve got technology on my side. That and a few strong men.” He chuckles.

Shrieks and cries of protest ring out as the cheaters are dragged from the room.

Now the room is incredibly quiet. If we didn’t believe Kayos before, we believe him now.

“The next part is elbows!” he calls out.

I crawl elsewhere and bump up against some sweaty, hairy guy. I roam his flesh with my elbows, bile rising in my throat from the feel of him. His elbows poke and prod me. I don’t like the feel of his pointy, meaty joints. They jab into me. One of them lands on my cheek and I yelp. I try to escape. His leg tries to trap me and an arm snakes out to haul me back as the lights flash on. I smile when I hear my meaty cheater being dragged from the room. Don’t mess with Kayos, I think smugly.

We proceed through legs, shoulders, and necks. It’s such a sensual skin fest I’m feeling quite relaxed and free. The Devil’s Juice is making me feel open, sensuous, and very, very sexy.

“Lips!” calls out Kayos on our next round.

I’ve managed to make my way down the stairs and I bump into a body at the bottom of the landing. I swiftly brush my fingers across the face, feeling the stubble. Male. I locate the lips and we press together, tentatively. This mouth tastes good. This mouth tastes like coffee and spice. Vodka. A hint of mint. This mouth make my lips tingle. This mouth makes my legs want to open wide.

I lean into the kiss. My tongue snakes out and connects with his tongue. I’m filled with longing. Can I get this guy’s number somehow? I don’t want to break the kiss to find out. I want to slip deeper. I want to melt inside his mouth, like warm, dark chocolate. I want to enter his bloodstream. I want him to enter mine.

We moan, unable to contain the required silence. I roll on top of this stranger, feeling his throbbing erection underneath my hips. We nibble and bite. I grind my pelvis into his heat. “Mmm,” I moan into his mouth.

“Mmm,” he answers into mine.

The red lights flick on and the flashbulb-glaring light explodes into the room. I catch a glimpse of blue eyes and dark hair. “Jonas?” I utter, bewildered.

“Vienna?” he whispers. He chuckles. “I heard you liked kissing. How did I do?”

His voice is a low purr in my ear. “You were fantastic,” I whisper back.

“We’re leaving,” a female voice counters.

It’s back to pitch dark.

“Sorry, but I need to leave,” Jenner calls. “We have to leave the party.”

“Is it an emergency?” Kayos calls.

“It is to me,” her high-pitched, shrill voice states.

“If it’s not an emergency, you’re here for the duration. It was in the contract.”

What contract? What are they talking about? Then I remember something Magicka told me about the terms of agreement to play the game. Everyone has to sign on the virtual dotted line. He must have signed on my behalf. It’s that, or someone else signed for me. I know I sure didn’t read the fine print. I didn’t even receive it.

“The next body part is breasts,” Kayos calls.

“Get over here, Jonas,” Jenner hisses. “Who are you macking on? Who is that?”

He says nothing.

“Jonas, now.”

“Quiet!” Kayos’s voice cuts through the dark. “Quiet or you’ll be extracted for cheating.”

Jenner stills.

“Breasts, male or female. Get to it.”

Someone’s hands find me. The hands pull up my shirt and start to caress. They knead and nudge. They finger my nipples until they’re hard as nuggets. I bring my face close to this guy’s ear. “Is that you?” I whisper in a low, low voice. “Is that really you?”

His nose slides up and down my cheek but he says nothing.

The heat from his open mouth makes me melt. I finger his chest, brushing lightly over the hairs. I graze his nipples with my fingertips. I roll them back and forth between my fingers, delighting in the way they bunch into a tiny erection.

“I heard you liked nipple exploration, too.”

His voice is so soft it’s like a quiet breath in my ear.

Grunts and protests chime from nearby. “Stop it! Stop touching me!”

It’s Jenner. She’s a few feet away from me and pitching a fit.

“Jonas! Jonas! We’re done, Jonas.”

“I’ll never be done with you, V.”

His barely audible whispers land in my ear as he nuzzles my face with the tip of his nose. Is he talking about me or his situation with Jenner? He rolls away as the red light glows and the burst of light illuminates the space.

“Infraction,” Kayos calls. “Get her out of here.”

“It’s all right, I’ve got this,” Jonas says. “Come on, Jen, let’s go. You’ve had too much to drink.”

The pair clumps from the room and the game proceeds. But I don’t feel anyone else. I think I participate. I may even moan a time or two. But if I do, I’m moaning for Jonas’s lips on mine. The feel of him was better than any fantasy. It was real and it was solid heat, stirred with a heart-felt twist. It was better than six glasses of Devil’s Juice. It was irrefutable. It was love.

Chapter 14

I’M AWAKE. I’M so awake. I’m so fucking awake I can barely stand it. After being dragged home by Magicka I slept like a baby for a few hours, until dawn pushed its insistence into my bedroom and poked me with shards of light.

Nigel is standing on my chest peering down at me. You look different.

“Different how?”

Pretty darn bright around the edges. He squints. Your aura is kind of bright. Turn it down. I thought you were all, ‘I’m so drug-free.’

“I didn’t take any drugs. I never take drugs.”

Really?

“Yes, really. All I had last night was a mixed drink.”

Mixed with drugs. Now, get up and feed me.

“You’re so bossy.” I push his face away from me, gasping at the sensation of his fur against my skin. Even that’s too intense. I feel like someone stuck a cattle prod into my veins and turned it up high. Then, they inserted a five thousand lumen light into my brain. Magicka was right—everything is enhanced today. Every thread of my six hundred thread count soft sheets grates against my skin. The blankets are weighty against my legs. My acrid sweat burrows into my nose, the scent prickling against my nostrils. “Whew! I need a shower!” I fling back the sheets and the scent of my core seeps into my awareness like pleasured musk. “Wow. That’s intense.” I savor the smell. “Is this what it’s like for my lovers?” I sit up and search the floor for my slippers. I chuckle. “Maybe I can weave that into the fantasies. Wow.”

Scenes crowd my head. Magicka’s face peers at me, disapproving and exasperated. The big giant Cro leers at me in my mind, huge and delighted at the thought of a new playmate. The kiss…the kiss scene catapults me backward against my fluffy pillows. My lips tingle. My mouth slackens. Thanks to the D, it’s as if Jonas is on top of me in vivid detail, pushing his rigid erection into my hips as he explores my mouth with his.

My heart feels like it’s going to explode from the pressure blasting through it. It’s a furnace of fiery sensation. It takes me a moment to realize it’s my pulse-com going off indicating it’s a friend.

“Yeah,” I say.

“How are you feeling?”

“Hey, Magicka. What are you doing up so early?”

“I haven’t slept yet. After my babysitting duties ended I got lucky.”

“Same guy as last time?”

“Oh, no, that’s so last week. This is a new guy. Very nice. Hung like a horse.”

“Okay, okay. So why are you calling me, then?”

“I just got up to go pee and thought to check on you. I figured you’d be awake. The Devil’s Juice doesn’t allow much rest. You’ll crash in a few hours. Be prepared.”

“You could have told me that before I consumed it.”

“Who am I to say what’s right and what’s wrong? Besides, it was in the contract that I sent you. You did read the contract, didn’t you?”

“I never got it.”

“Really? Who did I send it to?”

“Don’t know but it wasn’t me.”

“Hmm.”

We both fall silent. “I…” I begin. I think of Jonas and my face burns. “How did you enjoy the party?”

“Oh, it was fine once the lights went out and I let you find your own way.”

“Stop being a snarky bitch.”

“I’m just saying. You were cute, actually. A Devil’s Juice virgin.” He chuckles. “And the party was all right. It wasn’t one of Kayos’s best.”

“Seriously?”

“Trust me. That man can throw an event.”

“I thought it was pretty cool. I even…”

“You even what?”

“Okay.” I sigh. “I kissed Jonas.”

“You what?”

“Jonas was there. With Jenner. When we were told to do lips, I…we…” Assaulted by memory, I stop speaking.

“Lord Jesus and Mother Mary! Is that part of their little restoration project?”

“I don’t know. We didn’t actually talk about it.”

“I wonder…why would that bitch allow him to come to a party like that? Maybe she thought it would improve their sex life or something.”

“Maybe. Who knows? But it was incredible. The kiss, I mean.” Just talking about it brings it all to the surface again in soft, succulent, detailed delight. “How long will I get to relive it with such vivid imagery and detail?” I hope it never goes away.

“Oh, the D will wear off in about twelve hours from the last sip. You’ve got a few more pleasured hours to go, I imagine. Speaking of pleasure, I hear the call of the wild coming from the bedroom. Signing off now.”

The com ends and I stare into space. Maybe Jonas will call today? I chew on my lip as the vivid imagery floods my senses. I’ll bet people get addicted to the Juice. It makes everything so, so, so detailed. It’s like I’m living it all over again, only better than the first time. Maybe I’m adding details, I think with a chuckle. Maybe that’s part of the fun of my Headspace. No rules. Whatever you can imagine. My thoughts slam into the wall of reason, quashing my musing. Jonas is right. There’s no comparison. I’d really prefer to be with Jonas, in the flesh, right fucking now. Fucking him, I add with a chuckle.

Are you ready to feed me yet, princess? Nigel stands on my chest and peers at my face.

“Get off of me. Your claws are like high heels digging into my chest.”

Want to feel my teeth? Feed me so I don’t chew on your arm.

“Will you leave me alone?”

Don’t I usually when my needs are met?

I roll out of bed and follow my cat out of the room, the memory of Jonas’s lips burning a hole in my headspace like a sweet song of longing.

Chapter 15

OF COURSE I don’t hear from Jonas all day. Of course. As the day wears on, I’m tempted to pulse-com him but I resist. Let him call me. Bastard. At 10 p.m., I check my HoloMess 500 system to see what the schedule is tonight. The Twins are scheduled for midnight. Himeros is scheduled for 10:15. Shivers pulse through me. Clients usually don’t have that effect on me.

At 10:12, I saunter into my Headspace. Three minutes later, on the dot, I get the pulse-com. “Hey, big dog…”

“Stop.”

I stop, faltering.

“Stop with the ‘big dog’ bullshit.”

“Okay. It’s not…”

“I’ve got needs.” He flashes into the scene looking ten times more succulent than last time, if that’s possible. He flexes his biceps and turns back and forth, letting me gaze at him. His cock is engorged, swollen, standing at attention. His chest is massive, strong.

“We’ve all got needs, sugar. How’s about you share the control in here? I could disengage as easily as I can get you off.”

“I want to get you off.”

“Name your pleasure.” I scan to access his desire.

“Stop scanning me.”

I let out an exasperated breath. “If you don’t abide by the rules, we don’t play, got it?”

“Got it. But you don’t scan me, capisce?”

“I’m not one of your wives.”

“Been checking up on me, have you?” He laughs.

It’s a deep, throaty laugh. It causes a ripple of pleasure to course up my spine. “Just doing my job. So what’s this thing with you and cattle?”

“This is my fantasy. I call the shots in here.”

I pause, assessing the situation. “Are you going to tell me what you want or should I guess?”

“I want you to guess.” He smiles slowly. His eyes glint with desire. His mouth parts.

My Sultana avatar meanders up to him, wearing a silky robe, black panties, and a black bra. She reaches out to touch his chest.

He grabs Sultana’s wrists and holds them in the air. “I want a different avatar.”

My Sultana-self shrugs. “Which one? I have several to choose from.”

“I want one you’ve never used before on anyone.”

“That’s extra.” The lights in the corner flash green, indicating a deposit.

“One you’ll only use with me.”

No one’s ever asked me to do that before. My avatar shrugs again. “That’s still more.” Again the lights flash green. My eyes narrow. “You’re going to have to tell me what you want if you won’t let me access your desires.”

“That’s easy. I want all of you.” His cock twitches. “Exclusively.”

My body pulses with desire. I swallow. Somehow this doesn’t feel like a game tonight. “Okay.” I’m cautious. Hungry for this avatar. Horny as hell. Usually these games consist of me playing out some secret fantasy of the guy. I guess this guy has a secret fantasy of being a woman’s dream partner. I can roll with that. “What do you want me to look like?”

“Your choice.”

I cock my head. A stripper? Pole dancer? I dismiss idea after idea and finally settle on a brunette version of myself with subtle differences. Same blue-green eyes. Same build. Short chocolate hair. Dimples. A mole on the right cheek. I don’t have dimples. I don’t have a mole. I definitely don’t rock short chocolate hair. That would never do.

“That will suffice.”

“That will suffice? Should I make her more…”

“I said that will do. It’s close to my fantasy.”

“What would you like to do first?”

“You tell me.”

“You paid for the fantasy, Himeros.”

“And I’m asking for what I want. I want you to tell me…guide me…let me know what you want.”

I want to have an orgasm, that’s what. I’ll never tell him that. My avatar studies him. If he’s the god of uncontrollable desire, I am desire itself. I’m flooded with want, sure that the real panties tucked around my real hips are drenched. I remember the smell of my core I caught a big whiff of this morning. I add that to the scene, pleased with my detailing.

“Mmm, what did you just do?” he growls. “That’s making me want you like never before.”

Like never before? I blink. “Just added a sensory touch to the avatar. Do you like?”

He grabs my avatar’s hand and places it on his smooth, hard cock. “What do you think?”

His cock feels warm underneath my avatar’s hand. Is this still the effect of the D? I’ve never had an encounter like this. Not in this Headspace. I mean, I’m good with the sensory world of my imagination but not like this.

“I’d say the answer is yes.” I match his vocals, intensity for intensity, growling my answer. “Do your other wives know about this?”

“Leave them out of it.”

“What’s next, big dog?”

“Don’t call me that. My name is Himeros.”

I swallow, cowed. “Okay. What’s next?”

“You tell me.”

My avatar studies him again. I think the answer is kissing. I move close to his avatar face, smelling the heat and musk arising from him. This is freaking awesome. It’s like he’s in my Headspace. “How’d you do that?”

“How’d I do what?”

“The scent. The smell. Your avatar.”

“I’ll never tell.” A feral smile grows along his face. “Do you like?”

“Mm hmm.”

“So, what’s next?” He extends his tongue and runs it in a slow sweep along his lips.

“I think you want to be kissed.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. You do.”

“Is that want you want?”

“Oh, yeah.” I seize his face in my hands and press my lips to his, hungrily, insistently, devouring him. His tongue plunges into me and I suck on the slippery flesh inside my mouth. I break apart, panting. He thrusts his erection against my hips…my avatar’s hips…I want him inside of me…I mean my avatar….oh, hell, I’m getting so confused. “Oh, God, Himeros. What are you doing to me?”

“Just acting out a fantasy, that’s all.”

“It’s a really good fantasy.”

“Is it?”

“Oh, yes.”

He smiles, pleased and self-satisfied. “Good. What’s next?” He picks up a brunette strand between his fingertips and twirls it. He presses the warm flesh of his abdomen and chest against my avatar or me, I can’t tell. I seem to have lost my way between what’s fantasy and what’s reality in here tonight. His body embraces me and my knees get all weak.

Stop this. Stay in control. I urge my body to assume control but it seems to have a mind of its own tonight. I melt into my sheepskin rug. The room starts to flicker.

“Stay with me. Stay with me,” Himeros urges. “Don’t go away.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” I’m panting. I’m actually panting.

His avatar melts alongside me and he rams his rigid erection into my back……I mean my avatar’s back. This is getting way too confusing.

“Enter me. Please,” I beg. I’m not used to begging. “Take me from behind.” I’m swollen with want and need.

“Not yet.” He presses tender kisses on the top of my scalp, on my neck, on my shoulder.

I can feel the head of his erection pressed against my ass and I wriggle, trying to get it inside me. This is so not a game tonight. I feel like the edges between reality and fantasy are blurred.

“What’s your avatar name?” he breathes into my ear.

“It’s Desire. Nothing but Desire, baby. Desire for you and you alone.” I can’t tell if I’m kidding. My Headspace is all wrong tonight. Or maybe it’s all right. I smile.

“Good. I like that name for you.”

I scoot my ass back, trying to cajole him to enter me, not my avatar, but he resists. “Don’t you want me?’ I whisper.

“You have no idea.”

His voice is like creamy silk, sliding into my ear. I close my eyes and savor the sensation. “I’m going to have to give you your money back.”

“Why would you do that?” His hands reach around and cup my breasts. “I’ve got plenty.”

“Yeah, but this feels so one sided. It feels like it’s all for my pleasure.”

“Your pleasure is my pleasure, I can assure you. This is what I dreamed of doing.”

You dreamed of doing this? His hands roam over my sensitive flesh. The virtual flesh of my avatar, I correct. This is all make-believe.

“Shit.”

The word emerges from him, sharp and alarming. “What?” I say, tensing. “What did I do?”

“Nothing, baby. It’s not you. It’s just one of my…one of my…one of my wives wants me. I gotta go. I’m in…”

That same sense of something wrong about this scene fills me. Something about what he’s telling me doesn’t make sense.

“Will you come back?” I can’t believe how desperate I sound.

“Maybe. Not sure. We’ll see. Gotta go, babe.”

The space fills with darkness and need, my need. I lie in the darkness, my pussy throbbing, thinking about what just happened. Who is this guy, Himeros, in real life? What’s his story? Honestly, I don’t know and I don’t care. The only thing I care about is that he enters my Headspace on a regular basis. I want this avatar as my own.

Chapter 16

JONAS DOESN’T CALL the next day. Or the next. Or the one after that. Or even the next. Am I surprised? No. It would have been more of a surprise if he did call. And I refuse to call him. Still, I hold out hope that he might have been as turned on by that kiss as I was.

Tonight I service the Twins, Devon, Captain Jack—ew, ew and double ew—and I’m wiped. After that I decide to take the rest of the night off.

I’m about to step out of the house when the pulse-com goes off, indicating a client call. I’m going to have to have a talk with that damn HoloMess 500. They keep making mistakes in the schedule. I sigh, drop my purse, and wander to the doorway to don my high-tech suit. When I enter, the Himeros avatar is already naked inside my Headspace.

“Damn. How’d you get in here?”

“Isn’t this where you do your thing?”

“Yeah, but you’re not allowed to enter until I invite you in.”

“Are you saying you don’t want me in here?”

“Yes. No. I mean, you have to play by the rules.” I’m confused. Aroused. This guy does not play by the rules and I don’t know whether to be excited or alarmed.

“Show me Desire. Where is she?”

“Patience, Himeros. I need time to prepare.”

“Hurry. I’m hungry for you.”

“I can see that.” I glance over at his stiff rod. This guy disturbs me. This guy excites me. This guy needs to play by my rules. He’s in my house. “You’ll have to wait in the antechamber until I’m prepared. And you weren’t on tonight’s schedule. I may decide to reschedule.”

“As you wish.” His avatar disappears.

As I wish? I stand in the middle of the room, pondering. Who the hell is this guy? He gets in without invitation, he bosses, he controls, he does what I ask, just like that? I decide to make him wait. Leisurely, I call forth the avatar of Desire. I watch her emerge into the room, one shimmer of flesh and form at a time. Once she’s fully fleshed out, I watch her run her hands across her face, her lips, her neck. She’s fully aroused…I’m fully aroused. “You can enter now, big dog.”

“I told you not to call me that,” Himeros snarls, his avatar appearing with a sudden snap.

“And I told you—we play by my rules or we don’t play at all. You can take your money and your avatar elsewhere. Go play with one of your dollies.”

“My dollies?” he sputters, grinning.

“Your wives.”

“I’d much rather play with you.” His eyelids lower and he licks his lips.

The way he says this, the way he looks at me…my avatar, I mean…makes me melt. It’s like he’s snaked into my heart somehow. Slithered into my soul. Completely intoxicated me, this strange, strange guy with loads of secrets. I’ve given up trying to tell if this is all fantasy or if it’s really happening. Maybe it’s the lingering effects of the Devil’s Juice. I don’t care. The mind is a powerful entity. And imagination is the core of all manifestation. And frankly, I want this guy with all my heart and soul. “Come inside me,” I moan. I’m on all fours now with my ass arched high in the sky, inviting entrance.

“Slow down, sweetheart, this is going to take some time.”

I don’t want it slow. I want it hard, fast, and deep. And right now. I let out a long groan. “Himeros. I’m about to lose my mind here.”

“I can see that. Good. You’re ready, then.” He stalks towards Desire and kneels at her back. He parts her cheeks and presses his face between her legs, letting his long tongue lick the length of her parted flesh.

“Ohhhhhh, God, Himeros,” I moan. I start to shake. I start to tremble. I start to feel pleasure like I’ve never experienced. Am I about to orgasm? My mind automatically seeks a connection with the man behind the avatar. All I get is static. He’s blocking me. This causes me to kind of short out. It messes with my head. I will myself back into the game.

Himeros keeps stimulating Desire. He’s relentless. He’s gentle. He’s hot. My body is shuddering violently with arousal, with desire to connect. Thoughts of Liam start slamming through me like a tsunami. Oh, shit. Is that who this guy is?

I cry out. “Oh, I’m sorry. A thousand times sorry. I never should have cast you out of my life.” Curled in a ball, I’m sobbing, while Himeros is snaking his tongue up and down the inside of Desire’s silken pink folds. The room goes dark. Completely dark. “Himeros!” I call out.

“I can hear you. You don’t need to shout.”

“How can you hear me? My Headspace is broken.”

“I just can. I’m different than your other clients.”

“Who are you?” I manage through gusts of sorrow. My heart feels as if it’s going to shatter.

“I can’t tell you.”

“I’ll have to give you your money back.”

“Keep it. I have plenty.”

“I’ll make it up to you next time around.” I wipe the tears and slimy snot from my face. I almost came. I almost orgasmed. Almost. And it’s not even November yet. Maybe there’s hope for me.

“There won’t be a next time—not like this. I can’t keep doing this.”

“Why?” I howl. “I think you’re the one.”

“That’s exactly why I can’t come back like this.”

“What are you saying? Himeros? Himeros?” Nothing but silence enfolds me. Through tremors of physical sensation, my heart continues to break to bits. I lie in the darkness and cry. I honestly have no idea how long I remain on the floor, cuddled on my sheepskin rug. At some point I manage to make it into my bedroom where I fall asleep for a long, long time.

Chapter 17

I SUCK. JONAS sucks harder. All the armor I developed over the years has vanished thanks to him. I refuse to take responsibility for any of it, preferring my new status as victim. And monstrous freak of nature. I wallow in it, pulling it around me like a blanket... Like a new shield, a new way to keep people out. Like newspaper, spread over my body, the way a homeless person uses the flimsy stuff as bedding.

Something happened to me on that night—when was it? Three weeks ago? Four? I can’t do this fucking job anymore. I send out a global message to all my clients via HoloMess 500, saying I’m taking a medical leave. All I can manage is hiding in my home, feeding my cat, pulse-comming for take-out. There are empty tubs of ice cream everywhere. Cracker and cookie crumbs. A few cold, stiff French fries. A barely eaten pizza. My nutritional intake has consisted of sugar, salt, and fat.

I’m weak. Exhausted. I keep wondering if the avatar Himeros is actually Liam. If so, I don’t know what he’s trying to prove but if he wanted to hurt me back, mission accomplished. And then my thoughts try to cram Jonas into the avatar Himeros. If it was him, what a cruel trick to play on me. Some friend. I’ve been shattered. Broken apart. Blown to bits.

I’ve been pulse-commed plenty. Kaama has tried to reach me approximately seven times. Magicka has tried sixteen times. HoloMess 500 has contacted me with messages—pleas, more like it—to please, please, please get well soon. My clients miss me. The only client who hasn’t called is Himeros. It doesn’t matter. I’m fairly numb at this point. I wonder if this is what a zombie feels like—oh, wait, they can’t really feel, can they? Frankly, neither can I. The depression consuming me is thick, weighted, black and deep.

I get a pulse-com indicating Grammy is calling. I sigh and run my hands across my lips. “Hey, Grammy,” I say wearily.

“Vienna? What’s going on? You call me every week.”

“I’ve been sort of ill. Exhausted. Working too much. I took a break and isolated.”

“Oh, dear. The same way you did as a child?”

“I don’t know. Did I sleep a lot and hide and mope around as a child?”

“You sure did. When your sensitivities got the best of you, you did.”

“Then the answer is yes.”

“Oh, mercy me. When you had one of your episodes, they always left you haggard. Is that what happened?”

“One of my episodes—ha!” My retort leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. My mother and father thought my energy experiences were blights on their social standing. They thought I was a mutant. My mother probably thought her perfect child was swapped with an alien in the delivery room.

Mom took me to specialists. Dad left me alone as much as he could. Mom and Dad both took turns trying to beat me into submission. I refused to comply. Instead, I walled them out and spent as much time as I could with Grammy. Life with them was hell. I always felt safe around Grammy even though she didn’t know what was going on for me at home. I grew up keeping secrets, even from her. Still, she was and is my oasis.

When the illnesses that swept the world took over, I tried to care for my family as best I could. According to them, I couldn’t or wouldn’t do enough. They even berated me for the care I gave them. I finally gave up, hired a nurse on my meager income, and stopped seeing them. I know I should have felt at least a little sad when they died but I didn’t—not really. No more belittling and criticism. At least not on the outside. I’d learned too well to do it to myself.

“I was hoping you could come over and help me go through my virtual storage zone.”

“I guess. Why do you need to do that today?”

“Oh, they keep sending messages telling me I’m over my limit in what I can store in the universe.”

A small giggle erupts from my lips.

“What?”

“Over your limit as to what you can store in the universe. That sounds funny.”

“Well, that’s what the messages say. Here’s the last one I got: “Evelyn Peabody. You are advised that your universe storage device has gone over the limit of allowed space. To avoid loss of service, please upgrade or remove storage matter from the system. This is your final warning.”

“That sounds intimidating.”

“Oh, you know, the robots just kick those things out. Anyway, would you please come over and help me? You know how much I despise technology.”

“I don’t know, Grammy. I’m not feeling sociable.”

“Neither am I. We’ll be perfect company.”

I manage to shower, dress in the last clean pair of clothes I have, and head over to Grammy’s dwelling.

She greets me at the door and gives me a long hug. “So, what got into you that you isolated like that? I was getting worried. I even called Jonas to find out if you were okay.”

My heart lurches. “You did? What did he say?”

“That he hoped so but didn’t know.”

“He said he hoped I was okay?”

“Yes, dear, he did.”

“Did you tell him to go fuck himself?” The words explode from my mouth as if fired from a gun. “Sorry, Grammy,” I say, looking at her sheepishly.

An unreadable expression crosses her elderly face. “I told him you were pretty devastated at being booted from his friendship.”

“Oh, no, you didn’t, did you?” I groan.

“I did indeed. He needed a talking-to, that boy.”

“What did he say? Now he’ll never talk to me. Not that he would anyway. Not that I want him to.”

“He said that he really blew it and needs to find a way to make it up to you.”

“I’ll say.” My legs give out and I crumple onto the sofa. “Did he really say that? You wouldn’t be fooling me, would you?”

“No, Vienna, when have I ever fooled you?”

“You haven’t but…”

“But nothing. He said he’s been miserable ever since he did that and he was going to find a way to make it up to you if it’s the last thing he ever does.”

“It might just be that. I saw him a few weeks back and it’s been a whole lot of nothing ever since. I find it hard to believe he feels remorse. He’s never been shy about asking for what he wants. Except with Jenner, that is,” I add glumly.

“We spoke about that, too.”

I cast my eyes in her direction. “What did you talk about?”

“About the problems he has had with her.”

“Seriously? You and Jonas talked about his relationship problems?”

Grammy scoffs. “What, you think I don’t know a thing or two about relationships? I dated before I met your grandfather.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. It’s just that…well, what did he say to you?”

“He needed to talk, I think. He seemed pretty down. He’s trying to do the right thing and give Jenner a chance to get herself together. And then he mentioned something about timing and assets.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. I just listened. Sometimes that the best thing you can do for a person. Anyway, he says it’s important to him to do the honorable thing.”

“With Jenner? That again. That’s bullshit. It’s like she owns him.” I shake my head. “Let’s change the subject. Where’s your Universe located?”

Grammy picks up a control from the side table and points it at the holo-screen. It instantly comes to life. A series of images appear in the middle of the room. She highlights one, presses a button, and folders and folders of content appear in front of us. “Here—sort through these. They’re images of you and the family when you were young.”

I extend my fingertips and start skimming through the photos. “How can I determine which of these images you want to keep or not? They’re your family photos, not mine.”

“I just wondered if you want any of them. I could transfer them to your Universe and free up some of mine.”

“I don’t know,” I say, rapidly flipping through the images. “I don’t have much need to reminisce about my past. I’ve spent a lot of time burying the past. What’s done is done.”

“Take a look. I’ll go through these ads and virtual mags. I can delete most of those.” She points the controller at the ones she doesn’t want and they make a pop before blurring from existence. “It always feels satisfying to delete things, doesn’t it?”

We work for over two hours, sorting, deleting, and organizing. I see pictures of my past, floating before me like distant nightmares. Then I spy an image of me and Liam. We look really happy. I study the image. It never would have worked between us, if I really stop and consider. He was too clean-cut. Too squeaky clean around the edges. Too…I don’t know, but not enough kink for the likes of me. But when I look at him without all the angst of the pain I caused him, I can see it was for the best that we broke up. And I think of the orgasm I nearly had with him. I wonder why I’ve clung so long to the heartbreak of that moment instead of letting go and moving on. I mean, I’ve let go of so much pain over the years. Why not this one? Why deprive myself of pleasure over and over and over? If Himeros ever returns…if I ever start my business up again, that is…and if Himeros ever returns, it’s going to be on my time, with my control in place.

My pulse-com stirs my heart. I’ve ignored so many communications but this time I stroke my lips and answer.

“Hey.”

The male voice on the other end makes me jump. I swallow, blink, and hustle out of Grammy’s earshot. “Is that really you?”

“Yeah.”

We’re both filled with silence.

“Can I come over?”

“I’m at Grammy’s. We’re cleaning up her universe.”

“We’re done, dear,” Grammy calls from the other room. “If you need to go, do it.”

“I can be at your house in fifteen.”

“Where are you?”

“At Fourth and Pine.”

“I don’t know. The house is a mess. I’ve been…” I glance down at my last set of clean clothes, picturing the pile of dirties in my bedroom. “I’ve been…” I tug at my unwashed hair, a rat’s nest of tangled dreadlocks at this point. “I need thirty. Come in thirty.”

“Okay,” he breathes into the com. “Thank you.”

“For…?”

“For agreeing to see me. I’ve been an ass.”

Tears sting my eyes. “Yeah. You have.”

“I’m going to make it up to you. Or, at the very least, apologize to you for days.”

I smile. “Okay. I might let you.” I twirl my hair around my finger. “Might is the operative word.”

“You’re being generous. You should drop-kick me across the planet.”

I sigh. “Yeah. Maybe. It’s been rough. But we have too much history. You at least deserve a chance.”

He breathes a sigh in my ear. It sounds like a huge load of relief left his shoulders. “Okay. I’ll see you in thirty. Forty if there’s traffic.”

“Okay.” We both linger before disconnecting. I step out into the living room, biting my lip.

“Have plans?” Grammy has turned off the holo-screen and is sitting on her couch, staring out the window.

“It was Jonas.”

“I suspected.” She waves her hands in my direction. “Go! We’re done. You need to sort things with him and let go or let in. And don’t wait so long to call me.”

I scramble over to give her a hug and hustle from her dwelling. I’m filled with so many conflicting emotions, I barely remember the ride to my house.

When I arrive at home, I race into the house and start tossing soiled take-out containers, dirty clothes, and general mess into its appropriate place.

Nigel studies me and shakes his head. What put a fire under your ass? I’ve been trying for days to get you on your feet.

I glare at him. “You don’t understand human emotion.”

He leaps onto the back of the couch. What’s to understand? You’re all insane. It’s so much simpler in the jungle.

“Like you’d know.” I lean over and scratch his head.

It’s in my genes. I know. You prowl. You stalk. You kill. You eat. Done and done. He lifts a tiny paw and proceeds to groom.

“Whatever you say, kitty. Whereas, here it’s eat on demand.” I roll my eyes at him.

I’m an excellent hunter. I would thrive in the jungle.

“Whatever…” I leap into the shower, turn the spray on, and scrub. I slather my hair with conditioner and comb out my snarled locks. When I’m clean, I put on my now slightly soiled last set of clean clothes, shove some stray socks under the bed, and tense as the door-pulse chimes. He’s here. A million thoughts race through my head. I’m still pissed. And hurt. And excited. And apprehensive. I rub my hands to try to clear the conflicting emotions all battering my insides. I run them through my hair. I will calm into my system. And I reach for the doorknob with a shaky, shaky hand.

Chapter 18

JONAS SMILES WHEN he sees me. He hesitates, his face falls, and he stares at his boots.

The last few weeks have unraveled me, smashing my flimsy walls.

Jonas must have picked up the pieces, erecting walls of his own.

My eyes follow his to his feet. His boots are expensive leather, scuffed and worn from his time in the field. My gaze meanders up his jeans, which conceal well-muscled legs. I’ve seen those legs on many a summer occasion. They linger on his slim hips, the slight bulge in the fabric hinting at his…never mind. I’ve never seen that part. I’ve wondered a time or two. My contemplative eyes trace the contours of his tight abdomen, the muscles visible under his signature tech-T.

He lifts his head and gives me one of those open “bare your soul” kind of looks he started to give to me before he pressed the delete key on the friendship.

I swallow hard and study him. He looks thinner than when I saw him last. Dark circles under his eyes make his cheeks appear bruised. His hair, the color of a glistening, dark bay stallion, is brushed back from his forehead, making his blue eyes look even more intense.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure. Of course. I’m sorry. Come in.” I step aside to let him enter.

He steps across the landing and heads for the sofa, the same way he’s done throughout the years. He starts to sit, but hesitates and stands instead, awkwardly. “May I?”

My face creases into a frown. “May you what? Sit down? Why the hell do you have to ask?” This hesitant version of Jonas annoys me. “I’m not in the mood for this…this…whatever version of you this is.” I wave my hand in pissed off circles.

“I don’t know…I just…it’s…I don’t know where to begin.” He settles stiffly onto the couch and runs his hand through his dark locks again. He regards me with openness and sincerity, making me all melty inside.

“You’re making me uncomfortable,” I say, unable to take my eyes from his. My stomach is churning like a stormy sea.

“What am I doing to make you uncomfortable?”

“You’re looking at me…it’s the way you’re looking at me.”

“I told you, I’ve always wanted to look at you this way.”

I scoff. “Yeah. Great parting gesture.” I break away from his inviting gaze. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him flinching.

“I’m sorry, I…well, it’s just that you… you said you wouldn’t be with me as anything but a friend unless I got it together and left Jenner.”

“You didn’t look particularly separated from her when I last saw you,” I snap. “Not that I could see you.” My face must have turned sixteen shades of crimson. Heat pushes up my neck and into my face like someone set a fire inside of me. I stare hard at the textured sofa fabric. My hands reach out to smooth it as if I’m tenderly stroking Jonas’s stubble-lined jaw.

“Kissing you—that was incredible. That was a dream come true. Jenner forced me to that party, thinking I’d be impressed. I should have thanked her for dragging me, but all we did was fight when we got home. But kissing you…”

“It was only the Devil’s Juice.” I steal a peek in his direction.

He slowly shakes his head side to side, capturing my eyes with his. Our gaze tangles tempestuously, for one long moment, as if we’re at the Craze, connecting intimately, lip to lip. My mouth begins to burn with longing. He must be feeling the same because his tongue slips out to slide along his generous mouth. Then, his face darkens. “I’m sorry, V. I’m sorry to have hurt you.”

I nod as an icy wall erects inside my chest. I don’t want to be vulnerable. Not with anyone. Especially not with him. One betraying teardrop pushes through the freeze and slides down my cheek.

Jonas reaches out and wipes it with his warm thumb. “Just one tear?” he asks, smiling gently.

I glare at him. “I’m all out. I was never able to restore my reserves after the weeks and weeks of crying.”

“Ouch. I deserve that.”

“You do. Couldn’t you have at least commed me? Told me something? Was it that easy to pitch all the years of friendship and companionship we’ve shared? I felt like discarded, soiled waste product. Something even an enzyme would reject.”

“No, V, don’t say that. You’re anything but that. You’re…I…I’ve loved you since the day I met you.”

“Then why were you with Jenner all this time?” I blurt.

His face hardens. “Don’t forget, you telling me you only wanted to be friends, well…that wasn’t the first time I heard that. It’s been your mantra for years.”

“I thought we had a good thing. I thought it worked.”

“I wanted more. And, yes, we have a good thing. Not had.”

At least six more tears poke through the ice lining my eyes. I count each one as they slither down my cheek. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hands to stop any more from escaping. “You say you love me? As in love love?” I know I should feel happy. I want to feel happy. I can’t seem to feel anything but sorrow and anger and something else…there’s a whispering in the back of my mind I can’t quite make out.

“I do. Only now I think I don’t deserve you. Before I thought maybe I had a chance.” He gives me a wan smile. His face grows serious again. “I really blew it, V. Really, really, really. Each day I wanted to pulse-com you and explain but each day I didn’t do it, it became more difficult to do the next. And Jenner didn’t make it easy.” A bleak, tormented scowl washes across his handsome face.

“What did she do?” I cross my arms and glare at him.

“She became a royal bitch. She said I needed to prove to her I was committed. Me. The guy who’s never strayed. Ever. She’s always hated you. This was just her way of trying to control me. I knew I wanted out. Only I wanted to do the right thing. She’d betrayed me and I needed some shred of integrity. I didn’t want to leave her by doing what she did to me. Not that the woman of my dreams was interested.”

He gives me a piercing, pointed look that turns my insides to slush.

“So I decided to take the high road and give her what she wanted. All the while I was making plans for escape, getting all my assets in order. We were never married but I figured she’d try something. I wanted to be protected when I gave her the boot.”

I nod. “That makes sense, I suppose.” It did lessen the sting.

“I’m a wealthy man, as you well know.”

I nod again. “You never play the wealth card. I’ve always been impressed by that.”

“Thanks. Hard-won wealth needn’t be flaunted. Anyway, she said the only comfort she got was with Brian, he was her support, and that was all she wanted, blah, blah, blah. She supposedly confided in him to sort things out with me. But come on. That kiss we saw? That was her way of getting comforted by the creep? It was complete bullshit. And she was utter hell to live with. It was my purgatory. I knew she was lying but I…”

He turns to me and the anguish in his eyes almost makes me reach out to comfort him. Almost…

“After breaking your heart I thought I deserved to be punished by staying with her a while longer. I also wanted to let her hang herself. I knew she was fucking Brian. I’m not an idiot. And I told you I was making plans for the end. It was just a matter of time and scrutiny.”

“So you got your evidence, sir?” I smile, thinking of being in the restaurant with him that night.

He lets out a sigh of exasperation. “Boy, did I. I found her virtual trail. Apparently, she had also done some ‘favors’…” He makes air quotes around the word. “She did some favors for my bookkeeper to cover up the trail. He got fired immediately and she got the boot to the backside she deserved.” His lips tighten in what could only be anger. “Good riddance.”

A bloom of hope stirs in my aching chest. “So she’s gone?”

“Yes, Vienna, she’s gone. All her stuff is out of my apartment. I’ve tossed, purged, enzymed, composted every scrap of her.”

“You…you didn’t off her, did you?”

“Ha!” Jonas smiles. “I may have had a gruesome fantasy or two—more like how I would handle it if I got a call that something happened to her, but no. She only got her walking papers. She’s with nobody right at the moment, as far as I know, but I have no doubt that will change. That girl can wheedle herself into even the smartest guy’s pants.”

“Or, the stupidest,” I say, jabbing him in the chest.

Jonas captures my hand. “Or that.” He brings my hand to his lips and kisses my fingertips.

Warmth seeps into my hand from his touch. My eyes close, savoring the sensation.

Jonas releases my fingers and my eyes flutter open abruptly. He’s staring at the door to my Headspace. His face is a solid stone mask. “How’s your job going?”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, how’s your job going?”

“It’s…I’m…I’m taking a break, that’s how. I got in over my head.” I glare at him in challenge, thinking of his judgment of the fantasy world. “What’s it to you?”

His expression is completely unreadable. “How are all your big dogs?” He frowns when he says this.

My jaw drops and my eyes widen. I’m sure I look like a pop-eyed goldfish. “What did you say?”

He meets my eyes with a challenging stare of his own. “You heard me. How are all your big dogs?”

My mind reels with possibilities and scenarios. Jonas has been in my Headspace. Jonas! How could I not have known? “Which one are you? And how could you get past my scrutiny? I have a lot of security measures in place to keep the nut jobs out.”

A mirthless laugh leaves his mouth. “It wasn’t difficult, I can tell you that. I have years of experience. I learned to keep my own counsel and shield my thoughts. Jenner never trusted me even though I’m probably the most trustworthy guy on the planet, when it comes to keeping a commitment.

“She must have been up to something for years and feeling guilty about it because she was frequently suspicious, poking around in my office, asking me what I was thinking, feeling, whatever. She was always prying. I learned how to keep her out. Once I make my mind up to do something, I’m pretty determined. And you—you’ve tried scanning me a time or two over the years. I got used to blocking you when you did that. I figured if we weren’t intimate, you didn’t deserve to access my fantasies. I’d have to grant you those rights. Which I’m more than willing to do if you’ll let me…”

My heart lurches. I glance at Nigel, who’s sitting next to me, purring.

This is going better than I expected. It’s fun to watch.

I don’t like you staring at me.

Get over it. Humans are weird. I’m studying you.

Go take a nap. Go! I stab the air with my finger.

My cat saunters away, flicking his tail with a fuck-you nonchalance.

“Who were you, Jonas? Which avatar? Tell me.”

He chuckles. “You have to know. Guess.”

I smack my forehead with my hand. I knew it! “You! You’re Himeros!”

“And you’re Desire. But I already knew that.”

I fall back against the cushions and put my hands over my face. That’s why there was so much mystery! That’s why there were so many blurred edges. That’s why the distinction between fantasy and reality was so not there. I can’t look at him. He’s seen me at my neediest. He’s seen me at the brink of want and despair. He’s seen me at my sex-soaked, fantasy-filled job.

“I wish you’d confided in me. I wish you’d told me what you do for a living.”

“I didn’t want to,” I say in a muffled voice. “I didn’t want to be judged.” Because God knows how much I judge myself. I couldn’t stand it coming from you.

His fingers curl around my wrist and attempt to pry my hands from my face. I resist him with as much force as I can manage. “Let go of me.” We’re in complete resistance to one another. “I said, let go!”

Exasperated, he complies. “Goddamn it, Vienna. Look at me.”

I remove my hands to stare at him. “What the hell were you trying to do, Jonas?”

His face turns beet red. “I was trying to ascertain if I even stood a chance with you.”

“By becoming a fantasy character? Any dipshit can do that.”

“Yeah, but not every dipshit can have the connection I felt with you…feel with you. That’s when I knew I could rid myself of Jenner. That’s when I knew I would do anything to win you back into my life. I mean, after that kiss at the club…” He drifts off, caught up in the memory, no doubt.

“Pretty elaborate scheme you concocted. I’ve never known you to be devious.”

“More like desperate.”

“Wait a minute,” I say, thinking back. “Your avatar left me all kinds of messages on HoloMess on the night you got wasted. How could you? I was with you all night.”

“Don’t forget, I took all kinds of bathroom breaks.”

“So you were in there, fortified with liquid courage, pulse-comming my service to try to get into my Headspace?” My jaw dropped open, incredulous.

He appears sheepish. “Yeah. That was me.” His eyes flick away from me. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Where was your courage when you dumped me, asshole?”

He flinches.

“All you had to do was call me!” I’m yelling now, my voice ricocheting off the wall. “Fucking call me! Fucking reach out and connect, pulse-com to pulse-com. Stop by! Send me a holo-card! Anything! Weeks of endless silence were all you gave!”

He sits, grimacing, waiting for me to calm down. “I told you how sorry I was.”

I pitch my hands in the air. “I’ve been in hell, Jonas. Utter hell. And now you’re all ‘I love you’? What am I supposed to do?”

“Forgive me? Love me back?” he says, his most winsome smile getting the best of me.

My eyes slowly scan the room, considering. Do I tell him? Do I allow vulnerability? I work my jaw from side to side. Take a deep breath. “I do love you, Jonas. I always have.”

A huge grin spreads across his face. “I knew it! I knew it!”

“Calm down. I’m trying to adjust to change over here.”

“Calm as a summer pond. Cool, calm, and collected.” He spreads his hands through the air as if he’s smoothing the atmosphere. His expression, though, makes me think he’s going to combust with excitement.

I laugh, he laughs, and any remaining tensions flutter away…except for that one goddamned pesky thought that I can’t get at. “How’d you manage to fool HoloMess 500?”

“That part was child’s play. You might want to consider a more secure, reliable service.”

“Maybe.” I scowl at him. “Keep going.”

“I’ve got connections everywhere from the work that I do. I had one of my connections in India build a fake profile.” A grin spreads across his face. “I told him it was to play a prank on a friend. This guy owed me big time so he agreed.”

“Some prank.”

He laughs. “Didn’t you think it was clever?”

“I like the Shiver Strip part, but the wives? And what’s this with you and cattle?”

“You know I like a thick, juicy steak now and then.”

“Is that all? You haven’t gone toward any bestial back-door kinds of kink, have you?”

“Hell, no, V! That’s disgusting!” He shudders. “I was just trying to think of what someone would do if they lived on a remote island that supports livestock and not much else.”

“Okay. I’ve seen all kinds of kink inside my Headspace. I draw the line when it comes to rape fantasies, children, or bestiality. Those topics are redlined, deep-sixed, and the clients are reported. Other than that, the sky’s the limit.” I give him a wicked smile, grab a handful of his tech-T and pull. “You’d better watch out.” I lean closer to him, slowly, sensuously rubbing my nose across his nose. Our mouths are a millimeter apart. He starts to connect for a kiss when I pull away. I move my lips next to his ear and whisper. “Not so fast. You still have to convince me that this is the right thing. You still need to convince me that you’re not going to cut and run again.” I lean back and look into his eyes, that same annoying out of reach thought buzzing through my mind. Maybe I’ll be the one to cut and run. “Got it?” I whisper.

He licks his lips and nods.

“Good. Because I’m scared shitless to let you in.” My voice comes out in a strangled whisper.

“Baby…” His eyes grow moist. “I won’t hurt you.”

I release a shuddering breath. “It’s not you I’m worried about.” I draw him closer, daring him to get close to me.

A frown flits across his face.

I release his shirt, almost pushing him away like a dismissal. “What do you mean ‘keeping up the pretense was hard’?”

“You’re skilled at what you do. I had to believe in my story. So much so that you would think it’s real. It was so outlandish I could barely keep it together. But then, in that room, with you there…all I could think about was how beautiful you are and how much I wanted you.”

“You were kind of a controlling dick sometimes.”

“Part of the character. You don’t know me to be like that. I’ve never been a dick to you before.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘never.’” I roll my eyes.

“Okay, okay, point taken. But we’re moving past that, right?”

“I suppose. Maybe. I don’t know. We’ve been friends for such a long time. What if becoming lovers fucks that up?” I pick at the orange pillow next to me.

Jonas groans. “Oh, come on, Vienna! I know you’ve thought of it a time or two. I think about it all the time. The last few years, I feel like a drug addict. Drug, Vienna. It’s been all I could do to keep my hands off of you.”

I glance at him. “I do recall you being rather tense on a few occasions.”

“More like rock hard and trying not to show it.”

I laugh.

“It’s not funny.”

“So is this all about you just being horny? I have a virtual room where you can play out your fantasies,” I tease.

“We could start there,” he counters with a predatory, piercing look.

I shiver with excitement. This Jonas has been hiding all these years. This Jonas is sizzling hot. “I thought you didn’t like virtual fantasy scenes.”

“I didn’t. I don’t. I don’t get it. I mean, I can see two lovers acting out a fantasy and all, but to do it virtually? Why would you want virtual sex when the real deal is so much more fulfilling? When I stopped midway, my desire for you got the best of me and I had to clear out of there before I gave myself away.”

“What’s the harm? People fantasize about each other all the time. This is just a fleshing out of their fantasies. I’m good at what I do, Jonas. I make people believe that they really had a skin to skin encounter with me.”

His face pulls into a grimace. “And how are you with all that? Doesn’t it make you feel like a hooker?”

I shrug. “It’s just a Headspace. I can be bored out of my mind, curled up on the floor while they get their rocks off.”

“Seriously? Because as soon as I confirmed what you did, I’ve been as jealous as hell thinking of men trying out all their dirty fantasies with you and me supposedly your closest friend.”

I ignore this new jealous, possessive Jonas, focusing instead on what I told him. “I can prove it. It means nothing to me. Nothing. I don’t know them, they don’t know me. I only know their kinky desires, the things they’re too scared to ask for at home. Most of the time I get a hit of energy, though. That part’s hot. It’s like my drug of choice. Erotic energy, baby. Want to see? My clients are dying for me to get back to work.”

“No,” he quickly retorts and stares away. “Hell, no. I don’t want to watch. I told you, I’m beyond jealous,” he says, turning away from me. “But if it’s what you need to do and you can guarantee me no man gets to put his hands, dick, or lips on you, I’ll learn to deal.”

“Yeah, well…thanks, but…”

“As for me, I’m more of an action man. I want to do, not see.” He glances up at me, his eyes nearly black with desire, and swallows. “And I’m not sure how I feel about you living in the minds of men when the man before you wants all of you to himself.”

I squirm with shivers and quivers of need.

“So, what do you mean ‘get back to work’?”

I sigh. “That last time—it devastated me. I went into a mixed up energy overload tailspin like I used to do when I was a child. I’ve basically been in bed for three weeks or more. I lost track. Your character got under my skin. The edges between fantasy and reality blurred. I started to get all shaky. I thought you were…” A sob escapes my throat. “I thought you were Liam trying to make me pay.”

“Your first love? What would he need you to pay for?” His eyebrows knit together and he brushes away my tears.

“I broke him. I broke his cock, Jonas,” I blurted. I’ve never told a soul…until now.

Jonas clutches at his groin. “How could you break a cock?”

“It’s a stupid term for a medical condition,” I wail. “It’s horrid. It can make a guy impotent for the rest of his life. His was all bruised and he was in pain and he…” I’m blathering now, reliving the entire scene.

“Enough with the details. That’s a serious mood killer. What did you do to make that happen?”

I can barely speak through the rain of teardrops. “I told you I’m different.”

“Yeah, but why should that make a difference? You’re sensitive, not damaged.”

“I got too close. When I get too close I lose it. Why do you think I’ve insisted on friendship all these years?” I throw my arms into the air.

Jonas eyes grow wide. “We can deal, babe.”

“We can’t deal. I can’t control the energy flowing through me, or at least I couldn’t. I started shaking like an earthquake, he slipped out and it snapped.”

Jonas shudders again. “Gah, V! It snapped?”

“Not like broke in two, that’s just the sound it made as the…as it…oh, dear God,” I wail. “It was awful!”

“Shhh, V, shhh. I’m sure you were traumatized after that. I know I would be.” He hands me his handkerchief and brushes my hair back from my face. “So was he impotent after that?” Again his hand falls to his groin as if in protection. He swallows, hard.

“He said he wasn’t but I was too scared to try again. Not with him. Never again. It was a pretty traumatic first encounter, don’t you think?” I look at him through wet lashes.

He nods in agreement. “I’ll say.” He strokes his thumbs along my cheek. His fingers move back and forth along my skin for a moment as he flashes me another one of those heart-melting gazes.

“I think he was scared, too, but he would never admit it. I saw him a few years back and he looked well enough. He had a wife on his arm and was pushing a baby stroller with a set of twins. The equipment must still work.”

“What did he say when he saw you?”

“He looked really sad. We exchanged a few pleasantries; I introduced myself to his wife. That was it.”

“I’ll bet he was sad. He’d lost the most gorgeous, talented, sensitive, and wonderful babe on the planet.”

“That’s what he said,” I whisper. “When we broke up.” I glance down at my hands. They’re trembling. “I’ve held on to this for a long, long time,” I continue.

“I can see that. Ready to let it go?”

“I don’t know how.” I’m still whispering.

“I can help,” Jonas whispers back.

“What will you do?” I say quietly, not looking at him.

“I’ll show you how perfect you are.” He plants a tender kiss on my temple. “I’ll show you how a passionate man who’s in love with his best friend can make her feel.”

Again, a shiver rolls through my belly. Jonas is stirring all kinds of lusty sensation. “What about that orgasm you promised?” I’m still focused on my lap. Anywhere but on Jonas’s face.

“What about it?”

“Grammy said I can learn with the right man.” Is this really the route I want to go to get to the elusive O?

“You’ll have to let your guard down. But he’s ready.”

“Is he?” I need to clip my fingernails. They’re getting long. I need to breathe. I’m clutching my breath. My mind is spinning. My mind is blank. I’m scared. I’m not convinced I’m ready. I take a deep breath and will calm into my system.

“He is. After he assures you that he’ll never hurt you like that again.”

“Ever?” My head pops up to meet his gaze. What if I hurt you?

“Never, ever. I put myself through hell. And I can’t even imagine what you went through. I’m so, so, so sorry, Vienna.” Tears fill his eyes.

“Truly sorry?” My eyes fill with waterworks, too.

“Truly sorry.” He clasps my hands. “You’re trembling.”

I nod and tears spill down my cheeks.

“Are you scared?”

My head shifts side to side. “No,” I say. “Yes. I mean, a little. I’m scared of what we’re about to do. I’m scared of what I might do if I let go. But on top of that I want you so bad. I’ve wanted you for a long, long time.”

He smiles and inches closer. “What should we do about that?”

I swallow. “Indulge in fantasy play?”

“What about reality play?” He moves even closer.

“Better yet.” I wipe the tears from his rugged face. “I’ve only seen you cry once before.”

“And when was that?”

“When I told you I might be moving across the globe for a job.”

“The thought of not seeing you every day killed me. But I figured I had no right to ask you to stay.”

“You didn’t. But I stayed anyway. I couldn’t live without seeing you every day, either.”

We both laugh and sob. Jonas and I wrap our arms around each other and squeeze tight. He feels so damn good in my arms but now I’m afraid to move.

“Vienna?” he says into my hair.

“Yeah?” I say into his shoulder.

“I kind of can’t breathe.”

“I’m scared. I’m scared we’re going to fuck up our awesome friendship.”

“Ease up a little.”

“No.”

“Vienna, what am I going to do to you?”

I squeeze harder. “I don’t know,” I whisper. “I’m just scared. I’m afraid I won’t be able to control myself.” I inhale deeply. Jonas smells like heaven. I’ve always adored the way he smells. He smells like hard work, extreme masculinity, warmth, and love, if that’s a smell.

He chuckles. “That doesn’t sound so bad.” He pushes away from me and takes my face in his hands. “I’m the one who should be scared. You’re a skilled sexual avatar. How will I keep up? Do you know the kind of reputation you have?” He brushes a purple lock from my cheek.

I shake my head.

“You are one sought-after fantasy woman.”

“Seriously?”

“Damn straight. I’d been seeing these ads for your service on my holo-screen. I got intrigued. As much as I dislike the drug-club virtual realities, yours seemed kind of stand up or something. I talked to a few people who’ve used you— er, I mean who’ve used the service. They all claim to be in love with you…only I didn’t know it was you at first.”

I smile a little. “That’s part of my skill set. They don’t know me at all. The person they’re really in love with is themselves. All they’ve done is project onto me.” That goddamned nagging thought intrudes into my mind.

“You sound like a psychologist, Doctor.” He smiles.

“I know a little.” I return the smile. “How’d you guess it was me?”

He looks away. “Uh, someone told me.”

“Who?”

“He made me promise not to tell.”

“Come on, Jonas, who told? That’s a security breach.”

“It was Kaama. He thought I already knew.”

“Geez, Kaama? I’m going to have to have a talk with him.”

“Be nice to him. I kind of tricked him into telling me.”

“Tricked him how?”

“You’ve always kept your job a secret. I knew he came over to work at your house. I asked him if he helped you set it up, not knowing what the ‘it’ was, and we got to talking, conversationally, you know, and ka-blam! Out it came.”

“Shit!”

“It was an innocent mistake. He didn’t know I didn’t know. He hadn’t a clue that I’d broken your heart. He said he hasn’t seen you in a few weeks.”

“No, not for a while. He’s been traveling or something.”

“Well, he’s back now.”

I nod.

“We’re stalling, you know.”

“I know.”

“I’m done stalling. I need to be inside you.”

The heat coursing through me is equivalent to a volcano.

He cradles his hand behind my neck and pulls me toward him into a succulent kiss. It’s like at the Craze only better…much, much better. I’m completely intoxicated by the feel of his mouth against mine. This kiss is years in the making. This kiss has been waiting to happen. This kiss is phenomenal. My insides light up with all kinds of sensation.

He slides his tongue inside me.

I suck it and give him mine.

His mouth widens.

Mine opens in response.

He hums into my mouth.

I moan into his.

Jonas gently breaks apart the kiss. “Wow, V.”

“Wow, J.”

“You’re an amazing kisser.”

“You, too.” I grin at him.

“Head for the bed?”

I stand and take his hand, leading him into my room. Thank goodness I cleaned it. It’s a cheery room, even in the dark of winter. It’s decorated with blues, greens, and gold like the Caribbean Sea. I’ve got a huge window facing the bed. I grab a controller and press a button, then toss the controller back on the dresser. Thick curtains slide into place. Soft light glows from sconces on the wall. A king-size bed covered with velvety softness beckons. This room is bliss. “What day is it? I’ve been so out of it, I barely know the date.”

“It’s Saturday, the tenth of December.”

“Awesome. So if we don’t get it today, we still have time to practice.”

“The orgasm?” I smile.

Jonas gives me a solemn look. He starts talking fast. “Two days is a good start. I plan on taking my time. No need to rush these things. I intend to do everything within my power to succeed at my mission.”

“At our quest, you mean.” This thought jogs the annoying thought a little closer to consciousness.

“Exactly. At our quest.”

Nigel follows us into the bedroom. I’m hungry.

Get out.

I said I’m hungry.

And I said get out.

Is this how it’s going to be?

It could be.

So now I’m not man enough for you?

You’re a cat.

Jonas looks over at me, puzzled. “Are you conversing with that cat?”

Nigel glares at Jonas. That cat?

I give him Jonas a sheepish look. “I’m afraid so. One of the perks of being this sensitive.”

“I get to learn all kinds of things about you, don’t I?”

I shrug. “I suppose we both have a thing or two to learn. I’m game if you are.” I saunter in front of my huge, plush urban-modern chair, pivot, and beckon to him to come closer.

“All in.” He slips my shirt from my torso, letting his hands roam and stroke my skin along the way. “One hundred percent,” he adds, unclasping my bra. “I’ve got a lot of making up to you to do. I take my responsibilities very seriously.” He draws one of my nipples in his mouth and sucks while twirling the other between his fingers.

I gasp. “Jonas! Oh, God, that’s intense.”

He moves to the other breast. While his mouth works that nipple, his hand massages the other breast, pulling the nipple and kneading my soft skin.

“Oh, geez! Jonas, this is heaven.” It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a guy, real time.

“Mmm,” he moans, in response, working his way back and forth from one breast to the other. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He proceeds to place a path of tender kisses along my jaw. He navigates to the other side and nibbles my ear lobe. He kisses my temple, my eyelids, my forehead and my nose with his soft, warm lips.

“Wait,” I say breathlessly. “Wait a minute.” I push his head away. “I need to show you something. There’s a reason I’m so sought after.”

Jonas looks at me confused. “Okay,” he says cautiously. “What do you need?”

“I need some access to your mind.”

“Granted.” He cocks his head. “Not all the time, but in this moment, I’m wide open. A person has a right to privacy and to being willing to share on their own time.”

“Understood.”

He studies me for a moment. “Vienna, why is it so hard for you to let go? There’s more to your story, isn’t there?”

I nod my head, feeling ridiculous, foolish, childish, and stupid. I hate feeling this way.

“Sit.” I gesture to my plush chair.

He sits.

I pull my hair and start to pace. All these feelings. All this stuff that I’ve stored away. I don’t know where to start, what to say. I don’t want Jonas’s sympathy. I don’t want him to look at me and feel sorry for me. I glance over at him. He’s just sitting there, waiting, appearing as if he has all the time in the world. Can I trust him? I want to trust him. He did screw with my trust. But then he explained. My mind is whirling. My feet are taking me around the room like a restless, caged tiger. Finally, I stop; grab the footstool I’d shoved next to the chair, and perch on it in front of Jonas. “Okay,” I say with resolve.

“Okay.” He smiles encouragingly at me.

His smile is filled with deep warmth. It gives me courage to continue. “Our friendship has always been about honesty, right?”

“Yup,” he says, nodding.

“But I wasn’t honest with you about what I did for a living and you withheld info from me when you ran away.” I smile. “We both made mistakes.”

“We did. And we paid for our mistakes.”

“I’ll say.” I roll my eyes. “Anyway, what’s done is done. What’s important is we move forward.” My eyes fill with tears. “I’m so glad you’re here, Jonas. I’m so glad you came back.”

“Me, too.”

I clench and unclench my hands. “Okay, I need to get through this.” I press my palms to my thighs and take a deep breath. “You know my parents were horridly abusive.”

“I do. You’ve never talked about it much, but you’ve said some things.”

“And you know I’ve got this ability to get inside others’ heads and mess with their minds.”

“You’ve told me, yes.”

“I was born with the skill and it served me well as a child. I knew when a beating was coming, probably well before the thought dripped into my parents’ action plan.” My lips tighten. “I knew in advance, whether the belt, a fist, or whatever was handy was to be aimed in my direction.” Now Jonas is really tearing up. I can’t look at him.

“And that knowledge gave me an edge. It gave me a chance to get out of the way.” Long-buried memories flood my brain. “It was my safety to have access, Jonas.” I bring my eyes to meet his. “And when I learned to manipulate their weak minds, well…” I force back the tears, preventing them from spilling over.

“I could make them think that they had already done the deed. I got really, really good at devising torturous forms of punishment for myself. When I screwed with their heads and made them think they had really done the things I had thought up, they were actually proud of their deviousness.” Rage spilled into my gut.

“They were proud of what they thought they’d done to me!” My jaw tightens to keep the disgust from leaking out. “And I had already started believing in my torture. It became a game to see how awful I could ‘punish’ myself through their minds.” My eyes narrow and focus on Jonas. I dare him to feel sorry for me.

“I hate to think of you dissing on yourself. Do you still do that?”

“A little. Sometimes. It’s become my fallback plan when I’m stressed.”

“You’re a tough woman, Vienna. That’s one of the things I admire about you. Always have. You were dealt an extremely bad hand in life but you never felt sorry for yourself or whined about it. I admire that, too. I’d love to show you how lovable you are. You’re more than a fighter.”

He reaches for my hands. I stiffen at first but then relax. He isn’t feeling sorry for me—yet.

And then it happens. Here he is, the guy I’ve longed for, for years. My friend. My confidant. The guy who just told me he’s been preparing for me. We’re hot, we’re horny, its go time. Until…that annoying thought bursts to the surface like a breeching whale. I realize I’m not prepared for him. I’m still a broken mess inside.

Dark rage and feelings of inadequacy boil inside. I can’t do this. Not won’t or doesn’t feel right, can’t. Tears flow in a torrent from my eyes.

“Vienna?” Jonas looks at me, bewildered.

“I can’t do this, Jonas. I know you’ve done all this prep work to be with me, but I can’t do it. I can’t let you see what I really am.”

“Vienna, I’m ready. I’m more than ready. Please.” His voice comes out in a husky, anguished whisper.

I shake my head and push his chest. “Go,” I say through heartbreak. “Go.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He looks like he’s going to strangle me. He looks like he might actually cry. He looks like he can’t believe what I said to him.

I can’t either.

If I didn’t like the way Jonas entered my house earlier, I like it even less when he leaves.

He slams the door so hard I thought it might break.

My heart is shattered. I can only imagine how he feels. But I can’t let him love me right now. Because, to tell the truth, I don’t love myself, not one little bit.

Chapter 19

IT’S BEEN A couple months since I kicked Jonas out of my house. Christmas and New Year’s have come and gone. So, I missed my promised birthday gift of an orgasm. Apparently, I wasn’t ready. At first, it was difficult. I cried myself to sleep every night and resumed my pizza nibbling, Chunky Monkey ice cream consumption ways again. I wanted to pulse-com him every ten minutes, desperate to tell him I changed my mind. He never messaged me or called, making it easy to be angry with him, to tell myself he didn’t really want me after all.

Nigel gave up on me during those sorry days. As long as he was fed, though, he kept to himself. But he didn’t look any happier than I felt.

After a couple weeks of wallowing, I decide to make it my mission to learn how to orgasm. I don’t want some guy to be my knight in shining armor and give me that oh so longed for pleasure. Nuh huh. If anyone is going to give me pleasure, it’s me.

I decide to take a long break from work, maybe forever. Giving pleasure to men when I can’t allow it or find it in myself, no longer holds any appeal. All it’s been is a freaky power game I played to not let anyone get too close. And I’m rich enough to not have to work.

I order vid-feeds and sex toys galore. Talk to women at the women owned pleasure store down on 1st Avenue. Even take a workshop or two. Take long bubble baths, as if wooing myself, romancing myself. And little by little, bit by bit, I learn what feels good, what doesn’t, and how to give myself a really good orgasm or two. While it would be nice to share the experience with someone, at least I can give it to myself.

I manage to stay in touch with Grammy. She notices my sadness but says nothing. Says she also notices something strong emerging in me. Says she sees me settling into my skin in a way she’s never seen before. I tell her, her eyesight is growing dim, but secretly, I’m pleased. I feel it, too. I’m beginning to grow content with myself. I might even like who I am. So I’ve got a few freakish skills? Doesn’t mean I need to announce it to the world and risk rejection. I don’t have to use them. I can let them remain unused inside and maybe they’ll wither and fall away.

On a whim, I call Magicka and ask him out for a drink.

“I can only meet you for thirty minutes, honey, and then I have a very hot date.”

“Who is it today?” I ask.

“Someone new,” he says, conspiratorially. “And hot.”

“I have no doubt,” I say, chuckling into the pulse-com. “Tell you what. Let’s meet at a nearby bar. There’s a new one in my neighborhood. I’ll pulse-text you the address. I’ll walk. I can be there in ten minutes.”

“Deal,” he says, and disconnects.

I dress in something casual and fun, with knee high stiletto boots for effect. You never know what the night may bring. Say good-bye to Nigel.

See you, he says. Glad to see you’re feeling better. You were making me sick for a while. Hairballs galore.

Poor, kitty. Sorry. I pick him up and kiss the tip of his cold, wet nose.

Put me down.

Right. You love being loved, kitty. I pause, my thoughts stirring an old familiar sensation in my heart. I loved being loved by Jonas. Loved it. He made me feel worthwhile until I could find something worthwhile in myself to love. He was like a mirror of truth…a truth I didn’t know until now. “I hope he’s doing well,” I say out loud, before heading out the door. “I hope he’s met someone…” Can’t finish that thought. I hope he never meets anyone who connects with him the way I did. I know, it’s selfish, but I don’t care.

At the bar, I slide into a white booth and wait for Magicka. This place is white, white and whiter. I’ll bet they pay a fortune in bleach. A few minutes later, I see him swish and swirl into the building, ever the flamboyant queen. I can’t even describe what he’s wearing, it’s so over the top. Some flame-red sparkly top thing, flowing down to skin tight silvery leggings and black, high heeled boots. It’s a crazy contrast to this absent of color interior. I laugh. “You never cease to amaze me, Magicka.”

“What, this old thing?” he says, twirling in a circle. He says it like it’s some dusty rag he pulled from the back of his closet, but I know he’s pleased.

He leans over, kisses my cheek and settles into the seat opposite me in a puff of manly cologne and eye-shadowed flair. “You look fantastic. What have you been doing?”

“Not much. Keeping to myself a lot. Doing some personal healing, I guess.”

“Well, whatever it is, keep it up, girl.”

We order drinks and chat aimlessly for our allotted time. He doesn’t ask me about Jonas, knowing it’s a sore subject, and I don’t offer anything.

Finally, he says, “Girl, I wish I could stay but pleasure awaits me.”

“Go!” I shoo him from the booth. “I’m going to sit here for a minute. Drinks are on me. Have fun.”

He pecks me on the cheek and leaves.

I pour the last droplet of my martini down my throat, finish the payment transaction using my pulse-credit, and am about to get up when the door opens. And Jonas enters the bar.

He strides in looking more serious than ever before, dressed in his usual jeans and tech-T. His hair is shorter. His expression somber. He scans the room as if looking for someone, and spies me. He flinches and looks away, making me wither inside.

“I get it. I really hurt you,” I whisper. Tears prick my eyes. This time, I don’t care. I no longer feel like emotion is a curse. It’s nothing to be ashamed of or fight. I’ve learned I get through the moments when I allow them. I stare at the spot where Magicka sat, giving Jonas permission to do his business without the intrusion of my gaze.

A few minutes later, he stands next to me, making me flinch this time. “Waiting for someone?”

I jerk, as if struck. “No, he just left. You?”

He shrugs. “Casual date. It’s nothing. She’s new to me. Never met her. I’ve been using one of those dating services.”

He says it like he’s letting me know he’s over me. Like he’s moved on. A small stab of pain, like an old bruise, begins to ache in my chest, congealing where I thought I’d healed. “I see.” I force a smile. “Maybe she’ll be the one.”

“Not looking for the one, Vienna. Only trying to stay active in the dating world, get out and meet people. You know.”

I laugh. “Actually, I don’t. I’ve been staying in for weeks.”

He seems to like hearing that and sits in the booth. “What have you been doing with yourself? You look great.” His eyes sweep my face, my body, cautiously interested but without the old hunger and longing he used to exhibit.

“Thanks.” I gaze about the room. “Shouldn’t you get up? Your date might be here looking for you. I doubt she’d be pleased seeing you sitting with me.”

“True. I should get to it.”

He stands and the dull, aching bruise turns into a very active, bleeding, heart wrenching wound.

“Well. Nice to see you,” he says, like we’re casual acquaintances.

“Likewise.”

When he turns to walk away, my heart lurches. “Jonas,” I plea. “Don’t go.”

He spins around, a look of anger on his face. “Why shouldn’t I? I’m not enough for you. I’m not what you want.”

The words spear me, making me blink. “Is that what you think?”

“What was I supposed to think? I bared my heart to you, and you turned me down.”

“I…I needed time to sort myself. I…I’ve hated who I am for a long, long time.”

His eyes soften and he lets out a long, deep breath. “I’m sorry, Vienna. You crushed me. I came over with all these expectations and you told me to leave and I had just gone through a horrific breakup with a nasty woman and…well…I decided I wasn’t worth much after all.”

I blink at him for a few minutes, stunned by his revelation. Did he hold issues too? Maybe I’m not the only person who suffered from low self-esteem. “Would you stop it,” I say, feeling remnants of our old connection. “I didn’t spend the last two months working my ass off to find something redeemable in myself so I could run into you and have to convince you you’re worth something.”

“Is that what you’ve been up to? You haven’t moved on?”

“Sit down,” I say.

He sits, his jaw set, his eyes cold.

“I wanted you more than anything when I pushed you away,” I say.

“You have a funny way of showing it,” he says.

“Well, friend, I realized I didn’t love myself, not one little bit. I figured it wasn’t fair to you to let you love me in ‘new ways’…” I make air quotes. “If I didn’t have a clue how to love myself—I’d always be looking to you for validation of my worth.”

Suddenly, it seems the walls he erected between him and me begin to dissolve. “I had enough love for both of us.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to come to you broken and needy.”

“Are you still broken?” he asks. His face looks cautiously eager.

“A little. But way better than before.” I lower my voice to a whisper. “I also taught myself how to come.”

A curious expression covers his face, both pleased and disappointed.

“Come on, I know it’s every guy’s fantasy to be the one to finally give the girl the orgasm she’s never been able to attain. Believe me, I’ve acted out that fantasy for more men than I could count.”

“So who did you do it with?” His eyes look dead again.

“I didn’t do it with anyone, Jonas. Me and my trusty dildo.”

“You didn’t?”

“No. It still feels risky to let anyone in. I did, perhaps, maybe, think of you once or twice.”

A shift takes place in his mood. His lips curve in a small, mischievous smile. “I wouldn’t let a stranger in, if I were you,” he said, leaning on his forearms. “I’d want to try someone, like, I don’t know…” He strokes his stubble covered chin as if considering. “A trusted friend.”

“Sounds like a wise choice,” I say, warming to the idea. “Got anyone in mind?”

“I might know someone,” he says, nodding his head decisively. “He’s got a mind full of ideas to try.”

I realize we’ve dropped back into the friendship zone, but something’s different—something bold and exciting. Something fresh and new and full of possibilities. “What about your date?” I ask, spying a slender young woman walking through the door, scanning the room.

Jonas looks to where my gaze is pointed. “Not my type. It wouldn’t have worked out. She’ll be better off if I’m a no show, than a no, thanks. It’ll hurt less, believe me. I’ve had a few dates since we last saw one another.” He winces, as if they all didn’t end up in mad couplings between the sheets.

“Good point,” I say, reaching for his hand. “Are you ready?”

“Hell, yes, I’m ready. I’ve been waiting for a long time. Let’s go.”

Chapter 20

JONAS AND I haven’t stopped kissing since we exited the bar. “Hold up,” I say, gently extracting myself from his all-consuming lip lock. “I’ve got to tell you something.”

“What?” he says, breathless. He drops another kiss onto my mouth.

“I’ve got this crazy skillset.” Oh, shit, this is intense. My body roars with need.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, mind altering skills and psychic know all tendencies. I don’t care. I want you as you are.” He bites my neck and runs his teeth up and down, from jaw to shoulder.

“That’s not it,” I gasp. I shiver, letting out a low moan. “Damn, J. Where’ve you stored his stuff?”

“I’ve fantasized about you for a long, long time. So what do you want to tell me?” He grabs my hand and tugs me up the street, toward my house.

Once we’re on the landing, I fiddle with the security code, while Jonas fingers my breasts through the soft fabric and flimsy bra I put on. Shit, shit, shit, this is so incredible I wonder if I’ll come without contact.

The door bursts open, causing Nigel to jump.

Here we go, he says dismissively. It had to happen sooner or later.

We fall into the house, landing in a heap on the floor. “Are you okay,” I ask him. I’ve landed on top.

“Better than okay. Fantastic. Get these fabric barriers off.” He plucks at my shirt.

I unfasten and fling. “I’ve got these mutant…” I pause, deciding not to criticize my abilities. “I’ve got these unusual skills. I’ve never used them in person with anyone I like, let alone love.”

“Are you saying you still love me?” He grins.

“With all my heart. Never stopped.”

“Me, neither. What about the unusual skills? I’m so hard I can barely stop to listen. All traces of audible ability are rapidly fading as systems accelerate toward my crotch. You’d better make your explanation fast.”

“Okay,” I breathe. “Let’s say simply…sex can be more than merely touching the parts together. It can be something deep and communal. Something mind-blowing.”

“Uh huh. Got it. Deep blowing. I like that.” He pulls me toward him, drawing my nipple into his waiting mouth. He lets out a low hum of approval.

Oh, God. I can’t believe how good this feels. Can’t fucking believe it. “You might get addicted to it…to me,” I gasp.

“Been addicted to you since I met you. Whatever you’re talking about won’t change a thing.” He grinds his cock into my pussy. “Sweet Jesus, V. I want in. Whatever you need from me is yours.”

Thinking actions might be far more valuable than words, I straddle Jonas’s lap. “Here goes.” I place my hands on either side of his face and drop my forehead to his. Reaching out to him, mind to mind, I feel the two of us become one, in the exotic union I’ve only dabbled with, never experienced like this. We begin to soar, energetically, physically.

“Holy, fuck, V. What are you doing?” Jonas pulls away and gives me a wild-eyed gaze, blinking his beautiful blue eyes.

I look at him kind of crazed myself. This is intense. “Wow, J. I’ve never experienced it quite like this. I wonder if it’s because you and I…you know…” I bite my lip. “We love each other.”

“I don’t know but whatever it is, let’s keep exploring.”

I drop my lips to his, and we commune, mind to mind, and mouth to mouth. It’s a sweet, beautiful sensation. I hum into his mouth, my hands molded to his face.

His hands drop to my backside, grinding his cock against my pussy.

The feeling is shiver delicious, out of this world fantastic. I release his mouth and whisper into his lips. “Oh, God, I want you, Jonas.”

“Same here. There’s too much clothing between us. Let me into your mind and body. Let me into your headspace.”

My pussy pulses with need and longing.

“Himeros had a pretty large cock, I recall.” I say, unzipping Jonas’s pants.

He’s peeled off his shirt and his chest is bare, revealing broad shoulders, chiseled abs and pecs, a slim waist. There’s the trail of hair that leads my eyes down to his…mmm. A whole lot of skin and eye candy from the waist up. A whole lot of anticipation from the waist down. Mercy me, this man is fine. I’m giddy with excitement. “Damn, Jonas. You’re beautiful.”

“That’s my line.” Jonas runs his teeth lightly up and down the side of my neck, making little whirls of sensation course up and down my spine.

“I like to share roles, you know,” I tease.

“I see,” he says, sweeping his warm palms up and down my back and sides. “And you probably need proof I am what I am.” His hands glide around to my breasts and cup them both, massaging around and around, fingering my nipples into tight rosebuds of need. “Got any massage oil?”

I roll away from him and open a drawer, retrieving lavender scented oil.

He glances at the ingredients. “All natural,” he said, grinning mischievously. “Lay on your tummy.”

When I comply, he tugs free my panties, leaving my knee high leather-tech stiletto boots on. He pours a generous amount of oil in his hand, and says, “Watch me love you, V.”

Propped on my forearms, I turn my head to watch.

His oil filled hand massages my ass in slow, sweeping movements. His hand dips along my crack, and strokes between my legs, dips and strokes, dips and strokes. “Mouth,” he says. His lips lower to meet mine as his hand continues its unhurried exploration.

I groan. His touch is amazing. It’s warm, sensual and loving. It’s like he’s pushing an electrical current along my skin.” Damn. This is beyond sensational. It’s nothing like my fantasy play characters. This is as real as it gets.

“So,” he murmurs into my lips. “You want to see if I’m as big as promised?”

“I do,” I say, rolling over.

He keeps his hand between my legs, stroking, pleasing, caressing.

“The bulge in your pants is pretty darn big, but I need to see it in the flesh.”

“Visual proof. This could be an optical illusion,” he says, flicking his eyes to his tented pants.

“You never know. People can be full of tricks.” I slide my hands inside his waistband and stroke his butt. “Oh, man, J. Smooth and hard.” I give each cheek a squeeze. “And muscular.” I slip his boxers and jeans down along his hips and gasp. “Oh, my! You…you’re bigger than Himeros! You were made for love,” I add appreciatively. “I’ve never seen a cock more beautiful.”

“Aw, you’re just saying that.” He grins at me.

“No, I’m not! What a beauty!” I reach my hand out to touch the length and girth of him. The head is large and kitten-fur soft. I trace one of the veins, engorged and pulsing with life. It’s as if all of him, every desire, every longing, every thought he ever had is poised inside his cock, waiting to pleasure me.

“I was going for drool-worthy when I had it built.”

“Your cock?” I laugh. “Most are going for that. But many avatars are just wish lists for the man behind the fantasy. Yours is the real deal.” Positioning myself at his side, I cup the palm of my left hand under his balls, fingering the heat. I bring the other hand up to my mouth and suck on it, covering it with my slippery spit. Then I slide the fingers of my right hands up and down between his cheeks. I let my fingers glide along his tight sphincter, between his legs to his scrotum and back the other way, gently massaging and exploring as I go. My left hand wraps around his cock, lightly stroking.

Jonas sucks in air through his teeth. His cock twitches. “Careful, V. It’s been a long time since I had satisfying sex. I want to make this last.”

“Oh, no. We are not having mere satisfying sex. I intend on full-blown sky-rocket love-making—hours and hours of it.”

An easy laugh rolls off his tongue. “That’s supposed to be my line. You’re stealing all of them.”

“I beat you to it. You know, mad mind-reading skills and all that.”

“That and an all-access, backstage pass to my mind.” He gives me a wicked, challenging grin. “When the situation calls for it.”

“Like now.” I reposition myself in front of him and crouch, taking his cock in both my hands and licking it like a big, delicious lollypop.

He wraps his palms around my skull and makes firm circles along my scalp with his fingers.

I take him as far into my mouth as I can, letting my tongue caress his length in lazy, sensuous swirls, tightening and releasing my throat muscles around his girth. My mouth buzzes and hums so much, I expect to see sparks shoot from my lips.

His fingers tighten, pulling locks of hair. “God, V.” He shudders. “Oh, sweet Jesus, this is intense. Jenner would never do this.”

“Who’s Jenner? I don’t see a Jenner in here, do you?”

“No, ma’am. There’s only one gorgeous goddess, known as Vienna.” His hips rock gently as he thrusts into my mouth. “And that’s exactly how I want it to be.”

His excitement is making me wet. My pussy throbs with need. My hands roam his muscular legs, delighting in the textures of brown hair and warm, smooth skin.

“Stop. You’re going to make me come. Hold up.”

I release him and tip my head to gaze up at him. “Is there a problem, sir?”

“No problem, not at all. I’m not ready to lose my excitement yet.  I’ve got something better in mind. Just touching you like this…do you know how often I fantasized about this?”

I laugh. “A fair bit, I’m guessing?”

“All the time. It was torture being around you.” Gently rolling me off of him, he scoops me in his arms and carries me into the bedroom, placing me on the soft bed. “Much better.” He caresses my skin, slowly, taking his time as his hands make their leisurely way down my legs. He crouches, his nose inches from my pussy.

I’m trembling. I’m scared. I’m excited. I’m turned on. Boy, oh boy, am I turned on.

“Lay back,” he says.

I lay back. More like collapse onto the bed.

“Let’s leave these boots on. I like this look. Sexy as hell.” His eyes roam my body. His delight in what he sees is evident. “You are so goddamned beautiful. I intend to show you, over and over again, how beautiful you are.” He pushes apart my legs with his hands.

Tremors of energy rattle through me. My teeth begin to chatter. Jonas cocks his head and contemplates me.

“Th-th-this is so intense, Jonas. C-c-can’t stop it.”

He continues to study me for a moment and then crawls up next to me. “Easy, girl. Let’s take our time and let you get used to all this love flowing between us. Sound good?”

He’s talking low and sweet like he’s gentling a colt but I don’t care. I need a little gentling right now. All this energy is freaking me out. His hands, one still slick with oil, caress and knead with gentle persistence. They move along my belly. They stroke my neck, my chin, my forehead. They trace trails on my shoulders, my arms, and my hands.

The violent waves threatening to overtake me become soaring ecstasy, far stronger than our earlier explorations. My eyes practically roll back in my head, I’m so fucking aroused with him.

“Shhh, baby, ride this wave. I’m here with you. Nothing’s going to happen, I promise. Look at me.”

When our eyes meet, it’s like looking straight into the eyes of some supernova deity. All I see is care, kindness, and the love born of years of friendship, transforming into something deeper.

“Trust me?

I nod.

“Okay, baby. Let go.”

I let out a long, long breath. “Oh, my. Oh, my God! Oh, Jonas! I’m in heaven!”

“You’re only at heaven’s gate, kitten. I’m going to usher you into the Temple of Passionate Love.”

His lips find mine and he nibbles and gently bites, before claiming my mouth. His tongue pushes inside, coiling with mine. We moan into one another’s mouths. He breaks from the kiss, kisses every square inch of my face, making me laugh with delight. He proceeds to my breasts. He pushes them together and slides his hungry mouth from one nipple to the other. His engorged cock presses against my thigh.

He works his way down my torso, taking his time, nuzzling my belly along the way. He murmurs words of love and adoration. He stops when he’s poised between my legs. “Look at me, Vienna.”

I cease my sensuous writhing and gaze at his openness.

“Feel safe?”

I nod.

“Feel ready?”

I nod again.

“Okay. I’m going to take my time here. You guide me, okay? You tell me what feels good, what doesn’t.”

“Got it, coach.” I grin at him.

“If it doesn’t happen, no biggie. We’ll try again later.”

“Practice makes perfect,” I quip. “I’m pretty sure I can do this, though.”

“No pressure.”

“I’ll need some pressure.” I wink at him. “I know what works and what doesn’t.”

“I just don’t want you to feel tense.”

“Jonas! Will you just get busy? Stop the yapping. I feel safe, I feel loved, and I am very horny right now. Like out of my mind horny. Like combustible.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gives me a mock salute. “I have my orders and shall proceed.”

When the tip of his tongue touches me, I yelp.

“Oh, did I hurt you?”

“God, no. Just let me groan and growl, Jonas.” I laugh. “Are you sure you’ve done this before? You’re treating me like I’m porcelain. I’m made of sturdier stuff, I assure you.” I pause. “Tell you what. If I say ease, that will be my safe word. Any other phrase or word is fair game. It’s just me expressing myself. Got it?”

“Got it.” His blue eyes glisten. He parts my folds with his thumbs. “So fucking beautiful.” He lets his tongue emerge from his mouth and makes a slow, lazy sweep up me. “Or maybe it’s the other way around. Damn, you taste fine.”

“Oh, yeah, baby, that’s it.”

He licks. He strokes. He kisses. He moans and growls, clearly excited. He pulls away. “Shit. This is so exciting I’m about to come.” His eyes glitter like blue diamonds. His hands hold my legs apart and his thumbs caress the opening to my core, while he takes slow, deep breaths. He’s looking at me with a wicked, wicked smile.

When he’s calmed his excitement, he lowers his head again, flicking the tip of his tongue along my clit, making little lapping noises like a cat enjoying a dish of milk. He slowly inserts two fingers, circling them, pushing them inside and out. They curve to find my G-spot. He makes small strokes and taps the spot, and I imagine him beckoning me to “come hither.”

I sure want to. I gasp. My body is streaming with energy. My heart is soaring.

Jonas lifts his head and a slow, delicious smile spreads across his face.

Our eyes lock for a brief second. I’m panting, I’m so turned on. “Jonas” is all I can manage to say.

“Come on, kitten. Come for me.” He lowers his head and proceeds to lap up my juices.

I slide toward a sea of pleasure and can’t stop myself from spreading my wings, soaring off the cliff, and diving into sensation like I’ve never experienced. “Oh, Jonas! This is it! I’m coming! I’m coming!” My moans blur into incoherent bliss as I’m carried away by the intense pleasure. It ripples down my legs. It streams up my spine. It makes me shake my head like a dog after a delightful swim. It makes me laugh. It makes me cry. “Okay, enough. That’s enough. Hold on. I can’t take any more,” I finally manage to say.

He slides his fingers out. Wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Spits into his palm and coats his hard cock. Smiles like a wicked angel. “That was hot. Ready for more?”

“Are you?”

“What do you think?” he asks, arching one eyebrow and glancing down between his legs.

I laugh. “I’d say the answer is yes.”

He climbs up me like a tiger slinking through the forest. “You on birth control?”

“Duh.”

“You okay with condom-free? I’m clean. I got checked out a couple weeks ago. And you’re the only one I want from this day forth.”

“Bring it. I don’t want you any other way. Skin contact, baby. Skin to skin.”

He grabs his length and pushes it up and down my slippery wetness. “Do you like that?”

“Yeah, baby. Put it in me.”

“Like this?” he asks, letting the tip enter.

“More.”

“Like this?” He slips in an inch or so.

“Oh, God, Jonas. I’ve never felt anything like this…like you.”

“Good. That’s what I like to hear.” Slowly, he settles deep into my core.

I’m filled with him. He’s big, he’s thick, he’s long, and he’s ever so delicious. I’ve never felt this loved in my life. I’ve never felt as much joy as I do now.

His chest leans against me and we lock eyes, blue on blue. Propped on his elbows, his thumbs caress my cheeks. I inhale deeply, taking in my scents, intermingled with his lusty fragrance.

“I’ve loved you since time began.” The words land in my ears like a soft caress.

A flood of quips enter my brain, each one vying for the winner in deflecting his tender comment. I breathe deeply, shove the quips away, and say, “I’ve loved you longer.”

We lie in stillness, absorbing the shared love, bathing in it, nourishing our souls. Overwhelmed with love, I lock my hands around his neck and pull him closer for a kiss. I’m surrounded by Jonas. I feel him inside and out. Unable to contain our passion, we rock into each other. Once again the intensity builds. Jonas is sliding in and out of me, slow and deliberate. My eyes widen.

“What?” he says with a smile.

“I…I think I’m going to come again.”

“Yeah, baby,” he says, deep in his throat, the words sounding like a very satisfied growl. “Come all over me, sweetheart. Come on, kitten.”

I climax around him, digging the heels of my boots into his ass, pulling him tightly. The intensity of my clenching, milking muscles causes him to release, too.

“Vienna!” he shouts. “Oh, God, girl.” His hips move wildly, pumping into me. “Oh, good God.”

When we finally finish, we collapse into a sweaty mess on top of the comforter. The room smells fantastic. The room smells like sex. The room smells like Jonas and Vienna sex, best scent in the universe.

Jonas strokes my hair, lying by my side with the most contented, loving smile on his face.

“What?” I say, grinning like a fool. My smile is so wide that my face feels like it’s going to break.

“I’d say that was pretty good for starters.” He kisses my temple.

“For starters? What have you got in mind for a follow-up?”

“A million more occasions like that.”

I pout. “Aw, only a million?”

“That’s just this year. After that, we should start getting really good.” He taps my nose with his fingertip. “You must have been ready for this,” he says.

“For sex with you?”

“For the orgasm. Ever since you told me your secret, I’ve been researching. I’ve learned everything I could about female anatomy. I didn’t know women have to learn how to orgasm. I guess I never thought of it.”

“Huh,” I respond. “Well, don’t forget I taught myself a few skills, too.”

“So I noticed. Felt fabulous for me.” His eyes close and a shiver rolls through him. Then he looks at me all serious. “Did you know it’s a small percentage of women who ever come around a guy’s cock. I had no idea. You gals need stimulation. That I knew. You need foreplay. I was ready to give it all I had.” He grins.

“You did all right,” I say with a chuckle.

“Thanks. I’ll get better. I need practice.” He nuzzles my nose with his. “The fact that you came around my cock is a ka-ching, ka-ching, baby.” He winks at me. “That must mean we’re meant to be together.”

“Proof right there,” I say, smirking. “Never mind the fact that we totally get one another.”

“That’s an added bonus.”

“When do you want to practice again? I figure I need to make up for lost time.”

“Give me a few and I’ll be ready.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m ready for a nap.”

“Oh, no. No naps just yet. Naps can come later. We’ve got more homework.”

I laugh. “All right, buster. I was always a good student.” I yawn. “Just let me close my eyes for just a minute.”

“Okay,” he agrees, matching my yawn. “Just for a minute.” He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close.

As we drift into bliss, I feel safer than I ever have in my entire life. Safe, loved, and at long last, sexually sated with a man. And to top it all off, I’m beginning to like myself.

Chapter 21

GET THE DOOR, will you? The pulse-chime has been going off all day, Nigel sniffs. It’s driving me crazy. He’s curled up next to Narnia, Jonas’s cat. She’s a saucy little gray and white pound cat. She bosses Nigel around but he thinks he’s her Cat God.

“We’ve had a few deliveries, Nigel. Get over it.”

I’ll get over it when I’m good and ready to get over it.

“Jonas is out there. You’ve sure got attitude,” I respond. “Now that you have a girlfriend, you think you’re all that.” I pick up the appetizers and head into the dining area.

He follows after me, leaping gracefully to the dining table to sniff the food. I am all that. Always have been.

I scoop him up in my arms and give him a squeeze before tossing him on the floor. “You are truly all that and then some.”

“Happy late birthday, and here’s to restoration,” Jonas calls to our guests from the foyer. The “here’s to restoration” phrase is something we say at every holiday gathering for good luck. It’s become a cultural catchphrase.

Jonas told me he was so bummed he missed my birthday I agreed to let him celebrate with me, a few months later.

We’ve already rented a house until we can buy. Jonas wants to purchase land and build something but I don’t care—just so we’re together. We figured it wasn’t too soon to throw it down together since we’ve known each other for so many years. It seemed like the right thing to do and we both wanted a fresh, neutral reality—hence, the rental.

“Hello, darling,” Magicka says as he sashays into the dining room. “Oh, this looks marvelous. Did you do all this?” He sweeps his hand around the room.

“All my doing,” I say. I’ve decorated the room in springtime/birthday cheer. I used to hate my birthday. Not anymore. I suspect December tenth will become my favorite time of year when it rolls around next December, thanks to our practice run today. “You look good…as usual.” My eyes roam his attire. “What, you decided on one look today? No mixing it up Nuevo style?”

“I’m going for simple, simple, simple today.” He’s dressed in jeans and a gold and black leather bomber jacket. His hair is swept back with product in a swirl à la James Dean, that cool actor from the mid-nineteen hundreds. Instead of the diamonds he sported along his upper lip, he’s now got rubies. A matching ruby stud is in his earlobe.

“Honey, you can never be simple.” I reach out to give him a big squeeze.

“And what about you?” he says as he releases me. “Mm mm mmm, you look good enough to eat.”

I twirl in a circle feeling like a little kid. I’m wearing a short red dress that hugs every curve, a gold necklace Jonas gave me, and my trademark boots. My hair is swept to the side and hangs in a whirl of blond, purple, and just a touch of red accents.

“Oh, my, is that a ring I see?”

Magicka grabs my left hand.

I blush and wiggle my fingers. “Oh, it’s something Jonas gave me. After we’ve settled in we want to do a commitment ceremony in the spring. Just something to declare our devotion to each other.”

“I’ll officiate,” Magicka declares. “I’ve got the certificate from Holo Industries, you know—Performer of All Ceremonies that Need Officiating. It cost me a few bucks, I filled out a few questions—voilà!” He whistles as he gazes at my ring. “This is not just any ring. It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you. I designed them.”

“Them?” Magicka says with an arched eyebrow.

I laugh. “We’re going for equality in this union. Jonas has one, too. He asked me for the commitment, I asked him as well, it was a win-win.”

“You only recently got back together, girl.”

“So we’re moving fast. We’ve known each other for a bazillion years.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that.”

The ring is made of two flattened pieces of gold, entwined like strands of seaweed. A bit of copper threads through the gold, adding a mysterious greenish accent.

Dean, Kaama, Kayos, and Grammy enter the room, talking and laughing, followed by Jonas. “They all arrived at the same time,” he says, giving me a warm smile.

“That’s because Dean drove, dear heart.” Magicka flashes him a saucy wink. “In his Cadillac.”

Jonas shakes his head. “You gender benders and your toys.”

“You heteros and your…your…whatever,” Dean counters, sniffing.

Jonas makes his way to me, leans me back along his arms, and gives me a dramatic, movie-worthy kiss. Everyone cheers as I turn twenty-nine shades of scarlet.

“Not sure how I feel about the PDA,” I say to Jonas.

“Get used to it,” he retorts. “We’re together finally and I intend to tell the world.”

“Welcome, everyone. Help yourselves to refreshment.” I bite my lip, put my arm around Jonas, and gaze around the room. “Restoration happens. This celebration is proof enough.”

“Hear, hear, doll,” Dean says, reaching for a glass of champagne. “Here’s to restoration.”

“I’m happy you two finally got off your high horses,” Grammy says to me as she reaches for a cup of cider. “All this ‘we’re just friends’ stuff was getting on my nerves.”

“Timing is everything,” Jonas says. “And friends are good to have.”

“Yes, but good family is even better. Welcome to the family, dear.”

Grammy shuffles between us and puts her arms around both of us.

“Best damn practice birthday ever,” Jonas says.

“Best damn practice birthday ever,” I agree. “In more ways than one.” I wink at Jonas.

“Did you give her the best gift a girl could ask for?” Grammy asks Jonas.

Jonas actually reddens. “What’s that, Evelyn? I gave her a ring, I gave her my heart. Are those what you’re referring to?”

“Did you make my girl orgasm?”

His face flames. “Uh, yeah, as a matter of fact. Not only one.”

My foolish new grin spreads across my face. My cheeks feel warm, too. “Grammy! You’re so blunt sometimes.” I lean into her ear and whisper, “I already taught myself the basics before I let him make magic with me.”

She smiles and winks. “When you’re my age you can be as blunt as you like. I’ve earned this. And that’s the kind of news I like to hear. Good for you. Good for you both.” She squeezes us both, hard. “Now let’s get this party started.”

* * *

Want to read more by Calinda B? Try her other Paranormal and Sci-Fi Romance Books, starting with THE WICKED SERIES

http://amzn.to/1RdZJG9

http://calindab.com/steamy-romance-novels-wicked.aspx

* * *

About Calinda B

The Fun Part: Calinda B was told early on that she should be a writer. She heard frequent praise for her writing, as well as her sense of humor. Scoffing at such admonitions and praise, she went on to pursue her life of adventure, chock full of the things that make up a well-rounded adventurous life: music (Yep, she was a singer in a rock and roll band), dance (even performed hip hop in Russia), rock climbing (ever hung from a rock wall a few stories up? Yikes!), fire walking (taught high-ranking Moscow fire officials how to walk the coals), kayaking, scuba diving (she's in love with sharks), travel, and falling in love again and again.

The Daily Grind: An award-winning web designer and certified SEO specialist, Calinda B has worked in the Internet industry as a web page designer/developer since the early 1990s. She has also taught web site design and computer graphics at community colleges in northern California. In addition to writing, Calinda B creates fine art and music, and enjoys scuba diving, kayaking, and bike riding. Calinda B makes her home in the Pacific Northwest with the love of her life and her two cats. She is currently working on her next great novel, whatever that may be.

Join the Calinda B and Friends VIP Newsletter

and get a FREE BOOK:

http://eepurl.com/_V_Lr

Find More Books by Calinda B:

http://amzn.to/1RdZJG9

www.calindab.com

Sign up for more bargain boxed sets at:

www.hotboxedbooks.com

JUMP TO...

A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE by NOREE COSPER

END OF DREAMS by KIM FAULKS

HAUNT by HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY

DARK CROSSINGS by ANN SIMKO

HEADSPACE by CALINDA B

THE OTHER F WORD by SUSAN STEC

UNLEASHED by RACHEL MCCLELLAN

HIDDEN INTENTIONS by STACY CLAFLIN

THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL by AIMEE EASTERLING

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS by KYOKO M

ST. CHARLES AT DUSK by SARAH M. CRADIT

WICKED BY NATURE by MADISON SEVIER

UNDERLIFE by MARISSA FARRAR

DRAGON’S REDEMPTION by EDEN ASHE

MILAN’S RETURN by GRAE LILY

THE BREAKERS CODE by CONNER KRESSLEY

THE MEDIUM by MR GRAHAM

WICCAN WARS by HEATHER MARIE ADKINS

CARPE NOCTEM by KATIE SALIDAS

A QUESTION OF FAITH by NICOLE ZOLTACK

THE OTHER F WORD

BY SUSAN STEC

Copyrighted © 2013 by Susan Stec

Wandermere is anything but your typical fairy forest kingdom. No dainty, innocent, classical fairies sitting on toadstools petting baby bunnies. Instead, you'll stumble upon mouthy teen fairies wearing designer knockoffs and texting on their smart phones. Think cute, tiny, fae teens driving bugs instead of cars and drinking honey instead of beer. And there's always a nasty girl in High School; the most popular, the prettiest, the one that hates the protagonist. Yep, that would be Soahc.

It wasn't always like this, and the adults claim the reasons behind the change are to help them better deal with trips to the human world, but Dekram begins having doubts. She's not sure what's real anymore, and who has been lying, and why.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and places are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance of the characters to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

Published by Susan Stec, author

The Other F Word

Copyrighted © 2013 by Susan Stec

Cover illustration copyrighted © 2013 Susan Stec

Chapter 1

ANGRY  BUZZING SURROUNDED the hollow cypress tree where Dekram and her friend, Layol hid.

Dekram's wings quivered like a rainbow oil slick puddle as she wrapped them around her body and scooted further into the hollow of the cypress. Her wings parted, and, with a gasp, sage-green eyes worried a look at her friend. "Oh, for the love of Disney, Lay! Get back in here!" Dekram rushed a whisper. "They're swarming, you idiot."

Layol giggled over her shoulder then wiggled back into the tree and perched on her heels, wings vibrating excitement. "Pixin' enchantin', right? I've never seen so many Fire fairies in one place. Don't ya wanna know what's up with that?"

Dekram's wings shivered. "No! The Skulls are out there!"

"You think they're working the rest of the Fire fairies up to go all lost boys on us during the mock missions?"

"Really, Lay?" Dekram spread her wings so Layol could see her eyes roll. "It's not like they've been allowed to go into the human world for the last century or so."

"Still…" Layol popped her head out of the hole in the cypress.

"Do not! Attract them!" Dekram shrieked, pushing farther into the shadows. "They file their teeth wicked pointy, their tattoos scare me, and they always stink of rancid honey."

Layol turned, hands flipped out, palms up. "And we care about their personal hygiene, why?"

"Did you not hear, 'always stink of rancid honey'? They're in-ee-bri-A-ted!" Dekram rapid fired. "We're a gnat's butt away from getting a mission, and if you attract them to us and we get caught-"

"Okay! Do I look like I'm rushin' out to ask them anything?" Layol said, butt in the air, upper body hanging out of the hole in the tree. "Impin' right, I'm not. Besides, they're leaving, and it's just as well."

Layol back-winged a half circle until she hovered in front of Dekram. ''We need to get to class. You so totally do not need another deficiency mark, gal pal. So, unless you can pull a Wendy and wish us to Neverland, we best get our wings on."

"I will never understand why Fire fairies are not institutionalized by the time they turn eighteen. All they care about is drinking and mating." Dekram unfolded her wings, stood, and fingered her long red curls. "You sure they're gone?"

"Yesssss," Layol said, working a fist with her hip. "Give it a rest. Maybe I wouldn't go lip-to-lip with a Skull—those buzz-saw teeth—and sure, the whole drunken bad-boy fairy thing could be a big carnal thrill-kill. But c'mon, if they stayed sober they'd be a major attraction in an 'I know I'm not supposed to be doing this' kind of way."

"Grimm calamities! You so didn't just say that!" Dekram made a fist and worried two front teeth with a thumbnail.

"Just sayin'—not doin'."

"I can only hope because that would definitely be a series of unfortunate events." Dekram glanced at the exit. "Can you see Renrad? Is he still tethered to the bush by the pond?"

Layol blew a melodramatic sigh and looked out of the hole in the trunk. "Your dragonfly is safe. Now can we get to school before the first bell rings?"

* * *

IN SECOND PERIOD humanities, Mrs. Ecarg, an Earth fairy with gray hair pulled back in a bun and a tent-like flowered dress covering her bulbous body, wrote homework assignments on the blackboard. Behind her, students passed notes, their faces dressed in dramatic expressions, while others whispered exaggerations, teased or taunted.

Dekram half listened to the students while she watched the bun on the back of Mrs. Ecarg's head bob to the beat of the chalk moving on the blackboard. Her eyes wandered to the clock on the wall over the door and she mentally counted off seconds, willing the minutes to move along. After two-hundred-and-seventeen seconds—three ticks of the big hand on the face of the clock, thirty-one seconds to the next—her eyelids felt heavy and her mind wandered back to the cypress tree and the swarm. The stupid Fire fairies are the least disciplined and most unsupervised kids in Wandermere. So totally not fair. Why does the council put up with them? If I had my way-

When the communication device above Mrs. Ecarg's desk screeched a shrilly sound, the teacher jumped out of her Birkenstocks', bare feet kicking the hem of her muumuu.

Two hollow taps echoed and a winded sound reverberated the speaker, before Principal Nrets stern voice came through loud and clear. "Mrs. Ecarg, please send Dekram to the office."

"Right now," the voice of Dekram's mother snapped.

Dekram bolted out of her desk, wings all a-flutter. "Pandora's box," she groused under her breath. "What now?"

"Yes, sir, she's on her way." Mrs. Ecarg warbled, wings beating themselves invisible as she waved Dekram toward the door.

Soahc, Miss Everybody-Has-My-Number-On-Speed-Dial, snickered. "What'd ya do this time, half-breed? Eat the family pet?"

Accompanied by a chorus of giggles, rapid comments filled the air:

"Her mother doesn't have wings."

"Lucky she got some from Daddy."

"Skype 'er, man. Two words: Pond scum."

"Why do all of you have to be so rude?" Detaf blushed. His dark blue Air fairy skin turned purple. He ran a hand under his ball cap, palmed his black hair, and lowered the brim of the cap over deep blue eyes.

Soahc curled her lips at Detaf. "Even gnats have wings…unless you pluck them." She flipped her blonde hair with some major attitude.

"That's enough, missy!" Mrs. Ecarg snapped, back in her earth shoes which were firmly planted on the floor. "Do I need to enforce my no-tolerance policy in regards to species prejudice? Because I certainly will. Each of our species' individual Elements is essential to everyone's survival in Wandermere. No single species…"

While Mrs. Ecarg yammered on, Dekram thought, Yeah, lotta good that does me, Little-Miss-Ethnic-Misfit. Why'd my father have to get all domestic with a Water Sprite? He's a Human Services officer. Surely, he could have found another Air fairy to attach himself to? I hate being the only half-breed in Wandermere.

"Nymph's granny undies! Where does she fit into the Elements that rule each individual species?" asked a girl sitting behind Soahc.

"This is getting old." Detaf's mouth pushed disgust in the group's direction.

With a garish grin, Etah held Detaf's attention. "She's mottled our Elements—I say we put her in a cage before she mates and makes more anomalies!"

Soahc adjusted the shoulders of her saffron-dyed dress and chided, "Bet you didn't have a policy until she came along, anyway."

"A Merrybegot's dreaded existence—that's my life! I hate it!" Dekram caught Detaf's sympathetic expression and her delicate wings turned pink as she grimaced and tried to ignore the bell-like giggles of her classmates. She bolted for the classroom door, and, bright curly hair billowing around her heart-shaped face, and flew down burnt-orange halls, past closed classroom doors and blue lockers dotted with colorful padlocks.

Mrs. Laretil was standing at the library door when Dekram rocketed by. "Slow down, young lady. We do not bolt, we flutter!" The Librarian's voice warbled and rose in pitch.

Dekram shouted over her shoulder, "Yes ma'am," and the whole hallway distorted and wavered like heat rising from hot pavement behind her as she shot up through a whirling hole that shimmered on the tiled ceiling.

On the other side, while flying toward the office, Dekram remembered the last incident that had brought her mother to school. So totally not my fault. It was all because of my transportation bug. I didn't ask for a lime-green Darner dragonfly with boring translucent wings for my 16th birthday. I wanted a butterfly, but no, my mother goes and snags Renrad at the pond—I'm sure it had absolutely nothing to do with him eating her precious larvae. Dekram blew a sigh. He'd gobbled up three other kids' transportation bugs, it became all my fault, and now I have to tie him to a tree at the pond and fly the rest of the way to school. Thank the Elements the stupid dragonfly didn't devour Soahc's Black Witch Moth.

"Really, how smart was that gift?" Dekram mumbled as she darted into the office through another shimmering hole, halfway up the oak tree. I hope whatever they deem my fault, this time, doesn't get me another deficiency mark.

Coming to a hummingbird stop in front of the secretary's desk, she yanked her camo low-riders up over her belly-button ring and fastened two more buttons on her midriff blouse.

A tsking noise from behind made Dekram look over her shoulder to find Mirg, Soahc's best friend, staring at her with a disparaging look through a curtain of black bangs.

Bacs, the only boy in Soahc's tight group, elbowed Mirg. "Camo and Dr. Martens. Bet half-breed's got herself a troll, too." He snickered, "Do much muddin' half-breed?"

With fingernails painted maroon, Mirg pulled a black lace veil down over her nose and lips. "Oscar Wilde said, 'I suppose society is wonderfully delightful. To be in it is merely a bore. But to be out of it is simply a tragedy'".

Blinking, Dekram ducked her head; pale khaki skin flickered pink as she hid behind red curls.

Bacs wore a big silver-toothed grin, black jeans, and a long-sleeved ebony t-shirt with skull-and-crossbones laminated on the chest. A studded black ball cap, brim hiding one ear, sat over red hair and a cloud-blue, ghost-like face. "Toe-jam! She smells like flies' feet." Bacs flung a leather jacket haphazardly over one shoulder and fanned his face with a hand full of papers.

"Maggot's breath would have been a darker, more suitable description, especially since she's dead to us." Mirg dressed in all black, casually kicked the stiff tulle under her skirt with a cyberpunk boot laced up to her knee.

Dekram thought, I'm almost positive Mirg and Bacs have Fire fairy in their lineage—probably all Soahc's friends have some demon blood running through their veins. Her wings vibrated and red sprinkles dusted the floor in front of the secretary's desk.

Mrs. Edia, a middle-aged Earth fairy with curly black hair and overly large wings, walked up and stared at the red fairy dust on the floor. She huffed her way into the chair behind her desk and then glared at Dekram. "Four marks this month, young lady." She scribbled on a piece of paper. "Three more and you spend mission's week at home. Go on in. They're waiting for you." She waved her off and then motioned an office monitor over. "Can you please get the broom and clean this mess up, Dren?"

Dren pushed horn-rimmed glasses up his nose, grabbed the broom and jumped right to it. His friend, Keeg, flew behind him with a dustpan.

Mirg shot Bacs a set of grim eyes. "You know, back in human history, they'd impale those of lower stature for insubordination." She tsked at Dekram. "They would shove a long stake-"

Over a background of keyboards clicking, file cabinet drawers sliding, phones ringing, and papers shuffling, Mrs. Edia cleared her throat loud enough to get Mirg's attention.

Mirg took in a long dramatic breath. "But Dekram'll probably just get another deficiency mark." She glared at the secretary. "Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice," Mirg mumbled, and then paused to smile at the clerk before mouthing, "Beetlejuice."

Bacs covered his face with the papers in his hand and snickered. "Yep, another one down, two more to go."

Dekram's wings flickered angry-red as she buzzed toward Principal Nrets' cubicle, knowing everyone in the office would hear the conversation that was about to take place.

Her mother, Diuqil, stood by the principal's desk. She wore a drab twig outfit over a slug-skinned algae and tan colored body. Her dreadlocked, brown and moss green hair wiggled around a circular face as though it had a life of its own. So not appealing, Dekram thought.

The minute her mother saw her, brows met over angry, apple-green eyes. "I knew when I saw the empty shopping bag and price tags in your bedroom trash container, you'd worn that blouse! It's very inappropriate, especially for school. We talked about this, young lady—you were supposed to return it today. If your father…"

Dekram landed on a yellow and white mushroom in the far corner of the office and shot Nrets a look of embarrassment. "All the kids dress-"

"I don't care what all the other kids wear," Diuqil snapped, arms slinging algae on the floor. "You will not dress like a, a-"

With a sharp phlegmy cough, and wings mottling shades of fall color, Principal Nrets nipped a possible uncomplimentary adjective. He pushed a hemp rug in Diuqil's direction. "You're dripping." Like most of the staff at the school, Nrets was an Earth fairy and although they tend to be more nurturing, Nrets was a stern nurturer.

Water sprites were not known for their housekeeping skills. Diuqil stepped on the rug and shook. "Sorry, just left the pond, been harvesting mosquito eggs all morning."

Dekram heard snickers in the outer office and knew this conversation would be all over the school before lunch. "Do we have to discuss this now? Can't we wait until I get home?" she asked, wishing her mother would just leave, and trying to cover more of her stomach with her splayed fingers.

"No-we-can-not! I will not have you blatantly disobeying me." She reached into a burlap bag hanging on her arm, adjusted a jar half-filled with water and floating foam, pulled out a soiled purple t-shirt, and tossed it at Dekram. "Put this on and give me that blouse."

Dekram's wings fluttered in a cloud of pink sprinkles. She gripped the shirt. "Could you have picked a more clashing color?" She asked, and immediately regretted it. Water Sprites are colorblind. Dekram gritted her teeth, knowing she probably shouldn't have drawn attention to that, but when she got flustered, words just popped out of her mouth before her brain caught up.

Diuqil stomped a barefoot on the hemp rug, sending slimy water droplets into the air, then whipped a finger at the office bathroom. "For the love of larvae, move it. I need to get back to the swamp before the dragonflies start another feeding frenzy."

More snickers erupted on the other side of the wall. Dekram's arms turned bright red and color moved quickly over her shoulders and neck then puddled on her face in ugly patches.

Mr. Nrets pushed his horned-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his hawk-like nose as he toe-cleaned some moist slimy spots on the floor. "I strongly suggest that you do what your mother says without further conflict. Your next class begins in fifteen minutes. Mrs. Evol will be handing out mock mission assignments. You wouldn't want to miss yours, would you?"

The principal's eyes wandered to the pink fairy dust settling around the base of the yellow and white mushroom. "Today's visit has already won you another deficiency mark. Control is very important if you wish to be accepted in the Human Services Department. Unlike here, the department has a no tolerance level."

Dekram stared at the dust, thinking, Nope, I probably won two marks, counting the mess in the outer office. She batted her long black lashes and sighed. "Yes, Sir." Without another comment, she flew through a tiny hole in the wall to change.

Laying a palm on the center of her chest, eyes closed, she worked the gift of glamour that all fairies were born with. The blouse melted from her body and reformed in her hand. She grabbed the t-shirt. I won't be doing some menial job, like gathering stupid herbs and flowers with Earth fairies, or skimming mosquito larvae like my mother for the rest of my life. I will be an HS field agent! Laying the t-shirt on her chest, Dekram felt the garment mold over her body, and softly tugged her wings until the shirt melted under and around them.

The first bell rang, and as Dekram turned to leave through the shimmering ring that lead into the hall, she heard the principal softly say, "Diuqil, we all have concerns, and being her…mother, I assume you feel more responsible. However, overreacting to small situations such as this could jeopardize everything."

Dekram's mother said, "But her lack of a relationship with Detaf and the evident relationship simmering with the-"

Detaf??? What the heck? The way Detaf had just stood up for her in class rushed her memory, but Mr. Nrets' words pulled her back into the conversation.

"...I assure you this is an area we are watching very closely," the principal said. "Everyone is pushing the experiment toward a climax."

Experiment? Dekram bolted for the exit, heart sinking. Is that what I am—the half-breed experiment? Are they wondering if I will have both my parent's powers? And what's with Detaf?

As she darted toward class feeling weighted by the conversation, Dekram thought, What if I can't even go through the impin' portal? "Well, I sure hope my mother's inability to stay on the right side of the tracks didn't rob me of that, too!"

A few minutes later, Dekram flew into class and headed directly to her seat in the back of the room as the last bell rang. Layol was already sitting at the desk beside hers. At least Layol doesn't think I'm an anomaly.

Her friend was beautiful, with pastel-colored wings and the delicate sky-blue body typical of Air fairies. She had almond-shaped navy-blue eyes, lavender brows, corn powder hair, full deep purple lips, and a pale blue tongue with a gold stud through the tip. Layol's favorite color was pink; today she wore an asymmetrical, gauzy, pale pink dress and deep fuchsia hip boots.

"Heard you sprinkled old lady Edia's desk and got ya another deficiency mark," Layol said.

"Two," Dekram dropped her head, "and it was the floor in front of her desk."

"Swell. One more, gal-pal, and you're yesterday's fairytale."

"I know," Dekram said, "and, this time, I blew it. Not my moth-"

"Yep, I heard that too," Layol said, staring pointedly at Dekram's purple shirt. "Soahc and her caustic bunch were exchanging text messages from Bacs and Mirg and being very verbal about it in the hall before class."

"Oh, Peter's woody!" Dekram sighed as she tried to twist her t-shirt into a knot to hide most of the muck her mother had gotten all over the front.

Layol grinned. "Don't go gettin' all lewd-Disney on me." She laughed, shook her head and said, "Oh yeah, that looks sooo much better," pointing at the wad of material settled in the center of Dekram's chest. "How about this?" Layol pulled a light blue, loosely knit shawl out of her backpack and handed it to Dekram.

"Sh-yeah-right, like the color of my pants isn't already screaming at my shirt. I put that on and there's gonna be a riot."

"What got ya the second mark?" Layol stuffed the shawl back in her backpack.

"I sprinkled in Nrets' cubical."

"Pixie-girl, you've got some control issues," Layol said, and when the teacher clapped her hands and called the class to order, she whispered, "Well, at least homeroom is a no Soahc zone. No wasp brigade, either."

"Yeah, one hour out of my day," Dekram whispered back, "right before lunch where they all gather and rapid fire the insults."

"All right, class." Mrs. Evol said, getting everyone's attention. "I've paired you off and assigned a different mock mission to each pair. The academy will be sending out three groups over the next couple of weeks. When each pair from our classroom returns, we will discuss their missions before moving on to the next group."

Mrs. Evol folded her slender fingers together on top of her desk and the lacy Victorian collar of her crisp white blouse cupped her neck like Prairie Larkspur petals. "Does anyone have any questions before I begin handing them out?"

Not even a fluttering wing disturbed the edgy anticipation.

"All right then," Mrs. Evol said, crossing her legs under a black silk skirt. "As I call your name, come forward and pick up your folders."

Dekram grabbed Layol's hand and an electric crackle of hopeful understanding passed between them.

By the time the teacher was halfway through the third group, Dekram's wings hummed with excitement.

"You're cutting off the circulation in my fingers," Layol giggled.

"I can't help it!"

"I know! We're gonna be on-"

"Dekram and Layol."

Both fairies bolted into the air, slapped hands, let out shrill giggles, and whipped over classmate's heads toward the teacher's desk.

Detaf threw down his pencil and the teacher quickly challenged his outburst with a furrowed brow and then addressed Dekram and Layol with encouragement. "Let's hope your enthusiasm carries you through your mission."

"Pan's pledge!" Layol said, grabbing her folder.

Dekram slid her own folder under her arm and gave Mrs. Evol a quick hug.

With their heads together in a mess of mingling hair and quivering wings, the girls did a chaotic hummingbird dance all the way back to their desks.

Chapter 2

DEKRAM STOPPED IN front of the restroom door and handed off her books to Layol. "I'll be right out," she said.

"Meet me at the lockers. I gotta grab something," her friend shouted over her shoulder as she detoured away from the lunchroom and down the hall.

A few minutes later, as Dekram exited a bathroom stall, a swarm of fairies flew through the entrance and gathered by the far wall.

Standing in front of a long mirror opposite the stalls, Dekram tried not to stare at the group's reflection. While she undid the knot on her t-shirt, she caught short glimpses of the snarky looks they kept tossing her way, and averted her gaze. She yanked a handful of dried sawgrass from a dispenser, passed it under a trickle of water over the sink and rubbed at the biggest stain on the front of her t-shirt.

A squee of delight made her eyes jump to the mirror in time to see a Fire fairy hug a cell phone to her chest. Heads joined, hushed words blended unintelligible whispers, and wings buzzed excited anticipation as the Fire fairy's fingers moved swiftly over the phone's keypad.

What's Fire doing here? They're not allowed in the school. Dekram wet the sawgrass again and attacked the stain more aggressively.

An Earth fairy darted and squealed as Soahc and Etah blew into the bathroom, and all conversation ceased.

"Can you believe this?" touted the Fire fairy, wings enthusiastically invisible and her hand waving attention to Dekram at the sink.

Soahc gifted Fire with a brief smile, flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder and glared at Dekram. "Doing laundry in a public sink is disgusting, half-breed. Doesn't Mommy do it for you? Or is she too busy with her pond scum duties?"

Crap, Fire called her and told her I was here, and the rest of the fairies allowed it. Dekram lifted her eyes to the mirror, hand frozen, still gripping damp sawgrass.

"Yeah, now the sink'll need disinfectin'—true dat. You know I'm not usin' it," the Fire Fairy ballyhooed while passing the cell phone to a Water Fairy with moss-green skin. "Ain't nobody using it after that video goes viral in about…oh," she nodded her head at the moss-green fairy, "two seconds—hear me?" The Water Fairy nodded, thumb on the send button.

"Since pond-scummy-mummy clearly hasn't educated you in the proper personal hygiene etiquette of a half-breed," Soahc said, "back away from the sink. Go find a stagnant pond, or I'll stuff you and your frog-turd encrusted clothing into the toilet and flush a few times."

Etah blew a laugh dripping with attitude.

Fairy wings rattled like tree tops in a breeze.

Dekram pushed the saw-grass into a trashcan and edged toward the exit.

Etah stomped a side step with clunky brown boots and blocked Dekram's exit. Her jet-black hair had streaks of vivid colors that sent a harsh rainbow cascading across her face and down between two half-exposed breasts. She tossed the rainbow over her shoulder and grinned.

As Dekram tried to side step her boot, Etah swung her leg, knocked Dekram down, leapt on top of her and pinned her to the floor. "Grab her feet and hands!" she shouted at the group clustered by the stalls.

Fairies tightened their circle, anxious wings clashing. The Fire fairy elbowed her way out of the circle, nose in the air. "I'll hold her."

"I'll keep watch," said an Earth fairy, and bolted to the restroom door.

Soahc's lips parted in a garish grin. "Looky there, Earth's got potential. Who would've thought, right?" She looked around the room with big eyes. "But gosh, I sure don't see any other wannabes." She hooded her eyes and growled. "And I damn sure better not hear anyone talking about Fire in the restroom. Get it?" The swarm of fairies clung to each other, heads nodded affirmation.

Dekram kicked, and tried to scream under Etah's hand clamped over her mouth.

"Move it!" Soahc snapped her fingers and three fairies—two Water, one Earth—broke from the clump and jumped to help.

Etah straddled Dekram's stomach. "Keep her quiet!"

Wide-eyed, tears rolled down Dekram's temples.

The Fire fairy nodded and pinned Dekram's arms with her knees.

With one hand, Etah wrestled a pair of gym shorts out of her backpack and Dekram opened her mouth to scream. Etah muffled it with the shorts.

"Now that's teamwork." Soahc laughed and turned to the guard at the door. "How we doing?"

The Earth fairy peeked through a small window in the door. "Still good."

Etah pushed the shorts deeper into Dekram's mouth, jumped up, swung her leg back and kicked her hip. When Etah raised the clunky boot higher, all the fairies, except Fire, scattered and flew out of the bathroom. Etah laughed and followed through with another kick to the same hip.

Fire let go. Dekram moaned and rolled into a fetal position, eyes squeezed shut, nose catching a puddle of tears.

"Her friend is flying down the hall with a ton of books and a look of frustration," said the fairy at the door.

"Say anything to anyone, half-breed, and maybe we do your gal-pal next—even harder," Soahc snarled, and then fluttered toward the exit, arm-in-arm with the Fire fairy. "Put your glamour on," Soahc said to Fire, "and fade into middle-class, girl... and behave." They both laughed.

Etah toed Dekram's head back, spit on her face then curled her lips back. She yanked the gym shorts out of Dekram's mouth, tossed them in the trash container, and followed the others out of the restroom.

Wiping tears and spit off her cheeks, Dekram got to her knees. She was checking her hip when Layol catapulted into the restroom. "What are Soahc an'er decomposing spawn laughing at?" She sucked in a breath. "What'd they do to you?"

"I...they...nothing! I slipped on the wet floor," Dekram blurted. "My hip hurts…and …and they laughed at me, Lay."

"The witch has gone too far," Layol spat, helping Dekram to her feet. "I am so going to-"

"-do nothing!" Dekram finished the sentence. "Let's not make this worse than it is. Got it?" Please, please, let me pretend this was no big deal. She swallowed a sob.

"Oh, I got it all right." Layol brushed dirt off her friend's back and butt. "Soahc's gonna get hers someday, hopefully when I'm around."

* * *

THE LUNCHROOM WAS buzzing with chatter and bustling with activity when Dekram and Layol flew in. They paused, searching the crowd. "You okay?" Layol asked.

Dekram's eyes jumped from table to table of fairies shooting glances in their direction, cells in hand. "Fine, and please don't say anything to Nes." Stay calm. All of them cannot be looking at the stupid video of me scrubbing my shirt in the bathroom.

Layol tossed her hand in the air. "There he is," she said, pointing. "He's snagged the table in the back corner, behind the fern, again."

Dekram took in a long breath, made an attempt to smile and act normal as they flitted toward Nesohc. "You gotta love that fairy."

"Not me, gal-pal," Layol said. "You know he has a crush-"

"Don't even go there." Dekram shivered with uncontrollable excitement at the thought, but it was mixed with fear and shame. They are not pointing at me—just door watching. And I seriously doubt everyone knows I got my butt kicked in the bathroom. She palmed her hip and winced as they bolted for the table.

Dekram dropped her books on the table across from Nesohc. He dragged his fingers around the collar of his baggy t-shirt and scrunched up his face with a lopsided grin. "So, two more marks?"

"Guess you heard," Dekram said, hip throbbing while she fought the urge to favor it. I will die of pain before I give him a hint of what happened to me in that bathroom.

"Yep, I suppose you'll be working off deficiency marks in the library again." Nesohc took a sip of hibiscus nectar.

"Yeah," Dekram sighed, wondering how she was ever going to sit on the hard cafeteria chair, "right after school."

"Want some help?" He pushed long russet bangs away from milk-chocolate eyes, carrying the colors of an Earth fairy well.

Dekram, eyes drowning in Nesohc's, swallowed hard before remembering what they were talking about. "Um, thanks, but I got it. Mrs. Laretil thinks she's my fairy godmother, um, minus the pumpkin carriage." I can't think when he smiles like that, and today, that's a good thing. "She even rounds up the time to the nearest-"

Layol slapped her folder down next to Nesohc, and glared toward the food line. "Hey, Dek, why don't I get our lunches," she said. "You guys go outside under the oak tree…" Her voice faded as Nesohc's gaze led Dekram's eyes toward the lunch line where Soahc and her friends stood watching.

"Tink's excrement! I can get my own lunch!" Dekram snapped. Well, that was a bit exaggerated—crap—but Soahc is so not going to think I told Lay.

Layol blatantly glared at Dekram's hip. "Something else you're not telling me? 'Cause that was a bit overkillish."

"No!" Dekram said, and slapped her hand on her hip, then jerked it in the air as though she'd touched fire. Crap-crap-crap! I so need to get a handle on this. "I am not afraid of Soahc." Sh-yeah, right? Like I'm so not shaking in my undies at this moment.

"Yeah, right," Nesohc said as he got up from the table and tugged his jeans straight. "Go ahead. Get all ghetto. She'd love that."

"Sit your wings and things right back down." Dekram pointed to his chair. "I am not getting all ghetto on anyone. Thing about hate, it needs fuel. No fuel, it crawls back on itself and recoils."So not good at swinging punches, I'll just cliché her to death. Lay's glaring a hole right through me. Goddesses forgive me, but I'm beginning to feel the true meaning of hate…and anger.

Nesohc sat down, stretched his long legs under the table and crossed his black All Star tennis shoes. "Uh-huh, go ahead. I'll be watching and takin' notes," he said, shaking his head. His brows rolled under the brown and rust birthmark that looked like a snakeskin mask covering the area around his eyes and upper cheeks.

"Great," Layol spat, "the witch and her minions are hovering at the end of the line—probably on purpose—and sure as Tink has knockers, you don't need another D-mark."

"Not going to happen," Dekram said with a confident smile. This is a nightmare waiting to happen, but Soahc will keep victimizing me if I crawl into a corner and let her win.

Nesohc picked up his acorn and strawberry burrito-wrapped clover leaf, dripping with cream and smiled at Layol around a bite. "Shrill if you need me." He swallowed hard and reached for his hibiscus nectar.

Layol jiggled her brows at him and followed Dekram.

As the girls took their place at the end of the food line, Soahc grabbed a tray, wrinkled her nose, and dramatically looked around, sniffing. She flipped blond hair off her shoulder and leaned toward her hooked-n-booked pal, Etah. "Someone needs to put the trash out."

Etah grimaced, eyes sparkling as she finger-combed her rainbow hair. "Yeah, half-breed smells like compost pile filled with some seriously spoiled meat." With a grin she tapped a clunky boot on the lunchroom floor, eyes on Dekram's hip.

"She regurgitating the restroom thing?" Layol asked near Dekram's cheek.

Dekram turned a set of wide eyes and tight lips at Layol. Please, please, please, don't start.

"I've suddenly lost my appetite," Bacs said, tossing his tray back on the pile, looking for an approving smile from Soahc. "She might've been scrubbing like a banshee, but she sure didn't get the smell of rancid fish meat out of her t-shirt."

Soahc's head whipped toward the line attendant, an Earth fairy with spider webbing covering her short gray hair, then gritted her teeth and traveled a warning glance down the food bar. Cell phones clicked off up and down the lunch-line.

"Something smells like maggot puke in that serving dish, right there." Mirg bounced a finger at the tray. "Come to think of it, that pervades the air we breathe." She pulled her cowl neck collar over her nose, elbowed the boy in front of her and grabbed a bowl of berries floating in blood-red syrup.

Layol, face full of puckered lips and eyebrows reaching for each other, ignored Mirg and thumbed a remark in Soahc's direction. "Lemme go all Puck's revenge on 'er."

Dekram replied with a furrowed brow and tight lips.

Soahc pushed an ugly face at Layol while addressing Dekram. "What? Mommy didn't bring you a larvae lunch with that dirty t-shirt?"

Bacs closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and held a palm up in front of Dekram. "Man, if I were you I'd be workin' some charmin'-n-glamourin' unless you take after Mom's side of the family."

"Ain't no way she got Dad's powers." Etah snorted a mocking smile at Dekram. "Or are you trying to look ugly?"

Layol gave Bacs angry eyes and then got right up in Etah's face. "You may find yourself ass-deep in the next Stephen King thriller, you keep this crap up."

Bacs laughed.

Etah growled.

Dekram shivered. Crap-crap-crap, I can't let Soahc think Lay knows.

"Anyone ever notice there's a lot of decomposition in King's books? Take The Stand," Mirg said, moving down the line after pouring cream over her berries. "Cadavers bloated in the streets, hanging out of cars, buses, subways-"

"I hate who you are," Etah spat, glaring at Dekram. "I hate what you look like."

"...yep, lots of rotting bodies in that one," Mirg continued. "Smelly bloated cadavers all over the place, rotting in the sun."

Layol leaned in, a death grip on her empty tray; she looked like a boiling kettle as she glared at Etah. "I'm gonna bury you six feet under Wandermere."

"You talk crap," Bacs said.

"Yeah, she should be six-feet-under." Etah nodded toward Layol, eyes set on Dekram. "She's startin' to smell like decomp, half-breed. You commin' off on 'er?"

I need to stop this before Lay unknowingly sets up her own funeral.

"Huh, speaking of decomposition, imagine the smell wafting off those putrefied bodies." Mirg shuddered climactically and then added a dollop of what looked like honey glazed spam on top of her berries. 'In the real dark night of the soul, it is always three o'clock in the morning, day after day.'  F. Scott Fitzgerald said that."

Dekram elbowed Layol a warning. "My problem, just ignore them."

Hissing through her teeth, Layol ladled thick red juice into an oversized cup, slammed it on her tray and positioned herself between Soahc and Dekram.

"Layol's grunge." Soahc snickered, added sliced cucumber to her tray, pushed it along as she finished. "Let's bag it and tag it for what it is."

Layol glared, veins popping out on her neck. Dekram softly nudged her. Layol, both hands white-knuckling her tray, rode it closer to Soahc.

It's now or never. I need to turn this back on me. Dekram calmly picked up a salad plate of dandelion, purple clover, huckleberry and highbush blueberries. She ladled a small amount of saffron and yogurt dressing over the salad, leaned around Layol and smiled at Soahc. "I wish I was colorblind like my mamma. That way I wouldn't get hungry for marshmallow bunnies every time I see your riotous yellow hair nesting your mottled blue face. You look like an upside down Easter basket, gal pal."

Soahc's chin dropped.

Layol yelped a laugh, sent her tray flying, and cherry juice drizzled down Soahc's face, onto her saffron dress, and pooled around the silver belt cinched at her waist.

Everyone's eyes got big.

Soahc shot three feet into the air and dumped her half-filled tray. "Impy mantis spit! This is my favorite dress!"

Bacs hid a grin.

Etah jerked handfuls of colored leaves out of a dispenser by the checkout and began wiping at the sticky red juice in Soahc's hair and on her chest.

Mirg said, "How horridly amazing. You look just like Sissy Spacek in the movie Carrie when the bucket of pig's blood-"

"Stop!" Soahc screeched at Etah, red spittle flying from her mouth. "You're making it worse!"

Bacs rubbed his chin with long skinny fingers. "Can cherry juice discolor hair...permanently? 'Cause mixing yellow and red makes orange, right?"

"Art 101." Layol spit a giggle.

Dekram turned to the very quiet lunchroom and shouted, "Anyone filming this? I bet it would get more hits than my domestic skills in the bathroom."

Soahc froze, a red droplet hanging from the tip of her nose. She glared at Dekram.

The lunchroom began to burble with giggles and rolled into boisterous laughter.

"Karma's a pixie. You shouldn't've laughed at Dek when she fell in the restroom," Layol said and tucked a smile between her teeth.

"Yeah, how's it feel?" Dekram blurted, body shaking, wings dusting yellow sparkles. O'mifairygodmother! Did I just say all that? OMFG!

"You wingless little…little gremlins! You are sooo both on my FD list." Soahc rocketed toward the bathroom, her minions in frantic pursuit.

"Exit time," Layol said. She grabbed a rolled-up romaine leaf stuffed with cream cheese and dates with one hand and Dekram's arm with the other.

"What's an FD list?" Dekram nervously burbled, hugging her tray.

"Fairy dung," Layol giggled. "Big deal. It was so worth the threat to see Soahc laughed at."

"You are in so much crap," Nesohc told Dekram, the minute they arrived at the table. "Talk about adding fuel to the proverbial fire. That snake didn't do any crawling. It jumped right to recoil and my bet is it isn't going to waste any time striking at you again."

Dekram took a deep breath that quelled a nervous giggle.

"Not just her," Layol said, hyperventilating. "I fumbled my drink."

"Well, at least, it won't hurt you to get a deficiency mark," Nesohc said from behind the hand covering his grin. "Hope Dek doesn't get another."

It doesn't matter, we're both dead. Dekram's wings blurred and whirred a high-pitched sound.

Layol darted, and maniacally shrieked, "Hey, did you hear? Dek and I got on the same team for mock missions!" She landed in a perfect ladylike position on the cafeteria chair across from Nesohc and then stuffed the rolled lettuce into her mouth, eyes darting around the cafeteria.

"Dang. Screech much?" Nesohc laughed.

Dekram softly mumbled, "Don't worry, Lay, I won't let them get back at you."

"I'm not sweating them," Layol said. "My...um, mother'll bust my butt if I get a deficiency mark."

Nesohc tucked his lips between his teeth trying to hold back a laugh. He sat back and picked up the folder. "So what's the mission, girls?"

"Woman flipping lit cigarettes out her car window." Layol pointed to an explanation on the first page. "Already started one small brush fire, but she didn't get caught. Piece of cake."

Nesohc sucked in a breath and tapped a finger at a line on the middle of the page. "Oh, crap. You're going out with the third group."

"And I should be concerned, why?" Layol tucked the rest of her lettuce roll into her mouth.

"So are Soahc and every one of her friends," Nesohc said.

Layol spewed lettuce and cream cheese all over the table.

Chapter 3

DEKRAM SAT INDIAN-style on her bed, a pillow stuffed under her bruised hip, mission file spread in front of her. She groaned when her cell phone buzzed on the nightstand and carefully scooted toward it. Layol's avatar smiled at her from the screen.

"Hey, what's up?" Dekram asked around huffs and puffs as she got situated again.

"Crap, you sound like you're dying."

"Might as well be—doing homework."

"Nes just called all upset." Layol sucked in a noisy breath and then rapid fired: "He's at Tripp'n Poppy's and just witnessed Soahc and her friends dragging Bacs across the parking lot, and they all got on Soahc's Black Witch moth. Nes heard Soahc say, 'Let's dump his sorry ass. I'm not getting popped just because he's stupid enough to mix honey with whatever that Fire fairy sold him.'"

"And Nesohc cares, why?"

Layol blustered a sigh. "Uh, maybe because Bacs was puking all over himself, and his wings were lifeless. Nesohc said he couldn't even stand. What if he's really sick?"

"What if he's just drunk?" Dekram shot back and then bit her lip. "Why were they out partying on a school night, anyway?"

"You didn't check your Fun Mail?"

"No, after I got home from the library, Mom spent the whole evening yelling about the stupid blouse. I barely made it through dinner, hid in my room, and I've been working on the mission. Besides I never check my Fun Mail on school nights. Why?"

"There's a buzz at Tripp'n Poppy's tonight."

A buzz was a let's-get-together-and-party-down event: loud, crowded, multi-species, replete with illegal drugs and way too much drinking. Times and locations came through a Buzz Word text in a 'for students' eyes only' Fun Mail account.

"Why is Nes at a buzz?" Dekram wanted to know.

"I didn't ask."

Dekram, Layol and Nesohc attended a buzz only once and left when a big fight broke out between a group of Air fairies and Fire fairies. The next day Nesohc learned someone had slipped Angel Trumpet into the drink of one of the Air fairies, nearly killing her.

"You should have," Dekram said. "We promised we'd never go again!"

"Jiminy Christmas! He didn't give me a chance! He just told me to call you because his caterpillar is doing the cocoon thing and he can't get Bacs home without your dragonfly. Then he hung up."

"I told him not to get a caterpillar. Guys! He thought he was getting two vehicles in one. How stupid is that? I so do not want to get up in Soahc's face. And you know how unpredictable Renrad is. Why can't you two just take your moth, Woolly?"

"Woolly Bear is sick again. C'mon. I'll bring you an aloe leaf for your hip."

Layol's uncle had surprised her by sending a Yellow Woolly Bear moth from Michigan for her first form of transportation. True, it was beautiful—creamy white with a cute cotton tuft behind its head—but the moth was not doing well in Florida's hot, sticky weather.

"Poor Woolly," Dekram said and sighed. "I am not rubbing a gooey aloe leaf all over my butt."

Layol giggled. "It'll keep your undies in place."

"You better pray to the Elements my mother lets me out tonight. Did you tell Nesohc to call us when they dump Bacs?"

"Yes, and why don't you just lock your bedroom door and fly out the window?"

"That is so not going to happen, especially after the blouse blunder."

Layol made a tsking noise. "How 'bout I head to the pond and if you don't show up, borrow Renrad."

"In A Midsummer Night's Dream, you will. Don't you dare snag my ride. I'll be there." Dekram slapped her cell shut, shoved it in the back pocket of her skinny-jeans, and yelped. Thank the Elements I don't have to walk everywhere. She paid special attention to her tender hip as she transferred the phone to her front pocket before flying out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

In the living room, Dekram's mother, Diuqil was inspecting her larvae farm.

Setting her jaw, wings trembling, Dekram hid in the hall. There is no way to be honest about this. If I say I'm trying, I'm double lying. "Mom, can I go over to Layol's for a couple of hours? We want to work on our mock mission together, and, um, maybe we'll return the blouse first."

Diuqil looked up from the glass aquarium, fingering a cluster of small wiggly mosquito larva in her palm. "I've already returned it, and I see no reason why you wouldn't be able to work on your project over the phone."

Dekram's lips tightened, arms crossed over her chest. "If you're not letting me go just because of the stupid blouse," she groused. "Water fairies don't even wear clothes most of the time, and it's not like I dress like a Fire fairy, either."

Diuqil turned back to the larvae in her hand. "There is no shame in exposing your natural form the way nature intended us to. However, there is shame in decorating your body to provoke lust." She placed her hand into the aquarium until the larva floated off, and then frowned at Dekram. "That blouse was like putting a sign around your neck advertising the desire for sexual attention. You're too young."

Eyes closed in frustration; Dekram let out a noisy breath and added to her lie. "O-kay, I-get-it. I won't do it again." She plucked a grape leaf draped over a toadstool by the aquarium and passed it to her mother. "Look, we tried to work on the project over the phone, but Layol's cell keeps dropping the call. C'mon! It's such a pain."

Her mother slowly wiped a wet hand with the grape leaf, forehead wrinkled, mouth scrunched to one side, and finally spoke. "Why are you favoring your hip?"

"I…a harsh wind whipped me into an oak tree by the pond." One lie leads to another and then another, and I hate lying! If she just trusted me.

Diuqil asked. "Did you fall off Renrad?'

"No!"

Her mother studied her again and then flew into the kitchen. Dekram heard a cupboard open, glass tinkle and finally Diuqil flew back into the room with a small vial of purple liquid. "Take this; it'll help the pain."

"Can I go over to Layol's?" Dekram asked. Her mother's hand circled a command to drink-up.

While Dekram swallowed and grimaced, Diuqil said, "Well, you're clearly lying to me about something." Her mother reached for the empty vial. "Take Renrad and be back before your father gets home in two hours. He's leaving in the morning, and you should, at least, say goodbye."

"I will," Dekram shouted over her shoulder as she flew out through a flickering hole imbedded in the cavity of the oak tree.

At the pond, Dekram hovered in front of Layol, wings racing. "We have two hours. So I sure hope they dump him somewhere quickly," she said, untying Renrad's lead and hopping onto her dragonfly's back.

"You know, if you didn't wear that blouse today, we'd probably-"

"I'm over the pixin' blouse!" Dekram snapped. "I don't need another mother. The one I've got is enough of a pain! Can we just move on?"

"Just sayin'." Layol settled into place behind her friend. "I'm not hurting your hip am I?"

"Mom gave me something and it's calmed down a bit."

"What'd she give ya?'

"Don't know, tasted awful." Dekram launched Renrad with sharp kicks to his flanks. "Wing it, Ren!" As the dragonfly revved up, she turned and shouted over her shoulder, "Have you talked to Nesohc?"

Chin resting on Dekram's back, Layol answered, "Yes, he said he thinks they're headed for the academy."

"Cruella's freakin' Hell Hall! I thought Soahc liked Bacs. If one of the staff finds him, he'll get confinment."

"No kidding," Layol trilled.

Dekram tightened her knees against Renrad and tugged the lead right, in the direction of the academy. Renrad veered left. "No, you stupid dragonfly! Wing right." She pulled the lead harder to the right. Renrad turned an abrupt widdershins circle.

"Swell, now he's flying counterclockwise circles." Layol giggled and slapped Dekram on the back. "Why don't you just pull left when you want him to go right?"

"Not only do I have the biggest, ugliest vehicle at school, but the stupid thing has to be directionally challenged." Dekram dug in her heels and jerked the lead left.

Renrad made a neck-breaking stop and both fairies slid forward behind his head. One of the dragonfly's multifaceted eyes turned downward when he swiveled his head. The other eye searched upward. He hovered a few seconds, and before the girls could sit up, the bug bolted for the grass beneath them. Renrad landed, hiked up his back half, and tumbled the fairies onto his head. The dragonfly carefully plucked an aphid off an Oxeye daisy, sat back and nibbled, his body vibrating.

Layol sat up, burbling with laughter.

"Oh, for the love of Disney! This vehicle is going to be the death of me." Dekram wiggled into an upright position, tapped her heels against the dragonfly's flank, and gently pulled back on the lead. "Let's wing it, Ren!"

Renrad paused mid-chew, and shot into the air.

Layol spit Dekram's hair out of her mouth as she asked, "Okay, so how about...a nice little tug… left?"

Dekram's nostrils flared, and she laid the lead over Renrad's neck, giving a soft pull to the left. He banked right and leveled out in the direction of the academy.

The girls flew several very erratic circles around the schoolyard before they spotted Nesohc leaning over Bacs about twenty feet away from a dumpster behind the academy. He was wearing a red t-shirt, dark jeans, his All Stars and a Disney baseball cap.

Dekram urged Renrad forward. The dragonfly's head went batty while he circled a few times. He finally shot downward, came to a head-jerking stop then launched himself into the open dumpster where he promptly began his second course—maggots infesting a bag of discarded junk food.

Layol jerked Dekram three feet upward. "Eww, how gross was that?" she shrieked.

Dekram was about to answer when Nesohc stood, waved his arms, and shouted, "I don't think he's breathing!"

They bolted over to where Bacs lay motionless, skin gray, lips blue and covered in reeking vomit.

Dekram leaned down, held her breath, and carefully placed two fingers under the left side of his chin. "He has a very weak pulse, and it's irregular."

"Have you tried to wake him?" Layol asked.

"That's all I've been doing," Nesohc said, worry creasing the bridge of his nose. "I was about to try mouth-to-mouth when you flew up."

"Somebody should clear his airway first," Dekram said, staring at Nesohc.

Layol winced and fluttered back a foot. "Slime on a shingle! I am so not putting my mouth anywhere near his."

"Well, what else do you suggest?" Nesohc paced, tossing long arms around as he spoke. "We can't just leave him here. I wanted to dump him on his front lawn and call his mother, but that's out of the question. He needs immediate help."

"We should call medical," Dekram suggested.

"I'm thinking Human Services," Layol said.

"Sure, why not HS?" Nesohc said, sarcastically. "Then he can kiss the mock missions goodbye."

Dekram put her hands on her hips. "Look at him! Does that matter at the moment?"

"I know, but I thought… I guess I didn't think."

"Doesn't matter, and time's a wasting," said Layol. "Call somebody, 'cause it's too late to leave it now."

"Oh, Goddess Aine, help us. Soahc is responsible for this, not us," Dekram hissed. "Now we have to explain how we found him and I hate lying, darn it."

"Damn Soahc," Nesohc growled. "She causes a whirlwind of pandemonium wherever she lands and leaves the rest of us to clean up after her."

"Yeah, and just how did you find yourself in the middle of her little tornado of chaos?" Dekram asked. Like I can talk, I'm the one who put a smile on Soahc's sardonic lips earlier today. Got the big purple bruise to prove it.

Nesohc's wings vibrated, dusting the pavement bright red around his feet. He kicked at it, chin lowered, eyes averted. "She kept bugging me, texting me, leaving notes in my locker. I decided to put an end to her crap, up close and personal this time, so I followed her tonight."

"I thought she and Bacs were an item," Dekram said, wings turning green, face turning pink. Why does he have to be so darn nice...and kissable?

"I did too." Nesohc tried to hide a grin, eyes watching green sprinkles dust the pavement. "Guess not."

"Hey, kid-dying-on-the-pavement! Can't find a pulse over here," Layol said, fingers gripping Bacs' wrist.

"What?" Dekram said.

"No pixin' way!" Nesohc pulled out his cell.

* * *

DEKRAM’S FATHER, REDAEL, stood in front of her as they watched the Red Skimmer Dragonfly lift off, heading for the infirmary. One of the two Earth fairy EMTs aboard gave a wave and Dekram sighed with relief; they'd managed to stabilize Bacs after asking them a plethora of questions and then inducing him to vomit.

As the Skimmer buzzed away, Redael turned to Dekram. "Recreational consumption of honey is illegal for all Academy students, young lady. Explain yourself."

Dekram's eyes and mouth got very big and round. "I do not drink honey!"

Nesohc stepped in front of Redael. "It's not her fault. I watched three Air fairies drag Bacs onto their vehicle. I could see he was, um, well, really wasted, so I followed them. And when they just dumped him here I called Layol and Dek to help me get him to his house because my caterpillar is in a cocoon at the moment. But by the time they got here, Bacs was in bad shape and I called you."

"We called you, not just because you're Dek's father but you're big in HS," Layol said. "You know your way around the department heads. We wanted to be able to explain things. We don't want to be kicked off the missions. This is not Nesohc's fault, either."

Dekram's father raised a brow at Layol but spoke to Nesohc. "Were the three Air fairies inebriated as well?"

"They might have had some honey, but I heard them mention Bacs mixed his drink with drugs."

"Do you know where they got the honey and the drugs?" Redael asked, angry eyes moving over all three of them.

They looked at one another until Dekram's father prompted them with a throaty growl.

Layol's whole body shook. "Well, technically, sir-"

"I am not asking for technicalities!" Redael ground out and then glared at Nesohc. "Where was the boy before they dragged him to a vehicle?"

"At the buzz," Layol blurted. "It's…um…a dance-party kind of thing, but we don't go to them, because-"

"Evidently Nesohc did," Redael interrupted, his wings vibrating with annoyance.

"Nes didn't go for the party," Dekram quickly said. "He doesn't drink or do drugs."

Redael unclenched his fists, shoved his hands into his pockets and addressed Nesohc. "Then why were you there?"

Nesohc's All Star tennis shoe scuffed the pavement, and his cheeks reddened under his tattoo. He flipped over his right hand. "I told you, I was following..."

"I heard what you said. I wish to know why you were there in the first place."

Nesohc, Dekram and Layol exchanged a look of unease.

"It was personal, sir," Nesohc finally said.

"Out with it!" Redael ordered.

"He doesn't want to tell you, Dad," Dekram sobbed, wrapping her wings around her shoulders and face.

"The Elements be damned, he will tell me or suffer the consequences."

"Dad, please," Dekram whined, peeking through her translucent wings.

"Elfin bee's knees!" Nesohc sucked in a noisy breath and blew it through fluttering lips. "It was all about one of the Air fairies, not Bacs. She'd been texting me and leaving notes in my locker. She's the one I was following. She and her friends dumped Bacs, but I can't tell you who she is because-"

Layol paused Nesohc's words with a gentle touch to his shoulder. "Nes just wanted to tell her to back off. She's not a nice fairy, but happens to be the most popular girl at the academy, and she probably got in Nesohc's face just to hack off Dek. She hates Dek because she's…um-"

"Dad, can we just let this go?" Dekram's flesh was bright pink and red sparkles fell from her animated wings.

A look of understanding passed over Redael's face. His jaw had tightened before his shoulders relaxed. "I cannot let it go even if I wanted to. The boy is on his way to the hospital, and a report will be filed. I'm sure I'll be getting a call this evening from the HS commissioner as soon as she sees my name on it. At the very least, I'll need to tell her who is responsible for the drugs, and why I was called." He looked pointedly at his daughter.

Layol screwed up her mouth, loudly tsked, and with a huff of resignation, said, "The buzz was at Tripp'n Poppy's. Well, technically, sir…," Layol's body flashed pink, and she closed her eyes as she hurriedly finished, "…um, it was at the warehouse behind the bar, so I doubt Poppy knew there were drugs and honey on the premises."

"And it's not the only place they buzz," Nesohc added, drawing Redael's attention.

"Who? Who buzzes?" Redael asked.

"Just about all the kids at the academy," Dekram said.

"How do you hear about these buzz parties?"

Nesohc pulled out his phone and waved it at Dekram's father. "We get texts through Fun Mail."

"Who sends the texts and who organizes the parties?" Redael's eyes became alert.

The three fairies looked at each other for answers. Nesohc turned to Dekram's father. "We don't know."

"I'll need you to forward me any communications you get about these parties." He laid hard eyes on them. "All of you."

Three heads bounced with a lot of wing action going on behind them.

"Who brings the drugs into these…buzzes?" Redael pushed further.

"We don't know that either," Nesohc said, looking as frustrated as Dekram's father.

"But there are always Fire fairies there," Layol offered then blushed. "That's what I hear anyway."

Redael frowned, hand worrying his chin. After a few wing beats, he said, "I'm going to tell you something and I suggest you spread it around."

Dekram started to say something but hesitated when her father raised his hand and continued. "The Human Services Department has been having meetings about the way the Academy has chosen to… humanize the students as part of their training."

It became silent enough to hear Dekram's dragonfly munching in the dumpster near the building behind them.

Redael gave the bug a thoughtful glance and turned back to his daughter. "Allowing you to conduct your daily lives as humans, pretend insects are actually vehicles, have cell phones to communicate with, play on human websites, dress like humans and listen to iPods seems to be backfiring."

Dekram's jaw dropped halfway to her chest. Letting us conduct our daily lives like humans? What other way was there? Her wings fell limp. "Do you mean everyone who lives in Wandermere has been humanized at some point...because of us kids? Why, Dad?"

Redael took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "The idea was to make this generation of fairies more aware of what they would be dealing with on the other side of the portal and, therefore, take our life's work to another level. But you're becoming too humanized. This event is a perfect example."

Nesohc opened his mouth to say something. Redael put his hand up. "You know we haven't successfully bred in over a thousand years. Your births have been a blessing. To have this new generation of fairies truly understand humanistic behavior, everyone in Wandermere had to adapt."

Nesohc said, "But-"

"Hold that 'but'," Layol snapped at Nesohc and then asked Redael, "What about Soa—um, I mean, the Fire fairies at the buzz?"

Dekram's mind was racing. My life is an impin' Disney movie! My skinny jeans? What do real fairies wear? Do they use lipstick? Do fairies really exist? Do they.. o'blessmyfantasyinjectedlife, could Tink be a real fairy?

Redael sighed. "It's not the Fire fairies HS is concerned with—they will never be allowed to enter the human world again. However, the rest of you may, if you pass your mission tests, and HS is well aware that combining the negative human behavior you're exhibiting with the powers you should all possess—charming your appearance, using spells to manipulate human behavior—well, you could generate actions that could quite possibly change the future in an unfavorable way. The department is concerned. So am I, especially after what I've heard tonight.

"So if you're enjoying your… human side, I suggest you pass the word around that if the students continue to degenerate, all human toys will be taken away and all fledglings will be detained in decompressing facilities where we can erase the emotional scars you have been so freely given."

Layol said, "So technically, we don't have to tell you who dumped Bacs, just get everyone at the academy to drop out of the buzz scene, stop making nice with the Fire fairy kids, and then you guys won't have to fry our brains, right?"

They all looked at her.

Dekram was first to speak. "Our whole perception of life has just been ripped out from under us and all you can think of is whether we have to rat out Soahc?"

Layol's eyes got big and round. "Puck's pixin' blunder! I was just thinking about you. You know what she'll do if your father-"

"Hack her!" Nesohc shouted. "I'd love to see her mendacious wings clipped."

"M-E-N-D-A-C-I-O-U-S," Dekram said, "telling lies: having lied in the past, or prone to lying at any given time." She smiled at Nesohc. "Sounds about right."

Layol grinned. "I hate when you get all Webster-D on us."

Redael smiled. "I don't feel bringing Soahc into this at the moment is necessary. You've given me enough information to approach the board. And just for the record, I think the academy's original plan was a good one. I'd like to see it come to fruition."

"Exactly what part of the information we gave you was enough to approach the board?" Nesohc wanted to know.

Instead of answering Nesohc's question, Redael panned a stern look. "I'll be checking my cell phone daily for forwarded Fun Mail texts announcing upcoming buzzes. And I expect the three of you to spread the word about the HS meetings; quite possibly no action will be required if you can convince your peers that they need to clean up their actions and use the tools you have been given in a more effective manner." He nodded in the direction of the building behind Dekram. "Get Renrad out of the dumpster and take everyone home. Tell your mother I shouldn't be much longer."

As they watched Dekram's father fly off in the direction of the Human Services Department, Layol said, "Sh-yeah-right? Like that is so not going to happen. No one listens to us."

"We've got to come up with something," Dekram said, staring at Renrad.

"I think I'll head over to the infirmary to make sure Bacs is okay before I go home," Nesohc said, walking off in the opposite direction of the dumpster.

Dekram asked Layol. "You ready?"

"Yeah, about that, I'm just gonna use my own wings to fly home," said Layol, eyeing Renrad. "I can smell him from here."

"Great. Just great, I am in so much crap when I get home; literally and figuratively," Dekram said, stomping toward her dragonfly. "I so need to teach my car some table manners."

Layol called after her, "Hey, if he can dumpster-dive for dinner and eat a bumblebee for lunch, bet he can woof down Soahc for breakfast. Just sayin'..."

Dekram turned, walking backwards. "I said I wanted to teach him, not poison him."

Chapter 4

"I JUST LEFT Bacs." Nesohc's anxious voice amplified through Dekram's cell phone speaker. "And I'm telling you, he did not purchase the drug."

"Okay, if he didn't buy the Angel Trumpet dust, how did it get in his stomach?" Dekram pushed her mission statement folder aside,  wiggled across her bed and dangled her feet over the side.

"He's not sure," Nesohc said, "but they found large amounts of the hallucinogen in his system. Bacs said he only had one shot of honey, no drugs. Someone had to have slipped it into his drink."

"Do you think he's just saying that so he won't get grounded? Ankle-rings are hated!" Dekram flew over to her mirror for a closer look at the bruise. She pulled the elastic waistband of her pajama bottoms aside and finger-tested her hip. No pain and just a purple-yellowish bruise.

"No, he acted weird when the doctor told him about the drugs. I don't think he took them knowingly. I think he was pixed."

The elastic on Dekram's pajamas slipped from her fingers and snapped around her waist. "Did you ask Bacs who gave him the drink? You don't think Soahc would…I mean, surely—that impin'-wimpin' fairy's fart—she wouldn't, would she?"

"I didn't think to ask Bacs who handed him the drink. Sure makes me want to watch my back—yours, too. It's not the first time someone put drugs into someone's—"

"Everyone said it was Fire fairies," Dekram whispered, remembering the swarm with skull tattoos. But what if it's Soahc? She ran shaky fingers over her scalp, pushing bright curls off her forehead.

A frustrated breath came from the cell phone speaker. "Do you remember if Soahc was at the buzz the night the Air fairy almost died?"

Dekram glared at the phone in her hand. "I'm sure. They all go to every buzz. Maybe I should talk to my father before he leaves on his H S mission in the morning."

"Let's not go getting all Monster House on Soahc before we know for sure if she had anything to do with this."

Dekram paced in front of the mirror, a tight grip on her iPhone. "I think we should, at least, do some checking around. Soahc's part in this is a good place to start." Should be checking out the Skulls, too, but…

"Yeah, and we need to figure out how to let the kids know about the meetings at Human Services. That should be a priority before getting your father further involved."

Dekram caught her frazzled reflection in the mirror as she flitted by. Tinker PJs and a Wicked Witch of the West expression—oh, yeah, I'm stylin'. "I'll call Layol. Maybe she can come up with something."

"Don't go getting her hyped on the drug thing. You know how much she hates Soahc and—"

"Look, I get it. You want to be fair, impartial, but Bacs almost died tonight,"—and I have a huge bruise on my hip—"just like the other Air fairy, and Soahc was right in the middle of this one. That's serious. We need to warn the kids that buzz about drugs being dumped in the honey…especially when Soahc's around." She stared at her reflection again, finger-combed her hair and tried to put the same innocent look on her face that the storybook fairy on her pajamas wore. The faux expression didn't quite hit its mark. Don't make this personal—think Fire swarming, ugly skulls, putrid honey, and…"Oh, crap," Dekram mumbled, "I so want this to be all Soahc."

"What was that?"

"Nothing," she said.

Nesohc sighed. "Call me if you two come up with something—if not, we'll talk about it tomorrow."

Dekram disconnected, pulled up Layol's avatar and popped it with a thumb.

"Ss-up, Dek?"

"Here's the latest from Nes on Bacs," she said, then started in. A few minutes later Dekram finished with, "What if Soahc slipped him a thrill?" S-L-A-N-D-E-R: a false and malicious statement that damages somebody's reputation.

The connection was quiet for three human heartbeats, and then Dekram heard Layol's wings rev up to a loud buzz. "I've got an idea on how to warn the kids and taint Soahc's wings. I'm gonna get all passive-aggressive, malicious fairy on 'er!"

"What?"

"Do you ever surf the Net?"

Dekram rolled her eyes. "Not unless I have to."

"Tink-a-poo, you need to work up your geek. Thank the Elements I am so on it."

* * *

DEKRAM WOKE THE next morning feeling listless from lack of sleep and unnerved by the previous night's events. She expected to be turned into a stone lawn ornament the minute her mother locked eyes with her. She was positive her father'd already told her mother about the Bacs thing. By the time she reached the kitchen she was in a dither.

When her mother backhanded undulating-dreads out of her eyes and greeted her with a warm smile, Dekram's jaw dropped. Diuqil spooned oatmeal into a bowl that was sitting on the table in front of an empty chair.

Quickly taking the seat in front of the bowl of oatmeal—even though she wasn't at all hungry—Dekram busied herself by adding cream and sugar, and, rather noisily, began to stir.

Trying to hide a grin, her father pulled a sheet of paper out of a manila folder and hid behind it.

Dekram's eyes danced over everything in the room but her parents' faces as she dug in and pulled a spoonful of cereal toward her mouth.

A chuckle from behind her father's paper made Dekram jump.

"Redael, stop teasing our daughter." Diuqil's voice jerked Dekram's head in that direction. "It was commendable to give up your studies to handle that poor boy last night, Dekram," she said, setting the oatmeal pot on a trivet beside an Easy Bake Oven. She popped the oven door open and pulled out a muffin the size of a human quarter, and set it before Dekram. "The swift decisions you and your friends made probably saved that boy's life and certainly exemplified adult behavior in a serious situation. I'm very proud of all of you."

Dekram gulped hard, oatmeal moving way too slowly down the back of her throat. She gave it a shove with an enormous bite off the muffin. Oh, Eternal Darkness!—I'm a descendent of Puck.

Redael ducked behind the open manila folder he was holding.

Diuqil set a thimble full of peach nectar beside her oatmeal.

"Um," Dekram took a huge sip from the thimble, swallowed several times, and then finished by saying, "it seemed like the right thing to do at the time." I just so didn't lie right to her face—again!—I'm less than a skid-mark on the inside of Puck's undies.

Redael cleared his throat.

"Helping a classmate,"—her mom placed dirty dishes into the sink—"was of dire importance at the time. You reacted admirably. Now off to school before you are late."

Dekram jumped from her chair, spoon clanking in the bowl, bolted to the kitchen door and ricocheted back, wings treading air. "I almost forgot. Is it okay if I stay after school and get some work done in the library?" NOT! I have no idea where my admirable friends and I  will actually be digging up dirt on Soahc and her Fire fairy brethren. "I promise I won't be home too late." O'mifairygodmother, I'm becoming one of the horrid characters in an R.L. Stine novel.

"I'm sure you'll be using your time wisely," her father cut in. "I'll be eager to hear all about the mock missions when I get back."

Before her mother could comment, her dad covered Diuqil's mouth with a goodbye kiss, and Dekram flew out the door.

Dekram's first period was Mortal Behavioral Traits—Soahc and Bacs were in the same class. She hovered by the lockers outside the door, thinking how ironic the class seemed now.

Watching the students that flew into the classroom, she became aware of just how humanized the fairies had become. All in the name of being able to understand the human race so we can better spell and charm them from destroying their world. Dekram postulated while scrutinizing small groups buzzing by, advertising the human facade each copied in every detail: dress, attitude, and speech. All were holding pixie size human toys—cell phones, iPads, Nintendo DSs, Kindle readers, MP3 players—and most had ear-buds plugged into their ears. Students swapped cheat codes, discussed new rage downloads, like Vine; laughed at Facebook posts, Twitter comments, and whose were the snarkiest.

As Dekram flew into the classroom, Soahc gave her a wicked smile, held up her cell phone and mouthed, "How's the hip?"

Dekram passed by quickly and found her seat, very aware of Bacs' vacant one.

Several of the students leaned in closer while Soahc whispered, eyes on Dekram, lips curled in disgust. On cue, her wannabe fans burst into giggles, all eyes jumping from Soahc's cell phone to Dekram and back again.

Dekram ignored them, wiggled into her seat, crossed her legs and made a point not to favor her bruised hip. You'd think the popularity of the stupid video would be yesterday's news with Bacs in the hospital.

Mr. Ezeerb, who was writing on the chalkboard, loudly cleared his throat. The class became quiet.

With a wicked grin on her face, Soahc passed a note that made its way to Dekram.

Dekram mumbled as she read, "Poor Bacs. Nesohc dropped the ball." Dekram turned red, and her wings fluttered as she read on. "It could have been Nesohc, ya know." She looked up, and Soahc made her eyes big with feigned fear as she mouthed, "OR ME!"

Before Dekram could do more than grit her teeth, Mr. Ezeerb turned around and Soahc's head swiveled back toward the front of the room. As the class continued, Dekram's mind rambled. I'm almost sure that Soahc knew we'd found Bacs, and probably guessed that Nesohc told me about going to meet Soahc, and why. The question is did Soahc stage the whole thing? Because if she did, she knows who gave Bacs the drugs.

The rest of the morning was a blur. Dekram couldn't take her mind off what Soahc had written and was anxious to see what Layol thought about it.

When she finally arrived at the first class she shared with Layol, she hurried over to her friend and before settling into her seat, blurted, "Soahc knows we helped Bacs. I bet she knows who gave him the drugs, too."

Layol, dressed in the cutest puffy pink dress that fell to her upper thighs and grazed a pair of purple hip boots, sat, tossed her hair then said, "What'd she say?"

"She didn't say anything. She passed me this note." Dekram handed it to Layol and watched her read. When she looked up, Dekram said, "After I read that part about how it could have been Nesohc I glared at her and she made her eyes big and mouthed, 'Or me' like she was so afraid. But she was grinning and you could tell she was lying." Dekram folded her wings, slid into the chair and ankle-pushed grungy skinny-jeans lower over black riding boots.

Layol pulled the mission file from her book bag and laid it on the desk in front of her. "I don't think she knows we helped or that we were the ones who got him to the hospital, and I pray to the Elements she doesn't know because of us, your father did. Anyway, how could she?"

"Bacs?" Dekram nervously got her notes ready for class.

"I doubt it. He was totally out of it when we called your dad." Layol pulled a sheet of paper out of her file and laid it on top of the mission folder.

Dekram shoved her backpack under her seat. "Not when Nesohc went to visit."

With a thoughtful expression, Layol asked, "But why would he tell her?"

Dekram scowled, green eyes blazing. "Why does anyone tell Soahc anything?"

While Layol kept her eyes on Mrs. Evol, who was standing by her desk talking with the first group of students that would go out on their mission that day, she asked, "Do you think Bacs is afraid of her?"

Dekram's wings quivered and sprinkled a fine powder of yellow dust around her desk. "I am. Aren't you?" Say yes! Say yes! Say yes!

Layol's wings snapped like a sail catching the wind but not a sprinkle of dust fell. "Bloody-praying-mantis-crap! I won't let her scare me, or you."

Mrs. Evol did her hand-clapping thing and shot Layol an annoyed look because her obnoxious mantis remark had gotten the attention of the whole class.

The room slowly became quiet, and with amused looks on their faces, heads swiveled back in the teacher's direction. Mrs. Evol turned and handed papers to the six students hovering around her desk.

Boots frantically moving under her desk, Dekram scattered what remained of the fading yellow sparkles, eyes locked on Layol, as she whispered, "At least your outburst pulled everyone's attention off my flying sparkles."

Layol whispered a snap, "Don't sweat Soahc. I've come up with a Snipe'n plan."

Dekram opened her eyes and mouth wide. "As in shoot her dead?"

"Oh, my maliciously amusing fairy," Layol burbled. "You did not just ask me that?"

Mrs. Evol cleared her throat.

Dekram shot Layol a furrowed brow before both fairies turned in the teacher's direction.

"All right class, I will be dispatching the first group of six students in a few minutes, but before I do, each pair will explain their team's assignment. Your homework over the weekend will be to get together with your partners and write a report on how your team would choose to accomplish the three tasks. On Monday, we will go over some of your ideas before each group tells us what actually happened out in the field. Then we will discuss the possible ramifications of their actions."

One of the six students gasped, and four of the other five froze with wide eyes.

Mrs. Evol offered them a comforting smile. "There are always ramifications. How we follow up is part of your training. But our goal is to keep those consequences to a minimum and handle them swiftly and efficiently. Three Human Services representatives from Clean Up will be on hand to assist with those follow-ups during the week. And on Friday, I will dispatch the second group and we will repeat the process." She nodded a go-ahead to the fairy who had gasped.

Hovering erratically by Mrs. Evol's desk, the fairy raised her paper with shaky hands as her partner nervously watched. "Um…we have to discourage a middle-aged man from throwing lubricant into a stream behind his house after he changes the fluids in his automobile."

The frenzied tremor of multicolored wings blew her chin-length black hair about a pale blue face. Her anxiety filled gaze darted around the room as her classmates' scribbled notes.

Mrs. Evol turned to the second pair. "Which one of you would like to read your mission?"

Hcti, a male fairy with an annoying habit of scratching body parts that shouldn't be scratched in public, stepped forward. "I got it," he told his partner, a small girl with full lips the color of a magenta sunset, and timid gold eyes hidden behind long navy lashes. She wrapped clothed arms under the curve of an insignificant upper body and stepped back, making the rest of her dark blue skin look more like an accoutrement inside her stark white clothing.

Hcti's knees bowed as he pulled at the back of his jeans. "Our mission is more serious." He bounced a couple of times, shook his butt, shook his paper with both hands—evidently having accomplished his personal mission—and continued. "Some stupid mother puts her ten-month-old kid in a playpen right under a toxic bush." He waved the paper at his classmates. "For the love of Gabriel, she's an idiot! I guess keeping the kid out of the sun is more important than a couple of seizures, a dollop of cardiac arrhythmia, or a plethora of other ill effects, including death if the tyke starts sucking on plant bits and pieces. Am I right?"

Hcti turned to Mrs. Evol and immediately pulled the stupid grin off his face when he read the obvious disapproval on hers. "I'm just sayin'," he said to a backdrop of muffled laughter.

Mrs. Evol asked, "Is this an opportunity to re-address professionalism while in the field?" She gave Hcti a strained smile. "Should we pause to discuss it in-depth?"

"Nope," Hcti said, grabbing a handful of t-shirt in the center of his chest and rubbing vigorously. "I got it. Do the job—in and out in a hurry—no playing with the humans."

"Yes, well, that, and this is not about entertaining your fellow classmates. Do I make myself clear?"

"You got it. Me and my partner'll whip this un-maternal, uneducated fool into shape and be back before you can sing Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah." The class burst into laughter and Hcti looked very proud of his presentation.

Mrs. Evol?—not so much. "If you wish to go at all, I suggest you whip your unappreciated, comedic self into the proper behavior of a Human Services representative right now, or do I need to send a professional out with you?"

His partner's wings became animated, and a look of pleading hope registered in her liquid gold eyes.

Hcti bowed his head and kicked the air above the floor. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just excited."

"Excitement is good, but I think self-control is wiser," Mrs. Evol said, turning to the next group.

Dekram scribbled the second mission on her pad and whispered to Layol, "Pinocchio's blessed maker, I'm glad I'm not his partner. You?"

Layol picked up her pen as the third group stepped forward. "Sh-yeah, right? That mission is so headed for doom."

A small voice got their attention. "…and the teens are getting drunk, pushing over tombstones, and vandalizing graveyard property..."

Layol whipped her head in Dekram's direction. "Oh yeah, Soahc'll be begging a trade—sounds like those teens are kindred hominids."

"H-O-M-I-N-I-D," Dekram said, "a primate belonging to a family of which the modern human being is the only species still in existence." She grinned at her friend. "I wish Soahc was a monkey."

"Careful what ya wish for, fairy-girl," Layol said as they slapped hands and turned toward the fairy with the small voice, and her partner.

They wore horned-rimmed glasses; both were dressed in tan Dockers, leather loafers, button-down shirts with identical plastic holders in the breast pocket, pen and pencil peeking out. Nerds, they had adapted the persona of the Geek Squad.

"Yep, Soahc is gonna be all up on them," Layol said, shaking her head.

* * *

AN HOUR LATER they were sitting in the lunchroom with Nesohc. He'd snatched their favorite table in the back of the room, and was dipping clover in thick cream and shoving it into his mouth between words. "So"—slurp—"I got up early and went to see Bacs again this morning "—slurp, chew, swallow—" and he said a Fire fairy was serving up the honey "—slurp—" but Soahc paid for the drinks."

"Soahc is goin' down," Layol said and dragged her tongue across a dollop of yogurt dripping from the edge of her veggie sandwich.

"Not so fast. Just because Soahc paid doesn't mean she tainted the drink," Nesohc said, picking up another clover stalk, purple flower attached.

"Back it up and hit rewind, bud." Layol shook her veggie sandwich at Nesohc. "You know she's goin' all Fire fairy with this deadly game."

Nesohc smiled and bit off the end of the clover stalk then shook his head.

Dekram laid her fork by her salad, placed both hands on the table, green eyes shooting sparks. "C'mon, Nes. She 'paid for' Bacs' drink. Soahc is all take, no give, and you know it."

Nesohc swallowed, laughed, and slapped the table. "Oh, heck yeah. You go tell your dad you're absolutely sure the Angel Trumpet was in the cup of honey and you're positive Soahc put it there 'cause she 'paid for' the drink. Yep, I bet he runs right out and arrests her." He sucked in the rest of the flower, dripping with cream, and out of the corner of his mouth, said, "You let me know how that works out for ya." Nesohc pulled a leaf from a dispenser on the table and swiped it across his lips, tilted his head, eyes serious. "Look Dek, I get it, I mean the video in the bathroom—the way she treats you."

"What video?" Layol forced a whisper.

Dekram frowned at Nesohc. "Soahc's friends caught me on film when I was trying to scrub that stain off my blouse."

"Tell me you don't think Soahc did it," Layol spat at Nesohc while pulling out her Smart Phone.

"Didn't say that," Nesohc said, crumbling up the leaf, and dropping it on his lunch tray. "Tell me you haven't bought a friend a drink. Doesn't mean you booby-trapped it. We just have to come up with some real proof."

"What if we all take turns following her?" Dekram blurted, hammering her fork into the dandelions on her plate as Layol's face hardened. I need to keep the conversation off that stupid video. "We could take pictures with our cell phones for proof."

"Too risky," Nesohc said, raising his cup of cherry juice in a saluting gesture.

"You followed her," Dekram challenged.

Layol put her cell away and watched Dekram through hooded eyes.

"No, I had an invite and you've seen where that got me." Nesohc finished off his drink.

Layol hissed through her teeth. "No one can stop us from going to the buzz parties." She tightened her jaw, glanced at Dekram, and then continued. "And everyone takes pictures there. We'd just be acting like the rest of the party bugs, dancing and doing our own thing, pretending we're trying to fit in."

"Oh, like that isn't the stupidest idea I've ever heard, you ding-bat." Dekram glared at Layol. Nothing like a little snark to underplay the video thing. "Tell me that's not your 'slammin' idea'?"

Layol opened her mouth.

"Not so stupid if we watch each other's backs," Nesohc interrupted, pushing his tray away. "Like Layol said, we just act like we're joining them and keep our distance from Soahc—not so far we can't keep our camera lenses on her.

"Jiminy Cricket's blunder! I'm not lying to my father again. He said we warn the kids, not party down with them. He'll tie my wings for a month." Dekram covered her eyes, wings beating the back of her chair. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap!

"You gonna tell him?" Layol wanted to know. "Didn't think so. Don't sweat it—I got your back—just give a little whistle."

"Did you even watch Pinocchio?" Dekram asked, peeking through her fingers.

"I don't do Disney. Too wicked scary," Layol joked.

"Then it's settled," Nesohc said. "And there's a buzz tomorrow night at the Black Shamrock."

"And that's not my slammin' idea." Layol stuck her tongue out at Dekram then leaned in. "I've done a bit of research on the Net," she softly conspired. "Seems there's a way to put an announcement on Fun Mail through the buzz account. They have a place for feedback, too."

Nesohc moved closer.

Dekram stopped mid-bite.

Layol continued. "I initially thought we could send a school-wide text, but everyone would know who sent it, 'cause I can't figure out how to send a text anonymously from my cell. Computer? It'd take a real geek-freak to trace us if we make up a fake user name. Aaand…we can put in as,"—she did the two-finger quote thing with both hands—"'a Human Services announcement'—get this—from one of the library computers." She grinned at Dekram. "That's my slammin' idea."

"O'Puck'sblessings, yes!" Nesohc chortled, and then grinned at Dekram. "And since Layol doesn't do the library thing and you're always working off deficiency marks there, no one would notice you doing some,"—now he was making those stupid finger quotes—"'homework' when you finish shelving books." He turned a cheeky tattooed smile on Layol, and mouthed Brilliant.

"Pandora's wretched box!" Dekram snapped a whisper. "Fatal attraction, drugs, espionage, and illegal activity on a computer at the Academy—feels like A Series of Unfortunate Events waiting to happen."

"Can I get everyone's attention?" Soahc's voice echoed around the lunchroom, a syrupy grin on her face. The room hushed and she waved an envelope at everyone. "Most of you know Bacs is in the hospital. I'm going to visit him tonight, and I'm circulating a get well card for all of you to sign." She handed the card and a pen to Etah, who flew over to the nearest table. "Say something sweet. We want him to feel missed, right?"

Layol sounded like rumbling thunder gearing up to shake a lightning strike loose when the room erupted with positive support. Three teachers back-winging by the register at the end of the lunch line exchanged comments with a couple of Earth fairy servers; all had smiles on their faces.

"Cry me a cesspool!" Nesohc hissed through straight white teeth.

"No shit!" Layol eagerly snapped.

"Oooo, you so didn't just use a cuss word!" Dekram trilled, and grabbed Layol by the wing and jerked her butt back into her chair. "What are you thinking?"

"It seemed appropriate," Layol whined.

"O'mifairygodmother," Dekram squeaked. "You're blushing. First time... Ever!"

Chapter 5

THE NEXT MORNING Dekram and Layol flew up the oak tree toward an entrance that opened into the halls just outside of homeroom. A shrill whistle from below stopped them halfway. When they looked down, Nesohc waved them over.

Dekram shot a worried glance at the entrance above and noticed Detaf watching. He checked his watch as the last few students flew by him. For the love of Disney, why is he always watching me? It's freaky! Before she could comment, Layol snagged her arm and dragged her down to where Nesohc was waiting.

Layol put her hands on her hips and glared at Nesohc. "Talk fast. We're going to be late for class and so are you."

Nesohc dismissed her with a wave. "The first bell hasn't even rung yet. Did you write out our first announcement for the Fun Mail text?"

"Nah, Dek and me'll just wing it." Layol adjusted a strap tucked around her left shoulder, and her backpack slid into a better resting place between her wings.

"Hansel and Gretel's unfortunate surprise!" Dekram's wings dusted the branch below with yellow sparkles. "You know I suck at sneaking around making up crap, and I hate the Internet!" Her eyes darted to the portal above. Thank Zeus! No Detaf, she thought, wings accelerating.

Layol pushed her upper lip with her lower one and shook her head to animate a sigh. "Tell you what. I'll go to the library after last period and set up the fake ID and password on one of the computers. When you get there, ignore me and start shelving books. After I get it all set up, I'll call you over with a question about our mock mission. We can pretend we're working on it while I show you how to sign on and type in the first announcement. Okay?"

Dekram flung her hand in the air. "Why can't you just do all the stupid posts?"

"Because I've been in the academy library—what—five times in two years? Mrs. Laretil makes my wings curl. She smells like witch-hazel blooms, snoops around, asks too many questions, and come on, if I start hanging 'round? You know if it comes out that someone was using the academy computers to make these posts, I'd be the first one Mrs. Laretil thinks of—you'd be the last. Work with me here! You and me hanging at the library once, maybe twice, no problem, 'cause we're working on the same mission project. But gal-pal, that'd even be a stretch. And with all the marks you always have to work off, you practically live there."

Dekram puffed a snort. "I'm not good at pretending! I'm going to screw up and… Oh, Gabriel forsake me, I don't want to get good at lying!"

Nesohc wrapped an arm around her back, gave her shoulder a squeeze, snuggled close, and then winked. "You'll do fine. Just think about HS sticking your butt in a psychological decompression facility with Soahc as a roommate. Heck, you could wake up best fairy friends forever. Does that do it for ya?"

Dekram's chin hung three fairy inches her chest; Nesohc close enough to kiss. "I really want to smack that grin off your face." The first bell rang and she shot three human feet up in the air.

Layol let out a shrill giggle, snatched a black boot with both hands and tugged Dekram back down.

As he flew off, Nesohc laughed a shout over his shoulder, "Oh, and hey! Wear something sexy to the Black Shamrock tonight!"

Dekram folded arms over perky round breasts and shouted after him. "Yeah, hold your breath for that one. Like, it's so not going to happen! My mother'll lock me in a bee hive."

Layol backslapped Dekram's arm. "Go ahead! Just hammer those glass slippers into little bitty shards."

"Huh?" Dekram wrinkled her forehead.

"You know he's crushing on you, right? 'Cause as sure as Tink has wings, he wasn't askin' me to wear something sexy. Stop with the drooling and giggle once in a while when he's around. Bat your lashes. Put on peach-flavored lip gloss. Guys need bigger tells than drool."

Dekram tilted her head down, hid hot cheeks behind long bangs. "Espionage is an appalling idea. Lies, buzzes, sexy clothes—sheesh—I don't wanna be like Soahc."

Layol shook her head and mumbled something about divine intervention, dragged Dekram in the direction of homeroom, and jerked to a stop in front of the door. "You're not Soahc, and your dad told us to warn the kids—not like we thought this all up ourselves. He planted the seed. We're just watering it."

"Yeah. Right. And fertilizing it with Ferdinand's excrement," Dekram said.

Layol chortled. "I loved that bull. Didn't you?"

"Yes," Dekram raised a brow, "because Ferdinand preferred smelling flowers to fighting."

They flew through the door and darted for their seats as the second bell rang.

Wearing a big smile, Mrs. Evol walked up and down the aisles picking up each homework assignment. "Alright class, because spontaneity is important in the field, I will call one team from the group that went out into the human world yesterday and two teams who did not. After the two teams have reported how they would have handled the mission while in the field, the team that actually went out can share their experiences. We will repeat the process three times, followed by open discussions."

Dekram gave Layol a set of big eyes. "She took the elfin' reports! We haven't gone over ours together." Crap, this drama is sucking up my values like a dry sponge.

Layol grinned. "Don't sweat it. We'll just wing it."

And any dummy knows you can't totally wring out a sponge. I will never be the same. "I don't wing anything," Dekram growled, scattering notes around her desk. "I prefer to plan my—"

"Dekram and Layol, front and center, please," Mrs. Evol said with an active voice. "And Dab and Esrow, will you join us?"

"Oh, goodie, we're in the first group." Layol's wings flickered purple—no dust. She buzzed toward the front of the room.

"Great." Dekram slapped her backpack on top of the mess on her desk before darting after her friend.

The four fairies hovered by the teacher's desk. "Um, Mrs. Evol?" Dekram squeaked. "We get to read from our reports, right?"

"Why of course, Dekram. I assume you will read from your report in the field while giving Layol step-by-step directions as she executes them?"

The class broke out in giggles.

"Um, well, no…"

"All right then, how about we pretend you're in the field, just as they were yesterday, and when it's your turn you can tell the class what you would do to resolve the situation in front of you."

"Um, okay…but—"

"No sweat, Dek. I got it. Who's up first?" Layol said, wings beating excitement.

Mrs. Evol grinned at Layol. "Because of your enthusiasm, your team can go first. However, given your eagerness, Dekram will be the spokesperson, but you may confer with her, just as you would in the field." Mrs. Evol turned a warm smile in Dekram's direction. "Don't be nervous, dear, I know you'll do fine."

Dekram's wings trembled with a quick intake of breath. A nervous peek at the floor and she relaxed just a smidgen—no colored sparkles.

"How about you girls try the Devil's Trumpet dilemma that Hcti and—"

"Oh, this ought-a-be good." Hcti tittered, wings lively as he hovered over his desk and scratched his armpit. "Ain't anything like you think it is when you get out there." He nudged his partner. "Right, Sweet Lips?"

Sweet Lips turned bright red, and it clashed with her magenta lips. Her wings drooped.

Mrs. Evol cleared her throat, shot him a disciplinary look, and turned an encouraging one in Dekram's direction.

Dekram's nostrils flared—Layol whispered in her friend's ear—and she turned to Mrs. Evol and let out a big breath. "Um, we were thinking we'd use glamour and shift our shapes. I'd turn into a small dead animal, maybe a squirrel, lying by the playpen, Devil's Trumpet hanging off my maw. When the mother brings the child out and sees me—"

"She'd flush your carcass down the toilet, after she placed the kid in the playpen." Hcti burst out laughing. He leaned left, shoved his right hand down the back of his pants, elbow bouncing.

Giggles, like wind chimes, tinkling in a soft breeze; Layol whipped about like a hummingbird with attitude. "You didn't let her finish. I'd enhance the image with a sprinkle of warning dust and a whispered message."

Hcti rolled his lower lip, raised his brows, tipped his head from side to side, and elbowed his partner again. "Wish you'd thought of that, S.L." The frail-looking fairy glared back.

Mrs. Evol nodded to the second team.

Dab stepped forward, wearing a pair of faded black jeans, tennis shoes with toes peeking through holes and a soiled t-shirt. "We decided to float the kid one of the flowers when we heard the sirens. See my partner would have already alerted 911. And remember, the first thing a toddler does is shove anything it picks up into its mouth."

While Hcti giggled sarcastically, scratched the inside of his right thigh, left foot bouncing on the floor, Esrow stepped forward, eyes hooded. Tongue covering her upper teeth, she bobbed her head; spiky brown, red-tipped hair flapped at her temples. She pulled a cell phone out of ragged jeans and waved it at the class. Dekram thought Esrow's black, baggy, wrinkled shirt and matching jeans worked with her partner's attire to solidify their grunge facade.

"Like my partner said, our lesson would've been a hard one, but not forgotten quickly. We did do some research and as long as the EMTs got there within five minutes, the kid probably would've been fine."

"Right?" Hcti burbled giggles while scratching a raw spot on his arm. "Key word, probably."

After the teacher pushed Dab and Esrow to the side of the room and leaned over them with a stiff smile and a few words, she turned back to the class and motioned Hcti and his unwilling partner center stage.

Layol draped an arm over Dekram's shoulder and giggled. "What an idiot idea. I think we're winning this round."

Dekram reached up and grasped Layol's fingers. By the time Hcti and his partner began, Dekram was back in her chair, happy that her portion of today's presentation was finished.

Layol chuckled. "Here comes idiot number two."

Dekram shushed her as Hcti started speaking.

"Well, we got there, see—by the way, the terrain is the same on their side of the portal as it is on ours. Things are a heck of a lot bigger, though. A cat is as big as a house, the kid was the size of Town hall, but it's still so damn cool." Hcti, chest puffed with pride, paused and scanned the room as the class shared whispered excitement.

When Mrs. Evol loudly cleared her throat and her brows reached for each other, Hcti stopped looking proud and hurriedly continued. "Anyway, the lady was sunbathing by the playpen; kid inside on his little tippy-toes, reaching for a lethal flower—the parental ding-bat dozed behind her sunglasses. Man, I freaked, mission homework forgotten, all our hard work down the drain." He paused with a quick glance at Mrs. Evol. "And I almost charmed myself into a Doberman to do a snatch and drag."

Hcti tossed a thumb at his partner. "But nooo, before I could turn all Doberman and make a superlative rescue, Sweet Lips started spreading fairy dust all over the yard which totally pixed-out the woman's cat, and scared the hell out of the tyke. The kid started screaming bloody murder."

Hcti shot a brief scowl at his partner who sounded like a tea kettle beginning to boil. "Anyhoo, while I was fighting the cat off, Sweet Lips got right up in the lady's face—'course she couldn't see my dumb partner, just kept brushing her face like she was trying to remove cobwebs. Then Sweet Lips started chanting—getting all shadowy like—imbuing song all over the place. Anyway, I finally caught the cat, by myself and, well, a little scuffle ensued." Hcti glared at his partner. "All in all, I think Mom digested the message. I probably saved the kid's life."

His partner's jaw tightened. "Actually, Mrs. Evol, I sang the mother into believing, and I had to sprinkle the child to calm him after Hcti instigated the cat, which I also had to—"

"Nuff said," Hcti gave his partner a slap on the back and sent her tumbling three circles in the air, legs spread, and arms flailing. "We did good." When SL came to a halt, her sweet lips formed what looked like a gnat's butt crack and she snorted angry air through her nose two times.

Mrs. Evol's cheeks puffed. "All right, well I'm sure the class is eager to see how the clean-up crew handles the repercussions. We'll be hearing from them tomorrow."

"Whaddaya mean repercussions?" Hcti wanted to know.

Mrs. Evol looked weary as she answered Hcti. "Why don't we wait until tomorrow and see if there are any?" She picked up another report off her desk and called four more students' names.

"I'm so looking forward to tomorrow." Layol giggled.

Dekram hooded her eyes. "Uh-huh. Let's hope we make it to tomorrow."

* * *

IN THE LIBRARY, the last bell blared from the overhead speaker, signaling the school-millipedes would be departing shortly. Dekram flitted around a book cart, a fine mist of sweat beading on her upper lip as she shelved books. Layol sat at one of the computers in the back of the room about twenty feet away, typing. Every few minutes she'd glance over at Dekram, smile, and continue on with an air of confidence.

The librarian, Mrs. Laretil, was midway between them, talking to Mrs. Evol at the return desk, and just the thought of what Layol was up to made Dekram quiver with fear.

She watched the librarian lean over the desk, and heard her whisper, "You did not pair her with Detaf nor did you send her out with the first group." The older fairy's eyes moved quickly from Layol to Dekram and back to the teacher. "The council members are not going to be pleased. Timing is crucial. She's developing a relationship with that boy who will never do."

Mrs. Evol turned in Dekram's direction and Dekram quickly averted her gaze. But she heard Mrs. Evol answer. "Speaking of this now is extremely inappropriate."

The librarian angrily whispered, "What if she goes off and gets herself mated to that boy? You know how important she is to our survival."

"The council cannot change fate, Mrs. Laretil. Nor should they try."

"Yet you seem to be putting forth quite an effort," snapped Mrs. Laretil.

Both teachers took in a deep breath and glanced toward the shelf Dekram was hiding behind.

Mrs. Evol broke the silence. "I will not discuss this with you. Your meddlesome prattle could, in itself, change the outcome."

Dekram swallowed a giggle and peeked between the books. Mouth slowly opening, Mrs. Laretil's red cheeks were like a beacon in a storm. But Dekram's homeroom teacher picked up several books from the counter in a manner that pushed Mrs. Laretil's lips back together. As Mrs. Evol turned to leave, she said, "I will see you at the meeting this evening, where I'm sure everyone's concerns will be addressed." As Mrs. Evol walked toward the doors, she nodded at Layol. "It does my heart good to see you working so hard, Layol. I hope it is on your mission."

Layol nodded vigorously and gave the teacher two thumbs up.

Mrs. Evol slid through the door.

Layol locked eyes with Dekram and motioned her over.

Dekram backhanded the sweat off her upper lip, shelved her last two books and reluctantly returned the cart to the front desk.

Her cheeks pink, Mrs. Laretil forced a smile. "That's all for tonight, dear. Are you going to do some studying before you leave?" She pointedly looked in Layol's direction.

Dekram tucked her chin, averted her eyes and answered, "Um, yes. Layol and I are working on…um…our project together."

"I heard," the librarian coyly said. "It's your first visit to the human world. And a little bird told me you've found a boyfriend as well. Nesohc, is it? All very exciting, isn't it, dear? But we mustn't start nesting. The mission training should come first. There will be enough time for frivolous cohabitation later."

"O'mifairygodmother! The mission does come first! Nes and I are just friends, Mrs. Laretil!"

"Come now, don't be shy," the librarian hedged. "It's blatantly clear that you are both sweet on each other. And in an ordinary world..."

Covering her pink face, Dekram lifted into the air, wings buzzing her around erratically, and then dragonfly bolted in Layol's direction.

Mrs. Laretil remarked after her, "Bless your pubescent little heart, carnal attraction is nothing to be ashamed of."

Dekram sat down hard in the chair next to Layol, hands still covering her ears. "Did you hear that conversation?"

"What conversation?" Layol distractedly asked as she clicked a few keys on the computer, and then stood up, motioning for Dekram to take her chair. "I set it all up—should be really easy for you to put in the next one."

Dekram slapped the table and then slid over. "Jiminy Christmas! You didn't hear the conversation at the checkout desk just now?"

Layol pointed to the computer and whispered, "Type in 'Fun Mail'".

"Batcrap! Did you not hear me?" Dekram shot a glance at Mrs. Laretil, then whispered, "She just asked me about…about Nes and me, and there is no Nes and me."

"Not yet, but I'm working on that. Now type in Fun Mail."

"You're not listening." Dekram's brows jumped at each other. "Mrs. Evol and Mrs. Laretil were talking about me." And why does Detaf's name keep popping up?

"When?"

Dekram puffed a noisy breath and began typing. "Never mind."

"What did they say?"

"Nothing," Dekram said, fingers pecking keys. "What next?"

Layol leaned in and handed Dekram an index card. "Sign in under this name, and then click Buzz Forum in the drop-down box."

"HSsnitch?" Dekram rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah, that sounds professional. It's got 'A kid wrote this' all over it. And we all know whose father works for HS."

"I thought it was perfect. Could be a kid, could be a Human Services rep.—should make your daddy proud."

Dekram's nostrils flared as she followed Layol's instructions and then shoved the index card in the back pocket of her jeans, keeping an eye on Mrs. Laretil.

Layol pointed at the screen. "Toggle down—that's the one. Click on it."

Dekram clicked and began to read the post. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. "Tink save us! Can we edit this?"

Mrs. Laretil smiled at her over the front desk computer where she was checking in books.

Layol looked a tad put out. "We're trying to get their attention!"

"Well, this should do it!"

"I'm thinkin'!" Layol said, hands on hips, toe tapping vigorously under the table.

Dekram hid behind her hands and let out a whimper. "It rhymes—so badly, I might add—and you might as well have used Soahc's name. Like, everyone is so totally going to get it!"

Layol hooded her eyes, one hand swinging at the computer screen. "I thought that was the point."

Mrs. Laretil's eager voice rang across the empty library, "You girls seem to be at an impasse." She smiled when their heads whipped in her direction. "Nothing a little lemon tea and saffron cookies won't fix." She scuttled off in the direction of the teachers' lounge. "Be back in five."

The minute Mrs. Laretil cleared the library door, Dekram hit her forehead, glared at Layol, and spat, "I thought it was supposed to look all professional like it actually came from HS, idiot!"

"So I changed up the plan, and what do you mean, bad rhyme?" Layol huffed. "I think it's brilliant!"

Dekram let out a whine as Layol leaned in front of her and read the post in a sing-song voice.

"Two Air fairies almost dead

Three feet under a flower bed

Was it a Fire fairy that did the deed?

Or little-miss-perfect who slipped 'em speed

Buzz away, we'll nip your wings

Take away your human things

Mock missions, a thing of the past

'Cause drugs and human toys

Are sure to purge your blessed joys"

Layol shot Dekram an expectant look.

Dekram spread her legs, flopped back in the chair and sighed loudly. "First off, it wasn't speed, it was Angel's Trumpet."

"Sh-yeah, right, you try and rhyme Angel's Trumpet. All I could come up with was Little Miss Muffet and strumpet and although both probably fit—Aw, Puck me!—I got creative." Layol scrunched up her face sheepishly. "Too much?"

"It sounds like Fire Rap." Dekram shook her head. "Can we edit this, or what?"

"Well, Fire Rap's not too bad, is it?" Layol flopped down in the chair next to Dekram. "I don't know if we can fix it."

"For the love of Gabriel, why didn't you find out before you posted it? We are in so much trouble. Soahc is gonna kick our impin' butts."

"Nobody will know it was us," Layol tried.

"Oh yeah," Dekram said, "not like we ever go to the buzzes, not like we haven't been up in Soahc's face, not like I didn't tell her she looks like an Easter egg, and you didn't spill cherry juice on her favorite dress—c'mon! We are sooo dead!"

Layol looked crestfallen. "Guess we should see if we can edit this before it goes viral. How bad could it be? I just posted it about fifteen min—"

"Here we go girls," Mrs. Laretil sang, pushing through the library door, a large tray balanced on one hand, filling the air with the smell of spiced lemon and saffron. "I thought we'd sit down, enjoy our snack and discuss the problem you seem to be having with your mission," she said as she set down a steaming pot of tea and laid out colorful fall napkins. "Nothing like a new pair of eyes to mediate what seems like an unsolvable situation."

"Or not." Layol reached over Dekram and hammered the clicker arrow on the Internet Explorer tool bar and efficiently changed the page. Dekram slid deeper into the chair, hair tenting her face, wings tucked tight.

Layol clicked on Favorites as Mrs. Laretil poured tea, and guided the arrow to a document labeled Mission Project. Up came the folder just in time for Mrs. Laretil to glance over, a cup of tea balanced in her hand. She took a sip and said, "Hmmm, tossing lit cigarettes out of the window of a moving automobile. My, that is certainly hazardous to our milieu."

Dekram peeked through curls, brows arched with surprise. Layol smirked.

Mrs. Laretil asked, "So what were we disagreeing about?" and wiped the smirk right off Layol's face.

Chapter 6

"BET ALL THE kids have seen that post by now," Dekram told Layol as they headed toward the pond on the other side of the field behind the academy.

"Ya think?" Layol said, wings beating an angry red blur.

"Wonder if Nes saw it?"

Layol grabbed Dekram's arm, jerked her to a halt. "Talk to me about this. Did they hurt you?"

"Did you watch it?"

"Yes, but what happened afterwards?"

"Give it a rest. I told you what happened. When I came out of the stall there was a flock of fairies by the mirrors. One evidently took the video of me trying to clean the stain off my shirt and sent it to Soahc. She showed up—pixed me—and I slipped, about busted my butt. They got all impy about it and then left right before you got there. End of story."

"So why didn't they film the fall?" Layol raised a suspicious eyebrow.

"Who cares?—glad they didn't." Dekram revved her wings.

Layol sighed, flapping her wings. Lifting into the air she doubled over and hugged her stomach. "Fricken' mythical Plague Dogs! These menacing cramps are killing me! I need a hot bath and some of mom's raspberry tea." Moaning, Layol straightened. "She puts in ginger, red peony root, and fennel. It really works. You ever try it?"

Dekram's arm tensed under her friend's grasp. "Let's call Nes before we head home. I want his opinion on the buzz post."

Layol's brow wrinkled. "Why is it every time I mention my monthly, you go all dwarfy-bashful on me?"

Dekram gently pulled her arm away, eyes studying Layol's fuchsia-multi-leopard, chiffon, platform ankle wraps. "Very cool shoes, wish I had a pair. Heck, I wish my mother'd let me wear a pair."

"Jiminy H Cricket! Will ya just back up a topic or two? Look, it's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"I just thought we should call Nes," Dekram said, without making eye contact. "That's all."

"No. It's not. You're avoiding a discussion about the 'M' word. I want to know why. Every woman bleeds. What's the big deal?"

"I don't!" Dekram said, wings vibrating.

"What? Like never?"

"No! Now can we just move on? I think we should call Nesohc!"

"Have you discussed this with your mother?"

"It's no big deal."

"Yes it is. You're old enough. I think you should've started."

Dekram let out a frustrated breath. "Can we call Nes, or what?"

Layol tilted her head, a thousand questions filling her face. "Sure, but this conversation is not over."

Dekram pulled her cell out of her jeans, flipped it open and fingered the buttons until a picture of Nesohc's grinning face, hair all askew, came up on the screen. She hit the call button and put the cell on speaker.

Nesohc's voice nipped the first ring. "Pan's harsh revenge! Who wrote that post?"

Dekram cringed.

"I did," Layol snapped, snatching the cell from Dekram. "Whaddaya think?"

"I think we're all dead! That's what I think. Why in the name of all that is fetid did you make it so blunt? Everyone is going to know that post refers to Soahc, and with Bacs in the hospital, they're gonna think she had something to do with his overdose. Not to mention we're going to the buzz tonight—she's gonna know we posted it!"

"Maybe we should cancel tonight's plans," Dekram said, eyes hopeful.

"I thought making it blunt was the point!" Layol spat, arms waving frustration. "Weren't we supposed to make the kids wonder about Soahc? Let them know what Dekram's father said about us acting like humans? I did that, quite well I believe."

Silence tempered the air.

Finally, a noisy sigh floated from the phone. "Well, you sure flipped the lid wide open on Pandora's box, this time, Lay. But you're right. That was the point. Besides, Dek, it's too late to change the plan. I've already received seventeen texts with the attached link, and they're still coming in. I'm sure the whole academy's seen the faux HS post."

Dekram searched her cell phone screen. "My message icon isn't lit."

Layol dug in her book bag, pulled out an iPod with a pink Tinkerbell cover, thumbs working. "I got twenty-five texts," she sang, grinning hugely.

Dekram pouted. She so didn't just go all Nanny-nanny-boo-boo on me.

Layol's grin was sheepish. "Hey, the good news is we can pretend we're going to the buzz, just like everyone else," she said, thumbs texting, "to see how Soahc reacts."

"Girl's a closet passive-aggressive!" Nesohc's laughter drifted from Dekram's cell. "We're imped if we do and imped if we don't. Way ta go, Lay."

"Oh. My. Goddess. Kick me right into Neverland!" Layol hit send on her iPod for the fourth time. "Detaf just publicly turned down Etah's crush-me-if-you-can invite to the buzz tonight!"

She said that with way too much enthusiasm, Dekram thought.

Nesohc asked, "That the same kid who watched us outside of homeroom this morning?"

"Yeah, he's crushing on Dek," Layol said in between key-clicking.

"No-he-is-not!" Dekram was sure Nesohc was glaring at the phone the same way she was glaring at Layol.

"Guess it's settled, we're going tonight," Layol said through a toothy smile as she pushed send. Tucking the cell into her bag, she asked, "So, what excuse are you guys giving for having to go out on a school night?"

"Mission study group," both Nesohc and Dekram huffed.

"Me too," Layol agreed. "Hey Nes, buddy, you never told us what your mission is, when you're going out, or who you got hooked up with."

There was a long pause. "There's a boggart creating some major havoc with a family of seven…," an even longer pause, "…I'm in the third group."

"Woo-hoo! We're all going to be in the human world on the same day!" Layol interrupted.

A snort floated from the cell. "Third group, with Bacs,—that is, if he's up to it—Soahc, and the rest of her caustic bunch."

"Great! Just great!" Dekram flipped the cell case closed and stormed off, laying a path of sprinkles.

"Nope, the imp's definitely not crushing on Nesohc," Layol mumbled and followed the green sprinkles.

* * *

NOSTRILS FLARED, SHOULDERS fell as Dekram tossed her purse and book bag on a table in the hall before flying up to her bedroom.

How did Soahc wiggle her way into getting Nes as a partner? Dekram flopped on her bed all snow-angel like. As sure as Pippi Longstocking's real name is Pippilotta Delicatessa Windowshade Mackrelmint Ephraim's Daughter Longstocking, I'm not letting Soahc one-up me tonight!

Contemplating her wardrobe for the buzz, Dekram let out a long sigh. Appropriate makeup and study clothes sure as heck aren't party-down cool. So how do I leave the house looking all workshop groupie, and get to the buzz looking all party girl?

Finger tapping against chin, she decided on hip-riding skinny jeans, and a white, button-down Old Navy shirt. When I get to Layol's I can roll up the sleeves, undo a couple of extra buttons and let my new black lace sports-bra peek out. And if I tie the shirt off, my bellybutton ring and silver crescent-moon belt-buckle will show.

"Better than nothing, I suppose," she said, setting the shirt neatly by the black low-rider's and her black silver-tipped boots.

A few minutes later she left the room, headed for dinner, and stopped abruptly at the top of the stairs when she heard her mother's voice below.

"But Redael, I believe we should see if she has our shared gifts and nurture them before her first mission. What if not knowing threatens her life?"

A short silence before her mother said, "I don't agree. If she has no knowledge of her skills, how can she rein them in?"

Her mother's fingers drummed impatience.

"And just when will you return?" Diuqil sounded frustrated.

Dekram wished she could hear her father's voice.

"Well, if you are not back by the end of the week, I feel the need to honor my maternal instincts in regards to the amount of knowledge our daughter is given."

Her mother, a blur of writhing, mossy green dreadlocks, crossed the archway between the living room and the hall at the bottom of the stairs.

"The Elders' beliefs? No one in Wandermere has been in our situation, Redael. And all of us were nurtured as younglings to recognize our powers, Elders included. Why are they trying to make this more difficult for her?"

The flash of something brown and wet whizzed by the archway from her mother's direction, hit the wall with a splat and slid a messy trail to the floor. "All I am saying is, as parents, we are setting her up for failure if we do not teach her to use the gifts we have hopefully blooded to her."

There was a long pause. Dekram leaned over the railing and spotted her mother pacing in front of the kitchen door.

"I will certainly try to respect your wishes, mate, but I am not in agreement with sending our child into the human world without knowledge of the power she may very well let loose unexpectedly. Her safety is crucial to the purity of our…" Her mother's words faded as the door to the kitchen shut behind her.

Dekram's thoughts flashed to the many overheard conversations of the last two days. Something is going on. I wonder how many of the other kids are involved. Wish I could make sense of all this because right now it sure seems like the adults in Wandermere are pointing fingers at only me.

Dekram flew down the stairs and across the living room, her mind full of questions. She briefly leaned against the kitchen door, thoughts still spinning frantically, and heard the clatter of wood against a bowl.

Entering the kitchen, she blurted, "Mom, all the girls bleed monthly. I don't. Do you think there's something wrong with me?" She froze. Where the heck did that, come from?

Diuqil froze too; her fingers tightened around the wooden spoon hovering over a bowl of mixed greens. After what seemed like forever, her mother slowly laid down the spoon and turned to face her daughter with a forced smile. "Everyone is different, Dekram."

"But when Layol was complaining of pain today and how she bleeds heavily, I just—"

"You're not spotting, are you?" Diuqil's eyes darted toward Dekram's daily vitamin bottle sitting on the counter.

"No," Dekram said. "And when I hear the others complaining, I feel different."

Looking more relaxed, her mother said, "Cycles come when a woman is ready to bear young. Maybe you're not ready to menstruate yet."

That was easy, and it makes sense. Maybe I should also bring up the conversation in the library. Dekram blinked away her mother's smile and tucked her lips between her teeth. Better yet, I'll run it by Layol tonight. She released her lips with a puff of air. "Thanks, Mom. I guess I went all girly-adolescent on you." She flew over to the mummified portabella-mushroom table with matching chairs on the other side of the kitchen and took a seat, placing a maple leaf in her lap.

As her mother carried the salad over to the table, Dekram's mind screamed, Wake up, idiot! You won't be running anything by Layol tonight if you don't Pinocchio your way through getting permission. She swallowed hard. "Is it alright if I go to a study group tonight? Some kids are meeting to brainstorm the missions." Dekram's hand shot to her nose, and she sighed in relief.

Diuqil was staring at the salad bowl with a furrowed brow. "Hmm? What? Um, yes dear, you go right ahead and study. But it's a school night, so I want you home early enough to get your bath and do your homework."

Dekram studied her mother's lack of attention. "Mrs. Laretil helped Layol and me with our homework at the library, and I'll take a bath before I leave, okay?"

Diuqil tilted her head as she chewed a mouthful of home-grown larvae. "Still… What, dear? Oh. Yes, but not too late, alright?"

"I'll be home before eleven." Dekram forked a dandelion stem and some alfalfa leaves into her mouth.

"That's good, dear." Her mother got up, went to the counter and palmed one of Dekram's vitamins from the bottle. Diuqil set it in front of her. "Take your vitamin before you leave, honey."

Dekram wrinkled her forehead. "I took one this morning."

Her mother blinked rapidly, stared a question at the little red pill, and then said, "One more a day won't hurt, especially with the missions coming up."

"Okay." Dekram dry-swallowed the pill, and they quietly finished dinner.

Up in the bedroom, Dekram strategically applied the last of her makeup, going for subtle earth tones. She fingered her damp hair one more time before tying it back with a piece of hemp then bolted toward her bed and, with quick erratic movements, dressed.

After fumbling with the belt, she finally pulled the crescent-moon buckle directly under her matching bellybutton ring and then yanked the button-down shirt over her hips to hide everything. She slid into her hip-high boots and straightened the seams of the skin-tight fabric of her skinny jeans before zipping the boots over them.

With shaky hands, Dekram wedged a tube of red lip gloss between the boot and her jeans, pocketing her cell phone. She flew out the bedroom door and down the stairs, thinking, stealth-wise, being a fairy had its advantages. Then her iPhone rang.

Darting toward the hole masquerading as the front door, Dekram fumbled the Smart Phone out, flipped it open, and hissed, "Just leaving—can I call you right back?"

Layol's anxious prattle filled the hall. "I forgot to ask, earlier—we can swing by and get Nes, right? I've been dressed for an hour. Hurry up. I'm so nervous! What are you wear—"

"Is that Layol on the phone?" Diuqil asked from the living room and the cell abruptly went silent.

Lips curled under, teeth siphoning air, eyes hooded, Dekram briskly shook the phone and then peeked around the door at her mother with a well-placed smile. "Yep, she wanted to make sure I was on my way." I am so gonna strangle her later.

"I heard." Diuqil looked up from her aquarium and smiled. "Such enthusiasm in her voice, too," her mother said before she turned back to her larvae. "I'm very glad to see that you're appropriately dressed for the study group."

"Thank you," Dekram said, flying toward the exit, "and if you're asleep when I get home, I won't wake-"

"Hold it!"

Halfway through the hole, Dekram froze and peeked over her shoulder. They locked eyes and Diuqil glared a warning. "I will be attending a town meeting with the Elders tonight, but I'll be back early. I will not be falling asleep before you come home, young lady."

"I won't be late," Dekram said, wings warming up for flight. Sting me! Mom sure isn't day dreaming now.

"Where did you say the study group is meet…"

Her mother's voice faded as Dekram flew from the tree, toward the pond.

Halfway across the front yard, laughter exploded from the cell phone. "That was close. Properly dressed? What the heck are you wearing?"

"Shut up! You just about sniped me! Talk about timing! I'll be right there." Dekram slapped her iPhone case closed and shoved the cell back in her jeans.

After some spastic zigzagging around trees laden with Spanish moss and over stiff palm frond needles all the way to Layol's house, Dekram finally pulled Renrad's reins and the dragonfly settled in a patch of sandspurs in the front yard.

Not for the first time, Dekram wondered about Layol's home life. She lived alone with her mother, an Air fairy, inside a network of tunnels carved in coquina rock. Her father, she'd heard, had left Wandermere when Layol was born and never returned. Layol never brought it up and Dekram wondered how much her friend really knew.

Layol appeared from a small hole at the base of the rock, wearing an extremely short lavender dress that dipped low in the front, barely held up by her thin shoulders. She waved a greeting, flashing bright pink short-shorts, accentuating long blue legs and a pair of Jimmy Choo platforms. Wild curls trailed like tendrils of smoke as Layol flew toward her.

How can she afford those shoes? She looks gorgeous, and as usual, I pale by comparison. Dekram hopped off Renrad and quickly undid three buttons on the top of her blouse and four on the bottom. She tied the shirt under her breasts and began to roll up the sleeves, revealing tons of beaded leather bracelets.

"Well, aren't you clever? That outfit is perfect! Love the belt!" Layol hopped on the dragonfly's back.

Renrad's wings vibrated while Dekram ran bright red gloss over her lips, pulled her hair free of the hemp knot, bent at the waist, tossed her head forward and shook busy fingers near her scalp. She stood and dramatically flipped her head back, fingers still fluffing orange ringlets around her face and shoulders.

"You sure I look good?" she asked Layol.

"Like your mother would lock you in your room for the rest of your life if she saw you right now."

Dekram felt a grin spread all the way to her ears. "That'll work." The grin faded and she tucked her chin and toed sandspurs. "We need to have a girl-chat before we pick up Nes."

"Sounds serious. What'd ya do, ask Mom about Menstruation?"

Dekram's cheeks turned red and her lashes batted quickly for a second. "No, um…well, I mean, yes, I did ask her about...that, but it's not what I want to talk to you about."

"Give it up, gal-pal! What'd she say?" Layol wanted to know.

Dekram huffed. "She said everyone's cycle is different and that we bleed when we're ready to reproduce—maybe I'm not ready yet. But now that I think of it, she did look concerned."

"Look, she knows now, and if she's worried, I'm sure she'll ask someone."

Dekram let out a loud moan. "The whole freakin' town is meeting tonight and the Elders will be there. You don't think she'd bring this out in an open discussion, do you? Oh, Goddess of Strife! Cut my wings and toss me in the air, I stand out enough already without her calling more attention to me."

"You need a Goddess that dispenses anti-anxiety meds," Layol squawked. "Worst that could happen?—she'll ask one of the Earth fairies from the clinic."

Dekram's wings settled. "You think?"

Layol whipped her hand back, dismissing the question. "So what's the girl-chat all about? You finally going to tell me what really happened in the restroom with Soahc—the part they didn't get on video?"

"Can we put the stupid restroom and the stupid video to rest?"

Layol sighed.

"Thank you!"

While Dekram went over what she'd heard in the principal's office and at the library without drawing attention to the comments about Detaf, and then the phone call between her mother and father, her friend tilted her head and listened with interest.

"I think it has something to do with your being half Air and half Water," Layol said when she'd finished. "I mean maybe you are an experiment. It could be about trying to breed a fairy with special powers. The whole 'marked' thing certainly leads in that direction, right? This experimental breeding crap has gone on like forever. Air fairies swapped sicklings for human kids and charmed them to look like fairies. They were called changelings—I read that on the Net—and when the changelings grew up they bred with full-breeds and whalah, ya got your halflings."

"Pix me! The impin' Internet? Again? Can you bring it back to the real world?" Dekram closed her eyes and whimpered, "I don't want to be some test tube experiment. What if my mother and father only mated because of some stupid experiment?"

"Turd-laced saffron-brownies!" Layol shouted, "Don't even go there!"

But when Dekram opened her eyes and hopped on Renrad's back, she saw concern on her friend's face. As she settled in front of Layol and picked up the lead, Dekram said, "Let's keep this to ourselves for tonight, okay?"

Layol patted her shoulder. "Sure, but it wouldn't hurt to get Nes's opinion." Before Dekram could comment, Layol blurted, "Minus the big M thing, of course."

Chapter 7

"OKAY, SO WE’RE all going to stay within sight of each other," Nesohc ordered as he slid off Renrad and landed between Dekram and Layol in a field several yards from the Black Shamrock. "Dek can keep an eye on Soahc, and Lay and I will watch her friends. Take lots of cell phone footage. We all on the same page?"

"Yep," Layol said.

They watched a group of fairies fly around to the front of the building, and briefly, the air rang with wild laughter over a background of pulsing music, and then, just as abruptly, fell silent.

Wings revving, Layol headed toward the buzz.

Dekram lifted off. "If we get separated-"

"We aren't going to get separated," Nesohc emphatically interrupted as they flew behind Layol.

"I was going to say—" Dekram's eyes narrowed. "—that if we should get separated we can call each other on our cells."

"Yeah, we can do that if we get separated, but we're not," Nesohc said.

There was another burst of party noise. They rounded the black-washed building in time to watch the front door close and cut the noise.

Dekram hovered in the parking lot amid tethered bugs. I am so going to come out here when the moon totally replaces the sun. Bet that red neon dances off the vibrating insect wings.

As they zigzagged around the bugs, a centipede circled a Rosy Maple Moth at lightning speed and came to an abrupt stop beside them. Bacs swung a jean-clad leg over the bug and landed firmly on black silver-tipped boots. He nodded an impersonal greeting at Nesohc and pulled a black cowboy hat over frayed red hair.

"What the heck you doin' here?" Nesohc was quick to ask.

"I always hit the buzzes." Bacs' head tilted a question, dark lashes batting on a ghost white face. "Question is, what're you doin' here?"

"But shouldn't you be in the hospital?" Dekram furrowed her brows. "Or anywhere but here—you almost died the last time you buzzed."

"Been there, done that, ain't ever doin' it again. Feel me?" Bacs glanced at Layol's Jimmy Choo platforms with a lopsided grin. "Can't wait ta see Miss I'm-All-That wiggle out of the Fun Mail text—true dat. You guys get one?" His glance traveled up Layol's legs and back down again.

Dekram blushed and turned away.

"Those treads be worth a bucket o' honey," Bacs said, any thoughts of flirtation blowing away with the soft breeze. "True dat." His gray eyes took a few seconds to find Nesohc's. "Anyhoo, you here 'cause o' the text?"

Layol rocked her shoes under swaying ankles. "Louie, Leprechaun knockoffs," she stalled when Nesohc ducked his head and shuffled his All Stars, sending up dirt clouds instead of an answer.

"Huh," Bacs huffed, his eyes moving back to the shoes. "Still... gotta cost a bit o' gold. Feel me?"

Layol frowned at Nesohc. "Yeah, we got the text; figured a week's restriction was worth seeing her squirm. Who sent it? Ya know?"

"Don't know—don't care—true nuff. Gonna check me out some squirmin'," Bacs warbled, head tilted, eyes half closed. "Yeah-ya, lil' squirm, lil' shake, lil' get up on it—of the fem kind—ya got me?" he said, tilting his head from side to side while adjusting the pitch of his voice. "Pixin' text. No clue who stung her, but ya have ta love it." He raced his wings, lifting off the ground. "You wanna squirm, come on, pix." He winked at Layol.

"See you inside," Layol yelled as Bacs looped erratic circles over his centipede.

He picked up wing-speed and flew for the door, shouting back over his shoulder, "Feel dat!"

Layol's gaze bobbed from Dekram to Nesohc. "Way to go, you idiots! I am so not looking for him inside! Thank the Elements for my stupid Leprechauns. From now on-" The centipede's head swung in her direction, nipped, and launched Layol with a yelp. "Ow-ow-ow-E that hurt!" Layol's glare moved from the bug to an angry red spot on her thigh. "I hate when they do that!"

"That's exactly why I won't ride a centipede—can't trust 'em," Nesohc said, fingertips holding back a grin. "Plus they scoot like their butt's on fire."

Dekram watched Bacs disappear through the front door of the Black Shamrock. "Did he sound weird to you guys? Or was it just me?"

"He acted like he didn't know Nes at first," Layol said, rubbing her leg. "I was like, what's up with that?"

"Me too," Nesohc said. "Maybe the drugs shorted out a few brain cells."

Layol rubbed the bite on her leg. "Wonder why they let him out so soon?" Nesohc stared at her shoes.

"You think Soahc has anything to do with him being here?" Dekram asked, eyes locked on the closed door. "Wasn't she supposed to bring him that get well card tonight?"

"She was come to think of it," Nesohc said. "You don't think she's stupid enough to bust him out of the hospital?"

"Nah, I'm going with the fried brain thing." Layol postulated while scratching her bite. "Although the boy's always been short in the brain cell department. I remember when he was brought into Wandermere …" Layol jerked her hand away from her leg, eyes wide, and forced a laugh at Nesohc's questioning expression. "I got the impin' shoes from a family friend who owed us a favor. We going in or what?"

"You're friends with a leprechaun?"

"No big deal. Mom and I saved-"

Dekram's hiss nipped the conversation, "Shush!" She back-winged past three bugs and fanned her hands in a 'get down' motion.

Layol and Nesohc dropped beside Bacs' centipede. Dekram slid behind the wing of a green aphid she'd stirred up.

Nesohc mouthed, "What?"

Dekram pointed at the Black Shamrock.

Layol and Nesohc's heads whipped around, eyes edging over the centipede. Three Fire fairies staggered down the length of the building toward the entrance, holding up Soahc's friend, Etah, who was giggling.

Two Fire fairies guided the sloppily-dressed fairy through the front door while the third one nodded in understanding, and with a wave, headed back the way they'd come. Dekram frowned. So not like Etah. She never giggles.

The minute the third fairy rounded the corner of the building, Layol bolted for the front door.

"Hang on!" Dekram said. "Let's check out the guy that went back around the building, first."

Layol air-skidded to a stop, wings back-peddling like mad, then shot up into the air and over the Black Shamrock sign with Dekram and Nesohc following. They landed on the tip of a palm frond swaying over the building.

The third Fire fairy disappeared into the Black Shamrock's back door. Dekram blinked when the building shivered for a few seconds and the image of a large rotted log took its place. What the...? Dekram rubbed her eyes. The peculiarity sparked from the log back to a building and then to a log again. "Did either of you see that?"

"Shhhhush." Layol slapped a palm over Dekram's mouth.

A totally different Fire fairy helped drag Etah from a hole on the back of the sparkling log. Then the log disintegrated and the black building solidified. Etah lay limp. The Fire fairies hooked hands under Etah's armpits and, wings buzzing hard, dragged her across the sand and down a path, oblivious to Dekram and her friends gawking from above.

Layol hissed, "I'm following them. You guys in?"

"Hold on," Dekram said, remembering Etah's swift kick to her hip. With wings sprinkling yellow and red dust everywhere, she asked, "Tell me why we need to interfere? What if she's just partying?"

"Maybe she is," Nesohc said. "And it's not like I even like the fairy, but hey, what if someone gave her Angel Trumpet like Bacs?" His wings morphed into a mottled rainbow of contradicting emotions: Yellow for fear, red sparking anger, blue glowing affection, green imbuing envy or embarrassment, and purple pulsing chivalrous loyalty.

Layol and Nesohc stared at Dekram.

Etah kicked me. She hurt me. Pix me! I'm gonna regret this. "Fine, I'll go, but I'm not happy about it."

"No crap," Layol snapped and shot up into the trees behind the bar.

The three friends followed Etah and the Fire fairies high enough to remain concealed, yet low enough to hear the conversation below when they ducked behind a scrub oak.

"Gonna get nasty, bro—I feel it—true dat," a heavyset fourth fairy said as he tugged up the back of his green plaid shorts, still leaving four inches of red-checked boxers covering half his butt-cheeks. With his red skin, pointy ears and tattooed tear drops running down his cheeks, he looked like a perpetually unhappy Christmas elf wearing an orange wig.

"What cha feelin' hollows-head? Huh? Egar always been nasty, bro, so why you gettin' all heavy up on it, now?" asked the third fairy, tall, reedy, brushing long matted black hair out of yellow eyes. He'd been walking backward, dragging the blue body with his right hand and didn't miss a beat when he turned, changed hands, and clicked a sharp toothy smile at the chunky guy.

"My butt done jack wit dis crap since long-time—whip—back in da day, true dat, so back off—shut your clicker's off—you be butt-cheeks up, you keep doin' me like dat," Christmas elf snapped, puffing as he tugged his side of Etah's body harder.

"Look, here's da thing, alright, better listen up reeeal good. I'm only gonna say dis once, feel me?" Tall-and-Reedy waved his free arm around, made a fist, and turned a tattooed bicep in Christmas elf's direction. As he continued to make his nonverbal point, the tall fairy pushed their gang colors at the elf's face, a green shamrock engulfed in flames, the letters FF in the middle, 666 etched below. Small, hollow-eyed skulls ran up both arms marking every member—even the dead and imprisoned. "So my ass been busy trespassing lately, ya hear? There's good bucks in it. I don't mess wit' the Egar—teach me well, true dat—ya feel me, bro? An' you mess wit' me, I get reeeal mean—all up on dat?"

"You talkin' tall, man. I feel ya. No one be messin' wit the Egar—feel dat?" Christmas elf pumped a bicep full of skull tattoos and shoved a cheek in front of Tall-and-Reedy. "I cry ink, too—feel me?" The open teardrops on Christmas' face numbered two. He'd been incarcerated twice. Three more were inked in for the lives of the fellow gang members Christmas mourned.

"Okay," Layol said through gritted teeth as they ducked into some branches on an oak when the Fire fairies stopped in the middle of a small grassy field. "Anybody starts takin' off anybody's clothes, and I'm intervening—just sayin'."

Nesohc turned as red as the Fire fairies. "They wouldn't dare do that! The elders would-"

"A maleficent demise!" Dekram hid her face in a large section of draped Spanish moss, and moaned, "Why are we here?"

Layol grabbed Dekram's white shirt and tugged hard. "What the bloody ever-after are you doing?"

Dekram lifted her head, raking the back of her hand across her mouth. "I feel sick."

"Hey, they disappeared!" Nesohc shot through the Spanish moss.

Dekram blinked at the vacant field. Layol bolted after Nesohc and Dekram slowly followed.

"I bet it's a portal," Dekram whispered moments later. "See it?" She pointed at a small circle of distorted air that churned inches above the ground in the center of the field.

Nesohc leaned in for a better look and the grass below the portal swirled and undulated as the churning circle funneled out toward him, tilting, inviting. It blurred out of focus as it followed his retreat.

"It really is, isn't it?" It's pulsing to the beat of my heart, Dekram thought, and placed a palm over her chest as she back-winged a small distance away. The largest part of the funnel stretched closer.

"Yep, that's what it is all right." Layol zipped in front of Dekram and started taunting the portal by slowly flying near and then bolting away. The thick churning mouth of the portal bonged and wobbled, back and forth, like clear gelatin.

Dekram laughed. "Watch you don't get slimed!"

"You can't feel it," Lay giggled. "It's more like a vacuum when you go through."

Dekram put up a palm. "Please don't tell me how you know this."

"I thought the only portal was the one gated and locked in the woods behind the academy," Nesohc said in awe. He pushed blue fingers through the mouth of the funnel, it crackled and focused, and the three watched as his hand disappeared.

"Does it hurt?" Dekram asked, staring at Nesohc's arm, minus a hand.

"It doesn't feel like anything."

"There's been talk about another portal for years," Dekram said with wonder, "one that was sealed by the Elders."

"I'm headed in," Layol blurted.

Nesohc jerked his hand out, brow furrowed. "Do you ever think before you do something stupid?"

"It wouldn't be stupid if she did," Dekram snapped, touching Nesohc's hand.

"Sooo not liking where this conversation is headed." Layol worked her hand with her hip.

"Sure, let's just jump into some other world," Nesohc said through a sarcastic grin. "I mean, who cares if we can't get back out?"

"I do!" Dekram blurted, and then thought, What if I can't go through because I'm a half-breed? "And we can't just stand here and argue. What if they come back out?"

"Crap!" Nesohc said and pulled Dekram to the edge of the woods. They turned and stared at Layol.

"Yep, that works." Layol laughed. "I can't see you there, all right. Nope, no need to go any farther. You're both good."

"Why not go all pixin' harsh on us?" Nesohc shouted.

Dekram said, "Get over here! I think we should hide in the oaks and wait."

Layol squawked, "What if they're…um…doing you know what to you know who? I mean, we wing it now, karma bites."

Dekram covered her chest with her palm and shaking her head, treaded air. Nesohc bolted for Layol.

"No prob, gal-pal, I'll just save smart-butt, trashy-mouthed Etah all by myself. See ya." Layol dusted a circle of purple sprinkles around Nesohc and dove into the portal.

"Tink's baby brother's pissy pull-ups!  She's done it again!" Nesohc spit purple sparkles, glared at the portal, kicked up a patch of grass, blew air out his nose and then frowned at Dekram. "You comin'?"

Dekram gripped her lips between her teeth and vigorously shook her head.

"Is that a no?"

"No-it-is-not! More like an, I'm going to slap the stupidity out of her the minute I make sure she's okay!" she said flying toward him.

"All righty then," Nesohc said and darted through the circular disturbance over the grass.

What if I can't?-What if I can't?-WHAT IF I CAN'T! Eyes closed, breath held, Dekram jumped in after him.

On the other side, Layol was perched on a blade of grass in the exact same field they'd left on the other side, only everything was fifty times larger. With both hands on her hips, toe of her bright pink Louie Leprechaun knockoffs slapping the grass in three-quarter time, Layol snapped, "Well that took, like, forever! They're probably in another elfin realm by now!"

Nesohc puckered his lips, hooded his eyes. "It was only seconds, Lay. Let's not do the drama queen thing. And why are you suddenly dusting me?"

Dekram, hands turning in front of her face, thought, I'm here. All of me.

"Don't change the subject, Nes. Look at the sky." Layol tossed an arm up, eyes locked with Nesohc's. "It's dark, there's a moon up there!" Finger pointed, she fanned the field, stopping on Nesohc, fingers waggling at him. "I looked around, hid for a while, got bored waiting, and finally headed back here. It's been FOR-EV-er!"

"Well, apparently not only is everything huge here, but time moves faster on this side of the portal," Nesohc harped.

"Where are we?" Dekram asked. Doesn't matter, I'm so totally NOT a freak of nature. I flew right through, not even a hiccup.

"Human world?" Nesohc guessed, not bothering to hide the sudden excitement in his voice. "Will you look at the trees? They shoot up forever!"

"Could be," Layol said. "There's human-sized wildlife here. I saw two cats—the size of the Black Shamrock—a field mouse, squirrels, and there are birds all over the place. No people, though."

Jumpy, Dekram scanned the woods lining the field. "Did the animals react to you?"

"Nope, well the cats got spooked when I flew circles around them."

"Pix me and turn me into a toad!—we really should go back." Dekram's voice took on a serious tone.

They looked at each other, and back at the portal, air heavy with unspoken words.

The portal swirled in and out of focus, like a lost breeze tickling blades of grass.

Layol's expression perked, head tilted toward the woods. "We need to go back..."

Nesohc laughed. "Well, will ya listen to Miss I'm-Jumping-Through-Whether-You-Two-Do-Or-Not."

"...right now!" Layol's wings dusted Nesohc with the same purple sprinkles as she bolted back through the portal.

"I'm dusting back!" Nesohc yelled after her. "Why is she suddenly being such a dingbat?" He took Dekram's hand. "You ready?"

Dekram shuddered. "I hope we can get back."

Nesohc pecked a kiss on her cheek, wings flashing red. "Of course, we can. We're Fairy."

A breeze carried the blue sprinkles dropping from Dekram's wings.

"Now you're dusting me..." One side of Nesohc's mouth turned up. "...with sprinkles the color..." His wings folded around her. "...of blue that holds a flame up."

Hand on her cheek, the ability to go through the portal forgotten, Dekram blushed. His lips—Tink glowing in a Mason jar!—they kissed my cheek!

"Move it!" Layol's voice echoed from the portal.

Hands clasped, Nesohc pulled Dekram into the portal and straight back to the fairy-sized woods lining the field on the other side. The sun was setting on the opposite side and they both turned toward it, faces flushed, hands locked with anticipation.

Layol was all over the intimacy thing. "'Bout time you got all close and crushy." She abruptly ducked behind a tree. "Go on, kiss 'er. Pretend I'm not here."

Their wings scattered yellow sparkles laced with blue and pink, expressing a range of feelings that were new to both of them.

He's gonna do it! O'mipubescentheart, I'm gonna get a real kiss, this time, she thought as Nesohc moved closer, face dropping to hers. Dekram froze, eyes crossed, trying to see his face clearly as he covered her mouth with his. She gasped around a tongue that hesitantly found hers, and tingled with sensations she'd never felt before as her eyes slowly closed.

Layol yelped, "Hide." All three of them shot twenty human feet straight up and then darted through branches on the edge of the woods.

"You peeked!" Dekram panted away embarrassment.

"And it's a good thing." Layol pointed at the field.

Dekram was still trying to catch her breath as two Fire fairies backed out of the portal, dragging a male Air fairy.

"Hey, isn't that…Detaf?" Nesohc asked. The blush on his blue skin made his cheeks look purple.

"Yes," Layol croaked as they watched the two Fire fairies drag Detaf along the back of the Black Shamrock.

"Detaf isn't like them. He doesn't drink honey." There was loyalty in Dekram's words and concern on her face.

Nesohc narrowed his eyes.

While Dekram watched them drag Detaf toward the Black Shamrock, she heard Nesohc's wings vibrate. They were green and totally contradicted the smile painted on his face.

From behind Nesohc, Layol cleared her throat and got Dekram's attention. She pointed at Nesohc, covered her heart, pouted, and then blew air kisses at the back of Nesohc's head.

Dekram frowned and pulled out her cell phone, flipped it open, rapidly clicked a few buttons, finally pushed record, and caught the two fairies as they pulled Detaf around the side of the building heading for the front entrance.

Layol barked a laugh. "Ooh yeaaaah, says it all. Grimm's graphic tales!—two drunken idiots dragging another drunken idiot around the side of a building. Heck yes! We got Soahc dead-to-rights with that prime bit of footage."

"Shut up!" Dekram slapped the cell shut. "At least I finally thought of sticking with the program!"

"Yep," Nesohc smiled at her, "better than Lay and I did."

Nesohc 's eyes have a look they've never had before. Dekram blushed, rushing her words. "This doesn't make sense. They dragged Etah, drunk already, through the front door, right out the back door and into the portal and then came out of the portal with Detaf. I don't get it."

"No kidding?" Layol said, eyes heavy with thought.

"Are they getting them drunk on honey, parading them in front of the other kids," Dekram paused, "then drugging them on the other side of the portal?"

Layol's head snapped up, big eyes darted toward the field over her shoulder. "After they get Detaf inside the Shamrock, maybe we should go back through the portal and see if we can find Etah."

"We are not going back through that portal!" Dekram snapped.

"You don't have to." Layol spat back.

"Alright girls, let's not go gettin' all Bambi's mama," Nesohc said and headed toward the building. "Before we go portal jumping, I think we should go inside and find out what part Soahc is playing in all this. Isn't that what we came for?"

As the girls followed, the air crackled and the Black Shamrock blinked and flashed brown tree trunk a couple of times.

"You guys see that?" Dekram asked as they flew around the corner of the building.

"What?" Layol came to an abrupt stop, eyes searching everywhere.

"I swear the building keeps turning into a log."

"You're kidding, right?" Nesohc smacked the corner of the building. "All I see is brick and mortar painted black."

Dekram dropped her head and hid behind orange ringlets.

"Did you really see a log?" Layol asked, sporting a set of curious eyes.

"I don't know—maybe not." Dekram's wings fluttered a rainbow of colors.

"You okay?" Nesohc asked. "I thought I saw you hurl up in the palm frond."

"Yeah, she did," Layol told him over her shoulder, "told me she was sick."

"Ya think someone pixed you?" Nesohc asked.

"I am not pixed. No one dusted me, and I haven't had anything to eat or drink, either. So if I saw a log, then I saw a log." Dekram squared her shoulders. "Maybe Dad wasn't lying about everything here being..." Her voice faded and then she added, "I was hoping he was just trying to panic us into not…well, you know."

"You think the Shamrock is charmed? You think everything in Wandermere is charmed?" Layol wanted to know, then tossed up a dainty hand and said, "Wait! Back up! You didn't believe your dad?"

"I don't know." Dekram's cheeks brightened. She abruptly turned, and then whimpered, "I guess I didn't want to."

"Think about it. If more than the kid stuff is charmed how come Nesohc and I don't see it?" Layol asked, and slid an arm around Dekram. "Look, maybe your mind is playing tricks on you because of what your father told us and you're hacked-off, Elfin'-out, and-"

"Shhhhh!" Nesohc darted back around the side of the building, grabbed a wing in each hand and pulled both girls back from the edge of the structure. "They've dragged another fairy out the back door."

All three hovered close to the black wall, eyes peeking around the back of the building.

"It's Detaf," Dekram said with awe, flapping her wings to move away from the edge. "They took him out of the portal, walked him right through the buzz and out the back door and they're dragging him back to the portal, just like Etah. What the heck?"

Chapter 8

"THIS IS ELFIN’ crazy," Nesohc whispered from under a bush while they watched the Fire fairies drag Detaf back down the path toward the portal. "Maybe we should challenge them—I don't know. We could try to stop them."

"Heck yeah. Let's go all Pleasure Island on 'em. Follow 'em and demand answers," Layol said from a branch above him. "Maybe we'll never come back—" Her face got all snarky demonic. "—as fairies, that is." Pointer finger went to her chin. "Oh, I know, maybe we'll come back humans, or worse, Fire!" She rolled her eyes and mocked a grin. "Let's join them."

Dekram shook her head and gave Layol's shoulder a shove. "While your loyalty is admirable, your stupidity is…stupid."

"I say bring it on!" Layol puffed up her double A's.

"Really, Lay?" Dekram said. "We cannot take on two Fire fairies! Maybe we should call Human Services." She turned toward the Black Shamrock's door.

"Hold on. No one is taking on or joining anyone." Nesohc bolted straight up and hung an arm over Dekram's shoulder.

Dekram froze. He's hugging me again. Can he do that all the time now that I've kissed him?

Layol cleared her throat, batted her eyelashes, made fish lips and then wiggled her brows.

Surely she's not suggesting I get crushy-girly on him right now? How gargantuan inappropriate is that? Eyebrows pushing a wrinkle over the bridge of her nose, she relaxed under Nesohc's arm as Layol's earlier words 'at least act like you're crushing' rolled around in her head. Remembering the kiss, cheeks pink, she batted lashes at the grass. "So we're not going to get involved?"

Eyes still on Detaf, Nesohc's arm dropped to encircle Dekram's waist. "We could just go talk to them. See if Detaf is willing, knows where he's headed. I agree something strange is going on but at this point it might just be Fire fairies buzzing-down with the locals. Not like anyone was screaming help."

"But Detaf is not like that," Dekram said. "He doesn't go to buzz's or drug or drink honey."

"Well, he's here," Nesohc groused.

Layol nudged Dekram's calf with the toe of her shoe. "I think this is a good time to…you know…tell Nes about," she made finger quotes, "the talk."

Oh, toad crap on a hyacinth petal, she is so not asking me to tell Nes I'm crushing on him! Dekram forced a flirty giggle and blinked rapidly at Nesohc. "I, um, well, from the first day we made friends, I felt…" Dekram gritted her teeth, eyes sliding from Nesohc to Layol. "I felt something."

Layol rolled her eyes so far back she was resting on her wings. Slicing a hand across her throat, lips tight around a laugh, her shoulders bobbed. After burbling for a wing-beat or two she finally blew her lips into a toothy smile and exaggerated a gaze in Nesohc's direction. "Look, the fairies that Fire dragged in and out of the building were wasted. And I saw an adult open the back door for them when they pulled Etah out. I'm not so sure the townsfolk aren't involved in this somehow."

"Paranoid much?" Nesohc laughed.

"Dek," Layol prompted.

Nesohc hovered like a hummingbird in front of a feeder. "You okay?" he asked, gaze on Dekram's fluttering lashes.

Giggling, Dekram bounced her head up and down, wings buzzing madly.

"Dek, for the love of Saint Valentine! Will ya just give it up and tell him why I think the town may be involved? What you've been overhearing?" Layol's comment took a wing-beat to freeze Dekram's overzealous lashes.

"No!" Dekram tightened her mouth and shook her head. "I don't think we need to discuss this tonight."

"You don't tell, I will," Layol warned, and quickly added, "Minus the girly parts, of course."

"No-you-won't!" Dekram's eyes drove her anger. "We agreed. Not tonight."

"Sh-yeah, right. C'mon! I totally do not agree!"

Dekram snapped, "You did! You promised! You said-"

"I bloody know what I said—that was before, this is now—and Nes needs to know everything."

"Mother Trudy's stubborn child!" Nesohc snapped, "Out with it, one of you!"

The girls glared at each other while Nesohc took in a few noisy breathes. Then Dekram's frustration erupted. "Fine! Just fine! But I'll tell him my way!" Brows knit, mouth tight, she turned her gaze on Nesohc. "Things have been really strange at home and at school. I've overheard several conversations that have me thinking the town has some big plan for me. It has to do with the missions and me being a half-breed. I mean, what do we really know about the missions? This is our first and since there are no children in Wandermere, other than our generation, we have only the adults to rely on for answers."

"You're staaalling," Layol sang.

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"I am not!"

"You are too!"

"I-"

Nesohc threw up his arms, throat rumbling like a black cloud.

Dekram's wings leaked pink sparkles. She took a deep breath and meekly told Nesohc about Principle Nrets using the word 'experiment' while hinting to some sacrifice her mother and father had made. She left out the coming of age comment, anything said about Detaf, and the whole sexual behavior thing with reference to Nesohc.

Layol encouraged. "Tell him the whole conversation between Mrs. Evol and the librarian.

Dekram sighed. Layol took over.

"So," Layol summarized, hands gesturing all over the place. "What we have is something to do with her, um, being half Air and Water, the mission thingy, and something about special powers her mother is afraid she'll unleash in the human world. Then there's the town meeting tonight about other issues, like dating, and..." Layol paused, turned away from Dekram's angry expression, and mumbled, "Her coming of age seems to be a concern." Layol ignored Dekram's horrified gasp. "Anyway, I think you get it."

Nesohc looked gob-smacked. He blinked several times, turned bright red, and finally said, "All righty then, what say we head inside while I process all that info?"

Dekram whacked Layol's arm. "Could you have embarrassed me any more than you just did?"

"Don't be embarrassed," Nesohc was quick to say. "It's just a lot to absorb."

"It's okay, Nes. Maybe Layol is exaggerating." When she turned to dare her friend to say anything she found Layol was hanging back, eyes searching in the direction Fire took Detaf. "Lay! What are you thinking?"

Layol yelped a turnabout. "Uh, nothing... You two go on in. I'm gonna hang here in case Etah or Detaf come back."

"When Tink rips off her wings and gives them to you!" Nesohc said, "We stick together, remember?"

Layol frowned and darted back. "Did you know that if Tink gave me her wings I could become Tink?"

Nesohc flew toward the corner of the building.

"Stop stalling with idiotic Internet drivel," Dekram said, pointing in Nesohc's direction.

Reluctantly, Layol fell in beside her friend and they both followed him toward the entrance. "Guess I'll have to sneak out the window in the ladies restroom," she whispered.

Dekram's eyes bulged. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Why not?"

"Please don't do anything stupid," Dekram managed to spit out before they caught up with Nesohc.

"I say we have a quick look around," Nesohc said through a smile directed at Dekram, "then head over to spy on that meeting."

Dekram smiled back, but she was looking at the red neon light flickering off the tethered insects' wings. Before she could point it out to Nesohc, Layol shrieked, "O'mifairygodmother! It's a glittering-X!" She looked at the entrance. "Pixin', impin awesome," Layol said and bolted for the door.

"Wait for us!" Nesohc yelled, pulling Dekram along.

"Ah-duh," Layol said, hand swiping over the X. "Like I so totally didn't hear that a zillion times already. I just wanted to check out the door. Look, it's glitter." She turned her hand over.

Dekram's brow mocked. "You are sooo easily amused."

"Don't be stingin' me," Layol snapped. "It looks ugly on you." She jerked open the door and the night throbbed a deep repetitive beat.

The three stepped into a small room with an archway on the far side that led into a hall dimly lit in blue. Painted on the wall on the other side of the arch was a curved twinkling arrow, pointing left. Under the arrow were a gilded etched mirror and a squatty mahogany table with several gold buckets on top.

When the door closed the odor of damp earth and rotting leaves became stronger. Pictures of fairytale characters animated the walls. Humpty Dumpty fell from the wall over and over again. Tweedledum and Tweedledee danced around a Cheshire cat. Alice bit one cookie and shrunk to the floor, bit another and rose to the ceiling. Jiminy Cricket poked his umbrella into a gilded cage where Stromboli was strung up, making him dance for an audience of wooden puppets.

"Wicked impy!" Layol breathed in awe, arms spread as she circled. "We fell into the magical rabbit hole."

Dekram tucked her wings and walked toward the arch. "I wonder what's in those buckets under the glowing arrow."

"Hold up." Nesohc came to attention. "Let me look first, just in case."

Layol rocketed right over them. "Crap a toadstool, its glitter!" She reached into a bucket and pulled out a rubber stamp, screeched a giggle and pressed a sparkly pink heart onto her cheek. She repeated the process with a stamp from another bucket and a gold star twinkled on one shoulder.

Nesohc smiled at Dekram. "Think we should intervene before she turns into a walking day-glow event?"

"You don't think the sparkles are laced with anything, do you?" Dekram worried a look at Layol.

Nesohc's eyes followed Dekram's. "I doubt it, but if she starts acting weird…"

They both giggled.

"How about if she starts acting normal?" Dekram giggled her way to laughter.

Layol turned a big grin at them, each hand holding a stamp, and when they popped with laughter, she asked, "What?"

With uncontrollable giggles, Dekram and Nesohc hung on to each other, wings circling them like fan blades. Every inch of bare skin on Layol's body was covered with pink hearts, green peace symbols, gold stars, purple arrows—like the one on the wall—and a big red circle with a just say no slash. Only, where she'd stamped the circle, it looked like more of a don't touch statement.

It was clear Nesohc was having a very hard time trying to keep a straight face.

"Are you finished?" Dekram asked, and quickly captured her lips between her teeth.

"No," Layol said, "I was just going to finger paint my lips and brows," she wrinkled her face, sending a rainbow of glitter to the floor. "Too much?"

Nesohc barked a laugh. "Heck no. You can never sparkle too much." He wiggled his nose at Dekram, pulled his shirt over his head, tucked it into the back of his jeans, and grinned. "In fact, how about you paint a target of hearts on my chest with an arrow pointing at her?" He smiled at Dekram by his side.

Jaws dropped.

Dekram couldn't take her eyes off the bare stomach above Nesohc's tight low riders.

Nesohc's smile widened.

Layol's mouth snapped closed. "Don't tempt me, buddy." She waved the heart stamp covered in pink glitter at Nesohc.

Nesohc grinned at Layol and pulled the shirt back over his head, wings flashing red as they appeared on the outside of his shirt. He jerked a brush from a can, shoved his face in front of the mirror and painted his lips with blue glitter. He turned and promptly kissed Dekram on the center of her forehead. His smile glittered blue. "There, I marked you. Everyone will know you're mine," he shouted over a burst of music that rushed down the hall.

Dekram's head dipped toward the floor. His mark. How pixin' cool is that?

Layol waved a hand down the hall. "Ah-huh, talk about a target. They'll think she's yours and probably fifty others." Two Fire fairies with blue lips and purple brows passed through the arch, gave the three of them a look-over, flexed tattooed arms then headed out the front door.

Layol breezed down the hall, shouting, "C'mon! There's another arrow with a table under it at the end of the hall."

Nesohc thumbed the kiss off Dekram's forehead. "How about I write my name across your forehead?" Nesohc teased.

"Um-"

"Oh-crap-yes!" Layol shrilled a screech. "They have neon necklaces!"

As Nesohc took Dekram's hand and pulled her down the hall, she thought, The gods help me, I almost said yes!

Layol had neon beads wrapped up her legs, arms, and around her neck.

"You look like Mardi Gras upchucked all over you." Nesohc laughed as Layol extended two hands full of brightly lit necklaces. He took them and put half around Dekram's neck, stretched two around her head like a sweatband and put the rest over his head. He pointed at a big glowing red X at the end of a hall on the right. "That must be the buzz."

They zipped down a dark hall into a room that pulsed with color, chanting, and a throbbing bass.

Over the music, the mass chanted, "Buzz on. Buzz on. Everyone pass that buzz around".

Every time the group yelled 'Buzz on' body parts bounced against partners and fists pumped the air. The room was wall-to-wall packed with undulating bodies. Small particles flickered in the air. Strobe lighting shared the stage with black lights and turned the action into fragmented movement and ever-changing neon symbols.

Dekram pulled her hands off her ears and shouted, "Anyone see Soahc?"

Nesohc shook his head. "You want to circle the crowd?"

Dekram nodded.

Nesohc pointed along a wall where there was some limited room to move. He headed in that direction.

Dekram started to follow, but Layol shouted, "Holy crapola, there's Etah," and bolted off in another direction.

Dekram yelled, "Layol! Wait." When her friend kept moving, Dekram called to Nesohc. They locked eyes, and she pointed behind her. Nesohc glanced over Dekram's head then shouldered a question. Dekram turned around and Layol was lost in the throng of bodies. The room was uncomfortably warm and mingled scents were tainted in sweat. It had a warehouse feel, cement floors, and walls that vaulted high above into darkness; below it was a maelstrom of color.

Dekram shot toward Nesohc hoping the air was fresher above. It wasn't. In fact, it was hotter and more acrid the higher she flew. "Layol saw Etah and took off after her," Dekram shouted in Nesohc's ear.

Their eyes scanned the crowd below, but all that was visible was a sea of sweaty, half-dressed bodies dancing so close it was hard to tell what limb belonged to which fairy. Colored light enhanced thick smoke on the dance floor, making it look alive. Responding to movement, it rolled and pulsed around feet, and wafted and waved its way up legs.

"Don't leave this spot," Nesohc ordered. "I'm going to circle the room." When she nodded, he flew along the ceiling where it met the wall.

The repetitious beat of the music made Dekram's pulse hammer in her chest. She pulled out her cell phone, hit the camera button, zoomed in and panned the crowd. The back door opened and lit the room with a moonbeam. Dekram swung the cell lens in that direction.

On the camera screen, Dekram could see that the wall by the door held Etah up. And before she could scan for Layol, Detaf staggered through the back door and it shut behind him, cutting off her light. She stared at the flashing colors on her otherwise dark iPhone screen and huffed frustration.

Dekram adjusted the camera and followed a wave of pulsing light over the crowd. Soahc's body filled the screen. She was tonguing thick golden liquid dripping down the chin of a Fire fairy. Soahc raised an arm, body sensually rubbing against the Fire fairy's hip.

Mouth hanging open, Layol, Etah and Detaf totally forgotten, Dekram held her breath, thumb working the zoom button as she caught fragments of movement. The Fire fairy pulled Soahc to his chest, covered her mouth with his—there was tongue action. Dekram panned in closer, mesmerized.

"I THINK I JUST SAW—"

Dekram yelped a circle, cell phone flying. Nesohc leapt, wings working overtime, hands juggling the cell. He finally snagged it mid-air. Dekram sucked in several deep breaths, hand rising with her chest.

"Bury me under a clover patch, why don't cha! What the heck was that all about?" Nesohc pushed the phone into her hand.

"Etah is standing against the far wall and Detaf just staggered through the back door! But I don't see Layol!" Dekram blurted, shaking the cell in the appropriate direction. "Did you see her?"

Chapter 9

"WHAT WAS THE last thing Lay said to you?" Nesohc's eyes searched the crowd for the umpteenth time.

Dekram's concentration flicked from his eyes, pulsing mirrored color to the beat of the music, to his electric blue lips which seemed to dance as he spoke. "She said, and I quote, 'Holycrapola, there's Etah.' Then she bolted through the crowd."

From behind, a grim voice said, "Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions..."

Nesohc and Dekram whipped their heads around.

"Another astute human said that, Oscar Wilde." Mirg pointed at the throbbing throng of bodies below. She was dressed all CyberPunk-Dreadful Dollhouse. "...their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation'".

Almost everything Mirg wore was black: skull cap, veil attached and pulled low enough to cover one-third of her face; thigh-length lace dress hugging the upper half of her body, flaring at the hips over leggings; dark gray and black argyle leg warmers starting just above her knees bunched at the top of polished military dress shoes, clunky with thick soles; makeup all grim-glamour; sallow skin made even harsher by blue hair so dark it looked black until it caught light; deep gray eye-shadow and burgundy eyeliner dramatizing light gray eyes; shiny black lips floating between her nose and chin. She looked like walking death and just as scary as those dreadful dolls.

"What?" Dekram asked.

"One's real life is so often the life that one does not lead." Mirg's vacant eyes glazed over. "He said that too; yes, a very clever man, that Mister Wilde.

"What are you grousing about?" Nesohc asked.

"Them." She fanned a hand to encompass the dancing fairies below them. Black-lace covered fingers tapped quivering lips on an otherwise covered face. Mirg sighed. "To be sure, I really must go ask. But I'm afraid Etah's hateful self is dead to us now. However, one would think the death of one's fictional nature is not necessarily a true death." She smiled. "I made that up, just now, all by myself," she mused and flitted off toward the back door.

Dekram elbowed Nesohc. "Did you see her eyes?"

"The pupils were dilated," Nesohc said.

Dekram raised a brow. "Should we follow—?"

"Absolutely not. We're looking for Lay." Nesohc bounced both palms in the air. "Or did you forget that your gal-pal is out there somewhere? Hopefully, without dilated pupils."

Dekram pulled her attention off Mirg and gave it to Nesohc. "Lay is too smart to fall into a trap."

"Grim! Grim reapers are among us!" Mirg belted out over the crowd before she descended near the back door.

"Right?" Dekram's eyes widened. "We'd have heard Lay a mile away, right?"

"Calm down," Nesohc said. "We'll find her."

Dekram's wings vibrated, and red sparkles fell through rays of light below them.

Nesohc scanned the room again. "Well, she's clearly not down there."

"I can see that."

Nesohc tightened his mouth, shook his head. "Why did you let her go off alone?"

"Sting me! You left me alone."

"No," Nesohc said, wings zinging. "I thought I was leaving you with Lay."

"Oh, sure! Go gettin' all emo on me. Not my fault if I follow instructions and Lay doesn't."

"Maybe she went to the restroom," Nesohc calmly suggested. "Did you look there?"

"Oh, no!" Dekram shouted over the music and around the outburst of lyric chanting. "She said she was going to sneak out the bathroom window to find Etah."

"But you said she saw Etah by the back door."

"You don't think she'd go back through the portal, do you?" Dekram asked.

Nesohc's nostrils flared. He grabbed Dekram around the waist and pulled her above the crowd, toward the front entrance.

Dekram caught sight of a sign on a wall. "Wait, Nes!—restrooms." She pointed at a neon arrow beneath the sign then yanked free and dragonfly-darted in that direction, Nesohc riding her wings. He came to an abrupt stop and hovered near the ceiling as Dekram slipped through a slightly out of focus membrane that glimmered under a picture of a pink-leather clad Tink in platform hip boots.

Dekram stopped abruptly inside the restroom, eyes scanning. The room was dramatic; lambent pink tube-lights ran along the ceiling between two rows of stalls and stained the walls pink. The floor was a murky kaleidoscope of reflected color as fairies flitted this way and that.

Flying over the cubical stalls, Dekram dusted everything with multicolored sparkles as short snappy complaints cut her frustrated apologies. Fairies scattered and darted out the exit like butterflies fleeing a disturbed field of wildflowers.

A sparkly reflection in the long mirror lining the back wall caught Dekram's attention. Hard to miss those bedazzled Jimmy Choo knockoffs. Even harder to miss the wiggling, heart-shaped, pink clad butt hanging over the window ledge.

Dekram shot across the room, grabbed her friend's wings, and tugged. "Get back in here!"

"I'm tryin'!"

Dekram tugged harder.

Layol yelped. "Go ahead pull my wings off, why don't cha. Not like I need 'em or anything."

"We were supposed to stay together." Dekram placed her feet on the wall below the sill for leverage, wings buzzing.

"Crapolla, that hurts! Stop pulling! Just help me unsnag my dress?"

"I think I'll leave you stuck right there. At least, I'll know where you are," Dekram taunted.

"Stinging makes you look ugly," Layol grunted, feet working like a balance weight as her arms reached for the snagged dress.

"Well, you scared us! Fire is dragging fairies in and out of a portal!" Dekram snapped.

"Old news," Layol growled; the hem of her dress just out of reach. "C'mon! Quit jerking me around and help me. I talked to Etah and she's wasted."

"Older news," Dekram said, slapped Layol's hands out of her way, and tried to work the fabric free. "I got footage of Soahc on the dance floor tonguing a Fire fairy. Also got Detaf staggering in the back door and right up to Etah like they were buds. So drag you’re 'all that' attitude down a level and move away from the window…unless you want to get a buzz on just like Etah and Detaf."

"Yeah, right, like that's so not going to happen. You say you saw Detaf?"

"Yes," Dekram said over at the sinks. She ran her hands under a tulip-shaped faucet hanging over a lily pad that caught the water.

Layol treaded air behind her, a big pixie grin spreading her lips. "I went back in."

"In where?" Dekram elbowed a button on a wind blower hanging from the wall.

While Dekram briskly rubbed her hands, Layol shouted over the whistling wind, "Into the world on the other side of the portal! And this time, I found Detaf. He didn't even know who I was, which is stupid 'cause he sits right across from me in homeroom. Before I could ask him what drug he was on and where his wings got to, another set of Fire fairies showed up and I bolted back through the portal."

"But he came in through the back door soon after you left," Dekram said as the blower quieted. "Did you say he didn't have wings?"

Layol frowned. "Yeah? What do you think's up with that?"

"You were probably seeing things because he's got them now. Etah seemed to be waiting for him."

"Huh," Layol said, "I didn't think he liked Soahc and her foul nosegay of friends."

"Nosegay?" Dekram giggled.

"Yeah, I'm trying to expand my sting words." Layol puckered her lips, nostrils sucking in air. "I became enchanted by the word and couldn't wait to use it."

"Uh-huh." Dekram strummed fingers against her chin. "Bet you started out typing posy. Am I right?"

"A foul bunch, slash, nosegay of friends," Layol rushed her words. "Get it?"

"I never lost it." Dekram shook her head, pulled out her lipstick and turned to the mirror. "It's a stretch, even for you. And if you rush off again I'll enchant your butt right into the next realm."

"Deal with it. I'm using the word, at least, three times tonight," Layol said, finger waggling. "You wait and see. Everyone will be using it tomorrow."

"Such an optimist," Dekram said and then ran color over her lips.

"Such a pessimist," Layol sang back. "Wonder if Soahc will come to class with a Fire tat tomorrow."

Dekram put her lipstick back into her boot. "I also recorded her drinking honey. I almost forgot."

"Stingin' awesome! We got her—we got her dead to rights." Layol's wings blurred with her excitement. "Think we should download the whole thing on the Net?"

Dekram, brow furrowed, tilted her head as they started for the door. "Ya think her mother knows she's hanging with Fire?"

"Ohh-h, now that's better than my Net idea." Layol grinned garishly. "Let's text Mom—"

"We are so not going to send this lewd film to her mother!"

"Okeydokey, however, your father did tell us to forward any cell phone communication about the buzzes, so legally we are oh so obligated to send it to him…ooor…" Layol said as she darted around Dekram and through the exit. The rest of her sentence echoed back. "...we do have the option to attach it to our next Fun Mail entry,"

Nesohc hovered outside the restroom with his arms wrapped around his chest and a scowl on his face when the girls popped out arguing. "What are we going to attach to our next faux HS post?"

"Absolutely not what Layol is suggesting we attach." Dekram hooded her eyes at Layol as they darted up toward the ceiling. Layol looked like a lit Christmas tree with the black lighting and all her body art.

"And what is she suggesting?" Nesohc shouted over the pulsing noise.

Layol thumbed a bedazzled acknowledgment at Dekram. "She caught Little-Miss-Lydia, the Pride-and-Prejudice of Wandermere, on film, sucking down honey and swapping spit with a Fire fairy. And I got some film of-"

Nesohc turned to Dekram. "You got Soahc kissing Fire?"

Layol cut in, "Uh-huh, with tongue action and I got-"

"Soahc was actually French-kissing a Fire fairy?" Nesohc's eyes bounced surprise back and forth between the girls.

"And drinking honey; did you miss that part?" Dekram wanted to know, wings sounding like a swarm of angry bees.

Nesohc shook his head. "I don't like this," he mumbled, eyes searching the buzz. "Either they're using her or she's using them."

"No kidding. And she didn't even notice that we were here," Layol said.

"I didn't notice anyone all put-out about the Fun Mail post, either," Dekram said and then snapped her fingers in front of Nesohc's daydream.

"What?" Nesohc was kinda sorta back in the conversation.

"Did anyone say anything to you about the Fun Mail post?"

"I didn't talk to anyone but you," Nesohc said. "How about you?"

"No," Dekram answered and they both turned to Layol.

"I hung with Etah for a bit, trying to see if she was alright. She acted weird—dodged my questions about the Fun Mail post." Layol winced at the really loud music and the crowd was putting a lot of feeling into the buzz on chant this time. "No one, not even Mirg, said a word about the post. Batted zero and that's when—did I tell you Etah has developed a weird accent?—I headed for the portal to see if I could find Detaf," Layol shook her head at Dekram, "and, well, you know the rest."

"What kind of accent?" Dekram asked.

"Do I look like I work for United Fairy Nations? It wasn't even close to fairy-ish."

"Are you gonna tell me 'the rest'?" Nesohc snagged the girl's attention back with his finger quotes.

Layol squared off with Nesohc, one hand holding a hip. "You stayin' in my face this time? 'Cause I tried to tell you 'the rest' twice already. And I ain't attempting it again, so listen up." She chewed on the inside of her cheek, dramatizing the moment, hip bouncing for effect.

"I went back through the portal." Layol paused, center stage. No one said a word. "Detaf was on the other side and he had no clue who I was. I thought maybe he was über buzzed 'cause he was flat on his back, but after thinking about it he might've been mind-spelled."

Nesohc jerked his head back and harrumphed at the same time. "That could explain Bacs' behavior earlier. Hell, it could explain Soahc's lewd performance."

"That was no performance. She's a slut," Dekram blurted, green sparkles dusting the crowd below.

"Oh, crap yes!" Layol chortled, slapping a knee. "You really got it bad. Yep, that ugly green monster is showing its head, gal-pal." She pointedly looked down at the green sparkles flickering in the light show.

Dekram's snarl looked a little weak. "Don't make me summon up the wicked witch's flying monkeys."

With a big smile and slightly tinted cheeks, Nesohc ended the tirade. "Let's head to the town meeting and see if we can make more sense out of all this."

"Totally agree," Layol said, giggling while looking around at the undulating crowd on the dance floor. "Soahc and her rancid nosegay-crowd cramp my style, anyway."

Nesohc spit a laugh. "You are likening her friends to a rancid posy of flowers?" He shook his head, laughed again, and then said, "Huh, I like it."

"Told ya." Layol snickered and elbowed Dekram along as they headed for the exit. "Two more strategically placed usages and it goes viral."

Dekram shook a grin.

Nesohc walked out the front door of the Black Shamrock and straight into Soahc, Detaf and the Tall-And-Reedy Fire fairy who had helped take Etah through the portal. He stopped so fast that Layol and Dekram stumbled into him.

"Well, if it isn't Pond Scum and her impin'-blue wannabees," Soahc slurred, staggered a step back, ankles wobbling in her platform pumps. Both fairies grabbed an elbow. Flame-engulfed shamrock tats bulged over Tall-And-Reedy's gang signature; FF 666.

Detaf wrestled Soahc under his arm, puffing black hair out of his eyes. "Why are you always gettin' all heavy-up on 'em?" he asked, trapping her arms in his. "Ya know I like da half-breed."

Nesohc took a step forward.

Head bobbing, Soahc studied Dekram through inebriated eyes. "Come to gloat, half-breed?—see if I went all postal about the HS post?" She leaned forward, stretching Detaf's grasp. "Bet it was your daddy, right?" Soahc jerked away and would have fallen flat on her face if Nesohc hadn't caught her. "Nobody believes his stupid attempt to scare us." She twisted in Nesohc's arms, fingers waving in Dekram's direction, eyes mocking.

Before Dekram could put up a rebuttal, Layol stepped up, shot Nesohc a maternal look of disdain, and said, "Let's just tuck that-" she pointed at Soahc, "-back into her fetid nosegay of admirers."

Layol jerked Soahc by the arm and then gave her a two palmed shove that sent her stumbling backwards into Detaf and the Fire fairy.

Layol pointed two fingers on her right hand at her best friend. "That's two times I used that word effectively, Dek. Only one more usage to go."

"Usage?" Dekram rolled her eyes; mouth frozen in an 'I can't believe you just said that' expression.

Layol raised an eyebrow at Dekram, and then turned an angry face on Detaf. "What's really going on here? We saw you-"

Dekram snagged Layol's pink dress, turning her unspoken words into a yelp. "-on the dance floor with Etah." She finished her friend's sentence and then gawked at Soahc. "We saw you on the dance floor, too."

A sloppy grin spread Soahc's red lips. "And what, freak? You want some lessons?" She giggled at her own words and ran hands up Detaf's chest.

He pulled her close and laughed down at her. "Pixie," Detaf crooned, "you startin' things. Ya feel me?" He reached for the front of his pants.

Dekram gasped.

Nesohc glared through hooded eyes. "Why are you trying so hard to be Fire, Detaf?"

Detaf's shoulders reached for his pointed ears. "She think she don't want me." He nodded at Dekram, whose eyes got big and round ad she tightened her grip on Layol's dress. "We'll just see 'bout dat."

Nesohc moved closer to Dekram.

Layol grunted, dress stretching as Dekram put her heels into the hold. "Oh yeah," Layol said. "Like she really feels an Air fairy who grabs his crotch is attractive. But hey, Soahc finds a Fire fairy who shows three inches of boxers under a butt-crack sexy enough to get up close and personal on the dance floor. I'd say you got your arms wrapped around your best choice." Layol's elbows worked, wings buzzed as she pulled harder to get in Soahc's face. "Yep, I can see both your choices have 'major ambition' written all over their idiot selves."

"Literally," Dekram mumbled, gathering another couple of inches on the dress.

One side of Nesohc's mouth quivered.

Soahc lurched at Dekram—Detaf pulled her closer. "Don't you be puttin' hurt on fate."

The Fire fairy standing next to Detaf crackled like static electricity and faded. For a split second Dekram saw a creature with an elongated jaw, concave cheeks, pointy ears, and long wispy gray hair that cascaded the length of a wrinkled leathery body, completely naked. Glowing red snake-eyes locked on Dekram, and Detaf leaned over Soahc's shoulder, smiled wickedly, and then clicked pointy teeth together.

Dekram jerked Layol back three human inches. Detaf barked a throaty laugh and filled the gap with menacing dark eyes.

Catching her breath, Dekram studied both fairies but only Detaf and Tall-And-Reedy glared back. Maybe I imagined it. What's wrong with me? Buildings are changing into logs and now fairies are turning into…I don't know what.

When Layol tugged again and Dekram still tightened her grip, Layol put both hands on her hips, spun the dress around her body, and faced Dekram.

Nesohc's wings vibrated invisible. "Back up everyone, let's not get all Brothers Grimm," he said, holding up a hand to Soahc and her advancing friends. "We just came to see if we could hook up. You know, join in," he glared back at Layol who was having a slapping match with Dekram over custody of the hem of the pink dress. Nesohc puffed nose air. "Look, we were just leaving. We didn't mean to crash your party."

Layol whirled on him. "Listen here—snap!—her party? It's a buzz! Last I heard—"

Nesohc nipped her words with a snarl and nasty eyes.

Still stumbling over the last sting, Tall-And-Reedy tugged the front of his shorts up with one hand, scratched his head with the other and then pointed at Layol. He turned to Detaf. "What's she talkin' 'bout all dat butt-crack an' ambition skat, Rage?"

"Lock it up, Imp," Detaf said.

Layol pointedly glared at the Fire fairy's exposed butt-crack.

Tall-And-Reedy burst out laughing and bounced his chin at Layol. "She be radical, sure 'nough, but you mo radical, though." He pointed at Soahc who was nibbling on Detaf's ear. "You be most radical, Rage, true dat."

"You need to shut up." Detaf thumbed a direction, glaring at Tall-And-Reedy. "Party's inside. Craps outside. Feel me?"

Chapter 10

"THAT WAS NOT Detaf!" Layol shouted as they climbed on Renrad.

"You need to learn how to spool your temper," Nesohc said. "Those guys weren't playing around."

"C'mon! I'm not afraid of—"

"Well you should be," Dekram said, taking up the reins. "Something's happened to Detaf—same as Etah and Bacs—and you just about blew the whole espionage thing, almost screaming that you'd just seen him inside."

"I do not scream!" Layol's wings skipped a few beats before she settled behind Nesohc.

"Nah, not any more than you are right now." Nesohc snorted.

Dekram smiled and wrapped the reins around her fingers.

Layol snapped, "You haven't heard screaming. You wanna hear screaming? They'll hear me in the abyss if I really start screaming."

Dekram pulled the reins tight and nudged Renrad's flank with her heels. The dragonfly shot off into the sky and everyone grabbed for something to hang onto.

"You really should have seatbelts wrapped around his middle," Layol shouted over Nesohc's laughter, a fistful of his t-shirt in her hand.

Dekram leaned left, Renrad banked right, and Layol's suggestion fell on deaf ears because Dekram was all wrapped up in the way her body tingled under Nesohc's firm grip around her middle, and the goose bumps his warm breath made on the back of her neck.

After a very erratic flight, they spotted the town hall where the meeting was being held. Renrad circled the building, completely ignoring Dekram's lead.

"Down," Dekram groused, heels tapping. She stretched over Renrad's wings, knees hugging his green body, and slapped the dragonfly's yellow head. "I said down!"

Renrad came to an abrupt stop; all three fairies stacked over his wings. Before they could regroup, the dragonfly banked left, wings buzzing, then bolted for the shoreline of a small pond behind the building and came to another abrupt stop that catapulted all three fairies over his head and onto the grass. Renrad's body vibrated briefly before he darted four human feet out over the pond and landed on a cluster of water grass, wings rock still, eyes on a caddis fly sliding along the surface below the grass.

"Renrad's ride is as wild as Mr. Toad's," Layol giggled, brushing her dress, ankles rocking faux Choo shoes.

Dekram looked shyly at Nesohc. I feel weird, kinda empty now that he's not holding me. Does that mean I love Nes? O'miShakespearianfantasy! That's so wicked scary.

Nesohc smiled at Layol's remark, but his eyes moved to Dekram. "It's a thrill-rush, that's for sure."

Dekram blushed; pink sparkles fell from energetic wings.

"Okay, so does anybody..." Layol paused, eyes playing between Dekram and Nesohc. "I am so pretending to not notice the crushing going on between you two." Layol finger-combed blond hair, eyes staring off over the pond. "So, anyone got a game plan?"

"Um…I don't have a plan." Dekram dragged her eyes off Nesohc. "You?"

Nesohc stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and toed the grass with one of his All Stars. "That's one big building."

"No kidding." Dekram blinked from Nesohc to Layol and quickly added, "I asked Mrs. Laretil about it. She says it was brought through the portal by an Elder to scare the children from entering the human world for sport."

"It's as big as the whole town." Nesohc blushed and rushed his next words. "Wonder if it's filled with human-sized stuff?"

"Gosh, humans must be gigantic." Dekram sounded awestruck.

"Not gonna know nothing unless we go in," Layol said with a face full of impatience.

"Well, we can't just fly in the front door, now can we?" Nesohc said.

Layol wrinkled a smile. "Weeell, we can do the hover around windows thing—kind of risky—or the drop down the chimney thing—a bit messy—or the peek through an air-vent-cover thing—which makes me sneeze occasionally." Her gaze bounced from one to the other. "With the size of this building we have tons of options."

"You do much air-vent-cover spying?" Nesohc wanted to know.

Layol snickered. "Only if the occasion warrants it."

"Ever been caught?" Nesohc pressed.

"Nope," Layol said.

Dekram raised a brow. "I am not even gonna ask what you consider an occasion so special that—"

"Okay, then, it's the roof," Nesohc cut in and flew upward. When Layol bolted after him, Dekram sighed and followed.

"I assume we go through the air conditioner system to get to a vent?" Dekram asked after they'd landed on the roof.

"I'm guessing the exhaust fan ventilator," Nesohc said, pointing toward the far end of the roof.

"Yep, that'd do it… if it doesn't have a screen inside." Layol puffed out her chest, laid her tongue over the teeth on the left side of her mouth, eyes analyzing the fan; an expert in the field of spying. "If that's the case we search for an inconspicuous opening, try to remain invisible, find a vent cover in an upstairs room, and if we're lucky, wiggle though the slats."

Mouths slack, Dekram and Nesohc stared at Layol for about ten human heartbeats. Then Layol flew to a slatted-metal-ball shaped thing sticking out from the roof. "There's no screen. We're good to go." She assumed a darting position, body bobbing in time with revolving blades inside the exhaust fan.

"She is so not going to—"

Layol darted.

"Huh, guess that'd be a yes," Nesohc said, taking up the same position before the fan, body moving with the beat of the blades.

Before Dekram could spit out an objection, Nesohc disappeared through the blades.

"Am I the only one who is absolutely not cut out for investigative field work?" Dekram mumbled with both hands knuckle deep in red curls as she stood staring at the ventilator.

"Are you coming?" Layol's voice echoed hollowly from the fan, followed by three squeaky sneezes and, "Toad crap, it's so dusty in here.

Dekram gathered her hair behind her head and leaned closer to the blades.

"Just do it. Worst scenario, you get a bad haircut."

Dekram cupped her free hand around her mouth, and audibly mumbled, "Nope, worst scenario, I get sliced and diced."

"It's like jumping double ropes, time the movement, get the beat, and take advantage of the opening. Simple, you can do it. Be right back, fairy-boy needs my help." Layol answered.

"Why? What kind of help?" Dekram asked as she paced a circle around the fan. There was no answer other than sneezes that faded into silence. Heart hammering, she continued to walk, angry eyes on the moving blades. "Crap, I was never good at jumping a single rope, never mind a double. And jumping rope doesn't lose you an appendage for a lack in judgment," she groused. Hand on her chest, feeling dizzy, she closed her eyes, tried to catch her breath and when she opened them the moving fan blades looked like Spanish moss swirling around cypress branches in front of a hollow on the tree's trunk. The image made her even dizzier. She reached out, felt bark and with short rapid breaths squeezed her eyes tight.

"Where are you?" Nesohc asked.

Dekram's eyes popped open, and she snatched her hand from the feel of cold metal. Nesohc's yummy face flashed between blade movements and erratic images of the swaying moss.

Layol appeared next to Nesohc, backhanding her pink nose. "She's right there and, look at her, she's never gonna do this."

"Ya think?" Nesohc panted and tossed a look at Layol that was a tad-bit snarky.

Layol ignored him. "Calm down, Dek—crap, you look all pasty—'cause we came up with a solution."

"WE did not," Nesohc said. "I came up with the solution, and hoisted this sucker up here all by myself."

"Just shut up and let me help," Layol grunted.

"Well I did come up with it! And you're not helping." Nesohc made a few angry animal noises.

"Gotta get all techy on me, don't cha?" Layol snorted, and groaned with her effort.

"You shut up," Nesohc ground out, "and put your wings into it."

"Like I'm so not doing that already," Layol griped. "It's heavy."

"No crap."

Dekram took several deep breaths, partially regained composure, and watched as a round piece of metal that looked like an axle off a human's push toy, popped between the blades and the fan came to a grinding halt.

Nesohc flew out, wiped the sweat from his brow, waved an arm and bowed. "This way, My Lady."

"Oh puh-leeze," Layol snapped. "Just push her through."

Nesohc shook his head, hand on the small of Dekram's back.

Dekram, eyes glued on the stationary blades, hesitated.

Layol huffed, grabbed two very real looking blades on the fan and shoved her head between them. "Coming? Or are we all hoping for a decapitation exhibition?"

Dekram took another cleansing breath, closed her eyes, and darted through, Nesohc right behind her. On the other side, Dekram shuddered, immediately snuggled up to Nesohc, and buried her face in his chest.

Layol rolled her eyes. "Tink's a big tease!—you are so working that crush thing, gal-pal. Climb all over him why don't cha?"

Dekram turned bright pink; rapid wings shot her six fairy inches away from Nesohc.

"She's just too darn easy, right?" Layol elbowed Nesohc and laughed through a sneeze.

"Can we just get on with this?" Dekram spun red sparkles around the attic, feigning interest, all the while hoping the room wouldn't suddenly turn into a mole hole.

"It's just so dusty up here." Layol planted her feet on the floor and strutted past, looking like a human.

"How do you walk in those shoes?" Dekram followed her friend down an oversized set of wooden stairs that wound its way to a massive wooden door.

"Many, many, years of practice," Layol said with a serious voice as she examined the huge door.

Nesohc barked a laugh. "Yep, bet your momma said 'no training shoes for my little fairy, gonna break 'er in on the big boys.'"

Layol did a tongue, tooth-flicking thing and pointed to the keyhole under the door knob, all business like. "Old building—skeleton key lock—we're in luck. You just go at it quick, tuck your wings at the last second, roll, feet go through stacked and… Crap, just watch me." Layol's wings buzzed, she darted for the lock, cocooned her wings around her body, and zipped through the circle part of the keyhole, Jimmy Choo's stacked to clear the bottom slit.

Dekram and Nesohc shared a bewildered look before turning back to the keyhole.

"I know—looks difficult—took years of…never mind." Layol's head peeked out from under the door. "You can just slide under here."

"For the love of Disney, you're the queen of drama." Dekram and Nesohc laid down on the bottom step, tucked their wings and rolled under the door.

Getting into a vent, however, was another story. They stood in front of the fifth one they'd found on the third floor of the building, with no luck.

"Why do they have metal screens behind the slats?" Dekram grumbled. "How can they sufficiently cool or heat?"

"Probably to keep the mice out," Layol said. "Thank the Elements it's not as dusty on this floor." Her nose holes flared with an intake of breath.

Dekram's jaw dropped. "Glad you mentioned mice before I trapped myself in a dusty and dirty air vent with rodents!" Aware of every hair on the back of her neck, the whole room suddenly moved like heat rolling off pavement and for no more than a second the area where they stood turned into a rotten section of burrowed bark. Dekram's nostrils flared, lashes fanned red-orange bangs in front of frightened green eyes. She swayed on her feet.

"What? You're not gonna pass out are ya?" Layol asked. "Tell me you don't have a mouse phobia or something?"

Dekram slowly looked around. I cannot tell them, again, that I'm seeing things. "Um, no, just a little dizzy. I didn't eat much dinner… or lunch." She smiled weakly.

"Why don't we just fly down another floor and listen to see if we can hear something?" Nesohc suggested.

Layol caught the pleading look in Nesohc's eyes. "Sounds like a plan since we can't get in here anyway."

"WE MUST STOP THE FIRE FAIRIES!" came a booming voice through the air vent on the second floor.

Dek and her friends shot straight up at the clarity of the voice. They stared at the vent and slowly dropped closer until their ears rested against the grate.

They heard bits and pieces of conversation that echoed and sounded hollow.

"… over without…" came a woman's weak voice.

"…they could…" The man's words faded.

"…ca...not..ch...her…" The gruff voice broke up like a bad cell phone connection.

"…but they can…" Someone started and then all conversation turned into a mumbling reverberation of many voices.

"They can what?" Dekram whimpered, wings tucking around her shoulders. "What can they do to me?"

"You don't know it's you they're talking about." Nesohc quickly offered a hug of reassurance.

"Oh, c'mon," Layol said. "It's her all right. Boom—end of story. Now, what?"

Nesohc frowned at Layol and took Dekram's hand. "Let's just go down a floor and see if we can listen to more of the conversation before we come to conclusions," he coaxed.

If there really is a first floor, Dekram thought. Crap, if there's even a Wandermere. We could be all be characters in a fairytale—a figment of a child's imagination...

"You coming?" Layol asked and Dekram's thoughts rode a breeze, like sparkles from her wings.

…A figment of my own imagination. Dekram tightened her grip on Nesohc's hand and they both followed Layol down a human-sized staircase with old pictures lining faded rose wallpaper.

Chapter 11

LAYOL’S WINGS BUZZED with excitement. "At least there are different vent covers on this level and they're not attached to the walls. There's a space between the hole cut into the wooden floors under them. We can get in!"

Dekram zipped across the hall and got up in Layol's face. "I thought we nixed the air vents with the vermin discussion."

"Oh c'mon! We can get up close and personal! And it's not like mice eat fairies for breakfast!" Layol looked disgusted. "You watch too many cartoons. Real mice are dumber than a box of rocks. We can pix 'em."

Nesohc tucked his lips, amusement dressing out the lack of words.

"I don't like mice. They have horrid teeth, furless tails, and they make disgusting noises." Dekram shuddered. "I'd scream loud enough to wake Sleeping Beauty."

"What're you going to do when you go on your mission?" Layol enunciated every word. "Wish every predator with teeth or a bird beak out of existence on the other side of the portal? We're talking mice here."

Nesohc gave Dekram's hand a supportive squeeze. She pulled free and turned on him. "You can jump in any time. I could use a bit of support here."

Nesohc tilted his head and put on a sympathetic face. "Layol does have a point, albeit dramatically pontificated."

"Dweeb-boy," Layol started, rolled her eyes and tipped her head from side to side, then finished, "aren't you just gettin' all officious fairy geekster on us—got me searching through my mental dictionary."

"Pon-TIF-i-cate," Dekram cooed. "To pompously speak about something in a knowing and self-important way." Dekram flipped Layol a half-hearted smile. "Especially when not qualified to do so. Sound like anybody you know?"

Nesohc raised a brow and shoved a palm in front of Layol's next words. "Okay, enough. Look Dek, I'll have your back. You can do this?"

Wings vibrated anticipation.

"This is so karmic," Dekram finally huffed. "Just remember, Layol, there's always a bigger fish."

"And that makes it an adrenalin-pumping experience," Layol said, finger pointing at the vent. "Revel in it."

"Next time you can revel alone while you record the adrenalin-pumping experience on your cell. That way I can do my reveling when you get back—if you get back."

Layol stomped a clunky Choo. "Can we just get into the pixin', impin, elfin vent before the stupid meeting ends?"

"Fine, but I want to go on record as saying I think this is a stupid idea."

"Fine," Layol huffed. "Duly noted and etched into my brain cells." She wiggled through the hole under the slatted vent.

"Why can't we hear them? Are we lost?" Dekram asked from a kneeling position on the backside of the fifth vent they'd tried listening through.

Layol pulled bits of lint and dirt out of her hair and caught a sneeze. "Complain, complain, complain, will you give it up? How can we be lost? We're still in the building, dummy. It's not like the stupid vent is a pathway to another planet."

Hovering in the center of the square air vent, thumbs hooked through belt loops on his jeans, Nesohc said, "Maybe the vent we heard them from is directly connected to the one in the room they're in."

"I'm thinking they're on the basement level," Layol said.

"Why?" Nesohc asked.

"No windows, cement walls—you figure it out."

Dekram puffed curls out of her face, stood and brushed the knees of her black jeans. She abruptly froze, a horrified look on her face, when a black nugget dropped with a soft ping on the metal vent and rolled away from her feet. Back-winging and gulping noisily, she sputtered, "Tell me that isn't what I think it is." She was madly rubbing her hands on the seat of her jeans.

"Looks like mouse crap to me," Layol said, picking the small tubular object up and rolling it between two fingers. She gave the fingers in question a good sniff.

Dekram squealed.

Nesohc yowled disgust.

"Yep," Layol said, wiping her fingers down the wall of the vent, "that's what it is all right."

"I am never holding your hand again!" Dekram blurted. "That was tooo repulsive for words. You know there's a disease you can get from deer mice. It can kill you!"

"Crap is crap. It isn't gonna kill ya."

Nesohc laughed.

"You should wash your hands immediately," Dekram ordered.

"Oh-yeah, like I'm sure they've installed a restroom in the ventilation system, just for us fairies. Any other brilliant suggestions?"

"Spit on them." Nesohc covered a laugh, puffy cheeks red with the effort.

Dekram squealed and shuddered.

"Ssshush," Layol hissed. "We're going to blow our cover."

"What cover?" Nesohc finally found his voice. "We can't hear them—sure as Santa employs elves—they can't hear us."

"This is getting old and I bet they've all left," Dekram said. "Can we just leave? At least, you could rinse your hands in the pond."

"Can we just move on to the next vent?" Layol wailed dramatically.

"Says the girl with the rat crap on her fingers." Dekram wrinkled her nose.

"Enough with the rat crap already BEFORE-I-LICK-THEM-CLEAN." Layol leaned into the last five words.

Dekram gasped.

"Lick 'em and I'll do your homework for a week," Nesohc bargained.

Layol turned a look of deep concentration in his direction.

Dekram's voice forced its way through her fingers, "Nes! Stop encouraging her. She's crazy enough to do it."

"Do I look like an idiot? Don't answer that. I was trying to figure out a way to fit the word nosegay into this conversation." Layol tapped her foot a few seconds and then huffed. "Okay, Dek, so maybe I went a little too far, but you've been stingin' me ever since we got into the pixin' ventilation system. I just want to hear what's going on. Don't you?"

Dekram sighed. "Yes, but I don't want to get caught, or run into a mouse." The last five words where small and quiet.

"Follow me." Nesohc put an end to the argument. "We're going back to that Y in the vent where we took a right and take a left this time. If it doesn't pan out, we're outta here—fair enough?" When there were no objections, Nesohc flew down the shaft the way they'd come in.

"Sorry I've been so mean, Lay," Dekram said as they slowly moved in the direction Nesohc had gone. "Sleuthing has me all wicked-witchy and feeling guilty and ashamed. I hate sneaking around, lying and spying on people. I feel like I'm stooping to Soahc's level."

"Sss-okay, I get it, but you have to agree there's something gigantic going on here."

"I do. I just don't want to be the one it's centered around, or the one snooping to get the answers."

"What? You want to work for HS, right? C'mon, gal-pal. That's all Human Services does. That's who an Air fairy is. We search out and then spell, charm, and manipulate humans, all in the name of making their world a better place."

Dekram moaned.

"Hey, you guys, I found a vent leading down!" Nesohc glowed as he hovered at the end of the shaft.

Layol grabbed Dekram's hand and pulled her in Nesohc's direction. "Eww-ww-w," Dekram howled and ripped her hand from Layol's.

"This hand is a rat-feces free zone," Layol sang as she back-winged her way down the hall, wiggling the fingers on the hand Dekram's had just vacated.

The small light at the end of the vent became brighter as they flew closer, and voices grew louder.

The same gruff man they'd heard upstairs said, "We have a treaty with the Fire fairies. If I agree to do as you are all proposing, we will be breaking that agreement. Do you want to give them access to the human world again?" A mumble-filled pause followed. "Good, because it would most assuredly cause another war. And war brings casualties."

Dekram and her friends snuggled up to the vent.

"None of us want another war," someone yelled.

A woman cried, "We're in threat of extinction already."

"Need not drive that nail home, woman," a strong male voiced warned.

"We can't allow any more unbalanced offspring, either!" a man shouted.

"So we investigate and manipulate and you think that won't bring on rebellion?" a woman snapped, "All for something we don't even know will come to fruition?"

"She belongs to us!" a deep voice shouted.

"Yes, she does, and they know that," the gruff voice stated a little less gruffly.

"If she bonds with one of her tainted friends, something will come to fruition," said a man with a sarcastic laugh. "And how difficult will it be for her to walk away from that?"

"Is she taking the pills?" the gruff voice asked.

"Yes, but—"

Dekram's wings buzzed. "Is that—?"

"Shush!" Layol hissed.

"…needs to tighten the girl's reins," a woman interrupted.

"I will not keep her under lock and key! Her fate is in the hands of the Goddess Aine, not ours. She's taking the pills, Elder, faithfully, every day. However…"

"That's my mother!" Dekram squawked.

"…have a concern..."

"Gee, ya think?" Layol rolled her eyes. "You keep interrupting we won't hear what she's concerned about. Now shuss-ssh!"

"…powers."

Soft mumbles wafted from the vent.

Layol hooded her eyes. "Did anyone hear what she said?"

"Not me." Nesohc smiled. "All I heard was you."

Layol grunted a snort. "It wasn't just me! Dek—"

"So are we all agreed?" the gruff voice boomed.

"Huh? What are they agreeing on?" Dekram whimpered.

"…hands. All in favor?"

"Crap," Nesohc said. "They're voting on something."

"Duh." Layol smirked.

"...against."

"They were talking about me." Dekram's wings enveloped her head.

"...it's settled, we proceed as planned, then..."

"Puck me!" Layol spat. "What plan?"

"I motion to adjourn," gruff voice said to a round of applause and buzzing wings.

"I second the motion," said a soft male voice.

"We will all meet back here by week's end," the gruff voice said, ending the meeting.

Ears to the vent, the three friends listened to the inaudible conversation that rapidly faded to silence.

"That's it?" Dekram sobbed behind translucent wings. "And all we got is my mother saying my fate is in the hands of the Goddess Aine? What fate? What does Fire have to do with me?"

"Hey, she did say she wouldn't keep you under lock and key," Layol offered.

"And we're just a phone call away." Nesohc glared at Layol. "Right?"

"I'm in," Layol said.

"I can't believe this." Dekram stared at her friends through watery eyes. "Do you really think they're talking about me?"

Layol nodded profusely.

"But why? Why me?

"I think it's because you're part Water, part Air," Layol said.

"Whatever it is, it's pretty obvious you're special to them," Nesohc encouraged.

"And we're gonna keep our ears and eyes open to find out why," Layol added.

"Lot of good that will do if Fire or the council cart me off somewhere." Dekram leaned back and melted into Nesohc's chest. He circled his arms around her stomach.

"Nah," Layol said. "We'll stick close."

"Yeah, we could even take turns sleeping over," Nesohc said.

One of Layol's eyebrows stood at attention while she chewed the inside of her cheek and stared at Nesohc.

Nesohc got all deer in the headlights. "You can let both of us in your bedroom window, or one of us every other day." Words rose in pitch to form a question.

Dekram and Nesohc turned in opposite directions and they both blushed.

"Swell," Layol said, throwing her hands up, "something tells me our girly nights aren't going to be as much of an adrenalin rush as your knight-in-shining-armor nights."

"I also suggested both of us!" Nesohc blurted.

"Uh-huh, like that's gonna happen." Layol smirked.

Chapter 12

DEKRAM FLEW AROUND her bedroom, flinging off party clothes, trying to get it together before her mother got home from the meeting. She buzzed into the bathroom, flash-washed her face, and a couple of other important places then scooped up the mess and stuffed everything into the hamper.

Two squirts of peach-nectar oil later, balancing on one foot, the other stuffed inside Tinkerbelle pajamas, and she froze. I might as well get out the coloring books and crayons and Nes and I can have a play date. Whipping them off, she stuffed the pajamas into the hamper.

Working herself into a frenzy, she pulled one pair of pajamas after another out of her drawer. Nothing seems right; she thought and then mentally scolded, Maybe that's because sneaking a boy into your bedroom isn't right. She sighed and her eyes scanned the pile of scattered pajamas. "Pix it! You know you're gonna do this so just close your eyes and grab something!"

Dekram started weeding pajamas and tossing them back into the drawer. She finally placed a white long sleeved t-shirt that read, Café Salmonella, where something fishy is always going on, against her chest and it molded around her body. She straightened her wings, picked up a pair of blue boxers with pink salmon swimming all over them and as she stepped into them someone knocked on her bedroom door. She shot right out of the boxers and hid them behind her back.

"Dekram, are you sleeping?" her mother asked.

"Crap! Like my pajamas are the guilty party," she chastised and hurriedly slipped them back on. Like that is soo-o lame. If I were sleeping, I sure as heck wouldn't be now. "No," Dekram said, scattering school books across her bed. "I'm studying for the mission." She hopped onto the bed and grabbed her mission folder and a pad.

"Can I come in?"

Deep cleansing breath, she coaxed, nostrils flared then wiggled up to the headboard. "Sure," she mumbled over the pencil she'd stuck between her teeth.

Diuqil had peeked into the room before her khaki body followed. "How did your study group go?"

"Okay, I guess. We go out the day after tomorrow." Dekram scribbled on the pad and turned a page in the folder, pretending to read.

"I know. That's one of the things I want to talk to you about."

Pulling her gaze from the folder in her lap, with no knowledge whatsoever of what was on the page; Dekram gave her mother a perfunctory smile and tried to keep from looking at her slightly open bedroom window. "You don't need to worry, Mom. I'll be fine," she said a bit too loud.

Diuqil flinched. "Why are you yelling? Have you heard what happened tonight?"

Dekram pulled her thighs to her chest, forehead resting on her knees. "Nothing happened. We studied. I'm fine." O'eternal punishment an' Karmic damnation; if she only knew HOW I heard! And OMG, what if Nes buzzes in that window? "I just really want to finish my outline and go to sleep, Mom." I'm lower than fetid scum in a stagnant pond. I hate to lie. Why can't she just leave?

Tinkles against the window revved Dekram's wings, gaze jerking in that direction.

Diuqil's forehead wrinkled. "You are not fine. You're a bundle of nerves. I'm going to go make you some chamomile tea and we'll have that talk," her mother said, turning to leave.

"No!" Dekram shouted. "Can't it wait until morning?" Pond scum—my new middle name.

"I'm afraid not. I don't want to increase your tension right before-"

"Just say it, then!" Dekram snapped. "All the drama is like inching off a Band-Aid, Mom." Toe-jam—I have smelly toe-jam clogging the main artery to my once-upon-a-time pure heart.

Diuqil sighed heavily. "Now don't be upset…but at the town meeting tonight a video was passed around."

Dekram sat straight up in bed, opened her mouth to speak, but her mother raised a palm. "One that Soahc and her friends had taken in the school restroom. While the Elders investigated the video, they became aware that Soahc was consorting with Fire. Intolerance would have gotten her enough marks to ban her from the missions, as it did the other girls in the video, but consorting with Fire left the elders no choice but to ban both Soahc and Egar to the human realm."

Dekram's quick intake of breath rushed the remainder of her mother's words. It was decided that both first and second groups will be participating in the missions tomorrow; yours in the afternoon, because-

A flutter of noise outside the window shot Dekram three inches off the bed, into the air.

Diuqil's gaze followed her daughter's eyes to the window. "You're jumpy. Are you frightened?"

Puffed cheeks held back words that would only lead to lies. Dekram shut her eyes tight. He's out there! Soahc is banned from Wandermere? No freaking way! Is it a sin against goddess Aine to be so cunningly thrilled, and also filled with joy over Soahc's comeuppance?

Diuqil walked over to the window and slowly slid it shut. "Are you prepared for the mission?"

"Yes! And I don't want to discuss Soahc being abjured, the video, or tomorrow's mission, all night!" Mother Nature beckons me while Father Time smites me and if I continue down this road of deceit, surely the underworld will welcome me!

"Well then, if you have no questions or concerns, under the covers with you." Diuqil walked back and started stacking Dekram's school books on the bedside table. "I won't keep you up all night by worrying about tomorrow."

Sliding bare feet under the covers, and snuggling down, Dekram lifted her arms as Diuqil pulled the quilt to her chin. Toad-crap—slimy, smelly toad's dung—the depths of my murky deceptive character.

Diuqil planted a kiss on her forehead. "No matter what you think in the morning, Dekram, you'll do just fine tomorrow. You are your father's daughter."

As her mother turned off the bedside lamp and walked to the bedroom door, Dekram whispered, "Yours too."

Diuqil turned and smiled then closed the door behind her.

Goddess Aine, I'll ponder how evil I am in the morning, I promise, Dekram thought as covers flew. She bolted across the room, and teeth working her lower lip, slowly opened the window and leaned over the ledge.

A twinkle of florescent dust fell around her head and then Nesohc hovered in front of her, wings scattering light like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. "Did you hear about Soahc and Egar?"

"Yes, and I might have spun off another Series of Unfortunate Events," Nesohc paused, eyeballing her pajamas, wings revving, sparkles brightening the darkness outside the window, "if I'd've tossed me at the window instead of those pebbles."

Dekram hiccupped a giggle. "How 'bout you turn yourself off and get in here before my mother comes back and goes all Count Olaf on you."

Nesohc blushed under the scaly tattoos around his eyes and slipped through the window.

Dekram abruptly turned, puffed a breath at her hand then sniffed her palm. Crap, I forgot to brush my teeth and it would look dumb if I excused myself now. O'mifairygodmother, Soahc is banned!

"I heard her tell you that we're starting our missions tomorrow, too," Nesohc said. "I can't believe they would send you into the human world right after banning Egar and Soahc. Bet they'd already sent Egar packing before the Buzz tonight—Soahc was there, but I didn't see Egar."

"Yeah, that's probably why Soahc was hanging all over Detaf. Still, it's not like Detaf to drink honey or hang with..." Distracted, Dekram subtlety sauntered over to her dresser, reached into a small basket, turned, and popped a peppermint candy into her mouth. She offered Nesohc one, manic laughter echoing between her ears as she casually asked, "So they teamed you with Bacs, or…who?" Could I be any more obvious? I'm free-flying on Soahc's punishment and I can't wait to tell Layol.

Unwrapping the mint, Nesohc laughed. "Not Soahc."

Dekram melted onto the edge of her bed. Well at least that's something. She looked up and batted her lashes. "Who then?"

"Probably, Etah." Nesohc popped the mint into his mouth and sucked nosily. "Bacs is with Mirg."

Dekram smiled at the floor. "Who was Soahc assigned to? Is he ever going to sit down beside me?

"Detaf," Nesohc said around hurried crunching. He swallowed hard.

Dekram wrapped her hands around her tummy and worked her eyes into frightfulness. "Aren't you scared to go out with one of Soahc's friends?" I'm turning into Soahc—a hormone raging twit—does this flirting stuff just come naturally with pubescence? I can't seem to turn it off.

"Nope." Nesohc sat beside her, hands jittery. He placed them on the bed behind him, then under his armpits, rubbed the top of his thighs and finally took her hand. Once he had it he didn't seem to know what to do with it.

Dekram stared at his timorous hand. "Soahc is going to pull something in the human world, I just know it," Dekram mumbled, on autopilot. C'mon, just kiss me—like he's still working the hand thing—this is going to be a long night.

They shared an apprehensive silence.

Dekram's eyes wandered up the front of Nesohc's Angry Birds t-shirt, over the taut blue skin on his bobbing Adam's apple, across his tightened jaw, and stopped on the tattooed scales around his eyes. Nesohc turned his head, eyes seizing Dekram's—a rush of tingles whipped up her body, taking her breath away—Nesohc slammed a kiss on her lips that rattled their teeth. They both jerked back.

He gripped her hand tighter. "Sorry. Sorry. Did I?—are you?—am I?—I've never done…I mean, not that we're gonna…um, do whatever we're gonna do… Crap."

Dekram stopped thumbing the bottom of her front teeth, slapped her mouth shut and hand-clamped a laugh inside.

Nesohc eyed the floor, foot nudging air. "Okay, so now you're laughing at me."

"Am not." Dekram chuckled.

"Are too!" he hammered a whisper, head jerking toward the door and back. "You try making all the first moves. It's not easy being the guy. I haven't had a lot of-"

Dekram grabbed Nesohc's face in two hands and laid her mouth against his. O' adolescent pubescent stupidity, what am I thinking? Dekram thought as they both fell back on her bed and Nesohc's tongue muscled her tight lips.

"Oh heck no!" Layol tried for an expressive whisper, but fell short and Nesohc and Dekram flummoxed a sitting position. "Tell me you were so not," Layol snapped her fingers, "laying on top of that boy," she snapped them again, "on your bed—(snap)—with your mom—(snap)—right downstairs."

They stared at her, speechless.

"I didn't think so. And I'm gonna so totally pretend I didn't see any tongue action, too." Layol strutted over to the bed, nostrils flared, wings lying flat against her back and nose sniffing the air. "Huh. Peaches and—got any more mints?"

"On the dresser in the basket," Dekram said, cheeks burning. "Guess what?"

"I heard about the roster change tomorrow," Layol said, shoving a mint into her mouth and tossing two at the bed.

Nesohc caught one, the other bounced off Dekram's head. "But did you hear about Soahc and Egar being banned from Wandermere?"

"What?" Layol stopped sucking—a mint-sized lump stretched her cheek. "You're pixin' me, right?"

"Nope," Dekram said, after snatching the airborne mint before it bounced off the bed.

"But she was at the buzz tonight." The lump in Layol's cheek disappeared, and sucking commenced.

"Yeah, we were just talking about that," Nesohc said.

"Should a done more talkin'." Layol words sounded sloshy. "I mean-" She chewed loudly.

Dekram glared at her friend.

Layol swallowed one set of words, hammered out another. "I'd say tomorrow's gonna be all about that test thingy we heard at the meeting."

"Maybe they haven't banned her yet," Nesohc said.

"I bet THAT'S why they're speeding up the missions." Dekram looked less stressed.

"Yeah, and I'm sure THAT's why the elder feels the need to test you tomorrow. NOT!" Layol smiled over the mint between her teeth and then sucked it into her mouth. "So since we have, what?—like all night?—what say we come up with a plan to wow them when Soahc goes all angry wasp on us tomorrow on the HUMAN side of the portal?"

"Yeah, like we're so totally experienced on the other side." Dekram scowled. "We might as well try to paint a picture without a canvas and colors."

* * *

"AS YOU KNOW, the second group left this morning, and tomorrow they will tell us all about their mission," Mrs. Evol said from her desk in homeroom the next morning. "The task force from Human Services will be arriving in the auditorium shortly to report any repercussions from the first group's mission-"

"Yeah, good luck with that," Hcti shouted, fingers working an itch on his left arm pit.

Mrs. Evol shot him a tight smile and quickly looked away. Eyes scanning everywhere in the class except Hcti's direction, she finished, "-and address your suggestions for resolving them."

The speaker over the teacher's desk reverberated with an ear-piercing shrill, two hollow thunks and a soft muted hum, blanketed by a prissy nasal voice. "Mrs. Evol, they're ready for the children."

The teacher rubbed her temples, plucked a tiny sachet of dried chamomile leaves off her desk, palmed it into her mouth, dry swallowed, and then answered the principal's secretary. "Thank you, Mrs. Edia. They will be there shortly."

The speaker clicked into silence and the classroom became quiet enough to hear a gnat burp as Mrs. Evol's head swiveled back to the class. "Principal Nrets has asked a representative from Human Services to join the task force today. He will select several of you to assist him in demonstrating the proper usage of basic fairy skills such as charming, spelling and persuasion while out in the field. So if everyone will gather your mission books and line up by the door-"

"Whoa, you're kidding, right?" Hcti shot out of his seat. "How come we're getting this training after two-thirds of us have already gone out? And I thought it was against the rules to use fairy powers on this side of the portal. What's up with that?"

Mrs. Evol's left eye twitched.

"I thought everyone is treated equally during try-outs!" said Hcti with a lot of hands and facial gestures. "Third group'll have an edge!"

The teacher's head dipped and she forced a smile. "I'd be happy to discuss this with you at a more opportune moment. Maybe you would like to stay here and wait for that moment, Hcti? I do need someone to copy tomorrow's daily assignments on the boards."

Hcti stuck his right hand down the back of his jeans, halfway up his forearm, and then his elbow bounced while he looked like he was considering her comments.

Mrs. Evol sighed impatiently, foot tapping softly under her desk. "Well, it may have something to do with those repercussions Human Services is here to discuss, Hcti. Whatever the reason, I'm sure the first two groups will be given a fair share of latitude, while the third group will not."

In unison, the class turned from the teacher toward Hcti who was now furiously scratching his left armpit.

"More like attitude," Hcti mumbled, pulling his t-shirt away from his armpit and giving it a sniff before reluctantly grabbing his folder and flitting to the end of the line.

Dekram grimaced at Hcti—shivered—wings vibrating. "Are we the only fairies in this room who know about Soahc?"

Layol shrugged. "Nobody said she's gone yet."

"Think I can get away with going home sick?"

"Lighten up," Layol said. "Like I said last night, this so totally clears up the part of the conversation we missed last night as well as your mom's phone conversation with your dad the other day—bet they've been considering Fire's behavior since then. They just want to check out your powers. I bet your dad is the HS rep heading the training. Anyway, I heard that when someone gets abjured they lose their wings and have no powers when they send them into the human world."

"I bet you read that on the Internet, right?"

Layol shook her head and grabbed her book bag.

"Pix me today and twice tomorrow!" Dekram spat. O'mifairygodmother, what if I don't have any powers?

Half the students in line turned around to stare at Dekram.

"Can you freak-out with a tad-bit more volume?" Layol huffed. "I'm sure at least three of the kids in the front of the line didn't hear you."

"But I didn't mean to," Dekram wailed. "Darn it," she shushed to a whisper, "wouldn't you know they'd make an impin' spectacle out of me the minute I go all Cinderella and break out the fancy dress."

"Not like I didn't nail this whole thing last night, especially since Soahc was all over Detaf at the buzz—Egar nowhere in sight." Layol smiled at the wispy gauze dress that fell over Dekram's hips in jagged layers embroidered with roses and lavender on the tips. "You look like a storybook fairy, not Cinderella," Layol mused.

"Right?" Dekram did not seem amused. "What was I thinking?" She reached around and tugged on the back of the dress until the low cut neckline slid up an inch or so in front. "Will you trade clothes with me? You are so much more fairy-bookish and always wear pixin' cute dresses. No one will look twice at you."

"Really, Dek? Like you so totally will not find my picture on page eighteen in Judy Allen's Fantasy Encyclopedia. I have my own style and it's definitely not fairytale-fairy," Layol said, shaking her head. "How did it go after I left last night?—must've been romantic to have you flitting around in a dress today."

Dekram blushed, eyes sparkling. "He didn't…we didn't…I mean… Crap, I look stupid, don't I?"

"You look-"

"Dekram," Mrs. Evol got their attention. "Can you do me a favor? I promised Mrs. Edia that since there is not a speaker in the sensory room I'd have you stop by and get Mirg and Etah on the way to the assembly hall.

Dekram shot Layol a set of big eyes. "Soahc?" She mouthed and then gulped as her wings dribbled iridescent sparkles.

Layol's lips spread scary and her shoulders hiked up a barren answer. Addressing Mrs. Evol, she asked, "Can I go with Dek?"

"I think she can handle it, Layol. Join the rest of the class, please," Mrs. Evol said as she picked up a sawgrass pouch and pushed her daily planner and a notebook and pen into it on her way to the front of the line.

Chapter 13

DEKRAM SMILED AT Mrs. Laretil as she whizzed by the library and zipped over the heads of students entering the halls on the way to the auditorium. The sensory room was outside and up three hollows in the Oak tree. She breezed through the spinning portal at the end of the hall and out into the sunlight. Detaf strutted on a branch above the first hollow.

"Where ya goin', pretty lil fairy gal," he asked with a faux-Jamaican accent. He'd changed his façade along with his voice and wore long dreadlocks, a brightly striped watch cap pulled down over the pointed tips of his ears, and a baggy white shirt, one button done mid-chest, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His distressed jeans were also rolled, all the way up to his calves over black leather ankle boots, unlaced, no socks.

Dekram hovered, darted around for a second and finally said, "I have to get Mirg and Etah from the sensory room for a training session with Human Services in the auditorium."

"Nasty job for a lil one, true dat," Detaf said all Jamaican and Fire. "I offerin' da services." He bowed, palmed a circle toward the two hollows above them.

Dekram filled her lungs, let it out slowly. "Thanks Detaf, but I can handle it. You should get to the assembly. Before he could speak, she darted up, but heard Detaf follow. As they got to the second hollow he caught up, snagged her wings, and dragged her inside the oak.

The offices should've been on this level but it was dark, empty and damp. But not too dark; she could see Etah stood waiting.

"Where's Mirg?" Dekram fumbled the question, eyes big and frightened. This doesn't feel right.

"On her way to the auditorium—don't need her for what we're plannin'." Etah smiled hatred and for the first time, Dekram saw Fire in her eyes.

"Now don't be scarin' the lil fairy gal, Etah. We got us business wit 'er, true 'nough."

"I hate her. Don't know how Soahc is gonna walk around in her skin for the rest of her life." Etah's lips curled, nostrils flared, face pushing the promise of something foul in the air.

Dekram back-winged. "What is she talking about Detaf?"

"He's not Detaf," Etah said, "Egar's who you're talkin' to."

With a quick intake of breath, Dekram realized why Fire had been dragging fairy in and out of the portal. Layol's words rung in her ears. Did you know that if Tink gave me her wings I could become Tink? She sidled for the door, heart hammering, rapid breath blackening her peripheral vision and, wings revving, darted. Etah leapt, dragged Dekram to the moldy floor of the hollow. Egar, wearing Detaf's wings, looked just like Detaf as he held damp, rancid smelling Spanish moss across her nose and mouth.

Dekram held her breath—kicked, arms flailing, head jerking—gagged, couldn't hold it any longer, sucked in a deep breath as she heard Etah ask, "You got this?" followed by Egar's, "Yup," before everything went black.

*

Layol glared at the auditorium door for the zillionth time, like it was her worst enemy.

Nesohc patted her knee. "We've only been here ten minutes. Give it a rest."

"I don't like it. No one has said a thing about Soahc being banned and Etah hates Dekram. Aren't you worried?"

"We're in school," Nesohc said. "How much trouble can Etah, Mirg and Soahc cause from sensory to the auditorium?"

"Plenty if Soahc is directing them. They pummeled Dek in the girl's bathroom with the whole school out in the halls!"

"What?" Nesohc gave Layol his complete attention.

"Yeah, they beat up on her the day you went to the buzz to talk to Soahc. Etah kicked her. Etah told Bacs, Bacs told Mirg, and I overheard Mirg telling Detaf the whole story three lockers down from mine this morning. Dek doesn't know I know, so zip it."

"Crap, Lay, why didn't you go with her to the sensory room?" Nesohc looked major tense.

"I tried," Layol whined, "Mrs. Evol wouldn't let me."

Three loud taps reverberated from the speakers hung from the ceiling in all four corners of the auditorium and quieted the whole assembly.

Mr. Nrets blew into the microphone and had everyone's hands jerking to their ears. "May I have your attention, please? I have an announcement to make before the task force from Human Services opens the meeting with a list of repercussions from yesterday's first mock missions."

The principal paused, eyes searching the gathering. Looking pleased with the attention he had mustered he continued. "It has come to our attention that there has been a fair share of intolerance and consorting with Fire among the student body as of late, and-"

The auditorium buzzed. Whispers turned into group conversations and a wave of movement added further disorder.

Principal Nrets obnoxiously cleared his throat and the room hushed. "We do not condone this kind of behavior. Our usual form of punishment for intolerance has been demerits, and on occasion, withdrawing special events."

Not a wing fluttered, all eyes were on the elder behind the podium. "Consorting with our students has always meant a term of imprisonment for Fire."

Before the noise level got out of hand, Mr. Nrets raised his voice and clipped the buzzing wings. "But! The incident in question is absolutely intolerable. Therefore Soahc has been abjured for consorting with Fire during school hours," the principal shouted the remaining announcement, "and in accordance with the Fire treaty drawn up after Fairy War I—preceding what would most assuredly have been Fairy War II—Egar has been banished from Wandermere."

He picked up a gavel and rapped it on the podium in front of him. The noise hollowly echoed throughout the auditorium. "Settle down or I will cancel the missions' altogether! Do I make myself clear?"

The room boiled with rapid retorts, and simmered with anxiety, and roiled with movement but the noise level ratcheted down rapidly and Mr. Nrets continued without interruption. "Consorting with intent to cause bodily harm is unacceptable. We have videoed proof of at least one incident. Therefore both fairies are now in the human world, stripped of their wings, and in conjunction, their powers. Let that be a lesson to all of you.

"We STRONGLY advise, should any of you see them in the human world during your mock missions, that you do not make contact. If we find out differently, you will join them."

Mr. Nrets scanned the crowd and with a finger hammering his point, he shouted, "Intolerance is not acceptable in our world and will not be overlooked by the Elders."

"Holy, impin', wrath-of-Rumpelstilzchen," Layol said with a breathy voice. "Dekram sooo did not tell me Fire was in the restroom that day."

"This is bad. Really bad," Nesohc mumbled.

"Okay, so now I'm worried to the nth-degree," Layol said.

"Don't panic," Nesohc said, "Mrs. Evol just said something to Mr. Nrets and he briskly walked out of the auditorium. I bet he's going to check on Dek."

"Ya think?"

"I hope, because Mirg just walked in. Alone."

Layol's head jerked back to the auditorium doors.

Mirg glided toward the benches where the student body sat, black lace dress whishing around tattooed ankles, bare feet dressed out in a black macramé strung from her middle toe to her ankle. A lace veil covered her hair, face and neck. Thin white arms hung awkwardly, one hand holding a cross hanging from a string of leather, the other a human doll, arms spread, hanging upside down from a matching string of leather. Against all the black, a red armband was striking. She knew.

The microphone squawked and a tall thin HS officer, flanked by two other members of the bureau, put it to his lips and said, "Hcti and Spil Lluf, front, and center."

Hcti swaggered across the stage, followed by a petite fairy with full lips the color of a magenta sunset and timid gold eyes hidden behind long navy lashes.

Mirg hovered over a place on the bench two rows down, and a group of students parted as she slowly descended into a sitting position.

* * *

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, after tons of angst from both Layol and Nesohc, Dekram and Nrets, followed by Etah, walked into the assembly. The girls tapped knuckles as though they'd been friends for life, separated and flew toward two different places in the stands.

Dekram wiggled in between Layol and Nesohc, ran an arm through his, and planted a big kiss on Nesohc's lips. "It's all good, fairy boy. We had us a nice long talk."

"Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?" Layol laughed and reached in for a group hug.

Chapter 14

PRINCIPAL NRETS TAPPED his index finger on a live microphone, sending a wave of order around the auditorium. "Everyone take a seat, please, and we will get started on the training portion of today's assembly."

Etah stuck her face in front of Layol's. "Yeah, the sooner the better."

"Be nice. You promised," Dekram kidded.

"You look stupid in that fairy dress," Etah said, arms folded around skull and crossbones imprinted on her long-sleeved shirt. "Bet her daddy suggested it—wishing for a little Air goddess. You know I'm right."

Bacs scratched his butt and snickered. "Swamp-thang, you never looked better. I be standin' in line; jumpin' on it first chance I get. True-dat."

"What the heck?" Nesohc leaned in. "You touch Dek and I'll-"

Layol shoved Nesohc's words aside, snagged a handful of Bacs's orange hair and yanked hard. "Over my dead body, scab-face."

"I ken 'range dat, too," Bacs spat.

Dekram put one arm around Nesohc's shoulders, the other around Bacs', a big smile across her face. "It's fun when we're all getting along, isn't it?"

Nesohc frowned at Dekram.

Shaking her head, lips curled in a twisted smile, Dekram said, "He ain't gettin' none of this, sweet cheeks. You neither, you don't stand back and let me deal. Hear me?"

Nesohc's nostrils flared, his eyes widened. Before he could address Dekram's strange behavior, the Principal cleared his throat loudly, lowered the microphone, and gave them a stern look until they wiggled into place.

With a forced smile, Nrets continued. "As you know, today was set up for the first session of repercussions training in regards to your behavior on the human side of the portal. After Human Services had reported their findings, a spontaneous decision was made. Based on the elders' desire for clarity in regards to your abilities, we will be testing your powers in a controlled setting. Now I'm sure there are those who think this goes against the no tolerance policy for using magic on this side of the portal, but due to…"

Layol watched the teacher's and staff's heads nodding in agreement.

"Stinks like a pile of bull crap." Etah shared an affirmation with Dekram. "They just wanted to see what half-breed's made of." She smirked at Layol. "Well, good luck wit dat."

"Yeah, and I'd bet my iPod you were switched at birth," Layol growled. Encouraged by snickers from the kids seated around them she added, "I'm thinking the spawn of Puck and Medusa, right?"

"Nope, not me, girlfriend," Etah guffawed.

While Dekram and Etah shared chuckles and whispers, Nesohc grabbed Layol's hand resting on the bleacher between them and squeezed hard. Layol locked eyes with him. "They changed Dekram just like Detaf. She even kisses different." He blushed.

"Ya think?" Layol exaggerated agreement. "We need to get out of here and back to the portal behind the Black Shamrock. I bet the re-" Layol expelled the first part of the word and then her lips froze in a tight circle when Dekram turned back to them, grabbed Nesohc around the neck, and pulled his face to hers. As she forced a kiss on him, Nesohc stared at Layol over Dekram's shoulder and the look was pure disgust.

"Dekram and Detaf! Etah and Bacs! Front and center," a voice boomed from the speakers.

Dekram pulled her mouth off Nesohc. "Gotta go, baby. Daddy's calling." She placed her index finger on the tip of his nose, wiggled it and then gave it a dismissive pat. As she got up, she and Detaf slapped palms, and, his arm around her waist, they headed for the stage. Etah and Bacs followed not far behind.

Excitement fluttered wings all over the auditorium; fairies darted upward, vying for a better view. Nesohc rubbed the back of his hand across scowling lips and mumbled, "Let's get out of here."

Layol was already dropping out of sight under the bleachers. Nesohc shook his head, folded his wings, and slipped through the opening under the bench after her.

Outside of the Oak, darting toward the Black Shamrock, Layol shouted, "If Soahc has hurt the real Dek; I swear on the Elements, I'll kill her." Layol's form flickered. Long gray hair fell over the length of a bony, wrinkled body, dried and tanned like a piece of leather suffering many years of exposure. In a wink she was back to the glamoured teen.

The illusion flicker seemed unnoticed by Nesohc. "What are you talking about?"

"That was Soahc in the auditorium. She took Dekram's wings."

"Really, Lay?" Nesohc said. "You have to go throwing out Internet folklore right now?"

"No! It's a fact!" Layol snapped. "Hey, crank it down a notch, buddy, because you are not going to find the Dekram you fell in love with over here. She's human now. See, if they plucked her wings, left the real Dekram on this side, Soahc would be able to-"

"Shut up and fly—let's just get her back."

"Crapolla!" Lay whispered. "I hear swarming on the other side of the portal."

* * *

DEKRAM’S EYELIDS FLUTTERED. A hard surface covered in gritty sand made movement harsh on her naked arms and legs. Echoed mumbles surrounded her. The smell of blackberries worried a thought of thorny vines and she tried to rise. A moan escaped her lips when boney fingers rolled her on her back—grabbed her chin and shook. Dekram opened her eyes and screamed; tried to fight the grubby man as he pulled her to a sitting position. But she felt weak and fell against his chest, mewing fear. Each fetid breath the man exhaled smelled like fermented berries.

"It's okay, girly." His breath was fetid, hands cold and greasy as he raked them over her cheek; typically a comforting gesture, it made Dekram shiver and croak a sob. "And far as I can see, nothin's broken and you're not bleedin' nowhere." His gray hair was knotted and oily, clothes tattered and filthy. The man offered her a pint size bottle half-filled with clear golden liquid. "Take a sip; it'll warm your insides."

Her lips felt dry and cracked as the old man tipped the bottle to her mouth. She shook her head and pushed his hand away when a small bit of the liquid burned all the way down to her stomach, a good burn. Dekram cleared her throat. "Where am I?" she asked with a squeaky voice.

"An old warehouse in Leesburg. You know who left you here?"

"Leesburg? I don't know Leesburg." She leaned away from the man's chest and braced herself, palms on dusty pavement. Her head swam with visuals of the buildings in and around Wandermere. She couldn't remember any old warehouses. This is a bad dream. I'm going to wake up in my bed, and... Her temples throbbed as she tried to bring clarity to the situation. Vision blurred, she attempted to focus on the old man who had just wiggled a few inches away from her.

His eyes studied hers. "Leesburg, Florida. You got family 'round here?"

Dekram bolted upright; pain shot through her body. Eyes big, she exclaimed, "You don't have wings!"

"I'm not your guardian angel, girly," the old guy giggled, "just an old man who's tryin to live out the last of his days in peace. This warehouse's been a dumpin' ground for teenagers in the last few months. Makes a fella think about relocatin'. That, an 'bout half of you mentioned wings and drugs; got me thinkin' 'bout cops an' things, one of you overdosin', the others squawkin' 'bout some old man in the warehouse crap. First time I felt like movin' on since I made this my home. What'cha think, you gonna make trouble for me? How 'bout you tell me how you got here, an' if you think someone's gonna come lookin' for ya."

Dekram looked around. The cold concrete floors and walls were like nothing she'd seen before. The sounds around her were not birds singing or trees rustling, but strange rumbling machines, loud honks, and angry sirens. She did not smell flora, or musky earth, or crisp and fragrant breezes and dew covered grass, but noxious smells enough to trap a breath in her gravelly throat.

"I don't know," she answered, and choked a sob as a tear rolled down her cheek.

"Scary, huh?" a voice came from the dark and echoed off the walls. Several windows, no more than open holes, glass long gone, let in some light but it faded into blackness before it got anywhere near the floor. A metal barrel, blazing in the center of the warehouse, gave off just enough light to see shadows dance outside its perimeter. One moved toward her.

Dekram squinted and when the firelight lit half of his face, she shouted, "Detaf!"

"I figured you'd join me, sooner or later." He slurred the words.

At the other end of the warehouse, a flash of moonlight backlit two individuals for a fraction of a minute when a door opened and shut. Dekram shivered. There are more of them. I have to get out of here. At least, I know there's an escape route down there. But to where?

"Well, what'd ya know, she finally woke up," an unmistakable voice said. It was Etah.

"She's one of us, old man. Back off," Bacs said.

Dekram's mind ran rapid thoughts of the buzz, and Etah and Detaf being dragged through the portal, but still being inside the Black Shamrock. Did they get me too. How? And am I still on the other side with... Then she remembered Egar and Etah in the Oak tree and the smell of the rancid Spanish moss. That's not me over there anymore. O'mifairygodmother-

"I ain't done nothin' wrong, sonny. I just wanna know why ya'all keeps showing up." He groaned his way into a standing position. "Could be one a them child traffickin' kinda things. Maybe ya'all is escapees or somethin'," the old man mumbled as he hobbled over to a dark corner, not really waiting for a response. A few seconds later, a contented sigh followed a slosh of liquid.

Etah walked out of the shadows and Dekram bolted upright, crab-walked backwards until her back met wall, and immediately wished she would have moved a bit slower. "My head is spinning," she said, with her hands over her ears.

"It's the Nightshade." Detaf stumbled further into the light.

"Yeah," Etah said. "Elves call it Dwayberry—imps, The Devil's Cherries."

So that's what they were putting in the honey. Dekram's nostrils flared. The smell of dampness, rotting leaves; dirt and body excrement filled her lungs. "Did you know? Are you part of this?" Dekram asked Detaf. He shook his head back and forth.

"I call's the drug Naughty Man's Cherries." Bacs ignored their comunication. He smiled at both of them and added. "True dat."

"They keep me thrilled," Detaf said. "Too much knocks you out cold."

"A little makes you more... compliant." Etah smiled at Detaf.

Dekram froze. "You didn't... Egar didn't... I mean, I'm still a..." Dekram turned white, shuddered. Oh, Goddess Aine, tell me Fire didn't force himself on me.

"Don't flatter yourself, pond scum," Etah spat. "If Egar wanted you, he would've never snatched your wings for Soahc."

"They wanted us, alright," Detaf groaned his way into a sitting position, "at least part of us." Sarcastically he snickered and waved a hand behind him. "They want the other part."

As her burning eyes followed the gray walls painted with vulgar words and phrases she saw more of them; fifteen kids with no wings. Humans? She thought as she rubbed her eyes and focused on Etah and Bacs. They don't have wings either! None of them have wings! She frantically reached for hers, tried to dart up, but only tripped over her own feet and fell back against the damp wall. Mine are gone too!

"We're on the human side," Detaf said.

"Fire has our wings," Bacs said, arrogantly.

"And it's all your fault," growled Etah.

Detaf snickered sarcasm again.

The familiar hatred in Etah's voice gave Dekram a momentary feeling of comfort and forced an inappropriate smile to her lips.

"What's so funny?" Etah snapped. "If it wasn't for you and him," she pointed at Detaf, "things would've stayed the same in Wandermere, not become some bogus wonderland filled with human toys—a lifestyle trumped up to get changelings ready for their return to the human side. You two changed everything."

"What do you mean?" Dekram asked. This can't be true! Her father's words, the day they'd helped Bacs, cut anymore thoughts of denial, 'The idea was to make this generation of fairies more aware of what they would be dealing with on the other side of the portal.'

Bacs stepped forward. "We were the cream of the crop before you," he nodded at Etah, "not like the rest of the kids in Wandermere. They have no powers to speak of, couldn't do scat over here without an elder helping them. Changelings, all of them, except Layol, she's a glamoured elder, and Soahc, Mirg, Bacs and me?—we're Fire halflings, three times your age, and we got powers. Not like the elders, but still, we can...could, do things, fun things...on this side of the portal."

"The missions are a joke," Etah said. "Every changeling who went out had a glamoured elder buddy."

"Except us," Bacs said. "Like I said, we got powers—been over here before."

Etah said, "All they care about now is culling the herd—the insubordinate kids they stole from the humans and us fire halflings. Zap! And we're all gone like pesky bugs. The missions are supposed to make us feel more comfortable on the human side. Sh-yeah, right? More like make them more comfortable about sending us. No guilt. Pix that!"

"And you know why else?" Bacs asked. "Just to see if you two can cut it, check out your powers, and-"

A loud belch interrupted. "I figured it was a trafficking ring," the old man mumbled. "Them good-for-nothing sons-o'...." His words faded, snoring took their place.

Bacs shoved a thumb at Dekram, pointed a finger at Detaf, and continued. "...and keep you two from mating poorly, that's why. They want full-breeds. Because of you these streets will be filled with wandering teens trying to survive in a world they were ripped from at birth; experiments, that's all we were to them."

"They never had tolerance rules before you two. A changeling or halfling had to do something really bad to be banished." Etah spat.

"Kinda ironic we called you a half-breed, right?" Bacs said.

Detaf sighed. "Soahc and Egar are wearing our wings. Fire will be able to breed for the first time in one-thousand years with the elder's blessing."

"Did you know they were trying to get us to breed?" Dekram spit at Detaf.

"Not a clue," Detaf grunted. "All I knew was everyone—my parents, the teachers, half the students and their parents—wanted me to date you."

"Gotta laugh at their stupidity," Etah said, followed by a smirk. "And then ask yourself why your precious 'fairy godmother' would gift your people with you two and then allow us to do this?" She fanned her hand around the warehouse. "Goddess Aine let Fire snatch you both, enabled them to nab your wings, and now they're letting Fire use your bodies to breed faelings."

"Yepper, faelings that will last a whole lot more than a month or two," Bacs cracked, strutting a circle around Detaf. "Oh yeah, the gods've written off the rest of the elements. It's all about Fire now. Think about it."

"So it will all look legit," Etah said proudly. "And to make sure it happens." She looked at Bacs and then toward the other wingless kids slowly moving out of the shadows. "You two aren't going anywhere."

Lay is so not an elder. She wouldn't lie to me. My mother and father would've told me. Dekram shook all over when she remembered the one-sided phone conversation, and her mother's words, "The Elders' beliefs? No one in Wandermere has been in our situation, Redael. And all of us were nurtured as younglings to recognize our powers, Elders included. Why are they trying to make this more difficult for her?"

For us, Dekram thought, glancing at Detaf before she blurted, "How do you know all of this?" A senseless question.

"Because we were living the good fellow life before you were born, before human toys were glamoured and our whole world was so totally changed by the elders!" Etah screamed. "Aren't you listening? You and Detaf are the first full-bred fairy to live more than two months in over fifteen-hundred years. The Elders are callin' it a freakin' miracle—more like a friggin' nightmare!"

Chapter 15

"HOW DO WE find them on this side?" Nesohc asked, "Everything is so large. It's gonna take us forever."

"Right? I know," Layol said. "It's only overwhelming the first time."

Nesohc jerked to a stop faster than Dekram's dragonfly. "What? When were you in the human world?" He jerked small movements, wings beating invisible.

Layol swallowed hard. "Um," she stalled, eyes gazing on everything but Nesohc. "I, ah. Let me think." Whipping from small cornered animal mode to exaggerated give me a break impy, she said, "Pix me!—the other day when we all went into the portal. Now can we move on?"

Nesohc cocked a brow. "What's going on, Lay?"

"What is your problem?" Layol huffed, darted about, arms swinging, mouth mumbling Disney's name in vain.

"Spit it out," Nesohc growled.

"Look at me," Layol said, hands on her hips. "I'm fraught with worry. I'm sick with fear. Can you give me a break, here?"

"Fraught? You don't do fraught."

Layol glared at him.

Nesohc sighed, shook his head. "Come on, let's do this."

With the speed of two hummingbirds on sugar highs, Layol and Nesohc zigzagged into the woods.

"Hold up," Nesohc yelled, "there's way too much Fire coming through that portal."

"What?" Layol said, zipping back to Nesohc near the edge of the woods.

Both watched a circle of red sparkles swarm the portal and shoot straight toward them.

"Crap! They're gonna catch us!" Nesohc hissed. Layol grabbed his hand, shot straight up, and mumbled a chant he could not comprehend. He felt the crackle of magic, smelled an electrical charge in the air, and a small iridescent bubble encased them. Floating downward, the bubble wobbled and bobbed right over Fire's heads.

"They been here; glamour in da air. Feel it?" said a Fire fairy, a layer of bright red hair floating upward like winter static. "Fire needs air, but Air's gone, just like dat. Can't get a scent, yous guys?"

"They can't see us!" Nesohc whispered excitement, and under him the whole group flickered and reformed. "Fricken-fracken Impin'-cool! They're transforming right in front of us. You seeing this, Lay? They're old, and..." His nose wrinkled as he spit a laugh. "Sheesh, old fairies, all shriveled up and skinny, shouldn't go around naked. Wrinkles really take the fear out of those tattoos. Look at that skull. It looks like scrambled worms on a-"

"Shush," Layol warned, although her glamoured bubble protected them from being heard. "I need to concentrate. I can't hold this for very long. I hope they move on."

Fire's skin turned tan and leathery; they all had bright red hair, thin and wispy. Their hands and feet had four digits and were oversized for their twig like bodies. They had rounded bellies and large cloud-gray eyes on oversized heart-shaped faces, pointy ears, and lips so small and thin they were almost colorless.

Nesohc's eyes got big and round as he watched and listened.

"Nah, I can't smell scat. The older the Air the stronger the magic, ya hear?" a squat fairy with a thick neck boasted enlightenment.

"I don't hear nothin'," one said, knotty fingers cupped around a limp saggy lobe.

"Soahc got the marked one's wings. You feel me? Lil princess can't fly, can't magic nothin', either," the red haired fairy said. "We just need ta keep it simple, read me?"

"True dat," the squatty fairy said. "Earth can't hold glamour forever. We spread out, watch, don't let 'em though."

The whole group darted into the woods forming a long thin line.

"That's it—I'm killing the bitch," Layol hissed and the bubble popped.

"Oh, Luther-waiting-at-the-gates-of-Hell!" Nesohc sputtered, "You just called Soahc the B word."

"She shouldn't have taken Dek's wings," Layol growled. "And my vulgarity is important right now, why?"

"Because they heard you," Nesohc pointed over Layol's shoulder. "And they're dressed again, back to looking like lean, mean, fighting machines with pointy teeth and wicked tattoos! How is that possible?"

"Who cares? Let's move it!" Layol said.

"Catch dat?" the hefty Fire fairy said; thumbed a confirmation behind him. "They there, true dat. And 'cause ya know I'm an addict for honey and bizzos like Soahc…give me amnesia. I'm off in a haze, kush, orange bud, feel me?"

"Does anyone ever understand them?" Nesohc asked.

"I understand we need to get our wings on," Layol answered.

As the Fire fairy massed and formed a tighter swarm, Layol and Nesohc headed up and deeper into the woods.

"Bizzo?" Layol giggled over her shoulder as they darted through the trees. "Did you, at least, catch that? He called Soahc a-"

"Shut up!-Don't go all crude on me!-And stop looking back." Nesohc buzzed hectically behind Layol. "Find a hidey-hole."

"I'm lookin'," Layol said, dashing around tree trunks and over branches.

They broke from the woods into a rustic backyard, scattered with junk. Layol buzzed around a pile of un-strategically placed rubber tires where mosquito larvae laden water gathered.

"Gotta be a better place?" Nesohc grimaced. "Can you do the bubble thing again?"

"Like for maybe a minute or so." Layol's eyes were searching frantically.

"Swell!" Nesohc jerked his hands over his ears when the swarm became louder. "Now what?"

"This way!" Layol darted around an old washing machine, over a pile of bicycle bones; circled a green canoe propped on two sawhorses, a rusting can of epoxy and a ruined paintbrush propped next to a hole in the fiberglass bottom, and finally bolted after a small gray squirrel scurrying up the side of a dilapidated toolshed.

The animal paused—Layol and Nesohc almost crashed into it—and pumped its body up and down on a ledge in front of a dirt encrusted window. It shot a frantic glance at the woods. The swarm of Fire fairies burst through the trees and the squirrel chattered its way through a small hole between the window frame and the metal building, Layol and Nesohc right behind it.

"They're right outside," Layol whispered from the corner of the window ledge, the buzzing noise coming from everywhere. It ebbed and surged as the Fire fairy circled the yard and wooden shed.

Eyes on the squirrel, Nesohc hissed, "I cannot believe you decided to team up with that. What is with you and rodents?"

Eyebrows dancing, Layol pointed at the hole by the window. "I can charm him then push him back out the hole by the window."

"Are you nuts?" Nesohc inched closer to Layol. The squirrel chirped and burbled, then scurried a few feet away.

"We need to occupy Fire so we can get out of here or we're never going to find Dek," Layol said. "If they come in here, we're toast."

"You're the one that followed it," Nesohc glared at the squirrel.

"Watch me make the rodent scary."

"Right. Like a squirrel's gonna scare them away."

"Uh, huh." Layol laughed. "Watch and learn! You know who Rocky and Bullwinkle are?"

"What? That's your plan?—give the squirrel wings?" Nesohc rolled his eyes so far back he stumbled.

"I was thinking, half Rocky, half anteater with some glamoured vision issues."

"So we send the poor animal on a kamikaze mission that will only end in its demise?"

"They have Dekram. Where'd all the love go? We need to create a distraction."

"Give me a-"

Layol fanned her hands. "Shhhhh, they stopped swarming."

They huddled in front of the window—the squirrel scampered back a few feet.

"They ain't here, surefire-nuff," said the short stocky fairy, pale white body covered in tattoos. Barbed wire ran across his forehead; three teardrops down one cheek. When he lifted both hands and scratched his bald scalp, they could see a spider web etched on his elbow and the letters E W M N tattooed below the knuckles on his left hand; a diamond, spade, heart and club below the knuckles on the other hand.

"Those card symbols stand for luck," Layol whispered. "The letters characterize him as evil, wicked, mean and nasty."

"I'm not even gonna ask you how you know that," Nesohc said.

Layol started to answer but someone else in the Fire swarm said, "True-dat, we got some wing b'ness ta do anyways—get rid 'o da opposition–Egar wanna commence breedin'. We gotta dig us up some halfling wings."

"Yep, burn them babies, we be done—feel me?" said a Fire fairy they'd seen at the buzz; the one who looked like a Christmas elf.

"Oh, hell no, they're gonna burn fairy wings!—Probably Bacs' and Etah's." Layol squeaked. "And Bozzo's gonna have Egar's kid." She strutted up and down a shelf below the window. "For the love of Disney, it's perfect! Brilliant!"

"What are you talking about?" Nesohc asked, gaze jumping from the squirrel to the Fire fairy flying in and out of every nook and cranny in the yard.

"Well, at least, I know they can't kill Dekram or Detaf," Layol said. "We need to get out of here!"

"A-duh," Nesohc said and glared at the squirrel. The animal's face froze, teeth hanging over its' maw.

Layol sucked in a huge breath, and slowly exhaled as she said, "Egar, who looks like Detaf in Wandermere, is going to impregnate Soahc, who looks like Dekram, also residing in Wandermere, and all that Fire out there-" she took a breath and pointed at the window,"-is going to burn the wings of every fairy they've dragged through the portal and then charmed to look like Air in Wandermere. For the love of Gabriel, we have to do something!"

"Lay, you sound like one of the human's daytime soap-operas."

"Look at me, Nes. I mean really look at me."

"Again? Really, Lay? Right now?" Nesohc turned to the group in the grass under the window.

Layol shook Nesohc's shoulder. "At least, listen to me. I know what I'm talking about."

"Why do you suddenly sound like my mother?" Nesohc said, jerking free. "They're gonna burn wings out there."

"I get it. Listen! That spider web tattoo? It means that fairy has killed before and he's willing to do it again. The barbed wire tells everyone he's doing a life sentence and I'm guessing it's with Egar. He got his name because he... likes to hurt things."

"You spend way too much time on the Net." Nesohc back-winged out of Layol's reach.

"Look at me!"

It sounded like the building was covered with bumblebees.

"We don't have time for this. You need to turn that rodent into a hungry flying squirrel with orders to seek and destroy. Do it now!" Nesohc turned to glare at Layol, but his mouth dropped and his eyes became full. "You just flashed old…really old. Crap! You're not a kid! Everything Dek said is true. She saw things, didn't she? There is no academy. Nothing is what it appears to be, just like Mirg said at the buzz."

"Right, Puck's surprise!  Now buck up, we'll save the rest of this conversation for after we save Dekram." Layol rapped fingers on the window frame. "Because, like you said, I need to charm that squirrel."

Chapter 16

DETAF STRUTTED BACK and forth in front of Bacs and Etah, kicking up dust clouds that floated in the firelight, and tossing his arms through them. "So, all of you are telling me that you trusted Fire enough to let them use your wings so they could infiltrate Air, Earth and Water while they left you here helpless without your powers?  And then what? Come back for you one day? I'd bet my wings that's never gonna happen." Detaf stood ridged, his expression livid as he glared at all of the children. "What about when Soahc, looking like Dekram—all Water and Air—and Egar, looking like me, an Earth fairy, start popping out Fire faelings? You don't think someone is gonna get it and come looking for us? You don't think the Elders will snatch up the faelings and banish Fire from Wandermere?" he shouted at Etah.

"You know, none of you needed to stay here and watch Detaf and me," Dekram interrupted. "And Egar knows that, always knew it."

"What are you talking about?" Etah spat. "You aren't getting us to leave no matter what you say? Whaddya think we are, stupid?"

"He used all of you as much as he used us." Detaf was quick to embellish. "He needed your wings to look like every element but Fire. How else could he-"

"Doesn't matter," Dekram whispered, eyes cast downward. "Humans don't see portals, can't see a fairy if it was sitting on their shoulder. We're human, now. We've lost our powers."

"Yeah, except everything you said is bat scat," he told Detaf, "because we know where two sets of wings are." Bacs pointed glanced at the wingless boys and girls sitting beyond the edge of light coming off the trashcan. "We," Bacs thumbed his chest and pointed at Etah, "can hit the portal anytime we need to."

Detaf locked eyes with Dekram for a human heartbeat and they reflected hope.

"When will you go back through the portal?" Detaf asked.

"Every time we have something to report," Etah said.

Bacs elbowed Etah. "Actually, we should let Egar know she's awake, see what's up next." He glared a warning at Detaf. "Remember," he pointed at the children in the shadows, "they're spelled to react if anyone heads for that door while we're gone. Ask the old man."

"I already did—didn't believe him—almost got..." Detaf glanced at Dekram, "...hurt."

Dekram shuddered.

Etah laughed and comradely backhanded Bacs. "Let's move. Fire's probably waiting by the portal."

As the warehouse door shut out the moonlight behind Bacs and Etah, Dekram headed for the door.

The group of boys and girls stood in unison and stepped into the light. They're eyes were cloudy, vacant, and their movement jerky. They scampered forward.

The old man shot up, tilted his head and shrieked an inhuman trill. The children swiftly scuttled back into the darkness. He hobbled toward Dekram with an impish grin on his wrinkled face.

Detaf moved closer to Dekram, and mumbled, "He sure didn't do that last time they came at me."

Dekram yelped. My life is an impin' Disney movie!

* * *

"THAT WAS CLOSE," Nesohc panted as they landed on the branch of an orange tree in the middle of an orchard.

"No kidding, but the spell will wear off quickly, like all spells in the human world. What we really do on our missions is...um, enlighten, so to speak, plant the seeds and the rest is up to mother nature."

"Whaddya mean?" Nesohc folded his wings and sat on the branch.

"It's what the humans call a conscience. Earth, Air and Water whisper, so to speak, in one ear, after pixies, imps and Fire have whispered in the other. Sometimes it's a lot more technical. We can actually shape the actions of an event by using a spell or glamour, but surely not without the sanction of the Elders."

"So how old are you?"

Lay popped up, wings fluttering. "Time to move on, buddy. Trying to find Dekram over here is gonna be like searching for a three-eyed ant in an ant farm."

Nesohc opened his mouth and promptly shut it when Layol flew upward and out into the orange grove.

* * *

"ARE YOU SEEING this?" Dekram squeaked, feet pushing her out of the firelight. "That," she pointed around Detaf, "was an old man a second ago!"

Detaf hunkered in front of Dekram and gave her bare foot a calming pat as he spoke to the creature before them. "You are not going to hurt her."

The funny little fellow bowed a skinny frame, which looked like it was covered in a green full-body glove, over a bloated belly. Like a graceful praying mantis, he stretched out an arm and placed a wispy hand with four elongated digits over a grin that swallowed the lower half of his face and spread to a pair of small up-turned eyes. "Well of course not," he said in a gruff voice.

Without another word the creature fanned a spray of brightly colored sparkles over Dekram, and then turned on long narrow feet with no visible toes and clomped off, treading invisible stairs, toward a hovering image of a golden cage sitting in a field of clover.

Dekram could see Bacs and Etah in the cage surrounded by a small swarm of Fire Fairies. The children that had been cowering in the shadows were behind the bars as well.

Her eyes becoming heavy, Dekram heard Detaf shout, "Come back here," as though in a dream. Am I going to die now?

Dekram's vision tunneled and quivered like a mirage. Will the lights just wink out and that will be the end of me?

Detaf shouted again, "Are you crazy? She doesn't want me. Take them back! You can't make me do this!"

Dekram heard the green fellow shout, "Don't be so dramatic," and she laughed, thinking that would be something Layol would say.

Dekram felt someone lift her and toss her over a shoulder. She used her dangling palms and pushed against a firm tummy, tuning to see Nesohc's frowning face. She suddenly became very dizzy and tummy sick. Moaning, she shut her eyes tight. Far off, Nesohc's voice consoled, Layol's shouted, and Detaf's contemptuous remarks of protest faded into silence as she thought, what a silly dream.

* * *

"ARE YOU AWAKE?" a familiar gruff voice asked.

Dekram's eyes popped open and immediately formed a mental clarity of her surroundings. The thing in green tights was now more of a twig like creature.

Bright sunshine made her squint and green clover felt cool and soft against her bare legs. At the edge of a tree line in front of her, Dekram recognized a large log. It had been the Black Shamrock. But there was no sign of the black building, no parking lot, this time, nothing but rotted roots and leaves stacked and molded around the log, clumps of brown dirt clinging to them. The creature that now seemed to look like a moving part of the flora walked circles around her.

"Where am I? How did I get here and what have you done with Detaf and the others?" Dekram rapid fired, sucked in a breath and then continued. "Someone slip me a thrill again? Did the Fire fairies bring me back through the portal? This is Wandermere, isn't it? Can you talk, or what?"

With a voice full of gravel, the anomaly spread twig-like lips and sounding like a breeze rustling leaves on a mighty oak, he sang, "Comes the Goddess Aine, a promise she bears. We grasp it, and bless it with tenderness and care."

Red hair corkscrewed through clumps of nature around a face of fall colors and spun about a twiggy frame as his incongruity whirled and danced up a mighty wind, which vocally, between hysterical giggles, delivered a more frantic stanza. "They see what they dream. They dream what they see—a world full of chasms, created especially for She. Greed takes it from us, destiny brings it back. Our future is literally a goddess given act."

The wind settled. Leaves floated to the clover and lay quivering at Dekram's feet. With a bow of its branch like body, a nod, and a smile, twig-man became transparent and the funny little fellow dressed in green tights reappeared. With an elegant wave of a spindly arm and a warble-like chuckle that wobbled his belly, his voice chimed the last of an amused response.

"Okay, so like the transforming thing is pixin' me out," Dekram said. "What the heck are you?"

Her question brought on another frolicking response. "Defining our realm would be akin to handing you a cloud. Not like reality, cloaked heavily in humanity's shroud."

"That's not what I asked."

He waved a green arm, bowed deep at the waist, and as he rose, recited, "We are who we wish others to see. Fated and marked are the only two who are what they appear to be."

A chill ran up Dekram's spine and she shuddered with a realization; he was singing about her. Her and Detaf "Are you going to tell me what happens to me next?" Dekram's teeth chattered between her words, bile rose in her throat.

Long hands gently patted her shoulder with knotty fingertips. He turned toward the log and swayed as he chanted, as though he were reading a children's nursery rhyme. "Green Lady, Green Lady, come, begs your child. Bring a cup of Mary. Serve it in your blue limpet shell. Fill the child with wisdom, and break this blessed spell."

"Alrighty now, this is majorly turning all wicked Brothers Grimm, so back off, because you're really scaring me." Dekram pushed away, heels working leaves and clover into a pile of damp foliage around feet. "Could this get any worse?" she shrieked, glaring at a set of wispy green feet attached to her olive colored legs. "O'mifairygodmother! I've turned into my mother!" She reached to touch her foot; a gasp escaped her lips when a delicate green hand attached to a stem-like arm came into view.

I've got to be thrilling. Maybe spelled, charmed? Something! There is no logical explanation, she thought, hands wiggling twig colored appendages in front of her face.

While trying to make sense out of her predicament and the changes in her body, Dekram absentmindedly tried to rake a hand through her hair but it immediately became tangled in what felt like a bird's nest. She jerked a snatch of wild green curls, matted with leaves and twigs, out of her scalp and pitched it at the funny green person. Rubbing her stinging scalp, she screeched, "Putrefied pollen! This feels real! I'm a fricken swamp tree!"

The mature pile of nature tsked. "You are absolutely not a swamp tree. You are an enchanted fairy of wood and water. One of the first, I might add, in centuries. With you we will be able to procreate."

Dekram froze. "Excuse me?" Blustering balls of folly! Etah said they wanted to hook me up with Detaf. Did nature-creature just say "we" and "procreate" in the same sentence? So not going to happen! Monogamous is my middle name. Love one fairy, have a few children, a two-story house, picket fence, maybe two Darner dragonflies in the drive. I will not be a breeding machine! "O'unjustcalamity, I've lost my mind. Where is Layol when I really need her? Maybe if I give a little whistle?"

Dekram sucked in a breath, puckered her lips, but the green-suited fairy filled her vision with a large shaking head, and a serious set of slanted eyes. "Nothing is what it appears to be, child. You have not lost anything; you are merely having an epiphany."

"Epiphany, my butt cheeks. Pan's a psychopath! Soylent Green is people, and I am sooo outta here! I know Lay and Nes are out there looking for me. I need to warn them," Dekram said, backhanding tears off her cheeks. "So if you could just make this illusion go away," she mumbled and sniffled. "I need to get back to the human side..."

"Layol and Nesohc were not who they appeared to be, either, remember?" the walking talking pile of flora said.

Her mind buzzed like static on a television screen. "Can I go with Dek?" Layol had asked of Mrs. Evol. "I think she can handle it, Layol. Join the rest of the class, please," Mrs. Evol had said.

No! No way Lay would have let Fire drug me and drag me through a portal. I don't think Mrs. Evol would have either.

She dismissed his comment with a wave of her green hand. A memory of the portal behind the Black Shamrock flashed in her mind. "Why am I talking to you, anyway?" Dekram shook the cobwebs out of her head and rubbed the butterflies from her stomach. She shot upward, ready to bolt into the woods behind the log, but she fell directly to the earthen floor. "Where are my wings?" she cried, reaching behind her. Oh nooooo! I am my mother's daughter!

The fairy changed to a broken pile of sticks, leaves and clumps of dirt in front of her feet. "Fire has created an illusion with them," the pile rustled.

"But I'm here! You just said that I am back. In fact, you did a little jig as you told me, remember? So whip yourself back into shape and tell me how that happened if I don't have wings? Huh? How?" Dekram told the pile of rubble. "Stop talking in circles. Just lay it out." She rubbed her temples, trying to focus her eyes.

With a whooshing sound, the mass of yard debris swelled like an inner tube. It pulsed and whorled, building up speed, funneled upward and took off like a mini tornado. When it darted back in front of Dekram, it settled. She watched a few leaves float down and land on the clover.

The wood nymph bounced its shoulders and let out a stoic sigh. "Fire fairies are tenacious demons. They can cripple the other species if we were to allow them more power and control. We needed to create a stronger balance. The goddess Aine-"

Dekram huffed, eyes scrunching pain, hand circling a suggestion to move the explanation along.

Twig-man cocked a branched arm and placed a pile of stick fingers on his ample waist. "When one's impatient reactions interrupt one's comprehension, aforementioned one is usually driven to inappropriate action, exasperating chaotic reactions from other ones."

Dekram's brow raised a painful sigh.

Thrashing limbs whispered a tempered storm as the fairy paced. "Fire pulled you and Detaf into the human world. They took your wings. It is clear Egar and Soahc intended to breed; a blasphemy of deceit, appearing to be you and Detaf. As for your chosen affection, Nesohc gave up his wings to your fated mate, and with Layol's help, Detaf brought you—temporarily wearing your loyal friend's wings—back through the portal where I stood patiently waiting."

That doesn't make sense. Why didn't Nes and Lay bring me back? Dekram blinked frustrated tears behind hooded lids. White noise—lost connection—the bathroom at the buzz. Layol's strong voice, "Go ahead, pull my wings off, why don'tcha. Not like I need 'em or anything." And I said, "I'll go back out with Nesohc and leave you stuck right there. At least we'll know where you are." She stared into the small slanted eyes locked on hers. He's pixing me. Did Soahc and Egar flee Wandermere? "I demand to know why you have me captive and who you really are."

The fairy bowed, covering his treelike frame with colorful leafy branches, fluttered to a standing position, eyes twinkling as he danced and sang his name. "I'm a Berrymun, a Berry man-fairy. Some say I guard berries during the day. But when the sky goes black I guard the fairy, and that, my dear, is why you are here in this field today.

"We wait here together for your own protection. Your fated mate and loyal friend will come soon; a challenge has been issued. You three will defend Wandermere and your honor. Together you will strip chaos of your wings and calm the raging fires among us. Then the choice will be yours. Fated or Chosen, what will it be? Your chosen one would assure your happiness in the human world but plague our survival. The other carries the seed to breed the breath of eternal life back into Wandermere—a choice for a true god or goddess to make; should you follow your heart or save your race?"

O'mifairygodmother! Dekram blushed, pink sparkles tinkling softly as they scattered in a breeze. He's telling me the fate of Wandermere lies within my ovaries! Sheezus! Not like I make real-life decisions like that on a daily basis—what the heck?

Berrymun tilted his head and studied Dekram's face with narrowed eyes. Dekram turned away and shut her eyes. She heard herself ask, "Mom, all the girls bleed monthly. I don't. Do you think there's something wrong with me?" Her mother's shocked look. "You're not spotting are you?" Diuqil's voice echoed, "Take your vitamin before you leave, honey." The school Librarian said, "What if she goes off and gets herself mated to that boy? You know how important she is to our survival." Mrs. Evol's answer echoed, "The council cannot change fate, Mrs. Laretil. Nor should they try."

"Stop! Stop! I've heard enough!" Dekram raised her head and glared at Berrymun. "I do not want this responsibility!"

Chapter 17

"CRY ME A Mutant Ninja Turtle with that teen angst drama. Did you not hear me?"

"Yes, Lay," Dekram, four feet and eleven inches high, with no wings, backhanded her cheeks. "Egar is on his way. Soahc wants to kill me. I have to fight for my wings and Nes made a stupid decision. Blah, blah, blah."

"But it was his decision to make! This is your fight to fight! Get it together!"

"What have you done with my best friend?"

"I'm still here, gal-pal." Buzzing around her friend's face like an annoying mosquito, Layol gave Dekram a smile with turned down lips. "Nes is a changeling, Dek, a human swapped at birth with a fairy child. Don't get me wrong. He's a sweetie, but he's not fairy. He knows this now and has chosen to stay human. We've only been able to produce sickly faelings, all dead within hours after birth. You and Detaf, you guys, could-"

"Why? Why did you," Dekram hiccupped a sob, "let me fall in love with him, then?"

"Because you always had a choice, still do, and I'm right here to back you up, and protect you, no matter what you choose, always have been." Layol flickered back and forth from a mature fairy to the teenster Dekram had grown to know and love. The fairy landed on her shoulder and strutted closer to her ear.

Dekram moaned, "You always knew?" Tears laden with blue sparkles rolled down her cheeks. "And you never told me?" She's telling the truth, Dekram thought. Nesohc has always been human, she's always been...much older than me, and everything in Wandermere has always been about Detaf and me—except the human stuff. Bet they regret compromising me and Detaf with all those human toys just to get the changelings ready to go back. How stupid was that?

A buzzing noise, like a whole nest full of bees heading their way, jerked Dekram from her pity-pot. She turned to see the first Fire fairy zip from the forests edge and over the Black Shamrock log. It was Egar. The Fire fairy had riotous red hair, spiraling wild and free around his skinny body, all the way down to his naked feet. Long pointy ears separated a bristly red beard from the mess on his head and only left half a face until he opened his large wide mouth in a smile that revealed long spikey teeth. Scrawny arms waved four digit fingers at her, showing off rows of long spikey teeth. Two bright red dots spread wide over a hawk-like nose, sparkled under bushy eyebrows.

The buzzing gradually became louder and louder. Neither fairy said a word when Detaf flew up behind them and landed beside Dekram. But when she caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye, she sucked in a breath. Pix me! He looks just like Nesohc! I can't do this!

Detaf tilted his head; the softness in his face told Dekram he understood. She started to say something to him, but Soahc buzzed out of the woods screaming her name, and looking like Dekram's former self.

Time to buck up, no matter what I decide. I want my wings back! I need to go find Nes! Dekram gritted her teeth, turned to the pixy that was still her best friend and pushed her strongest voice. "So, Soahc is a halfling? We'll pix her a bit of poetic justice."

Layol smiled comradeship and shouted, "Nope, even better. She's a changeling, all human."

"Shut up! She's a changeling? " Dekram mocked, loud enough for Soahc to hear. "This totally, almost, makes up for you lying to me."

"Yeah, well hold that thought, because if Fire mates with Soahc while she wears your wings, their halfbreeds will be wicked and scary. You think Etah, Bacs and Mirg are bad? You have no idea? That what you want?"

"No, I just want Nes." Dekram's eyes jutted toward Detaf. She blushed, tightened her lips, and then blurted, "Would our halflings be as strong?"

Layol's eyes caught Detaf's and he sighed and lowered his head. She answered, "Not here in Wandermere. We tried to breed with changelings, and when we were successful, the babies died within hours of birth. When we were fast enough to swap babies, we got a changeling and the fairy died in the human world; they called it crib-death. When we discard changelings, usually for rebelliousness, they become human runaways, their pictures on milk cartons."

Dekram twisted a bare foot in the clover. "What about me giving up my wings and staying with Nes in the human world? Can we have human children? Can another elemental fairy use my wings like Soahc?"

"I don't know what's possible in the human world, but Fire has always been able to breed here in Wandermere. The treaty forbad it and the elders destroyed their attempts. Your wings, and Detaf's, were nothing more than camouflage. Should this go south, I'll give you mine. You and Detaf can breed with or without your rightful wings."

When Layol stopped talking, Dekram realized the field had become eerily quiet. The meadow was full of twinkling colored light almost like a misty rain. She could see the charmed student body of changelings, and over them, the rest of the town, mature fairy in true form, beautiful, ethereal, all flowing hair, sparkling eyes, enchanting smiles, and shapely formed bodies. The men were breathtaking, charismatic, and the woman captivating, bewitching. And all of them with long swords, sheathed, and belted around naked waists.

Detaf, dressed in Nesohc's skin, stepped forward and shouted, "You brought this upon yourselves when you burned my wings. There is no turning back."

"We finish this today!" Egar shouted, and grabbed Dekram's mirror image by the arms, removing her hands from his midriff.

With a head full of soulful thoughts, Dekram looked from the field to Layol. "So, if we're gonna do this, how does this charm and glamour thing work?"

Layol sighed frustration. "I hear it pixin' works different for everyone—the elders look at something, mumble, and things happen. I've only been able to use my magic in a pinch. That's all I know."

"Great! Just great! I don't have wings. Yours are uncontrollable!"

Egar raised yelled, "Don't wanna turn back, true dat!"

Soahc's hateful smile looked misplaced on Dekram's lips.

"Swell," Dekram's hand gripped her hip while her eyebrows reached for each other. "I have to fight myself. Well at least we're both human at the moment."

"She's wearing your wings," Detaf warned.

"We don't know if her magic will still work," Layol told Detaf and then turned to Dekram. "You could try summoning your worst nightmare," Layol said, and quickly added, "Not a mouse. I doubt Fire would run from a rodent."

"How about a few characters from one of Nintendo's Super Mario games?"

Detaf snorted, pulled a bow off his shoulder, an arrow from a quiver strapped to his back, knocked the fletching on his bow string and stood ready.

Layol's squinty blue eyes became big and round. Her wispy arms pulled graceful hands over her mouth.

"I don't get it. What's so funny," Dekram said.

Through long fingers, Layol said, "I don't know. I'm entertaining the vision of an army of armed toadstools—a nosegay of fun guys named Wart. You know fungi? Fun guys?"

Dekram rolled her eyes. "Where do you get that crap?"

Soahc bolted forward, stopped short of the middle of the field, shot a look at Layol, and everyone's Adam apples bobbed as they swallowed hard, waiting for Fire to join her. They didn't and she glared at Layol like a venomous snake, wings spread taut, teeth bared.

Layol closed the gap, wings countering with a vibrating rattle.

They danced a circle, eyes locked.

Dekram started forward. Nesohc's face turned, but it was Detaf that ordered, "Stay!" And he pushed her behind him.

"Sure, now I have your attention." Soahc yelled at Detaf, rolled her eyes, and favored him with an open mouth and a shake of her head.

"Talk about your elfin' other side of the tracks," Layol snarked, drawing enough good-elemental fairy attention to encourage embellishment. "You're bedding demons. That's why. And you know what they say about demons?" She sidled closer to Soahc's wings. "What goes under the belly of a beast, comes out with…"At a loss for a better word, time moving, eyes watching, Layol blurted, "…tattoos."

Soahc darted straight up, glared, lips mocking. "Too hot for you to handle, fledgling?"

"Too smart to try, clueless," Layol shot back a few human feet.

Soahc reeled in another couple of inches between them pumped her wings until they buzzed louder than Layol's.

"Oh, hellhound yes," Etah spat, and flew up beside Soahc as Fire slowly began to close the gap from the other site of the field. "Let's kick her butt into the next realm."

"Enough!" Detaf shouted. "Time to give her your wings."

Layol darted like a dragonfly and was by Dekram's side in a fairy heartbeat.

"What?" Dekram said, "Who?"

"You," Layol said, pulling her wings free and buzzing behind her friend's back.

Dekram blinked her eyes and she was in the clover standing next to Nesohc. Only it's not Nes.

"Sorry, I can never really be him," Detaf's voice said from Nesohc's lips. "But we are fated. And none of that means a thing if we can't stop Fire now."

Dekram took a long ragged breath. "What if I can't do this?'

"We can, together," he answered. "Berrymun said it would take the both of us to defeat them. You ready to try?"

Dekram nodded.

Egar darted forward. "And we fight!"

Pandemonium burst forth with cries of war as swords swung, flesh bled green clover red and muddied the earth. Broken wings scattered the air like leaves on a brisk October afternoon. Clouds gathered, rumbled throaty growls, and strings of light snapped across the darkening sky, demanding attention. The Elements cried their anger.

Detaf, arrows spent, picked up a fallen sword in time to swing, slash through a redheaded fairy from hip to hip, and Fire burst into flames inches from Dekram.

On the ground, Layol ran, slashed and jabbed a saber through flesh, quickly sending those still moving to their deaths.

In a matter for Wandermere minutes, carnage lay scattered over the field. Eyes wide, mouth open, Dekram stood frozen.

"Now!" Layol screamed. "Dekram! Do something now!" She leapt over and unmoving fairy, bolting toward her friend.

"I'm coming," Detaf shouted from Nesohc's body.

Dekram let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, tossed up her hand and closed her eyes. Something big. Something ugly. Something that eats fire for breakfast, spits their spiky teeth right back at them, and squishes them like ants at a picnic. She cracked one eye; Layol was still running at her. No big scary monster sucking up Fire. She snapped her eye shut again. Oh, how? How do I do this? Goddess Aine, enlighten me! The screams of rage made her cringe. The cries of horror threatened tears. The laughter gave... The laughter?

"Oh man, not only does that thing add tons to the parasitic family—a humongous winged worm with Fire fairy teeth—but you gave me a totally coolio new catch phrase. Suckulicious-trichinous. Sooo, radical! It's a fricken Fire vacuum."

Dekram's eyes popped open; she yelped and plastered her body against the body of Nesohc as the hideous creature moved toward them.

Layol chuckled. "How do those little-bitty wings carry that plump body so fast? It looks like a dirigible on steroids."

Dekram slapped her eyes shut. "Don't let it eat me. Don't let it eat me. Don't let it eat me."

"It isn't going to eat you," Detaf said.

"You conjured it, idiot!" Layol finished through out-of-control laughter.

The wing noise of the parasite sounded large furry animal throaty vs. the bee buzz of the Fire fairy as it flew by, splitting the swarm of Fire heading for Dekram, Detaf and Layol. The atrocity had a rainbow colored, parasitic body hanging off the head and nose of an ant eater, with spindly spider legs wiggling willy-nilly from it belly. It sucked in hundreds of sword wielding Fire fairies before Egar and his gang started hacking away at its underbelly. It burst like a garish piñata and spewed smelly green slime all over the place before it fell to the ground at Dekram's feet.

Dekram leapt at Layol and wrapped herself around her friend's body.

"Dang, girl, you charm wicked-cool," Layol said, leaning back to look into Dekram's eyes. "How long you figure you're gonna need to hang on to me?"

Dekram opened one eye, loosened her death grip, and dropped to the clover.

The gelatinous, winged-creature's body gyrated on the field, wings creating a backdraft that tossed sword sporting Fire fairies all over the grass. It looked like a giant slug, with buzz-saw teeth, trying to latch on to the fairies before it settled and took its last breath.

"O'mifairygodmother! Now, what?"

"I'm thinking block and defense," Detaf said, but it was Nesohc's finger that was pointing.

A wave of gasps from the fairy merged with bell-like laughter from Soahc and the fire fairy.

Dekram's head whipped toward the field. Mirg stood in front of a ghastly looking animal that only slightly resembled a dog.

The creature slung phlegmy goo when it shook from muzzle to tail and emitted a foul smell from its oily jet-black fur. It lifted a hind leg and voided a stream of thick yellow liquid the texture of puss, producing an, even more, horrendous stench. Then the animal growled deep in its throat and back-kicked grass in the air with big clawed feet.

Everyone, except Mirg, grabbed their nose and grimaced at the ghostly apparition. It sat. Fur matted and sticking out in a wild mess, the beast turned glowing red eyes on Mirg.

"It is said," Mirg locked eyes with the foul animal, "that if you look into the eyes of a hellhound three times, you will die." She turned to the mesmerized mixed crown of fairy and lifted the black lace veil covering her face. "But this is just an illusion…right?" Mirg turned back to the rumbling animal and blatantly found its gaze. "Then again, we mustn't assume, and death can be quite an adventure, don't you agree?"

"You already smell like death, dark one," Egar shouted and then chuckled. "Now back off, so's I can be makin' us twelve more or that one'll be sleepin' in your bed tonight. Feel me?"

Soahc and Etah threw back their heads in laughter; a silent gesture behind the fast moving events that Dekram's mind slowed down to a snail's pace.

Egar swung his arm back while taking three big steps as if he were bowling and tossed a ball of fire toward Dekram.

Layol tackled Dekram to the ground as Detaf countered with a bolt of lightning in Egar's direction.

Each ball exploded into a herd of large black beasts with flaming red eyes. Bailing a hunt through long-fanged maws, dripping saliva, ears pressed back against massive heads, the apparitions made the ground tremble when they ran towards their prey, kicking up grass and clover as they got closer to them.

Detaf, who was crouched, arms spread, eyes big, faced off with Egar.

Etah shot a look of pure hatred at Dekram, and then locked eyes with Layol.

Adrenalin pumping, Dekram shot into the air, arms spread, body spinning rapidly until she pulsed florescent green with waves of white light, extending to the center of the field. Pooka, a fairy known to be an unpredictable, untrustworthy Prince of spells, appeared in the ray of light and sent a bellow of wicked laughter through the air. He raised his hands and shot translucent glass across the field that shimmered into two solid mirrors twenty feet in front of each team of advancing hellhounds.

The dark creatures skidded to a dirt scattering halt, and began to do a dance of threatening growls, snorts, and sneers in front of reflections that countered their every move. The largest beast pranced forward only to be mimicked by his reflected adversary, just as threatening, just as feral. The animal bared teeth and snorted a warning, but so did his image, so he howled a command. The pack kicked up dirt, shook big furry heads and yapped understanding. Together they charged the reflection which charged back. Seeing their images running full force at them, the dogs fell over each other to turn in the opposite direction. As they wailed fear and scrambled to their feet they headed toward Egar and Etah.

Detaf zipped for Soahc.

Egar raged with fury. Etah grabbed Soahc, bolted straight up, emitted an unearthly screech, and dusted the animals with a blanket of fire. The dogs burst into flames and big airy ashes seesaw-floated their way down onto the grass. When the smoke and dust settled, charred Fire moaned and groaned to their feet, not one of them wearing wings, including their leader, Egar.

Dekram let out a breath and sucked in another, her eyes following Detaf as he ripped her wings from Soahc's back and she fell to the ground; Etah threw up her hands in surrender. Slowly fairies emerged from the woods with swords sheathed, and changelings followed.

In the back of her mind, Dekram heard Layol and Detaf shout victory, the crowd of Earth, Wind and Water fairies cheering. Obnoxious stings spewed from Soahc, Etah, Egar and the remaining Fire fairies, but all were useless without wings.

As the elder's shouted directions, and winged fairies circled Fire, Dekram felt her heart hammering in her chest. Detaf saved my life. But he is so not Nesohc. I owe him, the fairy of Wandermere, but... Nesohc. The vision of cheering creatures, now in a form unknown to her, began to fade as she sank to her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks. She felt twiggy prickles wrap around her, heard Berrymun coo in her ear. Panting, feeling weak, she slid into his thorny embrace, thought she saw her friend's concerned eyes, and heard Layol's comforting words. Nesohc's face was the last thing she saw, and as she blacked out, she chanted, that was not Nesohc. Not Nesohc. Not Nesohc.

"Take her now," someone urgently whispered.

* * *

SHE WOKE IN the warehouse, alone, a tall round container cast light and it took her a few minutes to realize it was a fire burning in the trash barrel. It was so big now. She felt like Alice in the children's fairytale. A rustling from behind sent her bolting into the shadows, flickering yellow sparkles fell from her wings.

"You ever gonna be able to control that?" Nesohc said behind a chuckle

"Probably not," she answered in a melancholic tinkle.

"You shouldn't have come," he softly whispered.

"Berrymun brought me," she answered, drifting toward his voice.

Then she saw him, a giant of a man, and for a minute she thought she saw things until she noticed a strawberry birthmark shadowing and bridging his nose.

He smiled all the way through his eyes, and a twinkle of the boy she knew shined through.

"Is this why you gave Detaf your wings?" Dekram asked and hurriedly added, "Because age doesn't matter to me, Nes. We could-"

"No, Dekram. I was a changeling, a human stolen at birth. My home is here."

"I could make my home anywhere you are, Nes."

"You're Wandermere's only chance for survival, Dek. Can we both live happily ever after knowing that?"

He's made up his mind, and, o'mifairygodmother, he's right.

Nesohc opened his shirt. A silver locket engraved with a dragonfly rested against his chest over his heart. He opened it and removed a tin box smaller and more delicate than an Enchanter's Nightshade petal. "Detaf wouldn't take my wings because he knew how I felt about you. When I insisted, he asked what he could do for me." Nesohc placed the box in the palm of his hand and Dekram landed next to it.

"What is it?" Dekram asked, blinking back tears as she picked up the small box.

"A small piece of my heart; open it."

Inside was a miniature locket exactly like Nesohc's. Dekram opened it. An engraving of two fairy wings entwined was colorfully etched inside—one clearly a replica of Dekram's, the other Nesohc's. In a rainbow of colors, the word Wandermere arched above the wings."

"But he could have taken another changeling's wings," Dekram whimpered. "You could have come back, Nes." She clutched the locket to her heart.

"He said the same thing, Dek. But I can't toss someone back into the streets in the human world just for us to be together. Can you?"

"They belong here!"

"I belong here. And you belong there."

"But...but maybe destiny has chosen to take away the fairies chance to breed." A weak defense, but one I have to make. Surely Goddess Aine would not let us fall in love if...

"Or, fate chose me to give it back."

* * *

Want to read more by this author? Try THEY’RE SO VEIN (The Grateful Undead Series, Book 1)

http://amzn.to/1PKIoi8

http://thegratefulundead.blogspot.com/

* * *

About Susan Stec

I've always been weird, even as a child—might've been influenced by all those fairies and trolls living in and around the streams behind Grandma's house. Today I live with my husband and three King Charles Spaniels on 50 acres of woods, fields, and streams in upper Michigan.

One's real life is so often the life that one does not lead~~Oscar Wilde

Connect with me on:

TWITTER

GOODREADS

GOOGLE

* * *

Read More by this Author

http://amzn.to/1PORv7E

http://thegratefulundead.blogspot.com/

Sign up for more bargain boxed sets at:

www.hotboxedbooks.com

JUMP TO...

A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE by NOREE COSPER

END OF DREAMS by KIM FAULKS

HAUNT by HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY

DARK CROSSINGS by ANN SIMKO

HEADSPACE by CALINDA B

THE OTHER F WORD by SUSAN STEC

UNLEASHED by RACHEL MCCLELLAN

HIDDEN INTENTIONS by STACY CLAFLIN

THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL by AIMEE EASTERLING

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS by KYOKO M

ST. CHARLES AT DUSK by SARAH M. CRADIT

WICKED BY NATURE by MADISON SEVIER

UNDERLIFE by MARISSA FARRAR

DRAGON’S REDEMPTION by EDEN ASHE

MILAN’S RETURN by GRAE LILY

THE BREAKERS CODE by CONNER KRESSLEY

THE MEDIUM by MR GRAHAM

WICCAN WARS by HEATHER MARIE ADKINS

CARPE NOCTEM by KATIE SALIDAS

A QUESTION OF FAITH by NICOLE ZOLTACK

UNLEASHED

BY RACHEL MCCLELLAN

Copyright © 2014 by Rachel McClellan

After literally stumbling over a dead body in the high school's locker room, Claire's life takes a deadly turn. Not only is a creepy security guard suddenly following her from Bodian Dynamics, the town's highly secretive medical research facility, but also a new kid in town with sinister motives has become dangerously obsessed with her. Even worse? Claire learns the boy is merely an evil alter ego of someone she cares about, and the only way she will survive is if she kills him.

Albert desperately wants to escape his abusive home life. He hopes drinking from the vial he stole from Bodian Dynamics will give him temporary solace. But instead of comfort, something else unleashes inside of him, something powerful and deadly. He tries to control it, especially when his new alter ego sets his sight on Claire, the girl he loves, but his addiction proves too strong. His only hope is for someone to kill him, a near impossible feat.

UNLEASHED

A novel by Rachel McClellan

www.RachelMcClellan.com

This is a work of fiction. Names characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without the permission of the Publisher. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.

Cover design by Rebecca Hamilton

Printed in the United States of America

Copyright © 2014 by Rachel McClellan

All rights reserved

“I sometimes think if we knew all, we should be more glad to get away.”

- Robert Louis Stevenson, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Chapter 1

CLAIRE OFTEN PREFERRED the dark. It saved her from seeing things that scarred the mind like a bad tattoo. The way the security guard’s gaze slid over her like oil would definitely leave some kind of mark. She wouldn’t soon forget the way his bony fingers swirled across his desk, or the way his tongue flicked at his chapped lips. Fortunately, or unfortunately, she knew how to deal with men like him, but that didn’t make her any less uncomfortable.

“Can you just sign the form?” she asked again.

His gaze slowly rose from the desk, paused where it shouldn’t have, then met her eyes. “Tell me again. Why are you here?”

“I’m going to Northwestern in the fall, and they said if I get this form signed and take it into their science department, then I can volunteer here in one of your labs for credit. I already spoke to Lucy in your human resource department, and she said that was fine. So will you sign this please?” She shoved the form toward his hand, hoping to give him a paper cut.

“I’ve got a job you can volunteer for,” he said, his fingers curling into his palm.

A foot below the unkempt mustache smeared beneath his nose was a name tag.

“Listen, Gary, if you won’t help me, then call someone who will.” She nodded toward the closed doors behind him. “I don’t have all day.”

Nor did she have the stomach to stay in this place any longer then she had to. She hated Bodian Dynamics, but she really needed the extra college credits if she was going to make it into Northwestern’s nursing program in a year.

“Why don’t you plant yourself right over there?” He pointed a long finger toward a waiting room. Its walls were the same pasty, gray color as his face. “I can’t sign your form, but I’ll see if Lucy’s back from lunch.”

Claire turned around and walked toward one of four wooden chairs. Before she sat down, she removed a letter from her back pocket. If there was one thing that could get her mind off Gary’s stare, which she still felt on her, it was this letter. It came in the mail this morning. Her band had received an invitation to the Fire and Ice Festival in Portland. This could be her chance to finally put the past behind her and leave this place forever. Maybe she could even transfer to a real university instead of a community college.

She looked up, not realizing she wore a smile until it disappeared. Across from her was a mirror. It reflected Gary, his gray eyes, cold and calculated, fixed in her direction. Why couldn’t he just say what was on his mind instead of swallowing her with his eyes? She could deal with the upfront truth, no matter how disgusting; it was his hidden thoughts that upset her.

She inhaled deeply and smoothed back her long hair. Time for another approach. Claire turned sideways in the chair and stared right back at him. Maybe he would feel as uncomfortable as she had and look elsewhere.

Gary’s bald, greasy head didn’t move, nor did his stiff expression change. However, she did notice his eyes widen ever so slightly, like a recovering alcoholic inhaling a glass of passing wine.

If he wasn’t going to say something, she would. She didn’t care if he was older. “Is there a problem?”

His thin lips twisted upward, wrinkling his weathered skin. “I know you.”

“Doubt that.”

“Yeah, I do. You’re Claire.” He wiped sweat from his brow. “I saw your picture with all that pretty black hair.”

“Where?” She pulled her jacket tighter around her chest. Why was he sweating?

“Your mother. She had it on her key chain at the bar the other night.”

Good job, Mom.  Claire sucked in and looked around. Time to get away from this pervert, even if only for a few minutes. She tucked the letter back into her pocket. “Do you have any vending machines ‘round here? I’m starving.”

“Craving anything special?”

“Do you, or don’t you?”

He smiled and motioned toward a side door. “There’s a couple through there and down the hall, but you can’t go without an escort, and I can’t leave my post.”

She walked to the door and peered through an elongated window. “They’re just right there. Can’t you watch me from here?”

He frowned, but she persisted. “Come on. Please? I’ll be right back.”

Gary knocked his hairy knuckles against the desk. “Fine, but only because you’re Ellen’s daughter.”

He reached over to some kind of electronic board and pressed a button. At the buzz, Claire pushed the door open and walked through. The second it closed and she was no longer being battered by his dirty thoughts, she relaxed and rolled her shoulders back as if to shake off any remaining filth.

The place looked different from what she remembered. The walls were light green instead of bone white, but the place still smelled the same—lemons doused in rubbing alcohol. She’d come here once on a field trip when she was in high school and had accidentally walked into the wrong room—some lab with two scientists. One of them had yelled at her so badly she thought he was going to hit her.

The vending machines were just up ahead. She went to them and scanned the items, taking her time. After settling on a chocolate bar, she leaned away and glanced toward the lobby. Gary stood in the window. He held up a bony wrist and tapped his watch.

Yeah, yeah, I’m hurrying. She reached into her pocket to pull out a handful of change. She was about to feed it into the machine when a door creaked just around the corner.

“—must tell someone,” a woman’s shaky voice said, her fear unmistakable.

“Now hold on a minute,” a man's voice whispered. The footsteps stopped. “I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation. If someone finds out, those vials won’t be the only thing lost.”

Claire held her breath and continued to listen.

“We have an obligation to tell,” the woman said.  “This is a huge security breach!”

“Do you want us all to lose our jobs? Go to jail?”

“How can you think about that?” she said. “You saw what it did to those monkeys.”

Silence followed.

Claire’s pulse raced. Could she somehow sneak back without being heard?

The woman spoke again. “But even worse was what those infected monkeys did to each other. It’s like they enjoyed hurting the normal ones. You saw how they stalked them, searching for weaknesses until they finally attacked and killed them. Could you imagine if a human ingested that same liquid? They could be transformed into—”

Claire’s head bumped into the Plexiglas of the vending machine. The loud thunk jutted through the tension in the air. She must’ve been leaning forward to hear better, but now all she heard were two suddenly silent scientists.

“Wait here,” the male voice said. Footsteps clomped hurriedly toward her.

Claire didn’t stick around to see what the mad scientist looked like. She ran. As soon as she reached the door, she knocked on it like a crazed woodpecker.

Behind her someone called, “Stop!” but just then Gary buzzed the door open, and she bolted.

“Stop her!” the scientist shouted again.

By now, Claire had exited the front doors and was racing toward the parking lot. When the glass doors flew open behind her, she quickly ducked behind a blue sports car, her legs shaking.

“Where’d she go?” the scientist asked.

Claire didn’t hear an answer, but she imagined Gary shrugging.

“Go find her,” he said.

“What did she do?”

“Heard something she shouldn’t have, and I want to find out how much. Just find her and bring her back. I’ll look over here.” Footsteps scraped around the side of the building.

It was several seconds before Gary’s footfalls descended the concrete steps. When he reached the pavement, he slowed, his feet dragging, as if they were dead. She pressed up against the wheel well of the car until the metal rim poked her in the back. She elbowed it and cursed it for being solid.

“I know you’re out here, pretty little girl,” he called. “I saw you from the window.”

She bent down and peered beneath the car. The sole of his black boots shuffled one row over.

“Don’t worry,” he continued. “That crazy scientist is on the other side of the building. It’s just you and me now. Alone.”

Claire flinched as if burned and quickly scurried to the next car over.

“Your mama won’t be happy with you,” he said, clicking his tongue. “I’ll bet you get a spanking for sneaking around. Hearing things you shouldn’t.” He chuckled. “Your life is about to get so messed up.”

A familiar terror, one she hadn’t felt in years, wrapped its cold self around her. She frantically looked around for anyone who might help her out of this predicament, but the parking lot was empty.

“Claire! Oh Claire!” Gary sang. When she didn’t answer, his tone changed, and his next words seemed to freeze the air around her. “You better keep your mouth shut about what you heard, or those you care about might get hurt.”

Claire almost coughed from the sudden tightening in her chest. Who was this asshole?

She was about to steal another look when a bird flew overhead, catching her attention. A raven, black as night, flapped beneath a gray sky. Instinctively, she reached for her necklace. The cool metal of the raven pendant her sister Valerie had given her made Claire remember her dying sister’s last words: “You have to fight, Claire.”

She smiled, tension draining out of her like an unclogged sink. Even years later, Valerie was still taking care of her.

Claire took a deep breath. She could do this. This freak had no power over her.

Very quietly, she moved to the rear of the vehicle to determine the guard’s location. Peeking through the windows, she saw him walking six lanes over. She looked over to the open parking lot gates. If she was fast, she could make it out and then cut through the forest to Deer Creek trail. From there it was only a couple of miles to her house. She could come back for her mother’s car later.

Hunched over, Claire darted across the parking but when she heard Gary yell, “Stop!” she ran harder.

She was almost to the gates when he called after her, “I’ll be seeing you, Claire!”

Just before disappearing from his view, she turned around and flipped him off.

Chapter 2

ALBERT FELT INSIDE his pocket. It was still there, tucked deep inside. He rolled the small, glass vial between his fingers as if it were a gold coin. Just touching it made him feel better, not so trapped.

Hiding between the school and an old shed, he waited until he saw her. He tugged on the branch of a nearby pine tree, pulling off needles one at a time. When the branch was bare, he began on the limb above it until his thumb and forefinger stung.

At exactly eight o’clock, she opened the school’s gym door. Light spilled onto the darkened sidewalk as if it were rolled-out carpet. She flipped her hair back and strutted down the golden runway.

He admired her confidence—that’s why he’d chosen her. One of the reasons anyway. The other was she didn’t know him, not really. To her, he was just a college kid who had picked her up at the movies a few days ago. Technically he wouldn’t be a real college student for another two months, but she didn’t need to know that.

Albert watched her for a moment, standing on the sidewalk talking to her plastic friends. Her jeans were cut low, exposing several inches of white, smooth skin just below her tank top. He inhaled deeply and thought he could smell her hair, strawberries and cream, laced in the wind of the cool night air. His heart pounded and his mouth went dry.

He took a deep breath and pushed his nerves aside. He could do this.

For one week. That’s all the time he’d allow himself. One week to be someone else, someone free from rules and expectations. When the days ended, he’d focus on the concoction’s real application – which he didn’t really understand yet. He’d only overheard a few bits of conversation about it while at Bodian. But he wasn’t worried. There was time to figure it out.

Removing the vial from his pocket, he jerked off the top and downed the liquid in one gulp. Before it hit the bottom of his stomach, his body began to absorb the genetically altering chemicals, sending a searing heat through his blood and into his spine. He collapsed to the ground, his spine arching backwards until he thought it would snap. Pain, more than he thought he could bear, rocked his entire frame. It was so much more intense from when he first tried the serum that he wondered if he’d made a huge mistake. To stop himself from screaming, he covered his mouth with his forearm.

It was almost a full minute before the intense pain finally passed. In its wake came a warm calm, settling upon him like an early morning sunrise. He was free.

He inhaled deeply before he stood up, feeling better than he had in a long time. All his fears and insecurities had faded with the darkness, and he no longer cared about anything: college, family—hell, even his life.

He moved to the side of the school and peeked around the corner. She was by herself now, leaning against a tree, appearing to wait for a ride. Little did she know her plans were about to change.

“Mindy?” he said, coming out of the shadows. His eyes moved away from her naked belly and up to her face. The streetlight above her seemed to hold her in a bright cocoon, protecting her from the encroaching darkness.

She studied him for a minute before saying, “Gage?”

He almost didn’t respond. That name he’d made up when they’d first met still sounded off to him. Maybe he should have given her his first name, but only his parents called him Albert. Instead, he always went by his middle name, which was way cooler sounding. “Yeah, it’s me.”

She grinned and gave him a hug. “How’s it going?”

Her touch ignited every nerve ending in his body. “Much better now that I’m with you.”

“I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

He licked his lips. “How could I resist?”

Some part of him, smothered beneath layers of a foggy conscious, expressed shock at how he was acting. It was so unlike him. But the rest of him reveled in his newfound confidence.

“Whatever.” She nudged him with her hand. “So what are you doing here?”

He forced his eyes up. “My little sister begged me to pick up her friend, but she must’ve gotten a ride with someone else, cuz she’s not here now.”

“Who’s her friend?”

He thought of the most common name he could think of. “Jennifer.”

“Jennifer who? I bet I know her.”

“I don’t remember.” He trailed his fingers down her bare arm and took hold of her hand. “What are you doing right now?”

She let him hold it. “My boyfriend’s picking me up any minute.”

“That’s too bad,” he said, pulling her close.

“Why’s that?” Her eyes met his, challenging him.

“I wanted to take you for a ride. My bike’s just around the corner.”

“Bike, huh? I don’t think my boyfriend would like that.”

“Then we better hurry.” He pulled her forward and, just like he knew she would, Mindy followed.

“Just over here,” he said. He led her toward a motorcycle parked against the curb and handed her a helmet. “You better put this on.”

She didn’t reach for it.

“You look different,” she said, eyes narrowing.

“Do I?”

“Yeah. Your hair. Did you darken it?”

He ran his fingers through it. “No.”

“Weird. Maybe it’s the light.” She took the helmet and pulled it over her long, blond hair.

“Hop on,” he said, swinging his leg over the seat. She did as he said and buried her head into his back. His muscles quivered when her hands slipped beneath his shirt against his bare skin.

Albert drove fast, ignoring stop signs and darting through the scarce traffic of Coquille.  The cold, fall air should’ve chilled him at this speed, but he was warm, almost feverish.

“Where are we going?” Mindy yelled over the roaring sound of the bike’s engine.

“I thought we’d go to the coast,” he called back. She didn’t protest so he guessed it was okay.

Albert took the back roads to Bandon. There’d be no cops there, and even better, the roads were super windy. Just the way he liked them. He went fast, pushing on the brake only when he felt the back tire begin to slip. Cottonwoods and tall elms, shoved occasionally to the side by fat pine trees, pushed up against the road, squeezing it as if to make the pavement smaller. That’s how all of Oregon felt to him: constricting.

Except for now.

He punched through the dense forest, his driving skills having gone up several notches. He knew when to lean, how far, how fast the bike could go before it would crash and burn. All his senses were acutely aware of what was going on around him, especially Mindy’s warm palm pressed against his stomach.

When they reached Bandon, Albert didn’t drive to the beach like he’d intended. Instead, he stopped in front of his old high school, wondering how he’d managed to go there everyday for four years.

Most of the lights were off, but a few classrooms were still lit up—teachers who had nothing better to do on a Friday night. One of them would be his old science teacher Mr. Adam’s. That guy had no life except for his experiments. Even thinking about the dead fetal pig he had to dissect his senior year made him smell formaldehyde.

“What are we doing here?” Mindy asked.

“This is my old school,” he said.

“I hate this place.”

“Why’s that?”

“This is where I lost the state swim meet last year.”

Albert moved off the bike and looked at her. “Retribution?”

She took off her helmet and stared at the school. Her nose flared, marring her pretty face. “Hell, yes.”

“Let’s go then. I know a way in.”

She followed close behind him, holding his hand tightly. The tall trees surrounding the school kept them well hidden until they found the back entrance—one that was rarely used except by the janitor.

Mindy looked around. “Won’t the door be locked?”

“Yeah, but I know its weakness. Me and my friends used to sneak in here to use the pool.” He removed a pocketknife from within his pocket and jammed it into the keyhole. After a couple of turns and twists, the door popped open.

“Lock’s broken. Even the janitor has to jockey it,” he said.

“Won’t teachers hear us?”

“Relax. The pool’s secluded. Of course if you start moaning too loudly, we might get caught.” He smacked her butt when she walked by him into the school.

“That’s not what I’m here for, so don’t get any ideas,” she said over her shoulder.

“We’ll see about that.” Albert moved in front of her. “This way.”

He turned on his cell phone; a dim light spread before them.

“We just have to cut through the cafeteria and down a hall. Then we’ll be at the locker rooms. Stay close,” he whispered.

She stayed behind him, her hand touching his back. Albert couldn’t believe how well the night was going. Just like the first time he’d taken the concoction, he could do no wrong. And if the night continued to go his way, he was going to get lucky.

“You sure know your way to the girl’s locker room,” she said after he flipped on a light.

Their reflection appeared in a mirror opposite them. Mindy was right. His hair was darker. He smiled and stepped closer to her.

“I learned a lot in this room,” he lied. Truth was he’d only been in here once before when he had to get towels for the boy’s locker room.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t think you’re going to teach me anything.”

“Of course I am. Why else did you want to come here?” He was surprised by how he was talking to her. So confident and carefree. The more he spoke, the braver he became.

“To do some damage. Retribution, remember, Gage?”

That name. Gage. “Say my name again.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Gage.”

He smiled. At first he wasn’t sure he liked the name he’d made up, but now he loved it, even more so than his middle name, the name everyone knew him by at school. Albert slipped his finger under the strap of her tank top. “How about we replace a bad memory with a good one?”

“That’s what I want, too, but I don’t want that memory to involve bumping and grinding in a sweaty locker room, okay?” She turned away and headed toward the pool.

Normally something like this wouldn’t have bothered him. Very little did. But for some reason, Albert suddenly hated her. He hated her strawberry-smelling hair, the sway of her hips, her white flesh.

He took hold of her arm and spun her around. “We’re not finished.”

She pushed him away. “Yes, we are. I’m getting out of here.”

Albert grabbed Mindy again and this time he didn’t let go. She opened her mouth to scream, but he covered it with his hand. “Chill out! I just want to talk to you, not hurt you. What’s your problem?”

The feel of her body struggling beneath his grip, excited him more than the sight of her flesh had earlier. He squeezed her to his chest and grinned when her back popped in several places. Her eyes bulged, but not with fear—with anger. Her knee came up hard, connecting with the one spot that would make him let go. He doubled over and fell to his knees.

“You prick!” she yelled and kicked him in the stomach. She turned to walk away, but he reached out and grabbed her ankle hard. His unexpected move caught her off guard and she fell, smashing her head into the end of a wooden bench. Her neck snapped back, and the sound of bones cracking echoed in the tiled room. She remained still, face sideways on the floor.

He caught his breath and sat up. “Mindy?”

Nothing.

He nudged her leg. “Get up. Quit kidding around.”

Silence.

Albert crawled to her and smoothed back her hair. Mindy’s blue eyes were open, like the still eyes of a china doll.  “Mindy?”

He touched his fingers to her clammy neck. When he couldn’t find a pulse, he stood and looked down at her dead body, thinking he should feel something—anger, pity, sadness, or even fear. But he felt no emotion. It was as if he were looking at nothing more than an abstract painting.

He wouldn’t have hurt her, not really, but a girl who breaks into a swimming pool at night with a practical stranger has to be easy. Ask any guy. Would one kiss have hurt? Maybe if she hadn’t been such a prude, she wouldn’t have ended up dead on a dirty floor.

Wiping his hands on his pants, Albert wondered what to do with the body. As far as he knew, no one had seen Mindy go with him. And he’d given her a fake name so if she had told her friends about him, the police would never connect him to this unfortunate accident.

He decided to do nothing. Too much work. After stepping over the body, Albert shut off the lights and made his way to the darkness outside. Maybe he could still find something to do. It was still early after all.

Chapter 3

CLAIRE WIPED WATER droplets from the patrol car’s chrome bumper with a dry towel. “There you go, Smith. All done.”

“Thanks, Claire. And keep the change,” he said, handing her a fifty dollar bill.

She looked up, surprised. “Thanks!”

Ever since her dad went away a few years ago, Brent Smith, the Captain of Bandon’s Police Department and her dad’s former friend, had kept tabs on her. She was glad someone had.

Before Smith rolled up his window, he said, “Good luck in Portland. I know you’ll do well.”

She waved goodbye. We’ll need all the luck we can get. If they rocked it in Portland, there was a good chance they’d sign a record deal. She turned to Kate. “So what does that put us at?”

Kate rummaged through dollar bills in her threadbare wallet. “Um, eighty-nine dollars.”

Steph tossed a wet rag to the pavement and sat down. Her pink drumsticks stuck out of the back of her belt like bunny ears. “So we only have a million more to go.”

Her head slumped onto her knees, spilling straight, brown hair across her short legs.

“Technically we only need maybe a thousand more, enough for gas and hotels, and hopefully food for three days, so quit being such a pessimist,” Kate told her while readjusting her red hair back into a ponytail.

“Yeah, we got this. We’ve done it before, right?” Claire said, remembering the time they’d raised $800 to turn Steph’s garage into a decent studio. Before the remodel, the rundown garage had been a nightmare to practice in. It was as hot as the Mojave Desert and the walls were so thin neighbors were always yelling at them to shut-up.

“Here comes another customer,” Kate said.

Claire turned around just as an old, seventyish-looking car with a long front and back pulled into the school’s parking lot. When it stopped, she walked up to the dark tinted windows. Her tanned reflection and dark hair reflected back. She looked down at her shoes and waited for a second, wondering why the driver wasn’t rolling his window down or opening his door.

Finally she rapped on the window. “Hello? You need a car wash? It’s ten dollars.”

The window rolled down. Claire almost stumbled when she saw who was inside. Gary, the security guard from almost a week ago, was grinning or sneering, she couldn’t tell which.

“Hello, Claire,” he said. The words barely slipped past his tangled mustache.

For the first few days after running from Bodian, she was paranoid that Gary or the scientist would find her, but when nothing happened she’d almost forgotten the event altogether. But seeing Gary now, she remembered his threats and the strange conversation she’d overheard.

“What do you want?” she asked.

He rubbed his palms over the steering wheel. “A lot, but you can start with washing my car, the hood first. I want it nice and wet.”

Claire crossed her arms to her chest. “We’re closed. Done for the day. Sorry.”

She turned to walk away.

“Are these your friends, Claire?” he asked. “People you care about?”

She kept walking.

Kate hurried over to her.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, but smiled big to Gary. “We need every penny we can get.”

“Not from this creep.”

“When are we going on that date?” Gary called. “There’s a lot we got to say to each other.”

Kate looked back at Claire. “Is he for real?”

“Like I said, the guy’s a creep.”

Kate straightened and stepped next to her. “Sorry, but she’s right. We’re done for the day, but you can get your car washed at the gas station just up the street.”

Claire didn’t turn around. When she imagined him staring at her backside, she forced a shiver from erupting on her skin. She didn’t want him to know how he affected her. After a tense few seconds, the car finally drove away.

“Was that a stalker fan?” Steph asked. She was still sitting down.

“Something like that.” Claire tossed her wet rag toward a bucket of water ten feet away. She missed.

“So when’s Logan coming?” Kate said. “I thought he was going to help.”

Logan, Claire’s best friend, stood in as the band’s bass player whenever they needed someone. They’d needed him the last six months.

“He is, but he had to pick his dad up from work,” Claire said.

Steph stood up and slapped her wet rag back and forth on the ground, spraying water in every direction. “With the amount of people who work at Bodian, you’d think they’d have a bus going in and out of town.”

“Isn’t that where Ethan’s dad works too?” Kate asked.

Claire startled at the name. “Ethan Reynolds? What made you think of him?”

“Check it out,” Kate said.

From down the road, two familiar bullet bikes raced toward them.

Kate smoothed her hair back and smacked her lips. “No fighting Claire, okay?”

Corey Jenkins, who’d moved here their junior year in high school, and his best friend, Ethan Reynolds, pulled into the parking lot. Corey stopped his bike inches from hitting Kate, but Ethan hung back. That seemed to be his thing. And being their school’s valedictorian. Claire had always been envious of Ethan’s brain and laid back nature. That’s why she’d fallen hard for him a couple of years ago, but then Valerie had died and she’d had that whole incident with her father. Corey moving to town was just another blow. Ever since then, she and Ethan rarely spoke.

“Hey, Kate,” Corey said. “You’re looking good in white.”

Claire moved next to her protectively and asked, “What are you doing here?”

Corey was the only boy she couldn’t in Bandon. Last year he and Kate had dated for almost eight months, but it ended badly when Kate caught him cheating with a sophomore. Even though Kate was the one who had broke it off, it was obvious she still liked him. Claire hoped after they graduated, they’d never have to see him again.

Corey raked his fingers through his sandy, blond hair. “I hear you guys are raising money for your band. What’s the name again—Lame Addiction?”

He laughed, and Kate joined in.

Claire looked at her, appalled. “That’s not funny, Kate.”

“It’s Grave Addiction,” Steph said. She continued to slap at the ground with the rag.

Kate’s smile faded when she saw that Steph didn’t like Corey’s joke either. “What do you need, Corey?”

“Our bikes washed.” His eyes stayed on Kate.

“We don’t do bikes,” Claire said.

Corey turned to her. “Why not? I hear you do everything else.”

“You’re such a—”

“Of course we’ll wash your bikes,” Kate interrupted, rolling her lucky guitar pick in and out of her fingers.

“How much?” Ethan asked from behind Corey. He raised his sunglasses to his forehead, pushing back dark, shaggy hair.

“Five dollars for both,” Kate said.

“Ten,” Claire corrected.

“Does the principal know you’re here?” Corey asked. “Last I heard you had to be an actual student to earn money on school property.”

“Mrs. Summers said it was fine.”

“Since when does it matter what a secretary says?”

“Since when does it matter what you say?”

Corey paused, then said over his shoulder, “Hey Ethan, weren’t you just saying you saw Claire’s mom on the street corner turning tricks last night?”

Claire kicked the front of Corey’s bike as hard as she could, nearly knocking it and Corey to the ground. Both Corey and Ethan jumped from their bikes, Corey to lash back at Claire, and Ethan to stop him.

Corey reached for Claire over Ethan’s shoulder.

“Lay off, man,” Ethan was saying, trying to calm Corey down.

“Let him go,” Claire said, adrenaline coursing through her blood. “I heard he hits like a girl!”

Kate pulled her back. “Chill out, Claire!”

By this time Steph was standing too.

“Why don’t you get more towels?” Steph asked, nudging her in the opposite direction. “I didn’t bring enough.”

“You want me to drive all the way home?” Claire asked, resenting the distraction. Her house was ten minutes away.

“No. Just borrow some from the girl’s locker room. No one will know.”

“Unless I tell,” Corey said. “Then you’ll have to donate all that money to the school or something.”

“I guess we’ll owe you one,” Kate said, touching his arm.

Claire picked up Steph’s wet towel and tossed it at Kate.

“I’ll be right back,” Claire said and stomped off. What was Kate’s problem? You’d think she would’ve learned by now.

She threw open the front door of the school and kicked the nearest garbage can. Mrs. Summers stuck her head out the office door. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry,” Claire mumbled.

“What do you need?”

“I have to use the bathroom. And…” She went out on a limb. Mrs. Summers, the high school’s secretary, had never let her down before. “Can we borrow some towels from the girl’s locker room?”

Mrs. Summers shrugged, making her shoulder-pads and red, curly hair bounce. “Help yourself. Just make sure you wash and return them this week. I think the swim team’s going to start summer practice soon.”

“Thanks. We will.” Claire smiled and walked to the rear of the empty school. She took a left into the locker room, leaving the lights off as there was just enough light spilling in from the natatorium that she could see the towels sitting on a shelf nearby.

She must not have been paying attention to where she was going because all of a sudden she tripped. She thrust her hands out to break her fall, but not before smacking her head against the tiled floor. Moaning from an instant headache, she rolled over and sat up to see what had tripped her.  An odd figure lay several feet away. A blanket? No, too hard. Was that a hand?

Claire tried to stand to turn the lights on, but her head spun. She sat back down on the floor. The natatorium’s faint light wasn’t enough to make out details, but something looked very wrong with the heap in front of her. And felt wrong, too.

She moved closer, crawling on her hands and knees, while her eyes tried to adjust to the darkness. She reached out and touched the hard form. Her fingers grazed what felt like skin, but it was cold, as cold as the tiled floor.

She leaned forward, but still couldn’t tell what she was looking at. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and turned it on in the direction of the object. Only inches from her face, dull light illuminated the frozen, milky, white eyes of a girl, a dead girl.

Claire screamed and scrambled backwards, dropping her phone with a clatter that shattered her nerves.

She didn’t remember much after that. She knew she was running down the hall, feeling emotions she swore she’d never feel again. Along with them came violent memories of her father that threatened to bring her to her knees.  She was screaming or was that terrifying sound only inside her head?

Claire heard Mrs. Summers calling her name as she raced past the office. The front door opened, but Claire didn’t know if she was the one who had opened it. Everything was a chaotic blur until she smashed into something warm and solid. Arms came around her and held her tight.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” a male voice said. Calm and smooth. Ethan’s voice.

She buried her face into his chest to hide her wet eyes. “We need to call the police. A girl. It’s horrible.”

“Claire? Are you all right?” Mrs. Summers asked behind her.

Ethan’s arms held her close. “She said we need to call the police.”

“What’s happened, Claire?”

She felt a palm press on her shoulder. She turned her head and whispered to Mrs. Summers, “There’s a dead girl in the locker room.”

Mrs. Summer’s face turned the same shade of white as her blouse. “Are you sure?”

Claire nodded. She knew death too well. Something horrible had happened to that girl.

Mrs. Summers rubbed her back. “Take care of her, Ethan. I’ll call the police.”

She turned and walked away.

After she left, Ethan said nothing. He simply held her and stroked the back of her head while she tried to stop shaking. It almost felt like old times.

Pull it together, Claire. She forced herself to think of something else. The band. Singing. The Fire and Ice concert. Her breathing slowed.

Not far away she heard her friends laughing. I should be with them, Claire thought, but she couldn’t move.

Then she heard a familiar voice say, “What are you guys doing?”

Ethan’s arms dropped and he stepped away. She thought she would fall, but she remained upright.

Ethan lowered sunglasses back over his eyes and said, “Claire’s upset.”

Logan, who must’ve just arrived, moved to her side. “What happened?”

She shook her head and tried to speak, but only managed to mumble.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here. You can tell me later.”

Claire leaned her head against his shoulder and walked with him toward Kate and Steph. She loved Logan. They’d been friends since the first grade when she’d peed her pants, and he covered for her by saying he pushed her into a puddle—and he never let her forget it either. Since that day she had tried to repay him, but he always did something else that left her forever in his debt, including finding the apartment complex they were all going to live in come fall.

Kate moved away from Corey when she saw them approaching, but Claire noticed the way Corey’s hand lingered on Kate’s arm. She used her hatred of him to strengthen her, to rebuild the emotional wall that had crumbled the moment she saw the dead girl.

“I’m taking Claire home,” Logan said to the group.

“Huh? Why?” Kate asked. Steph stood up from the sidewalk.

Claire tried to hide her eyes, which were still brimming with tears, but they saw.

“Oh no! Claire, what’s wrong?” Kate said, rushing over with Steph beside her. As far as Claire knew, this was the first time she’d ever cried in front of them.

Corey smirked. “Did you get busted stealing towels?”

“Shut the hell up,” Logan said.

Corey stepped forward. “You going to make me?”

Logan met him halfway.

“Enough!” Claire said, finding her voice and the rest of her strength. “The police will be here soon.”

Logan turned to her. “Why?”

“Because I found a girl in the locker room. Dead.”

Everyone went silent for a long moment. Finally, Logan said in a hushed tone, “I can’t believe it! That’s horrible. Are you okay?”

Claire straightened her shoulders. “I’m fine.”

As long as I don’t close my eyes. She looked away. Not far off, Ethan was leaning against the school, looking in their direction. She couldn’t help but wonder what he must be thinking.

“Do we know her?” Steph asked, staring at the school.

She followed her gaze. “I don’t think so.”

Mrs. Summers came out of the front doors and walked toward them. Claire knew by the frightened look in her eyes that she’d seen the body too.

“The police will be here any minute,” Mrs. Summers said when she reached them. “They’ll want to talk to each one of you, especially you, Claire. Why don’t you all come wait in the office? It’s going to be a long afternoon.”

Mrs. Summers was right. The police took forever doing whatever it was they did when someone dies, and afterwards they interviewed each one of them. Claire had to be interviewed twice—once on site and again at the police station. And by the questions they were asking, she got the feeling they thought the girl had been murdered.

At the suggestion of a police officer, she called her mother, but when Claire told her what had happened her mother asked if she could deal with it on her own. She was at work and they needed the money, she reminded Claire. Yes, definitely more important.

Fortunately, Logan stayed with her the entire time, one more thing she’d owe him for. Afterwards, he drove her home. It was nighttime, and although the sky was dark, the windows in her home were darker.

“Is your mother home?” Logan asked when he turned off the car’s engine.

Claire stared out the window. “It’s a Saturday night. She won’t be back for hours.”

“Working?”

“Something like that.”

“You going to be okay tonight?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, but inside she trembled.

Logan opened his door. “Let me at least walk you in.”

She waited for him to round the car, her hands gripping the dashboard. The car felt safe. Her home was empty. A cracked shell.

Logan opened the passenger door. “It’s going to be okay. You’ll see.”

She forced a smile and stepped outside, away from the shelter of the car, and followed him across long, green grass that was in desperate need of a cut. It slowed her down, making her want to stop. To not move forward.

“I’ve never been questioned by a policeman before,” Logan said. “What a freak show.”

She wasn’t listening. Panic threatened to choke her the closer she came to the front door. Why was she so scared? It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen death before. But never had it been so unexpected and in her face. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the girl’s open, pale, blue eyes, staring at her like they wanted to tell her a secret.

Logan stopped walking. “Do you have a key?”

She stared at the front door. “What?”

“A key to get in?”

“Right. Sure.” She removed a key from her pocket and tried to slide it into the keyhole, but she was shaking so badly that it fell from her hand.

“Claire?” Logan asked. He bent down and picked it up.

“I’m fine.”

“Look at me.”

She couldn’t do it. She’d already cried once today, and that was once more than Logan had seen in all the time they’d known each other. Her darkened image reflected back in the door’s window. It was so dark she couldn’t see her eyes.

He stepped between her and the door.

“Look at me,” he said again.

Her eyes slowly met his and she shook her head. “I can’t be alone. Please. Don’t leave me.”

Tears fell again. That made twice.

He hesitated before putting his arms around her, but when he did, she didn’t recoil from being touched. Not surprisingly she hadn’t when Ethan had held her, either. There were benefits to feeling numb.

“It’s okay,” Logan said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She inhaled deeply, her breath quivering while more tears fell. He was staying. She wasn’t alone. She had faced death once before with her sister. Give her anything else to battle, and she could do it, but death was something she just didn’t know how to fight.

Chapter 4

ALBERT CLOSED HIS eyes and opened them again. Through a shops front window, jammed into long line of tourists all hoping for ice cream, Claire Williams waited her turn. She looked the same as always: long dark hair, tanned skin, and bright green eyes. But she wasn’t the same. Not even close.

The hard exterior he’d grown accustomed to over the years had crumbled the day she’d discovered the girl’s body. He’d seen her exposed, had felt her naked emotions bleeding onto his arms. To experience the vulnerability of someone who appeared void of feeling had made him reconsider his whole outlook on life. If Claire could do this, then maybe others could too. Maybe even his father.

Albert wondered what it’d take for his dad to show emotion, to destroy his obsessive need to control. That’s what emotions were to him—uncontrollable.

He looked up just in time to see Claire coming toward the front door holding a tall waffle cone. He quickly ducked into the neighboring tourist shop wanting to go unnoticed. He discovered days ago that when he did this, he could catch glimpses of her softer side that he never noticed before. Like the other day when she’d gone out of her way to help a handicapped kid cross the street, or another time when she tried to break up a fight (she ended it by throwing a few punches herself, but that hadn’t been her initial goal). Claire seemed to notice what others didn’t, and he was sad he hadn’t noticed it sooner.

As soon as she passed, he fell in step behind her with several people between them. Summers were always crowded in Bandon. Normally he hated the swell of tourists that came with the warmer weather, but lately he loved the cover. It gave him a chance to watch Claire unnoticed.

Claire didn’t seem to notice the people around her as she licked at her cone. She was always in her own world and had been for a long time. It was a world she often spoke of escaping. Maybe that explained her perma-pissed expression.

It’s not that Claire didn’t have good reason to be upset. Everyone knew her older sister died of cancer a few years before. At her sister’s funeral, Claire had sat by herself, dry-eyed, even after her mother had arrived late, drunk and slurring obscenities. Her father hadn’t shown up at all. And shortly after that he was sent to prison. No one really knew why, but there were rumors.

Claire paused at the corner of the street and looked around as if she was looking for someone. After a few seconds, she continued on. Albert followed. Since that day he’d held her, she had unknowingly become a bright light in his life, shining through the darkness that continued to plague him.

He closed his eyes tight, remembering the night with Mindy. The moment the Bodian drug had left his system, he couldn’t believe what had happened.  The violent way he’d handled her appalled him so much that he was sick every day after. He’d even seriously considered suicide, but then Claire had cried. Her tears had given him hope. She was someone he thought he knew really well, but those tears had proved him wrong.

“Come on, Claire. Let’s go!” Kate called from the front seat of a beat-up Corolla across the street from her.

He followed Kate’s gaze until he found Claire in front of a t-shirt shop. She was handing a flyer to a girl he didn’t recognize.

“One sec,” Claire called back. A minute later she jumped into the car with Kate.

Albert walked over to the girl holding the flyer. “Can I see that?”

“You can have it,” she said. “Not my type of music.”

He took the paper and read over it. This weekend Grave Addiction and a few other local bands were playing at the Bandon fairgrounds. This was information he already knew. He folded the flyer and shoved it into his back pocket.

The whole way home he thought of Claire. He had to. If he didn’t, then his thoughts would return to the way Mindy’s head had slammed into the wooden bench, or how incredibly powerful the drug had made him feel. Either thought made him queasy. So did driving up his driveway.

He sat in the car for several minutes, staring at his family’s ordinary tan house and its ordinary lawn. But what it sheltered wasn’t ordinary. A therapist could spend their whole career studying his family’s jacked-up dynamics and still never come up with an explanation for their behavior.

Cursing under his breath, he opened the car door and headed inside. His father wouldn’t be home for another couple of hours, but his mom would be waiting for him. With a list.

“Where have you been?” his mother said the second he stepped inside.

He opened the hall closet and hung up his jacket and backpack, then removed his shoes. When he turned around, his mother was blocking his path to the kitchen. The bun at the back of her head was pulled so tight it strained the skin on her face.

“I asked you a question,” she said again.

“I just got off work.”

“You should’ve been home fifteen minutes ago.”

“I was sitting in the driveway.”

She blinked. “Let me see your hands.” Her thin lips stretched to the sides of her face like a puppet’s.

“Why?”

“Are you questioning me?”

He raised his arms, palms turned up. She gripped them with vulture-like claws and inspected them thoroughly, even sniffing them.

“Did I pass?” he asked. For some reason, his mother always thought he secretly smoked.

Her claws curled into a fist, but she left one finger pointed at his chest. “You watch it young man or we’ll revoke your free time.”

“I have plans this weekend,” he said, trying to stay calm.

“Plans can change.” She removed a crisp piece of paper from her apron and handed it to him. “Maybe if you finish this by the time your father comes home, I might not tell him about your tardiness.”

“Fine.” He looked down at the paper. Usual stuff—cleaning the same places that had been cleaned twenty-four hours ago. Two more months. Then he was done with this shit.

“Well?” his mother said, still standing in front of him.

He looked up. Her stern puppet face had been replaced by the face of an angel. She batted her eyes and smiled.

“What?” he asked, totally confused.

“Don’t I get a hug? You are my boy after all.”

He paused, wondering if he should decline, but that would definitely seal his fate for the weekend. Leaning toward her, he reached around her back and patted lightly, trying to ignore the bile rising in his throat.

“That’s more like it,” she said. “Now be a good boy and don’t forget to shower after your chores.”

He left quickly.

His mother hadn’t always been psycho. He still had memories of a normal mom who used to take him to the park and read to him, but that was before his older brother of nearly eight years had turned into a meth head and ended up in prison for shooting a couple of people during a home invasion. The day Benjamin was taken away something had snapped in his mom’s brain, and she hadn’t been the same since. For years he tried to understand her craziness, even feeling sorry for her at times, but now all he felt was revulsion.

After sticking headphones into his ears and cranking the music, he began his jobs, starting with spraying off the house. Because he’d done it the day before, he simply waved the spray of water back and forth to give the illusion of cleaning. No doubt his mother had her ear to the wall, listening to his every move.

He finished spraying the house, then mowed the lawn, swept the driveway and the garage, tried to find something to trim on the bushes, washed the cars, and finally went upstairs to clean his room. He was slow going up the white, carpeted stairs, and took deep breaths to calm his sudden racing heartbeat. Cleaning his room was the worst of the chores.

Albert stopped at his bedroom door, his hand shaking just above the doorknob. Out of the corner of his eye, his mind registered something out of place in the long, darkened hallway. He glanced over. His mother was standing erect at the end of the hall, her hands clasped together. She didn’t say anything, didn’t blink, didn’t move. She just stared, her eyes made darker by the lack of sunlight in the narrow space.

The cold metal of the doorknob touched the underside of Albert’s palm, and he jumped as if shocked. He quickly turned the handle and slipped inside his room, closing the door behind him. Breathing heavily, he leaned against the door, keeping his eyes closed. He was hoping he’d hear his mother walk by, but he didn’t hear anything. For all he knew she was still standing there. Sometimes she’d stay like that for hours.

After some time, Albert opened his eyes. His reflection looked back at him, face pale and forehead beaded with sweat.  He wanted to turn away, but it wouldn’t make a difference if he did. No matter where he looked, he saw himself. Years ago his parents had lined every wall in his room with mirrors. And every day he had to clean them.

Albert set to the task, all the while thinking about the Bodian drug hiding beneath his bed. It could make all of this go away. But then he remembered Claire.

At six o’clock on the dot, his father came home. He listened from his room as the front door opened and closed. He looked down at his watch. If his dad didn’t come see him within three minutes, then Albert would know his mother had told him about being late.

When the second hand on his watch passed the allotted time, his chest tightened. He would be grounded for the weekend (didn’t matter that he was almost nineteen), and that meant he couldn’t see Claire. His insides began to tremble, and his sanity felt as if it had been dropped into a blender.

Maybe he could ask for the paddles instead. It had been several months since they’d been used, but he knew his dad still considered the option. He’d threatened it just last week. Sometimes Albert wished his father were a raging alcoholic who lashed out in anger. That would be much easier to accept than a—

The door opened. His father’s massive frame filled the doorway. “Your mother said you were late, Albert.”

Albert grimaced at the sound of his given name. He wished he never had to hear it. “Only by fifteen minutes, and I was just in the driveway.”

His father’s chest rose and fell. Deep breaths, slow and steady. “Don’t make excuses. You know the rules, and until you move out, they have to be followed.”

“Yes.”

“Other than going to work, you’ll be staying home this weekend.”

“Please, Dad. I already have plans.”

“I don’t care about your plans.” He turned to leave. His ironed blue shirt barely moved. A shell.

“Wait!”

His father stopped and turned around. Dark eyebrows shadowed even darker eyes.

Before his father could scold him, Albert quickly said, “Can you punish me another way?”

His father’s gaze moved to a set of paddles hanging on a mirror. “You will receive both punishments for questioning me. I’ll be back in one hour.”

The door closed.

Albert cursed and smashed his fist repeatedly into a pillow. Months ago, he had stopped trying to convince his parents that he would never become like his brother. They didn’t believe him then, and they weren’t about to now. In their minds, the family name would never be tarnished again, and they saw to this by imposing crazy rules and punishments upon him.

Clenching his jaw, he squished beneath his bed and scooted to the back corner. There was no reason for him to feel like this. Not anymore. He curled his fingers around the edge of the carpet and pulled back, exposing a wooden floor.  After removing the nearest board, he peered in and stared at the glass vials.

He’d promised himself that he would throw them away after what had happened with Mindy, but now he was glad he hadn’t. He reached in and took hold of the nearest tube. Just touching the cool glass relaxed him, and he inhaled deeply.

Wriggling back out from under the bed, he sat on the floor and studied the clear liquid. He remembered the day he’d stolen it. His father had taken him to work late at night to retrieve paperwork he said he’d forgotten. Because his dad’s buddy was working security, he let him take Albert into an area normally forbidden to outsiders.

While there, he overheard his dad and the guard talking about Bodian Dynamics’ latest project for some huge corporation. Their scientists were developing a drug to make soldiers, not only fearless in battle, but stronger, too. His father pointed out the concoction on the other side of the lab, admiring its application. “If this works,” he’d heard his dad say, “then someone’s going to have one hell of an army. Finally the world will have some real men in it.”

As soon as his father left, Albert entered the sterile room and took as many vials as his coat pockets could handle. His father didn’t notice anything amiss when he returned, but if he had looked closely, he would’ve noticed sweat dripping from Albert’s forehead.

Albert couldn’t explain why he’d done it. Maybe he was tired of pretending to be someone else, to both his parents and his friends. Or maybe he just wanted to prove to himself that he was worth something.

Holding the glass to the light, he stared at the vial, unable to comprehend how such a small amount could make him feel so incredible. He pulled a black plug from off its top. Just a few drops, he thought. Just enough to numb the pain.

He took a small gulp then quickly plugged it again.  A sharp, searing heat ignited his insides, but within a few ragged breaths, he felt better. He stared at his reflection, waiting to see if his appearance would change. Luckily it didn’t. Maybe he’d have to drink all of it for that to happen.

He kicked off his shoes and collapsed backwards into bed, hands behind his head, and thought of Claire.

Sometime later, a brief moment of terror sliced through his calmness when he heard the squeaking of wheels rolling on the wooden floor outside his room. One rotation after another, their squeals turned the room cold and the air foul, but Albert’s fear was quickly muffled by the pleasant euphoric sensation of the Bodian concoction.

Like he’d promised, Albert’s father arrived one hour later. He opened the door, pulling a small, familiar cart behind him. On it was a fully charged, industrial-sized battery, a single green light blinking on its top next to a red button.

His father didn’t look at Albert as he removed the paddles from the hook on the mirror, mindful to keep the long cord between them from tangling. He found the end and plugged it into the battery, then reached into his pocket for a familiar-looking, small bottle.

“You know what to do,” he said.

Albert took the bottle from him and calmly squeezed gel onto the electrode paddles that his father held in each hand. This sure is a lot easier than all the other times. Albert almost laughed at how afraid he used to be of this whole process.

After his father attached the electrodes to each side of Albert’s head, he said, “Put in your mouthpiece.”

Albert reached for the chewed-up, blue mouthpiece on his nightstand. Anyone else might think he was a serious football player if they saw it and never guess what it actually was—the only thing that prevented his teeth from breaking when his father shocked him. His mother was convinced this sort of treatment would curve any deviant behavior and probably would’ve saved his brother had they used it. “I’ve felt your pain,” she’d told him once. “Shocking treatments were the only thing that stopped me from hurting you or your brother when you were babies.”

As soon as the mouthpiece was in his mouth, his father bent down, his blue eyes level with Albert’s. “When this is finished and you wake up, you are to stay in your room the rest of the night. No dinner.”

Albert shrugged like it was no big deal. He really didn’t care. He felt great.

The briefest of shadows crossed his father’s face, and Albert swore he had almost smiled, but then his father straightened and walked back to the box. He glanced at Albert one last time, his finger hovering just above the red button.

And then he pushed it.

A jolt of electricity shot through Albert, sending his arms and legs into the air, shaking violently. Searing pain raced from the top of his head all the way to his toes until he fell over backwards, his body contorting in ways that would leave him swore for days after.

But not this time.

Albert kept his eyes closed to give the illusion of being unconscious, the typical response from being shocked, but as soon as his father closed the door, taking with him the squeaking cart, Albert sat up and stretched his limbs. The pain had been great in the moment, but was gone only a second after. A wonderful response.

He turned to the clock on his nightstand. By seven his mother would be in bed reading and his dad holed up in the office working on who knew what.  They wouldn’t check on him or say goodnight; they never did. Only one more hour and then he was out of here.

To pass the time, he thought about looking at different schools that weren’t so close to home, despite having already been accepted into the local college, but his body was too much of a mess, pulsing with energy. He paced the room, tugging at his hair, until he dropped to the ground and pumped out one hundred push-ups in less than a minute. Then he started the process all over again.

Seven fifteen arrived just in time. A second longer and he would’ve smashed all the mirrors in the room. Albert pressed his ear to the door and listened closely to the sounds in the home. All was quiet.

It took a little effort, but he managed to slide open the window noiselessly. He swung his legs over the windowsill and climbed to the roof by way of a nearby rain gutter. It wasn’t the safest route, but it beat jumping to the ground and into prickly rose bushes, strategically placed by his parents.

Once on the roof, he snuck to the other side and jumped into a nearby tree not far from his parents’ window. A risky move, but it was worth it. There was someone he wanted to see.

Chapter 5

CLAIRE PULLED UP to the local mini-mart about 8:30 p.m. The brakes on her mother’s old van grinded to a halt, and she jammed the gear into park, cursing it and everything else. There was no food in her house and before her mom had crashed onto the couch, she’d tossed her the keys to her van and a fifty-dollar bill.

“Make sure you get Oreo’s,” her mother had said after clicking on the television.

Claire did as she asked, but only because she was starving. She and her mother rarely got along; they were more like roommates than anything else. Claire just couldn’t relate to her. Her mother didn’t know how to fight life, only accept whatever was thrown at her as if she had no other choice.

Stepping out of the van, she closed the door and glanced around. A few tourists still walked up and down the boardwalk, looking for open souvenir shops. A lot of the locals didn’t like the tourists, but she did. They made Bandon grow and without them, their town would be stuck in a provincial bubble.

She went to the front door of the grocery store and, using the sleeve of her jacket, reached to open the glass door, but stopped when the reflection of someone standing across the street caught her eye. She turned around. Between a restaurant and a t-shirt shop stood a boy wearing a black Bandon High sweatshirt, hands stuffed in his pockets. A hood shadowed all but his lips.

She waved, assuming she knew him if he had gone to Bandon (their high school hadn’t been that big), but he didn’t move, didn’t even shift his weight. His odd stillness gave her the creeps, so she quickly turned back around and ducked inside the store.

It didn’t take long to get the groceries she needed. Most of the food was meals she could heat up in the microwave, along with the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies, her favorite. At the last second she remembered the Oreo’s and paid for the items.

Arms loaded with grocery bags, Claire walked out into the parking lot. She glanced across the street—stare-hard was gone. Good.

She slid open the side door of the van, set the groceries inside, then closed the door. When Claire turned around, she caught sight of the sea. The sun had just begun to set, spreading its rays across the ocean like thick honey. She loved this time of day and seriously considered walking down to the beach to enjoy the last of the daylight.

Just then she heard the sound of a motorcycle cruising down the road. It pulled into the parking lot and stopped next to her. The driver removed his helmet and turned toward her. She smiled.

“How’s it going?” Logan asked. He smoothed back his thick, sandy hair. Even though it was messy, it still looked great.

She folded her arms. “Since when do you ride motorcycles?”

“It’s the same as riding a dirt bike.”

“I know, but when did you get one?”

After lowering the kickstand, he swung his leg over the bike’s seat and sat on it sideways. “A couple of months ago. I finally found something worthy to spend my money on.”

“I thought you only worked at Leo’s for the girls. I didn’t realize there was an actual point.” Logan was a waiter at the local steak house; Claire loved the free burgers.

He shrugged. “I’ve got depth.”

Claire laughed. “Since when?”

Logan was a ladies man and a jokester who never seemed to worry about anything. Sometimes she wished she had his life.

Logan glanced away, his eyes serious.

“So what are you doing out here?” she asked.

“Had to get out of the house.”

She nodded, understanding. Logan didn’t talk much about his home life. In fact, she’d only met his parents a few times in all the years she’d known him. According to Logan they were private people, who were only happy around each other.

He stood up and moved over to her. “How’ve you been doing?”

“Living the dream in Bandon, Oregon.” She forced a smile. It had been almost two weeks since she stumbled into that dead girl, but she still couldn’t sleep without a night-light.

Logan touched her lightly on the arm. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

She nodded and moved back a step. “So I was thinking of going to the beach for awhile. Want to come?”

“Um, I don’t know. I can’t be gone long.” He looked toward the road, then back to her. “Wait here for a minute? I have to go inside and get some things.”

“Sure.”

“Cool.” He dashed inside.

She leaned against the van and quietly sang her band’s latest song. For the first time, Kate had written the lyrics and surprisingly, Claire liked them. On the other side of her van she heard a car pull up, but she ignored it while she tapped against the metal door.

“Hey,” a voice said.

She turned her head and immediately straightened when she saw who it was. Ethan stood on the sidewalk wearing a black t-shirt and dark jeans. Since that day she’d cried all over him, he hadn’t talked to her, but that didn’t surprise her. Why would one random event make them friends again?

“Hey,” she said.

Ethan stepped off the sidewalk, closer to her. “I have something for you.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out her cell phone. The one she’d dropped in the girl’s locker room. The police had kept it because it was “evidence.” Evidence of what, she didn’t know.

She took it from him. “How’d you get it?”

“Yesterday I was visiting the police station, and I overheard Smith saying they were done with it, so I told him I’d take it to you.”

“Is that what you do for fun? Visit police stations?”

He chuckled. “Actually I was getting my passport at the courthouse. Smith was in the hall talking about it.”

“Passport, huh?  I always knew you’d something bigger with your life.” Claire didn’t look at him. Instead she turned the phone over in her hand. “So I guess I’m not a suspect anymore.”

“You never were.”

“Sure felt that way. Do they know what happened yet?”

He shook his head and looked toward the ocean. “They lifted a bunch of prints from the light switch, but it didn’t match anyone in their records.”

“Did you know her?” She couldn’t say her name.

Ethan’s blue eyes returned to hers. “No. But a few of my friends did. They went to her funeral on Tuesday.”

She looked down at the ground, her heart pounding. She hated funerals.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“Fine.” She kicked a pebble across the pavement.

“You’re lying.”

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“No one would be fine after seeing that. You don’t need to act like it doesn’t bother you.”

Surprised by his insight, she said nothing.

“Cool bike. Whose is it?” he asked.

“Logan’s. He’s inside.”

He stuffed his hands into his pocket and looked toward the store. “Have you eaten yet? I’m starving.”

She tried not to stumble back. Was he asking her out? “Um, I might be going to the beach with Logan.”

Just then Logan walked out with an armful of junk food. He stopped when he saw Ethan.

“Hungry much?” Claire asked him.

He looked down at the food. “A little. What are you guys doing?”

“I was admiring your bike,” Ethan said. “You ride?”

“Mostly dirt bikes, but I just got this.”

“Nice. So you guys going to the beach?” Ethan asked.

Claire’s eyes met Logan’s.

“Yes,” Logan said. “We are.”

Ethan returned to the sidewalk. “Have fun then. Oh, and Claire? I only got the passport for a second photo ID. I’m not going anywhere.”

The way he said it brought heat to Claire’s face. “Thanks for the phone.”

He smiled and disappeared into the store.

“What was that all about?” Logan asked. He ripped open a candy bar and took a bite.

“I think he asked me out. Weird, huh?”

“Really?” Logan offered her a licorice rope. “But you guys don’t even speak to each other.”

“Exactly.” She accepted the licorice and walked toward the beach. “I don’t think this month can get any crazier.”

But just then Logan took hold of her hand.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING, Claire woke with a screaming headache. She’d laid awake until almost three in the morning, thinking about Logan’s odd behavior at the beach. After he tried to hold her hand, he continued to hit on her until she finally said she had to go. They’d been friends forever, but not once had he ever tried to put the moves on her. Maybe a combination of the sunset, pristine beach, and calm ocean waters had gotten to him, and he’d had a soap opera moment.

Whatever the reason, she hoped it didn’t happen again. It’s not that she didn’t find Logan attractive, she did, but she couldn’t be with a guy when she knew the details of all of his previous love conquests. It was gross.

Claire quickly, yet quietly, dressed for band practice in jeans and a red tank top. Her mother had fallen asleep on the couch and waking her would be like waking a bear out of early hibernation. She sent Kate a text to remind her to pick her up and then snuck into the kitchen for a bowl of cereal. Just to be sure the bear slept peacefully, she ate outside on the back porch.

Early morning sunlight wove its way through the tops of the trees and onto their faded redwood deck. She and her father had painted it over five years ago and although it was in desperate need of another coat of paint, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Too many bad memories.

She took another bite of cereal and rubbed her foot against a curled-up sliver of wood. While watching the movement of her foot, she became vaguely aware of something out of place, but it took a moment for her brain to process the abnormality. Finally, she stood up and looked around.

All over the deck were muddy footprints from what looked like big tennis shoes – not her size or her mothers. She followed the prints off the deck and into the back yard, which was basically a forest. After trailing them for about twenty yards, she stopped and turned around.  They probably belonged to one of her mother’s many male interests.

Claire followed them back to the house, but froze when she realized the footprints took a detour and ended at her bedroom window. Her heart began to pound and she frantically looked around as if searching for an attacker. Not because of the crushed foliage beneath her window, but because of the mud smeared across the glass by what looked like five fingers.

Chapter 6

CLAIRE GLANCED AROUND and then darted back inside, anxious to get out of the open. She considered showing her mom what she had found, but decided against it when she saw her mother sleeping, her hands tucked up under her chin. Her mom had had it rough. Claire didn’t blame her for anything, just pitied her.

She reached out and smoothed back her mom’s graying hair. It didn’t used to have gray in it. It used to be shiny and dark like maple syrup. She could’ve been in a hair commercial, but then guilt and stress had killed it. Claire touched her own hair and moved away.

Instead of waiting outside for Kate, she watched from the kitchen window until Kate’s car pulled up. She hurried outside, keeping her head on a swivel, until she opened the car’s passenger door and climbed in. As always, Kate looked awesome, like she’d stepped out of a Neiman Marcus catalog. If it wasn’t for Kate’s keen fashion sense, Claire would be satisfied wearing pajamas, but Kate always made sure she was presentable.

“Our band has to uphold its image. We can’t have you screwing it up,” Kate always told her. Although Claire knew she was joking, her words held truth.

On the way to breakfast, something they always did before Saturday morning practice, she told Kate about the footprints.

“Maybe it’s a friend of your mothers,” she said.

“That’s what I thought, too, but why would the pervert be looking in my window?” As soon as the words left her mouth, Gary’s scary image came to her mind. He wouldn’t, would he? She shook her head, knowing that he would.

“Did you check beneath your mother’s window?” Kate was inspecting her cherry-red nails while also trying to watch the road.

She frowned. “No.”

“Well there you go. He probably saw you, and then moved on to find your mother—which he regretted and then returned to watch the true beauty in the home.”

She smacked Kate’s arm. “Stop! The last thing I want to think about is a peeping Tom. As if I’m not freaked out enough by that girl in the locker room.”

And Gary and the conversation she’d overheard.

“Right. Sorry. It was probably nothing. The gas man, maybe, looking to see if anyone’s home.”

“Yeah, the gas man,” Claire mumbled.

Kate parked in front of The Waffle House. There were only a few other cars in the lot, Steph’s being one of them.  She was early to everything, and was probably already done eating.

“So I think I found a bass player to replace Logan,” Kate said.

“Good.”

Kate opened her door. “Why? I thought you liked having him play with us.”

Claire followed her out. “I did, but he’s been acting weird lately.”

“Weird, how?”

“I think he likes me,” she said and grimaced, like the words tasted bad.

Kate burst out laughing and started for the diner.

“What’s so funny?”

“He’s like your brother.”

“I know, right?”

Kate tossed her hair over her shoulder. “So are you into the whole incest thing?”

“That’s sick. And no, I’m not into him. I don’t think, anyway.”

Kate lowered her head and whispered, “Logan. Ten o’clock.”

She turned around. Logan was walking across the street toward them grinning.

“How are my two most favorite ladies this early in the morning?” he asked.

Kate’s eyes met hers and she laughed again. “I’ll leave you two alone. See you inside.”

“What’s that all about?” Logan asked.

Claire shrugged and stared after Kate, wishing she hadn’t left her alone.

“You ready for tonight?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure. I hope we raise enough money though.”

“We will. I know a lot of people who are coming.” He moved to go inside.

“Logan,” Claire said, stopping him. “I guess we won’t be needing you after tonight. In the band.”

His eyebrows rose. “How come?”

“Kate found someone else.”

He paused and looked down. “Hey, if this is about last night, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“It’s not about that, but, yeah, it was weird.”

He shrugged. “I’ll back off then, but I want you to know that I like you, and have for a long time. But your friendship means more to me. Maybe in the future?”

Claire smiled. “Sure. If you still like me when I’m thirty, then I’m all yours.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” He returned the smile. “Now let’s hurry before Kate eats out the restaurant.”

* * *

THEY HAD BEEN in Steph’s garage for almost three hours, but only practicing for two of them, thanks to a broken guitar string. Claire didn’t complain though. Something far more important had earned her angry cursings—the weather. It started out as a slow drip, but by the afternoon it was a full on downpour. She kept hoping it would lighten up by the time the concert started, but no such luck and she was pissed. Of all nights for it to rain, why did it have to be tonight?

She glanced around the corner of the stage. A crowd had gathered, but not as big as it should’ve been.

“At least we didn’t have to cancel,” Steph said.

Claire turned around. Steph, who looked unconcerned about their predicament, drummed in the air. She wore black leggings beneath a red and black striped dress. Steph’s outfit almost matched hers, except Claire’s dress was black and white.  As usual, Kate had done a great job coordinating their look for tonight.

“Could be worse. We could’ve played at Ocean Side,” Steph said. Ocean Side was a local park with an open stage. They often played there, but they’d secured the fairgrounds at an amazing deal when some country band had to cancel.

“I guess. Where are Kate and Logan?”

Steph nodded behind her. “Talking to Seclusion. Kate has a thing for their lead singer.” She stopped air-drumming and looked at Claire. “Ethan’s here.”

“How do you know?”

“I ran into him at the park where he was mowing the grass. I guess he works for the city now? Anyway, he asked me what time we were playing. He even asked if I thought you’d need a ride.”

“Really?” Claire looked around the corner again and scanned the audience.

“Are you into him?” she asked.

Claire shrugged, not wanting to show anything.

“Kate would be mad if you were.”

“Why would she care?”

“Because you make such a big deal about her seeing Corey.” Steph spun her drumstick around her fingers.

“Just because Corey and Ethan are friends doesn’t mean they have the same personality.”

“Try telling Kate that.”

“I don’t need to tell her anything because nothing’s going to happen.” She may have liked Ethan years ago, but that was before. She looked around the corner again and sighed. Then why did it feel like a legion of cocoons had just cracked open, releasing hundreds of butterflies into her stomach?

Just then the band on stage finished their set.

“Kate! Logan!” Claire called. “We’re on!”

They hurried over.

Logan pulled the strap of a guitar over his head. “You ready?”

“Let’s do this,” she said, instant adrenaline coursing through her blood. They ran onto the stage greeted by a silent crowd, but when Steph belted her famous growl/scream into a microphone, cheers exploded.

Claire took advantage of the frenzied moment and pumped her fist in the air at the exact second Steph began to beat a bass drum. A moment later, Claire gripped the microphone and began to sing, her voice filling the fairgrounds. The audience faded away, leaving just her and the music. Every note expressed her anger, fears and sadness—all the emotions she normally kept bottled up. Singing was therapy and had no doubt saved her thousands.

Before she knew it, their set had ended and the cheering audience came into view. The rain had let up to a slight drizzle and its scent, mingled with the fevered aroma of excited teenagers, tainted the air. She scanned their faces until she found the one she secretly hoped to see. Ethan stood next to Corey off to the left of the stage. When their eyes met, he nodded and she smiled back.

“Did you hear us out there?” Kate said once they were backstage, dragging their equipment with them. “We were awesome!”

Steph secured her drums in the corner, her head still bobbing up and down to an invisible beat. “Best feeling ever.”

Logan playfully shoved Claire. “You sounded amazing.”

“Rockin,” Kate and Steph said at the same time.

“Thanks guys. You all did great, too.” She casually stepped away from them and peeked around the corner. “I’m going to watch the rest of the bands from out there. I’ll catch you later.”

She hurried away before one of them offered to come with her. She didn’t want them to see who she was going to meet, specifically Logan.

Maneuvering her way through the crowd, Claire made her way to where she’d seen Ethan, but when she got there he was gone. She suddenly felt silly for even looking for him in the first place; it was so unlike her.

“Hey, Claire! You killed it up there!” a kid she recognized from her senior class called over people’s heads. They all turned and looked in her direction.

Claire mouthed the word “Thanks”, then quickly turned away, embarrassed by the sudden attention.

As soon as the next band began to play, she pushed her way to the front until she was deeply imbedded into a mosh pit. A bass drum pulsed and she jumped in time to its beat, tossing her damp hair back and forth. Once again, the world disappeared and she thought of nothing else.

When the band stopped playing, she kept her eyes closed, wanting the moment to last, but eventually the music faded, as did the crowd around her. She turned around and gasped when she ran into someone.

Strong arms came up to steady her.

“Sorry,” Ethan said. He was smiling down at her.

She stepped away from his touch despite the pleasurable chill racing up her spine. “How long have you been there?”

“The last few songs.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

With his thumb, he wiped wet hair off her cheek. “I didn’t want to interrupt you. You looked like you were in an amazing place.”

She glanced away, heat rising to her face.

“You did great up there,” he said. “I’ve always liked hearing you sing.”

This surprised her. “You’ve heard me before?”

“Yeah. Lots.” He must’ve noticed how uncomfortable she looked because he quickly changed the subject. “Do you think you raised the money you wanted?”

Her shoulders slumped. “There’s no way. We were expecting a much bigger turn out tonight, but the rain screwed that up.”

“Claire!” Logan’s voice called not far away.

She turned around. “Yeah?”

“You need a ride home?” he yelled over the heads of several people crowding the exit.

“No. I’m going with Kate,” she called back.

“Okay. See you!” He waved goodbye.

She turned back to Ethan.

“So what’s with you and Logan?” he asked “Are you guys together?”

“Logan? Not at all. We’re just friends.”

“Good.”

“Why is that good?”

He gave a crooked, almost bashful, smile. “I want to take you to dinner tomorrow.”

Her heart leapt, but her brain quickly stomped it still. “Our band’s practicing.”

“Until what time?”

“Too late to do anything.”

He smiled again. “What time?”

“Seven-thirty.”

“Perfect. I’ll pick you up then.”

Before she could say no, he turned around and walked away. She could’ve gone after him, made him accept no for an answer, but she didn’t. So she went on a date? Big deal. She’d been on plenty before.

She sighed and walked toward the stage. But she’d never crushed on her dates like she did Ethan and that was a big deal.

Claire went backstage to help the band pack up their gear. It took forever because Logan had to leave early, something to do with working early the next morning, and Steph had to leave early too because of her curfew. It wouldn’t have been so bad without them, but Kate kept getting distracted by the other bands. And Claire couldn’t stop thinking about Ethan.

“Singing time’s over, so why do you still look like you’re in heaven?” Kate said as they approached her car.

Claire placed the last of their band equipment into Kate’s trunk. “Two weeks ago I would’ve said I hated the unexpected, but not anymore. Sometimes surprises can be good.”

“What kind of surprises?”

She considered telling Kate about Ethan, but just then her peripheral vision caught movement at the edge of the empty parking lot, and she glanced over.

“Do you know him?” She nodded toward a hooded man who looked like the same dude who had been at the grocery store the night before, wearing the same Bandon High sweatshirt.

Kate turned around to look at him. “Can’t tell. What’s he staring at?”

Claire didn’t answer. A cool breeze picked up just then, making her wet hair feel like icicles against her bare neck.

Kate raised her arms and waved them back and forth at the lone figure. When the person didn’t move, she said, “Come on. Let’s go.”

Claire slid into the passenger seat and closed the door, her heart pounding. The man’s appearance, the way he stood, watching her, made her think of Gary and the footprints earlier that morning. Could the events be connected?

She swallowed hard and looked up. The man was gone, almost as if he’d been a ghost.

Chapter 7

ALBERT WATCHED FROM the shadows, waiting until everyone had left. Claire had sung beautifully, just as he knew she would. He loved hearing her sing. The emotions she poured into every song touched a place buried deep within his heart and it made him feel whole.

He ducked behind a tree as she drove away with Kate, wishing he were driving her home instead. Soon. But he had to be careful. He recognized the wall she kept built up around her—years of pain and disappointment. A barrier like that takes time and patience to wear down.

Thunder clapped overhead, followed by another downpour of rain. He stepped out from the trees and jogged down the sidewalk to his car. He’d taken a huge risk coming here. His parents were still locking his door at night, but he was pretty sure they never checked on him once the key had been turned. Locking someone away doesn’t mean they’re really gone. One day they might learn that.

He opened the door, slid behind the steering wheel and pulled back his hood. His eyes reflected back when he tilted the rearview mirror down.

At first glance they appeared normal, almost happy from the night’s events. But he knew better. Beyond their glossy surface, a hurt held their roots, changing the appearance of the world around him. Pain and darkness: those brothers went everywhere he did.

He leaned closer, widening his eyes, searching for any sign of an abnormality. Maybe if he could find something physically wrong with himself, he'd be able to explain why he saw and felt things differently from others. But he couldn't detect any deformity, only an empty stare, as blank as the girl he’d killed.

Albert balled up his fist and smashed the mirror, cutting his knuckle in the process. He stared at the wound as blood rose to the surface and raced down the back of his arm. The sight of it relaxed him and he slumped into the seat, thinking only of the sting on his hand. But after a few minutes the physical pain wasn't enough to block out the persistent voice that was as constant as the waves of the ocean.

The voice spoke of being free, of never feeling pain again. It begged to be released. He moaned and clutched his head.

A moment passed. Enough time for him to decide.

He straightened and lifted the cover on the center console. He ignored the blood dripping off his arm and removed an almost full vial. The other night he’d only taken a few drops, just enough to leave the world behind. And nothing bad had happened. He seemed to be able to control it the more he drank. The image of Mindy, stiff and cold, came to his mind. That won’t happen again, he insisted. Prayed.

The vial was warm in his palm and he rolled it around with his thumb. The bluish liquid rocked back and forth, back and forth. A drop of blood fell from his hand onto his lap. Just a little more to silence the brothers, pain and darkness.

Popping the lid on the vial, he tipped it into his mouth. He intended on ingesting only a few drops, but he didn’t pull his hand back in time. All of the warm liquid rushed down the dark corridor of his throat, startling him.

He only had time for one quick breath before a familiar pain stabbed his gut, but this time it was more intense and burned him from the inside out. His legs straightened, pushing his feet forward, and his toes curled in his shoes until he heard their joints pop. His fingers extended and his head jerked backwards, while his spine arched. His bones grinded and moved, shifted and spread. His teeth rattled, his eyes vibrated. A spectrum of colors, some he didn’t even recognize, exploded in his head.

For a moment he thought he’d pass out from the pain, but then his eyes burst open and he sucked in air. The clock on the dashboard showed only a minute had passed.

He leaned forward and rolled his shoulders back. He stretched his legs and wiggled his toes. Every part of him felt incredible, like a person born again. No past, no memories, no pain. The brothers were gone.

Albert picked up a large shard of glass from the broken mirror and peered into it. He even looked better. His hair had lengthened and turned a raven black. His jaw had become more pronounced and his cheekbones sharpened. But the most startling change was in his eyes. They, too, had darkened, becoming the color of the sky before a tornado, and they were filled with as much power.

He smiled, no longer Albert, but Gage.

With Albert gone, he could finally relax and have fun. Gage glanced around, recalling the night's events. If he would've been in control, the concert might've been less a Nickelodeon teen fest and more of a rocking rave. But Claire had been there. That had made it worth it. He was drawn to her just like Albert, but for very different reasons.

He brought the car's engine to life and drove in the direction of her home. He'd visited her the other night while she slept, watching her through her bedroom window. Once he'd been tempted to knock, but his appearance still resembled Albert’s. She wouldn't recognize him now, though. He laughed out loud and cranked the music.

Gage was about to turn down Claire’s street when he suddenly had a brilliant idea, one that would really impress her. He was going to make her dreams come true.

He drove to the outskirts of Bandon, toward a small gas station. As he passed, he noticed the empty parking lot, and through the glass windows, a single female clerk mopping the floor. He continued past until he stopped a few blocks from the gas station.

Gage sprinted back, surprised by how little effort it took. With each breath he took, his lungs seemed to expand further than possible, and even his muscles felt like they were growing beneath his skin.

By the time he reached the front of the station, he was ready to take on the world. He gripped the cold metal of the handle and flung open the door, making the clerk jump. Her startled reaction excited him and he moved toward her, hands clenched tight.

The clerk backed up into a shelf as if she could sense his intentions.  Wasn’t that how it was with predator and prey?

"Can I help you?" she said. Her tiny frame shook.

Gage noticed she was reaching behind her back, and his instincts told him that whatever she sought wasn't good. His hand thrust forward and grabbed her by the throat. "You're going to do exactly as I say, or I'll snap your neck. Do you understand?"

When she tried to speak, he squeezed and leaned in close.  “Are you going to be good?"

She managed a nod.

He positioned his face directly in front of hers, their noses barely touching. He whispered, "Good,” and moved his free hand to her full hips. His fingers slipped beneath her shirt and to her cold, trembling skin. He stared into her watery blue eyes, smiling as his hand slowly slid to her lower back, searching, probing, until he found what he wanted.

"Here it is," he said, breathing hot air onto her cheek. With one clean jerk, he removed a small can of mace from a leather pouch attached to the backside of her belt. "You won't be needing this." He tossed it hard to the other side of the store, shattering a mirror on a sunglass display.

"Now I want you to be a good girl and give me all the money you have. Can you do that?"

She nodded again. Tears streamed down her face, smearing her makeup.

He released his grip and shoved her toward the counter. "Hurry."

She stumbled to the ground, gasping for air. He easily picked her up by the back of her hair. "I don't have time for this. Do it, now!” He guided her behind the counter, practically dragging her, until she faced the cash register.

By this time her gasps for breath had turned into strange cat-like whimpers, and it was getting on his nerves. He did his best to maintain his composure. "Open it.”

Her shaking hand pressed a few buttons until the register dinged and a drawer opened.

"Where's the rest of it?" There looked to be only a few hundred dollars. He took it.

Through sobs and sniffs, the girl stuttered, "The manager’s already taken today's sales to the bank."

He kept his hand tightly around her arm. Her bone was small, and he felt certain he could crush it if he wanted to. "Well that's a problem for you, isn't it?"

"I have some money in my purse," she said, eyes pleading.

He tapped her forehead, making her blink. "Now you’re thinking. Where is it?" Her gaze lowered to a cupboard beneath the counter. He released her arm and bent over. "In here?"

She nodded.

He opened the cupboard and found it, an obnoxious multi-colored handbag. When he stood up the girl had stepped away. "Come back over here. I don't like the space between us."

She took a step toward him, but was too slow. He reached out and once again took hold of her arm, jerking her next to him.

"Let's see," he said as he unzipped her purse. "What do we have in here?" He dumped the contents onto the counter. Sunglasses, keys, planner, cell phone, and a wallet. Inside the wallet he found $40. He pulled it out and threw it at her face.

"Is this all?" he shouted.

She burst into tears.

Gage searched the rest of her wallet, stopping only when he came across her debit card. He looked up. Next to the door was an ATM machine. "Let's go," he said and pushed her forward.

He swiped her card. "Enter your pin number."

"I don't have any money," she said quickly, but her eye twitched.

"I will ask one more time. Put in your pin number."

When she hesitated, he grabbed the back of her head and smashed it into the front of the ATM, cracking the screen. Blood sprayed from her nose. "Enter your pin!" he shouted.

This time she didn't hesitate. She entered the pin and then fell to her knees, sobbing. He pushed her aside and chose savings on the screen. $600. "Very good, clerk lady. Just what I need."

Gage took out the max amount allowed, and then swiped her card two more times to try for the rest. Satisfied, he stepped over the crying woman on the freshly mopped floor and opened the door. Before he left, he deliberately turned to the security camera in the corner of the ceiling and winked. By morning, he'd be back to Albert. No one would ever catch him.

He drove toward Claire's house. Not far from it, he veered onto a dirt road leading into the forest behind her home. The trees were thick here, an untamed wilderness where every living creature fought to exist. It was no wonder Claire’s instinct was to fight, living this close to such contention.

Gage smiled and parked the car. In time he would unleash Claire, freeing her from life’s imprisoning emotions. He’d like that, and he sensed that she would like that too.

He got out of the car and stretched his arms into the night, his fingers closing around the darkness. The sounds of the forest: bat wings beating in the night, spiders scurrying to catch their prey, snakes slithering from their holes, were welcoming sounds.

After taking a moment to enjoy the surroundings, he ducked back inside the car. He would've liked to take the time to run with his night friends, but he wasn't sure how much longer he had until Albert returned. Even now he could hear him screaming inside.

Searching through the glove box, he found an envelope containing Albert’s registration and insurance information. He dumped the papers onto the floor. On a scratch piece of paper, he scribbled a quick note and stuffed it into the envelope along with the money. He licked it shut and wrote Claire's name on the outside.

Gage sprinted to her house, spurred on by her scent that grew stronger the closer he got. It seemed like the altered Bodian formula hadn’t just increased his strength and speed. All his senses appeared to be heightened too.

Claire’s house was dark and quiet. He crept to her back door and peeked in. Dinner still sat on the table, one half eaten potato and scraps of a steak. Another plate sat on the opposite end of the table, the food on it left untouched.

He crept off the deck and moved to her window. And what he discovered made him angry. A black sheet had been hung up, blocking his view inside. He took hold of the windowsill, the metal of the frame cutting into his hand. Who was she to stop him? He raised his fist to smash through the glass, but just as it was about to make contact, a sharp pain burned inside his head as if a match had been lit. Instead of smashing the glass, his hand merely smacked the window. He dropped to the ground, clutching his head, and cursing Albert, who was trying to gain control.

"Stay out of this!" Gage growled, hoping Albert could hear him.

Just then Claire's light flipped on. Gage darted around to the front of the house. He waited a few minutes, hoping she might come outside, but when she didn’t he tossed the envelope onto her front step.

Claire owed him big time now. And he would make sure she returned the favor.

Chapter 8

CLAIRE PUSHED THE black sheet to the side of the window and peered into the darkness. Something had woken her. A sound, like glass being rattled, had echoed in her dreams, but as she looked out to the forest beyond, she saw nothing. That didn't help relieve her fears that someone had visited her again. She let the curtain fall back into place and looked at the time: 2:13 a.m.

Just then her phone vibrated on her nightstand. She grabbed it and collapsed back into bed. Kate must have been having another sleepless night. She was an insomniac and often texted her in the middle of the night hoping Claire was awake too.

Claire turned the phone on and was surprised to see that it wasn’t Kate but Ethan. His message read: "Looking forward to tomorrow. Ethan."

She texted back: "Why? Are you doing something fun?"

A second later, a message returned: "Shoot! I didn’t think you’d answer. Did I wake you?"

Claire rolled onto her side. "No. Having a hard time sleeping."

"Yeah. Me too."

"So what's going on tomorrow that you're looking forward to?"

"Some girl's going out with me."

She smiled. "How did you manage that?"

"Easy. I'm irresistible."

Her smile grew. "I don't think it's your charm. She probably felt sorry for you."

It took a minute for a text to come back. "I'll take what I can get. She's an awesome girl."

Her face reddened. What did she say to that?

Claire couldn't bring herself to acknowledge the compliment, so she typed back, "I'm looking forward to tomorrow too. Should be fun."

"Sleep well," he responded.

"Ditto." She set the phone down and shut off her light, no longer remembering why she had woken in the first place.

* * *

WHEN MORNING CAME, Claire woke to the sound of the local news station blaring in the living room. She swung her legs over the bed and stretched. It didn't take her long to get ready; it never did. She threw on a pair of jeans and a red t-shirt Logan had gotten her for her birthday - that and tickets to a rock concert in Portland. She added the awesome present to the “One More Thing I Owe Logan For” list.

Claire walked into the living room. "Does the TV have to be so loud?"

Her mother was sitting at the kitchen table dressed in her cleaning uniform eating a donut. She raised her coffee mug in a mock toast gesture. "Someone needs to wake you up, and I'd rather you hate the morning weather girl for it than me.”

"Good plan." Claire walked past her into the kitchen. "I made dinner for you last night," she said and reached into the cupboard for a box of oatmeal.

"I know, thanks. Sorry I was late. I went out with some friends after work."

Claire only nodded and shook oats into a bowl. She knew it was hard for her mother to be home. Memories were like a poltergeist to her, staring at her from every shadow. Sometimes her mother left the ghosts alone, but other times she embraced them.

“You’re mad now?” her mother asked, crossing her arms to her chest.

Claire poured milk into her bowl and sprinkled cinnamon. "Don't worry about it."

Her mother’s face twisted, cold and cruel. "You think I like working? Cleaning up other people's crap?"

"Forget it, okay?" Claire knew where this fight was going. She felt her mother’s eyes follow her to the dining room table. Three. Two. One.

"Maybe if you wouldn't spend so much time messing around in Steph's garage, you could actually get a real job and help me out," she said, smoothing back stray hairs into her tight ponytail.

Claire didn't want to fight this early in the morning, but she couldn't help it. It was so easy to get sucked in. "I'm not messing around. If you would just hear me sing you’d know that. I'm very serious about the band and one day it's going to pay off, so lay off okay?"

Claire’s mom stood up and went to the sink, tossing her mug into it. Claire was surprised it didn’t break.

"That's what everybody thinks,” she said. “They all have big dreams for themselves, but then reality hits and they find themselves getting a real job like the rest of us. As soon as you get this, you can stop wasting your time."

Shaking her head, Claire set down her spoon and pushed herself away from the table, her food barely touched. "I'm done."

Claire’s mother placed her hands on the counter and leaned into it. "You think I'm being mean, but I'm trying to help you. The real world is cruel and hard, Claire. You need to learn—”

Claire stopped listening and instead focused on the morning news. A man in a dark blue suit was saying, "The gas station was robbed at approximately 2:00 a.m. The female clerk on duty was attacked and taken to the hospital for medical attention. The suspect is still at large."

"Claire? Are you listening?"

Claire waved a hand at her. "Yeah. Yeah. Give up on my dreams."

A horn honked outside. She stood up. "That's Kate. Gotta go."

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Freshman orientation at Northwestern. Remember?”

Claire scooped up her bag and went to the door. Her mother came out of the kitchen, face red and lines twisted into angry creases like she wanted to say more. Before she could, Claire gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Have a good day, Mom.”

She opened and closed the front door without looking back to see her mom’s reaction. There probably wasn’t one, but one day she hoped the ghosts from her past would move on.

It was a sunny, yet cool morning and the scent of the ocean was strong. The air chilled Claire’s skin and she almost turned back to get a jacket, but a letter on her front step caught her attention. She reached down and picked it up. Her name was scribbled on the backside.

Claire walked to Kate’s car wondering what it could be. She opened the passenger door, only to be accosted by blaring rap music.

"How can you stand to listen to this?" she asked and slid into the seat.

"It's a rap day, can't you feel it?" Kate was tapping her hand on the steering wheel.

Claire closed the door. "Can you at least turn it down?"

Kate turned it down, just barely, and put the car in gear. "Mind if we stop to get a drink before we had out? I need some caffeine."

Claire turned the letter over in her hand. "Sure. Whatever."

"What's that?" Kate asked.

"A letter. It was on my porch."

"To you?"

She nodded.

"Aren't you going to open it?"

Claire stared at her scribbled name on the white paper. "It's a little weird, don't you think?"

Kate glanced sideways at her, keeping one eye on the road. "How so?"

"That someone left a letter on my porch in the middle of the night."

She nodded. "Right. The peeping Tom. You don't know it was him. Just open it already."

Claire took a deep breath, then slipped her finger into the flap of the envelope and tore it along its edge. Very carefully she opened it, almost expecting a spider to crawl out, but what she saw instead made her wish it had been a spider. A spider made sense.

"What is it?" Kate asked.

She covered the contents with her hands. "Pull over.”

"Huh?"

"Pull over, now!"

Kate steered the car onto the side of the road and stopped the car. "What’s wrong?"

Claire removed a stack of money and handed it to Kate.

Kate flipped through it. "There's hundreds of dollars in here!" she said and began counting it.

Claire didn’t look over. She was too busy removing a torn piece of paper from the envelope. She read the only two sentences scribbled on it over and over again.

Kate slapped her arm. “What does the note say?”

She looked out the front window. "Giving you what you want. See you soon."

"Who signed it?" Kate took the note and read it. "So bizarre.”

A few seconds later she added, “But freaking awesome! Do you know what this means?"

Claire didn't answer.

"We can go to Portland now! We're in, Claire. Can you believe it?"

"It doesn't mean we're in.”

"What do you mean? Of course it does. We have the money now."

"But I don't know who it's from."

"So? It's clearly a gift."

Claire read the note again. "But where did it come from?"

"Who cares? We have the money! Why aren't you excited?"

"I don't know. There's something about the note. Like whoever gave this to me, knows me or something."

Kate rolled her eyes. "Of course it's someone you know."

"Then why didn't they sign their name? It's creepy."

Kate started the car and pulled back onto the road. "Whoever gave it to you just wants to remain anonymous. I think it's sweet."

Claire settled into her seat. "Yeah, maybe."

She didn't tell Kate about the gas station being robbed. There was a chance the two events had nothing to do with each other, but then why did she feel so sick? Good things just didn’t happen to her.

* * *

AT LEAST TWO hundred freshman students were crowded into Summer Hall. Claire sat in the middle of Steph and Kate on the last row. Last row because they were late. Kate insisted on stopping for a quick breakfast saying that no one came early to these sorts of things. She was wrong.

Near the front, Claire spotted Logan. He was leaning over laughing and talking to some girl with long blond hair. Logan shouldn’t be here. His grades were good enough that he should be attending a much bigger university, but he said he didn’t care where he went to school for general credits.

Claire hoped Logan wasn’t going to Northwestern just for her, but she had to admit she was glad when he said he was sticking around. He was her oldest friend, and she wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to him.

At the front of the room, a tall professor in a tailored suit introduced himself as Mr. Liddel. Claire listened to him talk about the college’s history, but soon her mind drifted to the letter she’d crammed into her bag. The top corner of the envelope was sticking out the top. So much money! But was it dirty? The last thing she wanted was to get involved with anything remotely shady.

Claire returned her attention to the professor. He was explaining the day’s schedule: tours, meetings with faculty, a meet and greet with other students. Just then Logan looked back at her and winked. She smiled and winked back. Maybe he’d know what she should do with the money.

When it came time for lunch, Claire separated from Kate and Steph to find Logan. He was just leaving an advisor’s office when she spotted him.

"Logan!" Claire called from down a hall.

He turned around and she reared back in surprise when she saw what he was wearing: a black Bandon High hoodie. He walked over to her, yawning.

“What’s with the shirt?” she asked.

He smoothed his chest with his palms and smiled. “I thought I’d represent our old school.”

“Did you go straight home after the concert last night?”

“Yeah, why?”

She paused, looking at him. It could’ve been anyone watching her and Kate. Lots of people had the same shirt, and as far as she knew Logan had never lied to her.

"Are you staying here for lunch?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Unless you guys want to go off campus. I’m game either way."

“Kate and Steph already left. I was hoping we could talk over lunch?"

He smiled and opened his arms. “I already know what you’re going to ask me, and the answer is yes. I will be your man for the rest of your life.”

She punched him in the arm. "This is serious. I really need some advice."

Logan searched her eyes and nodded. “Let’s go.”

After purchasing food in the cafeteria, Claire followed Logan outside, wondering how best to approach the subject. It wasn’t just the money that was bothering her. It was the conversation at Bodian about the missing vials, the crazy threats from Gary, the footprints at her window, and the lone figure wearing the Bandon High sweatshirt. Somehow she felt it was all connected.

"So what's this about?" Logan said as they sat down on the grass.

Claire popped open her soda can and unwrapped a sandwich. More from habit than a desire to eat.

"Do you think a drug could seriously change a person?" she asked.

Logan laughed. "Are you already experimenting?"

She shook her head. “Of course not. That’s not what I mean at all.”

“Then what do you mean?”

Claire sighed and tugged at a blade of grass, imagining what Bodian’s drug might do to someone if they digested it.

“Claire?”

She looked up into Logan’s concerned expression, then broke several green blades. “This morning I found some money, well, more like it was given to me."

"It can't be both. Either you found it or it was given to you."

She cleared her throat. "I found it on my doorstep, left anonymously. In an envelope with my name on it."

"How much money?"

"$800."

He whistled. "That's a lot."

"I know. It's exactly what we need to go to the Fire and Ice concert."

Logan leaned forward, elbows propped on knees. "Someone's obviously looking out for you. So what's wrong?"

"Whoever it was left a note."

"What'd it say?"

She removed it from her bag and tossed it to him. He read it a few times before he said, "I still don't see what the problem is."

She sighed. "A few days ago, I also found muddy footprints on my back porch and muddy fingerprints on my window. And I think whoever it was came again last night. There are other things too. Seriously, I feel like someone’s watching me." Claire crossed her legs. "Then all of a sudden there’s this money, and on the morning news I heard a gas station was robbed."

"I heard about that, too. Messed up. So you think it's all connected?"

"I don't know. I just have a weird feeling about it.” She glanced at Logan. He was looking at her with his mouth turned down, like he was trying to follow her line of reasoning. She realized it was a weak argument without including the Bodian part, but Gary’s threat still scared her and she wasn’t about to risk someone she knew getting hurt.

“What else are you not telling me?” he asked as if he’d read her mind.

She averted her eyes. “Nothing. Why do you say that?”

“Because you have that look. Like that time you showed up at the restaurant where I was waiting for a date. You found out she was going to stand me up and you didn’t want me to feel bad. Remember? You told me she didn’t come because she was sick.”

She winced. “You found out about that?”

He nodded.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I knew you were just trying to protect me. I thought it was sweet.”

She turned away from his intense stare.

“You have that same look now,” he said. “Like you’re trying to protect me from something.”

Claire thought fast. “It’s nothing. Really. Maybe I’m making too big of a deal out of all this.”

Logan patted her leg. "First thing first. We need to figure out who's been at your house in the middle of the night. That’s messed up. I'll come by later tonight to see if I can find any clues and to make sure your house is secure. As for the money, maybe you should set it aside for a while. See if anyone comes forward. When's the deadline for the concert?"

"Two weeks."

"Then wait it out. Who knows? Maybe it was Smith. I can see him doing something like that.”

Her dad’s old friend. Why didn’t she think of that? "Maybe. But the letter doesn’t sound like something he’d write. I'll ask him about it later, though."

"Don't worry. Everything will work out. You're a good person."

"But if I end up keeping the money and it was stolen or even given to me by some weirdo, won't that be wrong?"

His eyes narrowed. "What's with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Since when do you care about things like this? What happened to bad-ass Claire?"

She swallowed and twisted the toe of her shoe into the ground. "That dead girl. Mindy. She sort of put things into perspective for me. Life can just end."

Logan squeezed her arm gently. "Nothing's going to happen, I promise. As for the money, don't think about it for a while. I bet you'll find it was simply a gift."

Claire looked up at the sudden cawing of a crow in the branches above her. Chills raced up her arms.

"I hope you’re right,” she said.

Chapter 9

THEY WERE ALMOST home from Northwestern, when Kate turned down the radio and asked, "So when are you going to sign us up?"

Claire glanced back at Steph in the backseat. She was smiling big. Clearly Kate had already told her. "I don't know if I am."

"Are you freaking kidding me?" Steph said. "Someone gives us exactly what we need, and you don’t take it?"

Claire gritted her teeth. "First of all, nobody gave us anything. They gave it to me, and I don't know if I feel comfortable taking money from a potential psycho."

"What are you talking about?" Steph asked.

Claire turned to Kate. "You didn't tell her the whole truth, did you?"

Kate moaned. "What does it matter where the money came from? We need it!"

"Not if it comes with strings attached.”

"Would someone please tell me what's going on?" Steph asked.

“I'll fill you in later,” Kate said, glancing at her in the rearview mirror.

Claire placed her foot on the dashboard. "Look guys, let me wait a couple of weeks to see if I can find out who gave it to me, and then I'll decide what to do with it."

"What are you going to do with the money in the meantime?" Kate asked.

Claire was getting sick of this conversation. "Stuff it under my bed or something."

The car was silent, the air thick with tension. Claire waited for Kate to say more, to press the issue, but instead she glanced at Claire sideways, her lips turning up.

“So what was Ethan doing at orientation?” she asked. “I didn’t know he was going to Northwestern.”

Claire lowered her foot and straightened. “He is?”

“And he was checking you out,” Steph said. She drummed her fingers against the back of the passenger seat, tapping out the rest of the earlier awkward tension.

“How did I not see him?” Claire wondered out loud. She was surprised Ethan was going to school at Northwestern. Last she heard he had scholarships to at least a dozen schools.

“He sure saw you!” Kate laughed. “We noticed him when we came back from lunch. He was watching you and Logan on the grass.”

"Did he look mad?" Claire couldn't stand jealous guys.

"Not really,” Steph said. “Just interested. I think he really likes you."

"I'm going out with him tonight," she blurted.

Kate punched her hard, the car nearly swerving off the road. "Get out!"

Claire rubbed her arm and grinned.

"When did this happen?" Kate asked.

"At the concert."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Kate aimed for Claire’s arm again, but she dodged the punch.

"I don't know. I thought you might be mad, seeing how he's Corey’s friend."

Kate stared off into the distance. "I couldn’t care less about Corey.”

"Please, Kate. You still have it for him bad.” Kate opened her mouth to speak, but Claire cut her off.  “So this new girl you mentioned to replace Logan. Is she any good?"

The less Kate talked or thought about Corey, the better.

Kate didn’t miss a beat. "Audrey's decent. It'll take a little time for her to learn our stuff, but I think you'll like her."

"When do I get to meet her?"

"She'll be at Steph's later today for practice."

"Nice. I'll be a little late, though. I’m going to talk to Smith to see if he’s the one who left the money. Think you can drop me off at the police station?"

Kate nodded as if she were considering him as the benefactor and then turned off the freeway. "Sure. And when you find out he's the one who gave you the money, will you sign us up already?"

"Of course.”

Ten minutes later Kate pulled up to the curb in front of the city courthouse. “Do you need me to come back to give you a ride to practice?’

Claire stepped out of the car. "That’s okay. Smith or one of the other cops can give me a ride."

After Kate and Steph said goodbye, Claire turned around and headed up the steps to the courthouse. It was the newest building in all of Bandon, built just last year. It still smelled like paint and new carpet. She turned left into the section that led to the police department.

"Hey, Claire. How's it going?" an officer asked when she opened a glass door and stepped inside.

"Good. Is Smith in his office?"

"Yeah. Go on back."

Several officers said hello as she made her way down a hall and around a corner. She knew most people didn't like policemen, especially kids her age, but she loved these guys. Not only were they there for her during her troubles a couple of years ago, but every year for Christmas they always gave her a basket of goodies.

She knocked on Smith’s door.

"Come in," a deep voice said.

Claire opened the door and entered Smith’s office. It was much larger than his last one and could actually hold more than two people in it comfortably.

Smith stood up and smiled making his red cheeks puff out. "How are you, Claire?"

His smile always made her smile. He wasn't super tall, barely six feet, but the way he stood, head held high, chest out, made him seem much taller. But what she loved most was the kindness in his hazel eyes that always looked upon her as if she were someone he truly cared about—like a father would a daughter.

"I'm hanging in there," she said and sat down across from him on a padded chair.

He returned to his seat behind a desk. "You haven't been in any fights lately, have you?"

She shook her head. "Nope. I've been a good girl."

"Good. What brings you by?"

"I want to ask you something."

He set aside a stack of papers and leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk. "Shoot."

"Um, well, did you happen to leave me money on my doorstep last night? Like as a gift?"

He shook his head. "Not me."

"Are you sure? Cause you can tell me. You won't be ruining any anonymous charitable act or anything."

"Really. It wasn't me. I wish I could say it was. Did the person leave any kind of a note?"

"Yeah, but it just said, ‘Giving you what you need.’"

He frowned. "And what is it that you need?"

"I assumed it's about the entry fee for the band competition."

"That's right! How's the fund raising going anyway?”

"I have it now, thanks to my anonymous donor last night." Claire searched his face for any sign of deceit but found none. He seemed to know nothing about it.

"Well that was very generous of someone. When's the big event?"

They continued to talk for several minutes of nothing important. She considered telling him how much money was given to her and her concerns that it was related to the robbery, but in the end she didn’t. Maybe if she couldn’t figure out who it was, then she’d come back.

Because Smith still had to work, he had another officer drop Claire off at Steph’s house for practice. Everyone was already in the garage, including the new girl, Audrey.

“Nice to finally meet you,” Claire said. Audrey had short, black hair, combed high in the back with sweeping bangs across her forehead. Wearing torn jeans and a black t-shirt, it looked like Audrey had raided her closet.

Audrey shook her hand. “Thanks again for asking me to be a part of your band,” she answered, more like yelled.

Claire stepped back, surprised, and looked at Steph and Kate who were trying not to laugh.

“Why are you yelling?” Claire asked her.

Audrey’s green eyes widened. "Am I? Sorry. I live with my mom and she's hard of hearing. I grew up always having to talk loud.” Her voice was quiet at first, but the more she spoke the louder it got.

Kate’s giggling turned into full-on laughter.  Claire looked at her for just a second before she joined in. She couldn’t help it. Fortunately, Audrey and Steph laughed too.  And for a moment Claire forgot all about Bodian and the money on her porch.

* * *

"YOU’RE EARLY," CLAIRE said to Ethan just minutes after she got home from practice. He was standing on her porch leaning up against the rail.

"I can come back if you're busy," he said, straightening.

"It's fine. I'm not doing anything. Come in.”

"Cool. Thanks." He walked in the house, hands stuffed in pockets.

Claire sat on the couch, but he remained standing, glancing around like he’d walked into a doily museum.

Not one to beat around the bush, she said, "You look uncomfortable. What's up?"

His face reddened. "Nothing. I'm fine." He removed his hands and sat next to her. "It's just weird being here."

"Why's that?"

"Well, ever since you decked me and told me to go screw myself, I figured you'd hate me for life."

Claire laughed. "What are you talking about?"

"You don't remember?"

She shook her head. "Drawing a blank."

"Sophomore year in high school, in the lunch room. You were fighting with Corey. I saw that he was getting really angry and I thought he was going to hit you, so I jumped up to get in between you two, but ended up tripping and running into you instead. I think you thought I deliberately shoved you or something because you freaked out and decked me."

Claire leaned back into the couch cushions. "I remember now.”

That had been a particularly hard time for her, and she’d been extra volatile. Valerie had just died. And then she’d gone to the police about her father. She shook her head, wanting to forget, and turned to Ethan. “Is that why you haven’t talked to me the last couple of years?"

He inhaled deeply. On his exhale his shoulders sagged. “I was just giving you what you wanted. The last thing you needed was more grief.”

“What I wanted? What are you talking about?”

“You asked me to stay away from you.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Ethan closed his eyes as if trying to recall details from the past. “Shortly after that incident, I called you to apologize but your phone had been shut off—”

“I didn’t want to talk to anyone for awhile.”

“—so I came by your house. Your mother answered the door and when I asked to see you, she said you didn’t want to see me. Ever. There were more words but I don’t remember them, or maybe I don’t want to. I let a week go by and then tried again. I was pretty sure you were home because you hadn’t been to school for awhile.”

Ethan looked at her as if waiting for an explanation, but she said nothing. It had taken Claire almost three weeks before she felt like she could face her peers at school—more like gain the strength she knew she’d need.

Kate had told her about the many rumors, about why kids thought her dad was in jail. Some thought it was because he’d put Valerie out of her misery as if she were a wounded dog, but others thought he’d beat up his wife after discovering a scandalous affair. Claire didn’t want to confirm one way or the other so when an older classmate wouldn’t stop harassing her about the truth, Claire threw a fist—the first of many.

She shook her head, trying to forget. “I don’t remember you coming by, and I know I didn’t tell my mother those things.”

“But what about my letter?”

“What letter?”

“On my third and final visit, I asked your mom to give you a letter. In it I apologized and asked if we could simply be friends. I wanted to be there for you any way I could. I also said that if you didn’t respond, then I’d honor your wishes and leave you alone. You never responded.”

Claire’s heart pounded at the realization of what her mother had done. “Ethan, I didn’t say those things. I didn’t even know you had called or come over. And I never got any letter. My mother didn’t tell me anything.”

“She didn’t?”

She tightened her hands into fists. “Not a word. As far as I knew, you just wrote me off.”

Ethan was quiet for a moment then lowered his head into his hands. “I’m such a fool. All this time—”

“You’re not the fool, Ethan. It’s my mother. She was probably angry and that was one way she could get back at me.”

Claire sunk into the sofa. Her mother had said some horrible things to her the day she went to the police station to turn in her father. To protect what fragile self-esteem she had, Claire blocked out most of it, even choosing not to be bitter, at least not toward her mother. But this new revelation made her mad. Her mother knew how much she had liked Ethan.

He shook his head. “I wish I would’ve known.”

“Me too.”

Ethan leaned back into the sofa next to her. She didn’t say anything and neither did he. All she could think about was what could’ve been. Maybe the last couple of years would’ve been easier if Ethan had been in her life. She glanced at him, wondering if he was thinking of their lost time too.

“What changed?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“How come you decided to try again? Why now?”

Ethan looked at her. "Honestly?"

"Always."

"When you came running out of the school crying. You came to me and I held you. I got to see a side of you I hadn’t seen in a long time, and I guess it made me want to take a chance.” He smiled and took hold of her hand.

She looked down at their entwined hands and was about to pull away when he stood and said, "You want to go have some fun?"

"Where to?"

"You know how to ride, right?"

She paused. "Ride what?"

"A dirt bike.” He easily pulled her up until they were standing inches apart.

"Yeah, I can ride. I even have my own bike," she said.

"I know. I saw it outside. That's why I asked. Is it a 125?"

"Yeah. I'm not super good yet, but I think I can keep up."

“How long have you been riding?”

“About a year. Logan taught me over by Miller’s Pond where it’s super sandy.”

They were still standing close. Claire could smell his cologne, and it made her stomach flutter.

"Good place to learn. And don’t worry. I'll be keeping an eye on you," he said.

"So when I wreck, you'll be sure to see?"

He grinned. "Of course."

They rode for almost an hour. She didn’t do too poorly, only wrecking once and that was because she had been looking back at Ethan. She couldn’t figure him out. He was so calm all of the time. Nothing seemed to faze him, not even when he almost crashed into a barbed wire fence she’d forgotten to tell him about.

When Claire grew tired, she headed back. Ethan followed behind until she stopped in front of her house. She removed her helmet and stared up into an almost black sky. Sprays of pinks and oranges still clung stubbornly to the west, but in just a short time they would lose their battle with the night. “What time do you think it is?”

Ethan pulled back the sleeve of his riding shirt and checked his wristwatch. "Almost eight-thirty. You want to get some dinner?"

"Yeah. I'm starving."

"Do you want to eat at a touristy place or Eddy's?" he asked.

Claire pursed her lips. That was the one problem with Bandon. There were lots of places to eat, but most of them were dedicated to outsiders. The restaurant owners frowned upon the locals crowding up their restaurants. They’d rather have the tourists who usually spent more money.

"Eddy's is fine," Claire said. But Logan works there, she thought and grimaced.

Ethan must've noticed her concern, because he said, "We can go somewhere on Main Street if you’d like."

"No, that’s okay. Give me a minute to change.” She swung her leg over the bike and dashed inside. Her heart beat fast, but it wasn’t from riding. Claire never thought she would be hanging out with Ethan again. It was a good feeling. One she missed.

After Ethan loaded his bike into the back of his father’s truck, he drove Claire to Eddy’s. The restaurant was located on the outside of town in an area tourists wouldn’t easily find. It used to be an old cabin, but twenty years ago the owner converted it into a restaurant. It was usually loud and crowded; tonight was no exception.

The waitress sat them on the far end of the dining room, away from the bar that had been added onto the building several years ago. Even though the bar area and the restaurant were separated by a wall, you could still hear loud country music blaring through.

Claire didn't bother opening the menu. She always ordered the same thing: crab legs and corn on the cob, followed by a big brownie blast.

"I didn't know Logan worked here," Ethan said, peering behind her.

She followed his line of sight. Logan was busy behind the counter, getting an order together. "Yeah. He's worked here for about six months. And you work for the city right?"

Ethan poured himself a glass of water. "During the summer and into the fall I help out with the parks and stuff. It’s an easy gig.”  He nodded toward Logan. “You guys are pretty close. Did you ever date seriously?"

Claire shook her head. "We're just friends. Been that way since we were little."

"He's lucky."

She looked at him questioningly.

Ethan continued, "To have been friends with you that long. You're a cool girl."

Claire averted her eyes, willing her face not to blush.

The waitress came over and took their order. Claire was surprised when Ethan ordered crab legs. She was about to comment what great taste he had, when her eyes locked with that of a predator. Sitting near the window was Gary. His thin lips twisted up like a writhing snake.  He raised his hand and slid his thumb across his greasy mustache.

Claire shivered as if the place had cooled ten degrees.

"What's wrong?" Ethan asked.

"That guy by the window. We have a past."

Ethan glanced behind him. "Gary? Yeah, he's strange. I've talked to him a few times at Bodian. How do you know him?"

Claire tore at a napkin. "I had to go there to get a lab form signed for college. Your dad works there, right?"

Ethan took a drink. "Yeah, he’s a manager out there."

“Does he know Logan’s dad? He’s a lab tech.”

“Probably, but he never talks about work.”

Just then Gary stood up and came their way. She lowered her eyes and whispered, "Here he comes."

Ethan turned around. "How's it going, Gary?"

Gary looked at him as if he just realized he was there.

"Good, Ethan. You here with her?" he asked and wiped his hands on torn jeans.

"Yup."

Gary's head turned to Claire, and he grinned a smile that was anything but pleasant.

"You are one lucky man,” he said, but he was still looking at Claire. Gary placed his hands on the table and leaned toward her, still with that crazy grin. One of his bottom teeth was missing. “We have unfinished business.”

She pressed her back into the booth; whether from the smell of his putrid breath or the fact that she was shaking and could no longer sit up, she couldn’t be sure.

Ethan grabbed Gary’s arm. "Do you mind? We're in the middle of dinner."

"I just want to get a good look." He reached out as if to touch her hair, but all of a sudden he was jerked back from behind.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Logan said. "You're drunk, Gary. Get out of here."

Gary stepped close to Logan. He was at least four inches taller. "Don't touch me again, boy, or I'll rip that tan arm right out of your socket.”

Ethan stood up next to Logan. "You need to leave. Now."

Gary looked from Ethan and then to Logan. Seemingly deciding against a fight, he turned back to Claire.

"Soon. Real soon. And I hope you remember what I told you." He tipped his baseball cap.

Both Logan and Ethan waited until they saw him disappear before they relaxed. Ethan lowered himself back into the seat across from Claire.

"Thanks, man," Logan said to Ethan.

"No problem.” He reached across the table and took her hand. "You okay?"

She nodded and tried to think of a joke. Something to get her mind off Gary. "You guys really should talk to him about his hair growth. His molest-tash is out of control."

Both boys laughed while Claire slid her hand out from Ethan’s and used it to tuck hair behind her ears.

"So you guys on a date?" Logan asked. His expression looked totally normal, but Claire could tell by the way he picked his thumb with his finger that he was annoyed.

Claire nodded. "We just got done riding."

"Cool. You have fun?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but Ethan beat her to it. "Yeah, except for the time when Claire almost took out a tree.”

She laughed. "That was on purpose!”

"Right, well, I better get back to work," Logan said, looking everywhere but at her. "I'll talk to you later, Claire. Thanks again, Ethan."

"Sure. See you," Ethan said, but Logan was already walking back toward the kitchen.

Claire lowered her head, pretending to read the dessert menu, but what she was really doing was thinking about Logan, about the hurt look in his eyes. Maybe she shouldn’t have come here.

Ethan rapped his knuckles on the table, startling Claire and she looked up. He was no longer smiling. Instead his lips were pressed tightly together.

“So what did he mean?” he asked.

She frowned. “What did who mean?”

“Gary. He said you had unfinished business and to remember what he told you.”

“The guy’s a nut job,” she said quickly. “I think he got it in his head that I’d go out with him or something.”

“Well let me know if he bothers you again.”

“That’s nice, but I can handle him.” She returned to the menu. Claire hated lying to Ethan, but she took Gary’s threats very seriously. He had the same crazy look in his eyes that her father had, and Claire had learned to listen to people like that. She figured eventually Gary would go away, once he realized she wasn’t going to talk.

The rest of the night with Ethan went better than expected. She didn’t see Logan again, so she assumed he must’ve gotten off early. She felt bad he hadn’t said goodbye and hoped he wasn’t too upset.

"I had a great time tonight," Ethan said at Claire’s doorstep. The reflection of the moon in the window lit up the side of his face.

She played with the keys in her hand. "I did too. Really."

"You say that like you're surprised."

"Not really. I always thought you were cool."

"Then why didn't you ever talk to me? I mean, I know why I didn’t talk to you, but how come you never approached me?"

"Honestly? I thought you had abandoned me. It hurt to look at you.” Her eyes met his. When she saw sorrow, she quickly laughed. “And I can't stand the company you keep."

Ethan nodded. "I know. Corey can be brutal. Did you know we're cousins? Few people know this."

Realization dawned on her. "So it's a blood thing."

There was no way someone as great as Ethan would be friends with someone like Corey.

He nodded again. "I felt bad for him when he first moved here so we hung out a lot. He’s okay when he’s not obsessing over girls."

They stood close together; the cool air made Claire shiver and she looked around, wondering if she was shivering for a different reason. Was Gary following her?

"We can go inside if you'd like," she said.

Ethan glanced back at his car. "I better get going.”

"Is something wrong?"

His blue eyes met hers, and she recognized a sadness lurking just beneath their glassy surface.

"Right now everything is perfect,” he said and pulled her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her.

Her first instinct was to fight, but she told herself to calm down. Everything was okay. She relaxed and inhaled deeply, wanting to remember his smell for when she was alone. Through his t-shirt she heard his heartbeat pounding slow and steady. She could fall asleep to that sound, she thought, sinking even further into him.

"What are you doing tomorrow night?" he asked, nuzzling his face next to her ear.

She felt light headed, but managed to say, "I usually hang out at the beach. Sometimes with the girls, or Logan’s usually there."

"When it's dark?"

Claire shrugged. "That’s when the beach is most beautiful. What are you doing?"

His muscles tightened. "Probably nothing. My parents are stupidly strict. But maybe I can meet you down there? Tenish?"

Claire pulled away and looked at him. "I'd like that."

He smiled and leaned toward her again. She thought he was going to kiss her, but instead he gave her a tight hug.  There was something about the way he held her that made her think of the words longing...and pain. When he let her go, she searched his face, but found no signs of what she'd felt in his embrace.

"Thanks again for tonight," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Claire remained on the porch until Ethan’s car disappeared into the night. For just a brief moment, before she escaped to the warmth of her home, she wondered what lay hidden beneath his calm demeanor.

Chapter 10

THE LIGHT OF the moon spilled to the ground in great floods, illuminating a thick fog lining the seashore. Albert watched it curiously as it descended upon Bandon. It was rumored the fog brought death, all because of a teenage girl who had drowned one night while skinny dipping with her boyfriend.

"It swallowed her," the shaken-up boyfriend had told police. "I tried to get to her, but the fog took her away and drug her into the ocean." Albert and every other teenager had all heard the story for years, never knowing if it was true or not, but last year he’d looked it up and found it in the local newspaper in 1973.

Most likely the girl had drowned on a foggy night just like this. He jumped from a jagged rock to the beach below, his feet shifting in the fine sand. Not far away, waves crashed to the shore but he couldn't see them. Normally, he loved nights like this, hidden from the rest of the world as if he was on his own private island, but he didn't want to be alone anymore. He had found peace in Claire.

Beautiful Claire. How could he make her feel what he was feeling?

He picked up a smooth black stone and tossed it into the heavy fog. Whether it hit the water or not, he wasn’t sure. The sound was muffled by another crashing wave.

He thought back to last night when he’d seen her talking to him. He wouldn’t think or say his name, because if he did, then he’d have to accept the truth. Claire had feelings for him even if she wouldn’t admit it.

He was nice enough, Albert thought. Even willing to fight that psycho security guard, Gary. Just thinking about the way Gary had looked at Claire, like his eyes were slowly peeling off her clothing, made blood rush to Albert’s face and the veins in his neck pop out. Creeps like him should be neutered.

Albert glanced down at his watch. It was almost ten o'clock. He'd snuck out of his parent’s house about twenty minutes ago, intent on finding Claire, but thinking of Gary made him change his plans. There was plenty of time for Claire, but Gary needed to be taught a lesson.

Or so a voice in the back of his head kept saying.

He paused, listening carefully. The voice, subtle, yet distinct like the tiny pin prick of a needle, had begun whispering things to him ever since he last took Bodian’s transforming concoction. Albert listened to the voice in those moments when he was alone, sometimes even communicating with it. It was Gage, of course, the one who was self-assured, knew exactly what he wanted and didn’t care what others thought. Sometimes Albert wondered if Gage was the best part of him. That’s what the voice was saying now.

He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a half-empty vial. The last time he'd sipped the blue liquid, he'd robbed a store and hurt a girl pretty badly. But he'd also experienced a crazy sense of strength and agility. Just thinking of the overwhelming feeling made him want to guzzle the rest of the liquid, but he had to be careful, he reminded himself. Gage had taken full control, leaving Albert to deal with the aftermath of the crime. He'd already decided to pay back the gas station using money from his savings. He'd right the wrongs of Gage. He was a good person. Unlike his parents, he didn't enjoy hurting others. One day he'd have a respectable job, be a good husband and a great father.

Albert glanced behind him, just barely making out a rock wall through the fog. Just above it was Bandon. Its inhabitants had taught him all that he knew.  One day he’d have his own home here and have the life he always dreamed about, but he couldn't have freaks like Gary screwing it up. He and Gary were going to have to come to an understanding.

He bit the lid off with his teeth and spat it onto the ground. Tipping his head back, he poured the rest of it into his mouth, letting it tingle on his tongue and the sides of his mouth before he swallowed it. He felt the effects immediately. It raced through his gut and to his bones.

Collapsing in the sand, Albert’s back arched, fingers and toes curling. A sound, like bones crunching, filled his ears, but the pain was so much worse than the horrifying noise. It was as if someone had stripped him of his skin and was pulling and tugging on his bones, stretching them beyond their limits. His head shook violently to and fro, faster than he thought possible, and he was afraid any moment his brains might burst from his eye sockets or ooze from his ears.

Saliva foamed in his mouth until it bubbled over and ran down his chin. With his heart pounding fast and hard, he feared this was the end. This surprising revelation made him feel calm. He would miss Claire, though.

But Albert didn’t die. Not really. He was merely shoved aside by a much stronger, powerful version of himself. It was in this split second that Albert realized his mistake. He had been too confident, too self-assured in his abilities to control Gage. The last thought he had before Gage mentally shoved him into the darkest part of his mind was what a fool he was.

Gage inhaled deeply and smiled. He stretched out on the sand as if he’d been stuck in a cramped corner for way too long. Rolling onto his bare stomach, he pushed himself onto all fours, feeling slightly nauseated, but not from the earlier fit—from an indescribable power.

Beneath his skin, his muscles pulsed with energy. Gage flexed them tight and admired the way they had become more defined. He reached up and smoothed his longer, black hair.

Nearby were Albert’s clothes. Gage finished dressing by pulling on a black Bandon High hoodie. He stared into the gray fog hovering just above the ocean; a rock wall was at his back. He remembered what Albert had been thinking only moments ago. The girl who drowned, Claire, and finally Gary. For once Albert had it right—Gary needed to be taught a lesson, but not the tongue lashing Albert had planned; Gary needed his eyes gauged out. No one could look at Claire like she was a Thanksgiving feast except for him.

Instead of walking along the beach, and up to the boardwalk, he went to the rock wall and began to climb. His fingers dug into the jagged surface of the rocks like vulture claws. Recklessly, he scurried up the rock face, leaping impossible distances to get to the next hold. In his mind he pictured Claire, every curve of her body. Lying on his bed. Naked.

With one final bound, he propelled himself upward to solid ground, and onto a trail that either led back to the beach or up toward the road where his bike was parked. He turned in the direction of the road when a faint odor, pleasant and sweet, mixed with the night’s soft breeze. His head snapped toward the beach, but he saw nothing. The fog made sure of that. With the agility of a panther, he silently made his way down the trail to find the source of the one smell that could deter him from Gary.

Gage found her facing the ocean, staring into the heavy fog, a hood pulled over her head. Long dark hair escaped from the covering only to be caught up in the wind, twisting around her face like Medusa’s snakes. He'd never seen Claire so beautiful. She remained still, like a sea glass sculpture frozen in time by the power of a lightning bolt sent down by Zeus.

He crept up behind her. She remained oblivious to his presence; any sounds he made were muffled by the crashing waves hidden within the fog. He inhaled deeply and reached his hand forward, tracing the back of her head with his fingers, but not touching. His tongue danced in his mouth, and his eyes rolled back. Gage moaned, the sound igniting millions of nerves just beneath his skin.

Claire jumped and whirled around. She sucked in a breath at his close proximity, then quickly stepped back. The fear in her eyes was replaced with anger. She watched him for a moment, and he had the distinct impression that she was trying to figure out if she knew him.

Finally she said, "Do you mind? I'm sort of having a moment here—alone."

Gage motioned his head toward the fog. "Death rides the ocean tonight."

She stepped back again. "Who are you?"

"The fog seeks a human sacrifice,” he said, licking his lips. Man, she was hot.

Claire looked away. "I don't believe in superstitions."

"No? I assume you don't believe in monsters either?" He moved toward her, too slowly for her to notice—a snake slithering toward its prey.

Claire met his gaze. "Now monsters I do believe in."

"You're a smart girl, Claire.”

She flinched. "How do you know my name?"

"I know more than just your name." She appeared to act casual, but he could smell the sweat breaking on her skin.

"Did you go to Bandon High?"

"Not really."

"What's your name?" she asked, her eyes searching the landscape behind him. Probably looking for help.

"Gage," he said.

"Gage what?"

"Gage... Anderson."

She nodded. "Uh-huh, sure."

"You look like you’re expecting someone," he said, stepping directly in front of her, forcing her to look at him again.

She raised her chin. "I am. My huge boyfriend.”

Gage shook his head. "You don't have a boyfriend, Claire. You're available."

"How would you know? We've never met.”

"Haven't we?" He reached out to touch her arm.

She jerked it away. "I would remember."

"A memory is a funny thing.”

She took a step to the right. "What are you talking about?"

He blocked her. "Staring into the eyes of death. It's impossible to forget, isn't it?"

She froze and looked at him.

"The girl was beautiful, but stupid," he said.

"I have to go.” She no longer tried to hide her fear. She took three steps past him before he took hold of her arm, stopping her.

"I'll scream," she said.

Gage grinned. "I hope so."

Instead of trying to run, Claire took hold of his shoulder and brought a knee up hard between his legs. He gasped and fell to the ground. She easily shook off his hold and began to run. She went about ten feet before she turned back around and returned to kick him two more times in the stomach, which he loved. This time when she ran away, she didn't stop.

Gage watched her as he lay on his side, face against the cool sand. She attempted to run up the sandy slope toward Bandon. She paused briefly, then changed directions, heading toward the dirt trail just above the cliff. Surely she thought she could out run him more quickly on solid ground. Too bad it didn't matter where she ran.

He stood up, fully recovered. Only when her dark figure had fully disappeared into the darkness and its equally dark partner, the fog, did he chase after her, looking forward to the hunt.

Gage sprinted fast, his strides more like great leaps like that of a lion’s. His heart raced with the thrill and his mind flashed perverse images of what he'd do to her the moment he caught her. He paused, for just a second, to listen to the sound of a terrible screaming within his head. He recognized the voice. Somewhere deep within his subconscious Albert was begging to be free, to try and save his precious Claire.

He picked up his pace, ignoring the pleading voice. A beautiful woman needed his attention.

He veered off the trail and raced up the side of the hill, then turned sharply to run parallel with Claire through thick underbrush while she ran not less than thirty feet away. It took him just a moment to drop back down and cut her off.

She came to a screeching halt, eyes wide. "What the hell?"

Gage drew in a deep breath and let it out.

“You know Hell isn't the place people think it is," he said, circling her. "It's not fire and brimstone. It's not a place where some big-horned red dude works you to the bone. Hell is simply living your worst nightmare over and over again.” He studied her. “What frightens you, Claire?"

Her eyes darted back and forth. Gage smiled. He had her trapped like a fox in a snare, and she knew it. She wouldn't go to her left, up the steep hill, covered in heavy pines and downfallen trees and she wouldn’t dare go down the cliff that he had climbed just moments ago. That left her with trying to pass him or going back the way she came.

Her eyes met his and he could practically hear her thoughts say, "I'll never make it." Gage reached out and brushed a lock of hair from her shoulder.

She flinched. "What do you want?"

"To play with you."

"You're messed up."

"Aren't we all?"

She took a step toward the edge of the cliff. Gage snatched her arm and jerked her body against his. He leaned forward to kiss her, but the sound of a terrible roaring exploded in his head, and he was forced to let her go.

Clutching his head in pain, he growled at Albert, "She's not yours."

His eyes snapped up at Claire who was staring at him with a bewildered expression. She'd moved again to the edge.

Gage motioned with his hand. "Get back here."

Her eyes burned cold. "I'd rather die than let you touch me."

"That can be arranged." He lunged for her, but was too slow.

Claire stepped backwards off the cliff. She slid fast, hands outstretched, clawing at anything to break her fall. A rock snagged her hands, and she clung to it while her feet struggled to find ground.  She looked upward, toward the heavens, as if begging God to save her.

This gesture infuriated him, turned his insides hot, made him want to devour her flesh until he could crush her bones between his jaws. They ached just thinking about it.

Gage dropped to his belly and reached down to where her hand was struggling to maintain its grip. He clamped down on her wrist and easily pulled her up to where his face met hers, her legs dangling in the air beneath her.

"You're praying to the wrong master,” he said. "I’m the only one you should worship.”

He rolled onto his back, pulling her into a tight embrace, much like a snake does after striking its prey. Claire ended up on top of him. His tongue flickered and tasted her warm cheek. She tried to fight back, screaming “No” and “Stop,” but this only made him constrict tighter, forcing the air from her lungs.

Gage was about to enact all of his fantasies when Albert broke free from his subconscious prison. And he came out fighting. Pain seared Gage’s brain, and he released Claire to claw at his face. He rolled back and forth, screaming and writhing in the dirt like a worm cut in half.

He was vaguely aware that Claire was getting to her feet. He tried to stop her, but a sudden and sharp pain traveled the length of his arm. It was as if Albert was jabbing a needle into his central nervous system. He cried out again. Not so much from the pain this time, but from frustration. Claire was getting away.

Chapter 11

BREATHE.

One foot in front of the other.

Concentrate.

Not much further.

Run fast. And breathe.

Claire glanced behind her. Nothing was there and yet everything was. Fear and terror left a blackened mark, staining the ground passing beneath her feet. An obvious trail for any predator to follow.

She ran harder, focusing on the sounds of her footsteps against the pavement. The fog seemed to have grown thicker and it pressed against her, smothering her with its musty smell of sweat and tears.

Just keep moving.

Breathe.

Make it to the stop sign, she told herself. It wasn’t that far, maybe a hundred yards. Claire stared at the big red sign, burning a hole into it with her eyes. The four white letters stared back, cold and oblivious. She didn't see the word, only the individual letters. The word meant nothing to her, held no power. She ran past it, ignoring its warning.

She ran by closed souvenir shops, sprinted by the grocery store, ignored a honking car, until finally she saw the police station, shining brightly. She had never seen anything so beautiful, so safe.

Please be there, Claire prayed for the second time that night.

She burst through glass doors and kept running. Down a hall. Past surprised faces. Through startled voices. Smith’s office door was open. He saw her coming toward him and stood up behind his desk. The moment his steady grey eyes met hers, her body slowed and legs dragged. She stumbled to him until his arms came around her.

She was safe.

Smith waited for her tears to subside, waving away those who had followed her into his office, before he finally pulled away and said, "Tell me what happened."

Claire looked up. His expression was stone, a sharp boulder with jagged lines, waiting to roll down a mountain to crush her enemies. But the fire in his eyes also burned warm and full of compassion.

She opened her mouth to speak, but realized her voice had been left behind. She closed her eyes, waiting for it to catch up.

"Sit down," Smith said. He took hold of her shoulders and guided her to an old cornmeal-colored couch against a gray wall. She sank into the mushy color; the only thing keeping her from sinking to the bottom was Smith's hand over hers.

"Start from the beginning," he encouraged. "What happened?" The sharp lines of his face softened and he no longer looked like a jagged stone, but more of a river rock, smooth and steady.

Claire took a deep breath. Held it. And slowly let it out. Her phone buzzed just then from within her pocket, but she ignored the caller and said, "I was at the beach. Waiting for—”

"Claire!" Logan burst into the room, eyes frantic.

Before Claire or Smith could react, Logan was kneeling at her feet. "What happened?"

"How did you know she was here?" Smith asked.

Logan looked at Smith as if he was a fly buzzing in his ear. "I saw her running away from the beach and could tell something was wrong. I followed her here. Or tried to anyway. She was running so fast." He looked back at Claire, searching her face. "Who did this to you?"

Claire didn’t know what he was talking about.  Was something wrong with her? Did a part of Gage’s evil somehow break off and attach itself to her?

"Your lip. It's bleeding," Logan said.

“Oh,” Claire said. She reached up and touched it, taking his word for it, even though she felt nothing.

Smith stood up. "Listen, Logan. Claire was just about to tell me what happened. Why don't you go wait outside, and then you can see her when we're finished. I’ll also want to ask you some questions, too. See if you saw anything."

Nodding, Logan stood up and, after noticing his shirt was unbuttoned, began to button it up, his face reddening.

Claire frowned at his odd behavior, but then shook her head.

"Can Logan stay?" Logan was familiar, like her comforter at home.

Smith sat back down. "Fine, but don't interrupt and let me ask the questions."

Logan pulled up a chair to sit across from Claire. He reached to take her hand, but stopped. "It's okay. Tell us what happened."

Smith glared at him. "My job, remember?"

Logan mouthed the word, "Sorry".

Smith turned to her. "So you were at the beach. Who were you waiting for?"

"Ethan." Her eyes flashed to Logan's, but he showed no other emotion than concern.

"Did he show up?" Smith asked.

"No. Or maybe he was just late. I'd only been waiting maybe ten minutes."

"Then what happened?" Smith encouraged.

Claire squished her lips together hard enough to feel the cut on her lip. The pain focused her.

"A boy snuck up behind me," she said.

"What boy?" Smith asked.

Claire shook her head. "He said his name was Gage."

"Any last name?"

"He said 'Anderson', but I could tell he made it up."

Smith squinted his eyes, like he was mentally taking notes in his head, before he asked, "What did he look like?"

Claire saw him clearly in her mind, his darkness, his power, but when she tried to describe him, she couldn't. "There was something wrong with him."

"Like a disfigurement?"

"No. But he was deformed somewhere, but I can't say how exactly. He was disgusting."

"Could you be a little more specific? The color of his hair maybe?" Smith asked.

"Dark. I think. His whole face was dark. It was like the color was dripping from him."

Smith rubbed his thick jaw line. "What did he say to you?"

"He knew me," Claire said. The words brought back the memory of his touch. She closed her eyes. "He said my name. Said he knew I didn't have a boyfriend. And that I'd found that dead girl."

This made Smith sit up. His boulder-face returned. "What happened next?"

Claire breathed in. "He grabbed me." Logan tensed, but she continued. "He wanted me to scream. I kneed him in the groin and ran. I raced up the hill on the trail at the top of the cliffs, thinking I’d get away quicker, but then all of a sudden he appeared in front of me. Of all the things, this scared me the most. I couldn't figure out how he'd gotten to me so fast."

She began to shake. Logan moved to the couch next to her. He didn’t put his arm around her, but his shoulder touched hers. It was enough. "Then he started talking again, and all I wanted to do was get away. So when he tried to grab me again, I stepped off the cliff."

"You did what?" Logan said, alarmed.

"Quiet," Smith said. "Then what happened?"

Claire looked at Logan with pleading eyes. "I thought he was going to kill me so I figured if I went off the cliff, I might have a chance at catching myself on the rocks. And that's exactly what happened. But I wasn’t low enough. He reached down, and with this insane strength, he took hold of my wrist and lifted me with one hand until I was on top of him. He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed until I thought my chest would collapse."

She took a deep breath and wiped at the tears stinging her eyes.

"Then what?" Smith asked.

Claire thought back. "I don't know. All of a sudden he acted like he was in pain and he grabbed his head, letting me go."

Smith paused. "Did he say anything?"

"No, but he was clawing at his face like something was burning him." She frowned, remembering how strange he had acted. "Actually, when he grabbed me the first time, he had the same reaction, like something was hurting him. That time he yelled 'She's not yours'. It was as if someone else was there, but there wasn’t anyone that I could see."

Smith didn't answer. He looked like he was mentally taking notes again, looking just above her head.

"Sounds like the guy is crazy," Logan said.

"Once I got away,” Claire continued, “I just ran straight here."

Smith stood up and walked behind his desk. He opened a file on his desk and removed a DVD. "I want to show you something, Claire."

"What is it?"

"It's the security footage of the gas station robbery the other day." Smith went to a TV in the corner of the room and pushed the DVD into a built-in player. "There's a part that may be a bit graphic, and for that I apologize, but I really want you to see this."

She stood up, rubbing her hands together. They were so cold. "Why?"

Smith turned to her. "Because from your description, I think the man you met, Gage, is the same guy who robbed the gas station and who was with Mindy just before she died. I want to know if I’m right."

Logan asked, “How do you know he was with Mindy?”

“The same marks were found at both crime scenes,” he hesitated and looked at Claire. “I mean fingerprints.”

Claire lowered her head. "There's something I need to tell you, Smith, and I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner."

"About what?"

"Remember the money I found on my doorstep? Well, it was exactly $800."

Smith's eyebrows rose. "That's how much was stolen."

"I was afraid of that. I'll give the money back, I promise."

Smith was shaking his head. "But the money's already been returned, Claire. The next day a backpack appeared with a bunch of money in it and a note saying it belonged to the robbery. It was different bills than what was stolen, but the amounts were the same."

"But what about the money given to me?” Claire began to panic. She didn’t want anything Gage had touched. “I don't want it!"

Smith rubbed the back of his neck, and for the first time Claire noticed dark circles under his eyes.

"Go ahead and bring it in for now,” he said. “We can keep it as evidence for when we catch this guy. Do you still have the note?"

Claire nodded.

"Good. Bring it to me when you can. Now back to this security tape.” Smith turned his attention to the television. “I want you to tell me if this is the guy you saw tonight."

Smith pressed play.

The video showed the back of a man, black hair, back slightly hunched over. His hands were on the counter and he was saying something to a female clerk. Claire couldn't hear what, but by the woman's expression, Claire knew she was feeling exactly what she had felt not less than an hour ago. The lady’s terror-stricken face looked as if she were in the presence of Satan himself.

Just then the man turned around. When she saw his face, Claire stumbled backwards. Logan caught her and steadied her with his hands. The warmth of them against her bare arms was strangely comforting, and she didn’t move away.

"Is this Gage?" Smith asked, pausing the TV on Gage’s face.

Claire looked away. "That's him," she said, her voice quiet.

Smith walked by her and out into the hallway. "Give me a minute.”

Logan turned her around. "I'm so sorry,” he said, looking pale. “I should've been there for you."

This seemed to wake Claire up. She stepped back. "How could you've known? I'm just glad everything turned out okay. I hope Smith can catch him."

"Me too.” Logan shook his head. “So how come Ethan never showed up? Maybe if he'd been there this guy would’ve left you alone."

"I don't know, but you can't blame him." She pulled out her cell phone from her pocket. "I probably should call him in case he showed up late. I wouldn’t want him running into Gage."

Logan snatched her phone. "Let me talk to him. There's something I want to say."

"Logan!" Claire called after him, but he was already walking out the door and wouldn't stop.

Smith returned just then. "I've sent a couple of my men to the beach to look for this guy. If he's still there, we'll find him." He came next to her. "You're really lucky, you know that?"

Her lips tightened, as did the rest of her body. "Maybe."

"We'll catch him, Claire. Don't worry."

"What if you don't?"

He took hold of her shoulders. "We will, but in the meantime, I'll have officers patrol your house regularly, and I want you to keep it locked, understand?"

She nodded.

"And don't go anywhere unnecessary. I’ll call your mom, too, so she knows what’s going on.”

Claire glanced at a clock above the door. "She won't be home until midnight."

"Do you want a ride home?"

"Maybe. Let me check with Logan first."

Smith returned to his desk and sat down. "I'm glad Logan's watching out for you. He's a good guy, you know?"

Her shoulders relaxed. A little. "I know."

"I'll let you go home after I ask Logan a few questions. Why don't you rest on the couch until I'm done?"

"Sure." Smith walked out of the room, leaving her alone again.

Claire had every intention of collapsing on the cornmeal sofa, but her feet wouldn't move in the suddenly enormous room. The humming of the fluorescent lights above her seemed to be growing louder, and the strong smell of sweat and copy paper stung her nostrils.

She stood there for several minutes, focusing on her breathing again. In and out. Slowly. Thinking of nothing else until a prickling, like the sharp end of a thousand needles, began to drag its way up her spine until it burst from her skin in a violent shiver.

Claire turned around. Frozen on the television screen was Gage staring directly into the camera. His lips were turned up on the ends like he was about to laugh. She hadn't noticed before, but now, as she stared at his cold image, at his dark eyes, she swore they were challenging her. To what, she didn't know.

She walked to the TV and turned it off. When her reflection appeared in the TV’s black glass, she quickly turned away.

"Claire?"

She jumped and whirled around.

"Smith said we could go,” Logan said. “He decided to have a cop park outside your house for a few days while you’re home. And he wants you to write an official statement and bring it back tomorrow."

"Where is he?" She wanted to thank him.

"He's out there talking to the guys. Probably telling them about what happened. Do you want to sneak out the back?"

Claire nodded. The last thing she needed right now was a bunch of sorry looks from the other officers. "Thank you, Logan. I owe you so much. I always do."

His jaw clenched tight. "Don't say that. Ever. You will never owe me anything, and I will always be here for you. Even if you are dating a moron." He smiled, but it looked forced.

"I'm not dating him officially. We're just hanging out." She started toward the door. "Did you get a hold of him?"

"I did."

"And?"

Logan didn’t look at her. "I let him have it for standing you up. Maybe if he'd been there, this wouldn't have happened."

Claire didn’t believe that was true, but she was curious as to where he was. "Did he say why he didn’t come?"

Logan’s brown eyes met hers, and she saw both passion and bitterness lurking in their faded depths. "I'll let him tell you. He'll be at your house when we get there."

As much of a support as Logan was to her, she couldn't wait to see Ethan. She craved his strong and calm demeanor. He reminded her of a rock amidst a raging waterfall, oblivious and untouched by the constant turmoil around him.

Logan didn’t say much to her on the drive to her house. She could tell by the way he tapped his thumb against the steering wheel to music barely playing from the radio, and the way he kept glancing at her that he wanted to talk more about what had happened, but thankfully he said nothing as she stared out the side window, following the dark horizon. Fog still clung stubbornly to land and she couldn't help but wonder what it was hiding.

Or who.

A block from her house, Claire saw Ethan's car in the driveway. It was then that she remembered to ask Logan a question. "What did you tell Smith? About what you saw at the beach?"

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I didn't see anything. I wish I would've. I only knew there was a problem when I saw you running past the grocery store." Logan pulled into her driveway. "I'll come by tomorrow. If you need anything at all, please call me."

"I will. I promise." She turned to him, almost wanting to hug him. “Thanks again, Logan.”

He nodded, and his lips barely rose in a thin and tight smile.

Claire jumped out of the car at the same time Ethan got out of his. He threw his arms around her, startling her. She didn’t know how to react to such physical contact, so she remained still, waiting for her usual emotions to kick in, but surprisingly there was no revulsion from being touched, no fear. In fact, she felt safe.

The headlights of Logan's car slowly faded away until they were left alone in the darkness. Because Ethan said nothing for several minutes, neither did she. So much had happened tonight that she didn’t even know where to start.

Finally he said, "I am so sorry. I'll never forgive myself."

She pulled away and looked up into his blue eyes. "You don't need to apologize. None of it was your fault."

He shook his head. "Logan was right. I should've been there."

"Logan's assigning blame everywhere else than where it should be, with Gage. No one else is responsible."

"I'm sorry I was late. I tried to come but…” his voice trailed off.

“What is it?” Claire asked.

His gaze met hers. “Someone slashed the tires on my road bike.”

Her eyes widened, and her heart skipped a beat.

“Who would’ve done that?” But even as she asked the question, she thought of Gage.

“Probably some bored punk kid. It’s nothing you need to worry about though.” He swept back the hair that had fallen into her left eye. “When I realized my bike wouldn’t work, it took me a few minutes to find the keys to my mom’s car. I came as quickly as I could, but when I got to the beach and didn't see you, I assumed you'd changed your mind. I tried calling, but you didn’t answer so I went home." He reached up to touch her swollen lip, but stopped short of it. "I'm so glad you're okay."

"Me too. It was pretty messed up. I’m sorry about your bike."

Just then a police car drove up and parked across the street. Claire waved to whoever was behind the wheel and said to Ethan, "Let's go inside."

She walked toward the front door, but stopped and turned back around. “If that’s okay?”

Ethan nodded. "What about your mom?"

"She won't be home for another hour, and I really don't want to be alone." She unlocked the door and walked inside. As soon as Ethan came in, she closed and locked the door. If Ethan hadn’t been there she probably would’ve pushed the couch in front of the door too.

"Shouldn't you call her? At least tell her what happened?" he asked.

She shrugged. "It's not a conversation I want to have over the phone. I'll tell her later. Do you want something to drink?"

He motioned for her to sit on the couch next to him. "Don’t worry about me right now. Come here."

Claire did as he asked, but not more than five seconds passed before her foot started tapping. "Do you want to watch TV?"

Ethan turned to her. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She took a deep breath and quickly told him exactly what she had told Logan and Smith. What she didn’t say was how terrified Gage had made her feel or how she felt he wasn’t normal, maybe not even human. And this made her think of something else, and her eyes widened.

“What is it, Claire?”

She didn’t answer, thinking only of the conversation she’d overheard at Bodian. Specifically of the monkeys and how the female scientist had said that the infected, stronger monkeys were stalking and torturing the weaker ones. Was Claire a weaker primate?

She was considering the connection between Gage and Bodian, even thinking about Ethan’s slashed tires, when he said, "Can I confess something?"

Her thinking came to a grinding halt. She didn’t like confessions. She was about to change the subject, maybe even fake sick, when he started talking.

"When Logan called and told me what happened, it felt like my heart had been ripped out."

Ethan continued to talk, saying words she didn’t know how to accept so she didn’t. She looked down at the shaggy tan carpet, focusing on a small faded spot of red. Years ago she'd accidentally cut herself while unloading the dishwasher and on the way to the bathroom to grab a bandage, blood dripped from her arm to the tan carpet. The way it had slid down her skin, a dark crimson color, fascinated her and she stopped to watch it fall in great rubies to the floor where it began to puddle, forming the red sea on the carpet her father had just purchased. Claire’s mother had found her and pulled her into the bathroom for it to drip into the sink no longer as rubies, but as red ink spots splattering against white porcelain.

"How long is this going to last?" Claire asked Ethan suddenly, her voice louder than she intended.

Ethan looked startled. "Huh?"

“This.” She motioned her hand back and forth between them. "I know we've only been on a couple of dates, but I really don't want to be wasting my time on something that's inevitably going to end." Claire said the words as harshly as possibly. She had to.

Ethan grinned. "I was wondering how long it'd take for her to appear.”

"What are you talking about?"

"The old Claire. The Claire who doesn't give a shit about anyone. The one with the Great Wall of China around her."

She turned away, not wanting him to see the pain in her eyes. She had to protect herself.

Ethan continued. "That day you ran into me at the school, I saw the real you. The vulnerable Claire. The soft Claire beneath all the layers. And she's been around for the last few weeks and I've loved it. But I knew it wouldn't last."

"So, what? You're going to leave now? Cause this is who I am." Hard, cruel, and bitter.

He reached over and took her hand. When she tried to pull away, he held it tighter, and stared directly into her eyes. "I'm not going anywhere unless you ask me to."

He squeezed her palm. "Back to my confession, and this time you’re going to listen. I've always liked you Claire. Always admired the way you handle yourself, and, yes, even your tough side. If you would've told me a year ago that I would be sitting next to you, alone, in your house, holding your hand, I would’ve said you were crazy. What you need to understand is I don't want to go anywhere. I want to be with you—the real you. I've waited so long to be in your world that I'm going to fight to stay in it this time. What happened tonight,” he swallowed hard, “you will never know how sorry I am."

Her knee began to bounce. "It's not your fault. Really. And I don't want to think about what happened. Not right now anyway."

She let go of his hand.

"When you want to talk about it, I'm here." Ethan picked up the remote. "What do you want to watch?"

“Your choice,” she said.

Ethan turned on the television and flipped through the channels.

She watched him, thinking hard about every word he had said. Part of her ached to believe him, the other part told her to kick him out of the house now before it was too late. But too much was happening and she didn’t want to be alone anymore. Or scared.

She hesitated briefly, before leaning her head against his shoulder.

Chapter 12

THE ROOM WAS dark. So black Albert couldn't see his hand in front of his face. He preferred it this way, unable to see his reflection in the mirrors. It made him feel as if he didn't exist.

When he’d been with Claire earlier, he was on autopilot, thinking of nothing but her. But after he left, and the reality of what Gage had almost done to her hit him, he'd thrown up several times on the side of the road. It took him almost two hours before he felt well enough to drive home again.

His parents had been waiting up after discovering he'd snuck out from his room. And they weren't happy. It was probably one of the worst shock treatments he’d ever received, his father having turned up the voltage considerably, but he took it all, not even considering sipping from Bodian’s vials to numb the pain. No amount of personal suffering could make up for what he'd done to Claire.

After he’d been shocked, he feigned unconsciousness until his father left the room. A portion of the physically altering formula was still inside him, keeping him from blacking out. He could feel the remains, black tentacles clinging to the darkest shadows of his mind, whispering and taunting.

Albert took hold of a twisted piece of metal made in one of Bodian’s labs–a gift from his father—and squeezed tight until there was blood dripping from his palm. He’d thought he could control Gage. He thought he was stronger, but Gage had taken over, shoving him into some kind of a mental prison.

His heart began to pound, each beat feeling like thunder inside his chest. Gage, who was really him. The darkest, most despicable part of him had been unleashed into a character so putrid, so horrid, that he wondered if Gage was really a demon, some spawn of the devil.

But all wasn’t lost. He had broken free from Gage's subconscious and taken over. Just in time, too. He'd seen Gage's thoughts and knew exactly what he planned on doing to Claire. His sheer will alone had stopped Gage, and Albert had shoved him so deep into his subconscious that he thought it impossible for Gage to ever come out.

As for the stolen Bodian concoction, he still had six vials left, buried beneath the floorboards in his room. When he went to destroy them all, he just couldn't do it. Though the concoction had given life to his inner beast, it had also had a hand in breaking down Claire. He felt indebted to it, like a soldier feels to his gun.

No. He wouldn't destroy the vials. But he would keep them hidden, just like the monster inside him.

The world would never know.

Claire would never know.

Chapter 13

CLAIRE WOKE AT eleven o'clock the next morning. The window was open, blowing a cool breeze that smelled of pine and ocean water into her room. She rolled onto her back and kicked the blankets off.

Just outside her door, she heard footsteps walking down the hall.  She quietly stood up and peeked out the bedroom door. Her mom was in the living room, standing still, staring at the wall.

Claire opened the door all of the way. "Mom? What are you doing?"

She was looking at a picture of her and Claire. Her father had taken the picture when Claire was five at a trip to the zoo.

Her mother tore her eyes away and said. "Nothing.” Her hair wasn’t combed and she was still in a robe.

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"I took the day off. Smith thought it would be best." She went into the kitchen and turned on the faucet. Water poured into an empty sink while her mother watched it.

This was the side of her mom Claire hated the most. Whenever her mother felt she couldn’t deal with something, she shut down. Claire came up behind her and reached around to shut off the water. “Why don’t you get something to eat and then go back to bed? You look tired.”

“Maybe. But,” her mother looked around the room as if searching for words, “don’t you need something?”

“I’m okay. Really, I am. You just rest.” Claire guided her back to her bedroom.

Her mother stopped suddenly. “The money. Smith said to bring the money in today.”

Then she started walking again.

The money. Claire bolted for her room. How could she have slept knowing the work of Gage's hands lie only inches below her?

She dropped to her knees and looked under the bed. The shoebox she had stashed the money in was still there. She exhaled and took off the lid. And then panicked. "Mom!"

"What is it?" her mother called from her bedroom.

"The money. It's gone!" She ran her fingers on the inside of the box as if to make sure the box was really empty.

Her mother appeared in the doorway. "Are you sure that's where you left it?"

"Positive." Claire’s mind turned over like a jumped battery. She looked up at her mom. "Did you take it?"

Her mother paused, scanned the room, seeming to think, but Claire was pretty sure she wasn’t thinking about the money. Her stare was empty.

“I didn’t know anything about it," her mother finally said. “But who did?”

Claire quickly flipped through faces in her memory and removed one of them. She knew exactly who took the money. "Can I borrow the car?"

Her mother nodded.

Claire slipped by her, leaving her staring after her. She hoped her mom would go back to bed. Sleep always helped her.

She snatched the keys off the counter and sprinted out the door, still in her pajamas. Ten minutes later Claire stood on Kate’s front porch, pounding on her front door.

Gratefully Kate was the one to answer instead of her mom or sister. Claire would’ve felt bad if someone else had to see her wrath.

"What are you doing here?" Kate asked.

"Tell me you still have the money.”

Kate stuck out her chin and glanced away. "I don't. Not all of it anyway."

"What did you do with it?"

Kate’s eyes met hers. "I drove to Portland yesterday and paid the entrance fee."

"That wasn't your money!"

Kate stepped outside onto the porch and shut the door behind her. "Well it wasn't yours either. Not entirely. You read the note and it was pretty clear what it was supposed to be used for. I only did what you wouldn't."

"But I told you I was waiting!"

"Waiting for what? This is our band’s dream, Claire. It’s what we’ve talked about for years and someone finally gave us a chance." Kate moved into a defensive position as if she were afraid Claire was going to attack her.

Instead, Claire shook her head and sat down on the step, saying nothing. Normally she wouldn’t have let something like this go so easily, but she just couldn’t bring herself to argue with her best friend. Not when there was a real fight waiting for her.

After a moment, Kate joined her. "What's going on?"

Claire inhaled deeply and on an exhale that seemed to last forever told her what happened. "So I need that money back, Kate. I don't want that freak thinking I owe him anything. Ever."

Kate twisted a finger through a hole in her jeans. "I guess I could try to get a refund."

"Really?"

Kate looked doubtful. "What about turning this whole situation into a positive?"

"There's nothing positive about it!"

Kate stood up and moved in front of her. "That's what I'm saying! What happened to you was horrible. But, like you said, the money was paid back and probably by Gage. I mean, who else would do it? So if we keep the money and then win the competition, something good will have come out of all of this."

She shook her head, but Kate persisted.

"Come on! The contest is in two weeks and you know how great we've been sounding. We have a real chance at winning this thing." Kate knelt in front of her. "We can do this, Claire. I feel it in my bones."

“I don’t know.”

"As for the money, there's still about $300 left with what we raised. And if we win the competition, we can use the prize money to pay back the rest.” Kate frowned. “Even though I'm not really sure who we pay back as the gas station already got their money. Donate it to charity?"

Claire sighed, caving in. This was the chance of a lifetime after all. And what were the odds she’d see Gage again? He probably saw the cops and was long gone. She nodded slowly. "Okay. But we better win."

Kate threw her arms around her. "You won't regret this!"

"I hope not," Claire said, but the words tasted bitter.

Chapter 14

ALBERT KEPT HIS distance in a corner booth, eyeing Claire with her friends while they ate lunch at Eddy’s. He watched her often now, made sure she was always safe. There wasn't a lot he could do to make up for what Gage had done to her, but he could at least make sure she was happy.

Claire shoved Steph playfully and laughed. She seemed better today, he thought. Over a week had passed since Gage had attacked her and every day she grew stronger.

He smiled, thinking of the last week. He'd spent as much time as possible with her, trying to be exactly what she needed, when she wasn’t with Him of course—the other man in her life. But Albert didn’t complain. Even he could see His presence was good for her so he said nothing and refused to think about how she might feel about Him.

It was difficult getting away from his parents. After he'd been caught sneaking out of his room, they had grounded him for a month, but the strange thing was they didn’t bother locking his window. They simply locked the door from the outside like they always did, and said they’d come for him in the morning.

Their actions made Albert suspicious, but he didn’t question them. He was glad they left him alone at night because this gave him a chance to still see Claire whenever she was available. But even when he didn’t see her, he stayed awake.

Sleep eluded him, no matter what he tried. He assumed it was a side effect of the drug, which he had proudly avoided, despite the fact that vials still remained holed up beneath the floorboards like a hibernating bear. For now they were as trapped as Gage.

But Albert could still hear him. When the night was quiet and heavy fog smothered the world around him, he heard Gage's words. They had been loud at first, demanding to be released, but now all he heard was a sort of hissing. A swearing of revenge.

Gage was trapped, and that was all he cared about. But for how long was what worried him. It was taking all his mental strength to contain Gage, yet Albert felt the cage was too fragile: glass where there should be bars. He was afraid any disruption to his emotional state would shatter the mental prison and release a monster that might never be contained again.

Claire laughed again, and Albert looked up. She was so beautiful. He vowed, for the millionth time, that no matter what he would keep her safe.

Chapter 15

CLAIRE PASSED A basket of fries to Steph. She followed it up with a bottle of ketchup.

"Thanks," Steph said. Next to her, Kate fluffed salad with her fork, seemingly in another world.

"Did you guys look over the lyrics I wrote?" Audrey shouted from the end of the table.

Steph held her hand up to her ear. "Huh? We can't hear you."

They all laughed, and even Kate snickered.

Audrey scowled. "Did you guys read them or not?"

Claire swallowed the bite of pizza in her mouth. "They rocked. Seriously, Audrey. Especially the third one. What was it called? Death's song?"

"Death's Sonnet," Audrey corrected.

Claire tried not to flinch from the sound of her voice.

"I liked them too," Steph said. "We are going to do awesome at The Fire and Ice Concert."

Kate set her fork down and stared at Claire. "Not if we don't get our head in the game.”

"What's that supposed to mean?" Claire asked. She noticed Steph and Audrey had stopped eating and were listening intently.

Kate rested her elbows on the table. "You've just been distracted lately and you've missed two practices."

Claire rolled her eyes and said, holding up her finger, “One, I have not been distracted, and B, one of those missed practices was for a dentist appointment."

Steph and Audrey stifled a laugh, but Kate was having none of it. "Why did you miss the other one?"

"I was hanging out with Ethan. You knew that."

"Doing what?" she demanded, leaning over the table even further.

Steph placed a hand on Kate's arm. "Lay off, Kate. It was only two practices."

Kate brushed her hand away. "But we should be spending all of our time practicing. And it's not just the missed practices. You guys can see she's been a love-zombie for the past few weeks. Ethan is all she thinks about, but we need her thinking about the band.” Kate leaned back and folded her arms to her chest. “Even Logan has managed to show up for all of our practices and he’s not even in the band anymore!"

Claire pushed her food away and began to gather her books. "Whatever. I'm out of here." But deep down she knew Kate was right. She and Ethan had become inseparable, and when they weren't together she found herself thinking only of him. His voice. His touch. His scent. But who was Kate to tell her it was too much? She moved to stand up, but felt warm palms on her shoulders.

"What's going on?" Ethan asked.

Her whole body seemed to sigh, and she relaxed into him. He couldn't have picked a better time to show up.

"Kate's giving her a hard time for missing practice," Steph said. Kate tossed her a dirty look, but Steph mirrored one back.

"Sorry, guys,” Ethan said, dropping his hands from her shoulders. “That was my fault. If I'd known it was going to cause problems, I would never have asked."

"There's no problem," Audrey said, smiling. Ethan grimaced from the sound of her loud voice.

"Actually there is," Kate said. "Without Claire's voice our band sucks. She's like the chocolate chips in our cookie so when she's gone, both mentally and physically, we’re just a boring cookie, a good one, but still plain. If we want to win, we really need to get her focused on the band again."

Claire turned to her. "Would you back off, Kate? Everything’s going to be fine."

Ethan put his arm around her. It wasn’t that long ago that she would’ve pulled away if he’d tried this, but not so much anymore.

"Kate's right,” he said, surprising her. “This is an awesome opportunity for you, and I don't want anything to screw it up, including me."

"You won't," Claire said.

"But just in case, maybe we should lay low for awhile."

"Are you guys breaking up?" Logan said, seeming to appear out of nowhere. He was grinning and everyone laughed, but Claire saw the truth hidden in his eyes.

She took hold of Ethan's hand. "Of course not."

"Good. Cause that would blow," Logan said and winked at her.

"You know, Kate,” Steph said as she readjusted her ponytail, “if you want to throw in an extra practice, we can play at The Hole in Roseburg. My uncle called last night and said one of their bands cancelled."

Kate looked at Steph, her eyes huge. "Serious? Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"I like it when you get mad," Steph said and pressed a fry into her mouth.

Kate turned to the rest of them. "Can you guys do it?"

"I can," Audrey belted.

"I’m in," Steph said.

They all looked at Claire, and she looked at Ethan. He smiled. "Go. You need this. We can hang out later."

"I'm going, too," Logan said. "I was a member of the band after all, and I want to make sure you guys don't screw up what I helped create."

Steph dipped another fry into ketchup. "If anything, we're making it better." She looked at Ethan. "If Logan's going, you might as well come too. But I'll have to see if my aunt will let us all stay the night."

"I won't be able to stay," Logan said, and Claire noticed his body tensing from across the table.

"Me either,” Ethan said.

"And I’ve got a curfew," Claire added.

Kate scrunched her nose. "Since when do you have a curfew?"

"Since my mystery date at the beach. Smith insists on it."

"Smith? What about your mom?" Kate asked.

Claire stiffened, but Ethan squeezed her hand. Always supportive. "You know my mom. I don’t think she understands what actually happened, or maybe doesn’t want to. I’m just glad Smith’s around.”

Steph stood up. "So it's settled. We'll ride with Audrey—”

"I'm driving?" Audrey blurted.

"And Ethan and Claire can ride with Logan," Steph finished.

Logan's eyes briefly met Claire’s. "Perfect," he said. "Meet me in front of the grocery store at 5:00. Of course that might be too early for you, Ethan.” He sounded hopeful.

Ethan smiled. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Chapter 16

ON FRIDAY, ETHAN came over to Claire’s house to hang out before they met Logan at the store. She walked into the kitchen and grabbed a bag of chips and a jar of salsa. "So your parents are cool with you going tonight?"

Ethan shrugged. "They’re okay. You want some help?"

"No. I got it." She set the food on the coffee table in front of him. "Do you get along with them?"

"So-so." He stood up and motioned for her to sit down. "I'll get the drinks." He walked to the fridge and pulled out two sodas. "Do you get along with your mom?"

"Depends."

"On what?" He opened a can and handed it to her.

"How hard she's working. But that's what sucks. When she works all the time, she's cranky, but when she takes time off, like she did last week, then she starts thinking too much and goes all catatonic."

"Sounds rough.”

"I guess it could be worse. My dad could be out of prison." She froze as if the words had cut her tongue. How could she have slipped up like that? She hadn’t mentioned her father out loud in years.

She quickly stood up, blood rushing from her head, and moved toward the kitchen. She stumbled but caught herself on the kitchen counter. Think of something else, she thought over and over, trying to expel the image of her father from her mind.

On the counter was a small paring knife; her image reflected in its blade. She picked it up and squeezed, not enough to draw blood, but enough to force her mind to think of something else: biting pain.

“Claire?” Ethan stood up.

“So are you excited about tonight?” she said, trying to sound as cheerful as possible. She turned her body slightly to the side where Ethan wouldn’t see the knife. Dad’s gone, she reminded herself. And he’s not coming back. With her free hand she touched her raven necklace.

When Ethan took a step toward her, she snuck the knife back onto the counter.

“You want to go outside?” she asked and moved past him to open the door, but Ethan stopped her and brought her to his chest.  He didn’t say anything. Just held her.

She choked on a sob and tried to keep from shaking by reminding herself how much she’s grown since then. Gotten stronger. After a few minutes, air moved freely into her lungs and her heartbeat slowed to match Ethan’s.

He smoothed the back of her head, then reached out to open the front door. “Do you want to ride a little before we go?”

Relaxed and fully calm, she said, “But you don’t have your bike.”

“I know, but you can ride. Maybe show me some more of your sweet moves.”

Claire laughed and walked outside. Everything was okay. Ethan was there. Her father wasn’t. She sat down on the porch steps, letting the sun warm her skin. Ethan sat down next to her.

"Are you cool having Logan come with us tonight?" she asked.

Ethan was silent for a few seconds before he said, "I know he likes you. More than a friend, but he hasn't pressed the issue, which is good."

"Why's that?"

"I'd hate to have to knock him out."

"You'd fight him?"

"If he hit on you? Hell yes. He knows we're together."

Claire nudged his shoulder. "You don't have to worry, you know, about me and him."

"I would understand if you had feelings for him. How could you not? He’s been your best friend for a long time and has been there for you through everything. But,” he glanced away, “if you ever feel like you need to act on those feelings, do me a favor and end things with me. And then give me time to get out of town."

Claire studied him for a minute as he stared into the distance. Right now he didn’t look strong, despite how he always made her feel. Maybe he was more fragile than she thought. She reached up and turned his face toward hers. "You’re not going anywhere."

She dropped her gaze to his full lips.

Ethan noticed and did the same to hers. He raised his hand and gently touched her cheek, his thumb brushing across her parted lips. But he didn’t try to kiss her, which made Claire want him even more. She pressed her mouth to his, taking him off guard.

He kissed her back, moving his lips slowly, letting Claire decide the pace and intensity, which only grew. Her nerve endings became alive and she moaned. So this is what it was like to let go, to not think about anything but a single moment. She had never felt more free.

Just then her phone rang.  She pulled away and smiled, staring into Ethan’s eyes.

He grinned back. “Are you going to answer that?”

Still smiling, she took her phone out of her pocket. "It's Logan,” she said and answered it. "Hey. How's it going?"

"Good. Just want to make sure you guys are still coming." Logan’s voice sounded strained.

"Of course we'll be there, but it’s still early. You okay?"

The line was quiet for several seconds. Finally, he said, “I’m good. See you soon."

He hung up before she could say anything else. She stared at the phone, puzzled.

"Everything cool?" Ethan asked.

She stuffed the phone back into her pocket. "I think so."

* * *

LOGAN WAS WAITING for them in the grocery store parking lot when they pulled up. He was leaning against his car looking anxious.

"What's up?" Claire asked him as she opened the passenger door.

"Nothing. Just want to get out of here," he said and ducked inside behind the steering wheel.

Claire jumped in next to him while Ethan climbed in back. Logan didn’t say anything as he pulled away. His hands were wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, exposing white knuckles. Logan had probably had another fight with his parents. He used to talk to her about it, but lately he'd kept the battles to himself. A twinge of guilt ate at her. He clearly needed to talk to someone. She made a mental note to hang out with him next week like they used to do. Just the two of them.

A couple of hours later they arrived at the club. It was already dark even though it was only 7:30 p.m. A line of teenagers stretched around the outside of the tan stucco building and music blared from the windows. It was different than your typical club, but only because it allowed teenagers as young as seventeen in. They just had to wear a special wristband.

"Park down the alley next to the side door. By that red car,” Claire told Logan, pointing to Audrey’s car. "Looks like they’re already here."

"Cool. Maybe they'll have everything set up,” he said and parked the car. “What time do you guys go on?"

"Last I heard, nine." Claire opened her door and, with Ethan, followed Logan toward the side entrance. Logan opened the back door of the club, and they walked into a dimly lit hallway. It was in the rear of the stage where all sorts of wires and cords crossed over the floor. She was about to make a joke about it when a horrible smell accosted her nose.

"It reeks in here," Ethan said.

"Maybe because you're stepping in barf," a male employee said as he walked up, wheeling a bucket and mop.

Claire looked down. Sure enough the soles of their shoes were swimming in pink vomit. Each of them stepped out of the way.

"What happened?" she asked the employee.

"Someone from one of the bands got sick," he said, slopping the mop on top of the barf.

Claire’s heart raced. "It wasn't someone from Grave Addiction was it?"

"I don't think so. Is that who you're with?"

The swirl of the soapy water into the chunky pink on the floor was making her stomach churn.  She nodded weakly.

“You might be going on early. I’d go check.”

"Sure, no problem. Which way is the band room?"

"Down the hall, first door on the right," he said, never looking up. He seemed to be entirely too fascinated by the watery mess on the floor.

She motioned the boys forward. Logan covered his nose, but Ethan didn't seem bothered by the smell at all.

They walked down the long hall. The walls were painted black and seemed to swallow what little light there was. The dressing room, if you could call it that, had the same depressing decor. All black.

Two other bands were in the same large room. One of them kept to themselves, huddled in the corner, discussing the lyrics to their songs. The other band, three members total, sat across from Steph and Audrey. Kate was on one of their laps strumming her guitar.

Steph looked over and smiled. "You guys made it."

"Wouldn’t have missed it.”

"Did you hear we're going on early?" Kate asked. The guy whose lap she was sitting on kissed her ear.

Claire frowned. "Then we better get practicing. Is everything unloaded? Do we need to set up?"

“Already done,” Audrey said shifting her weight away from Kate and scrunching her nose at the boy whose lap she was sitting upon.

"Why do you keep yelling?" the guy asked Audrey.

“Mind your own business,” I said.

Steph stood up. “Let’s practice in the corner.”

For the next little while Claire warmed up her voice by singing through each song while the others played along. Kate and Audrey strummed their guitars, the sound faint and distorted without the aid of an amplifier. Steph used the bottom of a couple of garbage cans to beat out a rhythm as her drum set was waiting off stage for the time they performed. Claire loved practicing like this. It reminded her of her childhood when they would all get together, barely twelve, and “play” for hours. They were terrible, but it was the only escape Claire had from her father’s abuse.

“I think we are as good as we’re going to get,” Kate said and set down her guitar. “Why don’t we take a break? We go on in twenty minutes anyway.”

“Fine by me,” Steph said.

Claire glanced over to Ethan and Logan sitting on the couch. Logan was typing something into his phone, and Ethan was reading a magazine. She was hoping she’d catch them speaking to each other, acting like friends. Ethan looked up just then and smiled.

“We’re finished,” she said to him. “You want to go dance for a bit?”

Logan set his phone down, looking anything but happy. “Shouldn’t you warm up your voice some more?”

“Nah, I’m good.” She took Ethan’s hand and pulled him forward. "We'll be back."

"Don't be late!" Kate called after them. Claire waved goodbye.

Instead of taking her to the dance floor, which wasn't crowded yet, Ethan guided her to the second floor balcony. There was no one up there, and the privacy made her feel like they were two birds, perched high in a tree, away from others who were dancing below.

Ethan pulled her close. As if on cue the music changed, a slower beat, deep and long, that vibrated her insides.

"If we get separated tonight, look for me up here," Ethan said in her ear. “I left my phone in the car.”

Claire barely heard him over the loud music. She nodded and rested her head against his chest, wondering for the thousandth time how they had ended up together. She smiled to herself, marveling at how unpredictable life was.

As the minutes wore on, their private nest began to get crowded until both of them felt squished.

"Want to get out of here?" Ethan asked. He was practically shouting over the blaring guitar rift playing from the band on stage.

"Yeah. Let's go backstage. It's probably time anyway."

He grabbed her hand and led her down the metal circular staircase to the dance floor. This was harder than it appeared because several people had crowded onto the stairs, making it difficult for them to pass.

"It's packed out there," Claire said when she walked into the dressing room. The other bands were gone.

Steph had her drumsticks in hand, tapping them on a coffee table in front of her. "I know, right?"

"Where are Kate and Audrey?" Logan said. He looked like he was asleep with his eyes closed, chair tilted back against the wall, arms folded at his chest.

"They’re probably still watching Mike play backstage," Steph said.

Claire grimaced. "The guitar player out there? The one whose lap Kate was occupying?"

Steph nodded.

"How much longer?" Ethan asked.

"We're next." Steph stood up. “Let’s go make sure everything is ready to set up. They only give us ten minutes between sets.”

Ethan turned to Claire. "I'm going to go so I can have time to squeeze to the front."

"And I'll help you guys get everything on stage," Logan said and stood up. He came over to Claire and surprisingly took her hands in his, despite the fact that Ethan was standing right next to her. “You’re going to do great, like always. Break a leg.”

He held her gaze for just a moment, before letting go and walking by her.

Claire stared after him, her hands tingling where he’d been holding them. It was a sensation she had never felt with Logan before.

“That was weird,” Ethan said, his voice harder than usual.

Claire blinked and shook her head. “It was nothing. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

He clenched his jaw then leaned in and gave her a quick kiss. “Good luck.”

As soon as he was gone, Steph came up beside her. “Is it always like that with those two?”

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Claire said.

“Well you better figure it out. You’re playing with fire.” She walked by her.

Claire took her time following after Steph. She didn’t have romantic feelings for Logan, but then again he’d never touched her like that before either. The moment his fingers had pressed against the underside of her palms, she’d felt a passion, a heat that ignited her insides. It had momentarily dazed her. But now her thoughts had returned to Ethan.

Ten minutes later, though, Claire forgot all about Logan and Ethan and entered her own private musical world. Her voice, the lyrics, and the musical notes swirled around her, burning her soul. As if in a counseling session, her troubles melted away and when they finished almost an hour later, Claire felt like she'd been reborn.

"That was incredible," Steph said, still air drumming.

Audrey sighed as if she'd just been kissed. "Most amazing thing I've ever done." Her voice was normal, not at all loud.

Kate took hold of her arm, and Claire thought she was going to high five her or something, but instead she said, "I owe you an apology, Claire.”

"For what?"

"I have some major guilt about the whole money thing. I should never have taken it without you knowing. It was a jerk move. Just say the word and I’ll get it back.”

“It was a jerk move, but I get why you did it.” Claire glanced over at Steph who was laughing at something Audrey was saying. She didn’t want to think about the money or Gage ever again. She wanted to move forward with friends, the band and Ethan. “Just don’t ever steal from me again.”

Kate’s eyes widened, and she gave her a hug. “You got it.”

Claire squeezed her back then let go. "Now who wants to have some fun?"

Before anyone else could answer, Kate grinned and said, "I’m out. Let's meet here in an hour. I'm going to go find Mike." She disappeared before any of them could object.

“Anyone see Logan?” Claire asked. He was gone from backstage when they had finished their set, which was unlike him.

“I saw him heading into the audience when we started playing,” Audrey said, after lowering a water bottle from her mouth.

"You guys go on then,” Claire said. “I’ll wait here for a few to see if Logan or Ethan shows up.”

"You got it,” Steph said, tossing the drumsticks onto the couch. She and Audrey left the room.

Claire paced back and forth, to full of energy to sit down.  On the dark walls were posters of legendary bands: Heart, The Doors, The Beatles, Led Zeppelin and many more. She wondered if their reason for performing music was the same as hers: a way to cope with her past.

Eventually Claire grew restless and decided to go try and find the boys. She just didn’t realize how difficult of a task that would be. Moving through the crowds of people was about impossible.

She stuck to the perimeter, wishing she were a few inches taller to see over everyone’s heads. And calling for them would've been a waste of her voice. No amount of screaming could be heard over the last band of the night. They had so much bass in their music she could barely hear the singer.

Unable to find Ethan or Logan, she eventually made it to the other side of the room and to the stairs leading up to the balcony. She went up them and eventually squeezed her way to the railing. Leaning over, she peered into the crowd below. From this high everyone looked the same. Bobbing heads, twisted bodies, like one giant creature from another world. She leaned back and sighed.

Just then her phone buzzed inside her pocket. She pulled it out and looked down. One new text message from a number she didn't recognize. It read:

“You look delicious tonight. Love the dress.”

Her gaze jerked up and scanned the audience again, her heart pounding. When she didn’t see anyone looking at her, she texted back: “Who is this?”

It wasn't more than ten seconds later when she received back: “The giver of your dreams, the lover of your soul. I’m here, and I want you.”

She almost dropped the phone. Gage. Once again she scanned the area below. She didn't see anyone she knew, but he had to be here. She quickly shoved her way back down the stairs, fear tightening around her chest.

Claire glanced at everyone she passed until the room began to spin, and she couldn't tell one face from another. The air in the club was smothering, hot and musty from the sweaty crowd. The smell made her nauseous.

Finally she reached the hall leading to the back of the stage. She stumbled into it, blinded. At first she thought something was wrong with her eyesight, but after rubbing her eyes, she realized the hall lights were off. At the end was a thin stream of light beneath the closed door of the dressing room. And not far from there, Claire knew she'd find the door leading outside.

Not liking the idea of creeping down a darkened hallway, she decided to run and risk the chance of tripping. Luckily she didn't trip, but she did crash into something solid. Hands gripped her arms tightly. In her mind, Claire saw Gage's cold eyes and twisted smile. She began to struggle, punching at the unknown person in front of her.

"Claire! Stop it. What's wrong with you?"

It took her a moment to realize she recognized the voice. "Logan?"

"Yeah. What's wrong?"

She fell against him. "Get me out of here. Please."

Logan wrapped his arm around her and guided her to the door. As soon as it opened, she stumbled into the night. Her hands pressed on her knees while she gasped for air. She thought she was going to throw up, but then Logan pressed his hand against her back and her stomach slowed its centripetal motion.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Claire straightened and tilted her head toward the dark sky. "I can't see the stars," she said, trying to think of something else.

Logan stepped in front of her. "Claire! What's wrong?"

She lowered her eyes to meet his. "He's here."

"Who?"

"Gage."

Logan's muscles tensed. "Where?"

"Inside somewhere."

"You saw him?"

"He sent me a text message."

"Let me see."

Claire handed him the phone. He quickly read over the messages. "I'm going back in."

He moved to open the door, but she stopped him. "No! Please don't leave me."

Logan’s eyes closed, and his jaw muscles bulged, but he stayed. "You should probably call Smith. Tell him about Gage. They'll want to know he’s here."

Claire nodded and dialed the police station. Smith wasn’t in so she explained to a deputy what was going on. He assured her they’d look into it.

When she hung up, Logan didn't say a word. He reached to take hold of her hand but hesitated. Claire didn’t care for any of that right now. She took hold of his palm, needing something to ground her.

Logan led her out of the alley and onto a bench.

"We'll wait here," he said.

She sat down and looked up again, desperately searching the night sky for stars. She needed light. Not man-made ones, either, but real heavenly-created light. Just the thought of Gage seemed to fill her with a darkness so great, she was afraid it would swallow her whole.

Logan pointed into the night sky. "Over there. The North Star."

Through the haze of the city’s lights, she could just barely make out the star’s faint glow.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice as faint as the star's light.

“Don’t apologize,” she said, wondering what he was sorry for. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. When he opened his mouth to speak again, she asked, “How’d you know it was me? In the hallway?”

“The second I touched you, I knew.” He looked at her briefly and she swore she saw her reflection in his eyes, but then he turned away. “I know you, Claire.”

She said nothing, just feeling incredibly grateful that she had such a good friend. Together they sat side by side on the cold metal bench, staring at the stars for a long time until she heard, "There you guys are."

Claire turned around. Kate, Steph, and Audrey walked toward them. Ethan followed behind. He looked confused when he saw her with Logan. She jumped up and rushed toward him. "Can we go, please? Now?"

He looked at Logan and then back at her. "What's wrong?"

"Gage was here."

Ethan’s head swiveled around. "What? Where?" His whole body tightened.

"Inside."

"That guy had the nerve to show up here?" Kate gasped.

"Who's Gage?" Audrey asked.

Claire tugged on Ethan’s arm. "I've already called the police. Let them deal with it. Please, just take me home."

Ethan looked back at the club, deep lines appearing in his forehead, and said, “I want to talk to Smith myself.”

Logan walked by him. "You can call him on the way home. Let's get out of here."

"But who's Gage?" Audrey said again, loud enough for passing strangers to stop and stare.

Kate took her arm. "I'll tell you in the car. Come on, Steph."

The three of them headed off in another direction.

Claire followed Logan to his car. Ethan kept a steady hand pressed against her back. When she moved to sit in the passenger seat, Logan stopped her. "Sit in back with Ethan."

She gave him a weak smile. "Thanks."

The long drive home was quiet except for Ethan’s phone call to Smith who he finally got a hold of. Smith had already been informed of the situation by his officer’s and had spoken to Roseburg’s local authorities. Smith assured him the situation was being dealt with.

When he was finished, Ethan wrapped his arms around her and rubbed the underside of her hand with his thumb. Logan pretended to be into his music, but she caught him glancing at her in the rearview mirror several times, his eyes sad and she swore she even saw anger a couple of times.

Back at the grocery store parking lot, Claire thanked Logan again and said goodbye. He nodded and drove away, not looking back.

"I'm glad he was with you," Ethan said after they got into his car and pulled onto the road.

Claire just stared out the window thinking of Gage. How did he know she was there?

"It should’ve been me,” he said. “I went to the balcony first, but when I didn’t see you, I went back to the dressing room.”

“We must’ve just missed each other. Don’t worry about it.”

"It's a horrible feeling."

She looked at him. "What is?"

He gripped the steering wheel tight. "Not being able to protect you."

"You don't have to protect me. I actually enjoy fighting, remember?" But what she didn’t admit was that there was something inside of Gage she didn’t know how to fight and it terrified her.

"That's not what I mean,” Ethan said. “I want to protect you from evil. That's not something you can physically fight."

She startled. It’s like he’d read her mind. "You really think he’s evil and not some messed up teenage boy?"

Ethan shook his head and furrowed his brow like he was trying to figure out his next words. "I think this Gage guy goes beyond messed up. You said so yourself, there was something dark in him, indescribable."

Claire turned her attention to the darkened window, not knowing how to respond. He was right. Something about Gage frightened her beyond anything she’d ever met and that included her father. Maybe evil was the right word to describe him.

"That's what I want to protect you from,” Ethan said. He reached over and took her hand. “I can tell you’re scared, and I'm not used to seeing that side of you."

"I'll figure it out."

"Not alone." He squeezed her hand and said nothing else until they pulled up to her house a few minutes later. At the front door, he stopped her from going in.

"One day soon," he said, his face close to hers, "you're going to fall in love with me as much as I am with you.”

He kissed her briefly and walked away.

Claire thought the night had been ruined and nothing could salvage it, but in one simple and sweet sentence he'd made her feel whole. If this was love, then she was really looking forward to feeling more of it.

Chapter 17

ALBERT HAD LOST control. And it had only taken one seemingly perfect distraction to cause the tear in his identity, and what had oozed out the jagged wound was the familiar darkness he'd been trying to hold back. Gage.

He stared into the mirror across from his bed. His gaze was strong, immoveable.

Gage had made his appearance while Claire was singing without the help of any drug. His prison had been carelessly unattended; his guard distracted by the voice of an angel. Fortunately for Albert, the rip was not wide enough for Gage to fully take control, but it had given him enough time to steal a phone and contact Claire. To scare her.

Gage had seen her frightened expression just before he was mentally shoved back into his cage. The fear in her eyes had given Gage an added strength, and Albert feared it was just a matter of time before he returned.

Chapter 18

LUNAR FESTIVAL OF Lights. That's what the mayor had called it. The celebration was meant to bring in more tourists during August when they began to taper off. Another solid month of tourist income would do a lot for Bandon’s economy. That’s what the mayor had said. And if it worked, than the festival would become a yearly tradition.

Claire was excited for it, mostly. The city had called Kate to ask if their band could play a few songs, their tamest ones, they had been quick to say. But Claire had a couple of reservations about playing at the festival—Bodian Dynamics, more specifically Gary, and Gage. Even though nothing had happened for several days, she was still nervous that one of them might easily find her if she performed in public.

In the end, however, she didn’t let her fears stop her from singing and attending the event. She wanted to make the festival memorable. She and Ethan together, beneath the light of the full moon. She couldn't imagine a more perfect setting. Besides, the police would all be at the festival so she should be safe.

"You coming?" Kate called from her car.

Claire stared up from her porch into a cloudy night sky. So much for her perfect setting. Already a heavy mist was creeping through the trees as if it, too, wanted to experience this new celebration. She zipped up her jacket and bounded down the stairs.

"So how come Ethan didn't pick you up?" Kate asked when Claire closed the passenger door.

She put on her seat belt. "He had to work over at Bullard’s Beach Park. He'll meet me there."

"So you two seem to be getting serious,” Kate said, eyeing her sideways as she eased the car onto the road.

"Maybe."

"Don't you think it’s weird? I mean, a few years ago you guys were practically a couple and then you don’t speak to him forever and now you’re back in love?”

“I wouldn’t say we’re in love,” Claire said, squirming in her seat. “I just forgot how cool he was.”

"Maybe he’s not as cool as you think he is.”

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Kate tightened her lips like she was trying to keep from saying more. Instead, she said, “So did Logan mind playing for Audrey tonight?"

She turned the car right toward town.

"Yeah. When is she coming back?" Claire was glad Kate changed the subject. Ethan was still a sore topic between them. Sometimes, she wondered if Kate was jealous that Claire had a boyfriend and she didn’t.

"Tomorrow. Wish I could be in Hawaii.”

“Don’t we all.”

Claire’s phone buzzed. She looked down and read a text message from Logan out loud. "Logan says not to worry about all the equipment. He’s already setting it up."

"Good. Logan’s so cool. Too bad you’re not dating him.” Kate tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. "I hope this festival isn't lame.”

Claire chose to ignore the first part of her statement. "I'm sure it will have some lameness to it. A sixty-year-old planned it."

"Whoa!" Kate said and slowed the gas.

Claire looked up. Lining the streets was bumper-to-bumper parked cars and they were still six blocks from town. Not only that, but just up ahead their small city was practically glowing with lights.

"Maybe there will be more people than I thought," Kate whispered.

"Where are we going to park?" Claire looked in all directions, trying to find a spot.

Kate’s lips curved up. "VIP parking."

"Where's that?"

Kate didn't answer, but after a minute Claire knew what she was talking about. Barely fitting between a fire hydrant and a parked car, Kate slowly guided her old Buick over the concrete curb and up onto the grass. She proceeded to drive into the park, swerving through trees that were glowing from millions of strung lights. The white light tried to push through the growing fog, but it pushed back, creating a haze of blurry trapped light.

She was about to comment on the illusion to Kate, but just then her skin turned cold. She wasn't sure why until her brain registered what her eyes were looking at through the side window. Not far off, standing beneath a streetlight as if a ghost, was Gary. His stare touched her, and ran up her spine, leaving shaking nerves in its wake. She quickly looked away and clutched the dashboard.

"You okay?" Kate asked as she parked next to a homemade stage in the middle of the park.

Claire forced herself to relax. "Just fine. You sure we can park here?"

"We're rock stars, remember?" Kate got out of the car.

"Right."

"You coming?" she said, peeking her head back into the car.

Claire remained frozen in her seat, staring straight ahead.

Kate banged the top of the car with her hand. "Hey! You coming or what?"

She jumped. "Yeah. One sec."

Kate closed the door.

Claire glanced in all directions for Gary before she opened the door. He must have wandered off because she couldn't see him now.

“Relax,” she breathed. Gary probably lived in this area so it shouldn't surprise her that he was here. Besides, he hadn't bothered her in a couple of weeks.

A few minutes later Logan appeared. "Now you're sure we're up first, right Kate? Because everything’s set up."

"That's what the lady at city hall said."

"Good." Logan eyed Claire. "What's wrong?"

She turned away. "Nothing. Long day is all."

"You sure? Because you look like you've seen a Chupacabra."

Claire tried to smile. "Once I start singing, I'll be fine."

And that’s exactly what happened. Thirty minutes later she jumped from the stage after performing their last song feeling great. There wasn't much of a crowd, mostly teenagers, but she didn't care. Singing was all that mattered.

"Should we walk through town? See what else there is?" Steph asked.

"Can't. I've got a date," Kate said.

Up on the stage, a man and woman, who looked like they were attending prom wearing a matching tux and pink ruffled dress, set up a cello and a violin. Claire felt Logan come up behind her.

"Who with?" Steph said.

"It doesn't matter. Later," Kate said and walked away.

Steph turned to Claire. "That was weird."

She nodded, although nothing Kate did surprised her. The woman on stage began to play the cello. Her long fingers fascinated Claire as she moved them across the strings.

"So are you guys coming?" Steph asked.

"I'll go. Claire?" Logan asked.

She turned around. "Sure. Just down Main Street?"

"That's where the action will be," Steph said.

"Cool. I'll text Ethan so he knows where to look for us."

With Steph on her left and Logan on her right, they followed the path of lit-up trees. The melancholy sound of strings followed behind them. Claire couldn’t believe how Main Street had been transformed. All the shops had placed little white bags with candles inside them on the sidewalk and brought out their inventory, discounting their prices significantly. Old-fashioned street vendors walked the streets selling everything from hot dogs to cotton candy.

"You can still hear the music," Logan said.

Claire stopped and listened. Sure enough, she could still hear the couple playing their haunting melody.

"Hey, guys." Ethan's voice.

She turned around and smiled. He stood, hands in pockets, grimacing. "Did I miss it?"

"We played first,” she said. “But don't worry about it. It's not like you haven't heard me sing before."

He took hold of her hand. "But there's nothing I love more."

"Oh, please," Steph said and pulled on Logan’s arm. "Let's keep walking before I vomit."

Claire and Ethan followed behind them until they reached Town Square. Lights had been hung above them and with the fog they looked like stars close enough to touch. She had to hand it to the mayor; the place looked amazing and would no doubt become a yearly tradition they all looked forward to.

"Why has everyone stopped?" Steph asked. A growing crowd was huddling together in front of the library, preventing them from walking past.

"It must be time for the drawing," Logan said. He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a ticket.

"What do you win?" Claire asked, trying to peer over the crowd.

"Bandon Motor Sports is giving away a four-wheeler.”

"Where have I been?" Ethan asked.

From seemingly nowhere the mayor appeared on the library steps. His round, balding head stuck out of his checkered shirt like an over-inflated red balloon. After wiping sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, he used a megaphone to speak.

Claire listened for a few minutes while he spoke about Bandon's history and the significance of the festival. "Amidst a raging storm, sailors looked for light,” he was saying. “It was this light that brought safety and loved ones together…”

She whispered in Ethan's ear. "I'm going to grab a hot dog. Want one?"

He looked beyond her to a hot dog stand. "Sure, but let me go get them."

She shook her head. "The mayor's shirt is making me dizzy. I’ll be right back."

Claire waited in line behind three people before it was her turn to buy two barely warmed hot dogs from a man whose beanie was pulled so far down, she could barely see his eyes.

"Thanks," she mumbled.

"Good luck with the drawing," he said.

She looked back to the mayor, whose face had grown even more red. "Luck won't help me, but thanks."

She maneuvered her way back to Ethan, and noticed how the fog seemed to be growing thicker, pressing on them from all sides. She picked up her pace, feeling suddenly claustrophobic.

"Excuse me," she said to the backside of a man. She tried to move around him, but he shifted to the left, blocking her path. She tapped him on the shoulder. "Um, can I get by?"

Very slowly, the bald headed man turned around, eyes gleaming, mouth turned up into a crooked smile. The hot dogs fell from Claire’s hands at the same time her heart skipped a beat.

"Hello, Claire," Gary said. "It’s time for that chat.”

She stepped away from him and gulped. "Why can’t you just let it go?"

He clicked his tongue and stepped close. "That would make me a bad employee. Bodian said to keep an eye on you and that’s what I’ve been doing. But in light of certain developments, they are insisting I find out exactly what you saw and heard. Before I was just messing with you, but now I’m all kinds of serious.” He reached up as if to touch her. “I liked seeing the fear in your eyes.”

Up front the mayor bellowed, "And now for the main event!"

The crowd cheered. Tickets were being pulled out of pockets and waved in the air.

"I didn't hear anything,” Claire said and stepped back. “I already told you that."

Gary moved forward, almost too slow to notice. "I don't believe you."

The mayor spoke again, "And the winner is,” he paused for dramatic effect, “ticket number 24839."

There was a flurry of movement as people silently read their numbers. No one was watching Claire.

"You need to leave me alone," she said.

"Not until we have a little talk. In private."

"And what if I don't?"

"Your lover of a boyfriend. Do you like him much?"

Suddenly there was a scream to the right of Claire, and several women started bouncing up and down. All eyes turned toward them, even Gary’s.

"We have a winner!" the mayor shouted into the speaker. "Let's celebrate!"

Surprising everyone, music blared from speakers that had been secured high on lampposts. A country song, meant to excite the crowd, made Claire’s heart race faster.

She took advantage of the frenzied moment and bolted, pushing her way through the least crowded area in the back. Away from Logan and Ethan. But all that mattered now was getting away from Gary.

She made it to the other side of Town Square before she dared turn around. Gary was still there. She hadn't shaken him like she'd hoped.

At this point Claire wondered what to do. She didn't want anyone hurt because of her, but she didn't want to talk to Gary either. The way his eyes slid over her made her think he wanted to do more than just talk.

Not having enough time to think through her options, Claire ran. She sprinted down the street then turned left onto the sidewalk. Up ahead she noticed a small souvenir shop with its lights still on. She prayed for the door to be open. Her prayers were answered.

"Hello?" she asked, gasping for breath.

No answer. She walked to the back of the store and stuck her head in a darkened stock room. "Hello?"

The owner must be outside celebrating with everyone else. She turned around to go back but stifled a scream. Gary stood outside, staring at her through the window. His hand was pressed to the glass and when he slid it down, the force of his sweaty palm against the window made a screeching sound.

He grinned.

Claire turned and ran into the storage room, searching for a back door, but found none. Air caught in her chest when she heard the jingling bell of the front door opening. Heavy footsteps, one sliding behind the other, crossed the tiled floor.

She quietly slipped behind a stack of boxes, praying the darkened room would conceal her. This time her prayers were ignored.

A light flipped on.

"Claire," Gary breathed and she imagined his breath killing every spider in the room.

She tugged on her necklace reminding herself that she’d beat a man like Gary before. Besides, Gary wasn’t Gage. She was grateful for that. Had he been, she would’ve been trying to claw her way through the wall to get away. No, Gary could be handled if she was careful. She stepped into view.

"Let’s get this over with,” she said.

Claire didn't know if it was the sight of her, trapped and trying hard not to look frightened, that made his eyes grow big like an addict in a meth house. All of a sudden he rushed her. She jumped over a box, while shoving another in his direction. He stumbled but only for a moment.

She managed to make it to the door before he was upon her. His cold, clammy hands gripped her arms and pushed her into the wall. She turned her head away, afraid to smell his breath.

"Who have you told?" he said, inches from her face.

Claire shook her head. "No one, because I didn't hear anything.”

She squirmed beneath his grip.

"You heard all right, or you wouldn't be so afraid." He sniffed her, the tip of his nose grazing her neck. "You reek of fear."

She tried to push back, but even her legs were being pressed up against the wall by his body. "Let me go!"

"If you tell anyone, you'll ruin a lot of lives. Is that what you want?"

She struggled again, finally crying out in frustration. Her upper arms felt like they were going to snap. How was he so strong? He looked like a skeleton with glued-on skin.

"Is it?" he shouted.

Claire shook her head, and then relaxed because she didn't know what else to do.

Gary smiled. "Good girl. The others wanted me to use tact in talking to you, but I knew only fear would make you understand how important it is that you keep your mouth shut."

He ran his greasy fingers over her lips. "Are you afraid?"

Tears filled her eyes. She willed them not to spill over. Something told her it would excite him even more.

His fingers continued to stroke her face and trail down her neck. Claire would count to three, she decided. When she reached three she would fight as hard as she could until she either passed out from exhaustion or he killed her. She refused to let this go any further.

One...

His hand slid to the top of her shirt.

Two...

He ripped off the first button.

"Get your hands off her before I blow your damn head off!"

Ethan.

Claire laughed, sort of cried. Hot tears spilled onto her cheeks at the same time Gary let her go. She fell forward.

It was Logan who caught her.

"Everyone just calm down," Gary said. His voice had changed. No longer threatening but gentle.

"Don’t move," Ethan said. It was his voice that was cold and hard now. He was gripping the handle of a handgun, the barrel pointed at Gary. “You’re going to wait right here while we call the police.”

Logan pulled out his phone. Claire looked at it and then at Gary who narrowed his eyes and tilted his head just barely, giving her a silent warning.

She obeyed, remembering his threat, and took away Logan’s phone. “It’s not a big deal. Let him go.”

Both Ethan and Logan looked at her, their mouths open and eyes wide.

“You can’t be serious?” Ethan asked.

“Please, Ethan. Let him go.”

Logan, who was still holding her, said, “There’s no way. He attacked you!”

“You heard her, boys,” Gary said. “Let me go. Now.”

Ethan kept the gun pointed.

Claire shook free of Logan and stood up, erasing the tears on her cheek with the back of her hand. She placed her hand on Ethan’s arm and lowered the gun. “Please. Trust me. Let him go.”

At least for now, she thought. Something had to be done about Gary, but it had to be done in private and handled delicately. Maybe tomorrow she’d speak to Smith about everything.

Gary didn’t wait for Ethan to respond. He quietly slipped out the door like a cockroach in search of a new home.

Ethan stared at Claire, searching her eyes, but she kept them steady. "Are you okay?"

"I think so. Just freaked out."

"We need to tell the police," Logan said.

She shook her head vehemently. "I'm not talking to anyone. He didn't hurt me. I'm fine."

"Maybe she's in shock," Logan said to Ethan.

"I am not in shock! He wasn't going to do anything to me. He was just trying to scare me."

"Why?" Ethan asked.

"I don't know. Maybe because he's crazy." She turned and walked toward the front of the store.

"Claire!" Logan called. She kept walking.

"What if he attacks you again?" Ethan asked, following her shadow.

She kept her back to him. "He won't."

"How can you be so sure?" Logan countered.

She had to change the subject and quick before she spilled the truth. She turned around. "Where did you get that gun, Ethan?"

This seemed to peak Logan's interest, too.

"So I have a gun," Ethan said, shrugging.

"Why did you bring a gun tonight?" Logan clarified.

Ethan raked his fingers through his hair. "You never know when you might need one."

"But who does that?" Claire asked.

"It came in handy tonight, didn't it?"

"But it wasn't necessary," Logan said. "We could've taken that guy. You could've accidentally hurt someone."

"If I hurt someone tonight, it wouldn't have been an accident. Now let's get out of here." Ethan took hold of her hand; the grip was surprisingly tight.

Claire followed after him, wondering who it was she was falling in love with.

Chapter 19

EVERY PART OF Albert trembled. Sweat had broken all over his body hours ago and the liquid was hot as it raced down his naked skin to puddle on the floor beneath his chair. He couldn't hold on much longer; already his head was beginning to tingle from the lack of oxygen, and it was impossible to take a deep breath. He could only pant. Like a wounded dog.

It all began when Albert saw Gary harming Claire. Anger and rage had cracked his sanity’s foundation just enough to allow Gage to escape. Slowly. Painfully. Scraping at him from the inside out, like a dead man clawing his way free from his grave. Albert was trying everything mentally possible to keep Gage contained, but he simply wasn't strong enough anymore.

Gage had seen how Gary had hurt Claire too, leaving the finger marks on her arms that she had tried so hard to hide. But Gage was angry for a different reason. He didn't care about Claire's safety. He cared that someone else was causing harm to what he thought was his alone. No one should frighten Claire but him. No one should lustfully touch Claire but him. And lastly, no one should crave her the way he did.

Albert could sense all of these mad thoughts from Gage and it terrified him. He was afraid of what Gage might do. And he was terrified that once Gage was released, he might never be able to contain him again.

A clock on the wall ticked. Slowly. The crisp, sharp sound reminded him of his mother's voice. "One day your battle will come,” she’d said once. “You will face your demons and you will lose.”

Albert refused to believe her, convinced he'd prove her wrong and show both his parents that he was worthy to exist in the world. But in the last hour, as the clock sung its monotonous tune, doubt had crept into his mind. Maybe he wasn’t such a good person after all.

He thrust his head back, his nails digging into the wooden seat of the chair. Gage was coming. His voice whispered in Albert’s head, speaking of revenge. Of pain. Of blood. The words seared themselves onto his mind. And then his heart. The pain became too great and he cried out. A sound of the tortured. The battered. The conquered.

And then there was silence.

Gage inhaled deeply and raised his head, smiling. Freedom. As if a caged genie finally freed, he stood from the hard chair and stretched. Muscles rippled in a wave across his body. He went to the window and opened it. Night's air raced in and twisted around his naked body, cooling his skin. He took a few deep breaths before he moved around the room, preparing for the evening.

He finished getting dressed by pulling on a black Bandon High sweatshirt and positioned the hood over his head. Then he pulled out Albert’s cell phone and typed a man's name into an online directory. The address became as permanent as his hate.

Before he left, Gage punched the nearest mirror, shattering it into a million pieces. Time to spread the pain, he thought and jumped from the window.

Gage raced through the forest, a predator hunting its prey. The woods were still except for the sounds of his hurried footsteps crunching leaves. His fists punched through branches. His breath poisoned the air. There was only one image in his mind. The eyes of the rat claiming Claire as his own: Gary.

It didn't take him long to reach the other side of town to an area Albert’s friends called "white-trash land". There were about forty trailers lined next to each other. Most of them looked like they'd survived a tornado but just barely. The lawns were littered with trash: a broken doll, a bike missing a tire, an overturned garbage bin. He counted at least three soiled diapers.

Gage stepped over a splattered watermelon. The city should have this place condemned. Maybe he would visit the Mayor later and have his own private town hall meeting.

He found the home he wanted at the very end of the trailer park. If one could call it a home. Half of it looked the same as the others, but the rest of it had been pieced together by plywood and roofing tin. Apparently, the idiot could only afford half a trailer.

Gage wondered what Gary did with his money from his job at Bodian. He didn't have to wonder long. Peeking into the only window without boards crossing over it, he saw Gary sitting on a seventies floral sofa, a belt cinched around his upper arm, injecting something into his arm from a syringe. When Gary sat up his eyes bulged and seemed to vibrate within their sockets, but what Gage didn't expect were the veins on Gary’s face. They looked swollen and stretched his skin thin.

Gage waited to see what might happen next, but when Gary fell back into his seat, mouth open and eyes fixed on the ceiling, Gage got bored.

Because of the close proximately of neighbors, Gage didn't break the door down like he wanted. A much quieter entrance was needed, even though he preferred the louder, more attention-grabbing kind. He approached the front door quietly and turned the doorknob. It was unlocked, which didn’t surprise him. He quickly slipped inside and closed the door.

Gary didn't move. Didn't bat an eye. Just stared at something beyond the universe. Gage wondered how long his eyelids could stay open like that before they dried up and turned to dust inside his skull. It was tempting to find out, but he couldn't take all night.

Gary’s place was a wreck. Piles of newspapers and garbage were stacked high against every wall. Either he was a hoarder or they'd purposely been placed there to try and keep the trailer warm. On the ceiling Gary had taped pictures of nude women in provocative positions.

Gage moved into the cramped kitchen to see what he had to work with. A drawer revealed three spoons and forks and one sharp knife. He chose a spoon. And inside a refrigerator that smelled of beer and cat urine, he was happy to find lemon juice. Luck seemed to be smiling upon him.

After gathering a few more items: cheese grater, apple slicer, salt, and a toilet brush, he filled up a tall glass with water. He took the items and stood in front of Gary, whose eyes were now closed. Gage took a sip of the water and tossed the rest of it into Gary’s face.

No reaction.

Gage leaned in close to inspect Gary. His breath, smelling like rusted iron, puffed into Gage’s face.  Gage grimaced and straightened. He took his finger and pressed it into Gary's cheek, smearing the wrinkled leather-like skin around a sharp cheekbone. Gary’s eyelids fluttered, but remained closed.

Gage frowned and stepped back. How could he torture him if he wasn't awake?

He glanced down at the syringe on top of the cardboard box. Lying next to it was a vial. Gage picked it up and noticed Bodian Dynamic’s logo on the side. He inhaled its top; it smelled of ammonia and something else bitter and foul, not the same stuff Albert had stolen from Bodian. What else were they into?

He glanced down at his clock. Four more hours until sunrise. Best get started. At some point, Gary would wake up and when he did, he would wish he hadn't.

Gage guessed right. Five minutes into his torture, Gary woke up screaming. Of course his screams were muffled through a tennis ball Gage had found and stuffed into his mouth. It looked extremely uncomfortable, and he was pretty sure he had broken Gary’s jaw when he had jammed it in.

The sound of Gary’s smothered voice was music to Gage's ears. He loved it more than he did the sight of Gary's blood, which glowed a bright red as it ran in rivers down his arms. Gage could've continued for hours more, but when the first of the sun's rays crawled beneath the taped cardboard on the window, Gage knew he had to leave.

He bent down, directly in front of Gary. His eyes no longer appeared to be bulging from their sockets, but now looked like they'd collapsed. Gage could barely see his pupils beneath lowered eyelids. His color was death-pale, and his skin, which had once been drenched in sweat, was now dry and flaking. At least the parts that weren't covered in blood.

Before Gary took his last breath, Gage whispered in his ear, "Claire is mine.”

Chapter 20

RATS. AS BIG as dogs with foaming saliva, dripping from razor sharp teeth. This was what Claire was dreaming about when a loud pounding woke her up. She sat up, gasping for air.

There it was again. Someone at the front door, knocking like the house was on fire. She glanced at the clock, 8:30 a.m., and blinked.

"Claire," a familiar voice shouted from behind her front door.

"I'm coming," she said to no one. Claire threw off the covers and pulled on a pair of jeans from off the floor.

"Where's the fire?" Claire asked when she opened the door, but when she saw Smith’s expression, she followed it up with, "What's wrong?"

Smith placed his hand on the door jam as if to steady himself. His face was pale, and his legs looked like they were about to give out beneath him.

"I'm so glad you're here," he said.

"Where else would I be?"

Smith looked past her into the living room. "Where's your mom?"

Claire stuck her head out the door and looked toward the garage. Her mom's van was parked out front. "She had to work last night, so I'm sure she's crashed. You want me to get her?"

"No. I’ll talk to her later today. It's you I want to see."

"Smith!” a voice called out from around the side of her home. “You're going to want to see this!"

"Who's that?" Claire asked and stepped onto the porch. The sun shined bright, but the air was surprisingly cold. She shivered.

"Doug," Smith said, walking down the stairs.

Claire followed him. "What's your deputy doing snooping around my house?"

If she puffed hard enough, she could see her breath.

Smith didn't answer. Instead he walked to the back of her house and spoke quietly to Doug.

"What's going on, Smith?" She came up behind him and froze. On her bedroom window was a bloody handprint. She stumbled back.

Smith took hold of her hand before she fell. "It's okay. Everything’s going to be fine."

She jerked away from him. "What the hell is going on?"

"Maybe you should tell me," he said, suddenly becoming just as defensive.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

His expression softened and he took a deep breath. "What do you know about Gary Lewis?"

A knot formed in Claire’s throat. She tried to swallow it but couldn’t.

Smith continued, "He's a man in his forties. Lived over on Clover Street in the trailer park. He worked as a security guard at Bodian Dynamics. Do you know him?"

She nodded but said, “No.”

“Which is it, Claire? Do you know Gary Lewis or not?”

This time she said, "Sort of."

"How?"

She looked at the smeared handprint, her eyes blurring a bit, then turned around searching the woods behind them. They seemed to be alone. She looked back at Smith. "I fought with him at the festival last night. Is that his handprint?"

"What did you fight about?"

The morning light held the maroon-colored flakes of blood pressed to her window. It reminded her of her first day of kindergarten. She had made a handprint with red paint as a gift to her father. She later destroyed it.

"Claire?"

She bit the inside of her lip, wondering how much to say. She was hoping to speak with him in private about Gary, but something serious had obviously happened and it had to do with her. Better tell him everything. Besides, Smith had helped her once before.

She took a deep breath. "A while ago I had to go to Bodian to get a form signed for college. Gary was working the front desk, acting all sorts of creepy.”

She shivered, remembering how oily his stare was. “Anyway, when I finally had a moment to myself, I overheard two scientists talking about a missing drug. They didn’t know I was listening, but when I was discovered, I ran. One of the scientists told Gary to go after me and find out how much I knew."

The pale in Smith’s face was replaced with red, but he remained quiet.

“I hid behind some parked cars and while Gary searched for me, he threatened to hurt my friends if I told anyone. I kept my mouth shut, but Gary’s sort of been following me ever since. I thought he was mostly harmless until last night.”

“What exactly happened?”

Claire wrapped her arms around her chest, her hand pressing lightly over the bruises on her upper arm. She was glad she had decided to put on a long sleeve shirt. “Let’s just say it was a very good thing that Logan and Ethan showed up when they did.”

Smith’s face was really red now. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I was going to tell you about it today, but I didn’t want to do it where Gary would see. His threat seriously freaked me out! Speaking of which, whatever you decide to do with him, please don’t tell him I said anything. And Bodian, too. They’re just as scary.”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure what to do about Bodian. I’ll look into your claim of a missing drug, subtly though. Bodian’s known for cleaning up their messes. As for Gary, he won’t be a problem anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

Smith looked back at her window. She followed his gaze.

"Did you see Gage last night?" he asked.

This startled her. "No. Why? Is he in town? What's going on?"

Dealing with Gary was one thing, but knowing Gage could be lurking around really scared her.

Smith closed his eyes as if forcing himself not to look at the bloodied print. For a moment, she thought he might never open them. "Over the weekend someone broke into Gary’s home. His girlfriend found him this morning."

She swallowed. "Dead?"

"Yes. He had been severely beaten. Tortured is more like it. It’s the worst crime scene I’ve ever seen."

"And you think Gage did it?"

"The marks we found matched the ones we found at the high school and at the gas station."

Claire remembered him using the word “marks” before. "What do you mean "marks"? Like fingerprints?"

A dark shadow crossed his face. "I don't know. Maybe."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"There were prints."

"Well?"

"They weren't normal."

"But doesn't everyone have different fingerprints?"

"Of course,” Smith said. “But the pattern of these weren't right. We haven't seen anything like it. At first, we thought the tech had messed up, but then we found the same prints at the gas station, and now at Gary’s. I don't know what to make of it."

Claire couldn't help it. She had to look at the window again. The deputy, Doug, was pressing a thin plastic sheet over the print. "And what about those?"

Smith shook his head. "We'll know in a couple of hours. My guess is it will match the other crime scenes."

"So, what are you thinking? Gage tortured Gary and then came back here. Why?"

Smith looked at her, his jaw moving as if it didn’t fit right. "I'm worried about you, Claire. I don't want you going anywhere by yourself. In fact, I don't want you going anywhere unless it’s absolutely necessary, and I'm posting a permanent officer outside."

Despite the fact that her stomach was churning, she put her hands up. "Not going to happen. Our band is going to Seattle soon. We have to practice."

"I think your life is the priority here."

Claire shook her head. "Since when have you ever known me to lay down quietly?" He opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted him. "I'm going to continue doing what I always do, but I promise I'll be careful. And I'll try to make sure I'm never alone."

He tried to speak again.

"And," she said, "I'll check in with you regularly. That's the best I can do."

She wouldn’t let any man assert his control over her ever again. Not that Smith was trying to do that. He was trying to protect her, and she realized this. But Gage was trying to control her. Through fear.

Smith looked to the forest beyond. "Clearly I can't make you do something you don't want to, no matter how foolish. I'll talk to your mom about it later and see if she can talk some sense into you."

Claire shrugged. Agree to disagree.

Although she didn’t say it, his concern for her meant a lot. She imagined it was how a father would react. A normal father, that is.

Chapter 21

CLAIRE WALKED INSIDE the house and closed the door, her back pressed against it. Smith had left moments ago, but he’d posted an officer outside to keep an eye on things. Would it make a difference? Her gut told her no. There was something supernatural about Gage. Normal methods to capture him simply weren’t going to work.

It was then that she realized she couldn’t do this on her own anymore; she needed to turn to the people she loved most, like she had with Smith. The more people that know, the better, but it needed to be done carefully and in private. Just in case Bodian had someone else watching her now.

She removed her phone and called Logan. "I need to talk to you and Ethan. Can you meet this morning?"

“What about?” Logan asked with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Something happened. I need your help.”

There was a long pause. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Meet at Eddy’s in thirty minutes?”

“I’ll be there. Hey, Claire?”

“Yes?”

“I’m worried about you. What happened last night at the festival was messed up.”

“That’s just the beginning,” she said, her voice quiet.

“I thought so. There has to be more to the story than you told us. Have you already talked to Ethan this morning?”

“Not yet.”

“Can I ask why you called me first?”

It was her turn to pause. “I don’t know.”

“Think about that. I’ll see you soon.” Logan hung up the phone.

Claire stared into her phone. Why had she called Logan first?

She didn’t dwell on the answer for very long. There were more pressing matters.

Claire texted Ethan instead of calling, something she should’ve done with Logan. Then that whole awkward phone conversation could’ve been avoided. She also texted Kate. A female's opinion could come in handy.

Ethan and Logan beat Claire to Eddy’s. They were sitting across from each other in a booth speaking quietly, but quickly shut up when they saw her. Ethan slid over to make room for her on the bench.

She scooted in, eyeing the restaurant carefully. There wasn’t a big morning crowd, probably because everyone was still trying to recuperate from last night’s festivities. Little did they know that while they were partying, a monster was roaming their city. Outside the restaurant’s window, the officer who had been parked in front of Claire’s house was talking to a waitress on a cigarette break.

“Are you looking for someone?” Ethan asked.

Claire gave the room one more sweep. No one seemed to be paying attention to them.

“Kate should be here soon,” she said.

Just as she said it, Kate walked in, pushing sunglasses up to the top of her head, smoothing back unruly hair.

“This better be good,” she said and dropped into the seat next to Logan. He slid a cup of coffee over to her.

“What are we doing here, Claire?” Logan asked.

Claire twisted a small red straw around her finger. “Something happened in the middle of the night.”

“Are you okay?" Ethan asked. His eyes flickered to her upper arms, which she had thankfully remembered to cover with a long sleeve shirt.

"Before I tell you,” Claire said. “I need to go back several weeks. To when I had to get that college form signed from Bodian Dynamics, remember?"

Kate lowered the coffee cup from her lips. “Vaguely.”

Before Claire continued, she glanced around the dining room again to make sure they weren’t being listened to somehow.

“Talk to us, Claire,” Ethan said.

She nodded and took a deep breath. "That day I went to Bodian, Gary was there, and he was acting really strange, saying weird things and, well, just being himself." Ethan took hold of her hand. "Anyway, I convinced him to let me go down the hall to the vending machines."

"Well? What happened?" Kate asked.

"Before I tell you, I have to swear you all to secrecy. You can't tell anyone unless we all agree. Understand?"

"Just tell us,” Logan said.

"Promise?"

Eventually, they nodded.

Claire proceeded slowly, telling them exactly what she’d told Smith. As the words escaped her lips, she grew stronger and less afraid.

When she got to the part about the missing vials, Kate asked, her eyes wide, “What was in them?"

"I don't know exactly, but they were talking about what the formula did to monkeys and how it changed them."

Logan drew his eyebrows together. "Changed them into what?"

"The woman said they were monsters who stalked and tortured one another. And she was worried that if a human ingested the liquid then they, too, could be transformed into..."

"What?" all three said at the same time.

Claire sighed. "I don't know. That's when I accidentally bumped into the vending machine. They heard me, and the guy scientist chased me out with Gary into the parking lot. I was hiding behind a car when I heard the scientist tell Gary to catch me and find out how much I heard. You should've seen how scared the scientist was. It was like I'd heard them plotting World War Three or something."

"But you got away," Kate said.

"Yeah. I ran, but ever since then Gary’s been following me."

"So that's what last night was about," Ethan said.

“What happened last night?” Kate asked.

Logan leaned back, his fists balled tight in front of him. “Gary attacked Claire.”

“But that’s not all.” Claire glanced away. "Remember Gage?"

Ethan lowered his head into his hands. “This is going from bad to worse.”

"Last night he killed Gary,” Claire said. “Not just killed, but tortured and maimed. Smith said it was the worst crime scene he had ever seen."

"How do they know it was Gage? Did they catch him?" Kate asked.

Claire shook her head.

"They have his prints,” she said, but cringed at the word, remembering what Smith had really said. “And it matched the prints from the other girl’s death at the school’s swimming pool and at the gas station that was robbed."

Kate frowned. "So if they have his prints, why don't they just go arrest him?"

"It's not that simple," Logan explained. "Gage would already have to have a criminal record. If he's never done anything wrong, they won’t know who to look for."

"But it's not just that," Claire said. "There's something wrong with Gage's prints."

"What do you mean?" Ethan asked.

"Smith said they weren't normal. They were unlike any fingerprints he'd ever come across. It’s almost like they weren’t human."

Kate scrunched her face and snickered. "So Gage is some sort of animal? This is getting too weird."

"I'm just telling you what I know."

Logan seemed to be pondering her words, but Ethan just looked mad.

"Well, what do you guys think?" Claire asked.

Kate folded her arms. "I think the police got the prints wrong. And I think Gage is a psycho on drugs.”

"I think it's pretty obvious," Ethan said. "Gage, or whatever his real name is, stole the formula from Bodian and has been taking it. It's messed up his DNA and turned him into some kind of a monster."

Kate laughed. When none of them joined her, she asked, "You can't be serious?"

Claire looked at her. "I am very serious because I've come face to face with him. There is something abnormal, almost supernatural, about Gage."

"So what," Kate said, "you're going to go to the police and tell them some scientifically created, super-mutant is responsible for the crimes?"

Logan shook his head. "She can't do that. No one would believe her."

"You think?" Kate asked.

“I told Smith what happened,” Claire said. “He might come to the same conclusion we did.”

"Remember three years ago?” Logan asked. “The lab assistant who blew the whistle on some Bodian project that she claimed was illegal?"

When no one answered, he continued, "I remember because my dad had to fill out a report, and he was really stressed out about it. Really stressed out. Like he was afraid he'd lose his job if he said the wrong thing."

"So what happened?" Claire asked.

"Nothing. They fired the lab tech for supposed drug abuse, and then accused her of stealing from them. They pretty much ruined her life."

Kate shrugged. "How do you know she really wasn't a druggie?"

"I overheard my dad telling my mom that they'd set her up. 'Nobody goes against Bodian and survives', he'd said. I've never forgotten it."

Claire sunk into the back of the seat. "What do we do?"

Her voice was small, but not as small as she felt.

"I say we find out the truth. Hard evidence," Ethan said.

Kate narrowed her eyes. "And how do we do that?"

"Easy,” Logan said. “Both our dads work at Bodian. My dad's a lab tech and he's always leaving his security badge around. We could break in."

"They have a crazy security system," Claire said, remembering when she was last there. “But think about this, guys. Do you really think your dad’s could be part of something like this?”

Logan and Ethan were quiet. Logan’s focus was on a coffee cup in front of him, but Ethan was looking at Logan.

Ethan was the first to speak. “Possibly. My dad isn’t going to be on anyone’s hero list, and he gets paid a lot of money to be one of the managers out there. I’d like to say he would be against a drug that would do something so horrible, but I don’t know for sure.”

Logan’s head lifted. “And my dad’s always afraid of loosing his job. He might stay quiet about something like this, but then again there are a lot of labs at Bodian. He might not know anything about it.”

“I heard you were good with computers and stuff,” Ethan said to Logan. “Have you ever paired a cell phone to another?”

Logan smiled slowly. “Maybe.”

“How do you know how to do that?” Kate asked.

Ethan was still looking at Logan like they were the only two in the restaurant. “What if we paired our cell phones to our fathers—”

“And searched their emails, contact list, and files,” Logan finished, his voice excited. “My dad uses his all the time for work.”

Ethan was nodding. “If that didn’t work, we could pair our phones to other employees.”

“That could take a long time. We need to find out who works in the labs and single them out.”

“Good idea. Let’s start with our dad’s.”

“Could anyone catch you pairing their phone?” Claire asked, wanting to make sure they wouldn’t get caught. She didn’t want them risking their lives for this.

“They won’t even know it happened,” Logan said.

“Then let’s do it right away,” Claire said, looking around their small circle. “We have to stop Gage before anyone else gets hurt.”

Chapter 22

THE PLAN WAS set. That night, Logan was meeting Ethan to put the app on his phone that would make it possible for him to pair his cell to others. Claire didn’t ask where Logan got it from or how he knew how to do it. He had more friends than she would ever have, and she knew some of them were kind of shady.

When Ethan and Logan were finished, they were going to go home and pair their cells to their fathers. Both boys agreed to spend all night if needs be, searching through the phone’s information, looking for any evidence about Gage or the secret testing.

It was almost midnight. Claire’s room was dark and cold. Her old comforter was pulled tight to her chin, but she still couldn’t get warm. She was hoping she would’ve heard something from Ethan or Logan by now, but the only texts she’d received were from Kate who was wondering the same thing.

Finally, at almost one in the morning, Logan texted to the group: I’ve got nothing. Searched his entire phone. Sorry. Ethan?

Ethan responded back a few seconds later. Still looking. There’s a lot of information on here. It may take all night. You guys go to sleep. Let’s meet back at Eddy’s. Come early.

Claire’s heart sank. There was no way she was going to sleep, not knowing that Gage had been at her house only the night before. Her eyes instinctively went to her window. She imagined him placing his bloodied hand upon the glass and shivered. She almost considered running into her mother’s room, but she hadn’t done that since she was four-years-old.

Just then she received a private text from Ethan. Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out. You’ll be safe soon. I promise.

Claire inhaled deeply. She stared at the words for a long time, mouthed them quietly over and over until she finally fell asleep.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING, Claire thought she would be the first person to Eddy’s, but Logan was already waiting. He stood up when he saw her.

“Hey,” she said, coming to stand next to him.

A waitress looked up at them, but then turned her back to finish stocking napkin holders. Except for her, they were alone.

“Get any sleep?” he asked.

“Eventually. You?”

“Not really.”

“I can tell.” She reached up and smoothed down a section of his hair that was sticking up in the back. She hadn’t realized how close they were until her eyes met his. She inhaled a sharp intake of breath. He lifted his hand as if he was going to touch her cheek, but she stepped back just as the door opened.

Ethan stopped momentarily when he saw them, but then continued toward them. “I thought I’d be the first one here.”

“I think we’re all anxious to know what you found,” Logan said.

Ethan’s shoulders dropped, and he shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t find anything real valuable, and I searched everything. The best I could come up with was a list of all the labs and the employees who work in them.”

Claire dropped sideways onto the cushioned bench, her mouth falling open. This was going to take a lot longer than she hoped.

Ethan squatted in front of her at eye level. “But don’t worry. There’s a basic description of what each lab does so we can focus on the labs we think might be doing questionable testing. In fact, I think I found it.”

Claire’s eyes lifted to his.

Ethan smiled kindly. “There was a lab that only had a one sentence description. It said something like ‘experimental animal testing involving the human genome’.”

“That sounds like a good place to start,” Logan said. “How many employees work in it?”

“Only three were listed, and one was a girl. You said it was a man and woman you overheard, correct?” Ethan asked Claire.

She nodded. Maybe this wasn’t going to take as long as she thought.

“This will be easy then,” Logan said. “Text me their names, and I’ll see if I can’t find out their schedules. We’ll try to cross paths with them in the parking lot when they get off. If they have their phones on them, we can get them paired.”

“We can make this even easier,” Ethan said, straightening back up. “Let’s show up at lunchtime at Bodian. Everyone mostly eats in their cafeteria.”

“And we don’t have to have security clearance to get in there,” Logan added, his voice getting excited. “We’ll say we’re visiting our dads.”

“But what if you really do run into them?” Claire asked.

Logan shrugged. “We’ll think of something.”

Ethan began talking again. It didn’t seem to bother him that he might run into his father.

“Anyone who comes in there will be wearing name badges, so all we have to do is find the names of the employees who work in the lab. We should be able to find at least one of them with their phone on them. Then whoever we miss, we can get after their shift.”

Just then the door opened with a bang, making them all jump.

“Sorry I’m late,” Kate said, bringing with her a cold gust of wind.

“You scared us!” Claire said, her heart racing and her skin cooling.

“What I miss?”

“Ethan and I are going to Bodian during lunch time,” Logan said.

“Since when did you guys hang out?” Kate asked.

Before anyone could answer, Ethan pulled Claire up from the bench seat and wrapped his arms around her waist, surprising her by the intimate action in front of Kate and Logan.

“I have a few things I need to get done before we leave,” he said. “Stay safe, and I’ll meet up with you again just as soon as I can.”

Ethan leaned in and gave her a long, hard kiss on the lips.

When he finally pulled away, Claire opened her eyes. Over Ethan’s shoulder, Logan was watching them.

Chapter 23

“WHAT’S TAKING THEM so long?” Kate asked, setting aside the notebook she wrote music. She picked up the remote and turned on the television.

Claire just shook her head and looked up at the clock in her living room. It was just after three. She really thought she would have heard something by now, at least that they had found one of the employees in the lunchroom, but she had yet to hear from either Logan or Ethan.

“Have you texted Ethan?” Kate asked.

“Not yet. I’m sure everything is fine.” She tried to sound confident, but she was worried about them. What if Bodian had somehow found out that they knew about the missing vials too? Would they actually hurt them to protect their secret? She bit the inside of her lip. Come on, Ethan, text me.

Claire glanced out the window. The sky was overcast; great clouds hung low in the sky, swollen with moisture. A patrol car was parked across the street. The officer inside was reading a book.

She was about to suggest they drive to Bodian when her phone buzzed.

“That’s got to be them,” Kate said.

Claire looked down at her phone. A message from Ethan read: I sent some documents to your email. Bring them up on your computer. We’ll be there in a few.”

She hurried and grabbed her laptop from her bedroom and carried it into the living room. By the time she had it turned on and her emails downloaded, Ethan and Logan had arrived. They didn’t bother knocking.

“What took so long?” Kate asked.

Ethan joined Claire on the couch and gave her leg a gentle squeeze. “Did you get my emails?”

“I think so. You’ll have to look through them all to make sure. There’s a lot.”

“The lunchroom was packed,” Logan said. “It took a while just trying to read everyone’s name tags.”

“By the look of all these files, you obviously found someone,” Claire said. She was individually opening the emails from Ethan and dragging the documents onto her desktop.

“Two, actually,” Logan said. “The woman Jessica and a guy named Ryan.”

"I just hope we find something we can use against Bodian. I want this to end."

Ethan rested his hand on hers. "I’m sure there’s something here.”

Claire stared at the new files on her computer, potential viruses that could change the world. She still wasn't sure what to do if she found proof of Bodian's strange science experiments. Should she go public? And how does one do that anyway? She pictured herself standing in front of a news camera with a stack of papers accusing Bodian of turning people into monsters. And then a sniper shoots her. Inwardly, she groaned. What was she doing?

“Let’s see if we found anything,” Ethan said. “Open them up.”

Kate and Logan joined them on the couch.

“How did you know what files to send?” Kate asked.

“We didn’t find anything on the girl’s phone, but the guys had a whole folder called Bodian. We just copied everything inside.”

Claire’s finger hesitated over the touchpad, her hand shaking slightly. She took a deep breath and pressed down. The first file opened. Her eyes scanned the contents along with the others. Notes from a meeting discussing holiday schedules. Nothing helpful.

“Go to the next one,” Ethan said.

Claire moved to open another file, but again she hesitated, afraid of what she might find. Her heart was racing.

“Here,” Logan said. “Let me do it.”

She easily handed over the laptop and stood up to walk into the kitchen. She rested her hands on the counter and told herself to relax.

“Isn’t there a quicker way to do this?” Kate asked from the living room

“It’s not like painting your nails, Kate,” Logan said. “It’s going to take time.”

Ethan joined Claire while Logan and Kate continued to argue. "We can leave if you’d like.”

"No. I want to stay. Once we get the proof we need, all this will be over."

Ethan’s mouth twisted to a frown. "I don't think it's going to be that easy."

"Why?"

“I think I found something,” Logan said.

Claire and Ethan hurried over and sat down. On the screen was a PDF document titled H371. They all took several minutes to read through the four-page report. No one said a word, and Claire knew they must be feeling the same way she was, terrified.

When they were finished, Kate was the only one to speak.

"We're screwed."

Chapter 24

ALBERT WAS ALONE. Whether that was good or bad, he didn't know yet. Claire and the others had parted ways over an hour ago. Like him, they were probably still trying to process what they'd read. The report hadn't given them all the details of the project Bodian Dynamics called H371, but just enough that he was still shaking inside.

H371 was a program Bodian started over five years ago at the request of a company or a person called Blackbird. Blackbird had paid millions to Bodian. Their whole purpose was to create a person with super-human abilities without a conscience. For what purpose, the report didn’t say, but it did mention unexpected results: something dark and evil had filled the space where a conscience should’ve been. It actually used the word “evil”, which confirmed what Albert thought about Gage.

While the others had discussed what to do next, he had read the report again, specifically looking for any mention of a way to reverse the effects of the compound. This was all that mattered to him now. Gage must be stopped, especially after what Albert had seen him do to Gary.

Albert had tried many times to gain control of Gage while he tortured Gary, but Gage wouldn't let him. Somehow he had managed to keep a mental grip on him, making him watch the massacre. Albert fought, clawing at the fabric of his mind, trying to drag Gage back, but it was useless. Gage was too strong.

There was a moment, when Gary had been covered in blood, when Albert had felt the full scope of Gage's evil. Gage had been in a perfect state of bliss, while Albert was in the worst kind of hell imaginable. And Albert thought he'd be trapped there forever. But then dawn had come and, as darkness retreated, so too had Gage.

The next day Albert had tried to take his own life. That was the only way he could think of to stop Gage from hurting anyone else. He’d picked up a loaded gun from inside his dad’s desk drawer, held it to his head, but no matter what he tried he couldn’t get his finger to pull the trigger. “You can’t destroy me,” was the thought that appeared in his mind. Gage was still with him, but Albert wasn’t sure how close. Could he hear his conversations with Claire? Could he see what Albert saw?

To find out, Albert had tried to communicate with him, had tried different things to elicit a reaction from Gage. But only two things caused his interference: when Albert tried to die or when he tried to tell someone about Gage, which is what he’d tried to do with Claire, or when he tried to go to the police station.

If Gage was that close, Albert wondered why he didn’t just take over. Maybe he needed time to recuperate. Whatever the reason, Albert had to do something to stop him. Who knew how long he had before Gage returned?

Albert turned away from the open window and paced his room. There had to be a way to fix him! He'd been a fool to believe a drug could bury his emotions. Instead, it had awoken a monster.

Albert collapsed on top of his bed and rolled to the side to view his reflection on the opposite wall. It made him sick to look at, and his stomach churned, creating a pain deep inside his gut. Instead of thinking of ways to get rid of the hurt, he thought of Claire. Saw her face. Heard her voice. A calm passed over him and settled his racing pulse. In just a few short minutes, Albert fell asleep.

Chapter 25

AFTER BAND PRACTICE the next morning, Claire and the others walked to the gas station on the corner for their usual drinks. A patrol car followed behind.

“I think we’re ready,” Steph said.

Kate shook her head. “We’re close, but Claire you’re coming in too early on a couple of songs, and Audrey, you’ve got to watch for Steph’s drag before you play.”

“On what song?” Audrey asked, slowing up so she could walk next to her.

While they talked, Claire fell in line next to Logan. “Thanks for coming today.”

“Don’t mention it. And Kate’s right. You’re coming in too early.”

“I know. My head just isn’t in it right now. How can it with all this shit going on?”

Logan draped his arm around her shoulder. “What’s going on with Gage can’t last forever. You will have a life beyond Bandon that should include your music. Don’t lose your focus.”

“I’m trying not to,” Claire said.

The summer sun was directly above them hanging in a clear blue sky. It would’ve been a perfect day, but a cool breeze blowing over the ocean chilled her skin.

“Hey, isn’t that Corey’s bike?” Logan asked, taking back his arm. It left a cold spot on her shoulder.

“Sure looks like it.” Claire walked around the gas station only to find Ethan’s bike too. He sometimes met her here after practice.

“No fighting,” Kate whispered as she passed by to go inside the store.

“I second that,” Steph added.

Claire found Ethan by the soda fountain. “What are you doing here?”

He took her by the hand. “I thought I’d check on you before I left with Corey. We’re going to the beach. You want to meet us there later?”

“Maybe. I’ll have to check with Smith though.”

Corey was on the other side of the store reaching into a freezer. She should hurry.

“Tell him I won’t let you out of my sight,” Ethan said and squeezed her hand.

Claire lifted up on her tiptoes and kissed him quickly on the cheek. “I’ll text you.”

She grabbed a soda then quickly paid for it before joining Kate and Steph outside on the sidewalk. Before the door could close behind her, Corey slipped out.

"Want to go to lunch, Kate?" he asked.

"Can't. I've got more important things to do," Kate said, surprising Claire. Usually there was some wavering before she rejected him, and that’s if she rejected him.

He nodded his head in Claire’s direction. "Like hang out with Miss Anger Management?"

"Get lost," Claire said. She turned around to walk away, but he grabbed her shoulder.

"Did you just talk to me? Cuz you're going to want to stay out of this."

She jerked her shoulder away. "Stay out of what? Last time I checked, you and Kate were over months ago."

"You don't know how to stay out of other people’s business, do you?" he said, sidestepping close to her.

Two more steps and her back would be against the store’s brick wall. Claire was really getting sick of being cornered. "What are you talking about?"

"Ethan. He used to be normal but now all he wants to do is hang out with you, and I can't figure out why. Unless you're following in your mother’s footsteps."

Claire stared at him. To the average spectator she probably appeared calm, but only she was aware of the storm brewing inside her. The turmoil left her fist when she swiped it at Corey’s jaw. His head jerked back, but she wasn't strong enough to knock him out, which she regretted.

Kate gasped and then laughed. Corey looked at her and then Claire. The veins on his neck appeared larger than she remembered. She traced them down his muscular arm until they ended at his balled fist. When it began to move, she tried to duck, but it smashed against the side of her head.

Claire stumbled into the wall and slumped to the floor. Through blurry vision and a sudden massive headache, she saw Ethan tackle Corey to the pavement. Over a high-pitched ringing in her ears, she heard shouting and screaming. Ethan was sitting on top of Corey raining punches down on his face while Kate tried to pull him off.

Someone came to Claire's side. Her head lopped to the side to see whom. Steph was kneeling and saying something but Claire couldn't hear what. Her gaze lowered to the cracked concrete, to Steph's drumsticks lying near her knees.

Claire missed singing. She let her eyes close, and let the stage in her mind come alive. A single light turned on and shined on the stage. She took hold of the microphone and began to sing. All of her emotions poured into the music, leaving her empty.

"Claire?"

The ringing in her ears was gone. Claire opened her eyes. Logan was by Steph. Both of them looked worried. She didn't like it.

"Is there something on my face?" she said, and forced a smile.

Beyond them, the police officer who had been following her earlier was yelling at Corey and Ethan. The store clerk had also come out and was holding onto Corey.

Claire quickly struggled to stand despite Kate and Logan’s protests. "I'm fine. It's no big deal."

She touched her head. Extremely tender, but no blood.

"Don't do this," Logan said. "Not now. You are not okay."

"Whatever." Claire pushed through them to get to the police saying, “Ethan did nothing wrong!”

“Get out of here, Claire,” Ethan said, more like growled. His chest was puffed out, and only the officer’s hand on his chest was keeping him from attacking Corey again. “Logan, take her home!”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said.

Logan took hold of her arm. "Let's go, Claire."

She tried to shake off his hand, but it wouldn't budge. "We're leaving. Now. This is what I want from you, and then we're even. You’ll never owe me anything ever again."

That got her attention. She glanced toward Ethan. Another cop had arrived and was walking him to his patrol car while the other officer spoke to Corey.

“There going to want to talk to you, too,” Steph said to her. “Maybe you shouldn’t leave.”

“They know where to find me. Let’s go, Logan.” Claire turned to Steph. "Tell Ethan to call me when he's done."

Logan guided her away from the gas station and toward his car parked just down the street.

As soon as she closed the passenger door, Logan, who was already in, said, "What was that back there?"

She tipped her head against the window. "Can you just take me home? I want to sleep."

"Headache?"

"Something like that."

"You got hit pretty hard." He started the car and drove in the opposite direction of the gas station.

"You saw it?"

"Just the tail end. I was right behind Ethan."

"Corey's such an ass. I hope they throw him in jail!”

Logan was silent.

"What?" Claire said. "Say it!"

"I'm worried about you."

"Why? This was nothing."

"You're wrong. I know you better than anyone, and I saw what you did back there."

"What I did?"

"You went all I-don’t-care-about-anything, like you used to do. Before."

"Before what?"

Claire heard his swallow. She could practically see him gathering his strength as he prepared to say it, but she didn't stop him. She needed to hear it.

"Before you discovered that dead girl. Ever since then, you've been different. In a good way. It's like a wall came down and you finally allowed yourself to feel again."

"I've been feeling scared! That's a good thing?"

Logan nodded slowly. "It's called emotions. What your father did to you stripped you of this. But any emotions are better than feeling nothing. It’s what makes us human."

Claire turned away from him. "I disagree."

"I know it sucks to feel scared, but if you let yourself feel that then maybe you can start feeling other things, too."

"Like what?" she mumbled.

It was a second before Logan said, "Love."

"How do you know I don't feel that?"

Logan shrugged, his eyes sad. "Maybe you do. I don't know. I just don't want to see you going back to how you used to be. It's okay to cry. Corey hitting you had to hurt more than just physically."

Claire focused on the pain at the side of her head. She wasn't ready to focus on the other kind. "It's fine. I just want to go to sleep."

Logan reached over and rubbed her back. "Okay."

* * *

CLAIRE FINALLY GOT out of bed later that afternoon. She hadn’t really slept, but she did replay events over and over in her head, from the first time she saw Mindy all the way to what Logan had said. He was right. She had changed, too subtly for her to notice. But now what? Everything hurt, especially her head. She touched it lightly and winced.

Claire heard the television in the living room click off. Logan was still here. Her shoulders slumped. Time for an apology. She ignored the light blinking on her phone. Ethan had called her several times, but she needed some time to sort things out, to make a decision on who she wanted to be. Whatever she decided would affect him, too.

Opening the door, she walked down the hall and into the living room. Before she could speak, Logan stood up and said, “Forget about what happened earlier. We need to stay focused, get this thing with Bodian resolved so you can feel something other than being scared—”

“Logan—”

“Ethan will be here any second. I have a plan.”

She parted the blinds on the window and looked out. Ethan was just outside talking to a police officer parked out front. She breathed in and turned around. “Thank you, Logan, for everything.”

He looked directly in her eyes. “I want this to end just as much as you do.”

His gaze was so intense that she turned away, her pulse suddenly racing. Before she could analyze why, the door opened.

Ethan walked in and looked from Logan to Claire.

“What’s the verdict?” Logan asked.

“They let me go. Corey isn’t pressing charges.” He stepped in front of Claire and looked her over as if to make sure she was all right. “But you can press charges on him if you want. You just have to go to the police station to fill out a report.”

Claire stared down at Ethan’s bloodied knuckle. She had enough to worry about. “I’ll think about it.”

Logan cleared his throat. “So, Bodian. We need to blow this whole H371 thing wide open.”

“But how?” Claire asked. “We don’t even know who’s behind it, other than someone called Blackbird. And besides, who would believe a bunch of teenagers?”

“No one if we don’t have proof,” Ethan said.

“And one lousy document with no one’s name on it isn’t going to work,” Logan added. “So here’s my plan. We go see Anne Dawson.”

“Who?” Ethan and Claire asked at the same time.

“The lady I told you about. The one who tried to blow the whistle on Bodian a few years back.”

Claire shook her head. "I doubt she even lives here anymore. I know I wouldn’t.”

"She does. My boss at the restaurant is sort of friends with her," Logan said.

"Do you know where she lives?"

“Yup. And we’re going there tonight. If you guys want, that is.”

Claire glanced back at Ethan. He was nodding his head in agreement.

“Okay. Let’s do it,” she said.

“What time?” Ethan asked. “I’ve got some things to do first.”

“Me, too,” Logan said. “Let’s meet back here at 5:30.”

After they all agreed, Claire watched both Logan and Ethan walk away. A twinge of guilt nagged at her. She shouldn’t be getting them involved. She knew how dangerous Gage was and didn’t doubt he’d kill both of them if given the chance. Just the thought of something happening to either one of them about crippled her.

She closed her eyes and hoped. Hoped that the woman Anne Dawson would help end this nightmare.

Chapter 26

AT EXACTLY 5:30 p.m., Logan and Ethan pulled into Claire’s driveway. She was speaking with a cop parked outside her house when she saw them. She turned back to Officer Johnson, an older man in his sixties. "See? Those two guys will be with me the whole time, and I'll be back before dark. So you can tell Smith I'll be just fine and if he has a problem with that, he can call me.”

"I don't know, Claire—” Officer Johnson began, but she was already opening Logan's passenger door.

"You better be back before dark!" he called after her. She saluted him from within the car.

"What was that all about?" Logan asked.

"I relieved him of his babysitting duties," she said. "So where we going?"

"Clear up in the mountains, off Bear Creek Road," Ethan said.

"Is it far?"

"About forty-five minutes."

Logan drove fast, for which Claire was grateful. Right now Anne Dawson was the only hope they had.

"Who would live out here?" Ethan asked when their car about lost a tire going over a deep hole on the dirt road.

"Someone who's trying to hide," Logan said quietly.

Claire stared out the windows with the rest of them, watching as they drove deeper and deeper into mountainous terrain. Trees as old as the earth itself seemed to block their path, but each time Logan managed to get around them on the narrow road. An ominous feeling settled into her gut.

"Anyone else have a bad feeling?" she asked.

Ethan reached from behind the back seat and rubbed her shoulders. "It's going to be okay."

"We're just looking for answers," Logan said. "Nothing bad is going to happen."

"That's what teenagers always say when they go into the woods just before dark. And then they're murdered." She forced a nervous laugh.

Logan turned to her. "You're really shook up, aren't you?"

It wasn't like Claire to feel afraid, let alone voice her fear to others, but, as Logan had already pointed out, she hadn't been herself lately.

"There it is," Ethan said, pointing out the window to his left.

Claire could barely see it through the trees: a cabin half the size of her house. A porch on the front was partially collapsed, making it look empty, but a plume of smoke puffed from a brick chimney, making the cabin seem alive. She shuddered.

Logan turned off the car. "Let's get this over with.”

"Yeah, before Bigfoot returns," Ethan said.

Claire got out of the car and stared at the cabin, thinking back to all the events that led her here. Would this ever end?

A moment later Ethan put his arm around her and smiled. "It's not that bad. It reminds me of my grandpa's cabin."

"Who wants to brave that porch first?" she asked.

Ethan stepped forward. “I’ll go.”

Logan put his hand out, stopping him. “I’ve got this.” He took a deep breath. "Here goes nothing."

He walked to the porch and hesitantly stepped upon the first stair. The wooden porch groaned under his weight but held. He turned around and shrugged. "I don't know what the big deal is. It’s fine." He moved to take the next step when all of a sudden the front door opened, startling him. He fell backwards, landing hard on his back.

Too stunned to say anything, Claire stared at the dark figure standing in the doorway, the body silhouetted by a soft light glowing from within the cabin.

"Ms. Dawson?" Logan said from the ground.

"How do you know my name?" a voice said, gentler than Claire expected.

"My boss is Don Garret. He sent me out here hoping you could help us. I just have a few questions."

The woman was silent for what seemed like an eternity before she finally stepped into the light. "Then you better ask them quickly. It'll be dark soon and you don't want to be out here when the sun goes down. You can call me Anne."

Ethan smiled encouragingly at Claire.

"Come inside," Anne said. "I just made bread."

Claire followed the others in, surprised at how nice the inside of the home was. It resembled a studio apartment with only a bedroom and small kitchen. A round table was shoved in the corner; two loaves of freshly baked bread sat on its top. The place was decorated in forest greens and mauves. Everything matched perfectly, including a small lamp sitting on the far end of the counter. Claire wondered if Anne had purchased all the décor from the same store.

Despite the attention to detail, there was no TV, only a tall bookshelf crammed full of books some of which had fallen to the floor.

"Have a seat," Anne said, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. The rest of it was pulled back into a loose ponytail. Claire noticed her left hand was shaking. It matched the twitch in her cheek, just above a deep purple scar. If it wasn't for the three-inch deformity, she might've been beautiful with fair skin and gray eyes.

The boys must've been just as disturbed by her appearance as Claire because nobody moved.

"I said sit down." Anne’s voice turned cold, chilling the cramped cabin.

Logan and Ethan dropped into the chairs by the table.

"You have a lovely home," Claire said, trying to warm the space back up.

“Yeah, I like your dishes," Ethan said. Logan quickly agreed.

Claire gave them a "could-you-say-anything-lamer?" look. There was only one set of dishes, a blue color, resting on the counter as if Anne was about to eat dinner. Ethan shrugged.

Anne’s expression suddenly warmed and she grinned, making her scar look like a squashed caterpillar. “I don’t get visitors often. Would you like some bread?”

“That’s okay. We don’t want to take too much of your time.” Claire looked from Ethan to Logan, and then back to Anne. "We just want to ask you some questions. About Bodian Dynamics.”

Anne’s smile disappeared. "I have nothing to say about Bodian."

"Why did you leave?" Ethan blurted.

Her head snapped in his direction, and her lip curled up beneath a flaring nose. "I didn't leave. They fired me! I loved my job."

"Why did they fire you?" Logan asked, his voice gentle.

Anne's shoulders slumped, and she motioned her head toward the door. "You shouldn't be here. Please leave."

"But bad things are happening,” Claire said, “and we think it has something to do with Bodian.”

Anne shook her head. "Not my problem anymore. I tried to stop them once, but no one would listen. And then they ruined my life."

Claire leaned forward. "But we're listening now, and we're trying to stop them too, before it's too late."

Anne took two steps into the kitchen and opened a cupboard. "Stop them from what?" She removed an antiqued looking mug and poured herself a cup of coffee.

Start from the beginning," Ethan encouraged Claire.

Claire swallowed. "Several weeks ago I was at Bodian Dynamics…” She continued telling Anne everything that had happened, including the girl she'd found at the pool and how the “fingerprints” matched those on her window, but more importantly how they weren't human. She also talked about Gage and how he was stalking her.

Throughout her speech, Claire noticed Anne growing paler, but it wasn’t just that. Her right hand, hidden from view from Ethan and Logan, clenched the edge of the counter as if she was hanging on to it for life, but Claire didn't stop. She needed answers.

When Claire finally finished, she said, "So we need to know if the reason you were fired has anything to do with what's going on now, and we need to know how to stop Gage and Bodian. We need to expose them for what they've done."

At this, Anne shook her head and began to tug at her hair, pulling brown strands out of the ponytail. "That's not possible. They will bury all of you if you say anything."

"But what if we can get proof?" Logan asked. Claire noticed he was sweating. She glanced at Ethan. He looked cold. As for her, she felt numb.

"Proof?" Anne said and turned her head to look out the window.

Claire followed her gaze. The sun was just beginning to set. Its fading light shined into Anne's gray eyes, and Claire thought she saw a spark of hope, but it disappeared just as quickly as it had come.

"It doesn't matter," Anne said. "I had proof. Even a video tape of what they were doing."

"What exactly were they doing?" Claire asked, hoping for the spark to return.

"I haven’t spoken about it for three years. They forced me into silence."

"Forced you? How?" Ethan asked. His eyebrows were pulled tightly together.

Anne looked up at him. "They threatened the lives of my parents, my sister, even her children."

Ethan sat up straight. "But they were just threats, right?"

"That's what I thought, too. But then my parent’s house burned to the ground. They barely made it out alive."

"You think it was Bodian?" Claire asked.

"I know it was." Anne took a sip. The glass shaking in her hands barely made it to her lips. "After that I moved away from everyone. I told Bodian I'd never talk about it again, but it wasn’t enough. They followed me everywhere for weeks until they left me this," she pointed to her scar, "to make sure I'd keep my mouth shut, and I have and will. You’re wasting your time."

Claire stood up. She wasn't about to let things go. "But they won't know we've been here! We promise not to say anything."

For the first time, Anne laughed. It was sweet sounding like the sound you’d hear at a child’s birthday party.

"They already know you're here, dear," she said. "Don't you get it? Bodian knows everything."

Ethan stood up next to her. "They're not gods. They can be stopped."

Anne placed her mug on the counter. "You guys think you're being brave, but you're not. You're being naive. You have no idea who you're up against."

"Then tell us," Claire begged. "Please?"

Anne looked at each of them.

Claire softened her voice. "Surely you can't like living out here—away from your family and friends. I know Bodian took everything from you, but you have a chance now to get back at them. Share with us what you know, and I promise we'll bring them down."

Anne grimaced like she’d bitten her tongue, and her eyes changed to the color of a dying storm. She reminded Claire of her mother right after her father was sent to prison, and the only word she could think to describe her was broken.

Anne leaned further into the counter until Claire thought she'd collapse.

"Anne?" Claire asked.

Anne's eyes met hers. "Bodian was conducting these experiments on mice first. Our lab manager had us inject them with this serum. We were never told what was in it, just that we were to monitor the animals’ behavior. If he didn't get the results he wanted, then he'd take the serum away, sometimes for several days, then return and ask us to try again. We begged him to tell us what it was for, but all he'd say is it was for national security." Anne slumped even further until she was sitting on the kitchen floor, her back against the counter.

"After a few months we began to notice changes in the mice. Seconds after we'd inject them, they'd change. They were more aggressive and calculated in their movements. It's like they got smarter. And when mazes no longer posed challenges, our manager told us to start running cognitive tests, like what they do with monkeys. At first I laughed. Mice don't have the brain size to comprehend those kinds of tests, but,” Anne shook her head, "they passed. The mice were thinking at a primate level. This is when he took the serum from us for several months. So much time passed that we almost forgot about it, but then he returned and asked us to start testing it on rats.”

Anne smiled. “I have to admit, I was excited at first. I was anxious to see what they'd done to it and how much more a larger animal could learn. Whoever he had working on it, must have done some major changes to the formula because in a short amount of time the rats changed, and not just in intelligence and strength. They physically changed to the point where they were an entirely different rat altogether, but once the serum wore off, they'd return to normal." Anne lowered her head to her bent knees. "Two different creatures in one body. One normal, the other...something else." She paused, then lifted her head and looked at each of them.

Claire wanted to say something, maybe some encouraging words, but a lump was stuck so far in her throat, she was afraid she'd choke on it.

Logan spoke for her. "What happened next?"

"They took the serum again. I couldn't imagine what they'd do differently, and the possibilities scared me. I had nightmares for weeks." She took a deep breath. "And then he returned. And the tests began again. The rats were like they were before, but something had changed. After several doses, the rats no longer needed the serum to complete the transformation. They'd just change into this other thing, but this isn't what terrified me. What they changed into was something dark and evil."

Ethan spoke, his voice heavier than the suffocating room, "Evil? How could a rat be evil?"

Anne turned her head to him; the motion looked like it took her great effort. "We took one of the infected rats and placed him with a normal rat. While in his normal state, the infected rat behaved as expected, but as soon as he transformed he became fixated on the uninfected rat until he ultimately killed it. And it wasn't a normal attack. The transformed rat tortured the other one in such a calculated manner all of us scientists were terrified by the results. We told our supervisor that something must be wrong with the formula, but he told us to continue working. He had us film everything. The kinds of things I witnessed still make it hard for me to sleep at night."

"But evil?" Ethan said again.

Anne paused, then slowly pushed back into a standing position. "Yes, evil. I know what I saw and felt."

"Felt?" Logan said.

"Have you ever been inside Alcatraz or visited a concentration camp? There's a feeling there, something dark and heavy. It's where evil's walked."

"I've felt it," Claire whispered.

Anne walked to her, staring hard. "When?"

"The boy. Gage. There's something inside him." A cold shiver fingered its way up Claire’s spine.

"The day I decided to go public,” Anne said, “was the day I overheard our manager on the phone saying they were ready to begin testing on primates." Her eyes moved to the window again. The sun had set; the glass held the darkness at bay. Just then a sudden wind picked up, shaking the window.

"That's some wind," Logan said and chuckled uncomfortably.

"It's the devil's breath,” Anne whispered. “You need to leave."

"But if a human's been injected,” Ethan said, “then we need to know how to stop him."

"There's only one way.” Anne turned to him.  “You'll have to kill him when he's in his normal state."

Claire gasped at the same time Logan said, "Isn't there another way?"

Anne shook her head. "It's when the beast is at his weakest. While unleashed, the rats were too strong, too smart. I can only imagine a human to be so much more.” She shivered as if imagining the possibility.

"But what about a cure?" Logan asked.

"I never knew of one." Anne walked to the door and opened it. "I've told you everything. Please leave."

Claire remained frozen until Ethan's gentle touch nudged her back.

"Let's go, Claire," he said.

Logan passed by Anne. "Thank you for your time. I know this must've been difficult."

Anne nodded.

Claire stopped at the door, letting Ethan by, and looked at Anne. "We'll fix this. You won't be here forever, I promise."

"Don't worry about me," Anne said. "Worry about yourself." She looked out the door to where Logan and Ethan were walking toward the car. She gripped Claire's arm suddenly and hissed in her face. "You say you've felt it—the evil. Listen to me closely, Claire. Gage is someone close to you. A boy that’s been unleashed, and the only way for you to survive is if you kill him."

Chapter 27

IT HAD BEEN two days since Albert slept. Ever since he left Anne's house in the woods. Ever since he found out there wasn't a cure. Ever since he found out Gage was permanent.

He stood up from his bed and looked at the clock. Three in the morning. Almost time to go. He pulled a t-shirt over his head.

Albert couldn't believe there wasn't a way to fix this—to fix him. The thought of Gage taking over any time he wanted had already made him vomit twice. Whether out of revulsion or the fact that it was taking all his mental strength to contain Gage, he wasn’t sure. He guessed he had maybe another day before his strength gave out and that was only if he kept his emotions in check, which he’d almost lost control of when Corey hit Claire.

He’d never been so angry before. As for Gage, he didn’t care in the least. In fact, after it had happened, he’d heard Gage laugh. He delighted in the pain of others, plus Corey hadn’t shown any desire to possess Claire. If he had, Corey probably wouldn’t be alive right now.

As for the other man in Claire’s life, Albert wondered why Gage hadn’t hurt Him yet. Albert knew Gage didn’t like him, simply for the fact that every time Albert saw Claire with Him, all kinds of horrible words would come to his mind and they weren’t his. They were Gage’s. Sometimes Albert thought he didn’t hurt Him because he was using Him for some reason. Or maybe he was just waiting for the perfect time. Or the perfect murder. Claire would be devastated.

Albert walked to his closet and found his tennis shoes. They were neatly lined with his other three pairs of shoes, all freshly polished from the day before. His mother had seemed more anxious than usual, and as a result made him do all sorts of crazy jobs that she hadn't asked him to do in years. It was almost as if she could sense Gage inside him and it frightened her. But it wasn’t just the chores. His parents let him come and go as he pleased, not even bothering to lock his door anymore. Something was wrong, he felt it, but he couldn’t figure out what.

Before Albert jumped from his bedroom window, he snatched his backpack and threw it over his shoulder.

He raced toward the forest only two blocks away. From there he'd find his way to Bodian Dynamics. For the last 48 hours, he'd memorized everything he could find about their security. One way or another he was going to get in and find a cure. Despite what Anne had said, there had to be one. It was his only hope.

Albert ran fast with a power beyond his own. A part of Gage had seeped into his muscles, igniting them with a fevered energy.

Within minutes he was crouching outside the gates of Bodian. He unzipped his backpack and removed binoculars. After lifting them to his eyes, he adjusted the lenses until a security guard came into focus just beyond a front window. He was sitting at the front desk reading a book, a beer in front of him. Albert would make his move as soon as the man left the room.

While he waited, he surveyed the rest of the grounds. Other than a few cars, the parking lot was empty. He should be able to dart across the lawn easily enough just as soon as the guard left his station. Around the back of Bodian, he would use his father’s security badge that he’d taken to sneak into the door next to the loading bay.

Albert raised the binoculars again. The guard continued to read, occasionally glancing up from his books to check security footage. That would be Albert’s biggest problem as he couldn't find any way to shut the cameras off without setting off an alarm. But he had studied the blueprints long enough that he hoped he could go undetected by staying in blind spots as much as possible. For the rest of the time, he was relying on the guard’s inattentiveness.

Just then the guard stood up, stretched, and walked away. Here goes nothing. He backed away from the tall fence and crouched low. With his eyes closed, he focused, trying to tap into Gage's strength. If Gage could clear a fence this high, then he should be able to, right?

He hoped.

Gage was easy to find, right on the surface of his mind. He could almost feel Gage's smile, as if Gage was waiting for something like this. Albert wondered why Gage hadn't taken over yet. He felt Gage's power and knew he could do it easily enough if he wanted to.

Time was running out. Albert opened his eyes and rushed the fence. At the last second he leapt into the air. His muscles exploded with energy and propelled him up and over the fence. He was so surprised by how easily he'd cleared the fence that he forgot to pay attention to the landing. His body hit the ground hard.

Gage laughed.

Albert quickly stood, shaking his head and the pain away. Then he ran.

It took less than ten seconds to get to the service entrance by the loading bay. He withdrew his father’s security badge from his pocket and slid it through the card reader on the side of a keypad. The door clicked open. He quickly slipped inside and closed the door behind him.

Albert waited a few minutes in the darkened room, listening to the gentle hum of an air conditioner above him. On the other side, a faint light glowed beneath a closed door. He felt his way across what he assumed was some sort of an office until he reached the exit. Very slowly he opened the door and peered out into a hallway. A security camera blinked at the end of the hall. Most of the ceiling lights were off except for every third one, leaving periodic shadows. He would stick to those.

He glanced at his watch. A little over five minutes had passed. Most likely the guard hadn't returned to his post yet. Albert stepped into the hallway and rushed down it, following the maze to his final destination. He had expected more opposition than this—a late night employee or even more lights (most of them had been turned off), but he reached the lab where he’d stolen the vials easily. It unnerved him.

He paused when his hand reached the doorknob. Something wasn't right. Albert looked down the darkened hallway, half considering going back.

"Don't be a coward," Gage's voice whispered in his head. And then he was opening the door, not sure if it was him or Gage that had done it.

When he stepped in, and the door closed behind him, Albert jumped. The room was colder than he'd expected. A breeze from a nearby air conditioner chilled him, and a violent shiver erupted in waves across his skin. He took a deep breath and rubbed his arms.

A quick scan of the room revealed no security cameras. Good. He'd been worried that Bodian might've installed some after he stole the vials.

Relaxing somewhat, he moved to the nearest computer and turned it on. A blue cursor blinked next to an empty password field. From within his back pocket, he withdrew a list of passwords he'd stolen from the cell phone. There were twenty-seven of them. He glanced at his watch and then back at his computer. He'd better hurry.

Albert was only six passwords in when the lights flipped on. Jumping from his chair, he whirled around into a fighting position.

"Hello, Albert," his father said.

Instinctively, he took a step back. "Dad? What are you doing here?"

His father's lip twitched, almost into a smile. "I should be asking you the same question."

Albert straightened his shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. "I was looking for you."

"You're a terrible liar." His father raised a hand to stop him from speaking. “But its okay. I'm not mad. I knew you'd be here tonight."

"How?"

"I know everything about you."

Albert’s face burned red, the heat raced to other parts of him like a wild fire, and he broke out in a sweat. "What are you talking about?"

"You want a cure,” his father said.

Albert stumbled forward, a few hopeful steps. Maybe his father could cure him. "You know? About what's been happening to me?"

"Of course, son."

Albert’s eyes were wide. “How?”

His father sat on the corner of a desk; the casualness of it unnerved Albert, like this whole thing was no big deal.

"You’ve always been a curious boy. A terrible fault, I know, but I hoped one day it would come in handy. And it did. You see, this program has sort of been a pet project of mine, but a few months ago we lost our funding. The whole project with the particular strain you were infected with was cancelled, but then you stole those vials and suddenly became my test subject. At first, I didn’t know whether to be mad at you for stealing or happy that you saved my project.”

“I can’t believe this,” Albert said, the words barely escaping his lips.

“In the end,” his father continued while picking up an empty vial from off the top of the desk, “I decided it was the best thing. Not only could my research continue, but I also had the assurance that my son would never become a looser junkie like his older brother.”

“But I did become a junkie,” Albert said. “To the worst kind of drug imaginable.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. This drug has created the finest specimen of men I’ve ever seen!”

Albert froze and looked up at his father. “Has created? There are more like me?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Not exactly, son. There is no one like you. You’re special, and I couldn’t be more proud.”

"So you used me as a guinea pig?” The words were bitter on his tongue, and he couldn’t swallow. “Do you have any idea what you've done? What I've done? You've turned me into a monster!"

His father slammed the glass vial against the counter, shattering it. "No! Don't ever call yourself that. You are a god!"

"But I've done terrible things!” Albert said. He clawed at his chest. “This thing, this beast, inside me is taking over!"

"Let it. It's who you really are."

"It's not! I'm not a monster," he said more to himself than his father. "I don't want this."

"But you will. Soon your stronger self will take over, and you will never feel pain again."

Albert jerked his head up. "Why don't you take it then? You're the one with issues!"

"It won't work on subjects past a certain age. The cells in my brain have already begun to die. Yours haven't."

To try and keep calm, Albert tracked the movement of a small spider crawling up the desk. The spider paused, turned directions, and retreated back down.

"To what end?" he finally asked, looking at his father. "Once I've been unleashed fully, what will Bodian want with me?"

"You will work for them, traveling the world, and you will be paid millions to do it."

"But what will I be doing?"

"Whatever they tell you to do."

Albert burst out laughing. "Have you met Gage?"

His father cocked his head. "Is that what you call him?"

"It's what he calls himself, and he can't be controlled. He will do whatever the hell he pleases. He won't work for Bodian anymore than he'll be your son!"

The muscles in his father’s face twitched until they settled into hard lines. "He'll do whatever we tell him to do.”

"And why's that?"

"Because if he doesn't," he paused, "then we'll take away the one thing he wants—to exist."

"How?"

"We'll give him the cure."

Blood drained from Albert’s face, and tears stung his eyes. "There's a cure?"

His father turned away. "Yes."

Albert fell to his knees. "Please, father! Please give it to me. I don't want to be this! Please take it from me!"

His father stepped back, away. "You have been given the most valuable gift anyone has ever received, and you want me to take it back? Never. You may not appreciate it now, but one day you'll thank me. Now get out of here, before I call the police."

"Don't do this, father. I'll talk to mom, she'll help me."

His father laughed and walked to the door. "Your mother couldn’t be happier with the way things have turned out. Besides, she's out of town for awhile." He opened the door. "Now leave."

He took hold of his father's arm. "I need that cure! You don't understand. I'm going to hurt people I love!"

"A necessary consequence.” His father shook him away. “The next time we see each other, you'll be a new man. Be sure to tell Gage I look forward to meeting him, and don't let him get any crazy ideas about hurting any of us. Bodian has their ways of tracking him, and we can make him disappear forever."

His father reached over and pulled a nearby fire alarm. A high-pitched squeal screamed over Albert's cries. He searched his father's eyes. There was nothing there, only emptiness, cold and dark as a black abyss.

Albert raced down the halls, faster than before, no longer caring about the security cameras. He didn't know how, but somehow, someday, he would destroy this place.

Turning into the warehouse office, he was across the room in three steps and bursting through the outside door, knocking it free from its hinges. Before it had a chance to hit the ground, he was already leaping over the fence and speeding into the forest.

A burning grew in his chest, and at first Albert thought it was because he had exerted himself too much, but when he stopped and the searing heat continued, he knew. He frantically looked around. The forest's darkness surrounded him and pushed on him at all sides. There was no help in this place, or anywhere for that matter. Gage was coming and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Albert sunk to the cold ground, a sharp stick pressing against his back. If only it would puncture his heart.

"Don't think like that," he heard Gage whisper, but it was his own lips moving. And then he slipped away into a terrible black hole.

Gage stood up, smiled into the night, and stretched. His bones popped into place as they finished their transformation. "So they think they can get rid of me?" he said to the creatures hidden within the forest. He laughed long and hard. The sound was heavy and cold and full of such evil that it bathed the forest in poison, silencing even the crickets.

"We’ll see about that," he said and disappeared into the darkness.

Chapter 28

CLAIRE LOOKED THROUGH her bag one final time before zipping it up. She flung it over her shoulder and went to the window to close the curtains. The sun was just coming up; it was bright and full of promise.

She drew the curtains, her hands clinging to the heavy black material. In less than 48 hours she had a real chance at making all her dreams come true. Tonight she'd be playing on a stage for thousands, but more importantly for potential agents. This was her ticket out of Bandon.

Claire let go of the curtain and removed her cell phone from her pocket. The only thing she didn't want to leave behind was Ethan. He had tried calling her while she was in the shower, but when she tried to call him back he didn’t answer. Several minutes later, she debated whether or not to call him again, but then scolded herself for being needy. You’re fine, she told herself. Ethan will call.

She didn’t want to be freaked out, but Anne’s words still scared her. Anne had made her doubt her closest friends. But the moment Ethan had put his arm around her in the backseat of Logan's car, she knew it couldn't be him. There was just no way; she'd know.

As for Logan, when he'd dropped her off at her house, lingering at her front door, she'd looked into his eyes, the color of oak leaves in spring. They held no deceit, only concern. No, Logan, her best friend since grade school was not Gage. It wasn't possible.

It was someone else, someone who knew her well or at least her schedule. Like Corey. She could totally imagine him being an evil monster.

Claire took a deep breath and tightened her grip on her phone. No more thinking of dark things. Today her dreams were going to come true.

She walked out of her room, glancing once at her mom’s closed door. Not like she expected her to be awake, but it would've been nice to have someone see her off. Valerie would've. That was probably the biggest thing she missed – having an active participant in her life. At least her mom was letting her take the van. Without it, she wasn't sure how they'd get the equipment to Portland.

After eating a small breakfast, she opened the front door. The sky was gray. A heavy fog clung to the forest and a light mist dampened her skin. Across the street, Smith was leaning against his patrol car like he’d been there all night. She smiled big and crossed the lawn to him. "Good morning, Smith," she said. "What brings you here so early?"

He uncrossed his arms and straightened. "I think you know what. You shouldn't be going, Claire."

She sighed. "I appreciate your concern, more than you know, but I have to go. This is a huge opportunity."

Smith turned his head and stared into the fog. "I don't have a good feeling."

"Because you're a pessimist. Everything will be fine."

He turned back to her, shaking his head slowly. "It's not just a bad feeling, it's like,” he hesitated as if trying to find the right words, “something really bad is about to happen. I feel it in my gut."

“That’s the donuts talking.” She smiled, but when her attempt at a joke didn’t crack his serious demeanor, she said, "You've always been good to me even though I don't deserve it half of the time. Thank you for being the one stable adult I can count on." Surprising even herself, she gave him a hug. "I'll be back in three days. Nothing bad is going to happen, but just in case I'll keep my eyes open and will call you if I see anything out of the ordinary." She let him go and stepped back.

Smith's expression hadn't changed, but he said, "You going to pick up Kate?"

"Yeah. We're taking the van and Steph and Audrey will be meeting us there."

"And Logan?"

Claire looked past his shoulder toward the forest beyond. "He's not coming."

She wished he was, but he’d said he had to work.

Smith opened his car door. "Alright then. You girls be careful. And Claire,” his eyes met hers, “you’re going to be amazing."

"Thanks, Smith." Claire turned to walk away, but stopped and said, "Who knows? Maybe the next time I see you, I'll have a record deal."

For the first time that morning, he smiled. "I hope so."

* * *

CLAIRE PULLED INTO Kate's driveway feeling great. This was really happening. All she'd been working toward for the last four years was finally here, and she couldn't wait.

Kate opened the front door of her home and gave her mom a quick hug. The moment she let go she ran toward the car, jumping and punching her arms into the air. She threw open the passenger door and tossed her bag into the back seat. "I'm so freaking excited! I couldn't sleep all night!"

Claire laughed. "Me, too."

"Best day ever!"

Claire sped off, the sounds of their laughter filling the car.

"So remind me, why are we taking the back roads?" Kate asked, and then took a long sip from a huge mug.

"It’s faster."

"That's debatable. I guess we'll just see who gets to the hotel first. Steph was taking the highway right?"

Claire checked her rearview mirror for the hundredth time. "Yup." All clear, no one was following them. She had remained calm in front of Smith, but his warning had frightened her.

"Did you talk to Ethan yet?"

"I missed his call, but I’m sure he’ll call back."

"How about Logan?"

"Nope."

Kate was checking herself out in the sun visor’s mirror. "Weird. You'd think he would've called by now."

Claire checked the time. "It's only eight. He’s probably still sleeping."

"Maybe, but personally I think Logan's upset that he's not playing with us."

Claire shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Then he's upset that you rejected him."

"Nah. We'll be friends forever, he knows that." She looked in the rearview mirror again.

"But maybe that's the problem," Kate said and then glanced behind her. "Why do you keep checking your mirrors? You're making me nervous."

Claire straightened and gripped both hands on the steering wheel. "It's nothing. Just something Smith said."

"What, is he still freaked out about Gage?"

"I guess."

"What about you? Are you freaked out?"

"How can I not be? Some mutant's running free."

Kate fluffed her already perfect hair. "Well it's been awhile since anyone's seen him. Maybe he's moved on."

"I hope so," Claire said and reached for the radio. "What do you want to listen to?"

"Us, of course," Kate said and laughed.

Claire grinned. It made her happy to see Kate happy, especially after last year and all the problems she’d had with Corey. This dream wasn't just hers. Kate wanted this just as badly.

Claire pressed play on her iPod. One of the first songs they ever wrote blared through the speakers.

"This one's still my favorite," Kate said, drumming her fingers against the dashboard.

Claire nodded and pressed on the accelerator. It was a straight stretch of road, extending through the center of a huge forest. The trees pressed against it as if it didn't like the foreign intrusion. In a way, she felt sorry for the woods. She knew what it felt like to have something you didn't want forced upon you.

"You want some chips?" Kate asked.

“Lay them on me.”

Kate undid her seatbelt and turned to the seat behind her to rummage through a bag.

Claire kept her gaze on the road, letting the sound of her own voice soothe her. Just then she saw something ahead, no someone, disappear into the forest. Her heart began to pound. "Did you see that?"

Kate turned back around. "See what?"

"I thought I saw..." She let her foot off the accelerator.

"What?" Kate asked again.

It couldn't have been. Not here. The flash of black, the hood. Speed up or slow down? She was almost to the spot where she thought she saw him disappear into the forest when she decided to speed up.

"Watch out!" Kate screamed.

Claire saw it too, but it was too late to do anything about it. A thick chain across the road was being lifted as if someone hidden within the trees was whipping it into the air. The chain rose high and for a second Claire thought they were going to drive under it, but then it came crashing down on top of their hood with such force that the whole front of the van buckled. The back of the car reared up high into the air, flipping them over.

Time slowed.

She turned to Kate, whose body was being slammed into the roof of the car. Claire tried to reach for her, but the centrifugal motion forced her arm up. She watched it tangle inside her dark hair.

The van landed on its top, shattering the driver’s side window. Shards of glass flew into the side of her face and arm, cutting deep into her skin. Claire didn't scream; she barely flinched. All she could think about was Kate, whose body lay crumpled up in the back seat.

The upside-down, broken van expelled its last breath and steam hissed from its dented hood. Claire's head was pressed painfully against the top of the car.

"Kate?" she whispered. It hurt to speak through a cut on her lip.

Claire reached for her seatbelt and clicked. This time she cried out when she fell to the roof of the car. Her whole body felt like it had been punched with a wrecking ball. She turned around and tried to focus her vision. "Kate?”

She didn’t move.

Claire’s breathing quickened. “Answer me, Kate! Wake up!”

When there was no response, Claire tried to reposition herself to where she could get onto all fours, but the steering wheel and the center console had been displaced in the wreck, blocking her path to Kate. The only way around was to crawl out the driver’s side window and reach her through the back windows.

Claire looked around until she found her jacket stuck between the seat and the glove box. She took hold of it and placed it across the broken glass sticking out of the smashed door. In sort of an army crawl, she began to inch her way out the window. “You better be okay, Kate. I need you to be okay.”

She stopped, halfway out the window, when she heard movement off to the side of the road. Through blurry vision she made out a tall, dark form walking toward her, like an approaching storm surging with power. A hand rose and removed a hood. Black hair. Dark eyes.

Claire lowered her head to her forearm, gasping and thinking hard. She had to get to Kate as soon as possible, even if that meant fighting the person who terrified her the most.

She glanced around. The only thing within reach was a piece of a broken headlight almost the size of a dagger’s blade. It would have to do.

"What an unfortunate accident," Gage said when he was within a foot of her. He squatted next to her. "You never know when something bad will happen, do you?"

Claire rolled over in the direction of the broken, hard plastic. When her fingers closed tightly around it, she pulled it close to her side and looked up at Gage. His stare was cold and chilled her bones, more than any winter snow had ever done.

He glanced toward Kate at the rear of the van. "Your friend should've been wearing her seatbelt.”

“Please let me check on her,” she said, her lungs hurting when she filled them with air.

“Not until we’re done talking.”

“Then talk. You have my attention,” she said while adjusting the plastic dagger in her hand for a better grip. Kate still hadn't moved or said a word, and she was afraid if Kate didn't get medical attention soon, it would be too late.

“Not now. Not here. You might bleed to death.” He wiped at a stream of blood running down the side of her face with his thumb. Claire gripped the shard of plastic tighter, ignoring the pain as it cut into her hand.

"Then why? Why did you do this? Why can’t you just leave me alone?" she asked and then coughed, bringing the taste of blood to her mouth.

Gage glanced back at the chain now lying on the road in front of the car. "I needed to get your attention. So you know you can't mess with me. And I’m going to let you think about that until Sunday night when you are going to meet me.”

“Where?” She glanced back at Kate in time to catch the rise and fall of her friend’s chest. Kate was alive at least. For now.

“Where you first learned to ride a dirt bike. At midnight and come alone. And if I sense you're playing me, your little friend’s injuries," he motioned his head toward Kate, "will become permanent. Do you get what I'm saying?"

Claire nodded, then grimaced at the pain the motion caused in her neck.

"Sunday night. Midnight," he said again and touched her face. His hand slid down the side of her neck and to her shoulder. Claire’s hand holding the plastic began to shake. She wondered if she had enough strength to plunge it into his eye.

Before she could try, his hand darted for hers. He gripped her wrist tightly and turned it over. Blood dripped freely from her clenched fingers.

"You shouldn't hurt yourself more than you already are," he said. While still holding her wrist, his free hand reached inside Claire's pant packet and removed her phone. "Time to call the police." He dropped the phone a few feet from her. "Remember, don't say a word. See you soon, Claire."

He let go of her and straightened.

As soon as he did, the morning sun burned bright into Claire's eyes. She closed them and turned away. She waited a few seconds to see what he'd do next, but when nothing happened she opened her eyes and looked around.

Gage was gone.

She reached for her phone and dialed 911.

Chapter 29

CLAIRE WAS SITTING in the back of an ambulance next to an unconscious Kate as it drove to the hospital. She held Kate's good hand tightly. The other one was clearly broken; bone had punctured through her skin. In addition to her broken arm, Kate's whole face was beginning to swell.

Claire was in a lot of pain, too, but refused to let the EMT's spend any time on her. She didn't deserve it. All the pain she felt was her punishment for putting Kate in danger. She should’ve listened to Smith.

"Can I at least bandage that cut on your head?" an older EMT with graying hair and crooked glasses asked. "We've taken care of your friend. There's nothing else that can be done until we get to the hospital."

Claire raised her head and looked at Kate. Despite the swelling, her expression looked peaceful. Claire nodded and turned to the EMT who began to wipe at her face with an alcohol wipe.

"That's some cut on your head. Do you have a headache?"

She shrugged.

"You're pretty tough," the EMT said. "A lot of girls in your situation would probably be crying." He taped a bandage to her head. “That will work until you get stitches.”

"Thank you," she whispered.

The EMT leaned back. "I haven't seen you call anyone. Is there someone who can meet you at the hospital?"

Claire exhaled, thinking first of her mother. She probably should call her. And then Ethan of course. She'd have to call Stephanie, too, and tell her the news. This brought tears to her eyes. The band. They wouldn't be playing anywhere this weekend, and by the looks of Kate's arm, she wouldn't be playing a guitar for several weeks.

"Are you okay?" the EMT asked.

She tightened her hand, making the cut in her hand sting. The pain pushed the tears back into a deep reservoir. "I'm fine. I think I'll call my mom."

She turned on her phone and dialed home. Most likely her mom was still asleep, but she hoped she'd be awake. On the sixth ring the answering machine picked up. Claire decided not to leave a message.

"No answer," she said. "I'll try again later."

Just then her phone vibrated. Claire looked at the caller ID hoping to see Ethan's number, but instead she saw that it was Smith's. Tears fought their way back to the surface.

"Hello?" she said trying to keep her voice from cracking.

"I just heard what happened," he said. "Are you okay? I knew I should've followed you."

"It's not your fault. It's mine." Claire tightened her fist again. She almost told him right then and there that it was Gage who had caused the accident, but decided against it. At least until she had more time to think about what that could mean.

"I'd like to meet you at the hospital if that's okay. I want to see how you and Kate are doing."

"I'd like that."

"Do you think you'll be up to telling me exactly what happened? The officers told me this wasn’t an accident.”

Claire closed her eyes, trying to shut out Gage’s image. "Sure."

"Good. I'll see you soon." He hung up.

Claire stared at the phone in her hand, knowing she had to tell Steph now. Too afraid to call, she sent a text:

“Turn around and come back. We've been in an accident. Kate's hurt bad, but she'll be okay. They are taking us to the hospital." Claire paused before typing, "I'm sorry."

She sent the message and just as it went through, Ethan called.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey to you, future music star. Sorry I missed your call.”

“It’s fine.”

“So are you guys halfway there yet? “

Claire smoothed back Kate's hair, her finger caught in dried blood. "Um, not really. We're sort of coming back."

"What? Why?"

She took a deep breath. "We were in an accident."

"Like a car accident?"

"Uh-huh."

It took a moment before he said, "Are you alright?"

"Good enough, but Kate's hurt bad. They're taking us to the hospital." There was silence on the other end. "Ethan?"

"When will you get there?"

Claire winced when she tried to turn her neck to look out the window. "Soon, I think. Ten minutes."

"I'll be there."

"Thank you."

"Hang in there."

Claire closed her eyes.

"I'll see you in a few, okay?" he said.

"Okay."

"Hey Claire?"

"Yes?"

"I love you. Do you know that?"

His words made her squirm.

"Claire?" he said.

"I have to go," she said, "but I'll see you soon. Bye."

She hung up before he could say anything else.

Right before the EMT pulled into the hospital she decided to text Logan and let him know what was going on, too. He'd be mad if she didn’t. The doors on the back of the ambulance opened. Two men slid out the stretcher Kate was lying on and rushed her away. The older EMT offered his hand to her.

“Careful getting out,” he said.

Because Claire's vision was still swimming, she took his hand and stepped down from the ambulance. But the moment both feet were on the ground, her brain decided to check out.

"I'm going to faint," she said and hoped it was loud enough for him to hear. That was when the world turned black.

Chapter 30

CLAIRE HEARD VOICES. Gentle whisperings fluttering all around her, teasing her skin, urging her to wake up. Occasionally, she heard a familiar voice. She tried to open her eyes. Something bad had happened. What day was it? She went through the events of the last week: The beach, band practice. Corey, his fist against her head. Her eyelids fluttered.

The days continued on. They stopped when she remembered Anne. A cold chill woke her senses and shocked her nerve endings. The bed beneath her was hard and a light blanket covered her body, but it provided no warmth. She closed her eyes tight, ignoring the growing lump in her throat.

"I think she's waking," a voice said. The tone helped her relax.

"Claire?" Ethan asked.

She opened her eyes or tried to anyway. One parted open; the other was swollen shut. Ethan was watching her intently, eyes concerned. But as for the rest of him, he looked as rigid as a crowbar, down to the tiniest muscle in his face.

"What's wrong?" she asked, and winced when a cut on her lip cracked open.

"How can you ask that?"

"You look tense.” This time she didn’t flinch. She wouldn’t.

Ethan relaxed a little, but she noticed it took him great effort.

"How are you feeling?" Logan asked. He moved out from behind Ethan. Claire sucked in air when she saw him. It was the saddest he’d ever looked. Usually he was very good at hiding his emotions, but right now he looked like he was doing all he could just to keep from falling apart. His eyes were red, and deep lines she never knew existed creased his forehead.

"You guys need to chill out," she said. "You're visiting me in the hospital, not attending my funeral."

Logan tried to smile. "You'd probably look better dead."

"Do I look that bad?"

Ethan's rigid expression returned. "You look like you hurt."

She raised her arm to dismiss the idea, but instead grimaced and lowered it back down. "I'm fine," she said. "How's Kate?"

The boys looked at each other.

"She'll be okay," Logan said. "Smashed her arm pretty good. They're taking her into surgery in just a little bit."

Claire turned toward the window. The sky was gray. And dark. The sun had disappeared. "It's that bad, huh?"

Ethan touched her elbow. An odd place to be touched. She must be worse off than she thought. She looked at Logan. "Did you talk to Steph?"

He nodded. "They should be here in another hour."

"Were they pretty mad?"

"More like worried. We all are." Logan inched closer to the foot of her bed. "The doctor said you cut your head pretty good."

She remembered the glass window shattering. And then she remembered more. Gage! She moved to sit up, but a searing pain in her sternum stopped her. Gage was coming. She had to leave. Had to get away before Sunday night.

"What's wrong?" Ethan asked.

"I—” she looked at him. How much should she say? Would Gage hurt him, too?

"Claire?" Logan asked, looking just as concerned as Ethan.

She forced herself to calm down.

"It's nothing. I just remembered the accident. Would you mind putting some pillows behind me?” she asked Ethan.

Ethan grabbed some nearby pillows off a chair and tucked them carefully behind her.

“About that,” Logan said, “how did your car flip over? I asked one of the cops and he said a chain was in the road, but I still don’t get it.”

“It had been strung across the road,” she said, still not ready to tell them the truth. “It was pulled so tight that when we hit it, the car flipped.”

"But who would do that to you?” His tone was accusing.

Ethan turned to him. "You think this was a deliberate act toward Claire?"

She waited for Logan to reason through it. He always was good with puzzles. She noticed his hands tighten around the bottom of the bedrail. His knuckles looked like they were going to pop from their skin.

"Come on, guys. You know who did this," he said.

The air was heavy, and she took a deep and painful breath.

"Don’t scare her, Logan,” Ethan warned through his teeth. “You don't know it was him."

“But it was,” Claire said, her voice quiet. The eyes of both boys met hers. Before either one could say another word, she asked, “How could Gage have known what road I was traveling on?"

"You mean the old highway?" Ethan asked through a clenched jaw.

“I wanted to take the back roads so I could speed." They gave her a disapproving look, but she ignored them. “Only a few people knew that. How could he have known?"

"Who did you tell?" Ethan asked.

She thought about it. "Well, you guys knew. And Steph, Kate, and Audrey."

"I know I didn't tell anyone," Logan said.

"Neither did I," Ethan said. "Maybe one of the girls told someone, or maybe Gage overheard us talking."

Claire shook her head. "It just doesn't make sense."

She thought of Gage and all the personal things he knew about her, like where she’d first learned to ride a dirt bike. How many people knew that about her?

Logan released his grip on the bed. “What if Gage is someone really close to you?"

Claire tightened her lips, remembering how Anne had suggested the same thing. Maybe Logan had overheard.

Ethan straightened. “That’s crazy. None of us would hurt her.”

Logan paced the room. “But Anne said the rats changed into something else, a different rat entirely. Why would a human be any different? Think about it. What men in your life are you close to?”

“Well it’s not one of you. Ethan’s right. That’s crazy.” She sighed, but in the back of her mind she asked, then how did Gage know what road I’d be driving on?

"Maybe Steph or Kate said something to someone,” Ethan offered.

Too afraid to explore the topic further, she asked, "Has my mom called yet?"

Ethan leaned forward and gently took her hand. "Steph talked to her. She was going to pick her up and bring her here."

Claire peered into his eyes and saw her faint reflection. She looked from Ethan to Logan. How could she not trust these two men? One helped her feel again and the other kept her from disappearing altogether.

"What are you thinking?" Ethan asked.

"I need to see Smith."

Ethan rested his hand on her elbow again. "Why don't you get some rest first?"

She shook her head. “I have something important to tell him. To tell the both of you. And it can't wait."

Chapter 31

"I'LL GO FIND him,” Ethan said and walked to the door. “I saw Smith talking to Kate's mom not too long ago."

When Ethan left, Logan came to the side of her bed and picked up her bandaged hand. He held it carefully for some time before he asked, "How did you get this cut?"

She inhaled deeply, remembering how Gage had hovered over her, how his touch had made her sick.

"I was holding a sharp piece of the headlight," she whispered. "I was going to kill him."

"Would you really have done it?"

Claire nodded. There was no doubt in her mind.

Just then the door opened. Smith came into the room followed by Ethan. Smith went straight for her bed. "I’m so glad you’re okay. I shouldn’t have let you go.”

“You couldn’t have stopped me.”

“I could’ve tied you up,” Smith said and smiled. “Do you feel up to telling me what happened?"

She looked around the room at each of them. "That's why I wanted all of you here. To tell you what really happened."

The room grew quiet and Claire closed her eyes. She didn't want to relive the accident, to see Kate's body being tossed inside the car, or remember the way Gage's fingers had made her stomach turn, but she had to. Gage wasn’t going to give up. And now people were getting hurt.

Ethan, who was sitting in a chair next to her bed, mistook her silence for fear. He leaned over and whispered. "It's okay. You can talk about it later."

She opened her eyes. "No. You guys need to know what Gage is planning."

The men looked at each other and then back at her.

It took less time than Claire thought to tell about the accident, and her short conversation with Gage. When she finished, Smith looked thoughtful, Logan looked sick, and Ethan looked angry.

"So you're supposed to meet him this weekend," Smith said. He was standing near the window, peering out the open blinds.

"Yes, at Miller Pond," she said, thinking of where she first learned to ride a dirt bike.

Logan turned to Smith. "You need to set a trap. Have the place surrounded and the second you see him, your guys grab him."

"It won't be that simple," Ethan said, his head down. He looked up at Claire. "He'll know if cops are around."

"How would he know?" Logan asked.

Ethan stood up. The suddenness of it made Claire jump. "Aren’t you paying attention? We're not dealing with a normal person! Gage smashed Claire's car like it was fly. He almost killed her!"

Smith walked over and placed his hand on Ethan's shoulder. "You're right. We're dealing with something we've never seen before, but don't worry. We'll take care of it."

Ethan took a deep breath and sat back down. "How?"

"I don't know yet." Smith returned to the window.

"By using me," Claire said.

All three of them said, "What?'

Claire sat up straighter, trying to appear stronger than she felt. "I have to be there. Gage will know if I'm not, and then we will have lost our chance. Let me go. I'll wait for Gage, and when I see him, I can buzz you or something. And then you guys can stealthily take him down. Hit him with a dart or a cannonball. Anything."

Ethan ran his fingers through his dark hair. "There's no way. You have to stay away."

Logan agreed. "Exactly. It's way too dangerous."

She shook her head. "I have to do this. Too many people are getting hurt. Smith?"

Smith turned away from the window, his arms crossed. "I need to think about it."

"You can't be serious!" Ethan blurted.

"Now just calm down. I won't be putting Claire in any situation I think is dangerous." He moved to the bottom of her bed. "It was really brave of you to tell us this. After everything you've been through, you're still fighting."

A chill passed through her. She didn't want to think of the past. Just keep moving, keep fighting.

Smith tapped her bed rail. "I've got to go. Get things figured out, but I'll be back, okay?"

"Okay," she whispered.

"I've got to go, too," Ethan said.

"Really?" she asked.

"Yeah, but I'll be back in a couple of hours." He bent down and gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Get well." He looked up at Logan. "Will you be here for awhile?"

"Of course," Logan said.

Smith opened the door. "See you soon, Claire."

Ethan followed him out, but before he disappeared he mouthed the words to her, "I love you."

After they left, Logan sat in the chair next to her and said, “Get some rest while you can.”

She nodded and was about to close her eyes when Steph showed up. She rushed to her bed and gave her a big, but gentle hug. "I'm so glad you're okay!"

"Thanks," Claire said. "Is my mom here?"

Steph glanced behind her. "She stopped to get a drink. She'll be here in a second."

"Do you know how Kate's doing?"

"She just went into surgery. I talked to her mom on the way in."

"How's she doing?"

"Surprisingly not freaking out. She asked about you."

Claire played with the corner of the sheet. "I hope she's not mad."

Logan frowned. "Kate’s your friend. Why would her mom be mad?"

Just then Claire’s mom appeared in the doorway. The door’s rectangle shape seemed to swallow her mother's small frame.

"Hi, Sweetie," her mother said, but even her voice was engulfed by the space.

Logan leaned forward to get up, but Claire whispered, "Don't leave.”

He looked at her questioningly.

"Please?"

He nodded and sat back down. She reached out her bandaged hand to him. He looked surprised, but took hold of it just as her mother reached her bedside.

"I'm so glad you're okay," she said. Her words slurred together, and she was having a hard time keeping her eyes open.

Claire patted her hand. "You look tired, Mom."

Most likely, she’d doubled up on her anxiety pills.

Her mother’s shoulders turned inward and she looked around the small hospital room. "I haven't been in a hospital since..."

She placed a hand on the bed to steady herself.

"I know, Mom. Why don't you get some rest?" Claire looked at Steph. "Would you mind?"

Steph took Claire's mom by the arm. "Sure. There's a waiting room on the first floor with a couch. You can rest there."

Claire's mom nodded. "Yes. A little rest and then I'll come back." She patted Claire's face lightly. "You're a good girl."

Claire tightened her grip on Logan's hand, ignoring the searing pain of the cut. "Thanks, Mom."

"I'll come back as soon as she's comfortable," Steph said as she walked out of the room guiding Claire's mom.

Before she disappeared, Claire called, "Steph?"

She turned around.

"I'm sorry we didn't get to play.”

Steph shrugged. "It's okay. There will be other opportunities."

After they left, Claire took her hand back from Logan and sunk into the bed. She tried to focus on her physical pain so she wouldn't have to feel the more unbearable inner pain that often accompanied the small conversations with her mother.

"We all grieve in different ways," Logan said. "Don't be mad at her."

She tightened the blanket in her good hand. "I think I'll get some rest for a little bit. Will you stay?"

He patted her arm. "I'm not going anywhere."

A short time later, Ethan returned. Claire was grateful for the interruption because she had yet to fall asleep. Only lie there concentrating on the pain.

Before he closed the door, Ethan stuck his head out into the hallway, looked around, and then closed the door behind him.

"What's with the privacy?" Logan asked.

Ethan crossed the room to her bed and said, "I've been thinking about the meeting with Gage.” He bent down and smoothed back her hair. "You okay? I saw your mom asleep on the couch out there."

Claire nodded but didn’t look at him. She wanted to tell him how she was feeling. To tell him how any mention of the past caused the dark hole in her heart to spread. One day she was afraid it would take over and she'd end up just like her mother—turning to any and every substance just to avoid feeling.

"Look at me," Ethan said.

She looked up. He was staring at her with such intensity that she averted her eyes.

"You're not her," he said. "You are so much stronger. Whatever happened in your past, what you're dealing with right now, it will go away in time."

“Ethan’s right,” Logan said.

But getting through those days, constantly being reminded of what happened, was often unbearable.

“So where did you go?” she asked Ethan.

Ethan drew up a chair next to them and sat down. "I don't like your idea, Claire. Using yourself as bait is crazy," he began.

She opened her mouth to argue, but he stopped her.

"That being said, I know you're going to do whatever you want. So I got you something."

"What?"

Ethan reached behind his back and pulled out the handgun he'd had earlier at the Festival of Lights. He laid it on the bed.

"You're giving her a gun?" Logan asked, incredulously.

"To protect herself," he said.

Logan was shaking his head. "Gage could use it against her."

"Not if she is fast enough. And besides, he will never suspect it."

"There's no way—” Logan began but Claire interrupted him.

"I'll take it." She picked it up and turned it over in her hand. The weight of it felt good, empowering. She looked up at Ethan. "Will you show me how to use it?"

"Of course," he said. "As soon as you’re released from the hospital, I'll spend as much time as possible teaching you how."

"This is crazy," Logan said, leaning back in his chair.

Claire tightened her grip on the gun. "It's perfect. I'm not going to wait around for someone to save me. I'm going to meet Gage, and I'm going to be ready."

"We all will," Ethan said.

She set the gun down, her skin chilling. "What do you mean?"

"Smith's going to have his own thing going on, but I want Logan and me there, too, just in case Gage tries to run." Ethan looked at Logan. "Unless you don't want to help?"

Logan returned the glare. "I'll be there."

* * *

THE PLAN WAS set, despite how much Logan protested. Smith wasn't sold on Claire's plan either, but because he couldn't think of a better one, and he really wanted to get Gage, he moved forward. The only part of the plan he didn't know about was the gun.

Claire was careful to only let a few people know what was going on. She and Smith had tried to explain it to her mother, but she’d simply said, "Can you call me when it’s over?"

In addition to her mother, Ethan, Logan, and Kate, who was still recovering in the hospital, knew about it. Kate’s surgery went well, but Kate was devastated when the doctor had told her she might have nerve damage in her hand. Claire tried to talk to her about it, but Kate would barely speak to her. "Give her some time," Kate’s mother had told her. Claire hoped by telling Kate about the plan to capture Gage that she'd perk up, but not even that interested her.

As for Smith, he told only three of his men, and had threatened their lives if they breathed a word of it to anyone. Their secret was contained to a small circle. This should've made her feel better, but it didn't. Something still felt wrong, but every time she tried to figure out what, another part of her stopped her from solving the riddle.

Claire stood next to Smith’s car, feeling the weight of the gun stuffed down the back of her pants. It was already dark and the cool air smelled salty, but when she inhaled deeply she could also smell rotten fish.

"Should we go over it one more time?" Smith said, but he wasn't looking at Claire. He was staring into the darkness, searching for any signs of danger. It was in his nature to be protective, and to always think of others over himself. She imagined him hundreds of years ago. He'd for sure be the leader of some rebellion to overthrow an evil tyrannical leader.

"Claire?" he asked.

She clung to the image of him as a great warrior.

"I'm good,” she said. “No need to repeat. It will only make me nervous.”

"There's no need to be nervous," he said, but Claire noticed he wouldn't look her in the eyes. "I've got three of my best shooters far enough away to go undetected but close enough to end this once and for all. And I'll be close by, too. Nothing will happen." He checked the time. "One hour." He opened the car door and motioned her inside. "I'm going to walk the perimeter one last time and talk to my guys. Then I’ll let you go."

"I'll be waiting," she said and slid into the backseat.

"Lock the doors and honk if you see anything strange." He was about to close the door, but paused and stuck his head back into the car. "I hope your boys don't show up tonight. You told them to stay home, right?"

"Sure. Ethan and Logan are home safe in their comfy beds while I'm stuck in a car that smells of stale donuts and bad coffee."

"Good." Smith closed the door, which she locked.

Around Smith, and everyone else for that matter, she tried to put on a brave face, but the truth was she was terrified. If Kate hadn't been hurt in the accident, she probably wouldn't be doing this.

Claire took a deep breath and relaxed into the seat. The hard metal of the gun pressed against her back, reminding her that she wasn’t helpless. Ethan had spent every possible second with her the last few days teaching her how to shoot. Surprisingly, it came naturally for her. Even Logan was silenced when he saw how accurately she shot the targets.

Claire was about to pull the gun out to inspect it for the tenth time that day when her phone vibrated. She looked down at its lit up screen. Ethan. She answered it.

"I'm so glad you called," she blurted. "I'm so nervous."

"You should be," a deep voice said, sending a paralyzing chill throughout her whole body. Even through a wireless connection she felt his dark power.

"You didn't do what I asked,” he said and waited. “Are you listening, Claire?"

Claire's brain tried to reason why Gage would be on Ethan's phone.

"Where's Ethan?" she managed to ask.

"I'm following him right now. He's on his way to make sure his beloved is safe."

She closed her eyes and tried to think of something to say that would keep Gage’s focus on her and not on Ethan. "What do you want?"

"You lied to me." Gage paused, as if waiting for her to disagree with him, but she remained silent. "I told you not to tell anyone about our secret rendezvous. Don’t you know what the word secret means? Now you've put the people you love at risk. In three seconds I could have your lover’s neck in my hands. In four he'll be dead. Is that what you want?"

Claire didn't hesitate. "Tell me what to do."

"I want a private meeting, and I want it in exactly ten minutes."

"Where?"

"At the top of the cliffs, near the trail where we first met. And, Claire, keep your pretty little mouth shut."

The phone went dead.

She stared at the phone. The glowing time stared back. She'd have to sprint to make it there in time.

Claire didn't think. She threw open the door and ran.

Chapter 32

GAGE STEPPED ON the edge of the cliff and looked out over the sea. The moon was full and cast its light in a never-ending trail across the dark ocean. He felt so good he actually believed he could run on that lit-up path.

This was all so easy, Gage thought.  He tilted his head back and inhaled the sea, feeling as if he were Poseidon. In minutes, Claire would come. If Bodian wanted him to do their bidding, he didn't want to do it alone. What's the fun in that? Claire would make the perfect accomplice and together they'd be unstoppable.

The thought of unleashing her sent a wave of pleasure rippling across his body. Calm down. Not yet, but soon.

In the distance, his super sensitive hearing heard pounding on pavement. The steps were fast and hard, as if someone were running for their life. Or running to save one.

He smiled, and retreated into the shadows of the forest.

A few moments later, Claire appeared, out of breath and glistening with sweat. She didn't glance around frantically like anyone else would. Instead she returned to the steady stillness he loved. She stared out to sea, as if she knew he would come to her when he was ready.

She was right.

Gage paused a minute longer to ensure she was alone before he approached her. While he waited, he thought of Bodian and Albert’s father. Gage had yet to be contacted, but every once in awhile he had the feeling he was being watched. He didn't like the idea of having a boss, but he hated the thought of a cure even worse. As it was, he loathed the small amount of time he needed to retreat back into Albert’s mind to recuperate.

But not for long. Soon he wouldn’t need Albert at all. Poor Albert. He was trying so hard to take back control, but his efforts were useless.

"Gage?" Claire whispered. A gentle breeze carried her voice to him. The sound tickled his ears.

In a matter of seconds he stood soundlessly behind her.  The smell of her hair was a mixture of sweat and strawberries.

"Behind you," he whispered.

Claire jumped and turned around. "I’m here. What do you want?"

He smiled, loving how she always got straight to the point.

"First thing first,” he said. His hand snaked out toward her and touched her stomach. She didn't flinch, but panic flashed in her eyes. Especially when his fingers slid under her shirt and touched her smooth skin. His hand continued its progression until it was all the way behind her back. Cold metal. He took hold of it and pulled it out. "You won't be needing this." He tossed the gun off to the side, far out of her reach.

Any strength she might’ve had was gone. He saw it drain from her eyes, leaving behind only fear.

"What do you want?" she said again. She began moving backwards off the trail and toward the cliffs. He followed closely, purposely steering her away from where she’d jumped from before. At her back was a cluster of tall bushes and a large pine tree. She was trapped.

"How’s Kate?" he asked.

Claire’s nostrils flared. "Don’t say her name. Ever. I can’t wait for Smith to get his hands on you."

This made him laugh. "And what do you think Smith can do to me? Do you really think he stands a chance? I'll break his bones, every last one of them."

At this, Claire stopped moving. In fact, she leaned toward him, challenging him with fists clenched tight.  "If you hurt him, I'll—”

"What?" he said, as her eyes searched his, probably looking for any sign of weakness. She wouldn't find any.

She stepped away from him again. "Just tell me what you want.”

"I want to help you."

"Help me?"

He reached up to touch the skin on her face, wondering if it was as smooth as her stomach. "I want to release you from your suffering. The darkness hiding inside you, threatening to suffocate you every time you breathe."

She jerked away from his touch. "You're crazy."

He gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You and I are more alike than you think, Claire. I see the pain in your eyes, hear it every time you speak. The hurt is festering inside you and if you don't release it soon, you'll become like the rest of them—ruled by emotions, unable to really experience life.”

Claire cocked back a tight fist and propelled it forward, but he caught it before impact and brought it to his lips. "The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. Denial is a dollar store Band-Aid."

She snatched her hand back and moved backwards. One step. Two steps. Three. "And how do you plan on ridding me of this darkness?"

This was the part he was waiting for. Gage reached into his pocket and removed a syringe. "A magic potion. Three full injections are all it takes and then you're hooked. And a few more after that and you'll be free. With me. Together we'll do what Bodian wants."

Claire kept moving backwards. He pursued.

“And what exactly does Bodian want?" she asked, glancing behind her.

"They're having some staffing issues."

"I don't understand."

He flicked the plastic cover off the needle’s tip. "It doesn't matter. Not now, anyway. I’m going to need you to hold still, okay?"

He attempted to close the distance between them, but she backed up into the bushes, lifting branches as she went. He laughed. "Where do you think you're going?"

Her eyes drew down thin. "I will never let you change me." She moved even more into the bush. Leafy branches twisted all around her.

"You don't have a choice," he said and frowned. "What are you doing?"

She was almost covered by the thick foliage.

Claire looked at him once, then turned and disappeared.

"What the hell?" he said. He moved to follow her, but he was only halfway in before he almost lost his balance and fell off the cliff’s edge, his feet dangling below. He grabbed onto a branch just in time and used it to pull himself back onto solid ground.

A hundred feet below was the sea, waves crashing against a rocky cliff face. He punched the tree and growled. How had he missed it? He knew the trail ran parallel with the cliffs, but because of the large pine and brush, half hanging over the edge, he missed how close the cliff’s border actually came. But Claire must've known. He chuckled. So full of surprises.

Gage peered over the edge, this time being more mindful of the sharp drop-off. He couldn't see her, but knew she had to be down there. Hopefully she wasn't drowning. That would really mess up his plans.

Chapter 33

CLAIRE’S STOMACH HEAVED into her throat. She swallowed and forced her eyes open. The ocean water rushed up at her, dark and swirling. Better it than Gage.

She hit the water hard; the impact ignited her skin with a cold fire. She ignored the sting and swam hard. The ocean was more turbulent than she expected, and it tossed her in every direction until she didn't know which way was up. It had been three years since she'd jumped from the same cliff on a dare, and although she had obviously survived the first time, she swore she wouldn't do it ever again.

Claire kicked her legs hard, hoping the motion would propel her up. Her lungs were burning, and if she didn't reach the surface soon... just then her head broke through to air. She inhaled deeply, but only managed to get half a breath before a wave crashed over her head, sending her back into the ocean’s murky depths. She kicked up again, and this time when she broke the surface she tried to get a clear view of her location. The cliffs were behind her. If she could only swim to the right about thirty yards she'd reach a small beach.

Using the breaststroke, Claire swam hard, but the current fought back. Her arms and legs ached, and she was desperate for one solid breath, but the unrelenting waves over her head wouldn’t allow it.

"Keep moving," she told herself over and over, even when she felt the ocean claim its victory.

Just when she thought she couldn't go any further, someone took hold of her hand. "You're almost there! Keep going!"

The sound of Ethan's voice yelling over the ocean's loud roar spurred her on. She wasn't alone. Ethan tugged on her, helping her forward, until her knees bumped onto the sandy shore.

"We're here, Claire," Ethan said, gasping for air. They stumbled onto the shore and collapsed.

She rolled onto her back, her mind reeling. How had Ethan known where she was? When he reached for her hand, she casually moved it away, a sickness spreading in her gut.

Ethan rolled onto his side, facing her. "Are you okay?"

She forced a smile and struggled to sit up. "That was some dive, for sure."

"That's not what I'm talking about. I saw you. With Him."

Claire turned to him, eyes wide. "You did? How did you know where we were?"

"I followed you." When Claire opened her mouth to speak, he spoke quickly. "I know Smith said to stay away, but I couldn't. I was watching you in the car, when all of a sudden you bolted. I tried to catch up to you, but I lost you at the beach. That’s where I saw you just as you dove off the cliff. I ran as fast as I could to get to you."

"What happened to Gage?"

"He ran off."

Claire searched his eyes. All she saw was an endless blue sky. Warm. Safe. She threw her arms around him, and he embraced her back.

"Something's got to change," he whispered. "This is killing me." He pulled her back. "Not to mention almost killing you."

“I agree," she said, thinking specifically of the syringe Gage had been holding. She couldn't keep living in fear, and if Gage was someone close to her then leaving would be the best thing for everyone. "My Aunt Mary lives—”

"Claire!" a voice shouted.

She and Ethan turned around.

Logan was jogging toward them, his face red.

"Are you okay? What happened?" he asked in between heavy breaths.

Claire stood up, her legs barely holding her weight. She noticed Logan was holding Ethan's phone. The black cover with a yellow lightening bolt was unmistakable. "Where did you get that?"

"Huh?" Logan looked confused.

"The phone," she said.

"How did you get it?" Ethan asked.

Logan handed it to him. "I found it up top and recognized it. Are you okay, Claire? We've been looking everywhere for you!"

She stepped closer to Ethan. "How did you know to come here?"

He shrugged. "I just knew. This is the place Gage first attacked you." He frowned. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

She glanced at Ethan and then back at Logan. "When I was in the car, waiting for Smith to come back, I got a call. From Ethan."

Ethan looked at her, surprised. "But I didn't call you. I didn't even have my phone. I left it in my car."

"It wasn't you. It was Gage. On your phone," Claire said. Both she and Ethan turned to Logan at the same time.

He held his hands up as if they had a gun pointed at him. "Look, I just found the phone and thought Ethan would want it."

Claire didn't know how to answer. Behind her, more waves crashed to shore.

"Come on, guys! You can’t be serious. I just found the stupid thing. It doesn't mean I'm Gage." Logan motioned to Ethan. "How do you know it wasn't him, and he's just lying?"

"Whatever, Logan,” Ethan said. “I followed her here and helped her to shore when she jumped from the cliff. If I was Gage, I don't think I'd be trying to save her."

Claire lowered her head, her stomach swirling with ocean water and something else.

"You know I'd never hurt you.” Logan stepped toward her, his eyes pleading. “You’re my best friend. I love you."

His words warmed her heart. What would she do without Logan? No. He couldn’t be Gage either. "I know. Where's Smith?"

Logan motioned behind him. "Still looking for you. He's completely freaking out."

"Let's go," Ethan said.

Claire moved to take a step, but her leg gave out and she stumbled. "Man, I'm wasted," she said and tried to laugh.

Ethan and Logan both came to help her.

"Just stay here. I'll call Smith." Ethan took a few steps away and pressed buttons on his phone.

While he spoke low to Smith, Logan sat down next to her. "So what happened? Why didn't you stay with Smith?"

"Like I said, I got a call from Gage. He said if I didn't sneak away, he'd kill Ethan. Apparently he had followed Ethan, who had followed me."

Ethan lowered his phone and turned to Claire. "He used me to lure you out?"

She nodded. "Is Smith coming?"

"He'll be here in a sec," he said.

"What happened after that?" Logan asked.

"Gage had me meet him here."

"But why?" Ethan asked.

She looked into each pair of concerned eyes, wondering how much to share.

"He wanted me to go away with him," she said, deciding to tell only half the truth. She needed more time to think about what had happened and what exactly it meant.

"Go away with him?" Ethan said. "Is he crazy?"

"Very," she said.

"So why'd you jump?” Logan asked. “That was dangerous."

"Not as dangerous as staying with him," Claire said. "Trust me when I say I had to get away from him and that was the only way."

A screech of tires drew their attention to the road near the beach. Smith's car had slammed on the brakes. He was out of the vehicle and jogging toward them while his car was still jerking from the stop.

"He looks pissed," Claire said.

Ethan took her hand. "It’ll be okay."

Smith approached her with his finger pointed straight. "I told you to stay put!" he barked.

Her eyes widened. "Sir, I wanted to, but—”

Smith put up his hand. "I don't want to hear it. This was our chance to get this guy. We had everyone in place! All of us were there to protect you, Claire. To finally end this nightmare for you, but what do you go and do? You run off with the very guy we're trying to protect you from!"

"I can explain—”

But Smith wasn’t finished. "Sometimes I wonder if you really do like this guy, and I'm caught up in some messed up teenage girl drama!"

Claire lunged at him, but Ethan held her back. "You think I want this?" she yelled. "You think I like having a guy threaten my life and the lives of everyone I love?"

Smith's face softened, but she let him have it. "I get that I'm screwing up everyone's lives!" Ethan moved to put his arm around her, but she shrugged it off. "But I didn't ask for this, and I sure didn't ask for everyone to worry about me. If there's one thing all of you should know, it's that I can take care of myself. I did it when I endured my father’s physical abuse so he wouldn’t hurt my sister anymore, I did it when she died, and I did it again when I sent my dad to jail even though it shattered my mother.” She took a deep breath and looked at each of them.  “And I’m going to do it again right now. I think it's best for everyone if I leave town. For good." She ignored Ethan and Logan's open mouths and stormed off.

Smith jogged after her. "Wait up, Claire!"

Claire kept walking even though every part of her bled with exhaustion.

"Where are you going?" Smith asked. He slowed up and walked next to her.

"I'm walking home."

"You know it’s not safe."

"Nowhere is safe," she said, her strides becoming longer.

"I'm sorry about what I said. I let my temper get the best of me."

"It’s fine. I get it."

Smith was silent, then, "You mind telling me what happened back there? Why you ran off?"

Claire stopped walking. In one breath she told him exactly what she had told Ethan and Logan. She finished by saying: "Don't talk me out of leaving. As soon as I get home I'm going to call my aunt and get everything arranged. Hopefully I'll be gone within a few days."

"I'm not going to talk you out of it," he said.

"You're not?"

"No. I think its best. It's too dangerous for you here, and I don't even know what I'm up against."

She nodded, knowing he was right.

Smith put his arm around her. "Come on. Let me give you a ride home."

* * *

THE NEXT DAY, Claire woke up more determined than ever. All night she made plans to get out of town. In two days. That’s when she’d finally leave Bandon, something she’d wanted to do for a long time. But not like this. Not running for her life.

Her mother hadn’t tried to stop her, which Claire didn’t expect. But what had surprised her is her mother suggesting that maybe they both could move. Somewhere new where they could start over. Claire liked that idea.

All night Logan and Ethan had tried calling her, but she didn’t want to speak to either of them just yet. They might want to talk her out of leaving, and she didn’t want anyone changing her mind. But now that her plans were set, there was really only one thing to do. She wanted to have one last day at the beach with all of her friends.

She texted Kate, then Steph and Audrey. She followed it up with Ethan and Logan. Just a simple text that said: Party at the beach. Noon. Meet at the lockers. She didn’t respond to any follow up questions, especially from Ethan. She would explain everything there.

Even though Claire said noon, she arrived at eleven to have some time to herself. She wasn’t really alone though. The beach was crowded with children, parents, couples; pretty much everyone had showed up. It was a gorgeous day, one of the warmest of the year.

Claire spread her towel on a sandy spot of beach right in the middle of everyone. It’s where she felt safest. She stretched out on her bare belly and looked up. Near the snack station, Officer Johnson was ordering a drink. She closed her eyes and rested her head on her forearm, not letting herself think of anything.

Just before noon, Claire straightened and headed to her beach locker near the snack station.

Ethan was already there waiting for her in his bathing suit. "What's going on? Why are you avoiding me?"

She began spinning the combination on her locker. "I can't stay, Ethan."

He let out a sigh. "So that’s what this is all about. Look, I didn't ask you to and I won't."

Claire stopped moving. She didn't know whether to be relieved or slightly let down.

He took hold of her hand. "It's not that I want you to go, but I think you're safer if you do."

"You’re wrong," a voice said from behind her. Claire turned around.

"You can't leave," Logan said. "He'll just follow you."

"You don't know that," she said.

"And you don't know that he won't. Leaving won't accomplish anything. We need to end this here."

She let go of Ethan's hand and crossed her arms to her chest. "How? By killing someone I know?"

"Anne said that's the only way," Logan said.

"There’s got to be something we’re missing. An option we haven’t thought of yet."

"And what about Gage?"

Claire returned to spinning the dial on her locker. "What about him? Once he realizes I've left, he'll forget about me and move on."

"To what?"

"Lay off,” Ethan said. “She's made up her mind."

Logan took hold of her arm. "Please, Claire. You need to stay. Gage has to be stopped."

Ethan knocked his hand away. "She said no."

Claire couldn't look at him. "I'm sorry, Logan."

Why couldn't she remember her combination?

Logan stared at her for a moment before he turned around and walked toward the ocean, his surfboard in hand.

"Don't worry about him," Ethan said. "He'll get over it."

"Uh-huh.” The locker door opened. She withdrew money from her pant packet.

Ethan placed his hand over hers. “Let me. What do you want?”

“Lemonade and a slice of pizza.”

“Got it. Wait here. I’ll be right back.” He kissed her on the cheek and walked to the long line of people all waiting for food.

Claire squinted and searched the shoreline for Logan. He was wading into the water. He always went surfing when he was upset.

She was about to close her locker, when she saw the corner of a black envelope sticking out from beneath her jeans. She slid it out and turned it over in her hands. No markings anywhere to indicate whom it could be from. She brought it close to her and inhaled. The ocean. She slipped her finger into it and broke the seal. Inside was a letter on fancy stationary that read:

My Dearest Claire,

Have you already forgotten that you belong to me? Try leaving Bandon and I will kill everyone you love. I do not make threats. You are mine.

Gage

Claire's head spun, and she placed her hand on the lockers to steady herself. As soon as her mind stopped reeling, she tossed the letter into her locker, slammed the door, and bolted for the nearest bathroom before she had a complete breakdown in front of everyone.

Once inside a bathroom stall, Claire slumped to the concrete floor between the wall and the toilet. She tried to take deep breaths, but they caught in her chest until great tears spilled onto her bare legs. There was no way out. Never had she felt so helpless. At least with her father she had options. But Gage was different. She wiped at her eyes with her wrist and tilted her head back, staring into the glare of the fluorescent lights.

But the hopelessness wasn't what was making her sick to her stomach, a pain that had started the night before. There were too many signs, too many coincidences. Gage had to be someone she knew and loved: Ethan or Logan. She clutched her aching stomach.

Other than Smith, they were the only ones who knew about her decision to leave. Then last night she’d remembered what Gage had said at the car accident, about meeting her at the spot where she learned to ride a dirt bike. At first, she hadn’t thought too much about it, but then she realized only Logan and Ethan knew where that was. And they were the only ones who knew about the gun. And they were the only ones who had found her last night. Claire was sure now, despite the innocence she saw in each of their eyes. Maybe whoever it was didn’t know he was Gage. Or maybe he did know and was the best liar she’d ever met. More tears fell.

Minutes passed by as she considered her options. Leave and risk everyone getting killed? Stay and become a killer-freak like Gage?

Or.

She sat up. Do exactly what Logan had suggested.

Kill Gage.

When Anne told her that Gage was someone she knew and she’d have to kill them, Claire didn't think she could do it, but too much had happened. And now she was backed into a corner. She shook her head, stood, and brushed herself off. No matter what mask Gage wore, she'd kill anyone who would make her into a victim again.

Resolved and determined, she went to the bathroom sink and washed her hands. She met her gaze in the mirror for a fraction of a second and then looked down. No matter who it is, she thought, before shutting off the water and leaving the bathroom.

Claire stepped into the sunlight. In her mind she was already planning how to kill Gage, but first she had to figure out who he was. That would be the hard part.

She turned the corner of the large, brick bathhouse, and nearly ran into several kids running toward the beach. Without warning, a strong arm wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her backwards into a muscled chest. The perpetrator practically lifted her up and dragged her to the wall.

"Hello, Claire," a familiar, poisonous voice said in her ear. "I have something for you."

Before she could scream, Gage stabbed a syringe into her neck. A warm liquid rushed into her vein.

"You can thank me later," he whispered before removing the syringe and disappearing into the sea of happy beachgoers.

Chapter 34

CLAIRE BROUGHT HER hand up to her neck. Time slowed and the people around her began to spin. She blinked slowly. Not far away she saw Kate at the lockers waving at her. A bright pink cast was on her arm. It matched her pink bikini. I like it, she thought before she crumbled to the floor.

A searing pain, much like she imagined how fire would feel, exploded all over her body. She curled into a tight ball on the sand, unable to make a sound. The fire was everywhere, lapping at her skin, boiling her blood, cooking her insides. If only she could scream, she might be able to release some of the pain.

People nearby spoke fast; their voices were high-pitched like they’d been sucking helium. She wanted to swat at them, tell them to go away and let her suffer in silence. And then she felt herself being picked up and carried. The small breeze from moving stung every nerve ending in her skin, causing her even more pain. Voices kept talking. The sound of a door opening and closing. And then only one voice.

"Claire?” the voice asked, slower, deeper, and this time Claire recognized it as Logan's. She gripped his hand and felt him squeeze it back.

The pain, once burning, began to lessen and change into a coolness that coursed through her blood. She became aware of a couch beneath her, and the soft humming of appliances. She must be in the lifeguard’s lounge.

Claire stretched her legs. They felt much better now that the fire was gone. In fact they felt great, lighter somehow. She opened her eyes.

Logan was kneeling on the floor next to her, his hair wet and head lowered. She watched him for a moment, wondering if it was him who had stabbed her only moments ago, but her thoughts stopped altogether when her system was shocked by a surge of energy. It tightened her muscles, shocked her nerve endings, and even seemed to bring parts of her mind more alive. She sat up and inhaled.

Logan looked up. "You okay?"

Claire nodded slowly, focusing only on her surroundings. She felt incredible, almost as if she were a new person. Everything around her was sharper somehow, more clear. She smiled.

"Claire?" Logan said, frowning.

Her eyes went to the doorway, to where some people were crowding around trying to peek at her through the door’s small window. Some new part of her loved that she was making a spectacle.

“Get out of here!” Logan snapped at them and then returned his attention to Claire. “What happened out there?”

She easily told the truth. "Gage was here. He injected me with something, probably the same drug he takes."

When she said it, she tried to pay attention to his reaction, knowing it was important, but it was hard. She just didn't care.

He took hold of her arm. "Gage was here? When?"

"A while ago. He injected me," she pointed to her neck, "and then took off. Weird."

Logan glanced toward the door.

"Don't worry about it. He's long gone," she said.

He looked back at her. "Don't worry? When he possibly gave you the same stuff that turned him into a monster?" His voice was growing louder.

Claire ruffled his hair. "It’s okay. I'm not going to become a homicidal maniac quite yet. Gage told me on the cliffs that it takes three times, but whatever it is, I feel great." She stood and stretched. "Quit staring at me like that. It's not a big deal."

"Would you listen to yourself?" He stood up. "This is huge! I can't believe you're not freaking out!"

She rolled her eyes just as the door flew open. Kate and Ethan rushed in.

Ethan came to her, his gaze scanning her up and down.

"I thought you said she was messed up?" he said, glancing back at Kate.

Kate's mouth was open. "She was. She was having some sort of a seizure on the ground."

Claire let out a long, exaggerated breath. "You guys, I'm fine. Can we please just go swimming already?"

Logan was shaking his head. “Not until we understand what happened."

"What happened?" Ethan asked.

“I’m bored. Later," Claire said.

She opened the door and walked straight toward the beach, not caring when she stepped on people’s blankets or kicked up sand. Every part of her breathed with new life and she no longer felt any guilt or anger, not even in the deepest part of her heart where she concealed her darkest pains.

All of it was just gone.

So this is what it felt like to be alive. She wanted to run, dance, scream; nothing seemed impossible. She dived into the water. The coolness of it didn’t shock her like she thought it would. She stayed underwater for a long time, feeling like she could hold her breath forever. Whatever drug Gage had injected her with, she loved it.

When her head broke the surface of the water, she heard, "Claire!" She glanced toward the beach. Ethan and Kate were standing together calling her name.

She swam toward them, until she could touch bottom, and then walked out of the sea.

"What do you think you’re doing?" Kate asked. “We need to get you checked out.”

Claire shook her wet hair. "What's it to you? I'm not hurting anyone."

"Yeah, well, you’re not acting real smart right now," Kate said while scratching at the inside of her cast.

"At least I'm doing exactly what I want to do instead of always dreaming about it."

Kate glared at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Claire knew what she was about to say would hurt Kate, but she no longer had a filter. "I think that cast is the best thing that could've happened to you. Call it a reality check, Kate, cuz its not like you're going anywhere. You're going to end up exactly like your mother—working in a truck stop diner for the rest of your life."

By Kate’s expression, Claire might as well have slapped her.

"I can’t believe I called you my best friend," Kate said before she turned around and walked away.

"Claire," Ethan said, his voice stern, "we need to talk."

"I don't want to talk." She walked over to him and cuddled up to his chest. "Keep me warm," she said, even though she wasn't cold.

He took her by both arms and pushed her away. "Logan told me what Gage did to you. This is serious."

She looked into his eyes. "Is it? Maybe this is what you secretly want."

His brow furrowed. "I would never want this for you. And what does that even mean?"

A smile played at her lips.

"You think I'm Gage?” he asked. “That's insane."

She shook free of his grip.

Ethan continued to talk. "Gage injected you with poison. Do you get that?"

She walked back toward the water. "I don't care, Ethan. This is the first time in my life where I don’t feel like I have to fight."

She dove into the water and swam away.

Chapter 35

GAGE STARED DOWN at Claire from the top of the cliff. She swam expertly, despite the fact that the tide was coming in. He knew what she was feeling, and would've given anything to be there with her, sharing her high, feeling as if they were the only two people in the world. He breathed in deeply trying to smell her bliss.

But he couldn't get distracted.

He turned away from Claire and took the long way home on a trail through the forest. He couldn't be seen just yet. She was close to figuring out his true identity, and it would really mess up his plans if she did it too soon.

He began to jog, thinking how wonderful it was not to worry about Albert anymore. For the most part, Gage now had enough control over him that he could use Albert’s voice and body to lie to Claire. She would believe anything he said.

He leapt over a fallen log.

Gage thought about taking Albert back to the beach. The others might notice he was missing, but after what just happened with Claire they probably all went home.

In the end, though, he decided not to. Screw them all. In just a few days, Claire would be his and together they would leave this place forever.

Gage snuck through Albert’s back yard, mindful of any nosey neighbors. He moved to open the door, but discovered it was locked. With one hard tug, Gage broke the lock and opened the door.

The house was quiet except for the sounds of his shoes against the linoleum floor, which he deliberately scuffed up, leaving angry black marks on the floor. It was good to have the house to himself—he froze. The air stirring about the kitchen smelled different. Coffee and, he sniffed, hot dogs?

He walked into the living room. Lying on the coffee table was a small brown box and an envelope. He picked up the box first and looked inside. A silver phone. He tossed it onto the couch and tore into the envelope. It read:

Keep this on you at all times. We'll be in touch,

Your friends at Bodian.

He crumpled up the paper and tossed it next to the phone. Something would have to be done about Bodian. He didn't want to be anyone's call girl.

Just then the cell phone rang in the form of a popular rap song. He resisted the urge to smash it. Just before it stopped ringing, he picked it up and answered it. “What?”

"I see you found the phone. Do you like it? It was very expensive," a deep voice said.

"What do you want?"

The voice was quiet, then, "We have a job for you."

"Hurry up and tell me. I have my own things to do."

"That's great, Gage, but don't forget that we are and always will be your priority." His voice was short and even deeper than before.

Gage echoed his tone. "Not for long."

"Don't threaten us. Your life is expendable."

Gage grabbed a nearby lamp and tossed it across the room. "What's the job?"

"We want you to steal Claire Williams' medical records from the hospital."

This surprised him. "Why?"

"That's none of your business. Just go to the hospital you put her in—”

"She barely had a scratch."

"Get to a computer and download her information—”

"Sounds easy."

"—onto a zip drive, which you are to keep with you wherever you go."

"How 'bout at your mom’s house?"

"We'll find you and get it when we are ready. Understand?"

He picked up a book and tossed it after the lamp. It made a dent in the wall. "Anything else, Master?”

"We'll contact you soon." The man hung up.

Gage almost tossed the phone, but at the last second overturned the glass coffee table instead. He didn't know if he was angry at being told what to do or more upset that they were messing with his Claire.

He paced from the kitchen to the living room. What would they want with Claire? Maybe they knew what he'd done to her earlier today, or maybe they were going to do something to her because she was close to discovering his identity.

Either way he had to do something about Bodian. Later. First, he had to break into a hospital to find out what they wanted with Claire.

Twenty minutes later, Gage pulled into the hospital’s parking lot and walked in wearing a lab coat with his head held high. He nodded and smiled at people he passed. He even chuckled when someone said, "Hello, Doctor."

Gage stopped in front of the hospital’s directory. It took him only a moment to find what he was looking for—an office that would have very little traffic this time of day, a neurosurgeon’s. He moved over to the elevators and snuck in the doors just as they were closing.

A pretty red-haired nurse asked, "Going up?"

"Yes, please. Third floor."

She pressed the button. "That's where I'm going. Are you a doctor?"

"One day. I'm actually here to pick up some scans for a doctor across town."

"Oh." She glanced at him sideways. "Do you come here very often?"

Was she flirting with him? He inched toward her. "Just moved here. From Hawaii."

Her brown eyes lit up. "Oh, I've always wanted to go there. Is it as beautiful as it is on television?"

He shrugged. "It's the same. But the girls are definitely hotter here.”

She giggled.

He placed his hand on the wall behind her, just above her shoulder. "When's your lunch break?"

"I'm just getting back."

The elevator doors opened. "Too bad. Hey, do you mind taking me to Dr. Harrisburg’s office?"

He let her pass before he followed her out. Scrubs do nothing for the female figure, he noticed.

"Sure. It's this way, but he’s not in there. He’s in surgery."

"No problem. I'm sure he left the file for me on his desk. What's your name?"

She looked over her shoulder at him. "Megan. What's yours?"

"Jack."

She stopped in front of an office door. "Nice to meet you, Jack. This is Mr. Harrisburg's office."

He looked inside and then back at Megan. "Could you go in and get it? I don't like to go into doctors’ offices when they're not in."

"How very honest of you," she said. She slipped past him and into the office, batting her eyelashes at him over her shoulder.

He pointed. "I bet it’s that big manila envelope in the basket over there."

"Will it have your name on it?"

"It should."

Megan turned her back to look through the basket. Gage stepped into the room and quietly closed the door.

"I don't see—”

He cut off her words by placing his hand over her mouth. His other arm wrapped around her chest. "Listen to me closely and you might get out of this alive, do you understand?"

When she didn't respond, he moved his other hand up to her neck and squeezed. "Do you understand?"

She nodded.

"I want you to go to that computer over there and log me into the hospital's system. Can you do that?"

She nodded again.

"Good girl. I'm going to let go now,” he said. “And remember, don’t make a sound." Gage slowly removed his hand and turned her around. Her whole body trembled beneath his grip.

He stroked her face, wiping a tear from her eye. "If only I had more time," he mumbled. Her eyes flashed to the door.

"Get to it," he said, motioning to the computer. "And no tricks."

Megan sat down, her eyes continually looking at the doors. "Please don’t kill me. I’ll do whatever you want,” she said. Her voice squeaked as if her throat was still being constricted.

He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Just do what I want. And hurry."

She moved the mouse and the computer screen came to life.

"I can't access the Doctor’s personal files," she said. Her hand was shaking so badly that the cursor on the screen kept bouncing.

"I don't care about the doctor. Just get into the hospital’s records." He squeezed her shoulders.

She yelped, but entered her name and password when prompted. "Okay, you're in. What are you looking for?"

"You'll never know," Gage said. He turned his arm and elbowed her hard into her temple. She slumped forward, unconscious.

Gage pushed her out of the chair and took her place. He stretched once and cracked his knuckles before typing "Claire Williams" and her birth date.

Claire's file appeared on the screen, but he didn't bother reading it. He'd save that for when he was alone and could decipher what Bodian was after. In addition to saving the files to a zip drive, he also printed them.

As soon as the document finished printing, he tucked the papers under his arm and walked from the office. Soon he would be hiding behind Albert’s face, with him still in charge, of course. Albert was his puppet, and he, the puppet master. If he listened hard enough, he could still hear Albert begging for release.

A sudden thought occurred to him, a solution to the other man in Claire’s life. Originally Gage had planned a wonderful death for Him just as soon as Claire had been unleashed, but what if “Albert” could convince her that the other boy was Gage? And maybe, just maybe, he could convince her to kill Him.

Gage laughed. He would love to watch her kill the boy who claimed to love her.

Chapter 36

CLAIRE STAYED AT the beach for several hours, swimming, laying out, speaking to strangers, basically doing whatever she felt like. A couple of times she caught glimpses of Logan and Ethan, separate from each other, but she ignored them.

Eventually she returned home when she grew hungry and tired. For a long time she stared at the television even though it wasn’t turned on. And slowly, like the fog that often rolled into Bandon, her inner pain returned. And it was stronger, lurking just beneath the surface, like a shark stalking its prey.

She thought back to her behavior and how cruel she'd been to Kate. It made her angry. Gage. He'd done this.

Claire tightened her fists and imagined all the ways she could hurt him. She pictured him injured and bleeding. What it would look like. What she might smell. She hoped to rip his eyes out, ram an ice pick up his nose, stab a— Claire stopped, surprised by her thoughts. Never had she thought this violently about someone else before. Even her own father.

The Bodian drug. Her violent thoughts must be a delayed side effect.

Claire clawed at her neck, wishing she could peel the skin off and drain the poison from her.

The doorbell rang.

She sat up, heart pounding. Please go away. Whoever it was, she didn't want to face them.

A knock on the door moved her to the edge of the couch.

"Claire?"

It was Ethan.

"Come on, Claire. If you're in there, please answer the door."

She stood, her pulse beating in her ears. She wanted to run to him, feel safe in his arms, but she wouldn't be safe. He could be Gage hiding behind Ethan’s face and gentle voice.

"Alright. I'm leaving," he said.

His words left her cold, and she didn’t want to feel that way on top of everything else. Most of all, she didn’t want to be alone.

Claire rushed to the front door and opened it. They stared at each other long and hard. Because he didn't say anything, neither did she. The air between them felt pressurized, like at any moment it might explode.

Finally he took a step toward her.

"You got dressed," he said, and she didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Please don't be Gage.

"Ethan, I—”

"Let's go inside and talk.” He took hold of her hand.

Claire sat down on the sofa, expecting him to sit next to her, but instead he got on his knees in front of her. He leaned over onto her lap and stared into her eyes. "First, how are you feeling? Are you back to your old self?"

She looked down. "I think so. I am so sorry."

He squeezed her hand. "The only thing you should be sorry for is not telling me about what Gage was going to do sooner. Maybe I could've prevented it."

"That's what scares me. I don't think anyone can stop him. He's going to unleash me and there's nothing anyone can do about it."

"That's not true. You can leave, just like you planned."

"I'm not going anywhere. He'll kill everyone I know."

"He's bluffing. He can't kill everyone."

"Yes, he can. I've felt the same power that's in him, experienced just a fraction of his thoughts, and I haven't even been unleashed yet."

Ethan was quiet, then, "You can't be alone. There's no other way around it."

"I'm not alone. Smith still has a cop following me around."

"It's not enough. Does your mom know what's going on?"

"I don’t think she understands it, or maybe she can’t deal. In fact, she's leaving this weekend to Portland with a friend. I thought I’d gotten through to her. Hell, at one point she even suggested we move together."

Ethan shook his head. "I'm sorry. That must hurt."

"A lot of things hurt. I wish I didn't have to feel."

"That's what the drug did to you, wasn't it?"

She sighed, remembering how wonderful it was not to care. "Am I a horrible person for admitting that it was the best I've felt in years?"

"Of course not." Ethan got up and sat on the couch next to her. "But please remember that the pain you're feeling is what makes you human. It's what makes you compassionate and kind. And this pain has made you into a strong woman."

She laughed, a little, and leaned her head against his shoulder. Figuring out Gage’s true identity was going to be a lot tougher than she thought. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe it wasn't Ethan or Logan at all. Maybe—

Ethan stood up. "I guess it’s settled then."

"What?"

"If your mom doesn't care, I'm going to be with you 24/7."

“But what about your parents? They can’t be okay with this.”

“You let me worry about them.”

Claire almost accepted, but then shook her head. "You can't, don't you understand? Gage will kill you."

Or I will, she thought, and instantly regretted it. "I can't ask you to risk your life for me."

"You didn't ask." He glanced at his watch. "I need to get a few things first, something that should at least stun Gage if he does appear." Ethan peered out the window. "Looks like Officer Johnson is still out there. Will you be okay if I'm gone for twenty minutes?"

"Of course."

He opened the door. "I'll be right back."

"I know, I know. Get going." She followed him out and waved at Officer Johnson. He waved back.

After Ethan left, she paced her small living room, a feeling of dread growing. She wasn't going to be safe, no matter what Ethan brought back. Gage wouldn’t stop until she was just like him and anyone in the way would only end up dead.

She shivered and prayed Ethan wasn't Gage. How could he be? But it couldn't be Logan either. "Fight, Claire," Valerie’s words echoed again in her mind. And that's what she would do. No matter what or who. But how to fight Gage?

She stopped moving.

The gun.

She glanced to the back door and then to the clock. If she hurried, she might be able to find it and return before Ethan. And she wouldn't tell anyone. She'd hide the gun on her, and the moment she saw anyone around her even sneeze funny, she'd blow them away.

Claire snatched her cell phone and snuck out the back door. She cut through the forest, avoiding the trails to save time. After a few minutes of running she was surprised to discover that she wasn't tired in the least. Another side effect?

In just a short time, Claire arrived at the cliffs. She tried not to shake as she stumbled through tall grass and bushes, searching as quickly as possible for the gun, but the air felt tainted as if Gage's presence had scarred the area. She swallowed hard and continued searching despite the heavy pressure building around her chest.

In a matter of minutes, she found the gun lying upside down against a tree. She picked it up and tucked it behind her back. She turned on her cell phone. Only five minutes to get back.

She took off running, pushing herself hard. Faster, she thought. Move!

Just as Claire exploded out of the forest, she noticed Ethan's car pull into her driveway. She raced up the back porch and into the living room. The front doorknob was turning. Reaching behind her back, she removed the gun and shoved it under the couch. She straightened just as Ethan walked in.

"That was fast," she said, trying very hard to control her breathing.

"Really? I didn't think so." He frowned at her. "Why is your face red?"

She touched her cheek. "Is it?"

Ethan walked over and felt her forehead. "And you're hot and sort of sweaty. What's up? Are you sick?"

She jumped at the excuse. "A little. Must be something left over from whatever Gage injected me with."

Ethan helped her sit down. "Have you told Smith yet?"

Claire shook her head. "And I'm not going to. There's nothing he can do about it other than what he's already doing. No point worrying him."

"You're probably right. Why don’t you lie down while I make you dinner?"

"We’ll make it together," she said, knowing it was best to stay busy so she wouldn’t have to think about killing someone she loved.

Chapter 37

THE NEXT FEW days, Ethan and Logan drove Claire crazy with their over-attentiveness until she thought she'd shoot them both. Between the two of them, they had managed to arrange their schedules so she was never alone. Her mother didn't ask any questions. In fact, Claire thought she looked a little more relaxed than usual.

It was Friday night, the day her mom was leaving for the weekend, to de-stress, she’d said. Before she shut the car door, she asked Claire who would be staying with her for the night. Claire answered Logan. Ethan had some family event with his parents. Her mother closed her eyes and actually smiled. "Okay, have fun," she said and drove off, glancing once at Claire in the rearview mirror.

After she left, Claire knew Logan wasn't going to come over. She wouldn't let him, but she also didn't want to be alone either. She decided to call Kate. Claire had already apologized to her the day after getting the injection from Gage, and even though Kate said she had forgiven her, there was still tension. She hoped to change that tonight.

"What are you doing?" Claire asked, after calling Kate’s phone.

"Same thing I do every night—nothing. Man, I miss practice." In the background, Claire thought she heard the sounds of pages of a magazine turning.

"Why don't you call Steph and Audrey, and we'll have a slumber party?"

"Serious? Like we did in middle school?"

"Yeah, why not? My mom's not home."

There was a slight pause. "What about Gage?"

Claire paused back. "You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"Screw it," Kate said. "Gage wouldn't dare mess with four hormonal teenage girls. And besides, you still have a cop watching your house, right?"

"Yes. Logan was supposed to come over, but I'm sick of him and Ethan following me everywhere."

"And I'm sick of watching it," Kate agreed.

"Then you'll come?"

"Totally. I'll call Steph and Audrey now. See you soon!"

Claire hung up the phone and peered out the window. A cop car was still parked outside. Poor guys. They had to be tired of babysitting.

Headlights flashed in the window from a car driving up the driveway. Logan. He was early.

Before he could knock, she opened the door and blurted, "I was going to call you. You don't need to be here tonight.”

He stepped by her into the living room. "Sorry. I'm here to stay."

"Serious, Logan. The girls are coming over. We're having a sleepover."

He cringed. "Really?"

She kept her hand on the open door.  "Yes, I need some girl time. You and Ethan are driving me crazy."

His eyebrows lifted. "You and Ethan having problems?"

"No," she emphasized the word. "I just need a break from both of you."

His face grew serious. "Claire, I'm really worried about you."

"Don't be."

"Can I be honest with you?"

"Aren't you always?"

He took a deep breath. "It’s something I mentioned awhile ago, but I wasn’t really serious, but now I am. There's only one way Gage could know everything about you. It's like he's been in the middle of every conversation we've ever had, and he always knows where you're going to be."

Claire played dumb. "I get it, so?"

"So that means Gage is someone super close to you."

She backed up onto the porch, very aware of the cool metal of the gun against her back. She took it with her everywhere now.

"I know,” she admitted. “I put two and two together several days ago."

She kept calm. Waiting. Watching.

Gratefully, Logan stayed where he was at—two feet inside her house. "Then you know that Gage has got to be either me or Ethan."

She hesitated. "Possibly."

"Claire, you must believe me when I say I'm not Gage."

"And I don't think it’s Ethan."

"Well, I'm telling you that I do think it’s him and every second you’re with him, I'm sick. I can't keep watching you."

"Watching me?"

His head lowered. "Yes. I've just been waiting for him to slip up so I can—”

"What, Logan? What are you going to do?"

He raised his chin. "I'll kill him if I have to."

"Don’t worry about it. I’m prepared to do what’s necessary. If Gage is you or Ethan, or even my own mother, I'll fight. To my death if I have to."

Logan was shaking his head. He moved to her and took hold of her hand. "You've been through so much, but at least you don't have to go through this alone. I'm always here. Best friends forever, right?"

Claire couldn’t smile.

"Just promise me one thing," he said.

"What?"

"Promise me you'll keep an open mind about Ethan. Don't believe everything he says. I'm not a hundred percent sure he is Gage, but I can't think of any other person it could be. Promise me you'll be careful."

"I will. Just as careful as I'll be with you."

"Fair enough. What time are the girls going to be here?"

"Soon."

"Can I wait here until they get here?

"Sure."

A short time later Steph and Kate showed up. Audrey couldn't come because she had a bad cold.

"I'm just a phone call away," Logan said as she walked him to his car.

Claire gave him a hug. "I know, thanks."

"Let's get this party started!" Kate called from the open doorway. Already music was blaring.

Logan opened his car door. "You sure you don't need protection from her?"

"I'll manage."

She waved goodbye to Logan, but before she returned to the house, she knocked on Officer Johnson’s window.

"How are you doing, Sir?" she asked when he rolled the window down.

"Good. My wife Jenny just brought some coffee and donuts. How many more people do you plan on having over?"

"This is it. Just getting in some girl time."

"Well if anyone needs it, it’s you."

Claire smiled. "Thanks again for doing this. I feel much safer knowing you're here."

He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "You have fun tonight, Claire. And don't worry about a thing."

That's exactly what she planned on doing.

The rest of the night she, Kate and Stephanie decided to stick to the middle school theme. They prank called the cutest boys in town, did each other’s nails and hair, and completed every quiz in Teen Magazine. Claire was having a great time until Kate decided to mention Gage.

"I don't want to talk about him," she said and screwed a cap onto bright blue nail polish.

"Haven't the cops found him yet?" Steph asked.

Claire leaned back into the couch. "Not yet.”

"That freak needs to be stopped," Kate said while shaking her good hand in the air to dry her nails. "He ruined my music career."

Steph rolled her eyes. "Don't be dramatic, Kate. You get your cast off in three more weeks."

"Yeah, well, his little stunt with the car made us miss the biggest night of our lives. We could've signed an agent there."

Claire looked at Kate. "More importantly, you could've been killed."

“Right. I guess there’s that.” Kate stood up from the couch. "You have any popcorn?"

"In the cupboard. You ready for the movie?"

"Popcorn first, then movie," Steph said, and jumped up to help Kate in the kitchen.

A short time later they were all lying in sleeping bags on the floor surrounded by every kind of junk food imaginable. They stayed awake through the first movie, but at some point during the second everyone fell asleep.

Claire's eyes opened. The room was dark except for a faint glow coming from the television. It took a minute for her to orient herself. She looked around. Kate was sleeping sideways, her feet touching the top of Steph's head. Claire smiled. Since Kate was little she never could sleep straight in any bed.

Claire picked up the remote and turned off the television. She was about to lie back down when she heard a faint scuffling sound in her bedroom. She waited, holding completely still to see if the sound came again. It did, louder this time. She glanced at her friends wondering if she should wake them.

There it was again. A drawer sliding closed. Slowly.

Her heart began to pound. Stay calm. It was probably just Logan or Ethan, checking up on her. And going through her things? Her breathing quickened. Stand up. Go see.

"Logan?" she whispered into the hallway.

She took two steps into the dark, listening carefully for any sounds. When none returned, she moved further into the darkness until she reached her room. Where the gun was. Under the bed. She didn’t think she’d need it with the girls.

"Logan? Are you in there?" she whispered again. She leaned into her room. Just barely. Her window was open. A cool breeze pushed moonlight into her room. It appeared empty, but the chill creeping up her spine told her otherwise.

She glanced back to the living room. It would take her three seconds to run there, at least thirty to wake Steph and Kate, and another thirty for all of them to run from the house. But it would take less than five seconds for Gage to kill both Kate and Steph and inject her with another dose.

Another dose.

She couldn’t hold back the pleasurable sigh escaping from her lips. Just thinking about the way it had made her feel calmed her racing heart. She wished it didn’t.

Claire slipped into the room, hoping the only reason for her action was to protect Kate and Steph, and not because she wanted relief from the pain in her heart.

"How very brave," Gage said, his voice low. He moved out from within the shadows, but the darkness seemed to stretch with him.

"Step into the moonlight," she said.

He took one long step until he was standing inches from her. She looked up into his eyes, searching for any signs of someone she might love. "Who are you really?"

"I'm your Savior," he said as he pressed a needle into her neck.

She fought against him for just a moment before her eyes rolled back, and when she fell, Gage caught her and slowly lowered her to the ground, cradling her in his arms.

"It will all be over soon," he said as he caressed her face.

Claire barely heard him over the explosion of pain in her head. It spread throughout her whole body and she shook violently. In its wake came darkness, much like the shadow that had been clinging to Gage. It coated her insides like a cold winter frost, numbing all the years of hurt and betrayal. The storm calmed. She looked up at Gage and smiled.

"You want to get out of here?"

"Hell yes."

He helped her up and motioned to the window. "After you."

She hesitated for a fraction of a second to listen to a familiar voice whispering a warning in the back of her mind. But the voice was small. And weak.

Claire easily ignored it and leapt from the window. She ran into the forest and was greeted by a heavy fog. It wrapped around her like a warm blanket.

Gage caught up to her moments later. He pulled her to a stop. "How do you feel?"

"Like I’ve been plugged in. It's amazing! The stars, the air," she spun around, "the earth. I just want to," she struggled to find the right words, "eat it all gone." She laughed. "Does that make sense?"

His eyes burned with passion, a fire she felt too. "I couldn't have said it better,” he said. “Come on. Let's go do whatever we want." He took off running and Claire followed.

When they reached the street, Gage stopped and looked around. "Over there," he said. She followed his gaze. An old, black restored Ford Mustang was parked in someone's driveway. She grinned.

Gage went to it and smashed his fist through the backside window. He unlocked it. "Get in."

She obeyed and watched while he pulled off the panel beneath the steering wheel and began to mess with wires. A moment later the engine roared to life.

"Nice," she said and swept her hair to the side. She noticed it was darker, blacker.

Gage peeled out of the driveway, spitting gravel in all directions, and sped down the road.

"Where we going?"

"Somewhere loud and crowded. I'm itching for some action."

"I can handle that."

Thirty minutes later he illegally parked in front of The Hole. The place was packed, more so than last time. Music spilled onto the streets and into the line of people waiting to get inside. A tall bouncer with muscles practically bursting from his tight t-shirt came toward Gage when they exited the car.

"Hey!" the bouncer said. "You can't park there."

Gage tossed him the keys. "Keep it,” he said and attempted to pass by him, but the man placed a fist (Claire thought it looked more like a bear paw) against his chest.

"Where do you think you're going?" the bouncer asked.

Gage took hold of his hand and twisted it back. "We are getting in there. Do you understand?"

The bouncer should've been worried about his hand, but he seemed more frightened by the look in Gage's eyes. "Do whatever you want, man," he choked out.

“Don’t worry. We will.” Gage took hold of Claire's arm and pulled her up the stairs. With her free hand, she waved at the line of people shouting protests at them and walked inside.

The club was exactly what she needed right now—loud, dark, and full of smells that excited the brain. Several lights, high on the ceiling, twisted and turned, spraying light into the darkness. Wherever it touched, Claire caught snap shots of moving body parts: an arm twisting, a leg bouncing, a couple kissing. It was as if she’d walked into a den of nocturnal animals full of pheromones.

The music changed just then, the beat pulsing fast, matching the rate of her heart. Claire pushed her way through hormone-crazed men and women to the center of the club. She jumped up and down, her fist punching into the air, her mind melting into the chaos around her.

Arms came around her waist and a body pressed against hers, moving with her, no longer up and down, but swaying left and right. She knew it was Gage by the strength of his grip. A normal girl would've cried out in pain, but Claire wasn't normal anymore. She laughed at the thought, and dropped her head back to Gage's shoulder. He turned his head and snaked his tongue up and down her neck.

Claire squirmed to face him. The look in his eyes should've frightened her, but instead it thrilled her. She danced around him, swaying her hips, pressing against him, hands sliding up and down his body.

They continued this foreplay for almost an hour, challenging even the worst of the public display offenders. She thought of Ethan, and wondered why she felt no love for him. Maybe to rid one’s self of sorrow and pain, love had to be abandoned, too. And in that moment, with Gage next to her, she was fine with that.

Finally, Claire stepped away, breathing heavily. Gage had the look of a hungry lion, and he moved to grab her again, but she knocked his hand away.

"I'm thirsty," she said.

"And?"

"And I want a drink."

Gage remained where he was standing, and she could practically see the battle warring in his head as if he couldn’t stand being told what to do, even by her. Finally, he said, "Fine. I'll be right back, but you better give me something when I return."

She nodded her head once.

Gage disappeared in between dancing couples. As soon as she lost sight of him, she turned around and continued to dance, eyes closed. The music felt alive to her, more intense. It was as if the musical notes had somehow become a part of her.

"A girl like you shouldn't be dancing alone."

She opened her eyes.

A man with a receding hair line and sweat dripping off his face moved closer, jerking his body in an awkward dance move no one should ever attempt.

"Get lost," she said.

"Feisty one, eh? I dig that." The man put his hands behind his head and began to thrust his hips in her direction.

Claire felt like hitting him so she did. When she heard the sound of his nose breaking, she was surprised and looked down at her balled fist.

"What the—"

She hit him again to shut him up. And to test her strength. He stumbled back into a crowd of people and then fell to the ground. She kicked him in the stomach, completely flipping him over. If only she could’ve been this strong when she had hit Corey.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Gage said from behind her.

She turned around and took the glass out of his hand. "I'm bored."

She downed the pink liquid.

He took her hand. "Let's go then. There's a whole world waiting for us."

* * *

SEVERAL HOURS LATER Claire and Gage sat in an open boxcar, their legs dangling a few feet above train tracks.

"It's getting light," he said.

Claire looked up. The black was fading, much like the drug in her system. Flashes of painful emotions were beginning to break through the numbness. They hurt. She tossed a can of spray paint into the side of a brick warehouse.

"It sucks going back, doesn't it?" he said. "It doesn't have to be that way, you know."

Claire jumped from the boxcar. "I know."

She picked up an empty beer bottle and threw it into the brick wall. And then another. The shatter of glass, exploding into a million pieces, didn't make her feel any better. She turned around looking for something else to throw. The obscene pictures spray painted on the side of the train reminded her of all the horrible things she and Gage had done. She tried to block it out, but her growing emotions refused to be ignored.

"One more dose, Claire." Gage tossed the beer bottle in his hand.

An image of Ethan appeared in her mind. "Do you have one with you?"

Her heart felt like it was going to break.

He shook his head. "But I'll leave it for you."

"Soon," she said.

Gage jumped from the boxcar and took her in his arms. "All your pain will go away forever, I promise. And if you want revenge, no prison walls will keep us out."

She nodded, liking that idea very much.

Chapter 38

USING ANOTHER STOLEN car, Gage dropped off Claire in the woods behind her house. She snuck back into her room and quietly went into the bathroom where she threw up several times, trying hard not to wake Kate or Steph. She couldn’t believe the way she’d acted, or the perverse things she and Gage had done to each other. The guilt weighing on her was like nothing she'd ever felt before, and she'd give anything to erase the memories of the night’s events forever. Her heart ached for Ethan. She loved him. Really loved him and didn't want to forget that love or ruin it either.

She slumped down on the cold tile floor for a long time until she heard a knock on the door.

"Claire? You in there?" Kate asked.

"Yeah."

"I need to go."

"One sec." She quickly wiped at her eyes with the back of her hands. She hated the position she was in. She didn't want the pain, but she didn't want Gage either.

"I really gotta go," Kate said again.

Claire sniffed and smoothed her hair back. "Done." She opened the door.

Kate snuck by her and closed the door.

Steph was still asleep in the living room. Claire glanced at the clock. Almost eight. She returned to her room and climbed in bed. She stayed there even when Kate tried to get her to come out for breakfast, even when her friends left, and even when Logan showed up right after.

"I don't feel good, Logan," she said, her back to him.

"What did you guys do last night?"

"Girl stuff." She felt sick. She wanted to throw up again.

He sat on the side of her bed and rubbed her back. "You can talk to me, you know that right?"

"No."

Logan sighed. "Then I'll prove it somehow."

"I wish you could.” More words stung her tongue so she said them. "I hurt, Logan, and I don't know who can help."

She almost cried then, but held on. She might be crying to the enemy, and she didn't want Gage to see.

Logan laid down in the bed next to her and put his arm around her. "Soon, Claire. You'll know the truth. I don't know if I can protect you or not, but at least you'll know who you can trust."

"And that's enough." Her shoulders relaxed and within minutes she was asleep.

What felt like hours later, Claire finally opened her eyes. She was alone in her room. Sounds from the kitchen slid in through the cracked door. By the light coming from her window she guessed it was some time in the late afternoon.

She swung her feet over the edge of the bed and sat up. Gage's face flashed in her mind, and she grabbed her head. She saw again what they had done. To others. To each other. Her stomach churned.

Claire peeked down the hallway into the living room. Ethan had his back to her, cooking something on the stove. He must’ve replaced Logan. She snuck into the bathroom and closed the door quietly. How could she face him? What would she say?

Those questions haunted her while she showered, and by the time she was finished, she decided not to tell him anything. Not until she discovered Gage’s identity.

When she stepped out of the tub, she felt a little better. Gage's touch no longer plagued her skin like a disease, but he'd infected more than just her skin.

After she dressed and brushed her wet hair, she grabbed the gun hiding under several rolls of toilet paper and stuffed it behind her back. She took a deep breath, avoided looking in the mirror, and forced a smile. Everything's fine. Don't think about how you're going to have to kill someone you love. Just figure out who it is first, then worry about pulling the trigger.

She opened the door. Ethan heard and rushed down the hallway and swooped her up. "It's so good to see you. I was worried the whole time."

Claire embraced him back, wishing to stay in his arms forever. If they weren't the arms of a killer. "How was your family thing?"

He let her go and pulled her into the kitchen. "Uneventful. Boring. So you girls must’ve had some night. You've been sleeping all day."

"Yeah."

"Sit down. I made you a sandwich." He set it in front of her and waited. When she didn’t say anything, he said. "So after Logan left, I called Kate and she said you guys crashed before midnight. So what's really going on? Why the vampire sleep?"

She picked up her sandwich and took a small bite. "Maybe I'm coming down with something.”

Ethan pulled out a chair and sat down next to her. "Are you sure it’s not something else?"

"Like what?"

He grabbed a nearby newspaper and began to tear at the paper. It seemed like he wanted to talk about something, but didn’t know how to bring it up. Finally he said, "I talked to Logan for a while before he left. He was acting really weird."

She swallowed, forcing the chewed bread to her stomach. "How so?"

He looked at her, his eyes sad. "Look, I know he's your best friend, and I hate talking bad about him, but—”

"Just spit it out already.”

"He threatened me," Ethan said. "He said if I touched you, he'd kill me."

Claire said nothing. A white drop of mayonnaise oozed from the sandwich and onto the paper plate.

"I wasn’t going to say anything," he said, "but I think," he took a deep breath, "that Logan may be Gage. It's the only thing that makes sense."

"No it's not," she said and stabbed at the processed bread with her finger.

"Who else could it be?” He glanced down. “And why are you destroying the sandwich I made you?"

She licked her finger and stood up. "None of it matters. It's either you or Logan, and one of you wants to unleash me."

Ethan stood up too. "Me? You actually think it could be me? I would never, couldn't—"

"Whatever. I've accepted my fate. I can't run. Can't hide. Can't fight. I just wish one of you would tell me the truth."

He took her by the shoulders. "Look at me, Claire. It's not me. I love you."

"I've been hurt by people who claimed to love me before. Those words mean nothing."

Ethan’s eyes widened. "What can I say or do to make you believe me? Please? I would never hurt you!"

Claire searched his eyes. She wanted to believe him, and even though she wrapped her arms around him, she wasn't a fool. But how could she lure Gage out?

Ethan returned her hug, and his muscles relaxed.

She kept thinking, searching for ways to trap Gage. And then a thought occurred to her. "You know," she said, leaning away from him. "Maybe it wouldn't be so bad."

She returned to the table and sat down.

"What?"

She picked up the mutilated sandwich and took a bite. "Being unleashed. I could do whatever I want. No remorse. No more pain."

She kept her eyes on him, watching his reaction.

Ethan joined her at the table and took her hand. "You read Bodian’s report, Claire. You may not experience pain, but you also wouldn’t feel love either. For anything or anyone. Do you really want that?"

She shrugged. "Don't you think it would be nice though, not to suffer anymore?"

He let go of her hand and leaned back into the chair, thinking. "Sometimes I don’t like my life. My parents and I don't have the best relationship, but I think that’s normal. I hope anyway. But their weaknesses and mine, only strengthens my love for other things, like you. It’s the bad in my life that helps me to know what kind of man I want to be.” He looked past her, out the window. “This drug of Bodian's, it comes at too high of a price. One should never give up the right to love or be loved. Not only that," he leaned forward and took her hand, "but the drug turns you into something dark and evil. How could you want that?"

"Because the alternative is just as scary."

He shook his head. "You can't mean that."

It was her turn to look out the window. "I don't know if I do or don't. There's so much going on in my head right now. I can't make sense of what's real and what's not."

Ethan touched her cheek tenderly and turned her face toward him. "What we have is real, Claire. I feel it inside me, and I know you do too, but you're scared. Gage has made you question your strength. It's like he's made you forget your purpose or something."

"My purpose?"

"You said it once, but I don't think you realized you said it out loud. You said ‘keep fighting’.”

She looked at him, really looked.

"It was that night at your house, after Gage first attacked you. That’s when I realized how strong my feelings were for you. I was trying to tell you this when I saw you check out. I kept talking, but you were somewhere else. And then you touched your necklace,” he reached up and held the raven pendant between his fingers, “and whispered those words. That's when I realized how much you must've gone through, and how strong you must be to keep fighting." He lowered his hand.

Her pulse raced and she sucked in a great big breath, but when she let it out it was sputtering with emotion. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, trying to keep the tears from falling.

"It's okay,” he said. “This is all going to be over soon. I'm going to find proof that it’s Logan, and then we'll drop him off a cliff."

He smiled like he was joking, but she knew he was very serious.

Chapter 39

THE NEXT DAY Claire didn’t leave the house, despite Kate’s insistence. Kate wanted to go to the beach, lunch, something, but Claire didn’t have the energy for any of that. It was hard to have the motivation to do anything when you knew your future involved becoming a murderer. Or being murdered.

For the first time in many days Claire was alone, except for the patrol car still parked outside watching her house. Logan had just left to go to work, and Ethan couldn’t be at her house for a couple of hours. She wondered what would happen during this time. Gage had said he’d get her another dose. This would be the perfect time for that.

And so she waited. Staring at the wall sweating and wringing her hands.

Soon the doorbell rang. She jumped to her feet, both excited and frightened, and opened the door.

“Can you sign this?” a deliveryman asked. It was no one she knew.

She scribbled her name on an electronic pad. The man handed her a small, five-inch box wrapped in black paper and a shiny black ribbon.

“Thanks,” she mumbled and closed the door.

She stared at it for several minutes before deciding she couldn’t open it inside her house. It just didn’t feel right.

Outside the weather was unusually warm. Or she was just really hot. Claire shed her short sleeve shirt, wearing only a tank top beneath. She headed toward the edge of the forest behind her house and sat down in the grass. The box in her lap felt heavy, almost crushing.

She touched it and jerked away as if she'd been burned. Part of her yearned to rip it open, but a smaller part spoke warnings. She dropped her head back and stared up into the tree branches. The limbs were all connected to each other, each one holding the other up.

She looked down, paused, and then tore off the black paper. With a flick of her finger, the lid fell to the ground. She gasped, not because the contents surprised her, but more from relief. A syringe rested on a thin sheet of cotton. Waiting. A permanent Band-Aid.

Claire picked it up and rubbed it with her thumb. Smelled it. Pressed it to her lips. Such a little thing to make such a big pain go away. She pressed the needle to a blue vein on her arm, and her thumb hesitated above the syringe. It's your choice, she thought and closed her eyes.

Chapter 40

HIDDEN IN THE forest between shadows and old trees, Gage watched Claire. He was glad she had come outside to open it, but seeing her handle the syringe as if it were gold made him all kinds of hot. She had never looked sexier.

Just then the faint smell of leather and chemicals tickled Gage’s nose. He cocked his head and listened closely. There were people, at least a dozen, closing on him fast. He resented the distraction from Claire, but he couldn’t have anyone interrupting her special moment. Gage turned away just as she was pressing the needle to her arm and ran deeper into the forest, toward his stalkers. He would never be anyone’s prey.

It wasn’t long before Gage saw a man wearing a gray, double-breasted business suit with a pink tie standing in a small clearing. Gage slowed and glanced around. He couldn’t see the others, but sensed they were there.

"Do you have what we want?" the man asked. Gage recognized his voice. It was the same man he’d spoken to on the phone.

"Nice tie," Gage said. “And by the way, I hate being followed.”

"Hand over Claire’s information.”

Gage reached into his pocket and removed the drive. "Why don't you come over here and get it?"

The man didn't flinch, not even the slightest facial twitch. "Toss it."

"I have some questions for you first. Why do you want this information on Claire?"

"We think it's only fair, seeing how she's our property now."

"Your property?"

"Yes, thanks to you. She's become part of our experiment, and we like to keep our eyes on our assets."

Gage took a step forward, anger coursing through him.

The man raised his hand and said, "Stop. If you come any closer, we’ll shoot."

Gage laughed and continued to chuckle even when several beams of red lights appeared on his chest. “You think bullets will stop me? I’ll spit them back in your face.”

“Not bullets,” the man said. “The cure. A nice big dose that will make your existence become non existent.”

Gage blew air through his nose and tightened his lips. He imagined breaking the nearest branch and throwing it between the eyes of the man in the pink tie. Blood would stain the tie red, a much better color in Gage’s opinion.

But Gage didn’t move, not even bat an eye. The threat of a cure stopped him cold. Instead he said, “Claire will have nothing to do with Bodian. Ever. She's mine."

“She will never be yours.” The man reached into his right breast pocket and removed a vial containing a bluish liquid. "We want you to give Claire this, in addition to what she’s already taken.”

"Why? What's wrong with what I have?"

The man didn’t blink. "It's flawed."

"How?"

"Just give her the injection."

"Or what?"

"Do you really need to ask? Now be a good boy and toss the drive on three, and I’ll pass the vial. Don’t screw this up.” The pink-tied man paused briefly before counting. “One. Two. Three.”

Every part of him wanted to rebel, but Gage found himself tossing the drive. A second later he caught the thrown vial in his hand.

“We’ll be in touch. Stay close,” the man said. He turned around and walked back into the forest.

"I'm not your call girl!" Gage called and cursed.

Bodian thought they were going to control Claire. He cursed again. One thing he'd never allow to happen was for her to be controlled. He wanted her completely free from every emotion and everyone, just like he was until Bodian found him. Once he unleashed her, he just knew she would want to be with him. And if not...well, then he'd love the chase.

Gage’s spine tinkled. He was still being watched. He focused all his senses on the surrounding area trying to determine how many men he was still up against. He detected five; three to his left and two to his right. He could hear them slowly creeping backwards away from him. They were at least twenty yards away. And just beyond them was the man heading north. Gage focused on his scent and memorized it.

As soon as he was sure he was alone, Gage took off running. He pushed himself as fast as he could go, using the forest’s dark shadows to conceal him. He was closing in fast when he heard a car door close. Then another.

Gage slowed when he saw three vehicles through the trees, their engines running. Two black cars and one blue truck were parked on the side of the road. The truck was last in line and its bed appeared empty except for a pair of metal boxes. The driver’s side door was open. A tall man dressed in some sort of black uniform stood next to it, speaking into his cell phone.

When the man turned his back, Gage crouched low and darted through the trees until he was hunched over at the rear of the truck. He quietly crawled into its bed where he attempted to conceal himself between the two chests that, after sniffing them, smelled like guns and ammo. A moment later, the truck door closed and it began to move forward.

Gage tried to remember the turns, thinking it would be important later. He counted out ten minutes before the truck turned left. At about twelve minutes it turned right, then at another ten it drove onto what Gage thought was a private lane based on how bumpy the ride had become.

The truck slowed and Gage heard what sounded like a garage door opening. The truck pulled forward slowly. There was one car still with them. He could hear it moving just ahead. He wondered briefly what happened to the other vehicle.

A shadow passed over the truck. At first Gage assumed they had pulled into a garage, but when he heard the echoing of car doors opening and closing, he knew he was in a much larger facility.

The men said few words to each other as they left the vehicles, their footsteps snapping against concrete.  Gage took a chance and slowly rose from his cramped position just in time to see them disappearing through a wide door to his right. The rest of the place looked like some sort of warehouse with large crates stacked into several aisles. He glanced up. The ceiling must’ve been at least thirty feet high. Wide circle lights hung down from metal beams across the top.

To the left of him, high in the corner, he spotted a rotating camera turning in his direction. He jumped from the truck and scurried beneath it. A soon as it passed by, he crawled out and sprinted toward the door. Surprisingly, it wasn’t locked.

He quickly slipped inside; a blast of air conditioning ruffled his hair and cooled his skin. A fluorescent light, sensing his presence, flickered on. The room was empty except for three AR-15's propped against the wall and a set of stairs leading down. And it smelled like rubbing alcohol and lemons, making him think of Bodian Dynamics.

After a few minutes of nothing happening, like guards rushing up or an alarm sounding, he descended the darkened steps. He was careful not to be heard, knowing a surprise entrance would be best. At the bottom, the room seemed to open up, but he couldn't tell how much because of a heavy darkness that felt almost alive. Somehow it reminded him of himself. He shook his head to dismiss the thought. Nothing was like him.

He waited several seconds in the dark, hoping to hear any sounds, but the silence was deafening. Where had the men gone? Just then a light flipped on in the center of the room. It shined down from a high ceiling onto a glass enclosure. Inside was a well-built, blond-haired man in a gray t-shirt and black pants, standing tall and staring right at Gage. Behind him was a glass desk and chair, and on the floor was a single blanket and pillow.

Gage approached him, his steps echoing on the concrete floor in what could only be a massive warehouse of some sort, but he couldn’t see any other parts of the inside of the building. Etched into a metal sign above the enclosure’s glass door read the word "Ares.”

Gage stopped in front of the glass. "What's up, Ares?"

The man, who looked no older than twenty, continued to stare. His stone expression revealed nothing, but the shadow in his blue eyes bled a cruelty Gage could relate to.

Gage knocked on the glass. "How's the weather in there?"

Ares blinked once, then asked, "Who are you?" His voice was monotone, yet held a threatening note.

Gage shrugged. "Technically, I'm an employee of Bodian. Hell, I might even be your boss."

Ares squared his feet beneath his shoulders. "You are not my boss."

Gage glanced around. "What is this place?"

"Home."

"Sucks for you. How do you get out?"

"Through a door."

"You think?” Gage tried a different question. “Who lets you out?"

"The men in charge."

Gage sighed. "Someone screwed with your brain, didn't they? You sound like a dumb robot." He waited for a reaction, some kind of emotional response, but when he didn't get it, he asked, "Where are you from?"

"L.A."

"Why'd you come here?"

"A chance for a better life."

Gage looked around his cramped living quarters. "Your life must've been pretty bad."

"Dr. Prescott helped me."

"Dr. Prescott? Haven't heard that name before. Where can I find him?"

"He comes to me."

Just then the door to the glass enclosure clicked as if someone had opened it remotely.

Gage looked around. "Did you do that?"

"Looks like you're supposed to come inside," Ares said, his tone dropping.

Gage couldn't ignore the challenge. He opened the door, but before it closed, he broke off the handle to ensure he wouldn't be locked inside.

"Kill him," a deep voice boomed from a speaker above.

Ares took a step toward him.

"Was that man talking to me or you?" Gage asked. "Because I'm pretty sure it was to me."

Ares circled around him. Gage adjusted his feet accordingly, keeping his shoulders square and always facing Ares.

"You're like me," Ares said, his fists clenched tight.

Gage kept just out of reach. "Not even close."

"I have to kill you now," Ares said.

"I'd love to see you try."

Ares lunged for him. Gage tried to move, but Ares caught him around the middle and slammed his back into the glass wall. Gage was surprised by Ares’s strength and speed; it mirrored his own. But Gage wasn't worried.

He raised his arm and pressed it against Ares's throat until Ares was forced to let go. Gage pushed him away and kicked hard into his chest. Ares stumbled backwards, but recovered quickly and kicked high, connecting with Gage's jaw. Gage flew backwards into the glass table. It exploded under the pressure, spraying glass in all directions. The sound was deafening.

Ares jumped at what would've been an impossible length for a normal human being across the room and onto him. His fists repeatedly pounded into Gage’s face, one hard blow after another. Gage felt and heard his bones break and grind against each other. It took all the strength he had to throw Ares to the side and squirm out from under him. He wiped at the blood pouring from his nose. Time to get creative.

Ares was already on his feet and coming for him again. Gage crouched low and ducked when Ares swung. He rolled across the floor toward the broken glass. He took hold of a shard with his right hand but he wasn't fast enough to prevent Ares from slamming into his side, pinning his arm to the floor. Another rain of fists to the side of his head.

Gage rolled over, knocking Ares off balance, but Ares barely stumbled before he was crawling back, reaching for his legs. Gage kicked at his face and scurried away. He stood up, concealing the shard of glass at his thigh. He smiled and silently thanked Claire for the idea.

Ares unfolded himself until he was standing tall, muscles tight and body rigid. Like an uncoiled spring, he lunged at Gage, but Gage raised his hand and shouted, "Stop!"

Ares stopped and for the first time a shadow of emotion crossed his face: confusion. Gage took advantage of the moment and swung his left fist toward Ares’ face. Ares easily caught it, but what Ares didn't know was that while Gage was swinging his left arm, his right arm was also swinging up until it stopped when the glass shard drove deep into his neck.

Ares didn't cry out, but he did stop attacking him to try and remove the glass from his neck. Blood spurted from the wound, making it difficult for him to get a decent grip.

While Ares was distracted, Gage ran and kicked him in the chest. Ares flew back against the glass wall, his head cracking against it. By the time he hit the ground, Ares was dead or unconscious; Gage didn't care which.

"Is that all you got?" he shouted to the voice above. "I will always win, do you understand?" He breathed heavily, blood dripping down his face.

Fluorescent lights turned on one at a time, slowly, deliberately, revealing the massive size of the room. On each side of him, in long rows and columns, were more glass cages. Each of them contained a lone man or woman, standing still and erect, fists clenched tight at their sides. And every single one was staring at Gage.

Chapter 41

BEFORE DARK AND before Ethan came over, Claire had Officer Johnson take her to the police station so she could visit with Smith. He was in the lobby talking to someone on his cell phone.

She waved and forced a smile. Smith held his finger up, signaling in a minute. She dropped into a nearby swivel chair and waited. Even in a police station she didn't feel safe. Gage could come in and kill everyone at any point. And she'd almost chosen that life.

In the end, that was what made her decide not to take the final injection. She didn't want to hurt anyone. Ever. She'd been the victim of a monster before and never wanted anyone to feel that pain, especially by her hand.

No. As much as she wanted the ache in her heart to go away, it would never be at the expense of others.

"Everything okay, Claire?" Smith said when he finished.

She twirled the chair around. Smith looked worried. And tired. "I'm fine. Just wanted to visit you."

"Come back to my office. We can talk there."

Claire followed him back, wondering why she had come. She didn't have anything specific to talk about.

"What's going on?" Smith said after he closed the door.

She sat down on the sofa across from his desk. "Nothing really. Just hadn't seen you in a while."

His voice lowered. "Have you seen Gage?"

She paused. "No. I think you guys scared him away," she lied.

Smith visibly relaxed. "Good, but I still want Officer Johnson watching you for awhile longer. Is that okay?"

"Of course." She shifted, pulling her legs beneath her. Just then her phone buzzed. She looked down at its lit-up face. Ethan. She ignored it.

"Other than the problems you’ve had with Gage, have you had a decent summer?" Smith asked.

"Uh-huh."

"And how's Ethan? You still together?"

She squirmed. "Good and yes."

Silence.

Smith leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk. "What's going on, Claire?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. It's just that..."

She shook her head. Her phone buzzed again. This time it was Logan. She turned off her phone and looked up. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why have I had so many problems? Is something wrong with me?"

Smith leaned back; the chair creaked under his weight. "You've had your fair share of trials, no one would deny that. Everyone has them, some worse than others. Trials are what make us stronger, better people if we let them."

She stared at the floor.

Smith continued. "Sometimes it may feel like we're wandering around in the dark for a long time, but then we get these rays of sunshine that push through the shadows. It's these rays we need to hang on to for they will guide us out of the night and into the day.” He waited a second before saying, “Do you understand?"

"What if there are no rays?" she said, still staring at the floor.

"There's always light, no matter how small. You have people that love and care for you, Claire. Hang on to this, and soon, what you're going through now, will just be a bad dream. Besides, you're only eighteen. You have your whole life ahead of you, and, knowing you as well as I do, you will crash right through it." He shook his head and laughed. "I can't wait to see where you end up. It's going to be somewhere fantastic for sure."

For the first time in many days, Claire really smiled, and her burden didn't seem so heavy. "Thank you.”

"You’re welcome. You know," he said, reaching into a drawer and removing a file "maybe this will help you feel better, too."

She leaned forward.

"I don't know what Gage is exactly, but I know Bodian Dynamics had something to do with it. I've been collecting evidence against them and I think—"

Claire jumped up. "No! You can't!"

She was afraid of getting him any more involved than he already was. Bodian would ruin him for sure just like they had Anne.

Smith leaned back. "Why?"

"Please, Smith. Don't look into it. Just forget it. There's nothing to look into. Please. I'm begging you." She was close to tears. If anything happened to Smith…

He stood up and hurried around the desk, taking her by both arms. "What aren't you telling me?"

Claire coughed and quickly recovered. "Nothing. I just don't want to see you get hurt. Bodian is dangerous."

"I'm sorry, but I have enough evidence to open an investigation. I've been wanting to go after them for a long time."

Claire lowered her head. "Then be careful."

"If there's something you're not telling me, I need to know."

“There’s nothing.” Not yet anyway. Maybe if she got rid of Gage.

"Did Johnson give you a ride here?" he asked.

"He's out front waiting for me."

"Good. I'll walk you out."

Outside the police station, Officer Johnson was leaning against his patrol car reading a book.

"Looks like rough work," Smith said and shook his hand.

"Real rough," Officer Johnson said. "You should've seen the crazy party Claire threw the other night."

Smith turned to her.

Claire walked around the front of the car and opened the door. "Right. And Johnson cooked us special brownies."

Officer Johnson laughed. "I'll be just a second, Claire," he said and began talking to Smith.

She got in the car and checked her phone. Kate and Steph had both called her once, Logan two times, and Ethan three. She smiled. Smith was right about people caring.

The driver’s side door opened, but instead of Johnson, Smith got in. Johnson slid into the back seat.

“What’s up?” she asked.

Smith started the car. “I think I’ll play watch dog for awhile, drop Tom off at home. It’s his anniversary, did you know that?”

“Forty-two years,” Johnson said, smiling.

“Congratulations,” Claire said and then turned back at Smith. “But what about your car?”

“Wife dropped me off today.” He drove onto the street and ten minutes later was dropping Johnson off in front of a small white house. “I’ll pick you up in the morning, Tom,” Smith said. “Have fun tonight.”

Johnson nodded his head and disappeared into his house. Several minutes later it was Claire’s turn. Smith parked the patrol car in her driveway.

"I'll be out here if you need me," he said.

"You know you can come inside, right?"

"Oh no. It's better if I'm out here. Keep an eye on the surrounding area."

"Well if you get bored, at least come inside for something to eat. I think I have chips and salsa. Or I can bring it out to you."

"Deal." Smith peered out the windshield. "Looks like a nasty storm is coming."

Claire didn't bother looking.

"There's always a storm," she whispered and opened the door. Before she closed it, she said, "Thanks for everything. I really do feel better knowing you're out here."

"No problem. And don’t worry about things. Like you said, Gage is probably long gone. Maybe just another week of this and then you can go back to living a normal life."

She nodded and closed the door. A normal life. She sighed and walked inside the house. Stuck to the refrigerator, Claire found a note from her mother saying she'd be back late, but from where, she didn’t say. Claire must’ve just missed her. She scrunched the paper and tossed it into the garbage. It missed its target and fell to the ground. She sat down next to the crumbled paper, overcome by an overwhelming feeling of dread.

Claire wasn't sure how long she'd been sitting there, but when a knock rattled the door, she jumped. Before she stood up, she reached behind her back and adjusted the gun.

"It's me, Claire," Ethan's voice said. “Are you in there? I’ve been looking for you.”

She took a deep breath and opened the door. "Hey. Sorry I wasn’t here. I went to see Smith."

“Let me know next time, okay? I was worried.” He walked inside and dropped a backpack by the door. "Talk about anything specific?"

“Not really.”

He took hold of her hand. "Did something happen?"

She hesitated, searching his eyes.

"Come on, Claire. Talk to me."

There was nothing to see. Only concern and love.

"Gage sent me something," she said.

He tensed. "What was it?"

“Another dose.”

"And?"

"I looked at it for a very long time."

Ethan grabbed onto her, like his knees had suddenly gone weak. "What did you do?"

She shook her head, her eyes tearing. "I wanted to take it more than anything. I wanted to be free—"

"Claire?"

"But I couldn't do it." She looked up at him. "I wanted to, really, really wanted to."

His arms came around her. "It's okay. You did good."

She sniffed, tears running down the back of her throat.

"Why don't you go run a bath? Relax. I'll make us a snack and clean up a bit."

She half laughed, half cried.  "Sorry it's messy in here."

Ethan pulled her toward the bathroom. "Serious. I want you to relax. I've got this."

He turned on the water and held his hand under the faucet. She watched his reflection in the mirror. So calm.

"I'll come check on you in a little bit," he said and closed the door.

She sat on the edge of the tub. Ethan was a ray of light in her life. She hoped it would always be that way.

Her phone vibrated within her pocket. She pulled it out and checked her text messages. It was from Kate:  "You sure missed a good fight between Ethan and Logan. Have you talked to either one of them about it yet?"

Her heart began to pound. She was about to call Kate when her phone rang. She answered it on the first ring. "Logan?"

"Claire! I've been trying to reach you! Where are you?"

"I'm at home. What's going on?" The panic in his voice made her shake.

"Is Ethan with you?"

"Yeah, so? And what were you two fighting—"

"Claire, listen to me closely. You have to get out now. Ethan's Gage."

"What?"

"Ethan's Gage, do you hear me?"

She shook her head, clutching the phone tightly. "How do you know?"

"I broke into his house."

"You what?"

"I had to know. And I found all sorts of crap, specifically Bodian’s vials under his bed. And the whole inside of his house had been destroyed."

"It can't be true," she whispered.

"Can you get out of the house without Ethan knowing?"

Claire shut off the water and listened. She could hear Ethan moving around the living room. "I don't know."

"I'm coming over."

"No! I don't want you to get hurt." She tried to keep her voice low.

Logan paused, then said, "Is there a cop out front?"

"Yes. It’s Smith."

"Good. Get to him and meet me at the police station."

Just then Ethan knocked on the door. Claire dropped the phone and covered her mouth to keep from screaming.

"Are you talking to someone?" Ethan asked.

"Um, no. Just getting ready."

"Okay. I'm going to take the garbage out."

"Right. Okay."

She waited until she heard the front door open and close before she picked up the phone.

Logan was saying her name over and over. "Claire, are you there?"

"I'm here."

"Good. I'm coming over."

"Wait!"

But it was too late. The phone went dead.

Chapter 42

CLAIRE STARED INTO the partially filled tub. Why, Ethan? She wanted to sink into the water, clothes and all, but she couldn't. Ignoring her pounding heart, she stood up. This had to end. She reached for the gun behind her back and moved it to the front of her pants. She pulled her shirt down over the top and opened the door.

"Ethan?" She moved down the hallway. Focus. Don't look him in the eyes. Her hands began to shake.

The front door opened suddenly, bringing in Ethan and a blast of wind and rain.

"Crazy weather out there," he said as he brushed himself off. "How come you're not in the tub?"

"I couldn't..."

"Claire?"

"Were you fighting with Logan?" she blurted. She had to know, before—she had to be sure.

His jaw muscles bulged and his lips tightened.

"Were you?"

"I wanted to tell you later. When the time was right."

"Tell me what?"

He inhaled deeply and let it out. “I confronted him at the gas station earlier today. About what he's been doing." His eyes met hers. "What I'm about to tell you is going to be hard. I know how close you two are."

"I don't understand."

"Before I found Logan, I drove to his house to see if you’d gone there." Ethan walked to the window and peered out. "I had to know. I suspected he was Gage from the very beginning. Things he'd say and do. It just wasn't right."

"And?"

Ethan turned around. "I found it. Under the floorboards. Only a few vials were left."

Claire shook her head, more confused than ever. "But that's what Logan said about you."

"What? He did? When?"

"He called just a few minutes ago. He said he's coming over."

Ethan began to panic. "We need to get you out of here."

He moved to grab her arm, but she stepped away.

"How can I believe you? You're both saying the same thing."

Ethan’s terror turned to sadness. "Why can't you trust me?"

When Claire didn't answer, he went to his backpack and searched it. "I have proof, Claire."

He pulled out a vial. It looked the same as the one Gage had given her. "I got this from Logan's room. It’s what Gage gave you, right?"

Claire groaned in frustration.

"Please, you have to believe me! If we have any chance at defeating Gage we have to do it together, do you understand?"

She shook her head, trying to put the pieces together, but everything was happening so fast. She needed to talk to Kate. See what the fight was about. "I have to make a phone call."

"There isn’t time. He's going to be here any second!"

Just then the sound of tires squealed in the driveway.

Ethan slowly turned to the window. "He's here."

Claire backed against the wall while Ethan frantically searched the house for a weapon. He found a knife for each hand. "There's mace in your room, Claire. Go grab it, quick!"

She was frozen. Even her heart didn’t seem to be beating anymore. A car door slammed. Footsteps ran fast toward the home, but then stopped suddenly. Claire hoped it was Smith capturing Logan.

"Claire!” Ethan said. “Do you hear me?"

She didn't. The footsteps were moving again and had reached the front porch. Logan. Her best friend. When the door opened, Ethan moved with it and hid behind.

Logan stood in the doorway holding a baseball bat high. He was soaking wet, blood clotted on his fat lip, and his eyes were blazing, like a fire had been lit inside him. His eyes darted around the room, passing her over. When he didn’t see Ethan, he said, "Come on. Let's go!"

She shook her head and flickered her gaze to Ethan, hiding behind the open door. Ethan put his finger to his lips, signaling her to be quiet. Where was Smith?

Logan moved into the house. "Come on, Claire. Please."

Ethan slammed the door. "We know who you really are Logan, and I’m going to kill you for hurting Claire."

Logan turned around slowly, the bat raised.

"Not if I kill you first," he said and swung the bat hard.

Ethan tried to get out of the way, but the bat caught him in the ribs. He stumbled into a nearby lamp and fell to the floor.

"Logan, stop!" Claire shouted.

"Get out of here!" he shouted back. He raised the bat again and brought it down on Ethan’s back just as he was reaching for the knife that had fallen from his hand. Ethan cried a painful scream.

"You will pay for everything you've done!" Logan said and raised the bat again.

Claire removed the gun from her shirt. "Stop Logan, or I'll shoot!"

He froze and turned around slowly, his eyes settling on the gun. "What are you doing?"

"You need to get away from him," she said, trying to steady the gun in her sweaty palms.

"But he's Gage! I told you that on the phone."

Claire lowered her gaze to Ethan. Their eyes met.

"It's not true," Ethan said, and then he kicked at Logan's legs, knocking him off balance. "Shoot him, Claire! Now's your chance!"

Logan looked at Ethan. A feral cry rose in his throat, and he raised the bat.

Where was Smith? She could barely hold the gun.

"Shoot him!" Ethan shouted again.

The bat came crashing down on Ethan, and Claire gasped at the ferocity of it. She steadied the gun.

Ethan raised his arm to defend himself from another blow, but Logan was too fast. The bat smashed Ethan's arm. The sound of his bone snapping hurt her ears. Ethan cried out, but when Logan raised the bat again, he yelled, "Now, Claire! He's changing!"

She put her finger over the trigger. Her best friend was in her line of sight. Memories of their childhood flashed like a movie reel. Logan teaching her to ride a bike. Logan diving into the canal to save her when she was only nine. Logan eating lunch with her on the first day of junior high. Logan comforting her at her father's trial.

As the bat swung down, Claire knew what she had to do. She closed her eyes and pressed the trigger. The gunshot rocked the frame of the house, and she stumbled backward.

Logan's body twisted around from the shock of the blast. It took him a second to realize what had happened, but when he did, his eyes met hers. "What have you done?"

The bat fell to the floor, and he dropped to his knees. Blood seeped through his yellow t-shirt on his right shoulder and ran down the length of his arm.

Ethan was slow to get up, but he made it to her and drew her attention away from Logan. "Let's get out of here,” he said and gently pushed on her back to guide her from the house.

She tucked the gun back into her pants and did as he asked.

As soon as they were in the pouring rain, he said, "We have to get as far away from here as possible. I can't fight Gage, even if he's injured."

But Claire wasn't listening. She was moving toward Smith’s patrol car. Through the rain she could see his dark figure hunched over in the driver’s seat. Why wasn’t he moving? Her steps felt slow, like wading through deep water.

She rounded the front of the car. The driver’s side window was smashed in. Glass, like miniature diamonds, were sprinkled across his slumped-over back. As she drew closer, she saw more glass, but they didn’t look like diamonds anymore. They were rubies, crushed into the back of his open skull.

The drops of rain suddenly felt like ice picks piercing her skin. Her legs gave out, and she would've fallen if it hadn't been for Ethan who caught her. He spun her around to face him. "I know this is all happening fast, but we have to run. Please! I can't carry you."

She looked down. His arm was bent funny. Broken. Like Smith’s head. It was all too much.

Just then a sound erupted from the house. "

Claire!" Logan roared.

Fight, Claire.

The emotion behind his cry jerked her into action. She took Ethan's good hand and ran. "Let's go to the police station," she yelled over the sound of thunder.

"No! That's where he'll expect us to go," he said, gasping for breath. "Let's go to the cliffs. We can hide there."

For how long? she wondered, but kept silent.

They sprinted into the forest, up and over logs, between brush, and ignoring tree limbs that snagged at their arms and legs. Just keep moving. She focused on her footing through the rough, wet terrain. Her lungs burned and her muscles felt like they were going to explode.

Finally, they burst from the forest and ran toward the beach. The sand sucked at her feet, threatening to slow her down. She pushed harder, trying to keep up with Ethan.

"Ethan!" she called, breathless and shaking, whether from exhaustion or the fact that she'd just shot her best friend or seen the only man she considered to be her father dead, she couldn't be sure.

Ethan continued to pull her, but glanced back over his shoulder. A cold light, like fire on ice, flashed in his eyes. He was excited, not scared. How could he be excited?

And then she knew the truth.

She let go of his hand and slowed, almost fell.

Ethan stopped. "What are you doing? We're almost there." He motioned down the beach.

Claire followed his gaze. The cliffs weren't far away. But instead of walking toward them, she went toward the ocean, her legs weak and unsteady. At one point she stumbled, but righted herself again. Rain poured from above, soaking every part of her, but she wasn’t cold. Tears of the angels, her mother had once said.

"What are you doing?" Ethan shouted over the downpour. "We have to hurry!"

She ignored him, but she couldn't talk if she had wanted to. Her chest heaved as she tried to keep herself from hyperventilating, and it was hard to see through the tears clouding her vision. She stopped moving only when the sea's foam wrapped around her ankles.

"Where are you going, Claire?" Ethan said, a tone much lower than his normal voice.

Claire continued to ignore him. She scanned the dark horizon, searching for a ray of light. Something she could hold on to. Smith had said one would be there if she searched hard enough.

"Why do you always have to be so difficult?" Ethan asked.

And then she saw it. The white sails of a sailboat braving the waters of an impossible storm.

Claire removed the gun from the back of her pants, turned around, and pointed it at Ethan's chest. He didn't look surprised.

"How long have you been wearing that mask?" she asked.

Ethan smiled, but it wasn't his smile. Not really. It was Gage’s, full of cruelty and all things that suck life from the world.

"You won't shoot me," he said.

She asked again, louder this time. "How long have you been wearing that mask?"

"For awhile. Poor Albert."

"Albert?"

"Ethan's first name. Nerdy, isn't it? No wonder he never told anyone." Ethan's face twitched, then tightened for just a moment, but in that fraction of a second, Claire saw Gage.

"Where's Ethan?" The gun shook in her hands.

"He's here,” he tapped on his forehead. “Trapped in a cage. Helpless. I can hear him screaming now. Man, is he pissed." He moved toward her.

"Can he hear me?"

"If I let him. He sees and hears only what I want him to." Gage reached into his pocket with his good arm and pulled out a syringe. "You missed your dose. You—”

He doubled over and cried out in pain. "Get back!" he shouted. "This doesn't concern you!"

Confused, she stepped back.

Ethan looked up at her, but with Gage’s eyes. His face transformed again for a fraction of a second. "Your boyfriend thinks he can control me," Gage said.

And in that moment, his eyes changed back. Not cruel, but soft and full of love. "Shoot me, Claire. Please," Ethan begged. But just as quickly the love was replaced by hate.

Gage, who was still wearing Ethan’s face, straightened and rolled his shoulders back. With a shake of his arm, the broken bone snapped back into place and seemed to heal itself. "No reason keeping up pretenses. Now be a good girl and stop moving."

His hair began to darken and when he walked his legs shifted unnaturally, as if the bones in his body were shifting, turning him into something new and dangerous. He was only a few feet away. Claire had maybe seconds until he entirely transformed.

"You'll thank me later," Gage said. "I promise. I'm about to give you a better life."

She smiled. An honest, genuine smile.

"I already have a good life,” she said and pulled the trigger. The gun fired and drilled a bullet into his Gage’s chest, knocking him off his feet. He fell onto his back and into shallow water.

Claire dropped the gun and sank to her knees. Now she felt the cold. It seemed to seep into her skin freezing every part of her.

"Claire?" The voice was soft. Kind.

"Ethan?" She crawled over to him and lifted his head onto her lap to keep the water and blood from washing onto his face. So much blood. It poured from his body, but just as fast, the rain washed it away. She pressed her hand to the gaping wound.

"Thank you," he whispered.

She shook her head, hot tears burning her cold cheek. Ethan’s eyes closed and she shook him. "No, Ethan. Please. You can fight this. Please!”

She shook his body, pounded on his chest. Anything to get him to open his eyes again. “Come on, Ethan. Wake up!”

But his eyes remained closed. Claire frantically searched for a pulse on his neck. When she found none, her head dropped. “This wasn't supposed to happen. Not with you.”

The rain drowned her words, took her tears, and together with the blood, the sea carried them away. “You taught me to love again,” she whispered.

Claire allowed herself one minute. One minute to grieve. One minute to say goodbye. That’s all she dared take knowing that Logan was back at her house still hurt. But those sixty seconds were the most painful of her whole life.

When the time passed, she gently laid Ethan's head down, water wrapping him in a cold embrace. She stood up and faced the sea. The sailboat was still there. Still fighting.

She turned around and walked away from the man she loved. The man she had killed.

Chapter 43

CLAIRE’S HAND FELT cold over Logan's warm one. She still hadn't warmed up even though it had been four days.

Logan moaned and his eyes tightened. He still hurt a lot even though he'd never admit it. At least when he was sleeping he grimaced less. This was pain she had caused.

Kate stuck her head into the hospital room. "How long are you going to wait?" she whispered.

"Until he's awake," Claire said. She was glad Kate had come with her. She hadn't been ready to say goodbye to her last night.

"I’m going to get some breakfast,” Kate said. “You want anything?"

"Maybe something I can eat in the car."

Kate nodded once and took her head back.

Logan moaned again and tried to turn over, but his bandaged shoulder stopped him. He grumbled and fought at the sheets.

She let go of his hand. "Logan?"

He relaxed and opened his eyes. "How long have you been here?"

"A little while."

"I thought you were coming later for my big release party?"

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Better."

"Liar."

Logan attempted to sit up. He managed not to cry out, but the pain was evident in his face. "See? I'm fine."

"Not really."

"You can stop feeling guilty, Claire. It wasn't your fault. If I hadn't gone in there, guns a-blazing you probably wouldn't have shot me. It’s just that, when I saw Smith, I lost it."

Her chest tightened and she tugged at a strap from the backpack sitting on the floor next to her.

"Look at me," he said. "You didn't know. He fooled us all."

"Uh-huh." She twisted the black strap around her fingers.

"What's with the bag?"

She looked down. "I'm leaving."

Logan was quiet, then, "For how long?"

"I don’t know. Maybe until second semester. I'm going to stay with my aunt in Portland."

He turned and looked out the window. "How was the funeral?"

Claire leaned back. Smith’s funeral was yesterday. She had sat next to his wife. They both cried. “It was good. For a funeral.”

“I’m going to miss him,” he said.

She took his hand. “Me, too.”

“So Johnson’s going to take care of everything?”

Claire nodded, remembering what happened after she had shot Ethan. She’d raced back to the house and called an ambulance for Logan, who was unconscious on the floor. Then she called Officer Johnson and attempted to explain what had happened. He was one of the few who knew what was going on. It took her four tries, but finally she managed to say it all. The tears came when she mentioned Smith.

Tom, who was a Lieutenant under Smith and the senior most officer, handled everything. According to the reports, Ethan had been secretly stalking Claire for some time. He was the one who had caused Claire’s car accident, and who had killed Smith and shot Logan (Logan easily backed up the story). After Ethan had supposedly shot Logan back in the house, Claire managed to get away from him by running into the woods and to the ocean where they fought. They’d wrestled and the gun went off.

"Have they found his body yet?" Logan asked.

She shook her head. By the time Johnson and the other officers had gone out to look for Ethan, his body was gone. The tide had gone out and carried his body to sea. Claire liked this thought. The sea was a beautiful, peaceful place. Just what Ethan needed.

"And what about Bodian?" he asked.

"Have you seen the news this morning?”

Logan’s eyes flashed to the blank TV in the corner. “Not yet. What happened?”

“They announced they were shutting down their research division due to a lack of funds. Several people were let go.”

His face brightened. “That’s great! We won, Claire.”

“Won?” She frowned. “We didn’t win anything.”

“But Bodian’s gone. And Gage, too. They must’ve realized his trail would lead back to them somehow.”

“I don’t think so, but it doesn’t matter. I have everything I need." Claire patted the bag. Logan was the only one who knew that she had broken into Smith's office the night before to steal his files on Bodian.

Logan ran his hand over the bandage on his shoulder. "I wish you'd let me help."

"I'm sure I'll need your help soon."

"So you're coming back?"

Claire stood up. "Eventually. The world needs to know what Bodian did."

She leaned over and gave him a long, gentle hug. "I'll call you.”

"I'll be waiting."

Before she left the room, she glanced back at him. He was staring out the window so she couldn't see his face. If only she had listened to him. But what would she have done differently?

She thought about that question the whole way to the cafeteria where she found Kate.

"How'd it go?" Kate asked.

"Fine."

Kate patted a seat next to her. "Me and Steph will take care of him.”

"I'm counting on it." She sat next to her.

"Did Steph come by and see you last night?"

Claire leaned into the table, resting her chin on her hands. "Yeah. She brought me a road trip bag full of pop and candy."

"That was nice of her."

"Hey, Claire!" a voice called from across the cafeteria.

She turned around. Standing in the doorway was Corey. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. His hair was messy and his clothes wrinkly.

"One sec," she said to Kate and walked over to him. "What do you want?"

He shifted his body weight from one leg to another and looked around the room as if deciding how much of a scene to make. Gratefully there were several others around.

"I don't care what everyone's saying about Ethan,” he said, his voice low. “I know he wasn't a killer, and I know he wasn't stalking you. And for whatever reason, he loved you."

Claire softened her voice. "Why are you here?"

"You ruined his life," he said. "Do you know that? He had plans, big plans. I told him you were going to mess up his life, but he wouldn't listen."

"I'm sorry. Really, I am." She reached out to touch him, but he jerked away.

Corey’s lips pressed tight. He seemed like he was struggling to say something. Finally he looked at her and said, "About a week ago Ethan gave me something to give to you in case anything should happen to him. I told him he was crazy, but he made me promise."

He removed a folded up envelope in his hand and waved it in her face. "Ethan knew something was going to happen to him. How? What did you do to him?"

"I didn't do anything," she said, her eyes focused on the envelope.

"One way or another, I'm going to find out. And then you're going to pay, do you understand?" He dropped the letter at her feet and walked away.

Claire remained still for almost a minute before she finally bent over to pick up the envelope. When she did, she dropped into the nearest chair, smiled at Kate so she'd know everything was okay, then opened the letter. It read:

Claire,

If you're reading this then, thank you. It means you've done what I couldn't do—free me from Gage. I knew you would be strong enough to do it.

You probably have a million questions, and I wish I could answer them all but I only have a short time before Gage finds out what I'm doing. He's hurt and needs to rest somewhere deep inside my mind. But I have to tell you what I've seen and heard.

Bodian’s strong, stronger than you can imagine. They've unleashed others just as scary as Gage, but without the attitude. They take orders like perfect soldiers. Gage found them inside a big warehouse-like building about thirty minutes outside of Bandon. Bodian wanted him to find these guys to frighten him into submission. I don’t think it worked. He fought one of them and barely escaped with his life. Bodian could’ve killed him then if they had wanted, but they let him go.

I believe they have big plans for him. And for you. They know Gage gave you some injections. I'm only telling you this, not to scare you, but to tell you that they're coming. They think you belong to them now. I wish I knew how to stop them, but I only have a name: Dr. Prescott. Lastly, there’s a cure, Claire. It’s the only thing that terrifies Gage. Find this cure. It may be your only protection from Bodian.

I'm sorry I wasn't stronger. I'm sorry for everything. Remember to be strong. I love you, Claire.

Ethan

Claire read the letter three more times before she finally folded it up and put in her pocket.

"Everything okay?" Kate asked when Claire returned to the table.

"It will be." She picked up her bag and swung it over her shoulder. "Walk me out?"

"Of course."

"So what now?" Kate opened the front door of the hospital.

"We move on," Claire said. The files in her bag felt heavier.

"But what fun will that be if we can’t move on together?”

"Actually," she said. "I just decided that I’m coming back. I’ll just take a couple of weeks to regroup."

Kate stopped at Claire's car. "Serious? How come? I didn’t think you’d ever come back here."

A raven flew overhead. "That was before." She slid behind the steering wheel. "I have unfinished business here."

Kate rested her arm on the open door. "Aren’t you tired of fighting?"

Claire tilted the rearview mirror and stared into her solid green eyes. "I’ll stop fighting when I die."

* * *

If you enjoyed this novel, please consider leaving a review. Also, check out my bestselling Devil series

or Fractured Light trilogy!

http://amzn.to/1kUBUVD

http://www.RachelMcClellan.com

* * *

About Rachel McClellan

Rachel McClellan is the author of several young adult paranormal novels. She lives in New Hampshire, where the graveyards are as enchanting as the forests. When she’s not in her writing lair, she’s partying with her husband and four children. Her love for storytelling began as a child, when the moon first possessed each night. For when the lights went out, her imagination painted a whole new world.

And what a scary world it was…

Read More Books by Rachel McClellan

http://amzn.to/1kUBUVD

http://www.RachelMcClellan.com

Sign up for more bargain boxed sets at:

www.hotboxedbooks.com

JUMP TO...

A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE by NOREE COSPER

END OF DREAMS by KIM FAULKS

HAUNT by HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY

DARK CROSSINGS by ANN SIMKO

HEADSPACE by CALINDA B

THE OTHER F WORD by SUSAN STEC

UNLEASHED by RACHEL MCCLELLAN

HIDDEN INTENTIONS by STACY CLAFLIN

THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL by AIMEE EASTERLING

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS by KYOKO M

ST. CHARLES AT DUSK by SARAH M. CRADIT

WICKED BY NATURE by MADISON SEVIER

UNDERLIFE by MARISSA FARRAR

DRAGON’S REDEMPTION by EDEN ASHE

MILAN’S RETURN by GRAE LILY

THE BREAKERS CODE by CONNER KRESSLEY

THE MEDIUM by MR GRAHAM

WICCAN WARS by HEATHER MARIE ADKINS

CARPE NOCTEM by KATIE SALIDAS

A QUESTION OF FAITH by NICOLE ZOLTACK

HIDDEN INTENTIONS

A STANDALONE TRANSFORMED NOVEL

BY STACY CLAFLIN

Copyright © 2014 by Stacy Claflin

Her supernatural secret could doom their love…

Clara has been lucky. She's spent countless hours with William, the love of her life, without him finding out her dark and deadly secret. When she discovers a ring-sized jewelry box in William's coat, she fears her relationship with the most wonderful mortal will come crashing down.

Secrets give way to explosions and before Clara can right her wrongs, an old rival may lay her past bare and destroy the love she holds so dear.

Can William love her for who she really is?

If you love supernatural creatures, forbidden romance, and fast-paced action, then you'll love this tale of paranormal romance. Read Hidden Intentions today and see all of Clara's secrets revealed!

HIDDEN INTENTIONS

A STANDALONE TRANSFORMED NOVEL

by Stacy Claflin

http://www.stacyclaflin.com

Copyright © 2014 Stacy Claflin. All rights reserved.

Edited by Staci Troilo

Cover ©Damonza

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The author has taken great liberties with locales including the creation of fictional towns.

Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited. Do not upload or distribute anywhere.

This ebook is for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or given to others. If you would like to share this book with others, either purchase it for them or direct them to StacyClaflin.com. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

Chapter 1

THE CLOUDS BELOW reflected the sun against the blue sky. It was a beautiful sight, and Clara Erikson didn't want to take her attention away from it. She was aware of the flight attendant announcing that they were getting close to Sea-Tac, but she wanted to stay above the clouds for as long as possible.

Something brushed against her back. She turned around, her eyes adjusting to the darkened inside of the plane. After blinking a few times, she smiled seeing her long-term boyfriend, William Lennox, sleeping next to her. It had been a long flight, and he had been awake most of the night, packing after a grueling week of finals.

Clara reached over and adjusted his blanket around him. He scratched his nose, almost hitting her in the process. She kissed his hand before setting it on his lap. He looked so peaceful, she wanted to climb into his seat and snuggle up next to him. The first class seats were big, but not that big.

She turned her attention back to the clouds for a little while. That was a sight she could never get tired of seeing. If she could find a way to have a home above the clouds, she would make it happen.

Her neck warned her of impending soreness, so she brought her attention back inside the plane. Another announcement: They had a half an hour until they would land. After spending so much time in the air, taking as few connecting flights from the UK as possible, thirty minutes didn't sound so long.

Picking up her Kindle, Clara thought about what to read. She was always in the middle of a couple of books, if not more. She was a sucker for free books, and her full device was proof of that. Looking at the three books staring at her from the screen, she chose one of her favorite indie authors.

Just as she was settling into a post-apocalyptic world full of zombies bleeding rainbows, something bumped her arm. She looked over to see William rolling around—as much as he could, buckled into the seat. She put her Kindle next to her, and then fixed his blanket again. It was stuck under him, so she gave it a fast yank and it pulled free.

A little box fell from his pocket. She froze. That looked like a box from a jewelry store. It was the perfect size for a ring. She looked around to see if anyone else had seen it fall.

Clara held her breath. Should she stuff it back in his pocket, pretending that she hadn't seen it? Or should she take a peek inside?

William said something, and she looked up, feeling guilty. He was mumbling in his sleep. A sigh of relief escaped.

She looked back to the box. One little peek wouldn't hurt, would it? No one could put on a surprised face better than her, so he would never know if she saw it. She looked around to make sure no one else was watching, and then she looked back to him.

"William," she whispered, barely audible. "Are you awake?"

He didn't move.

"Do you mind if I look at the box?"

No response.

"I'll take that as a yes." She picked up the box, smiling, but then guilt ran through her. If he wanted to surprise her, she should let him. It wasn't her place to sneak a peek. It wasn't as though he had left it out for her to find…or had he?

She shook her head, sighing. She knew better than that.

Holding the box in her hand, she felt its weight. It could have had a ring inside, but it was hard to tell. It was a quality box. She recognized the logo from one of the higher-end jewelers not far from the university he attended. No matter what was inside, it was something nice.

What if it was something for his mom? He hadn't seen her for either her birthday or Mother's Day, although he had picked out some gifts online and had them sent to her. No. This had to be for her.

He said something in his sleep again. She slid the box back into his pocket, and leaned back into her seat. Could he actually be thinking about proposing? Sure, they had talked about it, but she hadn't thought he was serious. Not that she thought he was lying, but when they discussed it, they were usually sitting on their deck overlooking the city, talking about all kinds of things that could potentially happen.

Was she ready for this? She would love nothing more than to spend the rest of her days with him. He was so much fun and they rarely disagreed. It was almost as though they had been made for each other.

What would she say if he did propose? Was that what he was thinking? It couldn't be. He had so much more schooling left in front of him. After graduating, he was going to get a post-graduate degree in the states, he had his eyes on Harvard, and then he was going to take the bar exam and join his dad's firm.

Everything had been laid out since he was a young boy. He had told her plenty of stories of his childhood, and everything revolved around him going to the best schools. Even when he was in grade school, there was a lot of pressure to do well on every test. His parents said it was laying the foundation for his future.

His parents wouldn't agree to him getting married while in school, would they? No. They didn't even know that Clara had gone to England with him. Who knew what they thought she had done all school year, but William had never mentioned her being there to them, and they most certainly had never asked.

Clara sighed. What was in that box? She looked back over to William. He had readjusted his position again, and was practically on top of it. She couldn't get to it anymore.

Maybe it was a pair of earrings. A pair of diamond studs could easily fit into the box. That had to be it. He couldn't realistically be thinking about marriage.

She grabbed her Kindle and read about zombies chasing a family through an abandoned mall. She couldn't focus, though. What if William was planning on proposing? What if he really wanted to marry her? What if he had been serious, and not just dreaming aloud, when he had brought up marriage?

Clara sighed again. Would it really be so bad? She had always wanted to plan a wedding. Picking out clothes was her specialty. Her friends always wanted her opinion because she had a real eye for style. It could be a lot of fun.

But there was one problem. She hadn't told William her secret yet. Would he even want to marry her if he knew? If he even believed it. It would be hard for him to believe, sounding more like a movie than anything from reality.

Why hadn't she told him before? Now she would have to tell him before he gave her whatever was inside the box. Her stomach twisted in knots at the thought. She knew exactly why she had never brought it up. She didn't want to lose him.

If nothing else, at least she thought they would have his years of schooling together. Including the time they spent together when he was in high school, it would have been nearly a decade. That was longer than most marriages lasted these days, anyway.

Their time together was better than she dreamed it could have been. She didn't want to do anything to risk losing that. After seeing the jewelry box, it wasn't only telling the secret that was a problem, keeping it would be too. It was almost lying. She wouldn't actually lie to him. If he came out and asked her about it, she would tell him the whole truth. But of course he had never asked her about it.

She watched him sleep. More than anything, Clara had wanted a nice, relaxing summer with him. Especially after the arduous semester he had just had.

His eyes opened, and she jumped.

William smiled, rubbing his eyes. "I must have fallen asleep."

"You needed it." Clara forced a smile in return.

He sat up, knocking the blanket to the floor. His hand shot to the pocket where the box was. Clara watched from the corner of her eyes as he pushed it deep inside his pocket. He didn't want her seeing it…not yet, at least. "I did. I hope the flight wasn't too boring for you."

She shook her head and held up her Kindle. "You know me. I have more books than time."

"That's true. Did the zombies get killed yet?"

Clara smiled, staring into his deep blue eyes. Although he didn't have time for reading fiction, he always wanted to hear about what she was reading. She loved that he was that interested in her. "No. They trapped the family in a mall, cornering them in a jewelry store. I think all that broken glass will be to their advantage." She watched his reaction when she mentioned the store, but he hadn't even flinched.

He leaned over, giving her a kiss. "If we ever run into zombies, I promise to protect you."

"You're so sweet." She ran her fingers through his ruffled hair. He had messed it up while sleeping. "But you know that I would actually be the one keeping you safe."

"Really?" He put his hand on her face, pulling her closer. "You think so?"

"I know so."

He kissed her deeply, sending shivers from her head to her toes. "You seem pretty sure of yourself."

Clara ran her fingers through his hair again, half playing and half trying to fix it. "I couldn't risk anything happening to you."

The flight attendant announced their impending descent and told everyone to put their seatbelts on.

William sneaked another kiss. "They're so bossy."

"Yeah. Not wanting anyone to get killed. It's horrible." Clara flipped her long, blonde hair.

"Well, when you put it that way." He grinned. He sat up, reaching for his seatbelt.

She leaned over the arm rest and gave him another kiss. "There will be more of that waiting for you when we get back to Delphic Cove."

"Is that a promise or a threat?"

"What do you think?"

He looked like he was thinking hard. "Both."

"You're right." She gave him a playful shove before putting on her own belt.

The flight attendant went over the rules. Clara could have gotten up and said the speech word for word herself, because she had heard it so many times. It was too bad they didn't spice it up a bit once in a while.

"Did you double check with the Fergusons?" William asked. "They're going to be there to pick you up?"

She nodded. "They said they'd be there early." She looked at her phone. "That means they're probably there now."

"Good. You'll be staying with them the whole summer?"

"Yes. I'll only be across town from you. You make it sound like we won't see each other."

"You wish." He gave her a devious grin, looking so adorable she wanted to unbuckle and give him another kiss.

William had to have been reading her mind, because he took off his seatbelt and leaned over the seat, giving her a kiss. The box fell out of his pocket and landed on the seat next to him.

Clara's breath caught and she tried looking out of the corner of her eyes to see if the box had opened. She couldn't tell and William didn't appear to notice that it had fallen.

A flight attendant walked by and scolded him for being unbuckled. He sat down. "Ow!" He reached down and pulled the box out from under his leg.

"What's that?" Clara asked, feigning innocence as only she could.

William stared at her, the color draining from his face.

Chapter 2

"OH, COME ON. What's in the box?" Clara asked as they walked off the plane.

"I told you. It's nothing."

She ran her fingers through his wavy, light brown hair. "You can tell me. We even have some time before our rides arrive to pick us up."

He turned and looked at her. "Why can't you let it go?"

Clara worked up her best pouty face and batted her eyelashes. "Because I know it's a jewelry box. Did you get me those earrings I was gushing over on that commercial?"

"What if I did and wanted it to be a surprise?"

He wouldn't worry about earrings being a surprise. It had to be a ring in there. Clara took a deep breath. Was he really planning on proposing sometime over the summer? She really wasn't ready for that, at least not yet. And what if he didn't want anything to do with her after learning about her secret?

She took his hand. "If you don't want to tell me, then I understand. Let's get our luggage."

He smiled, looking relieved. "It's not going to be the same now. I'm going to miss seeing you as much."

"We might actually get to spend more time together, you know. It's summer. You won't have your classes anymore, and that includes homework." She gave him a playful shove, trying to hide her disappointment, knowing they actually would see so little of each other.

"That's one way to look at it." He fixed his collar.

Clara held onto her breath. Everything he did, even something as simple as fixing his shirt, melted her. He was so handsome, so gorgeous, and so sexy. His almond-shaped eyes and dimples were enough to stop her in her tracks at any moment.

The fact that William adored her still blew Clara away, even after having spent most of the last year together in England, while he attended college. Most everyone in his family, for generations, had gone over there to school, and he had been expected to as well.

Time and money were all Clara had, so it hadn't even taken her two seconds to decide to travel with him while he went to school. She had always enjoyed the island, and it had been even better with him.

They stopped in front of a window and watched a plane take off. Clara ran the back of her hand along his stubble which was just starting to poke out from the long trip. "How much longer until you get picked up?"

William pulled out his iPhone. "Probably now, but they can wait." He grinned wide, pulling her close. "I want to keep looking at you so I don't forget how beautiful you are."

She pushed herself closer, kissing his cheek. "You know, I'm only going to be across town. I can meet with you at a moment's notice. I'm going to be staying with the Fergusons this summer. It'll be just like when we met."

He touched her cheek and kissed her lightly on the lips. "I'll never forget the day we met."

"Me neither. You almost didn't introduce yourself to me." Clara ran her fingers through his still-rumpled hair, messing it up further.

"And you almost didn't either, if I remember correctly. That was the only time I ever saw you stumbling over your words."

She stood taller. "It doesn't happen often. But what can I say? You have that effect on me."

He gave her an inquisitive look. "I've never understood that."

Clara ran her fingertip along his eyebrows. "That's because you don't give yourself enough credit. Your parents expect so much of you. You only see where you don't measure up. On the other hand, I know exactly how incredible you are."

A funny look came over his face. Clara looked at him curiously, but didn't say anything.

Finally, she couldn't take it any longer. "What are you thinking?"

"Maybe I will show you what's in the box."

Clara's eyes widened and she was left speechless. What if it was an engagement ring?

William stepped back, reaching for his pocket.

She was not ready for this—it couldn't be happening. Not in the middle of the airport. She pulled her phone out of her purse. "Oh, would you look at the time? The Fergusons should be here. In fact, I bet they're waiting for me right now. Call me when you get settled in?"

William looked confused, and even a little hurt, but his phone rang. He sighed, looking disappointed. "I can't put them off much longer, either." He pushed ignore and put the phone away.

She took his hand and walked toward the luggage claim, glad to have successfully distracted him from the jewelry box. "Are you going to tell them that I joined you overseas?"

"You know it's easier if I don't. They don't want me having any distractions. If they knew, they would find a way to keep us apart. I don't want that." He interlocked his fingers with hers. "But I'll do everything I can to spend every spare moment with you."

"Will I get to spend some time with them? I've barely met your family."

His phone rang again, and he pressed ignore again. "I'll work on them. You know they—"

The phone rang again. Rolling his eyes, he answered it. "I'm on my way. Yes, I know…See you soon." He ended the call, shaking his head. "I haven't missed that at all. Fun times ahead."

"Good. Then you'll miss me all the more and be more eager to plan dates."

"I certainly will. I'll call you as soon as I can."

She looked behind him. "What's that?"

He looked confused. "Where?"

She grabbed his phone, clicked over to the camera, and aimed it at them. "Say cheese."

William laughed, and she snapped a couple pictures.

"Those are so cute." She sent them to her phone. "Now we'll have those to look at when we miss each other."

"Because the other two hundred won't do?"

She kissed his perfect, chiseled nose. "I don't know about you, but I can't have too many of you."

His phone went off again. Clara looked at it, still holding it. "You have a text."

He took the phone. "I should have known. They sent their driver. At least once I'm home, I'll have my own car to drive around. You going to get to the Ferguson's okay? I'd offer you a ride, but the driver would tell my parents." He shrugged, wrinkling his dark eyebrows.

"Got it covered. Like I told you."

William didn't look convinced. "I'm sorry. You probably think I'm a wimp the way I let my parents dictate everything."

Clara squeezed one of his muscular arms. "Not even close. You're just a good son—something the world needs more of these days. You're as strong as they come."

He blushed, smiling at her. He was too easy to embarrass, and she loved it.

Her phone rang. She dug it out of her purse and saw a text from Natalie Ferguson, saying where they were waiting to pick her up. Clara held up the text, frowning. "Looks like I have to get going."

William nodded. "Did they ever find out what happened to their daughter?"

"Alexis. There are only rumors, really." Clara knew the truth, but she wasn't ready to tell William yet. It was part of her secret, and that part wasn't hers to tell. It was true that rumors were floating around, so she was just going to stick with that.

"That whole situation is just weird."

Clara stopped herself from frowning. He had no idea just how right he was.

He put his hands on Clara's face and pressed his lips against hers, prolonging the kiss. "I'm going to miss you." William brushed his lips against hers and held her gaze. It was the perfect parting airport kiss. Then he walked away, watching her until he was out of sight.

As wonderful as he was, she let out a sigh of relief. What was she going to do if he tried to propose? She would have to tell him everything—and she would have to do that before he brought out a ring. If indeed that was his plan. He needed to know her full story before he committed to a life with her. It wouldn't be fair to him.

Even if it meant she would lose him, she needed to find the right time and place to tell him.

She looked at Natalie's text again to see where the Fergusons were, and then found her one piece of luggage and ran to the other end of the airport as quickly as possible.

When she reached the Fergusons, Clara gave them each a hug.

"It's so good to see you again, Clara," Mrs. Ferguson said. "I'm glad you could stay with us this summer." Even though she was smiling, Clara could see the pain in her eyes.

Jack gave her a hug too. She could see the same ache in his face too. Their oldest daughter, Alexis, had been missing for a year, and they didn't have any ideas where she was.

Natalie didn't hold the same look. She and Clara both knew Alexis was alive and well, but as far as Clara knew, neither of them had any desire to speak with her.

Janet looked at Clara. "Are you hungry? We can go to that French restaurant that we used to go to."

"That sounds great, Mrs. Ferguson. Thank you."

"How many times have we told you to call us Jack and Janet?"

Clara shrugged. "I know. I was raised to be respectful of my elders."

Natalie poked her dad. "I think she just called you old."

He poked her back. "Obviously we didn't raise you to be respectful enough."

"Hey!"

They made small talk as they made their way to the car, and then to the restaurant in Delphic Cove. They sat in the same section that Alexis and Clara had sat the evening they had met William. Alexis had been grounded, but they sneaked out that night, and it ended up being the best decision of Clara's life. She sighed, thinking about the first time she laid her eyes upon his.

"Are you tired from the flight?" Mr. Ferguson asked.

She brought her attention back to the present. "Yeah, I suppose I am. How have you guys been?"

He smiled, looking proud. "Natalie just graduated."

"And Braydon proposed," Natalie squealed. She held out her hand and Clara gasped at the size of the rock weighing down her hand. Natalie giggled. "It's gorgeous, isn't it?"

"I'll say." Clara nodded. "Congratulations." She looked at Natalie's parents to gauge their reactions. They seemed happy enough. She turned back to Natalie. "Are you going to college?"

"I'm not sure. If I do, it would only be for volleyball. I was offered some scholarships, but I haven't decided. Volleyball is fun, but I want to plan the wedding."

Janet nodded. "She's probably going to follow in my footsteps and never have to work a day in her life."

Natalie grinned. "Braydon has been training with his uncle. You know he owns the town's big steel factory, right? Well, one day soon, Braydon will be running things. He already made enough to pay off the ring before he even gave it to me."

"It sounds like you're set." Clara smiled.

Back at the house, Clara settled into Alexis' room, which had been prepared for her. She had been hoping to have their guest room again, as that was the room she'd had when staying there as a foreign exchange student a couple of years earlier.

The room looked exactly as it had when Alexis disappeared. Clara could never forget that day—the day her father had died and her mother disappeared. She sighed, not wanting to think about any of it.

Now, Alexis was out of Clara's life and neither of them would ever see their parents again.

There was a knock on the door. Grateful for the distraction from her thoughts, Clara called, "Come in."

Natalie came in and closed the door behind her. "Have you heard from Alexis?"

Clara shook her head. "I haven't tried contacting her either."

Looking at Clara sadly, Natalie sat on the bed. "She's contacted me a few times, but I haven't responded. Not after what happened. I just can't. I know she didn't want me involved that night, but I got dragged in, and I'm never going to be the same after almost getting killed."

"Who can blame you?" Clara sat next to her. "She's the reason I changed my number."

Natalie tilted her head. "Really?"

"Yeah. I don't want anything to do with her. I don't know if I'll ever speak to her again."

"Her birth parents died that night too, didn't they?" Natalie asked.

Clara nodded. "Her parents, Cliff's parents, and my father were all killed. I'll probably never see my mother again either."

"She says she and Cliff had a baby. Can you believe they had a kid? She's only nineteen—and she was supposed to be the responsible one. They've just gone on with life as if nothing even happened. "

"She has all she needs. She'll be just fine without us, and we'll be just as good without her. Does everyone in town still think she ran off with Mr. Foley?"

"No. He was back to teaching math the first day of school. He had some family members that vouched for him, saying he had spent the summer with them. At least everything has gotten back to normal. It's like all the crazy left with my sister."

"Pretty much. I don't want to think about that night anymore. Are there any parties going on tonight? I'd love to get out do something."

Smiling, Natalie nodded. "I like the way you think. Well, it's a Thursday. I'll text some friends and see if anything's going on."

Chapter 3

WILLIAM UNPACKED HIS luggage as slow as he could, already tired of his parents. He looked at the alarm clock by his bed. He had only been home for a few minutes, and they had already managed to get under his skin.

Being away, and especially with Clara, had been everything he hoped it would be. Sure, his parents still called and emailed him, pushing him to focus on his grades, but at least they had been far enough away that he could ignore them. Now that he was back not only on the same continent, but in the same house, it was as though he had never left.

His dad had already informed him of their schedule for the next week, which was mostly filled with time spent following him around the office. His dad was a lawyer, just like his father before him, and his grandfather before him, and his great-grandfather, and beyond. The men in his family had all been lawyers for as long as they had records. And they had records—plenty of them.

As a kid, William had been forced to look through them with his dad countless times. He had been made to memorize their names and other various details as though the family albums were a history book. It hadn't been too hard to memorize, because half of his forefathers had also been named William, although most of them used one of the many nicknames available. For whatever reason, it was a family name, passed down, along with the expectation to become a lawyer.

His dad walked in. "What's taking you so long, son?"

William groaned in silence. "I'm tired, Dad. I just flew in from England. Don't you remember the long flight and the time difference?"

"That's true. I hope you're up for dinner because I had Sally prepare your favorite." His dad slapped his back.

His stomach growled at the thought of eating. He had missed their cook's meals. There was a good reason they paid so much for her to stay with them all those years.

"You can unpack later. Let's talk about what you've learned over the school year."

"Sure." William nodded and followed his dad to his study. His dad pulled out one of the many old albums.

"But before we do that, I want to see what you remember from these."

"You think I could forget? You've had me memorize those since I was three. I could be in a coma for ten years, and still remember every detail when I woke up."

"Good. Now show me." He shoved the album into William's hands.

William sighed. His dad knew nothing about being tired. He went in early every morning and came home late. He was in love with money, and always took on more clients than he should so he could buy more things to show off.

They sat on the couch, and his dad opened the album to the first page. "Who is that?"

"That would be a William. Surprise, surprise."

"I'm going to ignore your remarks because you're jet lagged. You're going to need to pull yourself together. Tomorrow after lunch, you should be rested, and I expect you to behave."

Looking down, William rolled his eyes. "Yes, Father."

His dad leaned back. "So, tell me about this William and his family."

"This one went by Liam. His wife was Anna, and their kids were Raymond, Charles, and Emily. He was the youngest of our family to become a lawyer, but he was persecuted because he often took on clients who were accused of being witches. It was rumored that as a young man, before he met Anna, he had been in love with one of them. Some said he never truly got over her and that was why he—" William froze, staring at the picture.

"Go on."

William's pulse quickened as he stared at the image. He had never noticed it before, but in the family picture, someone was hiding in the background, in between some trees. She appeared to be staring at the family—and she looked just like Clara.

"Son?"

He shook his head, and mindlessly rattled off more facts about the pictures. He couldn't take his eyes off the girl that looked just like his girlfriend. If he didn't know better, he would think that she could have actually been her. Throw on two-hundred-year-old clothing, take off the modern makeup, and it really could have been her.

No one had ever mentioned that girl in the picture before. William wasn't even sure how he was able to see it then. But now that he could see it, he couldn't take his eyes off her. All those years he had looked at the albums, how had he missed it?

Sally came in and announced dinner, and William's dad took the album and put it back on his shelf. William couldn't stop thinking about the picture. He tried to convince himself that he was imagining it, but the image was burned into his mind, and he couldn't deny what was there.

Obviously, it was impossible for the girl to have been Clara. Could it have been one of her past relatives? How strange that her relative would be in the same picture as one of his. Not only that, but the relative of his in the picture—another William—was practically his twin. Had they been alive at the same time, no one would have been able to tell William and Liam apart.

"William."

He looked up from his plate. His mom looked at him expectantly. "Sorry. I didn't hear you."

She smiled. "Don't worry about it, baby. I'm sure you're tired." She turned to her husband. "Will, why don't you let him get to bed early tonight? Poor thing is terribly jet lagged."

"Yeah." Kathryn, his younger sister, set down her fork. "Give him a break, Dad. He just had finals and then a long plane ride."

Will nodded. "You ladies are right." He turned to William. "I don't mean to push you too hard, son. You know I just want you to be the best you can be."

"I know, Dad." William piled more food onto his plate. The food was delicious, and he couldn't get enough.

Sally brought a plate of hot muffins, and Will smiled at her. "Looks like the boy missed your cooking."

She smiled at William. "We've all missed you while you've been away. Even your sister."

Kathryn gave a playful smile. "Maybe a little."

William nodded. "I missed you guys too." He went back to his food, unable to stop thinking about the picture. He was only vaguely aware of the discussion going on around him. He was glad to have the jet lag excuse, because no one questioned why he was being so quiet. Usually, he was full of lively discussion, never one to be without words.

He couldn't shake the feeling that the picture meant something. Why had no one ever noticed the girl hiding? And why would he notice it then? There had to be a reason for it. Had their ancestors known each other? What if Clara's relative had been his relative's secret love, the one rumored to be a witch?

No. That was too far-fetched. Maybe the jet lag really was getting to him. It was too crazy to be true. The chances of both Clara and William having ancestors who looked just like them alive at the same time was probably minuscule. Much less that they would have been in love.

He was jet lagged, tired, and missing his girlfriend. That's all it was. He just needed some sleep and some of Clara's sweet kisses.

William excused himself from dinner and went to his room. He sat on his bed, looking at the mess he had made unpacking. He didn't even care. Normally, he was as neat as a pin, any mess driving him crazy.

There were so many scenarios running through his mind, most of them completely absurd. Maybe he should become a writer instead of a lawyer. He obviously had a wild enough imagination.

Climbing into bed, he didn't care that he was still dressed. He had to get to the bottom of the picture mystery. But, really, was that possible? It was nearly two hundred years old. How would he be able to find anything out about an anonymous face in a picture that old? The girl could have been anyone, and just because she looked like Clara didn't mean that they had any connection.

The doppelganger effect was supposed to be a scientific fact, and that meant that everyone supposedly had a double somewhere. Maybe that girl from long ago was just proof of that.

William closed his eyes, trying to get his mind off the picture. He would drive himself crazy trying to figure it out while he was so tired. He might never find out the answer. If the girl had wanted to be seen, she wouldn't have been hiding.

He sighed, allowing his mind to wander. Images of the last school year overseas floated through his mind. Then he remembered back to the day when he had met Clara. She and her cousin had been sitting across the restaurant from him, and he couldn't take his eyes off either of them. They were both gorgeous, way out of his league, in fact.

Usually, girls like them weren't in Delphic Cove. They were on the covers of magazines or in the movies. Much like dinner that night at home, William couldn't pay attention to his family's conversation. He kept looking over at Clara's table from the corner of his eyes. Before long, he noticed Clara staring at him.

He hadn't thought that was possible. Sure, he was better than average-looking, but not good enough for someone like her to look at twice. He had looked around the restaurant, thinking that someone else had caught her attention, but there was no one. Even his sister had noticed Clara's stares. She urged him to introduce himself, pretending to find a pen on the floor.

The whole thing was about as stupid as possible, but Clara herself was stumbling over her words as they introduced themselves. The way she was acting, one would have thought that William had been a famous actor or something.

William smiled, remembering how quickly they had both connected and warmed up—after Clara had choked on her drink. What was it that he had said before she began choking? It was hard to remember a conversation from nearly two years before, but he was pretty sure all he had said was his name.

That was ridiculous. Why would saying his name cause her to choke? His name was William. It's not like he had the same name as hot Hollywood actor or anything.

He rolled over, frustrated. He groaned. He felt like he was close to something—probably sleep. He was so tired, he wasn't making any sense. Not even to himself.

Then he sat up. After Clara had stopped choking, she asked him if William was a family name. That was a strange question. He hadn't thought about it at the time, although it did seem like an odd question. He had spent his whole life going over his family history. He thought maybe she knew something about family names.

Maybe that was it, but at the same time, maybe it wasn't. As far-fetched as it was, there had to be something to all of this. Gorgeous Clara staring at him, choking when hearing his name, knowing that it was a family name, and now the picture of her doppelganger looking at his own doppelganger ancestor.

It was all too much to be a coincidence.

Chapter 4

THE FIRE CRACKED and popped in front of Clara. She pulled the stick out and looked at the marshmallow. It was a perfect golden color, so she ate it directly from the stick, not paying any attention to the burning sensation. It would heal soon enough.

Next to her, Natalie and Braydon were feeding each other s'mores. Clara listened for sounds indicating that William was making his way to them. Natalie couldn't find any parties, so she threw one together at the last minute herself, inviting everyone she knew out into the woods near a middle school.

Doubtful that he would come, Clara had texted William. He had said that he would try to get out, but that he didn't hold out much hope. His parents hadn't seen him in months and had packed his week full of activities. His dad had even gone so far as to take the week off.

Natalie caught Clara's attention and smiled. She smiled back, not feeling it, and then reached for another marshmallow. Everyone around the fire had coupled off except for her. Hanging out with a bunch of just-graduated high schoolers wasn't all she had hoped it would be—and she hadn't had high hopes to begin with.

What had she been thinking, moving back in with the Fergusons? She should have known that she would barely see William all summer. Back when they had first met, it was like pulling teeth to get together with him because of his parents, even though they had managed a lot of dates. They hadn't made it easy, and she was sure that he had to have lied to them quite a number of times. What she should have done was to make other plans for the season so that when they met back up for school in England in the fall, they would be extra eager to see each other.

Instead, she would be stuck in the boring, small town of Delphic Cove with nothing to do except hang out with high schoolers. She jammed the stick into the crackling fire. At least when Alexis was in town, they had been able to get out and have some real fun.

Clara shook her head. She needed to get those thoughts out of her mind. Alexis was out of her life now and she needed to figure out what to do with herself. Maybe she should give it a few days, or even a week, and see if William would follow through and see her as often as he said he would.

They had only been back in town for less than twelve hours. She really couldn't judge an entire summer based on that. Besides, he was probably jet lagged. He didn't have the resources that she did, and he would probably need extra sleep, especially to keep up with all the plans his parents had made.

Was there anyone in the area that she knew? When Clara had first arrived in town, her friend Jordan had shown up and they'd had some fun toying with Alexis. Every once in a while old friends would show up, but the chances were low this time, since she didn't think anyone knew she was back.

Bringing her attention to the fire, she pulled out the charred marshmallow and stared at it, watching it cool. She tried to block out the sounds of happy couples all around her, but a stupid piece of charred sugar on a stick wasn't going to get her mind off William. She had just had the best months of her life being away with him, forgetting about everything else.

Spinning the stick, she thought back to life before meeting him. Clara had had plenty to forget about then, too. She always seemed to have something from her past haunting her. First it was the crushing blows from the two other times she had given her heart away.

Both of them had burned her so badly that she almost didn't even give William a chance. She wasn't sure she could risk love again, but then Alexis had talked her into it. She had been so happy with love that she wanted Clara to have some too. In all irony, now it was Alexis haunting her thoughts.

She jammed the burnt marshmallow into her mouth. She had to get away from the party. She looked at her phone and saw that it was pushing midnight. Reading her Kindle would be better than this. She had plenty of non-romantic, non-betraying best friend novels on there to keep her distracted. Not that being in Alexis' room would help much.

Clara nudged Natalie. "I'm going to get out of here."

Natalie looked surprised. "Already? Wait. You can't walk home. It's too far. We won't be much longer. I'll take you back."

"You know me. I'll be fine."

"Yeah. I suppose you will. Well, be careful. Okay?"

"As always." Clara got up and ran out of the woods. Just running helped her to feel better and get her mind off things. Once she was out of the woods, she looked around, deciding where to go. She wasn't tired, and really didn't feel like going back to the Ferguson's yet.

Not a lot would be open, so she kept running, not even breaking a sweat. She saw a coffee shop open. The sign on the door indicated they sold ice cream, which sounded really good. She slowed her pace down to a walk, fluffed her hair out, and then went inside.

She went to the counter and placed her order. When she had a bowl of ice cream and a mocha, she looked around for a seat. She made eye contact with someone in the back of the room. He smiled at her, and she nodded.

It was Tobias, also known as Mr. Foley, the teacher that every parent wanted to stay away from their daughters.

He waved her over, and she groaned, but went. At least it should be an interesting discussion.

She sat, not saying anything. She had never hidden her disdain for the guy.

"What are you doing back in town, Clara?"

"Just making sure it's in one piece. Glad to see it's not burned to the ground."

He smiled, looking amused. Even though she couldn't stand him, she could understand why all the girls fell for him. He was definitely a looker. But she wasn't going to melt at what Alexis had called his 'Hollywood smile.'

"Have you seen Alexis?"

"Nope." She took a bite of her mint ice cream.

He looked around. "I haven't seen her since that night."

"Me neither." Clara took another bite, looking away from him.

"You haven't?"

She shook her head.

"Why not?"

"Haven't wanted to. I'm guessing you didn't want to see her with her happy little family."

Tobias shook his head. "No. I was going to say goodbye before I left, but I couldn't bring myself to."

"I doubt she needs us."

"Do you know if she's okay?"

"She's living her happily ever after. I'm sure she's fabulous."

His face darkened. "Her parents died that night. Didn't she lose her best friend, too?"

"Yeah, because I won't speak to her."

"I meant her other friend. Brooke?"

"Oh, her. Yeah, apparently she died too." Clara hadn't meant to sound so callous about Brooke dying, but she wasn't going to apologize to Tobias.

"You know, we don't have to be enemies."

"Whatever."

"That's what it was all about. We were on your side."

She took a sip of her coffee. "How was your school year? I'm surprised you weren't chased away from the high school."

A sad smile spread across his face. "I nearly was. But I had enough people vouching for me that I had been with them all summer."

"But you were the last one seen with Alexis before she disappeared. Weren't people suspicious?"

He nodded, sipping from his own cup. "As I told everyone else, she was upset and ran off. I tried to stop her, talk her out of doing anything foolish. You know, what any decent teacher would do."

Clara raised an eyebrow. "Right."

"I couldn't convince her, and I couldn't hold her against her will, so I let her go."

"That's a good story. I like it."

"Well, I'm still here, teaching. That's all I could ask for."

"Not dating any more students?"

"We didn't technically start dating until after she graduated."

"Interesting how that worked out for you."

"Is there something you want to say to me, Clara?"

"Isn't there always? Why did you wave me over here? You know I've never been your biggest fan."

He grinned. "You've never been my fan, period."

"Why, then?"

"I thought you would have heard from her. That's all."

"Nope. Not after everything that went down."

"I'm sorry about your parents."

She shrugged. "It is what it is. I didn't lose as much as some people did. How are all those other parents doing? You know, of those dead kids who were under your watch?"

He sighed. "Most of the kids under my watch, as you put it, are still alive and well. It was the other ones who weren't so lucky. I warned them all what would happen, but they wouldn't listen to me. When they broke away like they did, no one wanted to hear what I had to say, even though it would have saved a lot of lives."

Clara raised an eyebrow. "But still, most of them were just kids."

"They knew what they were getting into. If they would have listened to me, they would most likely still be here today. In many cases, their families knew what was going on. They knew the risks."

"Whatever you have to tell yourself, Foley."

He looked toward the door. "You don't have to stay here. I'm not holding you hostage. Like I said, I was just hoping you had spoken with Alexis."

She took a sip of her mocha, deciding whether to tell him anything or not. "Last I saw her, she was doing quite well. I wish I could say so much for her sister, who was traumatized by the whole thing."

"Francine never should have involved her, but she didn't care who she hurt. If it weren't for her, the entire night of bloodshed would have been avoided."

"I don't want to talk about that night anymore. There were too many lives lost, and nothing we can do will change that."

He looked her in the eyes. "You have nothing to feel bad about, Clara. You saved Natalie's life."

She shook her head. "It wasn't enough. I should have known Francine would have gone after her and used her as leverage against Alexis. I should have been there to prevent Natalie from getting involved in the first place."

Tobias put his cup down. "Hindsight is twenty-twenty. You did as much as you could. We all did."

"It wasn't enough. We should have done more." Why was she opening up to him? They had nothing in common, aside from technically being on the same side that night in the woods.

"Every death is on Francine and George. They're the ones who brought all of this on everyone. She was the one who wanted all that power. It was her who lured everyone into the woods. Francine promised power and riches to all those kids, making them believe that it would come to them easily if they just followed her."

Clara felt a headache coming on.

"Francine used them, knowing most of them would get killed. She wanted to make sure that there were so many others no one could touch her. Thankfully that much backfired on her, because she's dead."

"At the hand of the one she wanted to kill." Clara nodded. "You're right, Tobias. Every death that night is on her, because not one person would have been there had she not orchestrated the entire thing. We should probably be glad that it didn't end up worse."

"It easily could have, Clara. She had rounded up others who were waiting for her word. They would have joined in had she given the word. Let it all go. You can't spend the rest of your life reliving the horrors of that night. Move on with your life and enjoy it."

"That's what I've been doing, but coming back here has thrown it all back at me. Natalie's still dealing with it, Alexis is gone, and their parents are crushed. It's written all over their faces."

Tobias put his hand on Clara's. "It's over and done. We can't do anything to change a single detail. Don't let yourself remain tortured. If anything, let your feelings remind yourself that you're one of the good ones."

Tears sprang to her eyes. As much as she hated to admit it, it was nice to have someone to talk with about everything, and even better, someone who was used to being a teacher. He spoke with the right mixture of authority and kindness that his words hit her to the core, actually helping her to believe what he was saying. "Thank you."

"It's obvious how much you care. If you could have prevented everything, you would have. But there's nothing you could have done. Everyone there against Francine tried to stop it. When evil is determined, people end up hurt."

"And dead." She took a sip of her drink, feeling a burden lifted that she almost hadn't noticed until it was gone.

Chapter 5

WHEN WILLIAM WOKE up, the house was quiet. It was after ten, so his mom was probably at the country club and Kathryn was either sleeping or at some lesson. They never truly had a summer break. Their parents always had them learning one thing or another, even on Christmas day. That was why his dad was taking him to the office after lunch on his vacation.

He poked his head out of his room and looked around. He didn't see anyone. Keeping his ears open for any sound, he made his way to his dad's study. It was empty, thank goodness. William went in and grabbed the album. He sat on the couch and stared at the picture. That girl really could have been Clara. Not just someone who looked like her, but actually her.

Of course it was difficult to tell for sure, given the fact that the picture was probably taken with one of the oldest cameras in existence and that the girl was hiding in the background. It was nowhere near as clear as the pictures on his phone.

His eyes started playing tricks on him as he continued to stare at the old photo. He flipped through the pages of the album, trying to clear his mind. He also hoped that there might be another clue, but the chances were minimal. Once he got past Liam's grandkids, he knew that Liam would have already died, and so would have the Clara lookalike.

He strained his eyes looking for her in the pages that held Liam's children and grandchildren. He couldn't find Clara's twin in any of the other pictures, not that he actually expected to. One could hope, though.

Could finding the picture of the girl mean something? Maybe that he and Clara were meant to be. What if their ancestors had been unable to live out their love because she had been a witch? That was heartbreaking to think about. What if his namesake had been forced to marry someone he didn't want to because of the beliefs about witches of the day?

Could he and Clara somehow make right the wrongs of the past? Or was that ridiculous?

William shook his head, again thinking that he should consider a career as a novelist rather than an attorney. He was concocting some strange stories that were only fitting for fiction. What were the chances of their ancestors being in love, but forced apart?

He went back to the first picture. The feeling that he was staring at his girlfriend wouldn't leave him. Obviously, he wasn't looking at Clara, but there was a reason for him seeing that then. His father had looked at the pictures his whole life, as had his father, going all the way back as far as the album had been put together.

Sighing, William flipped through the pages, this time going further. He stopped at another William who looked a lot like him. He went by Wiley, and his pictures were clearer. He didn't look as much like a twin as Liam, but they could have easily been mistaken if they had been alive at the same time.

"What the—?" William stared at a picture of Wiley, again noticing someone hiding in the background. This time, it was a girl again, but she was hidden even better. Her face was partially covered, but she looked like Clara.

Chills ran down William's back. Either he was losing his mind, or something strange was going on. The two men in the album who looked just like him both had a picture of someone who looked like Clara. How was that possible? What did it mean?

He flipped through the rest of the book, studying each and every picture. It was only those two that had the girls—or girl—hiding, and both times, she looked like Clara and his relative looked just like him.

William rubbed his temples. What was going on? Had he entered the Twilight Zone? Was he being Punked? Had someone photo-shopped the images? He looked around for hidden cameras, but didn't see any. He then looked around for Clara hiding. Obviously, he didn't see her either.

Flipping back and forth between the two pictures, he tried to make sense of it. Nothing made sense. It had to mean something. It just had to. But what?

His dad walked in. He looked surprised, but then happy. "I'm so glad to see you in here, looking at those. Are you getting inspired to learn more about our legal system?"

William closed the album, afraid that his dad would figure out what he was doing. But how could he figure that out? He had spent over fifty years looking at those and never mentioned seeing the hiding girls. "Yeah. Something like that."

"Why don't you get cleaned up, and I'll have Sally get some lunch started?"

"Okay." William put the album back in its place, and went to his room without a word. He picked up his iPhone to look through the pictures of Clara. Just as it went to the first picture, it rang, showing her number.

He took a moment to shake off everything he was feeling from those old pictures. "Good morning, beautiful."

"Morning? Is it still morning? You must have had some good sleep." He could practically hear her smiling, which further melted away whatever strange feelings lingered. Anything the pictures might have meant, they had nothing to do with her. How could they?

"I suppose I did. It sounds like you're rested."

"I am. I miss you."

"Me too. I want to see you." Should he tell her about the pictures? Probably not over the phone.

"Does your dad have your schedule packed?"

"So far as I can tell. He's taking me to his office after lunch, and I have no idea how long that's going to take."

"That's a bummer." The disappointment in her voice was undeniable.

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right? Just think of how happy we'll be to see each other."

"When?"

"Hopefully soon."

She sighed. "Maybe you could see about having me over for dinner. That way they could still spend time with you and so can I. Besides, I haven't officially met them yet, and wouldn't you say it's about time?"

"Yes, but you don't know them. I can't just—"

"What's the matter? I don't embarrass you, do I?"

"What? Are you kidding? I couldn't be prouder to be seen with anyone else. You're gorgeous and smart, not to mention funny and sweet. You're practically perfect."

She laughed. "Practically?"

He grinned, having all but forgotten his concerns over the pictures. "No one's perfect."

"I thought you were. Now I have my doubts."

William laughed. "After spending all the time with me that you have, I would think you would know how far from perfect I am."

"You're pretty close. Introduce me to your parents, and then you will be."

"Can you wait another day? I need to figure out how to tell them that I'm even seeing someone. They don't approve of us seriously dating while in school. You know that."

"Oh, come on. You're an adult now. You're the most responsible guy your…our age. Isn't it time that your parents respect that?"

"I don't know…."

"How can you not? I see you on campus. Even when you speak with your professors, you command their respect. What is it about your parents that turns you back into a kid?"

He didn't want to admit that she was right.

"You know what it reminds me of?"

"No, but I have a feeling you're going to tell me."

"You took basic psychology. Remember those dogs that wouldn't jump out of the box even when they could?"

"Do you mean the ones that had been in a round of tests where they were shocked and couldn't get out no matter what?"

"Yeah. Then they were put into another set of tests by a different scientist, and they were easily able to get out, but they just lay down and took the currents."

"So, you think I'm experiencing learned helplessness?"

"Something like that."

"I'm not a dog, you know."

"You don't have to tell me. Just tell your parents you've found love. They can't make you fall out of love. They're just going to have to deal with it."

He sighed. "I suppose you're right."

"Suppose? You know I am. Especially if you meant what you've been talking about lately."

William had been hinting at marriage for a while, though they hadn't actually talked about it outright. He was so in love with her and couldn't imagine life without her. Whenever he thought about his future, she was always there by his side. Even though she seemed to feel the same way, he couldn't stop wondering if she would wake up one day and realize that she was so hot that she could have any guy she wanted, including ones who were much better looking than him.

"No comment?"

"I was just thinking about how much I love you."

"Good answer!"

He chuckled. "Well, it's true. Anyway, I'll find a way to bring it up with my parents. My dad's going to be the tough sell. According to him, he didn't even look at girls until he held his law degree."

"Then he's a liar."

"Tell me what you really think," William joked. "Don't hold back."

She smiled. "Seriously? What guy doesn't look a girl until his mid-twenties?"

"All he cared about was following the family tradition."

"You still can't convince me that he never even went on a date until then."

"When you meet him, you'll see that's what he cares about most."

"At least I'll get to meet him. Tomorrow, you said?"

"Did I?"

"You said to give you a day."

There was a knock on his door. "Get in the shower already! What are you doing in there?" called his dad.

"Coming!"

"You have to go?" Clara asked.

"Yes. Lunch is being prepared."

"It's being prepared? You have servants?"

"We have a housekeeper."

"In Delphic Cove? Hey, wait a minute. Don't tell me you live in that really rich, gated neighborhood? That would explain your driver. I didn't think about that at the airport. I was too focused on you."

William sighed. "Are you surprised?"

"Only because you never mentioned it. Why didn't you?"

"I didn't want to seem like I was bragging."

"Hey, I grew up with servants too."

"Speaking of things not previously shared."

She sighed. "Well, I did tell you my family has money. You know that's how I was able to go to England with you."

"It sounds like we both have some interesting stories to share. But I can hear my dad pacing out there, waiting for me to get ready for lunch."

"Call me later."

"I will. I love you, Clara."

"And I love you."

He ended the call, and sat there for a moment, wishing he could join her for the day instead of his dad. That was never going to happen. He grabbed some clothes from his closet, noticing that everything from his luggage had been put away for him. He actually missed picking up after himself back at school.

William got ready as fast as possible and then joined his dad for lunch.

Will gave him a funny look. "What's on your mind, son?"

"What do you mean?"

"I can always tell when you're nervous."

He frowned. He had wanted to slip dating into their conversation naturally, but nothing was ever really natural when his dad was involved. "I was just thinking about something."

"What?" Will took a bite of bread.

"Would it really be so bad if I dated someone?"

Will's face froze, staring at his son.

"What would be so wrong with having a love interest?"

"You're in school. That's what you need to focus on. Girls will distract you and keep you from getting the best education you can."

William sat a little taller. "How would you know?"

"Because I never even looked—"

"At a girl. I know. But that doesn't mean I can't."

Will put his bread back onto the plate, and pressed his hands against the table, staring at William. "Don't tell me you've already got a girl that you want to date?"

"And what if I do?"

"Forget about her."

"I can't."

"Oh, yes you can."

William took a deep breath. "I was seeing her all year, and my grades never slipped once. You've seen my grades."

"You've been seeing someone all year?" He furrowed his eyebrows. "How dare you?"

"Because I love her." His heart was pounding so loud he almost couldn't hear anything else.

"You love her? You don't even know what love is at your age! It's called lust, and it will do nothing except get you into trouble."

William clenched his fists under the table. "I met her before I even went over there. We've actually been seeing each other since I was in high school. My grades were flawless then, too."

"Just how long have you been seeing this girl?"

"Do the math. We met my senior year."

Fury covered his face. "So, you're serious about her?"

William nodded.

"How serious?"

"Serious enough that I would like her to come over for dinner and meet everyone."

"I suppose you're thinking about asking me for your great-grandmother's ring, aren't you? Is this why you're bringing this up?"

"Actually, I do hope to marry her, but that's not why I want you to meet her. I just want you to see the wonderful person that I'm in love with, who hasn't hurt my studies in any way."

"I suppose we'd better meet this girl if you're that serious about her." He sat back, looking slightly less angry.

Chapter 6

CLARA WAS WATCHING a marathon of Natalie's favorite show when her phone rang. She excused herself as soon as she saw that it was William.

"Did you finally get away from your parents?" she asked, making her way to her room.

"Not exactly, but if you're free at six, then you're welcome to join us for dinner."

"You told them about me?"

"Yes. They're eager to meet you."

"Really? What did they say?"

"Well, they were surprised, to say the least. Since I had kept my grades up all this time, they never suspected anything. My sister has had several boyfriends, but they've always been able to figure her out because of test scores. They want to meet the girl who was able to win me over."

Clara grinned, almost feeling giddy. She couldn't remember the last time she had been so excited. She knew how his family was, so she had always tried not to take it personally that he wouldn't tell them about her, but even so, she wanted him to. Now he had. "I can't tell you what this means to me. What should I wear?"

"Whatever you want. I'm sure you'll look great. You always do."

"What I mean is, are jeans too casual? Should I wear a dress?"

"A dress would be perfect. But, how do I put this? Something a little less…flashy than what you normally wear."

"I can do modest, William. I usually just choose not to."

He let out a sigh of relief.

Clara laughed. "Don't worry. I can handle parents. The Fergusons love me, and have since day one. So, I should be there around six?"

"We're eating at six. The driver will arrive to pick you up at five-thirty."

"You won't be the one picking me up?"

William sighed. "They're not going to let us be alone together. At least, not yet."

"Oh, right. I forgot about this being junior high."

He laughed. "You know they're not like typical parents. Sorry."

"No need to apologize. If they were typical, you might be typical, and I wouldn't want you any different from the way you are."

"I'll take that. I wish I could talk with you longer, but my dad's got some law books he wants to go over with me."

"Sounds like fun. I'll be ready at 5:30. Anything else I should know?"

"I don't think so. I'm sure they'll love you, but not as much as I do."

"I should hope not! I love you too."

She ended the call and went back to the living room.

Natalie raised an eyebrow. "What's going on? I've never seen you so happy."

"He finally told his parents about me."

"For real? You're not the secret girlfriend anymore?"

"Nope. I'm going over there for dinner."

Natalie smiled. "That's awesome." She held her hand up, and Clara gave her a high five. "Forget about these shows. We need to celebrate."

"Celebrate?"

"Time for a mani-pedi."

Clara grinned. "You're a true friend."

"What time do you have to be ready?"

"I've got a few hours."

"Hmm. You're going to want to get back here and do your hair too. We'd better skip the place where the hot guys do your nails. The line is always way too long. Let's just hit the place at the strip mall. They actually do a better job."

"And cost half as much."

Natalie laughed. "True. Let me get my purse from my room, and I'll meet you at my car."

When they were getting their nails done, they talked about their guys and caught up. Natalie's eyes lit up when she talked about her wedding plans. She even pulled out her phone and scrolled through pictures on Pinterest. She had every little detail planned out, and was excited about each one.

Clara couldn't help wondering about her own wedding as Natalie went on and on. Would she have one? Now that William was actually telling his parents about her and having them meet, could that mean he wanted to take it to the next level?

Not that she was expecting him to pull out a ring that night, but what if he did propose soon? Even though she wanted him to tell his parents about her, part of her had been relieved, because then she was off the hook with her secret. Would he be open to accepting it?

None of the others had, but he was different. He might even truly be the one. She sighed.

"It's gorgeous, isn't it?" Natalie asked, obviously thinking that Clara was sighing at the flower arrangement on her phone.

Clara gave a weak smile. "Never seen anything more beautiful."

Natalie's smile faded. "I wish Alexis was here. She would love all this stuff, and it's just not the same with her gone. I know she's not coming back, but it sucks."

"Maybe she will come back."

Natalie gave her a doubtful look.

"She might. You never know. I'm sure if she hears about you getting married, she would find a way to support you."

"I don't think so." She shook her head. "I don't want to think about my sister anymore. Did I show you what I found for the something blue?" She scrolled through the images, stopping at a jeweled hair clip. "Isn't it perfect?"

"It's stunning." Clara smiled. "How are you going to style your hair?"

Natalie's eyes lit up. "I have an entire board full of hairstyles."

"How did people ever manage to have weddings without the internet?"

"I know. Right?" She scrolled through her phone, stopping at the right board. She showed Clara hundreds of hairstyles. It nearly gave her a headache to look at all of them.

"Do you have a favorite?"

"I wish. I might just show the board to the stylist and let her pick. I can't decide, and even when I think I have one picked out, I always find twenty more."

"Maybe you need a break from looking at all the pictures."

Natalie shook her head. "This is going to be the best wedding that Delphic Cove has ever seen."

"I believe it. So, where is Braydon? I haven't even seen him since the party in the woods."

"He's so busy at the steel factory. His uncle wants to retire and travel the world, but he can't until Braydon can take over for him. There's a lot to learn, and it wipes him out. Did you notice how tired he was?"

Clara thought about it. "I suppose. He was pretty happy to be with you, though."

Natalie beamed. "He says he can't wait until the day he comes home to me after a long day at the factory."

"Have you guys thought about moving in together? You're engaged, you know."

Her eyes widened. "Are you kidding? Move in before getting married? This is Delphic Cove. People don't do that, even though the rest of the world does. Well, I guess in the poor section of town they probably do. But not around here. Everyone who grew up here goes one of two ways. They either move away and live the wild life or they stick around here and live like it's the 1960s or something."

"You mean the fifties. It was the sixties when everything began to really change."

Natalie rolled her eyes. "Whatever. My point is that we can't move in together yet."

"Do you at least have a date?"

"I didn't tell you?"

"No."

"We're getting married at the end of the summer. The weather will still be nice and the colors will start to turn the deeper fall colors. It's going to be beautiful."

"I hope I'll still be here."

"Me too."

Natalie's manicurist looked at her. "Time for your hands."

She put her phone away and then looked at her feet, wiggling her toes. She looked over at Clara's feet. "Oh, nice. I like the palm trees."

When they were done, they admired their nails as they walked out into the hot sun.

Clara held out her fingers. "I guess we'd better get back to the house so I can figure out what to wear."

"What do you think you're going to wear? Something parent-approved?"

"Yeah. He told me not to dress flashy."

"Hmm. Any ideas?"

"I was thinking a dress, but I don't know which one."

"A dress is perfect. You can show off all your nails. Well, if you need something, I have the perfect one. We're about the same size."

"Let's get back to the house and see it."

Chapter 7

WILLIAM PACED THROUGH the front room, looking out the windows each time he passed one. When was the driver going to arrive with Clara? He had wanted to go with, but his dad had insisted that he stay. What was he afraid of? That William would impregnate Clara on the car ride over, two feet behind the driver?

He couldn't help smiling at how his parents would react to finding out that they had been staying together while he went to school. They would both have heart attacks.

"You're going to wear a path into the rug."

William turned around to see Kathryn smirking.

"Shut it. You're the one who encouraged me to meet her."

"What? She's the girl from the French restaurant?"

"Yeah. Remember? You said she was into me. Turns out you were more right than even you knew."

Kathryn smiled. "I know love when I see it. She couldn't take her eyes off you."

"Would you have really given me your laptop if she didn't give me her number?"

"I didn't have to worry about it, because I knew she would. She couldn't even take her eyes off you. She didn't bother trying to hide the fact that she was staring. So, what's her name?"

"Clara."

"That's pretty. She didn't mind waiting for you while you were away?"

William narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. "I don't want to talk about it now."

Kathryn's eyes widened. She whispered, "Did she go with you?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it. Ears are everywhere. You know that."

She grinned. "Who would have ever guessed? Our perfect William has been hiding a secret." She slapped his shoulder. "Good for you. I'm glad to know you're human, like everyone else."

He glared at her, and then looked out the window again.

"The driver only left a few minutes ago."

"I know, but I want to be the first one to greet her when she arrives."

"What's she like?"

"She's a lot of fun. You'll like her."

"What does she see in you?"

He shoved her playfully, and she laughed.

"Seriously. Even you agreed that night that she was way out of your league."

"Obviously there's more to me than you give me credit for."

"Don't give me that. Girls like her don't give you a second glance. Not that it's a dig. Guys that hot don't look at me, either. It's a fact of life. Is she poor and could tell we had money?"

William shook his head. "Her family has money. I have barely paid for anything for her, except for meals when we go out to eat."

"They didn't care that she went to England with you? Did she get into Cambridge too?"

"She didn't go to school. She spent the days sightseeing when I was in class and studying."

"Is she planning on going to school?"

"She said she was going to wait. She wasn't in any hurry."

Kathryn leaned against the wall. "Is she taking a year off?"

"What's with the questions?"

"It just doesn't make sense."

"Are you jealous or something?"

"Of you? Dream on, brother. I don't want to be the one always trying to impress our parents."

He wrinkled his nose, unable to think of a good comeback.

"Well, I'll just have to question her myself and figure out what's going on."

"Why's it so hard to believe that she just likes me?"

"You're too easy to rile up." She walked over and kissed him on the cheek. "Oh, is that them?"

William spun around and looked out the window, not seeing a car.

She pinched his arm. "Like I said, easy to rile up."

"When she gets here, you be nice to her."

"No worries. I'm hoping for some makeup tips."

Sighing, he looked out the window again. "What's taking them so long?"

"If you hadn't gotten dressed two hours early, you wouldn't be so anxious. You're such a girl, William."

"Shut up."

"This is too easy. I'm going to my room. Let me know when she gets here."

William grumbled under his breath.

"I heard that!" she called, already out of the room.

"No, you didn't!"

Kathryn laughed, and William stared out the window. His sister was right, and he knew it. There were a lot of unanswered questions, and even more with those pictures. He shook his head. Now wasn't the time to go over every detail again.

William heard the car before he saw it. He took a deep breath, not sure why he was so nervous. That was a lie. He knew exactly why he was anxious. His dad would probably grill Clara, making for an extremely uncomfortable night.

He stood back from the window as he watched the car inch toward the garage. The familiar sound of the garage door opening could be heard, and then he went over to the door leading to the garage. As the car pulled into its spot, William walked to the back door, and opened it.

She stepped out of the car, smiling at him.

"Wow," he breathed, looking her over. She was wearing an elegant, classy dress that made her look even more beautiful than he had ever seen her.

Clara wrapped her arms around him, smelling of an exotic perfume.

He took a deep breath. "You smell as good as you look."

"Want a taste?" She winked.

William's heart skipped a beat. "Not here," he whispered.

She touched his nose, causing his heart to speed up. "Of course not, silly. Are you going to bring me in so I can meet your family?"

"Right. Of course." He took her hand and led her inside.

"Mmm. Dinner smells divine."

"It probably is." He squeezed her hand, all too aware of his sweaty palm. How did she seem so relaxed?

As they walked down the hall toward the kitchen, Kathryn stepped out of a door, smiling. She put her hand out. "You must be Clara. I'm Kathryn."

"So nice to meet you." Clara smiled back, and then let go of William's hand and wrapped her arms around Kathryn.

Kathryn gave William a surprised look, but then wrapped her arms around Clara. "What perfume is that? It smells good enough to eat."

"I borrowed it from a friend. I'll have to ask her." Clara stood back. "I adore your leggings."

"You do?" Kathryn looked back and forth between Clara and her own leggings.

Clara nodded.

William took Clara's hand. "Would you like to see if dinner's ready?"

"Sounds good to me."

The three of them went into the dining room and sat down. William held Clara's chair for her.

Kathryn raised an eyebrow. "Such a gentleman." She looked at Clara. "Is he always like this?"

"Always."

William and Kathryn's parents walked in, and Clara stood up and walked up to them, clearly full of confidence. She held out her hand. "I'm Clara. It's so nice to meet you. William has told me so many wonderful things about you."

Kathryn kicked William under the table. She mouthed, "She's a great liar."

A smile escaped, despite his best effort. He kicked his sister back.

They sat down after introducing themselves.

Sally brought out the food, and everyone dug in. William had worried about trying to keep the conversation going, but Clara was holding her own, obviously charming both of his parents. She was right. She was great with parents.

Kathryn gave William a questioning look. He shrugged his shoulders. He wasn't about to interrupt the good conversation they had going. If they liked her that much, his dad would be a lot more likely to let them spend time together without William having to sneak around as he had before. After having lived with her, sneaking around to see her felt ridiculous and childish.

Maybe this would finally be a step toward speaking to his dad on level terms. They were both grown men, after all, even if his dad wasn't ready to accept the fact. He thought that because he was paying for William's education, he was somehow superior.

Listening to Clara speak to them as equals gave him more confidence about standing up to his dad. If she could do it, so could he.

His sister leaned near him. "She sounds like she's used to talking to adults like equals. It's kinda weird, don't you think?"

William shrugged. "Living on campus, everyone is an adult. It's just the way of life."

"Yet Dad still talks to you like you're a kid."

"That's about to change."

"I can't wait to see that."

Their dad cleared his throat. "What are you studying in school?"

William's heart dropped into his stomach. This was it. Clara was going to lose all her standing now.

Clara set her glass down. "I'm taking a break from studying. I've taken some classes, but needed some time to think about what I really want to do. I don't want to waste time or money on classes I don't need."

Will nodded. "That's a wise move. Do you have any ideas?"

She crossed one leg over the other, rubbing William's leg with her foot. She spoke to his parents, but he couldn't focus on what she said. His neck felt hot, and it was creeping up toward his face. How could she do that with his parents right there?

Her foot moved down to the cuff of his pants. She slid her sandal off, and nuzzled her toes under his cuff and ran her foot up his leg, pulling the pants as far as they would go. The heat had moved all the way up his face.

Kathryn gave him a funny look, but he looked away, hoping no one would look under the table. He took a deep breath, and realized his parents were entranced by whatever Clara was saying.

He took another deep breath and focused his thoughts. He was acting like a pre-pubescent middle schooler, not a college-age man who had just spent the school year living with the beautiful woman enchanting his family. He sneaked his hand under the table and put his hand on her silky-smooth leg.

She ran her toes along his leg in response, and he reached his hand as far along her leg as he could reach and still look natural to everyone else. His face and neck were no longer warm, so he went back to eating with his free hand.

Sally came into the room, carrying more food. She looked under the table and looked surprised for a moment. She looked up to William, and he shook his head, begging her not to say anything. She smiled and then raised an eyebrow at him. She placed the food on the table without a word before taking some empty plates and going back into the kitchen.

Before he knew it, the meal was over. He hadn't thought beyond eating. Would Clara stay or would his parents insist that she go? She removed her foot from his leg, and his pant leg fell into place.

His dad stood up, looking at Clara. "Before William left for Cambridge, we used to play games after eating."

"Oh? What kinds of games?"

"Card games and board games, mostly. Do you have a favorite? Would you even like to stay for a game?"

"I'd love to. Why don't you surprise me with the game?"

His mom stood up. "That sounds lovely. I'll set one up."

"Good. I'll show her my study."

William groaned. He didn't want to spend hours listening to his dad rambling on about their long family history of practicing law.

Clara grabbed William's hand and squeezed. "That sounds interesting, Will."

"Follow me."

They followed him to the study. At least William would be with Clara while listening to his dad's diatribe. He could probably say it word for word himself, because he'd heard it that many times over the years. He sat on the couch as Clara and his dad wandered through the study. He watched Clara, studying and admiring her figure. She moved with such grace and ease. He wanted nothing more than to sneak out and spend some alone time with her.

Their little foot game had left him wanting much more.

He moved his gaze up toward her stunning face. He could never get over how beautiful she was. She should be in the movies or walking down a model's runway, not with him. Not that he was going to complain.

She actually looked interested in what his dad was saying. She was nodding, staying engaged with eye contact, and asking questions about their ancestors and their own law practices. After they had made their way around the room, his dad turned to him. "Why don't you get out the picture album, William? She's so interested in all of this. She'll love to see the old photos."

William's heart stopped. He had forgotten about the pictures. Would she notice her lookalike hiding in them? No. That was absurd. His dad had spent his entire life flipping through the pages, and he had never mentioned them. William had never noticed until the night before, and probably wouldn't have if the mystery girl wasn't Clara's twin…looking at his own twin.

"Sure, dad. I bet she'll enjoy it." He grabbed the album off the shelf. When he turned around, they were already sitting on the couch.

He sat next to Clara and handed her the album. "May you enjoy it as much as Dad does."

His dad narrowed his eyes at him, and then turned to the album, opening it to the first page. "This is the list of our lawyer predecessors who practiced law before film was available. There used to be some paintings, but over the years, they were lost."

Clara smiled. "That sounds mysterious."

Will frowned. "I wish it was something to be solved. Most of them were burned in a house fire."

"During the witch hunts?"

William looked up at Clara. How did she know about the witch hunts? He thought over everything his dad had told her, and he hadn't mentioned the witch trials.

Clara smiled. "You told me about them. Remember?"

He looked confused. "Did I?"

"Yeah. Over there by your desk."

Will chuckled. "I suppose you were listening to me better than I was listening to myself."

William wrinkled his forehead. He was sure that his dad hadn't mentioned the witches. For one, he hadn't heard him say anything about it. Secondly, his dad loathed that part of their family history. It was up there with his plantation-owning great-grandparents. His dad had forbidden him and Kathryn from ever speaking of it outside of the family.

Clara nodded. "I was listening to every word you said, Will."

"Aren't you a breath of fresh air?" He went through the list of names, giving Clara a brief history of each. There was a lot more to all of them, but it had taken William years to learn all of it, so there was no way his dad was going to bore Clara with that her first evening in their home.

He leaned forward, watching his dad and girlfriend. He couldn't believe how Clara was eating it up. Was she a closet history buff? She looked like she was actually enjoying herself.

Will flipped the page, turning to the picture of Clara's twin. William kept his attention on Clara. Her eyes widened. She looked as though she were holding her breath. He thought she looked pale, though it was hard to tell since she was always getting those spray tans. She said she didn't like the naturally light complexion that came with being a born blonde.

His dad was rattling off facts about Liam, not even aware that Clara looked like she was going to lose her dinner all over the album.

She appeared to be staring directly at the picture of Liam and his family, not even aware of the hidden girl. What would she think if she saw that? And why did she look so disturbed by the picture of Liam and his family?

Clara stood up. "I'm so sorry, Will. I just remembered that I said I would help Mr. Ferguson with something after dinner. Can I get a rain check on the game and finishing this album?"

Will looked surprised and disappointed. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Yes. Mr. Ferguson really needs my help."

"Jack Ferguson?"

"You know him?"

"I've provided services for his company before. He's a good man."

Clara nodded, looking as though she wasn't even paying attention. "I'll tell him you said hi. Again, I'm so sorry." She ran out of the room.

William glared at his dad. "What did you do, Dad? Good job."

"It's not my fault. She was really enjoying herself."

"Until you brought out the album." He folded his arms.

"I told you we shouldn't talk about the witches. They're bad news. No good ever comes when they're even mentioned."

William stood, rolling his eyes.

Chapter 8

CLARA SAT ON the bed, staring at a blank wall. She should have prepared for this. She should have known that seeing a picture of Liam was a possibility. After all, in that family, they were obsessed with family history. They always had been.

Back when she been in love with Liam, almost two hundred years ago, they had been just as focused on practicing law and memorizing family facts. It was ultimately why Liam had chosen not to marry Clara, why he had chosen Anna. In fact, that was probably what had upset Clara more than seeing Liam's picture. What if William also decided to make the same decision?

She had been looking into Liam's face via her current boyfriend for the last couple of years. Except that Clara knew it wasn't really Liam—her first true love. The one who got away, and she had never been able to get over until she met William. She had all but forgotten about her lost love since she met William.

And now he was hinting at marriage, and on the day she met his family, she was forced to look at Anna's face. The face of a heartless cow who had gloated over Liam choosing her instead of Clara. Although, Clara was able to gloat inwardly, because everyone else called him Liam, and Clara was the only one who ever called Liam William.

Clara also knew the truth: That Liam had actually loved her more than Anna. The reality was that Liam had only chosen a life that he couldn't have with Clara. That was the only thing that wretched Anna held over her—not Liam's love.

Sighing, Clara grabbed a pillow and held it tight. She was shaking, remembering all the events as though they had just happened yesterday. She had watched Liam raise his family from afar until the day he was buried. She never thought she would see Anna's face again. But even the grainy photo was enough to shake her to the core.

Natalie walked into the room and froze mid-step. "What's wrong, Clara?"

Without moving her gaze from the blank wall, Clara said, "I knew it was a bad idea. I just knew it."

"Meeting his parents?"

Clara shook her head. "No. Meeting him."

Natalie sat down. "What do you mean?"

"Did I ever tell you about my first love?"

"I don't think so." Natalie looked up, obviously trying to remember. "No. I'm pretty sure I would remember that story."

"Get comfortable."

Natalie leaned up against the headboard next to Clara. "Spill it."

"My first love was named Liam. Actually, William is his descendant. I met Liam around two hundred years ago." She sighed.

Natalie's mouth gaped open. She stared at Clara. "For real?"

"Yeah. One night when Alexis and I went out for dinner, William and his family were sitting near us. I couldn't keep my eyes off him because he looked exactly like my first love. He noticed and came over, introducing himself to me. Even though I choked on my drink when he said his name, he still wanted to go out with me. I had my doubts, but figured that one date wouldn't kill me."

"Obviously not. I've seen you two together. You're so adorable. But what happened tonight?"

"I saw a picture of Liam and his wife."

"Well, you're over him, aren't you? I mean, it's been a couple hundred years. I got over my last boyfriend in, like, a month."

Clara smiled, despite being distracted. "It's not like that. Liam and I really wanted to get married. But when I told him what I really am, he couldn't live with it. He wanted someone who he could have a family with, someone to grow old with. Obviously I couldn't grow old with him. I don't look a day older than I did back then."

Natalie frowned.

"Liam promised not to tell anyone what I was, so people wouldn't come after me. It broke his heart as much as mine for him to let me go. But he did move on, and as far as I could tell, he lived a happy life. I never did move on until I met William. I actually love him more than I loved Liam, and I never thought would be possible. After all this time, I had never been able to move on." She turned to look at Natalie. "That scares me more than anything. What if William won't have anything to do with me when he finds out? I don't think I could handle it."

"Are you going to tell him?"

Clara took a deep breath. "If we're going to marry, then there's no getting around it. I can't not tell him."

"Will you tell him before or after he asks?"

"I don't know. There is no plan. He probably thinks I'm crazy after the way I took off. Everything was going so well, and then I suddenly had to go."

"He's probably more open than the other guy. I mean, people are open-minded these days."

"Not that much. Tell me: Would you—?"

"That's not really a fair question. After what I've been through, there's no way I would. I don't want anything to do with it. Not after what Francine did to me." She shook her head. "There's just no way."

"But you're still my friend. You haven't outed me to your parents."

"That's because you're you, Clara. You're also not trying to marry me. It's not a lifestyle I want for myself. If things were different, and Alexis was back here, I would still treat her as my sister. I wouldn't try to tell anyone what she is either. Not that anyone would believe me. They would think I had gone crazy."

"See? That's what I'm talking about. If I tell William, he's going to think I'm crazy."

"You know what I think?"

"What?" Clara looked at her. "Tell me."

"If you want to have the best chance of him staying with you, you have to tell him sooner rather than later. Don't put it off any longer. Use your running off as a springboard. Open up the conversation."

"How am I supposed to do that? Just come out and say that I'm a—"

Janet came into the room. "Hi girls. Do you want dessert?"

"We need this girl time, Mom," Natalie said. "Thanks, though."

"When girl time is needed, dessert will be brought to you." Janet smiled. "Just remember, this isn't permission to start eating in the bedrooms. It's just this one time."

"Thanks, Mom."

Janet left the room, and Clara turned back to Natalie. "Where were we? Oh, right. You were saying I should risk my entire relationship."

"Is there really any other option?"

"Yes. Keeping it to myself as I have this whole time."

Natalie gave her a questioning look.

"Fine. I know that's a bad idea. Everything has just been going perfectly up to this point."

"Can you find another way to gauge his reaction first?"

"Like what?"

"Ask him how feels about—"

"Banana splits for everyone!" Janet handed them both a bowl and then left without a word.

Clara dug in, not wanting to talk anymore. The thought of telling William made her sick to her stomach. Not so much the telling, but the possibility of him leaving her. Even if he was as kind as his ancestor, it would still crush her. She had told Natalie the truth. She loved him more than her first love.

When they were done eating, Natalie looked at her. "Did that help?"

"The banana split?"

Natalie smiled. "Yeah."

"Maybe a little, but it didn't solve anything."

"Well, sleep on it. Or whatever you do at night."

"I don't sleep much. The older I get, the less necessary it is. But I wouldn't mind trying tonight. My mind still works things out in my dreams. I'll have to try."

Natalie took Clara's plate. "I'm sure you'll know what to do in the morning."

"What if Braydon had this secret from you? How would you want him to handle it?"

She sighed. "I would want him to be honest with me. Now that we're engaged, I'd be pretty upset if he came to me with something like that."

Clara frowned. "That's what I thought."

Natalie gave her a hug. "William hasn't been through what I have. He has a better chance of being open to everything. I've seen his eyes when you two are together. He's not going to give up on you easily."

Clara nodded. "Neither did the first one. But it was a deal-breaker."

"Doesn't mean it will be this time."

"Thanks, Natalie."

After Natalie left the room, Clara found her pajamas, and climbed into bed. Her body ached from the stress. She closed her eyes, waiting impatiently for sleep. She tossed and turned, trying to force herself to sleep. It wasn't doing any good. Her mind was running. She went over the events of the evening over and over again.

The picture of Liam with his wife and grown kids seemed to taunt her. Anna's face was a reminder of her past pain. She didn't want to relive it. Could she just not tell William? She could always pretend to be one of those people addicted to plastic surgery. There were ways to explain away the fact that she didn't age. Options that hadn't been available before. Oh, who was she trying to kid? She would need to come up with something better than that. No surgeon was that good.

She didn't want to lie to him, and getting married without telling him was crossing the line. She couldn't do that to him. Besides, what if he was actually open to everything? What if he wanted in on her lifestyle, as Natalie had called it?

It wasn't as though humans never made the choice to stay with others like her. It just didn't happen very often.

Clara rolled over again, this time pulling the covers completely over her head. She forced herself to stop thinking, focusing on the black behind her eyelids. Finally, she did fall asleep. It was a fitful sleep, full of dreams about William and Liam, and of Anna laughing at her, calling her horrible names.

She sat up, in a cold sweat, breathing heavily. She didn't feel anymore resolved than she had before falling asleep. She grabbed her phone and saw that she'd had three hours of sleep. There was no way she was going back to sleep. That was considered a full night's sleep for her body, and it would last her weeks, if not longer.

She rubbed her arms, feeling achy all over. Then she rubbed her sore legs. It had been a long time since she had been so anxiety-ridden. Her mouth burned, and she realized that she was hungry for something other than food. She had meant to fill up before they got on the plane, but she had been distracted with thoughts of not seeing William as much.

Sighing, she got up and got dressed. She brushed her hair and fixed her makeup in the dark, seeing just fine without turning on the light. Her eyes ached. Soon they would change color, and she couldn't let anyone, especially William, see her like that.

Her mouth watered as she thought about getting some real nourishment. Once she was outside, she could hear crickets and frogs not too far away. It was one of the benefits of living so close to the lake. It helped to relax her a little, but she knew what she really needed. The thing that kept her alive, and could possibly send another William running for the hills.

She had once promised Alexis that she would leave the residents of Delphic Cove alone, and even though she wasn't speaking to Alexis, she would keep her word. Maybe someday, many decades away, they would be able to recover their friendship. Maybe not even that long if she found herself desperate for friends. But even if William did kick her to the curb, Clara had plenty of other friends she could turn to before her traitorous cousin.

Chapter 9

CLARA HAD GONE about two towns away from Delphic Cove, and she could hear sounds of a late night party not too far away. She made her way to a house with windows open and music blaring. People were everywhere, inside and out.

She walked up the walkway as though she owned the place, not wanting to give anyone reason to question her being there. Nobody appeared to care. It must have been one of those parties. She went inside, found a flavored drink, and looked around. In the dining room, there was a rowdy game of cards and plenty of spilled alcohol.

Down a hall, she could see a dark room where the music was coming from, and she could see people dancing in there. On the other side of the dining room sat some guys playing a video game. They were all smoking, and the house definitely smelled of weed. It was legal in Washington, and they appeared happy to take advantage of that.

It sounded like there was a lot going on upstairs as well, but Clara was happy downstairs. She went down the hall to check out the dancing. Everyone was having a good time, and she slipped in, unnoticed. She busted out some of her best moves, watching everyone. Some guy with a backwards baseball cap caught her attention. He waved her over.

She made her way to him, dancing, and still holding her drink.

"You new around here?" he asked.

Clara nodded. "I don't know anyone, but this looked like the place to be."

He nodded. "You've got that right. This is my house, and let me be the first to welcome you to my party. How do you like it?"

"I'm here, aren't I? What's your name?"

"How rude of me. My name is Scott."

"I'm Clara." She took a sip of her drink. "Want to dance?"

"Sure. Where are you from?"

She moved closer to him, but not too close, still dancing. Between the drink and the dancing, she already felt better. But soon, she would feel exceptional. "Oh, here and there. I've traveled a lot."

"You have an accent."

"I get that a lot. I spent some time in Europe recently."

Scott nodded, moving closer. "That's what it is."

Clara smiled and took another drink. That wasn't it, but she never took the time to explain that her accent was actually due to being born in a different time. Traveling around just gave her a good excuse. When she was in England, her accent made sense because she was from the states.

Scott moved closer again, dancing uncomfortably close.

"Do you have someplace a little more private?" Clara asked.

He smiled. "But of course. My room is always off limits for everyone else. Follow me."

They made their way through another hall and up some stairs. She could smell his excitement—it tickled her nose and made her mouth water again. When they got into the room, he closed and locked the door behind them.

Clara looked around. The room was a shrine to the Seahawks. "Like the Seahawks much?"

"They won the Super Bowl, don't you know?"

"I don't keep up on sports. Sorry."

"None?" He looked like he didn't believe her.

Her mouth was watering, and she didn't want to talk, but she had to keep him engaged. "I used to follow cricket years ago."

"That's a sport?"

She grabbed his shoulders, bringing him close. The smell of his desire surrounded her, making her mouth water even more. She put her mouth up to his neck, listening to his rapid heartbeat. Her fangs sprang out and she bit down.

He let out a gasp. "What are you…? Oh, that feels good."

The venom always worked to calm them down. She drank his warm blood, feeling energized as it went down. Clara drank until the flow slowed down, indicating the point where she needed to stop if she was going to keep him alive. That was the plan, so she sealed up the wound with her tongue.

When she stood back, he gave her a bewildered expression. "I don't know what that was, but you can do that anytime you want."

She stopped. What if she drank William's blood, showing him how wonderful it can be? If he experienced it first, before knowing that she was a vampire, then maybe she would stand a chance.

Scott looked at her. "Can you do that again?"

"Not if you want to live." She shook her head, and then stared directly into his eyes until his pupils shrunk. "After I walk out the door, you're going to forget you ever met me."

He nodded.

"Say it."

"After you leave the room, I'll forget about you."

"Good." She left the room, and just as she was out of sight, she heard him ask how he got in there. As she was walking down the hall, she passed a guy who looked her over, smiling. Clara raised an eyebrow. "Want to go somewhere a little more private?"

He turned around, and then back to her after not seeing anyone else. "You want to go somewhere with me?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

"Where do you want to go?"

"Do you know of anywhere secluded?"

Clara could hear his heart rate pick up as the scents of both nervousness and excitement drifted toward her. "Well, I'm sure we can find something."

Scott passed them, not paying any attention to Clara. She turned around. "I know someplace we can try." She went back to the football room, and found it empty, as expected.

"Scott's not going to be happy about us being in here."

She closed the door. "He just went the other way. It's not like we're going to destroy anything."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Okay." He went right up to her and kissed her neck.

For a moment, Clara expected him to bite down, but he didn't. She moved for his neck, biting down immediately.

"What the hell?"

Her venom was taking too long to release. She forced some out, careful not to let out too much, and cause him to pass out. She had to keep him awake so she could make him forget about her.

He relaxed in her arms, and she drank until the flow slowed. The she sealed up the wound and stood back.

"What was that?"

"Nothing you're going to remember." She stared into his eyes, waiting for his pupils to shrink. Waiting. Usually, it happened almost immediately. She narrowed her eyes, focusing more intently. What was going on? Why weren't they shrinking?

"What do you mean? Of course I'm going to remember that. I've never felt anything like it."

She shook her head. Why wasn't she able to control his mind? In all of her years, she had never had a problem making a human forget about her drinking their blood.

"Why did you stop? Do it again."

The room felt like it was spinning. Clara looked at him in the eyes again, focusing more intently on controlling his mind. It was for his own good. If she couldn't make him forget about her, she would have no choice except to kill him.

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

"Are you a supernatural?"

"A what? You mean that show my sister watches? She's in love with those two losers who star in it."

Clara sighed. "Would you just stop talking and look into my eyes?"

"Bossy, huh? I like that in a woman." He looked into her eyes.

She ignored his comments. "Now just try to relax." She stared into his eyes again, focusing with everything in her. His pupils remained the same.

"Can you do that thing again? It felt awesome."

Pursing her lips, she focused all the more, but his pupils wouldn't budge. "It looks like I'm going to have to."

He smiled. "Can I sit on the bed this time?"

"Whatever."

Sitting, he smiled at her, and then turned his head, giving her easy access to his neck.

Clara sat next to him. She had already drunk enough to slow his flow, anything after this would be dangerous. If he passed out, she couldn't leave him, because he would remember what happened and what she looked like. She didn't like killing humans, and avoided it whenever possible.

Usually, she only killed them when they were trying to kill her. She didn't want to have to kill this guy.

"I'm waiting."

She bit down, allowing the delicious blood to fill her mouth again, albeit not as fast as usual. He would be weaker after this round, so hopefully she would be able to control his mind easy enough. As she drank the blood, Clara tried to figure out what could be going wrong.

It wasn't the pot. She could smell and taste it on Scott, and he had been easy enough to control. What was it? Or was Scott's weed the problem? Was it affecting her ability to control this guy's mind? She didn't feel any different. If it was affecting her, she should feel different.

Clara sealed up the wound, and looked him over. He sat in a dazed stupor, smiling. She moved so she could look into his eyes. He didn't appear to even notice her. She stared into his eyes again, focused on controlling his mind. Again, his pupils remained unchanged.

"Come on. Focus." She didn't want to kill him, and she knew she couldn't take any more of his blood without that happening. She had already taken more than she should have.

He looked at her, but at the same time, he was somewhere else.

She stared him down, pulling all of her resources together. Finally, his pupils moved a little. They didn't shrink, but she had to try controlling his mind. If this didn't work, she would be forced to drink him dry.

"You're going to forget you ever met me."

His eyes wandered off to the side.

She slapped his cheek. He turned back to her. She took a deep breath and stared into his eyes one last time. His pupils shrank, though not as far as she would have liked. She slapped him again and stared into his eyes. They shrunk slowly down as far as possible. Finally. "You're going to lie down on the bed, and when you open your eyes, you're going to forget all about me. Understand?"

"When I open my eyes, I won't remember you?"

"Exactly. Now lie down."

He fell back onto the bed with a thud, and then closed his eyes.

Clara shook her head. It was time to get back to the Ferguson's.

Chapter 10

WILLIAM TOSSED AND turned, unable to sleep, despite still being jet lagged. His body was tired, but his mind wouldn't leave him alone. He wanted to believe that Clara wasn't upset with him, but she hadn't taken any of his calls. The way that she left after seeing the album, there had to be something wrong.

What had gone wrong? He was tired of replaying the night in his mind. What he needed was a plan. He needed to get away from his family and spend some time with Clara—if she would even see him.

He got up and pulled the little box from its hiding spot. He opened it and pulled the ring out, and looked at it from what little light was shining in from the moon and stars. Would he be better off giving it to her sooner rather than later? He had bought it months ago, wanting to have it in case a perfect moment to propose happened spur of the moment.

It had been the biggest, most beautiful engagement ring he could find. Clara deserved nothing other than the best, and since he had the money, he would give it to her. He would give her the best of all he had all the days of her life.

His dad wanted him to give the woman he married a family ring. They had several that had been passed down through the generations. Unlike the old family paintings which had perished in a fire or two, the expensive rings had been carefully preserved. Probably because they had been worn at the times of the fires.

After seeing Clara's response to the album, William knew without a doubt that he had made the right choice picking a brand new ring for her. He would have to double check, but he was pretty sure the ring his dad wanted him to use was the very one that Liam had given Anna, the same couple in the picture that had upset Clara.

He wasn't going to take any more chances with relics from his family's past. Clara was new and special, and she would be given that which was also special and new. Something that no one else had ever worn before.

But he needed to make a plan. He would go to the Ferguson's house himself if she continued to avoid his calls. But then what? What if she wouldn't see him? Would he beg? Storm in and find her? Then what? Force her to talk? That would go about as well as going for a swim with a cat.

What he really needed was something special to surprise her with. Something like a nice dinner out, just the two of them. Or a camping trip. They had talked about a romantic camp out. If he showed up with everything planned, she couldn't say no to that. She was the one who had been excited about it initially.

He was thinking of one of the nicest rooms in an expensive hotel, but she wanted to be under the stars, out in nature. That would even make a great proposal story. All of his friends had similar stories of getting down on one knee in a fancy restaurant or somewhere else expensive and exclusive. None of them had proposed in the middle of the woods.

His friends would probably laugh at him, but he knew Clara would love it. Her eyes always lit up when she talked about going camping. He had never been, and wanted nothing to do with camping because of the horror stories of bug bites and poison ivy. If he showed her that he was willing to stare down his fears for her, she would be sure to see what she meant to him.

Who knew? Maybe he would even see what she liked about the woods so much. Discover what it was that made her eyes light up at the thought of sleeping amongst the mosquitoes and wildlife.

He put the ring back in its place and hid the box again before climbing back into bed. As he was planning their camping trip, he drifted off to sleep.

A pounding noise woke him up. William sat up and looked at the time. It was nearly time for lunch. He would be glad when he got over the jet lag. He didn't like sleeping the mornings away. That was the best time to get things done.

The knocking on his door didn't stop. "I'm up!"

"Get ready. We're going back to the office for the afternoon."

William got out of bed and opened the door, staring his dad square in the eyes. "Actually, I have other plans for the day."

"I told you, son. This week—"

"After the disaster that was last night, I need to find out what's wrong with Clara."

"Fine. Then we can go to the office."

"No. If you want to go in on your vacation, that's up to you. I'm not going in today. In fact, I might not go back the rest of this week. Some of my friends are planning a camping trip and I was thinking about joining them."

Will laughed. "You? You're going to go camping? I suppose next you're going to tell me that you're going to go hunting too."

He narrowed his eyes. "Maybe I will."

"Tell Timothy I said hi."

William raised an eyebrow. "You're not going to force me to stay?"

"No. It's good to see you standing up and making your own decisions."

"What? Then why are you always telling me what to do?"

"I'm trying to push you, son. You're a man now, and part of that is standing up for yourself. Now, I do expect you to come with me to the office over the summer. The most valuable part of your education is interning, and you have the opportunity to work under me." He was one of the best attorneys out there. If he wanted fame, he would have gotten it, but he preferred the quiet life of Delphic Cove.

William just stared at his dad.

He laughed. "Did I leave you speechless?" He slapped William on the shoulder. "Go take care of your girl, and then let us know if you're going camping or not." He walked away, and William stood there, still in shock.

All he had to do was stand up to his dad? That was all it took? Since when? His whole life, he had made sure William knew his place in life, and that was to obey his dad's wishes without fuss. William shook his head. There was no time for trying to figure his dad out. He had to get everything ready to see Clara.

He was pretty sure there was camping gear handed down from some relative in the garage or one of the sheds. He decided to look before getting in the shower because he would likely get dirty, or at least dusty, in the process of finding what he needed.

After he had his car loaded with everything he thought they would need for a day or two in the woods, he was glad he had waited for the shower. He went back to his room and checked his phone. He had a few texts from friends who wanted to see him now that he was back in town, but nothing from Clara.

Should he send her a text letting her know that he was going to come over? He didn't want her to take off if she was mad at him. He texted her a simple I love you before grabbing some clothes. When he was done getting ready, he saw lunch sitting at the table, so he sat down, finally realizing how hungry he was.

By the time he was driving to the Ferguson's house, it was well into the afternoon. Would Clara even be there? She might be off with somewhere with Natalie or another one of her friends. Clara was a beautiful and social person. What were the chances of her actually being at the house in the middle of a sunny afternoon?

He shoved the thoughts away, not giving himself the chance to be defeated before he had even tried. When he turned down the street leading to the house, his heart raced. Would she refuse to see him? He sat taller. Surely she wouldn't. They adored each other and he hadn't done anything wrong.

When he turned onto their street, he saw Natalie's car sitting in the driveway. That was a good sign. Clara might be there with her. He pulled up to the curb in front of their house, and took a deep breath. "I have nothing to be worried about." Hopefully, he would be more convincing with her.

He checked to make sure the ring was still locked in the little, hidden compartment, and then he got out of the car. He thought of all the times Clara had been excited to see him, wrapping her arms around him, and kissing him. This was just another of those times.

When he got to the door, it opened before he could even ring the bell. Natalie looked at him square in the eyes. "Clara's busy."

"I came all the way over here to talk with her. Are you sure she can't be bothered?"

"We just got back from a grueling day at the beach. She needs her rest."

William couldn't help smiling. "Grueling day at the beach?"

Natalie looked flustered for a moment, but then threw her shoulders back. "Yeah. It was rough. You should have been there."

He took a step forward. "I would have, had anyone invited me."

"Maybe next time. Sorry you wasted a trip out here."

"Are you sure she can't be disturbed? I can wait."

"Go back to your dad's office. She told me that's where you're supposed to be all week, anyway."

"I told him to shove it. I want to see Clara."

The door opened out of Natalie's hand, and Clara appeared. "You told him to shove it?"

William kept a straight face and shrugged his shoulders. "More or less. He knows not to expect me home for a day or two."

Clara's eyes widened and then lit up. "You stood up to him for me?"

He nodded.

"What did he say?"

"Oh, he didn't like it, of course, but he was forced to admit that I was a grown man." He stood taller. "I told him I would intern for him when I was damn well ready."

Clara's entire face lit up as a wide smile took up most of it. "Really?"

That wasn't exactly how it went down, but it was close enough. William smiled. "Want to call him and ask?" He pulled out his iPhone.

She threw herself into his arms. "I can't believe you stood up to him."

"I couldn't leave things the way they were last night. We obviously need to talk, and I thought we could go camping if you want."

"Camping? You're willing to go camping?" Clara turned to Natalie, and they both squealed.

William tried to stop a smile. It was going much better than he had hoped.

"Let me grab my things." Clara disappeared.

Natalie stepped outside, closing the door behind her. She stepped uncomfortably close to William, narrowing her eyes. "I don't know what happened last night at your house—oh, who am I kidding? She told me everything. You better not do anything to hurt her. Clara's like family to me. Got it? I'm strong from all those years playing varsity volleyball. I could kick your preppy a—"

"Now, now. There's no need for threats. I adore Clara, and I want nothing but the best for her. It sounds as though you know exactly what's bothering her. You're leaps and bounds ahead of me. I just want to figure out what's wrong and find a way to make it right."

"Don't think you can take advantage of her while you've got her alone in the woods, pal. She's stronger than you know."

"I would never try to do anything to hurt her. Ever."

Natalie's eyebrows came together. "Good. Like I said, I wouldn't hesitate to put you in your place."

"I'm sure you wouldn't."

Clara came through the door, carrying a bag. "I'm ready. I can't believe we're going camping!"

"Have fun you two." Natalie hugged Clara and then turned around and glared at William.

He smiled at her and she flexed her muscles. William gave a fake-scared look, and Natalie burst out laughing.

Clara looked back and forth between them. "Did I miss something?"

The corners of Natalie's mouth quirked upward. "He's a charmer."

"That he is." Clara gave him another hug and kissed his cheek. "How do you think he won me over?"

Chapter 11

CLARA LOOKED AT the sign telling them they were leaving Delphic Cove. "So, you're really taking me camping?" she asked, breaking the silence. She didn't want to talk about the night before, but she owed him an explanation after running out like that. How was she supposed to explain herself?

She had been seeing him for nearly two years, and had never figured out a way to bring up the fact that her first love was his ancestor. He would never believe her, and even if by chance he did, he would probably be repulsed by the fact that she was a vampire. All the movies they had seen together that had vampires showed them as horrible, scary monsters.

Would he be able to accept that she was one? Would he still believe that she was as wonderful as he thought? The picture of Liam, Anna, and their family reminded her of one failed relationship, and an enormous heartbreak.

"I know you've been wanting to go camping, and even though it's never been something I've ever been interested in, I thought we could use some time together. Alone."

She reached over and squeezed his knee. "I really appreciate this, William. I know we could have easily gone to the Westin or to another nice hotel. Thanks for putting this together."

"Don't thank me yet. I've never been camping before. I probably forgot something."

"All I really need is you." She squeezed again, and then leaned back into the seat. Was this trip the time to tell him? He wasn't asking her about what happened the night before, but then again, maybe he was waiting for her to speak up when she was ready. That would be never.

"What is it about camping that you like so much? If you like it, then there must be something to it. I never would have had you pegged as a camping girl before you brought it up."

She considered her words with care. "Growing up, I spent time in the woods. It reminds me of those times. Also, I just like being in nature—surrounded by it. There's a reason it's called getting away."

"It's worth the bugs?"

Clara laughed. "Most definitely. There's nothing like getting away from the busy, modern life and escaping. You know how in Delphic Cove, it's relaxing to sit at the lake?"

"I usually look at it from a little distance on our deck, but yeah, it is peaceful."

"Camping is like that, only a whole lot more."

"At least we'll be together without any deadlines or anyone interrupting us."

"That'll be nice. We rarely get time to just enjoy being together."

"I think camping sounds great." William smiled, and then Clara relaxed. Maybe they would be able to simply enjoy themselves, and she wouldn't have to worry about explaining herself to him.

They enjoyed the ride, making small talk, watching the scenery become more rural as they went. Finally, they came to a forest, and soon the paved road turned into a dirt road. William stopped at a ranger's station. He came back with a map and showed Clara where they would be setting up camp.

"It's pretty far in. I told him we wanted something secluded."

She took the map and smiled. "Sounds good to me."

"We can't go past ten miles an hour and he said it would be about a half an hour before we get to our site."

"Perfect."

"He also said we probably wouldn't have cell phone coverage. I hope that's okay."

She could hear his heartbeat pick up speed, a scent of nervousness surrounded her. Clara's mouth watered, despite just having fed the night before. She had wanted to try his blood for a long time. The taste of love and desire was second to none. As mouth-watering as fear and nervousness were, they paled in comparison. "Are you having second thoughts?" she asked, trying to get her mind off how good he smelled.

"Maybe a little, but I'm sure we can handle anything that comes our way."

"Of course we can." The scent danced around her, making her mouth water all the more. Stupid reflexes. She had managed to avoid drinking his blood all this time by keeping herself filled around him. It was a good thing she had gone to that party. Otherwise, she might not have the self-control she needed then.

"Do you think there are bears out there?"

"Did the ranger say anything about bears?"

"He said to keep all our food packed in the car as much as possible. If we leave any food out, it will probably attract the wildlife."

"As long as we're careful, we'll be fine. They wouldn't have camp sites where it was dangerous. Everyone's worried about liability. You should know that, with your family of attorneys."

"Yeah. I guess that's probably true."

Clara's mouth watered again. If he didn't stop worrying, she would end up being his biggest fear. "Look, I've killed plenty of wildlife in my time. If a bear comes after us, I'll be able to take it down."

He turned to look at her, wide-eyed. "Seriously?"

She nodded.

"You've got to tell me more about your childhood."

"I know." She sighed, hoping those stories wouldn't send him running for the hills. If a bear or a cougar did come after them, and he watched her kill it with her bare hands, she would have no choice except to tell him what she was.

When they got to their site, they got everything set up. Mostly, Clara was the one explaining everything. When they were done, they sat in some folding chairs, looking around at the scenery surrounding them.

"You probably think less of me now."

She looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "Why would I think that?"

"I'm clueless to all this stuff. It seems like a man should know all that."

"Don't be like that. You're plenty masculine. You rule and roar in your own way."

He took her hand. "Thanks, Clara."

"There's not one thing that makes someone a man. I've seen you at debate club. You made that one guy cry. Remember?"

William laughed. "He didn't cry."

"Only because you made him run to the bathroom like a little girl."

"I think he just had something in his eye."

Clara shook her head. "He was unprepared, and you smoked him. He was crying."

They stared into each other's eyes. William opened his mouth, but didn't say anything. Clara took advantage of the moment and placed her lips on his. His eyes showed surprise, but he kissed her back, pulling her onto his lap. Not pulling back from the kiss, she repositioned herself, and ran her hands through his soft, short hair.

She loved the way it felt along her fingers. He moaned, pulling her closer. She kissed him deeper, pulling on his hair, and running her fingernails along his scalp. He wrapped his arms around her, running his fingers up and down her back.

Clara smiled, still kissing him. The scents of love and desire surrounded her. This was much better than the awkwardness they had been trying to avoid. She knew he wanted to ask what happened, but he was too kind, always giving her space to talk when she was ready.

Even though he was confused, she knew that ultimately, he trusted her. Guilt coursed through her, remembering that she had gone to that party, spending time with those guys—not that they remembered any of it. But, as with all the other times, it wasn't as though she went to spend time with the guys. It was the blood she needed. Without it, she couldn't live.

If she ever grew a backbone, she would tell him, and he would probably let, no, want, her to drink his blood. Assuming that he would even have anything to do with her once he knew. She moved her fingers from his hair, down along his face, and to his arms. She loved running her hands along his muscles.

He flexed for her, and she squeezed, feeling every ripple. She pushed herself closer, wanting to bite and draw blood, even just a little. But she couldn't do that without exposing what she really was. Was she ready for that? Her body screamed yes. She could hear his blood pumping through his veins, and it smelled delicious. Her mouth watered, and she swallowed before sharing it with him.

Not wanting to give into herself, she moved her kisses from his mouth to his ear. Her fangs were fighting their way out. Why were they doing this? She had just fed—she should be fine for a couple days at least.

She pulled back, afraid she would give into her desires.

William looked at her, his eyes full of desire. He ran his fingers through the length of her hair. "Is everything okay?"

Breathing hard, she nodded. "You're perfect." She turned herself around, and leaned against him, resting her head against his.

He wrapped his arms around her, running his fingers along her arms, giving her the chills. She took several deep breaths. Her fangs were still fighting to get out, and she wasn't sure it was worth fighting them.

William moved her hair aside and kissed her ear. For the first time in his presence, she allowed her fangs out. Venom released and she swallowed it. Desire for his blood ran through her, and she fought turning around to bite into his neck. She threw her head back, giving him easier access to her ear. Hopefully, that would be enough of a distraction that he wouldn't notice what she was going through.

His scents danced around her, calling her. Tempting her. It took every bit of her self-control not to turn around and bite down into his neck. She shook.

"You like that?"

Clara nodded, trying to force her fangs back into place. They weren't meant to go back until she had feasted on human blood. More venom dripped into her mouth. She couldn't let him see her fangs. There was no way she was going to let that happen. She tried forcing them back in again, but they were fighting her with equal intensity.

It was all too much. The smells of his love and desire, the sound of his blood pumping through every inch of his body, him kissing her ear, and making his way to her neck. That wasn't even taking into account her own desire and love for him. It was as though she had never sat so close to him before.

Finally, without thinking, she turned herself around and looked at his neck. The soft skin, the blood pumping underneath. She kissed his neck, and then licked it with her venom-covered tongue, preparing his skin for the bite. She bit down, barely aware of his gasp of surprise.

His warm, sweet blood filled her mouth. It tasted even better than it smelled. She had always wondered how his blood tasted, and now she knew—and she would never forget. Never before had she tasted such sweet, succulent blood. She savored it before drinking each drop that flowed into her mouth.

When the flow slowed, her own dead heart sank. She didn't want to stop, but she had to. When in love, she never continued drinking past the slowing of the flow. Even when drinking from someone she didn't care about, she stopped at that point. Going past that point could cause irreparable damage.

The last thing she wanted was to hurt William. She drank what was in her mouth before sealing his wound with her tongue.

He turned to her, looking dazed. "What was that?"

"Sorry. I might have bit you."

He sighed. "Don't apologize. I don't know what you did, but that felt amazing. I've never felt anything like that before."

She was sure he hadn't. Clara leaned her head against his shoulder. The taste of his blood still lingered in her mouth. Her fangs had already receded. She relaxed in his arms. He played with a strand of her hair, sighing again.

At least he hadn't figured out that she had been drinking his blood. She'd had a strong buildup of venom, which would have made it feel even better for him. He would soon feel a new strength and renewed energy. Sometimes, humans would get addicted to vampire venom because of that.

Chapter 12

ABSENTMINDEDLY PLAYING WITH Clara's hair, William sat, enjoying the strange sensations running through him. He had never experienced anything like that, and he couldn't figure out what Clara had done. But whatever it was, it was the most wonderful thing he had ever felt. He wanted more, but he couldn't even bring himself to speak the words to ask her to do it again—whatever it was.

He tried to figure out what she had done, but he was at a loss. If someone would have asked him to explain what it felt like, he wouldn't have been able to. It was sensation after glorious sensation that he had never experienced before. There weren't words to describe it.

In a way, it hadn't even stopped. It was as though something was coursing its way through his system. But that was crazy. What would be running through his body?

Feeling energized, he sat up. Clara turned around and looked at him. "Are you okay?"

William grinned. "I'm better than okay. I could conquer the world."

She ran her hand over his hair. "Of course you could."

"I'm not sure what's going on, but I can't sit still. Do you want to walk around and explore?"

"That sounds wonderful. I'm glad you're feeling better. You didn't seem quite yourself before."

He tilted his head. "You know, actually I wasn't. I was anxious ever since you left my house last night. You looked upset and I couldn't get a hold of you. You weren't answering my calls." He looked into her eyes, but not in accusation.

She nodded, sighing. "I'm sorry. I was nervous. Well, not nervous, really. It's hard to explain."

"Don't worry about it. Obviously, we're good now. Let's go for a walk. If you want to tell me more, you can. If not, I'm sure you'll tell me when you're ready."

"Thanks, William." She got up, and then he stood.

"No. Thank you. I have no idea what you did to me, but I couldn't feel better."

"Good." She kissed him on the lips and then took his hand.

He found his keys in his pocket and beeped the car locked.

"You wouldn't want all the burglars out here breaking in."

William bumped into her, shoving her a little. "You can never be too sure."

"I think you were right to be worried about bears. But robbers? I don't think this is their scene."

"Robbery is often a crime of opportunity, you know. Someone who wouldn't ordinarily steal might take something if it's sitting out with no one in sight."

"I believe you, Mr. Lawyer."

He laughed, and then they headed for a nearby path. "It really is nice out here. I can't believe I've never been camping before."

"Your family isn't exactly the camping type."

"That's true. Our version of roughing it is going to a hotel without room service."

Clara grabbed his hand. "This will be fun. Trust me."

"I'm already enjoying myself. I couldn't ask for better company."

"Me neither. Did you seriously tell your dad to shove it?"

William smiled. "Not in those exact words, no. But I did tell him that I was going to see you, and that he would have to get over it."

"And he was okay with that?"

"More than I thought he would be, yeah."

"I must have made quite an impression."

"You did. Everyone really liked you." He wanted to ask about why she took off, but couldn't think of a way to ask without feeling pushy.

"Good. I had a great time. Your family's wonderful."

"Then why did you run off like that?" he blurted out. Standing up for himself had gone well enough with his dad, so he just went with it again. What was Clara going to do? Leave him in the middle of the woods? Not likely.

She turned and looked at him, still holding his hand. She looked a little nervous…or was that thoughtful? His heart picked up speed, but he wasn't feeling as worried as he had expected. Why was he always worried about upsetting people, anyway? It felt good to say what he was thinking.

William squeezed her hand as they stood in silence, looking at each other.

"Sorry about that. It was pretty rude, wasn't it? Was everyone upset with me?"

"Confused is more like it. Especially me."

She leaned against him. "I'm sorry, William. It's hard to explain. I—"

"Did my dad overdo it with his album?"

"No. It was interesting."

He stood taller, and Clara stepped back, looking at him. He held her eye contact. "As soon as you saw that first page, you looked like you had seen a ghost."

"I sort of had. Have you ever noticed that guy, even though he was older, looked exactly like you?"

"Yeah. There's a strong family resemblance."

"It's more than that. You could be his twin."

"If you ever want to look at the album again, there's another one in there who looks like me. Strong genes, I suppose." He held her gaze, hoping she would say more.

"They're excellent genes. I could look at you all day."

He couldn't help smiling, but he still needed to find out why she took off like that. Had she seen her own twin? "Did you notice anything else about the picture?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"You wouldn't have run out just because a relative of mine looked like me."

Clara took a deep breath, but didn't say anything.

"You didn't see her?"

Her eyes widened, and at the same moment, her grip nearly crushed his hand.

"So you did." He pulled his hand away, rubbing it. She was really strong. "Is that why you ran off? Because your own doppelganger was in there too?"

"Wait. What?"

"Before you came over, for the first time, I noticed someone hiding in the background of the picture that looked exactly like you. I mean, obviously with the photo quality being what it was, it wasn't the clearest, but if I didn't know better, I would swear that was you. What did you think I meant?"

"You think I was in the picture? I…I mean, someone who looks like me?"

"I'll have to show it to you next time you come over. I've looked through that album thousands of times and never noticed it until now. My dad has never noticed, either, and he probably looks through it every day."

"Yeah. You definitely have to show it to me. I didn't see it."

"It's strange how someone who looks like you is in a picture with someone who looks so much like me. Maybe our family lines have met before."

"That could explain our connection. I've never loved anyone like I love you, William." She took both of his hands and kissed him, pushing him against a tree. "You make me feel things I've never felt before. Sometimes I think my feelings scare me. Seeing a picture of basically you with someone else unnerved me. I don't want you to be with anyone else."

He wrapped his arms around her. "I don't want anyone else, either. Clara, you're beautiful and funny—you're perfect. Sometimes I wonder what you see in me. I'd be crazy to choose someone else over you. As long as you'll have me, I'm yours."

She looked at him, tears in her eyes. "Really? You mean that?"

William kissed her forehead. "Of course. You could be with anyone, anyone at all. But you're with me."

She leaned her head against his, and he could feel the wetness of her tears running down between their two faces. "I never want to do anything to lose you. Ironically, that's why I took off last night." She looked at him again. "Truthfully, the whole time I slept, I tossed and turned, worried that somehow I would do something to lose you."

"That's why you left? You were worried about me not wanting to be with you? How could you even think that?"

"I'm far from perfect. For whatever reason you think I'm flawless, you're wrong. You should know that by now."

He kissed her cheeks where the tears were still falling. "As far as I'm concerned, you're perfection in human form."

She stared into his eyes. He tried to tell what she was thinking, but he couldn't even guess. "I've been burned before."

"Well, whoever hurt you was an idiot."

Clara smiled, though more tears fell.

William wiped a couple away. "He has no idea what he's missing."

"Thanks, William."

He cupped her chin in his hand and gave her a slow, sweet kiss. "His loss is my gain. I never plan to let you go. You'll be mine as long as you'll have me."

"I won't be the one to let go of us."

William kissed her again. "Enough of this kind of talk. I'm really sorry seeing that picture made you worry about losing me. I never would have guessed that was what upset you, but please don't worry about it. There's nothing more I want than you. If anyone should be worried, it should be me."

She grabbed his face and kissed him deeply. He held her tighter, leaning into the kiss. He would have held her tighter, but he didn't want to hurt her. He wanted her more than ever after that conversation. How could she ever worry about him choosing someone else? She was beautiful, smart, and funny. And best of all, she adored him as much as he did her.

He pulled her closer, so he could feel every curve of her body against his. He wanted her to be his, and he didn't want her to worry about him going anywhere else. He was already making bold moves all day, so he didn't give himself a chance to think. He pulled the ring from his pocket, got down on one knee, and looked into her eyes.

Clara gasped, staring at him. Wide-eyed, she looked back and forth between the ring and him.

"You make me whole, Clara. I don't ever want to be without you, and I certainly don't want you worrying about me. I know we haven't really talked about this much—I've only hinted here and there. I'm tired of always living life cautiously. Life has no guarantees, and this is the perfect moment to ask. Will you marry me?"

She continued staring at him.

His heart sunk a little, but he held the ring a little higher, closer to her hand. "This is where you say something. Even 'maybe' would be good."

Clara threw her arms around him. "Yes, William. Of course I'll marry you. I'm sorry. You really surprised me."

He kissed her. "I want to surprise you more. Waiting for the perfect moment for every little thing is too boring. You deserve better." He took her hand and slid the ring on. It was a perfect fit.

"You must have known the right size." She moved her hand around, watching the ring catch the light. "It's beautiful. Thank you, William." She wrapped her arms around him again, kissing him through more tears.

He wiped her tears away. "Should we finish that walk?"

"A walk with my future husband? Nothing would make me happier."

"Me neither." He took her right hand, and they continued the walk as though they hadn't stopped, except for the fact that she held up her hand, staring at the ring.

"It's gorgeous. Thank you."

"Only the best for you. When I went to the store, I told them to bring out their best ring, and it was perfect. It was the most beautiful one in the place, and it was exactly what I wanted you to have."

Chapter 13

CLARA ADJUSTED THE pillow, listening to William sleep. She held up the ring, thrilled and terrified at the same time. She had never been engaged before, and she needed it to last. She had to tell him about her being a vampire. Ideally, she would have told him before he had the chance to propose.

That shouldn't have been too hard, except that out of the blue, he was acting spontaneously about everything. Normally, he liked to have everything planned out perfectly before doing anything, even ordering dinner. Sometimes, it frustrated her, but she also liked his predictability. Not that she was complaining about his new side.

She was next to him in the middle of the woods, wearing his engagement ring. If he was still following all the rules, they would both be in their own beds, nowhere near each other. She snuggled closer to him, listening to his pulse.

She had planned on warming him up to the idea over the course of the summer to feel him out. Now they were engaged. She sighed. The good news was that he hadn't freaked out when she drank his blood earlier. She would have preferred to have had his permission first, but with her fangs acting on their own, she really had been left with no other choice.

The last thing she wanted was to have turned around and had him see her with her fangs out and her eyes red. That would have been a deal breaker. Without a doubt, he would have run.

At least she had the night to think about everything. He was a heavy sleeper and she wouldn't need sleep for some time, having just slept the night before.

There was no easy way to tell him. Although, he did seem to have enjoyed himself when she drank his blood. Did she dare drink from him and then tell him while he was high on her venom? It was risky, because he could turn around and accuse her of trying to take advantage of him. And if he was one of those humans who became addicted to the venom, then he would be right.

She had no choice. She had to tell him, and soon. Really, she should have told him long ago, so that he knew exactly what he was doing when he asked her to marry him. But she hadn't, and regretting the past wasn't going to help her anyway.

That reminded her of the picture. Had she really been captured by the camera? She had followed Liam from a distance until he was buried. She would have taken Anna out in an instant if she mistreated him, but she never did. She was a jerk to Clara when they met, gloating over Liam's choice, but she always treated him well.

Clara did remember the day that picture was taken. Both of their kids were close to their own engagements, and it was the last chance for a Lennox family portrait. Anna had always been one to be enamored by something new, and when she caught wind of a box that could take a picture of something, she had to try it.

Liam had wanted a painting, as they had always done, but Anna would have nothing to do with it. She insisted that they find the man with the camera. What had they called it back in those days? Some kind of box? Clara shook her head. It didn't matter. What mattered was that she was in the picture because she had been so obsessed with Liam that she had never been able to let go of him.

Not even after his death. She stupidly kept watch over his kids and their kids for generations. She didn't know what she expected to find, but she couldn't let go. Then came the other William, who went by Wiley. Clara had dated him, but what a disaster that had been.

She had nearly gotten herself killed. Wiley, unlike Liam and William, had been lacking in the brains department. Sure, he had been fun and entertaining, and he had the face of the one she loved, but it wasn't the same. She should have known better than to tell him about her being a vampire.

Wiley had been too much of a dolt to handle it. She would never forget the fear in his eyes before he ran from her. Clara had thought the rejection of both the Lennox men had been bad enough, but when Wiley had gathered the town to have her burned at the stake—that was the first time she ever really experienced fear.

She had barely escaped with her life. She would have expected them to come at her with stakes, but Wiley had been so dumb, he treated her as though she was a witch. Not that he knew that a real witch could easily escape being burned at the stake.

Even though Clara knew being burned wouldn't have killed her, but it wasn't something she wanted to experience. It would have been torture until she was able to self-heal. She had been forced to kill several humans in order to get away. That was when she finally left the Lennox family line alone. Many years passed and she never could forget about Liam…until nearly a couple years earlier when she saw his face again, on William.

Clara rolled over and looked at William as he slept. At first, he had caught her attention because he reminded her of her first love. But then she got to know him, and she knew without a doubt that she adored him for him. She rarely thought about Liam anymore, and it was usually only when William said or did something that reminded her of him. She never caught herself thinking about Liam like she always used to.

She had finally moved on.

Clara kissed William, sleeping so peacefully. The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile. He rolled over, causing the blanket to fall off him, exposing his well-defined torso. She held her breath, staring. Clara could never tire of that sight. She snuggled closer, lightly running her fingers over his abs.

"Keep an open mind," Clara whispered into his ear. Hopefully, his subconscious could hear her and would listen. She played with his hair. "I would never do anything to hurt you. I hope you know that."

A twig snapped outside. Clara sat up, listening for other sounds. The skin on her back tingled as all of her senses focused on whatever was outside. Was it just a forest animal? If it was, she could handle it, no problem. She could either convince it to leave, or she could kill it if she had to.

There were no more noises, but something was out there. She could sense it. She couldn't hear a heartbeat or any breathing, but that didn't mean anything. It could be far enough away that she simply couldn't detect it. Her skin continued to crawl. Whatever was out there was likely looking at the tent. If it was a supernatural, it could be possible tell they were inside.

Usually, her skin only crawled like that when she was being watched or had otherwise been detected. Often, it meant an enemy, but it also meant an unknown. No one knew where they were, so whatever, or whoever, it was most definitely unknown.

Holding her breath, she waited for another noise, or some kind of indication of what was out there. It was silent, except that she could hear a river in the distance. It was pretty far away, barely noticeable. She could hold her breath forever if she had to. Breathing wasn't necessary. It was just a habit from the days of her youth, before she transformed into a vampire.

She heard a soft swoosh. It sounded as though it came from the direction of the river. What was it though? Someone walking along the grass? It was quiet, nearly undetectable, except that all of her senses, which were already strong, were heightened because of the possible threat.

Clara crawled out of the sleeping bag, and moved soundlessly to the tent's entrance. She moved the zipper down a tiny bit, and it was so loud, she let go immediately. There was no way she would be able to sneak out using the zipper. It was loud enough to wake the dead—if sound could wake them, which she knew was silly.

She would have to go through the tent if she was going to get outside and figure out what was going on. At least it was a thin material. Even though it was common practice for vampires to go through walls, she never had liked it. Going through a solid object always made her nervous. She had never actually had a bad experience with it, but when they were kids, her sister, Samantha, had tormented her with stories of vampires who got stuck until they died from a lack of blood.

Her sister was a liar, and even their parents had told Clara to ignore her. Taking a deep breath, Clara closed her eyes, and focused on the other side of the tent. She opened them, and she was outside the tent, on the opposite side of where she had sensed the creature.

Poking her head around the tent, trying not to be seen, she looked into the distance. She couldn't see anything, but then again, she wasn't coming from the best angle. She inched closer, and then closer, still not able to see anyone or anything out of place.

This wasn't getting her anywhere, and she could still sense that something was out there, so she stood up and walked around the tent. She didn't like exposing herself like that, but there were times that called for it, and this was one of those times. If something dangerous was near, she needed to take care of it before it got to William.

She thought she heard a chuckle. Stopping, she focused her senses. Whatever it was, it was still in the same spot it had been before. Still not seeing anything, she narrowed her eyes, and then ran at top speed in the direction.

In a split second, she was fifty feet away, staring into the glowing eyes of a male vampire. It took a moment to process that she recognized the face. "Victor? Is that you?"

Grinning, he took a step closer. "I heard you were back in town, Clare-bear."

Clara scowled, narrowing her eyes at him. "Oh, don't go there. Don't call me that. What are you doing here?"

"Like I said, I heard you were in the area."

"Why track me down?"

Victor leaned against the nearest tree. "I heard you were back with the Lennox family. Is it true?"

"What's it to you? I haven't seen you in over a century, and suddenly, you show up wanting to know about my love life?"

"I had to see for myself if it was true. Is it?" He stared into her eyes with his coal-black eyes.

"It's none of your business."

A slow smile spread across his face, showing his perfect teeth.

"I see you've been to a dentist since we last met. Good choice."

He smiled wider. "You like?"

"I don't care. Are you leaving now?"

"Are you really with another guy from the Lennox line? Haven't you learned yet that no good can come from those men? What is it about them that enamors you so much?"

"What is to you? Are you jealous?"

"Stick to your own kind. Have you ever heard of a vampire trying to have another one burned at the stake?" He laughed. "It's pretty funny if you think about it."

Clara clenched her fists. Where was a good stake when she needed one? "I need to get back to my tent."

"Yes. I wouldn't want to interrupt your time with a sleeping human." His eyes moved down to her fists. "Look at that rock. Are you going to marry this one? Did you turn him? Or did you find a way to become human?"

"Become human? Now why would I ever want to do that?"

"To finally keep one."

"Victor, go back into the hole you crawled out of. I don't know why you're here, but I'm tired of you already."

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking amused. "Don't humans bore you? You have to be so careful with them. One wrong move, and oops, they're dead. So, when's the wedding? Am I invited?"

Narrowing her eyes, she stepped closer. "We haven't picked a date, and when we do, you'll be the last to know. Why are you so interested in my love life?"

"It's always been so interesting, especially when it involves that Lennox line."

She sighed. Why had she ever confided in him? "Are you going to haunt me forever?"

"Only until I find out what's going on."

"I have nothing to say to you, Victor. I don't know what your angle is, but if you have nothing better to do, I would appreciate you finding something else to keep you from being bored."

He ran his hands through his dark hair. "You're not as much fun as you used to be. I heard about your parents. Is that it?"

She threw herself at him, and wrapped her hands around his neck. "Don't mention my parents. Got it?"

"Touchy subject. Noted."

Clara hissed at him, and then backed up. "Good."

"Do you know where your mother went?"

She got in his face. "Do you not know what 'don't mention them' means?"

"It was just a question."

"You know, I haven't missed you one bit. You can leave me alone for another century, and I would be most content."

"Oh, but I've missed you, Clare-bear."

Without a word, she threw herself at him again, this time knocking him to the ground. She pinned him down. "Don't mention my parents, and don't call me that. I'm not going to say it again."

"I kind of like this, though."

She scratched his face. He barely flinched, still looking amused. A few drops of blood escaped before the skin healed. Her mouth watered, but she ignored it. What was with her thirst lately? It often picked up when she was in love, but she had been in love with William for so long that everything had equaled out long ago. Maybe it had something to do with being back in Delphic Cove.

"Are you going stay on top of me, looking at my blood? If you are, I can think of several more interesting things we could be doing."

Clara got up, dusting herself off.

Victor wiped the blood from his face and held out his finger. "Want to lick it?"

"Get out of here, Victor."

He shrugged, and then licked the blood off his finger. "Mmm. My blood has always been especially tasty. Remember?"

"Oh. I get it. You want to be on hand to be my rebound again. Sorry to tell you, you're going to be disappointed. William and I are most happy together, and even if we weren't, I wouldn't be looking for a distraction."

"But we were so good together. Don't you remember?"

"I remember no such thing."

Victor chuckled. "Tell yourself what you have to." He jumped up to standing. "You just wish you could have a piece of this again."

"Dream on."

"Have you told him that you're a vampire?"

"Go away and never come back."

"You really need to tell him. He's going to notice that you don't age."

"Not that I owe you an explanation, but I have it covered."

"You should tell him before someone else does. I'm just saying."

"Is that a threat?"

He shook his head. "Not at all, Clare-b—Clara. I'm only pointing out that not everyone has as much discretion as I do. You being with him is good for me."

"How do you figure?"

"The longer you're with him, the harder you'll fall when it ends. Then you'll need me even more. Remember how good we used to be together? What ever happened with that? Why didn't we stay together?"

"Because rebounds never last and you're too full of yourself. Mostly the last part."

"I love how you adore me but can't bring yourself to admit it."

"Keep dreaming."

"Really, Clara, you should tell him. I would hate for him to find out some other way. Humans can be so unforgiving. They'll take a grudge to the grave every time."

"You would hate for him to find out? No. You would love it, because you think I would come running to you again. Not this time."

"Want my number just in case?"

"No."

"How about my blood? I saw the way you were looking at it. You know mine's the best."

Her mouth watered. "No."

"Okay, then. I'll be in touch. Don't forget to tell Willy boy about your true nature while you have the chance."

Clara narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged and turned away. "Rumors. Probably nothing."

She ran around to face him. "Spill it."

"Vampires are talking about a human war brewing. This area is said to be one of the targets."

Clara paused. "What's your point?"

"Your boy toy is mortal. One wrong move, and it's adios."

She studied him, trying to figure out if he was messing with her. He seemed oddly serious. "I'll keep that in mind."

"And you know where to find me after he perishes."

"He won't."

Chapter 14

WILLIAM WOKE UP with the sun beating down on the tent. It felt like it was either late morning or early afternoon. Being an early riser, he hated waking late. He was wasting the best part of the day with sleep.

He rolled over and looked at Clara. She had her hands behind her head, staring at the top of the tent. She looked troubled.

"Are you okay?"

She turned and looked at him, smiling. "I'm glad to see you awake. I was beginning to think you would sleep the day away. It's so unlike you."

"It's this jet lag. It doesn't seem to affect you, though."

Clara shrugged. "I already slept it off." She rolled closer to him, and gave him a kiss, which he returned.

"I like waking up to that." He smiled and took her hand, looking at the ring. "It looks even better on you than it did in the store. Your beauty compliments it."

"I still can't believe we're engaged. I really didn't expect you to pull out a ring. Do your parents know?"

"Not yet."

"Have you told anyone?"

He shook his head. "I have been holding onto the ring, waiting for the right moment. Yesterday felt like it. Between being out in the beauty of nature and my strong feelings for you, I just did it."

"So, you were being spontaneous?"

"Essentially. But that doesn't mean I meant it any less."

She kissed his nose. "Of course not. It's just nice to see you come out of your shell a bit. First you stood up to your dad and now this." Clara smiled. "I can get used to these changes."

"I think you make me a better person."

"You're going to make me blush."

"Really? I've never seen you blush before."

"It's just an expression. You make me want to be better, too."

"Something seems to be on your mind."

"Does it? Well, I did hear something last night."

"Outside the tent?"

She nodded.

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"I checked it out myself. I—"

"Have you lost your mind?"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." She shoved him. "There was nothing there. I looked, and found nothing of value."

"Nothing of value?"

"Well, you know what I mean. Nothing to worry about."

William wrapped his arms around her. "I'm glad you're okay. I wish you would have woken me, though. You shouldn't go into the woods on your own, especially at night."

Clara smiled. "I've spent a lot of time in forests in my life. I can handle whatever comes my way."

"There are bears and cougars out there. Please don't."

She sighed. "If it'll make you feel better."

"Yes, actually, it would."

"What are our plans for the day?" She rolled closer to him.

He held her tight. "I don't have any. I just wanted to spend some time with you. Do you need to get back?"

"I'm not the one with parents expecting me to come home and be an intern."

"Like I told him, I'm a grown man. He can just wait until I'm ready, and for now, you're the one who needs me more. I really can't believe that picture upset you so much."

"Think of how you would feel if you saw a picture of me with someone else. Wouldn't it stir emotions?"

"I suppose. But I know that you're with me, and not someone else."

"You sounded somewhat shook up when you told me that someone looking just like me was in that very picture."

"True. I can't deny that."

"Same thing. I had to get away and sort my feelings out."

He kissed the top of her head. "No. What you needed was to talk with me. See how much better we're doing now that we're together without anyone else around?"

"Yeah. Now we've got a wedding to plan."

"See? We're both feeling better."

"So you really want to marry me?"

"That's why you're wearing the ring. Why do you ask?"

Clara shrugged. "I hope I'm good enough for you."

"Good enough for me? You have to be kidding. It's the other way around."

She snuggled closer. "I hope you always feel that way."

"Why wouldn't I? Aside from a few annoying quirks, you're practically perfect."

She turned around, smiling. "Annoying quirks? What would those be?"

He laughed. "Nothing important."

"What's irritating about me?" She moved his shirt up and tickled him. "Tell me."

William laughed so hard he couldn't breathe. He tried to tell her to stop, but he couldn't. Instead, he pushed her hands, unable to get her to budge. She was really strong. It was no wonder she had gone out of the tent to see whatever she thought she had heard.

"What's weird about me?" Clara moved her hands around to his side, causing him to laugh even harder. She was laughing too, although he couldn't hear much over the sounds of his own laughter.

Tears rolled down his face. Clara stopped tickling him, and he gasped for air. He sat up once he managed to catch his breath. "How did you get so strong?"

She shrugged. "My father didn't want us to be easily taken advantage of. He taught us how to hunt from a young age."

"Sounds like my kind of dad. You miss him, don't you?"

"Yeah, but I don't want to talk about it."

"Have you talked with your sister about your parents?"

"We've never been close. That's why you've never met her."

"I thought I never met her because she's in jail."

"There's that too."

"What's she in for? You never told me."

"Do we have to talk about my family?"

"I want to know more about them. I know it's not your favorite subject, but it's a part of you that I know almost nothing about. Last year, you came back here while I was studying for exams and then you came back saying you'd never see your parents again. Then nothing was ever said about it. I get that whatever happened is hard on you, and that's why I've given you space. But wouldn't you say I've earned the right to know more?"

Clara sat up. "Is that why you gave me the ring?"

"What? No. How could you even think that?"

"Then what was that speech about?"

"It wasn't a speech. Why can't you just tell me about your family? I stood up to mine for you."

She scooted back. "My family is a mess."

"I'm not going to hold it against you. I know your sister is locked up for attempted murder, and I don't hold that against you. I'm not worried that you're going to try to kill me. But your family business is part of you, and I want you to let me in on that. Good, bad, and ugly."

"You don't have any idea what you're asking."

"That's because you won't tell me. I think you would feel a lot better if you talked about it with me rather than holding it all inside."

"Do we really need to discuss this now? I thought we came out here to enjoy ourselves. I'm not having fun at the moment."

"Sometimes, talking about things that hurt can bring people together. You know I'm here for you."

"I'm not ready to talk about them yet."

He narrowed his eyes. "Why not? Why did you even say yes to marrying me if you don't trust me?"

"It's not about trust! I know I can trust you more than anyone else. Trust has nothing to do with this. I'm not ready."

"Then give me back the ring."

She looked at him, eyes wide. "What?"

"If you won't talk to me about your family, then you're not ready to marry me. Hand it over."

"You're serious?"

"Obviously I haven't proven to you that I'm trustworthy. I don't even know why you're with me."

"What's gotten into you, William? This isn't like you."

"You're asking me what's gotten into me? What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing. You know I don't want to talk about my family. It's just not something I want to discuss."

"I've given you plenty of space. If you want to keep it to yourself, then fine. But we can't be engaged and have secrets."

"Can't you just give me a little time to prepare myself for this talk?" She looked hurt, not angry.

William softened his tone. "What is so bad about your family, Clara? You can tell me anything. I won't hold it against you."

"Why now? Can't you give me a little time? We just got engaged. Can't we enjoy this time together before we start having serious discussions?"

He sighed. "Do you promise to tell me?"

She took a deep breath. "I do. I've known for a long time that I have to tell you everything. I'm just not ready." Tears filled her eyes.

William felt his heart shatter. "I'm so sorry, Clara. I shouldn't have demanded the ring back. You're right. I don't know what got into me. Can you forgive me?"

She nodded, not saying anything.

He wrapped his arms around her. "I'm sorry, Clara. I wish I could take back everything I said. I don't want to be like that."

"I know. You're right that I need to sit down and tell you everything. Can you promise me that you'll have an open mind?"

"For you, anything. But for what it's worth, remember I didn't even blink when you told me about your sister. I know that family can be crazy, and what one person does isn't an indication of what another one will do."

Clara relaxed in his arms. "Thank you, William. I really don't want to keep secrets from you."

He squeezed her. "Whenever you're ready. Let's just enjoy our time together. Again, I'm sorry I told you to give the ring back. I can't believe I said that. I'm not going to ever say that again, okay? I don't want you to worry that I'm going to threaten you. That's just not me."

"I know. I'm sorry I made you feel like saying that was your only option."

Chapter 15

WILLIAM SAT IN his dad's office, trying to focus on what was being said, but it was a lost cause. His mind kept wandering to what Clara had said, or more specifically, what she hadn't said. She had promised to tell him when she was ready, but when would that be? He didn't want to push her away by forcing her to tell him, but at the same time, whatever it was, was obviously pretty big.

"Are you listening to me?"

He looked up. "I'm trying, Dad."

Will sighed. "I know you're thinking about your engagement. I wish you would have let me in on it, son. I would have let you given her the family ring. And I could have helped you plan something a little more special than a camping proposal."

"She likes camping, and it was quite romantic."

"You didn't even tell me she was going camping with you guys. What's gotten into you?"

"Before I left, you were so proud that I was acting like a man. Now you're back to wanting me to be your perfect son. What is it? What do you really want from me?"

"In our family, we do things a certain way. It's been like that for—"

"Generations. I know."

Will shook his head. "Are you still planning on practicing law?"

"Of course. Once I get my Cambridge degree, I'll be back here to study law. It's all planned out, and I haven't swerved from the path."

"Just checking. The more time you spend here interning, the more prepared you'll be for law school. Just keep that in mind. You'll be ahead of everyone who hasn't been living and breathing law their entire lives."

"How's your vacation, Dad?" William looked around the law office.

"Are you insinuating that I'm not really on vacation? I'm not dealing with a single client—they've all been directed to others in the firm for the week. I wanted to make sure you could learn without distraction. You know that if I'm not talking with them, I don't get paid. It's a vacation."

William looked his dad in the eyes. "That's not true, and you know it. You look into a case file or make a call about a case, you bill that time."

"So you have been listening to me all these years. If you get outside today, will you be able to come back fresh tomorrow?"

"Possibly."

"Why don't you get out of here? You can do what you need to, and then we'll plan on meeting back here in the morning."

William nodded, and left without a word. He nodded and waved to those he passed as he left. He knew most everyone in the firm, due to his dad working there his entire life. There were some new secretaries, but he knew all the attorneys, minus the actual interns. He wasn't one, not until he was either getting school credit or paid.

Once he was out in the sun, walking toward his car, he realized he didn't know what he wanted to do with himself. Part of him wanted to get together with Clara, but another part of him wanted to try to figure out what she could be hiding since she wouldn't tell him.

"Hey, William, is that you?"

William turned around. It was Timothy, one of his childhood friends, the one his dad thought he had gone camping with. "Timothy. How are you?"

"Probably about the same as you. Trying to get out of spending this sunny day inside the firm."

"Sounds about right."

"What have you been up to, man? How's Cambridge?"

"Couldn't be better."

"You still seeing that girl? What was her name?"

"Clara. Yeah. I even talked her into marrying me."

Timothy raised an eyebrow. "You gave her a ring?"

"The best one I could find."

"That's awesome." Timothy held out a fist, and William gave it a bump. "When's the big day?"

"We haven't discussed any details yet. I just gave her the ring."

"So you haven't thought about a best man yet?"

William smiled. "Oh, come on. Who else?"

"Oh, yeah! I got a party to plan." He hit William in the shoulder. "I can't believe we're all starting to get married. Soon, our whole group will be married. Then we'll have kids." Timothy shuddered.

"Really? You have a girlfriend?"

"No way. I'm not even close to ready to settle down. You know me. But eventually, I'll have to. Some of the other guys who have girlfriends are starting to think about the future too. You're the first to actually propose, but Harvey and Max are getting close. Once they catch wind of your engagement, it'll push them into action, I'm sure. Either that, or their girlfriends will." Timothy laughed.

"Then you'll be forced to settle down too."

"Nah. Joe and Drew are like me. We'll stick together, living the wild life. It'll be even better when we have our own money to blow. The chicks will be all over us once we're actually attorneys."

"When will you have time for that? You know the newbies all work sixty to eighty hours a week."

"Oh, I'll find time. Always do."

"Are you still at Harvard?"

"Yeah. There aren't as many parties as I had hoped. I've had to put together more than my fair share. It's good to be back here where there's usually something going on."

"Anything going on this week? It would be great to see everyone again."

"Well, it's not exactly going to be a rocking party, but the country club is having their annual beginning of summer dance tonight. Everyone will be there."

"That's tonight?"

"Yeah. Didn't your dad tell you?"

"Seriously? Have you met him?"

Timothy chuckled. "Right. He's probably hoping your mom won't find out and make him go. Kathryn didn't say anything to you?"

"With as busy as my dad's been keeping me? She's only teased me a couple times since I've arrived."

"She probably didn't want your parents to know about the dance, now that I think about it. She's seeing that biker now."

William's eyes widened. "Biker?"

"Don't get all big brother on her. He's not a real biker. He's some punk from one of the public high schools who just got a motorcycle, so now he thinks he's all that. So does your sister."

"What is she thinking?"

Timothy shook his head. "Your parents are going to be so disappointed. Neither of you are going to end up with a club member."

"So, are you going to the dance tonight?"

"I'll see if Clara wants to go."

"Oh, don't be like that. Go with or without her. It'll be good to have all of us back together. We can even throw together an after party. What do you say?"

"How could I say no to that? Good thing I ran into you. How else would I catch up on the local gossip? You know more than the girls."

"Hey, watch it." Timothy shoved him. "You know you'd be lost without me."

"True."

"Well, I better get in there before my dad throws a fit."

"Yeah, you don't want to deal with that. Are our families still getting together for the Fourth?"

"As always."

"Cool. Well, I'll see you tonight. Maybe even with Clara."

"See you then."

They waved, and then William turned back toward his car. Now he not only had to figure out what was going on with Clara, but he needed to find out what his sister was doing with a biker wanna-be. What had happened to the days when things were so simple?

He opened his car, and it was so hot that the heat shot out at him. Holding his breath, he put the key in and rolled down all the windows and started the air conditioning. By the time it got cold, most of the hot, stale air would be out.

Leaning against the car, he called Clara. It went straight to voice mail. She wasn't avoiding him, was she? He ended the call and then called Kathryn.

"What up, bro?"

William rolled his eyes. "That's what I want to know, sis. What up with the biker?"

"Oh, don't talk like that. It sounds so wrong. So, I guess you ran into Timothy, huh?"

"Yeah, tell me—"

"You didn't say anything to Dad, did you?"

"Really? You would even think that?"

She sighed. "Well, don't. Okay? It's not like he's dangerous. He's still in high school."

"What are you doing with him?"

"He's exciting."

"Yeah. I'll bet. You bringing him to the dance tonight?"

"You definitely ran into Tim. We might show up. I'm not sure. If anyone there knows him, word will spread to our parents before I even get home for the night."

"Well, I want to meet him."

"I don't need your approval."

"Yeah, but I might want to talk with him."

"You know, I've been nothing but nice to Clara. Remember the respect."

"Why didn't you tell me about him?"

"I've barely seen you since you got back. You've either been sleeping or out. My door's always open."

"Good. Sounds like we need to play catch up."

"Ya think? I can't believe you proposed to her and didn't even tell me!"

William could feel cold air coming from his car. "We'll find each other. I gotta go."

"Ciao."

He ended the call and climbed into the car, rolling up the windows. He sat for a moment, trying to figure out where to go. If he was going to ask Clara to the dance, he should pick up some flowers. He pulled out of the spot, thinking about what kind of arrangement to get. William's mom was obsessed with flowers, so as a result, he knew far more than the average guy about how to arrange them.

When he got to the strip mall, he found a shady spot to park, and then walked toward the flower shop. Before he got there, he passed Delphic Cove's little jewelry store. He stopped. Was that Clara in there? She was handing something to one of the workers. That wouldn't be his ring, would it?

Heart pounding, he threw open the door. As the door chimed, everyone looked at him. Clara's eyes were wide.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. His voice cracked, adding embarrassment to the fear he was already feeling.

The sales lady smiled, holding up the ring. "We're going to clean this beautiful ring."

William stared at her. "We'll stay here while you do, thank you." He walked to Clara. "What's going on?"

She looked embarrassed. "I probably should have taken it off, but it was so beautiful, I couldn't bring myself to. I was at the manicurist and I don't know what happened. Maybe she was jealous or something, but somehow she spilled nail polish all over the ring. I washed it as best as I could, but I couldn't get it out of the tiny crevices. I'm sorry, William. I was hoping to get it back to new before you saw it." Tears filled her eyes. "I'm sorry."

Everything he was feeling melted away, and he put his arm around her. He lowered his voice. "Don't bring it to the strip mall next time, please. If you don't know the jeweler personally, you never know when they'll switch out a high-quality diamond like yours with a cheap one."

"Okay. I'm sorry. I'm having a bad day, and I can't make any good decisions." She frowned.

William kissed her forehead, not taking his eyes off the lady cleaning the ring.

"I'm really sorry, William."

"Why were you at the nail place anyway? Didn't you just get them done the other day?"

Clara nodded. "Yeah. But I broke some nails when we were camping. You look nice. Where were you? How did you know I was here?"

"I was with my dad, and this is how I have to dress when I go to the firm with him."

"How did you know I was here, though? You weren't tracking me, were you?"

"Tracking you? No. Of course not. I was here on an errand, and just happened to see you as I walked by."

The woman with the ring was acting nervous. "I can't get all of this off. If you want to leave it here, we can send it—"

"You're not sending it anywhere. Thank you for trying. I know someone who can fix it."

Clara looked at him. "You do?"

"We have a family friend who is a real jeweler. She doesn't just sit in a store with a bunch of precut diamonds. She travels around the world, looking at various jewels. Cleaning and cutting them is her specialty." He walked to the counter and held his hand out.

The lady put the ring in his palm.

"Thank you." William tucked it in his shirt pocket, and then took Clara's hand. "Let's go."

"I'm so sorry about the ring. I feel horrible."

William nodded. "I can tell. I've never seen you like this." He led her out the door into the hot sun. "Come with me."

They went to the ice cream place a few doors down.

He opened the door for her, and then stuck a twenty in her hand. "Order an ice cream for both of us. I need to take care of that errand I mentioned, and then I'll be right back."

She nodded. "I don't need your money, though. You know that."

"I want to buy. I'll be right back." He kissed her hand, and turned around to go to the florist.

"What do you want?"

"Surprise me," he called. He waited to hear the door close behind her, and then he went into the flower shop, trying to remember the arrangement he had planned before seeing Clara. At least now she would get it fresh. He hadn't been sure when he would see her.

When he walked in, the girl behind the counter looked up and smiled. "William. You're back in town. How was the UK?"

"Wonderful, as always. How are you?"

"Not bad. Are you here for some flowers?"

He nodded, making his way to the counter.

"For your mom or someone else special?"

"My fiancée."

"Your…? Oh, my. Congratulations. Is it the blonde girl you were seeing last summer?"

"Clara. Yes."

"Let's make this an extra special arrangement. What did you have in mind?"

By the time he was walking out the door, he held the most beautiful bouquet in the store. It smelled as good as it looked. When he walked through the door of the ice cream parlor, Clara's eyes lit up.

"Those are gorgeous. What are they for?"

Smiling, he handed them to her. "The country club is having a dance tonight. I was hoping you would accompany me."

"Of course I will. You know I love to dance, and I love spending time with you even more."

He gave her a kiss and handed her a matching wrist corsage. "I'll pick you up at seven-thirty."

Clara handed him a bowl of ice cream covered in hot fudge after he sat next to her. "I really wasn't expecting all this. Especially after the ring."

"Forget about the ring. When we're done here, I'm going get it properly cleaned. Hopefully, you'll have it back tonight for the dance."

"You're perfect. You know that?"

William laughed. "I'm far from perfect."

"You could have gotten really mad at me about the ring, but—"

"I said forget about it. It'll be as though it never happened."

Chapter 16

"WHAT DO YOU think of this one?" Natalie held up a hideous flowered dress to herself, smiling.

"I hope you're joking," Clara said, "or I'll forever doubt your fashion sense after this."

Natalie laughed. "Are you kidding? This thing is as ugly as they come."

"Well, in that case, you should get it. It really brings out your eyes."

"Maybe I will." Natalie shoved her. "Have you found anything you like?"

"A few. I can't really make up my mind."

"Show me." Natalie stuffed the hideous dress back onto the rack and looked at the pile in Clara's arms. "A few? Looks like you're carrying half the store."

"It has to be the right one. He's never taken me to the country club before."

"Oh, you'll love it. Everything there is gorgeous. It's like stepping into a dream. I can't wait until Braydon and I get married, and I have a membership. I'll be there every day."

"William must be pretty serious to ask me there."

"He gave you that hulking rock. I'd say he's serious," Natalie said. "I don't think it's really his scene. Of all the times I've been there, I've never seen him there. His sister is there pretty often though. Like all the other regulars, she loves to socialize."

"I can't imagine why you like it there."

"Ha, ha." Natalie took the first few dresses from her arm, and held them up one by one. She shoved them on a rack. "None of those." She grabbed the next few, putting the first two on the rack. Natalie stopped when she got to the third. It was black, blue, and purple. "This one on the other hand, is perfect." She moved it back and forth, watching it shine. "You'll steal the show wearing this. Oh, and look how it'll sit off your shoulders. If you don't get it, I will."

Clara snatched it. "That's the one. Thanks."

"Go try it on. I want to see it on you."

"You have to try one on too. I want to see something on you."

Natalie grabbed the rest of the dresses from Clara's hand. She held each one up, and chose two. "I'll try these on and see if either of them do."

They went into the dressing room, and as Clara was admiring herself in the multi-colored dress, Natalie asked her if she was ready.

Natalie stepped out of her stall just as Clara did. Clara looked Natalie over in a dark pink, strapless dress which made her look like a princess. "You should wear that one, Nat. You look like royalty."

Smiling, Natalie looked Clara over. "And you have to wear that one. You're stunning."

They changed back into their clothes, discussing the dance the entire time, not stopping until they got home.

Janet came out of the kitchen. "What are you two talking about?"

Natalie smiled. "We're going to a dance at the country club tonight."

"That'll be fun. Do you girls need anything?"

"Dinner would be great, Mom." Natalie batted her eyelashes.

"Any requests? I was just trying to decide what to make."

"You guys decide," Clara said, balancing the flowers and the dress. "I'm going upstairs."

Clara ran up the stairs, and laid her new dress on the bed, admiring it. She held the flowers to her face and took a deep breath. They smelled heavenly. Airy and succulent, so much she could almost taste their sweetness. It was the perfect mixture of flowers, both visually and aromatically. She set them on the desk, and found a crystal vase that knew was in a closet. She got some water from the bathroom and put the flowers in the vase.

Sitting on the bed, she admired the bouquet. She felt tears stinging her eyes. Despite all the excitement over the dance, she was still upset over having nearly destroyed the engagement ring. William had every right to be furious with her, but instead he brought her flowers? She had to do something to make it up to him.

But what? She never knew what to get him. His family had as much money as hers, if not more, and it was nearly impossible to find him anything because he always got himself whatever he needed.

One thing she knew she needed was to tell him the truth. More than ever, she knew he deserved it. The tears sitting in her eyes finally spilled over.

She was starting a perfect life on a lie.

Clara wiped her tears away, but twice as many replaced them. Her mouth shook as the tears poured out. She had been a mess since he proposed because of this. She couldn't lose him.

She wanted to pretend that everything was normal, and not deal with it until he noticed she wasn't aging. That could be a while, perhaps even a decade. She had managed to live with him and hide her true nature. Her blood cravings were under her control, except for when they were camping. She still couldn't figure out why she had lost control like that.

Even if by some miracle he did accept her being a vampire, he would still only live another sixty or so years. Then he'd be gone, and she would be heartbroken again. Unless he wanted to become one. Could she actually convince him? Then they could be together forever.

She stood up. This wasn't something that had to be dealt with that night. William obviously loved her, so if she felt everything out, she could find a way to tell him the truth that he would be able to accept. Tonight, she had a dance to focus on.

Going into the bathroom for a shower, she mentally prepared herself for the country club. She had spent plenty of time in a royal castle. If she could handle a bunch of regal vampires, she could surely handle some wealthy humans.

When Clara was almost done getting ready, there was a knock on her door.

"Come in."

Natalie walked in, looking beautiful. "Look at you. You would make Miss America cry."

"Thanks. Wow, that goes double for you. It was like that dress was made for you. Put the corsage on. I want to see it."

Clara took it out of the plastic container and slid it on her right wrist.

Natalie squealed. "Perfect! It goes with that dress like they were made for each other. Shoes?"

"I haven't decided." Clara walked over to her shoes and held up a couple pairs. "What do you think?"

"Neither. Alexis has a pair that would be perfect. They're the same shade of blue you're wearing. You guys are the same size?"

"Half a size difference. Not enough to matter."

Natalie moved past her, digging through the closet. "Here they are. Try those."

"Those are exactly the same color." Clara slid them on. They were a little tight, but they made the outfit, so she would live with it.

"I knew those would be just what you needed." Natalie beamed. "Oh, that reminds me. My parents are going to want pictures before we leave. Just be warned."

"Not a problem. At least they care."

Natalie raised an eyebrow. "Yours didn't?"

"Oh, they did. We didn't always have cameras, but they loved making everything special. Now things are all the memories I have of them." She started to feel choked up again. She cleared her throat. "Anyway, the boys should be here soon. Should we get downstairs?"

They headed downstairs, and sure enough, they were assaulted with a barrage of flashing lights. They managed to get out of the house with only a few more once Braydon and William arrived.

Once outside, William gave Clara a kiss. "I've never seen you more beautiful."

Clara looked him up and down. "You're especially sexy in a tux. I love your beard." She ran the back of her hand along his rough face.

He blushed. "I didn't have time to shave, but Kathryn said it was at a good length."

"It certainly is. I can't take my eyes off you."

"You two want to ride with us?" Braydon asked. "That way you don't have to focus on the road." He grinned.

William shook his head. "Thanks for the offer, but my parents sent me with a driver."

Braydon nodded. "My uncle too. Well, we'll see you there."

They got into their respective cars, and before Clara knew it, they pulled up to the club. There was a line of cars headed for the entrance, and a finely dressed couple stepped out of the back of each car as it pulled up to the walkway.

"Does everyone have a driver?" Clara asked.

"Pretty much. It's a status symbol, really. See those cars at the other end of the lot?"

Clara nodded, looking over at the expensive cars parked, with couples stepping out of the front of the car.

"Even though those are all members, everyone is going to be sticking their noses down at them for not coming with a driver."

"Isn't your sister coming too? I can't imagine she would arrive without a driver."

"I'm not even sure she's going."

They finally pulled up to the sidewalk. The driver got out and opened the door for them. William slid out and then took Clara's hand, helping her out of the car. Clara took everything in as they walked inside. The walls were decorated for the dance, and when they arrived in the dance hall, Clara held her breath at the sight.

People were already dancing to the live music while others mingled, talking. There was a large spread of appetizers and plenty of tables to sit at, each with its own lace tablecloth and candles.

William squeezed her hand. "What would you like to do? Get something to eat? Dance? Meet some people?"

"I'm up for anything."

"That's not what I asked."

"Are any of your friends here?"

He looked around. "Drew and Harvey are over there." William indicated toward the buffet.

"Let's go say hi."

As they walked over, Drew and Harvey, whom Clara had met the previous year, stared at her. The girl standing next to Harvey shoved him, and he kissed her. Clara recognized her also. Her name was Hanna.

"You guys remember Clara?"

"How could we forget?" Drew asked. "Oh, and this is Mara. She's visiting her aunt and uncle for the summer."

Everyone greeted each other, and then the guys caught up. Mara turned to Hanna and Clara. "This place seems nice. Tell me the party livens up."

Hanna nodded. "Totally. By ten, the parents usually get tired, and then things get really fun. Instead of playing '80s and '90s music, they play the popular stuff. Then everything here closes down around midnight. Usually, people meet up somewhere. One guy, his parents own a restaurant, opens it and everyone piles in after the dance. Or other times, we'll sneak out into the woods or to the lake and make a bonfire and college seniors bring some good stuff to drink. It just depends. But it's always fun after ten."

Mara nodded. "Awesome. So, what do we do for the next two hours?"

"We can dance," Clara said. "Who cares if the music is old?"

The music stopped and one of the band members spoke up into a mic. "Who let the dogs out?" he shouted.

Hanna put her hands over her face. "No. Please, no."

"What?" asked Mara.

"Just watch," Hanna said, muffled through hands. "I can't look."

A bunch of the grown-ups on the dance floor jumped up and down. Several yelled out, "Who? Who?"

The music blared, and the adults on the dance floor sang along with the band.

Harvey nudged Hanna. "Don't you want to watch your parents?"

"I'm going to die a slow and painful death."

Max laughed. "I love watching the old people dance to their music. It's a riot."

"Yeah. It's great." Hanna mumbled, still hiding behind her hands.

Harvey bumped her hip with his. "Who let the dogs out?"

She turned around and smacked him in the chest.

Clara looked at William, and they both laughed.

Mara nudged Clara. "This is already far more entertaining than I thought it would be."

The six of them watched the dancing while sipping punch for a while.

While they were talking and laughing, someone caught Clara's attention. What was he doing there? She narrowed her eyes, and then squeezed William's hand. "I'll be right back."

He squeezed her hand back and nodded.

Clara marched over to Victor. "What are you doing here? Interrupting my camping trip wasn't enough for you? What gives?"

"I had to see for myself. You really are with a Liam and Wiley clone."

"How did you get in here?"

Victor took a sip of wine. "You have to ask? No one is easier to control than a human. I just had to give the lady my puppy-dog eyes, and I was in. No questions asked."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"You should try mind control more often, Clara. I don't know why you have always had such an aversion to it."

"I don't have an—why am I explaining myself to you? Get out of here."

Victor chuckled. "I'm in now. I've always enjoyed a good party. Oh, look. They're starting the Macarena. Want to join me?"

"In your dreams."

"Have you told Willy boy your secret yet?"

Clara stepped closer to him, her eyes narrowed. "It's none of your business, Victor. Leave me alone."

"The boy deserves the truth, does he not?"

"Why do you care?"

"I wouldn't want to see you hurt by that family again. I thought you were done with the Lennox's after Wiley. You just can't stay away from them, can you? What is it about them?"

"You need to leave me alone. There's nothing here in Delphic Cove for you."

He winked. "Sure there is."

"Don't you know there are werewolves in town?"

"Yeah, and I know that the only ones left are the peaceful ones. Speaking of them, I saw you talking with their leader the other night. Isn't he a teacher or something?"

"Have you been spying on me? How dare you?"

"I had to make sure my Clare-bear was safe. I heard you were in town with another Lennox human with werewolves running around. But it turns out there's nothing left to worry about. You and your vampire clan took care of that."

"Would you shut up already?"

"You don't want these country clubbers hearing about vampires and werewolves?"

Clara looked around. "Stop talking. I need to get back to my fiancé."

"He looks fine talking with his buddies. I heard about what happened to your parents during the werewolf war. If you ever want someone to talk to about it, I'm here for you, Clare-bear."

"I told you not to call me that."

"Sorry. Want to go out to the veranda and pour out your soul to me?"

"I'd rather you drop dead."

"But I'm already a vampire—it's too late for that." He grinned.

Clara moved closer to him, lowering her voice. "I don't want to talk about the vampire-werewolf war. I don't want to talk about anything with you. If you mention my parents again, I will punch you in the face."

"Let's talk about the impending human war, then. How do you think your boy toy is going to hold up against that?"

She grabbed Victor's jacket and dragged him into the hallway. "Samantha was working with Vince Moretti to take out my cousin, Alexis. She's been in the castle dungeon for a couple years now. Don't speak of her again. You know, I could have you arrested for stalking. How long have you been watching me?"

He looked her up and down, the corners of his lips curling up. "Since before you ever met a Lennox."

"I would say it's time to move on, Victor. We had our fling, and you got your time with me. Move on with your pathetic life and leave me alone."

"Ouch." His face softened. "Since I have you alone, why don't you talk to me about your parents? I'm sure you haven't told your boyfriend—"

"Fiancé."

"Whatever. I'm sure you haven't talked with him about it. You need to let it out."

"I need to let you out."

"Oh, come on, Clare-bear. There's nothing like an old friend when you're going through a difficult time. Remember how much help I was when Liam and then Wiley broke your heart?"

"For the record, Liam was the only one who broke my heart. Wiley betrayed me, but he never had my heart. And you were nothing more than a convenient distraction."

"Whatever you have to tell yourself."

Clara got in his face so close she could smell him. "Shut it."

"Is there a problem here?" came a voice behind Clara.

She whipped around, but knew who it was before she saw him. She knew the werewolf scent anywhere. Mr. Foley stood there, wearing a tight-fitting tux. Clara didn't want to admit how well it suited him.

Victor put his arm around her. "Just two old friends chatting."

"Really? And you would be?"

"Name's Victor. You, wolf?"

"Tobias Foley. I'm also a friend of Clara's, so if you have any problems with her, I'd gladly back her up."

Victor looked at Clara and raised an eyebrow. "Since when did you start chumming it up with his kind?"

Tobias raised an eyebrow. "Probably since she had to deal with the likes of you."

Leaning forward, Victor sniffed. "You smell too young. I've known her a lot longer than you've been around."

"You can smell my youthfulness?" Tobias laughed.

Clara cleared her throat. "It was lovely running into you, Tobias, but I need to get back to William."

Victor pouted. "What about me? Wasn't it lovely seeing me too?"

Tobias looked at her. "Want me to hit him for you?"

"He's not worth it."

Chapter 17

DREW BUMPED WILLIAM’S shoulder. "Who's that guy over there an inch from Clara?"

"What?" William looked in the direction Drew was indicating. "Who is that?"

"Looks like they're having some kind of altercation, wouldn't you say?"

"They definitely aren't getting along." William narrowed his eyes. He had never seen that guy before, which meant that he had to either be a new member or the date of a member. But if he was someone's date, where was she? Why wasn't she getting involved? He looked around, but saw no one else paying attention to Clara and the mystery stranger.

"Are you going to protect your girlfriend's honor?"

William almost corrected him, and said fiancée, but he didn't. Who the heck was that guy? Clara was moving her arms around like she was upset, but the guy didn't look flustered. Did he look amused? What was going on?

He walked up to them, putting an arm around Clara's shoulders. "What's going on over here? Why are you bothering the lady?"

"Name's Victor." He held out his hand. William didn't take it. "Okay. You could say that Clara and I are old friends."

"You don't look like much of a friend."

Clara squirmed in his arm.

"In fact, if you don't leave her alone, I'm going to have you kicked out."

"Really?"

"And if you're not careful, I'll make sure it's permanent."

Victor gave a mock look of horror. "Don't do that. I'll play nice, William."

William stopped. Had he told him his name? Clara must have told him. "My family has deep roots in this town, and they'll listen to my requests with added weight."

"Understood. Have a nice night." He walked away.

William turned to Clara. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Let's dance."

"If that's what you want. It's a slower song anyway. Maybe we can talk."

"There's nothing to talk about. Like he said, we've known each other a long time and he likes to push my buttons. Probably because I dumped his sorry butt long ago."

"Oh. Well, that makes sense. Some guys go crazy when their pride is wounded."

She shrugged, and then put her hands on his waist. "He was a rebound anyway. Victor was never important and he never will be."

He pulled her closer. "Then let's forget about him."

Clara smiled. "That's the best idea I've heard all night."

They spun around the dance floor to Belinda Carlisle singing about circles in the sand. "You're the most beautiful girl—woman—here tonight. Everyone keeps looking at you."

"And I can't take my eyes off you. I love the stubble." She reached up and ran her fingers along it and then rested her hand on his shoulder. "I couldn't ask for anything more."

The song switched to something more upbeat, and then William's friends joined them with their dates. They all switched partners, laughing and joking. William kept his gaze on Clara, but couldn't see any signs of her being upset by Victor. She looked like she was having the time of her life.

She returned to dancing with him and gave him a quick kiss. "As much fun as your friends are, I'd much rather be dancing with you."

He beamed. "And I, you."

The music stopped and then nothing new started. One of the band members stepped up to the mic. "We're going to take a short break. The appetizers and drinks have just been replenished, so grab something while you wait for the next song."

William's heart picked up speed. He looked around, seeing his parents near the back. They wanted him to propose to Clara again, this time appropriately, in other words, at the club for everyone to see. If nothing else, Clara should be surprised.

His dad nodded, and his mom grinned.

"Do you want to get something to eat?" Clara asked. "We're the only ones on the dance floor. It's a little awkward, unless you want to dance to silence."

William's stomach jumped around. "Hold on." He reached into his pants pocket, where the newly cleaned ring rested. He played with it between his fingers for a moment. The noise level of the crowd was softening. Clara didn't know that the two of them standing alone on the dance floor only meant one thing.

He knelt down on one knee and took her hand. "Clara, I love and adore you. Will you marry me?" He pulled out the ring, which shone especially bright in the lights on the dance floor. Gasps and other happy reactions could be heard from around the room.

Clara's eyes widened and she gave him a look of confusion. But then she smiled widely. "Yes. Nothing would make me happier!"

William put the ring on her finger, and then stood, kissing her. Everyone around them clapped, and he gave her a hug.

They walked toward the back, where his parents and sister too were. Everyone around them gave their congratulations. Kathryn and his parents gave them both hugs.

"Welcome to the family," Will said. "We couldn't ask for a better addition."

"Thank you. I'm glad to be a part of it."

They made small talk until the music started again. William took Clara's hand. "Would you like to dance some more?"

"They're playing White Wedding? I didn't think that was a country club song."

William laughed. "But Who Let the Dogs Out is?"

She laughed. "Good point."

"When they have these dances, all formalities go out the window. I can see that. We'd better go—they're playing it for us."

They waved to his family, an-d went back to the dance floor.

Clara leaned close to his ear, tickling it. "I'm guessing that your parents wanted an engagement for all their friends to see?"

He nodded, enjoying the shivers that ran down his back from her breath on his ear.

"My favorite was the one between us in the woods." She pulled him closer as they danced.

William's eyes widened. "I think we're a little close for the club."

Her eyes twinkled. "We just got engaged. I think they'll get over it."

His cheeks were red. "But my parents are back there watching us."

She laughed. "Do they think you're going to be a pure flower your whole life?" Clara pulled him even closer.

"I'm pretty sure no one has ever danced this close before on this floor."

"Good. We're making history—and people will always remember this engagement."

He sighed, feeling his face heat up even more. If they were putting on a show, they may as well give them something to remember. He put his hands on the back of her head and kissed her deeply. She kissed him back, full of passion.

The song ended, and she pulled away, smiling. "I think I'm ready for some punch."

William couldn't find his voice, so he nodded. He grabbed her hand, and led her to the snack table. His friends surrounded them, congratulating them.

Max slapped him on the shoulder. "That dance was hot! I can't believe you guys danced like that before the parents left."

"We wanted to give everyone something to talk about."

Hanna pushed her way to them. "You sure did. Everyone will be talking about that for a long time."

They grabbed some food and sat at a table, all talking excitedly. William looked over at Clara. She looked really happy, and the other girls were all gushing at the ring.

"Right, William?"

"What?" He looked over at the guys, and they burst out laughing. "Whatever, guys."

Timothy set his drink down. "What are the plans for after the dance? My dad kept me at the firm until after dinner, we had to eat takeout. I haven't had a chance to talk to anyone. I barely had enough time to get dressed. That's why I was late."

Drew ran his hands over his hair. "I heard there was going to be a bonfire by the lake."

"Someone's getting the drinks?"

"I think the Laughlin twins said they would."

William tuned out and looked back at Clara. She was looking at him, and she smiled. He would have never guessed that some jerk had gotten her upset just a little while ago. She looked like she couldn't be happier.

He looked around the room. The parents were starting to make their exodus. Before too long, the young adults would have the room to themselves. The song the band was belting out was in the top twenty, so that was obviously their clue to take a hike.

Clara was still looking at him, but she was making faces. He shook his head, trying not to laugh.

Hanna stood up. "Let's hit the dance floor and get the party started."

Timothy shoved William's shoulder. "I think William and Clara already did. Look at everyone leaving. Those two scared them off."

They all laughed and got up.

Max shoved a bunch of food into his mouth. "Mnheer shere lludh?"

"What?" William asked.

Max swallowed. "I asked what you were looking at. I didn't want to waste my food."

Joe shoved him. "That goes without saying."

The guys all grabbed their dates and made their way to the dance floor.

"I hope you're having fun," William said to Clara. "I've never had more fun at one of these."

"This is a lot of fun. I'm glad we came. There's going to be a campfire at the lake after if you want to go. Or I can take you home if you're too tired." He yawned.

"I'm not the one who's tired. I'll leave it up to you. I'd love to spend more time with you, but if you need your sleep, then get some rest."

"I don't know how you always handle the jet lag so well. I've never seen anyone bounce back so quickly."

She shrugged. "You know me. I don't need a lot of sleep to begin with."

"That's true. You're pretty lucky."

Clara nodded, looking uncomfortable.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"No."

"I feel like I've upset you."

"Nope. I couldn't be happier with you." She pulled him closer and kissed him.

Whoops and hollers surrounded them. William pulled back. "Grow up, you guys."

Several nearby guys punched and poked him in the shoulder.

Chapter 18

THE NEXT EVENING, Clara was eating dinner with William's family again. She was determined not to run off as she had the time before. This time, though, his mom and sister were talking nonstop about wedding ideas. They had so many ideas, Clara wouldn't have to worry about coming up with anything on her own.

She was glad that they were so excited and wanted to be a part of the process. But she knew that she had to tell William the truth sooner rather than later. She was picking at her food. Should she tell him that night or continue to wait?

"Give her some space," William said, interrupting Kathryn mid-sentence. "You're not even giving her a chance to eat her food."

Clara smiled. "They're fine. Really."

Kathryn went right back into talking about cakes. She had obviously spent a lot of time looking into weddings. Did she have someone in mind that she wanted to propose? Clara didn't think anyone said anything about her being exclusive with anyone, and she hadn't been at the dance with anyone the night before.

Before long, she and William were alone, sitting in front of a fireplace.

"I hope you're not feeling overwhelmed. My mom and sister love weddings. When we attend one, they sit and discuss every little detail. It's pretty annoying. I apologize for them."

"No need. I'm just happy to be here with you. I couldn't stop thinking about you all day." She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Mmm. You smell good."

"I do? I'm not wearing anything new."

Clara wanted to smack herself. She was smelling his love and adoration. She recovered quickly. "You always smell good. I just missed it."

He kissed her forehead and then put his finger on her chin, moving her face so that she was looking into his eyes. She loved his deep blues, looking into them was like getting lost in the ocean. They stared into each other's eyes for a few moments, before he pulled her closer, kissing her deeper. "I don't think I could ever get tired of this."

"Me neither." She kissed him again. "You don't think your parents will walk in, do you?"

"I don't think they would complain after seeing us dance last night."

She smiled. "That's true. I—"

He kissed her. She pushed him against the couch, pinning him down. She could hear his heart rate pick up and his sweet scents wrapped around her, making her want him all the more. She kissed him back with even more desire than before, keeping her sensitive ears alert to anyone coming near.

William put his hands on her face, making her skin tingle. She ran her fingers through his short, soft hair, down to his stubble. Her fingers caressed it. It was just long enough to be soft rather than rough. She moved her kisses so that she kissed around his mouth, tasting the stubble.

Clara wanted to bite down and draw blood. The excitement that they could be caught at any moment was almost too much. Her fangs were waiting for her to make a decision. She could hear the faint sounds of conversation from another part of the house, which meant they probably had at least a few minutes to themselves, if not more.

She moved her kisses down to his neck. He let out a sigh, and she took a deep breath, inhaling his desire. That meant he wanted her to drink his blood, even though he didn't know what it was she had done before. Her mouth watered and she gave into her fangs, allowing them to extend. She felt her eyes turn red with desire.

It was now or never. Someone could come in any moment, and she couldn't have them find her like this. She licked his skin, preparing it for the bite. He sighed again, and she bit down, allowing his warm, delicious blood to fill her mouth. It was the perfect dessert, so sweet and succulent. Clara could feel her eyes returning to their normal color.

He relaxed in her arms, still pinned against the back of the couch. William moaned as she continued to drink his blood. Her venom was doing its job. She felt the flow decrease, so she forced herself to stop, and she sealed up the wound with her tongue, watching as it healed.

She sat tall, and he looked at her with a drunken look in his eyes. "What was that? You have to tell me."

"It's a side effect of our love." Guilt tugged at her. She should tell him the truth, but what if he wanted nothing to do with her? She could just continue to hide it from him. It wasn't like it was that big of a deal. They had been living together this entire time just fine without him knowing. Her cravings never put him in any danger. Aside from the two times she had fed on him, she had always kept her distance from his blood. Her being a vampire didn't hurt their relationship.

But the fact that she was hiding something so major did. She sighed, knowing that was the reason she had to tell him. Because she loved him so much, she couldn't keep hiding. He deserved to know everything about her.

He hadn't kept anything from her. She always tried to avoid using her mind-reading skills on him, but they were so close that often, she overheard without trying. It was like hearing a conversation across the room.

She sighed, not wanting to ruin the moment. Things were perfect—as they always were with him. She didn't want to risk ruining it. That was her weakness.

What if he actually accepted her? Then she could be completely honest with him, and bring their relationship to a whole new level. Or what if he even wanted to become a vampire himself? But what if he thought she was an abomination? Just like his ancestors had.

William grabbed a strand of her hair and played with it. "Why do you look so conflicted? Have I upset you?"

"No. You're perfect." At least that was the truth.

He pulled her close, kissing her again.

The fire crackled loudly behind them, and Clara jumped.

"Why are you so jumpy?" William asked. "You're perfectly safe here. By giving you my ring, I've promised to take care of you for the rest of your life. Really, I will. We'll grow old together, and I'll continue to love and take care of you."

Tears filled her eyes. He too had dreams of growing old together.

"What's wrong? Was it something I said?" He ran his hands through her hair.

She tried blinking her tears away and her lips wavered. She took a deep breath, and then looked deep into his eyes. "William, I'm not going to grow old."

His face paled and she could smell fear—no, terror. "Why?" His own eyes shone with tears. "You're not dying, are you? Are you sick? I knew you were hiding something, but I never wanted to push it. Is that it? I'll be here for you no matter what. If you're sick, I'll take care of you. Whatever time you have left, I'm here for you."

Clara shook her head. "I'm not sick. Nothing's wrong with me."

"What do you mean you're not going to grow old? I don't understand."

She took a deep breath, fighting the tears. One escaped and ran down her face. This was it. Possibly the last time she would have his love. "I don't age. You know that picture in your dad's office? That wasn't someone who looked like me. William, it was me."

He stared at her, his color not returning to his face. He blinked a couple times. "What…? What do you mean? That's not possible."

"William, I love you more than I've ever loved anyone. I swear to you, that's the truth. When I say you're perfect, I mean it."

"Are you joking?"

"I wouldn't joke about our love."

"No. About not aging. Why would you say that?"

"Because it's true."

He shook his head. "It's not possible."

"I know it sounds crazy. That's why I never said anything about it before. I didn't want to scare you off."

"But how? And why would you be in that picture?"

She ignored the first question. "I knew some of your family decades ago. I don't know how it was that I ran into you that one night at the restaurant when we met. That's why I couldn't take my eyes off you and then you said your name was William…."

"And you nearly choked on an ice cube. Then you asked if William was a family name." He paused, looking thoughtful. "I didn't put too much thought into that at the time. My name is old-fashioned, so that's what I chalked it up to."

Clara bit her lower lip, afraid to say anything.

"Were you in love with Liam?" His eyes were practically begging her to say no. Then he shook his head. "No. This is ridiculous. People don't stop aging. Are you trying to push me away? Do you want me to break off the engagement? Is that what this is?"

"No." She shook her head furiously. "Nothing like that. I love you, William. I never want to be apart from you again."

"Then why this story about you not getting old?"

"Because it's true." Tears spilled onto her face.

He stared at her, obviously trying to figure out what was going on. "Why have you never said anything about this before?"

"I didn't want to ruin what we had."

"This is ridiculous. There's no way it's possible."

She sighed. This was exactly why she hadn't wanted to tell him anything in the first place. The thought of mind control popped up, but she chose to ignore it. She wasn't going to use it on him, even though it would probably solve everything. She could force him to accept the truth, or forget about it altogether, but she didn't want that. As much as she didn't want him to reject her, she also didn't want his love unless it was fully from him.

William opened his mouth, but said nothing. His parents entered the room, chatting happily.

"Are you two ready to play a game or watch a movie?"

"Clara's tired. I'm going to take her home." William stood, nearly knocking her off the couch. "The jet lag is really getting to her."

"Or it could be the excitement of being engaged," said his mom.

He ignored his parents, walking to the door without a word.

In the car, William still didn't speak.

"Can you say something, please?"

He continued to stare at the road, not saying anything.

"Will you call me tomorrow? We need to finish our conversation."

Again, he didn't respond.

She sighed, and stopped trying to get him to talk. When he pulled up to the Ferguson's house, he continued to stare straight ahead. He unlocked the doors with the push of a button, but didn't get out, holding the door for her, as he usually did.

"I'll keep my phone by me in case you call."

Silence.

Clara swallowed. "I see you need some time to process this. I understand. Whenever you're ready to talk, I'll drop whatever I'm doing. Just know that I love you more than anything."

He turned and looked at her. "How can I believe anything you say?"

It felt as though he had slapped her. She opened the door, and ran out, slamming it behind her. She ran to the front door at a slow, human speed without looking back. She ignored whatever was said to her when she got in the house, and went straight to her room. She didn't bother turning the light on.

She stared out the window, noticing that his car was gone. Leaning against the wall, she looked at the night sky. This couldn't be the end of their relationship, could it? William just needed time to process what she had said, and then he would be back. He had to be.

But then what? He would want to know why she didn't age. Would he be able to accept her being a vampire? Could he look past all the ridiculous human myths about them? She would have to plan out exactly what she was going to say so that he would hear her out.

What she would have to do was explain the realities of her being a vampire—all the benefits. Make it sound glamorous, fun, and exciting. Have it sound so good that he would want it for himself.

He hadn't even given her the chance to explain that she was a vampire. When she told him that she was a vampire, it wouldn't sound so bad if she made it lucrative. He would already know she didn't sleep in a coffin or anything else crazy like that—things that humans thought all vampires did. He would be open to the idea, maybe even wanting to become one himself, but at the very least, accepting her as one.

Clara sat down at the desk, opening her laptop. It was time to take notes and get this figured out. She had all night, after all. She wouldn't need more sleep for weeks. She was going to find a way to win him back.

Chapter 19

WHEN WILLIAM RETURNED home, his mom met him at the door. "Is everything okay? You two didn't seem very happy when you left."

"Like I said, she's jet lagged."

She looked him in the eyes. "William, you're not acting yourself. I'm here if you want to talk to me. If you had a tiff, I can help. I know how girls think."

Could she explain Clara's ridiculous story about not aging? He shook his head. "Thanks, Mom. I just need some time alone."

"If you're sure. I hate to see you upset." She gave him a hug. "I'm here if you need me. Okay?"

"Thanks, Mom." He gave her a weak attempt at a hug back.

"If you need anything, you know where to find me."

He nodded, and went for his dad's office. He was relieved to find it empty. William grabbed the album and made his way back to his room. Sitting on his bed, he opened it to the first page. Could that really be Clara? Why would she lie about it? She had never been one to mess with him.

William held the picture as close as he could without it becoming blurry. It certainly could have been her. There was no difference between her and the girl in the picture. A sharp, stabbing pain formed on the left side of his head. He put his hand up to it, but it didn't go away. He rubbed it, and that didn't help either. The pain moved to his eye, leaving a trail of agony from the side of his head to his eye, throbbing the whole way.

He rubbed his temples, trying to ignore the headache. He stared at the picture some more, trying to convince himself that it wasn't her. It couldn't be. People didn't live that long—people aged. Everyone did. There was no fountain of youth. It was something everyone wished for, but didn't exist.

Hadn't he seen another picture in there that had someone who looked like Clara? He couldn't think through the sharp pains. It felt as though someone was hammering nails into the side of his head. It was too hard to think.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to focus. He couldn't remember if he had seen another picture with supposedly his fiancée staring at his relatives more than a century before. Rubbing his temple with one hand, he flipped through the pages. He felt like he was looking through one of those Where's Waldo books that he had liked so much as a kid.

Where's Clara? He laughed a bitter laugh. His life had been beyond perfect an hour before. Now he had a monstrous headache and a fiancée who had claimed to have dated his great-great times-whatever grandfathers. He shook his head, feeling as though the room was closing in around him.

He didn't see Clara, or anyone that resembled her, as he flipped through the pages. Then he got to Wiley. What had been his story? He had been one of the few black sheep of the family. That much William remembered.

What had he done? William rubbed both of his temples, closing his eyes. The pain was making its way down to the back of his neck. Was this what a stress headache felt like? He needed a massage, but knew nothing was open at that hour. Nothing reputable, anyway.

It was so hard to think clearly with the headache. He rubbed his neck, where the pain was the worst. Staring at the picture, he thought back to all of his lessons over the years. Wiley hadn't been taught about often. His dad was embarrassed to have him in the family line.

William stared into the face that could have been his own, had he been willing to wear those goofy clothes. Witches—that was what had made him crazy. He had gone around town, gathering as many as he could to have some witch burned at the stake. Hadn't she been someone he had been in love with? Oh, what had been the story?

The headache was too much. Maybe he should put the album back, and then ask his dad about Wiley in the morning. He was pretty sure he had gone around, trying to have some poor girl burned at the stake, embarrassing his entire family in the process.

Was it possible that Clara was a witch? Had she fallen in love with him and told him her secret? What if she had cast a strange spell on him and that's why he went crazy?

It was too much for one night. Perhaps he and his relatives just had the knack for picking girls who drove them crazy? If he had ancestors who looked just like him, it made sense that someone back then could look just like Clara too. What didn't make sense was that it had actually been her.

He got up and took the album back to the office. His dad was sitting at the desk, going through papers. "Are you okay, son?"

"I was just looking through this."

"At this hour?"

William nodded. "I was trying to get my mind off some things, but it didn't help because I have a headache."

"I have some aspirin." He opened a drawer and dug through it, pulling out a little, white bottle. He dumped two pills into his hand, and held them out.

"Thanks." William took them, and swallowed them without water. "Maybe tomorrow I can ask you some questions about one of the pictures in the album?"

"Yes, of course. Get some rest first. You look like you're going to be sick."

He nodded, and went back to his room. Could Clara actually be a witch? As crazy as it sounded, was that the only logical explanation? There was no other explanation for her not aging. Had his crazy relative actually been sane, trying to get rid of witches?

More than anything, he wanted to believe Clara. The headache squeezed his head. When would the aspirin start working?

William got into some pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, and then climbed into bed, holding his head.

What had Clara done when they were making out earlier? She did something while kissing his neck that felt incredible. She had always been so good to him. It hurt to doubt her, but what other choice did he have? People age. Everyone. If someone didn't, they would be all over the news. Right?

He closed his eyes. He didn't want to think about it anymore. He wanted his head to stop hurting and for everything to go back to normal, the way it had been before Clara made her declaration.

Dreams of his ancestors warning him about her came one after the other. He tossed and turned, feeling that they were real. After a couple hours, he sat up in a cold sweat. The headache was gone, but he didn't feel any better.

He pulled his covers up and tried to go back to sleep. His heart ached from the sting of betrayal. Whatever the truth was, she had been hiding it from him since the day they met. Was their entire relationship a lie? Sighing, he grabbed a pillow and put it over his face.

Would they be able to move past this? What if she really was a witch who didn't age? What did that even mean?

The entire time they had been living together, he never suspected anything was off. Everything had been so perfect. Maybe that was the problem. He had never seriously dated before her. His parents argued from time to time. Of course, his dad was rarely home, so they didn't have much time to fight about anything.

His friends who dated, they complained about relationship problems on a fairly regular basis. William had thought he was just lucky. The most gorgeous girl he had ever seen was in love with him, even following him across the globe as he went to school. It was possible that there was something very wrong with that. He just hadn't considered it before.

What was he supposed to do? The look on Clara's face when he had taken her home killed him. She looked like her heart had been ripped out. Could it be true that she actually meant him no harm with the secret? He hated to think of her in pain—he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and make it all better, but he had to figure out what was going on first. And if he was going to do that, he needed some sleep.

As difficult as it was to shut his mind up, he managed, and then he fell asleep again. That time, dreams of his relatives from the album were all dating Clara. Not just the two that held her pictures, but each and every one from the album, whether their name was William or not.

Some laughed at him before kissing her, while others simply flaunted being with her. Wiley gave him an evil eye and then chased Clara with some kind of torch, yelling the word witch over and over. Clara looked at him, wordless, begging for help with her eyes. He just stood there, watching, as she ran from the crazy guy trying to kill her.

When he woke up, he was exhausted. The sun was shining into his room, but the bedroom felt like a black hole.

His stomach rumbled, but he didn't care. He had to get out of the house—and do what, he didn't know. The walls felt like they were closing in, and he needed to escape.

Chapter 20

CLARA SAT UP with a start and looked around. She was at the desk, in front of her laptop, which appeared to be off. Had she fallen asleep while typing? It was strange that she couldn't remember. The computer was set to turn itself off after a couple hours of no use.

She turned her head, cracking her sore neck. Next time, she would have to sleep in the bed. The engagement ring caught her eye, and the events of the previous night flooded back into her memory. The pain from William not talking to her washed over her. She had only felt this kind of grief once before.

The first time was when Liam had decided he would rather be with a human—Anna, that good for nothing, evil dirt bag. The other time was after he died and she knew there was no hope of ever getting him back. Had she been able to, she would have turned him into a vampire after he died, even though he had been pretty old, because she would have done anything to spend the rest of her life with him, regardless of his age.

This time, the hurt was even more crushing, because she loved William even more. Everything had been going so well, she had somehow stupidly convinced herself that it could somehow work out with him.

Why did she always have to fall for humans? It was no wonder vampires stayed away from them. She had always been the butt of jokes because of her penchant for choosing them. If she was unable to win William back, then once she got over him—if she ever did—she would stay away from humans for good, except to feed.

The pain wasn't worth it. She had spent two hundred years pining away for her first love, long after he was dead. She didn't want to do that again. In fact, she wouldn't. First, she would do everything in her power to keep William. If that didn't work, then she would move on and find some vampire to love, or at least distract her, even if it was Victor. He may have been a major pain, but he did make for a good distraction.

She was fun and attractive. In fact, she had had more than her fair share of hot vampires coming on to her. They all wanted varying levels of commitment: everything from a one night stand to a serious relationship. She never wanted a relationship with any of them, even though she wouldn't have had to explain her nature or worry about them dying after only five or six decades.

Where was her favorite cousin when she needed her? It would do her a world of good to be able to talk everything out with Alexis. If she went to the castle where Alexis was living, she knew Alexis would welcome her with open arms. She would be more than happy to spend hours with Clara, mulling over every detail. By the time they were done bouncing ideas off each other, Clara would know what to do.

The only problem with that plan was that she wasn't going to have anything to do with Alexis ever again, or at least for a very long time. Alexis was the reason her father was dead. Sure, her father had it coming after killing Alexis' birth parents, but at the same time, if she really wanted to, she could have spared his life. He had been her uncle, after all.

Clara got up and looked in the mirror. She looked as horrible as she felt. She was pathetic and looked it. An orphaned human-lover. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she love her own kind? Would that really be so difficult?

She ran a brush through her hair, but that only made her look worse. She turned her head, but then stopped. She looked just like her father at that angle. She must have taken after him. He didn't fall in love with who he was supposed to either. Not that he had been dumb enough to fall for a human, but he had given up his place on the throne to marry her mother, a common vampire.

He had received as much grief as she had for his choice. Not many understood his choice, but he was in love, and they had spent centuries together happily enamored with each other. He was living the life he had wanted—nothing in the castle could entice him away if he couldn't bring his beloved with him. Nobody understood his decision more than Clara, but even so, look where it had gotten him. Now he was dead.

Clara grabbed some clothes and got a shower. After getting cleaned up, she looked a lot better. She didn't feel any better, but at least no one would know. She didn't want to talk about her problems with William to anyone.

She went downstairs and the house was quiet. It must have been early, because Natalie and her mom were still sleeping. Jack was likely already at work, always going in as early as possible.

Having no place to go, Clara left the house anyway. She couldn't sit around and mope. That wouldn't get her anywhere. Getting out in nature would at least clear her head. She headed for the lake. Vampires were descended from ancient Icelandic water faeries, and because of that, the water always brought clarity and serenity.

When she got there, she went straight to the path and walked, looking at the wildlife around her. One side of the lake sat at the edge of the woods, so there were always woodland critters coming and going. After going around once, she focused her attention on the water itself, feeling better almost immediately.

Who needed friends?

She stopped and watched some fish jumping out of the water. Some ducks swam over, scaring the fish away. Something overhead caught her attention. She looked up to see a bald eagle flying around.

Footsteps down the path distracted her. She looked up and froze. William was walking the path. He was far enough away that he wouldn't have been able to recognize her with his human eyes.

Clara's stomach twisted in knots. Should she talk with him or take off before he would have a chance to recognize her? She narrowed her eyes, trying to read the expression on his face. The first thing she noticed was that he looked as though he hadn't slept. Dark circles sat under his eyes and he hadn't done anything with his beard still.

The look on his face expressed the misery she felt. If she went up to him, would she make things even worse than they were? Or was it possible that he would hear her out after having the night to think about everything?

She took a deep breath and walked toward him. How could things get worse than they already were?

As she approached him, he didn't appear to notice her. He was looking at the ground as he walked.

"William."

He looked up and shock covered his face. "What are you doing here?"

"Probably the same thing as you."

"Trying to figure out why you've lied to me this whole time?"

"I suppose I deserve that. I haven't been trying to lie to you. William, I've just wanted to be with you. The last thing I ever wanted to do was to upset you."

"You could have fooled me."

Birds chirped around them and squirrels chattered on the ground not too far away. Clara took a deep breath, attempting to take in the serenity of nature. "I wasn't trying to."

"Well, you did."

"Will you hear me out? Please?"

He gave her an exasperated look. "Why now? You had plenty of opportunities to explain to me that you're a witch."

"A witch?"

"That's the only thing I can figure. Wiley was known for trying to take down local witches and Liam was rumored to have dated one before marrying. And you're in both of their pictures. That's too much to be a coincidence. Are you going to turn me crazy too?"

Once again, she felt as though he had slapped her. "I haven't made anyone go crazy, and I'm not a—"

"I've been trying to make sense of this. Part of me is screaming that you're nuts—and that I am too for even considering any of this to be true. But I can't ignore the pictures. I want to believe that those pictures aren't you. But nothing makes any sense. No matter what conclusion I come to, there is no happy ending."

"But there can be if you hear me out."

He sighed. "I don't think I'm ready for this."

"Wouldn't you rather try to make sense of it with all the facts? You didn't even let me explain myself last night."

"What's to explain? My fiancée doesn't age."

"Most people would be pretty excited about that."

William furrowed his eyebrows. "I'm not most people."

"Are you willing to hear what I have to say?"

He stared at her, not saying anything.

"Is that a yes?" She sounded a lot more confident than she felt.

"I don't know." He sighed. "Is the story going to get worse?"

"I hope not."

He wrinkled his forehead. "What does that mean?"

"It depends on how you take it. I want to tell you everything, but you're going to have to have an open mind."

"I already think you're a witch. A witch! I think you've already ripped my mind wide open."

"Can we sit?" She indicated toward a bench not too far away.

He pulled his phone out and looked at the time. "Fine."

Clara felt a lump forming in her throat, but she pushed it down. She didn't want to come off as a needy, emotional little girl. She nodded and walked to the bench. She waited for him to sit first, and then she sat next to him, making sure not to sit too close. Her insides felt like they were being ripped apart to know that he was mad at her, but she wasn't going to let him see that.

"Let's hear it."

She nodded. "Thank you."

He shrugged, not looking at her.

"First of all, I'm not a witch."

William turned to her, looking surprised. "What then? Did you find the fountain of youth?"

"Nothing like that. I come from a long line of…people…who live forever if not killed."

"Go on." His face showed no indication of what he was thinking. He may as well have been playing a hand of poker.

"Usually, we keep our identity hidden from humans. These days, it's a lot easier because people aren't so superstitious. A couple hundred years ago, people were worried about things no one believes anymore. That's why Wiley tried to have me burned at the stake."

"That's what people did to witches. What are you, if not a witch?"

"He was an idiot, William. If your family has passed on any truth about the people in that album, I'm sure you've heard that he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed."

"So I've heard. What's the true story according to Clara?"

Clara looked around to make sure no one else was in hearing distance. "I'm a vampire, William." She kept her gaze on his face for a reaction.

His face remained stoic.

"Did you hear—?"

"You expect me to believe you're a vampire?"

"Whether or not you believe it, that's the truth…according to Clara."

"A vampire?"

She nodded.

"Yet you say you come from a family that lives forever?"

"I was born to vampire parents."

He put his face into his hands, muttering something Clara couldn't hear, even with her strong hearing. He put his hands into his lap and turned to her. "You were born a vampire?"

"It's complicated, but essentially, yes."

"You're going to have to explain that to me."

"Born vampires don't actually become a vampire until after the transition. Before then, we have a heartbeat and no desire for blood. We're practically human until then."

"So vampires aren't humans first?"

"Common vampires are. They don't tend to be as secretive about their identities, so that's why you humans mostly believe things that apply to them. Though I don't know where garlic—"

"Hold on. How can you be out in the sunlight? Are you going to tell me that's a myth?"

"It's not. I had a sun blessing placed on me at birth. All royal babies do."

"So, you're not only telling me you're a vampire, but you're vampire royalty?"

Clara nodded. Why did she feel that she was only digging herself into a hole? "Every born vampire is from the royal class."

"Interesting."

She put her hand on top of his, but he pulled it away. "William, I'm sorry I never told you. I wanted to, every day. I hated keeping it from you, but it's not like it came up easily in conversation."

"What about all those nights we spent talking about our dreams? Or pretty much any other time we've been together over the last couple of years?"

"It's something that has to be brought up delicately. Like I told you, I've been handed over to a human mob, ready to set me on fire. It's not something I'm eager to have happen again."

"Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I do. That's why I'm telling you this now."

William leaned against the bench and put both of his hands on top of his head. "Why me?"

"Everything else about our relationship is true. My love for you is like no other. I would do anything for you, William. Anything at all. I want to marry you and make you the happiest man ever to live."

He looked at her. "What's supposed to happen when I age and you don't?"

"I could pretend to be addicted to plastic surgery."

He shook his head. "That would never work."

"Do you believe me?"

"I don't know what to think. Twenty-four hours ago, I never would have thought I would be trying to figure out if witches or vampires are real."

"They are. We are." Clara sighed. "Remember last night when I was kissing your neck? I was actually so taken in by our love that I couldn't help drinking a little of your blood."

He stared at her. "Are you joking?" He rubbed his neck. "You didn't even leave a mark."

"I have healing properties that I used. Your skin is as good as new."

William removed his hand from his neck. "I need some time to process everything. Can you give me some space for a while?"

Clara tried to hide her disappointment, but was unable. She swallowed. "How much time?"

"I don't know. Let me call you when I'm ready to talk."

She slid off the ring. "Do you want this back?"

He looked at it. "Keep it. I'm not making any decisions right now. I just need some space."

"You got it." She slid the ring into a pocket in her purse. Then she stood up and walked away without another word.

Chapter 21

WILLIAM WATCHED AS she walked away. Why did this have to happen? Why had she felt the need to tell him that she was a vampire? A vampire. What was he supposed to do with that?

He looked at the lake, watching the water bob up and down. How was he supposed to deal with this? His fiancée was either a liar, a psycho, or some kind of blood-thirsty monster. But he had spent so much time with her. He had seen her on good days and bad, under stress and elated. She was none of those things.

Someone stopped in front of him and he looked up. A pretty brunette walking a cocker spaniel was staring at him. She looked vaguely familiar.

"William? Is that you?"

He tilted his head, trying to place her. "Nichole?" She was one of Kathryn's friends from school. He hadn't seen her in years.

She broke out into a grin. "Yeah. Wow, I almost didn't recognize you. Love the stubble." She turned to the dog and told him to sit. "Mind if I have a seat?"

"Sure."

Nichole sat down, a little closer than he felt comfortable with. "How have you been? You were overseas, right?"

He nodded. "Studying abroad."

"So exciting. Do you totally love it?"

"It's been better than I could have hoped for." He looked around, eager to find a reason to leave. The last thing he needed was to talk with her when he needed to figure out what to do about Clara.

She scooted closer. "Are you back for the whole summer?"

William moved away, practically sitting on the edge of the bench. "That's the plan. I'm spending long hours at the firm with my dad. I'm very busy."

"I can tell." She made her way closer. "You know, I always thought you were cute. But I stayed away because of Kathryn. Now we're not really friends, we've drifted apart and don't spend any time together." She raised her eyebrows.

He cleared his throat. "Didn't you hear the news? I'm engaged."

"I heard someone got engaged at the club's dance. I didn't feel like going, so I missed it. Do I know her?"

"Probably not."

"Was she the one who just left?"

"You saw her?"

Nichole nodded. "I stopped when I saw you two. It looked like a pretty intense conversation. She didn't look very happy when she left. You know, if she doesn't have what it takes to keep you happy, I'm more than willing to step up."

He stood up. "You're bold. You don't even care that I'm engaged?"

"You're not married. It's not over until the fat lady sings."

"She's not fat."

Nichole laughed. "I didn't mean her. Look, you don't have to sleep over. Let's just grab a coffee. You know, old friends catching up."

"I should get back home. I need to get ready for my internship."

Smiling, she stood up also. "Obviously, you're not on a timetable. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here, watching the lake."

"What do you know about my schedule? I need to get back."

"Oh, come on. It's just coffee. You look like you could use some. My treat. There's nothing to lose. It's not like I'm an old flame. Your girlfriend has nothing to complain about."

"She's my fiancée."

"Whatever. I want to hear about school overseas. My parents have been trying to get me to travel. You're just educating me."

He sighed. "One coffee."

Nichole grinned. "Perfect. Your car or mine?"

"I'll meet you there."

"If you say so." She shrugged.

William grumbled to himself in the car on his way to the coffee shop. Why had he agreed to meet her? Nichole had always been so irritating, and obviously that hadn't changed. He yawned as he pulled into a parking spot. Maybe a coffee wasn't such a bad idea after all. He had barely gotten any sleep between those dreams and tossing and turning.

As he walked to the coffeehouse, he noticed the cocker spaniel in a red sports car. At least the windows were down so the dog could stick his nose out. William put his hand out and patted the dog's nose. If Nichole became too annoying, he would suggest that her pet should get out of the car. It was perfect.

When he walked in, Nichole was paying. She waved to him. "I ordered for you. I hope that's okay."

He shrugged. "I'm not picky." He looked around the shop, sighing in relief. The last thing he needed was any of his friends, or worse, any of Clara's friends, seeing him there with Nichole. Especially after he told Clara not to contact him.

There were empty tables and booths. William walked to a table and sat down. That way, she wouldn't be able to sneak her way next to him, sitting too close.

She walked over, carrying two white cups with brown sleeves. She set one in front of him. "I hope you like mochas. I love them because they're so sweet."

He nodded. "Thanks."

"My pleasure." She sat down in the chair nearest him and moved it as close to him as possible with the table being square. She took a slow drink from her cup and then put it down. "Tell me about school overseas."

He chugged his mocha, surprised at how hot it was. At home, he always put milk in to cool it off. The hot drink burnt his mouth and throat. He nodded, doing his best to act natural. A small buzz started to course its way through him. What had she asked? Something about school. "School is school. Doesn't matter where you go."

"I guess that's good. So, it's the experience of being somewhere else that makes it worthwhile?"

William couldn't even think. He was jittery, and against his will, his feet started tapping the table leg. Were his hands shaking? He couldn't tell. He ran his hands through his hair. "Yeah. Something like that. My family has been doing this for generations, so it's not like it's something that any of us has put much thought into. It's just the way things are."

"Oh? Do you have pictures?"

"Probably. Why? You want to see some?"

He felt pressure on his knee. What was that? As soon as he felt a squeeze, he knew it was her hand. He jumped up, knocking his drink over. He picked it up before too much spilled out. He grabbed a couple napkins and cleaned up the mess.

Nichole looked like she was trying not to laugh.

"I need to get back. My dad's expecting me at the firm. You should let your dog out of the car too."

"Can I get your number? We can try this again."

"No. You have no boundaries. Don't you get that I'm engaged?"

"I told you. It doesn't bother me. It doesn't have to bother you, either."

"Yeah, well, it does. I don't know what kind of a guy you think I am, but I'm not that guy."

"I think you've misunderstood me. I—"

"No, I haven't. You've made your intentions perfectly clear." What was with everyone all of a sudden? First his fiancée was claiming to be a vampire, and then this girl he hadn't seen in years was throwing herself at him.

"You want my number? In case you change your mind."

"That's not going to happen. Thanks for the mocha, but I have to go."

She frowned. "Well, if you do change your mind, Kathryn knows my number."

"I'll keep that in mind. Have a good day."

Nichole waved. "Yeah, you too. Have fun interning." She sat taller and stuck her chest out. "Or you could have some of this."

Without a word, William left the coffeehouse. He could barely walk straight, and he nearly walked into a display case. How many shots were in that mocha?

Chapter 22

CLARA SAT BY a fountain in the middle of the mall, watching people as they passed by. Girls whispered to each other while carrying piles of bags. Boys shoved and chased each other, stealing each other's baseball caps. There weren't a lot of adults given that it was midday during the week.

She sipped a smoothie. If only watching others was enough to get her mind off her own problems. People were entertaining, but there was no getting around the hole ripped from her heart.

How long would William need to think about things? What she really needed was to talk to him. If he would just hear her out, he would understand that things didn't have to change. She wasn't any different than she had been before.

"Hey, Clara! What's up?"

Clara looked up and saw Natalie.

She sat next to her. "Is everything okay? You look troubled."

"Is it that obvious?"

Natalie put an arm around her. "Well, I've spent enough time with you to tell you're not feeling yourself. You look like your puppy ran away."

"William and I are dealing with some…stuff."

"I've been there." Natalie squeezed Clara's shoulders and rested her head against hers. "Every couple goes through it. I don't remember if you were around when Braydon and I had our issues, but there was a time I thought we'd never make it. Now look at us. You guys will get through whatever's going on."

"I'm not so sure."

"Oh come on. I've seen you two. Remember those double dates we went on when you were our foreign exchange student? Braydon and I spent as much time with you two as we did by ourselves. If anyone is going to stay together forever, it's you guys."

Clara shook her head. Had she forgotten that William wasn't a vampire? "This isn't—"

"Whoa. What's that?"

"What?" Clara looked around.

"No. This." Natalie picked up Clara's hand. "Where's the ring? Clara, what's going on?"

Clara tried to smile, but failed miserably. "I told you. We're dealing with some stuff."

Natalie's eyes became as wide as saucers and she shook Clara's hand. "It can't be that bad, can it?"

"It is."

"Tell me everything. Don't leave anything out."

Looking around the busy mall, Clara thought about her wording. "I started to tell him about…you know." She didn't want to say vampires because there were so many people around.

"No. What did he say?"

"I didn't get a chance to—"

A loud noise sounding like an explosion shook everything.

Clara and Natalie stared at each other. The building continued to rumble, and then there was another loud noise. Glass shattered nearby and people screamed. Another explosion rocked the mall, and then there was an eerie creaking noise. It sent chills down Clara's back.

Looking up, she saw the roof buckling. It was probably going to crash down on everyone, and soon. She looked around at all the young people near her. She had to get everyone out or they would all be killed.

"Run! Get out of here!" she yelled.

There was another explosion, and as the ground shook, more people screamed.

"Run!" she yelled again. She turned to Natalie, who was sitting there, not moving. She wasn't even blinking.

Clara grabbed Natalie's shoulders. "We've got to get out of here."

Natalie just continued to stare. Was she in shock? Could she even understand what Clara was saying?

The ceiling above them creaked and tiles fell only inches from them. Clara grabbed Natalie and threw her over her shoulders. It wasn't the time to worry about people wondering about her supernatural strength. She had to get her friend to safety.

Cracks were forming in the walls around them as she ran. They wouldn't be able to hold the crumbling ceiling much longer. Clara looked for an exit, but all she saw were stores. Didn't they have laws about how far apart exits were supposed to be?

She picked up speed, tripping over people. "Get up, you idiots! Get out of here."

Tiles were falling from above all around them. Clara darted around, doing her best to avoid them. She heard a thunk, followed by a gushing noise. "Ow," moaned Natalie.

The smell of her blood reached Clara's nose. Her mouth watered, but she ignored it. "Where did you get hit?"

"Uhh…"

Clara shook her head. She would see about healing her when they got outside—assuming that it was even safe out there. It had to be better than being in the mall. The loud creaks were intensifying, and Clara could see cracks running along the walls, almost as though they were racing her.

A tile fell right in front of her, almost hitting her in the head. Where was an exit? It had to seem further than it actually was because she wasn't able to run very fast. She was going slowly even by human standards.

Several large pieces of wood plummeted to the ground on either side of them. The roof was coming down that moment. Clara noticed a bright light not too far down the long hall. It had to be an exit. Even if it wasn't a door, sunlight was coming in, so there had to be a way out.

She turned toward the light, focused on reaching it. Tiles and wood were falling all around them. She managed to avoid most, although one tile sliced through her arm. The wound healed pretty fast, but not before her blood ran down her arm, soaking her shirt.

They were almost to the light. Just a few more feet and they would be able to get outside.

Someone ran into her, startling her. "Watch out!" Someone else ran into her too. People were heading for the exit from all directions. They didn't care who they hurt on the way out.

Clara held on tighter to Natalie, who was still moaning. She had to get her somewhere safe. Depending on how bad it was, she would either need medical attention or Clara's healing blood. Her blood would be best, but if she couldn't get anywhere isolated, she would have to hand Natalie over to the humans.

They were so close that Clara could see some trees outside. She could actually see out there. She turned her direction, and one more imbecile slammed into her. She lost her footing and fell to the ground. Somehow, she let go of Natalie in the process, and as Clara landed on the hard floor with a thud, Natalie shot out of her arms and flew toward a wall.

Just as she hit, a portion of the ceiling came crashing down right where she was.

"Natalie!" Clara scrambled to her feet, running for her. She ran into someone else trying to get outside. She got her bearings again and finally made it to where Natalie was. She grabbed the chunk of ceiling and flung it away. Natalie was covered in blood. How would she be able to help her?

She didn't have time to think about it. She had to get them both outside before either of them got hurt any worse. Clara picked Natalie up and ran to the light—an emergency door propped open with a gum ball machine.

Once outside, it took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the light. People were everywhere, and it was complete chaos. Some were crying, others were pacing, and a lot were on their cell phones. Most of them appeared to be unable to make calls. They were all dialing, or cursing, but no one was talking into one. The towers had to be down.

A lady nearby was looking around, not doing anything. Clara walked up to her, still carrying Natalie. "What happened?"

She shook her head, not saying anything.

Clara went to several other people, but no one knew what had happened. It sounded like bombs, but why would anyone bother bombing Delphic Cove? It was just a quiet little town.

Wait. Hadn’t Victor said something…?

It wasn't the time to worry about that. She had to help Natalie. Sirens could be heard in the distance, but there were none close. Clara looked around and saw that no one was near an outdoor courtyard. She ran over there, lying Natalie down behind some tables. No one should be able to see them from there.

Natalie rolled her head back and forth, mumbling something incoherent. Clara pulled her hair out of her face, trying to find the source of the blood. Part of her hair close to the back was a deep red. That had to be it.

Clara pulled the hair away as best as she could. It was already starting to dry on her hair. She pulled the hair back further, and more blood gushed out. Her mouth watered again. She fought her fangs as she lowered herself and licked the wound. It started to heal, but it was too slow. She needed more saliva to seal it properly.

She looked at the blood covering Natalie, and allowed her mouth to water as much as it wanted. She took all that she collected and placed it on the wound. It sealed the rest of the way.

Natalie moaned, but didn't say any actual words. Clara checked her over and discovered that both her right leg and arm were broken. If the explosions were a major catastrophe, it could be a long time before Natalie got any help from a doctor.

"Can you hear me?"

She mumbled nonsense.

"Hopefully you won't remember this." Clara bit into her wrist. "I have something you need to drink. It's going to help you feel better."

Again, Natalie spoke nothing that made sense.

Clara put her wrist up to Natalie's mouth. "It might taste a little bitter, but you need to drink."

Her mouth didn't move.

"Natalie, you need to drink this. It's going to help, I promise."

Chapter 23

CLARA PUT HER bloody wrist up to Natalie's mouth, forcing her mouth open. "You need to drink this, Natalie. Don't worry about opening your eyes, okay? Just drink, please. It's the only thing that will help you feel better."

Her mouth didn't move.

"You need to drink this," Clara repeated. She could hear Natalie's heart getting slower and weaker. What could she do to get her to drink? There were no sirens nearby, which meant she couldn't rely on humans to help. This was all on her. "Come on. We haven't even had a chance to get together since I got back. Do this so we can have our girly time and catch up."

Natalie moaned, mumbling gibberish again. Part of what she said sounded like Braydon. That was it!

Clara pushed her wrist further into Natalie's mouth. "We need to find Braydon, Natalie. He might need help. If you drink this, you'll get strong again, and we can go find him. Drink this for Braydon."

Finally, Natalie's mouth started moving, but Clara couldn't feel the pulling sensation that she should have. She pulled her wrist away from Natalie, quickly looked around to make sure that no one was watching, and then she squeezed her wrist, forcing blood drops out. She put her wrist back to Natalie's mouth, still squeezing.

After about a dozen drops made it into her mouth, Natalie started drinking. It usually didn't take too long for her blood to start healing a human since she was half royal—and royal blood was practically magical.

It took a few moments of her drinking for Clara to feel the pull that she was waiting for. She let out a sigh of relief. Natalie was finally getting enough to actually help. She would need quite a bit, given the damage she had taken. She just waited, keeping a lookout for people, or worse, signs that more disaster was close.

After several minutes, Clara started to feel herself weaken. She could probably handle a few more minutes of this, but not much more. She had to stay strong to get Natalie back to her house, plus she had her own guy to worry about too. In all the commotion, she hadn't had a moment to stop and wonder how William was holding up.

Now that she thought of him, she was eager to make sure he was okay. She had promised to give him space, but surely he couldn't complain about her finding out about his safety. It wasn't as though they had been planning on these explosions.

She looked Natalie over. Her coloring was returning to normal and the cuts on her arms and legs that she could see had healed. What about her broken bones?

Clara checked her right arm and cringing, set Natalie's bones in the right place so they could heal properly. Then she did the same thing with the broken leg. She started to feel weak. Hopefully, Natalie had gotten enough of her blood to completely heal, because Clara had to stop.

"We're going to have to take a break from this…drink." Clara pulled her wrist away, but Natalie reached up with her left hand and held onto her arm, pulled it back to her mouth. Clara smiled. "I'm glad to see your strength returning, but you need to let the…medicine…work for a little while."

Natalie let go, and Clara checked her arm and leg again. She could feel resistance when trying to move the broken parts. That meant the bones were starting to rejoin and become one again.

"Can you open your eyes, Natalie?"

"I'll try." She sounded weak, but at least she was speaking actual words. That was an improvement.

Natalie's eyes fluttered, but didn't open.

"Don't force anything. These things take time."

"We need to get to Braydon."

"I'll try calling him. You just take it easy."

Clara pulled out her phone. It didn't have a signal. She wasn't going to say anything to Natalie. She needed to rest and let Clara's blood run through her system, working its magic.

She held her phone up as high over her head as possible. Still, not even a single bar. She moved it out as far as she could in every possible direction, still not getting even a trace of a signal. She hated relying on human technology. It was so inconsistent, never reliable when you really needed it.

"Are you texting him?"

Now she would have to tell Natalie. "I can't get a signal. Do you want me to say here with you, or would you prefer I walk around and see if I can get anything?"

"You can walk around. Just don't go too far."

"I won't let you out of my sight." Clara got up and walked around the courtyard, waiting to see even just one bar light up. She couldn't even get the dang thing to flicker. She didn't want to get too far from Natalie. Once she healed, they would be able to at least get away from the mall, and hopefully close to a functioning tower.

She went back to Natalie, who was looking around. Clara sat down, smiling. "You look better already."

"Did you get a hold of him?"

Clara shook her head. "The towers must be down. Once you're feeling up to it, we'll try to find him."

Natalie nodded, and then pressed her palms against the ground. She struggled to get her back off the pavement, but then cried out in pain, grasping her right arm.

"Let me see that." Clara held Natalie's right arm as gently as possible, feeling the areas that had broken. They were already far more solid than when she checked a few minutes before. She set her arm down and checked the broken leg. It felt like it was healing at about the same speed. "Why don't we give the medicine a little time to take the pain away? Then we can get going."

"What was that stuff?"

Clara thought fast. "Someone came along with medicine. They looked like a paramedic, so I took it."

Natalie didn't look convinced, but she didn't question it. She rubbed her arm. "Do you think Braydon is okay?"

"He's a smart guy. I'm sure he got out of harm's way."

"Unlike us." Natalie grimaced and rubbed her right arm at the break. "Are you okay? I haven't even asked about you."

"I'm good. Don't worry about me."

"How did you get me out of there? What happened? Something hit my head, and I can't remember anything after that."

"The ceiling was coming down all around us, and a tile got you pretty good. I helped you out."

Natalie looked around. "How did you get me here, though? This is all the way on the other side of the mall."

Clara shrugged. "They say adrenaline makes people do crazy things. Moms have lifted cars off their children. I didn't stop to think, I just knew I had to get us out of there." She didn't want to remind her that she was a vampire and have her figure out that she had had Natalie drink blood. She probably would have never spoken to Clara again.

Once again, she didn't look convinced, but she didn't say anything. She put her palms back on the cement and pushed herself up about a foot. Clara reached to help, but Natalie shook her head. "I need to do this myself."

Clara backed up, giving Natalie all the room she needed. Her skin looked like the right color, so perhaps she was already healed. She held her breath, watching. Natalie continued to struggle until she was sitting up.

"Will you let me help you now?"

She looked like she was thinking about it. "Sure." She held out her hand, and Clara took it. She tried to put her other arm around Natalie, but she pushed it away. "I need to do this as much as I can on my own."

Stepping back, Clara kept her hold on Natalie's arm, giving her as much support as possible. Finally, Natalie was standing completely on her own. "How do you feel?"

"Pretty good, considering."

"Want to try walking?"

Natalie nodded, pulling her arm away from Clara's hold. She moved her right leg and then took a step. It was wobbly, but the leg appeared to hold her weight. She took another small step, and then another, until she was walking around like nothing had happened. No one would have ever guessed that her leg had been broken.

"Let's find Braydon."

"Or at least a signal. Is your car nearby?"

Natalie looked around. "It's not too far. I parked by the hair salon."

They walked back to the area where Clara had gotten them out of the building. More people had gathered outside, most of them milling around aimlessly. Each one of them looked like they were in shock.

Clara saw a guy who looked less distracted than the rest. "Does anyone know what happened?"

"Everyone thinks bombs, but nobody knows for sure." He didn't even look at her. "There's no phone signal on anyone's network, so no one can call out or check any news online."

"Thanks." Clara turned back to Natalie. "Let's get to your car."

Natalie nodded, and they continued to walk around the building, walking around dazed and injured people all along the way.

"Should we help anyone?" Natalie asked.

"I don't know what we could do." That was the truth. Clara didn't have it in her to share anymore of her blood, not that she would be able to with so many onlookers, anyway. "There are so many sirens in the distance. Some of them have to be on their way here."

"You're probably right." Natalie looked around. "We can't help all these people. I wouldn't even know what to do. I've never taken any first-aid class or anything." She looked pretty upset.

Clara put her arm around Natalie. "Someone will be here soon. We need to get to Braydon and then find out about William. At least they live in the same neighborhood."

"Oh, yeah. William. I'm sorry I didn't even ask about him."

"Don't worry about it. I'm glad you're feeling better."

They walked around the next corner of the mall in silence. As they came around to that side, a huge chunk of the wall was gone. Natalie gasped. What was left of the stores on the other side was charred beyond recognition.

A guy walked by them. He was covered in blood, and missing an arm.

Natalie took one look at him and threw up, barely avoiding her and Clara's feet. Her vomit was red, and for a moment, Clara worried that Natalie would ask about what she had given her to drink. Natalie wiped her mouth with her sleeve and looked at Clara. "Let's get out of here. I don't want to see anymore."

"Me neither. Is this where the salon was?"

She looked around. "Yeah. My car's over there." Natalie pointed kitty-corner to where they were.

Clara squinted, looking for her car. "I see it. Let's go."

"Can you drive? I can't get the image of that guy out of my mind."

"No problem."

"Didn't that gross you out? You don't seem that upset."

"I must be in shock a little myself," Clara lied. The truth was that she had seen so much blood and gore over the course of her lifetime that it rarely bothered her. It was just a part of life, even though she didn't have to see it on a daily basis.

Finally, they made it to her car. Natalie fished the keys out of her purse and unlocked the doors with her remote. She climbed into the passenger seat, handing the key to Clara.

"Maybe the radio signals are working." Clara started the car. Loud static shot out through the speakers.

Natalie pushed the volume button down. "Sorry. I was playing my favorite song on the way here."

Clara nodded. She rolled the windows down to dissipate the heat while Natalie scrolled through the radio stations. It was all static.

"Try the AM stations," Clara suggested. "Isn't that where they have the emergency systems set up or something?"

"I wouldn't know." Natalie pushed a bunch of buttons until the radio switched over to AM, and immediately they heard a voice.

They both let out a sigh of relief.

An irritating noise ran in the background, behind what the woman was saying.

"Is that the emergency signal?" asked Natalie.

"Yeah." Clara was trying to listen despite the sound. The woman speaking on the radio had a harsh voice, making it even harder to hear against the emergency sound playing in the background. She kept repeating that it wasn't a test.

"What is she saying? I'm getting a headache."

Clara turned the volume down slightly. "Maybe that will help."

"Can we try a different station?"

"I'm not sure if it will be any different, but sure."

Natalie scanned through the channels. Most of them were static, but a few had the same woman with the same message. When she got to the third one, she stopped. "No point in continuing." She leaned against the chair. "Let's just try and figure out what she's saying."

They listened for a few minutes, but only figured out that no one knew what was going on either. Disaster was widespread through the county and probably beyond. People should take care of the injured because assistance was limited and not guaranteed. Evacuation was not recommended unless homes were not in livable conditions. There were no temporary shelters set up yet.

Clara turned it off after they listened to the message repeat for the third time. "I think I've got about all I can get from that."

"Me too." Natalie had her eyes closed, and she was still leaning against the chair.

"You okay?"

She shrugged. "I suppose considering everything, yeah."

"Let me see if there's a cell signal yet." Clara pulled out her phone, still seeing no lines. Of course.

"Anything?"

"Not yet. I think we should get going."

Natalie nodded.

Chapter 24

WILLIAM TRIED OPENING his eyes, but couldn't. Where was he? What had happened? He couldn't move, either. His body ached.

Voices spoke in hushed tones in the distance. He wanted to call for help, but his voice wouldn't cooperate.

He vaguely remembered some explosions. Where had he been when he heard them? Was he still there? Wherever that was. He remembered seeing Clara at the park and something about a dog.

His head pounded, and he wanted nothing more than to rub it. Why couldn't he move anything?

Chapter 25

CLARA FINALLY MADE it to the parking lot exit. She had had to go around fallen trees, abandoned cars, and even people. Some were running around, obviously confused. Others were lying in the road, not moving. Clara was glad that Natalie still had her eyes closed. She would have gotten upset over the sight for sure.

She checked out the road conditions in front of her. There were abandoned cars in the middle of the road with some more downed trees, but from what she could tell, they should have been able to get the car through. She pulled out into the correct lane, more careful than ever, despite the fact that she didn't see a single car moving.

Maneuvering around everything, she couldn't decide where to go. Braydon's house wasn't too far away, it was near William's.

"Where do you want to go?"

"Can we go to Braydon's? He was supposed to be sleeping all morning. He has a long night at the steel factory tonight. Well, it's probably canceled, but you know what I mean."

"Yeah. I want to go to William's house too. Look at these roads. It could take hours to get anywhere."

"Hours?" Natalie leaned forward, looking around. "This is horrible. The explosion wasn't just the mall, was it?"

Had she even been listening to the emergency announcement? "It's everywhere. I think we're better off going to either Braydon or William's house. At least we could get something to eat." After giving Natalie so much blood, Clara was in dire need of nourishment.

"Well, let's go then. I want to see Braydon with my own eyes."

Clara turned left, heading for the most expensive neighborhood in Delphic Cove. The roads were no better as they got closer, except that the sirens were getting louder.

Were the emergency crews assisting the rich first? Clara shook her head in disgust. That couldn't be true, could it?

Still avoiding the obstacles that filled each road, she turned down another road, getting closer to William's neighborhood. He had to be okay. He just had to be. She couldn't even let herself think otherwise.

"What's that?" Clara narrowed her eyes. Something was obstructing the road a couple blocks ahead.

"Power lines?" asked Natalie.

As they got closer, they saw several large trees piled on top of each other, not allowing any vehicles to pass either way.

"We're going to have to turn around." Clara looked around to make sure no one was in her way. There were a couple cars turning around up ahead, closer to the trees, but no one near them. She managed to turn around without much of a hassle.

"I know another way. I'll tell you where to turn," Natalie said.

Just as they were picking up speed, and currently twenty-five miles an hour was fast, a dog appeared out of nowhere and ran in front of the car. Natalie screamed as Clara hit the brakes. The dog ran off, and Clara hit the gas again. "I can't wait to get somewhere safe."

"Braydon's uncle had his place upgraded to withstand a strong earthquake, so hopefully everything is running there. I really want a hot meal and a super long shower."

"That sounds good." More trees were down blocking the road, and Clara had no choice but to run over a small one as she avoided two huge ones and a delivery truck on its side.

"It's going to be a long time before things get back to normal, isn't it?" Natalie asked, her voice wobbling.

"Probably. But it looks like we made it through the worst of it. I haven't heard any explosions since we were in the mall."

"I think Bray's uncle has some backup generators. He was talking about getting a powerful system. Now I wish I would have paid more attention when he told me about it. I think it's solar powered and has enough power to last a few days. Maybe?"

"It's okay. We'll find out when we get there."

"And this time, I'll listen when he tells me about it. Oh, we're almost at our turn. Go left where that motor home is stopped."

Clara nodded, careful to avoid more abandoned cars.

"Should we be worried about all the empty cars? I mean, there has to be a reason for people to leave them in the middle of the road. Look! That one's a beamer. It's one of this year's models. Why would someone just leave it there?"

"They were probably more worried about their safety. Anyway, we'll go as far as we can. I'm sure we'll get to Braydon's house just fine." Clara sounded a lot more confident than she felt, but she didn't want Natalie to start freaking out. They both needed to be level-headed, because there was no way to know what they would have to face before they arrived.

Clara turned down the road Natalie had indicated. "Now what?"

"Go a little further, and then we'll turn right. I had to go this way when there was construction last year."

They drove in silence for a little while, only speaking when Clara needed to turn somewhere. They passed an area where the ground was black. Charred debris littered the area.

Natalie gasped. Clara didn't ask what had been there. She was curious, but she didn't want to upset her further. They needed to focus and stay calm.

"Do I need to turn anywhere?" There was a fork in the road up ahead.

"Left." Natalie's voice sounded strained.

Clara turned left.

"Second right."

"Just think of how nice it'll be to get back home."

Natalie sighed and then sniffled.

Clara took the next right and then they found themselves faced with a police barricade. Two officers walked up to the car, and Clara stopped. She rolled down the windows.

A tired-looking policeman walked up to her window. "No one gets in or out of this neighborhood, ladies."

"But we live there!" Natalie exclaimed. "You have to let us through."

The officer folded his arms. "Do you know how many times we've heard that today?"

"I do live there. I swear."

Clara gave Natalie a surprised look. What was she doing?

The cop turned to another, standing a few feet away. "They live here—she swears."

They both laughed.

Clara's body ached and her stomach was rumbling for food. She didn't want to have to drive all the way to the Ferguson's house. That could easily take hours with the roads as they were. Could she use mind control in this situation? Even if she could use it on the cop closest to the car, there were three others to contend with.

The other laughing officer came to the door and leaned against it. "Do you have any ID?"

Natalie dug into her purse. She handed him her driver's license.

He shook his head. "That address isn't in this neighborhood."

She hit the dashboard, swearing. "That's my parent's address. My fiancé and I live at 3517 Huckleberry La—"

The glove compartment popped open and some envelopes fell out into her lap.

"I thought that was locked. Oh! I have mail on it with my name and address. See? It's from the lady who's making our wedding cake. It has my name and my fiancé's name." She handed it to the closest officer.

He held out and looked at it. "That does match the address you just gave me."

"So, you'll let us through?"

Still holding the mail, he leaned closer to Natalie. "The address doesn't match the one on your license. How do we know you're even telling the truth? You could have stolen the car. Vehicles are abandoned all over the city."

Tears ran down Natalie's face. "Look at the names on both. I'm telling the truth—it's me. I'm engaged to be married. Please."

Clara looked at the cop. "Would you just compare the names? They would match if she's telling the truth, wouldn't they?" It was all she could do not to roll her eyes, or worse, get out of the car and suck him dry. Did they think they got to make up the law because there was a disaster? It was hardly cause for martial law.

"Let me see the license again."

Natalie handed it over, wiping at her eyes. The two officers looked back and forth between the two—obviously it was a two-man job.

The other one pulled out a clipboard and flipped through some papers attached. "Looks like it matches the info we have here on 3517 Huckleberry. Braydon's last name is Bennett, same as the listed owner of the home, John Bennett." He turned to the other cops and waved for them to move the barricade.

They handed Natalie back her stuff, and then Clara put up the windows and drove on once the road was clear. "Can you believe those guys? Talk about a power trip."

"I'm going tell Uncle John all about it. They may not realize his connections with their chief, but they soon will. I've never been treated like a criminal before, and I didn't do anything to deserve it."

"How does Braydon's uncle know the chief?" Clara was trying to distract her, because with everything going on, those idiots were the last thing she needed to be upset about.

Natalie spoke about his relatives while Clara focused on the road. Whatever debris had been there was removed. Sirens could be heard, now louder than before. This must have been where they all went first before taking care of the general population.

"Do I need to turn anywhere? I haven't come in this way before."

"You're fine for a few blocks."

They rode in silence again, except for Natalie telling Clara where to turn before she finally recognized where they were.

When they pulled into Braydon's driveway, Natalie nearly flew out of the car. Clara turned the car off, and then followed her up the steps. The front door opened before they got there, and some guy appeared in the doorway. Clara assumed that he was Uncle John. Natalie ran to him, throwing herself into his arms. "Is Braydon okay?"

"He's inside resting."

Clara stood back, giving them space. Uncle John looked at her after Natalie had stepped away. "I'm John Bennett." He put out his hand.

She took it and shook. "Nice to meet you. I'm Clara Erikson. I'm staying with the Fergusons this summer."

"Clara, it's good to meet you. Thank you for driving Natalie. Why don't you girls come inside and relax? Where were you when it happened?"

"We were in the mall. It was horrible." They stepped inside.

His eyes widened, and then he closed the door. "You were inside the mall? That was one of the places hardest hit."

Natalie burst into tears again. He gave her another hug. "You're safe now. That's the important thing. Do you want me to wake Braydon?"

She looked like she wanted to say yes, but she shook her head no. "Let him rest."

Clara looked at John. "How do you know the mall was the hardest hit? That wasn't on the broadcast."

"I've got the news on in the living room. We've got both satellite and an antenna. They're updating everything as they find out what's going on. There are two local stations reporting, and then of course plenty of national stations."

"Do you know what happened?"

"Why don't you two get your shoes off? Then we can get comfortable and settle in on the couches and watch the news. Do you need something to eat?"

Clara nodded as she got her shoes off. Natalie stepped back and took hers off too.

When they reached the living room, Uncle John indicated for them to sit. He disappeared into the next room. Clara could hear him telling someone to make them food.

They sat down, and Natalie pulled a blanket over herself. Clara watched the newscast, trying to figure out what had happened. As far as she could tell, the explosions had hit up and down along the entire Pacific coast and some of the East coast too. Nothing was said about either Canada or Mexico being hit along their coast lines.

When Uncle John came back in, he sat in a recliner. "The food will be ready soon."

Clara thanked him. "Do you know why we were hit, Mr. Bennett?"

"Just call me Uncle John—all of Braydon's friends do. Right now, they suspect one of the communist countries. Ever since the new president was elected, we've been a target. She hasn't kept her mission to rid the world of socialism a secret."

"Did they hit our entire coastline?"

He nodded. "They've hit parts of each coastal state along both oceans."

Clara tilted her head.

Natalie let out a sigh. "So, are we going to fight back? We can't just sit around when we've been attacked."

"Certainly. All of our troops are being prepared right now. Every reserve has been called for duty. In the meantime, the president and her people are looking into the source of it."

"Is it going to be a full blown war?" Natalie pulled the blanket closer to her chin.

"More than likely. Right now, the troops are on the defensive, ready to protect our nation. As soon as we know who attacked, we're going after them."

"Why not just pick any communist country and attack? Show them we won't be messed with." Tears filled Natalie's eyes. "They have no right to do this to us."

Uncle John shook his head. "We can't do that, dear. We wouldn't get the backing of any other countries if we did. Although, the other anti-communist countries are backing us up."

One of the house staff entered the room. "Would you like the food brought in here? Or will you come into the dining room?"

"We'll eat in here today." He glanced over at Natalie, looking worried. She looked terrified.

Chapter 26

WILLIAM OPENED HIS eyes. He was in a darkened room. The only light came from underneath the door. He looked around, unable to tell where he was. Nothing looked familiar. Even the bed he was in felt strange.

He remembered not being able to move earlier, before he had fallen asleep. He wiggled his fingers and toes. At least those moved. He tried moving his legs around. His right knee moved up, but the left one felt restrained.

Next, he moved his arms. They both had full motion, although he noticed his right wrist was wrapped up. It wasn't in a hard cast, but some kind of soft material. Was that what was on his leg, too? He maneuvered his way under the blankets and felt his leg. It was wrapped in the same kind of material.

Where was he? It wasn't a hospital room, nor was it a room in his house. He was sure he had never been in the room before. Even with the limited light, he could see enough to know he was somewhere strange.

His head had a dull ache. He reached up and felt around, discovering a large bump on the side of his head. It felt somewhat crusty, as though it had been bleeding.

What happened? Had he been abducted? He tried sitting up, suddenly desperate to get out of there. He listened for conversation. Hadn't he heard some before he had fallen asleep? He couldn't hear anything aside from the sound of his own labored breathing.

The first thing he needed to do was to find a way outside. Then he needed something to eat. His stomach was rumbling.

William moved the blankets aside, and then slid his legs off the bed. He stood on his good leg. It held his weight just fine. He put half of his weight onto the wrapped up leg. He winced at the sharp pains that shot through his knee. That could make escaping more challenging, but it wasn't going to stop him.

He took several painful steps, discovering that his left ankle hurt too, even though it wasn't wrapped up. He leaned against what appeared to be a dresser. His wrist ached, so he adjusted his weight, leaning against his left arm instead.

What had happened to him? What was the last thing he could remember? There was something about a dog. What was it? A cocker spaniel? A beagle?

He shook his head. It didn't matter what kind of a dog it was, he had obviously not been attacked by a dog. Though he felt some scratches on his arms and legs, there were no puncture wounds indicating an animal bite.

Had the dog been with anyone? No. It had been in a car. He was petting a dog inside a car, but he was outside. What did the car look like? It might have been red, but he couldn't be sure. Where had he been going or coming from?

His head ached. He rubbed the tender bump. Whatever had happened to him had probably been enough to hinder his short term memory. He sighed.

Images of the Delphic Cove lake came into his mind. He had been there because he was upset about something. What? He had run into Clara and they had some sort of an argument. She asked him if he wanted the ring back.

What happened next? He looked around the room, desperate for answers that he wouldn't find there. Had he taken the ring back? Had she put it back on? What had he done? She was the best thing to ever happen to him. Whatever their argument had been about, surely it was something they could have worked through. When had they not been able to work through something?

Wait. She wouldn't have been behind whatever situation William was in, would she? He shook his head, feeling dizzy. No. That was a crazy thought. She wouldn't do anything to hurt him, at least not on purpose.

He took a deep breath. His ribs ached, but not too bad. Not compared to his knee, wrist, or his head, anyway. He had to get out of the little room and find Clara. He had to make things right. Nothing was worth losing her.

William held onto her beautiful face in his mind as he reached for the door. He had to walk away from the dresser to find it. He put as little weight on his bum leg as possible. He prayed that he wouldn't have to run. Hopefully, he could sneak out of the house, or wherever he was, unnoticed.

He turned the knob and opened the door slowly, hoping it wouldn't squeak. It was nice and quiet, sliding perfectly over the carpet. Light from the hall shone on his face, temporarily blinding him. He closed his eyes, and then blinked several times, trying to adjust. How long had he been in the dark room that his eyes were so unadjusted to light? It burned his retinas.

Finally, he couldn't take it, and he closed the door. Once his eyes felt better, he opened the door just a crack. Enough to let a little light in, but not enough to hurt his eyes. He opened it a little more until it started to bother him, then he waited until his eyes adjusted. He kept that up until his eyes were fully adjusted.

Then he looked out into the hall and was sure that he was in a house. He didn't recognize it, but at least he wasn't locked away somewhere. He probably hadn't been abducted.

As painful as it was, he walked into the hall, keeping his good hand on the wall for balance. Part of him worried that he would hurt himself worse than he already was, but anything he did to himself could be undone at the hospital. He had to get out of the house in case whoever brought him there had been the ones to do this to him.

He continued to listen for voices in case he needed to turn around and go the other way. He heard nothing. That had to be good news, right?

Rounding a corner, he found himself face to face with a pretty brunette. She looked familiar, but he couldn't place her. Her eyes lit up. "William. You're up! How do you feel?"

"Confused."

"You don't remember what happened, do you?"

He shook his head.

"Let's get you off your leg. Here, lean on me."

What other choice did he have? She seemed genuinely concerned about his wellbeing, so she probably wouldn't try to hurt him further. He leaned against her, and she helped him walk into a living room. She led him to one of the couches, helping him to sit.

The news was on, and it looked like somewhere had been bombed. The girl grabbed a remote and turned the station. "You don't need to watch that. It's too stressful. Want to watch a movie? We can stream a new release or something."

He shrugged, looking around the room. Nothing looked familiar, yet the girl acted like him being there was the most natural thing in the world. She sat next to him, so close they were almost touching.

How much time had William forgotten? They weren't possibly a couple? The thought made him sick, not that she seemed so horrible, but that he wouldn't be with Clara.

She scrolled through lists of movie titles, finally clicking on one that looked like a romance.

The dog that he remembered petting in the car strolled in and sat at their feet.

William had so many questions. He didn't even know where to begin. He sighed, leaning against the couch. Maybe the answers would come on their own. He got the feeling she would be offended that he couldn't remember her. He hoped the fact that she was vaguely familiar didn't mean they had established a relationship.

A woman about his mom's age walked in. She smiled. "It's good to see you're up, William. We were pretty worried about that bump on your head." She turned to look at the girl. "Why didn't you get him a blanket or something, Nichole?"

So her name was Nichole. Why did that seem to fit whatever memory he had of her? His stomach sank.

The woman, he assumed she was Nichole's mom since they had the same eyes and smile, handed him a blanket.

William thanked her, and then looked down, seeing that he was only wearing boxers and his undershirt. He could feel his face and neck heat up, and he covered up.

Her mom nodded and she left the room.

Nichole smiled, patting his leg over the blanket. "Sorry about your clothes. They were covered in blood, so we had to throw them out. We also needed to take them off to take care of that knee."

"You couldn't get me to the hospital?"

"They're only taking life-threatening injuries, and a sprained knee won't get you in."

"What's going on? Why is the hospital only taking—?"

"Because they don't even have enough space for the dying. It didn't help that the ER wing was hit."

"Hit?"

"By the bombs. Don't you remember any of it?"

William shook his head, again rubbing his bump.

Nichole's face filled with pity, which William resented. He wasn't pathetic or an invalid. He didn't need anyone's pity. "What do you remember?" she asked, using a tone that one would use with a toddler.

"Your dog."

Her eyes widened. "You don't remember running into me at the lake this morning? Or having coffee with me after?"

William's shoulders relaxed. He hadn't forgotten a huge chunk of time. The lake was only that morning.

Nichole scooted closer, pulling some of the blanket over herself. He could feel her soft legs against his. He moved away, but she moved even closer than before. She put her hand on his leg.

"Uh, Nichole…."

She batted her eyelashes. "Calm down. I'm only going to massage your knee. My mom showed me how. Grams was a nurse, so my mom knows a lot about taking care of people when they're hurt. That's why you're wrapped up so well."

William's pulse was beating in his ears. He nodded, and then looked at the TV, trying to focus on the movie. When he couldn't, he thought of Clara. Her beautiful eyes, which made him feel like the luckiest man alive when she looked at him adoringly. He thought of her kisses and caresses.

She was probably out there somewhere, worried about him. He turned to Nichole. "Do you have a phone I can use?"

"Sorry. All the lines are down. No one has cell phones or landlines. Luckily we have generators and can watch TV and get online. I don't know what I would do if I couldn't do any of that."

"I need to call—"

"I talked with Kathryn on Facebook. She and your mom are stuck at the country club and your dad's at his office. The elevators aren't working and they can't use the stairs, but he says he's good."

William nodded. "Thanks." It was a relief to hear they were safe, but what about Clara? "Wait. You talked with Kathryn?"

"Right."

Oh. That was why Nichole was so familiar. Now he recognized her as one of Kathryn's friends from school. She was all grown up now, not the little four-eyed, brace-face middle schooler he remembered.

"How's that?"

"What?"

"Your knee, silly." She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, right. It feels better, thanks."

She snuggled closer. William looked on the other side of him and realized that he had no more room to move away from her.

"Has anyone heard from Clara?"

"You mean that girl you had a tiff with before we had coffee?"

William's heart sunk again. If it sank any further, it would be on the other side of the planet before long. What had they been arguing about? Why was he having such a hard time remembering anything from that morning? The bump didn't feel that bad.

He sighed, trying to ignore how close Nichole was. How was he going to get out so he could find Clara? He would rather be anywhere with her other than sitting in an unfamiliar house with a limp, a bum wrist, and a sore head.

Chapter 27

CLARA LOOKED OVER at Natalie, who was sleeping on the couch soundly after eating a big lunch. She would probably need a lot of sleep to recover from everything, but mostly from the emotional trauma.

She grabbed the remote and flipped through the stations, not wanting to watch anymore news. They kept repeating the same information, only showing different images. She got it—mass destruction all along the edges of the country. It wasn't that she didn't care, but she was going to start going crazy if she didn't get her mind off it all. There weren't many channels working. She mostly found either static or a black screen, except for the occasional newscast she ran into.

Wars happened, and she had seen enough of them to know that they would pass and life would go on, for those who survived, at any rate. It didn't matter if it was a human or vampire war, once there had been enough bloodshed for a winner to be declared, everything would stop, and once the pieces had been picked up, life would simply carry on.

More than anything, she wanted to know if William was okay. She had already seen enough dead humans to know that if he had been in the wrong place…Clara cleared her throat. She couldn't think like that. He was alive somewhere, hopefully in this very neighborhood, where she could find him.

That was it. She had to find him. Sitting there in front of the television wasn't doing her any good. When Natalie was awake, Clara could help her, but now that she was sleeping, Clara needed to find William. Even if he was still mad at her, at least she would know he was safe. They could talk about her being a vampire later.

Clara got up and put her blanket over Natalie, who only stirred slightly. She turned off the TV and turned on the radio. She found a station playing soft, relaxing music. That's what Natalie needed to listen to while sleeping.

She went back to the front door and found her shoes. Uncle John came out of the kitchen. "I thought I heard someone. Are you leaving?"

"Yeah. Thanks so much for the lunch. I can't tell you how much it helped. I feel much better."

"Certainly. I can't thank you enough for bringing Natalie here. Braydon will be so glad to see her when he wakes up. She was really shaken up—I can't imagine what would have happened if she would have had to drive. Speaking of that, how are you getting home?"

"I've got a friend who lives at the other side of the neighborhood, so I'm going to check on him."

Uncle John nodded. "If you need to come back here, don't hesitate. You're welcome here as long as you need a place to stay. It's going to be challenging to get around town."

Clara nodded. "That it will. Thanks for the offer. I may just be back. Tell Natalie I'll be in touch. Have you heard from her parents? I hope Jack and Janet are okay."

"I sent them an email after you two arrived. They're safe at home and very glad to hear you two are safe. They said not to worry about getting back home. They don't want you two to risk driving on the roads unless it's an emergency."

She nodded. "I'm glad to hear they're safe too."

"Take care, Clara."

She gave a slight wave before exiting. Once outside, she looked around to get her bearings. She had never gone to William's house from this part of the immense neighborhood. She thought it was to the East, closer to the lake. Hadn't she been able to see the lake from their house?

Pretty sure she was right, she headed in that direction. She kept her ears alert to anyone nearby. The last thing she needed was to run into more cops who thought it was their job to keep non-residents away from the wealthy of Delphic Cove.

After walking a few blocks, she heard another explosion in the distance. The ground vibrated beneath her, but it wasn't enough to even slow her down.

She had to find William. Clara looked around, and once she was sure no one was watching, she burst into a run. No human would be able to see her at that speed. It felt good to move that fast, there was something freeing about it. It was even more so after everything she had been through that day.

To think that when she started the day, her biggest worry had been whether or not William was upset with her. She heard another explosion in the distance. She was running so fast that she couldn't tell if the ground underneath was affected.

Finally, William's house came into sight. She looked around, again making sure no eyes were on her, and she slowed down. If anyone saw her reduce her speed, it would look like she appeared out of thin air.

She walked to William's driveway, up the front steps, and rang the doorbell. After a few moments, their cook, Sally, opened the door.

"Oh, Clara. William isn't here."

"Have you heard from him?"

She shook her head. "The phones have been down. Are you hungry? Would you like to come in?"

"No, thank you. I ate a big meal not too long ago. If you see or hear from William, can you tell him that I'm trying to find him?"

"Of course, dear. And if you see him first, have him check in too. I would like to know that the entire family is safe and sound."

"Will do." Clara turned around, and heard the door close behind her.

Now what? Where was she supposed to go? To the lake? He wouldn't have still been there when the blasts started. It had been a while. Where would he have gone? To his dad's office? She had never even been there, and she wouldn't know where to start looking. The internet on her phone wasn't working.

She sighed. She relied too much on human technology. What about her old fashioned vampire senses? She should be able to pick up his scent miles away if she had to. Since she had drunk his blood, she was even more finely tuned to him.

Not wanting to stand on his porch any longer, she began walking, thinking about his scent until she was more aware of it than anything around her. Her nose tingled.

He was somewhere within her reach. But where? There was a breeze that kept changing directions, making it nearly impossible to figure out what direction to go. That and the ashy smell. The residue was really getting in the way of her senses, nearly blocking out other odors. Had she not been so close to William, she might not have been able to pick up his scent at all.

Something moved at the edge of her line of sight. Clara turned toward it, ready to spring into action if need be.

"Clara? Is that you?"

Looking in the direction of the voice, Clara saw Hanna, one of the girls from the dance the other night. It felt like it had been ages earlier. She was inside a house, talking through an open window.

"Hanna. Have you heard from William?"

"Do you have time to come inside?"

"If you have any idea where he is, yes."

"Hold on." Hanna slammed the window shut, and then disappeared from sight.

Clara walked closer toward the house. A minute later, the door opened, and Hanna appeared. She waved Clara in. "Come on in."

She hurried in, and Hanna closed the door behind her.

"Take your shoes off and follow me to my room."

Clara removed her shoes again. Had she known she was going to be taking them on and off so many times, she would have worn slip-ons. She followed Hanna through several hallways, until they went into a bedroom. Clara looked around. The walls were covered with posters of shirtless, tattooed guys. Alternative music played in the background.

Harvey and Mara were in the room too. Mara was typing on a laptop and Harvey was lounging on the bed. Both of them said hi, and Clara returned the greeting. Hanna sat next to him, nudging him to move over. Clara sat down on the other end of the bed.

"You guys survived the blasts all right?" Clara asked.

Mara turned around. "Yeah. We were swimming in Hanna's pool when it happened. I thought it was an earthquake."

"She's not from around here." Hanna looked like she was holding in a giggle.

"Whatevs." Mara rolled her eyes. "My next thought was that it was that volcano. What's it called? Saint something?"

Harvey pulled Hanna closer. "Mount Saint Helens. I actually thought that too. They always say that it's still active."

"So, you guys know where William is?" Clara couldn't take it any longer. She didn't want to be rude, but she really didn't care what they all thought the bombs were when they first started going off.

"Yeah." Hanna made a face. "He's with that biotch, Nichole."

Clara stared at her. "Who's Nichole?"

Mara put the laptop on the desk. "OMG. I'm not even from around here, and I can tell you how awful she is. That girl is more psycho than a bag full of angry cats."

"And she's with William?" Clara looked at each one of them. "Why?"

Harvey grabbed a bag of chips. "She said she rescued him. He wasn't even conscious."

"Excuse me? Where does this psycho cat lady live? I need to—"

Hanna put her hands up. "Wait a minute, girlfriend. We need to tell you about Nichole before you go there."

Clara stared at her. "Okay. Spill it."

"Well, she was okay when we were kids." Hanna scooted closer to Clara. "Well, it's not like I was friends with her. She's younger. Kathryn was friends with her for a long time. But then, she just…." Hanna paused dramatically, eyes widening. "Lost it. She was dating a quarterback or something and he dumped her for some other chick. Nichole freaked. Like, I can't even explain it."

Harvey nodded, munching on more chips. "Then she disappeared and no one knew why."

"Except me." Hanna moved closer to Clara. "My dad is her mom's cousin, so I heard all the dirt. She poisoned a football player. She slipped something into his food. He got sick, and the hospital figured out what it was, and then somehow the police figured out it was Nichole."

Clara's stomach twisted in knots.

"So, she confessed. I guess she got a lighter sentence or something." Hanna shrugged. "Anyway, she went to some psych ward—see, I wasn't joking when I said she's nuts—instead of prison. They say she's safe to be in society now, but is she really? She hasn't had a boyfriend since the quarterback, who moved away."

"You're telling me that this Nichole person tried to kill a guy she couldn't have, and she's with my fiancé?"

Hanna and Harvey nodded.

"We've got to get him out of there. How can you guys just sit around here eating chips and listening to music when William is over there? I thought he was your friend!"

Mara gave Clara a look that was probably supposed to help her feel better. "He's not alone over there. Nichole's mom went to nursing school before getting married, and she said she would take care of him better than we could. The hospitals won't take him because he wasn't dying."

Clara put her hands over her face, took a deep breath, and then looked up. "You said he was unconscious. What was wrong with him?"

Harvey shoved the chip bag aside. "She said he had a busted knee and wrist. There was some blood in his hair, but she said he was fine. It was just shock or something."

"We've got to get him out of there." Clara looked at them. "Are you with me, or am I on my own?"

The three of them looked at each other.

Mara was the first to speak. "I don't want to go to the house of a crazy person. Sorry."

"I don't think her mom would let anything happen to him," Harvey said. "She's always been nice."

Clara narrowed her eyes. "Nichole had to get her crazy from somewhere."

"It can skip generations, you know. I took a psychology class in high school." Hanna nodded with a knowing look on her face. "Think about it. If her mom was nuts, she would have tried to cover up what her daughter did. Right? But she's the one who worked the deal and pushed her to confess. She's my dad's cousin. I know these things. There's no crazy in my family. It has to be from her dad's side."

"And just where is her dad?"

"King Kong or something."

Mara laughed. "I think you mean Hong Kong."

"Whatever. I'm not a geography major." Hanna rolled her eyes. "He travels, like, all the time. Nichole's mom tried to blame the poisoning on that, saying that she wanted her daddy's attention."

Clara jumped off the bed. "I can't sit here any longer. Where does the psycho live?"

Chapter 28

CLARA LOOKED AT the unassuming house. It looked like every other house in the neighborhood: enormous and in immaculate shape. Not a stray weed in the yard or a speck of dirt on the house.

Apparently, crazies lived in all kinds of places. Even gorgeous, expensive homes. She clenched her fists, walked up the walkway, and prepared herself for whatever she was about to walk into.

She knocked on the door, and a friendly-looking lady answered the door. She looked about the same age as Mrs. Ferguson. She was probably Nichole's mother. "Can I help you? Are you okay? Everyone has been staying inside because of the explosions, you know."

Clara nodded and then forced a smile. "I heard that your family is taking care of William."

"Oh." She looked confused. "We are. You're not Kathryn, are you?"

"No."

"I didn't think so. I hadn't seen her in years, so I wasn't sure. How do you know William?"

Clara held up her engagement ring. "We're getting married. Perhaps you heard about the romantic proposal the other night at the country club."

Her eyes widened. "I did hear there was an engagement at the dance. I didn't know it was William. Well, congratulations. Would you like to see him? He's resting on our couch. I've been taking care of his injuries."

"Thank you. I appreciate you taking care of him, especially since the hospitals are so overwhelmed."

She moved aside, letting Clara in. "I'm just glad I could help. I never became a nurse, but I'm glad to be able to put my knowledge to use when I can."

Clara nodded. Maybe Hanna was right, perhaps the mom was perfectly normal.

"Follow me."

Relieved to be able to keep her shoes on, Clara smiled and followed her through a maze of hallways until they ended up in what looked like a family room. It had an impressive home theater system and nearly every game console system known to man. After Clara took her gaze off the entertainment wall, she looked around the room, stopping at one of the couches.

William was sleeping with a dark-haired wench curled up to him, snuggled under a blanket. Clara's eyes flashed red, and she took a deep breath to calm herself and return her eyes back to their normal color.

Nichole's mother cleared her throat. "Nichole."

"What?" Nichole sat up, looking groggy. She looked at Clara, first appearing confused, and then it was replaced with recognition. Did she know that William was already spoken for?

"This is Clara. She and William are engaged. Why don't you fill her in on how he's doing?"

A look of annoyance covered Nichole's face. "Yes, Mom."

"Thanks, dear. I have some emails to answer."

Clara didn't want her to leave. Nichole would probably go crazy without her being in the room. Not that Clara would have a problem dealing with her. She just preferred not to deal with whatever the girl was capable of.

Nichole's mom left the room and Nichole glared at Clara. "He was hit by flying debris after one of the blasts. It hit him in the head, throwing him into a wall. Some fat guy landed on him, and I'm pretty sure that's what messed up his leg. Now you're caught up. Care to leave?"

"Nope." Clara stepped closer to the couch. "Care to remove yourself from his blanket?"

"Actually, it's my blanket."

"Then move yourself from your blanket." Clara folded her arms.

Nichole smirked. "Gladly." She stood up and yanked the blanket off William.

Clara gasped, seeing that he was in his underwear. "How dare you?"

"It was my mom who insisted that his clothes come off." She shrugged. "I wasn't going to argue."

"Yeah. I'll bet. So, how's that quarterback?"

"Quarter…?" Nichole's eyes narrowed. "How did you know about that?"

"I thought everyone knew." Clara shrugged. "At least he's alive, or you probably wouldn't be here now."

Nichole stepped closer to Clara. "Shut up."

"Look. I don't really care what you did or didn't do to anyone else. I'm just here to take William back home."

"No-freaking-way. You're not taking him anywhere. He needs to stay here so we can nurse him back to health."

"I appreciate you taking care of my fiancé, but I'm going to take over for now."

"Not. Going. To. Happen." Nichole folded her arms, staring Clara down.

"Sorry you feel that way, but that's the way it's going to be. Be a dear and cover him back up. I promise to return the blanket."

Nichole got in Clara's face. "I'm not letting him leave with you."

Clara moved closer, so that their noses were actually touching. "And I'm not letting him stay here with you."

"He's not going anywhere. We have everything he needs to get better."

"Trust me, honey. You don't have what I do. I'll have him up and running before you can wipe all that makeup off your face."

She gasped. "You need to leave my house. Now."

"Move aside, so I can get William."

"That's never going to happen. He's here and we're taking care of him."

"Then I'm not leaving."

"If that's the case, I'm going to call for security to remove you."

"You have your own security guards?"

"No. The ones that work for the neighborhood. What are you? Stupid or something?"

"I'm not from around here. I need to get William back to his own home. He has a family that's worried about him."

Nichole narrowed her eyes. "They're not even home. We've already emailed them."

"He's still better off in his bed, where he's in a familiar environment. It's not like you guys have him attached to an IV drip. Move aside. I'm tired of discussing this."

"So am I. Get out of my house."

Clara shook her head. "Not a chance. So you can poison him? If you can't have a guy, no one will, right?"

"Not that I owe you an explanation, but I was released from the facility because I had been cured. I'm not like that anymore."

"Then prove it. Let me take William home."

"You're not good enough for him."

Clara's eyes widened. "What do you know about me? Nothing."

"I know enough. You had an argument with him and walked away. I would never do that."

"Again, you know nothing." Clara clenched her fists, holding back the temptation to show her just how powerful she was. She could rip the girl to shreds before she even knew what hit her. "You have no reason to keep him here."

Nichole smirked. "I saved his life and my mom has been taking care of his bandages. They need to be wrapped up so they can heal."

"I can take care of him too." The conversation was ridiculous and going nowhere. Clara looked around Nichole at William. Had they drugged him? He was sleeping through the entire thing. "Has he even been awake since he got here?"

"Sure. He walked out of the guest room and in here all by himself. Well, I did help him." She grinned.

"Obviously, you didn't think about clothing him first."

Before Clara had time to think, her arm moved to punch Nichole in the face. Just before she made contact, Clara opened her hand so that she only slapped her. Even so, it was enough force that Nichole flew back several feet, landing against the couch. Clara couldn't help it. Vampires were naturally so much stronger than humans, and this one was way out of line.

Nichole rubbed her face, staring at Clara. "How dare you?"

"How dare I? How dare you!"

Stepping forward, Nichole narrowed her eyes. The look in her eyes worried Clara.

"Mom!" screamed Nichole. "Mom!"

Her mom ran into the room. "What's wrong?" She looked back and forth between the two of them.

Clara couldn't believe that William was still asleep. What had they done to him?

Nichole's eyes were wild. "Get her out of here. She's crazy."

Biting back a comment, Clara turned to Nichole's mom. She was careful to keep her face straight and her voice even. "I only want to take William home."

"We don't mind keeping him here. Like I said, I have medical training."

"I'm his fiancé. He needs to be home with me. I appreciate you taking care of him, but he needs to be with family."

Nichole laughed. "You're not family."

Clara held up the ring again. "This diamond says otherwise."

"Not until it's legal. For now, you're nothing."

"Nichole!" her mom exclaimed.

"Oh, Mom. It's true, and you know it. She has no legal rights to him."

Clara narrowed her eyes. "Nor do you."

"Morally, yes. I—"

"Saved his life. You've mentioned that."

"You know what? We're his family. Didn't you know that my mom is second cousins with his uncle's wife?"

"What?" Clara asked.

"It's true. Kathryn and I used to always say we were more than just friends, because we were family."

"That's quite a stretch. Kudos to you for your imagination." Clara turned back to her mom. "I would really like to get him home in his own house. He'll be able to heal better there."

"Don't let her go. She hit me! It still stings. See?" Nichole pointed to the spot where Clara had slapped her.

Her mom looked at the pink mark. She turned to Clara. "Is this true?"

"She threatened me."

"I think you do need to go."

"What?" Clara exclaimed. "Then let me bring him with me."

"He's in good hands here."

"You're going to hold him against his will?"

"He hasn't asked to leave. But we're asking you to."

"His father and grandfather are attorneys. You seriously want to go there?"

"If he asks to leave with you, we'll let him."

"How will that happen? You've obviously got him drugged with something. He's slept through this entire thing."

"He needs his rest. Please leave, before we have to call security."

"Fine. But I'll be back. Tell your daughter to stop snuggling with her cousin." Clara stormed past the mom, and made her way outside, maneuvering through the maze of halls.

As she thought about the entire thing, fury built up in her. Her eyes turned red: a deep, dark red. How dare they keep her from him? They had no right, and they most certainly weren't family. What a ludicrous stretch.

She paced in front of the house, trying to decide what to do next. Getting in by herself wasn't going to happen. They would probably call security and have her banned from the neighborhood. That was also a good reason to stop pacing in front of their house.

Should she go back to Hanna's house? Or would she be better off seeing if any of William's family had made it home? She also needed to get back to check on Natalie.

Clara would have to sneak back into Nichole's house. That was where going through walls was helpful, but getting out with William would be the tricky part. Would she use mind control? It might not even work on those two. She had seen humans with mental disorders be impervious to it in the past, and they obviously had some serious issues.

She looked back to the house and saw Nichole watching her from a window. Clara gave her the one-finger salute and walked away. She decided to go back to William's house and leave a message that she didn't feel safe with him in Nichole's house. Aside from that, if any of his family had made it back home, they could go with her to retrieve him. She managed to calm down enough to get her eyes back to their normal color.

Sally answered the door again, and Clara filled her in. She looked concerned. "I would go with you if I thought it would help. But Will is stuck at the firm, unable to get down the stairs. I haven't heard back from the ladies of the house, either. I assume they're still at the club. That's where there's a large underground safe room. I imagine everyone there went into that room. I keep hearing explosions, so I'm sure they're going to be there a while."

Clara sighed. "What am I supposed to do now?" What she really needed was to find another vampire. If she had another one, they could easily sneak into the house and get William out.

"You're more than welcome to come in and stay here."

"Thanks, Sally, but I need to figure out a way to get William back home."

She nodded. "Feel free to come back if you need to."

Absentmindedly, Clara said thanks, and walked back to the road. Should she go back and employ the help of William's friends? They wouldn't even go with her to Nichole's house. They would be no help. What about Natalie? Who else did she know in Delphic Cove?

Mr. Foley.

He lived in the neighborhood somewhere and he was a werewolf. He couldn't go through walls, but he would be as strong as any vampire. He could also serve as a distraction. Women of all ages fell all over themselves to get his attention.

Clara could get him to go over there and give them enough attention to allow Clara to sneak and in get William out. All she had to do was figure out where he lived.

She sniffed the air and detected the werewolf scent even over the residue from all of the explosions. She followed it until she came to his house. Stopping in front of his house, she noticed that it was bigger than both William's house and Uncle John's. What on earth was he doing teaching high school math? Was it the best cover he could find to work with his young pack?

It didn't matter. She needed to get William away from that nut job, and the faster the better. Clara walked up the walkway and knocked on the door.

A huge guy answered the door, obviously a werewolf judging by his stink. He glared at her, clearly aware that she was a vampire.

She flipped her hair behind her shoulder and stared him directly in the eyes. "I'm here to see Tobias."

He narrowed his eyes and grunted. "And you would be?"

"Clara Erikson. He—"

A clatter could be heard from inside. "Clara? Let her in, Bruno."

The big, smelly wolf moved aside and she walked in front of him trying not to smirk.

"I'm in the main living room over here," Tobias called.

Clara followed the sound of his voice and stopped in a room full of golden knickknacks covering the shelves. Tobias stood there with a towel wrapped around his neck, wearing only cut-off track pants. His hair was wet and he smelled of perspiration. It was a strangely pleasant scent mixed with the werewolf smell.

"Am I interrupting something?"

He shook his head. "I just got done working out."

"Are you aware that our country is under attack?"

"Why do you think I'm working out? I need to be in top form. So, what can I do for you? I assume you didn't stop by to chat."

"You know me too well. My fiancé is being held against his will a few blocks away."

"And you can't get him yourself? What's the catch?"

Clara leaned against the wall. "The girl is a psycho, newly released from the nut farm. I can't get in there, but I was thinking that you could serve as a distraction so I could go in there and get him. Besides William, it's only a teen girl and her mom. If you show up, flex some muscles and recite the Pledge of Allegiance or something, they'll be mesmerized."

Tobias grinned. "Aww. You need eye candy and immediately thought of me."

"Don't flatter yourself, wolf," Clara teased.

"I know exactly what to wear. Give me a few minutes to clean up and then I'll be ready to captive the women."

Chapter 29

WILLIAM OPENED HIS eyes. Where was he? Everything was blurry. He blinked a dozen times, trying to get his eyes to adjust. He appeared to be in the living room at Nichole's house still. Why was he there? Something had happened, but what?

The side of his head throbbed, and he reached up to rub it. He saw his wrist was wrapped up. He moved it and pain shot through it. So that was why it was bandaged up. To keep him from moving it.

He got the chills and pulled the blanket up around him. He needed to get some actual clothes. He remembered only being in his boxers and undershirt, much to the obvious delight of Nichole. Where was she? He looked around, not seeing anyone, except the dog at his feet.

The news was on the TV, but the volume was too low to hear. He watched the images of destruction go by, one after the other. It looked like a foreign war, but why was it getting so much coverage? He tried to read the ticker at the bottom of the screen, but his vision was still too fuzzy to make out what it read.

William rubbed his eyes and then narrowed his them. Did that say Delphic Cove? Was all that damage of his own hometown? It couldn't be. Wait. Was that why he was in Nichole's house? Why couldn't he remember anything? And why was he so groggy? It felt like his extremities were made of rubber.

Sighing, he focused back on the ticker. Why did they have to make those things move across the screen so fast? After a few minutes, he noticed the messages repeating, so he was able to read what he had missed before. From what he could tell, the US had been attacked from all sides. Most of the state of Alaska was one big wildfire. Both coastlines had been attacked with a barrage of bombs.

He knew that the growing number of socialist and communist countries hated their new president, but he didn't know the hatred had run that deep, though. He'd had plenty of conversations about it with his dad and people from the country club. There were several with strong opinions against communism that he had always thought were blowing hot air, but now it looked like they had been right.

Where was Nichole or her mom? He really wanted a coffee. He felt like someone was squeezing his brain, and he knew that was a sign that he needed caffeine. Clara had always teased him about his coffee and diet soda habits, saying he was addicted. These headaches always reminded him that she was right.

He sat up. If Delphic Cove had been hit, and he had clearly been injured, where was Clara? Was she okay? His heart raced and his stomach twisted in knots. He couldn't bear to think of her getting hurt. What if she was injured somewhere, alone and scared? What if she was worried about him? He had to find her.

William stood up. Searing pain shot through his knee, nearly knocking him to the ground. He was obviously not going anywhere. He sat back down, covering himself up again.

Where was his family? Were they all right? Surely, if they were able to get to Nichole's house and bring him home, they would.

He ran his hands through his hair, accidentally hitting the sore spot again. He winced.

A commercial for a jewelry store came on the screen, and William remembered his last conversation with Clara. He had been uncharacteristically cold to her. The blood felt like it all drained from his body. It was replaced with a heavy dose of guilt.

What if that had been their last conversation…ever?

Why had he been so rude? That wasn't like him. He had been raised to put on a good face all the time, no matter what. He was going to be an attorney, and he was going to have clients he loathed. He would have to act like he was their best friend, not giving them a hint of how he truly felt.

He closed his eyes. What had Clara said or done to upset him? Images of the pictures from his dad's album came into his mind's eye. She had claimed that it was actually her in them. That she had been in love with Liam two centuries earlier. She claimed to be a vampire.

William took a deep breath. That was why he had been so upset. He had been certain that she was lying to him. But she had never lied to him before, unless it was true that she was some kind of immortal. Then she was lying by omission the entire time.

More than anything, he wanted to believe her. He just wanted to wrap his arms around her and never let her go. So what if she thought she was a vampire? Vampires were sexy, right? She was off the charts hot. They could always role play—pretend she was a vampire and he was her willing victim. So what if she thought it was real?

At least he would be with the woman he loved, and she was gorgeous and smart to boot. Everyone had their flaws. She thought she was a blood-sucking creature of the night with some kind of daylight blessing. It could be worse. He had heard horror stories from his dad about people who were truly insane.

There were people out there who tried to kill their love interests. People who killed their families. Fathers who impregnated their daughters and then blamed them for sleeping around. Parents who hit their kids and others who tore theirs apart verbally. Teachers who took advantage of their students. Religious and political leaders who did horrible acts against humanity.

Clara was none of those things. He had seen her risk her own life to save a child from getting hit by a car in England. She almost always gave ten dollar bills to beggars on the street. She had helped out their neighbors more times than he could count. She supported and encouraged him through his studies. When he had wanted to quit school altogether, she talked him into sticking with it.

He was lucky to have her. She loved him—him! So what if she thought she was a vampire? Her kisses were amazing…and whatever it was she had done when they were camping, and then again at his house, that was indescribable. If that was a side effect of being a vampire, or her thinking she was one, he would take it. Why not?

His heart ached as he recalled his harsh words. She didn't deserve that.

Footsteps behind him caught his attention. He turned around.

Nichole smiled. "Oh, good. You're awake. You've been asleep quite a while. How are you feeling?"

William's heart sunk. He wanted out—away from her. "I'm good. In fact, I'd like to go home now."

She shook her head. "Not on that leg, you're not."

"We can send for my driver."

"Phones are down."

"But the electricity is running."

"Backup generators, silly."

"Don't you have a driver? He can take me to my house. I'm sure my cook is home, and she can take care of me."

"My driver is on vacation this week. Actually, he quit. But those are just minor details."

"You have a car. I remember that much. Please. I want to go home."

Nichole frowned. "Poor William. My mom and I have medical training and supplies. You're better off here."

"My knee and wrist are sprained, right? It's hardly rocket science. Sally's quite capable. She's good for a lot more than just cooking. She's practically a second mother to me."

She sat down next to him, patting his knee over the blanket. She gave him a sultry pout. "If she comes for you, you can go with her, okay? But I can't in good conscience send you back home. I saved your life, you know."

"And you're never going to let me forget it," William muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"I said thank you."

Nichole smiled. "You know you're in good hands with me. I could have run off, scared from the bombs, but I didn't. I made sure you were safe, even after that fatty nearly crushed you."

William nodded.

Her mom came into the room, holding two bags of ice. "Put these on your sprains." She handed them to William, in his good arm.

Nichole snatched one. "I'll help you with the one on your knee." She pushed the blanket off his leg, exposing more of him than needed to be to put ice on his knee. She looked along his thigh, smiling.

He pushed the blanket down, so that only his knee was poking out.

She frowned. "How do your hips feel? Maybe we should ice them just to be sure."

"Nichole." Her mom sighed.

"What? I'm just trying to take care of him. You didn't see the size of that fatso who landed on him. I'm surprised he wasn't hurt worse. In fact, he'll probably feel sore in more places tomorrow. You know, delayed reaction."

"Just help him with his knee and wrist, will you?"

"I want him to know who's here taking care of him. You know, who really cares about him."

"He's not a pet, Nichole. Remember, Dr. Anderson suggested getting a dog for you take care of and focus on? Maybe I should have let that gir—"

"Mom!"

"What?" William asked.

Nichole shook her head. "Don't listen to her. She's delirious."

Her mom glared at her. "Watch your mouth, young lady. One word from me and you're going back to—"

"I was just talking smack. Leave me alone, Mom. I'll take good care of him. I promise."

"You'd better." She looked at William. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to yell."

William raised an eyebrow. He didn't like the tone Nichole's mom used. He nodded and then she left the room.

Nichole pulled the blanket off William, throwing it behind her, where he couldn't reach it.

"Could I get that back? It's a little chilly in here."

She moved closer to him, putting her hand on his leg, above his knee. "I'll keep you warm."

"I'd rather have the blanket."

She squeezed her hand, moving it up a few inches.

"I have a fiancée, you know."

"Yeah, so I've heard. Don't you remember her stomping off at the lake? I wouldn't put much stock in her. If she really cared, don't you think she would have come for you?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Not if she couldn't get here."

Nichole moved her hand up even further along his leg. "I think a good all-over massage is exactly what you need after everything you've been through today."

William pushed her hand away.

"Tsk, tsk." She shook her head. "Don't do that, you're going to make your wrist worse." She put her hand back, this time higher, and dangerously close to reaching his boxers.

He pushed her hand away again. "You can hold the ice on my knee. Stay away from the rest of my leg."

"I'm just trying to help."

"No, you're not. You're being pushy and obnoxious. I don't want you rubbing my leg—or even touching it."

"You're not being very nice to the person who—"

"Saved my life. I'll have my parents send you a check. Then we'll be even."

She put her hand back on his thigh. "I don't need money. Look around you. This house is one of the largest in the whole development. We have everything we could ever want. There's nothing you could offer me that—"

The doorbell rang, interrupting Nichole. A look of fear crossed her face, and then she quickly gained composure. "I wonder who that could be. Just wait here while I see."

"Can I at least get the blanket back?"

Nichole sighed and rolled her eyes. "Fine. Whatever." She tossed it at him before running out of the room.

Chapter 30

CLARA WALKED ALONG the sidewalk outside of Mr. Foley's house, not wanting to be inside with his servants any longer. Their disdain for her was so strong it could be felt, and if there was one thing she wasn't going to put up with, it was being looked down on by werewolves.

Something caught her attention at the edge of her line of sight across the street. She didn't care, though. She was mapping out her plan to get William out of Nichole's house.

A movement distracted her once again and chills ran through her, indicating that she was being watched. Why then, of all times? It was probably just some human. She wasn't going to allow herself the distraction.

She turned around, walking in the other direction. Should she go through the front or the side of the house while Tobias worked his magic? One of the sides would keep her out of sight, but on the other hand, going through the front would bring her closer to William, and though she was fast, he was only human with so many limitations. He—

A noise came from across the street where Clara had seen the movements. Her eyebrows came together, she clenched her fists, and then stormed across the street. "What's going on? Show yourself!"

She heard a chuckle and knew who it was—not that it was any big surprise.

"Victor, what are you doing here?" Clara demanded.

He stepped out from behind a tree. "Were you ignoring me, Clare-bear?"

"What do you want?"

"I thought I'd check on you after the attacks. Too bad no one gave you a heads-up on those. Oh, wait…" He laughed.

"You can see I'm fine. Go away. I'm busy."

He leaned against the tree and crossed one foot over the other. "Did you ever tell the Lennox kid your little secret? How is he, by the way?"

Clara's eyes turned red. "What's it to you?"

"You and me—we're meant to be together. I don't know what your obsession is with that family, but it's unhealthy."

She narrowed her eyes. "If you're so convinced we're meant to be together, give me space. In about eighty years, I should be available again, right? Bug off."

"Ouch." He clutched his chest. "You didn't answer my question. Did you tell him?"

Clara's fangs extended and she hissed at him. "It's none of your business, Victor. Why have you shown up recently? You know you're a convenient backup and nothing more. I'd think you'd have the patience to wait less than a century."

He relaxed his stance. "We belong together, Clare-bear. It's—"

"Stop calling me that! I will not tell you again."

Victor took a strand of her hair and twirled it around his finger. "Come on, Clara. Forget about the humans. They're no good for you, unless you actually enjoy the heartbreak."

"I don't have time for this."

"Yeah, I could see you were busy pacing. Sorry to interrupt something so important." He stepped closer to her. "Baby, let's—"

"Don't call me baby. I don't care what you think, Victor." She spun around, but stopped halfway through, because he still held her hair. Clara jumped at him, ready to bite down and rip his flesh off.

"Oh, yeah. Bite me…you remember how much you've always loved my blood."

She slapped him. "You're incorrigible."

"I do my best."

"This rat again?"

Clara turned around to see Tobias wearing a thin, tightly fitting shirt and snug leather pants. "I see what you mean about the outfit."

He glared at Victor. "Why is it that you keep showing up around Clara and she never appears happy to see you? Can't you take a hint? She's taken."

"If it's by you, then I'll walk away now. I'm not going to get into a fashion war like that." He chuckled.

Clara grabbed his collar. "You know full well who I'm engaged to. Find someone else to annoy."

Victor pulled away, fixing his shirt. "If you tell me Lennox is fine with you being a vampire, you won't hear from me for the next hundred years."

Fury ran through Clara and she could feel the red in her eyes deepen to a shade they rarely reached. "We've discussed it."

"And he's still madly in love with you?"

She clenched her fists before opening them and jumping on top of Victor, knocking him over. She bit into his skin while simultaneously clawing his face, not even caring if she plucked out his eyeballs. He had been bothering her for about two hundred years and it was time for him to stop.

Clara felt arms on her shoulders.

"You told me he's not worth it."

"I don't care! He needs to die. He's a loser with no redeeming value whatsoever, Foley. Stay out of it."

Tobias cleared his throat. "I would, but you're the one who inquired about my services. We have someone to save, remember?"

Her fangs retracted, remembering William. She shoved Victor's face into the ground, forcing dirt into his mouth. "Tobias is my witness. William loves me and needs me."

Tobias pulled Clara up, dusting some dirt off her arm. "She's right. I was there for the engagement, and he's very much in love. Right now, though, he needs our help."

Victor stood up, hissing. "I can take you, wolf."

"And you think that would soften my heart for you, Victor? Dream on. You can join us if you'd like, but we're leaving."

"Right. You're into weakling humans." Victor spat.

Tobias whistled. Before Clara had the time to wonder why, Bruno and two other equally huge werewolves appeared behind Tobias. One of them growled and they all looked ready to attack.

Narrowing his eyes, Victor backed up.

"You'll leave her alone for the next century. Right?" Tobias asked.

Victor bared his fangs, but nodded.

"These three," Tobias indicated toward his staff, "have your scent memorized. If you so much as show your face around Clara, I'll sic them on you. Got it?"

"You have a century, and then you'll see me when you least expect it. You won't be able to hide behind guard dogs, Clare-bear. Maybe by then you'll realize that we were made for each other." Victor glared at Tobias and the other werewolves before running out of sight.

Clara gave Tobias a look of appreciation. "I can't thank you enough."

He shrugged. "Think nothing of it. Let's get William." He turned to the others. "You're free to go."

Clara led the way and stood at the corner of the porch, out of sight from the front door at Nichole's house. Mr. Foley stood in front of it, standing as though posing for a steamy romance novel cover. Neither Nichole nor her mother would be able to take their eyes off him. Clara almost couldn't either, but she knew she had more important things to focus on, besides a werewolf.

Once Nichole and her mom were tripping over each other to keep Mr. Foley's attention, she would have to sneak in and get William out.

The door opened and Clara didn't wait a moment before she slid through the wall. She found herself in what looked like a small office. Nichole's mom was at the front door, but she couldn't hear Nichole's voice. She went into the hall, looking down both directions. She was in the clear for the time being.

She headed toward the room William had been in before. She sniffed, and found that his scent was getting a little stronger. She was at least going in the right direction.

Footsteps could be heard not far away. Clara pushed her back against the wall, listening. It sounded as though they were headed for the front door. That had to be Nichole. Good. She would forget about William while Mr. Foley was talking with them.

Clara kept going down the hall, following William's scent. She kept listening for any sounds that Nichole or her mom were heading her way, but she could hear them talking with Mr. Foley, and it did sound like they were vying for his attention. She had clearly made the right choice in asking for his help, as much as she would have rather asked anyone else. There was no denying his eye candy factor.

She started to worry that she was going in the wrong direction. It was taking longer to get to the family room than before, but she was also taking a different route and was on the lookout, not wanting to get caught.

Rounding a corner, she found herself in the family room. William was still sitting on the couch, but at least he was covered in the blanket. He was sipping something from a coffee mug. Clara's stomach twisted in knots. What if it was poisoned? Nichole had to know that Clara wouldn't give up that easily.

He looked up in surprise, nearly spilling the drink.

Clara ran at top speed to catch the cup. She set it on a coffee table and threw her arms around him.

"What are you—?"

"Shh. Don't let them hear you. I need to get you out of here. I'm not sure if you know, but she's crazy."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"We've got to go." She listened, hearing them still speaking with Mr. Foley. He had a long speech planned, but he probably could have talked about slug races and kept their attention.

"I can barely walk. It—"

"Don't worry about it. I'll carry you."

"But I weigh more than you."

"Didn't you hear me? Don't worry about it. Did they dress you yet?"

He looked confused.

"I was here while you slept earlier. I'll explain everything once we're out of here. I really need to get you home, or anywhere else, really."

"They had to throw away my clothes because they were ruined."

"How convenient." Clara wrapped the blanket around him, and lifted him up, careful not to hurt him further. She balanced him, moving his top half over her shoulder.

"This is so strange."

Clara ignored him and hurried into the hall again. Nichole and her mom could be heard talking over each other and Mr. Foley. She needed to find a different way out. Unfortunately, she would need a door since he couldn't go through walls. She followed the hall, trying to stay as close to the front of the house as possible. She didn't want to have to worry about getting stuck in the back yard.

Finally, she spotted a door that looked like it led to the outside. It had a lock on the door and a deadbolt. She ran to it, unlocked the deadbolt, and turned the knob. The door opened, but an alarm sounded, assaulting her ears.

"Crap. I didn't think about that." She hurried outside, not bothering to close the door behind them. They were holding William captive, let them deal with it.

They were at the side of the house. A fence behind them indicated that they were in the front yard. She walked around the house. Mr. Foley was still standing in front of the door, and she could hear Nichole and her mom hollering about the alarm.

"Hold on." Clara took a deep breath. She broke into a run. They were going so fast that Nichole and her mom couldn't see them. "Are you okay?" William wasn't used to moving that fast, and she was worried that he would get sick. Not that she would mind him puking on Nichole's blanket.

"Just confused. I can barely see anything."

"I'm running so fast that people can't even see us. If you get nauseated or anything, let me know. But I really just want to get you home."

"I'll just close my eyes. This feels like a dream, anyway."

His house was in sight. She didn't slow down until she got to his front door. She knocked, and after a minute, Sally answered, looking confused.

"What's going on?"

"William needs to be in his own home."

"Is he okay? Are you all right carrying him?"

"I'm fine, and he'll be too."

Sally moved aside. "You get him settled in. I'll make some food."

Clara came inside. "I'll get him settled into his room. Don't let anyone in, okay?"

"Okay." It sounded more like a question. She closed the door.

"I'll explain later." Clara got William to his room, set him on his bed, and chucked the blanket into the hall. She came back and checked his wounds.

"Clara, I'm really sorry about earlier. I should have given you—"

"Shh. Don't worry about it."

He frowned. "Stop shushing me. I owe you an enormous apology."

"Did spending time with a psycho help you to see how normal I actually am?"

"Would you stop making light of this? I needed time to think, and I had plenty since I couldn't move. You're the most amazing person I've ever met. You're kind and caring, and more than that, you've always believed in me. I should have heard you out. I'm sorry I was so cold to you. You didn't deserve that."

She snuggled next to him. "I knew it was a risk telling you. But it was more important that I was honest with you."

He wrapped his arm around her. "I don't care what you are. My life is whole only when you're in it."

"Well, I am a vampire, but I'm still the same person you fell in love with. Nothing has to change."

"You're not mad at me for being so rude?"

"It's not like you tried to have me killed. I've seen a lot worse."

He yawned. "Well, I still feel horrible."

She kissed his nose. "I forgive you. Can we just move on? We have a wedding to plan…I hope."

"Of course. If you'll still have me."

"If I'll still have you? What kind of a question is that?"

"A valid one." He shivered.

She pulled the blankets over them. "Do you want me to get you some clothes?"

He shook his head. "I'm happy like this. Besides, you can warm me up."

Clara frowned. "I don't know if you ever noticed, but that's not something I'm good at."

"I did notice that you're always cold. It's not uncomfortable for you?"

"Nope."

He shifted his body weight, and let out a small cry. "My knee. I've never felt pain like this before."

She looked him in the eyes. "I can heal you if you want."

"You mean by turning me into a vampire?"

"No. I can just heal you, but you might not like how."

"What do you mean?"

"If you drink my blood, you'll be completely healed."

His eyes widened. "I…I don't know. That sounds, well, I mean…thanks for the offer. I'll just see how I heal on my own."

"Your knee looks pretty swollen. I hope it's not infected because the hospital won't even look at you."

"I'll think about it. Okay? I'm willing to accept that you're possibly a vampire, but I'm not ready to test drive the lifestyle myself."

She nodded. "I just want to help." Clara leaned against him, and they didn't say anything for a while. She listened to the sounds of his heartbeat and his breathing, just glad to be in his arms again. She would take that as long as she could.

His breathing became deeper, and she turned to see him asleep. She closed her own eyes, knowing sleep wouldn't come. But she had all that she wanted, so there was nothing she was going let worry her. The world outside was falling apart, but at least she still had William's love.

A noise outside caught her attention. Clara sat up and went to the window. Out on the street, she saw Nichole and her mom walking straight for William's house. They were bold, weren't they?

She tucked the blankets around him, went into the hall, and closed his door. She grabbed the blanket and made her way to the front door before the doorbell rang. "I've got it," she called to Sally, who sounded busy in the kitchen.

Clara slid the chain into place and opened the door about an inch, as far as the chain would allow. "What do you want?"

"How dare you break into our house?" Nichole yelled.

"You didn't leave me much of a choice when you held an injured man against his will."

"You're going to hear from our attorneys."

"Okay. And you'll hear from William's. His dad has an entire firm of them, including himself."

"Did you send leather pants as a distraction?"

"You guys need to leave. This isn't your property, and you're not welcome here."

"Since you have something of ours, we're not going anywhere."

"I hope you're not referring to William."

"My blanket." Nichole narrowed her eyes. "My Grams made that."

Clara slid the chain out from its spot and opened the door, throwing the blanket at them. "Take your blanket and stay away from William. He has no interest in you."

Her mom glared at Clara. "You can expect to hear from the cops. We're pressing charges. I don't take breaking and entering lightly. You did leave with our blanket, so now we have you for theft too."

"I just gave it back!"

"Doesn't matter. You took it after breaking into our home."

"Show me exactly where I broke in. I'd like to see that. Nothing was damaged, and you have your stupid blanket back."

"You came in through the side door."

Clara shook her head. "I left through that door. Even the cops would tell you that it was opened from the inside."

Nichole's entire face wrinkled up. "How did you get in?"

"You guys think you're so smart, so go back home and try to figure it out."

"We will." Nichole's nose flared. She looked like she was about to lose control and lash out. "And then you'll be facing jail time."

Clara smirked. "Maybe we'll be cellmates. Actually, no, we won't. You'd be in a different part of the prison because kidnapping is a worse crime than what I did. They'll have sympathy on me for helping to rescue someone being held against his will. In fact, this could get really interesting. Go ahead and press charges—send the cops after me. I want to see how all this plays out."

Nichole's mom looked at her. "Let's go, Nichole. We need to get back home."

"See ya." Clara waved. Hopefully that would be the last they would hear from them.

Chapter 31

WILLIAM WOKE UP to searing pain in his knee and sharp pains in his gut. He sat up, feeling dizzy. His stomach lurched, and he closed his mouth as tight as possible. Hopefully, that would be enough to keep him from vomiting.

Where was Clara? The door was closed, so maybe she was just letting him rest. He couldn't recall falling asleep, but he did remember her rescuing him.

The way she had thrown him over her shoulder and ran through the neighborhood had been unreal. His stomach lurched again, this time, he gagged, barely keeping anything down. His throat burned and the taste of bile reached his mouth. He needed to get to the bathroom before he made a mess.

He slid his good leg onto the floor. He took a deep breath before putting the sore one down. His knee was burning, and it felt much worse than just a sprain. Something was wrong. Maybe Clara was right and it was infected. He rubbed it, and pulled his hand away. It was hot to the touch, and the pain was a lot worse than it had been.

Sirens could be heard outside, but William barely noticed. He stood up, but stumbled as soon as he did. That knee wasn't going to hold any weight. His stomach jumped around again and he gagged again, this time getting throw up into his mouth. As gross as it was, he had no other choice except to swallow it.

The bathroom was too far away, in fact, it may as well have been in the next town. He looked around his room for anything that would suffice as a crutch. The only thing even close was a baseball bat. That wouldn't work. He would just have to lean on what he could along the way.

He made his way to the door, barely. His knee hurt worse with every movement and his stomach was more and more determined to relieve him of its contents.

William turned the knob and somehow managed to hit his knee on the door. The pain shot through his entire body and little white stars blurred his vision. He lost his balance, but grabbed onto the door before falling. He gripped it with as much energy as he could muster, and stood up.

Once the stars disappeared, he grabbed onto the wall, making his way into the hall. He looked a few doors down, where the bathroom was. It felt as though it were miles, not feet, away.

What was that? It felt like gravity shifted. He rubbed his temples. He should have let Clara heal him earlier when she offered. If he had known that he was going to feel this horrible, he would have agreed. Drinking blood to avoid this situation would have been a lot better.

He felt like he was lying on the wall. His stomach lurched again, and this time, he couldn't keep anything in his stomach. Vomit got all over the wall, the carpet, and himself.

Clara ran down the hall, looking concerned. "Oh, William." The pity on her face felt like a punch to his already injured gut. "Let me help you into the bathroom."

He shook his head. "I don't want you to get anything on," his stomach twisted again, "you. Just let me crawl the wall to the bathroom."

She looked confused. "I can get cleaned up if I need to. You need help."

"No." He knew he was stupid to be so prideful, but he couldn't stand having her see him like that.

"You need my help, and I want to help." She picked him up, further hurting his pride, and carried him to the bathroom. She lifted the toilet lid and seat for him, and then set him on the ground. "Oh!"

"What?" he moaned.

"Your knee. Have you looked at it? It's two and a half times as big as the other one. It looks like it has a greenish tint. We need to do something."

His stomach jumped up again. "Turn away."

"What?"

"Please."

She gave him another pitiful look and walked out of the bathroom, just in time for him to hurl into the toilet. It felt like he was going to vomit and never stop. His stomach kept having spasms, each time, sending more vile liquid into the toilet. What was wrong with him? Could it be from his knee?

The coffee Nichole had given him had tasted strange. She said it was some kind of herb to help him relax.

He threw up again, hoping that Clara was out of earshot, but knowing that she cared too much about him, and was likely hearing every disgusting sound. How would he ever look her in the eyes again?

The room spun around him. He held onto the toilet bowl to keep from falling, but as it continued to spin faster and faster, he couldn't hold on any more. He let go, and watched as the tiled floor came closer and closer, until he heard a thud and everything went black.

William rolled over, rubbing the new sore spot on his head. He opened his eyes and saw that he was back in his bed. Had Clara carried him yet again? How would she ever respect him after all this? He couldn't even take care of himself, and his fiancée had to carry him around.

He sighed.

"Are you awake?" Clara showed up in his line of sight. "How do you feel now? Any better?" Her eyes were filled with concern. The pity appeared to be gone at least.

"I don't know. I need to clean up my mess. The cleaning lady is on vacation."

She put a cool, damp cloth on his forehead. "I already cleaned everything up. How is your stomach?"

It felt awful. He was certain he wasn't done throwing up yet. "It's better."

Clara smiled, but the look in her eyes showed that she didn't believe him. Again, it was better than feeling sorry for him. "Do you want something to eat?"

"Not yet." He shook his head, and then regretted it. The room felt as though it was spinning around him. He clutched his pillow.

"Do you need the toilet?" Clara didn't wait for a response before she scooped him up and ran to the bathroom. Even though it only felt like a couple of seconds, his stomach lurched from the movement.

She set him down in front of the toilet, opened the lid, and closed to door. She knew he wanted privacy. She really was the best person for him. He started to smile, but then his stomach heaved. He put his head over the water, waiting for the contents to come out, but as much as his stomach twisted and heaved, nothing would come. There was probably nothing left after all his barfing earlier.

William leaned his head against the toilet, dry heaving over his lap. When would this stop?

Pains lower in his abdomen struck. Not this. Not now. At least he wasn't throwing up anymore, even though his stomach hadn't stopped trying. He dropped his boxers and got onto the toilet just in time for a round of diarrhea. He put his elbows on his lap, resting his now-sweating face onto his hands.

He lost track of how much time passed before a wave of relief swept over him. He stood up, careful to put his weight on the good leg, and made his way over to the sink. It felt a lot further than it ever had before, between his knee and the dizziness. After washing his hands, he went to the door, and just as he touched the knob, a new wave of nausea hit.

The dry heaves started before he could get himself back to the toilet. He spent what felt like an eternity in the bathroom, before his stomach and bowels finally calmed down. He cleaned up again and opened the door, looking down the hall. He didn't see Clara, but had a feeling she wasn't far away.

"Hello?" He cringed at the sound of his voice. It was weak, dry, and raspy.

She appeared out of nowhere, startling him. "Are you okay?"

He sighed and shook his head, not wanting to hear himself speak again.

"I'm going to carry you back to bed. You look horribly pale." She scooped him up before he could respond.

The next thing he knew, he was back on his bed. Clara was looking at his knee. She pushed on his swollen skin, and he watched, waiting for the indent to rise, but it didn't. "This really isn't good." She looked back up at him.

William shook his head again.

How is your stomach?"

"Awful. I've never felt anything like this before."

"Just as I thought. Have you been around anyone who's been sick lately?"

"I don't think so."

"Besides that coffee, did you eat anything over at Nichole's?"

Still feeling dizzy, he thought about it. "I'm not sure."

"Don't freak out, but I think you've been poisoned."

He gave her a double take.

"She was sent away to a mental hospital after poisoning an ex-boyfriend. If she can't have someone she likes, she doesn't want anyone to have him."

William rubbed his head. "I believe it. What are we going to do?"

"We can either chance it at the hospital or I can give you some of my healing blood. Then you could stay here in your bed, and not only that, you would heal a lot faster."

Another wave of nausea washed over him. Stars danced before his eyes. He nodded.

"You want to drink my blood?" Clara looked both surprised and relieved.

"Yeah." He grasped his stomach.

She brought her wrist up to her mouth and as she opened it, he saw fangs that had never been there before. He gasped, momentarily forgetting about the nausea. She ripped into her skin, and when she pulled her arm away, he could see blood dripping from the wound.

He was supposed to drink that? Somehow, his stomach calmed down a little as he watched her bring her wrist toward him. It felt like it was happening in slow motion.

"I know it goes against everything that feels natural, but you need to drink. It's going to help."

William stared at the blood, his stomach tingling. Was that nausea or desire? He stared at the blood, and she put her wrist up to his mouth. He could feel the blood against his lips.

Was he really going to drink her blood? What did he have to lose? Even poisoned, the hospital probably wouldn't take him. He had no reason to doubt her. If she said this would make him better, then this was his only option. If Nichole really had poisoned him, he had to do whatever he could to get it out of his system.

He closed his eyes and pretended he was about to drink some lemon-lime pop that his mom always gave him when his stomach was upset. He opened his mouth and drank, no longer able to pretend it was anything other than blood. It didn't taste as bad as he thought it would. It didn't have the metallic taste that his own blood always had whenever his mouth bled. It was sweeter, but he couldn't figure out what it tasted like.

As he drank, he could feel his body doing something. He wasn't sure what was going on, but it was a pleasant feeling. The upset stomach was gone. He continued to drink, finding that he enjoyed the taste and the feel of her blood more with each drink.

He wasn't turning into a vampire, was he? Surely, she wouldn't let that happen against his will. She was just healing him. She was a vampire, so obviously her blood was different from his. More enjoyable.

Clara pulled her arm away. "That should be enough. Let's see how that works." She licked the blood on her wrist. It healed before his eyes.

"How did you do that?"

"Shh." She leaned him back against his pillow. "I can explain everything later. I just want you to rest for now. Your injuries and illness are pretty bad, so it's going to take a little while for you to completely heal." She wiped around his mouth, probably removing her blood.

Sirens sounded again, this time getting louder and louder. William could then see colors dancing on his ceiling.

Clara stood up and walked to the window. "What are they doing here?"

"What's going on?"

She gave him a kiss. "I'll find out. You stay here."

What other choice did he have?

Chapter 32

AS CLARA APPROACHED the door, she could hear loud pounding. Sally came down the hall, looking confused.

Clara put a hand up, indicating that she would handle it. She opened the door, finding herself facing two police officers. "Can I help you?"

"Is your name Clara?" asked the taller one.

"Hey, aren't you the one who was with that other blonde girl? Down at the barricade earlier?" asked the other.

She looked back and forth at them, not about to admit to anything until she knew what they wanted.

"What do you need, officers?"

"We're looking for a Clara that we were told would be at this address. Is that you?"

"Did the Clara you're looking for do something wrong?"

"Breaking and entering, kidnapping, and poisoning," said the shorter one.

The taller one elbowed him. "Are you Clara, or do you know where she is?"

"Do you have a warrant?"

"A warrant? What do you think this is, Law and Order? Just answer the question."

"Which one? Am I Clara or do I know her?"

She held back a chuckle as they exchanged a frustrated look. The tall one took a step closer to her, narrowing his eyes. "Either one. I have a feeling you're her. You seem to be everywhere today."

"What proof do you have of these claims?"

"A neighbor says you've done all of them just this afternoon." He pulled out cuffs, opening them.

Sally gasped behind her.

Clara heard footsteps coming her way. She turned around to see William walking down the hall with no limp. His coloring had returned to normal, and he looked as healthy as he had that morning, before the blasts. He was dressed, looking as though nothing had happened to him.

He stood next to Clara. "Who did she supposedly poison?"

The shorter cop looked at his tablet. "William Lennox."

"That would be me, and as you can see, I'm just fine. The ones you should go after, however, are Nichole Bradley and her mom. They held me in their home against my will before Clara here helped me out."

Both officers looked at their notes. "The Bradleys?"

William nodded, wrapping his arm around Clara. "They tried to keep Clara from bringing me home."

"You look strong. How did they hold you against your will?"

"My dad is an attorney—I'm sure you already know that, though. I know better than to speak. You can question me later with an attorney present, but it's the Bradleys you want. Not us. Doesn't Nichole have a record? I thought she was trying to poison me, and I—oops, I've said too much. Return when I have an attorney."

William pulled Clara out of the doorway, and then he closed the door.

"That ought to take care of them."

Sally stared at William, her mouth gaping open. "How did you…? I don't understand. You were deathly ill. I saw you with my own eyes. You look as strong as I've ever seen you."

He grinned, squeezing Clara tight. "Stronger. I've never felt better. Do you have any food prepared? I'm starving."

"Uh, sure. Just give me a minute to warm it up." She walked toward the kitchen, shaking her head, and mumbling to herself.

Clara looked him over. "You look fantastic. No one would ever guess how sick you were just minutes ago." She grabbed his wrist, moving it around. He didn't even flinch. She bent down, looking at his knees. They both looked exactly the same: perfect. She stood up and gave him a hug. "I've never been happier."

He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing tight. "And I have you to thank."

She smiled at him. "Let's get to the kitchen. I can hear your stomach growling."

"Oh, was that my stomach? I thought it was yours."

She poked his chest. "You're obviously feeling yourself again."

They went into the dining room just as Sally was placing two heaping plates of food at the table. "Let me know if you need more."

William raised an eyebrow. "That's enough to feed an army."

"You look like you could eat one."

"An army?" William asked.

Sally nodded with a smile. Then she turned around and left, giving them privacy.

They sat down. Clara wasn't particularly hungry, but she picked at her food, watching William scarf down his. She wasn't sure he was even paying attention to what he was putting in his mouth.

"Want my food, too?"

He looked up. "I should probably wait and see how my stomach handles this. In fact, I shouldn't have eaten all that so fast."

She grabbed his knee and squeezed. "You're just fine."

"When you're right, you're right." He went back to eating what little was left on his plate.

Clara slid off a shoe and waited for him to finish eating.

He shoved his plate away. "Maybe I will have some of yours."

She pushed her plate in front of him. Then she ran her bare foot along his leg.

William looked at her, his cheeks turning a little pink. "This again?"

"Your parents aren't even here and you're getting squirrelly?"

"I can't help it. I feel like they could walk in any moment."

She scooted her chair closer. "It makes it all the more exciting, don't you think?"

"Sure. Can I eat first?"

Clara patted his leg. "Go ahead. I have nothing but time, anyway." She listened to his heartbeat as he ate. The scent of his love became stronger around her. Never had she appreciated it as much as right then. After thinking that she might lose him, it was such a relief to know that he still loved her as much as before.

She had been in love before, and she would have accepted it if this turned out badly again, but he knew her secret and he still loved her.

He looked over at her with an adoring look in his eyes. "Where do you want to get married?"

"I'm not really sure. It doesn't matter, though. Just being with you—that's the only thing that matters."

"Wouldn't it be romantic to get married in the country club? That's where we were engaged the second time."

She grinned. "It's definitely a gorgeous location. I wouldn't mind getting married in the woods alone, like our first engagement. That would be equally romantic."

"Hmm. Two weddings." He paused, looking thoughtful. "I kind of like that idea. It suits us, wouldn't you say?"

Clara leaned over, kissing him. "Sure does."

He kissed her back. "I don't really care about a wedding. I just want you."

"Mmm. Me too." She climbed onto his lap.

"Should we take this into another room?" He was smiling.

* * *

"IT’S SUCH A relief to have all of you here safe and sound," Janet said, setting down her glass. She looked at Natalie, Braydon, Clara and William one by one. "We've been so shaken up with the attacks that having you three across town has been unnerving. Even though Natalie is our only natural daughter, all of you have become our children."

Jack nodded in agreement. "You really have. We didn't realize it until after the explosions. At least I didn't."

"It solidified it for me." Janet's voice cracked, tears shining in her eyes.

"Oh, Mom." Natalie jumped up and gave her a hug.

Clara reached across the table and took Janet's hand, giving it a squeeze. They shared a smile and then Janet wiped at her eyes after Natalie sat back down.

"Enough of this mushy stuff. I know how much Jack hates that."

Natalie and Clara giggled, seeing that Jack was indeed squirming in his seat.

Jack cleared his throat and looked at Braydon. "How is the steel factory?"

Braydon put his fork down. "Uncle John has been saying that sales have been down for the last ten years, but now with the war, he predicts things will pick up like we've never seen. Already, there have been more orders in the last week than we've had all year."

Natalie leaned her head against Braydon's shoulder. "We might have to skip our Hawaii honeymoon, but if sales keep going the way they are now, we'll get to buy an even bigger house. Two behind Uncle John's have gone up for sale already. They're both so gorgeous!"

Janet looked at Clara. "What about you two? Are you still planning on getting married next year?"

William nodded. "While I'm busy studying, Clara is going to be busy making wedding plans."

"You're not scared to travel?" Natalie asked.

Clara picked up her fork. "No. England is adamant about staying out of the war. They're not taking sides or anything. The socialist and communist countries are only interested in attacking those who want to get rid of their way of life. We couldn't be safer living in England. In fact, at some point, we'd like to go back and stay there."

"Just stay safe." Janet smiled.

Chapter 33

WILLIAM STOOD ON the platform with his five best friends next to him and Clara's friends on the other side. Natalie stood, whispering something to a couple girls. As the music continued, he wondered if the doors would ever open, revealing Clara in the dress she wouldn't let him see.

He looked around the courtyard of the country club as the warm, early-summer sun shone down on them, casting a perfect light on everything.

Kathryn caught his attention from the front row and gave him thumbs up. She had already seen not only the dress, but Clara after she had had her hair done and whatever else it was that brides did. It was all a mystery to William. He had only needed to put on a tux and make sure his hair wasn't sticking out at any funny angles.

To keep him distracted, his friends had taken him golfing that morning. It wasn't his best game, of course, but at least he was full of nothing other than excitement. He had heard of so many grooms being sick to their stomach with anxiety the morning of their wedding. He had none of that.

How could he? He was marrying someone who loved and adored him. Clara proved it to him day after day, not only the day she had saved his life almost a year earlier. She had grown more beautiful and wonderful his last year in school overseas.

Much to his surprise, her being a vampire really didn't bother him. She told him more about her powers and then she would show him using them for good. Not once had she ever pressured him to become one. Everything remained the same, if not better.

The music changed pitch. William looked up at the place where Clara was supposed to make her appearance. His heart sped up, and everyone in the audience turned around. He held his breath. It would only be another moment before he saw his gorgeous bride.

He saw the skirt of the white dress before anything as Clara rounded the corner. Then a moment later, she stood in place, looking around. Somehow she looked even more beautiful than ever before. The hair around her face was pulled back, and the rest cascaded down her back, some of it falling over her shoulders. The top half of the dress clung to her in the classiest way possible.

She looked around at everything, finally making eye contact with William. Her face lit up when she saw him. He broke into a smile.

The music picked up its pace again. A couple little girls in front of her walked down the aisle, spreading flower petals all over the floor. Everyone seated rose from their chairs and then Clara walked down the aisle a few feet behind the girls.

William held his breath, aware that he wasn't sure what to do with his hands. He wanted nothing more than to run down and throw his arms around her and skip to the kiss. He took a deep breath and refrained from moving from his spot.

Clara was smiling at everyone in the crowd as she walked ever-so-slowly down the aisle. She stopped just before the steps and looked at William again. It was the point in the ceremony where the father usually gave away the bride. Jack walked her to the front and then sat down before she went up. With her dad dead, Clara had wanted to stand for a moment in silence before walking up to William.

After pausing, she went up the stairs, not taking her gaze off him. He couldn't stop looking at her, either, and in fact, once she got to the platform, he moved from his spot and took her by the hand, walking back to their spots. Her soft, cool skin felt nice in the summer heat. She felt as though she had just come from an air-conditioned room.

William was vaguely aware of the preacher speaking. He and Clara were only looking at each other, smiling and squeezing each other's hands. He heard the word rings and snapped his attention.

Timothy handed him the wedding ring and he clasped it, eager to put it on her, making her his wife. He was barely aware of anything being said, only enough to repeat what he was supposed to before finally placing it on her finger, next to the engagement ring.

Before he knew it, he heard the words, "You may kiss the bride." Music played again and he placed his palms on Clara's cheeks, and then his lips upon hers. She kissed him back, and for a couple seconds, they were the only two people in the world.

Someone behind him cleared their throat, and William stood back. Applause surrounded him as they made their way down to the aisle and walked back to the room that he hadn't been allowed near before. The room where she had spent hours getting ready.

Clara led him to a couch, and gently pushed him down. She sat on his lap and kissed him deeply. He responded, kissing her back with his pent-up energy, and ran his palms along her soft, bare arms.

She pulled back, beaming. "That was the kiss I wanted to give you out there."

"Me too." He pulled her close, kissing her again. She wrapped her arms around him, running her fingertips along his back. He got the chills and he could feel her smiling as they kissed.

She sat back again. "We should probably get to the reception. Everyone is going to want to talk with us."

"We're finally married, and I can't have some alone time with you?" He gave her his best pout.

Laughing, she pulled him close, kissing him again. "Isn't that what the honeymoon is for?"

"Why must the reception come first?"

She looked him up and down. "So everyone can enjoy seeing us looking our best. I want to keep looking at you in that tux for a while, anyway."

He told her how sexy she was and then they made their way to the dance hall. Everyone stopped talking when they entered. There was a receiving line full of people eager to congratulate them.

As they made their way through the line, the smell of the food grew stronger. His stomach rumbled. He hadn't been able to eat anything all morning, despite his mom's pleas or Sally's delicious cooking. It was well after two, and with the ceremony behind him, the hunger hit. He felt light-headed, but kept his hand in Clara's.

After what felt like forever, they finally made their way to a long table where the groomsmen and bridesmaids were sitting. They sat in the middle, making light conversation, mostly about the ceremony. Everyone else was taking their seats at the other tables which filled the room.

He looked around the room at all of the people that he had just greeted and thanked all too briefly. He wanted to spend more time talking with each one of them, his heart was so flowing with happiness. He was grateful for everyone being there to make the day so special, even though all he really needed was Clara.

The smell of food was so close it made his mouth water. He looked up and some of the club staff was heading toward their table with trays of plates. A plate of salmon, pasta, and vegetables was placed in front of him. Hopefully, he wasn't supposed to wait for a speech before digging in, because he wasn't waiting.

He dug in, eating as though he had never seen food before. He was aware of his friends giving him a hard time about not eating earlier, but he ignored them, too famished to care.

"Want some of mine?" Clara was smiling at him.

"Oh, I couldn't."

"Really, take it. I had a huge breakfast."

He knew what that meant. She only needed to eat once a day, although she often ate more than that since she could eat whatever she wanted and not gain an ounce. It was more of a habit than anything else, according to her.

She slid his plate in front of her, while simultaneously giving him hers.

"Thanks." His stomach was still rumbling, so he dug into her chicken. He looked around at everyone else at their table. It didn't appear that anyone noticed them switching plates.

Clara put her hand on his knee and squeezed. It was still hard to believe that it had ever been injured. It had healed completely when he drank her blood, never once giving him another problem.

After he finished his second plate of food, he looked around, noticing that everyone else had barely dug into their own food.

The sound of a glass clanging caught his attention. Clara turned to him. "You know what that means." She kissed him.

Another glass made noise, and he kissed her.

Glasses sang from all around the room. Laughing, they gave each other a bunch of kisses.

Chapter 34

CLARA LOOKED AT William across the hall, sitting with his family, talking. She was wandering through the crowd, making conversation with everyone she came across, even though she didn't know a lot of them. The last thing she wanted was to be one of those rude brides that people always complained about these days, especially in circles like William's.

She turned around and found herself face to face with the Fergusons. She gave Jack and Janet both a big hug. "I can't thank you enough for everything. You guys have gone far above the call of duty as foreign exchange parents."

Janet gave her another hug, tears gleaming in her eyes. "You're more than just a foreign exchange student. That role ended a long time ago. You've given so much back to us as well, especially with all the trouble we've had with Alexis." She blinked several times, obviously trying to keep the tears from falling. "I wish she could have been here for you today. I know how close you two used to be."

Jack wrapped his arms around his wife. "Hopefully, she'll return one of these days." He turned to Clara. "Like she said, we're so glad we could be here for you today. You've been like a daughter to us, and if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask. Although we know you're in good hands."

They all looked over at William standing with his own family. Clara nodded. "That I am."

"Are you two still planning on moving to Boston in the fall?" Janet asked.

Clara nodded. "He's going to Harvard and then the plan is to come back here and he'll practice law in his dad's firm."

Janet put her hand on Clara's arm. "You're always so cold. Do you need a sweater?"

"No. I feel great."

She hugged Clara, sighing. "I never would have guessed that we would have had so many problems with Alexis. She was such a good girl before high school." She shook her head. "But somehow you always manage to step in when she's not here."

Clara smiled, ignoring her own pain from her cousin's absence. "I'm just glad to help. With my own family being gone, you guys have been wonderful to me. Not once have I felt like an orphan."

Tears spilled down Janet's face. She wrapped Clara in another hug. Clara had to hold back her own tears, not wanting to mess up her makeup. They still had to take pictures since she had insisted on William not seeing her in the dress until she walked down the aisle.

She was very much a modern girl, but some of her two-hundred-year-old roots never left. She had always dreamed of walking down the aisle, not seeing her groom in his tux nor him seeing her in her dress before. It had been as perfect as she had always hoped.

Janet stepped back, wiping her eyes. "We shouldn't keep you."

Looking uncomfortable, Jack gave her another hug. "You know how I hate everything emotional, but know that I agree with everything she said."

Clara smiled and gave him an enthusiastic hug. "I know you do."

Natalie ran up to them. "I know you guys are having a moment, but it's time for the first dance. That would be you and William." She stared at Clara, tugging on her arm.

Giving a little wave, Janet smiled. "Don't let us stop you. Dance with your husband."

Clara's ears danced at hearing William being called her husband. Would she ever get used to that?

Natalie dragged her across the room until they were standing in the cleared-out dance floor. Only a few tables remained along the edges of the room. Natalie waved at William, who was busy talking with his father. His mom saw her waving and got William's attention. He turned around and broke into a smile when he saw Clara.

Once again, Natalie waved him over and then she signaled to the DJ. Clara and William's favorite song played.

William looked at Clara, pulling her close. "How did Natalie know?"

"She pays attention to details."

"Are we supposed to slow dance to this?"

"I don't see how. Let's just have fun. This is our wedding, after all."

They danced, not taking their eyes off each other. Clara could hear their friends shouting, encouraging them to keep going. They obviously loved that Clara and William were having fun and not worrying too much about the traditions.

When that song was over, another of Clara's favorites played through the speakers. The wedding party came onto the dance floor, pulling the two apart. Clara danced with each of the groomsmen while William danced with the bridesmaids, although Clara was pretty sure that he didn't take his eyes off her the entire time.

The rest of the reception went by without a hitch, everything going perfectly. He kept asking when they would be able to leave. She poked him each time, knowing that he was just eager to have her to himself. She was looking forward to their honeymoon as well, but she wanted to enjoy the reception while it lasted.

They fed each other cake, both being careful not to smash it. Then they threw the garter and the bouquet, although Natalie had snuck out the real one and replaced the one that Clara threw with a duplicate. She was going to dry Clara's bouquet for her while she was on the honeymoon. Clara had been in charge of the same bait-and-switch for Natalie's wedding.

Almost as soon as the reception had started, Clara found herself standing next to William outside, watching a limo pull up. All the guests pulled out fancy, little bubble containers and blew bubbles as they made their way to their ride. The groomsmen ran out with the luggage, putting it in the trunk.

Clara and William stood up, standing half inside the limo and half outside through the sunroof. They waved at their friends and William's family until the club was out of sight.

William slid down inside the car, pulling Clara with him. He confirmed that the driver was taking them to the right hotel before closing the window between them and him. He turned to Clara. "I finally have you all to myself."

"That you do." She smiled, reaching for some champagne.

He grinned. "I like the way you think." He reached for the glasses.

She popped the cork and it flew across the length of the car, hitting a window and bouncing to the floor. They both laughed and then she poured the bubbly drink into their glasses. They drank, talked about the wedding, and watched the scenery outside.

The limo stopped as they were about to exit Delphic Cove. The town had built a wall surrounding itself over the year since the last attacks. After the bombings, there had been more attacks around the country, but they authorities had eventually discovered that they had been from the ground and not the air.

Delphic Cove had been one of the earliest towns to build a wall, and as a result, it was one of the places that had remained the most intact. There were a lot of places that had been leveled by the attacks. The places that hadn't been, followed the example of Delphic Cove and built protective walls.

The guards at the city entrance, walked up to the limo. He already had all the necessary paperwork, so they were able to exit without any issues.

Clara leaned her head against William's shoulder. "I wish we were moving back to England. They've managed to stay neutral and there's no destruction over there."

He kissed the top of her head. "I hear that Boston is in good shape too. It might even be better off than Delphic Cove, since they weren't hit in the original attacks."

"Well, maybe someday, we can get back to England."

"Maybe."

She sighed. It was a discussion they'd had multiple times. As much as he enjoyed it over there, he wanted to be back home, working with his dad. "As long as we're together. That's really all I could ask for. I can't believe you're my husband now. It feels so weird to say that."

He smiled. "I know what you mean, my wife."

Clara kissed him. "I like the sound of it, though."

"As do I." The scent of his love encircled her, and she knew without a doubt that he meant it.

"How long is the drive?"

He stretched, smiling. "You'll want to get comfortable."

"You still won't tell me where we're going?"

William shook his head. "It's a surprise. But I know you're going to love it."

"As long as you're there, I know I will."

He pulled her so close she could feel every curve of his body. They held their eye contact for a moment before she closed her eyes and kissed him like she had been wanting to since she saw him standing there in his tux when she stood at the end of the aisle. With her eyes closed and kissing him, she found the buttons on his shirt and began unbuttoning.

Chapter 35

CLARA LOOKED FROM the magnificent waterfall over to William. He looked especially handsome in the moonlight. Sitting at the bottom of Snoqualmie Falls, the stars shone brighter than usual, adding to the romance.

She took his hand and snuggled closer, wrinkling the blanket underneath them. "I'm so glad we decided to hike down here now, while everyone else is sleeping. It's almost magical."

"It is. Although, I thought it was just because I was with you."

"Oh, stop."

He took her hand and kissed the back of it. "I'm serious."

She leaned her head against him. As she watched the water cascade down, she replayed the wedding in her mind. It didn't feel real yet. She had to pinch herself each time she thought about being married to William.

His heart picked up speed and the scent of nervousness wrapped around her. She sat up, looking around. Did he sense danger? She should be able to sense anything long before him. His eyes were full of concern.

"Are you okay? Not having second thoughts, I hope."

William took her hand. "Never."

The smell of his fear grew stronger and his heart sped up even more. She squeezed his hand. "Then what's wrong?"

"How do you always know?"

She shrugged. "I'm just in tune to you."

He appeared convinced, but didn't say anything. He looked over at the waterfall, giving off more nervousness.

Clara's mouth was going to start watering soon, but she was concerned enough about what was bothering him that it wasn't yet. She squeezed his hand and gave him space. Of course she wanted to know what he was thinking about, but she didn't want to push him.

She watched the water as it fell into the water below. The sounds were soothing, and she focused on those rather than whatever William didn't want to talk about. It reminded her of the woods she had grown up in. She and her sister, Samantha, had spent countless hours as children wandering through the forest, exploring and watching the waterfalls they found. None even came close to this one, but they did manage to find a lot over the years.

Being that they were vampire children, they were stronger and better able to protect themselves if and when trouble came, so their parents were glad to give the opportunity to get out and spread their wings.

The only times that Clara and Samantha really ever got along was when they came across water. There was something soothing about it. Their parents said it was because vampires descended from the Asrai, powerful and wise water faeries. The two girls would sit by a stream or waterfall for hours, just talking.

William sat up straight and took a deep breath, bringing Clara back to the present. She turned to look at him. He was still as worried as before, if not more. She bit her tongue to keep from asking if he was okay. Instead, she squeezed his hand again and told him that she loved him.

He took another deep breath and swallowed. He ran his free hand through his hair and let out a sigh. "Will you turn me into a vampire?"

"What?"

William looked away. "I knew you'd think I'm crazy."

"No. No, it's nothing like that. I'm surprised, that's all. I didn't even know you were considering it."

He looked back at her, looking shy. "I want to be like you, and more than that, I want to be with you forever. I don't want to grow old while you stay young—not that I care what people think. I don't want to grow old if you're not. I always thought I would grow old with someone, but I like the idea of staying young forever with you."

"Do you know what's involved with becoming like me?"

"I drank your blood when I was poisoned, remember? It wasn't so bad. And besides, I see you. You manage to live a full life, walking around among humans, helping them, even."

She looked into his eyes, taking a deep breath of her own. "Young vampires have strong urges, William. The blood thirst can be overwhelming at times. You might have to be away from people for a while, at least until you can gain control."

"You'll be around to help me, and I can drink your blood, can't I?"

"Drinking vampire blood is more like dessert. We can't survive off it, and usually, only those involved romantically drink each other's blood. Most of the time, it isn't nearly as satisfying. It can add to the love experience, but it's not sustenance."

He nodded. "Still, with you at my side, we can make it work. I see how you treat me like I'm fine China—that you could break me with one wrong move. I want to be equal to you on every level. Not because I'm power-hungry, but because we're a team. We're together for life now, my life at least." His eyes were full of pain.

Clara could tell that he had put a lot of thought into this. She held both of his hands. "Nothing would make me happier than to spend the rest of forever with you. I want to make sure you really know what you're getting into. We haven't really spent much time with other vampires. You met my cousin a while back, but that's about it."

"What about that teacher she was dating? There's no way he's only human."

"No, he's not. He's a werewolf."

His eyes widened. "They exist too?"

She nodded.

"So they're not your enemy?"

"It's complicated, but long story short, he's the leader of peace-loving wolves, so as much as it annoys me, he's actually an ally."

"He irritates you?"

"Not personally. I never did like him just because of the werewolf thing, but I really had issues with him dating Alexis."

William nodded, looking as though he was taking it in. "Are there other mythical creatures too?"

"You would be surprised."

"Like what?"

"Everything you ever read about in faerie tales existed at one point. I've consulted faeries and witches. I've ridden unicorns and fought more creatures than I care to think about."

He sat a little taller. "It sounds exciting. So, will you let me join your world?"

"You're already in my world."

"You know what I mean. I want to become like you."

She looked into his eyes. They were practically begging her to say yes. "Don't you want to get your law degree and work with your father?"

"Can't I have both?"

"It'll take some time for you to adjust to the new life. I'll need to train you and help you. You'll have to trust me and listen to me, even if you don't think I make sense or am being fair."

"I trust you."

Clara sighed. "You might not when you're overwhelmed with the desire for blood."

"No, I definitely trust you, Clara. You've lived this life a long time. I'll listen to you, I promise."

"That's what you think now. Why don't you finish school, and I'll introduce you to more of my kind. We'll wait until you have more time to adjust to the lifestyle."

"We have the entire summer ahead of us. We're honeymooning. What better excuse is there for hiding away from the world for a little while? Will you do it? Will you turn me into a vampire?"

She stared at him, taking in the eagerness written over his face. The scent of nervousness had been replaced with excitement. "You really want this."

"Yes."

"There's no turning back."

"I know."

She sat tall, looking deep into his eyes. "The transition process can be painful."

"I'm not scared, Clara. I can do this—and more than that, I want to. It'll make us closer."

Clara thought back to her own transition. The wild cravings had turned her into someone else for a while. She had been selfish, rude, conceited, and temperamental. Oh, the temper of a new vampire.

Every vampire going through their transition went through all of it. Some parents even sent their kids away because they didn't want to deal with them. Often other vampires would avoid a household that had a transitioning vampire.

It wasn't that long ago when she had helped Alexis through her transition period. The immaturity of it all was fresh on Clara's mind. But she had helped Alexis and even enjoyed it because she adored her favorite little cousin.

She loved William with every fiber of her being. If she could get Alexis through it, then she could do it for William. She had introduced him to herself and the reality of vampires.

"Will you do it?" he asked.

"If it's what you really want, then yes. I'll be there for you every moment, and we'll get through this together."

"Can you turn me right now?"

"This moment?"

He nodded.

"You're going to be unconscious, well dead, actually, for close to six hours. I think we'd be better off in the hotel room. Are you sure this is how you want to spend our wedding night?"

"Can you think of a better way to consummate our marriage?"

Clara imagined living their lives together as vampires and smiled. "Nothing could make me happier."

"Wait. What about sunlight?"

"No worries. The sun blessing runs through my blood and it will be passed onto you when I turn you with my blood."

"Is there another way?"

She nodded. "The easy way is with venom. Careless vampires have unknowingly turned their victims, leaving them to survive on their own devices. But that would only turn you into a common vampire. I want you to be royalty along with me."

Chapter 36

THE EXCRUCIATING, SEARING pain finally stopped and a wave of power and energy ran through William from head to toe. Even though his eyes were closed, he was aware of everything around him. Sounds and smells assaulted him from all sides. He was certain he could hear conversation from the check-in desk, which was all the way at the other end of the hotel.

He could smell every flower from the bouquet, and unless Clara had moved it, it was clear across the room. He could even smell Clara. Not her perfume, but actually her. The soft, gentle scent that he always smelled when he kissed her.

A new scent caught his attention. What was that? It was unlike anything he had ever smelled. It was a sweet smell, reminding him of sitting in a kitchen when hungry. His mouth watered. Whatever it was, he wanted some.

He felt movement near his gum line. He brought his tongue around and felt extra teeth. Sharp teeth. He remembered seeing Clara's fangs several times since she had told him of her true nature. He felt the new teeth again. Those had to be his fangs.

Did that mean the delicious smell teasing his nose was human blood? Focusing, he noticed that he could hear a multitude of hearts beating. How did Clara live like this? The only reason he didn't jump up to find the source was because he couldn't move.

Clara had warned him that he would be aware and in pain during the transition, which he had been. He was stuck, lying on the hotel bed, in his own world of horrific pain on so many levels.

He was now in the recovery stage: still aware of everything, but unable to move while his body recovered from the process.

Something ruffled his hair. Clara. She had promised to stay near and take care of him. She kissed his forehead and ran her fingers along his face. It tickled…and her touch didn't feel so cool anymore.

William tried to reach his hand up and grab hers, but his arm felt like a lead weight. He couldn't move anything except his tongue, so he moved it around his teeth, just so he could feel like he had control over something.

"Not much longer," she whispered in his ear. "I'm so glad the pain stage is finally over." She kissed his ear, causing a tingle to run through his body.

She rested her head on his chest and ran her fingers along his torso. It was torture that he couldn't respond in any way. What he wouldn't give to roll over and kiss her back, running his fingers through her hair.

Maybe he could fall asleep. The pain was gone and he couldn't do anything else. Perhaps he could wake up, able to move around again. He pushed aside all thoughts, as he always had before when he couldn't sleep.

Unfortunately, it didn't work. His mind was buzzing, and even if it weren't, he couldn't focus with all the new sounds and smells teasing him. He could hear a conversation five doors down. How did he know it was five doors? He had no idea, but he knew it was.

A family checked out, someone tripping over a dropped doll on the floor. Again, he had no idea how he knew, but he was certain that he was right. A couple argued in the parking lot. Birds flew around over the falls. Forest critters chased each other.

Hearts beat all around him.

William sat up without warning, gasping for air. He caught sight of himself in a mirror. His eyes were dark red. He stared at his reflection, remembering Clara explaining how wrong most human myths were about vampires.

As he stared at himself, he noticed that his eyes weren't as red as he had first thought. His skin was pale, making them appear darker than they actually were. After he got his thirst under control, he would have to join Clara in getting spray tans. He would have a hard time explaining his skin change to his friends and family.

He turned to Clara. She was watching him with a curious look on her face. "How do you feel?"

"Hungry. Strong." He looked deep in to her eyes, swearing he could see into her soul. "In love." He grabbed her shoulders, pulling her close. He took a deep breath, taking in her sweet succulence. He kissed her, and his mouth felt as though it was dancing. He could taste her love for him in the kiss. He breathed in, smelling her adoration.

She smiled. "I like this new William."

"Good. Because I'm here to stay."

* * *

If you enjoyed Hidden Intentions, you’ll love the other books in the Transformed series. Read more about Mr. Foley and a bunch of other new and exciting characters here:

http://amzn.to/1mKpLEx

http://stacyclaflin.com/books/the-transformed-series/

* * *

About Stacy Claflin

Stacy Claflin writes about complex women overcoming incredible odds. Whether it's her Gone trilogy of psychological thrillers, her ongoing Transformed paranormal saga, or her Seaside Hunters sweet romance series, Stacy's three-dimensional heroines shine through.

Decades after she wrote her first stories on construction paper and years after typing on an inherited green screen computer that weighed half a ton, Stacy realized her dream of becoming a full-time author.

When she's not busy writing or educating her kids from home, Stacy enjoys watching TV shows like Supernatural, Pretty Little Liars, and Once Upon a Time.

Join Stacy's newsletter to get three free novels. Click the link and register on the next page to get your books right away: http://stacyclaflin.com/newsletter/

* * *

Read more by this author:

http://amzn.to/1mKpLEx

http://stacyclaflin.com

Sign up for more bargain boxed sets at:

www.hotboxedbooks.com

JUMP TO...

A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE by NOREE COSPER

END OF DREAMS by KIM FAULKS

HAUNT by HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY

DARK CROSSINGS by ANN SIMKO

HEADSPACE by CALINDA B

THE OTHER F WORD by SUSAN STEC

UNLEASHED by RACHEL MCCLELLAN

HIDDEN INTENTIONS by STACY CLAFLIN

THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL by AIMEE EASTERLING

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS by KYOKO M

ST. CHARLES AT DUSK by SARAH M. CRADIT

WICKED BY NATURE by MADISON SEVIER

UNDERLIFE by MARISSA FARRAR

DRAGON’S REDEMPTION by EDEN ASHE

MILAN’S RETURN by GRAE LILY

THE BREAKERS CODE by CONNER KRESSLEY

THE MEDIUM by MR GRAHAM

WICCAN WARS by HEATHER MARIE ADKINS

CARPE NOCTEM by KATIE SALIDAS

A QUESTION OF FAITH by NICOLE ZOLTACK

THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL

Includes:

Bloodling Wolf

In Deep Shift

Two Scents’ Worth

Feint of Heart

Hair Apparent

BY AIMEE EASTERLING

Copyright © 2014 through 2016 by Aimee Easterling.

A price, a princess, and a promise.

Wolfie Young is a bloodling, a rare shifter born in wolf rather than in human form. Although he has trouble handling simple human interactions, the alpha soon finds his niche as the benevolent dictator of a pack of outcasts and misfits.

But while struggling to grow into his responsibilities, Wolfie falls into Crazy Wilder's trap. The grizzled old shifter's dominance ranks him above all other werewolves in the region, and Wilder shores up that position by tricking up-and-coming young alphas into promising undesignated future favors.

Wolfie flounders as he attempts to wriggle out from beneath Crazy Wilder's thumb without harming his pack. But he's soon left wondering –– does he really want to sever all ties after meeting a pack princess who turns out to be his opponent's enticing daughter?

The Complete Bloodling Serial

by Aimee Easterling

Copyright © 2014 through 2016 by Aimee Easterling.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

Read more about upcoming books at http://aimeeeasterling.com

Bloodling Wolf

Episode 1

Fifteen years ago...

"A BLOODLING!" MY father's voice is filled with disgust and his large hands are quick to drop me back into the midwife's arms. "Why did you even bring it out for me to see?"

The room, which was full of jovial laughter and the scent of cigars only moments earlier, is now silent. My eyes are still closed, but I can scent the dominant male werewolf in front of me, along with several other alpha-leaning shifters. Anger from my father nearly drowns out the other aromas, but I pick up sorrow and repulsion in equal measure. The former seems to emanate most strongly from a male who I later learn is my mother's younger brother Oscar, but my uncle soon slips out the door, taking his tear-laden scent along with him.

"He's a boy, and healthy," the midwife speaks up after a moment, her voice quavering with fear. Even with my eyes glued shut, I'm able to understand that no one stands up to my father, so I'm impressed by the woman's spine. "The heir and a spare...." the midwife continues, but my father has turned away, dismissing the woman from his thoughts.

As a pup, I'm less interested in adult voices than in the smell of blood wafting from the room I was recently carried out of. Childbirth...and death. No wonder my father seems less than pleased by my presence. I changed to wolf in the womb—fourteen years earlier than most werewolves—and tore my mother apart during my unwitting struggles to escape the wet dark. Later, I'll learn that it wasn't my murderous act that turned my surviving parent against me. Bloodlings are forced to spend their entire childhood as wolf pups, unlike most werewolves who enjoy human form until their first change. Those of us who start off four-footed are never quite the same even after shifting, our brains having ossified into wolf form. To me, that's a good thing. Dear old Dad sees it differently.

On the day of my birth, though, these deep thoughts all lie in the future. Cradled in the midwife's arms, I mewl a complaint at the cold, at my hunger, and at the confused emotions swirling around me. The sound is enough to turn my father's eye back onto his unwanted child. "Toss it out to freeze," he orders.

I'm plucked from the midwife's embrace by one of the male wolves, who now smells of annoyance and distaste. The unknown shifter dangles me by the scruff of my neck, opens the door to the even colder outdoors, and I tumble head over heels as I fly through the air and then land in a pile of soft, yet frigid, snow. I struggle at first, but my minuscule weight just drags me down deeper into the frozen powder, and soon my nose is all that remains above the snow's surface. At last, I succumb to the chill and settle down to die.

To my young brain, I seem to lie there forever, but my exile must last mere moments. The sorrowful uncle who fled my father's house had set a simple yet effective plan in motion, cracking open the neighboring residence's door and counting on a toddler's curiosity to draw that young werewolf outside into the snow. When Chase finds me, an interesting ball of fluff nearly on his doorstep, he isn't gentle, but the toddler's warmth awakens the spark of life that has nearly fled from my damp form. My playmate-to-be drags me into his home by one paw, my sodden body thumping up the stairs behind him, and my lack of struggles attest to our newfound understanding—I'll be Chase's pet, and he'll be my lifeline.

"What is that?" Chase's mother exclaims as her intrepid son wrestles a nearly dead wolf pup into her kitchen. I can sense the adult's distress when she realizes who and what I am, but Chase's mother possesses the softest heart in our village. When her son jabbers his baby-talk request, she can't resist—Tia braves my sharp teeth and takes me into her arms to nurse.

Soft-hearted mother or no, I would have been tossed back out into the snow if I'd found my way into any other household. But Chase's father died not long before, and his mother now answers to no dominant male. So she takes me in, and by the time my father realizes what was happening, there's no going back. Chase and I are milk brothers, and Tia is willing to protect us both with her life.

The present...

"HALFIE! HALFIE!" THE taunts ringing out across the playground would've made you think I was surrounded by a pack of wolves. Oh, wait, yep—a pack of wolves.

My age-mates and I were now old enough to shift, but since we studied under adult shifters in a werewolf-only schoolhouse, we generally took whatever form felt the most comfortable. For everyone else, that was human. Me? I stayed wolf.

The girl being taunted was two-footed, although fear would have made her transform to wolf shape if she'd been of age. Her face was flushed and her eyes frantically scanned the grounds in search of an adult to stop the bullying, but older shifters tended to let these matters run their course. Halfies weren't as disdained as bloodlings, but those werewolves with some human blood often gave birth to pure-human sons, and their halfie daughters did the same. In a pack obsessed with the male lineage, halfies were considered bad blood—allowed in the village, but definitely not good enough for a dominant wolf to mate with.

Or to talk kindly to, apparently. At the moment, the most dominant youngster of all was hurling insults toward the halfie girl. He wouldn't admit to our relationship, but this was Justin, my biological brother and a scaled-down version of our shared father. Justin was slated to become our village's next alpha wolf, and he already acted the part in the schoolyard. As a result of his dominance, everyone with any sense was afraid to take him on, which was why even the better wolves around me were looking the other way rather than helping the taunted halfie. The worse wolves were joining Justin in his sadistic game.

Luckily for the halfie girl, I didn't count myself among those who possessed sense, and I was quite willing to take advantage of my wolf form's ability to act now and think later. Pure protective rage led my charge through the throng of Justin's cronies and up to the halfie in the center. As I faced my bullying brother and bared my fangs, I could feel the girl's hand close onto the fur along my raised ruff, testifying to her relief at my presence. Unlike most members of our community, she was happy to see my bloodling face.

Turning my attention back to my brother, I hoped a show of teeth would be enough to deescalate the situation. While he would never admit it, Justin was scared shitless of his little brother since I wasn't really his little anything, except in age. One of the benefits of being a bloodling was that I'd grown up on a wolf's schedule, not a human's. Justin was two years older than me, but I had a man's body while my brother still looked like a teenage boy. In wolf form, the difference was even more pronounced since Justin's scrawny ribs stuck out through his fur and his paws looked huge on the ends of his feet. On the other hand, no alpha male could back down from a challenge if he wanted to maintain his position within the pack, so despite being outclassed, Justin ripped off his shirt, kicked off his pants, and started to change.

The girls all averted their eyes, and I couldn't blame them. There was nothing sexy about my brother's naked form, either as a man or as a wolf. Definitely not during this in-between stage when his bones were shifting into new arrangements and hair was sprouting out of his ears. It made a difference, too, that my brother was still learning to control his wolf limbs. Something I'd learned...oh, around about when our shared father tossed me out into the snow.

So I wasn't worried when I growled at the wolf in front of me and Justin bared his teeth in reply. The kids around us probably couldn't tell with their untrained human noses, but I could smell the reek of fear on Justin's breath. I knew I'd won before we even started.

I could almost hear Chase telling me to do the smart thing, to use Justin's anxiety against him, giving me time to back the girl out of the bully's way and defuse the situation. But my wolf brain just wanted to tear Justin apart and usurp his position within the pack. I did, however, reserve enough of my human self to nudge the halfie into flight before I let my wolf have his head. The girl scurried between the ranks of Justin's lackeys, her face trained onto the ground and relief evident in her scent.

Justin took advantage of my distraction by charging, his shoulder knocking into mine, but even the element of surprise couldn't gain the smaller wolf an advantage. It was as if my brother had hit a brick wall, and I barely swayed on my feet at the contact. Too bad I wasn't two-legged, or I could have laughed in his face and watched my blood brother's face turn red with anger. But the chagrin now coating his scent was satisfying enough to feed my wolf's appetite for submission, and I opened my mouth in a doggie grin.

If my brother had taken a step back then, I might have let the altercation go, but Justin's fangs remained bared, so I prepared to retaliate. Before I could tear into the smaller wolf, though, a raised adult voice rolled across the playground and stopped me in my tracks. I couldn't focus my human brain enough to catch the words, but I did understand the rough hands that pulled me and my brother apart. Our fight was over before it really had time to start.

As adults converged on us, Justin was yanked away and then set loose, and my brother shook his fur angrily at being manhandled before stalking away. In contrast, I was rolled over onto my back, belly exposed to the air, and the rebuke was strong in the voice of the teacher above me. I didn't protest, even though anyone could have told the adults that Justin had been the bully in this situation, not me. It was par for the course—our teachers wouldn't protect a halfie, but they would protect an alpha's son.

* * *

"I KNOW WHY you did it, but it was still stupid," Chase lectured as we walked into the nearest town. I yawned, ignoring his words since my milk brother's scent only held a hint of worry nearly hidden beneath the dominant flavor of contented excitement. Chase had asked Tia if we could skip school today to pick up some supplies in town, and my foster mother had agreed, mostly because she was worried about the repercussions of my schoolyard chivalry the day before. But, despite his lecture, Chase wasn't actually all that concerned about my past actions, so I just rubbed my head up against his trailing hand and broke into a trot as the nearest houses came into view.

It took me a full minute to realize that my brother was yelling after me rather than following in my wake. Chase had often said that one of the worst things about bloodlings is that they had a hard time focusing on human speech. But who really cared about all those words? My brother had already wasted the entire forty-minute walk rambling on about the previous day's events, when it all boiled down to emotions I could pick up with one sniff. In my opinion, it was the "normal" werewolves who were handicapped, since they required decades to begin understanding the wolf brain, if they ever even made that mental leap. Plus, as Justin knew, a normal werewolf teenager was no match for a bloodling of any age.

"You stupid wolf!" my milk brother finished. I finally squashed my wolf brain enough to parse what Chase was saying, and the words made me laugh, lolling my tongue out the side of my mouth. Despite Chase's speech, his scent was full of fondness, with just a hint of exasperation underneath. Oh right, I remembered as I wracked my brain to figure out why he would be upset at me this time. The leash law.

"You know, you could just change into human form, and then this farce would be unnecessary," Chase grumbled, snapping a collar and leash around my neck. The collar itched, and I dropped into a crouch so I could scratch the annoying band of cloth until it lay in a better position atop my ruff. Despite the tickling sensation, though, I ignored my blood brother's advice and stayed wolf. Even though Chase refused to acknowledge the fact, I did better around people in canine form. A fact that was confirmed by the old lady who greeted us as we walked down Main Street.

"Chase and Wolfie!" Mrs. Tiller exclaimed happily, pulling a dog biscuit out of her purse for me and gracing my brother with a smile. I dropped into a sit and raised one paw, gently tapping it against her knee. The lady responded by laughing merrily, then watched with satisfaction as I chomped down the treat. "I'm so glad you brought your dog instead of your cousin today," she confided to my milk brother. "That boy was a little odd, don't you think? Autistic, maybe?"

Chase's cheeks turned red, and embarrassment rolled off him in an overwhelming wave. My kind-hearted brother was unhappy that I'd heard the lady's words, but the truth was that I agreed with everything she'd said. Mrs. Tiller and I got along just fine when I was a wolf-pretending-to-be-a-lapdog. Not so much when I was a wolf-pretending-to-be-a-boy.

Before Chase could put his foot in his mouth in a misplaced effort to protect me, though, we heard the clopping of horse hooves on the pavement and turned in tandem to peer behind us. Our werewolf pack used the illusion of being Amish...or maybe a low-key cult—we didn't specify...to keep outsiders at bay, and the buggy rolling toward us was another aspect of that illusion. My father kept a car in his garage for the rare occasions when long-distance travel was necessary, but for the most part we used horses to get around. Youngsters like us rode shank's mare.

Rare as it was, you'd think a lift home would have been a treat, but Chase and I eyed each other with worry, knowing that the presence of a buggy meant that one or both of us was in trouble. And Mrs. Tiller agreed with the assessment. "I hope you didn't do anything terrible," she said to Chase with a mischievous grin, then simply laughed when my brother assured her that it was Wolfie who was in the virtual dog house. The old woman thought Chase was joking, but my blood brother and I were well aware who the buggy had come for.

As Mrs. Tiller said her farewells, the buggy pulled up to the curb beside us, and I was glad to see that my favorite uncle was the one who would fetch me home. The same man who'd helped save my life years ago still walked the fine line between obeying his alpha and following his heart, and I imagined that Uncle Oscar had volunteered to pick me up today so the truly painful part of the afternoon could be put off until after my arrival. Wordlessly, I shot Chase a goodbye tail wag and jumped into the buggy to face the music.

* * *

MY TRAILING LEASH caught on something and jerked me to a halt as I entered the alpha's sitting room, where I was to wait for his attention. Oh, wait, my leash hadn't caught on something...it had caught on someone.

"A leash?" my blood brother laughed, yanking my head around to face him. "Really?"

I could have kicked myself for not remembering the stupid restraint earlier, but Chase had been kind enough to put a lot of thought into the contraption, so I wasn't as snagged as Justin thought I was. All it took was a simple twist of my head followed by one sharp yank, and then the velcro my milk brother had sewn into the collar parted to leave me scot-free.

My human brain would have rubbed my easy escape into Justin's face with some witty repartee, but my wolf brain thought it was amusing to simply roll over and scrape my back along the carpet as if I needed to get rid of an ornery itch. Of course, it didn't hurt that the playful move made it clear I wasn't afraid of my brother's teeth one bit.

"Stupid wolf," Justin muttered, then added, more loudly, "Will you pay attention? You don't even need to shift—I'll talk and you listen." I yawned, but sat up, curious what my blood brother thought I'd want to hear.

As I waited, Justin began to pace back and forth across the sitting room, wasting energy that a smarter wolf would have put into the hunt. My own lupine half understood that my brother was definitely hunting something, and we pitied the poor shifter for being unable to turn on his wolf brain while in human form to make the chase go more smoothly. Instead, Justin ended up wasting energy with erratic two-legger emotions, energy that could have been used to tunnel directly toward his goal.

Eventually, as my blood brother's silence continued, boredom overcame me. I dropped down into a lounge and had just begun to doze off when Justin's words returned me to his presence. Too bad—naps were one of the best things about wolf brain. I lolled my tongue out of my mouth in amusement at the thought...and at the look on my blood brother's face when he realized that, far from being intimidated by his pacing, I had instead taken the opportunity to catch up on my z's.

"I said," my brother continued, "that this village isn't big enough for both of us." If I'd been human, I would have rolled my eyes. Really? This was the best my big brother could come up with after several minutes of deep thought? The teenager needed to work on his elocution skills. Of course, I wasn't one to talk since I spent 99% of my time in wolf form and mostly got by on head shakes and tail wags, but I also wasn't trying to pretend I was some movie sharpshooter, now was I?

"We all know I'm going to be the next alpha," Justin continued, blissfully unaware of my snarky internal dialogue. "And your posturing is going to get someone hurt." Someone? The dunce in front of me was the only one in any danger, the way I figured it. Although I might just die of boredom if I was forced to listen to Justin's monologue much longer.

My blood brother glared straight into my eyes and I matched him stare for stare. "You're old enough to start your Running Around time early," the older shifter growled at last, struggling not to look away as my own piercing gaze trumped his. "Take my advice and go find a mate somewhere else," he muttered, his voice getting quieter under my steady gaze, but remaining adamant. "This pack isn't safe for you," he concluded.

I only realized the words were a threat when Justin turned on his heel and left the room, just as our father opened the opposite door to herd me into his study. Oh goody, time for round two.

* * *

DEAR OLD DAD’S lecture was par for the course, so I left the alpha's home just as bored as when I'd gone in. I have to admit that my tail was between my legs after this second tirade, though—a true alpha will do that to you when he's displeased, whether you're a bloodling or not. However, neither speech had made much of an impression. I still figured I'd take my Running Around time when, and if, Chase decided he wanted to explore the outside world. Unlike blood brothers, milk brothers watched each other's backs.

And, at first, life seemed to have returned to normal. School was boring as Mrs. Dickerson droned on about chi squares and about how werewolfism was a dominant, X-linked gene. I liked our biology teacher and knew that Chase found her words fascinating, but I still couldn't help tuning the woman out and instead focusing on the behavior of the young werewolves around me. To my wolf brain, it was far more intriguing to sniff out the web of attraction that bound my classmates together, especially since most of the young shifters were dating someone other than the wolf they were truly interested in.

By the time Mr. Shutters started delving into the wonders of theorems, my lupine brain had descended yet further, spiraling down to a primal level. As a wolf, I could spend hours just watching the birds out the window, which Chase would tell me did nothing for my GPA. But, let's get real—my GPA had nowhere to go but up since I couldn't even grasp a pencil in my preferred form. And what would I do with geometry in my future life anyway? Should I calculate the tangent or cosine of a deer's trajectory instead of simply running after the ungulate and ripping out her throat?

P.E. was the average school day's one saving grace since I could play dodge ball like nobody's business, making this the sole class I looked forward to. But as Chase and I approached the gym and saw the boys being shunted outside away from the girls, I realized it was instead time for our weekly dose of shifting practice. Along with everyone else, I whined a complaint, not relishing the upcoming lesson one bit.

Like most of my age-mates, I'd only learned to change forms within the last year, the big difference being that my transformation had been from four legs to two rather than vice versa. And also like them, I wasn't particularly enthusiastic about that change, although our apathy had different causes. The other fifteen-year-old members of my pack struggled with a shift that was difficult and painful, while I simply put my wolf brain to sleep and woke up as a boy.

So why was I critical of the endeavor? It just seemed like a pain in the ass to have to leave the wolf behind, even for an hour. What was the point when canine form had served me so well to date?

Still, I was an obedient little pup. So I stood naked and two-footed, feeling the chill air in a way I hadn't since last week's shifting practice and watching the boys around me struggle with their forms. A month ago, Chase had confided that his change felt like slivers of glass were cutting into every inch of his skin, which I'll admit didn't sound pleasant, and I hoped for my milk brother's sake that his transformation would be over soon. Our teacher promised that if we could just relax and go with the flow, the pain would fade with practice as shifting became second nature. But at fifteen, the transformation was still something most of us didn't do unless we had to.

The class was essential though, because mastering our shifts was probably the most important skill most of us would learn this year. The girls inside the gym would each change forms uncontrollably once a month, something that my human brain didn't want to think about but that my wolf brain found intriguing. Boys, on the other hand, usually shifted only at will...or if we got angry or scared. Here in the village, we were protected by our insularity, but when we visited the nearby town, being able to quickly shift back to the form we'd arrived in could mean the difference between letting our secret out and getting safely home.

Plus, the fastest shifters were automatically considered dominant werewolves. And who didn't want to be dominant?

Justin definitely did want the dominance points. As his furry body pushed past my fur-less one, I got lost in complicated human thoughts for a moment, wondering if my blood brother actually obeyed our teacher's admonition to practice shifting forms each night before bed. His speedy transformation was impressive, and I didn't realize the point of his effort until the wolf's teeth had sunken into Chase's thigh and my milk brother was screaming on the ground, helplessly stuck mid-shift.

I leaped on Justin in a heartbeat, but the teacher was there faster, tossing the wolf onto his back in a rare display of dominance against the alpha's oldest son. Chase faded back into human form, his hand pushing against the gash in his leg, and I used my own fingers to press a discarded shirt into the bleeding wound.

Despite the teacher's uncharacteristic lack of favoritism, though, the damage was done, and I got the message loud and clear. As I always tried to explain to Chase, a wolf can communicate quite effectively without words, and Justin had evidently gotten that part of wolf brain down pat. Justin's teeth said what hadn't sunk into my understanding during his earlier lecture—I needed to leave this pack before someone got hurt. Not me—Chase.

* * *

I HADN’T THOUGHT it would be so hard to talk myself into leaving the pack. Half of the nearby adults hated my guts while half of the kids were terrified of my wolf form, never mind the reality that the latter would shortly grow into a wolf of their own. So you would have thought there was little to hold me in my childhood home. Still, the outside world was terrifying to a wolf like me who had probably spent fewer than fifty hours beyond the boundaries of our village in his entire lifetime. And, fear aside, my wolf brain allowed me to love with an intensity that few humans could muster. Chase wasn't just my milk brother; he was my left paw. Tia wasn't just my foster mother; she was the bones that held me up. Abandoning either seemed unthinkable.

While I vacillated, Justin didn't let up in his torment of my milk brother, and the bully soon branched out to the halfies and full-humans (meat, he called them) in our pack. At first, I tried to pretend that my blood brother was just being his usual domineering self, but Justin knew just how to catch my eye after tripping a human kid as the latter walked down the aisle to his seat. In the end, my blood brother's wolf and mine communicated perfectly. This is your fault, Justin's wolf reminded me. I'm hurting these kids because you won't leave. And, for once, my own wolf cowered in the face of confrontation.

To make matters worse, even-tempered Chase picked up on the subtext and grew angry on my behalf within a couple of days. "We're going to have to find a way to fight back," my milk brother told me as we walked home from school, a bruise darkening on his forearm where Justin had pounded my milk brother with a dodge ball during gym class. Chase wasn't angry about the bruise, though. Instead, we were both steamed about the way we'd caught Justin behind the schoolhouse feeling up a halfie girl who was struggling to pull away.

I shook my head adamantly at my milk brother. We didn't need to find a way to fight back. I did.

Despite the lack of words, Chase understood my meaning intuitively, his wolf brain tuning into my body language and deciphering my stance on the issue. "I know you think this is your fight, but it's becoming everyone's fight," he told me. "Your father is an asshole, but at least he's fair. Can you imagine what this pack will be like for halfies once Justin is in charge? He's going to be our alpha, you know."

I shook my head again, but this time because I knew deep in my gut that Justin never would be my alpha. Now I just had to find the courage to tell my blood brother as much.

* * *

"NO LEASH?" JUSTIN asked when I cornered him in his yard the next morning.

"No leash," I replied, my voice a bit rusty from lack of use. In fact, I was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and figured I could almost pass for a real boy. Not that I would say that to Justin, who I had to admit was still pulling my strings.

Because I was here to admit that my older brother had won—I was going to leave the pack in his capable hands. But I saw no reason not to let him wiggle a little on the hook first, especially since my human presence seemed to daunt my blood brother even more than my wolf form did. Maybe the problem was that my human form had grown to be a full head taller than my sibling's and my arms were thick with muscles from my wolf sprints through the woods. In contrast, Justin looked scrawnier every day. But I'd learned the hard way that I couldn't bat the older boy down, not with all of the nearby adults hanging on his every word as they waited for Justin to grow into the role of alpha. So it was time to concede with as much grace as I could muster.

"Well?" Justin said at length, losing the silence contest just as he generally lost our staring contests in the schoolyard. If I'd been a wolf, I would have lolled my tongue in satisfaction; as a human, I was able to laugh. My mirth didn't last long, though, since my next words were bitter.

"I'm here to tell you I'm leaving," I said. "I'll go tonight. But don't think you can keep beating up on people weaker than you just because I'm not around to see it. I'll find a way to check in at intervals, and if you're being a bastard, I'll come back and I will take you down."

Justin looked away, his downcast eyes making it clear that he'd obey my command. This was at the heart of our antipathy—between the two of us, I was the real alpha, but Justin was our father's son.

I expected my brother to save face with some back-handed comment, "Good riddance" perhaps, or the more manly "Get the hell out of here." But instead, my blood brother just nodded and turned to leave. Our deal had been struck.

* * *

MY LAST DAY of school was bittersweet. True to his word, Justin left the halfies alone, and Chase and I enjoyed a rare autumnal day of happy heckling amongst ourselves. My milk brother was thrilled that I'd decided to spend a few hours in human form, and I wanted to soak up every moment of my found-sibling's company before I slipped away into the night. In the end, I'd decided to don clothes that day not just so I could be completely clear about my blood brother's compliance, but also so my human brain could remember each word my milk brother spoke in what would become our last shared hours. Now and then, the human brain trumped the wolf.

At home, I spent a few more minutes two-footed. I'd debated trying to pack clothes and valuables, but I didn't own much, and the best solution I'd found to a bad situation was to try to make my way in the world as a dog, at least at first. So I just cut a swatch of fabric from the puppy blanket Tia had made for me many years ago, then pinned the cloth to the inside of my collar to remember her by. The collar itself would serve the same purpose in my milk brother's memory. Finally, I clasped the reminders around my neck, shifted into wolf form, and trotted out into the evening air.

The road was dark, only a rare car passing by, so I was surprised to hear voices ahead when I'd traveled only halfway to town. At first, I assumed Justin had found his balls and was throwing me a not-so-fond farewell party, probably complete with a three-against-one boxing match. But then I scented Chase's unmistakable aroma, and my anticipation for the fight stilled. What was my milk brother doing here?

"Come on out, Wolfie," my foster mother called into the night. "There's something we need to say to you."

So I was caught. Seeing no reason to put off the inevitable, I trotted around the bend...and found a third of our village gathered at the bus stop, bags and suitcases littering the ground as kids lounged in parents' laps. A sit-in? I hated to break it to them, but no peaceful resistance was going to change the reality of this pack for me.

"I figured you were leaving tonight when you came to school as a human," Chase said, walking up to scratch beneath my collar. "I'd hoped you'd ask me to come along...." His voice trailed off, and the halfie girl I'd protected days ago, starting this whole sordid mess, chimed in. "So we invited ourselves!" she exclaimed.

Invited themselves? I looked up into Tia's eyes for an explanation, knowing my foster mother would be able to untangle this situation that made no sense to my wolf brain. Her mouth quirked up into a lopsided grin and the woman spoke slowly, the way she did when she knew my wolf brain was having trouble parsing human words. "We're coming along to start our own pack."

But a pack needs an alpha!

Chase stroked a hand over my ears, and I could tell he was reading my confusion from my body language. The older boy didn't like to admit it, but after growing up with a bloodling brother, Chase was often nearly as wolf brain as I was.

"Don't you get it, Wolfie?" my brother said softly. "You're our alpha."

I glanced around at the waiting people, ready to prove Chase wrong. Any werewolf, no matter how entrenched in his human mind, can find the alpha in the room at a glance—during critical moments, each wolf looks to the alpha for hints of the next step, so all you had to do was watch their eyes. I was sure I'd see dissent in this motley crew, with gazes trained in many different directions. Or perhaps they would have found time to at least groom a proto-alpha during what must have been hours of debate about whether to flee or stay.

But Chase was right, as always. When I glanced around the flashlight-illuminated crowd, every stare came straight back at me. And they weren't all women and children either. Even my favorite uncle was present, meeting my eyes and giving a decisive nod before carefully shifting his gaze a few inches to one side in submission. As unbelievable as it seemed, these normally sane werewolves had chosen a bloodling to be their leader.

It's a good thing I was wolf brained, because a human teenager would have been terrified of the responsibility. What did a fifteen-year-old bloodling know about managing a pack, let alone starting one from whole cloth?

Luckily, a bloodling is nearly all wolf. So when the Greyhound bus pulled to a squealing stop beside us, my wolf knew what to do—I led my new pack into the future.

In Deep Shift

Episode 2

Author's note

Chronologically, In Deep Shift takes place after Bloodling Wolf and before Shiftless, when Wolfie is 22 years old and has been the leader of his own pack for nearly a third of his short life. As a result, this novelette will make sense if read at any point in the series after Bloodling Wolf.

I should also mention that I owe this story's first line to The Druid Song by the Bobs, a funny and beautiful a cappella ditty that lines up perfectly with Wolfie's sense of humor. Yes, Wolfie's statement is a paraphrase only....

Chapter 1

IF PEE FALLS in the forest, and no one's there...should I care?

Chase and I clearly fell on opposing sides of this philosophical conundrum, as evidenced by how quickly my milk brother shifted into human form and donned a scowl upon smelling the intruder's scent mark.

I, on the other hand, was more interested in teasing out exactly who had come to call rather than in getting offended at the trespass. Lone male werewolf, halfway to adulthood and skulking around the edges of our territory, reported my sensitive lupine nose. And, for a moment, I considered going out of my way to track the outpack shifter down, feeding him a meal if nothing else before letting him continue on his way.

Or maybe I should give the kid a clue that most alphas wouldn't be as long-suffering as I am when they catch a strange male sniffing after their girls? Because that's what the outpack shifter had been looking for—unmated females. I could smell the lust and yearning in his urine deposit.

Okay, sure, so every teenage boy has his mind in the gutter. But most at least possessed an iota of self-preservation that would prevent them from marking across an alpha's own peed-upon cairns. The trespasser might as well have included his phone number and "Call me for a good time" while he was at it—I'd definitely recognize the kid next time I saw him in person.

My father or brother would have been seeing red right about this time, but I instead found the situation increasingly hilarious as I followed the stranger's minuscule stream of urine from mark to mark. Some over-zealous wolf pup thinking he could challenge my boundaries? I could tell from his scent that the invader was barely old enough to shift, probably a gangling fifteen year old whose human face was covered with acne and who still stumbled over his own lupine feet. The kid would be lucky if he didn't drizzle urine all over himself while trying to figure out how to lift a leg and direct the stream.

I huffed out a canine laugh at the mental image, but my companion Chase just scowled. "You can't really let him get away with that," my milk brother chastened me quietly, laying one hand upon my lupine ears and shaking me none too gently. Chase wasn't an alpha, which meant that he didn't actually care about whose dick was the longest, but he still spent an inordinate amount of time looking out for my dignity. Good thing too since someone had to do it...and that person certainly wasn't going to be me.

On the other hand, while I preferred patrolling our boundaries in lupine form, this conversation was getting too complicated for ear flicks and whines. So I lunged upwards, hands forming out of paws and snout receding in the time it took to turn back legs into...well, just legs.

"Let him get away with what?" I asked my best friend, still grinning at the cheeky bastard who had passed by here only a few hours earlier. "Get away with urinating on a few stones in the woods? I think I'll survive the threat to my manhood."

Chase swatted my bare shoulder, and I responded by grabbing his neck and giving him a noogie. Yeah, yeah, I know. Real mature. In my defense, Chase and I weren't much more than pups ourselves, despite the fact that I was ostensibly the alpha of our little band of runaways. Seven years after leading a heaping handful of disgruntled shifters away from our home pack, Chase's mother Tia still made most of the day-to-day decisions for our clan. And although I was the one saddled with the title "alpha," no one kidded themselves that I was any more than a symbol. The bloodling son of our previous alpha—who better to prove that each member of our new pack was judged on the basis of his or her own merits rather than on vagaries of birth? But nobody really expected a bloodling to get involved in the day-to-day running of our pack, and I saw no reason to raise their expectations any higher.

A figurehead. Now there's a job I could get behind. Standing on the prow of a ship buck naked and letting everyone admire me—sounded like a pretty good life.

For a moment, I allowed my mind to wander to thoughts of a life at sea. Had werewolves ever sailed the open ocean? If I found myself shipwrecked, would I be able to dive off the floating debris and catch a shark? Maybe hitchhike a ride on a dolphin while two-legged?

"Wolfie?" Chase asked, bringing my attention back to our woodland patrol duty. "Are we going to hunt the stranger down or not?"

Reluctantly, I allowed the imagined salt wind to fade, then I rolled my eyes in lieu of answering. Vanquishing a fifteen-year-old didn't sound like nearly as much fun as hunting sharks. So I just shook my head, squirted a solid stream of my own urine over top of the stranger's, and fell back down onto four legs before turning my nose toward home.

And even though he clearly disagreed with my decision, Chase didn't push the topic. Instead, he followed suit, donning fur and trotting in my footsteps as we high-tailed it back toward our clan's little village. I could smell Tia's cookies baking from a mile away, and if we galloped, we were likely to arrive just as dessert came hot out of the oven.

* * *

BUT THE SIGHT that greeted us back home was less enticing than the milk and cookies my companion and I had raced out of the woods to consume. Instead, we came shoving and yipping through the door...and stopped dead at the sight of our entire pack congregated within Tia's living room.

There at the center of the drama stood my uncle Oscar, an envelope gripped between thumb and forefinger and his nose wrinkled up in distaste. He looks like a housewife lifting a trapped mouse by the tail before flinging it out the door, I thought. And then, despite the tense emotions of the shifters around me, my attention wandered off on a tangent. Mmmm, mouse. Their little bones crunch so deliciously, and their tender hearts taste like the world's freshest pâté....

Actually, in wolf form, mouse sounded much nicer than cookies. Perhaps I had time before dinner to go out and rustle a few vermin out of the shed? Just an appetizer—it really wouldn't ruin my appetite for the main course....

Chase's human hand fell lightly atop my lupine ears and I knew the gentle touch was meant to remind me of my role within the pack. Immediately, the memory of fresh mouse fled from my taste buds and a much less pleasant aroma wafted into my nostrils to take its place.

Justin—blood brother. Just who I don't want to see. Or, rather—smell.

I growled despite myself, eyes scanning the room before they fell upon the offending missive in my uncle's hands. Wasn't it just like my big brother to send a letter rather than facing me head on? I hadn't set eyes upon Justin for approximately a third of my life, but seven years didn't seem like nearly enough distance to place between us. What was the big hurry? Couldn't my big brother wait to see me at our next family reunion—you know, the one scheduled to occur when hell froze over?

Taking a deep breath, I ignored my building irritability and curiosity and instead focused on the needs of my pack. In a perfect world, I would follow Chase's lead and turn two-legged so I could soothe the worried emotions swirling around me...and also so I could read the letter clenched in my uncle's hard grip. Because, even though my lupine nose could pick out Justin's signature aroma from several feet away, the words on the envelope seemed to scatter as I looked toward them, and I couldn't so much as read my own name.

On the other hand, I knew that I wouldn't be able to provide the strength my pack needed if I regained humanity right then. Not with my unfortunate tendency to wear my heart on my sleeve while two-legged. I'd like to think that I'd matured enough to keep my temper in check around my worried pack mates, but I was bound to at least wince at my brother's taunt.

Because taunt it must be. Justin would never send a letter just to shoot the breeze, nor would he offer assistance in keeping my young pack fed and happy. No, my dear older brother would have found a way to stick a knife into my back, and this letter would be the twist of the handle that took out my heart.

Luckily, Chase possessed the acting skills that I sorely lacked. So when my friend glanced my way, human head tilted to one side, I lifted my lupine chin in agreement and watched as my milk brother accepted the letter out of Oscar's hands.

Every eye in the room was now trained on my milk brother as Chase tore through the flap of the envelope and pulled out the letter itself. The scent of my blood brother grew stronger in the air as Chase read silently, Tia and Oscar perusing the letter over his shoulder. I watched the trio with a predator's eye, analyzing the letter's contents through the minute expressions flitting across their faces, and by the way strong emotions changed each shifter's scent. Chase's nostrils flared with what I suspected was outrage on my behalf, while Tia's eyes squinted together in anticipation of my pain. But no one else noticed the signs of distress beneath the readers' clenched jaws and quiet demeanor—unlike me, my family possessed nerves of steel and knew when to keep their tension hidden deep inside.

Well, if my inner circle could appear so calm while two-legged, then surely I could strive to exude at least as much confidence while in lupine form. I took in a deep breath through my nose, doing my best to calm the adrenaline rush that had tensed my muscles as soon as Justin's scent filled the air, then I sank down into a relaxed sit at the same moment that Chase crouched onto his heels by my side.

My milk brother's intent had clearly been to bring his eyes level with mine, and I suspect that Chase didn't even notice how Justin's note now dangled nearly forgotten in one hand. But all I could really focus on was the scent of gun metal emanating from that paper while Chase informed me that my—and Justin's—father was finally dead.

Good riddance. I knew I wasn't alone in that sentiment due to the murmurs emanating from the surrounding shifters, their words muted but cautiously joyful. We'd all spent the last seven years looking over our shoulders and expecting to be dragged back to my father's pack at any moment. So learning Chief Young was dead would be a weight off all of our shoulders...until, that is, Oscar prompted Chase to read the second paragraph of the letter aloud.

"You won't be surprised, I'm sure, that I have stepped into our father's shoes," Chase quoted, Justin's harsh words sitting awkwardly on my milk brother's warm voice. "We all know you're not alpha material, and after all, I am the older son."

Pausing, Chase let his hand fall onto my ears once again, asking without words whether I really wanted to hear this now, in front of our pack mates, where I'd need to hold onto my emotions with an iron fist.

And, personally, I would have liked to burn the letter unread. But a glance in Tia's direction confirmed that we couldn't afford to stick our thumbs up our butts and ignore the implied threat that my blood brother's letter represented.

So I just nuzzled Chase's hand until his eyes dropped back down onto the letter that lay between us. "He wants you to come to All-Pack," Chase continued, not reading now, but summing up the rest of the missive in his own words, likely smoothing over the rough edges while he was at it.

But Oscar once again interrupted. "Don't paraphrase," the older shifter said firmly, his face pinched as if he'd smelled something foul. And not the good kind of foul that a hunting wolf might roll around in to mask his own scent. More like the hurt-your-nose scent of bleach accidentally mixed with ammonia while cleaning out the bathtub—unpleasant and dangerous all at once.

"Okay," Chase said, willing as always to obey even a submissive wolf like my uncle. Still, my milk brother had to pause and gather himself before he was able to read out Justin's final demand:

"I'll see you at All-Pack, where I expect your full support as I'm sworn in as chief of Clan Young. Don't be late, little brother. Don't betray me, or you'll be sorry."

Justin obviously meant the entire letter to be a slight. Ha! he was saying. I always knew I'd take over Dad's job, and, more importantly, his power. You, little brother, will show up at my beck and call, a mere lackey whose worth lies in your ability to increase my status within the packs.

But if my blood brother knew me at all, he'd understand that I'd never wanted his current job. Alpha of a hidebound pack of back-biting uncles and cousins? I'd rather wrestle ten sharks at once while in human form. (Actually, shark-wrestling might be fun....)

And yet, I couldn't help wondering if perhaps the time was finally right to make my own foray into All-Pack politics. Perhaps I was strong enough in my alpha powers to claim this little sliver of land that our clan had been squatting on for the better part of a decade. Perhaps the other alphas were overdue a reminder that the name "Clan Young" didn't refer only to my father's—now my brother's—pack.

That thought was enough to still my anger sufficiently that I felt safe shifting back to two legs at last. And as I did so, Uncle Oscar pulled me into a hug. "I'm sorry about your father," he offered, although his scent belied his words. Yes, Oscar was honestly saddened that I'd been hurt by Justin's letter, but he wasn't any sorrier than I was to see the back of that wily old bastard. No worries—I thought the old man was an asshole too.

So I voiced the emotion that lay uppermost in both of our minds. "That old codger?" I replied, letting my eyes scan across the assembled shifters. "He finally got what was coming to him. And I figure it's just about time for my brother to receive his comeuppance as well."

"So we're not going to All-Pack?" Chase asked, his eyebrows raised in warning. My friend thought that I'd decided to thumb my nose at my brother's taunt the same way I'd ignored the outpack shifter drifting through our woods. And, as usual, my milk brother was concerned about the repercussions of my decision, worried about the shit that was likely to fly back on both me and on our pack if I ignored Justin's letter.

Well, Chase was wise to worry...but not because I was ignoring Justin. Instead, I'd decided to meet my blood brother's threat head on at last.

Sure, there would be power struggles and army-like entourages at the annual shifter gathering. And most of the attendees would likely be allied against us.

But, unlike my milk brother, that kind of challenge just got my blood moving and set my eyes gleaming. "Hell, yeah, we're going to All-Pack!" I answered loudly, and my bravado was rewarded when Chase's mouth quirked up into a reluctant smile despite himself. "It's high time we found out whether Justin the Shrimp ever grew into those dinner-plate paws."

Chapter 2

ALL-PACK WAS a swirling cacophony of scents and sounds. Which is why, despite my best intentions to look the part of a jaded alpha, I couldn't help padding in a tight circle, taking in the shifters around me while supposedly scouting out a spot for our pack to set up camp.

Luckily, everyone else was too busy with their own lives to notice my lapse, although Chase did clear his throat meaningfully by my side. I started to glance up at my friend, but then my attention was drawn away again, this time to a gaggle of giggling pack princesses drifting past. Without conscious volition, my tongue lolled out in an effort to capture more of the girls' enticing aroma. Maybe that outpack shifter wasn't so crazy after all....

One girl-pup shot me a glance out of the corner of her eye and giggled louder, but the others seemed oblivious to my attention. Their guard was less forbearing, though. The brawny brute trailing along in the girls' wake growled as he passed me by, and my own hackles rose in response.

Sure would be fun to duke it out with another alpha-leaning werewolf, I thought wistfully. Not that I particularly wanted to get to know any of those girls better. But I was used to every shifter in my vicinity backing down from the slightest sign of my displeasure. So the guard's piercing eyes made my blood pump and my muscles tense in preparation for a spring to his throat.

Still, my eye—as much as my lupine nature would allow—was on the ball. Objective one: ensure that my pack mates could hold their own amid the other nine clans assembled for All-Pack. Objective two: find some really smelly shit to rub my brother's nose into.

I meant the second objective figuratively. Well, mostly....

That thought made me laugh, and my returning good humor gave me the reminder I needed to let the passing guard win his staring contest. Shrugging, I glanced up at Chase at last, whose human fingers were holding my lupine ruff in a death grip. Calm down, buddy. I'm not going to do anything stupid, I told him, the unspoken words carried loud and clear by the jaunty tilt of my head and the sparkle in my eyes.

At home, my milk brother would have swatted my nose in retaliation for giving him such a scare. But here, Chase was even more aware of my missing dignity than usual, his eyes scanning the crowd in front of us in search of danger or imagined slights, and I knew he wouldn't remonstrate with me in public. Earlier, my friend had begged me to don two legs for our introduction to polite society, but that had seemed like a terrible idea since I was even more erratic and unlikeable on two legs than on four. So we'd instead settled on allowing Chase to be in charge of dealing with the furless, while I padded along at his side as silent but menacing muscle.

Sounded like a good deal at the time since I was always willing to let my milk brother take the lead if it floated his boat. But now I was starting to wonder whether the two of us had gotten in over our heads, walking unprepared into this melee of laughing, growling, posturing, and flirting shifters.

"Welcome." The word came from behind our backs, and we both whirled, Chase nearly toppling over in his haste to find out whether the greeting emanated from friend or foe. Despite our plan to let Chase speak for the two of us, I surged forward to give my milk brother time to recover his composure, then looked up into the deepest eyes I'd ever seen.

Usually, shifters kept their lupine natures under wraps when walking two-footed, but I could tell that the middle-aged man standing in front of me was more of my own school of thought on the issue. Why put the wolf to sleep when canine senses were so powerful, even if pointy teeth had to be hidden beneath human gums? This man's wolf was alert and rampant behind his human eyes, and despite my seven-year absence from All-Pack, I recognized him instantly.

"Chief Wilder," Chase greeted our host, holding out one hand in greeting and proving that he also had guessed the man's identity. But even though Chase had called our host by the right name, my milk brother clearly hadn't understood the implications of the wolf lurking behind the man's eyes.

Crazy Wilder, as shifters liked to call this man behind his back, was the host of All-Pack for good reason. He was the biggest, baddest shifter around. And, unfortunately, he and I both knew that shaking hands with a submissive werewolf barely old enough to drink was miles beneath the other alpha's dignity. The only question was how hard our host would slap my friend down.

Sure enough, the older man stared pointedly at the offending appendage until Chase flushed and let the hand fall back against his side. Despite knowing exactly what was coming, my lip curled upwards at my friend's embarrassment and I placed the first mark in my mental tally book against Chief Wilder. Some day, I'd pay him back in spades.

I didn't growl, though. First, there were my prime directives to consider. And, second, Chief Wilder's wolf was stronger than that of any shifter I'd ever met, and for once in my life I wasn't entirely sure I could take another werewolf down if a verbal altercation descended into a pitched battle.

It was a strange sensation to feel cowed by another alpha, and a more human shifter would have puffed up his chest and tried to hide his weakness beneath brave words. But I was more intrigued than threatened at the concept of such a powerful shifter. And, apparently, Chief Wilder was equally intrigued by me, because he immediately proceeded to tweak my tail.

"You're the spitting image of your brother," the older man said, and I could tell from the glint in his eyes that our host knew Justin was the last shifter I'd ever want to be compared to.

Now I did emit the tiniest growl before I was able to stifle my annoyance. Last time I'd seen Justin, he was a gawky teenager, half my bulk due to spending his childhood on two legs instead of four. I sure hoped I didn't look anything like my brother...although perhaps Justin had grown into his wolf over the intervening years.

"So I assume you're here to stand with Clan Young?" Chief Wilder continued, and despite myself I shifted upwards at last so I could speak my mind. No way was I going to let Chase tangle with the All-Pack host while I stood by and looked on like an empty-headed four-legger.

"Well, in as much as I'm a Young and I lead a pack," I replied coldly, my speedy shift requiring only the slightest pause in the conversation. Sure, it probably looked a little bad for me to be standing around naked conversing with the All-Pack host, but who the hell cared? "Yes, in that respect I'm here to stand with Clan Young," I continued. "But perhaps not with the Clan Young you're thinking of."

For a moment, the two of us stood there, chin to chin, eyes locked and fists clenched. I could feel Chase behind my back, struggling to think of a way to defuse the situation before I got both of us killed, but still willing to leap into the fray to protect my back if necessary. Further away, a car door slammed and I smelled Oscar emerging from the vehicle where I'd left him in charge of our pack's weaker members.

Yes, in complete disregard for tradition, I'd come to All-Pack with my entire unruly clan of halfies, women, children, and disgraced shifters in tow. The deal was that I didn't trust my blood brother not to lead an ambush against my pack mates while I wasn't around to protect them, and Tia didn't trust me not to get my ass handed to me if I attended All-Pack alone. So we'd all piled into cars and caravanned down the interstate together to answer my brother's call.

Which just went to show that Chase's mom knew me better than I knew myself. Because hadn't I taken the first opportunity to do something stupid? Like trying to stare down Crazy Wilder on his home turf while the powerful alpha's minions inched closer as every loaded second passed....

A smarter werewolf would have apologized for being a smart-ass and then moved on. It was no big deal to grovel in front of Chief Wilder, especially for a barely-adult shifter like me. Just standing up to him for as long as I had would make our pack look good—appearances being the whole point of All-Pack, after all...if you didn't count the girls and the feasting.

Meanwhile, I knew that if I didn't make my move soon, my peace-loving uncle would apologize on my behalf in order to prevent outright bloodshed. So I did the only thing I could think of. I reached out and landed a brotherly punch on Chief Wilder's broad shoulder and said, "Dude, I thought you were expecting us. Didn't you say you were going to stand up and offer surety for our pack when we lobby for territorial rights?"

For a split second, Chief Wilder froze, completely blindsided by my inappropriate request and gesture. Not only was the alpha before me the most powerful shifter present, he and my late father had also been at each others' throats constantly during the latter's lifetime. Helping Chief Young's son become formally recognized as pack leader would definitely stick in the old man's craw.

But then I could have sworn I saw a twinkle develop in Crazy Wilder's cold, dark eyes. Pulling me into a guy hug, the jovial blow he landed on my back was strong enough to rattle my teeth. "Well, you'd better get settled, then, hadn't you, son?" he answered. "You can set up your camp next to mine."

Then, before I was even able to suck in enough air to respond, All-Pack's unanimously declared leader had turned on his heel and left me alone. And although I was naked and breathless in the aftermath, I still felt like I might have actually held my own. Well, kinda-sorta.

* * *

THE SMART THING to do would have been to sit back and rest on my laurels. After all, with Crazy Wilder's support supposedly behind my little pack of misfits, Justin would be too afraid to spend much time undermining my position for fear of toppling his own precarious rank within the regional packs. So all I had to do was wait out the week of revelry, then lead my pack home, where the ground beneath our feet would soon be officially our own by werewolf as well as by human law.

But whoever said I was smart?

"Seriously, Wolfie?" Chase asked, his words full of the exasperation he was doing his best not to unleash while outpack shifters gathered within easy earshot. "Don't you think it would be a better idea to just hang out here tonight? Rest up for tomorrow's negotiations?"

I rolled my lupine eyes and ignored my milk brother's plea. Although a couple of years my senior, Chase had never attended All-Pack before, so he didn't realize that nothing important was going to happen either tonight or tomorrow. Everyone was all aflutter about the Princess Ball, but if you weren't on the market for a mate, All-Pack didn't really begin until the second full day after we all assembled.

Which meant that now was the perfect time to do some illicit snooping and to figure out where my brother stood among the other alphas. Unfortunately, given the state of Chase's nerves, it looked like I'd probably be better off drifting through the crowd on my own this time around. So the question was—how to make that happen without having Chase trail along behind to make sure I didn't step in any metaphorical cow pies?

A normal alpha would have simply ordered his beta to stand down, but I instead shifted to human form and clasped Chase's shoulder in a comforting grip. "I promise that I won't get into trouble tonight," I offered, my words imbued with alpha reassurance. "I won't say a single word to anybody. If Justin sees me, I'll turn tail and run in the other direction. But I need to do this, Chase."

As much as I hated to pin myself down with these reassurances, I knew it was worth it when I felt Chase's tense muscles ease beneath my hand. My milk brother and I both understood that I wouldn't go back on my word unless I absolutely had to, not after making a solid promise to my friend. So Chase didn't offer another complaint as I shifted to wolf form and slipped past him into the night.

It felt good to be back on the hunt, even if my current quarry was considerably different from the rabbits I usually trailed. My blood brother's scent had teased me all day long, and it had taken all of my self-control to prevent my feet from taking me in his direction earlier that evening, before my pack mates settled into their tents. Now, stepping out of the tent that I shared with my milk brother, I immediately smelled Justin's gun-metal signature, barely noticing the woodsy overtones that were too much like my own for my nose to fully register. Unrelated shifters probably parsed Justin's scent very differently, but to me, my blood brother smelled like cold, dangerous steel. An aroma that suited his personality to a tee.

Raising my nose to the air, I found it a simple matter to hunt that metallic odor to its source. Predictably, Justin had located his warriors on the opposite side of the large camping field from our hereditary enemies, the Wilders, and I could tell that he had brought no women and children along for the ride. Instead, my blood brother had surrounded his encampment with the most muscle-bound shifters he could find, half in lupine form and the remaining number settling two-legged around a campfire as they wound down for the evening.

Scared much, brother? I couldn't resist laughing silently at Justin's attempt to protect himself from the other alphas. Like me, every pack leader present would know that only the weak felt the need to surround themselves with such a large retinue of hefty guards. Didn't Justin realize that the power plays between alphas were won more often by the perception of superior power than by overt physical strength? Bravado nearly always beat brawn.

But my amusement ended abruptly when I caught another familiar aroma drifting on the breeze beneath my brother's, a scent that I certainly hadn't expected to discover at All-Pack. Apple cider and cinnamon, just like the outpack drifter who had peed upon my cairns.

And I didn't even need to hear the young werewolf yelp before I smelled his outpouring of pain and despair.

Chapter 3

"PERHAPS YOU SHOULD’VE thought twice before trespassing."

Despite recent promises to my milk brother, the outpack drifter's scent had drawn me in like a bee to honey. As a result, I'd been unable to resist slipping past the guards' defenses and sidling closer to the dark corner of Justin's campsite where the drifter was being held, which is why I could now make out Justin's words so clearly. And as I listened, I noticed that my blood brother's voice had deepened since I last heard him speak...but that his words were just as harsh as I recalled.

As were his actions. The poor kid—because I could see now that the drifter hadn't yet achieved his full height—was strung up by a chain slung over a low branch and then manacled to the drifter's wrists, forcing the teenager to stand on tiptoes to prevent his arms from being wrenched out of their sockets. Who brings manacles to All-Pack? I pondered, then answered my own question: A new alpha wanting to throw his weight around as much as possible and hoping the other packs will think twice before giving him a hard time.

Sure enough, although nearby shifters were sneaking glances toward the cries of pain emanating from this dark corner of the Young encampment, no one else had come close to offer assistance to the drifter. After all, Justin was technically within his rights in punishing the trespasser, even if his actions were distasteful. Presumably, the drifter had wandered onto Justin's land soon after leaving mine, and my blood brother had been unwilling to let the minor infraction slide. As alpha, Justin possessed free rein to do everything up to and including putting the kid to death...although that last punishment seemed unbearably harsh for such a young shifter who'd acted stupidly rather than with malice aforethought.

I couldn't see what was going on quite as clearly as I could hear the results, but the snap of a twig followed by a moan proved that my blood brother was quite willing to go beyond humiliation and into physical punishment to get his way. On the other hand, although painful, the slash of a twig was unlikely to do much lasting harm to Justin's prisoner. Big brother is toying with the poor kid, I realized. But to what end?

"Are you willing to tell me why you came sniffing around my pack now?" Justin demanded as the kid cringed away from his captor. I'd slunk a little closer, careful to stay downwind and to keep my lupine form shielded by the winter-bare shrubbery around me. But it soon became evident that I needn't have bothered with subterfuge. Justin was too intent upon his own prey to realize that he was being hunted in turn.

"Did my brother send you?" the alpha continued, slapping the twig switch against one open hand in irritation that his questions weren't being answered. Before him, the kid merely shook his head wearily but refused to speak.

Ah, so that's his point. Somehow or other, Justin had found out where the drifter had begun his trespassing career, and had probably gotten it into his paranoid brain that I'd sent the boy his way as a spy. What, exactly, I was supposed to want to discover about my brother was beyond me, but a flash of guilt sent a shiver down my spine despite the fur standing between me and the cold night. Chase had been right, as usual. I should have tracked the drifter down before he dug himself deeper into trouble. Suddenly, this teenager felt even more like my responsibility than he had previously, and I resolved to stop this charade as soon as possible.

Okay, who was I kidding? The second I smelled the teenager's happy-go-lucky scent charring into the flavor of burnt apple pie in the night air, I knew that I was going to break my vow to my milk brother and would end up getting us all into trouble. The question was, how to free the kid without bringing Justin's entire army down around my pack's ears?

"Nothing to say?" Justin asked as I stood pondering my options. The alpha continued to pace around the bound prisoner, and for the first time in seven years, I was treated to a glimpse of my blood brother's face.

I stifled a gasp. Chief Wilder hadn't been kidding. Watching Justin move through the moonlight was a bit like seeing myself in a fun-house mirror. On the surface, we looked so similar that we could have been twins, from our dark hair cut short above our broad shoulders down to long, lean legs. I suspected that if we stood back to back, Justin might be an inch taller than me now, but the physical differences were too minor to really notice.

Inside, on the other hand, Justin's wolf looked nothing like my own. My blood brother's animal half was greedily taking in the sight of the prisoner's pain. And when the drifter whimpered, Justin's wolf raised its snout into a triumphant—if silent—howl.

My own nostrils flared in response, and I had to force myself to drop down into a crouch and to close my eyes rather than leaping to the prisoner's defense immediately. So I heard rather than saw my brother's open-handed slap striking the drifter's cheek.

The action was another taunt and was so typical of my brother, Justin's way of saying that the prisoner wasn't man enough to handle a real punch. Also as usual, the older alpha appeared to have underestimated his opponent, because the kid's voice didn't shake when he finally spoke.

"I told you already that I don't know your brother from Adam," the drifter said, and he sounded so much like Chase that I opened my eyes to make sure my friend hadn't followed me out into the dark night. Nope, it was still just Justin and the pimply-faced youngster present. Although, when I peered closer, I saw that the boy's wolf wasn't as cowed as I might have supposed. Instead, the animal seemed to be biding its time, waiting for a chance to break away and flee into the night.

It was then that I decided to be brave and stupid and get the boy out before morning. I didn't want to wait until Justin managed to break the kid's spirit...or until the drifter got on my brother's last nerve and turned the torture session into an execution. And, to my delight, it looked like Justin was going to give me just the opportunity I craved.

"How about I let you hang out in the cold and think about whether that's your final answer, hmm?" Justin said at last, chuckling slightly at his own pun. The laugh was fake, though, proving that the alpha was as annoyed as I'd been impressed by his prisoner's mettle.

When no pleas were forthcoming, Justin turned on his heel and stalked out of the clearing, passing a pair of guards who had been stationed thirty feet away in order to keep a clearly incapacitated prisoner in line. These shifters weren't as heartless as their master, though, and both sneaked glances back at the strung-up teenager before one gathered his courage, cleared his throat, and halted Justin with a single word.

"Chief?" the shifter asked, then clearly wished he hadn't when Justin's cold glare sent the shifter's wolf cowering beneath his skin.

"What?" my brother demanded, tapping one foot impatiently at having his grand exit delayed. Once again, I rose to my feet and padded a little closer so I could hear the exchange more clearly. Not that I needed proximity to feel Justin's annoyance filling the air.

"Um, well..." In the face of Justin's annoyance, the guard clearly wished that he hadn't bothered his alpha in the first place, and he shot a glance toward his partner in hopes of being bailed out. The latter was an older man, probably twice my brother's age, but he seemed no more willing to stand up to Justin's wrath than the first shifter had been.

"Well...?" Justin prompted, and I shivered again at the coldness emanating from my brother's lips. Didn't he realize that you saved that kind of set-down for when it was really needed? No point in wasting alpha compulsion when a loyal guard simply wanted to ask a question.

No, apparently my brother didn't realize that. Over the years, I'd come to the conclusion that there were two ways to keep a werewolf pack in line—loyalty or fear. Justin had clearly chosen the latter route because he growled now, the deep rumble ripping through the night air. Before him, both guards lowered their eyes to the ground and turned their necks to the side in a show of instant submission, and the tension in my brother's form eased at last. Nothing like a little kowtowing to float a bully's boat.

With my brother's wolf no longer poised to spring for his own guards' throats, the younger shifter was finally able to speak. "I just wondered if we should give the prisoner any food or water," he said quickly, showing that the shifter possessed the ounce of compassion that my brother lacked.

Looking back over my shoulder at the dangling drifter, I could tell that the boy hadn't enjoyed access to either form of sustenance in quite some time. But Justin didn't seem to think refusing his prisoner the basic elements of survival was inhumane. "Why waste food on a cur that will be in the ground tomorrow?" he asked rhetorically, raising his voice to ensure the words carried to the boy he'd just left behind. Then, pointing silently at the guards' posts, my brother walked away, leaving his underlings to exchange glances then to turn their heads away from the clearing so they weren't forced to witness the kid's pain.

Well, that was alright. I'd have the boy back down on his feet soon enough, and then he could eat and drink until his belly rebelled.

Once I found a way to get my brother's prisoner to trust me, that was.

* * *

TIME DOESN’T FLOW in quite the same manner for a wolf as it does for a man, so I was neither bored nor impatient as I lay beneath a bush, snout on paws, and watched my blood brother's encampment settle into slumber. Finally, as the moon reached its zenith, the older guard allowed the younger to go to his bed. Then I watched as the patrolling wolves similarly halved their numbers, leaving only two lupines stalking the boundaries of their property to ward off uninvited guests.

As these final two patrollers padded past my hiding place time after time, I couldn't help feeling a bit smug that they hadn't discovered where my scent trail crossed over their boundary line in the first place. But, really, it was my brother's own fault for choosing to settle here amid the trees. Two-legged, I'd had no problem climbing a nearby trunk, then I'd shifted to animal form long enough to leap from one long limb outside the boundary onto another long limb just inside my brother's domain. Only an alpha would have been able to shift back midair the way I had, ensuring that I possessed primate paws ready to grasp the second tree and prevent myself from falling upon reentry. But wasn't All-Pack chock full of alphas? Shouldn't my brother have come just as prepared for an aerial attack as he was for one coming along the ground?

Luckily for Justin, I didn't plan to attack. But I did plan to yank big brother's chain...or, rather, to unhook the chain that was currently causing his prisoner so much discomfort.

At last, even the older guard began to drowse at his post, which is when I crept forward on four paws and nudged the drifter's bare foot with my damp nose. (And what had been the point of taking away the kid's shoes? I wondered. Just another power play on my brother's part, or did he really think that lack of footwear would prevent an escape by a shifter who could turn wolf in an instant?)

"You..."

I'd known I was taking a gamble by bringing the kid out of his half-slumber before putting the second portion of my plan into action. After all, there was a good chance that the drifter would smell my aroma of pine needles and leaf mold and would mistake me for my brother, raising a ruckus before I was ready for the middle-aged guard to awake.

On the other hand, I could really use the drifter's assistance if both of us were going to walk out of here right under the patrolling werewolves' noses.

"You're...his brother," the drifter finished his sentence, keeping his voice to the barest breath of sound. Yep, this kid possessed far more smarts than Justin had given him credit for. In fact, the youngster was probably considerably more intelligent than my brother—not that I was saying much by that comparison. Justin's intelligence had always been approximately on the level of a chunk of granite, hard as a rock and equally dense.

"Wolfie Young, at your service," I replied, shivering as my fur faded away and exposed my human skin to the bitter night air. "Are you strong enough to shift?"

"Yeah," the kid responded. "But it doesn't do any good. I tried already—the collar keeps me dangling and I just about hanged myself the last time I went wolf."

The boy's words spurred me to look more closely, and I picked out what I'd missed from a distance. My brother had figured that manacles weren't sufficient restraint to keep his prisoner in line and had added a metal collar around the kid's throat. A second chain extended from collar to branch above, and my blood—already simmering at the teenager's mistreatment—came to a boil.

Not that I was surprised by the sight of the hard, metal collar. I'd already figured that the drifter was well and truly trapped or he would've found a way to sneak past the guard and the patrollers without my help. So I simply shrugged and squashed anger at my brother. This kid needed a level-headed rescuer to keep us both on track, so I resolved to take up my beef with Justin at a later date. "Not a problem," I said simply. "What's your name?"

"I'm Wade," the boy answered. "I'd shake your hand, but, well..." He shrugged as best he could with both arms pulled taut above his head, and I had to give the kid credit for insouciance in the face of harsh odds.

"Okay, Wade, I'm going to get you out of here," I replied, pulling out the bundle of clothes that I'd stolen from my sleeping brother's tent earlier that evening. Due to Justin's excessive sense of insecurity, you would have thought the alpha would have donned fur to keep his senses alert at night while attending All-Pack. But, no. Snagging a set of jeans and a t-shirt from beside my brother's slumbering form had been like stealing candy from a baby.

Now I commenced rubbing the clothing across the manacles that pinched Wade's wrists, transferring the aroma from metal to fabric in preparation for my upcoming charade. And as I rubbed, I talked...partly to give Wade information he'd need during the rescue to come, but mostly just to set the kid's mind at ease. Because I could tell that the presence of my wolf soothed Wade's lupine half, my own confidence in his upcoming escape making the teenager that much more relaxed.

Plus, as Wade's heart rate slowed, the anger I'd been clamping down on all night drifted out of my mind as well. Unlike my brother, I gained pleasure from seeing the shifters around me happy rather than terrified, so I was glad to let my wolf's rage dissipate in the interest of making Wade that little bit more relaxed in my presence.

"When I come back in a minute, I want you to struggle a little, but not too much," I finished my instructions. "And keep the noise level down. Okay?"

"Yes, sir," the younger shifter agreed, and I grinned, thinking how much my brother would have loved to hear the honorific that naturally flowed from the boy's lips when presented with a true alpha werewolf.

I, on the other hand, preferred to nip that kind of subservient behavior in the bud. "Not 'sir'," I admonished him gently. "Just Wolfie. Now try to flex your feet while I'm gone so you'll be able to walk. I'll see you in a minute."

Then, with one last look back at my brother's quarry, I slipped two-footed into the darkness.

Chapter 4

"CHIEF YOUNG!" THE middle-aged guard jerked awake, terror overwhelming his signature aroma of meadow grass and buttercups. I resisted the urge to cock my head to one side, trying to remember the man from a childhood spent wandering as a wolf pup amid my father's pack. The trouble was that I'd been fully engaged in my lupine brain during that portion of my past, so images of human faces from the time had since melted into a fuzzy mass of varying emotions. Picking out any shifter except my immediate family from those dreamlike memories was an exercise in futility.

And, really, any past relationship I'd had with this guard was currently irrelevant. Because for the next five minutes, I wasn't Wolfie Young. I was his older brother Justin, wannabe chief of the original Young tribe. A chief who wouldn't have been pleased to find his guard napping while on duty.

Luckily, the shifter before me was cowering too low to realize that I hadn't yet spoken, a boon since I was unsure whether my voice would pass muster. In the dark, I was pretty confident that I looked like my brother. And I'd made darned sure I smelled like my brother. But could I fill my words with the same uncaring lilt that Justin so effortlessly achieved? I doubted it, so I simply snapped my fingers then pointed at my heels, and was glad when the guard followed in my footsteps like the loyal dog my brother had trained him to be.

As we approached, Wade met my eyes across the clearing, and I almost lost my stern facade when the kid winked before starting to thrash about. Despite his supposed struggle, though, the teenager was careful to manage his motions so his chains barely clanked together, the resulting noise not nearly loud enough to attract the patrolling wolves' attention or to wake up slumbering shifters nearby. Good job, kid, I thought, once again impressed by Wade's ability to rise to the occasion while hungry, thirsty, and low on sleep.

I couldn't focus on Wade now, though, because the moment of truth had finally come—time for me to open my mouth and put my charade to the test. Luckily, I was able to time my words to correspond with Wade's movements so my tone was slightly muffled by the sound of the boy's struggles. "Take him down," I demanded, making an effort not to meet the guard's eyes as he sent a surprised glance toward my face. "Now," I added, filling my voice with an alpha command and a hearty dose of impatience all at once. That final word, at least, had sounded like my brother.

"Yes, sir," Justin's lackey answered, fumbling with a key as he unhooked Wade's first manacle. Then, while the guard's attention focused away from his prisoner's face, Wade met my eyes over the older man's head, raising one eyebrow in question. The boy and I both knew that, had Justin really ordered his guard to release Wade from those chains, the young drifter would have taken this opportunity to lash out at his captors. But I saw no reason to let the drifter punch the middle-aged guard in the eye—after all, he hadn't been the one who decided to leave this kid hanging out in the cold for hours—so I shook my head in a quick negation.

Many young shifters would have ignored my subtle command, needing to salve their own wounded egos after being chained for so long. But Wade was different. Instead of lashing out, he slumped down as if unable to hold his own weight, subtly twisting the guard around in the process so I was out of the older man's line of sight.

The motion allowed me to relax my vigilance for a moment, and I raised my nose in a quick search for nearby scents. Around us, the night was still and nearly silent, only a nearly inaudible murmur from the other side of the campground proving that not quite every shifter was sound asleep. Closer by, I could smell Justin's patrolling werewolves, currently crossing paths at the opposite corner of the encampment. If I didn't want to be asked why I was leading my brother's prisoner out of his temporary territory in the middle of the night, then now was the time to make our escape.

"The collar?" the guard asked at last, and I motioned for him to remove that final restraint with a curt nod. Then, walking over to grip the shoulder of Wade's shirt in a rough ball within my fist, I snapped my fingers at Justin's lackey and pointed toward the cluster of tents, sending the guard scurrying to his bed like a dog ordered into its kennel.

As soon as the older man had turned away, Wade and I strode quickly in the opposite direction, breaking into a run once the guard was out of sight. Our escape plan had gone off without a hitch, but as things currently stood, Justin had the right to walk into my own territory and take back his property by force. Which meant we didn't have a second to spare.

* * *

"WAKE UP, SLEEPYHEAD." I nudged my milk brother, who was slumped half upright across the doorway of our shared tent. In human form, Chase had likely been gnawing his fingernails to the quick for hours while I'd been enjoying the night air and waiting for my blood brother's encampment to fall asleep. Another twinge of guilt shot through me. I'd make that worry up to my friend...but not right now. We had more important matters to take care of right at this moment.

"Wolfie, finally," Chase muttered, dragging a hand across his eyes and pushing a tangled mass of hair out of his face at the same time. "I was...oh." His glance fell upon the drifter, who appeared less sure of himself now that he was walking into yet another enemy encampment.

At the sign of my milk brother's narrowing eyes, Wade's shoulders hunched down as if waiting for a blow, proof that the teenager hadn't come out of his ordeal entirely unscathed. Once again, I would have liked to take the time to ease the boy's angst. But instead, I chose a bit of levity to soothe souls while keeping us all on track.

"Look, Mom," I teased Chase, gesturing toward the younger shifter with a flourish. "He followed me home. Can I keep him?"

Rather than answering right away, Chase's nostrils flared, and I could tell the astute shifter was piecing together the events of the evening by smell and guesswork. Justin's gun-metal aroma lingered on my blood brother's stolen clothing, and Wade's new scent of charred apple pie mingled with the residual odor from the chains and handcuffs. Chase wouldn't know all of the details of our nighttime escapades, but his nose would tell him enough to prevent the chewing out I so roundly deserved.

"Okay," my milk brother said at last, and I grinned at the long-suffering sigh that went along with his simple acceptance of the situation. "What do you need me to do?"

"Wake up Uncle Oscar, would you?" I answered. "I'm not sure how long it will take for Justin to realize that his guest has flown the coop. But when he does, we all need to be clear that Wade is mine."

The final word came out of my mouth with a bite that would have done my blood brother credit, and I instantly regretted the hint of anger that had once again caused my new pack mate to cringe away. Chase, though, understood that I was simply upset at Justin's behavior, and my friend dropped a comforting hand onto my shoulder before slipping his feet into untied tennis shoes and leaving the two of us alone in the small dome tent.

Wade and I sat in silence for a moment while my brain rushed through all of the potential ways to evade my blood brother's inevitable wrath. Really, there was only one solution, but I hated to tie this drifter down at such a young age, not when he might not fully understand that he was about to partake of an oath stronger than a human marriage vow. Because the reality was, when swearing allegiance to an alpha in the old way, there was no option for divorce.

"Um, I can just go if you want," Wade ventured at last, his eyes scanning the small space as if seeking an escape hatch. "I really appreciate the help, but I don't want to cause you any more trouble...."

"Is leaving what you really want to do?" I asked him, pinning the younger shifter down with a penetrating stare. I didn't like using my alpha strength on someone smaller and weaker than I was, but it was essential to make sure I wasn't forcing this teenager to swear to me against his will.

For a moment, the boy seemed undecided. Then, beneath his skin, his wolf rose to its feet and tentatively wagged its tail in my direction, dropping its front paws down as if to play. Naw, the kid didn't really want to go back into outpack territory, wandering without a family until the packless ache in his gut made him do something stupid once again.

But Wade's human side still felt like he owed me for releasing him from Justin's chains, and the kid didn't want to cause any more hassle than he already had. So he shifted uncomfortably beneath my gaze before finally shaking his head slowly but firmly. Nope, the boy didn't want to keep drifting, which was all I really needed to know.

Wade, on the other hand, needed to know a whole lot more before he could make an informed decision.

"Okay, here's what you're getting into," I said, and proceeded to lay out the facts as the rest of my pack gathered outside Chase's and my tent. Because, of course, my milk brother wouldn't have stopped at waking Oscar. My friend would have talked to his mother first, and Tia would have ordered him to round up the rest of our little band while he was at it. Tradition required all members of a werewolf tribe to be present at a swearing in, and my present and future pack members all deserved the full ceremony rather than the truncated version I'd been planning. Trust Tia to have thought through all of the repercussions of what seemed like a simple matter to my lupine brain.

"We're not a normal pack," I finished my explanation, jerking my chin toward the open doorway and letting the young drifter smell for himself the hodgepodge of shifters who called me alpha. Our clan was a smaller, tighter pack than we'd been when leaving the Young property seven years earlier. In the interim, many of our number had found mates in other packs and had moved away with my blessing to make new homes for themselves elsewhere. Those shifters had been held in my father's tribe by the older alpha's refusal to relinquish any perceived power, but I saw no reason to stand between any werewolf and his or her happiness.

My cousin Berndt, on the other hand, had recently taken a purely human wife, which added to our strength in my opinion but would count as a detriment by the standards of most werewolves. Then there was the halfie Fen, a twelve-year-old tomboy who had opted to stay with us when her parents moved back in with her mother's human relatives. Even rubbing the sleepy dust out of her eyes, Fen looked ready to take on the world, and now she shot me a glance, ready and waiting for a command to take the older and larger stranger beside me down.

All told, our so-called clan numbered seven, me included, a laughable showing when two members were women and one was a little girl. But Wade didn't laugh. Instead, I could see that his wolf felt an instant kinship with the hodgepodge of shifters and non-shifters assembled just beyond the tent's canvas walls.

"I'd be honored to become a part of your pack," the drifter said after a moment of reflection, pitching his words loud enough to be heard by the onlookers. And I could have sworn that, for the first time that night, the burnt overtone began to lift away from the teenager's scent.

So I nodded toward Chase, who slipped out of his clothes and donned fur at my feet. Traditionally, we should have used a knife to tear through skin, but my milk brother's teeth were sharp and would do the job just as well. Plus, it seemed fitting that the bond Wade and I were building should reach beyond myself and this young drifter shivering by my side.

But words before blood. "Wade Young," I said, giving the kid my own last name in lieu of the surname he'd been hesitant to reveal. I understood—lone wolves were often tossed out of their home packs for no reason beyond looking at their alphas funny, so I wouldn't particularly want to be tied by name to his old clan either. "Do you promise to protect and support every member of this clan with your life's blood and to accept our protection in return?"

Oscar shot me a surprised glance, but no one else seemed to realize that I had played fast and loose with the traditional wording of the fealty oath. Usually, an alpha would require a new member to swear allegiance to the leader himself and would promise nothing in exchange, but that seemed like a pretty crappy deal to me.

Plus, what kind of protection was I likely to need? If Wade was ever going to risk his life for someone, I wanted him to protect Berndt's human wife Acacia. Or to stand back to back with Chase, if for some reason I wasn't there to do my duty by my milk brother when danger came to call.

"I promise," Wade said, his voice firmer than I would have expected after the night's ordeal. We still haven't taken time to give him anything to eat or drink, I realized, but I pushed that thought aside in order to make my own vow in exchange.

"And I, Wolf Young, take you into my pack. I will protect you and support you with my life's blood for as long as we both shall live." Lowering my wrist, I felt the sharp pain as Chase's teeth ripped through my skin, then watched as Wade unflinchingly allowed his own flesh to be torn in turn.

Deep inside, my lupine mind snickered a bit at the pomp and circumstance. After all, the truth was that neither the words we spoke nor the blood we drank really mattered. What would make this ceremony so real that even Justin would be able to smell my ownership of this young shifter was my intention to make Wade my own, combined with the drifter's intention to submit to my alpha commands. So, as I lifted my hand to offer life's blood to my newest pack member and to lick the trickle of liquid off his wrist in turn, I promised myself that Wade would become as much a brother to me as Chase was.

Outpack drifter no more, the werewolf who stood straight and tall in front of me had clearly resolved to do the same. In fact, I could almost see the bands of packhood forming between Wade and the other shifters arrayed around us. And when I sniffed the air, I smelled only apple cider and cinnamon coming from the boy's direction, the trauma of the previous hours entirely washed away by his introduction to our found family.

The final hint of tension that had ached across my shoulders eased then as I realized that it was finally time to relax my guard. Because no one now stood in my temporary territory except members of my own pack.

Chapter 5

JUSTIN AND HIS lackeys showed up at our camp boundaries at dawn, waking me out of a blissful sleep. It had simply felt right to drowse off in a jumble of fur and paws after our fealty ceremony, a third wolf sharing the tent that had previously housed only my milk brother and myself. In the wee hours of the morning, I'd listened as first Chase and then Wade allowed their consciousness to slip away, and the sound of my pack mates' calm breathing was enough to make what was bound to be a stressful day ahead seem worthwhile. Then, eventually, I'd joined the others in catching a few z's.

Of course, I'd chosen to nap in lupine form to ensure that—unlike my blood brother—I wouldn't sleep through any important occurrences. Sure enough, I came awake in time to catch the first hint of the inevitable drama unfolding a dozen yards away.

"Fuck, no, I won't go back to my own territory and wait!" Justin shouted as I yawned and slowly rose onto two feet. Much as I hated to leave my wolf behind, I'd require the cleverness of my human tongue to prevent bloodshed today. "He has something that belongs to me," my blood brother continued, "and I plan to walk in there and take back what's mine."

"You will do as I say." I was surprised to hear the second voice, although I really shouldn't have been. As All-Pack host, Chief Wilder had every right to mediate altercations between other alphas. On the other hand, I'd never known the old man to show any particular aversion to knuckles hitting skin, so I would have expected the powerful alpha to simply gather up some popcorn and a lounge chair to better enjoy the upcoming performance. Because why halt a potential fight when you could instead choose to watch and gloat over the aftermath?

Still, Crazy Wilder always did have a bone to pick with my father. So it wasn't such a surprise to find that his antipathy had carried past the grave and fallen upon my brother's head. The question was—would Crazy Wilder's dislike extend to encompass me as well?

Not that it really mattered. I fought my own battles and was quite prepared to take Justin down. And, if I had to, I'd find a way to vanquish Crazy Wilder as well, assuming the older alpha so much as looked at my pack funny.

"What do you want us to do?" Wade asked quietly, and I turned to catch the teenager and my milk brother both peering at me with equally questioning gazes. The duo clearly expected me to have all the answers, although both were ready to dive in and support me if necessary. Looked like I was going to be required to act as more than a figurehead this morning.

Despite myself, I shivered, unable to hold onto the same easy arrogance when two-legged that I had felt while in lupine form. Meanwhile, my human brain was kicking rustily into gear, reminding me that seven pack mates now looked to me for protection and that the day's stakes were much higher than my wish to see my brother humiliated in front of the other packs. If I played my cards wrong this morning, then Wade would end up back in the hands of the sadistic bastard who I so unwillingly called my brother, and Justin wouldn't hesitate to make the ex-drifter suffer before killing him very publicly this time around.

As if Wade's continuing existence wasn't pressure enough, there was also the issue of my pack's territorial claim. Without the public recognition that I was hoping to garner at this year's gathering, any outpack werewolf would be within his rights to sneak onto our property and wreak havoc. Coming openly to All-Pack had been a gamble in that regard. I was still hoping to be formally recognized as alpha before the week was out, but as part of applying for that privilege, I'd dropped the anonymity that had protected my pack mates for the last seven years. In the past, no one had cared whether or not my pack existed. But if we failed to win pack status now, it would be open season on Pack Young.

Chase raised one eyebrow, picking up on my apprehensions, and I knew it would only be a matter of seconds before my milk brother passed his uneasiness along to Wade, who would in turn transfer the lack of confidence to the rest of the pack. Time to suck it up and act like an alpha.

So I took a deep breath and then gazed into first Chase's and then Wade's eyes. "You don't need to do anything," I told them firmly. "I've got a breakfast date with my brother, so you two just get to watch."

* * *

NOW THAT I could see him face-to-face in daylight, Justin looked less like my evil twin and more like our shared father. And since being glared at by those cold brown eyes reminded me far too much of similar setdowns by the old Chief Young, I came out swinging...metaphorically speaking, that is.

"I would say it's good to see you," I called as I strode closer. "But, gee, I was actually hoping you'd make like a sewer and get the shit out of here."

It was a childish jab, but when Justin's jaw clenched, I knew my words had hit home. Still, the other alpha had clearly matured during the years we'd spent apart, and Justin wasn't willing to be goaded into making a fool of himself in front of our ever-growing audience. Not a big surprise, but a disappointment nonetheless.

"I'll leave as soon as you return my property," my blood brother responded simply. Then, looking over my shoulder to where Wade wavered at the open entranceway of our tent, Justin pushed an alpha compulsion into his voice. "You. Stop hiding like a coward and get down here to take your medicine like a man."

I didn't need to turn around in order to see Wade begin to walk forward, his feet responding to the pack leader's command even though the boy wanted nothing more than to stay put. Hating the fact that the teenager was being treated like a puppet, but unwilling to let him get any closer to the danger zone, I countered Justin's command with a single word. "Don't."

In front of me, Justin's cheeks flushed red as he realized the depth of power behind my edict, but I was more concerned with the word's effect on Wade. Glancing back, I saw that the boy had sunken down into a crouch, a hand on his forehead as he struggled to counter the whiplash of compulsions that had wracked his body in such short order. Between Justin's manacles, the wound Chase had torn into Wade's wrist, and the current headache that was bound to be rising behind the boy's eyes, this wasn't a good twenty-four hours for my newest pack mate.

Frowning at my own thoughtlessness, I started to walk toward the boy, only to pause when Chase met my eye and gave the tiniest shake of his head. The ex-drifter would be okay, my milk brother was telling me; Chase would see to it. Then one lifted eyebrow from my friend reminded me that I needed to keep my attention trained on the real issue at hand—my blood brother's jealousy and wounded pride. Who knew what Justin would do once he realized that he wouldn't be able to force Wade to walk off my territory and turn himself over to his previous captor.

A captor who was currently doing his darnedest to intimidate me, between the glower on his face and the brawny guards at his back. But Justin had never scared me during our shared childhood and he wasn't about to send me scurrying for cover now.

On the other hand, the fact that I was technically in the wrong and had several pack mates looking to me for protection was sufficient incentive to keep me on my toes. Time to start twisting the truth.

"As you can see, the boy is not your property," I said, tossing out my opening gambit. "After receiving your thoughtful letter last week, I sent this member of my pack to respond. And even if Wade told you things you didn't want to hear, I don't appreciate you shooting the messenger."

"That's not..." Justin began, then swallowed his angry words, realizing how childish he must sound to the assembled onlookers. I watched as the realization dawned in my blood brother's eyes that ownership of Wade had deteriorated into a case of his word against mine, with the so-called facts pointing toward my version of the truth. After all, no one except our two packs knew that I'd only accepted Wade's fealty a few hours earlier. And if the boy had indeed been a member of my pack, then Justin's behavior would have been out of compliance with All-Pack regulations and would have put my brother clearly in the wrong.

"I apologize if my pack mate was rude," I continued, getting into the swing of things and enjoying this opportunity to bait a sibling who had spent all of our joint childhood dangling his superior privileges in front of my hungry eyes. Behind me, I could feel Chase's gaze boring into my skin and warning me to wrap things up, to quit while I was ahead. But I couldn't resist rubbing Justin's nose in the dirt—hadn't that been one of my prime objectives in attending All-Pack after all?

"Perhaps you need to grow a thicker skin, big brother," I continued waving one hand to emphasize my words. It was only after murmurs began to spread through our audience that I realized my mistake. The partially healed wound on the underside of my wrist had flashed through the air as I spoke, and every werewolf would be able to smell the freshness of the drying blood on my skin.

"You asshole," Justin ground out, the words turning into a garble as he split his clothes down the seams and shifted uncontrollably into lupine form before leaping in my direction.

In the second it took me to decide whether to attack, Chief Wilder's command dropped everyone within earshot to the ground. "Down," he barked, and the lot of us fell onto our haunches in immediate surrender.

Chapter 6

"YOU AND YOUR brother are stupid pups who don't deserve to attend All-Pack, let alone to be recognized as pack leaders," Crazy Wilder told me, but his words lacked heat. Instead, he seemed to be amused by my audacity as the two of us stood alone under the noon-time sun, every nearby shifter having discretely melted into the distance at a single glare from Chief Wilder. Now that was a trick I was going to have to master.

But I didn't have time to be impressed since I knew that the alpha in front of me was the only thing standing between my clan and the harsh justice of All-Pack. Hours earlier, the same shifter had ended Justin's and my tussle with a single word, and then my brother and I had been hustled back to opposite corners of the campground by Wilder guards. After that, I'd spent the next two hours cooling my heels and waiting to find out how Chief Wilder planned to deal with alphas breaking the peace at the gathering over which he presided.

Despite my own concerns, I'd soothed my pack's worries by telling them that the worst Crazy Wilder could do was to kick us out of the current gathering. Still, my words hadn't helped much since we all knew that being forcibly removed from All-Pack would be like painting a target on each pack member's back. That knowledge hanging in the air had made Wade beg for permission to turn himself over to my brother in reparation, but I could tell by looking in the eyes of my other pack mates that no one was willing to lose the boy in order to save our own skins. Sure, Wade had been a trespassing drifter twenty-four hours prior, but now the boy was one of us. So I'd simply shaken my head and known that Wade would accede to my wishes without any need for an alpha compulsion.

And yet, now, as I enjoyed this tête-à-tête with Crazy Wilder, I started to doubt my own decisions. Should my pack mates and I have fled last night, disappearing into the night with Wade and hoping that the ruckus would blow over before Justin tracked our newest member down? Had I opted to stand and fight for the right reason—to protect my pack? Or had I merely been thumbing my nose at a brother who had always acted as a thorn in my side?

The past doesn't matter, I reminded myself, channeling my inner wolf. I yearned for the simple familiarity of my lupine body, but I had a feeling that Chief Wilder wanted to strike a deal with me, or he wouldn't have been piercing through my skin with his cold, hard eyes, chin resting on one hand as he eyed me consideringly. The question was—could I live with the other alpha's deal or not?

Crazy Wilder liked to play with his prey, and I knew he would have gladly beaten around the bush for another half hour at least. But I was ready to shift and wanted to get this over with, so I cut right to the chase. "My brother and I are stupid pups. I get that. But useful ones, I'm guessing," I offered. "So what do you want from me and what are you planning to give me in exchange?"

For a moment, Chief Wilder simply glared, and I wondered if I'd finally managed to overstep my bounds and anger the wily old wolf. But then he erupted into gales of laughter that seemed to express honest amusement, and yet still didn't sound quite...right. I shivered, but didn't take my gaze away from the older shifter's watering eyes.

Minutes once again passed and I waited as patiently as possible. I'd laid my cards on the table, and now it was time to see whether Crazy Wilder would do the same.

"What's in it for you is simple," the All-Pack host said at last, speaking so quietly that the guards ten feet away were unlikely to make out his words, let alone any other shifter hovering in the nearby trees. "I'll side with you, back your play to make your little clan official, and then I'll let you walk out of here with your brother's prisoner as your own."

Exactly what I'd hoped for in the best-case scenario. Which meant that I was in deep shit since Crazy Wilder never gave something for nothing. "And for you?"

"I don't want anything right now," Crazy Wilder answered immediately, and his lips spread into a wide grin that almost made my teeth chatter. "I want...a favor. To be named later. At a time of my choosing."

Boy, howdy. I'd barely been paying attention in English class that day, but I was pretty sure that what Crazy Wilder was suggesting could be construed as making a deal with the devil. Chase would have told me to walk away from this bargain, to find another way to get what I wanted. Never promise an undesignated future favor, my milk brother would have chided me. There's always another solution. Hadn't that been the whole deal with Rumpelstiltskin? Or perhaps it was the moral of another story entirely? Reading never had been my strong suit.

But I wasn't living in a fairy tale. I was sitting across from the biggest, baddest werewolf around, and he had me over a barrel.

Plus, I could tell from how relaxed Crazy Wilder's shoulders were that he was enjoying playing with me...and that he didn't plan to take no for an answer.

So I did the only thing I could—I agreed...with one caveat.

"Okay," I said simply, stepping forward and subtly invading the older shifter's space in the process. Only the sharp inhalation of air through his flaring nostrils proved that I'd managed to get the old man's goat. "I'll agree to your terms. But only if you understand that you're making a deal with me personally, not with my pack. I'll promise you a future favor, but you'll exact your pound of flesh from me alone, not from anyone I call a member of my pack."

The All-Pack host rocked back on his heels, and for a moment, I thought I'd gone too far. Would the stronger alpha set me down and remind me that I had nothing to bargain with? Or would he find my spunk amusing, the same way I'd been heartened by Wade's refusal to obey my brother's commands when the latter was tethered to a tree via three chains and a metal collar?

As I waited to see which way Chief Wilder's mood would tip, I found myself holding my breath, and I forced myself to breathe normally once again. No matter what the older alpha ended up deciding, I'd find a way to get my clan out of here safely. My pack mates and I could relocate across the country if necessary. We would make things work.

But perhaps we wouldn't need to go to all that trouble. "Deal," the older alpha said at last. Then, with a motion so swift I barely saw his hand move before I felt the pain, Chief Wilder ripped through the scab on my wrist and sucked down my blood before pinching his own skin with human teeth and offering his blood in exchange. "Now swear," he ground out.

I didn't hesitate. What was the point when I knew I couldn't go back on my word, oath or no oath? Crazy Wilder was simply too powerful to cross.

"I, Wolf Young, swear to obey you, Chief Wilder, once for a favor of your choosing," I said, feeling the words seep into my wolf nature and solidify there like coagulating blood. Then I stood with feet rooted to the earth and watched as the devil walked away, a smug smile spread across his lined face.

And even though I'd sworn an oath I knew I'd live to regret, the anguish eased from my heart little by little as the older shifter passed out of view. Someday, Chief Wilder and I would have to finish this dance we'd begun, but for now I had more important matters to attend to.

It was time to track down the rest of my clan and make sure Fen didn't have our newest pack mate in a head lock. It was time to build bonds with other tribes to ensure my found family would be safe within the territory we'd soon be returning to.

In short, it was high time to start acting like an alpha. And not as a figurehead this time around, but as a real, live leader who would put the needs of his pack first rather than taking crazy chances for the sake of his own ego.

I guess those dreams of shark-wrangling will have to wait, I thought as I headed back into the crowd. But I felt a smirk rising up onto my face despite this surrender of my youthful flights of fancy.

After all, what could be more difficult than carving out a territory for my little band of downtrodden shifters between the properties already claimed by other bloodthirsty werewolves? Good thing my wolf and I thrived on a challenge.

Two Scents' Worth

Episode 3

Chapter 1

DELICIOUS.

I make it a policy not to distinguish between my wolf and human brains, but this time the animal half had gone too far. Our lupine nostrils flared as we sucked in the refreshing scent of the young woman wandering so enticingly alone beneath the leafy canopy. Drool dripped down our shared chin and those classic fairy-tale words popped into our head unbidden: The better to eat you with my dear.

Don't get me wrong. We didn't want to consume her...well, not precisely. She just smelled so damn good.

It's the lack of an entourage, I told myself, forcing my nose into the leaf litter in an effort to block out the girl's tantalizing aroma. I had to keep my wits about me because I couldn't really believe that this wasn't a trap. A pack princess alone and unguarded in the woods? Did none of her male relatives care that she smelled like sex on a stick to every male shifter within a hundred-meter radius?

Apparently not. And, knowing her father as I did, I couldn't blame the girl for giving her male relatives the slip.

Taking stock of my own body, I found my ears turned backwards with arousal and noticed that I was repetitively licking my front paws as I strove to keep less savory urges in check. The compulsion to spring from my crouched position beneath the spicebush and rush toward the pack princess was so strong, in fact, that I shifted into human form for the sole purpose of clearing my head.

Branches scratched against my bare bum and I rolled my eyes at my own behavior. I wasn't a teenage human unable to keep my eyes off a pretty girl, for crying out loud. I was a shifter and a pack leader, on a reconnaissance mission for the good of my clan.

Plus, my bloodling nature made it obvious that four legs were always better than two. So what was wrong with me that I felt the need to declaw myself in the presence of this pack princess?

Luckily, now that the full depth of her aroma was muffled by my human nose, the woman was no longer quite so attractive. Meaning that the urge to hump every nearby tree was fading. Making progress.

Instead, I was able to pay attention to the factors I'd come here to discover. Yes, this pack princess was the correct age, her facial structure and coloration in the right ball park to be the werewolf who I'd spent the last three weeks tracking down.

"I, Wolf Young, swear to obey you, Chief Wilder, once for a favor of your choosing."

Those words, torn from my lips the previous winter, were the precise reason why I was now hunting pack princesses through a mountain wilderness. Against my better judgment, I'd promised this woman's father an undetermined future service, but I didn't plan to sit on my hands and wait for him to collect at his leisure. Instead, I was spending every spare moment seeking out the chinks in Chief Wilder's armor.

Chinks like his two estranged daughters, both living a dangerous but independent life style hidden in plain sight within the human world. One daughter down, one daughter to go.

Because when Chief Wilder called in his debts, I planned to have two aces up my sleeve. For the sake of my own pack, I'd be ready.

Chapter 2

VICTOR: YOU THERE or just drooling on your keyboard?

The words popped onto my screen unbidden and I rolled my eyes. Trust a hacker to think that text messaging and emails were for losers. Instead, my closest cyber buddy Victor considered it a challenge to hack into my private laptop and send write-messages directly to the command line. Never mind that the words' location messed with the coding work that paid my pack's bills.

Wolf: Here but busy. Gotta make a buck.

Despite my curt reply, I was actually glad to hear from the unruly hacker. He'd been a staple in my life ever since I'd traded an afternoon of yard work for this ancient laptop last year and entered the twenty-first century.

From our first virtual meeting, I'd gotten the impression that Victor was lonely. So I'd shrugged and mentally enfolded him into my pack. Not that the other programmer knew that was how I thought of him. Victor was a typical young human male who pretty much considered only his own best interests at all times. I'd never mentioned my fur and claws, and he'd never picked up on the not-so-subtle hints I tossed in his direction to clue him in to my otherness.

Victor's non-pack-centric worldview also made it tough for him to understand why I found it so imperative to take some of the financial strain off Tia's shoulders. But, despite not grokking my work ethic, my friend had come through by providing several leads that brought in a trickle of income and helped keep us all in gas money. In return, I'd performed a few random favors to keep his overly concerned parents at bay.

Unfortunately, minor website-design jobs weren't going to be enough to fund the project I was currently envisioning. So I typed a quick addition to my initial reply.

Wolf: Any leads on bigger jobs?

The deal was, I was still obsessed with my promise to the Chief. I'd learned the hard way that daughter number one was okay on her own. Plus, she rattled my lupine nature way too much to be incorporated into any future strategies.

On the other hand, a visit to daughter number two's residence had given me a firm plan of action for getting out from under Chief Wilder's thumb. The second pack princess was dead and had left behind a son being raised in the human world with no knowledge of his werewolf heritage. The potential for debt reduction was huge...as long as I could come up with two hundred grand to purchase the abandoned trailer park on the other side of the mountain and enfold the pup into my new territory.

But, as I waited for Victor's reply, I held out little hope that my cyber buddy would help me accumulate the much-needed down payment. He usually typed a mile a minute, and I'd expected two or three messages to be waiting impatiently once I shook the current brain fart out of my head. Instead, the terminal before me remained blank, cursor blinking elusively.

Which could mean only one thing. Victor did have a lead on something big, but he wasn't particularly keen on sharing it. Time to play on his competitive streak.

Wolf: Scared to share, huh? Think I'll pull the rug out from under your ass and leave you hungry?

Victor wouldn't be literally hungry without his coding, of course, or I wouldn't have prodded his pride. The young male still lived at home with two doting parents who paid for everything except his video-game addiction. Which is why Victor was usually so generous about sending job opportunities my way. Why work when he'd rather be playing?

Luckily for me, Victor's lazy streak won out over greed once again. Because a message hit my screen at last.

Victor: If you need dough, I'm on the trail of a whole bakery.

Rolling my eyes, I input a single question mark. Yes, Victor tended to type in complete sentences...but not necessarily in complete thoughts.

Victor: Gonna run with the big dogs.

I couldn't help laughing at the hacker's words, wondering what he'd think if he stumbled across my pack during one of our hunts. Half a dozen huge wolves bounding through the midnight forest. Splashes of blood brilliantly red in the moonlight. Sharp teeth and bone-rattling howls. The human would probably shit his pants.

Still, I followed the link my friend had provided at the end of his message and found I was viewing a wanted ad on the website of a podunk bank from small-town Ohio. First Ohio Bank and Trust was seeking a computer-security firm to upgrade their online banking portal and applicants were invited to speak with the bank manager in person at a convention this coming weekend. The salary wasn't exorbitant. But considering my pack lived mostly on poached deer and rabbit fur, it would be enough.

I could've checked my calendar like a pro, but there was no point. I was free. I was nearly always free.

Wolf: You going for the job? Wouldn't that mean getting out of your jammies five days a week?

Victor: Fuck you, dude. It's work-from-home. And the 'rents are starting to whinge about employment AGAIN.

Wolf: LOL. Well, then it's yours. You'll be the world's best anti-hacker.

I didn't want to cede what looked like a lucrative gig. But I considered Victor my friend even though I wasn't so sure he would have said the same about me. At least he'd given me an idea for another direction where I could look for pack-friendly employment. Surely First Ohio wasn't the only bank out there in need of a security analyst to revamp their online safety net....

I moved the mouse to click on a new browser tab. But before I could follow that thought trail, my gaze was drawn back to new words popping into existence on my terminal.

Victor: Hey, I'm up for a challenge if you are. No one's going to pick baby hacker over me.

I smiled. Seemed like human males responded to taunting just as predictably as shifter males. Next we'd embark on a dick-measuring contest.

But, meanwhile, my friend had a valid point—I'd only learned how to turn on a computer twelve months ago. Could I really handle online security for even a small-town bank?

Of course, unlike Victor, I hadn't wasted the last eight thousand hours playing video games. Instead, I'd fallen down the digital rabbit hole with a vengeance and was already proficient at multiple programming languages.

And, in the end, I knew I worked best under pressure. So I had a feeling Victor would come to regret his chivalry.

Wolf: You sure?

Victor: You scared?

It was decided. I would see Victor—and his bank manager—at MavCon.

Chapter 3

"WE CAN COME into the hotel with you if you want."

Chase—my milk brother, my best friend—sometimes felt annoyingly like a nanny. What was this, the first day of kindergarten?

It was bad enough that my entire pack had banded together and refused to allow me behind the wheel of a car on the way to MavCon. But I quickly got over that frustration when I realized my trip doubled as a chance for Wade and Chase to shake off their usual responsibilities and spend the weekend in the big city. My companions had managed to line up a concert to attend while I was glad-handing bank managers, and I particularly enjoyed seeing a spark of joy come into the eyes of the young shifter who had been a half-starved, whipped puppy only a few months before.

But the trip made much less sense if Chase was going to insist on walking me to my hotel room as if I were incompetent. Heck, I was supposed to be the pack leader around here. So why did I get the impression no one trusted me to keep fur and fangs in check in a hotel full of humans?

Which wasn't to say my milk brother was wrong. Proving Chase's point, I found myself incapable of voicing my current combination of annoyance and appreciation in words. So I simply raised one eyebrow, knowing Chase could read every thought that ran through my mind with the ease of long practice.

I'm going in alone, I thought, flaring my nostrils. Don't forget that I'm the alpha, not you.

In response, Wade cringed back against his seat proving that he, at least, understood that I could rip the pair of them apart without skipping a beat. Unfortunately, my potential for mayhem was the precise image I was trying to work out of the kid's head after his traumatic experience at my brother's hands last winter. So I was much less heartened by his reaction than another pack leader might have been.

Beside me, Chase's mouth quirked up into a smug smile. The bastard probably provoked my show of anger on purpose to remind me what was at stake if I screwed up.

Fuck. That's so totally fighting unfair.

Still, I couldn't leave Wade cowering in the backseat. So I made sure my voice was calm enough to soothe the young shifter at the same time as I whipped out my cell phone and laid my best friend's worries at rest.

"You're on autodial." As if in reaction to my words, Chase's phone rang from his hip pocket, my finger having hit the proper buttons without even looking. I really wasn't incompetent with human ways...just not very practiced at them. "And I promise to call you, Mom, if I need you."

I read the good humor in Chase's face just as easily as he'd read the annoyance in mine. "Sorry," he said softly, clapping one hand on my shoulder. "I didn't mean to hover. It's just the rules about outing ourselves to humans are so strict...."

"Yeah, I know."

I did know. And as Chase so ably read in my stiffened shoulders, I was scared shitless of this building full of unwitting humans. What if I messed up and let myself shift into my more proper form  in a moment of weakness? What if I got angry and scared the living daylights out of a hundred two-leggers with a single look?

No what-ifs. I've been learning to act human for eight years. If I pay close attention, I can pass for forty-eight hours.

"Day after tomorrow at five pm?" Chase asked at last, ceding the point.

"Five pm," I confirmed.

Then I hopped out of the car and strode into the sea of swirling humanity.

* * *

SNIFFING MY WAY through the hotel lobby that first evening, I hunted Victor. We'd set up a meet in the bar for seven pm, but it appeared half of the conference attendees had done the same. Still, I was confident my lupine nose would pick my cyber buddy out of the crowd of geeks despite never having smelled him before. He'd reek of potato chips and old sweat and would also be easy to discern based on his stained t-shirt and rumpled jeans. Or so I assumed from the conversations we'd held online over the last twelve months.

Unfortunately everyone resembled the picture I'd built up in my imagination of the introverted brainiac. In fact, it wasn't until I forced my eyes to focus on the name tags that I found my friend.

"Victor" read the sticker carefully aligned on my friend's jacket pocket, and the word felt more like a description than a name. Because my cyber buddy had clearly decided to lead with his best foot forward, having arrived in a stylish suit that put my own attempt at respectability to shame.

Meanwhile, I could see from the gazes of the attendees around him that Victor had already made half a dozen friends this evening. He seemed to be the human equivalent of an alpha werewolf, drawing in weaker humans with a magnetic personality that made it easy for bystanders to overlook his flaws.

And here I thought I only had to compete with a computer geek tomorrow morning. Instead, Victor turned out to be that epitome of human perfection that I'd long ago stopped even bothering to envy, let alone emulate. Suddenly, my chances of getting the First Ohio gig looked like the white flag of a doe tail as the alarmed animal bounded away into a laurel thicket. Barely glimpsed and soon gone.

The truth was that I'd spent the better part of a decade learning to pass for human, and I was now moderately proficient at the task...on a good day. But non-shifters still tended to consider even my most valiant efforts menacing and odd despite the careful veil I layered between my wolf and the human world. No way could I pretend to be the golden boy that Victor so effortlessly portrayed. No way would my computer skills be sufficient to nab the coveted job when my cyber buddy's charisma was around to blow the bank manager out of the water.

Still, Victor was pack—in my eyes at least. So I shrugged off concern for the future and stepped forward to introduce myself.

"You're late," my friend greeted me as I tapped him on the shoulder, but his eyes shone with enthusiasm. I hadn't been wrong about that part, at least—my cyber buddy was lonely in the human world and glad of my companionship despite his ability to attract mere mortals with his charisma's enticing spark. "Here," he continued, sliding a glass down the bar, "I ordered you a drink."

I cocked my head as I accepted the vessel and the vacant seat, assessing the amber liquid in the tall glass in front of me. Yet another human rite of passage that I hadn't the foggiest clue how to participate in.

Shifters tended to have plenty to deal with in our teens and early twenties between managing new physical forms and carving out an adult place in the pack. So we seldom drank or experimented with drugs. As a result, I couldn't guess what Victor's offered glass contained.

Still, it was clear the beverage was a human test of strength much like a shifter eye-lock. So I quirked one eyebrow playfully and downed the vessel's contents in one long gulp.

"Not bad," I said aloud, even as I felt the burn of something powerful racing down my gullet. So, not just a beer then. Still, the sensation felt good, dulling my senses enough that the rush of sounds, scents, and sights around me weren't quite so overwhelming.

Every nearby eye was trained on my face, waiting for further reaction. So I gestured at the other human males whose body language suggested they were somehow allied with Victor. "Are you going to introduce me to your p...I mean, your friends?"

And I appeared to have passed the test. Because hands reached around Victor's to grasp mine and a medley of voices offered up their names.

Pack or not, it felt good to be accepted into Victor's world for one night at least.

Chapter 4

I WOKE WITH a pounding headache and blurry vision, feeling worse than the last time I'd gone in for the kill on a six-point buck and been pummeled by his antlers. Whoa. Despite my silent admonition, the room refused to stop spinning until I closed my eyes and squeezed some sense back into my brain. Perhaps matching Victor drink for drink the night before hadn't been such a bright idea after all.

Luckily, my lupine nature made it relatively easy to compartmentalize what had initially felt like unbearable agony. Stumbling across the room, I turned on the sink full blast and soaked my head beneath the cold water until I felt capable of opening my eyes. Then my gaze settled on the glowing numbers on the alarm clock.

Shit. I was late for my breakfast meeting with First Ohio's manager. Not a good start.

Pulling on pants—now wrinkled—and buttoning up the shirt Chase's mother Tia had so lovingly ironed the day before, I felt more like a child than I had in a long time. In fact, ever since tracking down the Chief's younger daughter, I'd been off my game. The woman's brown eyes and sweet scent kept drifting across my thoughts at the oddest moments...like right now, when I should have been focusing on how to apologize for tardiness without entirely shooting myself in the foot.

An intriguing pack princess was so much more interesting than a male human I'd never met, though. So as I headed downstairs on autopilot, I allowed her name to roll off my tongue slowly, like a seductively rich morsel of chocolate melting in my mouth. "Terra," I murmured to myself.

Before leaving the pack, I'd caught Tia in a talkative mood and the older woman had been quite willing to tell the story of the Chief's tomboy daughter and her great escape from the Wilder clan two years prior. Unfortunately for my mental health, the tale had only made the pack princess more enticing in my eyes...and that much more dangerous to the good of my pack. Because we were on precarious enough footing already. We didn't need to get involved in Chief Wilder's family any more than necessary to resolve my debt.

Dangerous. I sucked in another deep breath through open mouth, almost expecting the woman's aroma to fill the air. But all I smelled was stale human sweat, old cat hairs, and a hint of gasoline as the elevator doors sprang open before me. At least my human feet had been moving forward while my brain was lost in the forest with Terra.

Focus, I reminded myself one last time as my eyes locked on the dapper, gray-haired gentleman seated at the bar. This would be Bob Pendleton, the man who I hoped to wow with my knowledge of Java and ASP. Unwillingly, my imaginary pack princess turned and waved farewell before evaporating into mist.

And as my senses sharpened, I saw that danger had snuck into even this human meeting. Because even though I was supposed to interview alone, there on the stool next to my potential boss sat Victor.

With almost lupine awareness of his surroundings, the back-stabber met my eyes while I was still twenty feet away. His name tag, now absent, rose in my vision to replace the more scintillating image of Chief Wilder's younger daughter. Victor. That's precisely what my cyber buddy planned to be.

In fact, the smirk on his face proved that my hangover was just the first foray in his march toward victory.

* * *

"IT’S NO PROBLEM, young man. Take a seat."

Mr. Pendleton accepted my apology with restraint, but I could tell he'd already moved my name over from the "potential" column to the one headed "probably a waste of time." Still, the human was polite enough to carry through with my interview, even though I was running a full fifteen minutes behind schedule.

"Victor here was telling me his ideas on improving our customer login," the bank manager told me now, his eyes brightening as they ran over my newly minted frenemy. Yep, my cyber buddy had already roped the older male in. And no wonder since Victor appeared even more put together than he had the previous evening, his hair perfectly combed and his teeth sparkling with the intensity of a dental commercial.

I forced myself not to lift a hand to my own head. No, I didn't need the confirmation of touch to know that messy, wet strands were dripping sink water down the back of my neck. Humans care so much more about appearances than wolves do. I'd forgotten...or allowed myself to forget.

It was all I could do not to turn tail and run. Mr. Pendleton had clearly already decided against me and Victor was driving stakes of pain into my heart with his lack of fair play. I'd expected more from a pack mate.

But I needed this job too much to relinquish even the tiniest possibility of success. So I gave myself a one-second pep talk instead.

I'm an alpha werewolf, I reminded myself. Simply pretend the pair of humans are visiting pack leaders who need to be put in their places. Easy peasy.

Following my own advice, I raised my chin and slowly widened my lips into a grin. My older brother had generally turned red and retreated in the face of such a gesture, so I wasn't surprised to see Victor immediately deflate into his seat, the human's body suddenly angling toward the door.

Unfortunately, Mr. Pendleton's response was less expected. The older male took in my expression with a wrinkled brow and I got the distinct impression he thought he was sitting next to a serial killer.

Drat. Not quite what I was going for.

But there was no way out but forward. So I softened my gaze and launched into the spiel I'd practiced. This much, at least, I was prepared for, and Mr. Pendleton and Victor nodded along as I stated the problem. That was the easy part—we all three knew that First Ohio's website was one hot mess. The challenge was convincing the bank's manager that I was the right one to turn that mess around.

Luckily, even though my human persona could use work, I'd definitely done my homework. In fact, I'd spent every waking hour over the last few days poking around the edges of the problem, and in the process I'd come up with several potential avenues of exploration.

Which, by the annoyed expression flitting across Victor's face, was vastly more preparation than my competitor had put into this morning's meeting.

The trouble was, I could tell that Mr. Pendleton was a man who made knee-jerk decisions based on first impressions. And my first impression had been crap.

So when my spiel wound down, I was disappointed but unsurprised to find the manager putting a fatherly hand on my shoulder. "It sounds like you're going to turn into a top-notch programmer one day," he said, letting me down gently. "But I'm afraid Victor here has already turned my head."

Mr. Pendleton chuckled, inviting me to laugh with him at his choice of words, which made him sound like an innocent girl swayed by a man's handsome face. Would Terra be swayed? I couldn't help wondering. And is my face handsome enough to sway her?

I shook my head to remove the uninvited thought, the effort also going a long way toward helping me hold onto my humanity. Because the prey was still in sight, and I wasn't willing to laugh off my rejection if it meant letting the job slip through my fingers.

"Is there anything I can do to change your mind?" I asked. Then, pulling out all the stops: "I know I'm the best man for the job. In fact, I can hack into the site by the end of the conference and prove that there's a weakness present that Victor can't resolve."

I had no clue if my assertion was true, but I also wasn't exactly bluffing. Once on the track of something I really wanted, I'd never been thrown off course before. So I was confident that I could indeed figure out how to invade the banking portal within the next twenty-four hours if that's what it took to prevent this job from evaporating in a puff of smoke.

"You can't hack into First Ohio by tomorrow afternoon," my back-stabbing friend said, speaking directly to me for the first time all morning. I was gratified to see that the human's smirk was fading into annoyance as he realized Mr. Pendleton was actually considering my offer.

After a quick flicker of assessment in Victor's direction, though, my gaze remained trained on the older gentleman. His open body language made his thoughts as easy to read as if he were speaking aloud. The late one might be crazy, but a challenge is good for employee motivation, he pondered. Why not let the boys have their fun and give them an inducement to make my job their top priority?

What he said, of course, was entirely different. Typical human.

"Well, that does seem fair," Mr. Pendleton conceded. "A contest of skill. Sounds like fun."

And even though I could tell that Victor considered it anything but fun, I accepted the foothold needed to push my way back through the door that had appeared to be closing in my face.

Time to figure out how to hack into a secure banking portal.

Chapter 5

I SHIFTED INTO lupine form behind a dumpster and was careful to hold my tail dog-erect rather than wolf-low as I ran toward the park. The outing was a risk, and not just because I didn't have any time to spare on wolf body. The trouble was, I hadn't planned to change my skin and hadn't brought along my trick collar. Without Chase's number engraved into the tag, I'd be faced with a conundrum if I ended up behind bars at the local pound. Still, I badly needed to clear my head, and four feet was the fastest way to achieve my goal.

As I loped along, I remembered Chase's confusion when he first slipped into fur a decade earlier. At the time, my milk brother had explained that the yellow, blue, and gray lupine world had appeared grotesque to someone raised with human vision. His paws had covered his ears as those sensitive organs reported more information than the teenager knew how to handle, and he'd spent weeks tripping over his four furry feet.

To me, though, the current absence of reds and greens rested my eyes and focused my gaze. Similarly, the extra scents available to my lupine nostrils relaxed the hairs on the back of my neck, which seemed perpetually erect in human form as I tried and failed to track potential dangers by smell.

Then, as I entered the trees and broke into an all-out run, I experienced my favorite part of wolf brain. The intensity of a full gallop, nothing mattering except the leaves flattening beneath my feet and the breeze whirring past my face. This was pure bliss.

Unfortunately, the run wasn't helping me hack into First Ohio.

I slowed, tongue lolling out of my mouth to expend a bit of pent-up heat as I forced my mind back into the human world of employment. I hated to admit it, but Chase had been right. If he and Wade were present the previous evening, my milk brother would never have allowed me to drink myself into stupidity. And Chase would have remembered to set the alarm, giving me plenty of time to pull myself together into a human-friendly interview package. He'd likely have sat across the room, too, and listened in on my conversation with the bank manager, shooting glances in our direction as necessary to keep me on the right track.

So why had I been so adamant that this would be a solo hunt? The answer was obvious—I'd been hiding my debt from the entire pack, not wanting the other shifters to devolve into the worry that came so naturally to their human brains. Meanwhile, if I was being entirely honest, I'd also admit that I'd kept hush due to shame at letting that wily old wolf pull the wool over my eyes.

Sure, I'd made it clear that the Chief would take his pound of flesh from me alone rather than extracting his due from my pack mates. But Chase and company depended on me in a way that was unaffected by my relative incompetence as an alpha. So my clan would feel nearly as threatened at the sword dangling over my neck as if the danger had been their own.

Unfortunately, my current failure as a human being made it clear that it was past time to worry about my fellow shifters' tender feelings. If I wanted to protect the pack, then I needed to let the pack protect me first.

So I circled back around to my clothing. And as soon as my pads stretched into thumbs, I hit the first number on my speed dial. Because if I was going to make this crazy deadline that I'd set for myself, then I needed the full support of Chase and Wade at my back.

* * *

"DINNER HAS ARRIVED."

I could feel the air currents that my pack mates kicked up as they came through the door courtesy of my key card. But I didn't look up. It was 3 am and I'd gotten bloody nowhere with the website so far. Time was slipping away, so food would have to wait.

The worst part? I could feel the hole in the site's defenses with my lupine brain. But as soon as I channeled my human self to turn gut feeling into fingers on the keyboard, the wisp of understanding fled.

Access denied, the computer responded to my latest query. Unconsciously, I growled out my frustration. This wasn't working.

Then pepperoni and grease-covered cheese materialized in front of my nose. My stomach growled and I leaned forward to take a bite, only deigning to look up into my milk brother's eyes after I'd swallowed the much-needed sustenance.

"You can hold your own damn pizza," Chase said, trying to sound grumpy at my lack of manners as I snapped a second chunk out of the hovering food. But I could tell he was actually amused by my behavior. So I waited just long enough for real annoyance to solidify before snagging the slice with my fingers, rolling it into a cylinder, and scarfing half the portion down in one gulp.

"I'm stuck," I explained.

"Never would have guessed it," my milk brother muttered. Then, louder: "Look, I'd offer to help, but the food's really all I've got in me. You know computers and I don't get along...."

I shrugged my understanding. Honestly, I wasn't entirely sure why I'd called in this local contingent of the pack for assistance. Maybe I just felt better having shifters around when I subsumed myself into the problem at hand—no need to exert the energy necessary to watch my own back here in outpack territory. Whatever the reason, my gut had prompted me to hit that button on the cell phone. And I always followed my gut.

Except with Terra. I flicked the thought away. Just what I didn't need while under deadline—to get sidetracked by a pack princess that I definitely couldn't have.

"You know..."

Chase and I both looked up, surprised that the usually silent Wade had offered words unprompted. The kid was clearly overawed by my alpha presence, and try as I might, I'd so far been unable to get it through his thick skull that I wasn't the replica of my brother that I appeared.

Okay, that wasn't fair. Wade trusted me to protect him with my life. He worshiped the ground I walked on. He just didn't seem to think his own opinions were worth mentioning in the mighty alpha's presence.

Which meant the kid must have something profound on his mind if he'd braved an interruption now. Especially given my current twitchy mood, which I was unconsciously radiating to all and sundry. I clamped down on my inner wolf a trifle to give the kid courage to speak.

"Hmm?" I prompted, taking care to keep my eyes averted. Sometimes Wade did better when he didn't think he had my complete attention. He preferred to assume an alpha's mind was 95% occupied elsewhere and might miss any symptoms of foot-in-mouth disease.

Of course, my interest was piqued, so I wasn't actually ignoring him. Instead, I found that if I turned my head just right, I could catch every expression that flitted across the youngster's face by perusing his reflection on my laptop screen.

My covert appraisal snapped into full alertness as the teenager's gaze met mine. No, that wasn't right. He was instead intent upon the code I'd been struggling with for the last far-too-many hours.

"I think you dropped a line there..." Wade had forgotten himself enough to drift forward so his finger could hover atop a mistake that I'd been glossing over during a multitude of bug checks. I cocked my head to one side. How in the heck had I missed that? It was a hole roughly the size of China.

And how had Wade come to understand programming well enough to pick out my mistake?

"I..." The kid stumbled back in distress, attempting to escape my piercing gaze. Only then did I realize that I'd voiced my question aloud.

Chase surreptitiously kicked me under the table, a subtle reminder not to scare the pup. My return blow might not have been quite so surreptitious. Neither was the way I sprang erect and enfolded the youngster in a bear hug to thank him for unraveling my web of confusion.

"Good save," I said, thumping Wade on the back encouragingly. At my first touch, I'd noticed the way he tensed and readied himself to flee. But I ignored the unconscious reaction and was pleased to feel his spine solidify into erect pride mere seconds later. And this time he offered an explanation without further prompting.

"I used the laptop some afternoons. I checked your browser history and got interested in ASP..."

Such a smart shifter. Always follow the trail to the end if you catch a good scent.

Further praise now might make the kid's head explode, though. So I instead walked across the room to snag a second slice of pizza, releasing him from my gaze. "So, what's the next step?" I asked.

The kid had sidled closer to the chair as I ate, and now he leaned over to tap a few keys. Taking the alpha's seat was obviously still too terrifying for the pup, but he couldn't quite hold himself back from the puzzle.

"Well, it seems like if you..." Within seconds, Wade had forgotten himself and sunk down to ease his typing. His shoulders were tight at first as if waiting to be struck down for his impudence. But as he got into the flow of paging through my code, he forgot himself and relaxed fully.

"You fed him?" I asked Chase quietly, knowing that Tia would skin me alive if I kept Wade up all night on an empty belly. The staying-up-all-night part I couldn't do anything about, but the belly part I could.

"Yeah," my milk brother began, but I was already being sucked back into the coding puzzle myself.

"Wait a minute," I said, reaching over Wade's shoulder to hit the up arrow key. "Did you notice here?" My fingers flew faster than my words, and my partner in crime was nodding along.

"And if we..." Now he was typing again, and I spared one quick glance behind me to check on my milk brother.

Chase had shed his clothes, shifted into lupine form, and curled up atop the king-size bed. Opening one eye, his expression clearly stated, Well, we paid for the room. Someone should use this nice, comfy mattress.

"Knock yourself out, buddy," I murmured. Then, turning back to the chink in First Ohio's armor, Wade and I gnawed at the edges to create a larger and larger hole. Soon, we'd be inside.

Chapter 6

"TIME’S UP. PENDLETON’S in the lobby!"

Victor, darn his hard hacking heart, had apparently decided the only truly satisfying way to win was to rub his rival's face in the mud. So he'd stolen or created a key card to open my door and had burst in to spread his supposed bad news.

Unfortunately, being cuddly werewolves, the three of us had collapsed into a lupine heap atop the bed at crazy o'clock this morning, minutes after succeeding in our quest. Meaning that Victor was about to catch sight of a vision that would likely blow his mind...and our cover.

My gaze darted around the dim room, taking in the blinds that would help shield our fur from view for a few more seconds. But we needed to shift fast if we didn't want to be discovered.

I was furless before the thought had fully raced through my mind, and I used a bit of alpha compulsion to yank my companions back into humanity right along with me. But there was nothing to be done about our unclothed state.

"So I..." Victor stopped mid-sentence as he flipped on the light switch, his mouth gaping open at the view. And I couldn't really blame him for the deer-in-the-headlights expression. To a human, three naked males in one bed probably was a rather unusual sight. Add to that the bemusement of my companions at being force-shifted while half asleep, and we could easily have been mistaken for a threesome caught in the daze of post-coital bliss.

A human would have been mortified by the implications of our situation. But my wolf brain instead got an inordinate amount of joy out of my cyber buddy's beet-red face. Behind my back, Chase's snort of amusement proved that he felt the same way, and even stoic Wade seemed to be radiating amusement. Nothing like the prudishness of humans to wake you up in the morning.

Then a t-shirt and jeans flipped over my shoulder and landed in my waiting arms. Pulling my legs into the denim, I strode toward my opponent. "You were saying?"

"Um, that the job's mine," Victor replied, his gaze still trained on the naked guys lounging atop the bedspread. Neither shifter had bothered to pull up a sheet to block the human's gaze, but Victor still lowered his voice before asking, "Are those gigolos?"

Now even Wade chuckled. Sure, my pack mates were pretty buff from hunting for their dinner. But, really, did I look like I needed to pay for sex?

"Naw, just fuck buddies," I answered, mostly for the pleasure of watching Victor's face turn an even darker shade of crimson. "Now, about that wager...."

"Right," Victor agreed, nearly tripping over his own feet as he followed me out the door. "Like I was saying..."

"Better get your laptop," I broke in. "I think there's something you and good old Bob need to see."

* * *

WOLF YOUNG OWNS this site.

The words were emblazoned in neon-orange, flashing letters that scrolled across the top of the First Ohio website. Wade had even added a couple of wolf paw prints for good measure, which I figured was harmless despite our intentions of keeping shifter-kind secret from the human world. After all, every hacker needs a calling card, right?

Victor's gaze remained riveted on the moving text, but Mr. Pendleton had taken only a single look at the website before hitting number three on his speed dial. Now he was deep in a muttered conversation I wasn't supposed to be able to overhear but could easily make out. Blah, blah, blah, hackers. Blah, blah, blah, security. I listened just long enough to discover that someone was having his ass handed to him on a silver platter, then tuned the rant out.

"How in the heck did you do it?" Victor asked now, sliding a mug across the coffee table in my direction before running an anxious hand through his no-longer perfect hair. The human male had recovered from his mortification at catching me in dishabille, but something about the experience had taken the shine off his ever-present coat of charisma nonetheless.

Before I could answer, a couple of the guys we'd been out drinking with two nights before walked past. Victor was too frazzled to recognize them, but I noticed how their eyes initially lit up when they caught sight of my companion. Then his ruffled demeanor sank in and the pair quickly looked away without offering a greeting. How very human of them.

And isn't that interesting? It seemed Victor's game face was only good for short periods of time...much like my own. No wonder he'd tried to stab me in the back if his previous attempts at friendship had been so short-lived. He probably didn't understand what was and wasn't cool behavior within a pack.

Mentally removing the hacker from my shit list, I deigned to offer a few tidbits of information on the previous night's coding spree. Then, as the bank manager turned back to face us, I finished, "I'll tell you more about it later, dude."

Because my attention needed to be fully focused on the matter at hand now that the moment of truth had finally arrived. I sat up straighter in the overstuffed chair that graced the lobby and searched the older gentleman's face with my eyes.

When I'd thought about this meeting after breaking into the website, I'd hoped Mr. Pendleton would be pleased, would clap me on the back and praise me much as I'd thanked my younger pack mate the night before. But it was obvious now that the win wouldn't be so easy. The bank manager's stance was stiff and his face stern. And once he opened his mouth, his words confirmed my suspicions.

"I should be offering you a job right now, Mr. Young," he said gravely. "But I honestly don't feel comfortable doing so. The truth is, I've run this bank on gut reactions for the last thirty years, and my gut says there's something not quite right about you."

The sudden inhalation of air beside me turned into a coughing fit as Victor tried his best not to swallow his own tongue. I knew my cyber buddy was replaying the scene of three naked males in my hotel-room bed one more time, the image burned into his retinas as if he'd peered too closely at the sun.  Yes, by human standards, there certainly was something not quite right about me.

A bank manager from small-town Ohio would probably find my supposed ménage à trois reason enough to refuse to offer me a job. Victor knew that as well as I did. So I fully expected to hear the hacker's voice pounding the final nail into my coffin.

After all, hadn't Victor made it perfectly clear that this job hunt was just one more challenge, no different from his shoot-em-up video games? All's fair in love and war and all that jazz. So why not push the advantage he had over me?

Sure enough, Victor spoke as soon as his coughing fit subsided. But his words weren't at all what I expected. "I know Wolf comes across as a little strange at first, sir," the human male said. "But the truth is, I've known him for over a year, and he's as solid as they come. He once paid a speeding ticket for me so my parents wouldn't have to know about it, and he's been supporting his aunt and his entire extended family for pretty much all of his adult life."

A hint of a smile curved the corner of Mr. Pendleton's lips upward. To the older gentleman, I'm sure neither Victor nor I had spent any time as adults, which dramatically lessened the impact of my friend's second point.

Meanwhile, I found myself equally surprised by Victor's monologue, but for an entirely different reason. First of all, I hadn't been expecting my opponent to come to my aid, cyber-buddy status aside. And, second of all, since when had he actually started paying attention to the tidbits I let drop about my personal life? Victor had always seemed fully focused on the next video game and the next coding adventure. His own dramas had vastly overshadowed my own...or so I'd assumed.

Now I realized that my friend must have looked up the nickname we used for Chase's mother—Tia—and drawn his own conclusions about our relationship. As his rant continued, I learned that apparently we were Mexican immigrants struggling to find a place in this new nation of opportunity. I'd been kicked out of my nuclear family due to my sexual orientation, and as a result felt I owed it to my new clan to make their lives easier as they struggled to make ends meet. Unfortunately, my past made it difficult for me to find a job despite more than deserving this very opportunity.

In other words, I was the golden boy Victor had previously pretended to be. I looked up, expecting a glowing halo to materialize above my head.

Nope, not there. And, from the uncertain expression on his face, Mr. Pendleton didn't fully buy Victor's fairy tale either.

Chapter 7

"YOU TALK A good talk," the bank manager said when my friend's words of praise finally wound down. "But I judge a man's worth by the whites of his eyes"—whatever that meant—"and by a firm handshake. So, let's have it, Mr. Young. It's time to see what you've got."

A handshake was going to decide my pack's future? Seriously? But as I took in the set of the bank manager's shoulders, I finally got it. Bob was the human equivalent of a bloodling. He had the capacity to understand the depth of a human's character at a glance, and what he'd been seeing in me was a confusing mish-mash of wolf and man. No wonder the older man had blown me off yesterday and hoped to never cross paths with my ilk again.

A smarter werewolf would have chained down his lupine nature and allowed the bank manager to peer into eyes that rang of nothing but humanity. But Mr. Pendleton had requested honesty, and the unvarnished truth was that I was more wolf than man.

Which didn't mean I was going to shed clothes and go four-legged here in the hotel lobby, of course. But my own gut told me this wasn't the time to try to hide my lupine nature behind feigned humanity.

So I relaxed the blinders I'd been carefully holding around my wolf ever since setting foot in this hotel. I let my ears pick up the sound of a vacuum roaring to life two floors above and an annoyed dishwashing assistant griping about his girlfriend a hundred feet west. I let the chemical aroma of new carpet wrinkle my nose and felt the eddies of air currents brushing my cheeks as a revolving door changed the interior pressure with a near-audible pop.

Then I gazed at the bank manager with my full self on alert. The human possessed no inner wolf, of course, but my lupine gaze made his spine seem straighter than it had previously, his gray hair more like a white crown of wisdom than a weakness of old age. By shifter standards, Mr. Pendleton was mere meat, but I understood now that he was a man to look up to, a man to learn from. Not a man to vanquish via trickery.

The manager nodded once, and I reached forward to accept his proffered hand. My nostrils flared, taking in the scent of leather seats and bleached office paper. In his purest essence, I now realized, Mr. Pendleton was the bank. Which is why my late-night hack had backfired. Rather than simply proving my prowess as originally intended, the act had violated the man I'd intended to impress.

In other words, I owed him an apology.

"Sorry about the neon letters, Mr. Pendleton," I offered quietly. "Give me five minutes and I can put everything back the way it was."

We stood poised for an eternity...or perhaps for five long seconds. In wolf brain, it was hard to tell the difference.

Then, the bank manager squeezed my fingers with a strength that would have made a human wince. I considered pretending pain, but instead squeezed back with just one iota less pressure—a peace offering.

"The removal can be your first billable hour," Mr. Pendleton agreed. Then, as he withdrew his hand and turned to go, he called back over his shoulder, "And you can call me Bob."

* * *

"SO WE’RE COOL?"

Victor seemed absurdly concerned that I might now decide he wasn't worth my time and leave him friendless, proof positive that he was indeed as lonely as I'd at first assumed him to be. What the human didn't realize was that I'd long ago decided he was part of my clan. I'd yet to drop a pack mate due to sheer stupidity and I didn't intend to start now.

Especially not when Victor had come through with such an eloquent defense at the eleventh hour.

"Of course," I agreed. "And I could hire you on as a part-time consultant if it would get your parents off your back." Because now that I'd won the signing bonus that would let me put a down payment on my opening move against the Chief, I could afford to be magnanimous.

"That would be awesome!" Victor began, then turned red again as Chase and Wade stepped out of the elevator and into his line of vision.

My fellow shifters were fully dressed now, Chase in my discarded suit since I'd donned his jeans and t-shirt this morning in my hurry to win the wager. Meanwhile, Wade had clearly embraced his self-determined role of lackey, as evidenced by the suitcase and laptop bag he was carting along in the beta's wake.

They looked perfectly normal, in other words. But the waves of agonizing discomfort rolling off Victor proved that my pack mates' previous appearance hadn't been forgotten.

From across the room, my milk brother met my gaze, one eyebrow raised. Need space? he asked without words. I shook my head subtly. Might was well get these introductions over with now rather than later.

"This is Chase and Wade," I offered, pointing at each pack mate in turn. Then, telling the shifters what they already knew, I finished the human-style introductions. "And this is Victor."

"Some of my best friends are gay," the latter blurted out in what could only be termed a Freudian non sequitur. I noticed that the expanding blood vessels in his face had managed to color even the tops of his ears, and I couldn't resist waiting a moment as I pondered how far the blush would extend before my cyber buddy fainted dead away.

Chase rolled his eyes at my subtle form of torture. "None of us are gay," he said, taking pity on the human. "We were just coding really late last night and must have fallen into bed in a strange way. You didn't interrupt anything."

The explanation left something to be desired, but I didn't particularly care what Victor thought of my sexuality. As long as he didn't realize we were werewolves and run screaming into the night, we were good.

Well, that wasn't quite true. I enjoyed our chats via write-message and wanted to make sure Victor didn't bow out of my life in the wake of our first physical meeting. So I offered him a chance to get to know my clan in a situation that wouldn't leave any of us blushing.

"We've still got a few hours left before we have to head home," I spoke up, then paused. Mentally paging through favorite activities that were both shifter and human friendly, I settled at last on the only viable alternative. "Wanna join us in a game of paint ball?"

Victor's face opened into a guileless grin. "Hell yeah!" He punched me on the shoulder and I returned the gesture, being careful not to damage the tender human. Then I led the trio out into the city to track down some colored explosives.

There was nothing like a good hunt to welcome a new pack mate into the clan.

Chapter 8

THE SWEET FLAVOR of Terra filled my nostrils as I hid in plain view behind a display of pineapples. The pack princess was even more appealing than she'd appeared on first sighting, but I noticed now that her wolf was strangely silent. Otherwise, she surely would have smelled me as I tracked her through the supermarket aisles.

My initial urge had been to walk up to the young woman, introduce myself, and invite her to come back with me to our new clan home. Our pack could use more shifters of the female variety, and I could definitely use a heavier dose of Terra in my life.

But something kept my feet firmly planted on the ground.

Perhaps it was the way Chief Wilder's daughter had tensed and scanned her surroundings when my scent first wafted into her nostrils. I was pretty sure the other shifter's conscious mind hadn't understood what she was smelling, but her subconscious appeared to be terrified by the slightest hint of any wolf, including her own.

A potentially problematic situation considering the fact that I was more wolf than man.

Meanwhile, I kept reminding myself that my hands were already quite full without adding another complication to the mix. Wade and I had whipped Bob's site into order in just a few weeks, but the bank manager was so pleased with our efforts that he recommended us to three of his friends. As a result, our work load was now so high that I'd had to take a sick day to slip away on my current jaunt.

Before me, Terra plucked a plastic clamshell of cherry tomatoes then eyed the contents consideringly. Take them or leave them? I could almost see the words flitting through her mind. And as she brought the fruit to her nose, I had to clench my fists around the display counter to prevent myself from springing forward.

She should be taking me.

Ah, yes, jealousy of garden produce. A definite sign my duties weren't the only thing holding me back from making my move. Even my nonlinear wolf brain could see that I wasn't anywhere near ready to speak to this pack princess. Not when I suspected I'd only have one chance to screw things up before she fled the state without a backward glance.

The unfortunate truth was that Terra didn't appear ready to speak with me either. The squeal of a grocery cart's wheels caused the pack princess to flinch and she set the tomatoes back down abruptly, pushing her own cart toward the checkout line with hunched shoulders and a jerky stride.

The girl was scared of her own shadow, let alone a member of the opposite sex. Given the fact that I came with teeth and claws, I might have to accept the fact that Terra would never be ready for me.

I wanted to howl out my frustration at the mere thought, but I instead shook my human head briskly to bring myself back to the present moment. My thoughts derailed onto the additional puzzles waiting for me at home. Specifically, the Chief's grandson. Soon, my pack would have to find a way to insinuate ourselves into that family and win the father's trust.

And, eventually, there would be Chief Wilder himself to contend with.

In other words, I needed to keep my eye on the prize and forget this childish infatuation. Even if the bond between myself and Terra felt like so much more.

So I let the ties to my pack draw me away from the woman who I found so fascinating. Despite my urge to lunge forward, I hung back as the pack princess wheeled her cart out of the store and out of my life. The distant thud of a closing car door felt like the closing of my heart.

Maybe Terra will turn back up in my life someday when we're both a little older and wiser.

Maybe. But, if not, I was content with the territory my clan and I were building on the side of a Virginia mountain. I was content with brotherhood and hacking and long wild runs with the wind brushing out my lupine fur as my pack bumped their shoulders against my own.

So I walked to the nearest trees, shed my clothes, and turned wolf. It was time to grow into my over-size paws and start acting like an alpha.

Feint of Heart

Episode 4

Chapter 1

"THEY’RE NOT EVEN a proper team."

I bared my teeth at the other alpha, daring him to put his money where his mouth was. And, as expected, the opposing shifter averted his eyes immediately, backing down in the face of my stronger alpha dominance.

Of course, Price did have a point. My crew weighed in at the lower limit of allowable manpower since I'd taken only Wade and Fen along with me to All-Pack this year. We were supposed to be playing it safe and keeping a low profile at this first gathering we'd attended since Chief Wilder caught me in a bind two years prior. But the Winter Hunt had been too enticing to pass up.

Plus, I trusted my team. Sure, Fen was just fourteen, all freckled cheeks and gangly limbs while two-legged. She hadn't felt comfortable stripping and turning wolf when the rest of us did, either.

But I wasn't concerned about her foot-dragging. The kid would shift when she was good and ready. Because what the girl lacked in muscles, she more than made up for in sheer spunk. Personally, I thought our trio was unbeatable or I wouldn't have entered the contest in the first place.

Twenty feet away, Chief Wilder turned his cold gaze in our direction, weighing Price's words. I itched to stare the grizzled old pack leader down, but he was both referee and bait in this rough-and-tumble game of skill and power. Oh, yeah, and he also held my personal debt in his iron fist. So I averted my eyes and hoped the overpowering alpha wouldn't call us out on the possible infraction.

"Two boys and a halfie," Crazy Wilder intoned, a faint smirk widening his lips. "You think the three of you can catch me before the moon rises?"

That was the goal, after all. Soon, Wilder would shift and lope away, a twenty-minute head start all that stood between the grizzled alpha and the best every other pack had to offer. If he could elude our pursuit until the tiny sliver of moon rose near the end of this cold, dark night, then Crazy Wilder would win bragging rights for another twelve months.

The patriarch seemed confident of his success. And no wonder—Chief Wilder had eluded pursuit for as long as I could remember.

But I was bound and determined to take the old alpha down. Because wouldn't the other pack leaders be forced to take me seriously enough to grant my petition for territorial rights if I trumped the strongest alpha of them all?

In wolf form, I couldn't answer Crazy Wilder in words, of course. But I lifted my nose to the air and spread my nostrils. Beside me, Wade let out a small yip of excitement. Then Fen spoke for all three of us.

"Of course we can catch you," the fourteen-year-old promised. Her voice was steady, but I could hear her fluttering heartbeat speed up as she faced down the meanest pack leader our region had to offer. "Or perhaps you want to disqualify our team because you're scared we'll win?"

The other shifters—most wolf, a few human—had been rustling and whispering restlessly up until this point. But now every inhabitant of the field fell silent. Even the breeze that had been whipping up fallen leaves from beneath nearby trees stilled as Fen spoke.

I tensed my muscles, ready to spring to the girl's defense. Chief Wilder was a volatile and arrogant shifter and my pack mate just might have gone too far this time.

Not that I wouldn't have said the exact same thing had I been two-legged. Good job, Fen.

Wilder glared hard at the halfie, clearly expecting her knees to tremble beneath her. But the girl continued to stand straight and tall, not backing down an inch.

This was the half-breed's secret weapon—her wolf was the weakest on the field. The characteristic doesn't sound like a good deal, does it? But in the hands of someone possessing pure grit, a powerless wolf could be worked to her advantage. In fact, Fen had recently learned to stifle her beast long enough to be untouched by alpha dominance when in human form, a trick that made her appear more powerful than even our region's strongest alpha werewolf.

"Hnnh." The snort could have been laughter or anger—it was hard to tell the difference with Crazy Wilder. But then he whistled shrilly, the high-pitched sound grating against my lupine ears.

Once again, the field descended into restlessness as we waited to see what would happen next. It was hard to get two alphas from different packs moving in the same direction at the best of times. And now we were all hyped up on adrenaline, itching for the hunt to begin. Eight alphas plus Crazy Wilder—the combination was akin to a keg of dynamite standing on a hilltop during a thunderstorm.

But still we waited, shuffling feet and murmuring questions. Wilder hadn't said the word either way, so the jury was still out on my team's participation in the game. And no alpha could initiate the hunt until our prey shifted and took the lead anyway.

So fifty shifters watched impatiently as a newcomer appeared, running flat out over the hill that separated our encampment from the main Wilder village. I could smell her scent before she came fully into view. Bitter at first, then almost unbearably sweet. Like biting into an unripe persimmon, but in reverse. First your mouth puckers, then the rich orange flesh explodes into a fruity delicacy.

I shook my head, trying to clear away the cobwebs that seemed to have formed out of nowhere as soon as the aroma entered my nose.

Then the female was before me, her warm brown eyes meeting mine and holding. My chest seemed to swell with an emotion I'd never felt before as I dove into the dark depths of her soul.

Is this what they mean by love at first sight?

Beside me, Wade whined and leaned forward. Fen responded by grabbing the older teenager's ruff, pulling him back onto his haunches.

But I took in my pack mates' actions only through changes in air currents, not because I flicked my eyes to the side to check on my companions. Instead, my gaze remained riveted on the newcomer.

"Alexis will join Wolf Young's pack to even the odds," Wilder intoned, his voice beginning to deepen as his body settled into the shift. "May the hunt begin!"

Chapter 2

WE’D LEFT THE other packs behind hours ago. Alexis knew the terrain much better than the rest of us did—no surprise there since I assumed she'd lived on this mountain her entire life. So I allowed the female to lead us up hillsides and down deep draws, running flat out until our hot breath steamed in the cold air.

As my paws pounded across wet earth, a tiny voice at the back of my mind told me that I should be bothered by the fact that the Chief's scent had disappeared nearly at once. Plus, the occasional howls from other crews now seemed to be emanating from an entirely different part of the property than the one we were currently combing through.

But I trusted Alexis to give us the home-court advantage. She likely knew all the Wilder hidey holes and was taking our team on a grand tour of possible locations where the Chief might choose to go to ground.

The strategy made perfect sense. If I were Chief Wilder, I'd definitely hole up somewhere isolated and difficult to access, then laugh up my sleeve while the region's top shifters stumbled over each other trying to find my lair.

Smart wolf, I thought, glancing toward Alexis with approval. Her white fur glowed like a star in the near pitch darkness. Then she glanced over her shoulder, and I once again fell into those dark, alluring eyes.

An image of an entirely different pack princess drifted through my mind. Terra. There and gone in an instant. I hadn't hunted down Crazy Wilder's younger daughter a third time, but I still thought of her often. She was the one who got away. The one I mooned over in human form when my wolf brain wasn't quite as fully engaged, when I forgot that the only shifters who mattered were those within my pack.

Now, though, I couldn't seem to make Terra's image stick on the insides of my retinas. Instead, when I closed my eyelids, all I saw was Alexis's molten brown irises. And the flavor of persimmons rose up to coat the inside of my mouth until I had to swallow the spittle that appeared out of nowhere to digest the feast.

"Fuck! This is stupid!"

It took longer than it should have for me to realize the screech came from my usually calm and collected pack mate. Fen had turned human and planted her feet, but none of the rest of us noticed her absence until we'd loped another fifty feet up the trail.

We'll never catch him if we don't keep running. With that thought, I turned away from the girl and back into Alexis's rich presence, gathering myself to bound onward. Fen could take care of herself. If she was sick and tired of our hunt, then she could straggle back to camp and we'd meet her there later when we came home victorious.

"Boss." Now it was Wade's human form that seemed planted to the earth. He'd materialized out of nowhere, making my nose bump painfully against his bare leg and forcibly halting my forward progress. "Didn't you hear Fen?" the seventeen-year-old asked, crouching down to grab my furred cheeks in both hands. "Shift, dude. She wants to talk."

My head felt foggy as my gaze met his, and I could sense Alexis drifting closer. Her shoulder bumped mine, and I had a sudden urge to bowl my pack mate over and run off into the night with this beautiful female, consequences be damned.

Then the underlying bitterness of the pack princess's scent reemerged, and I used the astringency to yank myself up onto two legs. I knew I owed it to Fen to listen to what she had to say. Still, my tone was much more curt than usual when I turned back around to face the teenager.

"What?" I barked.

The girl narrowed her eyes at me, an expression I'd seen her use on Wade dozens of times. It drove Fen crazy that her friend was always bigger, stronger, and faster than her, his three additional years giving the other teenager a boundless advantage. But she usually eyed me with an almost embarrassing level of hero worship rather than with this annoyed astuteness that made me want to shift back into lupine form and hide behind Wade's legs.

"You really have no clue, do you?" the kid asked now. She stepped forward until her nose was mere inches away from my sternum. Then, poking a finger into my bare chest, she knocked me back half a step. "You can't see that this stool pigeon is leading us in the entirely wrong direction?"

"Come on, Fen." Wade's calm voice said what my frozen lips were unable to communicate. "Sure, she's part of Chief Wilder's pack. But the Winter Hunt is just a game, and she's part of our team. Right, Alexis?"

I held my breath, hoping I'd hear the pack princess's voice. Would her words be as honeyed as her gaze? Would her human form be as earth-shatteringly enticing as her lupine one?

I angled my body toward our crew's fourth member in anticipation of the sight. But Alexis merely trotted forward on lupine paws and sank into a sit at my feet. Her burnt sienna eyes met mine and her ears turned backwards in a puppyish plea to run further, run faster. Hurry, hurry, her body language seemed to say.

"Do we really have to discuss this now?" I ground out, my words aimed at Fen even though I couldn't quite make myself turn away from the pack princess in order to meet the former's eyes. "The other teams are gaining on the prize while we're piddling around. This win is important to the pack, Fen."

I could feel the girl's agitation eddying in the air currents all around me. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the motion as she lurched backwards as if struck. So despite the attraction of the pack princess at my feet, I turned back toward my young pack mate. Sorry....

The word hadn't made it all the way to my lips, though, when Alexis whined. The thinnest thread of sound, like a wounded pup lost down a deep, dark hole. Forgetting Fen, I knelt beside the female shifter, stroking my palm across her silky fur. "Shh," I calmed her. "It's going to be alright."

To my delight, Alexis's muzzle drifted upwards. Then she was licking beneath my chin in the universal sign of submissive bonding. "I know, I know," I whispered. "We won't spend much longer here."

"Wade, at least you can see it, right?" Fen persisted. "That wolf is some kind of parasite. She looks at you and you go all gooey eyed and brain dead. Pay attention."

Alexis rose from her position before me and trotted over to the other male shifter. I followed her with my eyes, unable to tear my attention away from the female's undulating form long enough to stand back onto my feet.

I felt the loss, though, as her gaze left mine and latched onto my pack mate's. And I heard the sigh of satisfaction as Wade nearly fell in his haste to join her in wolf form.

Hurry, hurry, Alexis seemed to say again, glancing at me one more time. Then she bounded away from us up the trail. Gathering my fur to me, I followed.

Chapter 3

THE WOLVES FELL upon us from the top of a rocky cliff, nearly taking me to the ground in the process. I hadn't heard or smelled their approach, perhaps because this warm December night had opened up into a drizzle that dampened sound and snuffed scents. Or perhaps my attention was too firmly focused on the glimmering white pack princess who led us all on this midnight hunt.

Doesn't matter. I'll protect my pack and Alexis will lead us to our prize.

One glance over my shoulder proved that Wade had backed our females up against the rock face, putting his teeth and claws in front of their more delicate bodies. I nodded my approval, making it clear that I expected the teenager to continue playing defense to my offense.

In response, Fen glared, reminding me that she could hold her own in a one-on-one fight. But if I let the fourteen-year-old come home with so much as a hair missing from her head, our pack mother would have my hide. I wasn't scared of the five arrogant males arrayed before us, but just the thought of Tia's disapproval had me quaking in my metaphorical boots. So I simply widened my eyes at the girl, and she rolled her own back. Still, she obeyed.

Five to one weren't great odds, but the Griffins appeared to be in a playful mood. Well, as playful as werewolves get when two alphas face off against each other. Gavin and I traded glares for a long moment, our gazes locking and sending surges of adrenaline through my body. But then my opponent motioned for his cohorts to step back and form a ring around the two of us, leveling the playing field.

How sportsmanlike. I wouldn't be caught dead making such a newbie mistake.

I assessed the other alpha with a calculating eye. Gavin was close to Fen's age and not yet the Griffin's official leader, although he'd been attending All-Pack for a while now. Since he wasn't a bloodling, the teenager was still growing into both his human and lupine skins and didn't have much muscle to speak of. In an arm-wrestling competition, he wouldn't have stood a chance.

Despite his physical deficiencies, as I circled around the other male I decided that Gavin's greatest weakness lay in his sense of honor and fair play. Most alphas had learned the hard way that if they didn't play dirty, they inevitably lost. But Crazy Wilder was this kid's distant relative, and the stronger alpha seemed willing to extend his protection to the Griffins as long as Gavin made no waves in improper directions. The upshot of which was that the teenager had previously been able to get away with using human ethics around wild werewolves.

But Crazy Wilder isn't here to protect you tonight, now is he? I opened my mouth in a lupine grin as I imagined my wolf teeth closing over human flesh and making short work of this little altercation.

I was about to lunge forward and end the battle before it truly began when Gavin spoke. "I hear you're aiming for a territory this year."

I tried to push the teenager's words away with a shake of my head. But despite my best efforts they stuck and grew.

How had he guessed? I'd kept my intentions a secret even from my own clan, and it gave me pause to think that this baby alpha knew more about my objectives than even my closest pack mates did.

In fact, this very hunt was part of a long-range plan that had been percolating through my brain for a while now. My clan had purchased the territory that encapsulated Chief Wilder's estranged grandson over a year ago, the tactic being the first step toward wiggling out from under the debt the older alpha had saddled me with. And I'd hoped that winning the Winter Hunt would garner enough street cred that the other alphas would be moved to make that territory official the following afternoon.

What I hadn't realized was that my scheming was so transparent to all and sundry.

Still, human words and plots were the last thing on my mind at the moment. Despite my seeming advantage, I knew Gavin's cohorts would leap into the fray if—no, when—their leader appeared to be floundering. So I needed to end this fast rather than being drawn into the other alpha's patter.

"Chief Wilder plans to support you, you know," the boy droned on. Despite myself, I pulled up short once again. I'd been about to barrel into his legs, figuring the fastest way to finish this farce was to knock the kid down and go for the throat.

Not that I'd break the skin. The action seemed, well, dishonorable when the teenager was so much weaker than me.

I huffed out a laugh at my own hypocrisy. And here I thought excessive honor was Gavin's weakness, not my own.

"The Chief told me this morning that he just needs an excuse to stand as your ally," Gavin continued, seemingly unconcerned by the fact that he was standing naked in human form while my sharp teeth and claws were inching closer by the second. "He can't appear to give you preferential treatment for no reason, of course," the kid went on. "But he has faith you'll win the Hunt. And that's all the explanation he'll need to make sure your clan has official sanction to claim the territory you're squatting on."

"Squatting, eh?" Despite my best intentions to maintain the advantage of wolf reflexes, I shifted upwards at the mild insult. It wasn't that he'd gotten my goat—human taunts rolled off my back like the current December drizzle was shed by my thick fur. But I was starting to wonder whether the young alpha had really intended to challenge me, or whether I'd simply read him wrong from the get-go.

Usually, I could smell out subtleties best in lupine form, but Alexis's rich persimmon odor clogged my nostrils. So I figured I might as well peruse Gavin's human facial expressions with two-legger eyes. After all, I didn't want to attack if the kid wasn't looking for a fight. And it wasn't a big deal anyway—I could take him down just as easily on two legs as on four.

I wiped one hand across my forehead, flicking away water droplets. And in the moment that my eyes were covered, the forest exploded into action.

"Now!" Gavin ordered.

I whipped my head around, gaze landing on the one clothed shifter who must have spent the entire evening two-legged. The lackey was already settling back into immobility, but Gavin lunged in his direction as a wicked-looking blade spun end over end through the air between the two shifters.

Starlight reflected off the weapon that promised to even the odds between Gavin and myself. Once it finished plummeting through the night sky, that is. The blade's presence needn't change the course of the battle, though. My superior reflexes meant that I could have easily grabbed the knife out of the air before it reached its intended recipient.

But in that critical moment of action, the pack princess behind me whined and I spun to ensure she wasn't being harmed.

Thunk. I could hear the knife's hilt settling into Gavin's hand, but it was all I could do to force myself to turn away from Alexis's intoxicating gaze. As a result, the other alpha had closed the distance between us before I managed to face him again.

I threw up both hands to grab his right wrist, trying to force the weapon out of his grasp. Unfortunately, what Gavin lacked in muscles, he made up in agility. Now he twisted like a fish on a line, forcing my fingers to slip away from his arm. And in that instant of separation, my opponent brought the blade down to cut a long red stripe across my ribs.

I flared my nostrils, smelling my own blood. My heart was racing too quickly for me to feel pain, but I knew the ache would set in soon. Time to take off the kid gloves before our battle got out of hand.

Using Gavin's own momentum against him, I knocked his right arm away and forced his elbow to bend in the wrong direction until he grunted with pain. Then, kicking up with my knee, I sent the knife plummeting into the night.

Gavin was face down in the dirt, my foot on his neck, before his companions could take another step forward.

"I wouldn't," I warned with a growl.

Chapter 4

IN THE END, I let the kid go unharmed. He was just doing what shifters did best—lobbying for power in the only way he knew how. And he'd given me an intriguing tidbit of information in the process. Crazy Wilder planned to back my territorial bid if I won the Winter Hunt.

Good thing our crew had Alexis as a lucky charm to speed us on our way.

So I watched until the other team had trotted out of sight, then I got down to business. "We should scout out the surrounding countryside, see if we can catch the old coot's trail," I murmured, more to myself than to my companions.

Wade and Fen had shifted to human form as soon as our opponents faded back into the darkness and they now nodded agreeably. But rather than continuing to hash out plans, I found my gaze settling on Alexis.

The pack princess was still fully wolf, and she seemed even more agitated now than she had been during the preceding fight. She whined at my feet until I crouched down to her level, giving her access to the wound oozing blood down my hip and thigh.

As soon as I was close enough, her whimpering abruptly ceased. Instead, the female reached out with her sandpaper tongue, licking my cut clean.

Her touch was painful but erotic. And in response, my dick stirred to instant life. The intimacy of Alexis's nursing had dragged forth a physical response I didn't particularly care to share with my pack mates.

Time for a little diversion.

"Wade, why don't you and Fen go out and see if you can pick up Crazy Wilder's scent while I wipe off this blood." My sentence was more command than question, and Wade immediately moved to obey. But Fen instead strode forward, pushing Alexis out of my lap and getting into my personal space.

"Wolfie..." she began. The girl ran a frustrated hand through her short hair, and I waited for her to make another complaint. She was clearly jealous of the bond I shared with our new companion, and I forced myself to soften the words that had initially come to mind before they reached my lips.

"Fen, I'm counting on you to keep your eye on the prize," I admonished her. "You know we'll be like sitting ducks if I bleed all over the forest. So I need you to be my eyes and ears out there. You heard what's at stake."

Before me, Fen seemed to swell to double her usual girth at my show of faith. "I know," she answered quietly. Once again, she opened her mouth, then pursed her lips back together without taking me to task as I knew she wanted to. Finally, she concluded, "Just be careful, okay?"

"Of course," I mollified her.

Seconds later, I could hear my pack mates shifting and loping away. But I didn't look. Instead, my eyes were riveted on the glorious female human who had materialized out of the wolf by my side.

* * *

YOUNG MALE SHIFTERS tell tales around the campfire of pack princesses so magnificent they take your breath away. In the past, I'd always rolled my eyes at their hyperbole. But now I realized that the storied reaction was literally true.

I could barely make out Alexis's curves in the near darkness, but what I could see was so perfectly proportioned that I had to push fingertips into my wound to remind myself to breathe. In fact, I almost wished the moon would rise, even though the appearance of that glowing crescent would mean I'd failed in the Hunt and in my bid for territorial affirmation. Because if Alexis was stunning now in near pitch darkness, what would she look like under the cool luminosity of the waning moon?

"This should soak up the blood," the young woman murmured as she walked back toward me from where she'd been scraping Gavin's lost knife against the cliff face. I could barely smell the collected moss around the fruity aroma that encircled me, and the female's words trilled through my bones like a wood thrush's song. I realized I was panting—bad form when two-legged—and closed my mouth with an audible snap.

"May I?" she asked, reaching toward my stomach with her laden hand. I was barely able to nod, but Alexis didn't really need my approval. She gently pressed the damp plant matter against my open wound, and what should have sent shock waves of pain through my system instead made my legs go weak with pleasure. I collapsed at her feet.

Her laughter sounded like water tinkling merrily over stones. "Hey, careful there, big guy." She slipped down onto the leaves beside me so she could continue to put pressure on my laceration.

We were nearly eye to eye, the female's pupils dilating until their usual molten chocolate coloration was completely invisible. Touching a pack princess was forbidden, but I couldn't help myself. I reached forward and grabbed the long tresses that fell in silky waves from the back of her head, then I pulled her into a kiss.

"Mmm." She hummed her approval against my lips and swung one leg across my lap so she was straddling my erection. I hadn't meant to move so fast, but I slid into her wet folds as if we were two magnets clicking together against our will.

She wasn't a virgin. And she was willing. Which meant I wasn't breaking any taboos.

Right?

Then I couldn't even piece words together in my mind because Alexis was raising herself off my rigid length, cold air doing nothing to dull the heat growing between us. When we came together again, she pushed me deeper into her warmth and I came without thought for her pleasure.

Alexis's eyes enfolded my consciousness just as her body enfolded my skin. "There. Perfect," she murmured. "You'll follow wherever I lead now, won't you?"

Of course.

I didn't even need to say the words aloud. Alexis and I both knew that I'd follow her anywhere.

Chapter 5

"WE DON’T HAVE to wait for them. They'll catch up."

The plan made perfect sense. The night was awastin' and we had Crazy Wilder to hunt down. So I fell into wolf form alongside the beguiling bitch and took off at a trot.

My wound should have jolted me alert every time my foreleg rubbed against the exposed flesh. But instead I seemed to float on a sea of sweet persimmon pulp. Every thin layer of humanity that I'd built atop my wolf over the years fled, and I sniffed then licked at the sex juices dripping from the female's vulva.

In response, Alexis turned her face around and nipped at my ruff teasingly. Then she was disappearing into a thicket and I pushed more speed into my paws to draw closer once again.

The rain had stopped, and stars were beginning to push their way through the clouds when I caught the first scent of Chief Wilder's trail. It was hard to tell around the all-consuming passion induced by Alexis's proximity, but I gave a quick yip and angled in that direction anyway. Moon rise wasn't far off, so it was imperative to follow every lead.

The female seemed less enthused by my decision, though. She pushed against my shoulder, trying to force me back onto the path. When I resisted, she shook her head repeatedly in a very human sign of negation.

No, wrong way. I squinted my eyes as the words drifted across my brain. Surely it wouldn't hurt to follow this scent trail. After all, wasn't that what we were out here to do?

But Alexis was retreating in the opposite direction, and I could almost feel her vagina clenching around my dick once more. Did it really matter if we found Crazy Wilder tonight? There would be other Winter Hunts, other opportunities to claim our territory. Alexis and I had only these few short hours to be together.

Her white fur reappeared before me, and I sprinted forward until I bumped against her shoulder. We raced flat out for several minutes, then I slowed my steps to make sure I didn't pull ahead. Because winning the competition wouldn't really be winning if I left her behind.

Finally, we collapsed to the earth in exhaustion. Which is when Fen and Wade made their reappearance.

* * *

I LOOKED AT the pair quizzically, unable to parse their forms at first. Both were two-legged and fully clothed, Fen using a smart phone as a flashlight to illuminate her steps. Behind her, the male was blindfolded with what looked like my shirt, but he walked willingly in her wake.

What the fuck? Had my pack mates really thought it was a good idea to leave the Hunt long enough to go back to camp and clean up, then answer a few emails before tracking me down?

Alexis must have felt the same way, because she got to her feet and growled, the menacing posture incongruous with her slender form. As she stepped between me and my pack mates, I lolled my tongue out at the humor of the occasion. It was sweet and totally unwarranted for the pack princess to try to protect me.

"Stop right there, bitch," Fen ground out. And now it was my turn to snarl. I knew the teenager, and she didn't use the B word to refer to female wolves. No, she was insulting this glorious creature who had given me the best night of my life. Spunk was one thing, but I was going to have to finally show this kid who was leader of our pack.

Before I could do so, however, Wade was walking forward, homing in on me by sound alone since his eyes were still covered. And why doesn't he remove the blindfold? I wondered. It wasn't as if the teenager's hands were tied behind his back. Instead, they appeared to be sporting yet another piece of fabric. I squinted my eyes, trying to make out more details in the darkness.

Then I had no more time to wonder because my own pack mate was tackling me, pushing me to the ground until my nose was mashed painfully into the dirt. I could easily have clawed my way free, but I trusted Wade, despite his apparent insanity. So I instead shifted to two legs and growled at him. "What's wrong with you?"

"It's what's wrong with you, boss," Wade said, his voice calm despite the incendiary words. He was tying the sweatshirt around my face now, blocking both eyes and nose.

The absence of Alexis's fruity aroma hit me like a punch in the gut and a howl of rejection came out of my throat without conscious volition. I ripped at the blindfold while Wade struggled to regain purchase on my arms, and it wasn't until I smelled the latter's blood that I stopped moving. I'd promised never to allow anyone to hurt my pack mate, and the fact that I'd just punched Wade full in the nose pulled me up short.

"Hold that thought." Fen's words were suddenly closer, whispering into my ear. A hard object slipped into my hand—the cell phone. Then my best friend Chase's voice was rising from the speaker.

"...dog...oxytocin...."

I wasn't able to fully understand what I was hearing at first. But then I focused with horrified fascination as my milk brother explained how dogs and humans had coevolved to share a hormonal response based on eye contact. In other words, while shifters and wolves challenged each other with our gazes, looking into a dog's eyes caused humans to fall in love.

And perhaps gazing into Alexis's eyes did the same to every nearby male werewolf?

Being blocked off from the pack princess's sight and scent was already clearing the brain cloud that I'd been drifting beneath all night, and I could now put my own actions into perspective. I'd ignored Fen's intuition, had run off in the wrong direction with no plan, and had fucked a pack princess without foreplay on the wet December leaves.

In short, I'd acted like an animal.

My head fell into my hands as I slumped down in defeat. Yep, this time I'd royally screwed up.

Chapter 6

"YOU’RE NOT REALLY going to let this pup's imaginative storytelling throw you off your stride, are you?"

Alexis's words weren't nearly as sweet now that I didn't have the misdirection of her gaze to contend with. Instead, they sounded shrill, grating against my ears.

In fact, the first impulse garnered from my newfound clarity was to simply walk away, to get my pack mates to safety as quickly as possible. But, despite Alexis's misdirection, I was still the one who'd acted like a cad an hour earlier. So I figured I owed the pack princess an argument if she really wanted to get into it here and now.

She couldn't have picked a worse venue, I thought, shivering. The clouds had cleared and the forest was now chilling by the minute. Plus, we were losing hunting time as we stood around and I could feel Chase's concern through the now silent phone dropped by my feet.

But I kept my voice level when I spoke. "Was Chief Wilder really so threatened by two teenagers and a bloodling that he had to send a parasite to take us down?"

"Take you down?" Now Alexis laughed, but the sound was nowhere near musical. "As I recall, there wasn't any going down at all. That was the saddest excuse for a girlfriend experience I've ever seen."

Beside me, Wade's body jerked in distress. Don't you realize there are kids present? I almost said, biting my tongue at the last moment. Not only would both Wade and Fen be mortified if I referred to them as children, but the cat was already out of the bag. Might as well move on to damage control.

Before I could find my tongue, though, Fen broke the ice. "Don't worry. I already smelled it," the girl said coldly, but she slipped a reassuring hand onto my shoulder at the same time. Chances were good she hadn't smelled the rich, sexual aroma wafting through the air since she was a halfie hosting the world's weakest wolf. But the youngster was an accomplished actress, and she was also far more loyal than I deserved.

My pack mate's spunk gave me the boost I needed to strike back at the pack princess with words. "You do realize you just called yourself a prostitute, right? Is that really what you want to do with your life?"

"Look me in the eye and call me that again," the female challenged. "I dare you."

* * *

MY HAND WAS on the blindfold before Fen could stop me. And Alexis's fruity aroma pushed its way back into my nostrils and brain when I'd barely touched the fabric.

But I knew the deluge was coming this time, so I was able to fight against the nearly overwhelming impulses her mere presence created. Persimmons are bitter, puckery fruit when they're not ripe, I reminded myself. And Alexis is far from ripe.

The human words helped me master the scent, so I slipped the blindfold the rest of the way off and moved on to sight. The moon hadn't yet risen, but I could tell it was pushing against the horizon now because the sky had very subtly lightened in the few minutes I'd been out of action. In the gloaming, I stood and took two steps forward until I formed a barrier between the parasite and my pack mates. Then I reached out and tilted Alexis's chin upwards until our eyes locked.

Even with my brain unclouded, I could see that she was gorgeous. Her eyes were as wide as those of a manga heroine, her nose the tiniest pert protrusion between rosy cheeks. She bit her lips and the organs in question blossomed into arousal before my very eyes.

On the other hand, her irises, once so warm, looked cold and dark. The parasite was doing her best to lure me back in, but the effect was like a magic-eye puzzle—once you picked out the hidden image for the first time, it was impossible to go back to your previous state of ignorance.

"Kiss me," she demanded, not realizing her rabbit had slipped the snare. So I obliged, bending my neck down and pushing her lips apart with my own.

Her tongue teased me, slipping in and out of my mouth. But my body remained passionless. There was nothing less enticing than a pack princess reveling in her own power.

And when her hands slipped toward my flaccid manhood, I bit down on her lower lip. Not gently either. I could smell the subtle addition of blood to the air as the female pushed me away.

Or, rather, as she pushed herself in the opposite direction by assaulting my broad chest. I remained unmoved by the effort and the pack princess growled in a manner unbecoming of a lady.

Then she slapped me. Gritting my teeth against the sudden burn, I let her express her anger. If this is what it took for the girl to find her true power, then I could handle a bit of pain.

Because I was coming to realize that Alexis must not have tried to seduce me for her own ends, not when my reputation as a bloodling alpha had reached the ears of every shifter at All-Pack long ago. Pack princesses teased me with glances when flanked by their guards, but only the very bravest women pulled me into the trees to see if my skills in the sack lived up to my skills as an alpha.

And Alexis was anything but brave. No, I could feel her fear in the air, her worries that Chief Wilder would do her even more harm than I would if she failed at this task.

Still, when the young woman raised her arm for a second strike, I encircled both of her wrists in a single fist. "Enough."

Fen and Wade stood inches behind me now, seeking comfort from the proximity of their pack leader in a strange situation that must have felt thoroughly out of their control. In fact, I'd heard the former's gasp of disbelief when Alexis and I had kissed, but Fen trusted me enough this time to let the farce continue.

Wade, I assumed, was still blindfolded and had no clue what was going on. I didn't blame him. I'd barely been able to fight off Alexis's compulsion using the full force of my alpha personality, and I didn't think the weaker shifter stood a chance. So, even though he wasn't moving forward, I shot an arm out to the side as an order for both pack mates to hold their ground.

I knew the smart move now would be to turn away from Alexis and herd my companions out of danger while I had the chance. But as I gazed at the parasite one last time, I couldn't help feeling sorry for her. She wasn't exactly a pack princess, I now realized as I peered more closely. Not a pure-blood werewolf at all, in fact.

No, if I didn't miss my guess, Alexis was a halfie just like the teenager who had saved my hide a few minutes earlier with her quick thinking. But the hybridization of human and shifter blood, in Alexis's case, had resulted in something entirely new and different rather than creating the usual shifter with an abnormally weak wolf.

No wonder halfies were treated with contempt in every pack except my own. Alexis probably wasn't the first parasite to come out of the mix. And most shifters would find it safer to throw the baby out with the bathwater rather than risking being manipulated by a half-wolf like the one who'd wrapped me around her little finger tonight.

Yet more data to support my hypothesis that Alexis had been forced to accept Chief Wilder's protection—and commands—out of desperation. Which meant that I was honor bound to offer her a way out of her dilemma instead of simply plunging her back into the fire.

There's that ornery honor again.

But I didn't express my reluctance with words. Instead I said, "We can find a way to let you join our pack if you want to."

My mind was already running through possible methods I could use to block Alexis's strange effects on nearby shifters. Perhaps perfume and sunglasses? Or, better yet, a scent-absorbing charcoal lining to her clothes. If the female was willing, we'd definitely be able to come up with a compromise between her needs and the needs of my clan.

But Alexis, apparently, had no inclination to become part of a normal pack. Instead, she laughed in my face. "Why should I relinquish my powers when I'm stronger than you can ever dream of becoming?" she demanded.

"Because Chief Wilder will punish you for failing," Fen answered, taking a step forward to stand by my side. The kid was obviously right. My own alpha behavior aside, most pack leaders wouldn't let such an obvious failure go undisciplined.

Alexis didn't answer immediately. Instead, she seemed to will more persimmon odor into the air, and I had to scrunch my eyes shut for a split second in order to clear my brain. By the time I was able to see straight again, the parasitic halfie was behind my back, ripping the blindfold away from Wade's eyes and bringing the teenager back under her spell.

"I'll just move on to another pack then," she answered. "But I won't go alone."

Chapter 7

"INCOMING!" FEN SHRIEKED.

I cocked my head, watching the drama unfold around me. At his pack mate's words, Wade had immediately dropped to the ground, hands shielding his head as if responding to a bomb threat. The shifter's nose was in the earth, his eyes squinted shut.

And his quick reflexes seemed to have done the trick, effectively breaking Alexis's compulsion. Because the beguiler had to resort to prodding him with one foot, her dainty nose wrinkling up in annoyance at his lack of response. Then, when my pack mate gave no further reaction, the parasite tried gazing into my eyes one last time.

"No dice," I told myself as much as her. It took effort, but I was able to keep my tone and stance as cold as my opponents'.

Shrugging, she turned away smoothly. I'd expected a tantrum at the end of her game of wills and lies. But, instead, it was as if the failure meant no more to her than if she'd lost a game of monopoly.

"Whatever," the young woman muttered. "There are other packs."

Then she sank down onto four paws and slunk off into the night. And despite my better sense, I stared hard into the trees until the last flash of white fur was long gone.

No, I wasn't making sure the threat had been truly snuffed out. I was simply unable to take my eyes off the enticing temptress when even now I ached to don fur and lope away to join her.

When all that remained was black shadows beneath winter-bare trees, I finally returned my attention to my pack mates. "What was that?" I asked, hoping that hearing Fen or Wade speak would keep me from turning wolf and bristling at the sudden emptiness of the forest. The air felt thin and cold without Alexis's persimmon aroma clogging my nostrils.

And I still yearned to run after the parasite and beg to join her.

"Safe word," Wade replied around a mouthful of dirt. "We practiced the whole time we were tracking you down. Is she gone?"

"Yep," Fen responded. Unaffected by Alexis's absence, the cocky fourteen-year-old walked forward now to give her compatriot a hand up, patting a few dried grass blades off his shoulder in the process. "You done good, kid," she added, her words a near perfect imitation of my own frequently used term of approval.

And just like that, the spell was broken.

We did it. Relief that we were all alive and unchanged made laughter bubble up out of my chest and explode from my lips. It was the first honest sentiment I'd felt since the Chief saddled us with his lackey, so I fell into the emotion and let all of my angst dissipate into gales of laughter.

Fen looked abashed for a split second. But then she joined in until we were both clutching each other's shoulders to keep from falling down. It felt good to be the only inhabitant in my head once again.

"Not to break up the fun," Wade said at last, when our mirth was finally winding down. "But the moon's gonna rise in thirty minutes." He held up the smart phone I'd long since dropped, weather data shining toward me from the lit screen. "I texted Chase to let him know you're okay. But if we want a chance of winning Wilder support, we need to get a move on."

"I guess we didn't find you soon enough." Fen's face went from happy to sad in an instant, and I tousled her hair in reassurance. The kid had saved the day, and now she was upset for not buying a new territory for our entire pack in the process. She was something else.

"You found me just fast enough," I promised. Then, before slipping into wolf skin, I added, "We still have time to catch the rat. He's not far away."

* * *

WILDER’S TRAIL HAD confused me when I noticed it earlier, and not just because Alexis's overwhelming persimmon aroma overlaid his subtler scent. The Chief had also gone to the trouble of finding a skunk to spray the clothes he'd donned after returning to human form, effectively blocking his trail from shifter noses. Because while wolves enjoy strong smells, skunks held little allure to our sensitive nostrils. No wonder everyone—me included—had turned aside after catching a whiff of the skunky aroma.

But the other alpha had been too lazy—or too particular—to coat his skin and hair with the same musk. As a result, his personal aroma was still present in the air, albeit only faintly discernible beneath the other species' protective spray.

Now that my brain was clear enough to think straight, it was easy to guess at the Chief's plan and to track the skunk scent to its source. Well, easy mentally if not physically. In the end, we had to hunt down our quarry in human form because his lair was located halfway up a cliff where wolf paws couldn't tread.

We tried to climb in silence, but I was sure Wilder knew we were coming by smell if nothing else. So I half expected to find a puddle of clothes as I crested the ledge, wolf escaped. Surely a wily old shifter like Crazy Wilder would have selected a cave with a bolt hole out the back?

Nope. The wolf bristling and growling before me had been cornered by his own overconfidence.

Which isn't to say he was defenseless. Instead, Wilder's eyes bored into mine with the exact opposite effect of the compulsion I'd experienced just thirty minutes earlier. Alexis's gaze had melted me into a lovesick fool, while Wilder's eyes threatened to push me off the rock face through sheer force of will.

I wanted to wave Wade and Fen back down the cliff so I could handle our opponent alone. After all, despite being adults by shifter standards, the duo seemed so much younger than my twenty-four years.

But they'd been the ones who'd seen through Alexis's chicanery while I'd fallen into her trap with blind confidence. Not much different from Crazy Wilder after all, now am I?

So when Fen clawed her way up the rocks behind me, I offered a hand to pull her to her feet and waited as she gave Wade the same boost up. Still, I kept my broader form between the other alpha and the teenagers. If anyone was going to be attacked by the grizzled pack leader, I wanted it to be me.

We all stood poised for a long moment as the thin sliver of a waning moon gently drifted up above the tree line below us. Despite his defensive posture, I still held out hope that our opponent might cede gracefully. After all, I'd sometimes felt that the older shifter looked upon me with as much affection as a cold-hearted bastard could muster.

But Crazy Wilder had no intention of going down without a fight. Instead, he leapt forward without warning, his sheer bulk pushing me into the ground mere inches from the edge between rock and open air. His teeth snapped together around my human arm, and I expected at any moment to hear a crack as skin pierced and bone broke.

Which is when Fen pulled the next item out of her bag of tricks. One Taser later, the Chief lay groggily in human form at our feet, thoroughly vanquished.

Chapter 8

"YOU COULD’VE WAITED to shock him until we were back on solid ground," Wade carped at the younger girl as he accepted the inert form of Chief Wilder that I was lowering from ledge to earth. "He weighs a ton."

In response, Fen stepped forward to add her own grip to the man's hairy legs just as he slipped out of my hands. Like a well-oiled team, the pair eased our opponent gently onto the leaf litter, bantering all the while. "He'd attacked Wolfie," Fen countered, as if the words explained everything.

I smiled indulgently. Despite my opponent's bite, I thought I probably would have done okay against a shifter twice my age without any help from human technology. But I let my pack mate's explanation slide. After all, Fen had saved my ass enough times this evening to make it clear she should trust her own judgment.

And, honestly, I didn't have any particular plan about how to get an unwilling Chief Wilder back to the All-Pack clearing without benefit of rope or handcuffs. So it was just as well my pack mate had turned our problem into a dead weight.

I ended the bickering the easy way. "I'll carry him," I intervened, hopping straight down then hoisting the other alpha across one shoulder in a fireman's carry. "Let's go."

* * *

THE RETURN JOURNEY felt longer but also far more pleasant than our initial run through the Wilder woods. When I'd been following in Alexis's wake, I'd thought I was drifting in a sea of pure bliss. But now I saw how distant I'd been from the present moment as I noticed entire turns in the trail I'd blanked out the first time around. I usually built an internal map as I explored new terrain, but I figured it was a good thing Fen's phone had GPS functionality or we might have been backtracking half the day before reaching camp.

As it was, we still didn't arrive at the All-Pack field until well after dawn. The hum of confused shifter voices hit us as soon as we stepped out of the trees, and I could smell strong odors of anxiety and speculation joining the frost on the ground. The other attendees would have known something was up as soon as Chief Wilder failed to return at daybreak, and they'd since enjoyed over an hour to make up stories explaining both his and our absence.

I scanned the area, noticing members of the other eight teams resting sore feet in their own campsites. In contrast, our own patch of earth lay empty, fire burnt out and no bustle of pack mates to greet us.

And I was glad of that fact. It would have been nice to return to a warm meal, but I was relieved to find that Chase hadn't been so shaken up by my stupidity that he'd hopped in a car to join us. No, I needed my beta at home guarding our territory...and guarding the ace in the hole we had secreted therein.

Because Chief Wilder's grandson was a good kid, and I'd hate to see him snatched up in a werewolf power play. Plus, I needed the leverage point if I wanted to get Crazy Wilder off my back.

Well, at least I can literally get him off my back. I allowed my opponent to slide to the ground more roughly than I might have had the other pack leaders not been watching. Yep, I'll admit it. At All-Pack I toed the line and pretended to be a typical testosterone-enhanced macho male.

"Is that...?" one voice whispered. As if in response, a heaping handful of Wilder's lackeys came out of the woodwork and stepped forward menacingly, drawing all eyes toward the impending altercation. The large males were obvious enforcers, dressed in black leather with handguns belted to their waists like Old West cowboys.

Due to their threatened firepower, I only allowed myself one smug moment of triumph before raising empty hands into the air and backing away from their chief slowly. "He's all yours," I said. Then, reminding them: "It's just a game."

The youngest enforcer bared his teeth, forgetting he was two-legged, and I could feel Wade tense beside me. I placed a calming hand on the teenager's shoulder. No need to let this get out of hand.

"He should wake up shortly," I offered as another Wilder shifter dropped to his knees and felt the older man's pulse.

"He seems fine," the enforcer confirmed. Tension dropped away from his compatriots at the words, and it was as if a dam had broken within the surrounding crowd. Whispers turned into excited chatter and soon excited speculation filled the air in one solid roar.

"Guess it's time to clean up and get some breakfast," I told my own little pack, turning away from the interested onlookers. "We've got a busy day ahead."

Chapter 9

CHIEF WILDER DIDN’T support our bid for territorial rights after all, but we won by a hair in the end. My brother had been too busy consolidating his own leadership to attend this year's gathering, and Justin's usual allies had largely drifted in my direction as a result. But even with that windfall, I still wouldn't have had enough votes without Gavin's help.

To my surprise, when push came to shove the kid grew a spine and spoke in my favor. In the process, Crazy Wilder glared so hard at the young alpha that I thought the teenager might topple over, but Gavin held firm. His faint smile in my direction after all was said and done suggested that the youngster thought his action was equal repayment for the fact I'd resisted the urge to snap his neck when I had the chance.

But I'd never felt any such urge. So I figured I now owed Gavin a favor in return.

An issue that would have to be dealt with at a later date since Wilder was even more unhappy with me than he was with my new friend. "A word," the older alpha growled as he walked past, effectively ending All-Pack's business meeting for the night. My win at the Winter Hunt aside, no one would dream of continuing our annual conference without our resident big, bad wolf present.

As I padded along at the older alpha's heels, I couldn't prevent myself from reliving the experience of being taken aside by this same shifter two years prior to atone for my sins. Then, I'd allowed arrogance to put my pack in harm's way and Wilder had come through to save my skin...but had exacted a promise in the process that I would repay that debt at a future date. At the time, I'd felt chagrined by my own stupidity and cowed by the unfamiliar sensation of being taken down a notch by a shifter stronger than myself. But I'd also been jubilant that I was managing to escape my sticky wicket alive.

Now, my weaknesses had once again put my pack in danger. But Wilder was the one who'd lost face in the end, and I wasn't so sure his waning alpha dominance was still stronger than my ever-increasing power. In fact, I had a sneaking suspicion that if we stood toe to toe and gazed into one another's eyes, Crazy Wilder would now be the one to blink first.

Which meant I was in even more danger than two years prior. Because dominant alphas like Chief Wilder hated nothing more than being taken down a peg. So the other pack leader would likely exact vengeance by calling in his debt in such a manner that I'd be forced to fall on my sword to prevent doing even more harm to my little clan.

Images of the worst possible requests the other alpha could make swam through my mind. What would I do if he demanded Fen be turned over to his pack? The halfie would drown in the morass of prejudice here in Wilder territory, her youthful spark snuffed out by his manipulative impatience. Or perhaps the old wolf would insert a few of his shifters into my little clan and use us to shore up his waning power.

Not possible, I reminded myself. I'd offered Wilder my word to do his bidding, but had made it perfectly clear that only myself, not my pack, would suffer for my sins.

Plus, Keith was still shielded by my clan's growing influence. Surely Wilder would back down once he saw we were in the position to harm his own flesh and blood.

"You think you're so clever," my opponent said at last, when we'd walked far enough into the trees that no one else could hear. "But what you don't realize is that Alexis was a test. A test that you failed."

"I thought...." The words were out of my mouth before I could call them back. And the smirk on the other alpha's lips proved that he'd gotten the exact rise out of me that he'd hoped for.

Let him gloat. My opponent's tension eased a bit more with each minute he made me wait, and I forced my shoulders to hunch inward in supposed cowardice. If Wilder needed a show of submission after being dragged back to his own camp unconscious, then I wasn't too proud to give it to him.

He seemed to be waiting for me to speak, though. So I offered up a comment at last. "If I failed the test, does that mean you don't want to call in my debt?"

Wilder rubbed the back of one hand across the stubble that coated his chin, and his eyes narrowed into dark slits as his lips spread into a humorless grin. "Oh, no. I'll still take that favor. But I think I'll let you sweat a little longer first. Triumph is always so much sweeter when your adversary falls shaking at your feet before you even bother to strike the first blow."

The old cuss turned away from me while his words were still ringing in the air, and I thought the meeting was over. But then the wily alpha looked back over one shoulder and added, "In the meantime, I wish you luck training your second young halfie to heel. A mixed-blood raised by humans. He's of no value to me."

And then, having proven that in this game of cards aces were low, Wilder walked away muttering and chuckling to himself. The older alpha seemed to be drifting into madness...and my honor was clutched in his decompensating fist.

Hair Apparent

Episode 5

Chapter 1

THE STRANGER SMELLED like oily, black smoke so foul it overwhelmed any underlying personal aroma.

Oathbreaker.

I growled and rose to four paws, placing myself between the infant I'd been babysitting and the newcomer walking through the door at my milk brother's side. Usually, I made it a policy to welcome all drifters on a probationary basis at least. Many who took advantage of our hospitality moved on after a few days while others became permanent members of our pack. Either way, I didn't mind opening my door to the outpack shifters.

But none had smelled as putrid as this forty-something werewolf, whose human face looked charming and whose scent made me want to retch. I took another menacing step forward, preparing to take down the drifter if he moved an inch closer to Lantana.

"Wolfie, I found...." Chase's voice trailed off as he took in my aggressive stance. "Ah, perhaps we should just step back outside for a moment," he concluded, clearly undecided between joining me in defense of our pack's weakest member or protecting the stranger from my teeth and claws. As he wavered, my beta raised his eyebrows and shot me a what-the-fuck look, which I answered by curling up my top lip to reveal my fangs. Shrugging, Chase turned and began ushering the stranger back out the door.

"But the child...." The man's voice hit all the right notes of concern in the face of leaving a halfie not yet old enough to crawl alone with an alpha werewolf who appeared to be in the throes of some sort of psychotic fit.

I didn't buy it for an instant.

But Chase was a more trusting sort—he had to be to put up with me. My beta shot me one last chiding glance over his shoulder as he guided the stranger back out the open door. "I'll send Lantana's mother over," he said, ostensibly to the oathbreaker but really to me. "Then Wolfie and you can sit down in human form and hash this out."

Sure, I told my friend with a quick upwards jerk of my chin. I'd listen to the drifter's story. I'd let Tia fill his belly.

And then I'd send him on his way and out of our lives as quickly and as thoroughly as possible.

* * *

"IT WAS A youthful indiscretion. Stupid really," the oathbreaker murmured, then paused as he blew into the cup of steaming tea that Chase's mother had slipped into his hands.

He appeared so harmless, sitting there slack shouldered and unsure of himself. And, from the expressions on everyone else's faces, I gathered I was the only one who could smell the aroma rising off the stranger so strongly that I almost expected visible smoke to clog the air between us. I forced myself not to growl, but Chase shot me a warning glance anyway.

My milk brother, like the rest of our pack, clearly thought the purpose of this gathering was to get to know a potential new pack member. Based on the smiles and good cheer filling the room, everyone was ready and willing to welcome the oathbreaker into the clan with the usual pomp and circumstance.

This time, though, my goal was a little different. I wanted every wolf I could trust at my back when I led the stranger to the edge of our property and chivvied him on his way. There could be no chance that he'd circle back around and harm one of the shifters beneath my care.

I hadn't actually put my plan into words, though. And I could tell that most of my companions were being swayed by Fred's self-deprecating manner, making them think this intervention was instead a welcome-home celebration for a new pack member.

Of course, my companions didn't have the same bloodling nose that allowed me to smell the depth of Fred's character. Or, rather, the lack thereof.

While my mind wandered, the oathbreaker had been busy charming our pack mother. Now, Tia soothed his supposed woes with a plate of cookies along with the quiet words: "We all grow and change."

And in reply the oathbreaker glanced up with such gentle good humor that I almost thought I'd imagined the quick flash of assessment when Chase's mother first walked into the room.

But I didn't doubt myself. And I did doubt the oathbreaker.

Despite my best intentions to toe the line and let my pack come to their own conclusions about Fred, I rose and crossed the room in three long strides. I didn't want the soiled shifter anywhere near the woman who had raised me like a second son. She'd dealt with enough pain and suffering in her life already without letting a stranger wiggle his way into her affections and then pull the rug out from under her feet.

"Here, you've done enough," I told Tia gruffly, removing the dish towel from her hands and pointing her toward the chair I'd vacated. "He's far from starving."

Tia pursed her lips, as unimpressed by my lack of manners as my milk brother had been. But it wasn't as if I was pointing out something our pack mother couldn't see with her own eyes. Fred had a potbelly to go along with his jovial, Santa Claus demeanor. He wasn't an emaciated kid in need of fattening up.

In response to that thought, my gaze slid across the yahoos arrayed along the other side of the dining-room table. Three of the four teenagers and twenty-somethings had entered our pack as supplicants just like the stranger who currently held our attention. And all of them had since turned into the sort of shifters I'd want at my back in a battle to the death.

On the other hand, the yahoos had been starving and desperate when they arrived on our doorstep. Fred was anything but. I couldn't see why my pack mates found it so hard to distinguish the two states.

"Please, tell us the story." My uncle Oscar was the oldest shifter present and he often acted as unofficial spokesman for our clan when my age would have worked against us. Now, I suspected he was just trying to gloss over my complete lack of social graces. But my uncle's authority paid off anyway because it forced Fred to stop offering platitudes and start offering facts.

Or should I say lies? Because the tale the stranger spun was anything but factual. Or so his subtle facial twitches and body language revealed.

"I hadn't even realized what I was promising when I swore that oath," Fred concluded at the end of a long, convoluted story that made him out to be a wounded hero struggling to do right in a dangerous world full of evil. "But I knew I couldn't kill an innocent man, even if it meant foregoing my honor. So I broke my word, and the scent has clung to me ever since."

He gestured at his chest with one hand, as if apologizing for unfortunate body odor, and I could see my tender-hearted pack mates lapping up his words like rich, yellow cream. The oathbreaker had succeeded admirably at his goal of evoking pity despite not deserving any shifter's good regard.

Now I did growl, a lupine sound that nonetheless emerged successfully from my human lips. And in response, Fred eyed me consideringly.

Then he stood, hands loosely open at his sides. "I understand." His head was bowed, but I saw the tension of pride in his shoulders. He was still play-acting, working to sway us to his point of view. "You're the alpha and you don't want anything to threaten your authority. You have no way of knowing you can trust me. I'll go."

Yes, get out of here, I wanted to say. I was the alpha. And authority be damned, it was my job to protect my pack from interlopers like this one, even if the pack members in question didn't know enough to want to be protected.

But the look on Chase's face moved me where the oathbreaker's manipulations had failed. My milk brother was disappointed by my tough point of view. Can't you give him one last chance? the slant of Chase's eyebrows asked.

Beside my best friend, the yahoos appeared equally surprised by my combative posture. Why should Fred be forced out of the pack when they'd been allowed to stay, they wondered. I could see the oathbreaker's words trickling into their subconscious, their sudden concern about whether I'd only allowed each of them to join our clan because their youth posed no threat to my leadership.

If I could so easily toss Fred to the curb, would I someday do the same to them?

Yes, the stranger was good at what he did. But I could have shored up my pack after he left. Fred's manipulations needn't have driven a wedge into our little clan.

So why did I let him stay? Because I'd sworn an oath of my own. And someday, I had a sinking suspicion, I might just have to break it.

Chapter 2

THE DEBT THAT had once hung so heavily upon my thoughts had escaped my mind in recent years. After all, I'd been busy growing from an addle-pated pup into an alpha leading a cohesive band of eleven shifters and one human during that time period. And ever since failing Crazy Wilder's test five All-Pack's ago, I seemed to have fallen off the older shifter's radar entirely.

Or so I allowed myself to believe. It just felt better that way.

Until, that is, a big black limousine cruised up to our door the day after Fred arrived. The oathbreaker had spent the night bunking in our common area, and now Bernt, Oscar, and the yahoos were showing him the boundaries of our territory. With most of our females enjoying a much-deserved girl's day out, only Chase, Quetzalli, and I were present to babysit Lantana and witness Chief Wilder's arrival.

The crunch of tires on gravel drew us to the door, and I knew as soon as I caught sight of the vehicle that this was it, the day I'd been pretending would never come. The question was, would I be able to do as the Chief requested without losing my honor? Or would I turn into an oathbreaker like the one who I should have had the balls to send on his way the night before?

At a glance from me, Chase handed off the baby he'd been amusing to Quetzalli and the latter loped off toward the woods double-time. No, I wasn't being a male chauvinist pig. All three of us knew that Quetzalli was ten times tougher than the gentle-hearted Chase in a fight. Lantana would be safer in her arms than in anyone's except my own.

And I had a sinking suspicion I wasn't going to be able to protect the child myself. Instead, I watched as the passenger side front door of the vehicle opened and a huge suited shifter unfolded out of the seat to loom menacingly over my head.

Behind him, Chief Wilder's scent wafted around the corner of the open aperture and into my human nose. It smelled like his high craziness was present in the flesh, hiding behind the tinted windows but likely judging my reaction with that characteristic smirk on his lips. Yep, this was it.

"Chief Wilder requests a meeting," the spokesman rumbled. His voice was as deep as the ringing of a gong, but it was my upcoming decision that made a long shiver run down my spine.

No need to let my benefactor see my weakness, though. So I looked directly toward the source of the scent, staring at my own reflection in the blackened glass. And after several seconds, the door in question creaked open to join its neighbor.

"Get in," Wilder commanded.

The limousine's back seat was large and open, but the other alpha filled the entire space through force of personality alone. I felt as if I was being invited into a hungry lion's den empty-handed.

In other words, I was dinner.

But there was no alternative. Shooting Chase a quick glance to quell his complaint at being left behind, I stepped forward and obeyed.

* * *

I'D HALF EXPECTED Chief Wilder to bring up my debt as soon as the door snicked shut behind me, but instead he feigned cordiality. "Wolf Young," the other alpha greeted me, shaking my hand as if we were business associates on our way out to dinner.

I played along, squashing my urge to shift to lupine form and challenge him there and then. With tact I didn't usually possess, I even refrained from taunting my opponent with the not-so-affectionate nickname we used behind his back—Crazy Wilder. Instead, I offered a sop to the older shifter's ego, addressing him as his own underlings would have. "Chief," I answered.

My companion smiled, a wolfish grin that meant he knew very well who had the upper hand. But he continued to play human. "Do you like sushi?"

Which is how we ended up seated on the back patio of a Japanese restaurant, our lupine metabolisms preventing us from shivering in the cold that had sent all other patrons scurrying for cover. We chatted like humans until the food came, then Wilder surprised me by manipulating his chopsticks like a pro.

In contrast, I surprised neither of us by simply picking up the tasty morsels and drenching them in wasabi sauce before gulping the rolls down like the wolf I was. Why pretend to be human when my animal nature was my greatest strength?

So, wolf-like, I waited Wilder out until he was sated from raw fish and sticky rice, his erratic lupine half soothed within his human skin. Then, resting his lips on two steepled fingers, my opponent considered me across the small table.

"You've grown up."

"It was either that or die young," I responded, trying to quash the thrill of pleasure that ran through my chest at the words. As absurd as it sounded, Wilder had become a bit of a father figure to me, and even this hint of approval warmed me in ways it shouldn't have.

Something I hoped Crazy Wilder never found out, since he held all the cards and considered me an underling to be manipulated just like every other shifter who had the misfortune of coming beneath his sway.

The fact was, I'd realized long ago that was what my debt was all about. Sniffing through the other clans' territories at All-Pack, I soon discovered that I'd fallen into one of Wilder's favorite traps. Find a young alpha still growing into his paws, help him out of a tight spot, then hold that favor over his head for years to come. It was no wonder half of our region's shifters fawned at the grizzled alpha's feet while the other half considered him with a mixture of dread and grudging respect.

I refused to do either. Instead, I allowed my eyes to lock with those of my companion, and I enjoyed the lupine power that surged beneath my human skin in response to our silent contest of wills.

Neither of us blinked, but Wilder spoke first. "The time has come to pay your debt."

And tell me something I don't know, I thought, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Chapter 3

"MY HOLD OVER clan Wilder is waning," the grizzled alpha said after a short pause, shocking me to my core. I'd considered the Chief an unchangeable part of the regional landscape, like a craggy mountain I'd always considered climbing but didn't really want to cross. I couldn't imagine the terrain without his huge shadow depressing the other inhabitants.

I forced my open mouth to snap shut, although I continued staring at the older shifter. By human standards he might be close to retirement age, but wolves don't relinquish power easily. So there had to be something more at play than met the eye.

And there it was, deep within his lupine soul. A spark of madness forming and growing. I'd glimpsed the same flaw nearly six years earlier when Chief Wilder had walked away from me laughing after refusing to support my bid for territorial rights. But now the illness had spread much further, and I could tell my opponent's humanity was beginning to slip through his iron fist.

I angled myself unconsciously to place my body between the other shifter and the human server who had come outside with the check. "I'll take it," I said curtly, slapping a credit card onto the plastic platter and sending the youngster scurrying back to the safety and warmth of the nearby building. I didn't bother to pretend manners when I called after him. "Don't bother us again."

My attention never left the wolf before me, though. No, if Wilder was going to spring at the human, I'd catch the first anticipatory bunching of his muscles and would get there first.

Only when the door had thudded shut did I raise one eyebrow in response to Wilder's statement. It wasn't as if I was a healer...not that I thought the other alpha's ailment could be reversed. No, he was drifting closer to the edge every day, and I suspected that he'd long ago passed the point of no return.

"My pack needs a strong alpha," the other pack leader continued, his words a harsh growl. But despite his rough tone, his gaze no longer met mine. Instead, it had settled upon a trio of pigeons picking up scraps on the sidewalk, and I almost expected my companion to shift into lupine form and pounce on the savory morsels.

I didn't particularly blame him—those fat city birds were delicious. But I found myself in the unusual position of being the werewolf required to bring humanity to the proceedings.

"Not a good idea," I murmured, letting my benefactor take my words however he liked. A firm rebuke, I knew, would send his clothes flying into fragments of shredded fabric faster than I could blink an eye. Hopefully this more subtle form of warning would do the trick.

Wilder's cold, dark eyes latched onto my face once again, and I had to force myself not to growl. There was no point in responding to his challenge, not here in a human city where neither one of us could risk being seen in lupine form.

"My debt," I nudged.

"It's barely a favor. More like an honor," Wilder answered.

His humanity had returned in its entirety, and I almost thought I'd misjudged the sudden bout of wolfishness. Perhaps I was only reading my own bloodling nature into the other shifter's actions? "Mmm?" I hummed, trying to hurry this meeting along to its conclusion. The day's cold seemed to be seeping into my bones and now I was the one who had a sudden urge to turn wolf and run after small prey.

"You'll come back to Haven with me and be my second," Wilder said, the words a statement rather than a question. "And, when I'm gone, you will lead the pack."

I cocked my head, assessing whether Crazy Wilder was really offering a stranger leadership of a clan that had been in his family for generations. I couldn't tell whether the other alpha's weakness had made him so desperate that he was willing to go to extremes for the sake of his relatives' survival...or whether he was simply playing a game of cat-and-mouse with me once again.

It didn't matter. I couldn't accede to his request either way. Because I knew what the other alpha would say in response to the obvious roadblock. Still, I couldn't resist asking: "And my pack?"

Wilder brushed off the beings who completed my soul like the specks of dirt he considered them to be. "Half-breeds and dykes and useless submissives? They're not worth your time."

I fought back a snarl, then opened my mouth to refuse. But before I could speak, the scent of the oathbreaker blossomed in my memory, the oily aroma that would soon be mine if I failed to live up to the promise I'd made eight years prior. What good would I do for my pack if I was saddled with a scent that made every nearby alpha wrinkle up his nose in disgust?

So I did the only thing I could think of. I played for time. "I'll get back to you on that," I said, rising to my feet and letting my white cloth napkin flutter from lap to ground. The motion scared the pigeons, which fluttered into flight behind us, their avian aroma suddenly stronger in the air.

Wilder was out of his chair and three steps closer to the sidewalk before he could stop himself. Then he paused and turned to face me once again, wolf rampant behind his eyes. "Don't wait too long," he demanded.

He was loping toward his waiting car before I could make my feet move toward the restaurant. I needed to collect my credit card and beg the use of their telephone, and it wouldn't hurt to warm my toes amid the rich scents of fish and rice for a few minutes either.

But once inside, I had to stop and wait out the shudders still wracking my body. Wilder was nuts and I still owed him a personal debt.

Yep, there was absolutely no way this would end well.

Chapter 4

CHASE CAUGHT UP to me in the park. I'd taken the precaution of hiding behind a bush as I disrobed and turned wolf, but I hadn't been able to resist running through the trees as I waited for my friend's arrival. The crunch of fallen leaves beneath my paws calmed me, their woodsy aroma clearing my head from the foul remembrance of the oathbreaker's scent and the bone-chilling glimpse of Chief Wilder's soul. By the time my milk brother arrived, I finally felt human...or, rather, wolf.

But I still wasn't ready to swap fur for feet quite yet. Luckily, Chase had come prepared with leash and velcro collar, the latter rigged to split open at a quick tug if I needed to be set free. "Home?" my best friend asked as I shouldered the illusion of being a well-behaved mongrel while he gathered my clothing to stuff into a backpack at his feet.

I shook my head. I didn't want to return to the problem of the stranger invading my turf, not when I still needed to figure out what could be done about Chief Wilder. Instead, I led my friend deeper into the heart of the city, where shops lined both sides of the main road and humans walked with faces turned away from the chilling wind.

The late autumn cold no longer bothered me, though. Instead, it soothed my pack mentality to walk through the frozen city streets alongside someone I could trust implicitly, my shorter lupine legs easily matching Chase's stride for stride. Meanwhile, I could smell subtle changes in my friend's personal aroma that proved he was enjoying the outing as much as I was. So I let my feet go where they would, relaxing into the hunt.

Only when she came into view through the plate-glass window did I realize that I'd been following a scent trail this entire time. A familiar odor long-forgotten and not really believed in even now. The seductive aroma of Chief Wilder's younger daughter.

You're jumping at shadows, I told myself, forcing human words into my lupine brain to center myself enough that I didn't immediately break through the transparent barrier and rush to the pack princess's side. Because that was my immediate urge. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead.

Instead of obeying my lupine inclination, I let the jolt of rationality brought forth by two-legger language force me to question my own nose. What were the chances I'd see Terra Wilder again now, eight years after pushing her out of my mind for good? And minutes after leaving the side of her father?

If it is Terra, that means the wily old wolf is even more manipulative than I've given him credit for. And it also means that this trap will be harder than ever to wiggle out of.

But did I really want to strive toward freedom? No, if the pack princess curled up with a book on the other side of the shop window was the trap, I'd pull the trigger myself.

So I nosed Chase's hand and led my milk brother into the store.

* * *

WITHOUT MY FRIEND’S humanity, we never would have gotten her to sit with us and sip hot cocoa. Because I was so deeply immersed in the wolf I could barely hear the two-legger's words.

I could sense her caution, though. I could taste her fear, which layered a bitter coffee undertone beneath her tantalizing chocolate aroma. And I could see the urge to flee in the set of her slender shoulders.

Who was I kidding? She wasn't just cautious; she was terrified. The pack princess ran from me at first sight, springing for freedom until I commanded her to halt. The bark came unbidden from my lupine throat and it was entirely the wrong thing to do. But how could I prevent my reaction when I felt our souls twining together from a distance?

She was my mate. She couldn't leave without a word.

The Terra I had spied on from a distance at nineteen had been beautiful but unformed. She'd hidden behind long, dark tresses and had jolted at the cues that told her a predator lurked nearby. It had been so clear that the teenaged version of Terra wasn't ready for me that I'd left her alone in the human world, thinking I was relinquishing my dream for both of our sakes.

Whatever the identity of this current female, whether Terra or another pack princess that looked so much like her, the woman was still hiding from her wolf...and from my own. But when Chase shot me a warning glance and then pressed my leash into the woman's tense fingers, she accepted the danger along with the responsibility. And when I slipped my chin onto her knee as she shivered atop a cold metal seat outside a cafe, she buried her fingers into my fur and stroked gently.

Perhaps she only wanted to warm frozen digits. But I didn't care. My heat was hers for as long as she wanted it. My heart too. I closed my eyes in pure bliss.

Can I trust you? I wanted to ask. But my lupine lips couldn't form the words. And I wouldn't risk breaking the spell by reminding her that she was petting an alpha werewolf. So, instead, I worried the repercussions of her presence like I'd gnaw on a meatless deer bone.

It had been half a decade since I'd trusted myself to open up to an eligible female shifter and I wasn't entirely certain now was the time to change my tune. Sure, I'd caught Tia's pursed lips and wrinkled brow from time to time over the years as she stressed about my inability to find a mate. But how could I offer up my soul to another female after Alexis had so easily suckered me in with her parasitic gaze and then ground my heart to smithereens beneath her heel?

Which isn't to say that I'd been living like a monk for the last six years. There were always females at All-Pack curious about the bloodling alpha, willing to sneak away from relatives and to pull me into the woods for a midnight tryst. I hadn't been in love with them, but I'd been willing to play along.

After all, I had something to prove. I didn't want to believe I was the sort of male who would selfishly leave a female unfulfilled in the throes of his own passion. Never mind that was exactly what had happened with Alexis.

I told myself I hadn't been entirely in my right mind at the time. It was an excuse, but one I was willing to take.

So I practiced until I was perfect. And then I started gently guiding interested females toward males more amenable to their advances. I'd turned to stone, strong for my pack but uninterested in romantic entanglements.

Until I saw this unnamed pack princess and smelled her alluring scent halfway across the city. Now I snuck out my tongue to steal a taste of her bare skin as her hand neared my mouth, and I was unbelievably pleased when she didn't jerk away at the contact.

The female tasted like paper and printer's ink, the scent of the book still clinging to her fingers. And after stroking my fur, she also tasted like me.

"...We'll head back your way soon." I could hear Chase saying as he opened the cafe's door, juggling two cups and a cell phone. "See you."

My friend's spine was more rigid than it had been when he'd walked inside. Something had gone wrong back at home, but I couldn't quite make myself care. I wanted to spend more time here with this pack princess who had stolen my heart.

I needed to know her name.

Chapter 5

"THERE ARE DOZENS of Terras out there," Chase countered as he piloted our car away from the city. We'd learned the pack princess's first name, but not her last. Instead, she retreated as soon as Chase asked about her clan, and this time my bark of command hadn't done the trick at stilling her steps.

The fact that the female had been able to slip out from under my alpha compulsion so easily made her even more enticing, if that was physically possible. In fact, I was now reduced to clutching the oh-shit handle to prevent myself from yanking open the door of the moving vehicle and taking off after her.

"She's Chief Wilder's daughter," I decided. "She has to be."

"Or your second cousin. Or the daughter of the Price heir. You know 'Terra' is as common a name for us as Elizabeth is for humans."

Chase glanced at me before turning his attention back to the road. I could tell my best friend wanted to ask why I was so certain this elusive pack princess was the daughter of the man who held my debt. And why I wanted that to be the case when the relationship seemed like an extra layer of convoluted trouble waiting to blow up in my face. Wouldn't it be better if the female was someone I could woo and win without all the baggage that her heritage would inevitably entail?

Unfortunately, I had no answers for my beta. So I simply shrugged and turned the conversation back to the reason we were rushing home so precipitately. "Who called?"

"Oscar," Chase responded, allowing me to guide our words away from the tantalizing image of Terra Wilder curled up in a nest of upholstered chair and carefully chosen books.

Or fondling my ears and forgetting for one split second that I was predator and she was prey.

Too bad I couldn't guide my thoughts as easily as I could guide my milk brother.

But as Chase explained what had happened at home, my attention finally latched onto the human words. And when we pulled up in front of our pack home, I leapt out of the car before it rolled to a complete stop.

Fred had shown his true colors. And from the crashes and snarls emerging from our living room, it sounded like the oathbreaker had tempted one of my loyal wolves over to the dark side along with him.

* * *

BLAZE WAS THE youngest of our yahoos and the most innocent. Unlike his compatriots, he hadn't spent any time wandering through outpack territories, having been given to me instead by another pack leader two gatherings ago. His previous alpha didn't want him—too close to the wrong side of the pack leader's lineage—but he also didn't want to slaughter the teenager as Chief Wilder would have done.

So I ended up with another young hothead, and one whose views on life were excessively black and white. A character trait that our oathbreaker must have taken full advantage of, because a faint hint of the former's foul aroma now clung to Blaze's fur as the youngster did his level best to tear out Wade's throat.

I knew no one else could smell the difference in fragrance, but our entire pack could see the results. The yahoos were always full of life and ready to tussle, but usually they did so outside. And usually there wasn't blood on their fangs ten minutes into the mock battle.

Good thing Wade was smarter and stronger than his compatriot. And also good that the former was doing his level best not to hurt his friend. Otherwise, this fight would have been over long before I arrived...and not in a good way either.

The whole pack had gathered to watch the show, and I could tell that more than one of them had tried to separate the combatants while they waited on my arrival. Proof in point—Oscar sported a long scratch down one arm and Quetzalli's sour face suggested that her bark of command had been ignored.

Fred, on the other hand, looked upon the battle with a barely visible smirk on his jovial face. Oh yeah, the newcomer was thrilled to have stirred up dissension within our pack. One more indication proving that the oathbreaker needed to go, and sooner rather than later.

But not right now. Because Blaze had finally found an opening in his opponent's defenses and looked ready to rip off Wade's ear. The appendage in question wouldn't grow back in human form once it was gone, and I didn't particularly want to draw attention to our differences from surrounding two-leggers by hanging around with a one-eared youngster. So I leveled the combatants with a single word.

"Down."

My use of alpha compulsion was so rare that I could see it shocking a bit of sense back into Blaze's addled skull. Not only did he release his friend's ear and fall onto his belly as ordered, but the teenager also licked the former's chin apologetically in the process. Unfortunately, though, the hint of oily black smoke that shielded his true aroma remained present.

"Shift, then out," I continued coldly. This time I didn't push any compulsion into the words, but the yahoos still obeyed and followed me out the door with alacrity. They were good kids, if a little hot-headed.

Luckily, the day was growing colder by the minute and their bare skin would chill sense into their brains shortly. In fact, I almost expected to see snow in the air as I stepped away from the agitated aromas of our main pack and into our front yard.

I had a sudden vivid recollection of the frigid white powder I'd fallen into in lupine form on my first day on this earth. That wasn't the kind of alpha I wanted to be—one who would toss away an unwanted pack member to simplify his own life. But what else could I do with Fred when he'd been present less than twenty-four hours and had already turned my strongest supporters into a back-biting mess of fur and fangs?

Still, the memory of my blood father's coldness reminded me not to be too hard on the youngsters before me. So I put a little bit of warmth back into my words as I asked, "Do you want to explain what happened?"

Blaze and Wade exchanged wary glances. I supposed I had just asked each of them to rat out his buddy. I sighed in exasperation. We were getting nowhere fast.

"Let me guess," I said, answering my own question. "Fred suggested to Blaze that maybe things around here weren't so fair. That the big, bad alpha has been lording it over his poor weak underlings. Am I right so far?"

Wade—the older and wiser yahoo—smiled faintly. "Close. Blaze wanted to know why we don't get paid for all the coding work we do in the computer lab."

The younger yahoo hung his head, kicking one bare foot against the sharp gravel. The smoky shadow atop his usual aroma had faded in intensity but was still present. Yeah, the oathbreaker's insinuations had stuck.

"Meanwhile," I continued, "Wade stood up for his savior, saying that lord Wolfie would never withhold anything from the pack, that he always has your best interests at heart."

Now Blaze laughed, the hint of merriment washing his scent entirely clean. "You do sound like a prig sometimes, Wade," he muttered under his breath. Of course, with werewolf ears, we all caught his accusation. So I wasn't surprised when Wade playfully punched his friend's shoulder with a force that would have knocked a mere human onto his butt.

"You two can go play it out in a minute," I concluded, stilling what would soon turn into another fight, but a more friendly one this time around. "Our pack needs an accountant anyhow, so I'll sit Blaze down with some spreadsheets later on and you can decide whether you want to pay each of us a salary. Yes, this is your punishment for upsetting Tia's kitchen." I'd noticed that the fight hadn't been limited to the living room, and the food splatters on the walls were bound to bother Chase's mother. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.

Then, turning to the other combatant, I tousled his hair even though the yahoo was nearly as tall as I was. "And, Wade—don't be such a prig."

Then I headed back into the living room before the pack could disperse. Because, I'd figured out what I needed to do about the bigger problems in my life while I'd been slapping down the pair of over-excited puppies. And the entire pack had to be present for this failsafe measure to work.

Chapter 6

MY GAZE ROAMED across the shifters and human in the room. Tia with her huge heart, Lantana with the untarnished potential only the innocence of childhood could bring, Chase with his never-ending willingness to prop up a bloodling alpha who couldn't always be relied upon to remember that shifters were two-leggers too.

Our newest members, Galena and Quetzalli, made me smile every time I thought of the way our only female teenager had dragged them through the front door triumphantly after I thought our clan had lost the girl forever. Meanwhile, my uncle Oscar was the kind of man I strove to be, Berndt and his wife Acacia had the sort of bond I yearned for, and the three male yahoos kept us all in stitches.

My pack was small but perfect. Some of our members had fled my father's clan with me when I was younger and stupider than Blaze. Others had joined us through sheer desperation or through a rose-tinted hope that life really could be different in an unconventional pack.

And all were in danger from not just one oathbreaker...but from two.

Yes, Fred's foul aroma was sifting its way into the room, but my own influence would be ten times more damaging. Because the oathbreaker hadn't even required verbal inducement to sway my pack mates over to his point of view. No, his mere presence did the trick of soiling our carefully nurtured pack bond.

Fred's black smoke was visible now, to my eyes at least. The tendrils of oily contamination drifted off the oathbreaker's person and swirled around the legs and eyes of every shifter in the room. Only Acacia and Fen seemed immune, the former's non-lupine humanity and the latter's weak wolf protecting both from the oathbreaker's insidious effects.

But far worse than Fred's contamination of the pack was the influence I knew I would have when I came back from meeting Chief Wilder with the same oathbreaking aroma. I didn't particularly think I deserved my current job, but I'd come around to realize that my role as these shifters' alpha was sacred to all of us. As such, my outlook on life would inevitably affect their own.

I couldn't let that influence do more harm than good.

So I patted my pocket to ensure I had a phone handy, I put one firm hand on the oathbreaker's shoulder, then I did what needed to be done. "Until I return, Chase is me," I told all and sundry.

Because the pack needed an alpha. And if I wound up smelling like Fred, I didn't plan to return home.

I paused for a moment to ensure the compulsion took effect, then guided the stranger out the door. "Fred, I'll walk you to your car."

* * *

"TO MY CAR? I don't understand?"

The stranger had arrived on foot much like any other supplicant, but I should have realized as soon as I saw his potbelly and tailored suit that Fred hadn't run here in lupine form. No, he would have wheels stashed somewhere nearby. Good thing too since I needed a ride.

So I didn't answer him in words, only glared until the oathbreaker wilted beneath my regard and turned to the west. Yep, there was a little-used country road just a mile in that direction that would be the perfect spot to stash a vehicle you didn't want anyone to know about.

The oathbreaker properly cowed, I pulled out my cell and got to work. Chief Wilder was an old-school alpha who didn't allow modern technology on his pack land, but I'd seen the bulge of a phone as well as a gun on his bodyguard's person and knew someone would be able to get in touch with the old coot. So I rang up three different alphas who owed me favors until I hit pay dirt, and then I called his high holiness himself.

"Clan Wilder," the shifter answered. It wasn't the Chief, but I could tell by the other shifter's voice that the speaker was the same mountain who had tried to intimidate me a few hours previously. Given the timing, Wilder and his entourage couldn't have made it all the way back to Haven yet, but I had a feeling they were much closer than even that math would suggest. No, Crazy Wilder would expect me to mull over his demand for a couple of hours and then contact him this afternoon, so he was likely cruising along back roads waiting for me to cave.

Not that he'd admit to lingering on my account. Instead, Wilder would likely stall for another half hour before bothering to pull up to our meeting space.

Assuming the bastard even accepted my call the first time around.

"Put me through to your boss," I requested, ready to be brushed off but figuring I'd start with at least the semblance of politeness. Okay, so my words sounded more like a command than a request, but alphas don't say "please."

And, sure enough, the mountain lied in my ear. "He's unavailable at the moment." The response was as infuriating as it was expected. Did Wilder really think we had time to play games when his wolf was nearly ready to break free of his human skin willy nilly? Did he relish making me sweat so much that he would put his pack in further danger just to delay the inevitable?

"Now." And that was a command.

I could hear the rustle of the phone changing hands, then Crazy Wilder was on the other end of the line. His mere presence made me stand up straighter, and Fred glanced back over his shoulder reflexively at the change in my odor. I could tell the oathbreaker half expected me to shift to wolf form and eat him up.

Wouldn't it be nice if my life was so simple?

"Have you made up your mind?" Chief Wilder asked without preamble.

"Yes," I replied simply. "We have to talk."

"So talk."

"In person," I clarified. Then, giving him a way to save face: "My magic ball says you had business in the big city and you're still no more than twenty minutes away. So meet me on top of Beech Mountain in half an hour and we'll talk."

Then I hung up and powered off the device. No reason to give Crazy Wilder any additional opportunity to sway me before we met in person.

Chapter 7

"I DON’T SEE why I have to come along," Fred panted as we left his fancy new car and started up the hillside toward the designated meeting spot. "I get it. You're afraid I'll cause dissension in your pack with my plain speaking. So I'll leave."

I spared the oathbreaker a pointed glance over my shoulder then sped up to walk a little faster. Yes, I was getting a sort of childish pleasure out of watching the shifter struggle along in my wake. And he could also use a workout for the sake of his heart.

But mostly I need some amusement before putting my life on the line.

Plus, I was too worried about the upcoming events to be nice. "Can it," I growled instead. "You talk a good talk, but we both know you're a con man out to see what you can skim out of the pack's coffers before you move on to the next unlucky bastards."

"So what are you gonna do to me? Tear me apart?" The oathbreaker's accent suddenly seemed much less polished, hints of his roots showing through as he became more agitated. "I'd heard you weren't that type of alpha."

"I'm not." The truth was, there was a purpose to dragging Fred along, and it wasn't just seeing the troublemaker sweat. The imminent demise of my own good odor made me feel a reluctant brotherhood with the con man, and I hoped watching the upcoming events unfold might change his world view at least a little.

Okay, it was a long shot. But I also didn't have time to thoroughly push Fred out of our territory before Wilder arrived. So the oathbreaker would just have to suck it up and tag along. And I'd have to get used to his griping in the meantime.

Fred continued complaining, but I tuned out the other shifter and focused on the scents and smells around me. There was no reason for Wilder to ambush us when he already had me over a barrel. But my opponent wasn't thinking entirely clearly at this point, so I wasn't surprised to smell both his bodyguard and driver in lupine form as I rounded a bend in the trail.

"Stay close," I ordered Fred curtly, hoping the oathbreaker wouldn't get himself killed through sheer stupidity. He grumbled, but sped up a little to dog my heels, clearly trusting me to protect him in a dicey situation despite the pain and suffering he'd caused within my pack.

So when two massive wolves sprang out of the trees, it was my body in their path, not Fred's. And when I rolled out another alpha compulsion—"Sit!"—three shifters ended up on the ground at my feet, two of them four-legged and Fred still unabashedly human.

Wilder, however, had yet to make an appearance.

"Was that really necessary?" I asked, walking away from the frozen lackeys and toward the source of my opponent's odor. As I did so, I realized that his scent was menacing but unsullied, as if the other pack leader had never broken an oath in his entire life.

The aroma gave me hope that my ploy would succeed. But I couldn't count on it.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are."

The alpha werewolf emerged from between a pair of trees that I felt certain had been uninhabited previously. Wilder's human feet were shod in hard-soled shoes, but they made no sound as they slid through the fallen leaves. His face appeared relaxed and cordial, but I glimpsed a hint of wolf fangs beneath the skin. And his eyes sparkled with madness.

Then he opened his human lips and emitted a lupine command. "Walk with me," he ordered. And without my permission, my legs moved to follow.

* * *

"YOUR LAP DOGS will get a cramp," I said when the alpha compulsion eased enough that I was able to find my tongue. It felt strange to obey another pack leader's commands against my will, almost as if I was a pimple-faced kid again, bowing down at my father's feet.

But my father was dead. And I had a feeling that if I struggled, I could easily break free of Wilder's compulsion. No need to push that point prematurely, though.

"Cocky, aren't you?" Wilder said, and I had a feeling he was replying to my thoughts, not to my words. "But far too tender-hearted to be a real alpha. Unfortunately, I couldn't find better."

He growled quietly to himself the same way a normal human might sigh. And despite my plan to let my opponent bask in his superiority, I pushed with my lupine senses and felt the bonds that held me splintering away. If the other shifter was crazy, then I needed to be ready to respond immediately rather than after a few seconds' delay.

I leapt to the side as he whirled to face me, and I half expected my opponent to turn wolf and attack. Instead, Wilder laughed, a hyena-like cackle that did nothing to dampen my anxiety.

"As I thought," he murmured. Then, louder: "Now see if you can command me to do your bidding."

Yeah, right. And next I'll go swimming with a crocodile, I thought, shaking my head in negation. Six years ago, I would have been thrilled at the excuse to pit my dominance against that of the strongest alpha in our region. But now I felt no need to initiate a battle I wasn't sure I could win.

"You're scared," he taunted.

"Sure," I responded glibly. What did I care what Wilder thought of me? All I wanted was to find a way out from under my debt without breaking my oath or harming my pack mates. The mournful cast to Chase's eyes when I'd taken my leave had haunted every step of this afternoon's journey so far, and I was bound and determined to see that angst transform into joy at my return. If it meant turning the other cheek while another alpha poked at my pride, then so be it.

"Hmm," Wilder mused. Then he waved his hand back in the direction from which we'd come. "Our audience is frozen out of sight and sound, so I'll have no reason to tear you apart for making me lose face. And I'm curious to see whether a young buck like you can best this old fart. Surely you're curious as well."

His explanation made sense, but the wheedling tone sounded off coming from such an overbearing alpha. Still, I was getting the impression we weren't going to deal with my problem until I obeyed Wilder's request. So, without giving him any time to prepare, I snapped out a command.

"Stand on your head."

Wilder, apparently, was far less agile than some of my young pack mates. Because the result of my compulsion looked a lot more like a donkey hop than a handstand. Still, the other alpha strove to obey, even though his cheeks turned red at the effort of fighting my command and his eyes blazed hot with the indignity of the situation.

"Cease," I added when it appeared that Wilder would keep trying until he either broke a leg or actually managed to achieve reverse verticality. Then, leading him back in the direction from which we'd come, I asked, "Now are you ready to talk business?"

Chapter 8

AS WE REENTERED the site of our previous altercation, Fred's eyes met mine with pure relief. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead despite the cold day, but he'd given up on straining against his invisible bonds. Instead, his nostrils flared as he struggled to catch the first hint that the wolves at his back planned to charge.

Feeling sorry for the oathbreaker, I waved a release across all three shifters. The two wolves prepared to spring forward, but their eyes latched onto their alpha's first. And Wilder stilled them with the faintest shake of his head. "Leave us," he ordered.

Every single member of my own pack would have argued the point. Abandon their alpha to stand alone against a similarly powerful werewolf and another shifter? No way.

Fen would have rolled her eyes and told me to grow up. Chase would have placed a firm hand on my shoulder to prove he had my back. Tia would have scowled and then called up the hidden meanness that her lupine half so seldom shared with the world.

But Wilder's lackeys instead turned away without complaint and melted into the trees. And they weren't just biding their time so they could circle around and attack either. Instead, quick footfalls took Wilder's underlings further and further away from our meeting place, the simple obedience of their aromas fading away into the distance. Their boss had spoken, so his underlings were obeying with alacrity.

The situation was far too familiar. This was the type of alpha my father had been, too. The leader who was heeded without question, whose pack mates assumed he could gnaw his way free if he bothered to step into a trap. The one whose mere presence made females and males alike avert their eyes and bow down in immediate submission. The ultimate alpha.

And Chief Wilder was offering that same position to me on a silver platter. He'd ruled his pack with an iron fist for so long that it would be simple for his named heir to step into those steel-toed boots. Since my strength obviously surpassed his own, I would find it a piece of cake to hold onto the power being blithely tossed my way.

My father would be so proud.

The thought gave me the strength to do what needed to be done. I glanced to the side to ensure that Fred was paying attention to our conversation, then I took a step forward into Crazy Wilder's personal space...

...And broke my oath.

"Here's my answer to your question," I told the grizzled alpha. "I refuse to come to Haven as your heir and leave my pack. I won't obey your command."

* * *

IT WAS ONE thing to smell the foul oathbreaking aroma emanating from another shifter. It was something else entirely to cringe inside my own skin as the black smoke encircled my head and invaded my mouth and nostrils.

I tried to stand tall, but instead found myself falling to my knees and retching up raw fish and rice. I don't think I'll ever eat sushi again, I thought, drowning in my own odor.

Still, I forced myself to breathe deeply until my stomach ceased roiling. And when I was able, I opened my eyes and peered up at my opponent.

Crazy Wilder lived up to his nickname. His anger at my refusal had turned his eyes into hard black coals that burned in their sockets and he seemed seconds away from turning wolf and tearing out my throat. So I hurried along the words that had caught on the vomit at the back of my throat.

"Watch carefully, Fred," I croaked out. Then, forcing weak muscles to obey me, I stood and stepped away from the pile of half-digested food on the ground. The smoky cloud around my body was so dense, though, that I couldn't even smell the change in aroma as I distanced myself from the waste. Instead, my head swam and stars danced in front of vision that was suddenly dim and undependable.

"I won't leave my pack," I repeated, clearing my throat and wishing I'd thought to bring along a bottle of water. Heck, I'd settle for a breath mint—anything to block the taste of vomit and the insidious scent of smoke from my attention.

"Why not?" Wilder demanded. "You're worthless to them now. And to me. After all the work I put into you...."

He turned away, hands clenched into fists and I coughed out my request before he could leave me there drowning in my own bad choices. "Wait."

Okay, so that was more of a command than a request too. So sue me.

The stiff rod of my opponent's back proved that he wasn't at all pleased to be ordered about with another shifter present. Still, Wilder's feet were frozen in place, so he couldn't resist swiveling around to peer at me over one shoulder.

I paced across the earth to face the grizzled shifter, sparing a single glance for the other oathbreaker whose head was cocked to one side curiously. "See, Fred, this is what you need to know about breaking oaths." My words were clearer now as my speech pushed the awful flavor back down my throat. The oathbreaking aroma, though, showed no sign of dissipating from the air.

Still, I took the time to explain for the sake of the shifter who had been a member of my pack for a few hours at least. Hopefully he'd get something out of an experience that I suspected would give me nightmares for years to come.

"Oathbreaking is in your own mind, not in the mind of the shifter to whom your word was given," I continued. "You told my pack that you had no choice but to break your oath, Fred. That you were saving an innocent, not doing wrong. And if that's the case, then you can clear your aroma just as I plan to clear mine."

Now I turned back to face the other pack leader and noted the hint of a smile curving up one side of the older man's lips. Hoping he wasn't a sore loser, I sucked in a lungful of oily remorse before speaking again.

"Chief Wilder," I addressed him formally, "you and I both know that I've broken no oath. Eight years ago, I swore to give you an unnamed favor at a time and place of your choosing. But I also told you that you could take your pound of flesh from me alone. That my pack would not be harmed by my debt."

Wilder opened his mouth and raised one hand as if to argue against this belated interpretation of my words, but I stilled him with a glance. No, I wasn't quoting myself verbatim, but that was the gist of my caveat and he and I both knew it.

"And if you'd asked me to take over your pack that day, I would've been forced to obey. You were right—I was a stupid puppy then and an alpha in name alone."

I paused and the faces of a dozen pack mates flashed before my eyes. Yes, I'd been only half an alpha when I stole Wade out of my brother's iron grip, a quarter of an alpha when Chase rescued me from my own lupine nature at a computer conference years ago, and a bare fraction of an alpha when Fen saved me from Alexis during the Winter Hunt.

Then I smiled as I finished. "But now I lead my pack as you lead yours. I'd sacrifice anything to keep the shifters and human beneath my care happy and healthy. And leaving them would harm my pack. It would mean you were taking my debt from them, not me. That's not what we agreed."

Wilder growled, and I saw the beard on his face grow a quarter inch in a second as the wolf inside fought to be released. "Semantics." The single word was as much as he could muster with his animal half so rampant, but he got his point across.

In response, I shrugged. "Maybe to you. But not to me."

And as I spoke, the black cloud lifted away from my head, spreading out around the three of us like a drop of ink splashing into a pond of clear water. For a moment, the poison was black and obvious, but then the smoky haze expanded and diluted until the scent of leaf mold and pine trees once more filled my nostrils. My oathbreaking aroma wasn't entirely absent, but it was so faint now that I suspected not even Chief Wilder could smell it on my skin.

"If you want to be free of your curse," I finished, speaking to Fred but looking at the other pack leader, "that's how it's done."

Chapter 9

I KNEW BETTER than to think Fred would relinquish his foul aroma so readily. So I wasn't surprised when he instead got to his feet and fled down the trail, oily smoke following in his wake. Perhaps the oathbreaker would apologize to whomever he'd wronged and find closure, or perhaps he'd continue with his scheming con-man ways. It wasn't my concern now. I'd given the shifter a fishing pole; now it was on him whether or not he learned to feed his soul.

In the meantime, Wilder's shoulders had slumped and I could tell the other alpha was well and truly beaten. My father—or Wilder himself—would've taken the time to kick his opponent in the ass while he was down. But I instead offered the only consolation I had available.

"I won't leave my pack to take over yours," I told him. "But I'll do whatever I can to make your transition easier. I'll prop up your power if it needs propping and I'll stand for you at All-Pack."

"And if the wolf wins before I find another alpha to take my place?" Wilder growled. He clearly thought little of my offer, and I didn't blame him. It was too little too late.

"Then I'll tear out your throat myself," I promised. To a human, the words would have sounded ominous. But Wilder and I were both wolves and we knew the assurance was the greatest kindness I could offer.

The two of us stood for a moment in the still forest while birds that had fled the strangeness of the oathbreaking aroma began singing once again. A squirrel complained from the branch of a nearby oak tree and I smelled a fox pacing toward us then fleeing as it caught a whiff of our predatory scents.

I kept my stance calm, but I knew I was balancing on a knife edge. One slip and I'd fall to gut myself on the sharp blade...or rather, on Wilder's sharp teeth.

Behind the other alpha's eyes, his wolf was even more rampant than my own. Which was saying something since I sometimes felt so lupine I wasn't able to string two words together. The animal growled and paced within his human skin, itching to tear into me with the only weapons he understood—fangs and claws.

A smarter shifter would have reined in his own lupine nature to prevent bloodshed. But instead, I released my animal side entirely so I could speak to Wilder's wolf with my eyes. Calm, I commanded him, and the older wolf quietened like a high-strung horse responding to its owner's hand.

The effects wouldn't last forever. They probably wouldn't last until dinner time. But it was all I could do.

I didn't expect thanks from the older alpha, so I simply turned away, preparing to hike back to the pack that I knew was waiting a few miles to the south. And even though I'd made the right decision, my throat was still tight from melancholy.

The trouble was, Wilder's dilemma hit too close to home. I just hoped that if I lost my grasp of the human world as I grew older that someone would have the sense to put me down before I turned into the grizzled old wolf who stood at my back.

As I remembered the strengths of the shifters beneath my care, though, I realized I didn't need to worry. They'd stand for me and for each other. And if it came down to it, my pack would do what needed to be done.

My mind was already running forward to the relief I knew would show on my best friend's face as I walked through our front door. To Tia's exuberance as she pulled me into her arms.

To the enticing pack princess whose trail I'd lost in the city earlier that afternoon but that I surely could pick back up if I tried hard enough....

But Wilder's final sally cut through my musings as efficiently as he'd intended. "You have my blessing, you know."

Despite my best intentions to hightail it home before I got into even more trouble, I turned back around to face him. My opponent's wolf was once again quiescent, his human face coated with that unholy glee Wilder sported when he knew he had the upper hand and was looking forward to watching you dangle from the end of his hook.

But this time I found myself smiling instead of shivering. "What do you mean?" I asked.

"You know," Wilder answered. "Or you will know." Then he shifted into lupine form, his clothes puddling beneath him on the forest floor. And he loped away to rejoin his defense force.

Wilder probably meant to shake me up, but this time I was the one left laughing in his wake. Because the older shifter was right. I did know.

Terra was waiting out there for me to find and claim as my mate. She was terrified of my wolf and uninterested in being part of a shifter pack, but I'd find a way to reel her in.

And when I did, I'd have her father's blessing.

Well, at least I have that going for me. My tongue lolled out of my mouth in simple lupine pleasure as I abandoned yet another set of clothing to the forest. Tia would scold and Chase would grumble, but Blaze was our accountant now so I didn't have to worry about how to pay for a replacement. Instead, I'd just trust my bloodling nature and lean on my friends' shoulders as needed.

It's good to be part of a pack.

* * *

Want to read more from this author?

Try SHIFTLESS for more glimpses of Wolfie’s clan:

http://amzn.to/1KoK7Ir

http://aimeeeasterling.com

* * *

About Aimee Easterling

Aimee Easterling has been spoiled by four dogs, has spoiled six cats, and has largely been ignored by two guinea pigs, four turtles, a cockatiel, and a slew of fish during her thirty-some year life. Studying biology and working as a naturalist have both informed her writing, but she's quite willing to let reality slide in favor of a good story. When not writing, she loves to read and always keeps books by Robin McKinley, Patricia Briggs, and Elizabeth Peters on her shelf. She is currently hard at work writing her next novel.

Read more from this author:

http://amzn.to/1mKtYbg

http://aimeeeasterling.com

Sign up for more bargain boxed sets at:

www.hotboxedbooks.com

JUMP TO...

A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE by NOREE COSPER

END OF DREAMS by KIM FAULKS

HAUNT by HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY

DARK CROSSINGS by ANN SIMKO

HEADSPACE by CALINDA B

THE OTHER F WORD by SUSAN STEC

UNLEASHED by RACHEL MCCLELLAN

HIDDEN INTENTIONS by STACY CLAFLIN

THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL by AIMEE EASTERLING

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS by KYOKO M

ST. CHARLES AT DUSK by SARAH M. CRADIT

WICKED BY NATURE by MADISON SEVIER

UNDERLIFE by MARISSA FARRAR

DRAGON’S REDEMPTION by EDEN ASHE

MILAN’S RETURN by GRAE LILY

THE BREAKERS CODE by CONNER KRESSLEY

THE MEDIUM by MR GRAHAM

WICCAN WARS by HEATHER MARIE ADKINS

CARPE NOCTEM by KATIE SALIDAS

A QUESTION OF FAITH by NICOLE ZOLTACK

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS

Book Two of The Black Parade Series

BY KYOKO M

Copyright © 2014 by Kyoko M

Try a little Brimstone to bring out the demon in you.

The dynamic supernatural duo of Seer Jordan Amador and her husband the archangel Michael is back in the sequel to the bestselling urban fantasy novel, The Black Parade, trying to solve a deadly case. Someone is methodically hunting down and murdering Seers one by one. After six months with no leads on the killer, Jordan and Michael are forced to work with their worst enemy—the archdemon Belial: a self-professed Prince of Hell who is dead set on stealing Jordan for himself. However, with the archdemon’s help, they pick up on the trail of the serial killer and plan to stop him no matter what the cost.

When the shocking truth behind the murderer’s identity is revealed, Jordan begins asking herself if she is still fighting for the good guys or has she become one of the monsters she is desperately trying to stop?

She Who Fights Monsters is the second novel and third book in the Black Parade series. It follows The Black Parade and The Deadly Seven: Stories from The Black Parade.

She Who Fights Monsters

by Kyoko M

Copyright © 2014 by Kyoko M

Cover designed by Gunjan Kumar. Background courtesy of Katie Litchfield. Dragon silhouette courtesy of Bonny Truong.

Edited by Jillian Leigh.

References

Bacon, Francis. “Of Death.” 1612.

Milton, John. Paradise Regained. 1671.

Reuss, Theodore. Das Erotische in Goethes Faust und die Tantriks. Publication date unknown.

Shakespeare, William. “Antony and Cleopatra.” 1623.

Prologue

The Story So Far...

JORDAN AMADOR IS a Seer sentenced to eternal damnation for murder unless she leads 100 souls to rest. Jordan arrives home from work to find a man she saw in the park waiting for her and he wants to talk. Reluctantly, she lets him in only to find that his name is Michael and he is a poltergeist—the first one she’s ever met. He manages to convince her to take on his case and find out how and why he died.

During the investigation Jordan finds out from Archangel Gabriel that Michael is in fact Commanders of God’s Army in Heaven and has been missing for the past two years after being sent to Earth to find the Spear of Longinus – the spear that pierced the side of Jesus.

Jordan encounters the demon Belial, who reveals that he wants to inhabit Michael’s dead body because it has the power to control the emotions of all human beings. In order to do this, he needs her blood and so he plans to kill her and use her blood to open a channel into Michael’s body that will allow him to access it. He also reveals that he sent the demon-like creature into her apartment two years ago to lure the last known Seer out so he could capture him, but Jordan’s intervention prevented him from succeeding.

A fight ensues and Jordan is overcome by the demon. She wakes up to find herself handcuffed on top of a building where the demon has both Michael’s body and the Spear of Longinus. Gabriel and Michael arrive seconds too late as Belial stabs Jordan in the chest. A vicious fight ensues and the angels manage to defeat him, but Jordan insists that they let her die because if they heal her, the channel to Michael’s body will close and he can’t enter it. The angels reluctantly agree and Michael returns to his body. Jordan dies.

Jordan awakes to find that she didn’t go to Hell and that Michael is still alive. He explains that her sacrifice to allow him to return to life inspired God to wipe her debt clean so she isn’t going to Hell and he would train her to better defend herself against demons.

Two months later, they go to New Jersey. As they walk around town, they are startled to find eleven ghosts appear asking for help—an extremely unusual circumstance.

Jordan and Michael meet up with a demon named Luka because he has information about a holy item that may be causing the large gathering of ghosts that Jordan and Michael encountered in the park. He reveals that he’s heard that part of the True Cross—the cross on which Jesus Christ was crucified—may have been recovered by a demon and is attracting dead souls to it.

Gabriel suddenly shows up with grave news that something cataclysmic is happening. They follow Gabriel outside and find that there are dozens of ghosts heading towards the park. The demons Belial and Mulciber appear with a sliver of the True Cross. The angels try to get Jordan out of Belial’s clutches, but he manages to get her blood and mixes it with his own and the sliver, which creates an enormous false angel that the demons plan to use to kill the angels and rule over humanity. Michael gathers his army of angels and Belial gathers his army of demons and they start a war. The angels and Jordan overpower the demons and send them back to Hell.

Jordan and the angels return to Albany. She and Michael eventually admit their feelings for one another and he proposes to her. After taking some time to consider the offer, she agrees.

BOOK FOUR: AERIA GLORIAM

"He who fights monsters should see to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."

-Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil

Prologue

THERE WAS A stranger in my house.

I knew it wasn’t Trent and Marie. They had taken a father-daughter trip to the beach. My duties as a kindergarten teacher didn’t allow me the luxury of a three-day vacation, nor did the ridiculous cold I’d caught, and so I had stayed home by myself.

Normally, I would just shake it off as house-settling noise, but there was one slat in the kitchen’s hardwood floor near the stove that made an unmistakable creak if you stepped on it. No way in hell I could shake that off, not when I was home alone.

I slipped from beneath the comforter and knelt beside the bed, my fingers finding the cool metal of my trusty baseball bat. My daughter was only seven years old and I wouldn’t let Trent bring a gun into our home, so we had agreed to this as our form of protection. Ears straining, I opened the bedroom door, praying the hinges remained silent, and tiptoed to the stairs. Silence. A normal person would go back to their room and sleep, but there was a cold feeling in my chest that whispered something was wrong.

The carpet was soft under my bare feet as I crept down the steps one by one. The staircase spilled into the foyer and from where I could see, the front door was still locked. No broken glass or muddy footprints. I turned to the left and peeked around the corner to see into the living room. Every shadow looked like an intruder. I knew it was just my paranoid brain going into overdrive so I ignored it and carefully maneuvered past the den to the dining room. Nothing here either. That left the kitchen.

I pressed my back against the wall, closing my eyes and saying a quick prayer that I was just a hyper-vigilant crazy lady before darting around the corner.

The kitchen was empty.

I licked my dry lips and snuck over to the double doors that spilled out onto the patio and the backyard. I pushed the curtain aside. Darkness greeted me. Nothing more. False alarm. I was indeed a hyper-vigilant crazy lady.

I started to lower the bat and turn around, but then I felt something cold and wet on the bottom of my foot, between my bare toes. Confused, I knelt to touch it with my fingertips. As soon as I was close, the smell hit me even through my stuffy nose.

Gasoline.

Then the floorboard creaked again.

I whirled around. A man stood there swathed in shadows and black clothing, but that wasn’t what caught my attention.

He was holding a gigantic scythe.

I screamed as he swung it at me and threw myself into a forward roll. The enormous blade crashed through the window in the back door, sending glittering shards all over the floor. I scrambled backwards on my hands and knees until my back hit the legs of the table and then got up.

I brandished the bat at the intruder. “Who are you? What are you doing in my house?”

His voice was so soft I almost didn’t hear it. “I am sorry, but your death is necessary for the safety of mankind. Please forgive me.”

“I’ll forgive you when you get the hell out of my house!” I yelled, swinging at his head. He blocked the blow with the staff—a smooth, effortless move—and I stumbled backwards, my eyes darting around to look for the closest route of escape. He had already knocked the back door partially open but he stood a few inches to the left of it, barring any chances of me reaching outside. I could make a break for the front door, but it would leave my back vulnerable. Shit!

I kept swinging, hoping to corral him away from the door, but he merely blocked the blows and stood his ground, never turning into the light so I could see his face. All I could see was a fedora, a black leather jacket, and gloves. Desperation began to set in and with it came the blind hope that I could talk him out of his homicidal intentions.

“Why do you want to kill me? What did I ever do to you?”

“Nothing,” the man said, adjusting his hold on the weapon. “It is what you may do to the world someday. Human beings have such a poor perception of time and fate. Your death is for the greater good—to prevent the Apocalypse itself.”

I shook my head, hating the hot tears pouring down my cheeks. “You’re crazy.”

“No. I am prepared.”

“Get away from me!” I kicked the table over and shoved it towards him, making him jump back. I raced for the front door, my feet  pounding against the hardwood floor as I ran, and grabbed the doorknob. I yanked on it as hard as I could, but it wouldn’t budge. He had somehow jammed it from the other side, trapping me in like a mouse in a snake pit. No more options. I would have to face him and look my death straight in the eye.

Only he didn’t give me the chance.

The blade tore through my spinal column as if it had been made of paper. The tip burst out of my rib cage. My world dissolved into pain for a few seconds, but then a blessed numbness cascaded over me. My brain faintly realized the shock blocked out what should have been an excruciating death.

He stepped backward and I slid off his blade, collapsing on my back. Blood bubbled out of me in crimson rivulets, tainting my husband’s t-shirt. How unfair. He’d have to see my corpse wearing it when he came home.

The stranger reached into his pocket and withdrew a lighter, flicking his thumb to awaken a single orange flame. I watched him light the gasoline that had been poured at the base of every wall in my beautiful home, watched the paintings and furniture become engulfed in fire, watched the fire slowly creep closer to my dying body. The stranger pressed one cold, gloved finger to my forehead and made a cross, his voice constantly murmuring the same words over and over again. The cadence of his voice made the chanting stay with me until the last spark of life snuffed out and everything dissolved into darkness.

Chapter 1

Jordan

“I HAVE TO go to work.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“The bus leaves in fifteen minutes.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“…I can’t leave if you don’t stop kissing me,” I said in a mildly amused voice from around the lips of my husband who had managed to trap me against the kitchen counter. He towered over my humble five-foot-six body with his six-foot-one frame, his long sinewy arms content to rest on either side of the counter by my waist so that I couldn’t wriggle away. It was a nuisance yet somehow pleasant. A conundrum, if you will.

I thought my words had finally got through to him when he pulled away for a moment, but his head dipped down and his lips found the edge of my jaw, my neck, making my poor knees wobble. I could feel the roughness of the stubble that had grown on his chin since he hadn’t shaved yet. His absurdly dark brown hair tickled over my collarbone, sending involuntary shudders down my spine. Normally, when he cooked breakfast he pulled his hair back into a short ponytail, but I suspected he’d taken it down with the intent of seducing me. Crafty bastard.

“I’m not stopping you,” Michael drawled against my throat. His baritone voice made the hairs on my arms stand up at attention. There was maybe a centimeter of space between our upper bodies. He’d done it on purpose to tease me. He bit down softly at the point between my neck and shoulder. I jumped, my fingers gripping the counter for strength.

“You’re blocking my exit,” I said.

He finally rose to full height, smirking at me with those plush lips, arrogance beaming down from his sea-green eyes. “And you’re stalling.”

He stared at me. I stared at him. I sighed and grabbed two handfuls of his shirt, jerking him down to my mouth.

“I’m gonna get fired.”

Half an hour later, my best friend Lauren Yi was shaking her head when I scampered into the restaurant and clocked in as quickly as possible. Mercifully, Colton was nowhere to be found, but he’d still know I was forty minutes late anyhow since he was the owner. I’d be in for it later and I knew it. The restaurant had been hit with the usual lunch rush so I had to get ready as soon as humanly possible.

“This is the third time in a week you’ve been late,” she reminded me as I walked towards the lockers in the break room. I popped mine open and checked my reflection in the mirror, piling my mussed black hair into a loose bun.

“I know, sorry. The bus was late.”

Lauren rolled her eyes. “Are you really pulling that one on me?”

I glanced at her, keeping my face blank and innocent. “What?”

“Your skirt’s on backwards and you’ve got pancake mix on your sleeve.” She arched an eyebrow and then crossed her arms.

“He caught you in the kitchen again, didn’t he?”

A flush of heat rushed up my neck and over my cheeks, thankfully hidden by my brown skin. I tied my apron on and cleared my throat, keeping my voice level and guilt-free. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The Korean girl lifted the apron and turned my skirt the right way, brushing off the remainder of said pancake mix. “It’s a sad day when Jordan Amador has more of a life than I do.”

“Should I be flattered or insulted by that?”

“Both. Now get out there and wait tables, you shameless harlot.”

I batted my eyelashes at her. “Love you too.”

She stuck her tongue out at me as we walked back onto the floor and started greeting customers and taking orders. It never ceased to amaze me how quickly I could switch into Waitress Mode. Without thinking, I became amiable, even a little charming on my better days—a direct contrast to my actual personality. Lauren had once dubbed me a “cranky, antisocial hermit crab” and it disturbed me how accurate that description had been at the time. Michael had done a remarkable job of reversing the worst aspects of my behavior over the past year.

After I took care of a couple of teenagers and a large group of people who had just gotten out of church, I greeted a redheaded man in a hunter green suit and black tie sitting by himself at a window booth. “Hi, what can I get you?”

His brown eyes scanned the menu, his voice a little shy. “What would you suggest?”

I lowered my pen and pad. “Well, what kind of things do you like?”

He shrugged. “No preference, really.”

“I recommend the fish and grits. The fish is fried whiting and the grits are cheesy and thick, just like down South.”

“South?”

“Alabama, Mississippi, Georgia, and the like. I’ve never been that far down, but my boss insists it’s much better than up here,” I continued with a playful roll of my eyes.

The redhead folded up his menu and handed it to me, smiling. “That sounds good. Thank you, Jordan.”

I scribbled down his order and smiled back. “No problem.”

I gave the slip to the kitchen and grabbed some cleaning supplies to clear off a table in my section. Lauren came to help, taking the salt, pepper, Tabasco sauce, and napkins off of the table before I wiped it down.

“Who’s the redhead?” she asked.

“No idea. Never seen him before.”

“He’s not part of the usual Sunday crowd. He seems…very out-of-town-ish, especially with that suit. By the looks of things, it costs more than half of my closet.”

I flashed her a grin. “Well, you do have a bad habit of buying knock-off Gucci.”

She scowled. “Those who shop at thrift shops shall not throw stones.”

“It’s economical, dammit!”

She rolled her eyes at me, handing me the spray bottle of Clorox.

“You’re married to the lead singer of a rock band. You should be able to afford decent clothing by now.”

I pursed my lips, squirting the liquid on the table. “We have better uses for the money than clothing, thank you very much.”

“Condoms?”

I whirled, aiming the spray bottle at her face. “I’ll do it and say it was an accident.”

She giggled, pushing my arm down. “Relax, Dirty Harry. Or would that be Clean Harry since you’ve got Clorox?”

“Ha-ha. A comedic genius you are not.” I finished cleaning off the table and replaced the condiments and napkin container. One of our chefs called me since an order was ready and I brought them to the customers. I took the fish and grits to the redheaded gentleman, who was staring out the window as if distracted.

“Here you go. Enjoy!”

“Thank you.”

The lunch rush came and went like the tide—seemingly overwhelming at first, but manageable to the trained eye. I didn’t notice anything out of order until midway through my shift when I returned to the seat that the redhead had been in to find I had a rather substantial tip waiting for me.

“He left you a hundred dollars?” Lauren screeched from behind me and grabbed my shoulder to look over it. I held the bill between my hands, my mouth hanging open and getting dustier by the minute.

“I…he…maybe he didn’t have change?” I sputtered. I searched the sidewalk outside the restaurant to see if he was out there, but he had disappeared.

My best friend threw up her hands. “I don’t get it. You come in late and yet you’re the one standing there with a fresh hundred bucks. Do you have a leprechaun stuck to the bottom of your shoe or something?”

Sheepishly, I glanced underneath my foot. “…No?”

“Ugh, I’d hate you if I didn’t love you so much.” Lauren sighed, scooping up the empty plate the mysterious redhead left behind. I tucked the tip in the front of my apron, staring blankly out of the window. I started to hand her a glass only to drop it as something caught my eye across the street.

A plump woman in her early forties stared back at me. Her hair was black and curly around her round face, and her brown eyes were full of worry. I knew her—not from Albany, but from the pages of a manila folder I had poured over rigorously for the past month. Erica Davalos.

A murdered Seer.

“Jordan, what’s wrong?” Lauren asked, flustered at the shocked expression on my face.

I hid my distress, stepping over the bits of broken glass. “Nothing, sorry. Just a bit clumsy today. I’ll go get the broom.”

I hurried to the break room and grabbed a broom, but I didn’t head back out there. Instead, I snuck out the rear entrance that led into an alleyway and stuck my head around the corner, signaling for the ghost to come towards me.

“Hi,” the ghost woman said when she was within earshot, her voice light and apprehensive. “My name is Erica.”

“Yeah, I know.”

She frowned, tilting her head. “Excuse me?”

“My name is Jordan Amador. I’m a Seer.”

“A Seer?”

“Yes. It’s someone who can see and hear ghosts, angels, and demons. Long story short, they’re the descendants of the original twelve disciples. I’ve been trying to solve your murder for the past month-and-a-half.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh my goodness, I had no idea. I’ve just been wandering around for the longest time looking for someone to help me.”

I offered her a small smile. “Well, you’ve come to the right girl. I get off work in a few hours so I want you to stay in this area and meet me out front at six o’clock, okay? We’ll get everything sorted out, I promise.”

“Yes. Thank you so much.”

She headed back towards the street as I went inside to clean up the mess I’d made. Lauren was still looking at me funny, but I convinced her it was a mere case of the butterfingers. After all, Lauren knew nothing of my other life and I had to keep it that way for her own safety. Rules were rules. Even if I didn’t like them one bit.

After I dumped the glass in a trashcan, I sent a text to my other best friend, Gabriel, explaining that he needed to meet me at my apartment after work if he was in town. The last time I spoke to him, about a week ago, he and Raphael were in Haiti doing volunteer work. I didn’t know if they were still there, but I figured they would have to pull some strings to get to me in a reasonable amount of time from their current location. It helped that Gabriel had his own private jet.

I tried not to show my impatience for the remainder of my shift, but at the end of it I scurried out of the door and met Erica outside, reaching into my grey duster for a pen and my trusty little notepad. I also got out my Bluetooth, which I hardly ever used for real. It was just my cover to avoid drawing attention to myself. Normal people wouldn’t be able to see or hear her. I didn’t want to come off as a crazy lady talking to thin air.

“Alright, give me everything you remember from the top and don’t spare any details, even if you think they’re minor,” I told her as we walked towards the bus stop.

“I remember my last name, Davalos, and that I’m from Raleigh.” she said.

“I can’t believe you walked all the way here from North Carolina. You’re definitely a trooper.” I scribbled the information down along with a brief description of her facial features and clothes. She wore a lavender button up shirt and grey slacks beneath a black sweater, no jewelry. Her feet were of course missing. She was a ghost and all of them were like that because they were no longer tied to Earth but suspended between the living world and the spiritual world. The clothing was a result of her internal self-image, which all souls inherently had.

“And I remember that I was a kindergarten teacher and I loved my kids. I have a daughter. She’s seven.”

“Okay. Is there anything you can tell me about your death? Anything at all?”

“Yes. I couldn’t see his face, but I heard his voice. It was saying something in Latin. I studied it back in college so I actually remember what he said quite clearly.”

I winced. “My Latin’s a bit rusty, but Gabriel should be able to translate for us. Go ahead.”

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her brow furrowing. “It went like this: Is quisnam suscipio lux lucis superne, ex fontis of lux lucis; haud alius doctrina postulo, sentential tribuo verus.”

It took me a moment to get all the spelling correct—I could read and write in both English and Castilian Spanish but Latin was tricky—and by the time I finished, the bus arrived. We climbed aboard and sat in the back to stay out of earshot of other riders. Usually, I’d wait until we were home to ask all these questions, but an entire month with no new leads made me overeager.

“He was repeating it like some sort of chant while he stood over me, lighting the place on fire as if he were…I don’t know, trying to purify it,” she said, frowning.

I wanted to reach out and touch her hand in comfort, but it wouldn’t do her any good. It would pass right through her and send chills through me. Only poltergeists were solid and they were rare. I had only met two of them in my entire life.

“Well, that says a couple things to me,” I told her. “The killer is well-read, perhaps a linguist, if he was pronouncing all of that well enough that you remembered it. Two, we’re looking for someone with a religious background. You’re not the first dead Seer that I’ve been investigating.”

“Really?”

“Sadly, yes. Over the past five months, there have been five others murdered in different parts of the world. Four of them were stabbed in the chest, laid on the floor, and then their homes were burned to the ground. One was strangled and his car was set on fire. It always happens on the eve of their Awakening, just like I’m assuming yours did.”

“Awakening?”

“That’s when your powers mature. It happens at a different time for every Seer. Mine didn’t hit until I was eighteen. Yours came a bit late, it seems.”

“How is it possible that he knew when it would happen for me?”

I shook my head. “We don’t know. Gabriel is supposed to appear whenever someone’s powers awaken, but this serial killer somehow knows exactly when and where these Seers surface and always beats him there. However, you are the first Seer soul to stay behind. The others passed over into Heaven and they gave the same report as you each time.”

“So what’s going to happen to me?”

“We’re going to find out what your final wish is and that will set your soul free so you can cross over for your final judgment.”

“We?”

I smiled. “My friends and I. They’re archangels.”

A mixed look of astonishment and skepticism crossed her face, making my smile widen.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Don’t worry—you’re not the first person to say that. I have a, um, complicated sort of life. You’ll meet them when we get home.”

A few minutes later, we arrived at my bus stop and I led Erica to my humble abode. The apartment was nothing close to nice. It was smack dab in the middle of a crowded, shady neighborhood, squished between a liquor store and a barbershop. That was why it was so affordable.

We walked down the street and up a short flight of stairs to my apartment on the first floor, second room over. When I opened the door, there were two men at the kitchen table eating banana bread. The first was a blond man who was almost seven feet tall with sky blue eyes dressed in an impeccable Armani suit. The second was a significantly shorter curly-haired Hispanic man with brown eyes dressed in a tan sweater vest over black slacks and a black button up shirt. I didn’t panic. They had keys, after all.

“Jordan,” Gabriel said as he unfolded his enormous frame from the chair after I shut the door.

“Hey, Gabe.” He pulled me into a hug and kissed my forehead in the same spot as always—over my right eyebrow. “Good to see you.”

I hugged Raphael. “Hey, Raph.”

“Evening, Jordan.”

I grinned as I noticed half of my homemade banana bread had vanished. “I see you’ve helped yourselves to my sweets.”

Gabriel blushed. “I…did not eat lunch today. Forgive me.”

The urge to laugh was immense, but I pushed it aside. “Just this once. I’m charging you for the next one.”

I gestured to Erica, who seemed politely bewildered by the two men before her. “This is Erica Davalos. I met her outside of the restaurant a few hours ago.”

The blond archangel bowed his head to her. “My name is Gabriel. I am God’s Messenger here on Earth.”

Raphael did the same. “Raphael. I am God’s Healing Missionary. We are terribly sorry for the loss of your life, Mrs. Davalos.”

“Why? It’s not your fault some jerk-off killed me.”

“I am responsible for facilitating instructions to new Seers. If I had arrived sooner, I could have prevented your death. For that, I am truly sorry.” Gabriel’s voice was low with shame. I could feel his sadness like a cold weight in my stomach and started to say something, but Erica did it for me.

“I don’t blame you. No one’s perfect, not even angels. I just want to make sure that my family is taken care of now that I’m…gone.”

Raphael offered her an encouraging look. “Your husband and daughter are safe, Mrs. Davalos. They have found somewhere to stay and they are being watched over. Nothing will happen to them. I swear it on my honor as an angel.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, finally smiling again.

I withdrew the notepad from my pocket and flipped to the page with her name on it, then addressed Gabriel. “She remembered something that the other victims didn’t when I spoke to her earlier this afternoon. You told me that they heard the killer chanting something, right?”

Gabriel nodded. “Yes, but we were never able to get a transcription.”

“Now we’ve got one. It’s Latin. Can you translate it?”

He took the notepad from me, his lips just barely moving as he read. “I know these words. It’s an excerpt from Paradise Regained.”

“What does it translate to?”

He took a second or two, as if trying to remember his English. “He who receives light from above, from the fountain of light; no other doctrine needs, though granted true.”

“You’ve got a damn good memory, Gabe.”

“Well, I did help dictate most of it for Milton in my earlier years. Still, this is a strange thing to chant while murdering someone.”

“Why is that?”

“It suggests that this killer thinks that he is following orders from on high, perhaps that he has a superior knowledge or truth. The fountain of light implies Christ or God the Father rather than heaven itself. In my opinion, it sounds like he thinks that this ‘truth’ he has discovered is his only mission and that he will follow it without question.”

“Great. There’s nothing worse than a man on a mission. And it still brings us back to the same question…” I sat in the chair by the kitchen table, suppressing a long sigh. “Why hasn’t he come for me yet?”

Erica spoke up then. “I don’t understand. If you all work for God, can’t He just tell you who is doing this?”

Raphael shook his head. “God will not interfere on Earth until the Rapture. He charges the angels with solving any problems between heaven and the world below it. He believes that this will bring us closer together if we work as one without His help.”

“Oh.” She paused. “That sucks.”

I grinned in spite of myself. “I know. I said the same thing when I found out.”

“Regardless,” Raphael continued, though he was smirking. “I will escort Erica back to her home and help her find her final wish.”

“Thanks. Be careful.” He nodded to Gabriel and I before gesturing to the door. Erica waved to me before walking through the closed door while Raphael left the traditional way.

I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to absorb the new information I’d learned. My skull felt fit to burst.

Gabriel sat down across from my chair, watching me. “What’s going on in that head of yours, Jordan?”

“I don’t get it, Gabriel. I’m not an exceptionally powerful Seer. Why is it that I’ve been spared and six other people lost their lives just for being born of a certain bloodline?”

“It’s possible that whomever is doing this knows that your soul is bound to Michael’s and it would be nearly impossible to kill you without risking his own life. The other Seers led normal lives. You’re living with a dyed-in-the-wool warrior.”

I frowned harder. “But that’s not right. I shouldn’t get a pass just because I happen to be married to an archangel.”

A soft chuckle escaped him. “Jordan, are you telling me that you’re feeling guilty because someone has not tried to kill you? It’s a far cry from your usual behavior.”

I snorted. “Point taken. No one’s tried to kill me in over a year. I’m starting to miss the adrenaline.”

“Perhaps I could make an attempt on your life if that would make you happy.”

I had to smile. “Thanks, that’s sweet of you, but I’ve got a reminder right here to tide me over for a while.”

I touched the spot over my heart where an ugly brown scar lay beneath my button-up shirt where the Spear of Longinus had once pierced over a year ago. I couldn’t believe it had been that long since my life changed forever. “Dying once is enough, trust me.”

“Indeed.” He went silent and a thought occurred to me.

“Tell me something. Why would this killer recite that passage in Latin? Wasn’t Paradise Regained originally written in English?”

His brow wrinkled. “Yes, you’re right. That is curious. Perhaps he knows that Latin was one of the languages most used by the angels in earlier times?”

“But what does that imply? Clearly, he knows about Seers and angels or else he wouldn’t be able to always disappear before you arrive. What’s the connection?”

“Maybe he sees himself as the angel of death for these Seers? But, again, that leads to another question: why is he killing them in the first place?”

I massaged my left temple. “I’m starting to think I should start wearing an expressionless mask and a blue fedora.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.” I glanced at the clock on the microwave and groaned.

“Shoot, Michael’s concert starts in half an hour. I’d better get dressed. You coming?”

“Unfortunately, I can’t. I have other obligations for the night. Please give him my support.”

“No worries. You’re overdressed anyway.”

He grinned as he stood. “I thought you had finally come to terms with my preferred attire after I bought you that Dolce and Gabbana dress for Christmas.”

“It was lovely, but it’s so nice that I’m afraid to wear it,” I admitted. It was an evening gown the color of dark chocolate that was made of pure silk. Gabriel often invited me to his high class social events, but half the time I couldn’t go because I could never afford the right clothes. He decided from then on to upgrade my wardrobe whenever he got the chance. It was beyond thoughtful of him.

He chuckled again before bending to kiss me on the forehead. “Good night, Jordan. I’ll see you soon, hopefully with good news about the case.”

“Night, Gabe.”

Chapter 2

Jordan

“I TAKE IT from this supposedly mandatory back rub that things didn’t go well with the talent agent?”

My husband sighed and the smooth skin on his shoulders shifted with each exhale. My fingertips worked small, slow circles in the middle of his spinal column where I could feel knots of tension. An archangel with back problems. Who knew?

“She said that we had the talent and the look, but we’re not ‘marketable enough’,” Michael said with no small amount of bitterness in his tone. It hurt to hear. He worked at Guitar Center to pay the bills and took the odd gig on the side. He wanted to work on his music full-time, but with two apartments and all the traveling working on cases, he had to compromise.

“That’s the third agent to tell me so. I’m beginning to think this profession isn’t as enjoyable as I once hoped.”

“C’mon, don’t say that. You love music. You’d better not even think about giving it up,” I scolded, but in my most supportive voice.

“Besides, getting a record deal is like getting published. All it takes is one yes, so you’re going to have to wade through a hundred no’s before you get there.”

He took a deep breath and let it out slow, folding his arms to prop up his head. “Yeah, I know. But it still sucks.”

I leaned down and kissed the top of his head, resting my hands on his shoulders.

“Welcome to showbiz, stud.”

A soft sound escaped him, one similar to a laugh. “How’d you get to be so savvy about this?”

“Life. Alright, let’s get to work.” I reached over and grabbed the manila folder lying next to us and handed it to him. Gabriel had left it for me on the kitchen counter and I hadn’t seen it since I’d headed to the concert. He pushed up on his elbows and opened it, reading the files out loud while I resumed my careful massage of his lower back.

“Victim Number One: Danny Bowen. Thirty-four. Mechanical engineer. Kentucky resident. Found murdered in his home five months ago. Deep puncture wound in the chest. Traces of steel found in the rib cage indicate a large blade. Entry and exit wounds suggests it’s shaped like a sickle.”

He flipped to the next page. “Victim Number Two: Todd Lovett. Twenty-one. Biochemistry major at Oxford. Found murdered in his car four months ago. Strangled to death in the front seat at roughly three o’clock in the morning. First to remember the killer chanting something in Latin as he died.”

Next page. “Victim Number Three: Imani Ibekwe. Thirty-one. Missionary. Found murdered in her home in Nigeria four months ago. Wounds consistent with the first victim. Confirms that if it is the same killer, he’s using the same weapon. Angle of the wounds suggests the killer is less than six feet tall.”

Page four. “Victim Number Four: Faye Cunningham. Forty-two. Nurse at a hospital in Poland. Found murdered in her home like Victims One and Three with the same wounds three months ago.”

Page five. “Victim Number Five: Yusef Nolan. Twenty-five. Television producer. Found murdered in his studio apartment in Brisbane two months ago. Defensive wounds on his forearms suggest the killer knows an extensive amount of martial arts as Yusef was a brown belt in judo and still ended up dead.”

Page six. “Victim Number Six: Erica Davalos. Forty-three. Kindergarten teacher. Found murdered in her home a month and a half ago. First victim not to immediately cross over. Like the other spirits, she remembers seeing a man chanting in Latin.”

I rested my chin on the top of his head, folding my arms across the back of his broad shoulders. “Aside from being Seers, what do we have on similarities?”

He flipped to the last page. “Based on the records I had some of the angels compile, Todd and Faye are of the same bloodline. They’re descendants of Matthew. Danny is a descendant of Luke, Imani is a descendant of John the Baptist, and Erica is a descendant of Thomas.”

I shook my head. “That doesn’t really have any relevance. So far, their Awakenings tie them together, not their bloodlines. What else?”

“Their homes and possessions were all burned to the ground. That suggests that the killer believes in some sort of purification ritual. However, he doesn’t leave markings on the ground afterward or any memorabilia. If it’s a cultural thing, it’s not one we’ve seen before.”

“Which means it’s newly formed by Captain Psychopath. Great. And you’re sure this isn’t a demon’s doing?”

“No. Demons can only sense the Awakening of a Seer sometime after the angels, not exactly when it happens. Only archangels and experienced Seers can sense when someone’s powers are developing. It gives us a bit of a head start. Besides, we’ve been tracking Belial’s movements for the past year and they aren’t consistent with the murders.”

A little shudder went down my spine at the mention of the demon’s name. I had been fortunate enough not to see him for over a year and that still wasn’t long enough. Every time I left the apartment, I felt a tiny shadow of fear rest between the back of my shoulders—fear that he was watching me, waiting for the opportunity to strike and get back at me for foiling his plans three times in a row.

“Good to know,” I said, though a little softer than I intended.

Michael noticed and pushed up on his hands, forcing me to slide off his back. He turned to me and cupped the side of my cheek in his large hand.

“Hey, don’t get so tense on me. He’s out of our lives. You know that.”

I tried to return the smile but it didn’t quite stick. “Yeah, but he’s always been a wild card. I can’t shake the feeling that he won’t try to come after us again.”

“Well, you’ve gotten pretty good at kicking his ass so I think we’re safe,” the archangel said, pressing a light kiss to my lips. I allowed myself to be lost in his touch and then a couple minutes later I was lying on my back and my shirt was on the floor and I knew exactly what would happen if I didn’t stop it.

It took a massive amount of will power to quit kissing him but I finally did, suppressing a wistful sigh. “It’s late. We probably shouldn’t, uh…you know.”

He grinned. “I’m so happy you’re the voice of reason in this relationship.”

I flicked him in the forehead. “Someone has to be, otherwise I’d be a paraplegic in the span of a month. Are you staying here tonight or heading home?”

The grin faded at the edges. “You know, it’d be a lot easier if I didn’t have to keep making the decision.”

I took a deep breath, raking fallen strands of hair out of my eyes. “Can we not have that discussion tonight?”

A frown bunched between his eyebrows, but he swallowed the argument and crawled off the bed, grabbing his t-shirt from where it dangled on the headboard. “I’d better head to my place. We have an early rehearsal and I have more talent agents to find and disappoint.”

I watched him pull the shirt on with a certain amount of regret. I had learned enough in my six months of marriage to be able to tell when he was unhappy, and he was because he wouldn’t maintain eye contact. Michael’s eyes always gave him away. In some ways, they were his best feature and thus they were his deadliest.

“Would it help if I showed up in a cheerleading costume for your next performance?”

He chuckled. “I thought we tried that one already. Or was it the Naughty Nurse?”

He ducked when I threw my sock at his head, swooping in for a goodnight kiss. I cradled his face between my hands for a long moment before letting go. My bed was always colder—literally and figuratively—when he didn’t spend the night.

“Buenas noches, amor,” I murmured.

He kissed my forehead. “Igualmente.”

Warm fingers mapped my spine, tracing the long curve of naked skin down to the small of my back, slowly, soothingly, purposefully. The sheets beneath me were clean and fresh like a summer morning—nothing a laundry detergent could pull off, either. This scent was as if someone had bottled the air at sunrise and sprayed it over cotton. I never felt more at peace, more relaxed. I’d found a small corner of heaven to lie upon.

The hands at my back had long fingers that hinted at strength and masculinity as they slid upward towards my scars. The rough fingertips followed the jagged lines zigzagging over my spinal column where my aunt’s switches and belts and extension cords had cut the skin too badly to heal. The scars had turned to brown worms and melted into the rest of me. A long time ago, I had been upset over them, afraid to wear certain shirts and dresses, but over time they became as much a part of me as my black hair or morena skin or knobby knees.

I sighed as his thumbs pressed against the blade of my shoulders, massaging in a circle, smoothing away the tension. Seconds later, soft lips touched the spot and silky hair brushed along my spine. My eyes opened and focused on his hand, palm flat, lying to my left. The skin was as pale as alabaster instead of the natural tan I was used to. Wait. Something was wrong.

My pulse sped up as I gathered the white sheets beneath me to cover my bare breasts and rolled over only to find the archdemon Belial on his knees above me.

I opened my mouth to scream, but he clapped one of his large hands over it, drowning my shout of alarm.

“Don’t. This may be a dream, but your screams are still quite irritating, my pet.”

I tore his hand away from my lips, glaring at him to hide my fear. He still looked the same—a narrow nose, perfect slender cheekbones, and wickedly sensual lips. He looked vaguely European to me, but he didn’t have an accent. His voice was deep, cold, and empty most of the time unless he was mocking me. He appeared somewhere in his late twenties to early-thirties, but I knew he was damn near as old as time itself. He wore an unbuttoned navy dress shirt that flapped loosely around his chest, granting me an eyeful of his perfectly carved abs.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I need to speak with you.”

“What? You don’t own a phone, jackass?”

He cocked his head to the left, one dark eyebrow rising. “Would you have listened if I called you? No. You’d hang up and we both know it. I was forced to find an alternate method of communication.”

“Yes, and the bed was entirely necessary as part of the communication,” I growled with the utmost sarcasm. He smirked.

“I would be remissed if I didn’t try to make a pass at you. In the real world, I am no longer able to…” He paused, licking his bottom lip. “—taste you, but in the dream world, I am free to do as I please.”

I glared. “Do you have a point?”

“Ah, yes, that.” The humor and flirtatiousness abated, leaving his nearly white eyes to focus on me with a serious look in them. It never failed to creep me out that his pupils weren’t round but slits like a snake’s. It was the mark of all archdemons, a sign of royalty.

“You are no doubt aware of the murdered Seers, yes?”

“Of course. Don’t tell me you’re gonna confess to them?”

He snorted again, seeming offended. “Nonsense. I would have left a signature if it were my doing, but that is why I have chosen to contact you. I wish to report that these killings are not being committed by one of the Fallen.”

“Why the hell should I believe that, Belial? Lying is like air to you.”

“Because you know as well as I do that our side would not kill Seers indiscriminately. They are of as much use to us as they are to you and we are at a disadvantage when there is only one of them hanging around. One who just happens to be married to an archangel,” he added with another insufferable smirk.

I ignored the comment. “So let’s pretend you’re telling the truth. If it’s not a demon, then who is it?”

“I would advise you to reexamine your so-called saviors.”

“The angels?”

He nodded. I shook my head. “You think we haven’t considered that? Of course we have. But there’s also the fact that not a single angel has ever gone rogue since the Fall. Why would one start now?”

Belial shrugged. “Perhaps he knows something we do not? The roster in Heaven is infinite. It is possible one of these angels slipped through the cracks. Ask Michael if there have been any unusual absences in Heaven, perhaps someone who left for Earth without a specific order.”

“Why are you so eager to find this killer?”

“As I said before, my pet. Seers are just as valuable to my side as they are to yours. It is necessary to find him and stop him if we ever want to get anywhere.”

I shifted underneath him, becoming even more nervous now that our little chat was coming to an end. “Great. Thanks for the tip. Now get out of my damn head.”

“So soon?” the demon purred, leaning down enough to make my heart rate spike again.

“Is there nothing about this situation that interests you, Seer?”

“Nothing at all,” I said through gritted teeth.

A rather smug grin crossed his lips. “Mentirosa.”

I tried to punch him but faster than I could see, he grabbed both my wrists and pinned them to the mattress. Squirming, I tried to knee him in the groin. He crawled upward and straddled my waist, rendering my legs useless under his weight. An arrogant laugh trickled out of his throat as he watched me struggle in vain.

“I adore that you still resist me even in a place where no one can see us. A less stubborn woman would at least be honest with herself.”

“Honest about what?” I spat. “How much I despise you? How much you disgust me?”

“And how much I turn you on?” he offered. Despite my anger, a creeping heat found its way on my cheeks and I hated it.

“You don’t-”

“I’m inside your head, Jordan. I can feel everything.” He lowered his face to my neck, not touching me but just barely letting his hot breath flow over my skin and his jet-black hair glide across my collarbone.

“I can feel it like the blood rushing through your veins. Your angel may be handsome and valiant, but he does not excite you the way that I do. You crave danger like a creature of the night. Like a demon. Like me. Sooner or later, you will accept that about yourself.”

“You’ve been out of my life for a year and a half. I don’t miss anything. Can you feel that?” I shot back.

“No, I cannot. Perhaps if I try a little harder…” He pursed his lips and blew at the sheets just barely clinging to my chest. They slipped downward a couple of inches, revealing the scar over my heart, and Belial’s hot tongue laved the length of it, making me gasp. I squeezed my eyes shut, ashamed and angry as my body started to tremble with a horrible combination of fear and excitement.

A buzzing sound woke me. I jolted upward in bed, my hands flying to my chest as I felt the ghost of Belial’s touch fading away with the nightmare. Light touched the edges of the bedroom through the blinds of my window. I glanced about to detect the odd noise only to discover my phone had received a text message. I sighed, swiping sweaty tendrils of hair off my forehead, and grabbed my cell phone.

I’ll be over for lunch around 1:00. Te amo.

-Michael

“Saved by the bell,” I muttered, dropping the phone in my lap. A shudder went down my spine at the thought of what might have happened if he hadn’t woken me up. With Michael beside me, my dreams were protected because he emitted a subconscious protective aura. Without him, I was vulnerable. Open. Prey.

A knot began to twist in my stomach, sagging there like a boulder. I knew that ache. Michael and Gabriel had taken turns rehabilitating me from my alcohol dependence, but I still got cravings during high stress situations. This sure as hell was one of them.

So I did what any person would do.

I cooked.

Chapter 3

Michael

“THE EVIDENCE IS stacking up.”

“I know,” my brother sighed, his voice sounding absurdly tired through the cell phone. The bustling citizens of Albany on either side of me made it somewhat difficult to hear, but I’d sacrifice my hearing ability as long as it didn’t require me to ride public transportation. Technology continued to evolve leaps and bounds every few years and yet we still had to clamor onto mechanical death traps that dragged through the streets like anchors at the bottom of the ocean.

“Any luck finding anomalies?”

“None so far. I am afraid the system was not designed for such a broad search.”

I snorted as I stopped at a crosswalk, checking the streets. Cars flew past at ridiculous speeds. Gusts of wind tore at my face, my shirt, my jeans. Maybe I should have taken the bus after all. “Is it just me or is that completely unacceptable?”

At last, a touch of humor crept into Gabriel’s tone. “It’s not like you can just Google every angel that has ever existed. Being human has made you lazy, Michael.”

“We should invent that after this mess is over. Heaven Google. We can call it Hoogle.”

He chuckled. “Indeed. But I do have some good news—we are coming up on the last third of the names.”

“Great.” I paused. “This is going to suck, isn’t it?”

Gabriel sighed. “Whole-heartedly. Betrayal of the Father is a death sentence on Earth and banishment from Heaven in the spiritual world. I sincerely hope the murderer has a good reason for this.”

The humor bled out of me all at once. “There is no good reason to kill the innocent. You and I both know that.”

“I agree, but I also have lived here longer than you have. Sometimes there are reasons for these things, even if they aren’t apparent at first. He must think he’s helping us out, somehow, in his twisted mind. It is not like the angels to be without sanity.”

He paused, adding, “Well, except for that one who married a human. What was his name again?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m gonna tell Jordan you said that.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort. You love me too much.”

I stifled a groan. “Call me back when you have something useful to say.”

“Will do. Goodbye.” I hung up and opened the door to the candy shop, darting inside to save myself from the humid streets. Air conditioning and the hanging scent of caramel greeted me. I took a deep breath, savoring the aroma. My stomach growled in response. The last thing I ate was spinach dip at Stan’s place. Sweets were a welcome reprieve.

To my delight, Doris was the cashier today—a plump woman in her late fifties with a pageboy haircut and irreversible crush on me. Shameless as it was, I used it to my advantage, if only because this place made the best caramel apples in the Northeast.

“Doris, my love,” I purred when it was my turn to step up to the counter.

She grinned, revealing dimples in her doughy cheeks. “Ah, there’s my handsome man. Still married?”

I lifted my left hand to show the silver wedding ring. “Sadly, yes. Sorry to disappoint.”

“Nonsense. I know I’ll win you over one day,” she said, reaching inside the glass display for the two caramel apples she knew I was going to order. I was a creature of habit, after all.

“I believe it. How are the kids?”

“Ha!” she said, placing the apples on the scale. “Bobby’s got himself a new main squeeze. This one drives a Harley and smokes like a film noir detective. I suspect she’ll last about a month. Maggie’s wrapped up studying for her LSATs. We’re praying she passes this time.”

“Well, I’d be happy to find her a tutor if you need it. I know people,” I offered, withdrawing my wallet to find my Visa card.

“I’m convinced there’s no one you don’t know. You sure do get around,” she replied with a mischievous glint in her brown eyes. A couple clicks and the price dropped another dollar as she applied her associate discount for me.

I winked. She chuckled before swiping my card and handing me the treats. “Stay gorgeous, gorgeous.”

“You too, Michael, dear.” I ventured back out into the heat, digging one caramel apple out of the little plastic bag she gave me and tossing the wrapper into a nearby trash can. The fruit made a satisfying crunch when I bit down, spilling tart juice and sticky caramel across my tongue. Ah. The simple marvels of humanity. You couldn’t get stuff like this in Heaven.

I probably should have missed my home above more, but close to two years on Earth had changed my perspective more than I could have imagined. Centuries of observing mankind from on high had made me a hard man and an unflinching soldier. Back then, they seemed like chess pieces—pawns mostly, but a few knights and rooks, here and there. It wasn’t until my mission to retrieve the Spear of Longinus from an auction in Albany in 2008 that I began to realize my perception was skewed. Enter Jordan Amador, my greatest challenge, and eventually, my wife. My queen on the chessboard of life, so to speak.

It was probably fitting that I fell in love with my complete opposite. Jordan used to be asocial, defensive, and cynical. It took me months to peel back even the first layer to her personality. She had built up walls around her to keep everyone out because she was afraid of getting hurt, thanks to her rough childhood. She had every excuse to be a terrible person, but somehow, she became someone who was brave, self-sacrificing, and hopeful.

Still, as much as I loved her, we had our share of problems—particularly the apartment situation and the fact that she still hadn’t planned the wedding ceremony. Jordan was a low maintenance girl and so we had a small courthouse marriage with the agreement to eventually hold a wedding for our friends and family, who had been pestering me non-stop about it lately. That was six months ago and every time anyone brought it up, she changed the subject or said she’d get to it eventually. Same with the fact that we still had separate places. Not an easy thing to juggle in Albany, New York between a waitress and a guitar salesman-slash-musician. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t that big of a deal, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t concern me. I didn’t need a wedding, but the fact that she still kept part of herself separate from me didn’t inspire much confidence.

The blast of a car horn shook me out of my thoughts. I’d walked an entire block without realizing it. Half of the caramel apple was gone too. Damn. Needed to pay attention unless I wanted to end up street pizza.

Then again, my personal life was small potatoes compared to the still unsolved murdered Seers mystery. I hated the thought of it being an archangel gone rogue, but it was becoming more likely with every day that passed. Angels were not like police officers or guardians, as some humans seemed to believe. We were more like free agents with the same mission: to protect humanity and vanquish evil. Some chose to follow the orders that I issued as needed, but for the most part, they came and went as they pleased. We’d never had a need to keep track of each other because everyone did what they were supposed to and had since the beginning of time with the exception of the fallen angels. Either way, things were going to be different from now on. Very different.

Just as I jogged through the crosswalk to the other side of the street, I felt a sharp tugging in my gut that raised the hairs on my arms and along my nape. Immediately, I reached inside and spread my metaphysical senses to detect what had set the alarm bells off in my soul. There, leaning against the building across from the street lamp, was someone I knew from the olden days. He was just over six feet tall with pale skin, greasy blonde hair, sharp cheekbones, and long, bony fingers. He lit a cigarette and then cut his dark green eyes up at me as soon as I spotted him.

“How’s it hanging, Mikey?” Shylock the peddler demon asked.

I adopted a nonchalant expression, though I was sure he’d appeared here on purpose. I hadn’t seen him in over a year, not since before Jordan and I were a couple.

“I’m surviving. What’s the occasion?”

Shylock blew out a stream of smoke, grinning enough to reveal his slightly sharp, tobacco-stained teeth. “You don’t have to sound so suspicious. I’m not here to cause trouble.”

I finally scowled. “The last time we met, I stopped you from killing someone and claiming a soul for your collection. Forgive me if I suspect you’re holding a grudge.”

He straightened his leather jacket, pulling the cig from his thin lips. “You know me better than that. I’m the forgiving sort.”

I snorted. Our paths crossed back when I was sent to investigate a string of murders overseas a few decades ago. Turns out he was working as an assassin-for-hire in exchange for souls. We fought. I bested him, but he was so impressed with me that we agreed to a ceasefire. Of all the demons I’d met, he was the closest to not being a total dickwaffle. That being said, he was still a dangerous bastard.

“Whatever, man. If you’ve got something to say, say it. I’m in a hurry.”

His shark-like grin spread wider. “Heading home to the wifey?”

I glared. “So what if I am?”

“Can’t blame you. She’s pretty plain for my tastes, but she’s got killer legs.”

I stepped forward threateningly and he held up his hands. “Whoa, calm down, mate. It was a compliment, not a threat. I’m just here to confirm the rumor.”

“What rumor?”

“Seers are dropping like flies. Our archdemon lord hasn’t made any orders, and neither has anyone down below. Word on the street is that you’ve got yourself a traitor.”

A nerve in my jaw twitched. I didn’t care to confirm it because I truly did not want to believe one of my brothers had fallen. We lost enough of them in the Battle in Heaven all those centuries ago. I couldn’t stand the thought of a repeat of history. I lost a lot of good friends that day. “I’m not the kind to gossip, Shy. You want that, go elsewhere.”

I turned my back on him, starting towards the next street. He trailed behind me, his voice borderline whiny. “Ah, c’mon, Mike. If he’s whacked as many Seers as I’ve heard, then you’re gonna need help. A gun for hire.”

I laughed mockingly. “Oh, so that’s what you’re up to? You want me to hire you to kill this guy?”

“We’d make a good team and you know it.”

“Yeah, there’s just that little matter of you being evil and also a dick.”

Shylock caught up to me and pouted. “Well, you don’t have to be mean about it.”

That almost made me laugh. Damn. “Sorry, Shy. Not going to happen. We’ll find this guy on our own dime, not yours.”

“I’ll give you a discount.”

“Forget it.”

He sighed, grumbling, “Fine, but I won’t be the only one asking.”

I stopped dead. I whirled around, intent on demanding what that meant, but by then, he’d disappeared. I searched the crowd along the sidewalk. Gone. Not surprising. Demons could move fast enough to break the sound barrier if they felt like it. He’d been cryptic on purpose, the asshole. Nothing I could do about it now.

I checked my watch. Ten minutes ‘til one. Three blocks to my wife.

At least the day was looking up.

Jordan

* * *

THE SHRIMP SLITHERED against my fingertips as I peeled off the tails, tossing their little grey striped corpses into a strainer in the sink. The music of the Stranglers poured over the room and I plucked the lyrics out of the air every few seconds, trying to get my mind off of Belial and the dream. Behind me, a pot of water, saffron, and chicken broth simmered, waiting eagerly for my attention. Once the shrimp were shell-and-tail free, I’d move on to the chicken thighs. One step at a time. Cook. Breathe. Calm down. In that order.

I was halfway through sliding the raw chicken into a hot pan when I heard a knock at the door. I glanced at the clock on the microwave. Ten minutes to one. Michael was early, and had clearly forgotten his key again. He had the worst habit of leaving things at my apartment.

I finished shoveling the chicken into the pan, washed my hands, and answered the door with a sigh on my lips.

“We’ve got to work on your memory, Mi—”

The man standing on my welcome mat was not my husband.

He was black, in every sense of the definition. His skin was far darker than mine, nearly reaching Wesley Snipes’ infamous hue. His hair was black too, but the edges near his hairline were peppered with grey, as was the hair on his stylish goatee. He wore a dark blue suit and white tie, his dress shoes polished to a high sheen, and a leather jacket was tossed over his right arm. It was too hot for these clothes. I figured he was a Jehovah’s Witness because he looked like he’d just stepped out of a church, or out of a Tyler Perry movie, for that matter.

I cleared my throat, trying to mask my confusion. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah,” he said in a deep voice. “Jordan Amador?”

“Yes?”

He smiled. “Figures. You look just like her.”

My brow furrowed into a frown. “Like who?”

“Your mother.”

My blood ran cold. I gripped the door to keep myself from swaying at the sudden sensation of panic. No one knew my mother except me, my aunt, the angels…and the demons. But I couldn’t sense any power coming off him.

“Who are you?” I demanded.

His smile didn’t waver.

“Lewis Jackson. I’m your father.”

Chapter 4

Jordan

“MIND IF I come in?”

I nodded, too numb to speak, and he stepped inside. I shut the door, slumping against it, still trying to wrap my head around the words he’d just said.

“That’s not…that’s not possible. My Dad ran out on me when I was born,” I mumbled, raising my eyes to look at him again.

He tossed his jacket across the kitchen chair, facing me again. “I wouldn’t put it that way, but I guess you’re right.”

“How did you find me? How did you even know my name?”

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a box of Marlboro menthols, lighting one before he spoke. “Your mother decided on a name long before she had you. Catalina’s a woman of faith, wanted your name to have…what did she call it…symbolic resonance?”

Lewis chuckled then. “Always had a way with words, she did. Anyway, I ran your name in a Google search and saw you were hanging out with some guy in a band. Flew out here, asked around until I came to this Southern diner called the Sweet Spot and they told me you lived near here. Ran into the mailman and he said you live in this apartment.”

He shrugged. “So here I am.”

I took a deep breath, trying to flatten out all the thoughts racing through my mind. “Flew in from where?”

“Detroit.”

“Long way to fly for your long-lost daughter,” I said, drawing the last three words out slowly as I crossed my arms beneath my chest. His explanation kicked me out of my stunned state. Some things were just not adding up with his story.

“What exactly prompted this reunion?”

Lewis grinned again. “Damn, you talk just like her, girl.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Answer the question.”

He inhaled deeply, staring at me with eyes that were the same color as mine—like Hershey’s milk chocolate melting on a sidewalk during a hot day. After blowing smoke at the ceiling, he walked towards me and stopped a few inches away. I didn’t back up because I knew at least four different ways to knock him out if he dared touch me.

“Got some people that ain’t exactly happy with me right now. Business partners. Ain’t the friendly type either. Thought you might be able to help me out.”

The vagueness of his words weren’t lost on me. Hell, he was already dressed like a pimp so finding out he was one certainly wouldn’t shock me. “Business partners?”

“Yep. Investments. That sort of thing.”

I shook my head, smiling. “You flew that long a way and still can’t be honest with me? That’s pretty rotten, Daddy-o.”

He flinched at the name, and I savored the expression.

“What?” he asked. “You want me to be honest now, is that it?”

I shrugged. “Might as well. Can’t hurt your chances any.”

“Business is business, little girl. I don’t need to get into no details. All you need to know is that I got a lotta people bangin’ down my door and I need some help.”

“How much do you owe?”

He sucked in another mouthful of smoke. “Fifty-thousand.”

I laughed. He blinked at me, surprised by my reaction. I clapped my hands once, wagging a finger at him as I walked towards the kitchen where my chicken was in danger of burning in the pan.

“You’re good. Very good. Best scam artist I’ve seen so far.”

Lewis’ face melted into an offended look. “You think I’m lyin’?”

“No shit, Sherlock,” I scoffed, flipping over the sizzling meat. “First of all, you haven’t asked about taking a paternity test to even prove you’re my so-called father; second of all, the way you found me sounds like pure bullshit; third of all, only a fool would think I had or could get a hold of that kind of money. So yeah, I think you’re lying.”

He stalked towards me in quick, angry strides, and reached into his pocket. I tensed, ready to lay him out if he tried to hit me, but he came away with a photograph, thrusting it into my face.

“Is this good enough for you?”

I stared. It was a photo of my mother and my supposed father at the altar of a church. Some of the bitter amusement drained away. It looked pretty real. A cold spot formed in my stomach but I ignored it, hardening my expression.

“Any fool can Photoshop.”

“Mm-hmm,” he said dryly, and then reached into his pocket once more. This time, it wasn’t a picture that appeared. Black beads dangled from his fingers, tapering down into an old cross so worn at the edges that the paint faded away to reveal the brown wood beneath it. My mouth went dry. I remembered the way the beads felt against my cheek when I fell asleep with my head nestled in my mother’s chest. Once, when I was an infant, I chewed on the end, forever marking the bottom of the cross with tiny teeth marks. She told me she got the rosary from her mother the day before she died. Her mother was a devout Catholic. My mother hadn’t really been, but she kept them anyway.

I took them from him, my fingers trembling. “Where did you get this?”

Before he could say anything, I heard the lock on the door turn and then Michael walked in.

He froze with a hand on the knob, green eyes dashing from my lifeless expression to the tall black man standing only inches away. I saw many things flicker in his face—shock, anger, suspicion, worry—before his expression settled into a neutral look. He shut the door, shoving his keys back into his pocket and dropping a plastic bag with what appeared to be a caramel apple in it on the table.

“Hi. And you are…?”

“Lewis, this is Michael. Michael, this is Lewis. My…” I couldn’t say the word. It choked me with cold, dry fingers.

“—her father,” Lewis finished, frowning at my hesitation.

Michael’s eyes widened to epic proportions and then darted to meet mine. He stepped forward, as if he wanted to touch me, but restrained himself. Lewis’ face darkened with anger as he glanced between the two of us.

“Who’s he?”

I licked my lips, mumbling, “My husband.”

“You gotta be shittin’ me, girl,” he snapped, stepping back to give us both disapproving glares. “You married a white boy? What the hell your mother been teachin’ you?”

All the horror and sadness that had been bottled up inside me suddenly burst outward like a crack in a dam, the water erasing every shred of decency I once possessed.

“She’s dead.”

Lewis’ eyes also went wide, his jaw slack. “She’s—”

“Dead,” I spat. “She died when I was five years old. The only thing she had the time to teach me was to be strong in the face of evil, but I guess you wouldn’t know about that, would you?”

The annoyance came rushing back into his features then. “You ain’t gonna talk to me like that. I’m still your father.”

“Calling yourself that doesn’t make it true. You can say it all you want. Father, father, father. You’re still just some asshole sperm donor.”

He stepped close, pointing a finger at me. “Better watch your mouth. I didn’t leave you and your mother because I was scared. I thought you’d have a better life without me. We wanted different things. It woulda happened eventually if I didn’t split when I did. Thought I’d be making things easier for you.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “Easier? You thought our lives would be easier without you? Let me show you how my life has been without you.”

I grabbed the hem of my shirt and began to lift it up. Michael caught my wrist and his expression was strained as if he were distraught by the fury blazing inside me, spilling out of every corner of my skin. “Jordan, you don’t have to do this.”

“No, let him see. Let him see his so-called easier.” I yanked off the shirt and Lewis’ gaze fell upon the scar on my chest, and he couldn’t hide the look of abject horror. I turned around, exposing the network of scars down my back.

“Does this look easier to you? After my mother was taken, they sent me to live with Carmensita.”

“Christ,” he croaked. “What did she do to you?”

“What didn’t she do to me,” I said in a low voice before turning around to face him.

“Clearly leaving us was the best decision you ever made. I suggest you do so again, since it worked out so well last time.”

“Jordan—” He tried to touch my arm, but I jerked it away.

“Get out.”

“Wait—”

“Get the fuck out of my home.”

Lewis stared at me until I screamed, “GET OUT!”

Slowly, he gathered up his jacket and left. Michael said nothing. I threw my shirt on the floor and pressed my hands against the counter, forcing myself to breathe, but the air had evacuated the room, leaving nothing but poison to fill my lungs. My shoulders started to shake. I pressed my forehead into the cool surface, stifling the sob building in my chest. I felt Michael’s arms wrap around me, and his soft lips against the nape of my neck. Somehow, this simple touch made everything unravel. He slid his palm over my bare stomach to my arm and turned me around, folding me into his chest. I cried while he held me, still silent, still kind, still mine.

* * *

A HEADACHE WOKE me up. The ache settled behind my left eye and throbbed, as if a tiny man with a jackhammer was going at it with my skull. I groaned and rolled onto my stomach, pressing my face into the pillow. Several slow breaths helped some of the pain subside. I stood up, slowly, experimentally, and then shuffled into the bathroom. Two Advil, a glass of room temperature water. Easy fix. Wish I could say the same for the rest of my life.

Michael sat at the kitchen table, hunched over his laptop, one hand folded over his mouth. He glanced up when I walked in and concern rushed over his face, replacing the concentration.

“Hey,” he murmured.

I offered him a small smile. “Hey.”

I noticed an enormous black pot on the stove and lifted the lid, surprised to find yellow rice dotted with shrimp, chicken, sausage, and diced peppers inside.

“You finished the paella.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Figured you’d be hungry when you got up.”

I replaced the lid, walked over, and kissed him. He slid his hands around my waist, fingertips gliding over my bare skin. I sighed and pressed my forehead to his.

“Thank you.”

“De nada,” he whispered back.

I sat sideways in his lap with my feet dangling a couple of inches above the floor, and rested my face in the side of his neck. “Am I a horrible person for reacting the way I did?”

He shook his head. “I’m still amazed that you didn’t punch him in the face. I was definitely thinking about it, to be honest. What did he even want from you?”

“Fifty-thousand dollars.”

Michael gaped at me. “You’re serious.”

I nodded. “Apparently, he’s in trouble with some ‘business partners’ and ran out of options so he tracked me down.”

“Did he have proof that he was your father?”

I nodded towards the counter where the necklace still sat. “He had my mother’s rosary. The one she got from her mom. I remember it from when I was little. I don’t know how he got it, especially since he didn’t know my mother died.”

“Didn’t the psychiatric hospital forward all your mother’s stuff to your aunt?”

I nodded.

“Maybe he went to see her first. She must have been holding out on you last year when you went to visit. Not sure why she would have given him the rosary.”

I snorted. “Because it’s twice as cruel to let him have that and not tell him she died than to tell him the truth. What a bitch.”

“That’s the understatement of the century.”

Silence fell. I sighed. “Baby, what should I do?”

He met my eyes. “What does your heart tell you to do?”

“My heart doesn’t speak English.”

He chuckled then, kissing the corner of my lips. “Then I’ll just have to translate. But we don’t have to do that now. One problem at a time, hmm?”

“Yeah. Murdered Seers come before deadbeat dads who may or may not be pimps.”

My husband made a noise between a laugh and a sound of horror. “That’s not funny.”

I shrugged. “It might as well be. What are you looking at?”

“Police reports filed on the last murder. I was hoping we could find any evidence of the getaway, but there doesn’t seem to be any. The guy just…vanished. Besides, it happened in the middle of the night, so there weren’t any witnesses.”

“Sounds supernatural to me. Speaking of which…” I bit my bottom lip and cleared my throat in anticipation of the difficult oncoming sentence.

“Belial contacted me.”

Michael went still, staring at me with a mixture of anger and worry etched into his face. “When? How?”

“Last night, in a…dream.” I fought to keep a straight face. The memory of the demon’s mouth on my skin made guilt rise up inside me, even though I hadn’t done anything wrong.

The archangel closed his eyes. “What did he want?”

“He said he wanted to report that the murderer is not a demon. None of them are under orders to harm Seers.”

“He expects us to believe that? We have no reason to trust what he says.”

“True, but he does have a point. It’s got to be an angel gone rogue. Nothing else adds up. How’s the search in Heaven going?”

“Not well. We’ve had a league of angels pouring through the roster for months and it’s still not finished. We can’t exactly call them all in, either. Many of them are deployed in dangerous areas or are on important missions. We’re going to have to find another way to locate this guy.”

I stood up, scooping my shirt off the chair where it dangled. “Maybe that’s it. Maybe we’re not looking in the right place.”

“What do you mean?”

I pulled on my shirt, gathering my thoughts as I did. “How do angels and demons enter the human world?”

“The Doors. There are two of them—one for angels and one for demons. They have to pass through in spirit form and into bodies engineered by what we call Puppeteers. Without a body, the spirit will fade back into the void between Heaven and Earth or Hell and Earth. Since we don’t know who the angel is, it would be useless to ask our Puppeteer if they gave him a body.”

“Wait a second. What if he used the Demons’ Door?”

“What?”

“Think about it. If he didn’t want us to figure out what he looked like, then he would enter through the Demons’ Door so we couldn’t trace it back to our side.”

“But that would mean that the demons would know who he is. Why would Belial contact you if he already knew what the rogue angel looks like? And why wouldn’t he tell you that?”

“Maybe he was trying to drop a hint. Maybe he needs our help to stop him. He told me that demons wouldn’t kill a Seer because they’re too valuable. He might have the information, but that doesn’t mean he has the means to catch the rogue angel. We should be able to get a picture or something.”

“We’d have to ask him to get in contact with their Puppeteer.”

“Why can’t we do it ourselves?”

He frowned at me. “We can’t see the Puppeteer without an archdemon present. She won’t talk to us alone. We’ve tried it before.”

I massaged the bridge of my nose. “Let me guess—the only archdemon on Earth right now is Belial?”

“Naturally.”

“That’s why he contacted me. He probably knew that we’d come to this conclusion sooner or later. Bastard.”

Michael stood and then touched my shoulders. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. There might be another way.”

“We’re already running out of time. We’re gonna have to find him and ask him to take us to the Puppeteer.”

“It won’t come cheap.”

“Nothing ever does.”

My husband exhaled and then reached for his cell phone. “I’ll contact Gabriel. He should be able to get us a location soon.”

“Great.” I grabbed the caramel apple on the table and unwrapped it. Truthfully, I wasn’t hungry—I just needed a sweet distraction. That cold knot from before burrowed into my guts and stuck there like a chewed up wad of gum on the bottom of a desk. Everything in me did not want a reunion with Belial, but I knew it would have to happen. If I wanted to save the future Seers of the world, I would have to make a sacrifice. Somewhere, Belial was whetting a knife for me and preparing for the feast.

Eat well, you son of a bitch.

Chapter 5

Jordan

“YOU’RE NOT STUPID enough to not call for back up if you get in over your head, are you?” Michael asked, staring into my eyes as if he could tell what I was thinking.

I kept my voice playful to disguise my growing anxiety. “Do you think I am?”

“You really don’t want me to answer that.”

I rolled my eyes. “Then don’t ask rhetorical questions. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

He leaned down and pressed a short but sweet kiss to my lips that made me feel just a tiny bit calmer. “You’d better be.”

I nodded to Gabriel before stepping out of the car, instantly swallowed by the cool darkness of night. I waited for traffic to pass and jogged across the street, muttering sarcastic comments to myself as I went.

“It’s no biggie. You’re just strolling into a club full of demons with no backup. Big deal. People do it all the time.”

The Morsel was a nightclub in Queensbury. Gabriel had done some digging to find Belial’s most recent public appearances in the New York area and they were primarily at this place. It was a nest for demons, a safe haven, if you don’t mind the irony. They let some humans in “for fun” but it was mostly the Fallen that populated its insides. Lucky me.

The doors to the club were blood red, a color not lost on me considering my background with the fallen angels, and there was a sinewy black man wearing a frown standing outside with a clipboard. The line wrapped around the side of the street like a snake, bristling with new activity as the demons spotted me walking towards the entrance. When I was close, the black guy arched one thick eyebrow at me.

“Can I help you?”

“I need to get in,” I said without any malice or fear. It took quite a lot of effort, to be honest.

An arrogant smirk tugged at the edge of his lips. “First of all, there’s a line, and second of all, I doubt you really want in. They’d eat you alive.”

My smile widened. Ah, yes, that familiar feeling of annoyance. Right up my alley. “I can clearly see the line but thanks for pointing it out. The reason you’re going to let me in is that I’m relatively sure your boss wouldn’t be thrilled if you turned me away.”

He snorted. “And who’s my boss?”

“Belial.”

When I spoke the demon’s name, the bouncer’s smirk withered, replaced with a serious but contemplative look. “Name?”

“Jordan Amador.”

His brown eyes grew large. Well, well. He did know who I was. “Prove it.”

I stared. “What do you mean prove it?”

“Word on the street is that you’ve managed to send Belial and Mulciber home with their tails tucked between their legs on two separate occasions. It’s hard to think a little thing like you can do that kind of damage, if you don’t mind me saying.”

I sighed. He had a point, but it was still an incredible nuisance. “Fine. What kind of proof do you want? I don’t have a driver’s license, but I have ID.”

The bouncer shook his head. “Papers can be forged. I want to see the scar.”

I went still. “The scar?”

“The scar the Spear made. Then you can go in.” His gaze didn’t waver on mine. Several feelings boiled in my gut: anger, humiliation, and defiance, but none of them would help me get into this joint so I stuffed them all down. I yanked the neckline of my shirt downward to expose the mound of scar tissue over my heart. He let out a low whistle and stepped aside, opening the door amongst the groans of jealousy from the people in line.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Seer.”

Pulsing music surrounded me in an instant as I walked up the stairs—also tastefully done in crimson—that led to the main part of the building. It served as both a bar and a dance club. There were black lacquered tables everywhere with people seated at them and a huge hardwood dance floor in the middle. Behind it stood a stage where there were four men in tuxedos: two at microphones, one on the drums, and one on a white guitar. I stopped when I reached the top of the steps, glancing around at my harrowing surroundings. The bar was along the left wall, crowded with demons clamoring for drinks, but there was another staircase leading to a basement to the far right. I tried to ignore the pounding chorus of the Kills song the band played telling me that I was a fever.

I let my energy flow out of me and fill the club, distantly aware the demons were whispering to each other about my presence but ignoring it. Finally, I felt a fiery energy coming from the basement. It had to be him.

I maneuvered my way past the tables near the basement staircase. I felt the gaze of every single demon as I walked, locked on my solitary form like lions watching a lamb. The key was not so much acting like they didn’t scare me but rather acting like they wouldn’t bother me. They were naturally suspicious of my presence because of the rumors and because I wouldn’t have just wandered in here for no reason. They were cautious predators.

To my utter shock, there wasn’t a huge, intimidating man at the next set of double doors but a little girl no more than twelve or thirteen years old with chestnut hair and lifeless green eyes. She was at least seven inches shorter than me and held a clear clipboard in her pale hands.

I cleared my throat, trying to disguise my surprise as I spoke. “Hi. I’m looking for Belial.”

“He’s busy,” she answered without batting an eyelash. Creepy.

“I’m sure he is, but I get the feeling he might be interested in seeing me if you let him know I’m here.”

She gave me a very bored once-over. “I’m not so sure about that.”

That stung. I brushed past it anyway. “Could you check? Please?”

The girl continued staring at me before touching her earpiece. “I’ve got a Seer here that wants to see the Master. Should I let her in?”

A muffled voice on the end replied. She lowered her hand to the door and pushed it open, nodding for me to go in. “Knock twice when you want out…if you make it that far.”

“Thanks, Sunshine,” I deadpanned, brushing past her. This hallway was long and dimly lit with concrete steps and bare walls, but the noise was entirely different. I heard the distant rumble of chanting as I walked, squinting as I tried to see what lay at the end of the hall.

When I reached the archway, I could see stadium seating all centered around a raised arena with a rusted metal cage over the top like a wrestling match. There were two men locked in a vicious fistfight, hurtling each other from one end to the other. I wondered what the hell was going on when one man slammed into the side of the cage nearest to me, and then I saw it—a long curtain of jet-black hair. Belial.

Just as I recognized him, he raised his head and looked over his shoulder right into my eyes, slowly smirking as he realized it was me. Seeing that smirk in person after so many months made the skin on my arms crawl.

He straightened up just as the other man ran at him, his fist cocked. With inhuman speed, he whirled around and shoved his palm into the man’s nose, breaking it. The man hit the floor howling in pain and clutching his face. The spectators went wild, their voices eventually melding into one terrifying chant of, “BEL! BEL! BEL! BEL!”

The demon strolled over to one end of the cage and one of his associates unlocked the door, letting him out. He hopped off the stage and crooked a finger at me without turning around. I took a deep breath and followed him up the steps of the stadium to an office.

The chanting stopped as soon as I closed the door, meaning these walls were sound proof. Of course they were. Shit. I couldn’t dwell on this fact for long because Belial spoke, catching my attention.

“Well, well, well. Jordan Amador. I never expected to see you darkening my doorstep.”

I squared my shoulders and turned, intent on being firm and cold with him, but then my eyes fell across his bare chest and words died in my throat.

I hadn’t seen the result of the angel feather I’d once plunged into Belial’s chest until now. It was ghastly. The skin over his heart rippled with brown burn marks and nearly bisected his abs, starting at the shoulder and dripping down to his bellybutton. It looked almost shiny in the dim light, meaning that his human body had tried its best to heal the damage but probably never would.

Belial caught my gaze, flashing me a brief smirk. “Admiring your handiwork, I see?”

“That’s not—”

“You don’t have to make excuses. You should be proud. No one’s ever managed to mark up one of my human bodies to quite this extent.” He walked over to his desk where a fresh towel had been laid. He began drying off the sweat and blood from his upper body, which was mildly distracting for reasons I didn’t want to admit to myself and probably never would.

I crossed my arms beneath my chest, making sure to keep my voice level so that Gabriel and Michael could hear our conversation. “Why don’t you just get another one?”

“For the same reason you still have your scar. A memento, as it were.”

I frowned. “It’s not the same thing. I keep this to remind myself how dangerous and evil your kind is. You keep yours because you’re vain.”

He chuckled—a dry sound that made the skin along my spine prickle. “Perhaps.”

Now blood-free, he tossed the towel aside and walked towards me. I dropped my arms as adrenaline pumped through my veins in an instant, preparing me for a fight. He couldn’t touch me because my soul was bound to Michael’s, making me too pure for any demon to withstand bare contact, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try to make a pass at me anyway.

I made a small sound of alarm when my back hit the door, not noticing that I’d retreated so far. Belial stopped mere inches in front of me, placing one hand on the door to trap me against it. I wished very badly for my gun because I had almost forgotten his annoying habit of invading my personal space.

“To what do I owe the tremendous honor of your presence?” Belial asked, rooting me in the spot with his reptilian gaze. “Did you miss me? Is your sex life with the angel less than satisfactory?”

I glared up at him. “Even if it was, I doubt I’d be coming to you.”

He let out a short bark of laughter, startling me again. “So you say. But here it is, a year later, and you’re once again in my presence. Admit it, Seer. You need me.”

“Go to hell,” I spat.

He flashed me that poisonous smile again. “A little late for that. Now why don’t you tell me what brings you and your little angel brigade to my doorstep?”

“How did you—”

Belial snorted, looking as if he were insulted. “Like they’d really send you in alone to see me. I’m not an idiot.”

He yanked my duster aside to reveal the tiny microphone clipped to the inside of the lapel. Damn. “You’re losing your touch, Prince of Heaven’s Army. Though I must admit I appreciate the gift of seeing my dear sweet Jordan again. Perhaps we’ll make this an overnight stay—”

I jerked the cloth out of his hands. “That’s enough.”

He rose to full height, shrugging one shoulder. “Very well. What do you want with me, Seer? Other than my charming smile and rapier wit, of course.”

I rolled my eyes. “We’re here about the rogue angel. We think he had a human body engineered to keep us from tracking him. We suspect he didn’t use one of ours and so that means he had to have used one of yours. You’re the only one privy to that information and that’s why I’m here.”

The arrogance and amusement slid aside to reveal a pensive expression. “So you want to know if my Puppeteer made him a body?”

“Yes.”

He scrutinized me for a long moment and then walked back to his desk. “What will I get in return if I surrender this information?”

I took a deep breath, forcing the words out of my mouth. “What do you want?”

He tilted his head, making his long hair cascade towards the left side of his face. The movement seemed perfect, almost like he practiced it in front of a mirror. He probably had, the vain bastard.

“A favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

Belial leaned his backside against the desk and propped his hands on its surface. The small movement drew more attention to his chest. I ignored it now that I was sure he was doing it on purpose.

“I don’t know yet. But one day, I will call on you and you will answer.”

I shook my head. “No way. That’s too vague. I’m not going into this agreement blind.”

He nodded. “Very well. Let me ask you this first: what do you intend to do if I am able to help you locate this rogue angel?”

“We’re going to find him and stop him before he can kill anyone else.”

“Stop him, you say?”

I nodded. A devious look flickered across his eyes. “Will you kill him?”

That stopped me in my tracks. I paused, brushing the hair out of my face in a nervous gesture. Truthfully, I hadn’t thought about it.

“I…don’t know. If it comes to that, maybe.”

“Then may I suggest I throw my hat in the ring? Let me come with you to kill the angel.”

I went still, shocked by the request. “What?”

He crossed his arms. “You cannot imagine the amount of satisfaction I will gain from killing one of God’s personal soldiers. I’ll accept that as my payment.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Out of the question.”

Belial shrugged again. “Fine. Then be on your way, Seer, because there are no other terms I will accept.”

My phone buzzed inside my pocket. I reached for it, holding up a finger to the demon and turning my back on him as I answered.

“Hello?”

“Tell me you’re not considering his offer,” Michael said, his voice hard with anger.

“What other choices do we have?”

“I’m not sure,” Gabriel chimed in. “We can continue the investigation regardless of Belial’s assistance, but we still do not have a description of the angel and it will be that much harder to find him.”

“How do the odds look that we’ll find him without the demon’s help?”

“Slim.”

I sighed. “I figured as much. What if I negotiate the terms?”

“That may help. See if you can get him to reach a ceasefire. If he gives his word, he’s bound by demonic law to uphold it.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Isn’t demonic law an oxymoron?”

“Somewhat. The conditions that allow the demons to walk the Earth are contingent upon their cooperation with a certain set of rules. I’ll explain it to you later. The natives are getting restless downstairs so you’d better get moving.”

“Alright. I’m sorry, Michael. I don’t like this any more than you do.”

“I doubt that,” he said with a bitter tone. “But do the best you can.”

“I will. See you outside in a minute.” I hung up, turning around only to yelp in surprise when I noticed Belial standing less than a foot away. He was buttoning a hunter-green shirt, a black tie looped around his neck. Weird. I’d figured he would want to take a shower after a vicious cage match, but maybe he liked the grunge.

“What is the verdict, my pet?”

I brushed past the nickname. “Give me your word that you won’t try to harm anyone other than the rogue angel and that you won’t interfere with the investigation in any way, and we have a deal.”

He clucked his tongue. “Take all the fun out of life, why don’t you.”

“Take it or leave it, demon.”

Belial bowed his head. “I give my word as one of the Fallen Princes of Hell that I agree to these terms.”

“Whoopee. Now when can we meet the Puppeteer?”

“I will contact you when we’ve arranged a time and place.”

“Contact how?”

His smile widened and yet another shudder crawled up my spine. “That has yet to be determined.”

“Could you be more suspicious?”

“For you, perhaps. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to make an appearance downstairs…”

He reached out. I flinched, but he only touched the doorknob, amused by my behavior. “…and you have to get back to your little angel brigade, sweet Jordan.”

“Stop calling me that.”

He chuckled, pulling the door open. “As you wish, my pet.”

I suppressed an annoyed groan and followed him out of the office. Gabriel had been right. I could feel the heavy gazes of the other demons as we walked through the stadium and back through the club area. Some of them licked their lips and made catcalls, inviting me to let them have a taste.

A leggy blonde intercepted the two of us before we got to the front door, placing one hand on her hip and making her bright green dress inch even higher up her white thighs.

“Who’s your friend?” she purred at the archdemon, though her brown eyes were fixed on me.

“She is my guest,” Belial replied, watching her with a cool but wary look.

“Guest, huh? Are you telling me you’re not going to share? I’m sure there’s plenty to go around. We’re generous people, Beli,” the woman simpered, but the hunger in her eyes didn’t match her innocent tone. I knew she’d kill me and eat me if given even the slightest chance. After all, demons drew power from sin and death.

She reached out to touch my hair, but Belial caught her wrist with inhuman speed. He kept his voice level, though I could tell he was running out of patience. “But I am not. Stand down or I will make you.”

Annoyance crossed the heavy makeup on her face, but she snatched her arm back and stepped aside, harrumphing like a six-year-old who had been told she couldn’t have another cookie.

I wondered if I should thank him, as silly as it sounded, but then he lifted my arm by the sleeve and kissed the cuff right above my hand, smiling that poisonous smile once more.

“Until the next time.”

I tugged my hand loose and walked down the stairs, breathing a sigh of relief once I had reached outside. I’d been right in comparing myself to a lamb in the lion’s den. Either way, I was sure as hell not about to dirty my fluffy little tail by going in there ever again.

No pun intended.

Okay, maybe a little.

* * *

“AUNTIE JORDAN?”

“Yeah, squirt?”

“How come you haven’t had a wedding yet?”

I stopped in mid-lick of my ice cream cone and looked at the seven-year-old perched on a stool next to me. Lily’s black hair had been pulled up into two pigtails on the top of her head with bright green barrettes—the way she liked it. Her mother liked it better without them. She thought it made her look like a bunny rabbit. I gave the kid a break when I could. After all, it was her hair.

“Why d’you ask?” I countered, arching an eyebrow.

Lily licked her mint-pistachio ice cream, her brown eyes staring up at me with an earnest light in them. “‘Cause I wanna be a flower girl. My friends say it’s fun.”

“Hmm, you have a point there.”

“Well, I guess I’m just not ready yet.”

“How come?”

I squirmed in my seat. “I forgot how many questions you ask.”

“‘M sorry. Mama says that too.”

I pinched one of her cheeks. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. You should always ask questions. It’s what makes you smart.”

“Do smart people answer questions?”

That made me roll my eyes. “Anything to wear a little pink dress, huh, kid?”

Lily beamed at me then. “So…when?”

“Soon. You have my word.”

“Yes! It’s gonna be so much fun!”

“Mm-hmm. Now finish your ice cream. Your Mom gets off work soon.”

Fortunately, Lily’s elementary school was only a few blocks from the restaurant. Almost every Tuesday and Thursday, I’d pick her up and get her a snack while her mom worked. Things were still rough with her father—Drake Gibson, CPA and douchebag extraordinaire—who took her on weekends, but the girl was too young to really let it upset her just yet. I prayed it stayed that way for as long as it could.

The wind kicked up as I opened the door, automatically reaching down for the child’s hand. She took it willingly. The afternoon rush of Albany had already begun so the air was cluttered with the sound of honking horns, tennis shoes and high heels on concrete, and music seeping out from cracked car windows. Chaotic. Noisy. Home.

Still, even with the comfortable feel of the city around me, I didn’t let my guard down. Without turning, I knew how many people were walking behind me and how tall they were. I knew how many cameras were pointed into the streets at the corners. I knew the height and weight of the cop standing beside the hot dog vendor across the street. I knew how many of the shuffling masses were demons. The information simply faded into my consciousness—there when necessary, but not prominent. It wasn’t just for Lily’s sake. The last two years had taught me caution. Constance vigilance. It wasn’t paranoia. Or so I hoped.

We crossed two streets, closing in on the restaurant, when I noticed that someone was following us. Instantly, my heart rate spiked and I tugged Lily a little closer to my side. I let my eyes slide to the windows alongside us so I could see him. Five-foot-eight, blonde hair, five o’clock shadow. No demonic energy. Maybe a pick-pocket?

He started to catch up to us. The restaurant was still a block away. How could I fend him off while keeping Lily safe?

“Hey, squirt, you mind if we stop to use the bathroom in here?” We stopped in front of a comic book shop, one where I knew the owner and he’d let me go in without asking questions. She nodded and I opened the door, ushering her towards the back of the store. There were a few teenagers perusing the shelves. None of them looked particularly scary. I’d have to fight the guy on my own instead of playing the helpless victim card.

I reached for the doorknob only to find it locked. Shit. He was almost on me. I pushed Lily behind me and whirled, grabbing him by the thumb and twisting it just as he laid a hand on my shoulder.

“Ow! What the hell are you doing?”

“Why are you following us?” I demanded, my glare ice cold.

He stuck his other hand out, waving something under my nose.

“You left your wallet in the ice cream shop.”

I immediately let go of him and felt a cold wash of relief spill over me. “Oh. Jesus, I’m so sorry.”

He stumbled backwards, rubbing his finger after handing it to me. “Forget it.”

The man turned his back on me, muttering, “Freak” before he exited. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I deserved that. I’d gotten paranoid.

“Auntie Jordan? What’s wrong?” Lily asked, tugging at my duster.

I shook my head, tucking my wallet in my pocket. “Nothing, squirt. C’mon.”

“I thought you had to go to the bathroom.”

“I can hold it. Let’s go.”

We reached the restaurant in no time at all, though I had to stop to take the barrettes out of her hair before we went inside—our little secret, I told her—and she raced towards her mother as soon as she spotted her. Lauren dropped her waitress apron and scooped the girl up, grinning like a Cheshire cat. I smiled at the scene. They were a perfect pair. Mother and daughter. No one could take that away from them. Not while I still drew breath.

Lauren pulled her purse over her left shoulder, settling Lily against her hip as she walked towards me. “Where’d you two go this time?”

I shrugged one shoulder. “Nowhere special. We just—”

“Auntie Jordan kicked some guy’s butt!” Lily exclaimed.

I froze. Lauren glanced at her daughter, her smile fading somewhat.

“She did what?”

“This blond guy at the comic shop. It was so cool!”

Lauren turned towards me with a question in her eyes. I kept wearing the smile to hide the panic starting to grip me.

“It wasn’t like that. She misunderstood what happened.”

“Oh. I see.” No, she didn’t. She gave me a ‘We’ll talk about this later’ look and led the way out of the restaurant, asking Lily about school as we went. I tried not to drag my feet. Lauren was going to give me the third degree and I knew it.

A couple of hours later, Lily was taking her afternoon nap and I sat across from her mother on her balcony overlooking the street. Lemonade sweated in a glass on the table. Lauren sipped hers, then put it on a coaster. Folded her arms. Stared.

“So what happened?”

I sighed. “It’s not what you think.”

“You don’t know what I think.”

“We came out of the ice cream shop and there was a guy following us. I thought he was a pickpocket. Turns out I left my wallet at the shop and he was giving it back to me.”

“So you kicked his ass?”

“I didn’t kick his ass!” I protested, knowing how childish it sounded and not caring.

“I just…disabled him.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “That’s politically correct.”

“Twisted his thumb. Paralyzes the arm for a few seconds. No biggie.”

Lauren shook her head. “You know, you once joked that you were Spider-Man. These days, I’m starting to believe it.”

“Oh, come on. Clearly I’m Batman.”

She glared at me. “Not funny. You’re not telling me something.”

“What do I have to hide, Lauren? Seriously?”

“I don’t know. I can just feel it. Ever since Michael, things have been different and I feel like there’s this wall between us that you won’t let me climb.”

Her heavy gaze made me want to wince. Lauren was laid-back, but there was a fierce intelligence under the charm. Of everyone I knew, she was the hardest to lie to—not only because she was my best friend, but because she was just too damn smart.

“There’s no wall. You know me. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

She took another sip of her drink, continuing as if I hadn’t said anything. “I was serving a couple of regulars the other day and overheard them talking about you. They said something about a rumor. They see you around town asking questions about missing people. Some of them think you’re nuts.”

I licked my lips, trying to buy time. She had me there. “I’ve been working at a few homeless shelters with Gabriel. A lot of people from there go missing all the time. I check up on them when I can.”

“That makes sense, but you’re still lying.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but she cut me off. “You don’t have to tell me now, but if we’re gonna continue being friends, I’d like you to be honest with me. I’m not a child. You don’t have to protect me like you protect Lily. Remember that.”

Before I could answer, Lauren stood up and pointed to the den.

“Now come on. The new Castle’s on the DVR.”

Chapter 6

Jordan

“THE MASTER WILL see you now.”

A Japanese girl in a blood-red kimono smiled as she pulled open a huge ivory door. I walked inside and she closed it, leaving me in a white room with a few steps that led up to a black bed. At first, I thought the only things in the room were me and the bed, but then something stirred.

Belial lay on his back, propped up by his elbows, nearly blending in with the color scheme on account of his attire: an open black button-up shirt and matching slacks. He wore the most maddening smirk as I walked up the short steps to where he lounged.

I crossed my arms beneath my chest. “An Asian chick in a kimono? Really? That’s stereotypical even for you.”

Belial made a scornful noise in the back of his throat. “You have no sense of style, Seer.”

“Sue me. Would it have killed you to pick up a phone?”

“I never did like those things. They’re too impersonal. I like to add my own touch to messages when I have the opportunity.”

I suppressed a deep sigh, knowing that he would keep up this routine for the entirety of the dream sequence despite my lack of interest. “Fine. What’s the message?”

“The Puppeteer has agreed to see you. I will meet you at the Door in three days.”

“You realize that I’m not going by myself, right?”

“Naturally. It will be just like old times.”

“Peachy. Now, if you don’t mind, answer something for me.”

“Anything.”

“Why can you contact me through my dreams? I thought that Michael’s energy protected me from nightmares.”

Belial slid off of the bed in one smooth motion, stepping towards me until his shadow fell across my upper body. I tensed, praying he didn’t notice. “It is true that I have a few tricks up my sleeve, but the most accurate reason is that you do not find my presence all that…”

He paused, searching for the right word. “…unpleasant. Thus, I am allowed access to your mind.”

He took hold of my wrist and lifted it to his mouth. A fluttering sensation skittered through my stomach when Belial pressed his lips against the palm of my left hand, those alien eyes locked on my distressed expression.

“Stop that,” I said, though it came out as an unsteady mumble rather than a command.

He let out a small chuckle, dragging my fingertips across his lips. “Why? Your lover knows nothing of this dream. Will you resist me even here, where there are no consequences for your actions?”

I shook my head, taking a deep breath to ground myself. “I’ve been in this life long enough to know that there are consequences for everything, especially things done in the dark.”

He licked a quick line over my wrist. “How noble of you.”

Before I could say anything else, he yanked on my arm and spun me around towards the bed. I toppled over onto the impossibly soft mattress and silken sheets, my chest heaving with panic as he leaned across my helpless form with a combination of lust and hunger in his eyes. I shoved my hands against his shoulders, trying to keep him away, but he drifted closer, his hot breath curling along my mouth as I chanted hoarsely, “Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

His lips closed over mine—searing hot and enticingly soft, his tongue brushing my own, his teeth tugging at my lower lip enough to make me gasp. His large hand drifted below my shirt and began to stroke my stomach as if trying to coax me to let him in. His hair swept on either side of my face, making me feel even more trapped than I already was. My strength meant nothing here. He had me drawn and quartered, ready to be eaten, and the demon would have his fill.

“Jordan?”

The dream vanished. I found myself staring up at my husband, safe and sound in my own bedroom. Thank God.

He sat beside me, his brow wrinkling with concern at the way I frowned. “Hey, are you okay?”

I didn’t answer him. Not with words, anyway. I gripped the collar of his shirt and pulled him to me. I kissed him, lips parted, tongue slipping inside his mouth, pressing as much of my upper body against him as I could. His scent—AXE cologne and his own natural smell—filled my nostrils and erased the cold feeling that Belial’s touch had instilled. He seemed shocked at first, but eventually he wrapped his arms around my back and let me inside. I rubbed the side of his jaw, clean-shaven since it was morning, and let my fingers slip to the nape of his neck, playing with the tiny hairs there. Finally, I broke away.

Michael stared at me, breathing heavily, a question on his lips but a need in his eyes. “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?”

“We meet the Puppeteer in three days.”

Then I slid out of bed, walked into the bathroom, and took a shower.

* * *

GABRIEL’S LONG FINGERS were careful as they reached inside the box of Triscuits—selecting the perfect square to be sacrificed to a glob of olive dip and his mouth. He sat beside me at the kitchen table, calm and appropriate as always. Michael hovered nearby with his arms crossed over his chest sending suspicious looks between the two of us. Cold water dripped from the ends of my hair onto the towel around my shoulders, making me shiver every few seconds as the cloth dampened.

“I take it from this awkward silence that you two have something to tell me,” Michael said after a while.

Gabriel chewed and swallowed his snack, nodding. I glanced at him. He tilted his head towards his brother, wordlessly giving me the go-ahead.

“I think that Gabriel should accompany me to the Demons’ Door.”

Michael’s green eyes narrowed. “What?”

I held up my hands in supplication. “Don’t get all bent out of shape. It’s for a good reason.”

“What reason is that? Do you know what you’re asking me? You’re asking me to stay here while you go into what is essentially the entrance to Hell led by a demon who has tried to murder and rape you on multiple occasions. Is that about the size of it?”

I paused. “Well, yes. But it sounds really negative when you say it that way.”

He pushed away from the counter, balling his hands into fists. “Is this a joke to you, Jordan? Because I’m having a hard time finding the humor in it.”

“Of course not—”

“Great, because there is no way in hell I’m letting you do this. Belial won’t show restraint once you make it to the Door. What then?”

“Michael—”

“What if it’s a trap? What if he’s got another scheme going and you walk right into it?”

“Michael,” Gabriel spoke up, turning his icy eyes on his brother.

“At the risk of sounding rude…shut up.”

Michael went silent. I had to physically stop myself from gaping at Gabriel. I’d never heard him say a cross word to anyone other than demons. It was unnerving.

“Jordan is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. If I remember correctly, she has saved your life on three separate occasions, and mine on one. Furthermore, I know that you are the Commander of Heaven’s Army but I have been alive for as many millennia as you and I am perfectly capable of protecting her from harm. Therefore, your concern is appreciated and duly noted, but this is the way it needs to be.”

“Why?”

Gabriel sighed. “You know why, brother. Belial will undoubtedly make sexual remarks about Jordan and you will lose your temper. He is not even in the room and you’re already furious. We can’t get their cooperation if you start a fight. I am more qualified for this mission because I won’t get angry on her account.”

I lifted an eyebrow and he flashed me a small smile. “No offense, my dear, but I’m not in love with you.”

“None taken.”

“So what am I supposed to do while you’re gone?”

“We’ll contact you as soon as we know the identity of the murderer. If possible, we’ll send you a photo and you can contact the angels in the police department to get an APB on him.”

Michael’s jaw shifted as he swallowed another argument. “Fine.”

He stalked off to the bedroom. I let out a long breath. “That went well.”

“Indeed. Thank you for calling me. I get the feeling you couldn’t have convinced him on your own, at least not in ways I will permit myself to think about.”

I bit my lip to stop a smile. “Why, Gabriel, are you uncomfortable thinking about me seducing your brother?”

The archangel coughed in mid-swallow of a Triscuit and turned an interesting shade of pink. I giggled, unable to help myself.

He regained composure and then sent me a frosty glare. “That was unnecessary.”

“I know, but it was still funny.”

I stood, dropping some of the humor in my tone. “So I’m guessing the Demons’ Door is in a nicely ironic location. New Jersey? Baghdad? The Vatican?”

“Nice guesses, but no, none of the above.”

He stood. I stared at his neutral expression. “You’re just gonna leave me in the dark, aren’t you?”

He kissed my forehead. “Consider it payback for the seduction comment. I’ll come to collect you in three days, early morning. Michael will know what to pack for the journey. Be good to him. I know this won’t be easy.”

“Life seldom is. See you, Gabe.” He waved and left the apartment. I took a deep breath and walked into the bedroom.

Michael had already pulled out my suitcase and was currently filling it with my underwear. He didn’t look at me when I walked in.

I leaned against the doorjamb, trying to figure out how to handle the situation. “That bra doesn’t go with those panties.”

“Ha-ha-freaking-ha,” he grumbled, yanking open another drawer to find socks.

I closed the bedroom door and continued drying my hair. “I’m liking the fold-and-pack service. It’s very Alfred.”

“Jordan, this is not a good time.”

“Seriously, if you can just slip into that maid costume in the back of my closet, that would be the cherry on top.”

He slammed the drawer shut, turning around. “Why is everything a joke to you?”

“Why isn’t everything a joke to you?” I countered. “You’ve spent enough time on Earth to know that not everything is life or death. It might as well just be funny.”

“Well, I’m sorry. I don’t have your Chandler-Bing-like tendencies. I can’t joke about you walking into the lion’s den with a T-bone around your neck.”

“Michael, you knew this would happen eventually. We can’t be on every single mission together. You need to have more faith in me.”

“Maybe I would if I didn’t know you were having fantasies about Belial when I’m not here.”

I stopped breathing for a handful of seconds. “You knew about that?”

He snorted, seeming insulted. “Of course I did. It was in your voice when you told me. I’m not an idiot.”

“Did you also know how bad it shook me up? I wasn’t consenting in those dreams. I didn’t enjoy them.”

“How do I know that, Jordan? I wasn’t there. I don’t know how he’s been twisting your mind. That’s what he’s good at—changing your thoughts so that things appear the way he wants them to.”

“It doesn’t matter what he wants me to see. I know what’s there. The man who did this—” I jerked aside the hem of my shirt to show the scar.

“—is the same man no matter what dreams he manipulates. Why can’t you believe that?”

“Because I’ve been around too long. You heard what he did to Uriel’s lover. Who’s to say he won’t try to do the same thing to you?”

“Me.”

He fell silent, staring at me. For the first time in the entire argument, I could tell he really heard what I’d said.

Michael took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. He sat next to me on the bed, lowering his voice. “I trust you, Jor. More than anyone else on this Earth. But that doesn’t mean I’m strong enough not to get jealous or worried. I’m not perfect.”

“No one ever said you had to be,” I whispered, wrapping my hand around his.

“We’ll get a face and a name and we’ll hunt this son of a bitch down and save the world because that’s what we do. Then I’ll come home and bake cookies and make out with you on the couch.”

He finally smiled. “You make it sound so easy.”

“I’m just a girl who can’t say no.”

He chuckled, leaning in to kiss me. “Got that right.”

I pinched his thigh. “Ow!”

“I resent that.”

“You resemble that.”

“Shut up and finish packing my underwear, Alfred.”

Michael

* * *

THE SCROLLING WHITE text on my laptop mocked me with the same line every thirty seconds: You should be writing. I stared at it with the utmost loathing. My ratty green notebook lay beside it at the kitchen table and exacerbated my irritable mood. There were songs that needed to be written and lyrics to be edited, but I couldn’t focus. Every so often, I glanced at the clock on the microwave to check the time. Jordan wouldn’t land for another hour.

“You are so whipped,” I groaned, dragging my fingers down my face. My five o’clock shadow was starting to peek through and I hadn’t showered yet. I’d spent most of the day on the couch watching Emeril Lagasse and trying not to think about the murdered Seers. Truly pathetic. It seemed like my life before domestic bliss had been a dream—a thick fog that clung to the edges of my mind. Time didn’t exactly exist in Heaven, so it was all the more startling when I realized I hadn’t been there for nearly two years. The angelic part of my soul mourned the loss of its home, but the man didn’t really miss it. Mankind thrived on conflict. Naturally, Heaven was fresh out of that.

I spun the silver wedding band on my finger, feeling the smoothness of the metal soothe my nerves somewhat. The rings were Gabriel’s idea. He suggested that I smelt part of my holy armor to make them. Symbolic gesture. It reminded me of my duty as Commander but also of my duty as a husband. Too bad I wasn’t fulfilling those duties at the moment.

At the very least, I didn’t have to worry about Jordan and Gabriel when they were together. He’d known her long before I did and watching them interact always amused me. She brought out a sly part of his personality that I hadn’t seen much of in the recent centuries. Gabriel was the Messenger for a reason. He was always kind, calm, and collected—never lost his temper, never sinned, never failed to complete a mission. I’d always admired that about him.

The home telephone—Jordan’s idea, in case our shenanigans caused us to lose one of our cell phones—blasted through my thoughts. I fumbled for it, answering in a breathless voice, “Amador residence?”

“I’m looking for Jordan Amador.”

An unknown male voice. I suppressed a sigh. “She’s out. Who’s calling?”

“This is the Albany Police Department. A man claiming to be her father has been arrested on gambling charges. He said she’d be willing to post bail.”

I froze. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Lewis Jackson has asked that you post his bail. He used his phone call to contact Mrs. Amador, but there was no answer. Are you going to post bail?”

The words, “Hell no” were climbing up my throat and bouncing off the back of my teeth, but I swallowed them. Did he deserve to rot in prison? Yes. Definitely. Was it my right to make that decision? Maybe. Probably.

In the end, I rubbed my forehead and decided to be merciful. “Yes, sir.”

“Alright. Have a good day, sir.”

“You too, officer.”

I slammed the phone down on the receiver. Son of a bitch. I’d never seen one man cause so much trouble in such a short amount of time. Righteous fury filled my lungs and I could already hear a speech constructing itself in the back of my mind, but I knew it was just on Jordan’s behalf. He hadn’t wronged me. He’d wronged her. Getting angry wouldn’t solve anything.

Time for a field trip.

* * *

BEFORE HE SAW me around the corner, Lewis Jackson looked nervous and twitchy, as if he’d spent most of his night looking over his shoulder. He probably hadn’t slept. They had only put him in holding, not lockdown. I suspected he hadn’t been in prison for extended periods of time if he was this shaken up by the common crooks in an Albany PD. Maybe I could drag him into a federal pen someday, show him the real monsters, ones that the demons looked up to. Really give him something to twitch about.

His face hardened to stone when he spotted me standing near the counter, having just finished signing the last of the papers. I’d shaved, slicked my hair back, and thrown on a suit jacket, button-up shirt, and jeans. I looked clean and wealthy, and he knew it.

He sneered at me. “What you doin’ here?”

I tucked the pen in the pocket of my suit jacket, keeping my voice neutral. “Bailing you out, apparently.”

“Don’t need no handouts, boy. I can take care of myself,” Lewis said.

I lifted an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

He sucked his teeth at me and started walking towards the door. I fell in step beside him, slipping both hands in my pockets to appear casual.

“Where’s Jordan?”

“Why’s that any concern of yours?”

He shoved the double doors to the police department open and walked out before giving me a filthy look. “I’m her father, ain’t I? I got a right to know why she didn’t come down here to get me out.”

“Why should she? Blood is nothing but blood. It dries up under the sun just like anything else. You’ve done nothing for her so why do you expect something in return?”

“See, that’s something you white boys don’t understand. We take care of our folks where I come from.”

I let a dry chuckle spill out of my mouth. He stared at me, surprised through the mask of anger. “Y’know, I’ve met a lot of men like you in my time.”

“Is that so?” he asked with a derisive snort.

“Yeah. We call you Soul Men. You’re straight outta the ‘70’s, slicked back pimp-walking old-fashioned guys. Don’t tolerate back talk, expect everyone to respect you because of your age and skin color. You think just because I’m white that I’m given everything on a silver platter. While that may be true for some men, it’s not for me.”

I stepped forward, meeting his dark eyes. “I work for a living. So I know the difference between a man who’s down on his luck looking to reconnect with a daughter he wronged and a lowlife punk who wants the easy way out tugging on his long-lost daughter’s heart strings.”

“You better watch your damn mouth, boy,” Lewis growled.

“Or what?” I shot back. “You’ll kick my ass? Give the cops another excuse to throw you back in the hole? Believe me, it’s a tempting idea, but I’m trying to make a point here. I bailed you out because I love my wife and even though she’s hurt and angry, I think she’d want me to do this for her. I may be wrong. Don’t know. But don’t think for a second that I’m going to let you shit all over her life and leave me to clean up the mess. If you really want Jordan’s forgiveness, I won’t stand in your way. But if you’re just here for you, you can kindly take your ass back to Detroit on the first thing smoking.”

He said nothing, seeming to stew in his own anger, but I could see in his eyes that he had heard me. The racism bullshit evaporated and we were left two men glaring holes in each other’s souls.

I straightened my jacket and nodded to him. “Be seeing you, Mr. Jackson.”

With that, I walked down the steps and disappeared into the crowd.

Chapter 7

Jordan

“RUSH LIMBAUGH?”

“No.”

“Julia Roberts?”

“Of course not, why would you even ask that?”

“Her face is creepy. Charles Manson?”

“Yes.”

“Lee Harvey Oswald?”

“Surprisingly, no.”

“Phil Specter?”

“No.”

“Dr. Phil?”

“Yes, actually.”

I gaped. “I was just kidding that time. Really?”

Gabriel nodded, pausing to sip his ginger ale. The flight attendant had poured it into a wine glass just because it looked nicer than the little plastic cups the people on commercial flights would normally get. How delightfully pointless. Then again, private jets were known for their luxury.

“Really. His good intentions are enough to throw you off his scent. All the dirt he does is behind the scenes. Little things. Mainly psychological manipulation.”

I shook my head. “I always knew there was something demonic about that guy. Never could put my finger on it. Someone should have warned Oprah.”

The archangel smiled. “I suppose all the ‘good’ he’s done cancels things out. We keep a close eye on him anyway. Anyone else?”

“No, I’ve had my fun for now.” I stretched my back, glancing out the window at the blue horizon drifting past us. Up here, it looked like we were crawling across the globe as slow and steady as a turtle when in actuality we were burning through miles like a flame climbing up a match. My first plane ride, and it was on a private jet. How lucky was that?

“I still can’t believe the Demons’ Door is in Canada. I was right about the ironic location thing,” I said, crunching on a pretzel. The jet had much nicer things to eat—the attendant even offered me steak—but I was told regular passengers got a soda and pretzels and I wanted my first plane ride to be authentic.

“Canadians aren’t as innocent as you think,” Gabriel said with a secretive look in his eyes. He loved to tease me with tidbits of information about the nature of the world. I wasn’t allowed to ask many questions about Heaven or Hell, but things on Earth were pretty much up for grabs. No one knew more dirt than Gabriel when it came to angels and demons.

“Besides, it turned out to be convenient once the United States was founded. The younger demons are very attached to America because it’s rather easy to make a living corrupting people here. The older demons favor developing countries. It’s easier to get followers there.”

“Makes sense.” I exhaled, letting the humor slide out of me. “What should I expect when we get down there?”

“Well, Belial will be up to his usual tricks—mainly, trying to get a rise out of you—but the Door itself is different. I only know of it. No angel, save our rogue, has ever visited it. I must advise you to be on your guard because this meeting is most likely some sort of trap.”

“Do you know about any plans in the works?”

The archangel shook his head and then brushed his blond hair out of his eyes. He usually kept it short and neat, but he was overdue for a haircut so his bangs dipped down over his eyebrows.

“Nothing yet. It is possible that the demons are working with the rogue angel in secret and that they want us to do something for them, but I’ve heard nothing to confirm that yet. I’m hoping this trip will enlighten us.”

“Enlighten.” I snorted. “That’s a pretty word for it. The last time we met with the demons in person, it was a war. Should we be expecting the same thing?”

“So far, I haven’t heard of any holy items surfacing, but being prepared for war isn’t a bad idea. We’re already in one anyway—it’s just more subtle. The stakes are still the same.”

I squirmed in my seat. “You sure know how to instill confidence, Gabe.”

He leaned forward, patting the side of my knee. “We’ll be alright, Jordan. We always are.”

Just then, the intercom beeped and I heard the Captain’s voice. “We’re beginning our descent into Edmonton. Your attendant will come by to pick up trash momentarily. Make sure you have all your items and have a pleasant stay.”

“He wouldn’t be saying that if he were coming with us,” I muttered. Nine hours on a private jet, even a nice one like this, had made me antsy and restless knowing that Hell was literally waiting for us down there. I refused to sleep during the flight for fear of Belial contacting me through my dreams again.

There was a limousine waiting for us when we landed—Gabriel didn’t believe in public transportation, amusingly enough—that took us through the city to its outskirts. Belial had left a number for us to use when we arrived as well as the address to the Door. He had offered to pick us up, but we both firmly declined, which amused him. He knew it sounded like a trap, but that didn’t stop him from asking anyway. The only way to get out of this situation was to stay smart and getting our own reliable transportation was the first step in the right direction.

To my surprise, the limo stopped in front of an abandoned paper mill about ten miles outside of downtown Edmonton. Snow had fallen that morning, leaving several inches for us to crunch through in our boots. I was used to cold weather having lived in both New Jersey and Albany all my life, but Canada cold was a completely different animal. I had about three layers of clothing on yet the bitter wind still nipped my cheeks and forehead.

Gabriel leaned down and tapped on the car window. The driver was an angel, and according to Gabriel, a rather effective bodyguard so I felt a bit safer.

“We should be out in less than thirty minutes,” Gabriel told him. “If you see anything suspicious, or if we take longer than that, send for back up. I’ve got a team on standby for extraction.”

The bodyguard nodded and rolled his window back up. Not a moment later, a second limousine glided up over the black ice and stopped. I tensed, sliding my gloved fingers into the pocket of my parka to touch the rosary I always carried. Calm down, Amador. It’s just a car.

The door opened and Belial unfolded his tall frame from inside the car. He wore sunglasses and had braided his long hair to keep it out of his face. The rest of him was covered in black, as usual, but I felt a little better knowing that even he couldn’t pull off alluring in this kind of weather. Too much clothing.

“I trust you had a pleasant flight,” the demon said when he was within earshot of us.

Gabriel smiled, ever polite and civil, but it was as frigid as the ice beneath our shoes. “Of course. That’s what private jets are for.”

“All these years and you’re still as posh as ever, Gabriel. I find it charming. You really should try to impart some of that on your brother.”

He angled his face towards me, his smile widening to a grin. “Jordan. You look positively fetching. Like a female Michelin man.”

I rolled my eyes. “No one looks sexy when they’re cold.”

“Not for lack of trying.”

“Can we go inside now or are you going to continue flirting out here in the freezing cold?”

“How rude of me. I can certainly do that inside. This way, if you please.”

He started across the empty parking lot towards the side door of the old building. The outside walls were such a dark grey that they looked almost black and they were caked with ice and snow. Surrounding the building were several acres that eventually stretched into the forest. The street ran past it for miles, but there were no houses or businesses in this particular area. No witnesses. Sounded like the perfect place for the entrance to Hell.

Gabriel went in after Belial for safety reasons and I followed, shutting the door behind me. The inside looked no better—old, rusty machines populated the floor dimly lit by the holes in the roof. I expected demons to pop out from the corners with weapons, but nothing happened. Just an empty, suspicious factory.

“Nice place,” I said. “How much did Leatherface make you pay for it?”

Belial took off his sunglasses and clucked his tongue as he walked over to the nearest machine. “So cynical. You should know by now that things aren’t always what they seem.”

He peeled off his gloves and yanked a large black-handled lever. The panel slid out of sight and revealed a shiny metallic one beneath with a keypad and palm-recognition pad. Belial punched in a six-digit number and placed his hand on the pad. It beeped twice and the ground vibrated beneath us. We stepped back as the paper machine slid aside to reveal a set of stairs down a narrow passageway. There was one bare bulb to light the way.

“That’s not suspicious,” I said, unable to help myself.

Gabriel sighed, shaking his head at me. “Ever observant, aren’t we?”

“Why, Jordan, are you saying you don’t trust me?” Belial asked, widening his blue eyes to look innocent. It almost made me laugh. Dammit.

“I’d trust Hannibal Lecter before I’d trust you.”

He flashed me a toothy grin, altering his voice to sound like the cannibal himself as portrayed by Sir Anthony Hopkins. “I hate rude people.”

Gabriel and I shared a look. He shrugged. “Well, you walked right into that one.”

“I did, didn’t I?” I turned to Belial. “I’ll go down your Death Stairs, but you go first.”

Belial bowed his head. “With pleasure.”

The demon began his descent. I glanced at Gabriel and couldn’t disguise my reluctance.

He squeezed my hand, dropping his voice to a murmur. “If anything happens, run. Do not wait for me, do not hesitate, do not be a hero, just get out of here. Understand?”

I nodded. He turned and went down the stairs. I took a deep breath and forced myself to follow him, placing both palms against the cool stone walls as I went. The rough solidity helped me stay calm despite my limited line of sight. Our footsteps echoed in the constricted space, seeming to punctuate the sound of my heartbeat in my ears. The bulb served as my vantage point. I had counted about fifteen steps when I passed it and figured we were about halfway down. All at once, the vibrations from earlier rumbled down the walls and then I heard a heavy, slithering sound.

“What’s that?”

I whipped around to see the panel sliding back over the entrance to the stairwell, eliminating the last bit of light other than the bulb. My breathing hitched up. I fought to stay calm as I turned back around to continue down the steps.

Belial spoke and the narrow stairwell made it sound like he was all around me. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” I said, attempting to sound unaffected. “How much farther is it?”

“Not far,” the demon replied in a dreamy voice. He was playing with me. Bastard.

We kept walking and everything disappeared in the inky depths, so dark I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face. I waited for something to grab me or for a knife to be jammed into my side, but then I stepped onto a landing and bumped into one of the guys.

“Forgive me, there is another door here. I always have trouble finding the key,” Belial said, and I could hear him moving around.

“The key? How can you possibly see the lock right now?”

“I have excellent night vision. You’d be surprised at what I can see.”

I felt hot breath next to my face and jerked backwards, colliding with Gabriel in the dark.

The archangel steadied me, hardening his voice. “Enough games, demon. Let us in or I will make you.”

“Killjoy.”

I heard the click of locks sliding back. Light spilled onto the landing. I squinted, putting my hand up as my eyes adjusted, and walked through. The room wasn’t much of a room at all, but rather like a hallway leading to yet another door. There were two hulking men standing with their backs to the adjacent walls decked out in armor as if they were on some sort of SWAT team. The energy bubbling around them told me they were demons, and powerful ones at that. The automatic weapons in their gloved hands also spoke volumes about their purpose.

“Gentlemen, we need to see the Puppeteer,” Belial said.

The two men glanced at each other through their goggles and nodded. “You’ll need to be searched,” one of them said.

I glared at the back of Belial’s head. “You didn’t say anything about that.”

He turned enough to give me his profile. “It must have slipped my mind.”

I stepped forward and Gabriel caught my arm. “Relax. It’s nothing we can’t handle, right?”

“Right,” I muttered, unzipping my parka.

The man on the left took it, hanging the garment on a hook nearby. He searched all the pockets, finding my rosary and three vials of holy water, while I unzipped my second coat. He took that one as well, discovering my .38 Chief Special Smith & Wesson, and glared at me. I shrugged and took off my jacket last. He went through it, finding nothing but peppermints, my cell phone, and my wallet. He motioned for me to put my arms against the wall.

I pressed my palms to the concrete, reminding myself not to panic as the tall guard came up behind me and started patting me down.

“I don’t suppose there’s any way I can take over for you?” Belial asked the guard.

“Shut up,” Gabriel and I both chorused. The demon merely chuckled in response.

Once he was sure I was weaponless, the guard went back to his spot by the door and the second guy searched Gabriel. When he finished, he regarded us both with a heavy expression. “Don’t make us have to come get you.”

When he opened the door, I expected to see another huge door with flames belting from around it and maybe some sort of mystic chanting. Wrong.

The first thing I noticed was that there was music playing—some sort of Bollywood 1960’s swing tune—and we were no longer on the lower most level of the place. Metal clanked underfoot leading up to a huge computer console with six monitors. The acrid stench of sulfur permeated the air. Several feet behind the computer was the Demons’ Door.

The Door stood at about nine feet tall and was hidden behind thick glass panels on three sides. There were three chambers on either side of the panels with intercoms built into the glass and a metal tube coming from the top of each one. The Door itself looked like a portal from a sci-fi film. It didn’t appear solid but rather like something between a liquid and a gas. Every few seconds, something would make it ripple and the color would change from dark brown to umber to emerald and then back to brown. I would have stared at it forever had I not noticed something else.

An enormous leather chair had been pulled up in front of the massive keyboard of the console. Propped up on one side were two skinny brown legs with varicose veins mottled over the skin.

Belial cleared his throat when we walked over and the chair turned, revealing an old black woman with short grey hair and dark freckles spotted on her cheeks. She held a half-eaten Kit Kat bar in one bony hand, regarding the three of us with eyes the color of chimney smoke.

“Well, now. Wot de hell you doin’ here, boss?”

My eyebrows rose at the sound of her thick Jamaican accent. Demons never failed to surprise me.

“We are in need of your services, Morgana,” Belial said.

She bit into the chocolate, eying him. “Wot fer? Ain’t you got it all figured out, boss man?”

“Brilliant as I am, I’m not omniscient. You know this better than most.”

Morgana snorted. “Got dat right. Why you bring de angel and de girl fer?”

“A truce. We need to find someone.”

“Ah, ah!” She chortled, dropping her feet to the floor. “I know wot you come fer, boss man. Been waiting fer your call.”

“Good, then you can make this quick—”

“Not so fast, sweet talker,” she interrupted, pointing the candy at his chest.

“You got to have sometin’ I want too, y’know.”

Belial glowered at her. “I am one of the Princes of Hell. I don’t need to bargain with you. You have no choice but to obey me or—”

“Or wot? Ya send me back? I been in Hell before. You can’t make de experience any worse fer me.”

“She has a point,” I admitted.

Belial sent me a dirty look. Morgana eyed me, eating the last piece of her Kit Kat before speaking. “A Seer, hmm? You got to be de one giving him all dis trouble.”

I hesitated, not sure where she was going with her comment, but then the old woman grinned. “You a hero, y’know. He tink he know better den alla us, but you prove him wrong. Makes you kin.”

I bit my lower lip to keep from smiling at Belial’s annoyed expression. “Uh, thanks.”

“Shall we get back to the task at hand?” Gabriel interjected.

Morgana frowned. “Always business, Gabriel. No time fer fun. Don’ miss dat about you.”

She faced Belial again. “So wot you gonna give me if I help you?”

“What do you want?”

“I want off dis job. Seven centuries I been here. Cold. No food. No interesting thing to talk about or do. Jes give dese demons bodies and dat it. You give me dat and I tell you where he is.”

Belial stared her down for a handful of seconds. She didn’t flinch. Brave woman.

Finally, he extended one hand. “Deal.”

She shook it once and wheeled around, going to work on the console. She had to swipe at least ten empty Kit Kat wrappers out of the way before she could get to work. A demon with a sweet tooth. Who knew?

“Mebbe six months ago, we get an angel here askin’ fer a human body. In all my years, I never hear of sometin’ like dis. I tell him to go back but he plead wit me, promise he give me sometin’ in return. Again, I tell him to go back. He say he know sometin’ about de Apocalypse. I thought dat might be worth de trouble comin’ so I make him a body.”

“Apocalypse? Perhaps you’d like to clarify?” Gabriel asked.

She tossed an annoyed look over her shoulder. “Bright lights. Trumpets. Four horsemen. How much Bible you done read, boy?”

Gabriel sighed. “Did he mention what would facilitate this so-called Apocalypse?”

“No. When I ask him dat, he say I will know when I see it. But he had sometin’ wit him, sometin’ important dat came through wit his spirit.”

“What did it look like?”

She paused. “Mebbe a page of sometin? Like from a book?”

Gabriel nodded, his face settling into a frown. “Unusual. I’ll look into it. What kind of body did he ask for?”

“Nuttin’ special. Wanted sometin’ plain, sometin’ dat would make him blend in wit de rest of de humans. I got it right here. Hold on.”

Her bony fingers went to work typing and clicking with her wireless mouse. Eventually, she pulled up a photo. My entire body went cold.

It was the redheaded man from the restaurant.

I stumbled, catching myself on one side of the console after my knees went weak.

Gabriel immediately came over to me. “Jordan, what’s wrong? Do you know this man?”

“He was…he was at the restaurant a few days ago,” I whispered, hating how my voice trembled when I spoke. “He could have killed me, Gabriel. I wouldn’t have even seen it coming.”

He rubbed my shoulders, trying to calm me down. “It’s alright. You’re safe now. That is what counts.”

“But why didn’t he try to kill me?”

Gabriel opened his mouth to answer, but Belial did it for him. “I’m sure he knows that you’re married to Michael. Killing you would constitute a betrayal and so he left you alive out of respect.”

“Why would he care about respect? He’s butchered six innocent people.”

Belial shrugged. “Even murderers have a code of honor.”

I glared at him. “You would know.”

The first sign of anger flickered across his face. Gabriel squeezed my arm in warning. He was right. I was scared and so I wanted to hide it by picking a fight. Stupid and childish of me.

I took a deep breath and cleared my mind. “Morgana, is there any way to track him?”

She sucked her teeth. “Course der is. We can’t let dem all run amok. Dey got a tracking chip implanted in each body.”

The demon went to work again and activated the man’s tracker. The computer screen brought up a globe and started to search for the signal. Seconds later, we heard a beeping sound and red letters appeared at the top of the screen: SIGNAL LOST.

Morgana’s jaw dropped. “Dat can’t be right.”

“Check it again,” Belial ordered.

She typed in the code again, but received the same message. “Dis can’t be.”

“Why?” I asked.

Morgana pointed to her breastbone. “De trackers come implanted right next to de heart. If dey try to get it out, it causes cardiac arrest. Don’ know how de hell he managed to remove it.”

“That means he had to have seen a very talented heart surgeon,” Gabriel said. “At least we have somewhere to go from here. Pull up his last known whereabouts.”

She retrieved a list of coordinates. The globe spun around until it landed on Cleveland, Ohio.

“Print off this and a photograph,” the archangel continued. “We need to get moving immediately. There’s no telling when the next Seer is going to Awaken and we have to find him before that happens.”

She obeyed and gave the papers to Gabriel and another copy to Belial. “If dat is all, I got bags to pack. Seven hundred years of de world to catch up on.”

I smiled in spite of myself. “Good luck with that.”

Morgana grinned. “Same to you.”

We went back up to the surface and got in the limo.

“Let’s return to the airport,” Gabriel said. “Call your husband. He’ll want to know what’s going on.”

I nodded and dialed Michael’s number. He answered on the second ring.

“Hey, gorgeous. How’s it going?”

“Oh, just dandy,” I answered with an exhausted sigh, leaning my head back on the leather seat. “We found out who the rogue angel is. It turns out he’s the guy who left that hundred dollar bill for me at the restaurant a few days ago.”

“What?”

A weak smile crossed my lips. “Yeah, I know. But the good news is that now we have a photo and a clue to follow. He deactivated the tracking chip inside his human body and his last known whereabouts is Cleveland. Since you’re the combat expert, you can join us if we pick up on his trail.”

He sighed. “Alright. I’m just glad you’re okay. Well, okay-ish.”

I snorted. “Don’t jinx it. I’ll call you when we land in Cleveland. Te amo.”

“Igualmente.”

He hung up. I stuffed the phone back in my pocket and pressed my forehead against the cold glass of the window, watching as we pulled off into the street to head back to the airport.

Gabriel was studying the papers Morgana had given him with the places that the rogue angel visited before he took out the tracker.

“So what kind of paper do you think he had with him?”

“I’m not sure,” Gabriel said, scanning the pages. “But I have a hunch that this rogue angel may have been a Scribe.”

“Scribe?”

He glanced up. “Yes. It’s an angel assigned to keep track of the written records in Heaven.”

“There are records in Heaven? Of what?”

“Everything in existence. Only God is all-knowing. We only know what gets translated from Et Symphoniae Temporis, or the Symphony of Time.”

I held up a hand. “Okay, wow, you’re gonna have to explain that one for the slow people in the audience.”

The archangel chuckled before continuing. “In Heaven, the events of the universe unfold within an infinite stream of music. We have Scribes that record every strain of music and then translate it into words. This way, the people who missed out on life when they were alive may have the chance to read about it if they so desire when they enter into Heaven. The translated version is called Et Liber Tempor, or the Book of Time.”

“Why are the names Latin?”

“It’s a dead language, and so it’s the best method of communication in emergencies. If we need to speak about something that men need not know about, we use Latin. In Heaven, there is a universal language. I can’t really explain it to you, but you’ll understand when you get there someday.”

I paused, absorbing this information. “Is it possible that this rogue angel stole a page from the Book of Time?”

“It’s unlikely, but I suppose it is possible. I’ll have my resources check to see if anything is missing. It would at least explain how he is able to kill the Seers before their Awakenings.”

He paused. “We really should invent Hoogle.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Chapter 8

Jordan

“WE SHOULDN’T BE doing this, y’know.”

“Why’s that?”

Michael shook his head, hiding a smile that I could still see out of the corner of my eye. Craig Ferguson, lovely talk show host though he was, couldn’t keep my attention whenever Michael spoke to me in the dark. My senses were always somehow sharper at two o’clock in the morning, even with the TV on.

“You have work tomorrow. You should be sleeping.”

I tried my best not to scowl, but it didn’t work. “Well, we both know why I’m not. If you wanted me to sleep, you could always go down the street and get me a shot of bourbon.”

Michael sighed. “I knew going cold turkey would make you cranky, but this is kinda ridiculous, Jordan.”

“Deal with it,” I grumbled, sliding downward so that the base of my skull rested against the arm of the couch. The suede rubbed my shoulders, unhidden by the tank top, and felt comforting, though not enough to lull me to sleep. I’d found this couch five blocks from this apartment and paid to get it steam cleaned three times before I hauled it into my place for permanent residence. The faded maroon still looked good against the hardwood floor in the den, even after a year.

Something about the late hour erased a few of the lines I had tried to keep drawn between Michael and myself, particularly the physical ones. My apartment was humid tonight so I was wearing boxer shorts and a tank top while Michael sported a plain white t-shirt and cargo pants. He lounged in the middle of the couch with his bare feet propped up on the coffee table while my legs were carelessly stretched out over him, bent slightly so that only my calves touched his thighs. Insomnia had consumed me in the midst of my rehabilitation from alcohol dependence. I hated it.

“You can go home, you know. You don’t have to keep staying up late with me,” I offered in a less hostile voice after the Late Late Show went to yet another commercial.

The archangel shrugged. “It wouldn’t be very angelic of me.”

I rolled my eyes. “Right. My fault. But you’re still wasting your time. It’ll be about four o’clock before I conk out and you really shouldn’t put yourself through that.”

“Well, that won’t do.” He shifted over a bit and, to my complete surprise, took hold of one of my feet, and started to massage it.

I stared. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What? You’ve never gotten a foot massage?”

I licked my lips, trying to figure out how to explain my predicament to him. “Yes, I’ve had them before, but never from someone who wasn’t trying to have sex with me.”

He laughed, clearly startled by the bluntness of my comment. But he also didn’t stop massaging my foot. Hmm. “Oh. I didn’t know foot massages had that connotation to them.”

“That would be because you still haven’t seen Pulp Fiction. But back to my original question…what the hell are you doing?”

“It’s supposed to relax you.”

His thumbs moved in circles over the arch of my foot. I had to bite my bottom lip to keep from sighing. Damn him. Did he have to be perfect at everything?

Eventually, the will to argue drained out of me. I flopped backwards on the couch, tossing one arm over my eyes.

“Fine, but I’m telling Gabriel that you’re trying to seduce me.”

“Are you seducible?”

“You’ll find out if you keep that up.”

He chuckled again, a low sound, and everything seemed to click—the atmosphere, the low Scottish voice and canned laughter in the background, Michael’s long rough fingers against the thin cotton of my socks. I drifted off. I had always thought sleeping in front of the TV wasn’t really sleeping because while most of my senses shut down I could still hear and feel things on some level.

By the time the show went off, Michael had figured I’d gone to sleep and turned off the TV. Gently, he deposited my legs on the couch and stood up. My left arm dangled off the side of the couch cushion while the right was curled up by my face. I had twisted half my body in mid-slumber so it probably looked odd to him. Faintly, I heard the rustling sound of cloth and then a heavenly weight over me, almost feather-light. He’d draped the blanket over me.

I was still conscious enough to feel his hand brush the hair away from my forehead and the quick press of his lips at the spot between my brows. Footsteps echoed across the room and the front door closed. I cuddled a throw pillow in the warm darkness and slept on.

From then on, Michael and I fell into an unspoken routine. It didn’t matter what time either of us got home—he had a key, after all—we would collapse in front of the couch watching TV and he would give me a foot massage until I fell asleep. Every night, I told him he didn’t have to wait up with me and every night he ignored me. I never told him, but his devotion meant as much to me as his protection from demons.

After a while, I realized that sleeping on the couch hurt my back so we migrated to my bedroom. I didn’t realize it then, but those couple of weeks were a way for us to skirt the rules we knew all too well. Intimacy without sex. Closeness without wrecking the system. A kiss on the forehead, the soft touch of his fingers on my skin, were substitutes for what we really wanted, but could not have.

Eventually, my insomnia faded and the other withdrawal symptoms began to dissipate and so our nightly ritual ended, but something else filled the hole. Michael kept showing up and I kept letting him in. Unconsciously, we made the decision to walk that dangerous path step by treacherous step.

“Jordan?”

I stirred as I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. Gabriel stood over me.

“We’ll be landing soon.”

“Mmkay,” I yawned, sitting up in my chair.

He sat and buckled his seatbelt, looking at me with a fond expression. “Sweet dreams, I trust?”

“How’d you guess?”

“You were smiling.”

Heat washed over my cheeks. I was blushing. Good Lord. “Really?”

He chuckled. “Really. Why do you look so bashful about it?”

“It just sounds cheesy that I was smiling because I was dreaming about my husband.” I fiddled with my wedding band. Michael smelted it himself. The craftsmanship was lovely, to the point where people at the restaurant asked me where I’d gotten it and I had to fumble for a reply. Couldn’t tell them he made it out of his battle armor. I imagined they would send me to the funny farm.

“You’re supposed to enjoy domestic bliss, you know,” Gabriel said, arching an eyebrow.

“I know, but…” I hesitated, shrugging and glancing down at my hands. “…when you’ve had a lot of bad stuff happen to you in rapid succession, you get a little cautious about enjoying things. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Wondering what the next horrible thing will be and if I’ll be able to handle it.”

Gabriel’s expression softened. “You will. You underestimate yourself, Jordan. Your resilience is something that I admire more than any of your other traits.”

His energy—a soothing aura—filled the air around me. I let it in. My nerves slowly relaxed until the anxiety was gone. He had always been good at keeping my paranoia at bay.

“And your gift for flattery is what I admire most about you.”

“It comes with the territory of being God’s Messenger. Make sure you call Michael when we land. I’ll take care of contacting the demon.”

“Thank you. Belial is unsettling enough in person. I don’t want to hear that voice of his coming out of my cell phone,” I said, making a face. “Besides, I doubt he’ll flirt with you.”

Gabriel arched an eyebrow. “You really don’t know him, do you?”

My mouth dropped open. Before I could get a question out, the pilot came on the intercom again and instructed us to prepare for our descent into Ohio. We had two destinations on our list: the Cleveland Clinic, then the Cleveland Police Department. We needed the medical records of whatever the rogue angel had done to remove the tracker implant and the police department would allow us to fax all the information we had about him to the authorities as well as our own sources. If we got a name to go along with his face, even if it was a fake one or an alias, we’d have a much better chance of catching him. The angels had eyes everywhere and even though he seemed like a ghost, someone would spot him sooner or later.

I called Michael when we landed and told him to head to his place so we could send him the information via fax machine. Gabriel called Belial and told him to meet us at the clinic on Euclid Avenue, where the Health Data Services were. Gabriel had a friend in the department who could get us what we needed without too much of a fuss. Luckily, it was only ten minutes away from the police department so we wouldn’t have to go too far. It was a little past four o’clock and we were going to have to get a hotel for the night before heading back to Albany in the morning—a four and a half hour flight. Too bad I didn’t fly commercial. I could get some killer flyer miles on this trip.

We took a cab to the hospital, a modest thirty-minute ride, and arrived to find the demon waiting outside with a cigarette clutched between his lips. He had shed his enormous parka and instead wore a tasteful grey trench coat over a black suit with a red tie. The ensemble brought attention to his white skin and dark hair, still braided, and I suspected he had taken great care in picking out the outfit. I had met many demons in my time, but he was by far the most preoccupied with his appearance.

He smiled when we walked up, exhaling a long stream of smoke from one corner of his mouth. “Shall we?”

“Why do you look so happy?”

Belial tossed his cigarette onto the concrete and stomped it out. “I’m a hunter by instinct, my dear. We’ve got ourselves a trail. There’s nothing I find more thrilling than pursuit.”

I shook my head. “Figures.”

He arched one thin eyebrow. “And what does that mean?”

I cleared my throat, my cheeks filling with hot blood. That hadn’t come out right. It sounded like I was implying that he enjoyed chasing me. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

Belial followed us inside the clinic. The glass doors parted and frigid air smacked me in the face, brushing my hair back for a second. Hospitals were always bone-chillingly cold. I could feel my pulse racing. I tried to breathe slowly. This place wasn’t a psychiatric hospital like the one I’d been dragged into when they took my mother, but all hospitals made me feel uneasy. Something about the shiny floors, non-descript paint on the walls, and the unnervingly calm medical staff bugged me. It probably always would.

Gabriel stepped up to the front desk and began talking with one of the nurses. I stood out of earshot with my eyes closed so I could concentrate on breathing normally. Naturally, the demon next to me spoke up.

“Something wrong, my pet?”

I opened my eyes and glared at him. “You know damn well what’s wrong.”

“So the mighty Jordan Amador has a weakness,” he mused. “Though I suppose you do have a good reason for not liking hospitals. The irony is quite amusing. Hospitals are places of healing and birth yet for you, they have always meant harm and death.”

“You’re really not helping.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Wasn’t trying to.”

I quelled the anger building in my gut and focused on keeping my heart rate normal. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Belial looking around with a contemplative expression. It instantly made me suspicious. Gabriel and I had been looking for a trap ever since we got here and it would be so very like Belial to spring one in a hospital. After all, he’d done it before.

There was a pretty brunette nurse talking to a patient seated behind us and I could tell he was checking her out. She finished speaking with an older man and caught Belial’s gaze as she straightened. He smiled, and I recognized that smile. It was pure seduction. Nothing overt—just a smile that promised a good time.

She walked over, clearing her throat, and I could tell she was trying not to seem eager. “Can I help you with something?”

“No,” I answered, hoping I’d be able to break the spell he’d cast on her. “We’re good. The nurse at the desk is calling someone for us.”

“Oh.” She faltered a bit. I prayed for her to run as fast as she could in the opposite direction before the demon could get his hooks in.

As if reading my mind, Belial spoke. “Thank you for offering, Nurse Ramsey. It was very kind of you.”

She smiled, exposing twin dimples. “No problem. It’s my job.”

“Well, if you don’t mind me asking, do you get a coffee break sometime in the next half-hour?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I’ve been doing some research about hospital personnel and I’d be grateful if you would give me a little insight into your job,” he asked with picture perfect politeness.

“That’d be fine. I know a nice place around the corner—”

“Oh, damn,” I interrupted, throwing up my hands. “I just remembered we have an appointment at another hospital in ten minutes. Maybe a rain check, Nurse Ramsey?”

She seemed a little crestfallen, but she nodded anyway. To my dismay, she handed him her card and hurried off down the hallway. I sighed, hoping the interaction would put her off of him, but I knew better.

Belial watched her go, stuffed the card in his pocket, and then gave me a nasty glare. “I cannot believe you just cockblocked me.”

“That doesn’t count,” I hissed. “For all I know, you’ll take her back to your hotel and eat her throat out. I’m not gonna let some innocent woman die because of you.”

He stepped closer, a smirk sliding across his lips. “I rarely kill my prey. You should know that better than most. I draw power from corrupting the innocent. She was not in mortal danger.”

“Like hell.”

The demon let out an amused snort. “You seem quite protective of people you don’t know, Jordan. How do you know I wasn’t merely going to invite her back to my place for sex? Or is that why you stopped me? Because you’re—”

I held up my hand. “If you say ‘jealous,’ I swear I’ll jam my rosary so far down your throat that you’ll shit a cross.”

“Very well. Envious, then.”

I moved towards him, but Gabriel stepped between us. “Our contact has asked us to come to the records lab. Can you two stop bickering enough to join me?”

Belial swept a hand in the direction of the hallway. “Ladies first.”

“Bite me,” I muttered, walking past him.

“Is that a request or a command?”

I glanced at Gabriel. “Can I shoot him? Please?”

The blond archangel shook his head at me. “I swear, you are almost as bad as your husband sometimes.”

“I take that as a compliment in this case.” We continued down the hallway to the lab where the records were held. When we walked in, I spied a gentleman in his late fifties with curly white hair and a mustache.

He smiled when he spotted us, rising from his seat in front of a computer. “Gabriel. It’s been a while.”

Gabriel shook his fellow angel’s hand. “Too long. Jordan, this is Dr. Robert Stanton, an old friend of mine.”

“Nice to meet you, Doc.”

Dr. Stanton nodded to me and then frowned when he noticed Belial standing behind us. “And what’s he doing here?”

Belial smirked. “A pleasure to meet you too.”

“An unavoidable complication,” Gabriel answered, ignoring the demon. “Belial was kind enough to take us to the Demon’s Door and has been assisting us on our hunt for the rogue angel.”

Dr. Stanton’s frown deepened. “It’s still hard to believe that one of us could do something like this. Him—” He jerked his thumb in Belial’s direction.

“—I could understand.”

“Perhaps we’re not so different after all,” the demon said, earning a glare from all three of us.

Gabriel shook his head and gestured to the computer. “Why don’t we get started? Now, we don’t have a name but we do have height, weight, a picture, and a window of time when he would have been through here.”

“Sure.” Dr. Stanton took the paper and typed in the date and other information we had on the rogue angel.

“What kind of procedure would he have gotten?”

“Heart surgery,” Gabriel said. “The demons have tracker implants that will cause cardiac arrest if they are removed. He would have needed a very talented surgeon to get it out without killing him.”

Stanton continued typing and we held our breath for a second as the computer did a search. After a moment, it came up “No Matching Results.”

“There’s no one matching that description who had a scheduled operation like that,” the doctor said, rubbing his chin.

Gabriel shook his head. “That can’t be right. This is one of the best cardiology clinics in the world. He had to have come here for that reason.”

“Doctor?” I asked. “What if he came in as an ER patient?”

He glanced at me, confused. “Can you clarify that a bit?”

“Well, what if he did something that would cause him to need to be defibrillated? Maybe that shock would deactivate the tracker. Plus, if he ended up needing emergency surgery I’m sure the ER docs would have removed it.”

Stanton paused. “I suppose that’s an option. He could do something like overdose on potassium. They would have to get it out of his system and then defibrillate him. I’ll check for that.”

He entered the new information in and did another search. This time, a file popped up. We leaned in and I read it out loud.

“Male patient, mid-twenties to early thirties, five-foot-six, 160 lbs., brought in off the street from potassium overdose. Resuscitated at 11:03pm. Patient placed in facility overnight. Doctors went to check on him and he disappeared. Police report filed with the Cleveland Police Department the next day.”

“Who was the attending physician?”

“Dr. Lee Creswell. He gave a statement to the police. I can help you with the records, but if you go poking around without the proper authority, you could get in trouble.”

Gabriel nodded. “Alright. Then we go to the police station and see what we can find. I know someone in their department. If he skipped out on the bill, they’ll have a file on him that should help us. Do you have a fax machine I can use?”

“Certainly.” Stanton pointed to the one across the room and Gabriel scooped up the papers.

Belial stepped forward, addressing the doctor. “If they had removed the tracker, what would have been done with it?”

“Not sure. It would have been up to the doctor. My guess is it would have been thrown out as trash or given it to the police when they filed the report. They probably would’ve thought it was some kind of shrapnel.”

I glanced at Belial. “Why does that matter anyway?”

He shrugged. “I am merely being careful. If the authorities did get the tracker, that may present a problem if they have any detectives who dig their noses into the case. Our entire operation would be under fire if the human government became involved. We have always found ways to circumvent detection, but slip-ups like this are dangerous. The government may not be very smart, but it’s persistent.”

Gabriel returned a moment later, shoving his phone in his pocket. “We’ve got the files sent to Michael and he’ll get them to the proper authorities. Let’s get going. Thank you again, Dr. Stanton.”

“Always a pleasure, Gabriel. Good luck.”

With that, we left.

* * *

“ALRIGHT. LET’S REVIEW what we know. Just the facts. No speculation.”

“Okay. We know that he had the demons engineer him a body because we’d be able to trace him if he were in an angelic body. We also know he deactivated the tracker implant. We know he has extensive martial arts and weapons training. We know he is aware of my existence but has chosen to avoid attacking me so far. Security cameras at the airport have him boarding a plane six months ago heading for Kentucky where we found our first murdered Seer, Danny Bowen. He booked the flight under the name Edmond Saraf. His last known whereabouts is Raleigh, after he murdered Erica Davalos.”

Gabriel pressed one hand to his mouth as he paced back and forth at the foot of my bed. The hotel room was stunning—not by my efforts, of course, but Gabriel’s. He insisted that I stay with him in his luxury suite, which was so nice that I had been afraid to touch anything when we walked in. The room was done in burgundy and gold. It could have easily allowed for another king size bed in addition to the two already in it. The bathtub had Jacuzzi jets and the room service was unbelievable. The archangel had ordered blackened salmon with bleu cheese sauce, asparagus, and white wine. At his urging, I’d gotten a twelve ounce steak, mashed potatoes, and sautéed spinach. No alcohol, naturally. Being Gabriel, he had asked if it was okay for him to have some in my presence. What a sweetheart.

“What do we have on theories?” he asked.

I dropped my gaze to the pages scattered on the bed before me. “Whatever he saw in the Book of Time spooked him and made him think that the Seers of the world would bring about the Apocalypse. What did Raphael say about the missing page?”

“He told me that he checked with the Scribes and they were able to confirm that there was a page missing for the time span that includes this year. They will have to go back through the Symphony of Time and retranslate it. It will take a while, unfortunately.”

“So does that mean we can’t find future Seers until they finish the translation?” He nodded with a grim expression on his face.

I sighed, raking my hair back. “We can’t be reactive, we need to be proactive. We need a tip of some sort or he’s going to keep killing innocent people.”

“And we need to find out why he came to see you,” he added, continuing to pace.

“Could you go before the Father or the Son and request information?”

Gabriel shook his head. “We’re not allowed to ask about the future.”

“But you do know when the actual Rapture is going to occur, right?”

He glanced at me in surprise, then nodded. I considered this. “So you know it’s not the Rapture that he’s talking about?”

“No. That’s a different matter entirely.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to start by researching the different types of Apocalypses that are predicted in human history. Maybe one of them is the one he thinks will come to pass. Otherwise, we just have to hope that one of the angels spots him and we take him down.”

“Indeed.”

I hesitated before asking my next question. “Do you remember when Belial asked if we were going to kill the rogue angel? What’s your answer to that?”

Gabriel sighed, pushing his blond locks out of his eyes. “I don’t know. It would destroy some part of my soul to have to kill one of my brothers, but if nothing can be done to stop him otherwise…I suppose we would have to.”

A hush fell over us. “This sucks.”

“Yes, it does.”

The archangel took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m restless. I’m going to do a few laps in the pool downstairs. Will you be alright without me?”

I brandished the remote control to the flat screen TV. “I’ve got cable. We’re good.”

He kissed my forehead and went into the bathroom with his suitcase to change. I waved when he left and opened my laptop to start researching theories of different Apocalypses. I turned on the TV at a low volume for background noise as I worked, completely consumed by my search until my cell phone rang roughly an hour later. I answered without looking.

“Hello?”

“So…what are you wearing right now?”

I rolled my eyes, sighing. “What do you want, Belial?”

He chuckled before answering. “I trust you and the archangel have some sort of plan for the rest of the week. Would you care to enlighten me?”

“Not really, but fine. We’re flying back to Albany in the morning because I’ve got work but in the meantime, we’re compiling different Apocalypse conspiracies to see if we can find one that matches whatever the rogue angel believes in. Feel free to do your own research. Being a demon, I’m sure you’ve got a lot of plans about ending the world.”

“Of course. I’ll do my best.”

“I’m sure you will,” I answered with the utmost sarcasm. Just then, there was a knock at the door. I lowered the phone, calling, “Who is it?”

A male voice answered. “Room service.”

Gabriel’s two slices of six-layer chocolate cake had arrived. Huzzah. I adored his weakness for sweets. I got up and walked towards the door.

“Well, it’s been fun chatting with you, but I’ve got to go.”

“What for? A loving phone call to your husband?”

“No. Something more important than you—cake.”

I reached the door and checked the peep hole. It was not room service. The man standing there was my height with red hair and brown eyes.

Edmond Saraf.

The rogue angel.

“Shit.”

Chapter 9

Jordan

THE DOOR SMASHED in half as the rogue angel kicked it. I stumbled backwards and yelled into the phone, “Call Gabriel, now!” before Edmond knocked it out of my hand and it crashed into pieces against the wall.

He came at me. His blows were viciously fast and I could barely block them, driven backwards by the pure force of his fists. He aimed at my face and torso, ignoring my legs for the first minute of the attack. I landed a solid punch to his solar plexus, winding him, then kicked him in the same place, trying to put some space between us. He caught my ankle and threw me against the oak desk on the far wall. It hit me hard in the small of my back. I cried out as it sent a damn near crippling spiral of pain through me. The lamp crashed onto the floor, scattering glass.

I grabbed a piece of the broken ceramic and blocked the high kick he aimed at my face, stabbing him in the thigh. He growled and stumbled back, ripping the piece out. Blood oozed down his black slacks.

I scrambled for another impromptu weapon as he darted forward again. Using all my strength, I ripped the flat screen out of the wall and aimed it as his head. He blocked it with both forearms, cracking the screen. I used the couple of seconds’ grace to kick him in the kneecap, hoping to dislocate it. He twisted to the side just as I did so the blow glanced off his shin instead. He tore the TV out of my grip and tossed it aside, reaching for me again.

“In the name of the Father, I reject!” I shouted. My shield solidified in front of me and his hands stopped only inches from my throat, giving me a fleeting moment to think. His strength and speed were far too great—I needed to buy time for Gabriel to get upstairs and make this a fair fight.

The rogue angel made a quick sign in the air with his hands, muttering something in Latin. My shield crumbled around me like invisible sand—something I could feel but not see.

“Strike!” I thrust out one hand, and four energy shards launched towards him. He threw himself to the side. They flew past him, though one clipped his right arm, spilling blood.

I used the extra second to rip the cabinet door off its hinges, then swung it with all my might. He blocked it with his forearms, but the force knocked him over. I brought the door down. He stopped it in mid-swing with one foot, using the other to kick my right arm at the elbow. I cried out and dropped the door, stumbling backward as he leapt back up in a blur of motion.

I opened my mouth to use another energy attack, but he chopped me in the throat and kicked my legs out from under me. I fell to the carpet and writhed, unable to scream as he climbed on top of me and wrapped his gloved hands around my throat. I kneed him in the side as hard as I could over and over again, but he wouldn’t budge. I clawed at his arms, his face, thrashing like a fish that had been dragged onto dry land. My lungs burned with the need for air, but I managed to squeeze out something as he slowly choked me to death.

“Please…don’t…do this.”

All at once, his face changed. Throughout the attack, his brows had been set in a hard line and he showed no emotion as he ruthlessly beat me. After I spoke, guilt slid across his plain features and made him seem almost human. What the hell was going on inside his head?

“I am sorry,” he whispered. “I must do this. Forgive me. Forgive me, Jordan.”

I tried again, though I could feel the creeping sensation of unconsciousness crawling through my body. “Think about…your brother…Michael. Not me. Michael.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, but I felt his fingers losing some of their vise-like grip around my neck. “Don’t say that. This is for the good of mankind. He will understand.”

“Please, let us help you,” I croaked. My eyelids began fluttering. If he didn’t let go in the next minute, I’d be dead. Keep talking, Amador. You’ve got to talk him out of it.

The rogue angel shook his head, tightening his hold again. “I cannot. This is my burden. He who receives light from above, from the fountain of light; no other doctrine needs, though granted true.”

“You’re…smart enough…to quote Paradise Regained,” I rasped through my last bit of air. “You should be smart enough…to know this is wrong.”

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Someone must be sacrificed in order for others to live. Please forgive me, Jordan.”

His fingers dug into my skin so hard that I felt my body go numb. Black began to eat at the edges of my vision, but I could still see the mournful look on his face just before everything went dark.

* * *

I WOKE UP in a bed. The massive pain attacking my throat, my arms, and my back was the first indication that I had survived the rogue angel’s assault. My eyes felt like they weighed several tons when I tried to open them and the only sound I could make was a reedy groan.

There was something wet and cold on my neck—maybe an ice pack. I lifted a shaky hand to move it. Someone caught my wrist before I could. The sudden touch made me panic, but I still couldn’t open my eyes because I felt so drained. I squirmed, trying to free my hand, but the person wouldn’t let go, instead pressing it down on the bed by my side.

“Leave it,” a soft voice said. “Your throat is badly damaged.”

At last, I managed to open my eyes and everything sharpened into focus. Another hotel room. Not as nice as Gabriel’s, but still exceptional as far as hotel rooms go. Blue walls instead of burgundy. Flat screen TV. Mini-fridge. Swell.

When I tilted my head to the side, I realized the man sitting next to me was not Gabriel, but Belial.

“Y-You…” I managed to stammer. My mouth was drier than a bone so I couldn’t get out a whole sentence.

The demon pressed one gloved finger to my lips. “Don’t talk. I need to heal you before you can do that. Here, drink this.”

He handed me a glass of water. I stared at him. He rolled his eyes upward in exasperation. “I just saved your life. I have no reason to poison you, Jordan. Drink.”

Belial removed the ice pack. I lifted my head far enough to sniff the glass—just to be sure—then drank the water, wincing as it burned all the way down my severely damaged throat. If the rogue angel had tried any harder, he would have crushed my windpipe. I was extremely lucky to be alive.

Belial set the glass on the nightstand, leaning over me on the bed. “Hold still.”

I panicked as his face drifted closer to mine and pushed my hands against his shoulders, but he grabbed them and held them down with an annoyed expression.

“Be still, woman. I’m not going to hurt you.”

He stopped just short of touching me and blew air over the column of my throat. A cool, tingling sensation rushed down my neck all the way to my collarbone. The raw, aching pain subsided, replaced with a comforting numbness. His hands let go of my arms and he straightened up.

“There. Better?”

I nodded, licking my dry lips. “W-What happened?”

“I called Gabriel right after your phone went dead. We both got up to the room just as you passed out. The rogue angel did a Hans Gruber out the window and Gabriel ordered me to take you back to my room while he gave chase. That was about twenty minutes ago. I have not heard from him since so I assume he is still chasing the rogue angel.”

I tried to sit up, but the bruises the rogue angel’s fists had left made it hard to balance on my arms. A sharp pain slithered up my back every time I moved.

“N-Need to tell Michael. Let him know—”

“He already knows. I called him.”

“What did you say?”

“That the angel had attacked and Gabriel went after him, and that you were safe.”

“Did you tell him where we were?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Maybe.”

“Asshole. You knew it would upset him that Gabriel left me with you.”

“Life is not without its little pleasures,” he said with an insufferable smirk.

I shook my head, pulling off the thick comforter covering my body. “I’m fine. Take me back to the hotel.”

My back stung yet again and I whimpered, squeezing my eyes shut momentarily. Belial caught my arms and lowered me to the mattress. “You’re not going anywhere until your wounds heal. It won’t take long. Just be patient.”

“Don’t have time for patience,” I said through shallow breaths. “People will die. Gabriel needs my help.”

“You’ll do these people no good by getting yourself killed,” Belial answered with a harsh glare, his fingers tightening on my upper arms.

“Rest. I may be a murderer among other things, but I will protect you until your archangel returns.”

“And how do I know this isn’t some kind of trap?”

He let a secretive smile slip across his lips. “I guess you’ll just have to trust me. Now be a good girl and rest. I’ll wake you when Gabriel returns.”

“You tell me to trust you and then you tell me to fall asleep in your presence. How stupid do you think I am?”

“On a scale of one to ten?”

I gritted my teeth to stop myself from yelling at him. “Swear on your demonic law that you will not harm me and I’ll sleep.”

“You have my word as an archdemon that I will not harm you,” he replied with a straight face.

I met his gaze for a long moment and then relaxed. I closed my eyes just before I spoke. “Did I thank you?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I will.”

His chuckles followed me into the deep warmth of sleep.

* * *

ONCE MORE, I felt strong fingers on my back, stroking up and down, soothing the ache that had settled in my muscles. Little by little, the pain dissipated until I knew the bruise had vanished. The healing hands traced my sides, tickling my ribs, gliding down to my hips. I groaned as they massaged my waist, relaxing me further, and shivered when warm lips came in contact with the spot between my shoulder blades. A hot, muscular chest melted into my spine and the hands dipped lower, unbuttoning my jeans and sliding inside. A muffled sound escaped me as pleasure unfurled from the intimate touch, spreading from my lower body outward until my breath came in shallow pants.

I awoke with a startled noise building in my throat. I was face down on the bed with someone kneeling above me, his hands on my back. My t-shirt was bunched beneath my arms, nearly exposing my bra, and the pain on my forearms and spine had vanished. I tried to roll over but the strong hands were upon me again, holding my arms down so I couldn’t move.

“What the hell, Belial?” I snapped, struggling to get free.

He held me still, replying in a mild voice. “I thought you were a heavier sleeper. Clearly, I was mistaken.”

“What are you doing? Why is my shirt halfway off and why are you on top of me?” I demanded, giving up my struggle when I realized I couldn’t get loose.

He sighed, sounding exasperated. “I told you to rest because I knew you would not allow me to heal your back while you were conscious. You woke up just as I finished.”

“Finished what? What else were you doing to me while I was asleep?” I said, glaring at him from over my shoulder.

He smirked. “Aren’t we presumptuous?”

“Presumptuous, huh? Why are my pants unbuckled then?”

“The clothing was getting in the way,” the demon sniffed. “I did nothing salacious to you.”

“You swear?”

Belial let out a dry chuckle, lowering his face until it was only inches away from mine. “Now that’s where I draw the line. I don’t have to answer that question because it wasn’t part of our deal.”

“You can’t harm anyone—”

“—and I didn’t. If I did something to you, and I’m not saying I did, you can be sure that it wouldn’t have been unpleasant. I’ve had centuries of practice, after all.”

I closed my eyes for a second to restrain myself from spewing obscenities at him. “Will you let me up now?”

“Do you promise not to punch me?”

“No.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to stay here until you calm down, won’t you?”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

I lay there breathing deeply until the anger subsided and I could think straight. He was probably telling the truth. I definitely wouldn’t have let him touch me like this while I was awake. Furthermore, the pain from the fight was all gone so he must have kept his word about healing me. It also occurred to me that Belial got his powers from violence, death, and sex, so doing something intimate may have increased his energy supply. But that didn’t mean the dream was all a dream. He couldn’t have kissed me because it would have burned him, but he could’ve easily done other things wearing those gloves of his.

“You can let go now.”

His fingers unwrapped themselves from around my wrists. He slid backwards on the bed, giving me some much-needed space. I sat up, tugging my shirt down and re-buttoning my jeans without saying anything.

The demon watched me with a cautious expression. “I didn’t know you kept the scars.”

I froze and then glanced at him in surprise. The arrogance had left his features and was replaced with a rather genuine expression I rarely ever saw on his face.

“I saw them in the dream and in your ex-boyfriend’s memories, but I wasn’t sure if you still had them. They’re old scars, too. ‘Gifts’ from your aunt, are they not?”

I winced and looked away. “Why should you care?”

“Who says I do? I merely thought it was interesting that you didn’t heal them.”

“You of all people should know that you can’t erase the past.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but then there was a knock at the door. Instantly, my pulse skyrocketed and I had to remind myself to calm down as Belial went to check.

Gabriel walked in, looking incredibly tired, bruised, and disheveled, and I wasted no time throwing myself in his arms. He hugged me, lifting my body a few inches off the floor as he did. The urge to cry branched out inside me and I had to take a deep breath to control it.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” he murmured into my hair.

“Ditto,” I mumbled back.

He placed me safely on the floor and glanced at the demon standing beside us.

“Know that I will never forgive you for what you have done in the past and when the time comes, I will not hesitate to strike you down. But also know that I am grateful that you kept your word about protecting Jordan.”

The demon nodded in acknowledgment. “Fair enough, archangel. Now, what happened?”

Gabriel set his jaw and sat on the bed, running both hands through his hair to smooth it down. I ran some tap water into one of the glasses and handed it to him. He drank the entire thing and cleared his throat to start his story.

After we rushed down the hall to the hotel room, I was granted the sight of two people on the floor. I recognized the skinny legs clad in jeans that could only be one person—Jordan. On top of her sat a man with shoulders hardly bigger than hers, but the way they were strained meant only one thing. He was choking her.

The man’s head whipped around to face us. A cold shock flooded through me. The rogue angel, alias Edmond Saraf. I watched fear crawl through his features and he leapt off of Jordan in an instant as Belial and I ran towards him. I shouted, “Stop!” just as he picked up and threw the broken flat screen through the window behind him. He jumped out as I ran to the windowsill, watching in horror as he plummeted several floors before disappearing into the thick branches of a tree below. Damn him. He’d known that would be his exit strategy. I only had seconds to give chase.

“Tend to Jordan!” I ordered, struggling out of my suit jacket.

Belial glared at me. “What? I’m a better hunter than you, archangel. You know that.”

“I don’t have time to argue, just do it!” I snapped, slapping my cell phone into his hand. “Get her somewhere safe and call Michael. I will find you when this is over.”

With that, I jumped out the window. Cold air blasted my face, my hair, my body as I fell. A branch smashed into my chest and I wrapped my arms around it, stopping my descent. Once I was steady, I let go and hit the grass, rolling. The rogue angel was several feet ahead of me, running like a well-oiled machine down the hotel driveway and onto the sidewalk. I broke into a sprint, calling for him to stop. I knew he wouldn’t but if the people around me suspected him to be a criminal, they may have assisted me.

The rogue angel raced into the busy street, dodging cars as they honked and screeched on their brakes. He made a sharp right turn and I followed closely, staying on the left-hand side of the road so that I would be parallel with him without running into pedestrians. He darted into an alley on his left and I did so as well, apologizing over my shoulder to a man I knocked down. The sound of our footsteps bounced off the brick walls on either side. I knew he had too good of a lead on me to keep this up. I took a deep breath and shouted, “Strike!”

Three shards of energy sliced through the air and he turned on his heel, holding his forearms up. “I reject!”

The shards bounced off of his shield, but it gave me just enough time to take a running kick at him. He kept his forearms up, but my feet connected, sending him tumbling backwards head over foot. He got up on one knee and I threw my leg up high, bringing the heel down as hard as I could. He blocked, rolling to the side and jumping to his feet in a blur of motion.

I aimed quick punches at his chest and he parried them one by one. He was amazingly fast, and his thin frame did nothing to show the immense strength he possessed. I tried several martial arts styles, flowing from one to the next, but he always had a defense prepared, and soon my limbs went numb from all the contact.

Finally, I managed to catch one arm in a lock and shouted “Strike!” again. He cried out as a shard went deep into his shoulder, spilling blood down the side of his button up shirt. We both stopped, panting in breaths ragged from exhaustion, and I managed enough strength to speak.

“Why are you doing this, brother? We are not your enemy. She is not your enemy!”

“It was never about that,” he answered in a pained voice. “I never considered the Seers my enemies. Never.”

“Then why?” I demanded, jerking his arm further forward at the elbow.

He groaned, crumpling onto one knee. “They have to be sacrificed or the world will end.”

“No, no more of this vagueness. You will tell me what you’re talking about or I’ll break off this arm like a twig,” I spat.

He gritted his teeth, forcing out the next sentence. “Et Liber Tempor states that in this year, a Seer will help the demons unleash a force of evil so great that it will cause the deaths of one thousand people and plunge the world into darkness. That is why I have hunted them down and killed them so that I can change the future and spare innocent lives. You have to believe me!”

“How could you be so arrogant to think that this was the only way? Six dead Seers, brother. These people deserved to live, but you took that away from them. You will never reenter the gates of Heaven. You will never be forgiven.”

He bowed his head. “And that is my sacrifice to protect these people. I thought you would understand most of all, Gabriel. We are servants. Nothing more.”

“Yes, we are. And it is my duty as a servant to bring you in for the murder of six Seers and the attempt of a seventh.”

“I am sorry,” he whispered, “but I cannot allow you to bring me to justice yet. My task is not complete. Not while she still lives.”

With a roar, he dislocated his own shoulder and slid out of the arm lock. He whirled around and brought his fist down on the base of my skull as hard as he could. Stars exploded in my vision and I fell to my knees, dazed. He stood there, clutching his bloody arm as I tried to regain my strength, but the world had gone dark around the edges and my body trembled like a leaf in a hurricane.

“Forgive me, brother.”

He kicked me in the forehead and everything went black.

Gabriel sighed, rubbing his eyelids with the palms of his hands. “I woke up half an hour later. Someone had called 911. The paramedics found me in the alley and patched me up. After that, I felt for Belial’s energy signature and found you here.”

“This is insane,” I said, wrapping my arms around my sides. “How can he believe what he saw in the book? That one of the Seers will betray the angels and bring about the Apocalypse?”

“I corrupted a Seer once,” Belial said. “It is not an impossible feat. Even though you have managed to resist me all this time, another Seer might not be as strong as you. He did not say that he thought it would be you who betrayed the angels. He’s not taking any chances so he’s killing all of them.”

“Then why didn’t he kill me in the restaurant?”

“Too many witnesses. Too many variables that he couldn’t control.”

“What about earlier? Why didn’t he use his scythe on me in the hotel and burn the place to purify it?”

“Practicality,” Gabriel answered instead in a hushed tone. “The other Seers were cornered when they were all alone, but you have stayed mostly in public places or with one of us. He took a gamble coming here, apparently hoping that he could kill you before I returned. You are the most difficult Seer to kill, having escaped death twice, so he has grown desperate. I don’t know what this means for us now. You’ll have to stay close to one of us at all times until the page of Et Liber Tempor is re-translated and we know when the next Seer will Awaken.”

“How specific is the Symphony of Time, then? It says when and where these Seers Awaken, but does it have their names?”

“I’m not sure. The Book and the Symphony only record that which they consider to be relevant in the context of the universe. We cannot control what they say. We can only interpret them as best as we can.”

“That’s a load of help,” I said with a sigh. “I don’t know, Gabriel, you can’t just be my bodyguards until the end of the year. We still have lives to lead. Maybe there’s some way to talk him out of it.”

He shot me an incredulous look. “Are you insane? The man broke into our hotel room and nearly strangled you to death.”

“I know, but when he did it…I talked to him. I told him we could help him. The way he looked at me, I just…” I shook my head.

“He doesn’t want to do this. Yes, he nearly killed me, but if you could have seen his face before I fell unconscious, you’d wonder if we could talk him out of it too.”

“No,” Gabriel said. “It’s too late for that. He made his decision tonight. We have no choice but to eliminate him, for your safety and for the safety of the future Seers of the world.”

He glanced at Belial, his face firm with resolve. “Kill him on sight if the opportunity presents itself.”

Belial nodded. “Very well. What are we going to do for now?”

“I injured him too badly for him to come for her again tonight. However, just to be safe, we’ll gather up our belongings from the other hotel and stay here. The two of us should be enough for now. We’ll return to Albany in the morning. Michael is a far better warrior than I am and I think Jordan will be safest with him.”

Gabriel touched my hand. “Are you feeling well enough to come with me or would you rather stay here?”

I bit my bottom lip. To be honest, I wanted to stick close to Gabriel, but the thought of being in any open spaces where Edmond could get to me scared me more. I squeezed his fingers, keeping my voice level.

“I’ll stay here. Call the room phone when you get back and I’ll come to you.”

“Okay.” He kissed my forehead, slowly. His energy, cool and light like a breeze, settled on my skin.

“Be safe.”

“You too.” He stood and walked out the door.

Once more, I was left alone with the demon. I rubbed my arms, trying to think of what to say. “Can I use your shower?”

Belial arched an eyebrow and I corrected myself. “Alone?”

He smirked. “Of course.”

I stood, crossing my arms beneath my chest. “Are you sure it’s not too much of a strain to ask you not to sneak a peek while I’m in there?”

The demon chuckled. “My, my, you are high on yourself these days. There’s nothing you’ve got that I haven’t seen before, Seer. Be my guest.”

That stung my ego more than it should have. It irritated me that I even cared. I had gotten so used to him making passes at me that his nonchalance got under my skin. I wondered if he was doing that on purpose. Probably.

“Fine. Then we’re at a ceasefire, right?”

“Right.”

“Excellent.” I pulled off my shirt and dropped it on the floor right in front of him. His face betrayed nothing, but I could hear him take a deep breath and I instantly felt better. I smiled and sauntered past him into the bathroom, shutting the door. It wasn’t until the shower was on full blast that I collapsed onto the bottom of the tub and cried.

Chapter 10

Michael

THE DOORBELL RANG. I stood up from the couch and walked across the carpeted floors to open the door. My wife was on the other side, alone, with a sheepish smile on her lips.

“Forgot my key.”

The smile was real, but her eyes were already wet. She threw herself into my arms and I lifted her up, ashamed of how glad I was to see her. I had been a hardened warrior for the majority of my existence. I had been trained to let nothing slip beneath my armor, to do whatever was needed to secure the safety of mankind and destroy all evil no matter what the cost. But something about this woman made the warrior in me soften somewhat.

After a moment or two, I had enough presence of mind to shut the door with my foot. Jordan didn’t let go, instead wrapping her long legs around my waist and sliding her face upward from where it had been buried in my neck. She kissed me and it tasted salty because she was crying, quietly, just like her voice when she spoke.

“Lo siento,” my wife whispered against my lips. “Lo siento, mi amor.”

“You’re safe,” I murmured back. “That’s all that matters.”

“Te amo. Te amo, amor.”

“Yo sé.” I knew what she needed, what we both needed, so I carried her to the bedroom and no other words were spoken. I had lost track of how many times she and I made love in the past, but this was the only time it reminded me of our first night together. Everything felt different because we both knew how close she had come to dying. Jordan had cheated death twice in her life and both times, it broke some part of me deep down—knowing that I couldn’t always be there to protect my wife, the other half of my soul, the only woman I had ever met who truly understood who and what I was and loved me still.

How could I call myself a real husband when only a day ago some brute had his hands wrapped around her neck? How could I ever let her out of my sight again knowing that he wanted her dead in order to protect the rest of the world? How could I trust myself not to tear through every city in every country looking for him, hunting him, waiting for my chance to rip his throat out for hurting the woman I loved?

When it was over, we were both shaking but somehow I knew we would be okay in spite of everything that had happened. I slid onto my side, pulled her lithe body against me, and wrapped my arms around her. She pressed her ear against my chest and went still, listening to my heartbeat and my breathing. She loved the sound. She told me it made her feel safe more so than anything else I did. I loved that something so simple made her feel at home with me, as stupid as that may sound. Maybe that was why we were perfect for each other. We were both weirdos.

She fell asleep first, as she usually did, and I rested for a while before getting up. I took a brief shower and then leaned against the doorjamb for a bit, watching her. She had always been a heavy sleeper and that worked just fine for me because I often liked to sneak out into the den to practice my guitar or watch TV late at night. It wasn’t until this moment that I realized how small and delicate she could be. Jordan always wore a thick metaphorical armor when she was awake. Growing up with an abusive aunt gave her the ability to take a lot of punishment, both physical and emotional, without breaking. She didn’t open up to people easily and she always expected them to hurt her, but over time she had learned that there were some people she could trust.

Jordan shifted and the comforter inched downward, exposing one corner of the scar on her chest. A wave of anger flowed through me, tightening the muscles along my shoulders. To her, the scar was a reminder of how dangerous the demons could be, but to me, it was a territorial mark. Belial had staked his claim on her and he would stop at nothing to take her away. Our brief phone conversation had not gone well, which was why I hadn’t slept for most of the night.

I had been at my apartment, using my laptop to research theories of the supposed Apocalypse, when my cell phone rang. I checked it, not wanting to be bothered unless it was important, only to find that it was Gabriel. Probably with news. Hopefully good news.

“Hello?”

“Michael.”

I froze. The voice on the other end was not gentle and friendly like my brother’s. It was cold, dry, and sinister. Only one person could embody those things so perfectly. No, not a person. A demon.

“Belial. Why do you have my brother’s phone?”

“There’s been an…incident.”

Ice water filled my veins, chilling me to the core. His words confirmed the rotten feeling in my gut. I had hoped it was just anxiety or a stomachache, but deep down, I had known something was wrong.

“What incident?”

“The rogue angel broke into Gabriel’s room and attacked Jordan.”

I closed my eyes, trying to quell the sickening wave of panic that arose inside me upon hearing his words. “How is she?”

“She survived, but she’s very weak. Gabriel went off in pursuit of the angel and left her with me. She should be coming around momentarily.”

I opened my eyes. A different feeling flowed through my veins now. Very different. “What do you mean he left her with you?”

“I assume Gabriel did this because he does not trust me and wants to hear a firsthand account of the rogue angel’s plight rather than one from me. He gave me his phone and told me to call you with Jordan’s status. There is no need for concern.”

“No need for concern?” I snapped. “The last time you were alone with my wife, you tried to rape her and turn her into your servant. Why the hell should I even believe you?”

Belial sighed, sounding tired. “How else would I have gotten this phone? There is no reason for me to lie to you now, Michael. We are working together, temporarily, and that should afford me some sort of leeway with your trust. I swear to you that Jordan is safe.”

“Good,” I replied in a low, tight voice. “Because I want to make one thing clear—if you harm one hair on her head, I won’t care about the pact we made. I will fly to Cleveland and I will rip you in half, you sniveling metrosexual bastard.”

He laughed and it was drier than sandpaper. “Colorful. But I assure you, my intentions are nothing but pure. I want to find this angel just as much as you do and I will not cross you until this ordeal is over. Maybe then we can settle our affairs like men.”

“What affairs? You have no chance with her, demon. Get that through your head.”

“So you say. But I’m not the one who is hundreds of miles away from the woman I love when she needs me. Farewell.”

He hung up. It took nearly all of my strength not to smash the phone to bits and order a ticket on the first thing smoking to Cleveland. Belial was right. He would gain nothing by breaking his word and hurting Jordan. He’d bide his time. But that didn’t mean I would.

I was drawn out of my thoughts when Jordan stirred again. Her eyelids fluttered and those dark chocolate eyes of hers wandered around the room, settling on me. She pushed a cloud of black hair out of her face and sleepily mumbled, “Amor?”

The Spanish had been my idea. Before we were married, Jordan rarely ever spoke it even though she was bilingual. She had told me the language reminded her too much of her aunt and her mother, but I encouraged her to come to terms with her violent past and accept it as a part of her. Thus, gradually, she began speaking it more. At first she only used it in the bedroom, which I didn’t mind, then eventually it became like a habit between us. I also couldn’t help thinking about how her mother and Andrew Bethsaida had done something similar. He called her Cat and she called him “mi amor.” Years later and we had somehow managed to echo them.

“Hey,” I said, giving her a short kiss on the lips after I walked to her side of the bed.

She patted the mattress. “Come back to bed.”

“Can’t. You have to be at work in an hour.”

Jordan groaned, pressing her face into one of the pillows. “Ugh, don’t remind me. Why are you such a killjoy?”

“I’m not a killjoy. I’m just being responsible.”

She lifted her head, poking me in the shoulder as she sang, “Every party needs a pooper, that’s why we invited you, party poo-per! Party poo-per!”

I shook my head, trying not to laugh, and kissed her again. “Get up, lazy bum. You need to take a shower or Lauren will tease you about smelling like me again.”

“No,” she said, sliding her legs to the edge of the bed. “She’ll tease me about smelling like sex. Don’t ask me how she knows that but she does.”

Jordan stood up, stark naked, and stretched, which distracted me for a full six seconds before I caught myself. She found her robe hanging off one edge of the bed frame and put it on, hiding all her lovely skin and curves, much to my disappointment.

I watched her sift through a drawer in the dresser for some clothes before venturing to ask a question. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, stud.”

“Does this whole situation make you think any differently about the wedding or moving in with me?”

Her shoulders tensed. I was taking a big risk. The wedding ceremony and the apartment situation were hot-button issues I usually tried to avoid, but I had honestly gotten tired of waiting for an answer. I needed to know why she was avoiding both topics—for the sake of my own sanity, at the very least.

“Michael,” she started with a sigh. “Is this really the best time to talk about that?”

“Yes, it is,” I said, pushing off of the bed to face her. She wore a guarded expression as she stared up at me.

“Jordan, you could have died yesterday. Life is short. Shorter than you know. Why can’t you just commit to doing this with me?”

“It’s not that simple—”

“Then make it simple,” I interrupted. “Explain it to me. Why don’t you want the wedding?”

“I do want a wedding, I just…” She looked away, crossing her arms beneath her chest.

I took a deep breath to calm my temper. “Just what?”

“It’s so…official.”

“Official?”

She brushed her hair away from her face again, a nervous habit. “Yes. It’s like the whole world will know and be able to judge us—to judge whether we have what it takes to make this work or not. It’s a statement. I can’t take it back once it’s done. I mean, I can’t do that anyway and I don’t want to, but I feel like it’s the last thing that’ll be gone from my old life.”

I let out a snort. “Yes, because we both know that was glorious.”

She glared at me. “Yeah, but it was still my life. Now it’s our life. And I know I should be used to that by now, but I’m not. I’m still scared of being yours completely.”

“Why the hell would you be scared of that?”

“Because…I…” She threw up her hands, starting to walk away.

“I can’t do this right now.”

I put my arm out in front of her so she couldn’t brush past me into the bathroom.

“Finish the sentence, Jordan.”

“Michael—”

“Finish it.”

“Because I’m scared you’ll come to your senses!” she shouted finally.

I went silent momentarily, shocked. “What?”

“Michael, you are so sweet and funny and handsome and perfect that I’m scared that once we’ve made everything official, you’ll realize what a complete nut job I am and you’ll run screaming for your life,” she said, refusing to look at me.

“And I’m scared of living with you because then I’ll have nothing left to hide in. No more secrets, nothing. You’ll find out everything about me and I’m scared you won’t like it. There. Happy now?”

She wouldn’t meet my gaze so I touched her chin, lifting her face. “Jor.”

“Yeah?”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Her jaw dropped. “What?”

I smiled to soften the blow of my blunt words. “I’ve fought in more battles than I care to count. I’ve seen men and angels die in the most horrifying ways. I’ve seen people butcher each other just for the hell of it. There isn’t anything depraved or terrible on this Earth that I haven’t seen. I’m pretty sure I can handle your crazy ass.”

She gave me a look that was a cross between a scowl and a smirk. “I cannot believe you just mocked my psychological trauma.”

I let the smile stretch into a grin, then kissed her. “You’re damn right I did. You’re being silly. I want to know every awful insecure thing about you. That’s why I married you. I wouldn’t be here if I wanted a perfect woman. There isn’t one.”

She rolled her eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. O’Brien.”

“I beg to differ, Mrs. O’Brien.”

“Jordan O’Brien. It still sounds weird as hell to me. Now can I go take my shower?”

“You can…after you tell me what’s really bothering you.”

Her brows bunched into another frown. “What d’you mean? I just told you.”

“And you weren’t lying. I know that much. But there’s something else you’re not telling me. You wouldn’t hold back just because you’re scared of losing me. What is it?”

She brushed past me and sat on the bed, staring at the floor. Ice filled the pit of my stomach. I leaned against the dresser, expecting the worst.

“This mission we’re on…I think it means more to me than it does to you.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“You’ve been in this fight since the beginning of time. I’m twenty-three. I’ve only been a Seer for five years. Because of that, I’ve always felt like it’s my responsibility to be someone worthy of being married to the Commander of Heaven’s Army.”

I opened my mouth to interrupt, but she held up her hand. “Let me finish. I need to become stronger. I need to prove that I can handle the pressure that comes along with living this life. I have to earn it for myself. That’s why I’ve pushed myself so hard. That’s also why I’ve been keeping you at a distance. I wanted you to see that I can make the same hard decisions and sacrifices that are expected of you every day.”

She met my gaze and there was firm resolve in her brown eyes. “Does that make any sense to you?”

I nodded, walking over to her. “Yeah, it does. But don’t forget how far you’ve come. You’ve already made some of the hardest choices anyone in this life will ever have to face. And you’re not in this alone. Promise me you’ll remember that.”

“I promise.”

“Good. Now go take your shower.” I pressed one final kiss to her lips and then she got up. The bathroom door shut and I knew that my gamble had been worth it.

After grabbing a shirt out of the drawer, I went into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee because I knew she’d want some when she came out of the shower. She had gotten here shortly after ten o’clock and we had been in bed for a couple of hours. Her shift started at one o’clock and Colton, her boss, would be irritated if she came in late again. I had to admit her recent tardiness was partially my fault. Well, mostly my fault. Entirely. Whatever.

I didn’t have to work today, but I had to meet with my band for rehearsal. The sessions usually lasted anywhere from two to four hours—it was only four hours if Casey brought alcohol with her, which she did about sixty percent of the time—so I would be occupied for most of the day. They were expecting me in the next hour, which meant I had time to eat lunch and make one important stop before I got there.

Jordan’s fridge was always stocked with great food, but I was a low maintenance kind of guy. I survived mainly on pizza, Chinese takeout, the occasional sub sandwich, and asparagus.

Yes, I know, one of those things is not like the other, but for some reason, I was completely addicted to it. Raphael had brought me some once and from then on I always had a heaping pile stuffed inside a clear grocery bag in the refrigerator drawer. Jordan hated them, told me they tasted like wet sticks, but she even kept a stash for me at her place for when I spent the night.

I scooped four stalks out of the drawer and stood there, chewing on them, feeling remarkably like an off-brand version of Bugs Bunny, as I leafed through the bills. Money wasn’t a big deal for the archangels on earth. We all knew each other and if anyone fell on hard times, he or she had someone to back them up. If things got too bad, Gabriel would step in, as he was an extremely wealthy man, and help out. If I’d wanted the life of the upper class, I could probably have it, but I liked where I was at the moment. Except for the not-getting-signed-by-a-label thing. There were angels in the music biz, but I refused to let my status interfere. For once, I’d do things the human way.

I ate a couple of cold slices of pizza, downed a soda, and packed up my guitar, my sheet music, my ratty lyric notebook, and stuffed my keys and wallet in my pocket. Jordan reappeared with one of my shirts on. For a moment, I wondered if she really had to be at work and then mentally slapped myself. She was already in enough trouble with her boss.

“I’ll meet you at the restaurant when your shift ends,” I told her, tugging her forward by the shirttail.

She lifted up on her tiptoes and kissed me. “It’s a date. Be safe.”

I leaned my forehead against hers, my voice serious. “You too.”

With that, I headed for the bus.

* * *

GABRIEL’S OFFICE HAD a lot of windows. An unnervingly large number. Maybe I had watched too many movies, but it always made me think something would come flying through one of them and attack whomever was inside. He owned several different businesses and charities in many states so he always set up an office for himself to make things easier when he had to stay in one region for an extended period of time. His job was mercurial: some days, he was an entrepreneur, a handsome face in an impeccable business suit; other days, he would roll up the expensive sleeves of his shirt and help deliver babies in third world countries. Of all the angels, I had always considered him to be the “face of the company.” Safe, sincere, marketable, and representative of the whole. Granted, not all angels were as jovial as he or Raphael, but he was a good spokesperson.

His secretary was a dainty Czech woman in her late fifties or early sixties who looked remarkably like an owl with her thick-framed glasses. Despite her age, she could type faster than I could blink and answered the phone with a professional yet kind tone. Best of all, she always had a pack of Ice Breakers on her desk when she knew I was coming in with asparagus breath.

Most of the time, Gabriel and I tried to meet somewhere private because in public settings we tended to get interrupted by girls. Gabriel was a hot commodity to say the least, and when they couldn’t get his attention, they’d switch to me. I always flashed them my wedding band to scare them off. We were both good-looking guys, but Gabriel’s expensive attire got more of the girls’ attention.

The door to his office opened and a portly Hispanic fellow walked out, beaming as he shook Gabriel’s hand and told him in Spanish that he was very grateful. Gabriel patted his shoulder and told the gentleman to speak with his secretary before he left. He noticed me as I stood up from the comfy leather coach against the far wall and waved me in, closing the door.

He cleared his throat and then sighed as he turned toward me.

“Not in the face.”

I punched him in the gut, a little below the ribs. He wheezed, wincing and clutching the spot but he didn’t buckle. It was much harder to be intimidating when he was a good five inches taller than me, but I knew he got the point.

“What the hell were you thinking?” I demanded.

Gabriel exhaled and leaned against the large table behind him. “I already told you I was sorry.”

“You didn’t answer my question. What the hell were you thinking leaving Jordan with Belial in a hotel?”

He closed his eyes momentarily, regaining composure. “I could not risk letting the demon catch up with Edmond before I did. We would never have gotten an accurate statement from the rogue angel about why he’s doing this. I knew that Belial would not violate his word at such an inopportune time. It was the logical thing to do.”

“Of course it was,” I replied with heavy sarcasm. “Only one Seer on Earth right now and you left her with the man who has tried to kill her on two separate occasions, and succeeded on one of them. This is exactly why I wanted to go instead of you, Gabriel. When the chips are down, you’re going to protect the world instead of protecting her.”

“Don’t you dare accuse me of not caring about Jordan!” he snapped, stepping forward. “I knew her long before you did and I care for her now as much as I did at the beginning. You cannot fault me for doing the right thing when the stakes are so high. You cannot expect me to sacrifice the world for your wife.”

“I would never ask you to, brother,” I said, fighting to keep my voice level. “You know that. But you and I both know how bad it could have gotten if Belial had something planned for her. He’s always been good at finding loopholes. I don’t want a repeat of history.”

“Neither do I. I knew Jordan could handle herself around him. She’s done it before. No matter how silver the demon’s tongue is, she’s immune to it because she loves you.”

“That didn’t stop Zora.”

Gabriel shook his head once, his brow darkening. “Don’t bring Uriel’s lover into this. She is not Jordan. Why can’t you see that, Michael?”

“Because I’d be a fool not to. It’s been centuries, but history is starting to repeat itself. Don’t you remember how few Seers were on the earth back then? How chaotic everything was? What do you think is going to happen if the rogue angel keeps up his game? We’ll be right back where we were when Zora was banished.”

“It won’t come to that,” Gabriel said in his most patient voice. “We’ve got every angel available looking for him. We’re going to catch him and this will be over. You’ve got to stay focused or you’ll end up blowing this mission and more innocent people will die.”

“Stay focused? I can’t just flip it off like a switch. I’ve watched her bleed to death, Gabriel. I’ve held her cold and dead in my arms. I will not do it again.”

“What would you have me do, then?”

“Make the Call.”

He shook his head. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Damn it, Gabriel, we don’t have time for red tape and politics. You know he has the resources to get this man found.”

“And you want me to jeopardize everything I’ve built for one man?”

“No. Not for him. For Jordan.”

Gabriel clenched his jaw. “I will do everything in my power to stop Edmond, but do not ask me to sabotage my own company, Michael. There are millions of people who depend on my work and my influence.”

Anger sizzled through my chest. “No, I understand. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

I stalked towards the door, wrenching it open and stopping for one last comment. “But you should know…you sound just like Edmond.”

I slammed the door shut.

Chapter 11

Jordan

“I NEED YOUR help.”

Lauren arched one perfectly plucked eyebrow. “With what? Did you kill another customer and you need me to help you shove his body in the sewer?”

“Please. Like I’d put him in the sewer. The oven would get rid of the evidence faster.”

My best friend rolled her eyes. “Stop watching so much Castle. And I repeat, with what?”

I sighed, not wanting to say the next few words. “…withthewedding.”

She gave me a confused look. “Whiffer what?”

I resisted the urge to groan. “With the…wedding.”

Her brown eyes lit up and a huge grin spread across her lips. “You’re serious? Finally?”

“Yes, I’m serious. I need your help planning it.”

She squealed and wrapped her arms around me, crushing the air from my lungs. The other servers sent us bemused glances and a few customers turned their heads to watch.

I pried myself out of her grip, shushing her. “Calm down, I don’t need everyone and their mom to know—”

“Are you insane? I’m gonna invite literally everyone in this joint!” she exclaimed, grabbing my arm and pulling me out of sight. We hid in the narrow hallway that led to the break room, whispering back and forth.

“Okay,” Lauren said. “What time do you get off? We’ve got to start checking the basics: the location, places for a cake, a dress, flower arrangements, announcements, food, the works. At least we’ve got the music taken care of. Michael’s band can play, hopefully for no charge.”

“Do we have to do that today? When I asked for your help, I didn’t mean immediately,” I protested, but she waved the comment away.

“There’s no time like the present, trust me. It takes months to plan so we have to get started early—”

“Months? Really? Isn’t it going to be pretty small?”

She eyed me. “How small were you thinking?”

I shrugged. “Twenty people, tops.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me, woman.”

“What? I don’t have that many friends. You know that.”

“True, but that doesn’t mean you need to have such a small wedding. I’d expand that to fifty people. You may not have that many friends, but I’m sure Michael does.”

I thought about it. To be honest, I didn’t know how many friends he actually had. The people I usually saw him hang around were his band mates and the other archangels, mainly Gabriel and Raphael. Who would be the best man?

“I guess you have a point. But I’m not sure if I can go today, I’ve got some work to do.”

“You always have work to do. We should at least map out where we’re gonna go when we shop for real.”

It was my turn to lift an eyebrow. “We’re gonna shop to plan shopping?”

She grinned. “Now you’re getting it. Maybe one day Santa will bring you that vagina for Christmas.”

I slapped her in the arm and she cackled, scurrying away as Noah called out our orders. I brought food to several customers and grabbed my notepad as I spotted someone new at one of my tables.

“What can I get…” I walked around to face him and stopped dead in my tracks, the last word falling limply from my lips.

“…you.”

Lewis flashed me a small smile. “Hey.”

Several emotions crashed against the surface of my mind, but I reminded myself that I was at work and couldn’t cause a scene. Instead of yelling, I forced a thin smile across my mouth and spoke through my teeth.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.”

“Do you see a case full of money up my ass? I don’t have anything to give you,” I said with no small amount of venom.

He held up his hands in surrender. “I ain’t here for that. I swear. I just wanna talk. That’s it.”

“I’m working. I don’t have time to talk.”

Lewis cocked his head to the side, glancing at Lauren with a smug look. “Uh-huh.”

I ground my teeth, raising my pen. “Fine. Order something first.”

“I’ll take a coffee, black.”

“Naturally,” I muttered, scribbling the order on my pad and walking back towards the kitchen.

Lauren noticed my expression and followed me. “Whoa, what the hell did that guy say to you?”

“Nothing,” I grumbled, grabbing a full pitcher of coffee and a mug.

Lauren glanced in Lewis’ direction and then at me. “That didn’t look like nothing. Do you know that guy?”

“No. And I don’t want to.” I stalked back over to his table and set the coffee down, crossing my arms beneath my chest.

“Two minutes.”

He sighed. “You are just like your mother. Colder than a polar bear’s ass.”

“Thanks, that’s sweet.”

“You’re welcome.”

Lewis poured the hot drink himself and took a sip before speaking again. “I got caught up the other day. Cops found me gambling and I couldn’t shake ‘em. Your husband bailed me out.”

I went completely still. “He what?”

“I know. I had the same reaction. Didn’t think he’d bail me out, but he did. Gave me this whole speech about how I should either get my shit straight or leave town. I still don’t like him. He’s a punk.”

A dark chuckle escaped him. “Kind of like me at his age.”

“This is fantastic news, but you’re running out of seconds and I’m running out of patience.”

He frowned a little, but continued. “My point is that he was right. I came at you wrong. I was in a bad way and you didn’t deserve to get thrown in my shit. My situation doesn’t matter. You do. So will you give me a second chance?”

It would have been so easy to tell him to piss off. The words were perched on the edge of my lips, so ready to jump out at him. But I didn’t say it. As angry as I was with him, there was genuine honesty in those eyes that matched mine. He may have been a criminal and a deadbeat dad, but he was still part of my family. Could I get to sleep at night if I denied him a second chance? Not long ago, I had needed one too.

In the end, I just told him the truth. “I don’t know if this is another part of your scam or not, but against my better judgment, I’m gonna give you one chance to make it up to me. Dinner tonight at Mojo’s. Eight o’clock sharp. If you screw that up, we’re done. Understand me?”

“Got it. Thanks. I know I ain’t exactly been Father of the Year, but maybe I can make it up to you.”

“I already have a father.”

I turned and walked away without looking back.

* * *

“HOW ABOUT THIS one?”

I followed where Lauren’s purple fingernail pointed to the page in the magazine laying open in her lap. I studied the dress, tilting my head.

“Mm, not a big fan of strapless gowns. Mostly because I’m not a fan of strapless bras.”

Lauren snorted. “You do know most of these dresses have built-in corsets and bras, right?”

“Oh. Well, then toss that in the Maybe pile.”

She tore out the page and placed it on the coffee table where a small stack of magazine pages already lay. We sat on her squishy black leather couch sharing a bag of chips and onion dip. Lily sat on the loveseat, completely enraptured in an episode of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Normally, she watched kids’ shows on the Disney Channel, but I had a fondness for 90’s sitcoms so I bought her the first season to see if she’d like them too. It seems the child was quite taken with Carlton Banks after a couple of episodes, to my great amusement.

“This one?”

Lauren shook her head. “Nah, that’ll make you look short. You need something that makes your legs look long and that dress is cut too high.”

“Got it.” I flipped to another page, scanning it and trying my best to ignore the prices. I hadn’t known Lauren before she got married so I knew little to nothing about weddings. I’d managed to talk her out of taking me shopping today and instead convinced her to let me go through the bridal magazines she had kept. I couldn’t use her dress for two reasons: one, she was three inches taller than me and a lot more voluptuous; two, she sold her dress the day her divorce was finalized. Got a pretty penny for it too.

“What ideas do you have for the color scheme?”

I shrugged. “I guess I like lavender?”

“That could work. I had my bridesmaids in light blue. Thank God you’re not one of those women who insists that the bridesmaids look hideous so she’ll look prettier.”

I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “Yeah, that stereotype always bothered me. I can accept it if my friends are better-looking than me. I’m the one getting married so who cares?”

“Exactly. The only person who needs to think you look beautiful is Michael. Or, one of your Freebie Fives.”

I shook my head. “You’re shameless.”

“Hey, just sayin.’ You have to keep your options open.”

“Naturally.” I paused, lowering my magazine and nudging her shoulder. She glanced at me as I spoke.

“Are you sure this isn’t bothering you? I know things ended badly between you and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

She adopted a small smirk. “Y’know, Voldemort would have been preferable to my ex. At least he was ambitious.”

I gave her a stern look. “I mean it.”

Lauren patted my knee. “I’m a big girl, Jordan. I can handle it.”

“It’s a two way street, y’know. You asked me to be honest with you and I agreed that I would be.”

She frowned. “You are, huh? Then what’s the real story about that black guy at your table today?”

I winced. I had hoped she would forget about him over the course of the workday, but Lauren had an eye for details. She could tell when something was bothering me even when I tried to hide it. In the end, I just sighed and leaned my head back against the couch.

“He’s my…father.”

“Your what?”

I lifted my head to see her staring at me with her mouth agape. “Are you serious?”

I shrugged. “You wanted to know the truth.”

“How can he…I mean, when did he…what?” She ended up sputtering again.

I couldn’t help but smile a bit. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“How did he even find you? And why did he find you?”

“Apparently, he Googled me and then found me through my mailman. Showed up at my place a few days ago and told me he needed a loan.”

“And you’re sure he’s not some scam artist or something?”

“He had my mother’s rosary. He must have gotten it from my aunt. Who, by the way, neglected to tell him my mother died.”

“What a b—” Lauren glanced at her daughter, who of course paid us no mind. “B-I-T-C-H. How much money did he want?”

“More than I’ve got, trust me.”

“So what are you gonna do?”

“He came to the restaurant to talk to me. He claims he wants to make up for his messed up behavior earlier. Wanted a second chance. Against my better judgment, I’m giving it to him. I’m gonna meet him for dinner tonight and see what he has to say.”

“Geez.” Lauren ran a hand through her hair. “This seriously came out of nowhere. Does Michael know?”

“Yeah. Actually, he bailed Daddy-O out of jail the other day. Neglected to tell me too.”

“Hey, don’t get that look on your face,” she scolded, poking the spot between my eyebrows as I frowned.  “He probably thought it was for the best. Michael’s a sweetheart and because he doesn’t have a family, he knows how important it is for you to have one.”

“I know, I know, it’s just…” I pulled my legs up on the couch, wrapping my arms around my knees as I tried to put my thoughts into words.

“Lately, I’ve decided to stop being such a chicken and actually commit to my marriage like I’m supposed to. That’s why I agreed to start working on the wedding. But it also opens up a whole new can of worms. We’ll have to move in together and spend every waking moment with each other. He seems perfectly fine with it, but to be honest, it scares the S-H-I-T out of me.”

“Why? He loves you to death.”

“I know he does. That’s what I’m worried about. This whole situation with my dad is exactly the kind of stuff I don’t want in my life. Michael’s probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’m already dragging him into my crap. He doesn’t deserve that.”

“It’s not about what he deserves, Jor. The second he put that ring on your finger, he agreed to deal with whatever comes at the two of you. It’s not something you have to do by yourself anymore. He’s your husband. You’re supposed to depend on him.”

“I’m trying. It’s just hard to do when you’ve been single as long as I have.”

Lauren tugged me into a hug. “God, you are such a friggin’ buzzkill.”

I hugged her back, unable to keep from giggling. “Every party needs a pooper.”

She let go, patting my hand. “You’re going to be fine. Your dad will turn out to be as awesome as Liam Neeson in Taken and your wedding will be beautiful and nothing bad will ever happen to you again.”

“Thanks. I needed that lie right about now.”

“I know. Now let’s get back to finding dresses. Then we can move on to the fun stuff.”

“Fun stuff?”

“Honeymoon night lingerie.”

“Oh, God save me.”

* * *

MOJO’S WAS A small Mexican restaurant tucked between a laundromat and a discount video rental store about fifteen minutes from my apartment. Stan, one of Michael’s band mates, had recommended it to us once and we fell in love with it. The service was always fast and friendly, the place was never crowded, and the food was delicious. It quickly became a regular date-night spot for us when our lives were calm enough to go out. Instead of taking the bus, we would walk home so the heavy, delectable food could settle in our stomachs and I could work off some of the extra calories that came with it.

I’d picked it on purpose because not many people knew about it so the atmosphere was always quiet. Plus, if Lewis tried to pull something stupid, I could just get up and leave with little to no trouble.

Michael had met up with me when my shift ended at the restaurant and I let him know about the change of plans. Earlier, we had agreed to meet to discuss Apocalypse conspiracies, but this meeting took precedence over that one for now. I told him I would keep it to just an hour and then meet him at his apartment afterward. Lauren and I hung out until seven thirty rolled around and I left to meet my so-called father.

“Ah, hola, Señora Amador! ¿Que pasa?” River Santiago greeted me with a wide, pretty smile when I walked in. She was in her late forties, but she stayed in shape and looked not a day over thirty.

“Nada,” I answered. “I’m here meeting someone. He might have a reservation already under Lewis Jackson.”

She checked the list and nodded, motioning towards a booth on the right side of the restaurant. “Yes, he’s over there. I’ll have someone come by with the menus.”

“Gracias.” I walked towards where she pointed, spotting Lewis under the dim red lights overhead. Deep breath, Amador. Time to take the plunge.

“Hey,” he said when I sat down, and the tone of his voice sounded like relief.

“Was starting to wonder if you were gonna show.”

“I try to be a woman of my word,” I replied, unable to keep from sounding cold. The waitress came by and handed us menus. I flipped mine open to avoid having to look at him.

“So what’s good here?”

“Everything, really. Michael and I come here all the time. I’d recommend the shrimp tacos for a first time visit. Gives you a good idea of how they season the food.”

Out of the corner of my eyes, I could tell he had resisted the urge to frown when I mentioned Michael. An improvement, I supposed. When we went out, Michael told me he sometimes got nasty glares from black guys. I hardly noticed them at all because I didn’t care. Lewis didn’t seem to share that sentiment.

“Sounds good. I think I’ll take that, then,” Lewis said, setting his menu aside.

I continued pretending to peruse mine until he spoke again. “So…I’m sorry to hear about your mother.”

I lifted my eyes enough to meet his solemn expression. “You really shouldn’t lead with that.”

“I don’t believe in beatin’ around the bush, as you can tell. And it’s the truth. You may not believe me or care, but I did love your mother. I still love her and I always will.”

I lowered my menu and folded my hands. “Alright, fine. Are you sure you want to do this? Lay all your cards on the table, right here? Right now?”

He gestured towards me. “Go for it.”

“When I was five years old, Aunt Carmen convinced a psychiatric hospital that my mother needed to be treated because she was a danger to herself and me. They institutionalized her for about a month. She committed suicide towards the end of August of 1993. The day they took her, I was sent to live with Aunt Carmen in New Jersey. I got a part-time job in high school and saved up enough money to run away. An old woman named Selina LeBeau gave me a ride to Albany and let me stay above her candy shop until I had enough money to move out and get my own place. I met Lauren and got a job at the Sweet Spot. I met Michael two years later and we got married last year. That’s the abridged version.”

His gaze dropped to my chest. My duster was still on, but I knew he was looking for the scar. “Where’d you get that?”

“Mugging that went violent a year ago.”

“And the scars on your back?”

“Aunt Carmen.”

“Jesus,” he whispered. “How did she get away with it? Didn’t you try telling people?”

“I could never prove anything. She told the police I got mugged one night and they marked me up. The neighborhood we lived in was thick with gangs so they believed her instead of me.”

He shook his head. “Can’t believe it. I never liked her in the first place, but I have half a mind to drive back to Jersey and snap her in half.”

“It’s in the past. I’ve learned to deal with it and you’ll have to do the same thing.”

The waitress returned and we ordered our food, waiting until she left to continue the conversation.

“So why are you really here? Do you actually care about me or are you just guilty?”

He stared at me with an unreadable expression. “I finally got a reason to stop being a coward and apologize for what I did. I’m not proud of it. But…what your mother wanted, I couldn’t give. I thought it was better if I left before you were born and got attached to me. Figured you could spend your life hating me in peace because I didn’t love you and leave you—I just left.”

“Where did you go? I know Mom lived in Madrid before she came here and had me.”

“Before we…fell out, I ran a consulting business overseas. We met in a study-abroad program the year before we both graduated. She wanted to be a professor to help exchange students learn English so they could move to universities over in the States. My business went under right after she got pregnant. I couldn’t handle the pressure so I left. Moved back to Detroit and tried to keep my head above water.”

His words were frank and honest. They hurt, but it was better than him trying to win me over with sugarcoated promises. I didn’t like being patronized and he seemed to understand that. At least we had that going for us.

“So do I have any other family members?”

“Yeah. I have an older brother and my mother’s still alive. Never told them about you, though. If I do it now, I’m pretty sure they’ll be pissed.”

I almost smiled. “I bet. They’d owe me like twenty-three years’ worth of birthday money.”

He chuckled. This time, it was a genuine sound and not a bitter one. It felt weird to hear. “I know you were too small to remember a lot about her, but you are almost exactly like your mother. You both have this presence. You’re a bit more of a tomboy than her, but it’s still the same.”

“I think that’s the closest you’ve come to complimenting me yet.”

“You’re welcome.”

A moment later, the waitress returned with our food and we ate in a silence that was far less strained than I expected it to be. When I was younger, I had hated him so much for leaving me in my aunt’s clutches, but as time went on, I grew to accept it. If he had come to see me back then, I most certainly would have punched him in the face and told him never to return. Now, while I was still hurt and angry, I didn’t feel that same rage. A lot of it had to do with the other things in my life that were more threatening. Compared to murdered Seers and an angelic serial killer, my father wasn’t so bad.

We finished our food at a leisurely pace and the waitress put the bill on the table, which left me in an awkward place. He was allegedly fifty thousand dollars in debt, but did that mean he had no money at all or just not enough money? My conscience got the better of me and I paid for it. He muttered his thanks, seeming uncomfortable. Not that I blamed him.

“So what are you going to do about your debt?”

Lewis scratched the back of his neck, avoiding my gaze. “I’ll figure something out. I always do.”

“So you’re not a…”

He glanced at me then. “A what?”

I bit my bottom lip, rephrasing the sentence. “What is it that you do? Or don’t I want to know?”

“It’s not important. I’ve got a lead and I’ll take care of it. I shouldn’t have asked you for help. I was just being an asshole because I heard you were dating some guy in a rock band and I thought you were well-off. Hoped you’d be happy to see me.”

I watched him. “You wanted me to get angry, didn’t you?”

He shifted in his seat, not answering me. I continued anyway. “You felt like you deserved it so you purposely came at me the wrong way so it could get rid of some of your guilt. I’m right, aren’t I?”

Again, he said nothing. I shook my head. “At least now I know where I get my messed up social skills from.”

“You’re welcome.”

I rolled my eyes and then glanced at my watch. “I have to get going.”

“Alright, but one more thing.”

He took a deep breath, finally looking at me. “Earlier, you said you already had a father. Who were you talking about?”

I winced. “I was angry when I said that, but…it’s sort of true. There was a man that my mother knew. He couldn’t get custody of me, but he sent me letters that helped me keep my head up. His name was Andrew.”

“Was?”

“Yeah. He died a few years ago,” I replied in a soft voice, wrapping my fingers around the hem of the grey duster.

“I see. Sorry to hear that.”

“Me too.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you had someone to support you.” He stood up and I followed suit. We left the restaurant and stood on the sidewalk.

Lewis reached inside his pocket and withdrew a business card. “Here. You don’t have to call me or anything, but if you ever want to, that’s where I can be reached.”

I accepted it. “Thanks.”

He shook his head, looking pained as he did. “Don’t…don’t thank me. Ever. I’m sorry about everything I’ve done and haven’t done. I know that’s not enough, but I thought you should know.”

I merely nodded in reply. He stepped back, clearing his throat. “Take care, alright?”

“Yeah. You too.”

He turned and walked down the street. I put his card in the pocket of my duster and buttoned it up before going in the opposite direction. I’d have to catch the bus to Michael’s place and the bus stop was a few streets away.

As I walked, I felt a prickling sensation along the hairs on the nape of my neck like I was being watched. I kept my same relaxed posture and checked the reflections in the windows I passed to see if anyone looked suspicious. I stretched my energy outward to sense the presence of an angel or demon, but couldn’t feel anything.

Just then, someone grabbed me by the arm and yanked me into a nearby alley one street away from the bus stop. I whirled around and punched my attacker in the ribs. He let go in an instant and I raised my fists in a fighting stance.

“It’s me, you fool!” the stranger hissed.

I squinted in the dim light to find Belial glaring down at me. I shoved him hard enough that he hit the brick wall behind him.

“What the hell did you do that for?”

“Hush. Come with me.” He grabbed my hand in his gloved one and pulled me behind a dumpster, forcing me to squat next to him.

“Belial—”

“Shh,” he said, holding up one finger. I opened my mouth to demand what he was trying to pull, but then I heard footfalls in the alley. Heavy, solid, distinctive, as if the person wore dress shoes. A shadow fell across the grimy concrete in front of us. Belial jumped up, grabbing the man from behind. The man thrashed, trying to get the demon off his back, and that was when I saw the gun in his hand.

I leapt up and slammed the heel of my hand into his solar plexus, winding him. His grip loosened on the gun. I grabbed his wrist and twisted it at a painful angle. He cried out and dropped the firearm, but his other fist came around and hit me in the temple. Pain sparked across the side of my face. I went spinning backward, clutching the injured spot. When I recovered, Belial had produced a large knife from somewhere and held it against the man’s neck.

“Move again and I’ll slit your throat,” the demon growled.

The man’s face settled into a furious look, but he held up his hands in surrender. He was white, dark-haired, about six-foot-one, easily over 250 lbs., with a muscular frame like an ex-football player: big shoulders, big hands, thick legs, and a heavy stomach. In the dim light of the alley, I spotted a silver class ring glinting on his right hand. Good thing he’d popped me with his left.

Belial shoved the guy against the wall, keeping the knife just below his chin. I stood next to him, still rubbing the sore side of my face.

“Are you alright?” the demon asked.

“I’m fine,” I grumbled. “Just tired of getting hit in the face by guys. Whatever happened to chivalry?”

Belial let out an amused snort. “It’s a dying art.”

He faced the attacker. “Now then, who are you and why are you following my lovely friend here?”

“Bite me.”

Belial grinned and it was similar to the way I imagined a lion would at an injured gazelle. “Oh, don’t tempt me. Answer the question while you still can.”

“I wanted her phone number,” the man replied with the utmost sarcasm. He seemed very confident for a guy with a knife at his jugular.

“This is getting us nowhere.” I flipped the guy’s coat open and found an inner pocket housing his wallet.

I opened the wallet, locating his driver’s license. “Marsellus Wallace? Really? That’s the best you could do on a fake ID?”

The man shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a Tarantino fan.”

“Great. It says here that you’re a Detroit resident. So I’m guessing you’re here to kidnap me as collateral?”

“Winner, winner, pizza dinner.”

Belial glanced at me, arching an eyebrow. “Collateral? I’m assuming this has something to do with the gentleman you had dinner with a few minutes ago.”

I shot him a dirty look. “How long have you been following me?”

“That’s not important. I’d be more grateful if I were you. Without my help, this fellow would have made off with you and your husband would be none the wiser.”

“What? Do you want me to thank you for that?”

He flashed me a smug grin. “You do owe me one.”

“Blow it out your ass.”

“Jesus Christ, get a room,” the man said.

Belial dug the knife a little deeper, forcing the guy to stand on his tiptoes to avoid getting nicked. “Manners, my good man. Manners.”

“Alright, Mr. Wallace, who are you working for?” I asked.

“Santa Claus.”

I sighed. This guy was the snarkiest henchman in existence. “Look, I know Lewis owes some very bad people money and he hasn’t got a lot of time left. If you’re here, I’m guessing he has somewhere around forty-eight hours to get the money. If you tell me who you work for, I might be able to get you the damn money. Won’t that make everyone happy?”

“Sorry, honey. The man who pays me don’t pay me to run my mouth. I just do what I’m told and I was told to pick you up to give Mr. Jackson some incentive.”

Belial cleared his throat. “Jordan, may I intervene?”

I eyed him. It was probably a bad idea to let an archdemon interrogate someone, but so far my methods weren’t working. Time to take a gamble. “Go for it.”

The demon aimed a polite smile at the henchman, one that made my skin crawl. “Mr. Wallace, is it? About how much do you weigh?”

Wallace gave Belial a weird look, unsure of where the conversation was going. “Two sixty and change.”

“Ah. So that means you have probably about ten pints of blood in you. Have you ever suffered from massive blood loss before, Mr. Wallace?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“It’s a terrible feeling, really. Especially when caused by a knife. Gunshot wounds are quicker. They may hurt much more, but when you lose blood by a knife, it’s a slow process. There’s the prick of the blade that causes a sharp pain. However, this depends on where it is on the body. On the arms, it’s a very distinct kind of pain. If you cut deep enough, your whole arm goes numb, but the shallow cuts are the worst part of it. My personal favorite is abdominal bleeding. Depending on where the injury is, it can take hours to bleed to death. You can try to staunch the wound, but the internal damage is always what does you in. The pain is deep and your breathing gets labored as you put the pieces together and finally realize that you’re going to die. It’s amazing how some people react. I’ve seen some of them cry and beg to be saved, but the ones who are the most interesting are the ones who take the knife and slit their own throat just to make the death a little easier and faster. It’s spectacular what one little knife can do.”

He started to lower the blade to the man’s stomach and I almost grabbed his wrist, but Wallace finally broke.

“Jesus, man, I work for Lamont! Lamont Brooks!”

I stepped forward. “And who is Mr. Lamont Brooks?”

“Jackson wanted to buy a building for his consulting business. Someone came in with a better offer so he had to come up with the money fast. He went to Lamont and took out a loan, promised to pay it back in a month. He bought the place, but Lamont changed his mind, said he wanted it in two weeks. Jackson couldn’t come up with it in time and skipped town, so they sent me and one of my partners to follow him.”

“How many days does he have left to pay it off?”

“Two.”

“Shit,” I muttered. “What’s he up to?”

“I don’t know, but by the looks of things, I think he knows he’s a dead man. If you’re who I think you are, he came to put his affairs in order before Lamont catches up to him.”

“Where’s your partner?”

“He’s following Jackson. Should be calling in any minute now.”

“Here’s what you’re going to do, Mr. Wallace. You’re going to call off your friend and you’re going to go back to Detroit and tell Lamont that his little loan shark game is over. If he doesn’t listen, you can tell him I can make one phone call and he’ll be rotting in jail for the rest of his miserable life.”

I fished the phone out of Wallace’s pocket. “Do it.”

The henchman reached up to take it, but Belial interrupted us. “That won’t be necessary.”

I glanced at him. “Why?”

“I’ve already taken care of his associate. You may go on your way now, Mr. Wallace.”

He lowered the knife from the man’s throat and handed him his cell phone, dropping his voice to a whisper. “But believe me when I say that you had better adhere to your instructions or one day you will wake up in your bed and I will be there in the darkness waiting for you with my knife, and then we will find out just what kind of man you’ll be when you die.”

Wallace swallowed hard and stumbled out of the alley without looking back. Belial stashed his knife and straightened his clothes.

I faced him. “What do you mean ‘took care’ of his associate?”

He tilted his head to the side, giving me a contemplative look. “Would you prefer a lie or the truth?”

I balled my hands into fists. “Answer me, you son of a bitch. Did you kill him?”

Belial’s face went blank. “He decided not to cooperate. I had no choice.”

I closed my eyes as a wave of anger rolled down my body. “You bastard.”

“You are the most ungrateful person I have ever met,” the demon snapped. “That is twice now that I have saved your life with nothing to show for it.”

I opened my eyes and stepped close to him, enough to smell his cologne and feel the heat from his body. “Listen and listen well, Belial. You are not my lover. You do not have the right to protect me and if you ever kill someone in my name again, I will personally send you back to Hell where you belong.”

“Since when do you have the backbone to threaten me, human?” His voice came out a deadly murmur. I could feel his anger boiling around him like steam, clashing with mine.

“I could rip you apart before you could blink and send you back to your precious archangel in a pretty cardboard box. And I would enjoy doing it.”

“But you won’t. Because that violates our agreement and you’d be sent to Hell to report yet another failure to your master,” I snarled in his face. His jaw shifted and I could tell he hated the fact that I was right. Good.

“Fair enough. But let me also make one thing clear.” He moved even closer, sliding one long-fingered hand into my hair, his warm breath falling across my face, close enough to kiss me if he wanted to.

“When this is over, I will no longer uphold my previous chivalry. I want you for myself and I intend to take you from your archangel. Rest assured that it will be bloody and violent and you will regret refusing me while I was still being a gentleman.”

He balled that same hand into a fist, jerking my head upward so that his reptilian eyes filled my gaze. “Do you understand me, Jordan?”

“Knock yourself out.”

He threaded his gloved fingers through my hair and waved towards the alley leading to the sidewalk. “Ladies first.”

I stalked past him, shoving my hands in my pockets so he couldn’t see them shaking.

Chapter 12

Michael

THE DOORBELL RANG. I couldn’t help but shake my head as I walked towards the door. She always made fun of me for leaving my key, but this was the third time in a month that she had forgotten hers.

“You’re late,” I said as soon as I opened the door, and then froze.

Jordan and Belial stood on my doorstep. Anger rushed through me so quickly that I almost got dizzy.

“What’s he doing here?” My voice came out in an unearthly growl.

Jordan sighed. “Long story.”

“Shorten it.”

She gave me a tired look. “On the way back from my meeting with Lewis, I found out I was being followed by a Mook who works for the guy he owes money. Belial was kind enough to help me get rid of him. Plus, he has some information for us on the Apocalypse research.”

Belial held up the manila folder for emphasis. I narrowed my eyes at him. “Great. Give me the papers and get lost.”

The demon’s lips stretched into a smirk. “Ah, ah, ah. That’s not the deal. The deal is that I help you catch the rogue angel. That includes keeping me in the loop, archangel. Or have you forgotten our agreement?”

I took a threatening step forward and Jordan pressed her hand against my stomach, stopping me. “Michael, you knew this was going to happen eventually. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

She brushed past me. Belial remained where he was, smiling like the cat who got the canary.

Jordan glanced at him, confused. “Uh, what’s the problem?”

Belial continued staring at me. “You have to invite me in. I cannot enter because he has blessed the apartment.”

“What? Like a vampire?” Jordan asked, her voice incredulous.

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“Figures.”

She touched my arm. “You can bless it again after he’s gone. Let’s just get this over with.”

I lifted my hand in front of the door and made a cross, muttering the proper incantation to remove the blessing. Belial walked inside and I shut the door. The angelic part of my soul raged at the very idea that I had let a demon into my home. I agreed with it wholeheartedly, but I knew he served a purpose. Demons were exceptionally good at tracking people down because they could work outside the law. Still, even seeing his face made me want to behead him and play kickball with his skull.

“Feel free to not make yourself at home,” Jordan said to the demon, beckoning me towards the bedroom. I followed her and shut the door, rounding on her.

“What the hell is going on?”

She sat on my bed, tugging off her tennis shoes. “Hi, honey, good to see you too.”

“Don’t get cute. How did he know where you were?”

“I don’t know. I think he’s been tailing me to see if the rogue angel will make another move, but instead he found someone else tailing me too.”

A haggard sigh pushed out from between my lips. “Do you ever have a normal day?”

She spared me a weary smile. “Once. It was a Thursday.”

“Not funny. Who was the guy following you?”

“A Pulp Fiction fan, apparently. He works for Lamont Brooks—a loan shark in Detroit. It turns out Daddy-O took out a loan and Lamont pulled a fast one on him. Told him to have the money in two weeks instead of four. Lewis couldn’t come up with it and skipped town to find me. The guy following me thinks Lewis knows he’s out of luck and came to see me before he…”

She struggled to finish the sentence. “…before Lamont catches up with him.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “Geez, so he was putting his affairs in order, not trying to guilt you into giving him the money?”

“Yeah, that seems to be the size of it.”

“What did you do?”

“Belial did a scary little speech and we sent him packing. Told him to tell Lamont to back off or we’d throw him in jail. I guess that’s the best part about marrying into the angel family. We know people.” The last part she said with a bit of amusement in her voice.

“Jordan, there’s no time to joke about this. I’m sure Lamont sent more than one guy if he was planning to use you to as ransom.”

Her smile vanished, replaced with cold anger. “Oh, Belial decided to take care of that for me.”

“What?”

“He killed the other guy Lamont sent before he got to the one following me.”

I went still. “Were you there when it happened?”

“No. But I believed what he told me. I warned if he ever did that again, I’d send him back to Hell.” She shrugged out of her duster, tossing it on the bed.

I settled one hand on her thigh and then touched the side of her face so that she met my eyes. “Are you okay?”

She leaned her forehead against mine. “Not even close. I don’t want anyone to die because of me, Michael. Ever. Why does this keep happening?”

“It’s not your fault. That man chose to be involved with unscrupulous people and he probably had it coming.”

“I don’t know about that. Being killed by Belial, it…I can’t even allow myself to think about what he did to that man before he let him die. If you heard the way he talked about his knife…” She let the sentence trail off, seeming too disgusted to continue.

I kissed her, rubbing the length of her leg. “We’ll get this figured out. I promise.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Being such a death magnet.”

I almost laughed at her word choice. “You’re not a death magnet. You’re a Seer. Normal was never an option for you.”

She gave me a sarcastic look. “Thanks, that’s encouraging.”

“You’re welcome. We’ll finish this conversation later. Let’s get rid of the bastard sitting on my couch first.”

“I wonder if he’d get mad if we had really loud sex in here while he’s out there.”

I chuckled, tugging her off the bed. “No, he’d probably try to join in. If I’m ever going to be in a ménage a trois, it needs to be the cool kind, not a literal devil’s threesome.”

“Ha. You wish.” She gave me one last kiss and opened the bedroom door. I followed her into the den.

Belial had taken off his coat and settled on the couch spreading the papers from his folder out on the glass coffee table. The first two buttons of his forest-green dress shirt were undone, as was his tie, and his sleeves were rolled up to his forearms. He had made himself at home just to antagonize us. Terrific.

“Welcome back, love birds,” the demon said as we approached. Jordan sat as far away from him as she could on the couch. I chose the spot on her left to ensure that Belial didn’t try to move closer.

“Can the sarcasm. What did you find?”

The demon held up the first sheet of paper. “I compiled a search of Apocalypse theories for the year 2011. The first one to pop up was the one predicted by a radio host by the name of Harold Camping. He claimed that the Rapture would happen on May 21st, and of course, he was wrong. However, interestingly, he later claimed that October 21st would be the end of the world. While I still maintain that this fellow is completely out of his gourd, I took a look at the instance anyhow and found that he believes in a mathematical-based prediction system. I won’t bore you with the details, but while he’s wrong again, studying predictions for October led me somewhere unexpected.”

He selected another piece of paper. “I found an end-of-the-world prediction that also claims that October would be the month of a calamitous change for the earth. It comes from a small cult called Christ’s Heel. They believe that the Leviathan would be discovered and awakened to devour the sinful men of earth in order to cleanse it for Christ’s return.”

“The Leviathan?” I interrupted, shocked.

Belial nodded. “They seem to disagree with the fire and brimstone idea. The cult talks about the Hellmouth being used by a demon and an anointed one. That is where the Seer your rogue angel talks about would come in.”

“I read about this during my research too,” Jordan said, glancing at me. “But most of the information I got about the Leviathan is pure speculation. What is it exactly?”

“The Leviathan is a sea creature that God made during the first seven days of Creation. However, its power somehow caused it to accumulate the evil that came into existence from the creation of good. It’s sort of an equation, really. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Good needs evil as a balance and the Leviathan became a great source of evil to the point where Satan took notice and used its mouth as a gateway to Hell. Once God banished Satan from the Earth, He sent the Leviathan back to the Waters of Chaos and it was never heard from again.”

“So technically, it’s still alive?”

“Yes. Its jaws were locked shut by an angel long ago. The only way to awaken it would be to unlock the Hellmouth with a source of purity.”

“You mentioned the Waters of Chaos. Where are they?”

“I believe it’s an area near the Arctic Circle. The Leviathan was sent there to remain isolated and undiscovered for mankind’s own safety. Normally, a creature like that would be killed, but no one has ever been able to do so.”

Jordan folded her hands over her mouth, her brows knitting together. “So do either of you think this is a legitimate theory?”

The demon and I shared a look. We had plenty of differences, but I could tell we were thinking the same thing.

“More than likely,” I said. “It’s too much of a coincidence that this theory is so closely tailored to the rogue angel’s actions. Besides, the other Apocalypse theories I researched said nothing about Seers or anointed ones. Most talk about the usual earthquakes and floods and such.”

“So what’s our next move? Is there any way we can go on the offense or do we have to wait for the translation of Et Liber Tempor?”

I started to answer, but Belial cut me off. “That may be where I can help.”

He slid a photograph over to us. “One of my men snapped this picture in south Florida. None of them were aboard, unfortunately, but it’s still a lead.”

In the picture, I could see the side profile of the rogue angel with a duffel bag over his shoulder climbing up the ramp to a large plane. “Any idea where he’s heading?” I asked.

“This is a common mode of transportation for criminals and illegal aliens. I was told the particular destination of this plane is São Paulo, Brazil. I suggest you get one of your best archangels down there, and quickly, before he murders someone else.”

I stared at the photo. Logically, the best thing to do would be to send a good tracker and a good fighter. There were people I could call to get the job done, but this angel—one of my brothers—had almost murdered the woman I loved. I didn’t want to risk losing her again. He would have to be stopped by my hand.

“I’ll go,” I said, my voice quiet.

Jordan looked at me, apprehensive. “Michael, you don’t have to do this yourself.”

“He nearly killed you, Jordan. I’m not taking any more risks. I won’t let anyone else die.”

“Then am I to assume I’ll be here acting as her bodyguard?” Belial asked in a mildly annoyed voice.

“No. You’re coming with me.”

Surprise stole across the demon’s face. Jordan stood then, holding up her hands.

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re expecting me to believe you’re going to fly to Brazil with the person you hate most in this world and work together to stop the rogue angel?”

I frowned. “I don’t see how that’s any different from what you did in Edmonton and Cleveland.”

“It is different, Michael. Belial won’t kill me yet because he wants to sleep with me.”

Belial made a rude noise in his throat. “I’m right here, you know.”

She ignored him. “You can’t even say his name without turning into the Incredible Hulk. I think you should send someone else.”

“I’m the Commander of Heaven’s Army. As talented as the rogue angel is, I know he is not a better fighter than I am. Belial is an expert tracker and he can operate outside of the law. He can get me places the angels can’t. This is the best way to make sure we stop the rogue angel for good.”

She massaged the bridge of her nose. “Have you always been this stubborn?”

Belial and I answered at the same time. “Yes.”

“What am I supposed to do while you’re gone? Knit a sweater?”

“It’ll take a few days at the most, no more. You need to settle things with Lewis. Gabriel should be able to protect you in the meantime. I expect we’ll hear from Raphael about the translation soon.”

“This is a terrible plan.”

“I know. But it’s a necessary evil.”

Belial sighed. “For once, I agree. This will be a very unpleasant trip, but your logic is somewhat sound. I’ll return in the morning. I assume you’ll take care of the tickets?”

I nodded. The demon gathered half of his papers together and slid them back in the folder. He held out the rest to Jordan.

“For your records.”

She took them and headed to the bedroom to file them away. As soon as she was out of sight, Belial glanced at me.

“Before you fly off the handle, as I suspect you’re about to, you should know she wasn’t trying to stop you from going to get the rogue angel because she wanted to be with me. If anything, she’s been trying this whole time to prove she isn’t like me.”

I cast a suspicious glare in his direction. “What makes you say that?”

“She hasn’t given in once, not even when I kissed her.”

My blood ran cold. “When you what?”

Just then, Jordan walked back in and I forced myself not to say anything else. We didn’t need to fight in front of the demon. He’d enjoy it too much.

Satisfied with his work, Belial went to the door, shooting us both an amused look. “Happy fighting, love birds.”

He left. Jordan went into the kitchen, saying nothing. I followed her, watching as she set about washing dishes—her go-to move whenever she was upset. I didn’t mind since I had a bad habit of tossing all the dirty stuff in the dishwasher until she came over to turn it on. I sat on the stool in front of the counter, crossing my arms and doing my best to suppress my anger.

“Y’know, this is probably unhealthy behavior.”

“What do you expect me to do?” she grumbled, sticking her fingers under the faucet as the water ran. “I can’t drink. I can’t eat sweets anymore because now I have to fit into a wedding dress. Cleaning is pretty much all I’ve got left for stress relief.”

“That’s very Monica of you. Less Chandler than usual.”

She gripped the edge of the sink, closing her eyes. “Michael—”

“Hey, you’re the one who told me to have a better sense of humor.”

She glared at me. “Yeah, but you’re being an ass about it. I don’t believe for a second that you can cooperate with Belial enough to catch the rogue angel. I saw the look on your face when you opened the door. If I hadn’t been here, you would have tried to kill him. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re acting like that’s not justified,” I said, dropping the humor from my voice. “Did you forget the ‘tried to rape and kill you’ bit? I haven’t.”

“This isn’t about me, Michael. It’s you. You still haven’t learned to control your temper when it comes to Belial. He feeds off your anger and your jealousy. I don’t want him getting any more powerful than he already is.”

“I think we’re way past that at this point.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why didn’t you tell me he kissed you?”

Her eyes widened for a second, but she quickly covered it with a frown. “He didn’t kiss me.”

I didn’t remember walking around the counter over to her, just that I was suddenly next to her with one hand around her left wrist. “Jordan. Did Belial kiss you?”

“Michael—”

“Answer the question.”

She exhaled. “Yes. It was last year, when we fought in the hospital.”

I let her arm drop. Fury wriggled through my guts like a snake and I had to flatten my hands on the counter to keep from punching through the wall.

“That son of a bitch. I knew it. I knew this was what he wanted.”

“What?”

“He’s following the playbook step by step. He’s trying to drive a wedge between us. Make himself look better by saving you. It starts with the dreams. He convinces you that you’re like him and that you’re attracted to him. Next he’ll start trying to show you that I’m wrong, that I’m the hypocrite, not him. That’s exactly why he agreed to help us. He doesn’t care about the rogue angel or the Seers. He wants the one thing he can never have. He wants a replacement for Zora.”

Jordan grabbed my arm, making me face her. “Michael, you’re insane. Belial can’t trick me into wanting him. I know what he is. I know what he’s capable of doing. I would never betray you.”

“Are you sure?” I murmured. “Because I’m pretty sure you just lied to me about Belial kissing you. That’s how it starts. Little lies. They start getting bigger by the second until one day you don’t know who you married anymore.”

“Oh, I’m the liar? Why didn’t you tell me that you bailed Lewis out of jail?”

“Because I thought he deserved a second chance. He may be an asshole, but he does care about you. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to see that if you knew he had been in jail.”

“Well, thanks for believing in me,” she snapped, turning her back on me to go into the bedroom.

I sighed, knowing I had finally gone too far. “Jordan.”

She came out with her shoes and duster on, walking towards the door. I stayed where I was, unable to keep the frustration out of my voice.

“Where are you going?”

“Out. And don’t wait up.”

She slammed the door, leaving me in a vacuum of silence.

She was exactly where I hoped she would be when I arrived. She wore a beautiful red dress that brought out the rich dark sienna of her skin and the black of her long, wavy hair. The red clashed with the endless white surrounding us like a rose petal floating in a pool of cream.

My wings were a heavy but comfortable weight as I walked towards where she sat on a bench at the top of a hill, watching the spirits in the gorge below with an utterly peaceful expression. I took a seat beside her.

A smile touched her lips. “Hello, mi hijo.”

“Hi, Catalina.”

She glanced at me. “You don’t seem surprised to see me.”

“Very little surprises me these days. Besides, Uriel told me you like to visit sometimes.”

“It’s peaceful here,” Catalina Amador replied, folding her elegant fingers over one knee. “Not that Heaven itself is not peaceful, but I enjoy having some time to myself. This is a tranquil place. Nowhere else in the universe like it.”

“That’s why I come here to clear my head sometimes.”

“Oh? And what clouds your mind right now, Michael?”

“Your daughter.”

A flicker of emotion darted through her brown eyes. Concern, mostly, but some regret as well. In many ways, Catalina was as guarded as Jordan, but not about her family. She could be fiercely protective of anyone she cared about and we had that in common. “What about my daughter?”

“You don’t have to be coy. I’m aware that you’ve spoken with Gabriel and Raphael and that you know about the rogue angel.”

“I do, but the tone in your voice is much more personal. You’re worried about your relationship, not just her safety.”

I winced and didn’t answer. She touched my hand, adopting a gentle tone. “You are safe here, Michael. Please tell me what’s wrong. Perhaps I can help.”

“We had our first fight. The first big one, anyway. Belial is trying to take her from me and I’m not sure I can stop him,” I said, too ashamed to meet her gaze.

“You speak of Jordan like she’s an object, not a person. It’s her decision to make, not yours. You cannot prevent this on your own.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but she held up her hand to silence me. “I’m not saying that all is lost, but you must understand that even if you do everything you can to keep them apart, it is still something Jordan has to overcome. It’s your job as her husband to have faith in her and support her even when you are in doubt.”

“It’s easier said than done,” I said, unable to hide my frustration. “We were fine before this all started but the second Belial walks back into our lives, everything goes to hell.”

Catalina shook her head. “When will you young ones understand that life is what happens after you’ve made plans? Did you think that your happiness relied only on when your lives seemed simple?”

“Of course not. But in spite of everything we’ve been through, our relationship has always been stable. Even when things were at their nastiest, we had each other to lean on. I suppose I’ve just gotten used to it being that way.”

She squeezed my hand so that I’d look at her. “You are a very passionate man, Michael. Before Jordan, you were so strict and hardened. You were the best soldier any of us had ever seen, but you were missing something. Now that you’ve found that part of yourself, you’re scared of losing it and going back to the way you were. That’s why you’ve been so protective of Jordan. You’re afraid of going back to that life.”

I sighed. “Am I that transparent?”

“You’re allowed to have a weakness. Everyone is.”

I stood abruptly as anxiety and anger surged within me. “But I’m not supposed to! I’m an archangel. That is who I am. I can’t have insecurities or fears or doubts because if I do, people will get hurt.”

Catalina stood as well, keeping that perfect calm she always had. “You are not just an archangel. You are a man as well. And you will continue to struggle with these problems until you accept that about yourself. Being human isn’t a weakness. You of all people should know that by now.”

I stepped closer to her, lowering my voice. “But what if that isn’t enough? What if I’m not enough?”

“Shh,” she whispered. “Mi hijo, you are enough. I promise. If you need proof of that, just look at what you’ve done. Yours is the sword that cut the side of Satan. You have saved this world and the heavens above it more times than anyone cares to count. Jordan would not have fallen in love with you if you weren’t enough.”

“Then what should I do?”

“Have faith in yourself and in Jordan. Don’t let your fear override your responsibilities to her and to the people you are sworn to protect.”

At last, I managed a weak smile. “I’ll try.”

She kissed my forehead. “You’ll succeed. I know my daughter is stubborn, but she’ll forgive you.”

“She misses you.”

“I know.”

“Ahem.”

We both turned our heads to see a tall, dark-haired man in a grey duster identical to Jordan’s, a white dress shirt, and black slacks, his tie loose, hands in his pockets. He arched an eyebrow, the one with a thin white scar through it, and smirked.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” I said, resisting the urge to grin out of sheer fondness. “I was just leaving.”

“Uh-huh. I always knew you had a thing for Cat,” he mused, walking over to Catalina’s side.

She rolled her eyes. “You are insufferable, Andrew.”

“I know, right? Isn’t it sexy?” the Seer teased, giving her a kiss. “They’re asking for you upstairs. Something about new recruits not knowing how to be sophisticated and devastatingly beautiful.”

Catalina sighed. “Very well. If it gives me an excuse to get away from you, then I’ll accept the call.”

“Ouch,” he said with a mock-offended look.

She gave him a peck on the cheek and then nodded to me. “Take care, mi hijo. Give Jordan my love.”

“I will.” She picked up the hem of her dress and started down the hill.

We watched her go and then Andrew spoke. “I take it by your presence here that you’re having a few marital problems.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” I answered. “But Catalina seems to think I’ll be able to handle it.”

“It’s not just her, y’know,” the older man said, his tone not unkind. “There’s a reason we’d follow you into the gates of Hell and back.”

I raised an eyebrow. “No pressure.”

Andrew chuckled. “Point taken. Still, I think you should give yourself a break. Jordan doesn’t need you to be perfect. She just needs you.”

I smiled. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Be good to her. I’d hate to have to kick your ass.” With that and another roguish grin, he turned and headed down the hill as well. I stood there for a moment and then returned the way I came, feeling just a bit taller.

Chapter 13

Jordan

QUESTION ONE: WHERE do you go to blow off steam when you’re recovering from alcohol dependence and pissed off at your husband?

Question Two: where do you go to blow off steam that isn’t packed full of drunk guys who want to take you home?

Answer: a lesbian pool hall.

The Lemon Drop was a club that had bought out the basement of an old barbershop. There was no dress code, no long lines, and no Ladies Night, for obvious reasons. Movies and TV always made such places look like obscenely campy joints, but this place had decently priced drinks, nice pool tables, and great music. I knew this only because Lauren had taken me here a few times when her asshole ex-husband worked her nerves and she wanted to hate men for a while.

The temptation to drink hung over my head like an obnoxious, overweight ghost, but I ignored it and played a few rounds of pool with some girls I met. Only one of them tried to get my number, but I flashed my wedding ring and she respectfully gave up. The girls could tell by the look on my face that I didn’t want to chat or rant about men. I just wanted to go somewhere and think about something other than my life.

I wasn’t any good at pool—just okay. Raphael had taught me to play. Every so often, he came through town and gave me lessons. Somehow, we had stumbled across the subject when he helped heal me after the incident with the Spear of Longinus. He was soft spoken, but whenever I saw him play, he shone with a brilliance that most guys would die to possess. The stereotype of the cool pool player was a staple in American culture for a reason. I enjoyed watching his dark eyes take in the position of the balls on the table, the steadiness of his hands when he aimed, and the small upward tilt of his mouth when he got a shot just right.

“You wanna break this time?”

I climbed out of my thoughts when Carol, the blonde woman I was playing against, spoke. I waved a hand at her. “Nah, you go ahead. I break like a sissy.”

She snorted, tucking her cigarette in one corner of her mouth while she aimed. Clack! The balls scattered across the table. The solid one clunked into a pocket.

“You’re pretty quiet. Sure you don’t want to blow off some steam?” she asked, taking aim.

I leaned against the wall behind me. “Not really.”

She made the shot, walking around the table to pick another ball. “C’mon, you’ve got to give me something. It’s dull if we don’t at least talk shit about each other’s game.”

“You’re welcome to. I know I’m not that good.”

“Yet,” she corrected, and missed the next shot. “You just gotta practice. It’s all about repetition. After a while, it’s second nature.”

I aimed carefully. “Tch. To be honest, I don’t even trust my first nature, let alone a second one.”

The blue striped clattered into a corner pocket. Maybe anger was the key to my game. Big surprise there.

Carol watched with an amused look. “Why’s that?”

I shrugged one shoulder. “Seems like I’m wrong about a lot of things. It takes me forever to trust someone and then, when they mess up, I always bail. It’s like I’m watching myself on TV or something and I pretend like the consequences don’t affect me.”

I missed the next shot and Carol took over. “That’s not uncommon, y’know. I know I distance myself from some decisions I make so I won’t feel guilty if things go bad.”

“Any idea how to fix it?”

She paused, letting smoke curl up out of her nostrils. “Find something that’s worth feeling guilty over. Like that lucky husband of yours.”

I lifted an eyebrow and she grinned. “C’mon, I saw you reject that hot brunette. Don’t pretend like you’re not straight.”

I pouted. “Aw, does that mean you’re gonna kick me out?”

She rolled her eyes. “Smart ass.”

“Regardless of my backside’s education, you wouldn’t say that if you met my husband. He’s this stubborn, overprotective friggin’ know-it-all. Sometimes I think he doesn’t trust me even though I know he does and that drives me crazy. I doubt myself enough—I don’t want to start doubting him.”

“Side-pocket.”

I glanced down at the table and realized I hadn’t been paying attention to her methodically knocking all her balls in until only the eight ball was left. It bothered me enough to send her a frosty look over the table. “Did you start this conversation just so it could distract me and you could win the game?”

“Who, me? Nah.” She shot straight and true, winning her second game. We were tied now. Good thing I hadn’t put money on it.

“You’re a crafty lass, I’ll give you that,” I said, tipping my cranberry juice to her.

She raised her amaretto sour in respect. “Trust me—if you’re this distracted, you don’t need to be here talking to me. You should be talking to him.”

I sighed. “You’re such a buzzkill.”

She laughed. I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket and resisted the urge to suck my teeth in annoyance. Michael had called a total of eleven times in the last two hours.

Carol gave me a flat look. “Will you just answer it? The poor guy probably thinks you’re cheating on him.”

“Buzzkill.”

“Answer the damn phone.”

I groaned and flipped open my phone, growling, “What?”

At first, I heard nothing so I pressed one hand over my other ear, straining to listen.

“Hello? Michael?”

Then, faintly, I could hear the sound of a guitar and then his deep voice joined it. It was the opening stanza to the acoustic version of “If You Were Here.” It was the first song I’d ever heard him sing.

I closed my eyes, trying not to react to the strained emotion in his soulful voice. Damn him. He knew what his singing did to me.

“Michael, this isn’t going to work.”

He kept singing through the second verse. I made myself hang up, but then I could hear it. The same music, only faint and gentle like an echo. I placed my pool cue on the table and walked towards the entrance to the bar. At the top of the stairwell stood my husband with his guitar and his cell phone propped up on the wall, singing as if it were perfectly normal and not some sort of 1980’s version of an apology. I walked up the stairs, wearing my best poker face as he continued through the song, watching me get closer and closer. A small crowd of girls had gathered behind him to see my reaction, which somehow made it both better and worse at the same time.

When I finally reached him, I crossed my arms beneath my chest and spoke loud enough for him to hear over the music.

“If I come home, will you stop playing this damn song?”

He quit singing and smirked at me, his long fingers still strumming the tune.

“Nothing says ‘I love you’ like pressuring you into forgiving me in the middle of a crowd of random spectators.”

I wanted so badly to be angry with him, but I couldn’t stop the smile spreading across my lips as I stared up at him in all his ridiculous glory.

“Jackass.”

“I love you too, baby.”

He played the final note and the girls behind him all clapped, cheered, and made catcalls. Michael slung the guitar around his back and took my hand, tugging me onto the step right below his and kissing me.

“You know this doesn’t mean I forgive you,” I mumbled against his lips. He smiled.

“I know. Let’s go home.”

* * *

THE MATTRESS TIPPED to the side and woke me up. My hair had shaken loose during the night so I pushed it out of the way to see my husband sitting next to me. A groan crawled out of my throat as I peered around looking for the clock.

“What time is it?”

“You don’t want to know,” Michael said. “It’s a ten-hour flight so I had to book the earliest one I could find. Just wanted to say bye.”

“Mmkay. Call me when you land.”

“I will.”

A short, tense silence fell between us. After he came and got me from the bar, we didn’t talk about the fight. We just returned to his place and went to sleep since he had such an early flight. There were things I wanted to say and things I needed to say, but the words stuck to the back of my throat.

In the end, I sighed and placed my hands on his shoulders, pulling him close. I kissed him, as gently as possible, my voice low. “Come back to me in one piece, okay?”

“I will. I promise. Be careful.”

“I will. Te amo.”

He leaned in again, his lips soft and warm on mine. He cupped the side of my face, his thumb rubbing along the curve of my jaw. After what seemed like a blissful eternity, Michael pulled away and murmured, “Te amo.”

He stood and walked out the door, closing it behind him. Darkness surrounded me. I tugged the covers over my shoulders, praying that God would keep my dreams safe and my husband safer.

Chapter 14

Michael

MOST OF THE time, I had no problem flying coach, but for a ten-hour flight, I decided to try Gabriel’s first class approach. I had to admit my other reason for flying first-class was to keep Belial from working his dark magic on the other passengers. It would be a snap for him to convince some poor girl to join the Mile High Club and feed both his demonic energy and his ego. Not on my watch.

It didn’t quite hit me that I’d be trapped on a plane with my mortal enemy for several hours until I woke up from my initial nap. Jordan and I had spent hours in bed, but I hadn’t slept for most of them. Offhand, it seemed unwise to fall asleep in front of someone who wanted to kill me, but Belial had no feasible escape plan even if he did try to murder me. Besides, it violated the terms of the agreement so I was safe enough. It was still disconcerting to wake up and see him sitting across from me leafing through a book.

I yawned, checking my watch. “How long was I out?”

“Roughly seven hours,” the demon replied in a nonchalant voice.

I eyed him before sitting up in my seat and reaching for the bottled water the flight attendant had been nice enough to leave me. “Been reading this whole time?”

“Well, the first in-flight movie was The Last Airbender, so yes.”

I choked on the water in mid-swallow, laughing at the utter scorn in his voice. “Good call. After she saw that movie, Jordan asked me if Shymalan was one of you.”

Belial smirked. “Come now. Not even demons are that evil.”

I chuckled and screwed the cap on my water. Belial was definitely a prick, but he could be pretty damn funny when he wanted to be. “Fair enough. What are you reading?”

“Doing some research on the Leviathan. It’s a rather popular figure in mythology. I’ve never seen it myself, so I figure I should be prepared in case the situation presents itself.”

His explanation made perfect sense. Thus, I became suspicious. Belial could easily facilitate the betrayal that the cult prophesized. He had always been known for his cunning even in the earlier days of history. I only hoped that the translation we got from the Symphony of Time would be more specific about who would betray whom.

“Mm. Expect the unexpected and all that,” I said, grabbing my backpack from underneath the seat. I had shoved a bunch of books in it because I hadn’t gotten the time to read in a long while. Truthfully, I just wanted an excuse not to pick a fight with Belial until we were at ground level and could properly rip each other a new one.

“I can finish this later,” the demon answered, setting his book aside. He linked his fingers together and set his pale eyes on me, his face unnervingly blank. “I thought we could take a moment to get reacquainted.”

I let out a dry chuckle. “Are you serious?”

Belial shrugged. “We’re both men. Perhaps we can find some sort of common ground.”

“We lost the last common ground we had when you fell from Heaven. I think it’s best if we focus on the mission and not on each other.”

“And we will be unable to do so until this tension is addressed.”

I stared at him and then lifted an eyebrow. “Are you coming on to me?”

Belial rolled his eyes. “Vanity does not befit an archangel.”

“Your crappy phrasing isn’t my fault.”

“I am interested in your wife.”

I went very still. Anger crept up my stomach, spilled through my arms and my spine until it consumed my entire person. But this wasn’t the time or the place for it, so I merely sat back in the chair and crossed my arms.

Belial continued now that he had gotten my undivided attention. “I have made it clear to her and so I will do the same for you.”

“I’d consider that a chivalric gesture if you actually had a chance with her,” I replied with a sneer. “So what’s your point? Do you want to have a duel? I’d be happy to whip out a glove and smack you with it.”

He ignored my sarcasm. “I am telling you this because up until this point, I have played by the rules. Once this case has been resolved, I will not stop until she is mine. I felt it necessary to inform you because I don’t want you to cry foul once I’ve made my move.”

“So this is your version of being fair?”

“Yes.”

“That’s damn civil of you, Belial. I wish you all the luck in the world.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re not taking me seriously.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m taking you seriously,” I said, permitting some of the fury to slip through into my voice. “But I already know how this story ends so if you want to play mind games, try it with somebody more insecure. I know what you’re doing. I’ve known for a while. You’re trying to play Jordan and me against each other because you think that I’ll break her heart and she’ll come looking for you. If you’re waiting for that to happen, better grab a book ‘cause you’re gonna be waiting for eternity.”

“That is one thing you archangels never learned. Your victories are always handed to you, and so you no longer appreciate patience. You’re always concerned with the battles, never the war. I see the big picture. Sooner or later, she will give in to me. It’s just a matter of time.”

“Are you sure you’re not mistaking your arrogance for patience?”

The cold smile on his lips stretched. “Quite sure. Do we understand each other, archangel?”

“Perfectly.”

“Excellent.” Then he picked up his book and opened it as if we hadn’t just been talking about him planning to steal my wife. Wonders never ceased.

I took a deep breath to settle my rattled nerves and fished the laptop out of my backpack. After a minute or so, the demon spoke again.

“And for the record, I was coming on to you.”

“Shut up and read, Belial.”

* * *

THE PLANE ARRIVED at Guarulhos International Airport at half-past five in the afternoon. As soon as we landed, I tried to call Jordan and let her know we were on the ground, but her phone went straight to voicemail. It worried me, but I pushed past my paranoia and focused on the task at hand.

Belial arranged for his people to wait for the rogue angel’s arrival. He left the States hours ahead of us so we would be playing catch up, but hopefully not by too much. The demon’s henchmen spotted him hitching a ride into a small city outside of downtown São Paulo. They would report back when they knew where he got off. For now, Belial and I were headed for a hotel to wait for their call.

We split a taxi to the Hilton at Morumbi—a wealthy district of São Paulo that was several miles from downtown. I had taken care of paying for the flight so Belial booked two rooms right next door to each other. I knew it would be fruitless to insist that we stay in a less opulent place. Belial was oddly like Gabriel in that he believed in taking advantage of luxury whenever there was an opportunity. He had amassed a fortune over the centuries in business ventures and economic advisement. He used different names and different bodies, but the money always stayed close at hand.

I slipped the doorman a generous tip as he left, then went to the window to look out at the city below. We were on the tenth floor of the shimmering silver hotel and so I could see for miles. I’d never been in this part of the city before. The São Paulo I knew was not the decadent part, but rather the seedy underbelly where honest people struggled to get by. Crime was thick in this town, both the blue and white-collar sort. The city had made progress over the years, but some things would never change no matter how pretty you dressed it up.

Belial remained in the doorway, calling over to me. “Don’t get too comfy. I expect my men will be calling soon.”

“Got it.”

“Heard from the wife yet?”

I turned my head and frowned at him. He chuckled. “Forget I asked. Até logo, archangel.”

With that, he shut the door behind him. I shook my head and shrugged out of my jacket, tossing it on the bed. It was a shame I had to be here under such unpleasant circumstances. I had thought about taking Jordan to Brazil someday. Going to Edmonton was the first time she had ever left America. She still hadn’t been to Madrid, her mother’s birthplace, and I wanted to take her there for our official honeymoon after the wedding. Jordan thought it was silly to make a Bucket List, but I secretly kept one in my head for her. Our lives were hectic, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t have a few dreams left in us.

I unpacked the notebook containing the lyrics to my songs and started editing. I became completely consumed in the work until I glanced at my watch. I had been sitting here an hour with no word from Belial. Suspicious.

I closed my eyes and let my energy flood out of me. He hadn’t left his room. I could feel his presence there, which meant the rogue angel was still en route to wherever he was going. Or maybe Belial’s henchmen had run into trouble. I hoped it was the former rather than the latter. We couldn’t find the rogue angel’s energy ourselves because he had learned to mask it, making him blend in with everyone else. Most experienced angels and demons knew how to do that, but the Seers unfortunately could not mask their energy without being taught how. I had taught Jordan how to do it a while back, but she wasn’t an expert just yet. It took a certain amount of control that she was still working on.

A few minutes later, there was a knock at my door. I opened it to find Belial in casual clothing, which was rare for him because he mostly wore suits. I suspected it was to prevent drawing too much attention to himself. He wore a white button-up shirt and black jeans. It bears mentioning that the ensemble probably cost just under five hundred dollars.

“Looks like this is taking longer than I thought,” he said. “I propose we find ourselves some food and get acquainted with the local culture.”

I eyed him. It sounded like the reasonable thing to do, which made me even more wary than usual of him. “Right.”

I went back into the hotel room and grabbed my jacket as well as the card for the room. I closed the door behind me and followed the demon to the elevator. It still struck me as surreal that I was traveling with one of my enemies as if we were friends. Then again, long ago, Belial had been one of my brothers. I never told Jordan, but before the Fall I had even liked Belial. Back in Heaven, he was very popular among the other angels because of his eloquence. Being around him again reminded me of those days before everything had literally gone to Hell.

“What sort of food are you feeling?” the demon said once we had reached the lobby of the hotel. “There are some American restaurants around this area, but I know of some good local places if you want that instead.”

“I can eat American food whenever I want. Let’s go local.”

“Very well.” We both stood on the sidewalk and flagged down a cab. Belial gave the driver our destination—a Brazilian steakhouse—and we were off. A while later, we stopped in front of a crowded place with a red tower and Fogo de Chão in black letters. Belial gave the name James Brennan, one of his known aliases, to the maitre’d, who nearly tripped over himself welcoming us. The demon had definitely worked this area before.

The interior was nearly all wood—from the floors to the chairs—and chandeliers hung from the ceiling above the tables. The areas were open rather than arranged with booths like at other places. I had heard about Brazilian steakhouses before and couldn’t pretend like I wasn’t interested in trying the food and the infamous All-You-Can-Eat carved meats.

A waiter came up and showed us to our seats. He explained how the restaurant worked, with little cards that had a green side to indicate you wanted more food and a red side to indicate you’d had enough. Belial ordered a glass of wine while I went for a soda. I didn’t drink while working. Maybe later, after we’d caught the murderer.

“So what’s the game plan after my men find the rogue angel?” Belial asked, crossing his arms and meeting my gaze.

I folded my hands on the table. “Recovering the page from the Book of Time is my first priority. You’ll be the one more concentrated on stopping him.”

“You don’t want to exact revenge yourself?”

“This isn’t about revenge. It’s about justice.”

“Bullshit.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t pretend like this isn’t personal. You may have Jordan fooled, but I know you better than you think. You want this man dead for hurting your wife.”

“Are you sure you’re not projecting your feelings onto me?”

The humor slid out of Belial’s face. I could tell I had gotten close to the central issue, at the very least. “I find it cute that you think I still have feelings.”

It was my turn to smirk. “I know you too, James. You also have Jordan fooled into thinking that this is all about power and possession.”

“Fine. What do you think I want?”

“I know you want power, probably more than anyone save your master, but the way you’ve fixated on Jordan makes me think there’s more going on than you want to admit.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You forget that I knew Zora.”

His posture stiffened, but his expression never changed. “So?”

“They have a lot of the same traits. Maybe you do want Jordan and maybe you remember what it was like having Zora around and you miss her.”

“Careful,” Belial said, his voice soft but threatening. “To imply that I miss a mere human might inspire me to break the agreement we have in place.”

The waiter returned with Belial’s selection of wine and poured him a glass. Red wine, of course, to go with the red meat. He continued staring at me as if he wanted to tear my throat out and drink my blood instead. Even in the crowded restaurant, I could feel his hostile energy pouring off of him in waves. I’d definitely struck a nerve. Good. Belial delighted in playing head-games with me, but he often forgot I could do the same thing to him.

“How’s the wine?”

“Delicious,” he answered after a sip, setting the glass down on the table and waving the waiter away. One of the many gaucho chefs moving about the restaurant came by with the first selection of meat, which he introduced as picanha—a type of top sirloin. The intense conversation dropped for a minute or two while we ate the delectable food.

“You should know I intend to use lethal force,” Belial said after a while. The anger had disappeared, replaced with that unnerving calm he was a master of, even while saying or doing terrible things. “Are you sure you won’t stop me at the last minute? Edmond is one of you, after all.”

“He was one of us,” I corrected. “We now have to consider him to be one of the Fallen. I won’t hesitate and I won’t try to save him.”

A ghost of a smile touched Belial’s lips. “That sounds rather cold for an angel. Shouldn’t you be offering him a chance to repent? Isn’t forgiveness part of your whole heavenly schtick?”

I shook my head. “He lost that chance when he confronted Gabriel. It’s too late.”

“So you’re saying there are some sins one can commit that are unforgivable?” the demon simpered. “How un-angelic of you.”

I frowned. He was pushing my buttons and I knew it, but it still annoyed me. “I’m not saying he’s unforgivable, but he has to be held accountable for his actions. The rules in place for angels are different from the ones for humans. You’re oversimplifying the entire process.”

“Perhaps, but you seem to be handling this situation like a demon. Conspiring with the enemy to eliminate a target, use of lethal force, hunting him down like an animal…maybe you and I are more alike than you think.”

“Are you really trying that cliché on me?”

Belial shrugged. “Sometimes clichés are based on facts, my friend.”

I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying, “I’m not your friend.” It should have been easy to shake off his words, but I couldn’t manage it. Our current methods were less noble than usual when fighting evil. I had gotten my hands dirty before many times, but never against one of my brothers. Maybe, just maybe, Belial had a point.

The chefs continued bringing us different types of meat and I got pretty full by the time Belial’s cell phone finally rang. I watched with trepidation as he answered it, saying “yes” a few times before hanging up.

“Was it your men?”

Belial merely smiled and flagged down our waiter. “Check, please. We’ve got a murder to commit.”

Chapter 15

Jordan

I WAS SITTING on the couch watching T.V. when the doorbell rang and nearly scared me out of my seat. It took me a second to calm down. Ever since the rogue angel, whenever I heard a doorbell or someone knocking, I jumped out of my skin. Great. First, an intense fear of cats thanks to Belial, and now doorbells. I really was a nut job.

There wasn’t a UPS or FedEx guy outside when I checked the peephole. In fact, there was no one there at all. When I opened the door, I found a small box sitting on the welcome mat. I glanced up and down the hallway, but still didn’t see anyone. The box had my name and apartment number on it. No return address. Curious.

I picked it up and shut the door, locking it before taking the box into the kitchen. It wasn’t very heavy, but there was something solid inside. Maybe a gift from Michael to cheer me up while I waited for him to come home? He sometimes did sweet little things like this to make me feel better when he had to travel.

I pulled the tape off the sides, opened the box, and found a white card on top of a cluster of tissue paper. The front of the card had my name in capital letters, nothing else. I flipped it open and read.

Since Mr. Wallace was kind enough to lend you a hand, I thought you might like to keep it.

-L.B.

“What the hell?” I muttered, poking through the tissue paper to see what was inside. The thin tissue parted to reveal something pale and almost waxy looking. For a second, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing because I didn’t want to, but reality tore through my mind and made me realize I was staring at a man’s severed hand. The thick fingers and the silver class ring were a dead giveaway.

Wallace’s right hand.

Lamont had given me Wallace’s hand.

Revulsion, disgust, and sheer panic crept up my stomach. I stumbled over to the sink just in time to vomit. Stomach acid burned my throat as I retched, tears streaming from my eyes, sobs clogging my lungs like poisonous gas. A hand. He sent me a human hand and it was all my fault.

I clutched the sink as I began to hyperventilate. My shoulders quaked as I fumbled for my cell phone, hitting speed dial. The phone rang and I could hear myself hoarsely chanting, “Oh God, pick up, please God, pick up the phone…”

“Hello?”

“G-Gabriel, please, I need you…I need someone…it’s all my fault,” I whispered in between gasping sobs, sinking onto the floor as my knees gave out.

“Jordan, what’s happening? Are you hurt?”

“He s-sent me his hand. I did this to him. Oh God, it’s all my fault!”

“Where are you?”

“At t-the apartment.”

“Stay there. I’ll be over as soon as I can.” He hung up. I dropped the phone, clutching my ribs as they started to ache from the lack of air in my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. I was going to suffocate. All my fault. All my fault.

I couldn’t tell how much time had passed between the phone call and Gabriel rushing through my front door. My entire body had broken into uncontrollable shudders and I couldn’t speak because the lump in my throat had gotten too big.

Gabriel knelt in front of me, gripping my face in his large hands, his voice soft and soothing. “Jordan, look at me. You have to calm down or you’ll go into shock.”

I shook my head. “Can’t. Can’t do this anymore. I can’t.”

He swore under his breath and scooped me up in his arms, carrying me over to the couch. He took off his suit jacket and draped it around my shoulders before pulling me into his arms, rubbing my back in slow circles and murmuring that everything would be okay. I cried into his chest, clutching the front of his shirt and wishing my husband was here.

“Apple cinnamon or lemon?”

“Apple cinnamon,” I mumbled. Gabriel placed the tea bag in the mug of hot water sitting on my coffee table. He went to the kitchen and brought me some sugar. I watched the red from the tea stain the clear liquid and shuddered, tugging Gabriel’s massive suit jacket tighter around my shoulders. Maybe I should have chosen lemon.

Once the tea settled, I poured in some sugar and blew on the cup before taking a careful sip. My hands only shook a little as I held the mug up to my lips. Gabriel sat down beside me and we drank in silence for a couple minutes. I broke first.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “For all of this. I didn’t mean to drag you into it.”

“Jordan…you do realize you just apologized to me for having a panic attack after some sick criminal sent you a human hand in the mail,” Gabriel replied.

I winced. It did sound silly when put into words. “Yeah, but you were probably doing something important before you came here—”

“Jordan, stop it,” he snapped. “You are not just some girl to me. You are family. My family. It is my duty to help you in any way I can. You don’t need to feel guilty every time you need help dealing with something.”

“I can’t help it, Gabriel. You’re an archangel. There are literally millions of people who need you more than I do.”

“The people of the world don’t need me and me alone. That’s what my brothers and sisters are for. Trust me, we’ve got them covered to our best ability. Now tell me who did this so I can rip him in half.”

“It’s Lamont,” I said, pushing stray strands of hair out of my eyes. “He’s sending a message. I told one of his flunkies to back off my dad and he didn’t take it well. I figured there would be ramifications, but this…this is something I’ve never seen before. I’ve seen the demons do horrible things, but this is barbaric. I have to do something about it. Lewis won’t stand a chance against someone who would butcher a guy just for talking.”

“Well, first, we must act logically. I have a friend who can take a look at the hand and give us some clues as to who this man is. We need to stop the problem at the source.”

“We?”

“Yes, we. You didn’t think you were going to take on a loan shark in Detroit by yourself, did you?”

“Not exactly.”

“Good. All we need to do is find out who he really is and end this.”

I checked my watch. “Are you sure we can do that in twelve hours? That’s how long Lewis has before his time limit is up. They’ll come for him and me.”

Gabriel flashed me a dangerous smirk. “I’d like to see them try.”

He pushed my cell phone towards me. “Call your father. Find out where he is. We need to get him somewhere safe before we make our move.”

“Thank you,” I said, unable to keep my voice from wavering a bit. “I don’t deserve a brother like you.”

He lifted my hand and kissed it, smiling. “Think nothing of it, my dear. Make the call.”

I picked up the phone and went into the kitchen to find my duster. I’d tucked Lewis’ card into one of the pockets for safekeeping. Taking a deep breath, I dialed his number and drummed my fingers on the back of the chair as I listened to it ring. Finally, on the fifth one, someone picked up.

“Hi, my name is Jordan Amador. Is Lewis there?”

“Yes, but he’s not available at the moment.”

“Okay. Could you have him call me back at this number? It’s important.”

“Oh, I’m not sure that’s going to be possible. He’s scheduled to be shot in the head in six hours.”

I froze. It took me a couple of seconds to regain composure. “Who is this?”

The male voice on the phone was silky and pleasant, but I could tell it was just a façade. “I take it you got my present, Mrs. Amador.”

My fingers clutched the chair. “Yes. What have you done with Lewis?”

“My boys and I picked him up from the airport. We’re just now leaving.”

“What do you want?”

“My pound of flesh,” he sneered. “Your Daddy’s gonna pay with cash or blood. You’d better hope he’s got the green, little girl.”

Anger bubbled up through my chest, chasing away the fear. “If you hurt him, I swear to God, I’ll make you pay.”

“Is that a threat? Hmm, maybe I’ll send you another present. A foot, perhaps?”

“This is not a game,” I hissed. “You let him go right now or heaven help me, I’ll kill you myself.”

“Sorry, but I don’t have time to die. I’ve got money to make. Stay in school, sweetheart.”

He hung up. I screamed and kicked the chair over.

Gabriel rushed to my side, apprehensive. “What happened?”

“They already have him. Or at least that’s what the creep on the phone said,” I said in a low voice. “And he’s changed the deadline from twelve hours to six. We have to get to Lewis now. It doesn’t matter if they get the money or not—they’ll still kill him.”

Gabriel dialed away on his phone. “I can have my friend here in fifteen minutes. Pack an overnight bag. I’ll get the jet ready for a flight to Detroit.”

I went into my bedroom and threw some clothes into a duffel bag. I was halfway through stuffing soap into my toiletry bag when I realized there were tears on my cheeks. Shit.

Exactly fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang. Gabriel answered it, opening the door to reveal a short Hispanic woman in her fifties. She had curly salt-and-pepper hair, wore a crisp blue pants suit, and carried a large brown bag in her left hand.

Gabriel shut the door and waved her towards the kitchen table. “Jordan, this is Molly. Molly, this is Jordan.”

She gave me one brief nod. “What am I looking at?”

I pointed to the box and leaned against the counter, averting my gaze as she pulled on a pair of gloves and pushed the tissue aside. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her use a pair of forceps to pick up the severed hand and hold it up into the bright overhead light.

“Judging by the state of it, I’d say it was done less than twenty-four hours ago,” she said in a calm, clinical voice. “Neat, too. One clean chop, didn’t saw it off like in the movies. The wound at the wrist makes me think a cleaver.”

I swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “How is that helpful?”

“Well, every little detail tells us something. We’re working with professional brutes here. Some bad guys are sloppy, but this is precise. The lack of blood in the box means they knew to let the limb bleed out for a while before packaging it. I’ll dust for prints in just a moment, but I probably won’t find any,” she said as Gabriel cleaned off the table so she could set out some of her tools.

She took out a mounted magnifying glass, a small brush, a black light, an unidentified powder, an inkpad, and a sheet of paper. Carefully, she dusted the severed hand for prints, then the tissue paper and the box. She then pressed the fingertips into the ink and made prints on the blank sheet of paper to later run through a criminal database. After that, she used the handheld black light over the hand. Nothing appeared.

“Hmm,” she mumbled as she held the box underneath the black light.

I walked over, curious. “What? Is that a good ‘hmm’?”

“Maybe,” Molly said, peering at the bottom of the cardboard box. I could make out a small spot that the light showed.

“Someone sat this box on top of a bit of cologne. Smells expensive. I’ll get a sample and run it in my lab. I’ll call you with the results. Detroit’s roughly four hours away and I can tell you where to head by the time you’ve landed.”

“So you’re saying you can help us narrow down our guy with cologne?” I asked, teetering on the edge of uncertainty.

She glanced at me. “These guys may be professionals, but they’re not perfect. If this Lamont guy is a big wig in his town, he’ll be rich, bourgeois, and well-dressed. The cologne is probably something imported, something rare. That kind of thing is traceable.”

“Good to know. Thank you for your help.”

She shrugged. “Any friend of Gabe’s is a friend of mine. I’ll get this down to the lab ASAP. You guys get in the air as soon as you can.”

“Thank you, Molly,” Gabriel and I chorused. She packed up her equipment and the hand, then left.

Gabriel turned to me, his eyes searching my face. “Are you ready to do this?”

A weak smile touched my lips. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”

“Probably not,” he admitted. “But I had to ask. You’re in enough trouble as it is. If you wanted to stay home, I wouldn’t blame you.”

“No. He’s my family. I have to help him.”

“Things will probably get nasty.”

“Nasty is a nice step up from what we usually deal with.”

Gabriel smiled. “Sad, but true. But you have to do one thing for me before we go.”

“What?”

He rested his hands on my shoulders. “On the phone, when you called me…you said that this was your fault. It’s not.”

I shook my head. “If I hadn’t sent Wallace back to Detroit—”

“—he still would have met a similar fate. If he worked for someone like Lamont, then his comeuppance would have happened one way or another. Guilt is not going to help you save your father. Guilt breeds doubt. We cannot afford doubt right now. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but you must let this go and accept that getting your hands dirty is part of being a Seer, and part of doing the right thing.”

“I just don’t want to be responsible for any more deaths, Gabe,” I whispered. “Is that too much to ask?”

He brushed a lock of hair behind my ear. “No, it’s not. But you can only control yourself, not others. Remember that.”

He kissed my forehead and stepped away, his voice hardening with resolve.

“Let’s go save your father.”

Chapter 16

Michael

WE TOOK A cab to Jandira, a municipality of São Paulo where Edmond had been spotted. The entire ride was spent in a taut silence. We kept our eyes sharp for anything out of the ordinary. Darkness closed over the sky and made it harder to see so my other senses became increasingly hyperactive.

When I stepped out of the cab, I felt a sense of dread as I observed the street where we had stopped. The road stretched for miles into a heavily populated neighborhood. There were teenagers leaning against the walls of the buildings, laughing, talking, and playing on their cell phones. I even spotted a couple of children playing jump rope under a dim streetlight. After all, it was only around eight o’clock here.

“This is going to be even more difficult than I thought,” I said to Belial, who merely shrugged and rifled through his pockets for a moment. He withdrew a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, firing up a coffin nail and exhaling the smoke with a relieved sigh. He couldn’t smoke in the cab and I could tell he’d been jonesing for one ever since we left the restaurant.

“We don’t have time for discretion, archangel. Let your flunkies clean up the mess once we’re done. Now let’s get to work.”

He tucked one hand in his pocket and started walking. I almost asked him where we were headed, but then he wandered over to a group of teenage girls before I could say anything.

“Excuse me,” he said in Portuguese to the nearest girl—a pretty brunette. “But I’m looking for someone’s apartment.”

Belial held up his cell phone to display the address. “Would you please tell me where this is?”

The girl smiled. “Sure. It’s three blocks down on the left, tio.”

Belial’s smile wilted. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. In Portuguese, younger girls used “tio” as a slang term for an older gentleman. It had definitely landed a blow on the demon’s ego.

I stepped closer, jumping in before he could say anything rude. “Do you know who lives there?”

The girl paused. “My friend Maria babysits a little girl there. I can’t remember her parents’ first names, but I think the girl is Juliana. The name on the mailbox is Freitas.”

Belial and I shared a look. We really didn’t need an innocent bystander to get mixed up in this mess. We nodded to the girls and headed down the street in a hurry, though not in a full run because it would spook the neighbors.

The Freitas family lived on the second floor near the rear of the building. Thankfully, there weren’t people around when we climbed the stairs and found their front door. I took a deep, calming breath and tried the knob. Unlocked. Damn it.

Belial reached for the holster under his arm and withdrew his gun, a Smith and Wesson .9mm that held seventeen rounds of blessed bullets. It could certainly get the job done if we got the drop on Edmond. Getting a body from the demons was a mixed bag. We hadn’t been able to find him, but it also meant he shared their vulnerabilities. The element of surprise was our most important asset right now.

I opened the door and the pounding thrum of capoeira music spilled out of the apartment. The smell of gasoline permeated the air, confirming the rogue angel’s presence. I could see a modest den with a couch, a bookshelf, and an old record player spinning in the corner. Belial went in first, his gun held high, his pale eyes scanning the room. I closed the door behind us and nodded to the doorway towards our left. Belial headed that way, and I heard him utter a curse before I followed him in.

A young girl, no more than sixteen, lay sprawled on the floor face-up. I rushed to her side, checking her pulse and finding nothing. The bulge in her throat and bruised skin were tell-tale signs that he’d broken her neck.

“Son of a bitch,” I whispered, resting my hand on her forehead and saying a brief prayer for her soul. I rifled through her pockets and found a small wallet, confirming the girl to be Maria Guerrera, the babysitter. The parents didn’t appear to be home. One of them had to be the Seer Edmond was looking for. What had he done with the daughter?

Belial went out of the kitchen and walked through the den with me at his heels. I stretched my energy outward to feel for the rogue angel. Even with his energy masked, close proximity allowed me to sense him. It was faint, but I caught a signature in one of the bedrooms down the hall.

“Last one on the right,” I said to the demon. He reached for the doorknob. Locked.

“On three,” he mouthed. I took the spot across from him, raising my fingers one by one.

On three, we both kicked in the door. It smashed against the wall, revealing a small bedroom with purple walls and blue curtains that had teddy bear patterns on them. Edmond Saraf stood beside the bed with a girl no more than four years old in his arms. She had short, curly brown hair, dark eyes, and stared at us with confusion and fear on her tearstained face. She appeared unharmed, but Edmond held a knife underneath her chin as he watched us. Judging by the power coming off it, he’d acquired a special weapon, one the demons used to destroy angels’ bodies.

“Let her go,” I demanded, already filling my body with energy to attack him.

Edmond shook his head, his voice soft. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, brother.”

Righteous fury billowed inside me. “Don’t you call me that. No brother of mine would murder an innocent girl and take a child hostage. Have you forgotten where you’re from? Have you forgotten everything we angels are charged with in this life?”

“I have not forgotten. We are charged with protecting mankind. Sometimes to keep everyone safe, certain individuals must be sacrificed.”

I shook my head. “That doesn’t justify your actions. You should have come to me if you discovered a great calamity.”

“I am but a humble Scribe. You are the Prince of Heaven’s Army. Such a task is beneath you and so I took it upon myself to carry out my mission. Besides, you are married to a human. You would not have the will to do as I have done.”

I gritted my teeth. “You’re right. I would never kill the people I am sworn to protect. Now let the child go or Belial will drop you where you stand.”

“I cannot.”

I glanced at the demon. “Can you make the shot?”

“Not without hurting the girl,” Belial answered, aiming the gun steadily at Edmond’s head. “I am bound by demonic law not to harm anyone but him.”

“I’m curious as to what your plan is,” he continued, addressing Edmond. “Will you kidnap the child to get her Seer parents to willingly give themselves up?”

“Once again, you misunderstand. I’m not after her parents. Juliana is a Seer.”

I went still. “What? But she’s just a baby. That’s impossible.”

“If the angels are retranslating the Book of Time as I suspect they are, you’ll find that I am right. I must do this, Michael. A thousand lives are at stake. I am sorry.”

“No,” I said slowly. “Not yet, you’re not.”

I looked at Belial and he met my eyes for the briefest second before we both yelled, “Strike!”

Two shards of energy flew through the air and hit Edmond in the arms simultaneously. He cried out, dropping the child. She fell on the floor, wailing, and Belial opened fire. I dove for the girl, snatching her out of the rogue angel’s reach. Edmond threw up his energy shield and the bullets bounced off it, ricocheting into the walls. He dove for the bedroom door, smashing into the wall in the hallway as Belial gave chase. Now alone, I slid the closet door open and placed Juliana inside.

“Mamãe! Eu quero mamãe!” the child sobbed. I cradled her face in my hands, making her look at me.

“Stay here, Juliana,” I whispered in Portuguese. “No matter what happens, stay here. I’ll get you back to your mom, I promise.” I kissed her forehead and pulled the closet door closed, then raced towards the den where I could hear Belial and the rogue angel fighting.

Edmond had Belial on his knees in a chokehold, knocking picture frames down as they struggled against the far wall.

“Where’s the gun?” I yelled.

“K-Kitchen,” Belial rasped, ramming his elbow into Edmond’s side over and over to try to get himself loose. I ran into the kitchen and found that the gun had gotten tossed under the table in the melee. I checked the chambers and found only four rounds left. Shit!

I hurried back to the den, aimed the gun at Edmond’s head, and pulled the trigger twice. He ducked. The bullets missed by mere inches, biting into the wall behind him. He grabbed Belial by the arm and threw him at me. I tried to dodge, but Belial crashed into me, sending us backwards into the bookcase and knocking the record player over. The music stopped and everything suddenly felt much more real.

Ignoring the pain lancing through my back and shoulders, I shoved myself upward and shot at the rogue angel again, but he recovered the knife he’d had and threw it at me. I ducked, which gave him enough time to kick the gun out of my hands. It landed with a heavy thunk on the carpet several feet away.

I shoved the dazed Belial off my lap and brought up my forearms in a block as Edmond brought his heel down on my head in a powerful kick. I grabbed a broken chunk of the bookshelf and hit him in the left thigh, giving me a couple of seconds to stand as he stumbled backwards, hissing in pain.

I helped Belial up and we both attacked. Edmond went into a defensive stance for the first few seconds of the vicious onslaught, blocking our kicks and punches with amazing speed, but I could see him beginning to tire. I aimed a kick at his left knee and it connected, forcing him to kneel. Belial executed a perfect roundhouse kick to the side of his face, knocking him down for a couple of seconds. The rogue angel spat blood onto the carpet and dove into a forward roll when we both tried to kick him. He pushed to his feet and reached into the pocket of his leather jacket, withdrawing a lighter.

I lunged for him as he threw it in the corner of the room, tackling him off his feet. To my horror, the lighter hit the baseboard and sparked a fire that quickly spread, tracing the line of gasoline the rogue angel had poured through the entire place.

“Belial!”

“On it,” the demon answered, tearing off his duster and trying to beat out the flames as they spread.

I wrapped my hands around Edmond’s neck and jerked him close, unable to stop the rage coursing through my veins at finally having the elusive bastard in my grip.

“You tried to kill the woman I love,” I hissed into his face. “You will not leave this place alive.”

“If that is my fate, then so be it.”

He moved his left arm and that was when I saw it. I’d tackled him too close to where the gun had flown. He pressed the muzzle against my left shoulder and pulled the trigger.

I screamed as pain ripped through my entire upper body and collapsed onto my back, clutching the bloody wound. It hurt so bad that bile rose in my throat.

Edmond stood over me with the gun as I struggled onto my knees. I tried to push up onto my feet, but my left arm crumpled under my body like a useless twig. He pulled the trigger. It clicked empty, giving me just enough time to grab the knife on the floor and make one last-ditch effort to stop him.

I plunged the knife into his stomach. The gun clunked to the floor. Hot blood poured from the wound onto my skin, painting it a dark red like some sort of sickening sculpture. For a few seconds, we just stood there staring at each other, inches apart. I expected to see fear in his brown eyes, but all I found was acceptance.

The front door burst open and I heard the muffled voices of men in uniforms screaming, “Polícia!” through my ringing ears. I didn’t even flinch, too absorbed in the moment. Edmond sunk to the floor with the knife in his belly, still staring at me and saying nothing.

Slowly, I lifted my hands in surrender and got on my knees as a numb feeling climbed up my body. Finally, I had stopped him. I had taken revenge on the man who tried to kill my wife. I should have felt something—relief, pride, satisfaction—but instead I felt nothing.

Curious.

Jordan

* * *

DETROIT METRO AIRPORT bustled with activity and the hurried pace of the travelers made me even more anxious than I already was. Thankfully, Gabriel was on hand to keep me calm and assure me we would find Lewis in time.

He stood on the sidewalk next to me dialing Molly’s number while I tried to flag down a cab driver. We didn’t know where we were going, but we would need a ride and it was damned hard to get one right now with all these people around.

After several tries, I managed to get a cab. I tossed our duffel bags in the back, telling the driver to give us a moment to figure out where we were going. Gabriel beckoned me when he got through to Molly, putting the call on speakerphone so I could hear.

“Based on the high quality ingredients of the cologne, I was able to narrow it down to a perfume called Buena Suerte. It’s imported from Spain and there’s only one place that supplies it in the Detroit area. I’ll text you the address in just a moment.”

“Thank you, Molly. Let us know if anything else comes up.”

“I will.” Gabriel hung up and took a deep breath.

“Alright, here is how this is going to work,” Gabriel said. “We have to get over to that store and find out who orders the cologne, who picks it up, and if there is an address attached. That should lead us to one of his lackeys and if we give him a good shakedown, we should be able to find Lamont’s headquarters. That is when I’ll call my friend at the precinct and see if we can get some officers down there.”

His phone vibrated a moment later with a text from Molly. We got into the cab, heading into the city. Luckily, the place wasn’t very far so the ride was short. We got out on the corner, paid the driver to wait again, and paused to come up with a game plan.

“They’re probably not going to give up this info easily,” I said. “We’re either gonna have to bribe or sweet-talk it out of them. And I’m guessing you’re better at seducing female sales clerks than I am.”

Gabriel offered me a faint smile. “Sadly, that is more up Michael’s alley than mine, but I will try my best.”

“Good man. Let’s go.”

Gabriel had of course been too modest. The clerk fell in love with him on sight and he managed to schmooze the location of our henchman out of her. He was aptly named Jules Winnfield, another Pulp Fiction alias that proved we were on the right track.

We left the shop and climbed back into the cab, heading for the address the sales associate had given us. We pulled up in front of an apartment complex a few blocks away. The cab driver required a little more convincing to stick around this time. The neighborhood looked decidedly rough.

There were clusters of teenagers hanging out under busted streetlights and rusted cars parked next to broken meters. This was the first time I’d ever felt I’d be better off without Gabriel. His unusual height and exceptionally nice clothing had the potential to draw attention from the wrong kinds of people.

As we ascended the five flights of stairs to Jules’ place, I couldn’t help asking Gabriel something that had been bothering me since we left the perfume shop.

“So…I’ve never seen you intimidate someone before,” I said, trying my best to sound polite rather than insulting. “How does that work exactly?”

He glanced at me, lifting his eyebrows. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

I offered a sheepish smile. “Sorry, but you’ve been nothing but nice to me ever since I met you. I can’t imagine you threatening someone.”

He shook his head. “That’s because I’ve made a point to remain pleasant in your company. I didn’t want your opinion of me to change if you saw me interrogate someone. I may not care what many people think, but I do care what you think.”

“Geez. It’s that bad?”

He sighed. “Let’s just say it’s not a part I enjoy playing.”

We reached the fifth floor and walked over to the last door on the right, Apartment 547. I took a deep breath and lifted my hand to knock, but Gabriel caught it, making me look at him.

“No matter what I say in here, remember that it’s just a bluff. Okay?”

“Okay.” He let go and I knocked on the door. A moment of silence followed before the door opened, revealing a tall, thin white man with tousled hair and a scraggly five o’clock shadow. Guess the nickname was ironic.

He leaned against the doorjamb, lifting his eyebrows at us. “Can I help you?”

“Mr. Jules?”

He eyed Gabriel. “Who’s asking?”

“A couple of concerned citizens,” the archangel replied in a flat voice.

Jules glanced between the two of us and his expression hardened. “If you two are cops, I got nothin’ to say to you. And you can’t come in without a warrant, so I suggest you kick rocks.”

He tried to slam the door, but Gabriel caught it with one large hand.

“Have you ever loved anyone, Mr. Jules?”

“What the hell are you talking about? Let go!”

“Because that’s why we’re here. We need answers and you just so happen to be the one who can provide them.”

“I’m not kidding, man. Let go of the door or I will fuck you up.”

“This is going to go one of two ways, Mr. Jules. One, you let us in, answer our questions and we leave. Or two, you don’t answer them, and I make you.”

“That’s it.” Jules let go of the door and reached for the small of his back. I didn’t wait to see what he pulled. I drew my gun and pointed it between his eyes. He froze, shocked that I’d done it so fast.

“Back away from the door.”

He stepped backward and we walked inside, closing the door behind us.

I motioned towards his midsection with the gun. “Turn around. Slowly.”

Jules glowered at me but obliged. I lifted up the hem of his t-shirt and took the rather sizeable handgun tucked into his jeans. I checked to make sure the safety was on and stashed it in the largest pocket of my duster.

Jules faced us again. “You ain’t cops. I can tell. They don’t dress like you around here. So what d’you want? You here to rob me? ‘Cause if you are, you ain’t gonna get far.”

“We don’t have time for your questions, Mr. Jules,” Gabriel said. “We’re on a deadline, after all. All we need you to do is tell us where Lamont Brooks is and then we’ll be on our way.”

At the mention of Lamont’s name, Jules shook his head.

“Shoot me.”

My eyes widened. “What?”

“I’m not answerin’ shit. Shoot me, because he’ll do worse if I talk.”

I glanced at Gabriel. His eyes had the same spark of interest as mine. This guy wasn’t being loyal because he liked Lamont—he was flat-out scared of him. Had Wallace been the same way?

“What if he doesn’t know you told us?” I asked.

“He’s got ears everywhere. There’s no way he wouldn’t find out, somehow. I’m in too deep, so you can either kill me or torture me or whatever you like because I’m not talking.”

Gabriel grabbed two handfuls of Jules’ shirt and shoved him against the far wall so fast that I jumped. He held him there, dangling inches off the floor, and addressed him with a cold voice that scared me half to death.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Jules swallowed hard. “Y-Yeah.”

“Very well. Where would you like to start? If you’ve got a good strong chair, we could try water boarding.”

Sweat beaded on Jules’ brow. Gabriel adopted a positively evil smile.

“No, no, that’s much too cliché. Perhaps I could drop you out the window. The fall wouldn’t kill you—just break your legs. I’m sure Lamont would love to know how you got that limp.”

Jules said nothing, but I could see him getting sweatier as the archangel kept going.

“Y’know, there is this new thing I’ve been wanting to try. You tie someone down, put a bag of ice on his forehead, and leave it there. The shock to your blood vessels causes a pain so intense you’ll be begging me to drop you out of the window.”

Once again, Jules kept his mouth shut and so Gabriel pressed on. “Then again, I could have my friend here just shoot you and then you’d bleed to death. People watch too many movies these days. They think getting shot means instant death, but actually only a percentage of people die on the spot. Most people bleed out for hours. How long do you think it’ll take you, Mr. Jules?”

Gabriel glanced at me with a completely serious face. “Aim for the gut.”

He dropped him. Jules stumbled, clutching the wall behind him. Gabriel stepped back and I pointed the gun at Jules’ midsection.

“Make sure not to hit the spine. Don’t want to end the party early.”

Just as my finger slid over the trigger, the thin man broke, waving his hands. “Don’t! I’ll talk. Just don’t shoot me, please.”

I met eyes with Gabriel, who nodded, and lowered the gun, though I kept it in my hand just to be safe. “Where would Lamont take someone he’s thinking about killing?” I asked.

Jules winced, glancing nervously at Gabriel. “Look, I’ll talk, but can you just…let me talk to her? I can’t think with you staring at me.”

Gabriel glared at him until I touched his arm. He looked at me and I nodded towards the kitchen behind us. He disappeared around the corner.

Jules let out a shaky sigh, sagging against the side of the couch. “Jesus Christ. What was the question again?”

“Lamont’s going to kill someone,” I said, using a tone less harsh than before since the guy was pretty damn freaked out already. “His name is Lewis Jackson. I need to find out where they are.”

Jules rubbed one side of his face and then massaged the bridge of his nose, his tone heavy with regret when he spoke. “There’s a place by the river where he likes to take people he’s gonna kill. It’s under Wayne County Bridge. He ties them down with cinderblocks and tosses them in. He owns half the cops around here so no one ever goes searching for bodies or rats him out if they see him and his boys at it.”

“How many guys will he have with him?”

Jules shrugged. “Maybe six or seven? Just in case any of the honest cops are hanging around looking for trouble.”

“Got it.”

“Look, I don’t know who you are, but if you’re gonna try and save this guy, you’re insane. You can’t touch Lamont. He’ll bury you. If he doesn’t kill you, he’ll dig up dirt on you and make you work for him. That’s how he got me.”

“Don’t worry about us,” I said with a faint smile as Gabriel came out of the kitchen and opened the door.

Jules followed us, still confused and anxious. “Why? What makes you think you can take this guy by yourselves?”

I paused in the doorway and met his eyes with my best Dan Aykroyd impression.

“He’s not gonna catch us. We’re on a mission from God.”

Chapter 17

Jordan

“COME ON, HENRY, this is important! There’s got to be something else you can do.”

I watched Gabriel pace back and forth on the sidewalk with dread filling my gut. I couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but I knew things had taken a turn for the worse.

Gabriel hung up his cell phone, running a hand through his blond hair. “The soonest Detective Henry can get units over to the bridge is in an hour.”

I checked my watch. “We only have forty-five minutes left. Lewis’ll be dead by the time the backup arrives. What are we gonna do?”

Gabriel sighed, unable to keep his frustration in check. “What can we do? There’s a bank robbery with a hostage situation in progress and a riot on the other side of town, so the officers are spread out all over the place. Seems like Lamont picked the perfect time for a murder.”

I shook my head. “Then the two of us are gonna have to be enough. I have my .38 and Jules’ .45 with me. Plus, Lamont doesn’t know we’re coming.”

“Jordan, do you know what you’re talking about? These are Detroit criminals. If we could use our abilities, it would be a fair fight, but you know we’re bound by the rules of man not to use them in front of normal people. We’re outmatched.”

“I don’t care, Gabriel. I’m not going to lose another family member. I’m not going to let someone I care about die again!” I shouted, ignoring the tears that had started to well up in my eyes.

The archangel gave me a long, penetrating stare before speaking. “This is different. There won’t be any backup. It’s just you and me. Do you understand?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Then let’s go.”

I climbed into the back of the taxi and Gabriel followed, instructing the driver to head towards the Wayne County Bridge. The guy gave us a funny look, but shrugged and shifted his gears, pulling out into the street.

Minutes ticked by, each one making me more and more anxious. Luckily, we reached the bridge with twenty minutes until the deadline. Trees clung to the edge of the river beneath the bridge, illuminated by a few dim lights. The water looked black and daunting as we stepped out of the cab. I sent the cabbie away and turned towards Gabriel to ask him something. To my utter shock, he leaned down and kissed me, cupping my left cheek in his hand.

I froze, completely bewildered. He pulled away from my lips and buried his face in my hair, and then I heard him speak.

“There’s a lookout at the edge of the bridge. Bald, six feet tall, past my right shoulder.”

He wrapped his arms around my back and shifted a little so I could see a big man in all black standing at the top of the hill near the edge of the bridge. We had gotten out of the cab several feet away so he was out of earshot, but we’d definitely caught his attention. That must have been why Gabriel had decided to play the lovey-dovey couple routine. Though I really wished he’d told me ahead of time.

“What’s the plan?” I whispered.

He kissed my cheek, keeping his lips near my ear. “He’s going to come over to get rid of us. Pretend like you’re drunk until he gets close enough that one of us can knock him out.”

“Got it.”

He nuzzled my neck and I giggled loudly, running my fingers through his feathery hair. The lookout had started walking towards us, calling out “Oy!” to get our attention. I pretended not to notice, counting down the seconds before he’d be within range.

Gabriel pulled away and held my hand, tugging me towards the edge of the bridge. We both looked over the side, spotting a group of men below by the shore. There were six of them plus Lewis, who was handcuffed on his knees by the water. Thankfully, we were too far up for them to hear or see us.

“Oy! This ain’t a party. Piss off,” the lookout said through an Irish brogue, glaring at us.

“Aw, c’mon, man, check out this view!” Gabriel slurred, brandishing a hand at the skyline. “It’s awesome!”

“I don’t care. Get out of here or I’ll kick your drunken ass back to wherever the hell you came from.”

I smiled, stumbling a little as I shuffled closer to him. “Don’t be such a party pooper, baby. We just wanted to sightsee.”

The lookout sneered at me, cupping his crotch. “I got somethin’ for you to see right here, sweetheart.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” I kicked him in the nuts as hard as I could. He groaned, dropping to his knees, and Gabriel punched him in the right temple. The lookout hit the pavement like a sack of hammers.

We checked for witnesses—it was pretty late so no one seemed to be around at the moment—and I found another .45 like Jules’ on the unconscious henchman. Maybe it was a theme thing, just like the Pulp Fiction names.

“Nice work,” Gabriel said as we hurried towards the end of the bridge.

“I know, right? Although you could’ve warned me first.”

“My apologies,” he said, checking the safety on the .45 as we slipped into the woods lining the river’s edge. “It was a spur of the moment idea. I hope you weren’t traumatized.”

“I’ll survive. I just hope it wasn’t weird for you.”

“Nonsense. It was like kissing someone you care about. Like a friend. Or a dog.”

My mouth dropped open. I smacked him in the shoulder. “A dog, Gabriel? Really?”

He shot me a look. “Is this really the time to discuss that?”

I scowled at him. “Fine, but you’re not getting a Christmas present this year.”

The archangel rolled his eyes. “I’ll go out first. If Lamont’s as arrogant as I think he is, we may be able to end this if we threaten to kill him unless he lets your father go. All we need to do is stall them. The cops will do the rest when they get here. If things turn nasty, do not be a hero.”

“When have I ever done that?”

“You really don’t want me to answer that.” He nodded towards the shore. “I’ve got the men on the outer rim of the group. Ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Three…two…one!”

Gabriel leapt out from behind the tree, his Gators sliding against the gravel. Four gunshots bit through the air, echoing into the night. Three of Lamont’s men instantly dropped and the rest turned around, whipping out their weapons.

“Don’t move!” Gabriel commanded, holding the gun on Lamont.

While the men were distracted, I snuck my way through the tree line until I reached the edge of the bridge. I pressed my back against the wall and peeked around the corner, analyzing the remaining three men. Two of them were black guys, tall and built like Wallace had been, and the third was white, about five-foot-six, and overweight. The dim light overhead shone off his bald spot and the assortment of silver rings on his hands. His trench coat looked expensive and crisp as if he’d just bought it. I’d bet money he was Lamont.

“Who the hell are you?” one of the bodyguards barked.

Gabriel smiled as he kicked the guns away from the injured Mooks. “Just a Good Samaritan.”

“Cute. You know what we call them in real life?” Lamont asked, his silky voice filling the clearing with pure sleaze. “Suckers. Plus, I don’t recall the Bible being fond of men with guns.”

Gabriel’s smile widened. “Well, it has strict rules about killing, but fortunately, there aren’t any passages about knee-capping folks when the situation calls for it.”

Lamont laughed. “Well done. I gotta admit I like your style. Too bad my boys have to kill you.”

I darted around the corner and pressed the barrel of the .45 against the nape of Lamont’s neck. “Not gonna happen.”

He didn’t move an inch. I also noticed that his breathing didn’t hitch up. Either he was a fool or a lot of people had pointed guns at him in his lifetime. Neither option made me feel any better.

One of the bodyguards trained his gun on me, but I stayed behind Lamont, one hand on his shoulder to keep him from running off, the other holding the gun steady. The others stayed where they had dropped on the ground, nursing their wounds.

Lewis’ gaze switched from Gabriel to me and a look of both astonishment and horror crossed his bruised face. A chain connected the cuffs around his wrists to the ones around his ankles, both tethered to a sizeable cinderblock.

“Jordan? What the hell are you doing?” he asked hoarsely.

Lamont spoke up before I could answer. “Well, well. Looks like I underestimated you, little girl.”

“A lot of people do that,” I replied, letting the anger bleed through. “It keeps my list of enemies short.”

Lamont chuckled again, still sounding casual as if we were talking about the weather. “Oh, I don’t think that’s the case anymore, kid. You just opened up the proverbial Pandora’s box on you, your dad, and your handsome friend over there.”

“Really? Doesn’t look that way to me. I could just shoot you and drop you in the river like you were planning to do to Lewis.”

“That’s hardly necessary. I’m a businessman. There’s always time to negotiate.”

I gritted my teeth, stopping myself from telling him to blow it out his ass. He was right. We were in a good old-fashioned Mexican standoff, and I needed to get Lewis out of here. His survival meant more to me than killing this bastard.

“Fantastic. Here’s what’s gonna happen. Your bodyguard’s gonna untie Lewis and let him go. As soon as he’s out of sight, I’ll back off and so will my friend. Sound like a good deal to you?”

Lamont nodded. “I can see where those terms are fair. But honestly, I prefer deals that are more beneficial to me. If I let you go, my reputation will take a massive hit.”

“Too bad. That’s your only option.”

Lamont tilted his head until I could see one of his eyes. It was dark brown, nearly black in the poor light above us, and something inhuman had crept onto his face. It was a look I had seen in the demons I’d fought just before they did something unforgivable.

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

The bodyguard closest to Lewis kicked him in the chest, sending him flying into the river with a huge splash. I heard someone scream. I realized it had been me seconds before Lamont whirled around and grabbed my wrist. My training kicked in and I blocked the incoming punch with my left arm, kneeing him in the groin. The hit connected and he stumbled backwards for a second, but just as I aimed the gun at his head, he tackled me. I crashed onto the ground, winded. He landed on top of me, pinning my right wrist.

Behind us, Gabriel had taken off to find cover as one of the bodyguards opened fire. He’d shot the one who kicked my father, but that left me alone with Lamont. Lewis would drown in less than two minutes. Shit!

I slammed my left fist into Lamont’s rib cage again and again, holding onto the gun with a death grip. He punched me in the mouth once and pain exploded across my skull, rattling my teeth, but I didn’t let go. He reached for the gun. I shoved the heel of my hand into the soft flesh of his throat. He gagged and loosened his grip for a split second, which was all I needed. I smashed the butt of the gun into his temple. He rolled sideways, nursing the wound. I scrambled to my feet, spitting out blood, and aimed the gun at Lamont.

“Don’t move!”

He stayed where he lay, staring at me with those lifeless eyes. “Do it. Shoot me. I fuckin’ dare you.”

“Shut up!” I spat, checking the shoreline for any sign of Gabriel. I couldn’t see very far in the dark and the only sounds around me were the lapping of the water and the pained groans of the barely conscious bodyguards. Less than a minute now.

“It’s me or him, little girl,” Lamont said, grinning at the panicked look on my face. “What are you gonna do? Shoot me or save your daddy?”

I turned and scoured the black water, searching desperately for any sign of bubbles coming up to the surface. Nothing but waves. Had I failed? Had another person died because of me?

“Tick tock, tick tock,” Lamont whispered. A cold sensation filled my chest as I stared at him in all his arrogance, enjoying my pain, enjoying the fact that my father was drowning and I couldn’t save him. It would be so easy to put a bullet between his eyes. Watch the lights go out. Watch him bleed all over the ground and never hurt another human being again. Just one squeeze was all it would take.

I walked closer to him, tears burning down my ice-cold cheeks. The wind kicked up, whipping strands of hair into my eyes as I glared at him.

“It’s too late, kid. He’s already dead and you don’t have the guts to pull that trigger.”

A weak laugh spilled from my lips. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

I shot him in the right thigh. He screamed. It was the most beautiful sound I ever heard.

I threw the gun into the bushes and walked towards the river. Thirty seconds left. Either I would save my father or die trying. Time to find out what I was made of.

Just as I stepped towards the water, I heard a man’s voice—one word, one syllable.

“Oy.”

I turned and saw the Irish lookout standing there. He smiled and shot me twice in the chest. Everything faded to black before I even hit the ground.

Chapter 18

Jordan

MY CHEST HURT.

I woke up coughing and clutching the two spots on my chest where pain burned like someone had stabbed me with a red-hot poker. It took me a moment to breathe normally and open my eyes to see where I was. I was lying on a fold-out couch with powder blue sheets that were so clean they had to be new. I wasn’t in a bedroom, but rather what looked like someone’s den. Across from me sat a coffee table, a bookshelf against the far wall, and a flat-screen television. The walls were wood paneling instead of concrete and a ceiling fan twirled above me.

I tried to push myself into a seated position, but then a female voice spoke. “Whoa, take it easy.”

I tilted my head to see a black woman in her early thirties walking towards me from the kitchen. She wore a dark green button-up shirt and slacks. I’d never seen her before in my life. Panicked, I stretched out my energy and then relaxed when I realized she was an angel.

“W-Who’re you?” I said, clearing my throat.

She held out her hands for me to use to pull myself up. I took them, groaning as I moved. “Filipa Ferguson. Nice to meet you.”

“Catchy,” I rasped, relieved after my back nestled against a small pile of pillows. “You should be in television with a name like that.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot. How’re you feeling?”

“Shitty,” I said. No reason to lie.

“I’ll bet.”  She pulled up a chair from the corner. On it I spotted the bulletproof vest I’d been wearing when the lookout shot me. I lifted the neckline of my shirt and saw the two gigantic bruises on my chest that matched the divots on the vest.

Filipa tossed me the vest and took a seat. “You were out for more than an hour. I’m surprised you woke up so soon. Most people need more rest after getting shot.”

“Yeah, well, I’m definitely not most people,” I replied, mentally thanking God I’d survived a gunfight. The vests had been Gabriel’s idea. Yet another thing to thank him for.

In a rush, memories of the entire evening came back to me and another surge of panic went through my body. “Where’s Gabriel? Where’s my dad?”

Filipa held up her hands, trying to calm me. “They’re okay. Gabriel’s taking a shower. He should be out in a second. Your father’s in the guest room recuperating.”

A flood of relief went through me. “Thank God. What happened?”

“I think I can answer that.” Gabriel walked out of the kitchen in a tank top and loose jeans with a towel around his neck. Water dripped from the mass of blonde curls piled on his head. Normally, it was straight, but it curled a bit when wet. It was the first time I’d ever seen him look so normal, and somehow it made me feel closer to him.

He sat on the edge of the bed and I hugged him, ignoring the way my chest stung when it brushed against his. He held me for almost half a minute, mostly because I didn’t want to let go since I had been scared I’d never see him again.

“Are you okay?” I asked when he pulled away.

He let a little humor slip into his voice. “I’m fine. Just had to get my body temperature back up after I took a dip in the river.”

“What happened? The last thing I remember is that damn lookout shooting me.”

Gabriel continued drying his hair, the smile disappearing. “Most people think getting shot is nothing because of the movies. It depends on the size and weight of the person. You’re not even a hundred and fifty pounds so the force took you right off your feet and knocked you out. I came up right before he could make another shot and took care of him, then went for Lewis. He wasn’t in great shape, but I managed to resuscitate him and called Filipa. This is a safe house. I didn’t want to take you guys to a hospital if Lamont has as many people on his payroll as Detective Henry suspects.”

“What happened to Lamont and his men?”

“The cops showed up not long after we left. They’re all being held for kidnapping and premeditated murder, among other things.”

I shook my head. “That’s never gonna stick. You said he owns a lot of cops in this town.”

“That would be why I wore a wire.”

My mouth dropped open. “You what?”

“I knew it would be hard to convict Lamont so I had some of my friends in the police department give me some equipment to record him in the middle of a crime. It should be enough to lock him up for a while and get him out of our hair.”

“But you jumped in the river. Wouldn’t that have ruined it?”

“Took my jacket off first. This is not my first time busting a criminal, you know.”

“I can’t even begin to describe how much I love you right now. I’d kiss you, but then again, I know how you hate that,” I added, giving him a sour look.

He rolled his eyes. “You’re never going to let that go, huh?”

“Not a chance.”

Filipa glanced between us. “Are you two always like this after nearly dying?”

“Yes,” we answered simultaneously.

She shook her head and smiled. “Good to know. Your father’s still out at the moment, but if you want to go see him the guest room is down the hall to the left. If you’re hungry, there’s plenty of stuff in the fridge or I can order out. Right now, you need to get some rest before you heal yourselves. I’ll be in the master bedroom if you need anything.”

I touched her hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome.”

She nodded to Gabriel and headed back through the kitchen towards the hallway. When she was out of earshot, Gabriel nudged my shoulder so I would look at him. “What happened back there? When I came back, Lamont had a hole in his leg. A few inches over and the bullet would have hit the femoral artery.”

I crossed my arms beneath my chest, leaning against the pillows. I kept my expression blank. “Didn’t want him to run away.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed just a bit. “Are you sure that’s all?”

I sighed. “What do you want me to say, Gabriel? I thought my father was dead. Did I want revenge? Yes, maybe. I’m not perfect, you know.”

“I would never want you to be perfect. But I am worried. We bent the rules quite a bit tonight and I had to pull a lot of strings to keep you out of jail. If I hadn’t been cooperating with the police department, things would have gotten nasty.”

“I lost control. I’m sorry. Really.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want an apology. I want to know how far you would’ve gone to save your father.”

“Gabe—”

“Answer the question, Jordan.”

“Look, I don’t know, okay?” I said, letting the frustration come through. “I’d just gotten punched in the face, I thought Lewis was gonna die, so I just did what I had to do. My life isn’t important. I’m supposed to protect people. It’s my job.”

Gabriel slid closer, dropping his voice to a murmur. “This is what I’m talking about. You’re not an archangel. You’re a Seer. It’s my job to save people, to sacrifice my own safety for them. It isn’t yours. Why do you expect so much of yourself?”

“What do you mean?”

“Everything is always all-or-nothing with you. Life or death. If your husband knew how you acted tonight, what would he do?”

For the first time in the conversation, I saw his point. “He’d probably tie me to the bed, and not in the fun way. Are you saying I’m too reckless?”

He brushed some of the damp hair out of his eyes, sighing. “Not exactly. I just wanted you to know that the last few days have made me realize you don’t think about your own safety when it comes to other people. That worries me. It worries Michael too.”

“Thank you for telling me. And I’d be really happy if you edited out some of what happened whenever you talk to Michael.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Are you telling an archangel to lie to his brother?”

“No, just…leave a few details out. Maybe the ‘me getting shot’ part.”

Gabriel pursed his lips in a scowl, but nodded anyway. “Fine. But you owe me.”

“I always do. Thanks for saving my bacon. Again.” I kissed him on the cheek and stood up, suppressing yet another groan at the stinging pain in my chest. I walked through the kitchen and down the hallway to the guest room, taking a deep breath before I opened the door.

The guest room was large and the walls were painted mint green. Lewis lay sleeping in a queen-sized bed with the hunter-green covers pulled up to his chest. Filipa had cleaned the cuts on his face, but his bottom lip was still swollen and there was a sizeable bruise on his left cheek. He looked so bad I wished I could heal him, but the wounds had been inflicted before he got kicked into the water so he’d notice if they were gone.

I shut the door behind me and pulled up a chair I found nearby. I started to hold his hand, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. Too domestic. I’d only known this man for what? Three days?

I leaned my arms on my knees and pressed my hands to my lips. A small cut on the inside of my cheek stung a bit. Lamont was a pompous bastard, but he threw a good punch.

“This is so stupid,” I muttered. “I haven’t known you a week and I almost died trying to save you. Is this all part of that parental guilt trip I never had as a child? Maybe it’s a good thing you weren’t there.”

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Y’know, when I was a kid, Aunt Carmen used to tell people she’d adopted me out of the goodness of her heart. They always believed her because my skin is so much darker than hers and her family’s. She told each person something different about where I’d come from. Nigeria, Egypt, South Africa, the works. The worst part was that she’d do it in front of me and if I said anything, she’d beat me when we got home. After a while, I stopped caring. I started focusing on how to get the hell out of there.”

I tugged the ponytail holder out of my hair and started running my fingers through it, picking at the tangles that had formed. “I ran away five times. Never got very far. The cops always picked me up and brought me back. They never believed me when I told them how badly she treated me. There were supposed to be social workers who checked on me, but they never showed up. Aunt Carmen didn’t tell me about my mother dying until a week after it happened. She didn’t even let me go to the funeral. What a bitch, right?”

Once all the knots in my hair were gone, I sat back in the chair, crossing my arms. “I didn’t find out until years later where they buried her. Both her parents had died years earlier, but you already knew that, didn’t you? Because of that, Aunt Carmen had to pay for the coffin and she picked this plot in the middle of nowhere. Michael and I were thinking about holding a memorial for Mom someday. She deserved better than what she got. It’s not all bad, though. I know she’s up there with Andrew taking care of business.”

I paused, softening my tone. “Part of me wonders what I’d be like if Andrew had raised me. I don’t know much about him, really. It took me years to piece together details about his life. He seemed like he’d be a strict kind of dad. He’d tell me to clean my room and take out the trash and walk the dog. Threaten any cute guys who wanted to ask me out. But I always got this feeling that he’d also be really nice too. Take me to movies on the weekend or let me stay up late watching boxing matches and eating junk food.”

I smiled. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I mean, I quit worrying about having a dad when I turned twelve. It probably wouldn’t matter if you decided to be a part of my life now anyway. My expectations are all based on crap I’ve read in books and seen in movies and TV. You came to tell me you were sorry because you thought you were going to die and in the process, you endangered my life by leading Lamont’s guys right to my doorstep. So I guess it sort of makes us even, in a really screwed up way. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t know what you’re gonna do when you wake up, but whatever you decide won’t change how I feel about you. If you stick around, great. If you leave, great. It’s still nice to say I have a father.”

I stood up and hovered near him, unsure of what to do. Just as my fingertips brushed over his knuckles, the door opened. Gabriel poked his head in the room. His face had a look on it that made my stomach churn.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Michael and Belial are in jail.”

Michael

* * *

I HADN’T BEEN incarcerated since the last turn of the century. Not much changed. Jail in Brazil didn’t feel all that different from jail in any other country. The stale smell of inmates with bad breath permeated the air along with the metallic scent of rust on the bars. The cots were thin and itchy. The cuffs were cold against my wrists. Yeah. Same old, same old.

I’d been in my cell, alone, for over eight hours while they processed me. I sensed Belial in a nearby cell as well. It was logical to isolate us. The Brazilian police officers thought we were criminals—and had every right to considering what they walked in on—and didn’t want us conspiring or corroborating our stories before a member of the American embassy showed up to speak with us.

Before then, though, they’d taken me to the prison medical ward and pried the bullet out of my shoulder. It hurt like hell, but I’d had worse wounds. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to see if Edmond had died on the way to the prison. I couldn’t sense him, either. When an angel’s body is at death’s door, his energy slips away and cannot be tracked again until he pulls through. I’d just have to hope I’d gotten lucky.

Now, I sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair in an interrogation room with my hands cuffed behind my back, still caked with both Edmond’s blood and my own. Faded ivory walls. Dirty linoleum floor. It looked nothing like the shiny steel boxes you’d see in one of those police shows. There was a one-way mirror across from me, but it was cracked in a few places and there were handprints all over it.

An armed officer stood by the door. The woman from the embassy finished asking me questions about my arrest and the current charges. Belial had said we should do the job and worry about clean-up later. I went along with it, but truthfully, I hadn’t wanted to. In the movies, the good guys slipped off into the night and never had to sit in jail cells that smelled like shit. In real life, saving the day meant paperwork, answering a million questions, paying people off, and generally doing favors to keep your name out of the news. And that was in the States. In Brazil, we were playing an entirely different ball game. Their rules. No cheat codes. Things would get hairy.

I glanced up from the wooden table in front of me when the door opened. I expected to see another officer but instead, someone different walked in. A black woman, mid-thirties, with thick-rimmed glasses, a sharp grey suit, and a hefty brown folder, entered the room. Her hair was long and pulled back in a ponytail, and I caught a faint whiff of perfume as she sat down in front of me.

“I’ll take it from here, ma’am,” she said to the woman beside me.

Without a word, the American ambassador stood and left. I had to hide my surprise. Not even a question. Who the hell was this woman?

She adjusted her glasses and brushed a bit of lint off the folder, speaking without looking at me just yet. “Mr. O’Brien, my name is Ana Corona. Have you ever heard that name before?”

I stared at her. “It’s the name of a beer, I believe.”

A thin smile touched her lips. “Yes, I hear that a lot. But that’s not what I meant. Do you know who I am?”

“No.”

“Would you like to guess?”

I let my eyes travel down all five-feet-three inches of her and decided to answer the question truthfully.

“You have a slight accent that makes me think you’re Haitian, or at least partially. You’re dressed well in tailored clothing and you’ve got perfume on, so you’re probably wealthy. The fact that my liaison left without a single word makes me think they knew you were coming so you’ve got ties to America. Plus, there’s the way you walk. Shoulders straight, head back, chin parallel to the ground. Military background. I’m thinking…FBI. ”

The thin smile stretched and she met my eyes. Cold, hard mahogany. Yep. Definitely worked for the U.S. government.

“Impressive. You’re a quick study.”

I shrugged, leaving my face blank even though the gesture hurt. “I do what I can.”

She folded her hands. “Do you know why I’m here, Mr. O’Brien?”

“I’m assuming it has to do with my case.”

“Your case?” She snorted, shaking her head. “We’re way past this being ‘your case.’ You broke into a civilian’s home with deadly weapons and assaulted a man on Brazilian soil. Normally, someone in your position would be rightfully and completely screwed.”

“But I’m not, am I?”

“No, you’re not. You knew that when you did it, I’m guessing.”

She opened the folder, giving me a glimpse of the paperwork she had on me so far. “After your arrest, we received calls from several different police departments who confirmed that you and Mr. James Brennan have been civilian assistants tracking down serial killer Edmond Saraf. My office has briefed me on his background. Six murders, prior to the one committed last night, and not just on American soil. This guy is bad news and somehow, you and Mr. Brennan managed to track him to Jandira. You saved a little girl’s life. Despite the fact that you’ve broken a half a dozen laws and nearly murdered a man, you’ve done your country a great favor.”

I went very still. “Nearly murdered?”

She adjusted her glasses and flipped a couple of pages. “Edmond Saraf is in the prison hospital undergoing surgery. He hasn’t regained consciousness so we’re unaware if he’ll pull through or not. But he’s the least of your problems right now.”

“How so?”

Ana glanced at me again. “Mr. O’Brien, how did you learn the location of Edmond Saraf?”

“James knows some of the locals and had them look out for his appearance in the area.”

“Why didn’t you contact the local police department after you found out where he was?”

“We were worried they wouldn’t arrive in time so we went to stop him ourselves.”

Ana lifted the corner of one of her papers, her voice flat. “And can you explain how the lead singer of an underground rock band has enough experience to subdue a serial killer?”

“Don’t ask rhetorical questions,” I said, still trying to figure out what this woman wanted to get out of me. “If you know my background, you know I’ve had extensive training in martial arts and weaponry.”

“Very true, but that still leaves me with one question: why? Why you? What connection do you have to all of this, Mr. O’Brien?”

I gritted my teeth, forcing the next unpleasant words out of my mouth. “James Brennan is an acquaintance. It was a favor.”

“An acquaintance, you say? So this has nothing to do with the fact that Mr. Brennan is Juliana Freitas’ biological father?”

The blood drained out of my face so fast that I got dizzy. I had to fight to keep the shock from creeping onto my features. She stared at me with that hard gaze of hers, trying to dig her way beneath my mask.

“Did he tell you that?” I asked.

“Yes. They interrogated him first and he talked the officers into letting him do a cheek swab to prove it.”

“I don’t understand why that’s relevant. Juliana has a mother and father already.”

Ana’s eyes narrowed. “They’ve gone missing.”

“When?”

“Six hours ago. Francesca Freitas never made it back from her tutoring session. Guillermo Freitas was last seen taking a taxi to a local bar. He went into the bathroom and the bartender said he never saw him come back out. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

I exhaled—a slow, quiet, calm sound. “What do you want, Agent Corona?”

“There are things about this case that don’t add up. I represent a taskforce who has been studying you and your relationship with Mr. Gabriel Solberg. He is one of the most powerful, influential people not only in the United States but throughout in the world and he personally vouched for you after you were incarcerated in this facility. Furthermore, if he had not donated millions of dollars to the poverty and educational programs in this country and in the U.S., you would not be cleared of your charges as you are now. There have been several incidents regarding the two of you in the past couple years that are causing us to ask questions. You can believe that I have a lot on my plate but, I intend to get the answers to those questions one way or another.”

Cold fury filled me. “Are you threatening me?”

“The U.S. government does not threaten its citizens. I’m just here to keep the peace.”

“Your version of peace,” I said, unable to keep the anger out of my voice. If she knew how many centuries I had spent building the country she now served, she wouldn’t dare use such an arrogant tone with me. The angelic half of my soul raged against the idea of submitting to the rules of Man. How much had I sacrificed to keep them safe? How many of my men had died in their stead? Who held these people accountable for the sins they committed each and every day?

I felt my anger pervading the room, hot, boiling, and invisible. It crept closer to the small woman in front of me and I almost let it touch her, but I retracted at the last minute. We weren’t allowed to emotionally manipulate human beings. It constituted a violation of trust. If I wanted this woman to back off, I’d have to do it the old fashioned way.

She closed the folder. “Consider this a courtesy call. You will be released from this facility after you’ve filled out the appropriate paperwork and it will reflect on your permanent record that you assisted in the capture of a dangerous international criminal. In return, the court has determined that you are banned from entering Brazil for the next five years in lieu of imprisonment. If you cooperate fully with everything they ask of you, you will be allowed to return after that time. However, you’re still under investigation with the United States government. You will be deported to the States until we have determined that you are not a threat to national security.”

“What’s going to happen to Juliana?”

Ana looked at me, and this time, I could see past the cold professional. A tiny crack appeared in her armor. I’d surprised her.

“The police will continue searching for her parents, but in the meantime, she’ll be taken to a foster home.”

“She doesn’t have any other family?”

“My records show her grandparents are both in hospices in São Paulo and she doesn’t have any other living relatives.”

The gears in my head got to turning. “Would James be able to claim temporary custody of her until her parents are found?”

“I don’t see the courts agreeing to let a man who was just arrested for assault claim custody of his estranged daughter.”

A small smirk touched my lips. “You’ve never seen him in a court room before.”

Ana’s eyes widened a touch, but the look disappeared in under two seconds. “We’ll see.”

“He’s going to need time to pull some strings for an expedited application procedure. I know you want us to get the hell out of here so how much time did the officials give us to leave town?”

“Forty-eight hours.”

I winced. Not great, but it was a start. “Am I free to go?”

“You are.” She gestured to the officer at the door as she stood. “Take Mr. O’Brien and process him out.”

“Sim, Senhora Corona.”

The officer hauled me to my feet and unlocked my cuffs, to my relief. My shoulders had been sore for hours, and the bullet wound had been throbbing ever since they stitched me up. It took me a moment to move my left arm without severe pain.

Agent Corona sent me one last frigid stare over her glasses. “We will be watching you, Mr. O’Brien.”

With that, she turned and stalked out of the room.

Chapter 19

Michael

BELIAL AND I were about three steps away from the police department when I grabbed two handfuls of his shirt and shoved him against the nearest wall, my voice a deadly growl.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were Juliana’s biological father?”

The demon stared back at me with a placid expression. “You didn’t ask.”

“Cut the bullshit, Belial, or I swear I’ll tear your throat out.”

Again, his expression betrayed nothing, but I could already feel his energy crackling around me like static. “If you unhand me, I’ll tell you. Otherwise, you’d better make this worth my while, Mikey.”

I winced. I had always hated that nickname. No one dared to call me that since Satan’s fall. The arrogant bastard had sought to patronize me in front of his army by calling me that name and it still made me want to rip things apart whenever I heard it.

I dropped my hands. “Answers. Now.”

Belial dusted off his shirt, taking his sweet time before replying. “I didn’t know she was my daughter until that teenage girl mentioned the name, Freitas. Four years ago, I was traveling through this area for work and I met a woman named Francesca Freitas at a bar. Her husband is an alcoholic and they’d been having problems. Plus, she was quite fetching. Naturally, it sounded right up my alley so I took her back to my hotel and showed her a good time. I left Brazil about a day later and thought nothing of the matter.”

I ran a hand through my hair as I followed him down the short flight of steps from the police department to the sidewalk. The sun peeked above the horizon in the distance, chasing away the thick navy from the night before. The air was damp and chilly. There were a few people around, mostly joggers and folks getting ready for work. After all, it was half past five in the morning.

“I don’t understand. I’ve never seen a demon and a human mate and come up with a Seer before.”

“Trust me, I was just as shocked as you when I realized the girl was mine. This is unprecedented,” he said, tossing up his hand to flag down a taxi. “How much time did la petite putain say we had to skip town?”

I couldn’t help but smirk. I hated Belial, but he had a knack for giving people appropriate nicknames. “Forty-eight hours.”

“Excellent. We need to send in an agent to finish off the rogue angel before he gets sent to prison. I suspect that was his plan all along.”

“I figured as much. He had probably hoped we would arrive too late to save the girl and the cops would stall us long enough for him to get into their custody. Even with your friends in low places, it’ll be hard to get to him now.”

“What do you suggest then?”

A numb tiredness had settled behind my eyes from lack of sleep and an overabundance of stress. It made it a lot harder to think straight. “I’m not sure. I have to talk to Gabriel. We need some kind of game plan. It’s not going to be easy with the government breathing down our necks.”

“Our necks?” he asked in a haughty voice. “I’m not bedfellows with Gabriel. I should take the lead on this particular mission.”

I glared at him. “Like hell.”

He laughed. “I’ll just let that one slide because you’re tired. I’m going to have to speak with some lawyer friends of mine and try to nab a court date to get the kid. In the meantime, you can contact your brother and figure out what to do. I’ll give you one day. Then we’re doing things my way.”

“Yes, because that always works out so well,” I said, my voice flat.

A cab finally pulled over and Belial opened the door, arching an eyebrow at me over his shoulder.

“When’s the last time you sired a Seer? Oh, right, never.”

“Bite me.”

“Is that a request or a command?”

* * *

“I’M SORRY... WHAT?”

I collapsed on the bed in my absurdly expensive hotel room, wrinkling the crisp white comforter all to hell, and released an exhausted sigh into my cell phone. “It’s true.”

“No, I could’ve sworn I misheard you,” Gabriel continued. “What do you mean the Seer is Belial’s daughter? How is that even possible?”

I massaged the bridge of my nose. “You got me. I’ve never heard of anything like this. But I guess it’s possible. Demons only transfer genetic material, not any holy properties like angels used to. If the Freitas bloodline is pure enough, I guess it doesn’t matter.”

He sighed. “I swear, this has been the most infuriating week of my life.”

“Ditto.”

“What are we going to do about this, then?”

“I’m not sure. On the one hand, if he gets custody of her, we can make sure she’s safe while we’re trying to figure out what to do with Edmond.”

“I don’t understand why we need to do anything. Won’t he get the death penalty?”

“It depends on where he’d be tried. He’s an international serial killer. That makes things way trickier. Plus, I’m not going to wait around for the system to process him. If he regains consciousness, he’s capable of escaping and slipping back into the wind. I don’t want to take that chance.”

Gabriel went quiet momentarily. “Are you suggesting we send in someone to kill him while he’s in prison?”

“Perhaps.”

He sighed—a deep, regretful sound. “That…is a very ugly thought, brother.”

“I know,” I whispered. “We’re soldiers. When we kill, it’s supposed to be justice. But this…entire mission feels wrong. It felt wrong the day we agreed to let Belial help us.”

“I’ve felt the same way. But think about the alternative. If Edmond gets loose, we’ll be on absolute lockdown.”

I snorted. “Oh, and there’s the silver lining. The United States government is putting me under surveillance for suspicious activity.”

Gabriel spewed a string of curses in Latin. “Father in Heaven, what next?”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Don’t tempt Him. He has way too good a sense of humor, you know.”

“Point taken.”

“How did things go on your end?”

“Oh, the usual. Blood was spilled, faces were punched, and lives were saved. I’ll tell you the entire story when you get home. When will that be, exactly?”

“We’ve been given two days to get out of Brazil. I’m banned from the country for five years. Gonna have to apologize to Jordan. I suspect that since she’s my wife, they won’t let her travel down here either if they’re worried I’m a criminal.”

“I’ve got ears inside the FBI. I’ll see what I can dig up on these government agents. Who came to see you?”

“Ana Corona.”

“Describe her.”

“About five-foot-three, mid-thirties, black, possibly Haitian, wears nice suits and perfume. She’s like Jordan’s less sarcastic evil twin.”

“If that’s true, then I definitely fear for your safety.” At last, a bit of humor crept into my brother’s voice and I felt a little better. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“So I take it you still don’t want to make the Call.”

“No. I have other resources to try. Call me back when Belial secures a trial for custody of the girl. In the meantime, Jordan wants to speak to you.”

Movement, then the soft, apprehensive voice of my wife filled my ears. “Hey, you.”

A faint, relieved smile touched my lips. “Hey, baby. How are you?”

“I’ve been better,” she said. “I heard most of that conversation. I think you actually managed to screw up worse than me for once.”

“I know. It’s weird. Like a role reversal.”

“Cállate,” she muttered, but I could hear the smile in her voice. “What’s this about Belial being someone’s baby daddy?”

I choked on a laugh. “That’s one way to put it. Juliana is his daughter so he’s going to try and get custody while the police search for her parents. I’m not thrilled with the idea of being a babysitter, but at least we’ll have two Seers instead of just one.”

“Hurray. I’ll start making club t-shirts. When are you coming home?”

“Two days at the most. They really want us out of here.”

“Okay. Please, for the love of God, be safe. Te amo.”

“Te amo.”

I hung up and tossed the phone on the pillow next to me. My eyes slid shut and I fell asleep in less than a minute.

Chapter 20

Jordan

AFTER ALL OF my recent traveling, my apartment looked beautiful when I finally made it home. Gabriel collapsed on the couch while I went to take a shower, grateful to be back under the pathetic water pressure of my own bathroom. Things were still hectic, but I had learned to take solace in the few quiet moments I got—everything from taking a hot shower to napping on the couch with my husband watching old cartoons.

I had just finished getting dressed when the doorbell rang, which made me jump yet again. I pressed a hand to my forehead and told myself to calm down as I stuck my head out the bedroom door to see Gabriel answer it. To my surprise, Raphael walked in with a long, rolled up piece of paper in his hand.

I dried my hair with a towel as I walked out of my room. “Hey, Raph. Why does it feel like I haven’t seen you in forever?”

“Going to Heaven tends to have that effect. How are you?”

I hugged him. “Surviving. What’ve you got for us?”

He brandished the paper, his expression sobering. “The Scribes finally finished translating the missing page of the Book of Time.”

“Then let’s get cracking.” I gestured to the chairs at the kitchen table and we all sat down.

Raphael unfurled the paper. I hadn’t known what to expect, but part of me was excited to see something from Heaven with my own eyes. Few humans ever got that privilege. It was about the size of a large poster and instead of a book format, there was a timeline with Latin words written in lovely cursive beneath each of the small dots.

“Alright, my Latin’s a bit rusty, so you’ll have to help me out here,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. A heavy atmosphere of anticipation had settled among the three of us, and with good reason. These were the answers we had been searching for and they would determine our actions from here on out.

“Well, first, you should know that every translation is different,” Raphael said, smoothing out the edges of the paper. “The Scribes come from all walks of life and they determine what is the best way to record what they hear from the Symphony of Time. Therefore, we don’t have the same translation as the one that the rogue angel has and it’s unlikely that we’ll be able to recover his version now that he has been apprehended.”

“For the current time period, we have a lot of information about significant historic events both on Earth and in other parts of the universe. If we travel back along the timeline, you’ll see the notations where the Seers appear. Strangely, the names of these Seers are not given; rather, it speaks of times and exact locations. It predicts when each will Awaken and consequently when they will die.”

“Does it say who kills them?”

Raphael shook his head. “No. That isn’t exactly the problem anymore. What we need to focus on happens here.”

He pointed further down the timeline. “October 31st, 2011. This is the event that the rogue angel is trying to prevent.”

I arched an eyebrow. “On Halloween? Seriously?”

The edge of Raphael’s lips twitched upward—not quite a smile, but close. He always seemed amused by my cynicism. “It may seem like too much of a coincidence, but there are facts linked to the celebrations of the dead. Nothing as trite as ghosts rising from their graves, but evil does tend to manifest on that night because it is the night before All Hallows Day, one of the holiest days of the year. The Book states that a Seer will betray the angels and awaken the Leviathan. This can only be accomplished by acquiring a source of knowledge and purity. I believe that this coincides with another date on the timeline.”

He shifted to another point. “Here, it states that there will be a visit to the Garden of Eden.”

My mouth fell open. “The Garden of Eden? You’re shittin’ me. It still exists?”

Gabriel shook his head. “Only you would include a curse word in the same sentence as such a holy place.”

I glanced at him with an indignant look. “Hey, give me a break. I’m not a Bible scholar.”

“Clearly.”

I smacked him in the arm and he chuckled. “Where is it? I don’t understand how no one has found it by now.”

“The Garden is hidden deep underground,” Gabriel continued. “Human exploration is still only in its earliest stages. Besides, no human can enter—only supernatural beings like us angels or even a Seer like yourself.”

“So what in the Garden would be powerful enough to wake the Leviathan? And if it’s so evil, why does it need something holy?”

“Fruit from the Tree of Knowledge caused man to become self-aware. It would work the same way for the Leviathan. Balance is the key to most things good and evil on Earth. For instance, an archangel would be unable to wake the Leviathan because angels are not born of Earth nor are they capable of being evil. Some can be misled, like the rogue angel, but it is not the same as a Seer or a demon. The Seer represents all three of the worlds: Earth, Heaven, and Hell. That’s why only he or she can wake the Leviathan.”

I bit my bottom lip as a cold sensation of fear crawled up my chest. “Does it say the name of the Seer anywhere in the timeline?”

“Unfortunately, no. That is why the rogue angel didn’t take any chances. He killed all the ones who awakened this year except for you and the child.”

I shut my eyes. “Raphael…are there any more Awakenings noted in this year?”

His voice came out soft. “No.”

I clasped my hands together and rested my forehead on them. “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that. I really was.”

Gabriel laid a hand on my shoulder. “Jor—”

“Don’t. I’m not a child, Gabriel.”

“Jordan, you cannot doubt yourself. You would never betray us. I believe that with all my heart and soul.”

I shook my head. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. I have known you for many years. You are incapable of doing something like this.”

I glared at him. “Then what? A four-year-old girl is going to send the world into chaos? It’s one or the other. There aren’t any other choices.”

Gabriel set his jaw. “This is a translation. For all you know, it could be inaccurate. There could be someone else who will Awaken before the 31st. Don’t do this to yourself.”

Raphael spoke up, though I could tell he was hesitant. “Brother, we still have to consider it an option. I don’t believe Jordan would do this either, but it would be prudent to take the idea into account.”

The blond archangel sighed and dropped his hand. “Then what are you suggesting?”

“She stays under the care of the archangels until after the 31st. We cannot allow her anywhere near the battlefield if this comes to pass.”

“If this comes to pass? Are you saying this isn’t definite?” Gabriel asked.

Raphael winced. “It’s hard to say. It appears that the rogue angel believes that he can change the future, even though his efforts are already recorded in the Book. If he believes it, then perhaps it is possible to avoid releasing the Leviathan.”

“And I take it that the demon’s name isn’t listed on the timeline either?” I asked.

He shook his head. I swore under my breath. “Great. So basically I just have to sit around doing nothing and avoiding demons. I’m glad to be so helpful.”

“I’m sorry. I know you feel frustrated, but there is nothing more we can do right now. If the rogue angel is killed, he will be sent to judgment and we can get the rest of the answers out of him then.”

An idea sprang into my head. “Wait. What if his translation of the Book of Time is different? Maybe more specific than ours?”

Raphael gave me a puzzled look so I kept going. “What I’m saying is why don’t we get him to give us the page he translated to see if he caught anything we missed?”

“The page was not recovered when they apprehended him in Jandira,” Gabriel said. “It’s unlikely that we’ll ever find it now. He probably memorized it and burnt the original to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands.”

“What if we get him to retranslate this page? Maybe he could give us clues like names or events that the Scribes didn’t catch.”

“There is no way he’d cooperate. He clearly has mental instability.”

I shook my head. “There’s still a chance he could help. Is there any way to contact him before the authorities put him on trial for the murders?”

“No.  Since the first murder took place in Kentucky, he’s going to be transferred stateside when he’s out of critical condition. He’ll serve the consecutive sentences in each country where the crimes were committed, and that is only if he does not get the death penalty. Besides, he won’t speak to any of the archangels because we have orders to kill him on sight.”

“But what if he’ll talk to me? I’m not under orders.”

Gabriel sighed again, sounding tired instead of frustrated this time. “That is too risky. Even Michael had difficulty subduing him. He is too much of a threat to engage directly. We’ll just have to try something else.”

Anger rolled through me, mixing with the fear—a dangerous combination, but I couldn’t help myself. “Fantastic. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my room seeing as I’m grounded and all.”

I stormed out of the kitchen and didn’t turn when he called after me. I knew he meant well, and so did Raphael, but neither of them understood. There was a good chance that I would cause the deaths of one thousand people. I had tried so hard these past three years to protect the innocent, to save lost souls, to sacrifice life and limb for those who couldn’t help themselves, and yet here we were. All of the doubts and fears inside me festered within my chest like bacteria, eating away at what was left of my faith.

I slammed the bedroom door shut and stood there in the middle of the room, my breath shallow, on the borderline of panic. What could I do? There had to be something I could do to stop this. I didn’t care what it was as long as it worked.

I thought about calling Michael, but he’d have the same opinion as his brothers. Keep me safe and prepare for war. He wouldn’t listen to my plan, either. Who did that leave?

The answer came to me in a quiet voice. No. There was no way I could ask him. If I did, it would be the end of everything. No one would ever trust me, and Michael would never want to speak to me again. But then, isn’t that what I had been afraid of this whole time? Doing something so horrible that my husband would push me away? Would he forgive me for this? I didn’t know. It didn’t matter, not really. If the choices were my marriage or innocent lives, I would have to make the sacrifice whether I wanted to or not.

I crawled into bed and pulled the covers over my head to block out the sunlight. It was late afternoon and the chances of my new insane plan succeeding were slim, but I at least had to try. I squeezed my eyes shut and concentrated on falling asleep with his face in mind, praying for God to forgive me as my mind started to drift.

Christopher Nolan had been right about dreams—I never remembered the way they began. I always started in the middle and had to catch up to what was happening. For instance, the clothes I currently wore weren’t mine. I wore a blood-red cocktail dress with high pumps on my feet, and I could feel that my hair was pinned and curled in some kind of complicated up-do. Diamonds glittered on my throat and at my wrists, which were outstretched because I was dancing with a man in an old 1940’s-style black tuxedo. We were in my kitchen and there was an old radio sitting on the counter, belting out the upbeat lyrics to “Ain’t We Got Fun” from an old Tex Avery cartoon.

The man in black twirled me and then caught me in his arms, allowing me to recognize him at last.

“My, my,” Belial said with his usual insufferable smirk. “This is quite a surprise.”

I examined his fancy suit and then caught a good look at myself in the reflection of the microwave door. “What is it with you and these stupid themed dreams?”

He clucked his tongue, settling his large hands on my waist as we swayed back and forth to the music. “You have no imagination, my pet. It’s much more fun to be someone else for a change. You seem to be indulging in it as well.”

I scowled. “Don’t start. I’m already mad enough without your help.”

“True. Speaking of help, what can I do for you? It must be important. You’ve never contacted me before.”

I took a deep breath, stuffing down the frantic voice in my head that told me not to go through with this horrid idea. “I need a favor.”

Belial arched a thin eyebrow. “Another one?”

“Shut up. This is not something you can laugh off. This is serious and I’m about to ruin my life by asking you.”

The teasing smile faded. “I’m listening.”

“Raphael showed me the retranslated page of the Book of Time. It states that on October 31st, a Seer will wake the Leviathan and it’s going to kill a lot of people. He also said that no other Seers will Awaken before then so it’s going to be either me or your daughter. You can tell where I’m going with this.”

His hands tightened on my hips a bit. “You’re convinced it’s going to be you.”

A lump formed in my throat and I swallowed hard to push past it. “Yes. But I wanted to recruit the rogue angel to take a look at the translation himself and see if he knows any more details. Dates, times, places, anything that might stop me from waking the Leviathan. The archangels refused to agree to this so I’m asking you to help me break the rogue angel out and convince him to work with me.”

He let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Are you insane? Releasing the Leviathan would suit both my purposes and my master’s. What makes you think I would help you?”

“You’re still bound by demonic law to hunt the archangel. He’s not dead. Your contract with us isn’t up until he dies. Besides…”

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to continue. “If I do this, Michael is probably going to leave me. You’ll get your shot at turning me into your servant.”

Belial said nothing, staring down at me with his cold blue eyes as we continued waltzing. I could almost see the wheels in his head turning as he thought about my proposal. Still, even in my dream state, I was so afraid that there were goosebumps all over my bare arms. Being close to him scared me beyond all reasoning, but there was also a dark part of me that felt intrigued by the danger.

“I have a hard time believing that you would sacrifice your marriage for people you don’t even know,” he said finally.

“That’s because you’re a demon. You couldn’t understand sacrifice if you tried,” I replied, fighting to keep my voice level.

Belial scoffed. “Your arrogance is astounding. You act like you know me, but you don’t. You only know what you’ve read and what your archangels have told you.”

“Fine. Then who are you really, Belial? It’s just the two of us in here. No one will hear you except for me if you tell the truth.”

“The truth? Why would I reveal such a thing to the likes of you?”

I shook my head. “You are such a coward.”

In a flash, he spun me so that I faced away from him and then wrapped his arms around my upper torso, trapping my wrists in his iron grip. He crushed me against the front of his body, sending jolts of pain up my spine and my ribs. I couldn’t help gasping and trying to wriggle free, but he didn’t budge. His hot breath washed over my ear as he leaned down, pressing the side of his face into my hair, his words quiet but terrifying.

“Careful, my pet. My patience isn’t endless.”

I closed my eyes, ignoring how shaky I sounded. “Do we have a deal or not?”

He let out another one of those sandpaper chuckles. “Always business with you, isn’t it? But before I give you my answer, I want to hear you say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you’re truly willing to give up your sweet Michael and the friendship you share with Gabriel and Raphael to save these so-called innocent people. That you’re willing to betray your loved ones even though they have given you everything. If you do this, there is no turning back. You will do things my way and my way alone. Now say it.”

Tears gathered in my eyes, but didn’t fall. “I am.”

A long sigh escaped his chest. He let go of my left hand and slid his fingers around my neck. The fear inside me shifted. I had been afraid he would tear me apart, but now I could feel the heat from his body, every inch of him, even the part I didn’t want to think about, and knew I would never forgive myself for what I had done. I deserved to be in his clutches. We both knew that.

“So be it, Seer. We have an accord. I will contact you again when we arrive in the States. Until then, act as if nothing is wrong.”

“Fine.”

He licked my neck—a slow, sensual movement. “Shall we kiss on it?”

“Don’t get it twisted. I may be working with you, but I still hate you and I always will.”

“So you say. But who knows what the future might bring?”

His lips slid across my ear and he bit down on the lobe, hard enough that everything went white for a second from a quick rush of pain and pleasure.

I woke up in my bed with tears on my cheeks and an icy cold sensation gliding across my skin. I sat up and wrapped my arms around myself to quell the tremors flooding through me, and couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so alone.

Chapter 21

Michael

I COULD TELL the desk clerk at the Child Services office had gotten annoyed with me because I couldn’t stop tapping my fingers on the counter. If she had any inkling of the things weighing on my mind, she may have understood my fidgety nature. Impatience bubbled around me as I stood there, waiting for Belial to return with Juliana so we could hop on a plane and get the hell back to Albany.

I hadn’t spoken to my wife in almost a day. Not by choice, of course. Gabriel called when Raphael returned with the newly translated page of the Book of Time and told me everything. Understandably, neither Jordan nor I had taken the news well. I wanted to talk to her, but Gabriel told me to let her settle down first. He had a point. Jordan needed time to evaluate the situation. Hearing her worried husband wouldn’t facilitate that. But I still wanted to call. Every second of the day, I wanted to call and tell her I didn’t give a shit what that page said—I didn’t believe for a second that she would wake the Leviathan.

I didn’t surprise me that Gabriel didn’t believe it, either. After all, he had known Jordan longer than I had so we were both in agreement about asking Raphael to return to Heaven to have someone else analyze the page. There had to be something we missed—another Awakening, or some way to avert the Leviathan’s uprising. We needed to prevent the deaths of those one thousand people and we needed to make sure nothing from the underworld would be able to make it through to Earth from the Hellmouth. Again, the damn page did not specify the details of the incident so we were basically taking a shot in the dark.

Meanwhile, I’d been stuck with Belial as he secured all the paperwork and worked his magic on the judge to grant him custody of the child for the time being. Any normal person would have gotten a firm and rightful no, but Belial’s silver tongue had always been his greatest asset. Plus, he had paid off a shitton of people to get a trial date and a verdict in his favor.

The police were elbow-deep in the case of Juliana’s missing parents—interviewing locals, checking the last places they had been seen, and spreading the word. The Freitas family was well known in the area so a lot of people were concerned, which made things a little easier. The more informed the neighbors, the better our chance of finding them.

So far, I theorized that the rogue angel had some sort of accomplice who had been ordered to kidnap the parents if he failed in his mission to kill Juliana. He might have thought they would be bargaining chips for his release, but since he got arrested, things were out of our hands. Still, even with that hypothesis, I had doubts. Kidnapping didn’t seem like his kind of deal. Something just felt off about the entire situation and I aimed to get to the bottom of it.

I snapped out of my thoughts when I heard the unmistakable cry of a little girl. Seconds later, Juliana and a very irritated Belial came around the corner. He let go of her hand to sign out at the desk and she continued wailing as if she had nothing else to live for. Sympathy rushed through me in a wave. I knelt in front of the child, thinking fast.

“Hey, shh, it’s alright,” I said in Portuguese, rubbing the top of her head. She got a good look at me this time and I could tell she recognized me from her traumatic night, though it only made her cry a bit less.

“Do you like candy?”

She sniffled and then nodded. I reached into my pocket and withdrew a lollipop I’d swiped from the front desk. Juliana tore off the wrapper, then popped the sweet into her mouth. I wiped her face clean as she continued watching me with her cautious brown eyes.

“There you go. Do you know my name?”

She shook her head. “It’s Michael. I’m going to be helping to take care of you for a while, okay?”

Another slow nod. I paused, thinking. “Do you speak English?”

She rolled the candy around to the side of her mouth and spoke in a hoarse voice, still in Portuguese.

“M-My Mama taught me a little.”

“Good. That means when we get to America, you’ll be able to read signs and talk to people. Do you like reading?”

She nodded again. “Great. Then that’s what we’ll do.”

I scooped her up in my arms and she didn’t fight me—automatically sliding her hands around my neck like she was used to being carried. When I stood up straight, I noticed the rather amused expression on Belial’s face.

“I’m sorry, whose kid is this again?” he said in English.

We started walking towards the exit. I replied in English as well to avoid bothering the child. “What? She’s upset and you weren’t doing anything to help.”

“I’m not really the paternal type.”

“Big surprise there.”

“Suck my—”

“Oy,” I said in a sharp voice. “Language.”

Belial rolled his eyes. “I’m beginning to regret this decision already. What time is our flight?”

I shifted Juliana in my arms, checking my watch. “We’ve got about three hours. Let’s head straight to the hotel and get packed up. We’re probably gonna hit traffic on the way to the airport.”

Belial stepped out onto the sidewalk and waved for a cab. I turned my attention back to the girl as she spoke up.

“Where are we going?”

“Back to the hotel so we can get ready to leave for America. Have you ever ridden on a plane before?”

She shook her head. “Is it fun?”

“Yep. We’ll be really high in the sky and you’ll get to see what Brazil looks like if you’re a bird.”

“Higher than the clouds?”

“Yeah.”

For the first time, a faint smile touched her now cherry-red lips. “Mmkay.”

Another wave of affection went through me at her shy acceptance. I almost groaned at myself. Jordan made fun of me for being what she called a “softie” and I always denied it, but I knew she had a point. I was a sucker for cute kids, and Juliana was the cutest, even though her father was literally hellspawn.

At last, Belial managed to flag down a cab and we climbed in, telling the driver to head for the Hilton at Morumbi. I tried to get Juliana to sit between us, but she insisted on sitting in my lap. She didn’t seem to feel comfortable around Belial. Not that I blamed her. He usually put on a façade for people he needed to manipulate, but that rarely included children, so he acted like himself around her. His perfectly foul, normal self.

The ride was long and Juliana fell asleep halfway through, her head on my chest and a thumb in her mouth. Bad habit for a kid at four years old, but I knew some kids did that whenever they felt uneasy so I let it slide. I wanted to ask Belial about the assassin he had planned on sending after the rogue angel, but we were still in public so I had to hold off on it. I didn’t like leaving things to chance. Even if it felt wrong, I wanted Edmond dead by my hand, not some anonymous demon’s. Plus, I wouldn’t have confirmation of his death until his soul crossed over.

I forced myself to stop thinking about it and instead focused on what to do about Jordan. She wouldn’t like having to sit around. She wanted to help just as bad as the angels did even though it would be dangerous. I had been thinking about training her in the more advanced martial arts. She knew the basics, but nothing as extensive as me. Plus, her energy-shielding needed some work. She took to attacks, like me, but defense was just as important in a fight.

The cab pulled up to the hotel and Belial paid the driver. I opened the door and hefted Juliana in my arms as I stepped out. She stirred a little, but didn’t wake up. She probably hadn’t slept at all the night before. Poor thing.

When I made it to my hotel room, I laid her down on the bed so she could continue napping while we got our stuff together. Once I was sure she was asleep, I turned to Belial.

“What’s the word on your guy on the inside? Can we get to the rogue angel before they transfer him stateside?”

“The last time I spoke to him, he told me defenses were too tight, even for him. There would be no way to get to Edmond without massive casualties, and since you told me that you wouldn’t allow any collateral damage, we’ll have to catch him en route to his first trial.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that. Just one more problem to deal with.”

“No one ever said this job was easy. Once we return stateside, we’ll have our work cut out for us. Did Gabriel dig up some information on la petite putain?”

“Yeah. She’s FBI.”

“Fantastic. We’ll both have the feds breathing down our necks when we return. That will make things infinitely harder. But who doesn’t mind a little challenge?”

“It’s not a game.”

“Maybe not to you. I’m not completely attached to this body, after all. I can disappear and leave my life behind. You, on the other hand, are foolish enough to have dreams and an identity you have to keep. I don’t envy you there.”

“So you say.”

Belial gave me an unfriendly look, clenching his jaw as if he wanted to argue. “Just get your stuff together so we can leave sometime this century.”

He walked out, slamming the door. A petty part of my soul enjoyed the sound.

I tossed my stuff into my suitcase and sent a text to Jordan and Gabriel to let them know we were heading to the airport. Gabriel responded, but Jordan didn’t. I suppressed yet another urge to call her. Give her time, Michael.

When everything was packed up, I woke Juliana. She blinked sleepily at me from beneath her long lashes, mumbling, “Where’re we going?”

I smiled. “Home.”

* * *

ELEVEN HOURS LATER, I stood on the ratty brown welcome mat to my wife’s apartment—our apartment—with the keys that I had finally remembered in my hand. I took a deep breath and opened the door, not entirely sure of what I would see on the other side.

Jordan stood in the kitchen wearing one of my shirts and looking beautiful despite the fact that I knew how upset she had to be feeling. She glanced up at me when I walked in and a faint smile touched her lips.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” I said, pushing the door shut. I didn’t waste any time crossing the hardwood floor and pulling her into me. It wasn’t like our usual hugs. She wrapped both arms around the back of my shoulders and pressed her face into my chest, as if she wanted me to swallow her up and make her disappear. That alone told me how much pain she was in.

I held her for a long time, saying nothing even though I had about a million things I wanted to tell her. Eventually, she let go and I brushed the hair out of her eyes, trying to figure out where to start.

“You wanna talk about it yet?”

She shook her head. “No, I just…”

She sighed and there was an echo of something in her voice that I couldn’t place. She leaned her forehead against mine, laying her hands on my cheeks.

“I need you. Now. Please.”

I nodded. “Okay. I’m here.”

I slipped my fingers between hers and led her to the bedroom. For now, we didn’t need words. They had their place in our lives and it wasn’t here. But for the first time, I wished she had said something because the way she touched me felt like she was afraid of losing me, as if we would never be here again. It scared the living hell out of me. She poured every ounce of herself into me with each kiss, and somehow, the dynamic between us changed. I could feel her sliding away; sand through my fingers. God help us.

After it was over, we lay in bed for a long while. She propped her head on my left shoulder and I threaded my fingers through her soft black hair, smoothing it away from her face. The silence carried on until I couldn’t stand it, so I took a deep breath and spoke.

“Do you remember what I said before you died last year?”

She snorted. “Which time?”

“The first time.”

Her brow furrowed. “Yeah, why?”

I shifted my head so I could look into her eyes while I talked. “I asked ‘What if I need you?’ when you told me that there were people on this Earth who needed me. I meant that, you know. If you had decided not to die in my place, I would’ve gladly remained a poltergeist instead of returning to heaven like my brothers.”

Surprise flooded her features. “You’re serious.”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Because even back then, when I had only known you a few days, I knew that you were worth an eternity of displacement. As long as I could be beside you, it wouldn’t have bothered me. I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true. I thought I fell in love with you when we kissed for the first time, but I was wrong. You’ve always had this ability to draw me to you and that’s something that will never change. I would turn my back on the world for you.”

Jordan closed her eyes. “Please don’t say that, Michael.”

“It’s the truth. Your mother told me that everyone is allowed to have a weakness, and my weakness is that I’m selfish. Irredeemably so. I’m sorry.”

She opened her eyes and tears fell as she touched my cheek. “Stupid jackass.”

I smiled. “Love you too.”

She let out a weak, shaky laugh and kissed me. I felt a small piece of her return to normal and it gave me enough peace to fall asleep with the taste of her lips on mine.

It was dark and raining when I woke up. Automatically, I reached in front of me, but Jordan’s side of the bed was empty. I opened my eyes. The clock read one a.m. I’d been asleep for around five hours, which was largely due to jet lag. I yawned and tilted my head towards the bathroom, checking to see if she was in there, but she wasn’t. The bedroom door was open, but I couldn’t see into the kitchen from this side of the mattress.

“Jor?” I called in a hoarse, sleepy voice. No answer. She must’ve gone out. Maybe down the street for a late night snack. All this traveling meant we were low on food.

I took a shower and got dressed before heading into the kitchen to get a snack. Right after downing half a carton of orange juice, I found a note on the counter in Jordan’s handwriting.

“Michael,

I love you more than I could ever try to explain. Never forget that. And I’m so sorry for whatever happens in the future. I hope you can forgive me someday, but I will understand if you don’t. Take care of yourself, mi amor.

Jordan”

My entire body went cold at once. Her cell phone sat next to the note. She never left her cell phone, no matter where she went. Something was terribly, terribly wrong here.

I forced myself to stop panicking and closed my eyes, stretching my energy out as far as it would go. After our souls were tied together, I could sense her within a certain range, but as I pushed my energy to its absolute limits, I couldn’t feel her presence anywhere. She wasn’t at my apartment, or the restaurant, or any of the local bars or clubs.

Where the hell had she gone?

Chapter 22

Jordan

I HAD NEVER known this much vomit could come out of one person.

Someone knocked on the bathroom door. “Are you okay in there?” A concerned female voice. The lone flight attendant.

I spat a mouthful of saliva and stomach acid into the toilet before replying. “I-I’m fine. Just…air-sickness, that’s all.”

I hovered over the toilet bowl for another handful of seconds, but the nausea seemed to have passed for now. I flushed it twice just to be as clean as possible and rinsed my mouth out in the ivory sink. For years, I’d had anxiety problems related to hospitals and doctors, but this problem was new. I had never gotten so nervous or upset that it made me throw up. Then again, my near future was about to be full of things I hadn’t done before.

I opened the door and the flight attendant, an older woman, white, late fifties, cast a concerned look over me from head to toe. “Are you sure you’re alright, darling?”

I nodded. She gave me a kind pat on the arm and continued towards the front of the plane to speak with the pilot. Nice lady. I hadn’t expected such hospitality on Belial’s private jet.

The differences between his and Gabriel’s jet were interesting, to say the least. First off, Gabriel’s color scheme had been white leather seats and a burgundy carpet while Belial’s was all black and grey. Daunting. Then again, that was just his style.

Secondly, while Gabriel’s plane boarded at major airports, this one had been on a small airstrip practically in the middle of nowhere. Just as well. Belial probably needed to sneak out of the city at odd times and in places where there weren’t many security cameras.

I plopped down in my seat and placed a hand over my stomach, hoping its emptiness would get rid of the sick feeling, but it didn’t. After all, it was psychological. I had never done something so wrong that every inch of me felt ill. First time for everything.

To distract myself, I checked my watch. It had only been four hours since take off. I had an hour and a half before we’d land. Michael would probably be just waking up by now. I closed my eyes. Calm down, Amador. I had to stop thinking about him or I’d never be able to eat again.

The jet was of course Belial’s idea. He had contacted me in my dreams again with instructions, just like he promised. I took out a load of cash and caught a cab to the airstrip he’d named and then boarded the jet bound for Lexington. If we hadn’t been in a time crunch, I would have ridden a bus because it would have made it far harder for any of the archangels to find a trail to start searching for me.

Still, there was one advantage of a plane instead of a bus. I had a tail. The FBI tagged Michael as a suspicious character so by proxy, they had to monitor all of my movements as well. If I’d ridden a Greyhound, they could easily have had someone follow me. The plane left them with no idea where I’d be heading since we were flying under the radar. We suspected I would only be under direct surveillance until the rogue angel was sentenced and safely imprisoned. Afterwards, everything else would be monitoring calls and checking for suspicious activity in my bank account.

The rogue angel had been confirmed leaving São Paulo at four o’clock p.m. yesterday, which gave us a window of opportunity. His flight would be around fifteen hours so I’d definitely beat him to Lexington. After he got on the ground, the authorities would escort him to prison while he awaited his trial for the murder of Danny Bowen. In the meantime, Belial was going to give me the rundown on the operation and do his best to prepare me for it. After all, waitresses weren’t exactly knowledgeable about breaking people out of the backs of police cars. Not even ones from New York.

The hardest part of the flight was not falling asleep. Michael, Gabriel, or Raphael could track me if I fell asleep within range of their energy. Consciously, they wouldn’t be able to feel me, but when asleep, their powers can reach farther. That was how I had been able to contact Belial from an entire country away. It meant I would have to work on my mental shields to keep them from detecting me before we caught up with the rogue angel. Still, I didn’t know where that left me if I successfully got the rogue angel to help me. He would have to go back to prison, or die by the archangels’ hands to pay for his crimes. Would they forgive me? Or did my actions make me too untrustworthy to work with them anymore?

Another wave of nausea rolled through me and I closed my eyes, breathing slowly. I needed to focus on something else or I’d get sick all over again. I reached into the backpack under the seat and pulled out the first book I laid my hands on. Didn’t matter what it was as long as it kept my mind busy.

At last, we landed in Lexington. I gathered my things, keeping careful watch as I shuffled off the jet. I stepped into the cold air outside, shivering and buttoning up my leather jacket as I glanced about the airstrip. It was half past one in the morning so the entire place was empty except for my ride—a dark blue SUV. I walked towards it, reminding myself to remain calm.

When I came up to the driver’s side, the tinted window rolled down and I found myself looking at a brunette teenager.

“You Jordan?” she asked, cracking bubblegum between her teeth.

“Yeah.”

She jerked a thumb behind her. “Hop in.”

Trying not to frown, I brushed my energy across her body and confirmed that she was one of the Fallen. I opened the door and climbed in, tossing my suitcase on the other seat.

“Aren’t you kind of young to be a demon?”

She adjusted her rearview mirror before heading towards the end of the strip to pull onto the road, her voice strangely energetic considering the time of night. “Aren’t you observant?”

She had a point. “Sorry. I’m just not used to this sort of thing.”

“No one ever is.” The SUV pulled onto the street.

I had expected to pull up to a cheap motel, but the girl drove us to a Waffle House instead. Strange choice for breakfast, but I wasn’t one to complain. My stomach wouldn’t be stable enough for food any time soon.

She hopped out of the driver’s seat and I did as well, lifting an eyebrow at her.

“Didn’t know demons had a taste for cheap truck-stop breakfast.”

She flashed me a grin. “Grab your stuff, Seer, and follow me.”

Confused, I retrieved my suitcase and followed her inside the already packed restaurant. When we entered, she walked right past the waitress and nodded to the chef, who waved her back towards the manager’s office. She opened the door and I walked in after her, biting my lip to keep from asking the obvious question hanging over my head. I’d already sounded like an idiot enough today.

The windowless office looked normal with a desk, a bookshelf, and a ficus pushed against the right corner. To my surprise, she walked over to the plant and tugged upward on its trunk. A floor panel in the left corner of the room opened, revealing a narrow flight of stairs. Without a single word, the demon started descending and I followed her.

She led me into a fully furnished basement that looked like it had belonged in a rustic lake house somewhere. The walls had wooden paneling that complimented the plush tan carpet. A kitchenette with a fridge, sink, dishwasher, and stove sat against the left wall, and several feet along that same wall was a flat screen television and towering bookcase. The far wall had a dresser and nightstand. A king-sized bed was pushed against the wall to my right and beside it were two doors separated by about three feet.

Belial stood in front of the bed as we walked over. I had prepared something scathing to say, but then I noticed that the T.V. was on some sort of Nicktoons kids’ show. When Belial stepped towards us, I could see a small dark-haired girl with coffee skin seated on the bed, enraptured by the cartoon. Yet another question sprung into my mind, accompanied by a strong sense of disapproval.

Belial smiled at the expression on my face. “I take it you didn’t have a pleasant trip.”

“No S-H-I-T,” I said through my teeth.

The demon chuckled, turning his attention to my teenaged escort. “Well done, Mary. Here you are, as promised.”

He reached into the pocket of his black slacks and withdrew a sizeable stack of bills. It looked to be over five thousand dollars. Maybe I should work for him.

Mary flipped the bills through her fingers as if mentally counting them and then popped her gum one last time. “Pleasure doing business with you, Bels.”

She winked at him and sauntered off. I moved closer to Belial, keeping my voice down.

“Who’s the kid?”

“My daughter.”

I stared at him. “Um, not to be cold, but why is she here? It’s incredibly dangerous.”

“The danger of the situation is exactly why she is at my side. If the rogue angel does have an accomplice out there, she’ll be safe with us.”

“Don’t you have millions of minions at your disposal? There’s got to be someone more qualified for this than an archdemon and a Seer.”

“Careful. I may seem like nothing but a murderous traitor to you, but I am more than capable of both protecting and caring for a child. Not that I’d want to, mind you.”

I smacked him in the arm. “Don’t say that in front of her.”

Belial rolled his eyes. “She speaks little English. I’m safe.”

Just then, the girl appeared at his right side, tugging on his pants leg. Portuguese and Spanish shared a few similarities so I was able to make out that she was asking him for a snack. He replied in some sort of positive manner and she smiled, and then noticed me for the first time. She asked me who I was and I answered using the only bit of Portuguese I knew: introduction.

“Meu nome é Jordan. Muito prazer. O que é seu nome?”

“Juliana.”

“Ah, muita bonita.”

“Obrigada.” The child nodded, then ambled towards the refrigerator for a snack. It was nearly impossible to tell she had any of her father’s traits. She was adorable.

When I faced Belial again, he was smirking at me, which made my smile vanish.

“What?”

“The maternal look isn’t bad on you, Seer,” he said, and then reached for me.

Automatically, I stepped back only to realize he was trying to take my suitcase. Blushing, I let go and he took it, shaking his head at me but not bothering to mock my reaction.

“Why is there only one bed?” I asked. “Because I tell you right now, I’ll sleep on the floor before I sleep anywhere near you.”

“So hostile,” the demon said with a sniff. “We’re already metaphorically in bed together. I don’t see much of a difference.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He chuckled, gesturing towards the first closed door on my right. “That is the guest room, where you and the child will be sleeping. Besides, you won’t be getting much rest as we have to prepare for the breakout.”

A streak of nervousness ran through my body—a cold, uncomfortable sensation. “Right. Sounds like fun.”

He grinned. The feral expression made me shiver. “Tons.”

Belial faced Juliana, catching her attention with a snap of his fingers. He told her something that sounded along the lines of “Be a good girl while Jordan and I are in the other room” and crooked a finger at me as he opened the door to the guest room.

Inside, I found another large space with a queen-sized bed, a nightstand, television set, and dresser, but this room also had a round oak table and three chairs.

Belial tossed my suitcase on the mattress and shut the door, which made me jump yet again. My nerves were shot. I needed to get past this or we’d both get killed.

“First things first,” he said, sitting at the table and waiting for me to follow. “You will have to obey my orders to the letter if we want this to work. Is that understood?”

I glared at him as I sat down. “As long as they’re at least pretending to be in my best interest, yes.”

“Fair enough. What we’re trying to accomplish here is simple. I’ve pulled similar jobs, but the difference here is that you’re inexperienced for such highly sophisticated operations.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “Why do I feel like I’m in a movie trailer for a heist film?”

He rolled his eyes. “My point is that this will be unlike anything you’ve ever done before, so it is imperative that you think and react as quickly as possible, and most importantly, without your usual morality.”

“You’re asking me to be more immoral? Wow. That’s…” I sighed. “Fine, keep going.”

“The rogue angel will be in one of two types of vehicles: an armored car with FBI agents or U.S. Marshals as guards, or a police car. There will most likely be between four and six officers escorting them on motorcycles or other cop cars. Our task is to isolate them, confuse them, and then strike.”

He held up one long finger. “First, I’ve organized a riot in another part of the city. This will occupy all the officers who are not on this escort and therefore, the party will have little to no back up if things go sideways. Second, we’re going to block their route so that they are forced to take one that is more beneficial to us. Third, we trap and confuse them. Once they’re neutralized, we’ll go in for the rogue angel.”

“Will we have back up?”

“Not really. I wasn’t able to round up many followers in this area since we are in the middle of Kentucky Fried Nowhere. I know you’re familiar with basic firearms, but in this case, we’re going to have the big guns so you’ll need practice.”

I bristled. “I’m not going to kill innocent officers who are just doing their jobs.”

“If we do this right, killing won’t be necessary. You’ll be laying down cover fire since we both know you don’t like getting your hands dirty.”

“They’re dirty enough,” I mumbled, self-consciously rubbing my palm against the smooth leather of my jacket. The cool cloth helped me calm down, but I knew it wouldn’t for long. I missed the familiar fabric of my grey duster, but I’d left it at home for a reason. I didn’t deserve to wear it any longer.

Belial opened his mouth to say something else, but I cut him off.

“Where will we be headed after it’s done?”

“A motel. After that, we have to stay mobile since we’ll have the feds and your archangels on our trail.”

“Fine. But I also have something to say.”

He cocked his head to the side. “And that would be?”

I gave him my coldest stare. “I know you’re going to betray me somehow. It may not be tonight or tomorrow or the day after that, but I’m not stupid. You have your own agenda and it’s entirely possible that you’re going to try and manipulate me into releasing the Leviathan. But I promise you that if you’re foolish enough to do it, I’m going to kill you. It won’t be like the last two times we’ve fought. I’m going to stab you in the fucking heart. Is that clear?”

Belial leaned in close until his face was inches from mine and his nicotine-laced breath brushed my cheek.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

Chapter 23

Michael

THE FIRST THING I did after reading Jordan’s note was turn her phone back on and check the last outgoing call. There was just one in the last twenty-four hours—to Lauren at seven-thirty. I dialed her number and waited with bated breath for her to pick up.

A sleepy voice greeted me. “Hello?”

“Hey, Lauren. It’s Michael,” I said, doing my best to hide the worry in my voice. “Sorry to wake you. This is silly, but Jordan left her phone at the apartment and I don’t know where she went. Did she tell you?”

“No, she just said she wouldn’t be able to pick up Lily from school this week because she’d be busy. Is everything okay?”

I tried to quell the guilt that rose in my gut. Lauren was Jordan’s best friend, and even she didn’t know what was going on. I wanted to tell her the truth, but I couldn’t. I knew nothing at this point so there was no reason to make the girl worry.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Just a little mix up, that’s all. I’ll talk to you later.”

I was about to hang up when she stopped me. “Michael.”

“Yeah?”

She sighed. “Look, you don’t have to tell me what’s going on, but I know something’s wrong. There was something in her voice when she called me. She sounded…miserable. The last time I heard her sound like that was when you two separated last year. Just make sure you take care of her, okay?”

“I will. I promise. Bye, Lauren.”

“Bye.”

I hung up and the panic tripled inside me. Think, Michael. Where could she have gone and why? You’ve been married to the woman for almost a year—you had damn well better know her habits.

I opened her laptop, logging in and checking her bank account. We’d only been married a short time so it would be a while before we would get a joint one, but I knew her password and brought up her recent purchases. My face paled. She had taken five hundred dollars out of an ATM at the same time she called Lauren. I checked the address of the ATM and scribbled it on a nearby notepad for safekeeping, then called Gabriel.

“This is so unlike her,” my brother said. “She always tells one of us where she’s going. Do you think she’s relapsing?”

“No. She hasn’t had a drink in months and she hasn’t shown any signs of needing one. Tell me exactly what she said after you and Raph showed her the page.”

“We discussed the events on the map and that she’d have to stay guarded until the 31st passed by just to be safe. She suggested trying to contact the rogue angel before he served his first sentence in prison, but I told her we were under orders to kill him on sight.”

I froze. “Wait. She suggested that?”

“Yes. Why?”

“What if she’s gone off to try and talk to him herself? Without either of us to get in the way?”

“That’s impossible. She doesn’t have the influence to get a conference with him. Besides, isn’t he en route to Lexington as we speak? She’d have no way to organize something like that without…help…”

He stopped talking as if he’d realized something. When he spoke again, his voice was as hard and cold as ice. “Call Belial. Now. Try every number you know for him. I’ll do the same. If he doesn’t pick up, we are definitely in trouble.”

“Got it.”

I hung up and called Belial’s cell phone, praying for the first time in my life that I would hear that dry, supercilious voice of his. An automated voice answered instead and told me the number had been disconnected.

“Damn it, Jordan.” I pressed my hands against the kitchen counter until my knuckles blanched. She couldn’t do something like this to us—to me. She loved me. I knew that. How could she betray my trust only hours after we’d been together?

I called every other number we had on file for Belial’s human alias, James Brennan. All of them reported him as ‘indisposed.’ I tried to sense him as well, but he was nowhere in the city, just like Jordan. We had boarded the same plane in Brazil and after we got back to Albany, he said he would call when he got confirmation of the rogue angel leaving São Paulo. He hadn’t led me to think he would act on his own because of our agreement. Still, all the signs pointed to one terrible thought that I didn’t want to face. My wife was working with the enemy behind my back. Just like Zora. Just like I had always feared.

Jordan’s phone rang. Her ringtone for Gabriel was “Well Respected Man” by the Kinks. Under normal circumstances, I would have laughed. Instead, I just answered it.

“Yeah?”

“Any luck?” Gabriel asked.

“No. You?”

“No. What did her bank account show?”

“Five hundred dollars taken out. Her checkbook’s gone too. I got the location of the ATM, but it isn’t near any major airports or Greyhound stations so we’re basically back to square one.”

I rubbed my sinuses, pushing past my anger to analyze the facts. “Okay, let’s think about this. She knows the FBI has me under surveillance so she wouldn’t go to an airport, and she wouldn’t book anything online because they’d be able to trace it. That leaves a bus or a car, right?”

“Possibly, but you also have to consider that Belial is just as wealthy as I am so he could have chartered a jet for her. Especially since he’s an expert in illegal transportation.”

“Then that would be the way to go since they’re pressed for time. It takes about five and a half hours to get to Lexington from Albany so she’s in the air right now. How long before your jet’s ready?”

“I can have it at the airstrip in an hour. In the meantime, follow up on all the basics. Check the areas around that ATM and see if anyone spotted her getting a cab or doing anything else before she left the city. We’ll assume she took a jet out until proven otherwise. I’ll call you when I’m at the airport. Be careful, brother.”

“You too.”

I hung up and grabbed my jacket from the closet, running out the door and into the rain.

* * *

JORDAN WAS ALWAYS good at being inconspicuous. In fact, it was a skill. She had spent the two years after accidentally killing Andrew Bethsaida blending into the crowd so no one would notice her seemingly strange behavior when she talked to ghosts. Her average height and moderate attractiveness worked in her favor in that regard.

Most of the shops near the ATM she used were closed because it was nearly two in the morning, but I got lucky with a 24-hour gas station down the street. She had bought some water and a protein bar before hopping into a cab headed away from the main highway out of Albany.

If she took a jet, she would need an airstrip instead of an airport because the airport would have around-the-clock security. Most airstrips did too, but Belial bought people like they were nothing and so it would be easy to get them to look the other way while he snuck her out of town.

I stood outside the gas station just beneath the ledge so the rain wouldn’t drip onto my head as I searched for nearby airstrips on my phone. There was bound to be someone still there, even at this hour, especially if they were of the crooked persuasion. A little aggressive interrogation would get me the information I needed. Once it was confirmed, Gabriel and I could head to Lexington and stop this thing before it got out of hand.

There was only one airstrip within a decent range of the city. Better start there. I shoved my phone back in my pocket and stepped out into the cold rain, shivering as it doused my hair and the back of my neck. The streets weren’t crowded, but there were still people out and about—mostly teenagers, insomniacs, and the homeless. I walked to the corner to hail a cab and got lucky when one pulled up a couple of minutes later.

I climbed in and told him the address. He shifted gears and headed into the street, weaving through the light traffic towards my destination. I smoothed my wet hair back and closed my eyes, already shifting through my mind to remain focused on my next task. My thoughts halted when I felt the car come to a stop, but not at a light like I’d thought. I opened my eyes to see that we had pulled into a parking garage.

Immediately, I switched to warrior-mode. I’d heard of guys who stole cabs and kidnapped or mugged people after they got in. If he was one of them, he was in for an extremely unpleasant surprise.

“Hey, what the hell is going on?” I snapped, slamming my fist against the smudged glass, hard enough that the entire pane shivered.

The locks on the cab clicked.

Oh, this guy was about to get the shit beaten out of him.

The panel slid back, revealing a white man in his late forties with a receding hairline and a disturbingly pleasant smile on his face.

“Mr. O’Brien, we need to talk.”

I glared. “How d’you know my name?”

The smile on his thin lips didn’t falter. “It’s my job.”

He raised one hand and flashed me a badge. FBI. I sighed, not bothering to stifle the irritation in my tone. “You guys must have one hell of a budget to disguise yourselves as cabbies.”

“We do what we can. May I ask where you’re heading, Mr. O’Brien?”

“You just did.”

He chuckled. “Sorry. Let me rephrase that. Why are you going to an airstrip?”

“To catch a plane,” I deadpanned. “Don’t you need probable cause to abduct a citizen of the United States?”

“Oh, we’ve got that. Your wife’s in Lexington. She landed about half an hour ago.”

I kept my face blank. “Why does that matter?”

“We’re not stupid. Edmond Saraf’s set to land there for his trial at seven o’clock in the morning. Are you going to tell me it’s just a coincidence that your wife and Mr. James Brennan are in the same town?”

“Look, what do you want from me? Clearly, you already have the information. Why are you wasting my time?”

“We lost sight of Ms. Amador shortly after she landed and we didn’t have the resources to track her down. We’re guessing that you do.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’ve read your files, Mr. O’Brien. We don’t know why your name keeps coming up in bizarre instances, although we’re certain there’s a reason for it. Right now, we need results. We want to avoid an incident that would make your life infinitely harder.”

“Are you offering me a deal or an ultimatum?”

“A little of both, really. Find your wife and Mr. Brennan and bring them both back to Albany. If you do, we’ll drop the investigation on your end. Mr. Solberg is still a person of interest, but you and Jordan will be left alone. If you don’t, then the Bureau has no choice but to tag you both as potential threats. You will be detained and questioned and it will reflect on your permanent records. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” I said through my teeth. “Can I go now?”

He paused. “Want a ride home?”

“No, thanks. I’ll walk.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

The lock on my door clicked a second time and I got out. The agent turned the car around and drove back into the rain, leaving me dripping wet and pissed off in the inky darkness. I grabbed my phone and hit the speed-dial. Gabriel answered on the first ring.

“Fire up the jet. We’re on the clock now.”

“How bad?”

“You remember Budapest, right?”

“Sadly, yes. I never did get my Porsche back. I’ll meet you there in two shakes.”

I hung up and left the garage, taking the storm with me as I went.

Chapter 24

Jordan

AT FIRST, MY job felt easy.

To be honest, I had expected to be in the belly of the beast when the ruckus started, but Belial had plans for me, in more ways than one. I didn’t expect to be crouching on top of a closed-down auto-repair shop with an assault rifle clutched in my gloved hands, its muzzle pointing down at the street. Waiting. I hated waiting.

Sunlight had crept across the sky, but it hadn’t chased the night away quite yet. I found my eyes wandering upward often, watching the navy blanket as it loosened its hold over the horizon, giving way to gold. It made me think about how the world kept spinning anyway, even when my life had gotten as bad as it could get. It was the same with the early risers down the street from here. None of them knew what would be happening in just a few minutes. Lucky sons of bitches.

The link in my ear beeped, jostling me out of my solemn thoughts. “Truck’s in full view. ETA two minutes.”

“Got it,” I said, hoping he couldn’t hear the slight waver in my voice. I craned my neck to the right to scan the adjacent street. Lexington hadn’t quite stretched its legs for the day. There were plenty of cars, but nothing rivaling the Albany traffic I saw every morning. The sidewalks were largely empty except for joggers and people headed to work.

I checked my watch. 7:15 a.m. I strained my ears and could hear the distant whoop of police sirens. “How many cop cars?”

“Four. Two up front, two behind.”

“Roger that.” I tried not to think about the officers escorting the rogue angel and FBI agents to the courthouse, but my mind still wandered. Had they been the type of officers who had never been in a firefight? Never drawn their guns? Never killed a suspect? Who were these men before we reached into their lives and upended them?

“They’ve crossed the checkpoint. Hitting the charges.”

I heard a click over the receiver and then flinched as I spotted a huge plume of flames erupt one block away, courtesy of an empty fire truck Belial had stolen an hour earlier. Tires screeched and metal crunched—telltale signs that we had successfully created a roadblock.

“Taking the shot. Get ready.”

I braced myself, returning my gaze to the street below. Gunshots bit through the crisp morning air, followed by screams of civilians and another round of screeching tires. He’d taken out the wheels of the police cars from his perch, forcing the armored vehicle to continue towards the courthouse on its own.

My pulse raced as I focused on the end of the street, waiting for the truck to come around the corner. My stomach lurched with nausea and anxiety, but I swallowed hard and ignored the painful twisting in my gut. At last, a large black truck swerved around the corner into view. I set it in my sights, let it drive past me, and then squeezed the trigger.

Bullets tore into the side of the truck, causing the driver to try and maneuver farther away from my building, but it was far too late by then. The back tires punctured, slamming the vehicle to an immediate halt.

I stood, touching the link in my ear. “Truck’s down.”

“Good. Pop smoke.”

I set the M16 aside and retrieved the grenade launcher at my feet, aiming underneath the carriage of the truck. I fired. The canister hit the street, engulfing the entire truck and half the street with tear gas. Go time.

I pulled on my gas mask and slung the assault rifle around my shoulders before climbing down the ladder on the side of the building. The driver scrambled out of the truck, shouting orders to his companion—nothing but muffled sounds through my mask. As soon as my boots hit the ground, I opened fire, aiming in their general direction to force them to take cover on the opposite side of the truck.

I walked straight into the cloud of tear gas, sliding the gun to the small of my back. I could hear the scrape of their boots against the asphalt and let it beckon me closer until they were in full view—crouching near the tires waiting for me to show my face.

The first agent didn’t see me until I was right in front of him. I slammed my forearm into his wrists, sending the gun spinning away into the gas, and blocked as he tried to punch me in the face. I jammed my knee into his stomach, but hit the Kevlar vest instead of actual flesh. He recovered and kicked my legs out from under me, forcing me to go into a back roll. I came up on my feet just as he drew his backup gun from his boot. I dove to the side as he opened fire, missing me by mere inches.

I took cover behind a dumpster in the alley beside us, cursing my mistake. I should have gone for his head, not the body armor. Belial was keeping the police busy, but if I didn’t get rid of these agents soon, we’d be overwhelmed. I peeked around the edge of the dumpster to see that the gas had started to clear, giving me a better view of the FBI agent. Six-foot-two, lanky, goatee, probably early thirties. His partner, a stocky Hispanic guy, stood by the front of the truck, calling for reinforcements. Just one chance. Better not blow it.

I reached into my pocket and withdrew a flash grenade, pulling the pin and throwing it over my shoulder. I squeezed my eyes shut as I heard it hit the street, exploding. Pained cries reached my ears. I opened my eyes again to the agents stumbling around with their hands over their faces.

I darted around the dumpster and lowered my head, throwing myself at the first agent as hard as I could. The force knocked him into the side of the truck. He slumped over, out cold. I turned to attack the other agent only to take two bullets to the chest.

I hit the pavement with a cry of agony as pain spread through my chest in tiny electric shocks. I couldn’t breathe for a handful of seconds. The world spun in front of my eyes as I gasped for air, writhing on the ground. No, I couldn’t fail. Those people needed me. Get up, Amador. Dammit, get up!

The FBI agent stood over me with red eyes and tears streaming down his face, but his expression was cold and professional. I could see his lips moving, but I couldn’t hear much through the ringing in my ears. It looked like he was telling to put my hands up. As if I could really move after getting two right in the vest.

I managed to raise both hands to shoulder level and his posture shifted, as if he felt more confident with me on the ground. Perfect.

I locked both legs around one of his ankles and jerked them towards me as hard as I could, knocking him off his feet. He didn’t fall all the way, only hitting his knees, but it was enough. I pounced on his back, smashing his head on the ground. He went limp underneath me. I hovered over him, panting hard, half-amazed and half-horrified by what I’d done. A weak giggle flooded through me as I realized I sounded like Darth Vader with this stupid gas mask on. Yep. Hysteria had finally set in.

I touched the link in my ear. “The agents are neutralized. Going for the rogue angel. Where are you?”

“I’ll be there in a moment. Don’t disappoint me, Seer.”

I wiped the sweat from my brow and reached for my utility belt, finding the small plastic explosive to blow open the back of the truck. I pressed the sticky bomb against the lock and took cover in the alley, listening to the beep of the ten-second count down.

A small explosion ripped through the air, scattering metal pieces of the truck’s doors all over the ground. Instantly, the sound of gunfire filled the street. As predicted, they had left one more man inside the truck with the rogue angel to make sure he didn’t try to escape—except this guy was a U.S. Marshal. In my hysterical state, I prayed it wasn’t Raylan Givens.

I peeked around the corner of the dumpster, spotting the Marshal standing near the edge of the truck, scanning the street for any sign of me. As quietly as possible, I slid the assault rifle around to my hands, taking deep breaths so that my heart rate slowed just like Belial had shown me earlier. One shot. Just one.

I pulled the trigger. To my great honor and great horror, the bullet hit the side of his firearm, knocking it right out of his hands. I leapt up and raced in front of him, the M16 aimed at his head.

“Don’t move!”

The Marshal, a tall brown-haired man, glared at me without saying anything. I motioned for him to get down. “Off. Now.”

He stepped off the truck, granting me a view of the inside. The rogue angel sat motionless on the right side with his hands and feet in cuffs. He wouldn’t even look at me. Why? Had he seen this coming? Did he know this was going to happen because of the Book of Time?

“This isn’t going to work,” the Deputy said in an unnervingly calm voice with just a hint of a Southern twang in it. “You’ve got nowhere to go but down.”

I met his gaze and spoke honestly. “I know.”

I jammed the butt of my gun into his forehead. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious. I stepped over him and yanked off the gas mask before climbing onto the truck.

“Stand up.”

The redhead unfolded his gangly frame and stood. His face betrayed nothing—a blank slate, almost like a soldier.

“Did you know this was going to happen?”

He didn’t answer. I shook my head. “Answer me, or I swear to God, I’ll shoot you.”

Finally, his lips parted. “Thou shalt not take the Lord thy God’s name in vain.”

Anger flared through me. “Really? You’re gonna quote the Bible at me after murdering seven people?”

“Qui finem vitae extremum inter munera ponat naturae.”

I knew that quote. “‘It is as natural to die as to be born.’ Dying’s not the same as being killed. Maybe one day you’ll realize that. Now move.”

I walked backwards, keeping the gun trained on the rogue angel, until I reached the edge of the truck. He followed me, still staring like he could see the soul beneath my flesh, and he didn’t care for what he saw. Couldn’t blame him.

I had reached a somewhat tricky place. For a normal person, getting off the truck with a hostage would be a piece of cake, but not with the rogue angel. In the milliseconds it took to hit the ground, he could go for the gun. I could make him get down first, but that would still leave me vulnerable when I jumped off. But there wasn’t enough time to weigh my options. I could still hear sirens, screams, and gunshots in the distance. Belial was getting closer.

I took a deep breath and jumped down. My boots hit the ground and then the whole world tilted. For a second, I didn’t know what happened. Then I felt his large hands rip the gun off the strap and toss it onto the sidewalk. Next, he reached for my neck. Time slowed down. His fingers inched for my throat. And then I remembered Belial’s words.

“Angels are creatures of habit. He’ll probably go for your throat again. Not strangulation. Thinking like a soldier, it would be easier to snap your neck instead of waiting for you to suffocate.”

He shifted one hand to my chin and the other to the base of my skull. “This maneuver is very hard to block, especially since he’s much stronger than you. If I become incapacitated or separated from you, you’ll have to fend for yourself. When he reaches for you, it leaves his upper body vulnerable. Aim the heel of your hand at his Adam’s apple and hit hard. The force will stop him long enough for you to get away or continue attacking.”

“Got it.”

He dropped his left hand, but kept the one underneath my chin, forcing me to meet his inhuman gaze. “I’m not stupid. I can feel your hesitation, your fear. One thing I have always liked about you is your ability to handle pressure. Most humans panic in life-threatening situations. You don’t. So do not hesitate or he will kill you and this alliance will have been for nothing.”

Just as the rogue angel’s fingertips closed around my chin, I shoved the heel of my hand into his windpipe. His head snapped back and he gagged, his eyes going wide. I slammed my knee into his side and rolled us over, coming up with a syringe from my last hidden pocket. I plunged the needle into his neck, pumping the sedative into his system. He lay there gasping, then his eyes closed.

“Excellent timing.”

I turned to see Belial behind me in a black SUV, his perfectly groomed head sticking out the driver’s side window.

I glared at him. “You could have helped.”

He climbed out and then grabbed the rogue angel’s limp shoulders while I took hold of his feet, hefting the unconscious man between us. “You didn’t need it. Now let’s get moving. We don’t have long to lose them.”

We tossed Edmond in the back seat and cuffed his wrists to the overhead handle just to be safe. I got in the front seat and Belial hit the gas, driving around the armored truck. I dug the slugs from the bullets out of my vest, staring at them in my palm. If they’d been headshots, I wouldn’t be here. Christ.

“You handled yourself well,” Belial said.

I threw the slugs out the window. “Don’t patronize me. Just drive.”

He chuckled, making a right turn onto yet another empty street full of foreclosed businesses. Then he slammed on the brakes, nearly sending me flying through the windshield. I almost asked him what the hell he’d done that for when I noticed a blue pickup truck parked at a slant in the road about twenty feet away, blocking both lanes. But it wasn’t just the truck.

Michael and Gabriel were standing in front of it.

My mouth went dry and my pulse skyrocketed. I wished I had been imagining them there because of my adrenaline rush, but I knew it was really them.

I kept my eyes on the pair and tilted my face towards Belial, my voice low. “What’ll happen if we try to ram them?”

“They’ll puncture the tires.”

“So we have to get out?”

“Yes. We have to get out.”

“Great,” I whispered, opening the car door. Belial did the same. I swallowed hard and forced myself to walk towards the two archangels. The closer I got, the more I could feel both of their auras surging around them like a stifling fog. They were furious. Absolutely furious with me. It hurt more than any of the other injuries I had sustained so far.

“Gentlemen,” Belial said in his best snake-oil salesman voice. “Fancy meeting you here. I’m guessing a little birdie told you about our impromptu vacation?”

They both ignored the comment. Gabriel spoke first. “You have one chance. Just one. Before anything gets more complicated.”

“Pray tell, what chance is that?” the demon asked.

“The deal is that you both surrender the rogue angel and return to Albany. No charges, no arrests, and no further problems.”

“Sounds pleasant enough. What’s the counter-offer?”

Gabriel’s blue eyes iced over. “Jail. Death. Take your pick, demon.”

“Well, considering the fact that I’ve experienced both, I’d have to say I’m not a fan of either option. However, while I appreciate your little display, I’m afraid we have to decline.”

Michael finally looked at me and the anger in his gaze hit me like a slap in the face. “So, what? Does he speak for you now?”

“No,” I said in a quiet voice. “But my answer is the same.”

Michael closed his eyes, a pained expression flickering across his handsome face. “Don’t do this, Jordan. Just come home with me. With us. We can still fix this.”

“I want to,” I whispered. “Believe me, I want to, but I can’t. I’m so sorry, Michael.”

He sighed—a long, exhausted sound. “So am I. Gabriel?”

I heard the rustling of cloth and then Gabriel disappeared from view. It took me a second to realize he’d tackled Belial. The two immediately locked themselves into a vicious battle, rolling into the street behind me as each one fought for control. I didn’t dare turn to watch them. I only had eyes for the man in front of me, my husband, the angel charged with stopping the woman he loved.

His voice came out soft. “I don’t want to fight you.”

“Neither do I.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

I shook my head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“How couldn’t I? I’m your husband. I’m your best friend.”

“You’re an archangel.”

He frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You’re trained to accept the fact that there will be collateral damage and lives you can’t save. You know the costs. You know the statistics. You can see the big picture because you know the exact date and time of the Rapture…but I don’t. I’m human. I’m going to die someday. I don’t have the luxury of knowing that everything will eventually be paradise. All I have is the time I’m given right now and the life in front of me. The life that I control. It’s all I’ve got, Michael. And I have to make it count. Just like I have to do whatever it takes to stop the Leviathan from arising and killing those people.”

“And what if the rogue angel decides not to help you?” he snapped, making me flinch. “What if it’s impossible to change the future? What then? You’ll have ruined your life, ruined our marriage, for nothing.”

“I know. But that’s a sacrifice I have to make, even if it’s more than I can possibly bear. I have to believe that I can stop this because it’s all on my shoulders. You can’t understand that because there’s always another way for you.”

“We, ignorant of ourselves, beg often our own harms, which the wise powers deny us for our good; so we find profit by losing our prayers.”

Shakespeare. Damn him, he knew exactly how to hit me where it hurt. “I don’t have a choice.”

He gripped my shoulders, pulling me close, leaning down to my height as his green eyes searched my brown ones. “Yes, you do. You always do. Jordan, I love you and I would forgive you for anything…except this. Don’t do it. Don’t make me hurt you. Please.”

Tears burned at the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. If this was the last time we were together before we became enemies, he wouldn’t see my weakness, only my strength.

“I’m sorry.”

Michael stared at me and then his hands dropped to his sides. He took a deep breath and I stepped back, waiting. He set his jaw and everything that had been my husband disappeared. The warrior inside him took over.

“Very well. I’ll give you a sporting chance.”

I threw myself at him. I used every single fighting move I knew. I held nothing back because I knew he could take it. He parried every blow, blocked every punch, and dodged every kick. I fought until my arms trembled, my breath was ragged, and my fists were numb. Through it all, he wore the same passive expression and waited for me to tire. Then he struck.

He used tae-kwon-do, at first, but I soon realized that his fighting style was more than just that. Michael had been alive for centuries and so he knew techniques I’d never even heard of or seen in action. He had a counter attack for every punch I threw, a way to break all of my blocking, and a speed that practically rivaled the Flash. Mercifully, he never aimed for my face but my arms, my ribs, my stomach, and my legs all took the punishment instead. He knocked me down at least four times. I stopped counting after that. By then, I had to use every last bit of my strength just to stand up.

The last time I fell, I stayed on the ground, staring at the holes in my gloves that exposed my bloody knuckles and watching my sweat pool beneath me on the pavement. I couldn’t last any longer. My entire body had broken into tremors from head to toe and my head was pounding. Pain swarmed my senses, consuming me completely. Despair set in. I couldn’t beat him. Not like this.

His long shadow fell across my face. He knelt beside me, his voice calm and distant, as if he felt nothing. Maybe he didn’t. “Yield.”

I laid my forehead on the ground, struggling to breathe through the stabbing pain in my ribs. Part of me wanted to give in. Just let him take me home and wait for the inevitable. Wait for everything to turn to shit and for me to somehow wake the Leviathan. At least I’d be with my family before it happened.

I cut my eyes across the street to see Belial on his knees, his Kevlar vest torn in several places, blood dripping down his arms. Gabriel stood before him, holding a short sword beneath the demon’s chin as he ordered him to surrender. Belial met my gaze and gave a small nod.

I fumbled for the dagger sheathed at the small of my back. Michael glanced at it.

“That’s not going to hurt me.”

“I know.” I sliced a quick line across my wrist. His eyes widened in horror. A tiny piece of my husband returned as he reached for me. The blood dripped onto my palm and I pressed my hand against his chest over his heart, smearing a dark red imprint.

“With blood, I bind you to this spot. Walk no more until the spell is broken.”

A red light in the shape of my hand glowed on his chest and then on the ground as I laid my hand on the road to finish the spell. He screamed in pain and fell on his hands and knees as the power trapped him in that spot. I heard Gabriel call out to us and turned to see him start towards me, but then Belial stood up and used his left hand to snap his fingers. Gabriel stopped dead as a red light burst around him in a circle, traced in the demon’s blood. Belial stepped outside of it with a satisfied smirk, waving at the angel.

“Sorry, Gabe. Looks like you’ll be parking it for a while.”

Enraged, the archangel reached for the demon but hissed as his hand hit the edge of the barrier, scalding his flesh. Belial walked over and offered to help me up but I refused, standing on my own.

Michael struggled against the spell enough to look into my eyes and my heart shattered in that instance. I felt the full force of my betrayal and everything inside me wanted the world to end just so I wouldn’t have to face what I’d done.

I turned away, my voice hoarse. “Get me out of here.”

Belial looped my right arm across his shoulder and helped me back to the SUV. Once I was safely strapped in, we drove away, leaving two broken angels and the last of my humanity in our wake.

BOOK FIVE: AWAKENED

“It is the business of the very few to be independent; it is a privilege of the strong. And whoever attempts it, even with the best right, but without being obliged to do so, proves that he is probably not only strong, but also daring beyond measure. He enters into a labyrinth, he multiplies a thousandfold the dangers which life in itself already brings with it; not the least of which is that no one can see how and where he loses his way, becomes isolated, and is torn piecemeal by some minotaur of conscience.

-Friedrich Nietzsche, “Beyond Good and Evil”

Chapter 25

Jordan

THE CUT ON my wrist itched after the blood finally clotted. I wanted to scratch it, but I knew that would only make things worse. Besides, the discomfort gave me an excuse to stay distracted. A few years ago, I’d had a similar problem. The night after I’d accidentally killed Andrew, I had been staring at a butcher knife and wondering how long it would take me to die if I slit my wrists.

The bathroom doorknob turned and I reached for my dagger on instinct. Belial walked in and I relaxed. Not long ago, the sight of the demon made my stomach clench and fear creep up my spine. Now, I only felt a vast emptiness whenever I saw him.

He shut the door with one hand and then placed a First Aid kit on the counter. He popped it open and took a few items out. “How’s your wrist?”

“I’ll survive.”

“Yes, I suspect you will. I’m surprised, you know. I thought you might chicken out at the last minute, but you executed the blood spell perfectly. I’m rather proud of—”

“Don’t,” I snarled. “If you finish that sentence, I’ll slit your throat.”

He cast a sidelong glance at me and then smirked. “You tease.”

I knew he was trying to get a rise out of me for his own amusement. I knew that I didn’t have a drop of energy left in me. I knew that getting angry was pointless. But I still picked up the dagger and tried to stab him. He caught my wrist and pinned me against the bathroom door. The dagger clattered harmlessly onto the tile floor. My aching body sagged, only held up by his gloved hands on my wrists.

Belial arched an eyebrow, not hiding the haughtiness in his tone. “Feel better?”

“Listen to me, you sorry son of a bitch. I may be working with you right now, but that doesn’t mean I hate you any less. So cut the shit or I swear, I’ll wait until you fall asleep and find out if you really are immortal.”

He clucked his tongue. “My, my. Your temper’s awfully short. Upset because you’ve betrayed your husband and your friend just like you said you would?”

I thrashed against his iron grip, but he didn’t budge an inch. “Fuck you, Belial.”

He leaned in closer and then slid his knee between my legs, forcing a small sound out of my throat that made me ashamed of myself. “Careful. Don’t offer it if you don’t mean it.”

“Let go of me.”

“Or what? You’ll kill me? Let us be honest, Jordan. You need me. You have no one else in this world but me right now. So don’t take your anger out on the last person who has bothered to support you.”

I glowered at him, swallowing my fury because I knew he was right. I was hurt. Mentally, physically, emotionally, all to the point where I just wanted to scream and hit something until it bled. It didn’t help that he was pushing my buttons, though.

“Fine. Then why did you antagonize me?”

“You needed to vent. You may not realize it yet, but this little stunt did release some tension for you.”

He paused, examining my surprised expression. “Besides, I like having excuses to press up against you. Especially when you’re covered in blood. It’s rather fetching.”

The glare returned. “Great. Now let go.”

The demon released me. I went over to the sink and rinsed the blood off, wincing as more leaked out after it all washed away. I poured rubbing alcohol over the wound, gritting my teeth as it stung. Belial waited for me to finish and took hold of my arm, keeping it steady while he prepared the gauze. He wrapped my wrist with surprising gentleness, but then again, he had probably done this a lot.

“How are your ribs?” he asked.

“Sore, but not broken.”

“Pity. I had been looking forward to seeing you without a shirt on again.”

I rolled my eyes, choosing not to rise to the bait. “How long before I get my energy back?”

“Probably a day. Blood spells take a lot out of both Seers and demons. I can’t believe you’ve never tried one before.”

“Sorry. The whole ‘not evil’ thing prevented me from learning about them.”

He gave me an annoyed look. “Blood spells aren’t all evil, you know. I suspect your father figure knew a few of them.”

“Andrew? What makes you say that?”

Belial shrugged. “He was a practicing Seer for almost thirty years. Someone that experienced would have known about them.”

He finished tying the bandage and glanced over me from head to toe. “There. That should hold you together for now. We need to get on the road.”

“Where are we headed?”

“It’s better if you don’t know until we get your mental shields in place. You’re still a young Seer so I’m going to teach you to construct ones that will prevent the angels from locating you.”

“What about Juliana?”

“She’s too young. They won’t be able to sense her since her energy is barely readable. The child can probably see spirits, but she can’t do anything else that a normal Seer can, and won’t be able to until she’s much older.”

“Alright, let’s go.”

He held up his hands. “You need to change first. You’ve got blood everywhere and that will upset Juliana when she sees you.”

I glanced at his bloody right arm, exposed since he’d rolled his sleeves up. “You’re one to talk.”

He ignored me and left the bathroom, then returned with a navy blouse and blue jeans. I let them unfold in my hands, horrified that they looked like they would fit me perfectly.

“Should I even ask how you knew my size?”

A slick grin touched his lips. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve been on this Earth for centuries. It’s not hard to figure out your measurements.”

He left. I tossed the clothes on the sink and undressed. Unfortunately, I couldn’t resist looking at my reflection. The sight was grisly. Bruises dotted my ribs, my forearms, and both knees, all of them purplish blotches against my brown skin. I looked like hell. Made sense. I seemed to be on my way there already.

After I got dressed, I checked my watch. Two hours since we fought the angels. By now, they had probably broken free from the blood spells. Belial told me they were only temporary. Demons rarely used them because it meant having to get in close quarters with an angel, and that almost always resulted in death. Still, I wondered if he’d been right about Andrew knowing about these spells. I hadn’t even heard of them until this morning before the incident.

I walked out of the bathroom. Belial stood in front of the single bed in the cheap motel room he’d rented, shoving his old, soiled clothes into a duffel bag. We had driven straight out of Lexington after retrieving the rogue angel, who was currently in the trunk of our stolen car, still unconscious. The sedative would wear off in a few hours and that was when the interrogation would start. I wasn’t looking forward to it after seeing the methods of intimidation Belial had used on the late Mr. Wallace.

We left the motel and drove several miles to meet Juliana with our new ride at the next rendezvous point. I hated the idea of bringing a child along with us—a pair of kidnapping felons—but Belial had a point. She would be safer with us than anyone else. Still, the real problem would be keeping her away from the rogue angel. She was too small to understand much, but just old enough to be at the age to ask a lot of questions. I suspected I would be the one dealing with them. Belial would probably just blow her off.

Our alternative mode of transportation turned out to be an RV, complete with a driver. On the outside, it looked rundown but the inside was almost as opulent as Belial’s private jet. We stashed the unconscious rogue angel in the bedroom with plenty of restraints and locked the door before bringing Juliana on board.

The living room area had a pull-out couch and she curled up with an interactive children’s book in no time at all. We hit the road right afterward, trying to put as much distance between ourselves and the angels as possible. The road ahead would be hard to navigate, but I’d chosen this path and now I had to walk it, step by treacherous step.

Chapter 26

Jordan

“JORDAN?”

I sat a small container of chocolate milk on the nightstand and continued rifling through the McDonald’s Happy Meal box. Juliana swung her small, socked feet as she watched me, her brown eyes bright with interest. I’d heard that in Brazil, Mickey D’s was actually a legitimate restaurant instead of a fast food joint. She’d never had the stuff before. Crazy world we live in.

“Yes?” I answered.

“How come we’re driving so much?” Juliana asked, still in Portuguese. Thankfully, since she was small, she didn’t talk too fast and I could understand the general gist of what she was saying. Belial had provided me with a huge Brazilian-Portuguese textbook and I’d crammed as much basic grammar as I could on the five-hour ride here. Earlier, I tested the child’s knowledge of English and it was minimal. She knew introductions, a few questions, numbers one through twenty, half of the alphabet, and some slang phrases she heard on TV, but that was it. I wasn’t surprised. Her mother was a professor, but Juliana wouldn’t be fluent in the language for years. That is, if I got her out of this mess alive.

I handed her the kids’ sized cheeseburger to hold and grabbed a fistful of napkins. “We’re on a road trip.”

I tucked a napkin in her collar and smoothed it out before helping her unwrap the food. Part of me had wanted to get her a healthier meal, but we were on the run from the law so I couldn’t risk going into a grocery store. Cameras. The driver had nabbed the meal shortly before we arrived at the motel.

Juliana bit down into the burger only a second after I managed to get another napkin on her lap. It caught a glob of ketchup, much to my relief. I dumped the little baggie of fries on the plastic wrapper for her to pick through.

“Stay right here and finish this, okay? I’m going to go in the other room with Bel—er, James—for a while.” I winced, hoping she wouldn’t notice the mix-up with his name.

Juliana nodded, taking another bite of her food. I turned on the television for her and found the Disney channel. Her attention immediately went to the smiling children and bright colors. I rubbed the top of her head and squatted in front of her.

“And don’t answer the door unless it’s me or James. If anything bad happens, get the phone and dial 9-1-1. Understand?”

“Mmkay.”

I stood, slid my cell phone in my pocket, and headed out, double-checking that my key card was safely in my wallet. I made sure that the door was indeed locked before walking down the narrow hallway to a room at the end. I knocked twice and waited.

A moment later, Belial opened it. “Took you long enough.”

“Shut up,” I grumbled, shoving past him to enter the room. “I’m babysitting your kid for free. You’re not allowed to get snippy.”

He shut the door. “And I’m paying for her meals and the rooms, so we’re even. Now then, shall we get started?”

I exhaled, wishing my reservations would evaporate into the air. “Yeah.”

I turned around. The unconscious rogue angel sat in a chair in the middle of the room with a black tarp underneath him, still handcuffed, but no longer wearing his prison garb. Belial had put him in a green flannel shirt, black tank top, and faded grey jeans. It clashed with his bright orange hair and nearly translucent skin. His head hung inches above his chest. He looked so…human.

Belial walked over to the bed and opened a black leather suitcase. I caught a flash of silver and felt my blood run cold as I saw an array of different knives neatly tucked in a velvet casing. He found a thin stick of smelling salt and snapped it beneath the rogue angel’s nose.

Edmond’s head jerked upward and he coughed several times. His brown eyes wandered around the room, then settled on us—first Belial, then me. His expression melted into a blank, unreadable slate just like when I’d gotten him out of the back of the armored truck.

“Morning, sunshine,” Belial said. “Sleep well?”

Edmond didn’t reply. “The strong silent type, hmm? Most angels are like that. After all, even lowly Scribes like you are trained not to succumb to torture or persuasion. If it were any other demon, you might be safe.”

Belial bent his tall frame so that their eyes were level and lowered his voice. “But I’m not your average, run-of-the-mill demon. I’m an archdemon. I spent centuries in Hell finding every way in existence to torture a soul. So if you cooperate now, this will be quick and painless. But if you don’t…we’ll find out just how tough your Daddy made you.”

Again, the angel said nothing. Belial shrugged and rose to full height. “Jordan, if you will?”

I stepped forward, my arms crossed over my chest. “Edmond, I need your help. I need to know everything you know about the page you ripped out of the Book. I want to stop the Leviathan from awakening. I know it looks bad that I’m working with a demon, but this is the only way I could talk to you. The angels are under orders to kill you on sight. Please help me. We have the same goal. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you don’t tell me what I need to know.”

His eyes searched mine for what seemed like ages. At first, I couldn’t quite describe what it felt like with those mahogany orbs boring into my skull. Then I realized it wasn’t hatred. It was conviction. He believed he was righteous. I couldn’t convince him of otherwise. Damn it.

“Very well,” the demon said with a sigh. “Let’s get started. Jordan, my pet, would you hand me that belt on the bed?”

I took a deep breath and picked it up. Belial grabbed Edmond’s lower jaw, shoving his fingers between his teeth so that he was forced to open his mouth. He tied the belt around the angel’s head and pulled it tight so he couldn’t spit it out or make a noise loud enough to alert our neighbors. Then again, in a sketchy place like this, I doubted that the neighbors would care if they heard a scream for help. Plus, with our energy signatures suppressed—a trick Belial taught me on the way here—there was no hope of reinforcements. Not that the angels would be much nicer to him at this point.

I leaned against the far wall, wrapping my arms around my stomach as Belial chose the first knife—a slender one with a blade about four inches long. He rolled up the sleeves of his black turtleneck and tested the tip with one gloved finger.

“I always start with this little number. I’ve had the point sharpened almost to that of a katana. Most people think torture is all about pain. Not at all. It’s about patience.”

He pushed up the right sleeve on Edmond’s arm. “You’re an angel. Angels are incapable of death by human instruments. But pain…no, your Father has a sense of humor so he left that intact. It’s always been one of the reasons I liked the Old Bastard.”

He sliced a neat line along Edmond’s forearm. Blood welled outward, spilling onto the arm of the chair. I breathed deep and told myself to calm down even though every inch of me felt sick. Edmond didn’t even flinch. Belial placed the blade back in its proper place and then reached into his duffel bag. He retrieved a brown glass bottle with a white label. My eyes caught the black letters on the front as he unscrewed the cap. Iodine.

He poured a liberal amount of it on the fresh cut. Edmond stiffened, making a garbled noise of pain against his gag. I dug my fingers into my sides, looking away. Nausea rolled up my torso in a wave. I squeezed my eyes shut, clinging to any rational thought in my head. We had to do this to save those people. We had to.

Belial withdrew the iodine. “That loosen your tongue any, angel?”

Edmond glared at the demon, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, but made no indication of giving in.

Belial screwed the cap back on the iodine and set it aside. “Excellent resolve, my boy. You’re quite the trooper.”

The process continued. I lost track of time how long it went on for because I had huddled against the wall trying not to hear the angel’s muffled groans of pain. He just wouldn’t cave in, not even after Belial used about half the instruments in his suitcase. The tarp beneath the chair became slick with blood and other fluids. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer.

I caught Belial’s shoulder and he paused, tossing a frosty look in my direction. “Can you…leave for a while? I want to talk to him alone.”

He arched a thin eyebrow. “Good cop?”

I offered him a weak smile. “Something like that.”

He sighed. “I despise that routine, but I suppose it’s worth a shot. I’ll go check on the child. Walk with me.”

I followed him to the door. He kept his voice low, staring at me with that piercing gaze.

“You’re not going to do anything stupid like untie him, right?”

I let out a hollow laugh. “After I just stood by and let you torture him? No. He’d snap my neck. Just trust me. Maybe I can get through to him.”

“Are you sure that’s all this is about?” he asked.

“What else would it be about?”

He exhaled, a hot burst of air that brushed my neck and made me shiver. “I feel your revulsion. I can practically smell it on you. You’ve got a weak stomach.”

I glared. “Sorry, I’m not into torturing people like you are.”

“You sure? You seem to enjoy what you’re doing to me,” he said, and the bitterness in his tone made me hesitate.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just hurry up.”

He walked out, leaving me in a stupor. Where had that come from? I brushed my cluttered thoughts aside and closed the door. He wouldn’t give me long. Better get this over with.

I walked over to Edmond and he flinched as I reached behind his head. I undid the belt and pulled it out of his mouth, letting it drop onto the tarp. He gave me a curious look, but didn’t say anything as I sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Look, I can’t…apologize to you. I mean, it would be pointless. I just let a demon torture you for half an hour. I should be burned at the stake, if we’re being honest. But this isn’t about me. This is about you.”

I met his gaze, allowing him to see my unwavering resolve. “I know that I can’t possibly understand what it’s like to be an angel. I’d never assume I could. You’ve seen things I couldn’t even fathom. You know about the actual universe, not just this little blue planet. So I’m sure I seem like a petty, insecure insect in the grand scheme of things. I think that’s why it wasn’t too hard for you to kill the other Seers. If you think about it, humans aren’t even the smartest beings on the earth. I know I can vouch for that.”

I licked my lips, choosing my words carefully. “But I also know that you still came to see me at the restaurant and you didn’t try to kill me then. You could have. Michael was nowhere to be found and you could’ve slipped away in the chaos it would have caused…but you didn’t.”

Edmond winced. That one little physical reaction solidified the suspicion I already had in my mind. There was more to him than just his mission. There had to be.

I kept going. “Which means that some part of you knew it didn’t feel right to kill those people, or to kill me. You apologized to me, for Pete’s sake. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t care.”

He held my gaze and then looked away. “Edmond, please. Help me. We can stop the Leviathan from awakening. You wouldn’t have taken on this mission if you didn’t think you could change the future. I believe you. And I understand what you’ve sacrificed now. I…”

My voice wavered. I swallowed to talk past the lump in my throat. “I gave up my marriage for this. I gave up my friendship with Gabriel for this. I wouldn’t do that if it wasn’t for a good cause so please say you’ll help me. Please.”

“Do you truly believe that?” he asked in a weather-beaten voice. “That you can change the future?”

“Yes.”

He studied me before answering. “The Book told me this would happen. I knew you would come for me. I hoped somehow the others would stop you.”

“Why?”

“I had never met Michael before our confrontation in São Paulo. I had only read about him and heard rumors. The way he spoke of you…the anger in his heart was extraordinary. He could not forgive himself for failing to protect you from me. For the first time, I understood the depths to which he loved you. So I hoped you would not ally yourself with the demon to capture me because now you will not be able to undo what has been done to your relationship. I know that it should be of no consequence to me, but Michael is still my brother whether he recognizes me as such or not. I have caused him great pain and I admit I regret it.”

“But if we’re able to stop this from happening, you’ll be forgiven. You won’t be dishonored any longer.”

He smiled for the first time. It made him seem so young. “You are kind…and naïve.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but he continued. “However, I appreciate your honesty. We are…more alike than I wanted to admit. Both of us have lost our families in pursuit of protecting the innocent and both of us have gotten our hands dirty in their name.”

“So you’ll help me?”

He nodded. Relief flooded through me. “Thank you.”

“Do not thank me until we have stopped the Leviathan.”

I scooted forward, rubbing my damp palms on my knees. “How much do you know about the events leading up to the 31st? It said that there will be a visit to the Garden of Eden. What happens there?”

“On the 30th, someone retrieves a piece of fruit from the Tree of Knowledge. It is later taken and given to the Leviathan to awaken it.”

“Does it say who?”

“No. Merely a Seer.”

“What about the actual event? How much do you know about it?”

“It is much like a large gathering. There are hundreds of angels there as well as two demons.”

“Wait, two demons? Does it say who?”

He shook his head. I raked the hair out of my face in a quick, frustrated motion. “Shit.”

“However, there was one thing of note. The page said that she will command control of the Leviathan. The demon is a woman.”

I froze. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Panic rushed through my veins like ice water. “Only an archdemon could control something that powerful, right?”

“Yes.”

“Mulciber,” I whispered. “She’s the only one. Damn it.”

A curious look crept onto his features. “I have only read about her, this demon who built Pandemonium. Is she truly so wicked?”

“More than you can imagine. If she’s involved, we’re in deeper than I thought.”

“If that is true, then shouldn’t you inform the archangels of what they will be up against?”

“I…” I sighed. “I don’t know. Everything’s so complicated now. I was hoping learning the truth would make things easier, but it didn’t.”

“Vi veri universum vivus vici.”

A small smile touched my lips. “‘By the power of truth, I, while living, have conquered the universe.’ Aleister Crowley. You really are a Scribe.”

He nodded to me, a tiny but polite gesture. I stood. “My…associate will be back soon. I know it’s beyond distasteful, but could you stand to work with us until the 31st?”

His voice went subarctic. “I will have nothing to do with that creature.”

“But for you and the child, I will cooperate,” he continued, softening his tone. “You have my word as an angel.”

“Thanks. I’m so sorry for what I’ve done to you.”

He shook his head. “Again, I am owed no thanks. You did what you believed was necessary. So did I.”

“I’ll be right back.”

I walked out of the room and yelped in surprise as I found Belial leaning against the opposite wall, his blue eyes cool and calculating. I shut the door, clearing my throat and pretending he hadn’t noticed that he scared me even though I knew he did.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Is this the part where I say ‘long enough’?” he asked. The sarcasm was so thick I could have chewed on it and blown a bubble.

“Did you hear what he said or not?”

“No. I assumed you would fill me in since we’re partners.”

My hands balled into fists. “We’re not partners.”

He smirked. “Your stubbornness is both your best and worst quality. Nevertheless, we have more pressing matters to worry about. What did he tell you?”

“That the Book said this would happen—us kidnapping him, the whole thing. But that’s the least of our worries. He said that Mulciber’s involved.”

“He’s sure?”

“Sounded pretty damn certain. Where has she been all this time?”

“In Hell,” he said, running a hand through his hair. He’d pulled it into a ponytail while torturing Edmond but now it was unrestrained, framing his slender face. “My master was none too pleased with her work these past couple years, so she has been in what I would call a boot camp. I was not under the impression she’d be able to leave any time soon.”

It occurred to me that he could be lying. Belial always had a hidden agenda, but this time, I wasn’t seeing how it would benefit him to share his plan with her. They had been partners when they tried to create a false angel back in New Jersey last year, but it sounded like they had a falling out after that. I had assumed Belial would be the one to betray me and somehow force me to raise the Leviathan, but now things were different. Now, I wasn’t sure where he stood. I needed to find out, and quickly.

“Can you verify that she’s still in Hell?”

“I can make a few calls and have one of my minions check. Normally, I can sense whenever there’s an archdemon on Earth, but she’s always been good at flying under the radar. I should have an answer within two days. In the meantime, what are we going to do with Howdy Doody?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m so mad I even get that reference. Edmond said he’d be willing to cooperate. Though understandably, not with you.”

“What a pity. And here I was looking for a new best friend.”

“Can it. How’s Juliana?”

“Fine. Still watching television. She seems to be quite fond of that Bieber girl.”

I smothered a giggle behind my hand. “That’s a guy.”

He stared. “You’re joking.”

“Afraid not. Now let’s go untie the angel and get the hell out of dodge.”

I opened the door and went to Edmond’s chair, carefully undoing the restraints one by one. Belial stood on the other side of the bed with his arms crossed, watching with an impassive eye. Even with my energy suppressed, I sensed waves of annoyance pouring off him like steam. I had tried not to notice that he’d enjoyed torturing the rogue angel, but it was impossible. They were mortal enemies. Hell, the reason Belial agreed to help me was so he could torture and kill an angel. I could put up with him because even though he was an arrogant bastard, he was useful. Edmond certainly wouldn’t have the same sentiment, and I didn’t blame him one bit.

I undid the blood-drenched handcuffs last and helped Edmond out of the chair. He leaned all his weight on me, but since he was only about sixty pounds heavier than me, I could handle it. I led him to the bathroom and got him a First Aid kit, but he declined. He still had enough energy to heal himself, which was more than I could say, so I left him to shower on his own.

“Wait,” I said, just before closing the door. He glanced at me questioningly.

“What’s your real name? I’ve been calling you by your alias all this time.”

He watched me with surprise and then spoke softly. “Avriel.”

I offered him a faint smile. “Nice to meet you.”

A sound similar to a laugh escaped him. “And you as well.”

I shut the door, somehow feeling a little less terrible than before. Funny how angels could facilitate that feeling.

“There’s one last thing left to discuss,” Belial said, interrupting my thoughts.

“What?”

“If he’s going to work with us, what will we tell Juliana? After all, he killed her babysitter and threatened her at knifepoint. Last time I checked, four year olds aren’t great with reliving traumatic events.”

“I know. We’ll…handle it. Somehow. Poor baby’s been through enough and she’s not even a full-blown Seer yet. I’m starting to think the world would benefit from you getting a vasectomy.”

He snorted. “Funny. I’ll keep an eye on him while you’re gone.”

I couldn’t stifle my anger. “She’s your kid, y’know. She might want some comfort from her father.”

“I’m a donor of genetic material, nothing more. Don’t project your latent Daddy issues on me, Seer.”

It took an ugly amount of will power not to punch him. I squared my shoulders and faced him, my voice quiet. “Just so you know, when this is all over…I’m going to enjoy kicking the shit out of you.”

A devious smile curled across his lips. “Promises, promises. You’re quite the tease, my pet.”

I slammed the door behind me when I left, having no other way to end the argument. Smug son of a bitch. Why did demons have to be immortal? I’d give anything to be able to shut him up once and for all. The thought practically kept me warm at night. Then again, what would my life be like without him? Who would step into his narrow Armani shoes as my flirtatious tormentor? Would I miss him? It almost made me want to laugh.

Juliana was sitting on the edge of the bed when I came in. Her eyes lit up and she pointed at the screen, telling me how cool this American show was, or something similar. She was talking way too fast for me to catch up with my crash-course in the language.

“That’s great, but we’re just going to mute this for a second, okay?”

She pouted. “Why?”

I sat next to her, choosing my words. “I wanted to talk to you about something important.”

A slight frown puckered her round cheeks so I placed a comforting hand on her head, smoothing dark curls away from her forehead. “James told me about the night he met you.”

Her face fell. “Oh. I was really scared.”

A painful spot opened up in my chest at her words. “I know. It must be hard. I know you miss your parents. I know what that’s like. I didn’t grow up with my mom and dad.”

“That must’ve made you sad.”

“Yes, it did. But it helped me learn a few things.”

“Like what?”

I paused. “Like some people can become your family even if they aren’t your blood.”

She gave me a confused look and I tried to find another way to explain it in her language. Too bad that Bieber kid didn’t have any songs about this. “Sometimes people can still be your family even if they’re not related to you. Like James.”

She glanced downward, twirling a finger in her shirt, a shy gesture. “Really? I don’t think he likes me much.”

Smart kid, I thought. “He does. He’s just not good at showing how he feels. He needs time to warm up to you. Do you understand?”

“I guess so.”

“Hey, look at me.”

She lifted her face. I smiled. “Your parents love you. You’ll see them again soon, I promise. But in the meantime, James and I will take care of you. But there’s also someone who will be with us. He might seem a little scary to you, but he’s a good guy. Whatever happens, I want you to remember that I’m always going to be here for you no matter what, okay?”

“Okay.” She lifted up on her knees and hugged me. I wrapped my arms around her and the aching hole inside my chest expanded. Part of me knew this girl was the daughter of the man who had killed my ex-lover and wanted to destroy everything I loved. I should have kept my distance. But somehow, I knew it was already too late. We were both orphans. Birds of a screwed-up feather.

God help us.

Chapter 27

Michael

THEY WERE HEADING south. I was sure of it now.

Shortly after breaking free of the blood spells, Gabriel and I had hit the road looking for any sign of them. Unfortunately, with the FBI and the U.S. Marshals on our tail, we were forced to keep our heads down and use our instincts and resources to pick up a trail. There weren’t any angels in the immediate Lexington area so I made a call to someone I knew for help—a hacker named Jocelyn. I gave her all the facts we had so far and told her to have something concrete by the time we made it to Chattanooga, Tennessee.

An emergency call tipped us off to the stolen SUV they had used to flee the scene of the crime. It had been dumped in a small man-made lake about fifteen miles outside of Lexington. No sign of Jordan, Belial, or the rogue angel, naturally. The demon would keep them mobile until they figured out their final destination, which I had to figure out just as quickly.

The map beneath my fingers was wrinkled and faded, but I knew the landscape well enough not to need every city printed in bold. With the feds looking for them, it would be easiest to travel by car rather than by plane or train. The authorities couldn’t block off every single road in the nation just to catch one international serial killer and two felons. As much as I loathed the idea, I would have to think like a demon if I wanted to catch one.

He would have his minions run any errands they needed—food, supplies, transportation, the works. All I needed was to find an area they had passed by and I could lean on one for information. Demons were nearly impossible to break, being born from Hell and all, but Hell was nothing compared to me. I would invent new ways to tear them apart. Despair had ripped my world into pieces before me, but anger rebuilt it brick by brick.

“Michael.”

I didn’t turn when Gabriel called from behind me. His heavy feet made the hardwood floors creak as he walked across the dining room to where I stood, scouring the map for clues. He sat a mug of coffee by my hand on the table. I didn’t touch it.

“Any luck?”

“No,” I said. “What did Jocelyn say?”

He sipped his coffee, making a face as if it tasted bitter. “She ran the algorithm through all the available networks. Nothing yet, but I’m sure something will turn up. What are your thoughts?”

“We know someone’s going to visit the Garden in four days. It’d take them a couple of days to even get to its location. Still, that’s where things get confusing. If they want to prevent the Leviathan from waking, all they would need to do is just avoid it. The Book isn’t telling us something. Why would they visit the Garden if it would facilitate the Leviathan’s awakening?”

Gabriel rubbed his eyes. I could tell he was tired in more ways than one, hence the coffee. “Good question. Something has to happen. Perhaps someone bribes them into it or threatens a loved one.”

I shook my head. “Lauren’s covered. I’ve had angels watching over her and Lily since we left Albany. Same thing with Jordan’s father. I even had someone keep an eye on her wretched Aunt Carmen. The only people left are you and me.”

“I suppose that’s a blessing. Jordan’s small social circle means less babysitting for the other angels,” my brother mused, but I didn’t smile at the joke. He sat his coffee down and folded his arms across his chest.

“I know this isn’t the right time to pry, but…what happened back there?”

“Back where?”

“The street. I expected you to subdue Jordan, but not like that. Why did you fight her? You could have just knocked her out.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit.” I looked up and found he was glaring at me. Had I ever heard him curse before? Couldn’t recall. It sounded wrong. Gabriel was always so calm and polite.

“What?”

“You fought your own wife. Look me in the eye and tell me that’s not fifty different kinds of wrong. You’ve never been the kind for cruelty, brother. So what happened?”

I closed my eyes. I wanted to shut down like I had in the street. Just turn my feelings off and worry about the consequences of my actions later. But he deserved the truth. After all, he was damn near the only friend I had left now that Jordan was working with the enemy.

“I wanted to see how far she would go. I had been in denial about her working with Belial. I had to see it for myself.”

“See what?”

“That she really would betray me. Betray us. It was the only way I could go through with stopping her.”

He sighed. “I know what she did was unforgivable, even by our standards. But you can’t pretend like it’s all on her. This is all of our doing.”

Offense rode high in my throat. “How so?”

“We agreed to the arrangement of Belial helping us. That was a contract between the four of us. If you want to blame her, fine. But don’t pretend like you’re just an innocent cuckold in this situation.”

“Careful,” I said, my voice low and practically vibrating with anger. “I am many things, but a cuckold is not one of them.”

“Even so, you’re not acting like my brother any more. I haven’t seen you like this since the Second World War. I want to catch them and stop this just as badly as you do, but not if it costs me my soul.”

I rounded on him. “What do you want from me, Gabriel? Of course I was angry. Why does that matter? We have a job to do and I’m not going to sit around with hurt feelings while the world goes to hell.”

He rose to his full height, his sky blue eyes scorching holes through my skull. “I’m not trying to pick a fight, Michael. I am merely saying that you’ve been emotionally compromised. Perhaps you should take a moment to deal with this before things get out of hand.”

I let out a scornful laugh. “Deal with what? My wife running off with a demon just like I was afraid she’d do? Being less than a week away from having to fight one of the most powerful creatures in God’s creation? Sorry, but I’d rather piss glass.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but then I heard Jocelyn’s voice calling from her office. We shared a brief glare and then went into the room.

“What is it?” I asked.

“A maid in a Motel 8 in north Georgia made a call to the local PD when she noticed the burnt remains of what appeared to be prison clothing in the trash. The demon’s been cleaning up his tracks, but it looks like the fire didn’t destroy the entire garment. The color and size of the remains matches the last thing the rogue angel was seen wearing,” she said, tapping her mouse to get a print-out of the information her computer had gathered.

“He was in a hurry,” Gabriel said. “Normally, it would be easier to wait for the garment to burn completely and then toss it somewhere, like down a sewer drain. He’s getting sloppy. Then again, it could be purposeful misdirection.”

“True. He wants us chasing our tails for as long as possible. Still, I’ll have someone in the area keep an eye out.”

Jocelyn cast a worried look between the two of us as she twirled a lock of blonde hair between her fingers. “Look, I know you’re both on edge, but do you mind if I tell you what I think?”

“Not at all,” Gabriel said.

“I think your best bet is to head straight for the Garden. Belial’s good at flying under the radar. I mean, my program’s been working at full tilt since you called me and this is the only lead I’ve found. I think you’re better off going there instead of trying to pick up on their trail.”

“They’re not gonna get that far,” I growled, snatching the page from the printer. “We’ll find them and this mess will finally be over.”

“What happens when you find them, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“The rogue angel will be returned to Heaven for judgment. Belial will be sent back to Hell. Jordan…” I stopped, unable to finish the sentence because I had no idea where she stood now.

“Jordan what?” Gabriel asked in a gentle voice.

“We’ll figure out what to do with her later. But that’s the plan and we’re sticking to it.”

“Jocelyn has a point and you know it, Michael. Maybe we should redirect our attention to the Garden instead of trying to find them.”

“They’ve got a four-year-old girl with them, Gabriel. Do you really want her anywhere near a serial killer and a demon?”

“Don’t use her like that.”

“Like what?”

“As a smoke screen. You want to find them to get Jordan away from Belial. That’s what this is all about. You’re afraid she’s going to be unfaithful to you.”

“She’s already proven to be unfaithful,” I spat. “Using a blood spell on me was proof that loyalty means nothing to her.”

“Michael, listen to yourself! This is Jordan we’re talking about. Your wife. How can you turn your back on her when she needs you most?”

“She doesn’t need me anymore!” I shouted. He went silent, giving me enough time to realize what I’d just admitted out loud.

Before either of us could say anything, my phone buzzed inside my pocket. I closed my eyes for an instant and dug it out, answering without even looking because I had needed the interruption.

“Yeah?”

“It’s me.”

My blood ran cold.

“Jordan?”

Gabriel went still, staring at me as if he’d overheard wrong. I stood there in total disbelief, not sure what to say. She stayed silent for a handful of seconds and then spoke again.

“Are…you still there?”

“Yes. Why are you…how did you…what’s going on?”

“I have information. I thought it would be the right thing to do to tell you.”

Several furious, sarcastic comments rose to mind, but I didn’t want her to hang up so I stuffed them down in my gullet. “What information?”

“Edmond’s real name, for instance. It’s Avriel. And he said that the demon who will help raise the Leviathan will be Mulciber, not Belial. If we want to stop this thing, we need to find out where she is and stop her. Belial’s got some contacts who should be able to find out if she’s in Hell or not.”

Anger bubbled up my throat and spilled out of my mouth before I could stop it. “Really? Well, make sure to thank him for me.”

She sighed—a resigned sound, not at all like the Jordan I knew. A small part of me felt less angry upon hearing it. “I get it. I deserve that. But that wasn’t the only reason I called. After Avriel tells us everything he knows, what’s gonna happen to him? Can there be any leniency on him for helping us?”

“He killed seven people, Jordan. The law is the law, even if he did it in an attempt to save others. He has to be returned to Heaven for judgment.”

“I know that, I just…” She exhaled. “…had to hear the truth for myself. I guess because I’m not far behind him.”

Her words made my throat tighten. I had purposely kept myself from thinking about what would happen to Jordan if this mess ever resolved itself. As far as I knew, she hadn’t made a contract with Belial. She was just using him as a means to an end, which meant she wouldn’t be sentenced to Purgatory like Zora. Still, she had broken our trust and that couldn’t be ignored. “Why? Did you agree to be Belial’s servant?”

At last, the first spark of indignation flew through the phone. “No. How could you even ask me that?”

“Just had to be sure.”

“Michael, I did this to at least try and create some sort of temporary truce. If you’re just going to throw it back in my face, then we’re done here.”

“No, we’re not. You have to surrender Avriel to us.”

“I know that, but why now? He’s the only one with a full, reliable account of the next week before the 31st. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to have one more soldier if we can’t stop the Leviathan.”

“Since when have you been so willing to forgive people who’ve tried to kill you? A couple of days ago, you were just as ready to get rid of him as I was. What happened?”

“I realized that everything isn’t as black and white as I thought it was, okay? Sometimes, good people can do bad things and bad people can do good things. Sometimes there’s a grey area.”

“Is that where we are right now? The grey area? Because I honestly don’t know where we stand any more, Jordan. This is your last chance to pick a side. Give us Avriel.”

“I can’t do that. Not yet. Not until it’s November 1st and those one thousand people are safe.”

I hardened my tone. “Fine. But I’d hoped you were better than this.”

“Join the club.”

The phone clicked dead in my ear. I shoved the phone back into my pocket and addressed my brother. “Get your stuff together and head for the Garden. I’ll keep tracking them in the meantime.”

“Michael, be reasonable. You can’t make an informed decision like this—”

“Are you going to follow orders or not?”

He fell silent. When he spoke again, his voice was clipped. “Very well. I’ll be in touch, Commander.”

The way he sneered my title almost made me flinch. He swept past me and into the living room to get his stuff. Jocelyn wisely said nothing as I returned to the dining room to collect my thoughts.

The second my foot hit the doorway, an intense pain ripped through the back of my skull. I squeezed my eyes shut, resisting the urge to cry out. Someone had summoned me from above, someone powerful. Someone pissed.

I stumbled over to the nearest chair and meditated, allowing my soul temporary ascension to the astral plane between Earth and Heaven. When I opened my eyes, I stood on a pure white hilltop facing Jordan’s adoptive father, Andrew Bethsaida.

I massaged the bridge of my nose as the last bit of pain drained out of my head and focused on the man in front of me. “Andrew, this isn’t a good time.”

“Just tell me if the rumors are true,” he said in a quiet voice. I observed him, unsure of his intentions. One hand in the pocket of his grey duster—which had been suspiciously absent from Jordan the last time I saw her—the other at his side. His posture was as straight as a yardstick, at attention, like a soldier. The look on his face was nearly unreadable.

“What rumors?”

“About Jordan working with Belial and kidnapping the rogue angel. About you and Gabriel hunting her.”

I dropped my hand. “Yes. It’s true.”

He punched me in the jaw. I hit the ground, too shocked to catch myself. I had forgotten it was possible to feel pain in this particular state.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Andrew demanded as I stood, rubbing the spot on my chin where his knuckles had landed.

“I told you the day you married her that you had a responsibility to take care of her. I told you that I’d kick your ass if you let anything happen to her.”

“Let?” I snapped. “I didn’t let anything happen. She did this on her own. I tried to protect her. I tried to help her, but she pushed me away. What more do you want?”

“Don’t you give me that. You’re acting just as stupid as she is right now so don’t play innocent with me, kid.”

My ego swelled, making me stand up straighter even though we were about the same height so he didn’t back down. “I’m not your son, Andrew. You have no right to treat me like a child.”

“My ass, I don’t. You’re acting like a damned teenager, so I’m gonna treat you like one.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jordan didn’t need a warrior to come tearing through the streets looking for her. She needed her husband. She’s lost her way. Tell me you see that.”

“Of course I do. I gave her a chance to make the right decision and she didn’t. I can’t control her. I did everything I was supposed to.”

“So that’s it, then? You’re letting yourself off the hook just because your brilliant tactic didn’t work the first time? Is that the best you got?”

“Look, I don’t have to take this from you right now.” I turned my back on him, heading towards the bottom of the hill to leave, but he caught my attention.

“I can’t save her again.”

I froze. For the first time, I could hear something other than fury in his tone. He was upset alright, but not just with me. I had forgotten that he wasn’t an angel. He couldn’t travel back to Earth like I could. He was human. Once someone crossed over, they couldn’t come back unless it was ordained by God or the Son, like Jordan had been.

I turned. He was facing the gorge, his azure eyes watching the millions of wispy grey souls wandering through to the other side for Judgment. Anguish left his features ragged. He looked…exhausted. My indignation and arrogance retreated as I realized what was really going on here.

“I would give anything to trade places with you if I could,” he murmured, balling his large, scarred hands into fists. “Because you don’t know what it’s like. Cat’s beside herself right now. Her little girl’s heading to a dark place and neither one of us can stop it. You’re all we’ve got, son. You can’t walk away from Jordan. Not now.”

“I’ve done all I can, Andrew.”

He glanced at me, not hiding the fierceness in his gaze. “Do more. Whatever it takes. Jordan has lost her family twice already. First her mother, and then me. Don’t let there be a third time.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but he kept going. “I know you’re angry. Makes sense. You feel betrayed. You feel unwanted. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about you, it’s that you don’t give up. Cat told me you would’ve sacrificed your angelic life for Jordan. That kind of love doesn’t just disappear. Anyone with eyes can tell you still love that girl and she still loves you.”

“It was never about that. I know she still loves me. If she didn’t, she would have killed me or let Belial kill me when we were bound by the blood spells. But it’s not enough. I can’t trust her.”

“I’m not asking you to trust her. I’m asking you to save her.”

Something tightened in my chest. “What if I can’t?”

“Life’s full of ‘what ifs.’ You’ll end up wasting yours if you keep asking yourself that. Now get your ass in gear and stop acting like a soldier. Act like a husband. You know your wife. Go find her and set things right, or I’ll drag you back here and kick you up and down the paved gold streets upstairs.”

I almost laughed. He had always been good with words. I never questioned why Catalina loved him. He had an old soul. “You’re a real son of a bitch, y’know that?”

Andrew’s infamous smirk returned to his lips. “And proud of it. Now go save my girl.”

I was surprised that my jaw still ached a bit when I returned to my body on Earth. I’d heard about Andrew’s legendary left hook, but the fact that the pain still lingered meant that was definitely one hell of a punch. Still, his frank words had given me an idea, so I stood up and went back into Jocelyn’s office.

“Mind doing me one more favor?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“Can you add certain items to your program that’ll pop if purchased at the same time?”

She gave me a confused look, chewed on a pen cap, and then nodded. “Yeah, why?”

“Add Shea Butter hair product, Johnson’s baby oil, Africa’s Best Super Grow hair conditioner, and Sea Breeze astringent.”

“Uh…okay. Any particular reason why?”

“Because I know my wife. Even if they’re flying below the radar, she’ll need that stuff or according to her, her hair will turn into a rat’s nest. If we can track those purchases, it’ll at least narrow down the search a bit.”

“Pretty clever idea. How’d you think of that?”

I rubbed the sore side of my face. “I had help. Let me know if something shows up.”

“Where are you going?”

“Gotta trace the call she made. Don’t wait up.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Chapter 28

Jordan

MY HAIR WAS a mess.

In the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter, but it was yet another thing to add to the list of stuff wrong with my life. I’d packed a suitcase when I first left Albany, but in my hurry, I hadn’t thought about hair-care products. My hair was shoulder-length and black, but it was only sleek like my mother’s when I treated it. Otherwise, it got thick and curly, probably because of the genes I got from my Dad’s side of the family. The humidity had been what messed up my hair most of all. I had no clue how girls dealt with it around here.

I had been in the bathroom for close to half an hour trying to comb out the tangles to no avail. Washing it wouldn’t do me any good. The hotel shampoo was shit. After several garbled curses, I brushed it all into a ponytail and called it a night. One of Belial’s minions would return tomorrow with supplies, so I would just add some things to the list. At least it gave me something to think about instead of upcoming events.

I shut off the light, opened the bathroom door, and then stopped when I heard a soft sound. I walked around the corner to see Juliana curled up in a ball on the mattress, crying.

“Julie,” I whispered, sitting beside her on the bed and rubbing her back in soothing circles. “What’s wrong?”

She wouldn’t look at me, instead keeping her face buried between her knees. I could barely make out the words in Portuguese, but they sounded like “miss” and “mom.” The poor thing was pining for her mother.

I slid closer and gently picked her up, placing her in my lap sideways. I laid my chin on the crown of her head and rocked her in my arms, whispering that everything would be okay and that she would see her mother again soon. I hated lying to her. I really did. Truth be told, I had no idea what had happened to her parents and I couldn’t ask the rogue angel, who had fallen asleep exhausted from the amount of energy he’d used to heal himself. Besides, I’d gotten the feeling he hadn’t done it. If Mulciber knew about the rogue angel, Juliana, and the Leviathan, then she could have had someone take them to use as bargaining chips later on.

Juliana gradually calmed down after I started to hum. The first thing that popped into my head was “Am I Blue?” because of its slow rhythm. I tried not to think about the lyrics too much because they made me miss Michael. We had spent many a Saturday sprawled on his bed, sheet music spread across the comforter, making up lyrics together. I’d prop my head on his back and listen to him hum the tunes, helping him finish lines and choruses. Perfect harmony, once upon a time.

“Do you think Mamãe is okay?” Juliana asked after a while.

I wiped her cheeks clean with a tissue from the nightstand. “Yes. Want to know how I know?”

She nodded. I shifted her so that she could see my face. “Well, my mother told me once that a family’s hearts are tied together by an invisible thread. Especially mothers and daughters. It’s a special link we have. All you have to do is close your eyes, put your hand over your heart, and think about her. As long as your heart’s still there, so is hers. Go on, try it.”

She pressed her small hand against her chest and closed her eyes. “Do you feel it?”

“Yeah. Can Mamãe feel it too?”

“Mm-hmm. So whenever you feel lonely, I want you to listen to your heartbeat and remember that she’s right here with you, always. Okay?”

Juliana sniffled, giving me a little smile. “Okay.”

“Good. Now, I want you to try and go to sleep. We have to be up early.”

“Will you stay with me?”

I kissed her forehead. “Of course. Close your eyes.”

She rested her head on my chest and I stroked her hair, humming away until her breathing slowed. Once she fell asleep, I lowered her to the mattress and tugged the covers up to her shoulders. I needed to sleep too, but I felt restless so I pulled on my tennis shoes and left the room.

We were on the second floor of yet another nameless motel somewhere in the South. I’d seen signs for Georgia interstates at some point. I walked down the hallway to reach the balcony outside.

To my surprise, someone was already leaning against the railing. Belial’s tall frame still looked rather intimidating even in a black tank top and faded blue jeans. It was the first time I could recall seeing him in anything other than a suit or dress pants—though I could tell those were two hundred dollar jeans. He’d also taken his hair out of the braid for now, and the edges were damp as if he’d just gotten out of a shower. He didn’t turn to face me when I came within earshot; instead lighting a cigarette and continuing to stare out into the night sky.

“Do you mind?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “It’s free air, after all.”

I snorted, hopping up on the railing to sit. “Not with all those carcinogens you’re blowing.”

“Every man has a vice.”

“Well, if I remember correctly, you like pain. Lung cancer’s definitely painful.”

“How morbid of you. I suppose you’d be pleased if I were done in by cancer. Does that happy thought keep you warm at night?”

“Please. That’s too peaceful a death for you. I’d like something better, like flesh-eating bacteria or maybe a raging rhinoceros.”

He coughed out a laugh, surprised by my comment. “I’m flattered you’ve put that much thought into my death. Perhaps I should have you arrange the funeral.”

“I’d have you cremated for the sake of irony. You were reborn in fire so it’s only fitting that you’d be buried in it, so to speak.”

He blew a stream of smoke. “How poetic. Perhaps you should have been a writer instead of a waitress.”

“My life’s bad enough without being a starving artist, thanks.”

Silence settled between us. I listened to the wind blow through the trees and the distant barking of a dog across the street. I was so used to the urban surroundings of Albany that it felt weird not to hear tires screeching, horns blowing, and ambulance sirens screaming every few minutes. Out here, there was just a blanket of natural sounds—frogs, crickets, cicadas, and the occasional owl. Interesting.

“What’s it like?” I asked.

“What’s what like?”

“Being an archdemon. I mean, do you get direct face-time with Old Scratch?”

“Why do you want to know?”

I shrugged. “Just making conversation.”

“Since when have you ever wanted to converse with me on your free time?”

I gave him a dirty look. “I can’t sleep. I can’t go get a drink or I’ll backslide. I need a distraction, okay?”

He smirked. “If you need a distraction, I can think of a couple things we could do right now…”

“One more comment like that and I’m leaving.”

He shook his head, exhaling smoke out of his nostrils. It made him look like some sort of dragon in human form. “Killjoy.”

Belial sucked in another mouthful and then spoke in a less humorous tone. “It’s just a job, like anything else. Some of my orders are direct, but for the most part, I’m a free agent. Your angels have one mission and that is to serve and protect. Mine is the opposite. My only mission is to corrupt. As long as my activities fit within that creed, I may do as I wish.”

“So you’ve been on Earth since the beginning?”

He nodded. “For the most part. Hell is similar to Heaven in that it is independent from what you consider to be time. It’s impossible to describe, before you ask. You have a very limited understanding of these concepts, being human and all.”

“And what about the other archdemons?”

“They have preferences. Moloch, Beelzebub, and Mammon stay in Hell. They hate humanity and would rather work with other demons planning things. They’re not field men. Mulciber and I prefer things up top because there’s more to control. Besides, demons are strangely predictable whereas humans can surprise you sometimes.”

“Seriously?”

“Indeed. Granted, most people are predictable, but every so often, you get a couple of exceptions.”

“Like Zora?”

He seemed to examine me momentarily and I felt a sudden spike in his energy. He wasn’t angry that I’d mentioned her name, but he definitely felt something. “Why so interested in my former servant? Reconsidering my offer?”

I sighed. “Forget I said anything.”

I started to slide off the railing, but then he appeared in front of me, both hands on either side of my thighs, not touching me, yet close enough that my heart rate tripled. A blush curled across my cheeks when I realized that someone behind us would think he was doing something naughty because our bodies were almost aligned due to the height difference.

He removed the cigarette stub from his lips and tossed it aside, blowing one last lungful past my right cheek. I cleared my throat and adopted an indifferent look so he wouldn’t know he’d unnerved me.

“I think we need to establish some boundaries. You seem to have trouble understanding personal space.”

“Always with the jokes,” he said. “Sometimes I find it charming, but other times, it just pisses me off.”

I frowned. “What are you getting at, Belial?”

“How long shall we continue playing this game? Another year? Two? Three? A decade?”

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Yes, you do,” he snapped, and I could hear the venom in his tone like a splash of boiling water against my skin. His energy flared around him, raising goosebumps on my bare arms. Part of me knew he wouldn’t hurt me just for getting on his nerves, but I wasn’t entirely sure where this conversation was heading.

“It’s no secret that you hate me,” he continued. “I’m perfectly fine with it. I’m not too fond of you, either. But what I can’t abide is being manipulated. That’s my forté, if you don’t mind.”

“How the hell am I manipulating you?”

He let out a dry chuckle. “You’ve been doing it from the beginning. It began when you came to The Morsel to ask for my help. If it had been just the angels, I would have told them to piss off. But I didn’t. You knew that. You also knew you’d be safe working with me because of my desire to have you for myself, and you went along with it, despite having no intention of becoming my servant.”

“Then what’s the problem? If you already know I don’t want to become your servant, why are you so mad at me?”

“Because you pull stuff like this. One minute, you hate me and try to kill me. The next, you laugh with me as if we’re friends or lovers. I think it’s only fair to ask what you truly want from me instead of pretending like there is nothing between us.”

“That’s because there isn’t anything between us. At least not on my end.”

“Is that so? Then why is your heart beating so fast?”

“Because I’m scared of you.”

“Scared of what? That I’ll kill you? You know I won’t, so that’s a lie. Tell me the truth, Jordan. I deserve that much after what I’ve had to put up with from you.”

“Deserve? You deserve to burn in hell for all eternity. How can you possibly think I’d want you after you stabbed me in the chest and murdered my ex-boyfriend in cold blood?”

“You’re right. You should want nothing to do with me after what I’ve done to you, and yet here we are. All alone in the dark at a motel, miles away from the husband you claim to love.”

His words made me so livid that I dug my fingers into the rusted metal railing to keep from slugging him. “I love Michael. I will always love Michael. There’s nothing you can say that will change my mind.”

“How could you not? He’s perfect, after all. Handsome, charming, funny, noble, and of course, good in bed. Let me guess. He’s the type that likes it missionary style, because he likes looking down at that sweet little face of yours.”

“Y’know what?” I said slowly. “Why don’t you go into your hotel room, open up the refrigerator, and look on the bottom shelf. There’s a bottle of old fuck you in there.”

I shoved him away and jumped down, stalking through the hallway to return to my room. It took a tremendous amount of will power not to slam the door because it would wake up Juliana. There were so many things welling up inside me that I practically threw myself in the shower. I turned it on full blast, stood underneath the scalding water, and told myself Belial was wrong. He was trying to play mind games. That was all he did. It was all him, not me.

The heat of the water on my skin unraveled a memory through my mind, one that caused the raw wound in my chest to ache. Our six-month anniversary.

“This is the girliest idea you’ve ever had…and yet somehow the best.”

Michael chuckled, and the sound tickled up my spine through the hot skin of his chest. I crossed my ankles and propped them on the rim of the tub, watching the water drip off my calves, dispersing the layer of bubbles below. I took a sip of champagne, appreciating the way the candlelight glinted off the glass. Michael shifted behind me as he reached for one of the strawberries in the bowl perched on one side of the tub. He held it out for me and I started to bite down, but he moved it at the last minute, laughing at the sound of my teeth clicking.

He took a bite of the fruit and then let me have the rest. “Yeah, it’s pretty girly, but I figured you could use some time to relax. No ghosts, no job, no friends, just us. Gotta stop and smell the roses every once in a while.”

“True. Though I would’ve been fine with ordering a pizza.”

He poked me in the side. “You don’t have a romantic bone in your body, do you?”

“Not yet, I don’t,” I said with no small amount of slyness.

He choked halfway through another sip of champagne, alternating between laughing and coughing. I felt immensely proud of myself for making him lose his composure.

“I’m writing that one down,” he said when he caught his breath. “Just so you know.”

“Glad I could amuse you. So what is gonna happen when we hit our five year anniversary? Keep this up and it’ll be hard to top them after a while.”

“Well, if you’re a good girl, one day I’ll take you flying with me.”

I glanced at him over my shoulder, shocked. “Seriously?”

He brushed a lock of hair away from my forehead. “Yeah. Granted, it’s ten times harder to do with all these satellites and that damn Google Earth, but I’m sure we could figure it out.”

“I…can’t even make a joke right now. That would be amazing, Michael,” I said, sliding my body so I could sit in his lap sideways. I touched the side of his face and he kissed my palm, losing some of the humor.

“Don’t sound so surprised. I’d do anything to make you happy, you know that.”

“Me too.” I leaned forward enough to kiss him.

He cradled my cheek, trailing his fingertips over the nape of my neck.

“Besides, I think you find my wings to be a bit of a turn-on.”

I giggled, smacking him in the arm. “They’re not. I just think they’re beautiful.”

He grinned. “Uh-huh. So if I take you in that bedroom right now and reveal them, that wouldn’t be a big deal, right?”

I lifted my eyebrows, adding a sultry purr to my voice. “Why wait?”

He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me closer, muttering, “Tease” before allowing me to sink into his embrace.

I leaned against the cold tiles, weakened by the memory. Would he even want me back after what I’d done? A year ago, my soul had been damned and somehow, I felt the same way now as I did back then. Not worth saving. But it was more than that. In some sick, twisted way, the demon was right. If I hated him so much, why was he such a large part of my life? Was my anger just a mask to hide behind?

I pressed my forehead to the wall, biting my bottom lip. No. I did hate Belial. I hated him for what he had taken from me and what he wanted to take from me still. I wanted him to suffer. I wanted to wipe that insufferable smirk off his face once and for all and prove that I was better than him. That he couldn’t control me. That he could never, ever own me.

All at once, I realized my heart was racing again. No, couldn’t be. Probably just heat exhaustion. How long had I been in this shower?

I climbed out, drying off and telling myself I didn’t have time for an existential crisis. God willing, I’d be able to do that after this mess was over. For now, I needed sleep.

I crawled into bed next to Juliana, and thankfully she didn’t wake up. I stared at the ceiling until the darkness spun around and blurred my vision. Sleep dragged me down into its clutches, only releasing me once sometime around three a.m. I rolled over onto my side and cuddled the thin pillow against my cheek. I could have sworn I felt someone’s long fingers smooth the hair away from my face, but when I opened my eyes there was no one there. I closed them again and slept on.

Chapter 29

Jordan

FOUR OBNOXIOUSLY LOUD knocks woke me. I groaned, rolling my head over to look at the clock. It was so early that even Juliana hadn’t gotten up yet. She burrowed underneath the comforter, becoming nothing more than a lump on the mattress, just as I got up to answer the door.

Belial stood on the other side with a cold expression that reflected my own. “Rise and shine, Seer. We should keep moving. Do you need any supplies? Our driver is currently at a supermarket.”

“Yeah, hold on.” I got a slip of paper off the nightstand and handed it to him. “Make sure he gets exactly what’s on this list or I’ll have to walk around looking like Don King.”

The first sign of amusement appeared in his voice as he let his gaze sweep over the haphazard state of my crowning glory. “For once, you’re not exaggerating. Though to be fair, I think you’d look good with curls.”

It might have been because I just woke up, but I swore that sounded like sincerity. I eyed him. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

“I would never.” He then whipped out his phone, snapped a photo of me, and returned it to his pocket along with the paper all before I could even move.

Ignoring the death glare I’d aimed at him, he handed me a sack full of food from Burger King. “Eat quickly. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

“How’s Avriel?”

“Better. He should be able to tell us more information on the road.”

“Have you heard back from your contact yet?”

“No, but I should be getting a call soon.”

“Alright. We’ll be ready in about fifteen minutes.”

As I shut the door, I noticed his gaze slip down to my bare legs. Even after a fight, he was still the same guy—a complete and total lech, and an unapologetic one at that. The wonders never ceased.

“Juliana, wake up,” I called, flipping on the bathroom light as I walked in. As predicted, my hair had formed a curly black cloud around my head. Belial would definitely enjoy that photo until the day I died. I brushed it back into a ponytail and checked my wounds. My limbs were still a bit stiff due to the bruising, but I could feel that my energy had returned so I could heal them on my own.

Juliana hadn’t replied so I walked towards the bed only to find her in the exact same spot—an L-shaped mound beneath the white comforter.

“C’mon, time to get up, hon.”

She whined at me, something along the lines of “I don’t wanna” in Portuguese. I considered this for a second and then dug my fingers in the middle of the lump, finding her stomach. She squirmed and giggled as I tickled her without mercy for about a minute. I couldn’t resist smiling when I peeled back the covers to reveal her cute face and frizzy hair. She went after me and we both fell back on the bed laughing like idiots.

Once we had calmed down, we split the breakfast her father had bought and got ready to go. I tried to make sure she had as much fun as she could before we left because I knew it wouldn’t be easy when she saw Avriel again.

I flipped on the television while Juliana was using the bathroom, gnawing my bottom lip as I channel-surfed. I’d gotten a rotten feeling in my gut. It occurred to me that with the FBI sniffing around Michael, Gabriel, and me, there was a good chance we’d be in the news. A couple minutes later, I found a report on the attack we’d organized on the armored truck.

“…police believe two people are responsible for the breakout. Their names have not been released at this time, but reportedly, the authorities are looking for a young black woman and dark-haired white male in his late twenties. Their last known whereabouts are in Athens-Clarke County, where a hotel staff member recovered what is believed to be suspect Edmond Saraf’s prison uniform.”

The broadcast switched from the reporter to a photo of Avriel—sullen as always in his orange jumpsuit. I swallowed hard, praying they wouldn’t show a picture of me next. If Lauren or Lewis caught wind of this, they’d panic. I didn’t need that right now. I was in deep enough.

“If you have any information regarding this man, please call the number below. Back to you, Jim.”

The bathroom door opened and I quickly shut off the T.V. as Juliana walked over. I covered the worried look on my face with a smile and asked her if she’d washed her hands. She turned right back around and I followed, helping her turn on the faucet. It was one thing to know I was a wanted criminal now, but an entirely different thing to see the evidence firsthand. Somehow, the situation had been surreal up until this point. I wished I could get back to that big, numb place inside me where I kept plugging along by being in denial. Then again, nothing lasted forever.

I checked the hallway, pulled my baseball cap down low over my face, and exited the hotel room with Juliana in tow. Belial and Avriel weren’t outside. Maybe they were already in the RV. We went to the top of the staircase, but then stopped dead. Downstairs, two parking spots away from the RV, sat a cop car. The policeman was chatting with someone and drinking coffee, paying me no mind. Better keep it that way.

I tugged Juliana along with me, telling her to watch her step as we descended the short staircase, but keeping the cop in my peripheral vision. I told myself to calm down. They hadn’t released a sketch of me, but my pulse still pounded through my skull like drum beats.

We got to the door of the RV and much to my dismay it was still locked. The driver was nowhere to be found. Same for Belial and Avriel. Great.

I whipped out the temporary cell phone Belial had bought me and dialed his number, praying for him to hurry and pick up.

“May I help you?” he answered on the fifth ring, sounding annoyed.

“Get your sarcastic ass down here. We’ve got a problem.”

“Pray tell, what problem?”

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

I froze as I heard a male voice behind me. I turned slowly to find the cop standing there. My mouth went dry.

“Yes, sir?”

“Just wanted to take a second of your time to ask you if you’ve seen this man.” He held up a photo of Avriel.

I cleared my throat, holding up a finger to let him know I needed a second to finish talking on my phone. “James, do you have any of your Burger King food left? I have a sudden craving for bacon.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Belial demanded.

“I dunno why, but I can’t get enough pig these days,” I said through clenched teeth.

There was a pause over the line. “How many?”

“One.”

“Chat him up, preferably away from our transportation. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks.” I hung up and addressed the ever-patient policeman, getting a good look at him this time. White, mustached, six-feet-tall, blond, late thirties, in pretty good shape all things considered. Definitely trouble.

I pretended to examine the photograph. “No, sir, I don’t recognize that man. Why? Is there a problem?”

He sighed, tucking the picture in his pocket. “I’ll say. A couple folks busted this guy out of an armored truck. Feds want us checking for out-of-towners hoping to catch a break. I swear, the way they described it on the news…the whole thing sounded like a scene from Inception.”

Aha. Conversation starter. I scooped up Juliana because she was getting fidgety and walked away from the RV, putting on my most charming smile. “Really? Sounds crazy. I loved that movie.”

He grinned at me, revealing dimples in his cheeks. He scratched his mustache, following me around the other side of the vehicle. “Me too. My wife rented it a month ago.”

“I’m a big Nolan fan, actually. Have you seen the Batman movies?”

“Yeah, they’re awesome. My kid’s obsessed—he’s got the bed sheets, the shoes, the Halloween costume, you name it.”

He glanced at Juliana, who had shyly tucked her face into my neck. “What about this one?”

“Not yet. It’s a little too scary for her. She’s only four. I get the feeling the Joker would give her all kinds of nightmares,” I said with a fake laugh.

“That’s a pretty good point. Hell, he gave me some nightmares.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Belial and Avriel appear on the second floor. Belial had given the angel a pair of Aviator sunglasses and a skullcap to hide his bright red hair. All I had to do was keep this guy talking until they slipped inside the RV and we’d be home free.

“It’s so sad that Heath Ledger didn’t get to see the end result, though,” I said, trying my best to keep my eyes from straying behind the cop’s head. “He was so talented.”

“Yeah. Hadn’t seen him in a bunch of stuff myself, but my wife loved him back in the nineties.”

“Right, he was in that remake of a Shakespeare play. 10 Things I Hate About You.”

“That’s the one. Boy, you got a good memory for this stuff. How old are you?”

“Twenty-three. It’s sort of a hobby.”

At last, Belial and Avriel disappeared around the other side of the RV. Just then, Juliana happened to look up and waved, shouting, “Hey, James!”

My blood froze. The cop turned and looked, not seeing them, and then raised his eyebrows at me. “I miss something?”

“No, it’s just my husband. He’s around front unlocking the RV.”

“Oh, got it. Let me check with the mister real quick before I let you get out of here.”

Shit. He jogged around the back of the RV and I followed, trying to figure out if I could knock him out, but Juliana would freak if I did. I held my breath as I rounded the corner to see Belial standing there. Avriel was already inside the RV. Thank God.

“Seen this man?” the cop asked.

The demon shook his head. “No, sorry. We’ll keep an eye out for him, though.”

“Thanks. Y’all have a safe trip.” The cop smiled and waved, heading towards his car. I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. We went inside and shut the door.

“Bacon? That was the best you could come up with?” Belial asked.

“Sue me. I had to improvise.”

I put Juliana down and she hugged Belial, who suppressed an annoyed look and accepted the embrace. It was both funny and sad at the same time. Her big brown eyes spotted Avriel leaning on the counter in the miniature kitchen. She tugged at Belial’s pants leg, pointing.

“Who’s that?”

I knelt in front of her, taking a deep breath. “Remember what we talked about the other night? About our new friend?”

She nodded. “Well, that’s him. His name’s Avriel. He’s gonna come with us on our road trip for a little while.”

The uneasy look on her face didn’t change. I wondered if some part of her could sense that he was an angel, but I doubted it. It was probably the skullcap and the glasses, both of which made him look pretty sinister. I didn’t want him to take them off because then she’d recognize him, but chances were that she’d have to see his face sooner or later.

I glanced at the angel. “Take off the disguise.”

Belial gave me a look. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“No, but she’s gonna find out one way or another.”

Avriel pulled off the cap and glasses. Juliana grabbed Belial’s hand and buried her face in his leg. “That’s him! That’s the scary man!”

Belial sighed, stroking the top of her head, though he spoke to me in English. “I told you.”

“Stop being a jackass and take her in the back room for a while. She needs to calm down.”

“Why me?”

“Because you speak fluent Portuguese and I don’t,” I snapped. “She needs comfort right now. Nut up and do it.”

He frowned at me, but picked the child up and carried her into the bedroom, shutting the door behind them.

A moment later, the front door to the RV opened and our driver appeared with a set of keys in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other. He glanced between Avriel and me, arching an eyebrow.

“Who died?”

“Long story.”

“Ah. Here’s your stuff.” He handed me the bag and relief spread through me as I recognized my hair-care products.

“Where’s the boss?” he asked.

“In the bedroom. Let’s get the hell out of here before the cop comes back.”

“Will do.”

He took a seat, fired up the RV, and pulled out of the parking lot. I took a seat on the white leather couch and Avriel sat on the one across from me, his dark eyes still focused on me. His gaze was heavy, so I kept myself distracted by tossing off the baseball hat and undoing my ponytail.

“There are some things I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I said, unzipping my suitcase to find my comb and brush.

“Such as?”

“Juliana’s parents went missing the same night you came for her. Did you have anything to do with that?”

He shook his head. I winced. “I had a feeling you’d say no. I think Mulciber caught wind of our situation somehow and got a hold of them. She probably figured that if she could get to them first, she could ransom them in exchange for Juliana.”

He folded his large hands. “But how? It was difficult enough for Belial and Michael to track me down.”

“Well, we’re dealing with demons here. They have no problem with selling each other out at the drop of a hat. One of Belial’s henchmen could’ve been a mole.”

“And you don’t think Belial and Mulciber are working together?”

“No. Belial’s ego wouldn’t allow for her to butt in. I understand that they had a falling out after their last failed mission. Besides, he’s sort of Satan’s favorite and if he pulls off awakening the Leviathan on his own, that’ll cement him as Numero Uno.”

“So you are aware that he’s going to betray you…but you still use him anyway.”

I winced a second time. “I guess you could say that. He’s the means to an end. Nothing more.”

“You are taking quite a risk.”

“That’s the biggest understatement in the universe. Still, he has resources that I need. Especially since the angels have pretty much divorced me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I brought this on myself.”

“As did I.”

“If you don’t mind me asking…why didn’t you ask for Michael’s help? Or maybe one of the other angels below him?”

Avriel wrung his hands. “I am…not exactly a very social person. Since the beginning of time, my job was to translate the Book, so I never developed the ability to speak to others naturally. When I discovered the event, I tried many times to work up the courage to speak with Michael, but when I heard he was married to you, I knew he wouldn’t understand. Someone would have to make the hard choice and I didn’t want our Commander to be forced to do something so sinful. I took it upon myself to complete the task. However, now I see that Michael was right. I should have had enough faith to bring this problem to his attention instead of causing undue tragedy to you and your family.” His gaze had switched to the floor and shame filled his features.

I paused, lowering the comb. “I know that you will have to face judgment for your crimes, but I truly believe that you’ll be forgiven. I bet my life on it.”

“How? What makes you so sure?”

I tugged the collar of my shirt aside, revealing the scar over my heart. “This. Avriel, if they were willing to forgive my selfish, sarcastic, antisocial ass, you’ll be fine. Trust me.”

A faint smile touched his lips. “In spite of everything you’ve been through, you still have faith in them. I hope they know that.”

“I have to. It’s not like I can believe in myself these days.”

He tilted his head. “You are very self-deprecating.”

I snorted, parting my hair with the comb. “Bad habit. Michael used to flick me in the forehead when he caught me doing it. Used to have bruises the size of a grapefruit.”

I poured a bit of astringent on a cotton ball and began cleaning my scalp, amused as Avriel watched me with a fascinated look. He was definitely a Scribe. I doubted there was a lot of literature in Heaven about how black girls took care of their hair. Normally, I’d just wash my hair and oil my scalp, but I needed answers from Avriel now. I could worry about it later.

“There was one more thing I wanted to ask. In the event that we can’t prevent the Leviathan from rising…would you know how to stop it?”

His expression sobered. “That…is a very complicated matter. I have not come across any literature that states it is capable of being destroyed. That is why it was sent to sleep. No one short of the Father can kill it.”

“What about sending it back to sleep?”

“Theoretically, it is possible. In the early days, the angels fought the Leviathan and weakened it enough that one was able to lock its jaws. Thus, it can only be contained by an angel.”

“What about the key? What was it made of?”

“It was not a key in the literal sense. In reality, it was a holy weapon. Any item blessed with Heaven’s touch could act as a key.”

I thought about it. “So Michael or Gabriel’s swords could do the trick, right?”

“Yes. But it’s no easy task. The Leviathan’s mouth is a gateway to Hell. All manner of creatures would be pouring out of it. The angel who originally locked its jaws nearly died. Any angel who tried would run the risk of being dragged down to Hell if he or she got too close.”

“Geez. I can see why you were so desperate to stop it from coming back.”

He nodded. “It is one of the foulest creatures on Earth. It does not only kill and release demons. These demons drag innocent souls back with them to Hell. We are not simply trying to stop those one thousand people from dying. We are trying to prevent their souls from burning for all eternity.”

I shivered, rubbing my arms. “No pressure.”

He hesitated before speaking again. “May I confess something?”

“Of course.”

“Now, having spoken to you, I realize I was mistaken. Not about my mission, but rather about the strength of a Seer. This whole time, I have feared that a Seer would be too weak to resist a demon’s temptation. Perhaps if I had more faith in humanity, things could have turned out differently.”

I offered him a sympathetic look. “I can’t really blame you too much, though. An eternity of reading about our failures and insecurities would warp anyone’s opinion of us.”

“True, but I hope I can redeem myself. You have placed your trust in the angels. It is only fair that one of us returns the favor.”

A short silence descended and we smiled at each other because somehow or other, we had found common ground. That was a miracle in itself.

“Are you guys done having a Kodak moment? I wanna turn on the radio.”

I glared at the back of the driver’s head. “Shut up and drive.”

“Whatever you say, lady.”

* * *

WE DROVE UNTIL late night before taking refuge at another back-roads motel in the middle of nowhere. We’d reached Florida. Part of me felt sad this wasn’t a real road trip. I would have loved to stretch out on the beach for a while. Still, the Spanish moss hanging off the trees was almost as interesting. I’d never seen it before. It made them all look like old men huddled over the sides of the roads, watching over them like sentries.

Over the course of the ride, Juliana had slowly gotten more acquainted with Avriel. It helped that he was five-foot-six, gangly, and had a gentle voice. We explained to her that he hadn’t meant to hurt her and that he had been sick the night they met. She still didn’t seem to trust him, but at the very least, she stopped crying around him. It wasn’t until an hour before we reached our destination that she felt comfortable to ask him questions—who he was, where he came from, what he did for a living, etc. Avriel had a little fun with his made-up backstory and it endeared her to him.

Avriel and I were watching television in our room as Juliana slept, when we ran out of ice so I volunteered to grab some from down the hall. Unlike the last hotel, this place at least had an actual amenity. Wireless Internet too. Thank God for that.

Ice clunked into my pail, filling the hall with the sound. The unnerving quiet still bugged me a little, but I was getting used to it now. Halfway back to the room, I stopped as I heard a baritone voice floating through the air. Belial. But what was he doing out of his room?

Suspicious, I crept to the end of the hall and peeked around the corner. He stood near the far wall with one hand over his ear, the other holding a cell phone. The rooms must have had bad reception.

“What do you mean she almost escaped? Where the hell are you keeping them?”

A cold feeling filled my gut. I knew Belial had other horrible things going on in his life, but this was the first time I heard it firsthand.

“Look, it shouldn’t be too damned hard to keep track of two middle-aged Brazilians. It’s nothing more than a babysitting job. Three days and this entire debacle will be over. You can handle it for that long, can’t you? If not, you’ll answer to me and my knives. Is that clear? Good.”

Anger flooded through me in a wave. I crossed my arms and didn’t move when he came around the corner. He stopped dead in his tracks as he spotted me.

I forced a smile onto my lips, my voice sickly sweet. “May I have a word with you?”

He slid both hands in his pockets, his face nonchalant, but his eyes didn’t stray from mine. “Not in the hall. I’d rather not draw attention.”

He led me to his room and opened the door. I put the bucket of ice down on the nightstand and counted to ten before facing him.

“Were you ever going to tell me that you kidnapped Juliana’s parents?”

“That was not my intention, no.”

“So this whole arrangement with you getting custody of Juliana was your doing?”

He continued staring down at me with a cool, calm exterior. “It was the most practical way to be able to track her movements and make sure she didn’t come to harm.”

I allowed a dry laugh to escape. “Harm, huh? So traumatizing a four-year-old by forcing her to go on the run with two felons and a serial killer isn’t harmful?”

“Her parents would have complicated matters. I simply removed them from the equation. They have not been hurt. If Mulciber got a hold of them, would she be able to say the same?”

I shook my head. “Every time I think I have you figured out, you somehow manage to make me hate you even more. How much lower can you sink, Belial? Please tell me. I’m genuinely interested at this point.”

An unpleasant smirk tugged at the edge of his lips. I felt the air between us thinning because we were both getting so angry. “You forget your place, girl. I told you once that I could kill you and suffer the consequences just fine. That has not changed.”

“Really? Then why don’t I believe you? You seem like you’re tired of taking shit from me anyway. Go ahead. Kill me. I dare you.”

“Don’t tempt me, human,” he snarled.

“So a human can tempt a demon? I didn’t know that. Maybe I’ve finally gotten you all figured out, Bels,” I sneered, moving closer, invading his personal space like he had done to me so many times.

“All your insults are just part of your mask. Maybe deep down, you’re hurting and you want me to make it stop. You’re nothing but a wounded little boy inside, aren’t you?”

He closed his eyes, balling his hands into fists. “Utter one more word and I will rip out your throat.”

“You said you wanted me to tell you the truth. Are you not man enough to face it?”

He opened his eyes then. “The truth, you say? Very well. But before you continue, you should know it’s a two-way street. Would you like to know what Terrell’s final words were before I killed him?”

I froze. The world swam in front of my vision for a handful of seconds. It was like he’d sucked the oxygen out of my lungs in one quick breath.

He stepped forward and I backed up, speechless as he kept going. “He didn’t beg for his life. He didn’t try to bargain with me. He just accepted it. When he realized that he was going to die, he simply said, ‘Do what you gotta do.’ Impressive man, really, and yet he was utterly taken with you. You were so cruel for leaving him the way you did, sweet Jordan. Even when he died, he wished he could say goodbye to you.”

“Shut up,” I whispered as my entire body break out in tremors. My back hit the wall beside the bed and he placed his hands on it, trapping me, his piercing gaze scorching a hole through my skull.

“So you were right. How could I not lust for you when I have never met another human who could torture a soul as effectively as I could?”

“Enough!” I yelled. “Just leave me alone!”

I slammed my hand against his chest, right below his neck, on the circle of flesh left bare from the tank top. I expected his skin to burn, to blacken, like it had when I stabbed him with Gabriel’s feather over a year ago.

Nothing happened.

The blood rushed out of my face as I stared in horror at my hand on his skin, chocolate on ivory, and he didn’t burn. I dropped it and then stared at my palm, swallowing hard to speak around the lump in my throat.

“I don’t understand.”

Belial leaned towards me and I flinched, terrified by the placidness in his expression. “Don’t understand what, my pet?”

“M-Michael said after we got married, demons wouldn’t be able to touch me. He said it would burn your skin.”

He gave me a slight nod. “True. Other demons will be burned if they touch you.”

Belial took hold of my chin, forcing me to meet his harrowing gaze. He leaned in even closer, allowing his hot breath to roll over my cheeks as he spoke.

“Do you remember when I kissed you?”

“Like you’d let me forget.”

He smirked. “True. It was genuine, of course. I really did want you to become my servant and I had hoped you would give in, but you didn’t. So I implemented a contingency plan. I put a mark on you that negates the contract you made with Michael upon marrying him.”

“How?”

“When I kissed you, you ingested my blood and I ingested yours. That is the first part of the process. If I were to…” He licked his bottom lip, dropping his eyes to my neck and lower.

“…take you, that would be the second step. After you verbally pledged yourself to me, you would be my servant. After you didn’t give in, I simply let you believe I couldn’t touch you in order to lure you into a false sense of security. I knew I wouldn’t be able to steal you from Michael, but I figured I could at least level the playing field.”

My wrath came rushing back. “Playing field? This is a game to you? My life, my marriage, is a game?”

His smirk widened. “The best kind.”

I punched him in the face. He reeled, touching his chin in surprise, but I wasn’t done. Blind rage enveloped my entire body and I kept hitting him, bruising my knuckles as they collided with his chest and abdomen. He toppled over backwards onto the bed and I kept coming for him, aiming for that smug mouth of his. I hit him twice more before he caught my arms.

“Let go of me, you bastard! Let go so I can kill you and end this!” I snarled, thrashing in his iron grip to no avail.

He arched an eyebrow. “Kill me? Aren’t we presumptuous?”

“Shut up! I hate you! God, I hate you so much.” I heard my voice crack on the last word and knew he had finally gotten to me.

Something flickered through his eyes then. “Would you really do it, Jordan? Could you kill me in cold blood?”

“In a heartbeat,” I said, hating the hot tears making tracks down my cheeks.

Belial shuddered underneath me and then the world flipped. He pinned me below him, bending down to whisper in that chilling voice of his. “How would you do it? A gun? A knife? Another worthless holy feather? How much would you enjoy seeing the life drain out of my body?”

“It would be the happiest moment of my life,” I spat, struggling beneath his large hands.

“How would you feel after you murdered me? Would you mourn me? Would you regret my death?”

“Not even for a second.”

He let out a long breath. “Perfect.”

His lips covered mine in a searing hot kiss and his knee slid between my thighs, adding sweet pressure along the front of my body. His energy surged around me and flared goosebumps across my skin like wildfire. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus on anything other than how much I hated him in that one moment. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how hard I fought I couldn’t beat him. I just couldn’t.

Then something else happened. The longer he held me there, the more I could feel the hatred melding into a solid heat between us. A feverish sensation flooded through my senses and I stopped trying to move my face so that he couldn’t kiss me anymore. My limbs relaxed one by one until I felt completely detached, as if he had siphoned the life out of me.

As soon as he felt me go limp, Belial used his knees to nudge my legs apart and stretched out on top of me. I shivered as he slid his tongue inside my mouth and rocked his hips into mine. He wanted me so bad. I knew it deep down inside, in my bones somewhere. He wasn’t like Michael, who had respected and treasured me as his wife. Belial wanted to consume me, to swallow every inch of me and leave nothing but an empty husk; to break me into tiny fragments and hold me in the palm of his hand. He wanted to own me.

A corner of my mind returned as he broke from my lips and kissed my throat, sliding his hot tongue over my pulse as if he were thinking about eating me.

I fought the drunken lethargy in my veins, shaking my head. “No…get off of me…I won’t betray my husband…”

“You’re wrong,” he murmured in my ear. “It’s not betrayal. You are giving in to your true nature. I did more than place a mark on you when I first kissed you. I planted a seed of doubt that grew into what is between us now. Deep down in your heart, you are afraid you will do something so terrible that the good angel will leave you. If you give in to me, you will have nothing left to fear. Face it, Jordan. You think you don’t deserve Michael. That is why your energy has blended with mine so willingly. That is why your body aches for my touch. We are sin and darkness. One and the same. Accept it.”

In that moment, I realized Belial had been telling the truth. Part of me—a selfish, cowardly, reckless part—really did want him. He offered the basest of human instincts—to indulge in something wicked because it felt good and was easier than doing the right thing. How else had we reached this point? I had been in denial for so long, but now I could see it. God help me.

He watched my expression switch from anger to horrified acceptance and whispered my name, inching towards my lips again.

He stopped less than a millimeter away from kissing me and then lifted his head. His brow bunched deeply in a frown. “Do you feel that?”

“What?”

“Where are Juliana and Avriel?”

“In their room down the hall. Why?”

“I feel the presence of hellhounds…and an archdemon.”

“Oh, God, no.”

Chapter 30

Jordan

HE SCRAMBLED OFF me and we raced out of the hotel room. I fumbled for my hotel key, but Belial just kicked the door in as if it was made of balsa wood. Neither of them were in the room. The window was smashed and glass littered the floor. The mattress was nothing more than ripped-up chunks of foam and cloth. The sheets lay beside it, shredded with claw marks.

“Come on!” Belial shouted, climbing through the window. “They’re in the parking lot!”

I followed him. On the sidewalk, I nearly tripped over the body of a dead hellhound, its head lying at a weird angle as its neck had been broken. There was a faint trail of blood leading away from the dead beast towards the RV. I could tell Avriel hadn’t the time to call for help. He had tried to get Juliana to somewhere more secure.

There were few cars in the parking lot when we arrived, but witnesses were the least of our worries. Eight hellhounds had backed Avriel up against the side of the RV. I couldn’t see Juliana yet and the knowledge that she might be hurt or dead made me want to scream.

“Avriel!” I yelled over the fearsome growls of the hellhounds. “Where’s Juliana?”

He grabbed one enormous beast by the throat and threw it against another that had been trying to bite his left heel. “Here, behind me. She’s okay.”

After I spoke, three of the hellhounds turned their heads and snarled at Belial and me, their ears flattening against their skulls as they crawled towards us. I readied my energy shards, preparing to throw them, but Belial pushed me behind him.

“You dare turn your fangs on me?” he said in a deadly whisper. The growling died down. A cautious look entered their red eyes, as if they understood him.

“What is the meaning of this?”

The hellhound up front barked at the others—a loud, spine-tingling sound—then they leapt for him.

Belial shoved me out of the way and the four of them rolled backwards on the pavement in a heap. He ripped out the throat of the closest one and flung its body across the lot. The other two grabbed an arm and a leg in their jaws and worried them, trying to rip his limbs out of their sockets.

“Strike!” I sent a shard through the spine of the one closest to me. It shrieked and let go of the demon as blood spurted from the wound, turning on me instead. It pounced. I threw myself to the side. It smashed into an SUV behind me, scattering glass. It shook its head, standing on shaky paws, and I launched three more energy shards at it. They plunged through its matted black fur and it collapsed, dead.

I turned to Belial, who was still fighting off another one. “Forget about me. Help Avriel!”

I ran towards the mob of creatures, throwing up my forearms. “In the name of the Father, I reject!”

My shield rose and I shoved my way through the beasts until I reached Avriel. Juliana had curled up underneath the RV by a tire, safely out of reach from the hounds, but she wouldn’t stay that way for long. Avriel, Belial, and I killed the remaining four but as soon as we did, several bloodcurdling howls cut through the night. Dark, hunched shapes crept around the cars in the lot, pouring out of the shadows like a wave of inky death. There were at least two-dozen of them now. Shit.

Belial swept his gaze over the approaching monstrosities. “You need to get out of here. Even I can’t kill all of them at once. Get the child. The angel and I can give you a head start.”

I knelt and stuck my head under the RV. “Juliana?”

“Lose something?”

My blood ran cold as a pompous female voice spoke from above me. I stood up to find a dark-haired woman on top of the RV with Juliana in her arms. Her brown eyes had pupils just like Belial’s—thin slits instead of round ones.

“Mulciber.”

The demon smiled and spoke through a thick Welsh accent. “Nice to see you again, Jordan.”

“Yes, it is. Why don’t you come down here so I can give you a hug before I rip your arms off and beat you to death with them?”

She clucked her tongue. “Now, now, don’t be rude. I am holding all the cards at the moment, so you’d better curb that sharp tongue of yours.”

“Mulciber,” Belial said, his energy flaring around him like invisible flames. “Since when have you had the balls to attack me?”

Her sickening smile stretched. “Sorry, Beli. I’m a bit tired of being Number Two. Besides, the Master has grown impatient with your plan of attack. He told me that if I pull this off, I’m back in his good graces, so to speak. You shouldn’t have let the human turn you soft. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

He balled his hands into fists. “You think a few measly hellhounds will keep you safe from me? If you don’t put my daughter down and leave, there will be nowhere on this planet that you can hide from me.”

“Oh, I have no intention of hiding, darling. I’m here to make a deal.”

I spoke up this time. “What deal?”

“Go to the Garden and get the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge. Bring it to the Leviathan’s sleeping place and awaken it. Then and only then will I give you back your trinket,” she said, squeezing Juliana, who let out a tiny squeak of pain.

I launched myself forward, trying to climb the side of the RV, but Belial held me back. “Let go of her, you psychotic piece of shit! Take me instead. You don’t need her.”

“Oh, but I do. See, nothing motivates you more than threatening someone you care about. If I took you, I could spend all day torturing you and you’d never break because you don’t care about your own safety. It’s only those you love. After all, human sentiment is one of the most powerful weapons in the universe.”

Tears burned in my eyes as the truth of her words hit me. The fear on Juliana’s face made my heart ache, made me feel as if the demon were holding it in her hand and digging her claws in until it was nothing but a clump of wet red ribbons. Belial’s arm tightened around my front, holding me against him because he knew that if he let go, I’d climb up there and eviscerate her with my bare hands.

“So this is where we say our goodbyes. Belial will know how to contact me once you’ve gotten the fruit. I’ll meet you with this little bundle of joy in tow. Fair enough?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but Avriel beat me to the punch. “I am afraid not.”

He crouched for a split second and then leapt into the air, landing on top of the RV right in front of Mulciber. He landed one magnificent punch to the side of her face. She dropped Juliana, reeling backward. He grabbed her head between his hands, preparing to break her neck, when the blade of a machete ran through his chest.

“Avriel!” I screamed.

He fell to his knees in front of her, his breath stilted and shallow.

Mulciber wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth and glared at him. “Insolent whelp.”

She kicked him off the RV and he fell, hitting the pavement beside us. Mulciber grabbed Juliana before she could jump off and snapped her fingers at the hounds surrounding us. “Keep them busy!”

Belial let me go to scoop up the machete that had fallen along with Avriel and whirled on our attackers. The hounds threw themselves at us from all sides. My shield barely held, but I fought back, slashing at them with shard after shard. Before long, it faltered, and then disappeared entirely.

The beasts slashed at me with their razor sharp claws, covering my arms and legs in scratches and blood, both mine and theirs. We managed to kill nearly the entire horde before the last few stragglers gave up and slunk off into the night. Their job was done. Mulciber was gone and so was Juliana.

I dropped to my knees beside Avriel, pulling his head into my lap. I patted his cheek, trying to rouse him. “Avriel, open your eyes. Come on, damn you!”

His eyelids flickered and then slid back. Blood trickled from his mouth and down his chin. His skin was deathly pale and the few freckles dotted along his nose stood out like ink blots. I ripped open the tear in his shirt, unable to suppress a small sob at the sight of the huge gash Mulciber’s machete had left. She’d pierced a lung and possibly severed his spine.

“Stay with me, okay?” I whispered, holding my hand over the wound and concentrating my energy on the spot. “I can heal this, I know I can.”

He gave me a grim smile. “Her…weapon is born of Hell. You cannot heal a mortal wound inflicted by a demon’s blade.”

“Don’t say that. You’re supposed to help me stop the Leviathan. You can’t die. It’s not your time.”

“No one has a time, Jordan. All the world’s a stage…and all the men and women merely players…”

He closed his eyes, struggling to finish the line, so I did it for him. “They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts.”

“Smart man, that Shakespeare,” Avriel murmured. “I thought my part was to save the world, but instead, it was to believe in something greater than myself.”

“What?”

He met my gaze. “You.”

His eyes closed. They didn’t open a third time. Belial’s hand touched my shoulder. My legs numbly pushed me upward from the ground. As we drove off into the night, I knew that part of me would forever remain in that lot.

Even though it felt wrong, we had no choice but to leave Avriel’s body at the scene of the murder. The hounds’ corpses evaporated into ash that the wind would eventually blow away, but the ruckus we’d made hadn’t gone unnoticed. We had to ditch town.

Our driver was nowhere to be found. Not surprising. Belial suspected he was the one who had revealed our whereabouts to Mulciber, which meant the guy would definitely have a target painted on the back of his head now. Hell would be nothing compared to what Belial would do to him for selling us out.

We couldn’t track Juliana or Mulciber because Juliana’s energy was undetectable and Mulciber was shielding herself. Belial had gotten lucky when he sensed her proximity. If he’d talked me into sleeping with him, we wouldn’t have found out about the hounds until it was far too late. It was the only consolation prize I could grasp in my mind.

Six hours later, I was sitting on the edge of a tub in yet another rundown hotel in the middle of nowhere. My energy was all but spent, so my arms and legs were heavily bandaged. A dull pain had settled beneath my skin. I barely felt the scratches and the scabs. I was just tired. So damned tired. Tired of fighting, tired of losing, and tired of whatever side I considered myself to be on at the moment.

I heard a knock at the door, but didn’t answer. The knob turned. Belial walked in. He didn’t speak, just knelt in front of me and peeled off the bandages adorning my right forearm. After he rested his hand over the cuts, a cool tingling sensation crept through the limb. The dried blood disappeared first and then the skin healed, becoming smooth once more.

Once he finished there, he moved on to my bicep and continued the process on the other parts of my body.

“I suppose this is the part where I tell you Avriel’s death was not your fault,” the demon said in a detached sort of tone.

“Don’t. I mean it. Just don’t.”

He let the silence stretch on for a bit. “Do you think yourself to be strong when you bottle up your emotions?”

I glared at him. “I don’t know—do you?”

He snorted. “That’s different. I’m a demon. I don’t have emotions. You’re human. It’s perfectly natural to feel a sense of loss when you can’t save someone you like.”

“He was a murderer. He tried to kill me twice.”

“And you still liked him anyway. You can’t lie to me, Jordan. It’s not a crime to realize that the world isn’t as black and white as you think.”

“Look, what do you want from me?”

“If you need to grieve, then grieve. That is the only way you’ll be able to move on. You’ll be of no use to me if you’re repressing your sadness. It will come out one way or another, and if you wait until it’s too late, you’ll get yourself killed.”

“Yes, because that’d be such a tragedy, wouldn’t it? The only reason you’d be upset if I died is because it means you’d be cheated your prize.”

“Is that what you think?”

“I don’t have any evidence to the contrary. I’m just a trophy to you. Even if you made me your servant, you’d get tired of me in a month. Maybe even less. You’d move on to someone more worthwhile, more interesting.”

“How can you be so sure of that?”

“Everyone bails. It’s the way of the world.”

He searched my gaze. “Would you like to know why I kept the scar you gave me?”

I shrugged. “Symmetry. I realized that scars are what have brought us together. We never heal them; they just stay with us until our bodies turn to dust. I thought mine ran more deeply than yours, but I was wrong. Your problem is not simply repression. You do not love yourself and so you pour your heart and soul into others because you believe they are more worthy. That is why you are so afraid of giving yourself completely to me or Michael. You think we won’t like what we find.”

“Belial—”

“You will never reach your full potential until you make peace with who you are, Jordan. Good and evil. Black and white. Sin and savior. You are both. Accept it.”

I bowed my head, trying to hide my face. “I can’t.”

“You can and you will. Someday.”

His words pushed me over the edge. I had tried to stuff all of my emotions in a little box to deal with later, but truthfully, I was on the verge of breaking down every second since Mulciber took Juliana. I felt her fear like it was my own since once upon a time, I too had been a child ripped away from her mother. I had been left with a cold, heartless woman who beat me at the slightest provocation, who told me every day that I was a worthless orphan. Juliana didn’t deserve to go through that—demon’s daughter or not. I failed her, just like I failed Michael and Gabriel.

I didn’t remember moving, but somehow, I was in Belial’s arms and my face was buried in his chest. He smelled like expensive cologne and Lucky Strike cigarettes. Nothing like Michael.

We stayed pressed together on the floor of the bathroom for a while. I never sobbed, never made a sound, but my cheeks were hot and sticky with tears. He was right. Avriel was no savior, but he shouldn’t have died like that.

I expected Belial to be stiff and uncomfortable as he held me, but strangely, he wasn’t. His hands lay on my upper back, nowhere near my backside. His chin rested on the crown of my head and his every breath was slow and measured, further calming me. It was like he had turned into a completely different person within the span of a couple minutes. It was both fascinating and frightening.

Finally, the demon spoke up. “I hate to rush things, but we are pressed for time.”

I took a deep breath and lifted my face. “Sorry.”

“Nonsense,” he said, wiping my eyes. “But if you tell anyone I was this close to you and didn’t make a pass, I’ll drop you in a vat of liquid nitrogen and mail you back to your husband as an ice sculpture.”

A choked laugh escaped me. “If it makes you feel any better, you can try.”

He frowned. “It’s no fun if I have your permission.”

I rolled my eyes. “Pervert.”

“I take that as a compliment.” He helped me stand up, but didn’t let go just yet.

“There is one last thing I need you to do that you’re not going to like.”

“What?”

“Call your husband.”

Chapter 31

Michael

THE SECOND TIME I was summoned, it didn’t hurt as it had when Andrew called for me. The sensation was hard to describe—almost as if someone were ringing a doorbell in my mind. I could feel it hum through my bones like some sort of sound wave. I was in the parking lot of a tiny diner in the middle of God-knew-where Florida. Good thing I hadn’t been driving.

I climbed into my borrowed car, locked the doors, and exhaled, slipping into a meditative state. My soul exited Earth, rising to the astral plane where the one who summoned me awaited my arrival.

Uriel appeared in the form he had taken back when he was still serving on Earth—a tall African man with a salt-and-pepper goatee. His brown eyes were always striking and serious these days, but a long time ago, when he had Zora with him, they were warm. He was still a great friend, though, so I offered my hand as soon as I saw him.

“Good to see you again, brother.”

He shook my hand once. “And you as well.”

“What’s going on?”

“I was told to contact you when a certain soul crossed over.”

He nodded towards the bottom of the hill where I saw two angels escorting the rogue angel. My entire body tensed. It must have worried Uriel because he laid a large hand on my shoulder.

“Relax. He came willingly.”

“Then what’s with the muscle?”

A thin smile touched his lips. “For his protection.”

I grimaced. He had a point. The urge to wrap my hands around the Scribe’s throat was rather intense, even without my earthly form tempting me. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly as they reached the top of the hill.

“Ithuriel, Zephon, good to see you,” I said, nodding to them. We were all technically related, but these two were nigh inseparable and always had been. They had even adopted the form of tall, olive-skinned twins with dark curly hair. The only distinguishing feature between them was their voices—Ithuriel’s was a few pitches higher than Zephon’s.

“Same to you, Commander,” they chorused, and I nearly smiled.

I turned my gaze on the rogue angel, who kept his eyes on the ground. “I was told your name is Avriel, right?”

He cleared his throat and looked up at me. “Yes.”

“Well, Avriel, what happened? Did Belial do this?”

He shook his head. “No. We were ambushed. Mulciber showed up and abducted Juliana. She is using the child to bribe Jordan into awakening the Leviathan.”

“Shit,” I said. “Is Mulciber working with Belial?”

“No. She betrayed him too. She claimed that if she were able to awaken the Leviathan, she would be restored to her former honor.”

I ran a hand through my hair, letting my thoughts pour over this new information. In order for Mulciber to be able to kill Avriel, she would have needed help. Probably hellhounds. Lots of them. That would create an incident so Jordan and Belial would most likely leave the scene as soon as possible. That also meant Avriel’s body was with the authorities by now and the FBI would have even more reason to be hunting them. More good news for all of us. I needed to find them before it got even worse, if that was even possible.

“Where did this happen?”

“I remember seeing signs for Englewood, Florida. Mulciber showed up at around two o’clock in the morning.”

“Is there anything else I should know?”

“Yes. Earlier, we were all debating whether the future can be changed. The page in Et Liber Tempor did not speak of my death. I believe that by intervening, I changed my own fate. I think it is still possible to stop the Leviathan, or at least save those one thousand people.”

I eyed him. “You’re sure?”

“I would bet my soul on it. And if it’s any consolation, Commander…I am truly sorry for the grief I have caused the people I killed as well as you and your wife. I underestimated you both.”

Part of me wanted to laugh, as ridiculous as it sounded. There was no apology for this man—one of my brothers—trying to strangle my wife to death. Still, even though his efforts were misguided, he did it in service to the world. The warrior in me appreciated the sacrifice, though the husband in me wanted to yank his limbs off one by one and light them on fire.

After a strained silence, I gave him a brief nod of acknowledgment. Then I glanced at the angels on either side of him. “Escort him to Judgment. When you return upstairs, I want my best infantry on alert just in case things go south. Make sure they’re ready for immediate deployment.”

“Yes, sir.”

They headed back down the hill. I watched them go, my mind miles away until Uriel spoke up next to me.

“He seemed to be a very conflicted soul when I first heard about him. Now? I sense peace there. What do you think changed?”

“Faith. He has more faith in himself and in the rest of us.”

“Too little, too late. I doubt Father will be lenient on him considering the enormity of his crimes.”

“True. But that’s not the point, is it?”

I turned to him, offering my hand once more. “I’ve got to get back. Hold down the fort, old man.”

He gave me another faint smile as he shook it. “Always.”

Less than thirty seconds after I returned to my body, my cell phone rang. Good timing. I fished it out of my pocket along with my keys and fired up the car before answering.

“Yeah?”

“Guess who.”

* * *

FOUR AND A half hours later, I found myself in a scummy motel hallway, my stride slow and heavy like an inmate on death row. Nervous was not the right word. I didn’t get nervous. But I could feel my joints lock up as if I were the damned Tin Man. When I reached the room, I had to take a deep breath and shove all of my anxiety into a little box in my mind. I’d deal with it later, when the world wasn’t about to end.

I lifted my fist to knock on the door, but it opened just as I did. Belial stood there wearing his most insufferable smile. “Welcome back, pretty boy.”

I glared. “Kind of the pot calling the kettle black. Your shoes cost more than this room. You do the math.”

He pushed the door open wider so I could come in, his voice scornful. “I fail to see your point. I clearly have my priorities straight.”

I came around the corner to see Jordan seated on one of the beds. As soon as I spotted her, my stomach wound itself up into a knot. There were dark smudges underneath her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept in days, and they were red-rimmed. She didn’t look into my eyes at first; instead her gaze tracked upward from my shoes all the way to my face. Her expression reflected the guarded one I wore.

“Michael,” she said in a soft voice.

“Jordan,” I echoed.

“My, the affection in this room is just stifling,” Belial said.

She shot him a dirty look. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, come now,” he continued, sitting on the other bed and lighting a cigarette. “Are we really going to walk on eggshells for this entire little pow-wow? There’s enough hatred and sexual tension in this room to fuel an entire season of True Blood.”

She sighed in exasperation, and I decided to intervene. “What’s this all about, Jordan? Why did you call me here?”

“It’s Juliana. We have to get her back.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, leaning against the wall and fixing her with a distrustful stare. “So why are you asking for my help? Get your buddy here to do it.”

“Don’t do that. He can’t even get me anywhere near the Garden.”

“So you’re going to go through with it? Get the fruit and raise the Leviathan just like you’ve been fighting not to do this entire time?”

“No. I called you because I thought we could collaborate. I get the fruit, bring it to Mulciber in exchange for Juliana, and then we take her down. No Leviathan, no deaths, no Apocalypse.”

“That’s still cutting it too close.”

“What’s the alternative, Michael?”

“Demon bodies have trackers implanted in them, right? Contact the Puppeteer and get the coordinates to where she is.”

“That was the first thing I thought of. Archdemons don’t have trackers. It’s a mark of royalty. We also can’t make a fake fruit. She’ll be able to sense the difference. If you have a better plan, please, feel free to tell me.”

“Are you really willing to risk those people for the life of one child? His child?” I said, pointing at Belial.

“I thought you of all people would understand that, Michael.”

“Why?”

“Were you lying when you told me you’d turn your back on the world for me?”

I shook my head. “That was before you did this. Things are different now.”

“How is it any different?” she demanded. “It is my job as a Seer to protect the innocent. Juliana may have been fathered by a demon, but that doesn’t mean she’s not worth saving.”

“Yes, but the angels are the ones who will have to pick up your slack!” I yelled. “If you’re wrong and if Mulciber gets a hold of that fruit, it’s my army and my soldiers who will die. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you can live with that on your conscience?”

She stood up then. “So that’s it? You don’t believe in me anymore? After all we’ve been through, you don’t believe I can do this?”

My throat tightened as her words hit my skin like boiling acid. “I have always believed in you, Jordan. Even when no one else did. But what you’re asking me to do requires trust and faith and right now, I have neither of them in you.”

“Fine. Then I’m sorry you wasted your time coming here.”

She brushed past me, heading for the door. Belial stood up and slid his arm around her torso, stopping her. I moved without thinking, grabbing his forearm.

“Get. Your hands. Off. My wife,” I snarled over her head, spitting each word in his face.

He chuckled, but not like the comment was funny. There was an echo in that laugh that reminded me of the way a tiger growled when cornered. “You’re cute when you’re angry. But I would advise you to let go before this little spat turns into a cock fight.”

“Michael,” Jordan said in warning, pressing her hand against my stomach to make me back up. I let go of Belial and he released Jordan.

He straightened the cuff of his shirt, sending a measured look between the two of us. “The point of this exercise was not to cause an argument. You need to find a solution to this issue and you are not leaving this room until you do.”

“What do you care?” I demanded. “You want the Leviathan to rise just as badly as Mulciber does. What’s your angle this time, demon?”

“This was my operation. Not hers. If Mulciber succeeds, my perfectly sculpted ass is on the line. I will stop her at any costs in order to secure my position. There are other ways of serving my master that don’t require the presence of the Leviathan.”

“Good answer, but I still think you’re full of shit.”

He smirked and blew out a mouthful of smoke. “Of course. But that’s not your major concern right now. You have a problem. Fix it. I’ll stand watch while you work it out.”

He went to the door, opened it, and then glanced back at us. “Unless you’re considering that threesome idea I had earlier.”

“Shut up, Belial,” Jordan and I chorused. He shut the door behind him, laughing all the way.

Jordan sat on the bed on the far side of the room, rubbing her sinuses. “Was he that annoying before he became a demon or did it happen later on?”

“No. The popular theory is that going to Hell amplified his worst qualities,” I said, returning to my place leaning against the wall. A painful silence descended. However, the longer it went on, the more anger dissipated from within me. I could think semi-rational thoughts by the time she spoke up again.

“I haven’t been able to check up on Lauren and Lily. How are they?”

“Fine. Worried about you, but they’re safe. I’ve had people keeping an eye on them. Your Dad and Ms. Lebeau too. Hell, even your aunt.”

She snorted. “Don’t suppose you can tell the angels watching her to rough her up a little?”

“The thought crossed my mind,” I admitted. “But Gabriel told me to be the bigger man.”

“Where is he?”

“I told him to head for the Garden just to be safe. That was before you called.”

“I see.” Another short pause. “I take it you saw Avriel when he…passed.”

I fought the urge to frown. “Yeah. He was different from the last time I saw him. I’m betting you had something to do with that.”

She looked at me. “What makes you say that?”

“You’re not good at a lot of things, but you do have this weird ability to change people’s minds. Make them see things from a different perspective, even if by accident.”

“Hmm. Never knew that.” She ran a hand through her hair, which was smooth and silky. Made sense. The reason I had been only four hours away was because my idea to track her hair products had worked. Well, that and Jocelyn’s search program.

“I’m guessing Andrew and my mother aren’t happy about all of this.”

“Not in the least. Andrew punched me in the face.”

She gaped. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“I didn’t know he was allowed to do that.”

“Me neither. The guy has a serious left hook.”

“Why’d he hit you?”

I licked my lips as I chose my words carefully. “To motivate me to find you.”

She winced, averting her gaze. “You weren’t looking for me?”

“I was, but apparently not hard enough.”

“You can let me have it, y’know,” she said, her tone softening. “I know I’ve put you through hell and worse.”

“Now isn’t the right time. As much as I hate to say it, Belial is right. We need a plan.”

She leaned her head against her hand, obscuring part of her face. “Michael, we have to save Juliana. I don’t care what it takes. We can’t let them win. Not this time. For God’s sake, she’s just a little girl.”

I pushed off from the wall and knelt in front of her so that our faces were level. I hesitated at first and then lifted her chin. “You know what this is really about, don’t you?”

“What?”

“How old is Juliana? Four, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“How old were you when they turned you over to Aunt Carmen?”

She closed her eyes. “Michael, don’t—”

“It’s true and you know it,” I said, my voice firm but not hostile. “You see yourself in her and it’s clouding your judgment. She’s not you.”

“Well, she’s on a pretty damn similar path,” Jordan snapped, glowering at me. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t give anything to stop her from turning into me someday?”

“Part of me would.”

“And the other part?”

“Jordan, you’re a lot of things, but if the worst thing to happen to Juliana is that she turns into you, then it’s not the end of the world.”

She bowed her head, hiding one side of her face behind a curtain of hair. “Don’t say that. If you knew who I really was, you’d never love me.”

“You’re such an idiot,” I murmured. “I don’t love you in spite of your faults. I love you because of them.”

She shook her head. “You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t.”

“There are a lot of things I shouldn’t do. I shouldn’t drink alcohol. I shouldn’t eat junk food. I shouldn’t give bad tips.”

I brushed the hair behind her ear, making her look at me. “And I shouldn’t throw you down on this bed and rip all your clothes off. But I still want to anyway.”

“Even though you’re mad at me?”

I arched an eyebrow. “Are you kidding me? That’s why I want to so bad.”

She made a hoarse sound similar to a laugh. “You’re such a guy.”

“I choose to take that as a compliment. But I meant what I said. If you can honestly tell me that you think you can separate yourself from Juliana enough to listen to my plan, then I’ll help you.”

“I’ll do my best. I promise.”

“Alright.”

She leaned her forehead against mine. The scent of her skin, of cocoa butter, made me shut my eyes. I feared I’d never be this close to her again.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I whispered. I wanted to kiss her, but I knew I shouldn’t. She didn’t understand. In my head, I felt angry, betrayed, and resentful, but my body wanted nothing more than to lay her out on this stupid cheap bed and try my best to break the headboard. Shallow, carnal, and completely true.

The evidence arose when I noticed my other hand had somehow found its way to her thigh and was rubbing it like I did whenever I was trying to comfort her. I’d done it on reflex. Did she even know she did stuff like this to me?

Still, she didn’t say anything when the wandering hand disappeared underneath the hem of her shirt, resting on the soft skin of her hip. Damn it. Why did it feel like years since we’d had sex?

“We should probably call Belial back in,” she said in a vacant tone, which clued me in to the fact that she realized we were getting into dangerous territory, but didn’t have enough sense to tell me to stop touching her.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Michael…I have to tell you something…”

“It can wait.” Somehow, my lips were now on her throat and both hands were beneath her shirt and I had no idea when that had happened. She sank back on the bed and I followed her, taking a bite at the spot between her neck and shoulder as my fingers worked at the clasp of her bra. I nearly groaned as she pulled the hem of my shirt up, palming my abs in that familiar way she always did.

“Ahem.”

I had to suppress a growl of annoyance when I heard the arrogant male voice of my demonic counterpart behind me.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Jordan and I answered simultaneously. “Yes.”

“Good. I assume you’ve made up since you’re rounding second base,” he said with no small amount of sarcasm. I noticed his eyes were fixed on what was visible of my wife’s cleavage. I stood up and she pulled her shirt down, which made me feel better and worse at the same time.

“We came to an agreement.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Did you, now? Didn’t think you had enough time for that.”

Jordan buried her face in one hand with an audible slap. “We’re never gonna live this down, are we?”

“Not likely.”

“I hate you.”

“I know. Now let’s get going, lovebirds.”

Chapter 32

Michael

BELIAL LEFT THE room first. Jordan and I stood there in truly awkward silence. She absently rubbed the spot where I’d bitten her as if it hurt, and I felt a bit guilty when I noticed. She kept her eyes on the floor as she spoke. “Should we talk about what just happened?”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “But not now.”

The words “I’m sorry” clung to the back of my throat like phlegm. I just couldn’t say them. Partly because I was still angry and partly because I didn’t really mean it. I knew the limits of my personality and at my worst, I was an arrogant, self-centered bastard who wanted to mark my territory. She probably knew that. But she wasn’t healing the hickey either. Interesting.

“I assume we’re taking your car,” she said, changing the subject. “Belial’s driver gave us the last one and we’re pretty sure he was the mole who turned us in.”

“An untrustworthy demon,” I said as I opened the door for her. “Who woulda thunk it?”

She glared as she passed me. “I’d tell you to bite me, but it looks like it’s too late for that.”

That stung. Then again, I had walked right into it. I followed her out and we headed down the hallway towards the parking lot. Just as we reached the corner, I heard the unmistakable squawk of a megaphone so I grabbed the hem of her shirt, yanking her back. I pressed us both against the wall, peeking around the corner. What I saw made the blood rush out of my face.

“James Brennan…we have a warrant for your arrest. Put your hands up and get on your knees or we will open fire.”

There were two police cars blocking off the lot from the main road and I spotted two more parked in spaces. Four officers stood behind the cars by the exit, their guns drawn with the other four closing in from the rear. Belial stood in the middle, the center of attention as always, his arms at his sides. We were only two floors up so I could see the unnervingly calm expression on his face. I watched as his eyes tracked the policemen. He was sizing them up, a butcher whetting his knife. Things were about to get ugly.

“How the hell did they find us?” Jordan hissed. “I thought he was covering our tracks.”

“Maybe people down here actually watch the news,” I said, examining the road leading out of the lot. I couldn’t see from here if there were more of them on the way or if they had blocked the intersection off to prevent an escape route. Damn it.

“What are we gonna do?”

I faced her. “What can we do? The guy’s got to have a lawyer who can get him out of this mess.”

“But in less than forty-eight hours? We have three days to get to the Garden and he’s our only way of contacting Mulciber.”

“What do you want me to do, Jordan? They’re packing way more heat than the two of us can handle.”

“Yeah, but guess what the alternative is? We let Belial take them on. He’s no longer bound by demonic law, Michael. How do you think that’s gonna turn out?”

I gritted my teeth, hating that she was right. Without the contract to tame him, Belial would smear the police all over the asphalt, and he’d do it with a smile. The demon always had a sore spot when it came to human authorities, mostly because he found the concept preposterous. He was a Prince of Hell. To him, they were insects.

“Brennan, this is your last warning. Put your hands up and get on your knees or we will use deadly force.”

Belial flashed them a toothy grin and I heard his joyful yet nefarious voice echo across the lot. “Promise?”

He reached to the small of his back and withdrew a knife about half the length of his forearm. He examined the way the light bounced off the brilliant silver and then spread his arms wide, as if welcoming them.

“Have at me.”

Belial took one step forward. The cops opened fire. Gunshots ripped through the air, but of course the demon had disappeared from view, running so fast that he looked like a white streak from here. I cursed under my breath and grabbed Jordan’s arm, tugging her to the opposite end of the hallway.

“What the hell are you doing? The bloodbath is that way!” she shouted.

I hauled her down the flight of stairs and onto the sidewalk. There were a few emergency vehicles closing off the road. I spotted someone coming towards us to tell us to go around. I scanned the line of parked cars on the opposite side of the street until I found what I needed.

I let go of Jordan as we came up to the side of a large black pickup truck. All the people were crowded near the sectioned off road so there were no witnesses when I punched out the window and unlocked the doors. I’d done a lot of things, but stealing a car hadn’t been one of them recently. Luckily, Jordan grew up in New Jersey with a rough crowd and picked up a few helpful things.

“Still remember how to hotwire a truck?”

Jordan unbuttoned her sleeves and rolled them up, still frowning. “Yeah. Whenever you want to enlighten me on what’s going on, I’m all ears.”

“Just do it, and quickly,” I snapped, walking around to the bed of the truck. I jumped up into it one fluid movement, examining the contents. Three shovels, a rake, four bags of fertilizer, a few empty buckets, a box of nails, and a huge bag of silt. Offhand, this stuff looked pretty useless, but I knelt and checked out the 25 pound bag of silt.

“Jordan, you still carrying that .38?”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure that’s not gonna scare off the cops with the Glocks.”

“It doesn’t need to. How much do you bench press?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“How much?”

“I can take 75 pounds if I’m being macho about it. Why?”

The truck rumbled to life beneath my sneakers and she climbed out, dusting off her hands. I withdrew my pocketknife and sliced open the top of the silt bag before hopping down.

“Get in the back. When I signal you, you’re gonna toss the bag in the air. That should give us some cover for when we go get the demon. Right before I ram them, I want one warning shot to get their attention. It should be a quick grab. If Belial refuses to get in, shoot him and throw his ass in.”

“My pleasure.” She jumped in the back and I climbed into the truck, revving the engine. This plan was stupid, reckless, and probably would result in adding several more crimes to my already long list of indiscretions. I closed my eyes for a second and thought of Juliana. I thought about her chubby brown cheeks, her wily hair, and the dimples that only showed up when she laughed. If I wanted to save her, I’d have to save her piece-of-shit father first. Go figure.

I hit the gas, hard. The tires screeched and the enormous vehicle pitched forward, gaining momentum. Several cars honked at me as I swerved around them, driving over the median, and two EMTs dove out of the way as the truck smashed through the wooden barriers they’d set up. I shoved the pedal down on the gas as far as it would go and then shouted to Jordan through the open panel in the rear window.

“Now!”

Jordan raised her gun and shot once in the air just before the truck smashed through the two cop cars blocking off the parking lot. I spotted Belial near the hotel’s main entrance, his white dress shirt drenched in blood, one officer dangling perilously in his grip. His eyes widened as he saw me slam on the brakes. Jordan tossed the bag of silt, quickly shrouding the area in a thick, stifling mist.

“Get in!” I heard her shout just before I rolled up the windows.  She flattened herself against the bed as the police opened fire again.

Belial dropped the cop and strode over to the passenger’s side, getting in. I turned on the windshield wipers and swerved around, keeping my head down. Bullets whizzed past, punching holes in the seat cushion between us and puncturing the glass on either side of us. I managed to maneuver the truck back through the way we came. We peeled out into the road and I headed for the nearest highway at breakneck speed.

“What the hell were you thinking?” I spat at Belial.

He coughed a couple times, brushing the remains of the silt off his hair and face. “I was defending myself.”

“You could have run. You could have distracted them with hellhounds. You could have just let them take you and then get one of your fancy lawyers to get you out.”

“And you could have left me there,” he said with a smug grin. “What’s the matter, Mikey? Did you miss me too much?”

“No,” I growled. “I just wanted to murder you myself.”

“How intriguing. I can’t wait.”

Further arguing was interrupted as police sirens filled the air. We’d wrecked two of their units, but there was another pair coming in hot with their red-and-blue lights blazing. The truck was great for brute strength attacks, but with all this weight, there was a good chance they’d catch up with us.

“Jordan!” I yelled through the window. “Got anything else back there that can stall them?”

“Do I look like I have a utility belt?”

“Stop arguing with me and look, woman!”

She tossed several things aside and then came up with cardboard box full of nails. “Not sure if this’ll work, but I can try. Can you make a sharp turn soon?”

“Yeah, hold on!”

I shot across two lanes and made a left turn that almost flipped the truck, but through the grace of God, we just burned some rubber instead.

Jordan tossed the nails out, making a wide path behind us. One of the cop cars’ tires punctured and it spun out, smashing into a fire hydrant nearby. The other rolled straight over the nails and kept coming.

“You have energy shards. Why don’t you just take them out?” Belial asked as his hair whipped over his face from the wind.

“Cop cars have cameras, genius. Do you really want evidence that demons and angels exist right now?”

“If the Leviathan rises, that’ll be a moot point, I’d say.”

“Not an option. Think of something else if you’re so damn smart.”

“Tell your wife to give me the gun and I’ll shoot out the tires.”

“Yeah, after you just massacred several people, I’m sure you’ll only shoot out the tires,” I said, making sure he heard the sarcasm over the sound of the sirens.

I raised my voice again so Jordan could hear me. “Can you hit the tires?”

“Not with you swerving around like this,” she said, clinging to the edge of the bed with one hand, her pistol in the other.

I scanned the upcoming road, searching for something else to get rid of our last pigtail. “What if I give you a bigger target?”

“Like what?”

“That.” I pointed to the enormous gorilla balloon hovering in front of a car dealership.

“Seriously?”

“You got five seconds. Don’t miss.”

She shook her head at me and then braced her knees against the edge of the bed, propping her elbows on the roof of the truck to steady her. I counted down and she timed it perfectly, shooting three times. The gorilla deflated and fell forward right behind us, covering the front end of the cop car. It veered off the road and hit a tree, completely totaled.

Jordan climbed in through the window and sat down in the middle, tucking the gun in the small of her back. With her safe inside, I was able to do what I did best—disappear.

Jordan

* * *

THERE WERE FOUR bullet wounds for me to deal with: one in Belial’s right shoulder, one in his left shoulder, and the other two were in his biceps. Apparently, the police had been instructed to take him in alive so they went for non-lethal shots.

At this point in my life, large amounts of blood no longer bothered me. What did bother me was the fact that Michael had left to cover our tracks and update Gabriel, which left me and the demon alone. Bad idea. In Belial’s mind, no Michael, no excuse to behave himself.

I had a pair of forceps in my hand as I stood over him, carefully trying to grip the bullet in his left shoulder. I kept a fully-stocked medical kit in my panic pack, as I liked to call it. Painkillers were an integral part of said emergency pack, but Belial had refused to take them at first since he liked pain quite a lot. Eventually, I’d stuffed a couple in his mouth. He’d been so impressed by my ruthlessness that he didn’t spit them out. Go figure.

My problem wasn’t just that the third bullet was lodged in a rather tricky place. It was that the painkillers made him a bit loopy, so he wouldn’t stop touching me. With him sitting on the bed, my legs were what he focused on the most, running his long fingers up and down the back of my thighs. He knew I was ticklish there because Terrell had known that, and I tried my best not to think about it. I slapped his hands away several times until it became too much of a bother so I let him amuse himself. Besides, there were only two more slugs to pry out and then he could heal. I’d just have to deal with the temporary discomfort.

“Have you ever thought about becoming a nurse?” he asked, trailing his fingertip over the inside of my right thigh.

I kept my voice level and patient even though he was annoying me. “No. Medical school’s expensive as hell.”

“Yes, but that was when you were younger. Now you’ve got the angels on your side, so to speak. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind footing the bill.”

“It’s not just the money. It’s bad enough having the souls of the dead depending on me. I don’t need the living adding to that too,” I said, concentrating as I inched the bullet closer to the opening of the wound.

“Of course. The ever-so-noble-and-conscientious Jordan. Still, I think it’d be a good fit on you. You have a soft touch. A rather fetching, womanly—Ow!”

I yanked the slug out, satisfied when he got cut off mid-speech. I dropped the bullet in the trashcan beside the bed and pressed a large wad of gauze to the wound as fresh blood trickled out. “Keep pressure on this.”

He obliged without a fuss. Odd. I shifted over to his right shoulder, tucking a wayward lock of silt-streaked hair behind my ear. I had occupied one of his hands, but the other one continued tracing absent patterns on the back of my jeans.

“I’m sensing some hostility here.”

“Really. What gives you that idea?” I made a point to dig the forceps in a bit so that he cringed. It made me feel better.

“Let me guess. You’re sore about the policemen I hurt.”

“No shit,” I said, no longer caring about being gentle with the wound. “You put our lives at risk just because you were having a temper tantrum. If I didn’t need you to contact Mulciber, I’d have let Michael jump rope with your small intestines.”

“It wasn’t a temper tantrum. Some people drink to relieve tension. I just use violence as my outlet.”

For a moment, I caught myself contemplating simply jabbing my finger in the bullet hole. No. That’d definitely make me a sadist. “You should really stop talking if you want me to get this out of you. I’m very tempted to leave it in.”

“Is this the part where I say, ‘that’s what she said’? Ow!”

He glowered at me. I ignored him, focusing on removing the slug instead of twisting it this time. There seemed to be a particular type of pain he liked, but this wasn’t it. Ha.

“Your hubby wasn’t too thrilled about having to spring me,” Belial said, sounding more coherent as he sneered when he said “hubby.” Then again, his body processed medicine faster than the average human’s.

“Naturally. But he still did it, so cut him some slack.”

Belial snorted. “It is my eternal duty not to do so. That’s a battle you’ll just have to lose, Seer.”

His words piqued my curiosity and some of my anger slid away. “Eternal? You two didn’t like each other even before the Fall?”

He paused, seeming to consider my words. “Not necessarily. We were friends, actually.”

“Really?”

He smirked. “You may hate me, but I was quite popular back then. I believe John Milton mentioned something about ‘a fairer person lost not Heav’n.’ It wasn’t an exaggeration, you know.”

I rolled my eyes. “Uh-huh. Hold still, I’ve almost got it.”

“I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t rebelled. Maybe he and I would be as chummy as he is with Gabriel.”

Again, genuine surprise rolled through me. “So you do think about stuff like that?”

He fixed me with his gaze. “You seem surprised.”

“Of course I am. It never occurred to me that you could have regrets like a normal person. You’re so…you.”

He chuckled. “Why thank you.”

The bullet finally came free and I tossed it in the wastebasket. When I straightened up, Belial let the gauze fall and wrapped his arms around my waist, tugging me so close I had to prop my hands on his collarbone to keep from falling into his lap. I prayed Michael wouldn’t walk in to see this little stunt.

“Let go. Just because you’re hopped up on painkillers doesn’t mean my personal space rule is void,” I said, though I could hear my voice waver.

“Relax,” he murmured. “I need sexual energy to heal myself. It will only take a moment.”

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, as if inhaling the tension stretched between us. I kept still, trying not to feel the heat from his bare skin. I felt part of the long burn scar across his chest underneath my palm and it felt rough in contrast to the rest of him. The burn was relatively new, but there were plenty of other, older scars on his body. He had been right when he said we were both covered in them.

The wounds on his biceps healed first, returning his arms to their sinewy perfection, and then the ones in his shoulders eventually closed up. He exhaled a blast of hot air against my throat. I waited for him to let go, but instead he leaned his forehead against my breastbone.

“How poetic that you’re healing the very wounds you’ve inflicted upon me,” he said, his voice muffled by the fabric of my button up shirt.

I couldn’t reply because his tone was unlike anything I’d ever heard before. He sounded so…human. There was an undercurrent of pain that I wasn’t sure could truly be faked, even by a master manipulator like him. It scared me and thrilled me at the same time.

I shivered as he slipped his hands beneath my shirt, sliding his fingers over my hips, his fingertips finding the edges of the scars on my back. I licked my lips, forcing myself to raise my voice enough for him to hear.

“Belial…are you in love with me?”

He nudged the collar of my shirt aside, kissing the scar over my heart. “Don’t ask rhetorical questions, my pet.”

I heard the door close and then leapt out of his grasp. Michael came around the corner, already frowning in suspicion as he spotted me standing next to the fully healed demon.

“I take it we’re done here.”

“In more ways than one,” Belial said, but he was staring at me when he spoke. I looked away, rubbing my arms, as he stood up.

“I’ll clean up and then we can get going.”

Michael frowned deeper as Belial disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. “I’m guessing I missed something.”

I shook my head. “Nothing important. So where are we headed? Where’s the Garden?”

“I’d rather not say while he’s around. We’re gonna have to fly under the radar, literally. Gabriel set us up to get smuggled across the Atlantic. We’ve got to go now. The pick up’s on the coast and we’re still a couple miles out.”

“And I’m assuming Belial’s coming with us.”

“He’ll land with us, but he’s not going any further. It’s forbidden, and for good reason. Demons cannot ever know where the Garden is. I’m sure he’d do his best to try to destroy it, or worse.”

“What’s worse than destroying it?”

“Leading other people to it. If normal people found out it was real, that we were real, it would mean total chaos. Society would break down overnight. There’d be witch-hunts. Wars. Genocide.”

“Why haven’t the demons tried to expose you if that would be the end result?”

“We’re still in a symbiotic relationship. They profit from us in some ways, so there would be no reason to kill their benefactors. Besides, there are some rules in place that demons can’t break, just like the contract we made with him.”

“Wait. Wouldn’t Satan know where the Garden is? He’s been there before.”

Michael shook his head. “Not necessarily. Think about how much time has passed. Back when Eden was first created, the geography of the earth was completely different. He’d have no idea where it is now. The Garden is also now underground, so it wouldn’t matter even if he told Belial the last location he knew about.”

I sank onto the bed, pushing my hair out of my eyes. “Speaking of which, what happened back there? Why did Belial go Rambo on those cops? It couldn’t have just been for ‘stress relief.’”

Michael stared. “You’re surprised that he likes killing people?”

“No, of course not, but…” I paused, trying to figure out what I meant. “It seemed like he was getting better. Not good, mind you, just better. I haven’t seen him behave like that since the war in Jersey last year.”

“It’s bloodlust. It’s not something you would ever be able to understand. That quality is inherent in every demon, especially archdemons. Belial is good at hiding his vicious nature when he wants to, but it’s always there. He’s incapable of changing.”

I winced, and hoped Michael didn’t see me do it. He had been only seconds too late to hear my question to Belial and part of me wanted to tell him what had happened, but I knew it would only enrage him.

The very thought of Belial being in love with me was beyond ludicrous. He had no heart and his soul was as black as a crow’s wing. But there were times when he looked at me, times when he smiled at me, times when he acted like a person and not the murderous scum I hated over the years. Was it possible that somewhere amongst the filth inside him, there was a semblance of something good? He’d told me I was sin and savior. Did he have a bit of both in him too?

“I don’t like that look,” Michael said. His expression had shifted from a frown to something much more somber.

“What look?”

“You’re hiding something.”

“I’m not—”

He shook his head once, a quick jerk. “Don’t insult me. I was married to you for a year. I know that look.”

My throat tightened. “Was? Are you saying it’s off now?”

He looked away. “No. But that’s a conversation for another time.”

“And when is that? After the world’s come to an end?”

He turned those unwavering sea-green eyes on me. “You were my world.”

The bathroom door opened and Belial came out, drying his damp sable locks with a white towel. He glanced between the two of us, seeming confused.

“Who died?”

Michael ignored the question. “You all healed up?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

I didn’t see Michael move—I only heard the crash of Belial’s body against the mirror on the far wall. It took me a second to realize Michael had punched him so hard and so fast that my human eyes couldn’t track the movement. My mouth fell open as he lunged for the demon, grabbing fistfuls of his bloodstained shirt and slamming him into the wall with enough force that it left a dent.

Belial punched him twice in the solar plexus and the archangel’s grip loosened, allowing the demon time to kick him. Michael fell backwards and hit the nightstand by the bed, forcing me to hop onto the mattress to avoid getting grazed. He growled, picked up the broken piece of furniture, and hurled it at him.

Belial ducked and it smashed to pieces against the wall. Michael used the extra seconds it took him to move out of the way for a vicious roundhouse kick that caught a glancing blow across Belial’s temple. He stumbled, but caught himself and then there was suddenly a switchblade in his hand. The sight of it snapped me out of my shocked state.

I leapt down from the bed and withdrew my .38, clicking the hammer. “The next one of you to land a punch gets shot in the kneecap.”

Both men froze, breathing hard, then stared at me.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Belial said with a sneer.

I pointed the muzzle at him. “Try me.”

“I didn’t even start the fight.”

“No, but you could have stopped it. Now you had both better calm the hell down or I swear I’ll shoot you and head for the Garden by myself.”

“You saw what he did,” Michael said, his voice settled in a tone so dark it made my skin crawl. There was something feral in his eyes. He had slipped into warrior mode—a cold, calculating soldier that wanted nothing but justice. “He can’t be trusted. He needs to learn his place.”

Belial snorted. “My place? It’s right where it’s always been. In your wife’s bed.”

Michael took another menacing step forward. I switched targets. “Don’t.”

“Why are you defending him?” he snarled.

“I’m not, you idiot! We don’t have time for this. Yes, Belial should be punished for endangering us and hurting innocent people, but we can’t do it right now. After this mess is all over, you can rip each other to shreds. I won’t stop you. But until then, suck it up and stop letting him get to you.”

Michael glared at me for another second or two, seeming to realize I was right, and then met the demon’s gaze. “When this is well and truly over, I will enjoy sending you back to Hell.”

“And I will enjoy making you eat those words,” Belial replied, his smile laced with malice.

Once I was sure they wouldn’t try anything funny, I shook my head and put my gun back where it belonged. “I swear, sometimes I think you two are perfect for each other. You’re both macho arrogant hotheads.”

Belial made a rude noise in the back of his throat as he wiped fresh blood from his lip. “And what does it say about you that you’re attracted to both of us?”

I opened the hotel door and glanced at them over my shoulder. “That I should become a lesbian.”

Chapter 33

Jordan

“YOU DON’T HAVE to do this, you know.”

“Yes, I do.”

Michael gave me a long, intrusive stare, then sighed. “Fine. Five minutes.”

“Okay.”

“I mean it. Any longer and they’ll be able to trace it.”

“Got it.”

He stepped back and I slid the rusty, dingy door to the phone booth shut. There were barely any of these contraptions left in the States, but we’d gotten lucky outside of a gas station. I hadn’t used one in years. Never needed to until now.

My fingers trembled as I pushed the change into the slot and dialed the number. Five minutes, Amador. Keep it short.

The phone rang four times before someone picked up and my stomach plummeted into my feet. “Hello?”

“Hey, Lauren.”

Silence. Then, a pained whisper. “Jordan?”

“Yeah.”

I heard movement, then the sound of a door slamming. She’d probably gone into her bedroom, away from Lily. “What the hell is going on? I saw your picture in the news, for Christ’s sake! The cops have been by here twice asking if I have any information on your whereabouts. Do you know what I’ve been through these past couple days? How could you do something like this?”

The lump in my throat made it hard to reply. “I know. I know, and I’m so sorry.”

“You had damn well better be!” she yelled. “How many years have I been your friend? How many times have I stood by your side when you needed me? How could you lie to me like this?”

She broke away from the phone, cursing in Korean. I waited until she stopped before speaking. “It’s complicated. More than you’ll ever know.”

“I won’t ever know anything unless you tell me. Kidnapping a serial killer? Busting a felon out of police custody? Who are you? Tell me the truth.”

“I can’t. I want to, but I can’t.”

“Then why did you bother calling? To make me even more upset than I already am? Because it’s a phone call I could have lived without.”

“I just…wanted to make sure you were safe. And tell you that I’m sorry for lying to you. You were right. I’ve been shielding you from the truth for years and it’s not fair. But if I make it out of this mess alive, I’ll tell you everything. I swear.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t you dare say that to me. I don’t want the next phone call I get to be from a goddamn morgue. I don’t want some cop showing up at my place to tell me you’re dead. If you care about me at all, you’ll either tell me what’s going on or leave me the hell alone.”

“I…”

“You what?”

“I love you, Lauren. And I’m sorry. If this is the last time I ever speak to you, then tell Lily I love her and I’ll miss her too.”

A pause. Then, her voice, ice cold, said, “Goodbye, Jordan.”

She hung up. I replaced the phone on the receiver. My throat was so tight I had to clear it several times before dialing the next number.

A gruff voice answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Lewis? It’s me.”

“Jordan? Where the hell are you? What’s going on? You’ve been all over the local news for the past couple days.”

“I can’t explain, okay? I just…wanted to tell you I’m alive. I felt I owed you that much.”

“Is it Lamont? Did he frame you for the murder charges?”

“No.”

“Stop lying, girl. I may have only known you for a short time, but you ain’t a killer. I know there’s more to this situation than what you’re sayin.’ I been a liar for half my life and I can hear it in your voice.”

“Lewis…”

“Look, I know I can’t talk you out of whatever you’re doing, but you’ve got to know that you can’t keep heading down this path for long. You don’t want to know where it ends.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice. And if you’re as much like your mother as I think, when the time comes you’ll make the right one.”

A small disbelieving snort escaped me. “Why are you being so understanding? A normal father would be screaming at me to turn myself in.”

“Normal fathers don’t have daughters who are wanted for murder. Giving you that kind of advice would be pretty useless. Besides, you’re stubborn. You wouldn’t listen to me anyway.”

A couple of days and he already knew me that well. Maybe I was predictable. Just then, Michael rapped his knuckles on the glass.

I took a deep breath. “I have to go now. I’m sorry. If I don’t see you again, I want you to know I’m sort of glad that I met you. Even if it almost got me killed.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just come home in one piece, girl. Alright?”

“I’ll try. Bye.”

“Bye.” I hung up and walked away from the last part of my normal life.

* * *

AFTER AN EXHAUSTING twenty-three hours of travel, I found myself seated behind my silent husband as we paddled in a papyrus reed boat called a tankwa over the muddy waters of Lake Tana—the largest lake in Ethiopia and the source of the Blue Nile. We’d been smuggled on a plane from Miami to Addis Ababa, then drove from Addis Ababa to the city of Bahir Dar, home to the lake. While the air between Michael and I was strained, the scenery almost made up for it.

The lake stretched for miles and the sun glanced off the water around us, making it shimmer. Flocks of great white Pelicans soared overhead, occasionally diving to catch fish. It was a hot, oppressive day, so there were a lot of animals gathered at the shores to cool off. Under normal circumstances, I’d be enjoying myself, maybe touring one of the twenty monasteries on the thirty-seven islands of the lake. One of them was even rumored to have housed the Ark of the Covenant. I absently wondered if Michael would be able to confirm or refute the legend.

Despite my enticing surroundings, I knew I couldn’t stall any longer. I licked my dry lips and cleared my throat, addressing Michael. “So. How’s this going to go down? What can I expect at the Garden?”

Michael’s broad shoulders tensed a bit when I spoke. He’d been dreading this conversation, I could tell, but there were too many theories buzzing around my head as to why.

“We’re gonna have to steal the fruit.”

I stopped rowing. “I’m sorry, what?”

He kept his voice flat, eyes forward. “The Garden is guarded by the angel Uzziel. Do you really think it’s going to end well for us if we tell him we’re bargaining the fruit that could unleash the Leviathan for the life of a four-year-old girl, whose father is an archdemon?”

“No, but aren’t you the Commander? Can’t you order him to let us in?”

Michael shook his head. “Uzziel is not bound by heavenly authorities. His eternal task is to watch over the Garden until the Rapture. Since the order was ordained by God, there’s nothing I can do about it. If Uzziel were to find us, I’d have to fight him to the death and I refuse to kill one of my brothers just for doing his job.”

A worrying thought wormed its way into my brain. “Does that mean you’re going to get in trouble for helping me?”

“It’s likely.”

My gaze softened on him. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve already said that.”

“And I meant it that time too.”

The birdcalls and splashing water around us didn’t hide the sound of his sigh. “Forget it. It’s the least of our worries. We’re going to have to get in and out as quickly as possible.”

“Well, you’ve been there before. Shouldn’t be too hard, right?”

“Not for me, no.”

I frowned. “Don’t like the way that sounds. Elaborate.”

“This is the Garden of Eden, Jordan. Do you know what that means?”

“I thought I did, but your tone is really starting to make me think twice.”

“It’s paradise. Literal, actual utopia. The longer you spend there, the more you’ll start to lose your grip on reality. The Garden has an atmosphere that can alter your mind because it was meant to be perfect in every way. I’m going to have to lead you in and you can’t leave my side for any reason or you’ll lose yourself in it.”

“I don’t get it. Why didn’t the Bible or Paradise Lost say anything about that?”

“Because neither is told from a first-person account of it. Adam and Eve were born in the Garden, so they were able to handle it. You weren’t. Therefore, it’ll be hard to resist.”

My mouth felt dry. I suspected it had nothing to do with the heat of the sun. “Okay. I’ll do my best to prepare myself, then.”

Finally, we reached a shore. An African darter watched our tankwa glide up to the muddy beach, cocking its brown head to the side. Michael stepped out and the darter took off into the air, scattering a couple of slick black feathers in its wake. I couldn’t resist tracking its flight into the sky, flapping its wings with long, slow strokes against the wind. Some part of me envied it.

Michael turned and held his hand out for me to grab so I could climb onto the shore. For some reason, seeing him standing there, waiting for me, ready to potentially throw his life away even after all I’d done, made something inside my chest constrict. I took his hand.

He helped me out, his brow furrowing at the pained look on my face.

“Jordan, are you—”

I let go, refusing to meet his gaze. “I’m fine. Here, help me lug this thing out of sight.”

He didn’t press the matter. Smart man.

We hauled the tankwa into a secluded spot by the nearby trees and began the long trek up the hill. I didn’t know exactly where we were going, but I didn’t need to, after all. Part of me always felt more at ease with Michael in control. Even though my life was hectic, I could always trust and depend on him. Even before we were romantically involved, he had the air of leadership perfected. Gabriel told me that while Michael hadn’t been the nicest fellow a few centuries ago, he had been a fair and worthy leader regardless.

Before long, sweat beaded on my forehead. Tendrils of hair stuck to it, and I started to lose track of time until I looked at my watch. We had been hiking for close to half an hour. I opened my mouth to ask Michael how much farther we had to go, but then I got my answer. I could hear a faint roar in the distance. The air became much more humid. Every other gust of wind blew a fine veil of moisture against my overheated skin and then I knew where we were.

My boots crunched against the sparse grass and rocks as we reached the edge of the cliff that spilled down into the Blue Nile Falls. The sight nearly took my breath away. Lush green forests bordered both sides of the waterfall, the bottom of which was hidden due to the thick mist the falling water kicked up. I couldn’t remember ever seeing anything so beautiful in my life.

“Let’s go.”

I snapped out of my thoughts, glancing at the angel by my side. “Huh?”

He gestured towards the falls. “The entrance is that way.”

I stared at him. “If you’re saying we have to jump into this river, you’re on your own.”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course not. But we do have to climb onto the cliff side.”

I ventured a nervous peek over the side. “That sounds like a horrendously bad idea.”

Michael shot me a sarcastic look. “Where have I heard that before?”

“Point taken. Lead the way. I’ll follow. Probably.”

He walked to the edge and lowered himself one careful movement at a time. I began to get more and more skittish as he descended a couple feet onto the craggy face of the waterfall.

“Wait, shouldn’t we have some sort of support rope?”

“Jordan, I can fly. If you fall, I’ll catch you. Now come on, we haven’t got all day.”

“Alright, keep your pants on, Indiana Jones,” I said, mentally preparing myself for what I was about to do. What was it they always said in the movies? Don’t look down? Right. Piece of cake.

The pounding of my heartbeat in my ears drowned out the sound of the waterfall only several feet away as I inched my way over the side of the cliff, testing each place I’d put my foot with my toe first. I made sure to follow Michael’s movements exactly, keeping my breath slow and steady so I wouldn’t panic. The rocks were damp to the touch but not slippery, though the thought didn’t make me feel any better. It was a long way down. Some part of me giggled at the thought of dying right now, if only because I had survived so many brushes with death that biting it via cliff-diving would be just plain silly.

About halfway down the cliff, Michael reached into his pocket and withdrew a large silver feather. I knew it had come from his own wings as no other angel had that magnificent color—a mixture of pearl and aluminum. He held it up in front of a long seam and I felt a rolling wave of vibration emanate through the ground. Pebbles tumbled from above as the seam slowly split apart, revealing the entrance to a cave. It opened enough to the width of Michael’s body—no more, no less. He swung himself once and jumped inside with the grace of a gymnast. Damn perfect angel.

I took a deep breath and maneuvered myself to the spot where he’d been, praying that I could emulate an ounce of his muscle control. I swung towards the cave and he held one hand out, steadying me as soon as my feet hit the earth. With the sun at my back, I could only see a couple of feet in front of us, leaving the rest in a gaping black abyss.

“Don’t suppose you brought a flashlight?” I asked.

Before he could answer, the cave rumbled again and I whirled around to see the seam closing up by itself. We were instantly swallowed in darkness and I lost what little sanity I had left.

“Michael, what the hell was that?”

His large, strong hand wrapped around mine in the dark. “Calm down and look up.”

I started to argue, but then I noticed a soft blue light glowing from above. I raised my gaze to the ceiling and found that it came from what looked like stalactites made of crystal. They formed a line through the inky space in front of us, leading the way. I thought Michael would let go now that I could see, but he tugged me along after him as if it were an unconscious habit. He’d remembered I wasn’t too fond of tight spaces. Damn him.

The path he led us through dipped down after only a few steps, heading at an angle away from the surface. The air cooled considerably and I could no longer hear any signs of the river around us. For a while, there was just the crunch of our boots against the soil, Michael’s warm fingers around mine, and the ethereal light within the cave.

Then, I could see a white light at the end of the tunnel. It looked like a speck at first, but before long we were coming up to whatever was at the other side. I squinted, letting Michael lead me out. I stumbled a bit and he caught me on reflex, leaving us in a momentary caustic silence as it pressed the front of my body along the line of his. Even here, he was still so warm. I missed the way it felt to lean against his chest.

I tore my gaze away from the conflicted expression on his face, sliding out of his arms and focusing on the sight before me. I had been wrong about the Blue Nile Falls. What lay in front of me was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

The cave’s exit hovered above a gushing waterfall that wasn’t as large as the falls, but was still mighty and impressive. The water was crystal clear and flowed downward at least ten feet into a pool. The pool spilled out into a river that led across a grassy plain and surrounded the grounds like a moat. The gates of Eden were huge and made of gold, glimmering so brilliantly that it looked like it had just been polished only a moment ago. The gates connected to huge white stone walls that enclosed the compound. Enormous torches held by elegant sconces on the surrounding cave walls lit the entire area. The most curious thing of all was that the fire licking up from these torches was pure white. It gave the illusion of sunlight, which made sense. Down here, the plants and animals of the Garden would need sunlight to survive.

From here, I caught a glimpse of Eden itself—mostly huge treetops bursting with bright green leaves that spanned for acres. The cave had to be several miles wide and that was just the entrance. It was spectacular.

It took me a moment to remember that we had a job to do, but strangely Michael didn’t rush me. Maybe he knew what an honor it was to be able to see this since only two other human beings had that privilege. As soon as I remembered we were about to steal from this place, shame consumed me. The mother and father of the entire human race had been born here. I was about to boost some fruit from the holiest place on the planet. Only in my life would something like this happen.

“Where’s Uzziel?”

“He’s not just the guard. He’s also the caretaker so he doesn’t stay at the gate all the time.”

“Can he sense us?”

“You’ve learned how to shield yourself, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’re fine, unless he sees us. Speaking of which, we’re obviously not going to use the gate. This river circles the entire garden. That’s how we get in. Follow me and don’t stray.”

I nodded. He leapt in first, disappearing in the frothing pool. I waited until I saw his dark shape heading towards the outflow and jumped. The water was so cold it almost shocked the air out of my lungs, but I focused on the sight of Michael ahead of me and swam in long, strong strokes to catch up with him. Slowly but surely, we made it past the front gate with no sign of the angel guarding it and circled towards the right side of the grounds.

It wasn’t hard to keep up with Michael since the river’s current was strong, but I could feel my lungs burning with the need for air. I didn’t know how much farther I would have to stay under and the thought made fear creep through my stomach. My head started to pound with pain and I fought the voice in the back of my head screaming that I was going to drown before we made it there. My vision blurred and my chest started to shake, but I kept swimming until my arms went numb.

Then, miraculously, we made it beneath the wall and swam up to the surface. I sucked in a huge mouthful of air, wiping water out of my face so I could see. Michael pressed an index finger to his lips, miming for me to keep quiet while we headed for land. The part of the river we came out into was an oval pool. I spotted a couple of deer on the opposite side drinking. They raised their heads when they saw us, but to my surprise, they didn’t run away.

Michael checked the area thoroughly before motioning for me to follow him onto land. The pool was framed by grass on all sides and the clearing was surrounded by shrubs that reminded me of the forests up north. Interesting. Maybe Eden was set up like a wildlife preserve where each set of animals had their own specially made environment. After all, it made the most sense.

I squeezed all the water I could out of my shirt and crouched behind the same shrub as Michael. He closed his eyes and I could tell he was listening for footsteps or the sound of a voice. I couldn’t hear anything yet other than the faint lapping of the deer’s tongues in the water.

“Coast seems clear,” Michael said, looking at me. “How are you feeling?”

I shrugged. “Normal, I guess. Maybe a little cold.”

“I noticed,” he said, glancing at my chest, and I smacked him in the arm.

“You’re in the Garden of Eden. Have some class.”

He rolled his eyes. “Wear a bra with padding next time. Now come on.”

Again, he took my hand and led me from behind the shrubbery into the woods. We made a quiet, careful path through the trees, keeping our eyes peeled for any signs of the angel. Still, I couldn’t help getting distracted by the sheer beauty of the plant life. The treetops stretched higher than I could see and the leaves were a rich green I couldn’t recall having seen before. Birds wheeled overhead, casting playful shadows across the ground as we crept through the underbrush. Flowers tickled my calf muscles and the sweet scent of nectar teased my nose. It took me a second to realize I had starting smiling from out of nowhere. Weird.

The forest gradually turned into jungle terrain. The air became humid and the sounds around us changed from chirps to rolling growls and monkey chatter. I could hear insects humming in clusters nearby and the hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention as I heard leaves cracking underfoot behind us. I had seen environments like this on National Geographic. However, it was one thing to watch crazy white people wander around predator-infested jungles and another to be doing it myself.

“Is it just me or are we being followed?” I asked, my voice hushed.

Michael didn’t turn around, which worried me. “We are, but relax. The animals are the least of our worries.”

I wanted to believe him, but the way the twigs snapped in our wake made me think our stalker was something large. I could hear husky breathing every few seconds. It chased away the temporary wonderment I’d felt earlier. I didn’t like being followed, and being hunted even less.

Finally, I stopped and tugged on his arm so he had to look at me. “I’d feel a lot better if we got rid of it.”

Michael gave me an even stare, his face neutral. “I wouldn’t turn around if I were you.”

“Wow. Now I have to look.”

He sighed, but didn’t stop me as I turned my head to peek over my shoulder. My throat closed up.

There was a Bengal tiger staring at me from about two feet away.

I heard a squeak escape my lips, then realized I hadn’t formed an actual sentence. I swallowed, trying to remember my language skills. “Um…is there a polite way to tell a four-hundred-pound killing machine to back off?”

“I told you, it’s not going to hurt us. The animals in Eden are under the effect of paradise as well. They view humans as something to be respected, not eaten. She’s just curious.”

A rather illogical thought entered my head. “…does that mean I can pet her?”

A dry laugh escaped the archangel. “Probably, but I wouldn’t press your luck.”

Now that we’d seen it, the tiger’s behavior shifted fully into inquisitive. Its wide pink nose flared as it sucked in my scent, taking a step closer until it could sniff the toe of my boot. This felt too surreal for words. I kept waiting for it to open its massive jaws and swallow me whole, but after a few seconds, the tiger yawned and loped off into the jungle. Guess I wasn’t as fascinating as I thought.

We resumed our hurried pace through the rain forest and once more I lost track of time. There were so many sights and sounds around me, draining the attention I should have been paying to the path we were making. At some point, I became lightheaded. It didn’t feel the same as when I was nauseous or having a migraine. In fact, it was almost pleasant—like my brain was detaching from the worries that plagued me.

At last, the jungle foliage thinned. We were coming up to a clearing. The heat slackened, leaving the air cool and comfortable. The grass was low and felt as soft as moss as we stepped inside the secluded spot. There were two trees side by side in the clearing, both with trunks the size of SUVs. The thick branches stretched upward, seeming to go on forever.

The tree on the left had shiny dark-green leaves and a peculiar blood-red fruit hanging from it.  The fruit grew in clusters like grapes yet they were about the size of strawberries. Too big to be cherries. I’d never seen it before.

The other tree had triangular leaves that were light green and vines woven about the trunk like snakes. The fruit that hung from the branches was about the size of a pear, but its skin was a beautiful color somewhere between gold and peach.

I stood between the two trees, inhaling the sweet scent of both, and finally understanding why Eve had been unable to resist. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. The aroma filled my lungs and sent a wonderful calm through me. What did I have to worry about? I was here, in the Garden, safe from harm, safe from anything that could possibly hurt me. I was home.

Michael’s hand squeezed mine as he led me towards the tree with the golden fruit, pointing. “It’s this one. Hurry, Uzziel can’t be too far from here.”

“Mmkay,” I said, reaching up. I plucked a fruit from the tree. Dew droplets fell from the branch, kissing my cheeks. I smiled, nodding to the plant in silent thanks for its offering. The skin of the fruit was firm like that of a plum. My mouth watered. My tongue ached for a taste. Why couldn’t I indulge? After all, this was my reward for my journey. I deserved it, didn’t I?

I brought the fruit up to my mouth, but Michael stopped me. “Jordan, you can’t eat that. Come on, let’s go.”

“Go where?”

He stepped close to me, cradling my face in his hands without saying anything. Then, he let out a soft curse.

“Jordan, do you remember why we came here?”

I wrinkled my nose, thinking. The thoughts in my head swirled around in a fog, untouchable, abstract, unimportant. “For the fruit. I just wanted to taste it, that’s all.”

“It’s not to be eaten. We have to bargain it for Juliana,” he said, and his voice sounded so pained that it confused me. That name. I knew it. But from where?

“Does she live here? Where is she? I’d like to meet her,” I said, glancing at my surroundings expectantly.

Michael shut his eyes for a second. “We have to go. Now.”

“Sure, what should we see? Do they have an oasis here? I’ll bet it’s lovely.”

“No. We have to leave the Garden.”

I frowned, stepping back. “Why? It’s our home, Michael.”

“This is not our home.”

“Shouldn’t it be? Look at it.” I waved my free hand around. “Listen to the birds. Listen to the stream. It’s perfect. There’s nothing that can hurt us. We could stay here forever. We could be happy. Always.”

Michael touched my shoulders, bringing me in close, and the sorrow in his eyes frightened me. “We can’t stay. We can’t.”

I cupped his cheek. “Yes, we can. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? It’ll just be the two of us. No demons, no pain, no suffering, no labor. Just you and me and the rest of our life together.”

He pressed his forehead against mine, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Baby, don’t say that. Please, don’t say that to me. I would give anything to let you have this kind of peace, but it’s not real. You’re not yourself. We have to go.”

“But we’re—”

“We’re not home.” His grip tightened on my arms. “Jordan, I need you to focus. I need you to remember why we’re here.”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”

“We’re leaving. Come on.”

He gripped my wrist, pulling me towards the jungle, but I dug my heels into the downy soft grass, not moving. “No.”

“Jor—”

“No. I’m not going. This is where I belong. This is where we belong.”

A flock of birds flew past us from the left side of the clearing. Michael’s green eyes widened, darting back and forth as if trying to see through the forest. Something was coming.

He dragged me towards the tree with the golden fruit and shoved me against the trunk, pressing his hand over my mouth. “Don’t move. Don’t say anything.”

I heard more movement from the other side of the clearing, so I tilted my head until I could see. An olive-skinned man in white linen emerged from the rain forest. He was at least seven feet tall and his hair was dark grey. A brown leather quiver full of arrows was strapped to his back along with a huge bow. His blue eyes swept across the clearing like he was searching for something. He examined the grass where we’d stood only moments ago and walked over to the other tree, placing one hand against the bark. After a minute or so, he walked towards the tree we hid behind.

Michael stooped down, keeping his hand over my lips, and picked up a flat stone near the roots of the tree. He took careful aim and hurled it into the woods with all his might just as the angel crept near to our side. There came a terrible animal cry in the distance and the angel’s head whipped around in that direction. He hurried out of the clearing to check the disturbance, leaving us alone once again.

Michael sighed in relief, but he still wouldn’t move away. He met my eyes instead. “You may never forgive me for this, but I hope you’ll understand someday.”

He reached up towards the tree, pulled a vine from it, and tore off the end. He took his hand off my mouth and tied the vine around my head so it served as a gag. I thrashed, trying to cry out for help, but he caught my hands and held me still. He tied my wrists and ankles and threw me over his shoulder, carrying me back into the jungle while I begged him to stop. He didn’t listen. Why wouldn’t he listen?

When we reached the riverside, he put me down and held my face between his hands. “Take a deep breath for me. We’re almost out, okay? I promise, I won’t let go.”

He wrapped one arm around my waist and jumped into the river, holding me against him as he swam. The frigid water washed away my tears, but I could still feel the screaming agony of loss in my chest as I watched Eden slip away. I had lost my home. I had lost my paradise. I had lost everything.

When we reached the pool on the other side of the cave, Michael put me on his back and climbed the wall to reach the exit. It wasn’t until we were inside the tunnel that the unbelievable wave of anguish receded from my body. When Michael saw me calming, he untied my hands and feet.

I threw myself into his arms. He hugged me with all his might, crushing me against his chest while I cried.

“I’m so s-sorry,” I said through hiccupping sobs. “I said such horrible things to you in there.”

“It’s okay,” he whispered, stroking my hair. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t mean it.”

He pulled back, wiping my tears away. “Come on, before Uzziel sees us. Follow me.”

He held my hand and led me through the dimly-lit tunnel to the outside world waiting for us. The seam opened up once more after he presented the feather and we climbed the face of the cliff. Michael got there first, hauling me over the edge and into his arms. He kissed my forehead.

“We made it, baby. We made it.”

Before I could reply, I heard the chilling sound of someone slow-clapping behind us. My body went cold as a deep, dry voice spoke.

“Well, well. Congratulations, lovebirds.”

We both turned around and found ourselves staring into the triumphant eyes of Belial.

Chapter 34

Jordan

“NO,” I WHISPERED, my voice thick with disbelief. “Not possible. Can’t be you.”

Belial sent me a questioning look. “Why not?”

“We left you in Addis Ababa with eight angels guarding you. You can’t be here. You can’t be.”

“Ah, yes. They were quite effective guards, you know—strong, smart, brave, and fiercely loyal. Your mistake was not in ordering them to keep an eye on me. Your mistake was underestimating what it means to be an archdemon. You could have hired eight hundred angels and I still would have found you.”

“How?”

“Because, my pet, I am the best at what I do. Always.”

The shock hadn’t worn off yet, but I realized that Michael hadn’t said anything. In fact, he hadn’t even moved. He just stood there, his hands still resting on the back of my arms. Wet, tangled brown hair hung over his eyes so that I couldn’t see them. He had gone so still when Belial spoke that I’d forgotten he was even there. Fear rushed through me in a suffocating burst of adrenaline as I realized the true gravity of what had happened. An archdemon found the location of the Garden of Eden. God have mercy on us all.

“Michael?” I said, gripping his forearms, hoping it would snap him out of whatever trance he had slipped into. He didn’t move. Then, I felt it.

Michael’s energy exploded out of his body. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I choked on it—gasping for air as a shroud of searing hot anger broke free from inside the archangel and expanded like some great phoenix spreading its wings. His shoulders rose and fell as his chest heaved deep breaths. His fingers clamped down on my arms because I was the closest thing to him, because he was so furious that he couldn’t control his own body.

“Michael, don’t—”

“Demon,” he said in a voice so low that it sent vibrations through my bones. “I am going to rip out your soul and cast it into the Lake of Fire myself.”

He let go of me and began walking towards Belial. I shoved my hands against his shoulders, pushing with all my might, but he was a wall of solid muscle intent on murdering the demon standing behind me. My boots slid across the dirt, leaving a trail, and panic gripped me when I realized Michael had disappeared completely. Only the Commander remained, and he would have his vengeance.

“Look at me, dammit!” I yelled, hoping to get through to the rational part of his brain. “Don’t do this! Think about Juliana. We still need him.”

Michael’s large hands closed over my arms and he threw me aside. I hit the ground hard, crying out. Michael grabbed Belial by the neck and threw him with a force so tremendous that the archdemon ploughed through four trees, snapping them in half like twigs. He hit the ground about twenty feet away, leaving a small impact crater.

Michael lifted his right hand towards the sky, palm flat, and a dark grey cloud immediately formed. Thunder roared overhead and lightning flashed, forcing me to cover my eyes as a blinding light filled the area. The bolt connected with his raised arm and his silver sword materialized in his hand. He hadn’t been bluffing. He was about to kill Belial.

Before I could move, his wings sprouted from his back and he launched himself into the air, heading towards the demon. I scrambled to my feet and sprinted through the path Belial’s body had made in the forest, praying I could beat Michael there. I spotted Belial sprawled at the base of a tree, covered in fallen leaves, branches, and dirt, bleeding from a cut on his scalp.

Michael landed in front of him, raised his sword, and brought it down to smite him.

“No!”

I threw myself in front of the demon, spreading my arms to make myself a bigger target. My eyes squeezed shut as I expected the sword to slice into me like the Spear of Longinus had done a year ago. I waited for the agony of life leaving my body, of blood seeping out of my skin.

Nothing happened.

Panting, I opened my eyes to see Michael’s sword had stopped a mere inch from penetrating my breastbone. God bless him, he had the restraint not to skewer me.

“Move,” Michael said in that same gravelly, damn near inhuman pitch.

I stayed where I knelt in front of Belial. “No. Killing him won’t do anything. You know that. It’s too late. Put the sword down.”

“I won’t tell you again, woman.”

“If you kill him, we can’t contact Mulciber and we can’t save Juliana. If you kill him, it’ll just send his soul back to Hell and he will still know where the Garden is anyway. Put the sword down.”

“You still defend him. Even after all of this, you’d throw your life away for this worthless carrion. You disgust me.”

It hurt to hear him say that, but I pushed past his words because I knew what was going on. All of these interactions led me to one conclusion.

“I don’t care what you think about me, Commander,” I said. “Now put the fucking sword down and give me back my husband, you son of a bitch.”

His eyes were as hard as glass. No, this was not my lover. This was the other half of his soul, the one that could be as cold and ruthless as the demon lying behind me. They were divided right down the middle—two men sharing the same soul. Not a split personality, but definitely something similar. This was the first time I’d addressed him by name. I could tell he saw my demands would not change. He had a decision to make one way or the other.

At last, he lowered the sword, but his gaze didn’t leave mine. “Very well. But know this, woman. I will suffer you no more. He may love you, but you have betrayed my trust for the last time. It will not happen again.”

He closed his eyes and the sword and his wings vanished in a plume of silver vapor. Michael’s body swayed and then he opened his eyes, frowning when he saw me.

“What just happened?”

I stood, wincing as my injured arm stung. Blood dripped down my forearm, thick under the oppressive heat. “You went after Belial.”

He ran a shaky hand through his wet hair. “All I could see was red. I…I don’t understand. This has never happened before.”

He noticed my disheveled state and touched my elbow, examining the cut. “Did I do this to you?”

“You weren’t yourself. I’m alright, I swear.”

“I hurt you, Jordan. How are you alright with that?” he demanded.

“Because we have bigger fish to fry. We’ll worry about it later. Besides, I’d rather not discuss it in present company.”

With that, I turned, glaring at the demon. “You’re welcome, by the way. You could have at least tried to defend yourself, you prick.”

Belial stood, dusting himself off and grinning at me. “Why? I knew you would come to my defense. Isn’t that your thing?”

It took me a few seconds to process what he’d just told me. “So you took that blow just because you knew I’d stop him? Are you getting off on me protecting you?”

“Getting off is such a crass term, my pet.”

I punched him in the face. It felt extremely good. Unfortunately, it only made him chuckle and wipe his split lip in amusement.

“What about that?” I sneered. “That feel good?”

“Delicious,” he purred, licking the blood from his fingers. I balled my hands into fists, considering aiming for his crotch this time, but I decided it wasn’t worth it.

“Really? How about I give it a shot?” Michael snarled, stepping forward, but I raised my hand to stop him.

“Don’t bother. We’re running out of time as it is. Let’s just go so we can get Juliana back and end this nightmare.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Belial said, crooking a finger at me when I began walking away. “Let’s see the goods first, dear Jordan.”

I scowled, reached into the large pocket of my capris, and withdrew the fruit. His reptilian eyes lit up with interest, but I stuffed it back in my pants after only a couple seconds.

“There. Now let’s go.”

“As you wish, my pet.”

I glared at him as he passed me. “I should have let him kill you.”

Belial met my gaze and a slow smile grew across his lips. “But you didn’t.”

Damn him.

* * *

HE PICKED UP on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Gabe.”

A short silence. Then, he spoke and his voice was stiff. “Jordan. I take it you got the fruit.”

“Yeah. Belial’s sending word to Mulciber. According to him, it’s some sort of grape vine trick that archdemons use. We’ll be in the air shortly.”

“Very well. Meet you there.”

“Wait,” I said, biting my bottom lip. I was taking a chance here. He could very well have hung up already and I wasn’t about to call him back. Even I had my limit.

“Yes?”

“Look, I know we’re not exactly simpatico with each other right now, but could you answer a question for me? Please?”

A few seconds of quiet. I could practically hear him fighting with himself in his head. In the end, he sighed. “Sure. What is it?”

I sat on the closed toilet, crossing my legs and folding one arm around my stomach. Michael was in the bedroom pacing. I didn’t want him to hear this conversation so I’d taken a shower to give myself an excuse to escape. “It’s going to be an unpleasant question. You’re welcome to choose not to answer.”

“Go on.”

I took a deep breath. “Is it possible for a demon to revert back to his previous angelic state?”

“What would lead you to believe that could happen?” he asked, sounding both surprised and suspicious at the same time. Couldn’t blame him.

I played with the end of my ponytail, relieved we weren’t having this talk face-to-face because his expression was probably disapproving. “Promise you won’t tell Michael what I’m about to tell you.”

“Jordan—”

“Promise,” I said with a firmer tone.

“Fine. I promise.”

I forced the words out of my throat. “When we were still in Miami, I asked Belial if he was in love with me. He didn’t say yes, of course…but he didn’t say no either. And I know it’s ridiculous to think he could be in love with me because that’s impossible, but I’ve been noticing something about his behavior lately. He’s still a bastard, he’s still a killer, and he’s still soulless piece of shit, but there have been a couple of times where he seemed like he was more than that. Like maybe part of him isn’t completely evil.”

“Can you give me an example?”

“After Avriel died, I…wasn’t in good shape. He comforted me. And I’m not talking about a pat on the shoulder or a cheer-up speech. He hugged me. He told me I was going to have to accept that I am both good and evil if I want to reach my potential someday. Hell, he didn’t even try to make a pass at me. I’m not saying this wasn’t all just part of his master plan, but I wanted to know if something like that could be possible. Just for the sake of my own sanity, if nothing else.”

“I have to be honest here,” Gabriel said. “I’ve never heard of something like this happening before. But at the same time, you may have a point. It may not be possible for him to revert back into an angel, but it is likely that spending time around you has caused him to fall into his old angelic habits.”

“Really?”

“Think about it. How does Belial choose to manipulate you? He lies. He tells you what you want to hear. So, in effect, he thinks he is playing a role to win you just like he did with Zora. However, perhaps he’s not actually pretending. Part of him may genuinely care for you and that is the part he has tapped into as he tries to seduce you. I doubt he realizes it himself. He considers it to be nothing more than a character to play so he can get what he wants.”

“I see. So do you think there may be some good in him?”

“I wouldn’t know. But I suppose crazier things have happened.”

“Tell me about it,” I muttered, absently touching the spot on my elbow where there had been a scrape. Michael had healed it on the way back to the city. He hadn’t said much after that since he was still shaken up about blacking out. I wanted to comfort him, but we were still at an impasse in our relationship. We weren’t ready for reconciliation yet, not hardly.

“Now answer my question: why do you want to know?”

“I’m not considering his offer,” I said. “I would never. I still want him dead and I hope it’s my doing. But he did help me and I wanted to put something to rest in my head in case I don’t make it out of this mess alive. If I have unfinished business when I die, I might stick around.”

“Point taken. But I don’t believe that is the whole truth.”

“Gabe—”

“You’re trying to justify whatever interest you have in him. Don’t deny it. I can hear it in your voice. You may not love him, but he has found a way to bury himself beneath your skin and that scares you. I don’t sympathize, but I do understand what is happening, probably better than Michael does because I’ve been on Earth longer. I know what temptation feels like. He doesn’t. He’s only had eyes for you since he met you and so he is incapable of comprehending that you can be attracted to someone else, especially someone who is his polar opposite. Does that sound about right?”

I sighed. “Why are you so damn perceptive?”

“Comes with the territory. God’s Messenger and all that.”

“You should be more disappointed in me.”

“That would accomplish nothing. The important thing is that you have not given in to your desires. You still fight them. It’s admirable. Millions of women have fallen for Belial. You’re the only one who has remained strong. Don’t hate yourself for being attracted to him. Find a way to conquer it. That is all you can do for now.”

“I’ll try my best. Thank you for listening. I’m sorry for hurting you. I really am. I love you, Gabriel, and I know I don’t say it enough. You were there for me when I had nothing. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me through the years. I wish I could pay you back somehow.”

He let out a soft breath, one that broke my heart. “Don’t. I may not be happy with you, but I would never ask you to repay me. You’ve done enough, more than any Seer should have to do in their lifetime. And I love you as well, you sarcastic, cynical little curmudgeon.”

I laughed, only because it was to hide the fact that he was making me cry. He always tried to cheer me up whenever things got heavy between us. “I have to go. Got that big day ahead of me.”

“Yes, you do. Be careful, Jordan.”

“I will. Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

Chapter 35

Jordan

I HAD ASSUMED that screwing up my marriage and getting people I loved killed had been my worst fears realized. I was wrong. Mulciber calling the shots on this little hostage exchange was much worse. Since I found out about the prophecy, I had been trying to figure out where the one thousand people in danger would come from but never came up with anything concrete. Unfortunately, it turned out to be on a boat.

We caught a nine-hour flight to Tromsø, Norway—a city north of the Arctic Circle. Mulciber instructed us to hitch a ride on the MS Midnatsol, the largest cruise liner running past the city. She would have already boarded with Juliana at a different port and then meet us on the ninth deck just before midnight on the 31st, when the gates of Hell were the closest to open. She wanted plenty of people around to ensure her own safety and that we didn’t try to snatch the child out of her grasp in the confusion. She also demanded Belial’s presence, mostly so she could rub her supposed victory in his face. After he found this out, he called her a “cock-juggling thunder-cunt.” As much as I hated him, I agreed whole-heartedly.

I checked my watch for what had to be the billionth time. Less than fifteen minutes to midnight. My hands were shaking, and not just from the bitter cold surrounding us. The ship drifted quietly through the frigid waters and a tiny slice of the moon reflected off of the waves it made below. I was bundled up in a huge parka with black gloves over my hands and the fruit from the tree in my left pocket. It hung close to my thigh, a heavy weight, reminding me of its importance every time it bumped into me.

Every sound made me flinch, from the low rumbling cracks of ice chunks sliding off the occasional floe to the sound of Michael’s boots on the wooden deck as he paced behind me. Belial had paid off the crew to get us this secluded spot on the ship so late at night. Every so often, I heard a distance voice from the other side, but no one would see or hear us tonight.

I forced myself to think about something else. Most prominently, what my life would be like if nothing in the past week had happened. I’d be lying on the couch watching TV and waiting for Michael’s call. He had this annoying habit of sneaking and changing my ringtone to something different every other week. Last week, it had been “Big Bad Handsome Man” by Imelda May. Arrogant of him, but then again, that was part of his M.O. Lauren always made fun of me when she overheard whatever ridiculous new song he picked.

Not that he was any better, mind you. His ringtone for me was currently “Fascinating New Thing” by Semisonic. He was a sucker for smart teen comedies. On a more disturbing note, I’d caught a bit of my ringtone on Belial’s personal cell for the temporary phone he got me—“I Can’t Decide” by Scissor Sisters. Typical.

The cold feeling in my lungs sprouted through my veins as my thoughts drifted back to Lauren. She’d never forgive me for what I’d done. Lauren loved hard, but she hated being lied to. Her sorry ass ex-husband had ensured that she built a wall around her heart and if anyone dug their way out, they were out for good. I couldn’t help wondering what she had told Lily, if she had lied to her if the child overheard the news or if she told her the truth. It was a situation I couldn’t picture in my head, having to decide whether to tell your daughter if her Auntie Jordan was a murderer. She would have to be the strongest mother alive to choose either path. I admired her for that, even now.

“Keep pacing and you’ll wear a hole in the boat,” Belial’s smooth voice interrupted my morose thoughts. He was leaning against the railing to my right, tracking Michael’s tight circle a few feet away. I simply couldn’t quantify how he could be so damn calm with hell literally about to break loose in several minutes. His “perfectly sculpted” ass would be on the line too, but I couldn’t tell in the least if he cared. Belial always had a backup plan, after all.

Not surprisingly, Michael ignored him. Even in the moonlight, I could see the dark spots beneath his eyes. He too hadn’t been sleeping well, and the jet lag from all our recent flights meant he was running on empty just like I was. I had urged him to try and rest, but he wouldn’t listen. I couldn’t blame him. With so much at stake, I hadn’t slept either.

Belial sighed out a stream of smoke, the lit tip of the cigarette becoming a tiny orange beacon in the darkness the next time he inhaled. He caught me looking and smirked.

“What? No comments from the Peanut Gallery?”

I glared. “Got nothing to say to you.”

“Really? Would you rather I fill the silence?”

“No. Keep your tongue behind your teeth where it belongs.”

He licked his lips, the smirk widening into a grin as he flicked the used cig over the side of the ship. “You know exactly where my tongue belongs.”

Anger flared through my upper body, warming me up in an instant. I took a deep breath, fighting the urge to punch him. “I cannot express how not in the mood I am right now.”

“Not in the mood, you say? I don’t recall that being a problem the other night.”

I froze. He wouldn’t dare bring that up. Not now.

Michael stopped pacing, tilting his head enough to cast a suspicious eye over the two of us. “What’s he talking about?”

“Nothing,” I said through my teeth. “He’s just trying to push my buttons.”

Belial laughed—a soft, intimate sound in the dark. “Which ones? The ticklish spot beneath your right ear or the one behind your left thigh? And I seem to recall an especially sensitive one between your—”

I launched myself at him before he could finish the sentence. “You son of a—”

Michael’s arm looped around my stomach, holding me back just in time. My fist missed Belial’s nose by mere inches. I opened my mouth to finish screaming obscenities at the smug bastard, but then a sultry female voice cut through the air, catching my attention.

“Am I interrupting?”

I stared past Belial’s shoulder to see Mulciber walking towards us from the other end of the deck, half of her swathed in shadows. She wore a brown mink coat and black gloves. One hand was wrapped around Juliana’s wrist. She led the child and as they got closer, I could see the little girl’s red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks. The wound in my heart reopened and bled at the sight.

“Juliana,” I whispered before I could help myself. She spotted me and tried to run forward, but Mulciber jerked her backwards. I instinctively tried to move towards her, but Michael held me in place, his tall form rigid against my back like a pillar.

“I’m so happy to see you made it here in one piece,” the female demon purred, keeping a secure four feet away from us.

“You must be awfully tired with that fruit burning a hole in your pocket.”

She stretched out her hand, smiling. “Allow me to unburden you.”

Michael kept me in his grip, seeming unsure of what I’d do on my own, and spoke. “The girl first, then you get your damned prize, demon.”

She shook her head, scattering dark strands of hair across her face. “Sorry, but that’s not how it works in the hostage world. It’s time for Jordan to do her job.”

“I’m not doing shit until you let her go,” I snarled.

She sighed, a bored sound, but I knew it was just an act. Then, in a blur of movement, she reached down and broke Juliana’s pinky finger. The four-year-old screamed, a high-pitched wail that echoed off the water, and I lost control of myself.

“You fucking bitch, I’ll kill you!”

Michael wrapped both arms around me as I struggled with every inch of my strength to get to her, to rip out her eyes and throw them into the ocean, to tear out her ribs and spear her lungs with them, to set her on fire and bathe in the ashes. I hated her more than anything on this earth. I would see her burn. I would make her pay.

In my rage, I bellowed out the only coherent thought in my mind.

“Gabriel, take the goddamn shot!”

His voice echoed in my ear, three words, all firm with resolve. “You got it.”

Mulciber’s brown eyes widened for a millisecond before a gunshot ripped through the clearing. A cloud of blood exploded out of one side of her skull as the bullet tore through the bone and grey matter, splattering it on the shiny wooden floor. Juliana fell to the side, curling up into a ball by the railing, too hurt and scared to move. Mulciber’s body twitched and slumped over, her eyes rolled back until only the whites showed.

Michael finally let me go. I raced towards the broken child, scooping her up in my arms and hugging her with all my might. I buried my face in her curly hair, sobbing and not caring that Belial would see my weakness.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry,” I whispered over and over again, rubbing her back to try and soothe her. Behind me, I caught snippets of Belial and Michael’s conversation.

“You failed to mention the sniper rifle.”

“It was on a need-to-know basis.”

“What kind of ammo did you use?”

“Silver blessed from the Pope himself. So don’t try anything funny if the mood strikes you.”

Once I composed myself somewhat, I turned my head. “Guys, we need to get Juliana to a doctor as soon as possible.”

The girl shifted in my arms, catching my attention. She spoke, and I was surprised that it was in perfect English. “That won’t be necessary.”

I drew back, trying to see her face. “What did you say?”

She opened her eyes and then I saw them. Her pupils.

They were slits.

Mulciber had just possessed Juliana.

Then, a second later, I felt a knife beneath my chin. She held a wicked curved blade that was almost larger than her entire forearm yet slender enough to fit in a child’s coat pocket. I didn’t move an inch, staying where I knelt next to her previous body.

I couldn’t see Michael or Belial behind me, but I knew both of them hadn’t moved either when they realized what was happening. Mulciber kept one hand on the back of my neck, forcing me to hold her in my arms because if I let go, she’d slit my throat.

“Now, then. I wasn’t finished,” she said in the Brazilian child’s delicate voice. “Jordan is going to be lowered into a lifeboat. We will go out to the Leviathan’s resting place and awaken it. Once this is done, you’re all free to burn like the insects you are.”

“Listen to me, you antediluvian, scum-sucking mammet,” Michael said in a slow, low voice that carried the threat of death on its back. “You put that knife down and let her go or so help me God, I’ll rip your pathetic soul out of that girl and decorate the lowest level of Hell with its entrails.”

“Pretty words, Mikey, but harmless.” She faced me, jerking her head upward. “Stand. And if one word of Latin exits any of your lips, I’m gonna carve my name into her jugular.”

I stood up one painful inch at a time, keeping a death grip on her borrowed body. She was right. The angle of the knife meant I couldn’t talk without it scraping my throat, making an exorcism impossible on my part or Michael’s. Gabriel was perched on an ice floe several yards away, too far to perform one himself.

“Gabriel?” Michael spoke into the link he and I shared in our ears.

“No shot. She’s too damned close. I’d hit Jordan.”

Mulciber was near enough to hear his response with her clinging to me like a limpet. She giggled, a horrible sound coming out of Juliana’s mouth. “Told you so. Now then, Belial, would you kindly lower the lifeboat for us?”

I still couldn’t see him, but I could hear the utter contempt in his tone. “I’m not your whipping boy, bitch.”

“I’d never accuse you of being such, but since you’re in love with Little Miss B-Cups, I suggest you do what I tell you to do unless you’d like to watch her die...again.”

Silence. Nothing but the lapping sounds of the waves against the side of the ship. Would he let her murder me? It all came down to this. Belial had killed me once. Was twice enough?

Then, he walked past us in a quick, angry stride to head for the end of the ship with the emergency lifeboats on them. We were on Deck Nine and the boats were attached to the side of Deck Six, meaning we’d have to go down the stairs.

Michael shoved Mulciber’s former body into the ocean and cleaned up the mess the best he could. He stepped forward, as if to follow us, but Mulciber spoke again. “Ah, ah, ah, pretty boy. You’re staying put. And this time, I mean it.”

She looked at me. “Put him under a blood spell. I hear you’re good at those.”

My blood ran cold. “No.”

She dug the blade in harder. Another millimeter and I’d bleed out. I glowered at the demon. “Go sit on a knife, you sack of vaginal discharge.”

Mulciber started to press on my neck again, but Michael spoke before she could. “Jordan.”

I turned a bit, enough to see him. Half of his face was cast in shadow, but I could still see the pain and the anger in it anyway. “Do it.”

“Michael—”

He shook his head only once. “I can’t watch you die. Not again. Just do it.”

A lump formed, one so large I could barely swallow it as I stepped towards him. Tears stung in the back of my eyes as I raised my left wrist enough for Mulciber to cut it. Blood spilled outward, soaking my glove, hot and sticky.

I lifted my arm and pressed my hand to his chest, my voice trembling. “With blood, I bind you to this spot. Walk no more until the spell is broken.”

Red light shot outward from the handprint on his chest and he buckled to his knees, his face contorted, but he didn’t cry out. So much pain and it was all my fault. For a fleeting second, I thought about letting Mulciber kill me. Anything was better than facing the fact that Michael was in agony at my feet once again.

“Much better,” Mulciber simpered. “Now get moving. And Gabriel, dearest, you had better keep your distance or I’ll make you join him.”

She motioned for me to walk and I followed Belial towards the other end of the ship.  Now that we were risking being seen, Mulciber moved the knife down from my neck and held it between her body and mine, the tip digging in under my left breast. One quick plunge upward and I’d be dead on the spot.

“I don’t get it,” I said under my breath as we descended the stairwell. “Demons aren’t supposed to be able to possess people without the mind breaking down.”

“Demons cannot possess adults with ease, but children are different,” Mulciber answered with the utmost smugness as I walked. “Their personalities and minds are soft and malleable. Your precious Juliana has already suffered massive amounts of trauma. Taking her over was a cakewalk.”

“I hope you’re enjoying this because it doesn’t matter if the Leviathan rises or not. I will take my sweet time killing you.”

“I look forward to it,” the female demon replied.

At last, we reached Deck Six. The rowboats were massive and hard to maneuver, but Belial was no slump so he could handle it on his own. He said nothing as he worked, his face unnervingly blank. I almost wanted to hear him mock me or say something disparaging to the beast holding me hostage, but then a frightening truth hit. For the first time ever, Belial might have accepted the fact that we weren’t going to win this battle. I wanted him to have a backup plan like he always did, an Ace up his sleeve, but this time, he met me with nothing but silence. We couldn’t win. We just couldn’t.

When everything was ready, I climbed inside, moving towards the front of the lifeboat, but she stopped me. “Oh, no. With you at the controls, you could throw us both overboard. Belial, darling, would you be so kind as to drive us out?”

The derision in his eyes was so intense I could practically taste it in my mouth like the burn of whiskey. His energy frothed around his body, so thick it reminded me of a swarming mass of bees. Still, he maneuvered himself over the side and continued lowering us into the water—which was twice as hard to do without help. We hit the surface of the ocean with a wild smack, and I noticed the knife nick my skin as a result as she had moved it back up to my neck. The air was ten times colder down here so I barely even felt it, nor did I feel the wound on my wrist. The only thing I could still feel was the wetness of the blood in my glove.

“Sit,” Mulciber ordered. “And don’t move an inch until we’re there. Get moving, Beli.”

He headed towards the front while I took a seat in the first row. A moment later, he fired up the engine and we pulled away from the ship, heading into the pitch black before us. The lifeboat’s spotlight was our only guide. I didn’t know how Belial and Mulciber knew the location of the Leviathan but I suspected their master had told them, the same as he told them about the fruit.

The MS Midnatsol disappeared from sight after a while and my hope vanished with it. The way I saw it, there was only one way out of this mess. I had tried to avoid it for so long. I wanted every available alternative. I wanted another option, something, anything, but every avenue had been exhausted. Belial showed no signs of having a plan and so it was left up to me. I had failed so many times, but I would not fail again.

“Stop. We’re here.”

We reached a huge, flat ice floe that stretched for hundreds of feet, safely hidden from the prying eyes of the ship or anyone else for that matter. Belial shut off the engine and climbed onto it, finding a craggy chunk to tie off the lifeboat on. Mulciber made me follow him further onto the ice, which looked midnight blue with the weak moonlight around us.

We walked for a bit until we reached a section of ice with what looked like some sort of insignia carved into it. I couldn’t figure out what it was until I realize I was looking at a sculpture of a creature no one had laid eyes on for centuries. Its face was a strange mix between a lizard and some sort of squid. The snout was long and ribbed with two nostrils at the end and long, curling lines coming out of it like whiskers or tentacles. Its jaws were lined with needle-like teeth. It was repulsive.

“Let’s get to it, Seer,” Mulciber said. “Take out the fruit and place it in the center. I may be in a Seer’s body, but the ceremony won’t work if I do it.”

I took a deep breath. “No.”

She groaned—an almost immature sound. “Shall I come up with another threat or would you prefer that I break another finger on this child’s hand?”

“Neither one is necessary,” I said in a quiet voice.

“I’m not going to do it. We’re alone out here. There’s no one else for you to threaten except for the two of us.”

While she was distracted, I grabbed her arm and pinned it with the tip to my chest so she couldn’t threaten Juliana’s body with it. She struggled, unable to wedge it from my grip because of her tiny hand, not even with her demon strength.

“So do what you’ve got to do. Kill me. Because I am not going to let you hurt another person.”

“You insignificant worm!” she screamed. “I will cut out your lungs and use them as candy dishes if you don’t awaken the Leviathan.”

“Do your worst. I died once. Can’t be that bad the second time around.”

Enraged, her arm flexed to drive the knife inside me, but Belial appeared behind her, grabbing both of her arms. He slammed her down into the ice, cracking it, and shouted,

“Now! Exorcise her!”

I dropped to my knees, drawing a cross in the air and chanting the incantation frantically in Latin. “In nomine Dei, proferres uirgo!”

She roared, unable to move with Belial holding her down. I raised my voice until it echoed through the clearing, bouncing off the frozen corridors surrounding us. Juliana’s body arched upward once, twice, writhing as Mulciber’s black soul tore from it inch by inch. At last, a dark shape rose from the child’s body and dissipated into mist, proving that she had been sent back to Hell where she belonged. Juliana shuddered a final time and went limp. I checked her pulse, relieved to find her alive.

Without thinking, I threw myself into Belial’s arms. He held me close, saying nothing, because he didn’t really need to. I could feel the tears pouring out of my eyes, carving heated ridges in my frigid cheeks.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you for saving her.”

His hand drifted down my side, stroking me in comfort. “You’re welcome.”

I started to draw back, but he wouldn’t let go. His arm wandered to my left hand as if he were going to hold it, but then something else happened. I felt something round being pressed against my palm, the one still stained with blood, and then he laid it on the ice behind us. I opened my eyes only to find that he had slipped the fruit out of my coat pocket and placed it in the Leviathan’s mouth with my fingers around it.

No.

Please God, no.

I tore away from him, scrambling for the fruit, but in an instant, it sank below the ice into the water below and disappeared in a rush of bubbles. My breath turned into panicked gulps of air as I knelt there in the dark, unable to believe what had just happened. Belial stood up. I stayed where I was, paralyzed.

“Why?” I whispered.

He met my gaze. There was something mournful in his eyes, and yet there wasn’t. I couldn’t find a word for the way he was looking at me. It just existed somehow. His lips parted and I almost didn’t hear his reply because it came out so hushed.

“It’s who I am.”

Chapter 36

Jordan

THE GROUND BENEATH my feet rumbled like there was thunder trapped underneath it, but I couldn’t tell if it was really happening or if I were hallucinating that my world was crumbling. The worst had finally happened. All of my fighting, all of my sacrifices, all of my pain, meant nothing now because I had failed. A hollow spot yawned and reached outward from inside me. Despair filled my veins and sucked me down into its clutches.

Faintly, I realized I might have been slipping into shock, but then Belial knelt and swept up Juliana, shoving her into my arms. “Take the child and go. It won’t be long before the Leviathan emerges.”

I raised my tearstained eyes, knowing that he could see both the sorrow and the hatred in them as I looked at him. “What do you care? It’s the end. She and I are both about to die anyway.”

His expression hardened. “Leave this place, Seer. It would be a shame for all of your hard work saving my daughter to go to waste.”

I didn’t want to believe him, but he was right. I had gone this far to protect one child. It would make no sense to let her die now. My legs shook but held as I stood up, raising my voice over the sound of the ice cracking around us.

“I hope it was worth it, Belial. If I live through this, I swear that I will spend every waking moment of my life finding a way to destroy you.”

He stepped close, his eyes piercing, his voice heavy with emotions that I would never understand and never care to understand again. “I would have it no other way, my pet.”

A kiss burned on my lips seconds before he shoved me away. I ran for the lifeboat, firing up the engine and speeding away just as the ice floe ripped apart. I never looked back, squinting through the inky darkness to catch sight of the Midnatsol.

When the cruise ship reappeared in my spotlight, I rode up beside it and touched the link in my ear. “Gabriel?”

He didn’t answer. Then, I heard the unmistakable whoosh of wings and then the boat rocked to the side as he landed behind me, the sniper rifle slung over his broad back. His eyes immediately snapped to Juliana’s motionless form on one of the seats.

“She’s alive,” I said.

“I know. I overheard. Everything.” The last word came out accusatory and it hurt. He probably hadn’t seen what happened and thus it made him suspicious. He was disappointed in me. I had never felt that from him before, not in person. Shame curled around me like a suffocating blanket, but I shoved it aside.

“Where’s Michael?”

“On the deck, still trying to fight off the blood spell. Come.”

He offered his hand. I picked up Juliana and he wrapped one arm around me, launching into the air. He flew us to the other side of the ship, landing a few feet away from where Michael was, still on his hands and knees, trying to break the spell.

I handed Juliana to Gabriel and then ran to him, lifting my hand just outside of the circle. “Untie the bonds of blood once made and walk the world again.”

The eerie red imprint of my palm on his chest disappeared. He let out a gasp as the spell vanished, releasing him. I caught him before he could collapse and buried my face in the side of his neck. I couldn’t look at him, not now, not after what I’d done.

“Jor,” he wheezed, trying to catch his breath. “The Leviathan…?”

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I’m so sorry. I tried to stop it, but I wasn’t strong enough.”

He straightened, pulling away, and cupped my cheek in his hand. “We’re still here. That’s what counts.”

He stood, shaky at first, and then found his footing. “Get Juliana to a doctor and then get the hell out of here.”

I frowned. “I’m not leaving.”

He sent me a harsh look. “Now is not the time to be unreasonable.”

“I woke the damn thing up. I’m not going to let you clean up the mess alone.”

“What are you going to do, Jordan? Use your vast arsenal of rapier wit on it?”

“There’s got to be a way to stop it—”

“Yes, it’s called a war.”

“Excuse me,” Gabriel interrupted. “But we haven’t got all night with the Apocalypse brewing and whatnot. Jordan, get this child medical attention and you can continue arguing after we’ve saved these people.”

I tore my gaze away from Michael, forcing myself to listen to reason. “Alright. Keep the link open so I know where you are. And be careful.”

I gathered the little girl in my arms as Gabriel snorted. “A little late for that, I’m afraid.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Point taken. Now get moving, Amador.”

I hurried away, my footsteps pounding almost as loud as my heartbeat. Once more, I found myself running to save someone I had put in harms’ way.

Bad habits die hard.

Michael

* * *

“WHAT’S THE PLAN?” Gabriel asked, fixing his arctic stare on me rather than in the direction of the oncoming threat. So far, all I had heard was the ice cracking apart. I knew things wouldn’t stay quiet for long. They never did.

“Sink the ship.”

“What?”

“Fly down and punch a hole in the side, somewhere with the lowest risk of casualties. That’ll force them to evacuate the passengers. They’ll head back to the nearest town and at least they’ll have a head start. Besides, less witnesses means less mess to clean up if we make it out of this thing alive. I’ll gather the troops and strategize.”

“What about Jordan?”

I hesitated. The two sides of my soul were pulling in opposite directions, and it scared me. Maybe the angelic part had been a soft still voice that I hadn’t realized was getting louder over the past few weeks. Now that voice was like a bullhorn. He wanted to get rid of her because she was a distraction, my Achilles’ heel, the permanent thorn in my side. I couldn’t fight as well when I knew she was in trouble. But the husband in me knew it wouldn’t be right to remove her from the equation just because she was human. What right did I have to stop her from trying to help? After all, this wasn’t just on my head—it was on the both of us.

“We’ll worry about that later,” I said finally. “Go.”

Gabriel gave me a curt nod and hopped over the side of the ship, his golden wings stretched to carry him on the wind. I shrugged out of my cumbersome parka and then closed my eyes, concentrating until my own wings sprouted from my back.

I leapt off of the deck and soared towards the place where I could feel an unstoppable power bubbling just beneath the surface of the water. I found a nearby ice floe and perched, scanning the spot where the creature would rise. Presumably, Belial had gone down below to assume command of the beast.

I remembered reading the report on the previous battle with the Leviathan. I had deployed my best angels to take care of the job because it would be tactically improbable for me to intervene. If I had gotten dragged into Hell, someone else would become the new Commander, but back then none of my soldiers were quite ready for that kind of responsibility. Now, things were different. If the unthinkable happened, someone could ensure the safety of Heaven. Someone more worthy than me.

I heard the sound of metal crunching in the distance and knew that Gabriel had followed orders. I closed my eyes and ascended to the astral plane. The cold night of the Arctic Circle disappeared. I opened my eyes to a field of white and thousands of angels armed to the teeth, waiting for my command. I stood on the crest of the hill, dragging my gaze across them.

“Soldiers,” I said, slipping on my most authoritative voice. “Once again, I ask you to lend me your metal. Some of you may have heard rumors. Unfortunately, they are true. The Leviathan has been awakened and is threatening the safety of the people we are charged with protecting. Many of you have served with me before so you know what to expect, but some of you do not. The Leviathan is unlike any other creature in God’s creation. It is the living embodiment of evil. It is not just a monster. Its mouth is the gate to Hell, meaning that anything from the world of the damned can come through at any time. Your task will be containment. Gabriel, Raphael, and I will concentrate on sealing its jaws while you make sure that none of the entities escaping the Hellmouth are able to claim an innocent life. I have faith in each of you. I know that the odds are stacked against us, but I have never seen a more formidable, honorable force in this universe or any other one. I want you to go down there and show that demon what the true power of Heaven is like. Do not give that piece of filth the satisfaction of killing even one of you. Understood?”

Thousands of voices spoke in unison. “Yes, Commander.”

I lifted my hand. Seconds later, my sword came flying down. I gripped it and the silver armor flowed down my arm, over my chest, across my back, until I was completely covered. It solidified into metal that bore the markings of my most important battles in history—of demons and monsters falling before my blade. The pieces were lightweight and separated at my joints for maximum flexibility. The helmet left only the center of my face visible. I only wore the ensemble in the direst of times, but it felt like slipping into a comfortable pair of jeans and t-shirt. It felt right.

I allowed a smirk to rest upon my lips.

“Wreak havoc, my friends.”

In a flash, I returned to my body on Earth, which had also been outfitted with my sword and armor, and looked up at the sky. Huge grey clouds had formed in my wake, lightning slashing the black with white, thunder crashing like great cymbals. Seconds later, angels poured out from the billowing mists of the clouds, some of them choosing to hover in the air to wait for the Leviathan to surface, others taking spots on the icebergs nearby.

Not long afterward, Gabriel and Raphael came to stand with me, one on either side, both decked out in their warrior garbs—gold and bronze, respectively.

“Do you think we can win this?” Raphael asked.

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” I said. “We don’t have a choice.”

Just then, the last bubbles in the water of the clearing stopped. All I could hear was my own breathing and the sound of thousands of wings flapping. The clouds slid aside, pouring moonlight across the placid sea. A low sound emanated through the clearing, the kind that made my bones hum inside my body. The average person would have thought it was a whale, but I knew better. It was the Call.

The Leviathan’s head burst from the water first. It was about half the size of the Midnatsol—over sixty-five meters in length and about half the width. The top of its skull looked like a lizard; it had black and green scales rather than skin, and two enormous yellow eyes with pupils like slits. Its upper jaw was laced with gigantic razor-sharp teeth around the ridges of its gums, but that was just protection. The inside of its mouth was another matter entirely. Thick, slimy pink tentacles burgeoned from its throat like a second mouth with a sickening, pulsating black hole at the center. This was where Lucifer had hidden his greatest treasure—the only other entrance to Hell besides the Demons’ Door. Old Scratch himself could no longer walk the earth, but that didn’t mean his flunkies couldn’t.

The Leviathan’s neck was covered in poisonous spines that led down to its body, which was easily four hundred feet in length from chest to tail. Its four limbs were long and powerful, ending in webbed feet with deadly claws at the ends.

Belial stood on the creature’s forehead, a dripping wet pale beacon in the night. His feet were firmly planted and he held an antenna in each gloved hand, feeding his thoughts directly into the Leviathan as they were now linked.

Fully risen, the Leviathan bellowed a hoarse, unearthly growl that I knew would echo for miles and send chills down the spines of all who heard it.

I gripped my sword as the familiar rush of adrenaline pumped through me. At long last. War.

“Well done, Commander,” Belial called out mockingly. “You did not disappoint. Your armada is impressive. I look forward to slaughtering them all.”

I smiled. “I told you I’d enjoy sending you back to Hell, demon. Today I get to keep my word.”

I raised my sword, lifting my voice so my soldiers could hear the declaration. “Attack!”

My angels let out a fierce war cry and launched themselves at the Leviathan. The monster roared a second time and the hole inside its mouth opened wide. A ghastly brownish orange light filled the clearing. The nauseating stench of sulfur permeated the air. Seconds later, dozens of scavenger demons with leathery black wings soared from the Hellmouth, their tiny sharp teeth aiming for the throats of my men. They were in charge of the level of Hell on the outermost ring, the First Circle, reserved for the least sinful patrons—mindless bat-like beasts that fed on fear and desolation.

I turned to Gabriel and Raphael. “Our best bet is to concentrate all our efforts on knocking Belial off that thing, or killing him. Once the Leviathan no longer has a host, it’ll be slower and less intelligent. That’ll give us the edge we need to lock its jaws. Belial will want to focus on me, so I’ll serve as the bait while you two find any vulnerabilities that you can.”

They both nodded. I threw myself off the side of the ice floe, slashing at the odd demon that tried to attack as I made a beeline for the Leviathan’s face. The angels around me followed orders to the letter, chasing any demons that tried to escape the clearing. We were at least a mile out from the ship where the people were being evacuated, but I knew the next wave of creatures would be harder to stop than the scavengers so time was a factor, especially with the Leviathan swimming towards them.

Belial saw me coming and aimed the Leviathan’s head at me, trying to bite me in half as I flew past. The foul stench of the creature overwhelmed my nostrils and made my eyes tear, but I focused on where he was standing and tried to find an opening. He ducked when I swept overhead, swinging at him from behind. Damn it. He was too fast, even with all the confusion around him. I couldn’t get too close because he could move its mouth around to me in an instant, and if one of those tentacles caught my ankles I’d be sucked into Hell.

Gabriel and Raphael moved in perfect synchronization, swiping at him, but it proved futile as well. He always saw them coming. Even if all three of us attacked, we wouldn’t be able to reach him, not even with energy attacks. I needed a Plan B, and quickly.

The link in my ear beeped, distracting me. “How’s it going out there?”

“Not good,” I answered Jordan with a grimace, slashing a scavenger demon in half. It disappeared in a puff of ash.

“Are you clear?” I asked.

“No. I told you, I’m staying.”

I gritted my teeth. “Damn it, Jordan! For once in your life, listen to me and get the hell out of here!”

“If you want me gone, you’d better send someone to drag me out. I’m not leaving. Juliana’s safe and half of the passengers are already on lifeboats. Besides, I think I might have a plan.”

I paused, trying to figure out if I should listen to her or not. So far, we were at a disadvantage and my soldiers had their hands full with the first bunch of monsters. It would only get worse from here. We didn’t have time for worse.

“What plan?”

“Meet me on Deck Nine and I’ll explain.”

I cursed under my breath, hailing Gabriel. “Keep trying. I’ll be right back.”

“Ten-four,” he answered.

I turned in the air and flew towards the slowly sinking Midnatsol, staying high so that no one would spot me. When I reached the ninth deck,  my wife was waiting for me.

I landed, narrowing my eyes at her with impatience. “Make it quick.”

“The fruit is what woke the Leviathan, right? What if we removed it?”

“What the hell do you mean remove it?”

She took a deep breath. “What if I got inside its stomach and took the fruit out? Would that weaken it enough for you to send it back under?”

I stared at her. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Answer the question, Michael.”

I fought not to shoot a string of obscenities in her direction. “Theoretically, it would undo the awakening and the Leviathan would fall back into its dormant state. We’d still have to lock its jaws, but that wouldn’t be as difficult.”

“Good. Then let’s do it.”

“No. Absolutely not. That’s the worst plan I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“And you’ve got a better one? How long have you guys been fighting that thing? It’s only going to get worse the more time we spend arguing.”

“Do you understand what you’re asking me to do? You don’t know what it’s like inside that thing. You could suffocate, you could get dissolved by stomach acid, or you could get lost. There are a million things that could go wrong. I trusted you once. Don’t ask me to do it again.”

I turned my back on her, ready to fly into the fray, but her voice stopped me. “I have to do this, Michael. It’s my mess and I told you that I would do everything it takes to stop these people from dying.”

I cast a hard look in her direction. “What makes you think you can?”

“The Book was wrong. It said that Mulciber would be controlling the Leviathan. She isn’t. She’s in Hell.”

I froze. For the first time, I could see her point. “Wait. But that means—”

She stepped forward, imploring me. “We changed the future, Michael. Nothing is certain any more. We can fix this. I can fix this.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but she kept going. “And I’m not asking you to trust me. I’m telling you that I have to face the consequences of my actions.”

“But why does it always have to be you?” I asked, unable to keep my frustration at bay. “Why can’t you let me do this for you?”

She smiled, surprising me. “Because your soldiers and the people in this world need you more than I do. If I die, it’s just a girl dying. If you die, it could throw the entire world into chaos. That’s who you are. It’s who you’ll always be.”

An unspeakable amount of pain swarmed through me at her words. She was right. There were always lives at stake, always lives I had to save, lives that depended on my every action. She didn’t have that weight on her shoulders. She was only human.

I tried to regain composure. “If I could get you in there, can you promise me that you’ll come out alive and not doing anything reckless like try to kill Belial on your own?”

A determined look crossed her features. “I can promise one of the two.”

I sighed. This woman would be the death of me. “That’ll have to do, then. But first, you need supplies. Find a waterproof flashlight, a strong diving knife, and an oxygen tank. I’ll talk to Gabriel.”

She nodded, hurrying away. I touched the link in my ear. “You get all that, Gabe?”

“Yes, but I wish I hadn’t,” he replied in a tight voice over the sound of battle. “Are you seriously considering her cockamamie plan?”

“I heard that,” Jordan chimed in with a less-than-amused voice.

I almost smiled. “It’s not my first choice. How’s it going on your end?”

“Badly. There are too many of these things and I can tell the next wave is on its way. We’re going to need reinforcements.”

“Go round them up. Raphael and I can cover you in the meantime.”

“Will do.”

A thought occurred to me. “Wait!”

“Yes?”

“I think I’ve got a less suicidal idea. Would you mind doing me a quick favor?”

“And that would be?”

“Bring Avriel with you.”

A momentary shocked silence followed. “But isn’t he scheduled for Judgment?”

“Tell them I authorized the order and it’s just a temporary postponement of his trial. Hurry.”

“Whatever you say, Commander.” The link shut off. I began to pace back and forth, my mind racing to come up with a comprehensive strategy. Preferably one that didn’t involve my wife getting digested by a hellbeast.

Just as Jordan returned with the supplies, I heard my link crackle again and then Gabriel’s winded voice. “I’m on my way.”

I raised my gaze to see Gabriel and another angel flying towards us. I couldn’t help lifting an eyebrow when they landed.  Souls couldn’t exist on earth without bodies for more than a few minutes, hence why he needed to share one with another angel. The body they’d found for Avriel was actually a short, blonde female angel.

Gabriel caught the weird looks Jordan and I gave him and shrugged.  “It was short notice. Now then, what’s this idea of yours?”

I turned to Avriel. “In your extensive studies about this event, did you happen to read any literature about the Leviathan?”

She—he—nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“What about the biology of the Leviathan?”

“Yes, sir.”

A spot of hope at last. “Tell me everything you know.”

“Well, while the Hellmouth is a portal to the underworld, the Leviathan itself is flesh and blood like any other creature. It has many supernatural qualities, but like anything else, it has organs—a brain, lungs, intestines, and so on. The esophagus leads down into three separate stomachs and the food digests slowly. The Leviathan shares more qualities with a reptile rather than a fish. In fact, it has often been said to be an amalgamation of several types of species.”

“If we were to get someone inside the first stomach, could they find the fruit and take it out?”

Avriel frowned. “Theoretically? I suppose so. But I wouldn’t recommend it. The first stomach may not give you too much trouble, but the other two would be the problem. You could cut your way into the first stomach and get the fruit, but as soon as its body learns that there is a foreign object inside it, the antibodies will attack and attempt to pull you into the second stomach for digestion. You would have mere minutes to get out. Otherwise, death is imminent.”

“Sounds like my kind of party alright,” Jordan said. “Where would I enter the stomach?”

“The scales on the Leviathan’s belly are thinner than the ones on its back, much like an alligator’s. However, any incision will re-seal within seconds. You’ll need to find the exact spot where you entered and cut your way from inside the stomach. Cutting the same place twice gives you a better chance of getting out.”

“Is there any way that Belial would be able to sense Jordan’s presence and make the Leviathan throw her back up?” I asked.

Avriel shook his head. “Its stomach is much like a horse’s. It can’t regurgitate anything, which is also why she can’t climb out of its throat. A huge membrane closes behind the esophagus.”

Jordan glanced at me. “It’s worth a shot.”

Everyone’s eyes settled on me. I let the new information swirl around in my head for a few seconds. Was this still a bad plan? Hell yes. Was it better than the alternative? Maybe. Did I have time to debate with myself? No.

“Alright,” I said softly. “Jordan, you’re with me. Gabe, Raph, cover us. I’m going to submerge and find a weak spot. Where would that be, Avriel?”

“The first stomach is about thirty five to forty feet from the front of its chest. Make the hole as deep as you can so it will penetrate the inner walls. And Jordan, please remember that you will have less than five minutes to get out of there.”

Jordan nodded. “Thank you. I’ll do my best.”

She slid the flashlight into the innermost pocket of her parka, donned the diving gear, and climbed into my arms.

I glanced at Avriel one last time. “I appreciate the help. You can continue fighting down here for now in case we need you again. Make sure not to be a nuisance to your host.”

“Yes, sir.”

I leapt into the air, holding Jordan close and weaving past the fighting angels and snarling demons surrounding the Leviathan. It was on the move now, swimming slowly but surely towards civilization, and the next wave of monsters was dropping out of the Hellmouth now—hellhounds.

In Hell, they were five times the size of the ones on Earth, had two heads, and could swim better than sharks. I watched as the soldiers dove after them, shooting bubbles and the spray of water upward as they attacked. The corpses floated up to the top, turning the water even darker with blood and entrails. The hellhounds snapped at the heels of the angels flying overhead, dragging them down into the briny depths to drown. I set my jaw, telling myself that they could handle themselves, but I already knew there would be many casualties.

Gabriel and Raphael took the lead, making sure to keep Belial distracted while I flew to the side, searching for the right spot to dive. This was it. The moment of truth. No turning back now.

Jordan’s hand brushed the back of my neck, the spot where my helmet met the chassis, so I’d look at her. She smiled, a gentle one, like the world wasn’t crumbling around her and she wasn’t walking into the literal belly of the beast. “It’s okay. I know what I’m doing.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” I whispered.

She let out a tiny, hoarse laugh. “Because you’re not an idiot. Wish me luck?”

I shook my head. “Wish you victory. Go get ‘im, baby.”

She touched the side of my face and kissed me. The chaos around me melted so that I could only feel the soft touch of her lips. It chased away the last bits of resentment and fear inside me. I knew that no matter what was going to happen, she would give it her all and she wouldn’t give up. That was her strength, her center, what made me love her. Jordan never gave up on anything—not her friends, not her faith, and not me.

She broke away first, letting two last words drop from her lips. “Te amo.”

I returned them to her without hesitation. “Te amo.”

And then we dove into the darkness together.

Chapter 37

Jordan

THERE WERE NO words for how cold the water was when Michael plunged down into it after I pulled on my oxygen mask. I nearly passed out, in fact. Distantly, I remembered reading somewhere how long it would take the average person to die in subfreezing temperatures and knew that I had probably less than two minutes before I would succumb, even though I was wearing at least four layers of clothing.

Michael swam in strong strokes towards the underbelly of the titanic creature, leaving me to cling to his shoulders as he moved. His angelic body could handle these temperatures, but I could already feel my vision starting to blacken around the edges.

Once we were underneath it, I pulled out the waterproof flashlight to help him see where we were. He scanned the area, dodging behind the Leviathan’s massive clawed feet, until we reached the area Avriel had told us about. The scales here were long, flat, and appeared to be a dirty cream color.

Michael tapped my arm, signaling me to let go, so I swam alongside him as he unsheathed his sword from his waist. He shoved it into the flesh between two giant scales and began sawing at the seam. Black blood rushed outward. He kept slicing until the hole was large enough for me to fit through. I wondered if the creature could even feel it due to its immense size.

I took a deep breath, swimming upward. I grabbed the slippery ridges of the hole and forced them apart, grabbing at its insides. I felt Michael’s hands at my waist, pushing me up through the sticky membrane. I could see nothing but a disgusting pink film as I burrowed into the Leviathan’s innards, blindly reaching for anything to grip. My feet hit the edge of the hole and I grabbed the knife in my pocket, cutting through the last bit of skin before me.

At last, I burst free into a humid, murky, place and fell onto my knees, panting because my claustrophobia had started to kick in. I kept my eyes closed until my heart rate slowed and raised my head to figure out where I was.

A thick green fog hung in the air. The lining of the Leviathan’s stomach was a filthy brown color. My boots sunk into it like mud, forcing me to learn how to balance on the squishy surface. I lifted the flashlight, keeping the knife in my other hand, and tried to get a bead on my surroundings. The “ceiling” of the stomach was about twenty feet above my head, capped off with a disgusting puckered hole. I could tell it was the membrane that Avriel had mentioned that cut off access to the throat.

Digestive fluid dripped from the curved walls around me. I stood on what appeared to be the “shore” of its stomach. I spotted a lake of stomach acid a few feet away. Bare bones and skeletons glistened on the surface—a hideous sight. The state of their decay led me to believe these were its original victims from when it was still active all those centuries ago. It might have had some sort of hibernation survival method. Yippee-skippy.

I checked my watch. I had about four and a half minutes left. Time to get to work.

I swept the flashlight back and forth, scouring the contents of the stomach not covered with green goo. I found nothing in the piles of half-eaten shellfish and miscellaneous trash and cursed my lack of luck. The fruit must have fallen in the drink, so to speak. Perfect.

I walked to the edge of the lake, searching for something to test the potency of the stomach acid. I found half of a fish and tossed it in. Nothing happened. It didn’t instantly dissolve or catch on fire. Not yet, anyway. The stomach acid wasn’t too deep, either—it came up to my thighs.

I heaved a sigh and waded into the abysmal muck, trying not to focus on the sucking noise my body made as it entered the thick substance around me. I breathed deep and began to feel around the bottom, plucking out any object that felt round. Another minute ticked by and I hadn’t found anything yet, much to my irritation.

“Come on, where are you, you son of a bitch?” I muttered around my mouthpiece, tossing aside yet another skeleton of God-knew-what. Just then, my boot hit something solid and I bent, reaching for it. My fingers met something soft, but definitely round. I yanked upward, elated to find the fruit. There were a few holes in it and it was a great deal softer, but the fruit was still in one piece. Hallelujah.

I turned to head back to where I’d come from only to hear a bizarre sound echoing through the stomach. A growl, but not like the kind caused by hunger. Something else.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I couldn’t shake the dreadful feeling that something was behind me. I cocked my head to the side and that was when I saw them. The antibodies. Except they were not giant white blood cells.

They were hellhounds.

Well, of course.

Avriel, if I make it through this, I am gonna kick your ass, I thought, stuffing the fruit in my pocket and fumbling for my knife. The hellhounds here in the stomach weren’t like the ones I’d faced before, which had shaggy fur, red eyes, and claws. These ones had short, slick black fur, two heads, and white eyes with no pupils. None of them flinched when my flashlight hit their faces. I realized they must have been blind, going off sound and smell alone. That at least gave me a slight advantage.

Holding my breath so they couldn’t hear me, I stooped and picked up an emaciated dorsal fin that appeared to have belonged to a killer whale. Then I flung it as hard as I could behind them.

It hit the far wall of the stomach with a loud splatter. They whirled, lunging for it. I made a break for the other side, cursing the sticky stomach acid that slowed me down. I got about halfway there before the hounds realized they’d been tricked and jumped in after me. Their sleek bodies cut through the slime like a knife through butter. I’d never make it to the edge in time.

The first hound lunged for me. I threw myself backwards, holding up the knife. It plunged into the hound’s chest, but the weight of the creature shoved me into the acid. I shoved its corpse away and got my feet beneath me, flailing through the mire. When I resurfaced, the stomach acid clung to my skin like mucus and I could feel a faint stinging sensation. I cleaned off as much as I could before as the other two hellhounds started closing in. I climbed onto the side of what used to be part of a whale, brandishing the knife at them as they paddled closer. I checked my watch again. Only a minute left. Shit!

The hound on the left lurched for me. I ducked. It sailed past my head and hit the opposite wall with a yelp, knocking itself out. The last one grabbed my ankle with one of its mouths, trying to drag me into the acid with it, but I stabbed the other head repeatedly, forcing it to let go. I heard growls in the distance towards the other end of the stomach where the tract led to the second one. Reinforcements were on the way.

I heard a crackling sound in my ear, realizing that I hadn’t taken the mic out. The water and muck had damaged it, but I could still hear bits of words.

“Jor…find…fruit…?”

I lowered the oxygen mask, nearly gagging in the noxious air when I tried to talk. It took me a couple of tries to get a full sentence out.

“Yeah,” I yelled back, wading as fast as I could to get to the spot where I’d climbed in. “If you can hear me, I’m almost out. Just hold on.”

There was a faint crevice in the lining of the stomach indicating where I’d gotten in. I fell to my knees and hacked at it as hard as I could. The hounds behind me barked as they got closer.

My knife snapped in half. I screamed in frustration, shoving the broken blade in my pocket and digging with my hands instead, tearing at the thick skin until it gave out beneath me and ice cold water gushed in. Just as the nearest hound leapt for me, I shoved myself down into the hole and pulled myself out the other side. I swam into the sea, checking to see if the hound had followed me through, but the scales had already sealed up. I was free.

I swam up through the icy water until I broke the surface, tearing off my breathing apparatus and screaming for my husband. “Michael!”

Behind me, the Leviathan let out a terrible sound of agony. Our plan had worked. Its limbs slowed and it stopped swimming forward, its head shaking back and forth weakly, nearly sending Belial flying from his perch on its forehead.

Michael came soaring towards me and plucked me out of the sea, unable to stop a smile from overtaking his face.

“You’re definitely a sight for sore—”

He was cut off as the Leviathan’s arm smashed into us, knocking me out of his grip and sending him spinning out of control. I shrieked as I plummeted towards the water, my oxygen tank torn away, trying to brace myself, but then the huge hand came around again and caught me. It lifted me up to the top of its head where Belial stood, seething.

“You just don’t know when to give up, do you?” he snarled, losing that infinite cool he always seemed to have.

My arms were pinned to my sides. I couldn’t move an inch. Nothing to attack the bastard with except for sarcasm. “Sorry, Bels. It’s who I am.”

“Give me back the fruit and I will let you live.”

“Get bent.”

The Leviathan squeezed all the air out of my lungs. My vision spun in front of my eyes and my ribs began to crumple inside me, almost to the point of cracking. I tried to ignore the pain, giving him nothing but a contemptuous stare. When he saw that I wouldn’t break, he let out a growl of frustration.

“Stubborn girl.”

The Leviathan dropped me at his feet. I gasped in a lungful of air, shaking all over with relief that I could breathe again.

Belial let go of the creature’s antennas, instead grabbing me by the throat and pulling me up against him. I struggled to no avail. His other arm crushed me into the front of his body and trapped my arms by my hips.

“It always comes down to this, doesn’t it?” he murmured with a smirk. “You and me, and the end of the world. I think it’s destiny, to be honest. An eternity spent playing this game until someday, one of us wins. What do you think, sweet Jordan? Am I the victor, or are you? Or are we both going to lose?”

“The only thing that’s destined to be is me killing you,” I said in a low voice. “It may not be today or tomorrow or the day after that, but I will make you pay and you will never hurt anyone ever again.”

He leaned towards my lips, chuckling. “How could I refuse such a woman?”

He stopped a millimeter away from kissing me, speaking louder. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, archangel.”

I tilted my head to see over his shoulder. Michael stood behind him, the tip of his sword resting at the base of Belial’s spine. The archangel’s chest was heaving and I could tell every inch of him wanted to run the demon through with his blade.

“Why not?” Michael said, his voice at a growling pitch in his rage.

“Because you’ll have to kill us both. Do you have the restraint to stab only me in your current state? I’m guessing not. So I’d back off if I were you.”

“Your Leviathan is dying, Belial. All I have to do is wait it out and you’ll be finished.”

The demon sighed, a rush of hot air against my cheeks. “And all I have to do is snap her precious little neck. Here is what is going to happen. Jordan will give the fruit back to the Leviathan and I will let her live. Sound fair to you?”

Michael’s grip tightened on the sword. He wanted to do it so badly. Part of me wanted to let him. My death would be a minor loss compared to sending this bastard back to Hell where he belonged. But I could see in Michael’s eyes that he knew Belial would do it. Even after all of his double crossing, Belial wanted victory more than he wanted me.

Slowly, the archangel lowered his weapon. Belial’s smile widened, his eyes joyous as they burned into mine in the silvery moonlight. “You see? I always get what I want.”

I slipped my hand into my pocket. “Not anymore.”

I grabbed the broken end of the knife and stabbed him in the chest with it. He jerked against me, shock blooming across his pale face. Blood flowed over us both, dripping down between our bodies like an intimate secret. He swayed as the wound took its toll, not enough to kill him, but enough to slow him down so that Michael could make the final blow. I expected him to say something insulting, but instead, he laid his cold lips against my cheek and whispered three words.

“That’s my girl.”

He fell to his knees, clutching the wound. Michael walked around to face him, staring down at the archdemon with vengeance in his eyes. He lifted the sword’s tip to Belial’s chest.

“Vaya con dios, you son of a bitch.”

He ran Belial through with his sword, twisting it just to make sure he hit the space where the demon’s heart should have been.

The Leviathan let out a deafening wail. It had gone too long without the fruit. Its body started to sink into the ocean, nearly knocking me off my feet as its head fell forward.

Michael grabbed my wrist and launched us into the air. The demon’s body tumbled off of the Leviathan and sank into the water below.

With me in tow, Michael flew around to the side of the dying monster’s head. He shoved his sword into the mark shaped like a gate underneath its jawbone. It glowed a lovely golden hue. The Leviathan’s mighty jaws closed and the writhing tentacles sucked back inside them before it vanished into the depths of the ocean, hopefully never to be seen again.

Good riddance.

Chapter 38

Jordan

THE AFTERMATH OF the Leviathan’s rising was as disastrous as the path left by a hurricane. Hundreds of people reported the supernatural sounds they’d heard after leaving the ship, but thankfully, Michael’s angels had prevented any of the passengers from getting killed. Unfortunately, many of them lost their lives in the process.

Avriel returned to Heaven for Judgment. It would be a while before I heard his sentencing or if he’d be pardoned since he ended up helping us after all. I almost wished I could defend him myself, but it wasn’t like I was someone Heaven was happy with at the moment.

Belial’s body was never recovered. With the Leviathan defeated, the demons who had abducted Juliana’s parents let them go. I personally handed her back to her mother, who cried and thanked me so graciously that it was painful. I didn’t want the thanks. The girl had been put through so much and this wouldn’t be the end for her, either. Someday, she would grow up and these terrible choices would rest on her shoulders as well. I couldn’t tell her parents the truth, but I left them with my number and made them promise to keep in touch. I couldn’t help her now, but God-willing, I could help her when she needed guidance in the future. The path of a Seer was long, painful, and cruel. I wouldn’t let her walk it alone.

It was a long flight back to Albany, especially since I knew what awaited me there. Michael and I argued before we left Trømso. I was going to turn myself in while he wanted me to head to a non-extradition country until the heat was off of our unfortunate case. We couldn’t resurrect Avriel’s body, so there was no way to prove I didn’t kill him. Even if we could, there was still the nasty business of breaking Belial out of police custody and kidnapping a federal suspect. The cops probably hadn’t been able to identify me with my gas mask on, but my face was unhidden when we busted the demon out. Either way, I was up shit creek.

I wasn’t thrilled about the idea of prison. It scared me half to death knowing I’d be without freedom, without choice, without the few people left that I cared about. However, after three years filled with murders, the deaths of loved ones, and the threat of the end of the world, I figured I could survive. After all, with me put away, my friends had nothing to worry about. The demons would know I was neutralized. Other Seers would arise to take my place. The world wouldn’t be threatened due to my actions. I made the choices. Now, I would have to live with the consequences.

These thoughts circulated in my head as I sat in an interrogation room of the Albany Police Department, my hands cuffed behind my back, staring at my reflection in the mirror. It had almost been hilarious watching the look on the officers’ faces when I told them who I was. Then again, maybe shock had set in and I was just numb now. Not sure.

At last, the door opened. A short white man in his late thirties with a receding hairline and a black suit walked in. He was smiling. It was unusual.

“Mrs. O’Brien?”

I flinched. Still didn’t sound right to me. “Sir?”

“Please, call me Agent Clark,” he insisted, taking the seat across from me.

“Agent Clark, then. How can I help you?”

“I’m impressed, you know. Most people with your sort of charges don’t waltz right into the arms of the authorities. You’ve avoided capture for, what? Seven days? That’s no mean feat, I’ve got to say.”

I stared at him, confused by his cheerfulness. Maybe he was playing good cop. “Um, thank you?”

“You’re welcome. Before we proceed any further, I need to ask you why you decided to turn yourself in.”

“I’ve made mistakes. I’ve hurt people. There’s a price to pay for that, and I’m going to pay it because it’s the right thing to do.”

“That’s very noble of you,” he said, and it sounded oddly genuine. “I don’t see that a lot in my line of work, trust me.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.”

“You don’t seem like the type who is easily surprised. I didn’t think I was either, until this afternoon.”

I arched an eyebrow. “What happened this afternoon?”

“Someone called me. You might know him. About six feet tall, black, nice smile, big ears, pretty wife?”

I paused. “Why the hell did Will Smith call you?”

He laughed. “Good guess, but no. It was the President.”

My mouth went dry. “The President of the United States called you?”

“Yeah. And you’ll never guess what he had to say.”

I licked my dry lips, completely out of my depth. “What?”

“That he read about your case and thought you should be acquitted of all charges.”

My jaw dropped. “You’re shitting me, right?”

“I’d love to be shitting you, but you’re focusing on the wrong issue here, Mrs. O’Brien. Please take a look at this sheet for me and tell me what you see.”

He slid a piece of paper forward. I leaned in, scanning it. It was a list of phone calls to the Oval Office, hundreds of them, with only one highlighted in yellow. I let my eyes drift across to the digits and felt the blood rush out of my face. I knew those digits.

It was Gabriel’s phone number.

“Agent Clark, I don’t understand—” I began, but he held up his hand.

“I’m sure this may come as a shock to you. Maybe you don’t know your friend Mr. Solberg as well as you think. That phone call lasted only two minutes. It took him two minutes to call in a favor to the President of the United States. That kind of power isn’t something that just any old body has. This man has connections that go beyond anything I’ve ever seen before. He knew that if he made this call, his position would come under a fire so heavy that it will take years to recover. As you can understand, we’ve frozen all his assets and he’s going to be under a serious investigation for quite some time.”

Agent Clark folded his hands, setting his brown eyes on me. “However, after an extensive Q and A with the Big Guy, he has not changed his position on you. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re free to go.”

I didn’t move from my spot. This new information just buzzed around my head like a dozen drunken flies. Gabriel had so much power that he could talk to the freaking President. What in God’s name happened during that phone call? What the hell did Gabriel do to get him to pardon me?

“I…” Words failed me. I had to swallow hard twice just to finish the sentence.

“…honestly don’t know what to say.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t either, if I were you.” The smile was gone and there was a serious look in its place. “Mrs. O’Brien, I hope you understand the gravity of your situation. You may be cleared of the charges, but from this day forward, there is nothing that you can do which won’t be under a microscope. My suggestion? Learn from this. Build a new life. Take care of your loved ones. And I hope for your sake that we never meet again because if we do…I’m going to nail your ass to the wall. Do we understand each other?”

“Perfectly.”

Then, like magic, the chipper smile returned. “Now, if you don’t have any other questions for me, I suggest you head home. It’s nice out. I’d walk instead of taking the bus.”

He stood, walked around my chair, and undid my handcuffs. Numbly, I got up and walked out of the door, thoroughly confused and yet somehow vindicated.

* * *

HE WAS SITTING in my kitchen by the time I got home, calmly sipping coffee and eating the last piece of banana bread. I walked in front of him, opening my mouth to talk, but there were so many things I wanted to ask him that the only thing to come out was:

“What the shit, Gabriel?”

He chewed, swallowed, and merely arched an eyebrow at me. “Pardon?”

“You called the President? The fucking Commander in Chief?” I screeched.

He let out a dry chuckle. “You know, most people would be thanking me right now.”

“Most people don’t get pardons from the bloody leader of the free world!” I shot back, unable to control myself any longer. “What did you do? Threaten his family? Offer him a free pass into Heaven?”

Gabriel shook his head. “Don’t be so dramatic. It was the simplest of matters.”

I waved a hand at him. “Feel free to explain at any time.”

He wiped his mouth with a napkin, crossing one leg and regarding me with a frustratingly patient look. “I knew him long before he was in office. Ages before, in fact. I actually saved his life once when he was a young man. We’ve kept in touch over the years and I thought nothing of it until your husband ordered me to intervene.”

I palmed my forehead. Of course he did. “Why am I not surprised?”

“He loves you, Jordan. Even though he is angry with you, Michael has never wanted to see you suffer, especially since you were only trying to do the right thing.”

“But doesn’t he care what this will do to you?” I said, slumping against the counter in defeat. “To your company? You’ve done unimaginable amounts of good for other people and now it’s going to all be jeopardized because of me.”

“I admit, it’s not something I wanted to happen either, but I told you once that I loved you and this is the proof.”

The archangel stood up, dusting off the front of his suit pants. “However, that brings me to my next point.”

He took a deep breath, softening his tone. “As my company and my integrity have been compromised, I have been ordered to leave your side for the immediate future.”

I closed my eyes. And there it was. The catch. I had felt in my gut that something was wrong. This was the price of my freedom—losing the man I had considered to be my older brother for the last four years.

I heard movement as Gabriel’s impossibly large hands rested on my shoulders. I couldn’t look at him, not now, or I’d cry. “Jordan. Look at me.”

I shook my head. He sighed. “Please, promise me that you will not blame yourself. The Leviathan incident has changed everything we know. I bear no grudge towards you for what you’ve done. Know that. It is the truth.”

“It’s okay,” I murmured in a hoarse voice. “I understand. I do.”

He leaned his forehead against mine. “I have loved you since the day I laid eyes on you and I always will. I may not be around anymore, but I promise I will look out for you from afar. This is not goodbye, Jordan Amador. I swear it.”

“I know.”

A warm droplet hit my cheek and it was impossible to tell if it was his tear or mine. He inhaled deeply and then straightened up, collecting himself.

“Besides,” he said with a small, unsteady laugh. “I’ve brought you a present so you can’t be sad any longer.”

I forced myself to open my eyes then. Gabriel picked up a rectangular gift wrapped in golden tissue paper that had been sitting on the counter behind me. I tore it off, finding a large leather-bound journal with no name on the front. Inside, the pages were worn and faded. The untidy scrawl was familiar.

“Once he found out I’d been reassigned, Andrew told me to find this for you. It’s his journal from his days as a Seer. It became lost after he died, but I made some calls and managed to unearth it. I think it might answer some questions you have.”

“Gabriel, it’s…” I had to pause to swallow the lump in my throat. “Perfect. Thank you.”

“There we go. There’s my smile.” He brushed a lock of hair behind my ear. I shut my eyes again and threw my arms around his neck. He picked me up, hugging me tight, as if he did it the right way, I’d never miss him even though I knew I would. I couldn’t recall how long the hug lasted because I didn’t want it to end, but eventually, he lowered me to the floor.

“Be strong, my sister, my heart,” he whispered before kissing my forehead one last time. Then he wiped the tears from my cheeks and walked away without looking back.

* * *

HOURS AFTER GABRIEL left, I was still sitting at the kitchen table, staring at my phone. Technically, I was a free woman. I wanted to call Lauren. I wanted to call her so badly, but every time I reached for the phone, I lost my nerve. She hated me now. I’d done something unforgivable to one of the only people who bothered to love me. How did I even start that conversation? How could I possibly apologize for that? “Hey, Lauren, sorry I forgot to tell you that I’m on the FBI’s Most Wanted list!” Yeah, that would end well.

My brain settled into this miserable thought pattern so deeply that I didn’t even jump when I heard a key in the lock. I glanced over at the door. I tensed, surprised to see Michael walk in. He had been running errands all day long to make sure that the Leviathan incident didn’t leave any loose ends that needed tying. It was his job to handle most of them now that Gabriel was out of the frying pan and into the fire. Michael was still a person of interest to the bureau, but he didn’t have a target painted on his back any longer now that I was pardoned.

“Hey,” I said, unable to keep from sounding hesitant.

“Hey.” He closed the door and locked it just like always, his voice also a bit hollow.

He walked over to the table and settled his hands on the back of a chair instead of taking a seat, which only made me more unsettled.

“I take it you talked to Gabriel.”

“Yeah.”

He winced. “I wish I could change what happened. I know how much you care about him and vice versa.”

“Why did you ask him to do that for me?”

Michael frowned. “Would you have let me go to jail for a crime I didn’t commit?”

“But that’s the thing, Michael. I did commit a crime, even if I did it to save people. You can’t just go around changing the system. It has consequences. Gabriel will have to basically start over now and that’s not fair to him. He’s worked so hard building that company.”

“Gabriel is stronger than you think. He’ll bounce back from this. He always does. Besides, he’s on this earth for eternity. You’ve only got one lifetime and I won’t let you spend the rest of it behind bars.”

“Look, I’m not saying that I’m not grateful for what the two of you have done. If I had a year, I couldn’t express the depth of my gratitude. But I’m just saying that I don’t know if you understand the gravity of this decision. It’s going to change everything.”

“Everything has already changed, Jordan. Everything.” The last word came out hushed. He glanced away, trying to hide a flicker of pain across his face. Something was wrong. Deeply, deeply wrong. Not just Gabriel’s situation, either. A cold spot filled my stomach and stretched outward.

He sighed before he began again. “Jor, I—”

“No, wait. Let me say something first.”

I stood up, leaning against the counter with my arms crossed beneath my chest. “This is not going to be easy for you to hear, but I’m supposed to be doing the right thing, so here it goes.”

I met his gaze. “I let Belial kiss me a few days ago.”

His jaw clenched. I kept going, even though it hurt like hell to see that furious look on his face. “I’ve been fighting my hardest not to become like him yet somehow, that’s exactly what happened. I’ve let this incident twist me into the worst version of myself. I’ve lied and stolen and indulged in awful things. This horrible event has made me see the truth. I’m not in love with Belial. I know that.”

I swallowed hard. “But part of me did like him, even though I know he is evil and he will never change. I think it’s because when I’m around him, I don’t have to watch what I say or care about how I treat him. Being around him seems to make me revert back to how I was before I met you. It’s like a reflex, I guess. I’m not saying it’s okay. I’m not saying you should understand that or accept it or forgive me for it. I’m just telling you the truth. I also want you to know that it doesn’t matter because I refuse to let my attraction to him ruin my life—or our life—again. I know who I am now. I know what kind of choices I’m supposed to make. So I can tell you in all honesty that something like this will not happen again because I won’t let it. You deserve better. It might not mean much to you now, but I will become a better person. A stronger person. A more worthy person. I’m asking you if there’s a second chance for us in the future. I know it’s not fair, but I have to find that out before we go any further.”

He didn’t respond right away, and that alone tore the hole in my heart wider. I forced the question out of my throat.

“Michael, do you still love me?”

A pained exhale escaped him. He touched my shoulders, tugging me closer, leaning down to my height so I could meet his gaze. “Jordan, I want you to listen to me carefully. I love you. I will always love you. I will love you until the stars turn cold and fall into the ocean and the mountains crumble and the universe unravels into the abyss. Nothing will ever change that: not you, or me, or some piece-of-shit demon. Nothing. And I am willing to give you a second chance and start over.”

He shut his eyes, steadying himself. “But I also need some time to myself. Time to forgive you. If I stayed here with you, now, I would just be angry and resentful and I wouldn’t treat you the way you deserve. There are some things inside me that I have to sort out before I can be the kind of husband I need to be for you. I need you to be patient and to have faith in me. Can you do that?”

I nodded, even though I wanted to say no, that he was wrong, that time apart wasn’t the right thing to do because it’d be easier for him to never come back if he wasn’t near me. I could feel him slipping through my fingers like sand, but I couldn’t find the words to tell him to stay. He needed to forgive me. I had done terrible things. He deserved the right to be angry. He did.

The only thing I could squeeze out was a question. “How much time do you need?”

“A few weeks, a month at the most.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

He lifted my chin with his hand and kissed me, gently, as the tears rolled down my cheeks. My fingers gripped his shirt and trembled with the thought of letting him go, of letting him walk out that door without me. Tell him the truth. Tell him to stay. Tell him he’s wrong. Please, God, don’t let him leave.

He broke from my lips and bumped his forehead against mine. “I’ll call you, okay?”

“Okay.”

He walked to the door, stopped, and turned to look at me. His sea-green eyes were all that I could see as he spoke the same two words I had been hearing for ages.

“Te amo.”

“Te amo.”

The door shut behind him.

And I was alone once more.

Epilogue

REALISTICALLY, I SHOULDN’T have called him, but it wasn’t like my judgment was any good these days. Maybe it would get better over time. And maybe I’d win the lottery and end world hunger.

“Yeah?”

“Is that how you always answer the phone?”

A pause. “What? You want me to recite a sonnet instead?”

I rolled my eyes. “No, but you could be more polite.”

“I’ve lived in Detroit for thirty years. Polite’s not in my vocabulary, girl. And why are you callin’? You out of trouble or did you get yourself into more of it?”

“I’m out. For good, so far.”

“Should I ask how?”

“No. Mostly because you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Well, they stopped showing your name on the news, so it’s got to be legit. I’m guessing it was that blond guy you were with at the riverside. Heard his name before. He’s definitely somebody.”

I fought a cryptic smile, mostly because he wouldn’t be able to see it anyway. “You have no idea.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but what’s up? Doesn’t seem like you to call for a chat. Need something?”

“No, I, uh, just wanted to make sure you got to your flight alright.”

“I’ll be on board in a little while.” He paused again. “You sure you’re alright?”

“What makes you think I’m not?”

“The whole ‘accused of murder’ thing, for starters,” Lewis said with heavy sarcasm. “And there’s the fact that you sound like you want to jump off the Empire State Building.”

My throat tightened. How could he possibly hear that in my voice? I hadn’t known him that long. Maybe he really did have paternal instincts deep down. I bit my bottom lip, trying to figure out how to throw him off the scent.

“I’m fine.”

“Bullshit. You could have just texted to ask if I was at the airport. If you need to talk, then talk. What’s wrong?”

I rubbed my forehead, attempting to shove my insecurities back inside my skull, but I knew it was pointless. He’d caught me red-handed. “It’s nothing life-threatening, I promise. It’s just…I did some pretty bad things and now I’m alone for the first time in years. It’s starting to get to me.”

“Alone? Where the hell’s your husband?” Offense made his voice reach a higher pitch. It was almost funny.

“He’s taking some time off. Needs to clear his head.”

“You don’t take time off in a marriage. Even I know that. What happened? Was it another girl?”

“No, of course not.”

“Another guy?”

“Sort of.”

“You sleep with ‘im?”

“No. But I wasn’t Wife of the Year either.”

“He say when he’d be coming back?”

“Yeah.”

“You believe him?”

I winced. “I want to.”

“Mm. Been in that boat before, trust me. Your mom and I split up for a couple months about two years into our marriage.”

“Why?”

“She was a headstrong woman and I didn’t like apologizing. Can’t remember what that particular fight was about, but it was a big one.”

“How did you fix it?”

“Wasn’t really us if you ask me. It was fate.  One day I went for a walk and stopped to get a snack at a vendor. After I got out of line, she was there. Madrid’s not a small place. That wasn’t a coincidence. Your mother, she believed in signs. She believed we couldn’t give up just yet since someone had gone through a lot of trouble to put us in the same place at the same time. So I decided to nut up and said I was sorry and we made up.”

“So you think the universe will make everything right, huh?”

“Sneer if you want, girl. I’m just telling you what I know. There’s no way your husband went through all that trouble of giving me that speech just to ditch you for good. I’ve only met the guy twice, but even I can tell he’s got it bad for you. He’ll come around.”

“What am I supposed to do in the meantime? Both of my best friends are no longer speaking to me, I got fired for being a felon, and every time I leave the house, I get stared at like a freak of nature. I don’t know what to do with myself any more. I just…”

I stopped, breathing deep to calm down. “I’m lost. I’m just lost.”

“Welcome to the real world, Jordan. Everything hurts and then you die.”

A bitter chuckle escaped me. “Thanks.”

“I mean it. I can’t tell you how to get through this. All I can tell you is that you’ve made it this far and it’d be stupid to quit now. Your story ain’t finished, girl. It’s just hit a rough spot. You’ll pull through. It’s in your blood.”

I heard a soft ringing sound and then the distant echo of the airport staff calling the flight’s passengers over to start lining up.

“Listen, I gotta go,” Lewis said. “But I’ll call you when I land and you’d better pick up, y’hear?”

“Yeah. I will.”

“Alright. Keep your head up.”

“Thanks.”

“Told you not to thank me.”

“Well, you did say I was stubborn.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I did. Bye.”

“Bye.”

I hung up and shoved the phone in my pocket, leaning my head against the lamppost behind me. The liquor store sign still glowed an impassioned, tempting red but I no longer had the urge to go inside. I would hold for now.

I pocketed the phone and walked back to my apartment next door. My old cell phone had literally dozens of voicemails on it from everyone I knew asking about why I had been a suspect in a murder investigation. Colton had called three or four times, but I didn’t call back. At work, three no-call, no-shows meant instant termination, and as much as I hated getting fired, I knew it was the right thing to do. I had only shown him and my coworkers half of who I was. It wasn’t fair to stick around and keep lying to them, especially if my presence would bring bad press to the restaurant. I would miss the Sweet Spot, but it would live on without me. So would Lauren and Lily.

When I got home, I collapsed in front of my laptop and screwed around for a while before losing interest. My eyes eventually wandered to Andrew’s journal, still sitting where I’d left it the night before.

I cracked it open for a read and twisted my mother’s rosary around my fingers as I read. As of late, it seemed to be turning into a habit of mine. Thankfully, my mother had been about the same size and body type as me so the cross hit me at my bellybutton rather than dragging too low. The teeth marks were a surprisingly nice reminder of happier times gone past. So far, I was starting to build a pretty little pile of items with memories in them—first, Andrew’s duster, then my mother’s diary, then Andrew’s letters, then her rosary, and now Andrew’s journal.

Andrew wrote in a very peculiar fashion—dropping subjects randomly kind of like Rorschach from the Watchmen graphic novel by Alan Moore. Still, it was easy to hear his gruff but lovable voice in the pages. It made me feel less lonely and I needed that while I waited for Michael to come back. I was taking it one day at a time. It wasn’t going well, but I tried to have faith in him like I promised. Tried my hardest.

About thirty pages in, it occurred to me how rare it was that I had something from a Seer on paper. Wouldn’t hurt to save a copy in case shit hit the fan again. I opened a new Word document and began transcribing it page by page. My lips mouthed the words as my fingers flew across the keyboard, and soon I was consumed in Andrew’s diction once again. His world and my world turned out not to be too different. Maybe someday, I would pass this down to Juliana and she could learn from it as well. After all, it was my responsibility to look after those who had no one else to fight for them. Well, Andrew said it best.

This job, it ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. I see things that would make a normal person’s brain turn into jelly and pour out his ears. It’s pain and horror and ugliness. It’s a lot of hotel rooms, a lot of dive bars, and a lot of nightmares. It’s scars and empty bottles of Jack Daniels, and one night stands when things get too bad. But I do it anyway. Why? Probably because I’m too ruttin’ stupid to do anything else. Probably because I can shoot the wings off a fly from a hundred yards while being chased by a wildebeest at night. Probably because I can kick the ass of any demon stupid enough to cross my path.

But I’ll tell you one thing. Even though this shit will wear you down and make you doubt everything you’ve come to know about the world, you still gotta do it. Do the work. Get up in the morning. Pour yourself some coffee. Hell, slip a little Bailey’s in there if you’re feeling frisky. Strap on your boots. Sharpen your knives. Clean your guns (that shit is important, trust me). Open that door and do your damn job. Do it because they can’t. Do it because you can. Do it because you’re supposed to and because someone in this world deserves to wake up with their family alive and happy thanks to something you did. Demons, they want you to believe that nothing we do will change the future, but they’re as wrong as they are butt-ass ugly. What you do—what we do—matters. At the end of the day, that should be your reward. Never forget that, kid.

Ever.

-The Man Who Sees

Couldn’t have said it better myself.

* * *

Want to read more by this author?

Try: THE HOLY DARK, the final novel in the Black Parade series by Kyoko M.

http://amzn.to/1JerCvn

http://shewhowritesmonsters.com

* * *

About Kyoko M

Kyoko M is an author, a fangirl, and an avid book reader. Her debut novel, The Black Parade, has been on Amazon's Bestseller List at #5 in the Occult Horror category.

She has a Bachelor of Arts in English Lit degree from the University of Georgia, which gave her every valid excuse to devour book after book with a concentration in Greek mythology and Christian mythology.

When not working feverishly on a manuscript (or two), she can be found buried under her Dashboard on Tumblr, or chatting with fellow nerds on Twitter, or curled up with a good Harry Dresden novel on a warm central Florida night. Like any author, she wants nothing more than to contribute something great to the best profession in the world, no matter how small.

Read More by this Author:

http://amzn.to/23bJtJO

http://shewhowritesmonsters.com

Sign up for more bargain boxed sets at:

www.hotboxedbooks.com

JUMP TO...

A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE by NOREE COSPER

END OF DREAMS by KIM FAULKS

HAUNT by HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY

DARK CROSSINGS by ANN SIMKO

HEADSPACE by CALINDA B

THE OTHER F WORD by SUSAN STEC

UNLEASHED by RACHEL MCCLELLAN

HIDDEN INTENTIONS by STACY CLAFLIN

THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL by AIMEE EASTERLING

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS by KYOKO M

ST. CHARLES AT DUSK by SARAH M. CRADIT

WICKED BY NATURE by MADISON SEVIER

UNDERLIFE by MARISSA FARRAR

DRAGON’S REDEMPTION by EDEN ASHE

MILAN’S RETURN by GRAE LILY

THE BREAKERS CODE by CONNER KRESSLEY

THE MEDIUM by MR GRAHAM

WICCAN WARS by HEATHER MARIE ADKINS

CARPE NOCTEM by KATIE SALIDAS

A QUESTION OF FAITH by NICOLE ZOLTACK

ST. CHARLES AT DUSK

BY SARAH M. CRADIT

Copyright © 2011 by Sarah M. Cradit

A father’s threats. A tragic accident. Unanswered questions. Oz Sullivan has finally moved past the tangled web surrounding his brief, but intense, relationship with the young, impetuous Adrienne Deschanel. Through his family, and successful career as an attorney, he has forged a tranquil predictability.

Then Adrienne unexpectedly emerges, with no memory of the life she once led. Her desperate attempt to flee the confusing and dark influences in the bayou instinctively propels her to the one face for which she has a name. Oz’s world is once again turned upside down, as he must decide how to help her without losing himself entirely.

Set amidst the lush and vibrant backdrop of New Orleans, St. Charles at Dusk tells the story of Oz and Adrienne; of forbidden love, and startling heartbreak.

Prologue

Present

Summer 2001

Oz: 26

Adrienne: 21

IT WAS RAINING the day I laid my wife to rest. I had been watching her die for months, and it was hard to accept she died of something other than what had been killing her.

Water poured down from the heavens in sheets, forming puddles all around us in the shallow Louisiana ground. I supposed it was appropriate and what I could have expected, if one can ever truly prepare for such an event.

We were huddled together near the elaborate tomb, in a sea of mourning smocks and matching black umbrellas. The rain echoed our somber mood, beating down mercilessly. Her friends, family, co-workers, and of course my own people, came to say goodbye. I felt hands on my back and shoulders, whispering their condolences in low, cautious voices.

Naomi, our daughter, took her first steps not long before her mother died. She now stood bravely at my side, her tiny hand firmly ensconced in mine. Normally lively and talkative in the spirited way of a toddler, Naomi said not a word to me, or anyone else, the entire day. Her reaction to the disposition of those around her was limited to an occasional glance at me with confused, pain-filled replicas of her mother’s big blue eyes.

It struck me as funny, despite the somber overtone, how even the loudest, most garrulous person could be rendered speechless at a Metairie funeral. Crisp suits and dresses, stickers on their cars that granted them access to the country clubs, and appointments to keep for later in the evening with manicurists and clients. Life did not stop for the dead here the way it did only a few miles away, in New Orleans. We did not celebrate the deceased in this cold, crisp suburb. None of the laughing, the gaiety, the sense of family and togetherness like the funerals I was used to, in the Garden District. It would be entirely improper.

And to think, I had gone through this yesterday at the wake. I found it inhumane our traditions demanded I publicly mourn my wife over and over again. My own grandfather had done this not long ago after over fifty years of marriage. We had been far too concerned with his well-being, so it was months later before we truly began to mourn her ourselves. Yet no one, not even my grandfather, could possibly understand what the last week had been like for Naomi and me, despite the number of people who came to my side claiming they did. I loved them all for being there, but at the same time hated them for the sense of relief they must feel at knowing when they went home, most of this disappeared for them.

During the service, Naomi cried because everyone around her did. The sorrow of the adults, standing around in the rainy cemetery, traumatized her. One of Janie’s many aunts would burst into sobs, and Naomi reacted by curling her tiny lips around each other and wailing into the musty air. Someone would notice this and comment, “Poor, sweet darling.”

Oh, how I loved and needed her.

I stood motionless as those part of the service moved like programmed androids around me. Was this really happening? I kept my eyes on Naomi. When I heard someone call my name, or move in my direction, I would kneel down in front of my daughter, tending to her. I’m not listening, my actions said. Don’t talk to me about this.

It was not, however, only the last week which had produced this effect on the two of us; we had been little more than existing since Janie was diagnosed, too late, with breast cancer. “Six months,” said the doctor.

What could she possibly do in six months? The doctor delivered the message as if it were better than he expected. Better than three months, two weeks? How does that change the end result? The fact that Janie would not live to see her twenty-seventh birthday was inevitable with those words. And beyond that, the milestones of Naomi’s life would happen while Janie simply ceased to exist. Was six months supposed to warm our hearts with relief?

“Suicide,” people whispered, far from me but still within earshot. I had expected they would talk about it. How could they not? It wasn’t every day the daughter of a cigar magnate from the “good side of town” decided to throw herself into the raging Mississippi. When she drove her car off the bank near Destrehan, it had been nothing short of a miracle that Naomi, sitting in her car seat in back, emerged without even a scratch.

So grateful I was the man had stopped his car to help; so completely indebted to him he had pulled my crying daughter from the car as the powerful torrent threatened to take it from where it lay barely wedged on the muddy bank.

“I tried to get your wife out, son,” the man had apologized. “The river was just too strong for me.”

He and his wife had come to the service. The man blamed himself for not being able to save them both. I wished I had the presence of mind to disagree, to tell him if it weren’t for him, my daughter would also be gone. I knew the man had risked his own life to save hers.

Was it selfish to wonder how no one, save this kind man and his wife, stopped to wonder why a woman was driving her car over the levee? Had there come a point when even Janie realized the insanity? These questions would likely torment me until my dying day.

For the service, and especially for Naomi, I swallowed back the anger and confusion encircling my heart. All the “whys”: Why wouldn’t she try any of the experimental drugs the doctor offered? Why had she turned from me in the end? Why had she taken our daughter? Did she even realize Naomi was there?

And what about the “hows”: How could someone of sound mind drive a vehicle into a raging river with a twelve-month old baby in the back? How could I not have seen the signs? Read them for what they actually meant?

You did not love her enough. You did not love her enough to give her what she wanted, and you did not love her enough to let her find someone who would.

Looking down at Naomi, I pushed the thoughts away.

I wasn’t entirely grounded during the service itself, and as it came to an end, and everyone slowly filtered out, I picked up only bits and pieces of the sentiments passed to us.

“She was an amazing woman Oz.”

“Oz, you and Naomi are in our prayers.”

“No one thinks badly of you for not giving the eulogy. We know this must be devastating for you and the family.”

“Your beautiful darling girl will bring you through this.”

Coupled with this came a handful of invitations, many from people I barely knew, who offered to “be there if you ever want to talk about this.” I wasn’t ungrateful; this just wasn’t an experience I was ready to share with anyone. It was mine, and it was Naomi’s. I wanted more than anything to be home, in my bed, finding my own way to deal with this (You did not love her, how do you deal with that?), not standing among people who meant well but were only making it harder.

It occurred to me at some point it was their attempts at making it somehow acceptable that I couldn’t handle. Through their kind words, and soft gestures, they were trying to help me forgive her.

Ahh, forgive her? First you have to forgive yourself, Oz.

The longer the day stretched on, the more reality began to take hold.

Please get me out of here before I scream, I thought. I cannot lose it in front of my little girl.

“I’m so sorry, Oz.”

I turned to see my father, Colin. Beside him, my mother, Catherine, who seemed to have aged ten years overnight. Janie’s suicide had really affected her. Of all the girls I’d dated, Janie was really the only one my mother wanted as a daughter-in-law. From the day she introduced us, I knew she was envisioning the wedding: Janie and I exchanging vows, the first dance, shoving cake in each other’s faces. Janie’s own mother died when she was four.

“Oh, darling…” my mother sobbed, kneeling down in the gravel in front of Naomi. “How is she?”

“I don’t know how to explain this to her.”

Naomi looked such the young lady; when you met her thoughtful gaze it was easy to forget how little she actually was. At my age, I still didn’t fully understand the meaning and impact of death, and certainly not the death of someone close to me. I didn’t know the magical words that would explain it as a part of life rather than something which would plague us for years to come.

“Oz, your mother and I were talking last night.” They exchanged a glance; one I wasn’t sure I liked. It was the look I saw often when I was still living at home. One that typically preceded them making a decision for me I disagreed with, but usually ended up allowing for one reason or another.

As always, I let them talk. I hadn’t the energy to do much else.

“Given the circumstances, maybe you and Naomi could stay with us for a while. It might help if you didn’t have to watch her all the time. She’s starting to walk and it’s a huge responsibility you don’t need right now. You know, just for a while until you can collect your thoughts-”

“Dad, no. Naomi needs me right now. She needs to be in her own house with her Daddy. She’s never going to see her mother again, and it would further confuse and scare her if we took away everything she was used to.” I pulled Naomi closer to my side, protectively. I didn’t say it, but I needed her. I needed to coddle her, and somehow make it up to her. I needed to be close to her so I could mourn her mother, too.

Because you are afraid only the sight of your daughter’s pain can bring you to sadness over Janie’s death.

My mother cupped my face in her warm hands and kissed my forehead. “Colin, you are so young, and I fear this experience will change you forever.”

My mother called me Colin, my given name, only in times of crisis. More specifically, at times when she felt a loss of control; an inability to fix something. I knew in her heart she was already staging an intervention for me, but that was beyond her ability at this point. There were times even a mother’s touch could not heal wounds.

The rain came down harder, and the rest of the mourners were rushing to get out of Metairie Cemetery. My mother picked up Naomi, who was now sobbing uncontrollably, and started carrying her to the car as if I had already given in. All the sadness of the day had finally taken its toll on her; she was the picture of pure exhaustion.

When I made no move to seek shelter, I felt my father take my arm. “Oz, come on, let’s go home, Son.”

I didn’t look at him. With the crowd dissipated, I could see Janie’s family tomb clearly now. Her will had clearly expressed her unbending refusal to be entombed at Lafayette Cemetery No. 1 where my family had been interred for generations, choosing instead to lay at rest in the Metairie neighborhood where she was raised. This had been a bone of contention between us in the last months of her life, as we sat in front of the stoic lawyer and divvied up our future. My future.

Right under her grandmother’s name were words I morbidly imagined would be embossed in my mind forever. Words of sadness? Regret? Guilt?

Janette Lynn Masters-Sullivan

Beloved Mother, Wife, Sister, and Daughter

1975-2001

“Give me a few minutes. I’ll meet you at home.” Although I didn’t turn around, I knew my father stood, indecisive a moment, before I heard him leave.

As I stared at the tomb, and the words on my dead wife’s epitaph rolled over and over in my mind, I finally allowed myself to cry freely. Yet I didn’t know if my tears were any different than the contagious ones Naomi had wept.

Why like this? Anything but this. “You don’t understand what it’s like!” she screamed at me the last time I saw her. “You are going to be here to see her graduate, to see her get married! Damn you, Oz!”

In all the commotion, no one but I realized today would have been our one-year anniversary. We had been married right after Naomi was born because Janie wanted to look good in her wedding dress. I always told her she would look beautiful no matter what. She was beautiful, always.

But that wasn’t enough for you, was it? Nor was her kindness, or intelligence, or wit, or anything else she gave to you without reserve.

As I turned to leave my wife, I had the distinct feeling someone was watching me. It occurred to me I had felt it all throughout the service, but had been too consumed to notice or really care.

“Hello?” I called out.

I heard the rustle of leaves and a twig snap. A squishing of footprints in the flooding Louisiana mud. I turned toward the sound and saw a figure advance from behind another family’s tomb. A woman’s figure.

“Who’s there?”

As she approached, my question became unnecessary. The last person I ever expected to see at all, at any point again in my life. Thoughts of her almost prevented my marriage to Janie (Certainly prevented you from loving her properly), who had had no inkling what role this woman had played in my life. I had carefully seen to that.

I could not believe she was there.

She had on a long black mourning cloak, so typical of a distinguished Southern woman; the hood engulfing all but a few rebel strands of her long, thick red hair. Her eyes, two cobalt orbs staring back at me from under the cloak, seemed to glow.

“Oz.”

Her voice was soft and inviting. What compelled me was not what was left of my love for her, if any even existed, but the need to believe I was wrong; that I had loved Janie. After spending a few moments with her I would realize it was my own fears that held me back, not a lack of love for my wife. And if I was wrong… well, I could do Janie no greater justice than my own misery. I would not fall into this girl’s arms, but I would walk away this time done with the charade forever.

In bringing closure to both chapters of my life, I could enter the next one alone, with Naomi. The timing was not ideal, but then, timing never was.

It was my first moment of clarity since Janie died.

* * *

SHE PULLED OFF her cloak, carelessly tossing it across the back of my sitting room leather sofa. Neurotically, I was one step behind her, wiping the raindrops off of the couch and hanging her cover on the oak coat rack, where it belonged.

“Some things never change,” she whispered, under her breath, voicing my own thoughts.

When she didn’t wipe her feet, or make any indication of removing the muddy shoes, I politely asked her to do just that and ignored the eye roll she sent in my direction.

On the ride over to the house I owned in the Garden District, neither one of us said a word. She stared out the passenger window; I stared straight ahead. My thoughts were a slideshow of the past few days, every scene playing out in Technicolor, slightly surreal but happening to an outsider, not me. I could not guess at her thoughts.

I placed a call to my father, letting him know I needed some time to tend to my thoughts and I would be over in the morning. He sounded relieved.

Moving to the kitchen, I went to put on a pot of coffee, but my eyes never left her as I rinsed out the dusty filter, then measured several spoonfuls of the only grounds in the cupboard. They would most likely go out with the trash on Tuesday. Janie was the coffee drinker, not I.

She flitted from bookshelf to mantel, perusing the archive of photos we took to preserve Janie’s memory. Her interest seemed sincere, yet betrayed no true emotion. She could have been looking at her English professors’ credentials.

When the doctor delivered the news Janie would not be around to see Naomi grow into a woman, we purchased a top-of-the line camera with all the bells and whistles a lawyer’s income could buy. We took over fifty rolls of film in a three-month period, before she became so sick she didn’t want any more pictures taken. The house was currently a shrine to Janie. This way, Naomi would never have to look far to see her mother.

And you can simply torture yourself without really having to address the issue.

“How do you take it? Black, sugar, cream?” I asked her as the coffee pot chimed, announcing its finish. The purchase of said coffee pot was a departure from my normally frugal spending habits. It was the lesser of two evils with Janie, who’d had an affinity for four dollar lattes. By the time we unpacked it, however, her diagnosis was certain and she gave up coffee altogether. Something compelled me not to return it to the store, or even put it in the pantry for storage. Most likely it had been the sense of finality, as if to say, “Well, you won’t be needing this anymore.”

My guest smiled. It was a careful expression. “You know how I take it.”

I suppose I did, but such knowledge was no longer welcome in the front of my mind.

“It’s been a long time.”

She turned back around to the mantel and drew her finger over a picture of Janie and me, in Corsica.

In this particular photo, Janie had run out from the beach, splashing into the warm Mediterranean waters. I had followed her, scooping her up into my recently tanned arms. The water sprayed up and foamed around us. We were both wearing those no-holding-back huge toothy grins; ones that said we were happy as hell. Who were you trying to convince more: her or you?

She pulled her hand back, but didn’t turn around. “Black,” she said.

We sat on opposite sides of the couch, coffee in hand, and I waited for her to say something. For a long time, she sat there, drinking and staring in my general direction, not exactly looking at me.

“I’m sorry I waited until a time like this to come back,” she finally offered.

She had pulled her hair up into a clip, giving me a full look at her face. Still the same high cheekbones set behind round baby cheeks, and almond-shaped eyes.

I hadn’t expected her to change though, had I?

“Why? Why are you sorry?” I asked her. With a twinge of unease, I wondered if I had misjudged her intentions. And what of my own? To close a door so a new one could open? Perhaps my own grief and awkwardness had blinded my better judgment. No, not perhaps… probably.

Bitten with cynicism from a long and taxing day, I added, “I didn’t bring you here so we could reminisce about our… colorful history.”

She set her coffee on the glass table and looked down at her hands, now fidgeting in her lap. She had always done that when she was nervous or cornered. Was she going to bring up the past, or was she simply getting the long-overdue apology out of the way, before moving on to me and what I was going through? Was she even here because of me?

It wasn’t fair to be so selfish, but then it wasn’t fair to have lost my wife in such a cruel way. Nothing was fair. I had been rash in my decision to bring her here, to think she would be able to somehow lessen my pain and help me move on. I knew then I didn’t want to talk about the past and I simultaneously realized we were at cross intentions.

“Please forgive me, that wasn’t where I was aiming. I said I was sorry because I am." Her words were hasty, as though she worried if she didn’t get them out in one stream, they would fade on her tongue.

“I am sorry that because of what I did, you’re in such a deep despair.”

What?

“What would cause you to say such a thing?” I stood up, fuming. The conversation had taken a sharp turn in the wrong direction. For her to come back into my life, on the day I buried my wife, and downplay my marriage as a rebound affair?

Who did she think she was?

But isn’t she right?

“Oz, that isn’t-“

I thrust my hands out to stop her when she started toward me. The room was spinning, or perhaps it was my head. I realized I hadn’t eaten a single thing all day, but it was too late to do anything about it now. I felt my blood pressure rise, quickly and violently. An overwhelming need to keep Janie, Naomi, and myself on one side of the room, and her on the other, consumed me.

“The love I had, and still have, for Janie was wonderful and it was real. Out of that love came the most amazing little girl, and I wouldn’t take any of it back for the world. I can’t say the same about you,” I spat at her.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, my words had the desired reaction. I could see I hurt her. Truly, this only made me feel worse because it was not in my nature to hurt others. The fact I was considering her feelings made me angry at myself. I wanted this day over.

“I deserved that,” she conceded. “But I didn’t come here to make light of your marriage to Janie. I know you loved her, and I only wanted to say I was sorry things happened the way they did.

“Oz, I felt like my leaving you caused you nothing but pain. I’m not talking about your marriage; I’m talking about your loss of it. I feel responsible for it. No, I think I am responsible for it.”

She never was very good at choosing her words carefully. This only stirred up my anger again.

It was not gradual, what happened next. It was as if I had been drop kicked, slapped crudely across the face, then slammed into a brick wall. The surreal day became painfully lucid.

Oh my God, I’m finally losing it.

It was only partly her fault; mainly she happened to be present when I finally lost my grip. I looked up at the grandfather clock, which belonged to Janie’s ancestors. Her great-grandmother’s oak armoire, in the corner. The Civil War era chandelier in the dining room, passed down from one of her relatives. Janie, Janie, Janie, everything around me lived and breathed her! It was all too much, too fast, and I felt an invisible hand encircle my chest and squeeze.

Struggling to breathe, my chest further constricted as I tried to inhale.

A day which had been so complicated was immediately simple. She was a stranger to me now and I wanted her gone.

Spinning, wavering, the room danced circles around me until I gripped the mantle for balance. My hands slipped and the right hand came in contact with the edge of the marble, drawing blood.

“Oz? Are you alright?”

I heard her voice, at least I thought I did, but it was echoed and distant like a faraway train whistle at the end of a tunnel. I had no perception of what was happening to me, no firm grasp on reality, and it happened so fast I didn’t have time to make sense of it.

Everything started to fade, then blur and come together. I could still hear my guest's voice, but all I could see was Janie. The next thing I remember was looking up at the ceiling from the floor.

Her mouth was moving, so I knew she was still talking, perhaps screaming. The room continued to spin, taunting me with my dead wife’s life print on everything we owned.

When I came to, I was lying on my bed, and she was sitting at my side. She had been crying, and despite having taken great pains to repair her make-up, her eyes were bloodshot.

“What happened?” I asked her, though I remembered every painful moment

“I don’t know Oz. One minute we were talking, the next you were on the floor, screaming.” Her voice trembled as she placed a cool washcloth on my forehead.

In her still-puffy eyes I saw a look I instantly recognized and just as quickly regretted seeing. It was a look that stopped time for me when I was twenty-one years old. Gave me butterflies of a roller-coaster caliber. It was a way Janie had never been able to make me feel.

Now, lying on my bed, I wished more than anything she would stop looking at me like that.

I wanted Janie back. I wanted to hold her again; I wanted to make love to her. I wanted to talk to her about my clients at the firm, and tell her how my day was, and learn about hers. I wanted her to come with me to the park so we could take Naomi on a picnic. I wanted all the things I hadn’t wanted enough when she was alive.

But the reality of it was I had eight good months with my wife. Eight. I had the eight months all married couples daydream about years down the road when the honeymoon stage is but a distant memory. Eight months of her giving me everything she had to give and me only meeting her halfway.

We spent the rest in and out of hospitals, going for chemotherapy, and praying for the cancer to go into remission.

I could deny it until I was blue in the face, but Janie had really died four months ago, in the doctor’s office, the day we received the news. And though she put on a brave face for me, and for Naomi, inside she had already given up, already thrown in the proverbial towel. She had begun to accept what I refused to until the very end. Part of me wasn’t surprised when the police officer showed up at the door, with Naomi shivering in a blanket, to deliver the news.

Whether I was willing to face it or not, I knew, with the exception of my daughter, the last year of my life was quickly fading to a whisper. I could not go back and give Janie more of me; could not make the last year of her life more worthwhile. And that, really, is what hurt the most. Regrets and good intentions carry forward. They cannot undo a past wrong.

True as that may be, your feelings stem more from guilt than love. And that is what hurts the most.

“I don’t know what made me come here.” My guest was overwhelmed with all she had seen and seemed to realize, for the first time, the impact of her impeccable timing. “I can come back another time and we can talk,” she suggested. I reached out and seized her arm.

“I don’t want you to leave, Adrienne.”

“Oz-“

My eyes pleaded with her not to refuse me, knowing I was acting on irrational feelings, trying to make plans I would come to regret perhaps even more than the last conversation with my wife. Still, I was overcome with such a deep loneliness I knew of no other way to conquer it.

“You don’t want this,” she whispered, brushing my forehead softly with her hand.

“I know,” I acknowledged, just as soft, but less convincing. After all, being right was only half of it. Was I going to hell for trying to sleep with this woman on the same day I put my wife into her tomb? Probably. It didn’t matter. Whoever it was I had grown up to be, it was not the person I set out to become.

I turned from her then and closed my eyes, allowing the tears and exhaustion to lull me into sleep. I pushed the voice of guilt from my head, banishing it so I could get momentary peace. Adrienne made no move to leave, and when I woke up around one the next morning, I found her curled up sideways in the chair beside my bed, sleeping peacefully.

Not so long ago, at the tender age of twenty-one, I had been ready to make this woman my wife. Instead she chose another life and so I had chosen mine.

But it was with her my life really began.

Chapter 1

Oz

2 Years Earlier

Summer 1999

Oz: 24

Adrienne: 19

WITH A SINGLE phone call, my life was turned upside down.

I had been sitting at my desk for hours, the morning phone call dancing through my thoughts. The summer rains of the yearly monsoon storms were beating down outside our law office, the shallow light illuminating only the paperwork in front of me. The rain appeared like shadows on the windows and I could almost feel the mix of cold and humidity. I’d always adored the storms of New Orleans. Loved watching them from the safety of inside.

Arriving at Carondelet, off Julia Street, shortly after noon, I made my way up the dark, quiet steps leading to the law office that had been my family’s since 1839. With a casual, practiced toss my car keys landed on my desk, next to my gold-plated nameplate, C.A. Sullivan. Born Colin Austin Sullivan III, I adopted the nickname Oz as a child and it remained with me into adulthood. Very seldom did people call me Colin. My father was the exception.

I released a guttural, long-held sigh before sinking into my chair. Not in a million years, had I expected the story to turn in this direction. Never saw it coming. Regardless, I had no choice but to deal with it.

* * *

A MORNING RUN on my agenda, I had been lacing up my shoes when the call came in. Unknown Number, Louisiana. I highly regarded privacy, so didn’t normally answer any calls I didn’t recognize. However, something told me to answer this one.

“May I speak with Colin Sullivan?” a very familiar female voice requested.

Of course, it couldn’t be her, so I responded casually, “Speaking.”

There was silence for a few moments, and I thought the line had dropped. Then, “Oz, this is Adrienne.”

Letting go of her was something I'd done because there was no possibility of seeing her again. It was not something I decided with this phone call looming in my future.

My voice shook. I was completely thrown. “Hello, Adrienne.”

In the moments before Adrienne revealed her actual reason for calling, I concocted a half-dozen scenarios which would explain her being gone for so long. They included:

I was calling to tell you I’ve been held captive for three years by a madman.

I’ve been in a coma since the accident in a small hospital.

I was abducted by aliens.

And so on. The consistent theme in each was the key and important fact of her being held against her will.

This ended up being the case. Unfortunately, it didn't matter because she had been suffering from memory loss for the past three years. She didn’t even know who I was.

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” Adrienne began hesitantly. “I was given your name by someone who said my family was a client of your firm. He said I should call you, specifically, to discuss the details of my estate. I understand you and your firm have been looking for me.” She sounded rehearsed, and very unsure of herself.

I was having difficulty listening, or concentrating at all. “I... so... I’m sorry, I was taken a bit off guard by your call.” I tried to collect myself. Later, I could reflect on how weird this was, but I needed to focus long enough to get through the call. Self-control was the key to avoiding insanity, according to my father.

Of all the questions flooding my mind, the coincidence of someone stumbling upon her and giving her my name, after months of searching, seemed the most tangible. The safest question. “Who gave you my number?”

“I, well, I can’t remember. See, this guy, he, uh, came to Abbeville and, uh…” she was stammering.

When Adrienne spoke again, she sounded collected. “I really don’t remember his name, but he recognized me from a newspaper and said people had been looking for me. When I told him I had no memory, he made a phone call, found out you were my lawyer, and gave me your name. So, here I am, calling you.”

Yes, here you are, calling me. Back from the dead, in more ways than you know. Adrienne. Adrienne. Adrienne.

My head was light, my heart pounding. Was this real?

“How did you…?” The end of this question was open to interpretation.

“I don’t exactly know how I got here, to Abbeville,” Adrienne answered, guessing correctly at the larger question looming in my head. “I was in some sort of an accident, three years ago, which I suppose you must already know. But when I woke, there was nothing, except the people in front of me. I was told I nearly drowned in the swamp. The lack of oxygen may have been what triggered me to lose my memory.”

“So,” I had ventured, not sure I wanted the answer, “do you remember now?”

“No.” She had paused; I heard a small sigh. “Nothing.”

I would have to do research on memory loss one day when it was convenient, because I wasn’t aware of the various things that could cause it. But, did I doubt her sincerity? I couldn’t imagine why she would lie about not remembering anything. If she were hiding under this pretense because she was avoiding me, surely I would have been the last person she would have called.

“Well,” I said, as if I were talking to anyone in the world, “if you let me know when you will be in town, I’ll be glad to set up an appointment with you at the office. I’ll get the papers prepared for you in the next couple of days.”

How I managed to sound so casual I may never know. But Adrienne seemed as surprised as me, because she once again was distracted. “See, uh, that’s the thing…”

“What?”

“Nevermind. This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have called you! I’m sorry!”

And then she was gone, again.

Just like when she disappeared, I had far more questions than answers.

* * *

“YOU DO KNOW it’s Sunday, right?”

Looking up, I saw my father standing in the doorway. Even in the summer, he maintained the traditional seersucker suit and tie, always the distinguished gentleman. He kept his salt and pepper hair combed neatly back and to the side, not a single strand askew; suit pressed, without a wrinkle or an ill-spaced crease to defile it. Colin Sullivan, at fifty years of age, was always ready for anything.

Feeling underdressed, I examined my jeans and sweatshirt.

“I gather you know what this means, then?” my father asked. He perched on the edge of my desk, a habit which usually bothered me. Today I barely noticed.

“I gather it means Adrienne is back,” I responded, a bit defensively. Of course I knew what it meant; he knew that I knew.

Had I really expected privacy when I decided to come down to the office?

* * *

SIX MONTHS AGO I joined the firm, and still was “the boss’ son.” More so to him than anyone else, but I knew his behavior toward me fueled the general opinion and perception of the rest of the firm, which happened to be composed mostly of other Sullivans.

I wasn’t given anything provocative to work on. I usually got tossed the annual pro bono cases, or maintenance requests. Or better yet, I was assigned cases our prime clients asked us to take on for their less fortunate friends and relatives as “favors.” I knew the newest member of the firm was traditionally broken in with this type of work, but I was no longer the newest member. I hadn’t much say in the matter, so I continued to work hard to prove myself, an attempt to show the team they could use my talents toward better things.

My father had gone out on a limb when he gave me the Deschanel family, one of our most elite clients. This caused quite a stir inside the walls of Sullivan & Associates, though I couldn’t imagine why. For the past three years the work had been restricted to ongoing maintenance. The only interaction with the client family was the annual estate review with Nicolas Deschanel, and the occasional oversight of financial contracts. But though it seemed irrelevant, the associates continuously found ways to show their displeasure at what they thought was obvious nepotism.

There existed a measure of success in their eyes simply for being born a Sullivan, and protecting each individual under that name was one way we sustained that. My father’s two brothers, Uncle Patrick and Uncle Rory, were partners. My Great-Uncle Jerome’s daughter, Olivia, had been there as long as my father, also a partner, and my Great-Uncle Jamie’s two sons, Connor and Thomas, even longer; also partners. Uncle Rory’s oldest daughter, Robyn, was in her last year at Loyola and would be joining the firm next year; his son Cameron was an undergrad at University of New Orleans with plans of attending Loyola Law as well. Aunt Chelsea, my father’s sister, had fifteen year old male triplets, Dillon, Kieran, and Kelley, who did odd jobs for the firm, and would, undoubtedly, follow the path.

In other words, nearly the entire family worked at the firm.

While being a Sullivan did not necessarily qualify one as a great attorney, the name was accredited with loyalty and success in New Orleans. Due to the line of direct-descent leadership, which had been customary since my third great-grandfather, Aidan, first purchased the brick building, my father was the senior partner. If I remained with the firm, I would one day hold that respected title. The day would come when I would need to stand out and make decisions others may not always agree with. The meaning of the Sullivan family motto, “Family Before All Else,” was least obvious when faced with difficult choices.

The open hostility could be toxic at times. I found myself conflicted between staying and continuing to go the extra step to prove myself, or joining another firm and proving the folly in their narrow mindedness.

But if I did defect, I could never face my father again.

I worked my tail off to get through undergraduate studies, and then law school. I held two jobs as well as attending class full time. Never asked my father for any help, though I knew he would have given it to me at the slightest mention of my needing it. No, I wanted to do it all on my own.

One thing was for sure, though: I was tired of being the boss' kid. I didn’t bury myself years deep in student loans for this.

I remembered Adrienne once wrote a paper about my family of lawyers. I gave it to my father, potentially to piecemeal some of it into a brochure for the firm, but I never saw it again.

Adrienne. Was it possible she was really back?

* * *

“HOW LONG HAVE you been here?” my father inquired.

I glanced at the clock. “About five hours, give or take.”

He studied me closely. I knew what he was thinking. I always knew what he was thinking. Could I blame him for his concern? No, he was probably right to be worried. He should have kicked me out of the office and sent me home, but perhaps he thought that would have been crossing a line. In the end, I think he was experiencing one of his rare moments of helplessness.

“Your mother is making fried chicken tonight. You haven’t been over in a while,” he said finally.

“I’ll be fine. I was just leaving to go meet someone,” I lied.

My father once told me he thought me too brooding for my own good. I laughed then, but I remembered this as I saw him watching me closely for signs of anything amiss.

My father paused, considering his words carefully. “Colin, be careful about assumptions at this juncture.”

As he moved closer, I realized my first impression of him had been wrong. His face bore extra lines, and I could see the start of darkish circles under his eyes. His attention flickered down toward the Deschanel file, open and spread across my desk haphazardly.

“I know these past few years have been hard on you. I know, in the back of your mind, you’ve always imagined a day like this would come, you could pick up where you left off, and everything would fall into place.”

I didn’t respond, but he was very wrong. I had not imagined a day like this would come. I thought Adrienne dead, like the rest of her family was. I had mourned her, experienced all seven stages of grief as a mourning lover should, and now this?

“But Oz, you have worked damned hard to forget her. Your life is finally in order! You have a great career ahead of you, and you will meet a responsible woman who will make you a great wife and be a wonderful mother to your children.” He leaned over the desk and started pushing the papers back in the file, but I reached out and stopped him. His eyes moved momentarily down to my hand in disbelief, and then he met my gaze.

“Colin, don’t you understand what will happen if you get involved with this?”

I dropped my eyes, having no answer for his question. Did I even know why I was here, poring over her file? I hadn’t taken a moment to be honest with myself about what this news meant to me, or what I intended to do with it. Would he believe me if I told him these hours had been spent staring blankly at the falling rain?

“I need some time.” But what would I do with it?

He closed his eyes for a moment. I recognized this as his way to regroup when he was at a loss for words. Well, he would easily win this round. I was not at all prepared.

In the end, though, he surprised me by saying nothing more on the subject.

“Your mother is waiting with dinner. If you change your mind, call, and I’ll ask her to set a plate on the warmer.”

He started to walk out, but, impulsively, I gave voice to a question that had been on my mind. “You didn’t know about this... right?”

He stopped. “I always wondered. But no, Colin, I didn’t know. I wish I had, so I could have better prepared you for it.”

I offered him a small smile. “I will be fine.”

“I know.” My father softened, seeming more human at that moment. “But I think you know why I’m concerned. Despite the circumstances, maybe I should handle this. When it’s all over, you can still manage the Deschanel case, but for the time being-”

Something in my gaze chilled my father; I could see it in his eyes as the words died on his lips.

“I’m the one she called. She asked for my help. This is my responsibility.”

My father nodded slowly and left.

Chapter 2

Adrienne

ADRIENNE’S DREAMS WERE slowly turning into nightmares. There was no longer solace from the possibility they may be relevant to her past. She couldn’t hide from the visions they brought. Instead, they taunted her, dangling themselves in front of her to show what could have been, what was, but never how to get there. Never how to remember!

For many months leading up to this recent transition, the dreams had become almost a welcome visitor into her long nights on the bayou. They were part of her passage into mornings where she would awake and start her daily chores, including preparing various things for the family table in the tourist-laden Bayou Market. She thought of the dreams almost as a comfort, though she didn't share them with Jesse, who always looked troubled when she spoke of anything vague or distant from him.

In these dreams, much was presented, but very little explained. All of it was blurred: the stately plantation, a stout man, three tall and beautiful girls, the woman whose stature alone indicated a deep bitterness, a slight woman standing off by herself in the shadows. And two boys, men really, standing together. One of them always gazed intently in Adrienne's direction, although his face and intentions were a blur, like the rest. All the while, the tingling in her abdomen grew, alongside mixed feelings of joyful anticipation and growing dread.

More recently, the parts that had eluded her completely were slowly coming into clarity.

Each morning, since this change, she awoke with sweat dripping, her nightshift clinging rudely to her, making her itch. As the minutes of wakeful awareness wore on, she would slowly–and mercifully–forget the details, but the core of the message never left her: somehow, these dreams tied in with reality. My reality. More specifically, and definitely most terrifying, her reality prior to three years ago when her memory suddenly vanished, taking with it the first sixteen years of her life.

These dreams seemed to be the only conduit between the two periods of her life, and so they served a soothing, reassuring purpose. It was a relief some part of her remembered what her life had been, and how it had come to be as it was now.

Adrienne could not rely on real memories, for she had none to speak of. She was unable to reach out to Angelique, because the woman's only response was anger. That Adrienne should even question her past seemed an insult to her.

“Is what you have now not pleasing enough for you? Perhaps you would like to be an heiress, or maybe the daughter of a famous actor?” Jesse’s mother would ask her, derisively. Angelique’s husband, and Jesse’s father, died of a heart attack years ago, leaving Jesse to the duties of man of the house. And while Jesse’s mother was pleased about Adrienne’s relationship with him, she was not at all thrilled Adrienne desired more. Angelique could be a very pleasant companion when Adrienne’s questions were not mixed into the discussion.

Angelique was a woman Adrienne might never completely figure out. Jesse had given up his future to stay home and care for her; something she desperately needed. She had severe epilepsy, and nearly died from it more than once. And then there was the other little detail. The one no one talked about but kept everyone’s nerves on edge: how certain levels of anxiety in Angelique triggered fits of severe psychosis. Jesse refused to acknowledge his mother was suffering from any mental health issues, and so outwardly dismissed them as a side effect of her epilepsy; everyone in the house knew better.

Every effort was made to keep conversations neutral, and certain topics were avoided entirely. Adrienne knew her desire to understand where she came from was one of those topics.

So, Adrienne did not ask. Instead, she waited for clarity in her dreams. The excitement of a romantic past mingled with the possibility of disappointment.

* * *

ONE EVENNG, IN the middle of a heat wave, Adrienne awoke with a start. In the bed next to hers, Jesse stirred softly.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered to the moonlit room. “What does this have to do with me?”

This time, the blurred entities in her dreams had voices.

“All of you, bastard children,” said Bitter Woman. Adrienne had come to know her dream visitors by their appearances, for lack of knowing anything else about them. The woman’s arms crossed tightly over her chest, head held high.

“This is not proper talk,” Stout Man replied, as he paced the room from one end to the other.

“Mon dieu,” whispered Shadow Woman, with a short, sad shake of her head. She sounded beautiful, but her stature suggested a timid and weak woman. No one else in the room seemed to recognize, or even acknowledge, her presence. It was as if she didn’t exist.

“But Father, I don’t understand why you won’t let me go out tonight! I’ve been planning this for so long!” This was from one of the three girls, a tall blonde. Though her face remained out of focus, she was clearly in a pout.

“It’s simply not proper,” Stout Man replied. Most likely, this was Adrienne's father, if she was indeed seeing her family before her; a fact she had guessed, and hoped at, long ago. This must mean the other girls were her sisters, and one of the two women, either Shadow Woman, or Bitter Woman, was her mother. She hoped it was the first.

“Bastard children, all of you,” repeated Bitter Woman, this time with more force.

“Have you no sense of propriety?” Stout Man complained.

“Mon dieu!” echoed Shadow Woman.

“You side too often with these girls, these children born bastards who will die bastards! What of my son? Our son?” Bitter Woman seemed to spit these last words.

“Mother,” spoke one of the two young men standing off to the side. Not the one who looked intent, but the other, Carefree. He was speaking to Bitter Woman. “I’m happy to share with my sisters…”

Stout Man turned toward them in confusion. She spun to face Carefree, her body trembling with annoyance. “Not now, Son!”

The other young man, turned toward them but said nothing.

Carefree seemed genuinely confused. “Je suis désolé, Mama.” Adrienne realized he had been trying to change the subject, though she was still unsure what the subject really was. “You keep saying Father’s fortune should belong only to me; that my sisters wouldn’t share with me if given the chance-“

“Hush!”

At this, Intent turned back toward Adrienne and winked. His face was sad, though. She felt the familiar tingling in her abdomen again.

“Mon dieu, mon dieu!” Shadow Woman whispered. She was trembling. Like Intent, she was also staring directly at Adrienne.

One of the three girls, the tall dark-haired one, stepped forward and put a protective hand on the shoulder of the blonde. Neither said anything, but Adrienne sensed the girl’s relaxation.

All three girls watched Bitter Woman suspiciously as she crossed the room toward Stout Man. When he looked up at her, there was contempt in his eyes. “It’s late. We must retire,” he said.

As they left the room, Carefree also left, choosing another direction. The dark-haired girl’s hand left the shoulder of the blonde, and the three girls departed the room together, hand-in-hand. The girl on the left end held her hand out to the side, as if waiting for a fourth person to join them. Shadow Woman retreated.

This left only Intent in her mind’s eye. Adrienne watched him closely, wishing for him to come into focus. When she blinked to strengthen her gaze, he was gone. His presence remained, heavy upon her.

“Je n'arrive pas à me réveiller,” she whispered to herself in her dream, unsure why her thoughts were in French. She didn't speak French.

“I can’t seem to wake up…”

* * *

BUT ADRIENNE DID wake up. And as she did, a single name ran through her mind; one she did not recognize, but that she knew, without a doubt, formed the needed bridge to her past: Oz. The lawyer with emerald eyes, and the smile for years.

And thus, it was this dream which propelled the coming events into motion.

Chapter 3

Oz

DESPITE THE MESS I made of the file, I hadn't actually looked at any of it. When I pulled it out of the cabinet, I spread the papers around the desk, as if waiting for something important to materialize before my eyes. When nothing did, sitting there seemed to help order my tangle of emotions.

My father’s visit broke this trance, and I was determined to review the information so I could plan my next move. I was her lawyer now, all else aside.

I pulled out a studio photo taken her sophomore year in high school, only months before her disappearance, indulging in a study of her long red hair and blue eyes. People used to say her eyes changed color with her moods, a truly rare occurrence. I knew that to be true, though it was the hue which changed, not the color itself.

Attached to the left side of the folder was a brief history my father wrote on the family before I was born. He revised it right after the accident. It was not formally part of the legal file; rather intended as a quick point of reference for anyone new to the case who needed some background.

File: Deschanel, Charles

An Informal Family History

Scribe: Colin Sullivan, Jr.

Last Update: Fall 1996

Nuclear Family:

Charles Deschanel 1950-1996

Cordelia Hendrickson-Deschanel 1951- 1996

Nicolas Deschanel 1975

Nathalie Deschanel 1977- 1996

Giselle Deschanel 1978- 1996

Lucienne Deschanel 1979- 1996

Adrienne Deschanel 1980- Status Unknown

Lisette Duchéne* 1958- 1980

*Maid; Birth mother of Nathalie, Giselle, Lucienne, and Adrienne. Mother of legal record is Cordelia Deschanel.

History:

Charles Deschanel, and his wife Cordelia, were among the wealthiest of the New Orleans upper society. They owned and inhabited the great plantation, Ophélie, one of the few plantations on River Road still occupied by its original family owners. Charles’ second-great grandfather, a wealthy landowner also named Charles, emigrated from France to Louisiana and purchased the thirty acres of land in 1844, the same year he married Brigitte L’Allarde.

A series of shrewd investments and boom profits left the family with immense wealth, both in physical land (their local properties included two Garden District homes, a townhouse on Esplanade Ridge, several office buildings in the Central Business District, and two entire city blocks in the French Quarter), in addition to investments all over the world.

Charles and Cordelia were married in 1974. Cordelia was the daughter of a German textile merchant, Franz Hendrickson, though she was raised in the Garden District. Their marriage was skillfully arranged by Cordelia’s father.

Both of Charles’ parents are deceased; August Deschanel passed in 1961, and his wife, Colleen, in 1994.

As of record, Charles has five living siblings: Augustus, Colleen, Maureen, Evangeline, and Elizabeth, each with children, and in some cases, grandchildren, of their own. Refer to individual files for further information.

Ophélie:

In 1844, Charles Deschanel (the second-great grandfather of the above-mentioned Charles), emigrated from France to Louisiana and purchased thirty acres of land. While the source of original funds for this purpose is unknown, the family met with immediate success in sugar crops.

In order to please his child bride of twelve years old, young even for that time, the original Charles Deschanel built the Big House, a forty-five room Greek Revival. The house sits back about an eighth of a mile from the road, and large parterre gardens flank either side of the dirt driveway (partial brick was added later). It was one of the few to upgrade to modern innovations such as indoor plumbing and running hot and cold water, although the original privy house remains intact. Galleries run the entire circumference of the Big House with two-story columns of Ionic capitals and un-fluted columns. The balconies are adorned with wrought iron lacework imported from Spain, and a belvedere was added to the roof several years after completion. Italianate bay windows line the back and left wing of the house. Although the floorboards were built from cypress, most of the building materials were imported from New England and Europe. The home was complete by the time their first daughter, Ophélie, was born, and it was after her the plantation was named.

Similar to the other great plantations of the time, the farm was almost completely self-sufficient, with over two hundred buildings behind the Big House that kept daily life in the antebellum South smooth and efficient. Among them were kitchens, a chapel for family prayer and a cemetery, sugarhouse and sugar mill, plantation store, blacksmith shop, pigeonniers, overseer’s cottage, cisterns, storage sheds, curing huts, a carriage house, horse and livestock barns, silversmiths, and along the back, several neat rows of slave cabins, followed by acres of undeveloped cypress swamp. The home enjoyed privacy due to its position off the road as well as the numerous live oaks, magnolias, and banana trees that provided shade and shelter to the entire plantation. In the fifteen or so years preceding the Civil War, an extra wing was added as well as a garçonierre for their sons Jean and Fitz. For Brigitte, Charles contracted a botanist from Italy to come design a romantic and ornate garden to the rear of the house. Her diary suggests she spent many long hours roaming its paths.

During the Civil War, Ophélie, and most of the outbuildings ,were spared due to the size and ability to accommodate an entire company of the Union army. New Orleans was captured early, and Charles’ brother was a remarkably gifted doctor whose services saved many Union lives. The family was able to retain most of their valuables, many of which are still in the Big House today.

Following the war, the plantation saw only a few more decades of its once fertile and plentiful crops. Though the farming ceased, and the slaves were freed (or, in the cases of the most loyal, paid to remain), the Deschanels continued to live at Ophélie. During Reconstruction, the family profited from the boom in shipping and textiles.

Ophélie was passed down, through the men of the family, from one generation to the next in strict tradition. Over the years, many of the buildings were torn down and at least half the acreage sold off to various oil refineries or other interested parties. By the time Charles and Cordelia inherited Ophélie, all that remained was the Big House, a handful of out-buildings, and half of the original sugar crops. The Deschanel estate, however, was another matter.

Paranormal Elements:

REFER TO CONFIDENTIAL FILE OF SAME NAME. LIMITED ACCESS.

The rest of the file was mostly legal paperwork, excepting the few news clippings from the accident:

MILLIONAIRE INVESTOR AND FAMILY MEET TRAGIC END NEAR LAFAYETTE; FAMILY OF 6 PERISH IN GRUESOME CAR ACCIDENT DURING SUMMER RAIN STORM; TRAGIC FAMILY ACCIDENT LEAVES SURVIVING SON GRIEF-STRICKEN AMID SPECULATION ON MISSING BODY OF SISTER; MONTHS AFTER SOCIETY TRAGEDY, BODY OF DESCHANEL TEEN STILL EVADES SEARCH AND RESCUE TEAMS.

I couldn’t bring myself to read any of them. I knew the story already; knew more than the papers reported. The clippings relayed facts: names, places, events, devoid of feeling and the burden of experience. They said nothing of how beautiful those four girls–Nathalie, Lucienne, Giselle, and Adrienne–were; how their father doted over all four of them. It didn’t give any history of the family dynamics, nor did they tell of Cordelia’s cold regard for the four girls not born to her.

I closed the file and reflected upon my deeper understanding of the Deschanels. Details passed safely, only by word of mouth, not part of this document, nor any journalist’s account.

Having represented the Deschanels for many years, Sullivan & Associates were involved in many of the family’s affairs and dealings. The family, while universally of good intentions, had its share of oddities, many of which were documented, to some extent, in the locked file titled Paranormal Elements. Only a select few of us had access, as the secrets contained could be catastrophic to the family if revealed to the general public.

While Charles Deschanel's line had used our firm for many generations, another section of the family, led by his sister Colleen Deschanel, also employed our services. We helped them manage the legal affairs of The Deschanel Magi Collective, a group formed to catalogue and manage those in the family who claimed to have "gifts." Having practically grown up with the family, witnessing things modern science could not begin to explain, I accepted these unusual talents as fact.

Anasofiya, my first love, was a Deschanel cousin who could heal herself. I watched her re-form a broken arm after falling from a tree, and make cuts and scrapes disappear entirely. Her father, Augustus, had the power to persuade anyone to do anything, which had served him well in managing his media company.

There were many other Deschanels with unique abilities, though somehow, neither Charles, nor any of his children, had a single one. Benign, was the word the family used to describe them. Adrienne and her sisters were very normal children, in a family that was anything but.

The public did not know of these things. They were too busy gossiping about the bigger scandal, namely the coinciding event of the births of Charles' four daughters, Nathalie, Giselle, Lucienne, and Adrienne, and the arrival of their nanny, Lisette. Perhaps the word gossip was misleading; it was common knowledge Lisette was the mother of the four girls. Everyone inside the family knew. No one ever denied it.

How does a married man have children with his nanny–four times–and still be accepted in society? How does his wife hold her head up when she is in public? The simple answer is this is still the Old South, and we are a proud people, above our own private actions. The legacy of rich family history and wealth didn’t hurt, either.

It was not uncommon to hear people whisper about what a mismatch he and Cordelia were, or what a good man Charles was for putting up with her. Either she was unskilled at hiding her true feelings or she did not care enough to do so, but almost everyone who knew her found her at best unpleasant, and at worst downright hateful. Regardless, the fact that Charles married her, and had been so kind and tolerant, was in and of itself enough to elevate him to sainthood in the eyes of the rest of New Orleans. That he found some comfort with the maid was of no consequence.

After Nicolas was born, in 1975 (only a month after my birth), Cordelia made the private decision not to have more children. According to Charles, the doctors informed him Cordelia had been rushed into surgery for an emergency hysterectomy, but the firm found documentation which didn’t match the original story. It appeared Cordelia requested the clandestine surgery to escape the burden of future childbearing, signing a waiver indicating she understood the risks of such an unnecessary surgery at her age.

Charles was mortified and unbelievably heartbroken, refusing to even speak to Cordelia at first. Later, when he confronted her with the findings, she declined to provide him with any reasonable explanation to ease his disgust on the subject. He threatened to serve her with divorce papers for her treachery, to which it is said she replied: “Not that! I will find a way for you to have your little girls Charles, on my word.”

It was Cordelia’s mother who unintentionally saved the Deschanel marriage when she offered up her personal maidservant, Lisette Duchéne, to take care of young Nicolas. People said Cordelia no more wanted to be a mother than to be bald and penniless, so the offer was quickly accepted, and Lisette became a permanent fixture of the Deschanel household.

To say Charles was smitten with the seventeen-year old French girl would be something of an understatement. He was fascinated with her naiveté and unwitting charm from the start. She spoke very little English, but understood every word he said. She was lithe and tiny of build, with a small face resembling a porcelain doll. Charles told my father once that when she uttered her broken English, he could do nothing but stare at her small, plump mouth, and think all sorts of unmentionable thoughts.

And that was how it all started. Though Cordelia put up a fierce battle over the decision Charles made to have children by their young maid, she had only one other option: divorce. To Cordelia, divorce symbolized much more than the dissolution of the marriage. She would be shamed in her social circles. Her father, who had assisted in masterminding the union, would surely disown her. She would be left stripped of her money and reputation, the two things which meant the most to her. And Cordelia must have realized, on some level, this was entirely her own doing.

So the firm drew together the necessary paperwork and the two signed it. The wording was lengthy, but the gist of it removed any right on Cordelia’s part to ever use this against Charles.

Several months before Nicolas’ second birthday, in 1977, little Nathalie was born. Barely a year later, in 1978, the family welcome Giselle. Ten months later, in 1979, Lucienne. And finally, in 1980, Adrienne.

How Lisette was able to have four daughters, four of what Charles wanted most, will always be a mystery, though the Deschanel family had a heritage of things going their way. Unfortunately, four daughters were all Lisette would ever have; she died while giving birth to Adrienne after a complicated pregnancy and difficult delivery. Charles was devastated, but there were many reasons why he could not publicly display any emotion for Lisette.

Cordelia kept her status and money, and Charles got his four beautiful daughters. And beautiful they were!

There was Nathalie, the tall lithe beauty with mahogany hair and brilliant blue eyes. The sensible one who kept her sisters, Giselle and Adrienne, out of trouble, and her father attached to his sanity.

Giselle, the second born, was the opposite of her reserved older sister. Blonde, flaxen hair, the signature blue eyes all four girls had, and curves that landed her in more trouble than Charles would have liked. Only to her sister, Nathalie, did she answer, as her father was too enchanted to consider discipline. Giselle devoted most of her time to the affections and attentions she attracted from her many suitors.

Lucie, christened Lucienne, was physically speaking the twin of her sister Giselle, but the similarities stopped there. Shy and timid, she said little. Her eyes expressed her emotions and she projected much of what she could have said into poetry shared only with her sisters.

And then there was Adrienne.

When we are trying to describe someone important to us, we feel compelled to box them up neatly, or make comparisons to others. But Adrienne was not like anyone, really. Not like anyone I knew or would likely ever know. She had a little bit of this, and a little bit of that, but not enough of any one thing to be compared to another.

Charles adored all four of his daughters, but Adrienne was the apple of his eye. She was the only one of the four born with bright red hair, though she shared the blue eyes of her sisters. She was always out and about, either exploring, or reading about places far away that she would one day visit. By the age of nine, she had read most of the classic literature in her father’s massive library, from Dickens to Yates. This must have been an interesting surprise to Charles, who still believed only men could read serious literature.

Like her two blonde sisters, she was blessed with a figure. Where the other two were almost overly endowed in certain areas, Giselle full in the chest and Lucie full in the hips, Adrienne was the pièce de résistance. As she grew older, she kept a trim figure, but her bosom soon filled her little girl dresses quite provocatively, and she had curves that terrified her poor father. Her small hips were anything but boyish; I remember on more than one occasion having to turn the other way when she wore those tight jeans of hers that hugged right below the waist. It felt unnatural to be looking at my best friend’s sister with such impure thoughts when she was only a little girl.

In her teens, she refused to wear dresses, or anything with lace or frills. Cordelia used to say with disdain that Adrienne looked like the model for the local second-hand store: ripped jeans, t-shirts that didn’t fit right, hair affright.

Her hair was probably the most remarkable thing about her, though. Unlike most redheads, hers was soft, thick and lustrous. It was a rich, dark color and every strand vibrated with life. She wore it three-quarter length down her back, straight. When she walked, it swung from side to side, dancing seductively with her hips.

Yet, she was far from perfect. Her laugh was loud and unseemly for a girl. Her directness in speech often came across as arrogance, and sometimes was even offensive to those who didn’t know her good intentions.

Sometimes it was easy to overlook those things; other times they were glaring.

The four girls were a walking family cliché: Nathalie was the sophisticated brains, Giselle the devil-may-care nymphet, Lucie the sweet and inhibited doll, and Adrienne the exotic, untamable tomboy. Each were known and admired for their uniqueness, but you rarely saw one without the other three. Watching them, it appeared they lived inside a bubble, apart from everyone and everything else.

I never knew that bubble to include their half-brother, Nicolas. It was apparent to me there was a clear and marked difference between Nicolas and the girls, one which went beyond the disparity in mothers.

Nicolas had always been my best friend. This started as toddlers, when my father would bring me to Ophélie during his meetings with Charles. From early on, our fathers arranged it so Nicolas and I were on the same little league teams, and in the same classes. In high school, we ended up graduating with nearly identical transcripts. Our parents were overjoyed when we both were accepted and enrolled at Tulane.

When I asked my father why the friendship was so important, he answered, “In New Orleans, you can never be too careful with your children’s associations.” In truth, I felt my father was a little insecure around Charles Deschanel. My family came from blue-collar Irish workmen and spent years establishing themselves, whereas the Deschanels had a deep-rooted history, and could probably never remember a time they were anything other than elite. My father’s aspirations, in pushing us together, were to cement our family’s place in society.

Nicolas never talked about his sisters. The rumors surrounding his family, ever since Nathalie’s birth, did not concern or affect him. He also seemed to be filled with a deep contempt for the way Charles favored them. But while he never talked intimately about their history, he was always there to step up to their defense when a vicious student would try to resurrect the nasty stories.

Oddly enough, it was my love for Adrienne that finally brought them together as brother and sister.

* * *

THE RAIN OUTSIDE had stopped, but the water continued to drip from the gutters and against the windowpanes. I let the memories slowly fade off, and forced myself to focus on the present. The history, what happened, was in the past and should not have any bearing now. Adrienne had returned, was alive, and now I had to plan how to properly approach her.

Professionally, not personally.

Chapter 4

Oz

“ADRIENNE,” I WHISPERED to the photo in my hand. My body was weary of sitting in the same chair for hours, my mind tired from the stress of this news.

I had loved her before and it nearly killed me, but it didn't erase what I felt now. She was alive! I was infused with a new energy, and a renewed desire for life. Why was I still sitting here, brooding, when Adrienne was alive somewhere, waiting for me?

But no! I had to stop this! She lived another life now, without me, and possibly even chose it willingly.

I could not prevent the feelings of love I would always have for her, but neither could I forget the torture her disappearance put my heart through. I would do my job, and we would owe each other nothing.

I noticed, for the first time, a piece of folded paper my father had apparently dropped on the corner of the desk. Unfolding it, I found a map, with a red circle west of here, in bayou country. Abbeville. Bayou Queue de Torque. Vermillion Bayou area. That’s where she was.

There was a note in my father’s handwriting: “Be as a lawyer, ever guarded of your personal feelings, as you prepare to meet Adrienne. I pray you have no regrets, either way.”

Perhaps I had underestimated my father after all.

* * *

EARLY THE NEXT morning, I found myself reviving an old custom. I told myself it was on the way to where I was going; that it was perfectly normal.

I turned on St. Charles and drove down the avenue, past the Pontchartrain Hotel, past Houston’s, and took a left on Calliope Street, merging onto I-10 West.

Within 45 minutes, I was exiting at Gramercy. Soon, I was on Highway 18, the West bank of River Road. A small chill traveled through my body with the familiarity of driving past first the old Creole plantation, Laura, then the ruins of Valcour Aime Garden, Felicity, St. Joseph, and Oak Alley.

Ophélie, two miles west of Oak Alley, was the last great plantation on the West bank road to Baton Rouge, excepting Nottoway. It lay just past Vacherie, near Donaldsonville, along where Bayou LaFourche forked from the Mississippi River before they built the dam.

Although it was set back off the road, you could see the belvedere on the roof, and the tops of the columns through the trees. I saw these come into focus slowly, as I always had, and slowed the car.

I drove through the open gates and down the brick driveway, toward the Big House.

The size of the house never failed to catch me by surprise; each floor had tall ceilings, and the third floor gave a rare view of the river over the top of the high levee. Some of the other plantations, especially the Creole ones, had experimented with other colors, but Ophélie was completely white in color, its two-storied columns extending around the entire home, the Ionic capitals at the top gleamed like brand new; an indication the Deschanel trust was being used to its intentions.

I drove past the parterre gardens and stopped in front of the house. How many times had I been out here as a child? Then, for Adrienne? And later, when she went missing? I had always envisioned us raising our family here, despite her persistent talk of leaving and seeing the world.

As was my habit, I did not get out of the car. I could have knocked and been greeted by Richard, the Ophélie butler for as long as I could remember. He and Condoleezza remained, preserving the household for a family who would never come home.

Right on cue, Condoleezza waved from a parlor window; validation I had stopped by and they still knew me, despite the fact I had not stopped at this particular haunt in a long time. It occurred to me, on this visit, it could have been me who was the ghost of Ophélie, not the Deschanels. This home, and its trusted staff, saw many strange things over the years. In retrospect, Condoleezza’s casual welcome confirmed my irregular visits were likely unremarkable.

I reversed the car and started the trip toward Abbeville.

* * *

ON THE LONG drive to Abbeville, I couldn’t stop my thoughts from drifting back to the sequence of events which brought me to this point.

Though I had known Adrienne for years, she had not always been a part of my life. I had twenty-one years of living under my belt before she left her mark.

I was a precocious child, which morphed into a curious and studious teenage life. While I appeased my father by going out for sports, I preferred spending time in the biology lab, or the library. I discovered early on that knowledge of things around us, nature’s processes, man’s discoveries, and learning from our own history, was what made life interesting. I was determined to understand the nature of everything.

I maintained a normal teenage life for the most part, and only when asked did I ever talk about the things I learned in the research I devoured. But Brother Martin was a small school, and the other kids observed the books I took out of the library, and how I hung around after class to ask the teachers questions.

I was an enigma to my friends, especially girls, who curiously pursued me as I grew older.

But despite their interest, I only had eyes for Anasofiya Deschanel. We grew up together, just as I'd grown up with her cousin Nicolas. I watched as she blossomed from a quiet, intelligent child, into a thoughtful and beautiful young woman. By the time I realized I was in love with her, my heart was already hers.

In her, I recognized myself: awkward, misunderstood. I could be myself, and she embraced, even encouraged it. But it was not until our junior prom where we finally connected on a deeper level, surrendering our innocence to each other.

The metamorphosis of our relationship terrified her, leading to one misunderstanding after another. After a horrible fight, I broke up with her. Then, upon realizing my folly, I went to pour my heart out and apologize, only to discover she'd found solace in the arms of my cousin, Clancy. Knowing what I know now, she'd done nothing wrong. But the bruised ego of a young man holds a powerful propensity for grudges, and so I pushed her away. It was a wound that never healed.

Ana was my first experience with love. A part of me believed then, and even still now, that it might have lasted forever. But this failed attempt at connecting with the one person who ever really understood me, only reminded me why it was easier to stay attached to someone superficially.

So I moved on in the only way I knew how: by taking the path of least resistance.

A line often heard in the halls of Brother Martin High was, “Which Rosary girl is it this week, Oz?” The Rosary girls were students attending the Academy of the Sacred Heart. Because Sacred Heart was so close, I made a point to stop there daily on my way home from school.

One week it would be Jessica Alvarez, the next maybe Tanya Carroll, or even sexy Cassidy Weatherly with legs that went on forever under her Pendleton wool Catholic school skirt. The more time I spent dating, the less attention I gave my personal studies. When you’re up to your knees in beautiful girls, little else seems important. No teenager has ever been accused of having their priorities straight.

I was accepted into Tulane. I kept my grades up, and activities current. When I graduated in 1999, it was with a 3.9 grade point average. By that time, my taste for female companionship had taken an altogether different turn.

I'd known Adrienne Deschanel since she was born and never seen her, really noticed her, until the summer after I graduated. I had my own house by then, but school kept me away from home most of the time. While I had been immersed in education, scholastic and otherwise, Adrienne had grown up into a strikingly beautiful woman-child.

I fell in love with this girl, and that was really what she still was, though listening to her educated, well-heeled tongue told an entirely different story. She spoke with a directness that was startling; a woman’s voice coming from the mouth of a child. She was seductive and beguiling, lacking completely in narcissism, but almost bursting with self-awareness. Adrienne was absolutely, without a doubt, the smartest human being I had ever known. She was no more sixteen than I was twenty-one, and we both had burning desires to see the world; to be well-read and respected. The women of my college days paled when compared to Adrienne’s vibrancy.

Best of all, she understood me, which was something I had all but given up hope on after things with Ana went sour. For example, Adrienne was a huge fan of War and Peace, and had read it several times! She was taken especially with Natasha Rostova and her conflicting desires to be a child and a woman.

I was beside myself.

“Will you break my heart the way she broke Prince Andrei’s?” I asked her once, only half-teasing. In truth, I felt all moments spent with her were stolen. I was always waiting for the “catch.”

“You underestimate me. I only relate to her desires, not her whims. She is far more impulsive than me. I am calculating. Manipulative even.” Her face lit up when she said this, as if considering it for the first time. It made me laugh.

“Ah, you fancy yourself more Cleopatra than Natasha,” I teased. “You would only be sated when you had the world. A simple prince would not suffice.”

“You sound disappointed? Would you prefer I fancied myself Scarlett O’Hara, in keeping with our regional heroines, or the fated Helen of Troy?” She tilted her head in an act of coquetry which did not at all become her.

I loved listening to her. “No, I’m definitely getting more of the Cleopatra vibe from you,” I decided finally.

“Would you be my Antony then, or my Caesar?”

“Who would you have me be?”

She appeared to think about it for a minute. “Maybe a little of both. Right now, I’d like to call upon Antony.” Then her eyes twinkled and I knew exactly what she was thinking.

That there was a girl I could talk to like this, without judgment, amazed and scared me all at once. I enrolled in law school that summer, a term earlier than I planned, going to school every day with the knowledge each moment I spent in the classroom would enable me to provide a life for the two of us. At the end of each day, I unwound in her arms with my woes of the past hours apart. She, in turn, would take me into her arms, into my bed, and make me forget there was anything else in my life as important as what we had.

Yet, Adrienne was still sixteen and that was a fact we could not ignore.

She still had to go to high school every day, still had to answer to her parents. She had homework, and a curfew, and her friends still talked about things like what they were going to wear to the mall and who they hoped would ask them out next. It was painful for Adrienne to remain in this world of children when mentally she had moved far beyond.

I would ask her sometimes, “Am I rushing you? You haven’t even finished high school…”

“No,” she would say. “I’m on the fast-track to conquering the Western Hemisphere.”

She always kept me guessing at the true intentions of her heart, avoiding direct answers to serious questions. I never doubted her love, only her ability to grow up and continue to love me as a woman the way she loved me as a girl.

Then my biggest fear came true. The little woman I loved more than life itself disappeared and I could do absolutely nothing to stop it. For the first time in my life, I had a problem I could not even fathom how to solve.

We searched for months. Both the local authorities and private detectives hired through the Deschanel Trust combed through all of South Louisiana, and I tagged along for much of it. When, finally, I heard the words, we've done all we can, and then, cold case, the reality she was not coming back finally sunk in.

Mourning is not exactly convenient; tears would come to me not only as I lay in bed missing the feeling of her lips on the back of my neck, or her arm draped over my waist, but also at the supermarket, school, and stoplights.

I discovered what others around me must have already known for years. Your mourning tears can be an addictive catharsis you are afraid to let go, because letting go means letting go of hundreds of memories, feelings, experiences. Tears can leave you lost and found at the same time; can be both helpful and hopeless at once. And finally, they can leave you desperate for anything else.

In the months following her disappearance, I thought of her constantly. The smell of her hair, that one pair of Irish corduroys she wore, the way she carelessly creased her books. Her laugh, her smile, her oddly serious expressions; how she laughed with her mouth wide open, the way her bottom felt in my hands, and the sensation of the down on her arms tickling my forehead when she slept. These were the things that visited me whether I was sleeping, eating, or speaking with a client. My mind always had two focuses: one half would be on whatever I was doing at the moment, the other half playing out scenes or remembrances of her.

After the first few months, I recognized that while this phenomenon was not hurting my ability to function in the outside world, it was nevertheless having an effect on me. I started to see circles under my eyes. “Yes,” I told my doctor, “I am getting plenty of sleep.” Then my skin took on a sallow, grayish quality. “Yes, I do take my vitamins and exercise regularly." When finally all the obvious culprits had been ruled out, my doctor told me I had to let her go.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I protested, looking at the statue on his desk.

“Yes, you do. You have to stop thinking of her, and letting her intrude on every moment of your life. Not only is it slowly damaging your health, but it’s not…”

Not normal. Yes, thanks doctor. I needed that reminder. I feel so much better. Do you take checks?

He offered hypnosis; I declined. He gave me an anti-depressant; I took the prescription but threw it in the garbage on the way to my car. The receptionist asked if I wanted to make my follow-up appointment now or later. I said later.

The doctor, my parents, all looked at me as if I should simply flip a switch and turn the feelings off. Voila!

I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop her from co-existing with everything else in my mind, or hijacking my emotions just when the day seemed to be going smoothly. There was no Adrienne switch; if there had been, it had since broken or shorted out. Part of the difficulty was the sense of not knowing. There was no funeral, no finality. In the back of my mind, there was always the possibility of her return.

And then Adrienne's aunt, Colleen, self-proclaimed head of the Deschanel family, decided it was time to put some formality around the conclusions stated by law enforcement. Suppositions none of the family’s “gifted” had been able to contradict. While Adrienne’s body was never found, Colleen’s daughter, Amelia, the strongest of all of the Deschanel empaths, determined six souls died that night in the bayou. And so Colleen planned a Celebration of Life event. In lieu of a wake, they threw a party at Ophélie instead.

Nicolas skipped town, refusing to attend. Unlike me, he was not in denial, so much as he refused to let others see his grief. I almost followed his lead, but the idea of being around Adrienne's loved ones made me feel somehow close to her, even in her absence.

I entered Ophélie, where I'd spent my whole life making myself at home, and felt immediately an outsider. With Nicolas not in attendance, and all the other Deschanels I'd once loved gone, I was alone. Cousins, aunts, uncles all swarmed around each other in comfort, but who was I, except the man who had, perhaps inappropriately, loved a young girl, now gone? I had no right to be there. There would be no comfort for me.

But within minutes, I felt an arm snake through mine, and looked over to see Ana. Her smile, sad and encouraging all at once, unexpectedly put me at ease. She seemed to understand the apprehension I felt inside, and so she dutifully did what I could not, leading me from relative to relative, assisting me in paying my respects. She could sense when my discomfiture grew unbearable, always knowing when to move on, and mingle with another crowd.

Eventually, I moved toward the door to leave, and Ana stayed beside me. I heard her whisper to one of the staff to make sure her car was delivered to her house, later.

"You don't have to come home with me. I'm fine," I insisted, realizing her intention.

She opened the car door and slid into the passenger seat. "Do you have anything to eat at your house? Those oysters were suspect."

"Ana, I'm serious."

"So am I. Condoleezza was probably livid with those caterers.”

There was no arguing with the stubbornness of Anasofiya Deschanel, so we drove back to my house in silence. Once there, she went straight for the kitchen, and attempted to fix us some jambalaya.

"You've always been a terrible cook," I pointed out, remembering some of the failed kitchen adventures of our youth. "Maybe we should order in."

"Even terrible cooks have one dish they can make well," she protested, throwing a subtle wink toward where I sat at the table.

As we ate, I watched her; my first love, my old friend. I felt the loss of her, suddenly, almost as keenly as the loss of Adrienne.

"Why did you sleep with Clancy?" I blurted, before I could even make sense of why I'd asked.

Ana’s eyes widened briefly in surprise at the frank question, but then she responded evenly, “You're the one who left me, Oz."

"Because you were-" I realized I didn't want to finish that sentence. Any of the words I'd need to do so would be unnecessarily harsh. "You stopped caring."

"That's not true," she argued. "I just… are you sure you want to talk about this? Today?"

"I don't see why today is different than any other day."

She sighed, pausing for a long, uncomfortable moment while she collected her thoughts. "When I realized I was in love with you… really in love with you… it scared the hell out of me."

"You're not making any sense."

"Oz, I've known for a long time there was a darkness in me-"

"Ana, it's in me too. That's why we related the way we-"

"No," she gently corrected. "There's a beauty within you. A kindness. Neither of us felt the world could understand us, but we never realized our afflictions had different sources. I was terrified of hurting you, and somehow… squashing that light in you." She took a long sip of her drink, and then added, “And despite what now brings us together, I think you can agree you ended up with the right woman. Eventually, you'll move on and find someone else who deserves you. Someone else with your beauty and goodness."

I had no argument for any of this, or at least none I could find voice for. I wanted to disagree, but did it matter the reasons? Life turned out the way it turned out, and we were but spokes on the mighty wheel of fate. Those wheels would keep turning, and who was to say what direction they would take us?

Ana reached across the table and slipped her hand over mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You're the best man I know, Oz. Wherever she is, she would want you to be at peace. It would break her heart to see you like this."

She followed me to the bedroom, turning off the house lights behind me. I slipped under the covers, not bothering to remove my heavy mourning attire. Ana crawled in beside me, still wearing hers too, then wrapped her arms around me in a comforting silence. I felt the warmth from her face against my back, and neither of us said anything, as we drifted into exhausted rest.

Wherever she is, she would want you to be at peace. It would break her heart to see you like this.

Like a guardian angel, Ana appeared to remove the invisible arms strangling me from moving on.

* * *

PASSING THE BAR exam ended up being the catalyst to my future.

The moment I set foot on the old green carpet in Sullivan & Associates, not as the son of the senior partner, but as a fellow attorney, I became a new person. I was neither the man looking for himself in the wrong places of my youth, nor the man pining for the ideals of true love. I was not even a mix of these things. I was entirely different than any former version of myself.

I started by slowly rekindling the relationships with many of my college buddies. Instead of giving away my season tickets to the Saints games, I attended. I picked up running again, and even found a running buddy in the neighborhood; a young woman named Nora whom I might have dated if her youth did not remind me so much of someone else. I was back on the market, going on dates with both interesting and non-interesting females. As I started to reintroduce myself to society, many doors I had not realized were closed, re-opened to me.

I had a good life. Finally.

This was why, no matter what I found in Abbeville, I could not let whatever I still felt for Adrienne take control.

Chapter 5

Oz

Oz Reminisces...

I GREW UP watching the Deschanels the way some people watched the Cleavers. As a young boy, I heard my father recant the latest in their family saga to my mother over dinner. I listened to him talk about what new committees Cordelia had joined, how Nathalie’s art instructor was overrated. I remember when Giselle lost her first tooth and Lucienne got her first period (“Lucie has, er, begun her journey into womanhood, Catherine. Perhaps you could go assist,” my father said delicately). When Giselle broke up with her high school sweetheart, I waited patiently each night for the next installment, to see if they would get back together, hoping they wouldn’t so I could finally ask her out.

I listened, and watched, as Nathalie, Giselle, and Lucienne came of age. Adrienne was never on the front of my mind. I was far too occupied watching her older sisters to notice the subtle changes in her, year after year.

Even at eleven she was developed, but her pert breasts, and a waistline that flowered into a swell of hips, were gauche on a child’s frame. By the time she was eleven I was compelled to discourage her proclivity for jumping into my lap.

I liked her well enough. She was a little spitfire, always asking me questions about the craziest things like, what did I think of Thoreau’s experiences at Walden Pond? Could Anne Bradstreet be considered the first American feminist despite being a Puritan? Why on earth did Jay Gatsby pursue Daisy so relentlessly when she was such an obvious bitch?

It’s a wonder I didn’t make the connection between us, and our interests, but her age was ever the barrier between what I thought of her, and what I would have thought, had she been my contemporary.

“Later, Ade, okay?” I treated her like a little sister. Truth was, I didn’t have an answer for many of her questions, but would never let her know it.

It was a little terrifying, the way she absorbed information. Everything held her curiosity. If she didn’t know the answer, she would research it. She used to sit in her father’s study poring over medical almanacs until he would find her, asleep with her face in a book, and carry her off to bed. She had her driver bring her into town once to ask my father if she could borrow his copy of the tax codes for Orleans Parish. By eleven, she had enough filled notebooks to be considered an encyclopedia. I was positive she would end up like one of those genius kids on television who finished medical school at fifteen.

The summer she was eleven, I passed my driver's test and loved the freedom of driving out to Ophélie, the farthest distance my father would allow. I hugged the curves on River Road in my father's little vintage Ferrari and blasted Metallica past all the old plantations. Charles noted, with a hidden smile, he could always hear me coming.

On one particular afternoon, I had gone to visit Nicolas to trade baseball cards. He found a box in the storage shed, and promised he would not open it until I arrived. I thought I might remind Nicolas how much I had helped him pass his classes this past year. Perhaps it would open up his giving heart, sending me home with a rare card or two.

When I arrived, I saw feet flying over the garden’s sculpted bushes. Feet, then hair, then feet again, like a blur.

"Good morning Ade," I called as I walked past. She was doing one-handed cartwheels down the parterre path, free hand holding a large book. I could see her latest weathered spiral notebook folded and tucked into the back of her shorts. All business.

"Good morning Oz," she panted. She came to a stop, and turned around to face me, her red hair a wild mess around her face. She met my gaze evenly and looked annoyed. "I made thirty full wheels before you arrived, you know."

"Sorry, did I mess you up?" I dutifully apologized. I looked past her, up toward the old garçonierre, where Nicolas stayed. Not for the first time, I wished my parents would let me have my own private building. I could imagine the parties. The girls. Nicolas was so lucky.

"Yes," Adrienne scolded with a quick flip of her messy hair. The back of her small hand brushed it back and aside. "But it couldn't be helped. I was at the end of the path anyway." She bit her lip and watched me, the annoyance gone from her eyes. Her little fingers worked to push her hair behind her ears and make herself presentable. She opened her eyes wide, tilted her head, and batted her eyelashes twice. This amused me.

I looked down at the book in her hand. "Hey, you weren't attempting to read that, were you?" I reached to grab her wrist and flipped it over. "The Canterbury Tales? Do you actually understand this?"

She pulled back her wrist and clutched the book to her chest, completely offended. "Yes, for your information, I was. I speak fluent Middle English, and I understand it perfectly. In fact, I understand it better when I'm upside down, hence the cartwheels."

"Of course. That makes perfect sense." I was paying little attention to her now. I saw the light go on up in the garçonierre and knew Nicolas was waiting for me. With those old baseball cards. She noticed my shift in interest and made a small, exasperated grunt.

I touched her lightly on the shoulder and started to walk away. "See ya later, Ade. Maybe if you keep up the cartwheels for the next twenty years you'll finish your book."

"Screw you," she called as I walked away. When I reached the garçonierre, I turned back and saw she was still watching me.

"Your sister is up to no good," I told Nicolas as I closed the door behind me. Inside, the room was not very large, but the ceiling was high, which gave the impression of a bigger space. The room itself was circular, with no corners. Nicolas had only a few pieces of furniture: a bed, a dresser, and a desk. He had restored the bottom floor and turned it into a small guest room, including a bathroom with a sauna.

Anasofiya lay on the bed, reading. With only the overhead fan running, she was wearing a thin tank and boy shorts, knees drawn to her chest where she balanced her book. Her bare legs were slightly spread, showing a flash of thin white cotton between her thighs, reminding me of my potent desire for her that I'd never found the courage to admit. Pull it together, Sullivan, I admonished myself.

When I walked in, she raised a hand in hello, smiling quietly from behind her book. One day, I thought.

"Which sister?” Nicolas already had the cards spread out across the wool rug on the floor, promise broken. They were separated into neat piles, sorted by last name from what I could see.

"Adrienne. She told me to screw myself."

"Did you take her advice?"

"You're an ass," I told him.

"At least I'm not a little bitch."

Nicolas gestured towards the piles before I could continue our usual banter. He was good-looking in the way of any rich boy with heaps of confidence. Tall, with dark hair always a little too long in the front (which girls, for some reason I could never explain, loved), deep-bedded dimples. He never wore his Brother Martin uniform any way but un-tucked, tie askance, rebelling against everything all at once. Of the two of us, I was told I was the better looking one, traditionally, but Nicolas had the Deschanel confidence that kept him the constant center of everyone’s attention. There was no possibility of standing out when you were standing next to Nicolas Deschanel.

"I checked every card in the Beckett before you arrived. Nothing in here worth more than a couple of dollars." Nicolas kicked at several of the piles, scattering them. "Not even a second-string rookie card. We got cheated, Ozzy."

"So that's it, that's all of them?" I couldn't hide my disappointment. A box of long-lost baseball cards was every boy’s ultimate fantasy. "You aren't holding out on me, are you?"

Nicolas looked up at me, eyebrows cocked. "No, Ozzy, I'm not holding out on shit." He was on his knees, pushing the cards back into the box. On the bed, Ana was still reading, oblivious to our shattered hopes and dreams. “On your way out, perhaps after you go screw yourself, can you find Adrienne again? She told my father, to tell me, to tell you, to help her with some research project for school."

"Thanks for volunteering me. I still don't understand why she sends Charles as the messenger instead of coming straight to you."

"Beats the hell out of me too, Ozzy. See you later."

I found Adrienne in Brigitte's Garden doing cartwheels again. She was halfway down the path this time, perhaps a good fifteen "wheels," as she called them, under her belt.

"Adrienne, did you need help with something?" I beckoned, with an impatient wave. I was really looking forward to racing my father’s car back down River Road. She stopped with a tumble this time, gravel dust pluming up around her in a haze. I expected one of her fine rants, but she looked up from where she was sitting in the pile of dirty rocks and smiled.

"I'm doing a research paper on the oldest families of Louisiana," she started to tell me as we walked toward the house. She reached back with both hands to dust off her bottom as she talked. "Sort of an overview on genealogy. I guess it's supposed to make us understand the profundity of history as it relates to us individually. Whatever." With this last, she made a dismissive gesture with her dirty hand. "My family was out of the question, since we aren't allowed to write about ourselves, so I thought you might be a suitable subject."

“A ‘suitable subject?’ Sounds appealing.”

She sighed, putting her whole body into it. “Oz, work with me here.”

"My family's been here since the early 1800's, but there are others who have been here much longer," I told her, then paused. As an only child, it was nice to have someone who looked up to me. I enjoyed having knowledge that might interest someone.

On second thought, I added, “But I’m sure you won’t find anyone who has more information than I do. Where should we go?”

* * *

“OKAY, OZ. I want to read all of this back to you,” Adrienne directed after we spent the better part of two hours talking, street racing forgotten. Her lips were twisted around the tip of her tongue, off to the right side of her mouth. She had her hair pushed back into a headband, but her hand strayed up to push it aside from habit. Her serious gaze assessed me, eleven going on thirty.

She wrote her paper as I talked, the free flow conversation forming the rough draft in the exact same manner as I had spoken it.

“Your focus of heritage appears to center around the inception and succeeding events of your family’s law firm,” she told me in her usual adult-speak, before laying the pencil aside. She calmly steadied it with her hand when it threatened to roll away. “So, I decided to capitalize on your touching devotion. The paper will follow the same sequence of events.”

Touching devotion. I couldn’t decide if she said things like that to demonstrate how inferior I actually was to her, or if it came naturally. And how an eleven-year-old could make plans to knowingly capitalize on anything was beside me. Show-off.

“So let’s hear it, Miss Eyre.”

She cleared her throat and thrust the paper out in front of her with arms extended outward. “Sullivan: A Family’s Devotion to Law and the Family Name,” she began.

“That’s the title?”

“Yes. Do you want to discuss an alternative, or can I read the paper?”

How she always made me retreat like a dog with my tail tucked ashamedly between my legs, I wished I knew. Perhaps it was her confidence. She was so much more poised than I had ever been, exuding it in everything she did. She was not afraid to be who she was, while I cowardly gave up my passions for popularity. Her self-assured nature carried into even the simplest tasks, like eating (oblivious, or perhaps uncaring, of her family’s reaction to her unladylike tendencies) or doing her “wheels” (sloppy, but all her own). She was unapologetic in everything.

“Why apologize for what I am?” she told me later, when I asked her why she was not more delicate with those she loved, more sensitive to the insecurities of others. Conversely, I apologized for things I was responsible for as well as the things I wasn’t. I was stuck in a perpetual pattern of second-guessing everything I did.

“Go on,” I encouraged, retreating yet again.

She cleared her throat twice, and started to read:

“The humble beginnings of the Sullivan family of New Orleans can be said to correspond with the foundation of their family law firm. The youngest member of the direct line of descent in the family, and future member of the firm, Colin Austin Sullivan, or Oz as he is referred to by those intimate with the family, is living proof that family bonds breed success and stature.

“The law firm was founded in 1839 by Oz’s fourth great grandfather, Aidan O’Súilleabháin of Ireland, who came first to Savannah and then to New Orleans. The O’Súilleabháin family dropped the Gaelic form of their name soon after arriving in New Orleans and thereafter became known by the Anglicized version, Sullivan. The firm’s original name was Sullivan & Belafonte.

“Aidan and all four of his sons, Aidan Jr., Tadhg, Padraig, and Liam, Oz’s third great grandfather, and the remaining male Sullivan cousins and uncles all served The Cause under General Beauregard. Having been Irish landowners, they were no strangers to fighting for their land and were more than eager to have the opportunity to protect that which they had only recently gained. All but Liam died doing so.

“After what was later referred to as the Sullivan Disaster, the Sullivan men stayed off the battlefields. In both World Wars, only two cousins enlisted and none were drafted for the Vietnam War. Leaving a legacy for the next generation and family honor, those became the principles of the Sullivans. That left no room for fighting, despite what was in the blood. Oz has been known to remark upon how fascinating it is to observe how quickly and swiftly war can rearrange a family. Their numbers decreased and as a result, so had the very traditions that drove them to the fields to fight.”

“Don’t you think this is a bit melodramatic,” I interrupted. “’Oz has been known to remark upon?’ ‘Despite what was in the blood?’ ‘The very traditions that drove them to the fields to fight?’ Adrienne, that isn’t what I said.” I felt like I was listening to an excerpt from Gone with the Wind. The way I always heard it, the Sullivan men were ashamed of their quickness to fighting. A dead Irishman is good to no one, my grandfather said.

“Melodrama sells, Oz. Get with the program.” She looked at me like I was a lost cause.

“This is a paper for sixth grade history, Ade.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Far be it from me to dissuade you from your sensationalist journalism. Go on.”

“When the Civil War ended, Liam was twenty-five. The matrons of the family left widowed by the war looked to him as the only remaining male of the family, responsible for keeping alive the Sullivan name in all matters proper. “

I laughed at her attempted discretion. “’All matters proper?’ Adrienne, why don’t you just say the guy sired the rest of my family?”

“Because it’s a sixth grade research paper, Oz.”

“In 1890, when his only son Seamus turned eighteen, he too joined the firm. The name Belafonte was dropped and henceforth became known as Sullivan & Associates.

“From Seamus came Patrick, and then Colin Sr,. and finally Oz’s father Colin Jr. Each had other sons and grandsons as well. All lawyers for the firm, all loyal to their calling.

“When first arriving in New Orleans, the family occupied a series of three townhouses in the French Quarter, beating the Irish immigrant rush by only a few years. By 1859, Americans had swarmed into the Garden District buying up land like hungry alligators. The successful Sullivans, wanting to fit into the new culture, purchased a lot in the Garden District at Third and Prytania and hired famed architect James Gallier (fellow Irishman and client of the firm, born Gallagher) to design their Greek Revival home.

“While many Irishmen labored in the lavish homes of the Garden District, the Sullivans owned and lived in one. Perhaps out of embarrassment, they did not hire the Irish and German of the Channel as was the fashion of the time. Instead, they owned a small team of slaves up to the war.

“Although the family is still very much Irish, the years in America have removed the old ways and Gaelic dialects. What remains is the strong sense of family and the pride that comes with their land and estate. This same pride is evident in the up-and-coming Oz.”

“Well, I guess that’s what I said, minus a few colorful words,” I remarked when she was done. Though I didn’t say it to her, I thought if I cleaned it up a little (more facts, less opinion, less sex), my father would love to use it as PR for the firm. Perhaps add it to the welcome brochure they gave prospective clients. The message in there now had some cheesy slogan: A Family Establishment Since 1839… and Still Going Strong! I decided I would procure a copy from her and show it to my father.

“It was those few colorful words that made the story,” Adrienne pertly retorted. She closed her notebook, folded it along the crease, and tucked it into the back of her pants. “Thank you, Oz, for your time and for sharing that enlightening story with me.”

I laughed. “Just make sure they spell my name right on the royalty checks.”

Chapter 6

Adrienne

"ARE YOU GOING to tell me what happened last night? In your dreams, I mean?”

Adrienne looked up from her new garden and saw Jesse standing in front of her, his face lit by the morning sun. His hair, dark in the winter, was almost dishwater blonde in the hottest months of the year. His muscles were conditioned from the work he performed to support his family, his skin dry and tanned. Dimples appeared whether he smiled or frowned, and he had the slightest scar near his right eyebrow, which reminded her always that, despite his strength and loyalty, he was not infallible. She did not have many men to compare him to, but she thought him very handsome.

She met his gaze for a moment, then dropped it. Jesse was not as easily wounded as his sister and mother, but she felt more guilt with him, maybe because of his understanding. She didn’t want him to believe she was looking for another life, where perhaps she had been in love with another man, when Jesse gave so much of himself. The fact he did not seem to be hurt by her curiosity only deepened her shame.

Secretly, she also felt annoyed with all three of them: Jesse; Angelique, Jesse’s mother; and Anne, his sister. She was truly sorry they felt ousted by her memories. But what of her? What of the fact she was the one missing sixteen years of her life? How was it she became the selfish one for wanting to know more about it? Why did they put the burden of their bruised feelings on her? It was her life, after all. Wouldn’t they want to know if it had happened to them? Sometimes when she thought of these things she became so angry she had to sneak off by herself into her garden, created for this very reason, to put things back into perspective.

She kept these feelings to herself because she knew voicing them would do no one any good. Despite the often acidic attacks, Adrienne truly believed, at the heart of their emotions, was their love and devotion to her.

“It was just a dream,” she reassured Jesse in an offhand manner.

He stepped out of the sunlight and knelt next to her. Kissing her forehead lightly, Jesse then watched her for a moment, as if he was going to say something further. Aware it was his presence, rather than the soothing quality of his words, that had been her biggest support, she was not surprised when he got up having said nothing more about it.

Jesse saved her life. Though she would have no way of being certain, she always associated her accident with her memory loss. Angelique maintained people don’t forget the good, only the bad. She speculated people lost their memory to protect them from things their soul can’t deal with. Adrienne considered this and it made sense, but it didn't change her private desire to know who she was. Or, more to the point, who she had been.

When Adrienne awoke the day of her accident, her first sight was the relief in Jesse's face. His aura was a warm comfort to her. Angelique and Anne were also relieved, but only later would she realize their auras did not warm her in the same way. She chalked this up to differences in their personalities. They were women who had relied on the strength of the only man in their life, their son and brother, Jesse.

Adrienne watched as Jesse untied his small boat from the dock, pushed off, and jumped neatly into it. He spent most of his free time helping his mother, whose illness left her unable to do much for herself. Because it was a Thursday, A&A (as Adrienne had begun calling the two women) would be off to their weekly marketing trip. Lately she hadn’t been joining them, and, for now, they didn’t press the matter. This meant she had the day to herself, alone to her thoughts and the soft, but unrelenting, sounds of the bayou. She wondered if she had loved privacy this much in her previous life.

* * *

IN THE BEGINNING–or the beginning of her new life, as she had come to think of it–she wanted to know everything: how did she get here, what happened in the accident, who were her parents, where did she come from? She would ask the questions until one of them–usually Anne, who could not hide her strange jealousy, but sometimes her surrogate mother Angelique, who tired of subjects easily–would shame her into silence with a pointed statement. With Angelique, it was not unusual for her to spout off something like, “Oh, you don’t love me, you don’t need me! My dear Adrienne, who I love like my own blood, who I would die for, denies me!” While dramatic, it usually hit the mark. Adrienne’s empathy was such that she could not bear to see Jesse’s mother in any kind of pain.

With Anne, it was less dramatic, but more obvious. “Sister, if your life was so amazing before you came here, do you not think someone would be looking for you?” Or: “Your parents never wanted you Adrienne. That’s why they aren’t looking for you.” The words always came with such spite. Adrienne could not understand the feelings Anne seemed to harbor toward her. If what Anne said was true, that no one wanted her, then her animosity would be unfounded. Still, the possibility of its truthfulness nagged at Adrienne as the days went by and no one inquired about her.

Adrienne noticed the fewer questions she asked about her past, the more tranquil life was.

“Adrienne,” Anne said one night, approaching the forbidden subject. This time, her voice was almost tender. “I want things to go back to the way they were when you first got here. Can you be trusting, and believe what we tell you, about who you are?”

Adrienne considered this. She felt a brief kinship with Anne at that moment, which was a feeling she had not realized she craved so strongly until then. She wanted to do as Anne requested; might have done so even, if not for the dreams. Adrienne was not altogether sure everyone was being honest with her anymore.

“Good night, Anne,” she whispered and felt her sister stiffen by her side, the moment lost.

* * *

ADRIENNE ADMIRED JESSE, for many reasons, but most of all because of his complete selflessness. People talked about giving up their dreams for others, but few actually did it in a way that didn’t drip with resentment. Jesse seemed to know the sacrifices he made would stop being gifts if his actions caused guilt for those who had stolen his time. Namely, his mother.

In many ways, Jesse was made for hard labor: strong body, strong genes, strong work ethic. He never complained about what needed to be done. But that was Jesse on the outside. Adrienne had come to know him to be smart in many things besides sugar cane harvests, crawfish farming, or the porosity of wood. He had a knack for remembering what he read, and tended to only need to have something explained once for him to turn it into a skill. As a child, Jesse worked closely with the local physician, Dr. Morrison, who had been so impressed with Jesse’s knowledge that, by the time Jesse was old enough to be thinking of college, Dr. Morrison was plotting ways to help him pay for it.

Angelique was very skeptical, but not because she didn’t believe Jesse was capable. She had not come from a world where college was an option. Her reality was one where people worked until their bones refused to move anymore. She was hesitant to encourage Jesse because she could not bear to see his disappointment when life brought him back to earth.

Yet, she did not count on Dr. Morrison’s generosity. She didn’t realize he was an alumnus at the University of Louisiana, and on the scholarship board. Nor had she paid much attention to Jesse’s good grades. In her world, grades were nothing but reminders of where life could take you if it was fair.

Most importantly, she did not count on Jesse’s unfailing loyalty.

Jesse would never tell his mother what college meant to him, because he was more concerned with her disappointment than his own. Dr. Morrison encouraged dreaming of becoming a doctor and doing great things. But Jesse would never forget his mother, or her need of him. Where becoming a doctor might allow him to provide better care for her, he knew college and medical school was a long road, and he could not abandon his mother.

Angelique had been afflicted with severe epilepsy since childhood. Although rare, when she had seizures they were often horrific and potentially fatal. Dr. Morrison saved her life more times than Jesse could count, and Jesse could not imagine–would not imagine–what would have happened if Dr. Morrison hadn’t answered their calls at three in the morning, or if he had demanded payment they couldn’t make. Fear of leaving his mother alone made him turn down Dr. Morrison’s offer.

Angelique was heartbroken she was the only reason her son would be unable to go to college, and she worked with Dr. Morrison to come up with an acceptable compromise. The Lafayette campus was mere minutes away; Jesse could attend classes during the day and be close to her in case of an emergency. After much convincing, Jesse agreed, attending and eventually graduating from the University of Louisiana.

What Dr. Morrison should have been focusing on were the things Jesse didn’t say. If seizures were the sole issue, Anne could have run to fetch Dr. Morrison as fast as Jesse.

Angelique, as well as Anne, knew the real reason Jesse would not go far from home and it was a wonder they managed to keep it from Dr. Morrison all these years. He knew about her severe anxiety, of course, because he had treated her for it. He understood when her husband died he’d left her with two children and no means of supporting them. But Dr. Morrison did not know how extreme her guilt was at their circumstances, nor to what extent her mind continuously worked at ends with itself.

Most times, Angelique’s anxiety and depression hit her in the usual ways: fatigue, lack of energy, short temper from time to time. Everyone knew she worked tirelessly for her family and had been dealt a rough hand, so no one begrudged her giving in to her sorrows now and then. But there were times Angelique was not in control of how she dealt with her anxiety, and these were the times, both unpredictable in timing and nature, that Jesse feared leaving home.

Stress can do a number of things to your body, but what is more interesting is what it can do to your mind. The first time Adrienne witnessed one of Angelique’s psychotic breakdowns was about a week after she joined the family.

She woke up one morning and something smelled both smoky and wet all at once. She heard screams from outside the cabin, from three different voices, the only voices she now knew.

Adrienne quickly wrapped herself up in her shawl and ran to the window. Flames erupted from the storage shed, licking at the branches of a nearby cypress. A few pieces of Spanish moss had caught fire and were falling to the ground in curls.

Angelique swung a large chunk of wood toward her children, slicing through the air as she backed closer and closer to the fire. Adrienne thought she looked insane, like another person altogether. “Get away from me!” she screamed at both of them.

Jesse kept looking from the shed, to his mother, to Anne. When his eyes fell on Anne, he seemed to be signaling her for something as Anne ran back in the house.

“Mother, please, you are going to hurt yourself,” Jesse pleaded very calmly. Adrienne thought later he would have had a wonderful bedside manner. It was such a shame he decided not to continue on with medical school.

Adrienne watched through the window as Jesse had to tackle his mother to the ground and hold her until she stopped thrashing. Anne rushed out of the house with something in her hands. When she came into view, Adrienne could see it was a straightjacket. Jesse quickly secured Angelique into the restraints, then lifted her into his arms and carried her back to the house.

Adrienne was speechless.

The next time Adrienne witnessed one of these incidents, Angelique had a knife to her daughter’s throat for refusing to go to market. Jesse had to inject her with a mild tranquilizer, and she slept for almost two days. She would wake periodically, and moan things unintelligible, before slipping back into a restless sleep.

Each time Adrienne attempted to ask Jesse about these episodes, he met her eyes with a look that stopped her before she could even part her lips. Only in these times, when his mother was an entirely different person, was Jesse also someone foreign to Adrienne.

She thought she understood; Jesse was distant because he didn’t have the answers.

Angelique’s episodes were the unspoken elephants in the Fontaine household. They were handled promptly, and no one discussed them afterward.

Adrienne soon realized Angelique could not control her fits, nor her epilepsy, or even her son’s will. But she could put a band-aid on the situation. It did not take long for Adrienne to see she was that band-aid. In Adrienne, Angelique was offering her son the happiness he was giving up to care for her; a small consolation prize, maybe, but still a chance at a life he deserved.

There was a lot riding, in the Fontaine household, on Adrienne’s memory.

* * *

ADRIENNE’S MEMORY LOSS was particular. She had not forgotten how to function. It was the history of herself, and her people, that had been lost.

Angelique liked to insist Adrienne had no life before she came to them, but Adrienne was used to these passive aggressive comments now. Angelique spoke clearly and said what was on her mind, her eyes always animated. Her hands were soft and full of affection, her voice the kind children responded well to. Yet when provoked, Angelique’s eyes changed, sometimes losing their color completely and darkening to a deep black. Anne was not so good at keeping her emotions at bay, either, and often the two women blended into one inauspicious personality, bitterness and gloom waiting at the end of every happy thought.

Adrienne did not doubt they loved her. What she could not shake was the effects of her dreams, and the fact the people in her life now were missing altogether from them.

She felt so strongly her dreams held the secrets to her missing past, and, now, she was beginning to unlock them.

Oz Sullivan is the key. She prayed he would take the bait left by her phone call, and come to find her.

Chapter 7

Oz

I WOKE TO the lilting sound of the cicadas and the sun penetrating through the thin sheath of curtains. As soon as I opened my eyes, I remembered where I was.

Adrienne. She was alive, and somewhere nearby where I lay in a small motel on the highway outside Abbeville.

* * *

THE PHONE RANG only moments later.

“Colin Sullivan?” a heavily accented male voice asked.

“Speaking.” I was still tired. Sleep had not come easily for me the night before.

“I was asked to deliver a message to you. Adrienne Deschanel will be waiting for you, in twenty minutes, at Lafitte’s Diner.”

I blinked the sleep from my eyes. “Who left that message?” I tried to understand how Adrienne could have discovered I was in town. Only my father knew I was making the trip.

“Do you need directions?”

“No. I’m not prepared to meet with Ms. Deschanel yet. If you give me a phone number, I will contact her when I am inclined to meet.” She was obviously trying to engage in a subtle power struggle here, first hanging up on me and then catching me unawares. Well, she would have to wait, even if it meant my being here longer than I intended.

“I see.” The caller clearly had not expected this. “Mrs. Fontaine will be displeased,” he added, more to himself than for my benefit.

Who the hell was Mrs. Fontaine? And what was her displeasure to me?

“If you have a phone number where I can reach Ms. Deschanel, I will gladly set up a meeting with her at my earliest convenience,” I reminded the caller.

He gave me the phone number quickly and hung up.

Don’t think you can control me so effortlessly, Adrienne. Whether you remember me, or not.

I took my leisure reviewing her file that day, intending to make her sweat a bit before setting up the meeting. Impatience won out, though, and I decided I would meet with her that afternoon.

A woman picked up the phone and I knew right away it wasn’t Adrienne.

“I’d like to speak with Adrienne Deschanel,” I politely requested.

“Of course you would.” The woman’s sarcasm was intentional. Then, “Can I take a message? Ms. Deschanel is not available at the moment.”

“This is Colin Sullivan, her attorney. I’ve called to set up some time with her today, to go over the details of her estate.” I paused. I didn’t know who this woman was; best be careful how much was revealed. “I’m leaving town this evening. What would be a good time to reach Ms. Deschanel?”

“One moment.” The woman set down the phone and called out, “Adrienne!” My heart began to race. She was there, in that house. What if she were to pick up the phone? What would I say? I wasn’t as prepared as I thought I was. My stomach cramped, then churned.

The woman came back to the phone. “She will meet with you at 3 PM, at Lafitte’s.” She sounded very put-upon.

“Lafitte’s?”

“Yes. Lafitte’s.”

Apparently she assumed I knew where that was, or in any case, would provide no guidance. I would find it myself.

There was no turning back. A time had been established, and there was now a certainty around my meeting Adrienne.

I checked my watch. 2:30 PM. Time to go. I took a deep breath, shot a cursory glance in the mirror, picked up my keys and briefcase, and left to go see Adrienne for the first time in three years.

* * *

I ARRIVED TEN minutes late to the small diner in the middle of town, and attempted to pull myself together before walking in.

As prepared as I was for discussing Adrienne’s estate, I was not at all equipped for the task of sitting across from her and putting on a professional mask. And, what later? Eventually, I would have to tell her who I was, who she was. That her parents, and sisters, were dead.

The diner was small and unremarkable. It had seats enough for perhaps thirty, if you counted the four stools at the counter. The countertops and tables had the same marble Formica, peeling and corroding at the ends where metal strips held them together. The floor, once white, was a faded and cracked yellow. The light came in from the front windows and brought out all the imperfections. Despite the evident age and disrepair, it had a cozy, almost homey, feel.

I spotted her immediately, sitting alone toward the back. She was reading the front page of the local paper.

“Adrienne?” She looked up and our eyes met. Yes, it was definitely her. From her gaze, I felt a sudden hope that she recognized me. Her eyes twinkled and her head tilted slightly to the left.

“Mr. Sullivan, is it?” She remained seated, but extended her small hand toward me. I eagerly shook it. The moment was surreal; like I was seeing a ghost.

“Colin, actually. People call me Oz though.”

Her mouth twisted in amusement. “Oz? As in The Wizard of?”

I grinned at her. She always had a way of making a person smile, even in the least favorable circumstances. I took stock of her for a moment, before she could notice me staring. Her red hair had grown much longer, and she now wore it down her back, where it curled slightly at the ends from the humidity. This last, small detail made her seem more real to me somehow. She still had the round baby face, with a spray of freckles running along the high line of her cheekbones. Adrienne remained every bit the presence she was three years ago. She wore a short, white, gauzy dress that draped limply over her upper body, but clung tightly to her curvy hips and the delectable cut of her cleavage, which had filled out quite nicely. Her knee-length worn, brown suede boots were scrunched at the top, revealing lightly tanned skin. On anyone else, this look was trashy. But if exquisite was a color, she was painted with it.

Seeing her like this had an unexpected physical effect on me. It was the pain of detachment and familiarity, but not a physical longing for her, thankfully.

Do you wish me to be your Antony or your Caesar? I thought with a chill.

“Shall we get started?” I asked with a forced smile.

Adrienne looked down and away, her head angled slightly toward her shoulder. Her hair fell over her cheek and she pushed it aside. “I’m sorry. I’m a little nervous.”

“Don’t be.” I tried to put her at ease with my smile, which was not at all putting me at ease, but she only glanced at me out of the corner of her eye.

“This is all very overwhelming.” This time she looked at me. I could see her face clearly now, and her eyes were two large blue orbs staring directly at me. “I’m still not sure how to react.”

I wasn’t sure, either. Three years ago, when she looked at me like that, it was all I could do not to pull her into my arms. Now, without her memory, and three years in another life, she was a different person. So was I. “You have to take it one day at a time, I suppose. If you want to know my opinion, this is the first step. That’s why I’m here.”

As soon as those words left my mouth, I realized I was both relaxed and composed. Using my position as a lawyer was not only a foot in the door, but it also allowed me an escape into my own element. I knew I was going to be okay.

I decided not to mention the phone call yesterday. I didn’t need to talk about how it made me feel when she called me and then hung up, leaving my thoughts hanging in the balance. None of that seemed to matter.

Adrienne crossed her arms under her chin and leaned forward. “I know why you’re here Oz. So why don’t we get this over with,” she said with her woman’s voice. The rest of the place was empty, save for a few locals up at the counter.

I didn’t like her tone. “I should think you do know, being that you’re the one who tracked me down.”

“Give it to me straight. How much am I worth?” Her accent was a little thicker now, compliments of the southern Louisiana lifestyle. I hadn’t noticed it at first.

I had thought I would control the conversation; open up my briefcase, review the documents and then go over any questions she had. “You don’t waste any time.”

“Is there something else you’d like to discuss first?” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

I began to consider the possibility Adrienne knew more than she let on. She knew I was coming, where I was staying, what my motives were. Had she planned this? My professional edge began to slip. I wasn’t prepared for this, whatever it was.

“How did you know I would drive down here?”

“Does it matter?”

I couldn’t think of a good reason, though many would come to me later. I tried to be tough, but I was really quite a pushover, especially when it came to the woman across the table from me. I knew if I didn’t take control soon, she would walk right over me.

Adrienne closed her eyes and leaned back. “I apologize, Mr. Sullivan. This has been a trying time for me. Please, go on.”

I propped the briefcase up on the checkered table and shuffled through some papers, but it was all show at this point. I glanced to my left, past the briefcase, and saw she was still giving me the same look of anticipation with those infamous blue eyes. Still articulate, braised with social polish and the same, seductive frankness that made you forget her age.

“Some things never change,” I whispered without meaning to.

“Excuse me?”

“Here, I have some documentation for you. I apologize in advance for the size; we were not expecting to prepare these for review. I think it best we start with your immediate estate. If you want to take a look…” I slid the portfolio toward her, but she pushed it back.

“Tell me what you meant.” She seemed to be pouting now; the urgency in her eyes was gone.

“Ms. Deschanel-“

“Cut the formalities. Show me some respect and answer my question.” Her face softened slightly as she leaned forward once more. “I know you, don’t I?”

I felt my heart suddenly race. “You remember me?”

“No, of course I don’t. But I did know you before, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” I acknowledged after a pause. “I’ve known you since you were born.”

“Ahh, I see,” she said. From her expression, I ascertained she wasn’t taking this very seriously. It seemed almost a game to her. Or, perhaps she had been handed so many pieces of the puzzle these last two days she wasn’t even sure which pieces were supposed to fit. I knew it must be overwhelming for her, but it was not my role as her lawyer to provide comfort.

I thought of my father’s words and tried to keep focused on the reason I was there.

“Adrienne, I’m not here to reassemble your personal memories. I honestly hope, for your sake, someone can help you do that. I am here to give you what is rightfully yours.” I went back to the comforting shuffle of papers.

“Don’t you think my memory is rightfully mine, Oz?” she demanded, and for a brief, fleeting moment, I thought she was attempting to hold back laughter. I was extremely confused. “If you know things about me, then tell me! What was I like? Was I fun? Was I a bitch? Did I have a lot of friends? What kind of things did I like to do? Was I close to my family?” In a matter of moments, her mood changed once again and she seemed to me as if she were on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I didn’t know what to do. This was not at all what I expected to find. No longer was she the fantasy of my youth, but a woman now, with fire and hardness.

“Adrienne, calm down-”

“Calm down? How can you ask me to calm down when you know things about me that might mean something, and you sit there with your papers and say nothing?”

The fire flashed in her eyes, and despite the thick hostility of the moment, I found myself relieved at least that part of her old self remained intact.

I looked around at the cafe. All eyes seemed on us and I didn’t want to be there any longer. “Adrienne, maybe we shouldn’t do this here.”

“Fine, then, let’s not do this here,” she parroted, and took off out of the cafe before I could say another word.

* * *

BY THE TIME I collected my papers and stepped out of Lafitte’s, she was gone. I should have seen it coming, I knew this, but we were getting nowhere back in the diner.

“Adrienne?” I called in false optimism. It still hadn’t sunk in yet, how quickly it all had happened.

“Shit!” I yelled and kicked at the ground. “Shit, shit, shit!” A nearby woman stopped to gawk at my tantrum.

How did this go so wrong?

* * *

AFTER SOME THOUGHT, I decided the best course of action was to call Adrienne and try to set up another appointment. Since this wasn’t personal, I knew I should have no difficulty putting aside any offense I felt from her rebuff.

The first time I called, the woman from earlier answered. “Ms. Deschanel is indisposed.” Would she take a message, I asked. “Not necessary,” she answered.

The second time I called, I got an answering machine.

If she didn’t return my call, I would return to New Orleans in the morning and she could deal directly with the office.

My cell phone rang as I was about to leave the diner.

“Please, Mr. Sullivan, don’t call here anymore.”

Another man this time. He sounded young, possibly close to me in age, but it was hard to say for sure.

“I’m sorry, Mister-?”

“You can call me Jesse.”

“Alright, Jesse. I apologize for disturbing your home, but I am not a solicitor. I’m Adrienne’s attorney and I am calling to settle the matters of the estate with her.” There. Who did he think he was?

“Mr. Sullivan.” I heard him make a very weary-sounding sigh. “I know who you are.”

“I'm Adrienne’s attorney,” I repeated, with emphasis. “More specifically, the attorney for the remaining Deschanel children, of which Adrienne is the primary heir.” I sounded calmer than I felt.

“Look,” Jesse took a more reasonable tone, “if you want to discuss the business of Adrienne Deschanel, meet me at the Water Hole at 5:00 PM. There are a few things you need to know.”

“Are there, really?” I asked, unable to keep the cynicism from my voice.

He sighed again. “Will you meet?”

I agreed because there was nothing else I could do.

* * *

THE FIRST BIG shock of my life had been learning Adrienne was still alive. The second was meeting Jesse.

The Water Hole turned out to be not much more than its name; it was a wooden building, hardly bigger than a living room, with a bar, a corner stage, and five small tables. The décor consisted of a few pictures of the area from the previous century, posters from various local acts, some worn so completely the letters were gone, a dartboard with a picture of Bill Clinton worn through in the middle, and a cigarette machine. The “bathroom” opened to the outside, where a rusty antique tub sat waiting for you to relieve yourself in the moonlight.

A thin young woman was sitting up on the stage tuning what looked like a modified cello. Aside from her, and the bartender, the place was empty.

“What would ya like, kid?” the bartender asked me. She was pretty; long blonde hair, and a very comely face. She reminded me of some of the local girls in New Orleans they used for department store ads in the Sunday paper.

“Heineken, please.”

She looked at me, sneered a little, then repeated, “What would ya like, kid?”

I glanced over her shoulder and saw it was either Budweiser, Bud Light, or liquor.

Tempted to say something smart, instead I gave a friendly smile and requested, “Bourbon and seven.”

Turning at the sound of my name, I saw a man walking toward me. He was my age, maybe a year or so older, with dirty blonde hair, and a kind face. From what I could see, he was obviously in great physical shape, presumably from working on one of the various plantations.

I extended my hand. He extended his. We shook. It all started off so congenial.

Without him asking, the bartender handed him a Budweiser, then slid my drink over to me. Jesse took a series of long swallows, finishing the bottle, before handing it back. He seemed very young to me as I studied him, soft and almost effeminate, though from his size I presumed he would lay flat any man who dared call him that.

“Mr. Sullivan, I am going to be straightforward with you, because I don’t know how else to be. That okay?”

I nodded. Thinking back, I can’t imagine how I could have been so naïve and unsuspecting. His softness had put me at false ease.

He took only a small sip of the second beer, in the way girls do on a first date when they don’t want to look like lushes.

“Adrienne and I are getting married, Mr. Sullivan. Married. She’s very special to me, and that isn’t going to change, no matter what comes up from her past.” He put up his hand as if to stop me from speaking, but he need not have bothered; I was speechless. “I know you were more than her lawyer, so no need to go on about how you are just here to do your job.”

Later I might lament her marrying this guy, as she had once promised to marry me, but at the moment I was only offended. Extremely offended. “Excuse me?” What a presumptuous ass! I knew right away Adrienne had sent him here to be her muscle, which made me angrier with her than I had been earlier.

Jesse looked as if he had delivered bad news to a dying patient, while he ordered me a second drink. It was then I realized I had already finished the first one. I looked at him, and recognized he was a good guy, the kind of guy I might even want my sister to marry if I had one, but the only thing I could think to say was, “You can have the crazy bitch!”

He looked taken aback. Clearly, this was not the reaction he expected from me. I had to admit, I surprised myself. Barely into my second drink, I felt far more buzzed than usual.

“Jesse, if you do care about Adrienne you would want to help her find out about her past, not keep her from it by bringing me here and trying to intimidate me. I have no intentions of trying to get back together with her. The past is the past. But I do have a job, and I intend to do it.”

Jesse stared at me, still looking confused. “She doesn’t want to see you, Oz.”

“I guess you didn’t hear me the first time. I’m not going to intrude on your little game of house, Jesse, so can we move past that and get to the point?”

Just then, I noticed a middle-aged woman at the bar next to me. I hadn’t seen her sit down, so I had no idea how long she’d been there. She didn’t say a word, but I saw her eyeing my drink strangely.

“Mr. Sullivan, are you listening to me?” Jesse was asking.

No, I wasn’t. I realized I had finished the second drink and someone–the woman beside me?–had ordered a third. “Not especially.”

“I said Adrienne would like you to deal directly with me from now on.”

I sighed. What did I care? “In order to do that, she would need to sign over Power of Attorney to you. If she’s willing, then we can talk,” I approximated, in a professional voice.

“Where do I get these Power of Attorney documents?”

“I can have them prepared and sent to you. I just need your address.”

He turned over a small napkin and borrowed a pen from the bartender. He wrote down a P.O. Box, then handed it back to me. “When can I expect these?”

“I’ll drive home tonight and have them overnighted tomorrow.”

“And then?”

“And then we can set up an appointment.”

Jesse finished his beer and looked past me, at the woman. He looked annoyed, and I wondered if he knew her. “I want to apologize for assuming… well… for assuming that…”

I interrupted his awkward apology. “Well, Jesse Fontaine, I will have the Power of Attorney documents forwarded to you at this address tomorrow, and I will be in contact with you shortly to arrange your visit to New Orleans for reviewing the estate documents. It was a pleasure to meet you and I wish the two of you the best in your… impending nuptials.”

The woman left without a word. Jesse seemed ready to say something more, but then he also left. I ordered another drink.

* * *

WHY HAD I not taken my car to the bar? Because it was close? Because I knew I was going to be drinking a lot? Did I need the exercise?

I got lost on the way back. How I managed to do so was baffling, because the walk had taken no more than ten minutes on the way in, and consisted of one road. Everything felt heavy to me: my clothes, my briefcase (why had I brought it to the bar?), even the skin on my bones. I turned down one road after another, stumbling past locals who took no notice of my rambling passage.

What is wrong with me? I wondered. I felt like molasses, laden; I couldn't stand to be in my own skin. This was more than being drunk. I had four drinks, fewer than my usual when I decided to sit down and drink. What was going on?

I saw the main road and walked in that direction, relieved I'd found it again. I was embarrassed. Arriving at my hotel, over an hour later and drenched in my own sweat, I felt a dull pang in my arm.

On my room’s door was a note, sealed with tape. I left it attached to the door, but unfolded it.

Mr. Sullivan,

Go back to New Orleans at once. You have been of no use to me and I can have my fiancée’s lawyer contact you for the legal formalities surrounding my estate. I believe you will attempt to contact me again, but I ask you not to bother. It will be a waste of your time. I will not see you. Please believe that my fiancée will also respect those wishes.

Regards,

Adrienne

I ripped the note off the door and crumpled it in my fist. I couldn’t possibly imagine what she was talking about. All I did was sit down and try to talk to her. She was the one who completely flipped out. Besides, she already sent Jesse to “set me straight.” Would that not have been sufficient?

Her moods seemed to be as fragile as glass. It made me scared to open my mouth at all. She had been one step ahead of me since I arrived, and still I had no idea how… or why. Adrienne was an enigma even more so now than she ever had been. This was not part of my job, analyzing her. I decided to call my father; I was coming home at once.

Jesse and Adrienne could have their wish. Although I was not particularly fond of Jesse, I much preferred his calm way to her crazy, unpredictable one.

I flipped open my cellular phone and saw I had a voice mail. Colin, I guess you must have left your phone in the motel, but call me when you get this. My father’s voice was urgent.

Moments later, my father was on the other end. “Colin! Where have you been?”

“Where else? I went to go see Adrienne.” I was suddenly struck with an overwhelming exhaustion that eclipsed what I felt on the road. I wanted nothing more than to climb on to the hard motel mattress and sleep.

“What is wrong with you? How can you be so nonchalant at a time like this?” my father demanded.

“What are you talking about? I think I need to take a nap.”

“A nap? A nap?” I imagined him pacing the room, pulling his hair out. “I received a call from Adrienne’s boyfriend’s mother. It seems that Adrienne told her everything.”

“Good, that should save me the trouble.” I was sleepy beyond belief. “Did she tell you how she acted? Did she apologize?” I managed to form the words around a yawn.

“Apologize for what? How could you try to make a move on Adrienne like that? What has gotten into you? I never imagined in a million years you would do something this insane!”

“I would hardly call what happened insane, unless you’re speaking specifically of her behavior.” I was only half aware of the conversation. The feeling of exhaustion hit me so quickly it was difficult to think of anything but rest.

“What did you say? Colin, that’s it, I’m coming down there. I don’t know what kind of trouble you’ve managed to get yourself into, and with the crazy, dazed way you’re acting now, I cannot possibly trust you, can I?” My father’s words would have stung, had I not been completely blown away by the day’s events and my fatigue. “Are you drunk?”

“No, Dad, I’m fine.” Giving my head a shake, I fought the haze claiming my mind. Maybe if I clapped my hands I would wake up. That’s it, that was the only rational explanation for it all, I decided. I must be dreaming.

“Colin Sullivan, snap out of it!”

The last thing I wanted was my father to come down and take over. My head was throbbing now, keenly aware of every movement I made, right down to my heartbeat.

Then, in a moment of clarity, I realized something was very wrong. Something awful had happened. When I was in college, someone once slipped some sort of drug into my drink, and this was almost exactly the feeling that had ensued. I remembered the strange woman at the bar; the drinks I hadn’t ordered.

“I mean it, I am fine,” I reaffirmed. I was using all of my energy to sound collected and confident. All I wanted was sleep, and it was washing over me fast, whether I liked it or not. I had to keep my father out of this, though, and I knew I had to pull myself together for a few more minutes. “It was a long day and I lost track of time. Adrienne wasn’t very responsive.”

“Well, if you threatened me, I wouldn’t be very responsive either!” my father yelled into the receiver. I pulled the phone away from my head as my father’s words resonated through both ears. I was ultra-sensitive to everything around me now; every word was low and deep and carried weight that moved around in my head like a game of Pong. Had my father just accused me of threatening Adrienne Deschanel?

“What are you talking about? The visit lasted all of five minutes.” I was afraid I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. I was fading in and out. My mouth felt thick, like honey, and my lips struggled to form words, reminding me of the few hours following a dental visit when the Novocain was wearing off. The room started to bend and flex. This must be what it is like to trip on acid, I thought to myself as I lay back against the pillow. I closed my eyes, trying desperately to block out the sounds and shapes that were painfully sharp.

Tomorrow, I would go back down to the bar and find out who that woman was. Tomorrow, I would press charges for slipping drugs into my drink, and demand to know why she had done it. Tomorrow…

“You abandoned yourself completely! How could you force yourself on her like that? What in the hell were you possibly thinking?”

“She said what?” The exhaustion was becoming too much for me to bear, and I knew I had dropped the phone because the sound bounced and echoed as it hit the bed on the way down.

As I finally drifted into unconsciousness, I heard the sound of my father’s voice on the other end, fading in and out.

When I came to, I had the distinct feeling of satisfied restfulness. Light shined into the room from the window between the open curtains and spilled out in a line across the end of the bed. As I sat up, the light hit my eyes and I had to shield them with the hand that wasn’t propping me up.

I heard a female voice and turned to see my sometimes-girlfriend, Caitlin, another lawyer from the firm. She was thirty-five, eleven years older than me. After my last experience with love, I preferred a seasoned woman, though I never harbored any illusions of long term commitment with Caitlin.

“How are you feeling?” she asked and set down a glass of water. She was pretty, but not in a conventional way; a power suit and dirty martini, two olives. Her short blond hair was cut perfect, straight, and severe, laying neatly along her jaw line. Her cheekbones were high and pronounced, and her cheeks seemed to cave in beneath them when she talked. Her charcoal eyes reminded me of cold steel. She was unmercifully thin, yet nearly six feet tall (without her three-inch heels on), and she towered over me like a giant now.

“Rested,” I said. The water was gone in one quaff, and I immediately wanted more.

“Well you should feel that way. You’ve been sleeping for nearly fourteen hours,” she told me.

“That's not possible,” I argued. The meeting with Adrienne, my father’s phone call, everything was slowly coming back and I felt the panic rise up. “My father isn’t here, is he?” I asked, fearing her response.

“He’s at the office. I told him I would call when you were awake.” Caitlin stood up from the chair and stretched her long limbs.

“Please don’t call him yet. I need some time to make sense of it all,” I appealed.

She sat down on the edge of the bed. “Your father turned the case over to me, Oz. I have to go down and speak with the Fontaines' attorney, assuming I can even find him or her. They aren’t listed. It's imperative you tell me what really happened, or at least what you know.” She was always professional, even with me.

“When are you going?” I ignored her request, taking the offense. I was angry, though not surprised. Until I could find out what really happened, my father would remain horrified with whatever he thought happened in Abbeville.

“Not just yet. I was afraid you would wake up and be disoriented. I didn’t want to leave you alone.” She leaned over to kiss me. “How are you feeling?”

“Better now,” I said and smiled. I nuzzled my head into the warm fold of her leg and closed my eyes again. “Much better, in fact.” I nibbled at her leg and started to run my hands across her smooth abdomen.

Presented with an unfolding scenario that could potentially ruin my career, all I could think about was sex. Sex wouldn’t fix anything, I knew this quite surely, but it would take the edge off long enough for me to gather myself. Besides, it was a much better alternative than thinking about what was really going on.

“Oz, maybe later, okay?” Caitlin sounded disgusted.

Her cold attitude sobered me. “I don’t know what my father has told you Cate, but absolutely none of it is true. I need to figure out what happened to me.”

“Oz, sometimes when people do bad things, they block them out and don’t want to remember them. Sometimes-”

“Stop patronizing me. You aren’t even listening. One minute Adrienne and I were talking, the next she ran out of the diner like a madwoman. I called her house and they treated me like a stalker, and then her boyfriend wanted to meet me for drinks. I walked back here and next thing I know, Dad’s on the phone telling me a story about shit that never happened!”

I started from the beginning and told her everything, detailing all from the scene in the diner to the bar to the surreal walk home.

She laughed, mocking me. “Conspiracy? Oz, you’re talking crazy now!”

“I never said that. Don’t put words in my mouth. I’m not one of your cases, Caitlin.”

“I didn’t put words in your mouth Oz. I interpreted what you said quite clearly. You're attempting to push blame on someone else for your own actions,” she asserted. Her demeanor was smug and I wanted something to say to wipe the look off her face. Instead, I said:

“That woman drugged me. I want to be tested.”

She released a sigh of pure exasperation, one that said she couldn’t reason with a madman. “Oz, it’s time to be honest with yourself. The whole city of New Orleans knows how you felt about Adrienne, and I can see how you might have been overwhelmed when you saw her. So overwhelmed that you-”

I pushed her away and rolled over so my back was to her. “Why did you come if you think I’m some sort of psychopath?” I asked. “I thought you, of all people, would know better. Sometimes your pragmatism makes me sick.”

Caitlin touched my shoulder, and gently tried to pull me back, but I wouldn’t budge. “Oz, I came for two reasons. One, to take over the case, and two, because I care about you.”

“I like that your concern for me was second to the case.”

She sighed. “You know what I meant.”

“Whatever,” I grunted. There were bigger things happening here than she and I.

“Look, you don’t have to be so impossible. I’m not the one who screwed up here. I’m only trying to help,” she offered, as some kind of backwards reassurance.

I rolled out of bed and immediately my knees buckled, landing me abruptly on the floor. When Caitlin rushed over, I pushed her arm away and pulled myself up with the chair. I hated the look of satisfaction on her face.

“Don’t. Just go,” I growled, allowing the increasing distaste into my voice.

“I’m worried about you, let me help you-“

I wondered at that moment what I ever saw in her in the first place. She was attractive, but she had always been cold, even in the bedroom. I dated her because she was “safe.” I saw then, as she stood with her bony fingers splayed out on the sides of her bony hips, that safe was not always as it seemed. “Caitlin, spare yourself the effort. I’ll see you back in New Orleans.”

On the drive home, I tried to keep my mind blank and concentrate on the road. I didn’t want to think about Adrienne, or my father, or Caitlin, or any of it until I got back to the city.

The Deschanel files rested on the seat beside me. Caitlin would need those, but she wouldn’t be getting them from me.

Chapter 8

Oz

Oz Reminisces…

GISELLE DESCHANEL WAS the beautiful daughter of my father’s most prestigious client. The blonde bombshell who got everything she wanted simply by being who she was; the girl every other female her age wanted to be. She was out of my reach, and seemed to like it that way, but equally loved the ego boost my attentions gave her. With an occasional date, she kept me wrapped around her finger.

This was the summer Adrienne was thirteen and I was eighteen, and the same summer Adrienne would be sent off to a boarding school in Belgium.

I wasn’t sure why I put myself through such pains for Giselle. I knew I was nothing special to her, and I had no problem getting much prettier and more desirable girls. But I was unable to help myself when she put her hands on those hot little hips of hers and brushed her long, golden hair off to the side. She was the personification of wanting that which you cannot really have, so the thrill of the chase kept me interested in her far longer than it should have.

In hindsight, perhaps I was simply addicted to the Deschanels. First Anasofiya, then Giselle, Nathalie, and Adrienne. I'd flirted with Amelia as well, another cousin. No other women ever made an impression on me the way the female Deschanels did. Not ever.

* * *

I ARRIVED AT Ophélie to pick Giselle up for a date. Despite my patience and persistence, it was a date never meant to happen. When I pulled into the carport behind Ophélie, I saw two police cars and, much to my surprise, my father’s Ferrari I so loved driving.

“What do you mean you have no suspects?” Charles Deschanel was screaming to an officer who seemed properly intimidated. Charles himself looked disheveled, his shirt un-tucked and his thinning hair standing up to one side. I saw my father on the other side of the room near the oak mantel, his arms crossed, observing and waiting for a chance to speak.

On the ottoman sat Cordelia, looking unaffected, and Nathalie. Lucienne and Giselle stood in the corner, barely visible in the dark. Giselle shot me an apologetic look before glancing back at her feet.

Adrienne sat cross-legged in the high-backed leather chair, silent and wide-eyed, as she watched the adults in the room run around frantically. She stared straight ahead, at nothing in particular, and blinked so seldom I wondered if she was catatonic.

Realization was immediate; I knew exactly what was going on.

Three months before, the Deschanels had filed five different complaints with the police, claiming an unknown woman had been caught late at night trying to sneak into Adrienne’s bedroom window. Soon after, Charles began receiving the letters.

You can’t ignore me forever, if I have to I will use her to get to you and your thoughts and your wants, and that is the truth, and the truth is what you hide from the world and from us, truth she will find because she can see past you, oh yes, and I will make sure she does.

Most of the letters were variations of the same, cryptic nonsense. Cordelia believed it to be the mindless ramblings of a homeless woman who made residence near a gap in the levee, down the road. Harmless at best and invasive at worst. Charles, though, had an air about him which suggested he had good reason to believe the letters were not harmless. Whatever his secret, it was one of the few he did not share with my father.

Charles didn’t seem to notice the new presence in the room, leaving me free to find out from my father what happened. From him I learned Adrienne was nabbed from where she was reading on the property footbridge, and Charles had gone mad. He was furious with Cordelia for encouraging him to be so laissez faire when it came to his own daughter’s safety. He had over one hundred people looking for her into the early morning before someone found her behind the old kitchen, sobbing, with a cross painted on her forehead in black soot, and another one of those letters pinned to her shirt. This one sounded more like a threat, with phrases such as, Can you see how serious I am now? Next time I have to do this will be the last time you see her. Adrienne had been too traumatized to tell anyone what happened.

“I’m here to make the arrangements for Adrienne to leave immediately,” my father whispered to me. His eyes remained on his client, Charles.

“Where is she going? I don’t understand.”

“A Catholic school in Brussels.” My father offered no further explanation. I didn’t ask.

An hour later, after the police left, Charles retreated with my father and Adrienne to his office. Anticipating her response, I asked Giselle if she still wanted to go out.

“Not really.” She was not her usual self. Her mouth was turned down at the corners, her eyes lackluster. Even her hair seemed ordinary. Her usual glow faded to a dull shimmer, and she didn’t appear to care if I noticed. I thought I understood. Giselle was a different person to me than she was to her sisters. With her sisters, she could leave behind the act and be herself: carefree, fun, unmasked. She was losing the one she was closest to.

“I’m sorry about what happened to Adrienne,” I offered awkwardly.

“Yeah.” Her tears threatened to pour down her face. What she said next seemed to be directed at no one in particular. “Father may as well send me, too. Adrienne can’t be by herself. I will kill whoever tried to hurt her. I will, I swear I will!”

I put my hand on her shoulder and felt like an adult for the first time in my life. Giselle leaned into me, face to my chest, and cried. In the somber house, I felt like crying, too.

Aside from an abbreviated summer vacation the following year, neither of us saw Adrienne again for three years.

Chapter 9

Adrienne

"YOU ARE NOT going to see him again, Adrienne! You acted like a complete fool!"

Adrienne stood in the corner and watched Angelique pace the floor from one end of the worn woven rug to the other. “I knew this was a bad idea. I knew I shouldn’t have supported such a foolhardy notion.” Adrienne was afraid to remind Angelique it had been her idea.

“I know, Angelique,” she agreed, softly. She wasn’t quite sure how it had all happened; one minute she was seeing him again and she thought she had it together, and the next… oh, the next he was looking at her, and she knew he was thinking of her, and of them, and a million memories were streaming through his mind. Suddenly, she was saying and doing things she knew made him think she had gone completely crazy! The one ally she had–however unlikely–was no longer on her side.

“And now…” Angelique appeared once again to be speaking to the air, “and now, this lawyer is going to be calling and calling, and Jesse will find out, and it will all be over, my life, your life, Jesse’s life!” She was running on and on, practically foaming at the mouth. Adrienne knew how she felt; the same thoughts were racing through her own mind. How had everything gone so wrong?

“You were supposed to stick to business. What were you thinking, child?" Angelique had stopped pacing and was staring at her now.

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!” Adrienne screamed at her, and ran from the room. She lay in her bed and closed her eyes, blocking out the sounds of Angelique’s voice as she stood in the doorway, asking her what, why, where, how; a litany of questions Adrienne simply did not know the answer to.

* * *

IT WAS NOT supposed to go that way. Adrienne was supposed to see Oz and all of the haze surrounding the piecemeal memories would fade away and suddenly everything would be clear to her: her life, her intentions, her past. All would be right in the world. She was sure of it, and to her great and grateful surprise, so was Angelique. Angelique had first thought up the idea, and was positive it was the right way to resolve the issue.

Adrienne had not been so sure. She was not as confident as Angelique, who felt the encounter with Oz would put closure to her past. Ever since the dreams started to become clearer, she couldn’t discern between a remembered reality and a dream. First, the name Oz. Then, she recalled waking up in a hotel room somewhere in New Orleans with a boy–no, a man–and knowing love. A law office. Then, the face; dark green eyes, raven hair, unrelenting dimples, and lips with the most amazing angel’s kiss at the top.

But for as much effort as she put into trying to resolve these “memories” and string threads together, she had to put twice as much effort into keeping her realizations from the Fontaines. Especially Angelique.

Where her garden used to serve as a place of solitude, even from the scattered images which plagued her, she often found herself swimming in shadows only to look up and see Angelique studying her face.

Angelique used a friend of hers to track down the law office in New Orleans that the man in Adrienne’s dreams worked at. All she had to go on was a first name and his apparent youth in the business. Once they identified him, it had been nothing to concoct the story of a bayou lawyer who recognized Adrienne, creating a spiraling series of events leading up to her inevitable meeting with Oz. In all honesty, her finances meant much less to her than discovering more about Oz and whatever it was they shared together. She wondered if he looked for her when she went missing; if he still thought of her now.

The agreement was Jesse would not find out, which Adrienne supported. That she loved Jesse, she had no doubt. But what of her life before Jesse? What if her family had not intentionally left her in the bayou?

But now… well, she ruined everything, didn’t she? She saw for a few moments the recognition–could it be longing?–in Oz’s eyes as he tried to stay focused. Surely he was sizing her up too, assessing the truth and gravity of her memory loss. Then, her emotions got the best of her and she could not stop her own selfish need to put aside the farce and get down to her true motives.

Then, Angelique confessed everything to Jesse. And Jesse was hurt, understandably. He took the boat and left for several hours. When he returned, he took Adrienne into his arms and cried for the first time ever in her presence. He made her look him in the eyes–so desperate, so unlike Jesse–and promise never to do anything like that again.

What else could she do but promise?

* * *

ANGELIQUE CAME IN later that evening.

“I want you to know it’s over. I think you know that, but I have to say it again so you understand clearly. We’ve taken care of this issue, Adrienne. We’ve done it in the best way we know how.”

Adrienne looked up. Her eyes were swollen, but dry now. “What did you do, exactly?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s handled, and it’s done”

“But Oz… is he okay?”

Angelique’s lips twitched. “He will be fine.”

Adrienne sighed and dropped her eyes. “This didn’t resolve anything for me.”

Angelique looked genuine in her sympathy when she approached Adrienne and ran her hands through her soft hair. “It never will, Adrienne. We tried, and we failed. A deal is a deal.”

It is my life, thought Adrienne. Why do I have to make deals with someone to experience it?

“So now what, Angelique? Am I supposed to forget all of this just because things didn’t work out according to your plan?”

“Yes,” Angelique said. “You are.”

Adrienne turned away. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Angelique, a woman she had loved for as long as she had clear memory of anything. There was nothing she could say to sway her. There was no one in her life who would understand this, no one she could turn to now.

“Think of Jesse,” Angelique admonished when Adrienne refused to turn to her. “Look out that window, Adrienne! Look and tell me you don’t see the kindest, most dedicated man you will ever meet! What you have with him is good; it’s right. It's meant to be! You can’t change the past. This man, Oz, may have cared for you once but people change. People let you down. Jesse,” she hit her hand on the glass as she once again gestured toward her son, who was leaning down over the boat dock, “is not one of those people. Jesse will never let you down, Adrienne.”

She backed away. “I don’t hear any disagreement from you,” Angelique asserted from the doorway. “You know I’m right.”

“I need to be alone,” Adrienne said.

Chapter 10

Oz

AFTER GIVING THE situation with Adrienne some thought, I could admit I acted quite irrationally in squiring down to Abbeville. I was ashamed. Who was I to think I had occupied such an important part of her life, that she would remember me despite her amnesia? Leaving when I did, I could keep my pride intact. Despite allegations to the contrary, I had not thrown myself at her, or betrayed any of my true feelings. The conversation with Jesse had been, for the most part, civil. My secret was safe.

Walking away now, I could focus on all the things I had going for me. A great job, even if it was the source of most of my stress. A good, solid family and home, great friends. Adrienne was an affair of three years ago that lasted only a summer. Who doesn’t enjoy a summer romance? Isn’t there always an air of mystery and passion that comes along with one? Hadn't I felt almost the same way, once before, with Ana?

Like Ana, Adrienne was a child when she gave her heart away; sixteen. Surely she couldn't have known her own mind at that age. Amazing it took this long for the magic to wear off so I could see the summer for that it was, but see it I did.

I convinced myself of all the things I had argued against when we were in the middle of our courtship. With the perspective of time, they made sense.

I was resigned to boxing up my feelings for her in this neat little package, and remembering her as I remembered Ana: a passionate, but brief, love affair. The two relationships were perhaps not so different, after all.

It was a reality check that had been long overdue. Time to let go and move on.

* * *

I ARRIVED HOME by mid-afternoon, never more grateful to see the familiar neighborhood. Turning off St. Charles at Seventh, I drove slowly until I reached my house.

My home since finishing my undergraduate studies was a raised center-hall cottage where Seventh Street met Coliseum, in the palatial Garden District. Although modest when one considered my neighbors, in their richly painted Greek Revival or Italianate townhouses, it was nevertheless both graceful and assuming.

One and a half-stories, the house was raised about three feet from the ground, supported by strong brick piers. It remained its original color, the color of a flesh white peach before ripening. A full-width gallery graced the front, framed by six Corinthian columns, which supported an ornate entablature. Five ceiling-to-floor olive-green-shuttered windows spanned the iron-wrought gallery, with a long French front door in the middle. A curved side-gallery was added in 1860, sitting off of the master bedroom and facing riverside.

Outside, magnolias and sprawling live oaks surrounded the house and held court over the smaller trees and foliage. Purple altheas, olive and banana trees abounded in the backyard. After a summer rain, the air was filled with the sweet scent of oleander and magnolia blossoms. Bougainvillea crept up the wrought iron railings on the front and side gallery, threatening to take over.

I felt the comfort of being home again and could not imagine living anywhere else but this languid and romantic town. I loved the old-world charm and sophistication of New Orleans, the fusion of decadence and decay. A feeling of tranquility stole over me every time I heard the dull roar of the streetcar blocks away on St. Charles Avenue. Many evenings I spent on my porch swing with my whiskey, watching mosquitoes and dragonflies dance around the gaslights.

I loved even the upturned sidewalks, the denizens that threatened their way from the Warehouse District, through the old Irish Channel, into our private, haunting world, and the secretive thrill every time a hurricane passed too close to the city.

The milieu of the French Quarter never threatened to become bland, despite the tourist crowds. As a college student, I sat in Jackson Square for hours on end, in the grass or on the benches by the statue of Andrew Jackson, studying for mid-terms and writing my senior thesis.

All around me, people lived their lives steeped in tradition. Catholic celebrations and feasts all year long, in the only remaining active Catholic city in the United States. Whether it was the cycle of the sugarcane crops, or the inexhaustible weeks of the Carnival Season which began with Twelfth Night and ended with forty days of Lent, my world lived, breathed, and existed on the traditions that were our very foundation.

In the midst of all this, sat my home, among the moldering mansions with their sprawling deeply-shadowed gardens. Some structures threatening to return to the earth, others boasting their strength and looming unchallenged, but all Gothic and seductive and decadent and beautiful.

Being home had a calming effect on me. The familiarity, and traditions I loved, would envelop me back into their embrace and provide the comfort I needed.

Chapter 11

Oz

Oz Reminisces…

IT WAS SUMMER again, and that meant the annual Ophélie estate audit.

Written as a codicil to his will, the original Charles Deschanel decreed that, in order for the family to maintain ongoing residence, an audit was to be done annually. Anything which had fallen into any kind of disrepair was to be repaired at once. Updates on the property were to be sent to the local historical societies for updating of their literature. Charles recognized the longevity of Ophélie, and made proper arrangements to ensure everyone–family, public, historians–continued to benefit from its existence. While doubtful this would legally hold up today, the current Deschanels complied willingly because they also desired to preserve their heritage.

Of course, this was no job for a top attorney at the firm. And so, with formal auditors running high charges on such a large property, it dawned on my father I could take on this daunting task. I used a pre-made form to audit the property, and then turned it over to the official appraisers to finish. I did this every summer for years, even after I graduated and went to college.

Auditing the entire property, from the house to remaining outbuildings, took just under a week, and so during this time I stayed with Nicolas in the garçonierre. At nineteen, the separation provided privacy to do things the adult figures might not approve of.

Adrienne was home from private school for the summer, but she was the furthest thing from my mind. I barely noticed her. At fourteen, she was not at all the woman she would be at sixteen. Or if she was, I didn’t take the time to notice it.

Finally over Anasofiya, I was now completely enamored with Giselle Deschanel, and it was seeing her that made the audit worthwhile.

* * *

THE GARÇONIERRE WAS almost entirely self-sufficient, and had living space for several people if needed. I slept on the lower floor, while the upper floor served almost entirely as Nicolas’ bedroom.

I was preparing to sleep when Nicolas came in. I sensed his tension from across the room, but asked the perfunctory question anyway.

“No, everything is not okay.” He walked to the small refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of beer. Using the countertop to open it, he then flipped the metal lid into the sink. “Ozzy, don’t pretend you are not fully aware of how severely fucked up my family is.”

“Uh… no comment?” I responded. I was nearly part of the family, myself.

He sat the beer down on the counter and turned to face me. “So, that man decided Adrienne needs to go back to Europe tomorrow, not end of summer. Tomorrow! She just got home two days ago!” Nicolas had referred to his father as “that man” as long as I'd known him. The relationship had always been fractured. Unlike everyone else, who believed Cordelia had always been a bitch, Nicolas seemed to think his father made her that way. He persisted to believe the best in her.

“Honestly, Nic, why do you care when she goes back?” It wasn’t like they were close. Nic was more attached to Anasofiya, his cousin.

He took another drink of beer, then swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Because it isn’t about her, Ozzy. It’s about him, and his attempts to control everything. Nat, Giselle, and Lucie have always been subservient. Sure, he doesn’t know Giselle is a slut, or that Nathalie rolls her eyes when he turns his back, or how Lucie waits for him to shut up and then looks to Nathalie for direction. They don’t let him see it. Adrienne has always been very forthright, and she’s made it clear from the time she was old enough to talk that no one could control her.”

I thought about this, and realized it was probably true. All of my memories of Adrienne were very colorful. She liked the things she liked because she liked them, not because anyone else did. I often saw her talk back to her father, where the other girls would agree with him and then go off and do as they pleased.

“What about you? He doesn’t seem to care what you do,” I asked.

Nicolas laughed bitterly. “Me? You know he’s never given a fuck about me. As soon as he had his way with the maid, he pushed me and my mother aside.” He finished his beer and went for another. “So yeah, you’re right. He doesn’t care.”

“I don’t get it. Why is he sending her back? Did she piss him off?” I probed, trying to make sense of the decision, and Nicolas' response.

He shook his head. “You remember why she was sent away in the first place, right?” I nodded. The Incident. “She told him today she didn’t want to go back, and that she felt safe now.”

“Okayyyy… so?”

“So then, he told her he didn’t want to guess on her safety. She said he was overreacting like he does about everything when it comes to her. That, if he was concerned, he could have sent her to Baton Rouge, or somewhere in this country, but Brussels felt like punishment. Then she speculated aloud, in front of everyone at dinner, he was punishing her for his own inadequacies at being unable to stop the lunatic.

“That pretty much did it right there. If you could have seen the look on his face! He told her to apologize, and you know she didn’t. Backed into a corner, our patriarch announced he was planning on making it a surprise that she could stay home, but it was apparent she was as impulsive and impetuous as ever, so for her own safety, she would stay in Brussels until she graduated and could better make her own decisions.”

I felt bad for Adrienne. What happened to her hadn’t been her fault, yet she was shipped away from her whole family. I could see why she thought of it as punishment. I used to wonder why she didn’t do as her sisters did, purposely deceiving their father into his sense of complacent control over their lives. Later, I understood. Adrienne was honest about everything, even if it meant hurting herself, or others. She wouldn’t sacrifice her ideology in order to get away with something.

“So now what?”

“Now I go to bed. When will you be finished with the audit?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” I guessed. “Why?”

“There’s a pub crawl in the Quarter tomorrow night. I could use some refreshment. You in?” The bars in New Orleans rarely carded anymore, but Nicolas had procured us some fake I.D.s just in case.

“Cool.”

He threw his last beer bottle in the garbage next to the fridge and let out a ferocious belch. “Night, Ozzy.”

* * *

CHARLES WAS NOTORIOUSLY late for every meal, so I thought I could catch him in his office to update him on the audit status.

When I approached his door, I heard voices inside and decided to come back later. As I turned away, I heard something shatter inside the room, and I stopped.

“Send all of them away? Are you mad, woman?” Charles’ voice screamed at someone, whom I rightly presumed was Cordelia.

“Yes, all of them! Don’t sound so damned surprised Charles, we’ve had this conversation so many times I could recite it in my sleep! They have been tearing apart this household since the day they were born. Their birth is a stigma this family has carried for nearly two decades! I can’t go out in public without getting looks, even now!”

“Hush your mouth Cordelia! Do you want them to hear you?”

She dropped her voice, only slightly. “Do you honestly think I care? I’ve never pretended to love your bastard children, Charles, and I don’t intend to start.”

I knew I should leave, but I found myself rooted in place.

There was a thud as his fist connected with something solid. “Not another word! I won’t hear it Cordelia, they are my children and I will not send them away because you can’t keep your society cronies at bay!”

“Nicolas is your child too, Charles. Or had you forgotten? It would sure seem so by the way you have virtually ignored his presence since the day Nathalie was born.”

“How many times are we going to rehash the same discussion? He is a boy and does not require the same kind of attention the girls need. You know that! You are his mother, after all.”

“Yes, and as his mother I’ve been forced to endure his pain at having a father who could not care less what he does!” She seemed to compose herself a bit, for her voice took on something of a charming quality. “You’ve already sent Adrienne away. We both know it was the right thing to do, for everyone. Wouldn’t it be wonderful for her, and the girls, if all of them could go to school together? You know how they miss one another. And it would make life easier here, too. You know I’m right.”

Charles was quiet for a moment, but when he spoke his rage was renewed. “Get out of my office before I divorce you!”

Cordelia didn’t falter. “I will make their lives hell, and you know it. Every day, they will have to deal with the fact they live in a house where their only mother hates them. When I am done with them, Charles, they will beg you to send them away.”

The door to the office opened abruptly as Cordelia stormed past, without seeing me.

I decided to talk to Charles later.

* * *

THE NEXT DAY, I was zipping up my small suitcase in the garçonierre, when Lucie knocked politely on the door to my room.

I thought she was likely the only Deschanel child who would have bothered to knock.

“I’m sorry if I startled you,” she said in her usual, sweet-natured way after I invited her in. I had always liked Lucie because she reminded me of girls from another century: well-mannered, traditional, respectful, always believing the best in everyone. Her dress was as conservative as her speech, never revealing even a small preview of anything special. She was definitely the kind of child every parent dreamed about.

“No, it’s fine. Nicolas is in town this morning.” I didn’t clarify his failure to come home last night after our pub crawl.

She fidgeted awkwardly and it was apparent she felt very uncomfortable around me. “No, I was looking for you. There is a, well, a bit of a situation in the house… and, I don’t know how to handle it.”

Although she was not screaming and carrying on as one of her sisters might have, I could see she was deeply troubled. “What kind of situation?”

“Well…” She struggled against her nature to not say anything about someone unless it was going to be nice, but continued anyway, “it’s Cordelia. She is giving Adrienne a very hard time and I’m worried what might happen it if continues. Father left this morning, so there is no one to intervene.”

I knew it was not unusual for Cordelia to yell at the girls, and after yesterday I realized she went out of her way to do it. I didn’t really want to get involved, but there stood Lucie, appealing to me for help when she had never asked anything of me in all the time I had known her.

“All right,” I said finally. “What is it you think I should do?”

“Stop her! Create some reason to talk to Cordelia, some kind of distraction to get her to leave my sister alone.” Her face spoke of distaste at suggesting we make up a lie.

“I’ve never had a reason to speak with your stepmother before. She’ll see right through it.”

“No, she won’t. And if she does, at least it will get her to leave Adrienne alone for a while.”

I didn’t know what I could say to distract her, but I knew Lucie would not have come to me if there was anyone else who could help.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

* * *

THEY WERE IN the parlor, Adrienne on one side and Cordelia on the other. Giselle stood near Adrienne, against the wall, looking helpless. Nathalie was in the doorway, ready to pounce. Lucie tailed close behind me, and as we walked into the parlor, no one seemed to notice our arrival.

“Stop lying to me!” Adrienne was yelling at Cordelia. Her small hands were balled into fists, her knuckles white. Her face was almost glowing red. “You told my father to send me away! You did something to him!”

“Oh, believe me, I wish I could take credit for this one!” Cordelia was standing ramrod straight, near the small table with crystal decanters of bourbon and gin. “I have been trying for years to convince your father to send you four away!”

“You’re just jealous!” Giselle accused. “You’ve always been jealous because he loves us more than you!”

Cordelia laughed. “Oh, you mean to tell me that you’re still naïve enough to believe I married your father for love? If I should be concerned for anyone, it’s your brother. He is the firstborn and gets nothing from his father.”

“That’s not our fault,” Nathalie joined in. She sounded much calmer than her sisters. “We love Nicolas, too. We didn’t ask for any of this.”

“We didn’t ask for any of this. We’re innocent children. Don’t blame us, it’s not our fault,” Cordelia mimicked in a childish singsong voice. “It’s getting old! You can’t be blamed for your birth perhaps, I’ll give you that. But your continued presence here is selfish! You are the reason for the fractured relationship between your father and brother. You are the reason your father and I are always at odds. You are the reason your father has had two heart attacks in the past two years. You!”

“No, Cordelia,” Adrienne asserted, “you are the reason for all of those things. Your hatred and bitterness is the reason this family is so screwed up!”

Cordelia decided to take a different approach. “Why do I even bother trying to talk to the four of you? You make a fine pack of wolves.” She moved her gaze to each girl, slowly. “What could be worse than a prude, a slut, a halfwit, and a know-it-all? I pity you.”

I felt Lucie leave my back as she joined her sister Giselle. I decided to use this opportunity to speak up.

“Cordelia,” I interjected, walking into the room. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

In that first moment she turned her attention to me, her face looked purely evil. Then the features slowly started to settle, and she looked normal again. “Yes, Oz, and what is it I can do for you?”

My hesitation to interrupt the confrontation bought me a little time to concoct a strategy. “I’m finished with the audit. I just need a signature from you and I can take the results back to the office.”

“Of course,” she said curtly. She straightened her double-breasted coat and looked back at Adrienne for a moment. “Have a safe trip, darling. The house won’t be the same without you.”

After retrieving the paperwork from my briefcase, I sat with Cordelia to review the dozens of pages I had already reviewed with Charles the day before. She dutifully signed each page, then left me sitting at the table, alone.

I detected a presence behind me, and turned to see Adrienne sitting in a high-backed chair near the fireplace. Her face was stoic. I thought I saw her trembling slightly.

“She’s a damned fool,” I heard her say, her voice flat and devoid of emotion.

I said nothing.

“If she thinks she can take my father from me, she is wrong.”

“Can I get you something? Water?” I asked, finally.

One of the maids appeared at the doorway to announce Adrienne’s limo was ready. I heard her sisters crying in the background.

Adrienne looked up and she noticed me for the first time. “You've always been good to me. I appreciate what you tried to do. But this isn’t your battle, Oz. You can’t fix this. If you really want to help, you’ll make sure Nicolas understands the truth. You’re the only one he listens to.”

She slid forward off of the leather chair and walked out of the room.

Chapter 12

Adrienne

ADRIENNE PACKED IN a hurry, made easier because she didn’t own much in the first place. She had already spoken with Charles Santiam, their nearest neighbor, and he agreed to help her find a bus to New Orleans. Feeling slightly guilty for the imposition, she knew the only reason he risked Angelique’s disdain was Adrienne’s help in taking their critically ill son to the hospital several months back.

How to say goodbye? It would be difficult. Angelique and Anne would not understand. They thought only of how Adrienne’s predicament affected them, for better or worse. Adrienne always sought to see the best in both of them, remembering the moments they had soothed her and provided the comfort of family. Lately it was becoming harder to shake the hurt she felt at watching them act like she was casting aside their feelings when she looked for answers. How had she borne three years of it without going mad?

Jesse, that was how.

That was what she really feared, the loss of Jesse or the risk of him misunderstanding, being heartbroken at her decision to pursue her past. She suspected Jesse chased off Oz, but she wouldn't ask him and he hadn't given her any direct indications one way or another. Even if she was right, she knew she could not be angry with him. Jesse only sought to protect her.

“Nothing I will find changes my appreciation for everything you’ve done and the love you’ve given me,” she said aloud to the bag she zipped up. Clothes, book, papers, and the small amount of money she had saved.

More money than the paltry amount she had on her person would be waiting for her in New Orleans, and she would use what was necessary from that to fund her search. She was vaguely excited at the notion she was rich, but wondered more about her family, who had obviously been of some importance to have such wealth.

Deschanel. Adrienne Leigh Deschanel. It had a nice ring to it.

She still did not know what her starting point would be. She had signed the documents Oz forwarded to them, granting Jesse Power of Attorney, but only to stop the bickering. Jesse, for motives he did not state openly, did not wish for Adrienne to correspond directly with Oz. They both wanted the same thing, for their own reasons. In the end, she complied because it was the fastest route to diffuse the conflict, giving her space with which to execute her own plan. Power of Attorney didn’t take away her rights, did it?

Adrienne realized she didn’t know the answer, but she would stop at a library straightaway to find out. That’s what she did whenever she needed an answer to a question, and she always had so many questions and curiosities.

There was another way to find out, and that was to ask Oz himself. She tried not to think of him when making the decision to leave, because she didn’t want his presence in her mind to persuade her one way or another. Besides, she still had no idea what to say to him, or if he would even be receptive to her. He had worn an expression during the meeting, as if he were both pained and joyful to see her, two emotions at complete odds with each other. What had he said? That he couldn't put the pieces of her life back together for her?

Could not or would not?

She hoped the latter, for she could be persuasive. Oz Sullivan was the only person she knew before her accident, and he had no reason to be dishonest or withhold information from her. If he was hesitant now, it was because he was a professional and felt compelled to act accordingly. Whatever the case, he could not find out she had even the slightest remembrance of him. For one, the fractured images were few, and two, she was not sure how he would feel about her if he suddenly had to address those memories.

But surely he couldn’t refuse to help her if she came to see him with all her earthly possessions packed in a small, torn bag, looking to him as her only hope?

* * *

ADRIENNE HAD EXPECTED to be alone in the small house. A&A were at the market, and Jesse working.

Angelique saw the small bag, along with Adrienne’s flushed, excited face, and knew without asking what was going on.

“You were going to sneak out of here, weren’t you? You didn’t think it would be appropriate to inform any of us, your family, about this?” Her accusatory words shamed Adrienne.

“Angelique, this is something I have to do. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“Well, there is little hope of that now, Adrienne. I’m glad I came home early so I could stop you from this foolishness!”

Angelique acted betrayed, but what was she really thinking? This is my future mother-in-law, Adrienne thought. How will she seek to control me once I am legally bound to her son?

“Mother, you cannot stop me,” Adrienne asserted, standing taller. She never understood why that helped, but it did. “I love all of you, you know that, but it is unfair to expect I will never take this trip. That I will never try to solve this mystery of mine.” She continued, “And make no mistake. It is rightfully mine!”

Jesse’s mother looked taken aback by Adrienne’s boldness. She came slowly to Adrienne’s side and put her hand on the back of her neck in a motherly way. “My dear, you know I love you. You know Jesse would do anything for you. Please reconsider. Leaving would only destroy him, don’t you know that?” Guilt.

Adrienne said nothing.

“Sweet girl.” She saw the glint in Angelique’s eyes. “Please don’t break Jesse’s heart like this.” Then the tears. “He has done so much for you.”

“Yes, Mother.” Adrienne was not quite as transparent as they had always believed her to be. She was still the old Adrienne, though she couldn’t have known that, but had inherited the Deschanel skill at hiding her feelings when cornered. “I’m sorry for being so selfish.”

“Apology accepted, sweet girl. You’re still young, and you need to trust in me to provide guidance for you.” Angelique smiled a sad, knowing smile that said Adrienne still had much to learn. “I would never mislead you.”

When Angelique pulled her close and hugged her, Adrienne felt the tears kiss her cheek. She resisted the urge to stiffen. Crocodile tears, she thought. That’s all those are. I’m suffocating here. You are not preventing my leaving, only postponing it.

“Oh Jesse,” she whispered when Angelique left the room (her satisfied smile not lost on Adrienne).“I will come back for you and we will leave this place together. Your mother and sister can have my entire fortune if they will only leave us be.”

I have no friends, she realized. No one I can talk to, confide in. In many ways, I am utterly alone.

* * *

SHE WOULD HAVE to delay her trip until everyone in the house was satisfied she had put this behind her. In the meantime, she waited for the Santiams to come tell her Oz had called. She knew he would. He had to. Patience is a virtue, Father Cass always said when she would fidget in the confessional line. Well, she did not feel very virtuous.

* * *

LATER THAT EVENING, Angelique had another episode. This time, she aimed an arrow at Adrienne’s head. This was the first time one of her attacks endangered Adrienne, and she was absolutely terrified, especially in light of their earlier conversation.

Adrienne had been sitting in her chair facing the window, lost in thought, when she heard an unusual sound behind her. She turned to see the tip of the arrow pointed at her head.

“You are not leaving my son!” Angelique screamed, as she strained to pull the decrepit bow handle further back.

Adrienne could not run. The room was small and Angelique blocked the doorway. Having no other options, she screamed for Jesse at the top of her lungs.

He came up behind his mother, his eyes wide with panic. Angelique’s hands trembled with the strain, and the arrow looked like it might slip from the aged weapon. Angelique hissed to Jesse, “If you touch me, I will let go.”

Adrienne met Jesse’s eyes and she pleaded silently with him to find a way to diffuse the situation. He didn't know about her conversation earlier with Angelique, and so could not understand Adrienne's fear that Angelique seriously meant to kill her. Later, if Adrienne survived this incident, Angelique would apologize profusely, and hold her tight, crying over her latest actions. But in this state, Adrienne did not trust any of that was possible.

Finally, in a move that horrified Adrienne, Jesse stepped in front of his mother. She dropped both the bow and arrow to the floor. Her eyes started to twitch and then she fell, but not before Jesse caught her in his arms.

“Are you okay?” he asked Adrienne.

She would always believe Angelique’s rational mind was the one who wanted to kill her; would have, had Jesse not foolishly stepped in front of the arrow. “No, I am not okay. But please take care of your mother. She needs you more right now.”

* * *

AN HOUR LATER, Jesse and Adrienne sat by Angelique’s bedside as she slept.

“Maybe it’s time you consider getting your mother some help,” Adrienne suggested, warily, as she watched Angelique softly twitch in her bed. This was a subject she waited three years to broach.

“She doesn’t need help,” Jesse replied. He turned to Adrienne. “She needs us.”

“She almost killed me tonight, Jesse. One of these days, she is going to really, truly kill someone... or herself! Do you want that on your head? When you could have done something about it?” Adrienne could not stop these things from rolling off her tongue; they had been building for so long.

“You don’t know her!” he hissed, causing Adrienne to flinch.

Jesse never lost his temper before. He took a breath, and continued, only slightly calmer, “You don’t know her like I do, Adrienne. She has given up so much for everyone and just wants us to be happy.” He turned away from her this time. “You are right about one thing. If she does end up killing herself, or someone else, it will be our fault.”

Adrienne wished she had gone with her usual decision to say nothing.

She couldn’t stay here anymore. No matter the consequences, she had to find her escape, and quickly.

Chapter 13

Oz

A COUPLE OF days after arriving home from Abbeville, I finally sorted through my overflowing stack of mail.

I walked into the dining room, turned on the lights, and went through the mess.

“Bill, bill, magazine, bill, junk mail, bill, coupons,” I said mechanically as I tossed everything into neat piles.

I picked up a piece of mail with no return address, this one addressed to Nicolas. With hardly a second thought, I tossed it in a basket on the top shelf of the armoire, there to hold other items for him.

Nicolas had his mail sent to my house since departing abroad, because he didn’t want his mail sent to Ophélie. I never truly understood this, but that was one of the many quirks and nuances of my friend. I think he liked to remain a mystery. To not be predictable, or easily figured out, seemed very important to him.

The accident affected us both in different ways. He was always garrulous and daring, speaking whatever came to mind and acting upon it as quickly, with a sort of determinedness that took everything a step further than needed. If he saw a girl he was interested in, he did not pursue her; he conquered her. He did not pass an exam; he aced it. Nicolas Deschanel did not win a race; he pulverized the competition.

Now, though, he went through life with a careless, almost sloppy, lust. His confidence was no longer mysterious, but suited for cheap one-liners, easy flirtations, and entertainment value. It was as if he had lost his grasp on whatever force propelled him to be the best at everything, and settled for simply being charming and carefree.

I could only imagine the advice he would give if I told him about my trip to Abbeville: Ozzy, it’s a hell of a lot cheaper to find a girl in the Quarter.

I smiled at knowing Nicolas so well I could give myself his advice when he wasn’t even around.

When I came to the last letter on the stack, I paused, turning it over in my hands. It felt like a letter, although I couldn’t be sure because it was nearly torn up. The return address had no name, but it was stamped Abbeville, Louisiana. I assumed it must be from Jesse, but no one from the legal side of my life had my home address. Everything went to the firm.

I used my letter opener to break the seal. Inside was a piece of parchment paper, written with a quill and bottled ink. Certainly, there was an effect someone was trying to get through here.

Oz,

I understand why you left so quickly, but I really need to speak with you. I'm sorry for what happened in the diner. You can’t know what it’s like to be overwhelmed with the desire to remember who you are.

Jesse told me you've gone home, so I assume you will get to read this letter. My neighbors, the Santiams, have agreed to help me. If you call, they will come and get me and then I will return your call. I leave you with their phone number.

It is my hope I did not scare you off for good. Please call, I am dying to speak with you again!

Always,

Adrienne Deschanel

I folded the letter in my hands and set it down on the table. “She is certifiable,” I affirmed, before picking back up the note, crumpling the paper, and flinging it against the wall. It dropped to the ground, missing the garbage.

Pouring myself a glass of water from the fridge, I tried to calm down. As an afterthought, I added some vodka to my water. It was the cheap drink from my struggling college days, but it still did the trick. I winced as I took a deep swallow. Making my way to the couch, I sat back with a sigh to sort it all out in my mind, again.

I thought about the meeting in the diner. At first she had seemed pleasant and ready to talk to me. Then, suddenly, she put on her game face and toyed with me while I struggled to maintain my professionalism. After, setting her boyfriend after me… the walk home I should not have gotten lost on… the overwhelming exhaustion I believed was attributed to that strange woman in the bar who ordered me at least one drink.

Adrienne’s letter was baffling; there was simply no other word for it. I seriously considered sending Jesse a number for a psychiatrist. Maybe whatever caused her to lose her memory had jarred something else loose in her head.

I knew if I continued to think about things for which I had no answers, or even any rational assumptions, I would go mad, so I decided to call her. To hell with Jesse. Jesse was not the one whose reputation was at stake. I found the crumpled letter and smoothed it out enough so I could read the phone number. It rang eight times before a woman answered.

Yes?” The voice was old, with a rattle to it. Mrs. Santiam, I deduced.

“Yes ma’am, this is Colin Sullivan. I’m calling for Adrienne Deschanel; she left me this number to get in touch with her,” I said politely.

I heard a click followed by dial tone. She hung up on me.

I held the phone out in front of me in disbelief before dropping it down in the cradle. I dialed the number again, but this time no one answered. Really, at this point, was I surprised?

I went to go pour myself another potent water-vodka mix when the phone rang. I decided to let the machine get it; I didn’t feel like speaking with my father just then, who was in the recent habit of demanding answers I simply did not have.

I started back down the hall toward my bedroom as the recorder began to play. “Hi you’ve reached the land of Oz. You know the drill,” sang my voice, followed by a beep.

“Oz?” I heard a soft female voice on the other end and froze, drink in hand. “Oz, it’s me, Adrienne. Are you there? If you’re there, please pick up.”

I sprang, leaping for the phone before she had a chance to hang up. I tripped over the couch and sloshed my drink all over the carpet.

“Adrienne? Are you there?” I asked breathlessly into the receiver.

“Oz? Yes, I’m here, why are you out of breath?”

“I didn’t hear the phone ring,” I lied. “I didn’t think you were going to call back. Mrs. Santiam, or whoever that was, hung up on me.”

Adrienne laughed, and she sounded nothing like the argumentative spitfire in the diner. “She rushed over here to tell me about your call. She must have forgotten her manners.”

Damn you for being sweet now. “Listen Adrienne, I think you owe me an explanation. On more than one account.”

“If you’re talking about the way I acted in the diner, Oz, I am so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. It’s been such a shock finding out about my life after not remembering any of it. You can’t know how it feels to wonder where the first sixteen years of your life went and to suddenly have the opportunity to find out,” she explained. For the second time now, she sounded rehearsed, scripted. Our connection was fading in and out.

“I’m talking about the nasty little note you left for me, and then accusing me of trying to assault you.”

There was silence on her end and for a moment, I thought she had hung up.

“Oz, I have no idea what you're talking about. I didn’t leave you any note, and I sure as hell never accused you of something like that. I don’t know where you are getting this, but it’s not funny.” She sounded as if she might cry.

“Save it Adrienne, it’s just you and me here so you can cut the crap!” I yelled at her through the receiver. “I came down there to do my job, and you thought it would be funny to mess with me. Play head games, and see how I’d react. That’s it, isn’t it?” I demanded.

I could almost see her shaking her head no on the other end. “No, Oz, I have no idea what you're talking about. I’m not lying to you. If you don’t believe me, ask Jesse, my boyfriend. I went straight home after seeing you, and I was there until after you left town. I swear it on my father’s grave!” She was definitely crying now, but I couldn’t distinguish whether they were genuine tears or not.

“What father? You don’t even remember him.”

“That’s not fair Oz,” she said. Her voice had gone soft. “I would like to.”

I shifted on the couch so I was sitting completely erect. She had my full attention. I knew I was softening, but my voice was now condescending rather than infuriated. “Okay Adrienne, let’s say you never did any of that. Then tell me this: how did the note get on my door, signed by you? And why did my father receive a call from your lawyer saying I tried to force myself on you?

“A note? My lawyer?” she repeated. “I don’t even have a lawyer!”

“Perhaps it was Jesse, then, acting as your lawyer. He is, after all, acting on your behalf,” I said.

“Now you’ve really lost me.”

“I’m sure you haven’t forgotten sending him to see me in the bar.”

“Again, I have no idea what you are talking about.” She was hiding something; I was sure of it.

“Are you trying to say I imagined all of this?”

“Is that so impossible? Oz, what you are accusing me of could not possibly have happened.”

“Then how else would you explain it, Adrienne?”

“I don’t know.”

“I should never have come to see you. You’ve never been anything but bad luck for me,” I mumbled under my breath. It was barely audible, but she caught it.

“Now, why would you say something like that?” I realized I had stung her with the comment.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly and lay back against the couch. “Except that now my life might be ruined, and the only person who should know what’s going on conveniently doesn’t.” I explained everything that had happened from the time I left her up until the present. She listened attentively, and when I was done, she spoke again.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“I guess I’m not surprised,” I replied and finished off what was left of my drink.

I heard some voices in the background, and she spoke back to them in a tongue too quick for me to pick up.

“Oz, I have to go. We didn’t even get around to talking about why I wanted you to call,” she said. “I wish you hadn’t left so soon.”

“Why?” I asked. I wanted to know before I hung up. At least I could get something from her.

“I wanted you to take me to New Orleans. I want to see if it triggers any memories. I feel I don’t have a choice.”

“Adrienne, I told you that I don’t think I can help you.”

“I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want to do,” she told me hurriedly, but she knew I was holding back. She covered the phone and explained to the people behind her she was almost done.

“Then what are you asking, exactly?”

“Let me stay with you. I have nowhere else to go."

“Adrienne, you’re a rich woman! You could stay anywhere you want!” I exclaimed with a laugh. It seemed such an odd concern for a billionaire, finding a place to stay. I supposed because it was all new to her, but then, she had been wealthy for over two thirds of her life, even if she didn’t remember any of it.

“I’m hurrying,” Adrienne told the background voices. “Oz, I really have to go.”

“Wait, why me?” I pressed.

She sighed. “Because I’m scared of the city, and of what I might find when I get there. I trust you for some reason.”

“How do I know I can trust you, though? All signs point to the contrary.”

Adrienne sighed again. “You can. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“What would your boyfriend say?” I knew at this point I was being a jerk.

“I don’t intend to tell him,” she said, and then was off my line before I could say anything else.

* * *

AFTER MY PHONE call with Adrienne, I resolved I wasn’t going to talk to anyone, except Adrienne, until I had answers. I knew what my father–and probably the rest of the firm–thought and I had no defense against it. The person who had purportedly made the accusations was claiming to know nothing about them.

As it turned out, my father was more than happy to give me a leave of absence. I think he knew I would be no good to anyone in my present state.

I used the time to take care of chores at home. I had a few things around the house that had needed fixing. By the second day, I was done with the original repairs and moved on to other tasks. I fixed the bathroom doorknob (it had been slightly loose), re-affixed the weather stripping (I replaced it last year, but had done a careless job), re-caulked the kitchen window (it seemed a bit drafty lately), and picked out a new paint pattern for my office.

Throughout the days, the phone rang a good twenty times, and I let the machine get it every time. My father, mother, and Caitlin all made their attempts. The latter apologized and hinted toward wanting to reconcile. I barely heard any of it; I wondered if Adrienne was on a bus to New Orleans.

On the fourth day, I slept. My obsessive attempts to put everything aside failed, for all I could think of was Adrienne. I needed to talk to her, to see her. Every time my answering machine would kick in, I dropped everything to be sure I didn’t miss her call. Which caused repeated disappointment when it would be my parents, or Caitlin, again.

This behavior went on for nearly a week before the hourly calls stopped flowing in and someone finally decided to stop by to see if I lived through the ordeal. The first time I heard a knock on the door, I had been half-asleep at the foot of my bed.

“Colin, open up. It’s your father,” I heard. I blinked the molasses humidity from my eyelids, then closed them again. It was too hot to deal with this nonsense. He eventually left.

Caitlin, who by this time had left a passel of messages on my machine in her range of moods, also stopped by.

In the beginning, her calls had been filled with a calm rationality that would have threatened to reason with my stubbornness had I not been so preoccupied with other thoughts. Her first one was even work related.

"Oz, I’m calling to let you know I met Adrienne today. Not at all what I expected, having listened to you harangue about how volatile and unreasonable she was. Our conversation went very well. She is more than willing to sit down sometime in the near future and discuss the details of her estate. Perhaps, if you get your act together, your father will turn the case back over to you. My schedule is completely overbooked at the moment. Call me and we can discuss in more detail. Ciao."

As time progressed, her messages were less frequent and more abrupt. The last one had been almost amusing.

“Oz…. we can’t go on like this… I just… I think you are being completely irrational and, well, childish. Yes, childish! There, I said it. You are acting like a goddamn baby, not returning my calls, or even those of your father and your poor, suffering mother. What kind of a selfish jerk are you? Why did I even bother calling you? God, I must be an idiot. You know what? We are through! Asshole!”

Though in my mind the relationship had been over in Abbeville, it was almost a relief she’d taken it upon herself, in her busy schedule, to make it official. I didn’t even care I was the one being dumped. It was one less thing to deal with.

Caitlin's visit had been a follow-up to her silly voicemail. She wanted her things, which I anticipated and neatly placed in a small, cardboard box.

Her demeanor was completely the opposite of her voicemails. “Thanks,” she said quietly. She looked as if she wanted me to say something, maybe a plea for her to give me another chance or an apology that I know she thought she had coming to her. “You know, Oz…”

“Goodbye Caitlin,” I said, and was surprised at my own boldness as I closed the door in her face. Had I really done that? Between the vodka-water balance (which had slowly become less balanced) and the fanatical home repairs, I wasn’t sure what the hell was going on anymore.

* * *

MY FATHER’S THIRD visit was his first successful one.

“Dad, I’m not going to talk about this,” I said through a crack made by a barely open door.

Instead of being his usual, non-confrontational self, he surprised me by shoving the door open with a startling degree of force. I stumbled back a few steps, catching myself on the edge of the fish tank.

Surprisingly, rather than a barrage of words, I was greeted with stunned silence, as he took my measure. I had been busy and hadn’t even bothered looked in a mirror in over a week.

As if reading my mind, he glanced to the mirror over the fish tank and I followed his gaze. My black hair was a spiky, disheveled mess, with hairs going every which way but the right one. Traces of dirt lived in the creases of my forehead and beds of my dimples. I had the beginnings of a facial beard, though it was only a week of growth, and my skin was sallow. To top it off, I was wearing a torn white wife-beater tank and some old running pants from high school. I looked like a heroin addict. No wonder my father looked horrified.

I touched my face as if to confirm what I saw. “Yikes,” I couldn’t help saying.

My father shook his head. “I don’t need to say a word then, I suppose,” he sounded somewhat relieved and awkwardly waited for me to offer him a seat. This struck me as funny after the bold way he burst into the house moments earlier.

“Have a seat,” I obliged, and trudged into the kitchen. The only sound between us was the swishing of my slippers against the wood floor.

I could have asked him what he wanted to drink, but all I could offer was water or, well, vodka. In the end, I poured us both plain water, sans the liquor. With my father, one needed their wits about them.

I paused. Nothing had changed, really. I still wasn’t ready for the “I-told-you-so’s.” I didn’t want to talk about what happened in Abbeville, or after, or any of my many theories. But I supposed hiding in my house was only prolonging the inevitable.

On second thought, I decided to add a little mix to my water.

I handed my father the vodka-free glass and sat across from him, on the black leather recliner under the potted palmetto.

Too often, the air between us was filled with awkward silences and pregnant pauses. Usually, we would both sip our drinks, if we had one, and my father would pretend to look around and be interested in things as if seeing them for the first time. I would sit and stare into the cup, bent over in my chair with both hands encircling it, waiting for him to speak first.

Tossing tradition out the window, I decided to speak up before my father did.

“Well, Dad, you were right.”

He looked up.

“About Adrienne. She isn’t who I thought she was.”

“Colin,” my father said gently, “I came by to see how you were doing. Your mother is worried about you.”

I could tell by deep creases in his forehead, and the looming crescents under his eyes, my mother wasn’t the only one.

“I will be fine once all of this nonsense is cleared up.”

“Adrienne’s attorney, who it turns out, was actually Jesse Fontaine’s mother acting as an attorney, called. They're dropping the charges. It seems she doesn’t feel as hard pressed to see this through to the end. That should make you feel better,” my father said.

My eyes didn’t brighten with surprise as my father may have hoped. “Maybe I will send her a thank-you card. Would that be sufficient, or do you think I should include a fruit basket?”

My father had a graceful way of ignoring unpleasant statements. “As I was saying, she is dropping the charges, but there is a condition attached, and I hope you would be wise enough to comply.”

I watched him closely.

“Adrienne has disappeared. I received a call from Jesse Fontaine a little over an hour ago and he was desperate to find her. He believes you know where Adrienne might have gone and if you help see her back to Abbeville, he will make sure his mother drops the charges.”

I was cornered by a woman I had never met. Hell, a woman who, by all rights, shouldn’t even be involved in this mess!

“What, exactly, would make him think Adrienne would call a man who allegedly attacked her, to announce her whereabouts?” I had to ask. But then, another thought occurred to me: if Adrienne left, then maybe she was on her way to New Orleans.

“I don’t know Oz. I’m questioning the veracity of the claim to begin with, and the whole situation seems suspect. But I do know this: if you know where she is and you don’t tell anyone, you could make this much worse.”

“Why are we letting this woman lead us around? Hell, Adrienne herself hasn’t stepped forward to say I’ve done anything wrong against her. Dad, we’ve been doing this for years and have plenty of resources to make her back down. Why aren’t we using them?”

“We can, and we will if we have to. But do you really want this out in public for everyone to hear and see? That's what will happen. You need to think about what I’m saying. If you know where Adrienne is, it’s better to say something.”

I folded my hands at my mouth and closed my eyes. “Dad, I don’t know where Adrienne is and frankly at this point, even if I did, I wouldn’t do that Fontaine woman any favors. I will clear up whatever misunderstandings came out of my trip to see Adrienne, and then I will finish the case I started, without the aid of Caitlin. Though maybe I have no right to, I am going to request you not ask me any more questions on the matter until I have answers. Know I did nothing to hurt Adrienne, and I never would. Tell Mother I love her, and that I am fine. Maybe I will come see her tonight or tomorrow, even.”

When I finished speaking, my father walked over to me and put his hand on my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” he said and I could see the love in his eyes. Behind them was much unsaid, but I heard it anyway.

* * *

MY MOTHER, CATHARINE, was one of the most remarkable women I knew. Even in her early fifties she was still quite beautiful, never having relied on unnatural methods to keep her good looks. Her medium-length blonde hair was still her natural color, with only a few flashes of gray invading. She was the consummate homemaker; she cooked, cleaned, and ran all the errands, ensuring my father never had to worry about anything once he crossed through the front door of their home.

As I entered my parents' house, my nostrils were filled with the warm scent of my mother’s baked cinnamon apple pie. The house was, of course, spotless, and dinner was warming in the second oven. I knew without checking.

I had not been to visit my mother in a few weeks, and for that I felt guilty. It was so easy to get caught up in the daily grind, finding one excuse and then another, not to mention the current consuming mess centered on Adrienne. Stepping through the front door was therapeutic. I felt like a different person from the day before, when my father visited.

“Oz!” my mother exclaimed and rushed toward me, pulling me into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re alright! I was worried about you, what with Adrienne and-“

I smiled and stopped her. “I’m here now and I’m fine, Mama. What’s for dinner?”

A young woman, around my age, emerged from the kitchen as my mother and I made our way to the dining room. She was very pretty; fair-haired, tall and thin with high, round cheekbones and very soft-looking skin. Her eyes were a deep grey, and quite striking.

“Oz, this is Janie Masters,” my mother introduced us. I took Janie’s hand in mine and shook it, enjoying the feel of her soft, milky skin. She smiled at me and I smiled back. I had been around women long enough to know she seemed interested. I knew already, if I asked her out, she would oblige me.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” she said, still smiling, but dropped her eyes and looked at my mother. “I suppose I should be going, Mrs. Sullivan.”

My mother ignored her, the way she had a tendency of doing when she was not finished with a thought. “Janie is with the forensics unit at NOPD,” she said, with a slight upturn of her eyes at me. I knew what that meant. Mother was attempting another round of matchmaker.

“That sounds very interesting,” I acknowledged, wishing I’d thought of something better or more engaging to say to the pretty girl in the dining room.

“It is,” Janie agreed. She shifted awkwardly and looked at my mother as if waiting for a dismissal.

Instead, my mother excused herself in a rather contrived manner to go check on the pie, and left us standing together.

I indulged in another moment to size her up. Janie's fair hair was more specifically tow-headed in color, and though her skin was quite fair, she did have the smallest collection of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the line of her cheekbones. Her eyes had a slight upwards tilt at the corners, and her face was small but angular.

She wore a grey linen business suit that brought out the grey in her eyes, and the sexual curve of that spot where her thighs joined her knees. Maybe my mom would get it right this time.

“So, you’re a lawyer then?” she asked me, making conversation.

“Yep.” For all that I wanted to engage her, I was not being successful.

“Ahhh,” Janie said. Then she surprised me by adding, “You’re also working on the Deschanel case, no?”

What did she know about the Deschanels? I wondered, somewhat suspiciously. For the love of God, I prayed my mother had not gone on and on about me and Adrienne to this girl!

As if reading my mind, she clarified, “I’ve been reassigned to reopen the investigation. What, with the reappearance of Deschanel’s daughter and all; unfortunately, she lost her memory so we can’t ask her what happened. However, we know she did survive the accident, which helps us understand what might have happened that night.” I realized with that impersonal statement–“Deschanel’s daughter” and not “Adrienne”–she was not aware of my connection.

“What more do you expect to find? They were killed in a car accident. That’s never been disputed.”

“No… perhaps it hasn’t.” The way she trained her eyes on me was engaging. I thought I should ask her out before my mother got even more involved, but this discussion was going in the wrong direction. “Some believe it wasn’t an accident.”

I had heard this theory before. Some thought Cordelia had taken a lover, who helped her plan the entire thing; others thought she promised someone a portion of the estate to assist with the plot. I believed her too selfish to share any of what she believed to be her son’s inheritance with anyone. And, though she was quite spiteful in many ways, she was too terrified of Charles’ promises of divorce to closely involve anyone in their family. Personally, I'd never doubted it was an unfortunate accident.

“I hope you are able to successfully resolve the matter,” I encouraged. I began to wonder how my mother had met her and how she ended up here in the first place. Perhaps my mother was not playing matchmaker, after all. It occurred to me she probably came seeking my father, and my mother occupied her in the charming way she did with all guests at the Sullivan house.

Janie glanced toward the kitchen to see if my mother was still there, then walked toward me. Handing me her business card, I saw she was trying to leave quietly and politely before my mother returned. I was to be her silent conspirator. I smiled. She might remember me, this way.

“Call me, Mr. Sullivan, if anything comes up.” She flashed me a knowing look, one that was more than a solicitation for assistance from one professional to another.

“You can count on it, Ms. Masters,” I affirmed and watched her walk out the door, remarking silently to myself on the instant chemistry between us. I looked at her card, considering what the appropriate waiting period was before calling these days.

No, I was too old for dating games. I would call her soon.

* * *

MY MOTHER AND I sat and made small talk as we ate. She made an almond-encrusted whitefish with a creamy garlic roulade, steamed okra, and baked macaroni and cheese. The meal was both satisfying and a comfort to me. Her cooking took me back to simpler times, and when I was feeling down, or vulnerable, I inevitably found my way back to her dinner table for some culinary therapy.

She talked about her classes, and the foreign exchange student from Holland who would be arriving in a few weeks to start the fall term. I talked about some of the recent cases I was handling at the firm, and a book I was reading about Robert the Bruce. Somewhere between Calculus and Scotland, I realized I had come not for one of my obligatory visits, but because I wanted to talk about Adrienne, and solicit her thoughts on the matter.

I knew this could be treading on dangerous ground. There was no love lost between Adrienne and my mother. Before Adrienne disappeared, my mother confronted her about her intentions and the encounter left Adrienne devastated. My mother refused to apologize for what she said, but I knew she felt some regret at the hurt it caused Adrienne. She had many assessments of Adrienne: Adrienne was young and didn’t know her own feelings, didn’t know what love was all about, was not ready for a serious relationship, was enjoying the feeling of being an adult but not ready for the responsibility.

Turned out, my mother was very wise on the subject of Adrienne.

Yet I still felt she could be unbiased and discerning on the matter if I asked.

I decided to ease into the subject. “What was the reason for Ms. Masters’ visit?” I asked. I hoped my mother would know more about her.

“She came to see your father, and I pointed her toward the office. You know, your father works so late sometimes.” She looked up at me, and seeing my face, smiled broadly. “Oh! Of course! You know, she is the daughter of the cigar magnate, Duke Masters. She comes from money, and a good family.”

“Mom, you would be concerned with her pedigree!” I laughed.

“Well, what of it? I would like to think my grandchildren will have all the good fortune they deserve.” We laughed together.

I knew of Janie's father; in fact, he was once a client of the firm, but they were from Metairie and used different services than our New Orleans clients. He was well known in Louisiana, and a local celebrity for having fought to lower the tariffs on imported goods.

“What else is on your mind, Oz?” my mother asked me. She put down her fork, placing her napkin on her plate, ready to talk.

I decided not to be coy. “I’m not sure what to do about this business with Adrienne,” I confessed.

“I can imagine this is a very confusing time for you,” she said soothingly. “Why don’t you tell me what happened in the bayou?”

I recounted how Adrienne had discovered I was there and set up the meeting herself, the strange encounter in the diner, Jesse, and the drugs in my drink. The accusation. Unlike Caitlin, my mother didn’t question these things had happened to me. She nodded knowingly, without judgment.

Then I told her Adrienne had called and wanted to come to New Orleans and stay with me. On this, I was somewhat fearful of her response.

“Sounds like you had quite an adventure! No wonder you needed a few days to yourself.” She took a sip of her wine. “You aren’t seriously considering having her stay with you, are you?”

“I don’t love her anymore,” I quickly said, “but I still have a responsibility to her.”

She smiled at me in a knowing way. “Love is not something which disappears, despite what we might wish. But you’re wrong on another account, too. You owe her nothing, Son.”

“I meant only the responsibility I have to her as her lawyer,” I insisted. Why was she looking at me like that? Like she knew every little thought in my head? If she knew some of the black-hearted things I’d thought lately, she might retreat.

“Mmm,” she said.

“Mmm? What’s that? Mmm?”

“Did it ever occur to you there are a good dozen or so other lawyers at the firm who could have handled this?”

“The Deschanel case is assigned to me. I am not going to let things that happened to me on a personal level, in the past, keep me from doing my job!” I was indignant she would suggest someone else handle it. She seemed to believe I was involved only to be with Adrienne!

“Naturally,” she said. “You know, Oz, I may be an old woman but I am not completely past my prime. I know what it is to love and lose. I know how you cared for that girl.”

“Adrienne.”

“Adrienne. I know you loved her. But things are different now. She is different. Perhaps she’s grown up into a young woman worthy of you, perhaps not.” She leaned forward and looked at me intently. “She wasn’t in control of her own emotions then, and regardless of maturity, she can’t possibly be now. She doesn't even know who she is.”

It was a mistake to think I could talk to my mother about this. She was far too logical. It was not quite so simple. Nor did I appreciate her thinking she knew me better than I knew myself. Yes, I could stop loving someone. Adrienne was living proof of that. “I couldn’t care less about her emotions. They are of no consequence to me one way or another,” I asserted.

She ignored that. “Why not get her a suite somewhere? She could certainly afford it! What about Ophélie? She is the rightful owner, after all.”

I didn’t have an immediate response. It was rational for her to stay at Ophélie, her home, or a hotel. But she said she wanted to stay with me. Why was I so quick to oblige? Not for the reasons my mother assumed, I knew that much, but I couldn’t say for certain what had been my motive. Was I still unable to say no to Adrienne, even now?

“She said she was scared of the city. That she was scared to be alone, and felt she could trust me,” I tried, finally, anticipating my mother’s inevitable reaction.

“I see,” was all she offered.

There was an awkward pause as I watched my mother place her thumb on her lips and look off in the distance. I fidgeted in my chair, hating the silence, knowing she controlled it.

“I am sorry for judging. I can’t know what you are going through, Son. Please forgive me,” she said. I saw she had tears in her eyes, and the guilt deepened.

“Mom.” I stood up and came to her side, putting my head on her shoulder. My heart overflowed with such love for her. She would put her own reservations aside and let me make what decisions I needed to, right or wrong. I also knew, without asking, our conversation would be between us; she wouldn’t betray my thoughts to my father. “I love you. Please don’t worry about me so much. I know she could never be anything to me now, I’ve accepted that, and I’m okay with it. I’m more than okay. I don’t want her back in my life, but my conscience tells me I can’t turn my back on her when I may be the only one who can help her.” Now that I had said it aloud, it made sense.

“I know,” she whispered and kissed my forehead. Her face smelled clean and milky, the scent of cold cream; the comforting fragrance of my childhood, of love and stability. “That’s what makes me so proud of you. You’ve always done the right thing.”

* * *

I DID CALL Janie Masters, the pretty forensics investigator, and we set up a date for the following evening at Galatoire’s. We’d just sat down to dinner when her phone went off, calling her into work.

“Damned electronic leash!” She looked gorgeous, and I was disappointed she had to leave.

“Call me?” she requested as she stood up to leave. “I mean it. I’d like to try this again, if you’re up for it.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I agreed and took a bold step by kissing her cheek, near the corner of her mouth. She blushed, smiled, and let her hand linger on top of mine. Then she left.

I never called her back. I was dying to see her again, but I lost her business card. I thought it would be too forward to call the NOPD and locate her that way, so I let her slip away. She never tried to contact me, either. I did see her name in the papers from time to time, and remembered how taken I had been with her in my mother’s dining room.

Chapter 14

Oz

FOUR MORE DAYS passed. Surely, if Adrienne were coming to see me, she would be here by now.

The delay gave me the opportunity to consider what I would do if she did show up. First, we would settle the score on the false charges. Likely then, she would ask me about her past. I would refer her to Ophélie and be done with it. Although only Nicolas lived there now, when he wasn’t traveling, most of the servants were still employed and lived on the plantation. Richard and Condoleezza had been there forever, so could tell her as much as I knew about her forgotten family life.

There was other family, beyond her brother Nicolas. Many aunts, uncles, cousins. Most Deschanels never left Louisiana. Her aunt Colleen, self-professed head of the family, would be perfectly suited for the task. Nicolas certainly would have deferred to her in a situation like this. He didn’t put much stock in Aunt Colleen’s view of the family curse, and strange powers that some of the family possessed, but he did respect her more than he'd ever respected his own parents.

One of many, Colleen was not the only one who could give Adrienne the answers she craved. The Deschanels were a massive brood, many with the unique sorts of gifts suited for helping others. Together, they would tell her all she needed to know, and I could wash my hands of the situation. I would call Jesse, let him know she was safe, and set up the appointment he’d requested.

* * *

“OZ, DID I call at a bad time?” I had switched off the lights and been on my way to bed when the phone rang. It was nearly midnight.

“It’s late, Adrienne. Where are you?”

“I don’t know exactly where I am… the truck driver dropped me off downtown… I think I might be standing in front of the… Superdome?”

“Adrienne, you hitchhiked! Do you know how dangerous that is?”

“I promise to tell you the whole story later, but I need to know how to find you.”

I told her to stay put and drove out to pick her up. When I found her, she was sitting at the bottom of a large lamppost, knees to her chest, drinking Diet Coke through a straw as she read a worn paperback of Tennessee Williams’ play, A Streetcar Named Desire.

She chewed her bottom lip ever so slightly in concentration; a long bang of red hair lay across her cheek, a small piece of it resting on her lips. She was a delight to my senses, as she once was.

I shook off the effect. The lawyer in me needed to assist her with figures, information, and paperwork. There was no room for the confused ex-lover demanding answers.

I rolled the window down and called out to her. She seemed surprised to see me so soon and tucked her book inside her shabby brown leather satchel. In her blank tank top, and wide linen palazzo pants, she looked simultaneously trashy and elegant.

"You didn't tell Caitlin you were coming to New Orleans, did you?" I asked, as she put her bag in the back seat.

"Who’s Caitlin?"

"Caitlin Richards, the attorney from our firm you met with about your estate?"

Adrienne shook her head in confusion. "I never spoke with Caitlin, or any attorneys, other than you. I've received a few business cards in the mail from other firms, but I threw those away."

It was my turn to be confused. Caitlin may have been a lot of things, but she wasn’t a liar. The entire episode, from the trip to Abbeville to the current moment, continued to be a chaotic jumble of unknowns. Caitlin’s lack of contact was yet another mystery that needed solving, but it wouldn't be solved here. It would likely fall into place when everything else did. If everything else did. I decided to drop it for now.

"I’m guessing Jesse isn’t aware you’re here, either?”

She took another sip of her Diet Coke and looked out the window. “No.”

As we drove down Canal Street and turned onto St. Charles, she didn’t offer more than a few cordial words. When I occasionally glanced her direction, all I saw was the back of her head; she was fixed on the sights streaming past her window. Adrienne's thoughts were nearly audible as she scanned homes and restaurants lining the Avenue. I wondered if any of it was familiar.

I turned onto Seventh and parked behind the house. She was already out of the car before I could get around to the passenger side to open her door. I attempted to be a gentleman once more by holding the front door open, but she gestured as if to say, “After you.”

“Have I been here before?” she asked. Her lips were twisted together in concentration as she looked around the room, her bag dropped and forgotten at her feet.

“A few times,” I replied. Before she could turn around, I reached for her bag and placed it next to the closet door. “But I wouldn’t expect you to remember something so ordinary. This is nothing compared to where you grew up.”

“Ordinary? I’ve been here less than an hour, and all I’ve seen around me is decadent homes, decadent cars, decadent architecture, decadent people. Anything but ordinary.” She sat down on the couch and crossed her legs at the ankles. She never took her eyes away from me, gazing at me both innocently and intently.

I shook my head and laughed. There was always something arresting about the directness and simple honesty of her speech, the way she gave no forethought to reaction.

“No, you’re sure right about that.”

I acquainted her with the house and gave her the “make yourself at home” speech. How ironic; had she not disappeared, this would have been her home.

“You can’t know what this means to me. I hope we get to know each other, again, and become great friends. There’s something very honest about you, Oz. You’re a good guy.”

"You might change your mind after you stay here awhile," I joked with a smile. Internally, I began to appreciate my mother’s wisdom and wondered if I had completely lost my mind, opening up my house and life to her after all that happened.

She didn't return the smile, understandably lost in thought again.

Adrienne was clearly exhausted and it struck me she was waiting for direction on where she could sleep. Her eyes were glazed, her voice not as confident. It was now well past midnight.

Never having needed to outfit a guest room, I showed her to my bedroom and told her she should sleep there. “I’ll take the couch,” I said, to her protests, but she was too tired to argue for long. In the end, she offered a compromise: I could sleep in the bed with her. She asked me this so innocently, no clue we intimately shared that bed for a summer.

I told her gently, no, that would not be such a good idea. Then I left her there and went to make my bed on the parlor sofa.

What are my intentions with this girl? I thought. She had no clue who I really was, what role I had played in her life, and yet I offered her the use of my home, my things, my very bed, as if she did. I kept saying things in my head like, “until she goes to Ophélie,” or “after I take her to Ophélie,” but I wondered if I would be able to do that if she insisted on my help. And the inevitable call to Jesse... would I make it?

As my mother theorized, Adrienne was different now. She wasn’t the girl who stopped time for me when she flashed her winsome smile. She had grown up and away from me, from New Orleans, from her very origins. It remained to be seen who Adrienne was now.

Despite my confident statements to that effect, had I actually succeeded in my attempts to stop loving Adrienne? That was the real question, and I knew I had to face it soon. When should I tell my sleeping beauty she spent many nights in that very bed, whispering promises of a future in my ear?

When I left her in the bedroom for the night, she asked me to keep her whereabouts a secret. “Just until I have some answers. I don’t want any interference. I have to know who I am.”

I had absolutely no one to turn to. Neither one of my parents would understand. They would tell me to call Jesse right away to ease his worries, as promised. Adrienne asked me to do the opposite. Where did my loyalties lie?

I spoke with Nicolas frequently, but he had been in Japan for the last few weeks with a fifty-year-old woman from Tokyo. Ozzy, I am a kept man! You should really hook something up for yourself, he said to me one day after nearly forty straight hours in Yokohama and an “obscene amount of saké."

He was always doing and saying outrageous things, real attention-grabbers. Benign maybe, but Nic definitely had a knack for keeping the Deschanel name in the gossip papers. Although he was my best friend, I often found it difficult to relate to someone whose idea of fun was running with the bulls in Pamplona or doing competitive tequila shooters in Caracas. Last year he called from a drunken bash on the yacht of a Serbian prince, somewhere in the Adriatic Sea. I wondered if he was even aware of what was going on with his sister.

I thought, briefly, of Ana. The only woman I'd ever loved, other than Adrienne, and my oldest friend, other than Nicolas. As Adrienne's cousin, she might be able to provide me guidance on the matter, and I knew I could trust her. But almost as soon as the thought surfaced, I knew it was a bad idea. Her deepest loyalty was to Nicolas, and I'd be putting her in a position requiring her to keep something very important from him. I couldn't do that, to either of them.

Calling any other relative, then, was also out of the question until I was ready to tell Nicolas.

The decision was mine to make. At the moment, my loyalties were to Adrienne. I had to decide how much of her life I should reveal, when, and how. Telling her about them was only the beginning. Even though she was aware she had no surviving immediate family, other than Nicolas, I doubted she had any idea how that came to pass. There were two edges to this sword. I could tell her everything and potentially destroy her, or, I could tell her nothing and deny her the truth that was rightfully hers. I had no right to be the one to tell her all of the sordid details, and at the same time, I had an obligation to.

It was my job to do everything in my power to assist her within the bounds of the law. It really wasn’t my role to protect her anymore. My own feelings seemed distant and unimportant at the moment.

I was in some predicament.

Chapter 15

Oz

Oz Reminisces…

A LOT CAN happen in three years. After that fateful day, when Adrienne was sent to the aging city of Brussels, I divided my efforts less than equally between my studies and depravity, “fell in love” eight times, obtained my bachelor’s degree, and purchased my house. Somewhere between getting my degree and buying my first home, I forgot about Giselle Deschanel and became charmed with her older sister Nathalie.

Nathalie was very tall, almost six feet, but of a subtle build; clearly feminine, but without the lush curves of her sisters. Her legs and arms were long and slender, with delicate wrists and feet. If Adrienne had poise, then Nathalie had grace. She wore her dark hair pulled back from her face and twisted at the back in a dignified bun. Nathalie conducted herself as a young lady of nineteen should, but rarely did, with appropriate reserve.

She had been a graduate of Sacred Heart for over a year but showed no inclination to leave her sisters for college. She took private tutelage at home in the mornings and spent the balance of the day reading.

Given to artistic endeavors, Nathalie spent many afternoons on the upstairs back gallery of Ophélie, facing Brigitte’s Garden. She was particularly good with still life, and captured a number of angles from the garden and the distant oaks. These her father proudly displayed in his study and the double parlor.

One particular afternoon, before my twenty-first birthday, I stopped by the plantation to drop off some paperwork to Charles. Richard answered the door and showed me to the double parlor to wait. Charles was not home but would be returning shortly. I was embarrassed this was the first time I truly noticed the beautiful paintings.

When Nathalie wandered into the room, I asked her about them.

A deep blush came into her cheeks when she admitted, “They’re just something I do to pass the time.” Nathalie never said more than ten words to me, and never betrayed any hint of vulnerability. I had always found her haughty and arrogant. Beyond my wonder at her skill, I was surprised to see her wearing her feelings so openly.

We discovered we had much in common. When she said she was tired of feeling like her life was pre-determined by her family, I thought of the firm, and could relate. When I told her I was ready to meet someone who understood me, she sighed and nodded. I was amazed at how well she seemed to know me, and was able to identify with me.

I liked Nathalie because, unlike most girls I’d dated, she accepted me as I was. She didn't share my knowledge or passion of literature or history–she was taken more with art and the sciences–but she didn't think me less of a man for it, either. And while the brief romance failed for many amicable reasons, the friendship continued.

She was the one who ended up leading Adrienne to me. If only I had known she planned it all along, from that very day in the parlor at Ophélie perhaps, watching me, deciding if I was good enough.

The week after Adrienne’s return from boarding school in Brussels, Nathalie called and asked if I would have Adrienne over for dinner to welcome her back.

“She was always so fond of you Oz,” Nathalie encouraged.

I sighed. I didn’t feel like entertaining anyone, especially my friend’s little sister. “I'm helping at the firm this week.”

“What about the weekend?”

I could tell it meant a lot to Nathalie, and I didn’t want to disappoint her, so I said, “I’m open Saturday evening. The two of you could stop by around six, I guess.”

“Oh, it will just be Adrienne.”

“You won’t be coming?”

“No,” she said slowly. “I thought you and Adrienne might like some time to catch up after all these years.”

I could not think of anything Adrienne and I would need to catch up on, but it seemed rude to say so. “Saturday evening then.”

“I’ll go tell her right now. You don’t know what this will mean to her,” she assured and hung up.

I couldn’t imagine the big to-do about seeing me, of all people. Who was I? Her brother’s best friend? An acquaintance of her sisters? I was surprised she remembered me. I pictured the precocious thirteen-year old she was, and didn’t consider the changes puberty might have wrought. I was flattered though, and fond of her, so I began to look forward to the visit as the week neared its end.

When I opened the door Saturday night, her metamorphosis dawned as a complete shock.

The awkwardness of early development which nagged her at thirteen had blossomed into a sense of completion by sixteen. Her blue eyes were like jewels crowning a slim, yet sensuously curved figure. The bosom she had developed three years ago was perfectly finished now, the cut of her linen shirt revealing the soft, round arcs. Vibrant red hair lit up her face, as if she were kissed by fire itself. Before me stood the most beguiling woman-child I had ever laid eyes on.

Adrienne, clearly embarrassed by my perusal, crossed her slender arms over her breasts and broke the trance with, “Hi, Oz.”

I quickly recovered and invited her in. “You look great, Adrienne.” My eyes followed her as she dropped her handbag by the door and found a seat on the couch. Taking a minute to compose myself, I picked up her purse and set it on a table in the entry.

“Thanks.” She blushed and fidgeted with the gold bracelet on her left wrist. “This is a beautiful house. You recently bought it?”

“I closed about a month ago,” I told her disinterestedly. I didn’t care about the house at the moment. I wanted to hear about her! I couldn’t believe this was Adrienne! The little genius child who was reading War and Peace the day she was sent off to school; the child who was solving quadratic equations at the age of nine.

Adrienne looked around self-consciously. When her eyes finally came back to me, she acknowledged my rapt stare with a tentative smile. To my immediate relief, I realized she was anxious, too.

I offered her something to drink and she requested iced tea. As I brought it in from the kitchen, I saw she was nervous as ever. I would not be able to relax until she did, so I asked her about school.

Her face lit up, and fell, all at once. Composing herself quickly, she began to talk animatedly about the teachers, one in particular, Mademoiselle Durand, who had been her favorite. She was the trigonometry professor who wanted to advance Adrienne to calculus after the first day, but had been denied by the headmaster. Instead, Mlle. Durand and Adrienne formed a friendship. She spoke about how on the weekends, Mlle. Durand had taken her into England, to her parent’s home outside London. They would ride horses, pick fruit from the orchards, and read Dante.

“Every weekend?” I asked. It seemed odd to me that a single woman would not have other things to do on a weekend than spend it with a student.

“All but one,” her face darkened again. “The last weekend I was there we did not go to London.”

“From the way you talk about her, it surprises me you would want to come home," I said, thinking of how Cordelia often treated her.

She sat her sweet tea down on the table, untouched. “I didn’t have a choice.”

Guessing she was referring to her father’s guilt over having sent her away, I said, “Sure, but you could always go back next year-“

“No, Oz, I can’t.” Her tone was forceful, as if she had lost all patience with me. “I was accused of being sexually mischievous and expelled without the option of returning.”

Her candor caught me entirely off guard. How was I supposed to respond to that? I was angry with my father for not sharing this with me, for surely he had known. He knew she was coming for dinner, I told him yesterday. And not a word!

She laughed, short and bitter. Tucking her long red hair behind her ears, she intuitively understood my silence. “No, I didn’t suppose you’d have a response to that. You want to know what happened, I can see. First, you can stop staring at me. Would you like the truth or what the headmaster told my father?”

“Both, I guess.” I was riveted. This child, sexual? And to think, I had been harboring immoral thoughts about her since I opened the door, secret fantasies of stealing her coveted innocence. Imagining it had already been done only fanned the fire inside of me.

Talking about herself, being in control of the conversation, seemed to recharge her confidence. She told me about four older boys who had been following her around since her arrival in Brussels. It started out with innocent flirtations; one would snap her bra and the others would giggle. Another would run by and swat her across the bottom, and his friends would cheer him on. After a few years, though, her reactions became predictable and the innocent pranks grew mundane and boring.

They began to follow her, at first between classes, and later as she walked through Brussels. They did this in a way which suggested they wanted to be seen, and it began to make her nervous. When she was followed into a tunnel one evening on the way home from the store, she spun around to meet her stalker.

“It was Pierre, the youngest, but still older than me. He said if I didn’t stop taunting them, I would regret it. Taunt them! I did everything in my power to ignore them, for all the trouble they caused me!”

Then the day prior to her expulsion, their taunts came to a climax. The four boys, Pierre, Armande, Jean, and Berenger, found her one night as she walked home from the public library. They forced her into the bushes, ripped at her skirt and panties, ignoring her protests as she struggled. “You can’t have tits like that and never use them!” they taunted her. “We know you’re not as innocent as you look!”

She fought as hard as she had ever fought in her life, but in the end it came down to simple math. There were four of them, all older and stronger. They sucked and bit at her until she bled and screamed all the more. In the end, it was luck that saved her from being raped.

I was amazed at the frankness with which she told the story.

“I was screaming and biting their hands and I had finally begun to give up. I was becoming resigned to the fact they would have what they wanted when an old woman happened by.”

This old woman, hearing her cries, chased the boys away with her walking stick and offered her hand to a tattered and terrified Adrienne. The woman quickly scuttled away before Adrienne could thank her or think to get her name.

The next morning, she went straight to the headmaster’s office, but when she arrived, the four boys were walking out. They wore smug, satisfied grins on their faces as they passed and one said, “It’s over, ma cher. “

The headmaster pulled her into his office immediately and demanded an explanation for her actions. Before she could recount her side of the story, the headmaster told how the boys had come to him, confused. “Adrienne seduced us,” they said. “She’s a witch.” “She cast a spell on us and we didn’t know where or who we were.” One look at this developed woman-child and the headmaster cast the first stone.

“Lolita,” he spat. There was no room for that behavior there, he said. He would not allow her to contaminate his beloved school with such filth.

“Didn’t you argue, protest?” I asked. I’d seen a lot of unexplainable things, especially around the Deschanels, but I couldn’t imagine anyone believing a young girl had spelled four boys! How could she have forced them to do anything? This headmaster was irresponsible to the point of ignorance. He should be fired! I would call my father about this immediately.

Of course she did, she said, in a slightly scoffing tone; had I ever known her to not speak her mind? The headmaster had already drawn his conclusion. It was easier to lose the funding from one individual rather than four, and there was nothing to be said that would change the math.

“What of Mlle. Durand? Surely she knew you well enough to put an end to the nonsense.”

Adrienne shook her head, slowly. I wasn’t getting it. “Not everyone is as fortunate as us. She needed her job.” She stopped talking and finally took a sip of her tea. The ice had melted. “So that’s it.” She had tears in her eyes.

As her words settled into my heart and mind, I felt rage threaten to boil over. Those four punks, doing crude and horrible things to sweet Adrienne.

“How dare they!” I yelled. I stood up fast, nearly toppling the chair. This girl was the closest I ever had to a little sister; the fury was almost beyond my control. “How dare they do this to you!”

She stood up, matching my pace, and grabbed me by both arms. “No, Oz, I didn’t tell you this to upset you. Please, Oz.”

I caught my breath and looked down at her. Great big blue eyes implored, begging me to be calm. I tried not to imagine them ripping off her panties, suckling her crudely. This beautiful redheaded child, standing in front of me in her too-tight jeans and her coquettish linen tank top. My family. My friend. My fantasy.

I wanted to crush her to me right then, stamp out all of the pain and envelop her with kisses. She must have read my mind.

“This is why I came here, to you. Oz, you have always been there for me.” I had no idea what she was talking about, only that I wanted to protect her. “I want you, Oz; I want you to show me what those boys meant. I want to justify what they did. Make love to me, Oz. Make me understand the difference!”

The spell was instantly broken. I pushed her away from me. “What did you say?”

“You know what I said.” She was desperate to make me understand. “You wouldn’t feel compelled for me to repeat it if you didn’t. Oz, those boys took something from me I can’t get back. There is this void, this endless expanse of the nothing they left in its place! They stole from me what was left of my girlhood. Only they did it all wrong, because I am left feeling tainted but without the secret satisfaction which should come with it. I feel cheated and incomplete.”

Adrienne was blathering, and we both knew it. Her throat moved as her heart raced. I watched her short, quick breaths and realized I was breathing the same.

She moved back in closer to me, and I could smell the oils of her hair, a mixture of jasmine and wisteria. If she kissed me right then, I could not do a thing to stop it. “Oz, make love to me. Finish the story. I need to know what all of this was about; I need a reason for why this happened.”

“I can’t give you a reason, Adrienne! Bad things happen, and we can’t always explain them.” I was retreating, trying to stop something terrible from happening.

“That doesn’t mean we have to accept it and be victims!”

A million thoughts and arguments were running through my head and I couldn’t harness any of them into a coherent statement. “This is insane. If Nathalie only knew this was why you wanted to come see me!”

Adrienne managed a short, bitter laugh between her tears. “My dear sister was the very one who sent me here! She said you would understand, that you were a gentleman, and could help me!”

“I doubt this was what she had in mind!”

“This was exactly what she had in mind! Go ahead, call her! Call Nathalie if you don’t believe me!”

She sounded more like a child than ever now. It was painful to sit there and listen to her ask for the very thing I was fighting against myself about. Yet I couldn’t do this to her. I felt I would be no better than the bullies in Brussels. “Adrienne, sleeping with me will not make right what those punks did.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Her hands were balled into little fists and the tears were flowing freely now. “I don’t want to make it right, I want to end it! Don’t you understand?” She screamed the last in desperation.

I grabbed at her tiny wrists. She was shaking uncontrollably. My resistance was slipping. “Oh Adrienne, Adrienne,” I sighed and allowed her to crush her body against mine. Her breath was warm and rapid on my neck, and her tears quickly melted through my shirt.

We sank to our knees onto the cypress floor and she fell back against the Oriental rug. I gazed at her, red hair spread like branches among the leaves on my pale carpet, tears glistening down soft baby cheeks, and I leaned in to kiss her.

Her lips were soft and inviting, helping me believe what I was doing was right and I wasn’t going to hell for it. I told myself there were no other options; over and over in my head I justified every moment. I did nothing to stop her hands from fumbling with the zipper on my slacks, assisting her when she didn’t move fast enough.

Both our shirts were dismissed to the side and her bra laid draped half over her arm in her rush to get it off. She looked up into my eyes, as if seeing me for the first time.

“My Big Hero,” she whispered, rolling her head to the side to reveal her delicious, milky neck, still throbbing with quickened pulse. “Please.”

The last of my resistance crumbled with those words. I slipped inside of her, at first gently, and then later, as she became more aggressive, with a hunger and intensity that was insatiable. She cried out, the cry of a girl becoming a woman for the first time, but the cries turned to moans and the moans to sighs.

We made love until her driver pulled up in front to take her home, dinner forgotten entirely.

“You’ll come back?” I asked, as she closed the screen door and walked toward the stairs. It was my turn to sound like the child. What have I done?

Adrienne turned to me and smiled, a smile of happiness, relief, and resolve. No longer a child. The smile of a woman.

“I love you, Oz.”

Chapter 16

Oz

ADRIENNE AWOKE THE next morning before I did. Around six I found her sitting on the front porch swing, using her foot to keep the tiny motion going. She was wearing a flimsy night shift, and the old fabric had become translucent, the bottom lace ruffles of her slip clinging to the tops of her knees as she watched the sun rise over the trees. She hadn’t yet put a comb through her hair and the snarls sparkled as the light broke over them. She looked so peaceful, I hated to disturb her.

“You’re up early,” I softly announced. Even at this hour the air was balmy and alive.

“Not as early as the cicadas.” She sighed and continued to stare ahead. “I could never live somewhere the cicadas didn’t sing.”

“Don't they sing much in the bayou?”

“Yes, but they have more competition here.”

I tried to imagine what it had been like for her, living in a world so different from the way she was reared. When I thought of the bayou, I conjured up old Boudreaux and Thibodeaux jokes. I imagined folks with convoluted family trees who murdered the French and English languages. I felt like such an uncultured bastard for basing my sole opinion on a common stereotype. After all, she represented none of these things.

The first night Adrienne came to me, now a distant memory, I remembered her telling me, over and over, it had been Nathalie’s idea, Nathalie’s suggestion. The terrible spiral of events which unfolded since that night might have been averted had I shown the presence of mind to pause, consider my actions, and perhaps call Nathalie to confirm.

Adrienne stopped swinging and looked at me. “Oz, if at any time my being here causes you any inconvenience or any-”

“Would you like some lunch?”

She appeared confused, then began to understand. This was my gentlemanly way of telling her I didn’t want to start that conversation. As I had hoped, she gracefully replied, “As long as you’re not cooking.”

I feigned offense. “Excuse me?”

She wrinkled her nose and scoffed at me, “I saw your kitchen.”

I couldn’t argue her on that point. The food in my kitchen consisted of chips, old beer, a moldy block of cheese, and an endless supply of ramen noodles. Like many of the Garden District, I had a maid. Solange lived on St. Peter's and came during the day while I was at work, to tidy up and leave dinner warming in the oven. The day I returned from Abbeville, I asked her to take a vacation, so I could have some much needed privacy with my thoughts. While I kept the house clean, the kitchen reflected her absence.

“Touché,” I said.

An hour later, we walked up to St. Charles Avenue and jumped on the crowded streetcar in the direction of the Vieux Carré. It was Monday, and people sat around us with their briefcases and cell phones, only an occasional tourist in the group. It was too hot this time of year for anyone to be here who didn’t have to be.

As the streetcar turned past Lee Circle and on to Carondelet Street, I pointed out the office of Sullivan & Associates. I saw my father’s car parked on the street.

“I hope you’re not avoiding work because of me,” she said in earnest.

“I’ve taken a leave of absence.”

“When are you going back?”

“You know? I really have no idea,” I replied honestly. At the moment, I didn’t much want to think about it. Eventually I would have to, but now didn’t seem appropriate.

We bought a muffaletta from Central Grocery and walked over to Jackson Square to share it. Watching the people pass by, she asked me about my life, my family, my job. We carefully avoided talking about her.

“What’s it like working with your father and all those other relatives?” she wanted to know. I had been watching her attempt to tackle the messy sandwich in her hands and she just about had it.

I took a deep breath and said, “It’s what all of the Sullivans have done since before the Civil War. Over the years, more than fifty of us have worked for the firm."

“Do you enjoy your job, Oz?”

I laughed. Something about the way she met my gaze told me she wouldn’t take anything but the truth. “Sometimes. There’s a lot of honor in what I do and I know I will always have a job there, and so will my children.” I paused, thoughtful. “But sometimes I wonder if there isn’t something else out there I would have been better at. Perhaps even something that would make me happier. Yet, if I went out and searched for whatever that was, what would my father think? He’s always given me everything I could ever need or ask for. It would be like slapping him in the face, him and all the other Sullivans who have sacrificed before me.”

Adrienne was silent for a few moments, mulling it over, as if the answer would come to her. Finally, she said, “Oz, you should never live for other people. If you would be happy doing something else, then do it. Your father will understand.”

What would she think if I told her we had this exact conversation? As before, I decided not to argue the tradition of family history. To her, the answer was simple and she wouldn’t see it any other way. I truly believed my father, to the contrary of her perspective, would not understand.

When we were done with lunch, it was such a nice day, I decided our serious business could wait. Since we were already in Jackson Square, I suggested some sightseeing; the Cabildo, the Presbytére, Gallier House Museum, and St. Louis Cathedral. She quickly agreed.

Had I known then that we would keep finding one distraction after another?

Pirates Alley was her favorite. She spent nearly two hours in Faulkner House Books. I gave her some money to spend for her visit until she was able to get her hands on her own, but I couldn’t help my shock when she came out with two large sacks of reading material.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said as I gaped at her.

“You know, I have a full library at home. You didn’t need to buy another one.” But I arranged for the books to be sent to my house.

We took a stroll down Riverfront Park and into the French Market, which she said reminded her of the street merchants in Abbeville. We both marveled at the creative names given to the hundreds of hot sauces, and she made me purchase a few with promises to cook for me, since it was apparent I could not do so for myself.

Adrienne was swept up in the tourist frenzy as she flitted from table to table, buying overpriced alligator heads and Mardi Gras beads. It was futile to explain to her the method by which these entrepreneurs stayed in business; she didn’t care. When she slapped a twenty down for a badly silk-screened bag not worth half that amount, I finally put an end to the madness.

“Save your money. I’ll take you to Magazine Street later." The merchant narrowed his eyes at me as I guided her away.

“I don’t understand what the big deal is. I know these men buy cheap goods from labor shops in the East and overprice them for sale to us, but it's how they stay in business. Don’t lawyers look for ways to get as much money as possible from their clients? Are street merchants really that different?”

I laughed at her again. Her manipulation of words and language brought me back a few years, as did her interest in the tourist traps. The entire afternoon conspired to remind me of that summer, three years ago, when she lured me into a similar adventure.

“I can’t argue with your brutal honesty, Ade. But for the sake of compromise, and my sanity, can we do something else?”

Chapter 17

Oz

Oz Reminisces…

I NEVER REALIZED the extent to which the Deschanel children were sheltered from the city until the summer I spent with Adrienne. Where I took sights for granted, she was a walking historian, giving me interesting details on this, and describing the architectural style of that. We couldn’t walk past a building without her reciting the year it was built, the architect responsible, and sometimes going as far as to quote the years of the modifications.

“Did you know most of the French Quarter buildings were not built with iron balconies? They were added in the 1850’s when that style became popular in Europe. Also, did you know a majority of the ironwork here is not wrought iron, but cast iron?”

“No, Adrienne, I did not know,” I said in my usual, dry humor.

“It goes to show what you can learn about the city you live in if you pay attention,” she bragged. Adrienne knew something about every building, every establishment. If asked, she could probably list off all the tenants from past to present. I dared not ask.

I teased her, but it occurred to me everything she knew about New Orleans she learned from books, while living barely an hour away. Here was a girl who had been to the South of France, the Swiss Alps, and the Russian frontier, but knew nothing of the city she came from; had never seen the Gulf of Mexico. I realized, through her fascination with books brought to life, how much I took for granted. Also, I was madly in love and refused to disappoint her by being disinterested in all her enthusiastic research.

That summer we walked the dirty, crowded streets of the Quarter for hours. She made me step into every bead shop, and every tourist trap full of over-priced junk. She bought a plaster Madonna, which was peeling from sitting on the shelf for so long, and its size required her to have it shipped home.

“I can keep it at your place, right? If I took it home, my father would know I came to the city.”

Unable to say no to her, despite the gaudy Catholic idol staring cockeyed at me, I reasonably replied, “Of course.”

My house filled with tackiness and trash, due to her inability to say no to any salesman, my inability to say no to her, and her insistence every store was different, something new. At first I blamed it on her naïveté, but I came to see she had an eye for things that were unique. She had a way of looking past what was right in front of her and seeing a depth to life that evaded me, and probably most people, altogether. I began to watch her more closely as she shopped, seeing how she would turn over a hundred items before deciding on one. A hundred items I could not tell apart.

“I can see the artist in the work. Here, see this?” Adrienne turned it over, handing it to me.

“Made in China?” I quipped.

“No, at the corner here.” I looked closely, and saw it. Small initials in delicate cursive. She urged me to look deeper and I began to see patterns in the style; the delicate swirls in the paint, the blending and the coming together of the mosaic, the ways the colors never bled into their neighbor, minding their borders. The little nuances came out to me the more time I spent with Adrienne. It was like looking into an optical illusion where focusing makes everything clearer; an image emerges where there previously was none.

“Now, compare it to this.” She showed me one which was seemingly identical and I began to understand. The first one was an entrancing masterpiece, the second a sloppy duplicate. Nothing stood out to me; there was no mosaic, no color consistency, and certainly no image emerging. How I had never seen this before, I didn’t know. Yet I did know. Adrienne took my observations to a new level and I wanted to believe I was somehow like her after this experience. That through her eyes I learned a heightened way to experience life and immerse myself in a city I thought I knew everything about.

I wanted to believe this, but I knew I could never do it on my own.

“Ahh, I do see,” I acknowledged, while wondering if I saw all she wanted me to. When my eyes met hers, I realized she was lost in her thoughts. I was jealous of her ability to drift away, closing her eyes as her fingers roamed the surface of the plaster idol, resting slowly in the cracks and seams. She seemed to understand the toils of this laborer in China. Adrienne was inquisitive, seeing and experiencing the world around her at a level I never gave a moment’s thought to.

“I’m not a complete idiot,” she stated as we walked, hand in hand, back to Hotel Monteleone, where we had been staying. “No one can say they’ve pulled the wool over my eyes. What no one realizes is the wool has been lifted. I see what others fail to. The joke is on everyone else.”

“You are still such a mystery to me,” I regretfully admitted. I wanted to solve her, and in doing so, become more like her. I wanted to transcend the immediate reality the way Adrienne could, and become two lovers against the world, our grins suggesting a secret no one around us would ever understand, living our own version of nirvana. I said none of this aloud for fear of scaring her. These things scared me enough for the both of us.

“Maybe that’s why you love me,” she replied, and I thought I detected a hint of sadness in her voice.

I threw my arm around her and pulled her into my side, smiling as she missed a step. “Trust me, darlin’. Mystery is not a bad thing.”

Chapter 18

Oz

FOR A WEEK we traipsed around New Orleans, seemingly without a care in the world. Neither one of us talked about either of our predicaments. Adrienne appeared to have set aside her sixteen years of life and family to discover, and I didn’t stop to consider my career waiting for me, or my unresolved feelings. It was a suspended animation of our own creation.

At times, when the laughter died down after a joke, one of those rare silences descended around us; we would glance at each other and our eyes would lock. In those moments, if one of us had voiced what we both were thinking, our escape would have ended.

We spent our time dining at Antoine’s, Galatoire’s, Desire Oyster Bar, Red Fish Grill, and the Upperline. Breakfast at Brennan’s every morning. As I promised, we shopped the row of stores along Magazine Street and spent time gazing into the endless art galleries on Julia Street. I worried initially she might be recognized, and forced to proffer explanations before she was ready, but people were too caught up in their own revelry. Aside from a few double-glances, Adrienne’s secret remained safe.

I knew from experience which bars would card and which wouldn’t. We took up jazz at Preservation Hall and to complete the experience, we spent an entire evening (and part of the next morning) on Bourbon Street taking in the cabarets, daiquiri bars, and grabbing drinks at the Famous Door and Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop. Adrienne especially loved the dark atmosphere at Lafitte’s and listened with rapt attention to the bartender who told her how the pirate himself had plotted under their very roof. Then he asked her out for a date.

Adrienne looked both flattered and confused as she glanced between us. I hadn’t been totally oblivious to the glances we received when she was at my side, but I tried to ignore them. Clearly they assumed she was my sister, given our age difference. She apparently hadn’t noticed at all, so surprised was she when the bartender asked her out. She was like the buck who doesn’t see the hunter that’s been following for miles waiting for a clear shot.

This was Saturday night and the week had already begun to wind down. It couldn’t go on like this forever. The silences were getting longer and our guilt was overcoming our fear of facing reality.

I didn’t want her to go out with this guy. Not because I was jealous, but because I didn’t want it to end. I didn’t want to start thinking again. To start feeling again.

“Thank you, but my friend and I have other plans,” Adrienne answered, laughing outright at me as I made no attempt to hide my sigh of relief.

The bartender flashed me a sidelong glance and resumed putting glasses away. “Lucky friend,” he muttered.

At two in the morning, I carried her out of Lafitte’s and decided to call it a night. The bars were mostly closed, but revelers carried on. Jazz musicians still played in the streets around them, the songs a bit less upbeat than the ones from earlier in the day. These soft melodies were more suitable to the half-drowsed tourists and locals, swaying drunkenly, refusing to give in to the oncoming day. More than one person let out the occasional whoop and tossed beads from the half-full galleries along the streets. The pavement was covered with crushed plastic cups, piles of cigarette butts congregating at the gutters, and beads of all colors.

“I’ve had a really good week, Oz,” Adrienne mumbled during the cab ride home, her head perched precariously on my shoulder. She probably consumed more alcohol than was really necessary, but so had I. That week in the Quarter challenged me on my opinion I could still carry on the same as I did in my golden days. I felt badly Adrienne had also allowed herself to behave carelessly. She loved the many daiquiri bars that littered the Quarter, and drank the overpriced concoctions like they were water.

“You should ask if they sell that in an IV, get a direct line going there,” I’d teased her. Then came the Hurricanes, oh the Hurricanes! Daiquiris were quickly forgotten when she discovered the wonder of the tall, curved signature glass with the crescent of lime peeking out the top. After about three (very watered down), she swayed rhythmically to the sounds of Etta James flowing out of the old jukebox at the rundown bar on St. Peters. Her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted, her head moving with her body, unaware of the eyes on her. I justified the indulgence with the hope all the poison I let her drink had given her the means to relax and let go of all the confusion and angst. I saw this in the soft, lazy smile that never left her face, and the slight flush to her pale cheeks, even in the cool evenings as a fresh breeze came off the river.

The feeling this fantasy was coming to an end gained strength hourly. What I wouldn’t give to shrug off that nagging voice, which belonged to no one but myself. To relive the week with her was a gift, recycling the fun memories of our past, and temporarily dispelling the current mystery shrouding both our lives. I knew the difference between fantasy and reality, but it didn’t stop me from wanting to manipulate the two into one. I wasn’t sure how I felt, how things were going to go from here, or what really happened between us during the week. What I did know was that whatever happened here in the Quarter would stay in the Quarter. We could not indulge in the illusion at my home on Seventh and Coliseum. All that waited for us there was the truth, and the need for both of us to discover it, be it together or on our own.

Adrienne’s careful demeanor indicated she also, intuitively, understood this boundary.

* * *

THE NEXT EVENING, Adrienne and I took a quiet walk down Royal Street, the previous week a mutually taboo topic. Adrienne was unusually circumspect, while I reflected on having done little of anything except distract us both. I genuinely wanted to break free of whatever was holding me back from helping her, but I was not ready. There was still something left to be done, though in our week of frivolity I had not figured out what that something was.

Jesse left messages for me, unreturned. He hadn’t made his way to New Orleans yet. His reticence could mean he either decided to let Adrienne do what she needed to do, or worse, he decided the opposite and turned it over to the authorities to search for her.

Distracted, it took a moment to realize I was behind Adrienne, though I couldn’t recall the exact moment she’d taken the lead. Content to follow, I wasn’t aware of the direction we were headed, or the ultimate destination, until we arrived. I looked up to see the Hotel Monteleone, and grasped with a quick and sharp panic, she wanted to go in.

“I want to see it,” she said when I questioned her. She can’t know. Did she feel what I felt every time I passed by Monteleone? She walked up to the Carousel Bar and sat down, closing her eyes, drawing a deep breath. My heart skipped at the fear she was remembering something, perhaps similar to the memories that plagued me now. I hoped not.

I really, really hoped not.

Chapter 19

Oz

Oz Reminisces…

MORNING. SUMMER. SUNDAY. The smell of boiled peanuts and elephant ears from the streets below. Sounds of revelers getting an early start, and the jazz bands warming up for the afternoon. Even in the Quarter, cicadas sang their song, soft and grating all at once. In about an hour, their sound would be drowned by the waking city, though they could still be heard on some of the less traveled streets.

The light came in through the thin sheath of curtains and lay at an angle across her face. Her right arm lay askance above her head, which was tucked into the crook of her elbow. The down on her arm caught the light, forming a soft aura around her peaceful face. I watched her sleep, my sweet Adrienne, and thought of the night before.

We started coming to the hotel several weeks ago, after her father had begun a nasty habit of showing up on my doorstep to retrieve his youngest daughter. He only did this on the weekends, when he was not locked up in his office; not confrontational, more of an afterthought. We continued to spend weekdays at the house on Seventh and Coliseum, where she would stop by after classes in her darling Catholic school getup, her driver arriving promptly at nine to take her home. On weekends, we rented this room in the Quarter, at Hotel Monteleone. We conspired this would be our room until the day Charles Deschanel decided to show up there as well. Neither of us wanted to think of that day, and what would possibly come next.

“Good morning, Beautiful,” I greeted her tenderly as her lids slowly opened, revealing the prettiest eyes I had ever looked into. They reminded me of the Caribbean Sea, perhaps from a beach in Jamaica. Deep, endless, and powerful. My love for her had grown to surpass my ability to quantify as the feelings were larger than her, or I, or the sum of us. I thought then, as she blinked the last of her sleep away, I would die if I ever lost her.

“Good morning, my Big Hero,” she whispered groggily, as the covers slipped off, leaving her body revealed to me. She made no move to fetch them again.

Every night since we started staying here had been magical. Our days lacked of any care or responsibility, and our nights were filled with intense passion. Adrienne’s love and energy for me knew no bounds. I often found myself regretfully admitting defeat, “Enough, Sweetie.”

“Just one more,” she would coax, eyes twinkling, body alight as she looked down on me, her red hair covering her breasts teasingly.

“What shall we do today?” I asked her, forcing myself to leave her side as I reached for my glasses. I never bothered with contacts on our weekends in the Quarter. They were only a nuisance.

“Stay in the room and make love all day?” she suggested, impishly.

“We could leave the Quarter, head down to the Gulf,” I called out from the bathroom. The door was ajar; in the mirror I could see her standing naked at the foot of the bed. She was stretching her long, lean body. I reconsidered her original proposal.

“Great idea!” She sounded like a little girl again, and often did when she let her excitement get ahead of her. It was so easy to forget she was sixteen, and those rare outbursts were a painful reminder of our limitations. It also made me feel strangely old, and like Humbert lusting after his little Lolita. I knew it far from the truth. Her age was not a hindrance to our love for one another. I had to put those thoughts out of my head. It only hurt her when I dwelt upon them, for she could do nothing about the annoying fact of her age, which to her was simply a number.

“Do you remember when you bet me you would take me to my prom?” she called out.

“That was out of the blue,” I teased. “But yes, I remember.”

I attended my junior prom when she was twelve; the very same prom I spent the night with her cousin Ana, though I started the evening with another girl; one I hardly remembered now.

Nicolas and I had been tending to our tuxedos while the elder three Deschanel girls piled on compliments about how cute we looked.

As I walked through the double parlor, I saw Adrienne sitting alone near the fireplace. When I asked her why she wasn’t in with her sisters, she said, “I don’t know why anyone would want to go to prom.”

“Oh come on now! All little girls dream of going to the prom one day,” I prompted.

“Not this little girl,” she asserted, and it seemed like she meant it. “I have better things to do than get dressed up like a celebrity, watch everyone get drunk, and dry hump each other on a dance floor.”

As usual with the things that came from her mouth, I was completely taken aback. “Interesting,” I observed, now regretting initiating the conversation. “But I am willing to bet you are wrong.”

“Wrong? What do you mean? This isn’t about your misogynist opinion of ‘what all little girls want.’ It’s about me, and what I want,” she said, arms crossed.

“What if I took you to your prom?” I ventured, as if no woman could refuse such an offer.

“You?” She sounded disgusted. “How presumptuous.”

“Okay, how about a nice gentleman’s bet?”

She looked interested now. Her stubbornness could never avoid a challenge. “Go on.”

“I am going to bet you a hundred dollars that when your time comes around, I am going to ask you to your prom, and you are going to say yes.”

She stared at me as if I had said the most idiotic thing ever. “How is that a bet, Oz? You will automatically lose because you have no control over the most relevant variable! Me! And besides, how old will you be, then? They probably wouldn’t even admit you.” She shook her head, but I detected a smile, finally. “Whatever. How can I refuse a bet I can’t lose?”

Recalling the exchange made me smile, especially considering how things turned out. “So, should we declare me a winner now?" I inquired.

“You must have been psychic. I thought taking that bet was a sure thing,” she said with a giggle.

When she wasn’t looking, I came up from behind and pulled her soft, naked skin into my arms. When I started to have doubts, all I needed was to feel her body crushed against mine and the worries simply melted away until it was just the two of us again.

We were both surprised by a knock at the door. “It’s too early for maid service,” I said under my breath, slightly annoyed. I pulled my pants on clumsily as I hopped toward the door, intent on getting rid of the unwanted visitor so I could get back to what little time I had with Adrienne.

“Who is it?” I asked. Whoever it was had covered the peephole.

“It’s Charles Deschanel, Colin. Open this door. NOW.”

What happened next, I remember in slow motion. Adrienne collecting her clothes, in her urgency only finding her shirt; her wide-mouthed cry of despair as I tried to think of the quickest way out of the inevitable. Charles’ burly frame as he walked through the door and gaped in horror at his half-dressed daughter scrambling to cover herself; his eyes tracing the room back to me, the look of anger and humiliation at having to discover it like this, in the act. He had to have known, but now could no longer ignore it.

“Adrienne. Now.” Of all the things Charles could have said, this was all that came out of his mouth. Adrienne shivered with fear and embarrassment. I wanted to go to her but knew I could not, knew it would be much worse for her if I did. I watched helplessly as Adrienne, finally dressed, walked past me with a look that chilled my heart. I knew a part of our relationship ended with that look.

“Adrienne, I love you. I need you. I will never leave you,” I said to her later that evening, on the phone, as she cried forlornly into the receiver. “Never.”

“Oz,” she sniffed, “don’t let him do this. Don’t let my father do this. Please.”

“I won’t. Adrienne, please don’t cry. I won’t ever let him come between us.” She was the little girl again, the child I had no right to be with, and I didn't know the words she needed to hear. All I knew was misery, and that I could not bear the thought of losing her.

Adrienne stopped crying abruptly. I heard her take a deep breath before blowing her nose. She seemed decisive, even from the other end of the phone. “It’s going to be okay. Somehow. It really, really is.”

I could sense in her words this morning had been the end of something. I hoped it also marked a new beginning.

Chapter 20

Oz

"I GUESS WE should go back,” Adrienne said, as she stepped away from the bar. She spoke in flat monosyllables, as if her mind was elsewhere. Her voice, her energy and warmth, seemed distant, a lifetime away instead of the few feet she now stood.

“We might as well,” I agreed.

The following day, I decided to take Adrienne to the jazz brunch at Commander’s Palace. We were both hungry and it seemed a natural fit for a Sunday afternoon.

On the way there, I took her through Lafayette Cemetary No. 1 where my family’s tomb was. I showed her the names of my ancestors, moving through them with little anecdotes.

“Aidan O’Súilleabháin, he was the one who started the firm, started it all,” I told her. She ran her finger over the carved marble lettering. “Here is his son Liam. Liam was the only male to survive the Civil War. He married his cousin Megan McDermott to sustain the family’s blood line.” I stopped. She had written the paper on this; she should already know what I was saying. But of course, she didn’t, how could she?

“That’s lovely. Áine Kavanagh,” she said reverently.

“She was Aidan’s wife, also his cousin.” I laughed. “The only incest in the family goes back far enough not to make me too nervous. Besides, everyone married their cousins back then, right?”

She flashed me a humoring look, but it was so natural it put me back at ease. When I remembered there were several Deschanel plots in Lafayette as well, I steered her toward Commander’s, across the street.

The tuxedo-clad host seated us in a corner, close enough to the jazz band to hear the music, but far enough away for us to hear ourselves. Adrienne was in a splendid mood, the best she had been in the whole visit. Her happy disposition, the congenial atmosphere, and nice weather all brought me to a conclusion, one I should have come to a week ago: I was being unfair to her.

Adrienne smiled and asked what I was going to order. I recommended the traditional brunch with quail as a main course, and their famous bread pudding soufflé for dessert.

“If all else fails, ask the expert,” she said agreeably, folding her menu and placing it on top of mine.

Somewhere between the salad and appetizer I found my courage. Adrienne had come to New Orleans for one reason: answers. I had given her none, yet she remained here, patiently wasting her time on silly distractions. Why?

I felt my heart shift for her then, the first real emotion since seeing her; something like pity only fonder. I wanted to help her, wanted to give her whatever was needed to undo the accident, and years in the swamp, so she could be herself.

Adrienne seemed to sense my distress. She smiled at me and politely asked again about my family's emigration from Ireland.

“Actually, I was hoping we could talk about you,” I offered and gauged her reaction. She was surprised, as I expected she would be, but pleasantly so.

She fumbled with her napkin. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” I assured her. “I’ll be honest with you, I haven’t much thought about this, at least not clearly, so I don’t know where to begin. Except, there is one thing that has been bothering me ever since you resurfaced.”

Adrienne tilted her head slightly, tucking her hair behind her ear. “What?’

“The family you were staying with... the Fontaines, right?” She nodded. “Well, what I can’t seem to understand is why they never told you anything about your past? Why did they allow you to live there, oblivious for over three years, when they knew?” I spoke the way she always did, in earnest. I knew her well enough to know it would not offend her. I hoped.

“They didn’t know.”

“It was all over the papers, Adrienne. The estate spent an unthinkable amount of money sending feelers throughout the region, including throughout Abbeville. You're telling me they heard none of that?”

“Yes, I am. They would have told me, Oz. They're not bad people.” She dropped her eyes. “They had no idea who I was.”

“I did some research on Angelique Fontaine and she is very well-respected in her community. We spent time in Abbeville, questioning people there. She couldn’t have been totally unaware.” I stopped, mentally kicking myself. This isn’t where I should have begun. I didn’t want to upset her. The intention had been to make her comfortable with talking about herself so I could in turn become comfortable with talking about her. All this debate was doing was making her defensive. I saw it coming before she did.

“Oz, I don’t know anything about that,” she said and drew a deep breath. The waiter brought the appetizer, an egg sardou, and Adrienne offered him a pleasant smile before turning back to me. “Angelique has been suffering from illness for quite some time. I don’t really want to go into it, but suffice to say, I don’t believe she has intentionally withheld information from me.”

“A lot of people use illness as a scapegoat, Adrienne.” I pushed on, despite the growing agitation spreading across her face. I hated to upset her, but I worried if I didn’t get the questions out now, I never would. “All I am saying is, it seems suspicious she knew nothing. Especially in light of the money and effort we put into finding you, and the considerable time we spent in a region where she is an important figure.”

The heat rose in her face as she clutched her napkin. “Are you suddenly the expert on Fontaine affairs? What business is it of yours where Angelique spends her time? You sit there, and in two minutes, speak such accusing words against her, the woman who kept me and protected me when I almost died. Saved my life! How dare you!”

“I’m sorry. Forgive me, forget I ever brought this up.” I tried to pacify her rising temper but knew it might be too late. While I was positive Angelique Fontaine had hidden things from her, Adrienne was not ready to face such offenses.

Adrienne leaned back in her chair, maintaining her steely gaze, but her eyes told me a different story. She didn’t want to be mad at me, and knew I wasn’t attacking her.

“Tell me about Jesse,” I asked in an attempt to restart the conversation. Her eyes brightened. “How did you meet him?”

“He was the one who saved my life after the accident. All I remember was waking, looking up, and there he was. He told me I almost drowned.”

“In the swamp?”

“Yes.”

I wanted to ask her the kinds of questions I would have asked six years ago, when she was still my friend’s baby sister and held no other meaning for me; questions like, did she love him and was he good to her? But that was before I had held her, before she had lost her memory, and before I put up a wall between us in order to protect myself. Those inquiries didn’t seem appropriate now.

“So you miss him then?” Her face changed to a dreamy state when she talked about this Jesse, the fiancée who saved her life. I supposed I should thank him.

A blush came into her face but she didn’t drop her eyes the way most girls would. “I do miss him. The Fontaines are the only family I know.”

Adrienne spoke those words without understanding the sadness of them. Three years ago, her life had been overflowing with love, family, and friendship. Now there was a limit to her world, and she seemed as happy as when she had everything.

She told me how it had taken Jesse a while before he shared his feelings with her. She fell in love with him before realizing the potential for it to happen. Although the marriage talk had only been seriously discussed recently, Anne and Angelique seemed to always assume it would happen.

“So you two really were serious then?” I asked and it was I who dropped my eyes. Of course they were serious, they were engaged! What a dumb question, Oz. More than anything I didn’t want to sound like I was jealous of Jesse, because I wasn’t.

“We are serious,” she corrected me. Had I said were? “Part of why I came here was for him, and for us. I wanted us to start our future off with the truth, both the good and bad. I don’t want us to have any secrets that could cause a problem down the road.”

“You say this like it’s a sure thing,” I observed.

“It is,” she affirmed.

“Well, congratulations,” I said numbly and took a swallow of my Bloody Mary.

Adrienne reached across the table for my hand, which I reluctantly let her take. “Oz, I know in my past you probably were like an older brother to me. This must be somewhat of a shock to you, my being nineteen and so young and all, but I’m old enough to know what love is, and to know when it’s the right thing. He's been devoted to me and I couldn’t ask for a more loyal husband.” Her words were harried; she desperately wanted me to understand. When I looked at her, she was the sixteen year old Adrienne again, full of life and childlike innocence. The girl who still believed one person could save the world.

She talked of being young, but how would she react if she knew she had been prepared to take my ring at sixteen? I couldn’t tell her what was bothering me, that she had misjudged my turmoil to be that of a protective older brother rather than of a man who had once loved her to the limit of his capabilities. The fact I no longer felt this way only added to the pain I experienced upon hearing her talk about Jesse the way she had once spoken of me. This was not what I had in mind when I resolved to help her; it was, in fact, the one thing I feared would go wrong. I could not afford the heartbreak that came with Adrienne’s presence.

I kept to myself for the rest of brunch, pretending instead to enjoy the jazz. If she sensed my deception, she said nothing. I wanted to go back to the past week, the way everything had been so carefree and none of this had mattered. I wanted to forget the reality of my current feelings and go back to how we had carried on in recent days. I was restless, Adrienne was seeking answers which would hurt us both, and she was in love with someone. Someone who was not me. I told myself I didn’t want it to be me, but yet I didn’t want it to be Jesse, either. I didn’t want it to be anyone!

Honestly, I didn’t know what I wanted and my own indecision was the very cause for my confusion and anxiety. Adrienne patiently respected my wishes to be selfish. She had done this without judging me, and yet her selflessness was the very thing driving me crazy now.

She finally broke the silence by asking me how I liked the bread pudding soufflé.

“It’s marvelous,” I told her. Too wrapped in my own swirl of self-loathing, I answered her honestly and so it was a good thing she didn’t instead ask what I thought of her looming marriage.

“I can make this,” she said. “If you want me to."

I put on a smile and told myself it didn’t matter if she married this guy, Jesse, because she was old enough to make that decision and it was not in my power to influence her. I wouldn’t let it bother me, because I couldn’t think of a rational reason why it should, never mind that I hadn’t had a rational thought in two weeks. “That would be nice. We can go to the grocery tomorrow for the things you need.”

She seemed pleased with my answer. We made small talk on the way back to my house; how that summer had been the hottest in years, and how Hurricane Lenny was picking up momentum and could come our direction at any moment. “They say he could be a category four at the rate he’s moving,” I remarked, mimicking the local weatherman.

Adrienne didn’t offer anything more about Jesse, and I didn't ask. By the time we got home, it was as if he didn't exist.

* * *

WE TOOK A walk down St. Charles at dusk, meandering the languid streets from Seventh to Napoleon amidst upturned sidewalks and flickering porch lights. A young man walking his dog smiled at us before disappearing into the crumbling wrought iron gates of his St. Charles mansion.

The night was alive around us, from the mosquitoes dancing lazy circles about our heads, to the unassuming rumble of the distant streetcar making its way toward us. A sweet breeze came off the river, giving soft relief from the evening heat.

We walked like this, side by side. She with her eyes half-closed, intoxicated by her surroundings; me, hands in pockets, deep in thought about nothing and everything all at once. Nothing serious consuming either of our minds, only the soft sounds of the Garden District and the luscious, deep fragrances of magnolia and jasmine after a summer rain.

If I had ever felt more relaxed, more at peace, I could not recall it. I had always been enchanted by the stillness I felt in my home neighborhood. It was a reverent canvas on which the multitude of sights and smells lobbied to overwhelm the senses. My whole self shuddered with this feeling of being unwound. Whatever awkwardness or unease I had been experiencing since Adrienne’s arrival was momentarily put to rest. There was no one else I would have rather been with than her, for no other reason than she happened to be there.

As we neared Napoleon Avenue, where I planned for us to turn around, Adrienne pressed her palm into mine and smiled, almost childlike in its sweetness, as if it say, it’s still early, let’s not rush.

I smiled back, giving her hand an affectionate squeeze, as we walked on, past more of the formidable manses, as far as the sister universities and my alma mater. I broke the long-formed silence by pointing out Tulane, where I went to both undergraduate and law school.

“Did you live on campus?” I had let go of her hand when I gestured toward the school, but it once again found hers as it fell back to my side.

“For a short time. Your brother Nicolas and I had an apartment together in the Quarter before I bought my house.” This was the first I mentioned Nicolas in her presence, but she didn’t press me about it. It wasn’t the time to talk about the deeper issues which likely plagued both our thoughts. This moment was about us, and the peacefulness of the Southern sky, and the humid Gulf breeze.

“This is absolutely beautiful,” she said in awe; the first either of us had ventured to voice it. It wasn’t necessary to say, but the sound of the words coming from her sultry, chocolate voice, added to the magic of the evening.

We crossed the street, over the streetcar tracks, and under the entrance to Audubon Park. The magnolias and oaks swayed overhead in the soft breeze, bending to and fro with a comforting rustle. We found a long arm of an oak resting on the grass and Adrienne took a seat. I joined her. The branch neither bent nor bowed under our weight, so strong and old it was.

“I could stay here, right here, for the rest of my life and need no greater happiness,” she whispered. “I could grow old on this very branch and be known for it. You could write a book about me Oz, The Woman of the Stately Oak.”

“I’ll write it. It will be a bestseller and I’ll dedicate it to you,” I played along. I was happy to be there, so peaceful and detached from everything. I didn’t care we were being silly.

“Make your dedication as so: To Adrienne, the girl who would be a woman one day.”

“I’d rather be truthful and accurate. I prefer: To Adrienne, the girl who is a woman already, in more ways than she knows.”

She closed her eyes and adjusted herself so she was lying backward, nestled into the branch. She slipped her arms behind her head, achieving a relaxed pose. “You can come visit me and bring me bread pudding soufflé every Sunday. We can talk about the weather and how close the hurricanes are.”

“And what of Jesse?” I asked, keeping pace with her melodrama. “Won’t you be utterly lost without him?”

“Oh, he can send me letters through you, and you can read them to me when you come to visit.” I much preferred this casual approach to her betrothal over the one displayed in the restaurant. She seemed to know this, because she surprisingly added:

“Besides, you’re the only man for me, my Big Hero.” She dropped her arms to her sides so they dangled down toward the ground on either side of the branch. Her voice was teasing and whimsical, but her words stopped my heart. My Big Hero. Those words, so familiar, so achingly familiar. Say it again Adrienne! Say it again and I could love you once more. Anything is possible on a night like this.

Yet she seemed not to understand what her words meant, or that she’d ever spoken them before. She went on to talk about the trees, and the breeze, and her beloved oak, which she adopted and vowed to come visit whenever she could.

“Promise me something, Adrienne,” I requested, as I watched her sway with the branch.

“Yes?” She kept her eyes closed but stopped moving.

“Promise me, when you’re back in Abbeville, and married to Jesse with your eight children, you’ll think of me and remember me the way we are right now. And when you begin to put the pieces of your past together, you’ll find I’m in it, but promise me you’ll remember only the way I am now, tonight.”

My request was not a self-serving one. Seeing Adrienne lying on the branch with such innocence and ease, I sensed peace. That was all I ever wanted for her; to be happy, without the stress or problems that threaten the rest of us. For her to remember me as anything but the carefree friend under the stately oak would only cause her pain.

She giggled, misunderstanding my seriousness for dramatics and said, “Oz, I shall remember only this night and forget any other moment we ever spent together. I shall forget forever our hilarious romp in the Quarter and our brunch at Commander’s!”

I smiled at her girlishness. As she often did, Adrienne had it right. This was not a night for somber conversation and solemn vows. This was an evening for fantasy and reality to cross over and become partners. Freedom for everything that could be, to be, and for a girl of nineteen to let go and extract pleasure, and a brief respite, from what was a serious visit.

It began to rain, and within minutes it was pouring. The leaves of the oak provided little shelter and soon we were both soaked.

“Come on, let’s go,” I encouraged and held out my hand.

“Afraid of a little rain?” Adrienne teased. Her hair was matted firmly to her face; her linen clothes had become transparent.

“Does nothing affect you? Yes!” I yelled and she laughed at me, but took my hand and clumsily ran out of the park as we used our free hands, in futility, to block the driving rain.

I spotted the streetcar ambling toward us, but she fought me on it, insisting she wanted to walk back in the storm. This was one battle I didn’t let her win. I practically dragged her up the steps and dropped the change in. She compromised by sticking her hand out the window to catch the rain.

“You’re going to hit your hand on a streetcar signs,” I admonished.

“Thanks, dad.”

A few people shot her dirty glances, but she defiantly kept the window open. We jumped off of the streetcar at Sixth and a man who had been sitting two seats behind made a big production of walking to her seat and slamming the window shut.

I put my hand on Adrienne’s shoulder in a gesture for her not to acknowledge the outburst. She obediently walked ahead of me and started down Seventh toward Coliseum.

Without sheltering leaves, the rain beat down heavier than it had in the park. In acknowledgement, Adrienne threw her arms out and spun herself around as she ran down the avenue.

“People are going to think you’re crazy!” I complained as I attempted to keep pace with her.

“Oz, your problem is you put too much stock in what other people think.” She stopped to wait. Adrienne had more energy than a child of nine and, despite my runner’s stride, it made me feel aged.

“So now you’re a psychiatrist,” I teased her again. I found great joy in bantering with her. It also allowed me to ignore comments that were probably meant to be semi-serious. “Tell me, Dr. Deschanel, what do I need to make my life complete?”

“Well…” she seemed to mull it over, squinting her eyes. Raindrops ran listlessly down her cheeks and off of the ends of her hair in huge droplets, but her affected version of concentration was undaunted. “To begin with, you really need to get married. You need a woman to keep you honest.”

“Women are overrated.”

“And suddenly you’re the expert!”

She ran on ahead of me, past Prytania and Chestnut. When I caught up to her, she was standing on my front porch, hands on her knees, bent over.

“What is this? Are we out of breath?”

She tried to reply but coughed and then laughed. “Can you please unlock the door?”

I swaggered past her, at a comfortable gait. Adrienne’s icy blue eyes glared at me as I asked, “What’s it worth to you?’

She balled up her tiny fists and emitted what could have been serious threats, had her current state of duress not been entirely comical.

I unlocked the door and she made a move to enter when I thrust my arm in front of the threshold. “Wait, clothes off first.”

“What!”

“I don’t want my floor and antique furniture to get all soaked.”

She shot me a look of defiance, ducked under my arm, and entered the house. I couldn’t help laughing.

I grabbed some clothes from the bedroom and went upstairs into my office to change. When I came back down, the familiar aroma of coffee and chicory filled the air. She was standing by the telephone table, disconcerted.

“What is it?”

“Oz, you have seventy new messages.” Adrienne looked up at me with fear in her eyes.

I tried to make light of it, but I was equally surprised. “When one has a daunting social life such as the one I lead, one cannot expect his answering machine will have tape left at the end of the day.”

“Oz, listen to the messages. Please.” She hadn’t found my joke funny and her voice was trembling. In an instant, the spell from earlier was broken, the easy peace forgotten.

I pressed the play button. The first message was dead silence, followed by heavy, raspy breaths. My immediate thought was a wrong number, or a crank call, but the next message was the same, and the next. We listened to twenty-five of these before she reached over and hit the button to erase them all.

“They’re all the same” she said decisively. Her voice still trembled. “Every one of them. Oz, who would do this?”

“I don’t know, Ade,” I told her and I didn’t. I honestly had no idea who would leave seventy messages worth of heavy breathing on my answering machine. The sheer number ruled out any possibility of a wrong number.

“You have to call the police,” she determined and picked up the phone, preparing to dial for me. “You have to tell them about this!”

If anyone should be worried, it was me. Yet she acted as if these messages were a direct attack on her.

I gently removed the phone from her hand and cradled it. “Calm down. I’m sure it’s only someone trying to pull my leg.”

“Seventy messages! Oz, that’s not a joke!”

I knew that, but I couldn’t let her get worked up about it because I wouldn’t get a lucid thought in. I had to think about this, clearly and without disruption. To do so I had to calm her fears and make them seem irrational. I hated to deceive her.

“Adrienne, I’m a lawyer. We get these kind of calls all the time.” I was lying to her and it was shameful. “People don’t like to be sued, or put in jail, believe it or not.”

Adrienne met my gaze. She knew I was misleading her, but she also realized I wasn’t going to get worked up about it in her presence.

“I’ll leave it alone for tonight,” she conceded and turned to walk toward my bedroom. “But tomorrow, you better address it. This is serious.”

I glanced back at the answering machine and turned it off. As an afterthought, I unplugged the phone. I wasn’t going to the police about this because they would do nothing except file a meaningless report and place it in a circular file. If I wanted to find out the source of the calls, I would need to do it myself.

“I made you some coffee,” she added and glanced at me from over her shoulder.

She knew I didn’t drink coffee. Well, used to know. “Thank you. Good night, Adrienne.”

Chapter 21

Oz

AROUND SIX THE next morning, I received the first of the disturbing phone calls for the day. Adrienne was still sleeping.

I picked up the phone and recognized first the dead silence, and then the heavy breathing. This time, though, I could tell it was a woman’s voice.

“Who is this?” I asked. Dial tone.

I looked at the dead line in my hand and distinctly recalled disconnecting the phone the previous night. I ducked my head under the table and saw it had been reconnected. So had the answering machine.

My heart raced, and a thousand horror sequences ran through my mind as to how this could have happened, before I thought of Adrienne. I checked the call history on my phone and confirmed at 11:58 PM the night before, she had placed a call to a number that looked familiar. I realized it was the number I had originally used to call her when I was in Abbeville. She’d waited until after I went to bed, so I wouldn’t ask any questions.

Jesse. Of course. I knew I should be relieved she let him know she was okay, so he and his family didn’t think I had kidnapped her. However, I didn’t like that she’d felt the need to do it behind my back.

Checking back through my call history, I saw the same number appear several times throughout the last week.

“So much for being her Big Hero,” I muttered, and went in to the kitchen to start some tea.

The phone rang again, and this time I made no move to answer it. I bowed my head over my cup, waiting for the voice with the death rattle to come on the machine. Instead it was the last person I expected to hear from.

“Ozzy! Pick up the phone, you ass! I know you’re home! It’s too damn early for you to be at the office, so get your ass out of bed and come talk to your old friend!”

I raced to pick up the phone before Adrienne could hear the message, pulling it into the dining room with me. “Yeah?”

“Is that any way to greet your oldest friend in the world?” I could hear people yelling and carrying on in the background behind him. It was evening in Japan, and I imagined the party was barely getting started.

“Nic, this isn’t a good time.”

“Don’t be a pussy. It’s only six in the morning!” He was talking to people around him distractedly in broken Japanese. I doubted he was truly interested in the conversation he was guilt-tripping me to participate in.

“Have you been reading the local papers?” I asked him.

“Why on earth would I do that?” Nicolas retorted, obviously perplexed. “I didn’t call for a lecture on grass roots awareness.”

“Why did you call?”

When he answered he sounded wounded. “Can't I call you just to talk, asshole?”

“You never call just to talk.” I was tired, and worried I would wake Adrienne. I checked the door frequently.

“Actually I wanted to tell you I’m starting to wear down, Ozzy. I really think I’m starting to tire of Japan, and Mieko in particular. She’s beginning to show her age.” So that was her name, Mieko. “So what I’m getting at is that it might be my time to come on home to N’awlins.” He affected the worst Southern drawl I had ever heard. Painful to hear from a local.

I thought of Adrienne, and the last week. “Oh come on, Nic, a few weeks ago you were telling me how much you enjoyed putting your college days to shame.”

“Ozzy, you know my attention span was never very impressive. It’s time to move on.” He laughed, and I heard a woman’s voice whisper something in his ear, to which he replied again in his horrible Japanese.

“What about Europe? Paris would love someone like you,” I urged. I kept checking the door for Adrienne and tried to keep my voice low. Every time I lowered it, Nicolas would scold me to speak up.

“You haven’t seen me for four months and you’re already trying to get rid of me.” He feigned offense and made a garbled noise likely meant to simulate being stabbed in the heart. “I thought this would make you happy!”

The phone beeped. I had another call, but I didn’t answer it. At this hour, it could only be my creepy phone prankster, whoever she was. “You know I only want what’s best for you.”

“Ha! You wait, Ozzy, we will throw the party of the century at Ophélie when I return!” The crowd made a noise as if proposing a toast.

“When will that be?” If Nicolas was coming home, I had to get Adrienne up to speed. I couldn’t spring it on her when he walked in the door.

“I don’t know, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps next month. But I have to go now. Cheers Ozzy!” He hung up.

I looked up to see Adrienne standing in the doorway.

“How is my brother Nicolas these days?” she asked. Seeing the look of panic on my face, she sat down beside me, removing the phone from my hands and placing it on the floor.

“Adrienne, I don’t want anymore secrets between us,” I said. My heart was heavy with remorse for her, for what she didn’t know, and what she would come to discover soon. I felt laden with the burden of being the one to undertake this job.

“I’m not upset with you, if that’s what you think.” Adrienne continued in an attempt to absolve me, “I planned to do this on my own, without your help. I was waiting for you to go back to work, but it doesn’t look like that’s happening anytime soon.”

“Don’t be a brat. I’m feeling so terrible right now. I don’t know what to do, and there is nothing funny about it. Nicolas doesn’t know you’re back, but he needs to find out soon. He’s your brother! It isn’t fair to let you walk into that not knowing anything.”

She sobered herself and put her hand over mine. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to. No, I need to. I need to do this for you but also for me, to remove this guilt that has nagged at me since the day I saw you at that shabby diner.” I turned her hand over in my own and looked at the small lines that ran from her fingers to her wrist. I was absolutely terrified of her reaction. “Nothing I’m going to tell you will be easy. I beg you not to hate the messenger.”

“Oz, I could never hate you.”

I asked her to pour us some tea, and I pulled up two chairs in the sitting room, by the hearth. When she returned with the cups, I took mine and she kept hers as she settled in a seat across from me. I took a deep sip and then began.

* * *

I BRUSHED OVER the briefest details of her life: her birth, her family life, her interests; the superficial facts anyone could have told her. I didn’t want to tell her anything that might inhibit memories from coming on their own, or that might be different from how she remembered it. I told her a little about her father, and even less about Cordelia. She smiled when I mentioned how close she was with her sisters, and how she spent most of her time studying and doing things everyone else avoided. What I didn’t relay to her, and would not, was the part of her life that included me.

When I came to the accident, I hesitated. I told her the little I knew, and what the papers reported. Then, remembering our brunch at Commander’s, I cautiously went into more detail about the efforts the police and the firm had gone to in order to find her. I told her that, except for Nicolas, her family was gone.

Adrienne stared at me, wide-eyed, mind clearly racing to assimilate all of this new information. I wished for a moment she would react. I couldn’t bear the strained silence.

“So then it’s all true. I have no one.” Her eyes glistened.

“I don’t know how to make this easier for you, Adrienne.”

She fingered open the top two buttons on her nightgown, and with her hand she slowly pushed the top down over her shoulder, revealing a long, thin scar.

“So that is what scarred me. A car accident?” She seemed skeptical, but it was the disbelief of someone who could not remember something as significant as this. “Angelique told me it was a branch or something from the water; that it must have happened when I nearly drowned.”

Adrienne was remarkably calm for someone who had learned her entire family died, but then, she remembered nothing of them; to her, it was if they never existed anyway. I realized, with sadness, her memory loss had not given her the opportunity to go through the grieving process. When she finally remembered, the wound would be fresh. Adrienne deserved to be able to properly grieve the sisters and father she had loved and lost. I felt so sorry for her.

She finally asked me what I had been avoiding.

“I was Nicolas’ best friend,” I answered. I would not complicate her life with anything beyond that. “Still am.”

For a brief moment I thought I registered disappointment on her face, but then it was gone. “Where is Nicolas?”

“Japan. I think he’ll be home soon.”

She chuckled nervously. “Does he know about me? I mean, that I'm alive and living with you?”

“No. I… I didn’t know how to tell him. I still can’t quite believe this is real.”

The first tear slid down her cheek. She set her tea aside and moved out of her chair to kneel down before me. With my thumb, I wiped the droplet away as she looked up at me with her big, blue eyes and bravely asked:

“Will you take me to Ophélie?”

* * *

ON THE DRIVE to Ophélie, I called the house and dismissed Richard and Condoleezza. Having lovingly served the family for decades, they had many questions, but explanations would come later. This visit would not be a social one.

The calls which previously plagued my home phone also began on my cell. Adrienne’s fear resurfaced as she correctly interpreted the look on my face. My cell phone number was not a number I shared with people I wasn’t close to.

The calls came first every ten minutes on the drive out, and then every minute. The phone rang so much Adrienne finally yelled, “Off, turn it off!

“Oz, you have to do something about this. This is harassment!” The trembling voice that moved me the night before returned. “You can’t ignore this!”

“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted.

“Talk to your father. He will know what to do.” She said this so matter-of-factly I laughed, but she was not jesting. She repeated herself, twice.

“He will tell me to do the same thing you’re telling me to do.”

“Which is exactly why you need to talk to him,” she emphasized.

We pulled off of the Expressway and within minutes we were on River Road. As we neared Ophélie, she seemed to realize its closeness, and was silent for the remainder of the ride.

When I saw the large white mansion come into view, I felt my breath catch in my throat. It was no different than it was when I made the drive out on the way to the bayou, but now it seemed to come alive with Adrienne’s presence.

As I pulled into the long driveway that led to the house, Adrienne began to fidget nervously beside me.

“Well, here we are,” I said to her, as she climbed out of the car without a word. She looked up at the galleries that wrapped around the house, and then down again at the gardens flanking the driveway. She tilted her head sideways, fixing her eyes there for some time. I didn’t say a word to disturb her. I was in my own daze.

I imagined Jesse and Adrienne living there, together, and I felt sick. He was not one of us, this Jesse, and I didn’t care how nice he was, or that he'd saved Adrienne’s life, if that was even true. I had come to not trust anything she had been told about how she came to live in the bayou.

Adrienne turned to face the house. “Do you have a key?” she asked, shyly.

“No, but they always leave the back door open.” Yet I didn’t know if they did or not. I only knew Charles and his brood had, when they were alive and living here. “No one would dare break into Ophélie.”

We tried and it worked. Adrienne didn’t wait for me to close the door; she was already ahead of me, moving through the kitchen.

Ophélie was certainly the largest house I had ever been in, and so her awed reaction was satisfying. She slipped off her sandals and walked barefoot across the old, cypress floorboards.

Adrienne wandered, gawking, from the dining room to the double parlor and then into the receiving room. I respected her silence by keeping my thoughts to myself.

The staff kept the house exactly the way Charles and his family had left it. In the parlor, his reading glasses sat on the table next to the chaise lounge. Nathalie’s book lay on the opposite table, still folded out to mark her place.

We went up the stairs, to the second floor and the bedrooms. Ten of the twenty bedrooms were on this floor, five more on the bottom floor, and on the rest on the third and final floor. The third floor rooms were the suite Charles and Cordelia occupied during the course of their marriage.

Five of the bedrooms on the second floor belonged to the five children, and of the remaining five, one had belonged to Lisette. The last four were kept as guest rooms.

As if by instinct that even memory loss could not interfere with, Adrienne walked directly to her room and pushed open the door.

Her bed stood in the middle of the room. On her vanity table, her brush was still tangled with her red hair, lip gloss rolled up against the handle. Next to her bed, a copy of War and Peace. To the right of her bed and vanity, her personal bathroom, and to the left, the door to the gallery.

Adrienne looked back at me before going to the double French doors and turning the knob, the handle clicking noisily from having been unused for three years.

I followed her out on to the gallery, which overlooked Brigitte’s Garden, the place so beloved to her and Nathalie. Although I kept my peace, I put my hand out and touched her shoulder to let her know I was there whenever she might need me. She covered my hand with hers and then turned abruptly; there were tears streaming down her face.

“Oz, please, stay here with me. Let’s stay here, the two of us. I don’t want to go back to New Orleans. Please, do this, for me.” Her pleading caught me so completely off guard, at first I couldn’t think of a response. She was a child again, weeping desperately in my arms.

“Adrienne, what is it? Do you remember?” I held her in my arms as her body shook with sobs.

“Oz, I can’t explain it. Please don’t ask me to. Oh, I know I have no right to ask anything of you, but I’m doing it anyway. Stay here with me! I need you to so badly I can’t even begin to communicate it.”

“Ade, look at me.” I forced her chin up and saw her whole face was red. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise."

“So you will do it? You will stay here with me?”

“There’s no need. You can come here whenever you want, I will let you take my car, or I’ll arrange a car from your own fleet. I will protect you from whatever it is you’re scared of. Maybe you won’t tell me what it is, but I’ll know when the time comes. There is no need to hide from the world out here.”

If only I had known with those words I would push her away, put up a wall between us where before there had been none.

“Okay Oz,” Adrienne said, her calm restored so quickly I wondered if I had imagined it all. “Whatever you say.”

On the way home, she gazed out the window, not saying a word. Once home, when I was sure her attention was sufficiently averted, I turned on my cell phone and checked the messages.

I’d received twenty-two voice mails.

* * *

HER DEMEANOR THE rest of the day worried me. To anyone looking in, it would seem Adrienne was calm, and adjusted. To me, she seemed like a young woman on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

Part of it had to do with the calls, though what her concern and involvement with them was, I could only guess. I wouldn’t put it past her foster family, but they struck me as more obnoxious than dangerous.

As the calls became progressively worse, so did Adrienne. That her episode at Ophélie was a manifestation of that fear seemed obvious to me. I only wished there was a way I could know, but she was either unable or unwilling to tell me herself.

The metamorphosis she went through on the gallery still plagued me. She walked around the house with that same, calm expression. I knew it was her tactic to hide something dark that I suppressed with my failure to understand and oblige her request.

I regretted how I handled the moment and my inability to take it back. However, I refused to hide from anyone or anything. I told Adrienne I would protect her and I meant that sincerely; she should have no cause to doubt it.

In addition to the cell phone voice mails, the tape on my answering machine was full. Instead of reprimanding me for my inaction on the matter, she simply turned around, walked into my room, and quietly closed the door. I unplugged the answering machine and put it in a storage box upstairs, then turned the ringer off the phone until I could think of a better plan. Whatever the caller’s intention, they had succeeded in terrifying Adrienne nearly to the brink of insanity.

Around six, I knocked on the bedroom door and asked if I could come in.

“Adrienne, about today-“

“Oz, I do not want to talk about it.” She held the same cool, eerie gaze.

Desperate to restore our truce, I tried again. “I’d like to take you to dinner. I was thinking Antoine’s.”

For my sake only, which I saw plainly, she smiled and said Antoine’s sounded splendid.

At dinner, she tried to be charming, and even laughed at my half-hearted jokes. Her smile never left her face, though her eyes were still sad. Her effort at mock levity was sincere, so she would have changed their look had she been able. Her voice was softer, and the inflection almost entirely missing. No matter how hard she tried, she could not hide the turmoil she harbored inside.

As I looked at Adrienne, I started to feel protective. When she had first come to me, I felt an obligation to ensure her safety. Sometime in the past week and a half, duty was replaced by the kind of protection one offers someone they genuinely care about. Even in her sadness, there was beauty, and I allowed myself to see it; previously I had kept those feelings at bay for fear of what they might lead to.

“Dinner is my treat tonight. I want to show you my appreciation for everything you’ve done,” Adrienne said.

“Your thanks is accepted but I won’t let you pay for dinner. I asked you out.” She dropped her eyes and nodded solemnly, as if arguing was not worth the effort.

When the dinner plates were removed and her demeanor persisted, I asked her to tell me what was troubling her.

“Adrienne, I care about you. As your friend. I can’t help what I don’t understand.”

The smile she gave me was so genuine I wondered how she could have ever been solemn. “I know. There is nothing wrong. You’re right. You shouldn’t have to hide from your life.”

I did not at all like the way she said you.

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“It’s okay,” she reassured me. “I will never doubt the genuineness of your feelings toward me and I will always love you for it.”

I was afraid she might burst into tears again, so I decided to change course.

“I think I’m going to go back to the office tomorrow.” For the first time that night her eyes lit up with real enthusiasm.

“Oz, that’s great! I’m so happy. I didn’t want to hold you back from your life.” Tears glistened under her lids. “I’m so happy.”

Before I could reply to her, the waiter brought the check and I quickly made a grab for it in case her earlier acquiescence had been a ploy.

At home, she glanced toward the phone and, noticing I removed the answering machine, approached and kissed my cheek.

“Thanks again, Oz. For everything. I will always be indebted to you.” Then she went into the bedroom she had slept in for nine nights and, with the shutting of the door, closed me out.

Chapter 22

Adrienne

IN THE THREE years Adrienne recalled of her life, she had never been so foolish.

Had she considered the possible consequences, even for a moment, before deciding this was the right move? Or, if she had deliberated them, had her considerations been honest or simply a formality so her conscience would be clear?

There were times in the past week she caught Oz looking at her in a way that made her heart stop. She saw him fight with himself over it, and watched his better judgment win out. And then, he was a nice guy again, being ever-so-patient by putting up with her while his own life was on hold.

For all she was starting to remember, there was still so much she didn’t know! And how could she even be sure what she was remembering was in any way accurate? For certain, her few memories had been of Oz, and they were filled with love and happiness. Nothing precise, but neither were there feelings of tension or things amiss. So why then did he treat her with such indifference?

Perhaps they had not parted on good terms. But no… no, she had definitely seen the look in his eyes on several occasions. The moment he spotted her in the diner; when she asked him to sleep in the same bed (oh, that had been a particularly foolish moment). When she walked out of the bookstore with all those books; too many moments to name. What affected her most was the sorrow in his eyes as he recounted the accident which took her family from her, and the strength in his embrace when he held her on the balcony at Ophélie.

Jesse was home, waiting patiently, against his better judgment. She had been afraid to confess what she was doing, but she cared for him too much to cause him such worry, and so tried her best to call him nightly. He was hurt, but surprisingly understanding; he even agreed to keep his mother calm until Adrienne came home. In their last conversation, he all but begged her to come back soon.

“Adrienne,” he said, “I don’t know the words to make you feel better about all of this. Hell, I don’t even know if I should be waiting for you, but I am. I will. I love you. And if this boy hasn’t told you the same thing yet, he isn’t going to.”

Then he said something that hurt her to recall, even now. “It isn’t a nice position to be in, you know. To be the second choice.”

“Oh, Jesse, no. It’s not like that!”

“Stop, Adrienne, please. Respect me enough to be honest. I’m well aware if he told you today he wanted to take you back into his life you’d leave me so fast my head would spin. But I guess, if anything, this should show you how much I love you. I’ll be here when you come back, and I’ll be ready to pick up the pieces of your broken heart. Because I know, in the end, it was no coincidence I found you in the bayou that night. This is your home, Adrienne. I’ll be waiting.”

Adrienne wanted to shower him with reassurances, but she couldn’t. She could not lie to him outright. She hated herself for how easily she had been able to walk away from Jesse to find what she had shared with Oz. It made her sick at how she could do this, knowing the hurt it would cause Jesse and his family. Her own selfish desires outweighed her better sense and willingness to do what was right.

And for what? Aside from the glances, which she well could have imagined, had Oz said one thing that might signify he was still in love with her? No, he hadn’t, and she was foolish for thinking he would. Foolish! And there she went, throwing herself at his feet, practically (no, not practically… definitely) begging him to be with her, to stay with her. His response had been so typically brother-like, trying to allay her unreasonable fears.

She felt sorry for Oz at Antoine’s. He was obviously trying to make up for letting her down, in that awkward way men attempt when they don’t know what to do, or even what exactly they’ve done wrong. And yes, she certainly caught his subtle hint in that part about his return to work. His way of telling her she had overstayed her welcome. His life had been on hold long enough, humoring her agenda.

Ah, but what of the conversation they had about Jesse? Oz had truly been disturbed to hear how close they had become. And Adrienne tried to keep playing the part, saving him from his own embarrassment by assuring him he must have been like a brother to her in her past. A brother! It was an engraved invitation for Oz to acknowledge, or signal somehow, their relationship was otherwise, but he didn’t. It had been the essence of the unknown that kept her from being herself when she first saw him in the diner. If nothing else, she could not risk that kind of hurt by throwing herself at someone who did not want her.

She had no doubt their love was very strong at one time. For her to have left Jesse so quickly, and without thought, no other reason made sense. It was the only rational explanation for her willingness to chance such potential heartbreak. To put so much of herself on the line.

Foolish! So foolish to think after three years Oz would pull her into his arms and declare his love for her as if it was yesterday. Whoever said there was clarity in love?

* * *

THE TRIP HADN’T been a total bust. When she left Abbeville, she had very few memories. But back in New Orleans, many others started to surface, though they only created more unanswered questions.

These were not like her dreams, or the feelings she had when recalling her past with Oz. They were unlike anything, really. The closest comparison she could make was a slide-show on fast-forward. The slides never stopped long enough for her to do more than wonder at what she had just seen or felt. It was one image after another, rapid-fire. What few things she could recall were so cryptic she didn’t even know what questions to ask Oz to get more information about them.

The first was of a woman; the same woman in her dreams she knew as Bitter Woman, always yelling at Adrienne. No, screaming. She was so hateful, Adrienne was aghast at the realization this woman was her stepmother.

Another had her sitting out in a garden, with Stout Man, Charles, who appeared in her dream. Adrienne smiled knowing now for certain this was her father. He is telling her to be more careful, more guarded. His words are kind, and although she feels like she is being lectured, she is happy to be spending time with him.

Ophélie appears in her memories as well, in several of them. In one, she is speaking to a gardener about the weather. In another, standing outside a cistern watching the water collect. And in one more, running out in the fields, observing the petrochemical machines do their work in the distance.

And, of course, more Oz memories. Spending this time with him must have acted as a catalyst, because now they came to her in floods. The one that had hit her the hardest had been the night they took a walk down Royal Street. She didn’t know how she ended up in that old hotel, but she knew it was where she wanted to go. She couldn’t have commanded her feet to stop walking. As she sat at the revolving bar, she saw the tension in Oz’s face and a thousand images overwhelmed her: lying in bed with Oz upstairs; waking up to him watching her with those green eyes; less clear, but some turmoil involving her father. One look at Oz told her he was having the same memories. And oh, how she wanted to share them with him.

And what of his eyes when she called him that name in Audubon Park? My Big Hero, was it? Somehow, she had known it meant something.

All week she had been torn between these swirling images, though her uncertainties held her back from spilling it all to him.

Would the memories stop once she returned home? Where was home, truly? Lines were crossed now to where she didn’t know which was which any longer. This trip had been a success and a disappointment to her, each in so many ways.

* * *

IT WAS CLEAR to Adrienne what she had to do.

It wasn't only Oz and Jesse she'd underestimated. Adrienne lived with Angelique long enough to know what extreme duress did to her. To Angelique, there was nothing that steeled her sanity more than seeing her children happy. And clearly, Adrienne’s decision had made Jesse miserable.

Oz didn't understand why the disturbing phone calls had incited such fear in Adrienne. How could he when Adrienne kept it to herself? Instead, she vehemently defended Angelique. Adrienne wondered if she actually believed Angelique was a danger to Oz. Then, she recalled that until an arrow was pointed at her head, she would not have thought Angelique could ever hurt her, either.

Adrienne knew she had only confused Oz by demanding he call his father, or the authorities. Even now, she was surprised at herself. Did she really think she could hide and let other people handle this problem?

She wondered if she had always caused Oz such malignant luck, and if that had something to do with the way he viewed her now.

Chapter 23

Oz

Oz Reminisces…

THE APPEARANCE OF Charles Deschanel at the Monteleone signaled a turning point in my relationship with Adrienne. We both knew it would, in some way or another, but neither of us dared to make any predictions. He would guard her much more closely, that we were sure of. Yet we knew his travel schedule was tight, which would limit his ability to stop our meetings entirely. There was also the strange discovery of Adrienne’s unlikely ally in Cordelia.

Cordelia had not sided with Adrienne, or any of the girls, on any matter in the Deschanel household, whether she agreed with them or not. But this was one thing in which Cordelia wished Adrienne much success. And both of us knew exactly why: Adrienne finding happiness was a small price to pay for Charles’ anger and resentment to surface. I am certain Cordelia was imagining Adrienne’s rebellion would land her disinherited, or at the very least would cause irreparable damage to the relationship she shared with her father. Neither of us were fooled when Cordelia engineered ways for us to see each other, but neither did we turn our cheeks up at the opportunities.

Looking back, our relationship was filled with underestimations; I underestimated her ability to love me at such a young age, she underestimated my love for her at many crucial turns. My father underestimated me when it came to being level-headed enough to discern the difference between love and lust, as did my mother. Adrienne’s parents underestimated her ability to put her morals aside and lie when it came to something she really, truly wanted. Our future was filled with underestimations as well, though we didn’t know it then. So it should not have surprised us when we underestimated Charles, and the lengths he would go to protect his daughter.

Charles cancelled all of his trips for the rest of the summer, and sent his next-in-command in his place. He apologized openly for having abandoned his family for work, and declared he would devote most of his time to them for the remainder of the summer. The three older girls were ecstatic. Nicolas was indifferent. Cordelia was, as usual, annoyed. Adrienne’s feelings were mixed between joy and disappointment. Adrienne adored her father and had always wished for more time with him, but his timing could not have been more inconvenient, for all its contrivance. She knew she couldn’t display any outward signs of disappointment in front of him though, or he would not merely be angry but also hurt. Charles was a man whose heart could only be broken by his four girls.

“Oz, I don’t know what to do,” she said to me on the phone one night. She sounded beaten, and again I heard the little girl in her voice. “What are you thinking right now? You aren’t saying much.” Pause. “Are you thinking of giving up?”

What could I say to her? I was the adult in our relationship, a sentence which said aloud sounded horrible enough. If I was her age, and we were both defying our parents with the same things at stake, I would suggest we run away or something else equally extreme and dramatic. But as it was, I carried a burden she could not possibly understand. I had to be the realist. Running away would solve nothing, and would drive us further apart when caught.

Her father’s drastic change in his work schedule made me feel even more like what we were doing was wrong. It was, in fact, reasonable a father would go to such lengths to protect his daughter from what he felt was a predator. Previously I indulged in driving those thoughts from my head. Our relationship had been based on so many things other than age, but now we were faced with our ages being at the front of our situation. I had to act like the adult I was, and she had to submit to her father like the child she was.

So what could I say to her? I couldn’t tell her what I was thinking. She wouldn’t understand.

“No, Adrienne,” I said, softly. I sounded more like a father or a brother, than a lover. I hated it. “I love you. We will figure this out, somehow.”

It had been almost two weeks since I had seen her, and I was so lonely. I heard her laughter ring throughout my house, felt the small imprint on the bed next to me where she had lain, saw her rummaging through my cabinets for food. She was a drug to me. Clarity came with having some actual distance from her. It terrified me to realize how truly out of control I was, and how much I depended on her. It was distance which helped me finally see what a dangerous game we were playing.

* * *

WE FOUND ANOTHER unlikely ally that summer, but one I trusted. Nicolas. Charles did not mind my visiting him, as long as I stayed in the garçonierre and did not stray closer to the house, and Adrienne.

I could lie and say I visited him so much that summer because I looked forward to our conversations. In truth, sitting there on that chair in his room, I felt Adrienne’s presence a few hundred feet away and it comforted me. In New Orleans, she was over an hour’s distance.

We were talking one day, and it was apparent to me Nicolas was distracted. He had been making plans to go overseas almost all summer, and hadn’t much shut up about it. Then, he said to me, “Ozzy, I’m flattered you care so much about which underwear I should pack for Spain, and whether the Frommer’s guide this year has any major updates from last year’s edition, but it’s hard to take you seriously when you aren’t even looking at me. So, since you haven’t asked me for help yet, let me offer it.”

I turned to look at him. Had I been so transparent? I decided not to play dumb. “What can you do?”

Nicolas stood and walked to the window. He poured a glass of Hennessy. “Isn’t it obvious? Ozzy, my father has never bothered much with me. Hell, I can’t even remember the last time he came in here. It’s like he’s scared of me.” Nicolas looked sad for a brief moment. “Why do you think he doesn’t care you are still coming out here every day? Trust me, it’s not because he values the friendship you and I have. He thinks…” Here, he trailed off for a moment. He took a long swallow of his liquor, letting it burn in his throat, then turned to me. “He thinks I hate my sisters. And he is wrong.”

Lacking any clue as to what to say, I said nothing.

“My mother would love if that were true. She hates them without a doubt, but you know that. She’s always said things to me, assumptive things that put me on her side. Have I let her believe maybe I agree with her? Sometimes. It’s easier to have one parent than none, and I’ve never had an interested father.”

I was still speechless. Nicolas was not one to talk like this, about his feelings. Not without making a joke of them. But I felt like I should contribute something, so I said, “It’s not your fault, if you don’t have your father. Your mother is the one divided the household, and put you on her side before you even had a choice in the matter.”

“Of course you’re right,” he said. “But it doesn’t change anything, does it? Oz, there are only a few people in this world I really care about. You’re one of them, my mother is another. Ana, without a doubt. But I also love my father and my sisters, whether the feelings are mutual or not. One day, perhaps, we will all sit down and be a nice functional family unit. Until that time, my feelings and motivations will always be questioned because of my mother’s not-so-subtle stance on everything that goes on in the household. My unfortunate alliance with her thrives because, despite her obvious faults, I love her too much to ever truly sever our bond.”

He took another long sip, and went on, “People in this family think I am terribly detached, and indifferent. They don’t know I watch, and I see everything that happens in this household. I’ve come to know my family better than they realize. I haven’t ever told you what I thought of you and Adrienne, and likely you figured I didn’t care. For the record, I am one of your few supporters, Oz. I think you are great for her, and she is one of the few chicks who is great for you... the real you, not the person you pretended to be for popularity’s sake. I think my father would support the two of you if he weren’t so attached to her. If you were to fast forward about five years, he would be the first person to congratulate the two of you. He probably doesn’t realize there are few people who would care for Adrienne and challenge her as you do. He’s too protective to let his defenses down. So, maybe I can help him do that, without him knowing. I can help him, and I can help Adrienne, and I can help you. And whether my father ever finds out or not, I’ve still helped him.

“I know my father’s schedule very well, and he will still have some distractions despite all of his efforts to push work off. During those times, the garçonierre is yours. Yours and Adrienne’s.”

This time, I really was speechless.

“One thing,” Nicolas added, “if you get caught, you’re on your own.”

* * *

I COULDN’T SAY the last weeks I spent with Adrienne in the garçonierre were the best, but they were not the worst, either. In fact, they represented a much more seasoned part of our relationship that was part honeymoon and part nervous excitement. There was still that newness of those first stages of love, but at the same time, I was not blind to Adrienne’s growing dread. It seeped into her thoughts, words, and mannerisms. When I held her, her heart was always beating with the swiftest of tempos, as if she had seen a ghost or run a marathon. Even when we made love, she was unable to fully relax, and the stiffness at her elbows and knees made me sad. She was ready to leap away from me and sprint off at the smallest sign of danger. Nothing I said could penetrate this tension of hers, although she tried to pretend my efforts were working. Her mouth said one thing, her eyes and body another.

What was she afraid of? Her father, of course, but not what he might do so much as the thought of his displeasure with her. He was a tyrant, but a loving one, and he showed his love in the only way he knew how: by threatening anything he saw as bringing harm to her. She sought his approval in more ways than she ever realized. Walking past his office when she was wearing a new outfit, attempting to engage him in conversation. I saw it in the way she nearly stopped breathing when he spoke, and the way her eyes lit up as if his words alone rendered her speechless with admiration. When he traveled, she was much more aloof, withdrawing to her room, to the garden, or library. When he was home, her whole being radiated with his presence and she was the usual, talkative, and inquisitive Adrienne.

I didn’t realize Charles was even aware of this until I came into her life as her lover and unknowingly threatened the part of their relationship which was unique and wholly theirs. Now, her eyes lit up when I spoke, and when he was away, she glowed despite his absence. In this, I had upset both his ego and his heart, the two things about himself which he most closely guarded.

Adrienne was very keen to the dynamics of what had happened since we started dating, and I believe protecting her father’s feelings, and guarding his jealousy, is what made his restrictions the most unbearable for her. If he had scolded her for anything else, she could have borne it. But reprimanding her for the pain she had unwittingly caused him broke her heart, and a little of her spirit.

The little girl in her felt the shame of hurting her father and the need to protect him at any cost, but the woman in her understood this change in their relationship was inevitable. She struggled between the two emotions, the two sides always in conflict.

Oh, had I ended it there, would it have really been the end? No, it would not; for the other thing causing her such stress was the realization she could easily end her father’s duress by ending us, something she was completely unwilling to do.

And, so, in the end, Adrienne chose me.

* * *

NICOLAS DID MORE than make good on his promise; he actually engineered every single visit Adrienne and I managed to have. He was like a detective, with a sly grin on his face every time he would slink back to his room with news Adrienne would be by soon. Then, he would rush her in like a businessman entering a brothel, and smuggle her under his arm to the sofa, closing all the curtains, double-bolting the door. I both liked and laughed at “Nicolas with a Purpose.”

The first time this happened, Adrienne and I shared a glance that caused us both to erupt into laughter while Nicolas stood aside looking absolutely puzzled. From then on, it was an inside joke.

Our secret rendezvous were sometimes no more than a few minutes, but never more than an hour or two at most. As soon as Nicolas ushered Adrienne in with his melodramatic attempts to be discreet, he would quietly retire to his downstairs study, and she and I would walk–my arm around her shoulders, her face resting lazily on my chest–up the stairs, to the bedroom.

We didn’t always make love. Sometimes we talked. There was so much we already knew about each other. Yet for all we did know, there was much left in between, and we used this to fill the spaces in our stolen time. I learned more about her in those few weeks than I had in all the rest of my life.

There were times when we included Nicolas in our visits, which I could tell was a pleasant surprise to him. One night we played Monopoly and he kept slipping Adrienne money when she would run out. She would laugh, then turn around and buy out his properties when he was broke, and finally they tackled each other like rivaling siblings.

I also learned a lot about the relationship she shared with her sisters, which I came to envy in the way an only child would. They were connected much like twins were connected, and this bond served as a stronghold in their defenses against Cordelia when their father was away.

I confessed to her my lifetime affections for her sister Giselle. She laughed merrily and said she knew; had always known.

“I knew you were a stand-up guy when you didn’t bang her,” she said. Trying to shock me was a little game she played.

“How did you know?” I started to ask and then remembered they told each other everything. Especially things like that.

“She had a thing for you for years,” Adrienne revealed. Her head lay back on the pillow and her eyes had a drowsy, happy look. The persistent tension was gone for the moment. “She liked to see you squirm, though, I’m afraid. She was so disappointed you turned her down in the end.”

“It didn’t feel right,” I said, almost defensively.

“No? And why, because of her age?”

A trap, obviously. If I said yes, she would remind me of my double standard. If I said no, I would be lying. “It wasn’t right. I thought she might regret it, and I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t regret it, either.”

“Mmmm.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing.”

This was one of the things I disliked about the better sex. They liked to come about issues from the side and make you play guessing games. “Okay, I will take your word for it, then,” I said.

She was silent for a while. I knew that was not the answer she wanted from me, but I didn’t know why she wanted to rehash the same conversation over and over. Why did I love her? Didn’t I think she was too young? Did I ever have second thoughts? For someone so confident, she sure asked a lot of questions to the contrary. The worst part was my answers always felt so inadequate; they only calmed her temporarily. Telling her that would not help matters, either.

Something my mother taught me through osmosis, in watching her interact with my father, was when women played games like this they often did so unintentionally. And more importantly, it usually signaled some other underlying issue completely unrelated to the topic being discussed.

I knew she wanted me to ask. “What’s wrong, Adrienne?”

“Nothing,” she said, but she turned her face away from me. For the days leading up to this visit, the stress in her face had been more evident. I sensed it went deeper than her father.

“Don’t keep things from me, Ade. It won’t help matters,” I scolded lightly, before realizing the error in it.

Her face whipped around to look at me again, but this time her expression was hard and there were tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. She seemed older, in that moment. “Won’t help what matters, Oz?”

Damn my not ever knowing the right words! “That came out in a different way than I intended. I meant we have so much right now to contend with, and if we don’t stick together and be totally honest with each other, then it will…” I let my words trail because the sentence I started could only end in ways that would further upset her.

Adrienne sat up then, and pushed past me. She leapt out of bed and put her clothes back on, quickly, in a furious fervor. “Will you admit it already? You can’t handle this, Oz! It’s okay, I actually understand, and I don’t blame you. I’m amazed you have been coming out here this long, to be perfectly honest!”

So there it was, her feelings, laid out on the table. I was stunned she felt that way, and distressed she would say it aloud and force a confrontation.

“Adrienne, no! That is not true!” I grabbed her firmly by the shoulders, but she tore away from my grip.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be!” she screamed, as she backed toward the bedroom door. “I know how hard this has been on you, and I’m going to do you a favor by ending it so you don’t have to!”

Adrienne ran down the stairs, me after her, and when she stopped at the bottom to look for her jacket, she was trembling. I pulled her into my arms and held her, and for a moment she submitted to me, and I felt her chest fold into mine and her arms go limp. And then, like that, the moment was over. She stiffened up again and pulled back.

“I’m going to go to the house now, Oz, and I am not coming back,” she said tersely.

“Stop doing this!” I was close to tears myself.

She dodged me again as I reached for her, looking at my hand with both remorse and disgust. “You stop. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

When she reached for the doorknob, I saw her hesitate. When she twisted the handle, I yelled the absolute only thing I could think of to stop her.

“Marry me!”

Her hand pulled away from the doorknob, hesitating over it; she stood in that position for a few moments. Then, slowly, she turned to face me and I saw her face filled with too many emotions for me to list: shock, joy, confusion, love.

“What did you say?” Adrienne articulated, slowly.

I approached her and this time she did not shy from me. “I said marry me, Adrienne.” With the words out of my mouth, I now knew how much I meant them. “Marry me. I love you so much! Please, don’t ever, ever think I don’t. It hurts me when you say that.”

I sank into the chair then and her eyes followed me, her face still a muddle of mixed emotions. Then she dropped down to her knees in front of me, laid her face against the inside of my thigh, kissed me there, and cried.

I placed my hand at the nape of her neck and with my other I spread my fingers through her hair as I brushed it aside. I had said the words, they were out there now, and I felt a tremendous relief.

“Oz, I am so sorry. I always ruin things.” She continued to cry against me while I held her.

“Nothing is ruined. All you need to do is say yes.”

“So, you really mean it? You really want to marry me?”

“Damn it, Adrienne, of course I mean it!”

“Yes, oh yes,” she said. She looked up, sniffed and wiped at her tears as fresh happy ones began to pour down. “Yes.”

We did something entirely careless then; our official time, based on Nicolas’ interpretation of his father’s schedule, actually ended five minutes before, and each moment we stayed together we were playing with fire. But I couldn’t stop myself from lifting her up into my arms and carrying her to the couch to make love, again. She clung to me afterward, preparing to force herself to leave.

“I have some news,” Adrienne said as she hesitated in front of the door. She was glowing for the first time in weeks. “But I want to wait until we have some more time together. Right now…” She glanced at the door, and at the few hundred feet that lay between us and her father.

“What news? You can’t say something like that and then leave!” I exclaimed. I was glowing, too. My fiancée.

She laughed and blew me a kiss. “I think you’ll find it worth the wait. Besides, we have our whole lives together now!”

“Whatever you say, dear.”

Before leaving, Adrienne said, “And don’t worry about me. I’m going to be okay. I know that now. I was silly for acting the way I did, but I’m fine.”

I was not a particularly intuitive guy when it came to women, but I had sensed earlier, in the moments before our fight erupted, there was more to her internal anguish than the usual fears of losing me. Even during the fight, I knew there was something she was not telling me, and the fight was a diversion from a larger issue. But now, I felt the tension leave her body. Whatever it was that she hadn’t told me, my proposal of marriage seemed to satisfy the unspoken need as well.

Later that night, as I was coming out of Nicolas' shower, I heard her voice again downstairs. I wrapped a towel around myself and stepped down the first two stairs, and saw her in her brother’s arms.

At first he seemed surprised she’d thrown herself at him, but then he let his body relax and his arms crushed her small frame to him. He rested his cheek upon the top of her head and I saw him smiling.

“I had the wrong idea about you,” Adrienne was saying. “I underestimated you and for that I am truly sorry.”

His embarrassment came off as modesty, but I could see what this confession meant to him. “It’s not a big deal, Adrienne. Everyone does.”

“It’s a big deal to me. You’re my brother, and I'm sorry I missed out on all of this because I couldn’t see you for who you really were. I’m glad I know now. Thank you for everything.”

Nicolas held her tighter; her words deeply affected him. He kissed the top of her head, and she smiled at him before leaving.

For my part, it meant a lot to me that our relationship could do someone good other than ourselves. I was happy something finally brought them together, and glad I could be a part of it.

* * *

I SAT ON my porch four nights later, sipping cognac in an old rocker as the bugs danced around the gaslights. I could barely put my mind around everything that happened. And now, Charles was taking them all to the Gulf for the rest of the summer. Tomorrow. This I learned after my father called me the most persistent son-of-a-bitch on the planet. After Charles declared I was a disgrace to my family. After Adrienne overheard something she shouldn’t have. After my whole world ended.

Our carelessness with time and overconfidence were in part to blame. We interpreted our success as proof maybe we had more time than we thought. If only we listened to Nicolas when he warned us his help was limited to how cooperative we could be with what we were given. I hoped Adrienne didn’t blame her brother.

I finished off my drink, and reached for the bottle to pour another. Remembering what happened the night before was, unfortunately, not going to come back to me in a straight line. Moments were streaming to me randomly: Charles standing over the bed. Adrienne crying. Nicolas screaming that his father was a tyrant. My father trying to calm me in the driveway, talking to me about my future. Giselle holding Adrienne when she could not hold herself up any longer.

We should have known Charles, living one building over, would eventually find out. We shouldn't have been at all surprised when he slipped in and stood over the bed where Adrienne and I lay naked in one another’s arms, sleeping carelessly, as he waited with amazing patience for us to wake up.

First, we struggled to understand if what we saw was real; then, the terror and urgency as the full realization dawned on us.

Adrienne immediately burst into tears. I desperately wanted to hold her, but knew I couldn’t. The scathing look Charles flashed me made me feel like everything Adrienne and I had was wrong, and evil, and for a moment I believed it. I didn’t hear Nicolas come up the stairs. I began retreating into myself, and all the voices around me were like distant whispers. Nicolas was screaming at his father, calling him a tyrant. He was defending me, and defending Adrienne and I. I loved him at that moment. But I was in many places at once; I was there watching this, I was there with Adrienne, I was a ghost; nothing was real to me except Adrienne’s trembling and tears.

I heard the crack as Charles’ hand connected with Nicolas’ cheek, and I looked up in time to see the hatred and disappointment on Nicolas' face. Then Charles had Adrienne wrapped in the blanket, in his arms, and ushered her away from me as if he had rescued her from a terrible crime scene. Enraged, Nicolas went after them, and when I realized I was alone in the room, I snapped out of the daze I was in and dressed myself quickly.

I knew I had to do something; I had to appeal to Charles and try to explain to him what Adrienne and I had, instead of backing down like I did at the Monteleone. I couldn’t lose her like this.

* * *

I TRIED TO refill my drink and realized the bottle was empty. I was drunk. Good. I needed to be drunk. I needed to forget everything that happened next; that I was such a damn coward.

* * *

ADRIENNE SCREAMED AT her father as he tugged at the blanket, gently. He was afraid it would come off her and leave her revealed. She backed away from him, further into the room, putting distance between them.

“You have no right to treat him like that!”

“I have every right! I am your father!”

“You can’t spend your life submersed in work and suddenly pop up and think you know what is best for me! You have no right to make me suffer for your bruised ego!”

Charles winced, but continued to grab for her. “You girls are all I ever wanted. Don’t ever say such hateful things to me, Adrienne. You can’t take them back.”

“We are your novelties, Father! You love us, but is it for the right reasons? Love isn’t about keeping people under your thumb so you can watch them and pet them whenever you feel like! It’s about wanting what is best for someone. Oz is best for me! He loves me, and is good to me. He knows me in a way that no one else does. Not even you.”

“You are sixteen! How the hell do you know what’s best for you?” Charles let go of her and she stumbled into the couch. “Sixteen, Adrienne! Oz is twenty-one; he is a man! What is it exactly you think men want from young girls? I can assure you they do not hang out with them for stimulating conversation.”

My hesitancy melted away and I rushed to Adrienne’s side. Protectively pulling the blanket up tighter around her chest, I held her, even as Charles lunged forward.

“I love Adrienne!” I declared. Adrienne was shivering, but her body was tense under mine. “I am not backing down.”

Charles' eyes met mine, and for a moment, it was as if he was challenging me. “You don’t have a choice, Colin. She’s not old enough to make these kinds of decisions. I have every right to put you in jail for statutory rape. I thought you might have enough good sense to stay away after I found you both at the hotel, but apparently I underestimated your better judgment. You’ve been like a son to me, but when I see you now, all I see is the pervert abusing my youngest daughter. So don’t talk to me about backing down, Colin Sullivan! I am not a man to be messed with!”

“Neither am I,” I stated firmly. If I lost Adrienne, I would have nothing else to lose, so his threats didn’t scare me. “If all I wanted with your daughter was what you claim, then I wouldn’t be standing here tonight.”

The sound of tires in the driveway broke the tension momentarily. “That must be your father,” Charles said to me with a pointed glance. “I called him before I came out here. It's time he has a talk with you about what you’ve been up to.”

I was so shocked he called my father that he was able to take Adrienne from me before I had a chance to respond. Nicolas stood before me then and said, “You have to wonder if women are really worth this kind of bullshit.”

Then we were in the driveway, my father and I, and he was in one of his rare moments of dishevelment. He lectured me about my future, growing more and more frustrated as I stood in stubborn silence, my mind already forming a plan on how I would see Adrienne next.

“Oz, you really are the most persistent son-of-a-bitch I have ever met!”

My father rarely swore. I looked up at him.

“I fail to understand why such a bright young man-“

“I’m sorry if I am bad for business Dad, but I love her!”

“As a matter of fact this is bad for business, but that is beside the point. What on earth did you think would come out of this affair with a little girl? Did you really expect Charles to smile and pay for the wedding?”

No, I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect her to show up at my door one day and throw herself at me, either. I didn’t expect to fall in love with her, and have my life turned upside down. “I can’t talk to you about this,” I said finally. “This is one area you can’t advise me on.”

My father paced, one hand twined in his short hair, the other guiding his speech. “Colin,” he said finally; a man at the end of his temper, using the voice of a doctor reasoning with a patient. “You have such a bright future ahead of you. Do you know how proud your mother and I are? You're already enrolled in law school and are two years away from joining the firm. What do you think will happen if you take this relationship further? Do you honestly see Adrienne fitting into this picture? She graduates high school right as you graduate law school, and then you have to deal with the burden of family before you've even learned to be a man! Is this what you want for yourself?” He stopped pacing, several inches from me. I could smell his nervous sweat, mixed with expensive cologne. “More importantly, is this what you want for Adrienne?”

I heard a choked sob behind me, and I turned to see Adrienne. She was dressed now, Giselle holding her up. She had heard everything my father said. She searched my face for agreement.

My father didn’t see her, and he continued. “Are you ready to make an adult decision about this, and do what we both know is right? You need to end this now. Whether you think this is love or not, Adrienne is not the woman you are going to marry. Draw on your better judgment for a moment. You know I'm right.”

As I watched Adrienne, my father turned and noticed her as well. I tried to send her signals, to show her I was not in agreement with my father’s opinion, but whatever she saw in my face caused her to turn and run back into the house, Giselle hot on her heels. Somehow, I had failed her again.

“End it,” my father repeated.

* * *

ADRIENNE CALLED ME that night as I shut off the lights to go to bed. She'd been crying, and I knew I was the cause of those tears. It occurred to me she had been in tears, for one reason or another, since we first came together.

“Your father is a smart man,” she said noncommittally. She wanted to know my opinion.

“He doesn’t know everything.”

Adrienne's voice was dry and devoid of emotion, but I knew her so well I could feel her anguish nonetheless. “He makes good points, Oz. Relationships like ours don’t survive in the real world. They just don’t.”

She was not at all convinced of what she was saying. She tried to feel me out and see if she could squeeze a confession from me. She would be unsuccessful, though. If anything, I was more determined than ever to be with her.

“Who defines the real world, Adrienne? We do. We define what our life is going to be. Truly, I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks! Not my father, not your father, not society.”

“Whether that’s true or not, we can’t ignore them.”

“And why the hell not?”

The silence between us felt like the gulf was widening, until she said, “Aren’t you supposed to be the reasonable one?”

I laughed. “You have such a puzzling effect on me, my dear. Puzzling indeed.”

“So I’m the unreasonable one? It’s my influence that's brought you to consider such careless rendezvous with the underage daughter of your father’s best client?”

“Yes,” I said. We both laughed at that, and most of the tension from the beginning of her call was gone.

“Do you want to know what I do think?” I asked.

“What?”

“I think you are only going to be down in the Gulf with your family for one night.”

“I don’t understand…”

“I am coming down there, tomorrow, Adrienne. I am going to take you away, and we’re going to fly somewhere age doesn’t matter. And I’m going to marry you.”

There was silence on her end for so long I thought I might have lost her. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, for one you could tell me you love my idea!”

She sniffed into the phone, then giggled softly. “I do, I love it.”

“You do? You aren’t just saying that because you’re afraid to disappoint me?”

“No! I would have said yes to you the first night we were together, if you really want to know the truth. I almost said it when I walked out of your house. It was on the tip of my tongue. But, I couldn’t have told you that then because you were still reeling from your conflicting feelings of wanting me and being repulsed with yourself. You’d have never realized it then. Besides, I knew you’d come around eventually.”

She still amazed me with things, and I knew I could expect that from her for the rest of our lives. I found that comforting when considering my life had always been otherwise pre-destined. My heart felt sick with love for her.

“One of these days,” I teased, “you are seriously going to have to stop obsessing over me.”

Adrienne feigned surprise and her voice took on a playful childlike quality. “But you’re my Big Hero!”

* * *

FOR THE NEXT thirty minutes, we planned out the rest of the details. She would call me when she arrived and give me the information on where they were staying. I would come down during the night, and she would sneak out and meet me at a location she picked out upon arrival. We would take a bus to Florida; either Orlando or Tampa. From there, we would catch a flight to a location decided upon sometime during the drive. We didn’t want to decide then, and we never said aloud the real reason: if cornered, neither of us could be sure Adrienne would be able to resist confessing everything to her father. And, although he would inevitably find out where we went, by the time he did we would already be married.

We didn’t talk about how I still had a home and law school in a few weeks, nor did we discuss the potential consequences if we returned home before she was of age. You would have thought we had concocted a battle strategy that was impenetrable for all we ignored the better sense in our heads nagging about important details that would put us off course.

Adrienne and I were invincible again, and nothing could touch us. And in a few days, we would be married. I firmly set aside my resolve to wait until she was older and do things the right way.

But then, if I am being honest with myself, I suppose reality never really did play much of a role in our relationship.

“Oz, I cannot wait to be your wife,” she said with maturity that warmed me.

“Adrienne Leigh Sullivan. It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“Eh, it’ll do.”

We both laughed again and all of our worries and stress dissipated into hopes and plans for our future. I wanted to reach through the phone and pull her into my arms, crushing her to me until neither one of us could breathe, for all we wanted to be a part of each other.

* * *

THAT WAS THE last time I spoke to her until she called me three years later, without even a single memory of all we had been through that summer.

Chapter 24

Adrienne

ADRIENNE’S HEART AND mind were racing. She remembered back to when she first began having her cryptic dreams, wishing they were more clear. Be careful what you wish for. Once the memories started, they came in something like a flood, but more like electrical pulses. There was no reason or order to them; the part of her brain keeping them locked up had been flung open, excreting memories in a random and disorderly fashion. She squeezed her hands against the side of her head as if doing so would force them out.

* * *

SHE WAS BACK in her bedroom again, at Ophélie.

“Adrienne, he loves you. This is the real deal. We are all so jealous,” her sister, Giselle (her name was no longer memorization, but actual memory) was saying. Adrienne was seeing her sister as if for the first time. Giselle was so beautiful. Soft, blonde hair like corn silk. Her cerulean blue eyes flashed, and turned upward at the corners like Adrienne’s own eyes. Adrienne felt her stomach seize thinking of her stolen future.

The Adrienne of the memory was blushing. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel real. Like if I blink or look away, the whole thing will be gone.”

“Stop talking like that,” Nathalie scolded. Oh, but Nathalie was even more beautiful! She had vibrant, mahogany hair and strong features, unlike the soft blended ones Adrienne and her other sisters had. When Adrienne saw Nathalie appear in her mind, her agony doubled. “If you say negative things, then your actions will breed negativity.”

Giselle rolled her eyes. “You sound like that therapist Father sent us to.” She turned toward Adrienne again, shifting so her body was against the wall. “I know what it is that’s really bothering you.”

“What?”

“Father. You think he has this ultimate power over your life. Well, he doesn’t,” she said, matter-of-factly. Giselle’s eyes fell over each of her sisters, one by one. “He doesn’t!”

Adrienne noticed for the first time a petite blonde sitting in front of Nathalie, getting her hair braided by her older sister. Lucie’s blue eyes grew wide as she listened to her sisters, but said nothing.

“I worry more about Oz’s life than my own,” Adrienne revealed in a quiet voice that didn’t feel like hers. “He has such a bright future ahead of him.”

“And you don’t?” Natalie asked. She looked mildly annoyed with Adrienne. “Adrienne, if anything, he should be the one questioning your role in this relationship. He’s the adult here. You’re the one who still has growing up to do. He knows what he wants. You need to start taking him at his word. I wouldn’t have chosen him for you if I didn’t believe this was the right thing.”

Giselle smirked and rolled her eyes again. “Men never know what they want.”

“And what do you know about it?” Nathalie countered.

“Oh, plenty. Trust me.”

“A few high school boys does not an expert make.”

“How about some high school boys, some college boys, and a few businessmen for good measure?” Giselle’s eyes gleamed as she tormented her older sister.

“Why is it so important for you to preserve your reputation as a complete and total slut?”

As they bickered, Lucie smiled and leaned forward so she was close to Adrienne. “It will be okay, Adrienne,” she said, so softly only the two of them heard it.

Summer school. A writing course Adrienne regretted signing up for. A boy her age stood before her, his hand covering the doorframe to the classroom. He had asked her something, and was blocking her entrance until he had his answer.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” Adrienne said, but didn’t meet his eyes. She was uncomfortable with this conversation, and with this boy. Jason.

“Are you seeing someone?” His smile was almost overwhelming. Adrienne thought it must be very useful to him.

“No, not exactly.” Why had she not simply told him she was unavailable? She didn’t have to reveal her secret about Oz, but she could have stopped his questioning with a few words. Jason had been relentless for weeks.

“Then it’s a date. I will pick you up tomorrow night at eight.” He gave her no chance to answer, disappearing inside the classroom.

Later that night, on the phone, she told Oz, “My father wants to have a family dinner tomorrow night…”

“Are you saying I shouldn’t bother coming out?” Oz sounded sad.

“I wouldn’t be able to see you.” Adrienne's stomach churned. It bothered her that she hadn't marched back into the classroom and told Jason to leave her alone. She felt that old guilt at stealing Oz’s life away from him, and a part of her was justifying this date by telling herself she was doing him a favor. Oh, tangled web!

She heard Oz chuckle lightly on the other end. His laugh warmed her whole soul. “Well, I suppose I could actually do something constructive for a change.”

She laughed with him, but her heart wasn’t in it.

* * *

DINNER. ANTOINE’S. BEFORE her father ruined their weekends in the Quarter. Oz was talking about one of his professors at Tulane. Adrienne watched him, and, ah, he was so handsome! She always thought him handsome. His black hair was so dark it sometimes seemed blue or purple in the right light. And his eyes; Irish green, like his heritage. Whoever said eyes were windows to the soul had no idea how true that was, not the way Adrienne did when she looked at him. And those dimples... the slight cleft in his chin… his voice… soft, and inviting…

“Are you even listening to me?” he asked, his tone teasing.

“No,” she confessed. “I was watching you.”

He winked. “Not that I can blame you.”

“Ah, and just like that, you are Antony again!” Her eyes grew wide and they both laughed.

Oz's eyes glazed over, and she thought she had lost him for a second. He bit his lower lip thoughtfully, and looked so very young suddenly.

“What would I ever do if I lost you, Adrienne?”

* * *

OZ’S HOUSE. HIS bed. Adrienne felt both insignificant and powerful in his arms. His body was so strong; in his arms, she became someone else entirely. Someone sexy, sophisticated, and experienced in the world. It was always like this, but better each time. He moved inside of her, and she looked up, seeing his eyes on her as always. He never closed them when they made love.

She tilted her head back to receive his kisses on her neck, and soon the anticipation was too much to bear. When would he realize this was forever, this feeling? When would he admit to himself they started something that nothing–not time, nor fights, nor age, nor lies–could ever end? She arched her back to receive him, and they climaxed together until there was nothing left but each other.

* * *

SHE WAS IN the living room of Oz’s house. No, not Oz’s.

Catherine and Colin sat in their living room and watched her with careful anticipation, as if she could lose control of herself at any moment.

“You know this is not good for either of you,” Colin was saying. In his eyes, Adrienne saw pity for her; she hated him for a brief moment, despite his goodness and warm intentions for his son.

“I don’t know anything of the sort!” Adrienne found herself yelling, feeling like the child she really was, in spite of her desire to prove differently. “I don’t know why you can’t leave us alone!” She wished Oz was there. Together they could defend their love for hours, but she could not find the words now.

Catherine gave her a placating smile, but her face creased in worry. “Adrienne, sweetheart, we all go through our first taste of love at sixteen. I remember mine… oh, he was so handsome, and he said the most wonderful things to me.” She looked at Colin, but he was staring off at something across the room, lost in his thoughts. “It can be very confusing, and it’s normal to think the feelings you are having are the best it ever gets.” Where was Oz? Did he know about this? Had he planned it? Where was he?

Adrienne finally put voice to her question.

Catherine and Colin exchanged glances, and Colin nodded. “We decided it was best that he not be part of this discussion,” Colin said. “Oz is not fully in charge of his emotions at the present.”

Adrienne was stunned at this betrayal. “You say that because we love each other and you don’t approve,” she said coldly. “You say that because, for whatever reason, one I can’t presume to know, you despise me and think that I am out to ruin your son.” She stood, sobbing. “But I am not! I l-l-love him!”

She was in full-blown hyperventilation as she ran out of the living room, through the dining room, and to the front door. Catherine was close behind her. As Adrienne struggled with the front door, Catherine grabbed her from behind, an embrace not of restraint but tenderness.

“We don’t hate you,” Catherine whispered softly in Adrienne’s ear as the latter thrashed around. Adrienne slowly began to relax, and crumbled into Catherine’s gentle hold. “We don’t hate you, darling. There, there.”

As the last of the sobs choked up from Adrienne, Catherine turned her and kissed her forehead. “We love Oz very much. He is our only son. Please remember that whatever you are feeling, your actions always have consequences, even when your intentions are pure. I’ll say no more.”

“I can’t take anymore!” Adrienne screamed to Oz’s quiet bedroom. She threw the covers back, running to the bathroom. She still saw his face in Antoine’s; felt her deception; experienced his touch deep within her. It was too much, too fast. Oh God, this is not what I wanted!

Rifling through the cabinet, she found some over-the-counter sleeping pills and took two. Adrienne closed the door and slid down to the floor, knees to her chest, sobbing silently as she prayed to a God she hadn’t yet remembered if she believed in, waiting for the pills to help silence the searing memories.

* * *

HER SLEEP WAS not restful.

It did give her answers…

But, knowing what she knew now, did she really want them?

* * *

THEY WERE IN the car: Adrienne, her sisters, her father, and of course, Cordelia.

She would never understand her father’s reasons for staying with the wretched woman. Cordelia was so caustic, always. Why had Cordelia even agreed to go on this vacation with the five people in the world she hated the most?

Adrienne didn’t care. She leaned her head against the window as she listened to her father and stepmother argue. Giselle and Nathalie were playing some card game in the very back, and Lucie was resting.

She wished Nicolas had chosen to join them. He would say something wise and funny all at once, that would sum up the situation at hand. She missed him suddenly. Not the way she missed Oz, but then, she often thought of her brother in association with Oz. Nicolas surprised them both so much when he became their silent conspirator. She might never know why, but oh, how she loved him for it.

She thought about how she and Oz had laughed and plotted their elopement, never once thinking of what it really meant, or whether it was even the right thing to do. Adrienne was tormented by the secret she'd been keeping from him these past couple of weeks; one she had all but dangled in his face and then, at the last minute, decided not to tell him. What a childish thing to do for such an adult situation they were about to be faced with. She put her hand to her stomach and shut her eyes tight, blocking out her parents’ teeth-clenching argument.

Adrienne felt very empty all of a sudden. This was her life away from Oz, the part that didn’t include him. She imagined him back at home, maybe registering for classes or picking out dinner. She saw the stark contrast of what he needed and what she could offer him. Her hand went to her stomach again and she squeezed her eyes closed even tighter.

She saw now what she could never have seen while he was holding her or looking at her. She saw what he never would see, because he had blocked his sensibilities for her sake. Marriage! Marriage of what, irrational thoughts and fantasy? She somehow persuaded him to not think of the most obvious and crucial aspects of what they had; the complete and utter insensibility and insanity in imagining any real future existed! And this secret she kept from him was no longer an exciting taste of their future, but a very real and serious weight dragging her down.

Adrienne looked down at Lucie, stretched out in the seat bench beside her. Her hand reached out to touch the sister who was older in age only, and Lucie stirred softly. Behind her, Giselle grunted as she was jostled when the car hit a bump.

“Maybe you should put your seatbelts on,” Adrienne offered, sounding ruder than she intended.

“Maybe you should bite me,” Giselle retorted.

“She's right, we are going awful fast,” Nathalie said wisely.

“But then we can’t play cards!” Giselle whined.

Nathalie sighed, and conceded, “We’ll finish the game.”

* * *

THE ARGUING BETWEEN her parents continued, their agitation so great they forgot to keep their voices down. Adrienne could hear more than she cared to.

“What I do with my money is none of your concern!” her father exclaimed.

Cordelia was using the tone she employed when she wanted to sound like the reasonable one, but was losing control. Adrienne knew it well, because the worst things came out of Cordelia’s mouth when she was cornered.

“If you don’t care about this family’s reputation, then somebody has to.”

“Oh fuck your concern, Cordelia. We all know what this is about! What everything you run your mouth on is about!”

“Charles, please do share, as I cannot possibly go on another minute without knowing!”

He had the propriety to lower his voice this time, but Adrienne got the general idea. All their fights were about money, Nicolas, or the four girls whose role in the family Cordelia would love to see end.

Adrienne tried to tune them out, and found herself watching the traffic signs alight as their headlights hit them. The next one said, “Abbeville, 10.”

“Lovely, we get to go through Abbeville,” Cordelia said from up ahead. “We may as well stop and pay our respects.”

“Enough,” her father said. “Or we will stop.”

“She would love that. It’s been years since you last stopped in. But then, I’m sure Angelique couldn’t care less whether you come by or not, as long as you keep sending the checks!”

Adrienne met her father’s eyes in the rearview mirror; he dropped his voice, and Adrienne thought he sounded scared. “I swear to God, Cordelia…”

“I don’t believe it means much to swear on a God you don’t believe in, despite how often you might accept the sacrament,” she threw back.

“Keep your voice down!”

“You can’t silence me, Charles. Perhaps if there was any real love between us, you could. But there isn’t. And I don’t care what you think of me! In that way, maybe that ignorant twit Angelique and I do have something in common. As long as the money is there, peace will reign in the lands!”

Adrienne tuned out the rest of what they were saying. Their fights were part of what Adrienne and her sisters knew of as daily life in the Deschanel home. Adrienne had no interest in who Angelique was, because she automatically sided with her father in every argument, topic irrelevant.

She closed her eyes once again and tried to think of anything other than the child growing in her womb.

* * *

WHAT HAPPENED NEXT, happened fast. Adrienne remembered nothing from the time she drifted off to sleep, until the moment she awoke wet, bloodied, and unable to see anything through the darkness and smoke.

She sat in shallow water, filled with branches, leaves, and other murkiness. She tried to stand, but one of her legs gave out, broken. Looking to the left, she saw a car… the car they had been sitting in only moments earlier; Giselle and Nathalie still playing their card game, Lucie resting, her parents engaged in the same “discreet” argument. But now the car was upside down and crunched into the side of a great oak, smoking.

“No,” she heard herself say, but her voice was weak and insignificant compared to what she was seeing in front of her eyes. “No!” This time, she screamed.

Her arms flailed around her, trying to gain movement apart from her legs. She slid across something slimy, and as she did, the water grew deeper. The tree she had been so close to grew further away. “No!” Where were her parents? Giselle? Nathalie? Lucienne?

“God, help me!” Adrienne screamed, now aware of the sound of tires spinning, and the hissing of the engine up ahead. She reached up to her forehead and felt the glass, all that glass, as she tried to steady herself. “Father!”

So much smoke, and darkness. She could see nothing except the outline of the car, now half the size it was before. “Nathalie! Please, someone! Giselle!”

“Lucie!”

Her vision blurred now and she stumbled to steady herself, instead falling further into the water as she went down, down into it until there was nothing.

* * *

ADRIENNE’S HEAD LOLLED back against an arm. As she briefly opened her eyes, she saw the face of an old man. She knew this because he had white hair and his face was soothing, making her feel like she was in a dream state. He carried her, moving very slowly up and down as he lifted his feet through the murky water. The man talked to himself, praying, hoping aloud he could get her to the young man quickly, before it was too late.

She closed her eyes again.

* * *

FACES ABOVE HER. Three. She didn’t know any of them. The old man was gone. She didn’t know why they were standing over her, or why she was there. Or how she had gotten there. Or where there was.

Or who she was.

A young man was holding her hand in his, looking defeated and sad.

Then, a woman, an older woman, with such kindness in her voice as she said, “There was nothing we could do about the baby.”

Adrienne awoke the next morning at Oz's house before first light, her mind heavy with thoughts both formed and unformed.

She had not changed her mind about one thing: she must leave.

Jesse had said to her, “Life doesn’t resolve itself neatly like it does in books or movies. This won’t end up the way you want it to, and you have to make a choice.”

Jesse. He was so smart, and wasted all of it on that ungrateful mother of his. Oh, how Adrienne loathed her. Almost as much as she loathed herself for believing that, somehow, this trip was for Jesse. Such self-deceptive bullshit!

It had been for her! Her and no one else.

It was a miracle Oz hadn’t figured her out yet. One could only attribute that to the self-protective barrier he had constructed around himself since the day he first saw her in Abbeville. He had spent months, maybe years, getting over her, believing she was dead and lost forever. It was so unfair to waltz into his life again. She knew it now.

And there’d been a child. A baby. A secret she’d known for almost two weeks before her family’s ill-fated trip. She had dangled it before him, promising to tell him but wanting to savor the moment by prolonging it.

He could never know she had kept that from him.

For her part, she would keep her thoughts locked on the surface. She would not let herself think of everything she had lost. Her mind would not survive it.

* * *

NOW, ALL SHE could do was hope; hope Jesse would accept her back; hope Angelique would not do something none of them could reverse; hope, somehow, Oz could forgive her for leaving him a second time with no explanation.

Chapter 25

Oz

I DID NOT sleep well.

I was beginning to wonder if something was really wrong with Adrienne; maybe she was experiencing some issues beyond her memory loss.

The entire visit was suspect. She had not even asked about her estate, despite this being the purpose of her trip to see me. She had, in fact, asked very little of anything, and she hadn’t made any attempts at going off on her own. Hadn’t requested to see any pictures, paperwork, news clippings. Nothing. And never mind how odd it was for her chivalrous beau, Jesse, to first take the time to establish his position for me in the bar, but then let her run off and stay with me having no end date in mind.

And then the episode at Ophélie. How to even interpret it? I won’t pretend I didn’t feel that old warmth at her neediness for me. It was achingly familiar, and for those few moments on the balcony, after she threw herself into my arms, I could almost feel the clock turning back three years and bringing with it the desperation we felt in our stolen time.

My logical mind was at a complete loss.

There was one person whom I thought might be able to help put things in order. I knew Adrienne would be unhappy with me after promising to keep her visit a secret, but at this point it was clear we were at an impasse. Either I couldn’t help her, or she didn’t really want to be helped. I was in over my head.

My father would be angry with me for taking her in after all that transpired in Abbeville, but he would put that aside to help me in any way he could.

* * *

WHEN I LEFT the house an hour later, Adrienne was still asleep and I decided not to bother her. I left a quick note explaining I was going to the office, and gave her my mobile number if she needed anything in the next couple of hours.

The office of Sullivan & Associates did not open to the public until nine, but I knew my father usually arrived around seven. I timed my visit with this in mind, desiring his full attention.

My father’s office door was closed, an indication he was either with a client or deep in paperwork. My Uncle Rory came up behind me just as I was considering leaving.

“You might peek your head in the door, kiddo. The ladies in there with your father called him out of bed early this morning; they’ve been here since six.”

I stared at him incredulously. Six! This must be a special client. No one ever made my father change his schedule like that. “Then I should come back later.”

He leaned in closer. “The morning cleaning lady was here when they arrived. She said they kept talking about you.” He paused. My Uncle Rory was not mischievous, and he made it his personal agenda to cut drama off when it involved someone in our family. “I’m quite sure if someone came in here at dawn talking about me, I would get to the bottom of it. Fast.”

I nodded absently. Panic crept in again, like that moment in Abbeville when I knew things were starting to go south.

I approached the door to my father’s office tentatively. After one knock, I opened the door slightly.

My father’s eyes were heavy. I could see the last couple of hours had not been easy. “I was getting ready to call you.” Even his voice was weary. “Have a seat.”

The woman sitting closest to the door rotated her body to face me, meeting my eyes with a cold, hard gaze. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

“Colin Sullivan,” she said stiffly and nodded at me. I offered her my hand and she glanced toward it as if it carried the plague. Ignoring my gesture, she looked back at my father.

“Oz, we’ve got a situation on our hands-“ my father began, but the woman cut him off.

“It isn’t doing any of us any good to sugarcoat this,” she said to him. She looked at me again and her gaze was steely. “You've kidnapped Adrienne and if you don’t turn her over at once, we are going to have you arrested.”

She said this so calmly, at first I wondered if I heard her right. Then she continued, “You have no right to keep her from her family! This is not your job!”

The younger woman next to her placed her hands on the woman’s arm to steady her. I noticed her now for the first time. She was about Adrienne’s age, very fair. She was uncomfortable, possibly even a little bit afraid.

I was too stunned to speak.

“You kidnapped my son’s fiancée! You have no right!” the older woman continued, growing exceedingly agitated. Her voice came back to me now; the voice on the other end of the line in Abbeville.

I quickly closed the door, seeing this was already drawing attention.

My father spoke before I could start in with my defense. His voice was terse, his words indicating his own anxiety. “Please, ladies. Colin, let me introduce you. This is Angelique Fontaine. And this,” he said, gesturing toward the small younger woman, “is her daughter, Anne.” Anne smiled shyly at me, dropping her eyes. She reminded me of someone.

“Nice to meet you both,” I said absently, still frozen where I stood.

“Colin, Mrs. Fontaine seems to believe you have some connection with the disappearance of her son’s friend, Adrienne,” my father formally intoned. He wanted to keep this civil and I could see he had been struggling to do so since they came in.

“Believe? Oh no, Monsieur, I know! This man kidnapped Adrienne and has been holding her hostage for almost two weeks!”

Anne said nothing, but put her hand out to steady her mother, who was verging on hysterics.

I didn't know what to do. Adrienne’s new family coming here was something I never considered. Their accusations took me off guard. I knew for certain Jesse was aware Adrienne was staying with me of her own volition, so why didn’t they?

Maybe Jesse hadn’t shared that information with his mother because he feared she would do something exactly like this.

I took a deep breath and chose my course. “With all due respect, ma’am, Adrienne came to me of her own free will. She asked me for help. I have done nothing to compromise her, or her safety.”

My father looked aghast. I avoided his eyes. This was not how I wanted him to find out. “She’s been with you?” He nearly spat the words out, his face colored with anger and disbelief. I knew he wanted to reproach me further, but seemed to understand doing it in front of these ladies wouldn't help matters.

“I wanted to tell you, but she asked me not to.” I almost told him this was the reason for my visit, but stopped short. All present company had their own agendas, including me. Of all of us, mine may have been the most closely tied to Adrienne’s own wishes. I realized getting defensive with these women would only make Adrienne look worse.

I looked at Anne, who was fanning her mother with a stack of papers. Angelique’s face was the color of Bordeaux wine. She seemed to be grasping for words as she sucked at the air.

My father gave me a look that said he should have known this would happen. Angelique pushed an embarrassed Anne’s hand away, and stood up to face me. The chair she was sitting in fell over and Anne caught it with both hands.

“You are a deplorable human being! Oh, you sit here and tell me she came to you! To you! She needs nothing from you!”

“Mrs. Fontaine-" my father started again, powerless.

“I will not listen to any more of this! Take me to Adrienne or I will have you both arrested!”

I looked helplessly to my father for guidance, but he had none.

The nerve of this woman enraged me. How many times could she possibly accuse me of abusing Adrienne? “Adrienne is a grown woman, fully capable of making her own decisions! If she chose to leave your family, she had her reasons.”

“How dare you!” Angelique hissed each word separately. “You know nothing! She was happy before you came down and waved all that fancy in her face! She may be a grown woman, but she is obviously not capable of making a rational decision.”

“Lady, she called me!”

Angelique reared back, but my father interceded. “Enough! This is going nowhere.” He looked at me now. “We can easily clear this up by talking to Adrienne herself.”

“No,” I said. “Absolutely not.”

Angelique’s mouth opened again, but her daughter was tugging on her arm. “Oz, please,” my father entreated. “You are right, she is a grown woman. No one can make her do anything she doesn’t want to do. Angelique and Anne simply need reassurance she is okay. That you didn’t kidnap her.” He seemed to choke on his words. “And then they can return home, and we can end this.”

“Oh no! No! No, you don’t!” Angelique was howling again. “Don’t condescend to me, Mr. Sullivan. She is coming home with us, and your son is not going to prevent this from happening!”

I couldn't stop my eyes from rolling. “You are something else. Adrienne has never said an unkind word about any of you, and now I’m in complete admiration of her kindness and self-control.”

“Colin,” warned my father.

“No, I’m sorry, but I don't want this woman in my home, Dad. She is obviously-“ I chose my words carefully here, “unsettled at the moment.”

Angelique threw her arms into the air. “Oh, she's at your home! You’re a bold kidnapper!”

“Mother, please,” Anne whispered. She tugged at her mother’s arm in frustration.

I suddenly realized why Angelique looked familiar. She was the woman at the bar in Abbeville; the one I suspected of drugging my drink.

My father closed his eyes for a moment, then said, “Colin, if you don’t do this, then I am going to do it for you.”

I took a deep breath. “Fine.”

Anne drove with me and my father took Angelique. I tried to strike up conversation with Anne, but she closed herself off. It occurred to me the person she reminded me of was Lucie Deschanel. The resemblance was striking.

Anne and I arrived first, and I pushed ahead to give Adrienne some warning, however small. I ran into the house, calling out her name. When she didn’t respond, I went into the bedroom to find her.

The bed was made, and her bag was gone. No note, no warning. Completely gone.

No. I refused to believe she left.

“Adrienne!” I yelled hopelessly, running from room to room, knowing in my heart she was gone, maybe for good.

This was my fault! She had been trying to tell me something at Ophélie. She trusted me to understand I couldn’t question her need, only accept it and help her. Instead I chose to be rational; to be more like my father.

The three were waiting when I came downstairs. My father looked disappointed and crestfallen. Angelique, conversely, appeared pleased and vindicated.

“So she’s run away from you!” Angelique trembled with fury. Her balled fists punched her thighs. “You will not get away with this!” she screamed again. My father asked Anne to please escort her out to his car.

We could still hear her fuming as she flew down the stairs. After they were gone, my father tried to reason with me, “Son, these ladies are not going away anytime soon. If you know where Adrienne is, now would be a good time to say so.”

It was my turn to lose it. Adrienne was gone, and there was no indication of where, or how I could find her. And this woman, Angelique, would stop at nothing. I started to lose my breath. My father sat me down and tried to calm me.

“Dad, I have no idea! She was here this morning when I left, and now she’s gone.” I buried my face in my hands. “She came to me asking for my help and secrecy. When I came to the office today, I was going to tell you everything, all of it. I can’t live like this anymore; I only wanted to help her!”

“We’ll get to the bottom of this.” He rubbed his hand across my shoulders as I sat in agony.

Yet somehow, despite my father’s comforting promise, I knew things could get much worse. Everything that happened in the last two weeks was connected. Nothing was a coincidence.

I didn’t know what that connection was, but I knew I was in trouble and so was Adrienne.

* * *

IT WAS AROUND five that evening when I was summoned to the police station for questioning. Upon arrival they assured me they were not formally charging me with anything, and I was only there so they could ask me some questions. I knew Angelique Fontaine had quite a different idea in mind.

I was led to a gray cement room, taking a seat in a hard metal folding chair across from two officers. My father sat next to me.

“He doesn’t need a lawyer,” the first officer, a young blonde man, said to him.

“Yet,” finished the other, a man slightly older and hardened.

“I’m not here as his counsel. I’m his father.”

They exchanged looks and the first officer offered us both a glass of water.

They asked me the kinds of questions I would have expected them to ask, such as how I perceived Adrienne’s frame of mind during the visit, and the last time I saw her. They asked if at any time I forced her to remain with me, to which I replied with an emphatic no. They also asked if I indirectly threatened her if she tried to leave, to which I also said no. The list of questions continued, most around the nature of my relationship with Adrienne. I answered them as best as I could without betraying her confidences on anything. I didn’t know where she was. Her leaving was as much a shock to me as anyone else.

My father shifted in his seat as I answered. His behavior made me more nervous than the two officers.

After an hour, they seemed satisfied and told me I was free to go. My father handled the necessary small talk with the officers and we left.

On the drive home, he said very little.

The confusion I felt earlier had fallen away. Angelique showing up unexpectedly reminded me that Adrienne was the victim here, and the one who needed someone on her side.

* * *

MY FATHER TOLD me wearily we would discuss everything in the morning, and dropped me off at home without another word.

The first thing I did was scan the house again for any signs of a note that I might have overlooked earlier. There was nothing.

Strangely, Solange had come by when I was at the station, and left a casserole warming for me in the oven, apparently having decided her vacation was over. I knew I should eat, but I wasn’t hungry. I felt a twinge of guilt as I turned off the oven, and put the casserole in the fridge.

When I turned around, someone was standing in the doorway, right hand stretched above his head, body cocked arrogantly to one side.

Nicolas was home.

“Ozzy,” he said, as his face stretched into a slow smile.

“Nic,” I returned, and also smiled. “You never did like to knock.”

* * *

MINUTES LATER, HE was devouring Solange’s casserole. “I’m fucking starving!” he declared in place of pleasantries.

“Happy to see you too,” I responded.

“I might have to steal this chick,” Nicolas mumbled, as he inhaled his dinner. “Sometimes I think Condoleezza is trying to poison me.”

“Eat all you want. I’m not hungry.”

He shrugged as if to say, your loss.

“When did you get back?” I asked.

Nicolas looked up. “Please tell me what you’ve been doing with my sister.” His voice was quick, composed, but not hiding his dissatisfaction.

“I don’t feel like talking about it.” I was exhausted and I didn’t feel like getting into it all over again. At that moment I didn’t care he was still processing the news his beloved sister was alive. I had been there, done that, and was ready to move on.

“Your Uncle Rory told me what happened.”

“What exactly did he tell you? That everyone in Louisiana has gone completely mad?”

He shook his head at me. I wanted to say more but my focus was alternately narrow and scattered. Everything was floating around, unattached and unimportant.

“Have you seen her?” I ventured to ask.

“Yes, this morning.”

“So you know everything then, her memory loss, her accident?”

“Yes, yes.”

“And your thoughts?” I realized the error of the question the moment it left my tongue. My therapist mantra was weak: “And how does that make you feel?”

“Well fuck Oz, I don’t know. I guess I’m pretty fucking excited my dead sister has come back to life.”

“I’m sorry. Don’t listen to anything I say right now.”

Nicolas smiled then, and seemed his old self again. “I love you Ozzy, you know this, but you need to pull your head out of your ass. What did you honestly expect would happen?”

I nodded, but said nothing. Nicolas went on. “For once in your life, stop being so goddamned naïve and trusting of people! Stand up for yourself! And above all…. stay away from my sister. She has always brought bad luck with her and you’ve already been burned by it once. Don’t be an asshole and let it happen twice.”

I realized I had misinterpreted his initial annoyance with me.

“Where is she Nic?”

“Ozzy-“

“Please. I need to know.”

He put down his fork and stuck his tongue under his upper lip, as he always did before he was about to say something he wanted to be heard well. “You know where she is. But nothing good can come of this.”

He said this, and I heard it well, but we both knew as soon as he left, I would go to her. Nicolas smiled sadly in acknowledgement of his expected defeat and squeezed my forearm.

* * *

THE EXPRESSWAY WAS backed up for miles with the summer construction traffic and evening rush hour. I imagined every moment I spent idling on the freeway, the longer she remained in danger. I now knew and understood the danger to be that woman, Angelique Fontaine.

However, there was so much I still didn’t know. I went from anger in the beginning when I didn’t understand, to curiosity and an unexplained sense of relief when Adrienne arrived, to a commitment to her that even now I did not fully understand. I hoped once she told me everything I needed to know, I would understand this feeling, the way the missing piece of a puzzle completes the picture.

Would I ask her to talk to me, or would she offer? Would she want to see me? And even if she wanted to see me, would she feel she could trust me after the way her previous pleas had fallen on my deaf ears? Would I be too late? Would Angelique and Anne, or even Jesse, already be there? If they were, how far would I go to protect her? Whatever I had to do, I would, if it meant Adrienne’s freedom and her right to choose what was best for her.

I knew, no matter what lures Jesse and his family held out to her, she would not abandon me this time.

And I would not abandon her. She would finally see I did not lack the courage of my convictions.

* * *

AN HOUR LATER, my blood began to rise and my heartbeat pulsed in nervous excitement, as I pulled into Ophélie.

I slammed the car door and ran to the front door of the house, throwing it open without bothering to knock. Condoleezza ran from the sitting room to see who had burst through the door, but I hardly noticed her, as I raced up the long flight of stairs.

“Adrienne!” I called out and pushed through her bedroom door. The double doors leading to the gallery were open, and I knew she was there, waiting for me, keeping watch over Brigitte’s Garden.

“Oz!” she cried and flung herself into my arms in a mixture of joy and relief.

Chapter 26

Oz

FOR TWO DAYS, Adrienne kept to herself and spoke to no one. Both Nicolas and I attempted to call on her, but she said nothing when we came to her door.

After she threw herself into my arms, she asked me about what happened to me. Instead of lying to her, I told her about the visit with Angelique and Anne, and all that followed. She watched me in quiet grief and when I finished, she asked me to leave her to her thoughts.

It was then she turned to her solitude, locking her door against those who cared for her; against life itself. The urgency I felt to resolve the issue of the Fontaines subsided temporarily, because I knew she was safe with Nicolas and me.

Rather than sit listlessly outside of Adrienne’s door, begging her to see me, I spent time on the gallery outside of Nathalie’s old room. Richard brought me the newspaper with my breakfast after I took a shower. By lunch I would pick up Adrienne’s copy of The Brothers Karamazov and read until the time Condoleezza brought my dinner.

Strangely, I thought of Adrienne very little during this time, only that I would no longer lie to myself about the love I felt for her. I hoped her solitude was because she felt the same. Maybe she even understood the feeling was not a new one, but remade from an old and very serious one.

Instead, I thought of my job, and my father and mother. I would go back to work as soon as I resolved things here. How long that would take, or even what it would entail, I didn’t yet know, but the firm was where I belonged. It was no longer a sense of family duty and honor which made my career important to me. This pivotal shift in my thoughts was a mystery that did not require solving. The awareness I was a good lawyer was as straightforward as my feelings for Adrienne.

My father once told me acting with integrity was the very thing that made a man great. I had always tried to do the right thing. More so than anything else, I had wanted my father to realize this. I understood now my father would acknowledge it only when I no longer needed him to.

I was not afraid of what would happen when Angelique played her hand. My self-confidence was brimming. I knew I could handle whatever was thrown in my direction.

On the evening of the first day, a Thursday, a tropical storm blew through the area and kept everyone indoors. The rain continued into Friday evening, and I sat on the gallery, watching the trees bow and flex in the squall.

I heard her come up behind me, but I didn’t turn around. Instead, I said, “There’s something I must tell you.”

She knelt down behind where I sat in the wicker chair and rested her face softly against the back of my neck. “You haven’t slept,” she whispered.

“No.”

“I wish you would.”

“No need.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“For what?”

“For not talking to you. For leaving you here, like this.”

“Don’t be. I haven’t seen a storm this beautiful in years.”

She stood and moved around to the front, to face me. My eyes were tired and bloodshot, my face unshaven. “What did you want to tell me?” She sunk down in front of me on the floor of the gallery, between my legs, and rested her head against the side of my thigh as she looked at me. This intimacy seemed natural.

I looked down at her and smiled. “You’re still not afraid of the rain, right?”

* * *

I TOOK HER by the hand and led her out into the garden, through the old fields behind the house. We ran like children through the rain, just like we had not so long ago on St. Charles Avenue, at dusk. We both laughed as our feet splashed through the giant puddles of mud in the grass, and our hair and clothes became laden with rain drops.

We ran until we reached the farthest outbuilding, a curing shed not used in over a hundred years. It was empty aside from cobwebs and insects, but it was the best privacy we could find anywhere on the grounds. I wanted no interruptions, nothing that would deter me from my train of thought and saying all I needed to say. I hadn’t forgotten Angelique and her family could show up at any time.

Adrienne climbed up on to a small table, the only piece of furniture which remained. I struck a match and lit the small stove that, to our luck, had old logs in it. Accompanied by much popping and cracking, the dim light lit up the otherwise dark shack, and revealed only a couple of leaks, over in the corner.

Though it was August, the breeze from the river and rain brought a chill to the room. She wrapped her arms around herself and drew her knees to her chest, as her wet hair spilled over the left side of her face.

I was no longer nervous or anxious. I would simply tell her and then await her reaction.

“There is so much I need to tell you, too,” she said to me, her eyes radiant and full of energy.

“Me first.”

“Of course,” she said with diplomacy. “There’s time for both of us to talk. Are you going to sit down?” She motioned toward the space beside her.

I shook my head. “I’ve been sitting for two days.”

The room lit up with white light, and moments later thunder cracked overhead, closer than it had been when we left the house.

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you, Adrienne. There are good reasons why I was unwilling to help you, and why I wasn’t the best person to handle your case.”

Adrienne said nothing. She watched me as if she knew what I would tell her, and was ready to finally hear it.

“I was truthful when I told you I was Nicolas’ friend. I’ve known Nic nearly all my life. But I also knew you and your three sisters.

“I was attracted to Giselle, and friendly to Lucienne, and even Nathalie later on, but it was always different with you. You were the younger sister I never had, with intelligence and wit I was jealous of, though I was five years older than you. You said, did, and knew things most people couldn’t begin to say, or do, or know. You seemed to know that I understood you and, because of this, you always liked me.

“When you were sent away to school at thirteen, I went through a period in my life where I used women to try and fill a void in me I didn’t understand at the time. I could romance you by saying the void was created when you went away, but truthfully, when you left I barely noticed. You were just Ade, my best friend’s little sister, and a child I thought of only in the moments you were right in front of me, asking for help on a science project or book report. By the time you returned, I was not the same person you knew.”

Adrienne focused her gaze at me, not missing a single word.

“Your sister, Nathalie, was the one who changed all that. I could say many wonderful things about all of your sisters, but Nat kept the four of you together.

“I knew nothing of what she was doing at the time, only later realizing how skillfully she had prepared me for you. She alone understood how special you were. I could not go from the life I had been leading, into a life with anyone else, without first understanding the beauty of friendship. That was exactly what Nathalie gave me.

“She knew and loved you the way everyone knew and loved you. She also understood what her sisters needed to flourish, and at some point in time, she decided I was exactly what you needed.”

I looked for a reaction in Adrienne, but she sat and watched me with the same steady expression.

“Nat spent several weeks with me, nurturing qualities I let go dormant in my college years. I enjoyed talking with her. It was a gift to have someone understand everything I said, and who could maybe even relate to my perspectives. Her motives, whether personal or altruistic, are still unknown to me. I only know that the active part of this friendship ended when you returned home at the age of sixteen and came to my house for dinner.”

I recounted the essential facts of that evening. She continued to watch me without surprise, but with a sad smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“I’ll never forget the way you looked back at me as you left and told me that you loved me. I knew at that moment, when your eyes met mine, I could never be happy without you.”

Thirst, and hesitancy, caused me to stop. I was unsatisfied on both accounts, as there was no water in the shack, and she continued to sit without reaction. Lacking direction, I went on.

I told her of how we spent three months together, stealing time at every opportunity. How she came to my house daily after school and would spend the night when her father was away on business. How Cordelia never told Charles, enabling our continued rendezvous. I talked of the weekends in the Quarter, the blissful ignorance of two people unaffected by anything, and how they came to a catastrophic end when her father could no longer ignore our relationship.

For over an hour I relayed our past to her, pacing the room, sharing my memories of any story which came to mind; both in parts, and wholes, or however it happened to come to me. She listened in rapt attention, never speaking.

“I never forgot how young you were, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered Adrienne, nothing except you.”

Finally, I revealed to her the part which pained me the most: how she had disappeared and left me with nothing but despair.

Adrienne betrayed herself when first one tear, and then many, slid down her cheeks.

“Please say something,” I begged. My voice was desperate and annoyed, but not with her.

It was then her sobs broke loose, and I went to her. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Please, please don’t be upset, Adrienne.”

She looked up and I saw her tear-stained face; it was the very same face that appealed to me the night she told me about the bullies in Brussels.

“Oh Oz, I knew, I knew,” she cried and held me all the tighter. “I knew it when I called you.”

“I don’t understand...”

“I knew it was you. Oz, I haven’t been completely honest with you, either, but please don’t be angry because I did it for many of the same reasons.”

It was apparent she would go mad if I didn’t reassure her. “Adrienne, listen to me. I spent years convincing myself I no longer needed you, and until two nights ago, I still believed that.”

I touched her face; her chin fell neatly into the palm of my hand. “Apparently there is something special about you that does not allow me to be unforgiving. So tell me. Tell me anything and I will understand, whether I want to or not.”

Her chin quivered. “I started to have some memories a while ago. They were in the form of dreams. And I started to remember you, and when I called you… I don’t know what I was thinking! I knew I had to see you, and to figure it all out, somehow. The more time I spent with you, the more it came back to me, and in the end it was too much. Oh, those phone calls Oz... if only you knew the danger I understood.”

This came as a great shock. “You knew it all then?”

“No, not all. But enough to know not pursuing my memory of you would be a mistake.”

“You’re extremely perceptive. I wonder if you can read everyone’s minds the way you do mine.”

“Oz-”

“So what am I thinking now?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do know, and I need to hear you say it. I need to know you understand what I am telling you.”

“No. I really don’t know.” She looked down, away.

“Yes you do. If you won’t say it, then you force me to-”

“No, Oz, not yet! Not now. First let me tell you my side of the story. Let me tell you about how all of this came to be, and why you’re here now, with me, instead of living your life the way you should be. And then, if you still find I'm the same person you're unable to turn away from, I will read your mind with pleasure.”

I sighed. I could think of nothing she could say, nothing she could do, that would change how I felt. But I knew her story, and the uncovering of a dozen mysteries, was imperative if I was to begin to understand what was happening to us. I had to know, and she was finally ready to tell me.

“Fair enough,” I agreed.

Chapter 27

Adrienne

“THERE IS SO much I want to tell you, it’s hard to know where to start. I want to back up and begin with the night of the accident, even though it’s painful for both of us.”

Oz, having been talking and pacing for more than an hour, settled quietly on the table beside her. With understanding in his eyes, he nodded encouragingly.

“I wish I could tell you everything, but I only recently started to have memories of that night. I know we were driving down to the Gulf for a vacation. I don’t know where Nicolas was, but I remember wishing he'd come along. Obviously, now I am glad he didn’t.

“I also know I felt conflicted about you and me. I know that might upset you, but try to understand what it was like to be in my shoes. There I was, a sixteen year old girl, in love with a man of twenty-one, who had already finished college, and was going into law school. I felt so overshadowed by what you could be doing with your life, rather than spending it with me.”

Oz pulled back slightly, and lifted an eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me like that, Oz. You know I loved you. But I never felt good enough for you.

“Your parents even staged an intervention not long before the accident. You and I probably talked about this before; it doesn’t seem to be the type of thing I would have kept to myself. I wish I could say it didn’t affect me–remember how we always swore we cared not at all what others thought?–but it did. They reinforced the fears I'd been keeping secret from you all summer. Hearing them from adults I respected only made them more real, and valid.”

To this Oz resumed his comfortably snug hold, and nodded mutely against her shoulder, indicating he had discussed the conversation with his parents.

“Back to the night of the accident. We had gotten off to a late start because my father was busy wrapping up his business so we could leave. This put Cordelia in a worse than usual mood; their bickering started in the house, and didn’t end until the accident.

“Most of what they said was so repetitive I won’t bother repeating it now. But they did argue about something which concerns me greatly, years later. When we neared Abbeville, Cordelia mentioned an ‘Angelique’–threw it in his face, more or less–and that he had been sending her checks. Even made a sarcastic comment about stopping to pay respects. This can’t be coincidence. Oz, I hope when I am done telling you my story, we can find out together.”

Though he didn’t say a word, Oz’s posture was tense, as his mind assimilated this detail into the larger narrative. The determination in his eyes meant they would find the answers they both wanted.

Adrienne continued with the few details she remembered of the accident itself, focusing mainly on her terror in the aftermath. Her audience of one gave her hand a gentle squeeze, his eyes reflecting Adrienne's pain, but he did not interrupt.

“The first few days with the Fontaines are hazy. I recall waking up, seeing them, and feeling only a mild comfort. Any sense of safety was completely eclipsed by the panic in remembering nothing of how I had gotten there, or where I had come from. I didn't know who I was.

“It was only by chance we discovered my name. I was wearing that gold bracelet you gave me, Oz, the one with my first name in glittering letters. ‘Adrienne.’ It was the only clue at all I had existed before that moment. When they said it out loud, the name felt right, though nothing else did.

“Angelique and Anne played a very small part in those first days. I knew they were curious, because they came by the small room often, but Jesse would usher them out. ‘She is not yet well,’ he would say. ‘I promise when she is ready for company, I will let you know.’ Jesse had a wonderful bedside manner. It is such a shame he was not able to become a doctor.

“I floated in and out of consciousness, and when I would wake, his face was always there. I counted on it. I don’t know what I would have done had I woken up and not seen it.”

Out of sequence, but how she learned it, Adrienne then relayed the details Jesse told her later, about the old man, Amos, who had pulled her from the swamp. Jesse’s horror at the extent of her injuries, and his patience in nursing her back to health. His tenderness after.

“I know this is hard for you to hear, Oz. Please know that I didn’t love him then, not the way I had loved you. But I did need him. Imagine knowing nothing else in the world but one person, and you might be able to understand.”

Compassion filled Oz’s face. It was clear he understood, completely.

“As I recovered, I expected my memory to slowly return, but it didn’t. There wasn’t even a glimmer. Angelique told me she was checking the local papers, searching for any news of a lost girl of my age, but nothing was ever mentioned. I now know that was impossible; knowing who my family was, it must have been all over the news for months. Heck, she probably talked to the police at some point! I have an idea of why she might have lied to me, but I will get to that later. I still think there is more to it.”

As Adrienne relayed what life was like with the Fontaines, she realized much of it centered around her growing reliance on Jesse. Wanting to reassure Oz, she interrupted the narrative to explain, “I’m sorry to go on and on about Jesse, but I only want to say that I loved him for many of the same reasons I loved you: his kindness, his sensitivity. But I loved him mostly for how he cared for me. I loved you because you were you.”

To this, Oz only smiled. While she appreciated his respecting her telling with silence, it left her hoping he understood.

Adrienne continued her story with details of their daily life, and her interactions with Angelique and Anne, A&A. The routine, the wonderful, the deception she now saw, and how the relationship changed as her bond with Jesse evolved.

“As time went on, my role in the family became more important. Jesse and I grew closer. I never thought of him as a brother the way I thought of Anne as a sister, but I hadn’t ever thought of him romantically, either. When it finally happened, it was very natural.

“I won’t dwell on the details. But I will tell you one night we found ourselves talking on the porch after A&A had gone to bed, and he kissed me. It didn’t feel spectacular the way kissing you always had, but it felt right. Of course, I had no memory of kissing you, so I had nothing to measure against.

“Angelique approved, very much, of this new relationship; seemed, in fact, to have been holding out hope for it. When we made our intentions known, her smile was satisfied.”

Trying to lighten the mood, Adrienne changed topics, slightly, and relayed some of her happier adventures living in the bayou. Oz’s demeanor brightened considerably when she told him about helping with crawfish farming, and their success one year in selling enough that they were able to add an extra room to the house.

“And then one night the dreams started. At first they meant nothing to me, but about a month ago I started to have very specific dreams. This was the beginning, Oz; it marked the moment when moving forward in my blissful unawareness was no longer possible.

“As I said, initially, the dreams were very cryptic. I saw blurred faces in strange situations. Now I understand them to be my father, Cordelia, Nicolas, my sisters, and of course, you. I think I may have also seen my birth mother. At the time I had no idea who any of them were, or if they were even real people. But as the nights went on, and the dreams continued, I started to wonder if I was remembering things.

“Jesse was the only one who knew of the dreams, but it wasn't because I told him. He slept next to me each night and often comforted me when I woke in sweat and tears.”

Compassion bade Adrienne interrupt her narrative for another bit of comfort, “Oz, I will put your mind at ease. Jesse and I have never consummated our relationship. You are still the only man I’ve ever been with.”

Oz’s sigh of relief was intentionally comical.

Continuing, she tried to explain the months of increasingly vivid dreams, and how the joy of knowledge was at odds with her inability to share the revelations.

“It was when I started to remember you that everything changed. First, it was just your face in different places, like your family law office, but then it turned into more intimate memories. Finally, I remembered waking up next to you in a hotel somewhere, and your name. I remembered Oz.”

With a deep sigh, Adrienne recalled aloud the torture of having tasted something sweet, but being denied more. "Unable to talk to Jesse, I went to Angelique for help. It was her suggestion I call you.

“You know what happened next. I called you, you came to see me, and the visit was not a success for either of us. I didn't find out until later that Angelique, in her anger and worry, filled Jesse in on what happened, which prompted him to meet with you. I am so sorry for that, by the way. If I had known then, I would have stopped him. I would have stopped her, too, from trying to take control over the situation. I realized then this was my life, not hers.

“I wish I had answers for you about what happened in Abbeville, but I don’t. All I do know is Angelique told me the situation was taken care of, and the subject closed.

“So I came to see you, Oz. Being with you opened up the floodgates to my memory, and everything came pouring out. I was so confused about what I was feeling. When the calls started, I knew I couldn’t string you along like I had been doing.

“There is still so much left I want to say, but right now I can’t…”

Chapter 28

Oz

WHEN ADRIENNE FINISHED, her face was full of tears, her hands trembling in her lap.

“You don’t have to say anymore,” I told her. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“I can’t begin to tell you how truly sorry I am for what they have done to you. If only I had known. But I should have known! I should have seen it coming. No, I never should have dragged you into any of this. I should have known.” Her thoughts came one after another; she was talking more to herself than to me. Without warning, she looked at the door and ran outside into the rain.

I ran after her. Her words were hard enough to hear, but her tears and pain were more than I could handle. I ignored the rain and gathered her into my arms, ready to tell her everything I wanted to say while she was baring her soul to me.

“Don’t, Adrienne. I can’t take this. Stop.” I was ashamed of myself for doubting her all this time. It didn’t ease my guilt to argue I knew nothing of any of this, until now.

“I love you,” I professed, feeling as if a three-year burden had been lifted from my soul. It felt wonderful to say it again. “I love you so much I can hardly breathe.” I was lightheaded and tears stung my eyes; tears of love, and frustration at having so many things to say without knowing how to say them.

Relief washed over her face and the heat rose in her cheeks. She seemed afflicted with whatever was plaguing me. “Oz, please always love me the way you do right now.”

I held her tight in my arms as the rain continued to pour down. The winds had subsided some, but the torrent was still fierce and unmerciful. The love for her I had buried deep within me was undeniable now, and I imagined what our life would have been like had years not been lost in Abbeville. I imagined our wedding, and our children chasing each other around the yard after dinner.

With a rush, all of that was possible again.

I set her down under one of the oak trees beside the cabin and she seized me, crushing her lips to mine. My hands ran along her damp clothes, sliding them over her head even as the rain continued mercilessly. She leaned herself back against the bark of the tree and I suckled her neck and her chin, her cheeks, her collarbone, her lips, all of her. It was not enough, and I completely ignored the reality we were soaked and should be miserable. I wanted to kiss every part of her. My love felt as if it would burst from me if I did not get it all out.

“Oh, my Big Hero,” she whispered softly in my ear, quickening my pulse. I wanted to hear her say it again and again, for years and years to come.

Afterward, we lay together under the oak tree, as the rain slowly turned into a drizzle, then stopped altogether. The sun broke through the clouds as it began to set to the West. She smiled happily at me and I could think of only one thing to say.

“Marry me, Adrienne.”

Her eyes closed and she leaned her head into my chest. “Yes, Oz.”

We walked back to the big house hand-in-hand, the only part of the plantation still called Ophélie. Nicolas was sitting on the bottom of the double staircase with his head lying in his hands. He looked up when we walked in.

* * *

WE SPENT THE rest of that evening, and most of the next day, in bed. When we weren’t making love, we talked about the everyday things which occurred in the last three years. I told her about the firm-sponsored basketball team I had been convinced into coaching for a short time; about my difficulties in law school and the office. She told me about all the recipes she learned from Angelique, and some of the funny things from when she was left alone on the crawfish farm.

The years melted away, we were Oz and Adrienne again, and all was right.

* * *

ON THE EVENING of the second night, Adrienne got out of bed and went downstairs for some tea. I woke up and followed her.

“What is it?” I asked. Her discomfort was disturbing to me when all I could see in our future was happiness.

Her red hair fell around her face in large waves, as she leaned over the tea cup she held with both hands. “Nothing.”

“Don’t do this. Talk to me.”

She looked up; her eyes were red and swollen from crying. “We have to leave New Orleans.”

I laughed nervously. “Leave New Orleans? This is our home Ade. Why would we ever leave?”

She closed her eyes again. “I want this, Oz. I want us to be together for the rest of our lives. But I can’t shake this feeling of disconsolation when I think of all that's happened to both of us. I believe we need to start over fresh, in a new place, with new lives. I don’t feel like we can start a life together here.”

I smiled; I thought I understood. “Adrienne,” I said softly, kissing the back of her neck, “leaving New Orleans will not change any of what happened. We can’t run away from it. This is our home; this is where our families have lived for generations. This is where I want our kids to grow up and have their children.” I spun her chair around so she was facing me; it broke my heart to see the evident stress in her face. “I’ll protect you. You never have to be afraid of anything ever again. I love you. If you believe in nothing else, believe in that.”

She looked up at me with tired eyes, but said nothing.

“Damn it, Adrienne, when have you and I ever been able to say we played by the rules?"

Her lip twitched as she continued to watch me.

“Don’t you think our couldn’t-care-less approach might have been part of why things never worked out? We can’t run away anymore, or ignore reality. We can’t leave town and pretend we don’t have lives here, or that they don’t matter!” The more I talked, the more convinced I was of my own words. “If this relationship means anything to us, then we have to start giving it the respect it deserves. We have to face reality, sweetie. Life is always going to throw us these curveballs. We won’t ever make it if we can’t learn to make the most of them.”

Adrienne sighed. She still watched me, but didn’t meet my eyes. “I know. I know what you say is true.”

“Then do we agree?” I put my hand out to her, and smiled. “We will face this together?”

She took my hand, but it was tense. “Yes, Oz,” she said sleepily.

* * *

I WAS NOT surprised when I awoke the next morning to find a note where Adrienne should have been sleeping. Also not a surprise that her abrupt departure was a result of me saying the wrong thing.

I should have been heartbroken, and to an extent was, but it was as if she had never come back at all. It had only been a few hours and I was already forgetting the smell of her hair.

Her note was brief and left little room for analyzing:

Oz,

Perhaps one day you will forgive me for this, like you’ve done in the past, though I don’t deserve it. I knew last night all I could accomplish with you would be to mess up your life. I love you too much to do that again.

Adrienne

Of course, this only proved she didn’t know me at all. Only in leaving me, repeatedly, had she accomplished messing up my life. Perhaps she knew that, perhaps she didn’t. This was twice now, and I could not run after her to the bayou. Her note left no indication of her wishes. She made her choice and if she could live with it, then I would also find a way to.

In the end, it was that simple.

I drove away from Ophélie without saying goodbye to Nicolas. I left the note where Adrienne had left it, and knew Nicolas would find it. It would be easier than explaining to him. I was resolute to forget about Adrienne, and to forget her meant forgetting Nicolas and Ophélie, all of it.

I was done with the Deschanels.

Chapter 29

Oz

TWO DAYS LATER, I went back to work. The associates didn’t give me the barroom welcome I expected. They were met with the same cold gaze I gave everyone now; the one they were familiar with on the face of the elder Colin Sullivan. They seemed to understand I was a different person. In many ways, I was. There are things a broken heart does to a man. You might say I finally grew up.

The last of my innocence left with Adrienne. In its place was a grim, but fierce, determination to succeed at any cost.

Over the next two years, I earned the respect and friendship of many of the people around me who had formerly been cruel. The associates often asked for my opinion on their cases, including my father. He began to groom me for my future partnership.

I thought of Adrienne only in the most obscure moments; when I passed by Faulkner House Books, or in visiting the French Market for coffee. The memories were neither pleasant nor unpleasant because I only allowed them to exist as memories. It was akin to going to the store being a memory, or washing my car.

I no longer believed Adrienne’s departure ruined my life. She had, in fact, opened many doors for me the previously softer Oz would never have considered. It was this new Oz, the man who no longer let people walk all over him or take advantage of his kindness, who re-met and married Janie Masters.

* * *

THE FIRST TIME I met Janie, I found myself smitten with her in the living room of my mother’s house. Our first date was interrupted, and our brief courtship had fallen into history. I wish now I could say I thought of that one date and wondered how things might have turned out had she not been called away, but the truth was I'd forgotten her entirely.

When I met Janie again, it was in the least desirable circumstances. I’d been dealing with a particularly difficult case: one of the firm’s highest paying clients was accused of first degree murder and had no viable alibi. I was assisting one of the other partners in the case, and I had minimal experience in criminal law. There was enough evidence against Calvin Cartwright to put him in prison for the rest of his life, and I knew it would take more than a good lawyer to keep him out of jail. The criminal lawyer handling the case was counting on me to help put together a solid defense he could represent.

Janie was still an investigator for the forensics unit of the New Orleans Police Department. I worked with her closely on the case, calling her almost daily for updates. We won the case, and Calvin his freedom, due primarily to her diligence, and so I took her out to dinner to thank her.

“I turned my pager off this time,” she assured me, and grinned from across the table at Galatoire’s.

“And this time my mother isn’t somehow behind this, so that’s two points in our favor,” I added.

“And we are celebrating something which could change both of our careers forever.” She wrapped her long fingers around the base of her wine glass and lifted it. “I’d say this night couldn’t get any better.”

My eyes twinkled mischievously as I looked at her over the glass. “Well…” I teased.

“Well, indeed,” she agreed, and we both laughed.

This time, I did see her again. And again. In my off time I would visit her at the lab, where she walked me through some of her scientific processes. I introduced her to running, and on the nights she slept over, we would run in the mornings together. In return, she introduced me to old kung fu movies, and I made her laugh with my faux-ninja moves. I loved to hear Janie laugh; she was normally very poised and reserved, but when she laughed her whole body went into it.

Not long into our relationship, she learned she was pregnant. I asked her to move in right away.

One night, I lay awake watching her sleep, thinking of what a wonderful mother she would make. There was another part of me, the one which clearly did not want me to be happy, mocking that it was the child inside I loved, not her. That, had it not been for our future child, nothing would have moved our relationship from a safe, casual one to a lifelong commitment. I would not give credence to the voice telling me I was incapable of loving her, because I knew if I could not love Janie, then I was truly forever scarred by Adrienne.

My life had finally come together. I was young and successful in a bloodthirsty field of work, I owned a gorgeous home, and I had a beautiful fiancée who was carrying my first child. I'd almost forgotten about the love I’d lost.

I married Janie right after she gave birth to Naomi. Circumstances made our marriage brief, but it was good. If that was more accurately attributed to us being such good friends more than lovers, so what? Naomi was all the happiness we needed. She brought us both such joy that we spent all of our time doting on her; taking her for walks, to the park, on short trips. We spoiled her and, in doing so, spoiled ourselves.

The news of Janie’s cancer was so unexpected, it knocked the life from both of us. The energetic and optimistic Janie disappeared overnight, and in her place crept the despair which pervaded my life during the years Adrienne haunted it.

At that moment, I wondered if I would ever get past the bad luck Adrienne had brought on both of our lives.

As Janie slipped away, I loathed Adrienne's intrusion on what should have been our promising future.

Chapter 30

Present

Summer 2001

Oz: 26

Adrienne: 21

AS I WOKE, a momentary wave of disorientation washed over me. Then, the day before came rushing back: the day I buried my wife, and allowed another woman access to my grieving when I had no business doing so.

There was a small imprint in the chair and ottoman where Adrienne had slept. A few of her hairs were still on the throw pillow, curled slightly around each other. The scent of her jasmine soap, mingled with sweat and rain, still hung over me.

The alarm clock reported it was only seven. I was usually awake by this time on a workday, but I would not be returning to work for another week. After the ordeal of yesterday, I needed sleep, but my mind was full, which made sleep restless.

I thought of Naomi. She was all that mattered to me now, all that was good and wonderful about my life. Had I taken the time to consider the last few years, I would have fallen into self-pity and despair. All I cared about remained in her tiny body. If it were not for her, I didn’t know if I could go on. I saw her beautiful blue eyes and her hair, black as mine was. She looked so much like me. She had Janie’s blue eyes and full lips, but otherwise she was entirely my daughter. I wanted to pick her up from my parents’ house, but I was too distracted. She was better off with her grandparents when I was in this frame of mind. But I would not leave her another night. Before the day was over, I would go and get her.

My mother answered the phone when I called. “Did you sleep last night Oz? I want you to come over here and stay with us. You can’t be in that house all by yourself! Pack some clothes for the two of you, and head over right away. Oh, and please bring some toys for Naomi. She seems bored with the ones we have over here. Don’t forget her sippy cup and her books. She asked your father to read to her last night, and he picked up Don Quixote! Oh, Colin, grab her before she runs into the bookshelf! Oz, you should see your daughter; she has your father, Rosaria, and me in a panic! I remember when you were a child; you didn’t start this until you were a little older. We asked the doctor if you… oh, never mind. Has Janie’s sister, Madeline, called you? She said she was going to. She wants to set up lunch for the two of you soon. No rush darling, obviously when you are ready, but I think it would be good for you. Don’t forget her toys!”

I listened to my mother’s nervous ramblings with a small smile. I did not envy the duty of family in the time of grieving. My heart was suddenly full of love for her.

“I’ll stop by tonight, Mom. I need to take care of a few things, but I will come by afterward.”

“A few things? Oz, no one expects you to take care of anything right now! I want you to come over here right away. Oh, I cannot believe I even let you go home last night!” She was distraught and began to cry.

“Mama, please don’t be upset.” This term of endearment was one I seldom used as an adult. “There is something I need to do. I promise I will come by tonight.”

She sniffled on the other end of the phone, but calmed some. “Okay, baby. Please don’t be long.”

After I hung up the phone, I took a quick shower, grabbed an apple from the basket on the bar, and drove out to Ophélie.

* * *

THOUGH I’D USED Adrienne’s shoulder to vent, and even asked her to stay, the animosity I felt toward her did not disappear until I heard the familiar worrisome tones of my mother. She had a way of making me forget my own emotions.

Adrienne left no note when she departed that morning, but I knew she would be waiting for me at Ophélie. She would not have made an effort the previous day had she wanted nothing. I would go to her and find out what she was after, so I could remove her from my life for good. But I would give her nothing until she delivered the explanation she owed me. I was not the chump, the pushover, I had been when I had loved her.

Strategy decided, I allowed my mind to be free of thought for the remainder of the drive. I turned the radio on low and watched the cars around me, passing the slow ones and keeping pace with fast ones. When I pulled off the highway at the Gramercy exit, I hugged the curves of the windy road at eighty miles per hour. Not for the thrill of my youth, but because I was in a hurry to get this over with, to get back to my daughter.

I pulled into Ophélie less than an hour after leaving my house, and saw there were several new cars in the garage. I wondered if they all belonged to Nicolas. Then, I remembered Jesse. It was possible she had gone back to the bayou and married the guy, just as she intended to do.

I looked across the garden, up to the gallery, and saw the figure of Adrienne disappear into the double door of Nathalie’s room.

Condoleezza answered the front door. “Monsieur Colin!” she exclaimed, lifting her hands to her face. She turned abruptly, and yelled toward the stairs, “Monsieur Nicolas, come down! It is Monsieur Colin!”

Nicolas came not from the stairs, but the study. When he stepped into view, Condoleezza excused herself, still excited about the unexpected visitor.

“Ozzy,” he said and took my hand. He was excited to see me, but I saw the hurt caused by my own selfishness in his eyes. “It’s been too long, asshole. Come in.”

Nicolas had grown older, somewhat surlier, but surely more handsome since I had seen him last. He had a touch of facial hair on his chin and upper lip; his eyes were deep-set and serious. I was filled with shame at my defection of the friendship. My resolve to forget about Adrienne had cost me someone very dear to me.

Painful as it was, I would have to ignore him once more because of her.

As if sensing my intentions, Nicolas stopped suddenly without turning around and invited, “She’s upstairs, but I think you already knew that.”

“Nic-“

“I heard about your wife, Oz. I’m truly sorry.” He walked into the study and closed the door.

I wanted to go to him, but I couldn't. I would make everything up to Nicolas, soon even, but that would have to wait.

She was back on the gallery when I went upstairs, this time outside of her bedroom, facing away from me. There was a slight breeze, and her hair blew softly behind her. She turned around and smiled; her peacefulness only incensed me.

“I am not here to thank you for last night, Adrienne. I want some answers.”

Her smile faded. “What answers?”

She turned back around but I reached for her arm and spun her toward me. “Quit playing the victim! I want to know whatever it is you’re not telling me, and I want it right now!”

She pulled herself free and brushed my hand away. “Oz, you and I both know no matter how many answers you get, you’re never satisfied.”

My chin trembled as I looked at her with true rage. No sooner did this feeling consume me, then I realized how unnecessary it was. Why was I getting worked up over someone who no longer had any effect on my happiness? I had more important things to consider. My wife had died and my daughter needed me.

This was a waste of time.

I turned around and walked away.

“Oz, please wait!” she cried.

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you what it is you wanted to know.” Her voice was filled with sad resignation. She sat down on the lounge chair and began to cry. “I’ll tell you everything.”

I turned around and looked at her. “No more lies, Adrienne.”

Chapter 31

Adrienne

“I PRACTICED WHAT I would say to you if we ever came face to face again. I’ve even imagined your reaction, and what would happen after this was all out in the open.

“This is very difficult. I don’t know if you can understand what it’s like to believe you’re the cause of everyone’s bad luck. None of the good times we had even matter anymore, for all the hurt I’ve caused you.”

At Oz’s cold resolve, Adrienne wiped her tears, took a deep breath, and forged ahead, determined to get it all out this time.

“I will confess to you now, I didn’t tell you everything that night in the rain. The worst of it was what came afterward, but there were things then I kept from you. Oh, I could give you many reasons which sounded good to me, but it is really nothing more than cowardice. If I had told you everything, you would have wanted to do the right thing and come to my rescue again. I couldn’t let that happen.

“You and I both know we were living in a fantasy when I came to see you two years ago. Let’s be honest with ourselves, Oz. Neither one of us was acting with good judgment. I came here to learn about who I was, and all I did was keep you from your life. And you, you could have stopped it at any time, but you were as caught up in the spell as I was. What fools we were!

“If it hadn’t been the phone calls, it would have been something else. Possibly even worse. I knew right away it was Angelique. This is why I appealed to you when we went to Ophélie; what caused my strange behavior. Like a child, I thought we could somehow hide from it, and from everything else, and it would all be okay.

“Please, don’t think I was, or am, upset with you for how you reacted. I knew it was unreasonable to think I could keep hiding, but do you understand that I had to at least give it a shot? I knew as soon as you plied your reason this was something I had to face, and probably alone.

“Could I have brought you into this mess? Of course, and we both know you would have jumped in with both feet, sword drawn, shield raised. I prayed nightly you somehow knew and understood what I had done, and would be waiting for me.

“But I couldn’t. So I did the only thing that seemed right at the time. Once again, I left you."

A curt nod from Oz was the only acknowledgement Adrienne received.

* * *

“ANGELIQUE ACTED AS if I'd never left. I made it home in time for dinner, and she had already set a place for me. She said nothing about the fact I’d been missing for two weeks, and asked me to say grace.

“I wasn’t the only one who found this odd. Jesse watched me all throughout dinner. His eyes were so sad, and filled with many questions I knew he would never ask. He felt like second choice, discarded. I wanted to say something to make him feel better, but I was so exhausted I had nothing left over for anyone else.

“Two months after my return, Angelique surprised me by finally addressing the issue. Her voice was quiet, cold, authoritative, and a bit placating. It began with her asserting control again, scolding me for ‘abusing her trust.’ The conversation ended with the revelation of how she knew my father.

“Nothing is coincidence. My father used to own the fields her husband worked. I will spare you the details, but he took a liking to the younger Angelique and they carried on an affair, primarily behind the tool shed. When Angelique became pregnant, she ended the relationship, and seduced her long-neglected husband with the intent of passing the child, Anne, off as his.

"'You know what you did was wrong,' she said.

"I said nothing in reply.

"'You know you abused my trust when you left.'

"I still said nothing, but I nodded.

"'You also know this can never happen again. You had your chance to go play games, and now it is time to come back to reality. You are home now. This is your home.'

"I wept facing away from her, and nodded.

“'Jesse loves you. He will make you a better husband than you probably deserve after what you did. He is a good man, a forgiving man. You should thank God for that blessing.'

"Angelique put her hand on my shoulder; a tender caress, but I felt her power nonetheless. 'We won’t mention this ever again.'

"She turned to leave, but I decided impulsively to ask her the question that had been on my mind for several days.

“'How did you know my father?'

"Angelique's poise stiffened as she stopped in the doorway. I expected her to deny it completely, so she surprised me greatly when she said casually, 'Charles is Anne’s father.'

"Of all the things she could have said, Oz! I expected maybe there had been a mistake, that my father was talking about another Angelique. Or that the situation itself had been of a more innocent nature."

“'You're not serious,' I responded.

"She turned around, but now she seemed more resigned. 'Your father owned the sugar plantations Jesse’s father used to manage. That is how I met him.'

"She surprised me again by sitting down on my bed, motioning for me to do the same. 'Charles was a handsome man, Adrienne. He was also powerful, and not used to being told no. He would come around about once a month at first, then more frequently. Back then, I spent a lot of time with my husband at the plantation, because I enjoyed being outdoors and active. Charles took a liking to me, and one day he took me behind the tool shed.'

"I was shocked, Oz. Entirely floored.

“'This happened several times,' Angelique continued, 'and as time went on, less time passed between his visits. Oh, you can sit there and judge me all you want, but Frances and I had not made love in years. It wasn’t like that between us. Your father never courted me any illusions of a future, but he gave me something to look forward to.

“'It ended when I found out I was pregnant. I was the one who ended it, although that was just luck of timing. He would have ended it anyway. He said he had five children already, and I told him I couldn’t afford to have a child that was not my husband’s. So we settled on an amount we could both agree on, and that was the end of the brief affair I had with your father.'

"As you might imagine, I had trouble finding my voice. 'I don’t understand! You had an affair with my father?'

"Angelique ignored me and went on. 'That same night, I surprised Frances by seducing him as I hadn’t done in years. I’d forgotten it was me who first ceased interest in our sex life, so long ago it had been. By the time Anne was born, the timing was close enough not to raise any questions.'

“'Cordelia knew,' I whispered in reply. My mind could not slow down long enough to process this. Somehow, it was all connected. It could not be a coincidence that the family who raised me after my accident was the very same who secretly bred a child who was my own half-sister!

"Another very troubling realization hit me. 'So you knew all along who I was, then! You knew and let me believe all that time that no one was looking for me!'

"She was unfazed. 'I didn’t recognize you at first. We were so caught up in the mystery of how you came to us that I didn’t bother to look at you closely enough. But when I did, I recognized the little thirteen year old girl I had once kidnapped when your father stopped paying the bills.'

“'That was you?' I focused on the memory of that day, only remembering the figure in the mask with the long hair.

"I thought I might pass out at this point. I had accepted long ago what happened to me was unfortunate coincidence, but now this?

“'Yes,' Angelique responded. 'And yes, when I realized it was you who had come to us, I knew all of this was meant to be. It’s sad what happened to your family, but it happened for a reason.'

“'And Anne is my sister? Does she know this?'

“'Of course she knows! Why do you think she hates you so much? She was raised in poverty while you were brought up in lavish wealth. She should have had those same things, but your father couldn’t stomach more paternity scandals. But, he’s dead now so there is no need to hold a grudge.'

"She was completely unapologetic. I wanted to lash out at her! It was not her right to keep such information from me! Who did she think she was?

"But all I could do was drop my head and weep. Somehow, I deserved this; this was my fate. What she did was wrong and unfair, but so was everything I had done so far. I had no energy or will to fight her on this, and so I gave up.

“'Child,' she said gently, offering comfort I didn't ask for, 'it will be okay. Now that you are home, everything was worth it. We can’t dwell on any of the unpleasantness of the past.

“'And just as I seduced my husband all those years ago to protect my family, so you must also do with Jesse now.'

"I looked up, confused.

“'It is too early to say for sure, but yes, you are with child also. And like me, you have a responsibility to tend to.'

“The conversation in the car made sense now. Cordelia knew. As did Anne. She and Angelique conspired to keep my identity from me. Revenge, I suppose. It had been Angelique who kidnapped me before I was sent to boarding school."

Oz's eyes widened slightly at this solved mystery, but he remained stoic.

Adrienne went on, “At the end of our conversation, Angelique revealed she knew my predicament, and encouraged me to make the same choice she had. To ‘protect my family.’

“Oz, please forgive me now for what I am about to say. I was pregnant, with your child, and the next night I consummated my relationship with Jesse in order to pretend it was his.”

The silence in the room was heavy. Adrienne would have preferred Oz’s rage, or tears, to his pained, wordless stare.

“I see the pain in your eyes, but I must continue or I never will. My pregnancy brought me such heartbreak. This was something I wanted so much to share with you, but I knew I would never be allowed to. And Oz, it was something our love had produced twice now.

“It hurts so much to tell you this. I was pregnant with your child when I left for vacation with my family. It was the secret I dangled before you, like a child.

“I lost our first child when I drowned. It was deprived of oxygen for far too long, and was barely two months along.

“Oz, I am so sorry. I can say nothing else except that I am so sorry."

Oz's cold silence persisted, though his brows furrowed slightly. Adrienne bowed her head over her folded hands, and drew from her strength to continue.

* * *

"MY PREGNANCY WORE on, and life was smooth for the most part. Angelique seemed satisfied I’d given up on any thoughts of a future with you. She was partially right; my decision was more for you than for me. I didn’t want to hurt you anymore. I knew keeping this child from you was wrong, but I thought things would be better for all of us if I stayed away.

"Christian Austin was born exactly nine months after you last saw me, and no one but Angelique noticed he was born too soon to be Jesse’s. Oh Oz, he is so beautiful! When I first laid eyes on him, my heart broke all over again, but I knew, somehow, with him I would always be close to you."

This time, Adrienne forced herself not to look at Oz, fearing his reaction might forestall her courage. She drew in another deep breath.

"Then, Angelique brought me in a copy of the Times Picayune with a satisfied smirk on her face. She had it folded neatly, the announcement of your engagement to Janie under her finger.

“'Your little lawyer is getting married. Should we send a gift?'

“'I couldn't care less,' I said disinterestedly, but inside I was burning with torment. I heard the door close and threw myself on to the bed, sobbing into my pillow. My heart was broken in pieces. I had left you with no explanation, no hope for my return, and you had gone on with your life. I couldn’t blame you, but I wanted to die. I had your child now, and if I had only told you sooner…

"It was obvious with one look at Christian's penetrating green eyes, and shocking black hair, who he belonged to. I even named him partly after you, though I kept the middle name a secret. No one ever said a word about him being yours. I think for Angelique, having to raise the boy with a man other than you was, torture enough for me.

"I heard Christian crying and I went to him. I looked at him and it was as if I was looking at you. God had given me a second chance at the motherhood taken from me before. I knew, even if I never saw you again, it would be okay because I had Christian, and being a mother surpassed any other joy I had ever experienced.

Adrienne released a long, slow breath.

"I was wrong. Christian filled many gaps for me, but he could not fill the void left by you. When Angelique returned a couple of weeks later with the birth announcement of your daughter, I felt deeply saddened for Christian that he might never know the father Naomi knew. I thought of scenarios in which I could unite the two of you, but I didn't want to interrupt your newfound life. I finally realized I had to stop fantasizing of a life that was not mine any longer. The series of choices I made, right or wrong, sealed this. I decided to be happy for you and your new family.

“Nearly a year later, your wife Janie showed up at our door.”

Chapter 32

Oz

ADRIENNE PAUSED FOR a moment. I was tense with a mixture of shock, disbelief, and anticipation. I hadn't yet fully allowed the news of my son to sink in, and a child lost. As she had spoken, my mind briefly drifted back to the Deschanel Magis’ attempts to locate Adrienne, and arrived at the painful realization the sixth death they presumed was her, was in fact my child’s passing.

Now she was suggesting she met my wife?

“Janie was completely unaware of our past,” I finally had something concrete to wrap my mind around. “I made damn sure of that.”

Adrienne shook her head slowly, patiently. “You asked me for the truth. You didn’t ask me to make you believe it. Should I continue?”

I nodded and waved dismissively, but perched forward in my chair, ready now to rebuke anything she said which did not jell with the truth as I understood it.

“Let me finish. Then you can ask questions. No interruptions.”

I released a long, strained sigh. “Fine.”

“I was the last person to see her alive. By telling you about this, I believe I’m giving up any chance for your forgiveness, but you asked for the truth and I owe you at least that much.

“She showed up in Abbeville, and had Naomi in the car with her. Naomi was asleep as far as I could tell, but she stayed in the backseat and I only saw a glimpse of her.

“Unaware, I answered a knock to the door. Janie was pacing, wringing her hands. When I opened the door, she said ‘Oh God,’ or, at least, that is what it sounded like.

“She knew my name and told me who she was, and that she had come out for the same reasons you came to me today. She wanted answers; she wanted the truth. In sum, she wanted to know the very things which would cause her to end her life, and I willingly, naively gave them to her. She asked me what the exact nature of our relationship had been.”

“What did you tell her?” I pressed. My palms were sweating, and my face was damp from pressing my hands up against it.

“I told her the truth. That I loved you. But I also told her I made you miserable and things were long over between us. ‘Oz loves you, not me,’ I told her.

“She mulled that over for a few moments, but her fidgeting never ceased. She became more erratic, and then she looked at me and asked me, 'So when I’m dead and in the tomb, what will keep him from coming back to you, little girl? What then?'

“'He doesn’t love me anymore, Janie,' I said to her, worried she would snap at any moment.

“She suddenly shrieked and brought both hands to her mouth in a fury. When I turned to meet the subject of her gaze, she was staring at Christian, who was standing in the corner of the room. ‘Mother of God, it’s true! Oh, sweet Jesus, it’s a tiny Oz!’

“Then, just as quickly as she lost it, she slowed her breaths and began to sob.

“Oz, I felt so terrible for her. All the jealousy I projected at her over the past year was replaced by pity. In our own ways, we’d both lost you.

“’What can I do?’ I asked her. ‘What can I do to ease your suffering?’

“’Let me die in peace,’ she replied in a thick voice, so deep with sorrow my heart was breaking. ‘Let me die knowing he really, truly loved me and that you meant nothing to him.’

“’How do I do that? Tell me. Whatever it is, I will do it.’ I owed her nothing. The woman who stood between us was standing in my doorway, and I was ready to give up anything to ease her pain.

“’Promise me you will never tell him about this child,’ she pointed at Christian. ‘Promise me, little girl. I’m not a selfish woman and I ask for very little. I know one day Oz will get on with his life and remarry. But promise me it will not be with you.’

“I did the only thing I could do. I submitted a promise to a dying woman to help her enjoy what was left of her life, so she could pass on knowing her husband would not run back to his previous love. It didn’t matter I knew you wouldn’t; I had ruined all chances of that. She wanted to hear something that represented finality and gave her hope. An hour or so later, she drove her car into the river on the way back to New Orleans.”

“I never knew,” I whispered, more to myself than to her. I was still reeling from Adrienne’s words and what they meant. I didn’t know how to process this. I didn’t want to process this. “I never even questioned why she was out near the Memorial Bridge that day.”

“Now you understand why I said I was sorry, yesterday, and that I felt responsible for the loss of your marriage. Had she never come to me, had I never been so honest with her…”

“Don’t,” I stopped her, my mind whirling. Had Janie really done this? Had she gone to all the trouble of finding out about Adrienne? “Janie made the choice herself, and she can’t blame anyone for it, but herself.”

“I had no right to come back. I had to, though. I had to tell you about your son, if nothing else. I couldn’t keep that from you.”

“Adrienne-“

“No, let me finish! I know you hate me, and I don’t blame you in the least. I would understand if you never spoke to me again, never wanted anything to do with me! But your son needs you, Christian needs you!” She began to cry.

Adrienne reached out and touched my closed hand, opening it at once. When she released it, I looked down and saw she’d placed a picture in my hand.

“That’s your son,” she told me, swiping at her tears.

I stared at the picture for a long time, my breath caught in my chest. As she said, the eyes and hair were exactly the same as mine. He also had my dimples, and even the same grin of mischief. His chin bore my tiny Irish cleft.

There aren’t words to describe the first time a father looks upon the image of his son. All I knew was I wanted him more than I had ever wanted anything else in my life.

I was so angry with Janie for wanting him to be kept from me! But at the same time, I empathized with her. How unfair it had been to marry her and steal her life when I had still been in love with someone else. I couldn’t blame her for looking into the matter, for paying Adrienne a visit. It is only the last desperate act I could not forgive.

And, once again, here was Adrienne, sitting before me, having told me a story I would never recover from. For now, I wasn’t processing any of it except the little boy whose photo I now held in my hand.

I looked at Adrienne. I thought of my dead wife, and felt like a horrible person because I suddenly could not picture her. Instead, I could see Adrienne and nothing else. Adrienne, sitting in her father’s high backed chair in the office preparing to go to school in Brussels, still a girl; I saw her when I opened my door to her three years later, almost a woman. In the park, The Girl of the Stately Oak, finally a woman; I saw her smile, her brilliance, and her kindness.

“It’s up to you now, Oz. It’s your choice. You can ask me to walk out of your life forever, and I will do that. I’ll make sure you see your son, but you will never have to see me again.”

I was still staring at Christian’s photo. How was it possible to love someone you haven’t even met yet?

“Or?”

Tears slid down her soft, round cheeks again as she went on. “Or you give me a chance I don’t deserve, and I promise with all my heart never to hurt you like that again. I’m not perfect, but I know what mistakes I’ve made. I’ve grown up enough to understand you have no reason to make this choice.”

I tore myself away from the photo finally, and looked at her.

“Adrienne, why should I believe this is any different now? Because you say you’ve grown up? Because you promise? It was never about promises or age, Adrienne, don’t you understand? It was about trust! You never trusted me to protect you and take care of you! You never trusted I loved you enough to see past the bad things, or to understand the truth! I told you over and over and over again, I loved you. Damn it, I nearly begged for you to believe in me, and you never did! You chose the weak and cowardly way out, and you’re living the life that you chose. I never promised you the world, but I promised to care for you, and that wasn’t enough. No, don’t argue with me. I know you told yourself you didn’t tell me everything for my own good, but if you truly believed in me, not telling me would not have been an option!”

I fell back, exhausted. One look told me she understood in a way she never could have two years ago. I was done arguing. I was finished with the drama and the rich plots. Angelique was still alive, but Adrienne had chosen to defy her anyway. I wanted to think of Janie, and to mourn her death properly, but I found myself slipping back into the old Oz; the one who had once been prepared to give up everything for the little girl sitting in front of him.

“There is a limit to how much a person can take,” I said.

Her face fell. “I know.”

“And right now, I think I’ve hit that limit, Adrienne. I honestly believe one more thing could send me over the edge.”

Tears ran down her face as she watched me. She wanted to speak, but was afraid to.

“But the truth is,” I said, once again looking down at the photo of my son. My son.

“I’m only Oz when I’m with Adrienne.”

Epilogue

4 years later

Summer 2005

Oz: 30

Adrienne: 25

IT WAS SUMMER again in New Orleans. The tourism had slowed, because people not from the South couldn't handle the wilting heat and humidity that made the world feel like one gigantic swimming hole. The afternoon storms were persistent. The rain came almost daily, flooding out the small yards with large gardens for approximately an hour, leaving the air slightly cooler in its place. The weather reporters predicted this would be a hurricane season to remember. The cicadas Adrienne adored sang their rough melodies through the day, and into the night; the air smelled like a bouquet of fresh, exotic flowers.

To the southeast, the sounds of the river; the steamboats. Two blocks away, the ambling rumble of the antiquated streetcar running along its course. Young mothers in their Suburbans drove with the windows up, and the air conditioning on, as they ushered their children from one mansion to another for birthday parties. A homeless man walked towards Prytania peddling Mardi Gras beads with little success.

I watched as the last of my family and friends drove away from my birthday party, and realized I could not have happened upon a better time to turn thirty. My world was alive, and just as I liked it.

Behind me, Naomi squealed as Christian tugged on her long hair. “You are hurting me!” she protested. Christian smiled, but shrugged. He was six years old and wore it well. He loved to tease his little sister.

“Be nice,” I warned, but my admonishment was hardly necessary. Christian was a sweet and delicate little boy who never took things too far. He left his sister alone and went outside to play with his trucks in the garden. Christian was so much like me; clever and bright, but introspective. Everything amazed him, and he had a penchant for discovery and research like his mother. He spent hours in the garden, behind the banana trees, near the Bird of Paradise, trapping spiders and bugs in a small plastic house. He used them for many things, including unleashing them on his unsuspecting sister.

“Can I go play too?” Naomi asked with bright eyes, completely over the episode of a few moments ago. She had to ask to go outside because her skin was pale, like Janie’s, and she burned in the Louisiana sun. I had to lather her up in SPF 30 before I would send her out to play. She protested most times, but I would not see my daughter suffer for her obstinacy, so I made her endure.

Smiling, I told her to go get the pink bottle, and she skipped off toward the bathroom, her tiny legs carrying her this way and that as her dark hair hung halfway out of the rubber band.

Yet children grew up. Just a month ago, we watched Christian walk down the small aisle of the kindergarten classroom and “graduate.” He held his head high, so proud of himself. He kindly let everyone take their pictures and fawn over him, with more grace and patience than most adults. Naomi would be starting kindergarten in the fall. They were both growing up so fast. I wanted to hold them again in my arms, the way I did when they were babies. By the time I met Christian, there wasn’t much baby left in him, but I held him anyway.

They had both been so good at the party, completely well-behaved. I was always proud of them, but there were times, such as these, I wanted to take a day meant for me and show them off to everyone; show how sweet and kind and wonderful they were.

My mother offered to clean up the mess everyone left behind. My parents, cousins, aunts, uncles, even Ana and Nicolas, had all shown up to help me celebrate this milestone event. My home was littered with half-empty wine glasses, frosting on the edges of the sofa, napkins built in the shape of a house by one of the kids, wrapping paper in shreds, and, most humorous, a kazoo sticking out of the last piece of cake.

“No, Mom, I can do it.” I love you for being in my life, for being my mother, I almost said. I love you for taking me to the doctor for the sniffles, for keeping me home from school when I scraped my knee on that broken fence next door. I can appreciate you so much more now that I have my own to look after.

She kissed me quickly, the way mothers do, and understood. “I’m so proud of you, Colin. You are so strong; not like me at all.”

“Oh, Mom, don’t say that. You’re stronger than you realize.”

Her eyes gleamed with the start of tears and she shook her head. “No, darling. You were my strength, always. Keeping after you, worrying over you, watching you grow up into a boy and then a man. That’s my strength. Now, I also have Naomi, and Christian. What could be better?”

She ushered out most of the guests when she saw the children getting irritable with the burden of a long day. It was nearly eight and they had families to get back to. The Sullivans brought their swarm of wives, husbands, children, and grandchildren. I wondered mid-day what the legal occupancy would be on a house this size and was almost sure we had reached it, but I was happy to be surrounded by people I knew and trusted; people I loved and that loved me. It made me wealthy in the way that meant the most.

Nicolas, my dearest and oldest friend, toasted me around four, embarrassing me with a speech delivered with too much cognac and an abundance of enthusiasm. It was sloppy, and loud, but it was Nicolas, and I loved it. I would remember it always.

The threats which had once plagued us were now gone. Angelique had passed away unexpectedly not so long ago. Anne, her daughter, was slowly assimilating into the Deschanel clan, thanks to the kindness and sponsorship of Aunt Colleen. Jesse moved on, without ceremony. There no longer existed anything which could come between Adrienne and I, and all we had fought for.

I picked up a plastic wine glass adorned with a smudge of pale lip gloss on the rim, and tossed it in a large plastic garbage bag. I thought of the woman who wore the gloss and a warm, comfortable feeling washed over me. My heart palpitated softly, my arms threatening to go numb. There were times like this, where silly little things would happen to me, and I would fall in love with her all over again.

I felt the lips that wore the special gloss graze the back of my neck. I thought nothing had ever felt so soft, so perfectly real. “Adrienne,” I whispered and turned around the meet the owner.

“Let’s go for a walk,” she purred.

“The kids?”

“Your mother is still here.”

The sun had only begun to set, but the sky was dark and turbulent. The rain would begin to roll in at any moment. “Where to?” I asked. Asking was a habit. I knew the answer.

“St. Charles.” Her eyes twinkled. “It’s dusk.”

We walked up Seventh and hung a left on St. Charles, making our path along the route we had taken night after night. I held my wife’s hand as the breeze came in long and soft from the river, carrying with it the scent of magnolia and camellia.

I loved the softness and beauty of her. The yielding down on her arms, and the way her hands had to be occupied at all times.

Her hair fell long and loose behind her as it caught on the breeze. Neither of us said a word. There were many times where we would talk for hours on end, sometimes from one day into the next. Our hearts, our souls, were connected by the electricity in the air, and the cool, fragrant scents surrounding every thought and every action on the old avenue.

We came upon Audubon Park, and her oak. Here, we could talk. She was no longer The Girl of the Stately Oak. Instead, she owned the oak, owned her moments on it. The oak had not grown in the short time we had been visiting it, but she had, in a myriad of ways.

The tears spilled down her cheeks and she pressed her face into my neck. I felt her soft, pliable lips, her hot breath. “Happy birthday, my Big Hero.”

I wanted to take her then, under the oak, and to hell with anyone who had a problem with it. I wanted to be inside of her, to love her in the best way I knew how. I owed her my heart; Adrienne, the wonderful mother of my children. My beautiful wife.w

“Aren’t you ever afraid?” she whispered, pushing my thoughts back to reality. “Afraid I might disappoint you? That Naomi and Christian might disappoint you?”

“Don’t ever say that,” I said firmly. I held her face in both hands, and watched her lower lip tremble. It tortured me. “Don’t ever stop trusting in me.”

It started to rain. She looked up instinctively at the drops that descended, but I held her chin. “I love you,” she said. “I sometimes remember the things I’ve done, and I have to remind myself you don’t hold them against me. Forgive me, Oz.”

“I already have,” I replied.

I knew it would always be like this. Enough time would pass and her old insecurities would surface. I would have to reassure her, as I did then. It was a small price to pay to keep her with me, to maintain her level of trust in me. More than ensuring her own happiness and security, I was keeping her from running again.

I held her on the strong arm of the oak tree for a long while, letting the rain wash over us both. The sun broke through the dark clouds, and St. Charles Avenue lay before us in a damp and shimmery brilliance.

* * *

Dive into more of the secretive, ancient powerful world of the Deschanels and Sullivans in this sexy, paranormal saga that New York Times Bestselling Author Christopher Rice calls “modern gothic with fierce smarts.”

See THE ILLUSIONS OF EVENTIDE at:

http://amzn.to/1Zcfahn

http://www.sarahmcradit.com

* * *

About Sarah M. Cradit

Sarah is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Paranormal Southern Gothic series, The House of Crimson & Clover, born of her combined passion for New Orleans, and the mysterious complexity of human nature. Her work has been described as rich, emotive, and highly dimensional.

An unabashed geek, Sarah enjoys studying obscure subjects like the Plantagenet and Ptolemaic dynasties, and settling debates on provocative Tolkien topics such as why the Great Eagles are not Gandalf's personal taxi service. Passionate about travel, Sarah has visited over twenty countries collecting sparks of inspiration (though New Orleans is where her heart rests).

She's a self-professed expert at crafting original songs to sing to her very patient pets, and a seasoned professional at finding ways to humiliate herself (bonus points if it happens in public). When at home in Oregon, her husband and best friend, James, is very kind about indulging her love of fast German cars and expensive lattes.

Website | Mailing list | Facebook | Twitter | Tsu | Goodreads | Google +

* * *

Read More by this author

http://amzn.to/1ZcfiO1

http://www.sarahmcradit.com

Sign up for more bargain boxed sets at:

www.hotboxedbooks.com

JUMP TO...

A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE by NOREE COSPER

END OF DREAMS by KIM FAULKS

HAUNT by HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY

DARK CROSSINGS by ANN SIMKO

HEADSPACE by CALINDA B

THE OTHER F WORD by SUSAN STEC

UNLEASHED by RACHEL MCCLELLAN

HIDDEN INTENTIONS by STACY CLAFLIN

THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL by AIMEE EASTERLING

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS by KYOKO M

ST. CHARLES AT DUSK by SARAH M. CRADIT

WICKED BY NATURE by MADISON SEVIER

UNDERLIFE by MARISSA FARRAR

DRAGON’S REDEMPTION by EDEN ASHE

MILAN’S RETURN by GRAE LILY

THE BREAKERS CODE by CONNER KRESSLEY

THE MEDIUM by MR GRAHAM

WICCAN WARS by HEATHER MARIE ADKINS

CARPE NOCTEM by KATIE SALIDAS

A QUESTION OF FAITH by NICOLE ZOLTACK

WICKED BY NATURE

BY MADISON SEVIER

Copyright © 2015 by Madison Sevier

Until now, life for Selena Barnes has been fairly easy. Aside from the constant stares and gossip of a few busy-bodies in town because she'd turned her back on magic when her beloved parents died in an horrific accident, her upcoming wedding to a mortal was all she cared about. With the entire town, including her familiar, an overly-opinionated cat, warning her against the marriage, Selena finds herself becoming increasingly defensive of her actions.

With secret after secret being revealed, Selena finds herself racing against time to save her friends, her hometown of Salem Ridge and her werewolf soulmate all while trying to keep her half-witch half-demon powers from falling into the wrong hands. Hands that belong to someone she's never met. A stranger with whom she shares more than she could have ever imagined and who happens to be the one man who has been waiting twenty-five years for these events to unfold.

Wicked By Nature

Madison Sevier

Copyright@ Madison Sevier 2015

All Rights Reserved

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may NOT be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission of the author, Madison Sevier.

WARNING! This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.  This eBook may NOT be re-sold, shared or given away to other people WITHOUT written permission from the author.  If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please PURCHASE an additional copy for EACH recipient.  If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy.  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is ILLEGAL. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1

THERE WERE SO many signs along the way. Not just little, insignificant things. No. They were giant, red warning signs that should’ve crossed my line of vision at least once. Then again, I’m sure they did. Perhaps if I’d paid more attention, things would’ve been different. Out of habit and maybe a because of a bit of self-preservation, I ignored everything that I’d perceived as negative and saw only what I’d wanted to see. My negligence almost cost me my life and the lives of those around me, all because I’d fallen in love with a demon.

The list of ifs and maybes could go on forever. The fact is, I still couldn’t have stopped any of the events that unfolded. They were meant to happen. Each of them planned long before I was even born. Call it predetermined or predestined. Either way, knowing ahead of time wouldn’t have mattered one bit of difference.

The day I found out what I call the truth, started out like any other day. I had a huge list of pre-wedding duties and errands to complete and I was behind as usual. Maybe the fact that I could never seem to get organized, could never complete any of those tasks should have been a sign in itself? Maybe it was. There I go again with the ‘maybe’. See? It’s an endless, pointless circle of questioning.

When I met Shawn, he knew I was a witch. He wasn’t exactly quiet about the fact that he hated that part of my life, but I couldn’t change it. I acted normal in front of him; never casting spells, hiding my potions and doing whatever it took to keep him from blowing a gasket or rolling his large, brown eyes at me.

Why would a self-assured witch like myself stay with a man who obviously didn’t love me for who I was? Because, like all women, I believed he’d change. He became my world. Or so I thought.

Shawn Richardson was a powerful man and could’ve lived anywhere. Once, I had a fleeting moment in which I wondered why a man such as he would ever move to a town like Salem Ridge? If I were him, I wouldn’t live in a place built as a haven for the paranormal. But who was I to judge?  As with every other concern or suspicion I had about Shawn, I pushed it to the back of my mind and only later, much later would hundreds of tiny pieces of information come back with such alarming force that they could no longer be ignored.

He owned the largest factory and many homes and small businesses in Salem Ridge, Indiana. If anyone crossed him, he would fire them or evict them. Maybe I was not only subconsciously afraid of him leaving me, but also afraid of the man everyone claimed he truly was. Business was business and business was his life. I knew that when I met him.

Rumors and allegations of Shawn being a philanderer and a scumbag ran rampant. I spent many nights crying, questioning Shawn and myself about whom or what he really was. Of course, Shawn allayed those fears and insecurities with lavish presents and sweet words that dripped from his sugar-coated tongue. I soon began to believe the gossipers were nothing more than hateful, vindictive mudslingers and I even convinced myself they were wrong.

Shawn couldn’t be the evil monster they claimed he was. I would’ve known, right? After all, I’d hunted demons with my mother for years prior to meeting Shawn. I would’ve been able to sense if something were evil or otherworldly about the man I loved, wouldn’t I?

Or so I thought. Ignoring my own gut instincts had always been one of my major character flaws and somehow, after all of my mother’s teachings, I had forgotten that not listening to your inner voice could also prove deadly.

To the townspeople, I was nothing more than a traitor, Shawn’s side-kick helping him, believing him and turning my back on the very people I had known my entire life. Hell, I didn’t even listen to my own familiar, Sterling and he could be counted on to know everything. Just ask him, he will tell you.

Yes, he talks. Most familiars do, but their witches and other paranormal creatures are the only people with the ability to hear and understand a familiar. And though Sterling is Salem Ridge’s equivalent to a ‘town crier’, I dismissed his repeated verbal attacks against Shawn as nothing more than a territorial pissing contest over me between the two ‘men’ I loved. Yeah, I had set myself up for one rude awakening. Boy was it ever.

Where was I? Ah, yes, the day I learned the truth–the day I accepted the truth. That epiphany or revelation, as some would call it, carried so much power that it almost destroyed me and everything around me. How’s a witch to prepare for something like that?

Chapter 2

“I SWEAR THE universe has it in for me!”

With only fourteen days until my wedding, I was cutting it close. It seemed like finishing every appointment and errand I needed to do in such a short amount of time was impossible.  Every time I hopped in the car, I ended up trapped behind or between the worst and slowest drivers in the county. Clearly, these people should know how busy I was, right? Perhaps they were going slow on purpose, more of their interfering ways?

To be honest, my time management skills had never been one of my greatest attributes and I had no one to blame but myself. Even if I left the house early, I somehow always ended up being behind schedule.

“On the one day it’s a hundred degrees outside and I had to end up stuck behind a tobacco farmer hauling a load of dried crop and a school bus that stops at every other house. You’ve gotta’ be kidding me! I have so many things to do!”

There’d been no way to go around them on the skinny, steep roads without the risk of catapulting myself off the side of the mountain. So I crawled along behind them in my vintage car, while scraps of dried tobacco pelted my windshield and prayed they’d turn off on one of the side roads. Of course, neither of them did.

Out of frustration and close to having a heat stroke, I banged my hands on my yellow, fake-fur-covered steering wheel. “Come on!”

Of course, driving a car without air-conditioning and broken window cranks in the middle of July in southern Indiana wasn’t the smartest thing to do. I knew throwing a tantrum wouldn’t help, but it was so damn hot!  I berated myself for not buying a newer car and added it to my to-do list, along with the million other things I needed to accomplish. After last year, you’d think I would’ve learned my lesson.

This past winter, I flew down Patriot Hill in a blaze of lemon-chiffon colored metal faster than an Olympic luge champion. Thank the Goddess our state workers had installed a runaway truck ramp at the end of the steep foothill or I wouldn’t be here today.  The deep bed of kitty-litter type gravel was the only thing that kept me from flying through the air like one of the Dukes of Hazard and plummeting into the Ohio River.

To my dismay, a county sheriff witnessed my astounding driving abilities. Though I thought my ability to keep my car in control as much as possible had been stellar that day, Officer Ripley with his coffee-soaked uniform wasn’t as impressed. After I resorted to a lot of begging and pleading with a few tears thrown in for good measure, he let me off with a warning and I promised to get the brakes fixed. Not that I had a choice since the car had to be winched out of the gravel and towed to a mechanic anyways.

Thinking of the impending expenses, I realized I must be the only witch in all of Salem Ridge with horrible luck and lack of common sense. Sometimes, I really hated all of the rules that went along with being a responsible witch. I could’ve whipped up a shiny, new vehicle with a flick of my wrist, but there’d be hell to pay for that one and I knew it. Even if it irked me to no end, I had to behave.

“Where’s that gotten me?” I mused. “On Highway 58 in a compact trash bucket with a motor, that’s where.” I sank into my seat and leaned back into the head rest. If it hadn’t been so freaking hot, I would’ve cried. But every ounce of water left in my body was pouring out of me in the form of sweat and I couldn’t spare a drop for self-pity.

Along with being late for almost everything, I had a tendency to be a bit high-strung and snarky on occasion. I’ve also been known to bitch and complain to no one in particular, a lot. After spending so much of my free time with my talking familiar, my cat Sterling for company, I had morphed into a twenty-five year old scatter-brained, crazy cat lady. In the giant scheme of things, was that so bad? I was sure there were people that were much worse off than I was, at least mentally anyways.

“All of that would soon be change.” That was the reason for my under-the-gun trip to town, another wedding errand.  In two weeks, I’d share my life with Shawn. I wouldn’t have to talk to thin air or eat dinner alone ever again. Nope, no more silence and solitude filled with sarcastic, witty comments for me. Two would become one and wasn’t that wonderful? I should’ve been beaming with happiness. Instead, I found myself nervous and on edge quite often. Half of the time I was excited, the other half I felt like I was walking the Green Mile. Chalking my mood up to wedding jitters.

“If I don’t get to Janice’s shop on time, the woman will most certainly explode in a puff of pink satin and taffeta.” I huffed and fought the urge to bite my nails as the line of traffic crawled along on Highway 58. Biting my artificial, sculpted nails would’ve cost me more money and it wouldn’t have changed a thing where Janice was concerned.

Janice Sutterfeld was seriously obsessive compulsive about two things; appointments and the color pink. I already knew she disliked me, everyone did. But I knew being late to pick up my dress would not help the situation.  Add in the fact that she adored the one color I absolutely hated, and you’ll understand the dread I felt every time I had to visit her boutique.  When we were around each other, one could feel the electricity in the air. It was only a matter of time before one of us sparked off.

“Why did I ever order my gown from her?” I grumbled.

In fact, I knew why I chose her as my bridal consultant, but this was one of those ‘bitch-to-myself-about-everything’ moments so why stop? It wasn’t like she was the only bridal boutique in the world, but the next closest one was twenty miles away. And I didn’t trust my lemon-bomb of a car to make it there and back for the various fittings and alterations. Besides, I liked the fact that Janice’s shop specialized in serving human and paranormal clientele. I assumed she would also treat paranormal clients better than most run-of-the-mill shops.

From what I’d heard around town, Janice did treat other paranormal clients with respect. It was me she had a problem with. Why? Because like everyone else Janice, feels as though I am a traitor. I’ve known Janice my entire life. She and my mother were close friends right up until a little over a year ago on the night my mother’s house exploded and I’d turned my back on the craft. From that day on, Janice looked down upon me and tolerated me only out of the respect she still holds for my dearly departed mother.

Thank the Goddess this would be my last visit to her shop.  At least one detail on my mountainous list of wedding duties would be finished. Don’t get me wrong, I was in love with Shawn, but lately the wedding felt more like a one-sided business merger that I needed to close. I’d planned and executed every detail by myself, right down to the color of boxers he would wear. All of my friends had long ago drifted away and Shawn was no help whatsoever. It was beginning to feel like this wedding was more for my benefit than a life-changing event for both of us.

“Sometimes I wish…almost wish, we weren’t getting married.” I sighed, knowing I didn’t mean it, not really. At least I didn’t think so.

After the agonizing slow trip through the countryside, the traffic let up just in time for me to obey the twenty-five mile an hour law through town. I was almost sure I’d make it just in time for my appointment. I sent up a silent prayer, for all I wanted was to get into town, pick up my dress and get back out without any drama or grief.

I parked my sauna-on-wheels in the lot at “Always the Bride”. Full of dread and urgency, I jumped out of the car and plowed through the front door. In a blur of dark hair and flip-flops, I knocked Janice on her perfectly coiffed, pink clad behind, emitting from her a sound much like that of a cow giving birth. How was I to know she would be standing right on the other side of the door tapping her Manolo’s, unaware that I would arrive on the scene with such flamboyancy?

“As always, you have perfect timing, Miss Barnes;” she hissed as I struggled to push myself off of her pudgy form and onto my own two feet. When she spoke to me, it didn’t matter what she said, without fail she always sounded like a very pissed-off snake, with explicit emphasis on each s in my name.

I could’ve sworn I broke out in hives the moment she looked at me. Why couldn’t that woman be civil to me? Trust me, I reciprocated the feeling more and more every time I had to see the viper lady, but I knew I needed to maintain a bit of decorum. After all, today was going to test every bit of self-control I possessed and it became obvious that my trip to the store wouldn’t be as simple as ‘in and out’. That was just my luck.

“I’m so very sorry, Janice. Here, let me help you.”

“No! I mean, no. I’m fine.” She jerked away from my outstretched hand grabbed onto a calamine pink, velvet chair, using it to pull herself up off of the floor. Making an elaborate display of dusting off her perfectly pink A-line skirt, her eyes full of contempt met mine. I swear if the woman were on fire, she wouldn’t let me douse the flames even if I had the only hose in town.

“I really am sorry. I was trying so hard to be on time...”

“No worries,” she cut me off, snapping “let’s just get your dress tried on so you can leave as quickly as you came in. I do have other clients who show up on time, Selena. I’ve wasted enough of their time and mine by waiting on you…again.”

Wow!  Janice didn’t hold back, did she? The other customers, women who’d been otherwise occupied with the hunt for their own ‘perfect’ gown, now gave us their undivided attention as they stared at Janice and me, their eyes full of glee. I could almost see them salivating as they visualized who they’d be rushing off to inform first. I’m sure the entire recap of how I knocked Janice down and in turn, how Janice ‘let me have it’ would be changed, with more interesting details added for pizazz. The whole town would know within minutes that Janice ‘had put that treacherous Selena Barnes in her place’. Just as I’d predicted, within seconds, cell-phones were extracted from some of the younger women’s designer bags, while the older ladies (and I use the term ladies loosely), rushed out the door, off to fulfill the gossip quotas for their daily agendas. Another nail in my proverbial social coffin, thanks to my ever present grace and the Viper Lady.

“Lovely”, I mumbled as I noticed the remaining busy-bodies giggle and whisper amongst each other. Their eyes were filled with delight at the prospect of more conflict to add to their latest ‘Selena Story’. I knew the few stragglers would not be leaving anytime soon and I’d be damned before I gave any of them more mud to sling. Janice clip-clopped away and I averted my gaze, mimicking Janice under my breath as I showed my embarrassed and irritated self into one of the salmon-hued fitting rooms. I closed the door as fast as I could, virtually cutting myself off from the barracuda-like women who had remained out in the main part of the store, eagerly awaiting any scrap of drama they could witness.

I impatiently waited for her return and twenty minutes later, I stood there tapping my foot. There I was, standing there shivering in my panties and bra, yet Janice took her sweet, ole time bringing my dress in to me. She claimed to have more appointments, but she had no problem leaving me there half-naked and waiting forever!

“I should’ve picked up the dress, said screw the fitting and left.”

I counted to ten for the one-hundredth time just as she blew in looking like an over-sized stick of cotton candy. Her hair as usual, also a shade of pink and slightly lighter than the azalea color of her clothing was sprayed within an inch of its life. Piled high atop her head and bound to outlast any category 3 storm.

“Here you go, though I’m not sure why a witch with your abilities couldn’t just whip up the perfect dress. Oh wait, that’s right, your boyfriend wouldn’t like any witchcraft involved in his wedding. But he can be whatever he wants to be. How did a strong woman like your mother, raise such a sniveling, coward for a daughter?” Her smile dripped with venom and Janice held the dress just out of my reach. “It must be nice to simply ‘stop’ being what you are and carry on with your life as if you’re something else. Acting as though being paranormal and having gifts, is something to be ashamed of.”

“Mind your own business,” I hissed, and quickly regained what little composure I had left. “Thank you, Janice. Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe I can get my gown on without your assistance. Besides, I’m sure you have other things to do.” I stepped forward and snatched the dress from her meaty paws.

I was so sick of the constant jabs and comments about my life choices! It was my life! Wasn’t that the point of living in a free country? My right to choose who and what I wanted or didn’t want to be shouldn’t have caused so much controversy!

When the townspeople failed in turning Shawn against me, they switched their attention to what he was doing. At least two or three times a month for the past year, Janice and her friends would bring stories of Shawn’s philandering and evil escapades to my attention..

I ignored them all as best as I could. I figured if they were focused on Shawn, they were at least leaving some other poor soul alone. Don’t get me wrong, their constant attempts at breaking Shawn and I up, were becoming monotonous and harrowing, but I knew in my heart they were lying, mudslingers. Shawn was an affluent member of the county and owned businesses left and right. In fact, he owned businesses belonging to the biggest of the gossipers. These people never said a word to Shawn’s face. Instead, ninety-five percent of the time I was on the receiving end of their mental and verbal brutality.

I learned long ago to not bother Shawn with their incessant, ridiculous claims. After bringing one particularly vivid lie to his attention, he became so enraged that he went to the storyteller’s home and immediately informed her she was to vacate the premises. Madelyn Jones lost her home and business in record time. Shawn called it “teaching the busy-body a lesson”, but the townspeople only became more angry. A few months later, Madelyn left town and no one ever saw her again. Many believed she went to live with her daughter in Maine. Other people had their own theory of her departure and none of them included a happy ending. Shawn decided ‘we should feel sorry for those fools who had nothing better to do than harbor hatred and gossip.’

“Ahem!” Janice cleared her throat, reminding me she’d like for our appointment to move along. The hacking sound snapped me out of my reverie. Apparently, she chose to ignore my preference for her to leave me unattended and she remained in the tiny room with me and chattered on. “I do hope you’re pleased with the alterations this time. You’re the only customer, paranormal or human, that has ever demanded so many fittings.”

She was always terse and only too happy to point out each of my faults when I came to the shop, looking down her pointy nose at me as if just being in the same building as me were sickening. She would poke and stick me with her venomous words for the duration of my visit and out of respect for my mother’s friends, I put up with it every single time.

“I’m sure it will be fine this time, Janice.” I sighed, trying my best to ignore her latest snide remark as she attempted to grab the gown from me, intent she was to assist me in trying on the endless yards of silk and lace. Both of us stood there, our hands holding the dress tightly from opposite sides. One wrong move and it would have ripped down the middle.

“You know this dress is a one of a kind creation. It deserves to be showcased in an elaborate wedding, not in some generic courthouse ceremony,” she mused, never releasing her grip.

“Well, for your information we are not getting married at the courthouse.” I slightly tugged.

“Oh that’s right; I heard Judge Weston won’t allow you to have your wedding there.” Janice tugged back. “After all, not many people approve of your union and with the election coming up it would look bad on Judge Weston if he were to perform your ceremony. What would happen to the poor old man if he wasn’t re-elected? Can you imagine the devastation that would befall his family all because of you? The old man might actually end up divorced. His wife would leave. Sylvia could never handle being with a failure.”  The slit of a smile she wore reeked of false sincerity as she stepped nose-to-nose with me, my dress still in our grasps.

She made it sound as though she was concerned for Judge Weston’s well-being, but nothing could be farther from the truth. Janice only cared about what was best for Janice and she didn’t fool me. There had to be something of benefit to Janice if Judge Weston got re-elected. My gut told me she was more than likely sleeping with the sweet old man. Maybe that’s why Janice was being so persnickety with me? She must think I knew her little secret. You’d think Janice would be nicer if that were the case. The suspicious side of me became flooded with the itch to throw out a truth spell and get to the bottom of Janice’s behavior. No! I couldn’t. I swore I wouldn’t tap into my abilities for any reason and I meant to keep it that way. Even if curiosity killed me, I wouldn’t give in to the witchy-itch I felt.

Janice was baiting me with her quips and catty comments. And I couldn’t help but wonder if she wanted me to zap her with a spell? Could that be it? Was she trying to get me to break the rules in an effort to stop the wedding? Somehow, it incensed me even more to think she would stoop so low.

No, I didn’t have hundreds of guests coming to the wedding. No, I couldn’t just whip up my dream dress. So what? Why couldn’t Janice just be happy about making a sale?

“Careful Janice, your bitch is showing,” I snarked.

Let’s face it, the client is always right. Even if the woman loathed me, she had no right to be snippy and unprofessional. I wasn’t going to keep playing this game. If she wanted to be a bitch, so be it. I wasn’t going to back down from her. My dress was already altered and paid for, so I had no reason to fear any retaliation from the plump, pink dragon lady.

“Kindly let go of my dress. This fitting has already taken up too much of your ‘precious time’ and you are getting hand-sweat all over my silk.” She glared at me before begrudgingly releasing her hold on my gown. When she finally stepped away from me, I slid myself into what I considered the perfect wedding dress.

I turned in slow circles, admiring the gorgeous mermaid-style fit and confirmed it to be free of paw stains. During the initial wedding planning stages, I was going to order a goddess-like satin sheath, but being in a bridal boutique changed my mind. After I was surrounded by the many racks of fabulous dresses in every fashion, I still couldn’t find “the one”. Instead, I asked Janice for help designing my own gown. She was very cordial and helpful when I handed cash to her, but that soon ended. At first, it didn’t bother me. However, after months of the ridiculous tete-a-tete between us, my ability to keep a cool head was beyond dwindling.

I tried my best to enjoy the moment, to enjoy the beautiful creation I was wearing. My dress was covered in crystals from bodice to bustle. With the intricate lacework it was truly magnificent and a part of me wished more people would see me in it.

With hair undone and not one speck of make-up on my face, I had never felt so beautiful and had never felt so afraid. Standing there in the Shrine to Pink Bismuth, with my future as Mrs. Shawn Richardson on the horizon, I should’ve glowed with inner joy knowing that in a few short weeks, my fiancé would be home from his overseas business trip and we would be married. However, something was wrong. There was an unease running through me and I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“It’s perfect Janice, truly perfect.” I cleared my throat and shook off the sense of foreboding. I wouldn’t give into nerves in front of that crazy woman.

“Yes, well as much as I would love to congratulate you, I believe you already know how I feel. Now please step out of the gown before you trip and ruin it or something,” she hissed. Janice grabbed the zipper, assuring I wouldn’t spin around and slap her.

Janice had to know how much this moment meant to me. Every woman dreams of this moment. Was a little bit of kindness too much to ask? I paid seven-thousand dollars for a perfect gown and you’d think it would have also bought a filter for Janice’s mouth! I swear I just wanted to walk out of that salon and march down Main Street doing the cha-cha while wearing it, so I could see the absolute horrified look on Janice’s face. Of course, the mature side of me won and I remained inside the boutique. But, I couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice when I said;

“You’re right. I wouldn’t want to come back here for anything.” I innocently batted my eyes and stepped out of my beautiful gown as carefully as I could before handing it over to the woman.

“Finally something we agree on. I’ll get the dress into a bag and you can be on your way.” She scooped up the dress, spun on her heels and exited the room as if I were on fire.

I put my street clothes back on and walked to the front of the store to wait for Miss Congeniality. She brought out my dress, of course, in a mauve garment bag. How many shades of pink were there in the world? I wanted to vomit and I silently thanked the goddess above that I hadn’t chosen any shade, light or dark that even resembled anything close to bubble gum, cotton candy or taffy as one of our wedding colors. I’d had enough of that nauseating color to last me a lifetime and if I had to see it again anytime soon, I would explode. As soon as I got home, I’d burn that damn dress bag just for spite! I knew from then on, I would always think of Janice and her bubble gum-boutique whenever I encountered anything pink. That was just what I needed.

Before I could leave, Janice had a few more choice comments. “Too bad your parents can’t be there to see you marry this...`man’. I’m sure they’d have a few words to say about all of your recent life-choices. Yes, they must be beaming with pride!” She smirked.

Now she chose to mention my parents? Now? Everyone in town knew my parents hadn’t exactly liked Shawn or the fact that I’d stopped practicing my craft around him, but for her to cross the line and mention them with pure condescension in her voice was both beyond insensitive and ridiculous!

I reined in my temper before I sent out a hex or an ‘f’ bomb. I’d made a promise to Sterling, my familiar, that I’d end my crazy addiction of using the four letter word. Every time it slipped out, I owed him a gift. I sucked at lying, so I knew he’d be able to tell just by looking at me if I’d flubbed up again. To date, he’d received over one-thousand dollars in goodies from me. Janice had pushed every one of my buttons during this visit. I needed to get out of that store before I got myself into serious trouble or even deeper debt.

I knew I was chock-full of stress and this woman was not helping me maintain my usual sun-shiny disposition. I was a powder keg and presently Janice was my match. I longed to just give her a rash or temporarily seal her lips, but that whole “don’t use magic for personal gain” thing reminded me that I’d be in serious trouble if I did. Stupid rules!

The council of elders, the most elite and proficient trusted members of paranormal society, would immediately feel whatever power I tapped into. In turn, I would be brought up on serious charges and forced to pay a pretty hefty price for acting out and breaking one of their laws.

I inhaled what seemed like my hundredth deep breath in the past hour, I said; “So true, Janice, but maybe you can wear a dress like mine for your… what is it sixth or seventh wedding? I’m sure it’s difficult trying not to repeat your style after so many marriages. What’s that saying…’always the bride’, right?  Now, you have a great day and don’t worry one bit about those wrinkles. Some men find them to be very handsome on a woman of your stature and age. Tootles;” I winked and sashayed out the front door. I felt much better after picturing Janice standing there with her mouth wide open in a perfect ‘o’ shape as she caught perfect, pink flies with her venomous pie-hole.

I chuckled as I unlocked my car and stepped back, holding the door open for a minute to allow the pent up heat inside to escape. Placing the gown in the tiny backseat, I climbed in to leave. After only a few moments in my car, I was sweating again.  The humidity of southern Indiana was relentless! Once out of the parking lot, I pointed my car east to go through the town square.

Driving down Main Street, I waved at many of the store owners and townsfolk, hoping my good mood would overpower any of their animosity towards me. Most of them turned their heads or worse, they looked right through me. “I wish they’d just get over it already. I can’t be the only witch to have ever married someone normal. Jeez!” I needed to face facts. It didn’t matter how many times I explained that I loved Shawn, they would never approve of my decision.

“All of these people can go to hell, every last one of them! Soon I will be married to the man of my dreams. Who needs these small-minded morons and their small-town bullshit, anyways? Shawn is all I’ll ever need.” I knew I was trying to convince myself things would be okay, but part of me wanted to break down crying. I knew I’d always wonder if things would have been different if I had never met Shawn.

Chapter 3

MAYBE IT WAS my nerves after the run in with Janice or another bout of those wonderful, pre-wedding jitters, but I really needed a drink. I’m sure my pressure cooker of a car also played some role in my desire to imbibe, and I may not have been thinking clearly. Perhaps, I simply yearned for the illusion of friendship? Even if I sat at a table alone, drinking in a room of complete strangers, at least it meant I’d had a drink with someone other than myself. I hadn’t been inside Tooth & Nail in quite a while and I hoped the customers would be kinder than most of the townspeople I was accustomed to dealing with for the past year.

For over a century, Tooth & Nail has been our town bar. It has withstood the wrath of Mother Nature, time, the economy and magic. I’m not saying anyone would had ever tried to destroy the bar with magic, but there had been a few instances of drunken sorcery in the establishment’s long history. Tooth & Nail had mustered through it all and has been a haven of sorts for all humans and paranormal beings. The bar is a reflection of the way the town and our community had fought tooth and nail to coexist peacefully in years past. The owners have always adhered to a strict policy: “No Fighting, biting or hexing.” In fact, the walls were adorned with many signs announcing this behavioral, zero-tolerance code. If anyone were ever to ignore these rules, they were barred for life. Zero-tolerance means just that and there are no exceptions.

I stepped out of my car and into the afternoon sun and enjoyed the slight breeze as it carried the smell of our river town along the Ohio. Contrary to belief, the river didn’t stink of dead fish. In fact it was quite the opposite, thanks to a group of earth loving witches, our water always smelled clean and fresh.

“Despite how most people feel about me, I truly love it here.” I meant every word I said as I made my way across the parking lot.

I pushed open the warded, wooden door and entered the familiar haven I used to call my second home. “It hasn’t changed a bit,” I whispered.

The neon signs were lit, the spotless tongue-and-groove floor and the handmade antique bar top gleamed like new. As I showed myself to a table, I was greeted with a few people saying ‘hello’ and ‘good to see you’. I smiled back and spoke to each of them before sitting down at a leather-upholstered booth with a hard-grained wooden table-top.

Inside, I felt giddy. I practically bounced as I sat there. The people here were actually speaking to me. Speaking to me nicely! I sighed and smiled as I let out a deep breath of relief. I knew there had to be a glimmer of hospitality left in our wonderful town and I’d found it! It felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders, at least for a little while.

Kelly Jacobs warily approached my table with not even a hint of a smile upon her face. She’s one of the many people who had turned their back on me and over the past year, it was apparent her feelings about my lifestyle choice hadn’t changed. As she stood there glaring down at me with her pen poised to take my order, it amazed me that we’d ever been friends. She acted like a complete stranger, a stranger with large green eyes full of contempt for her former best friend.

“What’ll it be?”

“Hi Kelly. I’d love a bottle of Coors Light, please.”

She turned on her heels and walked behind the bar to retrieve my beer. Kelly brought it to me in record time, set it on my table and walked away without another word.

“Okay, that went well,” Raising the chilly glass bottle to my lips, I took a long, refreshing sip.

Thinking back to how things used to be, I got caught up in the memories of once wonderful times with my former best friend. Kelly and I shared many classes in high school. Though we weren’t stellar scholars, we made it through. She and I were on the Salem Ridge Panthers cheerleading squad, which offered various opportunities for socializing and nine out of ten times, our social lives trumped any studying that might be necessary. Every adventure we had together was always well-worth any trouble we had gotten into.

So many nights we would sneak out to party at the crossroads, where kissing boys was the main event. Other nights, we could be found practicing magic on the very property where I now lived. Kelly didn’t have any powers, per se, but she was always right there encouraging me to show and teach her simple things she could do, such as a potion spell that needed no mystical power. We would gather our ingredients, prepare them as needed and have a new, pure shampoo or soap to use.

The few ‘trickster’ potions that we created were my idea and they didn’t always work. More times than not, my brilliant ideas got us into trouble with my mother. Mom would firmly admonish me in front of Kelly or whoever my target had been, but once we were behind closed doors, she would always teach me the proper way to create any potion I desired. Sadly, Kelly outgrew her fascination with potions and I was left to doing that work on my own for the most part.  However, she loved watching me work magic and just like any best friend, she was always willing and ready to accompany me whenever I set off for our secret spot in the woods.

“It’s like watching a goddess,” she’d said with a dreamy quality in her voice.

I would just laugh. She could be so very dramatic and I knew she was just trying to appeal to my ego, but that’s what friends do.

Shortly before graduation, Kelly adapted the ability of stealth. There were countless rumors Kelly had become involved with black magic and she ran with a wild crowd of kids. I knew Kelly would never be into black magic, her heart was too pure, but I couldn’t make sense of anything she was doing. She wouldn’t talk to me about what was going on in her life and before I could do anything to stop it, we’d drifted apart.

I would call her house, but she wouldn’t get on the phone. I’d stop by and every time, her dad said she was busy. Kelly’s father, Kyle, wouldn’t offer any explanation and said he preferred to stay out of it.  Her behavior became very weird and it started to scare me to the point that I’d try to avoid her. Sometimes, when I had no escape and would pass her in the hall at school or at the store, the look in her eyes was almost primal, full of hatred and something else I couldn’t put my finger on. She obviously had some sort of an issue with me, but I had no idea why. After so many futile attempts at bridging our sudden cavernous relationship, I came to the conclusion she’d tell me when she was ready. I couldn’t force her. Besides, all friends have disagreements once in a while, right? I only wished I knew what had caused ours.

The distance between us grew to mammoth proportions after her mom and two of her older brothers were killed in a hunting accident at their vacation cabin. I never heard the details, but I knew it was gruesome. Kelly’s father Kyle sent his only living son, Keith to work in Tennessee for some Wildlife Protection Program in The Great Smoky Mountains. Honestly, this didn’t come as such a shock. I knew they had family spread across the country, but most of their relatives lived in Tennessee. Everyone knew the Jacob’s were huge environmentalists and belonged to many groups, most of which sheltered injured and abandoned animals. So, sending Keith to the Smokies made perfect sense. After all, Kyle was suddenly a single father who was also grieving the loss of his wife and other children.

Kelly was kept under a very watchful eye by her father and he rarely let her out of his sight. This, in all actuality, wasn’t much different than the way Kyle treated her before their loved ones had died. But to me, it seemed as though the remaining Jacobs’ family members were hiding from the world. My insecure side thought maybe they were hiding from me? Of course, that wasn’t a logical thought. And I chided myself for even making any part of it about me.

I never understood why I was suddenly persona non-grata and I grew tired of trying to figure it all out. I didn’t even hear from Kelly or her brother Keith when my parents died. Part of me wanted to reach out to them, to anyone, but the other part of me said, “Why bother?” They apparently wanted me to leave them alone and I wasn’t going to beg anyone for their friendship.  I shouldn’t have felt like I had to. The remainder of my so-called friends turned their backs on me with record-breaking speed as word of Shawn’s and my engagement spread. Aside from my familiar, Sterling and my fiancé, I was alone.

Shaking my head, I realized I had been staring at Kelly while lost in thought and I noticed Kelly watching me like a cat from across the bar. I sipped my beer and averted my eyes as I looked around at the few customers scattered throughout Tooth & Nail, sitting at the various tables and booths. There weren’t many people and frankly, I was surprised since the bar was normally busy at that hour.

Over the noise of the jukebox, I heard what sounded like an argument between one particular customer, who was seated on a barstool and Kelly. I couldn’t see who the man was, his back was to me. But every few seconds, Kelly would peak over the top of his head and look back at him as she spoke in hushed tones. It didn’t take a psychic to know the conversation was about me and obviously a serious one. Apparently, I couldn’t even have a beer without making tongues wag. Feeling a bit feisty, tired of the gossip mongering, I slid out of my booth and walked to the front of the bar with every intention of nipping at least one rumor in the bud.

“It’s none of your business, Kell,” the man said, shaking his head from side to side before he took another drink of a soda. As I approached them, I was already prepared to insert my own two cents.  The man, even from behind, felt familiar somehow and I felt the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. The air seemed charged with electricity, causing gooseflesh to crawl across my skin. I shook my head, warding off the chill that slid over me and ambled on up to stand directly behind the man’s seat.

“Of course it is. Have you lost your mind?” Kelly’s auburn hair with silver tips bounced as she shook her head at him. “She is engaged to Richardson!” she fiercely whispered.

“Rub it in, why don’t ya’? Does that mean I can’t even go say hello?”

“I’m not going to argue with you about this. This isn’t the time or place.”

“For what?” I peeked over the man’s broad shoulder and asked; “You’re obviously talking about me, shouldn’t I be privy to this conversation?”

Kelly’s face turned a deep shade of pink, she grabbed a bar towel and grumbled incoherently as she rushed to the other end of the bar, clearly not pleased that I’d inserted myself into her private chat. The man turned to me, smiling. Keith Jacobs stood and picked me up in a huge bear hug as he spun us both in a wide circle. I hadn’t been hugged like that in forever! And good goddess, it stirred a longing deep within me that sent shock waves to my very core. No one had been this happy to see me in a very long time. Every firm inch of his body was pressed up against my own and it was heavenly. Keith smelled of the outdoors, like hard work and fresh air, manly. There was no hint of fancy cologne that cost hundreds of dollars, only Keith, pure Keith!

Why was I suddenly thinking like that? Surely two months without sex wasn’t enough of a reason to have those thoughts. But in Keith’s arms, I fit, really fit and I felt ashamed for noticing it. I knew Shawn loved me, but as of late, I’d felt more like his buddy than his fiancé and it was obviously taking its toll on my emotions. And I had missed Keith so much! It was nice to see that one person hadn’t changed.

“Selena, it’s so great to see you, darlin’!”

“Keith! When did you get back to town?” And why hadn’t he called me? I silently chided myself for questioning something that really didn’t matter. I wanted to enjoy the happy moment with the man I’d had a crush on for most of my youth, but my broken-hearted, inner child threatened to rear her immature head. I couldn’t allow that to happen. I belonged with Shawn.

“Last week,” he said sheepishly as he set me back on my feet. My body now warm by his touch inside and out immediately felt cold and begged for him to hold me again.

“Last week? Why haven’t I heard from you? No one even told me you were home.” I questioned, while my voice raised an octave. Being around Keith had always stirred strong, primal emotions in me and even after not seeing him for over a year, he still had the same effect on me.

“I suppose not. I hear you’re engaged to Mr. Smooth Talker and I saw you coming out of Janice’s shop with a dress bag. So I assume the rumor mill wasn’t wrong this time? Besides, I’m sure he wouldn’t want a dog like me sniffin’ around his territory.”

“You’re far from a dog!”  I placed my hands on my hips and I realized how very much I’d missed Keith and Kelly. “Yes, I am engaged,” I bragged, showing him the ring and sending a reminder to my amped-up hormones at the same time. “The wedding is in two weeks. Please say you’ll come?”

A chilly glare crept across his silver-blue eyes and with abruptness, he returned to his seat at the bar. I stood there, silent and quite uncomfortable as I waited for the response I knew was coming. It was the same response I heard from everyone I’d invited.

“Sorry Selena. I’ve got a ton of work to do around here. Dad and Kell really need my help.”

“Yeah, it’s a really busy place.  I can see you’ve really got your hands full with five full tables and four people at the bar.”

I was unable to keep the disappointment and bitterness out of my voice as I tossed five bucks on the bar for my unfinished beer. Truth is I’ve never been a great bluffer. I was always more of a “wear your heart on your sleeve sort of girl” and today, I had reached the limit on the amount of bullshit I could tolerate. Why couldn’t anyone treat me like they used to? Was it really that difficult to just come to my wedding and support me, to be happy for me?

“Selena, it really isn’t because of you. I’m just busy. There’s a ton of inventory that has to be finished in the next two weeks” he said as he looked everywhere but at me.

I knew better. Keith was just like the rest of the town. “It was good to see you, Keith. Take care.” I kissed him on the cheek and walked out of the bar, fighting back tears of frustration. Just as I reached out to open my car door, I heard footsteps behind me.

“Selena, wait.” It was more of a command than a question.

“Why, Keith?” With my back to him I said, “I understand. I really do. Please just go back inside. I’ve got things to do.” I blinked back tears, taking a deep breath. I didn’t want to argue with him. Not with Keith.

“More wedding plans, right?”

I detected another hint of sarcasm and my resolve to remain in control snapped. I spun around lightning-quick to face him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Keith hung his head down abashedly and kicked a small, round rock with the toe of one custom-made cowboy boot, making his six-foot tall frame look as if he’d shrunk into himself. His demeanor took on an almost boy-like quality, when only a second ago he was an adult full of piss and vinegar. Now Keith remained silent as if he needed a moment to gather his thoughts before he spoke. Lifting his head slightly at an angle and piercing me with the same brilliant, blue eyes that had once roamed over my naked body, Keith ran a hand through his shoulder-length brown hair. Identical to his sister’s color and shade, the sun glinted off the silver-tipped strands as he dropped his shoulders in a sign of defeat. In that moment he was so handsome, so much like the young man I used to know and I wished our previous words hadn’t been loaded with tiny jabs.  I had an overwhelming urge to punch him or kiss him and I couldn’t decide which I should do first.

“Yeah, more wedding plans. I’m running out of time and I have no idea why I stopped by to have a beer. I should’ve known better. It was obviously another mistake.”

“Oh, I bet.” Suddenly Keith was riled up again. Gone was the nice guy. “Mr. Money Bags will have a fit when he hears you were here today.”

“Again, what is that supposed to mean? What’s with all of these snide comments? I’m a big girl, Keith, I can go where I choose. I had a beer, big deal. I’m sure he’s had beer on his business trip.”

“I’m sure he’s had more than just beer.” He mumbled and quickly recovered by asking; “Business trip? What kind of business trip?” His eyes took on a serious look and his brow was furrowed.

What had gotten into this guy? I chose to ignore his jab; “Um, yeah.” I backed up and shrugged. “Didn’t the town gossip-mill inform you? Shawn’s in Germany on a business trip. He’s been there for two and a half months.” With my arms crossed over my middle, I prepared for a litany of accusations about Shawn’s infidelities and escapades.

“No. Actually that little tidbit was conveniently left out by everyone. You’re still going to marry him even though he took off halfway across the world and left you alone right before your wedding? Wow.” Keith shook his head and chuckled “You’ve really changed.”

“Of course, I’m marrying him. He is over there for work. His main goal has been networking and rounding up investors for the factory expansion. Everything he has worked on for years, has been to better this community. And what do you mean I’ve changed? I’m the same Selena you’ve always known. The same Selena you ignored and treated like crap after I confessed my feelings for you. The same Selena you neglected to tell that you were leaving and the same one you forgot tell when you came home. I’m not the one who changed.”

I stood there, staring back at him, my eyes daring him to deny what I’d said. We both knew I was right, but where did all of that emotion come from? What happened to me just wanting to talk to friends, to have a drink and enjoy being out in town?

“In this day and age of technology, he had to fly over to Germany to network?”  I could see his flamboyant eye-roll and he looked as if he would laugh himself silly at any moment. What the hell was wrong with this guy?

“Keith, what are you getting at? Just spill it already! What? More rumors of him having an affair? Is he the anti-Christ? Every week it’s something new. So, please entertain me with your newest version of whatever it is my fiancé has done now. You have my full attention!” I placed my hands behind my ears bending them forward. “See, all ears, Mr. Jacobs.”

Yeah, I knew I was being immature, but I really didn’t give a damn. The people walking by, with their arms full of recent purchases, stopped to witness my latest public temper tantrum and I didn’t even acknowledge them. Let them watch. Let them see how much I truly didn’t give a shit anymore. Maybe then they would leave Shawn and me alone.

“The entire town can’t be wrong, Selena.”

“Whatever you say, Keith.” I took a deep breath and climbed into my car for the third time on that crazy day, eager to go home where I was safe from public scrutiny. “It was nice seeing you, but I’ve gotta’ go. Take care.”

I looked in my rearview mirror after I drove off. There he stood in the parking lot with his hands on his hips, shaking his head and staring after me. Why did I get the feeling Keith had a lot more to say? How could I know Keith knew more information about my fiancé than I did? Why didn’t I just stay and ask him that myself? Why did I always run away from the truth? Ironically, I had no idea I would come face-to-face with it sooner than I ever imagined and that truth would shake me to my very core.

Chapter 4

AS I DROVE home, my thoughts were stuck on Keith. I found it ironic that I once believed we were meant to be together. Now, I chalked it up to nothing more than a school-girl crush that had lasted for years after high school. How could I ever have been in love with a man who was so jealous and spiteful?

“I really don’t even know Keith or anyone else at all anymore.” I shook my head as if to clear the intrusive thoughts, full of shame as if it were a sin to even remember my old feelings for an old friend. I was nowhere close to being a saint, but I knew my mind should only be full of thoughts about Shawn and me. Still, I couldn’t help but think Keith must be jealous, just like the rest of the townspeople.

I rambled to myself the whole way home. “Why can’t anyone just be happy for me or be there for me?” I knew I was whining and I hated it. For the first time in a long time, I questioned who I’d become.  I wondered if Keith were right? I wasn’t prepared to answer those questions and instead decided I could always drown my sorrows in Moose Tracks ice cream once I arrived home.

As I unlocked the front door to my cozy cabin, my familiar, a silver-gray cat acknowledged my arrival with a yawn and I braced myself for the guilt he’d be heaping on me for leaving him alone all day. “Nice to see you, too, Sterling.”

“It’s about time you showed up,” he said.

After having Sterling in my life for a quarter of a decade, I felt sorry for people who couldn’t understand what their pets were saying. Granted, there were days when Sterling would go on and on about whatever happened to fluff his butt at that time and I’d try to tune him out, but I couldn’t imagine my life without him. He was my familiar and my best friend.

I could feel him watching my every move as I took my gown out of the gaudy pink wrapper, placing it in the living room closet. Never one to hold back, he grumbled once or twice, expressing his complete disapproval of not only the dress, but for the wedding itself. That was one of the times, I’d tuned him out.

Getting back to his first question, “Well excuse me. I thought cats were supposed to be solitary, self-sufficient creatures. So, what’s up?”

“Your phone and computer have been driving me nuts! Every few minutes a call or an e-mail is chiming. How’s a cat supposed to sleep with all of the racket around here?” he huffed indignantly.

“Did you ever think of turning the volume down?”

“Ha-ha. No thumbs, witch.”

Sterling was extremely serious, but I had to fight hard to suppress the giggle bubbling inside of me as he stood on his hind legs and raised his front paws. He must’ve woken up on the wrong side of his kitty condo. Or maybe he’d had too much catnip and had a kitty hangover. With Sterling, it could have been anything.

“You know I can hear your thoughts, right?”  He flipped his tail and narrowed his eyes into slits.

I bowed to him, mockingly. “How could I ever forget, your Highness?”

He followed me to the kitchen where I grabbed my pint of Moose Tracks from the freezer and he watched as I ate the decadent treat right from the ice cream container with a spoon. I know, I know. Ladies do not eat from the container, but I was seriously miffed and who was going to stop me? At least I thought to use a spoon.  Besides, I only had a few more weeks of solitary living before I’d move into Shawn’s palatial and sterile, factory made home. “We really should have discussed him moving in here instead.” I mumbled around a mouthful of chocolate fudge.

“Where were you?” Sterling demanded.

“I picked up my dress and then I stopped by Tooth & Nail. Why?”

“What were you doing at Tooth & Nail?” He stared me down like an Inquisitor reporter.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I had a beer and I saw a few people who actually spoke to me. Why? Is it against the rules, Great Master?” I laughed and licked my spoon clean.

“No need to be snippy, Selena. I simply noticed a distinct scent on you. Did you stop at the animal shelter?”

Placing the ice cream back into the freezer, I said, “Sterling, I told you where I was. I went to Always the Bride and then stopped by Tooth & Nail. That’s all. Do you think I was out looking for a nice, cuddly kitten to take your place?” I joked.

“You would never!” Again he flipped his tail maniacally. I truly had ruffled his fur. “I swear I smell dog on you. You reek of dog. I’ll never understand why humans love those hideous, drooling beasts. Yuck!” He visibly shivered and rolled his eyes.

“No. I did not see, hear or pet any dogs. Maybe your senses are overactive today? Janice didn’t even have that annoying pink poodle with her at the shop. Maybe that’s what you smell? I accidentally plowed into her and knocked her on her big, ole, pink butt when I arrived at the shop.”

“Accidentally?” I swore he wore an evil grin. I could picture him rubbing his paws together like a furry Austin Powers.

“Of course it was an accident. I was late. Thank the Goddess I don’t have to go back there. My dress fits great, by the way. I’m surprised Janice didn’t sabotage it. That woman’s attitude is hideous! If the government ever instituted a personality transplant law, I’d have that woman at the clinic so fast…”

“She’s a snake. What do you expect? She probably ate that poodle of hers.” He snickered. “No big loss, you understand. But the woman is an upper-level shifting demon and she prefers small dogs as snacks, not companions. You did know that, right?”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course I knew that.”

No, I didn’t. But I wouldn’t admit that to Sterling. How could I not know Janice was a demon? What the hell was going on? My inner alarms, my sixth sense, whatever, should’ve been ringing my ears off! And I had been around her so many times, not just in the past few months, but forever! Something was seriously wrong.

“I can still hear your thoughts. Anyways, I assumed you knew and chose to ignore it like you ignore everything else that happens around you.” He walked away, leaving me a not-so-attractive view of his un-neutered backside.

Trying not to freak out, I turned to gather a few bell peppers, an onion and sausage from the fridge. I had a serious craving for Dirty Rice and set about chopping the veggies and browning the meat before adding creole seasoning and pouring the entire contents of the skillet into a Dutch oven with some lovely rice that Shawn had brought back from a recent trip to New Orleans. Once that was well on its way, I prepared a bowl of fresh tuna for Sterling and carried it to his dining room.

His kitty condo was an exact replica of my house and took up an entire back bedroom. From floor to ceiling, the miniature cabin was one of my largest investments. When I hired a contractor to install all of my secret cubby-holes and a small, secured room in which to hide my craft items, I also paid him to build Sterling a suitable retreat. I figured Sterling should have a place to go when Shawn came over to visit and it curbed Shawn’s allergic reaction to Sterling at the same time. Most of the time, Sterling spent his days in his home while I tended to my garden or walked in the woods that surrounded my property. He was happy, Shawn was happy and that made me happy.

As I sat his bowl of tuna in his house, Sterling climbed his front steps and pushed open a tiny, wooden door. He climbed a carpeted stairway to his upper loft and then crossed over a four foot deck overlooking a small fountain complete with a few Koi. Spoiled? Party of one? You bet! When it came to Sterling and his home, I often paid more attention to his needs than my own. But that’s what pet owners do, right?

“Bon-a- petit’!” I touted in my horrible French accent and bowed as I sat his plate of food on his deck. Sterling loved to eat beside his pond as he watched the fish swim by. If you asked me, I’d say he was being sadistic, letting them know they could be his next meal if he chose. He swore having the pond kept his inner spirit calm. Whatever. As long as he was happy, I was.

Returning to my kitchen, I stirred the rice, meat and veggies. I’d been making this newest addiction of mine, once a week for the past six weeks. I blamed it on Mardi-Gras. “At least it contains most of the major food groups.”

“What’s the deal? You’ve been eating healthy for weeks. If you ask me, it’s making you edgy.”

Startled by Sterling’s stealthy behavior, I dropped my wooden spoon on the floor. “Boy, you’re sneaky today! Warn a witch, will you?”

“See? You’re edgy and jumpy. Maybe this wedding is getting to you? You can always call it off” he said as he washed his paws. “No one would blame you.” His little pink tongue darted out of his mouth wetting each individual claw, ensuring every tasty drop of tuna juice would be history within seconds.

“Seriously?” I was at my limit and slammed the wooden spoon into the sink. Of course, it broke in two. “Dammit.”

“Mistress, everyone knows he’s a fink! All day every day I hear the chatter. No one likes him except for you.” He switched to cleaning his tail as my temper flared.

“Why? They used to love Shawn. At least until we started dating. And what do you mean, you hear the chatter? You sit here twenty-four-seven holding the couch down.” Okay, maybe I’d been a bit brash, but I couldn’t take anymore Shawn bashing, not even from my best pal.

“Um, ouch. That was a bit rude. You know I need my beauty sleep and curves are so in right now. Besides, you’re mistaken. No one has ever liked him. They’re all afraid of him. He controls the economy of this town, he controls everything and you’ve been too blind to see it. In the beginning, they pretended to like him because of you and for your benefit. I guess they thought you could change him. But once you started acting all normal and weren’t participating in any of the meetings of the Paranormal and Magical Defenders, or festivals or anything remotely witchy, all hope was lost. Everything changed. You changed. Now, they think of you as an ally for his horrible plans.”

“They’re just a bunch of old busy-bodies who make things up because they are bored! He’d never hurt anyone and he isn’t the raging sex lunatic they paint him to be. He saved this town from economic downfall many times and they repay him with spiteful viciousness! They’re wrong.”

“That’s not what I hear from my associates.” He hopped up on the counter blinking at me innocent as can be as he stretched and straightened his spine.

“Associates? What associates? Are your catnip mice talking to you now? You sit here all day grooming and napping. How could you have associates?” I laughed at his ever-present superior attitude.

“I’m not at liberty to divulge my sources or how I came to possess such information. Your fiancé is no good. That’s all you need to know. And the sooner you see the truth, the better off all of us will be.” With a huff, he jumped down off of the counter and sauntered to his condo.

I was dismissed by a sarcastic, mouthy cat who believes he is the know-it-all of the paranormal world. Given the silent treatment by my last friend on the planet. Life was great.

Chapter 5

AFTER DINNER, I sat at my desk sifting through e-mails. Many were spam offering life changing results and a better life. Between the erectile dysfunction medications, burial insurance, Lasik eye surgery and ‘SHAZAM! Bra’ ads I received by the boatload every day, one would think I was a big, hot mess.

“If I happened to die a suspicious death and the cops were to investigate my e-mails for clues, they would think I was a complete wreck and had killed myself. A woman with saggy boobs, penis problems, researching sex changes, blind, single, depressed and in need of burial insurance with the perfect timeshare property! I’m a scientific miracle!” I laughed as I imagined our county detective’s face as he scrolled through the various spam folders looking for clues.

“You won’t die anytime soon and you can’t kill yourself. It isn’t possible for a witch to commit suicide, you know that.”

“Jeez, Sterling, again with the sneaking? Can’t I joke with myself without you chiming in?” He sat at my feet again bathing and primping again. Of course, walking through my pristine home messed up a piece of his miraculous, gorgeous fur and we just couldn’t have that.

“Who’s sneaking? I didn’t know I needed to announce my arrival in my own home. Is that a new rule for everyone or am I the only you require notice from?”

“Very funny. Exaggerate much? Man, you’re snippy today. I know I can’t commit suicide, that’s not what I was saying. Besides, I’ll be married soon, why would I off myself now? I said the police would think I did. These spammers are ridiculous. One says: Anti-Depressants! Half-off! And another says: Single? Alone? Desperate? Open this email immediately! Does anyone even buy this load of crap?”

“Probably. Was all of that ‘You’ve got mail!’ business just a bunch of spam today? All of those bings and beeps gave me a migraine. You should really care more about my well-being when you’re not home.” Sterling still seemed a bit miffed, but at least we were on speaking terms again.

I snickered. Everything was always about Sterling and I loved his selfish side just as much as I loved his sweet side. “No. There are a few other normal e-mails, probably wedding related. They can wait. I’ll get to those later.”

He hopped up onto the desk, hovering beside me, nosey as could be. “That one says ‘Urgent!’ How do you know its spam? I think you should open it.”

“There isn’t a sender’s name on it. I’m not opening it. Besides, a lot of spammers use the term ‘Urgent!’ It’s a trick. My luck, I’ll open it and end up with some type of computer virtual STD and my e-mail, newly infused with a life of its own, will spam every contact I have! Hackers will do anything to get into computers.”

I could feel my heart race as I imagined the consequences of opening a shady e-mail. They’d break down my door and haul me off to some federal prison, never to be seen or heard from again! I’d end up in some cell with a crazy lady who’d make me her pet! Oh hell no! The thoughts of those goddess-awful outfits and not to mention the shoes! With that train of thought I wanted to barf all over my desk, my palms were sweaty and I couldn’t breathe.

Rolling his emerald eyes, he said “Drama queen, party of one? As if you are that important.” He flopped onto his side laughing. “Yeah, some weirdos are gonna’ funnel top-secret information through your computer, setting you up to take the heat! Are you serious? Ha-ha-ha-ha-ack!”

“Karmic hairball, Mr. McFuzzy Nuts? Who’s laughing now?” I walked to the kitchen, eager to be away from his teasing. I filled a bowl of water for him after I poured myself a glass of wine, thinking about how foolish I’d been. I knew I’d over-reacted and knew I should know better than to spaz about such trivial things, but that’s what I was, who I was. I overreacted and always focused on the worst-case scenarios. I was a worrier through-and-through.

To my surprise, when I returned Sterling had turned his nose up at my kind offer of cool water and remained at the desk. I took a big gulp of merlot and consequently blew it everywhere when I reached my comfy office chair and saw that Sterling had opened the top-secret message! Thank the goddess, the sticky alcohol had only landed on the desk, but there, wide open, ready to infect my computer, was that suspicious e-mail.

“Oh great! If this computer blows up, you’re buying me a new one! What if the feds show up here thinking I’m the spamming hijacker? Did you even think about that?”

“Breathe, Selena. It’s just an e-mail. It seems pretty important and I really think you should read it.” Sterling’s voice had taken on a much more serious tone than I’d ever remembered hearing from him.

Okay, I admit I can easily be a bit of a drama queen. But in my defense, I spend my days talking to a royal pain-in-the-ass and I was a bit stressed with the wedding and all. Who wouldn’t be dramatic?

“I knew it! See, Mistress! Here’s your proof.” He scampered back and forth across my desk as if he’d just found an entire field of catnip.

“Proof of what? Move over fuzzy-butt so I can see.” And boy did I ever. On my screen was an anonymous letter:

“Dear Selena,

You don’t know me, but I’ve been assigned to watch over you. I have been in the shadows ever since your parents’ unfortunate deaths. Though I’m sure you will have many questions, I cannot answer them at this time. You need only know this: Your fiancé is cheating on you, again. There are many things about him you need to know. The danger you are in, increases by the hour. I have attached proof because I know you will not believe me without it. Do what you will with this information, but understand you need to think clearly and realize how very serious this matter is. Your actions will be carefully monitored. I will be in touch.”

“What. The. Hell?" I couldn’t believe my eyes! Now people were claiming to be guardians of some sort and sending me emails full of lies? When would it stop? “I’ve had enough of this garbage for one day! Sterling, go to your condo, now! I don’t want to hear a peep out of you.”

Strangely, yelling at my familiar didn’t make me feel any better. In fact, I felt like shit. I knew he had issues with Shawn, hell, everyone had issues with Shawn, but damn! How much more was I supposed to tolerate?

“We’ll just move. That’s it. If we leave town, they will have to leave us alone. We’ll get married someplace else. Somewhere that isn’t full of back-biting, conniving jerks! First, I’ll call Shawn. I know he’ll agree. I’ll pack everything up and find us a suitable home. Well, find us a home and then pack. Whatever. As long as I can get away from here, everything will be fine. I just have to remain calm.”

I knew I had to leave Salem Ridge before I used my magic. I’d had all I could take.

* * *

STERLING HID IN his house, waiting for my storm of his mistress’s emotions to settle down. He knew she teetered on a very thin line. Not using her powers for over a year was a very bad thing. When she blew her stack, it was going to be bad, very bad.

He could hear her cleaning and banging things around in the supply closet. His mistress only cleaned like this when she was angry, very angry. Most of the time, the house was spotless, so there was no need for heavy-duty housework.

“It’s worse than I thought. She’s going to break. Goddess, help us.” He hid in the back corner of his favorite room and covered his eyes with his paws.

* * *

AFTER SCRUBBING MY kitchen and living room from top to bottom, I sat down on my sofa, hoping the wave of anger had truly receded. I’d used enough cleaners to get a slight buzz and my temples were throbbing.

“It will be okay. No magic. No magic.” I willed myself to calm down, taking deep, calming breaths. “In with the good, out with the bad.” I knew if I opened the door to my powers it would be so very hard to close. There would be no going back.

Picking up my cordless phone, I dialed Shawn’s international number. It took forever to be connected and it took all I had to suppress my irritation when the desk clerk answered and knowing what I did of Shawn’s cell service, I requested to be connected to Shawn’s room.

“Room 211 please.”

“Mr. Shawn is in a different room now. Hold please.” The nasally voice across seas replied.

“He must’ve finally requested a larger room.” I knew he’d been disappointed with the smaller room they’d given him when he’d made reservations and he claimed he always felt claustrophobic if he didn’t have an open-floor plan space to sleep. Every time we spoke on the phone, he had to reiterate the same complaints to me. I’d mentioned switching rooms countless times, but he’d claimed to forget, got too busy or used whatever reason he could come up with. Sometimes, I swore he was one of those people who weren’t happy if they weren’t complaining about something. Strange that he’d waited until he only had two weeks left in Germany to change rooms, but oh well.

I again waited for what felt like an eternity to be connected. I needed to hear his voice. I had calmed down quite a bit and hopefully talking to him would help. At the moment, I was still undecided whether to mention the ridiculous e-mail or not. Part of me wanted to cry and share this latest attempt at destroying my dwindling sanity with him and the other part of me just wanted to forget it had happened. The only thing I knew for sure was that I couldn’t take much more. In my own land of naivety, I had no idea how drastically my life was about to change. The e-mail was just the beginning.

Chapter 6

“HELLO?” A WOMAN purred. “Roberta and Shawn’s Passion Palace, how may we help you?”

“Roberta? Roberta who?! What...” Who the hell was answering my fiancé’s phone?

“Get back in this bed, you little Irish wench!” Shawn giggled, yes I heard my fiancé giggle in the background!

“Roberta, I don’t know who you are but I’d like you to put Shawn…”

The phone disconnected. “The bitch hung up on me!”

I called back and the line was busy. “You’ve got to be farking kidding me!”

How the hell was I supposed to bitch and get to the bottom of this if they didn’t answer the phone? Why was there some woman named Roberta in my future husband’s room, I had no idea.

Maybe I’d misunderstood. Could I have heard the woman say Ron, John or something and only thought I’d heard her say Shawn? After all, I did have Shawn on the brain, so maybe it was all a huge misunderstanding?

I knew better. I’d heard it with my own ears. The woman answered the phone in Shawn’s room, confirming a year’s worth of rumors, truths and my worst fears.

“Roberta? And who freaking says; ‘Passion Palace’ when they answer a phone?  Who says that? Gross.”

In my gut, I knew it wasn’t some kind of sick, twisted joke. There was no way around it. When I heard Shawn tell Roberta to get back in his bed, I could’ve thrown up. For them to leave the phone off the hook was rubbing salt in a huge, gaping wound. They knew I’d call back. They knew I’d be pissed. I was officially a woman scorned and I had every right to cuss them out. How dare they take that privilege away from me!

For an entire year, I’d dismissed rumors about Shawn and it’d finally taken its toll. In the attempt to alleviate my own guilt over ignoring my heritage, becoming someone unrecognizable to the people I knew and loved, I ignored every single truth they’d said about Shawn. And the worst part, I knew the entire town was right. I was a fool. The room spun and every story I had ever heard came crashing through my mind with the speed of a freight train. And just like that, I knew who the mysterious Roberta was. Roberta McManus, that dirty, nasty whore from Shawn’s company.

I felt anger for the first time in my life. True, homicidal anger. How could he do that to me? What had I done to deserve what he’d done? Who the hell did he think he was?

“Screwing that old biddy of a woman! He could’ve at least picked someone half-attractive!”

There was a buzzing in my ears. It felt like a warm whisper singing a lullaby and I found comfort in the madness that rumbled through my veins. It comforted me and I had no idea why, but I needed more.

“Selena, you need to calm down” Sterling was right behind me.

“Forget calming down! Don’t tell me to calm down! He’s over there screwing Roberta McManus! Remember her? She’s that ugly, old, frumpy bitch-of-a-woman that works with Shawn at the factory.”

I really thought I must be going crazy. Never in a million years did I imagine Shawn and Roberta sleeping together! My fiancé was really cheating on me! What made it worse was, the woman was disgusting and vile. Though I had only met her once, that one time was enough.

Last year, I met the home-wrecking whore. When we shook hands at a factory dinner party, I instantly disliked the woman and it took all I had to refrain from wiping her nasty hand sweat off on my skirt! She was so repulsive and acted like she was better than I was with her snide, condescending manner. Every word she said was loaded with a blatant tone of bitchiness. It was one of the worst parties I’d ever been to and I couldn’t wait to leave that night just to get away from her. A short one-hundred-and-thirty days later, I stood there deciding how to kill the slut.

So many thoughts raced through my mind as I tried to decide what to do, causing my head to pound like an Aborigine drum. I wasn’t even crying. I had spent so many nights crying over the rumors that ran rampant around town and I was all out of tears. Shouldn’t I have been a snot covered, blubbering mess? Instead, I was pissed off!

Did this prove I didn’t really love Shawn as much as I thought I had? My feelings leaned more towards betrayal and embarrassment than those of a jilted love-sick-bride-to-be. I swore at any given moment my forehead would explode and mental diarrhea would gush out everywhere, ruining my beloved hardwood floor.

“What the f…?”

“Tsk, tsk Selena. You swore you’d stop using f-bombs.”

“Not now Sterling. What the hell just happened?”

“You know what happened. Selena, you finally faced the truth. The truth everyone has been trying to get you to see. Now, please try to calm your thoughts. They’re racing again and I can’t handle all of it at once.”

I stood there with my mouth hanging open, truly flabbergasted! My world just went to shit and Sterling had the nerve to complain about his discomfort? Seriously?

“By the gods Sterling, please don’t say another word.” When I looked at him, he actually seemed frightened. Frightened of me.

“Now Selena, I meant no harm, but…”

“But nothing!” I roared and he ran from the room.

I walked over to my desk and clicked on the anonymous e-mail and read it again. When I double clicked the attachment, thirty various pictures, starring my very naked fiancé and his very naked tramp, popped up on the screen. “I’ll kill him.”

As I scrolled through the pictures, one in particular caught my eye. Roberta was grinning like Lucifer’s bitch and enjoying every second of it. Upon further examination, I realized something even more infuriating. Roberta wasn’t simply a home-wrecking hussy; she was also a demon.

“Roberta is a troll? Sterling! Out here now!”

He scurried out of his room and onto my desk. As he looked at the photos with me, he couldn’t hide his surprise. “Holy balls, Selena!”

“Nice choice of words.”

“Sorry. Wow! It’s about time. How did you miss this? I mean, we, how did we miss this?”

“We missed this because I haven’t been using my powers. Hell, I haven’t even been wearing my crystal for protection! How could I have been so stupid?”

“You wouldn’t listen. Just calm…”

“Don’t you dare say it!”

“Okay. Let’s think.” Sterling pleaded.

“Screw thinking! I’m burning his shit, all of it!”

“Now Selena, please wait. You can’t…”

“Oh, yes I can.”

My powers streamed through me, filling me with wicked desires. I wanted Shawn to pay and to pay dearly! After everything I had foolishly given up for him and for the way the town had completely abandoned me, a simple amicable break-up was not going to satisfy me. I closed my eyes, inviting the magic to flow through me.

Something I sensed nudged me to open my eyes and the site before me could have knocked me to the floor. “I’ll be damned Sterling, look at this!”

In one particular photo, the photographer had captured another shot of Shawn’s condescending smile that brought no light to his eyes as he pounded into Roberta once more. Hell, Shawn didn’t even have pupils!

“Oh shit, Selena. This is bad, really bad.”

“Yep. I’ve been sleeping with a demon, too! He didn’t want me to use my powers and this entire time, he was a scum-sucking demon. What a lying, deceitful hypocrite! Acting as if he believed, cared for and loved me all this time! Why would he do that? Why did he want me powerless? What could he possibly gain? He had to be after something, but what is it?”

I paced the floor while murderous thoughts battled with the miniscule bits of sanity left in my frazzled brain. Did it really matter what Shawn wanted? I would never help a demon! But I had. I was bamboozled into being a part of every rotten thing he had done to the people in my town. Clearly, keeping me powerless was his way of controlling me. How long had he and Roberts been commiserating? So many questions about the last year popped into my mind, but there was only one answer.  I knew there was only one way to stop him.

“What are we going to do?” Sterling was pacing now, his normally sleek, gray fur now standing on end showed he was clearly agitated. His tail, now the size of a raccoon’s, twitched furiously back and forth, side-to-side.  I could see anger in his furry little brow and fear in his eyes. My familiar was a conundrum of emotion.

“The only thing we can do. We’re going to send them both back to Hell.”

“But Selena, if you use your powers in anger and for personal gain, the council will come for you!” His green eyes bulged with alarm.

I knew Sterling was right, but chances were pretty good that the Elders already knew I’d opened the door to my magic when I’d thought about frying Shawn’s things. The power had already begin its journey. I knew I would finish it. I had to. Shawn and Roberta could not live among the people of Salem Ridge. I’d do all I could to take them out.

When the Elders came for me, I’d be bound and powerless. They would make me stand before a jury of my peers and imminently, I’d be found guilty of misusing my magic. The Elders would call a mystic who could bind my powers, sealing them inside my crystal pendulum. I’d be forced to wear the glowing, blue orb around my neck, showing the paranormal world I was convicted of crimes against them. Everyone would know what I had done. It would be worth it. If I’d never stopped using my powers, things would’ve never gotten so far. This was my fault.

There was only way for a witch to regain her powers. Mercy of the Elders would unlock the spell that bound a witch. If she tried to access her powers before the sentence was up, the witch would be thrown into a dungeon, deep below the earth.  She would spend the rest of her living days, alone and because witches live a lot longer than humans, that could be a very long time.

“It’s too late. I’m sure they are already on their way. But maybe they will listen to reason after they’ve taken me into custody.” I’d already accepted the inevitable. All I could do now was finish what I started.

“We will think of something, Mistress.” He rubbed against my ankles, trying to comfort me. “I won’t let anything happen to you. But please don’t do this.”

“I can’t believe I never saw the truth. Everybody tried to tell me.  I wonder how many people knew he was a demon.”

“I have no idea. Honestly, you wouldn’t have listened. They tried to get you to leave him many times and it didn’t work. It doesn’t matter how many knew. The important thing is you know now.”

“I still need to get rid of his things. I don’t want him to have any reason to come back here, ever.”

“No magic.”

“Does it really matter at this point? I’ve already alerted them by bringing the magic back to life inside of me. There’s no going back.”

Chapter 7

AS THE FIRST wave of power raced through my body, I felt nothing except pure desire for more. More heat, more pressure, more. Every movement seemed to intensify my senses. Each sensation crashing over me in enormous waves of ecstasy, I had never felt such intense pleasure. I hoped it would always be like this. This feeling could never end!

I walked through my home scorching every photograph of Shawn and me. The simple act of imagining him burning quickly set the pictures aflame and melted his fake, sorry-assed smile out of existence. With a flick of my wrist the remaining photos flew off the walls, they were swirling around me as I made my way to the bedroom. They hovered, as if on invisible threads, dancing and I watched them with a detached sort of pleasure.

My mother had told me secrets and spells for everyday living, and right then, more than ever, I was glad I could still hear her voice in my mind. “In order to break an emotional or spiritual bond with someone, you need to burn their personal belongings and anything you may have shared. Every item that person owned must be returned to the ashes from which it came.”

At the time, it seemed like another lesson meant to drive me nuts with boredom. But I had listened, storing it away in the recesses of my mind along with the many other tidbits of knowledge she gave me. Now I understood what my mother said. Somehow she knew I would need lessons like this one later in life.

“I should have listened to her about Shawn. She saw right through him.”

I gathered Shawn’s clothing, every last bit of it and the floating photos followed me wherever I walked. Gathering the pile of pants, shirts and anything of his I found, in my arms, I carried the load into the bathroom. Dropping everything into my oversized, pure copper bathtub, I snapped my fingers and mentally willed the items to burst into flames.

“So it is, so shall it be.” In mere seconds, the entire pile was nothing more than ashes.

I heard thunder rumble in the distance and for a fleeting moment, I thought it was strange. No severe weather had been predicted, so I continued about my business. Again, the storm outside announced its approach. Though my element is air, I was too distracted to connect any of the elemental dots.

“Selena, you’re creating a storm. You need to stop before it’s too late.” Sterling was clearly concerned for my well-being, but I didn’t care. I wanted power, more and more power.

“No, Sterling. Stopping is what I never should have done in the first place.” My voice no longer sounded like my own. Somewhere deep inside, that should have struck me as being odd, but instead, I dismissed it. I went to the kitchen and gathered a dustpan and a trash bag.

Returning to the bathroom, I scooped all of the ashes into the bag. A quick look in the bathroom mirror showed the only physical change I harbored was in my eyes. Whereas before they were brown and now electric blue orbs glared back at me. It barely registered in my mind before I raged on. Walking back through the kitchen, I opened the back door from ten feet away with just a flick of my wrist and I journeyed out into the woods surrounding my cabin. There were ten acres of primitive forest on my property, so I had to walk quite a ways to find the perfect spot.

Lightning crashed outside and thunder echoed across the hill, reminding me of the Civil War battles from over a century ago. I felt the fear, sickness and death of soldiers from centuries past surround me as I walked farther into the woods. A momentary flicker of fear passed through me as disembodied spirits flew through my body.  The emotion was gone within seconds and it was replaced with orgasmic bliss as another wave of magic filtered through my veins, casting any remaining fear aside.

The power vibrated through my body, bringing a release that was one hundred times more satisfying than any sexual encounter I’d ever had! My legs shook, almost buckling at the knees and still, I craved more, needed more. Though it was dusk, I could see the gray and white clouds swirling above me as I walked barefoot over the land. Soft, rumbling thunder followed my every step as more magic built inside of me. Arriving at a partially cleared area of the forest, I opened the bag of ashes. My mouth formed a small ‘o’ as I blew them into the wind I had created.

“Be gone from sight. Be gone from sound. Return to your place, beneath the ground. So it is. So shall it be.”

Once the ashes were dissipated, I raised my hands to the sky, calling the wind to do my bidding.

“Erase the scent. Erase the mark. Erase the hold upon my heart. So it is. So shall it be.”

Thunder pounded and lightning crashed around me as an ice cold breeze blew through my bones. It painfully tore away any remaining claim Shawn ever had on me and I watched as green wisps of green, smoky haze lifted out of me, dispersing into the night sky. Light beams in various shades of black, red, and brown shot into me with the force of a tornado. I could feel myself being repeatedly lifted and set back down in place as each burst rocked through me, through my soul. I gave no thought to anyone or anything else. Each burst of power consumed my entire body, mind and spirit.

“Oh my goddess!” my voice was raspy, barely more than a whisper and yet another thing about myself I no longer recognized. In the chaos that swirled around and in me, I lost track of time and place. Hovering between the worlds of the living and the lands of the dead, I teetered on the brink of consciousness, surrendering to the unknown and welcoming the pleasure of it all.

Beyond redemption, I dropped to my knees as the last psychic parasite was torn from my body and replaced with something more. What that something was, I did not know. But it felt amazing.

“Take it all! I beg you! Fill me with whatever you choose, Goddess!” I shouted, using every last ounce of energy I possessed and collapsed face down on a bed of leaves and dirt as the remainders of my echoing plea was smothered by the burning forest around me.

“I’m so screwed,” was my last conscious thought before the darkness claimed me.

Chapter 8

I SLEPT FOR a short time and when I awoke in the pre-dawn hours, there were drops of rain pounding down upon my back. I was soaked and chilled to the bone. Spitting out leaves and dirt, I painfully rolled over, barely able to sit up. My head was throbbing with a force to rival any death-metal band. Every breath I took sent pain radiating through my entire body.

I looked around the vast clearing where a beautiful forest of various trees had once stood tall and proud. The rain continued to pour as if the stars themselves were weeping, clearly devastated by my actions. There was something wrong. I should never have been able to cause this much destruction. I’m a witch, but a good one. Where did the power I’d used come from? Surely, there must be an explanation.  Maybe I was still asleep?

I pinched myself as hard as I could. I gasped, inhaling quickly from the pain. The scent of death overwhelmed my senses. Smoldering embers were all that remained of my ten acre property. I had decimated everything.

“Sterling! Sterling!” I scrambled to my feet, fighting the urge to vomit as panic rolled over me. I ran through the woods, coming upon the rubble that only hours ago had been my home. It was flattened and charred. Little wisps of gray smoke plumed into the dense, acrid air.

“Oh my goddess! What have I done? Sterling!” I wailed into the silence.

Turning in circles, I saw only destruction. Falling to my knees again, I cried and cried as soul wrenching sobs tore through my body. I rocked back and forth, holding my insides together for I was sure they were being ripped out with grief. “What am I going to do?”

“For one, you’re going to stop that pitiful crying and get up!”

His ghost was just as snippy and bossy as he was. It didn’t matter. I’d let his ghost haunt me and berate me for eternity. I deserved it.

“You’re right. I am pitiful, I should’ve listened to you and now I’ve killed you” I wailed again.

“Yes. You should have listened. Now, just look at the mess you’ve made. Lucky for you, I have eight more lives but that doesn’t fix it. Do you have any idea how much it hurts to die and not to mention, the agony of coming back to life. Oh and don’t forget how horribly awful my fur looks! I look like death warmed over! It will take weeks before I feel or look like my old self again. Now, stop that god-awful sniveling and get up. We need to leave here as soon as possible. Bad things are coming for us. Very bad, Selena.”

I looked up to find the most beautiful pair of green eyes glaring at me. “Sterling!” I scooped him up, holding his soaking wet, matted body tight to my chest, I sobbed “I’m so sorry” over and over again as I wept tears of joy. His protests were muffled as I continued to hug and kiss his charred little head. “Those bits will grow back. I promise. You’ll be handsome again and good as new in no time! I’m so glad you’re alive! Please forgive me?”

“Let go of me! I can’t breathe you blubbering ninny! Are you trying to kill me?” He tapped my face with his furry, gray paw with the force of a slap and I dropped him immediately. “Now get it together, Toots! Didn’t you hear a word I said? We have to get out of here and I do mean now!”

Sterling was right, but how were we going to go anywhere?  I really wasn’t capable of functioning yet. There were so many things I needed to process and I had no idea where to begin. I needed coffee to clear my foggy brain and unfortunately my coffee beans, grinder and brewer were all roasted beyond recognition. I sat in the debris and rubbed my pounding temples.

“Sterling, do you know where my crystal is?”

“Yes. When you went all apocalyptic, I snuck into the house and grabbed it. I hid it down by the creek in that huge tree that those pesky squirrels love so much.  There was a hole in the trunk, so I put it in there. I tried to go back into the house to get your wallet, but that’s when the house exploded and I don’t remember anything after that.”

“Will you please go get our pendulum? Maybe the crystal will help me to gather my thoughts.”

“Sure. As always, I’m here to serve you. Even though I came back from the dead, I will just…”

“Sterling, not now.” I watched as he scampered off into what remained of the woods, his tail pointing straight up in the air. “I will be kissing his ass for years after this.” I shook my head, causing more intense streaks of pain that felt like they’d blow through my forehead.

As I sat there trying to come up with a plan to save our asses, I tugged on my ring. “My ring! Holy crap I forgot to destroy the ring!”

I pulled and pulled but the damn thing wouldn’t come off! Like an idiot, I spit and slobbered all over my finger. Still it wouldn’t budge. On a scale of one to ten, the severity of the situation registered at least an eleven. In my fury driven frenzy I had forgotten to get rid of the one item Shawn and his troll would be able to track me with. The damn diamond.  “Lovely.”

“Here. You know, you really should’ve gotten rid of that ring? He can track you through that and we will never be safe.”

I caught the crystal and rolled my eyes at my ever helpful familiar. “Thanks so much Sterling. I hadn’t thought of that!”

With dread and defeat, I looked down at my hand. The gold band had melded into the bone of my ring finger and there was no chance I was getting it off anytime soon. Hell, before now I had never even attempted to take it off. For all I knew, it could’ve been like this for quite a while.

“We are so screwed. The council and demon boy are going to have to fight each other to see who gets the privilege of ripping us apart.”

I slipped the crystal pendulum over my head and the weight of it felt more solid than anything had in years. I could feel and see its calming properties shoot through my body. Every one of my nerve endings tingled with life. Once the fog in my mind cleared, I stood and tuned to re-examine my surroundings. I tried to reach out with my mind, mentally begging for a sign of life in the woods around us.

“There are no other creatures here except for you, Sterling. I don’t hear any bugs, birds not even a rabbit. They’re all gone.”

“Duh, I bet you flambéed everything within a two-mile radius. I have been around for a lot of years and I’ve never seen power like that!”

“Great, now I’m a bunny murderess.”

I hung my head in absolute despair, retching and heaving with the shame of what I had done. If I had performed a grounding ceremony, my magic would not have gotten so far out of control.

“This is exactly why magic should never be used for personal gain.”  I wiped my mouth with the hem of my torn tank top.

“When the council of Elders catches me, they will have my ass locked up forever. When I die, I’ll go to hell.”

I wasn’t whining, just being realistic. I had created one hell of a shit-storm and there was nowhere to hide. Hell, I couldn’t even go anywhere. I had keys to a car that was melted and smashed beneath the pile of rubble that used to be my beautiful home.

“Shit, shit, and shit. What have I done?” I whispered.

* * *

STERLING AND I walked towards town. “Hopefully no one in Salem Ridge knows what I did yet. I’ll go to the bank, get money out of our account and maybe Dawn will let me use their computer to order us some plane tickets. We’ll go far away from here. We might be able to hide-out long enough to come up with a better plan.”

“I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere, Selena.”

What was Roberta doing there? Startled, I sent her flying with a wave of my hand. My crystal and ring turned black and I felt power building up inside of me again. “Selena control it!” Sterling shouted.

“Yes Selena, control it.” Roberta picked herself up and dusted off her behind with dramatic flair. Her wiry, red-orange hair stood out in angry tufts full of ash and dirt. “Is that any way to welcome a visitor?”

“Screw you, Roberta. Come one step closer and I will fry your slutty, demon ass.”

“Tsk, tsk witch. Such a mouth. Do you kiss Shawn with that filthy hole of yours? What happened to sweet Selena? You have no idea who you’re messing with and I must insist you settle down.” She snarled.

“Oh, I think I know perfectly well who and what you are. I command you to leave now, troll.” I raised my hand again and Roberta raised hers in a mock surrender.

“I really wish you’d hear me out, Selena. I flew all this way. Can’t we just talk like adults? Is it really necessary to resort to theatrics and parlor tricks? Come now, you know you’re no match for me.”

I rolled my eyes and with a flick of my finger, sent her lying through the air once more. Roberta landed with a resounding thump in the pile of debris that used to be my apple grove. The woman truly had nerve! “I told you to leave, Roberta. Staying here will only get you killed. My mother and I have sent stronger demons than you back to Hell and I will not hesitate to send you back there burning and with bells on. You and your lover’s days are numbered.”

My mother and I hunted demons until I met Shawn. Many filthy, ugly creatures fled into Hell just to escape my mother’s wrath. Most of them, we never heard from again. Once in a while, we got a brave one who would come back for more, but my mother was a vehement demon hunting witch. Almost as if she, herself was possessed with the desire to eradicate them from the earth. I never knew what drove her to become such an avid huntress, but I know she wouldn’t rest until the demon she was after had been killed.

Sometimes, we would hunt them for days, stopping only when she thought I needed to rest, eat or use the bathroom. One of the last hunts I remember kept my mother busy for three weeks. The crafty demon was a shape-shifter who sucked the soul out of every body he hijacked. There were twenty-five funerals in one month. That’s a lot, even for a town of paranormal and human inhabitants.

Roberta lifted herself off the ground with ease and landed a few feet from me. “Really? Where is your beloved mommy?” She laughed like a nasty old hen. The bitch spoke in riddles. No wonder my gut had told me to hate her when we’d met. She was flat-out nuts!

“Screw off, Roberta! Do not bring my mother into this! You know where my mother is, how dare you speak her name? I know way more than I ever wanted to know about you and your demon boy. Neither of you know anything about ‘truth’ so save your hot air for someone who gives a shit! You both sicken me. Maybe you should go running back to your puppet master and tell him I’m coming for him. You both know what I am, the heritage I come from and what I am capable of. Do not toy with me.”

The words that flew out my mouth made me sound much calmer than I felt. I had to hope I’d gotten my point across, but with an idiot of Roberta’s magnitude, chances were, the conversation was far from over. The bitch just kept on pushing my buttons, almost as if she’d hoped I’d kill her and send her funky ass back to Hell.

“Puppet master? Ha! You have no idea. Shawn isn’t the one in charge, Selena. He is a pathetic piece of shit. One might describe him as an end to a means.” She shuffled her feet like a marionette dancer, skipping and shuffling without rhyme or reason.

What. The. F.? Every moment she became more and more insane.

“What are you talking about, Roberta? Never mind, I couldn’t care less. Just go back to wherever you came from before I rip you apart and send your disgusting leftovers into the afterlife.”

“You’re just so cute when you’re feisty.” Again she laughed, scrunching up her face as though she were speaking to a child.

The woman’s voice was like razors on metal. I wanted to rip her throat out and she stood before me running her mouth like she didn’t have a care in the world. More of those homicidal urges pulsed through me, like soothing voices whispering words of love, caressing me with their promises of desires fulfilled. I couldn’t understand my recent urges to inflict suffering and pain, but I loved it!

“I can see why Shawn fell for someone like you, Selena. You’re all cute and needy, but feisty when your feathers get ruffled. Such a turn on for a man who needs his ego and other things stroked day and night.  Don’t you love the way he…”

“You know nothing about me, Roberta.” I’d growled like some wild animal. She needed to shut up before I ripped her skinny lips off of her distorted, pig-like face!

We stood there glaring at each other and for the life of me I could not understand why Shawn had fallen into bed with this vile bitch! Roberta McManus was around five foot three and a little on the, ahem, chunky side. She resembled a matronly woman in every way possible, clear down to her sensible shoes. Roberta’s eyes were pea-green and the edges appeared to glow with bile yellow rings like a rabid raccoon. As far as her face went, I was truly in disbelief. I’m no beauty queen, but the woman was hideous. Oddly shaped with no cheekbone structure or even a chin! I could only imagine what that creature looked like when she went full-on demon troll! Strange as it was, I almost giggled at the imagery floating through my mind.

“Shouldn’t you still be in Germany stroking his ego, Roberta? I’m sure he misses his little troll whore.”

“Ouch. Kitty has claws, huh? But they’ll need to be sharper if you hope to injure me. Your words are useless. You should shut up and listen once in a while, coward. Isn’t that what you are? A little, whiny coward? Too afraid to face the truth and now look where it’s gotten you. Here with me.” Clapping her hands, she bounced around like a cricket.

“I am so done with this conversation. We’re leaving. C’mon Sterling.”

As we turned to resume our walk, she shouted “NO!”

“Excuse me? Do you really think you can boss me around? Up yours, Roberta.” I once again sent her flying. This time she slammed into a giant, smoldering oak tree in the woods. The full force of my magic was ripping through me, begging me to keep going. “Hurt her some more. Inflict pain, tear her apart.” Shove my fist through her stinking face.

“Sterling, hide.” I whispered and prepared for another round with the troll. I could feel and smell her coming. Her stench, much like a dead, rotten fish on the shore, had surrounded me.

“Please don’t Mistress? Let’s just leave. Staying will only make things worse for us.” Sterling pleaded and patted my leg with his soft paws.

“Be a good girl Selena, stay and chat with me. I promise you’ll want to hear this.” Roberta slithered through the forest on her belly. Not yet in demon form, yet not quite human. I’d forgotten how weird demons could be and how frightening their many forms could appear.

I summoned a binding spell and wrapped her in invisible threads of gold as she rose to her feet. “Speak Roberta. You have one minute. What do you want?”

“Is this really necessary? After all, you’re so much more powerful than little old me.” She giggled and had the nerve to appear innocent, almost child-like. Her voice took on an angelic quality, sweet and deceiving at the same time.

“Fifty seconds, bitch. Talk or die.”

“Oh well, if you insist on being such a stickler, I’ll tell you.” She spoke in her librarian-ish voice, all prim and proper. “I want your powers. And you’re going to give them to me or I’ll kill you.”  Her face twisted into a grotesque version of her former self. Yeah, she was ugly but this form was the shit nightmares were made of!

She smiled as she flexed her arms, breaking the threads of gold as though they were made of nothing but air and sent me flying through the air. I landed on what used to be my roof just before she pounced on top of me. I rolled her over and grabbed ahold of her red-orange hair, slamming her head against the green metal roof, bashing her skull like a tiny piñata until I thought it’d pop. BAM! BAM! BAM! I could feel her tiny, demon brain sloshing around in her over-sized head. Still, she laughed and rolled her eyes, truly deranged beyond belief.

“I gave you a chance to leave, Roberta. You should have listened.” I hissed, squeezing her ugly face between my fists as I shoved the back of her head onto the ridges of the metal sheeting.

I felt my eyes change as my powers shot white-hot bolts of electricity through me and into the sides of Roberta’s head. Momentarily it shut her filthy mouth and I took the opportunity to punch her in the face, sending a spray of blood from her miniscule lips and bulbous snout. She looked at me with a maniacal, serial killer glare and before I could react, Roberta head-butted me, knocking me on my ass. I cradled my throbbing head between my hands just long enough to get my bearings before I launched myself away from her to get on my feet.

“Wrong move Roberta.” I wiped the slow trickle of blood from my forehead before it ran into my eyes and I noticed I should’ve been exhausted but I’d felt more awake than I’d ever been. Each time I hit her, I felt more invincible. With every drop of her blood that spilled, I became intent on spilling more of it for her.

Growling like a wild animal, I soared through the air and grabbed her by her bloody, tangled hair and threw her into the air again. She reappeared in front of me almost instantly.

“Listen Selena, you’re all alone. No one is here to help you and I will destroy you. You’re no match for me. You may as well give up.” Roberta stood a few feet from me, attempting to flatten her matted hair.

“I’m not going to give you my powers, Roberta. In fact, they won’t even be mine to give to anyone. The council will be here to take them because of Shawn and you. This is all because of you!”

“Well, I do enjoy taking credit for such things, but this mess is your fault. Not mine. And when the council of elders gets here, they will put two and two together and you’ll be charged with more than ‘bunny murder’. Ironically, this crime scene looks just like what happened when your parents died. Oh, and you know that wolf friend of yours who lost his mother and brothers in a horrible ‘hunting accident’? It also looked like this.” She pointed all around us.

“What? What wolf friend? I don’t have any ‘wolf friends’. And of course this scene looks like the accident scene where my parents died, their house exploded! “

“Yes, it did. And you were the only survivor. Didn’t you ever find that to be odd? I’ve heard that the council sure did. And now they will reopen that case. I wonder what conclusion they will come to. And don’t play stupid, you know exactly what wolf I am talking about. Your soul mate, the one with fur and fangs.”

“You crazy bitch! You knew this would happen? You killed my parents?”

“Ding, ding, ding! You really are an idiot! Well, the truth, Selena is that Shawn killed them and made it look like you did it. I made you black out during the weeks that followed so you have no memory of the events. You were so easy to manipulate and like any normal human would, Shawn stepped in to help you through your grief.

Haven’t you ever wondered why so many people abandoned you? They know your true nature, but they lack enough proof to ‘throw you to the wolves’, so to speak. I’m not surprised that it has taken you so long to catch up! You’ve always been a little slow on the uptake. No matter. The important thing is that you’re in a whole lot of trouble girlie. Now what are we going to do about that?”

I launched myself at her and sent us both tumbling through the leaves and dirt. I smashed her face over and over again. When that wasn’t enough to satisfy my desire, I shot more of my power into her skull, lighting the bitch up like a holiday tree. Volt after volt shot through her and still she laughed!

“Shit!” I launched myself off of her and landed on my feet a few yards away. Panting and soaked with rain and sweat, I stood there waiting for her next move. This was getting us nowhere. As soon as she pounced, I planned on slicing her in half. I was done playing games and I didn’t have time for this redundant shit!

“Ha, ha, ha. You truly crack me up, Selena. We should do this more often.”

Her hair stuck out in a jowl length mass of orange frizz and I had to suppress a laugh. She was truly disgusting and I couldn’t wait to kill her. Unfortunately, she vanished and reappeared behind me. Sneaky bitch!

“I’ve had so much fun with you dear, but I really have to be going.” She whispered in my ear.  I spun around a second too late, sending a shot of sparks from my hand into empty space.

“You’ll be having more visitors soon, coward. I’ll be in touch. Until then, go find your wolf and tell him I’m coming for the rest of his family. Unless you think you can stop me, Selena. Take special care of that crystal. I’ll be picking it up next time.” Swirls of vipers surrounded her, slithering in and out of her until she disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving her laughter echoing through the canyon.

Was the entire town full of snake demons? What the hell had I been missing? I knew I was more than a fool and had no idea what to do. All I knew was Roberta was definitely more than a simple, easy-to-deal-with troll. She seemed to suck the magic out of me and into her own body. My head was spinning with an insane amount of disbelief.

“What a crazy bitch.”

Chapter 9

IT WAS STILL raining, but the downpour had slowed to a sprinkle. I scooped Sterling up into my arms and we headed towards town. Luckily, we didn’t run into any more trouble before getting there. We had no neighbors up on our hill, and those who lived closer to town were already at their jobs. Sometimes, I was very grateful for our seclusion. This was one of those times. At least no one had witnessed my meltdown or the sparring match with Roberta.

“Everything outside of our property appears to be unscathed, Selena. That’s a good sign. The less people who know about the incident, the better. Thank the goddess for the rain. If the fire had kept burning, the damage would have been much worse. And you would have had a lot more explaining to do.”

“I think people are going to know something is wrong when I show up at the bank looking like this. I’m a mess!”

“Say nothing. Just go in and withdraw the money. If you need to use a spell on them to keep them from seeing your current state, go ahead. It won’t really matter at this point.”

“True. Are you going in with me or are you waiting outside?”

“Outside. I’ll hide by the back door.”

I set him down on the sidewalk.

“Whistle for me when you are ready, Mistress.”

“Love you, Sterling.”

He winked as he scampered off, chasing a butterfly for show.

Thank the goddess there weren’t any other customers inside the bank. Dawn Jasper waved as I approached her window.

“Hi Selena. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Hi Dawn. I’ve been a bit, um, busy.”

“I can see that. Are you okay? You seem…” I knew my disheveled appearance wouldn’t go unnoticed.

“No worries, I’ve been working outside this morning. With the warmer than usual spring weather, I figured I would get a jump on the dead-heading and weed pulling. There is a ton of debris left over from last year. It’s a never ending job.”

“I can see that. And in the rain, too?” she laughed. “So what can I do for you today?”

“I need to withdraw some money please?”

“Sure. Just fill out this slip and I’ll get you on your way.”

When I handed it back to her, I saw the look of shock flitter across her face.

“Wow! You must be planning one heck of a shindig! It’s for the wedding, right?”

“Um…yeah. Everyone wants their money today or there’ll be no wedding. Florist, bakery, band and all of them say today is the deadline. And you know how temperamental the florist and bakery can be.” I laughed, averting my eyes. I hated lying and I felt like crap for doing so.

“I sure do. They’re a bunch of divas. Sit tight. I have to get this approved before I can go into the vault to get your money, sweetie. I’ve never gotten to do that before.” Amusement lit her eyes and she smiled as she walked into the vault. After the bank manager oversaw my withdrawal amount, Dawn returned to the counter with a green zippered money pouch.

Dawn counted it out for me, gave me a new balance receipt and said “There you go. Good luck and best wishes.” One of the town busy-bodies, Mrs. Bladdon, walked in and Dawn lowered her voice.

“Um…Selena, I know a lot of people have given you grief over your decisions after your parents died. And I know many of them don’t like Shawn, but I’m not one of them. I’m here if you ever need anything. Okay? Don’t listen to them, just be happy. I wish you all the best, sweetie.”

“Thank you Dawn.” Though I had tears in my eyes, they weren’t tears of sadness. Having someone speak so kindly to me was something new and right then, I needed it. I couldn’t tell her the truth and I couldn’t think of anything else to say right then. I could only hope I’d get another chance to talk to her when my visit with the council was over.

“See you later.”

I walked out of the bank to find the sun was shining and I whistled for my familiar. We walked through town quickly and managed to make it to a cute little store with only minimal stares from the townspeople who were out and about.

Leaving Sterling on the front step, I walked into Unique Ladies, a trendy and for lack of a better word, unique store for women. Their inventory varied, consisting of retro style dishes and relics to modern day clothing and jewelry. The owner, Mrs. Bladdon, was still at the bank, so I knew I had a bit of time to pick out at least an outfit and a few necessities.

There were items on every available surface, so I did my best to scan the room quickly, hoping my eyes would land on something, anything I could or would wear. Sure the racks contained tons of pants, shirts and skirts but finding my size, however, turned out to be a difficult task. I picked out ten items and each one I tried on was too big, short, or ugly. I realized I had to lower my standards, a lot. Exasperated, I selected the only things I could tolerate wearing, at least until I was able to drive to a store that offered more age-appropriate attire for me.

I chose and completed my purchases without one iota of drama unfolding. I was quite sure my outfit would cause enough drama of its own when Sterling saw it and I exited the store with trepidation. When I stepped outside in my pedal pushers and polo shirt, the look on my cat’s face said it all.

“Cute duds.” Sterling winked just before falling on the ground in a fit of laughter. To the non-paranormal passersby, Sterling appeared to be rolling on the sidewalk, perhaps scratching that one place he couldn’t quite reach. But I knew what he was doing and my already bruised self-esteem couldn’t take anymore. I pretended to ignore his antics and straightened my spine with indifference to the stares from the curious onlookers.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s get a move on. You’re causing a scene. We need to find a car and get to the airport. I didn’t ask Dawn if I could use her computer, I chickened out. So we will arrange our flight when we get to the Salem Ridge airfield office.”

“Me? Causing a scene? Ha! Have did you look in a mirror before you bought those clothes?” Again with the laughter, Sterling trotted beside me giggling.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” I squinted my eyes against the sun as we walked under the different sized trees lining Main Street. Stray shafts of light broke through the branches in varying stages of growth.

“You’re right, Selena. I’m sorry. You know how I feel about dogs, and I hate to bring this up, but I think we need to talk to the wolf.”

“She lied.  That’s what demons do, Sterling. I don’t know any wolf.”

“You do. I smelled him on you yesterday.”

“You smelled dog hair because of Janice, I told you that.”

“Selena, wake up! Keith is your wolf.”

“I think I’d know if Keith were a wolf. I’ve known his family, my entire life.”

He placed his paws on my leg, begging me with his eyes. “Fine. Just go see him. He will help us, whether he is a wolf or not. I know he will. He has to.”

Chapter 10

AS WE WALKED to Tooth & Nail, I was full of conflicting emotions. After the way I defended Shawn to Keith yesterday, I felt stupid and ashamed.

“Does Kelly think I killed her mom and brothers? Is that why she hates me? Could she believe I’m some evil, horrible person who would go around killing the people I know and love? What if I did kill them and I just don’t remember?”

“You haven’t killed anyone, Selena. Don’t let that lying bitch, Roberta get to you. She’s a demon. They lie. You said so yourself.”

“Some of the things she said were true.”

“You’re no murderer. I’ve never been whammied or glamoured by you and I know what the truth is. I will tell the council everything I know and they will listen to me.” He did his best to calm my overactive mind, but I could only feign belief. My entire world has spun out of control.

“Sterling, I hope so. You’re all I’ve got. I blew up whatever proof I had of Shawn and Roberta on my computer. I have nothing to show the elders and no one else on my side.”

I’d never felt so lost, confused and scared. I was sure the council would fry me as soon as they had the opportunity. I’d go down in history as the witch the elders had to kill for the safety of man and paranormal kind. I was so screwed.

“I told you I will help and Keith will, too. We’ll figure out something together. I promise.”

He rubbed against my leg in a reassuring and loving gesture, reminding me he wasn’t just my cat. Sterling was so much more than that he was my best friend and my better, often smarter half.

“You’re right. Let’s do this.”

Picking Sterling up, I held him in my arms as I pushed open the door to the pub. Once again, I was grateful to see there weren’t many people inside at this early hour. Keith was just coming out of the back and our eyes met.

“Selena?” He rushed to set down a box of whiskey he was carrying. “Great goddess! Are you alright?”

Immediately tears poured down my face. He was in front of me before I could sniffle. Keith ushered us to a table, eased me into the booth and then he walked away. When he returned, he placed a bowl of cream in front of Sterling and glass of water in front of me.

“I…think…I need…something…a bit stronger than that.” I tried to smile, but it only caused more tears to flow.

What the hell was wrong with me? Where had those tears come from? I didn’t cry when I’d seen the photos of Shawn screwing Roberta. Not one saline drop could be summoned. So, why was I suddenly a ball of waterworks as soon as I’d set eyes on Keith? I’d obviously lost my marbles.

“You’re a mess! What happened?” His eyes, full of an emotion I couldn’t decipher, scanned me from head to toe. I couldn’t tell if he was afraid or angry or both, but mentioning how horrible I looked didn’t help. No wonder he was still single.

“Thanks, way to make a girl feel better, cowboy.” I tried to off-set the mood with some humor as I rolled my eyes and attempted a half-hearted smile, feigning offense at his comment.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, but look at yourself. You’re wearing peach pedal-pushers and a neon green polo shirt! Where’d those clothes come from? The Salem Ridge Golf Store? So not your usual style. Not to mention, your hair is standing on end and you have dirt all over your face. And why are do have dried blood in your hair?” He reached for my hand. “Please tell me what’s going on?”

I didn’t know what to say about the fact that he knew what ‘pedal-pushers’ were. I’d store that tidbit away for a later date. And I hadn’t even thought about my face and hair. Looking at Sterling, he confirmed with a little shrug what Keith had said. Great! I walked in carrying my cat while looking like a murderous street urchin! Yes, even at that moment, my shallow side reared its ugly head. I laid my head on the table and howled, crying like an injured hyena. I’m sure the few customers that were there, were annoyed by my behavior and I didn’t care. I just bawled and bawled.

“Okay, sit tight. I’ll be right back.” As if I really had a choice? I couldn’t go out in public looking like this again. Where would I have gone anyways?

This time, he brought a bottle of silver Tequila and a glass of ice. Pouring me a very liberal shot, he said “Drink.”

I held the ice back with my left index finger and tipped the glass with my right, downing the shot like an old pro. After pouring me three more shots and watching as I sucked them down, Keith sat back with his arms crossed over his middle.

“Ready to talk now?”

What came out of my mouth was a story that began with Janice most likely eating her poodle, quickly slurred into a jabbering mess of demons humping, my cabin exploding, dogs as soul-mates and ending with me crying; “I’m a bunny murderer!” Then I promptly collapsed with my head on the table, passing out.

* * *

FOR THE SECOND time that day, I woke up with a pounding headache. I closed my eyes against the offensive lighting. “This is getting old.”

“Afternoon, sunshine.”

“Ouch!” I looked up to see the most gorgeous eyes staring into mine. I closed my eyes and pulled myself into a sitting position as shards of glass pounded into my brain. Well, that’s what it felt like. Truth be told, I was a bit hung over.

“Easy there, Kitten.”

“Oh Keith, it’s just you.”

“Yeah just me. Here, take these and drink this.”

We were in his office and I was grateful for the privacy. I took a long swallow of the water he offered and then took the ibuprofen he handed to me.

“Thank you.” I found I was full of shame as I remembered my fabulous bawl-baby outbreak and couldn’t look at him again. So when he tipped my chin up with his fingers, my lip quivered and tears burned my eyes, threatening to pour out, I shrugged away. “I feel ridiculous for being such a blubbering fool. I’m um….just gonna’ go now. Thank you for being so kind and I’m sorry I bothered you. It was a mistake to come here.”

“No Selena. You’re staying. It’s my turn to talk and by the sound of things, you need to listen to all of it whether you want to or not.”

His piercing blue eyes sent shivers of desire through me and I chastised my body for betraying my overwrought mind. I wasn’t in the mood to be told what to do. Even if I needed the help and even if this handsome Cowboy Casanova was doing the telling. I was known to be obstinate to the end, but I knew I had no choice. I gave in, however I wasn’t happy about it.

“Fine, talk. But know this, nothing you will say is going to shock me.” I crossed my arms, jutting my chin as I stared at him with indifference. What about this man made my hackles rise so often and why couldn’t I just appreciate his kindness when it was offered?

Chapter 11

HE SLID A leather chair across the floor and placed it in front of me. We were eye-to-eye as Keith leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees.

“I know you’re upset, but you have to remain calm and listen, okay? There are so many things I’m about to say that will sound crazy, but trust me, if you need to hear them.”

His serious tone shocked and unnerved me. Though I’d just had a glass of water, my mouth was dry and my throat felt tight. “I’ll try but I don’t think I can handle many more surprises.”

“Too bad, kitten. What I’m about to say will shock you but it may just save your life. So, toughen up and get ready.”

“What could you possibly know? Up until yesterday, I had no idea if you were alive or dead.” I huffed. How did Keith think he knew anything about me?

“While you were asleep, Sterling filled us in on what happened.”

Keith was nuts. Yep, that’s why I never ended up with him. He was certifiable. Did he honestly expect me to believe that my cat had spoken to him? I shook my head, a bubble of laughter threatened to escape as I stared at the crazy-talking guy across from me.

“What do you mean, he filled us in and who is us?”

My already raw emotions were teetering on the edge of another bout of panic and I swore I must be dreaming. I felt like Alice in wonderland, but I didn’t remember passing any rabbit holes on my way to the Tooth & Nail. Hysteria threatened to overtake what bit of sanity I still had as realization, acceptance and the truth began to dawn on me.

“There’s no way you could have heard him unless you’re a…” the words died in my throat as Keith nodded his head, confirming everything Roberta had told me without saying a word.

“A lot of what Roberta said to you was true. I’m a shifter. A werewolf to be exact and so is my entire family. What’s left of it.”

I jumped up and backed away from him, swaying with shock. “Shit! How? I mean, when? What?”

“Please sit down before you fall down.”

“I think I will stay over here, thank you.” He couldn’t possibly think I’d believe him, could he? I pinched myself and even tried pulling a handful of my hair, assuring myself I was indeed wide awake.

“Fine, stand. Just stop hurting yourself. Believe me, you’re awake.” Keith held his arm out, offering his hand, but I remained a few feet away with my arms crossed over my middle. With a sigh, he continued; “Remember when Dad sent me to Tennessee?”

I nodded. “How could I forget? I was heartbroken.” Oops I said that out loud. I sank into a chair as cursed my filter between my brain and my mouth for again taking a leave of absence.

“Heart-broken, really? Well, well, well.” His eyes danced with amusement as he grinned and I swore he blushed a bit. “Never mind that, back to what I was saying, for now.”

It was my turn to blush and I sat back down. Inside I was a mess and my emotions were going in a million different directions. He found it amusing I’d had a crush on him and all I wanted was to run like a scared rabbit. I didn’t need his condescending smiles, placating me like some silly school-girl.

“The truth is I was going to be sent to Tennessee anyways. It was planned even before my mom and brothers were killed. Going to Tennessee was the way to ensure that the people I loved could be kept safe, safe from me and whoever might be gunning for my family. And it gave my dad time to clear his head, handle pack business and investigate what was happening.

He continued as I sat there silently, afraid to move. Keith was serious. How had I missed this? Why had no one told me?

“Breathe Selena. Kelly completed her transition with the help of my aunt. She came into town during Kelly’s senior year of high school. That’s why she stopped hanging out with you. She was a mess. Imagine PMS only a million times worse with an appetite for blood and destruction. She was such a bitch. Literally.” He laughed.

A hint of a smile escaped my lips, but confusion kept me silent. How could I have never known Keith was from a family, a pack of werewolves? I swore the room was spinning. Don’t get me wrong, I know Salem Ridge has a mixture of humans and paranormals, but it’s often hard to distinguish them from each other unless they tell you or if you’ve known each other your entire lives. Even then, apparently that wasn’t a guarantee you could really know someone. It’s not like everyone roamed the streets in the form of wolves, vampires and demons. Our town was a haven, but most people still enjoyed their privacy and anonymity.

Our townspeople held their heritage close to their hearts. That’s why so many hated me for abandoning mine. None of the others were ashamed or afraid of what they truly were. To them, the relinquishing of my powers was like a slap in the face. I was beginning to understand why Kelly hated me so much. She had been going through a life-changing ordeal and I’d only been thinking of myself. No wonder, we’d drifted apart. I was just as much to blame as she was, if not more.

“She doesn’t hate you. Maybe she doesn’t understand why you stopped practicing your craft, but she does not hate you.”

“What?” How did he know what I’d been thinking? The grin on his face cleared up that issue. Great, he could read my mind too. “Aren’t a woman’s thoughts supposed to be sacred or something? Hello? Invasion of privacy? And why didn’t you tell me? We grew up together, Keith! What the hell?”

“I wouldn’t be able to read your thoughts if we weren’t destined to be soul-mates. But that’s another subject for later.” He smiled as my jaw dropped wide open almost hitting the floor.  “And even though we live in Salem Ridge, it isn’t exactly normal to walk around shouting that we’re werewolves. We needed to keep it quiet. My family was safe for a very long time because no one knew what we were.”

“Stop. Stop it right now, Keith Jacobs! You’re talking in riddles. First you hear my cat, and then you inform me I’m in danger. Now we’re soul-mates? You just told me you’re a werewolf! And how can we be soul-mates? Wouldn’t that be like bestiality or something? What the hell is going on? Is this a joke?”

I could feel a wave of energy pulse through me as my emotional state grew out of control. It was too much to handle. My instincts were screaming for me to lash out. So many lies and betrayals, and all of them were from the people I loved most in the world. I didn’t want to hurt Keith, but I wasn’t sure if I could stop it.

“Selena, breathe and just listen to my voice. Let it ground you. Take a deep breath. I’m not going to hurt you. Look at me.”

He sounded so far away, as if he were in a tunnel. When I looked at him, I could see my glowing eyes reflected in his. Oh no! Not again!

His hands were suddenly on my upper arms with his fingers digging in and the pain was delicious, and only caused my energy to expand, filling me. “Selena, listen and breathe. It’s okay.”

His lips weren’t moving! He was in my head! Oh my Goddess! I jumped up and away from him again. As soon as I broke our contact, all of the light bulbs in the room exploded, sprays of glass rained down upon us. There were so many fragments littering the floor it looked like it was made of diamonds.

“Shit! Are you okay Selena?” He yanked me into his arms and crushed me to his solid chest.

“Sure.” I mumbled into his chest. I pushed myself away from him a bit and asked “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. If I had been injured, I would heal at a faster rate anyways. It’s you that I’m worried about.” He brushed shards and slivers off of my head and arms as I grabbed the ends of my shirt, flinging the remaining bits of glass to the floor.

“Lately I seem to heal quickly, too. Except for these damn headaches and the ability to blow shit up, I’m just fabulous.”

In his eyes I saw kindness and in my mind, I heard him say “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it and stay out of my head!”

“If you could hear me, then why didn’t you calm down?”

“Seriously? You scared the shit out of me! Warn a girl next time, Keith! You don’t just pop into someone’s mind and think it will have a soothing effect.”

“Okay, you got it. Next time I’ll just say; Hey, Selena I’m gonna’ hop on in now. Do you mind?” Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, he continued, “That should come in real handy if we’re ever in danger. I’ll just ask before I tell you how to save your ass.”

“Just full of sarcasm aren’t you, wolf boy?”

“You asked for it. So, you believe me?”

“How could I not? We live in Salem Ridge. I’m still pissed, though. And what makes you think you’ll have to save my ass? I’m not exactly a weakling, ya’ know?”

I glared at him, as I prepared to launch another verbal attack.

He raised his hands in surrender. “Okay. You’re right. But it was the only way I could think of to make you understand.”

“Understand what exactly? I already know I can blow shit up. That’s one thing I don’t need assistance with, believe me.” Sighing, I shook my head and looked around at yet another mess I had created.

“We’re meant to be together, Selena. We always have been.”

Chapter 12

“I THINK I need another drink, a big one.”

“No more drinking until we’re done talking.”

“You’re not my boss, Keith. Werewolf or not, you will not tell me what to do.” We both stood there, arms crossed, and at a stalemate. He wasn’t going to budge. No drink for me.

“Fine, would you please have your sister bring my cat in here? I don’t really feel comfortable leaving him alone with her.”

“Sterling is perfectly safe. You have my word.”

What he failed to understand about me was that no one came between Sterling and I. He was and always would be my first concern. Regardless of the fact that I’d not picked up on Shawn’s demon mojo, if I felt Sterling was in danger, I wanted him by my side. I would move the earth to keep him safe and there wasn’t a dog alive that would stop me. His words failed to reassure me and I wasn’t about to back down.

“Well, excuse me if I don’t exactly trust your word. Seeing as how your family has lied to me for years, I’m not really ready to trust any of you right now.” Glaring at him, I raised my chin in defiance, showing him I was not going to be deterred so easily.

He laughed. “You’ve always been so damn cute when you’re angry, kitten. But one of these days, that stubbornness will get you into trouble.”

“I’m not your kitten.”

“You are,” he smirked. “And you’re a hot, little kitten when you’re all fired up and glowing.”

“No. I’m. Not.” Full of petulance, I stomped my foot on the floor. Yeah, I know real mature. Why couldn’t I get my shit together around this guy? One minute I’d been an evil sorceress who made things explode, the next I acted like a spoiled three-year-old.

“Okay, okay. Ha-ha-ha. I believe you. Now please stop pouting and sit back down.”

“And if I don’t want to?” Again like a child? It was so infuriating!

He stood where he was not budging. “Then, no Sterling.”

“Two can play this game. I want my familiar now, Keith or I will walk out of here and we’ll never speak again.”

“Fine.” He relented, clearly not happy about being beaten by a girl. Did I just think that? A girl? God!

“But I warn you, Kelly won’t be happy about it. She’s been enjoying the last few hours as a cat-sitter. Stay here. I’ll go get some new light bulbs and grab Sterling for you.”

Raising my eyebrows, I remained ramrod straight until he left in a shroud of silence.

“This is just what I need. An entire barking family of cocky-assed, crazy werewolves.” I whispered when I was thought he was far enough out of ear and mind-intruding distance. I twirled my long, brown hair through my fingers while details of the past twenty-four hours flew through my mind like pissed-off bumble bees.

What the hell? Witches and werewolves could not be soul mates. It wasn’t possible. Was it? I knew I needed more answers and wished my mother were there. She’d know what to do. My head felt like it was about to implode and all I wanted to do was sleep. “Please let all of this is a very bad dream or just some insanely messed up universal joke.”

I sat down on the desk chair and stared out the windows for what felt like an eternity. “Goddess, I’m so confused.” Sure, I’d always been attracted to Keith. Hell, when I was ten years old, I’d even planned our wedding. In fact, I still had the book full of ideas and details packed away somewhere. Check that. I’d had the book until it was burned to a crisp that morning along with everything else I owned.

The realization that Roberta was right pissed me off! What did that bitch really hope to gain? She had powers of her own, so why did she need mine? So many questions and I needed answers. “It’s time that I calm down and listen for once.” My life and many others apparently depended on it.

* * *

KEITH OPENED THE door with one hand and carried a very defiant, very pissed off Sterling with the other. Neither of them looked very happy about being together.

“You know, just because I played fetch with your sister and let her rub dog scent all over me, it doesn’t mean you can put your paws all over me, Fido!” Sterling squirmed and wiggled trying to escape Keith’s strong arms.

That was my Sterling, always good for a giggle. Seeing him filled me with warmth. Some things never changed and in that moment I was so grateful for that small miracle.

“Hi Buddy.” Sterling launched himself out of Keith’s arms, landing on the leather sofa. He climbed up on the back cushions and began to bathe.

“Yuck! I taste like mutt! This smell better come off or I will take it out of your hide, Wolf Man.”

I walked over and rubbed Sterling’s chin. “Sterling, be nice. Kelly and Keith have been very hospitable and I think it’s time we both show a little appreciation. Okay?”

“Whatever.” He grumbled and turned his back to me.

“You wanted me to bring us here. What’s changed?”

“What’s changed? I’ll tell you what’s changed! Kelly brought dog toys outside for me. Dog toys! Do I look like a dog? I thought these people, these animals were supposed to be smart? Let me just say that I would never recommend them to work as service dogs. These nincompoops would bring pogo sticks to people who are in wheelchairs!” He yelled in high-pitched, hysterical tones and I’d never seen him this way. Not once had Sterling ever been so mean, at least not to anyone’s face. Clearly, the stress of our situation had been getting to him, too.

“Sterling! Stop it! You apologize right now!”

“They should apologize to me!”

“Fine, we will all apologize and make nice. We don’t have time for any of us to have attitudes. Time is now considered a luxury and we can’t afford that right now.”

After a round of mumbled apologies, I let out a huge breath. The day had been so exhausting and it’d only just begun. What would it be like living in the same house as these two, us three completely different people? What? Same house? What was I thinking? Oh goddess, please stop my wandering mind!

“Keith? If you’re still willing to talk to me, I’m ready to listen.”

He smiled with perfectly even, white teeth and I held back the ‘My, what big teeth you have!’ comment that floated through my mind. Yay me! I guessed the filter was at least half-assed working for now anyways.

Keith just shook his head and smiled even more. Apparently, my filter didn’t keep him from hearing my joke. Giving him a mock glare, I flopped down on the sofa beside Sterling.

“Alright, I told Kelly to run home and get something. We’re all out of light bulbs, so for now we will use candles. We’ve closed the bar for tonight, so we shouldn’t be interrupted.”

“Closed? Because of me? But you can’t. Everyone will be upset and in this economy you can’t afford to lose their business. Besides, where will all of them go? For most of them, this place is their nightly ritual.”

“Don’t worry about our financial situation and they’ll live. There is too much to explain and way too much to do. We have no idea how much time we have, so let’s get to it. Help me light these candles, okay?”

In a few moments, the entire room glowed with gorgeous amber lighting, casting dancing shadows all around us. It was soothing and I found myself relaxing in the small but comfortable space.

Kelly knocked and poked her nose in. “Hey Kell, c’mon in.”

She shut the door behind her and handed Keith a very old book. I was immediately drawn to its soft looking, brown, leather exterior. As I watched Keith set it down on his desk, my first instinct was to pounce on it and grab it. It called to me as if it were my very own.

“In time, Selena.” Keith’s voice snapped me out of my dreamlike state.

“What just happened?”

“In a few minutes I will tell you. Okay?” He patted my hand, but showed no emotion. His face was grim and serious.

“Selena?” Kelly spoke up and drew my immediate attention to her. “Keith and I will help you however we can. Just trust us, okay?” She sat beside me and held my hands in hers. Tears pooled in her eyes as she attempted a smile. Though there was kindness and caring written all over her face, I knew I was in for more of the so-called truth.

Shit. It was not going to be good.

Chapter 13

“Y’ALL ARE SCARING me. What’s going on?”

“Well, you already know what we are and now it’s time for you to know what you really are.”

“What I really am? I’m a witch and I already know that.”

“I think what Keith meant to say was that it’s time for you to know what else you are.” Kelly soothed.

“What else I am? Are you insane? I’d think I would know if I were something else.”

I glanced at them, first one and then the other hoping they’d admit they were joking. Nope. Serious as heart-attacks, yes they were.

“When your mother died, Elena’s spirit paid us a visit. She had so many things to tell you, but she never had the chance. And when you quit practicing magic, she believed there would be no getting through to you. You closed the door that would’ve allowed her in.” Kelly’s voice was soothing, though her words tore at my heart. I longed to see my mother again, to hear her again and I’d have given anything to have just a few moments with her.

“What did she say?” My lips trembled as I spoke and Kelly tilted her head a bit and took a deep breath.

“Well, you already know how she felt about your relationship with Shawn. He was always around and she knew you wouldn’t listen to any talk of the craft. Your mom knew all of these recent events would happen. Roberta, Shawn, all of it was a constant worry for your mother. However, Elena had hoped you would be away from Shawn sooner. She had no way of stopping any of this after she died and honestly, she couldn’t have done so when she was alive. All she could do was give us some of the information and hope you’d find your way through it all with minimal damage. The events were already set in motion.”

“You practically became a hermit, Selena and we thought it was too late” Kelly whispered.

“Too late for what?”

“Selena, your mom knew Shawn was a demon. She even told you what she      knew. Don’t you remember?”

“Yes, but I figured she was just upset that I was growing up. I never dreamed she meant a real demon. You know how mothers can be. I thought she was acting like an overprotective mom, watching out for her only daughter. I was annoyed. Now, I wish I’d been more mature and listened.”

“I’m sure being upset was part of her reaction about Shawn” Keith mumbled. “But you have to know, the things she said came from her heart and the knowledge she gained over the years from her own experiences.”

“She also knew Roberta. She’s the reason, well most of the reason that all of this has been happening.”

“Duh. She’s a home-wrecking whore. But like I’ve said, I’m over Shawn and their relationship is none of my business. I’ll be happy when I can get this damn ring off and go on with my life. I just want them to leave me alone.”

“I’m afraid that can’t and won’t happen until you kill her.” Kelly said.

“Gladly.”

“We’re serious” Keith interjected. “And you may not feel the same after you hear the rest of what we are about to tell you.”

If the looks on their faces were anything to go by, it still never would have been enough to gauge the impact of what they were about to say. Bracing myself for the worst, I had no idea their words would change my world forever.

“Selena, Roberta is your half-sister.”

“What? You’re bat-shit crazy, Keith!” I shot out of my seat and laughed until my sides felt like they were exploding. Tears poured down my cheeks and I couldn’t look at the two of them without bursting into another fit of hysteria. They sat their motionless, not speaking and after a few moments I realized my antics weren’t getting one giggle out them.

“Okay, jokes over. You’ve had your fun. I admit you really had me for a second there. You both look serious enough to be telling the truth but I see this is ‘poke fun at Selena day’.”

“Selena!” Sterling piped up from his position in the peanut-gallery.

“It’s true” Kelly said. “Your father, your real father, was sent away when you were just a baby. Once your mom realized what a monster he was, she called the council on him. His name is Samell and he’s a demon.”

Kelly avoided looking at me for as long as she could. Keith reached for my hand and I slapped it away.

“What? Don’t touch me! You’re both disgusting nutjobs! You’re lying. Why are you saying these horrible things to me? I thought you were going to help me? Help me what? Get a first class room in the loony bin? Don’t worry, I will tell them to keep the doors unlocked and beds ready for the both of you. You need serious help!”

“Selena.”

“No! Shut up! I’ve had enough of this truth bullshit! I swear everyone has gone insane and I will not stay here and listen to another word!” They didn’t say a word. They let me run a full on rant until I couldn’t think of another thing to yell or scream at them. Keith and Kelly sat there and took every horrible thing I said to them without batting an eye. When I ran out of steam, Kelly patted the chair beside her.

They were serious. The looks on their faces told me they weren’t lying. Was that because they believed what they’d said or because what they had said was true?

“What about my dad, the dad I have known as my father for my entire life? That was a lie? How can I be a demon, half-demon, quarter-demon, what the-f-ever? How can any of this be possible? I don’t understand!”

“When your mom first met Samell, he tricked her the same way that Shawn tricked you. She fell in love with him just like you fell in love with Shawn. One night, not long after you were born, your mom overheard him whispering to you in another language. After using this book,” Keith touched the magnificent leather-bound tome, “she found he had been speaking to you in demon-speak. He called you ‘his future, his wicked princess’. A few days later, she turned him in to the elders but it didn’t break the spell on you even though he’d been sent away.”

“Spell? What kind of spell?”

Kelly sighed “He wove a spell around you that would show itself when you turned twenty-five. All it needed was a catalyst, a traumatic event to make it come alive. He believed that you would come into your demon powers and turn your back completely on the craft. If the events could force you to step over that line of good and evil, he believed you would come to Hell and save him from his prison. Last night, you came very close to crossing that line. In the process, it awakened all of your demonic abilities. Combined with your craft abilities, you have the power to free not only Samell, but as many demons as you please.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I’m not saying you will. This is what Samell believes. Once you return to Hell, he will have won.”

“Return? How can I return when I have never been there?”

You were created in Hell, Selena. He captured the lost spirits of others in his legion of Trillmor and created you, a new spirit. Once he spilled his seed into your mother, you became you.”

“So, I’m evil? I’m really a demon? Is that why Shawn wanted me, because I’m a nasty, beast from Hell waiting to wreak havoc on earth? I’m some kind of jacked-up demonic hybrid?”

“No. You’re not evil, per se. But you could be if you don’t learn to control your powers. All of them. The choice will always be yours and yours alone.”

What could I say? In a few moments, I’d found out that my entire life had been a lie? The last twenty-four hours were a complete nightmare. A real, living horror movie and I was the psychotic starlet.

“What about Roberta?”

“Your father created her after the council of elders and Elena banished him to Hell again. He’d thought Roberta might be strong enough to release him, but that hasn’t worked so far. Let’s just say Roberta is a lab rat gone wrong. He can’t control her.” Kelly said.

“Great. So they sent Shawn to trick me into a relationship that was a lie, pulled my strings like I was their personal puppet? They hoped I’d go all ‘wicked’ when I realized Shawn had cheated on me, correct? They thought that would be enough to push me over the edge?”

“Sort of. When you found out about his betrayal, they assumed you would go ballistic.”

“And you did” Keith said. “You used your magic for revenge and that is going to bring the council to town. Once they bind you, Roberta believes she can use your crystal to free Samell.”

“I’m sure Samell was hoping that you would have been angry and far gone enough to kill someone with your powers, cutting Roberta out of the equation. If an innocent had died, you’d have crossed that line and evil would have taken control of you. You would free Samell and together you’d be able to destroy the council of elders. There would be no need for Samell, Roberta and Shawn to steal your powers because you’d be one of them.”

“They murdered my mom and dad. Roberta admitted it. She said it was part of the plan. Something about me using fire last night and now I’ve made myself look guilty of their murders.”

“Yes, they killed your parents and you played right into their hands by destroying your home. I ran out there to look around. It’s bad, Selena. It looks just like your parents’ house did after the supposed accident.”

The reality of the situation hit me with incredible ferocity, yet I felt numb. I could never track all of the questions and thoughts that had been running around my mind. I could only be glad that I wasn’t feeling immense energy pulsing through me. For some reason, I felt stable amidst all of the mental chaos.

“If all of this is true, then I need to be locked up and powerless. I shouldn’t be allowed to roam free. Call the council and let them take me so I can’t hurt anyone.”

“That isn’t an option, Selena. Besides, there’s more.”

“You’ve got to be joking. More?”

“Yes. They didn’t just frame you for two murders–your parents’ murders. They framed you for five. My family wasn’t killed in a hunting accident, the cabin blew up.”

My jaw hit the floor. How didn’t I know any of this before now?

“Your mom and brothers? You have to know I didn’t kill them!” I looked at them both, begging them with my eyes to believe me.

“Of course we know that. Now. But right after your mom and dad died, you went catatonic. You wouldn’t speak to anyone in town for weeks. Every day you stayed locked inside your cabin with Shawn. What would you have thought if our roles had been reversed?”

“I thought you were all mad simply because I quit magic. Now, you’re telling me everyone thinks I’m a murdering harlot? Including both of you?”

“The fact that you’d stopped using magic has been part of it, yes. But they feel you killed Elena and Joseph in a fit of rage because they didn’t approve of your decision to quit magic or of your decision to be with Shawn. They feel you turned your back on the town and everything Salem Ridge stands for. Peace, equality, harmony. They stay away because they are afraid of you, afraid what would happen if your pent-up magic were to be unleashed. That’s also why they stay quiet. As for us, Keith and I realized none of it was your fault. But, in the beginning, you have to admit it looked really bad. And now that you’ve blown up your own home, it will be harder to convince them of your innocence.”

I sat with my head bowed into my hands. “Do they know I’m a demon too?”

“Part demon” Kelly soothed. “You’re not all evil. And no, they don’t know, yet.”

“What if I really killed them? Maybe I went on some crazy demon-rampage and blocked it all out?”

“You didn’t.” Keith’s voice was tender but firm and I knew he believed every word he said. I didn’t.

“How can you know that?” I whispered.

“I can read your thoughts, remember? We’re connected, we always have been.”

“What if Shawn whammied my memories? What if Roberta pulled some mind zapping trick and I wandered around blowing people to smithereens?” Tears trickled down my face as hopelessness set in.

“Why me?” I asked.

“Why not?  You’re strong, smart and capable of handling this, we believe in you. Besides, it could always be worse. At least we have you.” Kelly countered.

Chapter 14

WE ALL TOOK a much needed break and made dinner in the pub’s kitchen. It seemed strange to be working side by side in almost total silence. In light of what had been revealed to me and what was about to happen, we found a bit of comfort in the menial task of cooking. It was the only normal thing about that entire day and I wished for it to never end. I truly didn’t think I could handle what the universe was bringing to me. In fact, all I wanted to do was sit somewhere and cry. On the inside, my mind battled with my bruised and beaten heart, saying “You’ve never been a quitter. You won’t start now.” Sure I was. I’d quit magic. I’d quit listening to those who loved me. I’d quit listening to my instincts. I’d quit a lot of things. What in the world was I going to do?

As we sat down to eat, I could feel the many unanswered questions bubbling inside of me and threatening to gush out in waves. I knew Keith and Kelly also needed answers. I only wished I could be the one to give them to my friends. The situation weighed heavy on all of us while we ate in silence. But I knew there were still many things to be said.

“I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” Kelly asked.

“For all of this. Your family was murdered because of me. Even if I didn’t do it, it was because of my powers. I’m truly sorry.”

“Not just because of you, sweetheart. Our mother was next in line to be an elder. She helped your mom banish Samell to Trillmor.”

“See?” Keith asked.

“See what?” I sniffled, wiping more tears away as I waited for his reply.

“You’re not evil. If you were, you wouldn’t care about any of that, anyone else or anything except for your own selfish desires. You’d be rejoicing instead of apologizing. It’ll be okay, kitten.” He squeezed my hand and fresh tears poured down my cheeks.

“After dinner, we’ll talk more. For now, just try to relax. Okay, Selena?”

I gave Kelly a quick nod that I’d hoped was convincing.

We cleared away our dishes, placing them in the sink to be washed later. I wiped down the table we had used and swept the crumbs up off of the floor, making sure things were tidy. Busy work. Anything to pretend for a moment that all Hell wasn’t about to break loose in our lives. Keith offered to escort Sterling outside to attend to his kitty needs, but Sterling assured him he could use the toilet like everyone else. Keith looked at me, shocked and I nodded.

“He even puts the lid back down and flushes. Just make you sure you turn the light on for him.”

Kelly and I brewed a pot of fresh coffee for the long night ahead of us, while the men busied themselves elsewhere.

“You okay?”

“Sure. I mean…no. But I have to be, don’t I?”

“Right. I’m sorry for the way I have treated you. None of us knew how to handle any of this. Yesterday, when you heard Keith and me arguing at the bar, he wanted to tell you the truth then. Maybe if we had…”

“Don’t. It isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known I’d go all ‘Queen of Pyros’ so soon. No one knew except Roberta.”

“I still feel horrible about it. Keith knew Shawn was with Roberta. When he told me, I should’ve said something. I haven’t exactly behaved like a friend, have I? I wish I could’ve, would’ve told you. And for the record, I’ve missed you.” She enveloped me in a huge hug. I held onto her for dear life, as we wept together for our families, for ourselves, for the life we used to know.

* * *

WHEN KEITH AND Sterling returned, we carried the tray of coffee, creamer and sugar into the office and sat down. Sterling climbed back up onto his perch on the back of the sofa, declaring it his spot.

“Okay. So I guess I need to figure out what I’m going to do. I have to stop them.”

“What did Roberta say? What were her exact words?” Keith took a huge sip of coffee, grimaced and added another packet of creamer.

“You still use only creamer?” He nodded and I smiled at yet another thing that hadn’t changed in all of these years. “Basically, she wants my powers and she told me to tell you that she is coming for you, coming for your family.”

“How does she plan on getting her hands on your powers? When?”

“I don’t know when. The council will be here to take me to trial at any time. I feel it. Then, my powers will be bound inside my crystal pendant. Roberta believes Shawn and she can get them from me once they are bound inside my crystal.”

“Maybe that’s the only way they can take them?” Kelly asked.

I shook my head. “My mother said they cannot be released until a witch’s sentence is up. So, once my powers are bound, only the elders can free them. If a witch tries to break the crystal, she is immediately banished to Summerland’s dungeons. She will stay until she dies. As far as I know, no one else–nothing else can get their hands on my powers.”

“Roberta thinks you’ll just hand her your crystal? Based on what? I bet she plans on busting it open and you’ll be locked away while she frees your father. She’s going to take the credit and be daddy’s little number one demon.”

“He’s not my father.” They both stared at me.

“Okay. He is. Technically. But you know what I meant. Can’t we just call him Samell? Please? The father I knew is dead. Samell will never be my dad.”

“Sure, Selena. You’re right. We’ll call him Samell.” Keith poured himself another cup of coffee and added another ten creamer packets.

“Good. So now, we need to know why she wants to kill the rest of your family. Sorry, but they already got your mom and brothers so what would be the point in killing all of you?”

“To keep you away from Keith” Kelly said.

“I don’t get it.”

“Yeah. I don’t understand that part either. But that bitch is going to pay for everything she has done. I’ll enjoy ripping her to shreds. Let her try to come after us” Kelly glared. “I’m ready for her.” As she examined her nails, the look on her face chilled me to the bone.

With a shiver, I turned to Keith. “What does your dad say about all of this?”

“Not much. Besides, he is out on a hunting trip with a few of the other packs. I can’t even reach him by phone to warn him. They’re somewhere in the Appalachians.”

“What about that book? Maybe it has the answers we need?” Besides, I still felt that book reaching out, beckoning to me. I needed to get my hot little hands on it again.

“We’ll see. For now, we all need to get some rest. I have some blankets and pillows in the closet and that sofa is a sleeper. This building is far safer than any other that I know of. I’ve spent many nights here sacked out on that couch after doing inventory and nothing bad has ever happened.” He offered me a smile as he held out blankets and pillows to Kelly and me.

I said nothing. But inside, I didn’t think we would ever be safe again.

Chapter 15

KELLY AND I shared the sofa bed and Keith was curled up in a sleeping bag on the floor. I waited until I was sure the others were asleep and eased myself out of bed. Tip-toeing with my ears attuned for the slightest movement or change in breathing, I crept to the desk and spotted the one thing that I knew would have the answers I craved.

The book lay exactly where Keith had left it. As I ran my hand over the well-worn, brown leather I could feel it speaking to my soul. There were runes inscribed on the cover and I traced them in a clockwise motion with my fingertip as I whispered the name of each one. In the center connecting every symbol, there was an aquamarine encrusted pentagram. When I touched the beautiful gem, it glowed like a mystical fire and felt warm to my touch.

A gentle breeze swirled around me and the book opened by itself. Inside the front cover, names were inscribed in gold lettering. Names of every witch before me who had possessed this book since its creation. Before my very eyes, an amber glow lit the page and I watched as my own name magically appeared in the same fancy script as the others. “I knew this was meant for me. Thank you, Mom.” I whispered.

Sterling stirred and stretched. Quietly he crept over to the desk and hopped up to sit beside me. “What is it Selena?”

“It’s everything.” And it was mine. I could not explain the sense of power and possessiveness I felt for this book. I only knew I couldn’t close it. It spoke to me, promising gifts of knowledge and power that I had never fathomed.

I grabbed the book and held it like a treasure as we tip-toed around Keith’s still form. Once out in the hallway, I shut the door as quietly as I could. Sterling and I sat at the booth farthest from the office and away from any windows.

“How did you never see this book Sterling? You were around Mom for years.”

He shrugged his little, gray shoulders and gave no sign he knew anything about the beautiful book.  “Your mom was always talking in her sleep about the book. I thought she was just dreaming.”

“It’s so gorgeous. Do you smell it? The pages smell like Spring. Fresh and inviting. If one could put hope into a book, this is what it would look and smell like.”

“Sweetheart, that smell is mildew and age. Achew!”

“Drama queen.”

“Touché.”

“There has to be a spell in here that will help me get this damn ring off.”

“Let’s hope so. I’d like to avoid another run in with Roberta the Troll, if at all possible.”

The book gave many details of the long line of witches I’d come from. My family lineage dated back to before the Salem Witch Trials. No, we don’t live in that Salem. Our ancestors thought it would be best to move far, far away from the hysteria. Finding the hill upon which Salem Ridge was built was pure luck. Besides, most people, humans, would never assume real witches lived in Salem Ridge, Indiana. Back then, everyone was focused on settling along the eastern seaboard, eradicating the people they’d believed to be witches and as many Native Americans as they could. It was a horrible, horrible time in history full of ignorance and murder.

They were too busy to notice or care when the real witches left Salem and moved. There were still many deaths, crops died, livestock died and they’d continued to seek out the ‘sinners who caused the wrath of God to punish all of them’. The townspeople blamed any and every person they could for the naturally occurring phenomena that come with settling in a new land. To put it as nicely as I can, the people in Salem were nuts. Plain and simple, they were all bat-shit crazy.

To most people, the Salem Witch Trials are nothing more than folklore used by ‘honorable men’ to scare the sinful onto the ’right’ path. If I had been there, I would’ve asked them, “Do you believe any god would have scared people into believing in him or her?” I didn’t think so, but you can’t change stupidity. Nevertheless, their actions made it easier for our families to hide in plain sight.

In the years following my family’s arrival, more and more of the so-called different and evil folks came here for refuge. What started out as a hiding place, grew and prospered. It even turned into a very popular tourist destination and comfortable village. Truth be told, it’s the only spot used for the Underground Railroad that no one ever detected. Our magic hid the tunnels, leaving a gap in historic maps that have never been filled. The people in our town always helped people to escape many different types of demons–even the human kind.

“So much that I never knew about our town is in here, Sterling. It’s amazing!”

I read on and on. There was even information about my great, great, great, great, great aunt Elizabeth. She was one of the very first to step foot here with her husband, a Shawnee Indian named Chief Red Eye. After his village in Pennsylvania was slaughtered, he traveled as far west as he could. Hungry and cold, meeting my aunt in Ohio had saved his life. They were inseparable from their very first meeting. Together, they settled in Indiana, founding Salem Ridge and welcoming everyone who wandered into town.

“She’s given credit for creating this haven. Apparently she and the chief protected a lot of people until the day they died. I wonder if they’re all together in Summerland.”

“I believe it. Your family has always been good.”

“Until Mom met Samell, right?” How did she even meet him? Was he a resident? Did he seek her out? Still so many questions paraded through my mind.

“Read on Selena. I want to hear more.”

“Here we go. He is the guardian of the Trillmor legion. Oh, he is really bad, Sterling! Look at his picture!”

“Whoa! Look at those hooves! He is one ugly beast! Glad you look like your mom.” He snickered and patted me on the shoulder with one soft, gray paw.

“Thanks.”

“Selena, it says he is also a shifter. This picture is only one of his many forms. He can look like anyone or anything he chooses.”

“That must be how he fooled Mom for so long. We can’t let him escape again. He killed tens of thousands of people by himself. Now, he has an entire legion of demons at his beck and call. If he gets out, the world will literally go to Hell in a hand basket!”

As we read on, I realized a few things. One, Roberta didn’t know half as much as she thought she did. Two, I needed to keep the ring on until I killed her and could be sure that Samell stayed in his prison. Though I hated the demonic tracking device, I was going to use it to my full advantage.

“It says here, the council will definitely bind my powers to my crystal. Good. I need them to.”

“Are you nuts? How will you fight Roberta, Shawn and Samell?”

“Maybe I won’t have to.”

“Selena?”

“Don’t worry, Sterling. It will be okay. I promise. Now, I just need a plan.”

“Preferably one that doesn’t include you turning into a fire throwing serial killer.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

He shrugged.

“According to this, the enforcers for the elders show up unannounced and trials can be lengthy. We’d better get some sleep.”

Sterling shivered, sending tiny, gray hairs everywhere.

“Selena?”

“Yeah?”

He stood there staring at me, silent–a very rare thing for him to be. “Cat got your tongue?” I joked.

“Ha-ha” he sighed. “I just want you to know, I um, really didn’t mind playing with Kelly today. She’s not so bad for a mongrel. And Keith doesn’t really stink that much. I don’t mind being around them.”

I knew in his own way he was saying he’d be okay if he had to stay with them for an extended period of time. Though I appreciated his attempt at easing my mind should anything happen, I hoped more than anything, he wouldn’t have to live with them, without me. I didn’t plan on leaving him on his own, but it was good to know I had friends who would care for him if things went horribly wrong.

“Remember, I can read your thoughts Mistress. This plan of yours? Please be careful. I’ve really enjoyed those gourmet cat treats you’ve always bought for me. I wouldn’t want to have to be without them.”

“I love you, too Fuzzy Nuts.” I kissed the top of his head and I swear I saw a tear fall from his beautiful emerald eye as he hopped down and ran to the office. We both climbed back into bed, neither of us slept much, too nervous for what the days ahead would bring.  I laid there thinking about what I would do, who I was and all that it meant. I knew I needed help. A lot of help.

In my ear, I heard my mother whisper, “You can do this Selena. I believe in you.”

Chapter 16

I STOOD AT Keith’s office window the next morning and the sun shine gave a cheery feel to the day as if the universe didn’t have a care in the world. Maybe it didn’t. But all I could wonder was what horrible event the day would bring. I must’ve been far away in my own thoughts because I never heard him walk up behind me and I jumped a bit when Keith rubbed his hands up and down my bare arms.

“Sleep well?”

“You bet.” I turned around facing him and smiled.

“You didn’t sleep at all, did you?”

My sideways glance spoke volumes.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“How ‘bout we get some breakfast, then we’ll check out that book together. I tried to open it but it wouldn’t budge. Maybe you can figure it out.”

I turned away from him. “I already opened it, Keith. There wasn’t anything helpful in it.”

“Already opened it? How? And there was nothing? A huge, super-secret book and there wasn’t anything helpful inside?”

“It spoke to me. Well, actually, it lit up and opened on its own when I touched it. But it was simply a book documenting the history of my family, nothing more.”

“Oh. Sorry. We hoped there would be more to it.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Well,” he ran his hand through his gorgeous hair and sighed, “what do we do now?”

“The only thing we can do. Have breakfast and wait for the enforcers to get here.”

I patted his cheek and walked out of the room, pretending to be much calmer than I was.

* * *

WE MADE A huge buffet. There were pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage and everything in between.

“This is really nice,” Kelly said “All of us together.” She placed a platter of tuna and chicken mixed with scrambled eggs on the table for Sterling. Kelly rubbed his chin and smooched him on the head. The whole scene brought tears to my eyes.

“Yeah, it is nice.” I sighed and dabbed my eyes with a napkin.

“Look Selena, I know you’re nervous but we’ll be right there with you. Everything will be fine. You’ll see” She squeezed my hand and smiled. Her blue eyes betrayed her. She was just as scared as I was, if not more.

After washing our dishes, Kelly announced it was time to open Tooth & Nail for the day. She shifted from foot to foot nervously and looked at me full of apologies.

“It’s okay. I don’t want to cause you to lose any more business. What can I do to help?”

“Oh, nothing. All I have to do is unlock the door and turn on the beer signs. Folks will start to trickle in as soon as they see the lights go on.”

“Damn! The other lights! I’m so sorry.”

“I forgot, Selena. We’ll be fine, no worries. It will be daylight for a while, so we’ll be able to see.” She tied a red apron around her waist and finished setting up glasses for the day.

“Really, I’d like to fix the lights. After all, I broke them. How about I run over to Hanner’s Hardware and grab some bulbs? While I’m there, I will see if they have some clothes for me to wear today. I refuse to go back into Unique Ladies with Mrs. Bladdon working.”

“I don’t blame you. That woman is mean.” She mocked with a snarl as I ran to retrieve some cash from the bank bag I’d gotten the day before.

“I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

“Okay. I’ll let Keith know. Thanks Selena.”

“It’s the least I can do. I blew all of the bulbs.” I plastered on a happy face and bounced out the door, pretending to be the confident woman I truly wanted to be.

Word must’ve spread like wildfire through town. The people on the sidewalk gave me a wide berth and every time I waved, they either turned away or ducked. How ridiculous could they be? Did they think I would launch fire balls at their heads on Main Street? Wow!

I was both shocked and amused by their ignorance. Groups of busy bodies whispered to each other as I walked by.

“Wicked.”

“Shameful.”

“Harlot.”

And the last one nearly knocked me over. “Half-breed.”

My head turned so fast, I was surprised it didn’t snap off. I saw the look of fear on the young woman’s face as my eyes lit up. She turned and practically ran in the opposite direction, leaving her friends to stand there with their jaws open wide.

Holding my head high, I walked into Hanner’s Hardware & General Store and selected a shopping cart. After I’d found the light bulbs, I loaded up twenty boxes of them. There were so many lights at Tooth & Nail and I wanted extras to have around just in case I blew my top again.

I wandered over to the work clothes section and spotted quite a few items that I could tolerate wearing. Thank the Goddess that Mr. and Mrs. Hanner’s stocked some items that were close to my size.

I grabbed a light blue t-shirt with the store logo on it and selected a pair of off-brand jeans. I knew they’d be a bit short, thanks to being born with legs that seemed to begin at my neck but I could roll them up like 1960’s capris. On a shelf at the front of the store, I found plain, white canvas tennis shoes for three dollars a pair. Again, they had something close enough to my size. I walked over to the so-called beauty section and grabbed the necessary toiletries before remembering to add a few more essentials to my growing basket of loot.

“Too bad their panty selection is butt-ugly” I whispered. “But, I will take what I can get for now.”

As I approached the check-out counter, I swore I saw Phyllis cringe. Her poppy-orange, painted lips were pinched into a grimace and her brow was so tightly furrowed that birds could’ve perched on the wrinkles it contained. She rang up my purchases and spoke only when they were totaled.

“One-ten-fifty-seven.” She clipped, her eyes never once landed upon my face. Instead, she stared off at a seemingly more interesting spot on the far wall behind me.

I sighed and took out one-twenty and handed her the money with a smile.

Phyllis handed me the change, “Nine-forty-three.” Not even a thank you or have a nice day.

I asked if I could use the restroom. “No. It’s out of order.” I knew she was lying.

“Oh, okay.”

I realized that there was no way I would be able to carry everything and said “I’ll need to borrow the cart. I walked here and it’s too much to carry back.”

Phyllis Hanner looked down and said “I’m sorry. That’s not allowed. The cart stays here.”

“But Phyllis, please? These bulbs are for Tooth & Nail.”

She patted at her blue tinted hair “I’m sorry but you should have bought only what you could carry. It isn’t my problem.”

“Look, Phyllis I promise to bring it right back.”

The sixty-ish woman busied herself with straightening stacks of brown paper bags. “I told you no. Please leave.”

“How can you be like this? My family built this town and you were friends with my parents!” I was shocked and dismayed with yet another ignorant person’s behavior and I wasn’t going to take anymore.

She came out from behind the counter, lowered her glasses to the perch of her nose and whispered, “That was a very long time ago. Your parents are dead, a fact you and everyone else in town are very much aware of. Now, please leave.” Her rheumy eyes bore into mine with hatred.

I could feel rage building up inside of me again. “Zap her!” My mind whispered. “You know you want to.” I knew I had to control the demon inside that was dying to be free and Phyllis hadn’t exactly helped.

“Phyllis, what exactly is your problem with me? Can’t you just be a damn adult and explain why you and everyone else seem to find me so repulsive?”

“I don’t owe you any explanation. Your actions speak volumes and we all know about the things you’ve done. Selena, you need to leave.”

“I will not. Not until I get some straight answers. I’ve had it with you and everyone else treating me like garbage. I didn’t do anything to any of you!”

The last bit came out much like a growl.

She closed her eyes shook her head as if it the action would make me disappear. “Please just go. No one wants you here. I don’t want any trouble.”

Excuse me? Did she say what I thought she said? How could fully-grown adults act like immature, junior-high schoolers?

“Fine. But I am taking the damn cart with me. You’ll get it back when I feel like returning it.” I planned on pushing the freaking cart right down the middle of Main Street. Hell, I might even sing and dance on my way back to Tooth & Nail just to really screw with her and anyone else who happened to be outside.

It took a shitload of strength to push that damn wobble-wheeled piece of crap to the automatic door. The wheels fought me every step of the way, making it feel like I was stuck in quicksand, sinking with every step. I hated carts! When I reached the door, I remembered it too, was out-of-service, just like the restroom, so I had to open it by hand.  After I had one side open, I held it in place with my ass and pulled the cart forward. Everything was going great until I ran over my toes. “Shit!”

“So much for a kick-ass, Mae West-esque exit.” I looked more like a stupid comedy skit on that late night Saturday show I remembered seeing advertisements for.

Shoving it the rest of the way through, the handle bar plowed into my ribs. “What the frick!” I pushed it with all of my strength and proceeded to stand there kicking the crap out of the worthless, piece-of-crap cart. Yes, people milling about were watching, but maybe they’d think I had gone completely nuts and leave me alone for good. I just didn’t care anymore!

By the time I arrived back at Tooth & Nail, I was grouchy, sore and sweaty. I grabbed a few of the bags of light bulbs and after I’d composed myself, I sauntered through the wooden door as if I didn’t have a care in the world, placing them on the bar top.

“Thanks, Selena.”

“There’s more. I’ll be back.”

After my trip to the store and the angry outburst I’d had, I knew that Sterling and I needed to leave the Tooth & Nail. There wasn’t any reason for them to be stuck with me or my drama. If we stayed, they’d just be in more danger. Besides, I needed some time alone to think.

“Leaving? Why?”

“I’m going over to the Upton House to rent us a room for the night. I need a shower and some time to get my mind straight for this trial.”

“Keith will be back in a few minutes. He can take you out to our house” she smiled.

“No, Kelly. You guys have already done way too much for me as it is. Besides, I need some time to myself before the council gets here.”

“Well, it isn’t any convenience. When will you be back?”

“In a while or at the latest, tomorrow morning.”

“Alright. I’ll let Keith know.”

“See you soon.”

I put my cat in the cart’s basket and gave him a ride. Sterling and I took the cart back to Hanner’s and parked it outside the store. I waved when Phyllis peered at me over her glasses. She rolled her eyes and turned her back to us. I scooped Sterling up in my arms and set him down on the sidewalk so he could walk.

“That was fun! We need one of those!”

“You want a shopping cart? Great. It does fit us. After all, we’re homeless.”

“For now, Mistress. But we’ll be okay. Keith and Kelly want us to move in with them.”

“What?” I squawked. I couldn’t believe my ears! When had they discussed this?

“Yep, let’s talk as we walk. I can’t wait to get on a comfy, king-sized bed. Do you think they’ll turn the bed down for us? Fluff our pillows and give me a bedtime treat maybe?”

“I doubt it, Sterling. When did Keith say they want us to move in?”

“I overheard them say as soon as possible. He’ll probably be mad we’re staying at a hotel tonight. I think he was getting their house ready for us.”

Sterling was chipper and he practically bounced while we walked. However, carrying the brown paper sack full of my meager belongings was only increasing my own irritation.

“I really need an overnight bag.”

“For what? We don’t have much. Yet. Besides, Hanner’s has them, you should’ve bought one while you were there.”

“But we will have more to carry as soon as I can shop at a real store.  I’ve got money and carrying it in this bank pouch is stupid. We could get mugged. If Hanner’s did have them, I wouldn’t have bought one even if it had been on clearance for a dollar! They can keep their garbage.”

“Mugged? Here?” He dropped and rolled on the ground laughing. “Oh you’re funny, Mistress!”

“I try. So glad that I’m able to entertain you, fuzzy-butt.” I curtsied and almost dropped my torn paper bag. Growling in frustration, I walked faster.

“What happened at Hanner’s?”

“Nevermind.”

“Oh, more small town crazies?”

“Something like that.”

“There it is, Selena. I can practically smell the goose down pillows!” He pounced on up the sidewalk and I could hear him purring, even though I was about ten feet behind him. With a cat that happy, it was hard not to be just as excited as he was.

“Let’s hope they will rent us a room.”

“Paws crossed. But if they give you any shit, we can always go back to the bar with Keith and Kelly” he smiled.

He had suddenly developed a potty mouth and he wanted to stay with the Jacob’s pack? What the fur-flipping-hell was wrong with my cat?

Chapter 17

UPTON HOUSE ROSE before us like a temple. Situated on a hill on the western side of town, it was one of the most gorgeous, historic buildings in all of Salem Ridge. Building began in 1710 and was halted by lack of funds. In 1834 the Upton family spent sixty-two thousand dollars trying to finish it, however, Jonathon Upton had died of tuberculosis before it could be completed.

Years later, an investor by the name of Thomas Fisher found the original blueprints and attacked the task feverishly. Thanks to the enormous amount of help from the townspeople, within a few months, the fourth floor and its majestic towers were completed.  The monolith mirrored Mr. Upton’s original plans in every detail. To this day, the original blueprints, which were professionally mounted in exquisite cherry frames, hung in the Great room for all to see. If someone would have built it in our day and age to Mr. Upton’s same standards, beginning to end without stopping, it would’ve cost sixty-two million dollars by the time it was complete. Chances were, it never would’ve been built or finished.

“I’ll never tire of looking at this beautiful place. Can you feel it, Sterling? The entire inn is pulsing with energy.”

“I feel it, Selena. Are you okay?”

“Never better. Why?”

“Your crystal, it’s glowing again” he whispered.

I looked down and to my surprise, he was right. “At least it’s not black, right? Gold must mean happiness or something.” I laughed and didn’t give the glowing pendulum another thought.

“Sure. Let’s just get inside, okay?” I didn’t think about Sterling’s sudden nervousness or what it meant. All I wanted was a shower and a few moments to myself. Living with only my familiar for years, I’d been used to having my own space. I loved my friends, the Jacob’s but every girl needed time on her own.

“You bet.”

We walked in and approached Mr. Fisher’s desk. “Hello, Mr. Fisher. I’d like to rent a room for the day.”

“Well, I’m afraid we’re all booked up, Miss Barnes.”

“Really? There were no cars out front. Where’s everyone hiding?”

Mr. Fisher’s face turned a sickly shade of red as he fumbled for excuses. His eyes darted side-to-side and everywhere else to avoid looking me in the eyes. There was even a pile of invisible dust that suddenly needed his attention. I watched, unamused as he made a show of wiping it away. There was a lot of that ‘pretend she isn’t there’ stuff going around and I refused to back down.

“Look Mr. Fisher, I have plenty of money to spare and I know you could use it, especially in these hard economic times. Is it wise to turn away a paying customer? Any paying customer? I simply need a room in which we can rest and I can take a shower. Please?”

“I already told you…”

“Please Mr. Fisher. Please?” I whispered. My throat tightened and I knew tears wouldn’t be too far away from falling. I just needed someone to give me a break. “Just twenty-four hours?”

He seemed to mull the pros and cons around in his mind for a minute and I silently begged the Goddess to convince him that I meant him no harm.

“Fine, all I have is the Honeymoon Suite. Four-hundred and seventy-nine dollars. Cash only. If there are any damages, I will call the police, the council and your fiancé.”

“My fiancé? Well…”

“Like I said no damages. Cash only.”

“That’s fine.” I counted out the five-hundred and told him to keep the change.

He laid the key on the desk, avoiding any chance of physically touching my hand. Did he truly believe that my evilness might’ve rubbed off on him?

I signed the receipt “Thank you so much.”

“Room 211.” And with that, Sterling and I were dismissed.

I carried Sterling and we made our way up the grand staircase. Merlot-colored carpeting covered the antique steps and the stain glass windows cast colors of every shade across the beige walls above ornate, hand-carved mahogany wainscoting. It was like walking into a kaleidoscope. Though I savored every gorgeous step of the way to our room, all I could think of was a nice, hot shower.

We arrived at our suite, silent and weary, the stress of the past twenty-four hours catching up to both of us. I placed Sterling on the floor as I fumbled with the room key. No electronic cards for the Upton House. They used real locks and long, skinny skeleton keys for each room—just another of the many things I loved about the inn. Each of its many irregularities as compared to today’s modern age only added to the originality and nostalgia of the gorgeous mansion.  One felt as though they had stepped back in time, even if for only a moment.

“Here we go buddy. Home sweet home. For a night anyways.”

“Oh Goddess, look at this place!”

Sterling launched himself across the hardwood floor of the foyer, ran into an adjoining room and landed on the plush, king-sized bed. His entire body, except for his long tail vanished beneath the pile of down-filled pillows. The cherry bed frame seemed to encase a giant wine and white-colored marshmallow with gold trimmings. It was so decadent. I hadn’t seen a bed that large or beautiful in a very long time and I didn’t blame him for his enthusiasm. It took every ounce of control I possessed not to run across the room and jump on it like a teenager at a slumber party. However, I refused to touch it until I’d had a shower. Sterling purred and stretched, and then he burrowed deeper under the stack of white pillows. I couldn’t even see a whisker of his, he was truly in kitty heaven. I had to admit, it was nice seeing him acting like his old self again, if only for a little while.

Placing my brown, paper luggage on the dining table, I stepped out of the ridiculous, neon green flip-flops and reveled in the feel of the chocolate colored dining room carpet. It was gorgeous to look at, but the feel of it was pure ecstasy. I loved the hardwood floors I’d had installed piece-by-piece in our now demolished cabin, but right then I was in love with the cushy, soft fabric that seemed to massage every inch of my feet. The comforting floor covering alone washed some of my stress away.

“Ohhh, I could walk on this forever.”

“Mistress” Sterling slithered out from under the mountain of pillows and cooed. “Can we get a bed like this?” He rolled over and over, rubbing his chin on the rich, textured fabrics and purred louder than I’d ever heard him purr before.

“You bet. Anything you want. As soon as all of this is over, I’ll buy everything you love and more. Even a new kitty condo if you want one.”

“Screw the condo. Just get me this bed.”

With dramatic flair, he stood on his hind legs and flopped backwards and flapped his arms and legs as if he were making snow angels. That cat was something else! According to what my mother had told me of his age was when we’d gotten him, Sterling would be forty years old if he were human. Yet, there were times when his larger-than-life personality and desire to be carefree, made him seem like a footloose, fancy-free teenager. Those were some of the best moments I’d ever had with my familiar. Seeing him happy gave me great joy and imagining him any other way, tore at my heart.

“Okay, I’m hopping in the shower and then we’ll order something to eat.”

“Take your time, Selena. I’ll be right here, catching up on my beauty sleep, blissful and snoozing.” He winked and rolled around some more.

Goddess knew he needed sleep. He’d had a rough few days. He could sleep for hours on a good day if he chose to and good days had been in short supply as of late. At the least, I hoped not to bother him for the next half an hour or so.

I padded into the bathroom and located the light switch. The chandelier cast an amber glow that brought out the little flecks of gold in the natural pattern of the marble flooring and counter-space. The white and gold slabs adorned every surface from the floor to the vanity tops. Combined with the rich, brown paint on the walls, the bathroom reeked of opulence.

In the center of the room was a giant, copper tub encased in four foot marble walls, with steps leading into the tub on one side and out the other. The separate shower was big enough for four people and its glass doors opened in the three different places. Inside there were ten separate shower heads pointing in every direction. I turned the knobs and the biggest spout above the shower poured like rain from its large round head, reminding me of those commercials for the honeymoon getaways on television where people laughed and showered together.

“This is amazing.” I ran my hand over the copper faucets, lost in their sleek and smooth feel. I missed my cabin and its stick built originality with all of its hand-picked amenities, but this room was pure decadence and I could see myself staying there for longer than one night. If the fates allowed.

I chose to try out the shower and promised myself a long soak in the tub later. I just wanted to feel clean. Turning on the knobs, I undressed as the water heated up and filled the shower stall with lavender scented steam. “Wow, pure relaxation from the get-go. Who knew there was a way to scent the water! These folks didn’t mess around.”

I placed my ugly peach and neon green clothing in the trash bin. I planned to burn them later. “Good riddance, pedal-pushers.” I shivered.

Opening the glass shower door, I was immediately enveloped in the swirling steam and I spun in slow circles as I stood in the center in order to get the most enjoyment out of the multiple shower heads. Being washed from every possible angle with little effort was practically an orgasm inducing experience in itself.

“That must be why there is a built in marble bench in here. There’s room for a couple or two to enjoy every sexual position imaginable.”

I sat down, letting the water pour around me as I closed my eyes and floated on lavender-scented cloud of bliss. The water streamed over me like satin ribbons and I moaned in delight as my worries drifted away on the steam that poured out over the top of the shower walls and door.

“What an amazing invention. I wish I could stay here forever.”

I must’ve dozed off while I sat there and it felt like a dream when I was awakened by a voice in my ear.

“Enjoying yourself, cupcake?”

Chapter 18

“AH!” I TRIED to jump up, to no avail. He had me pinned and the floor was too slippery for me to gain any footing. In front of me, mere inches from my face, Shawn stood in all of his demonic glory, holding me with incredibly strong hands.

His forked tongue slithered out of his snarling lips and licked up the side of my face. I felt bile rise in my throat, cringing as he reached up to trail one set of claws down the side of my neck. “Let go of me asshole!”

“Shh. Now, now is that any way to speak to your fiancé?” He laughed. “We wouldn’t want to wake your familiar, now would we? I’d be forced to silence him.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“You’ve already killed him once. That leaves eight more lives, correct? Believe me, I would enjoy watching him die over and over again. How you can love something as ugly as that walking fur-ball is beyond my comprehension.”

“Have you ever looked in a mirror? You’re a nasty beast!”

“A beast you fell in love with, no less. I’ve never heard you complain before.” He appraised me with yellow, beady eyes as he tilted his head side to side. “I’ve always loved your tight, little body. I’ll enjoy tearing into you in a new way, dear Selena. Now that you no longer smell like mutt, I bet you’ll taste divine.”

He flicked his tongue out, wiggling it in front of my face and all I wanted to do was rip it out of his scaly face. Rage was pulsing through me and I didn’t know whether to embrace it and let it fill me with the power it yielded or to tamp it down to keep me from getting into more trouble. What was I supposed to do? No matter how I struggled, I couldn’t escape his claws. With every movement, they dug into me deeper, angering me more and more.

“Let go of me, damn it!”

He pulled me to my feet and pinned me against the wall with one hairy thigh between my legs. I looked down and saw his hooves also had talon like claws and my mind spun with fear as nausea filled me from head to toe. I had never seen a demon that hideous and I’d certainly never fought one that large on my own. What the hell was I going to do?

“How nice of you to get us the Honeymoon suite” he hissed. “But isn’t it a bit too soon? The wedding isn’t for a few weeks. Do you think your dear ole daddy will show up? Maybe he’ll even walk you down the aisle and hand you over to me? Roberta will even stand in as your maid of honor. Wouldn’t that be divine?” The demonic asshole had the nerve to wiggle his eyebrows as he pondered that plan.

“There isn’t going to be any wedding! And what about my father? You killed him before you could even get to know him, remember?” I’d be damned before I’d let him know how much I knew about Samell.

My breath was ragged and shallow as he shoved his chest against mine. If he’d pressed any harder, I’d have become part of the marble wall. The pain was insane but I wouldn’t let him know that. I knew he’d enjoy each and every suffering moment as he crushed me, breaking one rib at a time as sharp bone fragments drove into my organs one-by-one. I’m sure he’d have loved to count each heartbeat until my last.

“That ring says something entirely different. You’re mine” he growled. “And you will be until I no longer have a use for you. As for your father, you killed him. Remember?” He goaded, pushing me closer to the edge of losing my mind.

“Really? Roberta said that you killed him, Shawn.”

“You’re lying! She would never betray me like that. Besides, Roberta is still in Germany. You know nothing!”

He had no idea that I already knew Samell was my father or that I’d spoken to Roberta. Which meant he also had no idea that I knew I was part demon. I tucked that bit of information away for now and took the opportunity to slam my forehead against his. It hurt like hell, but it stunned him long enough for me to escape his grasp.

Just as I reached one of the shower door handles, the glass panels exploded outward. I fell hard, my face bounced off of the glass-coated marble floor. I rolled over as he stomped his way out of the shower.

“Uh-oh. Cupcake has a boo-boo. Let me kiss it and make it better.” He grabbed me by the hair without even leaning down. His arms were elongated and scaly on one side and covered in hair underneath. What the…?

I really should have brushed up on demon lore last night. I was smack dab in the middle of a deep-shit situation and I had no idea how to get out of it. My powers, good or evil were my only chance. There was no time to make a moral decision. It was live or die and if I died at his hands, he’d take my lifeless body to Hell.

He perched atop the marble steps of the tub and stood over me. “What do you want, Shawn? Why are you here wasting my time when you could be summoning goblins with your troll and making little ass-faced demon babies?”

He laughed a deep guttural cackle. “You know what I want. You’re mine. Did you think I would just let you run off and shack up with Jacobs? You will never be with that mongrel and I will kill you myself if I have to. Just to keep you away from him. I have a wonderful future planned for us, Selena. It’s about time you accepted that fact and started acting like a proper wife!”

“Why do you care? You have Roberta. Soon you’ll have my powers. What more could you gain from keeping Keith and me apart?”

I swore steam rolled out of his huge, pointed ears. He slammed his fisted paws on the copper tub, caving in the one side. There went any hope of a luxurious bath later.

“I have no idea why I ever agreed to this plan. You are such a stupid, little bitch! We cannot allow you to mate with him, you idiot. And as long as I am around, it will not happen!”

“We’ll just see about that! You’re disgusting and now that I know the truth, I will never be with you. I’m going to send you back to Hell with the rest of your sick friends.”

“Sick? You want to talk about sick? Do you have any idea how much it disgusted me to put up with your incessant whining and complaining about your parents? And your crying about a lack of friends made you a pathetic, frigid bitch. I had hoped that ring would have loosened you up some, but no! The past year has been pure torture and for what? Just to please…”

“Please who? What the hell are you talking about?” Samell of course, but he’d never say it. I wanted him to believe they still had secrets.

Ever the conceited bastard, Shawn turned around to admire himself in the vanity mirror and I took the opportunity to slam his face into it. He never saw it coming. With a flick of my hand I repeatedly rammed him into the broken glass until green ooze, poured from his ugly face. When my arm suffered from muscle failure, I stopped but the urge to filet the nasty slime ball didn’t ebb.

“Do have any idea how much I hate you, you bastard?”

“Feelings mutual, sweetie! So many nights, I wanted to gut you like a pig and wallow in your entrails. Don’t look so disappointed, cupcake. That day will come.”

As he wiped his face with a paw, I noticed his constantly changing form. For some reason he couldn’t control what shape he would be next. As I watched brown horns appear through the top his head, and a wave of pure revulsion ran through me. I’d had enough. I sent out a binding spell and he was tied to the floor by a brilliant web of power.

“It’s bad enough that I have had to deal with this shit storm you created, Shawn. Now, I have to pay for the damages to this beautiful room because of you and that pisses me off.”

“Oh, poor baby has to pay damages.”

I slapped him from across the room. He laughed and licked his lips, enjoying the violence.

“You’ll never get away, Selena. We have eyes everywhere. After the council binds your powers, you will surrender them to me and become my wife.”

“Over my dead body. Why do you want my powers anyways? I’m sure they are nothing compared to yours, great demon.” I taunted.

He narrowed his eyes and examined me, “I’ve always loved how naïve you are. You’ve made all of this so easy. Just a weak little girl and so effortlessly molded. Like my own personal poppet. Tell me, Selena, do you regret not using your powers on me sooner? Don’t you wish you had toasted me months ago? I cannot believe how dumb you thought I was. Pretending to be normal when I was around! I’ve known about you since your birth, you incompetent wench!”

I couldn’t take much more, I knew my eyes were glowing and this hotel room was not the place to blow sky high. “Shut up, demon! I’m warning you!”

“Oh? And what will you do, witch? Curse me with warts? Turn me into a toad? Please! We both know you’re no match for me.”

His condescending attitude, once attractive, coming across as self-assured and resilient, was more sickening than anything. Why did Roberta and Shawn think they were so all-mighty? If they knew what I was all along, they had to know I could emaciate them with little effort. What was with all of the constant taunts and jabs?

“If I’m merely a witch, why do you need my powers demon boy?”

He shut up, knowing he was on the verge of saying too much.

“Tell me the truth or I’ll kill you.”

I could see his thoughts warring with each other as he tried to decide. In the end, he merely said “You’ll never kill me, witch. You can’t. You need me.”

“Ya’ know, you are one ugly-full-of-yourself-son-of-a-bitch! Did Roberta piece you together from spare demon parts she had lying around? You’re more of a mutt than Keith and his family could ever be. One minute asshole. Speak or die.”

His fury was growing, yet he said nothing. His anger was palpable as it pulsed through the floor and surrounded me. He couldn’t stand anyone telling him the truth. Shawn believed he was god-like, all powerful and hot. His ego was too big to handle anyone hitting him with words of disgust. I whipped the energy inside of me into an enormous frenzy and produced a ball of green and brown tinted lightning between my hands. I poised it above my head as I counted down the seconds. “Ten…nine…eight…seven…”

He remained silent. By the time I got to six, I was over it and threw the lighting at him, hitting him in the chest.

“Do you have any idea how much vengeance I have rolling through me, demon? Tricking me with your lies was one thing, a mistake I could forgive. But killing my parents?” I created another ball of energy and it slammed into his head. “That was unforgiveable. The witch you see before you is far more than you know. If I have to hunt you and your nasty, vile friends down for the rest of my life I will. I won’t rest until all of you are back in hell. Imprisoned or dead, it makes no difference to me. I have nothing left to lose. Tell them I’m coming for them!”

I threw a bolt at him and he vanished before it reached him. I collapsed on the floor as his voice rang out “See you in Hell, witch.”

Chapter 19

“SELENA,” STERLING WHISPERED as he tapped on the bathroom door. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just slipped on the wet floor. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“I heard the yelling.”

“Everything is fine, Sterling.”

“Okay. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“You bet.”

I gazed around at the mess we’d made of the once beautiful bathroom and sighed. “I may as well fix it. I’m already in deep shit with the council.”

Grounding myself, I called on the elements and my goddess as I envisioned golden beams of light tethering me to the earth. A blinding white light washed over me, its comforting presence filling me with an inner peace. When I felt calm enough, I imagined the entire room put back in order. The towels were hung, the floor was dry, the mirrors and shower were back in one piece and all was right again. My cuts were sealed and I wished the dried blood away.

“So it is. So shall it be.”

After I thanked the Goddess and Mother Earth and released the left over magic to return to the Universe, I felt refreshed and ready to face the next obstacles–dressing and finding food for Sterling and myself.

Walking into the dining area, I retrieved my clothes and put them on in the bedroom. There was no point in hanging onto modesty when Shawn and his whore minion could pop in at any given moment if they chose to do so.

“There. That’s better.” Did you decide what you want to get from room service, Sterling?”

“Do you think they have some of that yummy chicken and egg stuff Kelly made for me?”

What? My picky familiar was in a five-star hotel suite and he wanted food that was just like the food a wolf had made for him? Oh boy.

“I can ask. Anything else?”

“Can I have some cream? I mean, we are spoiling ourselves, right?” He batted his eyes at me and smiled.

“Sure. Whatever you want, Buddy.”

I called room service and the snippy waiter named Jay, told me they would try to make something pleasing for Sterling, but I didn’t hold my breath. After all, according to Jay, “The hotel wasn’t accustomed to creating gourmet, special dishes for animals.” Whatever. Since when was a plate of scrambled eggs and chicken breast gourmet? I listened as he rattled on, repeating his long spiel until I felt like zapping him.

“Like I said, we don’t do this very often. Especially for animals. But since you are in the Honeymoon Suite, we’ll make an exception. Your food will be there in about thirty minutes.” The snooty waiter hung up before I could even utter “Thank you”.

“They say they will try to do it this time, Sterling. But as for breakfast, we’re on our own. I’m sure they know who I am and it’s another act of snobbery.  I’ve been thinking we should move when all of this is over. I don’t know how much more snootiness and horrible treatment from these people I can handle.”

“The townspeople will stop once the council clears you of the charges.”

“I doubt it. These people have changed. I’ve changed. It doesn’t feel like the same Salem Ridge anymore.”

I flopped down on the bed and turned on the TV. Nothing interesting was on, so I laid there staring at the ceiling. Next thing I knew, someone was knocking on the door. I knew it couldn’t be our food so soon, so I prepared for another demonic attack. But would a demon knock?  Who knew what the crazy-ooze-suckers I’d been dealing with were capable of?

“Just a sec.”

The maitre’d wheeled our food cart in and I handed him a huge tip.

“That was fast. Thank you.”

He turned on his heel and left without saying a word. “I hope they didn’t spit in our food.” I said as I shut the door.

“Yuck. Was that necessary, Mistress?”

“Sorry.” I snickered. “I forgot how sensitive your stomach can be.”

I removed the cover from Sterling’s dish and placed it on the table. When I picked up the cover to mine, I found a note taped to the underside of the lid.

“Enjoy your meal, cupcake. See you soon.” There was even a devilish smiley face at the end.

“UGH!” I threw the lid down and took Sterling’s plate from him.

“Hey!”

“We can’t eat it, Sterling. Shawn sent a note with our meal. He might’ve poisoned it.”

“Do you really think he’d poison our food? They need you alive, remember?”

“I’m not taking any chances.”

“Now, what will we eat? I’m starving.” He collapsed on the bed with as much kitty drama as he could muster, even feigning a momentary lapse of consciousness.

I rolled my eyes and said “I don’t know. Jeez! All I wanted was a shower, a meal and some rest, I can’t even have that! This five-hundred dollar, oasis of a room is turning into such a waste! Why did I think I’d get a damn break?”

When I threw myself onto the bed, he pounced onto the enormous pile of pillows and laid down beside me. “Mistress, it will be okay.” His whiskers touched my cheek and he rubbed his chin against mine.

“You keep saying that. I’m just not sure I believe it.”

“I’ve got an idea. Let’s call Keith! I’m sure he will bring us some food and then we won’t have to be alone. He can sit here with us while we wait for the council’s enforcers to show up. Plus, it might cheer you up having that big, strapping puppy-eyed man around.” He smiled and purred. I swore his winked at me.

Suddenly, Mr. Snooty-Pants wanted to play matchmaker and who was I to argue with his sudden approval of Keith? “Sure, why not?”

Kelly answered the phone at Tooth & Nail and said she’d send Keith over with a care package soon. Before hanging up, she asked me to give Sterling a kiss for her.

“Seriously?” This was getting to be downright creepy and I shook my head in disbelief as I hung up the phone.

I planted a big kiss on top of his head. “From Kelly” I said. He acted all offended but at least he didn’t wipe it off. I’d say my cat had a crush on a dog. I knew him too well and he had it bad for Kelly.

“I can hear you, Selena. And no, I do not have a crush on Kelly. We are nothing more than very good friends.”

“Right. Overnight, you and Kelly, two mortal enemies have become bosom buddies? Friends, you and a dog? Ha!”

“She’s not a dog, she’s a wolf.”

“Ohhh. She’s a wolf now is she? My mistake.” I laughed as I opened the sliding door to the balcony and breathed in the scent of spring blowing across the river.

“What’s the big deal?” Sterling followed me to the doorway. “You wanted us to get along, didn’t you? After all, we will be family soon.” If his grin were any wider, his face would’ve split in two.

“What?”

“Keith is your soul-mate. Stop denying it. You love him and he loves you. Besides, it’s predestined, there’s no stopping it. The book said so. That’s why Samell wanted you to be kept away from Keith.”

“What? Why? I must’ve missed that page.”

“Keith comes from a long line of demon hunters. That’s what his mother and brothers were hunting the night they were killed. It was an ambush.”

“Oh.”

“Yep, Samell sent Shawn and Roberta to kill all of them. They were all supposed to be there at the cabin for a family bonding trip while getting rid of a few demons. Kyle, their father, was stuck behind and running late because the beer delivery guy showed up with the wrong order. So, he called Katharine and told her he would bring Kelly and Keith up later with him. Around ten p.m., Kyle had set out to drive up there when the phone call came in. Another pack leader had stumbled upon the carnage and immediately cleared his pack out of the forest.”

“Oh my Goddess, what a horrible thing to do!” My own supposed father had murdered almost everyone that I cared about. When would it stop?

“Kyle sent Keith away and kept Kelly at his side. Raising two changing wolves and running the business by himself was too much to handle right after the murders. He feared they would be picked off one by one. Keeping Keith safely located in Tennessee, ensured there would be a male to step up as pack leader if Samell killed Kyle and Kelly was a wreck. For weeks she stayed inside crying after her mother and brothers died.”

“So Samell sent Shawn and Roberta to kill them because of me? Why?”

“Your powers and revenge are why.  Add in the fact that your mom and Katherine were friends and you’ve got yourself a pretty close group of demon hunters, allies. Katherine and Elena held Samell prisoner until the council arrived to imprison him in his own Hell.”

“It’s making more sense now. But why keep Keith and me apart?”

“Because Mistress, if you mate with Keith, you will be the biggest threat to demon kind ever. You’d both be unstoppable. Plus, your demon blood gives you insight into how demons think and behave. Your witch blood has the answers on how to subdue them and send them to Hell. If you mate with Keith, you will be able to not only foresee their actions, stop them and send the demonic puke-faces back where they belong, but you will also be able to kill them. You’re a triple threat waiting to happen.”

“Me? You’ve got to be kidding! Why would Samell create me if he knew I was going to become so powerful? Seems kind of stupid if you ask me.”

“He only saw what you could do for him. He had no idea you were predestined to be Keith’s mate. He was not privy to the knowledge of the book. You need to stop doubting yourself, Selena. You might feel like a scared little girl, but inside you’re one helluva danger to demons. If you mate with Keith, you’ll be one wicked bitch!”

“You’ve been dying to say that, haven’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“So, all in all I simply have to mate with a wolf and save the world? No pressure there.”

Another knock at the door announced the arrival of my alleged soul-mate and ended the conversation with Sterling. I opened the door and everything in my world was right. When I looked at his smiling face, my insides turned to jelly and ignited a fire deep in my core. Every fiber of my being yearned to be held in his arms, to feel his heartbeat against mine and my body silently begged for his. The mere twelve inches we stood from each other was too far. My destiny was right there in front of me and I hoped I would be able to live long enough to embrace it.

Chapter 20

“HEY, KITTEN.”

Why did that one word turn me to mush? I’d never been a fan of nicknames, but everything the man said caressed me like soft hands that rubbed my worries away. His sexy, southern drawl alone was an aphrodisiac, combined with his charming personality and well-built body inherited from great genes and hard work, was enough to wet more than my appetite.

“Hey, yourself.” I blushed and held the door open wider for him to enter.

“Come on in.”

“Fancy digs” he whistled.

“Yeah, it’s alright, I guess.”

“Hey, Buddy. How are ya’?” He rubbed the top of Sterling’s head after putting our sacks of dinner on the table.

“Hi, Bro!”

Bro? Were they going to give each other high-fives, too? It was so weird watching these two creatures who were supposed to be enemies act like besties, but it was also nice in a twilight zone kind of way. I figured I should just stop questioning all of it and enjoy the good stuff.

“I brought your favorite.” Keith said and held the sack of containers up in the air. The aroma from our favorite food joint had my stomach gurgling and pleading for sustenance.

Sterling clapped and giggled like a silly school-girl before he realized Keith’s watchful eyes were on him, clearly amused. Sterling cleared his throat and sauntered across the floor, playing the ‘cool cat’ card instead.

“That should be fine” he said as he launched and strutted across the mahogany table with an air of indifference.

“For you,” he turned to me “I brought a turkey club, fries, salad, and sodas. I also have more out in my truck. You can stock up your mini-fridge or maybe you’ll decide you’d rather come home with me? You already know I cook a mean breakfast” He winked and turned on that panty-soaking, crooked smile.

Did he practice that in a mirror? Damn the man was tying me in knots and we had barely said ten words so far. He was absolutely perfect. Everything about him screamed ‘pure temptation’. Well, except for the whole ‘changing into a dog’ thing. But I could get used to that, I supposed.

Don’t get me wrong, I love animals. But the idea of kissing Keith, knowing he could (and probably did) lick his own ass and balls was just a bit stomach turning. But he was so damn sexy.

“Selena!”

“What? Holy balls you scared the shit out of me! Why are you yelling at me Sterling?”

“Because I’ve been trying to get your attention for a few minutes, but you were in la-la land.”

“Oh. Well, excuse me.” I rolled my eyes.

“Next time, you might want to filter your thoughts. Some of us don’t need the visuals.” He glared at me and flipped his long, gray tail.

My eyes darted to Keith who stood there grinning at me and he raised one eyebrow.

Shit! I forgot they both could read my thoughts! I must’ve turned an incredible shade of crimson with the amount of heat that rushed to my cheeks and I glanced away quickly. “Let’s eat” I mumbled.

“Yeah, I’m suddenly very hungry, too” Keith said.

How I was able to blush any more than I already had, amazed me. But there I was, red, hot and bothered all over again.

After we ate and discarded our containers, Keith and I walked out onto the balcony while Sterling bathed himself again. We sat at the patio watching the river barges float down the Ohio River. Their decks were loaded with coal and from a distance, the sunset cast shadows making the piles look like mini-mountains. “If only I could move mountains like that.”

“You can, Selena. You have to believe in yourself.”

“How Keith? I’ve never had to fight anything on my own before this week.”

“See? And you made it through that.” When he squeezed my hand, it sent electricity throughout my entire body. The closer we became, the more I felt pulled to him. We were like magnets. I leaned in to kiss him and as soon as our lips touched, I craved more. His tongue slid into my mouth, searching, teasing and he tasted sweet like his tea. Keith wrapped his hands in my hair, pulling me closer. My own hands explored his arms, his chest as my pulse quickened to a steady, rapid staccato. Then without warning, he broke our kiss.

Breathless, he held my face in his hands. “My entire life, I’ve wanted to kiss you, to love you. I never believed I’d have the chance.”

“So why are you stopping? Shut up and kiss me some more.” I smiled and tugged on his shirt, pulling him up against my body.

He held me in his arms and said, “Because Selena, we still have some talking to do. There’s more you need to know, more to learn before we just go jumping into bed together. If I don’t say these things now, it may be too late. Once I start loving you, I won’t want to stop.”

My raging hormones would have to wait. Though I appreciated his gentleman-like attitude, I had needs and if they weren’t fulfilled soon, I knew I’d blow a gasket. “Okay, let’s talk.”

“You might be mad at me for a few things I’m going to say, but you need to understand that I don’t intend to hurt you.”

“Keith, really let’s just talk. Let me decide if I will be mad or not. Okay?” The sooner we finished talking, the sooner I could get laid.

He told me he had seen Shawn with not only Roberta, but many other women from town including Janice. He knew Roberta and Shawn were demons, but their strong financial ties to the town could’ve put the community in unnecessary hardship if Keith had made a move too soon. Though Keith felt I should’ve known all along about Shawn’s deceit, he also believed I would’ve thought Keith was nothing more than a meddling gossiper and jealous, loud-mouth.

After he told his entire side of the story, he added “I’m so sorry, Selena. I never should’ve stayed silent. Hurting you is the last thing I would ever want to do. But I won’t tell you that I’m sorry Richardson and you are through.”

I sat down on one of the Adirondack chairs and listened to the river as its waves gently lapped at the rocks below us. I was too exhausted to be angry with Keith, besides from what Kelly had said yesterday, I’d already gathered he knew about Shawn and Roberta all along. However, I never would’ve imagined Shawn and Janice. Then again, I was way behind in Shawn’s tally of conquests and frankly, I was sick of hearing about Shawn.

I knew Keith was being honest and he did what he thought was best, not only for me but for his father and the entire town. This was more than I had done for any of them recently. My thoughts mulled around my mind and I chose my words with care, before speaking.

“I know you could listen to my thoughts if you wanted, so I won’t try to say it doesn’t upset me.”

“I wasn’t invading your mind this time, I promise. I’m a bit scared of what you’re thinking, so I’m controlling myself.”

“First, let me say you should have told me. You should have let me decide if I would’ve believed you or not. You didn’t trust me enough to let me make up my own mind.” I turned to face him, my eyes full of compassion. “But you were right. I wouldn’t have believed you. I thought I was in love. I believed in so many things that have turned out to be so very wrong. So, I don’t blame you. How could you have known what I would do or say?”

He held me in his arms and I continued, “For the record, I’ve always wanted you to kiss me. When you left, I was hurt. I couldn’t be there for you when your family was killed and I was alone when mine was. It sucked. I blamed the craft, I blamed the goddesses and I blamed everyone except for the demon I fell for. And that really sucks. I’ve been an idiot for so long. But I’m glad you’re back and I’m glad you kissed me, even if it ended too soon.”

“You kissed me” he teased.

I smiled and said, “Are we okay now? Can we get back to that amazing kissing and maybe move on to other more amazing things?”

The smile on his face disappeared. “Not yet. I mean, we’re okay. But there’s more you need to know.”

“There’s more? Like what?”

“The prophecy about us.”

“Oh. Okay, tell me.”

“It was decided before we were even born.”

“Sterling filled me in on most of it.”

“How does he know anything about it?”

“He overheard Kelly and you talking last night. He told me just a little while ago.”

“Did he also tell you about the mating?”

“Yep.”

“So, you’re okay with me biting you?”

Biting? “No one said a word about biting!”

“Well, that’s the only way to make you mine, Selena.”

“Marriage and sex don’t work for wolves?”

“No. I mean we can and will get married, if you want. But to be one of us, you have to be bitten, marked.”

Holy balls! I felt so very ill.

“It’s not like a bite a chunk out of you. In fact, I’ve heard it’s quite pleasing to the receiver. At least until you go through the change. But that’s another conversation we will have later.”

“Change? I have to, um, change?”

“Yeah, change.”

“What will I change into? I’m already a mix of craziness! When will the ‘change’ happen?”

“It can occur anywhere between twelve and seventy-two hours after you’re bitten. Kelly, Dad and I will take care of you. Dad should be back soon and believe me, there’s nothing to worry about, Kitten. You’ll be safe and well taken care of.”

Nothing to worry about? He wanted to chew on me like some meaty-bone and I shouldn’t worry? Oh, and then I get to become a wolf? A bunny murdering, squirrel-eating wolf! Right, not a thing I should be concerned about there.

“I know it sounds scary, but it’s your destiny. How about I just leave for a bit while you think it over and you can call me when you’re ready to talk some more, okay? But know this Selena, I love you and I won’t let anything happen to you. Even if we haven’t mated, you’re already mine.” He stood to leave.

Sterling’s words from earlier mixed with Keith’s and I knew they were both right. But I still had questions and I was so nervous!

“Keith? What if Samell finds out we’ve mated and he tries to kill me? How will I stop his little, demonic party if I’m dead?”

“He won’t know.”

“Shawn showed up here earlier and said he could smell you on me. They’ve been watching me. I know it’s because of this damn ring. It won’t come off!”

“I won’t let them kill you, Kitten. I promise.”

I knew he was telling the truth. I could feel the honesty and integrity rolling off of him in waves. With him, I’d always be safe. Keith was a family man and more intelligent than I’d ever given him credit for. He must know what he was doing. Maybe it was the only way to defeat the parasites that were gunning for me?

Deep in thought, I must’ve looked lost. Keith wrapped his arms around me and kissed me on the top of my head. I knew with complete clarity what I had to do.

“Bite me.”

Chapter 21

“WHAT?” HE STEPPED back as if I’d smacked him.

I pulled the collar of my shirt to the side, “Bite me.”

“Selena, maybe we should slow…”

“Here, I’m ready. Just try not to hit my jugular, okay? I’m kinda’ fond of living and blood is a bitch to get out of fabric. Besides, if I bleed out, I can’t zap the mess away, if you make one. And…”

He began to laugh, a full-on belly laugh. Why was he laughing at me? Embarrassed, my hackles rose and I crossed my arms over my middle.

“What’s so funny, Keith? That’s what you wanted wasn’t it? Here I am giving you permission to snack on me and you’re laughing at me.”

“Aw, Kitten. This is why I love you.” He closed the distance between us, his eyes tender and full of love he said, “Every day and every night I want to make you smile and laugh just like you make me smile and laugh.”

“I’m glad I am sooo amusing” I huffed. “Yeah, folks I’m here all week for your entertainment. Don’t forget to tip your waitresses” I mumbled and flopped myself down on the bed.

“Please don’t be mad. I didn’t mean to laugh at you. You’re just so damn cute!” He tucked his hands into his jeans pockets and walked over to me.

“Selena?”

I refused to look at him.

“Kitten?”

“I’m not your…”

“Yes you are. Look at me.”

“No. Besides, I can’t be a kitten if you bite me. I’ll be a dog, a wolf. ‘Kitten’ doesn’t make any sense.”

“Stop pouting or I might have to spank you, kitten.”

My jaw dropped and my head snapped up. “You wouldn’t! I swear you’re trying to push my buttons, Keith Jacobs! As if I’d let you spank me like I’m some naughty child! You wouldn’t dare!”

He turned on that tempting crooked smile and I could feel heat settle in my middle, battling with my injured pride. “Try me” he drawled.

“Keith, you will not spank me. Try it and I will kick your ass!”

“Want to bet?”

“I mean it!”

In a flash, he had picked me up and bent me over his knees. Crack!

“Hey!”

Another crack across my backside!

“Listen here! If you think I will bow to your dominating…” Crack! “Keith, I will not be treated like a child! Let me…” Crack!

With each tap of his hand, the sting was beginning to excite me. I realized his smacks weren’t painful and I enjoyed each tap more than I ever thought I would. I knew my ass would show a red branding from his hand and it was turning me on.

“Ready to be good?”

I said nothing. Crack!

“You’re a bully!” I giggled.

Crack!

I wanted more so I pretended to struggle and wiggle. Every time he smacked my bottom, my body tightened with need. My panties were damp and the rough fabric was creating a glorious friction against my hardening nub each time I moved.

“Silent treatment?”

Crack!

“Kitten?”

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” My nipples were hard little peaks and desire rolled through me in waves.

Whack!

I was so lost in ecstasy that I didn’t realize I’d whimpered, wiggled and ground my pelvis against his thighs with abandon.

“Oh. You like that? I guess I should stop.” He rubbed my ass where only moments ago, he’d slapped it. The heat from his hand was soothing the sting and turning me on even more. The contrast from pain to pleasure sent my hormones into overdrive.

“Mm mm…”

As I lay face down across his lap, his hand traced the seam of my jeans from my ass to my front. Shivers rippled through me as he cupped, rubbed and stroked my covered mound. I could feel his erection poking me through his jeans as he sat beneath me and I hungered for more.

“Selena? Are you ready to listen?’

I shook my head.

He stood me up and I straddled his lap, facing him. “I don’t want to listen, Keith and I’m tired of talking.” Grinding my crotch against him, a small moan escaped my lips. “Do you really want to talk right now?” I trailed kisses up one side of his neck, nibbling an ear lobe. He said nothing and I pressed my breasts against him and scraped my nails across his back.

He wrapped his hands in my hair, pulling my body down hard to meet his. I ran my hands over his shoulders and grabbed fistfuls of his long hair. I needed to touch him, every inch of him. I pulled his shirt over his head and reveled in the sight of his broad chest and muscular arms. Apparently, being a wolf is very good for the body.

‘Thank you Goddess!’ The man was seriously built. Not like those wrestlers on television, all bulgy and covered in veins and hard, steroid-induced muscles. Goddess he was perfect! Firm, muscular and tan with abs unlike any I’d ever seen. For being a wolf-man, he wasn’t as furry as I’d expected and I was a bit surprised. In fact there was only a thin line of dark hair down the middle of his chest and stomach that trailed into his well-worn jeans. Damn those jeans! They blocked my view of the rest of Keith’s goodies. Beneath those cursed jeans, Keith’s manhood taunted me like a present that begged to be opened.

When our eyes met, I could feel the heat rising between us. There was an unspoken understanding, like the kind I’d only ever seen in movies or read about in books. We moved, thought, existed as one. So in tune with each other, we sensed the others desires and needs. This man felt like the other half I’d always searched for. His touch filled me with an inner peace I had never known and my spirit cried with relief with every kiss we shared.

He stood up, cradling my ass with his hands and held me against him. Though held in his hard-working hands made me feel dainty and cherished, my body ached to be ravished. Every touch, every look filled me with longing. My heart was full, but I needed him inside of me. I couldn’t get close enough to him and his masculine scent was drove me into an absolute frenzy of desire.

Sensing my urgency or perhaps it was his own dwindling control, he stood me on my feet and gently raised my arms above my head. Keith pulled my shirt up and off of me as if the cotton t-shirt was made of the finest silk. How he could be so methodical was a mystery to me. All I wanted was to rip both of our clothes off, practicality be damned!  His eyes never left mine as I unbuttoned my jeans. Grabbing my belt loops, he pulled my pants down my thighs with ease and they puddled at my feet along with all of my worries.

“Selena…”

“Shh, no talking.”

Keith took off his jeans and briefs, tossing them to the side before I could tear them off of him myself. He was standing at full attention and I felt another wave of ecstasy roll through me along with a thankful prayer for the large present he had for me. I shimmied out of my bra and panties just before he wrapped his arms around me again.

As his length pressed against my mound, his lips left a trail of hot kisses across my shoulders. I knew he was holding back and being gentle, but I needed more. I needed to release the primal lust inside of me before I exploded. I nibbled his bottom lip and pushed him towards the bed with my body.

“Not so fast, Kitten.” He spun me around and tossed me onto the heavenly mound of down and silk.

Keith slid his hands up my legs, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. I squirmed under his touch, craving more.

“You’re so beautiful, Selena.”

His lips caressed the inside of my thigh as his fingers rubbed my entrance with urgency. I arched my back, raising my hips off the bed. Keith placed a hand on my stomach which set off another wave of heat from just that one touch as he held me in place.

Passion and desire rolled through my body and my senses came alive. His every touch spun my senses out of control.  Wave after wave of white hot heat poured through me and when he moved his hand away in search of more skin, I whimpered from the chill left behind and begged him for more.

His mouth covered me and he slid his tongue into my core. I wrapped my hands in his hair moaning as he devoured me as a starving man would ravish a ripened plum. I lifted my hips, rubbing myself against his face as his licks intensified.

He pinched my primed nub with one hand as his other slid up to squeeze my breast. The blood rushed back as he released the hard, little nub creating a pain that turned to such sweetness, I thought I was losing my mind. My first orgasm slammed into me with orgasmic fury and I screamed his name as he lapped at my cream.

My eyes rolled back into my head as I writhed in ecstasy and begged him for more. “Please Keith! Now!”

He rubbed the head of his shaft up and down between my thighs, teasing and taunting. He positioned himself above me and shoved the tip of him inside. I dug my nails into his hips, trying to shove him in deeper and he pulled away slightly. Over and over, he barely dipped inside of me until I was out of my mind with need.

As I moaned and begged, he plunged himself into me, filled and stretched me, filling me more completely than I’d ever been. He pounded into me and I lifted my hips to match his rhythm.  I found his weak spot when I pinched his nipples and he let out a primal growl as he neared the edge of oblivion.

“Here we go, kitten. Ready?”

“Mm hm...”

He lowered his mouth to my breast and I wrapped my legs around him, taking his full length as far into me as it could go. As we both rocketed towards climax, he bit my already tender breast and I screamed in euphoria! I felt my eyes change and I couldn’t breathe, but I did not care. More, more! My body and mind screamed, begged for everything he had to offer. His hot seed poured into me and my muscles milked him for every last drop. Swirls of colors danced before my eyes and I heard him say “I love you, kitten” before the darkness claimed me and I slid into unconsciousness.

Chapter 22

I WAS SURROUNDED by a warm cocoon and everything felt different. I was safe and protected. I snuggled down into the comforting silk and my face rubbed up against something hard and solid, shocking me awake.

Keith. “You’re still here? I thought I was dreaming.”

“Where would I go?” He kissed the top of my head and rubbed my arm.

“What happened?”

“You passed out, again. But don’t worry I’ve heard that it happens a lot.”

“How long was I out?”

“Only a few moments, you okay?”

“Never better.” I looked down to where he had bitten me and I could see it was already healing. “I should hop up and get in the shower, but I don’t want to move from this spot. Ever.”

“Don’t worry. I already cleaned you up, kitten.”

“Really? Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.” No one had ever done that for me before. The man was incredible! I didn’t know whether to feel embarrassed or cherished. All of it was such a new experience and I had no idea how to behave.

“Yep. All nice and fresh again. I promised to take care of you.”

I swatted at him playfully, “Then let’s get messy again.”

“I will enjoy hearing you say that for the rest of our lives, kitten.”

“After I change, won’t it be weird calling me ‘kitten’?”

“You’ll always be my kitten.”

“You still haven’t explained why you call me that.”

“Okay, don’t laugh. You’ve always reminded me of a kitten. You’re soft and sweet, needing someone to guide you and take care of you. But like a cat, you don’t want anyone to know that. You pretend to be invincible and strong, daring to test the limits without concern of consequences, always getting up even if you fall down over and over again. You’re full of energy, love and surprises and I know you’ll always keep me on my toes. Selena, I know how I’ve described it, isn’t perfect, but you’re everything I’ve always wanted and I can’t stand the thought of you not being in my life.”

Keith held me tight as I traced lazy circles on his chest with my finger. He was right, his words weren’t romance novel perfect by any means, but I’d never been a fan of cookie-cutter romance books. They always seemed too good to be true. What Keith had said meant more to me than anything some author could’ve written for their make-believe characters. To me, his speech was beyond perfect and beside him in that moment I was as content as a kitten in a patch of sunshine. Maybe the name fit after all.

“When I…you know…is it going to hurt?”

He waited, taking a moment before answering. “Honey, I honestly don’t know. When I went through it, yes it hurt like hell the first dozen or so times. But it got easier. And you can always practice.”

“Practice? Like every full moon, practice?”

“No, not just during a full moon.” He laughed. “Anytime. You can change whenever you want after you get the hang of it. When you’re ready, I’ll show you.”

“You will?”

He kissed the top of my head, “Yes, but I can’t explain what will happen or how it will happen. You are unique.”

“Is that because I’m a half-breed?”

“You’re not a half-breed, Selena. There are many reasons this will be different. But yes, the fact that you are half-demon, half-witch does change a few things. It’s been unheard of until now. So, there’s no guide book for this.”

“Great. I’m the first? I’m going to be an even bigger freak.” Rolling over, I tossed the sheet aside and stood up.

“Kitten, you’ll never be a freak. I don’t ever want to hear you talk about yourself that way again. Understand? You are unique, special and I love everything about you. Please, don’t worry so much. I promise I won’t leave your side.”

I tried to give him my most convincing smile before I walked into the bathroom. The rat’s nest that had taken the place of my hair needed serious attention and of course, after making love, my bladder screamed to be relieved.

“When you get back, you can tell me about those bruises on your beautiful body, Selena.”

Damn! I’d forgotten about the fight with Shawn. Keith was going to flip-out!

I finished my business, washed and dried my hands. The long, sometimes painful process of brushing my ‘just been shagged’ hair began and as I stared into the mirror, a violet colored mist appear behind me. Weapon in hand, I turned around slowly and speechless, I watched as the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen materialized right before my eyes.

Though she was beautiful with her waist-length, raven colored hair and eyes the color of spring violets, my mind screamed ‘Demon!’ She had to be another friend of Roberta’s. No one could be as goddess-like as she was without it being a trap. Maybe she was one of those sirens, women who lured men to their deaths below the murky surface of the sea. But how on earth would a mermaid get in here? Oh yeah, bathroom, duh.

“What do you want?”

She spread her arms wide and the bracelets she wore were linked to a necklace made of the most beautiful alexandrite I had ever seen, shimmered and shined as she moved, casting prisms of color all around the room. I knew she couldn’t be a mermaid and my mind ran through the various pretty demons I’d read about long ago, but she didn’t match any of the pictures I could recall.

“It’s time, Selena.”

“Time for what and who are you?”

“My name is Amaris. I’m an enforcer for the council of elders.”

Right. This beautiful woman with a voice that flowed over my body like satin was an enforcer? Please! More like lust demon. Every word she said tickled and touched me, pleasuring me from across the room. I hadn’t even remembered I was naked until she mentioned the elders.

“You’re an enforcer? All goddess-like and standing in my hotel bathroom? This place must be a beacon for paranormal activity” I said as I looked around the room, ready to whip some ass in case anyone else decided to join our impromptu party.

“What do you mean, Selena? I was sent to get you and here I am. There’s no need for modesty” she said matter-of-factly as I grabbed a pink, fluffy robe and slid it on, my sarcasm lost on her.

“Well, I’d feel more comfortable if I could wear some clothing, Amaris.”

“You need to say your goodbyes. It’s time to go.”

“Can’t I have a little more time? Keith and I…”

“I’m well aware of your recent activities. But I was sent here to bring you back with me and we are on a tight schedule. I will allow you a few moments to inform your familiar and your wolf friend but then we must leave.”

I knew I was supposed to be a strong, fierce and self-assured witch, but my lip trembled and my heart felt like it was breaking. Keith and I had finally found each other and I’d just been bitten! Who would take care of me when I went all fangy and fuzzy? What if the elders thought I had rabies and tried to put me down like some common street-mongrel? This was turning into too much to handle!

“My familiar, Keith and his sister planned on being witnesses for me at the trial. And I can’t just…”

“There is no need for witnesses” she said harshly.

Meow! Miss naked and full of hotness was quite temperamental, wasn’t she?

“The elders have everything they need, Selena. They are awaiting your arrival as we speak.”

“So, I have to go alone?”

“Did you not gain the council’s attention on your own?”

Though it pained me to admit it, she was right. I had to do this on my own. I blinked back tears and said “Okay. Just give me a minute and I will be back.”

“No. I am to escort you wherever you go.”

“Great. Can you at least pretend not to listen?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Never mind.”

Keith was already dressed when we walked into the bedroom suite. Thank the goddess for small miracles. I would’ve gone ape-shit crazy if I caught ‘Miss Hot-Body’ ogling my wolf!

Sterling stood on the bed, his eyes the size of saucers as we approached. “Mistress, what’s going on?”

“I have to go.”

Keith spun around, I saw his confusion change to understanding and he was embracing me in the blink of an eye. “Everything will be okay. After we tell them our side, they will understand.”

“You can’t go. They only want me.” Before he could protest I said; “It’s fine, Keith. I’m a big girl. Will you please take care of Sterling? The room is paid for so you both can stay here if you want. No sense in it going to waste.”

“We’ll be right here, waiting for you.” Keith kissed me with unbridled passion and Sterling rubbed against my side.

“Selena, we’ll stay right here. You just tell them your side. You can do this!” Sterling stood up on his hind legs and placed his front paws on my chest, looked me in the eyes and said, “Believe in yourself. We believe in you, Mistress.”

I rubbed his head and wiped a tear from my eye. Kissing him on the nose, I whispered “I love you, Buddy.”

Tears pooled in his eyes as he whispered for the first time ever, “I love you too, Mistress.”

“We need to go, Selena.”

“Just a minute!” Keith held onto to me, protecting me as an alpha would, as a true man would.

He planted his lips on mine one more time, once again filling me with more love and hope than I’d ever had my entire life. “See you soon, kitten. Whatever happens, we’ll be right here.”

Tears threatened to pour out of me and I nodded my head, afraid to speak, afraid that would be our first and only goodbye.

As the purple mist swirled around and swallowed us, I waved goodbye to my soul-mate and turned to face the next part of my so-called destiny.

Chapter 23

“AMARIS, WHERE ARE we going?”

“Summerland.”

Shit. My trial was in Summerland? How could that be? That would mean the elders were loved ones and friends who had passed on, right?

Summerland is the land where our souls went when we died, where we would be judged and where we awaited our next lifetime. Filled with so many different realms and lands, one could never see everything Summerland has to offer. I had no idea what to expect for I had only heard stories and folklore, but I can honestly say I was scared shitless.

The mist around us dissipated as we stepped into the most amazing place I’d ever seen. No wonder most people weren’t sad when they died or sad when their family and friends died. From what I saw, Summerland was paradise! We were surrounded by rolling hills and trees of every color, size and shape as we walked across the softest blue-green grass I had ever seen. There were more species of flowers lining the path than man-kind could ever name. Each was species brighter and more beautiful than the last.

“It’s so beautiful! It’s like a mirror image of Salem Ridge, only more vibrant and alive.”

“It is the parallel of your world, but untouched by chemicals, pollution and time.”

“Are my parents here? Will I see them?”

“I don’t know Selena. My orders were simply to bring you for your trial. The elders didn’t tell me anything else.”

“It’s probably for the best anyways.”

We walked on and on passing winding creeks and waterfalls where people dressed in bright, flowy clothing talked and laughed. There wasn’t one frown or sorrowful gaze. The people enjoyed their after-life and all that went with it. I wondered if they’d been as happy before they died or if it they’d acquired a bigger sense of peace after they’d passed. No one acted as though they missed their families, friends or former lives. I felt like I had stepped further into the twilight zone.

“Is everyone here dead?” I couldn’t stop the questions that bubbled up inside and I hoped Amaris wouldn’t think badly of me. However, she had to know what I was on trial for. The elders and residents of Summerland probably discussed me quite often. What a failure and idiot, I’d been would’ve had to have been a hot topic considering who my parents and other relatives were. My imagination ran wild with images of people lining the streets and stoning me in the town square.

“Some are.” Amaris’s sudden answer startled and I paid close attention to every word she spoke. “Others have chosen to give up their powers and ties to your world in order to stay here. And then there are others who are trapped here for many different reasons.”

“Trapped? Why would anyone feel trapped here?”

“It is not for me to say. There are many things about this place I don’t even know.”

“Really?”

“I would not lie to you.” Her answers were clipped and concise. Nothing in her eyes betrayed what her feelings were. How could a woman so beautiful have no emotion?

“I believe it.” I whispered. And I also believed Amaris had no idea how to smile.

“I smile when I’m not working.”

“You can read my mind, too?” Lovely. I swore nothing in my life would ever be private again. Everyone I knew could tap into ‘the Selena network’ whenever the desire struck them and it began to irk me. Why was it even necessary to speak telepathically? To me, it was nothing more than a huge inconvenience!

“Of course I can read your mind. It’s part of my job to read the thoughts of others, Selena. And I take it very seriously.”

Of course it was. So, in order to keep myself from thinking anything else that might’ve gotten me into trouble, I continued watching the various people as we walked along. They were all happy. It made me speechless to see such bliss. And I was a bit confused. This place was an enigma!

“There is only happiness in this realm. Other places are much darker. There is a realm for every possible emotion and crime.”

“Every emotion?”

“Yes Selena, even one for lust.” I saw a small smile creep across her face.

Yes, she smiled! I blushed at the mention of ‘lust’’, again she’d read my mind and had probably seen the movie-like playback of memories from my prior round of love-making with Keith. I felt like I was surrounded by paranormal peeping-toms! Oh no! If Keith and I were connected telepathically, surely Keith and Kelly were also able to read each of the others thoughts! Kelly would know every, sordid detail of mine and Keith’s sexual escapade, every time we made love! Oh goddess, the humiliation radiated from me in waves. How would I ever be able to face Kelly again? And then, I thought of Kyle! The embarrassment kept getting worse and I hadn’t even been face-to-face with Kelly or Kyle yet.

Amaris and I rounded a corner and came upon an immense clearing. I saw wolves of every size and color frolicking in a field of wild daisies. As we approached, they all stopped playing, trotted over and bowed their heads as we walked by. I returned their gesture and smiled.

“They know and welcome you. Those wolves are the guardians of our realm and no one harboring ill-will may enter. I may be able to read people’s minds, but those wolves read people’s hearts. Yours is pure.” Amaris stated.

“What? How do they know that? How do you know that?” Shocked, my words came out in a stuttering mess and again I felt naïve and inferior. Everyone knew more than I did about the world, about me than I did. It was very unsettling to realize how sheltered my entire life had been. There was so much I needed to know. How did anyone believe I would be able to defeat demons such as Roberta, Shawn and Samell, let alone save all of the people who depended on me? I was in way over my head and the water just kept rising.

“Our wolves can sense you have been marked. You are now their kin, part of the eternal pack that lives here.”

“I haven’t even gone through the change yet. How can they possibly know?”

“Can’t you see that anything is possible here? To them, you are a queen, marked by a next in line alpha.”

Gulp. “Queen?”

“There are many sides to you that will appeal to many creatures. Your powers, your gifts will be sought by many. Evil, good and in between, creatures will crave everything about you.”

She then pointed to a ridge covered in black clouds and shadows. “That’s where we are going. Follow me and watch your step. If you fall, there will be no saving you.”

My heart dropped. I wanted to stay where it was sunny and the people were happy. I’d never been a fan of cloudy, cold days and that ridge up ahead did not appear very inviting. In fact, if misery were a picture, that ridge is what I would see.

We came to a stone bridge, and I could tell that each rock had been placed by hand. It was perfect. How something so beautiful could exist in this dark and frightful area of Summerland amazed me. Below us, water as clear as glass trickled over stones and created little waves and dips as it babbled along a hundred feet down. Amaris was right, it was a long way to fall. The bridge seemed to go on forever, and with every step I sent up a silent prayer the bridge was as sturdy as it was pretty.  I know we crossed it in no time.

A large, gray castle loomed before us. Dark and menacing, it was the complete opposite of everything I had seen so far and very fitting for that particular realm. There was no light source, no sun or moon. The trees or what used to be trees were blackened and charred. I didn’t see one animal, person or insect out and about. I had the distinct sense that no creature other than a demon could have survived for very long in that realm.

Lightning cracked across the sky and thunder rumbled beneath our feet as we approached the giant building standing in the mist. No, it wasn’t because of me. In fact my powers felt like they were gone. The air was charged with palpable electricity and the very atmosphere seemed to feed on it. This couldn’t be where the elders lived! Who were the people inside? Were they even people? What exactly was inside that place? My nerves were raw but I wasn’t about to cry or show weakness, so I straightened my shoulders and followed Amaris.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” I knew it was, but I had to hold onto a tiny, glimmer of hope she’d messed up, didn’t I?

She said nothing and we walked on. A huge wooden door opened of its own accord and my stomach flipped as the forty foot tall slab of cedar slammed against an inner wall. The only noise that broke through the electrical storm around us was the cavernous echo that ricocheted off of the castle walls.

“Wait, Amaris. I know you work for them but can you tell me how worried I should really be?”

“There are no worries in this realm, Selena. Nothing here can be changed, the outcome is already decided. This is the realm of truth and justice. Here, no fancy lighting or trickery can block the truth. Justice is truly blind until the truth breaks through, setting one free. Justice cannot and does not hide in the darkness, it merely uses it as a magnifying glass. Do you understand?” I dared not say no and merely nodded to Amaris while I hoped she believed me.

“Good. On the other side of this castle lie the realms of regret and sorrow, along with many others of the unhappy sort. Those realms torture the body, mind and spirit forever with no relief. If you were going there, then I’d tell you to worry. That’s what those realms are for.”

“Lovely.”

We came upon another wooden door. This one was warded and carved with the many runes that were carved into my book. There was even a matching aquamarine gem in the middle of the door. This one however, was the size of my head. I had no idea what the similarity to my book meant, but somehow it gave me a sense of belonging and strength in light of what had happened so far.

“Here we are, Selena.” Amaris laid a hand on my shoulder and it was the only emotion I had seen her express on our journey. “Good Luck.” Her eyes were kind and full of understanding as she turned to leave.

“Thank you, Amaris. Will I see you again?”

“One never knows.” She shrugged her shoulders and I waved as she continued on her way.

Taking a deep breath, I traced the runes with my finger in the same order I had when I opened my family’s book and when I touched the enormous jewel in the center, it glowed and the door swung open into the enormous room beyond.

Chapter 24

“COME IN SELENA. We’ve been waiting for you to arrive. I trust your journey was a good one?”

I stood before three women. Two of them I had known my entire life and never thought I’d see again.  The third was someone I’d never met. My mother and Keith’s mother sat beside a woman who could be my twin, her resemblance to me was uncanny. I only knew who she was because it was her picture, her story I had read in our family’s journal.

My great Aunt Elizabeth sat in the middle chair. I could tell hers was the highest place of authority here and my mother and Katharine were her co-elders. It took every ounce of control I had to keep myself from flying across the table and hugging all of them. Though I was supposed to be a great and powerful witch, all I wanted was to hug my mom, to have her tell me everything would be alright.

I saw kindness in each of their eyes, but they also portrayed a seriousness that I dared not dismiss. Many people were seated in chairs behind us watching every move I made. I could sense their displeasure with me, their disdain for my past actions and a shiver of fear ran through me as I looked around.  I assumed they were the jury of my so-called peers. By the looks on their faces, I knew I was up to my ears in deep shit.

“Selena, did you hear me?” My aunt asked.

“Yes ma’am. Sorry, I wasn’t ignoring you. My journey was fine. Everything is so beautiful here.”

“You turned your back on all of this beauty at one point, did you not?”

I hung my head, stuffing my hands deep into the pockets of my fluffy, pink robe. “Yes ma’am. But…”

“Selena the charges against you are enormous and they’ve gotten worse” my mother said.

“Worse? How could they be any worse? I know I made some terrible judgment calls but if I had only known…”

“Silence. Your chance to defend yourself will come soon enough. The evidence provided, accuses you of murder by magic, using magic for personal gain, using magic for revenge and attempted murder by magic.”

I had no choice but to refrain and keeping my mouth shut proved more difficult the longer my aunt spoke. There’s no way they believed I murdered any of those people! I looked around the room in disbelief, searching for a sign from someone, anyone that they also believed this trial was preposterous. Nobody would make eye contact with me. They all turned their heads and whispered to their neighbors, but none of them gave me any sign that they were on my side. I was on my own.

“What? You obviously know I did not kill my mother and father. And Keith’s mother can tell you it wasn’t me who killed her or Keith’s brothers. She’s sitting right there, ask her!” The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. There was no one to defend me and I’d be damned before I would go down without a fight. I had too much to fight for and I was not going to be the quiet Selena they wanted me to be. That could be my only chance to stand up for myself and I wouldn’t waste it.

Maybe my emotional state wasn’t stellar, but I wasn’t a murderer. I may have been an idiot, but that was over. I knew what I had to do. Those people needed me, yet all of them acted as though I was some huge inconvenience. I guess I should have been grateful they’d taken the time to stop bathing naked in the waterfalls to come to Castle Grey Hall just to convict me. Silly me!

“Selena, you will restrain yourself and speak with respect.”

“Sorry. But you cannot expect me to believe you would believe I’ve done those things. And attempted murder of whom?”

“We have no idea what to believe. That’s why you’re here. The attempted murder charge stems from your fiancés house being blown to bits four hours ago and it reeks of your magic.”

“Fiancé? Don’t you mean demon? And he is no longer my fiancé! The only thing tying me to him is this damn ring that won’t come off! Yes, I have thought about killing the slimy bastard a million times, but I didn’t do it. I wasn’t anywhere near his place. And I haven’t been for over four months! It wasn’t my magic!”

“Really? You burned your own property and home to the ground, did you not?”

“Yes, but…”

“You were also present when your parents and Katherine and her family were killed, were you not?”

“No!”

“And didn’t you call on your powers to fight a woman named Roberta McManus?”

“She is a demon! My half-sister as a matter of fact, right mother? And I didn’t start it. She did. It was self-defense. Was I supposed to let her kill Sterling and me?”

“We could also charge you with killing your familiar, Selena.”

The crowd in the galley gasped, appalled at my alleged, magical, murderous rampage. “Oh please.” I rolled my eyes at them. “Everyone knows I would never kill him on purpose. He means the world to me! It was an accident.”

“Didn’t you also bind your fiancé in the Honeymoon Suite at the Upton House Inn while you threw lightning and fire balls at him?”

“Again, self-defense!”

“Selena, please?”

“Please what Mom? Stay silent and get railroaded by these trumped up charges? Let more people lie about me and gossip about what they think they know?”

“Selena,” my aunt Elizabeth said “I’m warning you.”

“And I’m warning you. I will not be lied to, lied about and stand here like a patsy any longer. I didn’t do anything horrible. I did not kill anyone! Yes, I blew up my house. I did fight Roberta and Shawn, but they’re demons. A fact that I would’ve been prepared for had my own parents not lied to me my entire life.”

My mother’s face paled and I felt horrible, but right was right. How dare they sit there condemning me for things they could’ve helped prevent?

“Yeah, Mother. Keith told me. The answers he didn’t have, the book filled in for me.”

I knew my eyes were glowing. I could tell by the looks of fear on the faces of everyone in the room. Inside I laughed as they cowered in fear of me. A bunch of pathetic, weak minions were going to decide my fate? Well, I’d give them a show if I had to, if it was the last thing I did.

“Selena, there are other ways to deal with anger. I suggest you calm down and listen to me young lady!” My aunt shouted.

The galley erupted in bouts of “Guilty!” and “Lock her up!” People were pissed off and scared. Without any true evidence they wanted me to hang for crimes I hadn’t even committed. Like I’d thought, the whole trial was a bunch of bullshit! It didn’t matter what I said or did, they’d already made their decisions and I was screwed.

“Really? Calm down? You have me on trial with bogus evidence, your people are ready to lynch me in the town square and you want me to be the one who calms down? You have to be freaking kidding me!”

“Take her away!”

“What? You can’t! I’m not finished!”

“Guards, now!”

Suddenly, I was frozen where I was standing. No matter how hard I tried to speak, I couldn’t even move my lips. My mouth felt like it had been gagged with a thick rope. I could move my eyes and all I saw was fear from the people that surrounded me. I guess I’d gone all freaky again. One woman passed out and there was a group of ladies trying to revive her. Somehow, this made me giggle. Shit, they hadn’t seen anything yet!

“Selena, you will be put into a cell by yourself. We will let you know when we have reached a decision. Until then, I suggest you use this time wisely and do some very deep soul searching.”

Decision? How could they make a decision when they hadn’t even shown me their evidence? Where was the truth Amaris spoke of? What about the wolves? Aunt Elizabeth should ask them about me, they knew I wasn’t capable of murder! Everything Amaris had said was bullshit!  Just lies to get me to this horrid, dank and filthy castle for a joke of a trial.

Two men in white robes carried me like a sack of potatoes out of the room and down many flights of stairs. They deposited me in a dark, cold cell and I was powerless to stop it. They sat me on the floor after many attempts of trying to prop me up on the stone slab of a bench had failed. One of the men brought me a cup of tea and a tray of food that I couldn’t even consume. I guessed they had some sick sense of humor. Hell, they probably got off on watching me starve while being able to do nothing about it. Like putting a piece of cheese just out of the mouse’s reach. Sick bastards!

I was being treated like some common criminal! As I looked around at my meager surroundings, I realized that’s what I was. A criminal. I didn’t care about my rights until I lost them, until it was too late. I didn’t just lose my rights, I lost everything because of my own actions. It was over and as I wept silently, I knew I had no one else to blame. Exhausted and depleted, I fell asleep on the hard, stone floor alone.

Chapter 25

I ASSUMED IT was hours later but I had no way of actually knowing how long it was before another of those kind, caring and comedic guards showed up to inform me, “They’ve reached a decision.”

Yippee. They were so tight-lipped around that place. All I could discern from him was what my eyes saw. He wore shabby clothing, no shoes and had a beard of gray hair that reached the floor. Other than that, I knew nothing about the man. Maybe it was better that way and maybe that’s how the elders wanted it. No names, no relationships to keep everyone wondering and scared.

The man left and I sat there in my robe trying not to think of a bathroom and some underwear. What I wouldn’t give for a pair of skivvies and a bra! There was no point in worrying about the ‘decision’, I knew that. I’d it had been out of my hands long before now. Yes, I was frustrated, but my night of rest had shown me my desperate outbursts had sealed my fate and I could only ride the ever-swelling tide of consequences or be drowned by it. Never the giving up kind of woman, I chose to ride it out.

The odds were stacked in the favor of demons. Shawn and Roberta were right, I would be blamed and my powers would be stripped. They’d framed me for that insane list of crimes and gotten away with it. Roberta and Shawn would take everything that meant anything to me and I would be prevented from stopping them. They were going to win. Roberta would have everything she wanted and when these people realized who the real criminals were, it’d be too late.

The next time the doors opened, I saw the elders sent five women that I’d never seen before. They placed my hands behind my back and led me through the labyrinth of hallways back to the council’s chamber. Their solemn faces held no sign of what the decision would be, but I didn’t need a sign from them. As I walked into the room, I scanned the faces of my peers and realized the decision had been made long before I had arrived in Summerland.

“Selena, I trust you’re feeling better now that you’ve had some rest?”

“Yes ma’am” I said to Katherine.

“We are well aware of the events that have transpired over the course of these past months and those that are more recent. We also know the terrible amount of stress you have been under. However, we cannot allow you to run around abusing your powers like you have been.”

My mother cut in, her words rapid as if it was her last chance to speak with me “Selena, I know you have found out the truth about your father. But it doesn’t make you evil. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. Honestly, I doubt it would’ve helped much if I had. Some things are meant to happen and there’s no stopping them. I hope someday you will forgive me and…”

“Selena,” Elizabeth spoke again, cutting my mother off. “We are aware that your father, your real father Samell, has been up to his old tricks again. From the beginning, his plan has been to use you in some way and he has been after your powers since the day you were born.”

“I will not help him.”

“We cannot take that chance. You are half-demon and that raises the issue of trust. You are not capable of controlling your powers or separating them from your emotional state and that scares us. It also puts us, as well as you, in imminent danger.”

I knew that, but hearing her say it didn’t make it hurt any less. They were right. Most days, I was a hairpin trigger looking for a gun. Half-demon and half-witch, what could be more wicked than that? Oh yeah, I was also part werewolf. Good Goddess, I was a mess!

“However, we also know that you are Keith’s soul-mate.” I looked at Katherine and she smiled. “My son will guide you through the changes you are about to face. He will show you how to embrace your inner wolf and that will also teach you to control each individual side of you. But we have no idea when your transformation will begin. And for now, we need to deal with your powers and Samell’s schemes without counting on you being able to shift.”

“Your powers will be bound to your crystal for a probationary period. Whether you choose to help Samell or not, is up to you. He may be able to offer you a way to regain your powers, the choice will be yours. Only you can decide how all of this will end” my mother said.

“I won’t do what he asks. He is nothing to me. I don’t owe him my allegiance. He created this mess that I’ve become and maybe he should suffer my wrath.”

“Selena, there are no guarantees and you cannot promise something that you may not have any control over. Demons will use every trick in the book and you wouldn’t be the first to fall for it” my aunt looked at my mother.

“You don’t believe me. I’m not like him, Aunt Katharine. Sure, by blood he and I are somewhat connected, but that gives me an edge. I see how vile and disgusting they are. I want nothing to do with them or their plans.”

Elizabeth continued on, “The murder charges will be thoroughly investigated and we will rule upon those at a later date if necessary. For now, I need you to show us your crystal.”

I pulled it out from under the collar of my robe and held onto it for dear life. Though I’d known all along this could happen, though I had given up on the craft for a while, I stood there feeling like shit for having my powers taken from me, like a child who was about to have all of her precious belongings stripped from her grasp because she’d misbehaved. Sure, my powers weren’t toys, but I needed them. I refused to cry in front of these people, family or not. I would figure out how to live without my magic, find a way to defeat the demons without them.

I heard my mother’s voice in my mind, “I’m so sorry, Selena.”  I saw tears in her eyes and I met them with all of the strength I could muster.

Holding my head high and my chin forward, I knew they were taking my powers but at least I hadn’t been condemned to that awful dungeon. I vowed I would never again disappoint my mother. Never again did I want to see that look on her face. From now on, I wouldn’t let anyone down ever again.

“Do what you must” I said as I let go of the crystal and it lay against the lapels of my robe.

The three of them, my mother, my aunt and my future mother-in-law stood and joined hands in front of me.

My aunt spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “Selena Barnes, daughter of Elena and Samell, you have been found guilty as charged. Your misuse of magic has endangered not only yourself, but all of us. We, the Council of Elders, hereby bind your powers so that you may never harm another living creature. Should you try to regain your powers, you will be brought back here to the dungeons to live out the rest of your days. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am. I mean ma’ams.”

My mother wiped a tear away with the sleeve of her sky blue dress. She looked so beautiful and I wished we had had more time together. Time that wasn’t spent with me getting my ass handed to me by Summerland authorities.

Aunt Elizabeth called upon Isis, the goddess of nature and magic. The blessing of Isis was a necessity for any spell cast by a witch. Without such blessing, a witch ran the risk of unnecessary karmic kick-back. If a witch used magic without permission, the consequences were dire. In essence Isis was called upon for guidance and help in all matters whenever any witch needed assistance. She was our counselor, friend and confidante. If we said thank you and praised her, she would continue to be there for whatever we needed. I hoped someday I would find myself back in Isis’s favor. Until then, I would remain on her list of misfit and problematic children.

A strong wind blew out every candle in the room and papers flew all around us. The people in the galley yelled out and there were a few screams as an unseen force entered the room. There were no windows, no sun or moon yet the room lit with every color of the rainbow. Swirls of pastel beams shot out of my body, hovered around the ceiling and combined to make the most brilliant green light I had ever seen. The beam of light bounced around as if confused before slamming into my crystal with enough force to drop me to my knees. Chaos continued all around us as I knelt on the floor panting and gasping, it felt like my very soul was being ripped from my body.

“I’m so sorry!” I wept. “I promise I’ll never mess up again, please just stop!”

The three elders raised their arms to the ceiling and in unison shouted, “So it is. So shall it be!”

I collapsed to the floor full of shame and regret as Katherine approached me and said, “Selena, you will be okay. I promise. This is for the best, dear.” She touched my face before walking away.

For the best? I was about to be pounced on by three demons who wanted my crystal like it was demon meth or something and I was powerless to stop them. These elders had done exactly what those demonic assholes wanted. Now, I would be bait for Roberta, Shawn, Samell and any other demon with a set of balls. Yeah, everything was going to be just damn peachy!

“You will be taken to a room to rest for a bit. Soon, an escort will arrive to take you back to Salem Ridge. I wish we had met under better circumstances, niece. You’re a beautiful, strong woman and I wish you the best of luck.”

The three of them hugged me and my mother whispered ‘I love you, Selena. Trust yourself. The answers are within you. Be safe.”

Hugs and words to placate my broken spirit were all I was given. Not the loving and tender family reunion I had envisioned. What a freaking crock! Weary and beyond exhausted, all I wanted was to go home to Salem Ridge. I needed to get as far away from these people as soon as possible, back to my life and back to my real family.

A new young woman came to lead me away by the hand. I was too depleted of energy to say a word. I reached up to hold my crystal for comfort and it felt repulsive. I couldn’t stand to touch it and I didn’t even want it around my neck. Whatever the binding ceremony had done had changed it. My lifeline to the universe had been severed and it sickened me.

“You must leave it on” the woman said as I attempted to lift it off of my neck. Her eyes held sympathy and I realized that she also had been bound by the Council. “It isn’t so bad, really. You’ll get used to it.”

I really didn’t believe her. She knew nothing about me and I wasn’t there to make friends, sympathetic or not. Her words were useless on me. We weren’t the same and who did she think she was, telling me I would get used to it? Never. Besides, it wasn’t like she had a herd of demonic jerks coming for her or her miniscule abilities. She had no idea what I was going through.

The woman opened yet another wooden door and gestured for me to step inside. “Brightest blessings, Selena. May the Goddess be with you.” She shut the door, leaving me before I could come at her with a snarky comment.

“Same to you” I said to the closed door.

I sat down on a lemon-yellow chaise that reminded me of my hunk of junk Beetle that only a few days prior I had smashed into nothingness. The sight of that simple chaise stabbed my already wounded emotional state and I kicked the ugly piece of furniture as hard as I could. That went well since I wasn’t wearing any shoes!

“Goddess! I’m an idiot!”

I sat on the floor and rubbed my injured foot as I stared at the rosy carpet and walls. I felt so different.  Anger and defeat soon diminished and my spirit, though not quite carefree, was a bit lighter somehow and I didn’t understand it. With no idea what I would do when the demons came for me, I knew I had no choice except to let things happen as they would. I wasn’t in control anymore, if I’d ever been to begin with.

My mother’s parting words came back to me and though she wasn’t in the tiny room with me, I questioned aloud, “So the answers are within me, huh Mom? I wish I knew where.”

Of course, there was no reply.

Amaris showed up a short time later and we retraced our steps through Summerland. When we arrived back at the entrance, once again we were surrounded by a swirling violet mist and stepped through hand-in-hand. Amaris and I emerged through the other side and into my hotel room at the Upton House Inn.

She waved goodbye, said nothing and retreated back through the mist. I walked through the suite and to my complete there were someone else’s things in my room! Frilly pink suitcases with their contents spilled littered the floor and bed. Keith and Sterling were gone! I could hear laughter and sounds of pleasure coming from the bathroom, so I ran out of there as fast as my legs would carry me.

Mr. Fisher was at his post at the front desk and I was slightly out of breath when I reached him. “Mr. Fisher, what day is it?”

“Selena, why are you here? And why are you still wearing that robe? It belongs to Upton House. I demand that you remove it post-haste or I will charge you for it and inform the police you’ve stolen it.”

“Forget about the damn robe for one minute! The day Mr. Fisher! What day is it?”

“You shouldn’t be here, Selena. Your fiancé picked up your cat eleven days ago. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your wedding today?”

“What?”

Hell no! I ran out of that inn before he could dial nine-one-one.

Chapter 26

“KEITH!”

I burst through the door at Tooth & Nail in a blur of pink and fuzzy, like the hounds of hell were after me.

“Selena, you’re back!”

He dropped the box he’d been carrying, glass shattered and liquid seeped onto the polished hard-wood floor. I threw myself into his arms and he showered me with kisses. “Goddess I’ve missed you! Are you okay? Did they take your powers?”

“Yeah and I’m fine. My crystal glows some weird color instead of the blue I had been taught it would be, but no matter. It’s not me I’m worried about.”

“You heard?”

“Shawn has Sterling! Wait, where are all of the customers?”

“Selena, they took Sterling and Kelly!”

“What? Why?”

“Shawn blew into the hotel room right after you left and he jumped me. He disappeared with Sterling before I could even blink. I’m so sorry, kitten. I gathered your belongings and came back here to find the bar was dark and empty. Kelly was just gone. It didn’t take a genius to see Roberta and Shawn took her, too. I’ve had feelers out there trying to find where they’ve been taken. But so far, no luck.”

“Oh, Keith, I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t know what to do or how to help. Where could they have gone?”

“I know exactly where they are. They’re in Hell, Keith. And I’m going to go get them.”

“How Selena? Your powers are gone. I’m coming with you. They can’t kidnap my family and think I won’t kill them for it!””

“It’s me they want. Well, me and my crystal. You can’t come with me, Keith. I love you more than life itself and I would never forgive myself if you were hurt. Shawn hates you and Samell doesn’t want us together. You stay here, stay safe. They took Kelly and Sterling as a guarantee that I would come and deliver the crystal to Samell. They may be rotten bastards but they won’t hurt Kelly and Sterling if I bring them my crystal.”

“Fine. You’re probably right, but I’m not happy about it. I will be right there if you need me. Just yell, understand me? First things first. You cannot go to hell dressed like that. I picked up a few things for you to wear. I hope they fit. It’s just some yoga pants and stuff you can move easily in. Go try them on and I’ll clean this mess up before one of us slips and falls on the glass and whiskey. We’ll discuss what we should do when you’re finished.”

“Thank you for understanding.” I kissed him and tried on the different items he’d purchased for me. He was amazing! Every piece of clothing he’d bought fit me just right. He was the kindest, most thoughtful man I’d ever known and to worry about what I would wear when I returned, even though his own sister had been kidnapped was mind-boggling!

I dressed quicker than I ever had, eager to get back to Keith’s side and I enjoyed the fact that I wasn’t half naked any longer. I returned to the bar room and planted a big kiss on his cheek, “You’re perfect and I love you.” He blushed and shrugged, clearly not accustomed to flattery. To me, that was an even bigger turn-on. He was humble and to be with a man like that was a first for me. Even at such an early stage of our relationship, I couldn’t imagine my life without him.  With every fiber of my being, I hoped he truly felt the same about me.

After I offered to help clean up the mess on the floor, which he declined because he didn’t want me to get cut on any of the glass, we went to the kitchen to scrounge up a quick lunch.

Keith and I washed our hands at the large commercial sink, he turned to me and asked “Are you feeling okay? Have you been through any changes yet?”

He walked to the fridge and took out the makings for sandwiches. There was enough food in his arms to feed an army! He must’ve read my thoughts because he smiled and put back a few items before placing the rest on the large, butcher-block table.

“I’m used to making larger portions for all of the customers we have most days. I guess I forgot it was just you and me.” He laughed and said “So, back to our talk. Anything new?”

“No worries. And by anything new, do you mean changes aside from being powerless?” I laughed and shrugged my shoulders when he cast a tender glance my way, “Not that I’ve noticed. I feel normal. Well, as normal as I’ve ever felt, I guess. But I also had no idea eleven days had passed while I was gone. Time, everything is different there. It’s hard to explain.”

He piled roast beef on a bun slathered with mayo and cut it in half for me before he placed it on a plate with some potato chips.

“Let’s finish this conversation out front. You can grab a seat at the bar and I’ll join you. If any customers do decide to stop in, I want to be right there.”

“Sure, sounds like a great idea.”

We walked out front, Keith pulled out a padded barstool for me and I hopped up with ease. He put my sandwich platter in front of me before walking behind the bar, loaded a glass with ice and poured me a soda from the fountain machine.

“Better?”

“Much. Thank you again. You sure know how to take care of a girl.” I took a rather big, unlady-like bite of my sandwich and moaned with delight. I swore everything Keith touched was amazing!

Being with Keith was so easy. I didn’t feel inferior or stupid. He took care of me without making me feel like a child and I wasn’t sure if I could get used to it. But I knew one thing for certain, I didn’t want to mess up our relationship or lose that feeling. I would move Heaven and Hell to keep that man as happy as he made me.

Happiness, true happiness wasn’t something I was used to and Shawn had never done anything for me. Okay, he did but only when it benefitted Shawn and I knew his actions were all lies, so everything he’d actually done for me amounted to nothing in my eyes.

“I missed you, kitten.” Keith leaned in and kissed me softly. His arm wrapped around behind my back as he sat beside me on another stool. For the moment, I was safe.

“Me, too. I just wish we were all here together.”

He cleared his throat, clearly not eager to talk about what we should do. “Do you have a plan? Any idea how to get Kelly and Sterling?”

“Not yet. But I’ve never been great with plans. I figure I’ll just wing it. For now, I just want to enjoy a few moments with you.”

I couldn’t help myself, I shoved my meal aside and planted kisses all over his face before I hopped onto his lap, almost tipping the stool over.

“I’m so sorry, Keith. This whole ordeal is my fault.”

“No it isn’t kitten.” He held my face in his hands and with a lot more confidence than I felt, he said, “We’ll get them back, I promise. Everything will be fine.”

Another round of heavy petting ensued. The man could get me hot and bothered with just a look. Being on his lap was a sure-fire way to fuel the fire. As it was, I’d waited eleven days to be back in his arms and I planned on staying there as long as the fates would allow.

We were suddenly being applauded. “How very, very sweet. Look at the puppy love. The whole room is filled with the stench of it. Makes me sick. You both make me sick.” Roberta stood behind us, examining her claws before mock-vomiting all over the bar floor.

“You bitch!” I flew across the room, charging at her. Keith grabbed me by the tail of my shirt, yanking me backwards, pulling me to his side. I knew it took all of his self-control not to rip Roberta to shreds because we both knew we needed her alive to find Kelly and Sterling.

“Selena no!”

“That’s right, Selena. Be a good girl and listen to your master.”

“Flip you, Roberta!” I squirmed and wiggled to get out of Keith’s grasp so I could slap that smug smirk off the bitch’s face, but he held tight. I was stuck.

“Wolf boy, you better keep your bitch on a leash or her kitty cat will lose another life. He only has five left.”

“Ugh! I’ll kill you, you disgusting demon hag!”

“Takes one to know one” Roberta sang it like an eight year old little girl.

“Real mature.” I hated that child-like voice she used and it irked me to no end when she portrayed herself as an innocent woman instead of the trash-talking-piece-of-shit she really was.

“Roberta,” Keith held me by my waist “what do you want?”

“Why, your bitch’s crystal of course.” With dramatic flair, she rubbed her greedy paws together, almost salivating.

“No way bitch.”

“You give it to me or you’ll never see your fur ball or his mongrel sister again.” She glared at us with her yellow beady eyes and pointed at Keith with one long talon.

“Take me to them” I said.

“Selena, no!” I shrugged away from Keith.

“The only way you’re getting my crystal is after Kelly and Sterling are released, Roberta. After they are safe, sound and here with Keith I will give it to you.”

“Selena!”

“Keith, shut up.”

“Yes, Keith shut up.” Roberta’s sly grin turned her face into a mask of pure evil. “So, let me get this straight. Miss Bitchy-Witch is demanding to go to Hell and make a deal with the devil, huh? Offering yourself in trade for a few mutts and an ancient pussycat? Very noble and honorable, Selena. Stupid, but just what I’d expect from a coward like you. Why fight, when you can surrender, right? Myself, I find your willingness to sacrifice your own life for those creatures rather disgusting and I don’t know what Father sees in you.”

I bit my tongue until it bled, knowing whatever I said would only escalate and fuel another argument with the demented whore. “Take me to them now, Roberta.”

“I could take your crystal right now and go back and kill them, Selena. I don’t need your deal.”

“Really? Try it.”

She wrapped her hands around my neck and I stared right into her eyes. Her face changed from a puffy, red to green and scaly, still I showed no fear. No matter how she tried, she could not and did not scare me. Disgust me? Yes. Scare me? Never. I was past being frightened by her insane theatrics. And as soon as I got the chance, I would tear that female version of Chucky limb from limb.

Roberta yanked on the crystal, but it wouldn’t budge. The chain held and she pulled her hand back, howling in pain. “You bitch! What did you do?”

“Nothing. I don’t have any powers remember? I told you, you couldn’t take it. Take me to Samell and free my family. Then, I will hand it over.”

Her plan to steal the crystal for herself thwarted, she relented, knowing she had no other choice but to accept my offer. “Fine, let’s go.”

“Wait! Take us both!”

“Aw, such a good dog. How sweet. Are all of you this sickening? Take me! Take us both!” she mocked. “No! You stay boy, you can wait for the rest of the nasty vermin whom you call family to return.” Roberta patted him on the head as Keith snarled at her. She wiggled her fingers at him, yanking them back just before Keith snatched ahold of her wrist.

“If you touch one hair on any of their heads, if you hurt Sterling one more time, I will personally make it my mission to annihilate every last one of your kind. And when this is over, rest assured I will be coming for you and Richardson. We have unfinished business.”  Keith’s changed to a silver rimmed shade of amber and his pupils shrank to slits as he growled, squeezing Roberta’s arm hard enough to draw blood.

“Keith, please. We’ll be fine, I promise.” I pulled his hand from Roberta’s bloody arm and kissed him. “I love you. I always have. But you can’t help me. I have to do this alone.”

“Now, witch! I need to get this fixed before I bleed to death.”

“You’ve been warned, demon.” Keith never took his eyes off of Roberta, but they’d shifted back to normal.

“Yeah, yeah Roberta. We wouldn’t want you to ‘bleed to death’. Bye, Keith.”

“Kitten, be careful! I love you.”

I followed the nasty troll out the door and had no idea if I’d ever be back again. “Time to meet Daddy” she hissed and then she threw me into a black mist that led straight to Hell.

Chapter 27

I LANDED WITH such force, that I broke the rock floor. “Thanks for the ride, demon-bitch.”

“No prob, Sis. Now get up like a big girl. I’m not finished with you yet.”

She reached for me and I kicked her. She flew ten feet away and slumped to the floor momentarily. Shit! ‘Where did that come from?’ I had no powers. How did I do that? Roberta looked terrified. She dusted herself off and stood a few feet away from me, just out of kicking distance I surmised and it made me giggle to see her freaked out.

“Take me to them now.”

We walked through a maze of hallways that looked a lot like the hallways in the council of elder’s castle in Summerland. Only here, I expected to hear the sounds of souls screaming in agony and the smell of burning flesh. But there were none. Instead, I could hear laughter, birds singing and a strange musical melody from somewhere above us.

“I thought you were taking me to Hell? What kind of shit are you up to?”

“This is Hell, you idiot. The Trillmor realm to be precise. It’s disgusting and depressing as always.”

Everywhere I looked, there was beauty. Persian carpets, lamps that would rival those in the grandest of palaces, and hot spring pools in every other room that were surrounded by gorgeous flowers I had never seen before.

“Yeah, you’ve got it rough.”

“Shut up and walk, witch.”

We climbed staircase after staircase. All were covered in bright colored carpets. Each landing had a painting on the wall and all of them looked expensive. I swore some of them were the ones considered missing ever since World War II, stolen by an infamous German leader. In fact, as we walked by one the rooms, my suspicions were proven right. There, inside a room with a bevy of gorgeous, raven haired women, was the man himself. The almost bald man with the worst mustache in history was waiting on the gorgeous women hand and foot. Though disgusting, the irony was not lost on me. The slave driver had become the slave. Poetic justice at its finest. I shivered as Roberta and I moved on.

“Yuck.”

When we reached the final floor in this part of the castle, Roberta threw open a door and yanked me inside.

“Wait here.”

“Where are they? So help me, Roberta, if you hurt them again, I will…”

She said nothing, laughed and walked out. The door slammed shut behind her so hard I could feel the floor shake beneath my feet.

My surroundings could only be described as wall-to-wall decadence. Plush white carpet lay under chocolate colored furniture. There were vases of white roses on every available flat topped table and not one speck of dust anywhere.

“Hell has awesome housekeepers” I mused.

My perusal of the room was interrupted when the door opened and a rather dignified looking man spoke to me. “Selena, you’ve finally come home.” He walked towards me with his arms wide and I jumped back.

“Get away from me weirdo!”

“Is that any way to speak to your father? You really should show some respect.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that a lot lately, but you’re not my father. My father was killed by your demon spawn and her bitch boy. They blew up my parents’ house at your command.”

“Yes, well sometimes these things happen. But there’s no reason we can’t get to know each other. Let’s not argue about semantics and frivolous details. We should be learning about each other, not fighting.”

“What?” Was this guy on drugs? It would be a cold day in Hell, before I allowed myself to ‘get to know’ that silver tongued piece of shit.

He stood before me wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Samell looked like any other normal fifty year old man back in Salem Ridge. Well built, dark hair and even darker eyes, I could see why my mother had fallen for him. But I knew this was only one of his many forms and I wasn’t about to be fooled by his Greek looks and ‘come to daddy’ attitude.

“Walk with me?”

“Where? Why should I? I’m not going anywhere with you until you agree to take me to Sterling and Kelly.”

“You really don’t have a choice, do you? You’re in a strange land, a strange home. I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

As if! But I conceded and we walked back down the many flights of stairs.

“Why did that crazy bitch make me walk all the way up there if we were simply going to turn around, walk back down and head outside?”

“Roberta is such a devious, little brat.” He laughed. “She loves to play with her food.”

“Food?”

“Sorry, wrong word. Forgive me. I meant to say she has a bit of a rambunctious side and loves to play practical jokes on others. Luckily you weren’t harmed from this one. Many creatures haven’t been so lucky. That girl is a handful!”

Jokes? Rambunctious handful? This guy had to be the most whacked-the-frock-out person I’d ever met. Wow he had issues!

“I’m sure” I mumbled. “Now what do you want? The only reason I agreed to come here was so I could get my friends and go back home. You know that, Samell. Cut the bullshit and take me to them.”

“In time, Princess.”

“I’m not your Princess.”

“We’ll see. I must say, I do love your spirit, Selena. Very much like my own and it pleases me to see what a feisty young lady you’ve grown to be.”

“I’m nothing like you and your words of fatherly love are meaningless. Get this straight, I am not afraid of you, I care nothing about you and I will never be what you want me to be.” I said as we crossed a lush spacious lawn. My harsh words seemed so out of place in that beautiful realm, but the scenery did not change who I was with. I needed to remember that if I had any hopes of getting my friends and me out of there alive.

His dark eyes twinkled as he smiled at me. “So you know what I am, who I am and yet here you are showing not one ounce of fear.”

“I’m not here for you. I want my familiar and my friend, Kelly. That’s all.”

“What if I don’t want to give them to you?  You could always stay here with me and rule this legion as you were meant to. The three of us could be very happy together. Look around, it’s paradise.”

We stood on a white sand beach littered with seashells and a surreal horizon was our back drop. The pink, purple, blue and gold sky flecked with an almost too perfect amount of clouds seemed close enough to touch. There were gray and pink dolphins that jumped through the air and flipped before they dove back below the clear blue surface of the water. Not far from shore, I saw a sailboat heading west. It was such an odd feeling as I stood there. There was no way to not enjoy the view, yet I was next to one of the most feared demons in history and his presence tainted everything about that moment.

“I will never stay here. If that’s your plan, forget it. If it’s so perfect here, why do you want to get out of here, Samell?”

“Boredom, simple as that. A demon has to have some variety, you know.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me and laughed as his eyes changed to flaming red orbs.

“Why did you create me? I’ve heard their version. What’s yours? Am I some ‘end of days’ abomination? A tool for revenge against the people of Salem Ridge and Summerland?”

“No. You’re my daughter, that’s all. Yes, I had hopes you would one day return to rule Trillmor with me. But after I was bound here, I created Roberta and I realized none of that mattered. I have a daughter who will stay by my side and rule the kingdom with me for eternity.”

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe” he sighed.

“Look, I don’t need some touchy-feely, movie of the week moment with the father I never met. I have a real life to get back to. Just set my friends free, I’ll give you my crystal and I’ll be on my way. You can do whatever you want after that. I want no part of it and I don’t want any trouble.”

Samell eyed me coolly, without a hint of what he was thinking and relented again. “Fine.”

He yelled for Roberta and Shawn with sound that was more of an ear piercing wail than a shout. When I saw them appear, Roberta had Kelly by the hair, dragging her down the beach and Shawn stomped through the sand with hand one hand wrapped around Sterling’s throat.

“Stop it! Let them go, you assholes!”

Samell put out a hand to stop me. “I give the orders here, Selena. With your pious speech and actions today, you gave up the right to command anything of anyone in this realm. This is my house and you will obey me!” The last was said with a roar that left my ears ringing and I covered them a moment too late. I knew that sound would echo through my mind for years.

“Now,” he said more calmly, “Leave them be, Roberta. Fun time is over.” Samell shook his finger at her as Roberta took a jab and swipe at Kelly’s face.

Kelly punched Roberta in the face as soon as Roberta had let go of her hair. Sterling swiped at Shawn’s legs with both paws before he leapt into my arms.

“Mistress, you’re alive! I’m so happy to see you. I’ve missed you so much!”

“Now, give us the crystal, Selena.” Samell commanded. Roberta hopped and danced beside him with glee.

“After they are free, Samell. Send them home and then you get the necklace and powers.”

“He said to hand it over, bitch!” Shawn roared.

“You piece of demon filth!”

“Oh, a mouth to match your attitude, daughter? I must say you’re looking more and more like me every minute.” He laughed.

“Whatever. Send my friends home, now.”

“Give me the crystal. How many times do I have to tell you, you cannot command a thing of anyone here, especially me? Are you that fucking dumb, Selena? Or are you just that fucking naïve? I will tear out your innards to get that stone away from you if I have to.”

Well, now I knew where my obsession with the ‘f’ word came from. Just one more reason to stop using it. It sounded awful; even coming from a demon.

“Take it from me if you can. Roberta tried and you can see she failed massively.  In fact, I can still smell the aroma of her fried, ratty, red-orange hair. You created one miserable failure for a daughter and another who can’t stand the sight of you. Great job, Daddy.” I laughed in his face.

“Witch!” Roberta launched herself at me and Sterling flew out of my arms as we toppled to the ground. I used my momentum to roll her over, punching her as I sat on top of her flabby stomach. When my hands were as bloody as her swollen, disjointed up face, I stood up, and heaved her around by her nasty, matted hair and threw Roberta’s lifeless body across the beach.

Just then, I heard a cry of pain as Samell slapped Kelly across the face. Her nose gushed blood everywhere and that’s when it happened. An anger unmatched pulsed through me. No one would hurt my friends again! Not even these high and mighty demons.

A guttural roar erupted from me and as I flew through the air, my fingers changed to claws. I tackled Samell and ripped his face into slivers before slicing his neck open from ear to ear. It brought me great pleasure to watch as he choked on his own blood. The scent however was not enjoyable, it was putrid. Rivulets of acidic, bile colored fluid flowed under his head across the white sand beach, tainting it with the smell of death and disease.

I’d killed him! I really did it! Distracted with my victory, Shawn used it the opportunity to grab me by the collar and yanked me off of Samell, tossing me aside. I sprang back up with ease, a primal howl erupting from me as I speared Shawn’s middle. A look of pure, unadulterated fear raced over his demonic features right before I smiled and tore his throat out with my teeth. Once the life drained out of him, his ring slipped easily off of my finger and onto the blood soaked sand. I scooped it up and shoved it into the gaping hole that had once been his neck.

“Fuck you, asshole.” I knew the words had come from my mown mouth, but they sounded strange and I couldn’t put my finger on what exactly was different. Had I just growled? Not to mention, I owed Sterling a gift for letting the ‘f’ bomb slip. The truth was, sometimes a girl needed to let one fly and after the crap storm I’d been wrapped up in, I’d say I should get a pass.

“Selena?” I heard Sterling call me, but he sounded so very far away. I cocked my head to the side, realizing I was hearing him in my head. “Your eyes, Mistress. They’re beautiful.”

My eyes? Really? At a time like this, he noticed my freaking eyes? He picked that exact moment to tell me they were beautiful? What the hell was wrong with him?

Roberta popped up like a jack-in-a-box again and it threw me into a flat-out frenzy. I saw she was seated right where I’d thrown her. She pawed at her face to survey the damage I’d inflicted and wailed like a banshee in the distance. Why couldn’t that whore take a damn hint? How many times did I have to kill that crapsack before she stayed dead? Was there some rule or trick to it? Regardless, she had pissed me off beyond belief and I was so done with her stupid, troll ass!

I ran across the beach at full speed, reaching her in moments. Roberta was covered in fluid coated sand and shock registered on her face a split second before I picked her up and plunged my fist through her chest. After I’d ripped out her rib cage, I held it up in front of her and smiled. She took her last breath as I pulled more of her insides out and showed them to her before I tossed her back across the beach. She fell to the ground in a crumpled heap beside her lover and their nasty demon blood mixed, eating away the sand like acid.

“I told you not to touch my friends, bitch’ I snarled.

Samell morphed into his demon form and loomed over me at more than eight feet tall and boy was he pissed! I should’ve known killing him wouldn’t be that easy!

“Stop Selena!” He roared and mountains that lined the horizon crumbled to dust.

Unfazed, I looked at Roberta and Shawn as they lay lifeless, in their morbid together forever pose and nothing brought me that much pleasure in a very long time. I knew it wasn’t over, but killing those two had made my day! When I turned around, I saw Samell had both Sterling and Kelly by their necks.

“So, you’ve been marked by the wolf? That’s too bad. I had such high hopes for you.” Gone was his daddy-dearest voice, what replaced it was dark and menacing.  “Now, give me the crystal or I will kill them both while you watch” he growled.

“Selena, don’t!” Kelly gasped. Clearly she couldn’t breathe and the lack of oxygen had caused her to go nuts. There was no way I would stand by and watch as Samell killed my friends, my family!

“Don’t give it to him, Mistress. He will still kill all of us. He won’t let us go. Save yourself!”

Every word they said sounded strange. I could hear their heartbeats and everything was so vivid. If I turned my head to the side, I could hear their shallow breathing from across the beach. My own pulse raced, pounding in my ears. A million different scents assaulted my nose and every hair on my body stood on end with unseen electricity.

“Give. It. To. Me!” Samell said, squeezing their necks harder. His voice sent shivers down my spine and I saw Sterling’s eyes bulge as Samell twisted his neck and applied more pressure. He had them both in a vise-like grip and a moment of panic settled over me. I felt like an animal caught in a trap. I felt defeated.

“The answers are inside of you, Selena.” I could hear my mother’s voice, whispering to my soul. What the hell? How was that possible? Was I going insane? I spun around, searching for the voice. My eyes watered and my throat grew tight. No one else was there on that beach! I begged the goddesses above to help me, I had no idea what to do!

As I watched the life being sucked out of my friends, a strange calm settled over me and I knew the answer to all of my questions. I didn’t need help or guidance from above or the great beyond.  Nothing mattered except saving Kelly and Sterling. I knew without question what had to be done.

I yanked the crystal off of my neck and held it in the air, watching as it turned black. Storm clouds gathered and lightning struck all around me. The thunder shook the ground with magnificent glee and Samell’s smug, demonic face looked unsure, panicked even.

My crystal emitted a high-pitched noise, worse than any high-frequency feedback I’d ever heard. The stone pulsed with energy and danced inside, casting brilliant strobes of blinding light all around us.  I threw it at Samell as hard as I could. I saw my friends crashing to the sand the moment I let go of the crystal. Samell was so intent on gaining those powers, he wasn’t concerned with Kelly and Sterling.

I no longer cared what happened to the power yielding bauble and I rushed to my friends on the shore. Above the crashing waves and storm, I heard Samell mutter words in a strange voice. In his hands, he held the crystal, the power he craved, the power he’d desired for years, the power he’d created me to obtain and a giant wind lifted him into the air as he chanted and mumbled. Samell hovered high above us over the sand. I shielded Kelly and Sterling with my body as best I could as Samell rattled on and on in his own demonic language.

The waves grew and swirled under his feet before they crashed back into the huge ocean. Wind tore the clothing from his body and lightning destroyed each piece as it fell away from him. Serpents and reptiles poured out of his flesh and his eyes, full of fear and confusion met mine. I held onto my friends for dear life.

He screamed “Selena!” just before he vanished in a deafening explosion of flames.

That was the last thing I heard. At that exact moment, everything disappeared and I do mean everything. There was no light. No sound. I floated on a sea of blackness, alone.

Chapter 28

AFTER THE EXPLOSION, I wasn’t able to remember much of what had happened. Kelly’s throat had taken quite a beating and she lost her voice but Sterling was kind enough to tell everyone every detail. According to his story and Kelly’s emphatic nods, I had partially shifted. A brand new thing no one had ever experienced and therefore, yet another quirk unique to me. In the words of my beloved cat, I ‘kicked some serious demon ass!’ No one has heard from Shawn, Roberta or Samell so I’d guess it’s safe to say we won.

When I woke up after all Hell broke loose, literally, my mother was holding my hand. Aunt Elizabeth and Katherine were smiling ear to ear.

“Welcome back, Kitten” and of course Keith was right by my side.

“What happened? Are we all dead? Did I kill us all?”

“No, sweetheart” Mom said. “You saved us.”

“But how? I gave him the crystal.”

“Yes, but it had your demon powers in it. When Samell released them, he was devoured by your magic. Your powers surpassed his!” My aunt said.

“My demon powers?”

“Yes, dear. You’ve had your magic this entire time. We never took that away. Just in case you needed some help. We knew you’d do the right thing.”

Tears flowed down my face as I stared at them in disbelief.

“So, I’m no longer a demon? Or half-demon?”

“Technically, yes. But, you no longer have demon powers and abilities as you did before. Your blood however is still mixed with Samell’s. Being bitten by Keith has helped dilute it some, though and you will still be able to keep tabs on other demons when the need arises. Call it ‘demon radar’ if you wish.”

“Great.”

“I know it isn’t what you wanted to hear, Selena. But according to Kelly and Sterling, you are one wicked bitch!” My mother said and everyone erupted in laughter. Of course, mother blushed at her use of such a profane word but laughed right along with us. I knew they’d all been dying to say something about me being wicked and who better than my mother to do just that?

Aunt Elizabeth and my mom shared more information of Summerland and its history with me. I eagerly soaked up every bit of everything they said. I finally understood how important all of this was and it was up to me to keep everyone safe, both here in Summerland and back at home in Salem Ridge. My father, Joseph, told me how proud he was of me and said he knew I would come around. According to him, I’m just like my mother.

Kelly and Sterling were inseparable. The entire time Sterling had been in my life, I’d never seen him so attached to anyone other than me. Once in a while, I felt a pang of jealousy, but it was so nice to see him happy.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s in love.”

“He is, dear.” My mother was at my side.

We’d watched Kelly and Sterling walk about the grounds of Summerland day after day.  Often, they would go off together and no one would hear from them for hours. At first, I attributed their relationship to the events of the prior week. But after we saw the looks and glances they’d give each other, it became more apparent their relationship was real. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. After all, Sterling was my best friend and he was a cat. How could a cat and a wolf be life-mates?

“Selena, there are so many things you need to learn,” my mother laughed softly. “I suppose I never had the chance to teach you the truth about familiars and that’s my fault, I know. There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it. Sterling isn’t just a cat, he’s a man.”

“What? You can’t be serious. I’ve shared the last twenty-five years with a man? Undressed, gone to the bathroom and done an incredible amount of private things in front of a man? I think I’m going to be sick.”

She shook her head and grasped my hand, “Dear Selena, it isn’t like that. Sterling was serving his own sentence. Before you were born, he used his magic to cast a spell on a young lady back In Salem Ridge. Her name was Margaret Wilson, the daughter of a prominent family, a human family.

“He loved her more than anything,” she continued, “even more than his powers and freedom. However, his spell went wrong and the girl suffered a nervous breakdown. You know as well as I do love spells, if cast on the unwilling, can backfire. She became obsessed with Sterling to the point he could not even go to the store with her flying into some fit of jealousy. Sadly, one night while Sterling was in town playing cards with friends, she committed suicide.

The council, of course knew of the spell, but at the time they weren’t concerned. They felt the spell would die out and never dreamt such a tragedy would occur. Sterling was so distraught he threw himself on the mercy of the council and surrendered his powers, his life and freedom. He begged them to punish him. Sterling threatened to kill himself, to die and be with the woman he believed he had pushed to suicide. The council felt he was a danger to himself and others, and he was.”

“Poor Sterling!” It was so hard to imagine my wonderful feline friend suffering like that.

“They deliberated for weeks while Sterling was locked in a cell in the dungeons. He refused to eat or drink and he didn’t speak one word the entire time. The only company he had while incarcerated was a tiny mouse. He cared for that little rodent as if it were his own child. That one act of compassion proved to the council Sterling wasn’t truly ready to die. It made their decision, though difficult because they all cared about and sympathized with Sterling’s plight, a much simpler one to make.” My mother paused, her eyes were full of tears. Her heart has always been huge and any hurt another suffered, she felt just as intensely as the person who felt pain, whether it is physical or emotional. Sure, she’s an empath, but I always teased her by playfully calling her a sap.

“He was brought before a jury of his peers, much like you were and the elders sentenced him to a lifetime as a familiar.”

Tears rolled down my cheeks, my heart felt like it broke for my friend. He was so much more than I ever knew.

“Now, the elders, myself included have been discussing this matter. Yes, he was sentenced to a lifetime without magic. He was allowed to be around it, but it would be impossible for him to practice the craft. Even if he tried, it would not work.”

“I can’t imagine how difficult it has been for him all of these years! And to be around me when I surrendered my powers and turned my back on the craft! I could have done all of the things he couldn’t and I took it all for granted. He must have hated me for that. But he never showed it.” Somehow, my heart swelled with even more love for my familiar. “So, he has to stay in cat form forever?”

“Well, we’ve decided his sentence should be ended. The elders, who sentenced him, have since moved on to new lives and we believe he has paid for his actions long enough. His actions since his sentence have been honorable and heroic. To us, he should have his life back. What do you think, Selena? Could you handle not having a familiar? You don’t necessarily need one any longer. You have Keith now.”

I pondered what my mother said. The thought of living without my best friend felt like it ripped my heart in two. Sterling had been with me my entire life. How was I going to go on without him? But who was I to keep him trapped?

“Have you asked Sterling how he feels?”

“Not yet,” my mother replied. “I wanted to speak with you first. It’s your call. After all, he belongs to you.”

I looked across the garden and saw Kelly and Sterling lying in the grass together. Kelly’s arm reached out and she rubbed him under the chin, while she murmured words of love.

“She loves him, mom. Kelly wishes her were a real man, she thinks he is perfect. Does she know the truth about him?”

“Only if he told her, Selena. But I doubt he has.”

“What would you do?” I looked into my mother’s eyes and she smiled.

“This isn’t about me, darling. This is your choice. Like I said, all of the answers you will ever need are inside of you. You just have to ask the right questions and listen with your whole heart. Whether you like the reply or not isn’t important. The answer will always be just what you need to hear.” She knew it was not an easy decision and she hugged me as hard as she could.

She was right. I knew what needed to be done. Sterling should have a life, a real life. With Kelly, he could share what was left of his time on earth and he could experience love, true love. Who was I to stand in the way of that?

“So when should we tell him?” I smiled and I knew in an instant it was the right thing to do.

“Whenever you want, sweetie. By the looks of it, I’d say the sooner the better. Those two need to get started on their life together.”

* * *

WE HAD A double wedding ceremony in Summerland, surrounded by our friends and family from both the great beyond and Salem Ridge. It was nice to be accepted by everyone again. Well, almost everyone. Janice was missing in action. No one had seen her for over a week and that was just fine with me.

Kelly and I both wore bridal gowns designed by Amaris. No, they weren’t see-through. She created a long, white, billowy, silk dress with a halter style neck-line that was perfect for Kelly. I’d never seen her look so beautiful. She literally beamed with happiness and love. My dress was shorter, knee-length, strapless and white, of course. The beautiful garment was made of hand-sewn vintage lace from my mother’s wedding gown. To be honest, it was the most gorgeous dress I ever saw. No, it wasn’t the seven-thousand dollar gown created by Janice, but it was worth so much more.  Priceless is the best way to describe how I felt.

Sterling and Keith were more laid back with their attire. Cowboy boots, perfectly cut jeans, button-down shirts and hats completed their look. They were the most handsome men we’d ever seen. Keith with his piercing eyes and rugged physique, Sterling with his dark gray, almost charcoal colored hair and his athletic, lean build, both they were perfect. Sterling, of course fidgeted with the collar of his shirt a lot, but he’d never been one for collars anyways. Kelly and I laughed, grateful some things never changed.

Aunt Elizabeth presided over the ceremony, while my father and Kelly’s father, Kyle walked us down the aisle. Not one of the pearls or beads fell off of our dresses, none of the lace ripped and neither of us stumbled, so I’d say our wedding went off without any karmic hitches. The only tears that fell the entire day were tears of happiness.

After we cut our wedding cake, Keith pulled me to the side and we left the many guests to enjoy the party. “Ready for your first full moon, kitten? It can get kind of wild.”

“Oh, you bet I am wolf-man. The wilder, the better. Just try to keep up with me.”

“Are you sassin’ me, kitten?”  I smiled at his endearing pet name for me and said nothing.

“You wicked little witch,” he playfully spanked my behind and off we went to our new future without a care in the world.

* * *

Want to read more by Madison?

Try NATURAL LUST (Smoky Mountain Escapes Book 1)

http://amzn.to/1OTCcu2

http://madisonsevier.blogspot.com

* * *

About Madison Sevier

Romance author, Madison Sevier, officially began her writing career in 2011 by going after her lifelong dream and has been having the time of her life ever since.

Her days are spent homeschooling her daughter and doing the bookkeeping for her husband's business. At night, she gets to become someone else, creating characters who work their way into the hearts and minds of romance readers everywhere.

Being a coffee-addicted Gemini, Madison is known for doing whatever strikes her fancy at any given moment. Some of her favorite hobbies include; hiking, geocaching, animal rescue, writing, reading, baking, horseback riding and she loves NASCAR.

Living in what everyone calls 'Kentuckiana' with her husband, daughter, two Chihuahuas, one Saint Bernard and two cats, she's found the perfect paradise to allow all of her stories to come to life. Against a backdrop of the Ohio River and surrounding hillsides, she never knows where a new romance will come from. But you can be sure you're going to hear about it.

She loves hearing from her readers and meeting new ones, so feel free to contact her anytime.

Read More from Madison Sevier

http://amzn.to/1OTCrVW

http://madisonsevier.blogspot.com

Sign up for more bargain boxed sets at:

www.hotboxedbooks.com

JUMP TO...

A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE by NOREE COSPER

END OF DREAMS by KIM FAULKS

HAUNT by HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY

DARK CROSSINGS by ANN SIMKO

HEADSPACE by CALINDA B

THE OTHER F WORD by SUSAN STEC

UNLEASHED by RACHEL MCCLELLAN

HIDDEN INTENTIONS by STACY CLAFLIN

THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL by AIMEE EASTERLING

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS by KYOKO M

ST. CHARLES AT DUSK by SARAH M. CRADIT

WICKED BY NATURE by MADISON SEVIER

UNDERLIFE by MARISSA FARRAR

DRAGON’S REDEMPTION by EDEN ASHE

MILAN’S RETURN by GRAE LILY

THE BREAKERS CODE by CONNER KRESSLEY

THE MEDIUM by MR GRAHAM

WICCAN WARS by HEATHER MARIE ADKINS

CARPE NOCTEM by KATIE SALIDAS

A QUESTION OF FAITH by NICOLE ZOLTACK

UNDERLIFE

BY MARISSA FARRAR

Copyright © 2012 by Marissa Farrar

Thomas Young has no idea where he comes from. Found living on the streets as a child and put into foster care, he always dreamed of having a family of his own. Now a grown man, he has his much longed for family, but his life is tinged with sadness. His son, David, has leukaemia.

One night, as he's driving home from the hospital, he hits a homeless man, Mack, with his car. Mack knows Tom from his childhood and tells Tom he was once part of London's underground homeless and his son's leukaemia is not all it seems.

In a desperate bid to save his son's life, Tom heads down into the miles of abandoned tubes lines and stations. But he quickly discovers something far more sinister waits for him than the giant rats, drug addicts and fast trains. There is also something dark and shadowy, and it wants out...

UNDERLIFE

eBook Edition

ISBN 978-0-9571524-8-9

Copyright © 2012 Marissa Farrar

Published by Warwick House Press

Edited by Wade-Staten Services

Cover design by Pig and Cow Designs

License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Chapter 1

LONDON’S FRIDAY NIGHT traffic pulsed around Thomas Young, light and sound penetrating the metal shell of his car.

He’d been sitting in the all-but-stationary traffic for almost an hour, wondering where the hell all these people had come from and what they were doing out at this time at night. Taxis made up the majority of the cars in the line ahead, the silhouetted heads of party-goers bobbing up and down through the rear windscreens. Someone up ahead beeped their horn in frustration and several others joined in, creating a cacophony of noise.

Tom let his head fall forward, his forehead resting on the middle of the steering wheel. He considered pressing down harder and joining the rest of the racket, but he didn’t have the energy. These trips to and from the hospital were literally driving him into the ground. Upon finishing work, he went straight to the children’s ward to relieve his wife, Abby, who’d been watching their son, David, for most of the day. She’d get a few hours reprieve while he spent time with his son, trying not to notice how sick he looked now; how hollow his cheeks had become; and how, with the loss of his hair, eyebrows and eyelashes, he now looked almost alien.

The car behind beeped again and he glanced up to see the traffic had moved forward about ten feet, the person behind impatiently telling him to close the gap. He sighed and put the Audi into first gear, allowing the vehicle to crawl forward until the bonnet almost nudged the bumper of the car in front.

The glare from the headlights of cars in the opposite lane swept past, making Tom squint. Why did traffic always seem to be moving in the opposite direction? He blinked against hot and gritty eyes, the constant dazzling light making him dizzy.

In front of him, a large, silver four-by-four was crammed full of young men in their mid-twenties. A couple of them craned their necks, looking back at him. One of them grinned and lifted a can of lager in a salute.

Tom forced his mouth to twitch at the edges. He didn’t begrudge these people their lives, but he wished he was still one of them. Not so much time had passed since he’d been a young man just like them. He, too, had once been free of responsibilities and able to enjoy a night on the town with friends, but that seemed like a lifetime ago. Now, he barely recognised himself. All he did was work and spend time at the hospital.

Guilt pierced his heart. Sometimes, he thought David’s illness was his punishment for not being a good enough husband or father. The times he dreamed of being young, free, and single made him feel like the worst father in the world. It was like wishing David did not exist.

Now he was in jeopardy of not only losing his son, but his wife, Abigail. He knew if David died, he would lose Abby as well. Their relationship would never survive—they were already hanging on to the cracks of their marriage as it was. Sometimes he wished Abigail would leave, freeing him of the responsibility, the constant guilt, and heartache. But he knew he didn’t mean it. What would his life be if he didn’t have his family?

Guilt smothered him.

How could he feel sorry for himself when poor David suffered the pain and the sickness and the fear?

Tom sighed in frustration and leant his head against the steering wheel again. He could easily fall asleep and he willed himself to sit up and pay attention to the road.

Once again, the person behind beeped. The traffic had pulled forward and, almost miraculously, kept moving.

“Thank God,” Tom muttered and shifted the car into first, his foot on the accelerator. At least the traffic—

A man’s body slammed against the windscreen and, an instant later, bounced off the bonnet. Tom jammed his foot on the brake, the seatbelt constricting tight around his chest, jolting him back in his seat.

I’ve hit someone! Oh, my God, I’ve hit someone!

He sat, stunned, a moment of horrible stillness settling over him. Then, a young woman standing on the side of the street wearing a precariously short skirt, started to scream.

Tom’s hands shook as he pulled open the car door and climbed out. Behind him, the row of vehicles started up their cacophony of horns, but Tom barely heard them.

I hadn’t been going that fast, he thought in a panic. I had scarcely got off the mark! How could someone be hurt?

He rounded the bonnet of his car. A pile of blankets lay in a crumpled heap in front of the car.

I’ve run over a laundry basket, he thought, confused. But then, the tangled heap of cloth started to shift and a muffled groan rose from beneath. Tom’s heart soared with relief. At least whoever was beneath the pile wasn’t dead.

Across the street, a young man in his mid-twenties came out of the shop and rushed over to help. The man’s girlfriend—the girl in the short skirt—tottered behind him in her heels, her hand covering her mouth.

“Is he all right?” the man asked.

“I hit him with my car,” Tom said, stating the obvious, his voice noticeably shaky. “He literally came out of nowhere.”

The crumpled pile of clothes groaned again and Tom crouched beside the hidden person.

“Don’t move,” he said, putting out a hand. “Are you hurt? I’ll call you an ambulance.”

Tom looked up at the young man. He already held his mobile in one hand, dialling, Tom assumed, 999.

The stench suddenly hit him—a mixture of rotting bins, stale urine, and alcohol. He realised the strange heap of cloth made up the person’s bedding, and had been thrown over his head when he landed.

Gingerly, Tom started pulling back the assortment of blankets and clothing, trying to figure out where the person started and the cloth finished. The person moved again, a strange shifting, like a moth emerging from a chrysalis. A dirty hand with bitten down nails and rough skin appeared, followed by a man’s head.

Aged anywhere between forty and sixty, a thick, greying beard hid most of the man’s face. A network of capillaries covered his cheeks and a red bulbous nose poked from between the fur. Deep-set, startling blue eyes peered out at Tom.

The man rubbed the top of his head with a large, rough palm.

“Jesus Christ,” the man said in a deep, gravelly voice, affected by a Scottish twang. “What the bloody hell happened to me?”

So relieved to hear the man speak, Tom wanted to laugh out loud.

“I ran you down,” he said. “I’m so sorry, but you came out of nowhere.”

The man stared up at him and his eyes widened. “You?” he said, his voice taking on a different tone.

“Yes, me.” Tom took the man’s single worded question as confusion. “I ran you over.”

“You are him, aren’t you? The one they’re trying to find.”

Tom’s forehead creased. “I’m not sure what you mean. You might have hit your head. You’re probably concussed.”

The man smiled in delight, revealing a crooked row of yellowed teeth. Strangely, Tom couldn’t help but smile back.

“I can see it in you,” the man said. “The stuff gets in your pores, in your soul.”

“What does?” Tom asked, baffled.

“The Shadows. Once it becomes a part of you, you can’t get it out again.”

The guy had been drinking, Tom decided. He didn’t know what he was talking about. Yet his words caused a hard lump to wedge in Tom’s throat and his heart picked up a fast, trippy beat.

In the distance came the thin wail of a siren. The emergency services were much quicker than Tom had expected considering the busy Friday night. He guessed they must have been on a job close by.

“Everything is okay,” he told the homeless guy. “An ambulance is on the way. You’ve probably got a head injury or something.”

The man looked at him and scoffed with laughter. “Don’t be stupid man. I’m fine. I mean, you were hardly moving.”

Tom’s mouth dropped open. “But, I hit you!”

“Well, that may be, but it takes two to make a collision.” He put out a weathered hand. “Now, help me up.”

“I don’t know if we should move you. Maybe we should wait for the ambulance to get here.”

“Ah, shut up and help an old man to his feet.”

Reluctantly, Tom leant down and grabbed the man’s hand. Strong fingers wrapped around Tom’s and he realised this was not the frail old man he’d originally thought. Tom hoisted the man up and the blankets fell around him and onto the road.

He was tall, well over six foot, and little taller than Tom. Tom had expected him to be a stumbling drunk, slurring and incoherent, but he held Tom’s eye with a steadfast, honest gaze, more so than any other adult had done in a long time.

“It is you, isn’t it?” the man said, his voice more gentle, even thoughtful. “I’d recognise those eyes anywhere.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Tom said, but his voice was little more than a whisper and, absurdly, tears pricked the backs of his eyes.

Traffic started to pull to one side as the ambulance approached, allowing the vehicle through. The siren switched off—sudden silence in this busy metropolis—but the ambulance’s light still swung around, bathing them in a blue, pulsating light.

A male and a female paramedic jumped out of the cab and ran up.

“I take it you called an ambulance?” the woman paramedic asked.

The young man who had called them stepped out of the small, gathering crowd, his mobile phone held up in one hand. “I called, but he seems okay now.”

“We’ll be the judge of that,” she said and the man melted back into the crowd. Tom wanted to thank him for his help, but, as quickly as the young man had entered his life, he disappeared again.

“What happened?” the paramedic asked, focusing her attention on the homeless man, now standing beside Tom.

“I hit him with my car,” Tom said, relieved to have someone else take control.

She stepped close to the homeless man and peered up into his face, a frown creasing her forehead. He smiled back at her.

“How are you feeling?” she asked him in a loud voice, as though she thought he was deaf.

He shrugged. “Bit bumped, but nothing worse than I’ve had in the past.” Then he gave a cheeky grin and his blue eyes lit up. “And how are you?”

She ignored his question. “I think we should get you down to the hospital, you need to be checked over.”

“Don’t be daft, I’m fine. I don’t need to go to hospital.”

Tom stepped in. “Don’t worry, he’s not hurt.” The words left his mouth before he even had a chance to think them through. “I’ll take him back with me and make sure he’s okay.”

He couldn’t believe what he had said. Abby would kill him. It was as if someone else had spoken the words for him. But he couldn’t let this man wander back into the night. Something about him caught Tom’s interest and it was more than just the man seeming to recognise him.

The paramedic narrowed her eyes. “You want to take him home with you?”

Her gaze travelled over him, as though she was trying to figure out if he was some crazy person who liked to pick up the homeless in the guise of a Good Samaritan, only to take them home and slaughter them in some imaginative and horrific way.

“Sure.” Damn. He had no control over his mouth. “Why not?”

She turned to the homeless guy and put a hand on his shoulder. “Is that all right with you?”

“Of course!” He grinned again, revealing his crooked, yellow teeth. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Not giving the paramedics time to decide that they should to take him in, Tom guided the man to the passenger side of his car. He could hardly believe his own actions.

As though the man were a date, he opened the door and helped him in. Walking back round to the driver’s side, Tom ran his hand across the silver bonnet, his fingertips tracing the slight indent where the man’s body had bounced. He shook his head, bemused. The man was more robust than he looked. Tom couldn’t believe he hadn’t been hurt.

Tom climbed in the car and started the engine. He would have to report the accident to the police on Monday, but, for some reason, he couldn’t see it happening. Even the thought of getting up for work on Monday morning seemed distant. Suddenly, his future felt even more uncertain and unpredictable.

The stale smell of the homeless man quickly filled the car and Tom pressed the button to slide down both front windows. He shifted into first and the vehicle crawled forward into the London traffic. His heart pounded, his hands sweaty and slick on the leather of the steering wheel.

“So, are you going to tell me your name?” Tom said as they finally started to merge into the steady flow of traffic.

“Are you going to tell me yours?” the man rebuked, one bushy eyebrow raised.

Tom shot him a look. “There’s no need to be a smart-ass. I’m taking you in for God’s sake.”

“You ran me over,” the man pointed out.

“Yeah...Well...” He had a point. Tom couldn’t argue.

“My name’s Mack,” the man told him. “At least that’s what it is now. Whatever my name was in my previous life isn’t important.”

Tom guessed the man was talking about the life he had before he ended up on the streets.

“I’m Tom Young,” he said. “I’m thirty-seven and I’m married to Abigail. We have a boy called David.” He didn’t understand the compulsion to divulge all of this information to a stranger, but somehow it seemed important Mack know.

“You have a son?”

The question suddenly seemed too big for Tom, as though the whole balance of his life depended on the answer.

He nodded carefully, his eyes glued to the road ahead. “Yes, he’s seven.” Tom’s eyes flicked to the left and he found Mack staring at him intently. “What?”

“So he’s about the same age as you were back then?”

Tom slammed on the brakes and both men lurched forward in their seats, their seatbelts tightening painfully across their chests, compressing the wind out of their lungs. Horns blasted behind them.

“Jesus Christ, man!” Mack said. “Are you actually trying to kill me?”

Tom glared at him. “Why do you keep saying that? Saying stuff about ‘back then’? Who the hell are you?”

“I’m nobody,” Mack said. “Just a street guy. But I used to know you. You were only a kid—the same age as your son is now—but I remember you. You were with your mum, except she didn’t call you Tom. She called you something else...” Mack trailed off, gazing into the distance as if trying to remember the name.

“You knew my mother?” Tom said in a small voice.

“Sure.” Mack’s mouth twitched in a sad smile. “Boy, she was young. I was only nineteen or so, but your mother wasn’t much older. She must have been a kid herself when she had you.”

Blood rushed to Tom’s face. Never before had he heard someone speak about his mother. His childhood had been far from idyllic. He’d been found living on the streets at the age of seven and put into care. Tom knew nothing about where he’d come from. After a few false starts, a kind foster family took him in and he’d not been moved around like some kids in care. But, his life before that time remained a blank.

“I don’t remember her,” Tom admitted. “I don’t remember anything from when I was a young child.”

Mack looked at him with pity in his eyes.

Tom jerked back in surprise. How could this man pity him, when he was the one living on the streets?

“We were down there” he said, nodding downwards. “Me, you, your mother. We lived down with the rest of them—the underground homeless. Whole communities live beneath the streets of London—in the old tube tunnels, in abandoned stations, old sewerage lines. Tunnels dug and forgotten about.”

“No,” said Tom, shaking his head. “I would remember. You must have the wrong person.”

“No way, man. I can see it in you. The darkness below ground is different; it gets into your pores. I can always pick out the ones who made it out—not that there are many of us.”

Tom remembered the dreams that haunted his nights; the thick, living black, the cold, and the utter loneliness. He shuddered.

Behind them, cars beeped and, reluctantly, Tom put the car into first and got moving again. He didn’t feel safe driving, but he was in need of a large shot of something strong.

“If you don’t remember anything,” Mack said gently. “How do you know I’m not telling you the truth?”

Tom gave his head a slight shake. “I don’t even understand what you’re telling me.”

Mack glanced down at his hands, his fingers twisting around each other. “I’m telling you about the life beneath the streets,” he said. “The Underlife. The homeless who found, for whatever reason, life was better beneath the surface than on top.”

“Why would people live underground?”

“Down there is shelter from the wind and the rain and the cops don’t keep moving you on.”

“Okay,” Tom said carefully. “But I still don’t understand what this all has to do with me? Perhaps my mother did live beneath London’s streets with me, and hell, maybe we even knew each other. But why are you telling me this now?”

“Something else in the tunnels wants out.”

Tom stared at him, taking his eyes off the road.

“It’s scary beneath the city,” Mack tried again. “It’s always scary down there. But, if you went down too far, if you went too deep, other things exist—things you don’t want to remember. I sure as hell wish I didn’t.”

Again the flicker of his nightmares passed through Tom’s mind, clutching at his heart. He gripped the steering wheel hard, doing his best to hang on to reality.

Chapter 2

TEN MINUTES LATER, they pulled up outside the house.

Mack stared up at the smart, three bedroom semi and nodded approvingly. “You did well for yourself, kid.”

“I’m not a kid anymore,” Tom said, his voice hard.

Mack glanced at him; a quick sideswipe. “No, of course you’re not. I can’t help still seeing you as a child.”

Tom did a quick calculation in his head. If this guy was telling the truth and he knew Tom when he was nineteen and Tom was seven, then twelve years separated them, which would make Mack forty-nine. The estimate seemed about right, but it was hard to judge his age when a thick beard covered most of his face.

Tom got out of the car and waited for Mack to climb out before engaging the central locking. The car beeped and the headlights flashed twice.

The house stood dark and empty, something Tom had become used to seeing since David’s diagnosis—either he or Abby stayed with David at the hospital when he was having chemotherapy—and he wasn’t used to having company.

Where they had once been inundated with invites to children’s birthday parties and people’s barbeques, now the phone stayed quiet and the mail never brought them anything but bills. Despite their friends’ initial remorse, the calls to check in grew further and further apart and, now, they rarely heard from anyone. Perhaps friends didn’t want to intrude or they simply were getting on with their own lives, but Tom couldn’t help thinking they didn’t want their own children around them, as though cancer was suddenly contagious.

He saw the relief in their friends’ eyes; relief that it wasn’t one of their own. Tom couldn’t blame them. All he’d ever wanted was to have a life without tragedy. He didn’t want fame and fortune; he only wanted to have a healthy child and a happy wife.

Tom opened the front door, stepped into the hallway and flicked on the light. Without bothering to take off his coat, he headed straight to the kitchen and opened the cupboard containing the glasses. He took down a short and filled it from the cheap bottle of whisky sitting half-full on the counter.

He knocked the drink back in one swallow. The liquid burnt a trail down his throat and he stifled a choke.

Mack gave the bottle a longing glance. “Can I have one?”

Tom refilled the glass. He lifted the whisky to his lips and took another large gulp.

“No,” he said, exhaling the fumes. “I need you to make sense.”

Mack raised an eyebrow. “I might be making sense, but, if you carry on like that, you’re not going to understand me.”

“Well, that’s my problem.”

Mack said nothing and Tom felt the older man watching him. Irritation bristled through him.

“Our bathroom is up the stairs, third door on the right. There are clean towels on the rail. I suggest you take a shower. I don’t mean to offend, but you stink.” Tom said the words to hurt, trying to cover his own anxieties.

Mack shrugged. “Yeah, well, I do my best, but you’d stink too if you spent all day rummaging in bins so you could eat.”

Guilt turned its uneasy head.

“Go and take a shower,” Tom said, his voice softening. “I’ll sort us out something to eat.” He judged Mack’s size. Though little taller than Tom, he was probably half his weight. “I’ll put some clean clothes outside the door.”

Mack turned and shuffled from the room. Tom listened to Mack’s footsteps as he climbed the stairs. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall. Almost two-thirty in the morning. No wonder exhaustion hung from his body like a cloak.

He walked over to the double fridge-freezer and pulled open the door. With the exception of a couple of beers, an old tub of margarine, and some old vegetables rotting in the bottom drawer, the fridge was empty.

Disgusted, he shut the door and opened the freezer. A couple of pizzas sat on the top and he pulled them out and tore off the wrappers. He twisted the dials on the oven and dumped the two inflexible, cheese-encrusted disks onto the baking trays.

The sound of the shower starting echoed down the stairs.

Tom mounted the stairs, shaking his head. What the hell would Abby say if she got home and found a homeless man in her shower? His guts twisted with anxiety. No, that wouldn’t happen. Even though tomorrow was Saturday and neither of them had to work, Abby wouldn’t leave David until he arrived at the hospital to take over. Mack would be out of the house by then and Tom doubted he would ever see him again.

In his bedroom, Tom found an old sweater and a pair of cord trousers. He laid them outside the bathroom door. As an afterthought, he added a belt, some old loafers, and a pair of socks.

The shower roared and he pictured the dirt, grime, and soap scum washing down the drain. He would need to clean the bathroom before Abby came home.

Tom wandered back down the stairs. The smell of cooking pizza wafted towards him and his stomach rumbled, his appetite stimulated for the first time since the greasy burger he’d consumed earlier while sitting in the car.

When Mack eventually came down the stairs, Tom was on his third whisky and the pizza was cold. Mack had Tom’s trousers cinched in at waist, the extra material bunched up at his stomach. Tom’s jumper hung around his slim frame like a tent. Tom had half expected him to have had a shave or at least have hacked off some of the excess hair, but Mack remained just as bushy as when he went in. His cheeks were flushed from the heat of the shower and he smelled of Abby’s expensive Molton Brown shower gel. His blue eyes sparkled and he certainly didn’t look as exhausted as Tom felt. The other man must be used to nocturnal living.

“I made you some food,” Tom said, nodding at the congealing cheese and dough sitting on the glass coffee table. “It’s a bit cold now.”

“Great,” Mack said. “Just how I like it. And thanks for the clothes.” Folding his legs beneath him, he sat down on the floor, crossed-legged, like a child. He picked up a large slice and stuffed the pizza into his mouth.

Tom watched him. “So, are you going to tell me what the hell is going on here?”

Mack glanced up, pizza hanging out of his mouth. He put the slice down and quickly chewed and swallowed.

“There’s only so much I can tell you, cause there’s only so much I know.”

“But jumping in front of my car wasn’t an accident?”

Mack at least had the decency to look guilty before shaking his head. “They made me do it, the ones from below. They must have known I already knew you, but I had no idea. I swear.”

Tom stared at him. “You jumped in front of my car because someone told you to?”

Mack shook his head. “Not someone. They told me to—the ones from the Underlife.”

Tom groaned. The guy was clearly a lunatic.

“Right,” he said. “I can’t do this anymore. I think you should leave.”

Mack jumped to his feet. “No. You need to do what they say. This is about your boy.”

Tom tensed. “Don’t you speak about him!”

“But I have to,” Mack looked at him in the same way the consultant had when he sat him and Abby down and told them their son’s diagnosis. Concern mixed with pity. “That’s the whole point. I’m here because of what’s happening to him.”

Tom got to his feet. “That’s bullshit!”

“I’m right?” Mack tipped his head to one side, as if assessing him. “He’s sick isn’t he?”

“How do you know that? Have you been following me?”

“I haven’t.”

“So someone has?”

Mack shrugged again. “I guess, but I don’t know who exactly.”

Tom’s hands knotted in his hair. “This is crazy. Why would someone follow me?”

“Something’s gone wrong,” Mack said. “The Shadows—the stuff I saw in you—is in your son now. You escaped, so it’s gone after him.”

“What?” Tom looked at him, bewildered. “You’re not even making sense.”

“You don’t remember what happened,” Mack said with reproach. “You don’t remember what’s down there.”

Tom didn’t remember, but he also didn’t have a clue what Mack was talking about. “So who sent you to find me?”

“The people trying to stop the Shadows. We call them the Watchmen.”

“Watchmen?” Tom said in disbelief. He put one hand on his forehead, shaking his head. What was he thinking, bringing this man into his home, giving him food and clothes. “I think you’re living in a fantasy world.”

“My world’s real enough to be hurting your son.”

Furious, Tom reached down and grabbed Mack by the top of his arm. “Enough,” he said, hoisting him to his feet. “You’re out of here.”

He started to drag the older man towards the front door, a piece of cold pizza still clutched in one hand.

“Hang on!” Mack said, allowing himself to be dragged. “Do you honestly think I’m making this up?”

“Uh... Yes,” he said, his voice dripping in sarcasm.

Tom reached the front door and found he couldn’t open the locked front door one handed. He let go of Mack.

“You think this is all coincidence?” Mack continued to challenge him. “I knew you as a child, but you have no memory of that age. I tell you something is wrong with your son and he happens to be sick?” Suddenly, he stopped. “T.J! That’s what your mother used to call you.”

Tom’s hand froze on the door handle. “Where did you hear that?”

Tom’s middle name was James. His first foster family had been told to call him T.J. He distinctly remembered the pain hearing the name caused and making them call him Tom instead.

The ground slid out from beneath his feet, the room turning in a sickening spin. He forced himself to take deep breaths and found himself grabbing Mack’s arm again, trying to keep his grip on reality.

“Come on, man,” Mack said, gently. “I’m not making this shit up. You must realise I’m not lying to you.”

Tom didn’t know what to think. Was Mack telling him the truth and something Tom experienced as a child was now making David sick? Tom would give up his life for his son. If there was the slightest possible chance he could help David, didn’t he have to take it? If he didn’t, and David didn’t survive, he would never forgive himself.

Mack led him back to the living room and Tom sat down heavily on his old leather sofa. He put his head in his hands, his mind a blur.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. “What do you expect me to be able to do?”

Mack crouched in front of him, their eyes level.

“You need to go back,” he told him. “When your son got sick, something changed. The Shadows shouldn’t be able to touch someone who’s never been part of the Underlife. The Watchmen are worried. Somehow the Shadows have broken out, and it has to do with your son.”

Tom’s hands shook. He lifted his head to meet Mack’s eye. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about and I’m not sure I even care. My only question is this: If I go with you, could David get better?”

Mack shrugged. “Hell, I’m just the messenger. But your son being sick has got people worried.”

A line appeared between Tom’s eyebrows. “He’s got cancer—leukaemia. The doctors all say so.”

“Doctors can’t diagnose everything. There is more to the world than science. You and I, we see it in different ways, but we can see it. The Shadows sit beneath David’s skin like black blood in his veins. I get glimpses of Shadows in you too, but in you they’re faint. In him, the Watchmen say they’re like tar.”

Tom shuddered at Mack’s description. It was exactly how he’d always thought of the cancer—as a darkness stealing through his son’s body. Now, perhaps he understood why.

“I can’t go now,” he said, hardly believing what he was doing. “I need to tell Abby and David where I’m going and say goodbye.”

Mack looked at him, his blue eyes serious. “We should go sooner rather than later.”

“I can’t,” Tom repeated, desperate. “I can’t go and wake them up in the middle of the night.” He wasn’t going to be any use to anyone in this state. The whisky dulled his senses and he needed to sleep off the alcohol.

He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “Morning will be here soon. Surely, getting a few hours sleep won’t hurt.”

Mack thought for a moment and nodded. “Okay. Get some rest, but then we need to move.”

Tom pulled a faux-fur throw from the back of the couch and handed the blanket to Mack.

“You can sleep down here,” he said, nodding to the sofa. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

His mind whirring, Tom made his way up the stairs and climbed into bed. Part of him expected to get up in a few hours to find Mack gone and his wallet missing, but he didn’t care. If Mack was telling the truth, he would still be here when he woke up.

* * *

TOM WOKE TO find Mack still sound asleep on the sofa, his mouth open and snoring.

So, Mack had believed what he’d said. The question was, did Tom? Yes, he thought. Something in his gut told him not to ignore what the older man had told him. The man had known too much for literally running into him to be a coincidence.

He lingered for a moment, debating what to do next.

Heading back to the hallway, Tom opened the cupboard under the stairs and pulled out his old gym bag. Going to the gym hadn’t been at the top of his priorities recently. He shook the bag out, emptying a half-used shampoo bottle and an old pair of trainers on the floor.

Tom took the bag to the kitchen and pulled open the drawers and cupboards, rifling through them until he found the couple of decent-sized Maglites another drug rep had given him a few months earlier. Tom took the torches out of their boxes and dropped them in his bag. Picking up the half a loaf of bread that sat on the kitchen counter, he emptied the slices out onto a chopping board. He opened the fridge and stared into its depths again, hoping for something to have materialised over night. To his delight, he discovered a block of cheese stuffed in where the eggs normally lived. He’d been so exhausted last night he hadn’t noticed.

He set about making up some cheese sandwiches, wrapping them in foil and adding them to the bag with the torches. Tom looked around the kitchen for inspiration and a thermos flask caught his eye, so he filled the flask with water and put it in the bag as well.

That would do. Time was ticking by and, if all this was real and he wasn’t still in the middle of a dream, they needed to make a move.

Back in the lounge, Mack still snored.

Tom shook his shoulder. “Wakey-wakey.”

Mack’s eyes flickered open and he stretched.

“Time to go,” Tom said.

Mack swung his legs from the couch and sat up. He rubbed a hand across his thick beard before getting to his feet and following Tom.

As Tom pulled the front door shut behind him, a photograph sitting on the hall console table caught his eye. The photo was of Tom, Abby and David on holiday, laughing, tanned, and happy. On impulse, Tom picked up the picture—frame and all—and dropped it in his bag.

Within minutes, they were back on the road, heading towards the hospital. Tom retraced their route from the night before. Though he’d only had a few hours sleep, he felt more refreshed and alive than he had since David had been diagnosed. An urgency drove him, a purpose. For the first time since that terrible day, he didn’t feel utterly helpless.

At six-thirty in the morning, the London traffic was already building. Tom drove recklessly, pulling out in front of people, overtaking when he shouldn’t. He was normally a careful driver, but now he felt somehow bigger than everything else, more important.

They pulled into the hospital car park and Tom jumped out. Mack opened the passenger door, but Tom shook his head.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “I need to do this on my own.”

As he walked towards the hospital, his heart thumped. What the hell would he tell Abby? ‘Hi honey, in the hope of saving David’s life, I’m going underground with a homeless guy I’ve run over.’ The idea sounded crazy, yet, it was the truth.

Despite Mack’s attempts to jog his memory, he still couldn’t remember his life before the age of seven. When he tried to think back to his childhood, a barrier stood in front of his memory—a black wall expanding endlessly in every direction. The block frustrated him and made his head hurt, but it also made him realise he had never given much thought to his childhood before.

Why was that? Surely, as a child in care, spending hours daydreaming about his real family and where he came from would only have been natural? Yet Tom hadn’t ever thought about his past. He had always known he was in care and that he once had a real mother and father, but he never allowed himself to think about it.

Ben, an old security guard Tom often stood and talked to, was off shift and had been replaced by a much younger man. Half-asleep, the new guard’s head rested in the palm of his hand, his elbow balanced on the small counter in front of him. He jumped awake when Tom picked up the security card and quickly filled in his details. The younger man didn’t meet his eye, obviously embarrassed about being caught asleep on the job, so Tom pinned the badge to his shirt and was buzzed through.

Tom walked through the doors wondering if this level of security was enough for a place where children stayed—the young man hadn’t even asked his name, never mind who he was visiting. Then he chastised himself. Glass doors and a security guard would never be enough to protect these children from the real threats—the cancers, the holes in the heart, the life-threatening viruses and bacteria.

He walked towards David’s room, his shoes too loud on the linoleum floor. The colourful pictures that had sent him into depression last night now seemed cheerier and, for the first time, he allowed himself to glimpse what the children who had painted them may have felt—hope. He passed the nurses’ station and smiled a quick hello at the plump, middle-aged nurse behind the desk.

The door to David’s room was still closed. The hospital woke early; doctors had rounds to do, nurses had people to feed and drugs to administer, but this morning all was quiet. His hands shook as he cracked open the door and stuck his head around the corner.

Light streamed through the gaps in the blind. Abby lay curled up on her side on the cot, one hand beneath her head, the blanket half on her body and half on the floor.

As Tom entered the room, David sensed his presence and stirred and woke. He rubbed at sleepy eyes, blinked at his father for a moment, and smiled.

Tom raised a finger to his lips and jutted his chin out towards Abby.

“Hi, Dad,” David whispered. “Mum’s still sleeping, huh?”

Tom smiled and nodded. He crossed the small room and sat on the edge of the bed, taking hold of the boy’s hand. David’s fingers felt thin and fragile in his large palm. Tom was careful not to knock the clear plastic drip threading beneath the skin on the back of his hand, like a bionic varicose vein.

“Hey kiddo,” he said gently. “How did you sleep?”

David shrugged. “Okay, I guess. I try to roll over and this thing gets in the way.” He lifted his plugged hand.

Something in Tom’s chest tightened briefly and suddenly, like an internal crash of thunder.

“I need to tell you something,” he said. “I need to go away for a while. I’m not sure how long for and I might not be able come and see you, but I will do my best to call whenever I can.”

Large pale blue eyes stared up at him, innocent and utterly trusting. “Are you going away for your job?”

Tom bit his lower lip and shook his head. “Not this time, kiddo. Remember when I told you I never knew my parents?” He waited for David to nod. “Well, someone who knew my mum came to find me. Something important has happened in the place I grew up and I have to go back for a while.”

“How long will you be gone?”

Tom shook his head again. “I’m not sure. It could be a few days, maybe a week.”

David’s big eyes locked with Tom’s, his lips pressed firmly together. For a moment, Tom thought David was going to cry, but then he squeezed Tom’s hand and said, “I understand, Dad. I’ll be okay.”

Tom’s eyes filled with tears and a painful lump constricted his throat, but he forced a smile and returned the squeeze. “Good boy.”

Leaving David broke his heart. He couldn’t shake the horrible voice in the back of his mind that said, ‘What if something happens while you’re away? What if this is the last time you ever get to see him?’ Tom did his best to push the voice away and focus on the positive instead. He had a chance, an opportunity to try to save David’s life, and he would do everything in his power to make sure that was exactly what happened.

He leant over the bed and kissed the top of his son’s head, the few baby-fine strands of hair tickling his nose. He stopped himself from crushing the boy against him, hugging him so hard it would hurt.

“I love you, kiddo,” he said against David’s almost naked scalp. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I know, Dad.”

Tom stood and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Abby stirred and opened her eyes, surprised to see him.

“Wow, you’re early,” she said, sitting up and stretching out a kink in her shoulder from where she’d been lying. “I wasn’t expecting you for another hour or so.”

“Something’s happened.”

Panic blanched her face and she climbed off the cot, her eyes focused on David.

“Oh, no.” He put out a hand to calm her. “Nothing’s happened to David. It’s me. Something happened to me.”

Her fear refocused. “What? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I just need to go away for a couple of days,” he paused. “Possibly more.”

She frowned. “Where are you going?”

Tom stared at the floor, unsure of how to word his plan, despite running this conversation over and over in his head a hundred times before he reached the hospital. Somehow things seemed worse—so much more unreal—now that he actually had to say them aloud.

“Someone has contacted me. Someone from my past.”

Her eyes widened in alarm. “What? Like an old girlfriend or something? Are you in trouble?”

“No,” he said hurriedly. “Nothing like that. It’s someone from my childhood.”

“A member of your family?” She looked bewildered and he knew her confusion made her angry. He didn’t want to fight with her in front of David.

“Let’s go outside,” he suggested. “We should talk in the corridor.”

Abby glanced over at David, then nodded.

“We’ll be back in a minute, kiddo,” said Tom. “Your mum and I need to have a chat.”

David gave a small smile and picked up his toy. He clutched the robot to his chest, as he would a soft teddy. “Don’t fight, okay?”

“We’re not fighting, sweetie,” Abby said. “Daddy and I just need to talk about something.”

David looked from one parent to the other like he didn’t believe them. Tom didn’t blame him. The underlying tension in the room simmered. Abby was never going to buy what he had to say.

They stepped out of the room, into the corridor, and Abby pulled the door shut behind them.

She put her hands on her hips. “So, are you going to keep making me play guessing games or are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

Tom decided to leave out the whole ‘a homeless guy threw himself in front of my car and now wants to take me underground to meet some Watchmen’ incident and tried to stick to the facts.

“A man who was a friend of my mother—my real mother—got in touch and he needs me to go back to where I grew up.”

“Why?”

“For David. He heard about David’s illness and he thinks there might be a way to help him.”

A flicker of hope danced across Abby’s face. “What is he? A doctor or something?”

Tom thought back to Mack’s smelly clothes and his bushy mass of hair. “Yeah, something like that,” he said, hating the lie.

“What hospital does he come from?” she asked. “Why doesn’t he come and visit David himself if he thinks he can help?”

“Things aren’t so simple. He needs me to go to him and I have to go now.”

“When will you be back?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Where exactly are you going?”

He shook his head miserably. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know where you’re going?” she said in disbelief. “You can’t just tell me that and expect me to accept it. What if something happens to David? I need to know where you are!”

“I’ll have my mobile with me.” But then he remembered where he was going and how even going into the tube stations rendered the phone useless. “But there’s a chance it won’t work.”

“Bullshit!” she said. “You’re running away. Some old friend has got in touch and you’re using it as an excuse to get away from all of this.”

He shook his head in desperation. “No, you don’t understand. I’m not running anywhere. I need to do this for David.”

Abby moved so fast, Tom didn’t even see it coming. Quick as light, as she stepped forward and her small palm struck him across the cheek, the sound of the slap cracking in his head.

His mouth dropped open in shock and he clutched his cheek where her hand had made contact, heat rising beneath his skin.

“Don’t you dare use him as an excuse,” she spat, shaking with anger.

“I’m not,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. He realised how close to tears he was. “I’m doing this for him.”

She stepped away, her hands dug deep in her blonde hair, her chin raised, incredulous. “You think abandoning him now is for him? He needs you here.”

“No, he understands. I explained it to him. He understands.”

Her blue eyes, so similar to their son’s, blazed. “He is a seven-year-old boy with cancer! How the hell do you think he possibly understands anything?”

Tears wobbled in her eyes and her whole body shook, but she continued to stare at him in disbelief.

His stomach clenched with anxiety. The last thing he ever wanted was to cause his family more pain. Tom stepped forward, closing the gap between them. He reached out and grasped Abigail’s wrists and pulled her towards him.

“I love you, Abby,” he said, staring into her eyes, as though eye-contact alone would make her believe him. “I love both of you and I would never do anything to hurt you. You have to trust me on this.”

She tried to twist out of his grasp, but he held firm. Instead, she stared at the floor, unable and unwilling to meet his eye.

“Fine,” she said eventually. “Do whatever you want.” She pulled her hands away and Tom was forced to let go; he couldn’t hold onto her forever. “Just try to check in with us every now and then … if it’s not too much trouble,” she added, her voice sharpened with sarcasm.

Tom stood, deflated. The purpose he’d experienced earlier had been replaced by confusion and uncertainty. Did he really want to do this? Were Abby’s words the truth and he was using this nonsense as a convenient excuse to run away from all the pressure and responsibility?

A flash of the nightmares that had haunted his dreams his whole life entered his mind and he remembered the name Mack had called him, the name his mother had used. He remembered there was a chance, however small, of making David better.

“Can I at least say goodbye to Davey?”

Abby had half-turned away, unable to look at him, and pretended to be interested in a notice board hung on the wall. “Of course, he is still your son.”

Her words cut him as though she were implying she was no longer his wife.

Tom sighed and turned back to David’s room, his cheek still stinging. He hoped David wouldn’t notice and that he hadn’t heard too much of the fight. He didn’t want to leave him thinking his parents hated each other.

David sat up in bed, pale and worried. Tom smiled at him and David smiled back; an action so simple, yet powerful enough to break Tom’s heart.

“I have to go now, kiddo.”

“Okay, Dad. I do understand even if Mum thinks I don’t.”

Tom’s heart sank, knowing he’d overheard some of their fight, but David reached out and took his hand, his seven-year-old eyes shining with the wisdom of the innocent.

“Everybody needs to know where they come from,” he said.

“Yes,” said Tom. “Yes. They do. Your mum and I just disagree on that.”

“Mum’s only angry because she’s scared.”

“Are you scared, kiddo?”

David shrugged. “Sometimes, but I know you’ll be okay.” He nudged Tom with a bony elbow. “You’re tough.”

Tom grinned. “Yeah. Tough as old boots.”

“Tough as rhino-skin.”

“Tough as your mum’s roast beef!”

David laughed, a beautiful, angelic sound, and hid his mouth behind the palm of his hand. Tom glanced at his alien-looking son. He was as beautiful as the day he’d been born.

Tom leant over and kissed him, his hand crushing the boy’s cheek against his own, his nose buried in the warmth and achingly familiar scent of him.

“Dad!” David protested.

“Be good for your mum,” Tom said, reluctantly releasing his son from his grip. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I know and I will.”

“Good boy.” Tom gave him one last hug, not wanting to leave, and then tore himself away.

Abby sat on a plastic chair in the corridor, her head in her hands. She didn’t look up as he walked out of the room and he paused awkwardly for a moment, unsure whether to kiss her goodbye or not.

“Abby—” he started, but she held up a hand to stop him and still did not look up.

Chapter 3

MACK STOOD OUTSIDE of the car. He leant against the bonnet, smoking a roll-up he had filched together from cigarette butts he’d found on the floor.

“Do you have to do that?” Tom asked, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“Still a free country isn’t it?” He puffed smoke out of his mouth in a perfect O. “How did you get on?”

Tom scowled. “How do you think? Abby was thrilled. Let’s just get on with this, so I can get back to my family.”

Mack took one last long drag and flicked the butt on the tarmac where it bounced, sending red sparks against the black road.

“So, what happens now?” Tom asked, pulling open the driver’s door.

“We need to go back down. Not far from here is an entrance to the tunnels.”

“We’re going into the tunnels?” Tom asked, nerves jumping in his stomach. He’d had a strange experience on the London Underground only a few weeks earlier and he didn’t fancy going back down there. “Do you mean the underground tunnels, the ones with trains in them? Sounds dangerous.”

Mack shook his head. “These are old ones. Trains stopped running in them years ago.” He paused. “Doesn’t mean they’re any less dangerous though.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

They climbed back in the car and the smell of stale smoke filled the vehicle. Tom opened the window to let in some fresh air.

“Which way am I heading?” he asked, holding his face towards the open window.

“We need to go to Bow. It’s not far from here.”

Tom nodded. “I know Bow.”

“We’ll need to dump the car and do the rest on foot.”

Great, Tom thought, leave the Audi on the streets of Bow. God knows how much of the car would be left by the time they get back.

Bow didn’t exactly have the best reputation.

Tom wondered why he even cared. The car didn’t belong to him. The company car was one of the forms of golden handcuffs offered by his job.

Before long, they were driving up Mile End road, its streets packed with Asian market stalls selling fruits and vegetable, cheap plastic alarm clocks, scarves, and knock-off Gucci t-shirts. Metal poles had been joined together and covered with plastic or canvas to make the stands. Cardboard boxes spilled out on the street.

Dark-faced men, with darker eyes and colourful clothing, sold from the stalls. Women pulled their young children along, protesting and dragging their feet, while they bought the evening’s dinner. If it weren’t for the integration of students—also dragging their feet—and the numerous student bars, they could have been in Mumbai.

They passed Queen Mary’s University on their left and, minutes later, Bow tube station on the other side of the road.

“Take the next right,” Mack instructed.

They drove beneath a bridge, its walls marred with brightly coloured graffiti. A run-down housing estate stood to their right. Row after row of terraced houses made up the estate, with little or no garden to brighten the layout. Beaten-up toys lay in heaps at the front doors, forgotten. A gang of youths hung outside a corner shop, its windows protected with black metal bars. Their heads were huddled together, but they looked up as the Audi passed, watching the car with narrow-eyed suspicion.

The houses disappeared, replaced by the ominous grey curves of headstones. Railings divided the graveyard from the road and a sad-looking church, forlorn and forgotten, stood back from the road. The church looked as though no one had attended a service inside its walls in years. The building seemed to be caving from the inside out, its blank windows watching over its wards with eternal resignation.

Within moments, the graveyard morphed into a park. The park was almost as depressing as the graveyard itself, and just as forgotten. The once brightly coloured swings and monkey bars were chipped and faded, and the horrible grey of London hung over the place.

It had been a long time since a child’s laughter had brightened this place.

Tom was thankful he had the expensive metal shell of the car to protect him from the outside world. Seeing these places made him consider his own fortune. He’d been lucky to be able to provide a good life for his son and, despite everything else happening to him, David had not grown up in such poverty. Living in a good area, in a decent house with all the material trappings—the widescreen television, the computers, the stereo-system—it became easy to want everything to be bigger and better and forget what it was like to really struggle to make ends meet.

“Pull up over here,” Mack said, jolting Tom from his thoughts. His heart sank as he realised he would be parking the car on the other side of the park, in a badly lit area with no houses overlooking it.

Tom pulled the car up along the side of the curb. To one side, the expanse of the park stretched out. A single storey, redbrick building squatted on the other side of the street. The building’s windows were boarded up and graffiti had been sprayed across the ply-board.

Tom reached into the back seat and picked up his bag. By the time he turned back around, Mack had already climbed out of the car and now waited for him on the footpath. Tom took a deep breath and, resigned, opened his door and got out.

Mack led him across the sparse grass to the far side of the park where six-foot black railings, the paint flaking off, marked the edge. On the other side of the railings, a steep embankment dropped into a gully. The mulch of old leaves lined the bottom. An old supermarket trolley lay on its side, rusting, and a carrier bag of old nappies sat beside it. The bag had split open, the nappies fat and bloated, spilling their innards like guts. Rusted cans, their contents long since used, littered the ground.

Thirty yards down from where they stood, the gaping maw of the tunnel opened as a black hole.

Tom raised his eyebrows at the railings. “Are we supposed to get over those?”

Mack got to his hands and knees and started pulling away at the leaves piled up around the base. Tom stood beside him, arms folded, and quickly Mack revealed a hole dug beneath the railings

“Ta-da!” Mack declared.

The gap was barely big enough to fit a small child through, never mind a fully-grown man. The extra weight he’d packed on over the last few months wasn’t going to help; the result of all that takeaway food he’d grabbed instead of going through the lonely process of cooking for one while Abby stayed at David’s side in the hospital.

“If I try to squeeze under there, you’re going to end up making a call to the fire department to have me cut out.”

Mack rolled his eyes. “Don’t be such a drama queen.”

Still on his hands and knees, Mack twisted around so he faced away from the railings. The older man shuffled backwards and his feet went through the gap, his legs following. He paused for a moment while he squeezed his butt beneath the railings, but then lifted his hands above his head, pressing his shoulder blades together, and slid the rest of the way through, dropping the eight feet or so to the gully floor.

“See,” Mack called up to him with a grin. “Easy!”

“Fine,” Tom said, reluctantly getting to his hands and knees. He’d never get through the hole—he was much fatter than Mack. He almost wanted to get stuck; at least being wedged in a hole would give him an excuse to forget the whole thing and go back to the hospital.

“If I get stuck, don’t you dare desert me!”

“Scout’s honour,” Mack said, raising two fingers to his forehead.

“If you were a scout, I was a girl guide,” Tom muttered.

He started to edge backwards. His feet and calves slid through easily, but, as soon as the railings reached his thighs, the squeeze grew tighter. Still, he kept going. The bottom of the railings poked painfully into the flesh of his backside. Thank God for his jeans—anything thinner surely would have ripped by now, leaving him exposed and humiliated.

Tom’s shoulders hit the railings. They were the widest part of his body and he reached above his head, trying to narrow his frame, his fingertips still holding onto his bag, not wanted to leave his things behind. He realised he should have thrown the bag down after Mack. He almost shook his head at his own idiocy, but decided this wasn’t the best moment for self-reprisals.

Tom now dangled down the embankment, wedged in around his shoulders. He was no longer holding onto anything and it hurt like hell.

“Can’t you help?” he called down to Mack, not liking the high-pitched tone of his voice.

Hands wrapped around his ankles and an irrational fear that the hands didn’t belong to Mack gripped him. For a moment, some other creature—the monster from his childhood nightmares, the thing that lived under his bed—had grabbed him.

The hands pulled and then the only thing Tom knew was the pain shooting through his back and shoulders. Surely he was going to be flayed from the shoulders up. Then a clod of earth gave beneath him and he half-fell, half-slid down the rest of the way.

Mack stepped out of the way and Tom landed heavily, jarring his ankle. His bag followed, thumping him painfully on the arm.

“Thanks for catching me,” he grumbled, getting to his feet. He hopped a little on his sore ankle, testing out his injury before trusting to put any weight on the leg. It was a little tender, but he hadn’t broken anything.

“Anytime,” Mack said, laughter behind his voice.

Fronds of ivy hung down over the entrance to the tunnel and thick blackberry bushes grew up from the ground, the thorns a natural warning to trespassers to keep out. The remains of a fire—stones arranged in a circle, the ground grey with ash—sat in front of the entrance. Old plastic cider bottles with the labels long gone, littered nearby.

Tom nodded at the mess. “Remnants of your lot?”

Mack shrugged. “Possibly, but more likely just kids looking for a place to get wasted. Most of the Underlife wouldn’t want to be this close to the surface and some of the gangs who live between, well, let’s just say there would be the remains of much harder stuff.”

Tom shivered and he wondered why the hell he was going into this world.

David, he reminded himself. You’re doing this for David.

Mack started to walk towards the entrance, picking his way through the litter. Tom sighed and followed in Mack’s footsteps, his stomach churning.

Sunlight penetrated the first few feet of the tunnel, but then the darkness took over—a thick, solid black, swallowing everything it touched. Tom didn’t want to become part of that darkness, even the thought made him sick with nerves. Sweat slicked his palms and his stomach clenched in anxiety. His fears weren’t irrational; he wasn’t just a grown man still scared of the dark. He knew now this innate fear stemmed from something deeper, from something he’d experienced as a child. In a strange way, things seemed to make sense now—the strange dreams he’d experienced most of his life and his child-like fear of the dark must have all stemmed from his childhood.

Mack must have seen the fear in his face.

“Being below the surface gets easier,” the man reassured him. “I know you won’t believe me, but you’ll get used to the dark. Your eyes adjust and your other senses take over. After a while, you start to forget what daylight is like.”

“I’m not planning on staying down here long enough for that to happen,” Tom said. “I need to get back to my family.”

Something in Mack’s gaze flickered. Without bothering to reply, Mack turned and continued into the tunnel.

Tom chased after him, then stopped and fished around in his bag.

“Hang on,” he called, causing Mack to stop. His hand closed around cylinders of weighted metal and he pulled out the two large Maglites and offered one to Mack.

Mack looked at the torch, but made no attempt to take it. “I don’t need a torch and I don’t think you should use one either. Your eyes won’t adjust properly.”

“I won’t need my eyes to adjust if I’ve got a torch.”

“The torch is limiting—you’ll only be able to see what’s in the beam.”

“That’s an improvement on not being able to see anything.”

Mack shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said and started off towards the tunnel again, stepping over old, tattered clothing, empty cigarette packets, crushed beer cans.

Tom took a deep breath and said a silent goodbye to the warmth and the sunshine, unsure when they would meet again. Carefully, he picked his way towards the tunnel and stepped into the black hole. Stone walls curved overhead, enclosing him. Daylight lit the first few feet, but darkness soon took over, leaving the light behind.

The hard metal bars of old train tracks, leftovers of the tunnel’s days as a running train line, pressed against the soles of his shoes. Tom prayed Mack was right about this being a disused tunnel. He imagined the panic if the lights of an oncoming train appeared in front of them.

The thick beam of his torch cut a swath of light ahead, lighting Mack’s back as he walked away. He still wore Tom’s blue sweater and the material hung from his skinny frame like a child wearing his father’s clothes. Red brick made up the tunnel walls, but a thick, black dust coated them—another reminder of the trains that once ran through the tunnels. A network of cobwebs strung across the ceiling like Halloween party streamers. Spiders—their bodies fat and bloated—darted away from the light as though the beams would cause them harm.

Is this what the people who lived underground would be like? Tom wondered. Creatures that thrived in the dark and shied from the light? He thought he knew the name of them from one of the documentaries he used to watch—photophobic. Would they be like the creatures in the documentary? Would they be freaks?

Tom chewed his lip nervously. Did he once live down here? Did his own mother bring him down here to live in the dark? What was so bad on the surface to make her want to hide from the light like a vampire?

Mack, used to the tunnels, moved much faster than Tom, increasing the distance between them. Tom wanted to catch up, but he was unsure of his footing, the different levels of the train tracks and the debris caught beneath.

“Hey, slow down,” he called, his voice echoing back to him in the confined space, sounding as though he were underwater. But Mack didn’t slow down.

Panic gripped his chest, constricting his lungs, and he realised he could be left down here, left alone in the dark. His breathing became shallow and he struggled to inhale.

He was cold and alone, his thin arms wrapped around even thinner legs. Water trickled somewhere close by and, in the distance, something shrieked...

Tom shook the memory from his head.

Behind him, the entrance was now only a pinprick of light and Tom had to stop himself from launching back and running as fast as he could to his life above ground. He forced himself to take deep, slow breaths.

It’s only a tunnel, he reasoned with himself. The only thing to be afraid of down here was other people. The tunnels themselves couldn’t hurt.

There are things down here you don’t want to remember...

Mack’s words echoed in his head, but he pushed them away and willed his legs to move. As he continued to follow Mack down the tunnel, the torch shook in his hand and the beam of light trembled in response.

Moments later, he realised Mack had stopped.

“What’s wrong?” Tom asked, his voice horribly loud in the silence.

Crossroads split the tunnel ahead. Another tunnel crossing through the one they stood in.

“This way,” Mack said, heading to the tunnel on their left.

“I hope you remember how to get back again,” said Tom.

Mack carried on walking and didn’t respond.

The tunnel had a distinct slope, a definite sense of heading deeper underground. The train tracks still ran underfoot, but now they were missing in places and bits were dislodged and lying across each other, catching Tom out and making him stumble.

This part of the tunnel felt older. The place had an atmosphere, like stepping into a three hundred-year-old house and being able to sense the presence of its past inhabitants, as though their very being was somehow secreted into the walls.

Suddenly, Mack stopped again. He reached out his hand and swiped Tom’s torch, knocking its beam to the ground.

“Switch it off,” Mack hissed.

“What is it?”

“Switch off the damn torch.”

With fumbling fingers and a thumping heart, Tom did as he was told, plunging them into darkness. His breathing sounded too loud and he consciously tried to make it shallower, inhaling and exhaling though his nose. Tom had no idea what was happening, but Mack’s hand gripped his forearm tightly, the arm holding the now dark torch.

“That you, Shamus?”

The strange voice penetrated the darkness and Tom’s breath froze. A man was ahead of them, he could tell that much, but because of the strange echo in the tunnels he couldn’t tell how far. He waited for Mack to call something back, but, when he stayed silent, Tom guessed the two men weren’t friends.

Something flew past his ear, cutting through the air.

Tom ducked out of reflex and glass smashed against the wall behind him. He grabbed Mack’s arm in panic and just managed to stop the scream threatening to burst from his throat.

“I know someone’s there!” the man called out, anger sharpening his voice. “Don’t bullshit me!”

Tom stood straight and flicked the torch back on.

“Yes, yes,” he called out, holding his free arm up in surrender. “We’re here. Please don’t throw anything else, okay? We’re not here to fight.”

The man stood farther away then Tom had expected. Just behind him, the tunnel curved away and Tom guessed this was the reason the man hadn’t seen the torch sooner.

The stranger shielded his face with his forearm, his eyes squinting.

“Get that fucking thing out of my eyes!”

“Oh, sorry.” Tom pointed the torch at the ground just in front of the stranger.

The man looked young, in his early twenties, with an almost bald head, except for a couple of millimetres of re-growth. The light cast by the torch only served to deepen the shadows on the man’s face. Vast bags hung under his eyes, his cheeks were hollowed, and his jaw jutted sharply. Tattoos covered his hands and arms like bruises.

Tom realised this was exactly the sort of man he wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley.

The man narrowed his eyes at Mack. “I know you, don’t I?”

“Not any more, you don’t,” Mack said, walking towards him.

Tom hesitated for a moment and then followed. He hoped they’d avoid a fight. The last time he was in a fight, he’d been eleven and he hadn’t come off so well.

Mack brushed past the skinhead and rounded the corner. Tom had to stop himself from apologising as he walked past. He felt the man’s eyes boring into the back of his head. They rounded the bend and Tom noticed a ledge, a large nook built into the tunnel wall, about four feet above the ground. The alcove measured about six-feet long and three-feet high, a cranny where the workmen on the track would have wedged themselves if a passing train came along. An old, dark blue sleeping bag, a kerosene lamp, a stack of dirty magazines, and a couple of old cider bottles all sat on the ledge.

This is where the man lives, Tom realised.

The man saw Tom staring and shoved past him, moving to stand in front of his “home.” He folded his arms across his chest and glared at him.

“Problem?” he spat.

Tom quickly glanced away.

The man sneered, revealing broken and blackened teeth. “I’ll assume you’re not a local?” he said with a raw chuckle, looking Tom up and down. “Fresh blood.” He stepped back out to the middle of the tunnel, blocking the way. “So, what am I going to get as a passing fee?”

“A what?” Tom said in surprise

“Call it a toll for using my track.”

Mack took over. “Fuck off man,” he said, his voice hard. “Stop being a prick and get out of the way.”

Tom’s wallet weighted his back pocket. The wallet contained about forty pounds and a handful of change. He didn’t care about the money—this guy probably needed it more than he did, even if he only bought drink and drugs. If paying him meant they got past without a fight, it would be the best forty quid he’d ever spent.

“It’s okay,” he said, reaching into his back pocket. “I’ve got—”

Mack rounded on him, his normally creased, friendly eyes suddenly fierce and dangerous.

“Shut the fuck up!”

Tom shut up.

Mack walked up to the younger man until he was only about a foot away and stared him directly in the eye. “I’m taking this man beneath to the Watchmen. You’ll have them to answer to if you interfere.”

The younger man stared back, but a muscle just below his eye started to twitch and he clenched and unclenched his fists. The moment seemed to stretch on forever and Tom was waiting for the man to pull a knife. He’d never thought of himself as a coward, but in his mind he was retracing his steps to the entrance and trying to figure out how quickly he could get back in the dark with a skinhead lunatic on his tail.

The young man finally took a step to the side and Tom breathed a sigh of relief.

“Go ahead,” the guy said with a scowl. “There’s a hell of a lot worse than me in these tunnels.”

Mack gave a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I think we can handle it.”

Feeling like a child, Tom followed on Mack’s coattails as they brushed past the skinhead. As they walked farther down the tunnel, Tom sensed the man’s presence, his anger radiating down the tunnel. For the first time, he wished he had taken Mack’s advice and switched off the torch. At this moment, disappearing into the shadows appealed.

Tom knew Mack was protecting him, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that Mack had his own agenda. He doubted Mack was protecting him out of the goodness of his heart; there was something bigger in this picture, something that Tom couldn’t yet see.

When he thought they were far enough away, he started to speak. “Are there going—”

Glass smashed behind them and they both ducked.

“You’ll die, you bastards!” the man screeched from back down the tunnel. “It’ll get you, you just see!” More glass smashed, this time closer.

“Oh, shit,” said Tom, his heart taking up a fast, familiar pace.

“Keep going,” Mack advised. “He won’t chase after us.”

But the missiles kept coming. Something heavy landed farther away and Tom realised the man must be throwing bricks or bits of the old track.

“Whoop! Whoop!” the man screeched manically.

The sound echoed down the tunnel, followed by more breaking glass. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Tom wondered where he was getting it all from.

“It’ll suck you up and spit you out,” the guy screamed at them. “You fucking losers!”

More glass smashed and the man screeched again, the sound bouncing off the curved walls.

“Keep moving,” Mack said, keeping his voice low, and ushering Tom down the tunnel, away from the crazed man. Together, they picked their way down the side of the tracks and the man’s manic yells grew fainter.

“Are there going to be more like him?” Tom managed to say in a half-whisper.

Mack gave a derisive snort of laughter. “Him? He’s nothing. What he said was true—there’s a lot worse than him down here.”

“Like what?” Tom asked. “Junkies? Crackheads? Psychopaths?”

Mack laughed, but the sound was cold and sent chills down Tom’s back. “Is that the worst you can think of?”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“If you have to ask, then you don’t want to know. Not yet anyway. Trust me.”

Tom stopped walking.

“Enough already,” he said, trying to sound determined. “I didn’t exactly plan to spend my day being attacked underground by drug addicts and all you’re doing is giving me the run around. I’m not going any further until you tell me what the hell is going on.”

Mack looked at him, his eyes wide in amazement. “What did you think was going to happen? We’d come down here and all sit around having a nice conversation over a cup of tea? Bad shit happens down here. I mean, we’re in the dark, for fuck’s sake!”

Tom clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. Why did everything Mack say sound like a threat? Stupidly, he had trusted him.

Tom realised what a dangerous position he had got himself into. These people could do anything to him and no one would be any the wiser. Abby wouldn’t even report him missing for a couple of days, maybe even longer if she was really pissed at him. He imagined the police finding the Audi deserted and the speculation that would follow. They would wonder if he’d been carjacked or if he’d done the worst and killed himself. He hated to think of the anguish his disappearance would cause—how Abby would turn their last argument over and over in her head, trying to figure out if something she’d said had caused him to vanish, wishing she’d done things differently. Then, with his heart bound in chains, he thought of David and how he’d think his daddy didn’t love him enough to want to stay with him.

Tom’s eyes pricked with tears and he pressed his lips together. “I have to go back. I’m sorry, I can’t do this”

He turned; momentarily forgetting the skinhead. But Mack’s arm shot out and closed around his bicep. His grip was ferociously strong and Tom stared at him in surprise.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“What?” Tom tried to pull out of his grip. “Get off me.”

“You’ve got to do this,” Mack said, his eyes shone fierce in the torchlight. “We need you to. We all need you to.”

Tom yanked his arm again and this time Mack let go.

“Try and see the bigger picture,” Mack said, desperation creeping into his voice. “This isn’t just about you and your family.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “Well that’s funny, because, right now, they’re all I care about.”

“If this thing gets out, your family won’t even recognise the world they are living in. Is that what you want to happen?”

Tom was baffled. “No, of course not. But what is going to happen?”

Mack shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line. “That’s the problem. We don’t know exactly.”

Tom opened his mouth. “But—”

“But, do you really want to find out?” Mack interrupted.

“How the hell would I know? I’m not even sure what I’m doing here.”

“You’re saving us,” Mack said. “You’re saving us from Hell.”

Chapter 4

DAVID WORRIED ABOUT his mother.

She hadn’t been the same since his dad left only a few hours earlier. She kept smiling at him in that weird, tight way she did when she was trying to stop herself crying. Dark bags, like black and purple thunder clouds, clung beneath her eyes. Extra lines seemed to have suddenly sprung from the corners of her eyes and the sides of her mouth.

Worrying about him, about his illness, made his mother different, but now she also worried about his father. David felt a little mad at his dad for leaving her like this, but at the same time he understood his dad didn’t have much choice. He trusted his dad. He trusted his mum too, but in a different way. His dad was the one who got things done. When his mum asked him to do stuff—mow the lawn, redecorate the spare room, put away the laundry—his dad did it. This was the first time he could remember where his dad had done something his mother didn’t want him to. This was the reason David knew for sure his dad was doing the right thing. His dad wouldn’t upset his mum if it wasn’t important.

But his mother didn’t seem to see things that way. Only hours had passed since their terrible fight—the one they assumed he’d not heard—and now she sat on a chair beside his bed, biting the skin around her nails. She was supposed to be reading his Spiderman comic to him, but she kept losing her place. David caught her staring out the window, lost in her own thoughts, a distant, worried look in her eyes.

She snapped back to him again, smiling that tight, supposedly reassuring smile, and picked up where she’d left off.

“Dad will be back soon,” he said, interrupting her.

She gave him a bright, fake smile—like something painted onto one of his comic characters.

“Of course he will, sweetie,” she said, her voice matching her smile. “He’ll be back as soon as he can.” She patted the back of his hand. “Why don’t you try and get some rest.”

He smiled back at her, desperately wanting to make things better, but she turned away, her attention focused, once again, on the window.

David didn’t want to get some rest. He’d been feeling a bit better today. The horrible sickness from the chemo still came in slow, leisurely waves, but now the points between the peaks and troughs had distanced. At the moment he felt okay, so he knew he was in a trough. But, pretty soon, he’d have to ride out another breaker and he wanted to make the most of not wanting to throw up all the time.

But making the most of not wanting to puke wasn’t the only reason he didn’t want to get more rest. He’d been having bad dreams lately—real bad dreams—ones that woke him up with their ferocity. He’d wake and find himself tangled in the bed sheet and still fighting, certain he was still in the clutches of his nightmare. David didn’t know what the dreams meant; he only remembered being in the dark. Being in the dark and knowing he wasn’t alone. The dreams seemed to be getting clearer and he suspected it wouldn’t be long before they became more and more real. Soon, he thought, he may not be able to tell the difference between his dreams and reality.

David felt the same way about his life before the sickness got him. The four months he’d been ill seemed like a lifetime and, though he had memories of being out, of playing in the garden and riding his bike, they were distant and dream-like. He used to play football out on the street with his friends. They’d kick the ball against the garages until old Mr Jefferies came out and yelled at them. Then they’d run off, laughing at him behind his back. He remembered Saturdays when he and his friends would go to the swimming pool and his mother gave him fifty pence for sweets or crisps afterwards, knowing how swimming left him ravenous. He had treasured that fifty pence, the pleasure of knowing he had the silver coin almost more enjoyable than the swimming itself.

These things had happened to him, but now they seemed so far away, so different from what his life had become, they might be someone else’s memories or perhaps scenes from a movie he’d watched. One of those dorky kids’ movies his friend, Si, always laughed at. He struggled to believe a life existed where sickness didn’t plague him, where he had the strength to run and kick a ball, where he still saw his parents laughing and where he walked in on them kissing in the kitchen.

His parent’s affection for one another had embarrassed him at the time. They held hands across the table in restaurants and kissed each other hello and goodbye in front of his friends. He felt so stupid about that now; he would practically force their heads together if he thought it would build a bond between them again.

His mother stood up and pushed back the wooden chair she had been sitting on, its feet making an unpleasant ‘skeeerrch’ against the linoleum floor. She wandered over to the window and reached out, her fingers wrapping around the cord that operated the blinds. She pulled first one and then the other, adjusting the blind, pulling it up and then back down again.

Someone had painted a picture of a clown on the back of the blind. David thought it looked dumb; as if a picture of a clown could make this room any less scary. Anyway, the picture was fine when the blind was fully down, but as soon as you wanted to let any light in, you pulled the cord—as his mother was doing now—and separated the clown’s face into pieces. They would have been better, he decided, just to have painted it on the wall.

Sighing and rolling over, he turned his back on the split, grinning clown’s face, and his mother. His fingers snuck out and grasped the soft material of his blanket and pulled it towards his face, rubbing the soft material between his fingertips.

Dad will make everything better again, he told himself.

But as he plugged his mouth with his thumb, trying to stop the sob trying to erupt from his throat, a fat tear plopped down the side of his face and soaked into the pillow, leaving a dark stain like a birthmark.

Chapter 5

TOM FELT AS though they’d been walking for a day or more, but they must have only been in the tunnels for a matter of hours. Being in the dark, so far underground, was disorienting. It was impossible to tell if it was the middle of the day or the middle of the night. The deeper beneath ground they got, the wider and taller the tunnels became. Now they stretched at least fifteen feet high and twenty feet wide. Every few minutes, the tunnel would grumble, the sound building to a muffled roar as underground trains in nearby tunnels, their carriages packed full of commuters, roared between stations.

Tom’s legs started to ache. He wasn’t used to doing too much exercise beyond kicking a ball around with David and, obviously, he hadn’t been doing much of that lately.

He picked his way carefully along the sides of the tracks. In some places, the rails were missing altogether, but then they would suddenly reappear and catch him out. Mack strode on ahead, making little effort to slow down and let him catch up. Tom swore and grumbled beneath his breath, cursing the man who had dragged him into this mess.

A metal bar caught against his foot and he stumbled and fell, his torch slipping from his grasp. The torch hit the track and instantly the light went out. Tom put his hand down to break his fall and his palm landed on something large, warm and hairy. The thing shrieked in response, a terrifying and blood-curdling sound, before scurrying away into the shadows.

Frantic, his heart pounding, Tom grabbed for the torch and hit the bulb end against his hand, jarring the light back on. He swung the beam in the direction he thought the thing had run. The light caught what he first mistook for a length of rope—a thick, twisted cord—but as he followed up its length, he found the rope ended in a sleek, furry body.

The rat was bigger than any Tom had ever seen—bigger than he’d ever imagined before. Easily the size of a small cat, its eyes glinted yellow in the torchlight. As Tom stared, mouth agape, the rat flashed sharp teeth at him and hissed like a snake.

Not wanting to see any more, Tom jolted the torch away and the scraping of the creature’s claws scurried off down the tunnel.

Mack’s hand on his shoulder made him jump.

“Jesus Christ!” Tom said. “What the hell was that?”

He could still feel the sleek body beneath his palm, its sturdy yet agile body slipping beneath his fingers.

Mack grinned. “Track rabbits.”

“What?” he said, momentarily bewildered and doubting his own eyes. “There are rabbits down here?”

Mack laughed, a sound out of place in the cold black. “Track rabbits are what we call the rats down here. They get so big they’re practically a different species.”

Tom shuddered and wiped the palm of his hand on his trousers. He wished he had some of the disinfectant gel Abby always carried around, or even a couple of wet wipes. He experienced a sudden pang of longing for his wife; wishing he had her support and they were a team again.

“I can’t believe they get so big,” he said, unable to hide the awe in his voice.

“Yeah, well, life’s different down here. Above ground things have limiting factors—competition for space or food. Those things don’t apply down here.”

“But there must still be competition for food?”

Mack shrugged and started walking down the tunnel. “Depends on what you eat,” he called over his shoulder. “Those rats will eat anything. There’s plenty of tales of men falling asleep, drunk or high on one thing or another, and waking up to find two or three, or even more, of those rats chewing at their fingers.”

“Oh, my God!” Tom’s stomach did an uncomfortable lurch. “Those things eat people?”

“Meat is meat to them. One guy died down the tunnels and by the time they found him, he was nothing more than hair and bones. The little sods had even chewed on his bones. You could see the teeth marks.”

Tom hurried to keep up. “I can’t believe it,” he said, already out of breath. He couldn’t believe Mack was older than him. The man was putting him to shame.

“People eat them too, if they can catch them,” Mack continued. “But they’re pretty smart; if they see you coming, you won’t stand a chance.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Maybe to you, but some people in Asia think cockroaches are a delicacy.”

“Even so, I’d never eat a rat.”

Mack shrugged. “I guess that depends on how hungry you get.”

“I knew I should have packed more sandwiches,” Tom muttered.

Moments later, the tunnel the two men had been walking through for the past two hours opened up into a huge room. It was still curved like the tunnel, but bigger than the tunnel they had just been in. The space was longer than it was wide, easily stretching two hundred feet ahead of them.

Tom’s mouth dropped open and he swung his torch, illuminating old, cracked and blackened tiled walls. Cobwebs hung, thick and heavy with dust, and unused spotlights caught the light, reflecting it back at him. Stuck up on the wall was a piece of old, yellowed paper, its corners curled with age. Tom read the words, ‘To First Aid Post’, and realised he stood in an old, abandoned tube station.

Mack noticed the direction of his gaze. “The stations were used as bomb raid shelters during the second world war,” he explained.

“Where’s the platform?” Tom asked, looking around.

“Pretty much all of the disused, deep-level stations have had their platforms removed. I don’t know why.” He started walking deeper into the station and Tom followed, his eyes wide.

A passenger exit had been bricked off—a rough and apparently hurried job, as though someone had been trying to keep something out... or in. The bricked-up doorway hung ominously about six feet above the ground, suspended in mid-air. The missing platform made it look out of place.

“I never knew these places existed before,” Tom said, his voice hushed with awe. “It’s kind of creepy, like a ghost town. Why are the exits bricked up?”

“After the war ended, the stations weren’t needed anymore so they bricked them up to stop people coming down here. Not that it worked of course. People still found their way back in.”

Located halfway down the station was another smaller, open exit.

“Why didn’t they brick that one up?”

Mack shrugged. “Doesn’t go to the surface. It just leads to another old station that’s also bricked up.”

“Can we go and look?” Tom said, excited. He had forgotten the threat of giant rats and skinheads. This reminded him of being child again, the excitement of exploring an old, forgotten ruin buzzing through him. He strode towards the open exit, hooked his hands over the side and started to pull himself up.

“You can if you want,” Mack called after him, “but you might find you’re disturbing someone’s home.”

Tom let go of the ledge in alarm and stepped away. He had no intention of disturbing anyone.

“Someone is living down there?”

“Probably not,” Mack admitted. “The guys from the department of transport still come down this far to move people on, but one of the newbie’s might have bedded down.”

Tom shined the torch at the hole and once again wondered how people could stand to live underground.

“How did you end up down here, Mack?” he asked suddenly. “You might be a bit strange sometimes, but you seem to have your head screwed on. You don’t seem like a nutcase or a druggie. You’re not on drugs are you?” he added hastily.

“Not at the moment,” Mack joked. He grew serious. “I’ve had some dark times though, with drugs and stuff. I was lucky; even though I messed about with them real bad, didn’t know who or where I was most of the time, I always came out the other side.” He sighed and scuffed his foot along the ground, dislodging some of the debris. “I think some people are wired differently than others. I’ve seen a lot of good people in a real mess. There’s a lot of mental illness down here; the drink and drugs go hand in hand with a restless mind.”

He looked up and fixed Tom with a piercing blue stare. “We’re just people,” he said, finally. “People who have fallen on hard times.”

Tom remembered his thoughts of deformed, weird people living in the dark and a wave of guilt washed over him. He thought of all the times he’d practically stepped over homeless people living in central London and realised he’d never given a thought to who these people actually were, where they had come from, or if they had loved ones looking for them.

“But what happened to you,” Tom pressed, his curiosity getting the better of him. “You seem like an intelligent guy.” He held up his hands, gesturing to their surroundings. “Surely you could have done better than this?”

Mack’s eyes flicked away, finding something more interesting on the floor. “It’s not a special story. I grew up in Glasgow, but my dad died when I was twelve. After that, Ma had a number of different guys coming back and forth from the house, but when I was about seventeen she met this real arsehole. In the end, I made her choose—him or me—and she chose him. So, I stole his car and came down to London and ended up living in the car. Then one weekend I went to a party and by the time I got back the car had been towed. I don’t know if the car was reported stolen, but I didn’t intend on finding out.” Mack still wouldn’t meet his eye. “So here I am,” he finished with a shrug.

“Didn’t you have any friends to take you in?” Tom thought of David and how he would feel if David up and left and ended up on the streets. He would search the ends of the world until he found him. No matter how old David was or what sort of trouble he got in, Tom would never leave his son on the streets.

But Mack’s father had died.

Tom looked around the cold, dark place, totally devoid of any natural light. He thought of the people who sought shelter here during the war, huddled together, terrified, praying this would be the one place that would keep them safe.

Maybe that’s how the underground people felt too, he thought. It was the only place they could be safe.

“I don’t think I’ll ever really understand how you let yourself end up down here,” he said.

“You were down here once too,” Mack reminded him. “You were just lucky enough to get out.”

“And my mother?” Tom said quietly. “Did she get out?”

Mack glanced away. “I don’t know what happened—”

Mack’s voice cut off as a strange hissing and buzzing echoed in the confines of the now empty station. It seemed to fill Tom’s head, and he put his hands over his ears trying to block it out. It was like the static when television channels used to switch off for the night or the mid-point between stations when tuning the radio. But it was loud—crazy loud—and no amount of blocking his ears made a difference.

“What the…?” Tom said, staring around as though expecting to find a swarm of bees buzzing around his head. Then he realised the noise didn’t sound like bees or even static, but more like a thousand people whispering at the same time.

He turned to Mack, desperate for an answer, but Mack stared, white-faced, at something on the ground in front of them. Taking one hand off his ear and trying to use his shoulder to muffle the sound, Tom directed the torch downward to see what had captured the other man’s attention.

In the light, tendrils of a thick, black substance, like living tar, crept towards them. It didn’t move like a liquid, instead seemed to have purpose. The movement was amoeboid-like, rushing into itself to push that part forward, then retracting back again when it touched a wall or a piece of rail.

Tom stared, his eyes bulging wide. “What the hell is that?”

“Don’t move!” Mack leaned in towards him and hissed as loud as possible above the terrible noise. “It senses vibrations—movement through the ground.”

The horrible whispering continued to pound his eardrums; the sort of sound with the potential to drive someone crazy. He wanted to shake his head, to yell, anything to drive the noise out, but he didn’t dare, not with the thing creeping towards them. The torchlight shook wildly in his hand and Tom prayed that, whatever this thing was, it would not be able to notice the light.

He held his breath, chilled to the bone. One part of the black thing was now only a couple of feet from him and it sent out an arm, creeping closer and closer.

Slowly, Tom edged his foot back, wanting to increase the distance between himself and the thing, but the moment he did so, the black substance shot out towards him, bulging out of itself, rippling like oil on a wet road.

It missed him by mere inches and a thin whine of fear escaped Tom’s throat.

Mack squeezed Tom’s arm, a silent warning for him to keep still. Tom didn’t intend on risking moving again. He didn’t know what would happen if that stuff touched him, but he wasn’t planning on finding out.

The stuff continued to move before them, edging closer and closer. It was like an animal sniffing out its prey—cautious, yet predatory.

How could this thick, black blob be sensing anything? Tom wondered. Did it even know they were there?

The terrible whispering grew louder, thundering around their ears like a horrific, violent waterfall. Tom realised he could make out words within the din, layering over the top of one another. They were hard to understand, but every now and then he caught something, pleading and pitiful and somehow child-like.

Where are we? Where are we? Help us, please. What is happening to me? Please, don’t… No, no…

The words chilled his heart and his mouth ran dry. His heart thumped painfully. What the hell was happening here? He felt like he’d been plunged into some other insane world, a world he didn’t recognised.

Tom became aware of another sound penetrating the hollow cacophony of plaintive voices. The ground began to rumble, a tiny jostling of the molecules of concrete, sending vibrations through the station. Tom’s first thought, in his frightened and panicked mind, was that it was an earthquake, then he remembered where he was and realised a train ran somewhere beneath them.

At the same time his mind processed these thoughts, the liquid black that had been creeping towards them suddenly retreated as quickly as it had appeared. It slunk back into the darkness of the tunnel, melting into the black.

The voices were gone.

Chapter 6

TOM STOOD, SHOCKED, in the now silent station. The silence buzzed against his ear drums, like the tinnitus he used to get after leaving a loud rock concert.

Beside him, Mack’s breath came in heavy gasps, his forehead coated in a thin sheen of sweat. Tom didn’t like seeing the older man ruffled. Whatever just happened, Mack couldn’t handle it.

“I didn’t think it had got this far up,” Mack said, catching his breath.

“Didn’t think what got this far up?” Tom exclaimed. “What the hell was that?”

“The Shadows.”

Tom stared at him. “That’s what made David sick?” His voice sounded hollow and disbelieving.

Mack nodded in the dark. “Yeah.”

Tom ran a hand through his hair and shook his head, incredulous. He was still trying to convince himself what he’d experienced was real and not caused by some crazy acid flashback from some of his more misspent teenage years. This whole thing was insane; not only the idea of that thing being real, but the possibility of it causing his son’s sickness.

Stuff like this didn’t happen in real life.

“But what the hell is it?” he said again.

“No one really knows,” Mack said,” but it’s ancient. The Shadows have been living beneath the earth for as long as anyone can remember. Once people started building the tunnels, they disturbed it. The Watchers were set up to contain the Shadows and it’s pretty much worked, up until now.”

“So what changed?”

“Your son did. As soon as he started to get sick, the Shadows got stronger.”

“But how did that stuff get into Davey?” Tom asked, his stomach churning, a guilty, acidic feeling, afraid he already knew the answer.

“The Shadows seem to go through periods of strength and weakness, times of feeding followed by rest. During one feeding phase, the Watchers were struggling to control it. Like now, the Shadows infiltrated our man-made tunnels and you came into contact with it. The Shadows should have killed you, but didn’t. Instead, the Shadows retreated like you were its kryptonite.”

Tom couldn’t believe he’d seen that thing before and not remember. Had his whole life down here been so terrible that his mind shut it all out? He’d heard the mind used such a thing as a survival mechanism; people who experienced traumatic events had no recollection because the memory would be too much to handle.

But the dreams still plagued him. The nightmares were a way of his unconscious mind trying to make itself heard. When his conscious mind was asleep and resting, the unconscious one simmered beneath the surface, little bubbles of memory bursting in the land of his dreams, releasing little pockets of memory.

“But if the Shadows retreated, how did it get to David?”

“We still don’t know exactly, but we think it may have used you like a carrier and got a ride to the surface.”

“Got a ride out? What? Like a piggyback?”

Mack paused and took a breath. “More like a parasite.”

Tom shivered. “Why didn’t you tell me all of this to start with?”

Mack raised his bushy eyebrows. “Why? Would you have believed me?”

Tom didn’t bother to answer. He barely believed Mack now and he’d seen the thing firsthand.

Cautiously, Mack started to pick his way through the station, heading towards the tunnel the black slime had disappeared into.

“Must we go that way?” Tom asked nervously. “What if it’s still in there?”

“We don’t have much choice. I don’t know any other way.”

Reluctant, Tom followed Mack through the station. The boyish excitement he’d felt only minutes earlier had completely disappeared. Now he only had horrible sick feeling in his stomach and the weight of the world on his shoulders. If he believed what Mack told him, he’d made his own son sick. The idea made him furious. He was supposed to protect Davey, not expose him to terrifying black things that somehow got under his skin and threatened his life.

* * *

THE DAY OF David’s diagnosis had been the worst of Tom’s life.

He had never been a big believer in God or religion, yet in the short space of time between the appointment they had made with their general practitioner and that of the referral to the consultant, he found himself praying.

And he wasn’t just praying—he was bargaining:

If David is all right, I will never be short tempered with him again. If David is all right, I’ll take him to the park every weekend without moaning because there’s some sports game I want to watch on television. If David is all right, I’ll never have another drink in my life.

Stupid plea bargains with someone he wasn’t sure he even believed in.

They’d made the appointment with the GP because David had a cold that wouldn’t go away. His nose ran like a tap and he suffered from a fever that peaked and died off, making them think he’d beaten it, but returned within a few hours. He was constantly exhausted and pale and he complained about his legs aching. Abby had taken him to the doctor after the first couple of days, hoping for antibiotics or something to help him feel better, but the doctor sent them away with the usual spiel about antibiotics not touching viruses.

David had typical flu symptoms, but, after nearly a week, both he and Abby started to get worried. David had barely eaten and was frighteningly weak. Abby called the doctor’s surgery and demanded another appointment. Tom carried their son out to the car and then from the car into the surgery—a big, modern, glass box of a building. The child didn’t even glance at the small area filled with toys.

The doctor took out her stethoscope.

“Do you mind if I listen to your chest?” she asked David. She held up the metal disk. “It might be a bit cold.”

David managed a weak smile and she lifted his shirt, meaning to listen to his chest for any sign of infection in his lungs. But, as soon as she lifted his shirt, she stopped.

“Has David had any accidents?” she asked.

“What?” Immediately, Abby grew panicky. “What do you mean?”

“He has a number of bruises across his chest.”

Abby grabbed his t-shirt and pulled it up to see the angry purple marks, three of them in all and each about the size of David’s fist.

“Oh, my God,” she said, her hand going to her mouth. “They weren’t there this morning.” She turned to her son. “David, honey, did you fall out of bed and not tell me?”

David shook his head and tears filled her eyes.

“I don’t want to alarm you,” the doctor said, “but I want to get David in to see a consultant at the hospital. Are you okay to wait in the waiting room while I make some calls?”

Abby turned and looked at Tom, her eyes scared and frantic. “Tom?”

He knew she was asking him if he needed to get back to work. He shook his head. “Don’t worry, I can cancel,” he said, a horrible, sick feeling worming its way into his stomach. It was a sensation he would become incredibly familiar with; the feeling of fear.

“What do you think is wrong with him?” Tom asked the doctor.

“I wouldn’t like to say right now, let’s just get him to the hospital so they can run some tests.”

Abby bit her lip so hard a small speck of blood appeared like a rose in bloom. She wrapped her arms protectively around her son, as if her physical presence could ward off his sickness. Tom put his arm around her and helped her lift David. He felt so much lighter than he had only a week ago.

The speed with which the doctor made the appointment worried them all the more. It had to be serious for them to get in so quickly.

They bundled David back in the car and that was when the praying had started. He kept glancing in the rear view mirror, watching his son’s pale face more than he watched the road. He had to force himself to concentrate, having a car accident wasn’t going to help anyone.

A barrage of tests followed.

First, blood had been taken—tests to confirm what the doctors already thought they knew.

Next came the bone marrow biopsy; David crying in fear and pain as the doctors and nurses stuck huge needles into his hip bone.

Then David suffered the awful lumbar puncture to find out if the disease had reached his spinal column and brain. He had lain still while doctors inserted a hollow needle between the bones in his spine. He’d been silent, but tears had poured down his face the whole time.

And the whole time, Tom was praying...

* * *

THE BATTERIES IN Tom’s torch were starting to die. The beam of light faded significantly and Tom kept banging the side of the torch against his hand to keep the light going. He had the other torch, still with full batteries, in his bag, but he didn’t want to use it until he absolutely had to. The idea of being on his last supply worried him. The idea of those batteries also dying and being stuck down here in the dark with no idea of where he was heading, terrified him. He had no idea how long they’d been walking, but he would struggle to find his way back again. They hadn’t taken many twists and turns, but being in the dark was so disorienting, he thought he would struggle to know his left hand from his right. He wished he’d been more prepared. If only he’d had some idea of what he was getting himself into. He would have made a special trip to the supermarket to stock up on things—extra batteries, for example—instead of just making do with what he had in the back of the cupboard. Of course, if he had any idea of what he was letting himself in for, he probably wouldn’t have come.

Tom sighed and hit his waning torch again. Something like coal crunched underfoot and his shoulder bumped against the side of the wall. For some reason, he seemed to lose his balance easily in the dark.

Something brushed against his cheek and he almost shrieked out loud. He batted the thing away only to feel the light, sticky mesh of cobweb clinging to his fingers. Claustrophobia pressed down around him. After the relative space of the abandoned station, being back in the tunnels somehow felt worse. The tunnels seemed endless, running straight, and they hadn’t seen another tunnel or junction for ages.

Another underground train ran somewhere beneath them, its roar much louder than the ones before.

We must be approaching a crossroads, Tom decided. Another tunnel built across an older one.

Tom waited until the roar had died away and then shouted out to Mack, who still insisting on walking ahead of him, “That one was close.”

Mack slowed and half-turned so he walked sideways.

“It’s going to be a lot closer in a minute,” he said, squinting in Tom’s torchlight. “We’ve got to get past the train to get to the tunnel below.”

Tom’s stomach did a little backwards flip. “We’ve got to walk across a live tunnel?”

“More like drop through it,” the other man admitted.

Mack came to a stop and Tom caught up. He’d stopped next to a purpose-built hole in the tunnel floor. It was about four feet long and two feet wide with a rusted metal ladder running down into it. The sides had been built up with bricks to stop people from stumbling down accidentally.

“I assume we’re going down there?” Tom said, his voice weighted with resignation.

“Yeah, sorry,” Mack said, not sounding in the slightest bit sorry.

Tom stood over the hole. From deep within the guts of the tunnel system came the muffled rumble of a train. Within seconds, the rumble became a roar and, suddenly, the train tore beneath them like an explosion. Air from the tunnel beneath blasted out of the hole and Tom turned his face away, trying to catch his breath. Beneath the roar was the high-pitched shriek of metal on metal, like giant nails being scratched down a blackboard.

Then it was gone.

“Shit.” Tom’s heart thundered. “Can’t we go a different way?”

Mack shook his head. “I’d take you another way if I could, but there isn’t one. We have to climb down this one to get to the tunnel below. About thirty feet along the live tunnel, there’s another hole like this one. We need to go down to get into the tunnel beneath.”

“So we’ve got to walk thirty feet along a live tunnel? What if a train comes?” In Tom’s mind, he envisaged himself with his foot trapped under a piece of track while a tube train hurtled towards him.

“We’ve got about three minutes between trains,” Mack said. “We’ll go down one at a time. Make sure you climb down as soon as the train passes.”

“So who goes first?” Tom didn’t like the idea of being left alone up here in the dark, but the thought of stumbling along a live track, unable to find the hole Mack described appealed even less. The three minutes would seem like a lifetime, especially now he found himself in a world that involved giant rats, psychos, and strange creeping black stuff he couldn’t explain.

However short the period of time, Tom didn’t want to be alone.

“I think I should go first,” said Mack. “You don’t know where you’re going and I wouldn’t want you heading off in the wrong direction.”

Another mental image flashed through Tom’s mind, this time of him stumbling along in the dark, frantically trying to find the hole while a train bore down on him. He imagined himself frozen in one spot; a deer in the headlights.

“That’s fine,” he said. “You go first.”

“Good idea.” Mack grinned. “Now remember, you only have three minutes between trains, so, as soon as the train goes past, you have to move fast.”

Tom thought this would probably be the quickest he had moved in the whole of his thirty-seven years.

The low grumble of an approaching train, like the roll of distant thunder, started to fill the tunnel.

“Okay, any other questions?” Mack asked. “I’ll go after this one. You wait until the next one passes, then go.”

The train roared beneath them and once again Tom held his face away, the speed of the train snatching the breath from his lungs. The carriages sped past, one by one.

As soon as the last one passed, Mack swung himself onto the metal ladder and dropped, like a man half his age, down into the tunnel below.

Tom heard the hollow thud as he landed, followed by the crunching of his footsteps as he ran towards the second exit. Tom held his breath in anticipation. All thoughts of the other dangers he’d encountered had vanished from his mind. He focused on this new and far more present danger. He’d expected the time to fly past—that he’d struggle to make it between the two holes in the time allowed—but, instead, the three minutes stretched out. Listening to Mack’s footsteps grow more distant, he couldn’t help but expect a train to come hurtling down the tunnel.

“I’ve made it!” Mack’s voice filtered up to him, faint. “Wait for the next train and then come down.”

“Yes,” Tom called back, suddenly irritated. “I heard you the first time.”

Now that he’d experienced the amount of time he had, his nerves dissipated somewhat. Three minutes was plenty of time.

The tunnel filled with the rumble of another approaching train and Tom prepared himself. He stuffed his torch in the back pocket of his jeans and strapped his bag tight to his back.

Within moments, the train burst into view, the solid, metal shell a blur beneath him. And, just as quickly, it was gone again, the passengers hurtling towards their destination with no idea of the man who sat waiting above.

Tom had no intention of leaping down the way Mack had, so he turned and clambered over the side and onto the ladder. The rungs creaked beneath him and he froze, praying the ladder would hold his weight. Carefully, he moved his feet down the rungs, his fingertips clinging to the edges of the wall built up around the hole. Getting both himself and his bag through the hole was a squeeze, but he got through and continued to descend the ladder.

Suddenly his arms were pulled backward and he clung fiercely to the ladder.

Someone’s got me! Oh shit, someone’s got me!

The straps of his bag pulled on his shoulders and his first instinct was to fight against it. But the more he tugged, the worse the pressure got, and he was forced to go with it, edging back up the ladder.

As soon as he moved up, the pressure vanished and heat rushed to his face. His bag had gotten stuck.

“Shit!” he said, embarrassed for being so easily spooked.

Tom twisted one shoulder away from the ladder, trying to tug the bag loose, but it held fast.

“What the hell are you doing?” Mack yelled up to him. “Get a fucking move on.”

“My bag’s stuck, I can’t get down!”

“Dump it then.”

Tom thought of the torch with its full batteries and the possibility of being stuck down here in the dark. He thought of the food he’d packed, of his mobile phone with all of his numbers, and he thought of the framed photograph of Abby and David he’d shoved in at the last minute. It was only ‘stuff’, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave it.

Knowing the wriggling wasn’t doing much good, he tried to move back up the ladder. He climbed two more rungs, but the bag started to pull on his shoulders again, only now it pulled downward.

He was stuck.

Seconds ticked by and Tom realised he no longer had any choice about dumping his bag. Instead, his bag was refusing to dump him. He’d strapped the rucksack on too tight to allow himself any room to wriggle out. His heart crept up, filling his throat with its thick, thumping beat. Adrenaline fired through his veins and he frantically pulled on the bag in the confined space, pulling first one way and then the other.

Once again, he was trapped in by his shoulders, but this time he had a train hurtling towards him.

Tom started to panic.

“I’m stuck!” he yelled to Mack, his voice sounding too high-pitched for his liking. “I can’t get free.”

He twisted and reached his arm around and tugged as hard as he could on the bag. A part of the bag must have caught on the metal ridge that held the ladder to the rim of the hole and it was stuck fast.

Tom roared his frustration and fear as he pulled with all his strength, but the cramped position he was in meant he couldn’t get any traction and the bag didn’t budge. Tears of fright pricked the backs of his eyes and the lump in his throat choked him. He’d never been so aware of time moving. Only now it wasn’t just moving, it was rushing, and all he could see in his mind’s eye was the lower half of his body, still exposed in the tunnel below, being obliterated by the front of an oncoming train.

“Help me!” He screamed. “My bag is stuck and I can’t move! For fuck’s sake, help me!”

“Just jump,” Mack yelled back. “Your weight should tear it loose.”

“Oh, God,” Tom whined. Forcing himself to let go of the rungs of the ladder, he jumped.

There was a moment of suspension, where he thought he would be left hanging, but then something tore and he fell to the ground with a thud that jolted the air out of his lungs. He didn’t allow himself to think about any pain. All he could do—all his life depended on him doing—was move.

Tom scrambled to his feet, his torn bag still clinging to his shoulders, and ran towards Mack’s voice. He could barely feel his legs, as though someone had sucked the strength from them, but he somehow managed to run. He used the side of the tunnel to keep his balance, his hands slapping against the walls, his nails gouging chunks of dirt. Through his fingertips, he felt the walls start to vibrate, the sound travelling faster through the tightly knit molecules.

A train was coming.

Ahead of him was the drop hole, exactly the same as the one he’d come down. Mack had already beaten his exit so Tom pulled the bag from his shoulders and threw it down after him. He had no intention of making the same mistake twice. The roar of the train reached his ears and he knew he had only a matter of seconds before the huge metal worm cleared out its hole.

He swung a leg over the side and started to pull the other one over when headlights appeared. The metal screech of the train thundered towards him. Tom didn’t even have time to think; he just swung his leg over and jumped.

Tom hit the ground and rolled. His ankle jarred beneath him, pain shooting up his leg and into his groin. He hit his shoulder against a rail and cried out in pain.

Above him, the train thundered past.

Chapter 7

DAVID CROUCHED IN a dark, confined place. The cold bit at his fingers and toes and he shivered. Though pitch black, somehow he could see, as though he were wearing night vision goggles or experiencing the night effect on one of his friend’s video games.

David knew he sat deep within the bowels of the earth, encased within tunnels that had been lost with the passage of time. Walls were built up around him, their surfaces wet and sick with slime.

Water dripped somewhere close by, fat and heavy droplets.

Plop... Plop... Plop...

The sound was hollow, like the tap dripping in the bath in the middle of the night; slow, steady, relentless.

David had no idea how he’d got down here, but he thought he’d been here before.  He was scared, but deep down something else called to him; a strange need that slipped through his veins like poison. The only comparison he could make was when he woke up thirsty, desperate for a drink—a craving, deep within his belly. The problem was he didn’t know what he so badly needed.

Using the wall to help him, David stood up as best he could. He was in a cramped space, a ledge, but in front of him the space opened out into a tunnel.

Someone called to him—a girl’s voice, a child.

“David.”

He frowned. Who else could be down here? In his mind, this was his place. Even though he was scared, he somehow felt he belonged.

With a strange sense of relief, he realised he didn’t feel ill any more. He no longer had the sickness from the chemo and the overwhelming tiredness had left him. He felt healthier and stronger than he had in a long time.

Crouching again, David moved to the front of the ledge and climbed off. He stood in the tunnel now, but the tunnel wasn’t man-made. This was like the tunnel of a giant underground animal, its walls soft and pliable. The floor squelched beneath foot, dampness sinking into the material of his trainers.

“Help us, David. We can’t get out. Why won’t you help us?”

The voice sent chills scuttling down his back like tiny insects and his eyes pricked with tears.

He opened his mouth to tell the voice to go away, but suddenly a thick, black tar filled his mouth. It clogged his nose and lungs, making him choke. His mouth stretched wide and the tar bulged outward like a balloon, swelling between his lips. He gagged, his hands reaching up, his fingers wanting to claw at the thing emerging from between his lips, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch it.

The bubble burst and the black rushed out like a swarm of flies…

And vanished.

David gasped in the stale air of the tunnels, tasting the dampness and the underlying smell of rotting vegetation, though he didn’t believe any kind of plant had ever existed this far down.

“Why, Davey? Why?”

The voice came from behind. David spun around, but the tunnel was empty.

“Who’s there?” he called into the shadows. His voice echoed through the emptiness, and bounced off the curved, moist walls.

He wanted his mother. He wanted his father. He was just a scared little boy alone in a dark place. Any strength he’d experienced before dissipated. Any feeling of belonging was gone, fear replacing the emotion. A child’s laughter tinkled down the tunnel, but the sound was cold and dead and seemed to come from the walls, filtering from within the sludge.

“I want to go home,” David said, his voice teetering on the edge of tears.

Deep within the tunnel, something laughed. It wasn’t a child anymore, but something else.

David squeezed his eyes shut. “Go away, go away, go away,” he whispered.

He opened his eyes again and found himself back in his hospital room, standing in his pyjamas. Except now, the hospital room looked different. Where there used to be a wall and a door, a glass screen now made up the wall—like the type in crime movies where the police watched the criminal sitting on the other side, waiting to be interrogated.

No prisoner sat behind this screen; instead his parents stood there. His dad had his back to David, but he could see his mum’s face—red and furious as she shouted at his father. He couldn’t hear what she said, but he watched her lips contort, her teeth showing, her fists clenched.

Unable to hold back the tears any longer, David started to cry. He ran up to the glass and banged on the surface with his fists, but they seemed oblivious to him.

“Stop it!” he yelled. “Stop fighting, I need both of you.”

Tears coursed down his face and his whole body wracked with the sobs. He continued to yell at them, his voice distorted by little hiccupping hitches of breath. He felt utterly drained, emotionally and physically, but still his parents continued to fight.

Suddenly his father turned to him, his eyes furious and narrowed with hatred.

“This is your fault,” he spat through the screen. “All of this is your fault.”

As David watched in horror, tendrils of black stuff crept out of his father’s mouth, like fast-growing roots. They slid over his face, sliding back up his nostrils, and covering his eyes.

“Your fault,” he screamed through the black stuff. “Your fault! Your fault…”

* * *

DAVID BOLTED UPRIGHT in bed, panting as though he’d just done a ten-mile run. A combination of sweat and tears soaked his face and body, making his pyjamas and bed sheets cling to his body, and he trembled violently.

The room was dark, with the exception of his nightlight. He picked up the blue, plastic transformer watch his father had given his for his birthday from the nightstand. Half-past ten. His mother wasn’t in the room and Davey hoped she hadn’t gone home.

No, he decided. She wouldn’t leave without telling him.

Your father just left, a mean little voice whispered in his head. He got fed up with having to look after you. That’s why your mom and him fight all the time.

The voice sounded strangely like that of Stevie Rydale, one of the big kids at school who liked to trip him up if he wasn’t looking, or stick sharpened pencils on his seat as he sat down so everyone laughed.

Shut up! David answered the voice internally. He’s gone to try to help me.

Yeah, sure he has, the little voice said. You believe that if you want, you pathetic little loser!

David held back another sob and reached under his pillow to pull out his blanket. He didn’t care if he was a big baby; right now he only wanted his mum and dad.

He climbed out of bed, but his legs trembled as he placed his feet on the floor and tried to get his legs to take his weight. His drip was attached to a stand with wheels, so he could go to the bathroom if he wanted and not have to use one of those stupid funnel-shaped potties. He took hold of the stand to help him get his balance and managed to wheel it along with him as he walked towards the door. Mum wouldn’t have just left, he told himself again. She loved him.

Dizziness and nausea threatened to overwhelm him and pain thumped behind his eyes. With exhausting effort, he pulled open the door and edged into the hallway. He looked down towards the nurses’ station. With huge relief, he saw his mother there talking to two of the nurses. They spoke in low voices he couldn’t quite catch, serious expressions on all their faces. He watched as one of the nurses—the fat one with the huge chest—reached over and patted his mother on the back of the hand in exactly the same way his mum patted him when she tried to convince him everything would be all right.

“Mum?” David called out.

Immediately, they all turned to him, big, fake smiles replacing the serious expressions.

“Hey, honey,” his mum said. “What are you doing out of bed? I thought you were asleep.”

“I had a bad dream. I dreamt…” His voice broke off and his mother clocked the look on his face. The smile disappeared as she rushed to his side.

“Oh, sweetheart. You’re white as a ghost.”

“I had a nightmare,” he said between sniffs. “I dreamt you and Dad were fighting and Dad told me it was my fault you didn’t love each other anymore.” Strangely, he couldn’t bring himself to tell her anything about the tunnels and the black stuff. Somehow he felt that part had been for him alone.

His mother’s face crumpled and she crouched beside him so they were eye-level. The rims of her eyes were red and her face had the red blotchy look it got when she’d been crying.

“Don’t ever think your father and I don’t love each other,” she said, sternly. “Grownups fight sometimes, but it doesn’t mean we don’t love each other. And saying our fighting is your fault is plain silly. Your father and I love each other even more because we have you. Having you means we will always be connected, do you understand?”

David sniffed and nodded. “I think so.”

“You had a bad dream, honey.” She reached out and stroked the few strands of baby-fine hair still left on his head. “It wasn’t real. Now, let’s get you back to bed.” She put one arm around his shoulders and took the drip stand with her other hand, carefully steering him back to his room.

As they entered the room, David caught his mother glancing up and making eye contact with the two nurses before flicking down to him. What he saw passing between them was not just pity, it was sorrow.

David knew that look. He’d seen it exchanged on the children’s ward before.

They were looking at him like they knew he was dying.

Chapter 8

“SO, WHEN DO we get to rest?”

Tom’s ankle throbbed from the jump into the tunnel and he was making slow time. Mack trudged on ahead, glancing back over his shoulder every now and then, shaking his head in frustration. But Tom had long given up caring; he was tired, hungry and in pain. The last place he wanted to be was down in the dark and he held Mack responsible for him being here. If he’d never met Mack, he would never even have known this place existed

And I would never have the chance to save David.

He tried to shake the thought from his head. Right now, he wanted to wallow in his own self-pity and thinking about his son only increased his guilt about not being by his side.

“We can stop here if you want,” Mack said, holding up his hands, gesturing to the cold, hard walls and the even harder floor. “But, if you want to get some rest in comfort, I suggest we keep going for another half hour or so.”

“Why, is there a hotel a bit further on?”

Mack gave a thin smile at his sarcasm. “Sure, we’ll get you some room service.”

Tom stopped and slid heavily down the wall, landing on his behind. “Well, as much as that sounds great, on the off chance it’s not going to happen, I think I’ll rest here for a minute.”

Mack sighed his irritation, but he stopped and sat on the ground beside Tom. Tom bent over and carefully pulled off his boot. His ankle had swollen and the leather squeezed his skin. He winced and sucked air through his teeth as fresh pain speared up his leg.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” Mack offered.

“How the hell do you know?” Tom snapped. “I don’t remember seeing your medical degree.”

“If you’d broken your ankle, you’d never have been able to walk for the past hour.”

“Maybe I have a high tolerance to pain.”

Mack snorted back his laughter and Tom couldn’t help the smile twitching the corners of his mouth. Even he had to admit he was verging on the edge of ridiculous.

“Well, I’m still hungry,” he grumbled, pulling his bag towards him. He fished out a couple of squashed cheese sandwiches and begrudgingly handed one to Mack. He didn’t want to share out his limited food, but he wasn’t callous enough to sit and eat while the other man went hungry.

“Thanks,” Mack said, his features softening in gratitude. “Guess I’m hungrier than I realised.”

The two men fell silent as they wolfed down the sandwiches.

Somewhere deep in the tunnels, small feet scurried along the ground, sharp noses having picked up the scent of fresh food. If the men kept still for too long, they would find themselves with company for lunch.

Tom spoke between mouthfuls of bread. “I can’t help thinking back to how you found me. I’m guessing it was more than coincidence?”

“No coincidence,” Mack said. “I’m not a big player in all of this, Tom, and when the Watchers approached me to step in front of your car, I had my doubts that they’d even got the right man. Only when I saw you for real did I believe you were the same boy from back then.”

“But how did they find me?”

“They’ve always been watching you, Tom. They’ve been watching you since you were a kid.”

Tom’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve got to be kidding me! Since I was a child?” He remembered something. “I had a weird experience one night on the Underground not so long ago and I’ve been seeing graffiti that said, ‘Go back’. Was it actually meant for me?”

“They didn’t know how much you remembered. The graffiti was their way of testing you, of finding out if the words meant something to you.”

Tom thought back to all the times he had seen the graffiti—on park benches, bus windows, and tube station walls. The words had meant something to him. Every time he’d seen them, he’d experienced a strange twisting in his stomach, a slight shudder across his shoulders, and the inability to tear his eyes from the words. He’d known they meant something, he just hadn’t understood what.

The thought of these people watching him his entire life gave him the creeps. He remembered a time, at age twelve, when he’d found an old girly magazine. Though torn, damp and the pages half-missing, enough had been visible to excite his twelve-year-old mind and he’d sneaked behind some old warehouse buildings and masturbated.

He thought of the hundreds of times in his life when he’d believed himself to be anonymous or in private and the things that these people might have seen, things he had never imagined people would find out about him.

Tom’s cheeks flared hot in the darkness, imagining the people who had been watching him—homeless people from his past, people who lived on the streets, who were part of the Underlife.

“I can’t believe it,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve gone through my whole life not knowing anything about myself and now I find out I’ve been spied on as well. Do you know what it’s like to not know who you are?”

The older man shook his head.

“My birthday,” said Tom, “it’s the eleventh of April, right?” He looked at Mack as if for confirmation, but the older man said nothing. “Wrong. When the authorities picked me up, I didn’t even know when my birthday was, so when they asked me, I guessed. Every year, people brought me presents and wished me happy birthday and it was just another day. I used to dread it when I was a kid, but I was too embarrassed—too ashamed—to admit I didn’t know when my own birthday was. Do you have any idea how shitty that is? To be a child and dread your own birthday?”

Mack stared at the floor.

“And now you’re telling me people who knew everything about me were out there the whole time!” As he spoke, his anger built, starting as a slow trickle and quickly rising to the surface as torrent. “What about my real mother? Is she one of the people who have been spying on me? I mean, what did she do; dump me off on the social and then watch me from the streets?”

Mack put his head in his hands and sighed. “I don’t know what happened to your mother. I told you before, I’m not a big player in this; I don’t have all the answers.”

Tom shoved his boot back on his foot, the pain forgotten in his anger. He pushed himself to his feet and brushed himself down. “Then I suggest you take me to the people who do.”

“That’s exactly what I intended to do.” Mack sighed.

“Fine.”

Tom picked up his bag and stomped off down the tunnel. For the first time, he led the way with Mack following behind.

* * *

TOM FUMED AS he continued the walk through the tunnels. He wondered about these people who seemed to be controlling his life like puppeteers. In his head, he rehearsed the things he wanted to say to them, the snide and witty snippets he would use to make them understand how wrong they’d been. He was furious he’d been allowed to go through his whole life not knowing where he came from or why he’d been given up. He could hardly believe people who had all this information had been lurking in the background the whole time. How could they have waited until he was thirty-seven years old before bothering to contact him? But beneath the anger churned a ball of mixed emotions. Might he soon find out who his real mother was? Would he even be able to meet her?

“We need to go through here.”

Mack’s voice pulled him from his thoughts and Tom turned to find the older man standing by a niche carved into the tunnel wall. An arched doorway had once been sunken into the wall, but had been bricked up in the same way as the exits in the old tube stations.

“Go where?” Tom frowned. “There’s nothing here.”

“You sure?”

Mack reached out and grasped a brick about halfway up the doorway. His fingers hooked a notch in one of the bricks and he gave it a hefty tug. A large chunk of the wall—about three feet by three feet—slid out in one piece, so it now sat a couple of inches out of the face. Though the piece appeared to be bricks on the surface, Tom saw they were actually only a couple of inches thick. The chunk didn’t dislodge completely from the rest of the wall. Instead, Mack pushed the piece to the left and it ran out in front of the remaining wall as though on a set of rails. The missing piece revealed a gap big enough for them to climb through.

“Impressive,” said Tom, meaning it.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Mack said before stepping through the hole.

Tom followed. He ducked down, hoping this hole would be big enough for him to get through without getting stuck. Mack turned back and reached past Tom. He pulled the piece back, filling the gap they’d climbed through. It locked back into place with a ‘clunk.’

Tom straightened and looked up. His mouth dropped open in awe.

“My God.”

They had stepped into a huge cavern, easily the size of a cathedral. Its vastness yawned ahead of them. The natural stone walls were carved by the passing of time, the creases and crevasses smoothed by water that had run through for thousands of years and had now dried up. Stalactites hung from the roof, some long and a sharp as spears, others short and stubby. From the ground grew stalagmites, reaching up to meet their aerial counterparts.

Perhaps the most surprising thing for Tom was the presence of lighting. Electrical cables with bulbs attached to the ends hung from the walls and ceiling.

Tom and Mack had entered at an elevated position. Below their feet, steps carved into the rock led down to the floor of the cavern. They stood at the top, looking down on the cavern, which was far from empty.

Clusters of tents littered the floor; Tom counted more than twenty in all. A group of people sat around a gas burner, cooking something in a pan. Steam rose from a kettle and dissipated into the air. The sound of people talking and laughing filtered up to them.

As they stood there, people began to look up and notice them and the casual chatter stopped. Tom had never felt so self-conscious and out of place in his life.

“Go on then.” Mack gave him a gentle nudge to get him moving. “These are the people you were so keen to meet.”

Tom took a deep breath and carefully started to walk down the narrow steps. One by one, the people living on the cavern floor got to their feet, all eyes locked on Tom. By the time he reached the bottom, a small crowd had formed, a mismatch of people—men and women, young and old, black and white. At the centre, one man in particular stood out. The man stepped forward, moving in front of his companions.

A mountain of a man, he stood well over six-feet tall with the shoulders of an American football player. His skin was black as ebony and he had the cut cheekbones and piercing eyes of a model. His head was shaved as smooth as stone.

Though striking, this wasn’t the reason Tom stared at the man. On his shoulder sat a huge rat, its naked pink tail curled around the man’s thick throat. Its whiskers twitched and its eyes fixed Tom with a stare that seemed to see right through him. The man reached up and petted the animal, smoothing down its fur as though it were a pet dog.

“I’m Otto,” he said, his voice as dark as his skin. “This here is Bugs.”

Tom eyed the rodent nervously. “I don’t know how you can have that thing’s tail around your neck,”

“It’s comforting,” Otto said with a chuckle. ”Like the arm of a lover.”

More like a snake about to crush its meal to death, Tom thought.

“We’re glad you could make it T.J.”

“Tom,” he said. “My name’s Tom now.”

“Of course.”

“So are you one of them?” Tom said, nerves flickering in his stomach. “One of these Watchers Mack keeps talking about?”

As if suddenly remembering the man who had brought Tom all this way, Otto looked past him and smiled at Mack.

“You did a good job,” Otto told him. “We’re grateful to you.”

Mack shrugged. “I didn’t think I had much choice in the matter. You’ll need to be gentle with him; he’s as green as they come.”

Otto cocked his head to one side, the smile still playing on his lips. “Did I hear genuine concern for the man, Mack? I didn’t think you cared too much about anyone but yourself?”

“Hey, I fly solo, but that doesn’t mean I don’t give a shit. And in case you were wondering, he doesn’t remember a thing.”

The first signs of a frown marked Otto’s smooth brow. “Is that true?” He turned his attention back to Tom. “We thought your memories may be distorted, but you don’t remember anything?”

The flashbacks from his dreams flicked through his mind, but he shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “I don’t remember a thing.”

Otto nodded slowly. “We will need to work on that. You can’t defeat the Shadows if you don’t remember how.”

Tom felt everyone watching him, hope lighting their eyes as though they thought he was going to save them. Didn’t they realise he was just a middle-aged, slightly overweight salesman? Whatever he had done as a child, he had no connection to that person now.

“I don’t know what you think I can do. We came across the Shadows in the tunnels and it wasn’t scared of me. I have no idea what I’m even doing here.”

A woman stepped out of the crowd, a woman with long, dark hair and deep brown eyes. Tom recognised her, but couldn’t place her. He stared at her for a moment, his brain wracking over who she was, turning over all the possibilities, grasping for the answer. Then it came to him—David’s nurse from the hospital.

“Samantha?” he said, incredulous.

She smiled. “Hello, Tom.”

He felt like his eyes were falling out of his head. “What are you doing down here?”

“I’ve come to help these people, Tom. They needed me.”

“But... but...” He stuttered like a tongue-tied teenager. “Surely, you don’t live down here?”

She shook her head. “Not any more. I used to, many years ago, when I was young. A church group took me in and gave me a home and an education. I wasn’t a great believer in God, but I wanted to do something that would help other people so I became a nurse. But I never stopped seeing the people who took care of me down here.” She smiled at Otto. “I tried to help get others back above ground, but, for them, this is their lives. They belong down here; they have communities, they have a place.

“I think I understand,” Tom said. “I’m just amazed someone like you came from this.”

She smiled a slow, wide smile that warmed her eyes. “But what about you, Tom? Would you say the same thing about yourself?”

Every moment, this place knocked him sideways. All of a sudden, part of his real life had collided with this new, strange world. Before now, on some level, he could have kidded himself that they’d made a mistake and they had the wrong person, but now here was someone he knew and trusted telling him this was all real. How could he deny them now?

“We need your help, Tom,” she said.

“I’ll do whatever I can...”

“He can’t do shit!”

The voice, that of a female, came from the side of the cavern, away from the main group. A girl sat on a ledge, her legs pulled up to her chest, her skinny, pale arms wrapped around them. She watched them with an intense mixture of curiosity and mistrust. Something about her seemed wild. Her short, dark hair stuck out from her head and she had aqua marine, almond shaped eyes.

At first, Tom thought she was no more than a girl, eighteen years old at the most, but then she unfurled and stood with the grace of a dancer and walked over to them. She looked him up and down and as soon as she spoke again, he realised she was older, at least ten years older.

“So, this is who we’ve all been waiting for?” Her nose wrinkled, her upper lip lifted in a barely disguised sneer.

“Don’t start, Sky,” Otto warned. The giant grey rat squealed in response. As soon as Tom heard her name, a jolt went through him, and he had to stop himself repeating it, tasting it on his tongue like some forgotten language.

She walked slowly around him, sizing him up like they were competitors in a boxing match. Then she stopped and folded her arms across her narrow chest.

“This is pathetic,” she spat. “He couldn’t fight a cold.”

“It’s true,” he agreed. “I hate to fight.”

“This isn’t about fighting,” Otto interjected. “It’s more than that.”

“Bullshit,” she said, glaring at Tom as though she hated him. “Fighting is all we’ve got left.”

Not giving any of them a chance to answer, she spun around on her worn sneakers and stormed off, back to the ledge she’d been sitting on. She faced away from them, as if pretending they weren’t there.

“You have to excuse Sky,” Otto said. “She has no manners. She was brought up down here; she’s practically feral.”

But something about her made Tom unable to tear his eyes from her—and it wasn’t simply because she was beautiful. He felt he’d seen her before, like he had known her in another life.

Otto walked up to Tom and put his arm around Tom’s shoulder. The rat was only inches from Tom’s face, its whiskers twitching, and he leaned away, trying to increase the distance between them.

“I expect you are tired,” Otto said, steering Tom towards the groups of tents and away from the people. “We’ve prepared a sleeping quarter for you, and Tally over there,” he nodded to one of the women who was leaning over the camping stove when he first came in, “has made you something to eat.”

Tom gave her a cautious smile and she smiled back, holding up a tin of something hot.

“Thanks,” he said.

Otto showed Tom to a green two-man tent. A sleeping bag had been placed inside and, for a moment, Tom hoped it would be clean, expecting it to smell of stale beer and cigarettes and urine. Instantly, shame washed over him for his stereotyping. When he huddled down inside, the small space was filled with only the familiar scent of canvas.

The woman, Tally, bought over a tin plate with steaming hot beans and a couple of slices of bread. His stomach grumbled. The sandwich obviously hadn’t quite hit the spot.

“Thanks,” he told her again and she left without speaking. The others in the group had all wandered off to do their own thing, the interest in him now dissipated, leaving him alone with Otto and Bugs. Tom looked around for Mack, expecting him to be close by and to make some sort of smart comment about Tom being given food when he hadn’t, but the older man was nowhere to be seen.

His heart clenched in disappointment. As much as he and Mack had managed to rub each other up the wrong way, Mack was the closest thing to a real friend he had around here. He had felt a certain—albeit strange at times—protection with the man around and now suddenly he was on his own again. He hoped Mack would show up. He hated to think he might not see him again and that he hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye.

“Eat and then try to get some sleep,” Otto told him. “You’re going to need your strength for what happens next.”

“Why do I not like the sound of that?”

“I’ll see you later,” Otto said, leaving for his own tent without bothering to answer the question.

Hungrily, Tom scoffed down the beans and bread. He wondered if he should take the empty plate back to Tally, but she’d also vanished and he wasn’t going to start searching the tents to try to find her. The lights were still on in the cavern, but from the lack of activity Tom guessed it was night time. A couple of people sat talking quietly, but most had taken to their tents.

Leaving the plate on the floor outside the tent, Tom climbed inside and lay on top of the sleeping bag. He stuffed his bag under the top part to make a pillow and tried to get comfortable. He thought it would take him ages to fall asleep, what with the uncomfortable bedding and the strange situation, but, as soon as he closed his eyes, he was dead to the world.

Chapter 9

SEVERAL HOURS LATER, Tom woke to find Samantha sitting beside him.

He sat up in surprise and then groaned as his muscles seized. He had a kink in his neck from lying with his head on his bag and his ankle throbbed. His head felt muggy and he knew he’d slept deeply. He’d been so exhausted he hadn’t even heard her entering the tent.

“I need to talk to you, Thomas.”

He heard a faint linger of an accent—the way she said his name with the inflection on the last syllable, Tho-mas. He guessed she must have been born in Spain or even South America and then come here as a child, but he wasn’t going to get into her past now.

“How long have you been sitting there?”

She shrugged. “A while.”

The idea of her watching him sleep embarrassed him and he hoped he hadn’t farted or scratched himself somewhere he shouldn’t have. His cheeks flushed at the thought and he turned his face away, willing the colour in his skin to fade.

“I have to talk to you,” she said again. “It’s about David.”

Immediately, he forgot all thoughts of being embarrassed and sat up straight, searching her deep, brown eyes for an answer. “What’s happened? Is he all right? Please, tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Tom, but it’s not good. He hasn’t responded to the treatment in the way he should have and he seems to be taking a turn for the worse.”

“Oh, God.” Tom’s hand was at his mouth. “Are you sure?”

“I found out earlier today. Your wife should have been told by now as well.”

“I should be there,” he said. “I need to be with them.”

She put her hand on top of his and shook her head. “No, this is where you need to be.”

“But this was his last chance at chemo. If he’s not responding...”

The doctors had already been through the options with Tom and Abby. They allowed three attempts at chemo and radiotherapy to kill the cancer cells and if that didn’t work, the only other option was a bone marrow transplant. Both Tom and Abby had been tested for a match, as had Abby’s sister who lived in Ireland now, but all had come back negative. Obviously, Tom had no family on his side, so their only choice was for David to go on a waiting list. It could take months for the doctors to find a match—months their son didn’t have.

“Oh, God,” he said again as a painful lump tightened in his throat. The world blurred before him and he blinked, trying to will the tears away, but failing. A tear ran down his nose and plopped onto the back of Samantha’s hand. She reached up and gently touched his cheek with the back of her fingers.

The simple affection caught his heart and something broke deep inside. All the pain and guilt he’d been suffering over David’s illness and the pretence of strength he’d been trying to show Abby and David was hard. That, coupled with the fear about what he had seen and experienced in the tunnels and of what lay ahead, became too much. In that simple touch, Samantha had broken down his barriers.

He reached up and clutched at her hand, his fingers locking with hers, and a loud bark of a sob of grief escaped his throat.

Immediately, her arms were around him and she pulled his head against her so he sobbed into the nape of her neck. Her skin was warm and moist beneath his tears and strands of her hair clung to his stubble. She hushed him and gently rubbed his back as though he were a child himself. Tom allowed himself to cry against her, and he cried for his son, for himself, until the outpouring of grief subsided.

Ashamed and embarrassed at his outburst, Tom sat back up. He hadn’t wanted her to see him like that—she was little more than a stranger to him. But perhaps that was the reason he’d been able to let himself go in front of her; he didn’t need to worry about letting her down.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Don’t be silly. In my job, I see lots of grieving parents.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m a big cry baby.”

“I promise I won’t. And David is still alive, he still has a chance.” She reached out again and took his hand, drawing his eyes to the deep well of her own. “He still has you, Tom.”

He had the sudden urge to kiss her hard on the mouth, to push her back on the floor, to wrench up her shirt and touch her, to pull down her underwear and lose himself inside of her. It was a need—a desperation—to shrug off the pain and confusion, if only for a moment, and feel something else entirely.

She picked up on his intent. He recognised the parting of her lips, the flush in her cheeks, her hesitation to move away.

But Samantha’s gaze flicked away; a small movement, but enough to break the moment, and the compulsion was gone.

“I’m sorry,” he told her.

She gave a tiny hint at a smile before turning back to the matter at hand. “You need to defeat the Shadows. Once you send the Shadows back, it will reveal to you how to save your son.”

He stared at her, his forehead creased, his eyes narrowed. “How can you possibly know that?”

“The one who defeats the Shadows will get what he longs for most. In your case, the health of your child. It is written in the laws of the Underlife.”

He would have laughed out loud if the whole thing wasn’t so torturous. “This is bullshit,” he said, not for the first time. “Do you know what you sound like? Come on, you’re an intelligent woman, can’t you see how crazy this all is?”

“And can’t you see what your fate has brought you to do?”

In his frustration, he wanted to yell, to reach up and rip the walls of the tent down around him.

“I saw that thing,” he said, anger simmering beneath the surface, threatening to overspill. “It was almost as close as you are now and I could barely hear myself think. I had whispering inside my head, pushing out all my own thoughts. The sound alone almost drove me crazy.”

“The stuff you saw was only a small part of the Shadows. It’s like one huge organism split into many parts, like a colony. The Shadows uses us like a host, driving our own thoughts out of ourselves so it can take over and use the fear and madness to pass on to the next one.”

“Next one?”

“The next host. Once it has pushed your own thoughts completely out of your head, it takes over. You will still be conscious, still aware of what is happening, but the Shadows drives your actions. You’re not much more than a puppet.”

“I hope this isn’t you trying to make me feel better” he said with the thinnest of smiles. “Because you really suck at it.”

“This isn’t the time for jokes.”

“Sorry,” he said with a frown. “I still don’t understand. Why do the Shadows want to hurt us?”

“It doesn’t want to hurt us; we’re nothing.” Understanding she wasn’t getting anywhere, Samantha switched to a different explanation. “Do you know what rabies does?” she asked.

Tom nodded, but the frown deepened. “It’s a virus that makes animals, like dogs and bats, bite each other.”

“You’re right, but it also does a lot more. The rabies virus passes from each of its victims through the victim’s saliva. That is the reason a rabies victim will foam at the mouth, and, like you said, they bite. But what it also does is give the victims an intense fear of water so they can’t take a drink and wash the saliva, carrying the virus, away.”

“Okay,” said Tom, though he still didn’t see the connection.

“A man being taken to hospital in the back of an ambulance was dying of rabies and one of the paramedics offered him a drink of water. He was so far gone he wasn’t able to speak, but he managed to write down that he couldn’t drink because the monster in his brain made him afraid.”

“Jesus,” Tom said, running a hand through his hair. “That’s nasty, but I still don’t see what that has to do with what’s happening now.”

Samantha pressed her lips together and Tom could tell she was starting to lose her patience with him. Tough, he thought. She’s not the one who has just had all of this dumped on her.

“That ‘stuff’ out there—the stuff we call the Shadows—no more has it in for us than the rabies virus cares for its victims. We’re a vessel, a means to an end. It uses us to breed. It feeds from our thoughts, our intelligence, our love for one another—basically everything that makes us human. Then it is able to manipulate our behaviour to pass on to its next victim, where it does exactly the same thing again.”

“But how?” he asked. “If the rabies virus passes from one victim to the next through biting, how do the Shadows pass between its victims?”

She looked at him, her eyes wide with sadness. “Touch,” she said simply. “Just by touch.”

“What? Is that all?”

“It has to be skin on skin, but otherwise, yes.”

“So, all it has to do is touch me?”

She shook her head. “A few people exist who can be infected by the Shadows directly, but they’re rare. For the majority, the Shadows needs a host to be able to move on, to multiply. Just like the rabies virus. The stuff you saw is what it looks like on the outside and it can sure as hell mess with your head, maybe even send you crazy, but it can’t infect you without the help of another person.”

“So, if you got rid of everyone who was infected, the stuff wouldn’t be able to reproduce anymore.”

“It is not that simple. You can’t always tell the people who are infected. Some people are only carriers and the Shadows never take control, never manifest, but the person is still able to pass it on to another.”

“But what about David? If he is infected, like you people keep saying he is, why hasn’t he passed it to Abby or me?”

“David is different.”

“What about me? Aren’t I supposed to have come in contact with the Shadows? Did it infect me then? Is that why David is sick?”

“We don’t know for sure, but we don’t think it can infect you. You have been in direct contact and you are still alive. Plus, if the Shadows had reached the surface, we’d know. You did something to the Shadows because it went back beneath ground for thirty years. Not a single Watcher came across it in the tunnels. But now it’s back and wants out. So, you had better remember what the hell you did back then because it won’t only be your son dying.”

He stared at her, surprised in her sudden change of tone. “And if I don’t remember?”

“That isn’t an option.”

They stared at each other, a silent challenge. Tom’s eyes narrowed. He tried to stand up in the confines of the tent, his back bent, his feet tangling in the sleeping bag.

“But I can’t, fucking, remember.” His voice was, low, barely controlled. “Why can’t you people understand?” He fought his way out of the tent, its canvas doorway wrapping around him as though trying to keep him in.

He managed to get free and half-stepped, half-crawled, out of the tent, only to find Otto standing outside, his arms folded across his broad chest. Bugs sat on his right shoulder, its nose twitching in the air as though picking up the scent of raw meat.

Tom glared at Otto. “What?”

“This isn’t her fault,” he said. “Don’t take this out on her.”

Exhaustion suddenly swept over Tom once again. This was bullshit. He should be with his family.

“I’ll help you, Tom.” Samantha’s voice came from behind him before he had even realised she had followed him out of the tent.

He shook his head, deflated. “I don’t want you to put yourself in danger on my account.”

“I wouldn’t be helping only for you. I’d be doing it for all of us.” She paused. “And David. I’d be doing it for David.”

Tom managed a small smile, suddenly choked. He didn’t want to cry again. “I can’t bear the thought of them thinking I’ve deserted them—especially now. I feel like I’m causing them pain and I can’t stand it.”

“You could call them?” Sam suggested.

“Call them?” he echoed back at her. He looked around at the vast cavern and the thick stone walls. He didn’t know how deep below ground they were, but he guessed there wasn’t much chance of getting a mobile signal.

She read his mind. “We’ve rewired the connection for the emergency phones in the tunnels. A couple of our more technologically minded people managed to run cables down here and apparently it wasn’t too difficult to wire in a phone.”

A spark of hope lifted the weight on his heart. Just to hear their voices again would strengthen him! But then he remembered how he’d left things with Abby, how she had acted as though she hated him, and wondered if she would even speak to him.

He looked at his watch and was amazed to discover it was after six in the morning.

“Where do I call from?” he asked, half-expecting them to laugh at him, at his stupidity for believing such a fantastical idea. But Otto turned and headed down towards the back of the cavern. Bugs tightened its claws into the cloth of the big man’s shirt and into the thick muscles beneath, trying to keep its balance as Otto moved, loping his way across the stone floor.

Tom followed, putting pressure gingerly on his ankle. The muscles still throbbed, but the night rest seemed to have done it some good. In fact, now he knew he could call his family, he felt better. Even his head was clearer. Tom realised it was the first night he’d slept without the help of a bottle of whisky for a number of months.

Perhaps he was turning over a new leaf?

Chapter 10

IT WAS JUST after six on Sunday morning and Abigail Young felt utterly lost.

Last night, David’s consultant had called her into his office and told her about David’s poor prognosis. He’d asked her if she wanted to wait for her husband to arrive, but she’d said, no, she didn’t know when he would be back and that he’d had to go away on business for a few days. The lie had felt strange on her tongue and her cheeks had coloured with shame. The consultant, Mr Stephenson, had smiled at her in sympathy, but Abby had only seen raw pity. Who went off on a business trip on a Saturday? She had forced herself to smile. Whatever else was happening, she needed to be strong for David. Her self-pity didn’t help anyone.

“Would you like to sit down?” the consultant said.

Abby had been here before. The expression on the doctor’s face wasn’t that of someone about to deliver good news.

She sat down in the chair across from Mr Stephenson’s desk. She sank down into the over-stuffed chair, so she ended up having to look up at the man about to deliver her son’s death sentence. Her heart thumped and she struggled to catch her breath. She found herself consciously having to think about breathing in and back out again.

Abby glanced over at the empty chair beside her, the one where her husband should be sitting.

“The chemo hasn’t worked, has it?” she said in a tiny voice, pre-empting what the doctor was about to say.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mrs Young. The blood tests show the cancer hasn’t gone into remission.”

She felt as though she’d been punched in the stomach. She couldn’t breathe.

My little boy. Oh, God, I’m going to lose my baby.

“I...” she started, unsure of what she was going to say. Her chin wobbled and she clenched her jaw shut. Tears burnt like molten fire behind her eyeballs and a painful lump seemed to be trying to force its way out of her windpipe. Her hands trembled in her lap and then her legs joined in. From the depths of her throat came a thin keening sound she had no control over.

Shock, she thought somewhere in the back of her mind. This is what shock feels like.

“There must be something else?” she managed, squeezing the words from her narrowed throat. The consultant stood and moved around to her side of the desk, picking up a box of tissues as he went. The move was so smooth she instantly knew he’d done it numerous times before and somehow that made everything worse. This was real; this was what happened. Kids got sick and they died. David wasn’t any more or less special than the next kid—it was just what happened!

“David is going to need a bone-marrow transplant,” he told her gently. “I’m afraid it’s his only chance.”

She shook her head and buried her face in her hands.

“When?” she asked through her fingers.

“He’ll be put on a waiting list until we can find a match.”

“But he’s not got time!” Someone seemed to have their hands around her throat, squeezing tight. “Maybe the tests are wrong?” Desperate now, she grasped at every straw. “Do them again, please? Run the tests again.” She begged now, tears streaming down her face.

The consultant put a large, solid hand over hers and she looked at it in surprise, the human contact breaking through her panic.

“The tests aren’t wrong, Mrs Young, but that doesn’t mean we won’t find a match.”

She almost laughed, hysteria close to the surface. “Hardly anyone one gives bone marrow to a complete stranger.”

How could this happen, she wondered? Her beautiful, amazing child. How could she go on if she didn’t have him with her? What would be the point of her life?

The selfishness of her thoughts struck her. Surely she should be thinking about David now and not herself. Did the fearful love she hold for her child—that desperate need to always protect him—stem from self-preservation? She remembered reading somewhere how to have a child meant forever having your heart on the outside of your body. She knew what that meant now; for if her heart was dead she had no way of living.

“Is there anyone I can call for you?” Mr Stephenson asked, concerned. “A family member? A friend?”

Abby had almost forgotten about the doctor’s presence. Peoples’ names and faces tripped through her mind; her sister perhaps? She dismissed the idea. How could anyone do or say anything that could possibly make her feel any better? She glanced again at the empty chair and wished Tom was with her. Why did he have to choose now to go AWOL?

“I should go and call my husband,” she said, climbing awkwardly out of the chair. “He needs to know what is happening.”

“Of course.” Stephenson straightened and walked her to the door. “If you have any other questions, you know where I am”

She nodded dumbly and stepped out into the hallway. She shuffled down the corridor, her head down, walking as though she was the one suffering from cancer. Every ounce of energy had drained from her. She wanted to collapse on the floor, to scream and cry, to bash the floor with her fists, to take this rage and fury, the injustice, the disbelief, the pain, and let it erupt from her in a raging torrent. But she did not. She just continued to walk like a little old woman, hunched and beaten by life.

My poor baby, my poor little baby. Please be okay... Please... God, please.

Her only thoughts were with David now. He needed her. Tears continued to pour down her face, but Abby was barely aware of them. Her first instinct was to go to her son, but she couldn’t let him to see her like this, she would only scare him.

Instead, she headed towards the exit sign and the glass doors that barred this place of nightmares from the real world.

Abby flashed her visitor’s card at the guy sitting in the security booth and the doors slid open in front of her. The fresh air hit her wet face, cooling her hot skin. The last of the day’s sun had disappeared behind the horizon and the sky was a pale blue with a water-colour wash of pink. Tomorrow would be another hot day in the city.

Not far from the front entrance was a small Perspex-covered smoker’s shelter. It looked like a bus stop, minus the timetables of course, and she headed over. She sat down heavily on one of the narrow plastic seats and put her handbag on her lap. Her hands still shook as she scrabbled around the contents of her large bag. She always carried around her life in that bag, but now she wished she had something smaller.

Frustrated and bordering on more tears, her fingers touched packets of tissues, wet-wipes, her purse, an old lipstick. Where the hell was her phone? She was starting to think she had lost it or left it in David’s room, but then remembered she’d put the phone in the side pocket of her bag, hoping to prevent this exact thing from happening.

She pulled open the zip and pulled out her small silver Nokia. Her fingers felt numb and she fumbled with the buttons, but finally managed to pull up Tom’s mobile number and press dial.

Please pick up, please pick up.

But the phone didn’t even have the chance to ring; her husband’s familiar voice filled her ear.

“Hi, you’re through to Thomas Young. Please leave a message.”

Damn you, Tom, she thought in frustration.

Abby took a breath and spoke. “Hi, it’s me. I don’t know where you are, but we need you back here. The chemo hasn’t worked, Tom.” Her voice grew higher in pitch and finally broke. “If he doesn’t get the bone marrow transplant, he’s going to...”

She couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

“Just come back,” she said finally and pressed the button to end the call.

Abby took another deep, shaky breath, and wiped the tears from her face. She needed to go back to David. She got to her feet and made her way back into the hospital and to the nurse’s station. Two of David’s nurses were deep in conversation behind the station, but they fell silent as she approached. From the way they looked at her, she knew they already had been told about David’s poor prognosis.

The plump, brunette nurse offered her a smile of sympathy. “How are you holding up?” she asked, and Abby once again found herself close to losing her self-control.

She pressed her lips together and managed a shrug, not trusting herself to speak.

“We’ll pray for him” the nurse said.

“Thank you,” she managed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a small, pale figure standing in his transformer pyjamas.

“Hey, honey,” she said. “What are you doing out of bed. I thought you were asleep.”

“I had a bad dream. I dreamt…”

Abby suddenly saw the look on his face. She rushed to her son’s side and crouched beside him. All the colour had drained from his skin and he wrapped his thin arms around her neck and clung to her.

“I had a nightmare,” he said. “I dreamt you and Dad were fighting and Dad told me it was my fault you didn’t love each other anymore.” A terrible pain speared inside her chest; a deep visceral ache that made her catch her breath and clutch at her clothing. This is what it feels like when your heart is breaking, she thought. I’ll die if he does.

It wasn’t a decision, but an observation. She wouldn’t want to live without her child.

“Don’t ever think your father and I don’t love each other,” she told him, forcing down her pain. “Grownups fight sometimes, but it doesn’t mean we don’t love each other. And saying our fighting is your fault is plain silly. Your father and I love each other even more because we have you. Having you means we will always be connected, do you understand?”

David sniffed and nodded. “I think so.”

“You had a bad dream, honey. It wasn’t real. Now, let’s get you back to bed.”

Abby tucked David back into bed and smoothed his hot forehead. “I love you so much, baby-boy,” she whispered fiercely, her lips pressed against the smooth skin of his forehead. “I love you more than anything else in this world.”

But David didn’t hear her. He’d snuggled back down into his comfort blanket and the arms of sleep quickly claimed him. How was she supposed to tell him that the medicine hadn’t worked; that all of the pain and sickness had been for nothing and he was back at the beginning? She didn’t think she could do it again.

Abby remembered the last time, how she’d watched the change of emotions on his face: disappointment, fear and misery. She thought of how she’d convinced David to come back in for another round, how she had been the one to promise it would work this time—that it had to work this time—and he had cried and fought against her. He’d been afraid of the hospital and the sickness, but he’d also been afraid of failure.

Though exhausted, she didn’t want to leave her son’s side, even to sleep on the cot. Instead, she picked up the pillow and blanket and curled up on the chair beside his bed. What she really wanted to do was climb up on the bed beside him, press her face against his soft cheek, and wrap her arms around his bony frame. But she didn’t want to disturb him and was concerned about pulling out the tubes feeding into his arm, so she settled for the chair.

She didn’t think she would be able to sleep; her mind was so full of a jumble of tormented thoughts. Evil demons sat on her shoulders whispering, “Your son is dying and your husband has left you.” But the emotional exhaustion was stronger than she thought and she plummeted into a deep, but troubled sleep.

* * *

A HAND GENTLY shaking her shoulder dragged Abby from sleep. Nauseous and disoriented, her attention instantly went to her son. David slept, his features relaxed, so she turned to the person who had woken her.

“Mrs Young?” The small, plump nurse who had been at the station last night now stood beside her. “Your husband is on the phone.”

“What?” Abby’s mind was still foggy with sleep and she didn’t quite believe what the nurse had said.

“Your husband is on the phone for you,” she repeated.

Quickly, Abby got to her feet and hurried after the nurse, who headed back to the station. The nurse walked behind the desk, picked up the handset, and handed it across the desk towards her.

Suddenly, nerves coiled in her stomach. Stupid really—after all, Tom had been the one who left her in this mess. He should be the nervous one.

With shaking fingers, she took the phone.

“Tom?”

“Abby?” He sounded distant, as though he were talking from another country on a bad line.

“Oh, Tom,” she said. “Where the hell are you? I assume you got my message.”

“Message? No, what’s happened?”

She recognised the panic in his voice; an inflection so prevalent in her own these days. Her heart sank as she realised she was going to have to tell him once again about David. It had been hard enough getting the words out the first time.

“The chemo hasn’t worked,” she said. She heard his sharp intake of breath. “The consultant told me last night. And he’s ill, Tom. He seems so much worse since you left. He’s so frail and I just don’t know what to do.”

The tears returned, streaming hot down her face. How was it possible to cry so much without eventually running dry?

“Oh, God.” His breathless whisper. “I had hoped it wasn’t true.”

“What do you mean? I thought you didn’t get my message.”

She thought she heard him falter; fall over his words a little. “I didn’t… I just had a feeling.”

“Please come back.” She sobbed into the phone. “I can’t do this by myself. I don’t care where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing, we just need you here.”

Silence echoed from the other end.

“Tom?” Her voice hardened, the tears drying a tight mask on her face, contorting her features. “I’m serious, Tom. You need to come home right now!”

“I want to, Abby, I honestly do. I love you and David more than anything, but this could be his only chance.”

“I can’t believe you are still going on about this crap!”

Tom sounded even more distant, but now he also sounded desperate. “You must know me well enough by now to know that I am not doing this out of spite. I wouldn’t leave you both for no reason. I am trying to save his life, Goddamn it! Why can’t you just trust me?”

“How?” She was shouting now and the young nurse disappeared into the office, embarrassed on her behalf. “How are you trying to save him? Have you gone to find a specialist? Have you gone to find some miracle cure? How?”

Abby didn’t catch his mumbled answer.

“What?” she demanded.

“Something like that.”

She wanted to scream and throw the phone across the room. She shook with fury. What had she done to deserve this? What had David done to deserve this?

As if he had read her mind he said, “Can I speak to him?”

“He’s still sleeping, Tom. He needs his rest. Why don’t you call back a bit later in the day?” Deep down she felt a bitter pleasure at being able to hurt him, at still having that one piece of control, that one tiny ounce of power in her otherwise powerless life. She never thought she would be one of those twisted women who used their kids as weapons, but suddenly she could see how easily she could become one.

“Please, Abby. I don’t know when I’ll be able to call again.”

She felt herself cave, but it wasn’t for Tom. It was for her son. She imagined the disappointed look on David’s face when he learnt his father called and he had missed him. Whatever rage she felt against Tom, she knew she couldn’t hurt David like that.

She sighed. “Fine, but you’ll need to hang on.”

Abby called out to the nurse and her head popped around the corner like an inquisitive animal.

“Can you please transfer this call to one of the portable phones?” Abby asked. “He wants to speak to David.”

“Sure,” she said, nodding to the white box on wheels standing beside the desk. “Take that one.”

“Thanks.”

Abby got behind the phone and wheeled it down the corridor towards David’s room. Awkwardly, she pushed open the door with one hand and pushed the phone through the doorway. David was still asleep, curled up on his side. His hand lay beside his cheek, palm up, and his fingers twitched as though he were playing out the chords on a guitar in his sleep. She didn’t want to wake him, but she knew how much he loved his father.

“Davey,” she said, lightly touching his shoulder. “Honey, your dad is on the phone.”

His eyelids flickered and he raised his head slightly. His cheeks were still pink from sleep and pillow creases were imprinted in his skin. Abby’s heart swelled with her love for him, threatening to explode and consume her.

David came fully out of sleep and pushed himself to sitting. “Dad?”

Abby picked up the phone, half expecting to have lost the connection. “You still there, Tom?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” the reply came back, though the line was still bad.

“Dad!” David’s eyes lit up as realisation that his father was on the phone finally sank in. Eagerly, he leant over the bed and took the phone from his mother.

Abby perched on the edge of the bed and leaned in so she could hear what was being said.

“Hey, kiddo,” came Tom’s faint voice. “I have missed you so, so much.”

“Where are you, Daddy?” David asked. “You sound like you’re really far away. Are you in a different country?”

“No, mate, same country—just a different world.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. I’m not as far away as I sound. I promise.”

“Mum’s sad you’ve gone away,” David said. “She misses you. I do too.”

Her son’s words bound around Abby’s heart and squeezed, catching her breath.

Tom didn’t speak for a moment and when he did, it sounded like he was trying to stop himself from crying. “I’ve got an important job to do now, kiddo. The people I’m with need my help and I am hoping that in return they will know how to help you. I can’t promise anything, Davey, but I want you to have hope. I want you to know that even though I am not with you and Mummy, I am doing everything I can to make things right again. Okay?”

“Okay, Dad.” He hesitated for a moment and his eyes flicked up to his mother. Abby gave him a smile and leaned away as if to give them privacy, though she remained within hearing distance in the otherwise quiet room.

David cupped his hand around the phone. “Dad?”

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“I’ve been having bad dreams,” he whispered, his mouth close to the handset, his breath steaming up the plastic. “Real bad ones where I’m stuck in the dark. I was scared, Dad. And it’s not just the once. Almost every time I go to sleep I have these bad dreams about being in a strange place and I can’t get out.”

On the other end of the line, Tom paused before saying, “There’s nothing to be afraid of, kiddo. You’re safe.”

Chapter 11

SIX PEOPLE READIED themselves to leave the cavern:  Tom, Otto, Samantha, Sky, a wiry little man named Billy, and a thick-set woman called Jo. According to Otto, Billy was their technical guy, the one who could get them connected to the surface if need be, and Tom guessed Jo accompanied them for sheer brute force. She was about forty with springy hair that frizzed around her wide face. Her skin belayed a hard life; acne scars potholed her complexion and the same patchwork of broken red capillaries that had been so prominent on Mack’s face spread across her nose and cheeks. From size alone, Tom honestly thought she would give Otto a good run in an arm wrestling match. Of course, he was too polite to ask if her strength was the reason for her being part of the group.

Sky, however, made him forget his manners. She kept giving him cold glares and wouldn’t speak to him. It was a bit like having a small child hate him for no apparent reason. Even though this young woman had no part in his life, he couldn’t help feeling hurt. When he broached the subject with Otto, the big man shrugged.

“Don’t let her bother you,” he said. “The girl has no manners, but it’s not her fault. She never had a proper upbringing—doesn’t know anything about social etiquette.”

“But she’s coming with us?” Tom asked, nodding to the bag she was packing.

“Sure. She knows these tunnels better than anyone. She basically grew up down here.”

“Oh good, so she’s the one I have to rely on to get me back out again.”

Otto just grinned, revealing big, white teeth.

Tom sighed and turned his attention back to his sleeping bag. He tried to roll the spongy material up tight, but it kept getting away on him and springing open again. He wished the phone call to the hospital had helped, but it hadn’t. Abby had no intention of forgiving him so easily and he didn’t blame her. He’d heard the desperation in her voice and he felt terrible for making her go through the worst time of her life on her own. She was right. He should be with them, but he couldn’t bring himself to just give up if he had any chance of helping David. The chance of David finding a bone-marrow match was slim. If there was any possibility being down in this underground world would help his boy, then he would rather be here than sitting helplessly beside David’s bed.

Jo walked up and dropped several cans of food, a small saucepan, and a wicked-looking knife onto the cavern floor in front of him. The metal clanged on the stone and the noise echoed around the vast cave.

“Looks like we’re going to be gone awhile,” Tom said.

“Best be prepared,” Jo replied.

“Another boy scout, huh?” Tom joked through his nerves.

Jo gave him a half-smile, her eyebrows arching, and turned away, leaving him to continue to wrestle with his newly acquired belongings.

Tom struggled to keep his mind on the job. His heart physically ached—a sensation that made him understand where the term ‘heart-broken’ came from—and his thoughts kept running to that terrifying thought, my son is dying. He desperately tried not to think of it for fear of sinking to his knees and weeping.

Yet, beneath the misery lay a small grain of hope. He was still cautious to believe the madness he’d been fed, but as he looked around at the serious faces as they prepared themselves for what lay ahead, he couldn’t help his heart skipping with hope. He would do whatever he could to save his son, even giving up his own life to the strange, living tar he’d seen before. He would die with a broken heart knowing he’d never see his wife and son again, but that would be his gift to Abby. The gift of being able to watch her son grow up.

Otto clapped him on the back, making him jump. “Ready to go?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Bugs, the rat, was still perched on Otto’s shoulder and it stretched towards Tom, its snout quivering, nostrils flared. The animal’s eyes were like chips of black glass and it seemed to size him up like an opponent, or even more worryingly, like prey.

Tom couldn’t help recoiling. The thing gave him the creeps. He hoped Otto planned on leaving the animal behind; he didn’t much fancy being stuck in the dark tunnels with that thing. He had images of falling asleep in his sleeping bag only to wake up to find Bugs chewing at the tips of his fingers or an ear.

“Is Mack coming?” Tom asked, looking around hopefully.

Otto shook his head and Bugs had to dodge out of the way to avoid the man’s large jaw. “Not this time, my friend. Mack’s done all he needed to.”

“Oh, sure.” Disappointment rose within him again. Despite everything, he felt better with the older man around.

Otto picked up Tom’s bag and handed it to him. The rucksack easily weighed five times what it had when Tom started this journey. The sleeping bag was now rolled up and tied to the top and metal pans hung off the front. To anyone else, he looked like a man heading off on a camping trip, but Tom doubted they’d be going anywhere near fresh air and sunshine.

A small crowd had gathered and were watching them prepare to leave. People spoke in low voices, some holding hands. Tom sensed the small crowds’ eyes upon him and he adjusted the straps on his bag, self-conscious.

“So, are we heading out the same way we came in?” Tom asked, awkwardly shrugging the heavy pack onto his shoulders. He looked up at the stone steps leading up to the hidden doorway he’d come through only hours earlier.

Otto shook his head and turned in the other direction, to the back of the cavern. “We need to get into a different tunnel system. The tubes aren’t the only set of tunnels down here.”

Tom wracked his brains trying to figure out what Otto meant. A light bulb went on in his head, accompanied by a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Sewers.

“We’re going into the sewer system, aren’t we?”

Otto heard the reluctance in Tom’s voice and grinned. “Don’t worry; you won’t be wading through shit. They’re disused and have been for some time, so they’ve dried out a bit.”

“Thank God!”

“Don’t get too excited, they’re still not exactly pleasant.”

Otto turned to the others who had gathered around. Hunched down a few feet from them, Sky fiddled with a metal bracelet around her wrist and generally tried to ignore them. Samantha stood quietly, watching and waiting. Jo and Billy both stood with their arms folded across their chest; almost comical characters in their extreme appearances—Jo with her thick neck and broad shoulders, and Billy with his pigeon chest and skinny forearms.

Whatever their differences, the group was together and ready to go.

“Good luck!” a woman’s voice called from the crowd.

“Yeah! Go get the fucker!” someone else called out. A ripple of laughter followed the words, but an undercurrent of nerves hid beneath the sound.

Tom raised a hand to the crowd, an awkward gesture that wasn’t quite a wave. A few people lifted their hands and offered smiles of encouragement in return.

Together, the group turned and headed towards the back of the cave, crossing the rough and bumpy floor. Boulders rested on top of each other, having long since fallen and probably remaining there for thousands of years. Some of the stalagmite and stalactites had joined to form huge columns that stretched from floor to ceiling.

Ahead, Tom noticed a deep crack in the cavern wall. As they get closer, it opened out to reveal a crevasse about the width of a man. The crevasse climbed the height of the cavern and disappeared into the rock.

Tom thought of the city above, going about its business, completely unaware of what existed beneath them. He didn’t know how deep beneath ground they were, but he imagined what would happen if an earthquake or, God-forbid, a bomb struck the city in just the right place. A huge chunk of the city could be swallowed in this hollow structure. He wondered how many more places hid beneath the streets of London.

Above him stood a civilised city with all its money and computer systems and power, but deep beneath the busy streets was a place that could have been from ancient times or a cave found in the depths of a South American forest.

Otto reached the crevasse first. Pausing, he turned back to the others.

“The most important thing now is not to panic,” he said. “It’s going to be a tight squeeze, but if someone my size can get through, the rest of you certainly can.”

“You sure about that, Otto?” Jo called out, teasing him. “I did have that leftover pizza for breakfast.”

Otto smiled. “Yes, Jo, even you will make it through.”

“So you’ve done this before?” Tom asked. “I assume you know where we’re going?”

Sky spun round to face him, the blue of her eyes deepening in anger. “We’re not all as green as you,” she spat. “Some of us deserve to be here.”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then.”

His gaze travelled across the intimidating rock face. It seemed as though it were possible to disappear forever in the depths of the rock. He imagined the walls closing behind them, trapping them inside forever.

Sky slipped into the darkness of the crevasse, her slender body skirting the rock face quickly and confidently, as though she had been this way a hundred times before. Otto followed; his large frame somehow as elegant and as confident as Sky’s had been before him.

Samantha went next, flashing him a reassuring smile before she, too, vanished inside the rock. Tom took a deep breath and followed. The huge stone walls rose menacingly on either side of him and bore down, oppressive. Inside the crevasse, the rock face was uneven and jagged. Chunks jutted out, catching his jeans or threatening to crack the side of his head. The meagre light from the cavern was soon swallowed. Tom was thankful he had Samantha just ahead and Billy behind him. Jo brought up the rear. He didn’t like the idea of being the one out front, leading the way into the dark. Even worse was the thought of being at the back with the possibility of being snatched away by something unthinkable, whisked away with no one even noticing he was gone.

He pushed the thoughts away.

Don’t freak yourself out, you idiot, you’ve got enough to worry about without imaging things!

No one spoke. Only the heavy breathing of his comrades filled the space, the concentration of the strangers he suddenly relied upon to save his life and the life of his son.

The crevasse grew narrower and narrower, slowing their progress. In some places, Tom had to turn sideways to get through, the stone pressing against his chest and back, threatening to crush him. His breath grew quicker and shallower, his heart taking up a horrible trippy flutter, like bird wings against the inside of his rib-cage. He pushed the panic away, controlling his emotions long enough for the passage to widen again and allow him room to breathe.

Beneath his feet, the ground seemed to be on a slight incline, taking them up and through the solid stone—not what he’d been expecting.

The light from the cavern had diminished to nothing and Tom considered taking out his torch. Part of him wanted to utilise it, but he was aware of his limited batteries. Stupidly—and conscious of the ridiculousness of his male pride—he was also aware no one else had pulled out torches and he didn’t want to be the only one who looked like they were afraid of the dark.

But the darkness was so black it pressed against his eyeballs. His eyes strained to see, but it was as though he’d grown blind and the blackness was all he’d ever see again.

Blindly, he grasped at the walls on either side of him, using them and the sounds of the people ahead to guide his step.

The loss of his most important sense seemed to affect all the rest, but, instead of them growing stronger, he only felt disoriented. His balance was the worst and when the floor suddenly dropped from beneath his feet, he had to stop himself from crying out. He felt as though he had dropped out of the sky and left his stomach behind. Only when his foot instantly hit solid rock did he realise he’d only dropped a couple of inches.

Once he stopped straining to see and accepted the all-encompassing black, he found that he was almost able to sense where the wall jutted out or the floor fell away. He couldn’t put his finger on it—whether it was a change in the stale air in front of him or the sudden change in temperature from the cold stone—but he gradually grew more confident with each step.

Like some forgotten skill, he soon found his way and when Samantha tripped just ahead, he reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her fall. His fingers closed around the smooth skin of her wrist, the quick pulse of her blood thrumming beneath his fingertips.

“Thank you,” she told him, her voice too loud in the confined space. “I don’t think I was built to be down here.”

“Who is?” he said, wondering at his own new found agility in this inhospitable place.

With his hand still wrapped around her arm, the heat from her skin burnt through his. In that moment, as they stood together, they were no one else other than themselves—no one’s husband, father, sister or mother. The darkness offered them total anonymity and for a moment they were the only people in the world.

“You okay, Sam?” Billy called out, breaking the moment.

Tom dropped her arm and they both stepped away, confusion humming in the darkness.

“I’m fine, Billy. I tripped, but Tom caught me.”

“Quick Draw McGraw!” Billy quipped, but they ignored him.

Tom shook himself. He felt different. Perhaps all the expectation placed upon him was changing him? He was no hero, but maybe he was just a little more capable than he’d given himself credit for?

Billy nudged him in the back and Tom realised the group was continuing along the crevasse, Samantha already walking on ahead. He hurried to close the gap, still using the walls as guidance.

Beneath his palms, the cold stone grew damp. In parts, the damp developed into a trickle—water that cascaded down the walls from some unseen place far above his head. The total lack of light meant nothing could grow down here, so at least no moss or fungi made the floor as slippery as ice.

“Hold your breath, everyone,” Otto called out. “Looks like we’ve got company.”

Images of the man who had attacked them in the tunnels flooded Tom’s mind, but Otto’s voice contained more grim humour than concern. Drifting through the thin air towards him came the faint, yet acrid stink of ammonia.

Tom put his arm across his face, ineffectively trying to block out the smell. The deeper his steps took him into the rock, the stronger the stench became. It crept up his nostrils and clung to the back of his throat, making him choke.

A flutter of movement above his head made him duck and an embarrassing squeal escaped his throat. Instinctively, he raised his hands above his head, fending off this new and unexpected threat.

“What the hell?”

His heart pounded, but behind him Jo laughed.

“Scared it will get tangled in your hair?” she teased.

“Let me guess,” he said, quickly recovering from his fright with only a little residing embarrassment. “There are bats down here?”

Jo laughed again, a girlish sound that didn’t quite match either the situation or the person it belonged to.

“Big, dark caves underground? Of course there are bats!”

Tom thought for a minute. “So there must be a way for them to get out? Somewhere above must be a hole or a gap so they’ve got access to the outside world to feed.”

“Either that or they’re vampire bats,” she said. “Maybe they feed on the poor bastards who get stuck down here.”

Tom shivered at the thought. “I really hope you’re joking.”

“So do I.”

Beneath his feet, the solid stone grew thick and sticky.

Guano.

The word stuck in his head, remembered from some long ago watched documentary on the BBC. The stuff sticking his feet to the floor was nothing more than a thick layer of bat shit.

Far above his head, hundreds, even thousands, of fist-sized, furry bodies wrapped in leathery wings hung huddled together. Tom imagined he could hear them as they moved around each other—the gentle brush of wing against wing, tiny razor sharp claws climbing over the top of each other—with their snub nosed faces and pointed teeth. He would never have thought himself scared of bats—if anything, he thought of them as interesting, curious creatures—but, being in the total darkness, his imagination took over his common sense. In his head, the small bodies trebled in size and the pointy teeth morphed into fangs.

Don’t freak yourself out, he warned himself. He was a grown man, but the dark was where the imagination fed best and he struggled to control his panic once again.

“You okay, Samantha?” he asked quietly, hoping to break the pattern of panic before it took hold.

“As long as one of them doesn’t touch me, I’ll be fine,” she said over her shoulder. “But if I start screaming, then I am being attacked.”

“Well, as long as you’re not expecting me to help. In case you hadn’t noticed, I am not the hero type.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard.”

Her response threw him. When he replied, his voice was little more than a whisper. “I’m no hero.”

“We’ll have to see about that.”

Tom’s heart sank. He was going to let everyone down—all of the people down here with him and even worse, the people who mattered most, Abby and David. Helpless responsibility overwhelmed him. He had no doubt he would fail these people. He just hoped he would find some way of saving David before he did.

The air moved in front of him, stirred by the slow motion of a wing and a solid, yet agile body. This time, he managed to suppress the scream. Once was bad; twice would be humiliating.

Gradually, the floor hardened beneath his feet again and the stench from the bats faded.

Where the bats lived, the crevasse had widened temporarily, but now it narrowed again, squeezing them between its walls.

“Nearly there, people,” Otto called back to them. “Suck it up.”

“When I was learning to drive,” Tom said out loud, not talking to anyone in particular, “my father—my foster father—used to tell me to ‘think thin’ whenever I had to drive the car through a narrow gap. All I can hear now is his voice telling me to do exactly the same thing.”

“Some of us have to do a bit more than think about it,” Jo said with a snort.

“Some of us have to ‘think fat’,” Billy added. “What I’d give right now for a bit of extra poundage.”

“Oh, to have such a problem,” Jo said. “It must be tough, being able to eat all those Big Macs and them not go straight to your arse.”

Suddenly, Tom realised Samantha wasn’t directly in front of him anymore. The next moment, he stepped from the rocky floor of the crevasse onto smooth concrete.

The crevasse opened up in front of them—a huge space Tom sensed rather than saw. He felt the change in air and a drop in the air temperature. He had the sensation that he was in a solid, man-made construction, the smell like stepping into an old, musty church.

“Watch your step,” Otto said. “If anyone is carrying a torch, now would be a good time to use it.”

Tom didn’t need to be told twice and apparently the others had also come prepared. Within moments, six different torch beams lit the new space.

He found himself standing on a concrete walkway which ran around the walls of the huge space in a square formation. The others had edged to the side so they all stood side-by-side along the walkway.

A foot from where they all stood, the concrete ledge ended and an expanse of still, black water started. The water was so utterly motionless it almost looked solid, as though Tom could continue forward and walk across like someone from a biblical story. The torchlight reflected back at them, bouncing off the surface.

A low concrete ceiling pressed down above him, huge pipes running across it. The same pipes, only even larger, ran down the corners of the walls.

“What the hell is this place?” he asked, his voice echoing back to him.

“An underground reservoir,” Otto said. “Or at least it used to be. Years ago, when the water company discovered copper had been leaking in from the pipes and tainted the water, they abandoned it. The problem probably cost too much to sort out, so the water company just stopped using it.”

“Jesus.” Tom shook his head in disbelief. How could so much exist beneath his feet and he’d spent his whole life wandering around completely unaware?

“We need to head to the right,” Sky said, the first words she had spoken since they’d entered the crevasse. “There’s another opening on the other side of the reservoir that will take us to the sewer system.”

Tom almost laughed. “That’s good to know—the sewer system is linked to the reservoir.”

“I think that’s the least of your worries,” Sky shot back.

Tom wanted to say something sharp, witty and intelligent back—something to make her feel small and stupid—but his mind went blank. For some reason, the girl made him feel like a gawky kid.

Instead, he muttered, “and don’t I know about it,” and started to edge his way to the right, hoping he wasn’t going to slip and fall in the unfathomably deep, black water.

CLANG!

The deafening sound came from the pipes, reverberating above their heads, making everyone duck in response. It sounded as though someone had taken a giant sledgehammer and hit the pipes above them. The sound was deafening in the space and Samantha let out a small shriek of fear.

CLANG!

It came again, a deep and tortuous sound, a cathedral bell of the underground ringing the dead in for worship. Even after the initial sound faded, the noise seemed to linger in the air like a thunder clap.

Tom shined his torch up at the pipes, frantically trying to see what was making the noise. He had no idea what he was looking for and he wasn’t rewarded for his efforts.

The banging came again and again, a rhythmical clanging of metal on metal.

Tom put his hands over his ears. “What the hell is that?” he yelled over the noise.

But no one answered; all eyes were fixed on the pipes above.

Tom wondered if the noise was being caused by air in the pipes, like the creaking at night in a house with old plumbing, only one hundred times worse due to the sheer scale of the pipes.

Then he realised the reverberations left over after each of the bangs had changed. Beneath the hum came the same volley of whispers he’d heard the day before, the same strange mixtures of words and static that chilled him to the bone.

Tom’s heart crawled up his throat and every muscle froze. “Are the Shadows making that noise?”

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Otto shouted back. “Pretend it’s not happening.”

Sam’s hand slipped into his own and she pulled him down so his ear was level with her mouth.

“It’s the fear,” she said, her breath hot against his skin. “The fear makes you more susceptible.”

“What?”

“It’ll do things—show you things—to terrify you.” She shouted over the noise. “It wants you to go into the flight response and run so it’ll know where you are. This is the Shadow’s way of priming you, of making you easier prey.”

“And it’s coming?”

“It’s already here.”

CLANG... CLANG... CLANG...

The noise seemed to press down upon them, each reverberation thumping through the air, the sound hitting them from above.

Tom shined the torch across the reservoir, seeking the amoeboid, oil-like thing he had seen the day before. His torch light skimmed across the motionless, black water and he realised how similar the two substances were. Could the Shadows swim? Could it be beneath the water, waiting to infect its next victim?

The thought made him step away from the edge, his back pressing against the reservoir wall.

“Don’t move,” Samantha hissed. “It can’t sense you if you don’t move.”

“I don’t even know where it is.”

“It doesn’t matter. The Shadows will know exactly where you are.”

Everyone stood motionless on the confines of the ledge. Above them, the pipes continued their incessant banging; a noise that would reverberate in their ears for hours after it had finally stopped.

They waited with shallow breath and thumping hearts. Why wasn’t it showing itself? The whispers floated past them like a breeze, rising and lulling, the muted madness of the ones that had already been consumed. They were embroiled in a battle of wills—the Shadows hiding within the darkness, the people frozen in time, hardly daring to breathe—each waiting for the other to make the first move.

Then it appeared.

Tendrils spun out of the water, slipping silently onto the concrete edge. Someone let out a stifled squeal, a hand muffling the sound. Six beams of light were trained on the Shadows as it slid across the concrete, sending out smaller tentacles as though searching them out. Like a snake’s tongue, the strange substance was sensitive, waiting to feel the vibrations move through the earth to locate its next victim.

The air was electrified; panic mounting among the six people.

Billy had been the last one to leave the tunnel, so he stood at the back, closest to where the Shadows had left the water. The thing was only ten feet from him.

“Go! Go! Go!” he suddenly shouted, shoving Jo ahead of him.

He threw himself into the water, the splash catching all of their attention.

Tom stood with his mouth open, his torch focused on the man flailing around in the thick, black water. The stuff slipped like tar; a strange coiling, pouring motion following Billy into the water at an incredibly fast speed. A fierce hiss of whispers filled the air, like the sound of gale-force winds ripping through the branches of a tree.

Jo shoved Tom with all her weight, throwing him forward, and he realised what he was supposed to be doing and got his feet moving.

They fell over each other, each person hustling the one in front along the narrow ledge, none moving fast enough for the people behind. On the other side of the reservoir, another exit led into another cylindrical tunnel and it was to this they ran.

Tom’s foot slipped, perilously close to the edge, but he managed to keep his balance and kept going. Part of him expected something black and terrible to wrap itself around his ankle and drag him down into the madness.

One after the other, they ran into the adjoining tunnel, hunching over to squeeze through. Thankfully, this length of tunnel was short and it emptied into a much larger one. They poured through, panic driving them.

The group stood gasping for breath, hands on knees, doubled over from the exertion and the adrenaline. Tom’s legs shook and his head spun. The thumping on the pipes continued, but came fainter now.

“Keep moving,” Otto ordered, straightening up. “We need to keep moving.”

“What about Billy?” said Jo. “We need to help Billy.”

“We can’t. If there’s a chance he’s been infected, he might infect the rest of us.”

Movement came from behind them and all heads turned.

“Move people! Move!” Otto shouted.

A figure emerged, heading towards them through the cylindrical tunnel they’d come from.

“It’s Billy, for Christ’s sake,” said Jo, anger heating her voice. “You can’t run from him.”

“I’m okay,” Billy shouted from the tunnel, his voice hollow. “The Shadows didn’t touch me. I’m okay.”

He emerged from the black of the tunnel, water dripping from his hair and clothing. His face appeared white in the torchlight, but otherwise he didn’t look any the worse for his ordeal.

“Jesus, Billy,” said Jo. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Billy grabbed a handful of his shirt and twisted the material, wringing water onto the floor. “Someone needed to distract it. I couldn’t think of any other way to get out.”

“Has it gone?” Sam’s voice shook with fear. “Has it really gone?

“For the moment.”

They were in a brick tunnel, similar to the old tube tunnels, only much smaller. A brick ledge ran on either side, built to allow people to walk along the side of the tunnel when sewerage ran through the channel. The ground was like slurry beneath foot, the smell thick and cloying, like public bathrooms that hadn’t been cleaned in a long time. But all of this faded into the background under the shadow of what had just happened.

Tom turned to Otto. The rat, Bugs, still sat on his shoulder and Tom had to resist reaching out and knocking the filthy creature to the ground. He was furious. From what he’d seen, when it came to this thing, everyone around him was as inept as he was.

“We are running away from it, but aren’t I supposed to be fighting?”

Otto stared at him, frustrated at Tom’s confrontation. “I know you’re scared, but the stuff you see isn’t really it. We need to get to the heart, to where the conscious part lives. That’s where we found you when you were a child and where the Shadows stayed for the last thirty years.”

“Oh, great. So the stuff we ran from isn’t even the main act!”

“We don’t have time for this now,” said Otto. “We have to keep moving.”

“He’ll never have time for it,” said Sky.

Tom rounded on her. “What the hell is your problem?” he demanded. “Do you think I want to be here? Do you think this is fun for me and I’ve come down into this hellhole to piss you off?”

Sky scowled. “I don’t give a crap what you think. I’m only here because of the people I trust, not because of some outsider who has come to save the day.”

Tom stared at her, incredulous. “The people you trust apparently trust in me, though I have no idea why. So, I guess if you really do trust them, you will also have to trust that they made the right call.”

Her blue eyes narrowed and she put her hands on her hips. “Like you have, you mean?”

Otto intervened. “Give it a rest, Sky. Just do your job and get us there. You don’t need to have an opinion about what happens afterwards.”

Jo put her hands out. “Please don’t do this now, guys. We’ve got enough to worry about without us attacking each other. And in case you didn’t notice, Billy threw himself in the water so we could get away and all you’re doing is ignoring him.”

“Sorry, Billy,” Otto said, turning to look at the much smaller man. “But how do we know the Shadows didn’t touch you?

“For Christ’s sake!” Jo said, not giving Billy a chance to answer. “How do we trust anyone then? How can we be sure Samantha isn’t infected? Or Sky? How do we know you are not infected?”

“Don’t be stupid, Otto,” Billy said. “You can see I’m not infected. You’ve seen the ones who are—they’re basically zombies, for fuck’s sake.”

Samantha stepped forward “We shouldn’t be wasting time like this. Otto was right when he said we needed to keep moving.”

Tension simmered in the tunnel; the confined space not room enough for the emotions held within its walls.

Sky spun back around and stomped off down the tunnel. Otto let out a deep sigh, that of a frustrated father finally giving in to his persistent and difficult daughter, and then followed.

The rest had little choice but to do the same.

Chapter 12

TOM’S EARLIEST MEMORY was of mistrust.

He didn’t remember the name of the first family he’d been placed with—perhaps Mc-something, like McDonald or McDougal—but he couldn’t be certain. His main memory was of pulling up outside of a house in the social worker’s car and being faced with two, tall strangers who were supposed to care for him. Kids filled the property—toddlers, teenagers, both boys and girls. They all shouted over the top of each other and physically fought each other, punching, kicking, screaming, to get whatever the other one had.

When he thought back to that moment, the overwhelming feeling of complete and total mistrust in everyone swamped him—mistrust in the social workers, in the foster carers, in the children he was forced to live with. He was just another face to them, another couple of quid in their pocket, or more competition, depending on perspective. He’d only stayed with that particular family for a matter of weeks before being moved on. Luckily, it took only another two families before he eventually found the one he’d grown up with, the people he thought of as ‘mum and dad.’

But beneath that first memory resided another one—the memory of a longing for something else, something more, though he had no idea at that time what he yearned for. He’d had no experience of family life, yet, even at such a young age, he’d been desperate for security.

Was his lack of a stable home the reason he’d been so eager to start up a family of his own? He had only been twenty-five when he met Abby, a time when most of his friends spent their time clubbing and having one-night stands, but he’d fallen in love with her in a matter of days. Even younger than him, she’d laughed off his offers of marriage. Most men would have run at her constant rejection, but Abby had done it in such a way he knew her refusals wouldn’t last forever. He simply needed to be patient.

So, he waited and, in the end he, got his reward—his own family.

Now he might lose the thing he’d wanted most in life and the madness happening around him was his only chance to save them. Once again, he was being asked to put his trust in complete strangers.

* * *

IN THE LAST hour or so, Tom had lost track of which direction the sewer system took. Did London still sprawl over their heads or had their journey taken them beyond the city? Any thought of getting closer to the surface soon diminished once they’d entered these tunnels. The floor of the sewer had a distinct downward slope, designed to let gravity do the work, Tom guessed.

Once again the torches had been switched off to conserve battery power. The sewers ran straight, the ground relatively smooth. They walked skirting the edge, using the wall for guidance. The dark still unnerved Tom, but he somehow knew where to place his feet and how to find the notches in the walls when he needed to keep his balance.

One thing he couldn’t get used to was the smell. The sewers might no longer be used, but whatever shit had been down here when the sewers were abandoned certainly hadn’t gone anywhere. Though dried up to a certain extent, it still stank in the way he would expect remnants of human waste to smell and Tom walked with his shirt sleeve held over his nose and mouth.

The threat of the Shadows remained at the forefront of his mind. His ears strained at every sound—the footsteps of the group, the trickle of distant running water, the squeals and scurries of rats in the darkness. But the one sound he actually listened for—the terrible static whispers of the thing they called the Shadows—didn’t materialise. Every so often, he thought he heard it and froze, causing the people behind to collide with him and curse. Each time, he ignored their protests and listened, certain he’d heard something. Yet, over and over again, his mind played tricks on him.

Several hours had passed when Otto suddenly stopped and switched on his flashlight. The beam of light lit up a good-sized cubbyhole set aside from the tunnel. When the sewers were used, workers would have rested in the cubby.

“We can stop here,” Otto said. “I’m guessing we could all do with a break.”

Tom barely registered the other man’s words. The sight of this simple, secret place moved something inside of him and for a moment he didn’t even remember to breathe. He stepped forward and placed his hand against the brick.

When his warm palm touched the cold, hard stone, a jolt went through him, a physical realignment of his brain, of his consciousness. Everything seemed strange. He was aware of the people around him, but they didn’t seem real. It was as though they were ghosts.

Tom had been here before.

He didn’t know if he’d been here as a child or if he’d somehow visited this place in his dreams, but he knew this place.

The memory made him gasp out loud. He felt younger. His fingers felt smaller and thinner. The stones he touched existed not only in this place, but in a time when he was just a boy. Two periods in his life coexisted and he experienced them both simultaneously.

Somewhere in the distance, he was aware of Samantha speaking to him and of Otto putting a hand on her arm to stop her.

Deep in the pit of his belly, a gnawing ache spread into his chest; a terrible emptiness inside of him. He recognised the sensation as hunger, a hunger he’d never had to experience as an adult. It was the sort of hunger that didn’t come from a late lunch or a missed meal, but was the result of months, even years, of never knowing where his next meal would come from.

The brick’s surface felt rough beneath his fingertips. Sounds seemed sharper, the air around him overly sweet with sewage. Goosebumps prickled his skin, brought on by the cold that had ingrained itself within him, working its way down to his bones.

Was this how he felt as a child, cold and hungry with a strange over-awareness of his surroundings? Had he lost the sensation as he entered adulthood or just because he had left the Underlife?

For a moment, he thought he might step right into the past, leave the present behind and disappear into his past self, but then the flash was gone. Tom found himself right back where he started—standing in front of the cubbyhole with five expectant faces staring at him.

“Shit!”

Tom put his head in his hands and sank to his knees. Nausea washed over him and the tunnel spun in a slow, stomach-lurching movement.

Samantha finally got to ask the question she had tried to a moment earlier. “Are you okay, Tom?”

He nodded, his face still in his hands, waiting for the sickness to subside.

The others all climbed into the cubby. They squatted down or used their bags as seats. No one else spoke to him. Each person rustled in their bags, pulling out drinks and food or an extra sweatshirt. Tom sensed the awkwardness around him. Were they embarrassed for him or scared?

Otto’s large, heavy hand made contact with his shoulder and he looked up. The big man hadn’t joined the others in the cubby, but stood beside him, Bugs curled around his neck.

“You remembered,” Otto said. It was not a question. “Do you believe us now?”

“I remembered. Not much, but I remembered being down here. I believe you about that at least.”

Otto smiled. “That is good. And don’t worry, the rest will come back to you in time.”

“How much time do we have?” he asked, but Otto ignored the question. Tom sighed. “I’m scared of what I am going to remember,” he admitted. “Why else would my brain have blocked everything out if it wasn’t something terrible?”

“Perhaps to exist in the normal world, your child’s mind needed to forget this place ever existed. There is magic down here—dark magic—and I don’t mean spells or illusions. Things exist down here that the people above ground would never be able to comprehend. They’re the things of peoples’ nightmares, the things they convince themselves don’t exist after they watch a scary movie and go to bed in the dark. But down here they can and do exist and it’s up to us to make sure the two worlds never meet.”

“You mean it’s up to me.”

“On this occasion, yes, Tom, it is up to you. Remember you had something to do with the Shadows getting out. Whatever you did last time, you must have somehow absorbed some of the magic and passed it onto your son. If the boy dies...”

“That ‘boy’ is my son,” Tom said, anger close beneath the surface.

“I’m sorry.” Otto cleared his throat and started again. “I fear your son’s death will release the Shadows to the upper world.”

“I don’t want that to happen, but nothing is more important to me than saving David.”

“We know that, Tom. What better reason could there be to prove you’re the right man for the job.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Needing to rest, Tom and Otto joined the rest of the group. The cubby was just big enough so each of them had a little space around them. At least they weren’t sitting on top of one another. Considering the current atmosphere, that was a good thing. Jo remained frosty with Otto because of his insistence at leaving Billy behind and Sky wasn’t speaking to any of them.

Tom’s experience had left him both shaken and weirdly embarrassed. He felt like the others were all looking at him like he was a freak, or at least, trying not to look at him.

He no longer had any doubts about having been in this place before. He knew now the dreams he’d experienced all his life were more than just dreams, they were memories. For years, his mind had been trying to make him remember, but only now, face to face with this place, had his conscious mind finally given way.

He felt like he had been pummelled at an emotional boxing match. Didn’t he have enough to deal with without all of this being thrown at him? Wasn’t it enough that his son was dying and his wife hated him?

“This is all so much to take,” he said to Otto, resting his head back against the wall. “You have no idea what my life has been like over the past twenty-four hours.”

“I’m not going to give you sympathy, Tom. I am sorry about your son, really I am, but I have the bigger picture to think about.”

“So what now?”

“We have to go deeper, out of the man-made tunnels and into the ones below. And if you think this has been hard, Tom, then you need to grow some serious balls because things will only get worse from here down.”

“You’re always such a ray of light, Otto. You and Mack must have attended the same school of thought.”

Otto raised his eyebrows. “I think I’ll take Bugs for a walk, see if there are some girl rats he wants to entertain while we rest.”

Tom screwed up his nose at the thought. The other man jumped out of the cubby and down into the sewer, Bugs still clinging to his shoulder.

Jo shifted over so she sat next to Tom.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

“I’ve been better.”

“You’re worried about your son?”

Tom gave a sad smile; the pain just her words caused him was almost unbearable. “That and everything else. How could I not be?”

“You’ll figure this out, Tom. I’m sure you will.”

“Why do you trust me, Jo? I don’t know anything, but you seem to believe in me.”

Jo leaned over and put her rough, calloused hands on each side of his face. She grabbed his cheeks between her thumb and forefinger as though he was a young boy.

“You have a kind face,” she told him with a rueful smile, dropping her hold on him. “I guess I am a sucker for a kind face.”

He couldn’t help smiling, but he wasn’t going to let her off the hook so easily.

“I need answers, Jo. So what if I remember being down here when I was a kid? It still doesn’t tell me what I’m supposed to do to save David. Everyone just seems to dance around the topic, but isn’t that important? Why won’t anyone tell me what I’m supposed to be doing?”

She shook her head. “We haven’t told you because we don’t know. When we found you in the deepest tunnels, you’d already sent the Shadows back beneath—back to the Underlife—but no one witnessed what happened and you were too young and in shock to explain.”

“So we’re basically the blind leading the blind down here?”

She grasped his hands in her own. “Sometimes you need to believe in yourself. Sometimes a little faith is all we ever have.”

“Hey, Billy?” Otto’s voice came from deeper down the tunnel system. “I need you to see something.”

Jo and Billy glanced at each other; Tom read the mistrust in their faces. Whatever Otto wanted, these two clearly didn’t trust him, not now anyway. Were they still worried about Otto thinking Billy had been infected? Were they worried about what Otto might do?

Billy gave a wry smile. “Better go see what the boss needs.”

Jo nodded. “Be careful.”

Crouching, Billy scuttled his skinny body to the edge of the cubby and jumped down, same as Otto had only a few minutes before. His footsteps echoed and faded as he walked away.

“Otto would never harm him,” Samantha said, addressing Jo, picking up on the tension. “You have to believe that.”

No one answered.

* * *

BILLY WALKED DOWN the tunnel in the same direction Otto had gone. Within a minute, Otto’s figure emerged from the darkness. He stood in the middle of the tunnel, his torch pointed at the ceiling. Bugs no longer sat on his shoulder.

Otto looks naked without the rat, thought Billy. Like seeing a man after he’s shaved off the moustache he’s worn for the past ten years.

The torch Otto held lit up a bundle of wires hanging through a hole in the roof.

Otto noticed Billy approach and motioned at the wires with a jerk of the torch.

“What would these be for?” he asked. “I can’t figure out why they’d be so far down.”

Billy frowned and walked closer until both men stood together, their faces lifted to the curved brick ceiling. Coloured plastic coated each individual wire—red, yellow and blue—but the ends of the wires shone metallic, frayed and exposed.

Billy folded his hands across his narrow chest, his head tilted to one side. “Must be part of a telecoms system. It’s old, but probably still live.”

“I didn’t realise sewer workers needed to be in touch with above ground.”

Billy walked around Otto, checking out the wires from every angle. “Same reason any other underground workers would need to be,” he said. “If there is an emergency, if they need help and it can’t wait until they get above ground, or even worse, if they couldn’t get above ground. I expect a phone would have been attached to a wall once upon a time.”

“Could we use the connection if we needed to?”

Billy pursed his mouth and ran a hand through his hair. “I’d need my tools out of my bag, but I can try.”

“Good. You do that and we will meet you on the way out.”

Billy stepped back in surprise. “What?”

“You heard me. That was your job here, to get us contact with the outside world if we needed it. There might not be another opportunity, so you might as well be here doing your job.”

Billy pressed his lips together, considering the words that he was about to let out of his mouth. He wanted to tell Otto to go fuck himself, but he knew how ranking went here. In the Underlife, everyone had their place. If he screwed up with Otto, he would also be screwing himself.

“Sure thing, Otto,” he said finally. “Whatever I can do to help.”

Otto called back up the tunnel. “Come on, people, time to get moving.”

The big man knelt down and made a couple of sharp squeaking noise using his tongue and front teeth. From the dark leapt ten pounds of rodent, landing on his shoulder. The animal curled up against his neck like a friendly cat. He reached up and ruffled its fur.

“Did you have fun, guy? Meet anyone you like better than yourself?” The animal squeaked and Otto laughed deep in the back of his throat.

The rest of the group came trudging down the tunnel, their torches still lit until they had regrouped and were back on a stable path.

“Billy has got some work to do here,” Otto told them, “so it’s time to say goodbye. And before anyone asks, no, you can’t stay with him. Billy is old enough and certainly ugly enough to look after himself. We can’t risk leaving any more of you behind because we don’t know when we might need each of your talents.”

“This sucks,” Jo said, under her breath.

“It’s cool,” said Billy. “Don’t worry about it.” He looked around them. “Did anyone bring my stuff?”

Jo picked the bag up from where she had dropped it at her feet and handed it to him.

“Thanks.”

“We’ll see you later then, Billy,” Otto said. He clapped the much smaller man on the back before heading down the tunnel.

Sky gave Billy a brief, but fierce hug, her way of saying goodbye without saying a thing, and then headed after Otto. Samantha did a similar thing and wished him luck.

“Hey, you guys will be the ones who need luck,” he replied. “Don’t worry about me.”

Tom lifted a hand in a goodbye wave and awkwardly turned down the tunnel.

“This sucks,” Jo said again, louder this time now that Otto was out of earshot.

“You’ll get over it,” Billy said with a grin and she couldn’t help but smile back. She stepped backwards and raised her hand.

Billy’s hand shot out and grabbed Jo’s wrist in a fierce grip. She stood, frozen for the briefest moment of time. Their eyes locked on each other and something passed between them. Her face went blank for a fraction of a second—such a short period of time that none of the others noticed, especially in the dark. Then it was gone and he let go of her hand.

“See you soon, Bill,” Jo said, as though nothing had happened. “And look after yourself.”

He gave only a shadow of a nod in response and she turned away from him and followed the others down the tunnel.

Chapter 13

TO TOM, WHAT had initially felt like a democracy within the group was now starting to feel more like a dictatorship with Otto at its head. The thought made Tom uneasy. Billy might be tough enough to take care of himself—he had probably been doing so most of his life—but leaving someone alone in the dark when the Shadows might appear at any moment seemed wrong.

“I can’t believe we’re leaving Billy behind,” Samantha said to Tom, keeping her voice low so as not to let Otto, who was further ahead, hear.

Tom kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to start taking sides, especially when he couldn’t be sure which the right one was.

“What’s your talent?” he asked her, remembering something Otto had said.

“What?”

“Back there, Otto said we might need each of our talents. So what is your talent?”

She laughed. “Can’t you figure it out?”

Tom shook his head and shrugged.

“I guess you could say I’m the medical officer.”

“Oh, right, of course.” He frowned at his stupidity. “We’d better hope we don’t need you then.”

“You okay, Jo?” Sam asked, glancing back over her shoulder at the much larger woman who plodded along behind them.

Jo stopped walking. Her neck slouched down low between her shoulders, her head hung, staring at the floor.

“I can’t do this,” she said, still not looking up. “I’m not leaving him by himself.”

She turned on her heel and headed back up the tunnel.

“Jo?” Samantha called after her. “What are you doing? Otto will go mad if you’re not with us.”

But Jo ignored them and continued to walk away, her broad back reflected in their torchlight. Having switched her own torch off, she walked into the dark without a break in her stride.

“Is she okay?” Tom asked Samantha. “She seems strange.”

Sam’s brow furrowed in a frown. “I don’t know. Maybe we should go after her.”

They stood, hesitant with indecision, and Jo disappeared in the dark.

Otto and Sky hadn’t noticed the others stopping. Tom and Samantha were torn between their desire to follow Jo and their loyalty to Otto.

They weren’t given the time to make their choice.

A sound came in the distance.

Tom’s heart started up a now familiar, fast thump in his chest.

“What’s that?” he hissed.

Were the Shadows approaching again? Though similar—a hollow, whispery rush of noise—it didn’t have that strange way of being in his head, as though bypassing his ears. This was more normal, in the way anything could be normal in this place. Something about the sound struck a familiar chord and it grew louder by the second.

They stood frozen, waiting. Quickly, the noise increased in volume until it was less of a whisper and more of a roar. Tom caught Samantha’s eye and recognised the fear reflected within its depths.

So familiar, so achingly familiar...

Otto and Sky were farther down the tunnel, but not so far they couldn’t hear.

“What’s happening?” Otto called back.

Everything seemed to happen at once. Realisation dawned on Tom; Samantha’s eyes widened in terror as the same notion struck her; and then Billy came screaming and running towards them, arms and legs failing like a crazy person.

“Run! Damn it! Run!”

Jo ran behind Billy, slow and lumbering as though she was drunk or high. Behind her, a wall of black water fell towards them.

They turned and ran.

Within seconds, Tom’s breath shrieked in and out of his lungs, harsh and painful. His legs and arms pumped, propelling him forward. His pulse thumped in his ears and his muscles burned. He was aware of Samantha running beside him and he reached out an arm to help propel her forward, but the motion nearly took him off balance and he had to concentrate on himself.

In Tom’s head, he could only think, ‘run, run, run, run,’ over and over, desperately forcing his legs to go faster. Irrationally, somewhere in the back of his mind, he was scared he would experience the weird, slow motion legs he sometimes got when he was being chased in dreams, and he wouldn’t be able to move.

They quickly caught up with Sky and Otto who took one look at them and literally fled for their lives. They had no idea where they were running to. The tunnel went on and on.

Like a tsunami wave coming onto shore, the water pummelled towards them. They couldn’t out run it for much longer.

Suddenly, Sky leapt at the wall like a cat. She clung to a ladder, which had appeared almost miraculously, and scaled the ten or so rungs leading to a hole in the ceiling.

“Hurry!” Otto shouted. He shoved Samantha up behind Sky and then gave Tom a boost.

They couldn’t get up fast enough—Sky pulling from the top and Otto pushing from the bottom, shoving them one by one up into another tunnel above.

“Where’s Jo?” Otto yelled at Billy when he arrived at the base of the ladder, gasping for breath.

Billy looked back. “She was right behind me!”

“Shit!”

Water started flooding around their ankles and Otto pushed Billy, urging him up the ladder.

Then it was upon them, an ice-cold torrent of water, threatening to knock Otto off his feet. He had no choice but to follow Billy up the ladder. As the water dragged at his legs, it took all his strength to hold onto the rungs and pull himself up.

Caught—half-standing, half-swimming—Jo struggled in the water.

“Jo!” Otto reached down and managed to grab her hand as she was swept past. Her hand was wet and slippery, but he held fast.

Jo managed to grab a rung with her other hand and pulled herself onto the ladder.

The deluge of water rushed past. With every passing second, the water level climbed higher.

“Come on, Jo. Hurry up, for fuck’s sake.”

Jo let go of Otto and grabbed hold of the rung above her and started to pull herself up. The flow of water almost ripped her hold off the metal bars. She reached for the next rung, but the water engulfed her chest now and the cold hit, constricting her lungs, making her gasp for breath. Her fingers missed the metal and she slipped, dangling by one arm.

“Grab my hand,” Otto yelled. He reached down to her, but she managed to grab the rung again and continued to pull herself up.

Only a foot of air separated the water from the ceiling.

“Come on, Jo, hurry.”

She’d almost made it, her head and shoulders almost through the hole. She reached up to grab Otto’s hand, their fingers only inches apart.

Electricity jarred through her body. Her eyes widened for a moment, her pupils somehow blank and yet terrified, her hand frozen in mid-air. And then, as though in slow motion, she fell backwards. Her body hit the water with barely a splash and sank beneath its black surface.

“Jo!” Samantha screamed and lunged toward the hole, wanting to go after her. Otto grabbed her shoulders and held her back.

The five survivors stood in shock, staring through the hole, watching the torrent of deadly black water rushing beneath them, carrying its victim away.

“The wires,” Billy said, numbly. “The live wires must have touched the water.”

Samantha’s fist bunched at her mouth. “Oh, God,” she managed, tears in her eyes. “We need to go and get her, she might still be alive.”

“Don’t be crazy,” said Billy. “The water might be live!”

Samantha made a small keening sound in the back of her throat and buried her face in her hands.

Otto rounded on Billy, the huge, black man dwarfing the skinny, white man.

“What the fuck happened?” he demanded. “She should have been way out in front of you. How the hell did she end up behind you?”

Billy shook his head desperately. “She was right with me!”

“She shouldn’t have been with you! We left you behind.”

Samantha was in shock, pale-faced and trembling. Tom put his arm around her shoulders and she leant against him, her legs giving way.

“Is Jo really dead?” Sky’s voice came small and childlike and Tom turned to see her standing in the background, looking younger than ever.

Billy reached out an arm towards her, trying to offer some comfort, but Otto knocked his hand away. “Don’t you touch her,” he said, furious.

“Fuck off, Otto! Who the hell made you God?”

Otto looked like he could squash Billy flat, but Billy was in his face and didn’t appear the least bit intimidated.

“Stop it,” Samantha said, her voice strangled with tears. “Just stop it. We need to stick together. Jo has just died and you are fighting!”

Sky gave a choked sob and Otto backed off.

Tom spoke, his voice sounding strange in his ears. “Where did all that water come from?”

Sky shot him a narrow-eyed glare. “The reservoir, of course.”

“I know that. I meant how did it get out? Why did water that’s been sitting in the same place for God-knows-how-many years suddenly come flooding down these tunnels?”

“Someone must have altered the dam, done something to alter the level.”

“What? Like someone who was last out?” said Otto, glaring at Billy.

“I didn’t fucking do anything! Do you really think I would do something that could get me killed?”

“Don’t start again,” Samantha warned them.

Otto cleared his throat. “We need to figure out what to do now.”

“This all feels so wrong,” she said, taking a couple of hiccupping breaths. “We shouldn’t be carrying on as though nothing has happened.”

Sky stepped forward, angrily wiping tears from her cheeks.

“Otto is right,” she said, steeling her face into the hard expression she’d been using to protect her this whole time. “We all knew this was going to be dangerous. Jo knew what she let herself in for. She wasn’t stupid.”

The tunnel they found themselves in now was much smaller than the sewer. The height wasn’t much taller than Otto and if the big man stretched his hands out either side of him, he could touch both walls. Obviously man-made, the passageway had been built from red brick and curved overhead. These were the tunnels the workers used to move between the main tunnels if they were flooded.

“So where do we go now?” Tom asked. Although could barely believe he’d watched someone die—he’d never seen anyone die before—he was aware of time running out. He was only down here for one reason—David.

Samantha straightened, pulling herself together. “If the other tunnel is flooded,” she asked, “how do we get to where we need to be?”

Otto turned to their navigator. “Sky, is there a way? We need to get down without coming into contact with the water.”

“It won’t stay electrified,” Billy said. “The current will blow eventually.”

Otto scowled at him, despite his useful piece of information.

What does he have against him? Tom wondered. What does he think has happened that is so bad?

Tom remembered how Otto interacted with Billy in the cavern, how he’d clapped him on the back and they’d laughed together. Only since Billy had thrown himself in the water did Otto have a problem. Tom couldn’t understand it. Billy had risked his own life to protect the rest of them and Otto was treating him like shit.

“There are back tunnels, even smaller than these,” said Sky. “We’ll need to drop down through those and then we’ll be in the other tunnels.”

Tom frowned. “What ‘other’ tunnels?”

Her reply chilled him.

“The ones man didn’t make.”

Chapter 14

DAVID LAY IN bed, his sheets damp and cold with his own sweat. The material clung to his skin and he couldn’t get comfortable. A massive weight seemed to be pressing down on his body, preventing him from moving.

“Mum!” he called out, wanting her help. Then he realised his mouth hadn’t moved. The words had only formed in his head, his body too weak to comply.

The sickness had taken over and become a part of him, or worse, he’d become part of it. It seemed to be feeding from him and making itself stronger.

Fading in and out of consciousness, he’d lost track of whether it was day or night. Sometimes, he became aware of the hospital room around him, of the bed beneath him, and of his mother’s cool hand against his forehead. But these periods only made up only tiny snatches of time and he had no idea how much time passed between the moments of lucidity or even how long they lasted.

One time, he woke up with the doctor in the room, speaking with his mother.

“We think he has a secondary infection,” the consultant said. “We’ve run numerous tests, but we can’t seem to isolate the cause.”

Secondary infection.

David knew what that meant; it was the thing the doctors had been trying to avoid by not allowing his friends to visit after chemotherapy in case they brought in germs with them. Yes, he knew what those words meant; it meant he didn’t just have the cancer to worry about now. Something else was making him sick and, by the tone of the doctor and the strangled sob from his mother, he understood how serious his condition had become.

This part he was aware of, this and a few other snippets of the real world. For the most part, however, David existed somewhere else entirely.

Shadows surrounded him like a cushion of storm clouds. He floated in the darkness, all sense of pain gone.

Voices whispered inside his head, layered on top of each other. Some of them were far away, but some were so close they seemed to be whispering with their mouths pressed right up against his ear.

He didn’t hear the voices when he was awake and aware of the hospital room, but as soon as he faded to black, they came back again. His mother would tell him he was dreaming, but she’d be wrong.

This wasn’t a dream.

This place he went to was real.

Beneath those whispers lay something else, some large and ancient dark mass that shifted and seethed beneath him. The darkness called to him, using the whispers of all the others to reach him. David didn’t want to go, he wanted to stay in the room in the light, with his mother, but he had no choice.

The sickness had come to take him.

In a way, finally giving in was a relief. He’d been fighting for so long and he was exhausted. He wanted for it all just to stop; for all the pain, exhaustion and sickness to stop.

He would miss his mother and he already missed his father. He would miss the taste of chocolate ice cream, and their Friday evening ritual of fish and chips in front of the television. He would miss going to the beach with his family in the summer and tasting salt on his skin, and that first, breath-snatching, headlong rush into the ice-cold water. He’d miss his night-night; the soft feel of the blanket against his skin and its familiar, comforting smell.

David would miss all those things. He wanted to fight for them; he just didn’t think he had any more fight left in him.

* * *

SOMETHING WAS WRONG with Otto and the big man knew it.

The moment he’d reached down and grabbed Jo’s hand, something changed inside of him. He sensed it pass between them, like a frisson of electricity.

He could easily explain the sensation away. The feeling had simply been caused by sparks of electricity racing through the water, charging up the metal ladder and through Jo’s body to her fingertips.

Yes, it could easily be explained away in theory and Otto wanted to do exactly that.

But the feeling lingered, a strange after effect he wanted to blame on shock, but couldn’t quite seem to convince himself of. Receiving an electric shock might have affected the neurones in his brain. After all, the human body worked through tiny charges of electricity, so it only made sense that he wouldn’t be himself.

Except the weird sensation was getting worse by the minute. He felt as though he were somehow outside of his body looking down. His mind didn’t seem to be attached to his body, even though he was still capable of putting one foot in front of the other, of opening his mouth to speak, and could feel cold against his skin.

Bugs’ sharp claws dug into his neck as the animal scurried from one shoulder to the other and back again. Its whiskers twitched, tickling Otto’s skin, and its tail flicked nervously like an anxious cat.

Otto reached up a hand to stroke the rat’s fur, murmuring “Ssshh” and “There boy” to try to placate his pet, but if anything his reassurances agitated the animal further. His fingers touched the smooth, cool skin of his friend’s ears and he tried to smooth them, but the rat turned and nipped at the soft skin between Otto’s fingers, a warning to stop.

He snatched back his hand and the rat settled back down again. Otto bit the inside of his mouth and tasted the copper tang of blood, trying to suppress the need to scream building inside of him. Somehow, the rejection of his pet was the worst of all, his loyal and constant companion no longer so loyal.

Something was wrong.

He couldn’t say anything to the others. He knew what they’d think.

The Shadows.

No, there must be another explanation.

Otto kept walking, his head down. His emotions were torn between the desperate need to remain in denial and the need to protect his people.

Tom was walking right behind Otto. As Otto slowed, Tom stepped on the back of his heels and the two men stumbled together. Tom fell, but managed to keep his balance, placing his palms on Otto’s broad back.

“Sorry, mate,” Tom said, but Otto ignored him and kept walking.

“Are you okay?” Tom called after him.

Otto kept walking, like a robot or a soldier, marching on. Lost in his thoughts, he tried to figure out what went wrong and how he could make it better.

He turned over the events of the last few hours, replaying them in his mind. His thoughts kept running back to one thing, to one person.

Billy.

In his mind’s eye, he saw Billy jumping into the black reservoir water, sacrificing himself so the others could escape. He saw the Shadows slither after him, slipping into the water as quickly and smoothly as a crocodile entering a swamp. He saw the strange flipping motion of the Shadows in the water, how it propelled itself forward, strange and yet agile, moving faster than any floundering, fully-clothed man in water.

It could have killed Billy if it wanted to.

The Shadows could have wrapped itself around Billy, prevented him from surfacing. It could have filled his head with those terrible whispers, forced his mind to forget to even try to swim. But it had let him live. Why?

Because he was a carrier, that was why.

A rage built up inside of Otto.

He could try to turn to the others, tell them he thought he was infected. Tell them Jo had been too and that he thought Billy responsible. But he’d witnessed their reaction earlier. Billy was their friend. They would never believe him.

How much longer did he have before this thing took over completely, before he no longer had any control over himself? Minutes? Hours?

He needed to think of something else and do so before Billy infected the rest of them. It only took one touch—skin on skin. Otto was only too aware of Samantha, walking in front of Billy. Billy only had to reach out and touch Samantha’s smooth, long neck.

Did Billy even realise what he was doing? Was being a carrier the same as being infected? Did he feel its presence the same way as Otto or was he completely unaware? Was there a possibility he did not realise how his actions were being controlled, how he was being manipulated to spread the Shadows? Perhaps he could reason with Billy, make him see what was happening and tell him to stay away from them all.

No, it was impossible. Even if Billy could be reasoned with, the Shadows couldn’t be.

And the Shadows were in control.

* * *

JO’S DEATH HAD left a huge, gaping hole within the group.

It wasn’t just the loss of her sheer size that created the vacuum, but her easy humour and no-bullshit attitude. And they were all scared. Before Jo had died, the prospect of not surviving was more a terrifying theory than anything else, but now the threat was more than real.

A subdued and nervous atmosphere surrounded the group as they trudged through the much smaller tunnels. Forced to walk single file, Sky led with Billy at the rear. They seemed to have been walking for hours and no one dared to ask how much extra time the flooded tunnels had added to their journey.

To Tom, time was running out.

David felt closer to him now than he ever had. Tom sensed his presence almost as though his son walked along beside him. He didn’t know if David’s presence was real or something being conjured up by his guilty mind, but he took strength from the sensation and used it to stop his legs from buckling under him.

He prayed his son was all right.

When David had been a tiny baby, Tom used to check on him constantly during the night and pretty much any time the boy slept. He’d been so afraid that this tiny person would stop breathing and his life would change forever. Even when David had grown bigger and stronger, when he had started to walk and developed his own likes and dislikes, even then Tom had been filled with fear. If he woke up in the morning without being woken by the boy’s cries or chattering, the stupid, irrational fear that David had died in his sleep clutched at his heart.

Now the fear was with him constantly.

Tom believed a lack of control created the fear, the idea that no matter what he did or how he reacted, some other more powerful force would make the decision of whether his child lived or died. He’d been plagued by that fear when David was strong and healthy, so what chance did he have now?

He knew he would never be able to control his own future, no one had that power, but right now he hated having so many other people telling him what to do. Everyone else seemed more in control of his life than he was.

Up ahead, Sky stopped in the small tunnel.

She faced the curved wall of the tunnel, her hands splayed, feeling her way around in the dim torchlight. An archway had been bricked up in a different coloured material—grey breezeblock as opposed to red brick—and she started to kick at the wall with her small foot.

“Piece of shit,” she spat when none of the blocks refused to budge.

Otto did nothing to help, so Tom squeezed around him and started kicking the bricks with his sole. The blocks were badly cemented, a rushed job, and he felt them shift beneath the impact.

He kicked once, twice, three times, and the bricks moved.

He heard the concrete crumbling from the wall, chunks falling to the ground on the other side.

Otto stood resolutely to one side, making no move to help. Billy pushed past Samantha. Tom saw Otto flinch, but even as Billy helped Tom kick, the big man made no move to help.

“I’ve never been this way,” Sky said, stepping aside, allowing the men to kick the wall down. “I hope I’ve got my bearings right. I think it will lead to maintenance pipes for the reservoir, but I can’t be sure.”

Tom shook his head in amazement. “This place is like a maze.”

Several of the breezeblocks fell through and Tom leant through with his torch. Things scuttled across the walls, out of the light—things with hard, black bodies and sharp, jointed legs. A shiver ran down Tom’s spine and he tried not to think about them.

The space was little more than a tube. They would need to get on their hands and knees and crawl through.

Billy started pulling more of the breezeblocks away, widening the hole.

“You’re sure you know where this goes?” Tom asked.

Sky gave him the same look she seemed to favour only for him. “No. Didn’t I say I’ve not been this way before? Strangely enough, I haven’t experienced the whole ‘flooded and electrified tunnel’ thing before.”

Tom put his hands up in defence. “Okay, okay. I only asked.”

She took a slow, deep breath in through her nose as if restraining her emotions before having to speak to him again. “Most of these tunnels are joined together by crawl spaces that are used if a tunnel collapsed or got blocked for some reason. Obviously, a flood would count as one of those reasons.”

Tom nodded and Sky continued.

“The tunnels are joined so if people get trapped at a lower level, they’ve got some way of getting back to the top again.”

“But don’t we want to head down?”

Again she gave him an exasperated look. “Tunnels aren’t one way—you can go up as well as down.”

Even he couldn’t blame Sky for being annoyed with him at that stupid comment. It wasn’t one of his finer moments.

Samantha nudged him out of the way, edging around him, and peered into the dark hole they had created. “We’ve really got to go in there?” she said, her voice shaking with nerves.

Sky turned to Samantha and for the first time Tom saw some compassion in her eyes.

“You don’t have to, Samantha. This isn’t your fight; you can turn around and go back if you want.”

She gave a small laugh and Tom finally understood how scared she was.

“On my own?”

Tom wanted to offer to take her back, wanted it so desperately the words sat on the end of his tongue, willing themselves to come out. But he couldn’t. His commitment was only to one person in this whole thing; he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted. Yet still he felt responsible. Samantha wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t gotten so involved with David and his family. He had to remind himself that Samantha was already involved in this thing before David even got sick.

“Someone could go back with you” he managed. “What about Billy?”

Billy said nothing, but Samantha shook her head. “I’m not going to be responsible for breaking up the group. I came along to try to help, not ruin this for everyone else.”

Tom looked at Otto, half-expecting him to say something encouraging about Billy going back, considering he had tried to leave him behind only a couple of hours earlier, but Otto still said nothing. Tom frowned. Jo’s death seemed to have affected him worse than anyone else. Ever since it happened, he’d been sullen and moody. Tom could only guess he held himself responsible for her death, that he was chastising himself for not pulling her out of the water a moment sooner or that he should have paid more attention and noticed when she had gone back to Billy. The big man seemed defeated and the air of dictatorship that had left such a bad taste in Tom’s mouth earlier had completely disappeared.

He noticed something else strange about the big man; Bugs was missing. The animal that had been such a constant, if not pleasant, feature on Otto’s shoulder was nowhere to be seen.

Samantha stepped back from the hole. “I’m just not good with tight spaces.” She laughed nervously, considering what they had already been through.

“You’ll be okay,” Sky told her. “Otto and I will be out front and Tom and Billy will be behind you. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

Billy had been lurking in the background until this point. He was another person who seemed to have been knocked by Jo’s sudden death, but now he stepped forward.

“How long will it take until we are back in the sewer tunnels?” he asked.

Sky shrugged. “I’d like to say an hour, but I really don’t know. Could be more, could be a lot less.”

“An hour?” Samantha’s hushed voice echoed everyone’s thoughts. Even ten minutes crawling through those claustrophobic tunnels would feel like too long.

“And there is no other way?” asked Billy.

“Not that I know of. But we’ll never get where we need to be if we stick to these tunnels. We need to go deeper. If we stay in these, we’re just going to come right out the other end.”

Samantha took a deep breath. “Okay. I can do this. If I freak out, just remind me of the yoga classes I took last year; breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth.”

Sky turned to Otto. “Are you ready?”

Otto would probably find it hardest in the tunnel. Like a tall man on an aeroplane, he would be the one to find it the biggest squeeze and the most claustrophobic. But the hole had been built for men—big, hard working men—and the chance of him or any of the others actually getting stuck was slim.

The psychological fear was more of a problem.

Chapter 15

MANY YEARS AGO, when Tom was still in school, he’d learnt about a type of underground rodent called a naked mole-rat. As the name suggested, they were completely bald with wrinkly pink bodies and big pointy teeth. The animals lived underground in colonies, dug tunnels, and were basically blind. They ran along the tunnels sensing their way, climbing over the top of one another if they met and didn’t have room to pass.

The wretched animals came to mind as Tom crawled on his hands and knees through the narrow, pitch black tunnel. In fact, calling the space a ‘tunnel’ was generous. The thing they moved through was little more than a large pipe. He heard the people in front of and behind him breathing heavily as they crawled through the dark. Though all individuals, they were joined together, each dependent on the other. If one of them were to fall, to stop moving, those behind would be stuck.

Tom couldn’t even guess how long they’d been crawling for, ten minutes or an hour. All he had was the repetitive motion of putting one hand over the other and moving his now painful knees on the hard stone. There was none of the easy banter that had accompanied them earlier, nothing to relieve the tension or fear.

With Otto silent and sullen, the job of leadership had fallen to Sky. Though she clearly had an attitude, it was more ‘Trust me or don’t; see if I care’ as opposed to Otto’s, ‘Do as I say or regret it.’

“You okay, Samantha?” Tom asked in a half-whisper. His voice sounded too loud and awkward, but he wanted to break the monotonous silence.

“Hanging in there,” came the breathless reply. She sounded like she was farther away than right in front of him, something to do with the acoustics of the pipe-like tunnel he guessed. “I’m pretty tired though,” she added.

“Yeah, me too.”

Tom continued to place one hand in front of the other, dragging his knees against the cold, rough stone. He had little choice but to hang his head and his neck was starting to ache. If he tried to lift his head, he would hit the back of it against the ceiling. He twisted his neck from side to side, trying to loosen the muscles.

“Hey, Sky?” he called out, trying to make his voice as cheerful as possible so as not to piss her off. “Any idea how much further we’ve got?”

For a moment she didn’t answer.

“Sky?” he prompted. “I hope you’re still up there?”

In response, she stopped suddenly; causing each of them collided with the backside of the person up front.

“Of course I’m here,” she snapped back. “I just get a bit sick of stupid fucking questions.”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I was only asking.”

“Yeah, well I don’t know, do I? As I said before, I’ve never been down this way.”

Samantha piped up, sounding tired and shaky. “How about an educated guess, Sky?”

Sky softened at the other woman’s voice. Not many people could be angry with Samantha.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Another entrance from the sewer tunnels should be coming up soon, but there’s no point in going back into them. Even if the water has all flowed through by now, the nature of water is to head downwards, which is also the direction we need to head in. The chances are the entrance to the Underlife is going to be flooded, so we need to find another way in.”

“I don’t care which way we get in as long as we can get out of here as quickly as possible,” said Samantha. “I can’t stand the thought of being stuck in this tunnel for much longer. I’m starting to get seriously claustrophobic.”

Murmurs of agreement from the others filled the space and Sky sighed in both frustration and exasperation.

“We can try to get out at the next exit if that’s what everyone wants, but I can’t promise we’re not just going to have to turn around and come back again. Also, if the water hasn’t run through for some reason, it could still be electrified and we might drop right into it.”

Everyone grew silent, horrible memories of what happened to Jo still painfully close to the surface.

“We’ll do whatever you think is best,” Billy said, the first words he’d spoken in a long time.

Tom expected Otto to argue with him, but the other man stayed silent. Tom suspected that the wrong decision the other man made earlier must have left him doubting his own ability to make the right choice. He had given up responsibility by simply not making a call—right or wrong. He was leaving fate in their hands.

“Okay, okay,” Sky said, relenting. “We’ll try, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. We’ll reach the exit in ten minutes, maybe less.”

A collective sigh of relief filled the tunnel and Sky started moving again. Slowly, they all followed, each hoping this part of their journey wouldn’t last for much longer.

“If the sewer tunnel has cleared,” Billy said, “I suggest we take a break. I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m knackered and starving.”

Otto spoke up. “We don’t have time. We need to keep moving.”

He sounded strained and Tom found himself feeling sorry for the other man, but he didn’t agree. They needed to rest. The past few hours had been both physically and emotionally exhausting.

“I’m with Billy,” Tom said, speaking up. “I have no idea how long it’s been since we last ate, but my stomach is telling me it’s been hours.”

In response, his stomach cramped with an empty ache.

As she’d predicted, after ten minutes or so, Sky stopped again.

“We’re here,” she called, the change in the acoustics of the chamber affecting the sound of her voice. “I’ll go down and check whether the water has passed through. I can’t hear anything, but if the water’s come to a standstill below us then I wouldn’t.”

“Be careful,” Samantha told her.

Sky said nothing, but as she was about to grab the top of the ladder to climb down, a terrifying thought speared through Tom’s head.

“Wait!” he yelled.

She froze.

“If the water hasn’t passed through and the electricity is still live, might the ladder be as well?”

Sky paused, her hand above the metal.

No one spoke as they realised what she had almost done.

“Oh, God,” Samantha breathed.

“Billy?”

Sky had only spoken his name, but the solitary word was filled with questions. Why had he not predicted this possibility? Why had he not warned her of the danger?

Billy spoke up. “We’re a long way from the source now. The chances of electricity still running through the water are pretty slim.”

Sky’s eyes widened at him and she ran a hand through her short hair. “Well, I’d rather not be the one who finds out.”

“Billy, how do we know if the ladder is electrified?” asked Tom.

“The easiest way is to find out the tunnel below is still filled with water.”

“That’s no good,” said Tom. “We can’t see without touching the metal bars of the ladder.”

“Throw something metal at the ladder,” Billy said. “If it sparks, then we’ll know.”

“Here,” Samantha said, reaching around her throat. “Use this.”

From around her neck, she unhooked a chain holding a silver crucifix and handed it to Sky. Sky took the jewellery, her hand shaking.

With bated breath, she held the necklace above the metal of the ladder and let go. The chain hit the top rung and hung for a moment before sliding off and dropping into the tunnel below.

There was no sign of any sparks or any sound of the necklace hitting water.

“I think it’s all right,” Sky said with relief.

However, it was still with a tentative hand that she reached out to take hold of the top rung. The others held their breath around her, no one believing it was safe until they had seen so for themselves.

When her hand made contact and nothing happened, the atmosphere in the tunnel relaxed. Sky pulled herself over the edge, her feet found the rungs below, and she descended into the shadows.

Above her, the others waited.

“All clear,” she called up.

One by one, they climbed down into the much larger tunnel. The stone floor was still wet, but the dark torrent of water that had claimed Jo’s life had passed through, probably taking her body with it.

Tom took his turn to climb down the ladder and jumped the last couple of rungs to the ground.

With a groan of pleasure, he kinked his neck in a circle, releasing the muscles. He stretched his arms and legs, relishing the space. Comparatively, this tunnel was huge, but the temperature had dropped as though the water had chilled it like a giant freezer. Tom shivered and pulled his jacket closer around him. Images of Jo’s body being carried down through the tunnel haunted him and he knew from the silence of the others that they were having exactly the same thoughts.

“So what now?” he asked.

“Another nook should be a bit further up,” Sky said. “I can’t promise it will be dry, but at least we can sit for a while and take a break.”

Samantha bent down and scooped her necklace up from where it had fallen on the tunnel floor. She put the chain back around her neck and fumbled with the catch, almost dropping it again.

“Here, let me,” Tom offered, taking the necklace from her. He swept her long hair away from her neck and hooked the two ends together.

She placed her hand on the crucifix, pressing the symbol to her skin, just above her heart. “Thank you.”

Tom smiled. “Anytime.”

The others had already begun to move down the tunnel.

Tom followed the group with weary legs and aching muscles. He wanted to stay positive, but doing so was getting harder by the minute. The deeper beneath ground they went, the more his resolve seemed to dwindle. At a guess, he figured they were at least eight or ten stories below the city. The sound of the trains racing through the tunnels had long since disappeared and with it went the last of his connection with the outside world. All he knew was that the deeper they went, the farther it took him from David and the farther it was for them to get back out again.

After about another ten minutes of walking, the group came across another catwalk cut into the stone wall. The cubby wasn’t going to be comfortable, but at least they could stop and rest.

Weary and miserable, they hoisted themselves up into the nook.

Billy got a small camp stove going and everyone leaned in, hands held out, grateful for the extra heat. Sky pulled open her own pack and produced a can opener and opened a couple of cans of processed pork meat and beans the others had been carrying. The cans went straight on the stove and the simple but mouth-watering scent of food cooking filled the small space.

They ate in near silence. Sky sat alone, as did Billy and Otto. Used to the uncomfortable surroundings, some of them slept, getting whatever rest was available to them.

Tom stayed beside Samantha, the pair sharing Tom’s jacket to sit on, trying to keep the damp away from their skin.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She turned to him and forced a smile. “You don’t have to keep asking me if I’m okay.”

“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head, embarrassed. “I guess I’m so used to looking after someone, I don’t know how to switch off.”

“Anyway, I think I should be the one asking if you’re okay.”

“I’d be lying if I said yes, but I guess you know that already. I just can’t stop thinking about David, about whether I’m doing the right thing. Being away from him right now is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Everything you’re doing is for the right reason, Tom.”

“So you keep saying.”

He picked at the leftover pork from an open can. He considered putting the food in his mouth, but didn’t seem to have either the energy or the appetite.

“Why hasn’t the Shadows come after us?” he asked, dropping the meat back into the can and wiping his hands on his jeans. “Why hasn’t it tracked us down and infected and killed us?”

Sam gave a gentle shrug and shook her head. “I have no idea. Perhaps it’s not so simple.”

“But don’t you think it’s strange? Not so long ago, that black stuff was practically chasing us down the tunnels, but, since Billy went in the water, we haven’t heard or seen anything.”

“Maybe we threw the Shadows off our scent.” She sighed. “I think we need to be thankful for whatever breaks we’ve been given and try not to question them.”

“There are a lot of things I’m trying not to question. Like how all these people have ended up down here. I don’t understand how so many intelligent, normal, people are living their lives underground.”

“No one down here has a happy story, Tom,” she said. “Most people have drug or alcohol abuse problems, but they didn’t always start that way.”

Tom looked at the people around him. From the holes in their clothes and hair that clearly hadn’t seen a professional hairdresser for a long time, if ever, he could tell they were vagrants. But they were relatively clean, and more, they seemed sane and sober.

“What about Jo?” he asked, remembering the large woman with the weather-beaten, but kind face. “Why was she down here?”

Samantha bit her lower lip and sniffed the back tears that threatened. “Mental health problems. She was married, had a job—a normal life—but she lost a baby, cot death, I think, and she couldn’t handle it. She left her husband, left her life, and ended up coming down here and finding another family, one that didn’t remind her of her dead child.”

“God, poor Jo.” It broke his heart to think he had so much in common with the woman who had just lost her life. One thing Tom could empathise with was someone grieving for a child.

He glanced over at Billy who slept with his head resting on his bag.

“What about Billy?” he asked.

“He doesn’t talk about his old life much, but, from what I understand, he never stood much of a chance. His mother was an alcoholic and spent time walking the streets to get money for booze.”

“What? You mean like a prostitute?” Tom couldn’t help being shocked.

“I told you he didn’t like to talk about it—you can understand why. He spent time in and out of care and then started messing around with drugs. It’s a shame because he’s a smart guy. If he had been given a decent chance in life, he could have made something of himself.”

“But he’s clean now though?”

“Yeah, as far as I know.”

“So, why doesn’t he try to go back up? You said he has experience with technology and he is smart, so why doesn’t he try?”

“He did once, met a girl, had a proper flat and everything, but then she left him and he went back to his old ways. You see, down here they have a proper support system, however dysfunctional it might seem. They’ve each got a place and a function. They take care of each other.”

“Yeah, I guess I can see that for myself.” He paused and lowered his voice. “Do you think Otto is all right? He seems strange since Jo died.”

“He’s blatantly not okay,” Samantha said, lowering her mouth to Tom’s shoulder so she wouldn’t be heard. “I think he’s just shaken. He needs some time and some space. Try not to worry. You’ve got enough to think about.”

He smiled. “Thanks, Sam. I think I would be losing the plot right now if you weren’t here.”

She returned the smile and their eyes locked. Tom felt the frisson of heat race between them—an ancient instinct, as old as time itself, still alive and well hundreds of feet beneath the streets of London.

Samantha glanced away. She closed her eyes and rested the back of her head against the stone wall.

Tom studied her face for a moment, the line of her jaw, the delicate turn up of her nose, and the fullness of her mouth. Her beauty was a stark contrast to the poverty and pain of the other people around them.

He couldn’t help comparing Samantha to Abby. After many years of marriage, he couldn’t help seeing Abby differently. Even though he still appreciated how attractive his wife was, the honeymoon period of their marriage was long over. But Tom knew that was life and their relationship now was about so much more than obsessive passion. He could look at someone like Samantha and admire her, but he knew it wasn’t real. In Abby, he’d found someone he admired, but not just because she was gorgeous. After all the years they had spent together, he now admired her resilience, her ability to love and nurture their son, her generosity with her time, and how she couldn’t help but try to look after him, even when she was mad at him.

These were the reason’s he wouldn’t betray her, even though a deep, secret part of him longed to taste Samantha’s mouth.

Chapter 16

AN HOUR OR more had passed since they’d stopped and Tom was getting restless. Of course they needed to rest, but time ticked past like David’s death watch. Samantha, Sky, and Billy all slept curled up on coats and bags like people stuck in a strange airport after their flights had been cancelled. Otto had taken to walking up and down the tunnel, muttering to himself. Tom suspected he was looking for his pet rat, but he hadn’t heard any of the telltale sounds of sharp claws or squeaks.

The man’s angst made Tom uneasy.

Samantha moaned in her sleep and suddenly jerked herself awake. She blinked her eyes open and looked around in the dim light still emitted from a torch which had been left on. She noticed Tom watching and rubbed her hand across her eyes.

“Bad dream,” she said, giving her shoulders a shake as if to shrug off the dream.

“Tell me about it,” he asked rhetorically, remembering the years of nightmares that had haunted his sleep. “I can’t help feeling like we need to get moving.”

She pushed herself upright. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Sky slept curled up on her side, her head on her bag. Billy was sleeping on the other side of them in almost exactly the same position. The two were like bookends on a shelf.

Gently, Tom and Samantha shook the other two awake. They sat up, dark marks beneath their bloodshot eyes, appearing more exhausted than before they’d stopped, but that would pass.

“So let’s move,” Sky said with a stretch.

With heads and bodies still thick with sleep, they gathered their stuff. Tom wanted to pick up the empty cans and take them with him. Littering—even down here where no one would ever come across their mess—seemed wrong. He reached down and picked one up, but Sky gave him a little frown and shook her head.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “We need to carry less weight, not more.”

Tom let the can fall from his fingers and it clattered to the stone floor. He told himself he would pick them up on the way out, though deep down he knew the chances of that ever happening were slim.

The tunnel continued to slope downwards.

The group remained fragmented. Sky walked ahead, with Billy following close behind. Tom and Samantha walked side by side, their hands not quite touching. A sullen Otto brought up the rear. He trudged along, his head hung and his feet dragging as though his head and limbs had grown too heavy for the rest of his body. Bugs the rat was still nowhere to be seen.

The ground remained wet beneath foot—the lack of sunlight or warmth meant the water hadn’t dried up. The tunnel was still freezing cold and they were all grateful for the extra sweaters and jackets they carried in their bags.

After about an hour, Sky pulled to a stop.

Something wasn’t right.

A small stretch of water lay ahead. The level started shallow, but, because of the slope of the tunnel, grew deeper and deeper until the water reached the tunnel roof.

“Oh, crap,” said Sky. “This shouldn’t be here.”

They lined up at the water’s edge, their torchlight glinting off the black surface.

“The water from the reservoir?” Tom asked.

Sky nodded. “That’s right.”

“Why has the water pooled here?” asked Samantha.

“The tunnel ends a bit farther on,” said Sky. “There’s a drop hole right before the rock closes in that take us to the next level—to the start of the Underlife. I don’t know why the water didn’t drain through the drop hole.”

“Something must be blocking it,” Tom said, his stomach sinking.  Each time they were making progress, something seemed to be put in their way. It was as though the tunnels themselves were trying to prevent them from completing their journey. He didn’t want to think too hard about what might be blocking the hole and he hoped none of the others would want to discuss it either. He had a feeling none of them would like the answer.

“We’re going to need to swim,” said Sky, pulling him from his thoughts.

“What?” Tom said, making sure he’d heard right.

“It’s the only way. There are other entrances to the Underlife, but we simply don’t have the time to go back. Someone needs to swim down to the drop hole and shift whatever is blocking it.”

“But what if we find a huge boulder or something else unmovable? What do we do then?” He couldn’t hide the panic in his voice. The time he’d sensed dripping by had suddenly turned into a flood.

“We’ll have to deal with that if it happens.”

“I’d go,” said Billy, “but I’ve only just dried out from my last dip and I’m still fucking cold. I don’t think my body could take another hit.”

Tom looked to Otto, who said nothing; he just stared at the ground. Tom turned his attention to the two women. Neither of them could be expected to do it.

“I’ll go,” he offered, reluctantly. “Whatever is blocking the hole might be heavy. I’m stronger than you two.”

The water was so dark it looked like oil.  If he was going to do this, he would need to use his torch underwater to see where he was going. Maybe the water wouldn’t be as deep as it looked? Maybe the tunnel got lower, rather than the water getting deeper?

Tom didn’t want to go underwater. He didn’t think he had swum underwater with his eyes open since he was a child. He hoped he would be able to see something; he hoped the water wouldn’t hurt his eyes—stupid, childish fears.

“Are you sure?” Samantha asked.

Tom shrugged. “Do I have much choice?”

“You’re better off getting out of your clothes,” she said, with an apologetic smile. “That way, if you managed to unblock the hole, you’ll at least have some dry clothes to get into afterwards.”

Billy nodded. “She’s right, mate. Take it from me—you don’t want to wander around in wet clothes. It’s cold enough down here.”

Of course they were both right. Feeling absurdly self-conscious, he pulled off his t-shirt and started to unbutton his jeans. He was only too aware of the extra pounds he had acquired over the recent months. He tried to suck in his stomach, but he couldn’t do much about the love handles hanging over the back of his shorts.

Dressed only in his underwear, he picked up the torch and stood at the edge of the water. He shivered violently due to the cold and he hadn’t even gotten in the water yet. His stomach churned with nerves.

He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to get cold and wet and he didn’t want to go into water that was so dark he couldn’t see what lay beneath the surface. But the trade-off between going in the water and looking like a total loser in front of Samantha and Sky came down on the side of the women.

Tom held the torch in one trembling hand and waded into the water. As he had expected, the water was ice-cold and his body reacted instantly. His heart rate sped up, his muscles tightened, and his balls retracted into his body with a sickening ache. And he was only thigh deep. If he had to submerge his head, he thought his brain might freeze.

The water rapidly became deeper and Tom knew his fear would come true. He didn’t think he was anywhere near the blockage yet and already the water had hit his chest, restricting his lungs. He struggled to breathe and had to consciously drag air into his lungs to stop himself from taking small, hyperventilating breaths. He supposed it wouldn’t matter in a moment; as soon as he went under he wouldn’t need to take another breath for at least a minute, if he could even stay under that long.

He glanced back and shined the torch so he could see the others waiting for him at the edge of the water. They all squinted in the sudden light and Samantha waved.

Tom took a deep breath and turned back. The water was now up to his shoulders and just ahead the pool hit the stone roof of the tunnel. He was going to have to swim and he was going to have to go under the water to do it.

He braced himself. Every part of him shouted, “Don’t do it! Don’t do it!” but he had to. He took another deep breath, filling his lungs best he could in spite of the cold, and plunged beneath the icy water.

The cold pressed upon his temples and pierced his brain. He felt as though his internal organs should start shutting down, but they didn’t.

Tom pushed off the floor with the soles of his feet and swam.

Water engulfed his ears. The movement of his own limbs in the otherwise still water filled his ears, hollow and echoing. Cold water forced its way up his nostrils, hurting his head. Though his mouth was clamped shut, he tasted the stale water deep in the back of his throat.

With the torch in one hand, his swimming style was awkward and ungainly, but he propelled himself forward and forced his eyes open. At first, everything was just a black blur, but then he caught the fractured beam of light from the torch and focused in on it. Things floated in the beam, specks of dust and larger blobs he couldn’t identify.

He felt himself floating back up and fought against the buoyancy of his own body. The back of his head knocked against the stone of the roof of the tunnel and claustrophobic panic filled him. He kicked away, pushing himself deeper. Desperate thoughts ran through his mind. What if I can’t get back again before I run out of air? What if I drown?

Tom shined the torch ahead and saw the tunnel had come to an end. The exit must be somewhere below him, along with whatever was blocking it.

The cold was affecting his body; his arms and legs growing numb, his heart rate slowing. He would end up with hypothermia if he stayed down too long.

His lungs burned and he fought the urge to turn around and get the hell out of there. He needed to get this done. If he turned around now, he’d never convince himself to come back again.

Tom used the stone wall to pull himself down, shining the torch down.

With horror, he saw what blocked the hole.

Her hair floated in the water like fronds of seaweed. Both of her legs were wedged down the hole, her torso floating upward.

It was Jo.

Immediately, he baulked—panic and disgust rushing through him at the thought of being in the water with a dead body.

At least she’s face down. The ridiculous thought went through his head. Then he realised he was going to have to move her. He would need to touch her.

With air bursting in his lungs, he had no time to think.

Tom swam down and grabbed the back of her shirt. He pulled, but the body didn’t budge. She was jammed in the hole—enough at least to stop the water pouring through into whatever lay beneath. Because she was such a big woman, she had blocked the hole completely. Anyone else would have been washed straight through with the force of the water.

Tom let go of her shirt and reached down and wrapped his fingers around her thick wrist. At least his fingers were so numb he couldn’t feel the waxy cold of her skin as he pulled. For a moment, she didn’t move, but then he felt a shifting as her body lifted.

Her other arm flailed through the water in a terrible slow motion and slowly she flipped over. Her face glowed white in the torchlight, her eyes blank and staring. But she was at least partially free from the hole and Tom felt the pull of the water surrounding him as it poured through the gap.

I need to breathe. Oh, God, I need to breathe.

But he couldn’t let go of Jo and swim back or she would only fill the hole again. She was too heavy for him to swim against the flow of the water with her body. All he could do was fight the urge to take a big gulp of air that would only fill his lungs with water, and hope what water remained would quickly drain away.

The seconds dragged out like torture and he screamed in his head, fighting every urge to take the breath that would kill him. Then he realised the downward pressure of the water had decreased.  Above him, a space appeared between the rock ceiling and the water. It was now only inches above his head and he let go of Jo. With desperation, he powered to the top and burst through the water.

Tom gasped for air, his face pressed into the gap between the water and rock. He took loud, harsh breaths, gulping down the air. The oxygen hit his lungs and he coughed in sharp barks. The sound echoed around the confined space.

The world went grey around him and he thought he would pass out. Then he heard Samantha’s voice calling out to him, asking him if he was okay. He heard the worry in her voice and he came to.

He tried to speak, but the air seemed to catch in his throat. He choked, and coughed again, his throat raw and his lungs burning.

“I’m okay,” he managed. “I’m okay.” He said it again to himself as he realised it was true.

Tom’s fears of Jo blocking the hole again went unfounded. Slowly, the water drained away and Tom half-swam, half-stumbled out of the water. Samantha held her jacket out for him. Too cold to try to be polite and decline the offer, he let her use it to rub him down, his whole body shaking.

“You have to keep moving,” she told him. “I know you are probably exhausted and all you want to do is curl up on the floor, but you need to get your blood flow going and your heart rate up. Jump up and down. Do star jumps or run on the spot—anything.”

His arms were pulled in tight against his chest and his whole body shook fiercely. He looked at her wearily and saw the worry on her face. She wasn’t joking. Reluctant, Tom forced himself to run on the spot and jumped up and down a few times. He was too cold to even be self-conscious.

“Can I have my clothes back now?” he asked when his heart rate started to pick up.

He stripped off his wet shorts and pulled his clothes on. Immediately, his own body’s reactions warmed him up and he started to feel better.

He turned to the others to discover they all stared past him, their attention diverted by something else.

The water had now completely drained away and they were left with the thing that had created the blockage.

“Oh, God,” said Samantha, her hand over her mouth.

“Jo?” Billy’s voice was strangely hopeful, as though he thought there might be a chance she was still alive.

Tom didn’t know what to say. For some reason he felt guilty, as though he was responsible for Jo being there.

No one moved. Once again the group was complete.

Chapter 17

A CONSTANT, STEADY beep dragged Abby from sleep.

David was coding.

She leapt to her feet, her hands at her mouth. Before she even got the chance to scream for help, doctors rushed in with a crash cart.

“Oh, no. Oh, please no.” Abby’s voice was barely a whisper. The world felt like it was falling away from her, the floor disappearing from beneath her feet, the walls rushing backwards. All of a sudden, she was caught in the middle of a nightmare she couldn’t interact with as she watched the doctors and nurses hustle around her son. She couldn’t believe this was happening, couldn’t stand for it to be true. All of the old feelings she’d experienced when they had first found out about David’s illness ran through her. Why him? Why her little boy?

“What’s happening to him?” she begged, trying to get the attention of the doctors, the nurses, anyone. But they ignored her, focusing their attention on the small, lifeless boy on the bed

One of the nurses said something Abby didn’t understand and pulled David’s nightshirt up, exposing his narrow pale chest. The doctor placed the paddles against his skin.

“Clear,” he ordered.

Everyone stepped back and electricity blasted through David’s body, lifting his fragile frame momentarily from the bed.

Abby hid her face in her hands and wept.

There was a pause, a gap in time where everyone stopped, concentrating only on the monitor, praying for the flat-line to rise in a peak, praying the continuous beep would break, but it didn’t.

“Again,” said the doctor. “And give me a shot of epi.”

He hit David again and Abby felt the jolt of electricity with every fibre of her body, her heart crying out in pain for her son.

This time, the line jumped and so did the beep. Abby cried out with both fear and relief. Her legs gave way beneath her and she sank to the floor.

She wouldn’t be able to carry on if David died. She would just stop existing. She couldn’t imagine being able to do ‘normal’ things—eat, wash, speak. She would lie in bed and wait for the day when she would join him. The pain would be too great. Eventually, she would waste away and then nature would take its course. After all, what could be more unnatural than a childless mother?

Abby felt a gentle hand on her arm and looked up, her vision blurred with tears, to see one of the nurses trying to help her up. She allowed the woman to pull her to her feet and then leant upon her as though she were the sick one. She wiped her eyes and allowed herself to be supported to David’s bedside. His eyes remained closed, his skin white, his cheeks sunken.

The sight broke her heart.

Another hand weighted her shoulder and she turned to find the paediatrician—a young, male doctor—standing behind her.

“Mrs Young?”

She stared at him, her eyes wide. “What’s happening to him? Surely this shouldn’t be happening? The leukaemia wasn’t this far advanced.”

The doctor pressed his lips together, his gaze shifting to one side of Abby’s head.

“David is in a coma, Mrs Young. We don’t understand the reason for his sudden decline just yet. His immune system is too weak to fight against whatever infection he’s got and this is his body’s way of shutting down so it can concentrate on fighting.”

She was bewildered. “What is the infection? Can’t you give him something to help him?”

The doctor shook his head. “We haven’t been able to isolate the infection yet, but we’re working on it.”

“What does that mean? Do you even know what’s wrong with him?”

“I’m sorry, but no. We don’t know what the problem is yet.”

Abby stared at him, aghast. “How can you not know? Isn’t that your job? If you don’t even know what’s wrong with him, how the hell are you going to make him better again?”

Rage bubbled up inside of her, wiping away the pain, and she grasped onto it like a drowning woman to a life raft.

The doctor had obviously seen this reaction before and showed no sign of being riled by her outburst.

“Have you been anywhere tropical recently?” he asked her. “Maybe South America? Somewhere like that.”

She shook her head in amazement. “No! My son has cancer! Do you really think we’ve been jetting off on holiday?”

“Perhaps you went somewhere before the cancer, Mrs Young. We need to know these things. It’s possible David has some kind of parasite that is affecting his brain.”

Her shoulders slumped. “Our last holiday was to Euro Disney in Paris and that was a year ago now. David has never been out of Europe.”

The doctor nodded in reassurance. “Okay. We’re going to order a CT scan and run some more tests. We’ll do everything we can to find out what’s happening to David.”

He left, a couple of nurses hurrying after him, and Abby pulled a chair up close beside David’s bed. She took his small hand in hers and pressed her face against his thin shoulder. She felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he took shallow breaths. Silent tears ran down her face, dampening the sheet he lay beneath. She wished Tom was with her. She longed to have a solid shoulder to lean on, to have someone else ask the difficult questions, to allow someone else to take the burden, if only for a minute.

But of course, even if Tom was there, this was a burden Abby would never be able to pass on. Unless David recovered, she would bear this pain for the rest of her life.

“Come back to me, Davey”, she whispered to her son. “I love you so much; please come back.”

* * *

DAVID RAN DOWN the tunnel, his feet splashing in the filthy water that lay stagnant in the bottom of the pipe. The hollow sound of his own panting breath echoed down the tunnel and filled his ears.

Though some part of him still lay in the forcefully bright hospital room, David’s consciousness was back in the tunnels. Back in the place the darkness consuming him came from.

The Shadows. He knew its name now—or at least a name others called it by, though it didn’t think of its self as a thing that could be named. An ancient thing, it came from a time before words were even used.

He hid in the place he thought the Shadows would last think to look. This place was the Shadows home and though David found himself running through these tunnels, the Shadows didn’t sense him here. David couldn’t be sure, but he thought the Shadows assumed he was trapped, receding inside of himself in his hospital bed.

In some ways, the Shadows was right. But he’d gone to another level now, a depth so deep he hadn’t even know this place existed. He’d retracted somewhere deep inside himself, hiding from the thing watching him. The thing taking over him. The thing waiting for him to die.

David didn’t understand how, but he no longer wore his special hospital pyjamas. Instead, he wore his favourite trainers, jeans, and a sweatshirt. Water soaked through the soles of his trainers, making his feet squelch around inside, and splashed up the back of his jeans, weighing them down so they slapped around his legs.

He never even considered the possibility of this being a dream. Nothing felt more real, running through these cold, dark tunnels. The cold pinched his skin and he smelled damp permeating the air.

Despite the tunnels being dark, David was able to see. A strange type of fluorescent light emitted from the walls, lighting the way with a strange, green glow. To David, the stuff on the walls looked like the goo in a toy he had gotten one Christmas. He’d needed to add water and the alien inside had filled with the same sort of green goo now glowing on the walls.

He was grateful for the light; the thought of being down here in the pitch black was terrifying.

David continued to run. He enjoyed the sensation of strength in his legs, the steady thump of his heart, the deep contraction and expansion of his lungs. So much time had passed since he’d been able to run like this. Recently, simply getting out of bed to use the bathroom left him exhausted.

Ahead, the tunnel split into two.

Without even thinking, he took the tunnel veering to the left. Though he enjoyed feeling normal again, another, more uncomfortable sensation niggled at him. He felt like he was looking for something, but couldn’t remember what—like walking into a room, intent on getting something, only for the object to disappear from his mind.

It wasn’t the Shadows he searched for, but something else. Yet somehow he found himself drawn towards the Shadows; the dark seething mass at its epicentre. Though he knew a part hid inside his body, still lying on the hospital bed, far more resided down here. The Shadows could be in so many places all at the same time, but the centre somehow processed all the information and it called to him like a beacon.

David didn’t know how he knew all this, or even how he knew what people called it, but he suspected some kind of telepathy from the part trying to kill him, the part trying to get out.

For the moment, the frightening layered voices that had haunted him had stopped, but he was terrified of them coming back. They seemed to crowd his mind the same way the exhaustion did after he’d gone through a strong bout of chemo. They stopped him thinking clearly and David wondered if that was the reason the Shadows used them.

The whispering voices of all the people it had taken before.

Chapter 18

SINCE TOM VOLUNTEERED to go into the water, his position within the group had changed. Now the others looked to him for leadership. Even Sky had lost the scornful expression she seemed to have favoured only for him and started to take his suggestions seriously.

Between Tom, Billy, and Sky, they carried Jo’s body away from the hole and propped her against the tunnel wall. Each of them felt terrible about abandoning her body, but they told each other they would find a way to get her back out again once this thing was over.

Tom didn’t say what he really thought—that the chances were none of them would make it out again, never mind worrying about dragging Jo’s fifteen stone body out with them.

Despite his earlier protests, he was grateful Samantha had convinced him to shed his clothing before going into the water. He couldn’t imagine trying to move about wearing wet jeans in the freezing cold.

The entrance to the next level wasn’t a hole like the ones he’d dropped through in the London Underground tunnels. Instead, the place he’d pulled Jo’s body from looked more like an oversized animal burrow into the rock.

Now heading up the group, he crouched to slide through the gap in the stone floor the water had flowed through. It wasn’t a sheer drop; instead the ground beneath his feet sloped downwards.

Tom slowly edged his way down, using his hands on the walls either side to brace himself. Though a tight fit, it at least gave him enough traction to stop himself from simply sliding to the bottom. Trying to push his nerves to the pit of his stomach—unsure of what would be waiting for him down there—he moved deeper into the hole.

The scraping of feet on rock came from behind as one of the others started to make their descent. Suddenly, the scrape turned into a cry of alarm and Tom barely had the chance to think before someone collided into him from behind.

Tom lost both his footing and his grip on the wall, his palms scraping painfully against the rock surface. He panicked and grappled at the walls and the floor, trying to get his footing. In a bundle of limbs, they plummeted down the chute, leaving Tom’s stomach far behind. He had a moment to register that it felt like Billy’s scrawny body entangled with his own, when they both popped out of the bottom. They fell through the air and landed in a heap on a hard stone floor.

“Ouch.” Tom groaned as pain shot up his right side where he’d hit.

Billy moaned in unison beside him.

Sky’s feet appeared from the bottom of the hole and she dropped the six feet Tom and Billy had just fallen. She landed cat-like, with both feet on the ground.

“Hey, are you guys all right?” she asked. “That would have been hell of a—”

She stopped, her attention diverted. Her mouth dropped open and she stared around her.

Samantha jumped down, shortly followed by Otto. Samantha opened her mouth to say something to Tom and Billy still lying on the ground, but then she too noticed Sky staring like a woman who had just seen a long dead relative and she looked up, her eyes widening in surprise.

His fall all but forgotten, Tom got to his feet. He knew he had the same expression of amazement plastered on his face.

They found themselves in another huge cavern, but this one was easily four times the size of the cavern the group camped in the previous night. The stone roof climbed high above, the walls towering over them like a cliff face. But the size wasn’t the only thing catching their attention.

A strange fluorescent light covered the cavern walls.

Tom took a number of shaky steps to the closest wall and ran his forefinger across its surface. Withdrawing his hand, he saw the light had come off on his finger.

He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. He had expected the substance to be slimy like mucus, but instead it was dry and powdery—more like dried spores of a fungi or pollen.

Whatever the stuff was, it gave off enough light to be able to see without the need of their flashlights. One by one, they clicked off their torches, saving the battery life.

The cavern was beautiful.

Tom’s mouth dropped open in awe. Giant stalactites hung from the ceiling. But they were not like normal stalactites. Each one radiated a different colour, shimmering like prisms in sunlight—flashing pinks, blues, and greens. They were beautiful, but lethally sharp.

And that was not all.

A faint hum filled Tom’s ears—a resonance—like a tuning fork. Its pitch changed gradually as though singing. The sound filled the air, but it was not threatening at all. It was gentle and calming.

“What is this place?” he said in hushed tones.

“I’ve heard rumours about it,” said Sky, “but I’ve never been down this far before, that I can remember. From what I’ve heard, it’s the realm that borders what is man-made and what is the real Underlife. From here on in, magic has the power, not science.”

“More magic?”

“Yeah, and not the ‘pulling rabbits out of hats’ kind either. This is nasty stuff.”

“But this place doesn’t feel bad,” said Samantha, turning a full circle, staring up and the ceiling. “If anything it feels kind of... good.”

“Don’t let that fool you. The Underlife will lull you into a false sense of security. Keep your wits about you.”

Absorbed in their surroundings, they separated, wandering around the cavern with their necks craned, staring at the icicle light show happening above their heads. It was enough to steal the thoughts from any sane man’s head, the beauty more majestic and supernatural than even the Northern Lights.

All except Otto who remained crouched on the ground, his bald head in his big hands.

Tom glanced back at him nervously.

Was he still cut up over Jo?

Otto had been so cold after Jo died. He’d seemed detached from everything ever since. Perhaps he was suffering from some kind of post-traumatic stress, but his reaction seemed disproportionate. Even Billy wasn’t acting this way and he probably had more reason than anyone to blame himself. Anyway, these people had lived hard lives and this wouldn’t be the first time they’d experienced terrible things.

He was sure Otto had seen worse in his life.

Tom turned his attention back to the cavern. Something about the far end didn’t look right. He couldn’t figure out what was wrong. The dimensions seemed skewed, as though the ground didn’t stretch far enough to meet the walls.

He frowned. Though battered and bruised from his fall, every muscle aching as though he’d done the hardest workout of his life, he forced his limbs to move and crossed the uneven stone floor of the cavern toward the part that had caught his attention.

His suspicions proved to be correct.

About fifteen feet from the wall, the cavern floor stopped. At the edge, a cliff face fell away into a black void. Beyond the drop, the cavern wall rose out of the dark, reaching and curving upwards to form the rest of the cavern roof.

Cautiously, Tom stood at the edge and peered down. A sheer cliff face dropped into the bowels of the earth.

Once again, he had to remind himself that this place existed somewhere deep beneath the busy streets of London. Images of the city collapsing into this fathomless pit flashed through his mind. People were so scared of terrorist attacks when this deadly drop lay beneath their feet.

A wave of vertigo rushed over him and he stepped back. The last thing he wanted to do was fall.

* * *

TOM WASN’T THE only one who had noticed Otto’s strange behaviour. Samantha had known him for a long time and though she didn’t always agree with the methods he used to get what he wanted, he had always been a good leader. Even if the things he did upset individuals, he always acted for the group. She didn’t understand why he had suddenly become so withdrawn. He didn’t seem to care anymore.

While the others wandered off to explore more of the cavern, Samantha walked towards him.

He sat with his head in his hands, looking to anyone as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

It must be because of Jo, she thought.

Even so, the explanation didn’t sit right. Otto had seen people die before. The Underlife was a hard world, with violence and death being the norm down here, yet he had never reacted this way before.

Even if he held himself to blame, she didn’t think he was responsible for Jo’s death and she couldn’t watch someone suffering without doing something to try to help.

She reached down to touch his shoulder.

“Hey, are you—”

Before her fingers made contact, Otto leapt away as though she had burnt him.

“Don’t touch me!” For a black man, his face was strangely devoid of colour.

Samantha stared at him in alarm. She barely recognised him. His eyes had the same strange glaze she’d seen in many drug addicts.

“Sorry,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You’ve been acting weird since Jo’s death.”

“It wasn’t me!” he hissed.

“No, I know that. No one is blaming you, Otto.”

“Just stay away from me.”

Hurt and confused, she did as he asked and walked away. She looked around to see if any of the others had noticed his outburst, but they were all absorbed in the place around them, in the strange magic its walls seemed to exude.

Above her head, the stalactites shimmered and shined their pinks and green in the soft hue of the walls. The others had their attention focused on something at the far end of the cavern, peering down at something out of Samantha’s sight.

She began to walk towards them, preferring to be in their company than being so close to Otto. She wasn’t sure she trusted him anymore.

A cracking from high above stopped her dead. The sound was a deep tearing; a rupturing of the stone.

Frowning, she looked up. A deep, jagged line appeared in the cavern roof, rupturing one of the razor-sharp spears directly above her. She stood staring, frozen in place, directly beneath.

Samantha could see what was about to happen like a premonition, yet she found herself unable to move.

Strong hands grabbed her bare wrists, yanking her from her feet, pulling her backwards. For a moment, she flew through the air. Then she hit the ground, all of the air bursting from her lungs, every muscle jarring. Her teeth cracked together, narrowly missing her tongue.

Like an explosion—so loud her ears hurt—the huge icicle shattered where she’d stood only moments before. She cowered on the ground, her hands over her head, as small shards of calcium carbonate hit her skin like shrapnel.

A strange tingling spread through her limbs, like all of her body had fallen asleep and she was getting pins and needles. Was the sensation due to shock? When she’d been pulled out of the way, something had passed through her like a jolt of electricity. Now, her blood felt as though it had been filled with a million buzzing insects, as though it were trying to climb out of her own skin.

She didn’t feel right. In fact, she felt very, very wrong.

Samantha lay on the ground, staring at the shattered stalactite. Blood trickled from where a piece of the stalactite had cut her. It ran down her forehead and dribbled into her eye, creating a red haze over her vision.

Otto was on his knees behind her. Slowly, he lifted his hands in front of his face, staring at them as though they didn’t belong to him. Then he tilted his face to the roof and roared like an animal in pain.

Chapter 19

AT THE SOUND of the roof fracturing, Tom’s head snapped around just as one of the huge stalactites hit the ground and exploded in a million pieces. His initial thought, when Otto’s yell followed the crash, was that Otto had been hurt, but then he saw Samantha lying on the ground and realised what had happened.

They all started forward, but Tom put out an arm and halted Sky and Billy in their tracks.

“Wait here,” he told them. “If the roof in that part of the cavern is unstable, there is no point in putting all ourselves in danger.”

Three sets of eyes lifted to the hundreds of stalactites above their heads. They were exposed and vulnerable, with nowhere to hide.

Leaving Sky and Billie near the drop, Tom rushed over to Samantha. Otto was on his knees behind her, his head hung. Tom crouched down beside them, his hand on Samantha’s arm.

“My God. Are you okay?”

Samantha didn’t answer. Tiny cuts covered her face and arms. More blood trickled from a larger cut on her forehead, running into her eye. She stared, through the blood and past Tom, at the shattered stalactite on the ground.

The possibility and horror of what had almost happened hit him. Otto had saved Samantha’s life.

“Jesus, Otto.” Tom turned his attention to the big man. “You saved her life. If you hadn’t moved so quickly...”

He couldn’t even bring himself to give voice to his thoughts.

“I have to do it.” Otto spoke into his hands. “I can’t allow this to continue.”

“Do what? What are you talking about?”

Otto lifted his face, staring at the two people waiting for them.

Tom frowned and pulled away, looking at Otto’s face more intensely. The man’s eyes seemed strange—as though a film of oil swam across the pupils. Tom’s gaze flicked to Samantha and saw the same affliction.

“Are you okay?” Tom asked, sudden nerves spiking in his belly. Something wasn’t right. “Sky?” he called, turning away from Otto to get the girl’s attention. But he didn’t have time.

With a roar that sounded as though he was tearing himself from physical bonds, Otto leapt to his feet, knocking Tom out of the way as though he were little more than a child. Taking huge strides, he bounded across the floor, heading to where Sky and Billy waited. They stood perilously close to the edge of the cavern, to where the floor ended and the drop into the depths of the earth began.

Within moments, Otto had crossed the cavern. He pulled back his fist and hit Billy with full force, knocking the skinny man off balance.

Billy teetered on the edge, his arms flailing like a character in a cartoon. He almost regained his balance, but Otto yelled again and jumped at him and they both plummeted off the edge and into the bowels of hell.

Samantha screamed—a blood-curdling sound—her hands at her mouth.

Frozen in shock, Tom and Sky stood staring at the empty space the two men had left, hardly daring to believe what they’d seen. Sky let out a howl of anguish and dropped to the ground, her head hung in grief.

Tom looked at Samantha, her hands still covering her mouth, and at Sky collapsed on the ground, and the bottom dropped out of his world. Whatever they had hoped to achieve down here was never going to happen now.

With only him and two women left to fight the Shadows, it was a fight they had already lost.

* * *

TOM ALLOWED SKY and Samantha a minute to allow what had happened to sink in, and then he helped them to their feet. With an arm around each woman, he hustled them to the side of the cavern near the entrance chute, away from both the deadly stalactites above and the terrifying drop.

Both women wept quietly and he pulled them down to sitting, their backs against the cavern wall.

“We should go back,” Tom said reluctantly. “Head back while there might still be time to see my son and kiss him goodbye.”

Sky looked up at him, wiping tears from her cheeks, her bloodshot eyes narrowing in confusion. “Why would we head back?”

He gestured around him. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re not exactly an army anymore.”

“We’re no different than we were before.” She paused and said, “It was only ever supposed to be you, Tom. The rest of us were only here to make sure you made it in one piece.”

“There’s no point in me going back,” Samantha said, the first words she’d spoken since Otto had killed Billy. “I’m sick. I can feel the Shadows in here,” she tapped her temple, “moving around, trying to take over.”

“What!” Sky reeled back, her eyes welling with fresh tears.

“I think that’s what was wrong with Otto.” Her gaze focused on her lap. A drop of blood fell from the end of her nose and plopped on the back of her hand like a tear. “When he pulled me out of the way of the stalactite, he must have passed the Shadows on to me. He was right about Billy being a carrier.”

“Oh, Jesus, Samantha,” Tom said. He felt utterly useless. He had no idea what he should do.

She lifted her head and stared at him with abject fear in her dark eyes.

“What can we do?” Tom tore his eyes from Samantha’s to turn to Sky. He couldn’t stand to look at the other woman. The pain etched across her features was too much to bear.

But Sky’s gaze remained focused on Samantha. She answered without even looking at him.

“You need to do what you’ve always been supposed to do.” She shifted her gaze to him, Samantha’s pain reflected in her eyes. “You’ve got to finish this thing, Tom. You’ve got to do it for David and for Samantha. For all of us.”

“I’ll do everything I can,” he said. It was the first time he had accepted his fate without a fight.

He still needed any information she might have. Sky’s previous antagonism towards him had disappeared—he guessed he’d earned his stripes over the last few hours—and he hoped she would be willing to share whatever she’d learnt during her lifetime in this hellhole.

“Talk to me, Sky. You know this place better than anyone. If you can tell me anything that might help....”

She lifted her wide eyes to his, her small, elfin face appearing even younger than before.

“I’m sorry, Tom, but I’ve told you everything there is to know.”

He took a deep, shaky breath. He’d been hoping for some miracle solution, some secret that would open a thousand doors, but he was left with nothing. Whatever he had seen and experienced over the last few hours, he was still just a slightly overweight salesman who loved his family and only wanted an easy life.

“What about you?” he asked Sky, refocusing his attention from himself. “Are you going to be all right? What if it changes Samantha and she tries to infect you as well? That’s what the Shadows does, right?” he said, remembering what Samantha had told him in the first cavern. “It changes people’s behaviour to pass from person to person?”

She shook her head. “I don’t need to worry. I guess I’m more like you than I would like to admit. The Shadows can’t affect me either. I’ve been exposed so many times, but I’m still okay.”

“I didn’t realise.”

She shrugged. “Why would you? Look, don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

“So what now?”

“Now we need to find out how to get you down to the next level.”

* * *

WITH SAMANTHA SAFETY ensconced against the cavern wall, wedged under a small shelf in the rock, Tom and Sky started the search of the cavern.

“What are we looking for?” Tom asked.

“I’m not exactly sure. It could be an obvious hole in the floor like the ones we’ve seen before or perhaps a narrow fissure.”

“So you’ve not been down this way before?”

Sky didn’t speak for a moment. “I was down there once, as a child, but I don’t remember.”

Tom’s heart leapt in hope. “You mean like me? You went down and then forgot?”

She shook her head. “No, I was too young to remember.”

“Too young?” he started, intrigued, but Sky had already turned away, using her torch to inspect every nook and cranny in the cavern floor and walls.

She’d moved away from him again, withdrawing because he had dared to pry into a life that was solely hers. Sky was a strange one and, even though she was a grown woman, Tom couldn’t help but feel protective over her, despite her earlier obvious dislike of him. He believed the hard act to be no more than that—an act. Beneath still lived a child who’d grown up in a world no child should have to experience.

Pushing thoughts of Sky away, he began a meticulous search of the huge cavern, inspecting every inch for something that might signal another way out. Sky worked in the same way on the other side of the cave. But even after they’d almost met back up in the centre, they’d found nothing.

Tom knotted a fist in his hair in frustration. Perhaps Sky was wrong and the entrance wasn’t here.

Suddenly a voice spoke in his head—David’s voice—as clearly as though the boy stood next to him.

Maybe the entrance is obvious, Daddy. So obvious you just aren’t seeing it.

Tom frowned. He must have imagined his son’s voice.

However, with an awful sinking sensation in his gut, the answer dawned on him and he wished he hadn’t thought of it. He knew of one obvious way out of here; a way two of them had already taken.

Tom walked back to the edge where they’d witnessed Billy and Otto plunge to their deaths. The light given off by the phosphorescence illuminated the first few feet of the sheer edge. Where the light started to fade, a slim ledge, only about a foot wide, protruded from the cliff face. If Tom was right in his thinking, the entrance to the Underlife would be somewhere just above the ledge, hidden from view.

The drop to the ledge wasn’t far, but just the thought of the space beyond made his legs tremble and his head spin. It would only take one little slip. What if the ledge wasn’t solid? What if some kind of substance made it as slippery as ice? What if...?

Tom forced himself to stop. He shouldn’t freak himself out and he needed to keep his head on his shoulders. This was probably not going to be the worst thing he would have to do down here. In fact—remembering the feel of Jo’s cold, lifeless skin under his fingertips—he had already done far worse.

He could do this. He had to do this.

“You’ve found the entrance.” Sky’s voice came from behind his left shoulder.

He nodded. “I think so.”

“It makes sense. I can’t find any other way out of this place other than the way we came in.” Sky stepped forward and leant over the drop. She visibly shivered and stepped back.

“Are you ready to do this?” she asked, biting her lower lip anxiously.

“Are you coming?”

She shook her head. “You’ve got to do this one on your own. I’ll stay here with Samantha. You do whatever the hell you’re supposed to and make her better.”

“And David,” he said. “I’ll make David better.”

She offered him a smile, the first he’d received from her. “Yes, him too.”

Together, they made their way back to the small nook where Samantha waited with their bags. She looked up at them with haunted eyes. The expression in her eyes struck fear through Tom’s heart. He was scared she would lose her mind or be driven to do something desperate like Otto had. He knew Sky would take care of her—strangely, out of all of the people he had met down here, he now trusted Sky the most. But that didn’t stop him from worrying. He had two lives in his hands: David and Samantha’s. If he didn’t stop the Shadows, he would have both their blood on his hands.

“It’s time for me to go,” he told her.

Samantha nodded her acceptance, too scared and confused to argue with him.

Tom picked up his backpack. It was lighter than at the start of his journey—much of the tinned food having been eaten—and he slung it over his shoulder. He almost considered not bothering to take the bag; he struggled to believe the Shadows would allow him to live long enough to need to sleep or eat a meal, but then he thought of the torch and the photograph of Abby and David and decided to keep it with him.

“Be careful,” Sky told him. “Remember, you’re going to be in its territory now. Just because the Shadows can’t infect you, doesn’t mean it can’t mess with your mind. Don’t believe everything you see and hear.”

“I still have no idea what I’m even supposed to be doing.”

“You’re stronger than you think, you can contain it. Have faith. You’ve done it once before, you can do it again.”

“I hope you’re right.” He sighed.

Both the women regarded him with such expectant hope and faith in their eyes. He hoped he wouldn’t let them down—hoped he could be what they needed him to be.

“Right,” he said, resigning himself to his fate. “I guess I’ll be off.”

Samantha struggled to her feet. She reached up and placed both hands either side of his face before standing on tiptoes and kissing him hard on the mouth. No passion or lust heated the kiss.

Instead, it felt she was kissing him goodbye.

Chapter 20

FEELING OUT OF shape and ungainly, Tom knelt at the edge of the drop and turned around. He shuffled backwards, reaching with his feet for the edge of the cliff and the drop.

It came quickly.

With his heart in his throat, he climbed off the edge and lowered himself down, waiting for the solid ledge to break the sensation of dangling in mid-air.

He couldn’t find it, his feet waving in the air. Had he missed it somehow, perhaps misjudged where he’d needed to start from and bypassed the ledge completely?

His upper body now took his weight and he worried the backpack would pull him off balance. His biceps trembled with the effort of holding his body and the muscles in his back screamed with pain, reminding him how unfit he’d become. He didn’t think he would be able to hold his position much longer. He was terrified if he lowered himself down any farther he wouldn’t be able to get back up.

But then his feet touched stone and he breathed a sigh of relief and slowly allowed his weight to drop onto the ledge.

Would it hold or would the stone crumble beneath his feet?

Tom clung to the edge. He was terrified of toppling backwards, of plummeting into the fathomless depth behind him, just like Billy and Otto had before him. His fingertips clung to the hard stone, hanging onto pitiful finger-holds in the rock.

He forced his gaze down and saw, at knee level, the passageway he’d been looking for. To reach it, he needed to let go. He would have to crouch down, throwing his centre of gravity off balance. Nerves churned in his stomach and his head swam with vertigo.

Carefully, Tom did what he needed to. With legs that shook beneath him, he crouched down.

The entrance to the Underlife was little more than a hole. The phosphorescence that lit the rest of the cavern encroached the first few feet, but then disappeared into darkness. A thick sludge covered the floor of the tunnel. Tom reached inside and mulch squished beneath his fingers. The walls were made of the same stuff. He hoped he wouldn’t climb inside only to slide out again.

Tom groaned as he pulled himself into the hole and started to crawl. The damp seeped through his clothing. Dirty water dripped from the roof and dribbled down the back of his neck, making him wince. His backpack scraped against the roof, dislodging more of the sludgy material, and he grimaced as debris hit his lower back.

He’d never been so alone. Only the sound of his own breath filled his ears.

The passageway wasn’t tall enough for him to stand or even crouch, so he army-crawled with his elbows in the muck, his knees and feet digging in, trying to give him traction. He sensed something move inside the wall beside him and he flinched away and froze until whatever it was burrowed deeper into the dirt.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself on.

Something moved beneath the palm of his hand and he snatched it away. Ahead, he heard something scuttle across the floor.

“Shit!”

In the tight confines of the tunnel, Tom managed to reach around and pull his torch out of his bag. He flicked the switch and the beam of light flooded the space ahead. Beetles with hard-shelled bodies and rippling, jointed legs scuttled out of the way. He could hear their legs scratching against the earth, like nails scratching a scalp. Mucus began to drip from the ceiling and the smell of rotting vegetation clogged his nostrils.

There was no getting away from the fact he had moved into a different realm. This place felt alive, as though he were crawling through the intestines of some giant animal. He could practically sense the walls pulsing around him like peristalsis, pushing him through.

Tom hoped this wasn’t where he’d need to confront the Shadows. Whatever existed at its core would be something nightmares were made of, and though he was supposed to have some ‘secret’ way of fighting the Shadows, he hoped the moment wouldn’t be here. The tunnel left him no room to manoeuvre and the thought of being trapped in this hole while that flowing black tar swamped him was suffocating.

He kept moving, arm over arm, pulling himself through the sludge. Bugs wriggled and squirmed beneath his body and he tried to push the thought of them out of his mind and focus on moving forward.

The wormhole had a distinct slant and Tom sensed he was still heading deeper. The air felt thin, as though he were at a high altitude instead of somewhere in the bowels of the earth.

Suddenly, he heard something and stopped crawling. His heart pounded and he held his breath, his ears straining to isolate the sound he thought he’d heard.

But he didn’t need to try.

What at first had been a distant whisper, as faint as a breeze rustling through the leaves of trees, quickly built. Within seconds, the sound of a thousand whispering voices surrounded him.

Tom covered his ears with his hands and bent his head down, trying to protect himself from the onslaught as though the voices were an actual physical force.

The whispers seemed to be coming out of the walls. The thought that the walls were alive, made up of living tissue pulsating around him, came to him again. This time, he couldn’t dismiss it as an overactive imagination. Somehow he felt sure the Shadows lived all around him, sensing his every move.

Did it know he was coming?

The Shadows must be able to sense him. Yet Tom had managed to carry part of it with him, the part that had somehow infected his son thirty years later, without it causing him any harm.

As though the thought opened a crack in time, Tom felt himself slip through the fabric of reality.

In a heartbeat, he was a child again.

His limbs were still wrapped around his head, only now they felt small and impossibly skinny. His thin fingers pressed against shell-like ears. The tunnel had grown around him, so his back no longer pressed against the roof. Only the tunnel hadn’t grown, he realised—he’d become smaller.

He could still hear the voices, only now they were inside his head, instead of being external. And now he knew what the voices were—the voices of those before him, the ones the Shadows had already taken.

Was his own voice mixed with the others, all whispering in the dark? He felt strange, as though he’d become a part of the Shadows now, at one with the voices.

Had the Shadows already taken him? Or had it always been a part of him?

Leave me alone!

He hissed the thought in his head. For a moment, the whispering increased, swelling in a crescendo, and the child-like Tom cowered under its onslaught. But then, as suddenly as they had arrived, the voices retreated. A pressure seemed to lift off his mind and the reality of his childhood pulled away.

* * *

BACK IN THE real world, the voices also vanished.

Tom groaned and let his forehead drop into the mud. Exhaustion swallowed his body, creeping along his limbs like a demon trying to drag him under.

He hadn’t liked what he’d just experienced—the sensation of the Shadows inside and somehow part of him.

He lifted his head and wiped away the mud congealing on his forehead. He didn’t want to go on, but what choice did he have? He didn’t want to go forward and he couldn’t go back. He had to see this thing out, whatever the result.

Was he resigning himself to his fate?

Fear still lay deep within him, but he could only think about David. He didn’t want to die—he wanted to watch David grow up, be there when he got married and had children of his own. If Tom needed to give up his own life in order for David to live his, well then he’d do exactly that.

Tom shrugged away the exhaustion and forced himself to keep going.

For the moment, he could do no more.

Just keep going.

* * *

THE PHOSPHORESCENCE WAS back.

Though its presence was strangely eerie, Tom felt grateful for the light. He didn’t have much battery power left in his torch and he didn’t want to risk getting stuck down here with no light at all. The thought alone made his heart catch in his throat and the backs of his eyes prick with tears. It would be like being blind—stumbling around in the dark with no hope of ever finding his way out again.

Tom couldn’t believe his life might come down to two little tubes of chemicals.

Before he switched off his torch, he used the light to check his watch. It was two in the morning. Already, he’d spent several hours in the wormhole, though it had felt like not much more than thirty minutes. That was the problem with this place, time seemed disproportionate, with none of the normal things to track the progress of the day by, namely daylight.

Anxious, Tom bit at his lip.

The morning might bring with it David’s last day unless a miracle happened and he somehow found the strength to pull through. Tom didn’t know how much more strength David had; he’d been fighting for so long now. Tom could pray for more time, but if David didn’t have the resources left inside him, his prayers would fall on deaf ears.

Please, let him live. Take me if you must, but let my son live.

Except it wasn’t God Tom prayed to, but the Shadows.

Suddenly the wormhole came to an end and Tom dropped through the bottom. He fell several feet to the ground and landing jarringly on his right shoulder. He groaned in pain, feeling as though he’d left his stomach in the hole behind him. He lay still for a moment, waiting for the shooting pain to subside. How many times today would he fall through something and injure himself?

A wave of guilt at his own self pity washed over him. His ordeal was nothing compared to what his son was fighting.

Before he had the chance to think of anything else, he became aware of the buzzing.

His heart sank. Had the voices returned?

Tom froze, too afraid to look up. He was waiting for the whispering to encroach upon his brain again, but when the buzzing stayed at just that—buzzing—he forced himself to look up and discover the cause.

Flies were everywhere.

Big, fat flies –what he’d always thought of as attic flies—crawled up the walls. They carpeted the surfaces, climbing over the top of one another. Their buzzing filled his ears, so loud it was like static of the world’s largest television.

Something tickled the back of his hand and he glanced down to see a couple of flies walking across his skin.

“Urgh!”

He leapt back, shaking them off in revulsion, and picked himself off the floor. A shudder ran down his back.

How the hell did they get down here?

Something must have died. It was the only reason this number of flies would be in one place. They must have come from somewhere.

Then he caught sight of the rat. The rodent lay a few feet in front of him, its body half-in and half-out of the few inches of stagnant water that lay in the bottom of this new tunnel. It was the size of a large cat, its stomach fat and bloated with gasses, its eyes glassy.

Immediately, Tom’s thoughts went to Bugs, the rat Otto had carried around with him until he had been infected. Surely it couldn’t be the same animal? Tom hoped not. Despite his earlier dislike, he would not have wanted anything horrible to happen to the animal.

A carpet of flies crawled across the animal’s body and, as they parted, Tom saw the rancid hole gnawed into its back. The maggots must have infected the wound and the rat crawled down here to die, only for the maggots to mature and hatch.

A fly buzzed around his head, close to his ear, and Tom swatted it away. Another landed on his cheek and he swiped at his cheek and exclaimed in disgust. He had always hated flies.

Even though the rat explained the presence of the flies, it still didn’t explain the number. Hundreds—if not thousands—of flies covered the walls and buzzed through the air. Surely they didn’t all originate from one animal?

A particularly fat fly landed on his wrist and started crawling up his arm in quick, jerky movements. Tom swatted at the bug, but it lifted only briefly before resettling. Another fly joined it, and then another. One landed on his eye, his vision blackened by the fat body and, as he opened his mouth to exclaim, one crawled over his bottom lip and into his mouth.

He spat in horror, desperate to get the insect out of his mouth, but he felt legs crawling up his nose and the tickle of legs in his ear. He wiped at his face, frantically trying to get rid of them, but nothing seemed to work. No matter how many he got off, more and more replaced them.

Tom screamed and they crawled across his eyes.

He screamed and they crept up his nose.

He screamed and they flew around the inside of his mouth and down his throat, choking him.

Tom heard them buzzing deep inside his ears, felt their spindle thin-legs, so lightly creeping across his skin. His screams became muffled as the flies clogged his throat. He shook his head and tried to gouge them out with his fingers.

Only one thought was coherent in his head: This is how madness starts.

Then, suddenly, the flies were gone and Tom found himself alone in the tunnel, only the skeleton of a dead rat at his feet.

* * *

AT DAVID’S HOSPITAL bedside, Abby no longer tried to hide her feelings.

Deep in his coma, she was certain David was unaware of her presence. She had always thought being near someone in a coma would be like watching someone sleep, but it wasn’t. When he slept, she always knew he was somewhere right beneath the surface, that the touch of her hand against his forehead or the act of pulling the sheets up around his narrow chest would cause him to stir. Now he no longer seemed to be lying in the bed, only a shell remained where her boy used to be.

The doctors and nurses kept assuring her David would be able to hear her and encouraged her to talk to him, but she didn’t believe them. She knew her son—and the body lying in that bed was no longer her son. It was as though something had come and removed the essence of her child while he slept.

Still she sobbed quietly at his bedside, waiting for what now seemed to be the inevitable. David’s doctor had warned her the time would be soon rather than later and that nothing more could be done for him.

They had given up and so, it seemed, had David.

Beside her was an empty space where her husband should have been. Beneath her sorrow raged an anger for him leaving them at such a time. How would he feel to know he had not been here to say goodbye to Davey? How could he go through the rest of his life knowing he had abandoned his family when they needed him most?

Yet, she couldn’t help the other emotion Tom’s absence stirred in her. Part of her didn’t want to feel it, but the other part of her clung to the feeling like a lifeline.

It was hope.

Abby knew she shouldn’t be allowing herself to hold onto any thread of hope, but she couldn’t help herself. She didn’t know what her husband was up to, but he had said he was trying to find a way to help Davey.  Now, in these final hours, she desperately wanted to believe him. Tom didn’t have much time left, yet she found herself sitting up every time the door opened, hoping he would walk through with some miracle cure.

Abby hadn’t realised it was possible to cry so much. Her eyes streamed constantly. She had once read that when you cried, it was the body’s way of expelling the hormone that made you upset. If that were true, then surely her body was going into meltdown?

Was it possible to cry yourself dry?

Chapter 21

IF NOT FOR the tunnel’s appearance, Tom would have assumed he was walking through sewer tunnels again. The place stank, an odour of rotting which knotted at the back of his throat and made him take shallow breaths through his mouth. He walked in few inches of thick, rancid water which soaked into his shoes. The hollow sound of his feet splashing in the water echoed down the tunnel.

At least the whispering had disappeared for the moment and he no longer needed to crawl. Though this place was nowhere near as large as the train tunnels, he could at least stand without having to duck his head.

The same muddy, porous material as the wormhole made up the walls. The strange, green phosphorescence clung to the sludge, lighting the way. As he watched, giant worms slid in and out of smaller holes in the walls. On the tunnel roof ahead, a small piece of the crusted mud cracked open and a giant millipede with a multi-jointed body and hundreds of scuttling legs broke through the muck. It scrabbled through and splashed into the water beneath, then quickly dug itself back into the floor.

Tom had never been so lonely or scared in his entire life. He was completely on his own down here in this bizarre and frightening place and he could not have been more aware of the fact.

Still, he kept walking on, his legs trembling from fear and exhaustion, dragging himself step by step to whatever his fate held. He only wanted this whole thing to be over so he could get back to his family. He held onto the faint grain of hope that he would be able to go home again. Only the thought of seeing Abby and David again held the final threads of his sanity together.

He kept imaging flies crawling over him, their tiny, spindly legs stroking his skin. He shuddered and swiped at insects that did not exist. Never again would he be able to ignore a fly; the phobia would stay with him for the rest of his life—however long that may be.

Movement in the water behind him tore Tom from his paranoia. It suddenly seemed vitally important for him not to be in the water and he leapt with one foot each the side of the tunnel. With his arms stretched across the diameter of the tunnel, bracing himself, he half-walked up the wall, getting his feet out of the water.

He heard the cause of movement before he saw it, the hissed whispers, the sound of water moving, rippling.

Snake-like portions of the Shadows moved through the water beneath his splayed legs, like rats fleeing a fire. Hundreds swam past; some black snakes much larger than others, some barely wisps of smoke in the shallow water.

Tom held onto the walls, his biceps shaking. He was terrified he would slip and land right in the middle of them.

What the hell was happening?

Then the answer dawned on him and he knew where they all headed—the same place as him. The core of the Shadows must be recalling all of the parts of itself, assembling the whole together, like a general recalling his troops for battle. The Shadows knew Tom was coming and was gathering its forces.

Why didn’t the Shadows just attack him here? He knew it was capable, and he didn’t think he could put up much of a fight.

Maybe it just couldn’t. Perhaps he had some immunity or antibody which stopped it infecting him.

Like Sky?

Sky said she had been surrounded by the Shadows, yet it hadn’t been able to infect her. If that were the case, why was she not the one down here fighting it? Why did he have to be found and brought all the way down here? Only one thing differentiated them as far as Tom could tell—David. The Shadows had infected David somehow and that was supposed to be Tom’s fault.

David had been fine until he’d turned seven, the same age Tom had been when he was taken out of the tunnels. It was also the same age Tom had been when he had apparently sent the Shadows back to where it belonged.

How was such a thing possible, unless he had passed the Shadows on in his genes like some recessive disease?

The thought stopped his heart cold.

Surely it wasn’t possible for the Shadows to be a part of his biology? He would know. He would be able to feel it inside him like a disease. Like cancer.

What about Sky? If they were the same, might the Shadows be part of her genetic make-up as well?

Something nudged at his subconscious, something important, yet he couldn’t place it. His mind tried to grasp hold of where the thought led him, but it drifted away, like a forgotten dream.

Tom didn’t have the time to worry about it. He had more immediate things to deal with.

All of the snake-like parts of the Shadows had flooded past and he allowed himself to let go of his strained position and his feet dropped back into the water. His shoulders and biceps groaned and he rubbed at the muscles, trying to bring some relief. The frigid water filling his shoes made him cringe, but he had to keep going, dragging one foot after the other through the rancid and freezing water. He tried to ignore his growing claustrophobia, as the roof seemed to press down and the walls shrank around him.

Trying to ward off the loneliness, Tom imagined David walking beside him. He imagined his son as he was before the illness struck—strong, energetic, and always quick to laugh. Tom imagined they were not stuck down in this God-forsaken hole, but were walking through the park on a Saturday morning, David kicking a ball and running on ahead

But even as Tom smiled at the memory, a shard of pain struck through his heart. Would they ever get to do that again? If this all went horribly wrong, would memories be all he had left? And if they were, would he ever again be able to think of David without it being accompanied by a pain so great that all he wanted to do was push the memory away?

Was that what a traumatic death did? It not only stole the person you loved, but took your memories of them as well?

* * *

AHEAD, FARTHER DOWN the tunnel, something lay on the ground.

Tom frowned. Something was familiar about the small mound, though the poor light made it hard for Tom to distinguish the identity of the thing. His unease grew; a nervous churning of his stomach, the prickling of goose bumps crawling up his arms.

As a few more steps took him closer, realisation dawned.

Panic and horror burst like a firework inside of him, spurting adrenaline through his veins, making his heart race.

A baby!

Tom broke into run, splashing through the water. Some small part of him hoped the child may still be alive, though he knew the chances would be near to impossible in these frigid conditions and with the child partially submerged in the water.

He stood over the body and laughed out loud with relief.

With his hands on his knees, he bent over, catching his breath and composing himself for a moment. Obviously, this amount of time in the dark had played tricks on his eyes.

He bent down and picked up the doll he’d mistaken for a baby. The toy was surprisingly heavy for its size. A light blue fabric made up the body and the heavy, plastic legs and arms flopped backward.

Like a dead baby, came the thought again and Tom shivered.

“Ha-ha-ha’, the doll laughed suddenly, the mechanical voice coming from somewhere in its belly, its face expressionless and staring.

Tom jumped and dropped the doll. The toy fell to the ground, splashing back into the water, its arms and legs bent at unnatural angles.

“I love you,” the doll insisted, despite its obvious abandonment.

Tom shivered again, only this time it was more of a violent shudder. Leaving the doll, he turned his back and continued to walk in the direction he’d been headed.

“Ha-ha-ha,” came the voice again, following him down the tunnel. “I love you. Ha-ha-ha. I love you. Ha-ha-ha. I love you...”

He didn’t turn and look back. Who the hell would leave that down here? Surely not a child? Surely a little girl didn’t leave her doll in these tunnels?

The thought of a child being down here filled him with horror, but then he realised he already knew of two children who’d spent time in this realm.

He was one of them.

* * *

TOM WAS RUNNING out of time, but surely he must be close? The atmosphere changed as he got nearer to whatever existed at the centre of this thing. The air seemed to grow thicker, making it harder to walk through. He was short of breath and exhausted—running on empty. Only adrenaline and sheer will kept him going. His legs were a dead weight and he dragged them through the water.

Despair began to overwhelm him and he fought the self-pitying urge to cry.

“Where are you, damn it!” he yelled to the Shadows. Around him, the walls of the tunnel shifted and pulsated and he half-expected the Shadows to start creeping out in response. But it didn’t emerge and he had no choice but to keep going.

He did not get far.

Tom’s walk slowed to a stop, his eyes widening in disbelief.

A boy stood in the tunnel, and not just any boy. Tom would recognise that baby blond hair and those narrow shoulders anywhere.

David.

Tom didn’t believe his own eyes. This must be another trick, another way for the Shadows to mess with his mind. But then the boy looked up and a huge grin lit his face.

“Dad!”

“Davey?” Tom’s voice was tentative.

David started splashing his way towards him, but Tom stood stock still, feeling as though a ghost approached. This couldn’t be the real David. The boy walking towards him looked good—strong and healthy, like he did before the leukaemia took hold. The boy had a full head of hair and even in the strange green fluorescent light, Tom could see colour in his cheeks.

I’m too late, Tom thought, wanting to burst into tears. David has already died.

Was he seeing David’s ghost?

“Dad?” the ghost said again. He now stood only a few feet away.

He looked so real, so solid, but Tom didn’t want to reach out and touch his son in case he vanished or his hand went right through him. Was this another trick of the Shadows, like the flies? He was terrified he would dispel this illusion and it would be the last time he ever saw his son.

“Are you...” Tom couldn’t bring himself to say the word.

“Dead?” his son finished with one eyebrow raised.

The sight made Tom want to cry. David had not had any eyebrows or lashes for several months now.

But David shook his head. “I don’t think so. Part of me is still in the hospital—the sick part of me. But the real me—the bit that’s still good—is here now.”

Tom mouth dropped open in amazement. “How do you know that?”

“I don’t know,” David shrugged. “I felt something inside of me, something watching, and the only way it wouldn’t know I was here was if I left my body in the hospital bed. The rest of me came here to help you.”

David looked and sounded so real. Part of Tom’s brain screamed at him not to believe the trick, but the other part just couldn’t help it.

Finally, Tom let himself reach towards his son. His hand didn’t pass straight through him. Instead, his fingers met with skin and cloth, as real as anyone he’d ever felt. Before he could stop himself, a moan of relief passed his lips.

He pulled David towards him in a fierce hug and his son’s small arms wrapped around his waist, squeezing him tight. Tom bent his head to touch his lips against the boy’s head. David smelled as he always had, of soap and grass and potato chips. He was like a tonic against the fetid stench of the Underlife—the rotting vegetation and stagnant water. He didn’t know how this was possible, how David could be in two places at the same time, but he was insanely grateful to have his son by his side. This didn’t feel like bad magic, it only felt good. Tom was only too aware that he may never see his son again in the real world and he intended to grab this opportunity for what it was—a blessing.

Only when Tom pulled his face away and felt the dampness on his skin, did he realise he was crying.

David stared at his father, his eyes widening in surprise. “Don’t be sad, Dad. I’m here to help.”

Tom nodded, not trusting himself to speak for a moment. He cleared his throat, composing himself.

“I’m not sad, kiddo. I’m just really glad to see you.”

“I’m happy to see you too, Dad. It’s scary down here on my own.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve been scared too.”

David laughed. “You don’t get scared.”

His son’s total trust in him both broke his heart and made him feel like a different person all at the same time. It was the first time someone’s faith in him had made him think he might be strong enough to take on what lay ahead.

Tom was not a brave person, but his son made him want to be one.

“What is this place anyway?”

Tom didn’t know how to explain. He wasn’t even sure himself.

“It’s the home of an ancient creature—a bad creature—and I’m here to stop it from hurting people.”

“You mean the black stuff?” David asked. “The stuff with all the voices?”

Tom’s heart practically stopped. “You’ve seen it?”

David nodded. “Yeah. That’s the thing back in the hospital bed with me—the thing that’s been watching me, or taking over me, or... something.”

“Jesus.” Tom ran a hand through his hair. Of course he’d been told the Shadows had something to do with making David sick, but it never even occurred to him that David would have been aware of it too. He must have been so scared. Tom’s heart broke for him.

“You can’t stay down here, David,” he said. “Something is going to happen and you shouldn’t be here when it does.”

David shook his head. “I can’t go back, not yet. The stuff inside me is waiting for me to appear. I can hide from it down here, but I couldn’t in the hospital.”

Tom wanted to cry. He didn’t want David to experience any of this, but what was worse, him going back to the body inhabited by both cancer and the Shadows? If David felt safer down here than who was he to argue.

He reached down and ruffled his son’s hair. It had been a long time since he’d been able to do that.

“I can’t say I’m not happy for the company, kiddo, but you need to be careful, okay?”

“So do you, Dad. No one is safe down here.”

Tom smiled. “When did you get so smart, huh?”

David grinned and blushed pink in the gloom.

Together, father and son continued on.

David moved easily through the tunnel, sloshing through the water as though splashing in puddles after a brief, but heavy rain. He was relishing his new found health and Tom found himself drawing strength from his son. Watching David run again, even in these bizarre and frightening surroundings, warmed him to the soul and kept out the horror of the Shadows.

How easily David accepted what was happening amazed Tom. He had none of the questions or disbelief of adulthood.

A giant segmented earthworm wriggled out of a crust of mud in the roof and plopped into the water in a coil. A huge, black beetle scurried across David’s foot and he kicked out. The bug hit the wall before falling back into the water and scurrying away.

He laughed. “It’s not quite football with my friends, but I’m not complaining.”

Tom couldn’t help but smile. “So you feel better then?”

“Yeah, I do.” His face grew dark. “But the part of me still in the hospital bed isn’t doing so well. I stopped being able to talk to Mum and I don’t remember when I last woke up. That’s not good, is it?”

No, it isn’t, Tom thought, but he couldn’t say so to his son. His natural instinct was to always protect him, even when it meant not telling him the whole truth.

“I expect your body is trying to save its energy,” he said instead. “You’re going to need it when you go back?”

“I don’t want to go back.”

“I know, kiddo, but if we’re going to get you better again, you can’t stay down here.”

“I guess,” he said, but his shoulders sagged, as though Tom had taken the wind out of his sails. “I just hate the thought of going back to feeling so sick again.”

“It won’t be for long.”

David nodded. “We’re getting closer,” he said. “We’re nearly there.”

“How do you know that?”

“I can feel the Shadows. Like it’s calling me.”

His words chilled Tom to the soul. “Do you think it knows you’re down here?”

“Oh, no.” David seemed certain. “It still thinks I’m in the hospital, but I can’t help being pulled to the main part down here.”

A weight clutched Tom’s heart. He didn’t want David anywhere near the Shadows.

A dark shape on the ground ahead of them looked horribly familiar and Tom’s stomach flipped in anticipation.

David ran forward. “Hey, Dad, look!”

“Wait, David!” he called, reaching out an arm to his son, but he was too late. David had reached the object and bent down.

“Look, it’s a doll. Someone left a doll down here.”

“Don’t touch it!” He couldn’t hide the high-pitched, panicked tone in his voice.

It couldn’t be the same one; it wasn’t possible. He had left that doll far behind. Yet the doll looked exactly the same, with its blue cloth body and disjointed heavy limbs. Also, the toy lay in exactly the same position Tom had dropped it in.

Am I walking around in circles?

Was the whole tunnel running in a loop, so he’d never get out of here? He tried to think of anything he might have noticed that differentiated this part of the tunnel from any of the rest since he had last seen the doll, but nothing came to mind. With only the dim green light lighting the way, the whole tunnel looked the same.

He grabbed David’s arm, pulling him along. “Just leave it.”

David looked at his dad in confusion, but allowed himself to be pulled along.

They kept walking, but something moved in the water behind them.

“Ha-ha-ha,” came the voice. “I love you…”

Every muscle in Tom’s body froze and ice-cold fingers slowly worked their way across his shoulders and down the back of his neck.

Slowly, he turned around.

The doll-baby walked down the tunnel towards him, tottering on its dislocated legs. It laughed again, insisting it loved him. The doll’s head lolled to one side and its arms flopped uselessly by its side.

“Oh, my God.” Terror gripped Tom’s heart. He didn’t want to believe what he saw.

“Dad? What’s wrong?” David stared back down the tunnel.

Tom shot his son a glance. The boy’s gaze travelled past the horrifying doll, skirting the expanse of the tunnel. He didn’t see what Tom did. Despite this, Tom didn’t intend on hanging around long enough to allow this thing to reach them.

“Just move!” He pushed David ahead of him, trying to get the boy to go faster.

“What is it?” David asked again, peering back over his shoulder.

The doll kept walking towards them, taking step after step on its bowed legs, its head resting on its shoulder as though someone had broken its neck.

“Run!”

David started to jog down the tunnel, but Tom still couldn’t tear his eyes from the freak of nature lurching towards him.

He was stuck in the middle of a nightmare that was all too real.

Tom turned to run, to follow his son down the tunnel, only to find his path blocked.

Abby stood before him, her head lowered, staring at her hands which were cupped in front of her. Her hair hung down either side of her face in lank, lifeless curtains. Slowly, she held her wrists out to him, her arms shaking.

With horror, Tom saw blood coated the whole of her lower arms and hands. Inverted crosses slit her skin; separating flesh, arteries, and veins.

“Why?” she cried. “Why did you do this to us?”

“Abby?”

Blood spilled from her wrists into the stagnant water. In the florescent green light, the bright red blood appeared black. She sobbed, her head bent, but then she lifted her gaze to him. Tom jerked back in shock. More blood ran from her eyes like tears.

“This is your fault,” she screamed at him, her bloodied eyes filled with rage. “You abandoned us when we needed you most and now David is dead! It’s all because of you. You killed us both!”

“Abby, no! David isn’t dead, he’s here.”

But doubts entered his mind. What if she told the truth? What if both of them were dead and he now faced their ghosts?

David yelled from deeper down the tunnel and Tom’s gaze flicked over Abby’s shoulder, towards his son. “It’s not real, Dad. Whatever you can see is only the Shadows trying to make you turn back. You’re so close now. Don’t believe its lies!”

Tom’s eyes moved from his son to the horrific monster that had taken on the form of his wife.

What did Sky say? It’s magic—and not the pulling rabbits out of hats kind either—it’s bad shit.

He shook his head, and closed his eyes, trying to dispel the image. When he opened them, Abby still stood before him.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, as firmly as he could. “Abby is not dead. David is not dead. This is all lies.”

Behind him, the doll still stood, swaying.

Then the laughter started, coming from the walls. The laughter of a thousand voices, each one of them more insane than the next.

Tom clamped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut.

“I don’t believe you!” he yelled, like a child trying to deny the existence of monsters in his closet. “I don’t believe you!”

Suddenly, the strange slipping motion overwhelmed him—the sensation of falling back in time and leaving his adult self behind. Tom panicked. He didn’t want to leave David and he scrambled mentally to get back. Then, just as abruptly, he fell back again and when he opened his eyes all of the horror had gone.

He was back in a still and silent tunnel with David standing in front of him, looking at him with wide, curious eyes.

“What happened, Dad? One minute you were stood there shouting and then you kind of went all faint.”

Tom took a moment to get his head straight and process what his son had said. The tunnel continued to feel as though it moved around him, like he’d stepped off a fairground ride.

“Faint?” Tom said. “What do you mean—like I lost conscious?”

“No!” David’s voice grew higher in his excitement. “You actually went faint. I could see right through you.”

Tom stared at David. The feeling of movement, of dropping back in time, wasn’t only in his head. Did something physical actually happen to him? Yet none of the others had mentioned anything like that before. Was it because he was in a different place now? Had the magic down here given him an actual physical ability to drop back in time?

The thought was crazy, but no less crazy than anything else happening down here. After all, he was talking to his son, who, right at this moment, lay in a hospital bed in London.

Tom shook his head at the thought. “That can’t be real,” he muttered.

“It is, Dad. I saw you!”

He shut his eyes briefly, trying to get his head around things. Perhaps none of this was real. How could he believe something his son told him when David might be a figment of his overwrought imagination?

No, David was actually here. At least some part of him was; the part that made him David. What lay in the hospital bed was no more than his shell; the thing he needed to inhabit the real world.

“We’re real,” Tom said, holding his hand out to his son.

David slipped his small hand into Tom’s palm and Tom squeezed it tight.

“We’re real,” he said again and together, hand in hand, they continued on their journey.

* * *

AHEAD, THE TUNNEL disappeared into total black.

The darkness was absolute. The phosphorescence stopped cleanly, as though someone had drawn a line through it. To Tom, the total dark looked like a wormhole in space, as though light could not exist in whatever lay beyond.

“We’re here,” David said.

Tom took a deep breath, trying to calm the fear crawling up his throat, making him sick to his stomach. He crouched so his face was level with David’s and put his hands on his son’s narrow shoulders.

“I don’t want you to come with me, do you understand?”

“But, Dad,” David protested. “It can’t sense me. It doesn’t know I am here.”

“Don’t argue with me. I still have no idea what is going to happen, but whatever it is I am sure I don’t want you involved. You’re a strong kid—hell, you’re braver than I ever was—but you’re still a child, and, more importantly, you’re my child. At least let me protect you from some things. Got it?”

David nodded, his eyes downcast. “You’ll come back though, won’t you? You won’t leave me here?”

Tom swallowed. He wanted more than anything to be able to tell his son that he would be back and everything would be all right, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie to him. Not now.

“I will do everything in my power to get back to you, but if I don’t...” David’s eyes filled with tears and his own throat clogged with a big, hard lump.

He cleared his throat and tried again. “But if I don’t, you must go back to your mother. Go back to the hospital and fight this thing with everything you have. Okay?”

David nodded again.

“And David, tell your mum how much I love her and that I never meant to leave her alone.”

“I will,” he said, his voice tiny.

Then he and David clung to one another, saying their goodbyes.

Chapter 22

TOM PLUNGED INTO the dark.

The darkness was thick enough to be palpable, like a fog pressing against his skin, filling his lungs. It swallowed the light from his torch. Though the small bulb emitted some light, it did nothing to penetrate the dark. He realised for the first time he could not hear his own footsteps—in fact, he couldn’t hear anything! Stepping into the black had also meant stepping into a sound vacuum.

He stopped walking.

He got no sense of David waiting behind him and he was certain if he tried to shout out to his son his voice would simply be swallowed. The thought scared him, the panicky claws of claustrophobia climbing up his chest. Would he be able to get back again? If he turned around and walked back, would he simply pop out the same way he’d come in or would the darkness never end?

Tom forced his legs to keep moving. Going back wasn’t an option. He took comfort in only one thing—this ordeal was almost over.

He was scared for David and felt wretched for leaving the boy alone. He still struggled to get his head around the idea that, even though David waited for him, it wasn’t really the whole David. If David didn’t get back to the body lying in the children’s hospital bed, he would never have a life and the thought of him being stuck down here didn’t bear thinking about.

Tom’s heart thudded and he consciously took slow and steady breaths to stop from hyperventilating.

Just think about David, think about Abby.

He tried to block the fear from his mind, terrified it would overwhelm him and he would lose control. He thought of Abby with tears in her eyes, telling him she was pregnant. He thought of David as a baby, when they’d gone on their first family holiday to Spain. He thought of Christmas when David had been three years old—the first year he had really understood what was happening. David had been so excited they had been certain he would be waking them up in the early hours. But in the morning, Abby had been the one who’d leapt out of bed first thing, waking David to open his presents.

He had to hold on to the light in his heart, trying to block out the darkness threatening to encroach.

It’s not going to end… It’s never going to end… I’ll be stuck in this liquid blackness forever… This is it—the Shadows… I’m right in the middle of it…

The negative thoughts encroached, pushing out everything good he had ever experienced. The thoughts didn’t feel like his own. Something, or someone, was placing them in his head, trying to bring him to his knees.

Trying to make him give up.

Tom picked up his pace and broke into a run.

Like panic was a monster at his back, he ran faster and faster. All the fears of childhood came back to him in an instant, the monster under the bed waiting to grab his ankles and drag him under, the thing in the wardrobe, the stranger standing on the landing.

As abruptly as he’d entered the black void, Tom burst out the other side, gasping for breath.

He stopped short, teetering on the edge of a craggy rock face, his arms pin-wheeling to keep his balance. For a moment, he thought he’d plummet over the edge, but then he regained his equilibrium and looked up.

The scene before him took his breath away.

A sea of black, churning Shadows stretched as far as he could see. Huge tar bubbles popped on the surface. Waves crashed against each other with no rhyme or rhythm, like the ocean in a storm. Overhead, a whirlpool of angry green swirled, an electrical storm made up of the phosphorescence that had been so present since he had reached this level. It disappeared into the rock like an inverted vortex, bolts of lightning flashing in its centre. For the second time, Tom was reminded of a black hole in space, though he couldn’t even begin to imagine what was at this thing’s centre or where it would lead.

People were wrong when they imagined Hell as being filled with fire. Hell was this darkness, a sea of Shadows that swallowed souls. There was a monster before him—not the kind he’d seen in movies, not with claws and teeth and evil eyes—but a thing made out of darkness and night and everything that was evil in the world. Older than time itself, it had festered beneath the earth’s crust, only able to reach out far enough to snatch the souls of those unfortunate enough to find themselves down here.

The hiss of static whispers had returned, only now they were defined and Tom picked out individual words. With horror, he realised they spoke to him.

“Come… on… in… T.J. …The …water …issss… waaaaaaaaarrrrrrm…”

A different voice spoke each word—man, woman, and child. They were the voices of the ones who had already been taken, people who had been driven to madness, their souls submerged in the evil of this place.

A tendril of Shadow slipped out of the ocean, and up over the rock ledge, curling up his leg like a vine. Tom yelped and jumped back. The strand dissipated, falling into a thousand drops, each one rapidly slinking back across the rock and into the ocean.

The laughter of a thousand crazy souls filled his ears.

“Come... in... T.J. …

Come… on… iiiiiiiiiiiiin…”

“Shut up! Just shut up!” he yelled, putting his hands over his ears.

“Abandoned… your… family… T.J.… Left… them… to… die…”

Tom shook his head frantically, the voices overwhelming.

This was madness. He’d done everything Otto, Sky, and the others all told him to. He was totally out of his depth. How was he supposed to defeat this? This expanse of evil couldn’t be defeated. It couldn’t be changed. Attempting to do so would be like trying to change the sun or gravity.

Except Tom was wrong. This thing had a thought process. The Shadows liked to mess with people. It was getting pleasure out of playing with Tom, he could sense it.

Did it abide by laws or forces?

More tendrils slipped out of the water and climbed the rock towards him. Tom stood frozen in place as the liquid black, like strands of oil, crept across the rock towards his foot.

Move! He screamed in his head. Move!

But he suddenly found himself unable to budge and with nowhere to run. The Shadows slid closer and closer, until strands moved over his shoe and slowly wrapped around his leg.

Tom stared down at the black coils, his eyes wide.

Catching him by surprise, the tendrils tightened around his ankle and pulled. He flipped off balance and fell hard on his tailbone, pain spearing up through his spine. His fingers scrabbled in the rock, trying to get a finger hold, but the stuff started to drag him across the narrow ledge of rock.

Oh, God! He panicked. The Shadows would pull him into the black ocean, beneath the crashing waves, to join the rest of the tortured souls.

Then Tom realised he wasn’t moving. He wasn’t being dragged across the bare rock towards the churning ocean. It was the panic taking hold, the fear. The Shadows wrapped around his ankle were no more solid than its namesake. It had no physical exertion on him. The only thing Tom fought was himself.

The whole thing existed only in Tom’s mind.

It can’t hurt me!

With the revelation, his hold on reality slipped again, that strange sensation of falling back in time. He struggled to fight it, to stay where he was, terrified what happened to his body while his mind existed somewhere in the past. But he couldn’t fight and the present blurred before his eyes, replaced by another cold, dark tunnel...

* * *

HE IS CROUCHED in the tunnels with his mother cradled in his arms, her head rested in his small lap. He is a child again and fear fills every part of his soul. His mother’s skin is cold beneath his fingers and a strange smell fills his nostrils, but he sits, hunched over her, his face buried in her hair. He has lost track of time; in the total dark he doesn’t know if only hours have passed since he’s been sitting like this or if it’s closer to days. The weight of her head against his thighs is too heavy. The floor is frigid beneath him and his legs are stiff, tucked under his body, but he can’t bring himself to move.

He doesn’t want to believe his mother might be dead. He keeps thinking he feels her move or hears her take a breath, but it’s only her body releasing its last grip on the air that sustained it.

In his heart, he understands she’s dead and he’s filled with fear about being alone, about who is going to look after him now. He cries silently into her hair, his heart breaking at the thought of never having her gentle hand stroke his face again.

Suddenly, a cry echoes out of the darkness—the thin, high-pitched wailing of a newborn child. Instantly, Tom understands how his mother died. He remembers her screaming in pain, remembers the blood pouring from between her legs.

And then he remembers the words his mother had screamed as the blood flooded from her, the promises she made to something too dark and terrible to comprehend in the real world. Promises as she died.

But the baby is still alive. A girl. His sister.

“I was down there once, when I was a child. I was too young to remember... Too young...”

A series of memories flash through his mind, memories that haven’t even happened to his younger self yet...

“We’re more alike than you think...”

“She grew up down here. She’s practically feral.”

He forces himself to move, lifting his mother’s head from his lap and gently placing it on the floor. He reaches down and strokes her hair away from her face one last time, his way of saying goodbye.

The baby is still crying, an angry mewl. In the dark, he feels around. The stone floor is sticky with congealing blood. Then his fingers touch the baby’s soft skin. She is slippery and too cold. Quickly, he pulls off his own jacket, exposing his own skin to the cold of the tunnels, and places it over her.

He tries to lift the baby, but comes against resistance. She is still attached to his mother.

Light! He needs light.

His mother has a small bag of all their possessions. She has told him never to help himself to them, but he supposes the bag his now. Still filled with guilt, despite his reasoning, he delves into the bag and finds a couple of worn-down candles and a lighter. His hands are shaking as his fingers flick the rough metal of the lighter—once, twice, three times—before the flint strikes the gas. With a trembling hand, he lights the candles. Their small, steady flames illuminate the tunnel. He tries his hardest not to look at his dead mother’s face, terrified her eyes will still be open, not wanting to remember her like this. He has a small knife, something his mother has always made him carry for his own protection.

The baby is still crying, her face screwed up, red and angry. For a moment, he thinks she doesn’t look human—this thing that killed his mother—but he pushes the hateful thought away, fresh guilt rushing through him. His mother had talked about the baby, this little being who is now his sister. He knows how much she already loved the baby she never got the chance to meet. For his mother’s sake, he could not let anything happen to her.

He puts the knife against the cord poking from the baby’s round belly and starts to cut. Suddenly, he realises more blood is in the cord. With panic, he snatches the knife away, terrified the baby may bleed to death like his mother. Remembering something he’d seen when one of the others had been hurt, he pulls his shoelace from his trainer and ties it around the cord and pulls tight. He hopes the knot will be enough, but he has no choice. If he leaves the baby to go and get help, he doesn’t doubt she will be dead by the time they get back.

He has to saw away at the cord. It is so much thicker and tougher than he thought, the process making his stomach churn and bile rush into his mouth. He swallows hard and clamps his teeth together, fighting the urge to be sick. Eventually, he manages to severe the cord and the baby is free.

He lifts the baby still wrapped in his jacket. She is longer than he expected—all legs and arms pushing against him.

He has a sister and he stares down into the child’s face. A shock of dark hair covers the top of her head in crazy spikes. For the moment, she has stopped crying and she looks back up at him with eyes the colour of the ocean, eyes he has seen before...

* * *

TOM BURST FROM the moment in his past, gasping in shock and realisation, his head reeling.

The sea of Shadows raged in front of him, waves crashing against each other. Above him, the green phosphorescence whirlpool had deepened and the lightning bolts came more frequently, cracking with broken energy.

“What did she do?” he yelled at the thing before him, the sound of the underground storm threatening to drown him out. “What did my mother do?”

“Made… a… deal…” the voices hissed, each one different from the next. “Her… own… children… saved… for... the… soul… of… her… son’s… firstborn…”

The Watchers had got it wrong. Tom hadn’t been the one who sent the Shadows back. It had been his mother. She’d made a deal with the Shadows during her final dying moments and used her own blood to bind the deal. The Watchers had only seen Tom come out of the Underlife cradling the baby and the Shadows disappeared back to this ancient place deep within the earth.

Damn them! Why hadn’t they told him about the baby? How could they not tell him about Sky?

He remembered everything now. He remembered carrying her out of the tunnels. He’d looked down and seen those eyes—Sky’s distinctive, almond-shaped blue eyes—and recognised her instantly.

Was that why she hated him so much—because he had gotten out and forgotten about her? The question was, did Sky know the truth?

Another thing made sense to him now. He understood the reason the Shadows had never been able to touch Sky or himself. It was because of a deal their mother had made all those years ago as she died to protect them.

She had offered up David as a sacrifice.

How could she do that, he thought, suddenly furious at his mother? What kind of woman offers up her future grandchild like that?

But then he realised he would do the same thing. If that was what it took to save David, he would gladly sacrifice a child who had not even been born yet.

Was the Shadows all-knowing? When it took his mother’s deal, had it somehow known one day he would have a son, only for David to get leukaemia and die? Had it known back then that David would be its way out of the darkness and into the light?

The thought frightened him. If the Shadows were omnipotent, David was going to die and nothing Tom could do would change that.

With sudden horror, Tom realised David was down here, that he had effectively delivered David right into its hands. The thought sent chills down his spine and his heart practically stopped in fear.

He’d left David alone.

It couldn’t sense him. It thought he was still in the hospital bed.

Tom took what little comfort he could in the thought.

The Shadows took the deal to get out of the Underlife. Before now, it had been trapped beneath ground. But David was not part of the Underlife—he’d never been part of the Underlife. By taking David, it would be released to the outside world.

Tom turned away from the sea of Shadows and the place filled with the screams of a thousand voices in fury.

And he ran.

Chapter 23

THE BLACK HOLE engulfed him once more.

Where previously the dark had been void of all sound, now the screams followed him.

Their screeches of rage—creatures that were once men, women and children—chased him back down the tunnel. He ran as though a thousand demons were on his tail. But he was trying to outrun something intangible, like a gust of wind.

They can’t hurt me, he told himself. The deal his mother made meant he couldn’t be harmed by either the Shadows or the poor souls taken before him. The Shadows might scare him, might confuse him, but couldn’t hurt him.

It can’t hurt me, can’t hurt me, can’t hurt me.

He repeated the mantra over and over again in his head, trying to keep the voices out of his head, trying to concentrate as he forced his arms and legs to pump up and down, propelling him forward.

The same fears he’d entertained coming through stayed with him now; he would try to get back only to find the dark void to be never ending. He only wanted to be with his son again and he prayed David would be waiting for him. He had something vitally important he needed to tell his son.

All of their survival depended upon it.

Still the screams followed, but now they started to fade. Tom wanted to sob with relief. After hearing his son might die, they were singularly the most terrifying thing he had ever heard and leaving them behind was like a cripple removing a leg brace.

His lungs burned. A stitch threatened to cramp his side and his legs trembled with exhaustion, but he forced himself to keep running. Tom didn’t have the luxury of time. Time had never been on his side, but now moving quickly was more critical than ever. He’d spent days down here and been through unimaginable madness. Now he needed to retrace his steps and go back to where he’d started.

The hospital.

The Shadows would be following him, doing everything in its power to stop him getting out. The last thirty years had amounted to this: If David died, the Shadows would be released above ground, spreading from person to person, populating until it had taken the human race to the point of extinction.

Tom burst out of the black.

David was sitting on the ground, his back propped up against the tunnel wall. He looked up in surprise.

“Dad!”

Tom bent over, his hands resting on his knees. He gasped in relatively clean air, feeling like the black he’d been inhaling must have poisoned his lungs like a toxic smoke.

David scrambled to his feet and ran to his father’s side.

“What happened, Dad?” he asked. “What happened down there?”

Tom finally got his breath back and was able to speak. “I was shown something. I’ve got a sister and I know her. Do you understand what that means? If she has the right blood group, then she could be a bone marrow donor for you. She could save your life.”

He didn’t want to give his son false hope, but he did want to give him hope. David needed to believe he had a chance because he needed to go back to the place he feared the most—his sick body.

“You have to go back to the hospital and fight it,” he told David. “We’re coming back to you.”

David’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want to go back. It hurts so bad, everything hurts. I don’t want to feel like that again.”

Tom’s own eyes welled. Asking any more of David felt so wrong, the poor child had been through so much already. He couldn’t stand to think of his son in pain, but he had no choice. If David didn’t go back, eventually his body would die and the Shadows would have won.

“You can’t stay down here, Davey. However bad you feel, you can’t stay down here in the dark. What happens if you die? What if you end up being trapped down here on your own? It’s not right.”

David nodded, but a tear fell from his eye and ran down his cheek, plopping onto the back of his hand.

“You need to fight it, kiddo. Think about your mum, how much she loves you, how much she is hurting right now. I know you’re scared, but I also know how strong and brave you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

Tom thought back to everything his son had been through—the barrage of tests, the needles, the sickness. He thought of the times David had cried out with the pain, how he’d been so weak he’d been unable to move. Yet despite all of this, David always welcomed him with a smile. He’d not complained, asked “why me?", or thrown temper tantrums. Even when his parents had been doing exactly that, David handled what was happening to him with a quiet acceptance.

Tom reached out with his forefinger and lifted his son’s chin so their eyes met.

“You’re the bravest person I have ever met,” he said, “and I’m so proud that you’re my son.”

David’s lip trembled and he threw himself into his father’s arms, crying hard. Tom held him tight and waited for David’s sobs to subside into little hitching hiccups. He buried his face in David’s hair, relishing the softness against his skin, despite understanding this wasn’t really David’s body in his arms. Though David’s spirit or soul might be here, what he held was a physical manifestation of David’s consciousness. He didn’t know if it was because of David that he was able to see and touch him or if it was something he was conjuring up himself, but he didn’t care. Sky had told him the magic down here was bad, but this part—being able to hold his son again—was the greatest gift he’d ever been given.

Tom savoured those last few moments of his son in his arms, knowing next time he saw him he’d be back in the body that had been ravaged by cancer—the body that had let him down. The body Tom had been part of creating.

Eventually, David pulled himself away and wiped his tears.

“Okay,” he nodded. “I’ll do it. I’ll go back.”

Tom’s heart swelled with love for his son.

“Will it be difficult for you?” he asked, thinking of his own immense journey ahead. “Actually getting back I mean.”

David shook his head. “I don’t think so. I can still feel the hospital and the Shadows somewhere in the back of my mind. It’s like a door in my head and all I have to do is open it and walk through.”

“That’s good, but be careful. I don’t understand how all this works, but remember the Shadows are strong.”

“It’s waiting for me to die, isn’t it?

His words were like a spear of ice to his heart. He couldn’t lie to David, not now.

“Yes, David, that’s right. But I’m going to do everything in my power to make you well again.”

David nodded his acceptance and Tom stepped forward and hugged his son again and pressed his lips to his son’s warm forehead. He prayed he would make it back to him in time. He prayed this wouldn’t be the last time he saw his son.

Tears threatened again, but Tom bit them back. He wanted David to take strength from him; he wanted David to believe they could win.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Dad. See you soon, yeah?”

Tom forced himself to smile. “See you soon.”

With his emotions in turmoil, he made himself turn away to start the huge journey home. Part of him felt elated at finally having some control, finally knowing what needed to be done to save his son. But the other part felt terrible for leaving his son and sending him back to the horror hiding inside him. He wished he could save David without having to ask anything of him in return.

Tom started to walk down through the tunnel. The air changed around him, a weighting of the atmosphere, like the build-up before a storm. He glanced back to discover David had gone.

Loss crushed him from every side. He was alone again.

Though his heart hurt, Tom gritted his teeth in determination and picked up his pace again. His feet splashed through the stagnant water, but he hardly noticed now. He focused on getting back fast, but first he needed to find Sky. He only hoped she would be where he had left her—with Samantha—and that they were both still safe.

He wondered what the Shadows would do to try to stop them. It wouldn’t just let him go back and help David. Something would happen.

His thoughts turned to Samantha. She’d been infected and he had no idea what the Shadows would, or could, do to her. Samantha was a strong person and she would fight for as long as possible, but he had no way of knowing how long she had left before she lost her mind to the Shadows and joined that black sea of souls he’d left behind. Would she do what Otto did and take control while she still had time? The idea of Samantha killing herself was horrifying, but what was the alternative? Tom knew Sky would let her do what needed to be done, despite the younger woman’s obvious affection.

Tom hoped it wouldn’t come down to survival of the fittest.

This was war and war always created casualties.

He started to run again. He didn’t want more people to die. The lives already lost were such a waste.

The tunnel seemed to have stretched. He hadn’t paid attention to how long he had spent in this one on the way down—he had been distracted by all of the things the Shadows had thrown at him and he’d been blessed with David’s company, which always made time go faster.

He slowed to a fast walk again, his hand clutching his side, his breath rattling in and out of his lungs. He shook his head in disappointment at himself, but he had a long way to go and he would be no good to anyone if he keeled over with a heart attack.

I think that moment would have come already.

The things he had seen were plenty enough to stop his heart if such a thing were going to happen.

The walls containing him remained eerily quiet and still.

Tom remembered a phrase that had stuck with him from school: pregnant pause. That was what this felt like, as though something were growing, burgeoning—the calm before the storm. Something sinister was building.

He wasn’t going to be allowed to walk away from this.

* * *

BACK IN THE hospital bed, David hid deep within himself.

He sensed the Shadows hovering above; shaping and shifting like a thick, poisonous fog.

He was scared, really scared.

So far, David only thought to hide, but now things needed to change. His dad had asked him to fight. But how?

The Shadows thought it had already won. David didn’t think it even knew he was still here. It probably didn’t realise David existed anymore.

The Shadows roiled above him. Could he find a crack—a chink in the black blanket—for him to break through? He only needed a few minutes to tell his mother what was happening. His mother was paramount in him surviving. She needed to know not to give up. She would be the one who would bully the doctors into keeping him alive.

If he cleared his mind, emptied it of all thought, maybe it wouldn’t notice him and he could creep past.

He cowered at the thought.

The power above was capable of crushing him. He didn’t want to expose himself, but he had to. His dad had ventured into those tunnels for him and he didn’t want to let him down.

Metaphorically, he closed his eyes. With his uncomplicated child’s mind, he stopped his thoughts and concentrated on feeling what lay above.

It was impossible. He only felt Shadows, like angry storm clouds. He couldn’t just force his way through. David had no choice, he would have to create a crack himself.

Hey! Hey, you! He shouted his thoughts upwards.

The Shadows moved above him, rearing up on itself like a wave. It had sensed him.

Come on, then! Come and get me!

The Shadows dived down, back into the depths of his unconscious mind. David took the moment and cleared his thoughts, blanking everything, and as the Shadows dove down, he pushed back up, filling the hole the Shadows left.

He pushed his way back into the light.

Chapter 24

FINALLY, TOM REACHED the entrance of what he had come to think of as ‘the wormhole.’ His whole body trembled with exhaustion and he tried not to think of the huge distance he still had left. Instead, he found himself breaking the journey down into smaller chunks.

Just get to the end of the wormhole and back into the cavern. Get through the lower tunnels back to the sewers...

The thought of the distance as a whole made him sick to his stomach and what energy he had left drained from him as if someone had opened a tap.

So many unknown factors played on his mind. Did David have days left or only hours? What about Sky? He had no way of knowing how she would react to his massive news. She might already know and tell him to get lost. Or she might not believe him. Even worse, she might not care.

He was back in the niche where he had experienced the hallucination of the flies. The memory sent a shiver of revulsion down his spine. The skeleton of the rat still lay on the ground, exactly as he’d found it. With nervous anticipation, he edged past the skeleton, part of him expecting the thing to get to its feet or for the flies to come back again. Yet everything remained quiet, too quiet.

The entrance to the wormhole was positioned about six feet off the ground, a round opening disappearing into the rock, just big enough to fit a man’s head and shoulders through. Tom reached up and hooked his fingers into the thick mud that made up the walls and floor, the sludge and dirt sinking deep beneath his nails. Using all his strength, he pulled his weight up and hoisted himself into the hole.

Tom balanced precariously on his stomach, legs floundering over the edge while he tried to get his equilibrium. He reached forward in the mud and pulled the weight of his lower body into the hole. He slid forward on his belly, mud squelching beneath his t-shirt, soaking through to his skin. The height of the tunnel was just enough to allow him to commando crawl, so he pushed himself up on his elbows, using his knees and feet to propel himself forward.

It was harder going this time around. Whereas before he had noticed the wormhole sloping downwards, he now worked against the gradient and headed upward. His feet and knees kept slipping in the mud and he struggled to get traction. The slope wasn’t enough for him to slide backwards, but it still made it hard work.

Tom’s slow progress frustrated him. At least in the taller tunnels he could move faster if he chose to. Here, it was either crawl or crawl.

A thought struck him. What had happened to all the bugs? He remembered, crawling down, how they had scurried beneath the palms of his hands and dropped onto the back of his neck. The memory made him cringe, but their absence worried him more. Did they know something he didn’t?

At that moment, the answer came to him.

The floor of the wormhole vibrated through the palms of his hands. It was as though a tube train passed through a tunnel nearby, though Tom knew such a thing wasn’t possible. He was far too deep to sense any nearby trains.

He stopped moving, concentrating on the sensation. The tremor came again, though still faint, vibrating through the ground. An earthquake, he wondered? He had never heard of earthquakes beneath London before, but perhaps they happened too deep to be felt above ground?

A lump of mud dislodged from the roof and splattered on the back of his neck. He cringed and grimaced, cold and wet. Suddenly, he realised he had more to worry about than a bit of cold mud down his neck. If the tremors got worse, he might easily be buried down here.

Tom took a deep, shaky breath and got moving.

The vibrations steadily grew stronger. Dirt crumbled around his ears. He heard them now, the molecules of rock jostling together, deep within the earth. More mud pelted him on the back, hard and heavy. A larger piece of the roof came away, hitting him in the lower back, flattening him as though someone had just thumped him in the spine. On either side, the walls began to crumble.

Oh shit.

Panic fired through him.

Tom forced his arms and legs to work faster. He breathed heavily, the thin air tearing through his lungs. Being buried down here was quickly becoming a real possibility. He had no doubt the Shadows were responsible for the earth shaking around him. It was unable to infect him and attempts to mess with his mind had failed. Now it was trying to stop him with sheer force, by bringing the walls down around him.

With the thought came the whispers, filling his ears. They were louder than ever before, drowning out the sound of the walls crumbling around him. In the tight confines of the tunnel, they were more like shouts, so loud they hurt his ears.

He yelled against the racket, but he couldn’t even hear his own voice.

Tom moaned. Just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse.

How could he keep moving when the world was coming down around his ears? He was being crushed, both physically and mentally.

Tom kept moving, but more mud fell around him. He struggled to crawl through, pulling himself over mounds. Some blocked his way and he used his hands to dig through like a mole. He cried out in fear and exhaustion, certain it would never end—this brutal pummelling.

Please don’t let me die down here.

He couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing David and Abby again. His body would never be found buried down here and they would never find out what happened to him. David would have some idea; he would know Tom died trying to get back to him, but no one would believe a word the boy said. They would think he had been dreaming or having nightmares.

David may not even survive long enough to tell anybody.

Despite his refusal to admit any belief in God, he found himself praying for his life.

More earth collapsed on his back. He struggled to push himself forward, but the weight was too great and pinned him in place.

Exhausted, Tom crossed his arms beneath his head and rested his forehead on them, creating an air pocket beneath his face. Around him the walls continued to shake, the whispers pounding on his ear drums.

A deep cracking from overhead came as the rock split open. Bugs piled down on top of him in a stream. Tom yelled out in disgust. They poured down past his ears, their scurrying legs caught up in his hair. In a perverse turn of justice, at least the earth piled around him meant they couldn’t get down his shirt. He clamped his arms around his face, trying to stop them finding their way into his ears, nose, and mouth.

More earth loaded onto him and he struggled to take a breath, the weight of the mud stopping his lungs from expanding. The edges of his world started to grey out.

Uh-oh.

The now familiar sensation of slipping back in time started again. Mentally, he scrabbled to stay in the present, but then he questioned why he was bothering and allowed himself to fall.

* * *

TOM FOUND HIMSELF back in time again, but still in the worm hole. Only this version stayed solid and silent around his head, the whispering no more. The weight of the earth that had collapsed around him was gone, allowing him to breathe freely.

Was he dreaming? Had he passed out? He only toyed with the idea momentarily. No, he decided, this felt as real as any of the other times he had slipped back.

What had happened to the real him—the present time him? Was he suffocating in the tunnel? Buried beneath several tons of earth?

He could move now, continue his crawl up the tunnel. But what would be the point if his body was dying in the same tunnel, but in a different time?

Then he remembered what David had said;

You went all faint—I could see right through you

A grain of hope settled in his heart like sand in an oyster; it had the potential to grow into something beautiful.

He started to crawl.

* * *

ABBY WAS IN a strange sort of place—not awake, but not quite asleep. Exhaustion had taken hold of her body, but her heart and mind refused to leave her son, even if only to sleep. She sat on the chair beside David’s bed, her fingers loosely wrapped around his, both of their hands resting on the top of the sheet.

From out of nowhere, David’s finger tightened on hers, the lightest of touches, but definitely present.

Abby bolted upright in the chair, leaning across her son. She didn’t dare believe what she’d felt, but she knew she hadn’t imagined it.

“David?” she said, urgently. “David, honey?”

His eyes flickered beneath his eyelids.

Abby’s heart raced. The sense that her son was empty had disappeared. Though he’d barely done anything, she felt certain something had changed.

“Nurse!” she called, reaching up with her free hand, stretching, trying to reach the call cord, not willing to let go of David’s even for a second. Her fingers tagged the plastic cylinder on the end of the cord and she tugged hard, knowing it would be emitting the alarm call to the nurses’ station.

Within moments, a nurse rushed in and went straight to David’s bedside. All of the woman’s attention was focused on the monitors which continued to beep steadily. She didn’t even glance at Abby as she asked, “What happened?”

Abby knew the nurse assumed something bad. They were all expecting the worst.

“He moved. He squeezed my hand and his eyes moved.”

The immediate expression of concern left the nurse’s face and she no longer seemed flustered. She smiled at Abby in a way she probably thought to be sympathetic, but Abby thought was patronising.

“I expect it was just his body reacting,” she said. “A muscle spasm. It wouldn’t have been a conscious movement.”

“You’re wrong.” Abby’s eyes filled with tears. “He’s coming back to me.”

“I’ll let the doctor know what you experienced, but really, don’t get your hopes up. This sort of thing happens all the time with patients in David’s condition.”

She gave Abby another concerned smile and turned to leave the room. Abby opened her mouth to tell her they needed to check again, they needed to do more tests, when David opened his eyes.

“Mum?”

“David?” she gasped. “Oh, my God, David!”

He was back.

Chapter 25

COUGHING AND SPLUTTERING, Tom regained consciousness. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. He assumed himself to be back in his own bed again, but then he tried to sit up and hit his head on something above.

Dirt crumbled down around his ears.

In an instant, everything came back to him and his heart lurched into his throat.

He froze. He didn’t want to move and risk bringing the whole roof down around his head. At least the voices had gone and everything around him was still. The bugs had vanished as though they had never existed, but he couldn’t help the little shiver that ran through his body.

He realised something much more important. His body was no longer pinned down, trapped beneath piles of earth.

In fact, he found himself in a completely different part of the tunnel all together. Though some of the mud had dislodged from the walls during the quake, most of the tunnel remained intact.

By crawling through the worm hole in his past, had he also moved his body in the present?

The possibility was mind-boggling.

Why had the onslaught ended? By his passing out, by slipping back in time, did the Shadows lose its connection to him? Was that the reason it hadn’t been able to detect David when he was down here; because David had been in a coma? Tom didn’t know, but he stored the little nugget of information away just in case.

In front of him, a small mound of mud blocked his way.

Tom reached out and used his fingers to rake it to the side of the tunnel, out of the way. He pulled himself along, his stomach scraping along the bottom, his feet scrabbling in the dirt. Before long, he hit another blockage and had to repeat the process. And then again. And again. And again.

Weariness took hold, his fingers raw, the nails split and bleeding.

His hand reached out once again, but instead of his fingers clawing their way through more dirt, they grasped only thin air.

Tom’s hopes jumped, but he forced them back down. He didn’t want to jinx himself. Carefully, he edged forward, ever too aware that he could still bury himself, even this close to the end, but still he met with no resistance.

His head broke through the last of the mud and he looked up. Ahead, the total darkness ended and a faint green glow of the phosphorescence lit the space.

The end of the wormhole.

Tom put his face down in his arms and sobbed with relief. At that moment, he realised a part of him hadn’t believed he would make it out alive.

Desperate to be out, to finally get away from the horrific claustrophobia, he moved arm over arm, pushing with his feet, propelling himself forward. He moved so fast he almost fell out onto the same ledge he’d balanced so precariously on when he’d first entered the wormhole. He remembered how narrow it was and reined himself back. He pulled himself out on his belly so he lay face down on the stone surface instead.

Tom sat up. The feeling of space around him was dizzying. He felt as a man must who has been in prison for a life’s sentence only to be released into open air. He sat still, waiting for the feeling of vertigo to subside.

With shaking legs, he cautiously got to his feet. The drop fell away into a vast void and he balanced unsteadily. His ears strained for any signs of life in the cavern above him, but he couldn’t hear any indication of the two women he had left behind.

Tom took a deep breath, filling his lungs.

“Hey!” he yelled, praying they waited for him still, praying they were still alive. “I’m down here!”

Tom held his breath, waiting. At first he thought they either hadn’t heard him or were no long there, but then the slap of running footsteps came from above.

Sky’s face appeared over the edge above him, grinning down at him. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”

“Same,” he said, managing to smile back. “But you need to help get me up, or otherwise I am staying down here.”

The distance between the ledge and the floor of the cavern was just a little too high for Tom to pull himself up on his own. Sky lay on her stomach and reached down and grabbed his hand. She was so much smaller than Tom, but she offered enough leverage to allow him to half-climb and be half-dragged up onto the cavern floor. His foot found a nook in the rock and he managed to boost himself up while Sky pulled and dragged him up onto his stomach.

Tom got to his feet and brushed himself off.

“Jesus, Tom!” Sky said, amazed to see him. “What the hell happened down there? And what happened to your hands?”

He looked down to see his fingers smeared in blood. He had left red rings around her wrists like handcuffs.

“That’s not important.”

“Did you do what you were supposed to?” she asked.

Tom shook his head. “It was never me, Sky. The Watchers got the whole thing wrong. I never did anything. It was my mother. She made a deal with the Shadows right before she died.”

Sky’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“My mother sent the Shadows back, not me. I was just a kid and she wanted to save me.”

The implication of what this meant dawned in Sky’s eyes. “So you mean the Shadows are still out?”

“Yes, but I think I know how to send it back now. This is all about David. The Shadows are using him like a vector, a vessel to pass itself onto the rest of the world. If David dies, it’ll be released to the surface. But if we save David, the deal will be broken and I think the Shadows will go back to where it comes from.”

Footsteps came from behind Sky and Tom glanced around to find Samantha standing behind her. She looked pale and fragile, but otherwise still herself.

“Save the boy? Save the world?” Samantha uttered weakly, managing a smile for him.

He nodded and smiled back at her. “Yeah, something like that.”

“It’s good to see you,” she said. But Tom knew how bittersweet his return must be. He had not done what they’d hoped for, something that may cost her life.

“You too,” he said, a pang of guilt clutching his heart. “How are you doing?”

She glanced at the ground. “Not so good. I can feel it here,” she lifted her hand, hovering above the back of her skull, “in the back of my head. It’s trying to push me out, but I’m fighting.”

Tom pressed his lips together, trying to stem the emotion welling up inside of him. Everything seemed so unfair—David, Samantha, Otto, Billy, Jo. All those people had been taken or were being taken, and for what? Some ancient, evil thing?

He took a deep breath. The clock was still ticking. They still had a chance of sending the Shadows back beneath the earth and couldn’t waste time standing around talking.

Tom pushed his nerves to the pit of his stomach and forced out the words he’d been dreading saying to Sky, “I learnt something down there, something about myself.”

“About your mother, you mean?” Sky asked.

Tom shook his head. “Not just her.”

Both women frowned at him in confusion. Suddenly, Samantha slumped to the ground, her shoulders rounded, her head rested on her knees, as though someone had cut the strings on a puppet.

“Samantha!” Tom reached towards her, but Sky put a hand on his arm.

“It’s okay. She does this. The Shadows are taking hold.”

“Okay,” Tom said, uncertainly. “What do we do?”

“There’s nothing more we can do.”

Her words hung over him, as though she was accusing him of failure.

“Did you know about the baby?” he asked.

Sky started in surprise. “A baby? Are you saying you found a baby down there?”

The memory of the doll tottering towards him on its dislocated legs flashed through his head, but he shook the image from his mind.

“Not this time. But when I came out as a child, when I was supposed to have sent the Shadows back, I am pretty sure the Watchers found me holding a newborn baby.”

Sky frowned, scrunching up her pretty, elfin face. “How do you know that?”

“I remember. My mother died giving birth to her and I carried her out.”

“A little girl? The baby was a little girl?

“Yeah.”

“So you have a sister?”

“I think that baby was you, Sky”

Sky’s mouth dropped open. “I don’t have any family! My family are all dead.”

“I thought the same until a few hours ago. But think about it. I know now that I had a baby sister, I was there when she was born and you’ve been down here your whole life and never known where you came from. How old are you now?”

She narrowed her eyes in mistrust, but answered him anyway. “I just turned thirty, or I’ve been told.”

“And I am thirty-seven, so that’s seven years between us, exactly right. The baby looked like you, even as a newborn. She had your eyes.”

“It’s not possible. I don’t believe you.”

“It is possible, Sky. I need you to believe so we can stop this thing.”

Tears trembled in Sky’s blue eyes, a muscle in her chin trembling. “But why wouldn’t Otto and the others tell me?

Samantha’s voice made them both jump. “Maybe they were trying to protect you?”

“From what?” Sky said. “From my only family?”

But Samantha was gone again, lost inside herself.

“Sky, listen to me,” Tom said, pulling back her attention. “If I am right and you’re my sister, do you understand what that means?”

She was looking at him with new eyes, as though she had never really seen him before, and shook her head.

“If you’re willing and a match, you can be a bone marrow donor for David. You can save his life and stop the Shadows from getting out into the real world.”

“Is such a thing possible?”

“Yeah, if we reach him in time.”

“How much time do we have?”

Tom shook his head. “I’m not sure, but not much. The sooner we get moving the better.”

An uncomfortable silence hung between them. Neither wanted to say it—Samantha would only slow them down.

Sky peered up at him, her eyes imploring. “We can’t just leave her here.”

Tom bit his lower lip. The last thing he would ever want to do is abandon Samantha, but if he had to choose between Samantha and David, he didn’t doubt where his loyalties would fall.

Still, Tom didn’t think they’d reached that point. He crouched down beside Samantha and put his hand on her shoulder. She lifted her head at his touch.

“We need to get out of here. Do you think you can walk?”

Samantha nodded and he held out his hand and helped her to her feet.

“It’s okay.” She managed a half-smile as Tom tried to support her and then gently knocked his hand away. “I haven’t broken my leg. My spirit is damaged, not my body.”

Sky reached out and gave Samantha’s arm a squeeze. “Your spirit seems pretty good to me.”

Samantha didn’t say anything, but her eyes filled with tears.

The daggers of stalactites hung above them like a threat. Tom had seen what the Shadows were capable of when he’d nearly been buried in the wormhole. He didn’t want to be caught here if the same thing happened again. If the ground started shaking again, the whole lot would come down on top of them.

To get out of the cavern, they needed to climb back up the chute Tom had fallen down with Billy.

Together, their arms wrapped around each other’s waists for support, they crossed the cavern.

The hole Tom had fallen through—and the others had jumped from—sat a good six feet above their heads in the cavern wall. He boosted Sky up from the bottom. She was as light as a child and he had no problem shoving her up. She scrambled up into the chute, then twisted around and leant back down.

“Okay, ready,” she shouted.

Tom turned to Samantha. “Ready?”

She nodded. “It’s a good thing both of you are helping me, instead of someone else. Anyone else would be too scared to even touch me.” She bit her lower lip, her face to the ground. “And they’d be right to be.”

He couldn’t answer. She was right. If anyone else remained with them, Samantha would be left behind to prevent her spreading the evil inside her. Part of Tom questioned whether he was doing the right thing by taking her back with them. After all, he was only helping the Shadows if they came into contact with any other people. But then, he also believed she deserved a chance. If they could cure David and send the Shadows back, perhaps all the people it infected would be cured as well. Surely Samantha deserved as much of a chance as David.

Tom laced his hands together and Samantha placed one foot on his joined hands. She used his shoulder to steady herself.

“One, two, three…” Tom counted, and hoisted her up.

She was heavier than Sky, but still easy enough to lift. From the hole, Sky reached back down and grabbed Samantha’s hand, pulling her the rest of the way up.

Tom’s climb up would be harder, but his height helped. Sky reached down again and supported him as he pulled himself up, much in the same way she had pulled him up off the ledge and into the cavern.

Samantha had already begun to crawl up the chute—the space at the entrance hadn’t given her much choice other than to make room—and Sky and Tom followed after her. The going was slippery and each of them lost their footing, having to cling onto the sides of the walls to stop from sliding back down the chute and into the cavern.

Finally, one by one, they climbed out of the chute and back in the part of the tunnel that had filled with water.

With the phosphorescence gone, total darkness surrounded the small group. Tom was horribly aware that they had left Jo’s body propped up against the wall. No one spoke, but Tom guessed the presence of the corpse played on each of their minds. Being stuck in the dark with a dead body was enough to creep out the steadiest of people.

Sky handed Tom a torch. He flicked it on, but the light was waning. At first, he could not even bring himself to shine the light anywhere other than the ground, but then he decided to face his demons. Cautiously, he scanned the beam to where they had left the body.

The torch lit nothing but bare rock.

“We must have left Jo somewhere else,” Sky whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. “There must be a mistake.”

Slowly, his heart in his throat, Tom scanned the walls and then the floor. There was no sign of the body.

Tom groaned. “This is not good, not good at all.”

“I don’t understand,” said Sky. “Did someone move her? Is someone else down here with us?”

Samantha had disappeared back inside of herself. Tom thought that was probably the best place for her. He hated the cold chills working down his spine and the dread that had settled in his stomach. He didn’t want to say so out loud, but his gut told him the Shadows had something to do with the missing body.

His whole body tensed for danger, his ears straining for the now familiar sound of whispers. “Maybe more water came through and carried the body away,” he suggested, not believing the words himself.

Sky raised an eyebrow. “And we didn’t notice?”

He shrugged. “I suggest we keep moving. Try not to think about it.”

Sky snorted in derision, but she started walking again.

Tom put his free hand around Samantha’s waist. She walked like an elderly person, compliant and submissive. In these periods, she no longer seemed to be present, the body still responsive, but with no soul to guide it. Tom wondered how much longer she’d have before she disappeared completely, leaving them with nothing more than a shell?

What would happen then? Would the Shadows take over and animate her itself? Could it make Samantha attack them or do something else to stop them getting back?

Tom didn’t want to have to use force to stop her. He couldn’t even imagine it, he had never been physically violent towards a woman—or anyone else for that matter—and he didn’t want to start with Samantha. But it wouldn’t be her he’d be fighting, it would be the Shadows.

The question was, could he make himself remember that if the time came?

Chapter 26

A LITTLE FARTHER up the tunnel, they came across the ledge where they had stopped to rest. This time they didn’t have time to take a break. They needed to keep pressing on.

Past the ledge, they reached the ladder they had used to get down from the crawl space above. Tom felt as though the climb had happened a lifetime ago. He had no intention of heading back up there again. They’d only entered the crawl space because of the main tunnel being filled with water.

They found themselves in uncharted territory now however, a part of the tunnel Tom hadn’t been in before. He took comfort in the gentle upward slope, knowing each footstep took them closer to the next level. Despite the Shadows having already infiltrated the sewer tunnels, he found increasing the distance between them and the black sea beneath their feet made him feel safer.

As he walked, his thoughts remained with David. He hoped his son had reached Abby without the Shadows doing something terrible to him. He hoped they were both safe.

The light from the torches started to fade, any new batteries long since used.

“Let’s alternate torches,” Sky suggested. “Keep one on and when that dies we can use someone else’s.”

It wouldn’t be much light for the three of them, but any light would be better than nothing. Samantha barely held her torch anyway. The flashlight draped from her fingers, the light trailing on the ground at her feet.

The small group stopped for a moment. Samantha showed no sign of understanding what was happening, so Sky plucked her torch from her fingers and dropped it into her own bag. Tom threw his own torch in after.

The light from the solitary bulb barely lit the way ahead. The darkness behind pressed upon Tom’s back, hiding all manner of evil things. Before, Tom could have argued the dark held nothing but wicked fairy tales, but his eyes had been opened to the truth.

They kept walking. Samantha dragged her feet, her hair hanging in her face. Her presence made Tom nervous. He kept expecting her to do something—for the Shadows to take hold and force her to act for it—but she remained silent and unresponsive.

Something moved in the tunnel behind them.

Tom froze, his heart hammering. He reached across and grabbed the torch from Sky.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, but Tom ignored her protests. He spun around and scanned the tunnel behind them. It was empty.

“Did you hear that?” he said, his voice low.

Sky frowned. “Hear what?”

“I’m not sure. It sounded like something heavy being dragged.”

As he spoke the words, he realised that was exactly what the noise had been like.

Sky stood still as well, her head cocked to one side, listening. But she shook her head.

“I can’t hear anything. I expect it was just a rat.”

Tom knew the thing had sounded too big to be a rat, even for one of the track rabbits down here, but he wasn’t going to argue. He was probably getting spooked—the lack of light, the dark tunnels, everything he had been through. It was not surprising he felt jittery. Everything remained still, so they carried on, now having to drag Samantha along with them.

They had only managed another hundred yards before the noise came again, only now it was louder. Much louder.

Tom spun around.

Something huge ran at him at with an awkward, shuffling gait.

In the dying beam of the torchlight, at first he didn’t comprehend what rushed at him, but then, for the briefest of moments, his heart lifted with recognition. For that millisecond, his head didn’t register what was wrong—he was simply pleased to have one of them back again. But in an instant, it plummeted back down as his brain registered what his heart hadn’t.

Like a beast, Jo lumbered towards him, her big feet dragging along the ground, her shoulders heaving from side to side.

Her hair hung in wet, lank, clumps down either side of her face. Her skin was white and bloated, as though she had spent weeks in the water instead of just a few hours. Her pupils were milky and unseeing in the torchlight. She stretched her arms out to him, her lips pulled back from her teeth in a horrific parody of a smile. The only sound was that of her heavy footsteps dragging along the tunnel floor.

That’s what I heard.

“Oh, my God…” he whispered.

Tom froze in horror. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Beside him, Sky screamed and ran, but Samantha stood like a comatose person with Tom’s arm around her waist, showing no reaction to the horror hulking towards them.

Finally, Tom’s body caught up with his brain and he turned and started to run, pulling Samantha along with him. Samantha fell over her own feet, forcing Tom to hold her up as he ran.

Though Jo moved slowly, she kept coming, her heavy footsteps echoing down the tunnel towards them.

Sky glanced back and saw Tom struggling. She ran back to him to help, but Samantha wasn’t capable of moving any faster so they dragged her along between them. They still moved faster than Jo, but the weight of carrying Samantha between them wore them down. The tunnel they tried to run through now had an upward slant, making things even harder.

“Is she still behind us?” Sky gasped.

“Yeah, just keep going!”

They moved as fast as they could, but still the monster that had once been Jo kept coming.

“Why won’t she leave us alone?” Sky sobbed out of fear and exhaustion.

Samantha tripped and stumbled. Tom lost his grip, but Sky hadn’t and Samantha dragged Sky down with her. Sky hit the ground with a yelp, her hands and knees scraping the stone floor.

“Are you okay?” Tom gasped for breath. He grabbed Sky’s arm and pulled her back to her feet. He glanced back over his shoulder.

Jo’s body still ran with a lurching gait towards them.

Tom reached down for Samantha.

“Leave her!” panted Sky, desperation pushing her towards decisions she wouldn’t normally make. “The Shadows are already inside her. It won’t hurt her.”

“We can’t leave her with that! What if she comes round and she’s in the dark with Jo’s body!”

“We can’t keep running.”

“Then we are going to have to fight.” Tom had no idea where the sudden bravado came from. Just because the actual Shadows couldn’t hurt him, didn’t mean this thing couldn’t.  He spun around to face the thing that had once been Jo, but he didn’t get the chance to so much as utter one word.

“Hey!”

The shout came from above and Tom spun back around, shining his torch in the direction of the voice. The beam lit up another ladder leading to the crawl space above. Tom trailed the light up the ladder to see a bearded face peering down at him.

Tom stared in disbelief. Too much was going on; none of it could be real. Surely he must be imagining the man.  But then he spoke again.

“Are you going to stand there like morons or are you going to get your arses up here?”

Sky gasped. “Mack!”

“Hurry up,” Mack said, reaching an arm down towards them. “Or would you rather stay and chat with that thing?”

Sky didn’t need any more encouragement. She leapt up the ladder like a cat.

Mack reached back down to pull Samantha up.

“No, wait,” Sky pulled back on his shoulders. “You can’t touch her. She’s been infected.”

The colour drained from Mack’s face.

“Oh, shit,” he said, and pulled back out of the hole.

Tom shoved Samantha up the ladder and Sky pulled her up the rest of the way. He glanced over his shoulder to discover Jo now only twenty feet away from him. His heart was pounding, frantic. She was almost upon him.

“Come on, come on!” Tom hopped from one foot to the next waiting for Samantha to climb the last few rungs. The monster that was Jo was getting too close. His torch trained on her horrific face, the eyes blank and unfocused, like the eyes of a dead fish.

For a moment Tom was locked in its stare.

“Move, Tom! Move!”

Sky’s shriek dragged him from his hypnosis and he jumped for the ladder, his palms smacking against the rusted metal, scraping his skin.

He scrambled up the rungs, feeling as though his feet and hands couldn’t move quickly enough, all the while expecting her cold, dead hand to grasp his ankle and pull him back down. But it didn’t come and Tom pulled himself up into the crawl space.

Still she kept coming. Mack, Sky, and Tom watched from above in horror. Tom didn’t think she would have the coordination to drag herself up the ladder, but her fat, bloated fingers wrapped around the middle rungs and she started to pull herself up.

“Shit!” Mack cursed and pushed Tom and Sky to one side. “Get out of the way.”

Jo’s hands appeared in the hole. Her nails had always been short and blunt, but now the flesh had swollen up around them, giving them the appearance of being imbedded in white dough. Her fingers clawed up at them, waving around in the air as though hoping to grab one of them.

Slowly, the top of her head appeared, her hair dark and wet, followed by the pallid flesh of her forehead.

Mack edged to the side of the hole. He pulled his leg back and kicked hard with the bottom of his boot, kicking her twice in the face. A sickening crunch came as his sole made impact, the fragile bones of her nose shattering.

Jo’s mouth opened in a silent mewl of pain. Her milky eyes rolled back in her head, but she didn’t let go of the ladder.

“Fuck… Off… And… Die!” Mack yelled, punctuating each word with another kick.

Sky’s hand covered her mouth in horror.

No blood poured from Jo’s face, as would be expected. Her heart no longer pumped blood through her body; she was dead. Yet still she moved.

The ladder ended in a sharp metal, the two main prongs, sticking up into the crawl space. It was similar to the part Tom had caught his bag on at the start of the journey.

Mack grabbed the back of Jo’s head and slammed it down, impaling her through the eye socket with a wet, sucking sound and a final crack of bone.

Finally, Jo gave a shriek of rage. She jerked her head several times, but only succeeded in drilling the metal further into her skull. She was stuck.

Suddenly, she went limp. The Shadows must have realised its puppet was no longer of any use.

They all sat back in disbelief, Tom and Sky too shocked by what had just happened to start questioning Mack’s sudden appearance.

Tom tried not to look at Samantha differently now. The potential of what she might become filled him with fear.

“Is that is what happens to the bodies once the Shadows has finished with them?” he asked, talking around the lump of fear and revulsion clogging his throat. “If the ones the Shadows infect die, they still kept going?”

The importance of saving David took a whole new turn. If David died, would he become like this? What about the rest of the humankind? Would the Shadows escaping to the surface ultimately mean a world filled with these zombie-like beings?

Tom couldn’t let that happen.

Sky stared at Jo’s impaled body, her blue eyes as wide as a child’s. Tom reached out and pulled her towards him. She allowed him to, hiding her face against his chest, her whole body trembling.

Tom himself couldn’t tear his eyes from Jo. He kept expecting her to move again.

“Come on,” said Mack. “We need to get out of here.”

Mack made a couple high-pitched squeaking noises, drawing the air in over his teeth. From out of the darkness, a large furry body leapt at him.

Sky screamed. Tom’s own scream lodged in his throat, but instead of warding the animal off, Mack reached up and settled it on his shoulder.

Tom stared. “Is that who I think it is?”

Mack reached up and stroked Bug’s fur. “Yeah, he found me in the tunnels. I figured something bad had happened as soon as I saw him. He would never have left Otto if everything had gone to plan.”

Tom shook his head in amazement. He was surprised to discover he was actually pleased to be back in the rat’s company. He reached out and scratched the animal behind the ears. Bugs tilted his head like a cat, obviously enjoying the affection.

If Mack hadn’t found the rat—or the rat hadn’t found Mack—he would never have figured out everything had gone wrong. Without Bugs, they might all be dead right now. It was crazy to think they could owe their lives to a rat.

Jo’s large body now blocked the entrance to the main tunnel. No one had the heart or stomach to try to pull her head from the metal spike.

What is it with Jo’s body blocking holes today?

Tom almost laughed out loud at the thought. He clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle the sound. He felt dangerously close to madness.

“Come on,” Mack said again, nudging Tom’s shoulder towards the much smaller tunnel. “We can get down the next ladder.”

Tom didn’t want to crawl again, but he wanted to prise Jo’s head free even less.

Samantha seemed like a shell of a person and her presence filled him with apprehension. What if she turned on them somewhere in the crawl space? If she attacked one of them in the confined space, there would be no room for anyone else to help.

The thought of crawling through a narrow tunnel again terrified Tom. The memories of the wormhole were far too fresh in his mind and he thought the claustrophobia of nearly being buried alive would stay with him forever.

“Okay,” he said, pushing down his fears. “Let’s go.”

Mack led the way, Bugs scurrying ahead of them. Sky followed.

Tom glanced at Samantha. She sat with her dark hair hanging in her face. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he decided he didn’t want to.

“Come on, Samantha,” he said. “It’s time to get going.”

Miraculously, she followed after Sky, crawling on her hands and knees.

Tom took a deep breath. He gave one last nervous glance at Jo to make sure she was still in place and then took after them.

* * *

IT FELT AS though they had been crawling for a lifetime, but finally, and with relief, they got to the next ladder and dropped back into the main tunnel.

Sky hadn’t gotten rid of her shakes, and, as she climbed back down, her legs gave out from under her. With a small scream, her foot slipped and she almost fell from the ladder.

Tom caught her.

“We need a break,” he said.

Mack noticed Sky’s pale face and nodded. “You’re right. Time to rest up.” He gestured to the ground. “Here okay for you?”

The tunnel had been washed clean when the water from the reservoir flooded through. The floor was still damp, but at least it no longer stank. They put down bags and jackets and sat down heavily.

“I’m pleased you came for us,” Tom said to Mack. “But what are you doing down here? I thought Otto sent you back.”

The older man shrugged and Bug’s claws gripped his shoulder more tightly. “Came to save your sorry arse, didn’t I.”

“But I thought you didn’t know your way down here,” Sky said. “Otto and the others said you’d never been down this far.”

“Ah, what the fuck do they know? Just because they think they’re in charge, doesn’t always mean they are.”

“They were, you mean,” Sky said, her lips pressed tight.

Mack’s eyes flicked to her, but Tom didn’t glimpse any sign of regret in his expression. “They didn’t make it then?”

Tom shook his head and Sky stared at the ground.

“I suspected so when I found Bugs.”

“So, did you come down for us because you found Bugs?” Sky asked.

“Not just Bugs, though him not being with Otto made me realise things weren’t going to plan. But I’ve been tracking you the whole time.”

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Why would the others not let you come? Why would they not want you to come if you knew your way around down here?”

Mack shrugged. “They didn’t know. Has it ever occurred to you that someone needed to watch the Watchers?”

Sky looked at him with narrow-eyed suspicion. “I’m not sure what to believe any more.”

Tom remembered how little fight Mack put up in the cavern when he had basically been told to get lost. At the time, he had assumed the man basically didn’t care, but perhaps he had been planning on following them all along.

“I saw the Shadows,” he announced. “And I remembered what happened all those years ago.”

Mack’s attention snapped to him. “So you know how to send it back?”

Tom shook his head. “I didn’t stop the Shadows last time, Mack. It was my mother.”

The older man’s face drained of colour. He clearly hadn’t known about that part, at any rate.

With his stomach in knots, Tom took a breath and said, “I remembered the baby.”

This time Tom couldn’t read Mack’s reaction. His eyes focused on something on the ground and he didn’t answer.

“I assume from your silence that you already knew,” Tom said.  “Why didn’t you tell me? What possible reason could you have for keeping her a secret?”

“You wouldn’t have believed me,” Mack said finally, still staring at the ground. “You didn’t even believe you’d been down here.”

“You’re making excuses. You didn’t even try. Do you have any idea how important that information is? We could have avoided this whole sorry mess. People died for this!”

“And what about me?” Sky said, joining in. “Don’t you think I deserved to know I had a brother?”

Mack lifted his head and Tom was surprised to see tears shining in his blue eyes.

“We were frightened you would want to find him. We thought you would leave us.”

“You selfish bastard!” Tom said, amazed. “You kept her down here, kept her living in the dark, because you didn’t want to be lonely?”

“You don’t understand. This is her home. She had us—she always had us. What would have happened up on the surface? She might have gone to some couple who abused her or stayed in care her whole life.”

Tom shook his head in disbelief. “She was just a little baby. She would have ended up with a family who loved her.”

“She had a family who loved her,” Mack snapped. “We loved her. We lost your mother and then we lost you. You think we were going to just hand her over to some strangers? Anyway, we needed to know where she was. We didn’t know if you would ever come back or if we would ever find you again. What would be happening now if Sky had gone to some family and we lost track of her? What if we had never been able to find her again?”

“Bullshit! You didn’t even tell Sky!”

Mack glanced away and ran a hand over his beard.

“We didn’t want to lose her,” he admitted. “Maybe we were wrong for keeping her down here. Maybe that’s the reason we could never bring ourselves to tell her the truth. It was bad enough when your mother died, but then you went above ground to get food and you never came back. It took us months before we eventually tracked you down and by then we loved Sky so much. She was the joy in our lives. Why do you think she’s called Sky? We named her after the one thing we never had down here ourselves. We were heartbroken to lose you; we couldn’t bring ourselves to hand her over to complete strangers. And as the time passed and she got bigger and became her own person, the right time never came. We didn’t want her to hate us.”

Sky’s eyes went wide. “I wouldn’t have hated you. You were my family, you all looked after me.”

Mack shook his head. “You wouldn’t have rather had a normal life?”

She frowned. “Honestly? I don’t know… perhaps. But I am who I am because of all of you and this place. If I had grown up above ground, I would be normal. I would never have known all of this—all of you—existed.”

Tom could barely believe what he was hearing. However bad his few years in care had been, he couldn’t imagine spending his whole life beneath the streets. Once he had found his final foster family, he’d lived a happy life. He had gotten an education and a career, and eventually a family. Sky never even had the chance.

“So, I was right about Sky being my sister?” Tom said, trying to bring the focus back around.

“Yeah,” Mack admitted. “You’re right.”

Sky and Tom smiled shyly at each other. After spending their whole lives thinking they had no family, all of a sudden finding they had a sibling was a lot to take in. They didn’t have time to dwell on what might or might not have been; they needed to get back to the hospital and pray Sky would be a match.

But Tom hadn’t even asked Sky if she was willing to donate.

“You know what you need to do to save David?” he asked her.

Sky’s eyes held his and she gave a brief but determined nod.

Hope surged inside him like heat. Sky might not even be a match, but for the first time, saving David’s life felt like a real possibility. He would be a fool not to allow himself this small reprieve.

On impulse, he reached out and pulled his sister into a hug. For a moment, she stiffened in his arms, but then she relaxed and returned the embrace.

She spoke against his ear. “I’m ready.”

Chapter 27

A SENSE OF urgency surrounded the group. The need to cover too much ground in too little time strained tensions between them all. Samantha barely seemed conscious, so they might as well have been dragging a mannequin around with them. Tom couldn’t quell his frustration. He hated directing any negative emotions towards Samantha—especially as she was no less a victim than David—but he couldn’t help himself. If they reached the hospital only to discover they were a few minutes too late… Well, for the rest of his life he would question if bringing Samantha along had been the right thing to do.

His brain felt fuzzy with exhaustion. Every muscle in his body ached and every bump and bruise he’d sustained over the last couple of days seemed to have trebled in size. The muscles in his lower back twitched with red hot shards of pain and he worried they would seize up altogether and leave him unable to walk.

Yet, though his body hurt and his brain struggled to piece coherent thoughts together, he pushed himself on. They still had a huge distance to cover and just the thought made his head swim. The possibility of not getting to David on time was inconceivable.

Tears threatened—tears of fear, of exhaustion, of frustration. They clogged up his throat and burnt his eyes. His nostrils flaring, his lips pressed tightly together, he fought them, not wanting to appear weak, but he was losing.

The constant chill in the air sapped the group’s strength and made their muscles cramp. Their bodies burned fuel they no longer had the supplies to replenish. They only had a few cereal bars and some water left in their bags and they rationed out tiny nibbles and sips whenever they stopped.

Tom tasted the damp of the tunnel in the back of his throat, like a glass of water that had been left by the bedside too long and gone stale.

After another hour or so, Sky’s torch finally died. First, the light waned and a couple of sharp smacks against the palm of her hand brought it back to life. But after several times of doing this, the light refused to come back on. Tom retrieved his own torch from her bag and flicked the switch.

The circular yellow beam was already fuzzy at the edges, the darkness encroaching in. He didn’t like to think about the fact that they would only have one live torch left after his also failed. He hoped they would be able to replenish their supplies when they reached the first cavern. They still had so much of their journey ahead of them—the reservoir, the fissure through the rock, the train tunnels beyond the cavern.

Tom sensed evil behind him every step of the way, like an invisible monkey on his back, digging in its claws and weighing him down. Though he barely had time to think about what the Shadows might throw at him next, the possibilities lurked in the back of his mind. He forced one foot after the other, watching the walls of the tunnels pass him by, noticing the small landmarks that let him know he was covering some distance.

A nook where they had rested… A bend in the tunnel… A deep pool of water…

The silence from the others hinted at their own exhaustion.

Finally, Sky said, “We’re nearly there,” and Tom gave a sigh of relief.

Of course, he knew she didn’t mean they were nearly at the surface, only that they had made it to the next part.

The reservoir.

This was where the Shadows had infected Billy. The place most of their troubles had started. If the Shadows hadn’t infected Billy, the infection would never have spread through their group. Samantha would be all right and the others would still be alive. Tom would not have the image of Jo’s impaled head to see him through his nightmares for the rest of his life.

Tom did not know what to expect. He knew the water had been released from the reservoir, he had seen the huge wave rush towards him, but he didn’t know the mechanisms. He had no idea if the reservoir would automatically refill again.

The opening was just ahead.

Automatically, Mack took the lead; Bugs still perched on his shoulder. Sky followed close behind with Samantha sandwiched between her and Tom, who brought up the rear.

The reservoir was empty. They all knew where the water had gone, but seeing the deep, empty hole was like looking at the empty eye socket of a concrete giant. The big metal pipes rose above and around them. Tom remembered the clanging that had deafened them. Now all was silent. Ominously so.

* * *

CAREFULLY, THEY EDGED around the walkway. The dim light meant the risk of misjudging their footsteps was high.

Tom tried to shine the torch in every direction, trying to share the light between them all. Sky stayed close to him, keeping within the beam of the torch, as they half-carried Samantha between them. Mack found his own way without much difficulty, his years of living in the dark having focused his senses.

They walked with their toes close to the edge, the drop too close for comfort. Falling in now would be even worse than before. Before, they would have landed in the relative safety of water. Now, they would fall twenty feet onto concrete. If one of them broke a leg, or even their back, they couldn’t exactly call an ambulance.

Tom held on to one of Samantha’s arms and Sky held the other. Neither trusted what she might do. Tom had already decided if she took a leap, he would let go. He wasn’t going to risk being pulled in and he hoped Sky would do the same, though he didn’t have the balls to say so out loud.

A sister. I have a sister.

The idea was like a foreign word, unfamiliar and clumsy in his head.

“Why hasn’t it done anything yet?” he asked. “It’s all too quiet.”

“The Shadows aren’t as strong up here,” said Mack. “Until it’s released on the surface, the farther away it is from the essence of itself—the sea—the harder it will find to affect the real world. But I still doubt we’ve seen the last of it.”

Tom grimaced. “I’d forgotten how I can always rely on you to come up with something reassuring. Any ideas about what we can expect?”

They’d almost reached the other side of the walkway now, close to the exit.

Mack’s voice came out of the dark. “I have no idea, but I expect it’s saving its strength for something big.”

One by one, they reached the other side and entered the crack in the rock.

All at once, panicky feelings of claustrophobia gripped Tom. The stone pressed down all around him. His chest tightened and his hands grew sweaty. He switched the torch to his other hand and wiped his palm on his jeans. At least this was the last stage before they reached the cavern where the underground homeless had pitched their tents. Soon they’d be in the company of others again and they could get some more torches or batteries and maybe even something warm to eat.

The memory of the beans he’d been served on his way down made his mouth water, though his stomach ached. He relished the thought of the warmth as much as the food. The cold had seeped down to his bones and he wondered if he’d ever be warm again.

As his steps carried him on, the scent of ammonia assaulted his nostrils. They got closer and his eyes and the inside of his nose stung with the acrid stench. He knew what the smell meant—guano. They were getting closer to the bats.

Tom pressed through the rock, knowing the space would open up again briefly where the bats lived. Despite the stench, he welcomed the reprieve from his claustrophobia. Only a couple of feet separated the rough stone walls here, closing together again just above their heads. But at least he was able to walk properly and didn’t need to crawl or edge along sideways. Tom shined the torch ahead, tying to light up the way for the others. It worked better that way. If Mack held the torch at the front then behind him would be total darkness and the others wouldn’t be able to see themselves putting one foot in front of the other.

The smell of the bats grew stronger and Tom put his free arm up over his face, trying to breathe through the cloth of his sweatshirt.

Suddenly, vibrations trembled through the soles of his feet. Within seconds, he noticed the beam of his torch shaking and realised the whispers had returned, only quietly—gentle touches of sound like butterfly wings against his ears. In the dark, he imagined the disembodied ghosts of the people the voices belonged to hovering nearby and a jolt of terrified panic lurched through him. The whispers were quiet, but also angry. It wasn’t hard to believe they were capable of hurting him.

They didn’t stay quiet for long and the voices became a hiss of accusation.

“Can you hear that?” Tom asked, his voice higher than he would have liked.

Sky turned around, squinting in the torchlight. “Of course! What do you think I am—deaf?” Her eyes flicked down, noticing the trembling of the ground beneath foot. She frowned. “What’s that?”

Mack had also noticed. “We’ve got to move here, people!” he called back at them.

“What is it?” Sky said again, but as both the trembling and the whispers grew louder, Tom didn’t bother to answer. The rock face was too close here. Only a slight change in structure would be needed to close the rock around them, crushing or trapping them like a giant stone vice.

“We need to get out of here!” Tom yelled, reaching past Samantha and pushing Sky ahead.

Not content with trying to bury him underground once, the Shadows were attempting the same thing again. Only this time, Tom could not use his trick of dropping back in time. He had Sky to think about now and he needed her to stay alive.

Sky pulled Samantha along by her arm. Tom pushed her from behind, but they were painfully slow. The whispers chased him along the crevasse, whipping up behind him like a wind he could hear but was unable to feel.

They burst into the bat cave. Above them, hundreds, if not thousands, of furry bodies clung to the edges of the rock face, tightly packed together, their wings wrapped around themselves in leathery cocoons. They clambered over the top of each other, their sharp claws finding new niches in the rock in which to settle

The ground was thick with bat shit and Tom’s feet slid as he tried to run. All around them the rock vibrated.

Sky glanced around, frantic, her eyes wide. “What is it? What’s happening?”

Tom didn’t get the chance to answer.

The first proper tremor sent the bats reeling from their roosts, circling like a cloud of sparrows looking to settle for the night. Sky and Tom clung to each other, trying to keep their balance. Samantha fell to the floor and Mack held onto the wall. The high-pitched shrieks of the startled bats filled the crevasse, the air moving from the beating of their leathery wings. Confusion and panic swept through the nocturnal creatures. They had never been disturbed from their sleep before.

They circled upward, their squeaks growing fainter, their numbers lessening. The initial frenzied behaviour developed into order and they seemed to be going somewhere.

Tom remembered the thought he’d had on the first way through.

There must be some way out. An opening to the real world. A way for the bats to go out and feed.

A baritone rumbling came from deep in the rock, while overhead the stone cracked and shattered. Pieces of rock fell down upon them and they bent over, their arms over their heads to protect themselves from the falling rubble.

But the trembling rock did not enclose around them. Instead, the opposite happened.

Tom looked up and, as the small furry bodies and wings disappeared from view, caught a distant glimpse of light.

If they could climb up, it would save them a day of walking. It might mean the difference between David living or dying. Tom shook his head. The plan was madness—too dangerous! Falling would kill them. Was it worth the gamble?

In the chaos, Tom had dropped his torch. It lay on its side, illuminating one side of the bat cave wall. He rushed over and placed his palms against the walls, feeling for hand and foot holes. Guano covered the surface, but his fingers dug into it and touched the jagged rock face beneath. He found some finger holes and started to pull himself up. The entire rock face shook and the whispers hissed in his ears. Once again, he was able to make out what they were saying.

“Failure… you... will... all... die…”

Tom gritted his teeth and edged his hand up, desperately trying to hold on, despite all that was vying against him.

“Tom! What the hell...” Mack yelled, but Tom ignored him.

Only a couple of feet from the ground, his fingers slipped. He fell through the air and landed, his head slamming against the ground, his teeth cracking together. The air burst from his lungs in a huuumph and he lay in several inches of guano, trying to catch his breath. Pulling himself up wasn’t possible—he would need professional climbing gear and he still probably wouldn’t make it.

Sky rushed to his side. “Are you okay?” she shouted above the din. “What the hell were you thinking?”

He put out a hand and she helped him to his feet.

“Look,” he said, pointing to the chink of light in the darkness positioned as if a new moon in the night sky. “If we can climb up, we’ll save a day’s travel easily.”

Sky glanced up at where he pointed, but didn’t get the chance to speak.

All of a sudden the tremors increased. The ground rippled and churned under their feet, like giant worms hollowing out the earth beneath them. Tom and Sky clutched each other, trying to stop themselves being thrown to the floor. Mack lost his footing and slid down, landing on his back in the muck.

Hundreds of years of bat shit fell from the rock walls, an avalanche of encrusted excretion sliding down around them. It spattered on their backs, heads, and shoulders, heavy and painful.

Around them, the rock cracked and groaned. The sound was deafening, as though the world was collapsing around their ears.

Suddenly, Samantha shrieked and staggered up from the ground. Thick guano coated her left side where she’d fallen, smeared across her cheek and matted in her hair. Tom turned just in time to see her rushing for him, her eyes wild, her hands reaching out, her fingers clawed. Her mouth was stretched open as though she intended to bite him. There remained no sign in her face of the gentle and intelligent woman he had got to know.

Tom stood, his mouth open in surprise as Samantha rushed at him. Mack managed to get to his feet and he lunged for her, Bugs clinging to his shoulder. The older man collided with her and they both fell to the ground.

Mack turned his face to Tom. “Go!”

“Mack, no!” Sky yelled back. But he paid no attention. Samantha fought and bucked beneath him, screeching like a wild thing. Bugs’ tail whipped around Mack’s neck like an angry cat.

“No, Mack, get off her,” Tom yelled. If Samantha touched him, she would pass on the infection. He would become just like the others.

Mack had Samantha pinned down by the shoulders, the cloth of her long-sleeved t-shirt preventing skin-to-skin contact, but she bucked and flailed, her hands ripping out at him. He ducked as her hand almost skimmed his face.

But Mack couldn’t hold her like that for long. He pressed his lips together in determined resignation and grabbed for her hands.

“Nooooo!” Sky screamed.

He jerked back, his face widening in surprise, but only for a moment. Then he forced Samantha back down with renewed strength, knowing the effects of the Shadows would take a little time to take hold.

“Just get the hell out of here!”

Bugs gave a high-pitched squeal and leapt from Mack’s shoulder, landing at Tom’s feet. The rat ran off towards the back of the cave, away from the exit leading towards the cavern.

“Bugs!” Sky ran after the sleek body of the rodent, rounding the corner. Her head popped back around the corner. “Tom! Hey, you’ve got to see this!”

Tom cast an anxious glance towards Mack and Samantha. There was nothing he could do now except concentrate on getting out of the crevasse. He ran after Sky, his hands held out either side of him to try to keep his balance as the floor continued to rock and convulse beneath his feet.

The stone had fractured, creating a narrow opening, leaving steps cut into the rock. Above their heads, the narrow slip of light had widened to a wedge of daylight.

The other side of the wall was only a couple of feet away, so they could use both walls to wedge themselves in and push themselves up the rock face towards the light.

“Just go!” Mack yelled from the other part of the cave.

Tom boosted Sky up the first couple of feet. She used the opposite wall to support herself, bridging the gap as she reached for the next wedge in the rock. To Tom’s surprise, Bugs leapt out of the darkness and wrapped its smooth body around his neck. The initial shock wore off and Tom followed Sky, the rat tucked in close.

They climbed, Sky first, Tom following. He would try to catch her if she fell, though most likely she’d send both of them plummeting into the darkness below.

Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down...

Higher and higher he climbed, the trembling walls making his ascent even more of a struggle. His foot slipped and his stomach dropped, but he managed to hang on, his fingertips clinging to the rock face, his heart pounding. He wouldn’t fall right down, it was too uneven, but he could hit his head and knock himself unconscious and bounce off the rock the rest of the way down.

Don’t think like that.

He looked up, relieved to see Sky scaling the jagged face like a professional. Each time the ground gave a particularly vicious shake, she stopped and clung to the crannies until it was safe to move again.

More debris dislodged from above, dirt falling in his eyes, pelting the top of his head.

All around them the rock shuddered and groaned, threatening to knock them from their precarious position, but as they climbed, the crack of light grew bigger and brighter.

They reached the opening and the whispers changed, building into shrieks of rage. The screams of a thousand tortured souls chased them out into the daylight.

Tom tumbled out of the crevasse and into the undergrowth, brambles tearing at his skin. Bugs leapt from his shoulder as Tom rolled, narrowly avoiding being squashed.

“You okay?” he called to Sky.

She sat up. “Yeah, I think so.”

He squinted in bright sunlight and looked around, hardly able to believe he was back in the real world. Behind them stretched a park and across the field stood a row of shops, complete with the hustle and bustle of people. He felt as though he was watching a movie about a foreign place and it wasn’t real. He squatted down and clicked his fingers towards Bugs. The rat turned to him, its coal black eyes glinting in the sunlight, then ran up and jumped onto his shoulder. Tom stroked the rodent’s ears absentmindedly. They felt like little slips of velvet between his fingertips.

Together, Tom and Sky got to their feet and headed towards the people, leaving the madness of the Underlife behind them.

Chapter 28

OUTSIDE THE ROW of shops, a taxi idled. The driver sat eating something pastry-based from a paper bag, flakes falling onto his chest.

Tom pulled open the back door and Sky jumped in and dragged herself across the backseat. Tom climbed in beside her.

The young, black driver glanced in his rear view mirror, clocked the state of his two passengers, and then saw the huge rat perched on Tom’s shoulder.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he said, his mouth dropping open, his eyes wide.

“It’s an emergency,” Tom said, knowing they probably looked and smelled terrible. “We need to get to the hospital.”

The man pulled himself around to face them. “And you’re taking that thing with you?”

Tom had completely forgotten about Bug’s presence. “It’s okay. He’s tame.”

“You’d bloody hope so!”

“He’s my son’s pet,” he lied. He remembered something and groaned inwardly. His wallet was long gone and he wasn’t sure where he’d lost his bag—somewhere in the bat cave, he guessed. “Also, we don’t have any money, but my wife can pay you when we get to the hospital.”

The driver raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Sorry mate. If you ain’t got no cash, I ain’t driving.”

“Please,” Tom said, starting to feel desperate. “My son is dying. I have to get to the hospital. You can come in with us and my wife will pay you double the fare.”

The driver’s face softened at the mention of David. “You got a boy, huh? How old?”

“Seven.”

“Yeah? Mine’s three. I’d do anything for that kid.”

“So, you know how I feel. Please, just drive.”

The driver stared at the strange threesome and pressed his lips together before speaking again. “Your son’s real sick, huh?”

Tears threatened and Tom could only manage a nod.

The driver made up his mind and turned back around and put the car into first gear. “Well, this ride’s on me.”

Tom settled back in the seat with a sigh of relief and Sky reached over and squeezed his hand. They would need to leave Bugs outside of the hospital, in the car park somewhere. He couldn’t risk taking him in, not with David being so sick. He hoped the rat would hide. Tom would have to find him again when it was time to go home.

* * *

TOM BURST THROUGH the door to David’s room, expecting the worst.

During the whole taxi ride, he’d been torturing himself that he would get to the hospital to find David’s bed empty. Tom no longer had his bag or any of his possessions, so if Abby had called his mobile to tell him David had died, he would not know about it.

This was his worst fear, but it went unfounded.

David lay on the bed, looking as though he was sleeping. Abby sat in a chair beside their son’s bed and, as Tom swung open the door, she leapt to her feet. For a moment, she simply stared as though struggling to process who stood before her, but then her whole body sagged with relief.

“Tom?”

She whispered his name and he rushed to her side, catching her just before her legs gave out. She wrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed against the base of his throat.

“I thought you weren’t coming back. I thought you wouldn’t get to see David again.”

Tom held her.

She didn’t even notice the other person standing by the door until Sky cleared her throat. Abby pulled her face away from Tom and frowned in mistrust at the new arrival. A husband going missing only to return with another woman would set off alarms in the most trusting of heads.

Tom gave Abby a reassuring squeeze and crossed the room towards Sky and held out his hand to her. She took it and allowed herself to be pulled towards the small family.

“This is Sky,” Tom said. “My sister.”

Abby’s face blanched. “Your sister? You don’t have a sister.”

“She’s the reason I had to go away, Abby. She’s here to help David. She might be a bone marrow match.”

“What? But how?”

“I’ll explain the rest later. The important thing is that she might be a donor.”

Abby turned her face up towards Sky’s, seeing her with fresh eyes. “You think you can help him?”

Sky shuffled from foot to foot, clearly awkward about intruding upon a family that had suddenly become her own.

“I want to try.”

Abby’s lips pressed tight together. “Thank…” she started to say, but the emotion was too much for her to finish and the words choked in her throat. She covered her face with her hands and cried with relief.

* * *

THE DOCTORS WHISKED Sky away for tests in a matter of minutes. She was scared and self-conscious, but the doctors reassured her that the tests wouldn’t be painful. The old method of collecting a donor’s stem cells from large bones such as the hip only occurred rarely now. Instead, her blood would be taken and the cells would be extracted from that.

Sky listened with a quiet resolution.

David had not yet woken up. The doctors conferred with one another about whether he was strong enough to survive the radiation and then the transfusion, but they all knew this was his only chance.

If he couldn’t withstand the transfusion, he would die.

If they did nothing, he would also die.

The small family sat around David’s bed waiting for the results. Abby clutched Tom’s hand, her fingers digging into his flesh. But the tension that had existed between them for the past few months seemed to have evaporated. They were husband and wife, mother and father, best friends. The competition was over and they were united in their one desire for their child to get well.

Mr Stephenson, the consultant, walked in, his face unreadable, and both Tom and Abby stood.

“She was a match,” he said. “You are very lucky people.”

Abby’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh, thank God.”

“It’s not over yet,” he warned. “We need to do this quickly. You understand it is dangerous for David? The radiation we need to give him to stop his body attacking Sky’s white blood cells may be too much for him. It could kill him.”

Tom said, “And if we do nothing?”

“Then he will die.”

They didn’t need to say anything more.

David was whisked away on a gurney. He woke briefly, but he didn’t seem to know what was happening or even that Tom was there.

* * *

FROM BEHIND A huge glass screen, Tom and Abby watched David being prepared for the transfusion. Though weak and pale, he was conscious. The process seemed so simple, essentially another drip, only this time the small bag did not hold chemicals or medicine. Instead, it held the priceless bone marrow that would save his life.

The nurse hooked up the IV and, as she turned the switch to start the drip, she looked up and smiled at Abby and Tom. A young doctor stood nearby overseeing the procedure, writing something on a clipboard.

As the bone marrow raced down the tube, the fluorescent lighting above their heads flickered.

Abby squeezed Tom’s hand, a frown creasing her forehead.

He gave a slight shake of his head to say it was nothing, but a rush of anxiety fired within him.

As though a fierce wind suddenly raced through the hospital, the sound of whispers filled the rooms. Both the doctor and the nurse looked up, a mixture of confusion and fear on their faces.

“Tom?” Abby stared up at Tom, her eyes wide.

The whispers increased in volume, but now behind their constant hiss came a wailing.

Above their heads, the lights flickered again.

Still, David’s transfusion continued.

Like the shriek of wind around a house, the wailing rose to screams. The doctors and nurses all covered their ears, cowering under the violent and terrifying force overwhelming their senses.

The lights flickered again and then went out. With no windows, the room plunged into darkness. All around them, the walls started to shake. Metal instruments clattered in a bedpan and the glass screen Abby and Tom stood behind shook in its frame.

Abby screamed, her voice lost in the terrifying crescendo battering them.

As abruptly as it started, everything fell silent and a moment later the lights flickered back to life.

As though they’d experienced a sudden and life-threatening hurricane, everyone rose from their crouched positions. White-faced and wide-eyed, only Tom really understood what they’d gone through.

“What the hell happened?” the doctor said. “Was that an earthquake? Why didn’t the generators start up?”

He directed his questions towards the nurse, but she couldn’t answer him. Too shocked to manage any kind of thought process, her mouth hung open.

But Tom and Abigail’s attention wasn’t focused on the hospital staff. They were looking at their son.

David sat up in bed. Though obviously still ill, colour had returned to his cheeks and his eyes were focused and alert.

“Mum?” he said. “Dad?”

Tom knew he wasn’t supposed to be in the room during the transfusion, but to hell with it. He raced through the door to his son’s bedside.

“It’s gone, Dad,” David said, staring at him in earnest. “The Shadows isn’t in me anymore. It’s finally gone.”

Tom put his head on David’s narrow lap and cried.

* * *

EIGHT DAYS LATER, David was finally being discharged. But he wasn’t out of the woods yet. He still had weeks of recovery where he would experience all of the debilitating symptoms he’d been struggling with for the last few months—the nausea, the vomiting, the weakness.

But Tom knew this would work. He knew because the Shadows had lost.

Today, Tom brought in a present for David.

Bugs had been living in their garden shed, Tom sneaking food out to him while Abby wasn’t looking. She never went in the shed and he wasn’t worried about attracting other rats, Bugs could fight off a Rottweiler if needed.

David was sitting up in bed. Already he’d grown stronger and he’d been able to keep some food down these past couple of days.

Tom walked into the room, Bugs on his shoulder.

Abby stared at him in horror. “I hope that isn’t what I think it is?”

“It’s not. It’s a rabbit.”

“Don’t get smart, Tom,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Even if you are in my good books at the moment.”

“No, seriously,” he said, grinning. “He’s known as a track rabbit. His name is Bugs.”

Abby’s eyes went wide. “My God, that’s the biggest rat I have ever seen.”

Tom reached up and ruffled Bug’s fur. “He’s tame. I was a bit freaked out at first, but once you get to know him, he’s kind of cute.”

“You are not bringing that animal into our house.

“Aw, Mum,” protested David. “But he’s my getting well present. Dad said so.”

Abby glared at Tom and the thing on his shoulder, but ruffled her son’s hair in the same way Tom had stroked Bugs. “That is called emotional blackmail, kiddo.”

David grinned. “Does that mean it works?”

“No!” Abby said, but David and Tom exchanged glances. Abby wouldn’t hold out for long.

Tom smiled. He knew the argument was only jesting. His family had grown strong again; they were finally back together—a unit.

Tom had spent most of his life not knowing where he’d come from and he’d never thought it mattered. Yet, he’d learnt where he’d come from was important. His past had shaped his future, and in the most important way. Without knowing about his past, he would never have been able to save his son. And David was his future.

Sky was staying in their spare room for the moment, but Tom could tell she was getting restless. She had tried to get a couple of minimum wage jobs, but with her none existent CV, she’d not even gotten an interview. He didn’t want to admit it, but he believed she would end up back in the Underlife. She had a place with the underground homeless, but he hoped she would always know she had a place above ground as well, should she need it.

He hoped the others were okay as well. After the transplant, he’d made a call to the police. He’d struggled with the decision, not wanting to alert the authorities to the existence of the underground homeless, while feeling unable to simply forget about Mack and Samantha. He didn’t know what would happen to them after the Shadows retreated, but couldn’t stand the idea of leaving them, possibly hurt in the cave with the bats, with no help coming.

In the end, he’d come up with a story about taking a walk in the park and feeling what he thought was an earthquake and seeing a small part of the ground cave in. He told the police that he thought someone might have fallen down the hole, though he couldn’t be sure.

The police had questioned his delay in contacting them and he’d given a lame-ass excuse about losing his mobile phone and then wondering if he’d imagined things. They’d come back to him several hours later and told him an earthquake of five-point-four on the Richter Scale had been recorded—something which later made the evening news—but they’d found no sign of anyone down the hole.

Tom could only hope that meant both Samantha and Mack were safe. He prayed the Shadows hadn’t taken them and they hadn’t joined the sea of souls deep beneath the earth.

He hoped he would see Samantha again—though he hoped it would not be at the hospital. He hoped one day Mack would come and find him.

The Shadows had gone. How long it would last, he didn’t know.

He finally had his family back, and for the time being, nothing else mattered.

* * *

Like what you've read? Why not try ALONE by Marissa Farrar, a dark novel of love, violence, and vampires. It's free to download from Amazon!

http://amzn.to/1S3tTL0

http://www.marissa-farrar.blogspot.com

* * *

Marissa Farrar has always been in love with being in love. But since she's been married for many years and has three young daughters, she's conducted her love affairs with multiple gorgeous men of the fictional persuasion.

The author of fifteen novels and numerous short stories, she has been a full time author for the last five years. She predominantly writes paranormal romance and urban fantasy, but has branched into contemporary fiction as well.

If you would like to know more about Marissa, you can usually find her hanging out on her facebook page https://www.facebook.com/marissa.farrar.author . You can also tweet her at http://twitter.com/MarissaFarrar

She loves to hear from readers and can be emailed at marissafarrar@hotmail.co.uk.

* * *

Read More by Melissa Farrar

http://amzn.to/1Sta29x

http://www.marissa-farrar.blogspot.com

Sign up for more bargain boxed sets at:

www.hotboxedbooks.com

JUMP TO...

A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE by NOREE COSPER

END OF DREAMS by KIM FAULKS

HAUNT by HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY

DARK CROSSINGS by ANN SIMKO

HEADSPACE by CALINDA B

THE OTHER F WORD by SUSAN STEC

UNLEASHED by RACHEL MCCLELLAN

HIDDEN INTENTIONS by STACY CLAFLIN

THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL by AIMEE EASTERLING

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS by KYOKO M

ST. CHARLES AT DUSK by SARAH M. CRADIT

WICKED BY NATURE by MADISON SEVIER

UNDERLIFE by MARISSA FARRAR

DRAGON’S REDEMPTION by EDEN ASHE

MILAN’S RETURN by GRAE LILY

THE BREAKERS CODE by CONNER KRESSLEY

THE MEDIUM by MR GRAHAM

WICCAN WARS by HEATHER MARIE ADKINS

CARPE NOCTEM by KATIE SALIDAS

A QUESTION OF FAITH by NICOLE ZOLTACK

DRAGON’S REDEMPTION

BY EDEN ASHE

Copyright © 2015 by Eden Ashe

The one female he isn't supposed to want, is the only one he's ever needed.

When her brother goes missing, everything in Lily Cage’s world turns upside down. Born a Hunter female, the last thing she needs is an attraction to Dallas, the scariest dragon in existence. The one known as The Destroyer. With peace between the Hunters and Dragons hanging by a thread, one wrong move on Lily or Dallas’s part could catapult them all back into war. But with Dallas playing by his own rules and someone on the outside decimating her life, they have a choice–stand and fight, or lose everything they never realized they wanted.

Copyright © 2015, Eden Ashe

All Rights Reserved

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidenta

CHRONICLES OF THE EGREGOROI

Page Nine Hundred and Twelve

Hunted and forsaken by the goddess who created them, the dragons took to the shadows. As the war with the Hunters continued to rage on for centuries and the humans learned to fear them, the souls of the dragons started to harden.

While Gwendolyn had given her beloved dragons a great capacity for love, they did not want it.

However, mates are ever curious creatures. Because a dragon who mated for duty was a dangerous thing, but a dragon who mated for love could bring an entire civilization to its knees.

Chapter 1

DALLAS THE DESTROYER had landed in Hell, and the security was a fucking nightmare.

Even from his position on the edge of the castle’s tallest tower, the noise level in the yard below was giving him a headache, worsening his already dark mood. Head of security and training, it was Dallas’s job to make sure the day went smoothly and the dragon queen was kept safe.

They prepared for a wedding, for fuck’s sake. They were dragons. They mated. It had been that way for thousands of years, but now, because the king’s chosen mate was human, the Elite Guard—Dallas included—were expected to attend and be pleasant for the couple.

Pleasant. Just the word gave him a migraine.

There were too many people milling about, winding their way through the gardens and surrounding woods. He and his men had tripled-checked the clearance on all of them, but it didn’t stop the itchiness from crawling up his spine. Too many people. Too many non-dragons.

Shifting his emerald dragon wings, he scanned from one end of the island property to the other as the work crew finished the last minute decorating. His senses in his dragon form were more tuned in to the nature surrounding the isolated castle.

Even Dallas had to admit the setting was striking.

The castle grounds looked like something out of a fairy tale. Daniel Ashborne, king of dragons, had given his mate Shelby free rein in planning and decorating, as long as Dallas was able to make any needed adjustments to account for the security measures.

Shelby had chosen dusk for the ceremony, and there were fairy lights twinkling in every tree as far as the eye could see. Planters of various sizes, hosting varieties of red and pink blooming roses, lined the rows of pristine white chairs and black gauze-topped tables. The large black arbor the dragon underlings had erected was laced with more roses in blood red and pure white.

While the air above the grounds was a no-fly zone normally, Broderick, the techno geek of the king’s Elite Guard, had rigged a signal jammer to go into effect thirty minutes before the ceremony was scheduled to begin, which would no doubt send the paparazzi into fits of rage. When the jammer had done its job, Broderick would cut the Wi-Fi and scramble all cellular circuits. There was no way to stop guests from taking pictures of Shelby, but Broderick made it as difficult as possible. For added protection, Dallas had stationed lesser ranked, but still trusted, dragons every few feet around the grounds to stop the most desperate fans and reporters from getting anywhere near the king’s mate.

From his perch on the south-side turret, Dallas scanned the thin crowd. Because of Shelby’s A-list status in the upper Hollywood echelon, the stars would be coming out in droves to watch her marry the enigma that was her husband-to-be.

Disgust settled hard in Dallas’s gut when another large black SUV drove over the bridge and onto the king’s private property. He’d been conditioned since birth to avoid emotional attachments. He didn’t understand the lure of spending the rest of time with one person. It was a weakness, liabilities and danger waiting to happen.

The passenger door of the latest vehicle popped open, and a great pair of legs swung out, followed by a petite brunette with hair the color of mahogany and enough curves to kill a dragon.

The back of his neck itched, right between his horns, and he was considering shifting into his human form to scratch it when she moved to the back of the large SUV, opened the back hatch, and tried to lift out a flower arrangement that was bigger than her. He chuckled at the glare she sent the bouquet while trying four different angles to leverage it out of the trunk space.

“Shelby will be pissed if you miss the wedding because you’re off banging a starlet in the gazebo. You know that, right?”

With a shimmer of iridescent green, Dallas shifted into his human form, snorting at Broderick’s dry voice. He straightened and crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze still tracking the brunette’s movements. She’d found a dragon underling and put him to work hauling the flowers out for her. Dallas smiled. For someone so tiny, it was cute the way she bossed the young dragon around.

He shook his head and focused on Broderick’s voice. Not even Dallas was asshole enough that he’d miss Daniel and Shelby’s big day. At least not now. He’d done some seriously stupid and bastardly things in his life. Like use Shelby to lure out the scariest Hunter in existence.

The entire dragon world owed Shelby everything. She’d stepped in and saved their king when he’d been spiraling downward, and then not only had kept their secret but accepted them absolutely. Completely.

There wasn’t anything any of them wouldn’t do for her in return. Including Dallas keeping his cock in his pants where it belonged until after the reception.

Broderick cleared his throat. “One more thing.”

His left eye twitched at those words. “I’m listening.”

In a move that blackened Dallas’s mood, Broderick reached out to grip Dallas’s shoulder to prevent him from doing anything stupid.

“Lily Cage is here.”

The ticking under his eye worsened as he tried to process the information. He snarled violently and hopped off the turret. “Daniel is letting a fucking Hunter into his wedding?”

“No,” Broderick said calmly, “he’s letting a friend, who happens to be the florist, into his wedding. She has Hunter blood. She’s not a Hunter.”

“Same fucking thing!” he roared, beyond pissed off. “What the hell are they fucking thinking?”

“That this is their wedding, and they can invite whoever they want to invite.”

“Bullshit.” He shoved past Broderick and hopped off the roof in a single fluid movement, landing in a warrior’s crouch in the shadow of trees. Because of his magic, he didn’t even flinch when his feet hit the ground. He wasn’t going to stand around and watch a fucking Hunter pretend to care about something as ridiculous as a wedding. Hunters didn’t have feelings.

Thanks to the dragon healer, Seren, the whole dragon-Hunter thing was a mess. The first dragon in history to mate to a Hunter and give birth to the first hybrid baby. And Seren hadn’t just picked a Hunter. She’d mated to the Hunter, Adrian Cage. The one who’d torn the Hunter world apart in his effort to become leader and protect his people. It was bad enough that Daniel had formed a tentative truce with Cage in an effort to stop the three millennia-long war. Now, with Cage missing, they didn’t need a Hunter taking notes and giving their secrets to the new Hunter leader.

Ryuu. The dragon curse word echoed in his head. Dallas had protected and fought at the king’s back for more than two millennia. He wasn’t going to fall down on the job now.

A petite blonde stepped into his path. With a foot and a half size difference between them, she had to tilt her head back so her furious pale green gaze could meet his.

Shelby Kincade crossed her arms over her chest. ”Where do you think you’re going?”

His eye ticked again. “To get my weapons. There’s a Hunter on the property.”

“You can’t kill her. I adore her, and if you kill her, I’ll cry and that will piss Daniel off. You do not want to be the reason I cry on my wedding day. It will not turn out well for you.”

“Fine. Then I’m out of here.” He took back all the nice things he’d said and thought about her since they’d met. Leave it to a woman to use tears against him. How didn’t she understand he was trying to protect her? He leaned down and growled in her face. “Move, Shelby, or I swear to the gods I will move you myself.”

One dainty shoulder lifted in a shrug. She held his gaze dead-on, unwavering. “Go ahead. I want you here for this, and I’m not going to let you leave.”

She called his bluff. Not even he was bastard enough to hurt her feelings on her wedding day.

“Fine,” he snapped, “but you better make sure they keep her away from me, Shelby. I won’t be responsible if she gets in my face and bloodshed ensues.”

She winced. “You’ve never met Lily, I take it.” She gave him a quick thank-you hug. “Trust me, Dallas. It’s going to be all right.”

He snorted as he headed back to the wedding area, leaving her standing there. Nothing was ever all right, and it hadn’t been in over a thousand years. He had seen the devastation the hunters left in their wake. No amount of spilt blood would ever erase those images from his head. And no amount of Hunter blood he spilled could erase the images from his head of the devastation the Hunters could leave in their wake.

* * *

THE SECOND THEY were in the castle’s sprawling back yard, Lily Cage grabbed a champagne flute from a passing server. Amusement sparkled in her dragon guard’s eyes when she downed it in two large swallows.

“Feel better?” Bain asked.

“Not yet. Give me yours, and I will.”

He laughed and handed her his flute. “How’s that?”

She drank his, too, and shook her head once, her perfectly crafted up-do threatening to fall apart with the motion. She tucked a wayward curl behind her ear and sent him a grin. “Better, actually. I may almost be brave tonight.”

“Not too brave,” he laughed. He hooked his arm around her neck and hauled her in for a quick hug. For a member of a species known for their tempers and possessiveness, Bain was always quick to smile and hug when he thought she needed it. “You don’t want to do anything you’ll regret in the morning.”

Lily grinned wider, grateful the champagne had loosened some of the knots in her shoulders. For once she wanted to do something she’d regret. She was a good girl. She kept men—all of them—at a distance that kept her comfortable. It was a skill she’d honed over the last fifteen years.

But her brother, Adrian, was gone, missing or dead somewhere, so she couldn’t keep pretending the world was safe. So if the world wasn’t safe, why should she fight so hard to do the safe thing?

She shook her head again, the effects of the champagne making her woozy. She nearly swallowed her tongue when the most gorgeous guy she’d ever seen walked around a copse of weeping cherry trees. His black suit—black pants, crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and black vest— clung to his ginormous body like it had been made for him, and considering his massive size, it probably had been. Like every other red-blooded woman, she could appreciate a male in a suit. It was such a rarity in her world.

Lust bloomed low in her belly the longer she watched him, and for the first time in her life, she considered jumping a man’s bones. Not just jumping his bones. She wanted to climb him like a tree. He was that hot. Long, light brown hair hung to his mile-wide shoulders, and he had to be at least seven inches over six feet tall. He moved with the predatory grace of a dragon, as if the power in him was coiled tight and ready to spring at any moment. That same power shone in his soft, green eyes. A five o’clock shadow covered the lower half of his face, and never in Lily’s life had she thought she’d ever find a beard on a male attractive. But the whole picture of him was just…

Yummy.

Dimly aware of a hand grabbing the top of her arm, she couldn’t take her eyes off the man as he started across the clearing to where the chairs were set up for the ceremony.

“Lily.”

“Hmm?”

Bain jerked her around suddenly and growled at her. “What is wrong with you?”

But she’d already craned her neck so she could keep watching the delicious dragon over her shoulder. Her heart had taken a long, slow dip to her stomach, and she couldn’t figure out why. “Who is that?” she murmured, not bothering to care if her voice had gone husky. This was new territory for her, and she fully planned on enjoying it.

Just then, the man’s eyes scanned the crowd and locked on hers. Time spun out until she lost track, and as Lily was about to do the unthinkable and step toward him, a murderous rage flashed over his face.

Bain cursed quietly. “That’s Dallas. The Destroyer. Stay away from him.”

Chapter 2

NO WAY.

No.

Fucking.

Way.

This was not happening. He was not lusting after a fucking Hunter bitch.

Ryuu. Cage’s sister was hot. For a moment when he’d connected with her vivid green eyes across the clearing, he’d been sure his brain had finally snapped and he’d been imagining her. She was hot when he’d seen her from the castle tower, but too far away to notice details. Now… No way was any female that goddamn gorgeous.

She was so petite that Bain, who was the smallest of the dragons at six-foot-five, looked like the Hulk next to her. She had twisted her long, mahogany hair into one of those sexy-as-hell knots that managed to be messy and innocent at the same time and framed a knockout, elfish-featured face with wide, round eyes, a pert nose, and perfect bow-shaped mouth.

Confused by the sadness in her eyes, he dragged his gaze from her face only to go rock hard when his eyes scanned over her jaw-dropping body. He had the barest glimpse of generous cleavage beneath the royal blue bodice of her slinky dress, a slender waist, and killer legs. He swallowed hard before he remembered what he was drooling over.

His lip lifted in a snarl, and no longer caring that Shelby would have his head if he killed a wedding guest, he started across the clearing toward her. Bain’s body went rigid, and he shoved the woman behind him, putting himself directly in Dallas’s path.

“Back off, Dallas.” Bain held his gaze. “She’s not here to cause any trouble.”

“Then she shouldn’t have come.”

“Yes, I should have,” a soft voice sounded from directly behind Bain, though Bain’s arm prevented her from moving out from behind him. There was the faintest hint of temper laced through her words. “Daniel is my friend, and he and Shelby invited me.”

Dallas sneered. “I knew this was a bad fucking idea. Hunters don’t have emotions. They don’t have friends.”

“Don’t be an ass,” Bain snapped as he grabbed Dallas’s arm when he started forward. “Daniel will gut you if you walk out of here before the ceremony.”

Dallas turned and got in Bain’s face. “Why the hell am I the only one who remembers the damage and devastation the Hunters have left in their wake? We’ve all lost someone to their mindless killing sprees.” At the very creation of the Earth, the goddess Gwendolyn had created both species.  While the dragons had been created to protect human-kind, the Hunters had been created to keep power-mad dragons from enslaving those they were meant to protect. Over the last couple of centuries, the Hunters had become nothing more than mindless killing machines. “They are bred for war and death. Our people are dying out because of them. They’re nothing more than fucking killers.”

He’d tolerated Cage because Daniel trusted him, and Dallas trusted Daniel, but everything from the moment Cage went missing had felt wrong. Like the dragons were being set up for something big, something that was going to tear them all apart. The Hunters should have declared open war and come at them with everything they had. And it set his teeth on edge that they hadn’t.

But no one listened to him.  They let his Hunter sister in and welcomed her with open fucking arms while ignoring his warnings. It royally pissed him off. There was something going on behind the scenes that he feared would end up destroying them all.

So no. He didn’t give a shit how goddamn hot Lily Cage was, or how his heart ached at the sadness in her eyes. Like his brain somehow thought he should get involved and make her life better. She was Cage’s sister, a Hunter, and this whole situation was fucked seven ways to Sunday. Even if she was in as much pain as her eyes suggested, he had no interest in being the one to make it better for her.

Behind Bain, she murmured loud enough for him to hear. “It’s alright, really. I’ll go see if Shelby needs any help, and I should check on Seren.”

Bain shook his head, his gaze never leaving Dallas’s face. “You’re not going anywhere, Lil. It’s fine.”

Dallas sneered, then turned and stalked away. Whatever. He didn’t need this shit, anyway.

If no one was going to listen to him, what the fucking hell did he care?

* * *

LILY PEEKED OUT from around Bain to see the Destroyer walk away. She was breathing fine. Just because she’d been soul-wrenchingly attracted to a man who obviously wanted her head on a stake didn’t mean anyone was going to let him get close enough to allow it to happen.

As if sensing her distress, Bain crouched in front of her, his jaw working violently. “Lil, I’m not going to let him hurt you, all right? You know that. He’s just an ass.”

“I—” She stopped talking as she tried to figure out what she wanted to say, then straightened and squared her shoulders. Adrian’s disappearance had reinforced her childhood fears of how bad the world really was, and she wasn’t sure how to get on even footing again. Her instincts had never been this off. “I’m, ah, going to go find Seren.”

Bain’s brow jacked up. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she murmured, offering him a real smile. “Today is going to be hard on Seren, and I don’t want her to be by herself.”

“Gabriel is with her.”

Lily snorted. At an inch under seven feet tall and older than dirt, there wasn’t an ounce of softness or empathy in Seren’s dragon bodyguard. “Gabriel handles tears about as well as Luca.”

This time, Bain’s face went confused. “Seren doesn’t cry.”

Lily shook her head at him and left him standing there alone while she muttered about stupid men beneath her breath.  It had only been a month since Adrian’s…disappearance, and while Lily knew her sister-in-law, Seren, had thrown her whole self into being a new mother, she’d also lost her mate. Seren was good at pretending to be all right, but Lily loved her enough to know better. Her sister-in-law was dying inside, and while Seren was genuinely happy for Daniel and Shelby, watching them this blissful wasn’t going to be easy. Dragons mated for life, and they didn’t survive a mate’s death. It gave them all hope that her brother was still alive, but Adrian was the scariest Hunter in existence. It meant whatever was keeping him from his family had to be bad.

Very, very bad.

Refusing to let herself get sucked into a worry spiral, Lily decided to get a picture for her photo album of little Ava dressed up for her first wedding. When Adrian came back, he’d still have memories of his little girl.

It was a good plan, she thought, until Seren actually walked in. With the baby curled up in one arm sleeping, Seren went on her toes to hug Broderick, and the pain inside Lily almost overwhelmed her.

Knowing that Bain would still be watching her, she sent him a dazzling smile over her shoulder before she ducked into Shelby’s rose garden. The second she was out of sight, she let her face crumple. She dug through her purse for her phone, then sank down onto the stone bench in the middle of the pathway. Staring down at it, there was only one person she wanted to call. Only one person she wanted to talk to.

So she called him.

* * *

DALLAS WATCHED HER walk into the rose garden, the muscle under his eye ticking again. It didn’t surprise him that his gaze tracked her every move. She was a Hunter, and therefore she couldn’t be trusted. It had nothing to do with how goddamn hot she was.

Broderick settled in a chair next to him and cocked a brow, then leaned over slightly to see what Dallas was glaring at. When he didn’t see anything, his brow went higher as he handed the other dragon a beer. “What’s got you so pissed off other than the wind blowing?”

Dallas accepted the bottle, though he didn’t drink it, his gaze still focused on where the female had disappeared. “When the hell did I become more masochistic than Daniel?”

The Celtic dragon hesitated with his beer halfway to his mouth. “I’ll give you anger issues, but I never would have said masochistic was your problem. Why?”

Shoving a hand through his hair, Dallas braced himself before he turned and looked at Broderick. “Maybe one of us should take over for Daniel until he gets his head screwed back on straight. At least until after the honeymoon phase has passed.” Last month had been a crazy time for their king. He’d found himself accidentally mated to a human, then realized being her mate had made her a target for their enemies. In the aftermath, the grumpy, surly leader had become even more safety obsessed, especially where his mate was concerned.

After sucking down half his beer, Broderick cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. Leaning forward, he braced his arms against his legs as he studied Dallas, his beer bottle dangling from his fingers. “One, I’m not sure those two will ever be past the honeymoon phase, and two, what the fuck are you talking about? Why do you think Daniel isn’t fit to lead?”

Dallas’s jaw worked to hide the fact that his eye was twitching. “This isn’t the time or the place. Forget I said anything.”

“Bullshit. Speak.”

Ryuu. This wasn’t going to end well for him. It seemed no matter how hard he tried to be good, the day was going to end with someone wanting to kill him. “He’s not listening to reason, and I’m worried.”

“Is this about Cage?”

“Yes, goddamn it!” Dallas snarled. “Think about it. Cage is older and stronger than all of us, but we all managed to walk out on our own steam with nothing more than a few broken bones between us. How the hell was anyone able to grab him without any of us seeing it happen?”

That night was clear as fuck in Dallas’s head. The queen had been kidnapped, and they had all gathered to get her back, including Cage in a show of peace between their people. There had only been two males strong enough to make Cage disappear, and one was with Shelby the entire time, while the other, Alexi, had already been killed.

Broderick studied him for a long moment. “They found Cage’s wedding ring. You and I both know he’d have to be dead for that thing to ever leave his finger.”

Dallas set his teeth. “I don’t care.” He surged to his feet, and too edgy to sit still while they waited for the ceremony to start, he shook his head. “Something’s not right, and I’m not willing to sit around and wait for whatever the fucking Hunters are planning.”

Dallas didn’t have to stick around to hear what Broderick was going to say next. If the Hunters were planning something.

None of it made sense. Cage had been with the dragons when he’d disappeared. For thousands of years, the Hunters had attacked for much less than that, and the radio silence from them had Dallas twitchy.

He had no intention of following Lily until he found himself at the arched arbor that led into the blooming rose garden. His body stilled, his fist coming up to rub at the sudden ache in his chest.

For a moment he stood there, confused at how drawn he was to her voice. He went lightheaded as peace washed over him, and he leaned forward, trying to get closer to the sound. He hadn’t felt peace since the Hunters had…

His brow snapped together when what she was saying penetrated his brain. The rage that had been on simmer in his bloodstream since his family’s massacre built at the base of his gut as he stepped into the garden to see Lily on the phone.

“She’s not doing well, Adrian,” she said quietly, tears in her voice. “She needs you, and Ava needs you, and damn it, Adrian, I need you. Something bad is happening, and I need you. It’s time to come home. Please. Please come, Adrian. We need…”

Her voice trailed off when Dallas moved directly in front of her, deliberately allowing his dragon to show through his split pupils. “So,” he drawled as he crossed his arms over his chest, “you know where Adrian is.”

Sheer panic leapt into her eyes. She scooted away from him, her phone clutched to her chest as she glanced around for safety. He smiled. He was too close, and no one would get to her in time.

Despite the moment of terror, she held her ground when she realized there was nowhere for her to run. “It’s not what it sounds like.”

His gaze raked over her until he realized what he was doing and snapped his attention back to her face. “Really?” he asked. “Because it sounds like you were on the phone, begging your brother to come save your sexy little ass.”

There were shadows in her vivid eyes, reminding him of the horrific rumors he’d heard of her past, but she shrugged. “Okay, it is what it sounds like.”

Ryuu, she was hot. It should be the last thing on his mind, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t make himself stop staring at her mouth, either. No way in the seven hells should a Hunter female look like her.

“Does he answer you?” he asked.

Instead of bolting for safety, she frowned, making him think she wasn’t as afraid of him as she appeared.

“Come on,” he snapped. He wrapped his hand around her upper arm and dragged her toward the rose garden entrance.

She yanked on her arm, her fears apparently forgotten. “Where are we going?”

He almost laughed. Like she could break his hold. “You’re going to go tell everyone that I’m not fucking insane and your brother is still alive.”

Chapter 3

THIS WAS BAD. This was so far beyond bad Lily wasn’t even sure there was a word for it.

While Dallas’s grip on her arm didn’t hurt, it was tight and noticeable enough that the second they walked through the archway, every dragon eye in the garden narrowed in on them.

Lily’s heart dropped when their collective mood went from celebratory to straight-up pissed off. It was like a ripple effect that started with Seren’s brother, Luca, and hit the other dragons one by one until Gabriel, the Behemoth who had isolated himself as usual, jerked to attention. There was barely leashed murder in his light blue eyes when he started toward them.

Lily came to a stop. Iosa. Every dragon in attendance slowly closed in on them, murder in their eyes. They knew the horror her life had once been and how she’d come to be under Adrian’s protection, so they were all horribly overprotective. And when Dallas halted, his lip lifting in a sneer and his body bracing for war, she reacted without thinking.

She moved in front of Dallas and went up on her toes. He leaned toward her, though his attention never left the dragons. Until she gripped his face, pulled him down to her level, and kissed him.

He staggered backward a step before he jerked his mouth away from hers. She gripped his shirt and tried to will him into not being an ass. It didn’t work. “What the fuck was that for?”

Because he looked so shocked, she followed him when he took one step back from her, and then another. She stalked forward, her eyes locked on his. “I’m trying to save your life.” She moved closer to him when his back came up against a rose bush. That he chose the scratching thorns over being near her would have been comical if every dragon in the place wasn’t intent on murdering him. He stared at her as if she’d turned into a complicated math problem that he couldn’t figure out. So she spelled it out for him. “If they think you’re scaring me or going to hurt me, they will kill you. So kiss me, damn it.”

Though she couldn’t tell if it was from temper or lust, he let out a violent growl and tangled his hand in her hair. He yanked her forward, up onto her toes, and fused his mouth to hers.

Lily forgot the plan the second their lips met. She forgot about the wedding. She forgot where they were and that he thought she knew where Adrian was. She forgot he was the Destroyer and that the dragons were closing in on them intent on beating Dallas to a pulp. She forgot all of it as she wound her arms around his neck, kissing him back for all she was worth.

He let out a low sound of need when his large hands molded over her hips, pulling her body into full contact with his, his mouth devouring hers like a man starved. Like he couldn’t get enough of her.

Lily was okay with that. She could very easily spend the rest of her life kissing him.

“Get your hands off her,” Luca said, his voice deadly quiet. “Now.”

Dallas yanked away from her as if he’d been burned. She tore her gaze away, her pulse hammering so loud she was sure every guest in attendance could hear it.

Judging by the fury in his soft green eyes, he was about a heartbeat away from strangling her. Not that she blamed him. Even she could see she’d twisted the poor man’s brain, but it would defeat the whole point of her trying to distract the dragons if he gave into the urge.

Lily sighed. It looked like she was going to have to save him from himself. She had no idea why she cared. She was more stunned at how out of character she was behaving.

She spun around abruptly, then backed into Dallas until she was pressed up against his front, watching as the dragons formed a half circle around them. Her trust issues were common knowledge with them, and they weren’t stupid.

So she couldn’t really blame them for the confusion on their faces. She reached back and grabbed Dallas’s hand, linking her small fingers with his much larger ones. “It’s okay, really. I’m fine.” She shot them all a sweet smile. “See?”

Luca studied their twined hands before he raised his gaze, his brow cocked. Because he was Seren’s brother, and Seren was mated to Adrian, Luca had all but adopted Lily as a bonus sister. “What’s going on, Lil?”

She blinked innocently at him. “Nothing.”

Behind her, Dallas snorted and yanked his hand free. “Bullshit. Adrian is— Ow, damn it!” he bellowed as she stomped on his foot with one killer heel.

Luca ignored him, his focus locked on Lily. “Adrian is what?”

“Nothing. Gone.” She frowned at Luca as sudden, unwelcome tears stung her eyes. She rounded on Dallas. “He’s gone.”

She didn’t wait for him to argue with her. She wasn’t going to stick around while he told everyone that she was calling a dead man. And if he wasn’t going to let her save his life, what did she care if he kept opening his mouth trying to get himself hurt?

She was grateful the ceremony started a few minutes later until the Destroyer sat directly behind her. Without looking, she could feel his rage-filled gaze burning a hole in the back of her head.

She did her best to ignore him, though, and concentrated on watching one of her favorite couples get married.

As Shelby stepped onto the aisle, awed gasps came from the guests. Always beautiful, the shimmering fairy lights that graced the trees and lit the ceremony area made her look ethereal. Her gown was somehow medieval and modern at the same time, a ball gown of such pure white, it was almost blinding.

But that gown was nothing compared to Daniel when Lily turned her head back to him. The hard, unsmiling dragon king had been replaced with a giant male with such brilliant love in his eyes her chest ached. And when Shelby finally, finally reached him, he moved with the speed of his kind. He had his hand in her hair, his mouth possessing hers as if the rest of them had all disappeared. Until the cheer went up, and they broke apart. Daniel’s head rested against Shelby’s as they visibly dragged in breath, their smiles only for each other.

Tears stung her eyes. That was what she wanted. Shelby brought out gentleness in Daniel, helping him to find a sense of humor he’d never known existed in himself, and in return, he gave her the world. It was—had been—the same for Adrian and Seren. Adrian’s past had been even more damaged and dark than Lily’s, but Seren had helped him heal and forgive himself, while Adrian had given her security, an anchor in the chaos of her life.

For the hundredth time that day, tears stung Lily’s eyes as she listened to Daniel and Shelby speak their vows. Any hope she’d had of finding a mate and living happy ever after had disappeared along with Adrian. The grief and desperation that pulsed around Seren had talked her out of it. Lily was already broken inside. She didn’t need a torn heart on top of it.

* * *

BY THE TIME the reception started, Dallas was about to crawl out of his skin. He blamed the Hunter female. Horny as hell after that kiss, he’d barely been able to make it through the ceremony without making an ass of himself by standing up and adjusting his aching cock in pants that had grown two sizes too small.

When the ceremony ended, he’d thought about grabbing one of the starlets or models staring at him and take them up on their unspoken invitation, but weirdly, it wasn’t any of them he wanted.

Which pissed him all kinds of the hell off.

So instead of easing his lust the easy way, he parked himself on a frilly black-and-white draped chair under the stars and tried not to stare at Lily Cage being hit on by every male with a pulse.

It might not have annoyed him so badly if she hadn’t already forgotten his existence. An hour in, and she hadn’t glanced his way once.

She shouldn’t fascinate him. He shouldn’t be obsessed with the lock of shiny sable hair that had escaped her bun and occasionally curled against the porcelain of her cheek. Nor should he notice that she had three different smiles: the forced smile she gave when a male hit on her, the smile that wrinkled her nose but didn’t reach her eyes when talking to someone she liked, and the smile tinged in sadness whenever she looked down at her infant niece.

Everything he’d learned about her said she was uptight, emotionally damaged, and an ice princess. So where in the hell did the sex goddess come from?

Fuck this. He was up and across the yard in his next breath, glaring down at her. “Dance with me.”

She paused, the baby on her lap mid-bounce, and slowly craned her head up to look at him. When he offered her a hand, she eyed it as if she expected it to turn into a snake and bite her. Finally, she raised her eyes back to his. “By dance with you, do you mean follow you so you can take me somewhere quiet and kill me?”

“Should I?”

“No, but you don’t exactly look like you’re enjoying the thought of dancing with me.”

Fuck no, he wasn’t. He couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t killed her yet, let alone why he’d kissed her back. But for one stupid second, he’d thought she was serious about trying to save his life.

He had to admit the other dragons had looked ready to tear him apart by the limbs, and if Lily wouldn’t have acted, there was a good chance he’d be camped out at a healer’s for the night.

But for whatever fucked up reasons, she’d rescued him, and he hated being in anyone’s debt.

He forced his mouth to stretch into a semblance of a smile, aware that it probably looked more like a death grimace than charming. “Last chance. Take it or leave it.”

She studied him for so long he started to feel like an idiot for standing there. Not that he didn’t feel like an idiot, anyway. He couldn’t explain it, but the woman got to him.

When Luca, who was sprawled comfortably on the other side of Seren, straightened, Lily kissed the baby on the top of her pretty blond head and handed her back to Seren before she scrambled to her feet and wrapped her hand around Dallas’s.

“What is wrong with you,” she hissed as he led her out onto the crowded dance floor. “Do you want them to take a piece out of you?”

He ignored that. Hooking his arm around her waist, he hauled her against him. Instantly, the attraction already on sizzle amped up. Her pulse quickened as his pupils lengthened, his eye twitching in reaction. It should not be possible for a female this tiny and soft to fit so perfectly against him.

Ryuu.

Raw, unadulterated hunger tore through him with a force that left him staggering.  He growled quietly and shifted his gaze to over her head. “Where is he?” he asked.

He caught the brief instance of fear in her eyes before she lowered her gaze to his chest.

“You know as well as I do that he’s d—” She stopped, as if she couldn’t finish the thought. “Gone.”

He raised a brow, his voice harsh. “Gone is not dead.”

She turned her head away and smiled at the couple dancing next to them. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Too bad,” he snapped. “You were the one calling him home, and I want answers.”

She raised her furious eyes to his, and he had the distinct feeling she was considering kicking him in the balls. “Weren’t you there when it happened?” she asked angrily. “Why are you so convinced he’s still alive?”

“Why are you?” he shot back, not realizing they had stopped dancing and stood in the middle of the dance floor, yelling at each other. “As far as I know, normal people don’t usually call a presumed dead man asking for help.”

Lily closed her eyes, muttering something under her breath. When she finally looked at him, she didn’t seem to notice his temper.  “Because Seren is still alive. Because I can’t imagine anything taking him away from Seren and Ava.” She took a step toward him, all but vibrating with fury. “It doesn’t mean he answers, but he’s my brother, and I need him. So I call him because it makes me feel better to hear his voice on his voicemail.”

Feeling like a bastard was normal for Dallas. He tended to not give a shit what anyone thought of him because someone had to do the right thing when everyone else was too afraid. But feeling like an asshole was something completely different and foreign. The pressure landed on his chest, squeezing the little piece of his heart he’d never been able to kill off.

He scrubbed a hand down his face when he realized he’d hurt and embarrassed her, and knowing she’d have every right to slap him if he tried to apologize, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing in the middle of the dance floor alone.

Chapter 4

MORTIFIED, LILY RUSHED out of the open air tent and made her way through the torch-lit gardens. She meant to find Daniel and Shelby to say goodbye before hunting down Bain and asking him to take her home. But when she found the newly married couple hidden in the shadows on a stone bench, Shelby sitting sideways over his lap as they talked and cuddled, she couldn’t bring herself to interrupt them. This was their day, and she didn’t want to cast a shadow over it.

Instead, she headed toward the back doors of the castle, desperate to find Bain and go home.

She didn’t know how to convince them that she wasn’t breakable or that she hadn’t gone off the deep end. She hadn’t told anyone she was still calling Adrian because Seren was still holding herself together, and the last thing her sister-in-law needed was to worry about Lily’s sanity on top of it. Just because Lily knew somewhere deep inside that her brother was still alive somewhere, didn’t mean she was going to put those thoughts in Seren’s head.

She sniffled to hold back the unwanted tears. Someone out there was checking his messages. It didn’t matter who it was. She had to believe it was her brother.

Seren loved him and needed him, and Lily couldn’t imagine anything powerful enough to keep him from his little girl. Everything, all logic in her head, pointed to the fact that he had to be dead. She knew that.

She just didn’t believe it.

Bain must have heard about Lily’s mental instability because when she found him coming down the back castle stairs, he didn’t hesitate. He grabbed her upper arm in a tight grip and led her toward the front hall and out to the long circular drive. He was watching her and, already feeling exposed, she wished he’d back off a little. Since he was the youngest and by far the best-tempered out of all the king’s elite guard, still possessing a softness to his face and personality, he’d been her constant companion since Adrian’s disappearance. With their leader missing, the Hunter world was in turmoil. In an attempt to keep the tenuous hold on their peace treaty, the dragon king had taken her under his proverbial wing and protection.

But now Bain, apparently believing she was suddenly breakable, lifted her into the seat of his truck, and honest to the gods, she wanted to kick him when she caught him leering at her breasts when she buckled herself in.

“Bain,” she murmured, aware she was overreacting but wishing he’d get in the vehicle and take her home. “You’re staring.”

He smiled when he slammed the door shut without making sure it was locked, jogged around the truck, and slid behind the wheel.  He dug his keys out of his pocket, started the vehicle, and headed off Daniel’s private island. Lily spent the twenty minute drive back to her apartment wondering what was up with Bain. Dragons were notoriously over-protective, and Bain always made sure she was locked in and safe before he closed her door.

So lost in her own thoughts, it took her until he’d opened her door again to realize that they were parked in front of her building. His pretty, boyish face was closed off as he helped her out, but it was the way his jaw was ticking that worried her. Even though she’d been raised by the biggest, scariest man alive—second only to Gabriel Morgan who was the approximate size of a continent—she never got used to the temper the dragons could display when they got angry. For some reason, they never seemed to remember how big they were and how massive their tempers were compared to how little she was.

Lily knew all too well what a human man half their size was capable of. She’d never survive that kind of violence from one of them.

After he’d lifted her out of his truck and set her on her feet, he chuckled when she took a hurried step away from him. The sound raised the hair on the back of her neck.

“What’s the matter, Lily? Afraid I’m going to hurt you?

“No,” she lied. The smile she sent him felt forced, even to herself. She’d never been afraid of him, but he was huge and not acting like himself. And after being attracted to the Destroyer, her instincts were all over the place and couldn’t be trusted. “Really, Bain, I’m not.”

The temper cleared out of his face as he smiled and took a step toward her. “Why don’t we go upstairs, and you can get more comfortable? Then you can tell me why you were calling Adrian. Don’t you trust me?”

She shook her head and stepped around him, heading for the back door to her building. Her hand trembled as she dug through her purse to find her keys. “I don’t want to talk about it, all right?”

“Too bad.”  He caught up with her and grabbed her hand. His voice was quiet, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. “He’s dead. You need to accept that.”

She yanked her hand free and spun around, too angry and shocked to deal with the pain of his words. “No!” she yelled. “I’m not going to let him go because he’s not dead! He can’t be! And if you cared about me as much as you pretend to, you’d be out there looking for him instead of looking at me like I’m crazy.”

“Care about you?” He snorted. “No, I don’t care about you. You’re a paycheck. But I am going to enjoy this tight little body before I take you to your daddy.” The words hit her like a physical blow, triggering her worst nightmares and making her violently ill. Then he moved in, wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, and lowered his mouth to hers.

Terror hit hard at being kissed without her consent, and the panic had her fighting for all she was worth. She wouldn’t be able to stop him. He was too big. A strangled scream tore out of her as she wedged her arms between them, but she never had a chance to struggle.

One second he was kissing her, and the next he was just… gone. Dallas had come out of nowhere and lifted Bain off his feet. With a flick of his wrist, Dallas flung Bain across the parking lot. A gleaming knife appeared in Dallas’s hand as he followed with an inhuman jump, landing on top of Bain. The two of them hit the ground with enough force to ripple the concrete.

* * *

DALLAS WASN’T SURE how he had managed to stop the blade an inch from plunging into Bain’s heart, or even why he had stopped. He’d trusted Bain at his back for more than a thousand years, but this couldn’t be that dragon.

He’d followed them because he’d been a bastard, and for the first time in close to a millennia, he had the need to apologize to someone. It hadn’t helped that he’d used his phone to pull up the massive file Broderick had on her and had skimmed through it after she’d left the reception. He’d wanted more insight into her head, a move he was regretting now.

When he’d pulled into the parking lot and seen Bain kiss her, the rage that had bloodied his vision had been bad enough, but then her terror had pulsed out, taking up space inside his chest, and he’d come unglued.

He sensed her before he heard her come up behind him, and he was dimly aware that his hand was around Bain’s throat when she slipped her small fingers around his wrist and looked up at him. “Don’t kill him.”

Fuck this. He couldn’t handle the raw fear in her eyes, but if she didn’t want Bain dead, the bastard would live.

For now.

But Dallas slammed his fist into his face anyway. When he was sure the younger dragon was out cold, he got to his feet and rounded on her. Her beautiful face was too pale, her vivid eyes too bright in her head, but instead of crumpling, she wrapped her arms around herself and started toward her building.

“Lily.” A low, savage growl tore out of his chest, and even pissed off, he cursed himself for scaring her more. She stopped walking and her small frame stilled. Without a word, she turned and walked into his chest. And then, she did the damndest thing and snuggled into him.

He scowled into the darkness. What the hell was he supposed to do with her now?

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice hoarse. She buried her face in his throat and inhaled deeply. Which just confused the shit out of him. Her instincts were legendary, so why the fuck wasn’t she running from him?

“No. That’s not Bain. It can’t be.” She exhaled a shaky breath and moved back a step, her gaze defiant on his, as if she was waiting for him to laugh at her. “He didn’t feel right.”

He agreed. “He scared you.”

She nodded. “He was acting weird,” she repeated, frowning. She tilted her face up to his. “I’ve always trusted him.”

His brain was going to explode. “Did you want him to kiss you?” The haunted emotions he’d seen in her eyes earlier flashed over her face, but she met his gaze without falling apart.

“Did you want me to kiss you earlier? Because that would be the same—”

“Fuck yeah, I did.” He scowled the second the words were out of his mouth. Why the hell had he said that out loud? “It’s not the same thing.”

She didn’t look like she believed him as she swiped a hand under her eyes. “It’s all your fault,” she muttered. “I shouldn’t be attracted to you. You’re the Destroyer.”

The ice that had started to melt around his heart hardened. He took another step away from her. He’d never given a shit that people called him the Destroyer. It was true. After the massacre of his family, he’d made it his single-minded focus in life to take out as many Hunters as he could.

It had never bothered him in the least that he was the dragon nightmare Hunter parents warned their children about when they tucked them into bed at night. He was exactly what they had made him.

A strangled sound escaped her. “I’m sorry, Dallas. See? I told you everything was all—” Her words cut off as she focused on something over his shoulder. His arm snaked out to grab her when she stumbled back a step, ice cold terror in her gaze. He shoved her behind him and spun around in time to see the body he’d laid out stagger to his feet and take off into the shadows. It wasn’t Bain, unless he’d suddenly turned into a Hunter.

Moving slowly, he automatically reached around to the knife holster at his lower back, using his dragon senses to scan the darkness. “Who is that, Lil?”

“I don’t know his name.” She moved a little closer to him when he let out a violent growl. “But he worked for my stepfather.”

Dallas scowled as he stretched out his instincts, scanning the surrounding distance for any threat. Besides them, there was just the dark stain of pure evil on the air.  “Let’s get you inside, and I’ll go look.” He growled again as he turned his head to look at her. That was the fourth time she’d reacted strangely to his growl, and she was all but on top of him at this point.

“Would I be the most pathetic female if I asked you not to leave?” She tried to smile and failed. He didn’t blame her. Her stepfather had been a sick-fuck monster, torturing and nearly breaking her when she’d been a child. He was surprised she wasn’t a crumpled heap in the parking lot.

It wasn’t in him to promise anyone anything. He never made a promise he didn’t know he could keep, and getting emotionally invested in a Hunter was a suicide mission. He’d get her to her apartment, call Broderick or Luca to take over watch, then go see what had used Bain’s form to scare the shit out of her.

Ryuu. If he had to call Daniel over this, it wasn’t going to end up pretty.

* * *

TO HER SURPRISE, Dallas lifted her up and carried her inside. His body was rigid against hers while he carried her into the apartment and made sure the door was locked, dead-bolted, and spelled against any outside force.  There seemed to be a never-ending limit to a dragon’s magic, and it would have fascinated her under other circumstances. It didn’t help that he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to let her go, and yet kept watching her like she was some kind of fucked-up puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out.

When his gaze locked on her mouth, then went lower, Lily followed his eyes. She blushed. She was nearly coming out of the halter neckline of her dress. Clearing her throat, she tried to wiggle her arms between them to cover herself, only to get sidetracked by the amusement in his soft green eyes.

She frowned, confused at how stable she felt being locked inside her apartment with him, and the fear that had threatened to eat her alive out in the parking lot had faded to a dull gnaw. “You’re enjoying this,” she accused.

There was heat in his eyes when he finally set her on her feet and leaned back against the door, his stance casual. He crossed his arms over his ginormous chest. “Very much,” he drawled.

She could still feel his tension as if it were her own, but he wasn’t treating her like she was breakable. She wasn’t sure why it mattered so much when she wasn’t even sure she trusted him. But she liked that there was at least one male out there who didn’t handle her like she was made out of spun glass.

He blinked, then shook his head. His eyes narrowed on her, the moment of humor and softness gone. A low laugh rumbled in his chest suddenly, and one light brown brow jacked up. “Get comfortable, sweetheart. I’m here for a while.”

As if to prove it, he pushed off against the door and walked across the living room, then flopped his massive frame onto her oversize L-shaped couch. He sprawled out and stretched his long, muscled frame, then dug his phone out of his back pocket. He tapped out something on the screen, then tossed it next to him, crossed his feet at the ankle, and tucked his arms behind his head.

“I should be kicking you out,” she murmured on her way toward the back of her spacious, totally female, white and pink flowered apartment. She opened her bedroom door and smiled, like always. She loved the look of all the antique lace and delicate roses. It was old-fashioned, and Adrian called it grandmotherly, as if either of them knew what that even meant, but Lily loved it, every inch. She raised her voice so he could hear her. “You know that, right? Luca will have a fit if he finds out I let you in my apartment.” As her kind-of sort-of brother-in-law, and a genuine good guy in bastard clothing, Luca took her safety personally. He never would have left her with Bain if he didn’t trust him.

A male snort came from the living room. “Who said you’re letting me?”

She laughed, she couldn’t help it, and for the first time since Adrian’s disappearance, it came out as a real sound. “For the record, when you explain tonight to him, and I promise he will make you, I wouldn’t tell him you didn’t give me a choice. Not if you want to keep breathing.”

She closed her bedroom door on his response and let herself sink down on her soft bed. Oh gods, what was she doing? She didn’t make impulse decisions, and the last person who should be making himself at home in her apartment was the Destroyer.

But despite how much of an ass he’d been at the reception, he’d come after her, and his growl, well…

She didn’t understand. His growl calmed her. It should have terrified her instead of making her feel safe.

She shook it off. Needing to figure him out, she hurried to change out of her dress. She tugged on a pair of pale pink pajama shorts and a matching tank top before dashing into the bathroom to wash her face and comb her hair.

When she was done, she considered changing. When Bain or any of the other dragons spent the night, she dressed in the frumpiest nightgown she could find, but these pajamas showed off every curve she had.

What the hell was she doing baiting a dragon? She stared at herself in the mirror.

Nervous, she grabbed an oversize lightweight sweater on her way out of the bedroom and pulled it on.

He jerked up into a sitting position. A delicious thrill ran up her spine. Damn Adrian. She didn’t know what she was doing, was making it all up as she went, and he was supposed to be there to keep her on solid footing.

But he wasn’t. And she felt brave. Emboldened and determined to play it out, she went over and curled up on the other end of the couch. She may be making the biggest mistake of her life, but he felt right. He felt…

Safe.

His body went rigid as he scowled down at her. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You’re safe, so I’m staying close to you tonight.” When he gaped at her, stunned and a little panicked, she grinned and scooted a little closer to him. Safe wasn’t something she experienced often, and she fully planned on taking advantage of it while she could.

Chapter 5

A LOW WARNING growl sounded in Dallas’s throat an instant before he jerked awake. Lily’s breasts were mashed against his chest, her eyes sleepy and holding the same stunned look he knew was on his own face.

“We’re not alone, are we?” she whispered.

His lifted a brow at the three angry, pissed-off dragons glaring down at them.

Gabriel Morgan, The Behemoth, didn’t give him time to answer before he bellowed, “What the hell is going on here?”

Dallas kept his face neutral as he glanced down at Lily, who was staring wide-eyed at the dragons. Uncomfortable with the feeling that was spreading in his chest, he sat up slowly and carefully maneuvered her so she was mostly hidden on the couch behind him. While he wasn’t sure what he was still doing there, the look he sent them all was lethal. As quickly as she’d dozed off on him last night, he doubted she’d had a good night’s sleep since word had come down of Adrian’s disappearance.

Not that he cared. But if she trusted him enough to sleep on top of him, she’d eventually loosen up enough to tell him where her brother was.

That was it.

Because Luca looked to be the most pissed off and about a heartbeat away from ripping out his throat, Dallas focused on him. “What’s going on?”

Luca looked from Dallas to the half-naked Lily behind him and back again. His dark blue eyes narrowed at Dallas.

Dallas growled a low, inhuman sound. “Keep your goddamn eyes off her, Dragan, unless you want to lose them.”

As murder flashed in Luca’s eyes, Gabriel grabbed the back of Luca’s neck to stop his forward momentum. He raised a brow at Dallas, his voice calm. “Explain. What the hell is going on?”

“Fuck off. I’m not explaining anything.”

When Lily poked him in the back he turned his head to find her staring up at the dragons that apparently took her safety to epic levels. “I got spooked after Bain kissed me,” she admitted quietly, “and then it wasn’t Bain but one of Porter’s goons, which is ridiculous because they’re all supposed to be dead. Dallas stayed with me because I was afraid.”

Because her trust issues were legendary, Dallas tensed as she looked at each one of them in turn. Even though, for obvious reasons, Dallas had never been given Lily-duty, he knew the drill. The closest she allowed any of them when they spent the night was on the couch, while she locked herself—literally—in her room.

Dallas was immediately defensive at the smile that lit her face, and if he hadn’t been worried about his life, he was the second she opened her mouth. “He was comfier and warmer than my bed, so I decided to sleep on him.” She ignored the murderous look he sent her over his shoulder and smiled sweetly at all of them. “Anyone got a problem with that?”

“Yes,” they all snapped at her at once, including Dallas.

“Tough,” she snapped back.

Gabriel Morgan crouched in front of her. “Lil, Porter and all his men are dead. You know that. Adrian and I killed them all.”

Her head bobbed. “I know. It was probably just my imagination.” She scanned all their faces until her gaze landed on Gabriel. “Where’s Bain?” she asked quietly.

Luca answered. “We found him this morning. He’d been shot up with some kind of poison. Not enough to kill him,” he rushed on when Lily started to panic, “but just enough to make him violently ill.”

Broderick Thornheart spoke up for the first time. “That’s why we’re here. We found evidence of a skinwalker on the castle grounds. We thought the worst, and that something had happened to you.”

His head was going to explode. He knew it. He could feel the pressure and rage building in his skull. “How the fuck did a skinwalker get onto the castle grounds?”

“That’s what you need to figure out.” Gabriel stood. “I need you to go pack a bag, Lil. You’re going home with Luca until we get to the bottom of this.”

“No, I’m not.” She shook her head. Dallas could feel her fear, and while he didn’t blame her one damn bit, he wasn’t going to allow anyone to railroad her into anything. He was head of security, which made it his job to figure out how the skinwalker was able to get past his men. But the others on the king’s Elite Guard would have to work on that since his dragon was demanding he give Lily precedence.

So he agreed with her. “The hell she is. She’s staying here, and I’m staying with her.” He raised a brow at the other three. “You can all make yourself useful and go do guard duty.”

The easy façade Gabriel always projected slipped, and temper flashed in his pale blue eyes. “I’m going to ask one more time. What the hell is going on here?”

Dallas growled low, and to his surprise, he felt some of the tension ease out of Lily. “What the hell is going on here is that we were sleeping, and it’s too goddamn fucking early for the damn inquisition. No one is getting past me to get to her, and since none of you have any idea what the hell is going on yet, go the fuck away until you do.”

Though there was still worry in her eyes, Lily smiled sweetly at all of them. “What he means to say is, we’re tired, so can we do this later? Please?”

Dallas snorted at her, but he didn’t correct her. Instead, he cocked a brow at the other dragons and waited.

Finally, Gabriel looked at the others and jerked his head toward the door before leveling a look at Dallas. “You have until five o’clock this afternoon to call me and let me know what exactly is going on between the two of you. If I have to hunt you down, it will not end well for you.”

Dallas had no idea what the hell was going on. She was way too timid for him, and he had no idea why he’d even followed her last night, let alone why he was still here.

But he was going to start bashing heads together if these idiots didn’t get the hell out now.

So he growled until they finally took the hint and left, leaving him alone with the one woman he wasn’t sure he trusted himself to be alone with.

She was waiting with wide eyes for him to look at her when he finally shifted his gaze to hers. She offered him a hesitant smile as she curled up on the opposite corner of the couch. “I’m, ah…sorry for falling asleep on you last night?”

His brow jacked up. “Was that a question or a statement?”

To his surprise, she smiled at him. “Fine. I’m not really sorry. I meant it. You are all warm and comfy, too warm and comfy for me to leave and go to my bed.” Her teeth tugged on her full bottom lip, drawing his attention to her mouth. “Besides, you weren’t arguing. I woke up at one point with your hand molded around my breast.”

The muscle under his eye ticked once, because no way could he have been that stupid, or possessive, in his sleep. It was bad enough he could see that she was interested in him when rumor was she’d never been interested in anyone. He wasn’t going down that road. Even if she had breasts that made him want to beg and legs he was sure he’d fantasize about until the end of time itself.

Part of him was aware she’d be perfect mate material. Because she was a Hunter, he wouldn’t have to worry about his emotions ever coming into play, and she was hot. Hotter than the fires of Hell hot. Sex wouldn’t be a hardship.

She was exactly what his father had told him to look for in a mate. Pretty enough that bedding her for eternity wouldn’t be a hardship, but not someone he’d ever have to invest any emotions into. Because emotions had no damn place in a warrior’s life.

He shook his head, clearing the thought before she somehow read it on his face. Because she was still watching him with that expectant look, he crossed his arms over his chest and planted his feet, bracing himself against the words. “I’m sorry.”

* * *

LILY’S MOUTH DROPPED open. The rumor was the Destroyer apologized to no one, ever. As in ever, ever.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, surprising herself. And because it did surprise her, she frowned at him as she slid off the couch and headed for the kitchen. She needed chocolate. She needed to clear her brain, but chocolate was going to have to do for the moment until she had breathing room.

Dallas must know of her issues. Everyone did. Her past wasn’t a secret. Not even Adrian knew every scary detail, but her issues were well enough known in the dragon and Hunter world that no one usually touched her for fear of sending her into a meltdown. Because she would, and had, melted down before. She’d been younger then, and in less control of her emotions. But there was still a knee-jerk, bone-and-soul-deep need in her to avoid any and all physical contact.

She had gotten better thanks to Adrian’s patience, even learning to seek out Luca’s bear hugs when she was feeling vulnerable. But it still should have freaked her out to wake up to find Dallas’s hand wrapped firmly and possessively around her breast.

But it hadn’t freaked her out. She’d liked it. She’d stared down at his hand, wondering if the dragon was becoming attached to her, because dragons were only possessive of what they considered theirs.  Amused by the thought, she’d snorted and fallen back asleep.

Dallas apologizing, though, made her brain hurt and had an ache settling in her heart. It seemed wrong somehow. He was so strong and powerful and confident, she couldn’t imagine him needing to apologize for anything very often. He made a decision and executed it, even if it made everyone in his life hate him.

She came to an abrupt stop in her kitchen and laughed quietly at the small mountain of chocolate bars on her table.

“What are you smiling at?” Dallas snapped as he walked in behind her, going through her cabinets in a search for a coffee pot.

“Micah.” She scooped all the candy bars into her arms, walked over to the drawer next to the refrigerator, opened it, and dumped all the bars into her nearly empty stash drawer.

Micah was Luca and Seren’s older brother, and there wasn’t a dragon alive that trusted the oldest Dragan sibling. Soulless and empty of emotion, he was a stone-cold killer. Even Lily had heard the rumors of the women and children that had gone missing since he’d taken over the Dragan underworld after killing his psychopath father.

“What the hell do you mean, Micah?” he asked, snarling. When she looked up, Dallas was glaring at her. She was sure he was killing Micah in his head. Before she could think about it, she rushed over to him and rested her hand lightly on his arm. “He worries about me, and he’s really awful about tears, so he brings me chocolate to cheer me up. He always somehow knows when I’m running low.  I’ll come upstairs after closing the shop, and there’s a box of candy bars on my doorstep.”

“Micah Dragan is more likely to boil you in chocolate for the fun of it than supply it.”

Lily didn’t shy away but held his gaze instead, trying not to smile at the adorable confusion written all over his face. “I’ve never actually caught him, but Seren doesn’t believe he’s evil, and she said he used to always do things like this for her. Only instead of chocolate, it was a hot cup of coffee when she was on a long shift at the hospital.”

“I promise you, it’s not Micah. There is no soul in that man. Luca, maybe.” When she furrowed her brow in confusion, he growled quietly before turning his back on her and continued his search for caffeine. “They’re going soft. All of them, especially Ashborne for letting Shelby get under his skin. All you have to do is look at Seren to know that anyone who risks taking a mate has lost their fucking minds.”

Sadness swept through her. “Seren doesn’t regret mating to Adrian.”

“Bullshit. If she wouldn’t have mated to the idiot, she wouldn’t be walking around now looking like she’s had her heart ripped open.”

Lily lifted her chin and crossed her arms over her chest as hurt welled up inside of her. “That idiot is my brother, and he loves—loved—Seren with everything inside of him, and if they wouldn’t have mated, she wouldn’t have her beautiful little Ava now.”

Dallas slammed the cabinet closed and snarled, making her jump. He turned to glare at her. She met his temper head on, refusing to back down. Finally, he sighed. “I’m sorry,” he growled. “I have…issues with males taking a mate in our world. I didn’t mean to call your brother an idiot.”

Whoa. Two apologies in one day. Now she was starting to worry about his mental health. She should be afraid of him. He was the freaking Destroyer, and she was the very thing he destroyed. But there was so much pain and rage and hopelessness in his soft green eyes that she didn’t want to be afraid of him.

Besides, the rumor was, he had every reason to hate Hunters. He had found the woman he wanted to take to mate more than a thousand years ago, but a Hunter had killed her before they could finalize the mating. When Dallas had retaliated, killing the Hunter who had taken his woman, a band of Hunters had struck back, killing Dallas’s entire family.

Her heart ached for him. For the first time in Lily’s life, she didn’t want to play it safe. She was so attracted to him it hurt to breathe, and she wanted him to want her, too. She wasn’t sure how to get past his unreadable mask to get to the man she was starting to suspect was almost as broken inside as she was.

But, in Lily’s head, if he could make her feel this safe in a world that had gone upside down with Adrian’s death, why couldn’t she fight to make him feel safe, too?

When she grinned, he shifted uncomfortably, his hand hesitating before he cleared his throat and adjusted himself. “What?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing on her.

She took a step toward him until the tips of her breasts brushed against the fabric of his button-down shirt. His hands fisted at his side, and his jaw was clenched so tight it had to be causing him real pain.      He dragged a hand over his face. “Well? Why are you smiling at me like that?”

She didn’t answer him. Instead, she cupped his face in her hands, pulling him down to her level. When she had him where she wanted him, she searched his eyes for a long moment.

And then she kissed him.

Chapter 6

HER MOUTH CLOSED over his, as sweet as it was erotic, and it took everything Dallas had not to dive into her and devour. Instead, he leaned back against the counter, letting her take them wherever she wanted them to go, while he tried to figure out when the hell he’d taken the trip down the rabbit hole. She was seducing him. And he saw no reason not to let her.

Or at least, he wanted to do the noble thing and let her control their pace. His body had different ideas when she leaned into him, her soft breasts molding perfectly against his chest. He tangled a hand in her hair as he pulled her closer, not caring in the least that she was a Hunter and the very thing he hated and had vowed to destroy. And he’d give a shit later if she was setting him up for something, but right now, he was going to enjoy the hell out of her mouth, and however much of her she let him have. She was offering him a shot at heaven, and he wasn’t stupid enough to turn it down.

Her breasts slid against his chest as she went up on her toes, twining her arms around his neck and taking the kiss deeper. He was rock fucking hard against her, and he had no way of hiding it.

She jerked back, and her fear ripped at something inside of him. Staggered him. Rage wanted to boil in his blood, but he shoved it down and concentrated on her. He brushed the hair out of her face with all the gentleness he could find in himself. He was damn sure one taste of her wasn’t going to be enough. And if she wanted to use his body to work out whatever was going on in that pretty head of hers, he sure as shit wasn’t going to complain.

“Hey,” he murmured softly, his hand tangling at the back of her neck. He scraped the pad of his thumb lightly over her cheekbone. Ryuu, she was beautiful. “Your pace, all right? We do whatever you want to do at your pace.”

Her vivid green eyes searched his, and the longer he held her gaze, the more the panic started to fade from hers. He’d kill something later for the fear in her, but for right now, she had his full attention.

“I may, ah, need help.” A dimple he hadn’t known she possessed suddenly flashed in her right cheek as she smiled up at him. “I’ve never seduced anyone.”

Fuck. He’d known it, had thought he was prepared for it, but hearing her say it out loud rocked him backward. This wasn’t right. He didn’t give a shit what her past was, but she deserved a perfect first time, and nothing about him was perfect.

But then she moved into him again, and his gaze lowered to the swell of her breasts above the snug fabric of her tank top, vaguely aware that she was talking to him. He shook his head to clear it and somehow found the strength to drag his eyes away from that perfect view.

Her hands slipped around his waist, the moment of fear having receded. “I think you look more nervous than I feel.”

He growled at her, realizing too late that she tended to snuggle into him when he made the sound, and sure enough, before it had died out of his chest, those perfect breasts of hers were mashed against his chest again as her mouth hovered directly under his.

He was going to hell for this. He knew it. Any good he’d ever done in his life was about to be erased, and it was all because of this tiny, beautiful woman and her devastating trust in him.

“Kiss me again,” he demanded. His voice had gone hoarse with need, but his pride refused to let her see how much he wanted to kiss her again. Feel her mouth on his again. She was sweet and innocent, and something somewhere deep inside of him craved that innocence more than oxygen. He’d never been sweet, and he sure as fuck had never been innocent.

Her teeth tugged on her full bottom lip as she went up on her toes again and kissed him. This time, she wasn’t playing around. Before he had time to remind himself to hold back, her arms had wound around his neck as she dove at his mouth.

He growled low and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into him, accepting that she knew what she was doing. If she wanted to stop them, she would. Instead, he concentrated on kissing her back and gave in to the urge to drive her mad with his mouth.

Suddenly, he couldn’t get her close enough to him. He snaked an arm around her bottom and lifted her off her feet, bringing her even with his mouth as he devoured her.

* * *

LILY HAD NEVER felt like this. His need pulsed around her, and in some part of her brain, she should be afraid of him, of this. But she couldn’t get there. Even when he kissed her like a man starved, his hands were gentle as they skimmed her belly, his knuckles brushing the undersides of her breasts. Almost worshipping.

And she wanted him. He felt safe. Her body ached, and the feeling was so foreign she held on with both hands, determined not to lose it.

With her fingers trembling, she only managed to get a few of his buttons undone before she slipped her hands inside, a soft sound of pleasure escaping her at the feel of solid muscle bulging beneath her fingers. He was so strong, and she needed someone else’s strength. Just for a little while.

His hands skimmed up to her breasts, then wrapped around her waist as he pushed off against the counter and started for her bedroom. His mouth was busy on hers, drugging her with need, and she smiled when he managed to get his shirt off for her without breaking the kiss.

She pulled back slightly, the sight of the mate mark over his heart sending her own slamming into her chest. There was something primal about it. She didn’t know if it was because that mark was unique to him or if it was what it signified, a powerful dragon waiting on his mate, that intrigued her. But when she gently pressed her palm over it, his body shuddered.

He didn’t bother with the bedroom door when he got them into her room. He laid her out on the bed, then trailed his mouth over her skin. All fear faded when her body reacted to him, arching into his mouth, desperate to feel more.

He smiled, a rare thing since she’d met him. She let out a startled moan as his tongue scraped over her nipple through the fabric of her tank top. He did it again before he tugged the shirt down gently, closing his mouth over her breast.

She nearly came unglued. Need like nothing she’d ever expected shot through her. She gripped his hair, sure her body couldn’t handle much more of the torture.

But Dallas, damn him, wasn’t done yet. It was like he had her where he wanted her and he wasn’t giving her up until he was ready. And instead of scaring her, a feeling of safety, of being taken care of, washed over her.

“You like that?” he murmured, his voice hoarse with lust as he skimmed his lips to her other breast and sucked gently while his hand slid over her hip.

She barely managed to nod her head before another moan tore out of her. His hands slid over every inch of her bare skin, scorching her, his teeth pulling gently at her nipple.

She’d never expected this kind of tenderness, not from Dallas. But there was no hurry in him, no demand, as if he was simply taking his time and enjoying her.

Standing up, he skimmed his hands over her skin as he slid her tank top over her head before gently removing her tiny boy shorts and then shedding his jeans.

She didn’t have time to panic before his hands were moving over her again. His fingers dragged up the inside of her thighs, always coming close but never quite touching her core, and his mouth went back to worshipping her breasts.

She couldn’t get enough of touching him. Everywhere. He was so hard, two millennia of battle-honed and scarred muscle, and when her hands grasped his shoulders as his finger finally slid over her, she realized he was trembling.

She leaned up and kissed him with all the passion he’d built inside of her, until they were both shaking with need.

* * *

DALLAS COULDN’T DECIDE if holding himself back from taking her was what hell felt like, or heaven. But for the first time in his life, he wasn’t going through the motions. He didn’t believe in love or any of that sappy crap, and sex was just that—sex.

Until the urge to make Lily’s first time perfect had hit him, and he suddenly couldn’t get enough of her. Warning sirens were going off in his head, but he ignored them as he settled between her legs. Her perfect body trembled beneath him. He slid both his hands into her hair, forcing her to look at him.

“Stay with me, babe,” he growled. He lowered his mouth to hers as he entered her slowly.

For one terrifying second, her body seized up beneath him, but when her eyes found his, her tension eased.

Her small hands gripped his shoulders as his mouth moved over her, his lips dragging down her throat to cover her breast. And when he started long, deep, slow thrusts, her body arched and moved with his until they were both screaming with the need for release.

Finally, when he couldn’t handle it anymore, Lily shattered on a scream. Her orgasm triggered his, and they rode the final wave together.

* * *

LILY WAS POSITIVE her brain had melted.  Her breath came out in ragged gasps, his massive shoulders trembling with aftershocks and the effort to hold himself up.

His hand came up slowly as if to brush the damp hair out of her face, but then his eyes suddenly went flat, and he yanked his hand back. His jaw ticked before he rolled over and stared at the ceiling for a long moment. He growled and got to his feet. “This was a bad idea.”

Lily tried to clear the haze and process what he was saying. Feeling naked in more ways than one, she pulled the sheet up to her chin and sat up, watching him prowl her bedroom. Funny, it had always seemed large and airy to her until Dallas stood in it. Then the space shrank.

And she was reminded once again of how big and powerful he was. And how much he hated Hunters, and that he thought sleeping with her was a mistake. No way was this going to end well for her.

She smiled at him and hoped he didn’t see the tears in her eyes that she couldn’t do anything about. “You’re right.” She nodded once to let him know she agreed with him, thankful that he couldn’t see how badly her chest hurt. She hadn’t been looking for love from him or even a relationship. Just casual sex to see what she’d been missing with someone who felt safe. “I’ll call Gabriel and let him know you can’t stay. He’ll send someone else over so you can go.”

She started to crawl across the bed, needing to escape before the tears broke free, but the barely-leashed violence in his voice stopped her dead in her tracks. “Fuck. No. I’ll call him. The last thing I fucking need is all of your dragon and Hunter buddies showing up to gut me because I dared to touch their precious Lily.”

Lily flinched at his rage. She wrapped the sheet tighter around herself and hoped he’d think her shaking was from the cold. “Don’t worry about it,” she murmured, doing her best to hold his gaze as she pasted a smile she didn’t feel on her face. She didn’t want him to feel guilty when it was all her fault. “It was just sex. It didn’t mean anything, so there’s no need to tell anyone.”

She slid off the bed and hurried into the bathroom, the sheet wrapped around and pulled up to her neck. Okay, so she’d messed up. She could see that now. A man wasn’t going to turn down free sex, and she had literally thrown herself at him. Of course he would be angry. It was bad enough that he didn’t like her, but he didn’t trust her, either.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know how huge sex was for dragons. It only took three times with the same partner to mate the couple together for life, and like the idiot she was, she had left herself open and vulnerable to the most dangerous dragon in the world for Hunters.

“Lily.”

She winced at his harsh voice as he banged on the door with a heavy fist. She pasted on a fake smile again and cracked the door open as she held the sheet up to her chin, then lifted a brow. “You can go now, Dallas. It was just sex, right?”

His eyes narrowed. “You keep saying that.”

She warned herself not to get too close to him. She’d already proven she couldn’t be trusted within touching distance of him. “Because it’s true.”

“Then why are you fucking crying?”

“Because I’m a girl. We cry. Do you have to be so angry?” she asked, grateful for the temper flaring inside her. “You’re really big, Dallas, and I’m not, and it’s kind of intimidating when you go all dragon angry on me.”

The muscle under his eye ticked once before his brow winged up. “You’re crying because I scared you?”

She glared at him. “I thought you were leaving?”

“No,” he drawled as he leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest.

Iosa. Jesus. It figured that the one man she thought she could be safe with thought she was a mistake.

“You’re the one who said I was leaving. I’m not going anywhere until I find out what’s going on between you and Adrian.”

Chapter 7

IT WAS AN excuse. Dallas knew it.

And her breasts.

He’d never been attracted to a specific body part on a woman before, they just needed the right parts in the right places, but he was pretty sure if there was such a thing as perfect breasts, Lily’s would be it.

Ryuu, it was like they were made for him, and he was pretty sure that if it had taken him two thousand years to find hers, he’d never find a pair that came this close to perfection again.

But it didn’t matter how perfect they were because Dallas was damn fucking certain they were to blame for the mess he was in at the moment. And her mouth. It should not be legal for a Hunter to kiss like that. Especially when he had this bat-fucking-shit-crazy need to right her world.

Gwendolyn above. He’d slept with a goddamn Hunter. Not just any Hunter, but Adrian Cage’s sister. The sister protected by the Hunter and dragon worlds.

Which didn’t make sense to him. Rumor had it Adrian had found her at a Los Angeles police station when she was a child and too terrified of everyone around her to let anyone close. Even Dallas, with his soul-deep hatred of Hunters, grew sick thinking about the abuse she’d suffered before Adrian adopted her. Her stepfather had been a sadistic bastard, using and abusing her in every way possible.

What had never made sense to anyone was how the tiny, terrified little girl had taken one look at the scarred giant, Adrian Cage, and refused to talk to anyone else.

And if you asked him, that moment when Adrian had decided to keep her had been the beginning of his downfall. As far as he was concerned, any emotion other than mild like and tolerance set you up for a blade in your back. No matter what, anything stronger made you vulnerable. Dallas had learned that lesson the hard way when his own father had tossed him at age five to the soldiers to begin gladiator training.

Cage was the oldest known Hunter alive, but with a pregnant mate at home and a sister to worry about, he’d been distracted. Even one single heartbeat of distraction had been enough to take the strongest Hunter out.

What pissed Dallas off even more was what Cage’s disappearance had done to the women who’d needed him. He’d left behind a dragon mate who would never be the same, a daughter who would never know him, and a sister who needed him so much she called him even after his death.

Yeah. Love was the most fucked up, selfish thing you could do. And he wasn’t going to fucking fall for it.

His chest constricted at the shininess in her eyes. Tears. He snorted. Of course.

Tears didn’t bother him. They never had. “Stop crying.”

She blinked before she gave him her best effort at a glare. “I’m not.” She sniffled, completely belying her words, then plastered on her fake smile. “Look, I appreciate you wanting to stick around, but there’s really no need. I’m just going to take a shower. I have to open the shop in an hour.”

Dallas’s brain twitched at the mental image of Lily in the shower, soaking wet.  This was a bad fucking idea. A really bad fucking idea. Sex was sex, and while Dallas had it as often as possible, he’d never had an emotional connection to any of the women. So the one-time-and-out rule never bothered him.

But with Lily, the urge to stick around and do it again scared the shit out of him. Because he was damn fucking sure that if once wasn’t enough, twice wouldn’t be either, and the third time meant something he was not willing to give to a Hunter.

Not that he felt any kind of connection to Lily. She was a means to an end, and as soon as he found out where Cage was, he would be out of here. Whether or not he’d kill her first was still up in the air.

She took a hurried step back from him suddenly, the sheet clutched so tightly to her that her knuckles turned white. “Dallas? Why do you look like you’re about to kill something?”

“Because I am.” He snarled and pointed at her. “We are not having sex again, got it? So stop putting thoughts of you naked in my head, bloody goddamn it!”

She blinked at him, looking torn between confusion, worry, and pure pissed-off female. He had to admit, it was hot. “I’m sorry. I said you could go.”

“And I told you I wasn’t leaving.”

* * *

GODS, HE WAS mean. And all over the place. Lily wasn’t even sure if he knew or understood what was going on in his own head. He looked ready to strangle her, and yet he was still standing there. When he’d touched her during sex, it had been with a heart-wrenching gentleness that had seemed as much for his benefit as hers.

This wasn’t supposed to be happening to her. Her heart warned her to run or it was going to get broken. Her brain told her to run before she got dead. She’d always listened to those voices before.

But that same instinct that had told her Adrian was her safe place all those years ago told her to grab Dallas, hug him tight, and never let him go. That instinct hadn’t led her wrong last time. She hadn’t cared how scarred and huge Adrian had been, or how mean he’d looked. He’d been like her. She’d sensed in him the same…otherness she had in herself that she’d been told over and over made her a freak. Like her ability to heal herself Once her stepfather had learned about that neat little trick, he’d delighted in breaking her over and over again.  Adrian had been the biggest thing she’d ever seen, and his violent growl had quaked the floor beneath her. But the sight of him crouched in front of the desk she’d been hiding under, and the way he’d shut up every other voice in the station, she’d known she was safe.

So that’s what she did now. Even aware that she was setting herself up for heart break, or something much, much worse, she ignored it all and followed that voice.

His body went rigid when she walked into his chest and burrowed into it. She couldn’t wrap her arms around him without losing the sheet, but she didn’t think that mattered when that little voice deep in her soul said “mine.”

This was going to end bad. But he kept roaring at her, and he was a dragon, and he’d looked so peaceful when she’d woken up last night to find his hand molded around her breast.

She wasn’t sure anyone named the Destroyer had ever known peace.

He tangled a hand in the hair at the back of her neck and tugged until he could see her eyes. He wanted her to look at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Hugging you. Hasn’t anyone ever hugged you?”

His brow screwed up in thought before he scowled at her. “No.”

Her heart broke for him. Stepping away, she turned the shower water on, then got under the spray, sheet and all.

She tossed the sheet out once she was hidden behind the pink and white shower curtain.

She took longer in the shower than normal, wanting to give Dallas time to get dressed and get out without having to go through another scene or conversation with her. So when the hot water died out and she started to shiver, she finally turned the water off and sucked in a huge breath before she peeked around the shower curtain.

The breath expelled out of her lungs on a long sigh. Of course he was gone. It was what she’d told him to do.

Grabbing a pink and white striped towel off a shelf, she wrapped it around her hair, then grabbed another one to drape around her body.

Because his clothes were gone from the bedroom, she dropped her towel and headed for her closet right as the damn man walked in.

His eyes went right to her breasts. He growled violently at her, turned, and walked out, slamming her door behind him.

It only took her a few minutes to slip into a pretty white sundress with a lightweight yellow cardigan, but it took a lot longer to blow-dry her mass of hair. She kept her makeup fresh-faced and simple because she always felt a little bit like a clown if she tried anything too daring.

She finally left the safety of her room, but came to an abrupt stop when she realized he’d been leaning against the wall right outside the whole time.

She went for a smile because the sex had been all her idea, and there really was no reason for him to feel bad about it. They hadn’t mated, so it wasn’t like anything earth-shattering had happened.

“I thought you’d be gone by now,” she murmured on her way toward the kitchen.

“I’m not.”

She snorted over her shoulder at him as she opened her stash drawer and pulled out a chocolate bar. She nibbled on a corner after she’d ripped the paper off. “I see that. Why?”

He growled at her. “I told you. Something isn’t right, and until I can put the pieces together, you are not leaving my sight.”

She finished her candy bar and tried not to stare at his bare chest. His pants hung low on his hips, showing off those V-shaped muscles perfectly.  She swallowed hard. “Then what? You kill me?”

He shrugged, his voice cold as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants. “It wouldn’t be the first time I had to kill a woman after sex.”

The blood drained out of her face. “What happened?”

* * *

HIS EYE TICKED. Ryuu, what the hell had possessed him to tell her that? Half the time he opened his mouth around her he said something completely different than what he’d meant to say. It was pissing him off.

He frowned. “That candy bar wasn’t your breakfast, right?”

She shook her head, her long mahogany waves swishing around her shoulders to mid-back. “No, I was going to have some hot chocolate to wash it down.”

“You cannot function all day on chocolate alone.”

“I usually eat fruit or a salad for lunch.” She grinned.

He scowled at her and stalked forward to lift the hair that covered her ear. She batted at his hand. “What are you doing?”

“Checking to make sure you aren’t part nymph or something. You don’t have magic binding your ears, do you?”

“Not that I know of, and I would know, right?” She was looking at him as if he was nuts.

Which was fine, because he felt fucking nuts.

“I have no goddamn idea. But chocolate is like an aphrodisiac to nymphs.” He narrowed his eyes as he deliberately took a huge step back from her. “You’re not feeling, ah, hot or anything, are you?”

A blush tinted her cheeks pink as she eeked out, “No.”

He growled at her again and put her large butcher block table between them. “You stay on your side of the kitchen. Having sex twice is playing with fire, and I will be damned if I mate to a Hunter.”

“I got it,” she snapped on her way toward the kitchen door, rolling her eyes when he deliberately kept the table between them. “Sex with me is a mistake.”

“Ryuu. Are you crying?” he demanded.

“No.”

“Bullshit,” he snapped.

She let out a pathetic half-snort, then re-focused on him with a glare. “You had to kill a woman you slept with?”

“Yes.” He didn’t want to talk about this. Had never talked about this. But the words came out, anyway. “She was sent to kill me by Alexi, Micah and Luca’s father. The bastard knew I wouldn’t be easy to get close to, so he sent a beautiful woman to me asking for help. She was sweet, and I let my guard down enough for her to seduce me. I woke up a few hours later just in time to see one of my own swords swinging for my neck.”

She didn’t move for several heartbeats, then walked around the table. He couldn’t move fast enough to avoid the quick, hard hug she gave him. That was it.

“I have to go to work.” She walked to the door and opened it, giving him an expectant look. “I don’t need the Destroyer in my shop sucking up all the air and space and reminding me with every breath how much he hates Hunters, thank you very much.”

He decided not to take the hint she was all but clobbering him over the head with. Instead, he grabbed her purse, phone, and keys from the entry table and handed them to her. “After you, sweetheart.”

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, the timid female inside of her warring with the inner hellion he suspected she’d long since buried. “I admitted it was a mistake. What more do you want from me? If you’re going to end up killing me in the end after you find whatever proof you need that I’m an evil Hunter, could you just do it now? I’m not sure I can handle the wait.”

Instead of answering her, he held her cell phone out. “Why don’t you text your brother and let him know I’m with you. If he’s still alive, that should draw him out of hiding. Better yet, tell him I slept with you.”

She slowly reached out to take her phone from him, though her eyes stayed searching his. “Why are you so convinced he’s alive?”

He lifted a brow. “Why are you?” He jerked his head toward the phone. “Text him.”

Lily sighed and rolled her eyes. “Alright, but I want to know why you think he’s alive.” Her fingers tapped impatiently at the on-screen keyboard before she thrust the phone back at him. “There.”

Without waiting for him, she moved past to lock her door and double check it before she headed down the double flight of stairs.

Shaking his head when he realized he was watching her, he growled quietly and turned his attention to the phone. She’d left the text screen up, and her message sent a shot of guilt straight to his gut. It read simply:

I messed up, and my instincts aren’t safe. I need you, big brother. Please come home.

Dallas gritted his teeth together as he stared at those first three words. I messed up…

He shoved the phone in his back pocket and started down the stairs at a slow jog. While he was certain Cage was alive and would get the message, Dallas wasn’t sure he was going to be able to convince himself that Lily was a danger to anyone anymore. She was a Hunter, but she wasn’t dangerous.

He didn’t know why he’d changed his mind about hating her, but the woman didn’t seem to be capable of going five minutes without crying. He doubted a woman that would kiss him in front of every dragon in the world to save the Destroyer’s life had it in her to hunt anything down and kill it.

She was waiting outside the door when he hit the bottom landing. He plucked the keys out of her hand and slipped them into the locks, his instincts going off the second he pushed the door open. “Go back upstairs, Lily.” He shoved her behind him. “Now.”

“Dallas?” She gripped his waist and peered around him, a strangled sound coming from her throat at the gaping hole where the shop’s front window should have been.

He saw the red numbers flashing 00:05 in the same instant Lily turned to follow his command.

With a savage snarl the dragon leapt out of him, covering her with a wing as the blast of the explosion catapulted them through the air.

Chapter 8

EVEN IN HIS massive size, he crashed through walls and the stairway that led from her apartment to the shop, crumpling everything in his path. He hit the ground hard enough to crack the concrete like an egg.

With the ground still quaking beneath him and Lily trapped against his chest, he lumbered to his feet and leapt skyward. He was grateful the glamour spell that hid him from sight was ingrained in him because he hadn’t thought about it. He used his wing to shield her from the plaster and wood that splintered and broke apart on his ascent through the stairwell and her apartment. The second they were free of the building, he dove for the roof across the four-lane street. Even when he was on his feet again, he had to force himself to set her down and let her go. His breathing was too ragged, her building still crumpling, and no way in hell did he want her to see the aftermath of the damage yet.

Vibrating with anger, he shifted back into his human form.

She let out a soft, terrified sound. “Dallas?” Her voice was nearly drowned out by the collapsing two story building. “What happened?”

Dallas dragged a hand over his face. The hell if he knew what was going on. It didn’t make sense. Why bomb the place if only yesterday they were trying to grab her? The whole situation threatened to turn him from a dragon on a mission to full-on homicidal.

Mine.

Dallas went still as the thought banished everything else out. The word was crystal clear, as if he had spoken it aloud. His dragon had claimed her.

Ryuu. Fuck. No. He was not claiming anybody. He was not mating to anyone. No matter how fucking hot she was or how ridiculously possessive he felt toward her... No. It wasn’t happening.

He shook it off when he vaguely remembered she was waiting for an answer. “Someone blew up your building.”

It was only partly true. While the bomb had incinerated her store front, he was positive the worst of the damage came from his sudden shift to dragon form and their escape through the roof.

She moved in a step closer to him, her fingers hooking in the hem of his shirt as she avoided looking toward the remains of her home and store. “I’m scared.”

“I know.”

He’d expected the tears, so they didn’t surprise him. Burn a hole in his gut, maybe, but they didn’t surprise him.

What did shock the hell out of him was how quickly she stepped back, then threw her tight, trembling body into his. She hung onto him for dear life, and even more surprising, he let her.

Deliberately keeping her back to the wreckage, he folded himself around her as the muscle directly under his eye started to twitch. He didn’t know how to do this part. Going to war against a group of Hunters was nothing new to him, but going into full-on battle mode to protect a woman he’d slept with was something entirely fucking different.

But goddamn it, she’d had enough fears in her life. She didn’t need any more. And morphing into The Destroyer to ease the pressurized rage building at the base of his skull would definitely fall into the “more” category.

“Dallas?”

“Yes?”

She let out a sniffle and wound her arms around his neck, all but trying to crawl into his skin. “Are you sure you’re all right?

He went utterly and completely still. “What?”

Her desperate fear went straight to his gut, leaving him raw inside. “The explosive hit you. You can’t be okay.”

His brain twitched. It made no fucking sense why she’d be concerned with his safety. Yeah, he’d hurt like a son of a bitch until he could get some sleep, but nothing he was concerned about. But the tears in her eyes were killing him, and considering what he was hiding from her, he owed her the damn world. If she wanted him to go to the moon and back, he’d do it.

So he growled, simply because he knew she liked it. He meant for it to be a quiet one, but the temper in him was still too close to the surface, and it came out as a dark, terrifying rumble that quaked through the roof until it trembled the earth.

“I need to get you out of here, so do me a favor, babe, all right?”

She sniffled one last time and looked up at him. The trust in her vivid green eyes as she nodded was a sucker-punch to his soul. “What?”

“Close your eyes and bury your face in my shoulder, and don’t look until I tell you.”

* * *

DREAD SETTLED LIKE a dead weight in Lily’s belly. She’d felt him take flight, and with his guilty expression, it had to be bad.

“Why?” she asked, searching his face. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He grabbed her chin before she could look around him. He was covered in dirt and blood. She yanked her face out of his grip and shifted out of his arms. Her mouth fell open at the absolute destruction of her shop and her home. Her heart threatened to fail. Everything she possessed, everything she loved, every last bit of Adrian she had was in that building.

His voice turned monotone. “I thought the safest way out would be up.”

“Okay, that makes sense.” She swallowed hard as hysteria started to bubble up in her chest. “What am I going to do?”

He opened his mouth to say something, only to apparently think better of it and snapped it shut with enough force she was sure he’d cracked a molar. He managed to grit out through clenched teeth, “We’ll figure it out. Right now, I don’t know who’s watching or who wants you hurt, so we need to get out of here.”

She could feel the numbness creeping over the mountain of emotion putting pressure on her chest. He kept her curled up against his chest as he took a quick leap off the side of the building. He landed in a catcher’s stance in the darkened alleyway as a dark figure stepped out of the shadows.

Luca scanned the destruction before the roar he and his brother were notorious for echoed through the entire neighborhood. “What the hell happened?”

Dallas winced. “Someone threw an explosive through her front window, and I, ah, sort of broke her building on our escape out.”

Luca nodded once, the slow fisting of his hands the only indication of how pissed off he was. He crouched so he was closer to Lily’s eye level. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.” She met Luca’s furious look. “Dallas took the hit and got me out.”

Luca nodded, a frustrated sound rumbling in his chest. “Yeah, I saw the smoke from a few blocks over as the building collapsed.” He stood and looked at Dallas. “Get her to Seren’s. I’ll meet you there.”

“Fucking hell, woman, you’re hurt?” he asked on a panicked roar. He set her on her feet, and then his hands moved over her, trying to find the wounds. “Where? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Lily’s heart suffered for him as she moved in between his searching, frantic hands and cupped his face in hers.

Immediately, he stilled, his soft green eyes snapping to hers.

“What?”

“I’m not hurt. You are. You need Seren to look at you.”

He glanced down at himself, noticing for the first time the glass shards sticking out of his arms and legs. There was also a decent gash across his chest.

Luca stood there, watching them, before he cleared his throat. “You will pay to have this place rebuilt from the foundation up, you know that, right?”

“No.” Lily spun around, deliberately putting herself between the two raging dragons. “He was saving my life. I can afford to do it—”

“No!” they roared at once. But Dallas snarled at Luca as he gently moved Lily out of his way and stalked forward. “Do not raise your voice to her.”

Lily hooked her hand in one of the back loops of his jeans and tugged. When he glared at her over his shoulder, she smiled sweetly. “You yelled at me, too.”

His brow jacked up. “So?”

A flash of something silver caught her attention. Ignoring the arguing dragons, she picked her way carefully over the debris and let out a soft sob as she crouched next to the now dirt-stained photo album.

Ava’s beautiful face was torn on the front cover, and the entire book looked as if it had been smashed by a Mack truck. Her heart sank as she sat down in the middle of the wreckage that had blown clear across the street. She brushed the debris off the baby book she’d been putting together so painstakingly for her brother.

Dallas crouched beside her and wiped away her tears with the pads of his thumbs. “I’m so sorry, Lil. You were in danger, and I just… reacted.”

She rubbed the back of her hands over her eyes, managing a small smile for him. “You hate Hunters.”

“I do.” He nodded his agreement and tangled a hand in her hair, pulling her head against his. His voice was quiet. “I can’t seem to make myself hate you, though.”

Iosa. Lily’s heart suffered for him. Sweet. He’d let his guard down with the woman who tried to kill him because she’d been sweet. No wonder he kept waiting for Lily to show her evil side.

He was starved for love. It was the only thing that made sense to her. He didn’t know it, would never accept it, and would only laugh at her if she pointed it out, but it was there. He needed someone to care about him.

Giving up the fight against the tears, Lily clutched the baby book in one hand as she flung herself at Dallas, wrapping her other arm around him. She didn’t know what he was doing to her, but she couldn’t protect herself from him when he said things like that.

“Let’s get out of here, all right?” she murmured. “You need to let Seren take care of you.”

He snorted, but he didn’t argue with her. Instead, he hooked one arm under her butt, bringing her with him as he stood. Ignoring Luca, he held her that way and carefully picked his way through the debris. Lily didn’t know what was happening or why, but he was changing everything inside her. Mixing her up and turning her world upside down.

And she had no idea how to find solid footing again.

Chapter 9

WHILE LILY WAS done crying, hopefully for the next millennia, her eyes still felt swollen when Seren opened the door to her beautiful Tudor home.

Seren studied the three of them. Because of her size, four-feet-eleven, and barely one hundred pounds now that she’d had the baby, Lily knew humans constantly underestimated Seren. But her sister-in-law, a healer and emergency room doctor, could out-stubborn the most determined of their kind. Humans never stood a chance.

Lily was crazy about her.

Seren shook her head, soft light brown waves dancing over her shoulders. “I’m not sure I want to know.”

Lily snorted as she stepped in to hug her. “You don’t. Trust me.” When Seren hugged her back, her grip fierce, Lily smiled. “Do you think you can look at Dallas?”

“Of course.” Seren stepped to the side to let them in and gave Dallas, then her brother, a hug. She smiled at Luca. “Ava’s in her room if you want to go see her.”

Luca nodded. “I will in a minute. I need to talk to Lily first.”

Lily winced as Dallas rounded on him. “The hell you will. Anything you need to say to her, or ask her, you can ask me.” When Luca raised a brow at him, Dallas got in his face. It was a toss up to who looked more pissed off, Dallas or Luca. “I will not have you interrogating her after everything she’s been through.”

This time, when Lily winced, it was because of the way Seren’s gaze snapped to her face. No matter how well Seren looked to be handling her mate’s disappearance, Lily wasn’t buying it. On top of sleep deprivation with the baby, Seren was angry, frightened and desperate for any news about her husband.

Lily reached out and rested her hand lightly on Dallas’s arm. “Luca isn’t going to hurt me.”

“I don’t give a shit.” He shifted so his body was completely facing hers. “He doesn’t need to interrogate you.”

She went up on her toes to brush her lips over his stubbled cheek. “He’s worried about us,” she said quietly.

“Bullshit,” he snapped. “He’s worried that I’m the one who blew up your building.”

Lily face-palmed herself. So much for breaking all of this to her sister-in-law slowly. She sent Seren a tight smile before she turned a glare at Dallas. “Can we not hash through this right now?” Because she knew the dragon’s had a weak spot for Seren, Lily widened her eyes and gave him a look, begging him to understand what she was saying. “I’m pretty sure Seren doesn’t appreciate you bleeding all over her entryway, and besides,” she hurriedly added when he opened his mouth to argue with her, “I’d feel better if you had it looked at. You are losing a lot of blood.”

His snarl rattled the walls, and before it could die out of his throat, Lily had moved into his chest and wrapped her arms around his torso as tight as she could get them. “Thank you, Dallas.”

He sighed, shaking his head in confusion. He wrapped his arms around her neck, pulling her in closer.

* * *

RYUU, THIS WOMAN twisted his brain. She never did what he expected her to do, and he had no idea how to handle that. When he expected her to run, she argued with him. When he expected her to be afraid, she hugged him. When he expected her to kick his ass to the curb, she seduced him.

How the fuck was he supposed to get his bearings if he couldn’t make a damn bit of sense of what went on in her head?

He skimmed his hands down her arms, determined to set her back from him. She couldn’t demand he get himself looked at and then refuse to let him go in the same breath.

He snorted when his own thoughts registered in his head. Of course she could. She was Lily.

And he was as bad. Instead of moving her away like he meant to do, he found his fingers linking with hers. “You need to learn to stop arguing with me. I’m two thousand years old, Lil. I know how to take care of myself.”

Her brow jacked up in a decent impression of the look he always gave her. “Then why are you still standing here with me instead of getting it taken care of?”

“Because I’d rather be here with you,” he snapped. “I can heal myself.”

Lily blinked at him for a long moment before her smile went beautiful. “I’m not going anywhere. Just down the room to see Ava. Luca won’t yell at me if I’m holding Ava.”

Next to her, Luca tightened his jaw. “I’m not going to yell at you, goddamn it.”

Lily smiled at him, then turned and smiled at Dallas. “See? I’m fine. Now go let Seren look at you.”

“Fine,” he gritted out, “but only because I don’t need you worrying about me.” He turned his head to growl at Seren. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

She gave him a look that suggested he’d gone mad, then led him to the small clinic Adrian had built at the back of the house. “Perfect.”

Dallas followed her and waited until they were out of ear shot of Lily and Luca before he let out a quiet sigh. “I’m not going to let you heal me. You know that, Seren, right?”

Seren opened the door to the exam room and pointed at the bed. “I know,” she murmured. “What lesson did you learn today?”

He barked out a humorless laugh as he pulled off his boots. At least she wasn’t arguing with him anymore. He rarely let her heal him, not because he didn’t trust her, but because he firmly believed that every injury he sustained happened for a reason, and the slight, barely noticeable scar it left behind was a reminder of that reason. Whether it was not to trust anyone outside of the small band of dragons he’d been fighting with for almost two millennia, as the scar across his chest reminded him, or the long slash down his left bicep reminded him that women were capable of as much violence as men.

He waited until she’d turned her back on him before he unbuttoned his pants and kicked out of them. He sat on the bed and pulled the pillow into his lap. He wasn’t attracted to her in the least little bit, but she was Cage’s mate, whether he was dead or not. That male would gut anyone who dared to make her uncomfortable.

She barely blinked at the glass that stuck out from his legs, though her brow furrowed when she retrieved the gauze and antiseptic to clean off the worst of the blood. “What happened?”

He exhaled slowly. “Someone torched the flower shop. I took the impact as I shifted into my dragon form and got us the hell out of there.”

Seren’s hand hesitated. “How did you manage the escape?”

He winced. “The roof.” He didn’t even blink when she used the tweezers to remove a large chunk of glass from his shin. “I, ah, kind of broke her building in the process. She may hate me once that sinks in.”

Seren shook her head. “Lily isn’t capable of hating anyone, especially not someone who saved her life.”

Dallas snorted. “She’s a Hunter, Seren, and I am the Destroyer. How nice to her do you think I’ve been?”

“I don’t know,” she murmured after a long moment, “but she trusts you completely. That’s huge for her. She feels things so much more than anyone else. I think it has something to do with her magic, something she works very hard to convince herself doesn’t exist.”

His chest tightened. “She shouldn’t trust me. I will kill her if I think I have need to.”

“Yeah,” Seren drawled as she finished with one leg and moved on to the other, “that Lily, she’s a dangerous one all right. Watch out for her chocolate habit. It turns her lethal.”

“Go ahead and mock me.” He let out an impatient sigh. “I am not mating to anyone, Seren, so get that out of your head. I mean it. It’s not going to happen.” And no matter how tempting Lily was, he was going to keep reminding himself of it.

She opened her mouth to argue, but instead she said quietly, “Okay, Dallas. I believe you.”

He changed the subject. “How’s Bain?”

“He’s all right.” She grabbed a towel and antiseptic then leaned over to clean the blood off his legs. “He’s upstairs resting, and should be good as new by tonight. I haven’t told him about the attack on Lily last night.”

He jerked his head in a nod. Logically, he knew Bain wasn’t the one who’d scared her, but it didn’t make his need to pound his face into dust any less real. Someone had used her trust of the younger dragon to terrify her, and that pissed Dallas off on about a hundred different levels.

* * *

AT A MONTH old, freckles were starting to pop out all over Ava’s beautiful, chubby face. Her cheeks and cute little nose were covered with them, and combined with the light brown hair starting to curl at the ends and the same dark green eyes as her daddy, Lily was positive her niece was the most adorable little girl ever.

Lily loved her so much it hurt. But it hurt even more that sweet little Ava was never going to get to know her daddy. Never get to know how amazing a father he would have been, and how much he had loved her before she’d been born, and how much he would have loved her and protected her all of her life.

Lily lifted the drowsy little one out of her crib and hugged her tight. “Hi, Ava girl. I missed you.”

Ava’s tiny, onesie-clad body curled into Lily’s shoulder, and she rested her head against the baby’s. She raised a questioning brow at Luca, prepared to give her niece to her uncle, but he leaned over to drop a kiss on Ava’s cheek.

“I’m waiting, Lil,” he finally murmured after she’d settled herself and Ava into the hand-crafted rocker Adrian had made for Seren. “What the hell is going on?”

Because she didn’t know what to say when it didn’t make sense in her own head, she went with the truth. “I don’t know. I know I shouldn’t trust him and that I should be running as far away from him as I can get, but that’s only when I can’t see him. Whenever he’s near me, all of my common sense goes right out the window, and all I want to do is curl up on his lap and demand he never let me go.”

Luca’s face darkened at the last part. He leaned against the white dresser and crossed his arms over his chest. The whole room was done in soft pastels and distressed, shabby chic furniture, and while he should have looked too big and burly to be comfortable in the small space, it didn’t seem to bother him at all. “He’s the Destroyer, Lily. He’s not safe for you.”

“I know you believe that.” She met his eyes. If he thought for one moment she was hiding something from him, he’d have her moved somewhere safe, somewhere Dallas would never be able to find her. “I do, but I can’t seem to remember that. He saved my life today. He didn’t think about me being a Hunter, and he didn’t think about leaving me and escaping. He just saved me.”

Luca scrubbed both hands over his face, then crouched in front of her so they were nose to nose. “Look, I like Dallas.” One corner of his mouth turned up when she pretended to be shocked that he’d admit to liking someone. “And I would trust him with my life, and Seren and the baby’s. But he’s a wildcard when it comes to Hunters, Lil, and I can’t put you at risk. For fuck’s sake, he used Shelby to draw your brother out just last month.”

She snorted so hard she almost hurt herself. “Luca, listen to yourself. Was I was in danger when he shoved me under a dragon wing to protect me? Or when he opted to go up and out through my apartment rather than waiting to see how much damage the bomb did? Or when he held my hands when I demanded he get himself looked at? I’m not afraid of him. I know I should be, but I’m not. It confuses me, and it worries me because I don’t trust anyone, you know that, but I trust him. And I like him, Luca. I like him a lot.”

He searched her eyes for a long moment, then blew out a breath and shoved a hand through his hair. “You know your brother would kill me for even allowing this to happen, right?”

She nodded, her chest hurting. “I know. But he isn’t here, and this is my decision.”

Luca sighed. “What are you asking me to do here, Lil? Are you expecting me to let you mate to him?”

“We already had sex once.” When his whole face went blank with shock, Lily had to bite on her bottom lip to hide the grin. He needed to remember she was an adult and stop treating her like a kid. “I’m aware of what it takes to mate to a dragon, and right now, he’s positive he doesn’t want a mate.”

“I will kill him.” He shoved to his feet and pointed at her. “Stay here.”

“No.” She scrambled to put Ava back in her crib and herself in his path. She had no doubt he’d succeed in carrying out his threat. “I seduced him, Luca. You can’t hurt him for something I did.” When he finally stopped to look down at her, she crossed her arms over her chest and gave him The Look all dragon and Hunter males seemed to be good at. “I’m twenty three, Luca. Deal with it.”

He wanted to argue with her. She could see it. Instead, he shook his head. “Do not make me regret this, Lil.”

She smiled at him. She was asking him to trust her instincts when she wasn’t even sure it was the right thing to do, but Dallas felt right.

“Lily.”

At Dallas’s graveled voice, Lily spun around. He was in different clothes, a white Henley replacing his white button down shirt, and he’d switched his black dress pants for dark jeans.

He scowled at Luca over her shoulder before he stopped directly in front of her, so close their bodies would touch if one of them so much as breathed deeply. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

She wrinkled her nose. “I should be asking you that. You were the one that was hurt.”

“I’m fine.” He laughed quietly. “It will take more than a few pieces of glass to take me out.”

Her breasts slid up his chest when she went on her toes to bring her closer to eye level with him. Relief washed through her in a flash-flood. Relief that he was all right.

She lightly pressed her lips to his. “Thank you, Dallas.”

He shoved a hand into her hair and pulled her mouth back to his, diving in until they were both trembling with need. Luca made a coughing sound, followed by a warning growl.

Dallas cleared his throat when he finally licked at her bottom lip and pulled back. “For what?”

She smiled. “For saving my life.”

* * *

HIS WORLD SHIFTED out from underneath his feet. He could pretend she didn’t mean it. He could act as if she was only pretending because she wanted something or because she was reeling him in and setting him up for her people. But the truth was, he didn’t believe any of it. He’d saved her life, and now she was thanking him.

For the first time in his life, it didn’t occur to him to suggest sex as repayment. Instead, he said the words he’d never said to another living being. “You’re welcome.”

He took her hand and led her through the house. He would get her to his place and then do what he did best—protect her. That was it.

Chapter 10

BEST LAID PLANS, his ass. It all started to unravel for him in the grocery store.

“We need dinner ideas.” Lily stood in the middle of the first aisle and glanced around. “I don’t know how to plan meals for someone your size.”

He smiled when she gestured to the whole of his giant frame. Considering he took up damn near the whole aisle, it was hard to miss her point. “Multiply whatever you eat by at least four.”

“Not helpful.” She let out a huff and glanced around. “Okay, we need a cart.”

He leaned to the side and pointed behind her. “There’s one.”

Her brow furrowed as she shot a look over her shoulder. “That one’s being used.” She refocused on him through narrowed eyes. “Dallas, have you ever been grocery shopping?”

Dallas lifted a lip in a snarl, uncomfortable with how out of his depth he was. “No.”

“How do you—? Never mind.” She moved forward, grabbing his hand on her way past him toward the front of the store. She snagged a cart, then gestured for him to take it. “I’ll shop, you push.”

He was not amused, but after a few heartbeats of watching her saunter away without looking back, he realized she was serious and fully expected him to help her.

It shouldn’t have surprised him that her way of shopping was different than his way—if he’d had a way.  While he grabbed what she needed off the shelves and tossed it into the cart, she insisted on organizing it all to death. While he was almost sure it was by food groups or something as insane as that, he figured he should at least be grateful she wasn’t color coordinating his groceries.

An hour after they’d walked into the store, she finally decided they had enough and could head to the checkout line. Which was another nightmare because the damn woman insisted on bending over to grab stuff out of the basket, showing off hints of perfect cleavage.

He didn’t realize he was staring until her finger poked into his ribs. He scowled, his gaze snapping to her face. “What the hell?”

“You’re growling, Dallas,” she hissed, her beautiful face exasperated. “And staring.”

He winced and dug his phone out of his back pocket when it chirped. The text message that popped up on screen from his king had him cursing under his breath. The Castle. Now. Bring the Hunter female.

Ryuu. Daniel Ashborne never texted any of them.

“Dallas?” Lily moved in closer to him and stuck her face in his line of sight. “What’s wrong? People are starting to notice the earthquake you’re causing.”

“We’ve been summoned, babe.” When her eyes went wide, he raised a brow and started loading groceries from the cart onto the belt. “My guess is I’m about to have a new asshole torn into me for dragoning out in public earlier.”

She helped him with the groceries. “I thought you used a cloaking spell or something so humans didn’t see you?”

Dallas hesitated with the gallon of milk halfway out of the cart. “You’re right. I did.”

Though she still looked worried, a smile lit up her brilliant green eyes. “There. So you’re not in trouble.”

That had him snorting out loud. “I’m always in trouble for something.”

“Then stop.” Her smile faded into a glare as she moved the cart out of the way. “Why do you enjoy pissing people off so badly?”

“It’s fun?” Dallas had to bite back a grin when she shot him a haughty look over one slender shoulder. He shrugged. “Different priorities mainly. Your brother goes missing while helping us, and yet the Hunters haven’t declared open war over it. The other dragons may want to bury their heads in the sand, but the pieces aren’t adding up, and I’m not going to sit on my thumbs and wait for the fallout.”

Lily’s hand tightened around a loaf of fresh-baked French bread. “You really think it’s weird they haven’t gone to war with you yet?”

He gently pried the bread away from her. “It’s damn weird.” He bared his teeth in some semblance of a smile at the tall, dark-haired cashier, who was all but flashing her breasts at him, before he turned his attention back to Lily. “If your people were the last to see Daniel alive, I guarantee we would have leveled half the city to get to them already.”

“Maybe they don’t think you are responsible—,”

His snort interrupted her.

Hey,” she snapped, “it could be possible. Not likely, but possible.”

He picked her up and moved her out of the way so he could swipe his credit card to pay for the groceries. “Then tell me this, babe. Why haven’t your people taken exception to us putting you under twenty-four hour protection?”

Instead of moving to start packing up the food, she scowled at his chest. “Doesn’t that prove my point that they don’t think you are responsible?”

“I wish,” he muttered. And he did. At least then he could stop playing his mistakes that night in the Dragan underground on repeat in his already crowded head. “But we’re back to if the situation was reversed, we’d have you under lock and key until we were sure you were safe or not being contacted with ransom demands.”

“You make it sound like I was thrown away.”

The violent, animalistic sound escaped before he remembered where he was, and he crooked his fingers under her chin. “No. I’m saying I think there’s more to what’s going on than what we’re seeing, and that whatever it is could be what’s making you unsafe. I don’t like it. And I don’t like that the other dragons aren’t getting why I’m worried.”

She gently wrapped her fingers around his forearm. “I believe you.”

Dallas blinked. “You do?”

“Yeah.” Her head bobbed so forcefully a smile curved his mouth without his permission. She squeezed him once before letting go. “I’ve never had a huge part in the Hunter world, but it doesn’t make sense they’re leaving me and Seren and the baby to be protected by dragons.” She shrugged. “It’s weird.”

He was so pleased with her answer and the assurance he wasn’t losing his mind, he kissed her.

* * *

LILY TOOK ONE look at the massive oak door with the dragon’s head carved into the wood and promptly moved behind Dallas, blocking her from view of whoever opened the door.

His light brown brow quirked as he glanced down at her from over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Besides getting ready to walk into the dragon’s lair?” She glared at him. “Hiding. There are dragons in there, and I am a dragon hunter.”

He chuckled quietly, then turned around to face her. He crossed his arms over his chest and took his time letting his gaze roam from the tips of her pink-painted toes to the top of her head. “Unless you’re hiding weapons somewhere I can’t see, I think we’re safe.”

As the door slowly swung open behind him, Lily lifted a fist to rub over her nose and muttered under her breath. “Two days ago, you thought I was a murderess.”

A beautiful blond woman, who stood an inch smaller than Lily and was dressed in dark skinny jeans and a plain white T-shirt, blinked at Dallas in astonishment before she grinned and threw herself into him. “I knew you couldn’t stay away. You missed me, right?”

The only thing that kept Lily’s raging jealousy at bay was that the woman was Daniel’s mate, and Dallas couldn’t look more uncomfortable as he awkwardly hugged her back. But still, the feeling was a new one for her, and she wasn’t sure she liked it.

Shelby kissed Dallas’s cheek, then pulled back to grin at Lily. And in that second, Lily knew exactly why the woman was an award-winning actress. There wasn’t a single hint of curiosity on her beautiful face. Not about why she was with Dallas, or why they were there. Instead, she hugged her. “So you’re the reason Daniel called a time-out in our honeymoon.”

Guilt slammed into her belly. “Shelby, I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be.” The newly crowned dragon queen grabbed her hand and Dallas’s and pulled them into the large, stunning castle-slash-mega-mansion. “My mate promised me a week, wherever I wanted to go, as soon as this all settled down.”

Dallas snorted beneath his breath. “Good luck with that.”

Lily tried to glare at him around Shelby, whose smile was brilliant. “Oh, I’m not worried. If he ever wants to have sex again, he’ll make the time to go with me.”

“Shelby.” Dallas visibly winced as he extracted his hand. “There are some things I don’t want to hear, and anything to do with my king’s sex life is one of them.”

Shelby led them up a double-wide set of stairs to a loft-style office. Daniel Ashborne, the king, was huddled over a laptop approximately the size of one of his ginormous hands, his dark blond hair pulled back into a low pony tail. Without looking up, he continued to hen peck at the keys while muttering under his breath. “Remind me to have Broderick thrashed for sticking me with this thing.”

“What are you trying to do with it?” Lily asked. When he let out a frustrated growl, Lily slipped between the queen and The Destroyer, moving over to Daniel’s desk. “Broderick updated mine, too, so I get the headache. Can I help?”

“Please.” Relief flashed through the king’s silver eyes as he reached for her hand and held it as he pleaded. “I can beg.” When Shelby snorted, Daniel grinned. “Not very well, maybe, but I can’t work this damn thing. It’s too goddamn small.”

Lily gaped at the king, trying to reconcile the moody, grumpy, non-smiling bastard she’d always heard about with this teasing one. She shook her head and turned the laptop toward her the slightest bit. She nodded. “It needs your password.”

“Ryuu,” he snapped. “I know that, but my damn fingers are too big. How am I supposed to do anything on a computer that I can’t type on?”

Behind her, Dallas coughed. Lily suspected it was to hide a laugh, though at the dark glare his king sent him, she doubted anyone bought it. She cleared her throat and bent over the laptop. With a few keystrokes, she pulled up an on-screen keyboard. “Try this. It might help.”

Daniel’s eyes narrowed at her before his look softened into one of relief. “How did you do that?”

She shrugged, smiling a little as she carefully moved back toward Dallas. “Like I said, Broderick likes to play around with mine, too. It’s either pay very close attention or never be able to use my computer again.”

“I’m still going to kick his ass.” He dragged a hand down his face, then stood up and braced his feet while crossing his arms over his chest, leveling a look at Dallas. “Do you want the bad news or the really bad news?”

When Lily’s stomach pitched, Dallas found her hand and wrapped his around it. The king noticed the action with the slightest lift of his brow but didn’t say anything.

Dallas visibly braced himself. “Bad.”

“Two Hunter brothers, a Caleb and Rafe Shaw, are demanding to see Lily today. I tried to hold them off and bought you a few hours, but that’s it. They heard about her building and aren’t taking ‘no’ for an answer. They want to see with their own eyes that she’s all right. Technically she belongs to them, so there wasn’t much I could do.” Nodding at the snarl that formed on Dallas’s mouth, Daniel continued. “Broderick’s been looking into them, and while he can’t find much info, word on the street is they were trusted by Cage.”

Dallas snorted, but Lily squeezed his hand and nodded. “They were—are. They’ve been a part of my life since Adrian adopted me.”

Aware of Dallas’s gaze narrowing in on her face and Daniel’s focus turning slowly toward her, she fought the urge to step back. Daniel cocked his head. “Then where have they been for the last month?”

Helplessness flip-flopped in her belly. “I don’t know. Probably looking for my brother.”

Dallas pulled his hand away from hers and wrapped his arm around her neck, hauling her into his side. The motion was oddly comforting. Even if he wasn’t sure how to take care of her, it had her heart stuttering that he was trying. His turned his attention to Daniel. “Now give me the really bad.”

Suddenly, Shelby was at Lily’s other side, the queen’s arm hooking around her waist. When Lily frowned, her insides twisting up in fear, Daniel blew out a breath and leaned against his desk. “An ice dragon has appeared in Los Angeles.”

Dallas blinked, looking as confused as Lily felt, but Daniel continued on. “It gets worse. Rumor hit us this morning of a Necromancer surfacing.”

Her blood ran cold, and Dallas’s growl tore through the cavernous space. She took a step closer to him as he snapped, “Get to your point, my lord. You’re scaring her, and I don’t fucking like it.”

“The Necromancer explains the phone call I got from Dragan this morning. There are rumors in the underworld that Porter Trowbridge, Lily’s stepfather, is alive and has a bounty on her head. To be brought to him dead or alive.”

Without moving, without so much as breathing, Lily gaped at the dragon king, sure the weird, obnoxious buzzing in her head had prevented her from hearing right. It was the only explanation. And it was the only one she would accept because her nightmare was dead. Adrian had killed it.

Suddenly, sure she was going to be sick, she wrenched out of Dallas’s and Shelby’s arms, desperate for release. “Bathroom.”

Sympathy tears welled in Shelby’s pretty eyes. “Across the hall.”

Lily bolted without even nodding her thanks.

* * *

DALLAS’S HANDS FISTED at his sides, ready to go up against his king for the first time in their long-ass lives. It would cost him his head, but at the moment, Dallas was certain it would be worth it. The sound of Lily’s dry-heaves were ripping his insides apart, and the need to kill something to make it stop settled over him with a familiarity that shook him.

Death was something Dallas understood very well. It was something he was good at. But with Shelby staring at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to go to Lily and say some useless words to try to make her feel better, he had the sinking, disturbing feeling he wouldn’t be able to kill anything yet.

Ignoring Shelby’s pointed look for the moment, he snapped at his king. “How sure of this are you?”

“Dragan wouldn’t have called me if he hadn’t confirmed it. She’s tough.” Looking exhausted, Daniel leaned back in his chair and scrubbed both hands over his face. “She’s going to have to be, and you can’t be naïve about this. An ice dragon, a necromancer, and her stepfather all appear a month after her brother disappears… It can’t be a coincidence. Something fucking huge is coming after that female.”

Snarling under his breath, Dallas started a slow prowl in front of the king’s desk. “She stays with me.” He knew it was the least of their concerns at the moment, but it was number one with him. He still wasn’t sure he liked her, let alone trusted her, but she trusted him, and he wasn’t asshole enough to walk out on her when all signs pointed to her life imploding.

“The Shaw brothers might have something to say about that.”

This time, Dallas snorted. “Fuck. Them. If they were so goddamned concerned, they’d have her under protection already.”

“I’m not disagreeing.” Daniel leaned forward again and spread his hands. “But at the moment, I’m wondering why Lily, and why now? Nobody is going to convince me that timid little female has enemies. That leaves me thinking that not only is Cage still alive, but they’re using Lily to force his hand on something.”

Dallas stopped pacing and turned around to glare at his king. If he took a swing at him, his life would be forfeit. That knowledge was the only thing that stopped him from laying the bastard out. “She’s not fucking timid. And even if she was, she has good goddamn reason to be.” Without another word, Dallas turned his back on Ashborne and walked over to the bathroom. He knocked quietly. “Lil, babe, it’s me.” When she didn’t answer, he opened the door and sunk to the floor behind her, sitting sideways so he could pull his knees up and rub her back while she sat on the floor, staring blankly at a spot on the wall. “I need you to know none of this means anything. If a building collapsing couldn’t stop me, nothing else is going to keep me from protecting you.”

Without looking at him, she turned and buried her face in his chest. “I believe you.”

Chapter 11

DALLAS’S GROWLING STARTED again the second they were out of Daniel and Shelby’s home and Lily reminded him that she still needed clothes. His growling lasted all the way through their non-adventurous trip to the neighborhood Big Box store.

It would have been kind of adorable if she wasn’t so worried about his sanity.

His home was cozier than she’d expected. His apartment took up the entire fifth floor of a charming brick building, and while it was done in dark leathers and woods, it wasn’t completely soulless.

As she followed him into his tidy bedroom, his arms loaded with bags, she immediately noticed the fire escape. It was one of those things Adrian had taught her—always know your exits.

His bed was the surprise. A huge, hand-carved four-poster bed took up nearly all the space in the room. The comforter was dark green and looked even comfier than her big, fluffy one, and it was piled with pillows.

After Dallas dropped the bags onto his bed, she moved to stand in front of him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “What?”

“You about scared that poor lady to death back there.”

“I regret nothing.”

“She sneezed, Dallas.”

He snorted derisively as he went to his dresser, pulled out the top drawer, and dumped its contents on the bed. “You can put your stuff in here.”

Whoa.

This was not how she’d imagined this moment in her life. Being given a drawer was supposed to be a huge deal, wasn’t it? Wasn’t that how humans sometimes asked their mates to move in—permanently—with them?

Reading the question on her face, he tossed the drawer on the bed. Grabbing one of her bags, he upended it into the drawer before grabbing the next bag and repeating the process.

“Okay, fine,” she muttered, putting herself in front of him again and spreading her arms out. “I’ll take the drawer. Just stop dumping my stuff all over.” When he looked confused, she laughed out loud. “I’m a girl. I fold things.”

The uncertainty on his face moved into his eyes. “Why?”

She opened her mouth to explain, then moved into him instead. Going up on her toes, she only meant to kiss his chin and tell him thank you for everything he’d done for her, but when his soft green eyes clashed with hers, she forgot everything but the need to feel his mouth on hers again. Taste him again.

Tangling her hands in his hair, she fisted the soft strands and pulled his mouth to hers. The hunger slammed into her out of nowhere, leaving her shaking and breathless. Determined.  He responded instantly, the rough sound of need that tore out of his massive chest fueling her, urging her on, and without warning, he had her hitched up and then on her back on the bed.

His mouth was greedy as they fought to bare and taste naked skin, their hands desperate as they tore at clothes. She barely had time to grip his shoulders and hold on before he lifted her hips, closed his lips over the tip of her breast, and drove into her.

* * *

DALLAS’S BODY SHOOK so hard from the aftershocks the bed trembled beneath them, and he was having a damn hard time trying to catch his breath. It took every ounce of strength he possessed to clear the orgasmic fog out of his head so he could try to figure out what the hell had happened, and where the hell he’d gone wrong.

That was round number two.

And then her slight, perfectly curved body arched beneath him. His gaze dropped from where he’d been trying to glare a hole in the wall to her beautiful face, and he knew exactly what had went wrong.

Lily. It was all her fault. She melted his brain. Muddled his thinking. Twisted his insides until he couldn’t tell which way was up any longer. All he knew was that every time he touched her the nagging voice in the back of his head that chanted “mine” on repeat had turned into a full-blown savage roar.

Leveraging himself off her, he meant to get out of bed and away from her, but he’d overestimated his body’s ability to move or follow commands at the moment. Instead, he landed face first on the mattress next to her and tried to fit the pieces of the puzzle together in his head in some semblance of order.

He must have let his guard down while doing all that domestic shit couples do together. He’d never gone grocery shopping, or any kind of shopping, really, with anyone else, and planning meals with Lily, while making sure they were stocked up on the essentials, must have mellowed him out to the point he’d gone brain dead. It was the only explanation. Then Daniel had scared her, and every protective instinct in Dallas had reared its head.

He turned his head and glared at her. “This is your fault.”

Despite the confused haze covering his brain, he couldn’t help the grin when she pulled the sheet all the way to her chin. Considering she’d been the one to seduce him—again, that much he was sure of—it was damn cute the way she turned shy after sex.

She lifted her arms above her head and stretched. “I only kissed you to thank you for being so wonderful today. It’s not my fault things kind of…well, blew up from there.”

Blew up was right. He remembered her sweet kiss, the press of her perfect breasts against his chest, and the leash on his need snapping free. He snorted and finally managed to turn himself over. It didn’t occur to him that he was naked and should cover himself.

It did occur to him, however, that he should be pissed, and more importantly, scared shitless that he had no self-control when it came to this woman. He was in more fucking trouble than he thought, because all she had to do was kiss him and they were naked. He tried to stop his brain from going all psycho-possessive as orgasm aftershocks ripped through him.

Along with the terrifying thought that they should be doing this a hell of a lot more often.

Which was bullshit. One more time, that was all it would take, and they would be stuck together for eternity, until death literally parted them, with no chance of turning back or changing their mind or finding someone else. Sex with her the first time was worrisome enough, let alone it happening a second time. It had rocked his fucking world, which after all the sex he’d had in his two thousand years should not have been possible.

He stared up at the ceiling. Maybe that was it, why he’d jumped blindly into round number two with her. He’d been sure the mind-blowing orgasm from the first time had been some fluke of nature, so the second time was to be sure of it, for his own peace of mind.

But it hadn’t been a fluke. This time had been more intense. He didn’t understand it, and if she hadn’t been staring at him, waiting for him to say something, he would have admitted it scared the ever-loving hell out of him. At this rate, his body was already climbing the walls, impatient to be inside of her again like a damn junkie jonesing for his next fix.

“Dallas?”

The hesitancy in her soft voice jerked his attention back, and he growled quietly as he turned his head to look at her.

She looked nervous. “What?” She rose to her knees, carefully keeping the sheet around her. “Do you think we should talk about this?”

“Ryuu, fuck no.” He dragged a hand over his face then sat up. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood. “I’m hungry. I’m going to find something to eat.”

* * *

LILY STRUGGLED TO keep her mouth from falling open when he stalked to his dresser and yanked out a pair of black sweat pants and pulled them on. He closed that drawer and opened another. He grabbed out a plain white T-shirt and tossed it to her. “Put that on.”

He didn’t wait for her to obey his command. As soon as she caught the shirt, he turned and walked out of the bedroom. Her nose worked for a second as she tried to figure out what had happened, but it was no use. She was pretty sure that no matter how weird it sounded in her head, the man was running away from her.

She yanked on the huge shirt he’d given her and crawled off the bed in search of the kitchen. She hadn’t paid much attention to the layout of the brownstone when they’d gotten there, having been distracted by his mouth and the delicious things he could make her feel, so instead, she wandered. It had to be on the first floor somewhere. And the more she wandered, the more intrigued she became about the man inside the dragon.

His home wasn’t the bachelor cave she’d been expecting. Even with all the dark colors, it was actually kind of homey. It wasn’t ridiculously messy, either, and she thought it was almost cute the way he seemed to leave parts of himself in every room in the place. She found a baseball cap on top of the television in the den, a pair of shoes in the downstairs bathroom, a towel draped over the back of his office chair.

She smiled and forced herself back to the problem at hand. She should probably apologize. She really hadn’t meant to twist his brain again. He’d made it very, very clear that he didn’t want a mate, and more importantly, he’d made it clear how he felt about love and the idiot it made out of people.

While she was no longer worried that he would kill her at any moment for being a Hunter, she realized it opened up a new set of problems for her. She liked him. He made no sense half the time, and he could give her brother a run for his money in sheer stubbornness, but it didn’t change the man she sensed in him. The one that saved a Hunter he didn’t know and wasn’t even sure he liked, even if it meant destroying her home in the process.

The problem was, since Adrian’s disappearance, she’d seen firsthand what losing the other half of your soul did to a person. But even knowing how much it would hurt to lose that person you needed more than air, Lily still wanted it. She wanted to be loved and to feel safe and to know that someone would be there with her always to help keep the shadows and nightmares away.

Dallas was standing in the kitchen when she found him, his hands braced against the cement countertop as he looked out the window over the sink. The muscles in his back were flexed as if preparing for some kind of attack. And she wondered again if he’d ever known what peace felt like.

It took her longer than it should have to say the words she needed to say. The problem wasn’t finding them. It was getting them out when she wasn’t sure she felt that way at all. She finally blew out a breath and pushed the words out.

“I’m sorry, Dallas.” She leaned back against the counter next to him, tilting her head all the way back so she could study the hard lines of his face. “I know this was probably a mistake.”

His jaw ticked as he continued to stare out the window for so long she wasn’t sure he was going to answer her. Finally, he shook his head and growled quietly. One corner of his mouth lifted into something that almost resembled a wicked grin and had her heart slamming violently against her ribcage. “There is no probably, woman. It was a mistake.”

“Okay.” She worried at her bottom lip for a long moment before she stuck her hand out for his, grinning when he jacked a brow at her. “So, no more sex.”

* * *

DALLAS WAS FUCKED. It was on the tip of his tongue to say no more sex with each other, but he couldn’t get the words past his lips. At any other time in his life, it was exactly what he would have said. And exactly what he would have done. But with Lily, the thought of touching another woman made him physically ill, and the thought of her…

“Dallas?” Lily reached out and grabbed his arm, her green eyes wide with fear. “What’s wrong? You’re bending the counter top.”

His snarled. “No more sex,” he snapped. And he meant it. He’d go celibate for the rest of his life if she would, since he wasn’t ever taking a mate, and he’d be damned if he’d let another man anywhere near that perfect body.

“Okay.” She cleared her throat and managed to wiggle her way in between his body and the counter. She cupped his face. He was dimly aware of the countertop creaking underneath his hands as she pulled him closer. “You are officially freaking me out. What is wrong with you?”

He shook his head to block out the bloodlust that wanted to overtake his brain. “Nothing. Forget it.”

She snorted, and then she did that damn thing she always did that screwed up his thinking and short-circuited his brain. She hugged him. She wrapped her arms around his torso and burrowed into his chest as if she was trying to burrow inside of him.

And like every other time she’d done this, his heart stuttered, and he found himself helpless to do anything other than hook his arms around her neck and bury his face in her soft, mahogany waves. “What the hell are you doing to me, Lil? Why the hell can’t I think straight?”

She spoke against his shoulder. “Because you’re the Destroyer and I’m a Hunter, and this whole thing is messed up nine hundred ways to Sunday?”

He barked out a laugh. “Yeah, that could be it.” He lowered his head to brush a kiss over her temple. “So we’ve agreed? No more sex.”

Her nose wrinkled in that adorable way she had. “Does that mean no more kissing, too?”

“Yes, damn it,” he snapped, though he couldn’t help the chuckle at how forlorn she sounded. “That means no more kissing.”

“Fine.” She let out a dejected sigh, though she hadn’t let go of him yet. “So where does that leave us? Friends? Temporary roommates? Bitter enemies who fight to the death?”

His lips twitched as he tried to pretend to think about it, and then the laugh roared out of him. “I’m not sure you’re capable of giving me a challenge in a fight to the death, sweetheart.”

Her eyes lit up. “How do you feel about teaching me self-defense? Luca taught me some, but he was too worried about hurting me.”

His knee-jerk reaction was fuck no. But instead of pissing her off and starting a fight, he decided to go for round one hundred of things he’d never done before and asked why.

She slipped out of his arms and moved into the center of his large, open kitchen before she turned to look at him. All the humor and easiness in her was gone, replaced with determination and steel and something haunted in the depths of her eyes.

“I know you’ve heard about my past,” she murmured, deliberately keeping her eyes on his when anyone else would have flinched back and turned their attention to the floor. “Everyone has, so you know I’ve been a victim, and you’ve seen my fear instincts up close and personal. Ever since Adrian’s…disappearance, my instincts have been all over the place, and I know I’m too little to do anyone your size any real damage, but I need to feel like I can…”

She trailed off, as if she couldn’t find the right words.

He understood what she was trying to say. “Like you can trust your instincts again.”

She smiled at him. “Exactly. And I’ve been thinking about getting a dog. A big one.” She lifted one shoulder. “I don’t want to be terrified of my own shadow, and I want to be able to go to the market down the street without having a panic attack and seeing a monster in every shadow. I know I’m asking you a—”

“Okay.”

“—lot, but I think this would be… Wait, what?”

He shrugged. “I said okay. I’ll make us a high-protein, high-carb dinner, and we can start tonight.”

Lily’s mouth fell open. She’d obviously braced to argue with him over his claim that it was his job to protect her or that she was too little. That he’d agreed so quickly had her stumbling momentarily until she threw herself at him. She hooked her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, and kissed him once, hard. “Thank you.”

He didn’t put her down. He would in a minute. He would. But for right now, he was going to enjoy the shit out of this.

He smiled at her, a smile so real it almost split his face in half from misuse. Damn if he could help it, though. “You’re welcome, Lil. Now let’s find us some food and eat.”

Chapter 12

WHILE IT HAD seemed like a good idea to teach her self-defense, it didn’t take Dallas long to realize that in terms of epic mistakes he’d made in his long-ass life, training Lily was right up there with sleeping with her twice.

What annoyed him even more was his surprise when he’d realized he’d made another mistake. Honest to the gods, he had no idea why anything surprised him anymore where she was concerned.

After their dinner of grilled steaks and baked potatoes, he’d sent her to his room to change into something more appropriate for sparring than the white T-shirt she had on. He didn’t care that he was the one who had given it to her wear, it was just another mindless idiotic thing he’d done. White shirt, naked skin, and killer legs were not a combination that should be messed with when he was trying damn fucking hard to keep his damn hands to his damn self.

He was moving his living room furniture out of the way to give them more room when she stepped out of his bedroom. His tongue swelled in his mouth.

He hadn’t paid much attention to the clothes she’d bought at the neighborhood Big Box store because he hadn’t cared.  But when she walked toward him in a bright blue skin-tight tank top that did nothing to hide her breasts, and tiny black shorts that he was sure molded perfectly to her perfect ass, he decided he should have shopped for her. And bought her the ugliest, biggest sweats in the most horrific colors imaginable.

Her mahogany ponytail swung as she walked toward him, excitement bright in her vivid eyes. She clasped her hands together when she was in front of him and grinned. “So where do we start?”

Her mouth. He’d stay focused on her mouth instead of her body, and they wouldn’t end up back in bed.

He cleared his throat when her tongue darted out, slowly licking at her bottom lip. Ryuu, the woman drove him mad. He snapped his gaze to her shoulder. “Make a fist,” he demanded.

She did as he asked and held it up proudly for him to see. He scowled and shook his head, uncurling her fingers. “Never tuck your thumb in like that. You’ll break it with your first real punch.” With more gentleness than he thought he possessed, he carefully showed her how to make a proper fist. “Feel the difference?” he asked, bringing it up so she could see it. “At your size, anything you hit is going to hurt you, but the goal is to hurt them more, all right?”

She nodded, opening her hand and re-fisting it the way he’d shown her. Her delicate brow was screwed up in concentration as she looked up at him. “Is this right?”

He made a small adjustment, then smiled. “Perfect. Now hit me.”

Lily yanked her fist away. “What? No.”

He jacked a brow up and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s self-defense, Lil. It’s kind of hard to teach it without hands-on sparring.”

Her nose wrinkled at him in frustration. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Ah.” He cleared his throat to keep himself from roaring with laughter. It would hurt her feelings, and then he’d feel like the biggest dick in the world for the rest of the evening and end up volunteering to watch some sappy chick flick with her to make up for it. Instead, he held his hand out for hers. “Give me your hand.”

Her eyes narrowed at him for a long moment as if she expected a trap, but she did what he asked and slowly held her hand out for his. He uncurled her fingers again, held his hand palm, and pressed his to hers.

He’d meant to show her the size difference between them, but to his surprise, raw heartache flashed over her face and tears welled in her eyes and spilled over.  She yanked her hand back and fled to his bedroom.

He flinched when the door slammed shut behind her and crouched down, dragging both hands over his face. He had no idea how the fucking hell he’d fucked up this time. Confused enough, he had dragged his cell phone out of his back pocket and pulled up Seren’s number, intent on calling her to ask for advice, when he realized what he was doing and threw the phone across the room.

Dallas had no idea why the hell he even bothered to try, or what the hell he was even trying to do, or prove, when it came to Lily. She was a Hunter, Cage’s sister, and he should have left her with Seren or Luca and let them deal with her. He could have reimbursed her for the damage he’d caused to her shop and her apartment, and they never would have had to see each other again.

Instead, he’d brought her home with him, where he’d been seduced by her—again—and charmed into helping her learn to defend herself. Only to get kicked in the fucking nuts.

Well, whatever the hell was going on with her, she could figure it out by herself. He snarled as he stood and began a slow prowl around his living room. He was not going after her like a love-sick puppy.

It was just. Not. Going. To. Happen.

Ever.

Five minutes later, he contemplated banging his fist against his bedroom door, but forced himself to knock quietly instead. He could hear her quiet sobs, and each one sent rage and disgust and pain straight through him. He had no idea why, but it was one more thing to piss him off.

After a long moment filled with more sniffles, he finally heard her soft, tear-filled voice. “It’s open.”

Dallas had never thought himself a coward until he realized he did not want to push that door open and see her crying. Again. Because of him. Again.

Ryuu.

He’d barely turned the doorknob before her words came rushing out of her. “I’m sorry, Dallas, really, I am.”

His head started to ache when he walked in and found her sitting on the floor at the edge of the bed, her legs curled up against her chest, as if she was trying to make herself as small as possible. Even if she wasn’t a danger to the dragon world, her off-the-wall emotions would be the death of him if he hung around her too much longer.

Yet he sat on the floor next to her, anyway. He drew his knees up to his chest and braced his arms against them, carefully keeping his gaze on the wall above the dresser.

Not used to this emotional, touchy-feeling, crying shit, it took him a minute longer than what was probably normal before he cleared his throat and asked softly, “What are you sorry about?”

She wiped the back of her hand under her eyes and snorted as she dared a peek up at him. “You were being kind and helping me, and I flaked out again.”

He sneered. “First of all, I am never kind. Second, what the hell did I do?”

* * *

LILY DIDN’T WANT to talk about it because try as she might, there wasn’t a short version. And letting it all pour out of her now would tell him way more about her than she’d ever wanted anyone, even Adrian, to know.

But she owed Dallas, and more importantly, she liked him. Liked him enough to bare herself, inside and out, because he deserved to know what he was protecting. How messed up and broken she really was.

“I met Adrian when I was nine,” she finally started, keeping her voice quiet. She rested her chin on her knees and wiggled her pink-tipped toes. “My stepfather had finally gone too far, and I ended up in a human hospital. The doctors knew by looking at me how extensive the abuse was, that I hadn’t just been beaten, but…” She blew out a breath and closed her eyes because she hated this part. She hated all of it, and it was supposed to be in the past, never to be talked about again. “Raped. It hadn’t been the first time for either, but he’d gotten carried away that time. Even with my ability to heal myself, the trauma was extensive, and the doctors had no choice but to call the police.”

Beside her, his hands clenched into fists, and she could almost see the rage pulsing out of him. A low, feral growl sounded in his chest. She looked up at his gorgeous face. He was fighting to keep his fury inside for her. He always did that. No matter how scary he was, he always tried hard to do the right thing for the people in his life.

Because he was making that soothing noise, she scooted in a little bit closer to him. She needed to explain that, too. Why she responded the way she did to the animalistic sounds that came out of his chest when pissed or upset, but she’d hoped to put it off longer.

“Keep going,” he finally ground out.

Needing to touch him, she slipped her small hand into his large one and held on. “Luckily Gabriel and Adrian had a source inside the police force that let them know when a magical being was in trouble, especially a kid.” She closed her eyes and forced herself to focus on the part of the story she wanted him to hear. “I was so afraid of that place. Porter had always warned me about the police and what he would do if I ever tried to get help, and then they were all so…loud.” She closed her eyes as her body let out a violent shudder. “And angry. There was so much yelling and fighting, and noise, and I couldn’t handle being stared at and their probing questions and everything, so I bolted when no one was looking.” She smiled because that had been her first act of defiance in her life. “I hid under a desk, making myself as small as I could. I was hurting so bad, and I was so scared. I didn’t want to go home, but I didn’t want to stay there, and I didn’t know what to do, when suddenly, this giant, scarred man crouched in front of the desk. He stared at me, too, but he studied every bruise and mark on me, and I could feel him getting angrier by the second just as I could feel my pain seeping out of me. And then he let out this sound. This growl. And before he knew what was happening, I’d crawled out and launched myself at him.”

The confusion on Dallas’s face reminded her of the look Adrian had that day so long ago. “Because he’d growled at you?”

She nodded.  “Yes. He was the scariest thing I had ever seen, even scarier than Porter, and he was angry. Not at me, but at Porter, and I knew Porter would never be able to hurt him. Which meant if this giant kept me, Porter would never be able to hurt me again. And then, like Adrian had needed to prove to me that I was safe, he held his hand up for me to see.” Untangling her hand from Dallas’s, she lifted his hand, palm out, her gaze steady on his, despite the tears that continued to leak. “And then he told me to put mine against his.” She pressed her hand against Dallas’s so their palms were lined up, and they could both see the size difference. “He told me that I was safe with him because he would never, ever hit me. Because he would kill me if he ever did. It wasn’t exactly true. Porter was head of the Hunters then, and almost as big, but he hadn’t managed to kill me with his fists yet. But Adrian wanted me to see that my size meant something to him, and that he would use his superior strength to protect me. Not harm. And from then on, whenever I got afraid or felt like things were out of control, he’d stop whatever he was doing and hold his hand out for mine.” She pulled her hand back and used it to wipe at her tears. “And it reminded me that no matter what, when I was with him, I was safe.”

* * *

DALLAS WAS STARTING to understand why Lily and Adrian’s bond had been legendary. Adrian Cage, who had been the most violent and bloodthirsty of the Hunters for thousands of years, had settled down into a father figure, though he’d never lost his edge. If anything, he’d become smarter, sharper, and more violent. The dragons had kept a close eye on him, worried what he would do if he ever perceived the slightest danger from one of them.

Seren’s comment about Lily’s magic suddenly made sense. No matter what she thought, Dallas would bet anything it was her instinct and magic working together that had connected her to Adrian.

Without thinking, without giving it a single thought, Dallas hooked his arm around her waist. He hauled her into his lap, grateful he hadn’t put on a shirt yet. He wanted that skin-to-skin contact with her. He banded his arms around her, keeping his graveled voice soft. “That’s why you still call him?”

Her teeth worried at her bottom lip as she nodded. “The world isn’t safe without him. He was the strongest Hunter out there, and if something could kill him, then I wouldn’t stand a chance. Someone is coming after me, destroying everything I love, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

It was something he understood. If something was capable of taking out Daniel, the strongest dragon in existence, the rest of them would be fucked. How did you survive an enemy not even your king was able to defeat? One last tear trickled out. He wiped it away with the pad of his thumb before he dropped his chin down on her shoulder. His heart was pounding in his chest, and in that second, he would have done anything to help ease her fear without a second thought. Anything.

“I will look for him.”

Lily’s eyes went round, and she scooted back. “What? Why would you do that?”

“Because I’m not sure he’s dead, either,” he said, his gaze holding hers. “There’s too much that doesn’t make sense, and I was there that night. The only being there strong enough to kill him was Alexi, and he was dead before he had the chance. Cage was still alive and fighting when Micah took him out.” He cursed at the hope that lit her eyes, and he tangled both his hands in her hair so she had no choice but to hold his intense gaze. “I am not saying he’s alive, Lily, and I don’t want you getting your hopes up. They found his ring, and everyone else is accounted for. It’s almost impossible that he survived.”

She shifted to straddle him. “Thank you, Dallas.”

He sighed. “For what?”

“For not acting like I was a heartbroken kid and patting me on the head.”

Some of the shadows had faded from her eyes as she tucked her head under his chin. The ache in his chest tightened with something like pride that he’d somehow found a way to help her. He felt ten fucking feet tall.

Her head suddenly snapped up so quickly, she rammed it into his chin and made him curse. She kissed him quickly on the mouth in apology, then sat back and narrowed her eyes at him. “Wait.”

He instantly tensed, even as he tried to keep his face neutral. “What.”

Her teeth caught her bottom lip for a moment.  She crossed her arms over his chest. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

He gave her a slow blink. “Okay,” he drawled, “why?”

“Because…” She tried to growl, but the sound came out more like a kitten’s purr. “I like you, damn it, and you promised to teach me self-defense, and you make me laugh and irritate me and challenge me, and I will be very, very upset if you let yourself get dead because you weren’t careful!”

Ryuu. It was in that second, with the storm of worry and determination swirling in her vivid eyes that he knew—he goddamn fucking knew—that he was in way over his head with her.

Shelby liked him, and for reasons Dallas had yet to understand, she considered him a confidante and was always calling him when Daniel was being an ass and she needed help to figure him out. No matter how many times he told her to stop calling him, she always did it again, anyway.

Seren liked him. While Dallas had fought the hardest against her mating to a Hunter, she’d expected him to work out his issues with her mate. But Lily… Ryuu. She found the good in him without even trying, good that he hadn’t even known was still inside of him.  A goodness that he thought he’d lost when Portia and his family had been killed centuries ago, when he’d ceased to be Dallas and had become the Destroyer. But Lily saw that good in him, and it made him want to be that male for her.

So if she wanted him to be careful, he would. It was the least he could do for bringing him back to the land of the living.

Hooking his arm around her waist again, he stood up, bringing her with him. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, woman, but you need to stop. I’m in over my head and drowning here, and you and those eyes and that body are not helping me stay sane any.”

She glanced down at where her breasts swelled over her tank top. “Oh.” Her cheeks tinted in embarrassment, but she raised one perfectly arched brow at him. “I don’t feel too bad. You’ve been walking around without a shirt since you crawled out of bed earlier. At least I’m covered.”

He winked at her. “Yeah, well, I’m about to make us both all sweaty, so we’ll see who stays decent the longest.”

A truly wicked grin lit up her face. “You know you’re playing with fire. One more round of nookie, and we’re mated for eternity.”

He stumbled over his feet. “Nookie, Lil? You call what we did nookie?”

She shrugged and nodded, then wrinkled her nose and shook her head, contradicting herself. “No, but I’m a good girl.”

He barked out a laugh but knew she was right. About the good girl part, and the fact he was playing with fire. He was scared shitless at the invisible force shoving him at her, but he was starting to understand fighting was futile, and part of him was already thinking of her as his. While he wanted a mate, he refused to consider love actually existed. If Portia had been his ideal mate in that they got along perfectly, then it was possible Lily could be his mate, too. As long as she didn’t expect love out of the deal.

Because not even he was stupid enough to go down that road.

At that moment, a harsh pounding sounded at his door. His instincts reached out, and while the identity was cloaked from him, the presence was familiar. Hitching her up so she could wrap her legs around his waist, he crossed to the door and opened it. “Yeah.”

When no one answered, Dallas finally managed to tear his gaze away from Lily to see who was taking up his entire doorway, only to go rigid as a low, violent string of curses ripped out of him. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Adrian Cage raised one dark brow beneath the ratty ball cap he wore, his voice a quiet threat. “Get your hands off my sister’s ass, dragon, or I remove them from your body.”

Chapter 13

DALLAS BARELY HAD time to get himself and Lily out of the way before the mountain that was Adrian Cage pitched forward, landing face-first on the hardwood floor with enough force to rattle the building’s foundation.

Lily’s scream pierced his eardrums. She bolted toward her brother, her hands shaking as she fell to her knees next to him and leaned forward to check his breathing.

Her face crumpled in relief. “Help me, please. We have to get him off the floor.”

Stunned and unsure why there was dread in his gut, Dallas nodded and crouched next to her. He shifted and hefted Cage’s hulking form over his shoulder, gritting his teeth with the effort.

He glanced at Lily as he got back to his feet and he wasn’t sure what he was going to kill Cage for first: the terror in her eyes or the hope. She couldn’t seem to drag her eyes away from her brother’s face, as if she was worried he’d vanish again the second she did.

“Hey.” He waited a beat for her to shift her gaze to him, then he reached out and brushed the pad of his thumb over her pale cheekbone. “My phone’s in my back pocket. Call Gabriel, tell him to get his ass here, and I’ll get your brother into bed, all right?”

She shoved her tiny hand into his left back pocket. “I’ll have him bring Seren.”

“Just have him get his ass here immediately.”

Ryuu, the bastard weighed a ton. He didn’t bother to be gentle as he flipped him over onto the mattress. Hunters could heal themselves, and there hadn’t been any outward signs of injuries anyway.

The second Adrian sprawled out on the mattress, Lily crawled onto the bed next to him, her hand wrapping around Dallas’s. She stared down at the unconscious giant. “He’s alive.” She swiped her free hand over her tears. She sniffled. “I’m not crazy. He really is alive.”

His gut went cold. He couldn’t explain it, but something wasn’t right, and the urge to drag her out of there away from her brother—the one who’d rescued her and saved her life—nearly brought Dallas to his knees. He didn’t fight his instincts. He never had.

Until now. And the only reason he was ignoring them was because he was certain Lily would hate him forever if he forced her away from her brother right now.

Fuck. “Lil.” He untangled his hand from hers and gently wrapped his arm around her shoulders. His voice was deliberately quiet, as soothing as he could make it. “Why don’t we go get some water and let him rest until Gabriel gets here?”

She shook her head, her waterfall of sable curls swishing around her shoulders with the motion. “I can’t leave him.” She looked at him from dazed eyes. “What if I do and he disappears again?”

Dallas dragged a hand down his face and crouched next to her. Reaching up, he cupped her face with one hand, using it to gently turn her toward him so she had to meet his eyes. “Something isn’t right, Lily, and it’s making me nervous. Where has he been? And why the hell would his first stop be here? Why not his house? Why not Gabriel’s? Or the hospital if Seren’s working? Or Ryuu, your house? Why the fuck would he come here?”

She shook her head, and Dallas hated himself for the doubt that started to creep into her green eyes. “Maybe he knew I was here?”

“I wish to Gwendolyn that was it,” he said quietly, “but there’s something I haven’t told you about mine and Cage’s history.”

Her tiny body stilled, her eyes widening the slightest bit. “I’m listening.”

Fuck, he hadn’t wanted to tell her this. He wasn’t ashamed of it, but he knew once she found out what he’d done, she’d hate him for touching her.

It wasn’t the hate that would bother him. It was the fallout of her own emotions that worried him—if she thought her instincts had led her wrong after all…

He closed his eyes and rubbed at the back of his neck. He had no idea what the hell she would do.

“Dallas, you’re scaring me.”

He glanced down at where she’d slipped her tiny hand into his, automatically linking their fingers. But it was the absolute trust in her eyes that gutted him. And nearly had him swallowing back the words before he could spit them out.

He cleared his throat and lowered his gaze to their hands again. “Last month, when we were holed up in the cave while trying to find Shelby’s would-be assassin, a Hunter came after us. My job was to keep an eye on the cave—and Shelby—while the king and the others went to find the threat. Almost immediately, I realized it had to be Cage.” He shoved his free hand through his hair. “All the information we had pointed to a Hunter as Shelby’s shooter, which meant Cage knew something he wasn’t telling us. Which meant he likely knew the Hunter, and chances were good the hit had gone out through him.”

She shook her head slowly. “Adrian would never allow one of his men to shoot a female. Ever.”

Dallas swallowed his disgusted snort and raised a brow at her. “It sure as fuck wouldn’t be the first time an innocent female died because of a Hunter. Anyway, we needed answers, and Broderick’s computer research was taking too long. So I grabbed Shelby and…”

This time, her eyes narrowed at him, her voice going soft when his trailed off. “And…?”

“I used her as bait to draw Cage out with the intention of killing him.”

“I get it,” she finally managed, looking like she was about to be sick.  “You’ve got a death wish.”

He snapped his brows together. “What?” He snorted and gave her a look that suggested she was out of her mind. “The hell I do.”

She pointed at him. “You know, Dallas, you may not want a mate, but you’re going to have to have one to keep your stubborn butt out of trouble. Do you realize that? Do you know what Daniel will do to you if he finds out you used Shelby? And my brother? You tried to kill my brother? Dear Gods above,” she whispered as she jackknifed forward and pushed her head between her knees. “They’re going to kill you.”

Dallas cursed under his breath and shifted, his hand tangling in the hair at the back of her neck. “Lily, breathe.”

Her snort was pathetic. “I’m breathing, but you have to hide. If Gabriel gets here and Adrian wakes up and tells him what you did…”

It was Dallas’s turn to snort. “Gabriel doesn’t have room to talk. He handed Shelby over to Micah Dragan to get him close enough to his father to kill him.”

She lifted her head enough to peek at him. “But Daniel…” She shook her head. “Good gods, you’re all trying to get yourselves killed.”

“Maybe I didn’t mention the fact that Shelby stabbed me before Daniel showed up and your brother and I could do any damage to each other.”

“Shelby?” She shook her head and gaped at him. “Shelby Kincade, America’s Good Girl, stabbed you?”

“Yes. In the leg.”

She blinked wide eyes. “I’ll figure out how I feel about that later, but you’re saying Daniel knows?”

“Yes.” He dragged a hand down his face and straightened as he felt the familiar presence of Gabriel closing in on his apartment. “Do you understand what I’m telling you? A month ago, I used an innocent female to try to kill your brother, and he shows up, out of the blue, at my door to find his sister half naked in my arms. You need to prepare yourself, Lil. He’s not going to be in a talkative mood when he wakes up.”

* * *

LILY HAD KNOWN there would be a battle on her hands if and when her brother and Dallas ever met, but this was something she’d never thought to prepare for.

Not sure if she wanted to go numb or scream or simply run until she worked out the mess clouding up her brain, she stood and followed Dallas to the front door as a heavy fist beat against it. Dallas yanked the heavy wood open, and the Behemoth’s gaze narrowed in on her face from the other side of the door way. “Lil.” He crouched in front of her so she didn’t hurt her neck. It was something he and Adrian had always done, from the moment they’d rescued her—got down on her level so she would have nothing to fear from them. One of his large hands reached out and gently tugged on one of her curls. “You okay?”

She wanted to laugh at him. He meant the question sincerely and her answer mattered to him, but she knew him almost as well as her brother. He was on edge, worried, and trying not to let her see it.

She shook her head slowly, her eyes searching his fallen angel face and ice blue eyes. “You are not allowed to hurt him, Gabriel, do you understand me? No matter what happens, you are not allowed to hurt one hair on his head.”

The vein pulsing in his forehead was the only outward reaction the giant male gave that he was unhappy with her order. “I know nothing short of a natural disaster could have kept your brother from you and Seren and the baby, Lil. I’m not planning on hurting him.”

“It’s not him I’m worried about,” she snapped, surprising herself. She wasn’t sure where the temper and worry was coming from, but she could feel it eating a hole in her belly. “You are not allowed to hurt Dallas, got it? I’m not kidding, Gabriel. He’s off limits to you, Adrian, and Daniel.”

His eyes widened, and Lily had the wild thought that under any other circumstance, at any other time, she would have giggled madly at being able to finally—finally—shock the great Gabriel into silence, but she couldn’t get a hold of her emotions enough to manage it at the moment.

Finally, after several heartbeats, he let out a single nod. “Got it. Where’s your brother?”

“My room,” Dallas snarled. “I opened the door, and he passed out, went down like a damn redwood.”

Gabriel straightened and headed toward the bedroom at the back of the hallway. “Did he say anything first?”

Dallas cleared his throat. “Ah…” His words trailed off as Gabriel stopped walking and raised a brow at him over his shoulder. “He told me to get my hands off his sister’s ass.”

Gabriel closed his eyes and counted to five, then nodded and walked into the bedroom. “At least we know he doesn’t have amnesia.”

Lily rushed in after him, automatically putting herself between her brother and the giants in the room. Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure Dallas’s downstairs neighbors could hear and dance to it. “Wait. Hunters can’t get amnesia.” As something else occurred to her, she slowly wrapped her arms around herself. “Gabriel, where’s Seren? Why didn’t you bring her with you?”

Instead of answering her, he moved in and gripped her around the waist, lifting her. Turning, he deposited her back on her feet next to Dallas, then went to look down at Adrian.

“Gabriel,” Dallas snapped. “Answer her.”

The Behemoth ignored him, too, as he pulled off her brother’s ball cap and rested his large hand on the top of Adrian’s shaved head. Though he’d never confirmed it, none of them believed he was a dragon. Whatever he was, even Lily knew his power was unlike anything any of them had ever seen. He was quiet for so long Lily almost screamed in frustration. Gabriel finally shook his head and stood. “He came here instead of going home. That means something. And until I know what—”

His words were cut off as an anguished roar tore through the room, rattling the walls. Adrian jack-knifed into a sitting position. His eyes flew open and landed on hers. She lurched forward and threw her arms around his neck as tears of relief rushed out of her.

The prick of a knife at her throat confused her, but the savage snarl that echoed through her brother’s chest had her pulling back to see if she’d hurt him.

And her brother, the man who’d rescued her, protected her, saved her, looked her right in the face and pressed the tip of the knife she’d given him as a birthday gift to her throat. “Put your weapons down,” he snarled violently, “or your little whore Vanessa here gets it.”

Chapter 14

DALLAS’S PUPILS LENGTHENED to slits as his dragon leapt to the surface, prepared for battle. The air thickened with Lily’s confusion and terror—not for herself, Dallas knew, but for her brother—making it hard for him to breathe. Her raw fear was inside his head, in his bloodstream, and rocketed straight to his soul.

Gabriel must have felt it, too, because his massive body stiffened next to Dallas, his hand clamping over his head. A low snarl reverberated in his chest. “What the fuck?”

The hell if Dallas knew, but he’d worry about it later after his woman’s life wasn’t in danger. His body braced for impact, his gaze locked on to Cage as he climbed off the bed. The Hunter’s eyes were unfocused but full of rage and something like terror.

He probably would have given a fuck if the bastard wasn’t currently holding a knife to Lily’s throat. “Let her go, Cage.”

A single tear leaked out of Lily’s eye, landing on her brother’s forearm. “Adrian, it’s me, big brother.” Her voice broke on a soft sob. “Please. Let me go. Seren and Ava need you. Don’t make Gabriel and Dallas kill you. Please, Adrian.”

Dallas gritted his teeth, temper building in the base of his skull as he took a step toward one side of the room while Gabriel made the same move toward the other. In the same heartbeat, Lily’s body went limp. Cage’s hold on her slipped, and she used the single second he needed to tighten his grip to sink her teeth into his forearm.

He dropped her on a roar, and she shot forward, knocking into Dallas with the force of a mini-five-foot-three stacked hurricane. Gabriel was across the room before Dallas’s arms had closed all the way around her.

Gabriel pulled his fist back and slammed it into Adrian’s face. Though Adrian wasn’t much smaller than the Behemoth’s seven-foot-tall size, the power behind the punch snapped the Hunter’s head back and had blood fountaining out of his nose. He swayed as his dark green eyes rolled into the back of his head. Dallas had to lift Lily off her feet to stop her from rushing to the bastard as he pitched forward, hitting the ground face-first for the second time in an hour.

Proving there was a strength to Gabriel that surpassed what even an ancient dragon his size should have, and that none of them understood, he hauled Adrian up and tossed him on the bed like he weighed nothing. Then he crouched down and laid his fingers against Cage’s throat, checking his pulse. Gabriel spread his hand over the top of Cage’s shaved head and murmured something in an ancient language Dallas didn’t understand.

Dallas hadn’t realized he’d buried his face in Lily’s hair to assure himself she was unharmed until Gabriel turned, saw him, and lifted a brow. “I’m going to call Daniel and get his ass here. I put a spell on Cage, temporarily paralyzing him until we can figure out what in the fucking hell is going on here.”

Dallas untangled himself from Lily and shoved her behind him, then went toe to toe with the giant. “He took Lily hostage. His own goddamn sister. He needs to be locked up.” He’d rather the asshole be put down, but he wasn’t going to fucking say so in front of Lily when he could still feel her fear as acutely as his own anger.

In a rare sign of frustration, Gabriel shoved his hand through his short, dark hair. “Actually, I agree. But I don’t know what to fucking do with him.”

“Call Seren.” Lily stepped forward, her arms crossed over her chest. She glared through her fear at them both. “Why haven’t we done that already? He needs his mate. She’ll know how to fix him.”

“This isn’t a physical wound, Lil,” Gabriel said softly. “This is mental, and if he doesn’t recognize you, it makes him a danger to Ava and Seren. I’m not letting him loose. We don’t know where he’s been. We don’t know what’s happened to him or what he’s done. Right now, he’s a loose cannon, and we cannot afford to have the strongest Hunter in existence going rogue on the city of Los Angeles.”

* * *

AN HOUR LATER, every dragon on the west coast was camped out in Dallas’s living room. Dallas was hoping it was enough fire power—literally—to keep her brother from doing something stupid.

Not that Adrian looked the least bit intimidated. He stood in the middle of the room, his arms crossed over his chest and his legs spread. He stared straight at her, unblinking.

She knew that look. Even with the beard covering the lower half of his face and the ball cap shielding his eyes, Lily had no doubt what was going through his head. He trusted Gabriel, Daniel, and Luca, but he was pissed at how close she was to the Destroyer and that those he had trusted had let it happen.

He was acting like Adrian again. He was back to being her brother, though so far, he’d refused to answer a single question.

It all combined to make Lily’s instincts and emotions go haywire. She’d always trusted Adrian’s instincts, but Dallas was safe.

“Fine.” Dallas stepped forward, partially shielding her from her brother, temper pulsing out of him. “If no one else is going to fucking ask it, I will. What the fucking hell is wrong with you? Who the hell is Vanessa?”

Fear flicked in Adrian’s eyes before he dismissed him and turned his attention back to her. “Fuck off, asshole. I’m not explaining anything to you.”

Dallas ignored that. “Where the hell have you been? I don’t give a shit that the others may trust you. I don’t, and you ripping at Lily’s heart is seriously pissing me the fuck off. So start giving us answers, or we’re going to finish what we started.”

Adrian’s scarred lip lifted in a sneer. “That’s the last time you threaten me, dragon.”

Gabriel let out a low string of curses as the fury of the two men magnified and pulsed out, shaking the entire ninety-story building. “Both of you, back the fuck off. This isn’t solving anything. Cage, answer the goddamn question.”

Lily scooted around Dallas, deliberately putting herself between him and Adrian before they could tear each other apart. When they both growled in raw fury, her nose wrinkled. She looked up at her brother. “Please, Adrian,” she whispered.

He shifted his gaze to her and ran his hand over the top of his ball cap. He shot a look at Dallas. “Got any vodka?”

Luca headed into the kitchen. “I’ll get it.” When he came back out a moment later, instead of a shot glass, he handed the new, unopened bottle to Cage.

A sick feeling settled in Lily’s belly as her brother tilted his head back and downed half the contents as if he was drinking water. When he’d finished the last of the bottle, he sat on the couch, his gaze still trained on her. “You’re saying I’ve been gone a month?”

She moved forward slowly, afraid of spooking him. Her stomach jittered at the thought she’d be able to scare him. “Explain, big brother,” she said softly as she knelt in front of him. He leaned forward, his arms braced on his spread legs, the empty bottle dangling from his fingers. She pulled it out of his grasp and set it aside while never taking her gaze off his. “I need you to explain to me where you were and how you found me.”

“I don’t know. I walked into the cavern with Daniel and the other dragons and woke up in the Destroyer’s bed. All I have are these vague memories that don’t make sense.” His gruff voice broke, and there was sheer terror in his eyes. “Lil.”

She didn’t have to look at Dallas to know the temper and worry in him was amping up.  “It’s okay,” she murmured. “He won’t hurt me.”

Though she’d been talking to both of them, her gaze remained steady on Adrian’s. The sound that tore out of his chest was borderline savage. “I don’t trust him.”

Lily lifted her chin. She wasn’t breakable. She’d survived without him. “You’re not in a good place to talk right now, big brother,” she said quietly. “You’re scaring them.”

His dark green eyes went wild. “I don’t—I don’t know. I have images, flashes, bruises. New scars.”

Her gut churned until she was certain she was going to be sick. “Who is Vanessa?”

He pulled off his ball cap and ran a trembling hand over his head. “Why the hell does everyone keep asking me that?” he snapped. “Who the fuck is Vanessa?”

“You called Lily ‘Vanessa’ and held a knife to her throat.” Daniel spoke up for the first time.

Adrian surged to his feet and roared, “The fuck I did!”

Dallas shoved Lily behind him. “How did you know Lily was here?”

Adrian clamped his hands on his head. “I didn’t.” His frustration was tangible enough it reverberated through the building. “Why the hell did I find The Destroyer’s hands on my sister’s ass? Anyone want to tell me how that happened?”

They all visibly winced, but Lily was the one who spoke up. “That’s not important. Why did you come here if you didn’t know I was staying here?”

“I think I remember going to your place and seeing it demolished. The debris smelled like you and the Destroyer, so I came here. I think. But I have other memories that can’t be real.” His eye twitched, his voice going deceptively low. “You’re staying here?”

The insanity and madness in him made her gasp. For the first time since he’d rescued her, she didn’t go and curl up next to him when she was afraid. Instead, she reached for Dallas’s hand. “I made a decision, Adrian, and you’re not allowed to yell at me for it, do you understand? You weren’t here, and he’s my choice. I like Dallas. A lot.”

He pulled the brim of his cap lower over his eyes. “There’s something wrong with my head, Lil. I don’t remember anything. There’s this black hole, but I keep having these flashes of Porter torturing me. But I killed him years ago. Didn’t I?” He dropped his head and scrubbed both hands over it. “I don’t know what’s real and what’s not.”

Just the thought of Porter being alive made her want to vomit then shower in bleach until she managed to erase the images. “He was torturing you? You never told me he tortured you.”

“He didn’t,” Gabriel said. “I was there when the bastard was ended. Adrian wasn’t the one tortured.”

“Then why do I—” Adrian cut off with a harsh laugh. “Iosa. I’m going insane.” He raised his gaze to Gabriel’s. “You need to lock me up somewhere. I’m not safe.”

“No shit,” Dallas snapped.

Adrian didn’t react at first. He stood motionless for several moments until he nodded once. “Kill me.” His voice was low and quiet. Settled. “You have to kill me. Do it now before something else happens that I can’t control. No one I love is safe if I can hold a knife to my sister’s throat…and not even remember it.”

Chapter 15

THE SOUND THAT tore out of Lily twisted something deep inside Dallas. Adrian’s words hung in the air as if they’d crystallized and become solid, the tension in the room thickening until they all nearly choked on it.

Lily jumped up suddenly. “I have something for you.” She hesitated when she was directly in front of Dallas, her eyes pleading with his. “Don’t do anything, Dallas, please.”

His gut tightened at what she thought he was capable of. “I’m not going to kill him while you’re in the other room, Lil.” He had no problem gutting the bastard and strangling him with his own spine if needed. But he didn’t know if his reaction was because he despised the asshole with every fiber of his being or because he was dangerous.

Ryuu. Yeah. Emotions fucking sucked balls.

When she sighed in relief and bolted toward his bedroom, he turned his temper on Adrian and the others. “What the hell is going on?” he asked on a snarl. “What the hell is wrong with you, telling us to kill you in front of your sister? For fuck’s sake, she’s finally putting the pieces back together and learning to trust her instincts, then you go and pull this shit. I ought to put you down for that.”

Cage held his gaze. “Then do it now. I won’t fight you. I’m the strongest Hunter alive, and who knows what I’m capable of—what I’ve already done—that I don’t remember.”

Lily came back in and sat down next to Adrian. She handed him the damaged baby book, then placed her hand on his cheek and pulled his attention toward her. “Seren named her Ava.”

His hands shook as he ran his fingers over the tiny face on the cover. “She’s so beautiful,” he murmured.

Dallas didn’t miss the confusion that was flickering over Cage’s face. Shit. Dallas would have bet his left arm the Hunter had no idea who the baby belonged to.

Lily curled up next to him. She needed him so much, and even he’d known how much the Hunter had been looking forward to being a father. It didn’t do a damn thing for the terror clawing at his chest, though, or calm his raging need to put an entire continent between her and her head-fucked brother.

“She’s a sweet baby,” she said softly. “With her Momma’s fierce temper.”

One corner of Cage’s mouth tilted upward. Dallas glanced at the others and jerked his head toward the kitchen. He still had every intention of putting Cage down, if only for breaking Lily and Seren’s hearts, but whatever demon had struck him when he’d woken up, he seemed to have beaten it back for the moment. He’d give Lily this, then he’d kill him.

The problem was that, even as the other dragons walked into the kitchen, Dallas couldn’t make himself follow. Lily needed her brother and Dallas got that, but he needed her, too. And Cage was a threat to her well-being he hadn’t expected and wouldn’t dismiss.

He didn’t want to be jealous of a dead guy, but Dallas was acutely aware that he was running out of time with her. The longer Dallas was with her and the closer they got, the more tempted he was to say fuck it and go for round number three. Not because he was willing to take a mate, but because he goddamn fucking liked her, and the need to get inside of her again, fill her up and pound himself inside of her, was building every time she touched him.

Dallas didn’t move when she rested her head against her brother’s arm, telling him a story about his little girl. He let out a violent, frustrated sound and stalked into the kitchen.

He parked himself against a counter that still kept him in eyesight of his woman and immediately focused on Gabriel. “What the hell is going on? A nightmare is one thing, but if he’s begging to be put down, I’m all for volunteering. He’s lost it. You can see it in his eyes. He’s humoring Lily with that baby book, but there’s no recognition in his eyes.”

Gabriel shook his head, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he leaned back against the counter top to Dallas’s left. “I don’t know. We all know how he feels about his sister. If even a part of him was coherent, he wouldn’t have pulled that knife on her.”

“That’s my fucking point,” Dallas spat out. “For whatever fucking reason, you have a blind spot where Cage is concerned. I don’t. I think Seren chose wrong, and I think he’s playing with Lily’s fucking emotions. I think he’s psycho, and if no one else is going to agree to put him down, he at least needs to be locked the fuck up. Away from Lily before he can do anymore goddamn damage.”

Luca pulled out a chair and threw himself in it. “It’s one episode,” he started slowly. “We can’t kill him and leave Seren widowed and Ava without a father because of one episode.”

“That was a pretty bad fucking episode, and I’m telling you, he has no idea that baby in the book belongs to him.” Dallas bared his teeth. “Seren chose a goddamn Hunter as a mate. She can deal with the consequences. Lily’s the victim in all of this, and it’s her heart that’s currently being put through the shredder.” When they all stood there, unmoving, he snarled violently. “Fine, but he’s not leaving until she has a chance to say a proper goodbye, so that means you should all get comfortable because you’re not going anywhere either. You all want to believe he’s the goddamn hero of this story, you can park your asses and make sure he doesn’t harm a hair on his sister’s head.”

He didn’t wait for them to argue. They could until they were blue in the face. He wasn’t going to budge, not on this. He may not be the leader, or have Gabriel’s sheer strength, but he could hold his own, and he would kill them all if it meant keeping Lily’s heart intact.

Stalking out of the kitchen, he went over and sat in the oversize easy chair opposite the couch so he could keep an eye on them. He sprawled out in it until he was comfortable and crossed his arms over his chest.

He didn’t like this feeling that he was being led somewhere he never wanted to go, but that was going to have to wait. This whole situation was screwed up. Cage’s disappearance, the attack on Lily, the destruction of her shop, her brother showing up at his place and taking his sister hostage. If it took going to war with the only people he cared about, he would. Even if it was against the people Lily loved the most. He would not let her be hurt again.

* * *

DALLAS WOKE THE next morning to find Cage sprawled out on the couch, his ratty cap pulled over his eyes and the baby book Lily had given him clutched protectively to his chest. Gabriel and Luca were bunked down on the floor, Gabriel in front of the shattered remnants of his front door, and Luca in front of the large front window, as if they were an added form of security. Which they were. With ice dragons and necromancers popping up, they needed all the numbers they had.

None of which Dallas really cared about at the moment. At some point during the night, Lily had made her way over to him and stretched her tiny body out against his, the fingers of one hand wrapped sweetly around his own.

He didn’t like the feeling growing in his chest. He could see why wars had been fought in the name of love, and why so many people in all of time had died for it. He could see it, but unlike everyone else, he didn’t like it, and he had no intention of going any farther down this path.

He’d spent all evening watching them treat Cage like he was breakable because he didn’t have his mate.

It was ridiculous. If these were his only two options, it wasn’t even a choice. The odds were at some point during the dawning forever that stretched out in front of them, they would all lose their mates if they ever took one, and all Dallas could see when looking at Cage was their future.

Feeling was a weakness. Lily made him weak, and that made him dangerous. Not only to himself, but to Cage…hell, to all of them. Dallas was prepared to rip Cage’s head off if he upset her one more time.

This was going to have to end. He couldn’t afford to be weak. Not even for a second. The same way you didn’t show fear to an enemy, you didn’t let someone into your life that could be used to hurt you. And as far as he could tell, having someone in your life that you couldn’t live without meant making one stupid decision after another. It distracted you, and while Lily was the sweetest woman he knew, she was still a Hunter, and he had no illusions that the rest of the Hunter world had her same qualities. He’d dealt with too many of them to even entertain the thought.

And if all the idiots in his life kept falling in love, it meant someone was going to have to stay strong and keep their head and stop the entire fucking dragon world from being destroyed.

This was going to have to end now. It didn’t take a genius to see that Lily was falling for him. If he broke her heart by walking away, she’d never trust herself with anyone else. Ever.

Ryuu. This was going to get damn messy before the end, and he had no way of stopping the explosion from happening.

He was jerked out of his dark thoughts when Lily stretched herself awake, her perfect breasts dragging across his chest with the movement.

She tucked her face into his shoulder as she yawned, then shoved her mass of hair out of her face and looked up at him out of sleepy green eyes. “Dallas?”

He didn’t want to look at her. He didn’t want to talk to her. Both sent him farther down a path he refused to go travel for her benefit and his.

He forced his brow to jack up. “Yes?”

Her eyes searched his face, as if she was looking for something. She saw much more than he’d ever intended. It unsettled him, but made him wonder what it would feel like to have someone get him, asshole faults and all.

Despite the scowl he knew was on his face, her fingers came up to trace lightly over his jaw. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Some.” He ground his teeth together at the concern that flashed over her beautiful face. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

She didn’t look like she believed him, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that. He needed her to hate him, even when he knew hate wasn’t possible for her. It would harden the softness in her, but considering how much she trusted him, he wasn’t sure that was a bad thing.

“Are you hungry?” he asked abruptly. He needed her off his lap and at a safe distance or he’d so something completely stupid and drown himself in her mouth.

Her head canted, her hair falling over her face and her shoulders as she thought about it. She nodded. “Yeah.” She shot him an impish grin. “Can you cook?”

He almost smiled. There was so much about him she didn’t know, and he was going to have fun with it. “I made us steaks last night.”

She wiggled up into a sitting position, her body going still when she came up against his hard cock. Goose bumps broke out along her skin at his dark growl of need. “Steaks aren’t the same as French toast.”

He snorted, bringing her with him as he stood so he could set her on her feet before she wiggled herself into a position neither one of them were ready for. “Close enough.”

She did that thing that always twisted his brain and walked into him, then hugged him tight. She rested her head against his chest. “Thank you, Dallas.”

He wasn’t sure what was worse—her touching him or thanking him for gods knew what.

He told himself not to ask, but the words came out anyway. “For what?”

A shy smile lit up her face. “For being you and being the calm spot in the storm for me last night.”

The boulder on his chest dug in a little deeper, making it harder to breathe. His hand came up to brush a lock of hair out of her face before he realized what he was doing, and unable to stop himself, he hooked his arm around her neck and dragged her into him. He kissed the top of her head. “Are you all right?”

She shook her head against his chest, and he wasn’t sure what was worse—his inability to control his movements around her or her surprise at his affection. Her voice was quiet. “No. Something’s really wrong with him, Dallas, or he’d have gone home. I don’t know how I’m going to keep this from Seren.” She looked up at him, her vivid eyes troubled. “They need each other, Dallas. They need each other so much. How do I keep this from her?”

“You don’t.” When her eyes went wide, he cursed quietly and slid both of his hands into her hair, tilting her head back. He told himself touching her was a necessity to get his point across. It wasn’t a need to feel her skin. “You don’t do anything that you don’t want to do. Fuck Adrian and fuck the rest of them. They don’t get to decide what you can and cannot do, and it’s not fair of them to put this kind of shit on you. This is your life, and you and Seren have to get through this however you know how. If that means you tell her and let her figure it out, then do it. All right?”

Her body trembled once. “He’d hate me,” she whispered, her beautiful face troubled. “And I can’t risk putting her and Ava in even more danger.”

“No one is going to let that happen, Lil.”

“No, it’s my job to look after them. He would hate me if I deliberately put them in danger.”

Sure she was trying to break his brain on purpose, he wrapped his hand around her upper arm and dragged her down to the bedroom. He shut the door and locked it behind them before he backed her into the wall. He slammed his hands on either side of her head. His body crowded hers, leaving her no choice but to give him her full attention. “He’s been ‘dead’ for a month, goddamn it. I get that you love him, and he’s your brother, babe, but he’s asking too goddamn much of you. Ryuu, it’s way too goddamn much. Tell me you see that.”

She didn’t say anything for so long, Dallas was afraid that when she did speak, she was going to go for his throat. Instead, she closed her eyes and dropped her head against his chest. “What would you do, Dallas? If you were me? What would you do?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured quietly, disentangling himself from her so he could pace.  He was getting too used to her easy touches, and that wasn’t acceptable. “When something bad comes, I kill it. I don’t stop to think about feelings or who it’s hurting or what’s going to happen next. I kill the bad so the good can have a fighting chance. I kill and I protect and I let someone else worry about the fallout.”

“You want to kill him.” She didn’t say it with accusation but dead on accuracy. She nodded and blew out a shuddered breath. “And you’re not because of me. Gabriel would have told her already, I think. He raised her, and he loves her like a daughter. If he thought she needed to know, he would have told her already. Gabriel makes those hard decisions.”

“Maybe,” he agreed as he leaned back against a bed post, crossing his arms over his chest, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t make this one. If you can’t keep this a secret, then don’t. Let Gabriel and Seren’s brothers deal with the fallout.”

“They’d hate me,” she whispered. “I’m not sure I could handle that.”

Dallas snorted so hard she scowled at him.

“What?” she demanded.

“In case you haven’t noticed, sweetheart, they’re not all out there guarding me. I am not the reason they slept on the floor last night.”

“I thought you were supposed to be scary.” She wrinkled her nose and grinned. “You’re awfully sweet for a scary person.”

His brain twitched. It actually spasmed in his head. “I am scary, damn it.” To prove it, he bared his teeth at her with a dark, savage growl.

She purred. The woman curled up against his chest and fucking purred.

He nearly gave up the fight at that moment. She was so fucking perfect it made his chest ache.

The only thing that stopped him was common sense. After Portia died, he’d given up Dallas to become the Destroyer. If he gave in to this need to be with Lily and something happened to her, he knew beyond any shadow of doubt that he would be unstoppable, and there would be no reining him in.

But he couldn’t bring himself to separate them when her life was already in a sideways spiral. “You are going to drive me insane, woman. You know that, right?”

She slid her arms around his waist and smiled. “Funny, because my life is spinning out of control, and you seem to be the only thing keeping me steady.”

Ryuu. Now they were even thinking alike. He was so fucking screwed. “Speaking of which, we need to go shopping. I owe you a new building and everything that goes in one.”

“You don’t have to—” Her words cut off when he shot her a look, and she gifted him with a cheesy smile in return. “Never mind. Yes, you do have to.” Worry flashed over her face. “Can I talk to Adrian for a little longer and take a shower first?”

He wanted to tell her no. He didn’t give a shit about the shower, but the more time she spent with her brother, the more it was going to hurt when he said goodbye. Dallas was doing his best to distract her, and part of him was hoping like fucking hell the male would be gone before they walked out of his bedroom.

He grinned suddenly, a quick, manic grin. “Sure, but I think we should have sex first.”

Chapter 16

LILY WENT COMPLETELY still against him before she slowly craned her head back. “What?”

He crooked his finger under her chin and gently closed her mouth. “Why not? Then you have a built-in protector, and it will give me a reason to be a bastard to anyone who upsets you. And I can kill Bain the next time he even breathes near you.”

She shook her head slowly. “You’ve lost your mind, Dallas. I’m a Hunter, you’re the Destroyer, and you don’t even want a mate.”

“I do want a mate,” he muttered, surprising himself, “and I like you fine.”

She busted out laughing. “Like? You like me fine?” She pulled away from him and moved to the other side of the bedroom, her hand unsteady as she pushed the hair out of her face, amusement and temper warring in her eyes. “You want to bind us together forever because you like me? It doesn’t work that way, damn it.”

He didn’t buy it. She challenged him, pushed him, made him better. “Why the hell not? Basing a forever relationship off mutual like is better than doing something stupid like fall in love.”

“That’s what you think?” she asked. “That falling in love is stupid?”

Ryuu. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. He rubbed a fist over his heart as the stable foundation beneath his feet started to crack. “Look at your brother and Seren,” he snapped as his pupils split with temper and fear. “You can’t tell me there’s anything good in that!
“Yes, I can!” she yelled. “There’s Ava! There’s Seren’s memories and Adrian’s memories and the beautiful, perfect little freckle-faced girl they made together.” With her chin kicked up, she walked around him and straight to the door. “This was a mistake, Dallas. My brother needs me and don’t worry about helping me find a new building. I can buy my own.”

She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t even look at him as she opened the door and walked out.

If she had, she might have seen the pain he couldn’t hide, but as he closed his eyes and dragged both hands over his face, he knew he was going to let her go. No matter how bad it hurt.

It was better this way.

* * *

THIS WAS BAD.

Lily closed Dallas’s bedroom door as quietly as possible so not to wake the others. If she walked out of Dallas’s bedroom in tears, there wouldn’t be anything she could say or do that would stop the ensuing carnage.

She didn’t understand, and she didn’t have time to figure it out. Dallas wanted a mate, and he liked her. She let out a tiny snort as she wiped at the tears. Well, wasn’t she lucky?

She closed the bathroom door, then sank to the floor. She wasn’t sure if she’d always been like this. She couldn’t remember if she’d been carefree and happy before Porter came into her life, having married her mother when Lily was five. Her mother had only survived a year after the wedding, leaving Lily alone with the monster.

Because he was like her, a Hunter, he’d known how quickly she could heal. While he hadn’t been as old as Adrian, there had been nothing good left in her stepfather. The near-absolute power of the Hunters had corrupted him, and he’d seen Lily as his reward.

Slowly getting to her feet, she studied herself in the mirror. She didn’t want to be like this anymore.  She’d trusted that small, insistent voice inside of her that had told her to trust Dallas, that same voice that had led her to Adrian and safety.

She hadn’t fallen for a nice, normal human male who would never dare to hurt her with all the hulking giants in her life. No, she’d lost her heart to Dallas. The Destroyer. The one male who wasn’t afraid of her brother, the scariest Hunter in existence.

The one who didn’t believe in love. And she’d gone and stupidly fallen half in love with him.

Of course she did. She let out a small laugh. She’d lost her shop, her home, and her brother was back from the dead and borderline insane. On top of it all, she was falling in love with a man who thought love was the stupidest thing a person could do. It would have been funny if it didn’t hurt so much.

Wiggling her nose in an effort to stop the tears, she turned the cold water on and used a fresh washcloth to clean her face. She scrubbed harder than she normally did in an effort to hide the fact her heart was broken. While Luca handled tears decently well, Broderick did not, and he tended to get violent when a female he cared about teared up even the littlest bit.

She could do this. If she could play the tears off as being worried about Adrian, which wasn’t a lie, then no one would feel the need to kill Dallas for making her cry. No way in hell was she strong enough to lose Adrian and Dallas in the same day.

Her heart slammed against her chest when she realized that was exactly what was happening. She’d woken up this morning to both her brother and her Dallas and was going to go to bed tonight in some place that wasn’t her home without either one of them, because unless Adrian made a miraculous mental improvement, no one was going to let him stick around.

This day could not get any worse.

Until she opened the door to find Dallas leaning against the wall opposite her. She ignored the dark, savage look on his face and darted forward to grab his arm.  She tugged on it. “Are you insane?” she hissed as she tried to yank him back into his bedroom. “Do you want to get dead?  Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen if any of them wake up and find you looking like that and me crying.”

He let her drag him into the bedroom, though she had a feeling she could have crooked her finger and he would have followed her.

“You walked out,” he said. “Did you think I was going to be fucking happy about that?”

Lily stopped tugging on him. She shook her head in confusion and craned her neck to look at him over her shoulder. “Yes,” she said slowly, her brow furrowing, “I thought you’d be happy. You want a mate but don’t believe in love, and I refuse to accept anything less than both.” She let go of his arm so she could turn around to meet his gaze. “That’s not exactly a recipe for a happy ever after, Dallas.”

“So that’s it,” he yelled, shoving a hand through his hair. “You give up without fighting and walk away?”

She wanted to yell back at him. He wasn’t making any sense, and she had no idea what was going on in his head, but she couldn’t find her temper, not when his soft green eyes looked so lost.

Her chest started to ache when he lifted a war-hammer fist to his heart and rubbed. “What did you want me to do?” she asked softly. “Argue and fight you into doing something you don’t want to do? So the like you have for me eventually turns to hate and resentment? I can’t do that.”

He dropped his fist, and she wasn’t sure which one of them needed their head examined more.

“Fight, damn it. You’ve gone up against the scariest males in your life to protect me, so why the hell won’t you fight for what you want?”

She shook her head and pushed her hair out of her face. “Because fighting for what I want is fighting against what you want. How does that make sense?”

“So you just give me what I want?” His brow jacked up as he crossed his arms over his chest. “In that case, if that’s how this works, I want sex, so let’s do this.”

He stripped off his shirt and she couldn’t help but gape at him. “You really have lost your mind.” She dashed around him to lock the door, then turned in time to see him unbuttoning his jeans. She swallowed hard, her gaze locked on his gorgeous, massive chest. “We are not having sex!”

He hesitated with his hand on the waist of his jeans and cocked a brow at her. “Why not? I thought what we had was mutual, but if it’s all been about giving me what I want…”

She covered her eyes with her hand so she didn’t do something stupid, like jump him despite all common sense. “We are not having sex with my brother and half the California dragon population on the other side of that door. And two, what’s wrong with me wanting to make sure you have what you want and need in your life? If you don’t want a mate that loves you, it’s better for me to walk out now, isn’t it?”

* * *

“NO.” DALLAS SNAPPED without thinking. He shoved a hand through his hair and threw his shirt on the floor as he stalked over to her. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, but the more she argued with him, the more determined he became to keep her. He didn’t like her finding excuses not to be with him. At fucking all. “Who the hell is stupid enough to turn down someone loving them?”

Confusion rippled over her beautiful face as she lowered her hand from her eyes, her mouth hanging open. “So you want me to love you, but you refuse to feel anything more than like for me?”

He worked his jaw. “I’m assuming by the look on your face yes is the wrong answer?”

She growled at him. An honest-to-the-gods growl that made him smile as fire and temper and the need to hurt him leapt into her eyes. There it was. He’d known she had magic buried inside of her somewhere.

“Yes,” she ground out. “It’s the wrong answer.”

“I know, damn it,” he snapped back at her as he started a slow prowl around his room. It was sparse and ugly and fully functional, but that was it. He didn’t do the shopping thing, and even if he did, he had no idea—or desire to know—how to decorate. “But what do you want me to say?”

Her teeth tugged at her full bottom lip as she shook her head slowly. “I don’t know, Dallas.” She sat down on the edge of his bed and watched him pace. “I don’t know what you want me to do here.”

“Neither do I,” he muttered. Then his frustration and need broke and snapped his control. “Bullshit, yes I do.” He didn’t say anything, and without a word, he stalked over to her, shoved a hand in her thick mahogany hair, and dragged her mouth to his. Because she was sitting, he had to bend nearly double to do it.

Despite everything, she responded instantly, her arms winding around his neck as if to pull him closer and keep him there, a soft sound of pleasure humming in her throat.

He meant to tell her he wanted her. Despite everything and all the obstacles in their way, all he knew was he wanted her. By his side, in his bed, and however he could have her, but she gave herself so completely to him that all rational thought simply vanished.

He didn’t give a shit that her brother was in the next room, any more than he gave a shit that the other dragons were down there with him. He didn’t give a shit that he and Lily were fighting and sex was not going to solve anything. He wanted her. He wanted her so goddamn much his chest ached and he couldn’t think about anything else. Just knew that he had to have her, claim her, mark her as his before he lost his fucking mind.

She pulled back and scrambled up on her knees, then tangled her hands in his hair and kissed him again. He growled quietly and moved in closer, his arm banding around her bottom to drag her against him. He lifted her, turning them both until he was on the bed and she was straddled over his lap, and before common sense could rear its head again, he dragged her shirt off and devoured one breast while his hand molded over the other. Her breath shuddered out on a raw moan as her hands and mouth scorched over his skin, burning him alive.

When they were both panting with need, he stood them up long enough to get out of their pants. Hitching her up, he settled her back on his lap. He wrapped her hair around his fist, holding her head where he wanted it as he slowly slid into her, needing to see the pleasure in her eyes.

His other hand slipped over her body, memorizing her, touching her, feeling her. She was so soft and perfect, and he was so afraid of hurting her, marring her perfect skin.

He dragged his mouth up her throat and over her jaw, then growled quietly in her ear. “Ride me, Lil. I want to see your face as you ride me.”

He loved the way her eyes went wide, shy suddenly, and he gripped her hips, grinding them against his as his gaze stayed locked on hers. He almost came right then and there at the purr that sounded in her throat. “However you want, baby. Your pace.”

She nodded, her teeth catching her bottom lip. She brought her hands to his shoulders, and with only a brief hesitation, her fingers splayed wide, gripping him as she slowly moved over him. His head dropped back on a groan, the muscles in his neck tightening as he struggled to control himself.

He wanted to touch her, he wanted to watch her, to let her do this her way so he could learn the speed and pressure she loved, but his legendary control was slipping with every second she moved so sweetly over him.

But where she started off shy, hesitant, she grew bolder until her fingers dug into his shoulders and he was blind with lust.

“That’s it, baby.” His tongue licked over her nipple, his hand slipping between their bodies to rub at her sensitive nub. “Come for me. Scream.”

He didn’t care that they weren’t alone, that there were others in his apartment. She was his mate, and it was all he cared about.

She bowed away from him when his hands cupped her breasts, her head falling back as a scream of pure, unadulterated pleasure tore out of her, and he gave up the fight against his own orgasm. Emotion and pleasure ripped through him like a freight train with so much force he roared with it.

Unable to breathe or do anything as stupid as thinking, he hooked his arm around her and fell back on the bed, bringing her with so she was sprawled naked and sated on his chest. Where she belonged. He knew it wouldn’t take long before realization hit her, but it was over and done. There was no taking it back now.

She was his. Forever.

Chapter 17

HE WAS HERS now. Forever.

Lily wasn’t sure how long she had stayed curled up against his chest, the reality of what they’d done slowly beginning to intrude on her yummy, peaceful afterglow. They were mated. As in forever. The Destroyer and the Hunter.

Blowing out a shuddering breath, she focused on tracing the tip of her finger over the mate mark above his heart. Unique to him, it was the outline of a dragon in a nosedive, his mouth open wide, ready to breathe fire on the enemy. And its identical counterpoint was now above her left breast.

“This isn’t going to end well, Dallas, is it?”

His relaxed body stiffened underneath her. He skimmed his fingertips gently down her back. “It ends how we want it to end, sweetheart. No more and no less.”

Her hand flattened against his mark as she lifted her head so she could see his face. She wasn’t sure what she expected to see in him—anger, rage, resentment, acceptance…but what she didn’t expect was the exhausted peace in his eyes.

She felt… different. Still the same Lily, with the same thoughts and fears and issues, but an emptiness she’d never realized was inside of her had been filled. He was the other half of herself, and she was complete, finally.

It felt right. Perfect. As if she had finally found what she’d always been unconsciously looking for. More, she was suddenly sure she could do anything, be anything, with this new knowledge that she was not alone and the crystal clear certainty that this man, her dragon, her mate, would never allow anything to hurt her ever again.

She chewed on her bottom lip, turned her head, and rested her cheek against the still-rapid pounding of his heart. There weren’t any words that she could find to describe how it felt to know she did that to him, that after two thousand years of living and fighting and war, she was the one he had chosen. Because she was pretty sure she would have waited forever for him.

She had no magic to give back to him. While she was a Hunter and could hide in plain sight when needed, most of the powers they were all born with were missing from her. She would never grow old, never die unless someone killed her, but she was just Lily. And Dallas had chosen her, anyway.

That feeling of rightness in her chest grew when he tangled a hand in her hair and brought her mouth to his. He kissed her gently. “It’s too late for regrets, woman.”

She scowled at him and sat up on his chest. He dragged his eyes over her, and she couldn’t help the delicious thrill that swept over her at the dark lust in his eyes. He’d had her three times already and mated to her.

She raised her arms to cover her breasts. “Why aren’t you angry?” she asked, keeping her voice a soft murmur.

“No point.” He sat up, hooked his arm around her neck, and pulled her in for a quick kiss before he lifted her off his lap and set her on the bed. “It’s done and over, and now we get to spend the rest of forever learning how to live with each other.”

She turned to watch him get dressed, a soft purr of pleasure escaping her as he pulled on his jeans. She loved him naked, but there was something about him in nothing but a pair of jeans that sat low on his hips that sent lust straight through her.

His lips lifted in a cocky-as-all hell smirk when he realized what was going through her head. He winked at her, then moved over and sat next to her on the bed. “Are you all right?” he asked, his fingers gently brushing the tousled curls out of her face. “I know we didn’t exactly plan this.”

She snorted at him, even as her hand came up and wrapped around his wrist, holding his palm pressed to her cheek. “I’m trying to understand,” she admitted softly as she looked up at him, confused. “I’m a Hunter and you’re the Destroyer. How is this going to work?”

“Sex.”

Lily blinked at him, frowned, and then blinked at him again. It didn’t help. He didn’t appear to be joking, and she still couldn’t believe that was his answer. “Sex?”

He shrugged. “You have to admit the sex is fucking fantastic.”

She handed him his black button-down shirt, then put her shorts and tank top back on, finishing off the look by pulling her hair into a messy bun.

She blushed. “Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean anything if we don’t like each other.”

His brow jacked up. “Do you like me?”

Like him?  She could barely contain how much she liked him. She was about to burst with it. She pulled on his shirt and got to her feet, her eyes never leaving his face. “You are handling this really, really well.”

“That’s not an answer.”

She walked into his chest and wrapped her arms around him, sighing contentedly when his own arms hooked around her neck and dragged her closer. She loved how he did that. No matter how tight she hugged him, he always wanted her closer. “Yes,” she whispered honestly, “I like you. A lot, Dallas.”

“Then we’ll make it work,” he murmured. “As long as your brother doesn’t kill me.”

She went lightheaded. “Oh gods, he’s going to kill you.”

The damn dragon didn’t even look the slightest bit worried. “No, he won’t.” He leaned down, kissed the tip of her nose, and rested his head against hers for a moment before he turned and headed for the door. “He needs you safe more than he wants me dead.”

“Have you met my brother?” She ran after him and grabbed his hand as he hit the hallway. “And did he look in the least bit stable or capable of making a sane decision last night?”

When he shrugged and continued down the hallway, Lily face-palmed herself. The man was insane. That was all there was to it. It was the only explanation she had for the sudden and complete turnaround in his feelings on the whole mated thing. The fact that he seemed…happy should have warmed her and thrilled her, instead of making her worry about his sanity.

And then it hit her like an ice-cold glass of water. It wasn’t the mating thing he had been opposed to. It had been the whole idea of loving his mate who, above all things, was a Hunter. The very thing he detested to his soul.

She blew out a breath and slumped against the wall, fatigue and exhaustion hitting her suddenly. She wasn’t silly enough to think he hated her or had mated to her as some kind of way to get even with the Hunters that had killed his potential mate and his family a thousand years ago. No, he liked her. But if anyone was capable of locking their feelings down to make sure they felt only what they wanted to feel, it would be her Dallas. If he didn’t want to love her, he wouldn’t. It was that simple.

Which was absolutely perfect considering how quickly she was falling head over heels in love with him.

Despite her body craving a nap, she forced herself to push off against the wall and go see her brother. She had to figure out what was wrong with Adrian. She needed him so much, in so many ways, but she’d only known Dallas for a few days and already couldn’t imagine how much it would hurt to lose him. Adrian’s absence had to be tearing Seren apart. Lily knew it helped that Seren had Ava—

Lily stopped short when every male in the room shut up and swung around to stare at her. She plastered on a cheesy smile and ignored the way Adrian was trying to goad Dallas into a fight. She made sure the mark over her heart was covered and smiled at her mate. “What’s going on?”

One glance at Gabriel’s ice blue gaze told her he knew everything. She blushed, but damn it all, she wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed, so she held his eyes and refused to cower. She just wasn’t ready to tell her brother in case it sent him over the edge again.

Finally, Gabriel cleared his throat. “Dallas, Micah’s supposed to be sending over some addresses Lily needs to take a look at. Since you’re the one who broke her building, I volunteer you to take her apartment shopping today.”

When Adrian’s snarl went rabid as the giant man dropped that bomb into the center of the room, Lily could have kicked him.

Instead, she moved into her brother and hugged him, her heart aching. She loved his face so much. For all the important moments of her life, he’d been home to her. He was her safety net, her protector, the scary being that kept the monsters away. He was her legal brother but deep in her heart of hearts, she didn’t think of him that way. He was the father she’d never had, the father Ava deserved.

“Don’t listen to Gabriel. It wasn’t Dallas’s fault.”

Adrian pulled his cap off and dragged his hand over his shaved head. She went rigid and took a step back. He yanked the hat back on when he saw her reaction, hiding his new scars from her view. “We’ll talk about it later,” was all he said.

She clamped her mouth shut before the bile rising in her throat could escape. Finally, she swallowed back the distress and gently grabbed his arm. She knew Gabriel was kicking her out until he got a better read on Adrian, but she wasn’t walking out the door without a guarantee. “Is there going to be a later? Will you be here when I get back?”

He shifted his gaze to Gabriel, who nodded once.

“All right,” he finally murmured as he kissed the top of her head, his voice quiet. “Just hurry back, all right?”

“I will.”

She hugged him one last time before leaving. Dallas didn’t say anything until they had left the building and were on the sidewalk. Then he stopped walking and crossed his arms over his chest, his brow jacked up as he waited.

She tried another sweet smile. “What?”

He ignored her attempt to distract him. “Where are we going? You agreed to leave your brother way too easily.”

“To find a healer.” When he didn’t move after she’d started walking, she turned to look at him, confused. He had more experience than she did with them, so why wasn’t he getting it? “Gabriel was kicking us out.”

“I got that part.”

“Then what—”

He dragged both hands down his face. Then, without a word, he closed the distance between them and wrapped her in his arms, his large body shielding her from the world.

She tried. She tried to hold the distress back, but it broke free in a desperate rush. “What am I going to do, Dallas? You saw him. He can’t go home like this, and I can’t…I can’t lie to Seren.”

One large hand slipped into her hair at her nape, and he tugged until she looked at him. “Yes,” he said softly, firmly, “you can.”

Swiping angrily at a tear that slipped past her defenses, she tried to shove away from him. It didn’t surprise her that he continued to hold on, but it warmed her in places that were quickly turning to ice. “What if it was me? What if I was out there somewhere and they knew it, and no one told you?”

* * *

DALLAS DIDN’T WANT to argue with her. Now that they were officially mated, he found that he’d tear the earth apart at its very seams to erase the devastation and pain in her eyes.

But this was not something he could give her. He’d seen the hope building in her eyes when her brother had shown up, and he’d watched that hope turn, second by vicious second, into pain and despair and helplessness.

Dallas was going to end the bastard for that.

Lily was his mate now, and he had to keep her safe. It wasn’t common sense or instinct. It was something he knew in every fiber of his being, a connection he had never imagined and stronger than anything he’d ever experienced. While he firmly believed he only felt like for her, the possession that had welled inside of him the instant he’d seen his mark on her breast had staggered him. He’d wanted to roar with it, to tell the world that she was his. Because she was, and she always would be—his.

“Dallas?” she murmured, searching his face out of shell-shocked green eyes. “I know we can’t go to Seren. I can’t put her and Ava in danger that way, and Adrian isn’t himself. He didn’t even recognize me. He doesn’t know where he’s been or what’s happened to him. He could be a walking time bomb.” She blew out a breath. “I feel helpless.”

Distraction. He needed to distract her until he figured out what the hell to do. His gaze dropped, and he had the sudden urge to back her into his truck and fill his palms with her breasts and his mouth with her taste. The urge to take her again shouldn’t have surprised him. It was said that a dragon was insatiable when it came to his mate, but they were outside in broad daylight, and he wasn’t an asshole like Micah Dragan to take a woman in full view of the rest of the world.

And she was upset. He should probably find a way to take care of that.

He dragged his gaze from the swell of her breasts back to her eyes, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Just as a safety precaution. “What if we find another healer? Someone not Seren who can objectively figure out what’s wrong with him and who he can be trusted with?”

Relief flashed over her face. She went up on tiptoes to cup his face and gently pull him down to her level. She kissed him lightly on the lips. “I think that’s a fantastic idea. I need to be doing something.”

He took the kiss a little deeper before he reached over her shoulder and opened the passenger door to his SUV. “I know you do.” He wrapped his hands around her hips and lifted her into the passenger seat easily, walking into her to nuzzle the side of her throat. “Because if he so much as crosses his eyes at my mate again, I will pull his spine out of his left nostril and strangle him with it.”

When she shivered and dropped her head against his chest, he thought to himself that it was a damn good thing he didn’t believe in love, because he knew it was the only thing that stopped him from being a complete idiot around her. If he loved her, he’d have to claw the eyeballs out of every man that looked at her twice.

Which, considering how much attention she drew sitting in his SUV, might not be a bad fucking idea anyway. Forcing himself to pull back from her, he slammed her door shut and turned to growl violently at the men that had stopped to openly leer at her when they thought he wasn’t looking.

He didn’t feel better until they’d all scattered, and then he grinned as he moved around his truck to climb behind the wheel. Maybe he could do this mate thing after all.

Chapter 18

HIS LIGHT MOOD didn’t stick around long. Adrian was a sore subject. Apartment shopping was a sore subject. Their mating was a sore subject.

After her fifth attempt at trying to draw him into conversation, she finally tossed her hands up and shook her head. “You know,” she started through clenched teeth, determined to keep her voice sweet and even, “if you want to help me save my brother, talking to me about it and about what could have happened to him might help.”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a sneer. “Who said I want to help him?” He slammed on the brakes at a stop light and turned his fierce glare on her. “Let’s get one thing straight, Lil. This has fuck all to do with him. I’m doing this for you. That’s it. He can go back to whatever ‘hell’ he apparently crawled out from.”

Lily’s chest tightened. “Thank you.”

His gaze narrowed at her whisper, suspicious. “For what?”

“For believing in me even if you can’t believe in him.” She undid her seatbelt long enough to lean over the center console and kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

The poor man looked flummoxed.  There was suspicion in his eyes as he waited for the catch. “It has nothing to do with believing in you,” he finally muttered. “You’re my mate. He touched what is mine. This is all so I can get him healthy enough to eviscerate him slowly.”

She wiggled her nose in an effort to hold back the snort, but it was no use. It came out anyway, and she was so dumbfounded all she could do was gape at him. “What is yours?” she repeated.

His brow furrowed. “Judging by the look on your face, I’m assuming yes, what is mine, is not the correct answer?” He scowled at her. “It’s too late to change your damn mind about the mating now, Lily, goddamn it.”

She ignored that last part and focused instead on what was making her uncomfortable. “I’m your mate, Dallas,” she said slowly, “but that doesn’t make me yours.”

“Yes,” he said. “It does.”

* * *

SHE DID THAT adorable little scowling thing that killed him and opened her mouth a couple of times before she finally managed to find the words. “All right, let’s try it this way. Are you mine?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

That took the air right out of her. “Really? You consider yourself mine?”

This time, he was the one confused, and he wasn’t sure he liked the vulnerability growing in his chest. No, actually, he was damn fucking sure he hated it, but it was there, anyway, like a ball of lead so deep he couldn’t claw it out. “You don’t? Consider me yours?”

Her teeth caught at her bottom lip. It was a quirk of hers, whenever she wanted to take her time to think something over.  “Yeah, actually, I do.” She let out a soft sigh as she reached over the console and laid her fingers gently on his wrist. “My Dallas.”

The relief that flashed through him would have staggered him had he been standing. He let out a shuddering breath and turned his hand over to link his fingers with hers. “So you see why I need to hurt him.” When she shook her head, he slipped his hand into her hair and gently tugged her head around so she had to look at him. His voice was hoarse and quiet. “He scared you, Lil. I am never going to like the man. Don’t ask me to.”

Her fingers brushed over his mouth before she realized what she was doing and snapped her hand back, blushing. She smiled when he shot her a wicked grin, and then folded her hands in her lap. “That wasn’t Adrian, Dallas. There isn’t a force on this planet that could convince my brother to hurt me. Something has to be really, really wrong with him.”

“Which is my point,” he muttered. “He’s not your brother.”

She growled at him, or at least tried to. It was so damn cute it was all he could do not to smile. He didn’t want her to think he was laughing at her.

Moving back into traffic, he found himself glancing at her more often than he was checking out his mirrors, but he couldn’t help it.

Of course she was perfect. Everything about her was perfect. He smiled. She was going to make a damn good mate. She cared about him and his safety and could fight for him as determinedly as she’d fight against him if she thought it was necessary. If he could keep his emotions out of it, there was no reason why he wouldn’t be happy for the rest of his life.

His parents had cared for each other deeply, had been the strongest partners, but it had never been a love connection.

Dallas, the son of a wealthy Roman, had been five summers old when his father had taken him out to the soldiers-slash-gladiators to begin his physical and mental training. While Augustus’s warriors had been as legendary as the Spartans, he’d expected more out of his only son. As his heir, Augustus had expected Dallas to be the strongest of them all. A giant compared to the human soldiers, all responsibility rested on his shoulders. He was expected to be the first into battle and the last one standing. He trained him ruthlessly to be the coldest, hardest warrior of the thousands of men he would eventually lead, the most lethal, to allow no weakness to penetrate Dallas’s defenses.

Love made a man susceptible to betrayal, and it made him vulnerable. Not only to his enemies, but to his own emotions. A man, a warrior—a leader—could not make the best decisions for those beneath him if he couldn’t think of anything but his mate, if emotion clouded his decision making. It was okay, Augustus had hammered into his head over and over again, to feel fondness for your mate. She was, after all, the mother of your children and the heart of your home, but just as love was foolish in a male, it was foolish in the female. It was her duty to run the keep efficiently and tirelessly and to keep them strong in times of war. Reactions clouded by emotion put everyone in danger. It was impossible to make the decision that was best for all when one person held all of your emotions.

“Dallas?”

Dimly aware that Lily was talking again, Dallas pulled into a parking spot downtown. He cleared his throat and forced himself to focus on what she was saying.

It shouldn’t be that easy to give her all of his attention. He shouldn’t be this fascinated with her. And he sure as all hell should not feel like he’d been sucker punched directly in the chest whenever he saw her with her niece. He wasn’t opposed to having children, and his blood ran hot thinking about trying to make a baby with her. But it shouldn’t be distracting him.

“Dallas.”

He flinched when he caught himself drifting off again. This was going to have to stop. This was exactly the kind of distraction he did not need. “I’m sorry.” Ryuu. This was going to be harder than he’d expected. Dragons were instinctively and legendarily possessive with passions that ran as hot as the internal fire that raged inside of them with every beat of their hearts. “What were you saying?”

Her teeth worried at her full bottom lip, distracting him again. “That I’m the one that’s supposed to be procrastinating. Not you.”

For the first time since he’d been younger and in less control, the dragon inside of him prowled the cage in his mind, impatient and restless. “You’re too close.”

She blinked large, vivid eyes at him. “What?”

He shook his head and climbed out. His father had hammered home the message that love was weakness, vulnerability, and that lust was never to be confused with love. But with Lily, it was all tangled up, and he needed time and space to start untangling it all so he could get back on steady ground.

She was frowning at him when he opened her door, her hands automatically going to his shoulders as he lifted her out. “What do you mean I’m too close? Too close to what?”

“Me.” He set his teeth at the hurt that flashed over her face, but he told himself to go with it. The more distance he kept her at, the better off they would both be. And then, like the goddamn idiot he was, he opened his mouth. “You’re very distracting, and I’m not used to being distracted.”

Instead of waiting around to see the devastation in her eyes, he grabbed her hand and led her toward the crumbling brick brownstone across the street. Huge pots of vibrantly-colored flowers sat on either side of the wood and glass door with more flowers spilling out of whitewashed window boxes. A battered sign, serenity, was the only evidence they were in the right place.

He grimaced. The flowers were the only color on the rundown block, and he figured the odds were fifty-fifty he’d come back to find his SUV without tires.

Bells tinkled overhead as he pushed the warped door open, pulling Lily in behind him. A quick glance around told him there wasn’t a piece of furniture in the place newer than third generation hand-me-down, but it was clean and, surprisingly, charming.

“Where are we?” Lily asked, stepping in closer to his side, her pale brow furrowed.

Dallas shoved his free hand through his hair. “Serenity.” When she only looked up at him with a questioning quirk of her brow, he shrugged. “We can’t take your brother to Seren, and any Hunter healer is out of the question if we don’t want word getting out that he’s back and fucked up. Especially not when you’re staying in the same place he is. I’m not sticking you in the middle of that shit-storm.”

This time she frowned. “Why do you assume other Hunters would want him dead?”

“Because in the month he’s been gone, the majority of them have turned to sheer anarchy. With Alexi Dragan dead, it leaves the dragon underworld vulnerable, and the Hunters are more than happy to step up and destroy them all.”

The dragons and Hunters had been at war since the goddess Gwendolyn had created the former, and while Adrian and Daniel, the dragon king, had bonded a temporary truce, it had started to splinter the second Cage had gone missing. Those Hunters who wanted every dragon dead were doing their damndest to make it happen.

She opened her mouth to argue with him but before any words could escape, a soft, lilting voice with an accent Dallas had never been able to place sounded from the stairs to their right. “Welcome to Serenity. Dallas! How can I help you?”

While they’d met a few times after a series of battles that had required every healer within a hundred mile radius, he was surprised she remembered his name.

Lily rushed around him, only to come to an abrupt halt at the vision in front of them. A few inches taller than Lily’s five-foot-two, the strawberry-blond bombshell with sapphire eyes smiled pleasantly when she stopped directly in front of Lily. Without warning, Lily’s hand flashed out, wrapping around the other woman’s. “I need you to come with me.”

Confused eyes flicked from Lily’s face to his and then back again. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” She led Lily over to one of the threadbare couches. “Sit.” When Lily obeyed her command, Dallas followed, letting the healer know Lily was his to protect. The woman sat next to her and smiled. “Okay, now tell me what’s going on so I know how to help.”

Unease settled in Dallas’s gut. He didn’t think the female was dangerous, she’d healed him before, but there had always been something about her that tugged at some memory he’d forgotten centuries ago. “Wait a minute.” Both women’s heads snapped up at his sharp command, but he kept his attention on the new female. While he recognized her, he’d never been interested enough to learn anything about her. “What’s your name? What’s your connection to this place?”

Her smile went crooked. “I forgot to introduce myself, didn’t I? I’m sorry. I’m Fiona. I own Serenity.” She waited a beat to see if he was going to question her further. When he didn’t, she turned her attention back to Lily. “Why do you need me to go with you?”

Dallas interrupted her again. He didn’t mean to, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. “Fiona, this is Lily. My mate.” When Lily’s head snapped around so she could gape at him, he winked at her. She was his now, and it was too late for her to change her mind. “We have a situation and need a healer who can get inside someone’s head and let us know if he’s mentally stable or gone completely insane.”

Lily gripped Fiona’s hand before she could turn him down, her voice pleading. “Please. It’s my brother. Something’s wrong with him, and if we don’t find someone who can help him, I’m never going to be able to see him again.” Though her voice trembled once, Dallas was damn proud of the way she held and kept her gaze steady on the healer’s. “He has a mate and a baby at home, but he’s not acting like himself. He has these new scars on his head and all over his body, and he seems to be having a hard time differentiating between reality and…” She raised her free hand, palm up. “I don’t know, but there was a moment when he didn’t even recognize me. He’s been missing for a month and doesn’t remember anything from that time.”

Fiona studied her for a long moment with her brow furrowed before she shook her head slowly. “Is he a Hunter like you,” she asked, then shifted her gaze to Dallas, “or a dragon like you?”

“Hunter.” Lily squeezed her hand. “Please. I promise you’ll be safe, and we won’t keep you long. I just need to fix him. Please. I need my brother.”

The healer blew out a breath and nodded, surprising the hell out of Dallas as she got to her feet. “All right, let me get my purse and some supplies.”

When she turned her back, Dallas crouched in front of his mate and brushed the hair out of her face. “You okay?”

She snorted and scooted forward to drop her head on his chest. “Hell, no.” The turmoil in her dark yes wrenched at him when she lifted her gaze, and even if he had to search every corner of the world himself, he was going to find a way to erase the shadows in her eyes.

He brushed the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. “Hang in there,” he murmured as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into him. He dropped his chin onto the top of her head and closed his eyes. “If this one can’t fix him, we’ll keep searching until we find one who can. I promise.”

Chapter 19

LILY DIDN’T START to get nervous until they were back in front of Dallas’s building, the gorgeous Fiona in tow. With her waist-length strawberry blond curls, striking sapphire eyes, flawless, jaw-dropping body, and porcelain skin, Lily was pretty sure the healer was the most beautiful creature on the planet. Even her scent, lilacs and vanilla, was enchanting.

Not that her brother would care, or even notice. While Adrian had been a Class-A male slut before meeting Seren, there wasn’t any other woman in the world who he’d even look at twice now. To make it worse, he had a weird secretive streak where the only person he allowed inside his head, to know the deepest, darkest places inside of himself, was his mate.

While Lily knew that was exactly how it should be, he couldn’t afford to be stubborn about this.

Dallas glared at Lily when she hopped out of his truck without waiting for him to open her door. Behind her, Fiona slid out, then went still as her gaze landed on something in the large floor-to-ceiling windows in Dallas’s building. “Who’s that?” she asked, her voice suddenly tight.

Lily and Dallas both looked up to see what had caught her attention. Gabriel stood in the window, one arm braced against it as he looked down at them. Even from the distance, Lily could see his glare. She made a face. “That would be Gabriel.”

Fiona looked slightly panicked, but she blew out a breath and straightened her shoulders. “Gabriel. All right.”

Dallas wrapped his hand around Lily’s and shot the healer a worried look. “You all right?”

Fiona blinked before frowning up at him. “I’m fine, why?”

“No reason,” Dallas muttered, dragging a hand down his face. His face softened as he looked down at Lily. “Ready, mate?”

Her heart thundered so hard against her chest she was sure all of Los Angeles could hear the pulse. Mate. She grinned up at him. “No, but when you call me that, it makes me feel better.”

He winked at her. “Good to know.” He waited until Fiona grabbed her oversize Boho bag out of the truck and shut the door before he tightened his grip on Lily’s hand and led them across the street.

Fiona glanced at her as Dallas opened the apartment complex’s door for them. “Is there anything I need to know about him before we get to your apartment?”

Because she didn’t like the thought of what she was about to say, she moved toward her mate slightly. “If he’s himself, he won’t let you anywhere near him. He doesn’t want to be fixed.”

Fiona’s perfect face screwed up in a frown. “And if he’s not himself?”

Lily’s gut clenched, her hand tightening around Dallas’s. “I don’t know, but expect violence. He won’t recognize anyone, and he’s seeing everyone as a threat.”

“You won’t be alone with him,” Dallas added, his voice gruff. He hit the button for the elevator, and as they waited, he pulled Lily in front of him and hooked his arm around her waist. “Lily and I have things to do, but there are other dragons that will stay until you’re ready to go.”

“We’re leaving?” Lily asked at the same time Fiona asked, “You’re not staying?”

He leaned down to brush a kiss over the top of Lily’s head. “We still have apartment shopping to do.”

Lily scowled at the elevator doors before they opened and they stepped in. She turned in Dallas’s arm to shake her head at him. “That doesn’t have to be done right this second.”

“Yes. It does.”

Lily shook her head at him. There was an undertone to his sudden mood, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. “Dallas, we can’t bring Fiona here and leave her with a bunch of tense, stressed-out dragons. We can go shopping later.”

“Lily,” Fiona murmured, laying her hand on Lily’s arm. “It’s fine, really. Thank you for worrying about me, but they aren’t the first group of dragons I’ll have been around, and they won’t be the last.”

Lily was sure the woman had a screw loose somewhere. Lily trusted all the dragons with her brother, but Fiona didn’t know them from the Dragan underworld. How could she know she was safe?

“Fiona’s a big girl.” Behind her, Dallas cleared his throat. “When we get inside, make a list of everything we need in an apartment.”

Fear skittered down her spine, and she wanted to scream with it. “He’s my brother, and he’s wholly unstable. If he tries to hurt Fiona and I’m not there to stop the dragons, they’ll kill him.”

* * *

DALLAS GROUND HIS back teeth together as the elevator doors slid open on his floor. He couldn’t stand this fear ripping at his mate. He’d put a bullet in Cage’s brain himself if Lily wouldn’t hate him forever for it.

But her brother was the least of his problems at the moment. Although, convincing her to leave him at the hands of an unknown healer and several over-protective dragons wasn’t going to be easy.

Luca yanked open the door before Dallas could slide his key into the lock. “We’ve got a problem.”

Dallas went rigid as the presence of unknown Hunters assaulted his senses. He shoved Lily behind him with one hand and pulled a fixed-blade knife out of his ankle sheath with the other. “What the fuck is going on?” he roared, torn between shoving his way into his apartment and decimating the unknown threat and getting his mate the fuck out of there.

Luca held up his hands and stepped to the side, allowing Dallas to see the bastards taking up space in his home. There were two of them leaning against the wall across from Daniel, their arms braced across their chests as they watched Dallas and Lily enter.

The bigger of the two was an inch or so taller than Dallas’s own six-feet-six with chin-length jet-black hair wrapped in a red bandana and a scarred black leather jacket. He jerked to attention, rage darkening his dark features. “Let her go, Destroyer.”

Dallas snorted while pulling Lily in closer to his back. “Fuck off, asshole.” Barely sparing him a glance, he shifted his gaze to Daniel, then Cage, before finally landing on Gabriel. The behemoth didn’t seem to be the least worried about the appearance of Cage’s clan, his unblinking, blank gaze instead trained on Fiona. It didn’t make Dallas feel any better. “Does someone want to tell me what the fucking hell is going on, or can I kill them for invading my territory?”

Lily’s fingers dug into Dallas’ sides. “Caleb?” She looked around him, and Dallas could feel the tension in her ease back the slightest bit. “What are you and Rafe doing here?”

The blonder, stockier of the two let out a low sound that had the hairs on the back of Dallas’s neck standing up. His arm hooked out behind him, hauling Lily in closer.

“We could ask you the same thing, Lily. We went by your apartment, and it looked like a bomb went off inside. Are you all right?” the asshole asked.

Dallas bared his teeth. “She’s fine. Now get the hell out of my apartment.”

The first asshole nodded, his blue eyes hard and cold. “Give us Lily and Cage, and we’ll walk out of here and forget all about this.”

Daniel stepped forward then. His fury and power pulsed out like a separate entity, his voice deceptively calm. “You can go now that you’ve seen Lily and know she hasn’t been harmed in any way. Cage came here on his own steam. You want either of them, you’ll have to come through all of us. If not, I suggest you turn and walk the fuck out of this apartment now before I forget we’re still under a peace agreement.”

Fiona was the one who spoke up before the Hunters could let loose their tempers, placing her slender body in the middle of the room—dead center of the chaos. Every male in the room went rigid, warning sounds rumbling through their chests, but the healer ignored them all. Instead, she met their gazes head-on, one at a time, before she focused on the Hunters. “I’m Fiona Corr, healer from Serenity. Dallas and Lily came to me, asking if I could come examine Adrian Cage. Now, I’m walking in blind to this situation, but it doesn’t look to me like Lily is here against her will considering that pretty mate mark above her heart, and if you let me do my job, I can figure out what the hell is wrong with Adrian.”

“Fuck no.” Cage surged to his feet, his dark green eyes dazed with madness as they focused on Lily. “You’re fucking mated to him?”

There was sheer unadulterated murder in his eyes as he leapt at Dallas. “I’ll kill you.”

Lily shot around Dallas, putting herself between them. Dallas barely had time to move her out of the way before Cage hit him with the force of a freight train. They flew backward, Dallas’s body crashing into an end table and reducing it to splinters. He shot his fist up, connecting with Cage’s nose, and then used the sheer, unharnessed power of his dragon to head-butt the asshole.

Gabriel caught Cage when he staggered backward and held him in place with nothing more than a hand wrapped around the back of his neck. “Enough!” he roared. “Settle the fuck down, Cage. It’s done. She made her choice.” His ice-blue gaze locked onto the petite healer’s. “You. Figure out what the fuck is wrong with him.”

Cage snarled. “No one is getting anywhere near my fucking brain, do you understand me?”

As every male in the room growled in reaction to Adrian’s bellow, Fiona dropped to the ground and covered her head with her arms. After a moment, she peeked up and glanced around before she carefully got to her feet to see them all staring at her. She smiled weakly. “Sorry. It’s my experience that this many pissed-off males usually means something is going to collapse.”

Dallas sighed impatiently as he grabbed Lily and wrapped his arm around her. “Reinforced frame. It’s not going anywhere.” He turned his attention back to the bastards who looked way too fucking comfortable in his home. “This is your last chance to walk out on your own steam, or we will remove you.”

The bastard named Rafe looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged and dropped down into the seat Ashborne had vacated. He sprawled out, hooking his arms behind his head as he crossed his feet at the ankle. “Sorry, asshole, but we’re not going anywhere until we get some answers. You were the last people to see Cage before his disappearance, and now he shows back up in one of your apartments. If you think we’re going to ignore that coincidence, you’re stupider than you look. And you look pretty fucking stupid.”

* * *

LILY REACTED BEFORE she’d even realized she’d moved. Her arms banded around Dallas’s waist as his dragon leapt toward the surface, prepared for war. “Ignore him, Dallas,” she pleaded. “He’s baiting you.” When he snarled in reaction, Lily did the only thing she could think of. She tightened her arms around him and pressed her face to his back. “Please, Dallas.”

Luca stepped up in front of them so he was standing shoulder to shoulder with Daniel, blocking her and Dallas from the Shaw brothers. They weren’t evil. She actually kind of liked them, but they were pissed and, between the two of them, they could piss off the sweetest nun in a convent. Especially when they were worried. And if they’d braved the Destroyer’s apartment, they were worried.

With only a few moments to think and make a plan, she blew out a breath and went on her toes to murmur in her mate’s ear. “Come on. I thought we were going shopping? I’m not in danger from them if I’m not here, and we need to get what we need to make this apartment feel like home.”

“It’s not,” he gritted out through clenched teeth, his gaze never leaving the Hunters making themselves at home. “It’s my place. Not yours.”

Hurt flashed through her with so much force she staggered beneath the onslaught.

Determined not to show her pain in front of the others and only fuel the tension, she stepped back and grabbed Dallas’s hand on her way toward the still open door. She didn’t want to leave her brother with this powder keg of lit fuses, but Dallas’s sanity was at the breaking point. She had to get him out of there. “We can talk about it while apartment hunting.”

For a single heartbeat, she was sure he was going to rip her arm out of its socket by simply not moving. Instead, he nodded once and followed her out.

She didn’t let out the breath she’d been holding until they were in the elevator again. When the doors slid shut and the two of them were alone, she raised her gaze to his. “This isn’t open for discussion, Dallas,” she said softly. She could panic or she could go with reason, and it was too damn late for him to back out now. “We can’t make this mate thing work if you won’t even let us live in the same apartment.”

“You are not living in that apartment, Lily, and that is all there is to it.” He cursed and dragged a hand down his face. “Ryuu. None of this is coming out right. I’m not used to explaining myself.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and raised a brow at him. “You better get used to it because I’m starting to think you want this mate thing in name only.”

“It’s not that.” He grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off her feet, but when she went rigid against him, he set her back down. “I don’t think that apartment is the right place for us.”

She nodded slowly, the knot in her heart loosening slightly. “Okay, that sounds a little bit better. Go on.”

He snagged her hand as they stepped out of the elevator into the lobby. Nodding at the doorman, he led her out onto the sidewalk. For the first time, she noticed the wide berth people made around him, as if his size had a force field of its own.

“Dallas.” She tugged on his hand when they got to the curb.

The muscle under his eye ticked, and he shook his head. “Look, I’ve had other women there, all right? And I’m not going to build a home with my mate in a place where I slept with other women.” He went green suddenly and looked more miserable than she’d ever seen a male. “We need a new bed while we’re at it.”

Chapter 20

DALLAS WAS GOING to be sick. He’d slept with another woman in his bed the night before he’d met Lily. How the hell hadn’t he thought about that shit before he’d mated to her? Not wanting to see her face or how she was reacting to any of this, he tugged her toward the building. She could hate him all she wanted, he’d deal with that, but they were stuck together, and he knew she would eventually get over it.

He hoped.

His thoughts switched directions as they stopped at the first of the addresses Broderick had texted him. Her teeth worried at her bottom lip as she studied the vacant storefront. It didn’t look like anything spectacular. The large bow windows on either side of the door were covered in filth and grime, the dark brick of the façade was crumbling in places, but it wasn’t anything a good cleanup, a pretty bench, and flowers couldn’t fix.

She glanced at him as he punched in the code for the door’s lock box. “How did you know the code?”

“It’s a dragon owned property, and it’s not hard to guess which date Ashborne would use.” He opened the door and held it open for her.

She smiled her thanks and walked into the dark, dusty space. “His and Shelby’s anniversary?”

“The day he met her.”

She gaped at him for a second. “Who would have thought the dragon king has a big soft side?”

Dallas let out a snort as he leaned against a broken beam and crossed his arms over his chest. His gaze tracked her every movement as she carefully picked her way over the scattered debris. It looked like a tornado had ripped through the space, leaving only brick supporting columns in random spots around the room. They appeared to be more ornamental than functional. The occasional unbroken shelf mixed with upturned chairs and garbage. The area was large and spacious, big enough for her flower fridge and a staging area, along with a counter for taking orders and ringing them up.

She studied every inch of the abandoned space. “Well?” she asked, holding her arms out as she turned in a slow circle. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re beautiful,” he murmured quietly before he realized she wasn’t talking about herself. He cleared his throat as her smile went brilliant, lighting her up. “I think it’s up to you. It has good bones, and you have all of us to help with the manual labor.”

When he handed her his phone with all the information on it, the properties dimensions and price, her perfect brow furrowed as she tried to do the math in her head. “I need Luca for this part,” she murmured to herself, so quietly he barely heard her. “I hate numbers.”

The muscle under his eye ticked. “I told you. I’m paying for this.”

The look she shot him made him wince. And then grin. He liked the spark of temper in her. “I’m not worried about the money. I’m not in love with this place yet, and I’m not sure if it’s economically smart to gut and completely remodel this place or find something else.”

“Easy. We keep looking.” When she glanced at him, he ran his finger down her nose. It was such a cute nose. “If you’re not in love with it, we keep looking.”

She braced herself, stiffening her shoulders. “I think we need to find some place with an apartment attached. Neither of us want to live as a mated pair in a place you…well, took other women.” She paused and scowled at him before she continued, “And I don’t have anywhere for us to stay.”

“Look, Lil, about that…” he started, dragging a hand through his hair. “They didn’t mean—”

She held up her hand and moved over to poke him in the stomach. “Stop. I’m not mad at you about your past.” She moved past him toward the door. “It is what it is.”

He reached out and snagged her hand. He didn’t blame her for being angry, but he wasn’t going to allow her to hide that shit from him. “You look pissed.”

She continued to face straight ahead as she let out a small frustrated sound, before she turned to glare up at him. “I’m not mad at you for your past, Dallas. I’m scared, not insecure.”

He wasn’t sure that was much better. He didn’t want her to be jealous of a past that didn’t matter to him, but he sure as hell didn’t want her scared. Not of his past or of him.

He pulled her around to face him and shot his other hand out, wrapping it around the back of her neck, holding her where he wanted her. “You have no reason to fear my past, woman. I meant forever when I mated to you.”

“I’m not afraid of your past. I just don’t want to think about it.”

“Then what the hell are you scared of?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and glanced around the building again. “I have nothing left of myself at the moment. My home is gone, my business is gone, everything I own is gone. I have a mate, which is amazing, but my future depends on everything between us working out. And us agreeing on what those plans should be.”

The pad of his thumb skimmed her full bottom lip, then he lowered his mouth to hers. The light kiss he’d intended heated to an inferno when his little mate went on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her tight body into his as she kissed him back with all the passion he’d never known was missing from his life.

It amazed him that one tiny, inexperienced woman had the ability to knock him off his feet, but as he staggered back into the beam behind him, bringing her with until her body was caged in between his legs, it was exactly what happened. She knocked the ground out from under him.

But when the earth started to shake, he forced himself to drag his mouth away from hers as his instincts started to hum. His mate never failed to surprise him and keep him on his toes, but he wasn’t sure even she had the power to literally make the earth move.

“Something isn’t right.” He caught her hand and moved her behind him as he made his way toward the door. They were not getting caught inside a building again. “Stay behind me and step where I step.”

He was relieved when she didn’t argue with him. If this kept up, the thought of her opening another shop was going to have him breaking out in hives.

Something moved out of the corner of his eye as if triggered by the thought. Cursing under his breath, he watched as ice started to creep over the floor and up over the walls and debris until it reached the ceiling and started to spider web outward.

Ryuu. This was bad. Ice could be lethal to dragons. Their bodies couldn’t handle the extreme cold. Shivers were already wracking his body and his teeth were chattering, his extremities freezing and icing over.

Before he could tighten his hold on her, her magic shoved out, sending him flying through the picture window and out into the street.

An inhuman roar tore through him as Lily was ripped from his grasp. A red haze blinded him as pure, undiluted rage pulled him toward the building and Lily. Dallas had torn Hunters apart by the limbs, he’d survived hundreds of battles by sheer force of will and endurance. He was always the last warrior on the battlefield. But that strength was failing him now. He pulled on the metal door until his muscles bulged and trembled, and the skin was torn from his fingers, but he refused to give in to the agony. He roared again and slammed his shoulder into the metal. His mate was inside.  His mate.

He gave in to the dragon that was clawing at his skin from the inside, and with an anguished-filled roar, set the building aflame. His only hope was that the fire would cancel out the ice, and he could get to his mate.

The ice wouldn’t give up the fight that easily, however, and by the time his fire won, the outside of the building was torched and surrounded by firemen. Not that he gave a shit. He shimmered back into his human form as he ran for the entrance.

Two firemen stepped into his path. The biggest of the two had an axe in his hand as he slapped the other one against Dallas’s chest. “Sir, you cannot go in there.”

It didn’t occur to Dallas that the male was only doing his job. He was an obstacle standing between him and Lily. Without a word and without breaking stride, he reached out and grabbed both firemen by the throats, lifting them off their feet. He sent them flying back into the fire truck with a flick of his wrists, then launched himself at the door. He bounced off with barely a crack in the ice, but he braced himself and did it again. And again. Each time cracked it a little more. Then there was a familiar presence, and Dallas barely registered Luca as they both threw themselves at the door.

He carefully and slowly called the fire back to him, the flames wrapping around his arm and disintegrating. He wanted to yank it back, but he didn’t know where the ice was coming from, and he didn’t want to give it a chance to start freezing everything again before he could get to her.

His mate. His Lily.

He found her immediately. She stood in the middle of the room with her hands outstretched. Around her was a clear circle where neither the ice nor fire had penetrated.  She’d protected herself.

Just as he feared, the second the fire started to smolder, the ice crept back from the corner, spider-veining quicker and instantly freezing everything in its path, steadily making its way toward Lily.

“Lily.” He said it quietly, his voice broken, but when she didn’t move, he gave in to the dragon’s need to roar. “Lily, goddamn it, look at me!”

Her head snapped up suddenly and without warning, she shot across the room, shoving at him as an anguish like he’d never known before licked at his skin. He gritted his teeth against it and lifted her, sending the flame out again the second they were clear of the building.

“Damn you, Dallas!” she yelled, pushing against his chest.

Vaguely aware that his body felt like it was on fire, which wasn’t possible for a dragon, he collapsed hard onto the curb and focused on her. “Are you all right?” His hands moved over every inch of her, searching for burns. “Where are you hurt?”

The fear in her eyes was killing him.

“I’m fine.” Her voice trembled, and his insides iced over. “Dallas!”

He blinked suddenly. Once, and then twice, and by the third time, his vision had cleared. “Lily?”

“I’m here.” Tears leaked down her face as she curled into him, her body shaking violently. “Why would you do that? Why would you come back in?”

His whole body twitched, and a savage roar tore out of him. “What the hell were you thinking, woman?”

Her chin snapped up to defiant angle, but the effect was ruined by her trembling jaw. “That the ice could have killed you. I am not going to let you die, damn it!”

He nodded and stood up. He threw her over his shoulder and rounded on Luca, who was slowly getting to his feet.  Dallas would apologize for knocking him out later. Maybe. “Whoever did this has to be close. Search the area and see what you can find.”

He didn’t give Luca time to respond as he carried Lily toward his vehicle. Dallas knew what he was going to say. He had fucked up big time. He’d risked exposing what they were, along with the entire neighborhood, to save Lily.

He opened the truck door and dropped her into the passenger seat. He gritted his teeth in an effort to stop the tremors that wracked his body. He had done the one thing he’d sworn he would never do. He’d put his mate’s welfare above everyone else’s.

He slid behind the wheel but hesitated to start the vehicle. He had nowhere to go. Nowhere to take her that wasn’t filled with dragons and Hunters who would happily gut him as soon as word got out of what he’d done.

Shaking his head, he turned the key in the ignition and headed back for his apartment. He’d hand her over to the others and let them deal with her. He needed to put space between them now before he did something else he couldn’t be forgiven for.

Chapter 21

HE WASN’T TALKING to her. He wasn’t looking at her. His phone was ringing relentlessly, but the one time she’d asked if he wanted her to answer it, he hadn’t even bothered to respond, shooting her a dark warning look instead.

“You’re going to Seren’s, right?” she finally asked, her gaze locked on the side of his face.

“Why?” He jerked the SUV to the side of the road before his head swung around, his graveled voice full of fury. “Are you hurt?”

She slapped his hands away as they ran over her arms and then tried to slip in her shirt. “I’m fine,” she snapped, “but you’re not. You need a healer to look at you.”

He ignored her as his hands covered her breasts in the least erotic move ever, and then slipped around to check her back. Once he was satisfied she wasn’t injured, he pulled away and jerked the vehicle back into traffic.

He was the most infuriating man on the planet, and she wanted to throttle him. And kiss him. But mostly throttle at the moment. “Dallas.”

He ignored the sharp tone of her voice and reached out to snap on the radio.

Lily leaned forward to turn it back off. “We are going to talk about this, Dallas, and you are going to let Seren look at you.” When his face went stony, she poked him in the ribs. “What the hell were you thinking?

His knuckles went white on the steering wheel, his voice too savage to be the human in him speaking. “I was thinking that you were fucking dead. I was thinking that I lost my goddamn mate hours after making her mine.” His hands tightened, making her wince and go pale as the wheel started to creak. “I was thinking that she sacrificed her life to save mine, which is just. Fucking. Bullshit.”

“I’m not going to apologize,” she murmured, shocking herself and infuriating him more, but once the words were out, she didn’t try to backtrack. She lifted her chin and refused to look away from his furious profile. “You’re my mate and that ice could have killed you.”

He yanked his SUV into park behind his building. The sound that tore out of his chest wasn’t close to human. “Then you let it fucking kill me,” he roared. “You don’t ever risk yourself to save me!”

Furious tears welled in her eyes as she jerked her door open. She grabbed her purse and jumped out without a word and started toward the back door of his building, but at the last moment, she switched directions.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he snapped as he limped after her.

“Away from you,” she yelled back. She wasn’t planning on going far or staying gone for long, but she was about to have a meltdown and the last thing her or Dallas needed at the moment were Adrian, Gabriel, and the Shaw brothers seeing it. Or worse, have Dallas tell them what she’d done.

She meant it. She wasn’t going to apologize because she wasn’t sorry, and she wasn’t going to promise to never do it again because she would. It wasn’t fair to expect her to let him kill himself for her when she could save him.

“Ryuu,” she snapped to herself, borrowing his word, knowing she only had seconds—if that—before he caught up to her. How couldn’t he see that his life mattered to her more than anything else in the world?

Her hand trembled as she swiped at her tears before she dug into her purse, searching for her cell phone. She started to dial Seren, but then remembered everything she was keeping from her, which only made the ache in her chest worse.

The single heartbeat she hesitated gave him the advantage he needed. It only took him two strides to catch up with her six. Without a word, he shifted his massive form, crouching long enough to toss her over his shoulder before he started back for his building.

She thumped her fist against his lower back. “Why did you bring me back here? You know they’ll be angry for what happened at the building.”

“I don’t hide. And you’re not ready to face Seren.” He flipped her over onto her feet the second they were in the building’s foyer and got in her face, crowding her in, owning her space. “This,” he snapped, waving a hand between them, “is not going to work if you don’t understand one basic concept, babe. You are never to put yourself in danger for me, ever.”

* * *

HE EXPECTED THE hurt, and he expected the tears. What he did not expect was the raw temper that flashed over her face and deep in her eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest and met him furious glare for furious glare. “Then this is not going to work, babe,” she snapped back, “because I am not going to lose you when I have the ability to save you.”

He gritted his teeth against the urge to bellow at her, knowing with as much anger as he held, there was the possibility he’d bellow the building down around them. He didn’t have to guess what Augustus would have done in this situation because Dallas knew. He would have thrown out an ultimatum, and if she didn’t agree, he’d lock her up somewhere for her own protection until she did.

But Dallas could take it one step better. And because he knew he had to do it now before he changed his mind, he grabbed her upper arm on his way past, dragging her with him to the elevator, gritting his teeth against the ice burns on his legs and torso.

He had broken every one of his rules because of her. He had gone down the one path his father had warned him about, and because of her, he’d put not only her at risk, but everyone in the area and the entire dragon population.

He knew it was wrong. With every fiber of his being, Dallas knew it was wrong. The shitkicker of it, though, and the reason he was about to figuratively cut his own throat, was that he knew—he fucking knew—he’d do it again to save her.

He didn’t know if she had weakened him, or if he had allowed himself to be weakened by emotion, but it didn’t matter. This had to end.

He lifted his fist to hammer it against the door, but Lily wiggled out of his grip and stood between him and the entrance to his apartment.

Even as he snarled at her, her face crumpled and she walked into his chest, her tiny, trembling body wrapping around his so tight he had no choice but to hug her back.

Or so he told himself, but in truth, as he folded himself around her, hauling her up against him, he wasn’t sure he had any choice in it anymore. And that scared him more than anything.

If he didn’t have a choice in even this, it meant that what happened out there in the street could happen again.

“I know you’re mad at me,” she finally murmured, tightening her arms around his waist. There were tears swimming in her eyes when she looked up at him. “But you can’t go in there this angry. They will rip you to shreds.”

His body reacted to her naturally, and he cupped the side of her face, brushing his thumb gently down her cheek, wiping away the tears. Her sadness ripped at him, and he’d do anything to take that pain from her. Like a switch had been flipped, the temper melted out of him, leaving him with no insulation against the heart-wrenching terror that was squeezing at his chest.

“Lil.” He tangled his hands in her hair and used them to tilt her head back, then bent almost double to rest his brow against hers. His body shuddered once. “I did the unforgivable, and you need to brace yourself for Daniel’s reaction. He has every right to want me dead for putting his people in danger.”

“He won’t.” She gave him a look to stop him from arguing. “I won’t let him.”

His brain switched gears suddenly, and all he could see was his mate. Alive. Beautiful. And touching him like she never, ever wanted to let go.

He slid his hands to her hips, hitched her up, and backed her into the wall next to the door, pinning her in place. His mouth found hers and devoured. He expected her to fight him, but his perfect little mate never failed to surprise and amaze him. Sliding her hands up his arms and into his hair, she wrapped her legs around his waist as her mouth went hot and hungry under his.

It wasn’t enough. Damn it, it wasn’t close enough. His hips ground against her in a maddeningly slow pace as he dragged his mouth over her jaw, down her throat, and sucked gently at the pulse point in the hollow that drove her wild. He took his time, wanting—needing—to drive them both to insanity as the hunger between them grew. Her fingers tightened in his hair, her head falling back for him on a soft, surprised moan that made him smile.

This he could give her. He loved and hated the way that no matter how much pleasure he gave her, she was always surprised. But this, this he could do for her, and do well, and even if it took until the end of forever, he would use all the bedroom skills he possessed to erase the bad from her head.

Her fingers dug into his scalp as he nipped the tender flesh of her throat gently before he dragged his tongue over it, his hands coming up to rest against the sides of her breasts. He used the pads of his thumbs to brush over her nipples, grinning when a low moan escaped her throat. So he did it again, brushing at the tips of her breasts with his thumbs through the fabric of her shirt as his mouth trailed over the soft, generous swells of her perfect breasts. His cock was hard and aching as he rubbed it against her, pure male satisfaction bringing his blood to a boil when her body moved with his, desperate to be closer. Good gods, she was going to be the death of him.

The dragon was roaring in his blood, desperate for him to reaffirm the bond with her, to reassure them both that she was alright. Unbroken. Unhurt.

On a harsh moan, Lily pulled back, breaking the kiss as she cupped his face. Distracted by the sheer lust in her eyes and her ragged breathing, it took everything he had to concentrate on her words and not give in to the urge to devour her some more.

“We’re not exactly quiet, Dallas.”

He couldn’t get her words to form the correct connection in his head. “English, woman,” he snapped at her as he stepped back and gently sat her on her feet, the pain in his legs forcing its way through the haze of lust he’d been distracted by.

“I said”—she grinned up at him, her voice shaky—“that if you make me scream out here, they’re going to assume I’m in pain, and someone’s going to end up bleeding. I will be pissed if it’s you.”

He dragged a hand through his hair and wondered if he would ever get used to her protecting him.

But it was the look on her face that scared him. Half hope, half love, it was plain as day that her emotions were getting the best of her. She was falling in love with him.  Part of Dallas had known it would happen. She had, after all, told him that she wanted a mating based on love. And he realized, with everything he’d done in the last hour, this was the worst. He could give her security and safety and stability. He could make her life happy, but he would never be able to give her the one thing she yearned for most in the world.

But she was his. And he would keep her safe.

No matter what he had to do.

Chapter 22

LILY FROWNED. HE wanted her. He was always touching her, and every time he kissed her, it was like the poor man was starving. But it didn’t take a genius to realize he used touching her and sex as a way out of making decisions.

He didn’t want a mate, but he wanted her, so they had sex. So now he had no choice but to make it work with her. And whenever his emotions got too high or too wild, he kissed her, as if he couldn’t help it. If he could just get inside of her, he wouldn’t have to think and the choice would be out of his hands, and he could deal with the consequences.

None of it sounded like the Dallas she’d heard about for years—the strong, cold-hearted, determined dragon they’d named The Destroyer. The Dallas that had spent centuries making the Hunter world pay for the death of his chosen mate and his family.

He opened the door, and when she stepped through, Adrian was face first on the couch, unmoving. Her heart stopped beating. “What happened?”

Gabriel dragged a hand down his face. “I don’t know. He grabbed his head a few minutes ago and started growling, then face-planted on the floor.”

She blew out a relieved breath that was short-lived when Daniel bellowed.

“What the hell is going on?”

Lily winced at his roar, realizing for the first time that she was covered in soot and grime. She offered him a sweet smile, hoping to distract him from the murderous glint in his eyes as his attention honed in on Dallas. “It’s a long story?” she said hopefully.

Dallas hooked his arm around her neck and pulled her into him as he shifted his attention to her brother. “Somebody is making damn sure your sister doesn’t open another store any time soon.” He dragged a hand down his face. “I have no idea why.”

Adrian closed the distance and grabbed her chin, gently tilting her face up so she had to look at him. She could barely see his eyes beneath the rim of his cap, and it scared her that he was hiding himself from her.

“Are you all right?” he asked, manic violence lacing his normally quiet voice. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” She offered him the best smile she could manage to prove it. “Dallas is hurt, though. I need him to let Fiona look at him.”

“I’m fine,” Dallas gritted out.

The petite healer ignored that as she lifted a brow at Dallas and pointed down the hall. “Bedroom, dragon. Let’s go.”

He shot a panicked look at Lily as his hand wrapped around hers, but he did what he’d been commanded to do. He dragged Lily with him. After he closed the bedroom door shut behind them, he sat long enough to pull off his shit-kicker boots and socks. Fiona shifted her gaze to the ceiling as he yanked off his shirt and unbuttoned his jeans. He sneered at Fiona.

Because he already looked angry enough, it took everything Lily had and more to swallow back the horrified sound as the damage to his stomach was exposed. Crawling on the bed next to him, Lily slipped her arm around his waist, being very careful not to touch him anywhere that was raw.

He didn’t need her to heal. But she wasn’t sure he’d ever let anyone close enough to care when he’d gotten hurt before, and she needed him to know that he wasn’t alone.

His arm hooked around her neck. “I don’t want to be put to sleep,” he snapped.

Fiona shot a worried look between him and Lily, then focused her attention back on Dallas. “I’ve healed dragons,” she murmured quietly, her sapphire eyes steady on his, “and it’s easier when you’re asleep. Your body won’t fight me as hard.”

He scowled down at her. “Is this going to kill me?”

Fiona shook her head slowly and knelt next to him, studying the ice burns on his abdomen. “Kill you? No. Scar?” She blew out a breath and sat back on her heels. “Maybe, if you wait too long.”

His snort was humorless and mocking. “I’m not worried about scars.”

Fiona lifted an elegant brow. “You have a mate now. She may be worried about scars.”

Lily wasn’t angry at the healer for pulling her into the argument. The males wore their scars like badges of honor, and there were some wounds they refused to have healed. The scar on Adrian’s face was to remind him how easily everything he loved could be taken away from him. The lash marks that covered Luca’s back reminded him of the one person in the world he believed was worth fighting for. Daniel had a slash mark across his chest from the night he’d thought Shelby had set him up to die—the night he’d mated to her accidentally.

Dallas’s body wasn’t flawless, but it was perfect, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about him keeping those scars. Every time he looked at them, he’d be reminded of her pushing him out of the way of danger, of him almost losing her, and his resolve to keep her out of his heart would only harden.

So she nodded and raised her gaze to his. “For me, Dallas,” she murmured. “I don’t want to be reminded of tonight every time we get naked for the rest of forever, and I will.”

The vein under his left eye twitched as he turned to look down at her. “This is important to you?”

No, she thought to herself, it was important for them. But instead of saying that, she only nodded, her eyes steady on his. “Yes.”

His eyes searched hers for a long time before he nodded and turned his attention back to Fiona. “I won’t fight you, but I don’t want to be put under.”

Fiona straightened and waved her hand at him. “Alright, big boy, drop your pants, let’s go.”

The look he sent the healer was far from amused, but he did what she commanded and kicked off his jeans and sprawled out on the bed. Lily wrapped her hand around his as Fiona settled herself next to his opposite hip.

Almost immediately, a soft white pearlescent light spread from Fiona’s small hands to Dallas’s lower body. He stiffened in reaction, his chest tightening for a moment before he turned his head and locked gazes with Lily. He visibly relaxed then, but it confused her at the effort it seemed to take him. Healing didn’t hurt. Seren occasionally put them under a sleep spell if the damage was bad enough to keep the pressure off their heart and lungs as they healed, to speed the healing process, but once the healing started, there shouldn’t be any pain.

“Does it hurt?” she finally asked. She hadn’t needed a healer since the last time Porter had hurt her, and she didn’t remember feeling anything other than terror.

“No.”

* * *

WHEN SHE FROWNED at his gruff answer, Dallas tried to find the words he wanted to say. His body was all he had to keep himself and Lily safe. Scars didn’t bother him, and he knew from past experience he could live with and function under a ridiculous amount of pain, but if something happened to him or something somehow went wrong, it would leave him unable to protect his mate.

Not to mention how vulnerable she was while he was being healed.

But because he couldn’t stand the worry in her eyes, he jacked his brow up. “Don’t think we’re finished talking about what you did tonight, woman.”

She glared right back at him. “I told you. I’m not going to apologize for saving your life.”

“You could have been killed!”

She attempted a growl. “Fine, I’ll apologize for risking my life when you apologize for risking yours.”

“Ryuu, I’m a dragon!” he bellowed. “Look at my size and look at yours and tell me you can withstand the amount of shit I can.”

A scowl darkened her face as she went to her knees and glared at him. “Size doesn’t have anything to do with it. The ice could have killed you, but dragon fire is harmless to their mate. I was safe.”

A low snarl tore out of him. “Really? So when I set the entire building on fire, you were safe? And the rest of the neighborhood? Were they safe when the only thought in my head was getting to you?”

Fiona cleared her throat, cutting off whatever Lily would have said next. “You’re good to go, Dallas. I’m, ah, going to go talk to Adrian for a few more minutes and leave you two alone.”

The second the healer was out of the room, Dallas yanked his hand back from Lily’s and sat up, swinging his legs off the bed. He tugged on his jeans, needing to get a handle on this situation. “I meant it, Lily. This isn’t going to work if I can’t count on you to keep yourself safe no matter what.”

She shook her head at him as she crawled off the bed and moved to stand directly in front of him. “You can’t ask me to do something that you’re not willing to do, too, Dallas. It isn’t fair.”

“Life isn’t fair.”

This time, she did growl at him. “That isn’t an answer, damn it! I didn’t save your life because I didn’t care about mine. I saved your life to give us a chance. Because I need you as much as you need me, and I refuse to live without you if I can do something to save your life!”

He was pretty sure his brain twitched. He felt it. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand what she was saying. He knew she didn’t have a death wish and hadn’t shoved him out of the building with the intent of dying to save him, but he couldn’t get that to matter.

“My father was right,” he said quietly, the muscle under his eye ticking as he worked at systematically shutting off every emotion in his body. He felt too much and it was killing him. “Caring about someone too much is a weakness. You can’t think clearly, and it leaves you vulnerable to making stupid mistakes.”

* * *

HIS FATHER. ALL the pieces to the puzzle suddenly tumbled into place, and she knew exactly why he was fighting this, and her, so damn hard.

“Your parents weren’t in love with each other?” she asked, her eyes searching his face. He was angry, yes, but she was starting to realize that he was terrified. Even more terrified than she had been. And maybe as damaged.

“No.” He sneered the word as he opened his dresser and pulled out a heather gray T-shirt and tugged it on. “Love is a weakness. It allowed them to do their respective jobs without worrying about emotions getting in the way and causing bad decisions that put innocent people at risk.”

“And the woman you had chosen as your mate? Did you love her?”

He snorted. “Portia? No. She’d never deem to feel something as base as love. She suited my needs as I suited hers.”

Her heart leapt into her throat. “You turned into The Destroyer after her death, and you didn’t love her.”

He pushed a hand through his hair. “I avenged her death and that of my parents and my younger brother. No one died that was not directly involved in their deaths.”

“But today…” She let the words trail off as hope mixed in with her soul-deep worry for him. He’d avenged Portia’s death, but for Lily, he’d almost leveled an entire Los Angeles neighborhood. She could see why that worried him, but it also meant his feelings for her went way deeper than he was willing to admit.

Daniel had gone to war for Shelby.

Adrian had taken control over the entire Hunter world for Seren.

She leapt at him, kissing him with all the love that was steadily and forever building inside of her.

Dallas was in love with her.

He staggered back a step as their emotions slammed into each other so hard neither could separate from the other. His hand shot into her hair, and she wound her arms and legs around him. Again. She needed him again. Now.

* * *

HE DIDN’T CARE why they shouldn’t be doing this. He didn’t care that he was furious with her, more furious than he’d ever been with anyone he cared about in his life. And scared. Jesus fucking Christ, she’d scared him.

He turned and backed her into the wall, then pinned her with his hips as he decided to finish what he’d started in the hallway. Need was a boil in his blood, a relentless pounding in his head that only went quiet when he had her naked and pliant and wanting beneath him.

And he desperately needed that peace now.

Not bothering to take her shirt off, he licked down her throat and over the perfect swell of her breast before he scraped his tongue over her nipple through the fabric. A raw sound escaped her. She shoved her hands into his hair, holding him against her as her body arched off the wall.

He dragged his tongue back up her throat, hands gripping her hips and yanking her to him, his cock aching with the need to be inside of her.

And that was before her hot little hand slid into his jeans, her fingers wrapping around him in a grip so perfect he almost came right then and there. “Ryuu.” It wasn’t a curse this time, but a prayer. His head dropped back on a low growl of savage need.

Desperate to get to her skin and give her the same pleasure she was giving him, he shoved up her shirt. His hands skimmed over her lightly, teasing, until her grip on him shifted, her hand beginning to move.

Dallas was suddenly sure whatever gods were out there had forgiven him for all of his sins because this much pleasure couldn’t be for the damned.

His temper and fear forgotten, their guests forgotten, Dallas’s head dropped back as her hand stroked him.

“Don’t stop, baby,” he murmured, pleading. He was used to giving pleasure, but having his mate so focused on him shook him and upended his world. Whatever he gave to her, she always managed to find a way to give him just as much. He could see on her face how much she liked watching him feel what she was doing to him. He groaned, pure need rocking through him.

He slipped his hands into her snug shorts, then gripped her perfect, biteable ass before he shoved the fabric down and let his fingers find her. He meant to tease, to give her back what she was giving to him, but the second he felt how wet she was, the fine hold he had on his control snapped.

He shoved out of his jeans, then lifted her up and drove into her in the same heartbeat, his body caging hers against the door. The dragon in him roared at the pleasure that vibrated through her. She hung on while he pounded his need into her, her fingers digging into his shoulders, nearly breaking skin.

Because his dragon’s need to reaffirm the bond with the mate they’d almost lost mixed with Dallas’s pure and simple craving for her, he forced himself to slow down. To do this right for her.

“Wrap your legs around me, baby.” He scraped his teeth over her nipple, then took a long, slow lick of it to reward her for following his command. He’d never get tired of her sweetness. His body shuddered at the intense pleasure. “Tell me what you want.”

Her eyes flew wide, and she shook her head slowly. Despite how serious he was, he couldn’t stop the slow, wicked grin from spreading across his face at her blush. “Slow?” He skimmed his hands up to cover her breasts gently, a soft caress meant to tantalize. He stroked into her, slow and deep, and made her whimper. “Or do you want it harder, faster.”

He shifted and drove into her, again and again. He possessed her breasts with his hands, then his mouth, the pads of his thumbs, then his teeth.

“Dallas.”

He nipped gently at her jaw before he ran his tongue over the love bite. “Yes, baby? Tell me what you want.”

Her nails dug into his shoulders as her body bowed into him, trembling and desperate for release. “Please…”

“Look at me.” He wrapped her hair around his fist and gently pulled her head back. “I want to see your eyes when you come for me.”

He loved how she watched him, how she met him thrust for thrust, her perfect body moving against his as if they were made to do this together. She was everything, the other half of him, and he needed her. And when her body arched with a scream as she shattered around him, he followed her over that edge, in body and in heart.

* * *

DALLAS KNEW HE was fucked when it was almost dark by the time he was able to even hold his head up again. At some point during the lost hours, he must have somehow managed to get himself and Lily to his bed. Her hand resting possessively over the mark on his heart, she must have been as exhausted as he was.

She was still naked, and against all reason, it made him smile. She trusted him completely. The shy, frightened woman he’d met only days before hadn’t come out of her damaged shell—she’d broken free, and he got the feeling it was because of the way she trusted him.

Damn if he didn’t plan on doing it for the rest of forever, too. The woman’s strength and courage amazed him, and there was nothing in the world he wouldn’t go up against to keep her safe, so she could have that freedom to live without the mind-numbing fear he’d sensed killing her when they had first met.

He snorted out a quiet laugh as he skimmed his fingers along her spine and softly tangled them in her hair. Not that her fear had stopped her from repeatedly going up against the scariest men in his clan to save his life. Though he’d never been in any danger of them except Daniel maybe, she hadn’t known that, and he had no idea how to process how much that meant to him. She hadn’t saved his life out of duty or because he had her back. She’d saved his life simply because she couldn’t stand the thought of him being hurt.

She stretched suddenly on a yawn before she curled up again, her hand in the same protective spot over his heart.

He carefully brushed the soft mahogany hair out of her face and wondered for the first time in his life if his father had been wrong. Augustus had gone up against an army of Hunters with his well-trained soldiers at his back the last time Dallas had seen him, but there had been no emotion, no passion behind the fight. He’d been relentlessly cold as he’d fought with a single-mindedness and determination to keep his people safe. He’d been practical, plotting out the exact course of attack, and had not varied a step during the battle.

But without passion behind him, had he been too cold? Too methodical to adapt and adjust, and use that passion to fight harder and longer than anyone else out there? Would it have made a difference?

Dragging a hand over his face, he leaned over and pressed his lips to his mate’s brow. He got out of bed slowly, being careful not to disturb her. He wanted to laugh when she immediately burrowed underneath the blanket, as if the lack of his body heat chilled her.

Although he could stand there for the rest of the evening and watch her sleep, to make sure the bad dreams stayed at bay and nothing could get near enough to harm her, he needed to talk to her brother and the other dragons. There were still the day’s events to work out and Cage to deal with. If Fiona came back with bad news, Dallas wanted to know before they broke it to Lily. Her insane need to protect the two men she loved was dangerous.

He rolled his eyes after taking in the horde of people camped out in his living room. His life had been overrun with overbearing dragons and Hunters. The oldest Shaw asshole was sprawled on the floor in front of the couch, watching cartoons, while Broderick appeared to be napping behind him. Cage was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and doing his best to ignore Fiona, who appeared to be doing her best to ignore Gabriel, who was staring at her out of unblinking eyes. Daniel was camped out at the kitchen table, his booted feet propped against the back of another chair as he played with his phone.

They all glanced up at him when he walked into the room, and he braced himself for Daniel’s temper. They still hadn’t gone over the fact that Dallas had put the entire city at risk.

He cleared his throat. “Have you heard anything from Luca yet?”

Without tearing his gaze away from Fiona, Gabriel shook his head. “No. Rafe is helping him track the bastard ice dragon. Last update had them at the edge of the city.”

Dallas sat on the couch and leaned forward, his arms braced on his legs, uneasiness pitting in his gut. How hard was it to find one goddamn ice dragon? “Why would one be after Lily and her flower shop?”

Ice dragons had been created along with the fire-breathing dragons and, while they’d been rare, their physiology and genetic makeup had been close enough that they’d been the same race. Only ice dragons had been created cold, unfeeling. While they’d originally been as much protectors of the human race as fire-breathing dragons, their lack of empathy and compassion had wrought more devastation than protection until the dragons had finally been forced to run them all to ground and destroy them.

“Easy.” At the drawled voice, everyone turned to look toward the door where Dragan was leaning against the jamb. How the hell had he gotten in without any of them hearing? “Cage escaped whoever was holding him, and what better way to draw him back out than to go after his sister?”

Dallas lifted his lip in a sneer. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Dragan shrugged. “There have been rumors floating around today that Cage was spotted. I don’t believe in coincidences, so whatever is going on with Lily has to be linked.”

“It would make sense if Cage remembered anything.” Unless he was faking the memory loss. Temper and terror had never been a good combination in a dragon, and with his beast rising to the surface, it took everything Dallas possessed to keep from letting him free. He turned his burning gaze on Fiona. “I want answers. Now.”

“I’m giving him a small break. He isn’t responding well to me trying to get inside his head.” She shook her head and raised her hands, palms up. “The read and information I’m getting off him is shaky and unstable at best. He’s been tortured violently passed the point of sanity, repeatedly.” She blew out a breath, pity and worry in her eyes. “He isn’t able to differentiate between reality and hallucinations so I can’t give you a name. If he knows who took him and did this, it’s buried underneath daydreams and delusions. Quite honestly, he’s broken, and he’s damn dangerous. ”

Cage cleared his throat, his voice hoarse as if that too had been damaged. “I get it. I’m crazy.” He lifted madness-filled eyes to Dallas. “What happened in there? How did the two of you get separated?”

Dallas bared his teeth, more at the terror that started to claw at his veins than temper at his mate’s brother. “She shoved me out of the building the second the ice started to cover everything. I wasn’t expecting it, and she’s damn strong when she wants to be.”

Fiona smiled. Dallas scowled at her. “What?”

“You’re proud of her.”

“The hell I am!” he roared.

Broderick spoke up then. “Not for risking herself for you, but because she’s stronger than everyone gives her credit for.”

This time, he only snorted. “Of course she is. Did you think I would take a weak, timid mate?”

Gabriel cleared his throat. “Think about it, Dallas. She’s Lily. We all love her but when she’s scared, she bolts. She doesn’t fight back, and after what she’s been through, no one in their right mind would ever blame her. Whoever sent the ice dragon probably thought she’d bolt, and he’d be able to snag her effortlessly.”

“Then he’s an idiot,” Dallas snapped as he stopped prowling. “For Ryuu’s sake, she’s saved my life from all of you how many times over the last couple of days? She runs when she’s scared and overwhelmed, but she always stands and fights when it’s for someone she cares about.”

“And she cares about you.” At Cage’s deadly quiet voice, every eye in the room turned to focus on him as he focused on Dallas. “Now, whoever it is knows her weakness, and he can readjust his plans. She will protect you. He knows that now.”

Without warning, the king crossed the room and grabbed Dallas by the throat. He turned and threw him into the wall behind him, putting him through the drywall. Before his body could slump, Daniel had him by the throat again and off his feet, his body caging him against the wall. Pure, unadulterated rage brightened the king’s silver eyes, and Dallas accepted he’d never seen his king so close to killing one of them. “You irresponsible, hot-headed idiot. Do you know what you could have done? What you could have cost us if I hadn’t sent Luca to follow you? If he hadn’t been there to cover your ass and block you from human sight? If there was one single video or photograph, everything we’ve protected for the last three millennia would have been shot to fucking shit. We’d be hunted down, destroyed. All of us.” Daniel slammed his fist into Dallas’s face. “As of right now, you are suspended from active duty for the next month. Get your fucking shit together, or I’ll be forced to put you down.”

Dallas nodded. He’d expected this—hell, he’d expected worse.

Love is a weakness. His father’s words played on repeat in his head. He’d spent his entire two thousand years fighting against allowing any kind of weakness in. So no one could ever use something he cared about against him. But not once, in all of those years, had it ever occurred to him that someone would care about him so much that he would be the weakness used against them.

His gaze leveled with Adrian’s. “What are you saying? What does Porter know?”

“Whoever is doing this doesn’t want her dead. He wants her broken and punished, but not dead. There’s only one person who wants her that way.”

Dallas snarled. “I thought you killed that sick fuck Porter years ago.”

“It’s the only person who makes sense.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be your death. He now knows that there isn’t anything she won’t do to keep you safe. Even if it means risking herself, or losing everything. You are her perfect weakness.”

The tension in the room slowly amped up. After a long moment, Broderick broke the silence by getting to his feet and clearing his throat. He slammed a fist into Dallas’s shoulder in a friendly gesture.

“Looks like you’re now in protective custody.” A rare grin spread across Broderick’s face as he cracked his knuckles and elbowed Dallas in the ribs. “Don’t worry, Destroyer, we’ll take care of all the heavy lifting for you on this one. You enjoy your little vacation and let the big boys do the work.”

Dallas turned his head slowly and snarled at him. “Do you want to die?”

Broderick only snorted as he went into the kitchen to grab his laptop. “If you’re brave enough to face Lily’s fury, take your best shot, but I should warn you”—he grinned—“your mate likes me, and she’d be upset if you killed me.”

The world shifted under his feet again with the realization that there was only one reason Lily would have done what she did earlier, and it wasn’t because he was her mate. Those were just words. She’d sacrificed herself by saving his life because she didn’t want to live without him, because she loved him.

Despite all reason and common sense, that perfect woman curled up under his blankets in his bed loved him and was willing to die for him.

He had never been so damn scared in his life. Or so goddamn happy.

Shit.

Fiona cleared her throat then. “Does anyone want to know the pieces I’ve managed to pick out of Adrian’s fractured brain?” When every eye in the room shot to her, she visibly braced herself. “A lot of what’s going on inside of him doesn’t make sense. Worst, most of it could be hallucination as easily as it could be real. It all feels the same to him, which is why he’s so messed up. What I do know is that there are two pieces of conversation that keep playing on repeat in his head. Whoever this Porter is, he’s definitely behind it. And most certainly not dead.”

Gabriel’s gaze narrowed on her face. “How is that possible? I was there when Adrian killed him.”

“A necromancer named Dexter.” This time it was Cage’s gaze that snapped to her, and she nodded slowly. “Porter’s men got him to the necromancer after Adrian killed him. Dexter brought him back, along with some of Porter’s men.  From the pieces I’ve picked out, Porter knew he wouldn’t get to Lily while she was under Adrian’s protection. So he was biding his time. Then when Adrian took Porter’s place at the head of the Hunters…”

Gabriel lifted a brow when her words trailed off. “It was too much. Not only did Cage take Porter’s toy—Lily—he did the ultimate sin and mated to a dragon.”

“Great. Fucking perfect.” Dallas rolled his head on his shoulders and swiped a hand under his bloody nose as he snarled in frustration. “Who the fuck is Dexter?”

Cage sighed, madness and defeat twisting his face. “Someone who wants me to suffer in the very depths of hell for the rest of eternity.”

Chapter 23

A JAGGED, HEART-STOPPING scream tore through the darkened apartment. The males didn’t hesitate, and Dallas had his long-bladed daggers in each hand when the sound shattered the stillness again, curling his blood.

Lily.

He broke through his bedroom door. Her scream jerked her upright on the bed, the sound tearing out of her from the very depths of her soul, over and over again. His blades dropped out of numb fingers, and he crashed onto the bed next to her.

“Lily!” He had to summon the strength to keep his hands from trembling as he gripped her face. The fury in him at the inhuman sounds she made went deeper than anything he’d ever experienced. “Lily, damn it, look at me!”

A savage dragon growl ripped through him before he could stop it, and in an instant, she leapt toward it, burrowing into him as if she wanted inside. “It’s okay, baby, you’re safe.” Dallas forced the words out calmly, though he couldn’t do anything about the vibrating snarls that kept rumbling through him. The other males stood in the doorway, weapons at the ready as she continued to sob into his chest.

He didn’t know what to do for her. Her tremors wracked the bed, and she felt so small and breakable in his arms he was afraid to hold her too tightly, afraid she would shatter on him. And more than anything in this world, Dallas did not want to be what caused her pain, ever.

Helpless, he ignored his hatred for her brother and looked at him. “What do I do?”

Cage looked unhinged and close to violence, but his voice was quiet. “Growl. As dark and violent and scary as you can go.”

Dallas didn’t question it. He curled himself around her and growled. His dragon was too close to the surface to keep the savageness out of the sound.

This was going to have to end. It didn’t take a genius to know what the nightmare was about. He didn’t know why this bastard was still alive, but his time was over. Lily deserved peace, and Dallas was not going to leave someone or something alive that was a threat not only to her life, but her soul as well.

The bastard may be aiming for him to get to her, but he’d apparently forgotten who he was dealing with. Dallas hadn’t gotten to be two thousand years old by playing nice.

And Porter had unleashed The Destroyer.

* * *

LILY RINSED HER face one more time, then carefully turned the water off and set the wash cloth on the towel rack next to the door. She used another cloth to dry out the bowl of the sink and hung that up too before she finally blew out a breath and raised her gaze to the mirror, knowing she couldn’t avoid it any longer.

There was no trace of the nightmare anywhere on her face. Her green eyes were clear, there was color in her cheeks, and her dark hair had been pulled back into a fun, sassy ponytail.

All in all, she looked…normal. Her insides were raw, but it would fade by the end of the day. It always did.

It surprised her that she wasn’t mortified Dallas had seen her in the grip of a nightmare. No one but Adrian had ever witnessed one, and it had been the last thing she’d ever wanted Dallas to see. She wanted him to see her as strong, capable, and in control of her life and her emotions, not a helpless, damaged child.

But for the first time, she understood why Adrian had told Seren everything about his past, even the things he’d never told her. There was a kind of courage and strength in knowing that someone knew the darkest parts of your soul and wanted you anyway.

He’d growled for her. When she’d fallen apart, he’d held her and growled for her for almost an hour until she’d felt stable and in control of herself enough to leave the safety of his arms.

Not that he’d looked stable—at all.

Rubbing the back of her hand over her nose, she moved back into the bedroom. Dallas was standing in front of the large, curtain-less window, looking out at the city and the ocean beyond the buildings.

He was still, his feet braced, but it was the tightness in his shoulders and the slow clenching and unclenching of his fists that told her how close to the breaking point he was.

She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head against his back.

Dallas wrapped his hand around hers, and it struck her then how much he needed her to touch him freely and openly. Even when he’d been sure he hated her, he’d never pushed her away or shrank from her affection.

* * *

DALLAS HAD FOUGHT against this moment so damn hard. Did he live by the advice he’d followed for the last two thousand years, or did he give in and give Lily what she needed? He didn’t know what the right thing to do was anymore. As much as he wanted to walk out the door and search until he found that sick fuck Porter and peel his skin from his body, it felt too much like running when he knew she had to still be shaken. Ryuu, he was shaken, and he hadn’t been the one caught in a nightmare.

Or maybe he was putting off leaving her.

“Love is a weakness,” he said abruptly, his voice quiet. She stiffened behind him, but he wrapped his hands tighter around hers to keep her from pulling away. “It makes a person do stupid things, it makes them vulnerable, and it muddies their thinking. One person should not be saved at the risk of many.”

“Dallas—”

He cut her off when he turned around and caught her face in his hands, making her look at him. He needed her to see what she did to him, and what he was fighting inside of himself to say these words. “I have lived with this knowledge for two thousand years. I had it beat into me—literally—from the time I was five years old, and my father forced any emotional attachment to him or my mother out of my head. I was given to the guards for training and refused entrance to the keep until my father was satisfied no emotion could get past my defenses.” He lifted a hand to brush the hair out of her face. “I never complained, because back then, his logic was sound. The world was harsher then in so many ways, and there was no room in my life for softness of any kind.

“But this isn’t that world anymore, Lil. I just forgot to move on with the time.”

“I don’t…” She searched his face for a long time, and then blew out a breath. “I don’t understand what you’re telling me, Dallas.”

This time, the fear that gripped him was from the knowledge he was handing her everything she would need to break him. To destroy him, body and soul. He shuddered out a breath. “I’m telling you that I’m an ass, woman, and it’s not your fault I went all Godzilla on that neighborhood earlier.”

Her nose wiggled. “Nope, still not sure I’m catching what you’re throwing. How isn’t it my fault?”

“Because I’m an idiot and refused to accept the obvious.”

She looked at him like he was nuts. “Which is?”

“I love you.”

Time stopped. Her tiny body was so still for so long he had a moment of panic she’d somehow been turned to stone in front of him. Or that he’d read her wrong, and she would never be able to love someone like him.

Her hands clenched into fists and she closed her eyes, her breathing suddenly ragged.

“Lil?”

She let out a quiet strangled sound. “Not yet,” she whispered, covering his mouth with her hand. “I’m in the middle of this awesome fantasy where you tell me you love me, and it’s not because I’m broken and need you to love me—”

He pulled her hand away, then hauled her up to her toes and kissed her. Her eyes flew open and locked on his, and he felt the moment his uncaged emotion simply undid her. She hooked her arms around his neck and kissed his face.

When she finally pulled back to grin at him, he chuckled quietly and rested his head against hers. “This makes you happy?” He tugged lightly on a strand of her hair. “You don’t have to say it back—”

“I love you, Dallas. I am beyond in love with you, like until the end of all time in love with you.”

His body shuddered. He lowered his head and kissed her. “Good.” He blew out a breath because he knew this next part was going to piss her off. “Now I need you to go sit with your brother and the other males for a while, all right?”

She frowned at him. “You’re leaving? Where are you going?”

He kissed her again, then set her on her feet. “To find that sick fuck stepfather of yours so I can boil the skin off his bones.”

“Porter?” Her beautiful face went stark white, and he was worried she was going to puke. “He wants me, and he wants you dead.”

“I’m aware,” he snapped. “And I was more than content to sit this one out until the others tracked him down, but that’s not going to happen now. He’s going to die slowly, and by my hands. And then I’m going to find a healer capable of reanimating the dead so I can bring him back and do it all over again.”

“He’s sheer evil, Dallas. Are you taking someone with you?”

“No. I can handle him, and I’d feel better if all the males were here with you.”

“You’re mated, too,” she reminded him. The look she gave him was pure, mutinous female. “Don’t think for a second I will survive losing you.”

He walked around her, heading for his closet and the arsenal stashed in there. He grabbed the giant duffel bag and tossed it on the bed. “I’m not planning on letting you lose me. I wouldn’t have told you I loved you if I was.”

He strapped holsters onto his back, hips, thighs, and ankles before he started sorting through the guns and knives in the bag.

“You can’t do this on your own.”

He snorted as he slid a combat-ready gun into the holster at his right hip. “He’ll be easy to pick off. Finding him may be harder.”

“Then use me.”

He lifted his head and turned it around to look at her. She looked stunned at the words that had come out of her mouth, but instead of taking it back, she lifted her chin. “I have this feeling that if you walk out the door alone, I will never see you again. I can’t go through that, Dallas. Adrian’s death damaged me, but losing you would break me. I would never come back from that.”

He stilled with his hand in the gun bag, the muscle under his eye ticking. “I’m sorry?”

She squared her shoulders. “I’m a Hunter, I can track, and besides, he wants me. If he comes after me and tries to separate us again, I can distract him until you get to me.”

“No.”

She climbed up on the bed and crawled over until she was on her knees in front of him. “I’m not saying I go in defenseless, or we let whatever happens, happen. I’m saying we have all these males in the living room waiting for orders on how to help us, and I say we use them.”

He snarled at her, because if he didn’t somehow release the pressure building in his skull it would explode. “I’m not using you as bait,” he roared. “And I’m sure as fucking hell not going to let you get anywhere near that bastard ever fucking again!”

“I’m the one who can draw him out.” She straightened her shoulders and gave him a look that said she was warming up to the idea and about to become stubborn.  “We need to talk to the others about this. You were there when they needed you, so you need to let them help us figure this out.”

“I’m not risking them—”

“Yes,” she said softly, “you are. Because it’s what family does, and whether you want to admit it or not, those males out there are our family. Yours and mine. And even if we try to shut them out of this, you know they’ll find a way to help, anyway.”

He bared his teeth at her before he nodded once and grabbed her arm. He led her out of the bedroom and into the middle of the living room. He growled until he had everyone’s attention, then cocked a brow at Lily. “Go ahead. Tell them what you want to do.”

She exhaled and looked at everyone in the room. “Dallas wants to go after Porter alone. I think he should use me as bait and let you all help him find the bastard and kill him.”

“I kill him.”

Lily’s hand slid down Dallas’s arm until her hand found his and their fingers linked. “Let you all help him find the bastard so Dallas can kill him,” she corrected.

Gabriel, who’d been on the phone when they’d come into the room, slowly lowered it. He looked at Lily first and then Dallas. “We have another problem.” When they were all watching him, he blew out a breath and sat forward, bracing his arms against his legs as he spread his palms out, the phone still clutched in one hand.  He met all their gazes head on. And said it. “Bain’s missing.”

Chapter 24

NO ONE REACTED at first, and then all at once, every eye in the room turned to look at Adrian. Gabriel shot forward with inhuman speed, grabbed Adrian by the throat, lifted him off the couch, and slammed him into the wall behind him within the space of a single blink.

Adrian’s anguished roar tore through the apartment. “Where’s Seren? Where the hell is my wife?”

“She’s fine.” Gabriel’s voice was even, his gaze locked on Adrian’s. “She’s not hurt. She went straight to Shelby’s and called me from there.”

Dallas cleared his throat. “How did he go missing?”

Gabriel didn’t let up on Adrian’s throat until Adrian jerked his head in a nod. Finally, after a long, tense moment of them squaring off, Adrian nodded once, and Gabriel stepped back. Adrian still looked to be a heartbeat away from tearing the city apart, but he wrapped his arm around his sister and held on like she was the only thing holding him together.

Gabriel stood still for a second longer before he dragged a hand down his face and turned toward Dallas. “Seren said they went to the hospital so she could get some paperwork from her office, and when she came back out, he was gone.”

Daniel cursed under his breath. “They’re trying to divide us and make us scatter.”

Dallas jacked a brow. “Bain can take care of himself long enough for me to take care of this Porter problem. If you all want to go after him, you can, but I’m going after the sick fuck stepfather of Lily’s first.”

Technically, Daniel was the one that made decisions like this. He was the king and could kill every one of them with a flick of his pinky finger, but the mates trumped any of them. Their bodies could withstand massive pain before they began to even weaken, and at some point, each and every one of them had been captured and tortured. Dallas wasn’t going to budge on this. Bain could take care of himself until they took care of the Porter situation.

“No,” Daniel finally said, his voice leaving no room for argument, “we stick together on this. Someone found a way to get Adrian away from Seren. We’re not taking any more chances for any more games.”

Lily pulled away from Adrian. “You’re not going after Bain?”

Dallas didn’t flinch from her glare, meeting it head on. “Not yet.”

She shook her head at him, tears welling up in her eyes. “You cannot make me more important than him, Dallas.”

“Yeah, he can,” Daniel said, drawing her attention, “and we will. If Bain had a mate, it would be different, Lil, but right now, you take precedence.”

Lily rounded on the others, but it was no use. Dallas knew she’d see the same thing in them as she read in him. They were set, determined, their minds made up. And there was nothing she could say or do that would change their minds.

* * *

FIONA GRABBED HER before Lily could hurt one of the stubborn males in the room. Without a word, she turned and followed Fiona into the bedroom. The healer sat on the edge of the bed and blew out a breath. “Are they always this intense?”

Lily managed a half-hearted snort. “Always is an understatement. They never turn it off.” She sat on the bed next to her new friend and fell backward until she was staring up at the ceiling. “How’s Adrian?”

When Fiona hesitated, Lily’s belly churned. Shifting on the bed, Fiona turned until she was facing her, her beautiful face screwed up in concern and apprehension. “It’s not good, Lil. Whoever had him, wherever he was, whatever happened to him, he can’t distinguish reality from hallucination. The best way I can describe it is your brother’s suffering through a supernatural form of PTSD. I wish I could say he’s barely holding himself together, but he’s not holding at all. In part of his brain, he’s under attack constantly. So when his wall of self control slips, even a little, he can’t differentiate between what’s real and whatever hell they put in his head.” She wrapped her hand around Lily’s when she sat up slowly, her heart so sick she was sure it was going to crumple into dust.

She gripped Fiona’s hand like a lifeline. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying he’s not safe.” Fiona blew out a breath. “Unstable would be one thing, but with his size and power…there’s every chance he could hurt his mate and child. I’m sorry, Lily, but the best option is to lock him up somewhere until he can get proper, deep psychological care.”

Proper psychological care? Lily closed her eyes and let out a harsh laugh. “How do I do that? Healers aren’t equipped to deal with psychological issues.”

Sadness flickered through the healer’s eyes as she shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry, I don’t know.”

Lily drew in an unsteady breath. “What about his mate, Seren? Could being with her help him?”

“No.” The word snapped out with so much force Lily went rigid. “He has no self-control at the moment, and I can’t stress enough how unstable he is. When he loses control, and he will—it’s not a question of if but when—the damage could be catastrophic.”

When her phone beeped, Lily’s heart dropped to her stomach, positive it was Seren and she’d somehow heard her and Fiona’s conversation. Instead, an unknown number flashed on her screen.

Fiona squeezed her hand and stood up. “It’s gotten really quiet out there. I’m going to go make sure everyone’s still breathing, but I’ll be back in a few to answer any more questions, all right?”

Lily nodded absently as she pulled up the text message.

Come out, come out, wherever you are. I’m waiting outside. Come alone, or my pet will see how much ice damage your mate can handle.  Don’t believe me? Check your window.

She was going to be sick. Bile rose up in her throat so quickly, she gagged with it, but even as her heart screamed for her to run for Dallas, she found herself walking to the window, too numb to even cry. Porter didn’t bluff. If he said Dallas was going to die if she didn’t come to him, it meant he already knew what he was up against and how to make Dallas’s death happen.

* * *

DALLAS PUSHED AWAY from the wall he was holding up when Fiona walked back into the room. “How is she?”

“Scared.” Fiona glanced between him and Gabriel, then quickly averted her eyes. “Pissed. What did you do to her?”

Dallas considered telling her it was none of her goddamn business, but she was here because he’d asked her. And if she could help Adrian so Lily didn’t lose him… He shoved a hand through his hair. “I told her Bain would have to wait until we knew she was safe. Now.” He shifted his gaze to the dragons and Hunters still wired for a fight. “I’d like to finish planning how to destroy this fucker once and for—” He whipped his head around toward his bedroom, his hand absently rubbing against his chest. He only waited a beat before he stalked to the room and threw open the door, a savage roar tearing through his chest a second later. “Lily!” The window was wide open, but she was nowhere to be found. Her phone was on the bed, and the blood in his veins iced over when he read the text message. He didn’t stop to waste time thinking or planning. He had his weapons on him, and that was all he needed.

He climbed out the window as the others ran into the room for the second time that day, their weapons clutched in their hands.

“Go,” Daniel snapped, already dialing his phone. “I’ll get a hold of Luca and see what he knows, then be right behind you. Gabriel, get Cage somewhere safe.” Caleb Shaw stepped forward, fury in his eyes. Fuck. How had Dallas forgotten the Hunter was around?

“What do you want us to do?” Caleb asked, cracking his knuckles as he waited. When Dallas snarled, he lifted a brow. “She’s one of ours still and we’re under a truce agreement. Tell me where you want me.”

“On the ground.” Dallas held Caleb’s gaze. “I’ve got Lily’s phone. Call it if you find her before I can.” Dallas didn’t wait to see if he was going to argue. He climbed onto the fire escape and was airborne, Broderick right behind him.

But once they hit the sky, he realized with gut-wrenching terror he had no idea where to go.

To his surprise, something slammed violently into his side, hard enough to knock him off course. He spiraled down for a second before he regained his momentum. He shot back up, ready to kill Broderick, but the blood-red dragon only watched him calmly out of a steady, dark blue eye. When he nosedived to the closest roof, Dallas followed him down, shimmering into his human form the second his feet touched ground. He rushed forward, grabbing Broderick, who didn’t even try to resist, by the throat. “What. The. Fuck!” he roared.

Broderick head-butted him, slamming into him so hard Dallas lost his grip as they both staggered back a step.

“Good,” Broderick snapped, “now that I have your attention, I need you to pull your goddamn head out of your goddamn ass and fucking focus. You’re a dragon, she’s your mate, and she’s a Hunter. You gave her your mark, and she gave you the ability to find her anywhere. Use that goddamn connection to track her.”

Dallas was sure the dragon had finally lost his shit until he remembered the fire and ice attack. Both times, he’d known exactly where she was even without seeing her. He hadn’t thought about it. He’d just done it. He’d known.

Clamping his hands over his head to quiet the rage and terror warring inside of him, he focused on her and his dragon’s need to keep her safe. The dragon sensed her terror first, and when he wanted to rage and burst free and tear the city apart to find her, Dallas forced himself to pull it back. He wouldn’t be able to find her if he lost his shit.

He moved to the ledge, opened his eyes, and the entire city died away as one vehicle dead in the center of downtown caught his attention. It shined like a beacon—it shined and warmed like Lily.

“There.” He pointed without taking his eyes off the car as Broderick stepped up next to him. “That’s where she is. They’re still on the move.”

“Okay, then let’s go get her back.”

* * *

HE HADN’T TOUCHED her yet. He wanted to. She could see it in his dirty brown eyes. He was huge, his large Hunter frame built for war. His dark hair was still ruthlessly short, military-style. And for some reason, the fact that he wore an expensive suit, as if this was any other business day, only made the situation more grotesque to her. Like kidnapping was his just reward after a hard day at the office.

“How are you still alive?” The words burned in her mouth like acid. “Adrian killed you.”

“Favors, my dear. Once that asshole took you from me, I knew it was only a matter of time before he came after me and succeeded in killing me. In return for bringing me back to life, the Necromancer has been having fun playing with your brother’s head. Apparently, your brother was a very bad boy once and took something that belonged to him. Dexter’s been waiting for the chance to have his revenge.”

She sat in the backseat of the stretch limo as calm as she could pretend to be while trapped in a locked vehicle with the monster of her nightmares. Dallas would find her. He would. That thought kept the terror at bay. She wasn’t the victim she’d been.

She didn’t ask why he’d come after her in a limousine. She was afraid he’d answer, and the reasoning behind it wasn’t going to be anything good. Instead, she kept her face turned away from his, staring out the window. He was watching her and he didn’t like to be ignored. He would punish her for it later. “You’re being awfully quiet tonight, my dear.”

She jerked away when he touched her hair. “I am not your dear,” she snapped. “I have a mate, and he will be coming for me.”

He backhanded her, rage flashing in his eyes.

A roar borne of pure savage rage sounded from the front seat and rocked the vehicle.

Oh,” he drawled, “did I forget to mention? I brought insurance.” Reaching forward, he then hit the button that lowered the partition that separated the back of the limo from the front. Lily lurched forward when she realized Bain was in the passenger seat. A large, bloody gash had split the back of his head open, and he struggled violently against whatever Porter had used to secure him. A manic grin stretched across Porter’s face.  “I heard about you and that filthy dragon. Don’t worry. We will take care of that bond between the two of you soon, and he will pay for touching what is mine.”

Dallas could protect himself, but she could save Bain right now. “What are you doing to him?” she screamed. She launched herself at Porter, not caring that she was no match against him. Bain was being hurt because of her, and she couldn’t stand it. “Stop it!”

He grabbed her arms before she could slap him. He dragged her onto his lap and pinned her against his chest easily, an evil smile curving his mouth. He rubbed his nose up her throat, sniffing her, hardening beneath her bottom. His hand grabbed her breast. Nausea welled up inside of her so quickly her stomach heaved. He flung her away from him with enough force her head smacked against the window.

“Let him go,” she snapped, refusing to cower for him. At least where he could see. She’d have a full-blown meltdown after Dallas saved her. “You have me. You don’t need him.”

“On the contrary, my dear. He’s here to make sure you cooperate and be the good little cunt you are. The ice dragon next to him is being kind enough to make sure those chains of his are below freezing.”

“Let him go,” she murmured, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “I won’t try to escape.”

“Oh, my dear, how I wish I could believe that.” He made a tsking sound. The car dipped as if going into an underground garage. “Unfortunately, I know you for the lying whore you are, and as soon as your filthy mate gets here, you’ll try to escape with him.”

Damn straight, she would. But she forced the fear to show in her eyes to placate him and let a tear slip past her defenses. “No. I won’t try to escape.”

The car finally came to a stop, and in an effort to prove she meant what she said, she didn’t try to leap out before he could open her door for her. Instead, she let him grab her in a vicious grip by the upper arm and drag her out of his side of the vehicle.

No, she thought as she stumbled in an effort to keep up with his long-legged stride, she wouldn’t try to escape. He was going to kill Dallas for mating to her. She would escape. Dallas would find her, and no matter what she had to do, she would escape.

Her mate was not going to be hurt because of her.

Chapter 25

THEY LOST HER in an underground garage that stored the vehicles of an entire city block.

Dallas was already back in human form when he hit the ground with an anguished roar, searching desperately for any sign of the light that had led him this far.

“What do we do?” Broderick asked as he and Daniel touched down behind him, protecting his back, their weapons at the ready.

Dallas didn’t know. It would take too long to search every building and the entire six-level parking garage, and every minute they wasted was another minute she was afraid and stuck with that sick fuck.

He was coming out of his skin, and his chest was so tight it hurt to breathe. He couldn’t handle this shit. It was exactly what he’d fought so hard against. He couldn’t explain it, but all the emotion and desperation and rage was about to explode out of him. All it would take was one wrong move on anyone’s part, one perceived threat from a fly, and he would bring the whole of Los Angeles to their knees.

He spoke to Broderick without taking his eyes off the area stretched out in front of them. “How far out is Caleb?”

“Less than two minutes.”

Dallas nodded once. “Daniel, cover the garage entrance. No one gets in or out. Got it? No one.” He glanced up as Luca appeared in a flash of bioluminescent blue. “Luca, do a perimeter sweep of the garage, make sure he’s not hiding her in there. Broderick, you’ve got the back entrance.” He glanced at Broderick, his eyes lethal and steady. “No one leaves this garage until you’re sure they’re not connected with Porter. I’m not playing games or wasting time. Where the fuck is Gabriel?”

“Here.” Gabriel stepped out of the alley next to him. “I took Cage somewhere safe, then went back to get the healer to safety.”

Dallas exhaled in relief. “Okay, this is on you.”

Gabriel’s brow jacked up. He crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you want me to do?”

Dallas glanced back at Daniel. “Change of plans. I need a quake with enough force to knock the power out of the entire block.”

The king snorted. “Child’s play.”

“Good.” He turned his attention back to Gabriel. “Now’s where you come in. As soon as the power shuts off, wait for my signal and turn the sky black. In this neighborhood, we’re only going to have a few minutes before the backup generators kick on. I can find her by her light, but I may have to take to the sky and circle the buildings.”

Daniel nodded. “All right, then let’s do this. I can’t wait to see that fuckhead beg for his life.”

Dallas couldn’t agree more. He gave Daniel the signal, and the king jogged to the middle of the street. He shoved his shirtsleeve up to his elbow and knelt, then slammed his fist into the ground.  The pulse thundered the earth beneath their feet, and the road cracked. It splintered then yawned wide, swallowing vehicles as the roar of the quake echoed through the city. The lights in the surrounding area flickered before going dark, and Gabriel used that to send out a blanket of darkness. The sun vanished, the sky going black above them. Dallas leapt into the air, automatically shimmering into his dragon form as he shot his senses out, desperately searching for any connection to his Lily.

He didn’t find any. By the time he circled the area for the third time, the desperation clawed viciously at his gut. Unable to handle it any longer without risking everyone within a two mile radius, he landed on the roof of one of the buildings and changed back into his human form. Turning in a slow circle, he bellowed her name with a violent, gut-wrenching roar.

* * *

IF PORTER HADN’T been watching her so closely, she would have smiled when the lights went out and the city went dark. She’d heard rumors of Gabriel’s ability to make people see what he wanted them to see, but she’d never experienced it herself. Unfortunately, the knowledge that they were being hunted by a being more powerful than him scared Porter, and a cornered Porter was even more dangerous than one in control. And that was before they heard her name being bellowed from a distance.

Porter threw a lamp at the wall and left the room, bellowing his rage. Lily scrambled off the bed and ran to the window. It was fused closed, but she could see him. He stood on the ledge that wrapped around a building at the edge of the neighborhood, his head thrown back as he continued to yell for her. His distance didn’t stop her from pounding her fists against it as she yelled for her mate, over and over again.  He would hear her. He would. Because he had to.

Her voice was raw, and Dallas hadn’t moved by the time the ice dragon grabbed her around the waist, lifted her off her feet, and dragged her back to the bed. He threw her down, his knee hitting the mattress between her legs to stop her from trying to escape. Leaning down, he stuck his face in hers. He snarled when she head-butted him in the nose. Thank the gods for the Kung-Fu movies Adrian had always made her watch with him.

He wiped at the blood with the back of his hand. “You know,” he drawled in a voice that dripped with ice as his hand slid up her side, “your daddy has promised you to me after he’s had his fill and you’re broken once again.”

Her chin kicked up with a bravado she didn’t feel, unable and unwilling to stop the revulsion that shuddered through her at the thought. “I wouldn’t count on it. And if you are,” she hissed, “you’ve obviously never met my mate. Dallas gets homicidal if anyone touches me but him.”

A pale beast devoid of almost all color except the watery blue of his eyes, the ice dragon Leonard laughed in her face. His frame wasn’t as big as the fire-breathing dragons, and there was a madness lurking in the depths of his eyes. He felt…desperate, and it turned her stomach. He laughed at her again. “I’m not afraid of him.”

“Then you’re even more stupid than you look,” she snapped, pressing her back against the wrought iron headboard. “And you look pretty damn stupid.”

His hand wrapped around her upper thigh and squeezed until she had to close her eyes and clench her teeth to stop the scream.

“Don’t. Touch. Her.” Porter’s voice snarled from the doorway. “I told you. No one gets near her but me until I’m through with her.”

Leonard snarled as he rolled easily to his feet. “She’s a slut, and she was begging for it.”

Porter moved up next to the bed, one hand snaking out and petting down her hair as the other one snatched her right hand up and shackled it to the bed. “Isn’t that interesting,” he murmured to Leonard, ignoring the way she kicked and struggled to get at him. “I always knew her inner whore would find a way out.” He slid his eyes to the dragon. “It looks like her mate has found us. Make sure he finds my surprises.”

“But you said—”

Porter snarled as he grabbed Leonard by his throat and threw him to the ground, then pressed his boot against his throat. “I said that you could have her after I have had my fill. But I guarantee you that will be a very long time from now.” He put more pressure on the throat under his foot. “Now go be a good little dragon and make sure Bain is locked up tight.”

Tears stung Lily’s eyes. Leonard scrambled out of the room and Porter locked the door behind him. He shrugged out of his suit jacket and tossed it on the room’s only chair.  He unbuttoned his shirt as he slowly closed the distance between them again. “Did you miss me, slut?” he murmured, his shirt hanging open when he bent and wrapped his hand around her knee. She jerked back, spitting at him, but he grabbed her knee in a rough grip and yanked her painfully toward him. “Don’t worry. This is going to be so much fun for me.” He sneered as he slipped his hand into her shirt. “You may not enjoy it, but I sure as hell will.”

Bile rose in her throat as everything she’d ever shoved down, all the power she’d had since birth and struggled to ignore, washed over her. Terror that stabbed her chest combined with the ugly, dirty, vicious lust oozing out of Porter. She clamped her hands over her head to keep it all out, but the feelings continued to hammer her.

She fought. She didn’t know where the bravery came from, but she couldn’t let Dallas find her broken. He’d never forgive himself, and nothing between them would ever be the same again, and that scared her into fighting.  Making a fist like Dallas had taught her, she didn’t stop to think about what she was doing or what her punishment would be later. She took a deep breath and punched her fist into his throat with all the strength she could muster.

* * *

HE’D FOUND HER. The entire building was surrounded by Hunters, but Dallas didn’t care. He’d found her.

They stood on the sidewalk in front of the sick fuck’s building, the size of them stretching from nearly one end of the building to the other. Hating to miss a fight and the opportunity to watch the man who’d hurt Lily die, Micah had joined them. That upped their numbers to six pissed off dragons and two royally pissed off Hunters as the Shaw brothers had tagged along, pissed that Hunters were responsible for holding one of their own hostage.

But the numbers didn’t mean shit until he had Lily back in his apartment, safe, where she belonged. Until then, no one was immune from his temper.

Daniel pulled his gaze from the building to look at Dallas, then the others. “Don’t get dead.” When they all snorted in unison, a hint of a smile tugged at the king’s mouth.  He turned to face them. “Luca, Micah, I’m thinking Damascus, early fifteenth century. Can you handle that?”

Luca whipped his head around. “You mean—”

Daniel only nodded, cutting him off. “Yeah. Give me ten, and if you don’t hear from me, tear the mother fucking roof off.”

“You got it.” While Luca and Micah shot skyward, Daniel turned to Broderick. “You and Caleb take out the Hunters scattered around the building, inside and out.”

Gabriel watched them take off for the shadows before he turned his attention to Daniel. “What do you want me to do?”

Dallas shook his head as he locked eyes with the oldest of them all. “Cover us. Rafe, grab your brother and find Bain.”

Rafe rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. “Understood.”

Dallas started for the front entrance. The building’s generator made a low humming noise and clicked on as they walked in. The security guard had been replaced by a Hunter who leapt over the desk, lunging for Dallas.

Dallas preferred to fight hand-to-hand, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was running out of time, so instead of simply ripping his heart out like he would normally do, he shifted his stance and shot his short sword up, catching him in the hollow of his throat. He sliced upward, cleaving his head in two without ever breaking stride. Five more were waiting near the entrance to the elevator, and Dallas dispatched them as easily.

Daniel and Gabriel flanked him as they rode the lift up to the penthouse apartment, all of their instincts ratcheting violently with every floor they hit. Lily was Porter’s greatest treasure, and it had been way too easy to get inside the building. Daniel rolled his shoulders as they neared the ninetieth floor. “I don’t like this. We should have taken the stairs.”

Dallas was about to agree when the elevator came to an abrupt stop, and the lights flickered out. The foundation shook, the effects of two immortal races battling for their lives inside the building.

“What the hell,” Daniel breathed under his breath. “What the fuck is he setting us up for?”

“I don’t know,” Dallas murmured, “but it doesn’t matter. He can throw the entire human race at us when we walk in those doors, but the only thing that matters is getting Lily back.”

Chapter 26

DALLAS REALIZED PORTER’S game the second Lily’s scream of terror echoed through the building. He wanted Dallas trapped, helpless to do anything but listen as he made Lily pay for escaping him.

“We’re on the top floor of a ninety-two story apartment building,” Gabriel murmured quietly. “Give Luca and Micah time before you set this place aflame.”

He wanted to tell the giant to fuck off. Lily screamed again, and all remnants of Dallas’s sanity fled, leaving him the mindless dragon his father had always warned him about.

Shooting his fist out, he punched through the steel door of the elevator, tearing a hole through it big enough to fit his size. The lift was caught between floors, but once Dallas was clear of the elevator, he shot upward, still in human form. He made quick work of annihilating the external doors, then decimating the solid cherry wood doors.  It was only two thousand years of instincts that had him hitting the ground as a bolt of ice flew at his chest.

It slammed into the wall behind him, sending shards radiating outward from the hole along the wall and floor.

Dallas rolled to his feet as the other dragon charged him, only to duck at the last second. He just knocked the bastard off balance and sent him flying through the doors as Lily screamed again from the bedroom.

He couldn’t get to her. There were ten Hunters and an ice dragon between him and his mate. Gabriel let out a roar and charged forward, his knives flashing when he chopped off the heads of the two closest to them. The foundation trembled again and Dallas would have smiled if terror wasn’t eating a hole in his belly. But judging by the quakes rattling the building, Micah and the others were having fun.

He ducked the ice dragon, then spun on his heel, using his momentum to roundhouse the pale bastard in the back of the head.

A body slammed into him from behind and had him eating dirt. Two thousand years of training had him running on sheer instinct. He reached behind him and grabbed a head, then flipped them over, pinning the Hunter beneath him. Dallas jammed his knife in the bastard’s throat and grinned as blood fountained out of the wound. With a ripping sound echoing through the apartment and the building shaking, Dallas was swiping the blood off his face as the roof flew off and Luca and Micah dropped in, weapons swinging.

Impatience was eating at Dallas’s gut as the last body hit the ground, headless. Almost immediately, more flooded from the other end of the apartment.

“Go,” Daniel commanded, grinning as he widened his stance. He jerked his chin at the Hunters. “We’ve got this.”

Dallas didn’t waste time arguing. He ran toward where he’d heard Lily’s scream come from, and when he found the door, he didn’t bother opening it. Without pausing in his determined stride, he sent out a bolt of flame with a flick of his wrist, hot enough to disintegrate the wood within seconds.

The psychotic asshole had set the scene perfectly. Lily was curled up and chained against the headboard, her shirt ripped open, struggling for all she was worth, while Porter stood next to her in only his pants, grinning at him. When Dallas saw that bastard’s hand on her thigh and the terror in her eyes, he broke. He had started across the room, his knife in his hand and murder in his belly, when he felt the presence of two more Hunters. He swung around at the last second, but Broderick and Gabriel were there.

That left the Porter for him. Lily pulled both her legs back and slammed her feet into her stepfather’s crotch. When Porter crumpled, Dallas leapt and landed on top of him, plunging  his knife into the bastard’s heart.

Lily’s sob tore through his rage. “Dallas, please, get me out of here.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He slammed the knife into Porter’s heart again, nailing him to the ground while the bastard gurgled blood. Then he was across the room and crouched next to the bed in a heartbeat, gently cupping her face to make her look at him. “I’m going to have to use fire to melt it off, all right?” When she nodded, courage shadowing the fear, the rage tightening his chest threatened to suffocate him. “It’s going to be okay, but I need you to hold still so I don’t hurt you, all right?”

She kept her eyes glued to his face. “Get it off me, Dallas, hurry, please. We have to get out of here.”

Concentrating his energy on the tip of his index finger, he placed it against the thickest part of the shackle, keeping his focus on the metal and what he was doing so he didn’t accidentally burn her. He didn’t think dragon magic could hurt a mate, but he didn’t have enough sanity left at the moment to test that theory.

The second it was enough, he grabbed the metal and wrenched it off her. She was in his arms and wrapped around him in the next heartbeat, and Dallas had never been so close to an internal nuclear meltdown and pure thankfulness in all of his life.

He couldn’t get her close enough to him, which seemed to be fine with her, because his mate kept trying to crawl into his skin with him. He kept her locked to his chest as he buried his face in her hair, hoping like hell if he breathed her in long enough the trembling that went all the way to his soul would eventually subside. He finally made himself pull back, aware that the sick fuck bastard wasn’t dead yet. As gently as he could, Dallas set her away from him and stood long enough to pull his shirt off. “Put this on and get your shoes,” he murmured, unable to stop himself from reaching out and brushing a lock of hair out of her face.

She did as he asked, keeping one eye on the body as she crawled over the bed rather than walk by where he was staked to the ground.  “Dallas, we have to get Bain. He’s in the basement.”

He dragged a hand down his face, not at all comfortable with her being out of arm’s reach of him, even long enough to grab her shoes. “The Shaw brothers are looking. Right now, I want to get you out of here.”

* * *

SHE DIDN’T WANT to argue with him. She really didn’t, but it was like something inside of her had snapped, or opened, and she could feel the emotions of everyone in the building. Bain was as afraid as Lily had been before Dallas had gotten there. But as clearly as she felt him, Dallas’s terror was a live entity in her chest, along with his desperate need to get her safe and checked out. Gods, he loved her. It was as real as her own heart slamming against her chest.

Deciding that Dallas’s sanity was more important than pushing the issue when the other dragons and Hunters had to be close, she crawled back across the bed. She was about to tell him she agreed with him Porter’s hand clenched into a fist.

She launched herself at Dallas as Porter pulled out the knife that was impaling his chest and threw it at her mate. Dallas caught her and spun her behind him, but it was too late.

“Lily, goddamn it, no!”

She stared at him as his anguished roar shook the building. White-hot pain radiated along her spine and through her insides before her legs gave out and her body went numb. He caught her and bellowed for Gabriel. The last thing she saw as her world faded black was Porter’s head being torn off his body.

* * *

DALLAS COULDN’T BREATHE. All the oxygen had suddenly left the earth, leaving him desperate and gasping. Or maybe whatever god was in charge of such things decided he didn’t deserve to breathe anymore and had simply cut off his ability.

He wished they’d cut off his ability to feel instead. He hurt. For two thousand years, he’d managed not to feel anything, to control his emotions so effortlessly it hadn’t even required thought. He’d been cold, methodical, ruthless. He was the Ryuu Destroyer. And now he hurt so bad it was killing him.

He leaned forward in the chair, his arms braced against his legs and his hand wrapped around Lily’s as he and Seren fought to save her life.

She was dying on him. He couldn’t close his eyes to blink without seeing her maddening leap for him playing in his mind’s eye again, over and over, on some kind of fucked up loop that he couldn’t shut off.

He was a two thousand year old dragon, a warrior with instincts like nothing else out there, and yet she’d somehow realized what her stepfather was going to do before he had.

Vaguely aware of one of the males coming in and standing in the doorway, Dallas didn’t even bother to turn his head. Seren wouldn’t have sent Gabriel if Lily was dying. Even in his fucked up state, Dallas knew that. No, Gabriel wouldn’t be sitting next to him. He’d have him locked up somewhere so he couldn’t hurt himself or anyone else in his grief.

Which meant there was something the older male needed to talk to him about instead.

Gabriel cleared his throat quietly and glanced at Seren. “How is she?”

Seren looked as exhausted as Dallas, but she hadn’t let up once. She used the energy Dallas was giving Lily to keep her body fighting while she repaired the damage, but the damage had been bad. The knife had severed her spinal cord and punctured a vital organ. Dallas didn’t remember which one because it didn’t matter. It was all the same with the same result. His Lily was hurt.

Gabriel pulled him into the hallway, out of Seren’s hearing range. He waited while Dallas leaned against the wall opposite the room where he was still able to see his mate. “Cage is missing again,” he finally said. “I don’t know how, but he’s disappeared.” When Dallas didn’t react, Gabriel studied him for a long moment, his gaze flicking toward the room before he finally shook his head. “Fiona had him on lockdown at a supernatural treatment facility. He blacked out, and when he came to he was roaring about a necromancer. He tried to kill the healers around him. He shouldn’t have been able to get past her, let alone undo the spells she and I both put on him.”

Dallas walked back into the room, turning his attention back to Lily where it belonged. He had given Lily every ounce of energy until he’d swayed on his feet and almost face-planted from the drain on his body. Seren had tried to kick him out a while ago to grab a sandwich and some juice and to get his head straight, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get himself to leave her like this.

They’d found Bain being tortured in the basement where Lily had said he’d be. When they’d told Seren, she thought maybe Lily being so close to her stepfather again and her concern for herself and the others had triggered the empathic abilities she’d been born with as a Hunter.

“She’s going to be okay.”

Dallas’s head snapped up at Seren’s voice, half afraid he was delusional in his fear and exhaustion and only hearing things. “What?”

“Look.” Climbing off the bed where she’d been kneeling next to Lily while she’d worked, she gently pulled the sheet down so Dallas could see her back. “Not even a scar.”

Hope slammed against his chest so violently, he snarled. “Then why isn’t she awake?”

Seren moved around the edge of the bed, stood behind his chair, and looped her arms around his neck, resting her head against his. “She’s exhausted. I put her under a sleep spell so her body can rest. She probably won’t wake up until morning, but she’ll be good as new.”

In a move that was completely foreign to him with anyone but Lily, he reached up and caught Seren’s hands before she could pull back. “Mean it, Seren,” he murmured hoarsely as he turned his head to look up at her, unashamed of the tears spilling down his cheek. “I cannot lose her. Not her.”

“Hey.” She cupped his face and leaned down to kiss his cheek. “I promise, Dallas. Now get some rest while she does so you can be awake enough to yell at her in the morning for scaring you. I’ll keep everyone out.” She straightened and held out her hand. “Give me your cell phone.” When he cocked a brow at her, she smiled and snagged it out of his hand. “You don’t need any distractions. I’ll fill Daniel in and let him run interference with everyone. Broderick and Luca are outside. No one will get past them. They’ll make sure of it. You concentrate on Lily and resting.”

He nodded, too exhausted to argue with her. “You’re bossy in your old age, woman.”

She winked, though he noticed the humor didn’t fully reach her eyes. “I’m Dragan, and she’s my sister. You have no idea.”

“Can I move her?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

Dallas didn’t say anything else, and not caring if the healer was still in the room or not, he unbuttoned his jeans and yanked them off before he moved to the oversize cot and gently lifted his mate. He took her spot on the bed and curled her up against him, keeping his touch as soft and gentle as possible. He knew she was healed, but he couldn’t shake the image of her being breakable yet, and he needed—would always need—to be extra careful with her.

The second her naked skin stretched out against his, she let out a soft sound of pleasure in her sleep. Her tight, perfect body stretched out alongside his, her small hand coming up to press against his heart that was trying to hammer out of his chest. He knew she was alive. That she wasn’t going to die on him if he fell asleep, but he couldn’t make himself close his eyes. Instead, he spent all the hours of the night staring at her, his fingers touching every inch of her, exploring and soothing and reassuring himself that she really was still there with him. It had been too damn close. She’d almost died on him, and he was going to have to figure out a way to make sure it never happened again.

And as dawn finally started to break, the perfect plan started to form, and he fell asleep with visions of an inescapable, impenetrable, fortified fortress filling his mind.

Chapter 27

LILY COULDN’T BREATHE. Something heavy enough to almost, but not quite, crush her lay across her chest, pinning her to the strange bed. The familiar feel and scent of her mate kept her from panicking, and more asleep than awake, her body turned into his, craving the feel of his skin against hers.

She breathed him in as she floated toward wakefulness, loving the feeling of contentment that flooded through her when his arm tightened around her, hauling her ever closer to him.

A soft sigh of pure, contented pleasure purred in her throat when she tilted her head back to skim her lips over his stubbled jaw. She loved the taste of him. She loved the feel of him. She loved his skin and his heart and the stubbornness that went deeper than his soul and was rooted in the very heart of what he was. He’d been as broken as she when they’d met, and just as alone. Then, when she couldn’t fight anymore against his need to keep his distance, he’d given her the words. Even in the deepest corners of her heart, she hadn’t dared to wish for that.

Ignoring the crick in her neck from sleeping in an unfamiliar bed, she lifted herself up enough to brush her lips over his. “I love you, Dallas,” she murmured. “I love you so damn much.”

He opened one eye and gave her a sleepy grin. “Of course you do,” he drawled. Half-asleep, he pulled her closer and slowly devoured her mouth. “And I’m going to let you seduce me, though I haven’t forgiven you yet.”

That brought her up short. She paused, her hand about to slip past the band of his boxer briefs, when the night came tumbling back in full-on HD. Since the last thing she remembered was “feeling” Porter’s intent a second before she’d leapt like a wild woman at Dallas, it didn’t take a genius to realize what had happened between then and her waking up in a healing room.

Oh crap. She chewed on her bottom lip as she peeked up at him. “How bad was it?”

He bared his teeth at her, and she immediately winced. “I’m not dead, though. That’s good, right?”

His face went scary pissed a second before he sat up and set her on the bed away from him. “We are not talking about this.” He grabbed a shirt Seren must have brought in sometime during the night and tossed it at her.

Confused, and a little worried about his reaction, she caught the shirt and frowned at him. “Why aren’t we talking about this?”

“Because…” he started with a snarl. He spun on his heel to point at her, his face a mask of fury and fear. “I am nowhere near in control of my emotions at the moment, and you are still recovering. A full on war between us right now is not going to solve anything, and I am not going to bring Seren’s house down around us by bellowing at you.”

Without bothering to put on the shirt, she slipped off the bed and walked over to him. She wrapped her arms tight around his torso and pressed her face against his chest. “I love you, Dallas.”

He hooked his arms around her neck and dragged her closer. He buried his face in her hair. “Yeah, Lil,” he murmured, “I got that.”

She tried to hold back the tears, and when she failed, she tilted her head back to look up at him. “You’re angry with me.”

To her surprise, he shook his head. “No. Actually, I’m not. I should be, damn it, but I’m starting to get anger isn’t going to change anything.”

Because she wasn’t sure that was much better, she pulled back, cold suddenly. She pulled on the shirt. “I don’t want to fight with you, Dallas.”

“We’re not fighting. But I am going to find a tower to lock you in for the rest of our lives.” He lifted a brow when her knees wobbled, then snorted and crouched in front of her, gently reaching out to brush the sleep-tousled hair out of her face. “I’m kidding, woman.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You promise you’re only teasing? You tend to be a little…over-protective.”

His brow jacked up as he gave her a direct look, deliberately ignoring her understatement. “Do you really think I’m going to lock you in any place I can’t get to?”

Lily thought about it. “No, probably not.” She moved in closer to him, searching his eyes. “That doesn’t explain why you’re not yelling at me. The last time I almost got hurt trying to save you, you yelled at me so much I was afraid your head was going to explode.”

He gave her a look that said she’d answered her own question, even as the muscle under his eye began to tick. He rested his head against hers. “Fat lot of good all that yelling did, huh? Second you thought I was in danger, you did it again. I’m not naïve or dense enough to think that there is anything I can say to you that will stop you from trying to save my life.”

She shook her head slowly. “Probably not.”

* * *

“RIGHT.” IN THE last twenty four hours, he’d lost her to Porter and watched her nearly die on him, but as he’d lain awake all night, unable to do anything but hold her and thank whatever gods were out there for saving her life, it had occurred to him that whatever hell he’d gone through in the last day, it was nothing compared to hers. She’d gone back to her nightmare to save his life, had refused to let her stepfather break her, had refused to stop believing that Dallas would find her in time, and had taken a knife to the back and nearly died to save his life.

That was when he’d decided. He may be a warrior by birth, but his mate was a warrior by heart, and that made her so much better than him. He’d done everything wrong with her from the very beginning, but she was still here, and against all odds and reasoning and common sense, loved him the way he loved her. She’d been saving his life since the moment she’d kissed him to keep his friends from tearing him apart at Daniel’s wedding, and she’d never stopped. And if it took the rest of their damn lives and all the way into the far reaches of forever, he was going to find a way to show her he loved her, too.

“So rather than be a bastard about something I’m not going to be able to change, I’ve decided the best thing for me to do is make sure I’m worth you saving.”

“You are,” she murmured, her eyes troubled as she moved in closer and searched his face. “Don’t you see how amazing you are?”

He caught her face in his hands and forced her to meet his gaze. “You walked back into your personal hell to save my life, Lily. You faced the monster of your childhood, and you nearly died. I am not the amazing one in this relationship.”

Lily didn’t say anything for a long time as her eyes searched his. She scowled and went up on her toes, gently resting the back of her hand against his brow.

“What are you doing?” he asked, confused.

“You don’t have a fever.” She ignored his question as she stepped back. “But we need to have Seren look at you anyway, just in case. I wouldn’t put it past Porter to have given you some kind of magical illness.”

“I’m fine.”

She shot him a look that said he was deranged if he believed that. “I almost died because I jumped between you and danger, and not only are you not yelling at me about it, you’re talking like you have no idea why I could possibly love you when you have single-handedly given me a life that I can not only live without fear, but you’ve given me the safety and security to be myself. So, yes.” she snapped as she pulled her hair out of the back of her shirt and walked forward. She grabbed his hand and pulled him along on her way to the door “We’re going to have Seren look at you.”

“Ryuu,” he cursed. “I don’t need Seren to look at me. I need you to understand that I love you, and that I’m always going to love you. And I need you to stop looking at me like I’m fucking insane when I say that.”

She stopped walking so fast he had to hook his arm around her waist and lift her off her feet before he plowed into her and sent her flying to the ground. Without missing a beat, she managed to turn in his arms and look up at him, her small hands cupping his face. “I do think you’re insane when you say that, Dallas, because I know with everything inside of me that you love me as much as I love you. It’s so much I feel insane trying to contain it.” When he opened his mouth to argue, she grabbed one of his hands and pressed it to her heart. “I feel it here. The same way I felt Bain—” She went stark white. “Dallas, Bain, did you—”

“He’s safe.” He brushed the hair out of her face, and since he already had her in his arms, he carried her down to the kitchen. “Worried about you and recovering, but he’s safe.”

She hooked her arms around his neck and snuggled into his chest. “How did I know what Porter was going to do before he did it?”

He leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose, then gently set her down on the counter. He was always going to be gentle with her, always take exquisite care so she didn’t change her mind about loving him. He braced his hands on either side of her. “Seren thinks being back there with him and being afraid for my safety triggered something inside of you that you were born with and had mostly shut off sometime during your childhood to keep yourself from breaking. I think that ability is what connected you to Adrian, and to me.”

Her brow furrowed as she shook her head slowly. “You’re saying I was born with the ability to feel other people?”

“Yes. And if you were able to feel their emotions and their thoughts as a child suffering what you did, I can see why your subconscious shut it down.”

* * *

LILY WASN’T SURE how she felt about being able to feel other peoples’ thoughts and emotions except for Dallas’s, but she fully planned on using her newfound ability to her advantage.

She reached out and splayed her hands on his yummy, massive chest and then slid them up to grip his shoulders. “So,” she said slowly, batting her eye lashes at him, “what you are saying is that my mate is so amazing and has made me so safe that for the first time in my life, I am able to be what I was always too afraid to be?”

He scowled at her. “I didn’t do anything. This was all on you.”

She snorted at him, then raised a brow and gave him a look. “You’re forgetting, dear Dallas, that I have this nifty new ability to sense other people’s emotions, and what that means is I can feel how much you love me. And not only can I feel how much you love me, I can feel how much you worry about me and want me safe and happy and want me to know how much you love and need me.” She tilted her head back and grinned as she watched him wrap his brain around what she was saying. She was so full of joy she was going to burst with it. “So.” She fisted her hands into his soft, shoulder-length hair, using it to pull his face down to where she wanted it. “I love you, Dallas. As much as you love me.”

He sighed, lowering his head to take her mouth in a hungry kiss. “You are going to be a stubborn pain in the ass for the rest of our lives, woman, aren’t you?”

She beamed at him as she scooted toward the edge of the counter. She wrapped her legs around his waist, leaning up to trail her tongue over his shoulder. “Most definitely.”

He groaned, his eyes closing and his hands nearly bruising her hips when she bit at his nipple. “Goddamn it, I need you.” He turned his head, bellowing, “Seren!”

Almost instantly, the healer’s amused voice came from the other side of the house. “Go for it—but not in my kitchen!”

Dallas grinned at his mate when he knew it was safe to have her. He scooped her up and into his arms, his mouth devouring hers.

And his last thought as he got them into the healing room and kicked the door shut behind them was that his father had been wrong. He’d been the Destroyer before he’d met her, living a life built solely on revenge, but it was his tiny, amazing mate that had given him a heart. He’d been strong, but he’d been broken and empty and alone.

But not anymore. As he laid her down on the bed and slowly dragged her shirt off, he knew that in a million years when time finally broke, he and Lily were going to be together and happy. He loved her that much.

* * *

Want to read more by this author? Try THE DRAGON’S HEART (Dragon Lore Series Book 1)

http://amzn.to/1Stpgvo

http://www.edenashe.com

* * *

About Eden Ashe

Convinced dragons have gotten a bad rep throughout time, and more than a little addicted to fairy tales and romance novels, Eden Ashe has decided to re-write history. In her version, the dragons are ancient warriors in tarnished armor, who not only deserve the girl in the end, but will fight forever for her.

Read More by this Author:

http://amzn.to/23bQVoh

http://www.edenashe.com

Sign up for more bargain boxed sets at:

www.hotboxedbooks.com

JUMP TO...

A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE by NOREE COSPER

END OF DREAMS by KIM FAULKS

HAUNT by HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY

DARK CROSSINGS by ANN SIMKO

HEADSPACE by CALINDA B

THE OTHER F WORD by SUSAN STEC

UNLEASHED by RACHEL MCCLELLAN

HIDDEN INTENTIONS by STACY CLAFLIN

THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL by AIMEE EASTERLING

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS by KYOKO M

ST. CHARLES AT DUSK by SARAH M. CRADIT

WICKED BY NATURE by MADISON SEVIER

UNDERLIFE by MARISSA FARRAR

DRAGON’S REDEMPTION by EDEN ASHE

MILAN’S RETURN by GRAE LILY

THE BREAKERS CODE by CONNER KRESSLEY

THE MEDIUM by MR GRAHAM

WICCAN WARS by HEATHER MARIE ADKINS

CARPE NOCTEM by KATIE SALIDAS

A QUESTION OF FAITH by NICOLE ZOLTACK

MILAN’S RETURN

BY GRAE LILY

Copyright © 2014 by Grae Lily

Leaving was supposed to erase the pain, but for Milan, the pain dwells within his soul. He must feel it in order to breathe and learn to live again.

After receiving news that the home his family has lived in for generations will be destroyed, Milan is forced to face the past and return to the very place that haunts him.

Angered by all that took place in the small Tennessee town, Milan is desperate to do what he has to do to finally be rid of his old life for good, but that desperation leads to even more despair. No one in town has forgotten what took place at the manor and no one, including the local sheriff will let Milan forget it either.

Johanna is anxious to begin a new life free from her own share of pain and suffering. A job hunt leads her to Milan's doorstep. That fateful encounter will change their lives, but first they'll both have to work through the obstacles that both the town and their shattered hearts place in front of them.

Can two lost souls, desperate for a fresh start, navigate a treacherous journey and move beyond the mystery that surrounds Milan's past and the manor to finally have something to live for again?

MILAN’S RETURN

By Grae Lily

Copyright © 2014 by Grae Lily

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact the publisher directly here: http://novelistgraelily.wix.com/graelily

Cover design & Image Credits to Danger Zone &

http://www.dollarphotoclub.com

Chapter 1

FIVE YEARS HAD done nothing to erase the memories of the life he hoped to never return to again. Surrounded by the detritus of years gone by, he could do nothing but wish it all away, but not all wishes come true, especially for someone like Milan Merced.

It was winter the last time he'd made a wish and, yet, he still found himself back in this dreadful, small town, standing in front of the structure he'd hoped would have fallen like the leaves at the turn of a season.

Looming just beyond the rusty, iron fence, it stood, staring back at him, probably thinking of him what he thought of it. Why are you still here? Why haven't you been destroyed yet?

He couldn't bring himself to move beyond the swaying gate. Not yet. Probably not ever, if he had his way, but just like it had happened countless times before in his forty-years of life, he had no say in the matter.

A shutter swayed in the warm, acrid, afternoon air. It too begged to be forgotten. Years ago, when Milan had been just a small boy, full of hope and dreams, he would spend hour after hour staring up at the old structure, anticipating the day it would finally be his.

Everything about it, from its expansive front porch, welcoming strangers near and far, to the tall, white columns, standing erect and bearing the brunt of any storm that came its way to the double doors that opened for anyone and everyone that needed a warm bed for the night or a good home cooked meal in their bellies, spoke of a life that was no more and probably never would be again.

Merced Manor was a force to be reckoned with and a sight to be held in the days of old. Now, long since abandoned and brimming with heartache and sorrow, it stood, begging for redemption or relief, neither of which Milan felt confident he could provide. Had it not been for the insistence of county planners and persistent real estate investors, he wouldn't have returned.

This place was no longer his home. It never truly was his home. In order to be rid of it, he would have to muster up the courage to face the past and somehow let it go for good, but he knew that wouldn't be easy. Years of nightmares and regret foreshadowed what was to come. He denied it long enough. When he received the urgent letter, telling him that the home generations of his family were born and bred in, would be destroyed, familial bonds and deep-running loyalties forced him to buy the plane ticket and travel from Los Angeles to the nearest airport in Nashville and revisit the past.

He had no intention of staying beyond what was absolutely required to get the job done. He had to be rid of this home once and for all. Milan assured his employees that he would return in exactly six weeks or they were to send a search party for him, then, have him committed.

It never occurred to them that his sad attempt at revealing his innermost fears was anything more than a joke, meant to lighten the levity of the moment and reassure them that he would return in time for the largest acquisition his firm had ever handled.

Ironic that he built his reputation on being one of the foremost authorities on real estate acquisitions, but yet he allowed this particular property - the one he inherited the day he married Paulina - to fester and become an eyesore to the community that helped him get to where he was.

Milan's hands trembled slightly as he reached for his suitcase and pushed the iron gate open far enough for him to finally step foot on the property. His approach was slow as he gathered his resolve and tried to make peace with the task at hand. It didn't help that the remnants of what he could only imagine were violent storms, scattered a mountain of debris all over what used to be lush gardens.

His grandmother would be disappointed that anyone would have allowed the property that once served as a community showpiece to have fallen apart as it had. A part of him wished he'd just sold the property immediately after he lost the only person he'd ever loved, but another part, the part that truly controlled his sensibilities, fought every inkling to give up and walk away from something one of his ancestors built with his own two hands.

That would be a slap in the face to the hard work and dedication it took to bring the Merced family from Spain and build an empire the likes of which Tennessee had not seen before. The corporation that began in this very home, fed families near and far. Up until a decade earlier, this town, River's Bend, had experienced a boom as the Merced Manufacturing Plant thrived, but as many of its predecessors had, they had to cut the workforce and save costs. That wasn't an easy decision for Milan's family. They pooled their resources and tried to keep the business in River's Bend, but the burden was too heavy and the costs too much for them to bear without dipping into their family's way of life, so they did the inevitable and moved the company out of the country.

Milan's approach was slow and methodical. He recalled every brick, every stone. Each held a memory in his heart. He spent his life on this property and experienced his share of tragedy and triumph, but none like the final tragedy that changed everything in his life.

Looking at the house, he knew the house remembered. How could it not? It had seen every aspect of life and bore the brunt of folly and disaster. Every tear that was shed, had been shed here. Every skinned knee, happened on the grounds. Every death, touched this home.

The hot winds blew again. He'd swear their speed increased with each step he took. He wondered if he'd ever noticed that before or was this the first time that the winds seemed to barrel right through the property with a force so strong, he could barely remain upright.

Standing only yards from the front porch, Milan hesitated. He didn't know why he couldn't bring himself to continue on, but understood that the next steps - the ones that took him inside - would be the ones he would never be able to take back again, no matter how hard he tried.

Keep going, he willed himself.

His feet would not move.

The quickening of his heart wasn't unfamiliar to him, but it wasn't welcome either.

"I'm here," Milan said out loud, partially expecting the home to sprout limbs and comfort him. "Let's just get through this and be done."

The wind blew again. This time, hitting him with even more powerful gusts.

He understood exactly what Mother Nature was trying to tell him.

Behind him, he hadn't heard the whispers of onlookers as they watched him make his ascent. The small community of farmers and busy bodies had already heard that the Merced boy was back in town. They all waited with bated breath to hear every last detail of his life now.

Although many years had passed since the last time they'd seen him, no one had forgotten what their last memory of him was. No one needed to have their memories refreshed. This was not something that anyone with a sound mind could simply forget. The rumors were still spoken from time to time. Everyone still harbored an opinion or theory of the events that took place there, but no one ever dared utter a word to Milan about their ideas.

He knew there was talk. They may have attempted to cover up their gossip with niceties and friendly waves as they passed by, but he knew better. He didn't have to be told that the tragic event that forever changed his life had become a sort of legend in this sleepy town.

Milan turned on his heels, sensing that others were watching. Across the road, at the Johnson's, a small gathering of supposed old friends stood on the front porch, their eyes peeled on him, waiting to see if he would stumble and confess, or behave as if he'd done nothing wrong. His behavior would dictate what they chose to believe now.

He didn't give them the satisfaction of knowing how uncomfortable their gawking made him feel. Instead, he offered a friendly smile and a wave, seemingly happy to see them again.

"Well, hello, neighbors! How is everyone?" A part of him died on the inside as he spoke to them. They were no friends of his.

Nervously, the group giggled and attempted to look nonchalant, but it was too late, he'd caught them staring at him.

A couple of women waved back. The others turned and pretended to be engrossed in a meaningful conversation. Milan noted the time on his grandfather's old pocket watch and calculated how long it would take before everyone in all of Brimmer County knew of his return. By all accounts, he knew he had less than fifteen minutes before more gawkers would arrive at a makeshift barbecue across the street, anxious to get in on the latest gossip.

Just to add a bit of fuel to the fire, Milan abandoned his suitcase and made a beeline for the Johnson's porch. He wanted to look them right in the eyes and make sure that they understood that he knew what they were doing and he didn't appreciate it. Having grown up in a family that practically wrote the book on proper behavior and decorum, Milan had to quell his urge to lash out at the local gossip mongers and use an approach that would appeal to them.

"Well, aren't you ladies just as lovely as ever!" He held out his hand to shake each of theirs.

Old Mrs. Johnson spoke first, always appointing herself an official spokesperson for any group she was in. "Well, look at you, Milan. It is so nice to see you. We sure have missed you around here. Come here and give me a hug, will you?" She held out her flabby arms and squeezed him like she meant it and, if Milan didn't know any better, he'd think she did.

"How have you been, Milan? Are you doing okay?" Mrs. Johnson didn't do a very good job of avoiding the subject that was on each of their minds. She wanted to know just as much as everyone else how Milan had been holding up since the tragedy.

He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing that his life had all but fallen apart. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils and feigned a smile, saying, "I'm good. Thank you. I'm so glad to be back."

One of the other women, Mrs. Gayle, could barely contain herself. She had to ask a follow up question. "How long are you here for, son?"

Milan raked his hand through his hair, answering, "Looks like I might be here a while. We'll have to catch up later. I should go inside and get changed."

He said his goodbyes, then, left the nosy bunch in a state of shock. He hadn't given them any real information, but he was sure that they would quickly find a way to spin what he had said and make it sound much more sinister than anything he could have imagined on his own.

Knowing full-well that they were watching to see if and when he stepped foot in the house, he made a show of walking in as if he didn't have a care in the world, but was soon frightened by a critter scurrying over his feet just as he was about to close the door. He was so startled, he ran back out to the porch, his heart racing a mile a minute. He pretended that all was well and that nothing was out of the ordinary, but the truth of the matter was, absolutely everything about this chapter of his life was out of the ordinary.

Throwing his blazer off and rolling up his sleeves, Milan tried to make the most of his time while he worked up the nerve to go back inside. The yard and every square inch of the property was in desperate need for attention. For that, he could be thankful. It would give him an excuse not to linger in all the memories he wasn't yet ready to face. He could work with his hands and take out his frustrations by doing manual labor. That was better than the alternative. That would wear his body out enough to force him to fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He hadn't yet decided where he would sleep. That decision would have to come later, but at least he thought he knew how he would fall asleep.

Walking along the side of the house to assess the amount of work to be done, Milan couldn't help but glance up at the window, he and Paulina had spent many a night staring out at the stars from. That room had been a safe place at one time. That room had been the one room, he couldn't wait to get to at the end of a long work day, but now, it has left him feeling empty and numb inside. Just the sight of the window, with its peeling paint on the sill and a hint of the tattered silk curtain that Paulina had hand sewn to match the bedding on their king size bed, shown through the window. The sight was nearly unbearable. Milan could feel his knees buckle as he tried to wish the memories away. There was no doubt in his mind that the next few weeks would wreak havoc on his heart and soul.

Just when he thought he couldn't bear to move another muscle, a cat raced in front of him, startling him into oblivion. It took him several minutes to regain his composure and focus in the direction that the cat ran. He had clearly disturbed the cat's residence and figured that the cat would stake its claim soon. Yet, another unwelcome surprise, he had to look forward to.

"Great! Now, I have to get rid of a cat too. What's next? Bats?" Milan spoke out loud to himself.

The leaves rustled in the trees, taunting him where he stood. It only then occurred to him that this tree - the tree that provided shelter through every storm - was the last living thing that remained on the property. All around him, he was surrounded by death. The flowers had long since wilted and fallen to the ground. Bushes no longer flowered. The vegetable garden had been destroyed by wind, heavy rains, and rodents. The home itself barely remained standing. Pieces of it were scattered on the ground. Shutters lay like discarded rubble. Window trims peeled away from the sills. Paint chips carpeted the dirt beneath the house. It was as if the house begged to be put in its final resting place.

Milan wondered if the brick he stepped over as he walked was from the roof. That meant, there would be major damage inside the home as well. If that were true, that meant that he would be forced to stay longer than necessary and that was not something he intended to do.

If it wasn't for his ancestors, this house could have remained in disrepair. It didn't matter to Milan if the county tore it down. His ties with the place had long since been severed, but the idea of dishonoring his family would be another stain on his soul, he'd have to live with forever and that would surely kill him.

Something in his peripheral caught his eye. He wondered if he'd imagined it. Nothing would surprise him at this point. If there was any part of the property he feared seeing any more than the inside of the home, it was the gardens in the back. At one time, his grandfather had a row of sheds and outbuildings that were filled to the brim with antiques he'd picked up during his travels.

When Milan inherited the property, he had the dilapidated structures torn down and donated all of the items in them to charity. Something about the land that remained disturbed him. He always felt like there was something or someone watching him. It didn't help that an old tunnel also occupied that space and the creek that ran through it always seemed to be whispering as he passed by.

Ever since Milan was a small boy, he did whatever he could to steer clear of that area and, now, thirty-some years later, that tunnel still sent chills down his spine, but the cause of that fear was no longer the unknown. If he had any way of getting rid of it, he would have, but the department that had oversight over it, never granted him permission to excavate the land and, unfortunately for him, it still remained.

Milan took a deep breath and made his way to the object that caught his attention. He hoped it was a figment of his imagination because it shouldn't have been possible for this to be on his property.

He inched closer and closer, goose bumps forming on his arms. There it sat, in between a pile of rubble. He held his breath as he reached for it, his hands shaking. Between two fingers, he yanked it up from the dirt.

Closing his eyes, Milan hoped that it wasn't true, but he felt the smooth concave surface and had no doubt of what it was. A soft whimper escaped his throat. He could no longer contain his fear. As it collided with rage that burned through his belly, his knees began to knock, the shaking nearly sending him to the ground.

Who would do this, he wondered.

Chapter 2

"WELL, TELL ME who is in charge, then. I need you to find that person now and bring them to me. Understood?" Milan seethed with rage. Someone better have had a good explanation for how something like this could have happened.

Several minutes passed as Milan paced back and forth in the cemetery warehouse. The grounds keepers behaved as if this sort of thing happened all the time, but in Milan's world, he had no room for any more troubles. He'd had his fill.

As they went in search of their manager, Milan kept his hand over his blazer pocket, where he'd placed the item that forced him to return to the cemetery and revisit the place where he'd said his final goodbye. He never intended to return here. Cemeteries and grave sites weren't the kind of places he wanted to spend time reminiscing at. He'd shed too many tears and buried too many bodies. This isn't where his loved ones lived. This, for him, was a place where those who never knew what it was like to feel the touch of his grandmother's gentle hand or to feel the warm embrace of Paulina's arms wrapped around them, went to pay their respects. It was impersonal and more fit for the macabre. He wanted nothing to do with the pomp and circumstance of the ceremony and the yearly pilgrimages to their grave sites.

Those he cared about the most in the world, lived in his heart, resided in his soul. They were worth so much more than a box, buried a half a foot underground. At the same time, he never anticipated that some vile creature would remove the lone photo that he'd had nestled into Paulina's headstone at her death.

That photo had always been his favorite of her. Never a day went by that he didn't tell her how beautiful she was, but that photo in particular, highlighted her profound beauty. The long, flowing, dark curls that cascaded down over her shoulders and rested just above her elbows were so perfectly coiffed in this photo. He remembered the day they'd had the photo taken. She was so worried about her appearance, changing multiple times to find the outfit and hairdo that would be perfect.

Milan had repeatedly told her that it didn't matter what she wore as long as she didn't change her mind and refuse his proposal. The engagement photos were not for them. Their families had all but demanded that the photos be taken and that they wore coordinating outfits.

For Milan, the only thing that mattered was that he would soon marry the beautiful, vibrant, and brilliant, Spanish girl from humble beginnings. Her heart warmed him from the moment he laid eyes on her at a mutual friend's wedding. She moved in rhythm with the music. He remembered tapping his foot and clapping his hands along as she and the other flamenco dancers performed for the wedding guests. Her shiny black hair was secured back in a bun atop her head that sat nestled in tiny red flowers. Her large, dark eyes glistened like the moon, illuminating the space her petite body inhabited. She was like an angel that had fallen from heaven. Every ounce of her prim, proper, and perfection.

It was no wonder that exactly one year later, Milan could no longer wait. His desire to marry her was only heightened by his desire to feel the warmth of her skin next to his and to hold her in his arms every night for the rest of his life.

The engagement photos were only a business matter, something that their respective families could use to spark another conversation about the lavish wedding they had planned for the two. If it had been up to Milan and Paulina, they would have returned to her native Spain and held a small ceremony there, but given the chaos and excitement already brimming about their upcoming nuptials, both understood that jetting off to marry would have left many people disappointed and they couldn't risk that.

The door finally opened behind him. Milan turned to look the manager directly in the eyes and demand answers, but the manager had changed over the years. The Mitch Randall Milan remembered no longer existed. Instead, the once tall, burly man had grown thin and aged considerably. The anger Milan felt dissipated a bit as he shook Mitch's feeble hand.

"Mr. Merced, long time no see," Mitch said. "I hear that you're in here bellyaching about a plaque that came up missing."

Milan cleared his throat, carefully choosing his tone. "No. I'm upset that this medallion," he handed it to Mitch before continuing, "was sitting on my property and not where it should be. How did that happen? How did someone remove it and no one here notice?"

Mitch squinted his eyes, turning the photo over in his hand to make out what the image was. "Things happen. I'm sorry that it fell off, but with the weather and the change of seasons, things fall apart. Hell, look at me. I've fallen apart for damn near seventy years now."

"I realize that things change. Believe me, I do. What my issue is... Well, how did this photo end up back at my house? Don't you have cameras or something here? Do people around River's Bend deface headstones now?"

"People do all kinds of stuff most of us would never think they'd do." Mitch straightened his back to stand eye to eye with Milan.

Milan, considered for a moment, understanding full-well what Mitch was implying. He should have expected it and been better prepared to respond, but was distracted by the circumstances.

"So, no cameras, then?" Milan asked, his eyes focused on Mitch's.

"Nope."

The two men stood squaring off at each other. Each prepared to defend what they were thinking, but both too damaged by life to have the energy to do so now.

Finally, Milan broke the silence. "You have no idea how this happened?"

"Not a clue." Mitch quipped.

Milan drew in a large breath. "Look, I didn't come here to yell at you... Well, maybe, I did, but the bottom line is, someone has deliberately removed something from my wife's grave and, then, made a point to return it to my house. That doesn't just happen. I know what people think of me and, I'm not going to lie and say it doesn't matter, but this is my wife's final resting place. She deserves respect, don't you think?"

Mitch considered for a moment. "Yes, she does. I honestly had no idea that anything happened. I'm sorry. It's a shame and I will see what I can find out from my crew and let you know. Let's walk on over there and take a look at her headstone and see what we can do."

Milan's breath caught. In his rush to get to the cemetery, he didn't consider that he would have to go to her grave site. Five years had been a long time.

"Ready?" Mitch held the door open for him.

He nodded. "Yes."

As they walked to the grave, Mitch made small talk about the weather and the goings on in the community. He was careful not to ask questions or to seem at all interested in why Milan had suddenly left and abandoned the town that once revered him and his family.

Milan made appropriate conversational noises, but was only half-listening to what Mitch was saying. As they walked past rows of neatly manicured plots, he couldn't help but feel a wash of shame. He wondered if anyone had tended to Paulina's grave in his absence. He'd not left anyone in charge and hadn't bothered to check over the years.

Looking over the rows that extended far over the hill that overlooked the small town and extending countryside, he didn't see any sign of overgrowth or ill-repair. He figured that the grounds keepers must have kept the plots looking nice, even when those who should have been tending to them weren't.

"Which way is it?" Mitch stopped and asked.

Milan closed his eyes for a moment, glad he'd had the foresight to put sunglasses on to shield his eyes from the sun. Nervously, he calculated how many more rows he had to pass before he got to Paulina's row.

"Three more rows. Hers is next to the tree." Milan kept his eyes focused on the tree. It stood tall and proud, shielding her from the elements, just like she would have liked it. The placement had been a strategic choice. What he failed to do for her in life, he could do for her after her passing. That was the least he could do - provide proper shelter from the elements.

Mitch stopped short as he moved around to the front of the tree to look at Paulina's headstone. He gasped. Milan held his breath, rounding the tree and was horrified by what he saw.

"How did this happen? Who did this?" Milan's voice shook with rage.

"I... I... Now, Milan, I had no idea. I don't know what to say." Mitch walked away, grabbing his cell phone to make a call back to the warehouse.

Milan shook as he took in the damage. In the distance, he could hear the rumbling of tractors as they worked the fields and the humming of a train just south of town. The world continued to go on while his world rocked.

Mitch spoke into the phone. "I need you to get out here now and explain to me how no one noticed this. How in the hell does a headstone get destroyed and no one says a word?"

His hands covered in dirt, Milan dug through the rubble, trying to retrieve every piece. Some were missing. He could only imagine where they'd been placed and why. Hatred coursed through his veins, but it had no direction. He didn't know if the hatred he felt was aimed at someone or more at himself. This was his fault. He should have been watching. That, he knew for sure.

"Now, Milan, just let it be, son. The sheriff is on his way. Let him take a look at it." Mitch tried to console a livid Milan, but it was too late. The damage had been done and no amount of apologies was going to replace the hole in his heart, not even if they were sincere.

Milan couldn't bring himself to speak yet. He feared his anger would boil over and he'd have no way of retrieving it. He'd known Mitch since he was a young boy. He'd at one time dated his daughter, long before he'd met Paulina, but like most people in town, after Paulina's death, Mitch, a one-time ally, became wary of him. It was a wonder that Mitch had allowed him to bury her here, but there was no other cemetery in town and the idea of burying her on his property felt morbid for him. She needed a proper space, overlooking the town she'd grown to love.

Mitch cursed under his breath while he waited for his crew and the local sheriff, Ned Acker to arrive. Contending with an angry man wasn't something he was up for, especially this particular angry man.

After several minutes, the crew members and the sheriff arrived together. Milan could see them in his peripheral, but didn't bother to stand up. He didn't want any of their hands on Paulina's grave. He needed to fix this himself. Time and history had already proven that trusting anyone else to do anything for him or those he cared about would prove to be a grave mistake. They weren't equipped enough to deal with facts and were ignorant enough to believe rumors and blatant lies.

"Hey, Mitch! What's going on here?" The sheriff studied Milan as he addressed Mitch.

Mitch explained as best he could, but his nerves weren't helping him get his point across. After a few minutes of listening to Mitch make excuses for what happened, Milan stood up, the front of his shirt and blazer covered in dirt.

"Someone has destroyed my wife's headstone. It has been defaced and part of the stone is missing. I found this in my backyard earlier today. Mitch assures me that it must have been the weather, but take a look around, have any other headstones been disturbed?" Milan's anger was palpable in the hot, summer heat.

"Hold on there, Mr. Merced. You said, you found the grave or headstone in this condition?" It was no secret that Sheriff Acker didn't like Milan at all. He made it a point to make that fact known in the days after Paulina died.

Since Milan left, Acker had spent a considerable amount of time and energy trying to put the sorted facts and falsities together to make a case against Milan, but had failed miserably time and time again. The bad blood between them wouldn't help in this situation, but Milan had no other recourse than to go to the local Sheriff's Department.

"Yes. I haven't been in town more than twelve hours and this is what I find? So, sheriff, tell me, have there been other vandalism reports or is this your first case?" Milan didn't care that he sounded condescending. He knew how this would play out. The sheriff would waste valuable time trying to prove a case against Milan, then, he'd come up empty and let the case fall by the wayside, just like he had with Paulina.

"Milan, now, calm down. I'm just trying to understand what happened here. You know how I feel about Paulina and about getting justice for her. Don't you worry, I'm going to find out what happened here. I promise you that." Sheriff Acker smirked.

The other men stood back watching the two men spar with each other. They'd all heard the stories and had their own theories about what happened to Milan's wife. Despite their personal feelings about Milan, they did feel guilty for not having noticed that Paulina's grave had been disturbed.

"Well, fellas, explain this." Mitch glared at his three crew members.

One spoke up, a former schoolmate of Milan's and neighbor, Tuck Johnson. "I honestly don't know what happened. I can tell you that it didn't look like this last week because I was the one that mowed the grass out here last week."

"So, you know for sure that it didn't look like this last week? Are you positive?" Milan moved toward him.

Tuck instinctively took a step back. "Well, yeah, I think so. I mean, I mowed the grass. I remember because I had to take out the trimmers to get around the tree here and it was fine. I know it was."

The sheriff removed his hat, wiping his brow. "Well, you see, that's good. We know things were fine till... Well, when did you say you came back to town, Milan?"

Milan scoffed at him. He knew what he was trying to get at. "Today. I've only been here a few hours and I bet if you ask every person in all of Brimmer County they can tell you the exact same thing, sheriff."

"And, why would they all have to vouch for you? You're not under investigation. No need for alibis, right?" The sheriff thrived in this kind of exchange. He lived for these moments because small town life didn't really afford him many opportunities to investigate hard cases. For the most part, crime was contained to the usual suspects joyriding down Main Street or having a few too many at the local watering hole and in need of county provided accommodations to sleep their night off.

"Do you plan on finding out who is responsible for this or are we going to keep this pissing contest going for a while longer first?" Milan wanted nothing more than to punch the smug grin off of Sheriff Acker's face, but jail didn't suit him. Before Paulina's death, the only interactions he had with local law enforcement were in the form of the many social gatherings that his parents hosted or at the local county fair.

Sheriff Acker returned his attention to the task at hand and took out his notebook. "Okay, start at the beginning."

Milan gave his account of the day's events, beginning the moment after his plane landed in Nashville. Ned took copious notes, probably overcompensating for his lack of proper decorum. Despite his obvious disdain for the sheriff, Milan asked that he go to the house and assess what took place there.

"I'll follow you out that way, if you want to go now." Sheriff Acker offered.

"No. I want to clean this up, then, order a new headstone. I'll meet you at the house in a couple of hours. That ought to give you time to do some work." Milan couldn't help but offer a final jab.

"I'm sure I have plenty of work ahead of me. All things considered, welcome back to town. We sure are happy you're here. Speaking of that, how long will you be with us?" Sheriff Acker smiled.

Milan hoped he wouldn't regret answering this question. "I'm just here to clean up the property and get the house fixed up before I put it up for sale. Are you interested?"

Ned snorted. He figured that Milan knew that his wife had finally left him and moved to Florida. "It used to be a beautiful house, so full of love, but not all things are what they seem, don't you agree? I'll just stay in my little nest and keep things the way I like them. I'm sure you understand that, don't you?"

"Well, the offer stands. If you ever get an inkling to live in a grand old house with a lot of history, I'm willing to consider your offer." Milan was only half-kidding. He knew the house frightened Sheriff Acker, but not for the same reasons most others were afraid.

Chapter 3

NED OPENED HIS mouth to speak, but stopped. Milan returned to his work in the dirt on the ground. He refused to leave the grave site in such disarray. Paulina was worth so much more than she'd ever been given. To discover that someone dared disrespect her and committed a disgusting act, angered him beyond words.

"I'll be on my way." Mitch said, signaling for his crew members to help Milan.

They stood wide-eyed, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Finally, Tuck stepped forward and offered his assistance. Milan was ambivalent about his presence. He couldn't focus on anything other than making this right, making something right before he moved on.

Sheriff Acker mumbled his goodbyes and walked back to his car. As much as he didn't like Milan or trust that Milan wasn't involved, he did feel badly that some kid or someone with an ax to grind would deface the gravestone.

He'd liked Paulina. As far as he knew, everyone in town thought fondly of her. He couldn't think of a single reason why anyone would want to do this and he had no explanation for how the photo ended up back at Merced Manor.

When Milan was satisfied that the grave looked presentable, he wiped the sweat off his face, using his shirt tails and walked away, nodding at Tuck. He'd known Tuck for a long time and couldn't say that he ever really liked him, but he did tolerate him, up until a few months before the worst day of his life.

There were some things he could never bring himself to forget and Tuck happened to fall into that category. He wasn't remembered fondly, but was remembered better than he'd ever realize.

Milan wondered whether or not Tuck still lived across the street from the manor. There were a number of things he hadn't taken into consideration when he was summoned back to River's Bend, Tuck being one of those things. He just hoped, whatever the case, that this would be the only interaction with him that he'd have - at least, until he could prove that his long-held suspicions about Tuck were true, but he didn't have time for that right now. He'd only just arrived and already had so much to contend with and had the feeling that there would be far more phenomena the longer he stayed.

He could feel all eyes on him as he made his way back to the rental car. It didn't matter. He'd had plenty of opportunity to get used to prying eyes and curious onlookers immediately after Paulina's death.

As was often the case, when a spouse died, the widow or widower became suspect number one. That was to be expected. What wasn't expected was that there never seemed to be a suspect number two. Although, Paulina's death was never formally ruled anything other than 'unknown causes', there wasn't a doubt in anyone's mind that the circumstances surrounding her death were suspect at best.

The short drive from the cemetery to his intended destination at Calvin Monument Engraving was a sad reminder of the first time he ever had to acquire their services. Filled with so much grief and anger, Milan's behavior led to the sheriff deputies being called in to calm the situation.

He sat in the car a few moments to gather his nerve. The place still looked very much the same. It still occupied the same corner of Highway 71 and Railroad Avenue, still overlooking the quaint downtown. Unassuming, other than the marquee that bore its name, most probably drove past it a handful of times a day and never gave it a second thought. Milan wished he was still a member of that group of people, but he wasn't and he never would be again.

This, along with so many other places that held both happy and sad memories, prompted him to want to leave and never look back. The pressure had grown to be too much. Living his life under constant suspicion of something he'd never consider doing, let alone actually do to the woman who brought him so much joy, would be unbearable to stand for any sustained amount of time. He had to go. He had to reinvent himself or he knew his life would be over.

Mrs. Calvin's jaw dropped when she saw him walk in the door. "Milan, wow, I didn't expect to see you anytime soon. How are you?"

Milan cut to the chase and told her what he was doing in her office after all these years. Her once smooth skin was now showing signs of aging. He always liked Mrs. Calvin. She and her family had attended many of his mother's events over the years.

"I'm so sorry to hear that. Kids are bolder these days. You know, just last week someone spray painted something on my garage. I just don't understand. Remember when you used to be able to leave your doors open and not have to worry that some stranger was going to come walking in and make himself comfortable?" She shook her head, her silver curls never moving.

"Thank you for that. Yeah, times have changed, but for the most part, good old River's Bend looked pretty much as I remembered it. How have you been, Mrs. Calvin?" He thought it better to remain cordial. He didn't need any more trouble.

"Getting older. You know, bad back, bad knee, bad attitude most of the time. How have you been?" Milan's breath caught. He wished he could tell her that he'd been miserable, a shell of a man, since he'd lost Paulina. That was the truth, but he figured, like most people who made small talk, she didn't want to know the truth. She wanted to hear good news.

"I'm good. Thanks. So, do you have a catalog handy so I can get a new stone ordered?" Milan tried to redirect the conversation.

"Sure do. Do you have any idea how it happened?" She asked as she handed him the photo album that served as the company portfolio.

"I wish I did, but I don't." Milan answered.

As he perused his options, the stone mason, Merv Calvin, walked in from the back warehouse. "Hey, so the rumors are true. The Merced boy is back."

Milan shook his hand, explaining what he needed.

Merv answered, "Some people just don't know how to leave well enough alone, I guess. I thought after the Johnson's kid... Tuck's oldest... Well, I thought, he learned his lesson. Acker read him the riot act for being on your property. That kid will never learn. I told Tuck to keep an eye on that one. Anyway, come back to the warehouse with me. I think I have something that you'll like back there."

Milan was surprised to hear about an incident at his house. He wondered why no one had mentioned it to him, especially Sheriff Acker.

"What is this about Tuck's boy? I guess, someone forgot to mention it to me." Milan, intended to confront Ned about it once he got back to his house.

"That kid," Merv shook his head. "That kid is always up to no good. Ever since his mother left, he's been acting out. You remember his mother, don't you?"

Milan nodded. He remembered just about everyone. In a town that only had one high school, one middle school, and two grade schools, it was pretty difficult to not know just about every person in town. The moment a stranger stepped foot in town, everyone was talking. It was like a disease - small town disease. People knew everything or at least thought they did. What they didn't know, they just simply made up and that version of the 'truth' became gospel.

"What do you think of this?" Merv pointed to a beautiful stone made of slate. Milan found it to be both exquisite and unusual. He knew that Paulina would approve and readily agreed that this would be her new headstone.

After arrangements were made, Milan thanked the couple and turned to walk out the door, but curiosity over the statement about the Johnson boy, wouldn't let him walk out without asking for more information. He hated to admit that he'd not been informed about the incident at his home, but he knew how people in town felt about him, it didn't surprise him either.

The look on Milan's face as he tried to find the right words to ask the question, told Mrs. Calvin that the information was new to him. Despite her own feelings about what most people believed to occur in that home the night Paulina died, she still felt sorry for Milan. She'd practically known him his whole life and knew his parents and grandparents as well. What had been said about him since his wife's death troubled her deeply. That wasn't the man she knew.

"Would you like to sit down for a few and talk about it?" She offered, nudging her ready to protest husband.

"Yes. Thank you." Milan breathed a sigh of relief. This was the first true act of kindness he'd witnessed today.

"First, you'll have to stop calling me Mrs. Calvin." She teased. "You're making me feel old."

Milan grinned.

"The name is Kathy Jo. Did you ever know that, Milan?" She looked at him curiously.

He shook his head, trying to think back to when he was growing up, answering, "No, I don't think I did. As far back as I can remember, I always called you Mrs. Calvin, didn't I?"

"You did and everyone else in town did, even your mama when she was a little bitty girl. She would run around with her pigtails bouncing, yelling, 'Hi, Mrs. Calvin' from way down the street if she saw me. While I appreciated the formalities, I always wondered why no one, not even the adults called me by my given name." She patted his hand.

"The Merceds are a formal bunch." Milan knew all too well how prim and proper his family always remained. Nothing ever stirred them enough to cause a scene. They handled things with dignity and kept their heads held high. He didn't know if that was a blessing or a curse. He understood why they did what they did. It must have been difficult for them as a Spanish family to move to a place where there weren't a lot of people like them.

They were affluent and rich in culture and steeped in tradition, much like the people of River's Bend, except they always understood that no matter how much they had in common with most folks, they were different enough for people to watch their every move, in hopes of catching them fail.

Growing up like that, Milan learned many lessons. He was to remain on the straight and narrow and never falter. They had a reputation to uphold. They were not to be seen as anything less than kind, proper, law-abiding citizens that did and said all the right things, all the time.

"Yes, your family was, but that's part of why everyone loved them so much." Kathy Jo said. "Now, tell me, how have you really been?"

Milan cast his eyes down. He'd spent the last several hours trying to keep his emotions in check, but something about the tenderness in the way Kathy Jo spoke to him, touched him. It was like the deep well of sadness that calcified his already broken heart was begging to be set free and spill onto the world around him, but in his mind, he wasn't ready and he wasn't entirely sure he would ever be ready for the flood of anguish that was sure to follow. He wouldn't allow himself to break. Not here. Not in the town that took so much from him. He wouldn't let that happen. He swore that the day he packed his bags and left.

"I'm getting better." He answered finally, hoping she wouldn't search for more. He was sure that if she looked hard enough, she would see the shattered man he felt he was.

She studied his face for a moment, noting the harsh jaw and the tired eyes. "Okay. Well, that's good. Take it one day at a time."

Merv stood at the counter watching and listening to their conversation. He cleared his throat, reminding Kathy Jo to get to her point and tell Milan about Tuck's son. She looked at him sideways, then, turned back to Milan.

"Tuck's boy," she began, shaking her head, "he's not a horrible kid. He needs a mother. He needs someone to make him settle down and do what he should be doing. I'm sure what he did out on your property didn't have nothing to do with nothing. He was probably just bored, but my understanding is that he was out in the tunnel quite a few times. The sheriff finally caught him after his own grandmother complained that she could hear voices from down in there and, you know, Acker. He ain't ever been brave enough to do anything by himself, so he called in every volunteer firefighter and reserve officer in Brimmer County and had them come down."

Milan cleared his throat. His experiences in and around that tunnel had never been pleasant. For as long as he could remember, he'd wished his family would get rid of it for good. Everything about that place bothered him. It was no surprise that kids would be out there. They always had been. He couldn't count the number of times his father and grandfather would chase people away from the tunnel.

Kathy Jo continued. "Anyway, when all those big, burly men got down there, they were scared out of their minds. None of them, I mean, none of them, wanted to go in there and see what was going on. The way I heard it, it took some young kid to finally go in there and see who was in there and the kid came out running for his life."

Milan leaned forward in his seat, his heart thumping loudly. He'd always feared something evil lived in that tunnel.

"What was it?" His mouth went dry.

She shrugged. "Never did say exactly, but a few minutes later Tuck's boy and another boy came running out of there like they seen the devil himself. The sheriff and his band of loons scattered all over your property, they were so scared."

"So, what happened to Tuck's kid and the other boy?" Milan asked.

"Acker read them the riot act and made them swear they'd never go anywhere near your property again. He made some imaginary line in the middle of the street and told them they couldn't cross it and, if they did, he would find a way to lock them in the tunnel with all the other bad omens." Kathy Jo explained.

"Bad omens?" Milan had never been able to find the right word for what he felt existed on his property, but that was it. He'd spent his life surrounded by bad omens. He exhaled. "Who was the other boy?"

"You know, I don't think anyone ever told me his name." She looked over at her husband. He shrugged. "You might want to check with Ned. Every time I've heard the story told, no one has ever mentioned the other boy. He might not have been from around here because someone surely would have mentioned his name sometime or another, don't you think?"

Milan nodded, saying, "Yeah, you're probably right. Did anyone ever find out what they were doing down there or what that other boy saw them doing? Why did he run out?"

Kathy Jo looked to her husband. Merv shook his head, trying to remember. He answered, "I don't think we know exactly. There were rumors, you know, but no one ever really confirmed what those boys were up to and, I'm sure, Ned and his crew were probably too scared to go in and find out. You might want to get in there and see what they did."

Milan shook his head. "No, I don't go in there. I can't."

Kathy Jo glared at her husband, patting Milan's hand. "I'm sorry. His brain is older than his body. I understand, but now that you're back, maybe, you can finally do something with the property and make it look like your grandparents always had it. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"Yes. It would be nice." Milan shivered. He couldn't wait to be rid of it for good. Getting it back to the way his family had always kept it, would take a lot of time and quite a bit of money. He wasn't sure that he was willing to sacrifice either one of those for something he'd readily give away if someone would take it from him.

"Well," Milan began, "I should be going. Thank you for your help. Please, do let me know when the stone is ready. Bye, now."

He tried to hold it in until he drove off. Milan didn't want anyone to see him fall apart. He couldn't let that happen. Three long, slow inhalations and exhalations managed to keep the tears and sorrow at bay for the moment. He dreaded what would happen once he was finally alone in the house, out of sight of curious onlookers and nosy neighbors. He could almost guarantee that the sight would not be pleasant and that the last thread of his resolve would finally give. He didn't look forward to that explosion of anger and outrage over what had been done.

"Keep it together. Don't let them break you." Milan warned himself out loud. "Do what has to be done and move on. Just keep moving forward."

As he drove through downtown, he pretended not to notice the heads turn as he passed them. He'd just added fuel to the fire of the rumors of him being back. His nightmare was not over.

Chapter 4

A SENSE OF dread shrouded him as he rounded the corner, heading toward the manor. The sight of it sent chills through his spine. The scene was oddly reminiscent of that final, fateful night. Sheriff Acker stood just outside the gate, hands on hips, looking up at the house.

Milan thought back to five years earlier when the sheriff stood in front of the house in much the same way, staring up at the old girl, willing it to speak its truths. At that time, every passerby did the same. The whole town wanted answers, information. The house chose not to be accommodating, then either.

He pulled the car up behind Ned's and took a few moments to gather his thoughts and make peace with the fact that he would now have to re-enter the home. He hoped what he found there wouldn't sink him further into the abyss of heartache and loss. He hoped she - the manor - would show pity on his poor, broken soul and allow him just enough time to tend to it properly, as she would have liked it and, then, move on relatively unscathed from the experience.

The sheriff didn't flinch as Milan turned off the engine. His attention was focused on the upstairs windows. His back was straight, his neck arched, as he watched, looking as if he'd seen something or someone.

"What is it?" Milan settled beside him, looking up.

Ned wiped his brow. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

Milan looked back at the upstairs window, knowing that it was his grandmother's former bedroom and squinted to make out what the sheriff had been staring at.

"You've got your work cut out for you here, Milan." The sheriff said.

"Looks that way." Milan acknowledged him. "Okay, well, let me show you where I found it."

He followed Milan into the yard, past where the flower beds once lay, and around to the side of the house, heading toward the tunnel.

"Where are we going? Where did you find it?" Ned's voice shook.

Milan recognized the trepidation. He felt the same way, but he assured the sheriff that where he found the medallion was behind the yard, not in the tunnel.

When they reached the spot, Milan explained how he'd come across it and, then, asked, "Why didn't you tell me about Tuck's boy?"

The sheriff looked genuinely surprised. "What? What about Tuck's boy?"

"Why didn't you mention that he was trespassing on the property?" Milan asked.

Again, Sheriff Acker wiped his brow. "I guess, I forgot about it. It was just kids being kids. We didn't find any evidence that they actually did anything, other than decided to use the manor as their unofficial gathering place." He shrugged it off as if it didn't mean anything.

Milan wanted to argue the point. He didn't care that Sheriff Acker didn't find the information significant enough to share. He would have liked to have been informed. This whole day of worrying and wondering could have been avoided.

Ned changed the subject. "So, is that the only thing you found out here?" He pointed to the medallion.

Milan answered, "So far. I haven't had a chance to really take a look around yet. I'll let you know if I find anything else."

Acker looked up at the manor. "What kind of condition is she in on the inside? I would imagine that years of neglect would have done pretty significant damage."

"I don't know. However, it looks, I'll take care of it and make it right." Milan didn't take the bait. He knew the sheriff was trying to worm his way inside the house. He wasn't going to allow that to happen again. The last time the sheriff stepped inside the house, Milan's life was in shambles. He couldn't and wouldn't let him in to judge him again or to accuse him of wrongdoing again.

"I'm sure you will. Make your family proud." Ned took in the damage in the yard and on the house. "A lot has happened since you've been gone, Milan, but as you know, some things always stay the same."

Milan didn't understand what that was supposed to mean and he didn't care to find out. When he'd asked Ned to meet him at the manor, he'd expected that he would be able to offer insight into who could have defaced Paulina's grave, not that Acker only agreed to meet him, so that he could get a look at the property and re-investigate him.

"I'll tell you what - I'll see what I can find out about the headstone incident and get back to you. I have to be honest with you, I don't have a lot to go on. The Johnson boy, I'm afraid, won't be much help. We've been keeping an eye on him and, as far as I know, he hasn't been anywhere near here in the last few weeks at least. I'll let you know what I find out." The sheriff put his cap back on his head and walked out toward the front gate.

Milan watched him walk back with a smug grin on his face. He figured Ned had no intention of investigating the vandalism. By inviting the sheriff back into his small world, Milan knew that he'd offered an open invitation to look into the suspicious circumstances of his wife's death.

Ned nodded before slowly driving off. Milan remained in his yard, watching and waiting for him to be out of sight before he tried to make another attempt to enter the house.

"Here we go." Milan said, looking up at the house. "I can do this."

His legs felt like boulders as he ascended up the stairs. His willingness to go on was fleeting. There were so many reasons not to do this and one very big reason telling him that it had to be done. Deciding which reason would lead him wasn't that difficult to do, but building the courage to listen would have to be taken one step at a time.

He opened the double doors wide, allowing the stale air to escape in a flurry. This time, no small critters scurried out. Standing in the foyer, he held his breath, bracing himself for an all out attack on his psyche.

Milan's ears perked up. Had he heard creaking above him, he wondered. Did he see something? Was there someone else in the house?

Lying his back up against the wall to collect his bearings, he took a few slow, deep breaths and told himself that he was imagining things. There was no one in the home. Looking around, he could easily see that the house was exactly as he'd left it, except for the mounds of dust that had collected in every crevice and every corner that the eye could see.

Guilt overcame him as he looked around at what used to be the grandest home in all of Brimmer County. He hated that he'd let it fall apart like he had. He wished that there was something he could have done differently, but he would only be able to add this to the host of other items he harbored guilt over.

The electricity had long since been shut off. The stench in the air was enough to make him ill. His first order of business was to air out the home and open all of the drapes to allow what remained of daylight to shine in, so he could see how much work he had ahead of him.

Across the street, he could see the peering eyes of Mrs. Johnson and another woman, one he didn't recognize, watching him as he moved about, inspecting the home. He didn't care. He felt it better to let them watch him, so they could see that he'd returned to make things right, not to cover up a hideous crime, like they thought.

Sweat poured from his body as he removed item after item from the home and placed it into the yard. Every item his mother and grandmother ever collected still remained in the house. Decades of life lived in this home, afforded every inhabitant every opportunity to amass large collections of memorabilia from the time spent traveling the country and going abroad. Every item held a special memory of the lives that were lived in the manor.

Milan could detail where every item was purchased and the circumstances surrounding the purchase, even if he had not been there himself. The stories that were told over the years lived in his heart. They were as much a part of him as he was a part of them.

Although the grand home frightened him on many levels, it also gave him pause and a sense of belonging at some point in his life. When he'd been handed the deed on the night he married Paulina, he promised to keep the home just as those before him had. He had plans of raising a family in this home and someday passing it along to his son or daughter.

Paulina had fallen in love with Merced Manor from the first moment she saw it. For her, it was akin to the grandest castles in Spain. She used to dream of one day visiting a castle, so when the opportunity to not only live in something substantial like the manor was given to her, she couldn't have been more grateful. The home and the marriage were dreams come true for her.

After several hours, Milan had barely touched the surface of what needed to be done. He looked around, saddened by all the memories that were never made in the home. He and Paulina never had the opportunity to welcome a child or to host an event like the ones his family had held over the years.

The time they spent in the home was divine, for him. He had a beautiful wife. He would rush to get home to her every night and she would watch for him, out the window, so anxious for him to arrive. At the time, he believed that the life they lived was ideal. He believed her to be happy. It wasn't until the night it all had ended that he was met with a very harsh reality. One he still couldn't bring himself to admit happened and he doubted he ever would.

The longer he remained in the house, the harder it was to continue on without crying. Every item he touched, told so many stories. Milan worked feverishly to clear it out of the house. He hoped that if he left the items outside, someone would carry them away while he wasn't looking.

He had what he wanted from the house and it was taken away. At one time, he lived with security and honor. Now, what remained was a shell of the man he used to be. Milan - the Milan he'd worked hard to become - vanished in an instant and was replaced by someone who buried himself in work and avoided all physical contact and emotional connection because he'd allowed his heart to become hollow and deathly afraid of any connection with another human being.

At forty-years-old, his options for love and romance should have been open, but he shut himself off. He denied himself pleasure. Without his beloved Paulina, he wanted nothing. As visions of her swept through his mind, this time more urgent than ever before, he could no longer go on. His eyes stung from the tears he'd fought so hard to resist.

"I can't." He called out as he violently dumped out drawers from a credenza, sending all of the contents - precious heirlooms - crashing to the ground.

"Why?" He screamed, kicking over a cabinet that his grandfather purchased on one of their last trips to Maine one summer. The glass doors shattered, scattering all over the cherry wood floors.

Brushing his tears away with his dust covered hands, Milan yelled a guttural yell, every ounce of his pain, thundering through the walls and outside, startling the ladies who sat on the Johnson's front porch.

They shook their heads and clutched their hearts. Although they had anticipated a breakdown, they hadn't figured that it would be one with such sorrow behind it. Mrs. Johnson's throat welled with emotion. She understood loss. She'd buried her beloved husband the same year that Paulina died. She knew the pain, Milan felt, but still wondered if he wasn't a bit tinged with guilt over all that had taken place.

As Milan pounded his fists on the plaster walls, his hands began to bleed, but that didn't matter. He needed to feel something other than heartache, he told himself. He continued pounding the walls and screaming and sobbing until he was completely spent and thought that he might finally succumb to the darkness.

He opened his eyes, seeing the devastation he'd created with his two hands. His anger would add weeks of work to the already daunting task ahead of him. Plaster from the walls had crumpled to the floor. Papers and fine porcelain and glass littered the floor in the formal living room. He'd destroyed a room that his wife adored because she was gone. He knew it didn't make sense and knew he would have to be the one to put it back together again.

An envelope caught his attention. Milan reached for it, trickles of blood falling onto it. The return address was from a doctor's office in Nashville. He wasn't familiar with the clinic and, as far as he knew, neither he nor his wife had any reason to see a doctor in Memphis. It was addressed to his wife, but listed her maiden name and not her married name.

"What is this?" He asked, opening it.

He gasped as he read it.

Why didn't she tell me?

He read it again, wiping his eyes, believing he'd read it wrong. He hadn't.

"What?" His breath quickened. He could feel his chest tighten. This didn't make any sense. He thought Paulina told him everything.

He rifled through more paperwork, looking for anything else that could explain what he was seeing, but found nothing. Again he looked at the papers, barely able to focus because his anger and his trembling hands were working against him.

Fresh tears spilled from his eyes, burning as they slid down his face. "Why didn't she tell me? Why?"

He threw himself back on the ground, holding his stomach as if he'd just been kicked in the gut. He remembered the date because it was shortly before Paulina died. She'd told him that she was going to meet some friends for lunch and that she would meet him in town at a small restaurant on the outskirts of town. He didn't question her. He had no reason to.

When she arrived, she looked troubled, but he assumed it was because she'd been running a little late. She was the kind of woman who worried about things like that. She always wanted to be amply prepared and fussed over things that others would just take for granted, but that's one of the things that he loved about her. She cared about others so deeply and never wanted anyone to feel sad or disappointed. Paulina was a nurturer.

Milan recalled what they ate because Paulina made a point to ask the chef how to prepare the meal. Since moving to the States, she'd developed an obsession with learning local cuisine and experimenting with different seasonings; hence, the gardens that extended beyond the iron gates behind the house. Those were her gardens, separate from the ones Milan's mother and grandmother had kept.

As he thought about that night, nothing that occurred that night would have led him to believe that something else was going on. They told each other everything. That was a promise they'd made early in their relationship - no secrets, no lies. The idea of ever doing anything to betray her, never crossed his mind. He knew that first moment that he saw her that he would breathe his last breath doing something to make her happy. Her happiness was his happiness. Nothing else in life mattered, except for her.

A new rush of tears overtook him. He clutched the documents, spilling his heart out onto them. Nothing in life had prepared him for this moment and he had no idea how to cope. Right now, he could do nothing more than to succumb to the horrific pain and experience a new, different sort of loss.

He rolled on the ground, barely able to breathe through his sobbing. He didn't even notice that he was no longer alone. He hadn't heard her come in and hadn't seen her standing there, looking down at him, broken up over what she was witnessing, torn between leaving quietly or remaining by his side to help him pick up the pieces of his life as best she could.

Milan let the documents slip out of his hand as he used the back of his hands to scrub the flood of tears off his face. A slow exhalation of air startled him, but he couldn't see clearly through his fog of emotion. He thought he saw a figure - a woman standing in the doorway, looking at him. He gasped, nearly choking on his fear.

"Who is that?" He yelled, rubbing his burning eyes.

The petite figure stepped forward. He rubbed his eyes with his shirt, trying to make out who she was.

"Who are you? Why are you in my house? Leave me alone!" Rage coursed through his veins. He didn't need a witness to his demise. "Get out!"

She bent down to retrieve the discarded papers, reading them. She gasped, then, whispered, "You've come home. You are home, Milan. I'm here now. I am here for you."

Chapter 5

"SARAH?" MILAN THOUGHT he recognized the voice.

"Yes, Milan. It's me. I'm here." Sarah soft voice always comforted him as a child. She had been such a huge part of his life when he was growing up. Although she was technically the cook, no one ever treated her as if she was just hired help. Sarah was a part of the family. She took care of the home, along with several other people, but she was so much more.

"What are you doing here?" Milan blinked feverishly to clear the dust, dirt, and tears from his eyes.

"You need help, Milan." She stepped forward, using a tissue to reach down and wipe his face.

His shoulders tensed as she touched him.

"Milan, it's me. It's going to be okay now. Let me help you. There's too much work here and, if what the busybodies across the street say is true, you can't possibly handle all of this on your own. You don't know this house like I do. I know every square inch of it. After nearly forty years of living and working here, I think I probably know the house better than you ever will." She held his face in her outstretched arms. "You are a mess. Why don't you get cleaned up? Is the water running here? Have you called the county about the electricity?"

Milan shook his head. In all the emotion of the day and the added distractions, he'd forgotten to call the utility companies and have services restored. She looked up at him, shaking her head.

"You can stay with me until you get things back in order here. You don't need to be alone in the dark here with no running water. Your grandparents would scold you right now if they could." She smiled, patting his arm. "Now, come with me. This isn't up for debate."

He laughed for the first time since he'd been asked to return to River's Bend. Sarah was right. In his haste to be rid of the property, he'd forgotten to think practically. Grabbing the now discarded forms, he tucked them into his pocket and grabbed his bag, following Sarah outside.

"What was your plan here?" Sarah pointed to the discarded items scattered on the porch and in the yard.

Milan shrugged, embarrassed to admit that he didn't have a plan.

"Okay, well, it should be okay until morning. Let's get going. You can follow me. I still live in the same cottage on Banner Road. I'll get you a good meal and you can clean yourself up and make yourself look like the handsome man I remember." She winked and walked out to her car.

Milan locked the doors and contemplated whether or not to put everything onto the porch. As much as he thought he wanted to get rid of everything, he didn't want people rifling through his stuff either. Not yet.

* * *

"THEN, WHAT?" SARAH set another full plate in front of Milan. "Eat."

Milan hadn't eaten like this in years. He'd forgotten how much he loved Sarah's cooking. She solved all of his childhood problems with a heart-to-heart conversation and a mug of one of her home brewed teas.

"I am eating." He answered. "Thank you. You didn't have to do this for me. I was prepared to stay at the manor."

She squinted her eyes at him, knowing that he hadn't thought much beyond getting inside of the house. "No, you didn't and that's okay. I'm sure you've had a lot on your mind. Now, tomorrow, we can gather up some cleaning supplies and I'll get right to work, while you see about getting the utilities turned back on." She clapped her hands, indicating that the problem she knew Milan would make of it was solved.

Milan didn't have the energy to argue. His head hurt. His throat hurt. Every muscle in his body ached and he longed for a night's rest.

"Sarah, you really don't have to bother. It's my mess to clean up. I can hire a cleaning team to come out from Nashville and get the job done in just a matter of days." Milan said.

"What, and have strangers going through your mother's heirlooms and all of Paulina's belongings? Is that what you want? I can help you. I'm not doing anything that can't be rescheduled." Sarah tried to persuade him to listen to her.

Milan considered for a moment. Truth be told, he was worried that more secrets would come out. The documents from the doctor's office proved there was so much he didn't know about his wife and he wanted to find out for himself. Sarah would have no idea what was important to him and what wasn't.

"I can do it myself at first, then, if it gets to be too much, I'll hire a team to help me." Milan yawned.

"No." Sarah took Milan's empty plate and placed in the dishwasher before walking out of the kitchen, leaving him alone while she went to prepare her spare bedroom for him.

Milan went through a mental checklist of all the things that he had to get accomplished. His focus was waning. As hard as he tried to not think about the information he'd discovered, he couldn't keep the anger at bay. Just when he thought his well was full, something else pushed him further and further into his sadness.

Sarah placed her hands on his shoulders. "Milan, you should rest. Don't push yourself too hard. Take the time you need. I promise it will get better."

Milan swallowed hard, building his confidence to ask her. "Did you know?"

Her eyebrows quirked up. "Know what?"

He put his head down and took a deep breath. "Did you know she was pregnant?"

Sarah gripped his shoulders tighter. Milan listened to her as she inhaled slowly and exhaled slowly before answering. "No, I didn't."

He turned to face her, looking up into her eyes. "Are you sure? You read the test results, right?"

Sarah put her hands to her chest. "I swear I didn't know. She never told me. I knew that you two wanted a baby and I know the trouble she had, but she never mentioned anything about it to me." She sat down in the chair opposite his. "Why would she go to Nashville? Weren't you working with a doctor here?"

Milan didn't have an answer to that question. He'd hoped that she knew why Paulina had chosen a doctor so far away and why she hadn't informed him. The autopsy didn't say anything about her being pregnant. The thought had never crossed his mind. Why was he only learning about this now?

Sarah seemed to be reading his thoughts. "Had the doctor said anything to you about this when he did the autopsy?

"Not a word." Milan answered, feeling the tears fight for release again. "Why wouldn't she tell me?" His shoulders shuddered as the tears gave way and poured out of his eyes.

After a moment, Sarah answered, "I don't know, but there must have been a good reason. You knew her better than anyone, Milan. She loved you."

He scrubbed at the tears on his face. "I thought I did. Now I'm not so sure anymore."

* * *

"WELL, HOW DID it go?" Sarah wiped her brow as Milan stepped inside the house.

"Someone will be coming out to get things going sometime this morning." Looking at the newly cleaned living room, he commented, "Wow. That was fast. It looks great."

Sarah smiled, tossing a wet towel at him. "Now, you can help."

Milan felt a moment of relief. Having Sarah here with him, brought him comfort.

As he looked around the room, he made small talk with Sarah about what her life had been like since he left. She informed him that she volunteered at the women's shelter a few times a week and had done some traveling, but that her life was pretty quiet and that she could never see herself working for another family.

"I was wondering," Milan started, "would you be interested in working for me again?"

She smiled and winked. "I already am."

"Also, I stopped by the employment agency and filled out some paperwork."

Confused, Sarah asked, "You're getting a job?"

He laughed. "No, I placed an ad. I'm going to hire some people to help us out here. It's a big project and it will take us quite some time to get all of this done, so I thought that we should get some help. I'd like you to be there with me to interview the applicants, if you could."

Sarah put her hands on her hips. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

Milan wasn't convinced of what it is he wanted, but if he was going to spend time in the house, he felt it would be in his best interest to have others around. He still wasn't entirely comfortable with that yet and wasn't at all comfortable with inviting strangers into his home, but he didn't feel he had any other options.

"This is what I want." He answered firmly before taking his bag upstairs.

It was only natural that he would head directly to the room he'd inhabited almost all of his life, but he couldn't bring himself to open the door and walk in there yet. Instead, he chose one of the spare rooms down the hall from his former master bedroom.

As he settled, arranging his belongings for his short stint there, he thought he heard the gate squeak. He looked out the window and didn't see anyone. The gate was closed. Again, he heard the squeaking. This time, he called down the stairs to Sarah.

"Is someone outside?"

Sarah didn't respond.

"Sarah?"

No answer.

Fear overcame him. He didn't know why, but every fiber of his being was telling him that something was not right. He looked around at all of the other rooms. Each of their doors were closed.

"Sarah?" He called louder.

The front doors flew open and Sarah rushed in. "Milan!"

Her scream startled him, nearly sending him over the banister.

"Sarah?"

When he reached the bottom of the staircase, Sarah was standing on the landing. "There's someone here to see you."

Milan's eyes went wide. "Who is it?"

"Someone is here from the agency. I asked her to sit in the living room. I thought you wanted to interview people? Well, here's your first candidate." Sarah pointed to the living room.

Milan was struck by what he saw as he looked in the living room. Sarah had taken the time to hang a large photo of Paulina over the mantle above the fireplace. His heart stopped at the sight of it. Staring back at him, smiling brightly was the beautiful woman he'd fallen in love with and lost way too soon. The anger he felt over her keeping secrets from him, brought tears to his eyes, but he couldn't bear to look away.

Sarah prompted him to go into the living room. "She's waiting for you."

Milan thought, Paulina?

"Go in." Sarah urged him. "Her name is Johanna. She's a bit young, but seems like a good candidate."

Taking a deep breath, Milan closed his eyes, telling himself not to look back at the photo of Paulina. It hurt too much to see her face.

Sarah called out to the young woman, who sat with her back to the door. "Johanna? This is Milan Merced. He's the owner."

Milan's knees went weak at the sight of her. He almost collapsed to the ground. Sarah grasped his arm to try to steady him, but it was too late. His head was spinning.

"Are you okay?" Sarah asked.

The young woman stood up, reaching out to help him before he fell to the floor. "Oh my goodness. Are you alright?"

Milan fell into a slump on the floor. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Johanna stood over him, reaching out her hand to ease him back up to his feet.

Sarah bent over him, feeling his forehead. "Don't move. Are you feeling sick?"

Embarrassed, Milan forced himself up, his body trembling. "I'm fine. Excuse me." He rushed out of the room as fast as his trembling limbs would let him. Beads of sweat formed at the nape of his neck and dripped down his back. He felt as if his lungs had closed and he couldn't catch his breath.

Sarah rushed after him. "Milan?"

He ran out the back door, out into the yard. It didn't make sense. He must have been mistaken.

"Milan? Slow down. Where are you going?" Sarah picked up her pace as Milan sped off.

"I can't." Milan called back. "I just can't."

Johanna followed them, terrified by what she was witnessing. She'd been warned by the caseworker at the employment agency that Milan may prove to be strong-willed and troubled, but that it was all due to a horrible loss that he'd suffered. Johanna understood loss. She spent her whole life coping with one loss after another. This was her chance at redemption or glory.

Moving to River's Bend was the best move for her, she thought. She needed a fresh start, away from the family that never ceased to break her heart and the boyfriend that did everything in his power to make Johanna feel everything less than worthy of true love, honor and respect.

In her twenty-seven years of life, Johanna had endured more heartache than anyone she'd ever met before. Although Indianapolis had a lot to offer most people, for Johanna it was the black hole of America. Her mother abandoned her when she was two, leaving her with her father, who never wanted nor saw any purpose for a child in his life.

After several years of being used as the maid in his father's home, Johanna finally left, running into the arms of a string of worthless men, who would treat her as if she didn't matter. When she'd finally managed a place of her own and a job that paid her enough to survive, she thought she'd found the perfect man, but what looked good on the outside, proved to be the worst decision of her life.

Three years and an ocean of pain and sorrow later, she left Indianapolis behind and found herself in River's Bend, looking to begin anew and to build the life she always dreamed of having. It was by pure luck that she happened upon the employment agency and was informed of an opening to work at the manor. Cleaning wasn't a problem for her. She'd spent her whole life becoming an expert on cleaning up someone elses mess. She knew she was more than qualified for the job, even if it was listed as a temporary position.

"Don't you see it?" Milan asked Sarah, his voice shaking.

Sarah thought his grief had taken hold of him. "Milan, come here." She held her arms open to him.

Milan wiped his face, looking back at Johanna. "Sarah, listen to me. Look at her."

Turning back, Sarah looked at Johanna, then, it struck her. She could see what had Milan so upset. The resemblance was shocking.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't even realize..."

"It's like this town is conspiring against me. They want me to go crazy. Who sent her here?" Milan grabbed Sarah and turned her to face him.

"The employment agency did. Do you want me to ask her to leave? Look at her. She's terrified. Do you really think she set you up? She's not even from here. My understanding is that she just moved to River's Bend from out of state. You can't blame her for who she happens to resemble, can you?" Sarah tried to make Milan understand how paranoid he sounded.

"Milan, she's gone. That is Johanna. Don't do this to yourself." Sarah begged Milan to pull himself together.

Looking at her, Milan saw the girl he used to know. Her wavy brown locks just as vibrant as Paulina's had been. The big brown eyes looking innocently back at the world, reminded him of his one true love. From head to toe, Johanna looked like Paulina, but he knew she couldn't have been. It didn't take much time for Milan to imagine what could be going on. This was a set up. He could feel it in his bones. Someone - someone who wanted to hurt him - sent this young woman to his doorstep to mock him, to fill his head with doubts, to shake him to the core.

Milan's eyes narrowed. He suddenly saw Johanna in a new light. She would have to leave and do so now before he said or did something he wasn't so sure he'd regret.

"Who sent you here? Was it Sheriff Acker? Did he ask you to come here and torture me?" Milan moved with a swiftness that he hadn't shown for years.

"What?" Johanna's senses were telling her to run and run now, but her kind heart and her intuitive nature told her that what she was witnessing was another anguished filled episode from a grieving widower. She'd seen it countless times and knew better than most what true pain and immense sorrow looked and felt like. She planted her feet firmly on the ground and braced herself for whatever Milan would do next, telling herself not to let him frighten her off. She needed this job. She needed a change and no one was going to take that opportunity away from her. She deserved a fresh start and thought that Milan did as well.

In her calmest tone, she looked Milan directly in his eyes and said, "Mr. Merced, I told you - the agency sent me and I am here to help you put things back together. I know you've been through a terrible tragedy and I'm not here to add stress to your life. I don't know what or who you are talking about. I'm here to help you. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to start the interview."

Chapter 6

“IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?” Milan didn't wait for Johanna to respond before walking out of the house, leaving Johanna dumbfounded and Sarah frustrated with his antics.

Johanna turned to Sarah for direction. “Now what? Should I leave and come back tomorrow?”

Sarah answered, “No. Stay here. Don't touch anything. I'll be right back.”

Sarah caught up with Milan as he got into the car. She grabbed the door before he slammed it shut.

“I see you've done a lot of growing up.” He sneered at her. “Don't give me attitude. It didn't work when you were growing up and it won't work now.”

Milan leaned back in his seat in frustration. “I let her stay.”

Sarah sighed, leaning on the rental car. “Yes, you did, but that doesn't mean you're allowed to treat her badly. She's here to help. Honestly, I like her and, if you give her a chance, I'm sure you'll like her too.”

Milan closed his eyes. “What do you want from me?”

Sarah leaned down, speaking inches from Milan's face. “Have you forgotten who you're talking to, young man?”

Milan slammed his fist on the steering wheel. Sarah jumped, surprised by his reaction, but not as surprised as she was when Milan's shoulders began to shudder. She reached into the car, touching his head to comfort him.

“I'm sorry that you're hurting. So sorry about all that you've been through, but you can't let it taint every aspect of your life. This girl – Johanna - is not to blame for anything. She had nothing to do with what happened and you can't blame her for any of it. You can't go around beating people up because you are unhappy.”

Milan dried his tears. “I know. Is she still here?”

Sarah looked at the manor. “She is. You should start all over again.”

Milan leaned his head on the steering wheel, willing himself to calm down and listen to reason. Sarah had never steered him wrong before and he didn't honestly believe that she was now. The sight of Johanna frightened him. There was no denying that she was beautiful. Any man could see that, but the fact that she resembled Paulina so much terrified him. Looking at her was like looking at a ghost and, no matter what Sarah said, that fact wasn't going to change, but he was willing to try to see beyond her physical features and get to know her as an individual. If he expected that of anyone else in this town when it came to him, he should expect that of himself.

Slowly, Milan stepped out of the car and walked back to the house. Sarah remained outside, while he went inside the house to apologize. She knew he needed to handle this on his own if he was ever going to make any real strides in his personal life. Like any loving mother would, although she wasn't his mother, she had to let him stand on his own, but she would remain nearby to catch him if he fell. Taking into consideration all that he'd been through, she knew all too well that she'd need to break his fall a few more times before he was completely ready to be out on his own again.

Johanna looked at him, eyes wide, unsure whether or not he'd returned to throw her out or to apologize. He did neither. Instead, he extended his arm to her, saying, “Follow me. I'll show you around the property.”

“I'm sorry, what? I can stay? You're not asking me to leave? You haven't even interviewed me yet.” Johanna didn't understand why Milan had a sudden change of heart.

“Consider this your interview.” Milan escorted Johanna outside to explore the yard, pointing out areas that required attention before he began to fill her in on what ailed him so.

Creaking in the hot, daytime air, the swing swayed back and forth under the old tree, one of the two living beings still remaining after years of deterioration and endless sorrow. Milan looked around, preparing to open up and let Johanna in on what she would be up against by accepting this position.

He took a deep breath and started, "Merced Manor knows sorrow. It carries it within the hollow walls, adorned with discarded family photos and memorabilia from a life lived devoid of eternal happiness." He paused to allow the words to sink in for her. His morbid thoughts shocked her.

Continuing, "I adored this home. In its day, it stood tall at the end of this road, looking down on all of River Bend. It was a sight to be seen. From miles down the narrow dirt road, the town's people could see the columns, lined up like soldiers set to protect a fortress. This home was my family's fortress. It shielded us - my family - from the life my ancestors left behind in Spain."

Milan pointed to the gardens, saying, "You can see that in the yard stands, one lone tree, surrounded by what used to be flowing gardens and the remnants of trees that stood too tall, blocking the sun's rays during the day when I was growing up."

Johanna closed her eyes, trying to conjure up images of what this mysterious, old home with so many secrets must have looked like not so long ago and trying to prevent herself from staring at the tall, muscular man with dark hair and dark eyes.

"My grandfather was never really fond of any of the trees on the property, so he had most removed eventually. Once they were removed, he could watch the small, quaint town, and its inhabitants as they meandered through town, as if they had no real cares in the world. Back then, most did, but times were different. No one shared their woes, because everyone had troubles of their own. Wars were being waged. Lives were at stake. Times were rough for most everyone." Milan softened his tone as he became more and more nostalgic.

"Now, the neglect has transformed this once stately colonial from a coveted home that people from miles around would marvel at, to a place, filled with tall tales and stories only told at night to elicit fear from the masses." Milan shook his head, pushing back memories of some of the tales that were spun about him and Paulina.

Johanna placed her hand on his arm, saying, "That must be so hard for you. People can be so cruel."

Milan shrugged, pretending that it didn't bother him, but his eyes told a different story. "Regardless of the urban myths that had run wild over the years, this was still my home – the home where I was raised and my family held lavish affairs for everyone."

Looking up at the house, speaking directly to it, he said, "You'll live again soon, old girl. You'll live again."

Johanna's flesh covered in goose bumps as she listened to him speak to the manor as if it were a living, breathing thing. Perhaps for him, it was.

Sarah watched as the two spoke, paying close attention to Milan's body language. She too was struck by the home, as if transfixed on it, thinking about all this home had witnessed over the years.

The once strong bones whistled with the wind, just like it had at the end. Some things never changed. The ever-present hums and creaking, warned of something dark back then, just like it has done now. Milan could feel the change in the air as he looked at the house. Something told him that he and Johanna were being watched. He could feel it in his bones. It wasn't the neighbors or Sarah. It was the house, watching over him, warning him of something, but he didn't yet know what. He didn't believe that there could possibly be anything more devastating than what he'd already endured on this property.

Milan silently told the house, "Soon they'll know the truth. They will know the truth and you will be even grander than you were then, old girl. Everything will change soon and they'll see. I promise I'll take care of everything."

Johanna watched his expression change as he looked up at the manor. She found him to be both beautiful and remarkably odd at the same time. The manner in which he spoke, frightened her a tad. He didn't sound like the men she'd come to know over the years. He walked with an air of formality, carrying a heavy burden on his back. She wondered how someone so intriguing could also be so badly damaged. She worried that by staying, she'd be inviting a dark energy into her life and that was exactly the kind of thing she'd spent her life trying to escape.

They paused when they reached the iron gate. He needed one more moment to say goodbye to the life he'd created for himself and embrace the past, even if the embrace was cold and distant. This was a start. He just hoped, that the path he was chosen to take was the right path. Accepting Johanna and welcoming her into his home would not be easy. He knew there would be push back. He hoped that he could go on without losing his mind.

Johanna wondered why the town hadn't proceeded with plans to bring the daunting structure down. Five years had passed since the last time he'd stepped foot on the grounds of his late grandparent's home, so why was it left standing? She thought to ask Milan, but although he still remained at her side, his mind was elsewhere.

She followed his gaze as he stared up at a window on the top floor. She didn't see anything, but he remained fixated as if he had seen someone. She wondered if the ghosts he thought he lived with in his house were ghosts he carried with him. She'd shed her demons recently and knew the look of someone who still grappled with theirs.

As she looked at the house, she found herself mesmerized by its old bones and stately features. She could see why this house was so beloved at one time, but through Milan's eyes, knew that as much as it was loved, it was loathed as well. She wondered if she accepted this job, it would lead her down an incredible dark road and that she'd never find her way out again. She had to question her judgment, because she'd failed to read warning signs on so many other occasions in her lifetime.

"Why are you telling me all this?" She asked, but Milan didn't seem to hear her. She looked around, nervously, waiting for him to remember that she was there with him.

Off in the distance, Sarah stood, still watching, but not moving, not offering any clues as to how to proceed.

Johanna wondered how deep their relationship had been. She already knew that Sarah was the family's maid, but what else had she been? Did she know more than she had told her and when would either of the two give her the information she required before moving forward?

Slightly fearful, yet intrigued by the mystery, Johanna waited patiently, taking in the prying eyes of curious neighbors and imagining what kind of stories they were spinning about her, since she'd arrived.

As a new resident in town, she'd already become familiar with how quickly rumors spread. She'd already heard a few about her. They pointed and gawked at her as if they'd seen a ghost and now, standing here with Milan in this house, she understood why they felt the way they did. She saw the paintings and photos. Johanna knew what startled Milan. While she had no say in the way that she looked, she did hope that it wouldn't get in the way of her being able to get and keep this job. She needed it more than it needed her, but hoped that, in the end, all would be better for having shared the experience - good or bad.

Milan's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of whispering. Taking a deep breath, he followed the sound, just as he had so many times before. Unlike so many times before though, he wasn't afraid of the tunnel that sat just outside the wrought iron gates. The tunnel and the creek that ran through it were a point of contention between family members. There may have been a sound argument for acquiring it along with the property, but the reason had long since been proven fruitless.

Graffiti covered the walls of the tunnel. Milan had read that it had become a place the local teens used to spend time – a dark lover's lane of sorts. That surprised him. He'd always found the tunnel to be an unforgiving structure. Now, he hated it more than ever. It wasn't the graffiti that bothered him. He glanced over at Sarah. She knew what it was. The vein that popped out on her forehead every time she worried had already made its presence known. They both knew why the tunnel bothered Milan so and they both separately agreed not to make mention of it now or ever.

Johanna followed, not frightened by it like many others. She'd grown up near a creek that she loved, but her father always found it to be a nuisance, at best.

This tunnel and creek served no purpose that she could see, other than to add to the local lore about Milan's family and their supposed circumstances. She could see Milan's shoulders tense at just the mention of the tunnel. When he spoke of it, his voice shook nervously. Looking at it now, everything about the way Milan stood, told her that this was not a place he wanted to be. Johanna made a mental note to find out why that was.

What happened in this tunnel, she wondered.

"There are secrets here." Johanna stated. "I can feel it."

No one, of course, truly knew what happened there long ago, long before Paulina's death. Fortunate for Milan, he was far too young to have any real memory of it. What he knew came from stories his late mother had told him. She too heard it second hand. He never dared to ask his grandmother what had actually happened. He's not convinced that she would have told him either. Their family rarely divulged secrets. It wasn't something that any of them would have been comfortable with at all.

Milan spoke as if he were speaking about another family, "The Merceds kept to themselves for the most part, only allowing outsiders in by invitation. In all of my forty years, I have no memory of visitors simply stopping by to chat. Every person I ever met while living in River's Bend had been because they'd been invited to a fundraiser or some other important occasion. Now, mind you, they were friendly and well liked, but reserved and distant all at the same time. It was a strange combination, but a necessary one."

Johanna studied his chiseled facial features. The look on his face spoke of intensity and passion. He had seen many things. She could tell. What she didn't understand was why this home - this property - haunted him so.

The whispers continued, upon closer inspection, the words were desperate, almost sinister.

“But, you said that the manor was welcoming?” Johanna was confused by the contradiction.

He looked at her, his eyes darkening as he recalled, “It was, but that was a long time ago.”

Milan's ears quirked up as he tried to decipher the words. Anger mounted as he caught wind of what was being said. He'd heard it before, but that didn't dispel the anger he suddenly felt.

“Stop,” he bellowed. “Stop this now!”

From inside the tunnel, the whispers hushed on command. Milan waited, prepared to confront the seemingly disembodied voices. Chills ran up his spine. This was not the same. The whispering was nothing new, but the feeling was vastly different from any feeling he allowed himself to truly feel before.

Fire burned in his belly. This was not going to happen again. He would not let this happen on his watch. This home, this tunnel was his for the time being. Nothing was going to stop him from completing his mission or he'd be trapped in this dark world forever.

Johanna reached into her purse to grab her cell phone, her hands shaking.

“What are you doing?” Milan asked.

“Calling the police. Someone is in there. Don't you want to find out who?”Johanna turned toward the road, the sound of sirens blaring in the distance. "Someone is in there. I heard them and I know you heard them too. Go in, Milan. Now, before they get here." She pointed to the emergency vehicles speeding down the road to them.

“Now, what?” Milan's heart pounded with a vengeance in his chest.

Sarah walked outside to see what happened. Milan's eyes were fixated on the red and blue lights flashing as the sheriff and his deputies made their way toward his home. Neighbors rushed out of their homes, mouths gaping open.

Milan spoke lowly, “Go inside.”

“What? Why?” Johanna's eyebrows quirked up.

“Do it now.” Milan moved toward the street and watched as the sheriff's vehicles made their way to their destination – his property.

Sheriff Acker jumped out of his vehicle, hand on his gun, a hint of a satisfied smile on his face as he looked at Milan. “We got a tip from the Nashville PD about a young woman who went missing. Know anything about that?” Ned asked, looking around the yard behind Milan.

“No. Why would I?” Milan looked back at him, firing burning in his eyes.

“Well, it seems the young woman, Emily Kramer, was on her way down here to explore your tunnel. Have you seen her?” Ned asked, looking directly at Milan now.

“You know I haven't. I've only been here less than twenty-four hours. I haven't seen anyone.” Milan answered.

“Have you been in the tunnel?” Ned asked, nodding to the tunnel.

Milan swallowed hard. He hadn't been in the tunnel yet and he hoped that he wouldn't have to go in there for this, but if someone was accusing him of something, he would have to make an exception.

“Do you mind if we take a look?” Ned signaled for his deputies to look, after Milan nodded his approval.

“I don't know anything about the girl.” Milan closed his eyes. He knew what he said didn't matter to Ned or his men. They wanted something that they could pin on Milan and, since they couldn't find any evidence that he'd done anything to harm Paulina in any way, they were hoping this would be a convenient replacement.

“Sheriff, we have a body.” The sheriff's deputy called out on the police radio.

Sheriff Acker's eyes narrowed. His suspicions had just just been confirmed. Milan's head started spinning. This nightmare couldn't be happening again.

Sarah reached for Milan's arm as she walked out to join him. “What is going on?”

Milan held his chest. The pressure was more than he could stand. He braced himself up against the fence, his head hanging low. Every neighbor within a four block radius had gathered around, hungry for information and confirmation of their long-held suspicions.

Chapter 7

“SO, YOU’RE JUST going to give up and let these people think they won? I don't understand. When I was warned about you, the caseworker said you were strong and harsh, but you know what, she was wrong. You're strong, but you're not as mean as you pretend to be. A mean spirited person wouldn't give up and bow down to people and their rumors. A strong person would fight for the truth.”

“You don't know anything about this or about me.” Milan challenged her.

Johanna stood up, standing over him. "I know that you have been through something terrible and that people that you thought were your friends either turned their backs on you and blamed you." He inhaled quickly. "That's what it is, isn't it? They blame you for something?" She sat down next to him, surprised that she'd guessed correctly.

Milan held his head in his hands. "I don't have time for this. You are here to work for me, not to meddle in stuff that isn't any of your business."

"Yeah, I'm here working for you. I know my place, Mr. Merced." Johanna tried to hide the disappointment she felt at being told she was just an employee. “The fact remains, they found a body out there and because I'm your employee I'll be dragged into this too. So, you can sit there and pretend like you are the only one in the world with problems or you can open your eyes and fight for yourself and for others. There's a dead teenager out there – on your property. That's much bigger than anything else on your very full plate right now.”

"That's not what I meant." Milan threw his hands in the air in frustration. "This is my house. Mine. This is my issue. You are here to do a job. Don't ask questions. Don't challenge me and don't tell me what you think I should be doing. You haven't been here long enough to have an opinion. Is that understood? If not, see yourself out of my house now." He stormed out of the room, tired of River's Bend and all of the atrocities it had to offer.

Johanna felt like the world had just been swept out from under her feet. Now, she'd lost her job before she even had time to get started. Part of her wanted to run after Milan and beg him to forgive her, but another part told her to stand her ground. Someone had done that for her once and she was convinced that it saved her life. Milan needed help and, despite what others had warned her about, she wanted to help him.

"This house could be saved. He could be saved. He needs help. If he thinks that everyone is just going to give him a pass on whatever happened to that girl, he's wrong." Johanna whispered as she looked around the room.

Behind her, she heard the front door slam and someone walk in. Assuming it was Milan, she steadied herself, preparing to offer an apology.

"Why are you here?" Sarah asked.

"To help," Johanna answered. "Why do you think I'm here?"

"I'm beginning to think that I made a mistake. What we need here is someone to do as they are told, not someone who wants to challenge Milan at every turn. You know how stressful this must be for him. My God, there are police outside, behind the house right now, combing for clues about a murdered girl. Do you really think he needs you to make this day any harder for him? Is that why you're here? To make him pay for some past transgression?" Sarah hissed at her.

Johanna gasped, surprised by the accusation. "I promise you - I had no idea who Mr. Merced was. I swear, all I did was apply for a job and the caseworker sent me here. I don't know anything about what has happened in the past or anything about what is going on in that tunnel." Tears spilled from Johanna's eyes. She didn't accept this job posting to cause any trouble. This was supposed to be her ticket out of the troubled life she'd led.

Sarah sighed, feeling torn between the anger she felt over Milan's reaction to Johanna and the pain she felt over the fact that yet another person's life had ended in that tunnel. She knew that whatever was happening or did happen there couldn't have just been a coincidence. Someone was behind the horrific crime and she had no doubt in her mind that other things would occur so long as Milan was in town.

Agreeing to come back to work for him wasn't a difficult decision to make. She'd loved him like he was her own. Protecting him from others came naturally, but protecting him from himself would prove to be more difficult than she was prepared for. Milan was different. Life and loss had changed him. It was written all over him like a scarlet letter. He walked with sorrow on one shoulder and burning rage on the other. Navigating through life that way didn't afford him many breaks. He'd been forced to live with Paulina's horrific death and bore the brunt of all of the town's people's accusations, ideas, theories, and rumors for too long.

Sarah couldn't blame him for not trusting others, but at the same time, she couldn't cope with the thought that he no longer trusted her. She'd done everything for him and his family and never once faltered in her love or respect for each of them, in spite of their sometimes standoffish behavior and proclivities for remaining closed mouth about anything that others would find to be a normal part of life.

They were a proud people, who built their lives and reputations on hard work and the blood, sweat and tears of their ancestors. They never lost sight of how far they'd come and how much farther they still felt they needed to go.

After Milan's grandparents passed away, it left an enormous cavity in the family's core. They were temporarily lost and permanently altered. Milan's parents tried to continue as normally as possible, but Mrs. Merced - Diana - was never the same again. Although they were her in-laws, they treated her as one of their own children. They wrapped their loving arms around her and nurtured her just as they had their own.

At the tender age of eighteen, Diana married Milan's father. She practically grew up in this household. Their untimely deaths took a toll on her psyche and she clung to those who remained as if any slight movement would cause them to wither away into nothingness.

Sarah was just glad she was there during those years. She was the only person trusted enough to be allowed to take Milan outside and enjoy what other children his age were enjoying. He was free with her. His mother was never cruel. She adored him, but she also counted on him just like she counted on the air that she breathed and the food that nourished her. Diana always felt that if she didn't pay heed to warnings from her husband that Milan would one day rebel and leave the manor and this town for good. Fortunately, that didn't happen for quite some time, but it wasn't because Milan hadn't considered it. It was because a loss no one saw coming occurred.

Life after Milan's father's death took a drastic turn for Diana. Knowing the outcome of that loss, Sarah now feared for Milan like she never had before. She prayed that he wouldn't suffer the same fate that his mother had. She hoped that her influence helped him to be strong of spirit and gave him the tools necessary to move past the dark clouds that covered his heart and soul over the last few years, otherwise she was sure she would lose him one day soon.

"If you're going to stay, you will have to have to be very mindful of how serious things are here. We have no time for games. We have to get this house in order and do so quickly, otherwise... " Her voice trailed off.

"Otherwise what?" Johanna asked.

Sarah didn't respond. Johanna could see that she was contemplating whether or not to tell her something.

"What aren't you telling me? I want to help, but I need to know what I'm up against here. Honestly, all I've seen is one very moody, troubled man and a sheriff that hates him. Tell me why. I deserve to know something. How will I know what's the right or wrong thing to do here if you don't fill me in on what happened here?" Johanna begged for the truth.

"What I tell you, stays here. Do you understand what I'm saying?" Sarah hoped she wouldn't regret telling Johanna anything, but if things were to work out, it was only right to give her some information.

Johanna answered, "Yes."

Sarah led Johanna into the kitchen and dusted off a couple of seats for them to sit on so they could chat. It was time for some of the secrets to be revealed. Sarah hoped that it would help ease some of Milan's heavy burden.

* * *

MILAN WATCHED AS Ned and his men worked. The scene was hauntingly familiar. It tore his heart out to watch it happen again on his property. He couldn't help but think back to the day his mother took her life.

That day had been like countless others. His mother piddled around in the gardens she so loved. They were expecting guests for dinner that night and Sarah was in charge of getting the house in order. They'd given her authority over the others that worked at the manor and she was to see that they readied the manor for a five course meal and a dance to follow.

Nothing seemed at all out of the ordinary. His mother behaved like she'd always behaved before Milan's father's death a year earlier. It was the happiest Milan had seen her in a long time and he remembered being so relieved to finally see her getting back to her old self. He'd even commented on it at the time. Now, he wished he hadn't made mention of it. Although he knew that nothing he necessarily said or did would have made any difference, he always wondered if there was something he missed in her demeanor. That was a guilt that would never go away.

As the sheriff's deputies removed trash bags full of items from the tunnel, flashes of the day his mother's body had been discovered in the tunnel came to mind. He hated those thoughts and, no matter what he has done since that terrible day, he could never truly forget those images.

The sheriff motioned for him to return to the tunnel. Milan swallowed his pain and walked slowly toward outside to speak to Ned.

"Yes?" He asked, feeling nauseous.

"We are going to cordon off this area. I'm going to place an officer here around the clock. I'll need you and your lady friend to steer clear of here. Can you manage that for me?" Milan didn't appreciate his condescending tone, but he chose not to make mention of it.

"No one will go near here." He answered, looking directly into the sheriff's eyes.

"Good. Are you sure you don't remember seeing or hearing anything?" Ned asked the question for the third time since he'd arrived.

"I'm sure. I was with you, remember?" Milan had no intention of telling him one way or another if he'd heard anything. It was still a long-held secret that he sometimes thought he heard his mother crying. That hadn't happened since he'd lived here, but he had no doubt in his mind that if he paid close attention, he would hear those same noises again and again for as long as he lived.

"Yeah, you were with me this morning, but to be honest, I have no idea where you were before that or immediately after that."

"Are you accusing me of something, Sheriff Acker?" Milan asked.

"Nope. Well, we don't know for sure how that young woman made it here, but you know how this goes, we have to check all leads and make sure we've crossed our T's and dotted our I's. You'd expect the same to be done for someone you cared about, wouldn't you, son?" Ned grinned, knowing he annoyed Milan.

As the sheriff walked away, Milan forced himself not to react. Acker knew exactly what he was doing. Milan knew that he was trying to get a rise out of him. He understood that everyone in River's Bend had been waiting for the day they could make Milan suffer.

"Hey," Milan called out, "who said she was here in the first place. Why are you asking me?”

Ned stopped, not looking back and answered, "To find the truth."

Milan heard Sheriff Acker's words. He could read between the lines. This search wasn't just about the poor girl and her tragic death. It was about more than that. The sheriff wanted proof of wrongdoing in Paulina's death as well and now had a platform to re-investigate her death.

"You won't find anything that connects me to anything." Milan spoke low.

Acker turned around, answering, "Tell me where I will find what I'm looking for, then."

Sarah watched the exchange from the kitchen window. She'd seen the same look on both men's faces before. The nightmare had come back to haunt them again and both men were more determined than ever to prove the other one wrong.

Johanna stood up to look out the window. "The sheriff thinks Milan killed his wife?"

"The whole town does." Sarah answered.

"Why?" Johanna felt chills run up her spine. "I thought there was an autopsy. Isn't that what you said?"

Sarah turned to look at her, answering, "There was, but people still have questions. When someone that young dies, everyone wants some kind of explanation. No one wants to believe that people just die."

Johanna looked at Milan. He looked defeated, standing outside with his shoulders hunched and his head hanging low. If he was innocent and was the victim of a very cruel world, why wasn't he fighting for himself, Johanna wondered.

"Why do they blame him though, specifically? What was their relationship like?" Johanna couldn't imagine that Milan was at all cruel. She'd known mean, cruel people in her life and nothing about Milan fit that bill. What she saw when she looked at him was a sad, lost soul. He wasn't a murderer. He was a broken man with a broken heart.

"I've already told you too much." Sarah still grieved for Paulina too. She hadn't spoken of Paulina in a very long time because she missed her.

Just then, Milan walked back into the house. The women stopped talking and waited for him before making another move. He didn't come into the kitchen. They listened as he stomped up the stairs and walked into the guest room, slamming the door behind him.

Johanna looked to Sarah as to what to do next. Sarah sighed heavily before leaving the room and making her way up the stairs to talk to Milan.

"I guess, I'll stay right here." Johanna said to herself.

With Milan and Sarah both upstairs, Johanna had some time to let the information sink in. Taking this job was supposed to help change her life, but she never anticipated that she'd find herself in the center of a scandal. As she glanced out the window at the sheriff and his deputies, the day's events finally hit her.

"What am I doing here?" She said, watching a deputy photograph the tunnel and the area surrounding it.

Behind her, the floor creaked. She hadn't heard anyone come down the stairs. Goose bumps formed on her body immediately, warning her that she was not alone. She'd seen enough movies and read enough books to know what not to do when she felt she was being watched, but couldn't think of the right thing to do now.

Suddenly a door slammed in the distance. She screamed and ran toward the sound. Above her, she could hear Sarah and Milan rush to the stairs.

"Who is that?" Sarah asked from the landing.

The kitchen screen door was swinging open as Johanna entered the room. She rushed to look outside, believing that the sheriff or one of his deputies had just been inside.

Milan stormed into the kitchen. "What's going on down here? Who was that?"

Johanna stood, looking out over the back yard. "No one. I didn't see anyone. There was just noise."

The officers were still milling about outside. No one looked their way. Milan was confused. He knew he'd heard someone downstairs with Johanna.

"Who did you let in here?" He glared at Johanna.

Wide eyed and suddenly defensive, she answered, "No one. I didn't let anyone in here. I just heard noise and, then, it sounded like someone went out the back door."

Sarah chimed in. "I think we have had a stressful day and now we're getting a bit paranoid. Let's just calm down and try to act like civil human beings." She gave Milan a warning look. "Sit down. It was probably just the wind. It probably caught the door. Nothing to get all worked up about."

Milan's eyebrows furrowed.

"Now, we are going to start all over again." Looking outside at the police officers, she added, "Well, we can at least try to get along here. Johanna, since you're going to stay here with us, we'll need to get a room ready for you. You can help me with that."

Johanna eyebrows quirked up. "Stay here? You mean, live here? I didn't know this was a live-in position." She looked at Milan for confirmation.

His eyes narrowed. Through gritted teeth, he said, "What are you talking about, Sarah?"

Sarah smiled. "Well, there's a lot to do here. It would probably be easier to have Johanna stay here with us. There's plenty of room. It would save her a commute every day and save her some money too. Did you know that she's been staying at the motel downtown?"

Milan rubbed his temple. "No."

Johanna tried to interject. "Really. You don't have to do this. I'm fine where I'm at."

"No. You can stay here. Why waste the money? It will be fine." Sarah answered, nudging Milan's foot with hers.

He threw himself back in his seat. "I suppose."

"Good. It's settled, then." Sarah winked at a stunned Johanna.

The doorbell interrupted their impromptu discussion. Sarah left Johanna and Milan to answer the door. Sheriff Acker stood on the other side of the door, a grim look on his face.

"I need to speak to Milan." He said.

A chill ran up Sarah's spine. It was happening again. She could feel it in her bones. Milan was going to be named in another young woman's death.

Chapter 8

MILAN STOOD LOOKING into his eyes, daring him to say something offensive.

“Milan, are you really going to make me ask? You know why we are here.” Sheriff Acker looked at Milan, accepting his challenge.

Milan's mouth went dry. He'd lived this moment before. Behind Ned stood two deputies, all looking at him with darts in their eyes. They'd waited a long time for this moment.

Milan cleared his throat before responding. “Why?”

“I think you know how this works. I ask the questions and you answer them.” Acker's mocking tone only served to add to the animosity in the air.

“Are you accusing me of something, Acker or are you inviting me to dinner?” Milan's anger showed through his words.

Sarah placed her hand on Milan's arm. “Stay calm. I'll call your attorney.”

Ned responded to Sarah, but kept his eyes remained focused on Milan. “Do we need to call in his attorney yet? We just have some more questions. We were hoping, Mr. Merced here could help us answer those questions.”

Johanna stood up, trying to look past Milan and Sarah, thinking that she'd be able to read the seriousness of intentions by looking at the way the officers were positioned.

She'd spent a lifetime studying law enforcement body language. Between the constant brawls her father found himself in and the past boyfriends she wished she'd never met, Johanna considered herself an expert in the area of law enforcement manipulation tactics and this definitely fell into that category.

In her experience, officers that intended to arrest someone took a very specific stance and made sure to surround a home and secure a location before entering. These officers were alone. They didn't surround the home. No one was peering in windows or doors. Their hands weren't near their weapons. To her, this looked more like officers trying to ruffle some feathers.

She offered her unsolicited advice to Milan. “I think you should probably call your attorney before you talk to anyone. It doesn't look like they actually found something and, last I checked, I don't think you have to talk to anyone that you don't want to.”

Milan looked back at Johanna, surprised by her insight. Looking back at Ned, he replied to his request. “I think I'll wait to hear what my attorney has to say about this.”

Ned hesitated, looking Milan directly in the eyes. “Alright. I'll tell you what, why don't you get a hold of that attorney and let him know we've had another incident in the tunnel, then, see how he wants you to play this.”

“I'm not playing anything. I'll be in touch.” Milan moved to close the door, but the sheriff didn't budge. He peered in, looking at Johanna, who didn't shy away from glaring back at him.

“Well, I guess it's settled then. Will you be needing anything else, Sheriff Acker?” Sarah asked, trying to ease the tension and prompt Ned and his team to vacate the property as quickly as possible.

Sheriff Acker opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind and turned quickly on his heels, motioning for the other officers to resume what they were doing.

Milan watched them as they walked back in defeat. Whatever they thought they'd accomplish, led them down a failed path. Milan was just glad that Johanna had the presence of mind to put them in their place and enlighten Milan on what his rights were in the present matter. As had happened before, he was dumbfounded and had no way of knowing how to proceed when faced with the unthinkable.

"Thank you." Milan turned to Johanna. She nodded, paying heed to what Sarah had said to her just a little while earlier. Her place was to work and provide a service. She was just relieved that Milan wasn't angry at her for interrupting.

"What happens now?" Sarah asked.

Milan's shoulders slumped. He braced himself on the wall, jarred by how quickly things had begun to spiral out of control.

Johanna offered her opinion again. "Not to step on any toes, but if they actually found any evidence that he had anything to do with that girl's death, the sheriff wouldn't have asked permission to speak to you. I think they're just trying to do their jobs and figure out what happened. I don't think it really has anything to do with you. I mean, how long has it been since you lived here? And, I think most people know you just came back to town. How long has this girl been missing and who knows how long she's been in the tunnel. It's creepy and so sad."

Milan didn't answer. The town of River's Bend was proving to be just as judgmental as it had been before and he had no doubt in his mind that all eyes would be on him and this house the girl's murder was solved. He just hoped that it would be done quickly.

Johanna hated to ask, but she needed to be sure. “Did you know that girl? Why would she have ended up here?”

Milan felt the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders. He looked at Johanna, unsure that she'd be satisfied with any answer he gave her. He'd seen the look she had in her eyes many, many times over the years. The look of doubt haunted him every night of his life. Now, he had to prepare himself for what was sure to be another round of accusations and vicious rumors about him and the tunnel that everyone claimed was haunted.

"How about something to eat? Johanna, can you run to the market and bring back a few items for us? I don't think Milan should leave and he definitely shouldn't stay here alone. We don't want to give anyone any reason to suspect him of wrongdoing." Sarah suggested, trying to lighten the mood.

As soon as Johanna pulled out of the driveway, Sarah sat down next to Milan in the living room. They didn't say a word to each other. Milan placed his hand over hers, squeezing it gently. She didn't have to be told that he was thankful that she was there. She knew. She was just as thankful to have come back. He needed her. Abandoning him now would be cruel. She understood how quickly rumors spread in this town and was sure that people were already wagging their tongues about what was happening manor now.

Milan sighed, leaning back on the sofa. Sarah didn't move. Her eyes were focused on the small gathering of people that suddenly was inspired to go for a walk up the hill to Merced Manor. Each person that passed by was another indication that this town had been bursting at the seams to get the chance to watch Milan finally fall to his knees. If she had anything to do with it, she would ensure that she didn't let that happen. Not now. Not ever.

"We'll get through this." She whispered.

* * *

JOHANNA WEAVED HER way back down the road, amazed by the amount of people making their way up to the manor. One by one, they marched on in tribute to the young woman. A feeling of pity came over her as she took in the sight. She didn't pity the citizens that had gathered and made excuses to go near the manor and the tunnel. What she felt was an overwhelming sense of loss over the girl's death. No one deserved to die that way, alone.

By all accounts, Milan and his family had been pillars of the community. When she'd first arrived in town only a couple of days earlier, just beyond the old mills and the old schoolhouses, she saw the manor. It stood taller than the smattering of homes that sat around it, looking down the same hill.

The manor beckoned her in a way. She, like she was sure countless others had been, was curious about the old home. She imagined that the founding father of River's Bend must have lived there, choosing the location to get a bird's eye view of the town, but when she'd inquired about the home after checking into the motel, all she heard were warnings to stay away from it and from the nearby tunnel.

Initially, no one informed her as to what exactly had happened, but they did say that the manor was no longer a welcoming place and that it held many secrets. Not one to listen to tall tales or to pay much attention to rumors, she left their words to fall on deaf ears. She had her own issues to deal with and didn't need to take on someone elses troubles.

"What can I do you for?" The clerk asked, eyeing Johanna like she was something out of a horror film.

Hoisting the items she held in her hands, Johanna asked for assistance finding an item. The clerk clicked her tongue in annoyance.

"I'm working the register today. You have to ask the stock boy for that." She turned her attention to her hands, examining her bright green fingernail polish.

"I'm the only customer in here. What exactly are you busy doing?" Johanna looked around the small grocery store, stocked with just the basic necessities from what she could see.

The teenager rolled her eyes. "Nothing, but I'm on the register today."

"Alright," Johanna's blood boiled, but she didn't want to start an argument. "I'm going to leave this stuff on the counter while I go look for capers. Is that alright with you?"

The cashier shrugged, pulling a bottle of fingernail polish out of her smock.

While Johanna looked around for the capers, she felt like she was being watched. She looked up at the cashier, but she was busy painting her nails. Johanna hadn't heard anyone else come into the store. It was small enough for her to see both the entrance and the exit doors. She figured there had to have been some other employees in the store, but didn't see them.

On the bottom shelf of the spice aisle, she found the capers. She crouched down to get them and, as she stood up, a man's voice asked, "Need some help there?"

Johanna yelped, startled. "You scared me. Where did you come from?"

The man smiled at her. "Just walked in and saw you down on the ground there."

From her vantage point, she couldn't make out his features. The harsh lighting blinded her momentarily. As she stood up, she noticed his dark tan and piercing blue eyes. They were the only features handsome about him in his current state. His clothes were covered in dirt and his large hands were calloused.

"I'm fine." She held up the jar of capers to show him. He looked her up and down, making her uncomfortable. "Well, the cashier's waiting for me." She backed away from him, sensing that he wasn't the kind of man she wanted to bother with.

"Found them!" She placed the jar of capers down in front of the cashier. "Thanks for your help." The girl ignored the comment and rang up the items. All the while, the man that had startled her remained in the aisle, watching her.

Johanna whispered, "Who is that guy?"

The girl looked down the aisle, rolled her eyes and asked, "Why? What did he do?"

The way the girl looked at the man told Johanna that she did indeed know the man and he seemed to know her. She grabbed her bag of items and got out of the store as quickly as possible. She didn't like the way either of them were looking at her.

"Weirdos." She said as the door closed behind her.

When she got out to the sidewalk, the feeling of being watched didn't go away. Heads turned as she walked by to get back to the car. It was obvious that they knew she didn't belong there or at least they thought she didn't belong there.

She tried to ignore the gawking and even attempted to be friendly and acknowledge them as she walked by, but no one said a word to her in response. They just watched her, as if they were waiting for something to happen.

"What is wrong with everyone?" Johanna asked as she struggled to unlock the trunk and throw the grocery items in.

Finally, someone spoke to her, just as she was about to close the driver's side door. "Are you a Merced?" An older gentleman asked.

She shook her head. "No, sir. My family is from Indiana." The man moved closer to the car, leaving a horrified looking woman standing in front of the car.

"Indiana, huh? Well, what brings you here?" He smiled a crooked smile.

"Moved. Just moved here." Instinctively, Johanna locked the car doors.

"Well, that's good. I hope you enjoy your stay. Are you going to be working for the Merced family?" He asked, still donning that sinister smile.

After the day she had, she didn't need one more person trying to upset her. Even though she knew she'd regret it later, she unlocked the car, opened her door, gently nudging the old man away from the car and screamed at the top of her lungs for everyone, including the grocery clerk, if she was paying attention, to hear, "You people are sick. That man lost his wife and all you've done has caused him more pain and misery with your stories. What is wrong with you people? If this is how small town America lives, I don't want any part of it. Now, back off and find yourselves something constructive to do."

Everyone stood with their mouths gaping open, staring at her as if her head had just spun. The moment of satisfaction Johanna felt at giving them a piece of her mind, dissipated as she looked at the sea of faces staring back at her. She messed up and she knew it.

"He's going to kill me." She told herself.

The last thing she wanted was to cause more problems for him or for anyone. She backed out of the parking space, making sure not to rev the engine and peel out, so she couldn't be accused of driving like a lunatic.

* * *

"YOU DID WHAT?" Sarah turned to face Johanna as she explained what happened in town.

"I"m sorry, but someone had to say something to them. They were looking at me like I'd done something to them. I know I messed up. I knew it the moment I got back in the car, but they deserved it." Johanna explained.

Sarah exhaled. "Yeah, but did Milan deserve it? Do you realize that what you did will cause him more problems? We can't fix or control how they behave, but you can control your behavior."

Johanna wanted to cry. She wished she hadn't let her emotions get the best of her. "What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know if there is anything you can do." Sarah answered.

Milan walked into the room, asking, "Do about what?"

Sarah and Johanna looked up at each other, not knowing how to respond. Milan rubbed the back of his neck, waiting for one of them to speak up.

"What happened now?" He looked out the window and something he saw, distracted him. He asked, "What in the world is going on?"

Johanna felt her heart fall into her stomach. She was afraid to look outside.

Sarah stepped to the window and looked out. She gasped, clutching her chest.

Milan turned to look at Johanna and ordered, "Make sure all of the doors and windows are locked and close the curtains."

Johanna started to ask, "Why? What happ... "

He interrupted her question. "Do it now!"

For the next couple of hours as night began to fall, the three of them remained behind closed doors and windows, listening to the voices of concerned citizens and reporters from local television and radio stations as they spewed questions at the house, hoping to get Milan's attention.

"This is crazy." Johanna mused. She glanced over at Sarah, but Sarah hadn't said a word to her since Milan came down the stairs.

Milan put his head in his hands. "I don't know why I came back. I should have just let the county do what they wanted with this property. I don't care any more."

Sarah immediately responded, "Yes, you do. We both know why you came back. You had to. You couldn't let them destroy what meant so much to your family. This," she pointed outside, "will pass and soon they will move on to the next scandal in town. You have to finish what you started. Don't let them win."

Milan looked up, exasperation on his face. "Let them win? Why is everyone acting like this is some kind of contest? This is my life. Paulina is dead and no one understands how painful that is for me. Now, this girl, whatever her name is, is dead and they found her here. How do you think that makes me look? I don't know if you realize this, but that tunnel is on my property. That tunnel," he paused, his voice cracking, "took my mother."

Johanna watched Milan storm out of the room and go upstairs. She felt sorry for him and all that he was going through. She also felt terrible for stirring things up when she went downtown.

Looking at Sarah, she asked, "How did the tunnel, take his mother? Why is focusing on what this does to him, when a girl has been murdered? Imagine what her poor family is going through right now."

Sarah looked at her, anger in her eyes, answering, "Mrs. Merced committed suicide in the creek that runs through the tunnel. Every since then, kids and the local media have turned it into some kind of urban legend. Kids would sneak in there at night to see if they could make contact with her. Soon, there were claims of visions and noises coming from there. It haunted Milan for years. He won't go in there."

Outside the voices became louder. It was like they were chanting something. Johanna looked outside at everyone. Some were huddled together just outside the police barricade to the yard. Others had taken to the streets, milling about, trying to catch a glimpse of Milan. It was like a scene out of a movie. Johanna could feel her anger mounting. She'd never seen anything like this. They were hungry for information and desperate for answers. She only wished they understood that Milan was too. He didn't deserve what was happening.

"How do we help?" Johanna asked just as the doorbell rang. She looked at Sarah. Sarah glanced up the stairs. There was no movement from above.

"I'll get it." Sarah went to the door, looking out the peephole. She turned and looked back at Johanna. "Its a reporter."

"Just don't answer it." Johanna advised. "They'll go away eventually." She looked back at the angry crowd, recognizing some of the faces. The man from the grocery store stood in the center of the crowd, yelling right along with the rest of them. The older couple stood arm in arm with a group. Now, she understood what all the commotion was about when she went into town.

From the other side of the door, the reporter started spewing questions at Milan. "Mr. Merced, do you know how Emily Kramer's body ended up on your property? How did you know her? Is it true that you came back to sell the manor? Mr. Merced? Mr. Merced?"

After several minutes, when no one answered any of her questions, the reporter and her cameraman retreated down the front steps and moved around to the back of the house to film the area in front of the tunnel.

Inside, Milan, Sarah, and Johanna could hear her report her story. She said, "Six years ago, Diana Merced committed suicide in the Merced Tunnel. One and half years after that, Paulina Merced, wife of Milan Merced, is found dead in the tunnel. The coroner's report was inconclusive. He attributed her death to 'unknown causes'. Coincidence or murder? Is Milan Merced a murderer or a victim in all of this? Is the Merced family cursed? How could it be that all of Merced women that have lived in this manor have been found dead by mysterious causes in this tunnel? Is this property haunted or is someone to blame for each of their deaths?"

Sarah clutched her chest as she listened to the reporter's words.

Johanna slumped down in a seat, stunned by what she'd heard. No one had yet mentioned that others had been found dead in the tunnel. The terror she felt was more powerful than any emotion she'd ever felt before in her life. She knew that the deaths could not have been an unfortunate coincidence. That wasn't possible.

Milan stood at the bottom of the stairs, his hands shaking, his eyes burning with rage, as the realization finally hit him. Another life had been lost and he was a suspect.

Chapter 9

THE SIGN SAID: Murderer.

His hands trembled as he stood on the porch, holding the sign that he'd just ripped out of his yard. Turning to face the open door, where Sarah and Johanna stood, Milan's face was drained of all color and shrouded in anguish.

"Who did this?" Sarah asked, her voice breaking, as she looked out at the crowd of people standing just outside of the iron gates. "Who did this?" She asked louder.

Stunned, Johanna said, "Come inside."

Milan looked like he might faint. His knees knocked as he tried to walk the few steps to the door. He was blinded by the flashing lights from the many cameras and the cheers and jeers of those that were supposed to have been his friends.

Johanna looked at Milan and out to the crowd and back again. "Get inside." She reached for Milan's arm before he fell to the ground. "Don't let them see you fall."

Sarah braced herself, grabbing onto Milan's other arm and keeping him steady enough for her and Johanna to get him inside, away from the peering eyes of all that had gathered in front of his home to taunt him.

Reporters screamed their questions, but their voices were muffled by the chanting of all the others that stood side by side with them. Johanna shivered at the sound of their voices. Things had spiraled so quickly out of control and anger had taken hold of everyone in River's Bend.

"Lock the door." She instructed Sarah.

"Let's get him upstairs. He needs to lie down." Sarah suggested.

They struggled to get him up the stairs. His body had become listless under all of the mounting pressure. The murderer had not yet been found, but the media had ignited a firestorm of speculation, sending people from miles around to make a pilgrimage to Merced Manor to torment Milan.

"I didn't do this. I didn't do this." He repeated as they trudged up the stairs, carrying him.

"I know. I know you didn't." Sarah repeated over and over again.

After they got him settled into bed, Sarah and Johanna collapsed to the floor in the hallway. Both of them were exhausted from the day's events. Their emotions were high and their spirits nearly broken. They were at a loss as to how to proceed.

"This town is out of control." Johanna mused.

Sarah sighed. "This town wants to apply blame for everything. It doesn't matter whether it was Milan or anyone else. Right now, he is an easy target. They know he was weakened by his losses and he's stubborn enough to keep adding fuel to the fire by being confrontational and angry all of the time, but I think they may have finally broken him."

Johanna contemplated for a few moments, the sound of all of those gathered outside reverberating through the walls of the manor.

"We have to do something." She said.

"What can we do? I don't know anything about that girl. Do you?" Sarah looked at Johanna.

"No, of course not, but we can't just let them do this and get away with it. What happened to innocent until proven guilty? I don't even understand what they think he's guilty of. His wife died. A lot of people die, but why do they think that he had something to do with that?" Johanna was growing more and more confused with each passing moment. She didn't believe for a second that the anger that spewed from the mouths of the citizens of River's Bend was solely due to this poor young woman's death. She believed there had to be more to the story than that.

Sarah stood up, brushing off her clothing. "We're going to wake him up. Let's go downstairs. There are some things you need to know."

Johanna banged her forehead up against the wall as Sarah walked down the stairs.

There are too many secrets in this house, she said to herself.

Behind her, the floor creaked. The master bedroom door slammed shut immediately after she heard the floorboards move.

"What was that?" Sarah called up the stairs.

"I don't know." Johanna peeked in the room at Milan to make sure he was still asleep. He hadn't moved. "I'll go check."

She went to the master bedroom door, putting her ear to the door to listen for the sound of any movement. A faint light shone through the window. Given the amount of camera crews outside the home, she could attribute the light to them.

Sarah stood on the landing, watching as Johanna put her hand on the knob to open it. Together, they took a deep breath. Johanna closed her eyes for a moment, hoping that what she suspected wouldn't be true and opened the door, slowly.

"Is someone in here?" She whispered.

There was no response, just the noise from those that were standing outside.

"Hello?" She asked as she took one step into the cold room.

Still nothing.

Sarah crept up to the threshold, peeking in, her eyes wide as saucers.

"See anything, Johanna?"

Johanna jumped, letting out a scream.

"You scared me. No. There's no one in here. I think it was just the wind." She informed Sarah.

Outside the chanting grew louder, "Murderer. Murderer." They repeated.

"Shut the windows." Sarah told Johanna.

Checking them, each of the windows was sealed tightly, dust and cobwebs lay on the window sills.

"They haven't been opened in a long time." Johanna was confused. There was no reason for the door to have slammed shut all of a sudden. No windows were open. The room was too cold for a hot, summer night. It didn't make any sense to her.

Sarah looked around the room, visibly shaken. She said, "We need to get out of here."

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Johanna looked up at the closed door and asked, "Is this house haunted?"

Sarah hesitated, taking in a quick breath of air.

Milan stood at the top of the stairs, listening to their exchange. He answered Johanna's question, "No, it's not haunted."

Johanna studied both Milan and Sarah's faces. Frown lines shone on both of their faces. There was something that they weren't telling her and she wasn't going to let another moment pass without knowing the truth behind the manor and the tunnel.

"Someone needs to tell me what's going on. I can't help you here, if I don't know the truth. Are you guilty of something?" Johanna hated to ask, but too many strange things had happened and, if her instincts were correct, something much worse was going to happen very soon.

Milan looked at Sarah. She confirmed that she was planning to fill Johanna in on some of what had happened.

"Get to it, then." Milan clapped his hands and retreated back to the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

"You know," Sarah started, "every family has a history. I'm sure your family has a long standing history. What is it?"

Johanna was instantly annoyed. This wasn't supposed to be a conversation about her life and her family's history. She wanted answers and had grown tired of being given the run around when it came to the secrets about the Merced family.

"No. You're not going to beat around the bush with this. I need to know. My family and our history has nothing to do with whatever nonsense is going on here." Thinking for a moment, she turned around and moved to go back up the stairs. "I'm not going to do this. You people are up to something and I don't like it. I don't think I want to stay here. I'll find another job. This is too much for me. I don't need this."

Milan came out into the hallway, stopping at the landing. "Stop." He ordered her. "What are you doing?"

"Getting out of here." Fear took hold of Johanna. Having him stand there, ordering her to stop, reminded her of why she'd left Indianapolis. A flood of memories of her ex-boyfriend ordering her around and threatening to hurt her, rushed into her mind. Panic set in. She immediately went into defense mode and put her hands in front of her to shield her face from harm.

"What are you doing? I'm not going to hit you? What do you think I am?" Milan was defensive and hurt now.

"I'm leaving. I can't stay here if you two aren't going to be totally honest with me." Johanna rushed past him to get her things.

Milan looked at Sarah. She said, "She deserves to know."

Sighing, Milan raked his hand through his tousled hair and followed Johanna.

Knocking on her partially closed door, he asked, "Can I come in?"

"No." Her reply was short.

"Johanna, please?" He begged.

She opened the door, taking a step back to allow him into the room.

"It's your house. Do whatever you want, but just so you know, none of those people out there are going to leave you alone until you come clean or make them leave somehow." She warned him as she rushed around the room, picking up the few things she'd removed from her bags.

Milan sighed before he turned to speak to her. "Can we sit and talk?" He motioned for the twin bed in the center of the room.

Johanna nodded, sitting at the far end of the bed near the window.

"This house isn't haunted. Neither is that tunnel. This house was my home. I loved this place. My family loved this place. Some bad things happened and," he paused, rubbing his temple. "Things changed after my father died. My mother became very depressed and refused to leave the grounds. She stopped seeing people and socializing. It was too much for her. She felt like she was all alone in the world, but she still had me." Milan's voice broke as he recalled the events.

"Kind of like how you are now. You stopped seeing people and stopped living your life, didn't you?" Johanna challenged him to face what he'd become. “What about what that reporter said? What did she mean that every woman that comes here winds up dead?”

"That's not exactly true. Some things have happened, but not in the way that she made it sound. This was a long time ago. My father died about seven years ago. My mother remained here with me and Sarah and some of the other staff. She tried to function, but it didn't work. I don't know. I guess she couldn't figure out who she was without my father. She got worse. She lost weight. For a while, Sarah is the only one she'd allow anywhere near her. She didn't want anyone to know how bad things had become for her." Milan's eyes moistened with tears. “Then, I met my wife and things changed for a while. I thought she was better, but I guess she wasn't.”

"How did she do it?" Johanna asked.

Milan swallowed his emotions. Putting his head down, he whispered, "She swallowed a bunch of pills. I don't know. I guess, she walked outside and went to the tunnel. I don't know why. Maybe, she just wanted to be alone." He started to cry as he recounted the story. "I was at work and when I came home, she wasn't here. Sarah had been out shopping. My mother acted like she was okay. She pretended to be having a good day, but, I guess, that was to get rid of us while she did it."

"Did you find her? Where was your wife?" Johanna felt sorry for him.

He shook his head. "No, I called the police when I couldn't find her. The sheriff came down and acted like things were fine. He assumed she was doing better. We all did. Then, a few more hours went by. It was getting dark. Sarah and I had gone looking for her and couldn't find her. I didn't know what to do. We checked everywhere we could think of. Next thing I know, Tuck Johnson goes into the tunnel and comes out screaming that he found her."

"I'm so sorry." Johanna didn't know what else to say. Milan's shoulders quaked as he sobbed. "I can't imagine how difficult that must be for you."

Rubbing the tears from his face, Milan stood up. "She was just gone and all I had was memories of her in this house. Nothing had been finalized. Technically, my mother didn't really own it. My grandparent's attorneys controlled everything. They held it in trust for me. My grandfather had left it to me, but with a caveat. I had to be married. After I got married, I couldn't just take the house away from my mother, so she stayed here with us. To answer your question, my wife had gone out of town for the day. She didn't come back until it was too late.”

"So, you stayed here, where she died and what? Did you plan on staying in the house? Did your wife want to stay here after that happened?" Johanna thought she was beginning to understand.

"I loved this house. I stayed because I didn't have anywhere else that I wanted to be, but at the same time, I didn't want to be here. Sarah stayed on with me and some of the other employees, but it wasn't the same. This was my mother's home. She held things together. The rest of us just benefited from it." He stood up and looked out the window, shaking his head at all the commotion.

Johanna's heart ached for him in that moment. He wore his pain for all the world to see and some to fear. Life had thrown so many rifts at him and he'd never had time to recover. As she watched him, seeing his shoulders slump and chest heave, she wished she could reach out to him and hold him, to tell him that everything would be okay, but she knew that it would have been inappropriate.

He moved her in so many different directions just by being who he was. She'd never felt so invested and so protective of anyone the way she did for him. He made her want to scream and pull her hair out at the same time because he frustrated and angered her so, but she also wanted to hold him and comfort him.

He glanced over at her. "You think I'm guilty too, don't you? That's why you're looking at me that way."

Surprised, Johanna gasped. "No. I don't think you're guilty of anything. I was just... Well, I was just thinking. You know, all of this is a lot to take in."

He nodded, knowing full well how insane his world must have looked to an outsider. He instantly regretted bringing her into his home and into his life at this time. She was too young and too innocent to have been thrown into a world of chaos and misguided loyalties.

It hadn't gone unnoticed that the other former employees and close friends he'd acquired over the years hadn't returned to offer support or encouragement or to inquire as to whether or not he needed their assistance. He was sure that they'd heard that he was back in town by now. He couldn't blame them for not wanting to be involved, considering the rather unusual circumstances he found himself in yet again, but their noticeable absence did sting nonetheless.

"I didn't hurt Paulina. The thought never even crossed my mind. I loved her very much. She was everything. She breathed air into me when I thought there was none left for me. I know that probably sounds silly or overly dramatic, but that's the truth. Losing my parents in such a short time frame, nearly broke me. They were everything up until I met her, then, she became a part of my everything, if that makes sense." Milan rubbed his eyes, still standing at the window, listening to the sounds of everyone down below.

Johanna cast her eyes down, taking in this new information, still not understanding how things could have gone as far as they had. She asked, "Why did the whole town, turn on you? That didn't just happen overnight."

He shrugged, "They were scared or angry or who knows. All it took was one person to have doubts and soon people started talking. Before I knew it, they were pointing fingers at me and there was nothing I could do or say to make it stop. When I was young, there were rumors of another death here. It was a long time ago. These stories about the tunnel aren't entirely new. They've been spun over and over again."

"Who blamed you initially?" Johanna stood up to look out the window at the crowd. "Was it Sheriff Acker?"

Milan nodded. "Yes. This may sound like I've lost my mind, but I don't really blame him either. Small town sheriffs don't usually deal with a whole lot of horrible incidences. I think a lot of it was that Paulina was young and so well liked and she did so much for and with everyone. It was like no one wanted to believe that she died. I know that I didn't, but it was true. The rumors about the house and that damn tunnel sparked a whole slew of new rumors and crazy stories. People wanted to believe that there was a connection and that three women couldn't possibly die at the same place by coincidence."

"Paulina died in the tunnel too?" Johanna was shocked by that information.

"I don't know. No one knows exactly where she died. What we know is that we found her body in the tunnel." Milan sighed.

"Wait. Wait. Wait. What you're saying is that both your mother and your wife were found dead in the tunnel on your property and the other one from a long time ago? Was that a woman too?" She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

Milan swallowed hard. "Yes, all three were relatives of some sort. I don't know why. I can't let myself make a connection between all three deaths because that would make me crazy."

Sitting on the bed, Johanna shook her head in surprise. "How could that happen? Did the other woman go missing too? How did she end up in the tunnel? How did she die?" Johanna was asking all of the same questions that all of the people standing outside the manor had asked hundreds of times over the years.

"I don't know much about my great aunt's death. That was before my time. She'd come here from Spain with my grandfather. My understanding is that it was a tragic accident, but I really don't know how or why. As for Paulina, I came home and she was gone. I assumed she was running an errand. I called the police after a couple of hours and we searched. The next morning, someone out walking their dog found her in the tunnel." Milan closed his eyes as he recalled the events.

"No one searched the tunnel before?" Johanna asked.

"Yes, we searched it. The sheriff and his deputies checked it. She wasn't there the night before." Milan explained.

"Then, how did she get in there and when? Wasn't anybody watching the property?"

Milan shrugged. "She must have come back from wherever she was. Johanna, I really don't know. I've asked myself this over and over again and haven't found the right answer. She died. No one knows how or why and I don't have an explanation as to how she ended up there. This is a small town. We don't have the resources that other towns have. A deputy was patrolling the area, but he didn't notice anything."

Johanna looked up to the ceiling. "That's why they blame you."

"Yes, that's... " Milan started, before he was interrupted by loud screaming coming from outside.

"You killed her! How do you sleep at night, knowing you murdered your wife and child?" The shrill voice screamed, hushing the crowd with its chilling accusation.

Chapter 10

“JOHANNA, MILAN ASKED me to tell you to please take the boxes from the hallway to the cellar and the boxes from the master bedroom are to be dropped off at the second hand store on Main Street.” Sarah explained the orders just as Milan had requested.

"So, he's really going to do it, then?" Johanna looked around at all of the items Milan had gathered up and thrown into boxes overnight.

Sarah sighed, looking down at all of the family heirlooms and trinkets that were going to be discarded, answering, "Yes. It looks that way. Now, let's get these loaded into the car as quickly as possible. Those monsters outside don't need to see what's going on here."

Johanna peeked outside at the reporters who had set up camp on the street in front of the property. The crowd that had gathered dispersed in the wee hours of the night, allowing Milan and the women a few hours of quiet after a long day of accusations and questions being thrown at them.

"Do you think they'll come back today?" Johanna asked, meaning the local residents who had waited over five years to finally be able to say what they'd believed about Milan and his wife's mysterious death.

Sarah could barely keep her eyes open, the stress showing on her face. She shrugged, saying, "In this town, it's hard to know what people will or won't do. Let's just be prepared in case they do. Behave normally. We haven't done anything wrong and we can't let them think we are afraid of them."

"But, are you?" Johanna didn't know if she was more fearful or angry that a town could turn on someone without any evidence that they'd done anything wrong. She thought of how often she'd accused someone in her life of having done something without any concrete evidence to prove it. At the time, it felt like the right thing to do, but now, watching what this behavior was doing to Milan, she wished she could have taken every unkind thought and every ounce of mistrust she ever felt away.

"No." Sarah answered after taking a moment to decide. "I'm disappointed. I'm angry. I want this to end. Milan should be allowed to move on with his life. All of this chaos and nonsense here, has robbed him of the time he needed to grieve properly and that's not fair. I'll tell you - he is not the same because of all of this."

Johanna lifted a box to take it outside. "But, I don't see how getting rid of his family's things is going to help any of this. I mean, why get rid of the house? It's rightfully his. I could see not wanting to live in it, but why sell it? Why throw away all these memories?"

Sarah loved the manor. Some of her fondest memories took place in the manor. She too felt like walking away from it wasn't the right thing to do, but not knowing exactly what Milan was going through, she felt she couldn't speak for him or make any decisions for him. This was his battle to fight. Her job was to support him, no matter what, even if that meant having to watch him throw away something his family fought so hard to obtain.

"I mean, look at it. This place is gorgeous. All it needs is some minor repairs and it could be just as beautiful as it was before, like in the pictures that I saw. Couldn't he just get rid of the tunnel somehow. Cement it shut and let you live in the house or something? Wouldn't you want to live here again?" Johanna had never lived in a home that her family owned. She'd waited her whole life to have something to call her own. The idea of selling the one thing that still connected him to the life he lived, felt like such a loss to Johanna. She couldn't fathom simply walking away from it and pretending that it didn't matter anymore.

"It isn't our decision. We work for him. We don't get a say in the matter and, yes, I loved this home, but it wasn't mine. Remember, I was an employee. A young woman was found dead, just a few feet from the back door. What do you expect him to do?" Sarah tried to sound firm despite her own feelings of loss regarding the people and the home she'd come to love over the years.

Johanna fought the urge to continue trying to persuade Sarah. She understood that it must have been painful for her too.

As soon as she stepped out the front door, hoisting the first of many boxes that she would have to remove from the home, reporters outside sprung into action, jumping out of their vehicles to fire off questions at her. Johanna casually glanced up at the bedroom window, where Milan was sleeping, hoping that they wouldn't wake him.

"Miss, is it true that you were hired to help clear out the property? Miss, what is your relationship with Mr. Merced?"

Johanna gulped, trying to hold her tongue and not engage with the reporters, but the questions continued. After loading the box into the car, she rushed back into the house, her nerves on edge.

"What is wrong with these people? Why is it so unusual that a man wants to sell his house?" Johanna asked, believing that Sarah was in earshot.

Milan spoke. "To them, I'm a murderer. Those questions were mild compared to what they could ask. I've been down this road before. Believe me, it is going to get worse."

Johanna gasped, surprised to find him awake and downstairs. Despite all of what he was going through, he remained strikingly handsome. His beautiful brown eyes showed signs of sleep deprivation and worry, but they also showed a strength that caught Johanna off guard. His beautifully chiseled face donned a scowl that she hoped would one day disappear. Given what she'd witnessed the night before, behind the tough facade was a man who loved and loved hard. He had a softer side that made her heart ache for him. The brooding side was the one he allowed people to see, but she couldn't help to be intoxicated by that either.

Milan was a complicated man with a gentle heart and far too unpredictable for Johanna to feel comfortable with, but she was drawn to him and she had the feeling that he was drawn to her as well. She knew that this wasn't the time or the place for any feelings to develop, but she couldn't deny that she was at least intrigued and beguiled by him. He, very much like the manor, was bewitching.

Johanna didn't see Sarah in the room. "I should probably go find Sarah."

Milan stopped her, saying, "No, not yet. There are some things I'd like you to do."

"Okay." Butterflies began fluttering wildly in Johanna's stomach. "If it's about those boxes, I just started loading some into my car. I hope that's okay."

"It's not that. I'd like you to go into the attic and start removing some of those items first. There's no point in holding on to them anymore either. Everything up there should be in boxes already." Milan said.

"Sure. No problem." Johanna started up the stairs, sensing that Milan was watching her. She turned back to look and he immediately turned his head. "Was there something else," she asked.

"No. Just make sure everything is removed today." Milan turned and walked away.

Yes, sir, Johanna thought.

She hadn't been in the attic before and wasn't a fan of small, dank places, but she was curious as to what was up there and why it was so important that the items be given priority over those downstairs.

Johanna shivered as she searched for a light. The musty smell assaulted her senses. Grasping in the darkness, she couldn't find a light switch. In one far corner, she could see a hint of sunlight coming from outside. Slowly, she made her way across the attic, running into items with every step and knocking some to the floor. If she hadn't have been asked to come into the attic, she never would have.

"Okay. Where's the light?" She whispered, running into what felt like a desk. "Why didn't I bring a flashlight with me?"

With her hands extended out in front of her, she reached for the window, only to be met with a piece of furniture blocking it. As she struggled to figure out what the item was something behind her went crashing to the floor.

Down below, Sarah called up, "Johanna, are you okay?"

Johanna couldn't answer through her panting. Her heart thumped rapidly inside her chest. Goose bumps covered her skin from head to toe.

"Johanna?" This time, Sarah was closer. "Where are you?"

Taking a deep breath, Johanna answered, "On the floor by the window. Something fell down. I can't find a light."

Sarah flipped the lights on. "The switch is right here." She looked at Johanna, curled up in a ball, cowering against an armoire. "Are you okay?"

Johanna stood up, dusting off her jeans and blouse. "He could have told me where the light switch was. I think my legs are going to be covered in bruises. I ran into everything, trying to make it to the window back here."

On the floor were rows of boxes scattered from one end of the attic to the other. In the middle of the room was a crib, lying dismantled. Both Johanna and Sarah paused at the sight of it.

"Was it true? Was his wife pregnant when she died?" Johanna nodded to the crib.

"I can't say for sure." She sighed, looking down at the crib. "Let's get these boxes out of the way and load them into the cars."

For the next hour, Sarah organized the boxes, while Johanna took them one by one down the stairs and placed them on the porch. She wondered what was inside each of them. Judging from the items that were left in one piece, she could only assume that those boxes contained items belonging to Paulina.

Milan worked outside, in full view of the reporters and the small crowd of onlookers that had gathered. Questions were still being thrown at him, but he managed to ignore them and continued working to clean up the yard. Just beyond the back gates, police investigators continued to work in and around the tunnel and in the adjoining gardens. Sheriff Acker returned after Johanna had already made two trips to the local thrift store to donate the items.

Johanna watched as Ned approached Milan in the yard. She couldn't hear what they were discussing, but the cold, hard stare that Milan offered the sheriff told her that he wasn't at all pleased by what he had to say.

Sarah was watching the exchange from the kitchen window as Johanna walked in and settled in a chair. "What happened now?" Sarah asked, unaware that Johanna had come in.

"I don't know. I couldn't hear anything, but it didn't look like it was good news." Johanna answered, startling Sarah.

"How many more loads do you plan on taking today?" Sarah asked, sitting down opposite Johanna.

She shrugged before wiping her brow. Her body ached from head to toe. It had been a long time since she'd done any real physical work and her muscles let her know that they weren't pleased.

"There's only a few more boxes in the attack. I'll take those and, then, call it a day. Milan's been out there all day." Johanna mused.

Sarah nodded, opening her mouth to speak, then, stopping.

"What? What's wrong?" Johanna asked, leaning forward in her seat.

"Okay. Now, this is just between me and you, but you know that question you asked me earlier about Mrs. Merced?" Johanna nodded. "Well, I didn't exactly tell you the truth." Johanna's eyebrows quirked up. "She and Milan had been trying to have a baby for quite some time, but it didn't happen."

"Oh, okay." Johanna didn't understand why Sarah was telling her this. "And?"

"The stuff that's in the attic belonged to Paulina. Most of it was stuff she'd purchased for a baby."

Johanna interrupted her. "What baby? You just said that they couldn't have a baby."

Sarah swallowed hard, looking back at Johanna with a pained expression in her eyes. Johanna waited for her to respond. The kitchen door flew open and Milan walked in, slamming it shut behind him.

"They are leaving." He announced before storming off upstairs.

Sarah immediately followed him, telling Johanna to finish up with the rest of the boxes from the attic.

Johanna slowly trudged up the stairs, her muscles protesting her every move. She walked past Milan's room and could hear their muffled voices talking, but couldn't make out what they were discussing. Outside, the sheriff's deputies and Sheriff Acker were packing up their gear and removing the yellow tape and barriers that they'd put up in front of the tunnel.

Curious to know what was going on, Johanna closed her bedroom door and watched out the window. By all accounts, the investigation seemed to have come to an abrupt stop. Although she was relieved, she still felt like something was amiss. Sarah's latest news didn't help ease her suspicions, though, either.

As the sulking crowd began to disperse, Johanna studied their faces, hoping to commit some of their faces to memory. It was difficult to be a new person in a small town, she knew, but she hoped that by approaching them individually, she may be able to find the answers to some of her questions. Milan and Sarah were only giving information in tiny increments and, if they expected her to do her job well, she would need far more information before continuing.

She heard the sound of Sarah walking in the hallway outside of her bedroom. Milan's heavier footsteps followed. Neither said a word as they both descended the stairs. Soon, Johanna could see Milan as he went back into the yard to continue the yard work and underneath her, in the kitchen, she heard Sarah moving around as she cleaned.

What are they up to, Johanna wondered.

* * *

THE CLERK STARED at Johanna with a blank expression on his face. He hadn't lifted a finger to help her with any of her cargo on the four previous trips she'd made to donate items and she didn't have any hope that he would be willing to sacrifice a moment of his time to help her now either.

"Don't worry. I'll get it." Johanna muttered as she fought to keep the door open without losing her grip on the box in her arms.

"You sure have a lot of stuff to get rid of." He mused.

Looking at his name tag, Johanna threw the box on top of the counter in front of him. He followed her gaze to his name tag and looked back at her.

She said, "Well, Timmy, that name tag there says customer service. I don't suppose you know what that means, do you?" The heat didn't do anything to help her mood. She felt like she'd gone swimming in a mud puddle and hadn't had anything to eat or drink for days. Her clothes were covered in dirt and dust. Her long, wavy hair, sat like a bird's nest on top of her sweaty head. She'd had enough and wanted everyone to know it.

"Did you need help?" He asked, missing the whole point of what she was trying to say to him.

"I've been here how many times today, my friend?" Johanna's tone scared the clerk.

His voice low, he answered, "A lot."

"Yeah, a lot, Timmy." Sighing, she continued, "Anyway, this should be my last trip for today. What time do you open tomorrow?"

"We don't." He answered.

"What? What do you mean?" Johanna could feel her frustration building. The last thing she needed was some smart mouthed kid toying with her.

He pointed to a small handwritten sign on the counter top. "We are only open two days a week and today's the second day this week, so we're not."

Through clenched teeth, Johanna asked, "Do you have a donation drop off bin?"

"Nope."

"So, I have to wait until next week to donate items? Really? Is there any other thrift stores around here?" She turned to look out the window. She didn't remember seeing any other second hand stores on the block.

"Nope." He answered again.

Turning in frustration, Johanna said, "All right, well, I'll figure something out. Thanks for all your help, Mr. Timmy whatever your name is."

As the door was closing behind her, he shouted back, "Johnson. Mr. Timmy Johnson."

She turned, grabbing the door, and asked him, "You're a Johnson? As in Tuck Johnson's family?"

He nodded. "Yeah, why?"

"How are you related?" She stepped back inside the store and walked back to the counter.

He took a step back and waited to hear what else she had to say.

"Are you his son?"

He averted his eyes.

Firmer, she asked, "Are you Tuck Johnson's son?"

"Why? What do you care?" The frightened kid suddenly became defensive and bolder.

"I care a lot, if you are. Do you know who I am?" She asked, challenging him to say the right thing.

"The new wife, I guess." He answered, shrugging.

They stood in awkward silence for a few moments as Johanna tried to decide how she was going to play this. If she told him too much, he'd surely use it against Milan, but if she made something up, that could backfire even worse. And, she was concerned that she'd unknowingly handed him all of Paulina's prized possessions. That would upset Milan to no end.

Shuffling from side to side, Timmy finally asked, "Are you going to go now?"

Johanna hoped she wouldn't regret what she was about to do, but felt, given the circumstances, that this was the only decision she could make. Leaving Paulina's things with the person who vandalized her home and her burial site didn't feel like the best thing to do.

"I'm going to need your help, Timmy."

Chapter 11

“NO, I’M SORRY, Mr. Merced asked me to call you and cancel the appointment.” Johanna said the first thing that came to mind. She had no idea that Milan had asked a realtor to stop by the manor.

The realtor's face reddened. This listing was the most coveted listing in all of Brimmer County. Johanna imagined that he'd worked very hard to get Milan to trust him enough to deal with the sale.

"Is Mr. Merced here?" He turned his head to check the driveway.

Johanna shook her head. "I'm afraid not. He had to go to Nashville to take care of some business matters and I really couldn't tell you when he'll back back."

"Who are you, dear?" The realtor's tone was condescending. Johanna didn't appreciate being spoken to in that manner. She made a point to memorize his face, so that if she ever saw him again, she could let him know exactly how she felt about it. He was a short, round man with a pronounced receding hairline. To her, he looked more like a con man than a realtor, but she figured that there probably wasn't too much competition in River's Bend, so he had the freedom to dress however he liked.

She cleared her throat before answering. "I'm so sorry that you were inconvenienced, but I do wish you well. Bye, now." Johanna moved to close the door, but he stopped it with his hand.

"Wait. I'd really like to speak to Mr. Merced. I'll try him on his cell phone, but if I don't reach him, will you let him know that I stopped by for our scheduled appointment?"

She waited for him to hand her a business card, but he didn't have one, so he wrote a number down on a scratch piece of paper and handed it to her. When she turned around, she was surprised to find Sarah standing on the stairs watching her.

"What are you doing, Johanna? Who was that?" Sarah asked, disappointment in her eyes.

Johanna pointed to the door. "You mean that guy? No one important. Don't worry. I got rid of him. It's not like we don't have enough people snooping around here, right?" She hated having to lie to Sarah, but she believed that Milan would thank her some day for taking charge and reclaiming what was rightfully his.

Sarah studied Johanna's face for a moment. Johanna could see her struggle to believe her, but whatever doubts she had, she ignored for the time being, and Johanna couldn't have more relieved.

"Fine. Thank you, Johanna. Now, I was wondering if you would mind helping me in the kitchen? There's so many items that need to be taken out of the cabinets and the pantry. I just can't find my way out."

"No problem." Johanna answered, anxious to get as far away from the realtor as possible before he decided to come back and ask more questions.

In the kitchen, Sarah had all the drawers and cabinets open. She pointed to the areas of the kitchen that needed to be addressed and dove right back into what she was doing.

Over the next forty-five minutes, the two women managed to tackle several of the cabinets, but still had so much more that required their attention.

Johanna slumped into a kitchen chair, exhausted from the repetitive twisting and turning she'd been doing.

"Sarah, sit down and take a break. Aren't you exhausted? This place looks like it was just abandoned as is. Why did he just take off, if he was innocent?" Johanna felt like she'd been working her fingers to the bone, but for every room they cleared, there were two more that required work.

"This is only the beginning. After we get it cleared out, Milan has a team of contractors that will come in and begin the real work." Sarah reminded her.

"Then, what? Get rid of it just like that and go on like this place never existed?" Johanna had grown weary of hiding her frustration. The whole ordeal seemed so unfair and wrong.

Sarah couldn't hold her tongue any longer. She'd put her relationship with Milan on the line for this young woman without knowing who she was or where she was from and it was high time she put the young woman in her place.

"Do I need to remind you who is in charge here? Milan owns this home. He gets to make the decisions. Our job is to clean the house and prepare it to sell, not to do what we think is right. Why do you care so much about this house anyway? What does it matter to you?" Sarah watched as Johanna cringed at her words.

Tears welled in her eyes, Johanna hoped it wouldn't come to this. Admitting why the home appealed to her so much seemed so trivial compared to all that was taking place. It felt selfish and juvenile.

After wrestling with how to say what she felt, Johanna started, "This is going to sound horrible and I apologize for that. This thing... This home is more than just a place to rest your head for me." The tears began to spill down her cheeks. "This is something not everyone gets in their lifetime. I waited my whole life to have someplace to call home and to have a chance at a family, a real family. I guess, when I first saw this place, it felt like a home, a real home and it had a family. When I heard the stories of how much Milan had when he was growing up, I guess it made me think about all the stuff I never got to have."

Sarah watched her as she spoke. Johanna's pain was palpable. She knew she was looking at a girl who had had everything in life taken away from her. She understood that because, although Johanna couldn't yet see it, her plight and Milan's plight were not very different from each other.

"Whatever you've been through in life shouldn't have an impact on how you conduct yourself here. This is a job, not your second chance at the life you think you needed. I'm sorry that things were difficult for you when you were growing up, but this isn't the time nor the place to try and reconcile with that part of your life. Right now, you need to make a decision and make it fast because from where I'm standing, all you're doing is making this more difficult for Milan."

"That's not what I meant to do. I didn't come here to defy orders. I just wanted a job. I wanted a chance to start all over again, you know?" Johanna wiped the tears from her face.

Sarah let what Johanna had just said sink in for a moment. She hoped Johanna would see the connection between what she was seeking and what Milan needed most in the world.

Johanna's mind floated back to all that she'd lost in her lifetime. Making the connection would take some time. She still had too many of her own demons to face and many new, better plans to pursue. She just hoped it was for the right reasons and that her efforts would be worth the risks involved.

Sarah asked, "Now, tell me, who was that at the door?"

Johanna bit her lip, not yet ready to explain what she'd done and why. She knew her best option was to change the subject, so she asked, “Why did the sheriff and his men leave? Is the investigation over?”

Sarah looked away. The two women sat silently looking over the work they'd done, opting not to speak for several minutes. Johanna focused her attention on the window overlooking the back yard and the tunnel.

In the short amount of time she'd been at Merced Manor, she hadn't had the opportunity to explore the tunnel. Having the police there didn't exactly afford her any opportunity to venture outside and see what it was that had everyone in the county so spooked and so ready to hang Milan for.

Sarah glanced out the window too, wanting to warn Johanna to stay as far away from the tunnel she so despised. No one had business near that dreadful tunnel and the creek that had led too many people to their deaths.

While Sarah didn't believe the stories of the tunnel being inhabited by evil spirits or ghosts, she did believe that there was something about it that made people feel they could do the unthinkable out of the view of neighbors or society at large.

Johanna noticed that Sarah was watching her. She could tell from the look in Sarah's eyes that she too feared the tunnel.

Sarah finally broke the silence. "There are some things that I'd like you to take down to the cellar for me. This old back and my arthritic knees can't handle those steep stairs."

Johanna readily agreed, anxious for some alone time to sort out her feelings. "What do you want me to take down there?"

Sarah stood up and walked out of the room, not saying a word. Johanna shook her head, believing that Sarah had finally had enough of her.

"Great. Guess I'll have to figure that out by myself too." Johanna sighed.

The cellar door resisted Johanna's many attempts to open it. It creaked and squealed, fighting as if opening it would unleash something deadly.

She was dripping sweat after several minutes of pulling, tugging, and yanking with all of the strength her tired muscles could spare, but the doors would not open.

"Here." The sound of Sarah's voice sent Johanna hurling against the cellar doors.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, Johanna. Here's what I need you to put in there." Sarah held a box in her hand.

"You scared me. Everything has me so jumpy these days." Johanna stood up, wiping the dirt from her hands and clothing.

"There's a key for the doors. If you would have waited a moment, I would have given you the key." Sarah placed the box down on the ground and pulled a key out of her pocket to show Johanna.

"There's a key?" Looking at the doors, Johanna asked, "Where do you see a lock?"

Sarah grinned and lifted a stone from the rubble. Underneath was a small door with a lock. "Right here. It's hidden for security reasons."

"Security reasons? Why? What's in there?" Johanna asked, watching Sarah unlock the doors. The doors opened with ease.

Johanna peeked into the dark, cavernous space, seeing a set of stairs that led down.

"You want me to go in there?" Johanna asked, but it was too late. Sarah was already walking back to the other side of the manor.

"Why does she keep walking away," Johanna muttered, looking down at the cellar. I hate cellars."

"Okay, if I'm going to do this, I'm only going to make one trip and then I'm out of there." Johanna lifted the box and started a slow descent down the creaking, wooden stairs.

Unlike the attic, the cellar had lights. The string from an overhead light hit her face the second she got to the bottom of the stairs, sending her heart racing.

The dim light exposed a small space lined with boxes of all sizes, each labeled with a year on it.

Curiosity got the better of her, Johanna wondered why the contents of these boxes were deemed more important than all of the other items in the house.

She knew it was wrong to look. She wouldn't want someone going through her most private possessions, but there were so many secrets being kept from her, so many being kept from everyone, she felt compelled to look inside and see if there was anything that could help her figure out why.

* * *

"YOU’RE BACK. HOW did things go?" Sarah asked Milan.

"Fine. Did the realtor, stop by?" Milan asked, looking around for any sign of Johanna.

He hadn't mentioned it to anyone, but he'd hired an investigator to look into Johanna's background, just to be sure she didn't have some strange connection to any of the controversy surrounding the manor.

Knowing what he knows now, he was feeling ashamed of himself for being so mistrusting of her. What he'd learned about her upbringing saddened him. He felt guilty for having been so short and mean to her.

Sarah bit her lip, realizing that the person who had come to the door earlier must have been the realtor.

Angered because Johanna had blatantly lied to her, Sarah chose to protect Milan from the truth until she'd had a conversation with her first.

"No one has been here today. What happened in Nashville?" Sarah thought a distraction would help him to forget that he'd asked.

Milan had secrets of his own. He didn't want Sarah to know that he'd hired someone to look into Johanna's background. He knew how disappointed in him Sarah would be, if she found out the truth. He said the first thing that came to mind. "I went to speak to my attorney about all that has happened as of late. Not to worry though, he made it perfectly clear that all will be fine here. As soon as we are ready and the contractors have done their part, I can be on my way back to California." Milan hated lying to her, especially where it concerned anything that would impact not only him but her as well. He knew that she'd grown fond of Johanna in the short amount of time that they'd known each other and he hoped that she would understand how imperative it was that he find out exactly what people may or may not have been up to.

"Good, then, when will the construction start?" Sarah asked, trying to mask her disappointment that he was going to actually go through with the sale of the property.

Milan looked around. Although the living room had been cleared of all non-essentials and the kitchen was in the process of being emptied out, there was still much work to be done. He'd taken the time to make a chore list for himself and the two women, but thinking about it now, he had to admit that his time line was completely off and, truth be told, they'd probably still be cleaning for the next few weeks.

"I've hired Jeb and Rob Sanders to handle the remodeling. In fact, they should be here sometime this week to take a look around and give me some estimates. I also hired a team of landscapers from Nashville to help make the garden presentable again and get rid of that tree." Milan was glad he'd taken care of some of the details earlier because he was beginning to lose his resolve. This town had reared its ugly head again and, this time, he wasn't sure he'd be able to recover.

"The Sanders men? Really? Well, I'm glad that they agreed to come back." Sarah's eyes were wide.

"What does that mean? You sound surprised." Milan asked, trying to sound as if there was nothing extraordinary about inviting them back to the manor.

She gave him a knowing look, reminding him of a past incident with Jeb Sanders and his son, Rob. "I thought after the incident with Paulina that you never wanted to see Rob again? Why the sudden change of heart? I know how anxious you are to return to California, but is this really a good idea? I don't want to have to separate you two."

Milan shrugged. "Sure. It will be fine. That was a long time ago. Anyway, they were the only ones I could find that could take the job on such short notice. Don't worry." He patted her arm and walked away.

"I hope so." Sarah whispered, watching as he walked away. She sensed that he was up to something. His whole life he'd always done the same thing when he was trying to hide something. His right eyebrow would quirk up when he wasn't being truthful and she noticed that again now when he told her about what he was doing in Nashville.

Milan called down the stairs, "Where's Johanna?"

"She's around here someplace." Sarah hadn't yet told Milan about the things she'd hidden in the cellar. He didn't like the cellar and never went in there, so it seemed like the only logical place to place the things she thought he'd one day be grateful that she saved. Every item in the cellar belonged to Paulina. Everything from her baptismal gown to her wedding gown was stored down there. She didn't see any point in discarding everything as if she'd never existed. She saw no harm in keeping some of the items that he'd stored in the attic.

Having known Paulina, Sarah knew how much she treasured the few possessions she'd brought back from Spain with her. She wasn't like Milan. Her family wasn't wealthy. They survived on the small pittance they were paid performing for others.

When Paulina met and fell in love with Milan, his lifestyle seemed like a dream to her. He'd never wanted for anything, while her family would spend years saving for necessities. Their upbringings couldn't have been more opposite, but the love they shared was stronger than anything either had ever known. They were meant for each other.

Keeping Paulina's most prized possessions was the only logical thing to do. Sarah didn't mean any ill will and didn't want the cellar to represent anything painful for Milan. She hoped that one day, when some of the pain had dissipated and the anger was long gone that he would find comfort in knowing that Sarah cared enough about him to have kept a piece of the life his beloved Paulina had led.

"Well, when you find her, tell her I'd like to speak with her, please. Remind me to call that realtor and see what happened to him. I was hoping he'd drop off some information for me. He said he'd bring comps. I really don't want to waste any more time on this." Milan explained.

"Of course not. Take a few minutes to relax. I'll make you something to eat, then, you can worry about all the other stuff, okay?" Sarah hoped that he would remain upstairs for a bit while she went to check on Johanna. It had been over thirty minutes since she'd left her out by the cellar.

* * *

JOHANNA TURNED HER HEAD, her tear stained face startling Sarah.

"Did you know?" Johanna asked.

Sarah shook her head, visibly shaking, she fought to control her trembling hands. "No, I didn't. I... I had no idea at the time.”

"Why are shaking? Did you see these? Is that why they are down here? Does Milan know?" Johanna fought to stand up, clutching them in her arms.

Sarah stood in front of Johanna, her nostrils flaring. "You can't tell him. Not now!"

Chapter 12

“YES, THIS IS Milan. I was wondering if you could run another background check for me. I'm thinking of hiring someone on at the firm and just want to make sure everything is clear.” He listened for a moment before continuing, “Yes, go back as far as you can. If I'm going to have someone on my team, I need to know everything: where they're from, who they've worked for, where they went to school, who they were involved with, everything. Call me as soon as you find something and email everything. Understood? Good.” He hung up the phone, breathing a sigh of relief. Someone he trusted would now put the pieces together for him and he could prove one way or another exactly what his motivations were and why he'd murdered his wife.

"Another one," Lou, Milan's Private Investigator and longtime friend asked. "What is going on? Is your company expanding?"

"Something like that." Milan answered, hoping that would be sufficient enough for now. He hated lying to yet another person about what he was doing, but he felt the fewer people that knew, the better for him.

Someone was responsible for Paulina's death and for all that had happened since then and Milan couldn't let another day go by without ascertaining exactly who it was and finally bringing them to justice. Paulina had never done anything to anyone in her lifetime. There was no logical reason for anyone to have wanted to bring any harm to her. He'd always suspected that what happened to her was a personal attack aimed at him and they took the most precious person in his life from him. Milan wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't find the sick person that took her from him.

"Okay, well, what's the name? Tell me what you know about this one." Lou asked, pulling a pen out from behind his ear to jot down notes as Milan spoke.

Milan answered, "Rob... Robert Sanders. He works for his father's contracting business. He grew up here. We went to the same school. He was a few years younger than me. Beyond that, I don't know much else about him."

Lou murmured under his breath as he wrote. "Okay. So, this guy is moving to California to work for you? He's getting the heck out of Dodge?"

"Yes, he's going to work for me." Milan answered, figuring a half truth was better than no truth at all. "He's married. I think he has at least a couple of kids."

"Alright. Do you have the wife's name?" Lou asked.

"Yeah," Milan started, swallowing the lump in his throat, "she's a local girl. Her father operates the cemetery in town. She and I used to date when we were kids. Her name is Aubrey. Randall was her maiden name.”

"Your ex? Well, isn't that nice?" Lou laughed. It wasn't the first time he'd been asked to investigate the new man in a former lover's life.

Milan didn't respond. He hadn't anticipated the awkwardness of the situation, but he had his reasons for needing this information as soon as possible. Too many years had gone by with no investigation into the people Milan had always suspected of having eyes for Paulina, especially Rob Sanders. He'd been caught on more than one occasion, watching Paulina, making special trips to the house when Milan was at work.

This wasn't the first time that Rob and his father had done some work at the manor. Jeb and his family were frequent guests of the family. Mr. and Mrs. Sanders would attend every function that they could and had become good friends to Milan's parents and grandparents. Rob was always in tow, but tended to be more guarded, standoffish. He was polite, but more often just kept to himself, watching and listening, never really contributing to conversations until after Milan met and began dating Paulina.

"Alright, well, I'll see what I can find on this guy. Seems like you probably know him better than you think you do. Let's see if I can dig up any juice on him and I'll get back to you. Since I have you on the phone, did you get a chance to look over the information I sent you about Johanna?" Lou asked, anxious to hear what Milan thought.

"Yes. Yes, I did. Thank you for that." Milan answered, again a feeling of shame overcame him.

"Well, looks like she's probably alright. She's just had a tough life, but who hasn't, right? I didn't see anything that would make me think she would give you any kind of trouble. Sounds like her problems centered more around the men in her life. You know, a good for nothing father, boyfriends that weren't worth her time, and a string of bad luck with previous employers, but none of what happened looks like it was her fault, so she should be good. Let me know how that works out for you." Lou doubted that he'd been hired to just do simple employee background checks. He figured there was more to the story, but having become accustomed to being discreet and dealing with desperate clients, he knew better than to pry and just took what his clients told him at face value. That helped keep him sane and detached from whatever was really happening in their lives. “She's a good looking girl, if you ask me. Really easy on the eyes, so that's a bonus.”

Milan thanked Lou again, ignoring the last comment. Lou told him that he'd be in touch soon. He figured this job would be fairly simple, a man from a small town probably wouldn't be that difficult to research.

"The sheriff is here. He just pulled up out front," Johanna knocked on Milan's bedroom door.

Looking out the window, Milan could see the smug grin on Ned's face.

What now, he thought. This town is going to drive me insane.

Johanna opened the door without saying a word. Ned snorted, amused by her behavior. "Well, is he here, Miss Tavo?"

"Yes." She answered, not offering any further information.

"Could you ask him to come to do the door? I'll wait right here for him." Ned had to stifle a laugh. He'd been a law enforcement officer for well over thirty years. He'd seen plenty of men and women who thought they could intimidate him. Many tried, but few ever actually succeeded.

Ned did have to admit to himself that Johanna did pose an interesting challenge. With all that had gone on in town as of late, he hadn't really put much thought into this new woman in town. He'd seen her hours after she arrived. She wasn't easily missed. Her resemblance to a young Paulina was shocking, even to him and he'd thought he'd seen it all.

When he'd heard through the grapevine that she'd started working at the manor, a sickening feeling came over him. He'd made it no secret that he believed Milan was somehow responsible for Paulina's death and he swore to himself the day Paulina was found lying near the creek bed that he would find the person responsible for her death.

Within a couple of days of Johanna's arrival in town, he'd received a call from good old Mrs. Johnson, informing him of Milan's return. He'd waited a long time to look him in the eyes again and ask him what his involvement was in Paulina's death.

When he'd received a call about a disturbance at the cemetery, he wasn't at all prepared to find Milan standing there, throwing accusations at others. Least of all, he wasn't prepared for the wealth of emotions he felt at seeing Milan again.

In a way, when Milan married Paulina, it had been a blessing. It meant that the often brooding, rich boy would finally be done dating local girls. Milan's longtime girlfriend, Aubrey, was convinced that one day they'd marry. That's the way things worked around River's Bend. Old high school sweethearts were destined to spend eternity together. Ned had no real say in the matter. Aubrey wasn't his daughter, but her father, Mitch, was his friend and that posed a problem for him. He tried to like Milan, but it was never easy because Milan was distant most of the time. It was as if Milan's mind was always somewhere else, looking for the next best thing.

"Sheriff Acker," Milan nodded as he descended the stairs, "what can I help you with today?"

The sheriff motioned for a pair of chairs that had been placed outside. "Can we talk?"

Milan waited for him to get settled before he took his seat. By the sheriff's body language, he presumed that the news wasn't bad. For that, he could be thankful.

"Well, I just wanted to let you know that the girl - Emily - well, her car has been found." Ned looked up, but the relief that Milan expected to see on his face wasn't there. "Her car was found abandoned at the cemetery.”

Milan thought he hadn't heard right. "The cemetery? The cemetery here in town? Wow. How did that happen? That's a long walk from there to here."

The sheriff stood up and leaned against a column, looking directly at Milan. "I don't know yet, but I'll find out. I can guarantee you of that."

"How did she die?" Milan felt like his heart fell into the pit of his stomach.

"No idea. The coroner is working on that right now." Ned moved back to the chair, pulling it closer to Milan's. "Look, we've known each other a long time. If there's something you need to tell me, you should probably do that right now. I can't help but think that this was no coincidence. What do you think?"

* * *

"CEMETARY? WHAT DO you mean? That doesn't make any sense." Sarah couldn't breathe. "How did that happen?"

Milan held his head in his hands. It was all he could do to not fall apart. He knew in his heart that someone was trying to set him up. He just couldn't for the life of him figure out who it was. He'd made a lot of enemies over the years. Many bridges had been burnt and being able to decipher friend from foe was impossible at this point.

Sarah slumped down in a chair, placing her hand on Milan's quaking shoulders. "Well, they can't possibly blame you. I mean, you were home when Ned came here. And, before that, you were in Nashville. I'm sure someone can vouch for you there. Your lawyer can just call them and tell them."

Johanna hadn't said a word. The news was too surreal. She watched as Milan cried angry tears and Sarah fought the tears that had welled in her eyes. For the first time since she'd arrived, she genuinely felt like an outsider, a voyeur looking in on a family in crisis. She wanted to help, but had no idea where to begin and doubted that anything she did could put an end to this nightmare.

"Well, the sheriff hasn't accused you of anything, has he? It isn't like he came over here to question you about it. At least you have that." Sarah sounded like she was trying to convince herself more so than convince Milan. "I need a few minutes. I feel like my head is spinning.

She walked out, leaving a stunned, but silent Johanna alone with a broken Milan. This was the last straw for him. She could see it in the way his body moved as it fought desperately to quell the anger and the sorrow that had unleashed since Ned drove away, promising to return as soon as they knew something concrete.

Milan looked up, wiping his face. "You're still here?" He asked, surprised by her presence.

"I am." Johanna's voice was barely above a whisper. All of her energy was focused on this latest shocking news.

"I won't blame you if you run away. If I could, I would run away and never look back." Milan mused.

Johanna sighed heavily, moving to the unoccupied chair and pulling it around the table, so she could sit right next to Milan. "I'm not going anywhere. Like Sarah said, no one is blaming you for anything. Not now. The sheriff is just trying to rile things up and make you sweat. I don't know why, but he has some kind of vendetta against you. That's his problem, not yours."

Milan stood up, tossing the chair back behind him, and grabbed Johanna, pulling her to him.

"I didn't do anything wrong." His shrill voice added to the fear Johanna felt gripping her bones.

"I know." She whispered.

He grabbed her, holding her tightly around the waist, her feet no longer touching the ground. "I didn't hurt anyone." He cried, tears falling onto Johanna's shoulder.

"I know you didn't." She answered, hoping to soothe some of the pain that he fought to control.

He placed her feet down on the ground, still holding. Their eyes met. He studied her, seeing fear he'd caused and wishing he'd not reacted the way he had when he first met her.

She saw the pain in his eyes. Years of sorrow had broken him. Although she was frightened by his sudden movements, she also wanted to comfort him, hold him and tell him that all would be okay.

Without saying a word, he lifted her again, placing her body flush with his and kissed her firmly on the lips. Covering her full, luscious lips with his own desperate mouth, wanting to be free from the pain and free from all that had destroyed the man that he had been. In that moment, he needed Johanna. He needed to know that she wasn't like the others. He wanted proof that she wasn't truly afraid and didn't honestly believe he could be capable of any wrongdoing.

Johanna didn't fight his powerful embrace. She kissed him back, gently at first, trying to read what it is he needed from her in that moment. Then, passion took hold and it no longer mattered as much. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

From the moment she met him, she knew that he was far more than people made him out to be. Aside from the heart stopping good looks and wonderfully expressive eyes that bore into her soul, he was something larger than himself. He was wounded just as she had been and she recognized that in him. He wasn't the brute people had made him out to be.

Johanna sensed that behind the strong, aloof facade was a man who needed and wanted to be loved more than anything else. She knew enough about life and loss to recognize a state of utter confusion and countless regrets when she saw it. Milan was the epitome of a life not lived to its full potential, that was not that far removed from who she was.

He pulled away from her just as suddenly as he'd grabbed her and breathed a sigh of much needed relief, instantly wanting to apologize for his aggressive behavior, but Johanna held up her hand to stop him.

"You don't owe me an apology. You've done nothing wrong." She said.

"I don't know what I was thinking." She could see his anger mounting again. He shook his head, walking away from her.

Johanna was not one to back down when challenged. She didn't know how he would react, but she was confident enough to know that kiss meant something. The way his lips and his tongue made her body feel alive wasn't because he'd not put some thought into it and she wasn't about to let him pretend that it was.

"You wanted to kiss me and, quite frankly, I wanted to kiss you. You don't get to pretend that you didn't mean for it to happen. That's not how life works. You wanted to and you did. Nothing wrong with that." Johanna licked her lips, wanting the sensation to last.

He grabbed her again. This time much more gently than before and cupped her face with his strong hands. "Can I kiss you again?" He asked.

She smiled, relieved that he'd decided against running away from something that would bring them both pleasure.

"Kiss me." She whispered, closing her eyes in anticipation of his next kiss.

His hands moved to the back of her head. He pulled her long hair loose from the ponytail she had it in and ran his fingers through her soft locks. Goose pimples formed on her body, sending shivers down her spine. She moaned softly into his mouth. He smiled, sliding his hands down to her small waist and pulling her gently to him, lightly lifting her up onto her tiptoes.

"You won't let me fall?" She teased, bracing herself up against his body.

"Never." He lifted her into the air by her waist and kissed her even more passionately still. Their tongues met, sending chills down his spine.

She ran her fingers through his dark, wavy hair, surprised by how soft it felt. She'd imagined this very moment the second she laid eyes on him, but yet, felt as if this was an impossibility.

He turned with her in his arms, sitting her on top of the counter top. "What are we doing?" he asked.

"Don't fight it." She answered, licking his lips again.

"You are so beautiful." He pulled his lips from hers and cupped her face in his hands again, studying her gentle features.

She bit her lip, needing to know. "Are you talking to me or to her?"

"Paulina?" He asked, feeling guilty for making her feel as if he only wanted her because she reminded him of his wife.

Johanna nodded, bracing herself for the answer she didn't want to hear.

"You, Johanna. I see you. I love Paulina. I always will, but I know she's not here and she's not coming back. Right here, right now, I see you. I can't stop thinking about you. I'm not an easy man. You know that, but I also don't do things without putting some thought into them and you have consumed many of my thoughts lately. It isn't her. She's gone. It's you." Milan looked at her with desperation in his eyes. Johanna tried to reconcile her own feelings in order to clearly see what Milan's were. She didn't want to be a replacement for his dead wife.

"What is going on here?" Sarah stood in the doorway, looking at them in horror.

Chapter 13

SARAH HUNG UP the phone, disappointed that Milan had done the one thing she'd asked him not to do. As soon as she heard him step out of the shower upstairs, she marched into his room, prepared for battle.

“What have you done?” She seethed with rage.

He quickly covered himself with a towel, startled by her sudden presence in his room.

“What is wrong with you, Sarah?” His eyes were wide.

“I asked you to leave her alone. You couldn't do that? Not even for me? What is it with you and your obsession to hurt everyone else because you are hurting? That's not the kind of man I raised and don't look at me like you have no idea what I'm talking about. I know what you did and I promise you that you won't win this argument with me. Why are you doing this to her?” Sarah demanded answers that Milan wasn't sure he could provide without causing more bad feelings.

Holding his head down, Milan shrugged. "I am protecting myself and my home."

"No, you are meddling in things that were not any of your business. Explain to me how you can stand there and judge others and still wake up in the morning as if people and their feelings don't matter. Don't you see that what you are doing is the exact same thing that everyone else in this town has done to you? Why, Milan?" Sarah stood in front of him, her small frame not a match for the six foot tall man.

"Do you mind if I get dressed?" He pointed to the towel wrapped around his waist.

"Go, but we're not done. You are going to tell me what has gotten into you and, then, you're going to explain to me what your intentions are with that poor young woman." Sarah made it clear that she was not going to let the subject go, not this time.

Sarah sat down on the four poster bed, looking around the room, remembering what the room used to look like years ago. So much had changed, yet somehow for her, some things remained the same. She still loved this old house. She remembered all of the love and painstaking work that went into keeping this home up to par with Milan's grandmother's demands.

"That woman," Sarah laughed, "she wouldn't stand for any of this."

"Taking a page from my book?" Milan asked as he sat down next to her. "Talking to yourself now? What woman, by the way?"

"Your grandmother. I was just remembering how much she loved this house and how everything had to be just so or things were not alright with her. Remember that?" Sarah hoped that by changing her tone, Milan would give up the defensiveness that he used as a shield to protect him from anything that required him to admit he was at fault.

"I remember everything." He answered. "She loved this house, didn't she? I miss her."

Sarah nodded, agreeing she missed the senior Mrs. Merced too. "This house knew love. I don't recall a time when everyone was around that there wasn't a feeling of love here. The way your grandmother used to fuss about everything because she needed it to look perfect." Sarah paused, looking around at the nearly empty room. "What do you think she'd say if she knew that the manor looked like this?"

Milan hesitated, realizing why Sarah had brought up the way things used to be. "Some things never change." He mused.

Sarah had to stifle a laugh. She knew that she'd been caught, but it didn't matter. What mattered is that Milan had to understand that although he had every right to want to move on and forget a terrible part of his life, she felt that he was taking it to an extreme.

"Leaving the house behind won't erase what happened. The pain will still be there. I guess that's what I'm trying to get you to understand. It's not about the manor." Sarah explained.

"Why is everyone so obsessed with me keeping the house? I can't live here anymore. I can't live like this. Not with all the..." His voice trailed off, his heartache palpable.

Sarah sighed, fighting back her own pain. "I'm not obsessed with this home. I'm obsessed with making sure that you are doing things for the right reasons and not discarding the life you had here because it hurts too much to remember. Tell me, when you're in California, do you forget that you lived here once, that you had a life here, that you fell in love here?"

"I can't forget. That's the problem." Milan rubbed his temple as if doing so would clear his mind.

"This thing with Johanna - is it real? Do you see her for who she is or are you trying to fill the hole in your heart? Because, I'll tell you what, she doesn't deserve to be roped into something that will only cause her heart ache. Do you realize what kind of impact that could have?" Sarah didn't mean to sound harsh, but the truth was, she worried about every decision Milan made, not just for his sake but for everyone's sake. If she'd learned anything in her lifetime, it was that the decisions that are made impact more lives than the ones that were intended to be impacted.

Milan stood up, again looking out the window. He hadn't wanted anyone to find out that he'd hired a private detective. He knew that it would only cause hurt feelings, but he felt compelled. For years, he'd waited for answers and hoped that they would come to him. Being forced to return here and face all that he'd lost, prompted him to want to protect himself and the memories because, in his mind, he'd failed Paulina.

There were signs all over the place, warning him that danger was lurking. He ignored them at first until they became more and more of a nuisance, but he never fully did anything to resolve the issues.

The Sanders men had done plenty of work around the house and Rob had taken a special interest in Paulina. At first, Milan was annoyed, but not so much so that he felt it would be a problem until it actually became a problem. Paulina began to complain about Rob and, without telling Milan directly, behaved as if Rob's presence made her uncomfortable.

Thinking about all of it now, made Milan want to explode, tear something or someone apart. He was angry at himself. That's what his issue was. He couldn't forgive himself for not doing enough to protect Paulina from the one person she'd made it obvious that she was afraid of. He hated himself for it. His upbringing taught him to remain prim and proper and welcoming and it never gave him the tools he needed to recognize when things around him were failing.

He didn't blame his family. He blamed himself and his idealist way of thinking. He hadn't seen the struggles his family went through. He was born into money and benefited from the spoils of that. Things had come easily for him. He went to a good school, got a good education, traveled, had girls who liked him. He didn't have to want for anything. It was ironic now that he couldn't have the one person who made him feel whole again. No amount of money in the world could fill that void.

When Paulina came into his life, a whole other part of him woke up, a part he never knew existed. It was like a blank canvas had been filled with all of the beautiful colors of the world and Paulina sat front and center as the most beautiful color of them all.

Everything he thought he knew simply floated away and was replaced by this blinding, mind-blowing thing called love and he dove in, never wanting to come back out of it and see the things he should have seen. Paulina consumed him and it didn't matter. That's the way he wanted it and that's the way it remained until she was gone, just like that, without a moment's notice.

Now, reflecting back, he could see that all of the clues he needed were right there for the taking and he did nothing, believing that love would sustain them and that he was untouchable because of who he was and where he came from. His family had practically built this city. No one would hold grudges against them. People loved them. He even believed that Rob's interest in Paulina came from a place more profound than love, like adoration and honor. His family provided them with jobs in a town that wasn't seeing much growth at a time when industries were beginning to fail.

"It won't bring her back." Sarah said what they both knew Milan believed.

"I know." Milan continued to stare out the window.

"She's not Paulina." Sarah warned him again.

“Who isn't?” Johanna stood in the threshold, a look of concern on her face.

Milan looked to Sarah, fearing that Johanna may have heard more than he was ready to admit, even to himself.

Sarah took a deep inhalation of air and nodded at Johanna before walking out, leaving Milan to explain himself and, hopefully, think about the impact his actions would have, not only on himself but on everyone in the household.

Johanna looked curiously at Sarah as she brushed past her with hurried steps.

"Sorry. Did I interrupt something important?" Her large doe-like eyes threw Milan slightly off balance every time he looked at her. He had to will himself not to get lost in them.

"We were just talking about nothing really. Did you need something?" Milan's eyes fell from her beautiful eyes and followed her jaw line, choosing to allow his eyes to linger at the center point of her neck. He often found himself imagining what it would be like to kiss that very spot - the spot that trembled ever-so-slightly when she was feeling particularly saddened by something and moved without much effort when she laughed.

There hadn't been much laughter in the house as of late, but although things had turned sour quickly since Milan's return, there were a few, however brief, moments when Johanna brought much-needed levity and laughter to the manor.

Where he saw darkness and no hope of revival, she saw beauty in everything. What he hadn't yet come to realize is that she saw beauty in him, much like he admired her beauty.

She moved forward, hesitant to sit down next to Milan.

"Is everything alright?" She asked, turning to him.

"Yes, things are fine, I suppose. There's just so much still to do and not enough hours in the day to get it done." He answered.

"That's not exactly what I was asking. Are things alright with you? A person can't live under extreme stress forever and still be okay. I feel like that's what you've been trying to do. I get it. I do. But you will push yourself too hard and, then, eventually, you'll fall apart." She watched as his eyebrows furrowed.

He could feel her eyes on him. Knowing how his body reacted to her, he forced himself not to look her in the eyes again. Milan feared that she'd see through him, like she always seemed to do, and know that he'd done something that he was ashamed of. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her or anyone.

Paying heed to Sarah's words of warning, Milan did his best not to seem interested in Johanna beyond their working relationship. Years of loneliness and self-hatred taught him to understand that he was in no place to invite anyone new into his life. He knew more than anyone that if the pain was still too much to bear, then, he had not yet recovered from his loss.

"Why do you look so sad now? Has something else happened?" Johanna asked, moving her head into his view.

Milan shook his head, putting his hand on his face in an attempt to shield the feelings he wore on his face. He could still feel her eyes watching his every move. The feeling was both exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. He wasn't used to women being interested in him anymore. Having built a virtual steel wall, blocking his heart from any and all attempts to sway him, women had the tendency to stay clear of him. Beyond his brooding and ever-present scowling, he felt that his chance at love had long since left him. He'd let it slip through his hands and there was no chance of it ever returning.

Over the last few days, aside from the uneasiness that Johanna fostered in him based on her striking resemblance to the Paulina he'd fallen in love with, she seemed to read his every thought, his every nuance, his every heart's desire and that was nearly as frightening as every other thing he'd been through over the last decade. Love was not supposed to be a part of his life any longer. Not that he felt love for Johanna - at least he didn't think so - but what he did feel, didn't feel natural to him, not in this state.

"Did you have something to say? Is it about that girl? Do you know something?" Johanna feared the worst in that scenario. From what she'd seen, that seemed to be the only plausible answer for what else could be troubling Milan.

"No, it's not that. I already told you, I didn't have anything to do with that." He said a bit too loudly. Lowering his tone, he continued, "I need to tell you something."

He watched as she swallowed, preparing for what she believed would be horrible news.

"I did something that I now see wasn't my proudest moment and I need to apologize." He began, watching her facial expressions change from fear to confusion. "I hired a private investigator."

"Oh, good. That's a good idea." Johanna had no idea yet that he'd hired one to investigate her.

Milan shook his head, saying, "No, not for the reason that you think. Just hear me out, okay?"

Johanna recognized fear in a man when she saw it. She'd had years of practice to learn the difference between a man determined to intimidate and a man who had met his match. This situation fell into the latter category. She sat back, looking directly at his face, forcing him to look her in the eyes and waited, showing him no emotion whatsoever.

"I hired him to investigate you." Milan spit the words out of his mouth as quickly as he could, quickly averting his eyes from her once ambivalent gaze to one of anger. Her breathing became heavier as the air between them thickened. The few moments of silence were deafening, but the slight twitch of her upper lip and the darkness that shrouded her eyes were all the evidence he needed to know that what he'd done would sever what little ties they had to each other.

Johanna straightened her back, staring at him. "You had me investigated? Why? And, don't tell me that this was some kind of employment background check because I know the agency did that already. Why, Milan? Who did you think I was?"

She didn't give him an opportunity to respond. Instead, she unleashed a sea of emotions on him, forcing him to face what she's had to endure since her arrival at the manor. "You have no right to pry into my personal life. You knew what you needed to know and I've never given you any reason to question me. I came here and got thrown into some crazy house of mirrors. I have to deal with the whole town hating me because of you, and I stayed. For what? To have you investigate me like I'm the crazy one here? Like I'm a criminal? I'm sorry, buddy, but I'm not the one people are accusing of murdering their wife and a poor young girl. You are."

Milan gasped, angered by her words. "Get out." He ordered, pointing to the door.

Standing directly in front of him, her face inches underneath his chin, she answered, "That's exactly what I'll do. I hope you got some kind of pleasure laughing at what I've been through and sticking your nose up at people with real problems and real lives, you spoiled rich..."

"What in the world is going on?" Sarah stood in the hallway, looking in at Milan and Johanna.

"Have the golden boy tell you." Johanna rushed passed her and walked into her room, slamming the door behind her.

Milan couldn't catch his breath. His heart beat uncontrollably out of his chest. Beads of sweat dripped down his face.

"What did you do?" Sarah asked, placing herself in his line of vision. "Didn't I tell you that this would cause problems? Didn't I warn you to leave her alone?"

He screamed, "I told her the truth, just like you told me to."

Sarah sighed, calming herself down.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" She asked, disappointed in him.

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of Johanna's footsteps as she walked by Milan's room, carrying her belongings and running down the stairs. Neither Milan nor Sarah said a word. There was nothing left to say. They listened as Johanna started her car and backed out of the driveway.

Sarah thought she saw Milan's lip quiver as Johanna's tires screeched, but he quickly turned his face from her view. The moment was very reminiscent of the last time a woman vanished out of Milan's life. On that night, after the awful news, Sarah could do nothing but sit next to the broken man and pray that time would heal his wounds. She listened as his labored breathing slowed. The sound of his broken heart reverberated through the room around them.

Chapter 14

JOHANNA SMILED. “OH, hi, Sarah, you scared me. Did I forget something at the manor? I guess, I left in kind of a hurry.”

Sarah took a deep breath to calm her frazzled nerves. “I just went to bat for you. I hope you don't make me look like a fool.”

Johanna opened the motel room door wider for Sarah. “What are you talking about? What did I do?”

“I don't know, but believe me, I will find out if there is something you haven't told us.” Sarah crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back on a stack of boxes. “Have I ever told you about Milan's family?”

Clearing her throat, Johanna answered, “Look, I already know what I need to know. Why am I the bad guy here? He had me investigated. Normally, I wouldn't care about that, but the way he did it, like I'm some kind of common criminal was wrong. This wasn't an employment background check. This was to pry into parts of my life that I want to forget and it's none of his business.”

“Sit down. We need to talk.” Sarah watched as Johanna struggled to understand. She would wait as long as was necessary to ensure that Johanna wasn't here to hurt Milan in any way. She genuinely liked Johanna and wanted to trust her, but too many strange things had occurred since the moment that Johanna entered their lives and, if she didn't get to the bottom of it now, she was afraid that Milan would lose his senses and do something that would destroy everything he'd worked so hard for.

Sarah looked around the small dark room. She hated the idea that Johanna felt the pressure was too much for her at the manor and chose instead to return to this.

"Sit," she pointed to the bed.

Johanna didn't appreciate being told what to do. She left on her own accord and with good reason, she thought.

"I'll stand. Thank you." The pain in Johanna's eyes, masked the bravado she was trying to display. "Just say what you have to say and let me go back to my life." Johanna swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. It broke her heart to walk away. She thought that working in the manor would be the first step to building a new life for herself, one vastly different from the often unstable life she'd led back in Indianapolis. Instead, she found herself swimming in an ocean of uncertainty and falling for a man, whom at best was cold and distant, but the few tender moments he allowed to break free from the steely facade were enough to make her crave him.

"Milan isn't thinking right. I can't account for what he did, but I do know that his intentions weren't to hurt you. What I'm trying to tell you is that you have to understand what he's been through and why he is as guarded as he is. His life is at stake here. It has been for quite some time. I'm sorry if what he did hurt you, but you have to know that it wasn't out of a place of hatred." Sarah sighed, before continuing, "He needs you. As much as it pains me to say it, he needs you."

Johanna's eyebrows quirked up with interest. "What do you mean that it pains you to say it? Am I so awful? What? Because I'm not rich like him and I came from an abusive home with a father who did everything he could to make sure that I understood how much he hated me, I'm not good enough for your precious Milan? You people are a piece of work. I don't know why I even got involved. I'll tell you what though, I'm done. I'm done with both of you. Now, get out and go tend to your egotistical jackass and leave me out of it. It's bad enough that everyone in this town is looking at me funny because they associate me with him now. Thanks. Thanks for nothing."

* * *

MILAN WATCHED AS they unloaded supplies off their truck. He found their timing to be remarkably impeccable. Just as he'd hung up the phone with Lou, there they were, jovial and ready for their day back at work at the manor.

Rob bore a smug grin on his face as he examined the front facade of the manor. Milan couldn't yet bring himself to move. He needed a few moments to gather his thoughts and calm his nerves. If he moved too quickly, he feared he may explode with rage. The information Lou gathered hadn't garnered the exact results he'd hoped for but did help to solidify his belief that Rob had more than an infatuation with Paulina. That in itself made him want to rip Rob to shreds, but doing so would defeat the purpose of having him investigated in the first place, so he had to do whatever he could do to not reveal what he knew just yet.

The knock on his front door freed him from his internal struggle. Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself to face the men at the door and let life lead the way for the time being. It was all he could do, lest his plans be ruined.

"Well, hello, gentlemen. You're up bright and early this morning." Milan said by way of greeting the two Sanders men.

"Sure are. Anxious to show this old girl some love," Rob answered readily, extending his free hand to Milan.

"Good. Well, let's get started, then." Milan offered in response, not taking Rob's hand. "The first floor has been cleared out for the most part, save for some every day essentials that we'll need for now. I've cleared one side of the yard, if you want to begin working on the exterior. Over the next few days, I'll clear out the other side of the yard and Sarah will work on the upstairs level. The attic is clear too, if you intend to do anything on the roof."

Both men nodded. Rob answered, "I think, if we can get up into the attic, we'll have a better idea on how to address the roof and get some insulation in there for you. How's that sound? That way, we're out of your way and you can do what you need to do."

It was all Milan could do to get through the niceties and the small talk without exploding. As much as he wanted the work to be complete, he wasn't sure that asking Rob and his father to work for him was a good idea now. He'd had his reasons before, but now with them here, those reasons seemed far fetched and would require more patience than he thought he'd ever be able to muster.

"Fine with me. Sarah should be back shortly. You do what you have to do and let me know if you need anything." Milan tried to force his mouth to smile, resulting in a strained expression that neither Rob or his father knew how to respond to.

He retreated to the kitchen with no real purpose in mind other than to get as far away from Rob as he could. His hands trembled as he fumbled for the coffee pot to pour himself a cup and calm down.

Seeing Rob again after all these years, brought back all of the disdain he felt for him before. Nothing much had changed in Rob. His eyes were still the brilliant blue color that Paulina had commented on several times when they were together. Rob's complexion was still as clear as ever, despite his ever-present tan from working outdoors most of the time. His clothing style hadn't changed much either. If Milan remembered correctly, he'd swear Rob wore those same grass stained clothes time and time again over the years.

For the next several minutes, he listened to the sound of their footsteps as they walked in and out of the house, bringing in their tools and equipment. Their familiarity with his home was off-putting. While many people had spent a considerable amount of time at the manor over the years, none that he could remember aside from Sarah and a small handful of others had ever ventured into the attic space before.

Rob seemed to have no trouble at all finding the attic and knowing exactly where the light switch was. He moved about freely as if he'd been there a thousand times. Milan's nerve endings were on fire as he listened to the humming of the men's voices far above his head. This, for them, was a pleasant job. It was money in the pocket. For him, it was an excruciating task to complete. This was the beginning of a major transformation that would turn the home, he loved into something altogether different and new. Its aim was to bring warmth to the cold, dark structure, so that another family would love it.

Heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs. The hairs on Milan's arms rose as those footsteps made their way from the landing on the first floor and down the hallway toward him in the kitchen. This was the moment he hoped wouldn't yet happen.

With his eye on the entrance doorway, he balled his fist and steadied his stance, ready to do whatever was necessary to right Rob's wrongs.

"You have no insulation whatsoever in the ceiling up there. Do you want us to take care of that first? That's probably why your wife was always cold in here." Rob said, seemingly oblivious to Milan's gasp that followed his words.

Milan swallowed, willing his mind to quiet the voice telling him to destroy Rob and make him pay for how he tormented Paulina.

"Cold? Odd thing to say. Funny, Paulina didn't ever mention feeling cold in the house." Milan challenged Rob to say something else out of line, but Rob chose a different approach.

"Well, I know my ex-wife would always complain about how cold our house got sometimes, and sure enough, it was the insulation. A raccoon got to it and tore it right up. I bet that's probably what happened to yours. Critters probably got into this old house, figuring no one cared about it and tore up everything they could, but don't worry, I'll fix it for you and everything will come back together nicely for you." Rob offered, doing a poor job of sounding sincere.

"Ex-wife? I didn't ever realize you'd gotten divorced. Sorry to hear that." Milan answered, not at all surprised by the news. "She found herself a better man?"

Rob sneered, noticing the smirk on Milan's face. "Yeah, that's what she claims, but you know how they are? Women are always hungry for the next best thing and, I can promise you, whoever he is will always be willing to oblige any woman that needs him."

The two men stood quietly, looking into each others eyes, each loathing the other, each knowing exactly why.

Rob broke the silence, sensing Milan would never back down on his own. "Well, let me get back to work, then, and let you drink your coffee."

Milan didn't give him the satisfaction of a response. He remained standing, listening as the smug contractor found his way back up the stairs and into the attic. He listened so intently that he hadn't heard the front door open or the sound of footsteps approach.

She cleared her throat, more to prompt herself to speak, but also to get Milan's attention.

"You're back? I... I..." Milan started, but Johanna put her hand up, indicating she didn't need an explanation.

"I need this job. I'll do what you ask from now on and stay out of your way. I'd like it if you could stay out of my way or did you want to call the FBI and have one of their agents follow me around?" Johanna's words bit Milan. He knew it would take a lot of time and effort to heal the damage he'd done and mend their relationship, what little there was of it.

"I'm sorry." He offered.

"Don't worry about it. You're the boss here. Now, which room do you want me to work on?" Johanna turned her back to Milan, leaving him wishing he'd never asked Lou to investigate her in the first place. She was an innocent, harmless in every way and he shouldn't have overstepped his bounds.

Defeated, he answered, "It doesn't matter. Choose whichever room you'd like. It all has to be done."

She answered, "Good. I'll do the nursery." She instantly regretted saying that. She didn't mean to sound so flippant and felt guilty, even though Sarah had told her that Milan didn't know the entire story.

Milan inhaled a rush of air. The nursery was another room he hadn't been able to bring himself to face. He didn't know if Johanna knew that he suspected Paulina was pregnant at the time of her death, but if she did, he could only assume that by choosing that room in particular, she was trying to send him a message.

Johanna grabbed her bag and carried it up the stairs, pretending not to hear Milan's gasp. She hadn't meant to be insensitive and wanted to tell him so, but she wasn't yet ready to say any more than she had to at this point.

Chapter 15

MILAN WATCHED AS she tended to the garden, carefully removing every morsel of debris that found its way there. Dark, wavy tendrils escaped the ribbon used to hold them back and were blowing in the hot, summer wind. He couldn't help but think about Paulina and how he used to sit here in this very window and watch as she did the same, nurturing and tending to the plants as if they were born of her.

She had a sort of sixth sense in very much the same way that Johanna did. It was as if they could see, feel, and read what nature and the world was trying to tell them. They saw the tenderness in moments that were harsh. They saw beauty in items that had long since been discarded.

Chills ran up his spine as he watched Johanna use her small, tender wrist to wipe her brow. His breath caught at the sight of her pursed her lips to blow sweet breaths of air upon her flushed face.

He couldn't help but be drawn to her. She was exquisite in every way. Her face bore an innocence, but her mind and her heart remained cloaked in the shroud she'd placed over them to protect them from whatever damage had reared its ugly head in her life before. She was strength and beauty combined with a vulnerability that could and probably did at one time or another make a grown man cry.

Milan felt like a kind of voyeur as he studied her every movement, but the pull she had on him was too strong to resist. He had to watch her. It felt natural. It felt right.

He wondered why she'd agreed to work for him at the manor. He was sure that someone would have warned her about all the sorrow that the manor had witnessed. Why, when everyone else for miles around feared and loathed him, had she chosen to be a part of this, at what would prove to be one of the worst periods of his life? Why had she stayed after the horrific discovery in the tunnel?

The stories about her troubled childhood explained why she did many of the things that she did. He understood that, but he could not wrap his mind around the idea that she seemed to enjoy his company and wasn't at all sickened by the chaos that had surrounded the manor as of late.

She wiped her brow again. This time, squinting up at the manor. Noticing him staring at her, she stood up, shielding her eyes from the harsh glare of the sun and looked up at him, smiling at first, then, suddenly becoming self conscious, she stopped and put her head down, pretending to be preoccupied with the plants.

Milan wondered if he'd ruined the opportunity he had to study her every feature or, if he'd created an environment that would unnerve her and would make her want to stay clear of him for the remaining weeks or months ahead.

Behind him, standing in the doorway, watching him, stood Sarah. This wasn't the first time she'd noticed Milan's interest in a woman. She'd seen him look at another woman in that same way before. She recognized what was happening and dreaded the heartache that was sure to follow.

Soon, they would all have to go their separate ways. Milan would have to report back to work and Johanna would move on to the next adventure of her life and one day would only mention Merced Manor as a place she once worked. As for herself, she'd witnessed the best that life could offer here and survived the worst that life had to offer. As much as she loved the home and those who had filled the manor with love and laughter over the years, she too knew it was time to move on and learn to live with the memories, good or bad.

“Oh, I didn't hear you.” Milan turned to Sarah. “Did you need something?”

Sarah moved forward, looking out the window and down at Johanna. “It truly is a remarkable resemblance, isn't it?”

Milan swallowed hard, fearing his voice would crack if he said what he thought of Johanna.

Sarah watched Milan's Adam's Apple move up and down in his throat. Her assumption had been correct. He was smitten with Johanna. She wondered if Johanna had noticed the way Milan looked at her too, even after their recent falling out.

Sarah felt that this was the best opportunity to remind Milan of all that was at stake. While she had nothing against Johanna, she did fear that Milan was moving too fast for all the wrong reasons. No woman should have to live with the ghost of her lover's dead wife. She didn't believe that Johanna should be subjected to such a wounded soul in that way. Milan was not ready to move on yet. He still carried Paulina in his heart and it would be cruel for him to invite Johanna into his life in that way at this point. Now was not the time.

“When will the Sanders be finishing up here? I'm sure your employees must miss you.” Sarah hoped he would understand what she was trying to say.

“I've been in touch. I have a strong team and they are used to the fact that I do have to be away quite often.” His eyes met Sarah's. “What are you trying to tell me, Sarah? You're making that face.”

She scoffed at him. “I don't make a face.”

He draped his arm around her shoulders. “You do. That vein in the middle of your forehead pops out when you are upset with me. What have I done now?”

“You are not funny. Leave my veins out of this.” She teased back, clearing her throat before continuing, “This will all be over soon. Johanna is trying to find herself. You have a life in California, I presume. Me? Well, my body is failing me. It's time for me to sit back and enjoy retirement. The house will belong to someone else.”

He nodded, bracing himself for what he knew she was going to say.

“You aren't ready for a relationship and she doesn't deserve to be left heartbroken.” She looked him directly in the eyes.

“You think I'll hurt her? Why would you think that? I've never hurt a woman in my life.” Milan was troubled by her insinuation. He watched Johanna take snip a few flowers and wrap them with the ribbon she'd removed from her hair. She walked over to the tunnel and placed them at the opening, alongside a pile of stuffed animals and notes left in tribute to the girl.

“You know that's not what I meant. What I mean is, you need to reconcile your feelings with Paulina. Right now, you carry her death around like a cross. It wouldn't be fair to any woman to have to live with that. And, I worry that whatever it is you think you feel for Johanna has nothing to do with her at all. I think her resemblance to Paulina has done something to you and you may not be thinking straight right now.”

Milan raked his hands through his hair in frustration, his voice breaking, he said, “I know exactly what I've done. I know that I've hurt people, but I think I have every right to decide how I move forward now. You don't get to decide who I spend time with. It's no longer your job to make decisions for me.”

Sarah gasped, shocked to hear Milan speak to her in this tone, but still willing to protect him from himself and from others if necessary.

Neither of the two noticed that Johanna had made her way back inside the manor while they were discussing Milan's feelings for her.

She hesitated as she approached the bedroom door, surprised to have heard her name.

Both Milan and Sarah turned to look out into the hallway in response to the creaking they heard.

She looked at them, hesitantly, unsure how to respond to what she'd heard.

Sarah turned to her, feigning a smile, “There you are. The gardens are looking nice. Mrs. Merced would be very pleased.”

Johanna's eyes narrowed. “Which one?”

Milan chimed in. “Both. Thank you for all your hard work.” He walked around the two women, leaving them alone in awkward silence.

Johanna's breath caught as he squeezed past her. The tingly feeling in her stomach startled her senses every time Milan was in close proximity to her. Sarah's eyes met Johanna's.

“Still don't trust me? Seems to me that you may be the one people should watch out for.” Johanna and Sarah had still not hashed out their feelings about what Johanna discovered in the cellar and Milan's latest revelation only heightened her tendency toward defensiveness.

“The diaries?” Sarah asked, knowing that's what Johanna was referring to. “If she wanted him to have them, she wouldn't have hidden them in the attic.”

Johanna responded, “Yes, but obviously, she wasn't thinking clearly. Why are you hiding them from him? Don't you think he deserves to know the truth? You know, this place is like some sacred gathering place for all things that this family doesn't want disclosed. It blows my mind to think about how all of this stuff sat here in plain sight undiscovered for so long. Don't you think that's odd? I mean, if Sheriff Acker truly believed he had a murder on his hands, why didn't he ever search the attic or the cellar or anything? And, why have you let Milan spend all these years believing that someone murdered his wife when you know the truth? I just don't understand!"

Sarah walked to the door to shut it. "You realize that there are other people here besides us, don't you?" She pointed up to the attic. "I don't have confirmation of anything and, as far as this family goes, well, their lives weren't what you seem to think they were. They worked hard to get what they had. They made sacrifices, lost hope, stood up, despite having nothing and no one in this part of the world, and that mattered to them. So, if they didn't want certain information divulged, don't you think they earned that right?"

Frustrated, Johanna threw her hands into her hair. "Look, I don't care one way or another. All I know is I need this job and once it's over, I'll go my way and you two people can do whatever you want to do. You can go through life pretending that the truth doesn't matter. Milan can go back to California and scowl at the world, for all I care."

Sarah sat down on the edge of the bed, saying, "That's just it. You do care and that's why you came back. You can sit there and judge Milan or judge me all you want, but the fact of the matter is, neither he nor I are the only ones in this world that want some things to remain private."

Johanna considered for a moment, wanting to scream at Sarah for being so naive about how horribly both she and Milan had handled things, but she knew it would be to no avail. They were who they were and, if five years of living in the abyss of accusations, rumors, and lies didn't prompt them to rethink their individual strategies than nothing and no one, including her, would.

"You know why you'll comply? Because he loves you and I honestly believe you love him. There, is that what you want to hear?" Sarah stood up to walk out of the room.

Johanna's jaw fell. She'd prepared herself for a test of wills with both Sarah and Milan, but never expected that she'd hear this. Love was not something she ever planned to welcome back into her life and she thought she'd done and said everything possible to hide the feelings that she'd developed for Milan.

Turning to face her, Sarah added, "You see, I'm not as dumb and naive as you think I am and, if you were as intuitive as you think you are, this news wouldn't be such a shock to you. Perhaps, you should open your eyes and pay attention to the signs. They are all around you and, once you acknowledge them, then, you will get to have an opinion about some of the things you purport to know so much about."

Johanna's jaw remained open. Her whole body was frozen in place. All she could do is listen to the sounds of everyone else in the manor go about their days as if nothing had changed, where as for her everything had just come to a screeching halt and would probably never be the same again.

"Where's Johanna?" Milan asked, noticing Sarah's Cheshire grin.

"Upstairs. She wants to talk to you, if you have a minute." Sarah said, hoping that the two equally stubborn souls would save their arguing for another time and sit down to really hash things out and have a meaningful conversation before it was too late. Time was of the essence if Milan truly intended to return to California soon and the new realtor was expected to arrive for her initial walk through within the next few days.

"Talk to me about what?" Milan worried that something new had gone wrong.

Sarah's eyes narrowed as she looked at him. "Go up and find out. I can't possibly keep up with either one of you two. All I'll say is that the two of you need to start focusing on what's important and leave everything else alone. Now is not the time and this is not the place."

That's not the answer Milan expected to hear. Confused and stunned by her response, he asked, "What are you upset about?" Rethinking his question, he added, "Besides what you were already upset about? You can't keep up? I can't keep up." He marched out of the room, mumbling under his breath. It seemed like every five minutes some new dilemma surfaced and he was the one expected with having to solve the crisis time and time again.

Sarah took a few deep breaths as she listened to Milan climb the stairs. She hoped that she hadn't sent him into the line of fire and that Johanna had enough time to consider what she'd said earlier. Too much was at stake.

"I hope you two get this right," she whispered.

Milan raised his hand to knock on Johanna's bedroom door, but stopped when he heard her voice.

"Johanna?" He asked.

She continued talking, then, he heard a male voice speaking. Leaning forward, he put his head to the door.

"Hello?"

The two continued speaking. Embarrassed by his actions, Milan quickly retreated before the sound of laughter rang out from the room.

Recognizing the voice as Rob's, Milan couldn't tear himself away. He didn't understand why Rob would be in her room and didn't trust him anywhere near Johanna or anyone that he cared about. He angrily knocked on the door. Johanna opened it right away.

"Yes?" She asked, shocked to see him there.

Behind her, Rob stood, smiling.

"Everything okay in here? Aren't you a long way from the attic?" Milan didn't look at Johanna. His eyes were focused on Rob.

"Yeah, but I came down to see if the rooms down here were chilly and I scared this one." Rob pointed to Johanna.

"This one has a name." Milan stepped into the room, stopping between Rob and Johanna.

"I know. Her name is Johanna. Is there a problem here?" Rob asked, looking at Johanna for confirmation that things were okay.

She answered, "No, but to answer your question, it really hasn't been cool in here at all. In fact, it is just hot all the time in here."

Milan continued staring coldly at Rob, waiting for him to take notice and return to what he was being paid to do. Johanna watched their awkward exchange, partially embarrassed about Milan's sudden need to protect her and partially angered by his possessiveness. She made a note to speak to him about it as soon as Rob was out of earshot.

Chapter 16

“LET ME GET rid of them. I shouldn't have shown them to you. Please, Milan, let me have them. We can pretend they never existed. Give them to me, please.” Johanna begged, regretting that she'd shown Paulina's diaries to him in the first place. She should have known better. She wished she'd consulted Sarah before handing them to Milan. Now, everything was ruined. The tender moments they'd shared would never be again. Just as he was beginning to soften and allow new, better emotions to become a part of him, these diaries surfaced and all of the anger he'd held in his heart for too long, oozed out and led his path to destruction.

“Get out.” His voice was low at first, then, became louder with every second that passed. “Get out, Johanna. Get out of my house now.”

* * *

NED STOOD IN the doorway, a grim look on his face. “Milan, I need to talk to you privately.”

Milan looked at him through bloodshot eyes. “What now? What other horrific crime are you going to accuse me of?”

The sheriff could smell that Milan had been drinking. This wasn't the time to tell him, he knew that, but he also felt that after all that the Merced family, especially Milan had endured, he deserved to know the truth as soon as possible.

“Is Sarah here? This is important, Milan.” Ned tried to stress the importance of what he had to say.

The two men stood silently staring at each other. Beads of sweat lined Milan's forehead. His body was rigid. Ned assessed him carefully, paying heed to the telltale warning signs of a man on the brink of destruction. Moving his eyes from Milan's face to his heaving chest and clenched fists, Ned instinctively put his hand on his gun.

"Milan, let me in. I just want to talk." He said, making sure to keep his tone soothing. He glanced behind Milan, looking for any sign of either Sarah or Johanna.

"Why don't we get Sarah in here so we can talk?" Ned moved forward, gently guiding Milan away from the door. "Sarah?" He called out, his eyes darting around the front rooms, looking for signs that something had gone terribly wrong in the manor.

There was movement upstairs, but no vocal response.

"Sarah? Johanna?" Ned tried again. Milan hadn't said another word. He stood with his back braced up against the wall leading into the living room, his fists still clenched, and breathing becoming more labored as the intense seconds passed.

"Milan, where are Sarah and Johanna?" Acker asked again, moving closer to him. "What is going on, Milan? Talk to me."

"I'm right here. What is it?" Sarah stood on the landing, looking over the foyer, where the two men stood, facing each other. "Sheriff Acker? What happened?" Sarah started down the stairs, her blood pressure spiking as she approached them.

Ned responded, his eyes never leaving Milan. "Is everything okay here, Sarah? Milan doesn't look like he feels well." Sarah followed his gaze. Milan's rigid jaw and cold, dark eyes sent chills down her spine.

She asked again, "What happened?"

Milan blinked as Sarah moved to grab his arm. He stared blankly at her, seeming to be in another world altogether.

Sarah motioned for the sheriff to help her guide Milan to a seat in the living room.

"There, let's sit you down. Where's Johanna? Is everything okay here?" Ned's heart pounded against the walls of his chest as he watched Milan's stuttered movements and took in Sarah's panicked expression. His instincts told him that something had gone wrong. He just wished someone would fill him in before he had to take matters into his own hands.

* * *

THE EVENTS OF the day had taken their toll on Sarah. She couldn't think straight. Processing the information Sheriff Acker had just told them was far too much to wrap her mind around and Milan was in no condition to be able to withstand another moment. She feared he would collapse. Despite her suggestion to get some rest and let the worries of the day go away for the night, Milan refused, not with his words but with his demeanor. He turned his head every time she mentioned it. When Ned sat with him, he never once acknowledged what he'd said.

Feeling like she had no choice but to speak her mind, Sarah began, "This is enough. You have to stop this. I can't sit here and let you shut down and close yourself off from the world. Do you understand what it is you're doing? Do you even realize that Johanna has left?"

He hung his head low. She held her breath, hoping that he would come to his senses.

"Yes, I realize that she's gone. I asked her to leave." He looked at Ned. "So, is it over now? Will you leave me alone now?"

The sheriff understood Milan's anger. He felt guilty about it, but he didn't regret that he'd done everything he could do to ensure that he found the truth behind Paulina's death.

"I wish that there had been another way. I wish that the outcome had been different. Know that I did everything I could to ensure that you had the answers. I know that this isn't what you expected and I can't imagine the pain you must be going through, but you can take comfort in knowing that no one will ever question you again about this. I'm so sorry for your loss." Ned's voice broke as he spoke. For him, it was an emotional end. He'd spent so many years believing that Milan had murdered his wife. He'd spent countless nights trying to figure out why and how. Now, with further testing, the unfortunate truth came out and, now, both he and Milan would have to reconcile their feelings about the events that took place that night.

Milan stared straight ahead, not looking at either Sarah or Ned. "It's over. What's done is done. Why are we still talking about it?"

Sarah opened her mouth to speak, but Ned shook his head, motioning for her to let Milan say what he had to say.

"My wife is dead. She's been dead a long time. It's time to go on." His voice low, as if he was trying to convince himself. The other two in the room were insignificant in his eyes. This loss was his and his alone. He didn't see how either could possibly know what it felt like or how excruciating the pain was for him.

Neither Sarah or Ned spoke. They both held their heads down, waiting for Milan to say all of the things that he'd kept bottled up inside for too many years. They both harbored guilt over what had happened. Neither was at fault, but both felt as if they should have known. Someone should have noticed something, they believed. They also understood that Milan's knee-jerk reaction stemmed more from a place of anger at himself than anger at anyone else. He was after all, married to her. He lived with her.

With tears in his eyes, Milan turned to them, "Why would she do that? Why didn't she tell me?"

Ned looked to Sarah, knowing that she would be more helpful than he in this situation. He was still very much the enemy - the bully, who had spent the last several years pointing fingers and making accusations, trying to make the truth somehow fit into his own narrative.

Sarah stood up, moving to Milan, but he backed away from her touch, trembling with rage. "Did you know?" He screamed at her.

Tears slid down her cheeks. "No. I didn't know. I had no idea." She answered, wrapping her arms around herself, her heart breaking in two over the revelations. She hadn't known at the time either. When she'd found the diaries, that was the first she heard of the problems Paulina had.

Ned stood up, creating a barrier between an enraged Milan and a hysterical Sarah. "Stop this. She isn't to blame. No one is. The truth of the matter is that Paulina did what she did on her own accord. I'm afraid that we're never going to have the answers as to why. People do many things out of desperation. For her, it was grief. You know that now."

"Why didn't she tell me? I could have helped her. That child was mine too. Why didn't she tell me?" Milan slumped into a chair, putting his head in his hands. He began rocking back and forth, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed.

Sarah tried again, her voice almost inaudible, "I didn't know. She never said anything to me. She had her reasons. Maybe she wanted to wait until she was sure, then..." she paused to find the right words to express what she wanted to say. "Maybe, when she was ready, things went bad. I can't imagine what it must have been like to have lost a child, a child that she carried. That does things to people. I'm sorry that this happened. I'm sorry that you found out this way. If I had known what those diaries said, I would have gotten rid of them a long time ago."

Milan threw his head back and ran his hands through his hair. "Johanna." He said, confusing both Sarah and Ned.

"What about Johanna?" Ned asked, looking to Sarah for clarification.

"She told me. Why didn't you tell me?" Milan's dark eyes bore into Sarah's.

"I didn't know that's what they said. I never read the diaries." Sarah started.

"But, you were the one that kept them. Both of you did the exact opposite of what I asked you to do and, now, look. Do you see what you have done?" Milan spoke through clenched teeth, hot tears still pouring down his cheeks.

Ned felt it was time for him to intervene. He couldn't bear watching Milan destroy the only relationships he had left in the world. He blamed himself for helping to drive Milan to this cold, dark place in his life.

He did something he'd never done before and wished he'd done years ago when this nightmare had just begun. Milan resisted at first, confused by the sudden embrace. He struggled to break free, but Ned used all of his might to hold Milan still. After a few moments of confusion and discomfort, Milan finally relaxed, succumbing to the pent up emotions and the reality that Paulina had taken her own life after suffering a miscarriage.

“I'm sorry, Milan. I'm sorry that this happened and I apologize for all of the pain I've added to your life.” Tears that Ned rarely shed, slid down his face. Years of being angry had finally caught up with him. He now realized that the animosity he felt toward Milan was ill-placed and came more from fear – fear for whom he believed was a monster in their midst and anger for perpetuating the hatred and sparking the vicious rumors.

“I can't take back what was said or done. I wish that I could, but know that I will do everything in my power to right the wrongs and to change the hearts and minds of everyone in this community. I'll make a public statement and allow you time to heal.” Ned added as he tried to figure out any way that he could turn this tragic case around and mend broken fences and hearts.

Milan's back stiffened. Ned released him from his arms and braced himself for a barrage of angry words that he knew he deserved. Instead, Milan backed away, scrubbing the tears from his face with the back of his hand, and walked to the photo of Paulina that still hung on the wall. At first, he studied it, his chest heaving. Sarah moved to comfort him, but Ned held her arm, telling her to wait.

They watched Milan's pain spill from his body. His emotions rocked through him. One second, he was crying. The next, he was fighting to control his breathing. All the while, his eyes remained transfixed on the portrait of Paulina.

She seemed to be looking back at him, wearing the smile she wore up until the day that she died. That smile and those eyes are what captivated Milan at the beginning and kept his heart beating up until this point. His heart no longer beat like a man who loved, but pounded like a beast that had been set free after years of captivity. He wanted to rage, to destroy, to make it all disappear, just like she'd somehow managed to do, but he loved this manor and he loved the life that he thought they had together.

After several pained minutes of him wrestling with himself to find a way to cope, Milan went into a fit of rage, grabbing the portrait, slamming it on the floor, destroying it piece by piece. Sarah was horrified by the sight and wanted desperately to make him stop, but the sheriff wouldn't let her intervene. He held her arm, shuddering at what he was witnessing, but knowing that if anyone deserved to be enraged it was Milan. He'd suffered yet another devastating blow. He needed to vent. He knew it took a lot of courage for Milan to approach the county prosecutor's office about reopening Paulina's death investigation. When he'd been told, he thought that it was a bold move for a man whom he considered to be a murderer, but now realized it was the bravest thing he'd ever seen someone do to save himself from destruction.

Chapter 17

“WHERE IS SHE?” Milan threw open the drapes, checking the windows for any sign of a break-in.

Sarah put her hands to her chest. “I don't know. I've looked everywhere. She's not answering her phone. I've called the employment agency to see if her caseworker has heard from her. I don't know. Do you think she could have just decided to leave town for good?”

Milan threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. “She wouldn't just leave! She couldn't. We have to find her.”

Sarah stood frozen in place, staring at an item on the floor. Milan followed her gaze, breathing heavily.

“What? What is it?” He moved around to the far side of the bed. Lying on the floor, open, with its contents scattered on the floor, was Johanna's purse. He fell to his knees.

“Call the sheriff's office.” Milan ordered.

Sarah turned to the motel manager. “How could this happen? How did you not see anything?”

The woman shrugged. She had been on duty all day and hadn't noticed anything unusual.

* * *

“SO, HE’S BEEN cleared? You're finally done ruining his life?” Johanna sat next to Ned in his county vehicle, staring at him with fire in her eyes.

He sat with his chin on his chest, exhausted from a long night of sitting with Milan and Sarah, waiting until Milan had calmed down enough to be deemed safe to leave alone.

“Yes, he's clear. It's done.” Sheriff Acker answered. “Paulina committed suicide. It wasn't his fault.”

“Just like that?” Johanna fought to control her temper. “Answer this, why is it that no one ever searched the attic? I wasn't even looking for evidence and I found the diaries. Explain that to me. Is that how you people conduct all investigations around here or just the ones where a rich man is involved?”

Ned cringed at the accusation, but he couldn't blame her for believing that. After all, he had been the one that helped to create the myth – the urban legend – that the Merced Manor harbored secrets and that mysterious deaths had occurred there.

He answered Johanna as honestly as he could, knowing that what he had to say wasn't going to help his case. “Mistakes were made.” He closed his eyes, briefly, starting again, “I made mistakes. I made an assumption based on a gut feeling and my own personal fears. I was wrong. I shouldn't have done that, but what matters now is that we know the truth – Milan knows the truth and we... He can move forward.”

Johanna frowned at him with the same disappointment in her eyes that she'd carried since the day they had first met. “Well, that's just great, isn't it? You can just magically erase all the damage now? You have some magic wand or something, right?”

Sighing, Ned removed his hat, wiping his brow before responding. “Johanna, I've already told you that I made mistakes.” He paused, realizing that he'd missed something else entirely. “Can I ask you a question?”

She wanted to challenge him, to make him admit how horribly he'd treated and allowed others to treat Milan, but feared she'd become too emotional.

Ned took her silence to mean she consented to be asked a question. “Why are you so outraged by all of this? Why does this have you so broken up? Are you two involved? Is that why you chased after me today because you two are involved?” Ned sank back in his seat, frustrated that he'd let another clear fact go without notice.

Johanna hadn't expected him to ask her that. She hadn't yet been able to admit it to herself entirely, but he was right in a way. She couldn't hide what she felt any longer, not from herself, not from Milan, and not from the world.

As bad as the timing was and as horrible as the situation had become, somehow she'd managed to fall in love with Milan and it scared her, scared her so much that she fought it with all of her might, but it was too late. The feelings were here to stay and she would have to accept them and move forward, whether Milan reciprocated her feelings or not. It was time.

“You're in love with him, aren't you?” Ned reached out to squeeze her arm gently, sighing. “That's what this is about. Can't say that your timing is doing you any favors, but I get it, really, I do. That's why you stuck around. I thought there was something wrong with you for wanting to be associated with all of what was going on.”

Johanna put her head down, embarrassed that she felt the way she did.

“It is okay, you know. A word of warning, give him some time. He's been through a lot and he still has a long road ahead of him. If you choose to stick it out, be prepared for hard times ahead.”

“I don't need you to warn me about him. He's a good man. I'm no fool.” Johanna answered.

“I know that you're not a fool. I was the one who was a fool. I let things get out of control. Now that the truth has come out, I have a long road ahead of me too. I have to help fix this mess.” Ned exhaled slowly.

Johanna didn't want to have this conversation with the sheriff, so she changed the subject. “So, the girl? Do you know what happened to her? Why did you suddenly stop looking at Milan?”

He took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “She ran away with some old boyfriend. She made up some story about being called by voices to the Merced Tunnel, so that no one would really know what she was up to. The guy walked into the police station in Nashville and confessed. When we found her car, there was evidence all over it. He drove her body to the tunnel to dump it.”

“So, you searched the tunnel and questioned Milan for nothing then? Isn't that special?” Johanna didn't think her anger could become any more intense.

“We got it wrong, but Milan was worth checking into at the time. Unfortunately, her body was left on his property right about the same time he arrived back in town.” Ned tried to explain why he'd focused on Milan initially.

“And, what about that Johnson kid? He gets a free pass for destroying property and trespassing?” Johanna asked.

He shook his head, answering, “No, we will deal with that later. I can guarantee you of that.”

“Unbelievable!” Johanna pulled the door handle to get out of the car. “You sure have it handled, don't you?”

Ned's phone rang just as she stepped back out onto the sidewalk. She slammed the door behind her and started to walk away, back to the motel she'd been staying in off and on since she arrived.

“Wait!” He called after her, opening the passenger side door. “Johanna, wait! Someone is looking for you!”

She turned, surprised to know someone had located her in the first place.

“Looking for me? Who?” Johanna walked back to the car, hesitantly.

He held his cell phone out to her. “Find out for yourself.”

She put the phone to her ear, nervous about who could be on the other end. “Hello?”

“Where have you been?” His voice was shrill. “Are you okay?”

“Milan?” Johanna felt a lump of emotion, form in her throat. He sounded genuinely concerned about her. “I'm fine. You asked me to leave, remember?”

He sighed. “I know. I'm sorry. When I saw your purse just laying there on the floor, my heart stopped. I thought something horrible had happened to you. Are you sure that you're okay? What are you doing with the sheriff?” Milan had a lot of questions running through his mind.

“Getting answers to my questions.” She answered, wiping the lone tear that escaped from her eye.

“Where are you now? I'll come get you.” Milan nodded at Sarah, saying, “She's okay.”

“It's over?” Johanna asked, meaning more than she wanted to have to explain.

He understood. “Yes, I think it is. Where are you, Johanna?”

She wouldn't let another moment pass without having all the information she needed. “I have to know everything. I can't allow myself to go back into that situation blindly. I just can't. It hurts too much.”

Milan knew this moment would come. He knew from the first moment he met her that one day, he'd have to face his own demons and finally speak his truth, even if it killed him.

“I'll tell you everything.” He whispered. “Let me come get you.”

* * *

SARAH LOOKED UP to the ceiling in response to the footsteps above in the master bedroom. A sense of relief washed over her. He'd finally gathered the strength to walk back into the room he and Paulina had once shared.

“What's wrong?” Johanna asked, following Sarah's gaze.

She put her hand up, motioning for her to stay quiet. Johanna pulled out a chair and sat down to wait, unsure what it all meant. Within a few moments, the soft sounds of Milan sobbing filled the quiet house.

Johanna started to head upstairs to help him. Sarah called her back, saying, “Let it happen. He has to do this on his own.”

“He's done?” Johanna asked, feeling the gravity of the situation.

Sarah nodded, “I hope so. Things like this take a while. He is going to have more dark days ahead of him.” Acquiescing to the inevitable, she added, “You'll have to be strong for him. Be strong where he is weak. Be kind where he is harsh. His mother did the same thing too, you know?” Sarah's eyes welled with tears as she remembered that time in their lives.

“I know. I can't imagine what this must be like for him.” Johanna pushed back her sorrow.

“No, you can't, but you will have to find a way to endure. Learning to love wholeheartedly again, won't be easy for him.” Sarah warned her.

“Yeah, I know. The question is, does he love me or the idea of loving me? I mean, wasn't he the one that was torn up and hated me because I reminded him of her? How do I learn to live with a ghost?”

Sarah didn't have an answer. She struggled to understand too. The resemblance was striking at first glance, but the differences were many all at the same time. She hoped that Milan hadn't confused one woman for the other and wasn't trying to replace what he lost with Johanna.

A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. Sarah rushed to answer it, before Milan was disturbed.

“Yes?” She asked the round-faced man, standing in the doorway.

“Is Mr. Merced available?” He asked.

Johanna walked up behind Sarah, looking over her shoulder to see who was at the door. “Hey, I know you.” She said, trying to remember where she'd seen him before.

He looked at her uncomfortably, asking again, “Is Mr. Merced here?”

“Wait a minute. I know who you are. You were here a few weeks ago, asking about the house. Aren't you the realtor?” Johanna asked, thinking back to when she'd told him that Milan had changed his mind.

“My name is Lou. Yes, I was here before.” He looked behind them. Milan was walking down the stairs, a look of concern on his face.

“What are you doing here? Is something wrong?” He ushered him into the living room to sit down, asking Sarah to get some coffee for them.

Johanna excused herself, following Sarah into the kitchen.

“He said he was the realtor.” She told her. “Is Milan still planning on selling the manor?”

Sarah hated being put in this position and bringing up things that had already been settled. “He's a private detective from Nashville. I don't know what Milan plans to do now. I assume he still intends to sell the house.”

“Why is he here now? I thought this was done.” Johanna was livid. She had no idea that the man, claiming to be a realtor was really there to investigate her. “I'm going to find out what's going on right now.” She turned, marching back to the living room.

Sarah didn't have the energy to argue anymore or settle any more differences of opinion. She decided that Johanna and Milan would have to hash things out together.

Milan was surprised to find Johanna in the doorway. “Yes?” He asked.

She ignored Milan, fearing she'd say something she'd regret. Looking at Lou, she asked, “You're a private detective? You're the one who invaded my privacy?”

Milan stood up, saying, “Johanna, this isn't about you. He's not here for you. I told you, I'm sorry.”

“Well, why is he here again?”

Lou put his head down, not wanting to get in the middle of whatever this was. Milan raked his hands through his hair, tired of having to put out fires that he'd caused.

Frustrated, he said, “He investigated everyone, not just you. I had him looking into everyone. Now, will you please leave us alone, so we can talk?”

She promptly turned around and walked away from the living room. Milan sighed as Lou chuckled to himself.

“You have your hands full here.” Lou mused.

Milan shook his head. “So, what else did you find out?”

“Like I said, he's clean. I didn't find anything out of the ordinary on him. I don't think he's a threat. Look, I know this isn't any of my business, but whatever it is you think these people did, they didn't. Johanna checks out and Rob checks out just fine. Sarah is not a threat. The Johnson boy is just a normal, rotten kid. Sheriff Acker may be a bit of a jerk, but he checks out too. You can keep paying me to investigate everyone Paulina has ever met, but I can almost guarantee you, no one is out to get you.”

Milan's hands shook as he listened. This time, not out of fear, but out of relief and shame all bottled up together. He'd had Lou investigate everyone he could think of and remarkably no one came out as being anything more than ordinary small town people who had a tendency to overstep their bounds, but had no history of violence.

“No, that won't be necessary. The second autopsy results are back. Paulina...” His voice broke. This would be the first time he'd say the words out loud. “She did this to herself.”

“She what?” Lou was shocked to hear this news. “Suicide? Oh, I'm so sorry.”

“It appears so.” Milan answered, feeling like he might collapse.

He walked Lou to the front door, glancing toward the back of the house to see if Johanna was nearby.

Lou looked around the first floor. “So, you're really going to let it all go and sell the manor? Look, I'm sorry about what happened here. I had no idea that there was so much going on. I'm glad you told me why you were investigating all of these people. I was beginning to wonder about you.”

Milan, considered for a moment, putting his chin on his chest. “You know, I don't know yet. I've lost a lot. I don't know if I'm ready or capable of making decisions any more.”

Lou stepped out onto the porch, pausing to say, “It seems to me that you have two choices, choose to be haunted by the past or learn to breathe again.”

Epilogue

THE LUSH GARDENS brought a tear to his eye.  He wasn't prepared for how emotional the sight would make him.

Although he'd spent a considerable amount of time watching her tend to the soil and toil over the buds, the sight of all of the flowers in full bloom still managed to astound not only his eyes but his senses.

“Aren't they beautiful?” She asked, placing her small hand on his arm.

He nodded, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Yes, but not as beautiful as you are.”

Wrapping her arms around his waist, she nestled her head in the crevice that had become her special place over the last two years. Nightly she would lie down next to him and place her head on that very spot.

“I love you,” she whispered, feeling happier than she'd ever felt in all her life.

He kissed the top of her head, inhaling the sweet floral scent of her favorite perfume – the one she'd discovered in a quaint shop in Spain on their honeymoon.

“I love you more and more every second. I can't imagine my life without you and Sophia in it.” Milan kissed her cheek. “Where is she?”

Johanna turned her head, smiling at the sight of their daughter running toward them with her arms wide open. Sarah hurried to catch up to her.

It wasn't so long ago that she and Milan were at odds over everything, including what his true feelings and intentions were where she was concerned. It took some time for both of them to break through the walls that they'd each put up around their hearts and to see past what seemed like a striking resemblance and see it for what it truly was – his desire to hold onto something that he could never have again. As the months passed, that resemblance faded and was replaced with Johanna's slight features and vibrant personality, far different from those of the more docile Paulina.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Milan's heart skipped a beat every time his little girl called his name.

He knelt down, holding his arms out for her. “Come here, sweetheart. Come here.”

Sophia jumped into his arms, showering him with kisses.

Sarah jogged up behind her. “She's getting too fast for these tired bones.”

“Nothing to worry about, Sarah. I'm just thrilled that you agreed to stay and help raise another Merced child.” He winked at Sarah, lifting Sophia into the air.

“Oh, you couldn't pay me to leave. I'm afraid the three of you are stuck with me.” Sarah wrapped an arm around Johanna's waist. “I always knew he'd be a great father someday.”

Johanna looked at her small family – the only real family she's ever had – and beamed with pride. A lot had happened in a relatively short amount of time and she couldn't be more thrilled. It took some time for Milan to heal and for all of the fences to be mended, but life found a way to put itself back together. Now, it looked nothing like it ever had and that's exactly how everyone needed it to be.

With all of the battles that had to be fought and all of the hurdles that needed to be jumped over, somehow they survived and now thrived. In the end, all that they each thought they were running from was running to them. Milan's return to River's Bend brought him closer to the man he was always meant to be and to those who would love him through to the end.

“Are my girls ready for the surprise?” Milan smiled at Johanna and Sarah.

Johanna clasped her hands together, excited to hear that the job was now complete.

“Yes! I can't wait any more.” She squealed. “It's taken so long, I wouldn't be able to last another day.” Milan led the trio around to the back of the house and pointed to where the tunnel and the outbuilding once stood. Tears welled in Johanna's eyes. She knew how much this project meant to him. “Gorgeous.”

Sarah gasped. She never imagined that it could look this beautiful. Where the tunnel once stood was now a small walking bridge, providing a path over the creek that still ran behind the house. The old, wrought iron fence that separated the manor from the tunnel had been replaced with new fencing to keep Sophia safe.

“The landscapers did a beautiful job!” Sarah walked to the fence to look at their handiwork.

“Yes, Tuck and the team from the cemetery really do good work. I'm glad you talked me into hiring them.” Milan answered, remembering what a struggle it had been for him to let go of the anger he once held and finally listen to reason.

After having a face-to-face talk with Tuck, he came to understand that Tuck's interest in Paulina and the house was more out of wanting to preserve the manor as it once had been. Milan had no idea that Tuck had so much interest in old structures and bringing them back to life. Tuck admitted having a crush on Paulina, but never meant any harm. Milan was glad they'd settled their differences and moved forward.

“At least, it gave that boy of his something to do to keep himself out of trouble. Has he paid you back for all of the property damage yet?” Sarah asked Milan.

“Not quite. Tuck and I decided that Ned's yard could use some sprucing up. After that, we'll call it even.” Milan winked at her.

Johanna took Sophia out of Milan's arms and walked out of the backyard out to the new gardens. She looked back at Milan, reading apprehension on his face.

“Aren't you going to come look?” Johanna asked him.

Sarah hesitated, waiting to see if Milan was ready to take the next step. She watched his hands as he clenched them, then, released after a few seconds and made his way toward his family, pausing to look back at Sarah. She swallowed the lump in her throat, feeling more proud of him than she'd ever felt before. He'd crossed a threshold she thought he'd never cross and finally welcomed love and family back into his life again.

* * *

If you liked this book, check out more by the same author:

Marked As Prey Romantic Suspense Series:

Fool's Errand – Book One

http://amzn.to/1ZFoV9Q

http://novelistgraelily.wix.com/graelily

* * *

About Grae Lily

Grae Lily serves her romance with a side of mystery and suspense. Her heroines are not your ordinary damsels in distress. They are as feisty and fierce as they are intelligent and beautiful. Her heroes are strong, sensual, and hard to resist.

If you enjoy Romantic Suspense, read the Marked As Prey series. If Paranormal Romance is your cup of tea, read Milan's Return today.

Connect with me on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Grae-Lily/1527530184185267

Join my mailing list for updates & exclusive offers:

http://eepurl.com/_QBST

* * *

More Titles by this Author

http://amzn.to/1RrPVJb

http://novelistgraelily.wix.com/graelily

Sign up for more bargain boxed sets at:

www.hotboxedbooks.com

JUMP TO...

A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE by NOREE COSPER

END OF DREAMS by KIM FAULKS

HAUNT by HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY

DARK CROSSINGS by ANN SIMKO

HEADSPACE by CALINDA B

THE OTHER F WORD by SUSAN STEC

UNLEASHED by RACHEL MCCLELLAN

HIDDEN INTENTIONS by STACY CLAFLIN

THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL by AIMEE EASTERLING

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS by KYOKO M

ST. CHARLES AT DUSK by SARAH M. CRADIT

WICKED BY NATURE by MADISON SEVIER

UNDERLIFE by MARISSA FARRAR

DRAGON’S REDEMPTION by EDEN ASHE

MILAN’S RETURN by GRAE LILY

THE BREAKERS CODE by CONNER KRESSLEY

THE MEDIUM by MR GRAHAM

WICCAN WARS by HEATHER MARIE ADKINS

CARPE NOCTEM by KATIE SALIDAS

A QUESTION OF FAITH by NICOLE ZOLTACK

THE BREAKERS CODE

BY CONNER KRESSLEY

Copyright © 2014 by Conner Kressley

Where were you when the world ended?

Three weeks shy of her seventeenth birthday, Cresta Karr wakes to find her world is falling apart. The necklace her father left her is mysteriously missing, a black sedan is stalking her and her friends, and her house is minutes away from exploding. To top it off, she finds out that Owen, the enigmatic, if slightly off-kilter guy of her dreams, is both not interested in going out with her and a superspy sent by a clandestine organization to keep tabs on her.

Turns out Cresta is the subject of a 500 year old prophecy, and if Owen and the other “Breakers” can't find a way to circumvent the future before the sun comes up on her birthday, Cresta is destined to bring about the end of the world – something she'd rather not have on her college applications. That is, of course, if the gun-toting cult members piling onto her front porch don't get to her first.

The countdown is on. Secrets will be revealed, relationships will be tested, prophecies will be fulfilled, and fate will fight free will in a battle so intense that it won't end until the world itself does.

Happy birthday, Cresta.

Chapter 1

Nothing in Heaven or Hell

TWO DAYS BEFORE our house blew up; I woke to the troubling smell of bacon. I had just had the dream again; the one with the sevens, but that hardly mattered now. I shot straight up in bed and took a whiff. Was that sausage too?

This was not good.

For most people, waking up to the smell of breakfast cooking on the stove probably wasn’t cause for concern. It might even be normal, but my mom wasn’t exactly the ‘normal’ sort. In addition to what I could only describe as her lifelong ‘Hatfield and McCoy-esque’ feud with all kitchen appliances, she had a pretty demanding job.

As the head of the nursing department at St. Vincent’s, she was always rocking a pair of really awesome scrubs and kept pretty weird hours. Usually, she was gone from seven ‘til seven, but three days a week, she was on call. So anytime, day or night, the phone could ring and she’d have to rush back into the hospital. And if the emergency was big enough, like if there was a bus crash or something, she’d have to go whether she was on call or not. Sometimes I didn’t see her for days at a time. So, it shouldn’t be a surprise that the last home cooked meal I got was sometime around the start of the Bush administration.

I threw the covers aside and started downstairs, combing knots of sleep from my short blond hair. I was halfway down the stairs, about to ask my mom what act of God forced the spatula into her hand, when I saw Casper. Sitting at the kitchen table with a plate of bacon and eggs lifted parallel with his face, he was shoveling the contents into his mouth with a fork.

“Hey Cresta,” he said when he saw me, mumbling through what looked like a pound of food.

I was still in my pajamas. Today they were oversized flannel pants that, while looking like, something a lumberjack would wear, were insanely comfortable and a ratty Avengers tee that I won for being the 1,000th customer at the new Hot Topic in Newton. Usually, I would be less than excited for a guy to see me like this. My hair was a mess; I was still sporting my sleepy face, and I didn’t even have foundation on.

Casper wasn’t a regular guy though. Since I moved to Crestview a couple of years ago, Casper had been my best friend. A makeup free face was nothing for us. Besides, it wasn’t like that between us. We were friends, buddies, nothing else.

“Hey,” I said, and motioned toward my mother with a confused look on my face.

He shrugged. “You got me,” he answered, and plopped two more eggs onto his plate. “I’m not complaining though.”

“Did you sleep here?” I asked, settling beside him and grabbing a piece of bacon from his plate. I bit into it. It was salty and basically raw, exactly what you would imagine from someone who only cooked once a decade. Still, it was better than nothing.

“Yeah.” He grabbed two more pieces of bacon, apparently more in love with it than I was. “In your car. My dad was being a giant dildo.”

“Casper! Language!” Mom shouted from over her skillet, where she was salting some funky looking gray meat.

“What? Did I not conjugate?” He shrugged.

“You could have come inside,” I said, bumping his shoulder with my own. “You know the couch has always got your name on it.”

I meant that both figuratively and literally as, late last year, Casper and I carved our names into the undercarriage of my living room couch. I don’t know why we did it. It’s just; Casper never really had what you’d call a stable home life. He was with odds with his dad every other day and, even when things were good, I always got the feeling that he thought he was invisible, like he didn’t matter.

I guess I wanted to show him that he did, even if it was just at the bottom of a couch.

“I don’t want to be that weird guy who sleeps on your couch,” he said through another forkful of food, pushing wild red hair messily out of his eyes.

“You’d rather be the guy who breaks into my Jetta?” I asked.

“Absolutely not!” He said. “I would never do that. I had keys made to that thing ages ago.”

I found orange juice, apple juice, and cranberry juice cocktail (the name brands!), along with half gallons of both chocolate and regular milk. Someone had been shopping.

“What the hell is going on here?” I turned to Mom, closing the fridge door without choosing anything.

“What do you mean?” She asked, spooning the gray looking meat into an equally sketchy looking white fluff.

“Somebody took the tumble weed out of the fridge,” I answered.

She smiled. “We needed groceries.”

“Since when? You don’t cook.”

“Maybe I’ll start.” She flipped half of the white fluff over the gray meat, creating a sort of a silver storm cloud of disgusting.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Making an omelet,” she beamed, and scooped the mess onto a clean plate beside her.

I walked closer. Either it didn’t smell as bad as I imagined it would or I was so stunned by what was going on in front of me that I wasn’t thinking straight. “An omelet?” I repeated. Touching her arm, I asked, “Are you on drugs?”

She grinned, but there was darkness beneath her smile, and I knew why. “Don’t joke about that Cresta,” she said. “It’s just that, you know—“

Her phone started ringing. I sighed and backed away. Nobody ever called Mom’s phone; nobody except the hospital.

She picked it up, said “You got it,” and slid it back into the satchel across her waist, the only place she put anything when she wore her scrubs (which was all the time).

“How long have you even been home?” I asked. Not that it mattered. I already knew what she was going to say.

“There was a bus accident.” She already had her jacket on and was halfway out the door.

It was always something; a bus accident, a three car pileup, a French influenza outbreak. But Mom didn’t care. She helped people, it was her job. She always said, “If people are in trouble, I need to be at work.”

She was fierce; determined. It was the thing about her I admired the most. It was also the thing that was going to keep me from seeing her until at least tonight.

“Can you make sure the burners are off?” She called to me from the door. “There’s cash on top of the television if you need it for lunch. There’s some there for you too, Casper.”

“Thanks Mrs. Karr,” he waved and took a swig of orange juice.

“Take care of each other, and don’t forget your inhaler. I’ll see you when I see you, sweetheart.”

I smiled and she closed the door.

She called ten minutes later to remind me not to be late for school, but there was no need. Casper and I were already a quarter of a mile down the road. He drove while I stuffed Pizza boxes and Dr. Pepper cans into a trash bag, the calling card of any night Casper spent in my car. DeSoto High was ten minutes from my house, five if Casper was driving, and school didn’t start for another half hour. Still, I was in a hurry. I wanted to get there early, and not just to study for the ‘pop’ quiz everyone knew Mr. Jenkins was going to give because it was the second Thursday of the month.

Before I could bring it up though, Casper took the conversation in a different direction.

“Is Mrs. Goolsby a slut?” He asked.

“Mrs. Goolsby is eighty six and on dialysis. I don’t think she has the energy to be a slut.”

“It’s just, look at that.” He pointed to her house. I wasn’t sure what he was talking about. It seemed normal to me. Sure the paint was flaking a little; revealing specks of white under its coat of brown, and the yard was a little overgrown. But that was nothing out of the ordinary, especially for a widow whose children were grown and gone.

“What am I looking at? If Mom didn’t handcuff me to the lawnmower every other Saturday, our house would look just like that.”

“Not the house,” he said, looking out over his black rimmed glasses. “The car.”

At the edge of her yard, a black Sedan sat inches from the curb. The windows were pitch black and it idled softly.

“So she bought a car,” I said. Didn’t seem so strange to me.

“But she didn’t. That’s the thing. Whenever my dad kicks me out and I have to ‘borrow’ the inside of your car,” he put air quotes around the ‘borrow’. “ I get a clear view of Mrs. Goolsby’s house. Every night, without fail, a car pulls up and some random dude walks in.”

“Maybe she has a friend,” I said. As gross as the thought of Mrs. Goolsby having a ‘special friend’ was, it was also kind of sweet.

“You know, I saw this thing on TV the other day about gigolos. Apparently these dudes make house calls and stuff. I bet Mrs. Goolsby-“

“Ew!” I threw an empty Dr. Pepper can at Casper’s head.

Mrs. Goolsby with a gigolo? There was nothing sweet about that.

He shrinked away laughing. “What? You were thinking it too.”

“Actually, I was thinking you spend way too much time in my car.”

I looked back at Mrs. Goolsby’s house in the rearview as we were about to turn onto Maple. The black Sedan was gone.

“I’m going to tell him,” I said, tying the junk food filled garbage bag and tossing it into the backseat. I was careful not to look at Casper. I knew what he was going to say.

“Not a good idea Cress,” he squealed into the school parking lot. Wow, he made it in four minutes this time. He left skid marks across the blacktop when he jerked into a space. I shot him a harrowing look.

“I’m an excellent driver. I know.” Casper pulled the keys from the ignition, thumped them toward me, and stepped out. I followed, but he hadn’t stopped talking so, by the time I tossed the garbage and caught up with him, all I heard was the word ‘girlfriend’.

That was enough.

“Barely,” I said. “Owen barely has a girlfriend.”

“How can you barely have a girlfriend? You either do or you don’t,” Casper said, pulling a stick of gum from his pocket. It’s like he constantly had to have something in his mouth.

It was still early enough that the parking lot was pretty much empty. In a few minutes, the morning rush would begin, and the place would fill up- Well, as much as anything filled up in Crestview. Once the other students got here though, I’d have to be more careful. I didn’t want my secret feelings for Owen going public, at least not until I got a chance to talk to him about them first.

For now though, I could be as animated as I wanted. I jerked in front of Casper. He didn’t stop, so we ended up walking toward the school face to face, with me walking backwards.

“Unless the girlfriend in question lives on the other side of the country. Hell, maybe she doesn’t exist at all. He could have made her up. I mean, have you ever seen a picture of her?”

I knew I wasn’t making any sense. Owen wouldn’t make up a girlfriend, but I wanted it to be true so badly that I figured I’d throw it out there anyway.

I had been in Crestview about a week and a half when Owen moved here. I later found out from Casper that that was the first time two families had moved into town so closely since ‘probably forever’.

Now I’m not one for kismet or anything, but you have to admit, as signs go, that’s a pretty good one. We became fast friends, not in the way Casper and I became friends. I could tell Casper anything. I could divulge my deepest secrets to him. There was no way I could talk to Owen like that, not when he had eyes that were deep blue pools and a smile that was electric.

He was so much like me. We both came her from big cities; Sacramento for him, and Chicago for me. He seemed just as out of place as I did in Crestview; a farming community with dirt roads, no red lights, and a grand total of one general store.

Maybe that was why everyone shied away from us at first. Only Casper, who himself would tell you how he stuck out in this place like’ Lindsay Lohan in an Amish church’ took a liking to us. It didn’t matter to us though. Owen and I always found things to do.

Some nights, we’d sit beside the long abandoned railroads tracks, talking about how much we missed the sounds of traffic. The third Tuesday of every month, when the Christ Methodist Church played G rated movies on their outdoor projector; we’d sit in the back and watch Pulp Fiction on his iPhone.

It never failed though. Every time we got comfortable, John Travolta’s face would disappear, replaced by those horrible words: Merrin calling.

Merrin was the undoubtedly perfect girlfriend Owen had left back in California and, probably because I had the worst luck on the entire planet, she didn’t seem to have any intention of letting him go. Anytime it looked like Owen and I were headed out of the friend zone, anytime I dared to rest my head on his shoulder, anytime we managed a deep conversation, Merrin would give him a little ‘remember me’ ring.

Not that I had any reason to believe Merrin would be threatened by me. Though I had never seen a picture of her, from the way Owen talked, she was just shy of perfect. Which was infuriating, because perfect and I, we weren’t even in the same county.

“You’re gonna back into Hernando,” Casper said, grabbing my arm and pulling me to a stop.

I pulled the inhaler from my pocket and took a whiff. I was out of breath. I must have been more nervous than I thought.

The ‘Hernando’ Casper was talking about wasn’t a teacher or student. It was a statue. Hernando DeSoto was some sort of Spanish explorer. He marched through Georgia a couple hundred years ago and set up shop here for a while. That was pretty much the only interesting that ever happened in Crestview, so they named the school after him and put up the statue.

It was probably nice when they erected it, about a thousand years ago. Now however, it was clear that, like the town itself, Hernando had seen better days.

What was presumably once the picture of a braver pioneer; a striking man with a Spanish flag in his hand, his foot propped up on a rock, and a devilish smirk on his face, was now all but gone. The bronze was dull and dingy. The statue’s sharp lines and edges had been flattened with time, and that devilish grin was barely a grin now at all.

“Forgive me Hernando,” I said, stuffing my inhaler back into my pocket. “Look,” my foot started tapping against the pavement. Yep, I was nervous. “Long distance relationships never work, not even in the movies.”

“That might be true, but it’s been working for them for about two years now,” Casper answered. The light tilt had vanished from his voice. “He has a girlfriend Cress, a girlfriend who is not you.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t want you to get hurt, and I don’t want things to get weird between you guys. Besides, if he doesn’t see how insanely awesome you are, he doesn’t deserve you.”

Okay, that was sweet, and there might even be some truth in it. But I wasn’t looking for sweet, and I wasn’t looking for anything to slow me down. It had taken me close to two years to work up the nerve to tell Owen how I felt about him. If I let Casper talk me out of it now, good intentions or not, I might never do it. And I couldn’t deal with that.

I ran a hand through my wavy blond hair, like I always did when I was trying to collect myself. “Look, I know you wanna protect me and everything.”

“It’s cause I’m a Southern gentleman,” he smiled. We both knew there were a couple freshman girls who might disagree with that, but I let it slide.

“Look at my hands, Casper.” They had traveled from my hair to the inside of my pockets.

“Hands in pockets,” he said.

“And what do hands in pockets mean?” I asked.

His mouth twisted crookedly. “Means there’s nothing in heaven or hell that’s gonna get through that thick head of yours.”

Casper knew me well enough to know that once I was set on something I was set. I looped my arm through his.

“I’ve gotta tell him. That way, either way, at least he’ll know. You know?”

“I know,” he answered, and squeezed my hand.

We walked together into the school. Pushing through the doors, I turned to give Hernando once last glance, and saw what looked like the tinted black Sedan from Mrs. Goolsby’s passing slowly by.

Chapter 2

He Died Laughing

I STOOD BY my locker, watching the only entrance Owen could come in, and waiting for him. He was usually early, which is why I made it a point to be extra early. I wanted to have time to get my thoughts in order, to sort of feel the air around me, and come up with exactly the right thing to say.

I had been stroking these feelings for so long now, building it up in my head, that I needed to do this right. Even if he said no, even if he looked at me like some love struck idiot, I wanted to be clear.

He wasn’t early today though. I must have ran my hands through my hair a thousand time, watching the door and trying to act nonchalant as other students started to pour in.

I had never been the most popular person in DeSoto. Hell, I’m sure if you asked them, most of the other sophomores probably couldn’t tell you my name. They’d say I was the new girl, or Casper’s friend, or the chick from Chicago whose dad died. It’s not that they didn’t like me. At least, that’s not the way I took it. I always figured they sort of saw me as an outsider; an unnecessary addition that came along once they were set in their ways.

Everybody in Crestview seemed to have known each other since forever; like they made phone calls from the uterus or something. Their mothers knew each other. Their fathers hunted together. Sure, the fact that my mom was head of nursing (and pretty popular come flu season) might have got me a little attention, but that only lasted so long. And, if I’m being honest, I never did much to garner any affection.

Aside from Casper and Owen, for whom I had a different sort of affection, I never made much time for the kids in Crestview. They always seemed so silly to me; so small. They were obsessed with country music, with the DeSoto Excavators Friday night football games and, worst of all, with each other.

Every day there was a new rumor. Claire Collins dumped Randy Gentry after she caught him cheating with her sister. Wade Reynolds got suspended for sneaking peppermint schmaltz into the boys’ locker room. Susie Townser spent six months in Wyoming, but it wasn’t for a spiritual retreat. Claire Collins dumped Randy Gentry again after she found incriminating pictures of the cheerleading squad on his cellphone.

Those two were like Chris Brown and Rihanna minus the domestic abuse.

It was like none of them could see past the town limits; like there wasn’t a whole wide world out there full of amazing stuff. I couldn’t live that way. I had seen that world, I had lived in it. So, if I didn’t exactly fit in in Middle-of-Nowhere, Georgia, well I could think of worse things.

Owen wasn’t like that though. He was an outsider too. He was stuck just like me. He understood, and hopefully he would understand what I was about to tell him.

If he ever bothered to show up, that is.

“Bell’s about to ring Cress,” Casper said. He was standing next to me, his foot propped up against a locker, sucking on a bright red Tootsie Pop.

“He’ll be here,” I insisted, scratching my face. I had snuck off to the bathroom to put some makeup on for my big moment. I mustn’t have done it right though, because my face was itching like crazy. Mom had never been the sort to use a lot of makeup. I guess when you spend all your time sticking needles into sick people; there isn’t much need for it. As a result, I never really figured out how to apply the stupid stuff.

Still, I must have done it okay, because Casper hadn’t seemed to notice. Which is good because, if he did, he’d no doubt have a field day with it.

“Maybe he’s sick,” Casper suggested through a mouthful of sucker.

“Maybe,” I muttered, and ran my fingers through my hair again.

He turned to me, pulled the sucker from his mouth, and put his chin on my shoulder. He breath was cherry and chocolate when he said, “Don’t kill yourself about it Cress. You’ve always got me.”

I knew what was coming next; the same thing he said since the instant he heard my last name.

“Casper Rhodes and Cresta Karr. Karr and Rhodes,” he smiled. “See, ‘cause cars drive on roads.”

“I get it,” I said, ruffling his red hair. “You don’t have to kill the metaphor.”

He scrunched his nose and peered at me from over his glasses. “Is that rouge?”

Luckily, that was when Owen finally decided to arrive.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said and pulled away from him. He clanged against the lockers, catching his balance and tried to look cool in front of the freshman girls that passed.

“How you doing?” He waved at them. “I totally meant to do that, by the way.”

Not that it mattered to me, but Owen was less than his spectacular self as he drudged into the hallway. His black hair was still wet, presumably from the shower, and brushed lazily to the side, making it look like sloshed mud on his head. There were huge dark circles under his eyes, and he was pulling at his jacket, suggesting that, even now, he was still getting dressed.

I walked toward him, a super bright smile plastered across my face; the same sort of smile I imagined Merrin wore when she was picking flowers, or surfing, or whatever it is perfect California girls do in their free time.

“Hey,” I purred, and tilted my head a little to the left. I saw Angelina Jolie do that once in a movie, and the guy completely melted. She had a pistol strapped to her thigh at the time, but I figured it was worth a shot.

“Did you do the math homework?” he asked, looking past me.

Angelina Jolie, I was not.

“I-“

“I overslept. Plus, I didn’t do the math homework. Plus, I left a red shirt in the washing machine and now all my socks and underwear are pink. Plus, I think I have an inner ear infection.”

Okay, so he wasn’t exactly Brad Pitt today either. But I had made up my mind. I was doing this. I brushed off everything he had said and put my hand on his shoulder. He didn’t seem to notice.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” I stared at him, making sure my green eyes synched up with his deep blue ones perfectly. The look in them must have been telling, because this time he did notice something was up.

“Is everything all right?” He asked, biting his lip, which he always did when he was nervous, and which I thought was just about the cutest thing ever.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. It’s just-“

The bell sounded, cutting into my words. I felt his shoulder tense.

“Can we do this later?” He asked. The rest of the student body was busy filing into their respective homerooms and I could tell from the look on his face that he didn’t want to be late.

No. This wasn’t the right time.

“Sure,” I said, and took my hand off his shoulder. He smiled that electric smile that had been front and center in my dreams since the day I met him.

“Thanks Cress. Look me up at lunch or something, okay”

“Sure thing,” I grinned.

But then, something else happened. He leaned in close, his pool blue eyes inspecting me. I caught the scent of him on the air. I felt his breath against my cheek. For a second, I thought he was going to kiss me, and my heart started pounding in my chest like a jackhammer against pavement.

“You have schmutz on your face,” he said.

Okay. Not gonna kiss me.

“Red schmutz,” he continued.

He put his hand on my face and started rubbing which, if it wasn’t the most embarrassing moment of my life, would have probably been nice.

“I don’t know. Maybe you should run to the bathroom before class.” He gave me a smile and a ‘We’re such great buddies’ pat on the shoulder, and then he was off.

I almost limped back to Casper, who wasn’t even trying to hold in his laughter.

“Not a word,” I said, but he keeled over, holding his stomach and howling in delight.

“That was the greatest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he said. “My tombstone’s gonna read: Here lies Casper Rhodes. He died laughing.”

I had three classes with Owen before lunch; History, where I watched him struggle to stay awake through Mrs. Gilman’s forty three minute lecture about the Cotton Tax and its effect on the Civil War, and Science, where he chewed on the end of his pencil and stared out the window. I had never wanted to be an eraser so badly in my entire life.

I almost talked to him in Math class. I stood outside the door, waiting for him after the bell rang. When he didn’t come out, I went back in. He didn’t see me. He was standing at Mr. Jacobs’ desk, holding out a sheet of paper. I could see that the paper was blank, save for a giant smiley face he had drawn in the center in red crayon.

“What’s this?” Mr. Jacobs asked, taking the paper.

“It’s my math homework,” Owen answered, without cracking a smile.

“No it’s not. This is rubbish.”

Owen folded his arms and leaned toward the desk a little, “Look again. It’s my homework, and I think you’ll see it’s all correct.”

Mr. Jacobs seemed confused but, when he turned the paper back toward him he said, “My mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking. Good job on this.”

Before Owen could come out, before I could ask him what all that was about, Margie Connor, who thought that just ‘cause she got a sash and a demerit card, she was queen of the hall monitors, shooed me toward Language Arts.

Lunch came with a caveat that I hadn’t considered. It was Thursday, which meant the meatheads that made up the DeSoto High Excavators would spend their entire lunch period going over plays and strategies for Friday night’s game. They’d flick fish sticks at each other and talk about how they were going to ‘completely own’ whatever poor team had the misfortune of having to come to this excuse of a town to play.

Owen, for all his pluses, counted himself among the meatheads. I never understood why someone like Owen; so witty, so cerebral, saw fit to join their ranks. I mean, they spent their days arguing over whether Becki Saunders or Claire Collins had the more squeezable butt (usually Claire), or who could hock the biggest loogie (Ernie Palmer, though during pollen season Dennis Johnson gave him a run for his money).

Maybe Owen saw it as a way to fit in. And, to that end, it worked. Less than a week after putting that jersey on, he was one of the most popular guys in school. People started gathering around him in the hallway, girls started flirting their way up to him (though they hit the same Merrin shaped road block I had been dealing with). Even parents in the PTA knew who he was.

It didn’t change him though. For all the new friends he had, for all the parties he got invited to, it was still rare for me to go more than a day without seeing him. I think, in a lot of ways, he still saw himself as an outsider and, because of that, thought of me as a kindred spirit. At least, I hoped he did.

He waved as he saw me walk into the cafeteria, and even stood as if to join Casper and me at our regular table. I waved him on, letting him know it was okay that he stay with the team. It was Thursday after all, and this wasn’t where I wanted to tell him how I felt anyway, not in some crowded lunchroom where we’d have to shout over the sounds of last night’s gossip worthy events to be heard.

I would see him after school. I would take him to the swing set at the elementary school next door, and I’d lay it all out. With any luck, he’d bit his lip, smile that electric smile, and tell me he felt the same way and that he had been dying waiting for me to make the first move. He’d call Merrin and break the news to her, while I planned our perfect future together. Then, he’d kiss me.

But I didn’t see him after school. He must have left before the final bell, because by the time the student body poured out into the parking lot, making plans for tonight and the coming weekend, there was no sign of him.

From the corner of my eye though, out past poor neglected Hernando, I saw the black Sedan from Mrs. Goolsby’s idling alongside the road, blacked out windows and all.

“Is that that car?” I turned to ask Casper.

By the time I turned back though, it was gone.

Chapter 3

Moon in Capricorn

I DIDN’T HAVE much time to think about Owen or the black car. It was Thursday and, more importantly, the third Thursday of the month. That meant I was busy, that I would have to drive twenty three miles and through two towns to Dr. Conyers’ office.

By the time I got there, twenty minutes til five, I was already late. She didn’t mind though. Ever since my third speeding ticket going through that stupid speed trap in Cold Creek, Dr. Conyers and I had an unspoken agreement. I would drive the speed limit and get there when I could, and she wouldn’t have to spend the next forty five minutes listening to me complain about how even the cops had it in for me around here.

I shouldn’t complain though. Having the only therapist in the county live thirty minutes away could be a good thing. It meant I didn’t have to worry about the other kids in school finding out about my twice monthly visits.

Back in Chicago, it wouldn’t have been a big deal. Everyone saw shrinks there. School dances were scheduled around people’s therapy sessions. But here in Crestview, I shuddered to think what they might say if they knew I was seeing somebody, the stories they’d come up with.

I’d no doubt be a serial killer, or have nine personalities, or think birds were trying to communicate government secrets to me or something. They didn’t get it Crestview. Therapy was something for crazy people, and I wasn’t crazy.

I just-I just needed someone to talk to every once in a while.

I went through the events of the last two weeks with Dr. Conyers, just like always. And, like always, she tapped the end of her pen against her knee and listened. She was around my mom’s age and, with her curly brown hair and pointed features, even looked a bit like her. She was quieter than my mom, though I guess that goes along with the whole ‘therapist thing’.

Mom would have butted her way into the conversation at least three times if she were here, telling me what she would do if she were me or going off on some tangent that had little, if anything to do with what was going on.

Dr. Conyers, to her credit, always let me finish before giving me her two cents. Next month would mark one year that I had been seeing her. When Mom first suggested that I start biweekly sessions with somebody, I resisted. The idea of hashing out my problems in front of a complete stranger, of spilling my guts while lying on some overpriced fainting couch, seemed very ‘Lifetime movie’ to me.

But Dr. Conyers was different. For starters, she didn’t have a couch. Her office was more freeform than that. She would sit on a rounded swivel chair in the middle of the room, sort of like something you’d expect to see Dr. Evil spinning around in, and you had the choice of either sitting on a purple beanbag chair, a giant building block with the letter ‘J’ stamped across it, or a mattress on the floor, complete with down comforter and pillows.

I usually chose the mattress, but today I was in a beanbag sort of mood.

“So, you didn’t tell him? Owen, I mean,” Dr. Conyers asked when I finally stopped talking.

“No,” I admitted, punching the beanbag chair so that it bent more comfortably.

“I thought your hands were in your pockets.” She swiveled a little and wrote something on the pad in her lap.

“I took them out, I guess.” I let my eyes trace the floor’s shag carpeting. “I just want the moment to be perfect.”

“Do you?” She asked. She didn’t look up, but I could tell from her tone that there was more to the question.

“What is that supposed to mean?” The beanbag crinkled as I straightened up.

“What do you think it means?” Her pen went back to work across the pad on her lap.

“I hate it when you do that,” I crossed my arms. Seriously, is there some sort of class shrinks go to to help them perfect the noncommittal answer? How to answer questions with questions and infuriate your patients 101.

“What do we say about perfect things?” Dr. Conyers looked up at me. I didn’t like the way she asked the question, like I was a preschooler and she was teaching me proper lunchroom etiquette, but that wasn’t a battle I wanted to fight just now.

“That they’re illusions,” I recited. “That they don’t exist.”

We had talked about that sort of thing pretty regularly early on. I was so sour about moving to Crestview, so sour about everything really. My dad has just died, I had left all of my friends, and I was stranded in some ass backwards town that didn’t even have a movie theatre, much less a Starbuck’s.

Dr. Conyers helped me understand that, while your circumstances might be beyond your control, the way you react to them wasn’t. She told me that the happy peppy people I saw walking down the DeSoto High hallways everyday probably had just as much to be bummed about as I did. They just decided to make the best of things.

While I disagreed with the last part (I mean, nobody who saw the way Chloe Waite owned the 12th grade would say she had anything to worry about), she did have a point. A big part of life, I decided, was what you made it. But what did that have to do with Owen?

“I don’t get what you mean though?” I said.

“You wanted to wait for a perfect time to tell this boy about your feelings, yet you know there’s no such thing. Traditionally, it’s fear that holds us back.”

“You think I’m afraid?” I asked. Though, she might not have been completely wrong, the idea that she thought that really pissed me off.

“I don’t think you want to be rejected,” she said, and the pen went back to the pad.

“Nobody wants to be rejected. That’s pretty simple stuff.”

“True, but not everyone lets it stifle their actions.” She tapped the tip of her pen against her teeth. “Would you like to know what I think?”

“I think you’re going to tell me what you think whether I want to hear it or not, so you might as well,” I answered.

She held off a grin. “People give off cues all the time; in the way they stand, in the way the move, in how they interact with others. People’s intentions, the truths of who they are, are written all over them. They’re in their voices; the tones if not the words. And we often pick up on those cues. We interpret them subconsciously and act accordingly, whether we realize it or not.”

She moved the pen from her teeth and pointed it at me like it was a gun, or an accusation.

“I think you’ve picked up on some of these cues and they’ve given you pause.”

“So you don’t think he likes me?” I asked, shuffling uncomfortably in my seat.

“I wouldn’t have any idea. I don’t even know the boy. That’s certainly a possibility. It’s also possible that he feels the same way you do and you’re picking up on that.”

She wasn’t making any sense.

“Why would Owen liking me back make me afraid?” I asked, like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world. Cause it was.

Dr. Conyers placed her pen on her pad and then put the pad on the table beside her, which she only did when she meant business.

“Cresta, you’ve been through a very tumultuous period. In the past two years, your entire life has been uprooted, shaken around, and rearranged. I know you think you’re strong, and you are. But even the strongest of us needs time to heal properly. You’re finding your footing here, just finding it. It’s natural that, on some level, you would be apprehensive toward any changes. You can’t let that fear hold you back though. You can’t let what happened to you, what happened to your father, define you for the rest of your life.”

I shot straight up in my chair, every muscle in my body tensing, the beanbag rolled under me like waves on an angry sea.

“Can we not talk about my father,” I asked. My voice was low but terse, like a stifled cough.

“This is your session. We can talk about whatever you like,” Dr. Conyers said, but she picked her pen back up.

I hated this; the way everything seemed to come back to my dad. I didn’t want to think about him. I didn’t want to be reminded of what happened to him, of what happened to both of us.

But it was too late. Just the mention of him and I was gone. I was back on that bridge on the last night I ever saw him, the last night I would ever see him.

It was clear in my mind, as clear as a movie playing before my eyes. I was with him in the car. We were going over the Clark Street Bridge, headed toward the loop. We had just left Giordano’s, which was regardless of what anybody tells you, the best pizza place in all of Chicago. Mom was working, but we had three pieces of pepperoni in the backseat for her.

I could never remember what we were talking about, but we were laughing when his favorite song of all time ‘Don’t Worry Baby’ by the Beach Boys came on the radio. He started swaying behind the wheel, dancing along with the song.

He looked over at me; his eyes free of anything but light and said, “You know what?”

I didn’t ‘know what’, and it turned out I never would.

Later on, when everything was over, the police would tell me the driver of the semi in front of us fell asleep, causing him to skid across three lanes. I didn’t see any of that though. All I saw was my dad,the wall of the bridge coming up toward us, and then the water.

I remembered the force as we veered off the bridge, as gravity pulled all the blood to my face. And then we hit the river. It shattered against the car, splitting like we were driving through a plate glass window.

I remembered the water seeping in, slow at first and then quicker. I thought it would be a haze. I had heard stories, seen movies about car accidents, about people who go through horrible things. They all say time plays tricks on you, that it either speeds up or slows down; that’s it’s over in a flash or that it drags on forever in slow motion.

None of that happened though. It was all clear. I knew where I was. I knew what was going on. And, watching ice cold gulps of the Chicago River pouring in, I knew we were going to die.

Dad was unconscious. He must have hit his head on the driver’s side window, because blood was pouring down over his closed eyes. I pulled at my seatbelt. It whipped off. I pulled at my father, but he was heavy and the water was starting to creep up at our waists. The sounds of the Beach Boys echoed through the car’s ruined cab. They told me not to worry; that everything would be alright. They were wrong. I pulled at my father again. He barely budged. So, I screamed at him.

“Dad!”

“Dad!”

Daddy.

He didn’t respond. I grabbed for his seatbelt, but the water was everywhere now. It pooled up around my shoulders. I tried to open the door but, like my father, it wasn’t complying. The water grew higher. It invaded my mouth and then my nose, drowning my screams. I opened my eyes. We were completely submerged. My dad lifted off his seat, his blond hair, hair like mine, floated like a halo around his head.

I pulled at him again, thinking he might be lighter now that he was completely underwater. I was wrong. I pulled hard. Losing my grip, I slammed against the door. This time though, it opened. The current of the Chicago River reached for me, pulling me away from the car, pulling me away from my father.

I saw the lights of the city toward the surface, but I swam away from it, back toward the car. My eyes started burning; my lungs caught fire. The chill in the water cut through my skin, down into my bones. But I kept going. I wasn’t going to leave him here, not down in the dark all alone like this.

My father’s eyes flipped open as I got closer. His face got animated, panicked, realizing what had happened. He reached for his seat belt. It stuck. He was trapped. My fingers felt pinpricked as I jerked at his seatbelt. He pushed me away.

He screamed something. It was drowned in the river, but I didn’t need to hear him to know what he said. It was in his eyes. He wanted me to leave him.

I shook my head. There was no way in hell that was happening. We’d find a way. He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. What I hoped would be a pocket knife or nail file, anything to cut through the belt, turned out to be a little gold necklace. It was thin with a heart shaped locket at the end. It looked old, but I had never seen it before.

He gave it to me along with a look. Again, I didn’t have to wonder. I knew what it meant.

You have to leave me.

I’m your father. Do what I say.

I love you.

Now the lack of air wasn’t the only thing setting me on fire. I looked at him for another moment, for the last time. I kissed him on the cheek, and then-

“I think we’re done for today,” I said. My hand was up around my neck, stroking the locket my father gave me. Maybe our hour was up. I had no idea how long I had been sitting there, lost in the moment. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t do this anymore; not right now.

It was raining when I left Dr. Conyers’ office; the sort of rain I didn’t know existed before I moved out of the city; hard and driven by unbridled winds. I put my IPod on shuffle and cranked the volume way up. I didn’t care what song came on, so long as it was loud and I didn’t have to think about anything else.

Seeing Dr. Conyers always drained me. It forced my mind into a dark place. Still, she had helped me in the past. She had forced me to look at things, helped me make sense of it all, and guided me away from the bad choices I made after my dad’s death.

Five miles outside of town, and halfway through the Lumineers album I had downloaded the night before, I caught sight of a car pulled over alongside the road. The rain was beating like bullets against the windshield, but I didn’t need to see much to know who it was. I had memorized that car years ago, along with the guy who drove it.

Owen stood bent under the open hood, soaked to the bone. I pulled over beside him and lowered my window. If possible, he looked even more out of sorts than he had this morning. Water ran off him in sheets, dripping from his hair and face down to the engine below. He looked frustrated, which made sense. Not only was he stranded in the rain but, given what I knew about Owen, he’d have a better chance of cajoling that car into starting than he would of fixing whatever was wrong with it.

“Owen!” I yelled over the rainfall.

“Cresta?” He seemed shocked to see me. He leaned into my open window, dripping all over the door. “Thank God. I’ve been here for twenty minutes. Would you believe you’re the first person who’s come by?”

In this metropolis, who’d have thought?

“Get in,” I told him.

“Are you sure? I’ll ruin the upholstery.”

“I don’t care about the upholstery. You’re gonna catch pneumonia,” I swatted at him.

I rolled my window up and he ran to the passenger side door and hopped in. He shivered and, for a second, I thought he was going to shake the water off like a dog that had just come in out of the rain. Instead, he put his hands in front of the heater and started rubbing them together.

“It’s freezing out there,” he looked at me. Even in this state, looking like a drowned rat in his gray fleece hoodie and jeans, he was pretty cute.

“Not your day,” I smiled.

“The moon’s in Capricorn,” he said, as though it was an explanation. “Do you have a blanket or something?

“Actually,I do.” I reached into the backseat, where Casper kept all of overnight necessities and handed him the fluffy blue blanket with floral prints that Casper had owned since way before I knew him. “Keep in mind, it’s Casper’s. So…”

“Noted,” he said through shivering teeth. He stripped off his gray jacket. The rain had seeped right through it and the black t-shirt he wore underneath was wet and clung to him like skin. I tried not to stare.

“What’s up with the car?” I asked, picking at my steering wheel cover. I always did that, fiddled with things when I was nervous. To date, I had ruined half a dozen sweaters, two laptops, and my grandfather’s dog tags, which made it through Korea but couldn’t survive the standardized testing jitters of ’07.

“I think it’s the fuel pump,” he answered, snuggling into Casper’s blanket.

“What makes you say that?” I asked.

“Cause the guy at the garage said it was the fuel pump,” he shrugged. “I was on my way to Cold Creek now to pick one up. But, like I said, Capricorn.” He pointed to the sky. “I’m so glad you came by. I have zero cell signal out here.”

“I know what you mean,” I glanced at my own useless phone sitting in the cup holder.

“What are you doing out here anyway?” He asked.

“I-I had to bring my mom some stuff,” I stuttered. Owen wasn’t like the other kids at DeSoto. I didn’t think he would look down on me for going to therapy or anything, but I still didn’t want him to know about it. I wanted him to think of me as a girl who had it together, who knew what she was doing, who was confident and maybe even sexy. I certainly didn’t want him thinking of me as broken.

“I can give you a ride back. You can call Triple A when you get back into coverage,” I suggested.

“You’re a saint,” he smiled. The heat was giving him a little of his color back, putting a flush in his cheeks. He turned to me as I pulled back onto the road. “What did you want to talk to me about something this morning?”

I hoped he would attribute the flush crawling up my cheeks to the heater as well. I looked at him, with his expectant blue eyes staring back at me. This was it. This is where I was going to tell him.

“Um…Chicken,” I said.

Yeah, that was about right.

Maybe Dr. Conyers was right. Maybe I was letting my fear get the better of me, or maybe I was waiting for a perfect moment that didn’t exist. Still, there had to be a better one than this; with Owen sopping wet, wrapped in Casper’s blanket, and the moon in Capricorn.

Besides, the idea of him rejecting me was bad enough. I didn’t want to have to drive twenty miles back into town with him after he did.

“You wanted to talk to me about chicken? Like, the bird?” He seemed confused, which was reasonable, given that, at this point, even I didn’t know what I was talking about.

“Right. Yeah. No!” I said, trying to make it make sense. “The food. Chicken, the food. As in, my mom making chicken.”

He smiled. It was uncomfortable, but it was a smile nonetheless. “Your mom doesn’t cook,” he said.

“She does!” I said louder than I should have, realizing I had actually stumbled onto a piece of truth. “She just started.” My mind flashed to this morning and way too much bacon. “And it’s just me and her. Well, sometimes Casper, but he doesn’t eat that much.”

What? That was true, if you measured in metric tons.

“And well, I was sort of hoping you’d come over tomorrow. For chicken, I mean.”

I swallowed hard. That was better. That would be better than here, than today. I could bring Owen home, force feed him what would almost certainly be the worst chicken imaginable, and I’d tell him there. Yeah. I’d have home field advantage. I could set things up the way I wanted; get my mind right and roll it out the right way.

“That’s it?” He reared back and started laughing. “I spent the entire day thinking you were gonna tell me you had cancer or something, Yeah, sure. I’ll eat chicken with you.”

I’m not sure if it was his laugh, the heater, or the fact that I actually had a plan, but I started to feel a little better, a little warmer.

He put his hand on my shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. There it was; his fingers on me, one of those little cues Dr. Conyers was talking about. Now I knew exactly what it was that was making me warmer.

“I don’t know why you made such a big deal out of that,” he said, grinning at me. His face, dripping wet and all, took my breath away. “You know I’d do just about anything you asked me to.” He winked playfully. “I mean, how could I say no to a face like that?”

My God. Those were like cue cards. He was flirting with me. He did love me back. I could see it in those blue eyes. I could feel it in those nimble fingers. He must be dying waiting for me to say something. All I’d have to do is tell him and then, everything would be okay. We would be together.

The rest of our ride went by in a blur of jokes and music. Like me, he loved indie stuff, so we turned up the Lumineers and jammed out to Dead Sea and Charlie Boy. Before I knew it, too soon, we were back in Crestview. The rain died down, receding to a mist that left the usually boring bone dry Georgia town simply boring.

“Want me to drop you at home?” I asked reluctantly.

Or you could come to my house.

“No,” he answered. “I have a bunch of studying to do. Mr. Jacobs is killing me with homework. Can you take me to the library?”

I scoffed. “I don’t get you and the library. It’s the information age, O. You could just study in your room.”

Or my room, if you wanted. That could be arranged.

“I can’t focus at home,” he said, throwing Casper’s blanket into the backseat. “Besides, the FFA meets there on Thursdays, and they always have the best chess squares.”

I pulled into the parking lot of the Crestview library; a small aluminum building that looked more like a double wide than a library. Its gravel parking lot was filled with the same cars I was used to seeing every day when I passed it; Mrs. Cleo, the librarian, Dr. Victors, the only ‘actual doctor’ in the entire county (a title he gave himself that always irked Dr. Conyers), and Mr. Shue, how always sat outside, telling random stories about random things to anyone who was unfortunate enough to find themselves in his crosshairs.

Owen opened the door even before I stopped the car. Closing the door, he stuck his head, this time much dryer, though the window and said, “You’re a lifesaver. What would I do without you, Cresta?”

“Let’s hope you never have to find out,” I smiled shyly. “Don’t forget about-“

“Chicken. I know. I can’t wait.”

“That’s optimistic of you,” I said, picking at my steering wheel again. “She’s not the greatest cook in the world, you know.”

“I’ll be with you. How bad could it be?”

Cues. GIANT FREAKING CUES.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” His electric smile cut through me, and he walked away. I watched him disappear into the library, sidestepping Mr. Shue gracefully. Driving away, I took a whiff from my inhaler. Being around Owen always left me breathless, and today was no exception.

Now, assuming my mother was over the breakfast related insanity of this morning, all I had to do was convince her to cook a lavish chicken dinner with one day’s notice. That shouldn’t be so hard, right?

I looked over longingly at the water stain Owen left on the seat. He really had ruined the upholstery. I didn’t care though. He could destroy the entire car for all I cared, so long as he smiled at me while doing it.

Moisture wasn’t the only thing Owen had left though. Owen’s phone sat on the seat beside me. I picked it up. I had to bring it back to him. How else would be call Triple A or his mom, or…or Merrin. I thought about keeping it for a second. After all, if he couldn’t talk to her for a couple of days, then maybe he’d realize how bad an idea a long distance relationship really was.

No. I couldn’t do that. Nothing good would come from that. Knowing my luck, Owen would find out about and think I was some kind of sicko stalker. I had to bring it back to him. Of course, that didn’t mean I couldn’t at least check out the competition.

I opened up Owen’s pictures and started scrolling through them. I readied my inhaler. If Merrin was half as pretty as I figured she was, I was gonna need it. There were no pictures of Merrin though. There weren’t any pictures of his family or even of himself. The only pictures Owen had were of me.

I couldn’t believe it as I went through them; me at the county fair last November, me and my mom decorating our tree last Christmas, me reading a book on the bleachers at school.

I didn’t even know he took most of these. It was like he had been watching me, like he had been admiring me. I jumped out of the car, leaving it running right there in the parking lot. Forget tomorrow. Forget chicken. Forget all of it. This was all the proof I needed. It was right here in these pictures. Owen liked me back, and I wasn’t wasting another minute.

Mr. Shue’s eyes lit up when he saw me coming. “Cresta, did I ever tell you about the time I wrestled an alligator in the back of a moving truck?”

“Not now, Mr. Shue,” I said, and pushed past him into the library. I held Owen’s phone in my hand, like it was Exhibit A in a murder trial. He wasn’t anywhere to be found though.

There was the FFA. There with their chess squares. There was Mrs. Cleo, stacking books in giant piles on her desk. As I weaved through the aisles looking for him, my resolve began to waver. How was I going to tell him? Should I just show him the phone, present him with the incriminating pictures? Would that make him mad?

I caught sight of him. He was on the other side of the library, walking out the back door.

“Owen!” I yelled, but all I got was nasty looks from the FFA and a “Quiet please!” from Mrs. Cleo.

I rushed toward the back door, and pushed it opened. What I saw though, stopped me in my tracks. Owen hadn’t come here to study. He hadn’t even come here to stay. Owen was standing beside the black Sedan from Mrs. Goolsby’s, the one I had seen circling the school all day. He was talking to someone inside. Though, with the angle the car was parked, I couldn’t see just who.

I thought about saying something, about letting him know I was there. Whatever this was though, whoever he was talking to, he mustn’t have wanted me to know about it. Why else would he have told me he was studying?

I stood there watching as Owen climbed into the black Sedan and rode away.

Chapter 4

Cardboard Girl

THE DAY BEFORE our house blew up; I woke up clutching the locket my father gave me. I always did that when Mom worked and I had to spend the night by myself. I didn’t mean to, mind you. I’d drift off to sleep just fine, watching Nick At Nite reruns or some old movie on the Hallmark Channel. It never failed though. Sometime during the night, my hand would creep up to my throat and settle on the locket. I guess it made me feel close to him, like he was still around in some small way.

I half expected to wake up and find that I had pried the thing open in my sleep, but I never did. In fact, I had never been able to get that open, asleep or not. Since the day my father gave it to me, the day he died, I wore it around my neck. I never took it off, even in the shower. But I had never managed to open the golden oval that hung at the end.

Whatever was in there, probably a picture, was my dad’s secret.

I crawled out of bed and into the shower, remembering that I’d had the dream again. That was two nights in a row. It had been awhile since that had happened.

It was always the same. I was being carried somewhere. I couldn’t see by whom, but I felt so safe that it had to be my father. I couldn’t see what was going on around me, but I heard screams and explosions. I smelled smoke and metal, and felt rain pounding against my face.

Whatever was going on, this was the end of it.

He turned, took seven steps, and carried me up seven stairs. He laid me in the middle of a dark gray room, in the center of a blood red circle. I tried to move, but nothing worked. My hands, my feet, no part of me responded.

He leaned down. I saw moisture glisten on his shrouded cheeks and, realized the rain I had been feeling wasn’t rain at all. It was his tears.

His voice cracked as he whispered in my ear. “Seven. It was always seven.”

I got to school early again, this time breakfast free. For once, Casper hadn’t slept in my backseat. He must have managed an entire day without pissing his dad off because when I picked him up things were quiet and he seemed relatively content.

It took me all of three seconds to tell him everything; about Owen, the pictures of me on his phone, and black Sedan that picked him up behind the library.

I didn’t know what to make of it. Who was in that black Sedan? Why were they visiting Mrs. Goolsby in the middle of the night or circling the school all day? What did they have to do with Owen?

“Oh my God, he’s a gigolo!” Casper said.

I should have known he’d have the answer.

“This makes so much sense!”

“Casper,” I said, picking at my steering wheel.

“No, it does,” he said, holding his hands out like he had made sense of all of it and was about to lay some serious wisdom on me. “What do we know about the guy really? He comes here from California, all super SoCal surfer boy.”

“No he’s not,” I laughed. Owen was a lot of things; cute, considerate, sometimes adorably off kilter, but he was not some blond chiseled surf god.

“Whatever Cress,” Casper waved me off. “The fact is, the dude’s weird. He’s always talking about stars, and moons, and Zodiac signs, and stuff. I mean, I don’t even know where he lives.”

“Yes you do,” I scoffed. “He lives on Abercorn. We were there last weekend.”

“Okay. Okay.” He was stretched across the seat now, sitting on his knees with his hands wide in front of him. It was very Casper. “But we were only there to pick him up. Let me ask you this; when’s the last time you were inside his house?”

“Well…” My mind went blank. I didn’t know. Owen had been in my house, and we had both been in Casper’s, but I had no recollection of ever setting foot in Owen’s place. Is it possible that I had known Owen for two years, became his best friend, fell madly in love with him, and never even seen the inside of his house?

“And what about his parents?” Casper continued. “Who even are those people? I’ve never seen them. I don’t think I’ve ever even met someone who’s seen them.”

“That’s not fair.” I was almost wrist deep in steering wheel now. “His parents don’t work in town. They’re probably almost never here.”

“Don’t be so gullible Cresta. What kind of people move here from a big metropolitan city, work outside of town, and never leave their house?”

“You literally just described my family,” I said.

He shook his head. “Don’t try to play it off just ‘cause you’ve got a thing for him. You’re boy’s a prostitute, plain and simple; a prostitute who caters to sickly old widows. Not that I’m judging. I’m sure there’s good money in it.”

“You’re insane,” I said as we pulled into DeSoto High.

“Probably,” he conceded.

I wrapped my hand around Owen’s cellphone, still in my pocket. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say to him. I didn’t take Casper seriously. Owen might be a little mysterious. He might ever be ‘weird’, like Casper said. I admit, there had been more than one time where I caught him talking to himself. But he was definitely, absolutely not a prostitute.

Was he?

No. No. He wasn’t. Definitely not.

Still, Casper did make a good point. I had never been in Owen’s house. I had seen it. I had picked him up there a hundred times, but he always met me outside. We never hung out there. I had never seen the inside of his bedroom, or even his parents’ faces. They were never at any of his football games. Bake sales, car washes, school plays; they were no shows. I’m not sure I could even tell you their names.

“Oh!” I said as a thought came to me. “Maybe his parents are in the black car. Maybe that’s why he was getting in there.”

Casper kicked a pebble toward the school, looking at me over his glasses and blowing red bangs out of his eyes. “And his parents are hitting up Mrs. Goolsby at four o’clock in the morning for what, sugar?” I blinked. I guess I didn’t have all the answers.

“That’s what I thought,” he smiled, kicking at another pebble. It went sailing down the sidewalk and hit the school’s glass door. “Nice try though. He’s definitely a hooker. Maybe whoever’s in the black car is his pimp. That makes sense. Look on the bright side though.”

I had one hand on Owen’s phone and the other wrapped around my father’s locket as I answered. “And what would that be?”

“Maybe he can get you a discount. You know, like a red light special or something.”

It was stupid and disgusting, but Casper’s joke wrenched a smile out of me.

“I gotta hit up the little boys’ room,” Casper nudged me with his shoulder. “I’ll see you in English.”

I waved him goodbye, took a seat next to Hernando, and waited for Owen to arrive. I was pretty much ignored by the other students as they poured into school. Every now and again, someone would break away from discussing their weekend plans or complaining about the likelihood of once again getting homework for the weekend, and shoot Hernando a glance. Me though, I might as well have been invisible.

Owen never came. I waited until literally a minute before the bell rang, sitting at Hernando’s weathered gold feet, looking for him. I thought maybe he was running late again, maybe the moon was still in Capricorn, and he would come running up at the last minute, all disheveled and adorable. But he didn’t.

Walking into homeroom, I started to wonder if anyone had seen him since he got into that black Sedan yesterday. Certainly he was okay. If he hadn’t come home last night, his mystery parents would have called the police or went looking for him or something. I’d have heard about it by now. They’d have called his phone.

I wrapped my hand around his phone again. This time, I squeezed it tight. I was being stupid. He was fine. There was a reasonable explanation about everything, and he would tell me tonight, over chicken.

School inched by. Not like the way it always did on Fridays, squeezing every ounce of torture out of the day before releasing you into the weekend. Today was even worse than that. My mind hopscotched between points of stress. Where was Owen? Why did he get into that black car? Why did he lie to me about it? And, assuming everything was okay, how was I going to tell him I was crazy about him?

By the time school finally ended, I felt like limping home and collapsing in a heap on my bed. But I couldn’t. My mind wouldn’t let me off the hook that easily. I jumped in my Jetta and drove down to Abercorn. I needed to see Owen, to make sure he was okay.

Dust blew up behind me as I pulled to a stop in front of Owen’s house. I pulled down the sun visor and checked myself out in the mirror. Just because I was showing up at Owen’s house unannounced and horning in on his privacy didn’t mean I couldn’t look presentable doing it.

I straightened my hair up, wiped my face with a moist towelette, and took a hit of my inhaler. I was used to the breathlessness that came with being around Owen, and I was ready to combat it.

Owen’s house was one of the newer ones in Crestview. A two story white thing with blue shutters and a front porch, I realized that, even though I had sat out in front of this place a thousand times, I had never really looked at it. I guess I was always just too captivated by Owen. Even in the early days, before I was so into him that it was hard to breathe, there was something about him.

I could never take my eyes off him. And it wasn’t just that he was cute. Even though he was cute. Really cute. But so were a lot of guys. For a town that didn’t even have a post office, Crestview had no shortage of man meat. Even Casper, who was like my brother, had a sort of ginger-hued ruffled charm about him.

Had I managed to pull my gaze off Owen even one of those times and checked out his house, I would have noticed…absolutely nothing.

There was nothing about the house that stood out at all. In Chicago, that would have been normal. Back home, there was nothing but row after row of identical looking apartments. But here in Crestview, where people actually had things like front yards, people liked to use the space to express themselves.

Some people put up political signs (always Republican) out by the road. Others stuck religious statues (mostly the Virgin Mary) by the front door. Mrs. Ratcliffe cut her bushes to look like swans. Even my mom who, in Chicago, barely took the time make her bed, let alone fancy up the apartment, decorated our yard a little.

Sure, they were those stupid cardboard cutouts; a little boy peeing the horrified little girl who catches him, but Mom seemed to think they were cute. And at least she was trying. Which was more than I could say for Owen’s family.

The yard, the porch- all of it was empty. Other than Owen’s car (which must have gotten that fuel pump ‘cause sitting in the driveway), there was no evidence that anyone lived here at all. Maybe that wasn’t so weird though. Owen’s parents did work constantly. Maybe they didn’t have time for stuff like that. Yeah. That was it. It had to be. I was just letting Casper’s ridiculousness get the better of me.

I got out of my car, holding Owen’s phone out in front of me like an explanation. If he saw me, if he came running out the front door like always, I would just tell him I was coming to return it. Then, of course, I would linger around and be my relatively irresistible self. Totally. Awesome. Plan.

I waltzed up to the front door without incident and knocked on the door. There was no answer. I knocked again. Again, nothing. He must have been gone. Maybe there was some meathead football meeting he was obligated to go to.

Or maybe he’s locked inside the trunk of some black Sedan death trap.

I was just about to leave; I’d give him his phone back when I saw him tonight, when the door opened. It opened slowly, like someone had pushed it but, there was nobody on the other side. Slowly, I stuck my head through the doorway. There was no one in there at all.

“Owen?” I yelled into the living room. “Owen, are you here?”

If he was, he didn’t answer.

“Owen, I’ve got your phone.”

I looked into the house, down at the cherry wood floor. This was it; Owen’s house, and it was open. I could just walk right in. I should. I had his phone. I could just go upstairs and put it in his bedroom.

Owen’s bedroom.

I thought about the little girl in my mother’s cardboard cutout. I bet she wasn’t so horrified after all.

“Owen,” I pushed in. “Owen, are you here?”

The house had a fresh smell to it; like bleach and lemon cleaner. The doorway led into a hall which, in turn, opened up to what I assumed was the living room. I had to assume, because it was totally empty. Like the yard outside and the front porch, the main room of Owen’s house was completely barren. No television, no couch, no chairs; nothing.

Maybe they didn’t use that room though. There were only three of them; maybe they didn’t need all the room. I walked through the room and into a tiled kitchen. Though there were appliances, they were all wrapped up. The stove, the dishwasher, even the sink were wrapped in clear shipping paper, as though they had been delivered but never used.

Maybe they don’t cook, or do dishes…or wash things.

From the kitchen I went upstairs. There were three rooms on the top floor. Surely one of them was Owen’s room. I opened the doors, but one after one, the rooms turned out to be empty. There was nothing, not even a bed.

What was going on? I mean, they had to sleep.

I walked back to the stairs. Halfway down, I heard the front door, which I must have left open, slam shut. An alarm sounded, the word ‘Intruder’ echoing through the house.

I ran down the stairs as fast as I could, yelling.

“I’m sorry! I was just trying to bring you your phone!”

But Owen wasn’t there. Neither were his parents. No one was in the house. So, what set off the alarm? I didn’t have time to figure it out.

‘Intruder’ screamed into my ears. With an alarm system like this, it couldn’t be long before the police showed up to check it out. The last thing I needed was Owen thinking I had broken into his house. I could see the conversation now. I’d be in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs screaming, “It’s not breaking in. The door opened up on its own.”

I pulled at the door. It wouldn’t budge. I was stuck in here and the police would be here any second. The moon must have been in Capricorn for me too.

‘Intruder!’ It screamed again.

“Yeah, I get it,” I yelled, like the security system could hear me. I pounded on the door and pulled again. It was no use. It wasn’t budging.

‘Intruder! Intruder!’

I ran out of the living room and through the kitchen. Maybe there was a back door. I found it pretty quickly and, luckily enough, when I flipped the latch and pulled, it opened.

By the time I got home, I figured my little break in would be the talk of the town. After all, when Mrs. Gooslby’s cat got stuck on her roof, people talked about it for days. It was that kind of place.

Mom was still at work when I got there, so I sat in my room and waited for the phone to ring or the cops to come knocking on the door. It’s not like I was stealthy or anything. I basically ran out of Owen’s house like a scared chicken, so it probably wouldn’t be too hard to follow the breadcrumbs back here.

And what would I do when they got there?

I just wanted to get a look at his bedroom. I promise I didn’t steal anything. Not that there was anything to steal.

I laughed out loud, realizing I was more afraid of Owen finding out I was in his house than I was of any legal trouble. I held his phone in my hand, balancing it in my palm. Just having it for a few hours had given me so many questions. Why did Owen have those pictures of me? What was he doing in that black Sedan, the one that came by Mrs. Goolsby’s house every night? Why was his own house completely empty?

As I was thinking about all those things; wondering how I would bring them up when Owen came over for dinner, the phone rang. I jerked; dropping it.It fell to the floor face up. I shouldn’t have been so surprised. It was a phone, after all. But, in the twenty or so hours that I’d had it, this was the first call I had gotten. Owen hadn’t even called to find out where it was.

I looked down. The screen read those horrible words, the words I knew would come when I heard it ring; Merrin Calling. I felt sick, not that I should have. Long distance or not, she was his girlfriend. It would only make sense that she would call him.

I reached down and scooped it up. I had thought so much about this girl; about what kind of person Owen would fall for. It occurred to me then that I knew absolutely nothing about her. I didn’t know what she looked like, what kind of music she liked. I didn’t know if she was right handed or left handed. I had spent so much time building this girl up in my head, painting her as this perfect blond beach girl, that being faced with her, even on the phone, put knots in my stomach.

I wondered if she knew about me; about the pictures on Owen’s phone, about the lack of pictures of her. I wondered if she could answer the questions I had about Owen. But most of all, I wondered if she was anything like me. The idea that Owen would fall for someone like me, someone like me who he met first, was exhilarating and sickening all at the same time.

I had to know, if only to put it behind me. I put the phone to my ear and answered.

“Hello.”

There was no answer.

“Look. Um, I’m Cresta. I don’t know if Owen’s told you anything about me, but I’m his-we’re friends. He left his phone in my car. That’s all.”

Why was I doing that; explaining myself? If Merrin thought some girl was answering her boyfriend’s phone-

No. I didn’t want to cause trouble, at least not that way. If Owen was going to like me, if he was going to choose me, I wanted him to do it honestly, and I wanted to be honest with her.

“Merrin, here’s the thing. Owen and I are just friends.”

I paused for a second, gathering my thoughts. She didn’t answer.

“But I don’t want to be just friends. And I know that’s a bitchy thing to say, because you’re all the way on the other side of the country and I’m here with your guy, but it is what it is.”

My hand twisted around my locket, wishing I had my steering wheel to pick.

“I don’t wanna be that girl. You know, that girl, but I want to be real with you. I’m about to tell Owen how I feel and I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but I think he might feel the same way abvout me.”

I took a shaky breath and reached for my inhaler.

“Merrin, did you hear me?”

I took a whiff.

“Merrin?”

Nothing. This girl was a wall. She hadn’t said word one since the minute I picked up the phone.

“Mer-“

A tone, like music, rang out on the other end of the phone. A long sound, like somebody was holding down a piano key. Then, while it was still going on, another tone sounded on top of it. Then another, and another. Soon I was listening to a symphony; chords layered over each other. It was like a song, only there was no melody. There was no deviation in the noise. They were different chords; probably Fs, Cs, and Ds. The piano was never my strong suit. Whatever it was though, wasn’t meant to be pleasing.

I pulled my ear away from the receiver as the noise got louder.

“Merrin?” I asked again. “Are you trying to send a fax or something?”

Do people even send faxes anymore?

The noise only grew. I scoffed and hung up. Was that her answer? Was she really that childish? Maybe not. Maybe she didn’t hear me at all. Phone service was nearly nonexistent in Crestview. Maybe what I heard was feedback from a dropped call or something.

I huffed, my hand still on my locket. I blew a few strands of blond hair out of my eyes, realizing why I had told Merrin all that stuff, probably why I answered her in the first place. I wanted her to know everything, and not just because I wanted to be honest. Somewhere deep inside I knew that if Merrin knew then Owen would have to next. There would be no way around it. Merrin would force my hand and

I wouldn’t have the luxury of chickening out anymore. I wanted to have no choice. I wanted that safety net gone. Even with all the questions I had about him, I still wanted Owen to know how I felt.

I sighed and lay back in bed. He would be here soon enough, and I would get my chance. My chance and my answers.

I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 5

The Goolsby Intervention

SEVEN. IT WAS always seven.

I woke with a start; a loud ringing in my ears. The sun, streaming low through my window, told me it was later evening, probably six or seven. I sat up, recognizing the ring as our smoke alarm.

Mom was back.

“What did you do?” I asked, halfway down the stairs. She was fanning smoke away from our open stove. It filled the kitchen and left her in a gray tinted haze. She had an apron on, which might as well have been a top hat and rhinestone brazier for as out of place as she looked in it. On her hands, feverishly swiping at the smoke, were over mitts; another first.

“Don’t start that! The only reason I’m doing this is to impress your little boyfriend.” She said through coughs. Having forced a temporary break in the smoke, she reached into the stove and pulled out a pan. On it, were three small black lumps that context clues told me had probably been chicken at one point.

“Well that’s sure to do it,” I said. A barrage of smells; smoke, chicken, and maybe garlic filled the air as I made my way into the kitchen.

“No,” Mom yelled and waved me away. “Your asthma. Stay back.”

“My asthma’s fine,” I ignored her, but rushed to open a window anyway. It was bad enough that the chickens were ruined. I didn’t need Owen to find me gasping for breath on the floor beside them.

“Look at this. It’s ruined,” I said, pushing at the charcoal lumps with a nearby mixing spoon.

“What did you expect?” Mom pulled the apron off and pushed down on her brown curly hair, which had whirled up into knots as she battled the smoke.

I threw the spoon down and hopped onto the counter, catching the fresh air as it came through the window. “I expected the architect of yesterday’s breakfast masterpiece to know what she was doing.”

She rolled her eyes and tossed the charcoal chicken lumps into the trash can. They hit with a leaden thud that made me glad we weren’t eating them. “That was a fluke. I was- yesterday was a special day for me, and I wanted to do something special.”

I crinkled my eyebrows, confused. “What was so special about it?”

Her eyes traced the counter where the chicken used to be, like she was searching for something. “Something from before you were born. It doesn’t matter.” She shook her head, probably trying to shake away whatever thought she was wrestling with. “What does matter is finding something to feed your little boyfriend. You know, now that the chickens are a thing of the past.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I hopped down from the counter. By now, enough of the smoke had left that I didn’t need to sit by the window.

“And why is that? Because I know you’d like him to be.” Her left eyebrow arched and a mischievous grin spread across her face. She was looking at me like she had found out my little secret, and she was right. But that didn’t mean I had to let her know it.

“Please. That’s just whatever.”

“Uh huh,” she shook her head smiling. “I know what a girl in love looks like Cress. I used to be one.”

I watched her there, smiling and rubbing circles into the counter. There was a weight in her smile, gravity to her words:

‘Used to’

The man she loved was gone. Maybe the only man she had ever loved, my father, had left and he was never coming back. Sure, she could move on. Maybe the idea of her daughter being in love could help her do that. But he would always be there; a ghost in the back of her mind, in the back of both our minds.

“I’m going to tell him how I feel,” I said, fingering my locket and letting go of pretense. “Tonight. That’s what all of this is supposed to be about.”

“Oh.” Mom’s face sort of fell and her eyes shot to the trash can. “Now I feel really bad about the chicken.”

She turned around and started going through the cabinets. “ There has to be something up here .” Of course, she knew better than that. Mom never cooked. I never cooked. Unless Owen wanted a TV dinner with a side of Pringles there probably wasn’t much up there we could work with. Still, there was something else I was more concerned with.

“Mom, what do you know about cues?”

She turned to me, a can of Chef Boyardee in her hand. I read the words ‘extra chunky’ as she sat it down. Classy.

“What are you talking about?”

I twisted the locket around so that the loose part of the necklace wrapped around my fingers

“Dr. Conyers said that people are constantly giving off cues, like clues about how they feel or what they think and stuff. She said that it was possible that I was subconsciously picking them up from Owen.”

I’m not sure what I expected her to do, but when she started laughing, it took me by surprise.

“I was scared to death when I met Andrew,” she said. She only ever called him Andrew when she was talking about before I was born, otherwise it was always ‘your father’.

“He was involved with this redhead. She was drop dead gorgeous but the poor thing was so stupid she needed help tying her shoes.” She wiped what I hoped was a happy tear from her eyes. “Anyway, I was sure he wouldn’t go for somebody like me.”

“Mom, you’re a stunner,” I said.

“I must have been, because three weeks after meeting me the redhead was out the door. And a good thing too, or else I wouldn’t have you.”

She brushed blond bangs out of my eyes just as Owen’s phone started to ring in my pocket.

“Are you going to get that?” She asked when I didn’t move.

“No. It’s probably just Merrin,” I shrugged.

“Who’s Merrin?” She went back to scouring the cabinets.

“She’s Owen’s redhead.”

I figured Mom would be confused. She didn’t know I had Owen’s phone on me. But she just grinned, seemingly understanding enough.

It wasn’t until the doorbell rang that I realized the smoke alarm had quieted. I tensed up. That was Owen. He was early. Or was he? Stupid me. I shouldn’t have gone to sleep. I should have prettied myself up instead. No telling what I looked like now. The doorbell rang again.

Mom shot me a look; a bag of Ramen noodles in her hand. “Want me to get the door?”

“No,” I’ll do it,” I said, fixing my hair in the reflection from a hanging stove pot. “Just, you know, try to find something that doesn’t have the word ‘microwavable’ in the title.”

She gave me a mock sneer as I headed into the living room. The bell rang a third time and I pulled it open, plastering a wide smile on my face.

If I thought tonight was going to be an inhaler free evening, I knew differently as soon as I caught sight of Owen. He was standing on my front porch, dressed in a pair of blue jeans that looked like they were molded onto him, a tight blue shirt, and a matching blazer that made his deep blue eyes positively lethal.

God was definitely showing off.

He was looking at the sky, or maybe my roof, but he turned to me as soon as he realized the door had opened. He smiled at me; one of those deep electric smiles, and suddenly I was grateful I had the door to prop me up, because my knees had turned to jelly.

“I don’t want to alarm you, but I think the smog monster from Lost just escaped through your back window.”

A sharp high laugh escaped my lips and then a snort.

Smooth, Cress

“That’s what happens when my mom tries to braise something.”

“That’s adorable,” he said.

“Try telling her that. She’s in there right now, scrambling for a replacement meal.” I pulled the door completely open; my hand at its familiar place twisted around my locket.

“Not the cooking,” he said, brushing past me and into the living room. “Your little snort.”

I mustn’t have blushed near as much as I thought, because if my face got even half as fevered as it felt, he’d have immediately rushed me to the hospital. Instead, he said, “Tell your mom not to kill herself on my account. I’ll eat anything,” and reached his hand out to me. For the first time, I noticed a brown paper bag in it.

“What’s that?” I asked, grabbing it and trying to act cool.

“An eggplant. My mother always told me a good guest brings something.”

“So you brought an eggplant?” I took it. It was heavy and a deep, almost black, shade of purple.

“It’s a Scorpio food,” he shrugged. “Your mom’s a Scorpio, right?”

“I guess.” The truth was, I had never thought about it, but then again, I wasn’t nearly as into the whole Zodiac thing as Owen was. Casper thought that Owen’s interest was weird. I decided to think of it as a charming character trait.

Casper told me that the only reason I didn’t brand Owen an eccentric loon is because I thought he was cute. As he hung up his blazer, revealing the way his biceps strained against the sleeves of his shirt, I couldn’t completely disagree. But the questions I had were still rattling around in my mind. I needed to know what was up with him, with the black Sedan, and the furniture-less house.

“Owen, I-“

“Scorpios are intense and secretive,” he interrupted. “Eggplants are supposed to upturn that; make them more open and stuff.” He smiled and folded his arms.

“Thanks. I’m sure she’ll like it,” I said, even though I had never seen my mom look at, much less actually eat, an eggplant. “Even though secretive doesn’t really describe her. She’s sort of an open book.”

Unlike, let’s say, you for example

“You sure about that?” An eerie twinkle shone in his eyes. “After all, everybody has secrets.”

What was that supposed to mean? Was he trying to tell me something? I decided to play along and see where it went.

“Not my mom,” I smiled back, and sat the eggplant on the arm of our couch.

“I bet that isn’t true,” there was a playful edge to his voice that, at once, enticed me and made me a little uncomfortable. “I mean, look at this house.” He gestured around the living room.

“What about it? It’s a normal house.”

Which is more than I can say about yours

He shoved his hands into his back pockets; a stance that made his shoulders look even wider than usual. “Look at the pictures. They’re all of you.”

I scanned the walls. There was a picture of me at the carnival when I was nine, me in front of the Grand Canyon when we took our family road trip four years ago, me and Casper dressed as Sonny and Cher last Halloween.

“Is that a problem?” I asked, lifting my locket so that the cook metal pressed against my lips.

“Not even a little bit,” he answered. “In fact, I like the Halloween one so much, I was gonna ask if it came in wallet size. I’m just saying, don’t you think it’s strange that there isn’t a single picture of your mom here?”

“She…doesn’t like pictures,” I said, grasping for straws. Whatever. It could be true.

“She could be a spy,” he laughed. “Or maybe a criminal. Maybe she’s an alien who’s hiding from the government and pictures would reveal her true form.”

He held his index fingers over his head like antennae and started walking toward me, pointing them playfully at me. “That would make you an alien too, wouldn’t it?” He leaned down and started poking me with his finger antennae. “You are, aren’t you? You’re a secret alien, and this house is your hideout.”

I swatted him away, smiling. “Whatever. At least my house has furniture.” I knew I shouldn’t have said it as soon as it left my mouth, but the words were already out there. I couldn’t take them back.

His face lost its expression. He went pale as a sheet as he straightened himself up. “You were in my house?”

“Well, yeah. But’s it’s not a big deal,” I said. I could tell though, by the look on his face, as well as the fact that he was backing away, that it was a big deal. It was a very big deal. “I mean, if you guys don’t want to have furniture, that’s cool.”

He shook his head quickly. “Of course we have furniture. When were you there? We’ve been doing some redecorating. How did you even get in?”

He looked at me like I was a criminal, like I busted in and invaded his privacy. Which, I suppose, I had. “The door was open,” I said weakly. “I just wanted to give your phone back. You left it in my car.”

He grabbed it so quickly that I flinched back. “I tried to give it back to you at the library, but there was a black car, and you-“

“Why is it unlocked?” He asked, scanning the screen. “It’s supposed to be encrypted. How did you access it?”

“Encrypted?” His words were accusations, and they felt like slaps in the face.

“With a code, I mean,” he clarified. “I mean, it’s not a big deal. Did you go through it? What did you see?”

He tapped on the screen with one hand. The other made nervous swipes through his hair. What did I see?

Is that what this was about; the pictures?

I walked closer. This isn’t exactly how I wanted to do this. I wanted to wait until he was stuffed with chicken and laughter to tell him how I felt, but the tone of his voice, as well as the charcoal smell still wafting from the kitchen, told me that was no longer a possibility.

“I saw the pictures,” I said, sure to make eye contact.

“I can explain that,” he said frantically, his hand clutching a clump of mud black hair.

“You don’t have to. I get it.” I freed his hand from his hair and held it in my own. This was it, and hopefully things would go well. Maybe God was feeling generous. “And you don’t have to hide it either.” I took a deep breath and started rubbing the inside of his palm with my thumb. Which, when done in real life, was apparently really cheesy.

“The truth is Owen, I’ve liked you forever. Since the first time I saw you, since the first day you set foot in this backward little town, I knew there was something special about you.”

I couldn’t read his face. It was blank; like a sheet of paper, a blinking cursor waiting for a story to be written down. I squeezed his hand and pressed on.

“You’re just-You’re awesome. That’s all. You’re sweet and kind, and cute as hell. I know this is probably a shock to you, because I didn’t say anything. It’s just, with the whole Merrin thing, I wasn’t sure how you felt. But then I saw the pictures and I know I shouldn’t have went through your phone. I know that. But now I know how you feel, and you know how I feel. So, it’s sort of a good thing, you know?”

His eyes tightened and, even if I couldn’t read the furrow of his brow or the way he bit his lip, I would still be clear from his hand. It still sat in mind, but it was limp and lifeless; not the hand of a person who was touching a girl he loved.

“Cresta, I-“ He cleared his throat. “I don’t know what to-. The pictures, that’s not why I took the pictures.”

Oh. Oh God.

I tried to pull away, but he clutched my hand tighter.

“Cresta don’t. Please. You’re an amazing girl. You’re my best friend. I just.”

“I get it!” I said, much louder than I intended to. “Just let me go, okay.”

He didn’t. Now it was me that was backing away from him, still holding hands.

“Oh, this stupid moon!” He yelled. “It’s not what you think. My life’s not my own. Even if I wanted to-. Cresta, you’re my best friend.” He looked down; defeated. He flipped my hand over and ran his thumb across my palm. Somehow, when he did it, it didn’t seem so clunky.

“You’ll still be my-“ His eyes got large. He pulled my hand closer, hurriedly scanning my palm. “How…”

Finally, he let go. He looked like he was going to sick all over my mother’s oriental rug.

“I have to go,” he choked out. “Tell your mom I’m sorry.”

He walked; almost stumbled to the doorway. His face had gone from white to red when he pulled the door open and looked back at me.

“I-I’ll see you tomorrow. Okay, Cresta? I will see you tomorrow, won’t I”

I didn’t answer. I wanted to. I wanted to tell him that it would be all right, that he would still have me, and we’d always be friends. But I couldn’t; not yet, not now.

“Okay…” He said, and walked away.

Just then, Mom busted through the kitchen door, holding a package of frozen meat in one hand and a bunch of taco shells in a plastic bag.

“How does Mexican night sound, amigos?”

And that, that was when I started to cry.

A couple hours, what seemed like two liters of tears and a plate of over salted beef nachos later, I found myself staring at the ceiling. Mom had finally went to sleep, satisfied that her ‘if he doesn’t see how great you are than he’s an idiot and he’ll probably end up working at a Burger King, so you’re better off without him’ rant had salved the wound a little.

It might have been enough too, if I could just go to sleep. I’d have taken the dreams. I’d have contemplated the meaning of the sevens, the circle of blood, my father’s arms; all of it, so long as it meant I didn’t have to think about Owen.

In the end, it seemed all the questions I had compiled in my mind; the black Sedan, the empty house, the mystery parents, didn’t mean anything. They weren’t what was keeping me up tonight. It turned out the only question I cared about was the one question he had actually answered.

He didn’t love me. He didn’t want to be with me. A phone full of pictures of me aside, he didn’t think of me as anything but a friend. His best friend, but what good was that?

Why was I crying though? I was stronger than this. I was the girl who climbed out of the Chicago River after her car went headlong off a bridge. I was the girl who buried her father, and started a new life in the middle of nowhere when her mother said it was what she needed. I didn’t cry over a guy. Of course, the pile of damp Kleenex on the nightstand would disagree with me.

I thought about him standing in my doorway; his blues eyes hurt and regretful. He seemed afraid that things would change, that I wouldn’t be able to pull it together around him, and that our friendship would be over.

Right now, with the sting of his words so fresh in my ears and the mark of his boot so evident on my heart, I couldn’t say with any certainty that he was wrong.

It wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t help the way he felt, or, more aptly, didn’t feel. And I knew he had a girlfriend. That must have been what that whole ‘My life is not my own’ diatribe was about. He was being loyal to Merrin. And who’d blame him? Immature phone decorum aside, she was probably perfect. And, come to think of it, didn’t being perfect afford you some immaturity anyway?

Whatever the case, whatever his reasoning, I couldn’t imagine myself walking up to Owen and pretending everything was fine. I’d have to find a way though. If I couldn’t, then this really would be the end of our friendship, and that hurt in his eyes; I wouldn’t be able to make it better.

If possible, the idea of that hurt even more than his rejection.

By the time sleep found me; a deep and mercifully dreamless sleep, it was short lived.

“Cress! Cress! Wake up, dude!”

If I would have been awake, I would have recognized his voice immediately. I’d heard it every day for two years, plus he was the only person on the planet who called me dude. His hands were on my shoulders, shaking me. I jerked and instinctively pushed him away.

“What the hell?!” I said, crawling up toward the headboard.

“Dude, it’s just me.” Casper’s hair was in knotted red tufts on his head, giving him the look of a walking, talking, ‘waking-people-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night’ candle.

“Casper, you moron. You’re going to give me a heart attack.” I threw my pillow at him; the one I’d had since I was three and one of the only things that survived the move to Georgia.

“Don’t throw that bacteria trap at me,” he swatted it down. “Besides, this is important.”

I turned to the clock sitting beside the Kleenex on my nightstand. Three forty three.

“What’s so important that you thought it was a good idea to break into my house at four in the morning?” I scooted toward the center of the bed and folded my legs.

“So we’re just gonna pretend I didn’t get a key made for the house too?”

“Casper,” I growled. “It’s been a rough night.”

“Okay, okay,” he plopped down on the bed next to me.

“Easy,” I said. “You’re going to wake my mom.”

Casper or not, if my mom found a guy in my bedroom in the dead of night, she’d kill me twice before I hit the ground.

“So, I was in your car earlier, cause my dad is being an el grande super absorbent tampon, and I saw the black car pull up to Mrs. Goolsby’s. And Cress, this time I got a look at the guy as he walked inside. You’ll never guess who it was.”

My heart skipped at least three beats as the name escaped from my lips.

“Owen.”

Casper’s face scrunched into a freckled question mark. “Okay, so maybe you would guess. Can you believe-“

I grabbed Casper’s hand as I jumped up from my bed, pulling him up like a ragdoll.

“Cress, what-“

“We’re going,” I said flatly.

“We’re going–to Disneyworld?” Casper asked hopefully as I yanked him down the stairs.

This had been going on long enough. If Owen didn’t want to be with me, that was fine. But I WAS going to find out what was going on with him.

“We’re going to Goolsby. “

“Dude, I don’t wanna watch Owen bang old Mrs. Goolsby,” Casper whined, though he was quiet enough about it that I didn’t need to worry about waking Mom.

“He’s not a prostitute,” I said, opening the door, pulling Casper through it, and closing it quietly behind me.

At least, I hoped he wasn’t.

As soon as we got outside, whatever gripe Casper had seemed to melt away, because he kept up with me pretty easily and I didn’t even have to pull him anymore. It wasn’t until we got outside and I felt the squish of the grass between my bare toes that I realized I was still in my night clothes; oversized flannel pajamas, Avengers t-shirt, and all. It didn’t matter how I looked though. I could be wearing one of those barrels with the shoulder straps you always see on homeless guys in cartoons and I was still going through with this.

“Cress, wait,” Casper said, but kept running alongside me. “Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, is it any of our business?”
“It was our business just fine when you were spying on him,” I reminded him.

We settled behind a row of bushes in Mr. Colburn’s yard, which was right across the street from Mrs. Goolsby and gave us a clear look at the black Sedan sitting in front of her house. It was four in the morning, which meant that most of Crestview’s farmers, Mr. Colburn included, were already up and at J’s General store where they were probably drinking coffee and talking about how great it is to be up at the butt crack of dawn. And since Mr. Colburn lived by himself, at least we wouldn’t have to worry about anybody seeing us.

“Yeah, but it was just fun and games then. What if-“

“He might be in trouble Casper,” I turned to him. In the dark, his bright red hair shone like a beacon. “After I saw him get into the Sedan, I went by his house. There was no furniture, Cass. Like, none at all. And then, when he came over for dinner tonight-“

“Dinner?” Casper balked, “Why didn’t I get an invite?”

“Focus!” I thumped his freckly arm. He squirmed, rustling the bushes a little, but stopped talking. “At dinner, he said some things.”

One of those being that he wasn’t interested in me, but there’s no point in telling you that.

“What sort of things?” Casper inched closer, his mouth gaping open.

“He said his life wasn’t his own; like he couldn’t make his own decisions or something. I thought he was talking about Merrin, but now, piecing it all together- What if he’s in trouble? What if he’s involved in something he shouldn’t be and is in over his head?”

I twisted my locket around my fingers.

“What sort of stuff Cresta? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“That’s what I need to find out,” I answered, looking back at Mrs. Goolsby’s house. “I just- I need to make sure he’s okay.” I remembered what he told me earlier before he ran out. “He’s my friend.”

“It could be dangerous,” Casper said.

“I know,” I answered.

“That’s not gonna stop you, is it?”

“Not even a little,” I answered.

“And you expect me to go with you into the perilous unknown?” He crinkled his nose.

“You don’t have to. Like you said, it could be dangerous,” I answered.

“Is that gonna stop me?” He asked.

“Not even a little,” I answered.

“Cars drive on roads,” he said. “Let’s go.”

The black Sedan wasn’t idling tonight, but the windows were so dark that we couldn’t tell if anybody was in it. Not wanting to get caught, we snuck around the back and climbed the small white fence surrounding Mrs. Goolsby’s backyard. We tiptoed past the in ground pool, though why a geriatric window needed Olympic sized pool and neighboring hot tub was beyond me.

I’ll add that to my list of questions.

Luckily, Casper had spent last summer doing odd jobs for Mrs. Goolsby. Though, since she tended to pay him in nickels and always asked for ‘backrubs’, he’d probably debate you on how lucky he actually was. Still, he knew the layout of her house; including where she kept the key to the backdoor.

“Here it is, under the stupid plaster elf,” he said, lifting a creepy gnome stature and grabbing the key from underneath. He slid it in the backdoor, and opened it slowly.

We crept in to find something totally surprising.

I hadn’t been in Mrs. Goolsby’s house since last Fourth of July, when the church sponsored a street wide bb-q. But it seemed like a pretty standard ‘old lady’ house. There was furniture wrapped in plastic to preserve it’s ‘newness’, generic sunflower paintings on the walls, and pictures of family members that never seemed to actually visit in picture frames on the mantle. But now, making our way through the house, all of that seemed to be gone. In fact, everything was gone.

It was just like Owen’s house; no furniture in the living room, no beds in the bedrooms, no facilities in the kitchen or bathrooms. The house was completely empty, as though no one lived here at all.

“Cresta, “Casper whispered, his eyes wide. “What’s going on?”

“I have no idea,” I admitted. I was half expecting the door to slam shut behind us and some phantom security system to start shouting intruder like in Owen’s house. But that was not the sound I heard.

As we passed a door on our second round through the kitchen, I heard the light sounds of conversation. I froze.

“Do you hear that?” I asked.

Casper just nodded. “Can you make it out?” He asked.

“I’ll be able to in a minute,” I answered, and grabbed the handle.

His eyes got wide with alert, but before he could say anything I had already pushed the door open. It opened into a long wooden staircase winding down into what was presumably a basement.

Though he looked like he wanted to stop me, Casper just followed as I stepped onto the stairs. Mercifully, they made no noise. As I inched further down, with Casper’s hands digging into my shoulders, the voices grew clearer. There were more than two and, surprisingly, all male. Where was Mrs. Goolsby?

The walls around the staircase were stone and looked much older than the rest of the house, like the house had been built around it or something. To top it off, the path was lit by torches that hung in casings carved into the stone; adding to the old world feel.

Casper’s breathing got heavier and the voices grew clearer as we neared the mouth of the staircase. One of them was Owen’s, but I didn’t recognize the rest. As we settled at the end of the stairs, I noticed a few things about the room. Though we still couldn’t see Owen or whoever he was talking to, I could see the area was at least partially filled with computer screens. One of them showcased binary information that shot by in lighting rounds of 011011011011.

The others showed similar numbers as well as surveillance shots of Crestview. There was Main Street, with the street lamps still shining. There was J’s General and Mr. Colburn with his coffee. And there, on the far one, was a darkened office was a bright red couch and a diploma on the wall. Was that Dr. Conyers’ office?

“You’re being dramatic,” one of the voices said.

Casper tensed behind me and I put a hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

“I am not,” Owen’s voice said. He seemed tense. I pictured him pacing around the room. “It changed. I watched it change.”

“Maybe it didn’t,” a third voice added. “Maybe you were always reading it wrong.”

“I’m not some youngling,” Owen spit out. I could practically hear his teeth grinding. “I know what I’m doing. I can read just fine. Besides, it wasn’t stagnant like that. The lines moved. I held her hand and they moved!”

Her hand? Was he talking about Mrs. Goolsby?

“You need to calm down,” the first voice said. “We’re at a very sensitive point in things right now. You know that.”

“I will not calm down, Jiqui. She was in the house. She got into my phone, my encrypted phone. She’s asking questions and now, because things aren’t crappy enough already, her lines are changing,”

In his house, into his phone; he was talking about me. But what lines? I didn’t have any lines. And what did he mean by changing?

“Lines don’t just change,” Jiqui answered impatiently. “It takes time, effort, and a hell of a lot more energy than any of us are capable of expending at the present moment. You know that. Now do your job. Follow your instructions.”

“It’s hard to do that when the rules are changing,” Owen answered. “I did what you asked. For two years, I have sat here wasting away, and for what; to befriend her, to be some placeholder? I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

I looked at the stone wall hard, like maybe if I looked hard enough I might be able to see through it, to see him. Had Owen just said that he had been involved in whatever this was for two years, that the only reason he had ever looked twice at me in the first place was because of some stupid mission?

Casper noticed it too, because he tightened his grip on my shoulders, letting me know he was there. I pulled away. I didn’t need to be comforted right now. I needed to hear this.

“You are told what you need to know in order to complete your mission. That has always been the way of it. If you have a problem with that, take it up with the Masons.”

“You know that’s not what I’m saying,” Owen answered. “It’s just. I feel like I’m wasting time here. I’m supposed to be at my peak right now. Do you have any idea how out of practice I am? I had trouble convincing my teacher that a sheet of paper was my math homework yesterday. How am I supposed to be of any use in that condition?”

I flashed back to yesterday, to Owen handing that smiley face over and pretending it was homework. Had Mr. Jacobs actually believed that?

“And this girl,” Owen continued.

“Cresta,” Jiqui commended.

“Cresta,” Owen said, though the tone in his voice made me think he’d rather not say my name. “I don’t see anything special about her.”

His words threw daggers into my heart. Not only did he not want to be with me, but he thought I was nothing; that I was ordinary.

“I mean, if she was really-“

“Stop,” Jiqui said. “She’s here.”

“What?” Owen answered.

Casper grabbed at me. “Come on!” He whispered. “We gotta-“

The door at the top of the stairs flew shut, the bolt locking it closed.

I turned up to look, but Casper didn’t. His eyes were fixed forward.

“Cress…”

I turned. Owen was standing in front of me. Beside him were two men. One was older with a buzz cut that made him look like he was in the military and long scar along his right cheek. The other was a little older than me with shaggy brown hair and kind eyes. Looking down though, I noticed that both his legs ended in stumps right past the knees. He had no prosthetics, but he was standing. Or, more aptly, he was floating. He was floating in midair in front of us.

“Owen,” I choked out. “What’s going on?”

“It’s okay Cress,” he said, and stretched his hand out in front of me. “It’ll be alright.”

He twisted his hand so that his fingers contorted in strange shapes, and then everything went dark.

Chapter 6

Killing Shirley Temple

THE DAY OUR house blew up, I woke up in my own bed, though I had no idea how I got there. The last thing I remembered, I was crouched on the steps of Mrs. Goolsby’s basement with Casper, listening to Owen argue about me with an old military guy and kid who could fly. You know the usual. But that was- How long ago was that? I must have passed out or fell asleep because one minute I was there and it was the middle of the night, and now I was back in my room with sunlight streaming through my blinds.

I twisted up in bed, still in my flannel PJs and Avengers tee. I might have been persuaded that the entire thing was a dream. I mean, I had been having pretty intense dreams lately and it’s not like floaty amputees and secret basement bunkers were part of my every day. Like I said, I might have been persuaded, expect that I had crouched in the wet bushes outside of Mrs. Goolsby’s and the ends of my PJs were still damp.

I pushed out of bed and raced downstairs. My head was a mess of jumbled and confusing thoughts, but one stood out stark and clear among them: Casper.

He had been beside me; right there when everything went down. Sure, Owen and those crazy guys might put me back in my bed, but they could be doing anything to Casper. They could have him strapped to a chair somewhere. They could be slicing into him with knives or pulling his toenails out with pliers. He could be-

He could be sitting downstairs, talking to my mother.

“I always thought sunflowers would look good here,” Casper said, pointing to the curtains on the kitchen window. “I know they’re probably a little cliché. But hell, clichés become clichés for a reason, right?”

He could be talking to my mother about floral patterns.

My mother rubbed her chin, seeming to take his suggestion really seriously. He was just sitting there. Everything was normal, absolutely everything. There wasn’t even a sorta weird breakfast like the other day to point to. Mom was nursing a cup of overly sweetened coffee and Casper was drawing bad imitations of anime characters on his napkin, waiting for me to get up. It was a normal Saturday. But-But why?

“Took you long enough,” Casper said, looking up from his scribble napkin.

“What?” I gaped.

“It’s almost noon. I was about to call the paramedics.”

“Noon?” I repeated, like he had started speaking in French or something. Why was he talking about what time it was? Why was he talking about anything other than what had happened last night?

“Yeah, noon,” he chuckled. “You got a headache or something?”

Mom circled the counter, her sugar laden coffee in hand. “Leave her alone. She had a rough night.”

Rough night?

Did she know? Had Casper told her and, if so, why were they both actually like nothing was going on?

“Finally told lover boy?” Casper smirked, finishing the shading on an anime character’s crescent shaped peak of hair. “I’m guessing he didn’t share your burning desires. Burning is the right word for it, right?”

Getting rejected by Owen, that’s what Mom meant by rough night. That seemed like a million years ago, and more than a little trivial now.
“You stop it!” Mom gave Casper a swat on the shoulder. “It doesn’t matter what he said, even though he obviously made the wrong decision. What matters is that Cresta was honest with herself. She did the right thing, just like I knew she would.”

Mom gave me a little wink and a smile.

Were they all insane? My absolutely embarrassing rejection at Owen’s hands was small potatoes in comparison to the secret he had been keeping all this time. He was- He was- Well, I wasn’t quite sure what he was, but it was certainly more important than my lack of a love life.

“Well I for one think it’s a good thing,” Casper said, holding up his finished work and showing it to my mom. It was horrible, but she smiled politely at him anyway. “Now you can move on. You can focus on better things, things that deserve your attention.” Finished with his napkin masterpiece, he turned his attention to his fingernails, coloring them a bright shade of ink pen blue. “I wasn’t gonna say anything, cause he’s my friend and all, but Owen’s an idiot. And not just because he doesn’t see how awesome you are.”

How awesome I am? I was still standing at the foot of the stairs, openmouthed and confused. I was not going to stand here and listen to this, not when there were so many better questions.

I marched toward Casper, wet pants and all, and grabbed him by the shoulder. Tugging him into the living room, I looked back at Mom. “Be right back.”

She took a swig of her coffee and didn’t seem to pay too much attention.

I pushed Casper into the living room. He stumbled a little and backed into our couch.

“What the hell dude?” Casper asked, straightened his glasses, and plopped down on the arm of the couch.

“Are you okay?” I settled in front of him and crossed my arms over the ‘A’ on my chest.

“I was doing all right until some lunatic girl threw me across her living room. How are you?” His feet dangled from where he sat. The untied laces of his Nikes brushed the floor.

“Be serious!” My shout was more of a whisper, since I wasn’t sure if Mom knew what was going on, but I could feel the scowl growing on my face. “After last night, I’m worried about you.”

He pushed at a few strands of red hair that threatened to spill over his glasses. “Last night? I mean, yeah, your car’s uncomfortable, but I’ll survive. It’s nothing for you to get all worked up about, girlie.”

“Not that,” I was ready to punch him. I found my arms stretched out. My hands loomed with exasperation. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“Okay,” he answered, scrunching his nose. “But I really don’t.”

“With Owen and Mrs. Goolsby,” I clarified through clenched teeth.

“Who’s Mrs. Goolsby? Is that the new substitute?” He chirped. His feet twirled carelessly like propellers over the floor.

“Mrs. Goolsby,the old lady from the house across the street.” My eyes narrowed.

“That’s Mrs. Carpenter,” he answered.

“No! The house next to hers. Why are you acting like this?”

“The house next to her is empty Cress,” he hopped down and walked toward me.

“Of course it’s empty! We broke into it last night. You saw it was empty.”

“Why would we break into an empty house? You’re not making any sense.”

“Because we saw Owen sneak in there. He was in the black car, remember? You thought he was a gigolo. And there was the buzz cut guy and the floating kid with no legs,” I wasn’t screaming yet, but my voice was definitely louder than it had been at the beginning of the conversation.

Casper’s hands were on my shoulders now. I hadn’t realized I was shaking until he steadied me. “Cress, I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. Is this a joke or something?”

What was this? I knew Casper. I didn’t think he was the type who would joke about something like this. But even if he was, there would be a tell; a gleam his eyes or the shadow of a smirk on his lips. He was serious now. He really didn’t know what I was talking about. And that, him looking at me like I was crazy, made me act-Well, crazy.

“You know what I’m talking about!” I pushed away from him. “Don’t look at me like that! You know who Mrs. Goolsby is. She’s a million years old and gives all the kids on the street apples for Halloween instead of candy. We were in her house.”

He just stared at me. His eyes were wide and more than a little concerned.

“We were!” Now I was screaming.

Mom pushed through the door, her coffee cup still in hand. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I’m not sure,” Casper said, and looked at my mom like I was three quarters of the way to insane.

“It’s-I-“I stuttered. How was I going to explain this? It’s not like ‘Casper is pretending the old woman whose house we broke into and were later accosted at last night’ rolls off the tongue.

I shook my head hard, like the motion might make things make sense.

“Is this about Owen?” Mom asked and sat her coffee on the dresser.

“It’s about a Mrs. Goolsby,” Casper looked at her.

My mother’s eyes narrowed. Her fingers drummed across the dresser.

Don’t say it. Please don’t say it.

“Who’s Mrs. Goolsby?” She asked.

I bolted out of the living room and through the front door. If they were going to act this way, of they were going to pretend an entire person didn’t exist, then I was going to prove them wrong. I’d go get Mrs. Goolsby and bring her to them. Let’s see them scrunch their noses at that.

“Cresta!” Mom’s voice came booming from behind me. “Cresta, come back!”

I kept going; my feet squishing again through the still damp grass. I probably looked like a crazy person; running around barefoot in my pajamas at noon with my mother and best friend chasing after me, but I didn’t care about that now. This was the second time in a day that I had ran out of my house looking for answers, and I was more confused than ever. Things were insane, and I needed to make sense of it.

I heard Casper catching up with me as I skidded to a stop in front of Mrs. Goolsby’s house. Or, more aptly, what used to be Mrs. Goolsby’s house.

It was completely different. The house, which just yesterday was a tinted, almost dingy shade of white/yellow, was now a fresh minty blue. The yard, always a bit overgrown, was neat and trim. In front of the house, like almost every empty house in Crestview, a picture of Nelson Ennis, the only real estate agent in town, sat dug on a sign near the road. His familiar ‘Git ‘r Sold’ slogan was splashed across the brim of his oversized cowboy hat, which was an as-ridiculous-as-it-sounded trademark of his.

Casper almost slammed into me as I stood wide-eyed in front of the house. He spun me around, huffing from the run. “Dude,” he huffed. His face was red and splotched with acne, which had settled into a nest on his forehead near his hairline. “You are seriously scaring me.”

I scanned his face for even the smallest sign that he might be joking, but again came up empty. Mom came up behind him. Over his shoulder, I could see worry lines forming above her eyes. This wasn’t right. How was I going to prove Mrs. Goolsby was real if she wasn’t here?

I met her eyes, and the look in them made me feel crazy, stupid, and powerless all at once. I pulled away from Casper. He reached for me again, but I swatted him away.

“She was here. She was right here,” I said to Mom.

Her mud brown curls swayed in the breeze; surrounded by tiny dark twisters of hair. “I know baby,” she said. “I believe you.”

But she didn’t. How could she? I barely believed myself anymore. How could any of it be real if there was no proof and I was the only one who remembered it?

The few people that lived on our street had poured out of their homes and gathered across the street from us to check out the drama. There was no doubt that, by lunchtime, my little tantrum would be top tier salon gossip; the quiet girl from the big city with the dead daddy had finally lost it. If history was any indication, by dinner, the story would have grown arms and legs. Not that it mattered. I never cared what these backward hicks thought of me and I wasn’t going to today.

Mr. Colburn though, who was standing in his yard pretending to rake leaves as he stared at me, he was a different story; at least for the moment. He lived across from Mrs. Goolsby for like, two centuries. If anyone remembered her, it would be him.
“Colburn!” I yelled over my mother’s shoulder. “Tell them about Mrs. Goolsby! Tell them!”

He reared back, clutching his rake for dear life. “Missy, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Liar!” I shouted and kicked the ground, which hurt like hell, since I was still barefoot. “You’re all liars! Why are you lying?”

“Cresta!” Mom grabbed my shoulders and squeezed. “Get it together!” She leaned in so that our faces were inches apart. With our noses almost touching, she whispered, “I’m going to ask you this once. Are you taking drugs?”

I didn’t answer her. I couldn’t. It was all too much. This didn’t make any sense. It had to have something to do with Owen and what we saw in the missing Mrs. Goolsby’s basement. What had he said though?

“The lines,” I muttered, remembering. “He said the lines were changing.”

Mom’s grip loosed. Her face grew pale white and stone still. She pulled away a little. “What did you just say?”

“The lines,” I repeated, though I knew I was rambling like a crazy person.

“Take her home,” Mom turned to Casper, who was biting on his nails so furiously that, for a second, I thought he was going to draw blood.

He must have assumed I was going to swing at him again because, before I could move, he whipped me off my feet and slung me over his shoulder.

Maybe it was because I was exhausted, maybe because I was defeated, or maybe because I wasn’t looking forward to walking back to the house without shoes on, but I didn’t mind it.

“Your butt is so close to my face right now,” he said as he carried me back to the house caveman style.

By the time Mom quieted the gossipy firestorm I had created outside, I had curled up on the sofa, sipping on the microwavable hot chocolate Casper made for me and not saying much. Was I crazy? I didn’t feel crazy. Unless, of course, this is what crazy felt like.

She rounded the couch and sat on the floor in front of me; her legs tucked under her. Her hair was still a mess and, while she still looked concerned, the tired sheen had washed from her eyes, replaced by a sort of manic intensity.

I swallowed hard. My throat was sore from all the screaming and the hot chocolate, while yummy, wasn’t helping. “Mom, I-“

“I believe you,” she said, her eyes pinned on mine. I knew my mom even better than I knew Casper. Her eyes weren’t joking either. She did believe me. But how could she?

The phone in the kitchen started ringing. Instinctively, I moved her get it. Mom touched my leg and motioned for me to stay still. She wasn’t taking any calls right now.

“This is very important,” she said. “I need you to tell me about Mrs. Goolsby. Tell me about the lines and absolutely everything about the world that is different than how you believe it to be.”

I tensed, sitting the hot chocolate on the couch exactly where Owen’s eggplant had been a day ago.

“It was Owen,” I choked out. “He had been sneaking into Mrs. Goolsby’s- the house across the street. He said that he had been watching me; that some lines were changing.”

She took my hand and flipped it over. She ran her fingers across my palm and inspected it. “Changing how?”

“I don’t-“

Casper burst in from the kitchen. I had forgotten he was still in the house. “Mrs. Karr,” he said meekly as though he was sure he was interrupting something. “Dr. Conyers called.”

“Tell her I’ll call her back,” Mom said, still looking at her hand on mine.

“She already hung up,” he explained. “She said she couldn’t meet you tomorrow though.”

“Fine. Whatever,” Mom waved him off.

“She said traffic would be a pain, that there’s construction on Greene Street or something.”

Mom dropped my hand.

“Greene Street? You’re sure she said Greene Street?”

“Uh, yeah,” Casper shrugged. “I remember ‘cause I thought she said Greep Street, and I was like where’s Greep Str-“

“That’s enough,” Mom said and hopped to her feet. “Cresta, get dressed. We’re leaving.”

I stood slowly; still lightheaded from everything that had gone on. “Where are we going?”

She didn’t answer me. Instead, she turned to Casper, who looked like he was still waiting to finish his Greep Street story. “Casper, go home. Forget everything you saw here.” She looked back at me. There was something like regret in her eyes. “In fact, it’s probably better if you forget you ever met us at all.”

“What?!” I said before Casper had a chance to react. “Mom, what is going on? “

“Cresta, I said get dressed!” Mom was never one to raise her voice. So, the fact that she did left me a little breathless. Of course, that might have been the asthma.

“But Mom-“

“Don’t fight with me Cresta, not now!” She moved further into the living room and pressed her palms flat against the wall above the faux fireplace we got last year when she decided the space wasn’t ‘lively enough’. There was something strange about her, and not just in the weird words and odd demands she was throwing out. It was in her movements. She moved fluidly; like water. Her fingers traced incredibly straight lines on the wall, which curved into boxes. When her hands met at one of the invisible boxes points, the area that she had traced shifted. The wall, the same wall I had looked at every day for the past two years, contorted. It moved out and then opened, revealing a hidden compartment on the other side.

“Mom…” I gasped.

Mom pulled a small briefcase from the wall and, as quickly as the compartment opened, it slammed shut, reverting back to a plain old wall. She moved quickly toward me, as graceful as any dancer would.

“Mom,” I grabbed her arm. “Tell me what’s going on. Please.”

She leaned into me and brushed strands of hair out of my eyes. “There isn’t time right now. But I will baby; soon. I promise. Now go get your clothes on.”

She didn’t even look like herself. Sure, she had the same face; the same clothes on, but there was a determination in her eyes that, when coupled with the way she now moved, made her look foreign to me; like someone had lifted a veil from my mother and I was just now seeing her for the first time.

I was about to run upstairs when Casper spoke.

“Mrs. Karr…” He was looking out the front door.

“Casper, son, you need to go home,” she said calmly.

“I will,” he fidgeted, still turned to the door. “It’s just, you’ve got company.”

Instantly, Mom sprinted to the door. I followed her and, looking out I saw three cars pulled up into our yard. They had bypassed the driveway and were now idling just inches from the front door. They were identical; all black Sedans.

“Get away from the door!” Mom screamed and grabbed Casper and I with either hand.

“Mom,” I said. I didn’t realize how much I was shaking until her steadied hand let go.

“Where is your necklace, Cresta?” She asked me, the determination in her eyes now tinted with something more frantic.

“It’s right-“ I reached for it, but found my throat bare. That was impossible. I never took that necklace off. Never.

“Damnit!’ She screamed. She grabbed the briefcase and shoved it into my chest. “Listen to me. There isn’t much time, so I can only say this once. I need you to do exactly as I tell you. Do you remember the weak spot in the fence that the Berkley children used to drive their four-wheelers through?”

I nodded.

“Good. I want you to sneak through there and get to my car. Once you’re there, I want you to press this sequence in the navigation system; 6,7,R,7,9,3, just like that.”

“No!” I panicked once I realized what she was asking. She was asking me to leave her. To what, I had no idea, but it was clear that my mother didn’t expect to come with me. “I’m not leaving you.” Hot tears spilled from my eyes.

“Yes you are Cresta. I promised to keep you safe no matter what the cost, and that’s what I’m going to do. Now, once you’ve typed in that sequence, follow the directions to the destination it shows. Stop for nothing. It might say that you need gas, but that car has tricks. Trust no one. I don’t care how well you think you know them. When you get to where you’re going, I want you to find a man named Morgan Montgomery. Tell him Ash sent you.”

“Ash?” I repeated. “Mom, just let me call the police.”

“ No!”She grabbed my shoulders and squeezed them tight. “ The police can’t help you. They’ll just slow you down; get you caught. Go to Morgan. You can trust him Cresta.” Tears started to glisten in her own eyes. “You do what he tells you. He’s a good man. And Cresta,” her grip tightened. “No matter what they tell you, no matter what you hear, I do love you; very, very much.”

“Mom, I don’t want to-“

The door exploded open in a sea of wooden splinters. Mom grabbed me and pulled me behind her, shielding me from whatever just destroyed out front door. Looking over her shoulder, I saw three men in the doorway. The buzz cut army dude from last night, Jiqui, was flanked on either side by burly men that I had never seen before.

“Go Cresta,” Mom muttered, and let go of me.

“I’m not leaving you,” I said. And I didn’t. I stood, still as a statue, clutching the briefcase she gave me to my chest.

“Don’t make this all for nothing Cresta. Get out of here. I’ll hold them off.”

Jiqui walked toward us, his muscled flunkies a few steps behind. He looked Casper up and down. His nose was wrinkled, like he thought Casper smelled like fish or something. “Was it really necessary to involve the Neanderthals?” He turned to Mom.

Mom’s fingers curled up into fists and she adjusted her weight, almost like she was getting into a fighting stance. “Leave now,” she said.

“I do think so,” Jiqui said. He wore a three piece suit and a thin black tie. The men behind him were dressed identically though, while Jiqui paced around the room, they stood stalwart in the center; their hard faces unmoving, unblinking.

“It wasn’t a suggestion,” Mom said through gritted teeth. “And it’s not a luxury I’ll afford you again. Now leave, or I’ll make you wish you did. You have no idea how far I’d go to-“

“Please!” Jiqui spit, obviously disgusted. I felt Mom tense as he got closer. “We know all about you; all about what you’ve done, and the abominations you and your brethren have inflicted on this world. Do you really think you’re above the law; above destiny? He will prove you wrong. He’ll rip away your little pretenses and expose you to the sharp light of truth. And what will we see then, Mrs. Karr? Who will you be then?”

He said her name like it was a curse, like the words hurt on the way out.

“A mother,” Mom said. Mom twirled and shoved me, knocking me back. “Get her out of here!” She yelled to Casper. “I’ll see you when I see you,” she winked at me, and then turned back to Jiqui and the others.

The burly men advanced on her. I cringed. I knew she wanted to protect me, but how could she? She was five foot nothing and these guys would block out the sun if they ever stood up straight.

“Mom, no!” I yelled. She didn’t turn to me. Instead, she jumped into the air. She pulled back in midair. Her legs joined and, before he knew what she was doing, the first of the burly men got her Sketchers across his chin. He fell back, though whatever shock he felt was nothing compared to what I was feeling. My mom wasn’t a fighter. Hell, she was a klutz. She could barely maneuver a shopping cart. How was she doing this?

The second of the burly men found himself on the receiving end of a karate chop to the throat and a kick to the shin.

“Go!” Mom screamed, and turned to me just long enough for the first man, who had composed himself, to land a jackhammer of a punch across her jaw.

“No!” I yelled and tried to go to her, but Casper had already got me. I kicked and screamed. I clawed at him, but it was no use. He tossed me over his shoulder, just like before, and started toward the door. The last thing I saw before we burst to the outside was my mom on all fours, panting for breath, about to get pummeled by one of her gorilla looking attackers.

“Casper, let me down!” My voice was hoarse, my throat hurt, and tears made salt tracks down my cheeks. The air was cool against my fevered skin. I tried to suck in air, but I couldn’t. I was having an asthma attack or a panic attack; probably both.

I must have beat bruises into Casper’s back by the time he let me down. We had ducked through the weak part of the fence and were now beside my mother’s car on the back side of the house.

My feet were Jell-O as they hit the driveway. I leaned against my knees and tried to catch my breath. My inhaler was gone; left or lost somewhere. Maybe it was with my necklace. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t think about that right now. I couldn’t think about anything but my mother.

“Just breath,” Casper put his hand on my back.

I knocked it away and laid into him with a flurry of slaps and punches. “You son of a bitch!” I yelled. “You left her! You made me leave her!”

I turned and tried to run back to the house, back to my mother, but he had me by the waist again. He wasn’t going to let me go. I struggled; pushed him, kicked at him, but it was no use. He was stronger than me and determined not to let me get away.

“What are you gonna do?” He asked and, though I was turned the other way, I could hear the tears in his voice. “You wanna save her? Well, you can’t. Neither of us can. All you’re gonna do is get yourself killed!”

I collapsed, falling to the ground in a mess of tears. His arms were still around me when I spoke. “I left my dad. I left him there in that water, all by himself. And now he’s dead. He’s dead and he’s never coming back. If I can’t save her, that’s fine. If I die, bring it on. But I can’t leave her Casper. I won’t leave my mom too.”

Casper crouched beside me. His arms were still wrapped around me, but they were looser now.

“Please Cass,” I sobbed. “Please, just let me go.”

“I…I can’t,” his voice trembled.

“You have to,” I pulled futilely, tasting tears that had run down to my lips.

“I can’t,” he repeated. “I can’t move.”

Turning to him, I saw that the hurt I had heard in his voice had now become sharp immediate fear.

“I can’t move an inch. “ I pushed against him and pulled as his arms, but they didn’t move at all. His body was a stone wall, and for some reason, he was trapped in it.

“What’s happening to me Cresta?” He asked.

“Sorry,” a voice sounded before I could respond. “That’s a side effect.” The amputee from the night before came floating into view. He was dressed in a suit that perfectly matched Jiqui and the other intruders, except the legs of his pants hung loosely; their edges dragging the ground. His hair was silver points and his face was colored with a menacing smile. His eyes, once kind, now danced with something darker.

“A side effect of what?” Casper asked, his arms still locked like iron bars around me, trapping us both where we sat.

“Me, of course,” the amputee winked. “I know it’s rude, taking away your motor functions and all, but my boss would be sorta upset if I let some Neanderthal stop me from retrieving what’s his.”

It was the second time in as many minutes that some weirdo called Casper a Neanderthal and, I’m sure that if we weren’t in the weirdest form of danger either of us could imagine, he’d probably be pissed about it.

The amputee’s smirk turned into a full on grin as he floated closer. “Don’t be so sensitive about it. This is far from the first time I’ve done this to you, Casper. Not that you’d remember that.”

I’m sure that if he could have, Casper would have shuddered at the sound of this guy saying his name. I know I did. It sounded intimate, personal. He had known Casper for quite some time. God knows what he had done to him, and like last night, Casper couldn’t remember any of it. I shuddered again, wondering what might have happened to me that I couldn’t remember.

He swooped closer to us, so close that his stench; copper and gasoline, took my breath away. His hands were stretched at his side; his fingers apart. His nails were bone white, like all the blood had drained from his hands, and his ring fingers on either hand twitched back and forth frantically, like flapping wings that were holding him up.

“Oh come on, don’t take the fun out of this for me. Aren’t you gonna ask me what it is that my boss is so keen on getting his hands on?”

I didn’t answer. I just pressed myself closer against Casper’s motionless body. If we were going to die, at least we’d do it together.

“Fine, I’ll tell you anyway,” his eyes gleamed and I could tell he was getting some sick pleasure from this. “My boss, he’s looking for his wife. And he’s the kinda guy who always gets what he wants. I guess you could say he’s made a career out of it.”

“We don’t have his wife!” I screamed, stuffed against Casper’s chest. “It’s just me and my mom here; nobody else. I promise!”

He hovered still over us, the stench of him thick in the air. His tongue ran disgustingly over his teeth as he responded. “Girlie, you’re not thinking near creatively enough.”

“Ezra!”

I would know that voice anywhere. I heard it in my dreams. Well, the good ones anyway. Owen stood behind the amputee, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “Leave them alone!”

The amputee, Ezra, I surmised, whipped toward him, his ring fingers wiggling wildly to accommodate the move. “Or what?” He growled.

“Or I’ll finish what the Taggers started when they took your legs.” Owen’s eyes, always deep blue pools, were now spiked with lightning; the sort of intensity I had never seen in them before.

“You don’t know what you’re up against,” Ezra said, and starting floating toward him.

“Sure I do,” Owen marched, closing the gap. ”A hapless loser who wouldn’t have a prayer of beating me even if he didn’t have to expend half his energy just to stay upright.”

“Your funeral,” Ezra grinned.

Owen stared passed him and caught my eyes for just a second. Even if things weren’t crazy, even if I wasn’t surrounded by things I didn’t understand, I wouldn’t have been able to read them. I never could. Owen wasn’t dressed like the rest of them. They wore making suits. Owen was in a blue hoodie and jeans, but that didn’t matter. He was still part of this. I heard him say it myself. But if he was a part of all this, if he and Ezra were on the same team, as they seemed to be in Mrs. Goolsby’s basement, then why was they fighting now?

Owen jumped toward Ezra, catching his jaw with a right hook so awesome it made me grin and grimace all at the same time. Ezra stumbled back in midair, but he didn’t fall. Instead, he lifted his right hand, ring finger still moving, and waved it like he was Ms. America. Owen went flying into the air, pulled by some unseen hand. He flipped over us and landed hard on the hood of Mom’s car. He got up quickly, but I couldn’t help but notice the trail of blood coming from his forehead.

“Had enough?” Ezra asked with a laugh in his voice. “You can’t win. We both know how out of practice you are.”

“We’ll see,” Owen huffed. He ran toward Ezra again, blood trickling from his head and landing in big drops on the pavement. Ezra waved his hand again and Owen was once again slapped by the invisible hand. This time, his feet went out from under him and he fell face first onto the drive way. I heard a crack as his nose hit the ground, which was a shame ‘cause, even though he was a supreme liar, it was a cute nose.

“This is pathetic,” Ezra floated. “You’re defenseless. I feel like I’m beating on Shirley Temple.”

Owen was slower to get up this time. I was right about his nose. It was bent and covered in blood and loose pebbles from the driveway. Still, he seemed intent on continuing the fight.

“Owen, you’re gonna make me kill Shirley Temple, aren’t you?”

Owen ran full speed toward him.

“Fine,” Ezra sighed, and waved his hand for a third time.

Owen didn’t fall though. Owen wasn’t affected at all. Ezra waved his hand again, and then again, but Owen just kept coming. Ezra’s invisible hand must have been defective, cause Owen plowed into him like Casper in the lunch line on Taco Tuesday. Ezra crumpled and fell to the ground.

The instant Ezra went out, I felt Casper’s arms move again. I pulled myself free and he stood cautiously beside me.

“Watch out,” Owen said. He was standing over Ezra, who looked to be unconscious. “He’s a pretty powerful Mover. He doesn’t necessarily need to be awake to-“

Owen went flying. The invisible hand was back, and it threw him hard against our Palmetto. I ran, but not toward him. Owen might have just saved my life, but he had still lied to me, and I still didn’t know what part he played in all this. Besides, my mom was still trapped in the house, and I wasn’t about to leave her.

Casper was probably behind me, trying to stop me from getting myself killed. He was always good like that. I never found out though, because as I neared the house, I found out why Ezra smelled so much like gasoline.

The house that I had spent the last two years, the one that I cried, laughed, loved, and lost in exploded in a flash of orange horror.

And so did everyone in it.

Chapter 7
Weathersby

THE NEXT THING I knew, I was sitting straight up. My whole body ached and my eyes burned, even though, surprisingly, the rest of me didn’t. After seeing my house go up in flames; watching the red orange fireball shoot toward me, I half expected that it would swallow me up too.

The first thing I recognized was a sense of motion. I was moving forward, even though my body was completely still. Next, I noticed some sort of tether, something strapped against my body that kept me held against the seat. My mind raced. What sort of unexpected new crazy was this?

I opened my eyes to find that I was– in a car.

Well, that was anticlimactic.

As my eyes adjusted, I saw the sun sinking at the end of a seemingly endless road. On either side of that road were rows of tall trees. Traffic shot by from the passing lane pretty regularly. I leaned up. My entire body screamed, letting me know I hadn’t escaped the explosion completely scot-free. I realized the tether keeping me in place was, fittingly enough, a seat belt.

“Thank God! I thought you were in a coma.”

I jerked to the left; a gesture my neck didn’t thank me for, and found Casper behind the wheel of my mother’s car. His eyes were red and puffy; his face covered in a layer of black soot. His fingers tapped nervously along the steering wheel.

“Are you okay?” My throat felt gravely, like I had swallowed a mouthful of pebbles. “Did the fire-“

“No,” he shook his head. “I’m okay. I mean, it was a lot and everything, but I’m alright.”

I looked down at myself. My Avengers shirt was stained with blood. So were my hands. So were my arms.

“Cass, what happened to me?”

He pulled the wheel a little as he looked at me, causing the car to across two lanes. “Nothing. I mean, not nothing, but not that. What I mean is, that’s not your blood. It’s Owen’s. You were in front of me. After the house blew up, I tried to find you, but there was fire everywhere. Owen ran into the flames and, when he came back out, he had you in his arms. He must have got to you pretty quick too, because from what I can tell, you’re not burned at all.”

“And he was-he was bleeding?” I knew I shouldn’t care. Owen had lied to me for two years. Everything he had ever said to me had been orchestrated. He was a part of this horror. But he had also fought for me, and apparently he had risked his life to save mine. Plus, he was Owen, and it turned out that even after everything, the thought of him getting hurt still made me sick to my stomach.

“I think he’s okay. I mean, he looked okay. Pretty bloody, but okay. He sorta disappeared after he helped you though. He said to get you out of there and he ran off.”

“Casper,” I sat up, sore muscles be damned. I scanned the backseat and found it empty. Everything about me tensed and my voice shook as I asked the next question. “Who else came out of the fire?”

“Cresta, don’t-“

“Who else Casper?” I demanded.

“Nobody Cress. I looked, but there was so much smoke; so much fire.”

“We have to go back,” I turned to him.

“What?” His eyes narrowed. “No. We’re not going back there.”

“We have to. She could still be alive,” I grabbed at his shoulder, though I wasn’t sure why.

“She’s not,” he said quietly.

Things were quiet for what felt like a really long time. Finally, the words came to me. “How do you-did you see a body?”

“No, but-“

“Then you don’t know!” I shouted. “She might have survived. She’s probably in the hospital right now waiting for us.”

“Cress,” he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. There was a tinge in his voice that set me on edge. It was the same one I got from the police officers I asked to dive in after my father the night he died. “You didn’t see it. You didn’t see what that house became. You didn’t hear the screams. I’m sorry, Cress, but nobody survived that.”

The next few minutes became a pool of a million different emotions I hoped I would never feel again after my father died. She was gone. I was an orphan; alone. My mother had died. It had been horrible and painful, and it probably lingered on until her entire body was charred and burned. She probably prayed for death in the end.

She was never coming back. I would never see her again. I would never hear her voice. She wouldn’t take pictures of me before my senior prom. She wouldn’t tear up as she sent me off to college. She wouldn’t meet the man I marry or help me name her grandchildren. That was gone; that life, her life, my life. It was gone, and none of it made any sense.

“I left her,” I muttered. After a while, it became all I could think about. I left my father. I left my mother. I let them both die.

“Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself,” Casper said. He reached to put a hand on my knee, but I knocked it away. “I don’t blame myself. I blame you.”

He sighed, almost like he had been expecting it. “I get that you’re upset. I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now. Just know that-“

“I told you!” My muscles screamed as I lunged forward. “I told you I couldn’t leave her. I told you I’d rather die, and you did it to me anyway. You had no right! I should have been there with her!”

He jerked the wheel. Screeching across two lanes of traffic, he skidded to a stop alongside the road. “For what?!” He was screaming now too. “So you could die with her? That might be what you want, but have you ever thought about what anybody else wants? Have you ever thought about what your mom might have wanted? You think she fought off those lunatics so that you could get yourself killed anyway? She could have ran and she would have probably been fine, but she wanted to protect you; to make sure you were safe ‘cause that’s the kind of person she was.”

His use of ‘was’ hurt more than anything he would have ever meant to say. He didn’t say ‘the kind of person she is’. My mother ‘was’.

Casper wiped fresh tears from his face. “So, why don’t you have a little bit of gratitude?”

I dropped my head in my hands. “I want you to leave,” I said. “Just go home. I’ll be fine.”

“No,” he said flatly.

“Casper,”

“Cars drive on roads,” he answered.

“That doesn’t mean anything.” My head was still in my hands, but I shook it anyway.

“Cars drive on roads,” he repeated like a mantra.

“You’re not listening,” I looked up at him. He was faced forward, looking straight at the road ahead. “Mom said for you to go to, to forget about us. If you want me to follow her wishes, then you need to-“

“No, you’re not listening,” he whirled toward me. His eyes were closed tight, like a faucet trying to shut off tears. “There is no me in Crestview, not if you’re not there. I have a dad who hates me so much I can’t even sleep at my own house and a mom who’s so drunk and beat down that she’s not even lucid half of the time. There’s nothing for me in that town if you’re gone.So, for the last time, cars drive on roads.”

He was lost too. I couldn’t see it through my grief , but he had lost the only real home he had too. He was scared, and I was so angry that he didn’t even have me to lean on.

I took off his glasses

“Open your eyes,” I told him.

The welled up tears he had been holding back spilled like a waterfall down his freckled cheeks. They matched my own as I undid my seatbelt, reached across the car, and hugged him. All we had was each other now, and we had to pray that that would be enough.

It took a few minutes for us to compose ourselves and get back on the road, and a few minutes more for me to have the wherewithal to actually ask where we were going.

“Looks like Florida,” he said, pointing to the navigation system on the dash. “I typed in those keys your mom mentioned before…everything, and this is what popped up. It said we’re headed to a place called Weathersby, wherever that is.”

“273 miles,” I read our remaining distance from the screen.

“Yeah, you were asleep for a while,” Casper said. “Oh, and check this out. “ He pointed to the gas gauge. The needle was lower than I’d ever seen it, buried deep within the E. “It’s been like that for hours. I was afraid to stop at first. I thought somebody might have been following us, you know. But it never ran out. It just keeps going and going.”

I remembered the other thing Mom said before she sent us away.

It might say that you need gas, but that car has tricks.

“Tricks,” I murmured. I wanted more than anything to talk to my mother ,to ask her what was going on. How much did she know about everything? How long had she been hiding that briefcase, and why?

The next few hours were filled with questions like that; questions about Owen, questions about Ezra, questions about myself. Unfortunately, the answers were in shorter supply. As much as I wracked my brain, none of it made any sense. Owen lied to me. Mom lied to me, and now I was probably never going to see either of them again. I was never going to see Crestview again; never sit at Hernando’s worn feet or lay across Dr. Conyers’ couch. I would never again be forced to sit through an awkward abstinence only sex ed class or a Southern fried pep rally.

I didn’t miss it, did I? I couldn’t make sense of any of my emotions right now. And as much as I was going through, I’m sure Casper was going through just as much. He had lived his entire life in Crestview. Crappy or not it was the only home he’d ever known. And his family, I couldn’t even think about that. He may not have gotten along with them, but they were his. And, whether I meant to or not, I took him away from them.

The one thing all these questions were good for was killing time. Before I knew it, the 200 miles on the navigation had dwindled down to 100. It was at fifty when we crossed the Florida state line. Soon Weathersby, whatever the hell that was, was ten miles away. I half wanted to call the police, to report everything that happened and let them take care of it. But Mom’s words kept echoing in my ears.

No police. They’ll slow you down; get you caught.

I still didn’t know what it was that was chasing me.

We came to a stop in front of a large gate with the navigation reading zero and the stalwart fuel light shining orange. Above the curved iron gate, where the two pieces met, the word ‘Weathersby’ was written on a similarly arching sign.

This was where we were supposed to go. But where exactly was ‘this’?

Behind the gate, illuminated by a series of tall streetlamps, a large building peeked out of the darkness. I couldn’t tell its exact shape, other than that it seemed to be a series of squares and, in the dark anyway, looked a lot like Desoto High.

Great. My house blew up. I lost my mom, Owen, and probably my sanity, and I’ve basically ended up back where I started.

I got out of the car to take a closer look. Casper followed. Even though we drove south for hours, the air was chillier down here than it had been in Crestview.

“What is this place, a school?” I asked, walking up to the silver gate.

Casper pointed to a small sign halfway down the driveway on the right.

Now entering Weathersby Juvenile Correction Facility.

Visitors must report to Check-In. All outside contraband must be cleared.

“It’s a jail,” I said under my breath.

“It’s juvie,” Casper amended. “You know, I bet this is the one Janie Evans’ brother went to after he set that school bus on fire.”

He walked up beside me, putting his hands between the bars of the gate like he  was the one who was locked up. “Why would your mom send us to juvie?”

“I have no idea,” I sighed.

“Well, she must have known something like this might happen, because obviously she had a plan,” Casper looked at me. “And she programmed this address into her navigation system, so this place must be part of it. Didn’t she tell you to ask for somebody?”

“Morgan Montgomery,” I answered. I remembered Mom’s eyes as she told me that; so determined, so fearless, and also, so final. It was the last time I would ever see those eyes. “She said to tell him Ash sent us.”

“Who’s Ash?” Casper pulled his arms from the bars and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He must have been exhausted. I know I was, and I had been unconscious half the day. But he never showed it.

“I couldn’t tell you,” I admitted. “But apparently, she’s the reason we’re here.”

Well, her, my ex crush, a legless wunderkind, and an old woman who seemed to vanish from the face of the earth. But who’s being technical?

“So, do we ring the doorbell or something?” Casper asked, looking around.

“It’s late. I’m sure everybody’s asleep. We should probably come back tomorrow,” I answered.

“First off, it’s juvie. There’s never a time when everybody’s asleep. Secondly, we don’t have any cash. It’s a good thing your mom’s car runs off teen angst, or else we have been pushing it across the state line. And C, what if those douches at your house weren’t alone? What if whoever sent them sends somebody else? I don’t want it to be like Mrs. Goolsby’s basement.”

I tilted my head. “I thought you couldn’t remember Mrs. Goolsby.”

“I don’t,” he admitted. “But whatever it was, it ended with us almost getting blown up. So, you know, let’s not repeat it.”

He turned in a full circle, looking in every direction, before settling his sights behind me. “Ah, here it is.”

He brushed past me to a buzzer on a stand beside the gate.

“No!” I motioned for him to stop, but it was too late. He had already pushed the button.

“May I help you? And let me remind you that we are a government facility and, as such, something like playing pranks on us in the middle of the night is considered a felony.” A gruff voice saidthe instant after Casper’s finger left the buzzer.

He jumped back a little, like he hadn’t actually expected for someone to answer. “Um, right. This isn’t a prank,” he went back to the button. “We’re looking for someone; Morgan Montgomery.”

”There is no Morgan Montgomery here. Have a good night,” the voice answered.

I shuffled. “Remind him about Ash,” I suggested. Seeing as how we’d come this far, there was no point in leaving before we had exhausted our resources.

“Axe sent us,” Casper said.

“Ash!” I corrected.

“Right. Ash, Ash sent us. Sorry. I still don’t know who that is,” he said to me after he let go of the button.

“Nobody does,” I answered.

I spoke to soon. Somebody knew who Ash was, because as soon as the words left my mouth, the huge silver gate swung open.

“Please drive all the way to the main building. Stop nowhere on the grounds,” the voice said.

Two men were there to meet us at the main building. As we slowed to a stop, they opened our doors and pulled us to our feet. I had never seen either of them before. Truth be told, they weren’t anything special. They pretty much looked like cops. They even wore cop uniform, except there was a black ‘Weathersby’ across their chests.

“Watch the shirt! I ordered it from New York” Casper said as his guy pulled him toward the building.

He hadn’t.

“It’s vintage Rush. It’s worth like, a lot of money.”

It wasn’t.

To his credit, my guy was gentler. He barely touched me as he guided me into the building. Though, after the day I’d had, I don’t think I’d have cared if he set my Avengers shirt on fire.

Casper had been right about everyone not being asleep. We had barely made it through the front door before two groups of people passed us. One of them, like our guys were in ‘Weathersby’ issued uniforms. The other group consisted of two men and two woman; all of them in white trench coats. They passed us without much notice and, looking past them, I saw that Weathersby was huge, so huge in fact, that at least three Desoto Highs could fit inside there.

I had never seen the inside of a juvie before, aside from the occasion ‘Maury’ scared straight episode. In real life, the place was dank. Large, uncarpeted floors stretched out in every direction. The white tiles that covered it were, in its best places, yellowed with age and, in its worst, pulled up completely, revealing the grime, glue , and stone underneath. Rows of cells, which were made of pane glass instead of the dramatic bars I was picturing, lined either of the walls and piled atop each other for three stories.

Apparently, our arrival was big news because, as Casper and I were guided through the main area, we were met with a sea of eyes. Every prisoner (Were they considered prisoners?) was pressed up against their glass cells staring at us, all wearing matching felon type orange jumpsuits.

They weren’t exactly the hard boiled prisoner types I always envisioned would be in juvie. Most of them were just average looking kids. There was a girl about my age with dark skin and dyed blond hair. She bit on her nails as we passed. A boy, probably in his twenties, had shaggy wet looking hair and a copy of Great Expectations dangling from his left hand. There were young kids here too, including a girl who had her red hair tied up in pigtails and couldn’t have been more than ten.

As we entered the middle of the cell area, every light in the place came on. The space was illuminated, revealing a common area in front of us; including a television, a couch, a ping pong table and, a little further ahead, a gym, complete with a treadmill, bench press, and more free weights than I ever imagined would be in one place. Not that I’d spent a lot of time thinking about free weights or anything.

“Where are we going?” Casper asked.

“Be quiet,” his guy told him, and jerked him into a brightly lit hallway that veered off in front of the gym. My guy motioned for me to follow and, though he didn’t touch me, I still felt a little pushed.

At the end of the hall, a door with the name Mr. Echo swung open.

“Is this where Morgan Montgomery is?” I asked as we approached the door.

“There is no Morgan Montgomery here,” my guy answered and ushered me through the door.

I found myself in a messy, if pretty standard office. Boxes full of files and papers were stacked so high along the walls that they looked like cardboard towers. Between the towers, sat a sandalwood desk that was covered in papers, pens, and a framed photo of a middle aged woman with sandy brown hair and a girl with dark bangs and distant eyes.

“Are these my intruders?” A man walked in behind us. As soon as I saw him, I knew we had made a mistake. It was because she was tall, muscular, and as intimidating as a shark with a mouthful of dynamite. It wasn’t the badge that glistened in his palm. No, it was the fact that he was in his pjs.

Hehe, at least I’m not the only one.

“I told you we should have come back in the morning, “I elbowed Casper in the gut. “Look-“

“Sit down,” the man interrupted me. He motioned to the pair of chairs in front of his desk, showed our guides out, and closed the door behind them.

Casper and I sat on the chairs (Well, Casper mostly slouched) as he rounded the desk and sat behind it.

“I’m Mr. Echo,” he cherry picked a few papers from his desk, straightened them, and put them through a shredder beside his chair. The buzz of the shredder made me grimace, though Mr. Echo didn’t seem to mind. “I’m the warden here at Weathersby and you- Well, I’m not quite sure who you are.”

His green eyes were sharp and felt like knives as they bore into me. His fingers made circles across his dark beard as he sat wordlessly across from us.

“This is the part where you tell me what the hell you’re doing at my detention center,” he said flatly.

Casper’s hands tightened on the arms of his chair. His face took on that pale look it got the time Principal Snyder called us in about the graffiti that had appeared across the gym wall. We hadn’t done it, but that didn’t stop Casper from confessing every bad thing he had done since kindergarten.

Just like that day, Casper started licking his lips anxiously and leaned forward in his seat. He was about to spill everything, to crack like an egg against the kitchen counter. I couldn’t let him do that though. I didn’t know enough about what was going on, and Mom hadn’t said anything about a Mr. Echo. She had said to find one person and one person only. Regardless of the questions floating around in my head, if that was the last request my mother would ever make of me, I was going to make sure I fulfilled it.

“I’ll tell Morgan Montgomery,” I said before Casper had the chance to speak.

Mr. Echo looked irritated as his fingers drummed across the desk. “Where did you hear that name?”

“Bring me to him, and I’ll tell you.” I folded my arms. What followed was a tense stare off. This Echo dude didn’t know who he was dealing with though. Back in Chicago, I once spent three hours with my feet in a tub of ice just to win Bears tickets. He was not beating me.

“Morgan Montgomery hasn’t worked here for over fifteen years,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

My whole body deflated. We had come so far, been through so much, all to get stuck at some juvie in Florida.

“The other name you gave; Ash. “ Mr. Echo tensed a little, bending a pen so far between his fingers that I was sure it was going to pop. “That’s a unique name. How-Who is that?”

“I have no idea,” I answered. “Look, if you can just tell me where to find Morgan Montgomery, we’ll be on our way.”

There was another stare off, but this time Mr. Echo leaned forward in his chair. He got so close to me; his green eyes connected with mine, that I could feel his breath on my cheek.

He jerked back quickly and threw his pen against desk hard. “She’s telling the truth,” he spit out angrily.

“Who are you talking to?” I asked. There was no one in the room except the three of us. Was there a camera? Where we being watched, and if so, by who?

“What?” he asked calmly, his back pressed leisurely against the chair; the pen once again between his fingers. “I was talking to you.”

“No you weren’t,” I scoffed.

I looked over at Casper. The look on his face, concerned and confused, reminded me of earlier today, of the way he looked at me over the whole ‘Mrs. Goolsby’ thing.

“He wasn’t,” I told him. “He said I was telling the truth. There’s no way he was talking to us.”

I looked back at Mr. Echo but, this time, everything was different. The cluttered normal office had changed. It was still cluttered, but instead of stacks of boxes, the walls were lined with weapons. Swords, axes, those balls on chains with the spikes sticking out of ‘em; they were behind glass all around us. It was like I had suddenly found myself in a medieval torture chamber. The walls that, just a second ago, were plain and painted gray, were now jagged stone. They looked old, and not just worn old, but ancient; like what I always imagined the inside of a castle would look like. Hanging at the four corners of the room were lit lanterns. So, the fluorescent light that had been illuminating the room was now replaced with a softer orange glow.

Mr. Echo, for his part, looked the same; same lumberjack PJs, same scruffy beard. But behind him, where once were stacks of boxes, now two people stood. They were burly, like the people who brought us in here. They wore dark formfitting clothes and had red ‘W’s drawn in red over every inch of exposed skin. They were staring silently at Casper and me and, just to put the cherry on top of an already killer day, they had twin crossbows loaded and pointed at our heads.

I turned to Casper, terror rising in my chest. His eyes were still on me, still concerned, still much calmer than he had any right to be. Oh God. He didn’t see it. He didn’t see any of it.

“You heard me,” Mr. Echo murmured. “You can hear me now, can’t you?”

His eyes flickered up to the man and his right shoulder and then back to me. As though he was realizing for the first time that I could see them, he lifted his hands submissively.

“They won’t hurt you,” he said. “They won’t do anything I don’t tell them to.”

“Dude, what are you talking about?” Casper looked back and forth between us. “This is another one of those things I’m not gonna remember, isn’t it?”

Mr. Echo ignored Casper. “If you can see them, it means you can see all of it. And if you can see all of it, it means you’re not what you think you are.”

His voice was calm; soothing even. It was obvious he was trying to keep things under control. It wasn’t working though. What I was? What did that mean? I didn’t know a lot of things; what was going on, what Owen, my mom, or Jiqui and Ezra were up to, what the hell a fiscal cliff was. But I knew what I was.

I was me.

I stood up slowly and starting backing toward the door. Casper followed me. My eyes were still on Mr. Echo, still on the archers behind him.

“I need you to stay calm.” Mr. Echo stood now too; his voice still soothing, his hands still splayed in front of him. “I know this is a lot to take in, and I imagine this is a confusing time for you. I want you to know that I’ve been where you are now. We all have.”

He motioned to the archers. Rounding the desk, he continued. “You’ve been seeing crazy things, things that others don’t. You feel like someone’s been messing with you, like there’s a stranger in your head pulling at your memory. That’s because there is.”

I kept backing up until I could see from the corner of my eye that the door was in striking distance.

“I can help you,” Mr. Echo said. “It’s what I do, what this place is for. I just need to know who sent you here. I-“

I turned and bolted for the door. Casper followed, huffing behind me. As I twisted the handle and ran through the doorway, I heard Mr. Echo over my shoulder.

“Wait! Who’s Ash?! Where did you hear that name?! Where did you hear it?!”

Like Mr. Echo’s office, the rest of the detention center had twisted and changed. What once was a worn down but generally ordinary facility, had become something entirely different. Gone were the rotted floors with their missing tiles. There was plush carpet covering the floor now. Where cells once stood; glass boxes stacked three stories high, doors of every color lined the walls. The shape didn’t even make sense. This place, this new place, seemed to stretch on forever. It had to be twice as big as it looked when we first walked through it. The gym and ping pong tables had transformed into an indoor archery range and the hugest pool I had ever seen. The space broke off into at least a dozen halls that weren’t there before. There was a piano and a harp sitting on a stage to the left, and the prisoners- Well, they weren’t prisoners at all.

All the kids who had watched us walk through were still there. They were still looking at us, but there were no cells to hold them. There were no orange jumpsuits to identify them. Instead, they wore all different sorts of outfits. Some were in the tight leather attire of our guides. Others were in plain old street clothes. Some of them were even stylish. The only thing, it seemed, that had stayed the same, was the copy of Great Expectations in the wet haired boy’s hand.

I guess it turned out, in any iteration, you couldn’t change Dickens.

“Cresta!” Casper yelled.

I turned to find him running repeatedly into the baby grand. He couldn’t see it. He could only see the detention center. I ran back and grabbed his hand. Mr. Echo’s voice boomed through the loudspeakers.

“Stop them!”

I pulled Casper behind me like he was blindfolded.

“I can’t see everything, can I?” He asked. He sounded scared and helpless, not that I blamed him.

“Just close your eyes. I’ve got you,” I told him.

‘W’s were etched along the walls. Sometimes they were carved crudely into the wood. In other places they were weaved decoratively into the designs. Regardless of their nature though, I couldn’t look two feet in any direction without being met with the letter.

The onetime prisoners advanced on us. There were more than I previously thought. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get away from them, seeing as how, in seconds, they had already blocked the door, but I was going to give it my best. My joints were popping and aching as I ran faster. I could already feel my throat closing up. Realistically, there was no hope for us; an asthmatic girl and a boy who was basically blind. Still, I wouldn’t stop; not until I found Morgan Montgomery, not until I did what my mother asked.

I was almost at the door; at the sea of people who were blocking it anyway, when I felt my legs go out from under me. I knew this feeling. It was the same one I had in Mrs. Goolsby’s basement, before Owen made the world go dark.

To my left, I saw a woman. She was blond and refined looking; 35 maybe 40. Her hands were contorted in ways similar to how Owen’s were last night. The last thing I saw before everything blacked away, was the refined woman kneeling over me; her hair brushed into a tight bun.

She sighed. “I knew you’d be trouble.”

I half expected to wake in my bed, in my house, with my Mother downstairs talking to Casper about planting cucumbers or something random like that. Like the whole thing was a dream, like I could go back to being normal; whatever that was.

The room I did wake in was nothing like my bedroom. To start, it was gigantic. The floor was covered in thick red carpet, and the bed, softer than what I imagined a cloud would feel like, had a lace trimmed canopy; the sort you’d expect to see in a fairy tale. As I pulled myself up, my body still aching, I was acutely away that I was no Cinderella.

My flannel pajamas and Avengers tee had been replaced by a soft lavender gown. As I swung off the bed, I found a pair of slippers at my feet. Slipping them on, I got up to investigate my surroundings. Before I could though, the door swung open. A thin woman with brown lifeless hair and a gaunt face greeted me.

“Ready to face the day, dear?” She had a thick English accent and was carrying a tray full of fresh fruit, yogurt, bacon, eggs scrambled with cheese, a stack of pancakes, and orange juice, along with a single sunflower sticking out of a vase.

“Where am I?” I asked. “Where’s Casper?”

She sat the tray on a table by the door and smiled. “You’re in Weathersby, of course. And your friend is fine. I assume he’s still sleeping. It’s quite early yet.”

“Where are my clothes? I want to leave.”

She frowned. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, at least not yet. Mr. Echo will want to talk to you first. I’ll let him know you’re up. In the meantime, try and eat something, won’t you dear? I suggest the juice. There’s a splash of mango in it, and it’s just divine.”

“I want Casper and I want to leave!” I huffed, but the thin lady just smiled and left, closing the door behind her.

I was determined not to eat from the platter she had left but, as the minutes passed, it became more and more difficult to pass up. I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten anything, and it turned out my stomach couldn’t either.

A half an hour after the thin woman left it, the smell of the food became too tempting. By the time Mr. Echo came to see me, I was finishing a fistful of bacon.

“Making yourself at home, I see. That’s good.” He was more dashing than he had been the night before; dressed in a suit. His beard even seemed to be better tended, though I’m not sure how much of that was accurate. My eyes had been playing tricks on me lately.

I pushed the platter away and folded my arms. He circled the room and sat on chair across from me.

“I do hope the color is to your liking,” he motioned to my gown. “I’m afraid we had to do away with your clothes. They were- Well, they were covered in blood.”

“It wasn’t mine,” I said. “I don’t, I’m not hurt.”

“I know. I ordered a physical on you and your friend. Aside from a few bumps and bruises, you’re perfectly fine.”

I looked down at the gown, suddenly very aware that someone had to remove my clothes in order to put it on.

“I didn’t perform the physical myself, nor did I change you. We have people better suited for that,” he answered, as though he was reading my face. “It does beg the question though, how did the blood get there, Cresta?”

“How do you know my name?” I tensed up.

“It’s on your driver’s license,” he explained. “Plus, Casper was screaming it in our general area.”

It sounded strange to hear our names coming from his mouth, like he was trespassing on what it meant to be us.

I reached for my locket, wanting to twist it up between my fingers, before I remembered that it, like everything else, was gone. “What is this place? It’s not a juvie.”

“It isn’t,” he conceded, drumming his fingers along the nearby dresser as he had his desk last night. “It’s-It’s a school of sorts.”

“What does that mean?” I folded my arms again.

He leaned forward. “I told you last night that I knew what you were. That’s because I’m one too. We’re the same, you and I.”

“And what is that?” He was starting to sound like one of those crazy evangelicals from TV, but I was sorta trapped, so I might as well listen to him.

“You’re evolved ,Cresta. “

“Evolved?” I repeated.

“Your mind,” he reached toward my head, but when I flinched away, settled his fingers on his own temples. “There are people in this world; there have always been people in this world, who are special. We are genetically superior; bred so that our minds and bodies are more advanced than the general population. Because of our genetics, we’re able to do certain things. We can make people see things, make people forget things, move objects with little more than a thought.”

Suddenly, my arms started to lift from the bed. Before I knew it, and without my consent, they stretched out straight in front of me. The smile on Mr. Echo’s face told me he was the culprit.

“Stop that!” I said, trying my best not to let my voice shake.

As suddenly as they had lifted, my arms fell.

“My apologies.”

“So, you’ve got superpowers?” I asked.

“No,” he answered. “We’ve  got superpowers; you, me, and, with the exception of your red haired friend in the next room, everyone in Weathersby.”

I relaxed a little. Even with all the crazy he was dropping on me, it was good to know Casper was in the next room.

“Though we are all capable of things like that,” he pointed to my arms.”Each of us have special abilities, things we’re more naturally inclined towards. Some of us are illusionists. They’re the ones that make sure you see or don’t see certain things. There are empaths, who control the feelings of those around them. Some of us can reach into your head and pull out a memory, or plant one there. There are even those who can read everything about you with a single touch.”

I turned my hand over. Looking at my palm, I remembered the way Owen looked when he touched me. And then, what he said in Mrs. Goolsby’s basement.

“The lines,” I muttered.

Mr. Echo’s eyes narrowed. “Cresta, tell me what happened to get you here?”

“I’m not one of you,” I said, still looking at my palm.

“You are,” he answered. “That’s why you could see through the illusions.”

His lip didn’t move as he spoke and his voice echoed as though it was inside of my head.

:That’s why you can hear me now:

“Stop it!” I clutched at my temples. “So what if I am one of you? What, am I just supposed to move in here and sit around your school all day?”

He laughed. “Is that what you think we do? Cresta, people like us have a higher calling. Have you ever heard of the Free Masons?”

I nodded. Casper had always been a fan of conspiracy theories. In addition to never ending talks about the Mayans, Shakespeare being a woman, and Kennedy’s real assassin (FBI agents who were afraid he was going to give away the secrets of Area 51), Casper also told me about the Free Masons. From what I remembered about the parts I wasn’t able to block out, the Free Masons were a secret society dating back to the founding fathers who were really powerful and who guided the world in whatever direction suited them.

“Well, we’re not the power hungry manipulators people would tell you we are.”

Great, so I listened to Casper for nothing.

“You’re a Free Mason?” I asked.

“In a way,” he stood now, and started pacing. “For hundreds of years, evolved people like us have been saving the world. How, you ask?”

I hadn’t actually, but go on.

“The most powerful of our kind have the ability to glimpse into the future. Seers, we call them. Using the intel these seers give us, we’re able to create a roadmap of the future. And, with that roadmap, we’re able to make sure the world doesn’t devolve into disaster, as it’s so prone to do. We avert disasters, whether they be natural or manmade. We are the last line of defense against the horrors of fate, the only thing standing between the world you know and constant and utter chaos. We break away from the horrible things that could be. We are the Breakers.”

He seemed really proud of himself just then.

“So you do manipulate things?” I asked.

Mr. Echo stammered. “I-I don’t think you’re listening. What we do is save the world, over and over again. There was a missile crisis. We just saved it last week.”

“Right. Whatever,” I stood. I had had quite enough, thank you. Super evolved or not, this was getting old, and it wasn’t getting me any closer to Morgan Montgomery.

“Cresta, you’re one of us.” He grabbed my arm, as though he thought I was going to run again.

“Why, because I can see through your stupid illusions?” I jerked my hand away. “You ever think maybe you’re just not as good as you think you are?” I straightened the front of my lavender gown. “Besides, if everything you’ve said is true, wouldn’t I have powers too?”

The wide smile that appeared on his face made me uneasy.

“I have a theory about that.” He dipped to the floor and came up with a silver square. It wasn’t just any silver square though. It was mine; the suitcase Mom gave me before the house blew up. I thought I had lost in the ruckus. Casper must have picked it up when he drug me out of there.

“That’s mine!” I reached for it.

“I know,” he said, and flung it on the bed before I could grab it. Maybe it was the way the suitcase hit or maybe it was his weird evolved person- Breaker powers, either way the suitcase popped open as it hit the bed. Inside was a fresh pair of clothes (something I desperately needed), a stacked cube of hundred dollar bills, and at least two dozen inhalers, and a phone.

This was Mom’s going away present. In case we ever had to leave, God forbid in case we ever got separated, like we were now, she wanted to make sure I’d be okay.

“You’re asthmatic, I presume?” Mr. Echo said. He didn’t make a grab for anything. He didn’t even look at the money.

“You guys did the physical. You tell me,” I said bitterly.

“That’s just it. While you’re results showed effects of the symptoms of asthma. It didn’t show the actual condition. Cresta, you are one of us. You have the genetic markers. I’ve seen them.”

Now he did go for the case, but it wasn’t the money he was after. He picked up one of the inhaler and studied it.

“We did a chemical analysis on your medication. It doesn’t treat asthma. In fact, it causes your body to mimic the symptoms of asthma.”

“What? Why?” That didn’t make any sense.

“Because it also stymies a third of your neurological pathways. It negates the evolved nature of your mind, strips you of who you are. Whoever is giving you this medicine, whoever gave you this suitcase, has been drugging you.”

“No!” I yelled. “That’s not true! I don’t believe you.” Mom gave me that suitcase, that medicine. Mom always gave me my medicine. She wouldn’t drug me. She wouldn’t.

“Believe it or not Cresta. That’s your prerogative. But it’s been cleansed from your system, and I bet you haven’t felt this good in years; free of closed throat and shallow breathing. Soon, your mind will open up, and you’ll understand what I’m talking about. You’ll start to notice little things at first, but then your abilities will awaken, and the whole world will change. I can help you through that if you let me. I can teach you how to do these things. I think that’s why Ash sent you to me.”

Suddenly, I found myself sitting on the bed, going through the inhalers, money, and clothes; the last gifts my mother would ever give me. “I wasn’t sent to you. I was sent to Morgan Montgomery. But he-he’s gone.”

I felt tears, as hopeless as they were useless, well up in my eyes. Mr. Echo reached into his jacket pocket. I thought he was going to offer me a tissue, but what I saw instead was a photograph.

“I want to show you something,” he said, and handed it to me.

It was an old photo with the kind of faded color that only existed before everything went digital. A boy, about Casper’s age, with shaggy brown hair was posing for the camera, obviously trying way too hard to be cool. He wore a leather jacket and his hair was slicked back. He had his arm slung over a girl’s shoulder. She was close to my age, with dark brown ringlets and angular features that looked familiar. She almost looked like a younger version of-

No. It’s not. I couldn’t be.

“That was me,” Mr. Echo pointed to the too cool boy. “When Breakers are called out into the field, they’re given new names, new identities. We’re called to leave our old lives behind. I’m Echo now, but there, in that life, I was called Morgan Montgomery. And the girl beside me,”

He was going to say it.

“She was Ash.”

Of course. The girl in that picture; Ash, she was the one who sent me here. She was my mother.

“Oh God,” I said before I could stop myself. That was my mom; young, with a different name, in a different world, but it was my mom nonetheless.

“You said Ash sent you here Cresta, but that’s impossible. Ash, this girl, she died years ago.”

“She didn’t,” I said flatly, running my thumb over her faded image. “She died yesterday, and she was my mom.”

He seemed shocked as he sat beside me. Both of us were silent for a while, both of us looking at the picture. A few times, Mr. Echo turned and I thought he was going to ask me something. I’m glad he didn’t. I wasn’t sure where I would start or how much about my mother, about my life, was even true.

Instead, it was me who spoke first. Holding the picture tightly, like it was a lifeline to something I never knew existed but was desperate to explore, I asked, “Did you know her well?”

He scoffed, and the answer he gave shocked me so much that I almost fell off the bed.

“I should. She was my wife.”

Chapter 8

G in Chains

SHE WAS MY wife.

I sat there, rolling those words around in my head. She was his wife, and not just his wife, but his dead wife.

“She was a Breaker?” I asked. My mouth was dry and the word felt strange on my tongue.

“She was a hell of a Breaker,” he said in a tone that made me think he was going to smile, though he didn’t. He looked down at the picture again, still in my hands.

My mother had a whole life before me, and not in the way all parents did. She was a different person, with different friends, a husband I never knew about, and secret superpowers.

Wonder if Hallmark makes a Mother’s Day card for that.

“How did-“

The door flung open, cutting me off. The blond woman who put me to sleep in the common area stood on the other side. From this close, I could see that her hair, still wrapped in its severe bun, had flicks of gray in it. She looked around Echo’s age, around my mother’s age; maybe a little younger. Still, there were lines on her forehead and around her mouth, the sort Mom always said stress would give you. She wore a formal looking brown dress and white blouse. A red pendent added a splash of color on her chest. It was shaped like a flower; not a rose. Maybe it was a blossom or a-

“Dahlia,” Echo identified the woman. “This girl, Cresta, she’s-”

“A handful,” Dahlia finished, making her way into the room. “I gathered that last night, while she was making a mockery of our curfew.” A proper, cold smile graced her face, accented by blood red lipstick. “Though that’s nothing that can’t be forgiven, I’m sure. I hear you’re one of us, and a late discovery at that. That is quite a rarity. I do hope we can convince you to stay with us.”

She extended her hand to me. I took it, admiring the way every one of her crimson fingernails arched perfectly.

“Now if you’ll excuse my husband, there’s some rather pressing business we need to tend to.”

“Husband?” I asked, looking from one to the other.

“Dahlia, she’s Ash’s daughter,” Mr. Echo said.

Dahlia’s hand froze, and then parted with mine. Her face glazed over, losing its smile along with what little color it had.

“I don’t-How is that possible? Ash died almost twenty years ago.”

“Apparently not,” I said.

Dahlia’s mouth hardened as she looked me over. Turning back to her husband, she said, “Be that as it may, we still have a facility to run. I need to see you in your office. Now.”

She turned and marched out of the room. Mr. Echo stood, sighing. I stood too, offering him his picture back.

“I didn’t think she liked pictures,” I said through glassy eyes.

“Apparently she had her reasons for not taking them,” he answered. “Why don’t you keep that, at least for now?”

I pulled it back in, still dazed about everything.

“Thanks, Mr. Echo,” I said.

“Echo will be fine, Cresta. I have to go. I know you have more than a few questions. I have questions myself, but there will be time to talk later. For now, you should get yourself acquainted with Weathersby. I believe your friend will be out and about by now and, if you’re so inclined, I’m sure most of our students would be thrilled to make you feel at home. As a late-to-the-party Breaker, you’re practically an oddity.”

“Lucky me,” I mumbled.

“That’s not always a bad thing,” he said, gave me a wink, and walked out.

I found a change of clothes in one of the dresser drawers. A white shirt and a pair of brown pants, it was a bit bland for my taste and looked too much like what Dahlia was wearing, but it fit and there was no caked up blood on it, so I figured it’d do.

The common area was bustling when I walked out into it. Kids as young as ten and as old as twenty five, of every color and ethnicity; Breakers, as I now knew them, busied themselves with all sorts of activities. A handful of them were taking advantage of the archery range. There was girl in the corner putting green and orange abstract stripes onto an otherwise blank canvas. Two boys worked busily on what I can only describe as a life-size virtual jigsaw puzzle. One of them grabbed a green cube made of light while the other moved a few red triangles, scrambling to make room.

I flinched when two of them shot past me jousting in full attire.

“Your left!” One of them yelled as they passed me. Which, coincidentally, was the arm she would have sliced off if I’d have been a few inches closer.

I smiled when I saw him; the first time I had smiled in hours. Casper was at a ping pong table in the distance, celebrating as he knocked the ball past his opponent (Who couldn’t have been more than eleven).

“Another point for the master,” he yelled and threw his hands up in the air.

Good to see he’s handling all this better than me.

“I’m guessing you’re the master,” I said, tapping him on the shoulder.

“Cress!” He spun around and scooped me up in a giant bear hug. ”Can you believe this place? I mean, turns out I was wrong about the Free Masons, but whatever. I mean, can you believe it?”

“They told you everything too?” I asked when he finally put me down.

“Yeah. I mean, Jackson did. Technically they’re not supposed to, ‘cause I’m not some evolved Breaker person or whatever. But Jackson said if they didn’t want me to know, they’d just mind wipe me later. Which doesn’t sound like something I should want to happen to me, but I kinda do anyway.”

He started bouncing the pin pong ball up and down against his racket, like one of those balls connected to a paddle with string.

“Oh! This is Jackson.” He pointed to the young boy beside him.

Jackson was all of four feet tall. He had dark skin, close cropped hair, and a smile that said that not only did he understand Casper’s specific brand of oddball, but that he enjoyed it.

“Sup Cresta? Sorry about your mom. Sup? Casper just taught me that. Sup?”

“Turns out they don’t get out much,” Casper explained.

“Later he’s going to teach me about something called extreme couponing,” Jackson said, and they both smiled.

Great. Now there are two of them.

The day inched by. Every once in a while, someone would approach me, introduce themselves, and asked me questions I either couldn’t or didn’t want to answer.

“I don’t understand how you couldn’t have known. How didn’t you know?”

“Do you hate your mother? I think I would hate my mother if I were you?”

“Was it weird being normal?”

My story, it seemed, was out, and it was safe to say that it was the talk of Weathersby.

“Don’t be mad at them. They’re just curious. All of our new people are old. We all grew up with each other in the Hourglass. You’re the first new new person we’ve ever seen.” Jackson told me over lunch, a feast of roasted chicken smothered in mushrooms, roast beef in gravy, mashed potatoes, crisp green beans cooked with ham, baked apples with cinnamon, and at least three different kinds of bread.

“No worries. I get it,” I said, though I wasn’t sure I did. “What’s the Hourglass?”

“Wow,” he said through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “You really are a greenie, aren’t you? The Hourglass is our home. It’s where we all come from.”

“All the Breakers?” Casper asked, his mouth similarly full of potatoes.

“Right,” Jackson stabbed at a piece of chicken, careful to miss the mushrooms, and drug it through his mashed potatoes before shoveling it into his mouth. “We don’t leave for training until ten. Before that, we get to live with our families and friends in this huge hidden community called the Hourglass.”

“So you just got here?” I asked. Still full from breakfast, I barely picked at my food.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Plus, most of my friends won’t go to training until next year, which is why I’m not, you know, super popular around here. I hope at least a few of them get assigned to Weathersby. That would be…trippin’?”

He looked to Casper for confirmation. Casper shook his head. “Not the right word dude. Don’t worry. You’ll get the hang of it.”

I looked around. There were cliques here too. I could see it from the way the tables filled out; pretty, vapid looking girls at one table; a quiet group with their heads buried in respective books; large muscular guys laughing way too loudly. It seemed even the world’s most evolved couldn’t escape the stigma of jock, geek, and everything in between.

The lights flickered overhead and, as quickly as they stopped, everyone got up from the table as one.

“Sorry, gotta get to class,” Jackson, pushed his plate to the center of our table. “I’ll see you later guys, okay? Good to meet you Cresta,” he said and, for the first time since I got here, I actually believed somebody was happy I came.

As soon as the students were gone, a cleaning crew filtered into the cafeteria, headed by the lady from this morning with the breakfast tray and the ‘simply divine’ OJ. Casper and I went back into the common area, afraid we’d be asked to help or something. He suggested that we explore the rest of Weathersby, calling it ‘definitely the most awesome of awesome places’, but that idea was short lived. No sooner had we walked past the archery range and toward the general couches; completely empty seeing as how everybody was in class, we were approached by Echo and Dahlia.

“I think it’s time we had a conversation,” he said. His voice was calmer, more formal than before. Dahlia, for her part, stood silently, glaring at us. “To my office, shall we?”

Echo’s office was the same as I remembered from last night, minus the then present archers. But Casper reacted as though he was seeing it for the first time, which I suppose, he was.

“This is unbelievable! It’s like an ancient Mayan cave or something, except with ‘W’s everywhere,” he said wide eyed.

“It’s good to see that your new mental cues are working. We can’t have you bumping into the furniture again,” Echo cracked a small smile.

“This room is preserved from Weathersby’s original iteration. It’s over two hundred years old. The rest of the facility has, of course, been updated. But, as the heart of the place, it’s customary that head Breaker’s office remain untouched,” Dahlia said, though she didn’t look at either of us.

“Take a seat,” Echo said. Sitting behind his desk, his fingers immediately went to drumming. Dahlia stood behind him, her arms crossed over her chest like a shield.

“It’s time you tell us exactly what brought you here,” Echo said when we were seated.

I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to relive it, not so soon anyway. But now was the time, with the details so fresh in my memory. Besides, if I was going to be in this; put my trust in Morgan Montgomery as was my mom’s wish, I might as well go in all the way.

I told him everything; about Owen, Mrs. Goolsby, the empty house, the black Sedan, all of it. When I was done, Echo handed me a tissue. I took it, not realizing that I had been crying.

“She’s telling the truth. It’s all true,” Echo looked back to Dahlia.

“What are you, like a human lie detector?” Casper shuffled in his seat.

“I’m known as a Reader.” Echo’s fingers drummed along. “When people lie there are things that instinctively happen, mostly within the left side of the brain. As a reader, my mind is attuned to picking up that activity. In some cases, I can shut down the activity, making it physically impossible for someone to lie to me.”

“That’s scary,” Casper gulped.

“Only if you’re planning on being dishonest with us,” Dahlia circled the desk, her hand tracing a large steel sword that hung on the wall.

“I rarely do it,” Echo answered. “It’s not something I enjoy.”

“That’s enough,” I said louder than I intended. “I was honest with you. Now it’s your turn to be honest with me.”

I saw Dahlia’s brows arch, but I continued anyway. “I wanna know about my mom, why she lied to me for so long, and what you plan on doing with me now.”

“Yeah,” Casper grinned nervously. “Me too. Not to be an ingrate, but I can’t help but notice that I’m the only, you know, normal person here. No offense.”

“We exist as part of the United States government, though we don’t necessarily answer to them. Our laws and traditions are older than your country,” Dahlia said. “We are run by a tribunal of elected Breaker elders known as the Council of Masons. Your situation has been relayed to them, and we’ve been given leave to house you until more information is available. Both of you.” She looked from me to Casper.

“”The consensus is that, with the identities of your attackers still unknown, sending Casper back home presently might put him in danger, especially considering the whitewashing that’s been done.”

“Whitewashing?” I sat up in my seat.

Echo’s hands stopped drumming long enough to press a button on the inside of the desk. The room went dark and, just when I thought classes were about to change again, the visage of a woman appeared. She was see-through, like a ghost. Except she wasn’t a ghost, she was a reporter.

Sandra Adams was Crestview’s most popular (and only) on the street reporter. She’d always go around town for Channel 6 to talk about the major news topics of the day; most notably the time Mae Warner tried (and failed) to bake the world’s largest chocolate chip cookie, or when the senior citizens on the Greenview Hills Rest Home took to the streets to protest the home’s move to glass coffee tables in the television room (How would they see them?).

Today through, streaming live from my street into the cloaked office of a Breaker somewhere in Florida, she had a darker story to tell.

“Here, at the crime site, people are livid.” Her back was straight, her face bright. It was obvious that she enjoyed actually having something to talk about.

Mr. Colburn appeared on the screen, scratching his bald head. “I just can’t believe somebody would do something like this. Drugs, I tell ya. It was drugs. Theys always makin’ good people do bad things.”

The scene changed again. This time Sandra stood in front of a smoldering pile. It didn’t take a second glance for me to know what it was. The black wreckage behind her was what was left of my house.

“Police say the arson happened sometime last night and was, as Mr. Colburn surmised, likely a drug related accident. The culprit, Casper Rhodes, is a known drug addict and is currently on the run,”

A picture of Casper replaced Sandra. It was from the photo booth session he and I took last year at the corn carnival, except I was missing from the shot.

“What?!” Casper shot up. “I’m not a drug addict. I sooo couldn’t afford drugs!”

“Crestview residents describe Casper as a loner, saying he had no friends and was always by himself,” Sandra continued.

“That’s not true!” Casper answered.

“Casper’s father, Carlton Rhodes, had this to add.”

Casper’s dad popped on the screen, in his usual trucker’s hat and lip full of Skoal. “That boy was always no good. I never liked him.”

“That part’s true,” Casper said.

“Luckily,” Sandra appeared before us again, speaking to her town wide audience of dozens. “The house in question was abandoned, so no one was hurt in the incident. If anyone has information that may lead to the arrest of Casper Rhodes, the police ask that you contact them at-“

Sandra disappeared as the lights came back.

“I’m a junkie criminal,” Casper turned to me wide eyed. “A loser junkie criminal with no friends who burned your house down. It’s like every bad thing my dad ever said about me is true.”

I stood up and hugged him. “Your dad’s an idiot. This is about me. They did that to get rid of me, right?” I turned to Echo.

“You and your mother,” Echo confirmed. “We’ve spent the morning digitally combing through town records. There’s no sign of a Cresta or Julie Karr ever living in town. What’s more, there’s no trace of your mother ever working at St. Vincent’s.”

“They’ve cleaned the planet of you, and they used your friend here as the scapegoat to cover their tracks,” Dahlia added, examining a mace that hung from the wall.

“Sorry Cass, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen to you,” I said, looking down.

“Hey, cars drive on roads, right?” He took my hand.

“Right,” I said, squeezing it.

“The problem is, we have no idea who’s behind this. I’m sending Dahlia to Crestview with a team to try and uncover answers,” Echo picked up a pen and started marking a sheet of paper.

“I’m confused,” I said, twisting a strand of hair around my fingers for lack of my necklace and my steering wheel. “If they erased me from town, what good will that do?”

“They erased you from people’s minds, from their public records,” Dahlia answered. Her voice betrayed annoyance. Her arms crossed herself again. “But the walls themselves are a different story.” She smirked. It was cold and bitter, but it was a smirk nonetheless.

“She’s a Surveyor,” Echo said. “She picks up on the mental fragments that reside in areas. Cars, houses, even streets and fields; they all have mental signatures. And she can read them”

“It’s like digging for fossils,” she added. “You break the surface, and you’d be surprised what you find. Two hours in that lovely town of yours and all your secrets will be mine.”

“How comforting,” I said.

“In the meantime, there’s something we need to discuss,” Echo said, and his fingers started running across the desk again.

I’m really starting to hate that.

“We have something of a situation,” he added. “You didn’t come alone.”

“I know. I brought him,” I pointed to Casper.

“You remember me; the crack head firebug,” Casper waved mockingly.

“No, I mean the two of you didn’t come alone. You were followed.”

My hand tightened in Casper’s. The blood in my veins went cold like ice, thinking of one of those freakish nightmares in front of me again.

“What? Where-“

“Calm down,” Echo stood, holding his hands out in front of him. “He was caught trying to sneak passed our security systems last night and has been apprehended. It’s under control.”

I relaxed some, but just a little. Apprehended meant he was still here, in the building. If it was Jiqui or Ezra, or God forbid one of those meatheads that probably beat my mother until she couldn’t-

Ugh! I can’t think about this.

“The situation is a bit complicated though. It’s- Well, why don’t you see for yourself. Follow me.”

He walked toward the door. I didn’t follow. Neither did Casper. He must have been out of his mind, thinking I’d want to look in the face of someone who helped kill my mom.

“Cresta,” he held out his hand. “It’ll be okay. Trust me.”

So I did.

We walked out of his office and through a long hall. Students were all around us, sorted in groups dependent on age and activity. Soon, I realized that these were classes. To our right, I saw a gaggle of girls pulling at dumbbells and lifting more weight than I’d have thought possible. Jackson shot us a smile as we passed him, working his way through a class Echo called ‘An Exploration of Dead Languages’.

Sounds useful.

There were no walls or doors, leaving only empty space to stop the classes from bleeding into each other. Still, none of the students seemed to be distracted by anything going on around them. In fact, I had never seen people so focused, at least not in a classroom. There wasn’t one person, not one, who looked less than completely engrossed.

“Breakers have to be well rounded,” Echo answered a question I hadn’t asked. “We train them physically as well as mentally, so that by the time they’re ready to go out into the field, they’re able to deal with whatever comes.”

“You make it sound dangerous.” I felt like he expected me to say something.

“It can be,” he answered. We pushed out of the facility and into the outdoors. It was cold today, and I shivered as the icy breeze hit me. “As Breakers, we’re often called to a series of widely varied vocations during our careers. The future is fickle and can twist in a thousand different directions. We have to be prepared for all of them.”

“You, like, kill people?” Casper asked. He was shivering too. With his arms crossed, he rubbed along his biceps, trying to keep warm. Echo, though, seemed unaffected by the cold.

Still, he winced when Casper asked his question. “That’s not really something we like to talk about, son. I’ve been a Breaker for almost twenty years now. I’ve ate with kings and fought with killers. I’ve helped people find the greatness inside of them and I’ve beat back mudslides. Now, I teach the next generation. And yes, I’ve done things that I wish could have been avoided, but that’s rarely the way of it. We fight for the future, and do what we have to in order to preserve it.”

In front of us, crops popped up in rows as far as the eye could see. Every fifty feet or so, large planks jutted from the ground; like the sort you’d expect to see a scarecrow hanging from. Only, instead of a straw-filled man, these planks held large wooden ‘W’s painted red. People; Breakers, I was sure, shucked corn, bailed hay, and hauled water off in the distance.

“This wasn’t here yesterday,” I muttered, my teeth chattering.

“It was, you just couldn’t see it,” Echo answered.

“Is that what the ‘W’s are for, to make people see what you want ‘em to?” Casper asked.

“You’re shrewd for a baseline, aren’t you?” Echo smiled. “Illusions as big and sustained as what we use here, or what I assume was used on you in Crestview, require anchors; something to trick the human mind into ignoring what’s in front of it. Without the stipends we put in place last night, the sight of any ‘W’ on this property would send a message to your brain telling you to see something other than what’s actually there. We have over two hundred acres of farmland here. We also raise cattle and chickens, but anyone passing by would just see a barren field within the walls of a juvenile delinquent center, and beyond that, a wildlife preserve.”
“You farm?” I asked. It hardly seemed like the exciting life of a band of suave superspies.

“Where do you think the food we eat comes from?” He smiled. “Besides, this sort of work teaches the children about responsibility. It teaches them to work for what they have and that, even with abilities as powerful as the ones they possess, they’re like everybody else. They have to earn their way.”

I was right. They were Breakers. They were students. Apparently, when the kids here weren’t doing three hundred pound bench presses or learning how to say ‘Thank you very much’ in Klingon, they’re made to grow their own food.
This place sounds like a winner.

“You’re thinking it sounds like a lot of work,” Echo looked at me. It’s like he was reading my mind. Wait? Was he reading my mind?

“You’ll get used to it, I promise. And I think you’ll find this sort of life very fulfilling. I know I have,” he looked ahead as we weaved through the cornfields. “I want you to know I’m very excited about having you here Cresta. You’re starting late, but I firmly believe that, with the right training, you could do some real good in this world.”

He wanted to keep me here; to train me as a Breaker. But what did I want? I hadn’t even taken time to consider it.

“Of course, the extent of your abilities will become clearer after the drugs leave your system.”

The drugs.

That’s right, my mother drugged me.

“Do you have any idea who was after us?” I asked, wanting to change the subject.

“Well, it could have been any number of people. There are several sects of renegade Breakers who are known to use prophecies to further their own ends. There are also black market fate dealers; Breakers who sell their talents to the highest bidder; usually wealthy individuals who want to make sure they stay wealthy. There are even rumors of organizations that recruit wayward Breakers and bend them to nefarious means. I was hoping that our prisoner might help shed some light on the whos and whats surrounding the attack on you. But he’s proved less than helpful and, I’m afraid that, without knowing why your mother defected in the first place, it’s really a jigsaw puzzle.”

“I wanna know about her,” I said, leaning on Casper as we walked and careful not to look at Echo. “What was my mother like?”

He was quiet for a second, long enough for me to think that he didn’t want to answer. But then he spoke. “Your mother was amazing. She was kind and brave. She knew what was right, and she wasn’t afraid of anything. That’s why I’m having such a hard time making peace with what’s happened. If you’d have asked me back then, who is the last person in the world you’d ever think would run away from her responsibilities-“

His voice trailed off. I spoke quickly, afraid I was going to lose him to the memory.

“What happened? I mean, what did you think happened to her?”

“It was her third field mission. We hadn’t been married very long, but already, she was a star. She’d have been a legend, if she had sur-“

He cleared his throat and looked away.

“Sorry. I’m still not used to the fact that she actually did. She was part of a group of Breakers sent to Russia. They were tasked with stopping the illegal trade of missile codes that, if left unchecked, would have thrown the world into a third world war. Two months into their mission, something went wrong. In their last transmission, they reported curious happenings, but before help could arrive, the facility where they had been housed blew up.”

My mind rushed back to yesterday, to our house exploding in a mess of fire, splinters, and screams.

“In the wake of it all, no survivors were found.” He took a deep breath and wiped some moisture from his eyes. “Whatever really happened, I suppose, is anyone’s guess now.”

“You loved her,” I said. It wasn’t a question, but he took it up as one.

“Our marriages have little to do with love traditionally,” he answered. Once we got through the field, we took a sharp left toward a small rounded silver building. It looked more like and outhouse that anything else but, for my part, I really hoped it wasn’t.

“Creating a Breaker is an intentional endeavor,” Echo continued. “It takes specific genetic codes in both partners and those codes have to work together in certain ways. These genes are, for the most part, hereditary. They run in families, in bloodlines. As such, when a young Breaker is of age, their genes are examined. They’re then placed with a member of the opposite sex whose genes most perfectly match their own. That ensures the best likelihood of children with potent gifts.”

I pulled back instinctively, sort of disgusted at the whole prospect. Where was the romance in that? Where was the love? To Breakers, it seemed marriage had all the joy of working at a factory. It was a meat market, and they were shoved together like chickens, bent on producing as many eggs as possible.

Casper summed up my feelings pretty perfectly when he said,” That sucks! It sounds so lonely.”

“You think so?” Echo sounded genuinely surprised. “I always thought of it as comforting actually. To know that I was going to end up with the person who, even at a biological level, was perfect for me, to take away the possibility of human error or youthful impulsiveness; it helped me through a lot of nights.”

“Maybe my mom didn’t agree,” I said. “Maybe that’s why she left; to find love.” It didn’t seem like such a mystery to me. I mean, who would want to live under some dictatorship where you couldn’t even choose who to spend the rest of your life with?

“Perhaps,” he choked out. “It’s just, I thought that we-I suppose it doesn’t matter what I thought, does it?”

Echo placed a palm on the silver outhouse. The door glowed and then opened. We stepped through.

What looked like a small oval building was huge on the inside; much bigger than it had any right to be from looking at it. I wondered if, since this was apparently the place where prisoners were held, it had some sort of special guise around it; one that even Breakers couldn’t see through. If that was the case, Echo didn’t let on as we advanced.

The walls were metal and studded with vent-like holes. A long hall stretched straight ahead with a green stripe running along the floor that seemed to point to a door at the end. Aside from that, and twin fluorescent lights that buzzed along the ceiling, the place was bare; without the flourish that existed in the rest of Weathersby.

We headed toward the door, with only the buzz of the lights overhead to break the silence.

“Stand down,” Echo said as we settled in front of the door.

The air shimmered and solidified around us. The nothing rippled like a wave, revealing two armed guards. They, like the guards in Echo’s office the night before, held twin crossbows.

I guess Breakers aren’t really ‘gun type’ people.

Gold stars crisscrossed their skin, in absence of the ‘W’s I had gotten used to seeing. I smirked. Turned out I was right about the extra security. That slight feeling of accomplishment grew cold when I realized I had no way of knowing what else was being hid from me.

The guards parted and, as they did, the door they did, the door behind them melted away into nothing.

Breath caught in my throat, but not because of the physics bending illusions. After a day of floating amputees, surround sound holograms, vanishing plantations, and buildings that were bigger on the inside, a melting door was nothing.

What was behind the door though, that was another story.

I had prepared myself for one of the monstrosities that barged into my house the day my mother died. Bile burned in my throat at the thought of seeing one of them again; of watching Ezra float in front of me with his gruesome smile and deceiving eyes, of watching the fluorescent lights illuminate the scar on Jiqui’s face, of looking at the bloodied knuckles of one of those brutes who very likely beat my mother to death.

But what I had not prepared myself for, what I doubt I could have ever prepared myself for, was the set of deep blue eyes that peered back at me now.

Owen sat chained to a metal chair in the center of a padded room. His face was swollen and red. His nose was bent and bruised, and his jaw was a puffed and purple marble on his cheek. His clothes; the same clothes he wore the last time I saw him, were tattered and torn. Blood had dried and clotted in his hair, sending the dark hair that I used to love up in soiled and unruly spikes.

His hands trembled, strapped against the arms of the chair. My first instinct was to run to him, to untie him, to clean him up, and take care of him.

I hated myself for that instinct. I should hate Owen. He lied to me for two years. He set all of this in motion. He was part of whatever mysterious group set out to kill me; succeeded in killing my mother.

But he also saved you.

I shook that thought from my head, and resided my weakness to old habits. They were, after all, hard to break. I had loved him for so long, or who I thought he was anyway. Even after all that had happened, it was hard to turn that off, especially now; seeing him so completely broken.

“This is the Breaker formerly known as Agent G-77,” Echo stomped over, stood behind Owen, and jerked his head back violently. Owen winced and jutted forward; his mouth clenched tight. “And he has some explaining to do.”

My heart jumped, partly because of how forcefully Echo was handling him, partly because of Owen’s pained reaction to it, and partly because of the way Echo had introduced him.

Agent G-77

The seventh letter of the alphabet followed by twin sevens.

Seven, it was always seven.

Chapter 9
Girl in the Tower

IT TOOK ALL I could do to hold myself back, not to rush Owen, to push Echo away, and stop him from hurting him. I hated myself for that. Of course, just because I was able to stop myself didn’t mean I was ready for what came next.

Owen started to scream; horrible, blood-curdling, heartbreaking screams that cut through whatever thin defenses I had managed to guard myself with. Tears ran down Owen’s bruised and ruined face. Look at him. He had lied to me. He had lied to the people that I love. He had caused hurt and pain and God knows what else, but hadn’t he been through enough? What was Echo hoping to accomplish by being so rough with him?

Echo pulled harder at his head. Owen jerked back; his body arched and rigid. I looked at Casper, hoping for some sort of direction, but only found a similar confusion. Looks like I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know how to feel.

Owen’s screams sharpened into a shrill guttural thing, like someone was pulling out his insides, and I couldn’t take it anymore.

“That’s enough!” I screamed, but didn’t move. No matter what was happening, and regardless of the tears that I had failed to keep from pouring past my eyes, I couldn’t make my body run to him. I just couldn’t.

Echo looked up at me, his hand still pressed to the back of Owen’s head. “Almost, but not quite yet.”

He yanked again and Owen pulled one last time. I though he was going to die or pass out or something, but as Echo inched away, Owen let out a sigh of relief.

“Extraction’s complete,” Echo said, looking at the guards. “You can let him go now.” He bent so that he was close to Owen, who was panting exhaustedly. “You did good, kid.”

The guards marched over to Owen. Crouching, they loosened the shackles at his hands and feet. He slumped as they lifted him, letting his legs go limp as if all the life had drained from him.

Echo walked toward me. A rounded silver disc that I didn’t see in his hand before caught the light. Owen murmured as the guards pulled him forward; the tips of his feet dragging helplessly along the floor.

“I didn’t…I swear…you mother…I would never…promise.” Blood and spittle flew from his mouth and he was looking to the floor, but I knew he was talking to me.

“Promise,” he said over and over again. “Promise. I promise.”

I didn’t know what to do, except that I had to say something; but what? I certainly couldn’t tell him it was okay; that I forgave him. I didn’t. I couldn’t. I opened my mouth, still unsure of what I was going to say. Owen moaned again. His eyes fluttered and then closed. He slumped even more in the guards arms; so much so that the leftmost archer picked him up like a baby and carried him away.

“You didn’t have to be so rough with him,” I said when I was sure he couldn’t hear me, wiping my eyes. Casper rubbed my back and squeezed my shoulder. “Where are you taking him?” Casper asked.

“To the infirmary,” Echo said. “He’s exhausted and more than a little beat up. We’ll put some liquids in him and try to fix what’s broken.” He held the silver disc out to me. “And as for the roughness; I’m afraid it couldn’t be avoided, though I took no pleasure in it.”

“What is that?” I motioned to the disc.

“That is as many answers as I’m able to provide for you at the moment. When we captured your friend trying to break into Weathersby, I questioned him; fully expecting him to lie within an inch of his life. But he didn’t. He was truthful with me and, honestly, I found his answers curious.”

“Yeah, well at least you got some,” I muttered, still not taking the disc. “All I ever got from that boy was lies.”

“Why don’t you try a little truth on for size then?” He grinned. “This is a glimpsing disc. It’s used to extract thoughts. Time was, the Breakers of old used it for interrogation purposes, but we’ve since developed less intrusive measures for that.”

“So why’d you use it one Owen then?” Casper asked, the usual lightness gone from his voice.

“Glimpsing discs are the only method of recording thoughts. Your friend has found himself in a bit of hot water, and I’m afraid the Council of Masons is requiring a record of what’s gone on.”

“And what is that?” I was tired of questions. I wanted to know why Owen did what he did; why he lied to me, why he saved me, and what side he was really on.

“See for yourself,” Echo said and pressed the glimpsing disc to my palm.

“I don’t- does this go into a DVD player?”

“Not exactly,” Echo smiled. “But you’re new at this, so let me get you started.”

He made smooth circular motions above the disc in my palm. Slowly, the disc started moving, mimicking the motions of his hands. It tickled as it turned; slowly, and then faster, spinning like it was in a cd player.

“What do I do?” I asked.

“Open your mind,” Echo said. “And enjoy the show.”

I closed my eyes and let my mind go blank; purging it of the stress and questions that had lingered for days. It was easier than I thought it would be actually.

“Nothing’s happening,” I said, but when I opened my eyes, I saw that I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I wasn’t in the silver outhouse anymore. Casper and Echo were gone. I-I wasn’t even me anymore. I was Owen, standing in the bright sunshine; surrounded by people. I saw from his eyes, and more than that, I thought from his mind.

Houses stretched out around me, set in sections that looked like a bunch of villages pushed into one space. I knew it was the Hourglass, and not just from the high walls that seemed to cut off the outside world or the myriad of shops, temples, and farmlands that left it self-sustaining. It was his memories. Owen had lived here all his life. The woman on the corner, she had run the bakery ever since he could remember. Every Sunday, before worship, Owen would walk past the bakery and the woman would sneak him a sliver of lemon cake. The man walking ahead of him, with the broad shoulders and heavy stride; that was his father. And, more than anything in the world, Owen wanted to make him proud. The girl beside him had dark hair and a familiar touch. Her hand was wrapped in his. It was comfortable. She was-

Suddenly, I was away from there. I was Owen again, but younger, and surrounded by staunch looking men and women in strange black cloaks. A man and woman; Owen’s mother and father stood next to me.

“Please,” his mother said as tears pooled in her big brown eyes. “There has to be a way.”

One of the cloaked men raised his hand as if to stop her. “It is a fixed point; written in the stars. You know what that means.”

“There has to be something!” Owen’s mother screamed. But the cloaked crows turned and walked away.

That world disappeared around me and, the next thing I knew, I was bent over a table. I, as Owen, was shirtless and there was a searing pain in my back. It hurt like nothing I had ever felt before; like I had swallowed a flaming sword and it was fighting its way out of me.

Owen’s mother was in front of me. Her brown eyes were red and puffy, and she held my hand tight.

“It hurts so bad, Momma,” I heard Owen say in a young, tired voice. “I can’t do it.”

“You can my darling,” his mother said. She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “You have to. It’s the only way.”

I thought the pain was going to kill me; that I was going to die trapped in someone else’s body; which was a thought I had never considered before, but then I was gone.

It was night, and I was in a place like Weathersby, only larger. I had been carted out of my bed, dragged to an empty room and approached by a group of men. I didn’t know any of them, save for one. Edwin James, known as Avalanche. No, not me, I didn’t know him. But Owen did. He had taught Owen since he had got here, to Atlantia, the Weathersby-like facility. He was the man who was going to make sure Owen became every bit the Breaker he could be, every bit the Breaker his father expected of him.

Avalanche approached him and, in a voice that sounded like rumbling gravel, said, “I have a proposition for you.”

I was gone again. Now, I was in Crestview, watching a girl sit at the worn feet of a golden statue. She was picking at her nails and pulling at a locket around her neck. She was –she was me.

I remembered this moment. I was bored, feeling hopeless and horribly heartbroken. I wanted, more than anything else, to be back in Chicago, with my father’s arms wrapped around me. But, at that moment, I’d have settled for Owen’s.

He didn’t know that though, just as I didn’t know he was watching me then. I could feel it, seeing the memory from his angle, from both angles. He took pictures of me, the pictures I would later find on his phone. He was focused, intent on knowing me, on learning about me. It was his mission. Avalanche had made it clear; find the girl, befriend the girl, learn all you can about her, and wait for further instructions. His fingers, my fingers, moved again and another picture snapped. He studied my movements, deciphering what they meant. The way my leg shook said I was restless, unhappy where I was.

The girl I used to be hung her head and leaned against the statue. If I remembered correctly, this is when I would start to cry. As the tears rolled down my face, Cresta’s face, Owen’s hands dropped. He wasn’t taking pictures of me anymore. He wasn’t thinking of me as a mission or a mark. I was just a girl; a girl in pain. Something other than focus tickled at the back of his mind, and I was gone again.

The next place I found myself was at my house. Fire had engulfed it. It was gone. I was back and it was the day of the explosion. I was in Owen’s arms, looking with his eyes at my unconscious body.

Owen threw me in Casper’s arms.

“How did you-“

“Get here out of here!” Owen cut him off. “Don’t stop. Just go!”

Owen turned back to the fire, wondering if anyone could have survived that; wondering if there was any way my mother was still alive. He dove back into the fire, beating through the scorching heat. His mind was a meld of rage and regret. They had lied to him. Avalanche had tricked him. These were not Breakers he was working for, not real Breakers anyway. He had been made a fool. He had done damage and, in his stupidity, hurt someone he cared about. He had hurt-He had hurt me, and it was tearing him apart.

He pushed through the flames, reaching the wreckage of my backdoor. He should have known better. He should have been better. His father would have expected better. He jumped through the backdoor and, through his eyes, I saw my mother. She was lying on the floor. Her body was a bloody and broken thing.

“Mrs. Karr! I’m coming!” Owen screamed. If she moved, I could not tell, and he could not tell. He took a step toward her, thinking that, if he could get her out, maybe he could actually fix this. But, as he knelt down to pick her up, he was hit by something unseen. It felt like knives in my chest, knives in his chest, and then I was gone again.

I opened my eyes and found myself back with Echo and Casper. Owen was gone, as were the guards. I felt beside myself and weak. I started to move, trying to step forward, but my legs didn’t cooperate and I fell. Casper caught me, and helped lower me to the floor.

“Is she okay?” He looked to Echo.

“She’ll be fine. It can be strange the first time; that’s all,” he answered.

He wasn’t lying. All of me tingled. It seemed to be crackling with energy; like me being in my own body was too much for it to take.

“She’ll feel a lot better after a little nap,” he said and, from the corner of my eye, I saw him contort his hands in that familiar way that could only mean one thing. I wanted to stop him, to explain to him how sick I was of people putting me to sleep against my will, but I couldn’t force my mouth to move.

As sleep settled over me, I wondered if I could get my finger to give him a different message message instead.

I woke back in my room, back in the lavender gown.

They changed me again?

A covered dish sat on the dresser next to me. Delicious scents tickled at my nose and sent my stomach to growling. Apparently, there was something about being synthetically set unconscious that made me really hungry.

I sat up, half surprised that my body actually did what I asked. Uncovering my dinner, I was met with a plump pink salmon steak, steamed asparagus, garlic mashed potatoes, and the best mushroom soup I’d ever had. Okay, so it was the only mushroom soup I had ever had and I was starving, but it was still good enough that I picked the bowl up and slurped it like cereal.

When I was done licking the bowl, I noticed a letter beside the fish that I had overlooked earlier.

Opening it, I saw that it was just a bunch of gibberish. Letters smashed together with numbers and weird symbols, it didn’t make any sense. Suddenly though, things started to connect. I saw the letters as more than just nonsense. It was a pattern. It popped out in front of me, like it was written in glowing red while the rest was dull black.

The numbers after each set of letters meant something. The first number was 9. So, if I counted nine letters back, I would find the first letter of whatever message was hidden within.

I opened the drawer. Finding a pen and slip of paper, I went to work. Deciphering the code, I leaned up and looked at the finished message in front of me.

If you can read this, you’re ready. Come to the garden. Fool the dragon.

-The Girl in the Tower

Chapter 10

Fooling the Dragon

I LOOKED AT it for a second, wondering if what I wrote down was even real. Was there really a message in this letter or was it just nonsense? Was this a test and, if it was, did I pass? Who was the girl in the tower, and why on earth was there a dragon in the garden?

These questions were crazy, but my time at Weathersby told me that things like normal didn’t matter here. And, if I wanted my questions answered, I’d have to do what the letter said; at least to the point of going to the garden.

I opened the dresser beside my bed and found a whole new wardrobe. And not even the bland brown and white Dahlia-esque stuff they left for me earlier. This stuff was cool. Designer jeans, some hoodies, a couple of pairs of Sketchers; it looked like these guys were finally getting the idea. I changed into my new clothes and slipped out of the room.

I found the common area dark and empty, save for the lone lights that were also on the first time Casper and I were drug through here. The classroom areas were barren too and, when I pushed outside, I found out why. It was pitch black outside; well into the night. I must have slept all day. But, as I made my way toward the garden in the distance, I learned that wasn’t all. It turned out that no one was inside because everybody, everyone in Weathersby, was in the garden.

The adults; teachers, custodians, and the like, lined up along the edges of the gigantic garden, watching the student body inside. But what were they doing?

The garden had been transformed into a maze; its once straight rows of daisies, sunflowers, violets, and, petunias were overgrown and had contorted themselves into massive floral walls. Hedge walls that shot up at least eight feet tall created dozens of intersecting pathways that branched off in a bunch of directions. Fountains stood at each corner of the maze; water bubbling out of stone angels that d heleither harps or arrows, depending on which side you were standing. A stone door arched at the far end, obviously indicating an entrance. It was so rundown with its age marks and vines sprouting flowers and grapes, that it made Hernando’s worn feet look showroom ready.

Cliques of kids ran back and forth within the maze, darting between the hedge walls and rose bushes. A light mist danced along the edges but got downright thick once it reached the maze.

“What are you doing out here?” A man asked me as I neared. He was lean and long; so thin that, when he turned to look back at the crowd, I was afraid I might lose sight of him. His dark hair was streaked with gray and ended in curls that rested on his shoulders. His face was gaunt, with cheekbones that you could grate cheese with. “Shouldn’t you be in there having fun?”

As soon as the word fun left his thin lips, a bright shot of green flew up from somewhere inside the maze, bursting like fireworks as it stretched up into the sky. The crowd- Well, half of it anyway, exploded into loud rounds of applause. “Look, they’ve burst through the Moonblood’s defenses. You’re missing the best part,” he smiled.

His eyes narrowed and then lit up. “Wait, you’re the greenie aren’t you, or the new girl, more appropriately? I’m Dr. Static. I teach Implementation of Prophecy. You’re something of a celebrity around here. Brand new Breakers are strictly theoretical. Well, until now, I suppose. It’s nice to meet you.”

He stuck a hand out for me to shake, though it was filled with a cinnamon sugar soft pretzel. “Oh!’ He shuffled, stuck it in his mouth, and offered me his hand again.

“I’m Cresta,” I answered, shaking it.

“A pleasure,” he said, his words muffled by the pretzel. Cinnamon sugar fell in clumps from his lips.

“What’s going on?” I asked, wiping a layer of glaze I had picked up from Dr. Static’s hand on the front of my jeans.

He smiled and ripped out a chunk of pretzel.

For somebody with a name like a super villain, he sure does seem cheerful.

“It’s the game; Fooling the Dragon. It’s the biggest night of the semester; counts for a third of your grade. You know, for those who actually go to school here,” he shuffled and made the amendment.

My mind flashed back to the letter.

Go to the garden. Fool the dragon.

Was that what all of this was about, to get me to come to some stupid game?

“I don’t get it,” I brushed blond bangs out of my eyes. “You guys do all this; turn the garden into a giant maze just for some game?”

“Who’s to say the garden doesn’t always look like this? Eyes are overrated in terms of dependability; that’s what I always say,” he grinned.

I stifled a grimace.

Stupid Breaker illusions.

Another flash of light; this one blue and shaped like a tidal wave, appeared at the center of the maze and parted, breaking apart into smaller ripples as it spread. Now, the half of the audience that didn’t applaud the last time; Dr. Static included, started laughing and cheering.

“What is that?” I asked.

“Sensory illusion; looks like a class B one to me too. Very impressive. Breakers create and modify energy known as the shade. It’s not real but, once mastered; the illusionist has the power to make his victims believe it is. My guess is, right now, that Dragon brigade is under the impression that they’re drowning in the wide open sea.”

“What the hell kind of game is this?” I asked, walking toward the edge where the grownups were standing. A bright yellow line; like glowing painter’s tape, ran in a square across the garden, separating the game from the people watching it.

“Everyone’s favorite, of course,” Dr. Static answered, still cheering. “It’s fun and educational.” He frowned a little when he realized I still didn’t know what he was talking about. “It’s a prophecy, Greenie; one of our most important prophecies. It’s about the end of the world, and the Breaker who’s responsible for it. The prophecy states that an extremely powerful Breaker; the Moonblood, will one day set into motion a series of events that the Earth will never recover from. He’ll crush entire civilizations under his boot and his reign of terror will be like none that’s ever existed before.”

He pointed from one side of the maze to the other.

“It’ll only stop when the dragon comes, rips his throat out, and ends the horror once and for all.” He gave me a playful nudge. “You really need to come to my class. This is all first year stuff.”

He leaned down so that his face was level with mine and pointed toward the maze again. “There are two teams in the game; the Moonbloods and the Dragons. The members of each team draw cards. One of the Moonbloods is determined to be the Moonblood, or the Destroyer, while one of the Dragons is determined to be the Dragon, or the Redeemer. The members of each team have to keep their figurehead from falling into enemy hands while also trying to capture the opposing team’s figurehead themselves. The team that is able to do that wins the game.” He made mock air quotes and let his voice slip into a dramatic singsong . “And with it, the fate of the world.”

“And some of you guys are pulling for the Destroyer guy?” I asked when a spark of blue electricity shot down like lightning into the center of the maze and Dr. Static did a Tiger Woods-esque fist pump.

“Well, they’re not actually the Destroyer. And besides, the teachers have a betting pool.”

I smirked and shook my head. “Hey, who’s the girl in the tower?” I asked, wondering if he could help me.

“You mean like a seer’s tower? There are no seers in this game.”

“Oh, well I’m gonna go,” I answered, but Dr. Static had other ideas.

“I don’t think so, Greenie,” he said, and pushed me across the glowing yellow tape. “New Moonblood!” He yelled and his half of the audience started cheering again.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I said and walked back to the tape. When I reached it though, my feet stopped moving. I couldn’t do it. The tape wouldn’t let me pass.

“Can’t get out ‘till the game’s over,” Dr. Static chuckled. “Don’t worry. You’ll get the hang of it.”

A swirl of red energy, like exploding cherry bombs started nipping around my Sketchers. I kicked, dancing like Ashley Simpson on SNL, trying to put it out. Everybody started laughing and, through a flush of anger, I heard Dr. Static say, “Better get in there, Greenie.”

I sighed and ran into the garden maze, figuring I could at least douse my feet in one of the fountains. But as soon as I rounded the closest hedge wall, everything changed.

I tried to remind myself of Dr. Static’s words.

Sensory Illusion, it’s not real.

“It’s not real,” I murmured to myself, but it was hard. The garden maze stretched and flattened out. The flowered walls transformed into metal barriers accented with barbwire and spikes that jutted up into the air. The ground under my feet, lush and fertile from the outside, dried up and cracked. The grass, plants, vegetation, and shrubbery melted away. The scorched land heated up so much that the soles of my feet started to burn even more. I kept moving , afraid that if I stopped for too long, the heat would work its way through the soles of my shoes.

I heard the sounds of fighting all around me; an explosion, scuffling, yells; but there was no one to be seen. I turned, thinking that I might exit the maze and just wait along the edges until the whole thing ended but, when I spun back around, the entrance I used had vanished.

Sighing, I turned back around, only to be met by a sandstorm. Well, not exactly a sandstorm. It was more like a whirling dervish made of red crackling energy.

“It’s not real,” I repeated, backing up against the now metal wall. It felt real though. I felt grains of sand showering my face; a precursor to the storm that inched closer. It sounded real, whipping against my eardrums and drowning out my once loud surroundings. It even smelled real; like heat and the desert.

My doubts started to disappear as I continued to back up; pressing my back against the unyielding wall. This wasn’t some illusion; not when I could see, smell, and feel it. This was real, and it was going to kill me. Unless, of course, I ran.

I darted away from the twister just as it collided with the wall, sending sheets of sand spraying in every direction. The winds were heavy and almost knocked me off my feet, but I managed to stay standing, to stay running.

I heard an echo, a voice screaming over the noise.

“Night!” It yelled.

Night, what did that mean?

Turning, I saw Jackson. He was dressed all in blue with a strip of blue paint running across his eyes. He stood on top of a hill so large that there was no way the maze could have realistically hidden it.

He cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed again.

“Nice!”

Was he giving me a compliment?

“I can’t hear you!” I yelled but, as I opened my mouth, glowing red sand flew inside, choking me. The twister was nipping at my heels now, ready to consume me.

“Ice! Ice!” Jackson yelled. ”Freeze it! Think about ice!”

The glowing twister lifted me off the ground, pulling me into its hungry red mouth. I whipped around like a stuffed animal in the washing machine.

“Ice. Ice.Ice.Ice,” I muttered over and over again, trying to bring it into the forefront of my mind. “Snowflakes, ice cubes, Frosty, a frozen lake.”

My head whipped, jiggling my brain around like a pinball in a machine.

“Damn it! Ice tea!”

The twister stopped, hardening around me. I fell immediately and smacked against the dry, but cooler, ground. Standing, I found myself in the middle of a crystal sculpture. The red energy was frozen. The ground around me was frozen. Even the air had a bite to it as it blew by. I worked my way through the openings in the sandstorm sculpture, realizing I had frozen the lot of it…with my mind.

“It’s not real, but it’s still really cool, right?” Jackson asked smiling. The hill he was one had faded back into the ground and he was standing level in front of me. ”Welcome to the Moonbloods.”

I looked down. I was dressed in the same blue uniform he was wearing. Touching my face, I felt the same blue mark running over my eyes. “We’re the bad guys?” was the only thing I could manage.

“Yeah,” he grinned mischievously. “Or what’s left of them.”

I looked around. There was no one anywhere. “Just you and me?” I asked.

“On the bright side, that’s twice as many of us as there were two minutes ago.”

Though I knew, like the red sandstorm, the ice I used to stop it was just an illusion; a shade, I still shivered with its closeness.

“What about the Moonblood? Aren’t we supposed to protect him?”

Jackson ran his hand over his chest. The front of his uniform shimmered, revealing a red crescent at his heart. Moving his hand back, it disappeared.

“It’s you?” My brows knitted together.

“Don’t sound so shocked. I’m awesome; super great in a really dope way,” he nodded, as though he was agreeing with himself.

“Don’t let Casper teach you lingo anymore.”

A crackle of red energy, like a fireball, hurtled over one of the giant metal walls. It collided with the frozen sandstorm. Its splintered pieces flew at us like frozen daggers. Jackson and I grabbed each other and hit the floor.

“It’s not real. It’s not real,” I muttered over and over again.

“Does that work?” Jackson asked just as an ice shard landed inching from our faces.

“N-not really,” I stuttered.

We jumped to our feet once the ice stopped flying and started to run. I felt a rush of heat from behind me as well as a strange flapping sound that made my heart stop. Jackson looked back.

“Do I wanna turn around?” I asked.

“That depends. What are your feelings about lizards?”

I turned left at a crossway in the maze, with Jackson behind me and whatever was making that flapping noise right behind him. When I turned around, the sight of it took my breath away. A huge red dragon, glowing with so much energy that it lit up the entire maze, the entire sky, flew toward us. Its feet curved up into claws, scales covered its body, its wings stretched out like a bat’s, and smoke poured from its mouth.

It shot another fireball at us. It collided with the metal wall behind us and burned straight through. We ran again.

“We can’t outrun it!” Jackson yelled; his short legs trying to keep up.

The letter’s words flashed in my mind again.

Fool the dragon.

“We don’t have to,” I said. I pulled him behind a small rose bush that sat in the center of another crossroads. “This is all shade, right?” I looked at him. “And we can control it?”

“Yeah.” His breaths were quick and heavy.

“Make this grow. Hide us. I’ve got a plan.”

Jackson closed his eyes and held his hand out. The rose bush grew and expanded. Soon It was a hedge and then a tree; a large expansive tree with limbs that sprouted roses of every color.

“Now look at me,” I said.

“What are we doing?” He opened his eyes.

“Fooling the dragon,” I smiled.

By the time the dragon reached us; the flapping of its wings so loud that it shook the ground underfoot, I walked from behind the rose tree to meet it. I wasn’t myself though. To the dragon, I looked just like Jackson, glowing red crescent and all. I had never thought about dragons smiling until the horrible red thing’s mouth twisted into a grin; its sharp teeth snapping before me. It reared back and, just as it was about to bathe me in hot red energy, Jackson jumped out from the other side of the tree. With a bright blue dagger in his hand, he threw it. Hitting the monster in the heart, it roared, convulsed, and spit fire into the air. Finally, it crumpled onto itself and disappeared. A small flag fell from where the dragon used to be. It danced around in the air until it came to rest in Jackson’s palm.

A trumpet sounded and the maze, in its entirety, melted around us. We were back in the garden, with all of the other students and teachers circling us, clapping and cheering our names.

“I told you it would be fun,” Dr. Static winked as he neared me. I looked down to find that my clothes had reverted back to normal and, touching my cheek, that the strip was no longer over my eyes.

The crowd lifted Jackson into the air and chanted “Jackson! Jackson!”

Looks like he won’t have to wait until next year for more friends.

“You slayed the dragon,” Dr. Static settled beside me, watching the crowd carry a laughing Jackson away. “Not bad for a greenie.”

“Jackson slayed the dragon. I just confused it,” I answered.

“No one ever slays the dragon,” he said.

“Cause it goes against your prophecy?” I asked.

“Because it’s a freaking dragon. And it’s your prophecy too, you know,” he grinned. “You have a lot of potential. I think you could be a hell of a Breaker one day.”

I remembered what Echo said about my mom.

She was a hell of a Breaker.

Was that even what I wanted? I looked away, staring at the wide open field that stretched between the garden and the woods and separated Weathersby from the outside world. It was dark and the moon was crescent tonight, though not red. A glimmer in the openness caught my eye. As I stared, the world seemed to shift. A wave of something rippled across my line of sight. Where once there was nothing but trees and air, a tower now stood. It was tall and thin, made of white brick with a golden cap at its top. It was bare expect for a door at the bottom and a large arched window near the cap.

A girl stood in the archway. Her hair, dark enough to match the night sky, came down in a crown of bangs and her skin was pale to the point of being almost colorless.

The girl in the tower.

“Will you excuse me? I have to….” My voice trailed off as I walked away from Dr. Static.

I started out into the field toward the tower. Walking away from the rush of noise coming from the crowd, I realized I must be the only one who saw it. Otherwise, celebration or not, you’d think somebody would care about a tower appearing out of nowhere.

As I reached the door, gold to accent the top, I noticed a string of symbols etched into the brick. A vine of intertwining silver and red circled the bottom with large golden roses drawn along them. If it was a decoration, it was a good one; as beautifully done as any painting I had ever seen.

If it was an anchor, like the large red ‘W’s that strung along the whole of Weathersby, it wasn’t quite as successful; you know, since I could see it and all.

I felt the girl’s eyes on me as I ran my hand along the drawn roses, but when I looked up, she was gone. I pushed through the unlocked door and was met with a pair of matching doors and a set of stairs that winded up in circles for what seemed like forever.

A large golden rose was drawn on both doors. As I neared them, I heard noises from the stairs. Footsteps, then two sets of footsteps, then voices. I pulled open the left rose door, not sure how I’d explain my presence in an obviously hidden tower.

The letter told me to do it?

Stuffing myself inside, I found that it was an empty closet. Or, if it wasn’t, then the stuff inside was shaded so well that I couldn’t see it. Either way, I pressed my ear against the wall and listened.

“I don’t know why you’re acting like this.” It was Echo. His words, Echo’s echo, sounded throughout the tower, but something told me that if I was even an inch outside of the building, I wouldn’t be able to hear it.

“That’s because I’m acting reasonably; the way reasonable adults do.” The other voice belonged to Dahila. It was stern, but less cold than it had ever been when she was talking to me. She breathed heavy and I could hear the exasperation in her tone. “There’s no reason she should be here.”

She?

“That wasn’t my call. If you have a problem with her placement, bring it up with the Masons. It was the Council who approved it,” Echo answered.

“And I’m sure you were completely silent on the matter,” Dahlia scoffed.

“What does that mean?” Echo balked.

“It means you fought to keep her here.”

“And why would I do that?”

“You know why.” Dahlia’s voice was quiet, almost downtrodden.

“Don’t start this again,” Echo warned.

“Ash’s daughter shows up in the middle of the night, the first unknown Breaker in 100 years, and the Council just lets you keep her here, no questions asked? Do you really expect me to believe that?”

Me. They were talking about me.

“I expect you to trust me,” Echo answered. “This is a unique situation, and as such-“

“Don’t talk to me like I’m one of your students! This has nothing to do with how rare she might be.”

“Dahlia, don’t!” His voice cut through the place like a knife, but if it affected her, she didn’t let it show.

“This is about her! Like everything else in our entire lives, this is about Ash. Go ahead, try to deny it. Tell me the fact that this girl is the daughter of your ex-wife has nothing to do with the way you’re acting. ”

Things were silent for a while. Just when I was about to push the door open and see if they’d left, Dahlia spoke again.

“We don’t know who’s after her. We don’t know what Ash had been up to for the last fifteen years. I mean, she obviously kept tabs on you. She knew just where to send her little girl once whatever trouble she was causing proved too much.”

A flash of anger rose in my gut, but I stayed silent, stayed still.

“Yes. The fact that this girl who I didn’t know existed is the daughter of my wife who I thought was dead did occur to me. Is that what you want me to say?”

“Your ex-wife,” she corrected. “Ash is your ex-wife. Though, you’ve always had trouble remembering that. And the fact of the matter is, whether you want to believe it or not, Cresta is dangerous. She’s an untrained Breaker and trouble is nipping at her heels.”

“Would you rather I turn her out, let the big bad whoever have her?” Echo asked.

“I would rather if you followed protocol and sent her to the Hourglass, where she’d be safe.”

“Please! Until two days ago she didn’t even know what she was. The Hourglass would eat her alive. This is the best place for her. The Council understands that.”

“And it doesn’t hurt that she’s a walking reminder of your first love,” Dahlia sighed.

“Dahlia, I don’t know when this is going to stop with you. You and I have done the greatest thing two people could ever do together. We gave birth to a Seer. There is no better fit for me. None. Sure, maybe I talked about Ash a little too much. Maybe she held a certain place in my heart, but that was when I thought she had died doing her job; when she was a martyr and not some turncoat. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Morgan, the girl is a Capricorn.”

“She isn’t!” He said it so loudly that I wondered why it mattered so much. “I accessed the records at the hospital in Chicago where she was born. Her birthday is in March.”

“Stop it. That girl drips Capricorn. Even a youngling could see that. You-“

That’s enough!” I heard a loud clanging, like Echo had punched the wall or something. Instinctively, I jerked away from the door. ”I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”

“Then maybe I should just say it.” I could hear the tears in Dahlia’s voice, even though, try as I might, I couldn’t actually picture someone like her crying. “It takes two Breakers to have a Breaker baby. Did you really think Ash just ran away and happened to find a husband who had those inherent traits; those exceedingly rare traits? You know better than that. That girl is a Capricorn. Ash was pregnant when she faked her death.”

The breath caught in my throat, and not because of asthma.

“You’re keeping Cresta here for the same reason you don’t want to have this conversation; because you know there’s a chance that she’s your daughter.”

Chapter 11

Why Nine Year Olds Don’t Get Tattoos

DAHLIA RAN OUT of the tower after she dropped the bombshell. Echo went t after her. It was for the best because, if they hadn’t, I’m sure I would have burst out of that closet with my mouth open asking for an explanation.

Echo could be my father. The thought rolled around in my head, wrecking whatever serenity had managed to survive the last few days. I spit the idea out as I exited the closet and the tower. This wasn’t something I was even going to entertain. Sure, my whole world had upended. I was a closet freak with superpowers I still hadn’t begun to broach, and my mother was a runaway from a secret cult. But I knew my father. I knew him in my bones, in my DNA. He was there when I was born, and I was there when he died. No one was going to take him from me.

But was Dahlia right? If it took two people with Breaker DNA to give birth to a Breaker, then my dad must have had the DNA. But, if he had, why wasn’t he in the Hourglass with the other Breakers? Did my mom know my dad had special DNA? Is that why she settled down with him?

I shook my head hard, trying to clear it. There were too many questions I couldn’t answer, too many moving parts to my life that I had no idea about. I stumbled back toward the main building. Echo and Dahlia were gone, which was fine with me. If I had seen them, I’d have probably started screaming or crying or something.

I turned back to the tower, but it too had disappeared, taking the girl with the pale skin with it. She had brought me here. The thought slammed into my mind like a semi-truck. She wanted me to hear what Dahlia said about my mother, but why?

And who was she anyway? Who was the girl in the tower?

As I made my way back into the common area, blackened and still empty, I remembered what Dr. Static had said when I asked about her.

A seer’s tower?

Is that what that was? Was the girl watching me from the window a seer? Another piece of tonight solidified in my mind. It was what Echo said to Dahlia in the heat of their argument.

You and I have done the greatest thing two people could ever do together. We gave birth to a Seer.

The seer was their daughter. Is that why she was here, hidden away from everyone? But what kind of people kept their daughter in a tower?

A sickening thought came to me. If she was their daughter, and there was a chance that Echo was my father, did that mean I had a sister?

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

I jumped. Turning, I saw Owen sitting cross-legged on the couch. My mind had been running so frantically that I hadn’t noticed him there, or the Wonder Knife infomercial playing on the television in front of him.

It slices. It dices. It even cuts through stainless steel!

His face was less puffy, but still bruised. His nose was swollen and there were gashes above his left eyebrow and on his left arm. Part of me wanted to run to him, to wrap my arms around him, and tell him everything that was going on; like we were back in Crestview and he was listening to me complain about the way everything closes at 9 o’clock, even on the weekends. But we weren’t back in Crestview, and Owen wasn’t the person I could talk about stuff with anymore. Maybe he never had been.

I stopped, frozen where I stood. Careful not to meet his eyes, I said, “It’s really none of your business.”

Watch the Wonder Knife cut through a steel pipe with ease!

He stood, slowly like he was in a lot of pain, but didn’t come any closer. “I guess I deserve that.” He ran a hand through his hair and let it rest at the nape of his neck, where his dark hair curled up in ringlets. Given the position of his arm, I could see a huge bruise that had been hidden before. I tried not to bristle, but I mustn’t have done a good job, because he answered my expression. “I’m okay. Really I am.”

“I didn’t ask.” I regretted the sharpness in my tone as soon as the words came out, but the wince that settled between his eyes told me it was too late to take it back.

“I know,” he answered in a small voice. “Look, there are things we need to talk about, things I want to explain.”

It’s so sharp it even cuts through brillo pads with ease!

“There really isn’t,” I held my hands out in front of me, telling him to stop. “I saw it all. I watched that weird movie disc that Echo pulled out of your head. I know what happened.”

The news seemed to stun him. He lowered back down onto the couch and stared at me for a second with his hands wrapped around his shoulders like I had just seen him naked or something.

“Okay,” he finally said, shaking his head. “So you know now. You know that I didn’t know what was going to happen. You know that I would have never ever intentionally done something that would have hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” Now the sharpness in my voice was intentional. “You lied to me for two years. You sold yourself as someone you’re not. You passed yourself off as my friend. You made me feel things that-“

I turned my back to him, suddenly feeling like I was naked too. “Look,” I said, closing my hand into a ball. “I know you pulled me out of that fire, I know you tried to save my mother, and I appreciate that. But I don’t know you. I never really did. And, whether you meant to or not, everything that happened was your fault. If not for the things you did, my mom would still be alive.”

“Don’t you think I know that? This is killing me. If I could take it back, if I could trade places with her and bring her back to you, I swear to God, I swear on fate, that I would. You have to believe me.”

His voice grew closer now. He was off the couch, walking toward me. He touched my arm lightly, letting his fingers rest at my elbow. “Please look at me, Cress.”

There had been so many times that his touch, that those fingers had lit me up; so many times that I had lay awake at night, thinking about him accidentally grazing my shoulder or brushing the hair out of my eyes with his thumb. Those nights, in my bed, I thought that touch could fix everything. But now, now I didn’t know what to think.

“No,” I said through clenched teeth, tears flowing hot down my raw tired cheeks. “I don’t have to believe you. I don’t have to do anything for you, because I don’t know you!” I turned to him, though I don’t think the growing rage in my eyes was what he expected when he asked me to look at him. “You’re not Owen. You’re not even real. You’re some weird half person cult baby who thinks it’s okay to screw with people’s lives. I’m sick of being lied to and I’m sick of lairs. Whoever you are, I’m not interested. Whatever you think there is between us, there isn’t. “

He reared away from me, like my words were bullets or the Wonder Knife and he were that poor brillo pad, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t; not now.

“I don’t know what my life is going to look like Owen, and don’t even know what I am anymore.”

It slices!

“But I do know one thing. Whatever I do, whoever I become; you won’t be a part of it.”

It dices!

“And don’t call me Cress,” I said, turning away from him. “Only my friends get to call me Cress.”

It breaks your heart.

When I got back to my room, I found another note sitting on my bed. Opening it, I found it was in a code similar to the last one. Once again, the letters reached out to me, begging me to read them.

Destroy the clover, mourn the flicker, mind the ring.

The Girl in the Tower.

Sighing,I crumpled it up, and threw it away.

The next week went by as a sort of dance between the strange and mundane. I started taking classes at Weathersby. Some, like Advanced Algebra, were almost page for page the sort of thing I left back at DeSoto. Others, Dr. Static’s Implementation of Prophecy for example, were things that no one back in Crestview could have ever dreamt up.

Dr. Static taught us about seers; how they were like the top of the Breaker food chain; how, because they’re so evolved, they’re by far the rarest type of Breaker to be born, and that, without seers, the other Breakers wouldn’t be able to do their jobs and the world would sink into utter chaos.

It was a cheery class.

There had only been two times since the beginning of recorded history that the world had went without seers, Dr. Static told us. Those times became known as The Dark Ages and World War 2. So, you know, I guess he made his point.

Hearing about seers got me thinking about the one seer I had ever…well, seen. It was no good though. Thinking about the girl in the tower only got me thinking about Echo and the connection that the two of us might share.

To that end, I did my best to dodge him. I couldn’t bear to look at him at the moment, to think about what might or might not be true, to wonder about why our eyes were the same color. If I didn’t ask him the question, then he couldn’t answer it. And if he couldn’t answer it, I could go on pretending the entire idea was ridiculous.

The closest I came to broaching the subject was when I worked up the nerve to ask Dr. Static if it was possible that a Breaker might go out into the world, find some random to shack up with, and get a Breaker kid out of the deal.

Though he seemed a little taken aback by my use of ‘shack up’, he conceded that it was “theoretically possible, I suppose, though the odds are infinitesimal.”

I stopped listening after possible. With possible, I could manage. With possible, I could hang on to the shredded tether of normalcy that was left to me. I could deal with possible, even if it was just theoretical.

That did mean that I had to steer clear of Echo though. One wrong word and he’d probably know something was up. Then his weird Breaker powers would pull the truth out of me like a shiatsu with a rubber hot dog. That was pretty easy though. What with the insane amount of classes I was going to (I swear, there were like ten a day), I was busy enough that running into him was never a real problem. Besides, he wasn’t the only one I was trying to stay away from.

Since my blowup with Owen, I had done my best to try to put him out of my mind. I would just focus on my classes, focus on this crazy secret world that had just opened up at my feet, and then I wouldn’t have to think about him. I wouldn’t have to think about the deep blue pools of his eyes, or the way his lips always curled when he said my name. I wouldn’t have to think about the way his arms bulged under his shirt sleeves, or the nape of his neck, or the small of his back….

No. I wasn’t thinking about any of that.

To his credit, he made it easy on me. Whenever we had to share the same space, he was always careful to keep his distance. When we were at lunch, he’d always sit by himself off to the side. Platters would be served to him, which he would barely touch, and I only caught him looking at me twice.

I, on the other hand, was routinely surrounded by friendly faces. It was like we had slipped into some kind of bizzaro DeSoto land where I was the popular one and Owen was the outcast. I couldn’t go three seconds without someone introducing themselves or offering to show me around. They were even cool about Casper, who was taking to this whole thing so much better than me.

Turned out there was a certain cache to being a human inside the Breaker world. Crazily enough, most of them had never met someone who wasn’t a Breaker before. Casper was an oddity, a rooster in the henhouse. They had countless questions for him; about the way humans thought, the things they liked to do, about what a Kardashian was. Casper was the most popular guy around, and he ate it up, especially from the girls.

The only person who was in higher demand than my ginger haired best friend was me. My story, or the pieces of my story that weren’t still shrouded in mystery, became the only thing anybody talked about. I was the Breaker from the other side of the tracks; the prodigal daughter whose secret life literally exploded when the truth came out. Everybody seemed to have a theory about why my mom kept me hidden all these years.

Teera, a large girl who introduced herself by taking half of my chicken kabob, thought Mom had grown tired of her life as a Breaker and, when her mission went south and she saw a way out, took it. She didn’t say it, but there was something in Teera’s voice that made me think she would do the same thing if given the chance.

Edison, a bookish boy with golden spiked hair, said that a lot of people thought Mom must have had an affair and, knowing that genetic testing after my birth would prove it, decided to bolt instead of staying and facing the shame. Of course, he wasn’t one of the people who thought that.

Jackson thought I was an alien. “A really pretty one, but an alien all the same.”

None of them, it seemed, thought that my dad was actually my dad. That was too out there even for them.

The one part of my story that didn’t spark any debate was Owen. Everyone, every single person I talked to, painted him as an idiot. He wasn’t malicious. He wasn’t trying to destroy me or my family. They didn’t give him enough credit for that. He was just the Breaker that got tricked, the boy who should have known better, the guy who let his ambition get the better of him and, in doing so, shamed his family. Maybe that’s why everybody kept their distance from him; they didn’t want the embarrassment to rub off on them.

I wanted to feel for him, even if I couldn’t bring myself to actually tell him so. But I still wasn’t sure how I felt about him, about everything. And besides, I had more than enough to keep me busy.

Once the ‘asthma medicine’ had worked its way out of my system, I started noticing weird things. First off, the symptoms of my asthma, the shortness of breath, the closing throat, all vanished. Then a veil seemed to lift from my mind. It was like I was waking up from a long sleep or something. Pieces of my brain I didn’t know I had clicked on, and the results were pretty huge.

On Monday, I learned French…the entire language. On Tuesday, I took, and completed, Beginner’s Geometry, Biology, and Physics. On Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, they crammed as much world history into my mind as possible. I started seeing cyclical patters in time. History really did repeat itself. I started seeing patterns in everything else too. German came easy because I already knew French. Putting what I learned to use, I cracked Russian in half an hour. I was a machine, and what was more, I enjoyed it.

It was like, since my mind had gone so long denying everything it could do, it was thirsty for the knowledge. I soaked it up like a sponge and licked the bowl when I was done. It was gratifying, like scratching a decade old itch that I had never noticed before. These connections, Dr. Static said, were only the first steps in what I would eventually become. Once my mind managed to push past the confines of what it had been trained to do my entire life, I’d start to feel the real effects of being a Breaker. Maybe I’d be able to move things with my mind, like Ezra. Maybe I’d be a human lie detector, like Echo. Or maybe I’d be a superhumanly frigid bitch, like Dahlia.

Though it took most Breakers years to fine-tune their strengths and coax out their abilities, they were much younger when they started. Dr. Static told me that my own progress would be a little trickier to gauge. I was older, which meant my mind was more set in its ways. But it also meant that I presumably had a maturity that many of Breakers didn’t when they were just learning the basics at four or five. Which was a good thing, if being told you’re probably more mature than a five year old was even a compliment.

The point was I had things to keep my mind busy; busy enough that I didn’t have to think about Owen, Echo, the girl in the tower, or that fact that nine days after she left, Merrin still hadn’t returned. She had said it would take her two hours; that, in that time, she’d pull apart every secret hiding in Crestview. Maybe she was just bragging though. Maybe she wasn’t being literal and this sort of thing took time. Or maybe what she found in Crestview was so big that she had to stay awhile. Maybe whoever was after me was so unexpected, so impressive and intimidating, that it was taking this long just to feel them out.

It had been two weeks since Casper and I had drove up to Weathersby’s gates, and I still hadn’t really found a footing. I began to think that maybe the kids at DeSoto High hadn’t been the problem. Maybe it wasn’t that they were small town. Maybe I was just closed minded. It certainly felt that way to me, because no matter how many perfectly cool looking Breakers walked up to me and offered friendship, I just wasn’t interested. Even Jackson; a cool little kid by anyone’s standards, wasn’t someone I’d consider a friend.

So, I suppose it shouldn’t come as a surprise that, as I walked down the hall of the common area, waving at the rock-climbing, arrow-shooting, and holographic puzzle-solving Breakers that I passed, the only thing I really wanted to do was veg out with Casper in front of the TV.

Wonder if they have pay-per-view here.

“You think we can find a Criminal Minds marathon or something on?” I asked, pushing into Casper’s room without knocking, the way I used to back in Crestview when the world was normal.

Casper wasn’t there though. Instead, I was met with a very intense looking, and very shirtless, Owen. His cuts had healed over, his bruises had faded, and his face had leveled out into its natural look. Aside from a few small gashes that only served to make him look rugged, he was his old self again. And I, against my better judgment, found myself falling back into old patterns. My eyes lingered on his body, tracing the arch where his neck spilled into his shoulders, running along the peaks and valleys of his smooth arms, corded with muscle, resting on the light trail of hair that ran down from his naval.

“Sorry. He-uh, isn’t here,” Owen said, blinking hard. He had a shirt in his hands, a plain black tee, but didn’t make any move to put it on. In fact, he didn’t move at all. It was like the sight of me, or maybe the fact that I had actually spoken, even if it wasn’t meant for him, froze him where he stood. “He-I can-I’ll tell him you came by.”

“Okay,” I answered in a small voice. I turned to leave, but stopped, not sure of anything except that I didn’t want to leave just yet. Questions or not, lies or not, Owen had been my friend once. He had been more than that once, and I missed him. “What are you doing here, in Casper’s room?” I asked, turning back to him.

“It’s my room now too,” he answered, twisting the black shirt so that it swirled into a spiraled rag in his hands. I tried not to notice the way the muscles in his chest flexed while doing it. “They moved me in with Casper until it’s time for me to go back to the Hourglass.”

“You’re leaving?” I hated the way my heart sank when I considered that.
“I have to go before the Council of Masons because of what I did to you,” he explained. His voice cracked with the last words: ‘to you’.

I forced myself to stay completely still, afraid that if I moved even an inch, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from going to him.

“Are you in trouble?” I asked, trying to sound flippant.

“Maybe. Probably.” He gave one of those closemouthed smiles people do when they’re trying to make you feel better about something bad happening. “I’m sure they’ll make me wear these for a little while longer.” He lifted his arms to reveal a pair of thin metal rings circling either forearm. It was strange that I hadn’t noticed them before, given how thoroughly I had inspected those arms. “They bind my abilities,” he explained, reading the confusion in my face. “I guess they want to make sure I’m trustworthy before I have access to my powers again. Or maybe it’s a way of punishing me for everything that happened. Either way-“

“You’re neutered,” I finished.

“That’s one way of putting it,” he smiled a little wider.

“When will you go?” I asked. The shirt was a ball in his hands now, which had me yearning for my lost necklace or anything to fiddle with.

“They’ll probably send for me in a few days, which is fine. Things haven’t exactly been easy here.”

“I noticed. They’re pretty hard on you.”

“It’s nothing more than what I deserve,” he straightened. “I was manipulated. I let myself be used. It was shameful behavior.”

I remembered what it was like to see Owen’s life through his own eyes, the thoughts he had about his father. What kind of father could instill that sort of need for perfection in his son? I wondered how many of Owen’s words were his own and how many belonged to his father.

“For what it’s worth, I hope things work out for you,” I said, but didn’t look at him. “I really do,” I turned again, this time intent on actually leaving.

“You were wrong,” he said, and it stopped me in my tracks. “When you said you didn’t know me, you were wrong.”

“Owen, I-“

“You’re the only person who really knows me, maybe the only person who ever has.” He scrambled toward me now, clutching at his twisted shirt like a life preserver. “You were the first real person I ever knew. The first thing I said to you, they were like my first words.”

“You asked me where the Science lab was,” I said, perplexed.

“And you told me,” he continued. “And then you made some joke about Mr. Harrison’s hairpiece, and that’s when I knew you weren’t just some mark. You’re a person. You’re-you’re amazing.”

My mouth was dry, my heart racing. But I didn’t know how to react. Turns out I didn’t have to, because he wasn’t finished.

“The point is, I don’t remember who I was before Crestview, and I don’t think I want to. That boy was lost. He was scrambling for things that other people told him were important. I’m Owen Jacobs. I’m the guy who watched Pulp Fiction with you while the rest of the sophomore class quoted scripture. I’m the guy who hates olives and doesn’t know how to dress. I’m the guy you cried in front of when your mom didn’t do anything for your dad’s birthday because it hurt too much. Council or not, Breaker or not; that’s who I am. You know me Cresta. You do.”

He turned away from me and slid on the now wrinkled tee. Before he did though, I noticed a black splotch, like one of those Rorschach tests Dr. Conyers used to give me, stretched across his back. I flashed back to another memory I saw through his eyes. His mother was in front of him when he was a child. There was a searing pain in his back. It must have been that. She must have been giving him a tattoo. But why would a kid who couldn’t have been more than nine years old need a tattoo? What was it she had said to him?

Owen turned back to me, wiping a single tear from his eye. “And the worst of it is, I lied to you when it mattered most.”

“You were tricked,” I said, my tongue betraying my quickly faltering steely persona.

“Not about that,” he walked closer. “When you said you had feelings for me, I lied to you.”

“You did?” I asked and, for the first time, took a step in his direction.

“I had a safe house across the street from you. I had viewing perches nearly everywhere in town. I didn’t need pictures of you on my phone. The reason I had them was because I have feelings for you too. I have for a long time now. “

My heart jumped as he stepped even closer.

“I know you said you didn’t want anything to do with me, and I guess I understand why.” He touched my hand. I let him. “But if anything of what you felt for me has survived this, let me know. Because I’m not sure what’s going to happen to me, and I’ve spent way too long wondering what kissing you feels like.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t know how I felt anymore. The only thing I knew for sure, the one thing that was crystal clear to me was, that my heart was pounding and Owen was still touching my hand.

I opened my mouth, still unsure of what I was going to say. “I…” was the only word that would come out.

He looked at me, his eyes hungry. “Close enough,” he said, and dove toward me. Before I knew it, he had swept me up into his arms. He lifted me off the ground and breathlessly kissed me. Maybe I should have pushed away. Maybe I should have held strong to the sheen of anger I still felt toward him, but his arms were around me, wrapping me up. His chest was pressed against mine, our hearts beating as one. The smell of him, the heat of him, and the taste of him as his lips melted into mine, invaded me and rendered any argument useless.

I was so tired; tired of running, tired of feeling afraid and alone. I didn’t want to hurt anymore. The whole world had split open under my feet and nothing made sense. But somehow, Owen’s hands through my hair, his breath on my skin, did make sense. And for a minute, for a sweet minute, it made me forget everything else.

It may have lasted a second, maybe a minute, an hour, or a year. The world seemed to freeze on a picture of us together and, when it started spinning again, we were both flushed and panting. We parted slowly. His arms tensed as he lowered me to the floor.

“You know, don’t you?” He whispered into my ear. “What you mean to me. You must know. You have to.”

He looked at me. His eyes were bright, expectant, and, even though we had just shared the most intense kiss of my life, somehow still hungry. I opened my mouth to answer, to tell him that I did know, that now I finally knew, but the words wouldn’t come.

The door flung open, startling the both of us. I would have jumped if I hadn’t been pushed out of the way by a swirl of hands and black hair. I thought we had been ambushed when the blur jumped on Owen. Whoever blew my house up had found us, and they were going to take out Owen and then come for me. But, as the picture settled down, I realized that wasn’t what was happening at all.

This wasn’t Ezra or Jiqui. This was a girl. And she wasn’t hurting Owen. She was hugging him.

“I knew it wasn’t true,” her light voice said over and over again. “I knew you weren’t some turncoat. I knew you’d come back to me.”

He didn’t have to say who she was. I knew. She didn’t have the bleach blond hair or the tanned beach body that I had once expected from her, but I could tell who she saw by the way she looked at him. She was the one in his memories; the girl with the black hair and familiar touch, and who she was made sense now.

He pulled back from her and, looking as surprised as I’d ever seen him, said her name.

“Merrin?”

Chapter 12

Perfect. Just Perfect

MERRIN, IT WAS Merrin. How was that even possible? Somewhere along the line, I must have added Merrin to the pile of things Owen had made up to keep his cover. His cross-country girlfriend had just been a beard to dodge questions about why he wasn’t after any of the girls in Crestview, me included. Wasn’t she?

Looking at her now, her dark shining eyes looking up at Owen, it was clear that she was decidedly not fake. Though, when she slid her hand along the small of Owen’s back, I sort of wanted her to be. He had kissed me, actually kissed me. After what seemed like a lifetime of waiting, Owen finally told me he liked me, and that he had liked me for a long time. And now, now she was here. And she had almond shaped eyes and perfect golden skin. She had hair like black silk and a body – Well, I’m not a girl’s girl or anything, but her body was sick.

And the worst part, the absolute worst part, was that she didn’t look anything like the sun kissed supermodel I had pictured in my head. No, Merrin was even more beautiful than that.

But wait. Breakers weren’t allowed to date, were they? They were shoved together based on genetics or something, with no consideration to the way they actually felt about each other. So Merrin couldn’t be his girlfriend. Owen couldn’t even have a girlfriend. She could be his sister for all I knew.

When she finally let go of him and settled beside me, I caught of glimpse of her backside in the mirror.

God, please let her be his sister.

“I don’t-Merrin, what are you doing here?” Owen’s face was a wide eyed blank slate as he looked from her to me and back to her again. She didn’t seem to notice. In fact, if she even knew I was in the room at all, she didn’t give any indication of it.

“You didn’t think I would leave you here, did you; that I’d find out you’re back and not come? “ Her voice was light and airy. Her hand slid from the small of his back and rested inside his back pocket.

Okay, she’s not his sister.

“You’re here, so this is where I belong. I’m yours. You’re mine. You haven’t forgotten that, have you?” She whipped toward me, like her words were an accusation. Did she know? Had she seen us kiss somehow? Maybe that was her Breaker power, the ability to tell the last twenty lips you’ve touched. But her eyes didn’t hold any anger or harshness, and when she smiled, it didn’t look forced.

“I’m sorry for the impropriety. I’ve just been waiting so long to see Owen,” she reached her hand out to me. I took it. “I’m Merrin; Owen’s perfect.”

“Well, I mean, he’s pretty awesome,” I said, a blush creeping up my neck. “I’m not sure I’d say perfect though.”

“No. I’m his perfect,” she repeated in a tone that made me think I should have already known. “His genetic match. His-what’s that other word they use-fiancé.”

“Merrin,” Owen said, his eyes still wide. “I’ve been gone for two years. I-I figured you had, you know, found somebody else by now.”

“Oh they wanted me to,” she turned back to him, her hands planted on her narrow hips. “Everyone told me you were never coming back. They said you were a turncoat; a disgrace to your family, a siege on your bloodline, and that I was making a fool of myself for holding on to you. Well, who’s the fool now? I knew you could never turn your back on us, on me; at least not intentionally. And I was right. Here you are.” She looked him up and down. “A little worse for wear, but’s it’s nothing I can’t work with.”

“Merrin,I allowed myself to be manipulated. I am a disgrace to my family. When Echo told my father about what had happened, he wouldn’t even talk to me. He said he never wanted to see me again.”

I watched a flash of pain run though Owen’s eyes. He had been hurt in all of this too. It took me too long to realize that.

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” she chirped. “No one expects you to be perfect. Breakers as far back as the originals have had missteps while trying to accomplish the greater good. And as for your father, leave him to me. You know he could never resist my crème brulee. One bite and he’ll go right back to naming grandchildren.”

Crème brulee? Grandchildren? She could cook and she wanted to start a family.

I think I’m gonna be sick.

“Oh my God,” I said to myself, pulling my hand away. “This isn’t happening. And you really call yourself his perfect?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” She shrugged.” We’re perfectly matched. It’s in our DNA. Shouldn’t you know this?”

“I guess there are a lot of things I should have known,” I said, shooting a pointed look in Owen’s direction.

“I thought she was gone,” he said and turned to her. “I thought you were gone. I didn’t think you’d wait for me. They told me they’d find someone else for you; someone better suited.”

“Someone better suited than my ideal match?” Merrin’s brows rose. “And who told you this, the same people who lied to you for two years?”

She took his hands in hers, something that sent a pinch of anger running up my arm.

“You know me well enough to know that I don’t settle, and I don’t give up easily,” she said, and raised his hands so that they were pressed against her chest, against her very full, well-proportioned chest. “And I know you too. I had faith in you; faith that, whatever it was that took you away from me, would bring you back. And it did. You are the person I was born to be with, my other half in every way that matters. Why would I accept anything less than that?”

“Because life has a way of laughing at your expectations.” Dahlia’s voice, still cold, still domineering, sliced through the room like a machete. She was standing in the doorway, arms folded. She wore a black blouse and matching pants. Her dahlia pin sat in its position near her neck. If possible, she looked even more irritated with me than when she had left. “And you’d do well to remind these two to address you by your field name. Perfect or not, it’s protocol in Weathersby.”

“Your field name?” Owen asked. His hands were still in hers, still pressed against her chest. “You-you graduated? You’re a Breaker now?”

“For almost six months. The Council of Masons even sent me to Crestview with Merrin to be their proxy.” she beamed. “And it’s Shine now. My Breaker name is Shine.”

“It suits you,” he said, but didn’t look her in the face.

He was right. It was in her face, in the way she moved. There was brightness about her, a lightness that seemed to come from the inside. She shone.

“Now, if I might pull you away from your emotional reunion, we have things to do. Let my husband know that we’ve returned and we’ll need an audience with him in his office,” Dahlia motioned to Merrin. “Owen, Cresta; Echo’s office, five minutes.”

“You’re Cresta?” Merrin’s eyes got wide as she looked me up and down, sizing me up like a piece of meat at a butcher shop. “Cresta from Crestview? That’s not possible. You’re just a girl, just a slip of a thing. There’s no way you’re the-“

“Shine! Now!” Dahlia shouted. Merrin straightened up and hurried out of the room without another word. Dahlia just stood there, examining Owen and I. Her nose crinkled up and she rolled her eyes. “Five minutes,” she repeated. “And try to get ahold of yourselves. This room reeks of hormones and yearning.”

Five minutes later, I found myself in Echo’s office with Owen at my side. He had spent the intervening time trying to apologize to me about kissing me and Merrin; the whole thing. But I wasn’t mad, at least not at him. The truth was, I wanted him to kiss me. I had for a while, whether I always wanted to admit it or not. And as for Merrin-Well, my monumentally bad timing wasn’t something I could blame Owen for.

Besides, the thing that really irked me about the entire situation was what Merrin had said about that ‘perfect’ crap, and the fact that part of me thought she might be right.

We found her sitting on one of the wooden chairs in Echo’s office. Casper was sitting beside her, looking at her like she was a piece of cream cheese pie. Echo was across from them, strumming his fingers familiarly across his desk. Dahlia stood behind him with her hands on his shoulders, shooting me daggered glances. Dr. Static paced back and forth behind Casper, whispering to himself. He stopped short when he caught site of us.

“Very interesting,” he mumbled, looking at me. “Very interesting.”

“Cresta, Owen, close the door behind you please,” Echo said, and motioned to a pair of free chairs. I tried not to look at him as I sat. I was too afraid I’d find some facial similarity that would prove what I didn’t want to be true; that Echo was my father. Was that what Merrin had found out in Crestview? Is that what had taken her so long? Is that why that, even now, she was staring at me like I had kicked her puppy?

“As you know, Dahlia took a team that included Shine,” he pointed to Merrin, who was still receiving the hungry end of Casper’s eyes.” To Crestview in order to get to the bottom of what happened to you and your mother a few weeks ago,” he started, his fingers still drumming. There was a distance in his voice that worried me.

“A charming place,” Dahlia scoffed. “Maybe in a decade or two they might even get a movie theatre.”

“Hey! That’s my hometown you’re talking about,” Casper balked.

“You’re a Neanderthal?” Merrin made a face like she had just smelled rotten fish and leaned as far away from him as she could while remaining seated.

“I guess that means we’re not going to have a June wedding,” Casper quipped, but I could tell from the sting that settled in his eyes that the barb hurt.

I was about to say something. God knows I would have loved to, but Echo beat me to the punch.

“Enough!” His fingers beat heavier against his desk. “Casper is our guest. As long as you are Shine, I suggest you treat him with the same respect that you expect.”

I smirked a little, but tried to keep it to myself.

“As I was saying, when Dahlia and her team made it to Crestview, they found that cleaners had already been there,” Echo stated.

“Cleaners?” It was a good thing I wasn’t shy about asking questions, because that seemed to be all I’d done since getting to Weathersby.

“Cleaners are like mental garbage men. They purge psychic remnants from places so that people like Dahlia can’t pick up on them,” Owen answered, leaning closer so I could feel his breath on my ear.

“There are no people like me, young man,” Dahlia made her way to the front of the desk. “I’m singularly talented. It took a while longer than I expected, but I was able to gleam the truth of what happened, at least, as much as was there.”

“Wait? You know who came after me? You know who killed my mother?” My body stiffened. I rose in my chair.

“Yes and no,” Dahlia said, turning back to Echo.

He took over. “Cresta, the people you knew as your parents-”

Oh God. This was it, when he told me that he was my father, that the man I lived with my entire life, the man I watched die, was little more than a placeholder.

“You’re my dad?” The words were small and quiet, but I couldn’t stop them from coming.

He jerked back, pulling his fingers from his desk. He looked at me for a long moment; deeply, like he was reading something in my eyes. “Oh darling, if only it were that simple. I’ll admit, the possibility crossed my mind, but no Cresta, I am not your father.”

I breathed heavy, though I was unsure exactly how relieved I was. He had still said those words, ‘the people you knew as your parents’. What did that mean?

“Sir,” I said, more breathlessly than I intended. “Would someone just tell me what’s going on?”

Dahlia set herself. A flicker of something, maybe sympathy, moved across her eyes. As quickly as it came though, it left, and she started. “Given that Owen spent the most time physically in Crestview, it was his psionic energy that was most deeply embedded in town. As you know, we already got everything we could from that.”

Owen nodded, rubbing the back of his head, where his memories had been extracted.

“There were a few others though. The ones that gave us the most to go on originated from a man called Allister Leeman.”

“Allister Leeman? The Raven?” For once, Owen seemed as confused as me. “Isn’t he a lunatic; some end of days nutjob? He’s a laughing stock.”

“He may be,” Echo rubbed at his temples. “But he’s a laughing stock who’s garnered a small yet extremely loyal following since you’ve been away. We also believe that he may be the one behind your deception in the first place.”

“That’s impossible,” Owen stood now. “There’s no way the Raven did this. I’d have seen through it.”

“Yes, we’re all aware of how intuitive you are,” Dahlia motioned for him to sit back down, which he did. “That said, the fact that the Raven was there at all is very telling. And it’s not the only evidence we have.”

“Stop,” I waved my hands. “I’m sure this story’s really fascinating to you guys, but we don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” I pointed back and forth between Casper and I, comfortable enough to speak for him. His expression, as dumbfounded as my own, told me I was right.

“You’ve heard of our end of days prophecy, about the Bloodmoon and the dragon?” Echo looked at me.

“Yeah, I won that capture the flag thing you guys had the other day,” I answered.

“Really? This year’s recruits must be particularly disappointing,” Dahlia said.

Echo gave her an impatient look and continued.”Allister Leeman is a rogue Breaker. He believes that the end times are upon us, that the Bloodmoon already walks the Earth.”

“Walks?” Casper was beside me now with a hand across my shoulder. “How can a moon walk? Oh! Like moonwalk!”

He started sliding backwards across Echo’s office.

“This is what I have to treat with respect?” Merrin shook her head.

Dr. Static shot past the still moonwalking Casper. He had been shuffling through a stack of books and had apparently found what he was looking for. Slamming a tattered old red book on the desk he pointed at a passage with fingers so long and thin that the slightest wind would certainly snap them in two.

“Prophecies are rarely that straight forward, especially world changing prophecies. How a seer sees-Well, who knows how they see actually, but you can bet it isn’t the way the rest of us do. As a result, their reports usually take a little deciphering. This is often times more true with bigger prophecies, and you don’t get much bigger than the end of the world, do you?”

A slight grin graced his painfully thin face, but it disappeared just as quickly when he saw no one else was smiling.

“Anyway,” he shook his head. “Blut and Luna.”

“Blut and Luna?” I repeated.

“Yes. Blut is the German word for blood, while Luna is the Latin term meaning moon. That, in itself, means absolutely nothing, but when you take into consideration that they are also the surnames of two of the oldest Breaker bloodlines in existence-Well, it all makes sense doesn’t it?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Casper answered. He had stopped moonwalking and was sitting cross legged on the floor. “I know you’re really into it and everything and you were hoping it would, but it really doesn’t.”

Dr. Static blustered. “In the prophecy, the Bloodmoon is generally thought to be the product of these two bloodlines joining. Blut and Luna; the blood and the moon. It’s so widely believed within the Breaker community that those two houses have been forbidden from ever procreating, regardless of even matching genetic testing.”

“And this Allister dude thinks he’s the Bloodmoon?” I asked, brushing blond hair out of my eyes. “What does that have to do with me?”

“No, no,” Dr. Static said, jamming his finger against the open book repeatedly. “He thinks he’s the Raven. According to the prophecies, the Raven is joined with the Bloodmoon in the bindings of matrimony. He thinks you’re  the Bloodmoon.”

Ezra’s words the day my mom died flashed through my mind.

He’s looking for his wife.

He meant-He was talking about me.

I heard Owen choke back a gasp and watched as the tips of his fingers dug into the arms of his chair.

“Me?” I balked. “Why the hell would he think that?”

“Because in all likelihood, it’s true.” Dahlia’s eyes were violet steel burning into me.

“No,” I shook my head. “That’s ridiculous.”

Echo sighed loudly, and I could tell from the way his lips curved down at the ends, that he didn’t want to say what he was about to. Oddly enough, that made me want to listen even more. “Cresta, when Ash left for her final mission, the mission we all thought she died on, she didn’t go alone.” His fingers had stopped, hovering silently above the cherry wood of his desk. “There was an entire team with her. Two of those people were Breakers whose given names were Abram Blut and Laurel Luna.”

As before, when images of the Crestview newscast appeared as big as life in front of us, the lights in Echo’s office dimmed. Two images appeared before us in stark clarity. A man and woman, or given the ages, a boy and girl walked through brick laden streets. Their clothes were plain and timeless, brown sack pants and white shirts, but their hairs dated back to what looked like the late nineties. They were surrounded by other passersby in a place that I quickly recognized from my time sifting through Owen’s memories as the Hourglass. They weren’t talking to each other though. In fact, it looked like they were taking pains not to interact with each other at all.

The man was tall and handsome, with silvery blond hair and bright blue, almost purple eyes. The woman was less striking, though still pretty in her own way. She was short but lithe and the way her brown hair curled in the breeze pricked at me familiarly.

“There were rumors that these two were lovers,” Echo said. “And, given their respective families, you can understand why that would be a problem.”

Of course. It made sense to me now. The way they were walking side by side and not talking, not even looking at each other. They were trying so hard to make sure that no one suspected them of being together. That made me sad somehow; that those two young people were so in love and, because of some ridiculous prophecies and the fears of the lunatics they were unlucky enough to be born into, they couldn’t be together like normal people. Still, what did that have to do with me?

“They were paired off and married to others,” Echo continued. “But rumors of their continued affair made their way to the Council of Masons. Of course, their perceived deaths silenced whatever concerns the Council had.”

The striking man in the hologram before us stopped to talk to someone. The girl paused and pretended to take in her surroundings, though it was clear she was waiting for him. She put her index finger in front of her lips and tapped absentmindedly.

“That’s funny,” I said without thinking. “That’s the same thing-“

Oh God. That’s why she looked so familiar. Her thin frame, her friendly face, the way her brown hair settled into soft ringlets; the girl in front of me that everyone knew as Laurel Luna was actually Dr. Conyers.

“That’s my therapist,” I said breathlessly.

“You went to therapy?” Owen looked at me, his brows scrunched.

I didn’t answer.

“I told you she was still alive,” Dahlia shot a superior look to her husband.

“It’s more than that, I’m afraid,” Echo gritted his teeth. “We found DNA samplings in our database from Laurel and Abram and ran them against the ones from your physical. They were a match.”

I stood, sure I didn’t want to hear the next words he was about to say. That didn’t stop him though.

“Cresta. These people are your biological parents.”

I stared at the moving image in front of me; at a young Dr. Conyers, at the striking man she loved. There they were. The similarities I had tried not to look for in Echo’s face were all over these two. He had my nose. She had my eyes and, when the man he was talking to told a joke, I realized he had my laugh too.

But that couldn’t be right. That meant that not only was my dad not my dad, but my mom wasn’t really my mom either.

“No. No,” I mumbled and started backing away. “It’s not true.”

“Cresta, I know this is a lot to take in,” Echo stood. “Damnit! Lights.”

With his words, the lights flared back up and the hologram disappeared.

“I promise it’ll be all right. It doesn’t mean you’re the Bloodmoon,” Echo made his way around his desk, but I was close to the door. It was just like my first night at Weathersby , with Echo telling me I’d be okay and me backing away from him, too stunned to do anything else.

He had told me the truth that night, but could I really trust him now?

“Echo, I know my parents.”

“I know you do sweetheart,” he answered. My back was against the door now, but this time, I didn’t open it. Where would I go anyway?

“Your mother was a wonderful woman, and I have little doubt she loved you with everything in her.” He reached out and wiped a tear from my face. “It doesn’t matter who gave birth to you. Julie Karr was your mother. Ash was your mother, and you were the most important thing in the world to her. So important that, when she realized she couldn’t keep you safe, she sent you to me. I would never betray a trust like that, Cresta. Your mother died so that I might keep you safe. So please, let me honor her memory by protecting you. Come, sit down, and let’s get to the bottom of this; for your mother.”

I wiped my eyes, took a deep breath, and did as he asked. I sat back down with Casper and Owen on either side of me. I could tell both of them wanted to reach out to me, but I bristled, so they didn’t.

“We went back to the explosion site, where your parents allegedly died all those years ago,” Dahlia picked back up. The fact that she was using the words parents and not talking about the people who raised me, the people I loved more than even myself, sent a dagger into my heart. And the tone she used while saying it, like an IRS agent going through a list of deductibles, twisted that dagger. “Once I knew what I was looking for, it didn’t take long to work past the shades and anchors. The mental images I picked up from the ruins led me to their mission hideout, and once there, the entire thing opened up.”

She sat atop the front of Echo’s desk and crossed her legs. “The Luna girl and the Blut boy had continued their relationship. It was selfish, it put everyone at risk, and it broke the sacred vows they took when accepting their genetically ideal matches. But I suppose all that paled in the face of young love.” She scoffed, cleared her throat, and continued. “A few weeks before their fateful mission, the Luna girl found out she was pregnant. Since she was less than physically thrilled with her sanctioned spouse; her perfect, she had little doubt about whose child it was. This left them in quite a bind. Once the child was born, the requisite tests would prove that it belonged to the Blut boy. They would both be severely punished, and the baby-Well, the baby would be the Bloodmoon. So, the Council would have done what it had to in order to avert the apocalypse. To stop that from happening, the Luna girl concocted a plan. She had always been friends with your mo- with Ash, so once she got her assigned to the Moscow mission, the rest wrote itself. They would set off the explosion, fake their deaths, and ensure your survival.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but Dahlia silenced me with a palm. “You couldn’t be raised by your birth parents though. That was too risky. Instead, your mother left you in the care of her best friend, my Echo’s first wife; who, it turns out, left him for you.”

She glared back at her husband. Echo gave her a look that was halfway between frustration and exhaustion.

“It doesn’t mean that you’re the Bloodmoon though,” he looked at me. “It’s possible that you’re just a girl, just the product of two Breakers’ forbidden love, and not-“

“What? Not the antichrist?” I scoffed and stood up. “Are you people even serious. I’m nothing. I’m nobody. I’m an asthmatic girl who’s barely five feet tall. I don’t weight a hundred pounds soaking wet.”

“You never had asthma,” Dahlia said. “And you’re not an ordinary girl. You’re a Breaker; a Breaker who’s had no training and whose powers have not only been suppressed for years, but have also gone unchecked. I can’t think of anything more dangerous.”

“This-this doesn’t matter,” Dr. Static said, finger pressed against his still open book. “There are other prophecies, other prerequisites that she’d have to meet before we could even entertain the idea that Cresta might be the Bloodmoon.”

“Prerequisites that we’ve already accounted for,” Dahlia said. She plucked Dr. Static’s book from his hands and started reading from it. “Consumed by the dragon and joined to the raven, her body is marked with the tears of those who will die beneath her foot.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that stanza,” Dr. Static crossed his arms, giving him the illusion of having a bit of physical depth.

“The physical we ran on Cresta showed that she has three teardrop shaped moles along her inner thigh.” Dahlia seemed to be relishing proving her case so easily.

“The world will linger in darkness on the day of her birth. The sun will hide from her coming,” Dahlia turned to me. “That, lingering in darkness, is believed to speak of your birthday; the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year. What’s more, the winter solstice of fifteen years ago was followed by a solar eclipse that further delayed sunrise for seven extra minutes.” She closed the book triumphantly. “The sun will hide from her coming.”

“Wait a sec!” Casper stepped forward. “Cress’ birthday is in March. Is the winter solstice in March? Is winter even in March?”

Clumsily made, but it was a point nonetheless.

“Her birthday isn’t in March,” Echo said, looking at his desk.

“Yes it is,” I answered.

“They lied to you,” Dahlia said. She grabbed at a manila folder on Echo’s desk and handed me a slip of paper from inside. “This is your birth certificate, your real one. A baby Jane Doe was left on the doorstep of a hospital on the night of the winter solstice almost sixteen years ago. She was reported as being stolen from the hospital three days later. You showed up in Chicago three months after that, but all records of your birth in March are falsified. Ash led you to believe you were born in the spring because she knew your actual birthday was further proof that you are, in fact, the Bloodmoon.”

My fingers curled up into fists. Dahlia’s lips, though not quite smiling, were certainly ticking up at the ends. She loved this; proving that Ash’s daughter was nothing but trouble, proving that Ash herself was a traitor of apocalyptic proportions. “I’m not some damn moon,” I said through clenched teeth.

“None of us control fate, my dear,” Dahlia hissed at me. The forms her hands take as they wrap around our lives are of her solitary choosing.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I asked, not caring how much disdain slipped into my words.

“It means that we are what we are,” Dahlia answered. She had taken a cue from me and was now visibly upset. Her eyes flashed with anger and her mouth pursed together violently. “And like it or not, you’ll have to get used to it.”

“No it doesn’t,” Owen stood up beside me. “We are Breakers, after all. Isn’t that what we do, change what is? It’s our entire reason for being.”

“This is a fixed point. You know that,” Dahlia’s eyes shot over to him.

“A fixed point?” Casper asked when he saw I wasn’t going to.

“Some events cannot be changed regardless of how much we try,” Echo said in a surrendering voice. “They’re called fixed points because they have to come to pass. Breakers have been trying to avert the Moonblood for over a hundred years now, but regardless of our efforts, the prophecies never change. The Moonblood will come.”

“The Moonblood is here,” Dahlia answered defiantly.

“We don’t know that,” Dr. Static looked up from his book.

“How much proof do you need Silas?” Dahlia asked him.

Silas Static? Really?

“The events of her birth were enough to convince Ash and the two lovebirds to run away from the only lives they’d ever known. They were enough to get Allister Leeman sniffing around her very well hidden doorstep. He even manipulated this one into doing his dirty work for him,” Dahlia pointed to Owen.

“But why?” Dr. Static rubbed at his pointed chin. “We know Allister Leeman believes that Cresta is the Bloodmoon, but what purpose did he have for plucking young Owen away from the Hourglass? He has plenty of followers of his own who could have done the job just as efficiently, and whose allegiance wouldn’t have to be fabricated.”

I watched Owen’s eyes narrow into slits. Certainly he had thought about those questions as well. Though, if Dr. Static didn’t have an answer, I doubted Owen did either.

“That’s a question for the Masons,” Dahlia answered immediately. “As is the question of what to do with Cresta.”

“You can’t be serious!” Echo jumped up. The resigned lull in his voice had vanished, replaced with a hardened steel edge. “If you bring Cresta in front of those people, you know what will happen.”

“What?” I asked shakily. “What’ll happen?” This didn’t sound good.

“Those people are our superiors,” Dahlia reminded him, ignoring me. “And our protocol, the law by which we live, is very clear. We bring this to the Masons and let them tend to the matter.”

“Dahlia,” Echo looked at me, blinked hard, and then looked back at his wife. “There’s no reason to be drastic.” His voice was light and steady, like a father trying to convince his child everything would be okay. “There’s time to think this through. We don’t have to do anything we can’t take back.”

“What. Is. Going. To. Happen?” I asked again.

“The only way to avert a fixed point is to take the players off the board,” Owen said quietly.

“Stop talking like a fortune cookie,” I demanded. I was tired; tired of being jerked around, tired of questions that no one wanted to answer.

“Death!” He answered sharply. I turned to find tears shining in his eyes. “If the Council of Masons thinks you’re the Bloodmoon, they’ll kill you. “

I stumbled backward, not really sure of what to do next. I knew that they had been talking about me, about my future and their ridiculous prophecies, but it hadn’t occurred to me that there’d be these kinds of consequences. I certainly hadn’t imagined they would be debating my death.

I felt a hand on mine and a jolt ran through me. Who was it? What did they want to do to me? I turned to swat it away but found Casper beside me. His face was a stern but pale sheet.

“Come on, we’re leaving,” he said, and tugged at me. He looked back as we made our way toward the door. “Have fun with your little murder cult guys. Send us a postcard from Crazyville, mmkay.”

“Stop!” Echo shouted.

“Stop?” Casper laughed. “Why, so you can serve my girl’s head up on a silver platter. No thanks. Go find another sacrifice for your stupid Mason council.”

“No one is going to be a sacrifice, not on my watch,” Echo walked toward us. Casper didn’t stop. For my part, I was a limp noodle being pulled around. “I won’t stop you from leaving us, Cresta.” He glared back at Dahlia. “You’ve been through a lot, given a lot of information, and judging from our behavior, I can’t say I blame you. But know that if you walk out that door, Allister Leeman will most likely be waiting for you. I can keep you safe here.”

“Until when?” The words poured out of me as if someone else was saying them, as if I wasn’t connected to it at all. “Until your wife convinces you to have me put down?”

“Of course not.” His voice was light again, comforting. “There was a reason your mother sent you to me. I would never-” He huffed and shook his head, frustrated. Looking at Dahlia, he hissed, “Are you proud of yourself?”

“Don’t you dare talk to me that way!” She yelled. “This is what we do. It’s who we are. You know what this girl does. You’ve read it. You’ve been taught it since birth. It’s horrific!”

“She’s just a girl, Dahlia!” Echo’s voice matched hers now, loud, rough, and passionate. “Do you really want us to be responsible for killing a girl?”

“What about all the girls she’s going to grow up and kill, Morgan? What do we tell their parents? What do we tell ourselves when we’re watching it happen?”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Owen’s voice was a whisper among the shouts. “I know Cresta. She doesn’t have that sort of evil in her. She’s good. She’s so-“

“You’ve proven how fundamentally wrong you can be, son,” Dahlia said. “Why don’t you quit before you prove yourself even denser than we all imagined?”

“Dahlia-“ Echo started.

“Hitler was a child once too,” She cut him off. “If you had the chance to stop him, wouldn’t you?”

Hitler? Did she really just compare me to Hitler?

“You know that’s not the same thing,” Echo began marching toward his wife.

“You’re right,” she said, herself bridging the gap between them. “It’s worse. Hitler was satisfied to focus his hatred on a few choice groups. This girl will take her boot to the entire world.”

Oh, okay. I’m worse than Hitler.

“What you want; there’s no going back from that,” Echo shouted. They were in each other’s faces now. His eyes were wide and free of the surrender that had painted them just minutes ago. “If we send her to the Hourglass, she dies. That’s how that ends. Is that who you want to be, a murderer?”

“You’re a murderer!” As loud as Echo could shout, he couldn’t come close to the decibels Dahlia could reach. “If you leave her here, if you allow her to be who she’s going to become, then there’s blood on your hands as well as hers. That’s not who you are, Morgan. It’s not who I ever thought you’d be.”

“Who I am is a man who refuses to let an innocent girl be killed for something she might not ever do.” He turned from her.

“I won’t do it,” I said. “Whatever it is you think I’m going to do, I wouldn’t hurt anybody, and I damn sure wouldn’t kill anybody.” I pulled away from Casper’s hand, walking toward the others. Still, I felt Casper hovering protectively at my back.

Dahlia’s eyes softened a bit as she took me in. “I’m sure you think that.” Her voice cracked. “But you have no way of knowing where fate will take you in ten years, in five years, even in five minutes. I couldn’t count on both hands the number of people I’ve known in my life who’ve promised and sworn they would never be what prophecies have painted them as. And all of them, every single one, were changed. They all bent to fate’s will and, in the end, they became what they were always going to be.”

She pointed to Dr. Static, whose face was still planted in his book. I wondered what he was even looking for at this point. “Because when it’s all said and done, what we want doesn’t matter,” Dahlia went on. “Fate has her hands on us even before our birth. The fact that you’re here at all is proof of that. I know that you probably think I hate you Cresta, but I don’t. The truth is, you have no more control over what you are than any of us. You just happened to draw the short straw.”

She put her hand on my shoulder, but I shuddered away.

“You say you’re a good person, and I believe you. But that doesn’t mean you’ll always be. Who you’ll become has already been written. It’s already in those books, and I know you don’t want that. It’s because you’re a good person that you don’t want that. I’m telling you that there is a way that you don’t have to become that. There’s a way you can save all of the people who are destined to be hurt by you. You can save the whole world.”

Casper read her eyes an instant before I did. He pulled me back and planted himself between us. “Get away from her, you witch,” he spit out.

“It won’t hurt Cresta,” she talked through him. “There are humane ways to end this. You’ll be comfortable. It’s the only way.”

“Those are big words,” Echo walked in front of Casper, further blocking me from Dahlia. “For someone who keeps her own daughter locked in a tower.”

I couldn’t see her face at this point, but judging from the gasp she let out, it sounded like Dahlia was pretty pissed. I figured it would have been me that spilled the beans about the secret Seer, but I hadn’t even told Casper. The fact that Echo was willing to betray what was probably the biggest secret either of them had ever kept, said a lot about how far he’d go to keep me safe.

My mo-Ash’s words came back to me then; the words she told me when she sent me away.

Morgan Montgomery. He’s a good man.

The others seemed more confused than shocked about what Echo had said. Dr. Static, actually looking up from his book, said, “She doesn’t have a daughter.”

When he saw the way they were silently staring at each other though, he added,” Does she?”

“We do,” she answered and, though I still couldn’t see her, I heard the tears in her voice. “The miscarriage I had fourteen years ago-I had the baby. She’s a Seer. The tower is here, in Weathersby. It’s hidden from you, of course, as is protocol. Then again, I suppose things like protocol don’t matter to Echo anymore; even if it means protecting our daughter.”

“You had a Seer,” Dr. Static mumbled dumbfounded. ”A Seer has lived here all these years. I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s nothing to say,” Dahlia answered. “Echo should know better than anyone why I’m acting this way. How many nights did our daughter wake up in cold sweats envisioning the horrors the Bloodmoon would do to this world? How many times did I wipe away her tears and tell her that we’d stop it? You promised her, Echo. You promised our daughter that you wouldn’t let this happen. And here it is, right in your hands. Stop this. Stop Cresta; for the world, for our daughter.”

Echo was quiet. I could only see the back of his head, the way his ears pricked when she mentioned their daughter. What was he thinking? What was his expression like? Had Dahlia just convinced him to turn me over to the Council and, if she had, would anybody here be able to stop him?

“Here!” Dr. Static’s voice tore through the silence like a bull destroying everything in its path. “I knew it was here somewhere!”

Neither Echo nor Dahlia answered him and, though I still couldn’t see anything but the Echo and Casper barrier before me, I imagined they were still staring at each other, still thinking about how their lives had gotten to this point. They mustn’t have even looked at Dr. Static, because he shouted again. “Did you hear me? I said I found it!”

“What in fate’s hand are you screaming about?” Dahlia hissed at him.

“The answer. The piece of the prophecy that can fix all this.”

My heart jumped at those words. I broke through Casper, then Echo, and made my way toward him. His thin face bobbed up and down slightly as his read, the brittle lines of his jaw flexing as he silently mouthed the words.

“There is no way to stop this,” Dahlia persisted. “It’s a fixed point. Only death changes a fixed point.”

“Right!” He looked up, though not necessarily at her. His eyes, as well as his index finger, moved around the room like one of those blinking red eyed cameras that were everywhere in Chicago but absolutely nowhere in Crestview. “There’s no way to stop the Bloodmoon outside of killing her, but there is a way to prove Cresta isn’t her.”

“Haven’t you been listening?” Dahlia seemed more agitated than ever. “The proof is here in piles. It’s undeniable.”

“Let him talk!” Owen said in a tone that at once startled me and sent jolts of excited electricity through my chest.

“Thank you, my boy,” he grinned and then let his wandering finder fall onto one of the open pages. “Prophecies about the Bloodmoon are countless. We learn about them at birth. They’re our bedtime stories. She’ll rip apart the world. She’ll effectively end the human race. Cities, countries, entire civilizations will fall because she’s just that much of a bitch.”

“You’re not helping,” I coughed.

“Right. My point is, those are the big ones, the prophecies every Breaker knows. But there are more, many more that only the learned, like me, know of.” He brushed his shoulder in a cocky move that, if my life wasn’t on the line, would have struck me as adorable.

“What gibberish are you spouting, Silas?” If Dahlia was impressed, it didn’t come through in her voice.

That didn’t matter to Dr. Static though. He smiled and read on. “Before the sun meets her sixteenth year, she will have tasted of death’s juices. Her hands will have ceased a heart.”

“I’ve never heard that prophecy before,” Echo answered. I tried to read something into the tone of his voice, but it was a blank sheet.

“That’s why I’m the head of your Prophecy department and you’re-Well, you’re my boss.”

“Make it sound less like Shakespeare,” Casper said. His voice, the way it titled up at the end and cracked, was easy to read. He had always been there for me. The fact that he was here now, willing to stand up to, not only teachers, but super powered teachers, told me everything I needed to know.

“Have you murdered anyone Cresta?” Dr. Static turned to me.

“What?” Of all the crazy things people had asked me in the last few minutes, in the last few weeks, that may have been the craziest.

“Have you murdered anyone? Killed someone? Been responsible for the end of another’s life?”

“Of course not,” I said. “That’s ridiculous. That’s insane. That’s-“

“How we’re going to prove you’re not the Bloodmoon?” Echo smiled now too. I realized they were both in on something I didn’t understand yet. Reading my face, Echo explained it to me. “That prophecy that Dr. Static just read is in the Book of the Fates, which means it has been approved by the Council of Masons and must be abided. It also says that the Bloodmoon, whoever she may be-“He gave Dahlia a withering look. “Will have killed someone before sunrise on her sixteenth birthday. Since you say you haven’t, and you were telling the truth-“ He pointed to his temple and I remembered he was a human lie detector. “That means that, as long as you don’t kill anybody before your next birthday, you can’t be the Bloodmoon. Who your parents are won’t matter. What Allister Leeman thinks won’t matter. The birthmarks on your-er, your leg won’t matter. None of it will matter. You either are the Bloodmoon or you aren’t. There is no almost.”

“Wait,” Dahlia started. “If-“

“No, it makes sense,” Owen butted in. “And since you’ve already said that the Bloodmoon has to have been born on the winter solstice, we only have to wait until then.”

“That’s in five days,” Dr. Static’s smile was huge now. “What do you think Cresta? Can you refrain from murdering someone for the better part of a week?”

Chapter 13
Five Days

FIVE DAYS; THAT’S how long they said I had to go without murdering someone. Seemed easy enough, seeing as how I had spent nearly the last sixteen years effectively not murdering people. And hey, I wasn’t even trying then.

Echo seemed thrilled with the idea when Dr. Static brought it up. He said that I should be sent back to my classes, monitored, and allowed to live as usual (or at least, what passed as usual these days) until after the winter solstice; my apparent birthday and the last day I’d have to spend with the spectre of the Bloodmoon hanging over me. That wasn’t good enough for Dahlia though, doll that she was. Folding her arms, she informed Echo that she wasn’t going to be responsible for teaching and training “the girl who’s going to make us all bleed one day.”

To say she wasn’t a fan would be like saying Scooby Doo liked to snack. She couldn’t get around the facts though. As much as she wanted me gone, wanted to ship me off to the Hourglass and let the Council of Masons deal with me, even if that did mean me ending up with my head on a spike, they were all slaves to their prophecies. And the prophecies said if I didn’t kill someone in the next five days, I wasn’t the Bloodmoon, plain and simple.

To satisfy her though, and to convince her not to bring her information to the Council directly, I was locked in my room.

“It’s just five days,” Echo said before he closed the door to my room. “Besides, it’s for the best. The fewer people you interact with, the less possibility of you killing one of them.”

He meant it as a joke; ‘Look how silly this is’. But it didn’t feel like a joke, especially when he slid the lock behind him. Did they think I was really capable of this, of murdering someone?

The days inched along in my room. The sun came up, went down, and came up again. The only visitors I got at all were the people that came three times a day to bring me food (not that I had much of an appetite), and the lady who came by every night to walk me to the shower. Even though my showers were always at seven in the evening, the hallway between my room and the common area was always empty. Had they told everyone at Weathersby about what they thought I was? Did no one want to look at me? No. They were trying to keep this secret from the Council. I knew enough about high school to know that spreading a secret among a group of teenagers, evolved or not, would be counterproductive.

I tried to sleep a lot, but that wasn’t easy. My mind was constantly racing, and staring at the same four walls with nothing to distract me wasn’t helping.

My mom wasn’t my mom. She was my mom’s best friend. My dad, at least the guy I thought was my dad-Well, he could have been anybody. In reality, I was the product of an illicit affair, a union condemned, and I was surrounded by people who, whether it was a glimmer in the backs of their minds or just an outright belief, thought I was capable of destroying the world.

Not to mention the fact that I had weird superpowers that I was only now beginning to access, and a bad case of the hots for a guy who not only pretended to be someone he wasn’t for the entire length of our relationship, but was also basically engaged to a girl who belonged on the cover of a Victoria’s Secret catalog.

Bet no one’s accusing her of destroying the world.

To top it all off, the thing that stung the most, and what really truly kept me awake at night, was how much I missed my mom. She wasn’t my blood. We weren’t even related, and it turned out she had lied to me since the day I was born (which was a full three months earlier than I had originally thought). But in all the ways that counted, in my bones if not my blood, Julie Karr was my mother. God, that hadn’t even been her real name. Ash was her name. Or maybe Ash was her Breaker name and her given name was something else altogether. Things like names didn’t matter though, not anymore. The lies didn’t matter. None of it mattered. The only thing I cared about was that I was a girl trapped in a strange place, surrounded by strange people, and I wanted my mother. I wanted to feel her hands in my hair and hear her tell me everything would be okay. I wanted to wrap my arms around her while she told me that this was all just a bad dream. I wanted her to tell me that I was good, and that there was no way in hell Julie Karr’s daughter could be anything other than whatever she wanted to be; prophecies be damned.

She was dead though, and me, I was all alone.

I asked to see Casper on the third of my five days. They said no. I asked to see Owen. They said no again. I asked to see anyone. I was going crazy looking at the walls and trying not to think abouteverything. Instead of people, they brought me a TV.

It helped for a few hours, but there are only so many Maury paternity test results shows a girl can watch before she loses interest. And it wasn’t long before the loneliness crept back in. I looked out the window a lot that day, watching as the Breakers trained, learned, and went about their routines. From my window, they looked like normal kids, like they could be from any high school in any part of the world, except for one thing. As much as I watched them, and I had a long time to watch them, I never saw any flirting. Sure, they joked, they laughed, they got mad, they got happy, and they fought and made up. But there wasn’t even a shade of anything romantic going on.

In Chicago, and then in Crestview, all people did was kiss. They hooked up, broke up, and switched up all before lunch. That was the way of it. We were teenagers, after all. But here, within the walls of Weathersby, that sort of thing seemed a world away. They didn’t kiss. They barely touched. In all the time I looked at them, I couldn’t catch even one longing glance among them.

Maybe it came with being a Breaker. Maybe, when you knew that your eventual life partner was going to be picked for you based on things you had absolutely no control over and that the way you felt or the things you wanted would mean about as much as spitting into a fire, you just didn’t think about the lovey dovey type stuff. It sure seemed like it would suck the romance out of a situation.

But what about people who did take time to nurture their romantic side? Certainly there was somebody in Weathersby who had at least thought about it? They were evolved, after all, not androids. And what about gay Breakers who didn’t procreate regardless of how potent their DNA was?

I didn’t have the answers for any of this and, judging by my unmoving locked door, I wasn’t going to get them anytime soon. I stared off into the distance, into the empty air where the seer’s tower stood. I still couldn’t see it, but I wondered if she could see me. Was she looking at me right now; one girl in the tower to another?

The sun melted behind the hills, stealing the light from my third day as a willing hostage. When seven o’clock rolled around, and the lady came to guide me to my nightly shower, I couldn’t take the silence anymore.

“So, what’s your name?” I asked.

She was older than Dahlia and Echo, probably closer to Dr. Static’s age, with dark pinned back hair, flaxen brown eyes that were too close together, and a pinched off nose that looked as though it had been turned up for about thirty years now. She wore a plain white blouse, a long black skirt, and flat black shoes. Here lips were pressed together, turned down at the ends and, when she looked at me, it seemed as though my question pained her.

“Mulva,” she said flatly, and turned away.

“Oh, that’s a pretty name,” I lied. Scratching my head, I said,” Pretty quiet tonight.”

She didn’t respond.

“So, you been here long, Mulva?”

She sighed. “The specifics of my tenure are none of your business. And ma’am will do just fine.”

She marched through the empty hallway, her feet clapping heavy against the floor.

“Not a fan of me, are you, Mulva?” I let her name stretch on my lips. I never called my mom ma’am. I sure as hell wasn’t starting with this chick.

She stopped and turned toward me. The way she crossed herself with her arms reminded me of Dahlia. In fact, there was a lot about her that was very Dahlia-esque; the way she stood up completely straight, the holier than thou tilt in her voice, the sour expression that seemed tattooed on her face.

“It’s change that I don’t care for, young lady. Change is a mistress of the unknown; bred from a lack of discipline and dangerous at its core. You are change, Cresta Karr. And that makes you extremely dangerous.”

“You know,” I said, staring at her. “You know who I am. Or, who they think I am, I mean.” I inched a little closer, examining her. She didn’t move. She wasn’t giving me an inch. “She told you, didn’t she? What are you, Dahlia’s mother?”

Something like a smile, but colder, danced across the woman’s face. “As I’ve said, my life is none of your business. Though rest assured, Dahlia holds her word in too high a regard to ever go against it, even for the likes of you. If she told you she would keep your secret, then she will.”

“Then how do you know?” I asked. There was no denying it. The look on her face, full of anger and disgust, told me everything I needed to know.

“Because I’m no fool. I’ve been around long enough that I’ve seen it all, most things twice. Still, I have never seen the likes of you. An unknown Breaker with unknown abilities; it’s unheard of. And now you’ve been locked away just days from the solstice, anyone with a working brain stem could see what’s going on. Not to mention how much you look like your father. That Blut hair is hard to overlook.”

My fingers instinctively went to my head. Blut hair; did that mean white blond, like mine? Did everyone notice it?

“So you think I’m evil?” The words came from me softly, like a little girl.

“I think all people are evil in one way or another. You’re just a cut above the rest.”

“But I haven’t killed anybody. If I don’t kill anybody by the time the sun comes up on the solstice, I’m not the Bloodmoon. Echo said so.”

“Is that what he told you?” Mulva scoffed. “Prophecies are tricky and troublesome things. They don’t always mean what they say and, even when they do, things never happen the way you expect. Do you really think all of this, the nature of your birth, what happened to you back in that dustbowl town you called home, is just a coincidence? You are the Bloodmoon. You know that just as well as I. And every second you walk this earth is another minute closer to its end. You being here, even locked away as you are, is just tempting fate. “

“You know, back in the real world, we judge people by what they do, not by what they might do,” I said through gritted teeth. Her words had angered me again.

“Then isn’t it a pity that you’re no longer in that real world,” Mulva answered. “You’re a girl now, but one day, you’ll be a monster. If, that is, you’re allowed to live that long.”

“What are you-“

“Your head should be mounted on a spike, young lady; plain and simple. And, if by fate’s hand, I had even a wisp of the power I once did, it would be.”

“And you call me the monster!” I yelled. My words echoed, bouncing down the empty hallway. “Have you ever thought that it was people like you that make the monsters? Maybe if you showed a little compassion, maybe if you treated people like actual human beings instead of chess pieces in some game!”

“What is life if not a game, Bloodmoon? You win or you lose, but you always have to play” Her arms were still folded. Her face was still painted with that bitchy Dahlia expression.

“It’s life, you lunatic,” I said, and then ran.

I didn’t look back at Mulva. She probably thought I was going to try to make a break for it, to try and get out of Weathersby and go out on my own. She’d have loved that, me making good on all the horrible things Dahlia had said about me. I wasn’t having it though. I didn’t have anywhere to go and now, thanks to Mulva’s cutting words, I had something to prove. I slammed the door of my room. Grabbing a chair, I wedged it against the handle so that the door couldn’t be opened from the outside. I might have been trapped in here, but now everyone else was trapped out. I didn’t want anybody coming in, not if they were like Mulva.

I melted into my bed, my hands drawing up into fists at my sides. Who did she think she was? Who did any of them think they were, strutting around with their doomsday games and prophecies? Maybe I’d become a seer too. Maybe I’d close my eyes tight and, when I opened them, I’d tell them all that they were the ones who were going to destroy the world and that the only way to save it would be for them to march off a cliff like lemmings, like stupid cult member lemmings.

Bitter tears stung behind my eyes. I muttered curse words into my pillow, cursing the Breakers, cursing Allister Leeman, cursing the prophecies that they’d allowed to take away their free will, cursing fate, cursing myself, and cursing my mom for not being here and for sending me to Weathersby in the first place.

How could she lie to me? How could she let me think everything was so simple when, all the time, we were dancing on top of razor blades? My stomach started to churn. This whole thing was making me sick. I wanted to cry, to scream but I was too tired. I was sick, fed up, and exhausted.

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, the sun was up, peeking over the tree line and into my room. It wasn’t the morning rays that woke me though. It was something a lot more peculiar. I hadn’t heard a cell phone since the night I came to Weathersby. Though Owen had been glued to his back in Crestview, it seemed the rest of the Breakers didn’t use them, at least not in Weathersby. It made sense. Who would they have talked to? For all the conversations I had been in with them, none of the Breakers ever brought up their families or friends back home in the Hourglass. They rarely talked about the past at all. Even while I was skimming Owen’s memories, I never felt any sense of longing on his part to be back home. It was like they had been programmed not to make those sorts of lasting connections. Maybe they thought that sort of thing might make them weak. Still, as my eyes fluttered open against my soft down pillow, I recognized the unmistakable ring of a phone.

I leaned up, gathering myself. That had been the first time I had actually slept since being locked away and, it turned out, three days of sleeplessness had taken its toll. I shook my head, forcing myself to wake up. I had never been a morning person, and today was no exception. The phone rang again. It was soft and distant, but it was definitely a phone. I stood. Something tickled at the back of my mind, something the girl in the tower had wrote to me.

Mind the ring.

“Stupid seers,” I muttered. The ringing seemed to be coming from under my bed. I hit the floor and, pushing back the bed ruffle, saw the silver briefcase my mother gave me the day she died. I pulled it out. The ringing got louder. I popped it open, remembering the cell phone she had placed inside beside the huge stacks of cash and my ‘turned-out-to-be-fake’ asthma medication.

The phone rang and vibrated against the case. This was the phone my mother left for me. Who-who on earth would have the number? I grabbed it slowly, like it was a bomb about to explode or a piece of alien technology.

The phone’s screen lit up.

UNKNOWN CALLER

I flipped it open and held it wordlessly to my ear.

“Are you there?” The voice was light and flirty, but undeniably male. “Cresta, talk to me baby.”

I went through a rolodex of voices in my mind, trying to place the one on the other end of line. I was drawing a blank, but the way he addressed me; baby. There had only ever been one man in the whole world who had called me that. But it didn’t make any sense. It couldn’t be. Could it?

“D-dad?”

The laugh that came across the line, cold and relishing, gutted me like a fish on a hook.

“Oh baby, which daddy would that be, the dead one or the one you’ve never met?”

After a few beats of silence, the voice continued. “It doesn’t matter, baby. Soon enough, I’ll be your daddy. I’ll be the only man you’ll ever need.”

I thought my heart was going to explode into a thousand pain filled shards as I realized exactly who it was I was talking to.

“Oh God,” I choked out. “Allister Leeman.”

Chapter 14

The Future Becomes Her

BILE ROSE, BURNING my throat as I realized who I was talking to. Allister Leeman, the Raven; he was a fringe lunatic who even the crazies that surrounded me considered to be insane. If Dahlia, Echo, and the rest were to be believed, it was Allister who set this whole thing in motion. He was the one who sent Owen, and God knows how many others, to spy on me. He was the ringleader who sent the men who blew my house up. He was the reason my mother was dead and, worst of all, the nutjob wanted to marry me.

“Raven.” My voice was shrill echoing over the phone.

“That’s a formal way to address one’s fiancé, don’t you think?” I could hear the sleazy smile spread across his face.

“Go to hell!” I said, my fingers wrapping tightly around the phone.

“I will. Haven’t you heard? You’re the one who’s going to show me the way.”

“The only thing I’d like to show you is the broad side of a bat,” I stood. Frantic, I started pacing the room.

“Good,” he answered. “Harness that anger, baby. It’s going to serve you so well in the future.”

“You wasted your time, you head case. I’m not who you think I am.”

“You’re exactly who I think you are. I can hear it in that saucy little tone. You’re a sparkplug. Though, I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything less, given who you are.”

“I’m not the Bloodmoon! Now just leave me alone!”

“Careful,” his voice took a low, serious tone. “You don’t want to make too much noise. If you raise suspicion, your jailers might take your phone away, and you don’t want that. I promise, you’re going to want to hear what I’ve got to say.”

How did he know I was locked away? Did he have eyes here too, a traitor the Breakers didn’t know about? Did he have a secret surveillance system? Was he watching me now? No. The Breakers were smart; the smartest people in the world. There was no way some crazy loser could bypass their security. And nobody, no matter how skilled they were, could fake out Echo. That dude was a walking lie detector.

No. Allister Leeman was just using his brain. He knew that Dahlia would find out the truth behind the explosion. And from there, it’s just common sense to think they’d do everything in their power to keep me from fulfilling the prophecy, even if the idea of me killing someone was just about as likely as peanut butter falling from the sky. Still, I wasn’t going to let him paint me as a victim.

“I don’t have jailers. I chose this. I’m going to prove to everyone that I’m not some killer,” I answered.

“No darling. You’re so much more than that.” I heard the smile creep back across his face. “And I don’t appreciate the tone. If you take a moment to listen, you’ll find that I’m on your side. In fact, I think I might be the only true friend you have in all of this.”

“You killed my mother,” the words slipped from my mouth at about the same time that tears fled from my eyes. “You tried to kill me. You destroyed my life. We are not friends. We’re nothing. I hate you, and one day really soon, after I prove I’m not the stupid Bloodmoon, I’m going to make you pay.”

“Good. I love that fire in your voice. There’s a thin line between love and hate, you know. And darling, we are destined to cross it.”

“I could never love you!” I was standing on my bed now; standing on top of it like I was six years old.

“And why’s that, because you’ve fallen for my little chess piece? How is Owen; still engaged to that annoyingly perfect girl?”

He was trying to hurt me, to twist the Merrin shaped knife in my back, but I was way beyond that.

“Don’t answer that,” he laughed. “It doesn’t matter. The truth is, Owen could never love you, not the real you anyway. To him, you’re something to be changed, something to be avoided at all costs. He doesn’t understand how special you are; the real purpose behind what it is you’ll do. He wants to change you, to make you something you’re not. Though, I suppose that’s better than trying to kill you.”

“Owen and I are none of your business, you sick freak.”

“You’re right.” His laugh morphed into a loose maniacal giggle. “You’re young. I shouldn’t hold your transgressions against you. Besides, it doesn’t matter where you heart starts, I suppose, given that we both know where it’s going to end up.”

“You’re screwing with me, and I’m not going to play anymore,” I answered. Letting him egg me on was just going to lead me into trouble. He couldn’t get to me in this room. In this room, he was powerless and, in three days, it wouldn’t matter. The solstice would be over, nobody would be murdered, and the whole prophecy thing would be out the window. “This isn’t about me. You don’t care who the Bloodmoon is, so long that she actually comes. Because you know that if the Bloodmoon doesn’t come along, then you don’t get to be the Raven. And if you’re not the Raven, then what are you? You’re just a pathetic Breaker who couldn’t cut it and is trying to overcompensate. So, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t think I’m going to give you even one more minute of my time.”

I held the phone back from my ear, ready to end the call and, with any luck, be done with Allister Leeman forever. But then, I heard him speak.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how I got the number?”

“What?” I asked, exasperated.

“The number to this phone; don’t you want to know how I got it? If I was in your place, I’d be pretty curious. Though, seeing as how only one person on the planet had it, it should be an easy guess.”

My heart thumped. He wasn’t saying what I thought he was saying. He couldn’t be. I gripped the phone so tightly that I was sure it would break.

“Come on Cresta, darling. Who had the phone number? Who gave you the phone?” His voice sickened me.

“My mother couldn’t have given you this number. You killed her. She’s dead.” Tears, hot and angry, poured down my cheeks.

“Is that right? Someone should tell the woman locked in my foyer. She’s under the impression that she’s very much alive.”

“You’re lying!” I snapped. “She’s dead. I saw it happen.”

“Did you?” he asked too lightly. “Did you actually see her die? Do you have a body?”

He had me there. I hadn’t watched my mom die, but she had to be dead. She was in the house when it exploded. I saw as much from Owen’s memories. She couldn’t have survived that, could she?

“Your mother is with me, Cresta. She’s hurt, but not badly, at least not yet. I didn’t kill her. I could have, but what sort of son in law would that make me?” A creaking, like the opening or closing of a door sounded on the other end of the phone. Then sounds, the clang of chains, loud thumps like wood against walls, and a woman’s scream.

Was he telling the truth? Was it possible that my mother had survived and he was holding her hostage, torturing her? The scream came again. I listened, trying to pick up on the voice. But I had never heard my mother scream before, at least not like that; all guttural and horrific.

“I don’t believe you,” I said, trying to keep the quiver out of my voice.

“Well then let me convince you,” he said. The thumping sound came again, followed by another scream. I realized with sickening clarity that it wasn’t wood that was being pounded, it was bone. “She was delirious when she was brought here Cresta. She kept repeating the same thing over and over again; See you when I see you.”

My heart stopped thumping. In fact, it stopped altogether. How many times had my mother said those words to me? Every time I went off for school, every time I went to dinner with friends, even on the way out the night my dad died; she always told me that. But what did that prove? Wouldn’t Allister Leeman know that? He had me watched for years. It made sense that he would know something like that. The woman’s scream came through the phone again, piercing like a dagger aimed straight for my heart.

If he was telling the truth, if there was even a chance that that screaming woman, that tortured woman was actually my mother, I had to do something.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“To prove to you that I’m on your side, my dear.”

“No more bull!” I shouted. “Just tell me what I need to do to get my mother back.”

“All you have to do is come and get her. It’s that easy, Cresta. There is a catch though,” he added.

Of course there’s a catch.

“You have to come now.”

“They’re not going to let me out of here until after the Solstice. You know that,” I sank onto the bed, cursing the walls around me.

“Then I suppose you’ll have to find a way out. I’m sure my little chess piece can help you out with that. If the reports I’ve been receiving are true, it doesn’t look like there’s anything he wouldn’t do for you. But don’t worry, my little sugar dove. I’m not jealous.”

“Owen? They won’t even let me see Owen.” Another scream, louder than before, and then another came blaring into my ear. “Stop! Look, just let her go, okay. I’ll come to you. I’ll-I’ll find a way.”

“Good. You have until midnight on the solstice. A minute after that, and I’ll send your mother to you in pieces.”

That thought produced knives in my stomach that wrenched so violently that I thought I was going to die.

“Just- I don’t know where you are. I don’t know how to find you.”

“You will,” he answered flatly. “Don’t worry about that. Once I know you’re safely outside the walls of Weathersby, I’ll send you the means you need to get here. And Cresta, if you inform Echo, Dahlia, or anyone who might tell the council about this little arrangement, they will stop you from coming. They will keep you locked in that room until it’s too late, and I will make your mother suffer. Do you understand me?”

I did. If Echo or, God forbid, Dahlia found out about this, they wouldn’t let me leave. They might send a group of Breakers to save my mom, assuming they could find her, but who’s to say what Echo would do to her if he saw an army coming for him? No. I would have to do this myself, but I wasn’t about to do it without proof.

“I wanna talk to her. Put her on the phone and then I’ll come,” I demanded.

“Phones are so ineffective,” he answered. “Voices can be manipulated. What you hear can be changed, and I don’t want you to harbor any doubts about whether or not I’m serious about this. Breakers use candles, Cresta. It’s the fastest way to connect with someone. Use a candle. You’ll see where she is now, and then you won’t have any doubts.”

“No, I-“

“As much as I’ve enjoyed our little pre-wedding chit chat, if I’m not mistaken, you’ll be getting breakfast in about thirty seconds. We can’t have any eyebrows being raised, can we? You have two days, Cresta.” The horrible noises came again. “We can’t wait to see you.” And then the line was dead.

“Wait,” I said, but the line morphed into a busy signal and then a recording of an operator who suggested I hang up and try my call again. I just sat there, melted into my bed, dumbstruck with the phone in my hand. He was lying. Wasn’t he?

Please God, he had to be lying. He just wants to get me out, to get me to him and-and who knows what sick games he’s got in store for me after that.

But what was the alternative, that my mom was dead? Wouldn’t it be better if he had her somewhere, so that I might have a chance to save her? The sickening screams echoed in my memory and suddenly I wasn’t sure anymore.

The door swung open. It was a woman with long braided hair bringing me breakfast right on cue, just like Allister said. It wasn’t Mulva. She must have had her fill of me last night and, if I hadn’t been so bowled over by what had just happened, I’m sure that would have made me happy. As it was, I hid the phone behind my back. The woman with the braids didn’t notice. She just sat the covered dish over and walked away, closing the door behind her, never looking directly at me.

Maybe she thinks I’ll melt her with my super evil Bloodmoon stare.

I threw the phone back on the bed, but when I heard the lock slide back into place, my mind went back to racing. I was never getting out of here, at least not in time to save my mom. Wait, I was being stupid. My mom wasn’t alive. He was lying to me. But what if he wasn’t?

Ugh! I was driving myself crazy. I couldn’t do this. Even the tiniest of chances that my mom might be alive was enough. This might have been a trap. Hell, it probably was, but it was one I was going to walk into willingly. Assuming, I actually got out of this damn room.

An idea came crashing into my mind. The note, the one the girl in the tower left me, the one I had thrown away; she guided me to her the first time. Maybe the mumbo jumbo that she wrote on the second one would help me out now.

I rushed over to the waste paper basket where I tossed the note. Damn, it was empty. When did they even clean this room? I threw myself back on the bed. What was it that note said, something about a flicker?

This was never going to work. How could I decipher the stupid fortune cookie speak if I couldn’t even remember it? And why did she have to talk like that anyway? Couldn’t she just write a note that said things straight out?

Hey Cresta, these idiots think you’re gonna grow up and destroy the world, so you should probably get gone before the lunatic who wants to marry you, even though you’ve never met, calls and says he has your mother, who’s not really your mother, held hostage. Oh yeah, by the way, he’s probably trying to trick you into killing someone so that you can fulfill another stupid prophecy that I probably made up because I’ve been trapped in a tower for years and I’m bored as hell.

See, that I could have figured out. I ran over to the slit of a window in my room, looking at the empty space where I knew a tower stood. Was she looking back at me now? Did she know what I was going through? Of course she did. She was a seer. That was her whole schtick. I narrowed my eyes. Maybe if I focused, I’d be able to see the tower like before. Maybe I’d be able to see the girl and she could tell me what to do. But it didn’t feel like before. The night the tower came into view, everything seemed to click into place. It felt natural, like pieces of me that I had always neglected were finally being put to use.

Now though, now it felt like those pieces had never existed at all, and that no matter how hard I tried, I’d never find the clarity of mind necessary to see through the shade. It was too full now, to crammed with stressful thoughts and the screams of a woman who very well could be my mother.

Suddenly, as though someone had pushed it, the silverware set that the braided woman had left beside my breakfast fell to the floor, clattering loudly. Of course, the first letter had come with my food. That must have been where this one was too. I raced over to the covered dish and threw off the lid, letting it clank against the wall where it hit.

Bacon, eggs, cheese, fruit, sausages, was that green stuff Jello? There was no letter though. I lifted the plate. Nothing underneath. There was nothing here. She hadn’t sent me anything. The only time I needed it, the only time it might actually help, and she sends nothing.

A rose of anger blossomed in my chest. I couldn’t help it; I tossed the plate against the wall. It shattered into a million loud shards of white porcelain. The food,which didn’t smell half bad, splatted everywhere. The eggs smeared against my bed. The bacon and sausage lay in chunks on the nightstand and footstool. And the green Jell-O lay against the hardwood in teardrop shaped clumps. Though, being green it looked more like a bush or a tree; some kind of plant.

A piece of my discarded letter flashed through my mind.

Destroy the clover.

That’s what it was, a clover. I dove toward the Jell-O, clawing at its pieces, and then the wooden floor underneath. A plank was loose and came up easy, like it had been pried up and set back in place. Under it, a mass was wrapped in a small white cloth. It was dusty and yellowed with age. I picked it up and, unwrapping it, saw that the treasure inside the old cloth was a similarly aged key. It was golden; dull and chipped, but it was a key all the same. Looking over at the locked door keeping me here, I smiled. Looked like a perfect fit. On the old cloth, written in what I could only guess was permanent marker were the words:

Aquarium, 5:43 P.M.

How’s that for straightforward?

The Girl in the Tower

I grimaced and slid the key and cloth into my pocket.

Chapter 15

Swimming Upstream

I CLEANED UP the mess I had made, sweeping the bacon, sausage, egg bits, and Jell-O chunks back onto the platter and covering it over. Someone, probably the braided girl or, God forbid, Mulva would be back to retrieve the platter and I didn’t want them suspicious. If anyone found out about my little outburst and, with that, that I now had a key for my room, they’d start asking questions. They’d probably send me to Echo, who would pull the truth out of me with all the finesse of a bulldozer at a wedding reception, and then I’d be screwed. They’d keep me here, make someone watch me at all times, and my mom (if she was, in fact, still alive) wouldn’t stand a chance.

On cue, the braided girl came in, plucked up the covered tray, and left. Again, she didn’t look at me, didn’t say anything to me. She didn’t seem to notice me at all. I would have been offended, had my mind not been racing with so many other things. As it was, I was glad to see her go. Maybe I shouldn’t have been hard on her. Maybe I was being too critical of all of them. They had, after all, heard horror stories about the person I was supposedly destined to grow up and become since they themselves were kids. Didn’t it make sense that they would hate me, be afraid of me?

No, I was thinking like them now, making excuses for them. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I wasn’t a monster, regardless of how or why I was born. And nothing they said or did was going to turn me into one. I was Cresta Karr, daughter of Adam and Julie Karr, lover of folk rock and cheesy eighties movies. If they were looking for a Bloodmoon, they were going to have to go elsewhere.

Five forty eight came slowly, after hours of feeling like I was going to bang my head against the wall. Would anyone actually come for me if I did? Looking at the stalwart door keeping me here, I figured, probably not. The braided woman returned with lunch ( a cold chicken and avocado sandwich with a side of wheat pasta salad) and then dinner (steak smothered in mushrooms served with mashed potatoes and a side of red wine sauce). The sandwich went untouched, but my stomach was rumbling so much by the time dinner rolled around, that I grabbed a hunk of steak, dipped a dinner roll in the wine sauce, and stuffed my face.

When the clock on the wall read five thirty, I thought about slipping the key into the door and running out, but I knew better. The girl in the tower, weird vague speak aside, was a seer. That meant she knew what was happening, what would happen, and probably what could happen given just the right series of events. So, like it or not, I was waiting until the second hand rolled around on five forty eight before I acted.

The key slid into the lock with ease. It turned without much struggle and unlocked the door. I opened it slowly, afraid that someone might be on the other side guarding me or that the aged door would creak, giving me away to anybody walking by. Instead, I found the hallway conspicuously empty and the door completely silent. This was it, my chance. The girl in the tower had given it to me somehow.

I darted out of my deluxe prison room and settled behind one of the large gothic columns that ran to the ceiling. It was uncanny. Peering out into the usually bustling common area, I found it to be empty as hell. What was going on?

I scampered through the wide open common area, my eyes darting around for signs of someone who might see me and my feet falling as softly as possible on the hardwood floor, hoping not to make too much noise. It was all clear. All I needed to do was get to the aquarium, but where was it? It’s not like there was a Weathersby map hanging on the walls.

With my eyes busily searching the area in front, it wasn’t long before I slammed into a desk. Its contents, a vase filled with roses and blue marbles, fell to the floor. I expected the vase to shatter loudly and send the Breakers, wherever they were, running back in to find me. Instead, it landed with a soft thud and stayed in one piece. Even the roses stayed in place. Everything did, with the exception of a handful of the blue marbles.

As I bent down, picking the vase up and putting it back, the marbles started to move. They shot forward, running the length of the floor, and taking a sharp right as they moved into a separate hallway.

Okay. I guess that makes as much sense as anything’s going to.

I darted out after them, following as they took a left, another right, and trickled down a staircase that ran right past Echo’s office.

When they finally came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, I found myself in an expansive room. It was squared and lit with a soft blue glow. Large glass squares filled with empty still water lined the walls. Below them, written in the native language of their country, plaques read what I assumed were the locations where each square of water came from.

California, Deutschland, Mexico, Italia, and the like were all on display. It still rattled me that, in my new Breaker state, each language seemed as native to me as English. Standing there, staring at the tank marked Roma intently enough that you’d think something was actually in it, was Owen. He wore a tight black shirt and blue vest that, along with the soft blue light that I now saw was a reflection of the tanks, brought out the color in his eyes brilliantly. His fingers, all but the thumbs, were stuffed into his pockets. He was standing completely still, the way you only can when you’re either trying really hard or not trying at all.

“Where are all the fish?” I asked, and stepped into view.

“Cresta?” His eyes got wide and his face lost its expression. “I thought-How did you get out?”

Before I could answer, he rushed me, scooped me up into his arms, and spun me around. The world was a daze; not just because I was spinning, but because I was with Owen again. He was touching me, happy to see me. I could touch him, smell him, and breathe him in. He knew how I felt about him and, superhumanly perfect fiancés aside; I knew how he felt about me too.

“I wanted to come and see you, you know,” he said, his face buried in my hair. “I tried to. I begged Echo, but he wouldn’t let me.”

“I know. I asked to see you too,” I answered.

“Are you okay?” He asked, letting me down. The soft blue in the air made his face, always one of his best features, look even more perfect somehow.

“I am now,” I said, which brought a shy smile to his lips. His smile made me blush, and I turned away.

“No. Don’t do that.” He took my face in his hand and turned it back to him. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen that face.” He looked down, letting his eyes flicker to the floor for the briefest of seconds before pinning them back on me. “About Merrin, she’s not-“

“The Raven has my mother,” I cut him off, as much because I didn’t want to hear him explain the Merrin situation as because I knew we didn’t have much time to kill.

“What?” His eyes got wide again. His hands cupped mine, squeezing them tightly.

I explained it all to him; about the phone call, Allister Leeman, the woman’s scream, the girl in the tower’s note, the secret key, all of it. I ended my rant by telling him that I had to go, I had to chance it, and that I hoped he would understand.

“I’m coming with you,” he said flatly.

Looks like he understands and then some

“I can’t let you do that,” I answered, pulling my hands from his grip. “Your life is here, with the Breakers. You’re already in God knows how much trouble with the Council of Masons. There’s a good chance that the Raven doesn’t even have my mom. I can’t let you throw away whatever chance you might have to redeem yourself by running off with me.”

“He ruined my life, Cresta,” Owen folded his arms and looked me square in the eyes. “He manipulated me, made a fool of me. He took me away from my work; made everything I had done, every day of my life, meaningless. I want to make him pay for that.”

Though they probably shouldn’t have, his words sent spikes of doubt into my heart. He had taken him away from his work? Did he really mean that it was Merrin he had been taken away from? He had ruined his life? Hadn’t he sent him to me?

“So, the only reason you want to go with me is so you can get revenge?” I asked, and tried not to let my face scrunch.

He ran his hand through my hair, tucking a loose strand behind my ear. “I could forget about everything he did to me. I could let that all go, but if your mother is dead-Well, that’s my fault. And if she’s alive, if he has her, then that’s on me too.”

I opened my mouth, about to tell him that he was wrong, that it wasn’t his fault, but he placed his index finger over my mouth to silence me.

His fingers…on my lips…

“And if he did anything to you-If that son of a bitch so much as laid a finger on you and I wasn’t there to stop it-“He took a deep breath as if to compose himself. Leaning in closer he asked, “Do you have any idea what you mean to me, Cresta Karr?”

I leaned in to meet him. “I’m starting to,” I said just as our lips met. The kiss was gorgeous. So much so, that it almost allowed me to forget the horrible circumstances that led to it. I wrapped my arms around him, exploring his arms, his shoulders, the arch and small of his back. He was warm, and I felt his body tense and rise beneath my touch. His lips took mine in hungrily, panting as he brushed my flushed cheeks with his thumbs.

I wanted to stay there, to live there in the soft blue glow of the aquarium and the heat of Owen’s touch, but there were other things going on, reasons why something like this(even though it might be mind-blowingly awesome) had to wait.

“Owen,” I huffed, reluctantly pulling my lips away from his. “We can’t. There’s no time.”

He looked at him, his blue eyes gleaming devilishly. “It’s okay. I’ll be quick.” His arms pulled at me again, lifting me into the air and throwing me against the Roma display. My back pressed against the cool glass. Owen’s mouth searched mine before it traveled to my cheek, then my neck, and then the arch of my collar bone. I wanted to move, to push him away. We had to go. We had to get out of here before someone saw me and the whole thing was ruined. But as much as I tried, I couldn’t get my body to cooperate. It was his now. It belonged to his lips, to his eyes, to his heart, beating so hard that I could see it under his shirt and vest.

I tossed my head back, letting it rest against the cold glass. As soon as I touched the glass, something in me began to shift. I could feel the water behind me, actually feel it, as it twisted and turned. I tore away from Owen’s grasp, slinked to the floor, and turned to look. The water had clouded. What was once clear, blue, and still, was now a dark gray and spun around like a cyclone. When it settled, the water wasn’t empty anymore. Large fish that I had never seen before swam around. Some of them were scaly. Some were transparent. Some were so large that they took up the entire space and then some.

How did they even fit them in there?

“It’s leering glass,” Owen said, before I had a chance to voice how stunned I was. “It lets you see…everything.”

He walked closer and put his hand on the glass, tracing the space where something that looked like a prehistoric sea horse swam. “You know that everything holds a certain amount of physic energy, that anything can retain memories.”

“That’s how Dahlia found out everything that went on in Crestview,” I added, still staring at the glass. The image shifted. The Stone Age sea creatures dissipated, replaced by a desert scene. A huge battle was going on. Burly men in gold plated armor were fighting equally burly men in black armor. They drove spears into each other and rode horses over the broken bodies of their brothers. Except, I wasn’t watching it from a direct angle like the sea horse. I was rushing down toward it, falling on them like raindrops.

“Right,” Owen answered. “Water retains more memories than anything. You see these plaques?” He motioned toward the Roma sign. “Well, they’re meant to tell you where the water came from and, as such, give you an idea of what you gleam from it. But they’re useless, given that water is recycled so much. It seeps into the ground and ascends into the sky. Every drop of water is this place has probably been over every inch of this world. There’s no telling what sort of things it could show you. Some of it probably goes back to the dawn of time.”

“Can you pick what you want to see?” I asked, putting my hand beside his on the glass.

“You have to be trained for that, and lately I’ve been out of practice,” he winced.

“Because of the Raven?” I asked.

Start Here

“I used to go to the aquariums at the Hourglass with my father,” he said, ignoring my question. “I loved it. I used to stay there for hours, just touching all the different waters and travelling through time.” He ran his hand up his arm, brushing where the bands had been placed. “That was when I still had my powers though.”

“We’re gonna get your powers back,” I grabbed his hand.

“I don’t care about my powers,” he turned to me. “Let’s go get your mom back.”

“Don’t be stupid,” a voice sounded from across the room. Startled, I pulled away from Owen, ready to run. Casper came out of the doorway though, his arms folded. How long had he been there? Had he seen…the whole thing?

“Casper, how did you know I was gonna be here?”

“I got a letter.” He held up a white slip, much like the ones I had been receiving. “It said to come here. I thought you sent it.” He winced and ran his hand through his hair. “Well, I hoped you sent it.”

I ran to him and hugged him tightly. “Missed you,” I whispered into his ear.

“I promised to keep you safe,” he said with a break in his voice.

“I’m fine. I’m okay,” I assured him.

“Let’s get out of here, Cress. We don’t belong here. Let’s just go.”

“I thought you like it here. I thought you said it was cool,” I gave him a squeeze on the shoulder and pulled away. The blue lights made Casper’s red hair look purple, and made the freckles dotting his face resemble dark smudges. Still, he was a sight for sore eyes.

“Yeah, I sorta turned in my Breakers fan club membership card when they hauled you off like a common crook,” he huffed and stared past me at Owen. Wait, was he counting Owen among their numbers too? Did he blame Owen?

“Cass,Allister Leeman has my mom,” I said.

“I know you want to believe that Cresta, but you didn’t see the house. You didn’t see what was left of it. Your mom didn’t make it out of there. That sick bastard is just trying to lure you to him.” His voice was soft, and I could tell that losing my mom had hurt him too.

“With all due respect, Casper, Cresta’s mother was Breaker. You have no idea what we’re capable of surviving,” Owen walked toward us.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Owen. If that is your real name,” Casper hissed. Okay, so that answered the question of how Casper felt about Owen. “Just go back to your little cult, and let us go.”

“Go where?” Owen balked. Even if you’re right, and Julie Karr is dead, you wouldn’t make it half a out there. Until sunrise on the solstice, Cresta is, for all intents and purposes, the Bloodmoon. If you run, they will come find you. If you’re not going to go after Cresta’s mom, then the best thing for her to do is go back into her room until after the solstice. At least then, they’ll know she isn’t the Bloodmoon.”

“And what if they don’t?” Casper’s hands balled into fists. “What if that doesn’t convince them? What if they pull some other prophecy out of their asses? They could keep Cresta here forever.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Owen answered.

“Oh yeah, cause you’re so trustworthy.”

“Cass, I do!” I answered. “I trust him.”

“Why Cresta?” His face scrunched, as though my words had hurt him. “Look, I know you’ve got the hots for him or whatever, but he’s just like the rest of them. All he’s ever done is lie to us.”

“That wasn’t his fault,” I shook my head. “I mean-Yeah, it was his fault, but he thought he was doing it for my own good.”

Casper gritted his teeth. “And what happens when he thinks killing you is for your own good?”

“You son of a bitch!” Owen rushed toward him. I jumped between them. I was trying to sneak away without being seen. The last thing I needed was a brawl in the world’s weirdest aquarium. “You don’t know anything about me,” Owen yelled. “You don’t know my life!”

“You don’t have a life,” Casper sniped. “You people live in a holding cell. You let other people tell you what to do so you don’t have to make your own decisions. You lie to people and tell yourselves that you’re heroes. You blame people for things you say they’re going to do. What about all the crap that you people do? You make me sick.”

This was a total one eighty from the Casper I had left when they locked me in that room. Gone was the freewheeling, fun loving guy who thought this whole thing was an adventure. He wanted us gone, and he wanted us gone now. But he had forgotten about one thing.

“Casper, I’m a Breaker too.”

“You are not,” he said, his voice calming. “You’re you. You’re Cresta, and you’re amazing. Don’t you see Cress? They don’t care about us. They look at us and see a Neanderthal and a Bloodmoon; the monkey and the antichrist. That’s all we’re ever gonna be to them.”

“That’s not true,” Owen’s voice had softened to. “I care about her. I care about you too. Believe it or not, you guys were my friends, probably the only real friends I’ve ever had. I know I lied to you guys, and I know that I’m responsible for what happened back in Crestview, but I wanna make it right.”

“Forgive me if I decide not to believe a damn word that comes out of your mouth,” Casper said.

I sighed. We didn’t have time for this. I turned to him, and put on my best ‘this means business’ face. “Casper, this is happening. Whether you like it or not, I am going to save my mother.”

“He doesn’t have your mother,” Casper repeated.

“He said there was a way to prove it,” I remembered. “He said that if I lit a candle-“

“Of course!” Owen clapped his hands together. “The quickest way for Breakers to communicate is through flame. Why didn’t I think of that? If we can get the right kind of candle and something of your mom’s to focus our search, we should be able to feel her, might even be able to see her.”

The idea of seeing my mom again filled with dueling emotions. I desperately wanted her to be alive and would have given anything to be able to look into her eyes again, but if she was alive, it meant she was being tortured by Allister Leeman, and I wasn’t sure I could deal with the sight of that.

I shook my head. “Can you do it?” I asked. That was the only thing that mattered.

“No,” he answered, and rubbed at the band that bound his powers. “Not like this.”

“What about me,” desperation colored my voice. “Can I do it?”

“You have to be trained Cresta. It’s a delicate process. It takes years for a Breaker to learn it.”

That was it then. I would have to fly blind; go after my mom, proof or not.

“But there is someone who could,” Owen answered. “There’s one other person I trust enough to do it.”

“What?” I asked, but my eyes narrowed when I realized who he was talking about.

No. Not her. Anybody but her.

Chapter 16
In Plain Sight

TEN MINUTES LATER, Casper and I were hiding in the janitorial closet. It was about ten feet wide and barely had room for the mops, rakes, and buckets that had been stuffed into it, let alone the two of us. Owen had drawn ovals on the inside of the door in red marker; anchors that he said should hide us from anybody that might come in looking for cleaning supplies.

When Owen came back, Merrin behind him, I grimaced. Of all the people I didn’t want to know about this, Merrin was definitely at the top of that list. But Casper was right. There was a very good chance Allister Leeman didn’t have my mother and, if that was the case and he was just trying to get me out into the open, the whole candle thing could really shed some light on it. No pun intended. But with Owen effectively neutered and me being a Breaker newbie, we’d have to outsource. Too bad the only person Owen trusted enough for the job was his seemingly perfect and certainly beautiful (ex?) fiancé.

I could tell from the look on Merrin’s infuriatingly perfect symmetrical that Owen had already filled her in on what was going on. Her eyes were tightened in a way that told me she thought I was a king sized nuisance. Though they were also a touch softer than I remembered, so maybe she understood at least a little of why I was doing this.

“I have no idea why we’re doing this,” she sighed.

There goes that theory.

She glared at me, then at Owen. “You realize the position this puts me in with the Masons. They trusted me Owen, and when we get found out-“

“We won’t get found out,” Owen turned, revealing a blue backpack slung over one shoulder. He unzipped it and placed its contents on the floor in front of us; a stumpy red candle, a box of matches, and a rounded hand mirror. The room filled with the smell of apples and cinnamon.

“Is that Glade?” I asked, pointing to the candle.

“Short notice,” he explained.

“Of course we’re going to get found out,” Merrin said, rolling her eyes at me. “Do you think they’re going to notice we’re gone and just assume we went out for a picnic?”

We? I didn’t like the sound of that.

“She’s coming?” I asked, looking at Owen.

“She can speak for herself,” Merrin answered with enough venom in her voice to poison a horse. “And yes. I’ve lost Owen once already. I’m not doing it again. Unless, of course, you’d rather I stay put and, when Echo and Dahlia start asking questions, I can point them in your direction.”

“That’s enough,” Owen said, striking a match and lighting the candle’s wick. “We don’t know what we’re going to be dealing with out there, Cresta. Having a Breaker who isn’t and knows what she’s doing can only help us.”

“Unless she rats us out anyway,” Casper said, his arms folded, his voice flippant.

“Oh good, a Neanderthal; what every good suicide mission needs,” Merrin spat.

“Stop it!” Owen said, standing to meet her. “These are my friends, both of them. If you want to be part of this, you have to respect that.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” she said, and ran her fingers lightly across his cheek. He flinched, but just a little.

“Just deal with the candle, okay,” he blinked.

“I need a token” she said, crouching cross legged in front of the lit candle. “A picture, a personal item; just something to tie me into Ash, hope me focus on who I’m looking for. Normally a relative would do the trick, but since there isn’t actually any blood ties between you and your mother-“

“I have something,” I cut her off. I did not need to hear the rest of that sentence. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the old photo of Echo and my mom; the first proof I ever got that what Echo was saying was the truth. With a bit of hesitance, I handed it over to her. Merrin held it over the candle, letting the flame lick up it. As the fire consumed the picture, my heart stung. It didn’t make much sense. Before a couple of weeks ago, I had never seen that picture. But it was the only one I had of my mother, maybe the only one I would ever have. If this didn’t work out, if I never got to see my mother again, that picture would have been the only piece of her I’d have left. I didn’t even have her features. That picture would have been the only thing that reminded me of what she looked like, that kept her face fresh in my mind.

And now it was gone.

Mourn the flicker.

The burning picture produced a cloud of smoke. That smoke gathered in the air and rushed down to the hand mirror below, rendering it white and clouded.

A long second passed, and then another.

“The candle makes the connection. If your mother was alive, we would be able to see her in the mirror. I’m sorry,” Merrin said and, for a second, actually sounded as though she was sorry.

“Maybe you didn’t do it right,” I said, as she stood and flattened her pants with the palms of her hands.

“I’m quite capable. I assure you. There’s nothing in the mirror. That means-“

Look!” Casper shouted.

The white sheen on the mirror had transformed. It looked like a room now, but not the one we were in. Dark like this one, but where the janitorial closet was brown and filled with cleaning supplies, the room of the mirror was metal and completely empty aside from one glaring exception; my mother. She was sitting on the floor. Her knees were pulled up to her chest and her face was cut and bruised. Her hair was missing in chunks, and what was left of it stuck out in disheveled waves. Her eyes were rimmed in red, as thought she had been crying, but more than that, they looked tired. In fact, her whole body looked limp with exhaustion, as though somebody had put the long end of a vacuum inside of her and sucked everything out.

A murmur, horrified and pathetic, escaped my lips. There had been a piece of me who thought I should be angry with my mother. She lied to me my entire life. She drugged me to keep the truth of who I was a secret. She, in fact, wasn’t even my mother, not biologically. But looking at her now, watching the way her empty eyes fixated forward, none of that mattered. Everything in me wanted to reach through that mirror and pull her back here, back to me, back to safety. That wasn’t possible though, and I had never felt more impotent in my entire life.

A man came walking into view, blocking my mother for a split second and then moving to kneel beside her. Barely older looking than us, he had dark wavy hair. His skin was bronze and his eyes were black. He was-Well, he was cute, actually. A black tattoo stretched across the soft skin of his neck. Unlike Owen’s, I could actually make his out. It was a raven in midflight, wings spread wide.

Allister Leeman.

“She’ll come for you,” he hissed at my mother in the same horrid playful tone he had used with me on the phone. “In fact, she’s probably on her way right now.”

“Die in a fire,” Mom said weakly, and then she spit at him. He wiped the spit off of his face with a handkerchief he pulled from his jacket pocket and smiled.

“Interesting words for someone who’s survived not one, but two, explosions in her wasted lifetime.” He leaned in closer; so close that, as he spoke, his breath must have hit her in the face. “You gave your whole life to this girl. You walked away from your family, your future, everything you ever had, would have, or could have. And you did it all to keep her safe, to stop her from becoming what nature created her to be. Well she’s coming for you Ash. Or would you prefer Julie? After all, a good son in law abides his mother in law’s preferences. How does it feel to know that all of your hard work is for nothing; that, in the end, you’re the reason she’ll become the Bloodmoon? She’s coming for you, and I’m going to make sure that our girl is every bit as fabulous as fate intended her to be.”

He whipped over, looking straight ahead, as though he could see us through the mirror. “Do you hear that, Cresta? Are you watching us now? I’m going to make it all right. I’m going to make it all better.”

He looked over at my mother as a fiendish grin crept across his face. He knew he had me; that, no matter what he said or what threats he made, he still had my hands tied. He had my mother. He could lay his plans out on the table. He knew I would come anyway.

He grabbed her hand and kissed it, sending a shudder up both my and my mother’s bodies. “Come and get her, baby. We’ll be waiting.”

With that, the fog lifted and the mirror returned to normal.

“Cresta, I’m sorry,” Owen said, his voice low.

“Don’t be,” I said, clearing my throat. “She’s alive. That’s all that matters. When do we leave?”

“I suppose it would be utter insanity for me to suggest we actually bring this up with a few of our superiors before we go marching of into what Allister Leeman already confirmed was a trap,” Merrin sighed, blowing out the candle and gathering the supplies.

“They wouldn’t let me go if I told them what was going on,” I answered. “And Allister Leeman already told me that if he caught a whiff of any of them in the area, he’d kill her. I can’t take that chance. Besides, he’s not going to hurt me. He thinks we’ve got some sort of sicko destiny.”

“I was more concerned about the safety of those of us who aren’t protected by a blanket doomsday prophecy,” Merrin said.

“This is what’s happening. You’re either in or you’re out,” I said, brushing past her toward the door.

“You’re the hottest girl I’ve ever hated,” Casper told her, following me.

“Nice friends,” she scoffed at Owen, but tossed the supplies in the backpack and followed us anyway.

“I think so,” Owen grinned as he left the supply closet and closed the door behind him.

We had to travel through three rooms and down two flights of stairs to get to the holding garage. Owen said we needed a car if we were going to get out of here and, even though back in Crestview, I had never seen him take so much as a stick of gum without asking, he said he was going to steal one. Luckily, there was some sort of student body activity outside (perfect timing, as always, from the Girl in the Tower) and the place was pretty much deserted. We only had to bypass a couple of housekeepers, an errant professor, and a cook who I was sure was stealing an entire chicken and bringing it back to his room. Before I knew it, we were at the stairs, and then, the holding garage. The garage was underground, and must have run the entire length of Weathersby. Rows of cars lined as far as the eye could see. Vans, sport cars, pickup trucks , even motorcycles filled the huge space. There were vehicles of every kind, of every size and shape. But not of every color. In fact, all the vehicles, and there were thousands of them, were either white or black.

“What’s with the chess board motif?” Casper asked, seemingly reading my mind.

“White and black are more the absence of colors than actual colors themselves. They’re easier to shade,” Owen explained, and walked into the sea of automobiles.

“What about this one?” I asked, pointing to the first car I saw; a black minivan.

“Are we picking up the Brady Bunch along the way,” Casper joked. “What about something with a little more style? You guys are supposed to be spies, right? Where’s the James Bond collection?”

“Ugh,” I loathe you,” Merrin shook her head disgustedly.

“Love you too, hot stuff,” he winked back.

“We don’t have time for this,” I said. “Whatever crap is keeping the entire student body busy will be over soon, and we need to be six different kinds of gone by then. So, I don’t care what kind of car we pick. I just want it picked.”

“What about that one?” Casper pointed to a sleek black jewel of a sports car in the distance. It had white racing stripes and was the sort of thing you’d expect Vin Diesel to pop out of instants after it skidded to a stop in front of you.

“That’s a Maserati,” Owen answered. “I think it’s also Echo’s personal ride.”

“Well, “Casper smiled. “If we’re gonna do something wrong, we might as well do it the right way.”

Minutes later, we were crammed into Owen’s sports car. Owen was in the driver’s seat with me beside him. Which left Casper and Merrin to share the cramped backseat; something I was sure neither of them was fond of. I didn’t see Owen pulled out a key, but he must have had one, because the engine started purring quietly, and then we were darting between the lanes of cars.

“How are we going to get this thing out of here without getting caught?” I asked.

“The only way we can,” Owen answered. “Through the front door.”

I couldn’t believe it as we scaled up the driveway and up onto the front lawn. Like, in plain sight.

“I know I’m not a super evolved extra special Breaker or anything,” Casper noted. “But this seems like a pretty messed up way not to get caught sneaking out.”

“Right. Well, as you said, you are neither special, nor evolved,” Merrin said. She reached into the front seat and put a cold finger along the back of my neck. I bristled.

“Don’t worry, you’re not my type. But if I’m going to do this, I’m going to need to draw on as much energy as possible, and you’re the only game in town, at the moment.”

“Do what?” I asked, but looked at Owen instead of Merrin.

“We’re gonna shade ourselves and the car,” he answered.

“From the entire school,” I asked.

“From the entire school,” he answered.

“Ever done that before?”

“Not exactly,” he fidgeted. “But we’re confident.”

“Just sit still and pretend we’re not where we are,” Merrin said, tightening her grip around my neck. “I’m not here. You’re not here. None of us are here. We don’t exist. The car doesn’t exist. There is only the open air.”

In the distance, beside the gates that led out of Weathersby, a bunch of people, the entire student body, circled in large groups. We were going to have to pass right by them.

“Owen, I-“

“Just believe it, Cresta. Believe we’re not here. They won’t see us, because there’s nothing to see.” He took my hand. “You can do it.”

Merrin grabbed the back of my neck harder, pinching it between her fingers. “Ow!”

“Sorry,” she said, her eyes flickering to Owen’s hand in mine. “My hand must have slipped.”

Aside from the stinging in my neck, I now felt a different sensation. I felt breathless, like I had ran five miles uphill with a boulder on my back. I started panting. As we neared the crowd, a pressure started to build in my head, like I had drank a five gallon milkshake too fast and now had to deal with the world’s worst ice cream headache.

“We’re not here,” Merrin whispered again.

To her credit, the crowds did not seem to see us. They were dressed in flowing black robes holding rocks over their heads for some reason.

Breakers, gotta love the crazy.

And there was Echo and Dahlia at the head of the largest circle. He spoke in muffled words and the circle repeated in kind. No one, it seemed, noticed the $90,000 sports car rolling slowly by them.

“How in the world…” I mused.

“It’s what we do,” Owen smiled.

Owen pressed a button near the roof and the gates of Weathersby opened as we neared them. No one noticed that either.

“Who wants to dare me to moon them?” Casper grinned.

The gates closed slowly behind us; quietly to us, invisibly to everyone else. There was no siren, no flashing lights. No one had seen us. It had worked. Weathersby was fading in the rearview mirror and, other than an aching head and a red spot at the back of my neck, I was no worse for the wear. This was going to work. I was going to-

“What the hell?” Owen veered off of the road. He slammed into a ditch. I jerked forward and hit my head against the dashboard. “Is everybody okay?” He asked.

“Drive much?” Casper asked shakily.

“There was…something in the road,” Owen answered.

I looked up. The headlights shone vibrantly against the sprawling woods that cut Weathersby off from the rest of the world, and illuminated exactly what it was that had gotten in our way.

It wasn’t something. It was someone. Standing on front of our car, staring at us with white colorless eyes, was the Girl in the Tower

She was different than I had remembered her. Watching her from a distance as she stood in her hidden tower, the girl was a force. Here though, standing in the middle of the road, staring at us unblinkingly, she was just-Well, just a girl. She was shorter than I expected, with a thin frame and arms and legs that were more twigs than actual appendages.

“Owen, look at the eyes,” Merrin gasped. “She’s a seer.”

Her eyes were empty. Where my irises were green, Merrin’s were almost black, and Owen’s were that electric blue that took my breath away on the daily, this girl’s irises were white. That is, if they were even there at all. It was possible, I supposed, that her eyes were just black specks swimming in twin oceans of white.

“She’s Echo’s daughter,” I answered. “The Girl in the Tower.”

I stepped out of the car and walked toward her. It was the first time I had actually been outside in days and the crisp night air felt prickly against my bare arms.

“Cresta, no!” I heard Owen say and, like a flash, he was out of the car and beside me. “We don’t know what she wants,” he whispered.

“She wants me here,” I said doubtlessly. “It’s why she left me those notes. It’s why she hid the key inside the floor board. She’s been guiding me. Haven’t you?”

She tilted her head. Black bangs hung over her expressionless eyes. Her skin was so pale it hurt to look at her.

“You are mistaken Cresta Karr,” she said in a voice so light I had to strain to hear it. “The key was not my doing. It waited years for you to find it.”

I felt Casper at my side and, from the corner of my eye, saw Merrin beside Owen. “What does she want?” Merrin asked; close enough to Owen that I flinched just a little.

“I don’t know,” he whispered back, before turning to the seer. “We just-“

“You will be captured,” the Girl in the Tower said without blinking. In fact, in the entire time I had been watching her, I couldn’t remember her blinking once. “If you continue on this path, you will soon be captured. Cresta will be confined in a cell until she is no longer deemed a threat, and her mother will die. The rest of your fates will be less desirable.”

“We have to go. I’m going to save my mom. I don’t care what you say,” I answered, sick of being told all the reasons this plan, or more aptly, lack of plan, wouldn’t work.

“Your stubbornness on this matter is as admirable as it is predictable. It is also the variable which will lead to your downfall. On the other hand, if you bring me with you-“

“You must be out of your mind,” Owen said.

“That is an integral part of any seer’s identity, yes,” the Girl in the Tower answered.”Be that as it may, my presence will greatly increase your chances of survival.”

“Survival?” Casper gulped.”Maybe we should, I don’t know, listen to her?”

“No!” Merrin threw her hands. “She’s a seer; a seer, Owen! Do you have any idea what will happen to us if we steal a seer?”

“I do,” the Girl in the Tower cocked her head again. “And it is much more lenient a future than the one you will endure if you do not take me with you. Now come. There isn’t much time before the others see through the rouse I’ve created and realize you’ve left the premises.”

“Y-you’ve created?” Merrin stammered. “I thought I-“

“Do not despair. You’re abilities are more than admirable, and they will prove useful in the road you’ve chosen to go down. But you are not up to these tasks alone.” The Girl in the Tower(who was out of the tower now, but I still didn’t know what to call her) had a way of speaking that sounded clumsy and foreign, even when compared to the rest of the Breakers. It was all too formal; no contractions. She used cannot instead of can’t, did not instead of didn’t. It was like she didn’t know how people actually talked; like she learned it from a book or an old movie or something.

“None of you can,” she finished, looking directly at me. “But we must hurry. It will not be long before Papa and the others realize what we have done. They will come for me because of what I am.” She looked to me. “They will come for you because of what you might one day become.” Then she turned to Owen. “And they will come for you for the wrong reasons entirely.”

She took a step forward and, looking at Casper, finished, “Rejoice, for you are of importance to no one.”

“Yay me,” he mumbled.

“You can’t seriously be considering this,” Merrin said to Owen, whose face had taken on a pensive tint.

“She might be right,” Owen said, without looking at her. “This is dangerous. It could go very badly.It’d be good to have a seer in our pocket.”

“As good as a noose around our necks. The Council of Masons will- If we take her with us, if we do this, then there’s no going back, not ever.”

Owen turned to her, put a hand on her cheek and, with almost enough strength to keep the crack out of his voice, said, “Oh Merrin, there never was.” Blinking, he continued. “I say we take her.”

“And I say we don’t,” Merrin answered.

“No,” I said flatly. “This isn’t a vote. My mom, my future, my plan, my decision.” The Girl in the Tower looked at me, her pale vacant eyes shining in the moonlight. In so many ways, she had brought me here. Not to Weathersby, but here, outside of it. She guided me to her tower. She warned me about the phone call, and helped me escape. I didn’t know her reasoning, or even if I could trust her. But I knew, staring into her eyes, the decision I’d have to make. “She comes with us.”

“Unbelievable!” Merrin answered. “You can’t just-“

“She can Merrin, and she did,” Owen said, already walking back to the car. “Now you heard the seer. There isn’t much time. Let’s get a move on.”

“I hate it when you use Americanized vernacular,” Merrin said, moping back toward the car.

Casper was about to follow, but the Girl in the Tower grabbed his arm. He turned to her, his eyes narrowed. “Ya need something?”

“I have waited for you. I have waited for so long.” Then she leaned onto the tips of her toes, and kissed him full on the mouth. “And now you are here,” she said. Pulling away from him, she got into the car.

Casper looked at me with the same bewildered look he had worn for weeks now.“These people are so weird.”

Chapter 17
Angel at My Back

WHERE ARE WE going?” Casper asked from the backseat. We had been driving for an hour or so, but I still couldn’t tell Owen which direction to take. Allister Leeman told me that once I got out of Weathersby, he’d give me everything I’d need to find my mother. But, so far, all I had gotten was a ninety thousand dollar sports car stuffed beyond capacity with assorted Breakers, and a headache that threatened to split my skull into about a million pieces.

“I don’t know,” I said for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Is there maybe a Burger King on the way to ‘I don’t know’, ‘cause I’m starving,” Casper asked, looking out the window.

“We had dinner an hour before we left. You’re hungry again?” Owen asked.

“I was under the impression this car was a ‘no judgment’ zone.”

The Girl in the Tower, pressed so tightly between Merrin and Casper that it was wonder the poor thing could ever move her arms, dug into her pocket, and pulled out a Hershey’s cookies and cream bar; which also happened to be Casper’s absolute favorite junk food. She handed it to him silently.

“Thanks,” he said, grabbing the candy. “I’d ask how you knew, but I’m afraid you’d tell me.”

“There is very little about you that I do not know,” she answered without looking at him.

“Well look at that. You told me anyway,” he grimaced, biting into the chocolate.

“Do you have any idea where we need to go?” I asked, looking at her through the rearview window. It wouldn’t be long before Echo and company figured out that we were gone, if they hadn’t already. And, when that happened, we needed to be well on our way toward my mother; not driving around aimlessly in what very well might be the wrong direction.

“Mind the ring,” she answered.

“I know,” I sighed. “I remember that from your note. I already minded the ring. That’s how we got this far in the first place.”

“What is the phenomenon that occurs when a televised image is recirculated in order to save costs and stabilize revenue?”

“Um, a rerun?” Casper answered.

“Correct!” The Girl said. “This is one of those.

My phone rang again just as the words left her mouth. I picked it up and looked back at her, not sure whether I found her habit of telling me things about thirty seconds before they happened cool or aggravating. I flipped the phone opened and answered. There was no need to check the caller I.D.. Only one person had this number.

“Hello,” my voice was met with a series of loud tones. It was like somebody was pressing down on the buttons, just like what I heard from Owen’s phone when it said Merrin was calling. The tomes rang against my eardrums, and I pulled away from it.

“Mind the ring,” the Girl in the Tower said to me; her pale eyes reading me in the rearview mirror.

Reluctantly, I leaned back into the phone. The tones rang out like piercing music but, as I listened, something strange happened. Just like when my mind started opening up after my faux asthma medication had left my system, the tones seemed to be blasting through more mental walls, or at least downloading new information into my brain. When it stopped; the melody melting into a standard busy signal, I understood what Allister Leeman was talking about.

“Stop the car!” I yelled.

“Is everything-“ I jerked the wheel; which probably wasn’t Owen’s favorite thing. He cursed under his breath and pulled the car to a stop alongside the road. The highway was dark and empty as I ran out into it. We were somewhere in South Georgia or maybe Alabama. Either way, the night sky was as clear as I had ever seen it, which was exactly what we needed.

Like the letters in all the messages the Girl in the Tower sent me, the stars started to glow. They popped out in the sky, bursting with sparkling blue and red energy. It was like they were diamonds hanging in the sky.

“Cresta, what is it?” Owen was beside me, following my eyes into the sky. He couldn’t see it.

“It’s a map,” I said doubtlessly. I knew it instinctively, as though I had always known it, as though I could always see it. The stars were guiding me. They were showing me where my Mom was. “We have to go North. She’s North.”

“Cresta, are you-“ But he didn’t finish. Looking in my eyes, Owen set his jaw. “Then we go North.”

The stars called to me as we drove, like a map spread out in my head. First one would ping and, when we started going toward it, another would light up. They were breadcrumbs, and we were following them, like Jake and Jill.

Owen drove until the sun was almost up, following my directions as we pinballed across interstates and back highways.

“What are we going to do?” I asked. “When the sun comes up, I mean?” Everyone else was asleep, but Owen had been behind the wheel since we left, and me- I was too worried, or wired, or something in between to even think about sleeping. That left me plenty of time to worry though. “If I can’t see the stars-“

“I know,” Owen answered. His eyes looked tired and raw; circled with dark bags.

“How will I know where-“

“I know,” he repeated. “I mean-I don’t know. We’ll figure it out okay. I promise.”

“Do you think they’re after us?” I asked; another thing that had been weighing on my mind.

“Yes,” he answered; eyes on the road.

“And do you think they’ll find us?”

“Cresta, we don’t even know where we’re going. I doubt they do.” He smiled, but there was a wave in his voice, like he wasn’t as sure about it as he wanted to be.

“Owen,” I said, looking back to make sure that the rest of them were unconscious. “Do you think they’re right?”

“Who?” He asked innocently.

My hand went to my fathom necklace again, and rested back on my lap when it came up empty. “Allister Leeman. Dahlia and the others. Do you think there’s a-“

“No.” He wouldn’t even let me finish.

“But if there’s a chance-“

“There isn’t,” he said, as sure as if I had just asked him if there was chance it would start raining syrup.

“But if there is- I don’t want to be the reason the world ends. I mean, if that’s-“

He jerked the wheel, sending the car skidding off of old route 52 and into the gravel parking lot of a fleabag motel simply called ‘SLEEP’.

“Get out of the car,” he said, pulling the gear into park.

“What? You’re kicking me out?”

“Just get out of the car,” he said, and hopped out himself. He was halfway down the gravel parking lot by the time I got my seatbelt off and had gathered myself enough to follow him.

“What the hell, Owen? I was just asking a question!”

The sun had crept out into the sky and was peeking out off in the distance, turning the still night sky an electric blue that matched Owen’s eyes perfectly.

“You can’t ask that question,” he said, with his teeth gritted. “Ask me anything else you want, but not that.”

“Why not?” I walked closer. “You said you would never lie to me again. So, unless you think that-“

“It doesn’t matter what I think! That’s not what this is about.” Owen’s hands were at his head now, grabbing handfuls of hair. “The aura of the Bloodmoon has been hanging over us since my great grandparents were in diapers. It’s the horror story we tell our little kids to stop them from acting up. It’s like the boogeyman, except it’s real, and they’re desperate to stop it.” His hands moved down from his hair, covering his face. It made his words hard to understand.

“We didn’t always know as much about it as we do now. Prophecies; they come in pieces.” He moved his hands and looked at me. There was a glint in his eyes; like he was reliving something horrible. “You’re not the first girl who’s been accused of being the Bloodmoon. Others have been-“

He cleared his throat, and broke my gaze. “It doesn’t matter. None of them survived. The point is, you are not allowed to think of yourself that way; not even for a second. You are Cresta Karr; the most beautiful person who has ever graced my life.” He put one hand on my shoulder and the other brushed against my lips. “I would die if anything happened to you. You know that, right?”

I kissed his fingers. They tasted like leather, salt, and happiness. “Nothing’s going to happen to me. I promise. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“I’m always going to worry about you, baby,” he answered, taking my hands in his own and kissing my fingers too.

He called me baby. It sounds so much different coming from him than stupid Allister Leeman.

“And I’m sorry for snapping at you. It’s just-I’ll feel better after tomorrow.”

“I will too,” I said, pulling him close. Flashes of me, of Owen and Casper, and of my mother filled my head. I wanted this to be over so much. I just wanted my life back, but looking at Owen, feeling how tense his hand was in mine, I knew that could never happen. Still, it was nice to imagine.

“I would never think you could be the Bloodmoon,” he pressed his face against mine, letting his mouth rest at my ear. “You could never be anything less than perfect.”

“I’m not perfect,” I said, prickling as his warm breath tickled my earlobe.

“You are to me,” he said. “I love you Cresta.”

Oh my God.

“I love you too,” I said, and really meant it. I had loved Owen for so long that I could barely remember a time when I didn’t. He was so much a part of me that, even before I met him, it felt like a piece of me was waiting for him to show up. Hearing him actually say he felt the same way and being able to say it back was everything that I had ever wanted. I leaned up, pulled him in, and kissed him square on the lips. It was not our first kiss, but it was ur best one. It was best, because we loved each other.

“Don’t let Allister Leeman hear you say that,” I smiled, pulling away from him. “He might get jealous.”

“Allister Leeman is a lonely lunatic who had a bird tattooed on his neck so he wouldn’t have to be alone,” he answered. “And if he, or anybody else, for that matter, wants to marry you; they’re gonna have to get through me first.”

My hands explored his back, tracing the hard muscles that wrapped his shoulders. “You have a tattoo though, don’t you? I mean, it isn’t a bird, but…”

“I have no idea what it is actually,” He smiled, letting his hands rest at my lower back. “When I was a kid, some prophecy said I was going to die. My parents tried everything to get around it, but it was no use. The Council of Masons said it was a fixed point; that, no matter how hard they tried, I would never grow up.”

Flashes of what I saw in Owen’s memories came back to me. He was standing with his mother, begging for help from the Council. And then, in the next flash, he was getting his tattoo, howling in pain.

“So they gave you this?” I asked, tracing circles on the spot where the tattoo was.

“They told me that it was special, that it would allow me to live.”

“And it worked?” I asked.

“Well, I’m not dead, so…”

“Lucky me,” I said, kissing him again.

“I asked my dad to tell me what the stupid thing was a hundred times,” he said.

“It’s a blob, like a Rorschach thing,” I answered.

“No it isn’t,” he laughed and squeezed my hand. “Dad said I didn’t need to know. He said nobody ever needed to know, so he turned it into an anchor. Anytime anyone looks directly at it, even Breakers, all they see is that stupid blob. Believe me, I’ve tried enough to know.”

“So take a picture,” I shrugged.

“You don’t know my dad. He’s very thorough. Besides, I don’t think it matters. It’s my angel,” he said, looking over his shoulder.

“Because it saved your life?”

“Because it brought me to you,” he smiled. “And because, even though my dad is thorough, he isn’t perfect. If I look over my shoulder-Like, if I’m not looking directly at it, I can sort of make out a piece of it.”

“And what do you see?” I asked.

He grinned and kissed me on the forehead.

“Wings.”

Chapter 18

Fixed Points

“SO, WHAT’S YOUR name anyway?” Casper asked the Girl in Tower. She was hunched in the corner of the 7-11, bracing herself against the walls with her hands. She had done this every time we stopped. At the gas station, where we stopped shortly after Owen and I had our motel parking lot moment(which was much less dirty than it sounded), the Girl in the Tower crouched under the car and stayed there until we filled up. At ‘Harvey Boy’s Used Car Emporium’, where Owen traded in Echo’s $90,000 luxury sports car for one of those Scooby Doo type vans that was probably out of date when my mom was in diapers (if Breaker babies even wore diapers. They were probably too evolved for that sort of thing), the Girl in the Tower hunched under Harvey Boy’s desk and started carving symbols into the wood. He didn’t seem to mind. Though that was probably because he was making $70,000 or so on the deal. Still, the van was roomier and Owen said we needed to drop Echo’s car to help cover our tracks.

Here, at the 7-11, where we stopped to freshen up and grab dinner (a bag of loaded baked potato flavored Lays, chocolate milk, and two sticks of beef jerky), she was mumbling something about a white dress and hiding her face from the fluorescent light. Was this what they had done to here; broken her by keeping her locked away from people, from the world, her entire life? Why would they do that? What’s to be gained?

“I do not understand the question,” The Girl in the Tower looked at him. The lights of the convenience store made her look even paler than she had before.

“Your name,” he repeated, picking up a bag of Funyuns and a peach Nehi. “Traditionally, I like to know a girl’s name before she sticks her tongue down my throat, but I guess we’re sorta past that now.”

“I apologize. I was simply trying to expedite the inevitable. Though, if the sensation was not physically pleasing to you, perhaps we can try again.”

“No,” Casper shook his head. His face turned a shade of red almost as bright as his hair. “I mean, it was-It’s just- It’s not like I-. Look, I was pleased, okay. But that’s not what I meant. I just wanted to know your name, so I wouldn’t have to call you ‘that weird girl who frenched me’.”

“Frenched?” She tilted her head.

“And what do you mean by inevitable?” Casper asked, ignoring her question.

“I have known you since before I knew myself,” she said, taking the bag of Funyons from his hands and eyeing it. “Onion flavored corn snack,” she read. “No. I will not enjoy the taste of these on your breath.” She put them back.

“Listen sister-,”

“You are the boy with hair bright like the sun. Our love will break the anchors.”

“We’re not in love! I don’t even know your name!” Casper said, and gave me a ‘help me out here’ look. I just grinned and stayed silent.

“No, not at the same time,” she muttered. “And I do not have a name, at least not in the way in which you do.”

“What does that mean?” I asked bracing myself. Owen had gone to get supplies and Merrin was in the restroom; which sucked, given that I was pretty sure that their explanation of what the Girl had said would be simpler.

“Unlike Owen and Papa, my abilities, the whole of who I am, are contingent on living outside of your world. Seers cannot be Breakers no more than Breakers can be humans. We are different, and cannot act or live as you do. To do so would be to strip away what makes us special,” she said.

“That’s why your parents kept you locked away in that tower; because, if they didn’t, you wouldn’t be able to see the future,” I surmised.

“Do not blame them. Their ways may be foreign to you, but the segregation of the seer is an ancient necessity. No one can touch the world and continue to see it as we do. It is an impossibility.”

“They won’t even let you have a name?” Casper asked, with more than a little sadness in his voice. “That’s not cool.”

“Names are for people,” she answered.

“You are a person!” He answered her. “No. No, I’m not gonna let them get away with this. You’re not a thing. You’re not some chess piece. You’re a girl; a really weird girl with obvious boundary issues, but a girl nonetheless. And you deserve a name.” He leaned in closer to her and let that mischievous smile that I knew so well spread across his face. “I’m gonna give you a name.”

“Can it be Wendy?” She asked in a small voice. “Papa used to sneak books into my cell. I believe I read Peter Pan 137 times before the pages began to wear. Wendy was always my favorite, because she got to grow up.”

“Okay,” Casper answered, swallowing hard. “Wendy it is, I guess.”

Owen and Merrin came rushing in from the hallway. They were together? Why?

There was a worried look in Owen’s blue eyes. So, when he grabbed my arm and started pulling me toward the door, I was only sort of surprised.

“Owen, what’s wrong?” We stopped in front of the 7-11’s plate glass wall, and he pointed out into the crowded parking lot. “What am I looking at?” I asked, looking at people pumping gas and children sitting in their car seats. It looked completely normal; nothing out of the ordinary.

“Look closer,” he said breathlessly. His hand was curled tight around my arm, and it was shaking. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good. I peered out the window, looking for something, anything out of the ordinary. I was about to give up, until I saw a car at pump number two. Gas overflowed from the tank and spilled onto the ground, but the tall man pumping it didn’t seem to notice. He wasn’t moving at all. In fact, no one in the entire parking lot was moving.

“They’re here,” he said. “We have to move.”

“Who, the Breakers?” My heart slammed against my rigcage.

“Come on!” He pulled at me again.

I didn’t move though. Something was happening; the same thing that happened when I saw the Seer’s Tower , or when the stars became my guide. The entire parking lot started glowing. People pinged, the air shifted. Suddenly, the shade lifted, and they were there.

Breakers scoured the parking lot, searching through cars and trucks, looking through the surrounding woods, and even in dumpsters. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Three Breakers were seconds away from walking into the 7-11 and finding us. Even if we ran, there was no way we could get away. Amazingly, that still wasn’t the worst part, because one of the Breakers who was almost certainly going to find us, was Dahlia.

“It’s too late. She’s here,” I whispered.

“You can see it?” Owen asked.

“It’s too late,” I repeated.

“No it’s not,” he said, pulled me away from the window. We ran toward the back of the store, where Merrin was standing with Casper and the newly minted Wendy.

“Stop wasting time,” Merrin snarled. “And put that down!” She jerked the Funyuns out of Casper’s hand.

“She can see through the shade,” Owen said. The door of the 7-11 opened, though I was the only one who seemed to notice. As Dahlia and the others stepped in, the people in the store seemed to freeze. The cashier let the change she was about to give her customer fall and change loudly on the counter, her hand standing as steady as a statue.

“Oh God,” I muttered.

“Get down!” Owen said, pulling me behind giant Miller Light pyramid. The other folded into place behind us. “If you can see through the shade, it means that you might be able to manipulate it.”

“I can’t. I don’t know how I’m evening seeing it,” I answered. “I never know how I see it.”

“We don’t have time for your bouts of little girl self-consciousness,” Merrin said, leaning in. “You’re going to have to learn to do it, or this is over. You, Owen, your mother; it’s all over.” She grabbed my hands. “It’s just like when we snuck out of Weathersby. Just think it. Believe it, and it’ll happen.”

“If it’s just like Weathersby, then you do,” I begged her.

“I can’t. That was my shade in Weathersby. I can’t change other Breakers’ shades. I didn’t think anyone could.” She squeezed my hands tighter. “Just believe it.”

Dahlia and the others were walking closer. Around the myriad of beer boxes, I could see the dahlia pin at her throat. It made me shudder.

I closed my eyes.

We’re not here. No one’s here. She can’t see us, because there’s nothing to see.

I felt her energy all around me. It was strong, like a thousand jackhammers drilling against my brain. My body jerked. I could feel Owen’s hand making calming circles on my back. “Be strong,” he whispered.

So, I was.

With each step Dahlia made, her energy got stronger. Though my eyes were closed, I could see her; like we were connected somehow. I could feel her shade, notice the changes she was making in the world around her. She came to a stop just a few feet from the beer box pyramid. But I knew, feeling the way she manipulated the world around us, that it wasn’t the pyramid that was shielding us. It was me.

Her presence hurt. It physically hurt. Tears stung my eyes and started to pour down my face in hot streams.

“Is she okay?” Casper whispered. “Are you okay?”

I shook my head. I wasn’t okay. Or, if I was, I didn’t feel okay. But I had to do this. We had come too far to stop now.

“Are you sure this is the place?” One of the Breakers asked Dahlia. He was short and stocky, but there was an air about him that made me think he knew what he was doing.

“I tracked her psychic signature here. She has to be here,” Dahlia answered.

“That’s what you said about that motel too,” the short man said.

“She was there!” Dahlia barked. “I’d bet my future on it.”

“Dahlia, I think you’re too close to this. Maybe you should let someone do this who isn’t so emotionally involved. “

“I am the best as what I do,” she answered. “If anyone is going to find her in time, it’ll be me. And of course, I’m emotionally involved in this. She’s the Bloodmoon. We should all be so involved.”

“I meant because she has your daughter,” the short man said.

Energy pulsed around me. My skull felt like it was going to crack wide open; like hot splinters were pricking at every inch of my body. I tried to focus on Owen’s hand on my back, on anything other than the pain. But it hurt so badly, and I was so tired.

“Come on,” Dahlia said after a long moment. “She isn’t here.”

Thank God. She’s leaving.

I felt the pressure of Dahlia’s presence let up just a little, and then, it was too much. I felt my body go limp with exhaustion. I felt Owen’s arms bracing me, holding me up. And then, there was nothing.

Seven. It was always seven.

I woke with a start. It took me a second to realize that I was in the back of the van, and another, more sickening second, to understand how much time had passed. I felt better. I felt rested, and that was not a good thing. The solstice was tomorrow; my sixteenth birthday, the day I was supposed to be cemented as the Bloodmoon. That meant we didn’t have much time; that if we didn’t make it to whatever God awful place Allister Leeman had my mother held, he was going to kill her. Now was not the time to be rested.

I felt something cool and wet on my forehead. When I reached for it, a hand slapped me.

“I’ll do it. You’ll be woozy for a while. That’s how it is after the first time.” Merrin took what I now realized was a cold compress and placed it on the floor beside me.

“The first time?” My voice was scratchy and hoarse.

“The first time you really flex your powers. It can be disorienting.”

“How long did I sleep?” I tried to sit up, but fell back down. She wasn’t kidding about the disorienting part.

“Four hours,” Merrin said, lifting a bottle of water to my mouth. “Here, drink this.”

“Four hours!” I said through choking coughs of water. “No, you should have waked me up. We don’t have time for this.” I tried to sit up again. This time, I didn’t have the chance to get dizzy. Merrin pushed me back down.

“You needed rest. We all did. Besides, we had taken your instructions as far as we could. We can’t go any further until the sun goes down.” She motioned to the window on the van’s back door. “Which won’t be long now.”

She was right. Without the stars to guide me, I’d pretty much be flying blind. Of course, that didn’t make it any easier.

“Well, what if Dahlia and the Breakers find us?” I asked.

“They won’t,” Merrin shook her head. “They’ve already been this way. They won’t circle back.”

“Because they’ll figure we’d have kept going,” I complained.

“Another reason we were right to stay. Now take another drink.” She came at me with the bottle again, but I grabbed it. Feeling a little better, I sat up slowly; letting the world spin and then settle. I pressed the bottle to my lips and took a drink.

“Thanks,” I said. Merrin didn’t answer. In fact, she didn’t even look at me. I could never tell about Merrin. She had come to Weathersby with Dahlia; seemingly convinced that I was the Bloodmoon. But she was here, helping me break the Breaker rules. It was an enigma. “I’m not what you think I am,” I said

“You’re not a girl who’s in love with my fiancé?”

The color drained from my face. I wasn’t sure what to say. I opened my mouth, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Let me be clear,” Merrin said flatly. “I don’t care about his time in Crestview. I’m sure that Owen has told you he loves you, and I’d even guess that part of him actually believes it. But that isn’t who he is. That’s not who we are. We were raised to put what’s best for our race, what’s best for the planet first. Sooner or later, Owen will remember that. Because deep down, he never really forget. And when that day comes, he’ll realize who he’s really meant to be with. And trust me Cresta, it won’t be some little girl who batted her eyes at him for a little while and made him forget who he was.”

She stood and turned to go. Anger rose in my throat and reddened my face. “Why are you even here?!” I asked as loudly as my hoarse voice would allow.

She stopped with her hand on the door handle, and spun around. “Not for you,” she said. “You have no idea how much Owen’s sacrificed for this, do you? The only way this isn’t a disaster for him, the only way his father ever speaks to him again, is if we do everything just right. I’m here to make sure that happens. But if it doesn’t-Well, a fixed point can only be changed one way, and for all his good points, Owen isn’t strong enough for that. He’d let the entire world go to hell trying to prove he was right, trying to prove that you’re worth it. If this entire thing falls apart, if you end up murdering someone and it turns out that you’re the Bloodmoon after all; I’ll kill you myself. That’s why I’m here.”

With that, she left.

Two minutes later, after I had gathered myself a little, I stepped out of the van to find two of the members of our party who hadn’t just promised to kill me, Casper and Wendy, surrounding a makeshift trashcan fire. We were in a rest area, though obviously not a popular one, as we seemed to be the only people there. The sun was setting, and I could feel the stars starting to pull at me again. Before long, I would be able to read them again, and hopefully find my mom. Truth be told, I couldn’t get going fast enough but, as I neared the others; noticing the cheeseburgers in their hands, the rumble in my stomach told me I needed to fuel up.

“What’s going on?” I asked, sitting next Casper. The heat of the fire felt good against my hands and face, and did a lot to make me feel steadier.

“Waiting for you, Van Winkle,” Casper said, and threw a wrapped cheeseburger at me. “No tomato, cause you think they’re gross.”

“They look like sliced up organs. They are gross,” I said, unwrapping it. It smelled like heaven and, when I took a bit, it tasted even better. “But I meant, what are you talking about?” Time was when I would have made it a point not to chew with a quarter pound of burger in my mouth, but I was exhausted, starving, and way too distracted to care right now.

“You know, I don’t have a clue,” Casper grinned and motioned to Wendy. “She sorta talks and I listen. It’s a system we’ve developed in the last couple hours.”

“Sounds like good practice,” I said, taking another bite of burger. “Especially given the future the Mrs. here has in store for you.

“Shut up,” he smiled. Brushing a few stray bangs out my eyes, he asked, “How ya feeling?”

“I’ll feel better in a couple hours,” I said.

“I know. It’ll be okay, Cress.” He put his arm around me and pulled me closer.

“Do not worry Cresta Karr,” Wendy looked at me with pale Seer’s eyes. “I do not feel threatened by your close, yet platonic, relationship with my future love. I understand that many girls would see your supportive, somewhat symbiotic, companionship as threatening. Rest easy, for I do not fall into that category.”

“I…I’m so relieved,” I said. Wendy smiled a sweet smile; the kind of smile usually reserved for really young children who don’t know how horribly unfair a place the world is.

But she must know. She sees it all; every awful, horrific thing that ever has or could happen.

Still, it was so sweet, so refreshing at a time like this, that I couldn’t help but smile back.

“You know, you could do a lot worse than her,” I looked up at Casper.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, and stood up. “I gotta go hit the head. Or something that’s more polite and gentlemanly,” he said, and walked away.

“It will be hard for him,” Wendy said when he was out of earshot. “It will be hard for everyone, but him particularly.” She folded her hands and looked deep into the fire. “When he yearns for you, do not turn him away.”

“He doesn’t yearn for me,” I scoffed. “It’s not like that with us.”

“And when he asks for me, tell him the truth.”

“You’re only gonna talk to me like that, aren’t you; like you’re a fortune cookie?” I was tired, and not up to whatever back and forth Wendy had planned for me.

“The future is a puzzle set on water. The pieces never sit still long enough to be placed together. When you touch it, it moves because you touched it. And when you refrain, it moves because you did not.”

“How much do you know,” I asked, standing.

“Both more and less than I would like,” she answered, standing herself. The fire flickered off her face, giving it the only glow I had even seen on it.

“But you knew Dahlia would find us at that store. You knew I’d have to do…whatever it is I did to save us.” It wasn’t a question, and she didn’t answer it as one.

“There are things you must do, places you must go. Otherwise, you will not be ready.”

“Ready for what?!” I asked more sharply than I intended.

“For what must be.”

“Are you saying that I’m the Bloodmoon?” My voice shook with the question.

“We all race toward fixed points, clinging to free will, to the myth that we have control over our lives. What must be will be; only the shape it takes lies within our grasp.”

“That’s enough of that!” Owen was behind me now; his hands rested on my shoulders. “They told me I was a fixed point too once, you know,” he glared at Wendy.

She looked back. The fire flickered in her white knowing eyes. “You still are.”

“Come on,” he pulled at me. ”Don’t listen to that.” We settled on a bench a couple hundred yards away from the van. We were far enough away from the fire that the crispness of the air cut through me. When I shivered, Owen took his jacket off and put it around my shoulders, along with his arms. “None of what she said matters,” he whispered into my ear. “You’re not that awful thing, and even if you were, fixed points can be changed. I’m supposed to be dead, remember?”

“Except I don’t have an angel to save me,” I lamented, nuzzling closer to him.

“Yes, you do. You have me,” he answered, and kissed the top of my head. “So don’t worry. It’s almost over. We’re going to get your mom. She’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna have this entire mess behind us, and then I’m going to take you out for the best birthday dinner ever.”

“And then what?” I asked more sharply than I meant to. “You gonna go back and marry Merrin, have a dozen little Breaker babies?”

I felt him tense under me. He didn’t deserve this. He had fought for me. Even up until now, he was with me. But I couldn’t help it. Merrin’s voice was swimming in my head, telling me all the reasons it wouldn’t work.

“Why would you say something like that?” Owen asked.

“Because it’s true, isn’t it?” I pulled away from him. “She’s your mate, right; your perfect? She’s who you’re supposed to be with.” I clutched at my throat, instinctively looking for my long gone necklace.

“And that’s fine”

It wasn’t.

“I mean, I get it.”

I didn’t.

“That’s the way you were raised. It’s who you are, but it isn’t who I am. Even if this all shakes out, I’m not ever going to be the type of girl who can marry someone just because our DNA syncs up, not even if that person was you. I’m sixteen, I’m not-“

“That’s who I was,” he interrupted me. “It’s not who I am anymore.”

“That’s what you say now, but what happens when you get back home, when you’re surrounded by your friends and family. They have expectations of you, Owen. I don’t wanna be the person who stops you from becoming who you want to be. I know about the calls; the ones to Merrin.”

He looked at me quizzically, with his dark eyebrows knitted together. “Oh, from when you had my phone,” he answered his own unasked question. “That wasn’t Merrin. Those were exercises; a series of tones meant to keep my mind sharp. I had been in rural Georgia for two years. I was trying to keep myself in practice.”

“You labeled it Merrin. You used her name,” I said flatly.

“I know this might be hard for you to understand Cresta, but for a long time, she was my whole world. It wasn’t that I was in love with her, or even that I knew what love was. But, when you grow up knowing that your entire future is going to rest on one person, they sort of become important to you.”

“I get that,” I answered, running fingers through my hair. “And if she’s still important to you, you should …you should just-“

“What part of ‘I’m in love with you’ didn’t you understand?” Owen asked curtly. “It doesn’t mean ‘I’m in love with you when the circumstances are right, or ‘I’m in love with you so long as my parents say it’s okay’. It means we’re in this together. It means I can’t breathe without you. It means that the only way this ends is with my hand in yours.”

He cupped my hand in his. I couldn’t help it; the strain of everything rushed onto me, and I started to sob harder than I ever had before; harder than when my dad died, harder than at his funeral, harder than when I woke up to find my house had exploded with my mother inside.

Owen rushed me, burying my head in his chest. I drank in the warmth of him, and cherished the way his heartbeat felt against me. I loved that heart.

“There’s a credo that we take whenever we’re given our Breaker names. It’s like a code. It runs down all the things we believe in, all the things that are important to us. When I was a boy, I used to practice it over and over again, and dream about the day I’d stand up, in front of my father and everybody else, and say those ancient words.”

“And now you won’t get to,” I said, looking up at him. “Because of me.”

“That’s the thing,” he said, smiling down at me. “I don’t care about it anymore. None of it matters. You’re all that matters. You’re my code now.”

Suddenly, I felt the stars’ pull again. Looking around, I saw that the sun had set. It was night, and time to go. But something wasn’t right. The stars felt wrong somehow, like they were attacking me. A bloom of pain sprouted in my chest, and I jerked away from Owen.

“Something’s wrong!” I gasped.

“What is it?” He asked.

I looked up. The only star that was shining; the only one that pinged me, was the one right above us.

“It’s here,” I said breathlessly. The pain was growing by the second. “It’s here! It’s leading us here!”

“Cresta, calm down. I’m sure it’s a lot to take in. Just breathe and let the stars talk to you.”

But they were talking to me. They were screaming, and it was lighting a fire inside of my chest. “It doesn’t make any sense,” I said.

Then, Merrin came walking out from behind the van. Her face was pale and her steps were hurried and tense. Behind her, holding a gun to her back, was Ezra; the floating amputee.

“Does it make more sense now, Bloodmoon?” He grinned.

Owen stiffened beside me; his hands balling into fists. “Cresta, run,” he said through gritted teeth.

“That’s sort of redundant, old buddy,” Ezra grinned. Looking around, I saw how right he was. At least a dozen people had come; from the woods, from inside the rest area, from the air, it seemed. We were surrounded.

I caught Casper’s glance. He made a slight, almost imperceptible, nod of his head, and then struck off running. He wanted me to follow him, and maybe I would have, if his second and third steps hadn’t been taken in midair. One of the Breakers surrounding us, a heavyset man with black braided hair, lifted his hands. Casper lifted with them, leaving the ground. He moved his arms again, and Casper fell unconscious. His entire body went limp.

“Casper!” I screamed.

“He’s not going to hurt him, Bloodmoon. Not if you come with us.” Ezra dug the point of his pistol into Merrin’s back. She shuffled forward, but didn’t give him the satisfaction of whimpering.

“Or I could just beat you into submission,” Owen said.

“Not when I’ve this pretty little thing under my thumb,” Ezra leaned into Merrin and took a long, longing sniff of her hair.

Merrin spun. As quickly as I’ve ever seen anyone do anything, she grabbed the pistol, and took it from Ezra. “You don’t know me very well, do you?” She kicked him in the chest, sending him flying back into the van.

With that, all hell broke loose.

Things went flying. People went flying. I heard shouts and crashes. I heard the snapping of bones and the crunch of metal. It all happened so quickly. There was a flash of red, then a battling flash of blue. I watched Ezra send Merrin shooting up into the air and, to my horror, saw Casper fall out of it. I tried to run; to get to him or Owen, but my feet went out from under me. The ground came up to meet me, and my head smacked hard against a rock. I got back up, but as soon as I stood, I was down again; facing straight up, staring at the stars.

They were playing with me now; all of them flashing and pinging. They winked at me. They sang to me. They swayed back and forth like waves in an ocean. And then I saw Wendy’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said, leaning over me. “This was the only way it could happen. Remember, lie to the stars, Cresta. Lie to the sta-“

She went flying, hit by some unseen force. I tried to sit up, to gather myself and fight, but it was no use. Whatever had hit her had me by the throat now. It wasn’t letting me move. I watched the stars flicker, and then disappear.

The next thing I knew, I was in bed; looking up, not at the stars, but at drawn stars painted on a ceiling. But it wasn’t celling. No, my ceiling was gone; blown up with the rest of my house. My head spun, and my body ached, but I managed to sit up. The room around me was nice. Filled with flowers and paintings (of flowers), it was a bit girlie for my taste. Still, the bed was soft and it was definitely better than the ground, or the backseat of a van, for that matter.

I stood, feeling heavy and hearing a swish. The events of the day danced back into the forefront of my mind. Where was I? Where was everybody else? Were they okay? Was there any way I could get people to stop mystically putting me to sleep?

As I rubbed my eyes, nearing a mirror in front of me, those questions melted away. My mouth dropped as I realized they didn’t matter anymore.

“Oh my God,” I said to the girl in the mirror, taking in the layers of silk and lace, rubbing at the lipstick on my mouth. “Why am I wearing a wedding dress?”

Chapter 19

Who You Are

I STARED AT myself; half in shock, half in horror. A wedding dress, an honest to God wedding dress. It fit perfectly, hugging all the right places, and flattering all the wrong ones. I almost looked like a woman. I almost looked beautiful.

“You forgot the veil.” A man’s voice sounded from behind me. I spun, the fabric of my gown ruffling, to find Allister Leeman leaning against the doorway. He smiled a wide, dark smile. The raven at his throat seemed to caw and move; its wings flapping against his Adam’s apple. His dark hair was slicked back, and a toothpick peeked out from between his lips. His eyes cut into me. A delicate white veil danced around in his fingers, and he was dressed in a tuxedo that, sickeningly enough, seemed designed to match my dress.

“Where are my friends?” I asked, trying to steady my voice.

“You don’t have any friends.” He plucked the toothpick from his mouth. “If you mean the people that were captured with you; they’re fine.”

“And my mother?”

“She’s fine too,” he answered, and started to make his way toward me.

I flinched away. “I want to see them. I want you to let them go. I’m here. I did what you asked.”

“You did part of it,” he thumped his toothpick onto the floor in front of him. “I’ll let them go when you do the rest. “ He reached for me, and ran his disgusting hand through my hair. I shivered and slapped it away. “Though, I don’t know why you’re so attached to them,” he grinned. “They don’t care about you, my darling. Not really.”

“They risked their lives for me,” I snorted.

“They don’t even know you. To them, you’re something to kill, something to change. Even your mother-Or, more appropriately, the woman who calls herself your mother, has only the most conditional of loves for you. None of them accept you for what you are. They would never try to understand you, or embrace the truth of who you are. That’s why they’re here, Cresta Karr. Not for you; it was never for you. They’re here because they can’t stand the idea that you are more than them; that we’re more than them. I’m the only one who understands you, Cresta. Because I know what it is to be called for something so monumental. I share your pain and your exhilaration in the same way that I will soon share your bed and your life, because it is mine as well.”

“We’re not sharing anything!” I couldn’t help it. I slapped his stupid face. I probably shouldn’t have done it. After all, he did have everyone I cared about in the entire world in his clutches. But he was just so smug, pushing all my buttons. “What the hell is the matter with you anyway?” I shouted. “What kind of lunatic actually wants the world to end?”

He put a hand up to his quickly reddening face. “The kind that knows it has to.” A broad dangerous smile crept across his face. His eyes glowed menacingly. “They haven’t told you all of it, have they?” He did a little shuffle with his feet, almost like he couldn’t wait for what came next. “This isn’t about the way the world ends. It’s about what comes next. The world has ended a hundred times before; with ice ages, and floods, and meteors that have purged this planet of everything it could find. But each time, the world has come out of it for the better, stronger, and more evolved.”

There it was, that word, evolved.

“Just as human replaced the dinosaurs, we will replace humans. It’s the way of the world. The strong always replace the weak, my darling.” He held the veil out toward me. “And you are the one who will set it all in motion.”

I slapped it away too. “I would never hurt anybody.”

“Just as the wave would never hurt the mountain. Still, the mountain erodes. “He picked the veil up, folded it, and put it in his pocket. “They paint you as an antichrist, but you are a messiah.”

“I’m not,” I said. “I’m not the Bloodmoon. I’m not anything. Look, I’m not going to kill anybody. So, I can’t be the Bloodmoon. The sun will be up soon, and then everybody will know. So, just give me my mom and my friends, and let me go.”

“Still, with these friends, “he muttered. “Come here. Let me show you something.”

He extended his hand. I didn’t take it. He shrugged, and motioned for me to follow him out the door. As I followed, I found myself in a huge bunker. This place was insane. A windowless metal area, it stretched as far as I could see. Closed doors lined the walls and, looking down and up; I saw that we were on the fourth of seven identical floors.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“We’re at the end,” he answered, without looking back at me. “Or the beginning, depending on which side you’re on.”

“I meant what kind of place is this?” I asked impatiently. There were people on either side of me, lining the walls and watching us as we passed.They were all dressed in formal wear; tuxedos and evening gowns. Most of the women had flowers in their hair and hands. They had a look in their eyes that told me they definitely agreed with the Raven when it came to that whole messiah or antichrist thing. What was that about anyway? Not that I cared. I didn’t want to be a messiah or an antichrist. I didn’t wanna be a Bloodmoon or even a Breaker. I just wanted to be plain old Cresta; the girl with asthma who had way too many graphic tees, the girl who never quite fit in in Crestview. I wanted to be Casper’s best friend; Owen’s would be girlfriend, and God willing, my mother’s daughter. Walking through this crazy place though, with these crazy people watching me, I wondered if I ever could be that again. Was that girl gone? Was there any way to get her back?

No. I wasn’t going to let myself think that way. I was me; just me, nobody else, dammit! I had a life, a good one. I hadn’t realized that before, but it was true. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to let these weirdos take that away from me.

“I said where are we!” I came to a stop.

Allister Leeman whirled around, half surprised, half elated. “There she is. That’s my girl.”

“I’m not your anything!” I rushed him and jabbed a finger into his chest. “Now you’re going to bring me to my friends and my mother, and you’re going to do it now!”

He grabbed my hand and kissed my fingers. The whole thing made me sick. I jerked my hand away and smacked him hard on the face again.

A few of the bigger guys watching us started toward me, but Allister Leeman threw his hand up to stop them. “Anything for my bride,” he said, and they backed away. We walked further down the metal hallway, passing countless doors on either side.

Suddenly, I remembered not only why I was here, but what Allister Leeman wanted from me. How long had I been unconscious? Maybe the sun was up. Maybe this entire thing was over. No, he wouldn’t have done that. He had this entire thing orchestrated. It wouldn’t make any sense for him to get me here just to be too late to fulfill that stupid prophecy, not when he wanted it so badly. Still, there was a chance. Wasn’t there? I looked in every direction. No windows.

“What time is it?” I asked, when I couldn’t take the suspense any longer.

“Don’t worry darling. It isn’t daylight yet,” he smiled, reading my mind. Was he actually reading my mind? Could he do that? Who could tell what Breakers could do, let alone crazy fringe cult leader Breakers who want to trap me into marrying them?

We came up to what I thought was a dead end. Allister Leeman tapped on it, like he was checking to see if it was hollow, or knocking on a door. The wall began to lower, revealing a hidden room. As the wall melted into the ground, I caught a glimpse of what was on the other side. The first thing I noticed was the floor and that every inch of it was covered in bright pink flowers. Looking up, I saw rows of white chairs filled with elegantly dressed cult members, sprouting out from a large white gazebo. It had statues on either side, gothic stone angels that looked like they were in more pain than pleasure. That wasn’t the worst of it though. At the center of the gazebo, which looked out onto a pane glass window, Casper stood ; his face red and swollen, his eyes raw, and his hands shackled together. He was wearing a tuxedo and, in his bound hands, sat two rings.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Allister Leeman said as I gaped. “A male Maid of Honor is so out of the box. What can I say? I’m a sucker for the unpredictable. Now come on,” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me roughly toward what I now saw was an altar. “We’re getting hitched.”

I jerked away from him and ran to Casper. On my way, I saw that Merrin and Wendy were sitting in the front row. Their hands were also bound. While it hurt to see them like this; to see Merrin’s perfect face marred with bruises, and Wendy’s pale knowing eyes heavy with anguish, and know that it was all because of me, they weren’t Casper. They weren’t my Casper. They weren’t the boy who snuck out of his house and met me in the park on nights when I couldn’t sleep. They weren’t the guy who insisted on taking me to the ‘Ho Down’ themed homecoming dance, even though half the freshman girls in school were giving him googly eyes. They weren’t the person who singlehandedly made my early days at Crestview bearable; my rock, my best friend.

I crashed into him; wrapping my arms around him, and feeling tears come unbidden to my cheeks.

“I’m okay,” he whispered. I could hear the smile in his voice; the one meant to make me feel better. “You worry too much. Did I ever tell you that? I should have. It’s true.”

“You don’t look okay,” I said, running my fingers across the red blooms on his cheek.

“Really?” He winced. “Cause I think it’s kinda sexy.”

“Enough!” Allister Leeman spun me hard toward him.

“What the hands, lunatic!” Casper yelled. A tall man with a dyed blue mohawk got up from his chair and punched Casper in the gut.

“Stop it!” I screamed as he bowled over. “Let him go. “ The tears came again. “I’m here. Just let them all go, okay.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Allister Leeman said, brushing my tears away with a rough thumb. “Not yet. Not until you start behaving. There’s much to do and little time left.”

“I’m not marrying you,” I said shakily.

“Of course you are,” he disagreed. “And I’ll show you why.” He walked through the gazebo, to the plate glass window. Looking down, he knitted his hands behind his back. “Come and see where it all ends, Cresta.

I helped Casper to his feet. “Be careful,” he said. I nodded and hesitantly followed. Allister Leeman’s breath had fogged up the glass in front of him by the time I got there. It turned out that I wouldn’t have the same problem because, when I looked down, it felt as though all the breath left my body.

Below us, in a large circular room, my mother paced nervously on a gridded metal floor. She looked thin and tired. Her hair seemed ratty and unkempt, and her clothes seemed worn and slept in. “…Mom,” I muttered. I beat loudly against the window, sending ripples through the glass.

“She can’t hear you,” Allister Leeman told me. “Can’t see you either. So, don’t bother.”

“I’m here!” I turned to him. “I did what you asked. What else do you want from me?”

“Right now,” he pointed to a door at the end of the circle. “I want you to keep watching.”

The door flung open. Owen, shirtless and similarly beaten, was thrown into the room. He got up, shaking his head, seemingly getting his bearings together. When he and my mom saw each other, they came together, hugging and talking. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could only imagine they were trading war stories, talking about all that had happened, all the had been through and, more than anything else, they were probably worrying about me.

“I don’t get it,” I muttered.

“You will,” the Raven grinned. “Did you ever stop to wonder why him? Why did, out of all the Breakers in the world, I chose Owen to help me? As you can see, I have hundreds of people who would gladly have given themselves to my cause, to our cause.” He brushed my cheek, which sent dinner racing back up my throat. “Many of them are young men. Many of them are handsome and, trust me, my little Bloodmoon, they would have had no trouble convincing you to open up to them. So what’s so special about Owen?”

I looked back at Merrin, thinking she might know something I didn’t. Her eyes, narrowed quizzically, told me I couldn’t have been more wrong. I knew what made Owen so special; his heart, his bravery, the way he was willing to give himself wholeheartedly to do what was right. But something told me that wasn’t what Allister Leeman had in mind.

“What?” I asked bitterly.

“That.” Allister Leeman pointed to the blurry, masked tattoo on Owen’s back.

“His angel?” I asked in a low voice.

“That’s no angel,” Allister Leeman leaned close to me. “Go ahead. Look through the shade. See for yourself.”

Sighing, I focused the way I had at the 7-11 when Dahlia almost found us, the way I had the first time I saw the Seer’s Tower. Slowly, the shade around Owen’s tattoo started to dissipate. It came into view; first the wings that spread across his shoulders and the full of his back, and then-

“No. My God, no…”

There was no angel on Owen’s back. That wasn’t what kept him safe, what changed his fate. Stretched across Owen’s body, with huge leathery wings and a forked tongue, was a dragon.

Joined to the Raven, consumed by the Dragon.

“He’s not the dragon,” I said weakly, but I knew the truth. It was obvious; obvious in the visions I had seen while swimming around Owen’s memories, obvious in the pain on his mother’s face, obvious in the words Wendy had told him.

“I used to be a fixed point,” Owen had said.

“You still are,” Wendy had answered. And she was right. Owen was supposed to die. It was a fixed point. Nothing could have changed it. So, they traded one fixed point for another. They turned him into the dragon; turned him into something else. They bought his future by giving him a destiny; a destiny that said he would kill the Bloodmoon. And that very likely meant that he would have to kill me.

“No. He’s not the dragon,” I repeated, hoping that if I said it enough, it might make it true.

“Yes, my darling. He is,” Allister Leeman circled me, his dark hair started to come loose and hang in his eyes.

“How…Why did you-“

“Why did I bring him to you?” He asked. “I’ll answer that question with another question. Imagine you had a puppy Cresta, and that your puppy meant more to you than anything else in the world. Now imagine you knew that, one day, someone would come along and kill your puppy. But they needed a certain knife to do it; a knife that you had, that you could get. What would you do?”

There it was; laid out in front of me. Somehow Allister Leeman knew Owen’s secret, and he brought him to Crestview to exploit it. He wanted to keep an eye on him, to make sure he didn’t hurt me? No. My stomach started to churn sickeningly again as I realized the truth. He wanted Owen to care about me, to see me as a person, to love me. He wanted Owen to love me so much that he would never kill me.

“I-I would dull the knife,” I answered, bile rising in my throat.

“No, no darling. You don’t dull it. You sharpen it, and use it on those puppy killing bastards before they can get to you.”

The man with the blue mohawk returned, handing Allister Leeman a small black square, about the size of a remote.

Do you remember the phone calls,Cresta; the calls that you thought were calls from Merrin, and that Owen thought were exercises to keep him feeble mind sharp? In reality, they were programming sessions. I was seeping into his mind, making him ready.”

“Ready for what?” I asked, my mind running a million miles an hour.

“For now,” he said, holding up the remote. “If you look closely, you’ll see that I did away with those pesky devices that bound Owen’s powers.”

He was right. Owen’s arms were bare. With his free hand, Allister Leeman pulled a knife from his jacket pocket and held it out to me.

“The trigger in Owen’s mind is ready. If I press the sequence that he heard in those calls on this remote, it will turn Owen into a killing machine. He’ll destroy everything in sight, and he won’t stop until I enter a code telling him to.”

The people in the white chairs got on their knees, pinning their eyes on the floor, and pushing Merrin and Wendy down with them. The blue mohawk man grabbed Casper, and put him in a similar position.

“So, I’m giving you thirty seconds to kill one of these people. If you don’t, I’m going to sound the sequence and let Owen here go to town with your mother’s entrails.” He pushed the butt of the knife toward me again. “It’s your choice Cresta; kill one of these people, or watch the boy you love murder your mother.”

Chapter 20

All Fall Down

THEY WERE JUST standing there; my mother and Owen, talking, embracing, seemingly oblivious to what Allister Leeman had just proposed to me, or the fact that I was even watching them at all. If only I were down there with them. If only I could grab them and pull them away from all this.

“Tick tock, my darling.” The butt of that horrible knife was still pointed at me. Allister Leeman’s eyes , thin and menacing, tore at my sanity. “Your time’s almost up.”

Maybe he was lying. Maybe Owen hadn’t been brainwashed. Maybe the tones were gibberish. Maybe Owen wasn’t really the dragon after all. No. The tones opened my mind up and allowed me to follow the stars. They led to a trap, true enough, but I was affected, nonetheless. And that was after just one session. Who knew how many times Owen had listened to those sounds?

“Listen,” Allister Leeman said. Calm layered his tone. “It’s easy enough. It doesn’t have to be one of your friends.” The word came thick off his tongue. “Though, if it were me, I’d strongly consider killing the person who’s destined to kill me. That doesn’t seem likely though. So, I digress. Look at these people.” He motioned to the room full of people now on their knees. “You can choose anyone of them. Any of them would be honored to help you become who you’re meant to be.”

“By dying?” My face twisted.

“One life is a small price to pay to ensure the future,” he answered. “These people understand that. “ He took my hand, placed the knife’s handle in my palm, and closed my fingers around it. It felt foreign and heavy in my hand. It occurred to me that, while I had certainly held knives when cooking or doing other mundane things, I had never held a knife like this, not one that was meant to kill someone.

“It isn’t murder, Cresta. They want you to do it. They’ve actually fought over who gets to be the one you choose.”

My eyes, filling with tears that I refused to cry, scanned the people. They rested on Wendy, on her own pale seer’s eyes. Did she know how this was going to end, what I was going to do? And, if so, would she tell me? I thought Allister Leeman had noticed, because he marched toward her. But, instead of getting Wendy, he grabbed a handful of Merrin’s hair and pulled her toward me, still on her knees.

“What about this one?” He grinned. “Tell me you haven’t thought about it, that it wouldn’t make your life easier if Owen’s perfect little perfect was out of the picture.”

“The only thing that would make my life easier would be for you to die,” I spit at him.

“Now, now, there’s no need to be crass,” he said, yanking Merrin’s head back and exposing her neck. She flinched, but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of crying out. “Besides, I am the one person in this scenario that you cannot kill. It just doesn’t fit. Now, slit this bitch’s throat or watch your mother die.”

I stood there, my hands shaking violently. I had never thought about killing anyone, never even seriously thought about hurting anybody. Sure, there was a time when I wanted nothing more than for Merrin to be out of the picture, and it hadn’t been even a day ago when she swore she would kill me herself if need be. But the black and white of my life had gotten increasingly gray lately and, for all our differences, Merrin didn’t deserve this; to wriggle around on the ground at the mercy of a madman.

“Fine,” Allister Leeman huffed, sensing my hesitation. “We’ll see how you feel afterward.”

He began pressing buttons. The tones rang out. “No!” I yelled, but I was too late. Casper charged him, crashing into him with 165 pounds of Georgia boy. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered Coach Allen saying that Casper was ‘too soft’ for the football team. Watching the way Allister Leeman flew against the plate glass window, the remote in his hand shattering, I wondered what Coach Allen would think now. The kneeling seat fillers charged us. I rushed to the window. Looking over, I saw Owen kneeling in pain on the floor. Slowly, he got up and, watching the way he moved, like a cat circling his prey, I knew Casper had been too late. Owen pounced at my mother. Stunned, he almost got her before she darted out of the way. He was going to kill her.

I fought my way through the seat fillers, which wasn’t hard, given that it seemed they didn’t want to hurt me. I grabbed the remote, which was now in two pieces. I crammed the pieces back together, praying it would work. But I still needed the correct tones.

“What is it?!” I lunged at Allister Leeman. “What’s the code?!”

The blue mowhawked man grabbed me. I fought him, but he was huge, and it wasn’t long before he had lifted me off the ground, my feet kicking uselessly in the air.

“Kill him Cresta,” Allister Leeman said. “It’s the way it has to be. Kill him, or he’ll kill your mother.” The crowd seemed to part, making a path for me that stretched toward the stairs. I met Casper’s eyes, looking for some sort of guidance. He was pinned under two huge people; one man and one woman. His eyes, gleaming up at me, told me all I needed to know. I darted toward the stairs.

I must have ran down a hundred steps before I knew it. The stupid dress kept getting tangled around my feet, and I was huffing like a racehorse, but none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was that two of the people I loved most in the world were going to rip each other apart, unless I stopped them. Of course, I had no clue how I was going to stop them. Still, I ran.

When I made it to the end of the stairs, to a glistening silver door guarded by a man and woman who were dressed in a tuxedo and black evening gown (you know, for my hostage wedding), I grimaced. “Right this way,” the woman said, and flashed me a smile every bit as black as her dress.

“Don’t worry,” she added. “He won’t hurt you. He’s not programmed to.”

I wanted to pummel her, to tell her that Owen’s a person, and that he never should have been programmed in the first place. And while I was at it, I’d tell her that kidnapping someone’s mother in an attempt to force them to marry your insane cult leader, was both creepy and rude. But I didn’t have time. Owen and Mom needed me, so I shot the woman a look that would curdle milk, and ran inside.

The first thing I saw was Owen’s foot connecting with my mother’s face. It sent her spiraling to the ground. The next thing I saw was my mo0ther’s blood splattered across the metal floor. Running to my mother, it occurred to me that I had seen too much of the people I love’s blood; too much of their tears, and their anguish. For too long I had watched them thrown into horrible situations because of me, because of what people hoped I either was or wasn’t.

Never again, I swore to myself. It ends today.

I collided into Owen. Though I could never be confused with a menacing person, I had caught him by surprise and I put enough shoulder in it to knock him off his feet.

“Mom!” I yelled, as she took me into her arms. It was strange seeing her in person; really in front of me again. She looked older, more worn. And sure, there were things she hadn’t told me, truths she had kept from me since the day I was born. But I was with her now, in her arms, and in that brief moment, nothing else mattered.

Owen did a ninja style backflip, landed on his feet, and started running toward us.

Oh. Well, there’s that.

“Come on!” Mom said, and we made a beeline for the door. As if on cue, the door swung shut, closing our only exit. “There goes that,” Mom said in the same tone she used whenever she spilled something on her blouse or misplaced the leys to the car.

“Are you okay?” She asked as we ran to the far end of the circular room.

“I’m okay,” I answered shakily, though whether that was true or not was anyone’s guess. “What about you?”

“I’m good,” she said, squeezing my hand. “Now I’m good.”

We reached the far wall and spun around. Owen was barreling toward us. Mom pushed me behind her, blocking me.

“No, Mom. He won’t hurt me.”

“You’re damn right, he won’t” She answered. “Did you know Owen was a Breaker?”

“Yes. No. I mean, I didn’t before, but I do now,” I stammered. “This isn’t his fault. Allister Leeman put a trigger in his mind. Owen is one of the good guys.”

Owen started screaming, pulled something that looked like a dagger from his pants, and threw it at it, without breaking stride. It whizzed inches past our faces, hit the wall, and fell.

“I can tell,” Mom muttered.

“I can fix him Mom,” I said, eyeing the remote in my hand.

“You can’t fix boys, honey. The sooner you learn that, the better. Now, let Mom do her job,” she said.

Mom lunged forward. I had seen a lot of strange things in the time since our house blew up, but watching my mom do a somersault, hit Owen with an uppercut, slide into a split, and then take his feet out, knocking him down, might have been the strangest. And that’s counting the glowing dragon made entirely out of energy.

She pounded against his chest with a flat palm. He jerked up, gasping for air. Okay. So, maybe Owen wouldn’t kill Mom after all. Maybe Mom would kill him. That wasn’t a good result either though. I looked up at the ceiling, grimacing at the space I had just come from. It was a two way mirror, but I was sure Allister Leeman was standing on the other side, probably laughing and watching me squirm. I would make him pay for this. I meant that.

By the time I looked back, Mom was on the ground. Owen stood over her, kicking her hard in the gut over and over again. The look in his eyes; it was like he wasn’t even there. I flashed back to the day our house blew up, to watching my mom get beat on by those bulky crazies. Suddenly, I realized the knife Allister Leeman gave me was still in my right hand.

“Owen, stop it!” I screamed, gripping the handle. “Owen, it’s me! It’s Cresta. Just listen to me. I know you’re in there.”

He kept at her; kicking her until she yelled and grunted like a wounded puppy.

“Owen, you’re going to kill her!”

He didn’t stop. He didn’t seem to notice me at all. He was an animal; a programmed thing that was going to put an end to my mother. Suddenly, he pulled a second dagger from somewhere on his person. Sweat glistened on his chest and his face looked practically feral. There would be no getting through to him. Mom turned toward me. She opened her mouth to speak, and blood poured from it.

“Run,” she mouthed.

“No,” I said firmly. “I left you once. I left dad. I won’t do it again. God forgive me,” I whispered, tightened my grip on the knife’s hilt, and ran toward him.

“I love you,” I said as I slashed at his chest. A red gash appeared under his left shoulder and began weeping blood. He didn’t react. He didn’t fight me at all. He lifted the dagger, but it wasn’t aimed at me.

“Mom, go!” I yelled, and pushed Owen to the floor. I kicked the dagger out of his hand. It slid across the metal. He pushed me with a hard hand. I went winding and landed hard on my back. But he didn’t come back at me. He had a one track mind, and it was all about my mother. He had been programmed to kill her, programmed for this moment.

Walking him step closer to my mother, who was stumbling backward across the floor, I realized this was it. I could rush him; stab him in his lower back. With my fancy new Breaker mind, I might even be able to do it with such precision that I didn’t actually kill him. But would that do any good? If I was right, Allister Leeman had programmed him so thoroughly that only death would stop his rampage. That is what he wanted, after all; for me to kill someone, for me to kill Owen.

No. I wouldn’t give him that. I wouldn’t give in to his machinations. If I did this, if I killed Owen, not only would it break my heart so completely that I was sure it could never be put back together, but it would also give every fundamentalist on either side of this crazy coin cause to believe I, folk-rock loving 115 lb. girl that I was, was going to destroy the world. But it I didn’t, he was going to kill my mom.

There had to be another way. As if it was trying to tell me something, the remote in my hand started to tingle. I lifted it. If it worked, I could reenter the code that sent Owen on this rampage. Of course, I didn’t know the code, but I figured one mountain at a time.

“Come on, I muttered, pressing the buttons feverishly. Nothing happened. It had been broken when Casper tackled Allister Leeman. Wait. The thought crashed into me like a Mack truck. If I could manipulate shade to make people see things; or more aptly, not see things, then maybe I could make use it to make them hear things too. If I could manipulate some shade, namely the blobby aura still surrounding Owen’s tattoo, then maybe I could make him hear the tones he needed to.

Owen inched closer to my mother. His dagger was still on the ground, but I was sure he wouldn’t need it. I focused hard on Owen’s tattoo, on the shade around it. Just like earlier in the 7-11, my mind latched hold of the shade. It was mine to control. Now all I needed was the correct code. I code have went through all the possible combinations; the remote only had nine numbers on it after all, but Owen was closing in on Mom, and he’d have ended her by then.

Instead, I looked at the remote, remembering Allister Leeman when he punched the code in. I thought back, remembering the way his fingers moved when he keyed it in. I mimicked him.

Six.

I focused. The shade suddenly became the tone.

Four.

It happened again.

Six again.

Nine.

Two.

Three.

And there was one more, but that was when Casper tackled him. Thinking back, I couldn’t get a clear view of what number Allister Leeman had pressed.

Owen’s hands wrapped tightly around my mother’s neck. She gurgled and flailed. I stood and ran toward him. I had to kill him. But could I? I loved him more than myself, but I loved my mother too. I ran toward him, tears running down my face. Iknew what I had to do. I would-

Seven. It was always seven.

The tone rang out like the sweetest sound I had ever heard. Owen snapped back to himself, jerking away from Mom.

“By fate’s hand,” he said trembling. “Mrs. Karr-Ash-I…”

I collided with him, dropping both the knife and the remote, and using my hands instead, to hug his back and kiss his neck.

“Cresta,” he turned to me. “I…”

“I know,” I said. “Mom, are you-“

“I’m fine,” she coughed. “I’m okay.” She stood, and brushed herself off. “I just- Did I miss something? I thought he wasn’t into you.”

There was still a lot to do. Allister Leeman still had Casper, Wendy, and Merrin. And Lord knows he would certainly pull every rabbit he had out of his hat in an effort to get me to kill before the sun came up. But I smiled anyway. I couldn’t help it. I had my mom back. Owen wasn’t under Allister Leeman’s control anymore. Maybe, I thought hesitantly. Maybe we can win this.

That’s when I heard the explosion.

Chapter 21

Breadcrumbs

THE WORLD SHOOK as the sounds of thrashing metal, shattering glass, and maligned bodies erupted around us. Bits of steel and glass showered down onto us. I ducked, tucking my head between my legs. I even felt Mom overhead; shielding me from the worst of it. Still, we it was all over, I found myself covered in tiny painful cuts.

Mom was worse. Her face and neck were marked heavily with cuts, and her hands looked tattooed in red. Still, Owen had the worst of it. When Mom threw herself over me, he must have thrown himself over her; because when he turned to see what had happened, I found his back was slick with blood. Shards of glass were still dug into him.

“Owen…” I gasped.
“It’s fine,” he said, without missing a beat. “It’ll heal. I’m fine.” But he winced when Mom started pulling the shards from his back.

Looking up, I saw that the two way mirror had exploded. The floor I had just left must have been ground zero for whatever just happened. A tight sickness gripped my heart. Sure, that was the floor Allister Leeman had been on, but my friends were there too. Casper was there.

The door swung open. The well-dressed pair that had ushered me in, strode toward us. They had pistols in both their hands.

“What the hell’s going on?” I demanded.

“Come with us,” the man ignored my question.

“We’re not going anywhere with you,” I said.

“Don’t make us use these, little girl,” the well-dressed woman chimed in.

“As if you could,” I scoffed. “Your boss wouldn’t like it very much if you shot me.”

“Perhaps,” the man said. The guns parted, and now pointed at Mom and Owen instead. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if we killed them though.”

I swallowed hard, ready to do what they said; anything, so long as they didn’t pull those triggers. But, like twin tornadoes, Mom and Owen grabbed the guns’ barrels, ripped them from their would- be assailants, and struck them across the head. They crumpled onto the ground like the discarded bride and groom from a toppled wedding cake.

“Well done,” Mom glanced at Owen.

“Thanks,” he beamed. “I love it when they get cocky.”

“Well, you’re gonna freakin’ adore me.” The voice belonged to Ezra. The amputee floated in the doorway, blocking our exit and grinning a wicked greasy smile.

“Move,” Mom said in a tone that broached no argument.

“Make me,” Ezra ran a hand through his long hair and blew a sickening kiss at Mom.

“Be careful,” Owen whispered. “He’s a Mover.”

“Is that right?” Mom answered. “Well, I’m a Shaker.” She made a gun with her hand and pointed it at Ezra. He twitched her forefinger, pulling the trigger. Ezra started to shake violently. He thrashed back and forth like someone had stuck him in a paint mixer and, when he stopped; his eyes were wide and his expression blank. He fell like a sack to the floor, and lay there unconscious.

“That’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,” Owen blinked.

“You’re welcome,” Mom grinned. “Come on. We’re leaving.” She grabbed my hand.

“What happened up there?” I asked again.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, running toward the door. “Let them deal with their own mess. All I care about is making sure you’re safe.”

“Casper is up there,” I said as we entered the staircase.

“You brought Casper here?!” Mom was stunned. She stopped for a second, and then looked at Owen and back to me. “Can I trust him?” She asked.

“I do,” I said, looking at his deep blue eyes and the gash on his chest where I had cut him.

“Good,” she turned back to him. “Go find Casper. I’m getting Cresta out of here.”

“No,” I shook my head. “I got him into this. He’s here because of me. I have to make sure he gets out okay.”

“Cresta, until the sun comes up, next to you is the most dangerous place he can be,” Mom said.

“She’s right,” Owen answered. “They’re going to be looking for you. Get out of here. I’ll find him. I’ll find all of them. We’ll meet you.”

“Nobody dies for me today,” I told him.

“Understood,” he nodded.

I grabbed his hand and pulled him close, planting a soft kiss on his lips. “That includes you. Be careful.”

“Always,” he answered and, like a flash, he was gone.

We had run up three flights of stairs (which wasn’t easy in a wedding gown) and not seen anyone. The sounds of fighting, shouts, crashes, and thuds, sounded out from the other side of the wall. There was some sort of scuffle, but what?

I stopped by the door that would have led us onto one of the main floors. “Mom, I need to know what’s going on.”

“You need to keep going!” She said, as though mine was the stupidest idea she had ever heard.

“Who’s out there? If people are dying for me-“

“Then you getting yourself killed would only make their sacrifice for nothing.”

“I don’t want anybody sacrificing themselves for me. I just- I want all of this to be over.”

“I know you do, sweetheart.” She brushed my hair back like she did when I was little. “And it will be. I promise. We just have to go.”

“You lied to me. And not just about little things; about big giant life changing stuff.” It wasn’t the best time for this, not while both of us still had bits of glass in our hair. But we were here, I didn’t know what was coming and, if I never did another thing in my entire life, I wanted to hear the truth from my mother.

She sighed, seeming to deflate. “I know I did, honey.

“And I get why you did it, I guess. I just-“

“What do you want to know?” She asked, leaning in closer so that our eyes were level. Running seemed to take a backseat for her, at least momentarily.

“You’re not my mom,” I said, as tears streamed unbidden down my cut, tired face. It wasn’t a question, but it was the thing I wanted to say more than anything else.

“I am!” She pulled me in, batting back tears off her own. “ I’m yours and you’re mine; forever. Do you understand me?”

“But Dr. Conyers-“ I started.

“Dr. Conyers was my best friend,” Mom said. “She still is, in all the ways that matter. But she wasn’t there when you took your first steps. She wasn’t there when you had your first nightmare, or when you needed your first bra. She didn’t watch you grow up; didn’t get to see the woman you’ve become. After your dad died, I wanted to take you someplace away from things, someplace where I thought you’d be safe. And Dr. Conyers, she wanted to see you, to get to know you. And I can’t blame her, Cresta. You are the most amazing person I’ve ever known. I’m so proud of you.”

“But dad wasn’t a Breaker. Echo told me,” I said as a loud thump shook the door before us. “If he wasn’t a Breaker, then-“

“Your father was the love of my life, and a good man. He loved you more than anything. That’s all that matters.”

“But he knew about me, about what I was?”

“He did,” she nodded.

“How?”

She sighed again. “Cresta, there are people who think differently than Echo and the others; people who don’t answer to the Council of Masons or adhere to the archaic rules that they cling to. These people want to save the world too, but they want to do it the right way. These people would accept you. They wouldn’t judge you or try to change you, and they sure as hell wouldn’t try to kill you. Your father was one of these people. It’s where you belong, and it’s where I’m going to take you.”

“Like hell you will.” Ezra was at the bottom of the stairs, floating dazedly with his teeth in a snarl. “The Bloodmoon stays with us. “

Mom gunned up her hand again, pointing it at Ezra. But before she could act, Ezra threw his hand. Mom went spiraling through the door and into the fray. Looking out, I saw that we weren’t inside anymore. The door looked out onto a small town, and not just any town. We were back in Crestview. The night sky was starting to brighten. The sun would be up soon, but I saw with a start that it wouldn’t be quick enough. People dressed in formal wear, dressed for my wedding, fought against a wave of people dressed in matching black and white garb. I watched in horror as a man in a tuxedo was thrown through the air and impaled a ragged piece of sharp metal that had once been the Hernando statue. A woman in a long peach dress swung an axe at one of the black and white clad men, striking him in the knee and taking him down.

“Mom!” I yelled, but before I could move, she was swallowed up in the crowd. Suddenly, I felt a pull at me. It grabbed me, the unseen fingers, and lifted me off my feet. Before I could react, I was floating up the stairs toward Ezra.

“Come on, pretty one,” he grinned at me. “Let’s get you to the Raven.”

I struggled, pulling against the force, but it was no use. He had me. Ezra smiled wider and flicked his tongue at me. “You do make a scrumptious little dish, don’t you? I wonder if Allister would mind if I could a taste for myself before I delivered you. “ His tongue made a second appearance. “Just a taste.”

I cringed as I neared him; close enough that I would feel his breath on my neck. I wanted to screwam, but then his eyes got wide. He opened his mouth, trying to speak, but then fell. I fell too, no longer a prisoner of his grip. Looking up, I saw Dahlia standing over me. A sword, streaked in blood graced her hand.

“I knew you were trouble,” she muttered. “The first time I saw you, I said it.”

“How did you find us?” I choked out, rubbing my throat.

“Because, it seems, my daughter isn’t nearly as foolhardy as Ash’s,” she answered.

Wendy appeared beside her, a rare grin on her face. ”Hello Cresta Karr,” she said. “I may have left psionic breadcrumbs for Momma to follow, in case the situation became-Well, what the situation has become. Please do not be angry with me.”

“I’m not angry,” I said, thinking of Ezra’s flickering tongue.

“Take this,” Dahlia said, handing me a small black bag.

“What the hell is this?” I asked. Pulling it out, I saw a black and white suit that matched the one she was wearing. “I don’t have time for a change of clothes. My mother’s out there. I have to find her. This’ll take too long.”

“It won’t take near as long if you stop arguing with me,” Dahlia said flatly. “Everyone out there is looking for you. The Raven’s lunatics might know what you look like, but the others don’t.”

“Who are the others?” I asked, already knowing the answer. “You called the Council of Masons didn’t you?”

“You went rogue. You stole my daughter and disobeyed direct orders from your superiors. You’ve lost the right to be indignant.”

“She didn’t steal me, Momma,” Wendy said, but Dahlia quieted her with a raised hand.

“But yes, I did. And the Council sent us reinforcements; reinforcements that have been ordered to stop the apocalypse at all cost.” She pointed out the door. “Look at that. The sun is almost up. I was never a fan of this idea, but seeing as how we’ve come this far, I won’t have the entire ordeal spoiled by a trigger happy Breaker who wants to make a name for themselves. I need you to blend in, and you can’t really do that in a wedding dress, can you. So, yes. We will save your mother, and, fate knows, all the other people you managed to convince to join you in this disaster. But first, you will strip.”

Reluctantly, I slid out of my wedding dress and into the small (and ridiculously formfitting) outfit that Dahlia gave me. Usually, I would have been shy about changing in front of someone, even if that someone is another female. But I figured after watching my house explode, getting locked up by cultist superheroes, going on the most ill-fated road trip ever, waking up to a looney tune’s marriage proposal, and slashing the guy I love with the aforementioned looney tune’s knife, that it wouldn’t be so bad.

“There,” I said, letting the leather slap against my shoulders. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Dahlia said, and marched up the stairs. “Now follow me. Stay close and, by fate’s hand, try not to get yourselves killed.”

Crestview was on fire, and only part of it was figurative. Main Street, a ghost town even on its busiest days, was now overflowing with dueling Breakers. The rush of them was unlike anything I had ever seen outside of a sci-fi movie or maybe a wartime documentary. Blood stained the potholed road and, when I heard a crunch underfoot, I looked down to find teeth were strewn across the ground too.

Turning around, I saw the door we left, which apparently doubled for the entrance to Allister Leeman’s holdfast, was Miss Armie’s Cool Country Cupboard; a diner/ice cream parlor that had been long closed even when I moved to Crestview. How long had Allister Leeman’s men been here? Dahlia must be kicking herself for having missed it the first time she came to town.

A body; a girl around my age in a flowing black dress and matching headpiece, came whizzing by my head. When she landed, crashing against the bench where Mrs. Cartwright and her church friends always sat and gossiped about the week gone by, I saw that she was dead.

Mom was nowhere to be found. Casper, Owen, even Merrin; I didn’t see any of them. I wanted to scream “Here I am!”, but Dahlia’s words were fresh in my mind. So I crouched low and tried to blend in. A bright flash of light stole my vision for a second and, when it came back, a line of fire raged inches away from my face.

“Come Cresta Karr!” Wendy pulled me away from the heat. We slid behind an old Cadillac, listening to the screams of burning men and women.

But where was everyone? Where were the peace (and gossip) loving citizens of Crestview? I gasped as the answer came to me. Hiding behind the Cadillac, Wendy and I faced the window of the general store. Mr Carter, Mr Jenkins, and the rest of the early birds sat along the counting. They were drinking their coffee; just laughing, just talking. It was like they had no idea any of this was going on. My breath caught in my throat as I realized they didn’t. They couldn’t see or hear any of the chaos going on around them. To them, it was just another lazy Crestview morning.

“We have to end this,” I said standing.

“The ending comes with the sunrise,” Wendy answered.

“People are dying. That’s not quick enough!” I started to move. Wendy stood quickly.

“The path is set,” she said, and shoved me hard in the opposite direction. I went winding, collapsing into lanky familiar arms.

“Good to see you too,” Casper whispered. His face was still swollen. New bruises covered his eyes and cheeks, and a sting of pain ran through me, wondering what Allister Leeman did to him for his insolence.

“Thank God!” I wrapped my arms around him. “There was a fire. We lost Mom. We lost Dahlia. It’s just us.”

“Us?” He asked.

“Yeah, me and Wendy,” I said, but when I turned, the seer was gone. “Dammit. That girl’s gonna get herself killed.”

An explosion so loud that it shook the inside of my eardrums sounded in front of us. Mr. Carter and the early birds continued sipping their coffees, blissfully unaware.

“If I were you, I’d worry about all of us who can’t see the bullets coming before they’re shot.” Casper pulled me behind him. Pain seesawed up and down my tired legs, and I was sure Casper had no idea where he was leading me, but if we kept moving, we might have a chance of actually surviving this. Or, at least that’s how I saw it.

“We have to find my Mom,” I said loud enough for him to hear me but quiet enough to keep it from the rushing mobs surrounding us.

A man wearing a tuxedo holding a chainsaw popped out in front of us. Casper spun, pulling me away from him just as the chainsaw went past my face, sparking as the blade met the pavement.

“Kinda busy Cress,” he said without stopping.

We slid off Main Street and down an alley behind what used to be Walt’s Antique Barnyard (which was now on fire). About as loud as the freeway in Chicago during rush hour, it was still the quietest place we could find, and perhaps the only one where bullets weren’t flying.

“We’re staying here until the sun comes up, and these crazies tired themselves out.” He slid exhausted against the alley wall. “Casper has spoken.”

“You don’t get it. Mom said there was a place; a place where I would be safe. She said it’s where my dad came from, and it’s where we belong. We have to find her before this whole thing dies down. Dahlia said they wanted her for questioning and, if that happens, who knows what those crazy Masons will do to her.” I huffed. “We have to get her, find Owen, convince him to come with us and go. Now!”

“Cresta.” There was a serious look on Casper’s face. “You saw his tattoo. You know what he is. We-You can’t bring him with you, no matter where you go.”

“Why, because Allister Leeman thinks he’s the stupid dragon?”

“Because Allister Leeman thinks he’s gonna kill you one day,” he answered.

“He’s gonna kill the Bloodmoon. The sun will be up in five minutes and everybody will know that,” I folded my arms.

“Prophecies are weird. These people are weird. Some crazy person thinks they have a destiny that involves killing somebody that may or may not be you. I’m not taking the chance.” Now Casper folded his arms too.

“It’s not your chance to take. I believe in Owen, just like you believe in me.”

“Who said I believe in you? When did I say that? I believe you’re stupider than you look.”

“It’s happening Casper. Learn to love it,” I said, and took off back into the fray.

I heard Casper muttering. “Maybe I’m the friggin’ dragon, cause you’re working on my last nerve, little girl.” But, like I knew, he followed me anyway. The world spun in a rush of heat, sounds, and light. Nothing was familiar. I thought I might have saw Echo in the distance but, as quickly as he appeared, he was gone, and I couldn’t tell. Then, in a flash of horror, I thought I saw Allister Leeman. Mercifully, I was pushed away by the tide of people. The only thing that stayed constant, the only thing that kept me sane, was Casper’s hand in mine.

I felt a rush at my side, and then I was off my feet. The pavement rushed up to meet me. My head smacked against the pavement. I stood woozily. Looking up, I saw Casper. He had been knocked over too.

What was that?

He was getting to his feet slowly. The rush of people stretched out behind him until forever. Suddenly, I felt a presence at my side.

“There is but one path, Cresta Karr.” It was Wendy. She was calm and unshaken. “Do try to keep that in mind.” She touched my shoulder. “When Papa asks, tell him it was. It really was.”

“What?” I asked, but she was gone; rushing toward Casper. She whispered something quickly into his ear, and threw him back to the ground. Just as quickly, Wendy went rigid. Blood exploded onto her immaculate white shirt.

“Oh God,” I said, as she folded to the ground beside Casper. I rushed them. Casper had scooped her close to him, but the glint in his eyes when he looked at me said he had no idea what to do. Blood was soaking through Wendy’s shirt in one, two, three places. She coughed as her body tensed and jerked.

“Why did you do that?” Casper asked, as tears filled his green eyes. “You shouldn’t have done that. Why did you do that?”

Her face, always pale, grew even whiter. A smile, slow and strangely content, started to spread her lips.

“You knew,” I mumbled, leaning down to meet her. The craziness that had engulfed Crestview still raged on, but I hardly noticed it now. “You knew how this would end.”

“You knew this would happen?” Casper brushed strands of black hair out of Wendy’s pale eyes. “And you came anyway? Aww Wendy, you should have…” But his voice trailed off. “Be still,” he cleared his throat. “I’m gonna move you. I’m gonna get you to someone who can help.”

“There is no help, not for this. Help comes later, too late. Every time it is too late,” she put her hand on his forearm. “This is the way, the one path. Sacrifices must be made. Truths must be earned. There is no more for me. Do not be sad.”

“What do you know?” Casper asked. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks. “You’re just a girl. You never even got to live. You shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn’t have saved me.” He shook his head hard.

“We are not done Casper Rhodes.” Coughs marred Wendy’s words, but her eyes shone clear and intent. “I told you our love would break the anchors, and it will. But this is what must be. This is what I chose. To look but never touch, to see but never feel, to watch the pieces fall into place but never be one with them; that is no life. I choose this. I choose friends, and adventure.” She coughed hard, her body shaking and convulsing. She lifted her hand to Casper’s face. “I choose a… boy with hair… as bright… as the-“

Her hand fell back to her chest, never reaching Casper’s face. Her expression fell away, and the light left her pale seer’s eyes.

“She never even got to live, Cress,” Casper said through gritted teeth. “She never even…”

“Fate save us!” A voice pulled me from the moment. Merrin and Owen stood over us. Him, bare chested and cut; her, with her perfectly manicured hand stretched over her mouth. “A seer is dead.”

“She had a name!” Casper looked at her with flared nostrils. Wendy’s head was still in his lap.

“We killed a seer, Owen,” Merrin said, ignoring Casper. “Maybe not with our own hands, but this is our doing. We are responsible.” She looked sick and beyond defeat. “Do you have any idea what they’ll do to us? There’s no going back from this.”

“There was never any going back,” I said, standing and wiping fresh tears from my eyes. I was sick of crying, sick of having reasons to cry. The night sky had lightened to a thick navy blue. The sun would be up in minutes. “We’re going to find my mother.”

I marched through the crowd. I wasn’t sure who was following me, and I didn’t care. I was done with this. People had died for this. An innocent girl had died. Let these people have their crazy. Let them kill each other until the end of time looking for someone who might never come. I didn’t care.

The sky was rapidly brightening now. There was no sun yet, but the moon had dulled to a flat pale. As for the stars, there was only one left. But wouldn’t you know; it pinged to me. I struck off running, breaking through the throngs of people as quickly as my legs would allow. I made it through Main Street and past the schoolyard before I knew it. The star kept pinging; brightly and over and over. It called to me, loud and intense. This wasn’t like before, when the tones opened something inside my head. This was deeper than that. It was in my bones, in my cells, in my soul. It rang to me, it sang to me and, as I made my way to the ruined steps of where my house used to be, I saw why.

My mother stood flatly on the steps, with Allister Leeman behind her. He had a knife at her throat.

“Mom,” I screamed.

“Enough!” Allister Leeman jerked her so hard I was afraid he was going to tear her in two. “Enough of this! You will kill one of those people right now, this instant, or I will slit her throat!”

I felt people at my sides. Owen, Casper, and Merrin had followed me.

“Now!” He shouted and pressed the knife at her throat. A trickle of blood appeared on her neck.

“Cresta, go! Just run!” Mom yelled, but Allister Leeman jerked her again, shutting her up.

“If you run,she dies,” he spat. “No kill one of them!”

I didn’t know what to do, what move to make. I had done all of this for my mother, but I couldn’t kill someone, not even for her.

“You wanna play with me girl?” Allister Leeman asked, looking nervously at the sky. “Fine!”

He started to slide the knife across her throat.

“No!” I screamed. Mom spun, she hit Allister Leeman in the chest and both of them went down. I ran over to them, but it was over by then. And, when Mom stood up, Allister Leeman’s knife was buried in her chest.

She fell into my arms, blood trickling from her mouth. “Mom…” I choked.

“It’s okay, love. You’re going to be okay. Everything happens for a reason, even this.” Her arms fell limply at my sides. I was the only thing holding her up, as I felt the up and down of her chest grow slighter and slighter.

“Mom, don’t leave me,” I whisperedly begged. “Please don’t go.”

“It was worth it,” she said. “I love you Cresta. I always loved y-“

The movement of her chest stopped. So did her breath. So did her heart.

“You brought this upon yourself,” Allister Leeman was in front of me, huffing and scowling. “If you would have just done your duty, none of this would have been necessary. All this destruction, all this death; it’s your fault.”

I laid my mother carefully on the ground as he marched toward me. The sun was slowly peeking in the sky, almost risen. Anger rose like a flood within me, and with it, something else. An energy, unlike any I had ever felt before took me over. Like water bursting through the walls of a damn, it filled in every inch of me. I felt everything now. The ground underfoot, the sky overhead, and everything in between; it was all a part of me now. And with it, a heartbreak so real and raw that it threatened to overtake everything else. Well, everything except the anger.

“My fault?!” I screamed. They were just words, but they seemed to have to power to throw Allister Leeman backward. “You are a monster! You…”

I didn’t will my feet to move, but somehow I was moving closer to him. His eyes got large and his face colorless.

“You want me to kill! Is that what you want?!”

A strange thought occurred to me. There was shade all around here, stopping the citizens of Crestview from seeing, hearing, or otherwise experiencing what was going on around them. The shade covered them completely. They reacted because of what the shade told them. If I controlled the shade, if I told it to convince Allister Leeman that he couldn’t breathe, that there was no air around him, would his body react to it? Would his lungs burn and then shut down? Would his heart race, and then stop? Would the life drain out of him like it did with my mother?

As I thought it, it seemed to happen. I felt the shade twist and turn, shaping to my will. Allister Leeman panicked. He rose suddenly, straining his body as he struggled uselessly trying to force it to breathe. He clawed at his throat, before falling to his knees in front of me.

“It can’t be me,” he choked out with what little air remained in his lungs. “It doesn’t end like that. Anyone but me.”

His logic didn’t matter to me though. I barely heard it. All I could hear, all I could see, was my mother dying in front of me, telling me that everything would be okay. Nothing would ever be okay again. She was gone, never coming back. And it was all Allister Leeman’s fault.

I could kill him.

I will kill him.

He struggled at my feet and, in my heightened state; I could sense his heart straining for the oxygen it needed to keep pumping. It wouldn’t be long now, and then the bastard would never be able to hurt anyone again.

“Cresta.” Owen was at my side, his hands on my shoulder and back. His voice was low, as though he was very far away. “Don’t do this. We’re so close, baby.” He leaned in closer. I felt the heat of him on my neck. It was different than the heat of the anger. The anger tore me up. Owen put me back together.

“Think of your mom, Cresta.”

Anger flashed in my again, and Allister Leeman struck the ground with his fist, begging for release.

“No. Think of who she was. She loved you so much, baby. She gave her whole life for you, so you wouldn’t become this. And she died for you too. Don’t make it all for nothing, not now, not after she gave so much. Think of your mom. Think of Wendy. Think of me and Casper. We all love you so much. I love you so much. Come back to me, Cresta.”

His voice sounded closer now, calming me and beating back my rage.

“He’s not worth it, Cresta. Don’t let him take you away from us. Pick your life. Pick me. Pick yourself.”

It all broke around me. I let go of it, freeing Allister Leeman just as his heart was about to burst. He struggled and gasped for air, while I struggled to keep the tears back.

“Thank you,” I whispered to Owen, but I wasn’t done. I reached down, grabbed Allister Leeman by his greasy ridiculous hair, and pointed his ugly face toward the sky; now complete with morning sun.

“Do you see that, you arrogant son of a bitch?! You’re nothing. You’re no one. And I’m so glad that I’m the one who gets to see your face as you realize that.”

Then I punched him.

…But I didn’t kill him. The sun was up on the morning of my sixteenth birthday, and I hadn’t killed anyone. I stumbled over to my mother and lay beside her.

Chapter 22

Nothing in Heaven or Hell Part 2

(a.k.a A Reason For Everything)

THE REST OF it faded into a blur. I lay, pressed up against my mother, as Dahlia’s Breakers beat back Allister Leeman’s people. I barely moved as Echo picked me up from a circle of my mother’s blood, and completely zoned out as we traveled the seven hours back to Weathersby. The next few days were a haze of tears and images tinted with grief.

Images; Casper sitting quietly at my bedside, Owen brushing strands of hair out of my face, marked the days. People came in and out; some familiar, others strange, trying to get me to talk, or eat, or do anything at all. The first time I left my room, was for Wendy’s funeral. Sandwiched between Owen and Casper, I was a zombie of myself, barely able to look up, let alone stand, kneel, or do any of the hand gestures that apparently came with laying a seer to rest.

They buried her under an oak tree at the foot of the tower where she spent most of her life; now visible to everyone. One by one, Breakers would march up to her blank headstone, take hold of the white bone dagger that sat atop it, and make a mark. I couldn’t tell what it was at first; probably because I was too lost in my own mind, too busy replaying the events that got us here in the first place. As my turn came to grab the dagger, I saw what it was though. With each stroke, the Breakers had made a mural. All of their lines stitched together to create a perfect likeness of Wendy’s face, etched on the stone.

But something about that didn’t sit right with me. They didn’t know her, not really. Two weeks ago, none of them even knew she existed. And now they were content to let this; this face on stone, define who she was and how she would be remembered.

Not me.

I took the dagger, laid it on the stone, right under the picture, and carved ‘Wendy’ in large sharp letters. That’s who she was. That’s who she wanted to be. And, like it or not, that’s how she was going to be remembered.

I felt Dahlia at my back. I was sure she was going to chew me out right then and there, blame me for everything that I already blamed myself for. But when I turned to meet her, she just shook her head and walked away.

Afterward, Echo stood to say some words about his daughter. It was the only part of this entire thing that made any sense to me. He talked about how kind she was, how she loved to watch the people of Weathersby from her window and how, more than anything; she yearned for the outside world.

With tears in his eyes, he finished. “And, though my sorrow about her death could never be measured, I’m glad that, at least she got to see her beloved world before she left us. I just wonder if it was worth it.”

When it was over, and I told him what Wendy said to me-

Tell Papa it was. It really was.

Echo cried so loudly and so bitterly that it drew a crowd.

I didn’t see him again until the next day. He knocked lightly on the door of my room, but didn’t wait for me to answer before he walked in. The TV was on. A newscaster was talking about a tornado that ripped the small town of Crestview, Georgia apart, but curiously left the surrounding towns untouched. I turned it off.

“How are you?” He asked. He was dressed all in white; something Owen had explained was a Breaker mourning tradition. “Because white, not black, represents the absence of all things.” He also told me that the death of a seer was the greatest loss a Breaker could ever endure. Watching Echo stand before, with his slumped shoulders, drained face, and tired eyes, I figured that there might be one worse; the loss of a daughter.

“I’m okay,” I answered, not knowing whether that was even the truth. “What about you?”

“I have Weathersby to run,” he said, as though that was an answer.

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

“You’re not to apologize to me again, Cresta,” he sighed. “I’ve told you, what happened was not your fault.”

“It feels like my fault,” I said, sitting on my bed. That, I knew to be the truth.

“Well, you’re young. Your feelings are supposed to lie to you. “ He sat beside me. “I don’t want you killing yourself . What happened to your mother, what happened to Wendy- There are plenty of people to blame for that. No need to throw you on the sword as well.”

“Tell that to Dahlia,” I muttered.

He put his arm around me, as if that were answer enough. “I talked to the Council of Masons. Sometime within the next few months, you’ll have to meet with and give them an account about what happened. But I’ll be with you and there will be no punishment. They feel that since your actions led to the capture of Allister Leeman and his defectors, and since you’ve now be proven not to be the Bloodmoon-All’s well that ends well, I suppose.”

“That’s a funny way of putting it,” I said.

“Tell me about it,” he squeezed my shoulder. “I saw your mother that night. She was far away, it was just for a split second, and I don’t think she saw me, but I’m sure it was her. She was just as beautiful as ever.”

He stood. “I have something for you. It was found on Allister Leeman’s person as he was being prepped for transfer. When questioned, he admitted it was yours.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out an object, letting it dangle in front of him. It was my necklace, the one my dad gave me before he died, the one I hadn’t seen since the morning my whole life changed.

“I figured you would want to have it,” he said, placing it in my hand and closing my fingers around it. “Listen, I know that nothing can bring your mother back, and I know that I’m a poor substitute, but you always have a place here. I hope you know that.”

“Thank you,” I said. I was looking at my locket, but I meant to thank him for so much more than that. At the end of the day, my mother had been right. Morgan Montgomery was a good man.

“Dinner’s in two hours,” he said, opening the door to leave. “We’d love to see you there.”

As the door closed behind him, something I never thought possible happened. My locket opened. A small sliver of paper fell out of it, coasting like a feather to the floor. Picking it up, I saw that it was an old faded picture. Two babies lay on a white rug. One was asleep. The other stared at the camera with strange smiling eyes.

Turning the picture over, I found an inscription written on the back in large flowery letters:

Cresta and Poe- 3 Months old

“Who the hell is Poe?” I muttered, but there was no time to wonder. Suddenly, a sharp sensation flowered inside my head and, with it, a familiar voice.

:My darling Cresta,: the voice said inside my mind. I recognized it instantly. It was Dr. Conyers,my biological mother. :I truly hope you never hear these words. Because, if you’re hearing them, it means that both of your protectors are dead. If that’s the case, then the days ahead of you are going to be very perilous. I want you to know, my sweet girl, that you are not alone. Even when it seemed like no one was there, even though it may seem like that now, I am with you. I will always be with you. If you take nothing else from my words, know this. Your father and I love you more than the sum of all things. You, my darling one, my beautiful daughter, are what keeps us going. And we will not fail you. Even now, with the opening of this locket, things are in motion. We will find you, wherever you are. You will be safe. You will always be safe. It’s important though, in this perilous time, that you know everything. There are people who would use you for their own means, and to arm you with the knowledge you will need to stop them, I must open your eyes. Remember my dear, everything I have done, I did for you.:

Pictures started playing in my mind. At first, the images didn’t make any sense. My mother and Dr. Conyers running from an exploding building, a red door with a crescent moon slamming shut, a woman falling off a cliff and into the rocky sea below.

Then though, I saw myself. I was in Chicago. It was the night my father died. I was in the back of an ambulance with that horrible pink blanket wrapped around my shoulders. Mom was with me, and Dr. Conyers. But that wasn’t right. I didn’t meet Dr. Conyers until I came to Crestview. I would have remembered that.

“No one can know!” Dr. Conyers said pacing. I was a mess of tears and shivers.

“Of course not,” Mom answered, pacing in circles on the pavement. “But she’s just a girl.”

“Which is exactly why it has to be done,” Dr. Conyers answered, chancing a glance at me. “If they find out about this, that it’s already happened, there will be no stopping them.” She walked closer, putting her hand on my cheek. “We have to do it, for her.”

The thing I knew, I was in the car with my father. It was right before the accident. The Beach Boys had just started playing on the radio. But this time, I was driving. That wasn’t right. Why was I driving?

Oh God.

It all opened up to me now. I had begged him, pleaded even, to drive home that night. “I’ll have my license in a year!” I had said. “All the other dads let their daughters drive.”

He had let me. It was true. I remembered it all now. I had been driving. I, not my father, lost control of our car. I ran off the bridge that night. I killed my father.

The visions left with my revelation, replaced instead by a thick sickness in the pit of my stomach. My mom, my mothers, took the memory away from me. They didn’t want me to have to live with the memory of killing my dad. They-

“I killed my dad,” I choked out, realizing all the reasons they did what they did. They didn’t just want me not to know. They didn’t want anyone to. I had killed someone. All I had done, all everyone had done to stop the prophecy from happening, it was pointless. It was over before it started. I was the Bloodmoon. I had always been the Bloodmoon.

Two days later, with the rush of everything still fresh in my mind, I sprinkled my mother’s ashes off the bridge in Chicago where I had lost my dad. He was down there somewhere, and now, at least they could be together again. It was where she belonged, where she would have been happy.

I had made the trip with Owen and Casper. It was amazing how much leeway Echo and the crew at Weathersby gave me now that they thought I wasn’t the Bloodmoon. Or maybe they felt bad because of all that I had been through. Either way, for the first time since I could remember, I could ride the open road without worrying that someone was following me.

We were halfway through Tennessee, along some farming town named White House (which reminded me so strongly of Crestview that I winced a little) when Owen pulled onto a back road. Casper was asleep, as was his nature, or else he would have probably asked what was going on. I was glad for that, at least. This was going to be hard enough without having to explain it to him beforehand.

When I shook him awake, we were pulled over alongside a dirt road. There was nothing on either side of us except empty barren fields. Corn would have been there if it were a different time of year, stretching up toward the heavens. But right now, it was just vacant space.

In front of us, a cherry red Dodge Dakota sat. The keys were in the ignition and there was a bow on the top.

“What’s going on?” Casper asked, getting out of the car to join Owen and me.

“It’s yours,” I said flatly.

“Mine? You’re giving me a truck?” He asked, looking it over. He walked over to the truck and opened the door. Inside, was a suitcase full of clothes and a duffle bag full of money. Sitting beside them, splayed out so that he could see, was a driver’s license and social security card. “You’re giving me a truck full of crap to start a new life with?” His tone was anything but playful. He slammed the door and turned back to me, his teeth gritted and his eyes fierce. “What the hell is this?”

“Owen, could you give us a minute?” I asked. Owen nodded and went back to the car.

Once we were alone, I continued. “It’s the only way, Cass. This-this isn’t the place for you. You’re a good person, and you could live a good life.”

“This crap again?!” He yelled. “How many times do we have to go through this Cress? I want to be here. I do. I don’t-I’m not gonna leave you, not ever. Why can’t you understand that?”

He kicked at the dirt. Casper wasn’t the type to get mad, but I was pushing his buttons.

“Things aren’t like before, Casper,” I said, walking toward him. A breeze caught his hair, and sent it flying in flame colored curls.

“No. They’re not!” He said. “Your mom is dead; really honest to God dead. She’s not coming back. That means us, me and you-We’re all we’ve got”

“That’s exactly why I’ve got to do this,” I said. Tears ran wet down my face. “You’re the only family I have left. You’re the only piece of who I was, who I am, that’s survived this whole thing. If anything ever happened to you, I’d die.”

Another thought entered my mind, a darker one. If anything ever happened to Casper, that might just be enough to send me over the edge, to nudge me into becoming the awful thing the prophecies talked about, the awful thing that I know knew for a fact was meant to describe me.

“So you won’t let anything happen to me,” Casper suggested. “You’re a badass superhero now, in case you hadn’t noticed. Besides, you think I’d fare any better if something happened to you? And that’s exactly what I’d be thinking, Cresta. I’d be driving this fancy truck, thinking my best friend in the world was dead in a ditch somewhere.”

Now he was crying too.

“It doesn’t matter,” he sniffed. “The scary part is over. We won,Cress.”

“I killed my dad,” I said in a low voice.

His face twisted confusedly.

“I did,” I said. “My mom, my moms , hid the truth from me. But I was the one driving. It was my fault. He died because of me.”

“I’m sorry. Cress,” he said, and walked toward me.

“No, you don’t get it!” I yelled. Casper stopped in his tracks. “I killed my dad. I killed somebody! I’m the Bloodmoon!”

“No,” Casper shook his head. “That’s not right. That’s not what that meant. You didn’t mean to hurt your dad. It’s not…It’s not…Is it?”

I didn’t answer. Casper rushed me, scooping me into his arms. They were safe and familiar and, if I not for what I had to do, they might have actually made me feel better.

“Come on. Let’s go,” he whispered. “We’ll get in this truck, and we’ll drive until they can’t find us.”

“They’d find us, Casper. We had a seer with us and they tracked us down in a day.”

“Then what are we gonna do? I’m not gonna let those bastards hurt you!”

“They won’t,” I pulled away. “They don’t even know. Nobody knows, and that’s how it’s going to stay.”

“What about Echo. That dude’ll dig the truth out of you. You can’t lie to him,” Casper answered.

“Owen thinks that, since I can manipulate the shade, I’ll be able to fake him out.”

“Owen?” Casper asked, looking back toward the car. “You told Owen?”

“Of course I did,” I answered.

“Dammit Cresta! You know who he is. You know what he is! He’s the dragon. You can’t trust him, especially not now.” Casper’s hands went to his hair nervously.

“I do trust him, Cass. He won’t hurt me.”

“Well, forgive me if I don’t have your eternal optimism, but I don’t want to see him standing over a body bag with you in it!” He started to pace. “No! I will not leave you. I don’t care what you say. I don’t care what you want. If you won’t leave, then I’m not leaving either.”

“I knew you would say that, Cass” I leaned up and gently kissed his cheek. “That’s why I’m not giving you a choice.” I turned to Owen. “Now. Do it now.”

“What?” Casper seemed shaken, but he was quick to pick up on what was going on. “You’re gonna make your boyfriend mindwipe me?” He shook his head. “Cresta, no. Don’t do this.”

Owen neared and Casper’s voice took a turn for the frantic. “Cresta, please don’t do this to me! You said I was your family. Don’t take me away from you. Cress…”

I didn’t answer.

“What am I gonna do without you?” He asked.

“That’s the pojnt,” I said, with my back still turned to him. “Anything you want. You can live a normal life. You can finally have everything you deserve.”

“I just want you,” he said

When he yearns for you, don’t turn him away.

I shook my head. I couldn’t think about that now. This had to happen.

“Cars drive on roads,” he told me. “Cars drive on roads!”

I turned back to him.

“Where are my hands Casper?”

A slow heartbroken smile spread across his face. “Hands in pockets,” he said.

“Hands in pockets,” I repeated.

Somehow, that seemed to settle him. He looked to the ground, gathered himself, and looked back at me. “Will I remember anything about you?” He asked, tears making his green eyes shine.

“God, I hope so,” I said, crying as fiercely as I ever had.

Owen was in front of him now, his blue eyes drilling into Casper’s.

“If you hurt her,” he started through clenched teeth.

“I love her,” Owen said. “More than I ever imagined was possible. There’s nothing in this, or any future that could make me do anything but love her. As a Breaker, as a friend, I promise you.”

Casper looked back at me. “Cress…” He said, but that was all. There were no proclamations, no goodbyes; nothing except those green eyes that had become as familiar to me as my own. And they were all I needed.

“I know,” I reassured him. Because nothing we could ever say could encompass even a piece of what we were feeling. “I know.”

I couldn’t watch as Owen did it. I couldn’t bear to see Casper’s face drain of any knowledge of me, and there was no way I could have watched him look at me as though I was a stranger. I waited in the car. When Owen was finished, and we were driving away, I watched my best friend in the whole world stumble confused in my rearview window. It would be difficult for him, but he’d be okay. And maybe that was enough. Still, there was a piece of me that hurt, and a bigger piece of me that wondered what on Earth cars would drive on now.

“You did the right thing,” Owen said, as Casper faded out of view.

“I know,” I said, but there were still tears in my eyes. “It’s just gonna take some time.”

“About what he said back there,” Owen started, pursing his lips. “Everything happened so fast, and we never really got a chance to talk about it. But I would never hurt you. Nothing, nothing in heaven or hell could change that. I swear. I don’t care what some prophecy says.”

He looked at me, fire lighting his blue eyes.

“And don’t you ever start believing that garbage about you. You’re the best person I’ve ever known. You’re the love of my life. You’re the reason I’m even still alive. And you’re going to do great things; great things.”

He reached across my lap and took my hand.

“Forget the Bloodmoon and the dragon. We’re Owen and Cresta, and that’s a hell of a lot more impressive.”

I leaned in, and kissed him. He was right, of course he was. Still, there was a voice in my head that repeated Wendy’s words.

There is but one path, Cresta Karr.

“What do we do now,” I asked, squeezing his hand.

“When I was a kid, back when they thought I was going to die, my mom used to beg the Council of Masons for a way to stop it. She’d beat the ground and ask for prayers or blessings, anything that would help. But they never did anything. They kept calling me a fixed point. And they said that ‘One could sooner cut a star from the sky than change a fixed point.’ But I did, Cresta. I changed it. My mom changed it. So, we’ll do what I did all those years ago. We’ll do what my mom told me to do.”

He turned to me, a smile as loving as a kiss but as unyielding as steel graced his face.

“We’ll lie to the stars.”

* * *

Thanks for checking out THE BREAKER’S CODE. Be sure to check out the upcoming installments, starting with

BOOK 2: BREAKER’S PROMISE

http://amzn.to/1S188LO

http://connerkressleybooks.weebly.com

* * *

About Conner Kressley

Conner Kressley is a USA TODAY Bestselling Author. He is an avid reader and all around lover of storytelling. His book "The Breaker's Code" is the first in the epic "Fixed Points" series that pits free will against fate and true love against good intentions and bad situations.

When he's not writing about teenagers who have way too much on their plates, Conner can be found in the back roads of Georgia watching old movies, geeking out over books (comic and otherwise), and planning the next of his (some would say way too frequent) trips to Disneyworld. He also loves nature, stories where people are running for their lives, and all things "Southern.”

Read More by this author!

http://amzn.to/23bpDOT

http://connerkressleybooks.weebly.com

Sign up for more bargain boxed sets at:

www.hotboxedbooks.com

JUMP TO...

A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE by NOREE COSPER

END OF DREAMS by KIM FAULKS

HAUNT by HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY

DARK CROSSINGS by ANN SIMKO

HEADSPACE by CALINDA B

THE OTHER F WORD by SUSAN STEC

UNLEASHED by RACHEL MCCLELLAN

HIDDEN INTENTIONS by STACY CLAFLIN

THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL by AIMEE EASTERLING

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS by KYOKO M

ST. CHARLES AT DUSK by SARAH M. CRADIT

WICKED BY NATURE by MADISON SEVIER

UNDERLIFE by MARISSA FARRAR

DRAGON’S REDEMPTION by EDEN ASHE

MILAN’S RETURN by GRAE LILY

THE BREAKERS CODE by CONNER KRESSLEY

THE MEDIUM by MR GRAHAM

WICCAN WARS by HEATHER MARIE ADKINS

CARPE NOCTEM by KATIE SALIDAS

A QUESTION OF FAITH by NICOLE ZOLTACK

THE MEDIUM

A Book of Lost Knowledge

BY MR GRAHAM

Copyright © 2013 by MR Graham

Lenny is a defective vampire. Shy, insecure, and literally unable to kill, he tries very hard to avoid notice until the night he is kidnapped and imprisoned by Sebastian, a psychopath bent on turning him into what a vampire should be. The situation is only made worse by Lenny's dual nature: he is also a medium, a creature born for the sole purpose of aiding the dead, and Sebastian is definitely a dead thing in need of help. His only hope is Kim, a practical young wizard tasked with hunting Sebastian down, but her ancient and powerful family is not nearly as accepting as she. Trapped by Sebastian's mind control and by his own pathological need to heal his captor, Lenny quickly realizes just how easy it would be to slide into evil, himself.

Copyright: The Medium © 2013 MR Graham, All rights reserved.

liminality:

Liminality: (From the Latin līmen, a threshold) The intermediate point of transition between two states or classes. An object or individual in the liminal state may be considered to belong to both classes simultaneously, or to neither. A prolonged liminal state may result in disorientation, alienation, and later inability to integrate into another state or class.

Betweenness.

Prologue

the end

SOMETIMES, HE STILL dreams about the girl.

He is always blind in the dreams, must be blind, because there is no way it could be too dark for him to see. He is blind, but he can hear everything, feel everything, and reality dissolves.

She gasps when his hand closes over her mouth, and he can feel that tiny suction, then the wriggling and flopping as he holds her tightly from behind, muffling her screams with his flesh. He whispers desperate consolation in her ear until the feeble spell of his voice finally takes hold, and she relaxes into his arms, shivering with the sobs that cannot quite escape.

He tapes her arms and legs, wraps her in his jacket, and sits with her through the night. Her breath freezes on the air, and he can almost hear the chime of those ice-crystal clouds. His skin freezes and cracks. He would bleed, but he has no blood left, and the cold makes him tired, as if he were a reptile. He could almost sleep.

Sebastian is in the dream, too. He plucks the telephone away and lashes out with a burning fist. Broken teeth, jaw, ribs. One punch, one kick, no more.

“Too late,” he says. “I’m already back. Running to a teenager for help? Really, Hugo? You’re such a goddamn baby.”

Sebastian’s hands are hot, and they can be soothing when they want to be. They stroke away the bruises, and he layers his voice with Power, whispering away the pain.

“I’m Leonard. I’m n-not Hugo, I’m Leonard. Leonard…”

“Shhh, don’t worry about it. You want the kid, that’s okay. You can have her. My gift.” His hot hands move south, gentle still. “Don’t cry, okay? I hate you when you cry.”

She is waiting when they get there.

She gasps when his hand closes over her mouth, and he can feel that tiny suction, then the wriggling and flopping as he holds her tightly from behind, muffling her screams with his flesh. His mouth is swollen and full of tears, and his voice is so much weaker than Sebastian’s. He cannot take away her fear, only make her stop twisting to give his poor ribs a rest.

He sits with her through the night and listens to her hurting, but he can no longer manage to care. Sebastian is in his head, squeezing his heart so tight he can barely feel, stroking his mind into silence. His throat burns with thirst. His veins ache, empty and hollow and screaming with lust, but he can’t care. He leaves without speaking to her, even though she begs, even though her faith is shattering into sunbursts on the dusty floor.

He sits in the car and presses himself close against the blasting heater. He is blind, but he seems to see deep brown eyes, slightly tilted, smiling, fringed with dark, sooty lashes. He could drown in those eyes, has drowned in them before, just like so many others. Bleak pools full of the drowned, full of bodies. The back of his mind is full of struggling, the clinking of chains. Sebastian is bleeding her. The blood is the life, and so much more. Teeth penetrate. Essence is shared. Eventually, she stops fighting.

Tomorrow, he thinks. I’ll do it tomorrow. He won’t bleed her if she’s mine.

But he doesn’t really care.

When he pushes her down the stairs, she has Kate’s voice. “Lyonya,” she cries, but that never happened, and Kate was a thousand years ago, and she hurt him more than he could ever have hurt her.

When he runs, the girl is probably dead. Sebastian’s voice is gone, and his skull echoes emptily.

Sometimes, he still dreams about the girl, but when he wakes, the world is white, and his bones are ice, and his name has bled away with the last of his strength. They call it permafrost for a reason, you know, and his hands are bound up in dirt that does not sing and cannot heal. The ghosts here are pale and ancient. They speak in tongues he does not know.

And freedom is bitter.

Chapter 1

LENNY NEVER COULD decide whether he and Mara were a thing. Sometimes, he thought they were, and sometimes they definitely weren't, and sometimes it was just completely impossible to say what they were. He knew he loved her. He thought she might have loved him back, but he was never sure whether either of them was ever in love. Maybe.

He did know that she was exactly the right shape. She fit perfectly under his arm, up against his side, like they were puzzle pieces and that was where she was supposed to go. They matched.

It was two in the morning, or maybe a little later. Lenny lounged on one end of the couch, and Mara was where she belonged, there beside him. His mouth still tasted like cheap wine, the kind that leaves a sweater on your tongue. It had been hours since the real television had stopped and the endless commercials had started. The light from the screen caught on the two glasses, two bottles on the table. It lit up Mara's face. She had fallen asleep.

He let her stay there. Neither of them had anywhere to be in the morning. A night on the couch wouldn't hurt her any.

Saturday came too early. He could still taste the wine, and it was even worse the next day. Mara had slid down from his chest to his thigh. He was okay with that. She was warm.

He slid her off as carefully as he could, replacing himself with a rolled-up blanket, and shuffled off to make a pot of coffee. After a couple of cups, he could start to function.

Mara stumbled in after him when the coffee maker started to growl. Her hair stuck up on one side, and a red fan-shape of creases crossed her cheek. Her eyes were puffy.

“Morning?” she mumbled.

“Yeah. Sorry to say, it is.”

“No school.”

“Nope. 'S Saturday.”

“Good. That's good.”

“C-considering it's almost t-ten, yeah.”

She went around him and pulled down two mugs from the cabinet, set them on the counter and grabbed milk from the refrigerator. The calendar stopped her.

“Your conference is next weekend?”

“Yeah.”

“You packed?”

“Nah. G-gotta laundry first.”

The milk carton clunked down on the counter, and one of Mara's arms went around Lenny’s waist. Her chin fit perfectly into the crook of his neck and shoulder. "Bring me a tee shirt."

“M'kay.”

Just then, he was pretty sure they were a thing.

The week went past like a greased cat. He re-administered a test and launched various objects across the football field with a catapult his students built. He didn’t get a moment’s peace until Thursday afternoon.

He and Mara got home around five thirty. They were both dead beat, but teachers never have the option of kicking back. He had to go through one more time and make sure he had everything he was going to need. Mara disappeared into her half of the duplex for about an hour and then wandered back with a bowl of spaghetti. She symbolically offered him some, and as always, he declined.

“You know,” she said, “I heard some of the kids talking. At least one of them is pretty sure the reason you never eat is because you’re actually a robot, and you go home and plug in at night to recharge.”

She snickered. Lenny didn’t. He was too busy looking for one more pair of socks.

“Yep. I c-can shoot lasers out of my eyes, t-too.”

She laughed harder.

“Got everything?” she asked, wiping a red smear of sauce off the tip of her nose.

“Working on that.”

“Clothes for three days?”

He nodded.

“Aspirin, notebook, pens...”

That would go in his backpack, not his suitcase. He nodded and pointed to the pile in the corner.

“Reading material for the bus? Or knitting stuff?”

He wasn’t about to take knitting stuff on the bus. The last thing he needed was to make friends with yet another elderly lady or accidentally poke someone in the arm with a needle. It was tempting to go off to Austin and come back with one more sweater for Mara, but the logistics were just difficult. Knitting stuff is bulky.

He held up a small stack of battered paperbacks he had snagged from the library’s too-old-to-keep box.

“Bunny?”

She was teasing, and he knew it, but he still couldn’t keep from shifting uncomfortably. The bunny in question was an antique toy, made of white wool, with a faded letter K stitched onto its chest in once-red silk. It sat on his bed during the day and sometimes at night, too. He didn’t sleep with a stuffed animal, he always insisted; he just liked the smell of it.

“You c-can take care of the bunny while I’m gone.”

“Looks like you’re set, then.”

“Well... I hope so.”

She snorted and pressed her cheek against his back, being careful not to get spaghetti sauce on him.

“It’s weird,” she said, “thinking about you being gone for a weekend. Who am I gonna pester?”

“You c-could go across the street and mess with G-gail.”

“Ew. Her cats would eat me.”

It was true. Most animals disliked Lenny, but Gail’s cats were abnormally aggressive. It had been a couple of weeks since that big black one had found its way into their house, but it would come back someday. It always did. Then it would hook itself into his leg and stay there until he could pry it off. Even Mara didn’t like Gail’s cats, and Mara was a cat person.

He zipped up his suitcase and set it by the door, shoved his notebooks and novels into his backpack, zipped that, and flopped down onto the edge of the bed. He did not look forward to the trip in the morning.

They got up early on Friday. At that time of year, they were always up before dawn, but he had somewhere to be, and Mara was his ride. He struggled into khakis, a sweater, and a windbreaker, and tossed his suitcase and backpack into the rear seat of Mara’s Datsun. He waited while she slapped on some makeup and shoved as much of her hair as she was able into a straining rubber band.

He handed her coffee in a vacuum mug and climbed into the car, sitting quietly while she peeled out of the driveway. He could handle early mornings, but until she had finished her first cup, Mara was only one bad joke away from homicide. She chugged most of it at the first light they hit.

Abilene was not a big place, and the streets were dead empty before daylight. There were sure to be some cops on their rounds, some small business owners unlocking things, some local ranchers driving out from town, but the only car they passed was a gas tanker with a disgruntled driver. He was making about the same face as Mara.

There was only one other car in the parking lot at the bus station. It was orange, some kind of sports car, and it was sprawled across three parking spaces. Mara screeched into a space on the far end and had jumped out of the car almost before the keys were out of the ignition. Lenny pulled himself out more slowly while she fished around in the back for his suitcase and backpack.

“I am so sleeping through lunch today,” she growled. “Ugh. And study hall. Do you think they’ll rat on me?”

He shrugged and slung his backpack over his shoulder. Mara’s breath steamed in the freezing air. His did not, and he prayed she did not notice. But then, she never had before. He was already losing feeling in his fingers.

She smiled. “Have a good trip, Len.”

He shifted his backpack and picked up his suitcase.

And Mara bowled him into the side of the Datsun, pressed her hips against his, grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, and kissed him hard. Compared to the air, her lips were boiling hot. It’s strange what people remember from moments like that. Lenny remembered that she stepped on his foot and that she was the only person he had ever known who put honey in her coffee.

When she stepped back, she looked almost confused.

“Hm,” she said. “I’m going to have to keep thinking about that.”

Then she slammed back into the driver’s seat, started up, and drove away, leaving him choking on exhaust and unexpected signals.

He didn’t remember much about waiting for the bus. He supposed he must have sat there for the hour or so before it came. He must have gotten on, picked a seat, stowed his stuff. Mostly, he remembered thinking.

He had thought about Mara before, about being with her. He had only been in love once, and he knew whatever he felt for Mara did not feel like that, but it had been too many years since Kate, and he did wonder sometimes whether it was time to just let her go. But mourning had become a part of him, like a bad habit, and though the agony was past, the habit stuck around. He knew he couldn’t fall in love again if he was still in love with a ghost.

He cycled through the old standbys.

They were friends. He didn’t want to risk that.

They were colleagues. He didn’t want to risk that, either.

He loved her, and he was pretty sure she loved him back, but there was no way for him to say whether he could ever be in love with her. Kate was still in the way.

Mara was beautiful. He had always thought so, but he had never been and would never be attracted to her. He couldn’t be, not in that way. It wasn’t in his nature.

And that brought him to the last point.

No one had ever stared at him in horror and breathlessly demanded to know what he was. It never happened like that. He hated having that conversation, though, so he usually made sure it took place over a cup of coffee and tried not to stutter too badly.

“Even though I am one of the weeniest guys you’ll ever meet, some of my quirks aren’t actually the result of neuroses, like everyone assumes. It’s not that I don’t eat in public because I can’t stand being watched; I actually don’t eat at all. I guess I could, physically, but it makes me sick. Not going near the river? Yeah, I don’t really like running water, but even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to cross it. Playing catch-and-release with the spiders? You would, too, if you could feel them die.”

He muttered it under his breath and grimaced. Words were not his forte.

The full answer to that question had two parts, and while neither was particularly complicated, the two came together to make something tricky.

Most people were usually looking for the fact that he was dead. More specifically, undead. That had never really bothered him, but it bothered other people, sometimes a lot, so most of the time he let people assume he was completely spastic. Mara didn’t mind a spastic. That was one of the reasons he loved her.

The second part, the tricky part, was that he was a medium. He saw ghosts, but it was more than that. The clue was in the word itself. A medium was something – someone – in the middle, something between. Between two worlds, between alive and dead. Even when he was alive, part of him had been dead, and once his body died, he was – paradoxically – still alive. It made sense to him, but it was impossible to articulate, so he usually explained what he could do and left it at that.  His superpowers, he called it, though only with irony. When they needed it, he could help ghosts to cross over. He had to.

It was tricky because he also felt death. There were varying degrees of awfulness, and he felt terrible for saying that some deaths hurt him less than others, but it was true. He found it easiest to handle little things, like when someone stepped on an ant. Murder hurt as though he were the one dying. A medium cannot kill, so a medium who ended up as a vampire was pretty much just a joke. He had never wanted to kill, but sometimes he wished he could have been dangerous. Danger was impressive; Lenny was not.

Mara wasn’t the kind to freak out, though. He knew her well enough that he wasn’t worried about frightening her. More likely, she would call him a liar. That could potentially be either better or worse.

They kicked him off the bus in Austin just in time to prevent him from having a nervous attack. He forced his brain out of high gear long enough to call a cab and check in at the hotel. There was just enough time for him to dump his stuff on the bed, change clothes, and run to the ballroom for the first-night mixer.

There are more male science teachers than other kinds of teachers, but the hall was still a swimming pool of estrogen. Lenny huddled in the corner with the shyer members of his sex and thought about Mara.

Teachers’ conferences are draining. He didn’t like sleeping in a strange place, trying to make small talk with a lot of people he didn’t know, with every third one of them offering him unwanted advice to help with his stutter. He had done speech therapy. Tea didn’t help. Talking with a mouthful of marbles didn’t help. Repeating lines from movies didn’t help. He didn’t like listening to them complain about work and about their colleagues. Teachers are wonderful people, on the whole, but put a bunch of them in a room together, and they turn into a bunch of chickens, squawking and pecking each other to death. He hated listening to them talk about progress, and how the only thing anyone can learn from the way things have always been done is how not to do them.

He sat quietly and pretended to pay attention while he played out scenes with Mara in his head. The words had to be just right, and he would need to know them beforehand, or else he would ramble, and she would never understand.

Suddenly, he realized that the applause was just a little bit more heartfelt than it had been, and the speakers overhead were blasting Texas, Our Texas, and everyone stood, and then it was over. A few people hurried to find friends they had made. Some exchanged business cards or telephone numbers. Most just made for the doors. Lenny sat still waited for the tide to pass him by, then rode out on the back end of the wave. It deposited him at the hotel bar, which seemed like as good a destination as any. Such a long weekend deserved a beer. He already knew that he would be sleeping for most of the bus ride back home, so a tiny hangover wouldn’t hurt anything.

He unpinned his name tag and stuck it in his pocket, shuffled into the smoky room, and went to get himself a drink.

Chapter 2

THE MAN SEEMED nice at first. At least, comparatively. Lenny was aware of him as soon as he walked in, pulled by a strange attraction that left him both disoriented and disconcerted. There was really only one likely reason for someone like that to be in a bar so early in the evening, and he seemed to think that Lenny’s reason for being there was the same as his. He snagged the barstool next to Lenny’s and shoved his glass across the counter, asking for “One more, please.” Lenny knew immediately what he was, just like the man had known him from across the room, and he silently prepared his polite apologies.

“You’re new around here.” He did not make it a question, but his voice rose slightly at the end, giving Lenny room to reply.

“Only for the w-weekend. I’m leaving t-t-tomorrow.” Lenny sincerely hoped the man would understand that he wasn’t trying to trespass on his territory. A glance to the side through the smoky light showed him an enormous shoulder, and beyond that a head of close-cropped black hair. He couldn’t see much of the face, except that it seemed to be very smooth, angular. There was something familiar as well, though Lenny could not quite place it.

“Oh, shame. Thought I might’ve finally had a neighbor.” There was a pause. “Wanna go do something anyway? I could show you my side of Austin.”

Lenny knew exactly what sort of something the man had in mind and tried not to sound as nervous as he felt. “No, thanks. I’m g-going to want a full night’s sleep. Still haven’t p-packed or anything.” It was a true excuse, at least. Even if his idea of fun had gone in that direction, he really did have other things to do. The man caught on and didn’t press, and Lenny was grateful for that.

“Where are you going back to?”

Lenny finished off his drink, making the ice in the bottom rattle against the glass. “Abilene. I’m Lenny, by the way.”

“Sebastian. And I’m from” – he gestured vaguely with his beer – “over there. A couple of blocks down. If you’re interested.”

It occurred to Lenny at that point that he might have miscalculated. It sounded almost as though he was being hit on. It was uncomfortable, even if it was theoretically flattering. “L-look, I really, really h-have to-”

“No, that’s fine. I get it. You have to pack.” Sebastian’s voice was disappointed, lonely.

Lenny felt for him, but hardly enough to agree to a hookup, or whatever it was Sebastian wanted. He knew what loneliness was like, though. He knew what it was to be surrounded by people who had no idea, who couldn’t share his experience, and he knew that if Sebastian was a killer, it was only because he could not help himself.

They talked. Sebastian was from Spain. He’d been in Austin for a couple of decades, and Mexico City before that. He was making a living in hypnotherapy, making sad people stop smoking.

“I’m good at it,” he said. He winked at Lenny, in case there had been some chance he had not been understood. Lenny did understand.

“I bet,” he said. “Me, I’ve never been g-good at that. I’m in town for the conference. Texas Science T-t-t-t-teachers’ Association. It’s a good job, steady, if you lay low. Anyway, hitting the seminar c-came with a little raise, so I figured...”

Sebastian tipped his head to one side and nodded thoughtfully. “You know, I could help you with that stutter. I do traditional, too. No tricks.”

And there it was.

He must have seen Lenny make a face, because he laughed and threw his hands up in a peace gesture, sliding back from the table they had taken over up against the window. His laugh was contagious. Lenny had to grin.

“Or not! Sorry, just, y’know, it’s what I do. Gotta be good at something, right?”

“It’s okay. Sorry, I’ve just g-gotten more advice than I ever wanted in the p-past three d-d-days. So you help people? That’s a little... unusual.” There was no way to make that sound inoffensive, but Lenny figured he would understand. It was unusual. He tried to quell the stutter, but it didn’t work.

Sebastian shrugged.

“Like I said, gotta be good at something. I do what I’m good at. It pays the bills, anyway. Well, some of them. Keeps me busy, too. You don’t know how boring it can get, with nothing to do. Anyway, it’s my thing.”

He leaned forward, propped his elbows on the table, and rested his chin on his fists, looking at Lenny curiously.

“What’s yours?”

“My...?”

“Your thing. There’s something different about you. It’s magnetic.”

Lenny remembered the moment from earlier, when it had almost sounded like Sebastian was trying to invite him back to his place. He tried hard to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound harsh and wouldn’t encourage him, either.

“Um, science t-teacher? Physics? Um... magnets, I mean? Heh? Get it? Science?”

Sebastian  smirked, shook his head, and rolled his eyes. His eyes were brown, dark mahogany.

“I’m serious. I felt it as soon as you walked in here.”

Lenny didn’t really like having that conversation, either, the one where he explained that connection he had with dead things and how it really wasn’t as cool as it sounded. No one had ever described it as magnetic, before, but it was the same thing that had brought him to Kate all those years ago, and it seemed to kick in the most when the dead person really, really needed help. Another thing about being a medium – he had to help when he could. He didn’t have any choice. But there wasn’t much he could do about loneliness.

Lenny shook his head, and Sebastian sat back again, crossing his arms over his chest. His arms were huge. So was his chest.

“You mean you don’t know?” he asked. There was an edge in his voice. Not fear, exactly, but maybe nerves. He didn’t understand.

But there was no way Lenny was having that conversation in a crowded hotel bar with a stranger, even a stranger who needed help, so he smiled and shrugged.

Sebastian shrugged back, enormous shoulders rising once, and he grabbed his glass and stood up. He was big sitting, but he was even bigger standing.

“Refill?” he asked. “On me.”

“Thank you?”

Lenny watched him retreat back to the bar, and he thought about just leaving quietly. He hurt for Sebastian and his loneliness, he really did. But that strange thing the Spaniard felt and couldn’t understand... Lenny felt it too, when he took a moment to think around his two beers and a whiskey. The problem was that Lenny felt it from the other end of things. Sebastian was isolated, sinking, in desperate need of a hand to pull him back up; that was just a fact. He was also stained. Lenny could feel the faint echoes of every death he had caused, and in his whole life, he had never been in a room with someone who felt like that. Most vampires killed like animals – for food, for self-defense, for territory. Lenny didn’t like that, but he could deal with it. He didn’t really have another option but to deal with it. No one could call animals evil for killing things. Maybe Sebastian had his reasons. Maybe he’d had a lot of bad luck. Maybe it was cathartic, his way of dealing with his problems. Lenny doubted it, though. It was too much for an animal. Sebastian killed like a madman.

But madmen need help, sometimes, too. Lenny sat still and waited for him to come back, hoping he didn’t look as on edge as he was starting to feel. He may not have been exactly the standard model, but he was also not human. He and Sebastian were kindred. At least, in theory.

Sebastian set a glass in front of Lenny and sat back down. His expression was calm again, faintly smiling. He shot back half of his drink.

“You ever been to Amarillo?”

“C-couple of times.”

“You know Tony and Edith?”

Lenny took a sip of his drink and shook his head. “Not well. I went through all the channels when I moved to T-texas. Met them once, then. They sent me a welcome b-basket.”

“No? Well, they don’t like me much.” He grinned. “You know anybody I might know? We gotta have some friends in common.”

Something about the tone of that question struck Lenny as a little bit off, but he shook his head again. “It’s just me in Abilene. I don’t t-travel much.”

“Oh...” His expression went blank for a moment, but then he raised an eyebrow. “That’s got to be boring. Who’s your progenitor?”

Lenny hated that word. It was a really gross word, and it sounded like something that would describe an amoeba better than it described a person. But there had never been enough vampires to make a significant impact on language evolution, and humans have never needed a better word for that particular concept.

“Kate Charles. She’s been g-g-gone a while.” He took a sip, then knocked the rest of it back. This felt like an interrogation, but he had no idea what Sebastian was getting at.

Sebastian made a face. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Guess you don’t get out much, huh?”

“I g-get out. I just like it when it’s t-t-time to go home.”

Sebastian leaned forward suddenly, elbows on the table, and Lenny looked up to find him well inside his personal space, the other man’s gaze fixed steadily on his face. His fingertips were numb.

“Come on,” Sebastian coaxed. His voice was low and slick. It vibrated too fast for Lenny to catch hold of his words. “What’s your deal? This is mine, so you know. I told you I was good at it.”

Nothing, he insisted, but what came out of his mouth was “Medium.” Sebastian’s eyes were stunning, figuratively and literally. Lenny felt frightened for a moment before he stopped feeling anything.

“Dead medium. That’s a new one.” Sebastian smiled, pressing steepled fingers against his lips.

The sound of his voice was enthralling. It had so many layers, so many other voices inside, making Lenny feel tiny. He knew what was happening, in a remote, detached way, and he tried to stop listening, to look away. But Sebastian was good at it, and the first thing the good ones do is make you want to listen, make you want to get lost and listen, listen.

“Bet you could show me some fun tricks, huh? I’ve never had a medium, before. And just you in Abilene, all alone... No one to miss you.”

* * *

THE STAIRWELL SMELLED like marijuana, stale urine, and very old blood. Lenny had taught students from this kind of neighborhood back in Houston, and Albuquerque before that, and San Diego before that. Hard-eyed children who wore loose pants to hide the knives they brought to school and long sleeves to hide the bruises they got at home. There are poor neighborhoods, and then there are bad ones. This was a bad one. He could smell it rising up out of the stained concrete floors. The air there had gone dark and sour long before a murderer like Sebastian moved in.

There were ghosts in the walls, and some of them were Sebastian’s fault. A few of them reached out, but Lenny could not stop for them. He kept following the enormous back drifting down the hallway in front of him, even though he was not sure why. Sebastian’s steps were silent. Lenny’s shuffled. The one told the other once to be quiet, and he could not, but it did not matter, because there was no one near to hear them. The doors were closed and bolted.

Then they were inside, and that door was closed and bolted, too. Sebastian locked it. Three deadbolts. Two chains. Lenny’s brain wandered. He wondered whether this could possibly be where Sebastian saw his clients. It did not look like a professional’s office. It barely looked like an apartment. There was a couch and a chair and a table with a few tattered paperbacks – all Westerns, oddly enough – some eight-tracks, and a half-full coffee mug, white cream coagulated on the surface. That was the extent of the furniture. The kitchen off the main room looked as though it had been converted into storage. Lenny felt as though something was missing, but he could not put his finger on exactly what.

Somewhere on the next floor up, or maybe the next floor down, a boom box was spewing profanity.

A huge hand closed over his shoulder and steered him toward the chair. The wood creaked when the backs of his thighs hit it, and something popped inside his head. He could remember the stairs and the hall, but before that… nothing. There was a gaping hole between the hotel bar and this tenement complex. He could not even recall what the outside of the building looked like. They had been sitting at the table, finishing a last drink, and then... Then nothing. Nothing until this place.

The overheads flickered on, highlighting horrible green wallpaper, peeling around the baseboards. Sebastian crossed in front of him and sat on the end of the couch, leaning back with a half-smile on his face. Lenny had sort of begun to expect that if Sebastian smiled again, it would be an unspeakably creepy expression, but it was not. Sebastian had a nice smile. It was even a little bit apologetic.

“So,” Sebastian whispered eagerly. Lenny almost could not hear him under the boom box. “So, what’s it like?”

The complete about-face threw Lenny off. He probably would not have made it far, but it did look like he had an opportunity to get the hell out of there. There was one window, taped over with aluminum foil to keep out the Texas heat. He had never been good at moving quickly, but he could probably have gone out that way. It would hurt, but it was a way out, and he would heal, and even crazy murderers do not necessarily want to go flying into the street in the middle of the night. Lenny was not fast, but he could probably drag himself to a convenience store or something by the time Sebastian made it down the stairs.

But he did not throw himself out the window. He could not be sure whether that was his decision or Sebastian’s.

He fidgeted instead. “What’s what like?”

Sebastian sat forward with his elbows on his knees, dislodging a paperback from the table. “Being both. I’ve never even heard of that. Didn’t know it was possible.”

“It’s p-possible. It’s just not a very g-g-good idea.”

Sebastian’s laugh filled the apartment. He had a good laugh, just like he had a good smile. It was hard not to laugh with him, but Lenny still remembered those words: no one to miss you. The window beckoned, but he did not try to leave. It was hard to be sure, with everything happening so fast, and that laugh ringing in his head, and those eyes drilling into him, but he was beginning to suspect that he had been kidnapped.

“So,” Sebastian repeated. “What’s it like? Not a good idea, sure, but you seem to be doing okay for yourself.”

“Easier to b-blend in, I g-guess.” Maybe Sebastian was just curious. One thing about immortality is that it often leads to mind-crushing boredom. Hobbies are a good way to fight that, but hobbies can easily turn into obsessions. Maybe his was learning. No matter how old you get, there is always something new to learn. If Lenny told him what he wanted to know, maybe he would leave him alone.

Sebastian tilted his head, politely expectant.

Lenny went on.

“Can’t k-kill. But I’ve never felt the need to, so it’s all g-good. I think it messed up some stuff when I changed. My hearing’s okay, but it’s not real g-good. I’ve got b-b-bad balance. Some other stuff, too. I g-guess it was like drugs interacting. Neither thing really works the way it’s supposed t-to, any more.”

“Is it true that mediums can control dead things? Including the undead?”

“Media. It’s media, not mediums. And ‘c-control’ is too strong. More like influence, and only in ways that help.”

He stopped, not sure why he had said that. Most people do not like hearing that someone has any kind of influence over them, even if that someone would never use it and could never do any damage even if he did. Lenny did not want to come across as any kind of threat, partly because he did not consider himself a threat, and partly because he did not feel like being pummeled for being perceived as one. But on the other hand, Sebastian had his own brand of influence going on, the kind that could pull information out of people like scarves out of a magician’s sleeve. Lenny swallowed hard.

“Heh. I’d like to see you try. I heard you can’t change a medium. Obviously wrong, but...”

“Not against their will.”

He grinned, and this time, the expression was ugly. “I guess it follows that you wanted it, then.”

Lenny nodded. He was not about to talk about Kate. He was not about to explain. Sebastian would not like his reasons, and he would not like her reasons, and Lenny did not like the line of thought that always brought him back to wondering whether he or Kate had ever had any choice, those years ago.

Something moved behind Sebastian, the shape of a man almost too faint even for Lenny to see. He was not a proper spirit, just an echo, and the echo had been fading for a long time. It was one of Sebastian’s ghosts, someone whose memory had been imprinted into the building by a violent death at the same time the rest of him went Wherever he was ultimately going to end up. Lenny managed to tear his eyes away from Sebastian for a fraction of a second, trying to get a better look at the memory standing behind him. It was harder than it should have been. He half expected some kind of dramatic warning, even though it had never worked that way, but the memory just stood there, his legs disappearing into the middle of the couch. He watched Lenny over the top of Sebastian’s head.

When Lenny looked back down again, Sebastian’s mahogany eyes were narrowed with speculation, the same sort of look someone might give a dime in a mud puddle, not quite sure whether it is worth the effort of picking it up, even if he needs an extra ten cents. He glanced back toward the ghost, squinted through it, and looked back at Lenny. He was wondering whether he could use him.

It was wrong. Everything was wrong, and there were more ghosts filling Lenny’s peripheral vision, other memories and a few real spirits. One of them whispered I’m sorry like a mantra, over and over just beneath the buzz of the electric lights. They knew something Lenny did not.

“Listen, I’m g-g-gonna have t-to g-g-go p-pack. I have a b-bus to c-c-c-...”

“Have a drink, before you go.”

“What?”

“Just one. Look, I...” The apologetic smile returned. It was tragic. “If I gave you my phone number, would you... sometime... Do you think you might...?”

“Oh. Uh, sure.” Lenny nodded, trying very hard not to look relieved. It was hard not to feel bad for Sebastian, whatever his problems might have been. “Look, I’m d-down this way, sometimes. Not much, but sometimes. I c-c-could come see you. Some weekend, maybe?”

He probably would, too, even though he did not want to. Sebastian needed help, and that is what media are for.

Sebastian smiled again, hopeful, that moment of ugliness gone, and got up to go to the kitchen. Lenny did not watch him; he was too busy feeling like he had dodged a serious bullet. There was the pop and hiss of two bottles of beer opening, a pause, and one of them found its way into Lenny’s hand. Sweat beaded on the glass and dripped down onto his khakis.

“You’re scared,” Sebastian said as he sat back down. “I’m sorry about that. I just...”

He did not have any words to explain, just shrugged. Lenny got the picture. He had no social skills, and his method for making friends was mildly terrifying. At least his taste in beer was good. Lenny sipped reluctantly. He had already had enough, but turning down a peace offering might be dangerous.

“It’s okay. No hard feelings. I’m mostly just c-confused.”

Sebastian’s expression did not change, but the smile became fixed, expectant. The ghosts in the corners of the room began to disperse, as though the show was already over. “I just can’t figure out your angle,” he continued. “You’re on my turf, in my bar, playing like you want to be my friend. Pretty subtle, I’ll grant you. You actually had me going, for a while. Come back on weekends, my ass. And here you are, sticking around like you hadn’t even thought about running. I honestly can’t tell whether you’re for real or not.”

Lenny wanted to point out that Sebastian was the one who threatened him, brought him there by force and was poking around in his head where he absolutely did not belong. He wanted to point out that, even though Sebastian scared the crap out of him, he could make himself overlook all that, because that is what a medium does. He did not get the chance.

Lenny did not even see him move. Sebastian must have had centuries on him to go so fast. One second, Lenny was trying to excuse himself, watching the ghosts to see whether they could give him a hint; the next, Sebastian was standing in front of him with his hand closed over Lenny’s jaw, not so tight it hurt, but too tight for him to move without breaking himself.

Lenny scrambled. His hand shot up reflexively to grasp Sebastian’s wrist, and Sebastian squeezed. Something in Lenny’s face cracked loudly, making him gag. Sebastian hissed like an animal and spit something at him in Spanish too fast and too old for Lenny to understand. His crazy eyes were wide and eager.

Sebastian pulled Lenny up close to his face, still talking. Most of Lenny’s brain was taken up with figuring how to get the hell away, but part of him realized that Sebastian was not talking to him; he was talking to himself, low and fast. Lenny could hear the power in his voice, even if he could not understand the words. Sebastian was convincing himself of something, weaving back the same spell he had used on Lenny. Something in his eyes changed when he made up his mind, went a little crazier, if that was possible.

Sebastian dropped his victim. Lenny stepped back, tripped over the chair, and fell hard. His face throbbed, and he could taste stale, dead blood. His blood. He got one arm underneath himself and began to push himself up when something like a fighter jet whistled overhead and came down on the back of his neck, flattening him again. Something pounded steadily inside his head, vaguely reminiscent of a heartbeat. It took him a moment to realize that someone was at the door.

Sebastian dragged him upright and bent to whisper in his ear.

“Relax,” he said, and Lenny did.

Sebastian threw Lenny over his shoulder like a rag doll, carried him through the apartment and dumped him on the floor in the bedroom. Lenny could not see anything but the awful, green wallpaper. He heard a door open, felt a vicious impact against his ribs, and was enfolded in darkness.

The closet smelled better than the rest of the building. It smelled like cedar chips, like Sebastian. Lenny heard his footsteps, the front door, a woman’s voice. Sebastian sounded happy to see her, which most likely meant that, even if Lenny called for help, she would not be one to give it. He tried anyway. He tried to scream, to reach the doorknob. But his voice did not work, and neither did his arms. Every muscle stayed slack.

He concentrated on the pounding in his jaw and in his side, because there was nothing else he could do. But after a minute, that began to fade, too. It diminished to an ache, then to a twinge, then to a tingle. He could not feel his hands, and his head felt like a balloon, and there was a bitter taste on the back of his tongue, underneath the tang of blood and beer. He tried to be angry, and he tried to be afraid, but it was too much effort. The voices in the other room lengthened like rubber bands, and the floor was soft, and he sank down into it.

* * *

THERE WAS A voice, and he wanted it to be Mara. He was home, and she had invaded his half of the duplex again. He could almost smell the coffee. It would still be dark out, and they would talk as they both got ready for work. She would make fun of his sweater while she pulled her hair back. He would find her keys, because she was always losing them, and he would wait until after school to tell her all the things he had planned to say. He could smell the coffee. Her toothpaste. That weird shampoo she used that smelled like cough syrup and men’s cologne. He would tell her everything, so that if she kissed him again, she would know what she was getting herself into.

And she would know him inside and out, the way it should have been since the first time he realized how much he liked to hold her. She would know the truth of him, know all of him, know him the way the Bible means it, if she wanted to. He would tell her how he didn’t get a damn thing out of that conference, because he spent the whole time thinking of her.

They would sit in the dark with a bottle of cheap wine and laugh about his crappy weekend.

But it was not dark out. There was a tiny bead of light shining through his eyelid, agonizing before he had even opened his eyes. He turned his face away from it. There was carpet under his cheek. It smelled faintly, but he could not tell what it smelled like and did not care to spend energy trying to figure it out. Breathing made his entire body burn, so he stopped. Considering that revelation, he decided that trying to move would be a bad idea, too, so he stayed still. His throat burned, and he felt weak, and he knew what that meant, even though it was something he had not let himself feel for a very long time. He could not feel much, though. Everything was a bit numb, apart from the acute sensation of hangover. There were knives in his skull and something big trying to climb up his esophagus. He swallowed to keep it down, but it was having none of that, and he heaved at the musty carpet. His back screamed in protest. Nothing came up, but the nausea did not go away, so he kept heaving until the muscles would not contract again. It took him a few goes to figure out that his mouth would not open, either. Duct tape.

It had been too hard to be afraid, before, but now it was impossibly easy. The worst part was the realization that Sebastian had not killed him, which could only mean there was more coming. He could not even hazard a guess why Sebastian could possibly want him. Lenny was not the standard model, but he had no illusions that he was anything special, either. As a vampire, he had always been a miserable failure. As a medium, he had some skills, but nothing that could give someone else an edge. Besides, if Sebastian wanted a medium, he could just look one up in the phone book. He would have to filter through some charlatans, but media were anything but rare. Lenny could only assume that Sebastian was planning to make someone suffer one way or another, and Lenny happened to be the one in his way.

He heard the voice again, but only the one. Sebastian was on the phone. It sounded as though he was making an appointment. There was the click of the receiver hitting the cradle, then footsteps.

Finally, Lenny opened his eyes, pretty sure that he should make some kind of effort to defend himself, or at least get up. He was lying on his face halfway under a bed. The bead of light had come from a small window opposite the door, taped over with foil like the one in the other room. Two or three tiny holes let in thin rays of sun, and even that was enough to make his eyes ache. From underneath the bed, on the other side of the room, he could see the closet door. A shiver started at the base of his spine and worked its way through the rest of him.

He tried. He did try, but his arms would not move, and they were too numb for him to be able to tell why. His legs moved, but not well. It did not feel the same as before, when it was drugs and trance keeping him still. This felt like something tangible. More duct tape, maybe.

There was nothing else he could do, so he waited, counting the steps.

Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

Behind him, where he could not see no matter how much he twisted, a door opened. Light spilled into the room, and he had to close his eyes.

Nine. Ten. Eleven.

A huge hand closed over his shoulder, rolling him onto his side, and then two bulky arms worked their way underneath him, lifting him up. A short drop onto the bed, and he figured out where his arms were – pulled back behind him as far as they could possibly go, bound together from elbow to wrist. His shoulder popped quietly. He would have screamed, but his mouth was taped shut, and he was pretty sure his jaw was broken, and he could not get a decent breath in, anyway.

The bed creaked and tilted slightly as Sebastian sat on the edge.

Lenny opened one eye to see Sebastian looking at him. The light was behind him, and Lenny’s vision was weak, so he could not see his expression, but he could still see his eyes.

“Are you for real?”

Sebastian wanted him to be for real. He wanted a friend, so Lenny nodded, ignoring the pain in his shoulders and in his head, even though at that moment he wanted nothing more than to be somewhere else.

And Sebastian saw that, saw him lying, and reached down to grab his throat. He could not strangle a vampire, but it hurt all the same. It stung, like he had grabbed an open wound. Lenny felt the skin around his eyes tighten until they could get no wider. Sebastian pulled him up close to his face.

“Do you know what contagious magic is?”

Lenny knew that he did, but he was too scared to remember, and far too scared to risk lying again. He just looked at him.

“There are three forms of external magic. There’s symbolic – spells and words and circles and crap. Then there’s sympathetic – using a representation of something, like a doll or something that looks like what you want to mess with. Then there’s contagious. Contagious is controlling the whole thing by controlling part of the thing. Do you understand?”

Hard as he tried to think, Lenny had no idea what Sebastian was getting at. He shook his head as much as he was able, and fortunately, that seemed to be an acceptable answer. Sebastian did not hurt him, just dropped him back down onto the bed, which hurt enough when it wrenched his arms.

“Contagious magic is part of what goes into turning a human into a vampire. I assume you’re familiar with the process.”

He looked down and grinned to show that was a joke. Lenny quivered.

“Mutual exchange. They take your blood, you take theirs. It forms a link. That’s intrinsic, by the way, not external. Anyway, once they’ve got yours, they assimilate it, see? Your blood they’ve got turns into theirs. And that goes back through that link and touches all the rest, touches the source, and all of your blood turns into theirs. Instant vampire. You understand?”

Lenny knew all of that but still did not see how it was relevant. It had to be relevant somehow, and he twisted his brain to try to find the meaning, desperately hoping to do something right, but found nothing. If Sebastian’s plan was to keep him as a captive audience for magic lessons, it could have been much, much worse.

Sebastian shook his head sadly and reached out to touch the side of Lenny’s throat, between the tendon and the voice box, right where it twinged. It was a gentle touch, like a lover. Lenny didn’t dare move, even though he thought he might be sick again.

“Control a part, control the whole. You can use stuff like hair, spit... fingernails... But what works the best is...”

He smiled and nodded, watching Lenny’s face. His hand came away and he stood up. The bed frame squeaked.

“There you go. Now you understand.”

He left the room and closed the door, taking the light with him, all but the two or three tiny specks from the pinpricks in the window foil.

Lenny knew what could be done with someone else’s blood. With enough power and the right learning, Sebastian could have him dancing like a puppet on strings. It was too much to hope that he did not really know what he was doing, that it was nothing but show.

That left Lenny little time. The back of his throat was burning, and his limbs were shaky, and if he did not get out soon, he would lose the capacity for rational thought. That was always the first thing to go. The human brain – even if not precisely human, anymore – eats up a huge amount of energy. It was much easier, much more economical, to shift into low gear, switch off the cerebral cortex, and let instinct take over. It freed up all of that energy for more vital things, things like finding more energy. It would also leave Lenny with one all-encompassing goal and the IQ of a very dumb dog or a very precocious squirrel. If he stopped thinking, Sebastian would have free rein inside his head. He was not sure what that would mean, exactly, but his guesses were anything but comforting.

Then, miraculously, he heard the chains rattle and the deadbolts slide back, and the front door opened and shut. The bolts slid back into place. Faintly, he heard footsteps in the hall outside, receding down into the stairwell.

And why should Sebastian stick around? His prisoner was about as stuck as he could possibly get, too weak to break through duct tape, which meant that he must have been bled nearly dry. Lenny tried not to think too hard about that. But Sebastian had to have forgotten something. He was older than Lenny, physically stronger than him, and Lenny got the feeling that Sebastian had a lot more handy extras also. Like a working knowledge of contagious magic. He kept trying not to think too hard about that.

Lenny’s only advantage, as far as he could tell, was that he might possibly be smarter. Might. Possibly. If he was going to get out of there, he was going to have to get creative. That was easier said than done when he was drugged and hemorrhaged and busy imagining all the ways the situation could get worse.

Creativity would not come, and trying made his head pound even more, so he did the only thing that came to mind. Slowly, slowly, he edged around, a fraction of an inch at a time, until his legs hung over the edge of the bed, and he could use a combination of gravity and momentum to swing himself up to sitting. The movement made his chest cramp, and the sudden change of position made him dizzy. He felt so smart for taking advantage of that momentum, but that same force nearly flung him face-first into the floor, where he would have been even more stuck than he was already. He closed his eyes and waited for the sickness to pass, and when he opened them again, he had a better idea of his situation.

His arms were taped behind him. He knew that already. There was no way he was getting out of that, no convenient sharp object fixed to a wall at the appropriate height. Even if there had been, he could feel nothing past his shoulders except for the occasional shooting pain, and trying to saw through tape was more likely to injure him than to free him. His mouth was taped shut. A few hours of spitting and blowing might be enough to work through the adhesive, but he could not count on having a few hours to try it. He could not count on having much voice, either, with the way his throat burned. Certainly not enough voice to attract attention and call for help. His legs were taped together, too, at least two visible layers from knee to ankle, wound liberally over his khakis.

There had to be something sharp somewhere in the apartment. Even a purely decorative kitchen had to have some kitchen knives, or at least a pair of scissors, though using either without hands would be an exercise in contortionism. Even a pencil would help, or a chipped edge on a table. There had to be something.

Lenny leaned forward and slowly worked himself up to standing, but his bad balance worked against him, and he almost fell. Hopping from the bed to the door would be impossible, and that was before he even considered getting the door open. If he did get through the door, he would have to get through the living room, too, then past the locks, out the front door, down the hallway, down who knew how many flights of stairs...

No, what he needed most was help. Getting away would not be possible until he was unbound, and he could not do that on his own.

His legs trembled, and he sat back down before he could pitch forward onto the floor. A thin ray of light from the covered window fell on his knee.

The window.

He vaguely remembered thinking about going out the window, but now that it seemed like his only option, it also seemed like a very bad idea. He had no idea what was outside or how high up he was. If he fell onto something sharp, he could kill himself. Even if he did not kill himself, he could knock himself out, which looked like the same thing to the uninformed. He had heard horror stories about vampires getting themselves hurt and waking up in the middle of their own autopsies.

On the other hand, he could wait for Sebastian to come back and find out where all of this was going. It no longer looked like Sebastian planned to kill him, and it was hard to think of that as a good thing. How long would it take him to rearrange a mind to his liking, and what would the end result look like? Sebastian obviously had skills, even outside of his magical expertise; either he had some sixth sense to let him know that Lenny the only vampire around who was still susceptible to trance, or he was the only vampire around capable of forcing a trance on his fellows. Or some combination of the two. It would figure that Lenny, the easily-bent, would run afoul the super hypnotist.

He ended up breaking the window with his shoulder, and it took several tries. He could not get the leverage he needed, and twisting his torso to shove his side through the glass nearly ended with him on the floor and helpless. He only meant to knock the glass out, get a look at the ground below, and then decide whether or not to let himself topple out. Gravity won, though.

Something hard broke his fall and made a noise like a drum. He bounced off, hit asphalt, and rolled. The sun was blinding, but the air was frigid, and it felt as though there was ice underneath him where he had come to rest. Nothing hurt especially more than he had expected it to, after falling from a considerable height. His shoulders might have been dislocated, but it was possible they had been dislocated before he had fallen. The fact that they hurt a little bit more than they had before meant that his spinal column was intact. Bits and pieces of him stung, presumably because he was full of broken glass.

He spent a few minutes trying to get used to the light so he could open his eyes. The thing he had hit was the plastic lid of a dumpster. He thanked God that the lid was closed, because the dumpster itself was full of construction debris, and falling on the splintered ends of two-by-fours would have been the end of him. If he had rolled another foot or so, he would have hit a chain link fence. On the other side of the fence was a little girl, maybe seven or eight years old. She had a pink basketball under one arm and a big stick in her hand.

He tried to ask her to find him some scissors, or at least a responsible adult who could both get him loose and deflect the police that were bound to arrive sooner or later, but he was still muted by duct tape.

The child looked him in the eye, paused long enough for him to see her face go slack with horror, and took a slow step backward. Then she turned and ran into the building across the street.

He hoped that she had gone to find a parent, but no one came back out, and no one else walked past. He heard cars a few streets over, and the screech of a semi truck’s brakes, but no voices.

And after a while, he froze. The sun went down, and no amount of wriggling would get his legs free, and it was dark and cold, and he was tired, and his eyes froze shut when he closed them.

He woke up on Sebastian’s couch, where at least it was warm. His limbs had been freed, just to let him know how truly trapped he was, and when Sebastian saw that he was awake, he paralyzed him with those snake eyes and drove his teeth into Lenny’s wrist and took everything he had left.

Chapter 3

HE SHOULD NOT have been able to hold on to lucidity as long as he did. Maybe being bled is different from starving, he thought. Starving, you use up everything you’ve got until you’re dry. Not even a vacuum pump can really suck all the blood from a body; there will always be something left in the tiny capillaries, something in the tissue.

So there had to have been something left. If there hadn’t been, he would have stopped feeling it quickly. But it didn’t stop.

He couldn’t remember hating anyone, prior to that. There were people he had disliked and people he had feared and people he knew he couldn’t trust. But he felt Sebastian’s teeth on him and in him, and he remembered Kate, pulling at his skin in the way the dead show love, and he hated him.

When he was drifting, too limp in body and mind to really care anymore, Sebastian whispered in his ear and sent him down, and the hate dissolved along with everything else. Whatever Sebastian did, it took a long time, but Lenny listened, because the first thing the good ones do is make you want to listen.

He remembered Sebastian thinking aloud, wondering about things that didn’t matter, and then he slept.

He woke, and he burned, his veins empty. Sebastian whispered, and Lenny fell, and he slept. Repeat.

He didn’t know how many times that happened. By the time it was done, he could hear Sebastian whisper even before it happened, and he could see eyes even when he slept. He was cold through and through, but he burned all the same.

“What’s your name?” Sebastian asked finally, as though that had only just occurred to him. “I don’t remember.”

The whispering was too loud. Lenny looked away.

Sebastian shoved his hands into Lenny’s pockets, complaining that he should have waited to sell his wallet. He came up with a crumpled piece of paper, encased in plastic, with a safety pin on the back. Part of it was soaked with dark, dead blood. He squinted and held it up to the light.

“Something Hugo?” He spat the name like an insult. “You know, you’re not exactly presentable. You make it hard to have people over.”

That sounded like an excuse to get rid of his victim. Lenny thought he should have felt something, maybe relief, but he didn’t. It was all he could do to understand the words. The name didn’t sound familiar. The blood on the name tag had his full attention.

Fast forward.

The sign said “Rocky Heights Self Storage,” and that was Lenny’s only clue. He could not remember how he had come to be there, though Sebastian’s death grip on his arm seemed a pretty solid indication that it hadn’t been his idea. Sebastian pulled him along, but not hard and not painfully, just inexorably. It might have gotten painful if he had tried to go in the other direction, but that idea did not interest him. The only thing he found interesting was the lingering scent of something alive. The windows of the office building were boarded up, and the front gate was padlocked, but something warm and fresh had passed that way recently. His veins ached.

Against Lenny’s weak protests, Sebastian picked him up and tossed him over the top of the gate like a sack of flour. Lenny had never been the sort to land lightly on his feet, but before, he might have been able to react fast enough to catch himself before the pavement got him. No more. His cheek hit first, and the zygomatic arch gave way with a feeble crunch like a snapping pencil. His shoulder followed, and then his hip, and while he tried to make it back to his feet, Sebastian touched down beside him with a gymnast’s grace, utterly silent despite his size. He pulled Lenny up by his collar and pushed him out ahead, past the first set of buildings and toward the second, what looked like a block of climate controlled storage units. There was no buzz of an air conditioner and no rumble of a furnace, evidence that the place really was as abandoned as it looked.

Rocky Heights. Rocky Heights. Lenny didn’t know the name. He didn’t know where it might be in relation to that apartment complex, or to his hotel.

My hotel? Why am I in Austin, again? He should have been home, with Mara tucked up against his side where she fit like a puzzle piece made just for him.

Sebastian pushed him down into the dark. His eyes worked better, there, but it wasn’t the friendly sort of dark that could hide him from his enemies. It was a cold dark, an old dark. It had been dark down there for years, and it swallowed them. If there had ever been any ghosts down there, they had long since crossed over or faded away. There were no echoes embedded in the walls. No one had ever lived there, and no one had ever died there, and the air inside the concrete was empty and hollow.

Sebastian pushed him down again. They were underground, then. Lenny could feel the earth beyond the walls.

It was a cellar, a little square space where the air was cool and dry, maybe intended for wine or paper or art. Sebastian knocked Lenny’s knees out from under him and sat on the stairs to watch him scramble. Lenny’s face hurt, and his throat burned, and every pulse point stung, and it only took him a few seconds to give up and sit still on the floor.

And Sebastian watched him, still as stone, elbows propped on his knees and his chin resting on balled fists, waiting for something. Lenny did not know what he wanted. Whatever it was, giving it to him was undoubtedly the smart choice. If he wanted questions, Lenny could do that. If he wanted begging, Lenny could do that, too, though he was too dry for tears already.

Lenny dragged himself into the corner, as far from Sebastian as he could get. There was only one exit, and Sebastian was in the way. The secret hideout smelled like cement, that sour and dusty smell that all unfinished cellars have. It covered that live, sweet smell, whatever that had been. Lenny focused on his extended eyeteeth and tried to make them go away.

“I’ll bring you some blankets,” Sebastian said at last. “This shouldn’t take long. You’re weak, but I can free you from all of it. You’ll thank me someday.” And the door slammed shut and disappeared.

There had been a door. That was simple fact. Both perception and logic demanded that it still be there, but it wasn’t. Lenny could barely tell; the darkness was nearly complete, and everything needs at least a little light to see. But if there had been light coming from around the edges of a door, even a few stray photons, he could have seen that. There was nothing.

He forced himself up to his knees and crawled across the tiny space and up the stairs to run a hand across the wall. It was smooth, the dusty grain of the cement unbroken by a single groove to let him know how the hell he had gotten into the place to begin with. No door.

He slid down the stairs on his back, wary of falling, and tried to apply reason. Sebastian had left. He meant to come back, but he had left, and when he came back, he would bring... what? Amenities? That look on his face, waiting for something, the same look he had worn for his patient explanation, calmly waiting for Lenny to understand that he had him, owned him. Waiting for him to understand. Waiting for him to realize. Sebastian had left.

Lenny had a sudden morbid vision of Sebastian padding out an enormous hamster cage and stuffing him inside. Click. Giant aquarium. Terrarium. Click. The lizard Mrs. Hernandez kept in her biology classroom. Click. Sebastian in shorts and knee socks, pulling Lenny’s wings off.

A horrible sound reached him, a cracked, shrieking laugh that bounced off the walls. He begged. He cried.

And finally, at last, something let go in the back of his mind. It felt like a tightly-wound elastic band coming loose, going slack. He relaxed and stopped thinking.

* * *

THE EMPTINESS DIDN’T last as long as he might have liked. He had no idea how long it did last – it was impossible to form memories very well when most of his brain was shut down – but it wasn’t nearly long enough.

Sebastian was there again when Lenny came around. It was that voice that brought him back. Sebastian’s voice was lovely. Warm enough to bring some feeling back into his limbs and cool enough to cut through the burning inside him. Sebastian had brought blankets. Lenny was wrapped snugly, which gave a tiny twinge of sensation, something like security. He didn’t feel any better, but he didn’t feel substantially worse, either, so it couldn’t have been too long. Or perhaps... Wait.

Something gave when he tried to push himself up. It was soft and warmer than the air, warmer than Lenny’s skin. It was a man, or what was left of him.

“Well, well,” Sebastian said, smiling, “take a look at what you did. Feels good, doesn’t it?” That was wrong, but Lenny could not remember why.

He went down again, and eventually, the band went limp again, and he went still inside.

The emptiness didn’t last as long as he might have liked. He had no idea how long it did last – it was impossible to form memories very well when most of his brain was shut down – but it wasn’t nearly long enough.

But that happened already, didn’t it? It felt like a recurring dream, but it might have been recurring reality. Sebastian’s voice brought him back, warm and smooth, and the bastard looked ridiculously pleased with himself. The body was younger, the second time.

He went down again, and eventually, the band went limp again, and he went still inside.

The emptiness didn’t...

The third time, it was a woman, very old. At least, he thought that was the third time.

And the pile of bodies grew, and Lenny weakened until not even Sebastian’s voice could pull him back, and he fell into the whispering.

Bodies are only vessels, only tools. Lenny’s was broken, so he left it lying there and went somewhere else, somewhere he could sleep in peace.

Chapter 4

HE LAY PERFECTLY still in the dark, aware that he was still himself, but unable to admit it.

There were ghosts around him and whispers in his head, but what held his attention was thirst. What was the point of murder if it didn’t quench the thirst? He could have sworn the whole reason for killing was to make the parched pain go away.

Between the ghosts was a memory, and he knew from the moment he saw her that she was not real. He would have known if that particular spirit had been trapped. He would have known, and he would have sought her out, and he would have given his unlife to free her. But she had crossed over, and no one ever came back from beyond the Veil, and so she was not real.

“You’re not real,” he thought he said, and she nodded.

“Neither are you,” she said, and it had the ring of truth, though he didn’t understand.

She sat beside him and folded his hand in hers, and he chose to forget that she was long gone, just like he had chosen to forget that he wasn’t himself.

Dimly, he wondered what part of him still had the resources to think, if any. What would it feel like to pretend to think? Was it possible to work around the thirst? It must take a very, very long time to get used to something like that, to start to remember.

On the other hand, even a sleeping brain can misfire. It wasn’t really thinking, only the illusion of thought, created by randomly accessed memories. She nodded and gave his hand a squeeze.

“Remember when I found you,” she instructed, and the cellar became a woods.

He is running, even though he knows he shouldn’t. He will trip and fall, weighed down by bad balance. He shouldn’t run, but boys who see the dead don’t easily make friends with the living, and the others laughed. How can you lose someone who died before you were born? They didn’t understand that she had only been waiting for her husband, so he would have a hand to hold as they went across together. Grandmother. She taught him to speak when he couldn’t hear living voices, but her waiting was over, and she and Grandfather went across. He got to see them as the shadows closed in and the years sloughed away, and they stepped into the darkness together, confident that there was light on the other side.

He ran because he knew that when the other boys laughed, they were laughing at him, even though he didn’t always catch them in time to read their lips. They didn’t want to understand, and he didn’t want to try to explain. He is only four. Surely a child so young can’t understand death.

The trees are silent. He cannot remember what birdsong sounds like, or wind in the leaves. If anyone had come after him, he wouldn’t hear them, but no one comes. The boys aren’t cruel; they just don’t know how to deal with a witch, a medium.

He stops anyway and turns around to check. The stretch behind him is still and empty. Father will come to find him if he is gone too long, but no one is following just yet. He is not sure whether he ran because he wanted to be alone, or because he wanted to get out of the house where Grandfather’s shell still lies, or because he wanted to show them how upset he is. He is not sure he didn’t want to be followed.

There are ghosts among the trees, though, and they know him and will understand. They knew Grandmother and what she was waiting for. They will know why she is gone now, and they will know why heneeded her. There is a place further in where the ghosts are old and quiet, the victims of some battle a thousand years past. They have amassed the wisdom of those who watch the world but cannot touch it. The blood on their clothes has faded, and their rage has burned down to embers.

He never makes it to those ghosts.

Two trees have fallen across the path he usually takes. One was huge and dead, and when it fell, it brought the other down with it. To the right of the obstacle is the stream, and he cannot swim; to the left is a short, rocky cliff, barely taller than him, where time amputated a small hill long ago. He could go back and over the hill, but he doesn’t want to go back. He goes over.

The bark scrapes his shin as he climbs atop the larger of the two felled trunks, clinging tight to keep his bad balance from getting the better of him. A hare watches his progress from between the jagged roots. The gap between the trunks is small enough that he can climb across easily, but instead, he does something stupid. He stands, intending to step over. Immediately, he knows that he has done wrong. The curvature of the wood upsets his footing, confusing his inner ear. He pitches forward, takes a step to steady himself, and his foot slides down into the small space between the trees, lodging his leg up to the thigh. He has enough time to worry that he’ll get stuck, but his momentum continues to carry him forward, and the crack resonates through his entire skeleton. It takes another second before he feels it, the ice and then the fire.

He can’t hear himself scream, but someone else hears. Not Father, not the boys, not the ghosts.

When he has exhausted all his breath, she is there. She hangs back among the trees as though reluctant to be seen, but she is dead, and he can sense her there. He begs and reaches out, and she steps forward when she realizes that he has spotted her. A ray of sun pierces the canopy and strikes her hair. It is tangled and dirty as the rest of her, but the light makes it glow in a golden nimbus. He has no idea what she is, but she looks about like he assumes an angel would.

She regards him warily, as though ready to run, but the dead are his friends, and he can’t believe that a friend would leave him in this pain. He falls silent and waits for her help.

She takes hold of the larger trunk, the corpse of a two-hundred year old behemoth, and lifts it away from his leg. He can’t hear it, but the grating vibrations shake the ground beneath him. He slides down into the dirt, and the impact jars his shattered femur, and he cries again. That’s what small children do, isn’t it? When they’re hurt, they cry.

Cool hands come to rest on his cheeks, bringing his face up so that he can see her eyes. They’re brown, as cool as her hands.

“Hush,” she whispers, and the tiny amount of power in that one word is enough to send him down so quickly and willingly that she pauses, surprised. Perhaps it’s because his ghost sense bypasses his useless ears, because her voice goes straight to the core of him, but from that first encounter, he has always been ridiculously easy to trance.

She works quickly. The tears stop, and a moment later, the pain has all but disappeared. His leg is completely numb. She sets him upright, leaning against the smaller fallen tree, and then steps back to look at him. There is blood from his scraped shin on her hands. That’s when he notices her mouth and the teeth inside, but her power is still too heavy on him, and he can’t be afraid.

“What are you?” she asks quietly, clearly trying to be gentle in case he really is only a hurt child.

He doesn’t have a good answer for her. With a child’s logic, he tells her that he is a little boy, and she seems to believe it.

“I think you may be something else as well,” she tells him. That thought seems to both worry and intrigue her. She bites her lip, a dangerous gesture with teeth like those. Then she picks him up. He can feel the echo of pain as his leg shifts, but she hums a few soft notes, her chilly lips pressed into his hair, and it recedes again.

“Do you live near here,” she asks, “or are you lost?”

He points in the direction of home, trusting that she will get him there safely. They are friends, after all. But she sings as she walks, her voice as golden as her hair. The light filtering through the leaves is suddenly too bright, and his mind is too still, and when he wakes at home with his leg still numb, she is gone.

She is gone.

She is gone.

He reached out to touch the memory, but there was only empty air. The dream faded. There was pain then, but a broken leg was nothing. Thirst struck him like a blow to the head, and he sank back down into silence, unable to remember and too tired to try.

He saw her again, and she brought him more memories, and each time, the memories seemed a little more real, more real than the cold cement underneath him.

He knows she does not mean him harm. He knows that, but sometimes she looks at him like she is trying hard to form a plan, and when he asks what she’s thinking, she will only tell him that he is special. Some days, she doesn’t come, and when he sees her again, there’s a bitter, hard feel to her spirit. It makes him feel ill. Once, she tells him that she used to have children. She misses them. She asks if he minds her staying close to-

The boat is a giant, completely full of people. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like the way the water feels beneath him, or the sense that it is alive. Most of all, he hates what it does to her. She lies in a trunk in the cargo hold, paralyzed and helpless except for brief moments when the tide changes. He stays with her almost all the time, now. He tells his parents that he is exploring the ship, but as soon as he is out of their sight, he runs down and stays near her, so he’ll be there for the moments she can rise. She has always been there for him; he owes her. One day, she rises and looks at him with hunger and fear, and before she can speak, he offers her his wrist. They argue, but he knows what he’s doing, and she finally accepts. He worries that it will hurt, but it-

The first time he kisses her, she screams at him. He is still only a child, to her. He’s a friend, but a child. It took months to work up the courage to do that, and he won’t try again for more than a year, but he has loved her since the first time he saw her, and now he is in love with her too. He can’t help it. He is not a child any more, but she is ancient, and he is very afraid that she’ll never see him as a man. The next time he tries, she smiles and shakes her head, but instead of pulling away, she pulls him down into a second-

It has been years since he felt that bitter, hard edge on her. He asks, but she only-

The gown is snug in the bodice, pagoda sleeves tapering to points that nearly reach the floor. The overskirt is bustled in back, the underskirt shimmering with silver embroidery. She laughed when he nervously brought up the idea of marriage, but neither of them is laughing, now that this dress is made, ensconcing her body in his handiwork. His father the tailor never made anything like this, not even for their lord. She is radiant in the sun – blinding, even – and his heart hammers in his ears as-

The evening closes in, and she closes her eyes while he applies her makeup. A little rouge, a little kohl. He doesn’t like the makeup, but he likes to touch her, and he likes to sit behind the stage and watch the audience while she sings. Some men can’t stand when others look at their women, but it feels good to watch them admire her, knowing that he is the one who gets to feel her lips. Odd as it sometimes seems, he is the one she-

There was a brief flurry of motion. He thought he remembered Sebastian coming back, sitting on the steps and watching, talking quietly to himself. The whispering started again. He opened his eyes, felt death, and retched into the cement. There was a broken body staring back at him from the ground.

“That’s the spirit,” Sebastian said with a double thumbs-up. “So close.”

He whimpered and crawled toward the corpse, toward that overwhelming scent of spent life, but it was too dead for a medium, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not force his body any closer.

“Oh,” Sebastian said. Then, after a moment, “I think I can fix that. Maybe if you’re a little drier…”

The whispering became deafening, worming its way deeper and deeper inside him, and the world dissolved.

There was a girl, either drugged or tranced, lying across the stairs. He could hear her heart beating slowly. It was calling him, so he came. Gingerly, reverently, he touched his cracked lips to her throat. Under her skin was everything he needed. He could almost taste it.

And his ears filled with whispering, and something in his mind twanged, wires crossed, and his own body dumped him unceremoniously on the floor in a violent convulsion. It passed as quickly as it had come, leaving him shivering in a heap, colder even than before, quivering and confused. A minute corner of his brain noted that nothing had died, that heart still beat, and there was nothing there to hurt him. The door was gone. Sebastian was gone. The girl was not so weak that a sip would hurt her. The obstacle was unreal. He crawled forward again. Just a tiny sip…

Whispering. Twang. He seized.

Twang.

Twang, twang.

His eyes were too dry for tears, but he huddled by the girl’s feet, weeping in frustration. She was so close. Relief flowed inches away. He could hear it, smell it… even touch it. But every time he tried to take it-

Twang.

He hovered there for days, listening to her heart slow and slow and finally stop. The death tore into him, and she joined the ghosts in the dark.

* * *

SOME SMALL SOUND broke through the silence, hushed and furtive like someone trying hard to avoid notice. Footsteps. The noise brought with it the smell of relief, damp and soothing and all too far away. But it was getting closer.

He both longed for it and dreaded it. He had long since learned that touch meant torture, but the promise of relief was more than his empty veins could take, even if he knew it was a false promise, and his muscles tensed in reflex. What was left of his brain was torn between the instinct and the learned response, between approach and recoil. Neither could win, so he stayed motionless in the dark, sprawled in his pile of filth and bones.

A door appeared, punctuated by a blaze of light. His pupils tried to contract, but could not, so he lay there silent and blind. It wasn’t Sebastian. He knew that much, at least, and beat down the half-eager terror that fluttered in the pit of his hollow stomach.

“Holy beans,” someone said. A woman’s voice. She waded into the pile, bones clattering all around her. The smell of her assaulted him.

She turned slowly, and the glare of her flashlight swung away from him as she counted the skulls. He blinked once, clearing the droplets of color from his vision. She was so close, he could have reached out and grabbed her ankle, if he dared. He did want to, did think about it, but that dangerous tension in the back of his mind tightened and kept his hands still.

“Holy beans,” she said again. “There’s got to be at least twenty. Bastard’s sure been busy.”

A tingle of magic itched beneath his desiccated skin as she pulled a mirrored compact out of her pocket and popped it open. A wizard, then. That should have told him to stay away, stay still, but the ache inside him intensified. His hands trembled.

“Hey,” she said into the mirror. “It’s me. I’m at the storage place, and it’s definitely his, but it looks like he’s pretty much just using it as a trash can. It’s full of bodies. Lots of bodies, but nothing more helpful.”

A man’s voice answered through the tiny circle of glass. “Okay. Well, get out of there before he shows up. And you may as well torch it. He might have soil hidden in there somewhere.”

“Roger wilco,” the woman said, and she pulled out a lighter.

Chapter 5

KIM DIDN’T MIND bodies as much as some people might. That cellar was horrible, and it stank, and it vibed her freaky in all the wrong ways, but it wasn’t horrible because there were dead people in it. It was horrible because something horrible had happened there, and it had stained the place in ways that bleach couldn’t fix. Fire would clean it out better than anything else.

She slid her improvised telephone back into her pocket and zipped a flame out of her little plastic lighter. Bones wouldn’t catch, and cement wouldn’t catch, but she could give the flame a little boost, and the whole place would go up like her family’s last Thanksgiving. It was only a shame Sebastian Duran wouldn’t have the front-row seat he deserved. But if he had been anywhere nearby, this wouldn’t have gone nearly as smoothly.

She blew carefully onto the flame, coaxing it brighter with a trickle of magic. Once the basement was going, she could go back up and light the building. All the buildings, just in case. She estimated ten minutes before the nearest fire station could get word, and another five for them to get there. Fifteen minutes would be more than enough time to destroy the structure of the place, maybe wipe the walls clean of some of the bad juju they had collected. There had to be ghosts in a place like that.

She blew on the flame again, and it fanned out yellow onto the heap of corpses. There wouldn’t be enough left to match dental records, but everyone down there looked like they had been gone long enough to have been pronounced dead, anyway. It twinged her conscience to take that closure from those families, but it was more important to keep that pile from getting any bigger. The flame caught, dancing along a broken femur with a cheerful crackle as it slowly grew brighter than her flashlight.

And something hit her from behind, knocking her knees out from under her. She stumbled and hit her hip on the stairs. She could feel spindly, brittle fingers close on the fabric of her blue jeans, and she brought her flashlight down hard on them. They crunched like corn chips and pulled away with a papery hiss, and Kim scrambled up to try to get a look at her attacker.

She had taken it for the freshest of the corpses, halfway to mummification, but now that she looked closer, there was a weird suppleness to the withered flesh. It wasn’t rotting, either, just drying up like a raisin. Pruny, wrinkled skin clung close to its bones and stretched tight over a highly visible skull. Its eyes were dull and stained dark red from pupil to lid, and its lips were drawn back from white, slightly crooked teeth. The canines, top and bottom, were long and sharp.

The jaws parted as Kim watched, and the body tightened as though to lunge, but it toppled forward instead and lay still for a moment before gathering the strength to drag itself cross the remaining distance. It was fascinating to watch, and painful at the same time. Kim stepped back, up the steps and out of reach. The thing pulled itself to the foot of the stairs, put out its broken hand, and then stiffened. Its eyes rolled back, and it fell to its side with a scratchy exhalation.

Not taking her eyes off of the thing, Kim took her compact back out and shoved a spark of power into the glass.

“Hey,” she said. “It’s me again.”

“Kim?” said the voice from the other end. “Whatchoo got?”

“I found something. I think it might be a vampire. Been down here a long time. Should I try to get it out of here or just let it burn?”

“How bad is it?”

“Looks like a mummy. Can’t tell the sex. Tried to get me, but can’t seem to move real well. My guess is Duran was keeping it for a pet or something, then forgot it was down here.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end. Then, “Let it burn. Put it out of its misery. Just knock it out first, or something. Be the kind thing to do.”

“’Kay. I’ll see you in a few.”

She hefted her flashlight and stepped down to the lowest stair.

One flat, red eye rolled up to look at her. There was no intelligence there, but it took in her stance, and there was a flash of recognition, the same way a beaten dog recognizes a broom. The eye shut so it couldn’t see the blow coming, and the crispy face turned down, pressing into the grimy floor.

“Oh, honey,” Kim whispered.

The fire flickered along an empty rib cage and leaped to the mummy’s tattered khakis. It whimpered.

“Oh, honey,” she said again. She cinched up her necklace, bringing the little cluster of religious medals up closer to her throat, shoved her flashlight into the waistband of her pants, and shook out her milagro bracelets. Then she slapped out the fire that was creeping up the mummy’s leg, threw its arm over her shoulders, and dragged it up the stairs.

It was a man, she decided. He had had enough time to develop a week or so of stubble before his body lost the extra energy it needed to grow hair, however long ago that had been. He had also had plenty of time to lose his strength and, by extension, his substance, and he weighed far less than he should, even as a dry husk. She had no problem carting his sixty or seventy pounds down the hall and out into the sunlight.

It seemed to take him a few seconds to figure out that he was upright and pressed tight against living flesh, but there was no pulse point within easy reach, and he barely had the strength to stand; twisting out of Kim’s grip to get at her throat was out of the question, even if the thought crossed both of their minds. That didn’t stop him from struggling weakly, making sorry little noises that were lost in the rumble of growing flames behind them. They reached the outer door just as an orange glow was beginning to creep up the stairs from the cellar.

Kim grabbed the doorknob, tripped over the draft guard, and sprawled face-first onto the concrete outside. Her mummy went down with her, but the second the midday sun hit him, he shrieked and recoiled like a late-night television monster, shielding his face with his forearms as well as he was able. It wasn’t even so much a shriek as a reedy whistle, a higher-pitched version of the hiss and the whimper, like he was scared to be too loud and risk catching someone’s attention.

Nothing burst into flames or went up in smoke, but it was still sad to watch – coming out of the darkness only to be burned by the light. Kim wriggled out of her blue jean jacket and threw it over his head, and he went still and silent. Hiding, she guessed. You can’t see me if I can’t see you. Even at their worst, vampires were cunning, but cunning didn’t necessarily translate to spatial reasoning.

“You stay there,” she said, and she went to complete her job of arson. Four more buildings were starting to smoke by the time she got back to find that he hadn’t moved. She wasn’t surprised.

Somehow, she got him through the hole in the overgrown fence, through the parking lot of the law offices behind the storage place, over the drainage ditch, and into the passenger seat of her El Camino. He sat still for a moment, pulverized left hand pulled up beneath his chin, then shook the jacket off his head and stiffened, squeezing his eyes shut. Kim wondered how long it had been since he had last seen light.

“It’s okay,” she said sweetly, using the same tone people use on cornered animals. She put a hand on his arm and could have sworn she felt his brittle skin jump beneath her touch, a tiny, nervous motion born of the certainty that she was going to hurt him.

“It’s okay, baby. I’ll get you all fixed up, okay?”

He turned his head toward her voice and leaned over, lips drawn back to expose his teeth. It wasn’t an attack. Actually, Kim thought it felt more like a request, the hurt animal sniffing suspiciously at an offering of food. Either way, it was inconvenient.

“I didn’t mean right now,” she clarified, and put out a hand to push him back, but he had convulsed again, body tight, eyes rolled back into his skull. Somehow, Kim didn’t think it was because he had accidentally gotten a faceful of Our Lady of Częstochowa.

She strapped him in, slammed the door, and watched from outside until the spasm passed. It was hard to tell on that desert of a face, but it looked like he might have been trying to cry.

A siren started dopplering toward them from the direction of the freeway.

Kim pulled out her mirror again, dialing a different metaphysical number this time.

“Look,” she said, before the person on the other end had a chance to respond, “I know this is going to sound stupid, and I promise lots of yelling time at a later date, but I really need you to raid a blood bank for me.”

“What the hell did you do?”

“Later! Just meet me back at my place and bring as much as you can carry. This will probably take gallons.”

She snapped the compact shut and dove into the driver’s seat. Red and white lights flashed between the trees a few streets over. She threw the El Camino into gear and puttered away, minding the speed limit carefully. The mummy in the passenger seat pressed himself against the window, eyes still shut tight, and let the light fall on his face. Under the dirt and between the cracks, his skin was bone-white. He let out a shuddering breath.

Kim’s place was a second-story apartment near the university. The building was too expensive for most students, but apartment 214 had sent five tenants packing in two years, which meant that the building manager was open to haggling. Kim got it for less than half the usual rate.

“Vic!” Kim called as she unlocked the door. “Vickie, could you get the lights? I’m gonna be falling all over stuff, gawd. Gotta take some time to clean...”

There was a small amount of resistance as she tried to get the vampire through the door, but dragging apparently counted as an implicit invitation, and he fell through with a tiny metaphysical pop.

The lights inside flicked on, exposing the obstacle course of textbooks, pizza boxes, laundry, shoes, loose papers, extension cords, and knitting material. Kim cleared the couch of debris and deposited her unexpected houseguest on one end. He made a feeble attempt to get back up, and she pushed him down, and he stayed.

“Shower would be good,” she mused. She shot a look at the smears of grime that had appeared on her jacket and wrinkled her nose at the smell of very old dead things. That could probably wait until he was able to shower himself. The end of her couch wouldn’t get any nastier if he sat there a little bit longer. Besides, rescuing a vampire from a hole in the ground did not create any obligation to bathe him.

She fingered the milagros on her bracelet and wondered whether she was too compassionate for her own good, but the potentially dangerous man on the end of the couch did not make any move toward her. He looked up once or twice, desperately hungry, but he seemed to have learned his lesson the first two times and didn’t show his teeth, as much as sitting still visibly pained him.

“The boys will be here soon,” Kim told him, even though she knew he was in no condition to understand. “We’ll get you all nice and reconstituted. Then we can talk. I mean, unless you decide to eat me. Not that you will. Actually, if you’re getting any of this, you should probably wait a few minutes and hear us out before you eat anyone. I think we’re on the same side, for the moment.”

He turned a dull, red eye on her and blinked once, slowly.

“Plus, I did just save your butt. It would sort of be nice if you could refrain from chomping me or my friends.”

He turned his face away and curled up into a tight ball, drawing his knees up to his chest and giving her his back. Kim took that as assent.

Vickie drifted through the wall between the kitchenette and the bathroom, pausing in the middle of the stovetop to pull her hair back. She rolled her eyes at Kim.

“You did something dumb, didn’t you?” she demanded.

Kim grinned and nodded cheerfully at the ghost. “Probably. A vampire followed me home.”

“What in the hell? If you die, you’re so out of here. I’ve got exclusive dibs on this place.”

“Psh. Whatev. You haven’t gotten rid of me yet.”

Vickie flounced out of the stove, passed through the kitchen counter, and stood in the middle of the coffee table, fingering the faint, dark mark that encircled her throat.

“He’s freaky,” she said. “Why would you even?”

“As you like to point out, I’m dumb. Do I have to have a reason?”

“You know, that’s not a good excuse.” Vickie grinned, flipped her ponytail over her shoulder, and retreated to the bedroom. The vampire watched the ghost go with a detached expression. Kim watched him watch Vickie.

“You okay?” she asked.

He tucked his head back down against his knees, and there was a knock at the door.

Kim got up and tiptoed closer, putting her hand on the doorknob and pressing her eye to the peephole.

“Password?”

“Oh, lay off! You expect me to remember a different one every day? Bull corn.”

She pulled back the bolt and opened the door.

“Hey, Zeb.”

Zeb was a beanpole of a cowboy, clad head to foot in worn denim and black leather. He removed his straw Stetson before stepping in, boot heels clacking on the tile just inside the door. A bulging backpack squished as it hit the floor. His hat went on top of a pile of books, and his jean jacket went on top of it, and he hooked his broad, blunt thumbs behind his belt.

Kim frowned at the backpack. “Is that it?”

“Coyote’s bringing the cooler up the elevator. I came up first to scout things out. You better have a damn good explanation for this, Kimmy.”

Zeb loomed up to stare at the filthy lump on the couch, who didn’t move.

“I found him at that Rocky Heights place,” Kim said. She picked up the backpack and unzipped it. A plastic sack fell out and splatted on the floor, the liquid inside wobbling. “He’s seriously bad off. Don’t have any idea how long he was in there, but he can barely even walk. You can bet Edith and Tony’ll want to hear about this. If we can get him fixed up and up to Amarillo, and he can witness against Duran…”

“He talkin’ any?”

“Not a peep. Too dry.”

“You know as soon as he’s got some muscle back, he’ll go for the live stuff.”

Kim shrugged. “Probably. If he does, me and Coyote can take him down. If we can’t, you can shoot him until he cuts it out. He’ll recover.”

“Couldn’ta just burned ‘im?”

“He’s a witness. Probably the last witness they’ll need. I mean, indiscretion is one thing, but pulling this kind of stuff on one of his own kind… I know they don’t have a lot of lines, but Duran’s crossed pretty much every one they do have.”

“You sure that’s it?”

Kim rolled one shoulder. “Okay, so I might have felt sorry for him, too.”

Zeb muttered something about bleeding hearts bleeding so much they get brain damage, and the elevator pinged down the hall. An older man strode out, dragging a rolling plastic cooler.

For a man called Deaf Coyote, he looked remarkably like an aging hippie – baggy blue jeans with the knees worn through, hemp sandals, outsized tie-dye t-shirt in shades of blue and green, and a long gray braid falling to his waist. He was also five and a half feet tall, tops, and leaning on an aluminum cane. He dragged his cooler to Kim’s door, rapped once on the doorframe with the handle of his cane, and strode in.

Sharp black eyes took in Kim, took in Zeb, and took in the lump on the couch.

“Told you to torch it,” Coyote growled.

Zeb took a seat on the corner of the coffee table, the corner furthest from the end of the couch.

“Kim thinks Tony and Edith will want to talk to ‘im,” he said. “Assumin’ he comes around without killin’ anyone. And assumin’ he ain’t lost his mind.”

“You know what they say about assuming.”

“Thought had crossed my mind, yeah.”

Kim made a rude noise and rolled her eyes. “Or we could get this show on the road and find out for sure one way or the other. And anyway, even if he is completely off his nut and never speaks again, he’s still technically an innocent bystander. I brought him here, and nobody’s doing squat to him except in self defense. Got it?”

Zeb and Coyote looked at each other and shrugged in unison.

Kim shoved a few strands of dark hair out of her eyes and nodded. She grabbed the backpack from the floor and scooped up the plastic sack that had fallen out.

“’Kay, guys. Stand clear.”

Coyote backed up against the wall and held his cane like a bludgeon. Zeb stood and backed up with him, hands hovering at his belt holster like an Old West gunslinger.

Kim sucked in a sharp breath and, carefully, using a slow underhand swing, tossed the bag of packaged blood. It hit the vampire’s knee with a soft bloop and bounced off. He didn’t move.

Kim straightened. She blinked.

“Hey,” she said.

The lump on the couch turned his head fractionally toward her voice but did not look up.

Zeb cleared his throat and rubbed his thumb across his chin. “Might be he can’t smell it through the latex.”

That made enough sense. Kim cast about for a moment, then bent and snatched a pencil stub from beneath a small drift of yellow sticky notes. She poked a hole in the corner of a second bag and squeezed out one tiny, glistening drop of red. It quivered on the surface of the plastic and began to roll off toward the floor.

A shiver rippled through the shriveled body, lightning-fast, starting in the ridge of his spine and crawling outward through his limbs. His head snapped up, and he locked huge, despondent eyes on the bag in Kim’s hands.

Peripherally, Kim caught the crackle of Coyote’s knuckles as he tightened his grip on his cane and the soft click as Zeb drew back the hammer of his revolver. The vampire began to unfold from his tense ball, and rather than wait for him to get any closer, Kim tossed the second bag. A few drops pattered onto the carpet, and a knobby hand flickered out to catch the offering. He fumbled it, uttered a frustrated hiss, and snatched it up from where it had fallen on the couch.

“Left-handed,” Zeb observed, as though that made some difference. “What happened to it?”

“Hit him with my flashlight the first time he came after me,” Kim explained. “Grabbed me, and I bashed him, smashed his hand. It’ll heal when he gets a little juice back in him.”

But the vampire didn’t juice up. He dropped the bag and tumbled off the couch, landing half on a pile of textbooks. A low rattle escaped him as a spasming diaphragm forced air through his constricted throat. His right hand tightened, and the fingertips twisted for an instant into gleaming black talons. After a moment, he relaxed, pulled himself up, and made another grab for the bag. And his back arched, and something snapped loudly, and the rattle faded into a dry gulping noise. There was a thin film of dust on the carpet, where skin had torn away and crumbled into ash.

“Holy hannah,” Zeb breathed. “What in howlin’ Hades was that?”

Kim bit her lip and folded her arms, making her milagros jingle.

“Did the same thing when he tried to bite me earlier,” she said. “I figured it was maybe self preservation. You know, don’t tick off people who could kill you if you can’t even walk.”

Coyote shook his head. “They won’t pick on things stronger than them, but they’re more likely to play possum than try and... this. My money says this is Duran’s doing. Post-hypnotic suggestion.”

“Come on. He’s a freak, but there’s nothing can stop a starving vampire from feeding. Definitely no mind tricks.”

“Depends on how long he’s been working on it, doesn’t it?”

Kim thought about that, keeping one eye on the quivering mass that was huddled half under her coffee table. She couldn’t decide whether a vampire unable to feed made her job easier or harder. The bagged blood oozed onto her couch. The past five minutes had generated a full week of cleaning. She huffed.

“It fits with his MO,” Coyote pressed. “He likes taking people down a notch, breaking their strength. You can’t do a lot worse to a vampire than keep him dry. If it’s even possible, you can bet he’d be the one to figure out how to do it.”

She bit her lip. “And Tony and Edith would absolutely flip. They’d be down here tearing his head off before you could sneeze.”

Coyote nodded. “Exactly. And that’s a good thing.”

Kim ran her tongue over her teeth, and the silence began to lengthen. There were several different possibilities.

The first was preferable. They would fix up the vampire, who would be rational and polite, find out exactly what had happened to him, pass the report on to Tony and Edith of Amarillo, and stand back and watch while Sebastian Duran was summarily executed.

Of course, it was also possible that they would fix up the vampire, who would turn on them in rage and fear, and they would have to kill him. They would pass the report on to Tony and Edith, but without solid proof, they might stay on the job for months longer.

Or they could fix him up and find that he was nothing but a gibbering, shattered wreck incapable of communicating. They could ship him to Amarillo anyway, and that would probably be enough, but possibly not.

Or they could find out that he was actually in league with Duran, and the hypnotist would show up and murder everyone.

Or he was actually Duran’s progeny, in which case the hypnotist would be completely within his rights to do whatever the hell he wanted with the poor little guy. That would also explain the outrageous level of control he had.

Or the little guy was some sort of anomaly, a mutant vampire who was naturally unable to feed and had been shut away so he could disintegrate quietly and not pass on his freakiness to some other poor creep.

Or they would be unable to fix him up and would never know what was going on.

Or...

“Crap,” Kim grunted. “Okay, muscle men. You guys hold him down. We’re force feeding him.”

It took some cajoling, but she finally got the vampire back on the couch with Zeb on his left arm and Coyote on his right. He bucked, and he cried, and then he fell still with his eyes squeezed shut, as though resigned to whatever torture was coming.

“That is kinda sad,” Zeb admitted, his voice soft.

Kim grappled with the vampire’s jaw, wedged his teeth apart with a pencil, and began the tedious and messy process. It was awkward, and she found herself apologizing every few minutes as he seized again and again, but whatever mental block prevented him from sitting up and taking over the procedure did not seem to prevent him from swallowing what was already in his mouth.

And it worked.

There was a crackling noise as his veins engorged, bulging beneath his shriveled skin. The flesh beneath the swollen lattice of veins began to fill in, pressing outward as the skin began to soften and smooth. It was like watching a time lapse video in reverse. Suddenly, the skull had a real face, and the skin had a tinge of color, and the eyes brightened from dead maroon to flaming scarlet.

But the dusty cracks had concealed other things, and as they smoothed over, Kim could see puncture marks. Hundreds of them clustered around his throat and wrists, crowning the thick scar tissue left by older wounds. Blood escaped from broken arteries and pooled beneath his skin in vast expanses of dark bruising. The corner of his mouth blackened and swelled.

Kim kept going. She finished off the bags from the backpack and yanked the cooler over to start on those. The face rearranged itself as broken bones shifted and started to knit back together.

She paused for a moment to lean around Zeb and watch the vampire’s crushed left hand straighten. A shard of bone pushed out of his palm and turned to dust, and the hole closed behind it.

When she looked back, the red eyes had gone blue, and they saw her, and she had never seen that much terror before in her life.

“Guys,” she said quietly. “Guys, get off him.”

But Zeb and Coyote had seen, too, and they both shook their heads. Coyote leaned down, braid snaking over his shoulder, and glared into the vampire’s face.

“I get up,” he growled, “and you are going to stay right the hell where you are. You got that?”

The vampire’s head jerked in what might have been a nod.

“You get up, or show fang, or try to look anyone straight in the eye, and I will whoop your sorry white butt so hard they’ll be finding your teeth in Norway. You got that?”

His head jerked again.

Coyote narrowed his eyes and reached out to pluck one dirty blond hair from the vampire’s head. Then he shifted and stood up. Zeb followed suit.

The vampire curled up around his healing hand and pushed himself as far back into the couch cushions as he would go.

“Oh, nice.” Kim made a face. “Very diplomatic, Coyote. Way to make everything that much worse.”

Coyote shrugged and nudged aside some textbooks to plant his cane on the floor. “No one’s dead or eaten. That’s a good thing.”

Zeb cleared his throat.

“What he meant to say,” he clarified, “is that we won’t hurt you ‘less you’re askin’ for it.”

He raised an eyebrow at Kim, who nodded. The words didn’t seem to make much of an impact, though; the man on the couch shrank further into himself and watched the floor intently, unwilling to meet anyone’s eyes.

“So,” Kim started, when the silence started to take up space. She took a step back and sat on the edge of the coffee table. “How long have you been living at Rocky Heights Self Storage?”

The vampire’s gaze moved from the carpet to Kim’s tennis shoes, and his forehead wrinkled in concentration, but he did not answer.

“You’re welcome, by the way. Sorry about almost setting you on fire.”

Nothing.

“Or maybe you’ve got a name? I’m Kim Reed. My lovely assistants over here are Deaf Coyote and Zebedee Davis.”

His frown deepened, becoming an expression of intense distress, and he shook his head.

“No? No what? You don’t have a name?”

Again, nothing.

“You know someone called Sebastian Duran?”

The vampire twitched and looked up, his eyes huge, the prohibition against eye contact apparently forgotten.

“B-b-bastian? Here?”

It came out as barely more than a whisper, part dread and part hope.

Kim shook her head slowly.

“Not here,” she said. “You’re out. I helped you get out.”

She smiled at him, expecting relief or perhaps gratitude, but he met her smile with a tremor.

“Can’t,” he insisted in a low voice. “C-can’t. I have to g-g-g-go b-back. Now.”

Kim exchanged a look with Zeb and Coyote, but neither of them had any suggestions. Coyote scratched at the side of his nose, and Zeb rested a hand on the grip of his revolver.

“No,” she said. “You don’t have to. He won’t find you here, I promise. He’ll be dead long before he can figure out where you went.”

That didn’t have the effect she anticipated, either. He flinched and shook his head frantically.

“N-no. Nonononono, I have to. I have to.”

“Okay. Why?”

“I have to. I have to. I have to.”

“Important witness,” Coyote muttered. His lips thinned. “Duran’s in his head. He won’t have anything to say. Doubt he could even if he wanted to. Which he won’t.”

“Or he could just still be woozy,” Zeb put forward.

“Woozy?”

“Woozy,” he confirmed. “It’s gotta take a while to soak up that much juice, right? He’s recoverin’ from a serious case of brain-raisin. Might take a while to get him workin’ again.”

Kim blinked at him in mild surprise. He shrugged one bony shoulder and hooked his thumbs into his belt.

“I’ll work with him,” Kim said. She leaned down to smile at the vampire. “Okay, No-Name of Rocky Heights. How about we wait a couple of days to see if you remember anything? It’s kind of important. Then if you still want to go live in a hole, you can.”

His face crumpled like a paper bag, but he nodded. He seemed to have realized that he didn’t have much choice.

“While he stays where?” Coyote demanded.

“Here,” Kim replied. “I can handle him, and if it turns out I actually can’t, I think he knows that you guys would pulp him. But I seriously don’t think that’ll be a problem. Like, at all. Will it, Rocky?”

The vampire had curled up into a ball so tight it looked like he was trying to disappear.

“Besides, he’s already made friends with Vickie. Maybe now she’ll stop bugging me to bring boys home.”

Coyote left reluctantly, and Zeb followed him out. They left the full cooler, and Zeb left his pistol over Kim’s objections that her little semiautomatic fit her hands better. She accepted it in the end; she had always had a sneaking suspicion that Zeb’s guns were more than naturally lucky.

It was only after both men were gone that she remembered she had wanted to ask if they happened to have any spare clothes sitting around. Lacking for male clothing, she dug through her chest of drawers and came up with an old pair of flannel pajama pants. They had belonged to her uncle and were just barely too long on her, which she hoped meant they would be just barely too short on her houseguest.

When she came back into the living room, the vampire hadn’t moved. He watched the door fixedly, and Kim couldn’t tell whether it was because he was thinking about making a break for it, or was terrified of what might come through it. His eyes snapped back to her when she kicked a set of headphones.

“Thought you might want to clean up some,” she said, holding up the pants. “This is all I’ve got. Sorry. No offense, but you kind of stink.”

He averted his eyes and mumbled an apology, but skittered backward across the couch when she approached. She stopped.

“Look,” she said. “I know you’re scared, and I’m really sorry. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. But I’m not going to make the first move, here. So if you don’t make the first move either, neither of us gets hurt. I think that’s the best plan, don’t you?”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why am I here?”

Kim considered the possibility of a vampire questioning his existence and decided that here meant her apartment, rather than the universe in general.

“Because the guy who did this to you has been hurting a lot of other people, too. All of those people that were down there with you aren’t even the tip of the iceberg. And there are some really powerful people who want to make him stop, but they want proof, first. I was kind of hoping you could tell them what happened.”

He shook his head and wet his lips with the tip of his tongue.

“B-bastian k-k-k-keeps me safe.” It had the sound of a mantra, something he had repeated to himself until it sounded true.

“Bull,” Kim told him cheerfully. “Come on. You’re going to take advantage of my shower and put on something clean, and I’m going to set you up on the couch. Then I’m going to shower, and you’re going to stay right where I put you until I come out. Then I’m going to scrub the tar out of my couch and probably go to bed, and you’re not going to try anything funny or run away, because Coyote literally found a needle in a haystack once, and he can find you wherever you go. Sound like a plan, Stan?”

He followed her instructions precisely, either because he was scared to do otherwise, or because obedience had become reflex. He came out of the shower whiter than he had been, blond hair dripping, with the brown pajama pants on backward. Kim planted him on the cleaner end of the couch, and he was still there when she emerged five minutes later with a towel on her head. He was watching Vickie channel surf with unnerving intensity.

“He’s creeping me out,” Vickie complained. “He won’t stop staring. I even went invisible, and he just kept staring like he could see me anyway.”

A ripple passed through her translucent form, something like a shiver.

“He can also hear you, and he’s sitting right there. Did you ask him to stop?”

“Well... no.”

Kim turned to the vampire with an apologetic smile. “You’re creeping out my roommate,” she said.

He blinked and turned around obligingly, then curled up with his head propped on the armrest and his face turned toward the back of the couch. Kim dumped a pile of blankets on top of him, silently signaled for Vickie to keep a weather eye open, and went to bed.

Chapter 6

THE MEMORY CAME again. He had begun to forget that she wasn’t real, but nothing else seemed real, either, so he could be excused for grabbing at one delusion among many. The ghost, though, was more real than anything else, and she did not react when the memory appeared, so it followed that the memory was probably not real.

“Rocky,” the memory said with a laugh. “You know, she’s going to keep calling you that if you don’t tell her your name.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and burrowed deeper beneath the blankets the wizard – Kim Reed – had left.

“Or perhaps you’ve decided you like it. Or...”

He imagined he felt a phantom hand through the blankets.

“Or have you forgotten that, as well? Lover? Can you even remember my name?”

He dared to peer out from beneath his cover, and found that the memory had no face. She had the golden hair and a woman’s shape, but looking at her face was like looking through a scratched lens. He reached out to her, but she had no substance, and she faded away as he grasped at recollections that wouldn’t come. He knew that he knew her, but he couldn’t remember.

The ghost looked at him with an expression of nervous contempt.

“Weirdo,” she said.

He turned away from her rejection and closed his eyes to try to sleep.

Someone else was there.

Or rather, he was somewhere else. Someone else. The sun was not yet fully set, and the flames had died down to an orange smolder, belching a pillar of dense, black smoke that stood out against the purpling sky. He could see it clearly, and the red bodies of fire engines, surrounded by small yellow satellites bearing hoses. The sign still stood there, faded from years in the Texas sun: Rocky Heights Self Storage. It was only slightly scorched. He could feel the faint heat on his face, and under his hands the gritty stickiness of asphalt shingles.

I feel you there, medium. I know you didn’t burn.

Miles away, he struggled to open his eyes, but could not. The voice was familiar, even if it wasn’t a real voice.

Can you hear me? Did someone steal you, poor baby? Don’t worry. I’ll find you.

The shingles fell away and he dropped lightly to the hot concrete below, landing with feline grace. He could feel his lips distended against elongated eyeteeth, and fought harder to disentangle his mind from Sebastian’s body. There was an old man watering his yard in the twilight, easily lured away...

The vision melted into a dream, which wasn’t any better.

His brain liquefied and seeped into his veins, and each time Sebastian gulped him down, he took a little more memory, a little more self. When there was nothing left, he rose and found himself huge, looking out at the world through someone else’s eyes. He thought that he was Sebastian until he realized he was made of stone. His hands crumbled. Not stone – concrete. He was smooth, flat concrete, and he merged with the wall behind him and became part of it, part of the cellar. He could taste the rot leaching into his skin from the pile of composting corpses. The door opened, and Sebastian stood there in the dark.

Not so easy to run away now, is it? he asked. He held up a lighter and vomited yellow flame. It’ll hurt, but you’ll be clean after. No offense, but you kind of stink.

The bodies on the floor crackled and popped as they caught fire, and one of them screamed and reached out for help. He recognized the shaggy black hair, small frame, broad hips. The wizard’s bracelets jingled as she was engulfed, and there was nothing he could do, because he was cement. Cracks appeared across the surface of the world, and he could feel thirst pulling at him like a whirlpool, drawing him back down into chaos and white noise. After so long submerged, it felt like home. He could not remember how to be lucid.

There was a piece of chalk in his hand, and he knew that he was expected to do something with it, but he could not remember what. He stepped back and his legs hit wood, the corner of a desk, and he realized that he was naked.

I’ve had this dream before, he thought, when he heard teenage voices laughing behind him. He turned around to find thirty-five high schoolers with Sebastian’s face. Their eyes widened, escaping their sockets, until they filled the room and he could see nothing else. Their laughter echoed inside his skull, making it so hard to stay awake...

The apartment was dark. The television was still on, but its screen was filled with snowy static, and its soft, electrical hum cut through the fug of interrupted sleep. Rain tapped gently on the window. It all felt soothingly familiar for a moment, but the feeling passed quickly. His chest ached as though he had been breathing hard or his heart had been racing. The dream was already fading, but the adrenaline it had released was still going strong.

He was alone. Alone in a strange place. He sat up quickly, half expecting that he would be unable to move, though he couldn’t have said why. The digital clock on the microwave in the kitchen told him it was one in the morning. Alone.

But not entirely. Somewhere nearby, a pulse thudded in the slow rhythm of sleep.

* * *

SOMETHING COLD AND heavy curled up on top of Kim’s foot, and she damn near shot it. The only thing that stopped her was the half-asleep thought that it might be her mom’s cat, Bud, despite the fact that her mom lived in New England and Bud had been buried for more than twelve years.

Two points of white light shone at her from the other end of the bed, then winked out, and her fuzzy brain was momentarily convinced that Bud had come back from the dead. Keeping her semiauto trained on her feet, Kim reached over and turned on the lamp. The vampire’s bony back was almost blinding in the sudden light.

“Son of a pig,” Kim growled. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He wasn’t close enough to be overtly threatening, and she supposed that if murdering her in her sleep was his goal, he could have done that without waking her up, so she dropped her gun back onto the bedside table and silently vowed to have words with Vickie whenever the ghost should choose to show up again.

“You scared the crap out of me. Whatever happened to staying where I put you?”

The white back shook, and he croaked out a noise that might have been the start of a word, if only he’d been able to get in enough air to finish it.

Kim rolled up onto her knees and crawled closer.

“Hey? Something wrong?”

She put a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, and she took her hand away. He was bitterly cold.

She thought a moment, then rolled out of bed and went to dig through the bottom of her closet. After a moment, she came up with an old and stained electric blanket, plugged it in, and cranked it up to its highest setting. She draped it over the man who had invaded her bed. He was still too dry for tears, but his eyes were puffy. The heat seemed to make a difference, though; his lips relaxed, and his pupils dilated. She bit her lip and brushed the hair out of his face. He recoiled.

“Bad dreams?” she asked.

He nodded, and his limbs quaked, but he still did not breathe. He fumbled at the hem of the blanket and pulled it a little tighter.

Kim’s first instinct when confronted with a crying person, human or otherwise, was to offer a shoulder, but there was no good way to do that without physical contact, which he obviously would not accept. She sat on the edge of the bed and hugged her knees to her chest, pursing her lips.

“You can stay in here tonight if you want. Just, I should probably mention that most girls don’t appreciate when guys sneak into bed with them uninvited. Just for future reference.” She felt like she should attach an appropriate threat to the end of that statement, something about how she and her friends would make him sorry if he turned toothy on her, but she was tired, and he was crying, and she didn’t really even need her wizard’s intuition to tell her that all he wanted was to know someone else was close by.

“Hey,” she said again, softer. “Hey. Y’know... Not everyone who touches you is gonna leave marks.”

She scrunched up on her side on the opposite end of the bed and hoped she didn’t straighten out and kick him in her sleep. She also hoped he didn’t wig out and chomp on her, and that neither Zeb nor Coyote ever, ever found out about this. She had almost drifted off when she heard the bed creak and felt the backs of cold fingers settle into the palm of her hand.

* * *

HE WAS GONE when she woke up. The electric blanket was smoking quietly in the corner, so she unplugged it and dumped it into the bathtub before it could burn a hole in the carpet, then went to check the couch. He wasn’t there, either. Vickie was watching cartoons, and Kim gave serious thought to reaming her out, but there was a more pressing matter.

The apartment door was closed, but unlocked. She didn’t remember checking it before she went to bed, but locking it was a habit, and she was sure she would have at least bolted it after Zeb and Coyote had left. She belted on a bath robe, stuck Zeb’s revolver inside it, and pattered down the hallway and down the stairs.

The building lobby was empty, thank God. She wasn’t sure what kind of explanation she could possibly have offered Mrs. Huston, but she knew that anything she could possibly shoot off the cuff would sound like a hasty lie, and hasty lies attract further attention. She tiptoed across the lobby and peered out the door.

He was there, standing on the curb in the warm drizzle, watching the street sign like he was afraid it would come after him.

“Hey,” Kim said. He didn’t turn around.

She sighed and pulled her robe tighter and slumped out into the rain.

“Whatcha doing?” she asked. She looked up at the street sign, just in case he was seeing something she wasn’t, but it looked the same as it always had.

“Have to g-g-go b-back,” he said dimly. His eyes were unfocused. “Have to. B-but... which way?”

She supposed that staring at street signs was better than wandering aimlessly through Austin. On the other hand, it was starting to look as though Coyote had been right.

“Nope,” she told him. “Not going back.” And then, in case it occurred to him to try anyway: “Seriously, you could wander around forever and just wind up completely lost. Completely. And then you’d never find your way back, would you? No, you’d better stick with me.”

He slumped, too fried to escape that questionable logic. “B-but how long? Am... Am I a p-p-prisoner?”

Kim snorted at the completely rotten irony of that little conversation and grabbed his hand to pull him back inside. Her bathrobe was starting to get heavy with the rain. The contact seemed to jar him a little bit more awake, and he looked at her with all the wary mistrust he had given the street sign. Still, though he flinched and his arm tightened, he didn’t pull his hand away. Like a small child, he let her lead him back inside.

“Did you remember anything?” Kim asked quietly. “Got a name, maybe?”

“Rocky.”

“No, that’s what I called you. And I was joking.”

“I d-don’t know another.”

Kim chose the elevator over the stairs, even though it was only one floor up, and stood dripping on the dusty industrial carpet while she waited for the door to ping open. She wanted to ask what had happened to him, what Duran had done, but the elevator was not the place for an instant replay of last night. Besides, if he had any dignity left, it might not survive another round of that.

The door slid open and she pulled him inside. Water dripped from their clasped hands. It was wrong, the way he complied, the way he apologized, the way he sought comfort. The way his arm jerked every so often, like he thought she was going to shoot needles into his palm, or something. The way he didn’t bother to hide his fear, too willing to show weakness. It wasn’t the first time Kim had dealt with the skeeters. If this all went horribly south, it wouldn’t be the first time she had needed to kill one, either. She had even messed with a hurt one, once, and the arrogant bastard had accepted her assistance like it was his due, promised her equivalent reciprocity at some point in the future, and made a token attempt to strangle her before she broke his nose. This one was something else entirely.

“Why do you have to go back?” she asked suddenly. She had a gut feeling that the answer wouldn’t be his own, that it would be something Duran had drilled into him, but she had an equally strong feeling that the answer was important. She opened the door to her apartment and brought him in after her.

“Bastian k-keeps me safe.”

The same thing he had said before, but it only took Kim a second to realize that it did not mean what she had thought.

“Say it again? Please?”

His forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. “He – B-bastian. Sebastian keeps me safe.”

Most of the undead living in the state of Texas were fairly decent – practical, pragmatic assholes who didn’t particularly care if they hurt people, but didn’t take much pleasure in it, either. They had figured out that killing was poor strategy, attracted too much attention and brought hunters down on them, so they saved homicide for special occasions like birthdays and weddings. They were evil, of course, but it was a mellow, quiet evil that knew it wouldn’t survive long if it made a scene. Sebastian Duran was a completely different ball of wax, the sort that had lived longer than his mind could take, was drunk on his own power, and wanted everyone in the world to feel it. There were plenty more like him, and they all probably had their own sob stories of tragedy that bred madness, stuff that was supposed to excuse their actions but really didn’t.

But there were others, too. At least, there were hints. It was an insult they sometimes used. She had first heard it as uszkodzony, and after she had found the right people to ask and learned to spell it correctly, she had found out that it meant broken. Every so often, one of them spared a life, did something human and kind, and their reasons had nothing to do with strategy or manipulation. That one was uszkodzony, and Kim understood that it could sometimes take decades for their reputation to recover from it. But she had also heard the word spoken with odd significance, like it carried a capital letter. Then, it wasn’t used as an insult so much as a name. They. A group. Uszkodzone. Broken Ones. Like for them, it wasn’t an occasional thing, not a fluke. If Duran had caught something Broken, something actually good, he might have been right to feel threatened.

“Who do you think is after you?” Kim asked as she shut the door. She tried to keep her voice neutral, casual, like it was a perfectly legitimate question.

She could almost feel his frown, and she held her breath.

His answer came out slow and filled with shame.

“After... A-after... me? No, I... I... muh-mean...”

“You mean you’re scared of hurting other people, humans, and if you’re beat up down in the dark, you can’t kill anyone. He makes you safe.”

He nodded, staring at her as though she had stood up with a thunderclap and begun to prophesy.

“All the... d-down there... There were... All d-d-dead...”

“Mm. Possible, but I doubt it.”

“What?”

Kim sat on the cleaner end of the couch and folded her arms.

“I don’t think they were yours. I mean, first of all, if he was keeping you from killing people, why would he chuck people down there for you to kill? Second, there were claw marks everywhere, so you did try to get out at least once. If you had fed, you would have been able to break out. I mean, the door didn’t keep me out, so I don’t see how it could keep you in. So you were dry when you got there, and you stayed dry the whole time you were down there. Also, dunno how recent a development this is, but you can’t feed on your own. Or do you think he fed you and then drained you back out again?”

She shot a glance at the ridges of scar tissue at his throat and wrists, understanding perfectly well what they were and how cruel it was to point them out, but she thought it was kinder than letting him think himself a murderer. What she didn’t understand was how well his brain had been wiped clean. He hadn’t known.

He raised his hand to look at the galaxy of shiny, pinkish dots that punctuated the web of veins from his wrist to his elbow. She saw his white skin go even whiter, goosebumps prickling across his chest as his belly contracted in the grip of a memory that hadn’t been buried well enough. She could see him lose his grip on the world as the flashback bit at him, and she caught him before he could fall straight into the television. Touching was bad, she knew, especially at that moment, but she held him still until the whimpering stopped, and then she held his hand and laid out a plan of action.

Then she called Coyote.

“Hey,” she said into the phone. “He’s with us, definitely. Just doesn’t know it yet. Come over, and bring Zeb. Also, I’m going to need some men’s clothes and a new electric blanket.”

* * *

COYOTE BROUGHT THE clothes and blanket. The jeans were too long, and the plain white t-shirt fit like a circus tent, but the vampire seemed more comfortable clothed than he had in wet pajama pants. He huddled under the blanket, turned up as hot as it would go, and visibly relaxed.

Kim made note of that – she had never noticed that music tamed any savage beasts, but simple heat did a pretty good job. It seemed to act on him almost like a drug; he let his eyes close and leaned against the back of the couch and for a moment, looked almost content.

Zeb and Coyote waited patiently in the kitchen while she got her guest calmed, clothed, and situated, then listened as she explained in a whisper what she had figured out. She wasn’t sure why she whispered, since there was nowhere in the apartment a vampire could fail to hear her, but it seemed more considerate.

“He’s better today,” she finished. “He was pretty bad this morning, when he tried to leave, but he seems more... more there. Lucid. Not completely, but definitely more than yesterday. So I’m guessing that means he’s going to continue getting better, maybe remember some stuff. Unfortunately, I think that also means Duran didn’t forget about him.”

Coyote shot a look at Zeb. He scrunched his face up and shook his head, making his braid sway.

“You’re asking for a lot of faith, Kim,” he said. “And I think you’re giving an awful lot of faith without a whole lot of evidence. If there are any of those... Ooshkahjuhnee out there, they’re few and far between. Help him, by all means, but don’t you trust him as far as you can throw him.”

He paused, huffed, and seemed to get it out of his system.

“What makes you say Duran didn’t forget him down there?” he asked.

Kim frowned and glanced into the living room.

“Rocky’s been here less than twenty-four hours,” she said. “Less than twenty-four hours, and he’s getting better, starting to shake off whatever Duran did to him. It probably happened faster because he’s, y’know, not completely dry and not stuck in the dark in a pile of bodies. That’d help anyone’s mental state. But if this crap can wear off, it’s got to be reinforced occasionally. Thus, somebody’s got to come around and reinforce it.”

“Ongoin’ effort,” Zeb agreed. “Gotta take energy to keep up somethin’ like that. So our little friend’s not just a throwaway toy.” He hooked his thumbs into his belt and looked very seriously at Kim.

“Kimmy,” he said, “you mighta just ticked off the devil, takin’ away his favorite. He might be comin’ after you, now.”

“Only if he can find me. I haven’t been conspicuous. And it could take him a few days anyway to find out that his doom dungeon got trashed. That’s plenty of time to get a hold of Tony and Edith and get them down here to finish this mess.”

“So what’s the plan until then?”

“Feed him again. He’s functional, but not strong. Weak body does a mind no favors, so he’ll hopefully get better faster if he’s at or near healthy. If he doesn’t, Coyote, I was hoping you could take a walk with him. If he is Broken or whatever, we need to find that out fast, because if he is, there’s no telling what they might do to him in Amarillo.”

“Last resort only,” Coyote warned. “I’m not real keen on taking a walk with anyone Duran’s gotten to. Those sons of guns can set booby traps like no one’s business.”

“Truth. So if he doesn’t remember anything useful, say, by tomorrow...”

“Yeah, I’ll do it.” Coyote leaned heavily on his cane for a moment, then moved back into the living room. The others followed.

The man on the couch turned his face toward them slowly and opened his eyes. The pupils were dilated, and the whites had begun to take a pinkish tinge of straining capillaries. As Kim watched, a vein burst, and a vivid red stain appeared in the corner of his left eye.

“Again?” he whispered. He sounded more resigned than afraid.

Kim nodded. She didn’t anticipate anything less unpleasant than the last time, but she also guessed that even being held down was better than starving. The vampire managed to hold still until everyone was situated, but his muscles gradually tensed until he began to jerk weakly. Kim held his head still and poked open a bag of plasma. She got seven of them in him before he managed to pull his arm out from under Coyote and dug claws into Zeb's jacket.

They unhooked him while he twitched and apologized.

“Better?” Kim asked.

He nodded. He was starting to flesh out, looking less like a concentration camp survivor and more like someone getting over a bad flu. One finger traveled contemplatively down the scarred skin inside his forearm, then made a sharp move toward his thigh, quickly aborted. His Adam's apple jumped.

“Thanks,” he said. He picked himself up and wriggled back under the electric blanket. The stained white of his eye had already faded.

Coyote growled something unintelligible but definitely ungracious.

“Call me if you need me tomorrow,” he said, and he grabbed his cane and left.

Zeb sat on the end of the coffee table with his long legs tucked up underneath himself and popped a stick of gum into his mouth. He offered one to Kim, who took it, and one to the vampire, who declined. Then he grabbed at his jacket pocket, failed to find what he wanted, and cursed.

“Son of a gun stole my keys,” he said with a snort. “Guess I'll be needin' a ride home.”

The three of them piled into the El Camino, since Kim refused to trust Vickie with guard duty again. They stopped off along the way so that she could run into the supermarket and pick up some cheap men's sneakers, sweats, and a safety razor.

Zeb twisted in his seat to study Rocky with a guarded expression.

“He doesn't mean nothin' by it,” he said slowly. “Coyote. He said he'll help you, an' that means he will. He just doesn't want you to think he likes you or anything. Bein' perfectly honest, he was a lot worse to the last guy Kim dated. She ain't his daughter or anything, but close.”

“I d-don't want t-to hurt her,” Rocky whispered, “b-b-b-but...”

“Don't worry about it,” Zeb told him with a grin. “I hear you folks are big on self-preservation. So if you hurt her, I'll kill you. Problem solved.”

Rocky's expression wavered between terror and gratitude.

“I... I know,” he agreed finally.

“'Sides, you're assumin' you could get the jump on her in the first place. Believe you me, if you did catch her off guard, she'd still take part of you with her.”

The door creaked open and Kim chucked a plastic shopping bag at Zeb as she slid into the cab.

“You boys getting along?” she asked.

Zeb only smiled.

She threw the car into gear and squealed out of the parking lot.

Zeb got out at a little butter-yellow bungalow with no yard and an empty driveway. His truck would come back eventually, he assured them, and hopefully Coyote would be in it. He laughed and slammed the door.

Kim waved as she pulled away. The El Camino sputtered over a speed bump.

“I want to make another stop real quick,” she said. “If that's okay with you. Do you think you're okay to be out and about for a few minutes?”

He fumbled reluctantly with the laces of his new sneakers and muttered a half-hearted assent.

“Just real quick,” she assured him, and she wove through traffic and swerved off down a side street to pull into a weed-choked parking lot behind a boxy cinderblock building. She climbed out of the car and motioned for Rocky to come with her as she passed through the revolving doors.

The interior stopped him dead. His shoes squeaked on the polished concrete of the entryway, and he had to catch himself on Kim’s shoulder or else risk losing his balance.

“Books,” he whispered hoarsely.

Kim turned to see his gaunt face softened by an ecstatic smile, thought she might have seen tears in his eyes, and then he was gone. He moved faster than she would have expected from someone who walked at a zombie shuffle, but apparently the zombie was motivated. She followed him into the stacks, worried, but he had already begun to build himself a nest out of Agatha Christie.

“You can use my card,” she said, and he gave her a look of pure adoration.

“That’s the spirit,” a woman’s voice commented.

Kim turned around and grinned. “Books are good,” she agreed. “Hey, Miz Ainslie. I came to talk to you.”

Miz Ainslie was five feet tall, or perhaps a little less. She was built like a lawn gnome, with a physicist’s crazy white hair and a cattle rancher’s leathery skin. A pocket-covered photography vest strained to cover her gut; most of the pockets seemed to be full of pens. She watched Rocky’s progress with fascination.

“Oh?” she asked.

“Yeah, some stuff has come up. I may or may not be coming in Monday. Actually, it could be a while. But if you send me the stuff, I can get it collated and stuff.”

“Stuff, right. You’re probably going to Vegas or something and planning for an extra-long hangover.”

“Darn, you caught me.”

Ainslie cuffed her on the shoulder and jammed her hands into her pockets.

“No problem,” she said. “I’ll leave the materials in your box, and you pick them up when you can. This won’t be messing with any deadlines, will it?”

“I don’t think so. If it does, I’ll let you know in plenty of time.”

“Good enough for me. Go take care of your stuff.” Ainslie turned an amused eye on the growing pile of books Rocky was collecting.

“Do you want me to find your friend a bag?” she asked.

They left with as many books as the two of them could carry.

Rocky read all the way back to Kim’s apartment. He stumbled up the stairs with his nose stuck in a mystery, lodged himself in a corner on the floor, and read. He read, ignoring Kim as she cleaned the couch and picked up papers. And when she turned off the lights, threw the electric blanket over him, and went to bed, he read through the dark until he fell asleep.

For the second time, he was not alone.

This time, though, the sensations were confused, blurred. The other mind was quiet, as though it too was asleep. It wasn’t aware of him. That was fine. That was safe. Even asleep, though, it was powerful, and it gradually absorbed him into someone else’s dream.

It began with a sense of déjà vu, a sense that some part of him knew what was coming and an equally strong conviction that it was all completely new. He didn’t try to pull away.

There was something smooth beneath his fingertips. The feeling was blunted, something dimly remembered from long ago. It resolved into the dry, slightly curved surface of paper. A book. Light swirled, pulsed, and gained form. Rough wooden desk. Candle flame. It wasn’t a book. It was the Book. He couldn’t understand the words, but nothing else could be written in that straight, angular script, red Latin letters, meticulously painted on fresh, stiff vellum.

It was beautiful, but the words swam in front of his eyes.

et ait illis: hic est sanguis meus novi testamenti qui pro multis effunditur

He could not read the rest. His fingers traveled up the page and tracked over the ornate border that surrounded the words, coming to rest on the stylized form of a lamb. He had a vague memory of having drawn it himself. Ink, pigment, gold foil. For someone, it would be a ridiculous extravagance. For him, it had been a meditation.

He cupped his hand around the candle flame and blew it out. The darkness rushed in on him, too dense for human eyes, and it carried sounds. Somewhere in the building, other people were moving. He could hear their voices. One was shouting, but the others were laughing. That seemed familiar, but he couldn’t remember what it meant.

A bell…

The dream slipped away, and he let it go. His own dreams were nothing but color and noise, dizzying and meaningless.

When he woke outside, he supposed he must have been walking in his sleep. He looked down at Kim and let her take his hand to lead him back inside.

Chapter 7

COYOTE ARRIVED AT ten o’clock sharp.

“Got anything to tell me?” he demanded, but no one had much to say; they were distracted by the geometric designs he had traced onto his face in dark red paint.

“You look freaking awesome,” Kim told him flatly, and she stood out of his way while he made a circuit of the room, toeing piles of books out of his way.

He shoved the coffee table up against the wall and cleared the debris from the couch, took the telephone off the hook, piled a stack of magazines on top of the television, and moved a glass of water into the kitchen. Then he sat in the dead center of the sofa and gestured imperiously for everyone else to clear out.

“I have to find my focus,” he declared.

The wizard, the vampire, and the ghost shuffled into the bedroom and shut the door, because finding a focus was evidently a very private process.

Rocky sat against the wall, curled up beneath his electric blanket.

“I thought we were t-t-taking a w-walk,” he said, giving the door a deeply troubled frown. Disturbed though he was, his eyes flicked periodically toward Vickie, who shifted uncomfortably until she faded from sight. He kept watching the place where she had been, then watched a place near the foot of Kim’s bed, then blinked and looked at Kim. She guessed Vickie had beat it.

“It’s what he calls it,” Kim explained. “Spirit walk. Probably diagnostic only, the first time. He’s a special kind of telepath. Basically, the plan is for him to give you a guided tour of your own mind, help you figure out what’s gone wrong, and then make a plan for fixing it.”

He paled and began to stutter a protest, but the words wouldn’t come out.

“He won’t do anything you don’t want him to,” she hurried to reassure him. “That’s not how he rolls. And he won’t spill your deep, dark secrets or anything.” She grinned. “Witchdoctor-patient confidentiality.”

His forehead creased, and he went very still. She didn’t think he was breathing.

“You can trust Coyote,” she pressed. “He’s one of the good guys.” And then, on a whim, she ventured further. “Like you, I think.”

He frowned, shook his head, and looked away.

They sat in silence until Coyote called them back into the living room.

There was no setup. No candles or incense, no plant matter strewn on the floor, no circles or triangles or mood music. Coyote leaned on his aluminum cane with its rubber feet, one fist on his hip.

“Sit,” he growled, pointing to the couch.

The vampire put up a visible internal struggle, but he sat.

“No flailing,” Coyote warned. “If you feel like freaking out, you let me know.”

The vampire nodded.

And just like there was no setup, there was no ritual, either.

“Readysetgo!” Coyote barked. That was all the warning he gave.

Rocky collapsed. Coyote scowled.

“Like I thought,” he said. “Kid’s fubar’d. It’s like a goddamn funhouse in here.”

Kim went to make coffee while Coyote growled and griped under his breath.

“Yep!” he sang out. “I called it. He’s booby-trapped. Some kind of trigger. Clumsy, though. I’m betting it’s only level one. Yep. There’s level two. Son of a gun. He’s pretty well neutered, here. No natural defenses left. Might be permanent.”

The coffee maker rumbled and sputtered, and Coyote kept up a running commentary – declarative knowledge, procedural knowledge, experiential memory. All shot to hell, locked down, data corrupted. He sank into the chair and laid his cane across his knees, letting his eyes drift out of focus.

“No good for nothing,” he said. “I can maybe clean out enough of this crap to give him a foothold, but it’ll take a while. And these safeguards are hell. Don’t want to trip a suicide switch. Goddamn tabula rasa. Goddamn Gordian Knot. Everything sealed up like Fort Knox. Nothing sloppy, either. Duran’s good. You know, in the worst possible sense.”

He fell silent. Kim poured two cups of coffee and then poured a third, just in case. She dumped powdered milk in one and carried them in to set them on the table. The other two might be cold by the time it was all finished, but that’s what microwaves are for. She sat on the edge of the table and sipped quietly.

“Hang on,” Coyote muttered. “Loose end? Let’s see about this.” He shut his eyes and folded his hands tightly in his lap. A bead of sweat slid down between his eyebrows, smudging his face paint.

The vampire stiffened and then sat up straight, his eyes wide with surprise. His pupils dilated until there was no blue left around them.

“I didn’t,” he got out, and then he choked. His gaze darted from Coyote to Kim to the door.

There was a knock.

It had to be Zeb, Kim thought, and she nearly called out for him to come in.

But that was wrong. Coyote was hauling himself to his feet, slamming his cane into the floor with enough force to make a nearby book jump. Rocky was sliding off the couch, shuffling cautiously toward the door. Kim got in front of him and flung her arms out to hold him back. Coyote grabbed the vampire’s elbow and shoved him none too gently away from the door, whirled around more quickly than an old man should, and pressed his eye to the peep hole.

“Damn,” he spat. He backed away from the door.

Rocky moved forward again. His eyes were huge and empty. Kim knocked him over and sat on him, for lack of any better restraint.

The knock came again.

A man’s voice slithered in, heavy with power.

“That’s mine,” he said.

Rocky squirmed, but he wasn’t yet strong enough to throw Kim off, and when he couldn’t get up, he cried. Kim had felt sorry for him before, but there was something vile and perverse about these tears. He wasn’t crying because he wanted to go; it was because it hurt him to stay still.

A long silence began to grow. The hair on Kim’s arms rose. She held her breath. Coyote crossed the entryway and disappeared for a moment into Kim’s bedroom. He came back with Kim’s semiautomatic and Zeb’s revolver.

“Are you really going to push me on this?” the voice said from outside.

It had to be Duran. Kim had never heard his voice, but it fit. The smooth accents of Spain, tinged with Mexico’s consonants. Mild tone, gently coaxing. Even with the protection of her threshold between them, that voice was strong enough that she put an actual moment of thought into letting him in.

“I’m being outrageously reasonable,” he said in a whisper that carried straight to the nape of Kim’s neck. “If we were being fair, an eye for an eye, I should steal something of yours. Burn something of yours. Maybe your car. Or this building. But I’m not going to be fair, I’m going to be nice. If you give him back, I’ll go away.”

It was outrageously reasonable, she had to admit, assuming he kept his word. She could open the door to let Rocky out. Duran couldn’t get in unless she invited him, and that wasn’t going to happen. But there were too many uncertainties. She had been watching closely enough to know that Duran was completely unpredictable. He might turn around and burn her alive once he had his property safely out of the way. Even if he did keep his word, she had no way of knowing what he would do with Rocky once he had him; he might want him back just so he could punish him for escaping. The poor little man could die, really die, and it wasn’t just her need for a witness that made Kim object to that prospect.

But if she didn’t open the door, there was nothing to keep him from burning her out. She didn’t dare hope that he would back off for fear of hurting Rocky.

She caught Coyote’s eye and saw that he was thinking the same thing. She also saw that he wasn’t going to let her take unnecessary risks.

So she stood, slowly, keeping a firm grip on Rocky’s arms as she helped him up. Touch had seemed to ground him, before, but with the puppet master right outside, he was lost. He leaned forward, cautiously testing the strength of her grip. She let him go, and he propelled himself into the door to fumble frantically at the locks. A horrible expression stretched his face, not so much a grin as a spasm.

In that moment, Kim hated herself.

Coyote tossed the semiauto at her, and she caught it as he trained Zeb’s revolver on the door.

It opened; Rocky was outside.

Beyond him, Kim could see Duran. She knew what he looked like, had seen sketches and specially-treated photographs that could capture a dead man, had stalked him all over the city of Austin ever since she had gotten on the job a year before. He was a hell of a lot bigger, up close.

He loomed like a tower, tight white shirt straining to contain acres of muscle, sleeves riding up over mountainous biceps. His hair had gone longer than it had been in the photographs she kept, and it covered his forehead and the tops of his ears in inky curls. She knew that his eyes would be stunning, rich brown with flecks of gold and thick, dark lashes, but she knew better than to look. It didn’t seem fair that someone so putrid could be so pretty.

He didn’t lunge forward. He didn’t have a gun, though he looked at theirs with a faint smile. He had a good smile, one that made him look like he actually cared. He didn’t even have a matchbook to carry out his threat.

“Much obliged,” he said, voice mocking through that kind smile. He placed huge hands on his prisoner’s shoulders, shockingly gentle. The smaller man shivered. A sour feeling rose in Kim’s throat.

“He was calling me. Crying out. How could I not come?”

Then they were gone, and it was over.

Coyote shut the door and locked it, then crossed to the kitchen and grabbed the fire extinguisher from under the sink.

Kim picked up the phone and dialed Amarillo.

“It’s Kimberly Reed,” she said, cutting off the man who answered, “calling about the Austin business. I need to speak with either Tony or Edith.”

* * *

THEY DIDN’T DRIVE. Sebastian led him along tenderly, whispering him deeper and deeper down until he forgot that he had remembered how to think. It was all very familiar, comfortable. There was even a poisonous sort of sweetness to the way Sebastian helped him walk, kept him from tripping, always touching, petting, filling his brain with sensation so there would be no room for memory.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry, it’s okay. I know you didn’t mean to. You would never go, wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

“Never.”

They stepped into Sebastian’s apartment, the same musty hole with the same green wallpaper, tables strewn with tattered westerns, pervasive pall of muted suffering.

The ghosts drifted out of the walls to watch. They remembered this one, the one who could see them. This time, though, he didn’t look. Sebastian had his whole attention.

The Spaniard slammed the door and bolted it shut. He taped another layer of foil across the windows, a layer across the air vents. Then he crouched in the chair and regarded the other man with quiet speculation.

“Tell me what happened,” he ordered. “Tell me everything.”

He told him everything – everything that he had done, everything that had been done to him, everything that had passed through his mind. It took hours, working around his painful stutter. He talked about the memory with no face, and the ghost, and the young woman who touched him without leaving marks.

“So that’s why you didn’t try to leave. You want to stay there, don’t you?”

Blue eyes met brown and saw that he was not really forgiven. It wasn’t okay.

“N-no, I t-t-tried, b-but I didn’t…”

“A token effort. Just so you could say you tried. You think I’m stupid? You think you’re stronger than me?”

“No!”

“You’re dirt. You’re lower than dirt. You’re nothing and no-one. You don’t have anything but me. I am the only thing standing between you and them. You think they wouldn’t kill you as soon as you gave them what they wanted?”

“I t-tried!”

“They’ll kill me, and then they’ll kill you. Because you’re an animal, a killer.”

That was impossible, but possibility didn’t matter, because when Sebastian said it, it was true. The no-one bowed his head in shame.

“I tried.”

A hand tangled itself in his hair and jerked his head back so hard, his neck cracked. He felt a flash of numbness, then a spreading pain. Then he met Sebastian’s eyes, and the pain receded. He felt nothing, and then… anticipation.

“You thought about going back, didn’t you? You like that worthless witch. You know what? Too bad. I conquered you. I own you. No one takes what’s mine. No one defies me. No one resists.”

The hand tightened and pulled him up off his feet, dangling him by his hair. He hung limply, waiting. A fingertip traced his carotid artery, riding the ridges of scar tissue, inducing a shiver. His chest jumped with a minute gasp; his pupils dilated.

“You don’t have anything but me. I am your pain, and I am your pleasure. I am your will. And now I’m going to cripple you, and you’re going to love it.”

Sebastian’s teeth pierced his throat.

His brain liquefied and seeped into his veins, and each time Sebastian gulped him down, he took a little more memory, a little more self.

Losing himself like that was bliss. It pounded through his body, pulsing in the pit of his belly like his absent heartbeat. It resonated through his mind. Ever weakening, he lost the strength for worry, for fear. The emptiness was exquisite. He envisioned his spirit being drawn out and dispersing, the core of himself being destroyed. There was a kind of freedom in that idea. It would be so good to be free, to give up, give in, let Sebastian think his thoughts for him, let Sebastian possess his flesh. It would be easy, restful, peaceful. He couldn’t imagine how three days had made him forget that, how necessary it was that he quiet himself and obey.

That admission brought its own wave of pleasure, seductive warmth that relaxed his mind further and drew a sigh out of him.

Sebastian dropped him, and his head hit the corner of the table, but he didn’t feel it. The stars that filled his vision were beautiful.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I love you. I’m sorry. I love you.”

“Shut up,” Sebastian snapped, and his throat sealed itself.

“Go to sleep.”

Darkness slammed him down, and he embraced it.

Chapter 8

SHE. THAT WAS how he thought of Her, a pronoun with a capital letter, because She had never told him Her name. She never spoke at all. He thought it was because of the chasm of a scar that split Her forehead, separating Her brown eye from Her crimson one. So deep a scar must have damaged what was underneath. She held his head between Her knees, so tight he was sure his skull would burst like an overripe fruit, gripped a handful of his beard, and ripped the last of his dignity away, along with half of his face. He screamed, and Her mind closed around his like a vice, choking his soul, until his body twisted and jerked with the agony of it.

Some vestigial reflex seized control of his mouth and he cried out in Latin, the native language of his heart.

“Salvame,” he shrieked. “Pie Iesu, salvame!”

The name seared him into silence, and he lay still while She unmanned him.

He had pitied Her once, had been ready to do anything it took to save Her – poor, ravaged creature. He had pitied Her and been repaid with venom. But that was a memory, unwelcome, and the memory quickly became a dream. Suddenly, he stood tall and powerful, as strong as he had been hours ago. He was the dominator. He was in control. He broke Her neck and beat Her, shredded Her until She was nothing but viscous, red liquid. Even then, She tried to run, dripping and flowing away, and he burned Her. He laughed. He felt the pressure of Her mind ease and exulted in the pleasant tearing sensation as the link between them was shorn away, all messy edges and fresh, necessary wounds. It was worth it to be rid of Her.

But She came back, She always came back. She was out there somewhere, waiting – no. She was dead. Dead and gone forever. If She came back, it would be with a different face, some new tormentor. A thousand faces, a million. Seven billion. She was everywhere. She wore a man’s face, unkempt, with shaggy blond hair and blue eyes…

Sleep fled, and he sat up, peeling himself away from the spot of dried blood his split scalp had left on the carpet. The sense of peace was gone, replaced by a deep, quivering need to be taken again, to be emptied, quieted. He contented himself instead with submission, and crawled to where Sebastian slept in the chair, unaware of any observer. His limbs trembled with that need, with pain and thirst, and the need for all of that to be transformed into ecstasy. He laid himself at Sebastian’s feet, so that even in sleep, Sebastian might be secure in his domination.

He woke again when he felt the sun rise. The door opened and closed, and for a while Sebastian was gone; he came back frustrated and quietly seething.

“They flew the coop. I knew I should have burned them out yesterday.”

That rang a bell, faint but clear.

“They said someone wants to k-kill you.”

“Yeah, I know. You said that already. It’s taken care of.”

He didn’t understand how it could be taken care of until he realized that the place smelled like industrial cleansers – a motel room. He hadn’t even noticed. The tenement, presumably, was far away. That was a comfort; he couldn’t have said why, but that ugly green wallpaper had put him on edge. And here, there were no ghosts watching him, waiting for help he couldn’t give.

“They won’t give up just because I ran – No, don’t worry about it. I left false trails all over the city. And I can’t possibly be that high on the priority list. It’ll take them a couple of days to wrap up whatever they’re doing in Amarillo and get down here. We’ll wait here a few hours and then leave. San Francisco, maybe. Someplace big. Not too far east, though. I don’t have a lot of friends on the East Coast.”

Sebastian sat on the edge of the single bed and stretched.

“Well, hell, I’m already bored. Let’s do something.”

* * *

KIM, ZEBEDEE, AND Deaf Coyote met the undead law enforcement in the parking lot of the Department of Public Safety, the most neutral ground they could think of. Tony and Edith brought two minivans and six assorted minions of varying flavors, ranging from an acne-scarred teenager to a Polynesian woman with an eye patch. They didn’t look like much, but they were all guaranteed to be formidable.

The vampires arrayed themselves in a semicircle to one side of the cars. Tony, the balding man with the loud tie, tapped a cigarette into his hand and lit up.

The big German-looking one, Edith, lifted her sunglasses for a moment to peer at the welcoming party.

“Had you made a plan for coordinating this?” she asked.

“Can’t,” Coyote said. “They’re moving around too much. I’m tracking the guy we dug up, the one he lobotomized. They stopped in Lampasas this morning. Not making very good time, but I’m guessing they think we can’t trace them.”

“Sounds likely. And this other party, the hostage. Will he be a problem?”

“I doubt it. He’s completely in Duran’s pocket, but the bastard was keeping him totally dry. Even if he’s been gorging – how much can you guys take in? Five or six quarts a day, max? He still wouldn’t be at full strength.”

Edith nodded thoughtfully, and Tony blew out a cloud of smoke.

“You can take care of the hostage,” he said. “We’ll take care of Duran. I think it’s past the point that a trial is necessary or appropriate, and you shouldn’t be seen to take part in an execution. Although, we’ll probably have to justify killing him at some point, so if you want to keep trying to rehabilitate your self-storage friend, we’ll comp you for the trouble.”

Kim nodded. “And if you could maybe cut me some keys to a local blood bank…”

Tony smiled. “Picky,” he chided. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The teenager unfolded her arms and glanced at her watch. “We should get a move on,” she said. “It’s an hour and some to Lampasas if the traffic’s decent. And he could already be moving.”

Four of the vampires broke off and climbed back into their minivan. One shook out a map and put a finger on US 183 North. Coyote heaved himself up into the cab of Zeb’s pickup.

“I know this guy’s psycho,” Kim said, “but do you really think it’ll take eight of you to take him down?”

“Probably not,” Edith admitted. “But it sends an important message. We’re willing to use excessive force. Maybe that’ll keep the other nut jobs quiet.”

“Fair enough,” Kim said. She couldn’t argue with that. She climbed into the seat behind Coyote, letting Zeb drive.

Four minions took the lead, with Edith and Tony and two more following and the wizards-and-cowboy trio bringing up the rear. Kim saw someone in the middle car break out a game of bingo. She guessed that an execution was probably like a field trip for them. That thought made her a little queasy, but it was a comfort to know that they weren’t worried. She wasn’t worried either, really, except for Rocky’s sake. There was really very little chance of things going horribly wrong. Nobody liked Duran; he had power he shouldn’t have, and he was willing to use it against anyone at all, even his own kind. No one would be coming to his aid. It was one against eight, and everyone present knew not to look him in the eye or give him a chance to speak. Kim might almost have found it unfair, if she didn’t have boxes and boxes of files detailing his exploits, the people he had ruined. Hell, it might even be a mercy, putting him out of his insanity. He had probably been a person, once. Maybe even a good one. Surely the person he had been wouldn’t want to carry on like this.

Lampasas had a population of just over six thousand. It was a nice little town, no panicked residents to indicate that a fugitive vampire was causing trouble. Zeb poked Kim awake, and they piled out in the parking lot of a local grocery store to compare notes.

“Gotta find a phone book,” Coyote growled, and he stomped into the grocery store to appropriate theirs.

Kim watched him go, then turned to shrug at Tony and Edith.

They waited. The teenage vampire tilted her head back and inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring. The whites of her eyes had begun to stain pink.

“Five minutes?” she asked.

Edith frowned, but nodded. “Three,” she said. “We’re in a hurry.”

The kid nodded and grinned, snapping a sloppy salute, and made for the edge of the building. It suddenly occurred to Kim that the teenager was probably older than her, but she wasn’t about to ask.

Kim stretched. Her back crackled and her shoulders popped. Zeb gave her a grin.

“You’re too young to be old,” he told her.

She grinned back and they stood in silence until Coyote came back with his phone book. He flipped it open to the back and ripped out the map of Lampasas. Then he pulled a wad of gum out of his mouth, stuck a snippet of a blond hair in it, and stuck both to the corner of the map.

“Sic ‘em,” he said.

The glob of gum mobilized, stretching out and creeping across the map like a spit-covered caterpillar. It wormed down the expressway, across a few residential neighborhoods, and stopped with the bit of hair pointed at a street corner off South Key Avenue, the main road.

Coyote tapped the map, held it up for everyone to see, grunted, and climbed back into Zeb’s pickup. Thirty seconds later, the teenager was back, looking considerably more cheerful. She glanced at Edith, and something passed silently between the two of them. Edith nodded. She moved over to Kim and Zeb, Tony slipped into the driver’s seat of one of the minivans, and the other six vampires simply melted into thin air.

Kim looked around to see whether any of the mundanes had noticed, but no one was looking.

“We lay low until evening,” Edith said. “You three stay out of sight and far enough away that he can’t sense you. Edge of town or so, just in case. Someone will come get you when it’s time to move in.”

Then Edith disappeared as well, and Tony drove away. Zeb checked his watch and jogged into the grocery store to come back with a huge sack full of chocolate bars.

“Emergency power,” he said.

Then he and Kim piled back into the pickup and headed out of Lampasas. They turned down an unassuming side street and into the cracked driveway of an empty lot. A man with a garden hose waved from across the street. Kim waved back, trying hard to look like she had every right to be there.

“Anyone know when to expect sundown?” she asked.

“I’d guess ‘nother three hours,” Zeb told her. “There’s some movin’ blankets in the toolbox if anyone wants to hang out in the back.”

The sun crept across the sky. Kim stretched out across the back seat and hung her jacket over the window to keep the light out of her eyes. Coyote grumbled under his breath. After a few minutes, he climbed out of the truck and hobbled a slow circuit around the lot, poking at the dirt and whacking the fence with his cane. There was no tingle of magic, so Kim put it down to nerves rather than ritual, confirmed when he shrugged out of his flannel over shirt and pulled it up over his head. Kim fingered the cluster of medals at her throat and picked one at random. Saint Anthony of Padua, patron of missing persons and lost things. She kept him around mostly for keys and paperwork and other things that tended to get up and walk off when she needed them most, but he seemed appropriate for her current situation, as well.

I know you’re probably kind of busy, she thought in Saint Anthony’s general direction, and we do kind of know where our missing person is, approximately, and there’s probably some moral gray area in this whole thing, and I don’t really know what your stance on dead people is… Not asking for a miracle, or anything, but some slightly improbable good luck would be nice. Also, if you know someone Up There who covers swift justice or hostages or not getting killed by the bad guys, could you maybe put in a word for us? Thanks.

She shut her eyes and tried not to think about what might be happening to that hostage. Instead, she tried to plan, to play out what would happen in three hours’ time. She was reasonably certain that Duran had to be hiding out in a motel or something similar. He had low cunning, but not much real smarts, and she doubted anything more creative would have occurred to him. If it was a motel, Tony and Edith and their team would have no trouble breaking down a door, cornering him, and executing him. On the other hand, if he had forced an invitation out of someone and was laying low within someone’s threshold, things would be trickier. He would have taken precautions against anyone else coming by an invitation by accident, and that meant that the Amarilloans would have no way in.

No, she corrected. She had forgotten for a moment that Tony and Edith weren’t the good guys. They would burn him out of someone’s house if they had to, him and Rocky and any humans unfortunate enough to be inside. They would regret it, and they would send out enormous compensations to the next of kin, labeled as checks from a fake insurance company, but they wouldn’t let innocent lives stand in the way of their version of justice.

She dug the heels of her palms into her eyes and prayed, not to anyone in particular, that, in trying to stop a murderer, she hadn’t just enabled more. She folded her arm up under her head, milagro bracelet digging into her cheek, and the past week caught up with her. She dozed.

The sun was just brushing the horizon when someone tapped on the pickup truck’s window. It was the vampire woman with the eye patch, except that she had ditched the patch somewhere and picked up a horrible, greenish glass eye. She climbed into the back seat with Kim as Zeb started the engine.

“Dinky motel,” she said. “Zillion years old. This won’t take fifteen minutes. We’re going in. You stay in sight of the door and hex the snot out of him if he tries to run.”

Kim breathed a sigh of relief as her visions of wanton murder evaporated.

“Cowboy. You got any magic?”

Zeb backed out of the lot and made for the expressway.

“Not a lick,” he said. “But I got guns, an’ these beauties never let me down.”

“Shoot for the head,” the woman said. “You hit him in the torso and miss the heart, it’ll slow him down but mostly just tick him off unless you fill him completely full of lead. Wizards?”

Coyote grunted.

“No fancy stuff. It’s hard to kill a vampire, even with magic. I recommend fire or big, flying objects. Don’t get closer than you have to. Don’t look him in the eye, and don’t let him talk. Name’s Bernice, by the way. If you got any questions, ask now.”

Kim wolfed down one of Zeb’s chocolate bars, sank back in the seat, and pulled her little semiauto from its holster in the waistband of her jeans. She shook out her bracelets and made sure her necklace was as tight as she could safely make it. Coyote gripped his cane and pulled a massive bowie knife from who-knows-where. Bernice tensed her hands, and the tips of her broad, blunt fingers twisted into reddish-black talons. Zeb whistled Dixie.

They reached the parking lot, and Edith and Tony appeared in front of the truck. Zeb slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting them, threw it into park, and the four climbed out. The molten rim of the sun sank below the horizon, and Bernice’s glass eye lit up like a candle flame.

Suddenly, there were vampires everywhere. Edith and Tony, Bernice and the spotty teenager clustered together under an unlit streetlight. A football-coach type with a billed cap covering his bald head appeared beside them, accompanied by a dark-skinned, Aztec-looking man who gave Kim a grin filled with deadly teeth. An older woman in a track suit lounged nearby on the hood of someone’s car, and a small, round, smiling man waved from atop the motel roof.

“He’ll already know we’re here,” Tony said softly.

He turned to Coyote. “Which room?”

Coyote pointed silently to the room on the far end of the block. In the time it took Kim to blink, Bernice was at the door. She bent to look at the slot for the key card, shook her head, planted her hand flat against the wood, and pushed it down. Surprisingly, it gave with almost no sound at all. The inside of the room was dark.

“I don’t see him,” she said. “Lisa, Dave. Quick search.”

The coach and the woman in the track suit slipped into the room behind Bernice. There was a pause of ten seconds or so before they came back out.

“Duran’s gone.”

Tony ran his tongue over his teeth. “You think he knew we were coming and split?”

“Doubt it. His bag’s sitting in there, and so’s the other guy. I say we scatter, take cover. Watch for him to come back.”

“What’s the hostage’s condition? Will he be a problem?”

Bernice grimaced. “No,” she said. “He’s… reparable. Maybe”

Zeb drew his revolver and cocked it. Kim leveled her semiauto and clicked the safety off with her thumb, stretching out her mind to feel for ambient energy she could use if she had to. There was enough power in the air that she could turn her bullet into an incendiary, maybe enough that she could do the same for Zeb. She pulled it in, through her core, and sent it down along her skin and into the firearm.

“We’re going to want to back off some,” she told Zeb. “They can sense magic. We don’t want to tip him off.”

There was a quiet noise to Kim’s left, and she turned her head reflexively, just in time to see the woman in the track suit tear off the teenager’s head. The girl’s body jerked, and then her skin sloughed away, baring the muscles underneath. The muscles disintegrated, leaving bones, and the bones crumbled. A pile of fine, powdery gray ash began to blow away in the early evening breeze.

For a moment, nothing moved. Tony frowned. Edith opened her mouth as though to say something, but nothing came out.

Kim could see Lisa’s face; her pupils were dilated, expression rapt, as though listening hard to something very interesting. She had seen that expression before.

Apparently, so had everyone else present.

Bernice let out an animal roar, flickering across the parking lot to tackle Lisa, who put up a fight with teeth and claws. A low, wet splat accompanied a shriek of pain. Blackish fluid sprayed outward, but it was impossible to tell whose innards had been breached.

Edith screamed something in a language Kim did not know and moved to intervene, but the smiling man from the roof sailed through the air like a cannonball and locked taloned hands onto her face. The musty, cold non-smell of dead blood seeped into the air.

A shot rang out to Kim’s right, and from the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of recoil rippling up Zeb’s arms. Lisa’s head burst in a spray of gore, and she dropped. Bernice was up in an instant, her chest and face ravaged, and she and Tony pried Edith and her attacker apart.

“It was a pretty good plan,” an accented voice whispered in Kim’s ear. It was smooth and low and warm. She relaxed. Something was happening, she knew, but it didn’t seem as important as she had thought it would be. It felt natural, and it felt very, very good.

“Someone forgot that you don’t just go up against me. You go up against me and everyone I can touch.”

Cool fingertips brushed the back of her neck, raising goosebumps down her arms. That felt good, too.

“Go make chaos,” Duran whispered. Kim had to admit that it sounded like a fun idea. Her skin was numb, anyway; it wasn’t as though she could get hurt.

But something buzzed past her like a missile and hit the man behind her with a report as sharp as Zeb’s gunfire. She turned and saw the Aztec, his knife-sharp features contorted in a feral snarl, his hands buried to the wrists in Duran’s belly. He sank his teeth into Duran’s shoulder and tore away a chunk of flesh and cloth, pulled one hand out of his victim’s innards, and raked glistening claws across his face. Tears streaked his weathered cheeks.

So she shot him. She didn’t have Zeb’s precision, but her target was a foot away, and she shoved the barrel of her gun up under his arm and pulled the trigger. The muzzle flash was bizarrely bright, and the bullet burned through him, leaving smoldering holes in his shirt. He staggered, and Duran’s elbow caught him in the face just as Coyote’s cane caught Kim in the back of the head. The world went bright for a moment, and without quite knowing how, she found herself on her knees with her gun gone and her right hand smarting.

The smiling man was still smiling, eyes wide and empty. He had Bernice by the throat and was smashing her head over and over into the asphalt. Her glass eye had come out and rolled a few feet away. It burned like a green ember.

Dave the coach was missing a leg, but he had Tony in a headlock. Edith, her face slick with dark blood, appeared behind the coach and snapped his neck neatly. Bernice grabbed her attacker by the face and slid her other hand into his abdomen, up through his ribcage, gripping his heart. He froze long enough for Edith to kick him in the head, and he went down, but only for a moment. He scrambled to get up again, and Bernice squeezed, and he crumbled into ash.

Kim touched the back of her head gingerly.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

The ruddy light in the west hadn’t gotten any dimmer. That had taken all of sixty seconds. Duran was gone.

Suddenly, there was a thin, hard face inches away from Kim’s. He thrust a hand out, and she flinched, expecting retribution for that burning bullet, but his fist was full of blood-soaked black hair.

“Find him,” he hissed. His voice was cold and harsh, and there was a warning of frenzy in it, an edge of incipient madness. And something else. Anguish.

“Find him,” he said again, shaking the fistful of hair. He added a tiny push to the command, so small Kim doubted he even knew he was doing it. She took the offering and nodded.

“We’ll get the bastard,” she said. “We’ll hit him hard.”

He nodded back, stood, and went to kneel by the teenager’s corpse. There wasn’t much left, but he peeled off his shirt and began to scoop up her ashes. His shoulders quaked.

Kim struggled from her knees to her feet and went after him. She hugged him from behind, and he didn’t kill her for that.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He laid a gory hand on the side of her face. His claws hadn’t yet been put away, and the razor tips dimpled her cheek.

“Find him,” he said once more, and he went back to his funeral preparations.

Zeb helped Bernice to stand.

Coyote examined the damage to Lisa’s head.

“Son of a gun,” he observed. “Took out four of us without ever raising a hand. Is he gone?”

“He wouldn’t stick around,” Tony whispered. His throat was black with bruising. “Itzli got him good. You okay, Itzli?”

Itzli hissed and threw a sharp grimace over his shoulder but said nothing about the cauterized bullet hole through his lungs.

Kim found her gun up against the tire of an SUV, where Zeb had kicked it out of her hand. The word chaos drifted through her mind when she picked it up, and she imagined the last six rounds in the magazine getting the action started again, but the notion was too weak to be called a compulsion. She stuck the gun back in her kidney holster, sucked in a deep breath, and held it until her lungs ached. When she breathed out, she imagined all of Duran’s crap blowing away with the spent air, out of her head and into the night, and she felt better.

But not by much.

The door to the room at the end of the block still loomed open.

“Somebody cover me,” Kim called, not much caring who came, and she trudged across the parking lot to go in, shoving the handful of Duran’s hair into her jacket pocket.

It was pitch black inside, except for the glowing orange light switch by the door. She flicked the lights on and leapt back, because if it had been up to her, she would have laid any booby traps right where a human would reach first. Nothing jumped out at her or exploded or came swinging out of the ceiling, but Duran was a subtle bastard. Kim stretched out her senses, feeling for magic or hotspots of potential energy. Nothing.

“We did surprise him,” she said aloud, just in case someone actually did have her back. “Well, maybe not surprise him, surprise him, but he wasn’t waiting for us. Wasn’t prepared or anything. I bet he was just out and came back and saw us there.”

There was blood on one of the dingy pillowcases, bright red and human, but not more than might accumulate if a motel guest suffered a nosebleed. Duran was a tidy eater, if nothing else.

“Disposing of a body, probably. Or out picking up dessert.”

She glanced back to find Itzli regarding her impassively, supporting Bernice. Bernice popped her glass eye back in and blinked a few times.

“If that’s the kind of fight he puts up unprepared,” she said. She trailed off, frowning.

Kim nodded her agreement and stepped into the room, over the downed door. An open duffel bag sat on the foot of the single bed. There was a jumble of clothes inside, what looked like a pair of jeans and a couple of t-shirts, one sock hanging out of the bag. An electric razor sat beside the sink, toothbrush and toothpaste nearby. Other than the blood on the pillow, there was nothing to show the kind of person who had stayed there.

There was also no sign of Rocky. Nothing moved or made a sound.

“Honey?” Kim called. She made up her mind to find out his name as soon as possible. Someone had to know something, if only she could figure out who to ask.

She crept further into the room to peer around the other side of the bed. Nothing. She checked in the closet and under the bed. Nothing. There was, however, a shadow on the other side of the shower curtain.

He sat perfectly still, curled up in the bottom of the bathtub, still wearing the rumpled sweats he’d had on when he was taken. His right arm hung limp, all of the joints at strange angles, and there was dead blood on his collar and on the cuffs of his sleeves. His eyes stared ahead, flaming red and devoid of consciousness, the pupils huge.  He was deathly pale.

She touched his shoulder, and his fangs ran out in involuntary response, but he didn’t move.

She turned to go get some help and jumped when she found Itzli there by her shoulder.

“Are you going to take him?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “Fix him up. This isn’t right.”

“No,” he agreed. Then, “He might know where Duran would run.”

“Maybe, but there’s no telling how long it’ll take to get him talking again.”

Itzli nodded and shouldered Kim out of the way. He bent and scooped Rocky out of the tub and carried him out to Zeb’s pickup truck. Kim pulled some of Zeb’s moving blankets out of the toolbox and started to build a nest around the vampire in the back seat. She had a few second thoughts about having him in the cab for a long ride, but he didn’t twitch a muscle, just sat as she positioned him, staring.

Itzli crouched in the bed of the truck and watched the darkening streets. Then he stiffened, head cocked to one side, and vanished. The others were gone, too, some bearing the injured. A moment later, Kim heard approaching sirens.

“Move,” she said quietly. Zeb leapt into the driver’s seat and reached over to help haul Coyote up. Kim slammed her door and rolled into Rocky’s motionless form as Zeb peeled out of the parking lot, drove a few blocks away, and stopped. He killed the engine, shut off the lights, and they waited. Red and blue flashed over the tops of the houses. Kim counted up slowly. When she had reached five hundred and twelve, Zeb started up the truck again and went back the way they had come, moving at a snail’s pace past the motel. Not one officer looked twice at the truck. After all, they were going in the wrong direction to be running away. He stuck to the speed limit through town, onto the expressway, and all the way back to Austin.

Kim held Rocky’s hand. He didn’t look at her, didn’t respond.

So, Saint Anthony, it’s me again. I found who I was looking for. But I think he’s still lost.

Chapter 9

IT WAS STILL too early to guarantee an empty foyer in Kim’s apartment building, so Coyote went in as a scout.  He hobbled across the lobby on his cane and gestured for the others to follow, then hobbled up the stairs to man the elevator doors. Zeb wrapped Rocky in moving blankets and threw the bundle over his shoulder so it looked about like a roll of rugs. With a little help from Kim, they toted him inside and into the elevator.

“Barely weighs a thing,” he commented.  “Duran musta sucked ‘im out again.”

“Their inertia’s tied to their strength,” Kim told him wearily. “When they’re weak, they don’t interact with the world as well. All the blood in the body only weighs about twelve pounds, so if he’s light, it’s because he’s so out of it. Mass is still there, but the gravity’s not acting on it. He’s less real right now.”

“So when they lose all their strength…”

“Cells fall apart. Molecules lose cohesion. Everything falls apart. Dust. Poof.”

“And their heart…”

“I have no freaking clue, Zeb, don’t look at me. I don’t know everything, okay?”

The doors pinged open, and they scurried across the hallway into Kim’s apartment.

“You guys look like crap,” Vickie told them, but she didn’t sound particularly concerned. Zeb dropped his bundle onto the couch, through Vickie’s lap, and the ghost squealed and disappeared.

“Buttwipe,” said her disembodied voice.

Kim ignored her roommate and closed and locked the door.

“You think you can snap him out of it?” she asked Coyote, who shook his head.

“I’m afraid he’d pull me down instead of me pulling him back up,” he said. He fell into a chair and propped his cane against his knee. “You said it wears off. I’ll see what I can do then. In the mean time, I say none of us stays alone until we hear from Tony and Edith that they’ve got tabs on Duran.”

“Oh, right. I was hoping maybe you could help with that, too.” She pulled the fistful of hair out of her jacket and laid it on the coffee table.

“That’ll work,” he said. He snatched it up and shoved it into his jeans pocket. “Gotta go home and get my materials. Maybe in the morning. We can all go, ‘less we hear something before then.”

Two voices rose in argument from outside and retreated down the hall.

“Should probably get some sleep,” Zeb muttered. He dug his knuckles into his eyes and shoved his hand through his hair.

“Y’all go ahead and take the bed,” Kim told them. “I kinda got a little nap earlier, so I’ll take first watch. Besides, someone’s gotta keep an eye on Rocky, in case he starts to come around.”

She dragged a pile of pillows and blankets in beside the couch and built herself a pallet, threw the electric over the vampire and plugged it in. His eyes were open, unblinking, and he didn’t seem to see her. She reached over and very, very carefully smoothed them closed.

Zeb and Coyote disappeared into Kim’s room and the door shut. Coyote complained in a low grumble, the bedsprings squeaked, and Kim distinctly heard Zeb’s reply: “Oh, grow up, y’old fart.”

She flicked off the overheads and turned on a lamp, kicked her shoes off, stowed her pistol under her pillow, and curled up on her pallet to read. It started to rain again. A few fat drops splatted against the kitchen window.

Somewhere, she knew, there had to be a book that could help with all of this. She had surrounded herself with books – some new and glossy, some old and fragile, some handwritten, some that were nothing but stacks of typescript held together with ring clips or rubber bands. Every one of them was filled with knowledge, things the mundanes would have regarded as fantasy or superstition. She had skimmed through most of them, selecting tidbits to add to Ainslie’s growing index of accurate magical references in literature, and somewhere, she prayed, there had to be something she could use. Sebastian Duran could not be unique in history. Another like him must have cropped up at some point, a vampire who broke the Rules, who could force his will on his own species instead of only on humans.

But instead, she found herself looking for references to the Broken, the Uszkodzone. The word was Polish, she knew, which led her to believe that if such creatures existed at all, the majority or at least the oldest of them were to be found in Poland. Rocky hadn’t struck her as foreign. He had no accent she could detect, and she doubted that the stutter was intended to disguise one. In fact, he talked like a news anchor – bland, featureless pronunciation that might have come from anywhere in America.

He also seemed young, though she supposed that could just have been a result of vulnerability and fear. When she stopped to think about it, she wasn’t even sure how old he looked, let alone how old he might actually be. She propped herself up on her elbows to dart a glance at the man on the couch, but that was no help; as sick as he looked, eyes sunken, skin pallid and grayish, he might have been anything between twenty and forty. It would be impossible to tell until he was healthy again.

There was still packaged blood in her refrigerator. She thought about grabbing a bag and a funnel and trying to get some in him while he was still quasi-unconscious and couldn’t object much to being force fed. It had to be less traumatic than being held down. But if he did struggle, there was no way she could manage him on her own.

She went back to her reading.

“What is his deal?” a voice hissed in her ear.

Kim jumped and threw an elbow at – and through – Vickie’s face.

“Crap,” she whispered back, “don’t do that.”

Vickie crouched in the middle of the coffee table and ignored her. “Seriously,” she said. “He stares. Doesn’t matter what I’m doing, he’s always staring at me. It’s weird.”

Kim twisted to look over her shoulder. The man on the couch was staring. Or at least, his eyes were open again and blindly pointed in Vickie’s direction.

“Give him a break,” she whispered fiercely. “He’s kind of been going through a lot, if you hadn’t noticed. He can stare if he freaking wants to.”

“Wants to?” Vickie retorted. “Pssh. It’s like he can’t not. He’s out cold, and he’s still staring.”

She stood, flipping her ponytail, and walked through the couch in an expression of ultimate disdain. At least, she tried. Her legs hit the vampire and she tripped, falling forward across him.

His face tightened, forehead wrinkling like he was trying hard to wake up but couldn’t.

“The hell!” Vickie whispered shrilly. “He touched me! How did he freaking touch me?!” She shot upright and left the floor behind, eyes huge, and then she fled. His blank eyes followed her until she was gone, then drifted closed again.

It was Kim’s turn to stare.

“Rocky,” she murmured. “Hey, honey. You awake?” She touched his hand gently. He didn’t respond.

“Oh, sweetie. I’m gonna need some help, here. Tony and Edith’ll be back to find out what you know, and honey, if you’ve got freaky extras, I can’t guarantee they’ll be any nicer to you than that bastard was. I mean, that’s kinda why they’re after him in the first place, ‘cause he can do stuff he shouldn’t.”

She gave his hand a little squeeze, then tucked it up under the electric blanket because it was ice-cold.

She almost didn’t hear the tap on the window; it sounded just like the rain.

The tap came again, and Rocky sucked in a sharp little breath. His eyes opened a crack, slivers of red visible beneath white lids. Kim froze.

Once more, a tap on the glass. She made herself look, keeping her gaze firmly on the kitchen cabinets instead of directly at the window, because if she met his eyes, she would be hosed.

It was hard to tell from peripheral vision only, but it looked as though Duran had patched himself up with plastic wrap. There was a band of something shiny around his midsection, holding in the bits Itzli had tried to tear out. He clung to the wall like a spider, dangling there outside her second-story window.

There was a thwack as he slapped a small piece of wet paper up against the window and grinned. The rain adhered it to the glass. Then he was gone.

Kim pushed herself up to her knees and crept closer.

I KNOW WHEN I’M BEATEN, it said in dark, bold strokes of permanent marker. CAN’T BLAME ME FOR NOT WANTING TO GO DOWN ALONE. I’M GUESSING “LET HIM GO” WOULD HAVE BEEN NEXT ON YOUR AGENDA. CONSIDER IT DONE.

Done?

She hesitated for a moment, not sure whether to head straight for the phone and call Amarillo or wake Zeb and Coyote first. A sour feeling rose in her throat, insisting that when he said he didn’t want to go down alone, he wasn’t talking about the vampires he had already killed. That he was talking about her.

But he couldn’t expect to burn them out when it was raining…

Something shuffled across the floor behind her, and she turned, and she understood.

“Oh, honey,” she whispered.

Rocky stood there between the kitchen and the tiny living room, bracing himself on the wall, watching her with fiery intensity. She didn’t have to check twice to know that no one was home; he was too dry to be lucid, whatever mental block had kept him from feeding was gone, lifted, and Kim was the closest living thing. She was dinner.

Her gaze darted from him to the countertop, hoping to find something big and blunt she could use as a weapon, but she had never been one of those women who kept decorative rolling pins. There was a coffee mug beside the sink, across the kitchen, and she stepped toward it, but he stepped toward her, and suddenly her only defense was behind him.

Her pulse accelerated, and she could see that he heard it. He shuffled toward her, left hand outstretched, the right hanging useless by his side, and she swatted him away. He was slow, much slower than she had expected, and he was still weak. He moaned sorrowfully and came at her again, and she sidestepped. She really didn’t want to hurt him, but hurting him was better than having to kill him, so she caught his right arm by its dislocated elbow and yanked. He gagged and went to his knees.

“Sorry,” she gasped, “I’m sorry, but you can’t have my… Oh.”

There were leftovers in the fridge, a few bags of packaged blood that hadn’t been consumed a week before. It was gross, having them there between the orange juice and the macaroni salad, but she had thought they might come in handy. She had almost forgotten that.

“Don’t move,” she commanded. She stepped around him to reach for the refrigerator.

He grabbed the leg of her pants. Her socks slid on the linoleum. The edge of the counter rushed at the side of her head, and it occurred to her that a crabby shaman and a buff cowboy were a room away, waiting to help her take care of situations exactly like this one. She drew a breath to scream. Her head hit the counter, tracing a line of fire just above her left eye.

“Gk,” she said, and the floor knocked the rest of the air out of her.

I know how this goes, she thought. The venom they secrete is a combination anticoagulant and muscle relaxant, chemically similar to some barbiturates. Once it’s in you, you’re done, because almost no one has the discipline to fight something that feels good.

She made an uncoordinated attempt to get herself standing again, but her head pounded, and her limbs wriggled aimlessly, deprived of strength. She flapped against the kitchen floor.

A weight settled on her chest, and something cold moved against her throat. The cluster of medals on their chain around her neck had slid around to hang down her back. They pressed into her shoulder blade. Her vision began to clear a little, and she could vaguely see the top of his head. She had seconds, at best.

It only takes a few ounces of pressure to dislodge an eyeball. He would recover from losing an eye a lot faster than she would recover from dying. She reached up and around, thumbs probing. An ear, a nose – anything would do, any handhold to pull him away, any bit of damage that would convince him his survival was better served by leaving her the hell alone.

His weight settled onto her left arm and he caught hold of her right and pinned it to her chest. She brought a knee up hard, willing to hit anything she could reach, but no part of him was close enough. A light sharpness pressed into her skin.

At least it won’t hurt.

She was wrong. He was dry, dry and injured, all his strength focused on putting himself back together, too dry to waste energy trying to make her hold still. His teeth pierced her skin, sans anesthetic, and it felt like being stabbed. She made one more frantic attempt to get away, but something tugged dangerously, and she went still.

It wasn’t like Kim had expected, not that she had ever really expected to die by vampire. For one thing, it hurt like hell, like that time in second grade she had accidentally pushed a pencil through her hand. For another, there was nothing even slightly sensual about lying on a cold kitchen floor while someone sucked the life out of her. Worst, though, was the fact that she couldn’t hate the person doing it. She was ticked at him, and she was scared, but the joints in his crippled arm popped loudly back into place, and he lifted her up and supported her cautiously, meticulously minding her comfort while he killed her. Her hands and lips were numb. There wasn’t even gross slurping and smacking to give her an opportunity for disgust. He stroked her back with deep affection, with gratitude, humming contentedly like a nursing infant.

She was so tired.

* * *

THE LIGHTS WERE too bright.

Something wasn’t quite right with the pit of her stomach or behind her eyes; it might have been a hangover or the leftovers from a nasty flu, but that wasn’t right. She hurt, and her head hurt, and moving hurt, and her neck felt like someone had taken a sizable chunk out of it…

Oh. Right.

She tried to roll over, but something restrained her, and she fell back only to whack her already-pounding head on the cabinet. She squinted up reluctantly, already knowing what she would see. It was him, sure enough, not looking a whole lot better than he had… How long ago? Everything was more than a little fuzzy, after the point she had become a juice box.

She meant to say something like “How long was I out?” but “Geh” was all she could manage at the moment.

Rocky looked down at her. His eyes were still red, still empty of intelligence, still desperately hungry. He grimaced at her, showing fang. Even suffering head injury and hypoxia, Kim could tell he wasn’t in any fit state to decide to let someone live. She squeezed her eyes shut again. Some nonsense about love and the power of friendship crossed her mind, but she pushed it away. Whatever Rocky was, Broken or not, he was gone for the moment, lost under the instinct to end that thirst. For a time, at least, he wasn’t capable of love.

So something else must have made him stop. Self preservation? But what about her kitchen could possibly be that threatening? She didn’t have a clue, though, until a throat cleared itself about six feet above her.

“So,” Zeb said, standing there in his boxers and socks, revolver cocked and resting on his shoulder, “I was sorta thinkin’ ‘bout shootin’ him, but then I thought, if he jumps, might tear somethin’ an’ then you’d bleed to death. So I was thinkin’ maybe I oughta have woke up Coyote. Could maybe, I dunno, freeze him or somethin’. Guess not.”

“Mm? Huh?” Kim scooted away from where she had been propped up on Rocky’s legs. She felt like she might be sick. “What did you do?”

“Came in. Thought ‘bout shootin’ him. Stood there a second. Then you kinda blacked out maybe a second, an’ he stopped. What did you do?”

Only a second? It felt much longer. Like days, perhaps. When she thought about it, Kim was genuinely surprised she hadn’t woken up in a hospital bed. She was even more surprised that she had woken up at all.

“I didn’t do anything.” Except flail uselessly, of course. She grabbed hold of the countertop and dragged herself to her feet, and from the corner of her eye, caught a flicker of movement. The vampire was standing too, moving closer for a second go.

She didn’t try to duck around him, this time. She didn’t try to get away. She drew her fist back to punch his damn lights out. He cringed away, shielding his head with his arms, and cowered against the cabinets. It was tragic. Tragic and pathetic. She lowered her hand with a groan.

“Zeb, would you get the bags out of the fridge? Might be enough that we don’t have a repeat of this.” She edged out of the kitchen, supporting herself on counter and walls, and took an end of the couch. A year of following one of the most dangerous creatures in Texas, and it was a sad, sweet, damaged little weenie who got her. The rank irony hurt almost as much as her throat.

She caught a twinge of resentment in that thought and did her best to crush it. It wasn’t Rocky’s fault that Duran could turn anyone into a weapon. It wasn’t his fault that he’d been bled out beyond all hope of self-control. He couldn’t be held responsible for his actions any more than – she hoped – she could be held responsible for shooting Itzli. But no amount of rationalization could get rid of her sudden desire to kick him out of her apartment.

The refrigerator door opened and closed, and there was the sound of a short scuffle and a high yelp. Silence.

Zeb plopped down on the opposite end of the couch and twisted to look at her, elbows propped on his knees.

“Ain’t no doctor,” he said, “but it looks to me like you need to see one.”

“I’ll be okay,” she told him. She prodded at her wound and winced, but most of the pain seemed to be bruising. The punctures felt small and neat, their clean edges already swollen shut. She wouldn’t be bleeding to death any time soon. Of course, she wouldn’t be running on all cylinders any time soon, either.

“You know how to make tea?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Small box, cabinet to the left of the microwave, says ‘IntensiTEA’ in big letters on the side. Please and thank you?”

Zeb slid off the couch, and Kim watched him step over the vampire, who was making a dent in the small pile of packages Zeb had left in the middle of the kitchen floor. She couldn’t really help picturing herself in their place, and had to look away.

The microwave whirred while Zeb nuked a mug of water. There was a rattle – filling the tea ball – and after a few minutes, the scent of magical caffeine began to filter through the apartment. It was a little like matches, a little like mint, and a little like old books.

Zeb passed her the cup and she took a sip, making a face at the amount of sugar he had added.

“How much is left in the box?” she asked.

“Almost full.”

“Good. That’ll get me through long enough.” A cup or two would get her functional again, but a daily regimen would amp up her metabolism, replacing what she had lost over a course of days instead weeks. It was a better option than trying to explain what had happened to a hospital staff.

“I almost didn’t hear over the rain. That boy is damn lucky Coyote didn’t wake up. Woulda put a knife through his heart.”

Kim grimaced and nodded. “Not like we can keep him from finding out, though. But we still need him to take a walk, set stuff straight. Duran said – Oh, crap, right, Duran was here. No, it’s okay, just outside the window, and then he left. The note must have washed off. He said he let Rocky go – that must be why he was able to come after me – but I’ll bet you anything he left some way to take control again, and I don’t know anyone else who can, y’know, uninstall psychic switches.”

“He won’t be real keen on helpin’ someone as tried to kill you.”

“You said he stopped. Just stopped?”

“Yeah?”

“Then he wasn’t trying to kill me. If he was, I’d be dead. Or at least brain damaged. I’m not dead, so no one’s taking anything out on Rocky.” It shouldn’t have happened. She had looked into his eyes and seen nothing but thirst, but somehow, he had stopped, and that meant something.

“You sure?”

“Look, if someone slipped you a roofie and you were high as a kite, freaking out, seeing things, and you attacked someone, that would be bad, but not your fault. It was just an accident. Duran’s the bad guy. Can’t forget that, okay?”

A low, inhuman wail drifted out of the kitchen, raising the hairs on the back of Kim’s neck. She threw back the rest of her tea, savoring the little jolt it sent through her bones, and walked over to the doorway. The vampire was pressed against the cabinets, his back hunched and his face in his hands. He rocked forward and back, forward and back. The sound continued unbroken long after his lungs should have been empty, a muffled cry of inarticulate terror.

And Kim realized abruptly that she could feel it. Part of her was inside him, enveloped in that fear, carrying that resonance back to her, distinct and foreign. It wasn’t her fear, didn’t touch her, but she felt it all the same.

He had her blood. And that thought brought with it real fear, her own fear.

The smart thing would have been to kill him right then. Even if she could be sure that he would never knowingly use the control that could afford him, there was no telling what Duran might be able to do through him. Maybe that had been the whole plan. Maybe Duran had known that poor, broken Rocky wouldn’t kill her – either couldn’t or didn’t have the heart, not that the reason truly mattered. Maybe the point hadn’t been to take her out, but to establish a connection, another link in his chain of control. He couldn’t get to her directly, but if he could control Rocky, and Rocky could control her… Did it even work like that? Was it even possible? Her throat closed.

“Zeb,” she whispered. “Go get Coyote.”

Zeb shot her a look of confusion and concern, but he and his socks and boxers disappeared into the bedroom, and Kim crossed the kitchen to crouch in front of the cowering, keening Rocky. She grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands away from his face. His eyes were blue once more, wide and frightened, and it only took her a glance to see that he didn’t know her. Duran had wiped him out again.

His gaze flicked to the marks on her throat, the horrible sound wavered, and he made a frantic attempt to pull away. He had gotten stronger, almost too strong for her, but she held him still.

“I-I-I-I-I…”

“Yeah. You did that. I’m not going to hurt you, okay? But my friend might, so you’ve got to tell me how I get rid of this.”

“G-g-g-g…”

“You took my blood. It’s okay, I get why. I’ll get over that. But now you’ve got my blood, and I am not interested in being connected to you this way. So either you get rid of it, or you tell me how to get rid of it, or we might conceivably have a problem.”

His eyes grew, if possible, even wider. “I… I-I-I-I-I c-c-c-c…”

“Oh. Oh, right. If you even knew, he would have blocked that out, first. Well, that’s what we’ve got a shaman for.”

Right on cue, Coyote tottered in, leaning heavily on his cane. His hair had begun to come out of its braid, and a halo of gray frizz stood out around his head. He zipped up his jeans, surveyed the scene, and his black eyes narrowed to furious slits.

“Chindi son of a bitch,” he growled. “I knew it.”

He took a menacing step forward, and Rocky whimpered and shied away.

Kim moved to stand between them. She toed the remaining bags of blood toward Rocky.

“Finish those up,” she told him. “I’m not up for round two just yet.”

Then she turned to Coyote. “You need to find out, right now, whether he knows how to cut through contagious magic. It would also be helpful to know who he is, why he didn’t kill me, and why Duran wants to hang onto him so bad.”

Coyote gritted his teeth. A vein bulged in his forehead, and he gripped his cane like he meant to crush the handle.

“Fine,” he snarled. “But no interruptions, this time.” He spun and stomped back into the living room, muttering to himself.

Kim held out a hand, but the vampire skittered backward. She moved forward, and he moved backward, and suddenly, he was trapped in a corner. His chest heaved in a violent spasm, and he bared his teeth as cornered animals do.

“Look,” she said, “I’m sorry. Coyote’s old and cranky, but he can be really gentle.”

“I guess I could,” Coyote called from the other room. It wasn’t an agreement.

The vampire’s body stiffened. He thrashed once, trying to get away from something inside his own head, and collapsed. Tears welled in his eyes and spilled over onto the linoleum floor. Tiny beads of rancid sweat broke across his forehead. The keening began again, rose shrilly, and died in a gasp.

“What…” Kim leapt to her feet to stare at Coyote. “What in God’s name are you doing?!”

Coyote didn’t answer. He sat stiffly with his eyes closed, the tendons in his neck standing out. “Shut up,” he growled. “You want both our brains fried? There’s more traps now than a week ago. Hard enough shutting this mess down without wiping him clean, and you want I should make it not hurt, too?”

No amount of delicacy could numb the pain of remembering. All that time under the ground, alone with the whispering. The time above the ground, caught in Duran’s eyes and in his teeth.

Coyote sucked in a breath, his forehead wrinkling.

“Something’s wrong,” he said. “There’s some kind of… I don’t know. Some kind of disconnect. Like… There. There we go. I’ve got it.”

The vampire tried to scream. His chest cramped, but his lungs would not inflate, and the most he could manage was a strangled moan. The wizard girl caught hold of his hands to keep him from clawing his eyes out. There was someone else in his head, and he couldn’t bear it. All that time with someone else thinking his thoughts for him, groping, stretching things out of shape, making him forget, making him remember.

He didn’t want to come back. He didn’t want to be real again. But the shaman seized him, chained him, and everything closed in tight like a vice. Reality. It hurt.

Chapter 10

LENNY SLAMMED BACK down into something that was sort of like self-awareness. It was unfamiliar, and it was uncomfortable. He had gotten used to watching without being, seeing without feeling, slipping away quietly when even watching became too much to take. This wasn’t happening to him, it was happening to someone else, someone artificial, someone who could take it. He wasn’t ready to be real again.

He tried to escape again, but the shaman wouldn’t allow it. Every time Lenny tried to slide away, back to wherever he had been before, the shaman tore away another layer of lies, unearthed another memory, and tied Lenny down to it. It was violent, almost cruel when compared to Sebastian’s subtlety, but the old man knew what he was doing, and Lenny couldn’t stop him.

Like pulling off a Band-Aid, the shaman said into Lenny’s mind.

It was nothing like pulling off a Band-Aid, though. It was like cutting out a tumor with a belt sander and chopsticks, and he was doing it on purpose. Lenny could feel the shaman’s little silent grin every time he ripped something away. As much as it hurt, though, it was helping, too. The pieces torn out did not belong to Lenny, and when the shaman rearranged things, tidying things away and filling holes Lenny hadn’t known were there, it built something that, on the surface, seemed whole.

And he remembered.

He remembered everything that had happened to him, but this time, it was real. He remembered everything Sebastian had done, the things he stole, the things he slapped together to replace them. There were vast stretches when Lenny had been too dry, and there was no memory, and those times were almost a relief. Thirst was agony, but it all condensed into a single point, like a flash, and all sense of duration faded away. He remembered every time he woke to find a corpse beside him, and he remembered why he shouldn’t be ashamed. Whatever Sebastian might have thought, Lenny did know what it felt like to be responsible for death, and not one of those lives down there had been extinguished by his hand.

And he remembered Kate, and the memory had a face, and it was like losing her all over again. He had spent years crying for her, and he cried again on the floor in that kitchen.

At some point, the spirit walk must have stopped, but the onslaught didn’t. It was as though part of him was trying to find something specific, buried back among the years he had only just regained. He remembered home, his family, the crossing, and Kate, always Kate. The moment he reached out for her and came up against the ragged, amputated hole where their bond had used to be. Moving east, always east. California to Nevada, Nevada to New Mexico, New Mexico to Texas. Abilene. Mara. I used to be someone. I used to be real.

Whatever he was looking for, he couldn’t find it. Either it was too well hidden, or it was gone.

A hotel. Green wallpaper. Cellar. Then a small light. Lighter. Fire. A girl with dark hair, barely more than a kid. She didn’t let him burn.

But it suddenly occurred to him that he was more than just memories. There was a hard floor underneath him and florescent light on the other side of his eyelids.

The most important thing, though, the thing that captured all of his attention, was the overwhelming absence of pain. It’s very hard to appreciate not-hurting except in the few moments just after the pain is gone.

“He’s a wuss,” a voice growled. “Not a lick of fight in him. Coward, too. Would probably have just sat there and let you kill him if you felt like it.” It was true enough.

Lenny looked up, blinking away bewilderment. The speaker was the old man. Lenny remembered that they called him after some kind of animal, and it wasn’t too much of a stretch to recognize him as the one who had recently been messing around in the more rundown portions of Lenny’s mind. Running closer to full steam, though, he had to say Coyote didn’t look like someone who could have taken someone out with a thought. He was shorter than Lenny and developing some impressive stubble, and a hairy paunch drooped over the waistband of his jeans. He was appropriately weathered and leathery, but portions of his tan were more orange than copper, and a shiny, raised scar on his left bicep showed the vaguely feminine outline of a defunct tattoo.

The cowboy stood next to the shaman, outrageously tall, considerably younger, and wearing nothing but shorts and tall socks. Lenny thought he recalled that the cowboy’s name was biblical and somewhat unlikely. He had a revolver in each hand, and he held them with the familiar ease of a man who shoots dimes out of the air in his spare time. If he decided to shoot, Lenny thought he might possibly have time to see it coming. Might. Possibly. There was an odd sensation around the man, a feeling of bone-tired restlessness, like he had gotten too old but couldn’t move on. His heart was still beating, though, and humans couldn’t get too old. When they got too old, they died. It didn’t make sense.

Then there was the wizard. Kim. She had a pistol also, something a lot newer than the cowboy’s revolvers. She held it close to her chest, pointed at a spot about a foot above Lenny’s head. Barely more than a kid, just like he remembered. The blood on her throat had dripped down onto her chest and was only just beginning to dry, flaking around the edges. There were tracks in it where she had scratched some away. She freed up one hand to push her hair out of her face, and she watched Lenny, waiting to see what he would do. She was very careful not to meet his eyes.

She was waiting for something, and he didn’t want to disappoint her, so he doubled over and heaved onto the floor. Nothing came up, but he wished that it would. He had violated her, forced himself on her, and the proof was inside him. Proof and power. He had some dim memory of her demanding that he undo it, that the reason they had shoved him back into himself was so he could fix the mess he had made, but he did not know how. When they figured that out, the obvious solution would be his speedy death. It was hard for him to object to that.

“Wuss,” the shaman said again. “Not even a little dangerous. Dependent personality. Little bit of a weird feel, some kind of defect. Might be one of your Broken things. Might just be broken. Can’t tell without going in further. Not a direct threat, though.”

“Do you think you’ll really need to?” the wizard asked. She sounded reluctant, for which Lenny was grateful, because the thought of Coyote going in further terrified him.

“Nah. Got out all the big problems. Everything else he should be able to work out on his own, with some time.”

That was nothing but a lie. Lenny could feel the inside of himself, and the shaman was partly right; Lenny was harmless, defective, broken, a coward. He had been someone before. He had been real. He had been someone who could trust people, trust himself, who never looked for trouble but whose first instinct wasn’t to cower. That was gone, and there was no way he was going to be able to work that out on his own.

There was a rustle of clothes as one of them moved closer to him. The only one with any significant amount of clothing on was the wizard. The one he had hurt. He shied away from her reflexively. Wuss.

He looked up and found her hand outstretched toward him. He didn’t take it. He couldn’t.

“Okay,” she said softly. “We’re starting over, okay? Hi. I’m Kim.”

It took him a moment. The knowledge was there, accessible, but he wasn’t sure where to look. After a few seconds, it came back to him.

“Hugo. I-I-I mean Leonard.”

She tipped her head and winced as the movement tugged at her wound. Lenny winced, too.

“Which is it?”

“Leonard Hugo. He…” – A shudder wracked his frame – “…c-called me Hugo.”

“So you want to be called Leonard?”

He thought about that. He didn’t want to be called Leonard, either.

“Lenny.”

“Lenny, okay. Okay. You know we’ve got kind of a big problem. Do you remember?”

His hands shook.

“I…” The most technically accurate word was one he couldn’t make himself say. It took him a few seconds longer to come up with a substitute. “I stole your b-blood.”

She crouched and took his hands in hers. He knew she was trying to come across as kind, to put him at ease, but his muscles tensed reflexively in preparation for pain. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had crushed his bones. Nothing happened.

“Yes and no,” she said. “As far as blame goes, I think I’d rather say that we’re both victims, here. That puts us on the same side. The problem is that Sebastian Duran has a hold over you, and now you’ve got a hold over me, and if he can get to me through you, we’re all in trouble. You know anything about contagious magic?”

That name brought feelings he didn’t want to think about. It was almost like love, if love was slimy and false. His throat closed, and he could only nod.

“Yeah, well, if you could, y’know, cut that cord, that would be good. I can’t help you if I can’t help myself.”

“D-don’t know how.”

“If you need to think about it for a while…”

“I don’t. I d-don’t know how.”

She looked over at the old man. “Coyote?”

For a very brief moment, Lenny could feel him in his head again. It was a lighter presence, this time. He wasn’t rearranging things, just checking.

“He doesn’t know,” he confirmed.

So that was it. The other option was his death, destroying the chain by destroying the middle link. He didn’t want to see it coming. He shut his eyes. Wuss.

“Mom might know,” the wizard mused. She let go of Lenny’s hands, and he heard her move away.

“Oh, that’ll be a fun conversation. How long you reckon she’d have you locked away for somethin’ like this?”

“If the options are getting locked up or being a vampire puppet, I’ll gladly take the former. Besides, she got me on this job in the first place. She can’t really complain if the occupational hazards get me.”

“I guess the real question is whether she’d get them to send someone to finish the job or just let Duran get away.”

“Depends on whether you can work contagious magic through a degree of separation and if you can, whether they can get me out of it. They wouldn’t just let me stay compromised.”

No one got started on killing Lenny. In fact, they left the kitchen.

He dared to open his eyes and saw that they were in the other room. The old man, Coyote, had taken a chair, while the cowboy buttoned on a shirt and the wizard rummaged through her books. She looked over at Lenny and forced a smile. It looked painful. She gestured for him to come.

He used the edge of the counter to haul himself up, but something squished under his foot and almost burst before he could process the sensation and step back. There was a small pile of plastic bags, each one filled with a pint of plasma. She had told him to finish them off. That made sense. He picked one up and stacked the rest beside the sink.

“Ainslie might know,” she said. “She’s got thousands of references piled up, by now. She could probably give me a place to look. Wouldn’t hurt to ask Tony and Edith, too. Looks bad on them if someone they pay gets screwed over.”

Coyote harrumphed.

“Tony and Edith are busy licking their wounds, at the moment,” he said. “Besides, they’re a lot more worried about beating the crap out of Duran than about keeping you safe.”

Kim nodded. “Truth. Someone give them a call anyway. They need to know where to center their search.”

She turned to Lenny, a stack of books in her hands.

“If you have any idea where he might be headed,” she said. The question trailed off.

They planned to kill Sebastian. That was probably necessary to keep him from killing other people, to keep him from doing to someone else what he had done to Lenny, but the thought still made Lenny’s stomach lurch. He didn’t have any illusions that the overwhelming need to defend Sebastian was his own. If he felt anything but disgust and fear, it was only because Sebastian had planted that in him. But without Lenny, Sebastian was alone.

“He m-mentioned San Francisco,” Lenny heard himself say. Wuss. Traitor. He winced.

Kim nodded and signaled to the cowboy, who already had the telephone receiver up to his ear. Lenny could hear the slow ringing on the other end.

The wizard picked up a book and leafed through the pages. She snapped it shut again with a sharp thud and dropped it onto the table. Then she turned to look at Lenny. Her dark eyes were intense. He had to look away.

“You know him?”

“I… I g-guess.”

“Probably better than me. I mean, I’ve been following him, but I never actually met him. Do you think he’s more likely to stand and fight again, or just run away?”

He didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to be useless, but he hadn’t exactly been in peak observing condition for most of his acquaintance with Sebastian Duran. If he gave them bad advice, they could get killed. If he gave them good advice, they could kill Sebastian.

But he did know him. It took some digging to recognize the memories that weren’t his, the dreams Sebastian had projected into Lenny’s head through the bond he forced on him.

“Don’t hurt him.”

She tilted her head, eyebrows drawing together in a frown.

“He’s sick,” he explained. “He’s n-not evil. Just very, very sick.”

“I’ll take that into consideration,” she said. He believed her.

“He’ll run,” Lenny told her. “Then he’ll w-wait. Then he’ll c-come back to p-pick them off one at a t-time. Not you. He d-doesn’t take revenge, just g-gets rid of threats. You’re not a threat, now.”

He doubted that Sebastian meant to kill her. The monster probably wouldn’t have objected if Lenny had somehow managed to bleed her to death, but generally speaking, Sebastian was more interested in neutralizing than in causing pain. Torture for him was recreation, not business. Lenny wondered whether Sebastian had hoped he would maim the wizard, cripple her and get himself killed by her friends. Take her out and tie up a loose end in one go.

The cowboy muttered in a low voice to someone across the state. Lenny could hear him clearly but didn’t listen.

Kim waved a hand in front of his face. He did his best to turn his attention back to her.

“So I’m not in immediate danger,” she clarified. “Not unless he wants to use me to get at someone else. What about Zeb and Coyote?’

That was a trickier question. It was obvious both men were dangerous, but it was also obvious that the wizard was the head of their group. Sebastian had tried to take her out already, and he was smart – he would know better than to stick around long enough to find out whether she was down for the count. He would probably leave Austin immediately, hang out somewhere else while he waited for a chance to come back and start killing. When he did come back, Kim would be in danger. He wouldn’t kill her straight off, but he might decide to have fun with her, which could be worse. Then he would turn to her friends, seeing them as… what? Rogues looking for vengeance, most likely.

Lenny shook his head. “Not yet. But eventually.”

“How long?”

“No idea. C-could b-be years. He’s not exactly short on t-time.”

“Or it could be days.”

He doubted that, but it was possible. He nodded.

She blew out a breath and gritted her teeth so hard, he could hear them creak.

“Still can’t make a plan,” Coyote said from the chair he had taken. He tapped his cane against the side of his leg. “Not until we know what he knows. If he thinks I can track him, he might come back to make sure I can’t. If not, he might stay away a while, then probably go after Amarillo first. They’re the ones actively pursuing him. And the chindi bastard says you’re not a threat. Well then, neither am I. We can sure as hell look like we gave up.”

“Might at least give us a chance to regroup. I’m not feeling so hot. Tea will help, but it’ll still take a while before I can really hex the snot out of an attacker again.”

“And there’s the question of this contagious magic. And your mother…”

They talked. Lenny tried to listen – the least he could do was correct them if they went horribly wrong somewhere – but it quickly became obvious that he had already been as useful as he was going to be. They talked strategy, made plans, talked about people he didn’t know and places he hadn’t seen. He sat against the wall and faded quietly into the background.

He woke up horizontal with his neck and shoulders stiff. Someone had thrown the electric blanket over him, and it had been there long enough that he was warm almost all the way through. That was probably the only reason he didn’t panic, since a large part of him was insisting he was somewhere else, that it was all a dream, an illusion, a game. He would not have put it past Sebastian to do something like that, give him hope just to see him cry when he snatched it away. Or worse, construct this sad hallucination just to make Lenny prove his loyalty. He had already failed that particular test a hundred times over.

But Sebastian would never think to make sure he was warm.

He pushed himself up to sitting. His head felt like it was full of water, and he had to wait for it to stop sloshing before he was able to stand. There was no one else in the living room and only one heartbeat nearby. Only one. That seemed wrong, but it took him a moment to remember why. Something had happened.

He didn’t go running to see what was wrong. He might have wanted to, maybe, but he couldn’t. If something was wrong, it could only be Sebastian, and if he stayed still and quiet and pretended to be somewhere else, it might not hurt too badly when Sebastian came for him.

Kim came out of the bathroom with her hair wet and a square of fresh gauze taped to the side of her throat. She didn’t look like she thought anything was particularly wrong. At least, not immediately. She saw Lenny and stopped dead, took a step back, and frowned.

“Um,” she said. “Everything okay?”

He struggled for a reasonable answer. She watched for a moment before moving into the kitchen.

“You drink coffee?” she asked.

“I g-guess.” He wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything. He followed her into the kitchen. The sun came in brightly through the window, still the pinkish gold of early morning. “Where…?”

“The guys? They went to go pick up Coyote’s materials. They should be back in a bit.”

“But…”

“It’s okay. Coyote needs his stuff to tell where somebody is, but it’s a lot easier to tell where somebody’s not. For instance, anywhere within a given radius. You were right about Duran taking off. No telling when he’ll be back, but we’ve got a little breathing space for the time being.”

“How m-much?”

“At least a hundred miles. If he’s smart, he probably headed someplace big like Houston or Dallas.”

She filled the coffee maker’s carafe from the sink and poured it into the reservoir, then started scooping grounds into a paper filter. It felt very familiar, watching her.

“Anyhow,” she continued. “We couldn’t get a hold of Tony or Edith last night, but their people in Amarillo said they’d give us a call as soon as they find anything out. The tentative plan is for Coyote to go with them to nail Duran. I’m not in fighting shape, so I’m taking care of you, and Zeb’s hanging out to make sure nothing goes wrong. Again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I know. That’s the weird thing. Does the word ‘uszkodzony’ mean anything to you?”

It was familiar, Slavic, but he couldn’t be sure what it meant. “No. I don’t know. I d-don’t think so.”

“How about broken?”

Oh. She wanted to know what was different about him, what was wrong with him. The same thing Sebastian had wanted to know, that little fact that had turned Lenny from a point of interest to a target. He shook his head. It was a lie, and Sebastian would have seen through it, but Kim didn’t. She sighed, pursing her lips, and turned to pour coffee. She loaded hers up with cream, and Lenny loaded his up with sugar.

“I guess I’m asking why you didn’t kill me. You definitely could have. I get that you probably didn’t want to. You don’t seem like the kind that gets off on that. But my understanding is that what you want doesn’t really enter into it when you’re like that. So what gives? Has that ever happened to you before?”

“No.”

She heard something in his voice and turned around to study him. He let his mug warm his hands and refused to look at her.

“What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer. She took a guess anyway.

“You’ve never lost it before, have you? I mean, other than…”

“C-couple times. Had a friend there to help, though. No one g-got hurt.”

She watched him, waiting for him to go on, but he didn’t want to. After a moment, she heaved herself up onto the counter with a grunt.

“Okay,” she conceded. “Okay, so don’t tell me. It’s not like I’m doing my best to save you, or anything.”

She grinned to let him know she wasn’t actually mad.

“Anyway, you’re going to have to stick around until they have a chance to talk to you some, but after that, I figure you’ll probably want to go back to, y’know, whatever you were doing before. You guys, like, keep secret accounts and extra identities and all that fun stuff, right? Starting over somewhere shouldn’t be too much trouble.”

She kicked her legs, swilled down the rest of her coffee, and poured herself another cup.

“Actually,” he said, “I’d rather just go home. If it’s all the same to you.”

Her grin faded. She pushed her hair out of her face and bit her lip.

“That’d attract an awful lot of attention,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “I mean, you don’t want cops getting involved and finding out things they shouldn’t. And someone is bound to remember you. You disappear and then come back, someone’s going to ask questions.”

That was true. But Lenny already knew he couldn’t go back to teaching – he could feel eyes on him and hear laughter when he thought about it, and he could guess that any attempt would end in a breakdown. He felt liquefied inside. He didn’t have the strength left to hold his own in a classroom, to meet deadlines, to exist in a world that needed him to accomplish something. It didn’t seem likely that he could do much of anything. Trying to carve out a new place among strangers wouldn’t be possible. He needed someone he could trust, someone who already knew him and would be willing to hide him.

“Mara’ll help.”

“That friend of yours?”

“Different friend. She d-doesn’t know, but I was g-gonna tell her anyway.”

“And she’ll be okay with a vampire?”

“Dunno about okay. She wouldn’t be scared, though.”

“Okay.” She sounded skeptical. “We’ll see about digging up a phone number for her. Probably shouldn’t try having any involved conversations over the phone, though. We’ll just tell her you’re not dead and, I don’t know, that you need a couch to crash on, or something.”

She slid off the counter, sloshing a little bit of her coffee onto the floor, and moved past him into the living room. He followed. She bent and shoved some books around and came up with a headband.

“Okay,” she said again. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and snapped the headband into place. “Are you from Austin?”

“Abilene.”

“Not too far. I think I can drive you when it gets down to it.”

She reminded him of Mara, sort of. Shorter, darker, maybe a little younger, but she shared that matter-of-factness and that sense that there wasn’t much anyone could do to really upset her. Unshakeable. She was also in the know and didn’t seem to care that he was dead. He thought he could probably like her a lot, if he could only manage to trust her.

Three sharp raps sounded at the door, and Kim went perfectly still. A small pistol appeared in her hand, seemingly from nowhere, and Lenny heard her stop breathing for a moment. She held up a hand to keep him where he was, even though he doubted he could have moved even if he had wanted to, and sidestepped over a pile of books to press her eye to the peep hole. He saw her shoulders relax, and she opened the door, but the person outside didn’t come in. It wasn’t hard to guess why.

“Hey,” Kim said. “Itzli, right? You guys got our message?”

She leaned on the door, showing Lenny a small man with a hard, sharp face. His chest was bare under his windbreaker.

“Swung by the…” He paused and tilted his head to one side, shooting a glance past Kim at the other man.

“By the regional office,” he finished. “They had your message. The others went on to Amarillo. I’m to help you if you need it.”

“Don’t need anything. Just wanted to let you know Duran was here last night, briefly. Coyote can confirm he’s no longer within a hundred miles of Austin, but he did come back here.”

“And that was when you had your incident?” His eyes moved from Lenny to Kim, then back to Lenny.

He was off, bordering on crazy. Lenny could hear it in his voice and see it in his eyes. Something vital had been ripped out of him, and it made him volatile. If Lenny’s guess was right, though, it also made him a nightmare for Sebastian.

“Just a little incident. It’s all taken care of. I’m sorry about your friend, by the way. Or more than a friend?”

“Hetty was mine.”

The guess was right. Itzli wouldn’t stop until Sebastian was dead. Lenny thought about Kate, and he could understand that. Nothing Sebastian had done to him had hurt as badly as losing half of himself. Itzli was going to be deadly.

“I’m sorry,” Lenny told him.

He nodded. “You know,” he said.

Kim looked at Lenny, frowning, then turned back to Itzli.

“We’ll get him,” she said. “If you stay in town a while, Coyote’s going to be tracking Duran as soon as he’s got his stuff together. We can point you in the right direction. Zeb said something about taking him out long-range. I don’t know if he meant sniping him or what, but it sounds like the best idea, to me.”

“I’ll be in town,” he said.

He gave her a local number and said he would check back later. Then he left. Kim closed and locked the door as Lenny took an end of the couch, and she came to join him.

“I know you don’t want him hurt,” she said, “but you know he won’t stop hurting other people unless someone makes him stop.”

He just wanted to go home. He couldn’t protect himself, or Sebastian, or Kim, and he wanted to go home, so he told her so.

“Okay,” she said. “Would your friend be home on a Saturday morning?”

He nodded and gave her the number, and she began to dial, but he stopped her. He picked up a manuscript, a huge bundle of papers titled Dietary Requirements of the Palo Duro Jackalope.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, holding the receiver away from her ear.

He pointed to the cover page.

“Is… is that the d-date?” he asked. “February sixteenth…”

The year made his throat close.

“No,” she said. “Seriously, that’s like, two years a-…”

He could feel her tense beside him when the realization hit her. “Oh. Oh, God. When…?”

“Eighty-seven,” he whispered. The stack of papers slipped out of his hand as ten years slipped out of his life. He didn’t even try to catch them.

Chapter 11

AS SOON AS he thought to look for them, the signs were obvious, and they were everywhere. The phone, the television… Everything down to the décor and the style of Kim’s hair. The world had gone smoother, smaller, more austere. The angles had been replaced by curves. The colors were muted. The frills were gone, and the exaggerated flowers.

It was a new decade, fast approaching a new millennium. Suddenly, when he tried to picture Mara, he couldn’t. She would be ten years older, ten years smarter. She would like things he had never heard of. She would be ten years used to thinking of him as dead, if she even thought of him at all, any more. Physically, she would be older than him, now. She might be married. She might have moved out of Abilene, like she sometimes said she wanted to. She might have died young of cancer, like her grandfather and both of her aunts had. She might be gone.

The shock hit him, piled on top of everything else, and for a moment, he thought it would be the tipping point. But Kim put an arm around him and held him still.

“One thing at a time,” she said. “Stuff’s changed, but maybe not everything. Don’t flip out until we find out how much, okay?”

“T-ten years…”

“Yeah, ten years. Drop in the bucket for someone who’s immortal. You’ll be fine, honey. It’ll be weird, and then you’ll get used to it, and then you’ll be fine.”

She leaned over and gave him a quick squeeze. The warmth was welcome, because he felt almost frozen.

“Breathe, baby,” she said.

Then she called Mara. He held his breath until he heard the tone that greeted her on the other end. Disconnected number.

“Okay. One thing at a time. Next: dig up an Abilene phone book. Lucky for you, I have obsessive book junkie friends who collect useless stuff like that. What name do I look under?”

“Demarco. Mara D-demarco.”

Unless she was married. Unless she had moved. Unless she was dead.

“Deep breaths, Lenny. Take it easy. We’ll find her.”

She tried someone called Ainslie, and they talked for almost an hour. Lenny thought he remembered Ainslie, and the snippets of voice he heard from the other end sounded familiar, but he couldn’t put a face to it. Books came to mind, though. Lots of books.

The cowboy and the shaman came back before Kim had hung up. Coyote had an ugly yellow duffel bag, and Zeb was dragging a wheeled cooler. Neither of them looked at the vampire. Considering the amount of trouble he had caused, that seemed natural.

Instead of bothering with Lenny, Coyote started to unpack: chalk, a bag of rice, a brass censer and cardboard box of what Lenny assumed was incense, a pair of extremely old Ray Bans with sandblasted lenses, several sloppily-folded state maps, a roll of tape, a bag of marbles, and a brown glass bottle of something that was actually labeled ‘Snake Oil.’ It seemed like a bit much to Lenny, but magic had never been one of his strong points.

“Get lost,” Coyote growled over his shoulder.

Lenny was curious about the shaman’s procedure, but the air was already getting itchy with power, and the look Coyote gave him said that he would be totally willing to add a sacrifice to his routine if curious vampires stuck around, so Lenny followed the cowboy into Kim’s bedroom.

Zeb kicked his boots off and sprawled across the mussed bed, watching the other man while the other man carefully watched the carpet. An awkward silence began to build.

“I ‘member,” Lenny muttered. “You’re g-gonna kill me?”

Zeb snorted. “Kim told me not to. ‘Sides, if she’s wantin’ revenge, she can do that herself any ol’ time. So I’ll clarify: You hurt her so bad she can’t hurt you back, then I’ll kill you. Sit down or sum’m. You’re makin’ me nervous.”

Lenny sat down right where he stood, folding himself up against the wall.

The bed creaked as Zeb rolled over and propped himself up on one elbow.

“She thinks you ain’t so bad, on account’a she can sort of feel you. Now, I figure she might say that if you were makin’ her say it, but Coyote, he’s of the same opinion. Not in so many words – he’s all for leavin’ you on the side’a the highway somewhere, but he ain’t said nothin’ ‘bout settin’ you on fire for a few hours, at least.

“Now me, I don’t have any windows into your head. All I got is what I know, and what I know is that bloodsuckers are bad news. I been around a while, never seen nothin’ to tell me otherwise. So me thinkin’ of you as a bloodsucker don’t work. There’s somethin’ else goin’ on there, and I wanna know what it is, or my whole paradigm is shot to hell.”

Lenny gritted his teeth and thought about Mara and how, a long time ago, he had planned to tell her. The longer he thought about it, the more foolish the idea seemed. He didn’t answer.

“No? You know how bad that looks? I’m sittin’ here lookin’ at the top of the food chain, the Devil’s own chauffeur, and you got sum’m you think I’ll think is worse? You wanna at least tell me why you don’t wanna tell?”

Lenny’s forehead wrinkled as he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, turning away from the cowboy.

“He asked, too,” he whispered.

“Oh.” Zeb sat up and propped his elbows on his knees. “Look, it ever occur to you that, us bein’ on the other side of this, sum’m that ticks off Duran might actually get you points with this crowd?”

The vampire curled up and wrapped his arms around his knees, hiding his face away.

“I can’t help you,” he mumbled. “I d-don’t have anything you could use. Can’t fight. Can’t t-track. Got no magic. Okay? Please.”

He kept his head down and held as still as he could, halfway wishing he could will himself invisible. The cowboy left him alone.

It was true that he had no magic, nothing but the few sparks that kept him moving, but he could feel it, and whatever was going on in the other room, it itched annoyingly just beneath his skin and behind his eyes. He tried to listen, but there was nothing to hear except shuffling movement and the occasional exasperated snort. The smell of burning rubber crept under the door and began to soak into the carpet.

He waited. The cowboy stayed silent, though his pulse pounded slowly and his breath whistled. Kim’s wristwatch ticked on top of the chest of drawers. In the other room, there was a tiny splash.

“Got the bastard,” Coyote crowed. The air surged and crackled as though electrically charged.

Lenny’s reality blurred. In his mind’s eye, he could see Sebastian, dead; Sebastian, crumbling to ash; Sebastian, human and helpless, centuries ago, blissfully ignorant of what he would become, of how he would end. Sebastian, horrible green wallpaper, the musty carpet and the tape-

The wizard gripped his shoulders and shook him, but she didn’t seem quite real. The shaman stood behind her, wearing his sandblasted sunglasses. There was someone else as well, someone who touched his ghost sense, but not a ghost. Dead. Undead. He reached out to brush them all away like troublesome gnats.

-projected across his vision like looking through a film strip. It was just as real as anything else. More so, even. And he knew, was completely sure, that he had never escaped, had never gotten out, was still in the cellar, and everything he saw was illusion, nothing but a cold trick. It hurt, but not as much as the idea that he-

A broad, sturdy woman with an eye patch peered into his face and frowned. She asked him questions, and he answered distantly, mechanically, not sure what she had asked or whether his replies were composed of real words.

-had failed as a medium, had turned his back on a creature as impossibly damaged as Sebastian, one who so plainly needed help. He listened in the dark for another dream, another sign forced into his mind through his blood, one last signal-

Impressions drifted past: the cowboy’s hat, a severe profile, black eyes, the sharp smell of matches, bright light. They strung themselves out and strung themselves together: bright smell of hat profile, severe black, beams of light from matchstick eyes. He shivered and curled in on himself.

-that he wasn’t alone inside his head. He could almost feel the dry bones beneath his hands – almost wanted to feel them. If he stretched out far enough, he could do that. If he reached, if he stretched, he could be where he was, back in the familiar, because pain hurt less than the unknown. If he reached far enough, he could almost touch the stolen pieces of himself and the man who held them, could almost, could almost…

He felt the darkness before he saw it. It was snug and pleasant, deep enough to hide him, too thin to be oppressive. A warm, dry hand rested on his forehead. The thumb moved slowly, brushing at his hairline. But that wasn’t what had grounded him. There was something else on the edge of his perception, getting stronger, filling the cracks that had spread across his world.

His chest hitched as he tried to get a decent breath in. The hand’s movement stopped.

“Lenny? Honey?” The wizard. “You okay?”

He tried to open his eyes and realized they already were open. It really was dark, but not completely; the girl had been reading, using a flashlight strapped to a baseball cap. The glare obscured her face, forcing him to look away, but her tone was sad and worried. He registered her existence, but it didn’t seem urgent; there was something else that needed his attention.

The electric blanket slid off him as he rolled onto his side and pushed himself up. His stomach lurched, and a dull, insistent heat scratched at the back of his throat. That seemed slightly more important but still, it could wait.

No, the thing that demanded his concentration was nearby, but not in the room. He slid off the bed. His knees buckled, and his balance betrayed him, but he steadied himself before he could fall.

It was close, in the next room, perhaps.

The wizard scrambled to put herself between him and the door. Her flashlight dropped to the floor and lit up a blazing trail across the carpet. “Lenny,” she urged. “No. Sweetie, tell me where you think you need to be going right now.”

He tried to push past her, but she shoved him back. He weighed so little, but at the same time, he had gotten stronger. He caught her wrist and held her.

“It’s very important,” he told her, voice soft and thready. “I have to g-go help.”

Kim gritted her teeth and peeled his fingers back from around her wrist. The pressure of his grip didn’t hurt, but the cold did. His skin burned her.

“There’s nothing you can do,” she told him, keeping her voice as level as she could. “Everybody already left, and I don’t even know exactly where they’re going. Duran is long gone. There’s nothing you can do to help him, and I don’t really believe that all of you wants to, anyway. Coyote and Zeb are long gone. There’s nothing you can do to help them, either. It’s just you and me and my friend Ainslie, and you just had some kind of fit or flashback or something, and I am not letting you out of my sight, and I’m not letting you go anywhere you could get yourself hurt.”

His eyes, catlike, threw back a dim reflected glow from the flashlight. The words didn’t register with him.

“You’ve been flipping the hell out for hours,” she tried. “We had to call Itzli for help, and it took him and Bernice both to keep you from going out the window…”

“Have to help. I have to t-try.”

“No, baby. Duran doesn’t deserve your help, and the good guys don’t need it. No offense, but you’d just get in the way.”

As frustratingly trivial as the exchange seemed, Lenny got the impression that they were having two different conversations. He shook his head and reached out somewhere beyond the physical, touching on the Veil and the things that lived inside it. If he couldn’t go to it – to her – he could at least call her to him.

“Not them,” he said.  “I couldn’t help them anyway.”

“Then who?”

But a dim phosphorescence had already made the answer obvious. The ghost drifted through the wall, her arms crossed, colorless ponytail floating on nonexistent wind, and she regarded the vampire with mixed awe and anxiety.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” she asked. Her voice echoed faintly, and the room grew cold.

“Because you’re stuck here. T-trapped. You don’t want to be here, but you c-can’t leave.”

His shoulders lifted, he straightened, and for an instant, he spoke with authority.

“I don’t know yet how to help myself,” he said slowly, “but I know how to help you.”

The light in his eyes went out. Kim’s breath billowed in clouds of ice around her head. He held out a hand, and Vickie took it.

The flashlight flickered and died.

Only Vickie’s soft, white glow kept the bedroom from being black as pitch. Kim blinked rapidly, trying to convince her eyes to adjust to the dark, and strongly regretted taking Itzli’s advice; the garbage bags taped over the windows and the towel shoved under the door had done their job and blocked out natural light, which seemed to be the only reason Lenny had gone from sobbing and flailing to shaking and muttering, but they also made it very hard to maneuver.

She took a cautious step back, feeling for the doorknob. Raw power raised the fine hairs on her arms and the back of her neck, something very different from the magic she knew. There was a sense of pressure to it, like a shoulder applied to a locked door. Something was straining to open.

Her fingers brushed the knob, and she yelped as the frozen metal bit at her skin. She could hear a voice from the living room, Ainslie, but she sounded distant and distorted. The knob rattled as she tried to get in. Black profanity trickled in around the door, warbling as though it was coming through water.

Kim kicked the towel out from under the door and a finger of light filtered in, dull and weak. It disappeared into the carpet and revealed nothing.

Vickie was visible, outlined by a pale blue ghost light. Lenny’s white skin reflected the glow. If she squinted off to one side, Kim could almost make out his features, but they were distorted, almost rippling, as though she was seeing him through old glass.

“Lenny,” she tried. “Baby, what are you doing?” It was him, had to be him. Freaky extras. She remembered how he had watched the ghost, how he touched her without going through. She might have thought him a sensitive, then, but this, the darkness and the cold, this was something much more. He was tearing open the wall between worlds.

But Vickie pulled her hand back and jerked away. Her glow receded, and Lenny disappeared into the blackness.

“I’m not going,” the ghost snapped. “I’m still here because I wanted to stay, and you are so not kicking me out of my own place!”

The door opened with a bang, and light tried to spill in, but it shimmered and wobbled as though traveling through dark water. Ainslie dropped the towel she had used to handle the knob.

“What in the hell?!”

There was a tiny pop that Kim felt in her bones more than heard. Vickie vanished. The darkness deepened, then dissipated.

Lenny stood by the end of the bed, apparently confused by the interruption. He turned in a slow circle, hands outstretched like a blind man. “Come back,” he whispered. “Come back. I understand. I do.” His eyes caught the light and reflected it back for a moment; the whites were darkening, pink to red.

Kim grabbed his arm and jerked away from the cold. She snatched up Ainslie’s towel and tried again. He tried to pull back, whimpering, but she squeezed with all of her strength.

“No,” she told him. “I let you get away with your trauma excuse, but this time, you are going to explain.”

“She left. She… She l-left.”

“Vickie? Damn straight she left. I tried to leave, too. What the hell were you doing to her?”

“T-trying to help. She’s stuck.”

Kim tugged him toward the door, further into the light. He flinched and shut his eyes. She could feel the storm inside him – confusion, frustration, and that ever-present fear. She tried to block it out. She also noticed that Ainslie was toting a kitchen knife, and she gestured silently for it to disappear. Ainslie hid it behind her back.

“She’s not stuck.” Kim hauled him into the living room and shoved him onto the couch. He curled up immediately and covered his face. She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans and folded her arms tightly to keep herself from lashing out.

“Start talking, Leonard Hugo. Tell me what just happened. Tell me exactly what just happened and why I shouldn’t let Tony and Edith know all about it.”

Nothing.

“Lenny. Leonard. You did something. Do you understand? You did something I don’t know how to explain. You scared me, okay? You scared a ghost, and that’s hard to do.”

He muttered something into his hands, too quiet for Kim to make out. She wanted to comfort him, but her palms were red where his freezing skin had burned her. From where she stood, she could still feel it, the cold spreading from where he sat, sucking the heat out of the air like a block of dry ice.

“Bernice will be showing up soon,” Ainslie said. “So if there are secrets to be told, we’d better get that out of the way quick.”

The vampire lowered his hands by a fraction and looked up at the older woman. Ainslie looked back with raised eyebrows, arms crossed, extremely unimpressed. Lenny looked away first.

“It’s what I do,” he whispered.

Kim had to lean in closer to hear. “What is?”

“What I have to do. Help them c-cross.”

“Vickie said she wants to stay.”

His shoulders quaked. Kim moved forward as though to put a hand on his back, but she stopped. Then she realized he was laughing. His skin was deathly cold, and he was tearing open the Veil between worlds, and he was laughing. The hair on Kim’s arms stood on end.

It was over again as soon as it had begun, and he gulped for breath.

“No one wants to stay.” There was a bitter edge to his voice. “Stick around long enough to d-d-do something, maybe, but nuh-not just stay here. It’s cold in there, in between. She doesn’t want to stay. She’s just sc-cared to g-g-go.”

“How would you know that?”

“She told me. I wasn’t going to hurt her. Or you. C-can’t.”

“Told you when? She doesn’t even like going near you.”

“No.” He put one finger on his forehead. “Not out loud. I d-don’t know. The way I always hear them. It’s all the t-time.”

“Okay, then, what’s she scared of? If you’re trying to tell me Vickie has some deep, dark secret…”

“That’s not your b-business.”

A disbelieving snort escaped before Kim could stop it. It was almost as though he was being difficult on purpose. “Okay. Okay, maybe not. Then tell me how a dead man punches holes in reality.”

“I…” He faltered. His forehead wrinkled in a deep frown. “I d-didn’t mean to. It just happened. C-couldn’t… Couldn’t control it. I’m sorry.”

“Still doesn’t explain how.” Kim huffed a sigh and dropped into the chair across from him. Something was beginning to come together in her mind, something that defied a few of her preconceptions. The facts did not fit her theory, so the theory had to change. She pushed her hair out of her eyes.

“I’m getting the feeling you’re not going to just give me a straight answer,” she said, “so I’m going to take a wild guess and trust you to tell me if I’m right.”

He looked at her warily. A vein burst in his eye.

“It sounds like you’re saying you’re a medium.”

He only stared. His gaze twitched across the room to Ainslie, then back to Kim. The silence began to grow. The elevator pinged down the hall.

“Bernice,” Ainslie observed.

He looked Kim in the eye and nodded almost imperceptibly.

No one moved. Heavy footsteps travelled down the hall and continued on past. Kim sucked in a short breath and crept to the door, nearly silent in her stocking feet. She drew the bolt, twisted the knob, and peered outside.

“Not yet,” she puffed, releasing the breath she had been holding. The door clicked shut behind her. The lock snicked. She moved back and Ainslie slipped in to take her place, eye to the peephole.

“Okay,” Kim started, hushed. She stopped again, shoved her hands through her hair, and thought. “Okay. You’re a medium. Vampire medium. Which apparently isn’t impossible.”

He nodded.

“And you’ve got… abilities.”

He nodded again.

Ainslie cut in. “Just to clarify,” she shot over her shoulder, “these abilities are just the standard complement for a medium, yes? That is, they don’t affect, ah, living persons?”

He shook his head.

“No, they don’t affect the living, or no, that’s not correct?”

“The… the first one.”

“But you have some… some influence over the dead.”

“Yes.”

“Undead, too?”

He gritted his teeth, shoulders tightening, and tried to merge with the couch upholstery. “It’s not like that,” he insisted. “It’s not like that at all.” A tear rolled down his nose and dripped onto his knee.

Ainslie glanced at Kim, set her knife on top of the television, and jammed her thumbs into her belt.

“But it’s enough like that so that you’d have a damn hard time convincing Tony and Edith that it’s not like that. Which, I’m betting, is why you didn’t bring it up before, despite it being noteworthy, and why you’re scared crapless of Bernice.”

Lenny nodded miserably.

“We won’t rat on you,” Kim told him. “Don’t worry about that. If you really can’t do us any harm with it, this doesn’t change anything. We’re still on the same side.”

Ainslie sank into a chair and crossed her ankle over her knee. The chair creaked. Something in one of her many pockets buzzed, but she ignored it. “Still don’t see why you trust him,” she said to Kim, talking over Lenny.

“Innocent until proven guilty? Besides, I haven’t read everything in your index, but I do remember something about media not being able to take life, not even if they wanted to.”

“That’s only the outrageously strong ones.” Ainslie sniffed. Her mouth twisted. “I don’t see much outrageously strong about this guy. Sorry,” she added, in Lenny’s general direction. “Also, that’s for media. There’s no way to say what the Rules would be for one that’s a vampire. They’re sort of polar opposites, in some ways. Even if that’s God’s own truth, and he is both, things don’t always mix well. Bleach and ammonia come to mind.”

“Yeah, I don’t know, not for sure. And if I keep trusting him after he tries to kill me or something, then it’ll be stupid, but for right now, I’d rather not be a paranoid freak. I sort of like being able to go outside without assuming everyone is out to get me, just because they haven’t proven that they aren’t.”

Kim shut up abruptly, teeth clicking together as someone tapped at the door. She slid closer and put her eye to the peephole, then opened it.

Bernice stood just outside, pulling Coyote’s wheeled cooler. She had resumed her eye patch, the classic black pirate accessory, which contrasted strangely with her neatly-pressed khakis and white button-down.

“You revoked my invitation while I was out,” she commented blandly.

“Sorry,” Kim said. “Just a precaution.”

“No, it’s okay. Probably smart. But are you going to let me back in, or not?”

Kim shifted and glanced up and down the hall. It was empty.

“Actually, I’m invoking a conditional invitation.”

“What’s the condition?” For a moment, Bernice looked distinctly irked. Her broad lips thinned.

“That you have had no contact of any kind with Sebastian Duran since the last time I saw you. If you fulfill the condition, you can come in.”

Bernice frowned, then grinned. “Yeah, okay,” she admitted with grudging respect, “you’re pretty sharp.” She stepped over the threshold. “Does that mean you think he’s back in the area?”

“Better safe than S.O.L.”

Bernice chuckled. “Truer words,” she agreed. She leaned around Kim to nod at Lenny. “Glad to see you’re moving again.” She popped the cooler and dug down into it with the sound of grating ice, tossed a bag of plasma at the man on the couch, and dropped a ring of shiny new keys into Kim’s hand. “Need anything else before I go catch up with Itzli?”

“I think we’ve got everything pretty well covered,” Kim replied. “Anything we need would probably be best served by you guys bringing Duran down. I mean, I get the impression he doesn’t exactly like me.” She bared her teeth in a broad grin.

Bernice grabbed a plastic baggie of plasma for herself. “You sure? Absolutely sure? Once I head out, you might not be able to contact me.”

“We can get a hold of Coyote or Zeb just fine, and there shouldn’t be a problem with Duran not in the picture. Just, you know, make sure someone lets us know if you lose him.”

Bernice fixed Lenny with her good eye. “What about you? Do you need anything?”

Kim glanced back to see him sucking morosely at the plastic bag, sclera beginning to clear again. He studied the carpet intently and shook his head, not looking up. She remembered something about a plan to interrogate him, but supposed Bernice must have gotten whatever it was she wanted when she was there with Itzli earlier. And if she had not, Kim was not about to remind her. There were things that should not come to light.

Bernice shrugged, hovered for a moment, and then left. Or rather, she was there one moment and had vanished the next.

Kim shut the door hurriedly and locked it, muttering under her breath, something about withdrawn invitations, and the threshold sealed itself. She pressed her ear to the wood, then pressed her eye to the peephole and sighed. Her hair flopped down into her face, and she shoved it back again.

“Okay,” she said sharply. “Okay. You.” Her quivering finger invaded Lenny’s personal space, and he recoiled as she plopped down beside him. “I need to know everything you can tell me. Everything. What kind of stuff is it that you do, exactly, and how badly do you think Tony and Edith would take it if they knew? They don’t know, right? You were living in Abilene, and that’s well inside their domain, so if they don’t know, it’s because you were hiding.”

He turned away, trying to be discreet about wiping a few drops of red from his mouth.

Kim shifted impatiently and kept herself from snapping.

“Not hiding,” he whispered. “Just not b-being conspicuous. They knew I was there, just not… just not… not… the other things.”

“I need more than that, honey. You want to go home, and I want to get you as far away from these creeps as I can, but I have to know that you aren’t going to lose it and start eating people. What were you living on before? I mean, Abilene isn’t big enough for an anemia plague to go unnoticed.”

He was silent for another moment, and Kim nearly screamed. She reminded herself that pushing would likely only make him worse.

“C-cows, mostly. There are a lot of cattle ranches. Hard to k-k-kill a cow. They’re too big.”

Kim let out a breath that was almost a laugh and rested her elbows on her knees. She wanted to believe him, wanted to trust him. She wanted the victim of her enemy to be her friend.

“Cows,” she repeated. “Okay. And what’s the deal with you and the undead?”

She felt him shift to look at her and could sense his mistrust. She could also feel how deeply he wanted to trust her, too. If there was going to be someone in her head, she had to admit that it could have been much worse.

“It’s an attraction,” he said, then shook his head rapidly at her raised eyebrows. “Not like that.”

But she saw a face with cool brown eyes, framed by honey-golden hair and an aura of someone else’s adoration, and she strongly suspected that it could be like that, if only sometimes. She kept her mouth shut, for the moment, and tried to focus on his words instead of his thoughts.

“Someone d-described it as a knowledge,” he continued. “Like instinct. That I can be trusted. Wouldn’t hurt. Or judge, I g-guess. Am here to help.”

“If you can make them trust you, why did Duran think you needed taking down a notch?”

He shuddered hard, and Kim caught a glimpse of darkness and cement and a kind of organized chaos, the echo of a third mind crashing their little telepathy party. There was a pattern in it, something familiar, something she had felt very recently, and she had nearly sussed it out when the glimpse was gone again.

“I don’t make them,” Lenny muttered to the floor. “They just know, but Seba-… But he knows himself. He knows he d-doesn’t trust anyone, ever, so when he realized… He thought it was something I was d-doing to him, something he had to fight. He was afraid.”

He looked up, straight at Kim, and his eyes were wide and filled with panic. “They’ll kill him. Please don’t let them k-kill him. He’s just afraid, that’s all. So afraid. It’s not his fault.” He clutched at her hands, pleading, but she slid away. Sweet or not, nonviolent or not, she doubted that panic really belonged to him.

She turned to Ainslie instead. They exchanged a significant glance, and Ainslie shrugged, the contents of her multitudinous pockets rattling.

“What do you think?” Kim asked. “Danger to society?”

Ainslie snorted. Her Einstein-hair swayed.

“Danger to me?”

Ainslie’s mouth twitched. “Eh.”

Kim nodded. “Then I think we’re good, here. Could you go find that name I gave you?”

“And leave you here with the vamedium?”

“Just until you can dig up a phone number and-or an address. Because you know, without, he’ll be staying here indefinitely.”

That got Ainslie moving. “Nothing personal,” she told Lenny, but she snatched up a huge canvas satchel and marched out the door. Kim locked it behind her.

“Gonna send you home,” she told Lenny. “Or try, anyway. Circumstances permitting.”

She crossed in front of him and went to the kitchen, looking back only once to find he had not moved. The mugs clattered, and the microwave whirred, and she made intensiTEA. The man in the other room said nothing. Kim concentrated, trying to see if she could catch his thoughts, but he seemed to be keeping them to himself. She decided he probably didn’t mean to share them at all. He might not even have known he was doing it. If his feelings were in her head, it was only because Sebastian Duran had demolished all of Lenny’s mental walls.

She sugared her tea and returned.

“What about Vickie?” she asked.

He looked at her blankly.

“Why do you think you lost control of… it?”

“Don’t know. He wouldn’t let me… for so long. Maybe I c-can’t, anymore.”

“Can’t what, exactly?”

“Maybe I’m not a medium.” There was something hollow and detached in that statement. It reminded Kim of the way he had been before, when he was nothing but a thrall. She sat down beside him and hit his knee hard with hers. He startled.

“The absolute last thing I need,” she told him, as gently as she could, “is a vampire in the middle of an existential crisis. Maybe you’re just out of practice. Did you think of that? Now, what’s the matter with Vickie that you think she needs help?”

“Not for me to tell you.”

“Does it have something to do with the way she died?”

He frowned at her and opened his mouth, but she cut in.

“I moved in a couple years after, but everyone in the building knows the story. It was a brand new building at the time. She’s the only ghost so far. Well, she was the only death so far.”

He thought about that for a second, focused so hard that he almost seemed to forget that he was a wreck.

“How does the story say it happened?” he asked.

“She was living here, this apartment, by herself. Folks pretty well off, so she didn’t have to have a roommate. She kind of had a little bit of a reputation. Anyway, she had a party, invited maybe ten people over, everyone got smashed, and at about three in the morning, her boyfriend dumped the hell out of her and left. She made everyone get out, and at about three hours later, the truck came around to pick up the garbage from the dumpsters outside, and the guys found her hanging out the kitchen window with a bed sheet around her neck. The boyfriend tried to drown his sorrows, gave himself alcohol poisoning, and wound up in rehab somewhere. It kind of peters out at that point.”

“It wasn’t because of the b-boyfriend.”

“I don’t know. Alcohol does some crazy things to people… How do you know, anyway?”

“I always know.”

“How people died?”

“No. Just what I have to know to fix the problem.”

“And what’s the problem?”

The door slammed. Kim’s heart leapt into overdrive, and she sprang to her feet, yanking her pistol out of her waistband. It took her a few moments to realize that the door had never opened, and a closed door cannot slam. A moment longer, and she realized that she hadn’t heard anything at all, at least not with her ears.

Something like a shadow stood pressed against the door. It gradually solidified into a freckled white body clad in cutoff shorts and a brilliant blue tank top, its bleached blonde hair tied up in a ponytail. It kicked the door, and the thud bypassed the air to register in Kim’s brain.

“The problem is that she doesn’t know she killed herself. She thinks it was an accident. Watch.”

“What are you doing?”

“Showing you.”

There was a strange resonance in his voice, calmness and surety that struck a weird discord with the way he had been a moment before. His stutter had disappeared. Kim looked down at Lenny. He hadn’t gotten up, hadn’t even moved much. His eyes did not reflect the light.

“Conscious access to memory is a unique trait of living things, but memory itself is not. It’s encoded in the minute vibrations between elementary particles. Our entire universe is built of information given shape. Part of that is its history. Its memory. Now watch.”

The memory of Vickie moved away from the door, paused in the middle of the room to mutter curses, and crossed to the kitchen. As it moved, the history seemed to move with it. Kim caught glimpses of unfamiliar furniture, the corner of a table, the arm of a chair, that appeared as the memory neared and disappeared again as it moved away. The shadow-Vickie opened a shadow-refrigerator and pulled out a shadow-beer.

“She turned twenty-one like, seriously just a couple of weeks before,” she whispered, as though afraid the memory would hear her.

Shadow-Vickie chugged the beer – downright chugged it – and opened another. She paced aimlessly for a few minutes, then flopped onto her stomach on the floor and picked up a remote control to turn on a television outside the little sphere of history. She rolled onto her side, stretching out one arm to pull something off of an invisible table. A pile of mail appeared beneath her fingertips and spilled onto the floor. She pawed through it, separated it into stacks, and went to get herself another beer. Her freckles stood out against flaming scarlet cheeks.

“This is after the party,” Kim whispered. “You’re showing me… the universe’s memory of what happened after she was alone.”

Lenny nodded.

“God, how many did she have before you… you tuned in?”

“A lot.”

Shadow-Vickie teetered into the wall and tripped over the carpet as she came stumbling back. Her eyes were glassy. “Wasunna dumpiz face ninnyway,” she mumbled. She sat on the remote by accident and jumped as the channel changed to something unbearably loud. She fumbled with it until it turned off again.

“This is when she realized.”

The memory was pawing through the mail again, just a pile of official envelopes. Kim spotted a couple of credit card bills and something from the university.

“Realized what?”

“She wasted three years following some boy around, and came out with nothing to show for it. It wasn’t because he dumped her. It was because she didn’t dump him first.”

Kim craned her neck to read the header of the paper in shadow-Vickie’s hands. She caught the words deeply regret and scholastic dismissal. Then the paper was a wad in shadow-Vickie’s fist, and it vanished as she threw it at the wall.

“She wanted to be a lawyer.”

Shadow-Vickie knocked back half of her beer. Then she upended the bottle and watched with an expression of grim fascination as the last of it fizzed into the carpet. A telephone came into being as she approached the wall, and she picked up the receiver, only to stare at it for a long minute and finally drop it to the floor. She nodded once, as though the dial tone confirmed everything. Then she zombie-shuffled into the bedroom.

“Stop,” Kim suddenly heard herself say. Her brain caught up with her mouth a split second later, and she understood that they were coming to the end. “Stop, I don’t want to see this part.”

But shadow-Vickie zombie-shuffled back out of the bedroom, dragging a flowery pink sheet behind her. “I’m makin’ my escape,” she sang tunelessly. “Gonna get out, gonna break out, gonna make my escape.”

Slowly and methodically, she cut the sheet down the middle and tied the halves together. She tried to tie one end to the handle of the oven, but it slid off, so she slid it underneath the handle and tied it back on itself over and over until the knot was big enough to catch.

“Lenny!” Kim hissed. “Leonard, quit it!”

He was watching the carpet with his oddly dull eyes, paying no obvious attention to the suicide going on in the kitchen. Kim focused on him, on his eyes and the way the shadows seemed to play across their lenses, the way he seemed to be looking through some kind of screen, a tiny veil.

The sheet pulled taut with a bass twang. The cotton fibers creaked. Kim swallowed the acid that was creeping up her throat.

“Why would you,” she started, and stopped. “Why did you even show me that? You said it was none of my business!”

“I wasn’t showing you,” he said softly. He looked over Kim’s shoulder. The shadows in his eyes lightened, and Kim knew that if she checked the kitchen, the sheet would be gone.

She turned around instead. At first, she saw nothing, but the ghost gradually became visible. It was strange, seeing her washed-out and pale so soon after seeing her in full color for the first time.

“I don’t see why I should assume any of that was real.” Vickie’s ponytail snapped and swirled in an invisible gale. “It was a stupid accident. I was drunk. Drunk people do stupid things. I was climbing down a sheet like they do in the movies. I got tangled. I didn’t kill myself.”

But her voice wavered. Lenny got up and held out a hand. Vickie nodded wordlessly and took it. There was a flash of dark, and the room went deathly cold, and the ghost was gone.

Chapter 12

THE TEMPERATURE GRADUALLY returned to normal. Lenny held very still, head slightly tilted, as though listening.

Kim listened too, but heard nothing.

“Did she go?” she asked after a moment of silence.

He nodded, but his face was tight.

“Did you make her?”

“Can’t. I just let her.”

“Well.” Kim stepped to where the ghost had been a moment before and put out a hand. The air was still chilly, and the feeling of cold went deeper than her skin. “That was… Was that easy?”

He looked at her with polite disbelief.

“Yeah, okay, not easy. But at least you know that you still can. You didn’t lose it, after all.”

He nodded and passed his hand over his eyes, sinking down slowly to sit on the carpet.

“It’s okay. I’m… I’m still me.”

“You’re still you, honey. He can do a lot of crap to people, but I don’t think even he can take that away.” She touched his head lightly and felt him sag.

“T-tired,” he muttered.

“Yeah, ditto. You should try to get some sleep. You’re not going to, ah, wig out on me again, are you?”

“I’ll t-try not to.”

She sighed. That was hardly a guarantee, and with Ainslie gone and Bernice out of contact, she didn’t dare leave him alone while she slept herself. There was no telling where he might wander off to.

“You take over the bed for a bit,” she told him. “I’m going to watch some T.V.” And drink some more tea, and a lot of coffee.

She helped him up, got him into the bed, and threw the electric blanket over the top of him. As the heat built, his face relaxed, and his breathing slowed. But when she tried to tiptoe away, he sat up, wild-eyed.

“Please,” he begged, “please, I d-don’t want to dream. C-can’t you… Isn’t there some k-kind of magic…?”

Kim bit her lip and shook her head. “I don’t know, honey. That’s not my area. And if there was, I really, really wouldn’t want to mess with your head. I’m so sorry.”

She slipped out, leaving the door ajar, and turned the television on. It was only for background noise, though; she intended to read. Ainslie’s growing index was vast, but so was the tiny fraction of it residing in Kim’s apartment. She dug through her pile of note cards and sorted out the ones that interested her: spirits, vampires, other worlds, and the things that might possibly connect them.

Spirits.

Vickie had never been a friend, exactly, but she had been a fixture, a constant. The apartment felt strange without her. Kim doubted she would miss the sarcasm or the early-morning ghostly noises, but she already knew that she would notice their absence. She had never really thought of herself living alone.

The card on the top of the pile led her to the writings of a modern mystic. She paged through the volume absently, letting her eyes scan the pages for useful tidbits while her mind was otherwise engaged.

Vampires.

Leonard Hugo had claimed not to know anything about the Broken, the Uszkodzone, but that didn’t necessarily mean that he wasn’t one. Ainslie was right about some things not mixing well. There was no telling what kind of effect vampirism could have on a medium. There was no telling what effect ten years dry could have on a vampire, either. It might be that he would never recover. She wondered what kind of man he had been before.

The mystic was a dud, so she pulled out the next book in the stack.

Other worlds.

That topic skewed theological, Kim knew, and she had to admit that her own theology was more than a little bit rusty. She had to separate what she believed from what she could observe, and that was difficult. She had observed the watery effect Lenny had brought down in her bedroom when he touched on the Veil, the barrier between this world and the strange sort of limbo where some spirits got stuck on their way to Wherever they were ultimately going. She believed that there was a heaven and a hell somewhere on the other side, but she could not offer tangible proof of that. Vickie had been stuck, but now she was gone. Leonard Hugo had done that.

A spirit, a vampire, and the Veil between worlds.

At almost ten o’clock, she either heard a noise or simply felt her guest panic, and it didn’t seem important which, so she shut her book and went to intercept him before he could make it out of the bedroom.

“You said you’d try not to flip out,” she reminded him, taking him carefully by the arm and sitting him back down on the bed.

He nodded.

“You okay?”

He nodded again.

“Bad dream?”

His frown was visible in the light from the other room. “Dunno. I didn’t know where I was. Thought I… Thought I was somewhere else.”

“Where did you think you were?”

“Home. B-but then I wasn’t.”

She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. The electric blanket had left him warm, but he was cooling fast. “Soon,” she promised. “You think you can get back to sleep?”

He nodded, but when she tried to get up to return to her reading, he held her back.

“C-could… could you stay? Just… just here? In the room?”

She hesitated, but he wanted her to stay, and she felt it, and separating his wants from hers was nearly impossible. It was in her blood, not so much a command as a plea, and fighting it off seemed cruel, under the circumstances.

“If you don’t mind having the light on,” she conceded. “I’m going to go get my book. Be right back.” She peeled his fingers back from around her wrist, clicked the lamp on, and retreated to the living room. He sat still and silent until she returned, staring tensely into the shadows of the closet. Even when she piled pillows against the headboard and settled back with her book, he stared. Nothing moved, and she left him alone, and eventually he wadded himself up under the electric blanket.

Around eleven o’clock, she got up to make more intensiTEA and realized that he was still staring out from beneath the folds of the blanket. She shut the closet.

“He’s not in there,” she told him. “He’s far away, and there’s a huge team making damn sure he doesn’t get anywhere near you or me. Right now, right here, you are safe. A hundred percent, okay? That’s my oath or whatever. Please try to get some rest. Is there anything I can do to help?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and drew the blanket up over his face.

Kim squeezed her eyes shut too, out of pure frustration. It wasn’t his fault – none of it was his fault – but she was deeply ill-equipped to deal with shattered men. She abandoned her quest for tea, slid back into the bed, and switched off the light.

“Okay, look,” she told him. “I don’t need you to be okay right now. I understand that will take time. But you have to understand that you’re safe. I’ve got you, sweetheart, and I won’t let anything get you, not ever. You don’t need to hide. You don’t need to brace yourself. Maybe you’re not okay now, but I believe you’re going to be, and I want to help get you there. Okay?”

She waited until the ticking of the clock became deafening before the reply came, soft and muffled.

“Okay.”

“Okay. I’m going to stay here beside you, all right?” She lifted up the edge of the blanket and felt out his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Now. Lights are out. It’s time to sleep.”

He said nothing. She waited. Minutes ticked past, then half an hour, and she had just decided that he had dozed off when there was movement. At first, it was just a twitch, then a shuffle. Kim lay perfectly still as he inched closer. There was no use in being nervous; she knew exactly what he wanted, and there was no harm in letting him have it. He curled up against her side, and she held him tight.

He rested his head against her chest, and both of them fell asleep to the steady drumming of her heart.

* * *

WHEN KIM ROLLED over at dawn, the electric blanket was turned off, and he was gone. Again.

Cursing felt like the appropriate response, but she swallowed the urge and leapt out of bed instead, hurriedly jamming her pistol into her waistband and smoothing her shirt over it. She stuck her feet into a pair of sandals and flapped to the front door, and she had just grabbed hold of the knob when there was a knock from the other side. Two hard, dull thuds. Kim swallowed hard to dislodge her stomach from her throat and pressed her eye to the peep hole. Ainslie. She let out a breath and opened the door.

“Were you waiting by the door or something?” Ainslie demanded. She stumped inside and dropped her huge canvas bag on the floor. “I got you a phone book. Took me all damn night. You’d be surprised how many people in Austin don’t keep Abilene phone books lying around. Imagine that. Name’s there, anyway. Only the one, though, so I’m just hazarding a guess that it’s-”

“He took off,” Kim interrupted. “I fell asleep, and then I woke up, and he was gone. Come on, I need some extra eyes.”

Ainslie leaned to one side and squinted over Kim’s shoulder. “And left a startlingly convincing facsimile in his place. Damn, that boy is devious.”

Kim blinked and turned, sheepish, to see Lenny crouched on one end of the couch, a book balanced on his knees. “Oh.”

“Didn’t g-go,” he corrected. He closed the book and set it aside. “Don’t have anywhere t-to go.” Then he looked at Ainslie. “You found Mara?”

“I found a listing for her, yeah. Not a whole lot of Demarcos in Abilene. It’s last year’s phone book, though.”

Kim shut the door and locked it and dug the phone book out of Ainslie’s bag. It was well-preserved, for a phone book, only the front cover creased. “It’s still way too early to call. We’ll wait a few hours. Do you want to try to talk to her, or should I?”

He blanched. “You,” he whispered. “She’ll b-be at school in a few hours. Have to wait for evening.”

“At school?”

“She’s a t-teacher. Was.”

Kim smiled. “Then we’ll wait until this evening. I’m not in any hurry to get rid of you, honey.”

Ainslie made a face. “You need anything else? I gotta be at work in a few hours, myself. I was thinking I’d crash in the back office for a little while.”

“Nah,” Kim said. “I seriously owe you one, though.”

Ainslie nodded emphatic agreement and departed.

“She doesn’t actually dislike you, I don’t think,” Kim told him. “She likes anyone who likes books. It’s just, you know, people get used to thinking in certain ways, and…”

He shook his head. “I know. It doesn’t bother me.” He uncurled slowly and set his feet down. “I was reading your b-book.”

“Ainslie’s book. She’s building a sort of super-encyclopedia of magic. I’m helping. That’s my thing, finding information. I can dig up references in a few hours that it would take someone else months of reading to find. Not very useful, as far as magical talents go, but perfect for a research assistant.”

He nodded patiently, but Kim could see that he had not been finished yet, and she paused to let him continue.

“About c-contagious magic,” he said softly. “Didn’t find anything to g-get rid of it, but it said you can make a… make a st-standoff.” He swallowed hard and pulled his knees up again, not meeting Kim’s eyes.

She understood that he was trying to tell her something he found extremely important, but could not understand what, and he did not go on.

“Okay?”

“You can… You c-can take something b-b-back from the p-person who took something from you.”

It took her another moment to work that out. “Okay. Once he’s dead, that shouldn’t be a problem, but I can tell Zeb to try to grab something off him first…”

“No. No, not… not him and me. I mean you. You t-take something. I d-don’t want to be like him, not even a little. I don’t know how this works. I don’t want to d-do something to you by accident, or him g-going through me to get to you. You need to g-get out of this.”

Kim sat slowly on the other end of the couch. “Take something like what?” she managed.

“He said… He t-told me once what works best is b-blood.”

“I wouldn’t want to have something like that sitting around. Just one little screw-up, a burglary or something, and suddenly some random person has your blood? That’s a bad idea.”

“Not sitting around. I mean you’d… you… you know.”

Kim blinked. That was what she had been afraid of. She fought to keep her nose from wrinkling. “Ew. No. Besides, you already have mine, and I’m not interested in being a vampire, thanks.”

“It’s been too long. Has to b-be during the same day. You wouldn’t change.”

“Doesn’t make it any less gross, sorry. We’ll think of something else. I’ve got books. Miz Ainslie’s got books. If worse comes to worst, I can start asking around with other people I know. There will be something out there, somewhere. Something that doesn’t involve hematophagy.”

She got up to brew coffee. He picked up the book and got back to reading.

Milk, sugar, and two mugs went on the counter. The coffee maker growled and sputtered. Kim cursed at it, which naturally had no effect. While she contemplated acquiring a new one, her stomach growled even louder than the machine, so she extracted a plastic baggie of congealed pizza from the refrigerator.

When she turned around to stick it in the microwave, Lenny was there, well inside her personal space. She dropped the bag, which hit the floor with a tired splut.

“Humans exchange b-bodily fluids. That’s not gross, is it?”

She stared. It took the words several seconds to click with her, but when they did, she felt her ears heat up. She pinched the bridge of her nose hard between thumb and forefinger and squeezed her eyes tight shut.

“Oh, God. Oh… Oh, my God. Are… Are you propositioning me?”

He twisted the hem of his shirt and mumbled something incomprehensible. To Kim, it did not sound like English. It did not sound like a denial, either.

“Holy crap, sweetie. Where the hell did this come from? Am I missing something, here? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like you plenty, but… No. Okay? No Florence Nightingale effect going on here. This doesn’t need to get any messier than it already is.”

She bent to pick up the bag of pizza and skirted around him to pop it in the microwave. But the conversation wasn’t over.

“I’m not… I… I am, but not b-because…”

“No, please don’t try to explain. Just leave it alone, okay?”

“I… I stole from you…”

“And apparently, that means something completely different to me than it does to you. Listen, I know what you think you did to me, but I’m not a vampire. Blood doesn’t equal sex, for me. Believe me, if I felt violated, you would have known about it immediately. Your standoff idea doesn’t fix anything, just puts both of us in the same bad place. I don’t want to be able to pull your strings any more than you want to be able to pull mine.”

The microwave beeped, and Kim pulled out the steam-inflated bag and dropped it onto the counter. Try though she might, she couldn’t quite tune out the guilt radiating from somewhere behind her, or the ever-present fear. Beneath those was a tiny twinge of hurt. She supposed that was justified; she had just called an intimate offer disgusting, which was probably a blow to whatever ego he had left. She tore open the bag and slid the pizza out onto a plate.

“I thought…”

“Don’t.”

“… if he t-tries to make me hurt you, you c-could… you could muh-make me stop.”

“Oh.”

She paused and mulled that over, chewing a mouthful of pizza. She refused to let him guilt her into anything and couldn’t quite believe he was capable of that kind of manipulation, but it made her terribly sad when she began to understand.

It wasn’t something he wanted – she received the impression that the idea terrified him, and given what Duran had done to him, that was understandable. It was something he was willing to endure in exchange for some iota of security. Kim was not so much an object of desire as a potentially less malicious puppeteer.

“You trust me that much?” She looked over and saw immediately that he did not, no more than circumstances forced him to. She was only the better alternative. He opened his mouth to speak, but turned away instead. “You don’t think they’ll be able to catch him, do you?”

“They… You already t-tried. It didn’t work, then.”

“And if there was any chance at all of this screwing me up, you wouldn’t even have mentioned it, right?”

The flickering glance he gave her was one of tightly reined… hope? Dread? He knew she was crumbling.

“I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t.”

“And you really think it might keep him from messing with both of us? If he does get away again?”

His forehead wrinkled, and he chewed his thumb nail in fierce concentration. “I think.”

“And reassure anyone worried about you messing with me?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

Kim took her time finishing off her piece of pizza while she weighed her options, and Lenny watched closely for a decision. Wondering whether she should be feeling stupid, she pursed her lips.

“How exactly would this work, if I agreed? Do I have to… bite you, or something?”

He immediately took a step back, arms folded tight around his ribs, chin tucked to his chest, protecting the pulse points. Apparently, that was a no.

“It was just a question. Bear in mind that I have no idea how you plan to get this done.”

He thought for a moment, then crossed the kitchen to where the mugs sat on the counter. His hand tightened, fingertips twisting into black claws, and he curled his hand into a fist, like juicing a lemon. A few dark, viscous drops oozed out between his fingers and pattered into the mug. When he unclenched his hand, four deep gouges marred his palm. They closed slowly.

Kim peered over his shoulder at the tablespoon or so of fluid in the bottom of the cup. It was about the color and consistency of used motor oil, and it gave off a bizarre sensation. Like feeling a vibration just below the range of hearing, Kim was half-aware of a musty, sour almost-smell. Her gag reflex did its best to kick in, and she knew there wasn’t going to be any way she could possibly swallow that by itself.

“I won’t hurt you,” she told him. “I promise. And I’ll do my best to not let you get used. And if there are any freaky side effects I should know about, now would be the time to bring that up.”

He said nothing, so she poured coffee on top of the goop, dumped in half of the sugar bowl, stirred it quickly, and chugged the scalding mixture in three massive gulps. Her eyes watered, and her stomach churned, though whether that was from the blood or the sudden influx of hot coffee, she couldn’t tell. No freaky side effects manifested immediately.

“Did that do it?”

“I d-don’t know. Did it?”

“I don’t know, either. What am I waiting for?”

“Can you feel me?”

She thought about that. She had been feeling him in a few different ways since he had attacked her, and could not be sure whether she was looking for one of those ways to intensify, or a new one to crop up. She had felt what he was feeling once or twice, had felt his wants once or twice. Now, though… There was something new. It took her a few moments to realize that it was spatial, an awareness of their relative positions. Even if she closed her eyes, she knew that she would know exactly where he was, or at least in what direction and about how far.

“Okay, yeah. I think I’ve got it. You feeling any better about all this?”

He forced a smile and nodded, and she knew he was lying. He had expected to feel better, knew logically that he stood a better chance now, and remained afraid.

“You’re really brave,” she told him, “and it’s gonna be okay.”

She fixed him coffee and finished off the other slice of her pizza. They sat together in silence, alternating between dozing and hunting through Kim’s books for a more solid solution. While he slept, she practiced ignoring the snippets of dream she caught.

And at six o’clock, she picked up the Abilene phone book and dialed Mara Demarco’s number.

The phone rang. Beside her, she was aware of Lenny holding his breath as he listened, the tension in his body, the pressure in his lungs.

There was a click.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Ms. Demarco?”

“Yes, speaking.”

“My name is Kim Reed. I understand you know someone called Leonard Hugo?”

There was a brief pause, then, “I knew him, yeah. What is this about?”

Kim felt the tension go out of the man beside her. He slumped forward over his knees, letting out a whistling breath, and dug his knuckles into his eyes. Kim could feel the lump rising in his throat and fought to keep an identical one from choking her.

“Ms. Demarco, we found him.”

“You… Oh, Christ…”

“And he wants to come home.”

A strangled noise came through the line. “You found him alive?!”

Kim glanced at Lenny’s back and bit her lip. “More or less. He’s on the mend, anyway. We were wondering if we could stop by sometime soon. I think he’d like to stay with you until he can get back on his feet, but there are some issues that might make that difficult, and it would be much easier to discuss them in person than over the phone.”

“Yes, yes absolutely! Any time! Can you come now?”

“It’s a long drive. Tomorrow afternoon?”

“Okay. Okay, sure. Yes. I’ll be out of work at four, home by maybe four-fifteen. Is that okay? Can I talk to him?”

Kim handed the phone over. Lenny took it gingerly and held it to his ear. He tried to speak, but nothing happened.

”Lenny?”

He tried again. He strained, tears welling, but nothing would come out.

“Len?”

He handed the phone back to Kim and curled into a miserable ball.

“He’s resting,” Kim said tactfully. “It’s okay, though. He’ll see you tomorrow.”

* * *

THE HOUSE WAS small but neat, wood siding painted pale blue. Dandelions grew up through cracks in the concrete driveway. A few potted ivies hung around the edges of the porch. The yard had gone to crabgrass, summer-brown and carefully cut despite the weeds. It was innocent, peaceful, quiet.

The El Camino came to a stop in front of the empty lawn. Kim checked her watch.

“We’re a little early, sorry. But I guess better early than late.”

Lenny shrank back into the seat and scrubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. “Keep going,” he whispered. “Just go. I c-can’t do this.”

“What are you going to do instead?”

He shuddered.

She gave his arm a careful squeeze. “It’s okay. You’ll do fine. I’ll back you up. She’ll be just as cool about this as you remember. People’s basic personalities don’t change, no matter how long it’s been.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and rested his forehead on his clenched fists. “Unless I changed.”

There was nothing Kim felt she could really say to that. “You’re still you,” she reminded him. “Everyone changes a little bit, but you’re still you.”

Sunlight reflected off an approaching windshield and blinded them momentarily.

“There’s a car coming,” she told him. “Guess we’ll find out in just a minute.”

He dared a quick glance. It was the same old Datsun, paint faded, a few more dings and dents, but the same. He looked away before he could catch sight of the person at the wheel.

“She’s getting out,” Kim observed.

A car door slammed.

“You think you should maybe go say hello?”

He tugged on the handle mechanically and pushed the door open. The asphalt was so hot, his shoes stuck to the oozing tar, but he felt cold.

“Lenny.”

The voice pulled him out of time, back so far he could almost remember how it had felt to be safe.

“Oh my God, Len.”

It had been freezing, the last time he had seen her – “I’m going to have to keep thinking about that.” – and she had kissed him like she wanted something more, climbed into the Datsun, and disappeared into the gray West Texas pre-dawn, disappeared in a cloud of exhaust and confusion.

“It’s you. I can’t believe it’s you.”

But the woman who ran to him wasn’t his Mara. She was paler, ten years tired, still young, but not as young as she had been. She was wiser, ten years more cautious. He could tell at a glance that she was still teaching – sensible, cushioned shoes, pressed khakis, nondescript red polo shirt with a stylized mascot embroidered on the chest, once-wild hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail – but the same glance told him a dozen other stories as well. The day had left her exhausted. Her chosen profession was taking its toll on her back and knees. She had picked up glasses, at some point, and she had lost a lot of weight. Even her smile had changed; it was genuinely happy, but there were layers in the expression. It still turned up in the middle and very slightly down in the corners, just like he remembered. There was still that small chip out of her right top incisor. It was still one of the most genuine smiles he had ever seen. But there was more to it, as though at least some small part of that grin was for some – any – change in the routine.

Still, the rest of it was for him.

He stood still and did his best not to flinch as she threw her arms around him. “Missed you, babe,” he tried to say, but the words caught, and he stuttered himself into silence.

She had changed. Her gait, her hair, her scent, her posture had all changed. Even her shape had changed, and yet, somehow, she still fit him, matched him, made him feel as though the shattered pieces of his life were coming back together.

After a moment, he felt himself relax. His arm went around her waist; his head found her shoulder. He didn’t even know he was crying until Kim cleared her throat.

“Sorry,” she offered, “but can we go inside? We’re going to have a lot of talking to do, and we probably better get started.”

Mara pulled back, swiping at her eyes with her forearms. “Yeah,” she said. She coughed, cleared her throat, and nodded. “That’s a good idea, yeah. It’s hot as blazes out here.”

She led the way to the door. Lenny hung back in the heat, but Kim nudged him inside, and he passed over the threshold without issue; he realized that she had already secured an implicit invitation for him, in the form of Mara’s agreement.

-Can we go inside?

-Yeah.

He experienced a surge of gratitude for the wizard.

The door clicked behind them, but not before two strange creatures had followed them inside. They were both short, pudgy, with enormous black hair and big brown eyes. The marginally taller of the two wore wire-rimmed glasses and a Power Rangers t-shirt. She frowned at Lenny and dropped her backpack on the floor.

“You better not try to kiss my mom,” she warned him. “Hugging is okay, but she thinks boys are assholes, and that means the place where you poop. So you better not kiss her, or she’ll beat you up.”

The shorter one nodded in agreement and followed the aggressor down the short hallway and out of sight.

Mara’s palm met her forehead with a soft thwack. “Oh, God. I am so sorry.”

Kim giggled until she snorted and choked. Lenny gnawed nervously at his thumbnail.

“Your kids?” he managed.

She bit her lip and nodded. Her neck and ears had gone bright red. “Gemma’s six, and Monica’s five. They’re, well… I don’t often have men in the house. Like that makes it all better.”

“No father?” he asked a split second before his lagging brain identified that as stupid observation to make.

Her expression closed off like a slammed door, and he got the distinct impression that, if he had been anyone else, she would have glared.

“We can get all caught up later,” she said flatly. “Come on.”

She led the way through to a living room that was somewhere between cozy and cramped. Lenny took one end of the familiar green plaid sofa, and Kim sat close beside him. She put a steadying hand on his forearm. Mara took the unfamiliar papasan chair on the other side of the unfamiliar coffee table. She kicked off her sneakers and crisscrossed her legs. After a few moments of silence, she began to thaw. Her shoulders relaxed.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” she said again. “This is just so surreal. How are you even here? They said there was like, a zero-point-something chance…”

Lenny shut his eyes and winced as he bit his thumbnail down to the quick.

“It’s not exactly a normal situation,” Kim supplied. She gave Lenny’s hand a squeeze. “The usual sets of statistics wouldn’t apply.”

Mara’s eyes went wide. “Oh, God. What are we talking about, here? Not… Not human trafficking, or something?”

Lenny felt sick.

Kim made a face. “No. No, there was no money involved. I just… Look, I’m going to be frank, here. I know you’re probably assuming I’m with the police, but I’m not. More like private eye, at least for the past year and a bit. I found Lenny because I was after this guy… turned out to be the guy that took him. This is actually something that it would be good if the police didn’t hear about-”

Mara started to get up. Kim put up a hand.

“-and Lenny thinks you’ll agree once you’ve heard us out. Okay? For an old friend?”

Lenny squeezed his eyes shut tighter and worked miserably at his thumbnail until he tasted blood.

Mara slid back down into the papasan chair. She yanked the band out of her ponytail, shook out her hair, and tied it up again, even tighter than before.

“We’ll start with the bare bones,” Kim said. “Build up from there. You ask questions. We can prove the big stuff, so if something seems insane, just wait.” She turned to Lenny. “You wanna take it from here, honey?”

A deep breath rattled in his throat, like it was the first he had taken in some time. With effort, he opened his eyes.

Mara stared expectantly. He looked away.

“The… The g-g-guy,” he muttered, “who… the g-guy who t-t-took me.” He moved his hand away from his mouth and closed his mangled thumbnail in a tight fist.

“He’s not… nuh-not… He’s…”

The words betrayed him. He tried again, and only a soft clicking sound came out. He pressed his lips together.

“Honey? Do you want me to?”

He didn’t. This should come from him. Something so personal should come from him. He vividly remembered planning for this, selecting each word with agonizing care. He had the words, exactly the right words. They just wouldn’t come out.

He nodded.

Kim leaned forward. “His name is Duran. I don’t know exactly what a ‘standard’ kidnapping looks like, but this wasn’t one. That’s because – being really frank, here – Duran’s a vampire.”

Mara’s eyes narrowed.

Kim ploughed on. “They’re real. I’m working for a bunch of them that are sort of in charge of Texas and wanted this guy out of the way. I’m a wizard.”

Mara’s jaw tightened.

“I’m not sure how it went down, exactly, but it wasn’t good. He was pretty bad, even for a vampire. So, basically, this guy kept Lenny in a basement for ten years. Or, more like a cellar.” She felt Lenny flinch and put her arm around him. “Sorry, honey.”

Mara’s neck stiffened, tendons standing taut.

“So, yeah. Messed with his head a lot. Bled him out completely. What you have to understand is that this guy is a power nut. His goal is typically to destroy people. And he did his best.” She paused, thought a moment, and nodded. “Oh, and Lenny is a vampire, too. Just, y’know, not a psychopathic one.”

Mara sat very, very still and spoke very, very quietly. “Get out,” she whispered. “You just get out.”

Kim and Lenny exchanged a glance.

Mara looked up slowly, brown eyes somehow dead and flashing at the same time. There were dark red spots of fury in the hollows of her cheeks.

“Get out,” she repeated, “before I just shoot you. And no way you are taking him. You just get up, you leave, and I give you sixty seconds before I call the cops. I don’t know what kind of scam you’re running, but that is my best friend, and you picked the wrong goddamn schoolteacher, because I will blow you to hell before I let you use him like this.”

“You don’t want to see any proof?”

“You mean the proof that you’ve undoubtedly been setting up all day while I was at work? What kind of rube do you think I am? Get out.”

Lenny squirmed. “Mara.”

She swung around to face him, not quite able to turn off the glare she had put on for Kim. Lenny flinched.

“Mara, it’s b-been t-t-t-ten years.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it has. Lenny, I am so sorry…”

“You knew me for five b-before that.”

“I came and looked for you, Len. I went to the hotel and asked people, and…”

“I haven’t aged in fifteen years.”

Mara pulled up short. She stood slowly. “You’re not asking me to believe this, Len. You can’t ask me to believe this.”

She kept saying his name, just kept saying his name. Lenny wondered whether it was because it had been so long since she’d had a chance to. Looking back for a moment, he realized that he had been saying hers too, every chance he got.

He stood as well. He held out a hand, and Mara took it. He shook his head and slid his hand out of her grasp. “Mara, no,” he said, “look.”

She watched as he splayed his fingers and tensed his hand, revealing gleaming black claws. Frowning, she reached out to touch one. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m asking you to b-believe it. I’m d-different, but that’s still the same, and I never hurt you b-before, or a st-student, and I still won’t. Wouldn’t. P-probably c-c-c-couldn’t, even if I wanted to. D-don’t need you any less than I d-did then. Please.”

She took his hand and inspected it, no doubt looking for seams. He relaxed, and the claws retreated into blunt fingertips and the ragged ends of chewed nails. He guided her hand to the inside of his wrist, then to the side of his throat. Failing to find a pulse, she inspected his scars instead.

“I remember you being colder. You said it was bad circulation.”

“No circulation. B-been outside. It’s hot outside.”

“No,” she said, but it lacked conviction, and Kim and Lenny had no difficulty in getting her to sit down and listen.

Chapter 13

LENNY OCCASIONALLY MADE an effort to confirm or clarify something, but he let Kim do most of the talking. She was just better at it than he was. The few times he spoke up, he only seemed to make the confusion worse. They talked for over an hour, and in the end, Mara agreed to let Lenny stay – reluctantly.

“If it’s such a non-issue, why didn’t you ever tell me?” she demanded.

“Habit,” he mumbled around the thumbnail between his teeth. “And I was g-going to. I spent the whole t-t-time on the bus planning…”

But there was no way to prove that statement, and Mara did not seem to believe it.

“It was such a nightmare that Monday,” she said with a grimace, talking to a spot somewhere above Lenny’s left ear. She pushed her glasses up onto her forehead and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. She had not looked Lenny in the eye since Kim had warned her about Sebastian and the ways a vampire could get inside a human head. He had noticed that, and tried to be understanding. Tried. “Linda took my class after lunch so I could go pick you up, and when you didn’t get off the bus… I called the bus line, and then I called the hotel, and then I puked all over Paul, and he had to call the cops because I couldn’t… I couldn’t talk, and they said they couldn’t do anything until it had been at least forty-eight hours…”

And the more Mara talked, the more Lenny realized that there was no chance of him picking up where he had left off. He may or may not have ever been declared dead, Mara told the wall between them, still not looking directly at the man on her couch. It had not taken the police long to discover that all of his documentation was fake, and that his Social Security number had been issued the year Social Security was implemented. She pressed a hand to her stomach when she said it, like she was reliving being punched in the gut. They had tracked him back through enough addresses and enough jobs that the only possibility was a large number of people using the same false identity. Some people at the school had speculated that he had disappeared to escape the law, that the investigation was pointless, and that he was probably living extravagantly somewhere on the funds in an offshore account.

“I said witness protection,” Mara added defensively, but admitted that no one had really listened. The way she moved her gaze from the wall to the floor said that she had not really believed it, herself.

The theories had flourished, and there were too many people in Abilene who still remembered.

“Maybe you could get a job outside of the school system. Somewhere, you know, you can pretend to just kind of accidentally look like Leonard Hugo. Is there anything else you can do?”

But he had no answer. His brain was tumbling through scenarios, too fast and disjointed to be called thought. He stared at her blankly until she conceded that he could be forgiven for recuperating a bit more before trying to return to a normal life.

He cried when Kim left to find herself a motel room for the night. Mara pulled out the sofa bed and supplied it with blankets, and when he had calmed enough to be presentable, she introduced him more formally to her daughters. They both evinced a healthy skepticism, but Mara had introduced him as a friend, which helped.

“You got lost?” the elder one, Gemma, asked.

Lenny nodded.

Gemma scratched at her scalp and left for a moment, returning with a very old and worn stuffed rabbit, its chest embroidered with a letter K in faded red.

“Is this yours?” she asked. “Mom said she got it from her friend who got lost. You can have it back, if you want. I’m not allowed to play with it, anyway.”

He took the toy gingerly, running an expert finger along its weakening seams. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“I kept it in case you came back,” Mara told him. “And when it looked like you weren’t going to, I gave it to Gemma. I knew it was important to you, even if you never told me why.”

“I made it for my wife,” he whispered. There was no longer any point to keeping anything secret.

Over Mara’s shoulder, the memory shimmered in gold and white, triggered by the tiny vibrations in the fabric of the stuffed animal. She smiled sadly and mouthed “Be strong,” before he tore his gaze away. He brought the rabbit up to his face and inhaled. Even after so many years, the wool still carried her scent.

“Her name was Kate.”

Gemma fidgeted. “What happened?”

“She got lost, too,” he answered, after a pause. “A long time before I met your mom.”

Undeterred, Gemma grinned. “Maybe she’ll come back, just like you!”

He smiled back, but entertained no real hope. The scarred corners of his mind, where their psychic bond had been ripped away, were more than enough proof for him. He had felt Kate die. He wondered if those scars might be part of the reason Sebastian had free rein inside his head.

Mara bid him good night and took her children to bed. He lay down and held his rabbit tightly.

And he dreamed that Kate was there with him, that they were trapped together in the cellar, and he had to watch her starve, her mind stripped away, silenced, leaving only a monster behind.

He woke weeping and disoriented, aware of someone nearby but unable to tell whom. Slowly, he remembered where he was, and that the presence in the dark was Mara. His Mara. He was sorry to have woken her, but glad she was there. He wanted to feel her again, to be reminded that she was real.

But Mara turned and tiptoed away, and Lenny cried himself back to sleep in silence.

* * *

KIM TURNED UP shortly before Mara left for work. The two women muttered some awkward pleasantries at one another, Kim smiling a bit too broadly in her attempt to seem open and trustworthy, Mara not quite managing to conceal her frustration and doubt.

Mara piled her children into the car, promising that she would try to be home as early as possible.

Lenny watched from the safety of the doorway as she drove away.

“You okay?” Kim asked, and he nodded. “Not quite what you were expecting?”

He nodded again. “I think a lot has happened to her. T-ten years. I didn’t really think it would b-b-be the same.”

“But you hoped?”

He sighed and locked the door, moving to sit on the edge of the sofa bed. “I don’t think I can stay. I’m glad to see Mara again, but she has her own life. She c-can’t put it on hold to t-take care of me. There’s nothing I can do. I’d just be a b-burden.”

Kim touched his arm. “You haven’t really tried, yet,” she told him. “She said you could stay, so I think you should try. It would be better than being somewhere you don’t know. Listen, I have to go back to Austin to get some stuff done. You try to settle in some, and if you can’t, I’ll come get you. I mean, if you want to stay with me, you can.”

“I don’t want to be a burden on you, either.”

“Eh.” She dismissed his objection with a flip of her hair. “Tony and Edith are comping me. And you don’t take up much room. And I couldn’t really call myself one of the good guys if I left you to fend for yourself.”

She left her phone number on a sticky note in case he needed her. Then she handed him a small mirrored compact.

“If you open it with the intention of getting in touch with me, it’ll get in touch with me,” she said. “You can get Zeb or Coyote, too. Works pretty much like a phone, but I’m always carrying mine, always.”

The magic in the black plastic tingled against his palm.

She got up to go, but he stopped her. There was one more thing he needed to say, one more thing she needed to know, now that he was holding nothing back, had no secrets left to keep.

“Kim?”

“Yes?”

“You’re…”

“What?”

“You’re the… the first…”

“First what?”

He fidgeted. “I never… I never b-bit anyone before.”

She blinked at him, then laughed. “Seriously? I’m… No, ‘flattered’ definitely isn’t the right word.”

He could tell that, like many other things, that did not mean to her what it meant to him. But he had no words for what it meant to him, could not explain, and had no choice but to let her continue, bemused and uncomprehending.

Kim shook her head and grinned. “Never, huh? Leonard Hugo, you are one weird vampire. And someday, when you’re ready, I want to know absolutely everything about you.”

He had not been sure what reaction that revelation would receive, but dismissal was a disappointment. He tried again, but he had no words, and though Kim listened, she still did not understand.

“You’re okay, honey,” she told him. She smoothed his hair back, brushed a kiss across his forehead, and left, and all he could do was lock the door behind her.

Mara came home in the afternoon to find him exactly where she had left him. She cooked dinner for her children, but now that she knew why Lenny never ate, she did not make even a token offer for him to join them. He tried to talk to her, the way they had used to talk, but he didn’t have the words, and the ones he did have kept coming out wrong. The family watched television until it was time for bed, and the cycle began anew the next morning. They left. He sat alone until they returned. He hovered on the fringes of the family like an insect around a light, and at night, he woke from nightmares that twisted in his stomach and cramped in his back, trying his best to be silent about it, because the dreams hurt less than knowing Mara could hear and still would not come.

Sometimes, he touched the mirrored compact in his pocket and thought about calling for Kim. Without her, he did not dare leave the protection of the house’s threshold, except when the burning in the back of his throat forced him out to the nearest stockyard. But she had told him to try, and he did not want to disappoint.

So when Mara told him that a mechanic she knew was looking for help, he shuffled out the door and sat stiffly in her passenger seat, feeling very exposed.

The old man listened patiently while Lenny stuttered through the list of all the cars he knew. The list ended abruptly in nineteen eighty-seven, and the old man shook his head.

“Get stuck on the computers, huh? I know, they’re a hassle, but I need someone who can work on whatever folks bring in, here, and they’ve all got computers, now. Sorry.”

“I c-can clean for you,” Lenny tried desperately. “I can lift things.”

Mara left her number, just in case, but the mechanic did not call. The routine started back up again. Lenny sat alone from the time Mara and the girls left until the time they came home. He did not get bored; after so long in the dark it was enough that he was able to think, but his thoughts always turned to the things he still lacked. He could not support himself, could not protect himself, could barely even sleep. Even if he found a job, somehow, managed to find himself a place to live, he could not both work and avoid anyone who might remember him. He could not stand to look at Mara and see the decade that stood between them. He could not stay in Abilene.

Another Saturday had come before he worked up the courage to tell Mara. She at least had the grace not to look relieved.

“You don’t have to,” she told him. “You can stay as long as you want. It’s not like you’re costing me anything.” But she didn’t bother to sound sad, either.

She hurried her children out the door and away from him, away from the thing that had upended her understanding of the universe. To the library, she said, but they were always gone somewhere, and Lenny understood.

He had told Kim that the prejudice didn’t bother him, and it had been true. He had always known what his life would entail, when he chose to be with Kate. But Kate was long gone, and the mistrust in Mara’s face punched holes in his chest.

He called Kim.

“Can I come back?” he asked softly. His voice cracked.

Coyote’s bass growl rumbled through the line. “We’re busy,” he snapped, but the line crackled as the phone was wrestled away from him, and Kim answered breathlessly.

“Hello?”

“Kim? I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were b-busy.”

“It’s okay. It’s nothing that can’t wait a minute.” She paused. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just… I don’t want to stay.”

Her breath rustled in the receiver. “Honey, you need to stay a little longer. They lost Duran. He got hold of Coyote’s supplies, somehow, and now we can’t track him. He knows where my apartment is, so you’re safer there.”

Lenny’s throat closed.

“Lenny? It’s okay, honey. He doesn’t know where you are. If he comes snooping around here, we’ll get him. Just, you need to stay put, okay?”

“No,” he choked. “No, he c-can find me anywhere, same as you can. He can come straight here, and Mara c-can’t fight him. He’ll burn her out.”

There was silence on the other end, long enough that Lenny began to become afraid. More afraid.

“Kim?”

He heard something that was almost a sob, but mostly a sigh.

“Kim?”

“No, you’re right. He will, won’t he? At least if we’re all in one place, we know there’ll be someone who can fight back. I’m coming, okay? I’m coming right now, and I need you to be ready to go the second I get there, because I don’t want to stick around.”

Coyote’s growl moved in close to the phone again. “Like hell,” Lenny heard. “You’re not protected on the road.”

“You want to take him down?” Kim shot back. “If he goes for Lenny instead of coming for us, they could both disappear. If everyone is together, Duran can’t strike without everyone knowing. If we don’t know what he wants, all the bait has to be in the same place.”

Bait. Lenny squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed hard, but he preferred being bait in a trap to being bait sitting out in the open.

Kim hung up, and Lenny got his things together. He didn’t have much – a change of clothes, razor, electric blanket, all of which had come from Kim. He folded those neatly into a paper shopping bag. The rabbit, and the specter it carried. He took it to the kitchen and carefully slit open the back seam with a knife. His fingertips probed the rag stuffing until he found what he had hidden there decades earlier. He loved Mara, but he knew he could not be in love with the person she had become – she was too distant and too hard to be the support he needed. He slipped the old gold band onto his finger and let go of the fantasy.

* * *

KIM HUNG UP and looked at Coyote.

“No one’s free to go with you,” he growled. “Have to keep looking for bits to use. If the chindi son of a bitch hadn’t burned out his apartment…”

“You keep saying that,” Bernice cut in. “Chindi. What the hell is that?”

“Dead,” Coyote snarled. “Dead and evil. No offense.”

Bernice rolled her eye. The patch covered the socket where her glowing glass prosthetic sat.

“Go alone,” Bernice suggested. “Duran can’t track you, or I strongly doubt he can, so you’re safe until you’ve got your friend. Once you’ve got him, just keep moving.”

“What, he can’t outrun an El Camino?”

“Sure he can, but it’s a moving target. A lot harder to find a vampire speeding down the freeway than a vampire waiting in one place. Just make sure you don’t stay stopped for too long.”

Kim considered the other woman. Bernice was not one of the good guys. If she had even the smallest personal interest in getting rid of someone, Bernice would not hesitate to send them into a death trap. Bernice was not trustworthy.

On the other hand, they were on the same side for the time being. Bernice had more than a small personal interest in not going against Tony and Edith, and Tony and Edith had expressed an interest in Kim staying alive long enough to stay on their payroll.  Kim was also ready to risk her life to help another vampire, albeit one with a little more to him, and that had to earn her some extra good will points.

Kim cinched up her necklace and shook out her milagro bracelets. She grabbed her pistol and a water gun full of holy water. She filled a thermos with IntensiTEA. Then she poked her head out the door and, finding the coast clear, made a dash for her car. The parking lot was nearly empty at that time of the morning. Heart pounding, Kim cranked up the El Camino and peeled out, skirting around downtown traffic to get on the freeway toward Abilene. No one would be following her, Bernice had said, but Kim did not take chances. She doubled back twice, cut across dusty back roads, and took a longer route than was strictly necessary. Though she watched her rear view mirror carefully, she saw no one tailing her. Every so often, she turned around to check for things that wouldn’t show up in a mirror. There was nothing.

The drive did not take much longer than it had before, but it felt as though it took days. Kim passed the Abilene city limit sign minutes after two o’clock, and happened to check her gas gauge reflexively as she passed a station. A quarter of a tank. She had made it from Austin without trouble, but a quarter of a tank would not get her back. If she had to stop, she preferred to do so without Duran’s homing beacon sitting in her front seat. The brakes protested as she pulled a U-turn in the middle of the street and rolled up to a gas pump.

“I’m almost there,” she thought as hard as she could, aiming it at the mind she felt about a mile and a half due north. She got no response, but she had not really expected one. Whatever connection they had, it seemed to weaken with distance; she could tell easily where Lenny was and received the vague impression that he was under no more stress than usual, but she had not been picking up on his thoughts or dreams since she left him with Mara.

She tripped the catch on the gas nozzle and left the pump to fill her car on its own while she delved in her pockets for her compact. Exerting a tiny bit of effort to connect it to the one she had left with Lenny, she popped open the black plastic shell and pretended to search for something in her eye as she held it up to her face.

“I’m filling up with gas,” she muttered, “so we don’t have to stop once you’re in the car. I’ll be there in five or ten minutes, tops, okay?”

She waited, but she got nothing back.

“Lenny?”

Nothing.

She could feel him nearby. He was not moving, and she assumed that she would have known if he had been under attack, but there was nothing except a vague sense of waiting. She tapped at her compact, forcing more power through the glass.

“Lenny? Can you hear me, honey?”

Still nothing.

Even though Kim could identify nothing wrong, it scared her. Perhaps it was exactly because she could identify nothing wrong. He was there, calm, as far as Kim could tell, and not answering.

She polished the little mirror on the hem of her shirt, then squeezed her eyes shut with a grunt. Mirror, of course. There was no way for her to be sure, but it seemed logical that someone who cast no reflection might be unable to use a mirror at all, even for unconventional purposes.

“I don’t think these things are working quite right,” she said into the glass, just in case he was listening but could not respond.

The pump clicked, and the flow of gas stopped.

“I’ll be there in a couple of minutes, baby. Sit tight.”

She snapped the compact shut and stuck it in her jeans pocket, hung the nozzle back on the pump, and screwed her gas cap back on.

But just as she reached for the door handle, the feel of a hand on her shoulder stopped her.

Without missing a beat, she whirled and lashed out, but there was no one there. Her fist made painful contact with the gas pump. The closest person in sight was an elderly woman two spaces away.

She let out a breath and turned a slow circle where she stood, but there was no one else near, certainly not close enough to have touched her. The thought crossed her mind that she might have imagined it – she was stressed and low on sleep, and stranger things had happened – but that was not a thought she could afford to indulge. She drew in power, just in case, focusing on the tiny electrical connections in her body, amplifying them as much as she safely could. If grabbed, she thought it would be enough to give any attacker a severe shock, hopefully enough to give her time to draw and shoot.

She slid into the driver’s seat and jammed the key into the ignition.

“Kimberly.”

Kim jumped and reached for her gun, but the voice was female, and it was familiar. Not Duran. She hesitated just long enough to recognize it, but by that time, her arm had locked, bones frozen in place. The stiffness spread outward, across her shoulders, down her back, and through her legs. The magic in her body jerked inward like a poked anemone, pooling uselessly in the core of her, far from any point of release.

“What have you gotten yourself into, Kimmy?”

Kim struggled to turn her head, but won only a few inches, barely enough to catch a glimpse of her captor out of the corner of her eye.

The woman in the passenger seat tugged her sunglasses down with the tip of one exquisitely manicured finger and squinted at Kim.

“I didn’t believe it until I felt it on you. How could you have let yourself get in so deep? Working for them was hard enough to believe, but letting one get that close to you…”

Kim groaned. “This is a bad time. A really bad time, Mom. I’m in the middle of something extremely important.”

Cynthia Reed patted her daughter’s hand. “I know it seems important now, Kim, but that’s only that creature’s hold over you. It lessens with distance, sometimes, which is why we’re going home, now.”

“Austin?”

“Massachusetts, Kim.”

“Mom, no! He’s not in my head. He is in danger, though. You can ask Coyote.”

“I’m not interested in asking anything of that hippie. And frankly, I’m not especially worried about your…” She stopped, searching for a word, then shook her head in distaste at the available options. “You’ve been indelibly marked. His death is the only way to lift his thrall, but the man I spoke to didn’t seem eager to kill him. That’s all right, though. Someone will be after both of them, soon.”

Kim choked. “Duran? Sebastian Duran?! He’s insane! He’s a freak! There’s no way you can trust him!”

Cynthia shrugged. The key turned in the ignition and the car rolled forward, out of the lot and back into the street.

“I have no doubt he was serving his own interests, but they do happen to coincide with ours, for the moment. As for trusting him, he was right about you and your… mishap.”

“He’s also trying to kill me and do God knows what to Lenny. It’s not right to stand back and watch that happen to anything.” Kim’s body rearranged itself, twisting to face forward, hands at ten and two on the steering wheel, pretending to drive as the car took itself north.

“You don’t have to puppet me, Mom. Not that I’m not seeing the irony, here.”

“You’ll turn back if I let you go.”

That was true enough. Kim gritted her teeth and made a futile effort to activate the compact in her pocket, contact someone – anyone – and let them know things had gone wrong, but the magic bounced right off.

“And besides,” Cynthia continued, her voice soft, “you’re right. No one deserves the things those creatures can do to one another. But you’re my daughter, and your safety is a higher good than his. To me, at least. I’m sorry, honey.”

The El Camino rolled past the city limits, and a spasm of someone else’s terror rolled through Kim like a tidal wave, and she cried.

* * *

IT WAS HIM.

Lenny ducked to one side of the window, as though he thought hiding could do some good, and peered out between the slats of the blinds. There was no one in the street, no one but Sebastian. The afternoon shadows were short, and the pavement shimmered with the heat. The temperature would be well over a hundred; no one would go outside willingly in that kind of heat. That meant no one in danger, at least not until people started coming home from work. Sometime after five o’clock, though, there would be people, and people were victims.

Lenny slid down to the floor and dug his knuckles into his eyes. He could feel him out there. Heat, smell of hot tar, cold patience. He could feel the pull to go, just get up, go outside, and… That was where the specifics became fuzzy. He tensed. His hands twisted into claws, and he dug them deep into the carpet. The feel of the pile beneath his palms was not enough to anchor him. Neither was the growl of the air conditioner, the flicker of the night light behind the couch, the ache in his jaw as he ground his teeth until they creaked. He did want to go. He also knew that the want had nothing to do with him. It only went blood-deep, worming its way through him like a spreading disease, but not really part of him.

Resisting seemed to be the clear choice, at least until he remembered that the longer he fought successfully, the more likely it became that someone would die for it. He did not even try to fool himself that his aversion to that idea was entirely altruistic. As much as he hoped to avoid death, he hoped even more that he would not have to feel it. His capture or someone else’s death, and he was alone.

Calling Mara would get her killed. He had no doubt she would come, but she would come and be snared by Sebastian, become a hostage if she was not just slaughtered as an inconvenience. Kim was near. He could feel her close by, but near was not present, and she had said herself that she did not want to go up against Sebastian until she was at full strength again, maybe not even then if she could avoid it. Still, she did have a better chance than Mara, had friends she could call for help, and might be able to make use of the element of surprise. She was the best option.

Lenny rose and was halfway to the front door before he could stop himself. He dug his heels into the carpet with effort and took a step back, knowing very well that Sebastian would be able to see him through the front window. He deliberately did not look. Instead, he took the compact from his pocket. It had not left his side since Kim had gone, and the constant itch, though tiny, had become all but unbearable. Still, he did not dare leave it, for fear of losing it. He paused, not really sure how to work the thing, then clicked it open, thinking as hard as he could about Kim. Nothing happened. He brought it up closer to his face. The glass reflected the wall behind him.

“Kim?” he whispered at it. “Um… I need help. I need your help.”

No one responded. He shut the compact and tried again, focusing.

“Kim?”

Something sick and cold tightened in his chest. Fighting to breathe, he clicked the compact open and shut, open and shut. Nothing. His attempts seemed to bounce off without effect, the same as his image did. He tried once more, clicking the plastic catch open.

“Kim?”

He brought it up to his ear, straining to hear an answer.

“Um… Z-zeb? Mister Zebedee?”

Nothing.

“C-c-coyote?” Even the cantankerous shaman was a better option than the one that waited for him outside.

Seconds ticked past. The mirror stubbornly refused to cooperate. Still, rather than drop the useless thing, Lenny snapped it shut and returned it to his pocket.

The closest phone receiver was in the kitchen. He turned and went for that instead. The number for Kim’s apartment was scribbled on a pad of sticky notes on the counter beside the phone. But silence on the line told him that the phone was dead, the line cut, and Kim was all the way across town.

Lenny put the receiver down numbly. He was trapped, boxed in by the same threshold that was protecting him. He was safe inside, and would stay safe inside forever while outside, Sebastian was free to kill until he got what he wanted, whatever that might have been.

And Lenny was safe inside, safely trapped, while his best option was all the way across town.

Not all of her, though.

Part of her, at least, was in him, and part of him was in her. Lenny hesitated, reluctant to draw any comparison between himself and Sebastian, but he had to acknowledge that it was blood tugging him relentlessly toward the street, his blood, and if he could figure out how to use that, there was some small possibility, the tiniest chance…

He turned inward, trying to find the part of Kim that he carried. It wasn’t as difficult as he had expected. She was a protector, a friend, and more than a friend, someone without whom he doubted he could survive long, and so he had stored her near the dead remains of his bond with Kate.

Reaching her was the difficult part. A medium was a creature designed to serve the dead, not to command the living, and part of him feared that even to try would break the Rules. But he had no other choice, and the thought he fixed in his mind was not so much a command as a desperate plea. Don’t let him send me to sleep again. Don’t let him make me forget.

He was indistinctly aware of her face, through a vague sort of second sight, eyes full of tears as she moved away, away from him. He had thought her eyes were dark brown, but the vision showed him purple. There was Other in her somewhere, though it had to be buried deep in her ancestry. He had not guessed that about her. Neither had he guessed that she would abandon him.

His chest hurt, and his resolve wavered, and before he knew it, he was standing on the front porch, his blood thrumming with anticipation, pupils dilated despite the blinding afternoon, with no memory of having gone through the front door. He caught himself relaxing and tried to fight, snatching futilely at the shreds of his control as they slipped away. But why? he wondered. Surely he didn’t enjoy the perpetual fear, the pain of his shattered life, of Mara’s coldness, of Kim’s betrayal. He couldn’t possibly prefer to be useless, a coward, an emotional cripple. The emptiness was better than that. Where there was nothing, there could be no weakness. It was simple logic. He could not fight logic. It enveloped him, drawing out a sigh of relief as he sank down until the discomfort of being Lenny had disappeared.

“That’s good,” Sebastian encouraged. “Good boy. Come.”

The praise sent a thrill of pleasure up Lenny’s spine. He shuffled eagerly out into the sun, leaving the door standing wide open behind him.

“Very good. But we’ll have to work on response time. That took way too long, friend. You were fighting me. You should know better than that.”

The pleasure gave way to a twinge of fear, and Lenny flinched, but Sebastian smiled.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, his voice layered, enchanting. “It’s okay, you probably just forgot, didn’t you?”

Lenny nodded frantically.

“But you remember now. Just like riding a bike. You know why you’re mine. But in case you needed a refresher…”

Lenny stiffened, then collapsed in agony while Sebastian watched. Pressure built behind his eyes, every nerve on fire, every old scar shot through with new pain. Every muscle tightened, hands twisted into claws, eyeteeth lengthened in a useless defense reflex. Then it was done, leaving him shaking, sweating, struggling to keep his ragged breathing from becoming screams.

Sebastian plucked Lenny out of the crispy grass and set him back on his feet.

“That was for fighting,” he said simply. “Get in the car. We’re going to meet a friend of mine. I think she can help us hide until all of this blows over.”

The car was a gleaming black Mazda, almost definitely stolen, parked cockeyed across the middle of the street. Lenny shuffled around to the passenger side and climbed in, shivering. There was a stack of new maps – probably also stolen – on the dashboard. In some part of his mind, momentarily jarred back into wakefulness by the lingering spasms in his limbs, he wondered what the hell Sebastian was talking about. Us? Lenny was not the one who needed to hide. Lenny was not the one being hunted. Lenny did not need Sebastian’s help.

Sebastian slid into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. He ran an approving hand over the shining steering wheel, threw the car into reverse, and rocketed back down the street.

Beneath the detached, floating stillness, something else nudged its way into Lenny’s mind. With Sebastian temporarily focused on driving, there was no new onslaught to drown it out, and it grew gradually into something Lenny could understand. An apology, repeated, despairing, grieving. Kim. She had tried, tried and failed, but failure was not abandonment. He reached out for the thought, desperate for the feel of someone he could trust. She had tried. She might be able to try again. It might still be okay.

“Of course, you did come. Took you long enough, but you did come.” Sebastian turned with his deceptively gentle smile and met Lenny’s eyes. “I do appreciate that.”

An awful giddiness swelled in the pit of Lenny’s stomach, spreading and heightening into ecstasy. The pain faded, and thought faded, his mind crushed into silence by overpowering bliss. It never occurred to him to resist, not that he could have if he wanted to. Not that he could want to. Nothing remained but the awareness that it was Sebastian’s doing, that it all depended on him, that obedience brought pleasure. It was too simple, too easy. His pupils dilated until there was no color left around them. The echo of Kim drifted away, unmissed.

Chapter 14

THE PLACE WHERE Lenny woke was stained, and the feeling was one he knew. He became aware of it gradually, bits at a time, even before he could recognize how awful he felt, shaky and exhausted, washed out. The air around him was tight and heavy with death, ticking like a cooling engine, and that was part of him. The feel of death broke in on his ghost sense before his own pain could hit him. He quickly catalogued what he knew. The death was recent, violent, two or more people. There were shades nearby, rapidly fading, but no real spirits, and even the echoes would be gone by the time the bodies had cooled. No unfinished business, then. No conflict. He was not needed.

He rolled over onto his side and pushed himself up and was very nearly sick for his trouble. His stomach lurched and his throat constricted, and he closed his eyes and held perfectly still until it passed. The feeling was horribly familiar. The place was not, though, and for that small mercy, Lenny was grateful. No putrid green wallpaper lined this bedroom; no tattered Western novels covered the floor. It was obviously someone’s guest room, sparsely decorated and too generic to be regularly inhabited. There was, however, a sheet of new foil taped over the window.

And there were voices from below.

He should have been able to listen, he knew, but his senses were fuzzy and his focus was fuzzier. The only thing that came through clearly was the death somewhere close by. Not drugs this time, he thought – his throat did not taste like hangover. It might have been nothing but sheer exhaustion, being used into unconsciousness. The memory was not unpleasant, but he shied away from it out of shame. At the same time, a tiny corner of his mind clamored for more. Being with him feels good. It’s not difficult, and it could be much worse. I could be in a cellar.

Lenny glanced at the window and thought about trying to go through it and get away. He would not freeze, this time, not in the summer heat. But he also could not get out silently, and he could not hide from or outrun Sebastian, and his fear of punishment was far more confident than his perverse desire for reward.

He pulled himself up to standing, supporting himself on the wall to combat the ache in his ears and the dizzy spinning in his head. It was not the worst he had ever felt, not even close. That was cause for hope, however small. He was not in a cellar, not tied up, not bled dry, and not drugged. He could not remember much after leaving Mara’s house, but he did remember leaving and did not remember going back, which meant that Mara and her daughters were probably safe. Kim was still out there somewhere, and while he was aware that something had gone wrong with her, he was also aware that she was not dead. He could not hide from Sebastian, but Sebastian could not hide him from Kim, and he believed that she would come. Maybe. Eventually. At least, he believed that she would try. All was not lost, not yet.

He shuffled out the door and down the stairs, toward the voices. One of them was unmistakable. The other belonged to a woman. Lenny’s physical senses were on the fritz, so he stretched out his ghost sense instead, investigating as well as he was able. Sebastian loomed beyond the base of the stairs like a train wreck: huge, attention-grabbing, horrific, and fascinating, radiating violence and anguish. It was difficult to feel anything past him.

The others… Others? There were the corpses, probably the owners of the house, which had ceased to be a home when they had died. The fading echoes they had left behind showed Lenny a middle-aged couple and a grown child, a son. He did not probe further than that. He did not want to get to know them. The remaining presence was more subtle. The woman. She was also undead, also a killer, but not a sadist like Sebastian. The deaths that stained her, though many, were swift, nearly painless, and mechanically efficient. She was an animal, not a psychopath.

That was reassuring. This one was more like Edith and Tony, more amoral than immoral, incapable of recognizing the difference between right and wrong, but not actively cruel. It was not good, exactly, but the possibility of another like Sebastian would have been too much.

“It’s necessity. You should be grateful I’m asking. I could just make you-”

“You could. We both know why you won’t. And necessary or not, I can’t. I have to leave, thanks to you. I was actually starting to become fond of them. They would have written me into their will in another few months. All that time, wasted…”

“Big deal, so I threw off your timetable. You lost some money, but I could lose my life.”

“You don’t feel anything, do you? Why should I care about your life? You just killed my family.”

“Oh, come on. Pets, at best. You’ve never been able to see them as people.”

“Protection! I had a place to live. I was comfortable here. And they were a family, and I liked them, and they were mine. You can’t go around breaking other people’s things and then expecting them to rush to help you!” Her voice rose angrily at the end, picking up the barest trace of an accent Lenny could not identify.

He peered around the corner and into the living room. There was blood on the carpet, but no bodies were visible. Another sheet of foil had been taped over the picture window. Sebastian lounged in a velvet-upholstered recliner. He glanced at Lenny and dismissed him, but the woman rose to her feet.

She was easily as tall as Sebastian, almost six feet, but with none of his mass, all straight lines and angles. Her cropped auburn hair curled around her face, shading sharp, gray-green eyes. She had an interesting look, intensely intelligent and quick as a whip.

“I’m Rhona,” she said. She extended a hand and took a step forward. Lenny took a step back.

Rhona lifted an eyebrow, standing still for a moment before she dropped her hand. She cast a disgusted look back at Sebastian. “This? This is what you think you want to do to me? He’s boring. You wouldn’t want me if I cowered.”

“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”

“Constantly threatening me is doing nothing to improve my opinion of you.”

Sebastian rose with a volcanic rumble, emanating power. He was a titan, but his argument was weirdly childish. “If you’d just do what I say, I wouldn’t have to!” He stalked to the front door, whirled, and pointed at Lenny. “Talk to him, then. I can guarantee he won’t threaten you.”

He slammed out, and Lenny felt himself drawn downward, dissolved, rearranged. Empty, purposeful. There was a plan in his head. He could use his strange powers to make Rhona help. Force her. She would trust him. She wouldn’t have any choice, wasn’t savvy enough to see through the trick. He could make her want to help. And maybe, if there was time, he could extend that trust to Sebastian. He reached for the Veil.

There was nothing there.

Startled, he blinked and swayed, catching himself on the wall before he could fall.

The woman was watching him curiously. “What just happened?” Her voice was concerned.

“He wants me to c-convince you.”

“You managed to refuse him?” Her eyes widened.

“No. I… I d-don’t think so. He wanted me t-to force you, and I c-c-can’t. G-guess he c-can’t make me do things I’m not able to d-do.”

“He does have some limits, yes. Not many. Not enough, in my opinion.”

“He’s… He’s a-afraid of you?”

Her eyebrows went up, and then she smiled. “Because he hasn’t demolished me? Sort of the opposite actually. He honestly believes everyone in the world is out to get him. I was able to convince him that I just don’t care one way or the other about him. Not caring whether he lives or dies is apparently enough to make me a friend, in his book. It’s tragic, in a way.

“Your name is Hugo?”

“My name is Leonard.”

“I’m sorry for what’s happened to you, Leonard. I’d help you if I could, but my position is precarious enough. I can probably get away with ignoring him, but defying him outright is too dangerous.”

She returned to the sofa and sat, gesturing for Lenny to come and join her, but the living room was where the death had occurred, and the air there was so thick it stung his eyes. He did not move.

“There are p-people who want to kill him.”

“There are always people who want to kill him. He makes sure of that. It validates his paranoia. He makes himself a target, gets himself attacked, and then feels justified retaliating out of all proportion. Why did he think you could force me? You’re not like him, are you? One is more than enough, though it might explain why he thought you deserved this.”

“I’m not.”

She waited for more, hands folded primly on top of her knees.

Lenny scratched at his scarred throat and shifted his weight. His legs felt bruised, and he was not interested in finding out why. “Medium. I d-don’t think he really understands what that means.”

“I’m not sure I really understand, either. I didn’t think it was possible for a medium to be changed.”

“That’s a c-common misconception, apparently,” he muttered. “It means I c-could never hurt him, even if I wanted t-to. He knows that. I g-guess he’s mad I invalidated his p-p-paranoia.”

“You can’t hurt anything dead, can you?”

“No. Not voluntarily.”

“I think I may have known that. I think I may have felt it.” Rhona crossed her ankles. Her retinas reflected the low light, turning her pupils for a moment into white discs. “It hurts you. That’s why you won’t come in here.”

He nodded, and she rose again and came to join him out in the hallway. “There is a dining room, if you prefer to sit. Or outside, if you prefer to run. I wouldn’t stop you.”

“He’d c-c-catch me. It would hurt.”

She nodded her agreement and led the way to the dining room instead, pulling out two chairs for them to sit. And when they were seated, she said nothing. Apathy seemed to be her gift. She did not care one way or the other about Sebastian, and she gave no indication of caring one way or the other about the medium sitting beside her. After a few minutes of silence, she stood and left. Blurred though everything was, Lenny could make out the creak of heating metal and the rumble of water beginning to boil. When she came back, she brought tea.

Lenny wrapped his hands around the hot mug and let it warm his palms. “I shouldn’t be so t-tired.”

“You weren’t asleep earlier. Enthralled, I would call it. Or perhaps ecstatic, using the mystical definition rather than the emotional. If you’re tired…” She gestured toward the upstairs.

Lenny considered being asleep when Sebastian inevitably returned. He had failed to convince Rhona to join their little band, and could not in good conscience try any harder. Failure was going to hurt. Sleep might mitigate that, but it would take away any chance he had of bracing himself. He stayed put.

“You have a certain way with the dead, is that not so? As a medium?”

Lenny flinched.

“With the undead as well?”

He pressed his eyes shut and did not answer.

“You say you cannot cause harm, and I think I felt that. You mentioned that Sebastian felt it, as well. Would others?”

He dared a glance and found Rhona looking at him with more than simple curiosity in her pale eyes. “Wh-why?”

“May I ask you for something?”

He wished he could say no. He deeply, fervently wished that he could say no. But whatever it was, it was important to her, and he was a medium. “You can ask. I d-don’t have a lot to g-give right now, though.”

“If you can help, I might consider helping Sebastian. You can tell him you convinced me, and he might be easier on you.”

“No, I mean… I’ll t-try, but I don’t know if I’ll be able. I d-don’t know if he’ll let me.”

“Nothing difficult. I want you to talk to someone. My filius. He’s skittish, but-”

“Your what?”

“My son, the man I changed. You use a different word?”

“I like yours better. Why can’t you t-talk to him?”

“He ran from me a long time ago. He may have had reason, then; I wasn’t exactly stable. But now he runs whenever he senses me nearing, long before I can get close enough to tell him I only want to talk. I’ve written, but he never answers, usually only runs again when he knows I have his address. I want him back with me. I miss him terribly. I honestly don’t know why he runs, and I don’t want him to fear me. Do you believe me?”

Lenny considered. His brain felt as though it were mired in mud. He was not a mind reader. He could not reach inside Rhona and know if she was sincere. He could feel that she was a killer and assumed that, like other vampires, she was trustworthy only as long as keeping faith was useful to her. But Kate had been the same once, he reminded himself. She had been like all the others, but she had found something she wanted and had kept him safe until she remembered how to love. It was hardly the same situation, of course, but close enough to compare. Rhona would do anything it took to get what she wanted, but if this man was what she wanted, he would be safe.

“I believe you.”

She let out a soft breath. “And if you tell him you believe me, will he believe you?”

Lenny shrugged. “Won’t know until I t-try.”

“You will try, then?”

“I’ll try to try. I g-guess. But you t-tell Sebastian about it. I don’t know whether I c-can t-talk to him. How do I find your… your filius?”

“His name is Daniel. I can give you his address. Perhaps I should tell you he is also my brother.”

“You changed your b-brother?”

“Yes. Is that a problem for you?”

“No, I understand. You d-didn’t want to lose him. If I can t-talk to him, c-could you do something for me?”

“Possibly.”

“There’s a woman called Kimberly Reed. She lives in Austin. She’s a wizard. C-could you call her and t-tell her I was here? And d-don’t let Sebastian know.”

“I will.” She held out a hand to shake on it.

* * *

SEBASTIAN WAS FRIGHTENINGLY enthusiastic about the idea. He counted it as a victory, and he said as much. Rhona nodded, but Lenny knew it was a calculated retreat. He prayed Sebastian did not find out, for everyone’s sake.

“Let’s go,” Sebastian commanded as soon as he had heard the plan. Lenny hauled himself to his feet. “The sooner we get this done, the better. I want to get underground.”

Suddenly, Rhona was between them and the door, her hands on her hips. “Not even,” she snapped. “First, we lay down some ground rules. I don’t want you” – she thrust her finger into Sebastian’s chest – “making things worse. You’re to leave this to Leonard. And you’re to let him rest. If there’s something he needs to do, I want him able to do it. You’re not to go anywhere near, and you’re to stay out of Daniel’s head. I don’t want him thinking I asked you to hurt him. Understood?”

Sebastian bared his teeth in a hideous grin. “Fine,” he conceded. “Your brother, your rules. We’ll bring him back.”

Rhona pursed her lips, eyebrows drawing together. “I hope so.”

Lenny thought he heard a misunderstanding in that exchange and was about to ask, but Sebastian grabbed him by the arm and turned the question into a gasp. He clenched his jaw and leaned away, and the fingers dug in tighter, and he stopped moving.

Rhona frowned in deep disgust. “I’m leaving Houston,” she told them as she scribbled an address and phone number on the back of a receipt. “I can’t wait around here. Someone will find the bodies, and I’m not interested in having to run from human police. I’ll be at this address in Cleveland. Give Daniel the phone number. He might be willing to call me, even if he won’t come. If you show up at my door, I might let you in.”

She paused then tilted her head pointedly in Lenny’s direction. “I’ll be more likely if he’s still in one piece. I like him a lot better than I like you. Crazy bastard.”

Sebastian guffawed, snatched the receipt out of her hand, and steered Lenny out to the car. The mid-afternoon sun was painful after the foil-guarded gloom inside. “She’s pretty hot,” he confided when the doors were shut and they were halfway down the block. “She likes playing like she hates me. Been doing that for years. I’ll break her someday, though. Every time I look at her, I can tell she wants me to. I figure maybe dragging her brother back would give me an edge, yeah? You’re useful. I like that.”

Lenny dug his knuckles into his eyes. “She said you’re not supposed to g-g-get near him. He’s skittish. You’d scare him off.”

“She said you’re supposed to get some rest. Go to sleep.”

Lenny woke up just before they passed the San Antonio city limits sign. The ebb of an adrenaline rush was quivering in his stomach, but he could not remember the dreams that had caused it. For that he was grateful. And, as much as it horrified him to know he could be knocked out with only a word, he did feel better than he had.

Sebastian drove toward the city skyline, humming under his breath. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of old aviators, and he drummed out a rhythm on the steering wheel. He turned his head fractionally to smile at Lenny.

“I think maybe you were right,” he said, picking up exactly where he had left off. “I’ll let you off, say, a half mile out. He may have an established territory. You go talk to him. I’ll be watching.”

Lenny frowned. “You’ll be… You’ll b-be watching?”

“Mm. Through you.”

“Oh.” He shuddered and sat in silence, suddenly very conscious of his sense of sight, until the Mazda rolled to a stop in the middle of a residential neighborhood.

The houses were the low, square bungalows of the nineteen-sixties, widely spaced between twisted live oaks. The afternoon sun shone through the branches and dappled the dry lawns. The houses were well-kept, but the street was cracked and the cars were old. Respectable, but not wealthy.

“Straight ahead, third left, fourth right, next right.” Sebastian handed Lenny the directions Rhona had written. “If you need backup…”

“Wh-what if he’s not there?”

“Then come on back and we’ll wait.” He smiled. “Try to hurry.”

Lenny slid out of the car and shuffled down the street, fighting his poor balance. The thought of running crossed his mind. He ignored it; walking was hard enough. The shadows grew deeper as he made his way further into the neighborhood and the oaks became taller and darker. Left, right, right. He checked the address he had been given. The house in front of him did not stand out from any of the others. Square construction, gray brick, perfectly trimmed hedge close up against the walls. Sticky letters on the side of the mailbox said “LELAND.” A cat shot out of the foliage and streaked across several neighboring lawns, fleeing Lenny’s approach.

He reached out to ring the doorbell, but stopped. There was nothing inside he could hear – nothing alive – and nothing that touched his ghost sense. No one home. But Sebastian would be watching, and Lenny had no idea how many senses “watching” entailed, so he rang the bell anyway and waited on the step long enough to be certain. No one answered.

He turned around to walk back, but as he did, an enormous boat of a car pulled into the driveway, and the driver climbed out. The man straightened, and just seemed to keep rising until he was taller even than Sebastian. He was unmistakably Rhona’s brother. Lenny could see the resemblance in the straight lines and sharp angles, hollow cheeks, slash of a mouth, slender frame. His dark hair, winged with gray, was slicked back beneath a battered panama hat. One spidery hand rose to knuckle his spectacles higher on the bridge of his aquiline nose. He was older than Rhona by several decades, or at least appeared to be, though Lenny knew that appearances could deceive. Deep lines creased the man’s forehead and bracketed his mouth. Gray eyes regarded Lenny coldly.

“Can I help you?”

He had the same accent as Rhona, something nonspecific but vaguely British.

Lenny fidgeted. “Are… Are you, um, D-daniel?”

The man stood still and silent, his expression chilly.

“I’m Lenny.” He tried a smile and received no response, so instead he held out the scrap of paper he carried. “Rhona asked me to give you this. Her… her phone number is on there. I d-don’t think you can reach her there yet. Maybe. But she wants to t-talk to you.”

Daniel Leland recoiled, glaring at the object as though it were something noxious scraped from the bottom of a shoe. He transferred the same look to Lenny.

“No.”

And he brushed past, flipping through his ring of keys.

“Wait. P-please just listen. She wants you b-back.”

“I am aware of that.” His voice was hard, irritated that the conversation was not over.

“No, I mean she misses you.”

The jingle of the keys fell still for a moment. Daniel Leland stopped.

Lenny let out a breath and ploughed onward. “She d-didn’t tell me what happened, but whatever she did, she said she… she wasn’t right, then. She doesn’t want to hurt you, just talk. I think she’s sorry.”

Daniel Leland turned and took the scrap of paper between two fingertips. He scrutinized it long and hard. His glasses reflected the afternoon light and made his eyes unreadable, but his mouth relaxed for an instant, and something like uncertainty creased his forehead.

It was not a feeling Lenny understood. He had never been afraid to go to someone he loved. He had never feared his family.

But then the bit of paper fluttered to the ground. “Sorry,” Leland hissed. “For what, exactly? Killing me? Damning me? Or uprooting me again, perhaps? You’re trespassing. Get off my property.”

“You d-don’t have to run. She’s known where you live for years. She’s not c-coming for you. At least c-call her.” Lenny paused. Something else had hit him, a sense that Leland’s resentment stemmed from more than just personal injury. He felt out further.

“Leave.”

Lenny’s eyes widened. “You’re B-broken.”

Leland turned with teeth bared in a grimace. “I don’t need her to fix me.”

“No, that’s not what-”

“Go away.”

“What would it c-cost you to talk to her? Just a couple minutes on the phone. She’s your sister.”

Leland seemed to flicker, moving faster than Lenny could follow. A tiny pistol appeared in his hand, and an instant later, its muzzle was pressed against Lenny’s temple.

“My sister died. I will not be made to speak to the thing that stole her face, nor to its lackeys. You continue to trespass. Violence seems to be all you devils understand, so if you don’t leave now, I will be more than happy to remove you from my property and let the coroner sort you out.”

Lenny stumbled back. He had tried. He had tried, and that was all Rhona had asked. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Sorry. ‘M g-going. ‘M sorry.”

But when he turned to flee, something was in his way, big and solid. Sebastian. He found himself grabbed and jostled, and suddenly Sebastian – Sebastian – was standing between him and the threat. Lenny touched his sleeve where he knew, underneath, there would be fingerprints purpling on his arm.

“Put it down,” Sebastian purred.

Lenny, attuned as he was, could feel the current of power humming through his brain, even though it was not directed at him.

Leland’s stance relaxed by a hair. The muzzle of the gun wavered. He was fighting, but he was losing.

“Don’t,” Lenny whispered. “She said not to. She specifically said not to. I asked, that’s all she wanted. We should g-go.”

Sebastian turned, a frown tugging at his mouth.

Three shots split the air. The reports reverberated strangely through the trees.

Lenny cowered. Sebastian whirled, fangs bared.

Leland twitched the gun’s sights from the grass and trained them between Sebastian’s eyes. He tilted his head as though listening. “You’ll want to be gone before the police arrive.”

Sebastian shifted his weight. Leland’s finger tightened on the trigger. “Can you get to me faster than I can squeeze?”

Sebastian smiled, spreading his hands in a placating gesture. He opened his mouth, and Leland snarled.

“Speak again, and I shoot.”

Sebastian’s smile morphed into a grimace. Then he vanished, and Lenny found himself once more looking down the barrel of Leland’s gun. He was not the sort to be able to disappear, and if he tried, he would hurt himself, so he backed away slowly instead, and broke into an unsteady run when he had reached the street. He did not look back.

He fell twice, scraping the heels of his hands and tearing the knee of his pants, and he nearly fell again when Sebastian grabbed him from behind and dragged him the rest of the way to the car. It was still running. He was shoved roughly into the passenger seat and recoiled, automatically shielding his face. He had failed, failed so badly Sebastian had felt the need to step in. He had contradicted him, broken his concentration, and nearly gotten both of them shot as a result. There would be punishment for that. His wrists were grabbed and pulled away from his face, and though he bucked and writhed and cried, he could not break free.

“Are you okay?”

The question did not register until he felt himself shaken, and a seductive flood of calm washed over him.

“Are you okay? He didn’t hit you, did he?”

Lenny struggled for control of his breath and finally settled for shaking his head. The calm solidified somewhere beneath his lungs, heavy as lead. He was so tired.

“You’re shaking. Bastard, threatening you… Just who the hell does he think he is?” Sebastian slammed the door and moved around the car to climb into the driver’s seat. “It’s no wonder Rhona doesn’t come get him herself.”

Lenny sank down into the seat. The terror was gone – vanished – and though it bothered him, knowing that he couldn’t trust his own feelings, he couldn’t make himself miss being afraid. “Now what?”

“You talked to him, like she asked. Didn’t work. I think I might take a stab at it, now.”

“She d-d-didn’t want you t-to.”

White-hot lightning shot up Lenny’s spine, and he whimpered.

Sebastian bared his teeth and threw the car into gear. “What would you know? You don’t know Rhona, you don’t know what she wants. Hell, she doesn’t know what she wants half the time. It’ll just take a little persuasion, and he’ll go running back to her. Everyone’s happy. You’ll see.”

“Wh-what are you going to d-do?”

“Persuade him.”

* * *

KIM WAS FREE to leave the room they had put her in, but she preferred to stay. It was childish, she knew, but it was also better than wandering the halls aimlessly, wallowing in her own inability to do anything useful. And if she left the room, she would be followed closely by a family member, one with her best interests at heart, who would not let her leave the compound. She was not allowed near a phone, or near water or glass or anything that could be used for scrying. She was watched while she drank and was accompanied to the toilet and shower. Her door was watched, but as long as she was inside, there was no one watching her directly, so she stayed inside.

She had been given a CD player and a stack of CDs, a few books, some yarn and knitting needles, and an inconspicuous bronze anklet that kept her magic locked tightly inside her. She ignored all of it and lay flat on the bed to think.

She was alone. No one knew where she was, though Zeb and Coyote would certainly have started looking when she failed to check in from Abilene. They might abandon Tony and Edith, or possibly try to enlist their help. The vampires were not the good guys, but they did seem to like her well enough, perhaps well enough to come looking for her. Even if they found her, though, they would not dare try to break her out, not from the Reed family’s fortress, and Kim was honestly not sure she wanted them to. The people holding her were her family, after all, and though she was deeply furious with all of them, she was not willing to risk breaking ties. They thought she was in danger. They thought she was being controlled by something that could hurt her. They thought they were doing right, and Kim – grudgingly – loved them for that.

She closed her eyes and felt out for Lenny. He was still there, somewhere. She could have pointed straight at him, but she could not tell what kind of shape he was in. She mouthed a prayer to Saint Anthony.

Heaven, though, she was very much aware, helped those who helped themselves. Saint Anthony might be listening, might very well be praying on her behalf, but no miracles were going to drop out of the sky. Modern miracles were subtle, slightly improbable, what people called serendipity or good luck, and moping was not going to get her one.

May as well get to what she was good at.

She poked her head out into the hall. An older woman had taken the place of the teenager who had been there earlier.

“Hey, Aunt Bea,” she greeted the woman.

“Kimmy.” Bea’s smile was sad. “Did you need something?”

“Hey. I don’t really feel like reading fiction, so I was wondering if you’d pop down to the archives with me.”

“You’re not plotting something, are you? I know that look.”

Kim grinned and slid out into the hall. “Of course I am. Just not making a run for it, so don’t worry about that. But see, I made a friend, and I promised I’d keep him safe, and you guys are turning me into a liar. You understand I have to do something.”

“You think reading is going to change your mother’s mind?”

“Reading is what I do best. And who knows? I might find something useful. At the very least, you know I won’t be making a break for it if we’re underground.”

Kim knew the way. She was a Texas girl, born and raised, but it was only once she had started college that she stopped spending every summer and Christmas running wild through the family’s New England home. More accurately, it was quite a few houses close together, connected by winding, tree-shaded walks and underground tunnels. Some of the houses were huge, and some of them were very small, and every one of them was full of Reeds. In some ways, it was like a compound, and in some ways, it was like a small country, but Kim had always found it most like a museum. She led the way down, out of the mostly-normal house above, into the climate-controlled tunnels below.

There were several levels beneath the ground. The place was more than just a home; it was also a safehouse, a research facility, a conservatory, a training center, and a prison.

At the very bottom was the bunker, a few spartan rooms lined with barrels of water and cases of food. Kim had been down there only once, and she hoped to God she would never have to go down there again.

Above that was the prison. She had been through the halls, but never into any of the mostly-empty cells. All she knew for sure was that the criminals kept there were the most dangerous sort of person, abusers of magic. They were not the ones who cheated in Vegas or sold uncannily accurate forgeries. They were the ones who made pacts with unspeakable things, who used the human body in unconscionable ways, who tampered with life and death and the nameless things between. She knew that no sound or light escaped those cells.

The level above the prison was empty and unnaturally cold, but above that one was the labs, and above the labs was the archive. It was cold in the archive, too, but Kim knew very well that the chill there was from the massive climate control units constantly cooling and dehumidifying the air that surrounded the fragile documents.

The only problem was that there were thousands of them: journals, birth records, death records, marriage records, research logs, fables, fiction, directories, histories, recipes, letters, telegrams, printed emails, phonograph cylinders, records, cassettes, compact discs, sheepskin scrolls… They were stacked on shelves, on racks, on the floor. They were preserved behind plastic and glass. They were in file boxes and folders and ring-binders, in drawers, in cabinets, on microfiche and in the rows upon rows of hard drives that lined one wall.

Kim paused at the door to pull on a pair of cotton gloves and slip a dust mask over her nose and mouth. There was a tingle of magic in the air, protecting the materials from time, but there was no reason to take a risk with bacteria and skin oils.

Bea stopped behind her. “You’re just going to start reading?” she breathed, aghast. “Kimmy, you’ll be here forever!”

Kim ignored her. She shut her eyes for a moment and sucked in a deep breath before letting it back out, making the mask inflate slightly. Then she took sixteen steps in a random direction and stopped. That felt right. She opened her eyes to make sure she was not about to step on anything, focused, and took another twelve steps to her left. That felt right. Getting closer. She found herself among titles that suggested anthropology. Cryptoanthropology. It was possible that someone, once, had stumbled upon something Broken and made record of it. She raised one hand and touched the spine of a drably-bound book. That was wrong. The ones to either side of it were wrong, as well. She squatted and surveyed the bottom shelf. Night-things of the Caucasus Major: With Some Notes on the Traditions of Reciprocal Hospitality and the Ritual Feast, W.E.R. Garrow, 1917.

It sounded unbearably dry. It also sounded right. She slid it off the shelf and retreated to the table near the door, where she began to read.

* * *

COYOTE KNEW WHERE Kim was. She had always been careful, but no one can erase every trace of herself, and he had found a few hairs tangled in a half-knitted scarf on her floor. A map of Texas failed to find her, but a map of the United States showed her moving through Oklahoma. He watched until she abruptly picked up speed, heading north. She must have boarded a plane.

He gritted his teeth and cursed the medium soundly. “Couldn’t just let the chindi bastard go,” he growled. “And Duran’s got them both, now.”

Zeb watched the little twist of hair snake its way across the country. “You think so?”

“Can’t afford to assume otherwise. I can track her, can’t track either of them. Should’a grabbed a few more hairs from the wuss.”

Zeb drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair and glanced at Bernice and Itzli. “Just sayin’, if she keeps on in that direction, it’ll land her in Boston. Her folks live near there. Know y’all don’t want to waste any time.”

Coyote scoffed. “I doubt she took off for an impromptu family reunion.”

“Naw. But if somebody tipped off her ma about the… that… Cindy might be pretty ticked.”

“Cindy can shove it.”

Zeb chucked. “Tell her that to her face, I dare ya.”

Coyote scowled.

Zeb tilted his head and ran his hands over the grips of his pistols as he stood. “Welp, if you think Duran’s up that way with her, y’all better get a move on. Don’t want to think what he’d be doin’ to her if he did get her. I’ll catch up. Want to check up in Abilene, first.”

“Why?”

“Family of mundanes potentially got slammed by a vampire. Someone should prolly check-see they’re okay.”

They took off, Coyote and the vampires in one direction and Zeb in another. He made sure to lock Kim’s apartment before he left, and he drove to Abilene. The going was almost painfully slow. He would rather have been charging off to rescue a friend, but there were other things that needed doing, and it looked as though no one else was going to do them.

He did not talk long with Mara Demarco, just long enough to find out that everyone in her house was okay, and she had not seem Kim, but she had not seen Duran, either. He did not tell her that the medium was missing again, because he could tell she did not want to hear it, but she had worked it out from the open front door and the fact that his things were still there.

Mara handed Zeb the bag of Lenny’s belongings. She had loosely sewn shut the back of the stuffed rabbit.

“Get him back,” she said without tears. “Please get him back. And if you do, tell him I’m sorry. I wish I could have turned back the clock, but…” She shrugged. “He doesn’t have friends, you know? He has soul mates, picks someone to be completely devoted to. And I could never live with it if he was giving me all he’s got, and I couldn’t give the same back. And if he ever wants to drop by, he’s always welcome under my roof, or however that goes. I just can’t be part of all this. I can’t get my girls into all this. I’m sorry.”

Zeb took the bag and drove away.

Chapter 15

LENNY WOKE UP yet again with no memory of having gone to sleep, and decided he was getting tired of being treated as though he had an OFF switch. He wondered whether he had the guts to tell Sebastian that. He did not intend to run. He could say that, and Sebastian would almost certainly know that it was the truth; the man could sniff out lies with ease, so surely he could know the truth when he heard it.

Lenny pushed himself up from where he had been sprawled across the back seat and made a futile attempt to rub the burn out of his throat. He would have to take care of that, he knew, but reaching for the door handle let him know that leaving the car was forbidden. His muscles tightened, and his hand shook, and he could not quite touch the plastic. After a few moments, he gave up trying.

Sebastian was gone, and it seemed to be early morning. The car was in an empty lot, somewhere near downtown, to judge by the tip of the Tower of the Americas thrusting up into a cloudless sky beyond a nearby broken-windowed building.

Even if the lot was empty, there would be people somewhere nearby, so close to the city center. No lives would be in danger, no matter how bad off he got, but Lenny refused to do to someone else what he had done to Kim. Then, he’d had no choice, and she had understood that, but now, here, the people of San Antonio might not be as forgiving. Besides, if he could find the strength, he could do something about it.

He tried again to get out, and could not. That might in itself have been a solution to his problem. Sebastian had kept him contained for years, unable to hurt anyone. But whatever Sebastian had done to him, it had taken years to complete, and Coyote had demolished at least some of it. What was left was enough to keep him put for the moment, but later, when his cerebral cortex shut down and the animal brain took over?

He could feel that coming, and it felt too familiar, and for an instant, panic began to rise up. He fought it down again. That moment was still hours away, at least. He had kept himself in good condition while he was with Mara, as good as he could manage, and that caution had given him some extra time. He could make it another few hours, and that might be enough time for Sebastian to come back.

He took a steadying breath and waited.

Waited.

Waited.

The burn in his throat began to spread, and a tension grew in the back of his mind, like a tightly-wound rubber band. He knew that feeling. When the band snapped, he would be gone.

Still he waited. His eyes itched. They would be darkening, white to pink, pink to red. He had heard it said that it was the human mask falling away, revealing the demon inside, but the truth was more pedestrian. It was disintegration, the point at which there was no longer enough power in his body to hold him together. That hint of decay was internal, and it was everywhere – organs, tissues, bones – but the eyes were where it showed, capillaries so close to the surface, visible when they broke down.

Sometimes it showed beneath the nails, as well, he reflected, and checked his hands. Still clear. Not that bad yet, then. Painful, miserable, but there was still some time left.

Sometimes in the gums. His gums did hurt. His teeth sliced into his tongue, and he winced.

And he waited.

He started and shied away when the driver’s door slammed open and Sebastian slid into the car with a delighted grin, oblivious to his passenger’s problem.

“He’s a teacher,” he cackled. “Just like you! You did say you were a teacher. I think I remember that. Stupid bastard must be blind, never did see me watching. I’ll send him a message, I think. He hangs out with this other guy, skinny little sprout. I’ll get a picture, maybe. Leave it somewhere for him with a red X, like in the movies. See? Not even touching him, just like Rhona said. Just letting him know we’re still around. Wonder where I can snag a camera…”

Lenny curled in on himself in the back seat. He could see any number of things wrong with that plan, but could not spare the brain power to articulate them. He whimpered.

Sebastian twisted in his seat, mouth turned down in a scowl. “What is wrong with… Oh.” The scowl mellowed. “I didn’t realize. What’s your poison? You’re no good for anything if your brain gives out.”

Lenny shifted uncomfortably. He had time left but not, he thought, enough to get him out of town. Still, he had to try.

“Something b-b-big,” he muttered into his knees.

Sebastian laughed. “Oh, right. Goody-two-shoes would rather starve than chew on law-abiding citizens. Whatever. Leland’s not going anywhere. Thinks we left. We can afford to lose a little time.”

He put the car in gear and rolled out of the lot, crossing a few intersections before finding Interstate 10 and heading south out of town.

By the time Sebastian spotted something promising and swerved off the road, Lenny was shaking. The tension inside him was stretched so thin and so taut, he felt that if he let go, it would slingshot him through the windshield. And he could let go at any time, give himself some slack, some relief. It would be easier, and it would hurt less. No one in that car would be in danger. But if he lost the power to think, there was nothing to stop Sebastian from pointing him at a crowded gas station or a school just for laughs, and there would be nothing he could do about it, so he hung on as hard as he could, letting himself stretch as far as he could take, waiting for the snap.

“Horses,” Sebastian said. “Horses are pretty big. Not people. That’s what you meant, isn’t it?” He unlocked the doors and made a shooing motion. “Well, go.”

Lenny crawled out of the car and was squeezing awkwardly through the barbed-wire fence when the snap came, and he was gone. He did not come back to himself until something shoved him hard and he felt the animal die, seconds or minutes later. He doubled over in an agonizing spasm.

Sebastian stood straddling the carcass, a section of the dead horse’s spine between his hands. “Damn… You okay? Thought it was going to trample you.”

Lenny picked himself up and felt around. The death hurt, but there was something else, a sharp pain in his side that he suspected was probably horseshoe-shaped. It was healing, though. The pain was receding, cracked ribs knitting together, and he was almost clear-headed again. He nodded.

Sebastian snorted and dropped the body. “You are really bad at this, you know? You’re bad at… at just being. How the hell have you survived this long?”

Lenny looked away. “I t-try not to antagonize people.”

Sebastian grinned. “Yeah, I guess you probably do. Speaking of which, we need to fly. There’s someone coming down from that house over there.”

A cloud of dust was racing down the dirt road that stretched away from the interstate, hiding a silhouette that might have been an ATV.

Sebastian stepped away from the dead horse and vaulted gracefully over the fence. Lenny scrambled after him, collecting a few scratches as he did. They climbed into the car and roared away, Sebastian laughing like a maniac the entire time.

“Horse,” he sputtered. “That was way too much trouble for horse.”

Lenny twisted the hem of his shirt between his fingers. It was the only shirt he had left, and now it was stained with blood, dirt, and grass.

“I could take care of myself,” he suggested timidly, “if you maybe didn’t make me wait in the car. I won’t run. Just out and back. If you needed me for something, you can always find me.”

Sebastian drove into town in silence. He said nothing when they passed the Anderson Loop, nothing when they passed the Connelly Loop, nothing until after the San Antonio skyline was behind them.

“You’re lying,” he said at length, and Lenny’s stomach clenched.

“I’m not.”

“I think you are. You’d run back to your wizard.”

“No. Kim can’t help. If she c-c-could, she would have already. I don’t have anywhere to g-go. I have to come back to you.”

“Damn straight, you have to.”

“And… I think… I think maybe you need me around.”

Sebastian barely moved, but his fist caught Lenny in the jaw. It was only a light cuff, but he was Sebastian, and a light cuff from him whipped Lenny’s head around and started his jaw swelling.

“I don’t need you half as much as you need me. Look at you, sorry son of a gun. Who else would even bother with you?”

He pulled into a motel parking lot, stopped the car, and sat thinking for another moment.

“Do whatever you want. Wander around if you feel like it. But if you’re not back where I tell you to be every night, I’m heading back to Abilene to change your girlfriend, maybe throw her kids at her when she gets hungry. Bet you anything she wouldn’t have the problem you do.”

And he got out to negotiate for a motel room, leaving Lenny alone with his nauseous terror.

* * *

SEBASTIAN LEFT THE motel room at some point, and Lenny stayed very still and quiet until he returned. It was nearly evening, after all, and he needed to be where Sebastian wanted him to be. That was the deal. He would sit still and quiet, and Sebastian would not hurt the people Lenny cared about. It sounded reasonable.

Sebastian brought back a camera and a plastic shopping bag. He threw the latter at Lenny, who flinched, but the contents of the bag were soft. Jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt tumbled out.

Lenny picked them up uncertainly. “Thanks?”

“Yeah. Go shower before you start to smell bad.” The words came out harsh, but then Sebastian grinned. “This is going to be fun.” He fell into the chair beside the curtained window and began to explore his camera. It was a big one, undoubtedly expensive, the kind that usually came with interchangeable lenses and a lot of bits and pieces, the kind professional photographers used. Sebastian did not have any other lenses or bits and pieces, and Lenny thought it likely that the professional photographer was probably lying in a dumpster somewhere.

“What… what exactly are you p-planning to, um…?”

Sebastian looked up, and for a long moment, Lenny thought he had overstepped his bounds, but Sebastian blinked and squinted in concentration, and finally nodded.

“Follow him around, get some pictures. He won’t show up in them. I don’t know anyone around here who has the stuff to develop them right for that. But his friends will. I get a few pictures, have them developed, leave ‘em somewhere he can find ‘em, get him all nice and worked up over it, then leave one that says where he has to come meet us if he wants his friends safe.” He peered into the camera’s lens and lifted it up to look at Lenny through the viewfinder. “I figure he’s sort of like you, maybe. Likes playing human, likes the ones he hangs out with. We’ll be out of here in a week. It’ll be fun. Like a movie. Like playing spy.”

They didn’t have time for fun, really. Lenny half-expected Tony and Edith to show up at any moment, hopefully with Kim and her posse in tow. Kim could find him, always, the same as Sebastian could, and there had to be something Coyote could do, and Zeb would make the shaman try whether he wanted to or not. Someone was looking for him. Someone would be coming to help. Surely Sebastian knew that, knew that the longer they stayed in one place, the more likely it became that someone would catch up with them.

But if he didn’t, Lenny was not about to point it out.

“’Kay. Sounds… sound fun. Yeah.” More fun than staying in the motel room, at least.

Lenny took the clothes – probably also stolen; they smelled more like person than like superstore, fortunately not stained by death – and shuffled into the tiny bathroom. He ran the water until it was hot, but the thought of stripping naked with Sebastian in the other room made his throat close and his chest jump in senseless fear, so he left his shoes by the door and stood under the scalding spray fully-clothed, hoping that maybe some of the stains would wash out of his shirt. They didn’t, even though he used all of the shampoo in the little tube.

The water heaters in the place must have been impressive, though, because the water never did go cold. Lenny stood in the shower until his skin was red and most of him felt warm, at least on the surface, then let himself drip while the steam began to thin. The shirt was beyond salvage, so it went in a wad into the trashcan. His pants were in better condition, so those went over the curtain rod to dry. He toweled himself off with frantic haste and shoved himself into Sebastian’s offerings, not sure whether to be pleased or horrified that they were approximately the right size.

When he emerged, Sebastian was spread-eagled on one of the beds, face-down and shirtless on top of the scratchy acrylic duvet. Lenny stood still and watched the other man’s back until he was sure Sebastian was not breathing. Asleep, maybe, or faking to see what Lenny would do.

It didn’t much matter either way. Running would get him hurt, would get Mara and her daughters hurt. Hurting Sebastian, incapacitating him, was out of the question for a medium and a pacifist. It couldn’t be done, and he didn’t try.

Instead, he turned out the light and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. It was easier for him to see in the dark anyway, more comfortable, and he felt very slightly less likely to run into things or trip over flat ground. He crept over to the other bed, failing to be silent. He would not be able to sleep, he knew, but he could rest, and rest was going to be essential. But as he peeled back the covers, something slid off the bed and hit the hard industrial carpet with a faint, clear tone. He froze, glancing nervously to see whether the sound had woken Sebastian, and when half a minute had ticked past without incident, he bent to pick the object up.

His ring. There was little enough light in the room, but the battered gold shone. The atoms were heavy, and the miniscule vibrations between them were slow, but he was still very much aware of the echoes coded within them, the faint imprint of Kate.

He could not remember taking it off, would never have taken it off without a safe place to put it, would never have risked losing it. But at the same time, it had been so many years since he had worn it, so many years getting used to it not being on his finger, the only possibility was that it had slipped off without him noticing. He could not remember when, exactly, but there was quite a lot he still could not remember, like grappling with an angry horse that probably would have trampled him if Sebastian had not been near.

Sebastian, who saw a ring fall and picked it up to return it later? Or who noticed a ring missing and went back to find it?

Lenny put the ring back on and climbed into bed, troubled. He did not intend to sleep, but he was drawn down anyway, into a dream of running away from something inside his own head.

* * *

THE WOMAN WITH the cleft forehead and the mismatched eyes was in his head. He could feel Her and Her hate for him. And because he was part of her now, he hated himself, too.

It was only a dream, Sebastian’s dream, but it felt so real. Lenny struggled to get out, to wake up.

She steered him like a puppet up a long, winding road. Not like a puppet. What Sebastian had done to him was like puppeteering. What She had done to Sebastian was steadier, more natural. He was part of Her. She guided him as easily as She guided Her own body, and he had no choice but to go. The sensation was familiar to Lenny. He had been part of someone, once, but that had been something sacred and beautiful. This was a horror.

At the end of the road was a house, something between a mansion and a castle. She sent him spidering up the wall, fingertips finding purchase in the tiny crevices between the stones. Because She wanted him to hurt, She let him keep his mind while She controlled the rest of him, let him fight futilely until he had exhausted himself.

Still he climbed. Above him was a lighted window, and he knew who sat on the other side of the heavy oaken shutters. The man in there was cruel, but he was family, and he did not deserve what She had planned for him.

Maybe he wouldn’t be able. Maybe She couldn’t make him do it. He had fought her before and failed, but the man inside was family, a brother. The blood they shared was truer than the blood She had stolen. If anything could protect him…

He rapped once on the shutter and heard movement from within. “Iaceo,” he called. “It’s cold out here. Let me in.” He would have bitten his tongue off if he could, anything to stop talking, anything to keep his brother inside and safe. He could feel Her grin, horrible and gaping.

But the shutter flew open and he seized the hand that emerged, pulling the man out beyond the threshold, and together they fell.

Lenny choked on the memory of death and wrenched himself out of the dream.

* * *

IN THE MORNING, Sebastian was gone, and he stayed gone until late in the evening. Lenny watched the local news, grateful for every second the traffic report did not switch over to a sudden ghastly murder.

“You’re still here,” Sebastian observed with a touch of surprise when he strode back through the door, camera on a strap around his neck.

“I t-told you I wasn’t g-going anywhere.”

“Yeah. Guess you did, didn’t you?”

“Thanks for finding my ring.”

“Oh, you saw it there? Good.” He stood there waiting, but Lenny did not know what else he was supposed to say, and Sebastian joined him watching the news.

The next day was the same, as were the ones that followed. Sebastian left. Lenny watched television. Sebastian came back. They sat in silence until one or the other decided to go to sleep. Lenny slipped out once and discovered that there were whitetail deer deep inside the city limits, living between the live oaks as though they owned the place. He also discovered that deer hooves are smaller and sharper than horse hooves, but he was back in the motel room before nightfall.

A week passed that way, until Sebastian came back with a big manila envelope and a red Marks-A-Lot and showed Lenny the photos he’d had developed.

In most of them, there was no sign of Daniel Leland, but in a few, there were strange, elongated blurs that Lenny thought might have been the result of a vampire in the shot. There were three other people in evidence. One of them was a young man with white-blond hair, impossibly fresh looking. It had to have been his first year teaching, because there was no way he was much older than twenty. In fact, with his awkward, gawky frame and peach-fuzz face, he could easily have been taken for a teenager, if not for the school ID on a lanyard around his neck. The second was a lovely woman with olive skin and tilted eyes, broad around the middle and round in the cheeks, who wore her collar standing up instead of lying flat and obviously knew very well that she looked fantastic. The third was not a teacher, Lenny thought. Maybe the receptionist. She had the sharp, penetrating gaze of someone long used to deciding which visitors were to be granted admission, and which deserved a discreet call to the police. Despite the season, she wore an expertly hand-knitted Fair Isle sweater.

Sebastian scratched a thick, scarlet X over the receptionist’s face.

“I’ll put ‘em in his mailbox,” he said. “One a day for, oh, maybe a week. Write on the last one for him to meet us… Where do you think? Somewhere out of the way.”

“I d-dunno,” Lenny said. “Don’t know San Antonio real w-well.” Another week sitting in one place. If anyone was coming, two weeks should be plenty of time for them to catch up. No one came.

The next morning, Sebastian slept in and left only when he was reasonably certain that Daniel Leland would be at work. Lenny turned on the news, as had become his habit, but Sebastian was back within an hour, grinning like mad.

“Wish I could stick around to see his face,” he crowed. “Damn, I wish I could. Don’t want the bastard to shoot me, though. I bet he would. Sort of twitchy.” He pulled a paperback western out of his back pocket and sat down to read.

He left to deliver another photograph the following day, then another and another. Lenny watched him get more and more excited, almost frantic by the time he scrawled the message on the back of the last photograph, inch-high letters in blood-red marker.

PARKING LOT AT THE ALAMO DOME, he wrote. MIDNIGHT. COME ALONE.

He held it up for Lenny to admire and then vanished. When he came back, he was flushed and breathing hard. “This is going to be good,” he muttered to himself, over and over. “This is going to be good. This is going to be good.”

Lenny stayed as far back as the walls would allow and finally lay down and pretended to be asleep, even when he felt Sebastian’s hand on his waist.

They were in the parking lot a half hour before midnight. The lots were closed, so they left the car and walked. Lenny had wanted to stay behind. He wanted to stay in the motel room, but was not allowed. He wanted to stay in the car, but was not allowed. So he stood beside Sebastian in the gray-orange light of a city at night and chewed his thumbnail down to the quick. It hurt. Everything hurt.

Twenty minutes. Somewhere nearby, sirens screamed toward them, passed, and dopplered into silence. A breeze picked up.

Sebastian had not seemed to take into account that a man so comfortable with a pistol might be equally comfortable with a rifle, and not even Sebastian could be quick enough to dodge a bullet travelling more than twice the speed of sound. Still, Lenny chose to watch the darkness for Zeb or even Itzli – it wouldn’t be Kim; he could feel her half a hemisphere away, far beyond San Antonio – rather than scanning the skyline for a sniper. He watched for ghosts. He halfheartedly watched for Daniel Leland’s lanky form to come striding out of the night. He watched for bats, for vagrants, for cops, but he did not look at Sebastian. He fingered his ring and felt out Kate’s echo, focusing on it until he could halfway see a watery shade, golden-beautiful, superimposed over his vision, but he did not look at Sebastian.

Ten minutes. Sebastian stood like a rock, utterly motionless, not even breathing. The breeze ruffled his hair and flapped the tails of the black blazer he had picked up somewhere, but he did not shift, did not flex, only stood. Perhaps he was listening.

Five minutes. Lenny fidgeted. He pulled his sleeves down to cover his hands and wished there was some other piece of clothing he could pull up to cover his face. He felt exposed. There was no one around, but he felt as though everyone in the world could see his scars. They had actually begun to fade, but fresh punctures crowned the collection, and they burned. He tucked his chin to his chest and watched his shoes.

Three minutes. Sebastian moved. He tapped out the seconds with his toe. Slow, steady pace. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. Four.

One minute. Please, somebody. I’m here, I’m waiting. Please, Kim, send somebody. Please, Daniel, figure it out, know I’m trapped, come help me. Please, God, Kim, someone. Kate…The memory was nearby, the pattern he knew well, sealed forever in ectoplasm, but it was only an echo, not a ghost, not really Kate, and there was nothing it could do. He pleaded with it anyway, touched on the Veil and tried to will some mass into the image, make it into something that could touch, that could take him away, but that’s not what a medium does. The power slipped away from him.

Sebastian leaned forward eagerly on the balls of his feet. “Come on, come on.”

Midnight.

* * *

KIM HAD COPIED, cross-referenced, collected, and collated. Research was her strength. She knew where she stood, when she stood among books.

She was aware that Zeb and Coyote had been hanging around, though neither had been allowed near her. That made sense, really. Coyote was one of the few people who could verify, beyond any doubt, that no one was tampering with Kim’s mind, but Cynthia Reed, for personal reasons, was dead-set against believing anything Deaf Coyote ever said. Kim suspected that the animosity had its roots in the tattoo Coyote had removed from his arm and possibly in the fact that the United States Postal Service was certain that his name was actually Norman Goldfarb. It didn’t matter much to Kim either way; she was very much accustomed to people’s strange quirks. This time, though, it was getting in her way.

She made a few unsubtle attempts to find out where the men had been staying, but was diverted every time. She asked more directly whether any of Edith and Tony’s gang were with them, and was laughed at. The undead actually inside the compound? Don’t be ridiculous.

No one talked to her about what was going on outside.  No one talked to her about Lenny or Duran. But she did hear whispering.

“Something’s wrong. It should have worn off by now, without a new command for so long.”

“Unless there’s nothing to wear off. She keeps insisting the leech isn’t compelling her, that he’s different… some sort of subspecies.”

“But she just keeps reading. She’s determined to prove that she’s acting autonomously, but she’s still trying to get back to him. He must be summoning her somehow.”

“It’s not natural. He must be immensely powerful.”

That had made her laugh, but then it made her wonder. She could not believe that Lenny would ever force his will on someone intentionally, not after what he had been through, but it could be unintentional, the same way he had broadcast his feelings into her head or let her know when he needed comfort. He was living a nightmare, tied to a monster without hope of escape, and the person who had promised to keep him safe had not come to rescue him. He had more than enough motivation.

And it didn’t matter, she decided, because if he was pulling on her, it was only to do something she would have done anyway. Kimberly Michelle Reed did not abandon her friends.

Her stack of notes slowly grew into a compelling case, and when she was done, she went looking for someone in charge. Bea was the one tailing her again, and the older woman had some trouble keeping up.

“Who exactly are you looking for?” Bea puffed. She was a thin woman, but horribly out of shape.

“Mom, preferably.”

“Oh. But your grandpa’s back. If you need, ah, arbitration, you should probably go see him first.”

Kim froze. It wasn’t that her grandfather scared her. Jeremiah Reed was a fair man. He was honorable and affectionate. He was even open-minded, provided the issue was to do with human beings. There were photos – and he had been an old man even then – of him marching in civil rights demonstrations, back when brown people were still strung up from trees for that kind of heresy. But where Cynthia Reed was cautious around anything Other, her father was militant.

Kim’s mind churned. There were laws, her grandpa often said, which were the only thing standing in the way of chaos. It was hard enough to regulate North America’s wizards, and harder still to negotiate a reasonable agreement with the Other, one that somehow managed to protect his family, protect the wizards, protect the mundanes, and still be enforceable. Once the delicate balance was struck, no exceptions could be made. The system in place was the only thing that kept the world from exploding into magical conflict. It had never been and would never be feasible to forbid vampires from attacking or even killing humans, but wizards were off-limits, and the Reed family doubly so. Kim had been horrified when she had first heard that. She had called her grandfather a racist. She had pointed to his old photos and called him a hypocrite. He had sat her down and explained, as carefully as he could, that it had nothing to do with superiority. It was a practical matter, and sometimes practicality was cruel. A human would fight back and die. A wizard would fight back and the fallout could be catastrophic. Bystanders could be hurt. A dying wizard, slinging magic around without means to control it, could level a small town. It had happened before. There could be no exceptions.

Lenny had attacked a Reed. Not of his own volition, and Kim would make sure everyone knew that there had been no intent to cause harm, but it might only make the difference between a death sentence and a very, very long imprisonment, and that assumed that someone – anyone – believed that he would not take advantage of the foothold he had in Kim’s mind.

Kim half-turned, biting her lip. It might almost be better if she went quietly back to her room and hoped everyone forgot why she was there. But a militant was better than a sadist, and Lenny was trapped already. If he was trapped nearby, she could at least make sure he was comfortable, adequately fed, and not abused. That would be better. She dug the heels of her hands into her eyes.

Bea patted her niece’s shoulder awkwardly. “I’m just following you, Kimmy,” she said. “Take your time.”

Kim took her time. All the research she had gathered had been selected with her mother in mind. Her grandfather was an entirely different ball of wax. To convince Cynthia, Kim had set out to prove that the Uszkodzone were real, that there were documented instances of the undead acting with human conscience. She had no way to prove that Lenny was one of them, in fact wasn’t even certain that he was, but it was a starting place. Convincing Jeremiah would require a more legal angle. He wouldn’t care if Lenny was undead, uszkodzony, or the adopted son of the Easter Bunny; the law was the law, and there could be no exceptions.

She debated, dithered, and finally kept walking. Trying and failing would be terrible, but not trying at all would be worse.

Jeremiah Reed spent most of his time at home in his study, the only room in the top storey of the largest and oldest house in the compound, the one Salem Reed had built when he immigrated to the Americas. Let’s see, that would have been… 1859? Kim knew the founder of her Circle had left India in the wake of the Sepoy Mutiny and had brought his Bengali wife, Ashapoorna, and their fifteen children with him. In fact, Jeremiah was the eldest of those fifteen. The house reflected Ashapoorna’s style much more than it did Salem’s, and Ashapoorna had fallen in love with the Georgian homes of New England. Salem, the English Indophile, had insisted on arched doorways and bright colors inside, but from the outside, the house may as well have belonged to one of America’s Founding Fathers.

Kim did not knock. If she had not been wanted, she would not have been able to get in, but the door opened easily, and she immediately mounted the stairs and began the climb to the third floor, letting Bea trail along behind. Despite the late hour, she passed two more aunts and an uncle before she reached the study – Jeremiah’s generation had been dominated by men, twelve boys and three girls, and the next tier of the family tree, seemingly in retaliation, had rebounded with twenty-nine girls and only eight boys. Kim’s own generation was still in the process of balancing out.

The door to the study was already ajar, so she pushed inside without announcing herself. An old man sat in the chair behind the pretentiously enormous desk. His white hair was tied back in a tiny ponytail at the nape of his neck, and his face strongly resembled a walnut in both texture and color, but he looked remarkably good for a man inching up on his hundred-and-fiftieth birthday.

He did not look up.

Kim moved closer to the desk, hardly making a sound on the thick carpet. “Nanu? Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Jeremiah frowned, but still did not look up. “I’m aware of the situation. It can’t be helped, I’m afraid. Right now, I need you to come to Scotland.”

Kim pulled up short, blinking. “I… What?”

“The Votadini are being difficult again. Demanding an international forum, and you can bet Galbraith thinks he’s going to be in charge. Poor man is starting to lose it. Says the spirit of Merlin is speaking to him. If we’re not there in full force, there’s a very real danger that the European Circles will cede power to the Votadini, and I’m not interested in being subject to a damn oligarchy.”

“But… If you’re aware of the situation, then…”

“Can’t take your mother. If anything happens to me, the leadership passes to her. If anything happens to her, leadership technically passes to your father, but… Well. Bad move to have the first in line present, too big of a target. Second obviously is unavailable. That leaves you.”

Kim scowled. “You’re making me choose between my duty to my family and keeping my word to a friend. That’s low.”

Jeremiah scowled right back, leaning forward with his hands splayed across the desktop. “I didn’t call this forum. I don’t dictate what the other Circles expect of my heirs. I’m not the one trying to turn this world back to colonial imperialism. This friend of yours has committed a serious infraction, but to be frank, the Votadini worry me more, right now. I don’t have the time or resources to go after him, and if he manages to hide himself before I get to it, so be it. But if you disrupt the proceedings at this forum and Galbraith takes over, that’s on your head.”

He sat back, lacing his fingers across his gut, and tilted his head. “Incidentally, I wasn’t offering you a choice, so if it appeases your conscience, you won’t be responsible for breaking your word. You’re already in pretty deep, after this vampire fiasco. Consider this a chance to redeem yourself.”

“It wasn’t Lenny’s fault!”

“No. It was your fault. A liaison is not an employee, and you know damn well that you’d have been shut down in a heartbeat if anyone here heard you were working for Tony and Edith. The fact that no one did know is evidence you knew you were doing wrong.”

“I never mentioned it because I thought that’s what I was supposed to be doing! Maintaining cordial relations and stuff. Rendering aid when needed. Look, I have sixteen file boxes on Sebastian Duran back at my apartment. Look over those. It was a necessary action.”

“Your apartment has been cleaned out. I’ll look over the files when they get here.”

Kim gaped. “You dismantled my life.”

Jeremiah shot to his feet, impossibly fast for a man his age. His amber eyes burned. “You have put every last one of us in danger! We are kin. Your blood is in all of us, and they have it now! And if you’re to be believed, the only feasible solution involves the murder of an innocent, which means my choice is between surrender of my family and surrender of my principles. You’re not the only one torn, here.”

Kim shrank back, cowed, her vision blurred, though whether from tears or shock, she couldn’t tell. “Does that mean you believe me? He isn’t dangerous.”

The chair creaked as Jeremiah sank back into it. He looked exhausted. “I believe that you believe what you’ve told everyone. I know you’re smart, and you’ve been researching the issue, and if the books contradicted something he made you believe, you’d have noticed that. But even if it is true, and this Leonard Hugo isn’t dangerous, it does sound to me as though he could be made to be dangerous. I can’t pass sentence for a crime he was forced to commit, but for now, you’re not going anywhere near him. Kimmy, it’s possible you could be made to be dangerous, too.”

They regarded one another in silence until he dismissed her with a nod. “Go pack, dear.”

Fury rose in her throat, and she could feel the bronze anklet pressing inward, containing the magic she desperately wanted to unleash. She wanted to break through the window and run. She wanted to fly southeast on the wings of a storm and take the choice away from her grandfather. To hell with forums. She wanted to do what was right.

And what was right was maintaining the balance of power, preserving the small regional Circles, preventing the hundreds of tiny wars that would inevitably break out if all authority was consolidated with the Votadini under Galbraith, who was known to be unstable. The lives of thousands of wizards had to outweigh the un-life of a dead medium.

She turned silently and went to go scream at the walls of her room. But first, she would pack.

* * *

SEBASTIAN SLUMPED BACK into the motel room shortly before dawn, and Lenny trailed after. He had expected a tantrum from the other man. He had expected rage and railing and violence, but Sebastian seemed genuinely perplexed, perhaps even a little bit wounded.

“That was supposed to work,” Sebastian said over and over. “It should have worked. That’s how it always works in the movies. He was supposed to come. Try to take me out, at least. Not… Not just ignore me. Why would he just ignore me?”

Lenny stayed out of it, because any answer he could possibly give would upset Sebastian. He could really only hope that Sebastian would give up, would realize that they had already done all that Rhona had asked, and would start heading north. Kim was north, somewhere. He could feel her there. He could have pointed to her. It would be too much to hope that she was in Cleveland, but it was approximately the right direction. Maybe if he was closer to her, it would be easier for her to find him. He sat on the edge of the bed and fidgeted with his ring while Sebastian paced.

“Why didn’t that work? It was supposed to work. I set it up just right. Why would he just ignore me?”

“Maybe he d-didn’t check his mail?”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “He’s been checking it for a week. He wouldn’t stop now. He knows we’re watching him.”

“Or… or something h-happened to him.”

Sebastian began to retort, then stopped his pacing and frowned. “I guess something might have.” His face fell. “Oh. But if it did, Rhona’ll think I did it, won’t she?”

That had the sound of a real question, so Lenny replied. “Probably.” Then he hastened to add, “But I’d tell her you didn’t.”

Sebastian nodded almost gratefully, and resumed his pacing. “The other alternative is that he just doesn’t think we’re serious. I could take care of that.”

Lenny started. “No,” he protested. “No, maybe… Maybe he was just t-too scared to come. He knows you’re serious, and… and he was t-too scared. D-didn’t know what you would d-do. Just… just t-try again. Leave another note. Or I’ll t-try to talk to him again.”

The bed creaked as Sebastian sat down. “You don’t really think he’s scared, do you?”

Lenny did not answer. He didn’t dare.

Sebastian smiled. “At least you’re not lying to me,” he said softly. He laid a hand on the back of Lenny’s neck. “You don’t have to come. You just stay here and watch TV. And be here when I get back. I’ll take care of everything.” He got up and moved back toward the door.

“Wh-what, you meant right n-now?”

“Why not?” Sebastian half-turned, and he smiled when Lenny shrank away. “The sooner we get out of here, the better. Someone might be looking for us, you know.”

Sebastian drifted away, and the door shut behind him.

Lenny waited. There was nothing else he could do, really. He didn’t dare leave, and he knew that, this time, if he turned on the television, the breaking stories would be cause for guilt. Sebastian had gone out to cause harm, and Lenny knew he should have stopped him, should have tried, should have done something other than sit there shaking like a frightened dog. It wouldn’t have done any good, but he still should have tried. That thought settled a lump of something sour in his throat, because at one point he would have tried, even if it did seem hopeless.

He shivered and went to turn up the room’s heater as hot as it would go. It growled and complained and filled the room with the smell of burnt toast; several months’ accumulation of suddenly-smoldering dust could do that. It made his eyes water.

On impulse, Lenny retreated into the bathroom and locked the door. Sebastian was gone, but it still felt like a show of defiance. He turned on the shower and sat on the floor until the room was hot and the mirror fogged and the air was so thick as to be unbreathable. It weighed down his lungs, and so he stopped breathing. At some point, he turned off the water. The room cooled, but only slowly. It was still warmer than outside, and warmer than Lenny’s insides.

The heat felt good, but it was not enough to distract him from Sebastian’s return. The door slammed open and shut, and the man trailed death in behind him like a noxious odor. Even from behind a closed door, Lenny gagged.

“There,” Sebastian said when Lenny managed to drag himself back out into the main room. “We’re serious. Now he knows that.”

“You… You k-… k-k-killed his friends?”

“Just a couple of ‘em. Doesn’t do any good if he’s got nothing left to lose.” He glanced at Lenny’s pallid face and grimaced. “What’s wrong with you now?”

“No, n-nothing. I’m fine. It’s just… It’s on you.”

Sebastian bared fangs. “Oh ‘it’ is, is it? I can see you judging me, medium,” he spat. “Get the hell over it.”

Lenny could not get over it. It was worse than it had been before, either because he had seen it coming or because there were two terrified echoes suspended in ectoplasm – they had seen it coming, too. He took the keys and went out to sleep in the back seat of the car.

They were at the Alamo Dome again at midnight. Again they waited, and again no one arrived. Sebastian went out the following day and killed another. Lenny again did nothing to stop him, only avoided him until he was required to stand by his side in the parking lot and wait once more.

And the next morning, Daniel Leland was gone. His house was empty, totally empty, and his car was gone. Lenny stood awkwardly in the driveway while Sebastian broke down the door; the house was no longer a home, and the protective threshold had vanished with its owner. There was not much to find, only half of a button, but Sebastian huddled over the fragment of polished tortoiseshell as though it were a treasure.

“Going to run? Good, fine.” he growled through clenched teeth. “He’s English. They do that foxhunting crap. Well, we’re the hounds. If some two-bit shaman can do it, so can we. Let’s find a wizard.”

There were wizards aplenty in San Antonio, minor practitioners and self-taught talents, herbalists and therapists among the curanderías, the holistic medicine shops in the city’s south side. Sebastian caught one, a thin, dark boy who could not have been much older than seventeen. The boy had power, so strong Lenny could feel it itch under his skin just from being near, but it was untrained and unfocused. Paralyzed, snared by Sebastian’s eyes, he gave his name as Efrain.

Sebastian shoved the bit of button into Efrain’s hand and made a series of demands in Spanish too fast for Lenny to understand. Lenny almost protested. He had not seen Coyote’s procedure, but he had seen the setup, and he knew it involved a lot of equipment, a lot of bits and bobs that would come together somehow to produce magic. But Efrain was stronger than Coyote. The boy’s arm stiffened and his eyes rolled back, drifting half-closed, and his head turned slowly to face west.

“Allí,” he said. There.

Sebastian shoved the other two into the back seat and drove.

Chapter 16

SEBASTIAN TREATED IT like a game, at first. He enjoyed breaking people, and Leland annoyed him – the perfect excuse. If Lenny was honest with himself, Leland annoyed him too, though he would have chosen to leave him alone. But gradually, Sebastian realized that Leland was always a step ahead. It took him maybe a week to figure out that they weren’t catching up. Whenever they arrived anywhere, Leland was gone. Just barely gone, but gone all the same. It wasn’t a game, it was an actual chase, one that could go either way, and that irritated Sebastian. It went from a game to a chore. For a time, he just wanted to get it over with, grab the guy and drag him back to Rhona so she would hide him with whatever kind of hiding expertise she had.

But in Tampa, it went from a chore to a vendetta.

Lenny stayed in the car with an unresponsive Efrain, sandwiched between two warehouses in a shipping district that was thick with the smell of ocean. It was almost chilly in the shadow between the buildings. It settled into his bones while he waited for Sebastian to come back. The sun climbed the sky and began to sink again, breaking into the car only for a moment before it disappeared back behind a roof. Lenny shifted and fidgeted. He read the car’s owner manual from cover to cover, and then he read it again. Then he slept. There was nothing else for him to do, and he could not stand to look at the young man beside him; he remembered all too well when he had been like that, empty and silent inside, and the reminder made him ill. When he woke stiff and groggy, he considered getting out to stretch his legs, and even went so far as to touch the door handle before he realized that he didn’t dare. He curled up in the seat and watched a pigeon pecking at the pavement outside.

Then something bigger caught his eye. He followed a leg up to a hand and the bottle it held, a damp rag stuffed into the bottle’s mouth. Lenny’s eyes widened and darted up to the miscreant’s face. Leland.

The man froze. He obviously hadn’t expected to find the car occupied, and much to Lenny’s relief, did not seem eager to torch a person along with the vehicle. Not a human, at least. If not for Efrain, Lenny thought he might have gone ahead. He hovered, holding the Molotov still unlit and knuckled his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose.

Lenny deliberated. Sebastian had told him to stay in the car, and the impulse to obey was strong. But there was always the possibility – however slight – that he could help Leland understand. Not make. A medium could not make. But he could help. If he did, if he could convince Leland to come quietly, that might be the end of it. Rhona would hide Sebastian, maybe. Sebastian would let him go, maybe. Maybe. There would be problems. He could still get in trouble. Sebastian was unpredictable and might do something terrible to Leland. Then again, he might not. It wouldn’t be practical. It wouldn’t get him what he wanted.

Lenny popped the door and slid out.

Leland took off like a shot, worn leathern loafers beating the pavement at an inhuman pace.

“Wait!” There was no way Lenny could catch up. He was not fast like the others. If he ran, he would fall. He shuffled after as quickly as he could. “Daniel! Just t-talk to me!”

He tumbled into the sun and had to stop, blinking, as it blinded him. There had been no reason for him to pay close attention when Sebastian had driven in, and he had only a vague idea of what lay beyond the little alley. As his eyes adjusted, a concrete lot came into focus, full of disassembled trucks and pieces of engines, some of them too large to belong to an automobile. Boats, maybe, or planes. Lenny couldn’t be sure.

Daniel Leland stood on the near side of the chain-link fence, across the lot from Lenny and still holding his Molotov. “Stop following me,” he hissed. He did not raise his voice, but the demand carried well enough. But he was talking. He could have been long gone in a matter of seconds, but instead, he was talking.

“That’s not up to me!” Lenny called back. “He’s not g-going to stop. He’s not going to stop until he’s got you in that c-car and on your way to your sister. I… I lost the phone number, though…”

“He? Why are you here, then?”

“B-because. Because she wanted me to g-get you to talk to her. That’s all, I swear. He… Look, I d-don’t even know why he’s here, and it d-d-doesn’t matter. She wants you b-back. I think you should go.”

Daniel Leland shifted, and his expression darkened. “Do you really? And who did this to you? Not your big friend, I don’t think. Someone you are eager to go back to?”

The man was full of fury, and Lenny was not about to talk to him about Kate. “She died,” he said softly. “But if I had another chance, I wouldn’t say no. What if Rhona dies? Do you even have anyone else? How long have you b-been alone?”

Again, Lenny saw a flicker of something, uncertainty or guilt, there and gone again just as quickly.

“I’d rather take my chances alone than with her. You don’t understand. How can I make you understand?” Leland pushed a spidery hand through his graying hair, letting the bottle fall from his fingers. Gasoline began to drip out onto the concrete. “I don’t fit in with… with you lot. I don’t, and I don’t want to. I have no interest in interacting with you… people” – the word came with difficulty and disgust, like a gob of bile – “at all. I want to be left alone. I thought she had begun to realize that.”

“I know. You… you still h-have free w-will.” Leland was stained. He was a killer, as much as Rhona. Lenny could feel it, but all death felt the same to him. His ghost sense did not distinguish between the slaughter of a serial killer and the self-defense of a victim; it perceived, but could not judge. He knew that Leland had killed in fear, in anger, in vengeance, and with cold and practiced efficiency, but there was no way for him to know why, and he chose to believe it had been necessity. None of it was recent, either. Lenny had felt the same in soldiers, sometimes.

“You still know right from wrong, and you c-can choose. You’re not the only one like that.”

Leland smiled grimly. “I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re like that? Or that Rhona is?”

But Lenny could see that uncertainty back. He could see that the man had wondered about it before, had known that, logically, the chances were slim to none that he was unique. Leland wanted it to be true.

“I am. Rhona’s not. I mean, ‘m not saying I always make the b-best decisions, but… I wouldn’t ask you to g-go if I thought she meant to hurt you. I c-couldn’t.”

Leland crossed the yard slowly, his shoulders tight, and moved to stand in front of Lenny. “That sounded true,” he allowed. “Or you’re a bloody brilliant actor. I admit, though, I am a bit disappointed. If you’re able to choose right, then I’d have to say killing my friends was a very poor decision, indeed.”

His hand flickered out to catch Lenny in the shoulder, tearing flesh and driving the medium back into the corrugated steel wall behind him. Leland was fast, as fast as Sebastian or faster, and strong. Lenny saw the blow coming, but there was no chance for him to block or avoid it. He began to pick himself up, found Leland standing over him, and struck out once, frantic. He was not fast, nowhere near as fast as Leland or as strong, but by sheer luck his foot took Leland in the knee, and he seized the second that bought him to scramble up and run.

He skidded around a corner and into the side of a building with a clang. His head spun and his shoulder throbbed. In front of him was the chain-link fence, which he doubted he could scale one-handed. There had to be a gate in it somewhere, but circling around the perimeter of the lot would waste time, and Leland would catch up in moments. It was not a skill he used often, but Lenny knew it was possible to scale a vertical wall, sticking to a flat surface like a gecko. But with one arm out of commission, that was as impossible as going over the fence. There was no way up and over. Instead, he ducked inside the building. He knew immediately that it was useless; the place was cluttered with parts and equipment, but there was nothing that could conceal him adequately. It was not like hiding from a human, when silence and stillness would be enough. Leland would be able to follow his scent and the indefinable sensation that let the undead identify one another. But maybe it could give him an extra moment, if Sebastian happened to be nearby, if Sebastian was paying attention…

Lenny scrambled around something that looked like a hydraulic lift, but fear made him even clumsier than usual, and he froze as his foot made loud contact with a plastic bucket. The noise echoed strangely off the metal walls.

A shadow moved in the door, momentarily dimming the light.

Lenny backed away. To him, his steps were almost deafening, but the shadow made no sound at all.

“I d-didn’t,” he whispered. “I didn’t k-k-kill anyone.”

“No?” The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. “Just pretending, then? Very convincing.”

“I d-didn’t. Sebastian… I c-couldn’t stop him. I d-didn’t know what he was g-going t-t-t-”

The air whistled, and Lenny’s knees splintered. He hit the ground with a scream and a thud.

“And yet you ally with him. I ask you to leave me alone, and your friend responds by hurting the people I care about. Killing. You’re making a poor case for yourself.”

Lenny tried to draw breath, and could not. It hurt too much. Something cold touched his good shoulder, and he heard a tremendous crack, as though the concrete floor itself had broken. The fire struck a moment later. He tried to pull himself away and found himself stuck instead, fixed to the floor with a length of rebar like a pinned butterfly.

“I-I-I-I’m like y-you. H-he’s n-no-not.”

“I don’t much care. Maybe he’s cruel, but you’re clever, and that’s worse. You, at least, won’t be following me for a while.”

A sharp kick landed in Lenny’s ribs, and a foot ground down on his pelvis until the bone crunched. Lenny gagged. The tip of a piece of rebar came to rest against his left pectoral, poised directly over his heart. Despite the pain, he froze.

“I could kill you. It would certainly be prudent, but dead men can’t deliver messages, and I’d like you to deliver this one to your friend. I have survived much worse than a pair of thugs. I will survive you. Good luck.”

The steel spear lifted away. But then it came back down. Twice. Thrice. Again. Again. Again.

Lenny writhed until a blow snapped his neck, and the pain abruptly receded. He could hear the ocean, the tide coming in. He thought he could feel it closing over him. It was warm.

* * *

IT FELT LIKE a hallucination or a dream. He was floating, mostly numb, but his senses seemed at once dull and preternaturally acute. There was no moment of confusion between unconsciousness and awareness; he knew exactly what had happened and how precarious his situation really was. Even though he could not feel it, Lenny knew that his body was mangled beyond its present ability to heal. If the wrong person found him, he would be taken for dead. There were two possibilities beyond that point. Sooner or later, his spinal cord would repair itself, and he would regain a degree of motion. That would almost certainly be after he had lost the ability to think rationally. Either he would attack someone, or the City would cremate him before he was able to move again. If he was honest with himself, the first possibility frightened him more. True death at least would get him out of the mess he was in, and with his nerves severed, it would hardly hurt. He shrank from that thought. It was not his time. He had always, always been aware of his own death waiting on the horizon, at the very edge of his ghost sense. It was on the horizon still; it had not yet arrived. He could not welcome it before it was time.

Welcome it or not, though, there was nothing he could do to stop it, if it came.

When it came.

He heard a footfall nearby, and through the blood and weakness, he was able to focus his eyes enough to make out a woven sandal of leather and hemp. Other than that, his perception was hazy. He knew beyond doubt that the person who had found him was a ghost. He also knew beyond doubt that the person who had found him was not a ghost, and there was no logical way to reconcile those two certainties, so he did not try.

The figure knelt, and Lenny received the impression that it was talking, but the voice was only a rush of sound, no more meaningful than wind. He could hear the words, but they were nonsense.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…”

There was a distant tugging sensation and a vile, wet sound as the piece of rebar was jerked out of Lenny’s chest. He felt himself lifted up and carried out into the light – moonlight, so intensely bright it was painful.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…”

He was propped up against something, and as the figure moved away, he caught a glimpse of the face. It was a man, and though he seemed familiar, Lenny did not know him. He was tall and broad-shouldered, olive-skinned, with curly black hair cut even with his chin. The shape of his face was hidden by a thick, short beard. He wore a long, black garment, some kind of gown or robe, woven from coarse material, belted with a length of hemp rope. A wooden cross hung on a thong around his neck. Under the curtain of dark hair, his eyes were sad.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I don’t… I don’t know what to do. It’s not as simple as blood for you, is it? If something died, it would only hurt you more.”

Panic would have taken too much effort, but Lenny felt a twinge of fear. The man knew what he was, seemingly both sides of his dual nature. The possibility of a city morgue seemed further and further away, but new ones, no more comforting, were springing up.

The man took an abrupt step away, then seemed to think better of whatever he had planned, and fell still again, thinking. He looked back at Lenny and attempted a smile.

“It’ll be okay.”

The absolute truth of that statement was irresistible. Lenny could feel it with complete certainty, the blood-deep knowledge that it would be okay, everything would be okay. The fear vanished, replaced with calm. It would be okay.

“You feel that? Good. Good, hold onto it. Keep feeling that. Listen, now. Go deeper for me. That’s it. Don’t be scared. I’m taking care of you.”

Lenny listened, because the first thing the good ones do is make you want to listen. That knowledge was familiar, too, but he could not quite place it; he was too still inside. That fact in itself should have scared him even more, he knew, but stillness felt infinitely better than fear. He didn’t want to be afraid. He wanted everything to be okay. He wanted to be taken care of.

“Deeper. Good. Stay like this, now. Stay like this until I tell you to come out of it. Listen. Your neck is broken. When it heals, you’re going to hurt a lot, so I’m going to keep it broken until everything else is working again. I’m taking care of you. I’m so sorry, Hugo. You stayed. You stayed, and this is what you got for it. I promise I will make that bastard  pay for this.”

Lenny’s vision wavered. The ghost faded, melted away like hot wax, subsumed into the not-ghost. Clean-shaven, hair cropped, clad in blue jeans and a fitted t-shirt, the not-ghost was someone Lenny knew.

“I’ll hurt him,” Sebastian swore. “I’ll hurt him good. No one touches my friend.”

After that, Lenny stopped paying attention. Nothing made sense anyway, so it really didn’t matter whether he was paying attention or not. At some point, he lost it, and when he came back around, the kid from San Antonio, Efrain, was gone. Lenny knew he hadn’t killed him, couldn’t have killed him. It was possible that Sebastian did, but neither of them brought it up. It was also possible that Lenny drained him out and Sebastian left him somewhere, and maybe someone found him and he ended up in a hospital in time. That was the version Lenny chose to believe. They kept moving. Sebastian had feelers stretched out everywhere, sending back whispers and clues. That seemed strange for a man with no real friends – no real friends except the one he had newly declared – until Lenny realized that every one of them was someone he had touched. It only took a smile to get anyone to tell Sebastian anything. People with airlines, people with moving companies, car dealers, career forgers, anyone Leland might have used, anyone who might have seen him. Sebastian always knew exactly who to ask, and they always told him. It took a while, sometimes. Baltimore took nearly eight months, living out of Sebastian’s car, before they got the clue that sent them to Elko, Nevada. They had been in Elko only two hours when someone mentioned in passing that some old man had run into town on foot, hotwired a semi, and took off. They kept moving.

Nothing really changed after Lenny saw the priest’s ghost in Tampa, but at the same time, it changed everything. Spirits did not haunt their own bodies, as far as he knew. He supposed it was possible, but like an undead medium, it was simply something that did not happen. The undead were not truly dead, and if Sebastian was dogged by his own ghost, it was a sign that something was wrong. A medium existed to fix such problems.

Lenny saw the priest again, always in the same way, superimposed over Sebastian’s body like a mask. The priest was kind to him. The priest never hit or touched him, never reached into his blood to inflict pain or twisted pleasure. The priest used Sebastian’s power sometimes, but only to give peace, assurance that everything would be alright, to apologize over and over and over again.

It was almost tolerable, sometimes.

But Sebastian always came back, and Sebastian was willing to do anything to ensure his “friend” could never leave.

Lenny never tried. The priest was trapped and needed him, and by extension, so did Sebastian, because they were the same person, and so Lenny stayed. Sometimes, at night, he was drawn into their dreams. With them, he cowered and shrank away from the woman with the cleft skull and the mismatched eyes, the one who changed a man into a madman, a monster.

When he woke, he pondered those dreams. There was plenty of time, in the car. The woman was memory, he decided, not symbolism. She was the one who had changed the priest, almost certainly against his will, but that could not possibly have been all of it. Most vampires had never wanted to be what they were, but those ended up like Tony and Edith, like Kate had been before, tough and practical, doing what they pleased without ever actively seeking to cause harm. The priest had been a good man, had still cared for people even after his conscience was stripped away. She had made him kill when he did not want to. It had taken more than undeath to turn him into what he had become, cursed with a thirst for control stronger even than his thirst for blood.

But Sebastian did not dream about that, or if he did, he kept it to himself. Lenny did not dare ask, and there were centuries of memories coded in the matter that made up Sebastian’s flesh, too many for Lenny to sift through them all. Besides, if it had been the key to fixing the problem, he would simply have known.

And they kept moving. San Antonio to Tampa, Tampa to Baltimore, Baltimore to Elko, Glendo, San Diego, Seattle, Faulkton. After a while, Lenny stopped looking at the city limit signs they passed. It was about the time they reached Fort Wayne that he realized it had been more than a month since he had so much as thought of Kim. He could still point straight to her, but when he concentrated, he realized that he would have to point almost straight down. She was further away than she had ever been before, and she was not coming any closer.

Sebastian kept killing. When they had started out, he had focused on Leland, but Leland remained always just out of reach, and Sebastian became more creative. He waited, sometimes months at a time, giving his prey time to settle down and settle in before dismembering his life with surgically-precise strikes. Leland would run, and they kept moving. Sebastian trailed the death-echoes behind him like a cloud of smoke, occasionally even a ghost. The spirits, Lenny could send across, but the echoes remained as reminders. Some of them told him it wasn’t his fault, but he thought he caught cold glances as they flitted on the fringes of the Veil, halfway but not quite people; they knew he could have tried harder, could have said something. Maybe if he just told Sebastian that he didn’t need to be avenged… But he didn’t dare.

The priest disappeared for days, often weeks, and it became so hard for Lenny to remember why he stayed, why dying would not be better. Then he would wake sobbing from a nightmare and find someone sitting beside him, silent and patient on the edges of his ghost sense, and he would stay.

They took a motel room sometimes, and Lenny would watch television, but never the news. He did not want to see the dates and have to count the months. After losing a decade, a few more years did not matter, but they did hurt.

He did not know what day it was when three thousand deaths crashed into him from the east, but like every American, he would always remember where he was at that moment. It hurt so horribly, his vision went dark, but there would be so many, the shades and specters and spirits, some of them were bound to get lost. He had to go. He threw open the car door and nearly tumbled onto the freeway as it sped past at seventy miles per hour, but Sebastian pulled him back, screaming obscenity as he swerved into the nearest gas station. The woman at the checkout was crying too hard to notice the two men watching her television through the window.

“Oh,” Sebastian breathed. “Damn.” With all the power he could gather, he looked Lenny in the eye and commanded “Stay.”

Lenny looked right back, brushed it off, and walked away. The second wave hit then, and he collapsed, and Sebastian carried him to the back seat and held him still as the onslaught continued through the day and into the night. The priest was there for a while, and before he blacked out again, Lenny thought he heard a whispered Ave.

“Ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora mortis nostrae.”

They drove for nearly a week straight after that, and by the time they got where they were going, Lenny was no longer sure who he was supposed to be. He stayed with a monster for the sake of a ghost he did not know he could save. He lacked the spine to stand up and protest meaningless death, and he lacked the courage to seek out the dead his nature demanded he help. He touched his ring and tried to find the echo of Kate, but something had come loose inside him, like an anchor weighed, and he found himself adrift, floating steadily away from the man he had been.

Chapter 17

THEY CROSSED THE border between Wyoming and Colorado in the wake of a blizzard, following behind the snow plows as they cleared the highways inch by inch.

Sebastian had been silent for several days, from Bangor to Chicago to Cheyenne, though he blasted the radio whenever there was a good enough signal. At times, Lenny glanced over and had a hard time telling whether he was looking at the lunatic or the priest. It made him nervous, but for those days, Sebastian had not hurt him once – had not hurt anyone, as far as Lenny was aware. That made him nervous, too, but he refused to look a gift horse in the mouth. He knew he would either find out what it was all about, or he would not, and so he waited.

He did not find out until they stopped, just stopped in the snow on the side of the road. It would get bitterly cold in the car if they stayed there, cold enough that even Sebastian, who took enough life to be warm sometimes, could be in danger of freezing. Lenny was on the verge of pointing that out – for himself, he would not have dared, but Sebastian could be harmed as well, or at the very least could be extremely uncomfortable.

But Sebastian spoke first.

“You told me you didn’t have anyone,” he said abruptly. “You said you lived alone, your progenitor died.”

Lenny swallowed and nodded warily. “Yeah,” he agreed.

“When?”

“When…?”

“When did she die? You did say ‘she’, right?”

Lenny nodded again, but stayed silent. He mistrusted this line of conversation. Sebastian could not possibly have anything good to say about Kate.

“Blonde, short,” Sebastian pressed. “Really, really short. I see her sometimes, sort of out of the corner of my eye, but not when I actually look. Always when you’re messing with that ring. You married her, I guess.”

Lenny’s hand curled into an involuntary fist as he pressed his ring into his thigh.

“See, you know what I’m talking about. She died at the end of the war, didn’t she? World War Two. And you don’t know how it happened.”

Lenny choked.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Look, um, I don’t know how to, uh… Do you want to know?”

In all likelihood, anything Sebastian had to say would be a lie. Lenny knew that. Sebastian would have said anything to keep his edge, his advantage, and though Lenny had vowed repeatedly to stay, there was no telling what minor coincidence could have convinced him that Lenny meant to run.

But Sebastian knew when Kate had died, and that Lenny had not been with her. He might know more. It had been years – fifty-six years, the last time Lenny had really been aware of the date – but he did not feel any closer to getting past her than he had ever been.

“How would you have found out?” Lenny asked, controlling his voice as well as he could. “Have you b-been asking about me?”

The other possibility was that Sebastian had been picking Lenny’s brain. There was no guarantee Lenny would remember something like that, not if Sebastian didn’t want him to, but if Sebastian wasn’t willing to own up to clandestine questioning, Lenny was not going to push him.

“And wait. Wait, wh-what do you mean, you’ve seen her? How?”

Sebastian frowned. “I’ve seen her, okay? I’m not blind, you know.”

“How?”

“With my eyes, dumbass. Anyway, I was asking about Leland. He just took the hell off, so it gave me some time to find out what he’d been up to. Thought it might help. Anyway, I found out he was staying with a friend in Bangor, someone who knew him back then. During the war. They were spies together or something. I was just asking about him, I swear. I mean, until I got to asking about other things.”

Sebastian rummaged through his pockets and handed Lenny a folded sheet of glossy paper. Lenny took it, unfolding it gingerly, and at first, he was not sure what he was seeing. The photograph had not been developed properly, given the subject matter, and the image looked like a double exposure. He had expected that, though. It was the reason he had nearly always been absent for school photos, despite years of berating from numerous principals.

What surprised him most were the people.

He recognized Kate immediately, despite the blurry, ethereal quality of her image and the cropped, mannish haircut he had never seen on her before. Around her were a number of men, all of them towering over her miniscule frame, barely five feet tall even in her stacked-heel boots. They all were walking down a street lined with gnarled trees, talking to one another, unaware of the photographer. Kate’s face had long ago been circled in red wax pencil that had mostly worn off over years.

Everyone in the photograph wore identical uniforms – tall boots, long coat, double-lightning bolt insignia at the collar, death’s head at the cap. A stark, black swastika at the arm.

Everyone. Even Kate.

Sebastian could have fabricated a story easily, but fabricating a photograph was harder. Seeing that face again was a pleasant pain – Lenny had no photographs, not after the fire in ’65 – but he squeezed his eyes shut against it as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

He had been stupid, once. Naïve and already old enough to know better. He had been stupid, and she had confronted him about it. He still did not like to remember that, how he had been stupid, and then he had been stubborn, and he had been the reason Kate had left. He had always thought she would come back eventually, once events proved him right, but events proved him horribly wrong, and she was gone, and he had never had the chance to apologize. He knew she had friends on the Continent, and he had envisioned her staying with them, the people she had known before she knew him. He had not envisioned her wearing the insignia of the SS, marching through Berlin with the minions of Hitler. The image was wrong.

A hand barely brushed his shoulder, and his eyes snapped open.

“Hugo. Hugo, stop that. Are you okay?” It was Sebastian, not the priest, and his voice was uncharacteristically nervous.

Lenny blinked at the ice riming the inside of the windshield. Sebastian’s breath smoked in the frigid air, and his skin cracked. A trickle of dark blood oozed out and froze. He hurried to crank the heater up, but the vents warmed the car only slowly. Outside the car, a shade moved, blonde and black, marred with a splash of angry crimson. It faded as the heater did its work.

“She wouldn’t,” Lenny managed. But he couldn’t be sure. She had regained her choice, her free will, after decades of struggle, though he had never known whether he had given it back to her or merely motivated her to reach for it. Then he had been stupid, had broken her faith. Enough to make her let go again? Enough to make her choose to fight for a despotic regime? No.

Sebastian only shrugged. “I don’t know what she would or wouldn’t. Anyway, this guy was supposed to be taking her out. Got delayed when they found out why that would be harder than they’d thought. But by the time he got there, someone had already gotten her. Said he was complaining about it to Leland later, turns out Leland did it. He was supposed to be picking up some information, but his contact never showed up, and she did. So he killed her.”

“Don’t lie to me. Don’t lie to me, Sebastian. I said I’d stay, but if you t-try to use Kate against me…”

“I’m not. I’m not a liar. Have I ever lied to you?”

Lenny frowned. “No.” Not that he could remember, though he was aware that his memory was not a good indication of actual events.

They sat in silence for a while, until Sebastian put the car back in gear. He seemed to have some difficulty; it was possible the ice was interfering with something. He kept his foot on the brake, though, and stared straight ahead.

“What are you going to do?”

Lenny’s eyes narrowed. “Was there something p-particular you were hoping I’d d-do?”

Sebastian shrugged. “I was trying to help. I saw something that looked familiar and thought you might want to know about it.” That sounded true. “Keep in mind that when it all started, nobody really knew what all was going on over there. There were plenty of people in those uniforms who had no idea what was going on. I can’t see you caring that much about someone who would know and still go along with it.”

That sounded true, as well, or at least earnest, though the thought of Sebastian making an attempt at comfort was almost as wrong as the idea of Kate wearing a swastika.

The car rolled back onto the highway, swirling eddies of snow in its wake.

“Thanks,” Lenny whispered, mechanical.

“Think about it,” Sebastian replied. Then his tongue flicked over his lips in an anxious gesture. “Just don’t change,” he amended. “Don’t know what I’d do with you if you let it change you. Damn.”

Lenny didn’t answer. There was too much he had to process. It was like losing Kate again, and the grief was intense, but there was something else, as well. It was familiar. He knew it from the dreams he had shared with Sebastian, nightmares, the sensation of being wounded so deeply, the resentment could not be confined to one object. He hated Leland for killing her. He hated Sebastian for telling him, for breaking his faith in her memory. He hated himself for driving her away in the first place, even more for not seeing how fragile she had been. They had been whole together; apart, neither of them seemed to have had the strength to survive for long. He hated Kim for not coming and Mara for being cold and distant when he desperately needed someone he could remember with warmth. He hated the snow outside and the assorted bloodstains that just seemed to keep accumulating on the back seat. He hated his weakness. He hated the shreds of a life remaining to him.

“You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?” he heard himself ask.

“Been thinking about it. He ticks me off. I’m getting tired of this game.”

“’Kay,” Lenny murmured, unable to make himself care. “Just give me some warning so I can g-get out of the way.”

* * *

KIM WAS NOT aware of the exact moment things changed. She thought they had probably been changing gradually over several years, tiny differences building up slowly like the thick callus her bronze anklet had left on the skin beneath it. She did not know whether magic could atrophy, but if it could, hers was positively bedridden. It had burned hot inside her, at first, but the binding in the anklet suffocated it until it was only an ember, and all she had left were her books.

She could feel Lenny somewhere, vaguely; that magic was indelible. But like the phantom pains of an amputee, the sensation gradually shifted from an awareness of a friend in need to an illusion of something that wasn’t there. She grew used to it, and it became unreal, something she ignored when she could, because she doubted she would ever be allowed to go. Even if she did go, nobbled as she was, she could only go to die.

So she stayed with the Votadini, acting as ambassador, until they realized she was barely even a wizard anymore and kicked her out. She went home to find that she had been replaced by a distant cousin, one who could be trusted to lead the family once her mother and grandfather were both out of the picture. That did not bother her as much as she had expected it would. She was a researcher, an academic, not a politician, and part of her was perfectly happy to know she could stay that way. Besides, keeping her place in line would only be possible if she were disconnected from Lenny, and that would only happen if he died. It seemed like a pretty fair deal – she got to stay out of the mayhem of wizard politics indefinitely, and no one got killed.

She asked a few times if she could organize an expedition, once the problems abroad had subsided. There was no immediate danger from the Votadini, but Sebastian Duran remained a monster, and someone ought to take care of him. She asked and was refused, asked and was refused, until she simply stopped asking. Because Lenny was a friend, because she had felt his heart and knew he was a good man, she never forgot. But because she was human, and humans grow and change, she moved on.

* * *

THE TOWN FELT tiny, despite being larger than some of the places they had passed through. Sebastian found a motel and paid in cash he had lifted from a corpse at one of their previous stops. Two rooms, this time. Lenny took the key Sebastian handed him and drifted up the eye-wrenchingly yellow stairs to sit alone in the room above the bowling alley someone had inexplicably attached to the motel. It was either too late at night or too early in the morning for the racket that would inevitably rise from the lanes later, and he did not look forward to the noise, but the silence was almost disconcerting. He had become used to someone else being there, even someone he feared. The room seemed very large and very empty.

He sat on the edge of the bed with the curtains drawn and stared at the photograph until his eyes ached and the image crawled and writhed across the paper. The sun came up and still he sat.  He was peripherally aware of Sebastian leaving and entertained a guilty hope that, when he came back, it would all be over. But Sebastian came back and left again, came back and left, just like always before, except that this time, he let Lenny stay out of it.

After a day, Lenny’s throat burned. The sun set, and there came a soft rapping at his door. He tried to ignore it, but his body ignored him, and he got up to answer against his will. Sebastian and the priest both stood there quietly, occupying the same space in a way that made Lenny dizzy.

“Shouldn’t have said anything, should I?” Sebastian asked with a hint of remorse, as the priest whispered “You’ll find a way past this.”

“Probably not,” Lenny answered them both.

Sebastian tried to push past him into the room, but the doorway pulled him up short. He frowned and put up a hand, unable to pass through, then turned on Lenny with incredulity.

“What did you do?” he demanded.

Lenny shrugged.

“Are you living here now, or something? Are you planning on staying here? How did you get a threshold up?”

Lenny shrugged again. “D-didn’t mean to.” It was the simple truth; he did not plan on staying, just could not imagine what could possibly come next. Nothing, he realized. In his head, nothing came next. The entirety of his existence had condensed into the present, and neither the future nor the past meant anything. The motel room was as home as he was going to get, the closest thing he had to a personal space, and part of him could not fathom the concept of leaving. He could sit on the end of the bed until his brain shut down, maybe longer than that. Maybe he could stay until he withered away, and no one would be the wiser.

The priest looked concerned, as though he understood or at least suspected what had happened. Lenny found it an irritating reminder of the job he was not performing, and he made a point of seeing with his eyes instead. Sebastian looked furious. That was better. That generated no guilt.

“You said you wouldn’t go,” Sebastian hissed. He slammed a fist against the empty air above Lenny’s head, bouncing off the protective barrier. “You are so mistaken if you think you can hide from me in there. I will burn you out of there if I have to. This is all for you, you ungrateful swine!”

The air flashed so cold, the window cracked, and without pausing to think, Lenny stepped out into the snow, grabbed Sebastian’s collar, and dragged him down to look him in the eye.

“Don’t ever claim to kill for my sake,” he said, voice calm. “I’m not to blame for your actions. Don’t threaten me and expect gratitude. Don’t ever talk to me about Kate again. You are not better than Leland. He’s done nothing to me that you haven’t done, too. If you want to do something for me, stop making ghosts. I’m not your cleanup crew. And don’t ever pretend that you give a damn about me. If I stay, it will never be because you deserve it.”

Sebastian swatted Lenny’s hand away and stumbled back against the railing, confused and outraged. Near his collar, the flesh of his throat was reddening with frostbite. He bared his teeth in a snarl and surged forward to slam Lenny into the wall.

Lenny weathered it with cool apathy until his blood caught fire and his muscles clenched, bones ablaze, and Sebastian left him there with his agony.

They fell into routine again. Sebastian came and went, came and went, came back once or twice stained with a fresh death. Lenny stayed inside and avoided Sebastian as often as he was able. Sometimes, he regretted his outburst, mostly because it had not made any real difference. Sebastian was angry with him, of course, occasionally seemed wary, no longer made any attempt at conversation, but people died, and Lenny did not dare try to leave, and Sebastian did not let him.

A few times, Sebastian tried to get things back to the way they had been. He stuffed Lenny into the car, and Lenny sat silent and sullen in the passenger seat as they drove into the next town. Sebastian pointed out the funeral of a local high school student, leaned over and grinned in Lenny’s face.

“Just for you,” he said.

Lenny did not respond. He watched a boy hurry out of the funeral parlor, red in the face and sucking at an inhaler as though afraid his lungs were about to collapse. The boy stopped suddenly, doubled over with his hands on his knees, obviously fighting nausea. Lenny took a map from the glove compartment and smoothed it out in front of him; he did not want to have to look at a mourner.

But Sebastian grinned all the wider and got out of the car to make some inane exchange with the boy, something about directions to Colorado Springs. Lenny squeezed his eyes shut and folded the map away. He caught the message and understood.

“Don’t,” he said quietly, when Sebastian had ducked back into the car. “No more children.”

Sebastian twisted in his seat with an expression of mock affront. “I would never touch a child,” he swore with weird, sing-song vehemence. “But they’re not children once they hit puberty.”

“I hate you,” Lenny whispered.

After a week, Lenny took off his wedding band and started to keep it in his jeans pocket instead of on his finger. He kept the folded photograph with it. He did not let himself snap, instead waiting until he was certain Sebastian was gone to sneak out and find what he could. He kept himself going, but only barely, because anything more would attract attention, and though he half-fantasized about fading away in the musty motel room, he did not feel like being run through with something sharp.

Sebastian had no such scruples.

It was the eighteenth of December, 2003 – Lenny had, just for once, taken a newspaper from the motel lobby – when Sebastian strolled through the parking lot, whistling cheerfully and drenched in blood. Lenny rushed him inside before someone could see.

“What do you think you’re d-doing?” he demanded, dampening a towel in the bathroom’s rust-stained sink.

“Sending a message,” Sebastian replied. “Reaching a climax. I’m not chasing the sorry bastard any further than this. I’m tired. Thinking about going to ground. It’s got to be pretty safe, by now. If the wizards were going to catch up, they would have done it years ago. So I hurt him the best I can, then kill him. Then we’re done.”

Lenny paled. “Where?”

“Near his house. Small towns don’t like strangers. He’ll be their prime suspect.” He grinned. “Again. They’ll ruin his life probably better than I could. Not a child, by the way. If it’s all for you, may as well do it your way.”

Lenny grimaced and slammed out of the room. He walked – not in any particular direction, but part of him knew where he was going to end up. It pulled at him. By the time he reached the scene, the street was full of police and gawking neighbors. It would have been easy to let himself be seen, briefly, become the new suspect, and then disappear. Leland did not deserve to be destroyed once again for something he had not done. That was vengeance, not justice; Sebastian’s way, not Lenny’s. Neither, though, could Lenny bring himself to help, so instead he skulked around the back sides of the houses, staying out of sight and for the most part scrabbling along walls like a lizard to avoid leaving tracks. He found a convenient corner where he could cling half-hidden to the brick behind the open gate of a privacy fence, and he watched.

The body had already been taken away, and the house stood open to the bitter air. Lenny found himself glad of the jacket Sebastian had given him, a tattered old thing that still somehow managed to keep his body temperature above freezing for an hour or so at a time.

The police milled like ants, and the neighbors gradually trickled back into their houses, and Lenny waited until the ghost found him.

She had been old, perhaps in her late seventies, though it still had not been close to her natural time. She had been frightened, was still frightened and shaking, even though nothing could hurt her anymore. He knew that her name was Donna.

“You’re okay,” he told her. “It’s okay. It’s done, now. Are you ready?”

“He wasn’t human,” she said, tremulous. “He… He was inside my head, somehow, and then he was inside my house… Oh, sweet Jesus, what if he comes back? How do I warn Henry?”

“You can stay,” he said. “My g-grandmother stayed to wait for my grandfather. So they c-c-could go together. You can do that, if you want. I don’t know how you could warn him, though.”

She clutched at his hands, pale eyes bright. “You. You could. It’s strange. I’m dead, aren’t I? But you can see me. You can tell him.”

“I can’t. I can’t, I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

The question brought Lenny up short. He had thought it obvious, really, that he simply could not. He could not tell a human that he spoke with the dead. He could not warn anyone about Sebastian, not without alerting the police, which would place everyone involved in danger. He could not tell a grieving man that his wife’s soul was too frightened to pass on.

It was not his job to warn the living, not even at the behest of the dead.

“I just c-can’t. Sebastian… He might or might not c-come back, but if I make him mad, he d-definitely will. Besides, why would your husband listen to me? For all he knows, I’m the one who k-killed you.”

The old woman’s vaporous form drew back. “You know him? That monster? You’re with him?”

Her shock was understandable. She knew him for what he was, though she might not be consciously aware of the fact – he had made sure of that when he had realized she was there – and now she knew that he at least knew of the man who had killed her, but she did not know enough of his situation to be able to reconcile the two.

“Not because I want to be. I’ll d-do what I can for you…”

But just by connecting himself with Sebastian, he had already betrayed her expectations. She faded away, returning to her own home. He did not try to draw her back.

He’d had enough. The air was cold, and it was leaching through the fibers of his jacket, through his shirt and jeans and knit cap and into his skin. Already, he was beginning to feel brittle. He leaned around the corner and shot a glance down the street, checking to make sure he could leave without being seen.

But when he leaned back, there was someone there.

It was the same boy he’d seen outside the funeral parlor. Not a boy, Lenny corrected himself. More like a young adult. He couldn’t have been older than fourteen, but he seemed mature, somehow, despite the baby fat and the layers of winter padding that gave him the look of a startled marshmallow. He carried a violin case, and he looked nice. He also looked deeply horrified to see Lenny. Lenny could understand that. There was a strange man stuck to a wall near the scene of a murder. It would take a fool to be less than unsettled.

Lenny tried desperately to think of something to say, but the kid beat him to the punch.

“Never made it to the Springs, huh?”

Lenny had no idea what he was talking about. He blinked blankly at the kid for the seconds it took him to recall whatever it was Sebastian had said. The exchange had really been meaningless, intended only to convey to Lenny that Sebastian was still on the prowl, but the kid remembered. That could be dangerous.

He looked into the boy’s dark eyes and saw death. Sebastian had seen him, could recognize him if he saw him again, might easily kill him just to show that he could. He was coming from the direction of Leland’s house. Lenny recognized the ancient boat of a car, a green and likely indestructible Continental. The boy was connected to Leland, somehow, and he had drawn Sebastian’s attention. If there was to be another victim, this might be it.

But before Lenny could say anything, the boy had some kind of fit. It seemed as though the strangeness of the situation had only just struck him. He half-turned, drawing a breath as though to cry for help, took a step back, and jumped at the sound of a siren down the street. The ice beneath his feet bested him, and he fell hard, the violin in its case making the most awful sound.

Lenny ran. There was nothing more he could do in that place, too weak to help the dead and too cowardly to help the living. He spidered his way back along the walls of the houses with a speed he rarely dared to use, ignoring his precarious balance and the sick wobble in his inner ear. He fell once before he made it back to the main thoroughfare and raced for the motel.

The door slammed behind him and locked, his ridiculous, impossible slapdash threshold sealing itself in his wake as he threw himself onto the bed. Almost immediately, Sebastian was knocking. He ignored it. After a few minutes, the knocking stopped, and the need to get up began to grow in his legs. His fingers itched to open the door. That dissipated quickly, though, as Sebastian changed his mind, and Lenny had an instant to be grateful before he felt tendrils of someone else’s thoughts feeling out the edges of his turmoil. That was something he could not ignore, though he tried. So far as Lenny was aware, the bond Sebastian had forced on him did not allow the master to know his thrall’s mind. Control it, yes, ride roughshod over his natural emotions and decisions, twist and manipulate it like origami paper, but not look inside and see the thrall as a person. Sebastian’s touch, then, was blind and grasping.

That, too, withdrew after a moment, but not before Sebastian had felt out the shape of the problem. The touch was replaced by a nudge, and Lenny had time for a flash of understanding.

“Please don’t” was on the tip of his tongue, but he lost the words as it crashed over him again, giddy ecstasy he could not fight. His limbs loosened and he melted into the ugly duvet, moment by moment losing the will to struggle against it. It spread into the furthest corners of his self, shoving aside doubt and guilt, and the absence of pain felt better than the pleasure. A low, cracked sound, halfway between gasp and moan, pushed out of his slack throat.

He let it take him to sleep.

* * *

HE KNEW SHE was not dead, but he had thought She was gone at least, driven away. He thought he was safe. But he recognized the traveler in the road, the tattered cloak and storm of black hair, and the thing that connected them. He raised his hand to the marks at his throat.

She sensed him there and whirled to face him, baring Her teeth in an animal snarl. He recoiled, heart hammering in his ears, but he already knew he could never outrun Her, so he did not try. And Her cheeks were streaked with blood. It welled in Her unbalanced eyes like tears. The devil wept. He pitied Her.

When She surged toward him, he welcomed Her with open arms. She seized him by the collar and recoiled when the cross he wore burned Her. He slid the symbol beneath his robe, and She watched him with mistrust.

“Why waste your anger on me?” he asked. “I did you no harm, only showed them how to protect themselves. Go elsewhere if you want to cause terror.”

She twisted Her hands into shining claws and laid them against his breast. Somewhere inside Her, something rumbled dangerously.

“Can you even understand me?” He ran his thumb gently over the scar that bisected Her forehead. He had seen the wounds of war before. A blunt blade had given Her that. He could not say whether She had truly survived. “I know you were human, once. You lived. I’ve seen a soul in your eyes.” He wet his lips nervously. “You kill for pleasure. But when you came to me, you sought understanding, and I didn’t give it. Forgive me?”

She gave no sign of comprehension. Instead, She curled a hand around the back of his neck and with one cruelly hooked talon carved into his face a mark to match Her own. She shoved him away and threw Her head back to split the air with an infernal scream.

He staggered and wiped the blood from his eyes. It streamed down his face like tears. Her emotions coursed through him: frustration and agony, fury, the need for revenge. She was a monster. He had seen a woman’s remains inside Her, but he was no saint, no miracle worker. What hope could there be in ministering to a demon?

But still…

“The healthy need no physician,” he whispered, stretching a shaking hand toward Her. “Pax tecum.” Peace be with you.

Her snarl became a smile, mocking. She seized his hand with an iron grip and drew him inexorably down, driving Her teeth into him once more. He stiffened at first, then went limp as Her poison claimed him. Part of him had hoped to feel that again, wrong as it was. He made a halfhearted attempt to push Her away, but his arms had no strength left. He fell when released and hit the ground hard. She followed him down and turned his head so he had no choice but to meet Her eyes. There was purpose there, a plan for him, and he knew he should be afraid, but could not quite manage. She pressed Her mouth to his and forced Her tongue past his lips, between his teeth. He felt Her jaw working, and something thick and rancid flowed between them, filling his mouth. She clamped his nose and mouth shut until he had no choice but to swallow the vile substance. It burned his throat and hit his stomach like lye. But She did not let go. Her grip tightened, bruising his face, until he writhed in desperate need for air. His vision swam, and darkness began to close in.

He could feel Her there, though, growing stronger inside him, tugging on him, drawing him closer to the understanding that had eluded him before.

So be it. If She wanted him to understand, he could not deny Her. He laid his hand atop her head in blessing and silently offered peace once more, because that is what a priest does. Pax tecum. I will try. I will understand.

Because that is what a medium does.

* * *

LENNY WAS NOT sure whether he really woke at all the next day. Sometimes, he seemed to be awake, but thought was fuzzy and difficult, smothered by an artificial, dirty sort of afterglow that clung to him like old grease. Either way, he did not dream again, and that seemed like a good thing. He was not interested in trying to process what he had already seen, trying to figure out what was memory and what was illusion. Sebastian – that thing – could never have been a medium. If the priest could change so horribly, what might a weaker man become?

Not until after sunset did he rouse fully, and when he did, he felt soiled. He always did, after, but this time was worse, because this time, he seriously considered creeping to the next room with his tail between his legs and asking, begging, groveling, for Sebastian to do it again. Another part of him – a remote and quiet part that he thought might have been a fragment of Kate, left behind when she was torn away from him – wondered whether killing a vampire technically counted as taking a life. You’ll do whatever he needs, it said, at once sad and devious. What if he needs to go now? He said himself that he was getting tired.

“He used to be someone good,” he said under his breath. “Even if I could… k-k-kill… his body, I have to think about the g-ghost.”

The ghost doesn’t need you to let yourself be used up like this. He doesn’t need you addicted to a demon.

“What about what I need? I don’t want to b-be miserable all the t-time. At least with him, I g-get a break sometimes.”

A break, yes, good word. Breaking you to pieces. If he weren’t there to make you miserable, you wouldn’t need a respite. Wouldn’t it be nice if your entire life was a break? No more misery? You could do it if he’s sleeping. Use the pen by the telephone. It doesn’t have to be so very sharp, not with your strength. Don’t let him unmake you.

“If I killed him, what would I b-be? He’s breaking me… I d-don’t need to break me, too.”

Lenny shuddered and flinched away from the impulse, but the nagging voice would not leave him alone, so he shrugged into his jacket, pulled on hat, scarf, and gloves, and dove into the night. A voice in his head was telling him to hurt people. It was too cliché to be real. At the same time, no part of him was really surprised. It had been years since he had considered himself entirely sane.

His feet took him back to the crime scene. It looked different by night, in the orange glare of streetlamps. His presence there was a mystery to him, unless of course some part of him meant to prove his usefulness by confronting the ghost again. She was supposed to trust him, to know innately that he was trustworthy. Maybe if he could earn that back, he could begin to feel whole again.

He approached the house with its dark windows; the husband must have been staying somewhere else, and Lenny could not blame him. He pictured himself in that situation, trying to come home to a place where Kate’s death resonated in the walls, where the smell of her hair mixed with the smell of her blood. He could never have gone home to a place like that.

A thin crust of ice had formed over the dirty snow in the street, and it crunched beneath him. He did not dare leave a footprint on the trampled lawn or a fingerprint on the doorknob, so he stood in the tire tracks by the curb and opened himself in a silent invitation. I’m here, I want to help… There’s a way to warn your husband, but it’ll be hard for both of us.

The ghost stirred on the edge of his awareness, and he saw a pale face at the upstairs window. She did not come out, but she was listening, so he went on.

I can let you possess me. I can walk you through it. Maybe if he hears it in your voice, from someone who knows things only you could know, he’ll believe it.

She still did not come out, but her face disappeared for a moment and reappeared downstairs. She watched him steadily, and he wondered whether she may not have understood. Comprehension had never been a problem before, not when he bypassed ears and voices to speak spirit-to-spirit. But he was different, now, and there were things that had come loose and were rattling around in his soul like so many misplaced nuts and bolts. He felt her skepticism.

Then she turned, craning her neck, and stared down to the end of the street. Lenny turned reflexively, too, and found that he was discovered. The house on the cul-de-sac stood open, spilling yellow light across the snow and patches of winter-brown grass, and in the doorway, a slender shadow towered.

Lenny blanched as the memory of a steel rod lanced phantom pain through his ribs. As he jerked, the air popped, and something tiny and sharp and leaden carved a line across his jaw. Without thinking, he ran, knowing full well that he could not possibly run fast enough. Still, the only other option was death, because there was no chance Leland would spare his life twice. The pavement beneath him was slick with ice, but he kept to the roads; remaining vertical was a challenge, but infinitely easier than scaling walls or sliding along roofs. He paid no attention to where he ran, only pushed himself until what pitiful speed he had was dried up, and he stood with quivering legs between the orange halo of a security light and a pair of dumpsters he was too tired to scale.

He brought a gloved hand up to his face and wiped away blood, but the bullet’s path had already healed. A second wound, one closer to his heart, would likely be more permanent. He wasn’t entirely certain he cared. Then again, he wasn’t entirely certain that he didn’t, so it was best to err on the side of caution. He glanced around for an escape route, or at least a place to hide, before a second shot could come.

The security light was fixed above a metal door, and something loud was going on inside. It was almost sure to be locked, but Lenny was certain he could wrench it open, maybe disappear into whatever commotion lay beyond. He was not as strong as the others, as Leland or Sebastian, but he was strong enough to shatter a lock, and no threshold protected that door. He dragged himself up the stairs and put one hand on the handle and the other on the doorframe, back tense.

But the door crashed open and spilled a flood of music and a teenage girl into the night. The music was obnoxiously fierce, and the girl was bleeding mascara down the front of her oddly formal dress. It was a dance, then. He moved automatically to put her between himself and the street. He did not think Leland would start a fight with a human present, but just in case, a shield was handy. He thought Leland would not go through her to get to him, just as he had spared Lenny in Tampa for the sake of a young man in the back of a car. Then he thought of Kate and was suddenly not as sure.

She didn’t even see him, though. It was dark, and her vision was blurred, and she seemed intensely focused on whatever had gone wrong inside. Her sobs turned to clouds of ice in the air, and he watched goosebumps rise along her bare arms and shoulders. She looked so fragile, as fragile as Lenny felt. For an instant, he forgot about what was coming after him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, reaching out to touch her arm.

She didn’t jump or whirl to face him or leap away. She just glanced over, looked at her feet, and made a discreet attempt to clean the makeup out from under her eyes with the corner of her shawl. She was taller than him in her sky-high heels, but as she bent, he was able to see past her and caught a flash of something in the bushes across the street. Maybe spectacles. Maybe the muzzle of a gun. He tightened his grip on her arm, ready to shove her back inside, but the gleam disappeared. It looked as though Leland wasn’t ready to out himself, just yet.

“Yeah,” she muttered. “I’m fine. ‘Cause, you know, no high school dance would be complete without somebody running out in tears.” She forced out half of a laugh, but her voice was too thick.

“Do you need anything?” he asked. “Someone to walk you home? There’s b-been… stuff, you know?” It was a long shot. If he could somehow keep her near him, get into a home and behind a threshold, maybe he could wait it out until Leland gave up. Sebastian would come find him, and if he was still sticking to his story, that all of this was for Lenny’s sake, he couldn’t possibly hurt the person who had hidden his thrall.

The girl shook her head, though. “My car’s out front. And my stuff’s still inside anyway. But thanks.”

Lenny deflated a little. “Oh. ‘Kay.” That plan was shot, then. But maybe if he could keep her near him, anyway… “Just… whatever it is… you know it c-could be a whole l-lot worse.” He forced a smile, thinking of a very specific way in which it could be worse. She could be him, instead.

“Yeah, I guess,” she allowed, though she did not seem able to imagine it. She sighed. Then she wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

Lenny panicked. If she was cold, she would go back inside, and he would be left alone to die, unless he could somehow blend in with the chaperones of a high school dance – unlikely. He hastily shrugged out of his jacket and offered it to her. The light breeze bit into him immediately, but she took the jacket, and she smiled, and she stayed outside.

He kept her there as long as he was able, talking, saying anything that came into his head, anything to keep her there another moment longer, and it was all he could do not to cry when she finally handed his jacket back to him and went inside. But by that time, there was no flash in the bushes across the street, and his stamina had recovered somewhat, and he shuffled back to the motel, because his skin had frozen, and running was impossible.

Sebastian did not ask where he had gone, or about the dead blood on his gloves or the cracks in his arms.

Lenny stripped and sat in the hot shower until he began to soften and knit back together. The lack of bullet holes in his chest was a relief. The relief itself was a relief. At least he knew now that he still had some desire to live. He sent out a silent thanks to that girl, wherever she might be.

* * *

CHRISTMAS CAME AND went, and then New Year’s Day. Sebastian went back to his predictable schedule, leaving and staying away all day, and Lenny went back to staying out of it, except on the few occasions Sebastian dragged him along.

It was on one of those occasions that he saw her again. Sebastian had gotten tired of silence and kicked Lenny out of the car, and Lenny shuffled into the nearest building so that he could at least wait somewhere warm. It was a movie theater, and the kids behind the counter tried to make him buy something or leave, but he didn’t move and didn’t speak, and they finally told him he could stay as long as he knew he would have to leave before they closed down for the night.

He still did not move and did not speak, not until someone very close to his shoulder said “Hey!”

He didn’t recognize her at first, without the black streaks down her face and the tediously ornamental hairdo. But he recognized her skinny arms and the freckles dusted across her nose and forehead. “Hi.” She waited, and he blinked. “You… you’re looking b-better.”

She grinned at him and shifted her tub of popcorn to one hand so she could plant the other on her hip. “Yeah, well you’re looking sort of worse.”

Worse than running for his life could not have been good, and he frowned. “I’ve been standing here a while.” Daring to complain felt dangerous. He could not remember the last time someone had shown an interest in his wellbeing, given him an opening to complain. It had probably been Mara. He counted in his head: six years, at least. It felt good.

“Meeting someone?”

“Yeah.”

Her face fell a little, though he could not understand why.

“What movie are you going to see?”

“No movie. He’s just p-picking me up here. I don’t drive.” At least, he hoped Sebastian would be picking him up. Walking back would probably have been faster, but it would have been cold, and Sebastian might expect him to stay where he was put.

She only smiled, though. “Never learned?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m Liz.” She put out a hand for him to shake, invaded his personal space, and invited him to come see what she was seeing.

“I’m Hugo,” he started, but before he could muster a convincing objection, she had bought him a ticket, bought him a soda, forced him to carry her popcorn, and dragged him into the theater after her.

He did not get to see the entire movie. Sebastian arrived at the bottom of the darkened stairs, and Lenny slipped away. “Maybe I’ll see you again,” he whispered as he ducked out of his seat. He wasn’t sure that she heard, though; the film’s score was very loud.

“The hell are you smiling about?” Sebastian demanded in the car. “You into chick flicks now?” He snorted. “What am I saying? ‘Course you are.”

Lenny stopped staying out of it. When Sebastian left, Lenny went with him. He wanted to see the girl again. Maybe it was just that it had been so long since he had spoken to anyone earnestly. Maybe she reminded him of one of his students from his past life. Maybe it was that she seemed so incredibly determined to be a friend, even though she had to know that he was a stranger in town. Maybe it was just that she wasn’t Sebastian. Being near her did not remind him of what he might become.

It took a week, but the town was small, and he was bound to run into her eventually. The third time, it was at a small coffee shop on the square. He wasn’t even looking for her there, had just shuffled in with a handful of change he had been collecting off of sidewalks for a few months, seeking caffeine. He purchased a cup, paid for it, and turned around to find Liz once again well within his personal space. He jumped and dropped his cup, shuffling backward to preserve some distance between them.

“Uh… hi? You’re kind of… Hey.”

She seemed to realize the problem and smiled sheepishly. “Hey, again. How have you been?”

In a flash, he had managed to convince himself that this was a mistake. He shouldn’t have come. It wasn’t worth it. If Sebastian found out about her, she could be in danger, and it would be his fault. Even if she wasn’t in danger, the chances were slim to none that she actually cared how he had been. It was social convention, the sort of thing one is obliged to say, and she would hurry the conversation along, politely excuse herself, and leave him alone again.

“Good,” he grunted. “You?” She would complete the formula, reply Good, and walk past him, and everything would go back to normal. He shouldn’t have done this.

But she beamed. “Oh, pretty good. Just getting some work done.” She twisted a lock of hair around one finger and tilted her head. “I’ve got an extra seat at my table…” There were approximately ten tables in the shop, and they were the only two patrons. “Or are you just waiting for your friend again?”

He floundered. “No. Just k-killing some t-time. Got a…” Something that could get him out of this, something that would make clear that he couldn’t stay. “Got a job to do later. Gonna want some fuel.” He bent to pick up his cup, and offered her a strained smile. “Uh, c-can you… You’re right in front of the, uh…”

Liz glanced back, saw that she was between him and the thermoses of coffee, and moved aside. “Yeah, sorry. You can sit with me if you want. I mean, unless you want to sit alone. ‘Cause that’s totally cool if you do. I just thought I’d ask.”

The coffee hissed into his cup, and he grimaced. She wanted him to sit with her. She wanted him to, and he wanted to, and he knew he shouldn’t. He shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah. ‘Kay.”

She sipped her giant, foamy, undoubtedly sugary drink and watched him closely until he became extremely uncomfortable. It was mitigated somewhat by the fact that, the longer she watched him, the more uncomfortable she looked, too.

“Um… Sorry,” she said at last. “It’s driving me nuts. I can’t even start to tell how old you are. You look… I don’t even know.”

“’Bout thirty, I g-guess.” He knew she would take that as a joke or as sarcasm. Most people did, but it was easier when people commented on his looks rather than his actual age. He did not like to lie. He thought she would laugh or be mildly offended. He did not, however, anticipate her deep blush. It was his turn, then, to watch in ever-more-awkward silence.

She gulped at her coffee, leaned away from him, and refused to look him in the eye. “Sorry, did you say you’re from Delphi? I can’t remember.”

He leaned back as well and drew a knee up to his chest. He had no idea where Delphi was, in fact had no idea what town he was in at that exact moment, but there were few enough small towns in driving distance that it seemed a fair gamble. “Don’t think I said, actually. But yeah, I’m in Delphi. How about you? Have you always lived in…” – he glanced around and found a coaster on the floor, miraculously emblazoned with the shop’s name, address, and phone number – “B-burns?”

“Yep. Born and raised. So I’m really looking forward to going away for college.” She seemed to have relaxed a little, and dropped that casual rejection of home on him as though she expected him to understand. He did not. “So, what do you do?”

“Whatever needs d-doing.” He paused and shook his head. That sounded a bit too mercenary for his taste. Also a little too accurate. “I t-tried physics. Couldn’t g-get a job in that, though.” Not recently, at any rate. The conversation was getting more personal than he had really anticipated. He wanted to talk about the weather, or about that dance she had been to, or about what, exactly, people thought had happened to that boy and poor Donna. He did not want to talk about himself; there was no use in talking about something that barely existed. He twitched up his sleeve and checked the watch he wore. It wasn’t his, and he had no idea where Sebastian had gotten it, but it did not feel like death, and so he had accepted the token of goodwill, even though it lost about five minutes each week. “He’s late. Big surprise.”

“Your friend?”

“Yeah. He gets distracted. Stuff comes up.” He noticed that his coffee cup was empty, and got up to refill it. Light, fluffy snow was falling outside, accumulating and melting on the windowsills. “He’ll c-come eventually.” Sooner than later, hopefully. The thought of Leland clenched Lenny’s gut in tired anger, but he could not imagine staring at the man all day, as he assumed Sebastian must be. It had to get boring after six years.

Liz was not dissuaded, though. She bounced out of her seat and followed him back over to the carafes. “Ooh, if you’re new in town – you’re new in town, right? Or at least sort of? You should let me show you around. There’s not a whole lot to do. I could show you pretty much everything in like, a day. I’ll give you my cell number, okay?”

She forced her number on him, scribbled onto a napkin, and he painstakingly scrawled out the number for the motel, more confused than anything. As he handed it over, he chickened out and tried to tell her that he was never around long enough to take a call, but he had forgotten that the front desk could take a message.

It was getting dark by the time the black Mazda pulled up outside, and Lenny left with mingled reluctance and gratitude. Liz came on strong, much stronger than he was ready to take, quite yet, but talking had still been nice.

“Is their coffee any good?” Sebastian asked lightly.

“Kept me going.”

“Heh, good. That’s good.”

“You know, every t-time you dump me somewhere, there’s a real d-danger someone will get suspicious. Maybe try to g-get me arrested.”

“And you’d probably let them, wouldn’t you? No, don’t answer that. You know I’d come get you. But if you don’t like it, you’re welcome to stay behind, or stop being such a butt once we’re in the car. I was almost thinking you wanted me to leave you places. Conducting your own investigation, are you?”

“No. No, I’m just… Sorry. Never mind.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes.

Lenny felt at the napkin in his pocket and suddenly realized why a teenage girl would find his age awkward. He squeezed his eyes shut, and when he got back and found that there was already a message for him at the desk, he did not return her call. The messages accumulated, though, and when he finally caved and called, waiting until Sebastian was gone before he dug up the phone number, she suckered him into seeing a movie with her. It was then that he realized he had lost the ability to say no.

Chapter 18

LIZ LEFT MORE messages after the movie. Lenny resolved to distance himself from her, but he ended up calling anyway, entering a lengthy game of phone tag with someone he barely knew. He understood why the situation was difficult, why it could be construed as unacceptable, but he did not care. There was nothing untoward in it, and no one would ever find out anyway, especially Sebastian.

Truly, he should have known better.

“I think we should go out with a bang,” Sebastian commented absently. He was in an unusually vindictive mood and had a kept death grip on Lenny’s mind all evening, twitching him around like a marionette until he grew bored of that and settled both of them down in his room to watch television.

“’Kay,” Lenny agreed. He couldn’t muster the will to ask what Sebastian was talking about.

“Something that’ll be remembered. I was thinking about burning the town. I can get to every house in one night, I think. Not yet. I’d have to plan out the best route to take, first. But burning it all… yeah. Put this place on the map.”

Lenny stiffened, but said nothing.

“Shame it would take too long to barricade all the doors. Fifty percent fatality rate, at most. Still, that’s not bad. Can guarantee it’d make international news.”

“Rhona’ll hate you,” Lenny whispered.

Sebastian shrugged. “Rhona was going to hate me for killing her obnoxious brother, anyway. She’ll be better off without him weighing her down, though. I can always make her stop hating me if I ever see her again, anyway. Hmm. But I wonder if we could grab him first, take him out somewhere to make him watch.”

He grinned. “I’m gonna go make a test run. Down every street, stop at every house for say, thirty seconds. Time me.”

He shrugged into a jacket and ducked out the door.

Lenny sat very still, fighting the horrible, disorienting pressure that was building in his skull. Sebastian wanted to go out with a bang. Sebastian wanted to leave a crater where Leland had been. The pressure felt like the start of a migraine, or cardiac arrest. His lips and fingertips were numb.

He crawled laboriously out of his chair and into the cold, over to his room, seeking a phone number. There was only one possibility. He did not know Leland’s number, and if he went to Leland’s house, he would be killed on sight. Police would be of no use. They would not believe him, and proving his story would have repercussions far beyond the life of one small city in Colorado. Deep in the recesses of his mind, buried under years of running, he could feel Kim, but she would not come. She’d had years to come, and if those years had not brought her, neither would this.

But there was also Liz, and he had to warn someone.

He dialed with one shaking finger and held the receiver to his ear. It rang. It rang again, and then it stopped ringing, and for a moment, all Lenny could hear was static. He sucked in a breath.

“Hello?”

He let it out again, but his throat closed, and the fear flashed through him that he would be unable to speak.

“Hello?”

“I… Liz’beth? C-can…” It was hard to get the words out, but he did his best. “I need to t-talk to… P-please. I need someone to t-talk to.”

He’d been there for her once, albeit accidentally, and he could hope she would reciprocate, at least hear him out. It was too much to ask her to fight a demon, but if she would just hear him out…

“Hu-…” She cut off, and he wondered whether someone was listening in. “Sure. Sure, you can talk to me. What’s wrong?”

He bit his lip. “C-can’t. Not on the phone. Uh…” If he tried to explain over the phone, he could offer no proof, and she would take it for a mean joke. She might be offended and hang up on him, and his only option would be gone. It had to be in person. “C-can you come to the coffee p-p-p-place? Just… ‘fore he c-comes b-b-ba-back. Please?”

He heard her breath catch. “Sh-shshshshsh. It’s okay, honey.” The pet name made him flinch; she was not Kim. “I’ll be right there. Sit tight.”

He knew that he had to hang up to leave the motel, and she probably had to hang up to drive, but panic had set in, and he desperately tried to keep her on the phone, to keep her voice close by. He stuttered wordlessly until he heard a click, and he set down the receiver.

It was done. He was a traitor, and Sebastian was insane, and it was looking more and more likely that only one of them was going to make it out of all this.

He sat a moment longer, gathering courage, before stepping outside. He would have to run; there was no way he could walk in any reasonable amount of time, and the sooner he got this over with, the better.

The moment he left the doorway, an iron grip closed around his throat.

“Too late.” Sebastian’s voice was sad. “I’m already back. Was that that girl I saw? Running to a teenager for help? Really, Hugo? You’re such a goddamn baby.” He spat the last name like a curse, like the first time he’d said it, and for a moment, the putrid green wallpaper of a rotting tenement seemed to close in around Lenny.

The hand left Lenny’s throat and swung hard into his jaw. He choked and spat out teeth, and they had crumbled to dust before they could hit the deck. He raised his hands to shield his face, and a foot planted itself in his chest and shoved, cracking ribs. His momentum carried him back until his hip struck the railing and he twisted, flipping over to land hard on the gravel below.

He tried to roll over, to get back to his feet, but Sebastian was already there, pulling him up.

“Stop calling me that,” Lenny mumbled through a mouthful of blood. “I’m Leonard. I’m n-not Hugo, I’m Leonard.”

“Shut up.”

Lenny’s throat sealed itself. Something moved in his blood, and the pain began to fade. He tingled, instead. It felt good. He fought it, but he had lost before he even began. It spread until he relaxed and slumped against Sebastian’s side.

“Shhh, don't worry about it. You want the kid, that's okay. You can have her. My gift. Don't cry, okay? I hate you when you cry. But first, let’s get you in one piece again.”

He half-dragged, half-carried Lenny into the motel office. The woman behind the desk stood up with a gasp and reached automatically for the telephone, but Sebastian snared her and reeled her in. She met Sebastian’s eyes, and Lenny could see her stop thinking.

“Take her,” Sebastian instructed. “It’s fine if you don’t feel like bleeding her out. I just want you healed before we get to that coffee shop.”

Lenny balanced himself atop his quaking knees and shook his head, still unable to speak.

Sebastian shrugged. “Take her, or I break her neck and go find another, and we keep this up until we find one you like.”

The numb tingle receded, and the pain flooded back full force, driving home Sebastian’s point.

Lenny obeyed and left the woman half-conscious in the chair behind the desk. At least she’s not hurting. She had enjoyed it, in fact, not that she had a choice. He had known, in a speculative, theoretical way, that he would have the same effect on a human being as Sebastian did, as any of the others did, but seeing it was unnerving. She lay motionless, breath shallow, heartbeat impossibly slow, pupils dilated. He reached for the phone – he could at least call for an ambulance – but Sebastian pulled him away and shoved him into the car.

“Here’s the deal,” Sebastian growled. “You are not my friend. You’re a tool. Not even a smart one. I know things you don’t. You know that friend of yours is in tight with Leland? Yeah. He’s working at the high school. Bet you didn’t know that. You don’t know anything. If killing his friends isn’t enough to wear him down, we go further. Death is certain, but the unknown is scarier. We take her alive and let him just imagine.”

Lenny curled into a ball in the passenger seat and focused on the new teeth budding up through his jaw.

Sebastian was silent for a moment before continuing. “I misspoke. You take her alive.”

They drove past once, slowly, and Lenny could see Liz through the window, sitting in the very back where they had sat together before. Sebastian continued on around to the narrow alley behind the row of shops, got out, and tore the handle off the café’s back door.

“In and out,” he said. “Easy as pie. Now go.”

Lenny hung back for a fraction of a second, but he already knew that he was through resisting. Liz could either end up hurt by his hand or dead by Sebastian’s. He shuffled in, but Sebastian stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Shouldn’t have lied to me, Hugo,” the huge man hissed through clenched teeth. “Shouldn’t have tried to leave me.” There was pain in that statement, raw and fresh. “Most of all, though, shouldn’t have let me know what you care about.” He pushed Lenny through the door.

The back of the coffee shop was dark, but not too dark for Lenny to see. He skirted around a low table and between stacks of cardboard boxes, making for the lighted door into the front. It swung open, showing a scrawny male silhouette that groped blindly for a light switch. Probably an employee. Lenny pulled back, but Sebastian was suddenly there, and the kid, whoever he was, fell limply to the floor. Lenny braced himself for death, but it did not come, so he pushed into the coffee shop.

Liz sat with her back to him, clasping an untasted latte between her palms and chewing so hard on her lip that he could smell blood. He could, in theory, have sat down with her, explained the situation as calmly as possible, and asked her to come quietly for her own sake. But Sebastian had said in and out, and Lenny suspected that meant quickly. He did not want Sebastian coming in to speed things up, because alive did not necessarily mean in one piece. He could explain later.

He stepped up behind her and closed a hand carefully over her mouth, feeling the tiny suction as she gasped.

“It’s me,” he whispered thickly. “It’s okay, it’s just me.”

But she wasn’t listening. She was twisting and thrashing, and her elbow made contact with his mending ribs, sending a thunderclap of pain through his side. His arms tightened around her involuntarily, and she fought harder.

“Liz, p-p-please, j-just…”

She thrust her head back suddenly, and his nose crunched, oozing blood, but he could not let go. If he let go, Sebastian would hurt him and kill her, and that made it worth it to hold on, even if Liz never forgave him for it.

“Stop,” he told her, grasping at the power he had never quite been able to master. “Liz, stop a second. I’m not g-going to hurt you.”

She paused only for a moment before beginning to kick and writhe again, her chest swelling with captured screams.

So he kept talking, filling his voice with authority he did not have as he dragged her backward through the swinging door. “It’s me. It’s okay, Liz. Try to relax. J-just relax. I p-promise it’s okay.”

By the time he had pulled her outside, she had stopped fighting and hung limp in his arms, hiccupping weakly. Her expression was distant, listening. But he wasn’t one of the good ones, and she listened because he made her, not because she wanted to.

“Amateur,” Sebastian commented. “But you get an A for effort.” He bent and peered into the girl’s face. Her eyes widened and then rolled back.

Lenny laid her across the back seat.

“By the way, plan B is that I change her and sic her on Leland.”

Lenny nodded, but resolved not to let that happen. If plan A fell through, he would find a way to get to Liz first. No one should have to go through eternity grafted to a psychopath’s mind, not that he really expected his to be much better.

Sebastian drove them to an old farmhouse somewhere out of town, in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains, and left Lenny to guard their prisoner. Sebastian had come prepared with duct tape and a Polaroid camera, but nothing else, so Lenny draped his jacket over Liz’s shoulders, pulled his knit cap down over her ears, and put her in the corner where the least wind blew through the cracks in the walls.

He knew when the trance wore off, because she started to scream, and she screamed until her voice was gone, and then she sobbed. She beat her heels against the floor. He could see her perfectly, though it would be too dark for her to see anything at all. He saw the tears freeze in her eyelashes.

And he said nothing. There was nothing he could possibly say. I’m sorry I kidnapped you? Ha. By the way, do you prefer vampirism or euthanasia?

He realized too late when the sun rose, and light began to filter in through the cracks in the walls. She saw him, and he got to witness the moment her innocence broke. He walked away.

* * *

LENNY SPENT MOST of the day in town, in places with heaters. There was little point in playing at righteousness anymore, so he stole a few sandwiches and a few bottles of water from the grocery store, and a blanket from the back seat of someone’s car. He thought about running, fantasized about it, and stayed put. Liz needed him, even though she had lost all trust in him. He would change her if he had to, he decided. If it came to that, there would be no chance for discussion, no opportunity for her to make a choice, so he would simply change her and let her decide afterward, when there was more time, whether she preferred to die.

He returned after dark to find Liz’s blood on Sebastian’s mouth.

“You said I could have her,” he reminded Sebastian. “Remember?  Your gift.”

Sebastian blinked. “You actually want her?”

“I d-do. I want her. I want you to not t-touch her.”

“No can do. If plan B rolls around…”

“I’ll do it. I’ll do that. Don’t touch her.”

The air grew cold, but it had been cold already, and Sebastian did not seem to notice.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Just tape up her mouth, would you? She keeps calling for you, and it’s getting annoying.”

Lenny left quietly to oblige.

Sebastian shivered. “It’s getting kind of miserable out here. Let’s find someplace else. Actually, no. I’ve got a good idea.”

Sebastian’s idea was the ghost’s house. Lenny saw her face in the window as he traversed the front walk, carrying a deeply entranced Liz. Sebastian walked to the back of the house, and Lenny listened to him break the back door down. He must have forced or tricked an invitation out of Donna before he killed her.

Then Lenny heard another voice inside. The husband, Henry. He’d meant to warn him. Before he could even begin to form a plan, though, a death ripped through him, and he barely managed to keep his hold on Liz.

The front door swung open, and Sebastian leaned out. He grinned at the sickness in Lenny’s face. “Whoops! Was that uncomfortable for you? I forgot. Come on in and set her down. I’m going to go get rid of the cars. Don’t want anyone thinking he’s home and coming to visit, or anything.”

Lenny tumbled in and laid Liz carefully on the floor, then sank down after her.

Sebastian blinked at him. “When was the last time you actually slept?” he asked.

Lenny shrugged.

“Huh. Sleep now, then.”

Lenny did.

* * *

THERE WAS A heater, but Liz was still cold, and she was going to need to eat something, and there was nothing in the pantry at the empty house. Part of Lenny had hoped that the house would not be empty, that Donna and Henry would stay, but they had left together and were gone by the time he woke. There was death in the walls and blood on the floor, but no ghosts. They had not needed him, after all. That was a good thing. The ones who needed him were the ones too hurt to help themselves, and he was glad that Donna and Henry were not trapped by their pain. Still, it would have been good to be needed.

Lenny contented himself with being needed by the living, and he went out to find something for Liz. He had never needed to know how to cook for himself, really, but he had seen it done and thought he could do it if it was required. He could make her a pot pie. That was the recipe that was bookmarked in the cookbook on Donna’s counter, and part of him took that as a sign, and part of him was too tired to search for something simpler. It was mostly just chopped things in broth, anyway, and while he could not bring himself to handle flesh, he doubted Liz would mind vegetables. She was not in a position to be picky, and neither was he.

He was good at theft. He could not be quick or silent, but he could be unseen, and he made off with carrots and celery and frozen peas and a pie crust. That would do. That would keep her alive. And maybe if he made an effort, she would begin to understand his place in all of this. Maybe she would manage to forgive him.

He was gone less than an hour, but he came back to find an open front door and the smell of dead blood. He recognized it as Sebastian. The bag of groceries dropped to the floor as he rushed in. He had moved Liz to the living room couch before he left, but she was gone. She was not in the kitchen or the dining room or the washroom, but as he scrambled upstairs, the smell of blood grew stronger.

He stopped dead in the hallway, terrified of what he might find. He would have known if Sebastian had died, surely. He would have felt it in his blood, would have known the moment he was free. He crept forward over the dusty carpet and peered into the first bedroom.

Sebastian lay on the floor, his throat slashed to the bone, an old and splintered arrow protruding from his neck. It had severed his spinal cord, but there were several square inches of flesh between his injury and total decapitation and so he remained alive, after a fashion. The floor was littered with ribbons of duct tape, but there was no one else in the room. To be sure, Lenny stretched out his ghost sense, but the house was entirely empty.

Almost.

For the first time in a long time, the priest was there, as well. He sprawled near Sebastian in a heap of black robes. That made sense, if the spirit was anchored to its own body, and the body was broken.

The body would stay broken until it healed, and Lenny had no power to speed that process, so he went instead to the ghost and placed a hand on the priest’s back. It was warm, but he could feel the priest’s weakness. That frightened him. A spirit could not weaken, not truly. A spirit could not die.

“Father?” he said quietly. “Um… P-padre? Let me help you.”

But the priest shrank away, his eyes dull.

“It’s okay. I c-can help.”

“You’ve changed.”

A thrill of fear pierced Lenny’s gut. “I’m trying not to.”

“You hate me.”

“What? No. I d-don’t. I want to help.”

“You said it.”

Lenny shook his head vehemently. “No, never. Him, maybe, but not you.” He seized the Veil and pulled, expecting an opening to appear, but nothing happened. He swallowed hard.

The priest shuddered. “You hate me. You can do no good for that which you hate.”

Lenny gritted his teeth and clenched a fist. “I can if I want,” he spat, and he went to prove the priest wrong. He pulled the arrow from Sebastian’s throat so that the healing could begin, hefted the limp body over his shoulder, and took it away from that place. It did not matter what had happened there. The past meant nothing, and the only thing he could change was the present.

He found the Mazda a few blocks away in a ditch, and he left Sebastian under the blanket in the back seat. The wound was not healing fast enough, but bringing a human would result in death, and he could not do that. But if he could find a farm, enough animals big enough to avoid death… That was feasible. Nowhere in America, as far as he was aware, was there a single point in space that was not running distance from a farm.

He locked the doors and pocketed the keys and buried the car in a snowdrift, smoothing the dirty white to erase any trace of a presence there. Quixotic though the attempt was, there had to be a way to save Sebastian as well as everyone else.

But anything that could kill a vampire would do so within seconds, and if Sebastian was not dust yet, he was not likely to become dust without outside help, so Lenny first sought Liz, because Liz was mortal and fragile.

He found her walking away from Leland’s house, supported by a teenage boy. Lenny focused on the fiberglass bow across the boy’s back and ground his teeth so hard they creaked, but if the boy had harmed Sebastian, he was also helping Liz. Lenny followed them until he was certain they were both safe, and then he returned to tend to Sebastian.

Sebastian had no forgiveness for anyone, least of all for Lenny, and Lenny weathered his rage from the back seat of the Mazda. They did not dare find a new place to stay, so they took turns stealing gasoline to keep the car and their bodies above freezing, and Sebastian continued to kill. He returned again, again drenched in blood, and Lenny retreated from him.

He hid in the farm house, crouched in the corner where he had secreted Liz. He drew the ring out of his pocket, but it slipped from between his numb fingers and fell through the cracks between the floorboards, and he tore frantically through the decaying wood to get it back.

You could have killed him, the Kate part of him said. He was nearly dead anyway. Perhaps you’re afraid to hate him, but killing something like that would be love. If I had rotted inside as he has, would you have let me continue like that?

Lenny peeled off his glove and slid the ring back onto his finger. “You were rotted,” he answered. “But you saved yourself.” He thought of the priest, the spirit haunting its own body. He thought of himself, becoming something evil, and had to believe that the priest could return. “Maybe he can, too.”

I killed as a child tears the wings from moths, with no understanding. I never knew the pain I caused until I saw it through you. He gluts on pain as though it were blood. Stop him, beloved.

“He’ll hurt me. And I’ll fail, and then he’ll hurt everyone, and it’ll b-be my fault.”

His sins are his own, but inaction is not among them. That is all yours. All yours, my lover. I do not recognize this coward who has grown in you.

He swiped the tears from his eyes, but a sound outside froze him. It drew closer, and he fled upstairs. He was barely real anyway, and though the stairs were brittle and full of holes, they were strong enough to hold what little of him was left. He held his breath and stayed perfectly still until the movement began to follow him upward, and he leapt back down through a hole in the floor. The boards creaked beneath him, and he looked back up to see the young man from the funeral.

The boy was human, was real, solid, as massive as any other truly living thing. The floor could not possibly hold him.

“Careful,” Lenny warned. “You’re going to fall.”

And the boy did. Lenny moved to catch him, but gravity was too quick, and the boy struck the floor and created a new hole, down into the cellar, with a wet, organic crunch. The air grew thick with coming death. Lenny backed away. He did not want to feel it when it came, but he could never have outrun it. When he turned and found himself facing the barrel of a gun, it was almost a relief.

“He’s dying,” he whispered.

Two sharp reports answered him, two flashes of light, two burning holes in his chest.

Leland disappeared into the cellar, and Lenny took the opportunity to disappear into the night.

He wanted that to be the end of it. He wanted an end. He deserved an end. But he was intercepted. Sebastian caught him up and stanched the bleeding, holding him tight. It was Sebastian, but it was also the priest, and so Lenny submitted without resentment. At least one of the two cared for him, and if that was the best he could get, he would take it.

“Who shot you?” Sebastian demanded. “Who was it? Was it Leland?”

Lenny nodded, because there was nothing else he could do, and Sebastian took off, back toward the farmhouse. There were three cars out front, which could easily mean enough people present to be a threat. Lenny hung back, watching Leland bring the boy out. Not dead, though. No one had died, and the boy seemed almost to be moving under his own power.

The boy ended up in Leland’s car while Leland spoke with a woman Lenny did not remember having seen before. They reached some kind of agreement, and Leland moved away.

Sebastian had disappeared, but Lenny knew he was still nearby, and sure enough, something small and hard, a river rock, whistled out of the darkness and struck Leland’s temple. The man’s glasses shattered, shards tracking red lines down his cheeks as he fell, unconscious.

Lenny winced and turned away, scrutinizing the boy instead. He had been badly hurt. Lenny had heard the bones breaking and felt death moving in, but the bones had healed, and he seemed well enough to scramble out of the car with a hammer in his hand, ready to do damage. He could not understand it, unless Leland had peculiar gifts of his own.

The boy moved fast for someone who should have been moments from death, but Sebastian was faster. He hoisted the nerveless body over his shoulder and ran, and Lenny followed a moment after.

They did not go back to the car, as Lenny had expected. Sebastian ran straight past it, toward town, and dumped Leland in a heap on his own back porch.

“He won’t let us in,” Lenny whispered. There was fluid in his punctured lungs, and his voice was weak.

“Doesn’t have to,” Sebastian replied, rummaging through the unconscious man’s pockets until he came up with a key ring. “He lives here, but it’s not home to him. He probably thinks it is, but it’s not. Too temporary. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stay.”

He let them in and threw Leland onto the floor in the kitchen while he hunted for a suitable cell. Most of the rooms had windows and would be easily escapable, but there was a cellar, as well. He shoved Leland down the stairs, closed the door, and had begun to lock it when Lenny interrupted.

“He’ll b-break out.”

Sebastian nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. I’ll go take care of that, shall I?”

Lenny shuddered and waited upstairs, ignoring as best he could the sounds that rose from below.

The house was beautifully furnished, he realized. Leland must have been very well connected to move everything across the country so many times, and he must have been terribly optimistic to even bother. There were bookcases lining every wall, an upright piano, a massive roll-top desk, steamer trunks covered in interesting artifacts. The place may never have truly been Leland’s home, but he had clearly wanted it to be. Lenny touched the cracked wood of an antique violin case propped in the corner. The place was full of the shades Daniel Leland carried with him, memories of hundreds of friends and companions embedded in the brass and paper and polished wood. The man had loved people. Somehow, that struck Lenny as strange. It was difficult to reconcile the man who had beaten him, the man who, for some unknown reason, had felt it necessary to murder Kate, with a person who hoarded mementos and trinkets. But then, among those trinkets was a wall covered in gleaming steel, a mounted collection of deadly bladed weapons, and the echoes those carried had not been friends.

Lenny shied away from all of it, gravitating instead toward the books. He touched the weathered spine of a volume of poetry.

I could stay here, he thought. This is the kind of place I could stay.

He couldn’t, of course, not surrounded by a mob of what would soon become angry villagers, not among another man’s cherished memories, but he could want to.

Sebastian trudged up out of the cellar, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Taken care of,” he said.

“H-how?”

“You know my methods.” Sebastian smiled. “He came around a little, enough that I could push him around some. You know he’s a shapechanger. I’ll be interested to see whether I pushed him hard enough to keep him from shifting.”

“Into wh-what?”

“Eh, not sure. But I did ask if it was something small enough to get out under a door, and he said it was. Anyway, I drained him out, too. Too weak to pull any tricks, hopefully.”

Lenny nodded. He could feel sorry for the man who owned those books and fought so hard to survive, but not for the man who had killed his wife.

“I want to look at him.”

“Oh? Why?”

“D-death imprints whatever’s around when it happens. I want to see how Kate d-died.”

Sebastian blinked once, then stood aside. For a moment, something in his face was reminiscent of the priest. “Finding out hurt you enough. Are you sure you want to see?”

“Yes. Why do you c-c-care, anyway? I’m not your friend, remember?”

Sebastian grimaced, and Lenny descended into the cellar.

It was dark. A single lightbulb dangled from the ceiling, but the switch was outside in the hall, and his vision was better in the dark, anyway. It smelled of cement down there, that dry, slightly sour smell that reminded Lenny of somewhere else. He paused on the stairs and nearly turned back, but he could not avoid cellars for the rest of his life, however long or short that might be.

Leland slumped, unbreathing, in a corner. His forehead was dented where the rock had struck him, and his throat was a mangled mass of flesh. His pupils were unevenly dilated, and his gray eyes looked at nothing. He was almost pathetic.

Lenny reached the bottom of the stairs and moved closer. He could already feel the mountains of memory in the man, vibrating between the atoms in his body. Close to two hundred years of them, though for some reason, Lenny had expected more. There was too much of it for him to sift through a second at a time, but he already knew what he was looking for, and approximately where to look. He knelt and touched Leland’s spidery white hand.

An empty room, the men’s lavatory of an abandoned building, dust on the floor and cobwebs on the ceiling, water damage on the walls. No reflection in the mirror. Waiting.

He was not looking to help anyone but himself, and so his ghost sense gave him nothing extra. None of the reasoning, none of the insight, no clue as to why Leland was there, what he was waiting for.

Finger on the grip of a gun, nervous stance, tight grip on a briefcase. Something is wrong, here. Checking a watch. Whatever he is waiting for is late. Shifting slightly, as though he needs to fidget but does not dare make noise.

A sound from outside. Body tensing, tight grip on the gun. Door opening. Beat. Tiny body, a grown woman no taller than a child. Kate, trousers and cropped hair, carrying a canvas folio that seems huge beside her body. Brown eyes widen. Hand raised, not quite a greeting.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Eight shots, tight grouping, heart obliterated. She stands as though confused. Skin sloughs away, laying bare flesh. Flesh crumbles, laying bare bone. Eyes are the last to go, full of fear.

He could see them even when the rest of her was gone, a pile of fine gray ash on a tile floor amid urinals, a humiliating death.

The world went red. Hands gripped him tight and dragged him back, and he dragged something with him, but could not see what it was. He could see her eyes and nothing else. She had been so afraid. The hands pried his fingers away from whatever he had been holding, and he tried to grab it back. His arms twitched with the need to lash out.

“Hugo!”

Something loomed up dimly in front of him, and he struck at it blindly, but it caught his hand.

“Hugo.”

His hand was slick, though, and slid out of that grip. He struggled and threw out an elbow, feeling it contact flesh.

“Leonard. Listen to me. Relax.”

He couldn’t. He didn’t want to relax, but the fight went out of him anyway, and he collapsed, sobbing.

“Listen. Calm down. Listen to me. Breathe deep and relax. You don’t have to feel this right now. Focus on my voice.”

Lenny focused. He wanted to listen, and for once, that want had nothing to do with Sebastian. But the voice was breathless, slightly shaken, and falling into it was harder than it should have been. Lenny sucked in a breath and grasped at the artificial stillness he had been offered.

His vision began to clear slowly, and he turned to glare at Leland. Something horrible had happened to the man. His face was ruined, and the back of his head was a bloody mess, as though it had been smashed repeatedly into the concrete wall.

“Kill him,” he heard a grating voice say. His throat was raw. “I don’t care. I want to see. I want to feel the bastard die.”

* * *

SEBASTIAN DID NOT kill Leland. Instead he worked hard to reestablish his foothold in Lenny’s mind, talking constantly in that low, soothing way of his, until he was able to send him to sleep.

When Lenny woke in the murderer’s bed, he felt nothing. That had to be Sebastian’s doing. In a way, it was better than agony, but he had felt power for a moment, strength drawn from rage, and he wanted that back. He had felt free.

He looked over to where Sebastian sat by the window. The priest flickered in and out of his field of vision. Both of them looked exhausted, fatigued by stress.

“If you won’t do it,” he told them, “I will.”

Sebastian opened his mouth and shut it again, unable to find words. He shook his head.

“I will.” Lenny rolled over and rose shakily, throwing off the hand he felt at his arm.

Sebastian pulled back as though burned. The priest was closer to him, deeper inside him. They were almost the same person. Lenny could hardly tell the difference, anymore.

“I… Leonard. Lenny? I don’t want you to.”

“Give me one g-good reason I should give a crap what you want.”

There was a disconcerting sort of helplessness in the way Sebastian wrung his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have told you.”

“There’s a damn lot of things you shouldn’t have done, but telling me about Kate wasn’t one of them.”

“It broke you.”

“That was the p-point all along, wasn’t it? That’s what you were g-going for since the first time you saw me. Don’t pretend it wasn’t.”

“But then you stayed. I didn’t mean it, what I said. You’re my friend. I wasn’t yours, but I should have been. You stayed.”

Lenny’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Bye,” he spat, and he turned on his heel and stalked from the room, twisting his hands into claws.

“You won’t,” Sebastian protested, trailing after him. “You can’t. It’s not who you are.”

“I can sure as hell try.”

“And if you succeed? What will you be, then?”

“The k-kind of husband she deserved.”

Sebastian stopped for a moment, then caught up. “No. You’d be me, and I won’t let you be me. I said stop.”

The command blazed through Lenny, in his mind and in his blood, and he fought it with everything he had. He struggled to keep his legs moving despite the foreign desire to obey.

“Stop, Lenny.” The name seemed to stick in Sebastian’s mouth, just as the alien compassion stuck in his spirit. “Stop. Lenny, stop.”

Lenny’s body weighed him down like lead, but he toiled onward with the last of his strength until Sebastian’s touch froze him. He was too tired to brush it away.

“Calm down, Lenny. Listen to me. Stop feeling, stop thinking. Let yourself heal now.”

The anger drained away and left emptiness behind. Lenny sagged. Perceptions drifted in and back out again, but did not register. He could not catch hold of them.

Sebastian, wetting his lips with the tip of a nervous tongue. Sebastian, grasping at straws. The priest was in his eyes, in the gentleness of his hands, and for a moment, Lenny understood. He remembered what Rhona had said. There are always people who want to kill him. He makes sure of that. It validates his paranoia. He had already done what was needed. In refusing to leave, in letting himself be demolished and never striking back, he had invalidated Sebastian’s entire world. The walls were breaking down and the soul was slipping back where it belonged, not beyond the Veil, but inside the man.

Lenny hated it. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t worth it. He was not a savior, not a Christ. He had never volunteered to buy back Sebastian’s soul with his own life.

But he could not remain bitter long, because the understanding drifted away again and left him empty once more.

“You’re full of holes,” Sebastian mused. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? That’s where it started. You need someone else in your head, holding you up.”

That was where the problem had started, but it had grown far beyond that. Yet Lenny could not object; he could not recall how that was wrong.

“That girl. What about her? You like her well enough, don’t you?”

Lenny answered the question exactly as it was posed. “Yes.”

“Good. Good, and that’ll fix it. You said you wanted her anyway, didn’t you?”

He had, but the specifics of the situation were slippery, and all he could remember for sure was the fact that he had uttered the words. “Yes.”

“Good, okay. This’ll work, then.”

Sebastian laid out the plan, one Lenny would never have approved, had he been able to object. They would find Liz. It wouldn’t be difficult; Sebastian had her blood and could follow her anywhere. They should find her quickly, because humans were fragile and unpredictable, but securing her would likewise be easy. She would come when Sebastian called, just as Lenny did. Lenny would take the opportunity to build up his strength at least enough that he could sit with her throughout the transformation. When she was bound to him, part of him, shoring him up like new foundation for a leaning house, then and only then would they deal with Leland. The prisoner could languish until Lenny was no longer in danger of losing himself.

It was all wrong, all completely wrong.

Sebastian started to leave, then stopped and held a hand out to Lenny. “You should probably come with me. Unless you think you’d be okay alone?”

Thinking, for the moment, was not among Lenny’s strengths, so he took Sebastian’s hand, and they ran.

Liz’s hiding place was an old apartment building, whitewashed stucco and rusting stairs. Black plastic letters down the side of the building read “The Village.” The A had come loose and hung cockeyed several inches below the rest of the text. There was a pickup truck parked near one of the flights of stairs, and as they paused, a second car pulled up. An old lady climbed out with a bag of groceries. She had blued hair and a tiny frame, the perfect illustration of osteoporosis. Not a threat. But something about the two men unnerved her, and she sucked in a breath in obvious preparation for a scream.

In the time it took to blink, Sebastian had appeared behind her and closed a hand over her mouth, and the bag of groceries dropped to the asphalt. His hand tightened, itching to snap her neck, but he glanced at Lenny and stopped. Instead, he bent and whispered in her ear, and she tottered inside with a glazed expression.

“That one,” he said, pointing to a door. “We’ll call it getting even for her shooting me. Nothing too bad,” he amended quickly, glancing at Lenny. The priest was further away; the urge for revenge was Sebastian’s. “But I can’t just let her get away with that. I mean, arrows hurt like hell.”

Lenny had been asked nothing, and so could not answer, but Sebastian’s problematic plan was burned into his brain, so he went to the door to get Liz. He knocked, three quiet taps, and turned back to look at Sebastian.

“I’ll give it a tug,” Sebastian said.

But nothing emerged. Lenny could hear the commotion inside, several people scrambling away from the door, panicked whispers. He tried the doorknob, just in case, but it did not budge.

Sebastian frowned. “She’s fighting. Harder than I thought she could, actually. Maybe a shock, break her concentration…”

He picked up the old woman’s groceries and flung them at the window with enough force to crack the glass. A strawberry upside-down cake burst free from its packaging and left an oozing red smear down the window.

The loud noise was certainly a shock. Lenny heard the moment of silence that followed, and then the flurry of activity began again.

“Got her,” Sebastian said. “Easy, now…”

It happened quickly. The door opened, Elizabeth stepped out, and she closed it behind her. Inside, there was a confusion of sound, shouts and crashes, but it was all easy for Lenny to ignore.

“Told you it wouldn’t be difficult,” Sebastian said. “Sympathetic magic, just like a voodoo doll. Control of the whole through possession of a part, you know? You should look into it, yeah?”

“I don’t like this,” Lenny replied, surprising himself, and apparently Sebastian as well. He could not refuse, not really, but his brain was desperate to object, and it fixed on the thought of Sebastian’s revenge. Liz could not be blamed for defending herself. “The boy was the one who cut you.”

“Relax. She’ll still be in one piece when I’m done, and you can have her back.”

Sebastian glanced around and left suddenly, but Lenny hung back a moment. He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it across the girl’s shoulders. Part of him was glad that he could not be hurt by her vacant expression, which he knew had to match his own.

“It’s okay, Liz,” he said, more out of courtesy than concern. He picked her up and took her away, holding her tighter and tighter as Sebastian’s hold over her faded and she began to struggle.

Step two was leaving her while he gorged, ensuring that he was strong enough to last the three days while her body twisted itself into something new, and there was only one place to leave her. He ducked into Leland’s house and set her down, taking her hand to lead her inside, and pointed to the cellar door.

“You’ll have to wait there for a while,” he said. “I’ll c-come back for you. Watch your step.”

She stepped back against him, away from the darkness. “Hell no!”

So he gave her a nudge, and she overbalanced and toppled down the stairs. He meant to go after her, to apologize, but was not able to make himself care. There was no death looming, anyway, so he shut the door and locked it, having entirely forgotten what else was down there.

“This’ll work out,” Sebastian told him. “Don’t you think?”

“She’s going to hate me. She’ll hate me more if you hurt her first.”

Sebastian thought about that for a moment, bowing his head in what almost looked like shame, then straightened and shrugged. The priest was gone, for the moment. “I’ll wipe her memory. You can start fresh. Go find something to eat. There’s a feed lot up that creek. Cows are big enough for you, aren’t they?”

And Lenny slipped away.

* * *

THE LONGER LENNY was away, the easier thinking became. Not fighting the command in his blood – that was still impossible – but recognizing it, analyzing it, and coming to understand it. He fed from the cows at the lot, strengthened himself, and began to realize what was about to happen.

At first, he felt an echo of horror at what he was going to be forced to do, but it was not real. The horror was a phantom pain, and he felt it only because he thought he should. When he realized that he really did not care, it vanished again. The truth was that he wanted a second mind, a second heart grafted into him. He had never felt quite right alone. It would not be the same as being subsumed into Kate, but at least there would be someone else there, someone not handicapped by his scars. He would not have chosen Liz. It should have been someone he loved, someone who, given the choice, had chosen him in return. By the time she woke, empty of memories, neither of them would be a whole person, but together, they would still be closer to it than he was on his own.

Sebastian’s coercion would be his justification. He need feel no guilt, even though he could not guarantee he would not have done the same if he had been free.

He returned in time to find the back door open, hear the air split by gunfire, and understand that everything had gone wrong one last time. Sebastian was silent; there was no compulsion left in Lenny’s mind or in his blood, but the numbness had been replaced by shock. His body moved without his consent. He ran for the door, stumbled, picked himself up again.

Sebastian lay in a pool of dark blood on the kitchen floor, his torso full of arrows. Two pinned him to the linoleum, one dangerously close to his heart. The burned outline of a Star of David blackened his cheek. There were voices nearby, living heartbeats, but they did not matter. Sebastian was conscious, his dark eyes wide, mouth full of blood. He knew how close he was to true death, and he feared what waited for him beyond the Veil. Lenny pressed a stabilizing hand to his chest and worked one of the arrows free, ignoring the agonized whimpers.

“I’m your friend,” he promised. The Kate part of him screamed in frustration.

The holes began to close as soon as the arrow was removed, but though Lenny helped him up, Sebastian could barely stand. He had lost too much, and the shafts remaining in his chest pained him. “Run,” he whispered.

Lenny shook his head, but Sebastian gripped his hand weakly. “You’re a bad runner. They’ll catch you. I’ll keep them from following, and I’ll catch up when you’re far enough away. Go now.” He pulled out of Lenny’s grasp and staggered to the cellar door, wrapping his arm around the throat of the woman who stood there.

Lenny did not move. He could not. He could not picture Sebastian surviving a second go. He was already hurt, already weak, and though he had the high ground and a hostage, there was someone down there with a bow and arrow, come prepared for killing vampires. Sebastian would kill again, and then he would die, and then they would come for Lenny as well. He would never have a chance to leave that house.

The entirety of his existence had condensed into the present, and neither the future nor the past meant anything.

He heard Sebastian screech in pain at the same moment he felt a threshold spring into existence behind him. His threshold, his defense. If his life lasted only a few minutes longer, that house held the remainder of it. It was as home as he was going to get, as home as he might ever get.

And it gave him a way to redeem himself.

He had already lost himself. He may not have seen it before, but he saw it then. He remembered the woman at the motel, laid out anemic and silent, drowning in drugged pleasure she had not wanted. He had done that. He remembered Liz duct taped in the cold, leaving her childhood behind for good. He had done that, too. He had torn off a man’s face and beaten his head against a wall, and just thinking about it made Lenny want to strike out again. He had wanted to kill. He had wanted to take a human child and alter the fabric of her nature to suit his own needs. He had let himself hate.

He would not run while a friend died.

The house was his. He was home.

“Get out,” he whispered at Sebastian’s back. “You’re not welcome here.”

A bowstring twanged and an arrowhead sprouted between Sebastian’s shoulder blades, and his clothes collapsed, empty, in a pile of bloodstained denim and polyester.

Lenny flinched in anticipation, but no death hit him.

That was good. That meant it had worked, and Sebastian was gone, forced outside by the magic that kept a vampire from existing uninvited within a home. It would have hurt, Lenny knew. He had been through that before, and being torn atom from atom and reassembled elsewhere was not pleasant, but neither was it death. That was good.

And he would die. That did not frighten him. He had seen too many deaths to be afraid of his own. It was not his time, and that was not right, but it was not exactly wrong, either. His knees gave out, and he sank to the floor to wait for the boy with the bow. He did not know Liz very well, but he knew she would not be friends with someone who would cause pain for its own sake. It would be quick.

He shut his eyes.

And snapped them open again.

They would kill him. They would see him die, watch him crumble to ash, and realize that a vampire’s true death looked nothing like Sebastian’s disappearance.

He saw them emerge from the cellar, carrying Liz. Carrying? She looked terrible, drained of life, and he could sense her weakness closing in. Leland’s doing. Sebastian’s hold over him must have broken at some point. It was slow enough that an ambulance would have plenty of time to arrive and save her, if her friends were quick enough. They would not be quick enough if Lenny distracted them, if his own death alerted them to Sebastian’s continued unlife.

The boy with the bow, the boy from the funeral, and a woman with a Taser. They did not see him, too busy trying desperately to keep the last of their number alive.

Lenny moved slowly, mechanically, out the back door.

Suddenly, his life expanded again. He could take Sebastian and run. Surely, the endless chase was finally over. It did not matter what happened to Daniel Leland. Kate was gone, her spirit at peace, as it had always been. He and Sebastian could disappear. The wizards had never found them and never would, not if they went to ground together…

And then what? More years of tyranny and abuse? Lenny sagged. There was no other option. If he ran, it would be a betrayal, and Sebastian would lose whatever stability he had gained. He would come after him. If he stayed, he could only expect more of the same. Believing Sebastian could become a real person, sane and functional, was folly. He could hope for the best, yes, but never expect more than the worst.

Lenny slid around the perimeter of the house, just beyond the threshold, and found Sebastian in the dead flowerbed outside the bedroom. He had taken nothing but himself with him when the magic thrust him out, and he lay naked in the frozen dirt. The arrows had been left behind, but the holes remained; his body was too dry to heal them. Between the wounds was an old scar, the imprint of a cross burned deep into his flesh. There had been no one to remove his pendant when he changed.

And he was both at once, the body and the spirit, the monster and the priest, Padre Sebastian.

Chapter 19

LENNY HID SEBASTIAN in the car for a short time, but he knew they could not stay there. The temperature had risen to just slightly above freezing, and the snowbank he had built to conceal the car would shrink until they were found. He did not trust his driving ability to get them away safely, and he did not dare leave Sebastian alone long enough to steal gas for the nearly-empty tank. If the temperature rose, they would be discovered, but if it dropped, they would freeze.

And Sebastian was healing too slowly.

He had lost so much blood and experienced so much trauma, and the cold leeched the strength from him until he could not even regain consciousness. It must have taken so much effort over the last day, trying to be a real person, trying to be a friend. Failing, yes, but the attempt had to count for something.

Lenny shivered in the cold until his skin began to crystallize. He had to get them out, but before they could run, Sebastian had to be back on his feet. The feedlot was the only thing that came to mind. Cattle. He had never seen Sebastian feed from an animal, did not even know if he was able, but he could think of no other solution.

He wrapped Sebastian’s limp body in the blanket and pushed out of the car, glancing toward the road. There was a broad open field between them and the cover of the trees, and if someone happened to drive past, he could not avoid being spotted. For the moment, though, it was all clear. He carried Sebastian across the field, toward the creek.

It was hard going. Sebastian was too weak to be heavy, but he was much larger than Lenny, and carrying him was awkward.

It became even more so when Lenny heard the sound of a motor.

He dared a look back and caught sight of a pickup truck pulling off to the side of the road. It sputtered to a stop and spat out the woman with the Taser. Only now, she had a knife, as well, and she had seen him.

He did not want to run. His balance was already poor, the problem compounded by his unwieldy burden. But though he shuffled into the trees as quickly as he could, the woman gained on him. There was nowhere to hide, no convenient underbrush or well-placed ravine.

So he ran, and he fell, and while he scrambled to pick Sebastian up, the woman was on him in seconds.

“No one touches my kids,” she growled. She planted a foot in his back and pushed him down, stabbing her Taser toward his ribs.

He wriggled away, leaving his jacket behind, and held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “P-p-please,” he begged. “I just want to leave. I’m g-going.”

She was not interested in listening. She drove him back, slashing with her knife, until he tripped over a root. He curled in on himself, raising his arms to defend his face, and the tip of her knife glanced off his sternum and plunged into his lung. It made a wet schlup as she pulled it out and went in for a second try.

She struck at his face, but he managed to catch hold of her wrist. He shoved her back.

Despite being short and round, there was something predatory in the woman’s posture. She circled as he scrambled back up, clutching his chest.

Both of them locked eyes on Sebastian simultaneously.

She moved. Lenny moved. They converged on the unconscious body, the woman with her knife and Lenny with fangs extended.

“Please,” he tried again. “Let us leave. We won’t c-come back.”

She rushed, and he tripped, and she was on top of them both, and all he could do was push her away. He pushed too hard. She flew into the air and hit a tree, and she did not come back down. The air grew heavy as she scrabbled uselessly at the branch protruding from her stomach. Her legs thrashed in midair.

Lenny watched her dying. It was not like some expected it to be. There were no shadows drawing closer. It was a contraction, a birth. Her world pulled in close, enveloping her, pressing hard to force her through the Veil between worlds. Drops of blood pattered into the snow.

Dying by his hand.

He crawled up the trunk after her and tried to slide her off the branch, but she screamed more horribly than he had known a dying woman could. The pressure grew, and he was too close. It pressed on him, too, straining the threads that kept him bound to his body. He was too close, would be too close no matter how far away he ran, causally tied to this death.

He opened his ghost sense to its fullest and grasped at her soul in futility, begging it to stay nearby. He bit into his wrist and painted her lips with his blood, sank his teeth into her shoulder and took some back. But her eyes were already clouding over, her heartbeat slowing. Thud. Thud. Thud. Silence.

He waited for the next beat to come, but it did not, and one by one, the tiny sparks between her brain cells flickered and went out. He pressed his forehead to hers and squeezed his eyes shut, clinging to the last of those dimming lights, holding it steady with everything he had.

And when it sputtered and died, it took part of him with it.

The death tore through him, as they all did. This one did worse. It tore him to pieces and drove them apart, dragged the heart of him out of his body.

He was not aware when he fell from the tree and hit the ground. He was not aware of Sebastian waking, shrieking in pain as his sins caught up with him, ghost sense bombarded with centuries of murder. He should help. He should go to him, comfort him, but Sebastian’s pain was just punishment, and he could not make himself care. Thought had become an impossibility. He was scattered, and there was too little of him left. All he knew was an overwhelming fatigue, the need to sink into the earth and rest.

The tattered husk ran north. When it had lost the strength to run, it walked, and when it had lost the strength to walk, it crawled, and when it had crawled as far as it could, it froze.

Dreams came. The earth rose around it, and sleep descended.

Chapter 20

the end

SOMETIMES, HE STILL dreams about the girl.

He is always blind in the dreams, must be blind, because there is no way it could be too dark for him to see. He is blind, but he can hear everything, feel everything, and reality dissolves.

She gasps when his hand closes over her mouth, and he can feel that tiny suction, then the wriggling and flopping as he holds her tightly from behind, muffling her screams with his flesh. He whispers desperate consolation in her ear until the feeble spell of his voice finally takes hold, and she relaxes into his arms, shivering with the sobs that cannot quite escape.

He tapes her arms and legs, wraps her in his jacket, and sits with her through the night. Her breath freezes on the air, and he can almost hear the chime of those ice-crystal clouds. His skin freezes and cracks. He would bleed, but he has no blood left, and the cold makes him tired, as if he were a reptile. He could almost sleep.

Sebastian is in the dream, too. He plucks the telephone away and lashes out with a burning fist. Broken teeth, jaw, ribs. One punch, one kick, no more.

“Too late,” he says. “I’m already back. Running to a teenager for help? Really, Hugo? You’re such a goddamn baby.”

His hands are hot, and they can be soothing when they want to be. They stroke away the bruises, and he layers his voice with Power, whispering away the pain.

“I’m Leonard. I’m n-not Hugo, I’m Leonard. Leonard…”

“Shhh, don’t worry about it. You want the kid, that’s okay. You can have her. My gift.” His hot hands move south, gentle still. “Don’t cry, okay? I hate you when you cry.”

She is waiting when they get there.

She gasps when his hand closes over her mouth, and he can feel that tiny suction, then the wriggling and flopping as he holds her tightly from behind, muffling her screams with his flesh. His mouth is swollen and full of tears, and his voice is so much weaker than Sebastian’s. He cannot take away her fear, only make her stop twisting to give his poor ribs a rest.

He sits with her through the night and listens to her hurting, but caring is impossible by then. Sebastian is in his head, squeezing his heart so tight he can barely feel, stroking his mind into silence. His throat burns with thirst. His veins ache, empty and hollow and screaming with lust, but he can’t care. He leaves without speaking to her, even though she begs, even though her faith is shattering into sunbursts on the dusty floor.

He sits in the car and presses himself close against the blasting heater. He is blind, but he seems to see deep brown eyes, slightly tilted, smiling, fringed with dark, sooty lashes. He could drown in those eyes, has drowned in them before, just like so many others. Bleak pools full of the drowned, full of bodies. The back of his mind is full of struggling, the clinking of chains. Sebastian is bleeding her. The blood is the life, and so much more. Teeth penetrate. Essence is shared. Eventually, she stops fighting.

Tomorrow, he thinks. I’ll do it tomorrow. He won’t bleed her if she’s mine.

But he doesn’t really care.

When he pushes her down the stairs, she has Kate’s voice. “Lyonya,” she cries, but that never happened, and Kate was a thousand years ago, and she hurt him more than he could ever have hurt her.

When he runs, the girl is probably dead. Sebastian’s voice is gone, and his skull echoes emptily.

Sometimes, he still dreams about the girl, but when he wakes, the world is white, and his bones are ice, and his name has bled away with the last of his strength. They call it permafrost for a reason, you know, and his hands are bound up in dirt that does not sing and cannot heal. The ghosts here are pale and ancient. They speak in tongues he does not know.

And freedom is bitter.

Epilogue

ANIELA LIVED IN a perpetual confusion of déjà vu. Sometimes, her memories overwhelmed her, and sometimes they faded into nothingness, and sometimes they drew nearer, like a recurring dream, until they overtook her and unfolded in the present. It was called precognizance, before-knowing, and for some, it came as visions or as an inexplicable certainty, but for Aniela, it was memory, and her past mingled with her future until the two were all but indistinguishable.

Sometimes, though, she realized in time that her memory was yet to come.

She left suddenly in the middle of winter, when the memory solidified enough for her to be sure. She did that sort of thing, sometimes, disappearing to see to her shipping lines, meet with investors, bargain with the Others. This time, though, she left wearing cargo pants and heavy-soled boots, with a short saber strapped to her hip and some sort of paleo-Slavic talisman on a thong around her neck, and so Jerzy and Ewa let her go without comment. She did not ask for their company, and they did not offer it.

She left instructions, though:

Kimberly Reed, New England, wizard. Locate telephone number. Offer to meet in any preferred neutral location. Speak English.

The memory led her to the garage, into her car, and from the garage to her private hangar. There was somewhere she had to be, somewhere far away. She tried to focus, but the future-memory collided with a past-memory.

She met Yekaterina in 1712, and the encounter was not friendly, but it was interesting. The younger woman was poaching, killing deep inside the territory Aniela claimed, and Aniela drove her away. It had happened before, that need to defend her land and her people, and that should have been the end of it, but Yekaterina had returned.

Her little Cessna wouldn’t do, Aniela decided. Her destination was too far away, though she still could not see it clearly. She returned to the car and drove for the airport, instead. If she hurried, she could be there in time to catch one of her own planes. Stowing away was still illegal, of course, but preferable to trespassing. The flight crew need never know she was there. The only question was which plane.

She drove in silence to the Port Lotniczy Gdańsk im. Lecha Wałęsy.

Aniela had been gone when Yekaterina arrived, and the younger woman had waited on the doorstep with incredible patience. She stood and smiled and showed great respect, and though Aniela knew very well to be careful of the Others, this one made no hostile move.

“Someone told me about you,” Yekaterina had said, her voice marking her as foreign. “You still think the way the breathers think. You never take life. Is it true?”

“We never kill,” Aniela confirmed. “And if you mean to stay, you will abide by the same rule.”

Yekaterina shook her head in bewilderment. “Why?” But it was curiosity, not contempt, that Aniela had seen in her eyes. “Teach me.”

Aniela slipped onto the tarmac unseen and hid between hangars while she struggled to remember. She was looking for one of her cargo planes, she knew. She remembered boarding and riding in the freezing fuselage between the rows of freight.

It was not uncommon that a future-memory would refuse to crystallize until it was nearly upon her, and it sometimes led her into danger. But she was prepared. She had her saber and a pistol beneath her jacket and other, more organic weapons she could use if the need arose.

She spied an aircraft registration that seemed a little more than familiar and sprinted across the tarmac, quick as a shot and faster than the human eye could follow, to slip in among the shipping crates. She huddled in the smallest space she could find and closed her eyes, focusing on the memory.

Yekaterina was fascinating. She had no moral sense and no guilt, but unlike so many of the Others, she still remembered, and it took little convincing to show her that she had been changed. Her fury was terrible, when the realization sank in. More startling was her sudden, violent determination to change back.

“I never wanted this,” she hissed through clenched teeth, face obscured by wild hair. “It was awful at first, but I accepted it. Only I didn’t, did I? It made me. Nothing I’ve done or thought since then has been my choice.”

Aniela tried to talk her down, but seeing a demon weep was more horrible than seeing a demon rage, and Aniela held her until the storm passed. Yekaterina became a valuable asset, at once nearly a friend and more than a friend. She followed with fierce precision the rules Aniela laid out, perfecting a rigid mimicry of compassion, of mercy. She never killed. She saved life on occasion. She withered in frustration.

“I can do it,” she confessed one night in front of the fire. “I can do the things, the actions. But I’ll never feel it. I’ll never live as you do because it feels right, only because you tell me it ought, and I trust you. Every day is a struggle for me.”

“Everyone struggles,” Aniela replied. “That’s what free will is.” But she knew that was not what Yekaterina meant. She kissed the younger woman’s cheek and stroked her hair, and was not surprised the day she woke and found the house empty.

Two centuries later, the plane touched down somewhere in North America, and Aniela followed her memory west. The further she traveled, the more the weather bit into her, and she was glad of the heating elements installed in her absurdly expensive underclothes. While her cheeks froze and cracked, the rest of her moved smoothly over mountains and across plains, fighting the weariness of long motion.

Aniela was not surprised to find Yekaterina gone, but she was surprised to receive the letter.

I felt something, it said. Not much and not long, but I did something because I felt it was right. Without you to tell me, I cannot be sure that I felt correctly; however, I greatly desire to feel it again. I defer to you in these matters, and when I have seen the consequences of my actions, I shall write again to request your insight.

She waited impatiently the months it took the next letter to arrive, and she tried to follow it back to its source, but the trail was cold by the time it reached her.

I have attached myself to a human child who interests me. He is deaf to all sounds but my voice and to certain other stimuli, which I cannot hear. For that reason, I thought him unbalanced, but after observing him, I believe that the other voices he hears are those of the unquiet dead. His family likewise believes him insane, but I dare not reveal myself to them to correct them. Having been born deaf or in some way injured very young, he is unable to speak, but I understand his intent all the same, just as well as if he had spoken to me. It is strange how well I trust him, despite his young age and the peculiarity of his senses. His family calls him Leonid, but he has allowed me to call him Lyonya.

Do not be angry with me, dearest Aniela, for feeling now what I know you wished I could feel for you. I enjoyed your company always, but I remained for selfish reasons, for my own pleasure. I stay here for a boy more fragile even than most mortals, who needs a defender. I hope that you can be proud of me for this.

Aniela kept all the letters, from the first sent by mounted courier to the last sent by zeppelin and postmarked from Berlin. She kept the one the boy wrote from New Mexico in the shuddering aftermath of the war, three poorly penned words – She loved you – in response to the lengthy consolation she had sent, and still did not know whether that had been intended as comfort or accusation. He had not signed it, and she had never found out what name the immigration officers gave young Leonid when he spread his roots into American soil. Smith, she had supposed. New Americans all ended up as Smiths.

She knew the boy inside and out, through Yekaterina’s letters.

She knew him well enough to recognize him when she found him, or what was left, half-buried in Alaska’s hard-frozen coastline.

There was a remote possibility that it had been a person at one point, but at some point between then and now, it had become a mummy. There was nothing to it but skin and bones, wrapped in what had once been blue jeans and the disgusting rags of a cotton shirt. It was curled up tight, knees drawn up to its chest, skeletal hands clutching at the remains of its shirt, joints hard locked by desiccation. She had seen healthier-looking things dug from desert pit burials. Those tended to be black, though; skin decays and darkens, just like leather, when it has been out in the elements for a while. This thing was bone-white under the layers of filth.

He had tried to cross the ocean, she guessed. She knew what it was to be hurt so badly she could not heal herself, to be drawn inexorably home to rest in her native soil. There was power in the earth, as much power as in blood. The earth was life. When there was nothing left inside to distract, no thought or want or hope or even thirst, the homesong called, and he had answered, but the water stood in his way.

No more. Yekaterina’s boy deserved better.

Aniela twisted her hands into talons and chipped the ice and frozen soil away from his body. It was a corpse, she realized with a shudder. More dead than undead. His spirit was elsewhere, perhaps too far away to return. The thing she held was empty. Still, it was the best she could do. She was no medium. She could not call back a spirit, only make sure it had a place to go if it chose to come back on its own.

The return trip cost more in planes and fuel and bribes than all of Aniela’s shipping companies could make in a month, but it was worth it to get home quickly. If there was one thing he had aplenty, it was time, but every second he spent in that state was criminal. It was worth it to restore his body, taking all the precautions necessary when dealing with a medium. It was worth it to find the place of his birth and watch his body slip into the soil, there to heal. Yekaterina’s boy deserved that much.

Aniela looked at the stiff form belted into the seat beside her. His skin was stretched tight and cracked in several places, but he had nothing left to bleed. His lips had pulled back in a terrible rictus, baring extended fangs, slightly crooked teeth, and a thick, leathery black tongue. His eyes struck her the hardest, though. One was about what she had expected – dried out, sunken, dull, and stained the dark red of starvation. The other bulged out of his face, straining against the tight skin of his eyelids, electric blue and crazy as hell.

Outside the window, the jet engine roared. On the horizon, the lights of Gdansk spilled upward into space.

“Soon,” she promised.

* * *

Want to read more in The Liminality Series?

The adventure continues in The Mora.

http://amzn.to/1MZaW5y

http://quiestinliteris.com

* * *

About MR Graham

MR Graham is a native Texan who traces strong cultural roots back to Scotland, Poland, England, and Germany. A mild-mannered Latin teacher during the day, Graham transforms at night into a raging Holmesian loremaster and rabid novelist.

Though passionate about all scholarship and academia, Graham’s training and true love lies with anthropology, particularly the archaeological branch.

Additionally, she seems to have a strange habit of talking about herself in the third person, even when it’s not situationally appropriate to do so.

Visit MR Graham at facebook, twitter, or goodreads.

* * *

More Books by MR Graham

http://amzn.to/1SafYnU

http://quiestinliteris.com

Sign up for more bargain boxed sets at:

www.hotboxedbooks.com

JUMP TO...

A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE by NOREE COSPER

END OF DREAMS by KIM FAULKS

HAUNT by HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY

DARK CROSSINGS by ANN SIMKO

HEADSPACE by CALINDA B

THE OTHER F WORD by SUSAN STEC

UNLEASHED by RACHEL MCCLELLAN

HIDDEN INTENTIONS by STACY CLAFLIN

THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL by AIMEE EASTERLING

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS by KYOKO M

ST. CHARLES AT DUSK by SARAH M. CRADIT

WICKED BY NATURE by MADISON SEVIER

UNDERLIFE by MARISSA FARRAR

DRAGON’S REDEMPTION by EDEN ASHE

MILAN’S RETURN by GRAE LILY

THE BREAKERS CODE by CONNER KRESSLEY

THE MEDIUM by MR GRAHAM

WICCAN WARS by HEATHER MARIE ADKINS

CARPE NOCTEM by KATIE SALIDAS

A QUESTION OF FAITH by NICOLE ZOLTACK

WICCAN WARS

Wiccan Wars Trilogy, Book One

BY HEATHER MARIE ADKINS

Copyright © 2014 by Heather Marie Adkins

Ever O’Connell prides herself on being a good Wiccan, and her coven follows the path of the Goddess with love and light. But the “dark” witches in school—the BlackMags— keep pushing her toward the edge, until Ever finally finds herself at war.

Cade Bourdain inherited his father's thirst for power, drawing him into darker areas of magick. Despite his dislike for the “Fluffy Bunny” Wiccans, he feels an unearthly connection to Ever.

When the two strike up a secret relationship the real magic between them is ignited, generating a power that a dangerous warlock yearns to take for his own. Ensnared by the warlock, Ever and Cade’s conflicting covens must work together despite their differences—or else be destroyed by a common enemy.

The line between light and dark has never been so unclear.

Wiccan Wars: Wiccan Wars Trilogy, Book One

Copyright © 2014 by Heather Marie Adkins

Published by CyberWitch Press, LLC

Louisville, KY

cyberwitchpress.com

cyberwitchpress@gmail.com

First edition, published January 2015

All rights reserved.

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.

Disclaimer: The persons, places, things, and otherwise animate or inanimate objects mentioned in this novel are figments of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to anything or anyone living (or dead) is unintentional. The author humbly begs your pardon. This is fiction, people.

Edited by Jennifer Jeffers | jjeffersediting.com

Cover Art by Eden Crane | Eden Crane Designs

Chapter 1

EVER

EVER O’CONNELL LOVED thunderstorms.

There was something primal about them that seemed to push the freedom and power of nature into her very soul. She loved to dance barefoot in the rain and soak up that sensation — to feel her body inhabited by an energy much stronger than her own.

Outside her bedroom window, the storm raged — black, roiling fury that hung low in the dim sky and threatened to erupt. A sharp crack heralded the split-second of white hot light that illuminated her bedroom. It was one of the things that drew her to this kind of weather — the duality. White and black. Hard and soft. Wet and dry. So much of life depended on opposites. The world itself was a living, breathing yin-yang.

The first line of semi-severe storms had moved through the area less than an hour before, cutting the electricity. Not unusual — Tennessee couldn’t have a late October thunderstorm without losing the lights at least every third time. Electricity had a purely love-hate relationship with storms. It was the reason there were candles and flashlights stashed all over the house; her family was prepared.

It wasn’t that Ever minded the darkness. The darkness had always called to her, beckoned to her like a mystery that begged to be unlocked. The dark had never posed a problem.

It was the destruction that made her heart race.

Thunderstorms could wreak havoc on the things she loved; Ever knew that all too well. Another example of duality — loving the storms, but fearing them, as well..

If nothing else drew her to the Path, duality would be reason enough.

Lighting the white pillar candle on her desk, Ever took and released a breath before focusing on the tiny glow of the flame. A flame wasn’t just a flame — it held layers of color and energy that together formed the fire. Cool blue at the center — stable, steady. Orangey-yellow around that — protective, wary. And at the edge, white like lightning — unstable and destructive.

Ever focused on the sapphire heart of the flame. She breathed in — one, two, three. She breathed out — one, two, three.

Thunder crashed, shaking the walls of the house, and she shuddered.

Ever lifted her hands to the ceiling and trained her eyes on the sky beyond the window. The clouds skimmed the tops of the trees, heavy with rain. It was only a matter of time before the rolling gray mist exploded.

“From drop to blade, this magic made; from floor to wall, protect this all.” Her voice was high and breathy in the expectant silence of the house.

Picking up the candle by its heavy base, Ever found her grip on it with her bad left hand. With her right, she grabbed her athame — her black-handled ritual knife with the three-dimensional triangular blade.

Twenty-five windows. Three doors, she reminded herself and headed downstairs.

The house always seemed so silent when she was alone. Her mom was somewhere in southeast Asia, doing Goddess-knew-what with God-knew-who, and Nah was still at work. Ever didn’t bemoan the fact that she was often alone — it was just a fact of life, and it had been like that since she was little. But when those solitary nights coincided with some of the worst storms of the season, it did nothing to ease her worries.

Thunder boomed as she padded in bare feet on her Nah’s aged hardwood floors. She drew up to the heavy oak front door as the thunder rumbled to a close, and the flame of her candle flickered. She glared at it, daring it to go out. When it stabilized, she lifted her athame to the door and sketched a pentacle in the air.

“Moon Mother and Sun Father, protect this house and all inside,” Ever murmured, and then lowered her knife. “Blessed be.”

She hurried through the archway and into the living room, stopping before the large picture window and lifting her athame once more. She repeated her incantation, her voice just a little shaky.

Ever hit every window and door in the house as quickly and as efficiently as possible. She’d spent the better part of seventeen years learning from her mother how to be the best witch she could be. But since Lily O’Connell was always gone, these lessons were more like an impersonal online course than maternal guidance. Ever couldn’t figure out how a woman could be so good with magick and so bad at being a mom. It was a shame: Lily was one of the greatest healers of her generation, but didn’t stay in one place long enough to do anything with it, including teaching her daughter.

When Ever walked back into her room, her phone was ringing, the screen alight with Nah’s vivid smile. She set her candle and athame down, then slid the bar on her touch-screen to answer the call. “Hey.”

“Ever, dear, are you alright?” Nah’s strong voice crackled across the line. In the background, Ever could hear the news on at top volume and the distinct crackle of the police department’s radio.

“Yeah. I’m good.” Ever gently set her candle snuffer over the flame of the white pillar candle, killing the light. “I just did a protection spell.”

“Good.” Nah’s voice was approving. “I won’t be home until after the storms pass, love. Do you think you’ll be okay? I know how you get.”

“I’m fine, Nah. Just stay safe. If you guys have to hit the basement, do it. Don’t start in on that ‘my officers need me’ stuff.” Ever chuckled and slid her snuffer back into the drawer under her altar.

“It’s my job to be on this radio rain or shine, Ever Marie. Did you let the dogs in?”

Ever froze. Oops. She’d completely forgotten about the dogs.

“They’re outside,” Ever replied, hurrying down the stairs. “But I’m letting them in right now.”

“Alright, love. Go ahead and spend the night in the basement, ‘kay?”

Ever told her grandmother goodbye, and then pushed open the back door. The wind gusted inside, nearly jerking the screen from her hands. She let out a shrill whistle and gave the pups a sheepish smile as they tumbled over one another on their way inside. Roo was the gigantic black Lab mutt that had shown up one evening with a broken ankle; Jesus was the floppy-eared German Shepherd mix Nah had found on the side of the highway just outside Memphis; and Tiff was the pint-sized Pomeranian with a big attitude.

“To the basement, kids,” Ever said brightly, jerking as another boom of thunder shook the house to its foundations. Tiff skittered across the floor and hid between Ever’s legs, her ears flat on her head.

Ever picked her up and cradled her fluffy body. “It’s okay, girl. I’m freaked, too.”

It was too dark in the kitchen to see properly, and Ever had left her favorite MagLite upstairs in her room. She switched Tiff to one arm and illuminated the display on her cell phone to light the way to the utility closet.

The closet had been a pantry at some point in the past, but Nah had decided they needed a bigger one and knocked down an old wall in the kitchen to make it happen. Now, the old pantry held all the household odds and ends that needed storing: tools, extra power strips and extension cords, ratty towels for cleaning, even her Dah’s old set of golf clubs that hadn’t moved since he died.

Ever grabbed one of her Nah’s infinite MagLites. It was much bigger than her cute little purple one, a good two pounds and bright enough to light a football stadium. I could probably kill a man with this, Ever thought.

Raindrops began to ping on the kitchen’s skylight, and Ever counted her blessings. She’d brought in the dogs just in time. Trying to dry off beasts as crazy and furry as Roo, Jesus, and Tiff wasn’t on her agenda. She switched on the flashlight, and the beam illuminated the linoleum floor.

The basement door was between the fridge and the closet — smaller than a normal door, and leading to somewhere dark, dank, and damn scary. Nah’s house wasn’t the typical neighborhood cookie-cutter; it was a three-story farmhouse nearly two hundred years old, and with more neuroses than Ever’s mother. It sat on twenty acres in the middle of nowhere, and the “basement” wasn’t so much a basement as it was a root cellar.

The door creaked as Ever opened it, and she felt the niggling sensation of fear. She hated the murky hole beneath the house. It had no windows, so no ambient light filtered in. Whenever Nah sent her downstairs for vegetables, it took everything in her not to sprint down and back like a child running from the Boogey Man.

And now she had to spend the night down there.

But which was better: being in the house as it was mowed down by an F5 or being under the house and semi-safe?

Roo and Jesus shot down the stairs, disappearing into the black abyss as if it were lit by a full summer sun. Thunder boomed, and Tiff’s little body shook in Ever’s arms. A crack that sounded like it came from the backyard sent Ever scurrying down the steps, slamming the door shut behind her.

The basement smelled like dirt and mold, and depending on the time of year, like rotten vegetables. They were coming up on Samhain, the fourth-and-final harvest on the wheel of the Wiccan year; it’d be months before anything deigned to rot in Nah’s household.

Ever reached the bottom of the staircase and stepped onto the cold, dirty floor in her bare feet, wishing she’d brought her shoes. She set Tiff down, and then danced the beam of light around the cellar.

There was a pile of boxes in the corner — various holiday decorations that didn’t fit in the attic because it was cluttered with eons worth of family artifacts. In another corner sat the wooden crates that held Nah’s veggies, and the old wine barrel — buried to its rim — that held the root plants. Other than the ancient furnace and hot water heater against the back wall, the only other objects in the room were an old army cot and the cat’s litter box.

The cat, a thirty pound Maine Coon named Rascal, was curled on the cot. He came and went through a flap set in the cellar door that led outside; but he didn’t spend nearly as much time in the cellar as he did upstairs bugging Ever for food . He opened one sleepy eye as the flashlight trained on his tabby body, and then promptly went back to snoozing.

Despite being six feet underground, Ever could hear the rain pelting the house. She sat down on the cot and wrapped her arms around her knees. Her cut-off denims and T-shirt weren’t protection enough against the chill. She berated herself for coming downstairs without a blanket to ward off the cold. The dogs worked their way onto the cot, narrowly averting World War III with Rascal, and comforted her with their warmth.

Closing her eyes, Ever began to count her breaths, slowly drifting into meditation.

Chapter 2

CADE

CADE BOURDAIN WAS determined to find a way to harness and store the power of a thunderstorm.

There was so much energy. All just there for the taking. If he could figure out exactly how to gather that energy and cage it, bottle it for future release at the whim of a witch, he’d own a gold mine. He’d have magickal practitioners the world over pounding the pavement to pay him for a nip of the good stuff. It’d be better than drugs.

Until then, he had to settle for the momentary high.

He lay on the soft grass of his backyard, staring blankly at the dark sky as it danced and sang above him. The rain had yet to start, but he could feel it — it hung in the air, a perfume that called his name. When it fell, it would be as sweet as candy. Or rum.

Rum sounds good.

“Gonna be a nasty one,” Allie said from beside him.

He turned his head to look at her. Allie Newby had gone to school with Cade since they were kids. She dyed her hair blue-black and deprived her skin of Vitamin D so she could be white as a ghost. So, yeah, she looked like a crazy Goth-kid, but her heart-shaped face was pretty enough and her body was smokin’.

“Yeah. No kidding.” His eyes drifted to her cleavage where it spilled over the top of her too-tight black tank top.

Allie rolled to her side and propped her head up with one hand, a smirk flitting across her face. “Wanna make out?”

Cade licked his lips and nodded.

She crawled across the space between them and straddled him, her thin lips slanting over his. Allie wasn’t the greatest of kissers, but he could live with that.

His mind wandered as they kissed, his hands resting lightly on her bony hips. He had a chemistry test on Friday — the first of the year — and chemistry was not one of his strong subjects. There had to be a way he could use magick to get the answers from Holmann’s grade book. If he failed another class, his mom would kill him.

Cade broke the kiss, his lips hot. “Hey.”

Allie wiggled her hips suggestively against him. “Hey.”

“Can you do something for me?”

“Name it, gorgeous.”

“I need answers to Friday’s chemistry quiz.”

“I’m on it,” she murmured, falling back on his lips.

Yeah, it was lazy, but Cade seriously had better things to do.

Like wrangle thunderstorms.

Truth be told, Allie kinda bored him. It wasn’t that she was unattractive or dumb. She was neither. And she wasn’t a bad girl, either. Allie, with her heavy eye makeup and penchant for black, was all smoke and mirrors. Her parents were both dentists with an unhealthy obsession for teeth and flossing. Her heart wasn’t really into magick or Wicca or even the Goth scene — it was into rebellion.

But Cade could dig that. His own parents made him insane. His dad, in particular.

A loud crash of thunder made Allie jerk, and her bony knee came down hard on his thigh.

Cade grunted. “It’s just thunder.”

“Sorry.” She grinned sheepishly. “Do you think we should go inside?”

Cade glanced at the sky. “It isn’t going to break for at least ten more minutes.”

Allie rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

When their lips met again, Cade decided he’d better get into it a bit. If she realized that he might as well have been surfing TV channels, it would hurt her feelings. And he didn’t need a hysterical female on his hands.

Once he put his mind into it, he felt his power rise. His dad had always taught him there were numerous ways to raise magick: through physical exercise like dancing, or through repetitive sounds like clapping or chanting. But nothing raised power quite like sexual energy.

As the familiar heat filled Cade’s body, he rolled Allie beneath him, putting his back to the sky. He loved the way the storm’s energy beat down on his back. Without thinking, he pushed his awareness out to meet the power — an almost subconscious move. The white-hot energy latched onto him, and Cade began to reel it in.

It was an innocent action — just a witch reaching for the nearest source of pure akasha. He did it all the time with bodies of water or sunlight, and he could usually hold the energy for no longer than ten seconds before it needed release. Great way to put a bit of oomph behind his spells.

But this time, he felt the exact moment he lost hold of the storm’s energy…

…and it flowed into Allie.

Her body jolted, her lips going rigid beneath his. Cade pulled away to find her eyes showing white as they rolled back into her head.

“Allie?” Cade got to his knees on either side of her thin waist and shook her by the shoulders. “Allie!”

No response but thunder.

Fear gripped Cade. He fumbled beneath her jaw line to search for her pulse, but wasn’t able to find one.

He’d killed her.

No panicking. Cade closed his eyes and shuffled through his memory banks for the spell to restart a heart. Love, money, protection, it was all there and easy to find, but the heart jolt had been a passing mention by his dad during a training session. If felt wispy and out of reach. Of course he never thought he’d need a fucking heart jolt spell!

“Damn it!” Cade shook her again, and Allie’s head lolled back on the grass. Putting both hands to his head, he looked again.

There it is.

“Commenceé!” he snarled, slapping the palm of his left hand — his power hand — to Allie’s chest.

Her body jerked, and her eyes flew open.

Cade cried out as the storm’s power — apparently stored inside Allie — flew from her body and back through his. He fell to his elbows next to her, going boneless. The energy took everything from him and disappeared back into the clouds.

It was a bigger rush than alcohol. His entire body felt alive, racing with power. The sensation was better than orgasm.

There was a hideous moment as he waited for Allie to breathe, to react — and then she gasped, arching up on the grass.

Cade crawled over the ground, his own strength depleted, and gripped her arms to gently pull her into a sitting position. He sat with an arm around her, supporting her as she caught her breath.

Could it be possible…? Cade remembered the way the storm had seeped into him, as if he were a spool, and how it’d gone into Allie, where it had stayed until he jolted her.

Like a vessel storing the power.

With a strong enough partner, and enough energy raised, he could do it.

As Allie’s coughs faded away, the sky opened up.

Chapter 3

EVER

“DID YOU HEAR it took out the fire station?”

Startled, Ever whirled around, clutching her algebra book to her chest. Her best friend, Meagan Stauble, was twirling the padlock on her locker, her dark eyes wide as she glanced at Ever. She wore sparkly silver eyeliner that flashed beneath the greenish fluorescent lights and made her look like a model.

Ever balked. “No! The one on Main with the gargoyles?”

Meagan always reminded Ever of an Amazon. She was tall and muscular, which made her a star center for the girls’ basketball team. She had ebony skin and hair cropped boy-short, not to mention the kind of broad, high cheekbones that belonged on an Egyptian princess.

Meagan yanked open her locker door. “No, the little one over by my house.”

“Mother Goddess, Meg. Are you okay?” Ever shoved her book into her locker and lunged to wrap her arms around Meagan. She squeezed tightly. “Is your house okay?”

“We’re fine.” Meagan returned the hug and pulled away, shrugging. “It was just… weird.”

“What’d your mom say?”

Meagan laughed bitterly. “Um, not much. I think she was kinda shocked. Lightning isn’t supposed to strike the same place twice and all.”

Ever shuddered. “Yeah. I don’t believe that.”

She remembered vividly the F5 that tore through the area sophomore year and the ensuing chaos afterwards. It destroyed a large percentage of buildings in Coalhaven, and killed several people.

Including Meagan’s dad.

“Me either,” Meagan agreed, her eyes sad. “What about you? Everything okay at the farm?”

“Yeah. Some siding came off the house, but that’s it. Mostly I’m just tired.” Ever made a face. “I spent the night in the cellar, so I didn’t sleep well.”

“That place is creepy,” Meagan agreed.

“Did you finish your book report?” Ever dug into her backpack for her notebook, and panicked for a second, thinking she had left it at home. She found it burrowed down in the bottom of the bag, covered in empty gum wrappers and pieces of mechanical pencil lead.

“I did.” Meagan pulled an electric-green folder from her locker and waved it. “Ten pages.”

“Super proud.” Ever grinned. “Next time, we’re going to get you to the specified fifteen pages.”

Meagan waggled her eyebrows. “I don’t know. Might need a miracle. Or at least a really strong spell!”

Ever stiffened as the hair prickled on the back of her neck. She couldn’t explain the sensation — it wasn’t like bugs crawling or any kind of discomfort. It was more like the feeling of cool water washing over her skin, wrapping around her like a blanket that had just come in from the winter cold. There was no explanation for why it happened, but it always did.

Every time he was near.

Cade Bourdain.

Ever angled her locker door so that the round mirror inside faced the hallway, putting him squarely in the frame. She could have put it in just the right spot to find him with her eyes closed, so deeply attuned was she to the exact position of his locker compared to hers.

He was tall and lean with the slim, muscular body of a swimmer; he was captain of the school’s team. The length of his shaggy blond hair usually fluctuated between his jaw line and his shoulders, as if he couldn’t decide exactly how long he wanted it to be. Even though Ever couldn’t see his eyes in the mirror, she knew they were huge and emerald green. As he glanced down the hall, she got a glimpse of his face — square jaw, thick, full lips — and blushed.

“You’re staring,” Meagan murmured, the corner of her lips turning up.

“Am not.”

“You know you shouldn’t have a crush on him, Ev.” Meagan slammed her locker door, hefting her small pink backpack to one bare shoulder. She was wearing her favorite tank top — the yellow one that emphasized her generous chest and tiny waist. Vice-Principal Forrest had already warned her three times not to wear it. “Bourdain is the enemy.”

“That’s not the attitude to have, Meg. It makes us no better than them.”

Meagan shrugged. “Until they give us respect, why should we bother respecting them?”

Ever understood what she meant, though she didn’t agree.

The BlackMags were another Wiccan coven at Coalhaven High, but they were radically different from Ever’s own peaceful group. The BlackMags believed in dark magick like blood ritual and affecting the will of others for their own gain. Ever’s coven, on the other hand, believed those things taboo and practiced only white magick. Harm none.

The BlackMags were so self-assured and set in their ways, they even called themselves the BlackMags.

Even though she didn’t agree with their philosophies, Ever also didn’t agree with ostracizing them or belittling them. She accepted others’ truths as valid, even if such “truths” shook her to the core.

As Meagan turned to leave, Ever stepped away from her locker. “Oh, Meg, are we still on for rit — ”

No sooner had she left the safety of her locker, than someone slammed into her and sent her spinning back into the wall.

Ever hit hard, her forehead bouncing off the ridged metal. She heard Meagan screaming, a streak of curse words that filled the corridor and hushed the usual morning chatter.

Sliding to the floor, Ever put a hand to her forehead, shocked that there wasn’t more pain. The impact had been incredible, made by someone much bigger than she was. Surely she should have felt something.

When she pulled her hand away, there was blood on her fingertips.

Her head swam at the sight of the bright red liquid. A scuffle in front of her made her glance up. In her woozy vision, Meagan had an arm wrapped around one of the BlackMags — Donovan Carrell. He was an idiot and a bully. It wasn’t the first time he’d hurt one of her coven, but it was the first time he’d drawn blood.

“Meg, stop,” Ever muttered, reaching her bloodied hand towards her best friend. Her vision blackened at the edges, but before she slipped away, she saw Cade Bourdain stalking towards Meagan and Donovan with murder in his eyes.

* * *

“IS SHE GOING to be okay?” Meagan’s hysterical voice pulled Ever from unconsciousness.

She was bouncing on something. Something soft. But the jerking still hurt her head. Ever struggled to open her eyes and was hit by sunshine. She groaned, one hand moving with a kind of heavy resistance to cover her eyes.

“Ohmigoddess, she’s awake. Ever? Ever, can you hear me?”

Ever let her hand fall and tried to focus on her surroundings. She was lying on her back and whatever she was on was moving. The sky — incredibly clear and blue, not a trace of last night’s storm — passed overhead. Ever shielded her face with one hand and groaned.

Meagan’s face floated into view, her brow crinkled with worry. “Ev?”

“What happened?” Ever felt like her words came from far away.

“You fainted.” Meagan was walking quickly beside what Ever could now surmise was a stretcher. “They think you might have a concussion.”

“I can’t have a concussion. I have a chemistry test today. I suck at chemistry.”

“Too bad, sweetie. They’re taking you to the hospital.”

“No, no, no. I can’t. No hospitals.” Ever struggled to sit up, but a hand flitted from her left and gently forced her to the pillow.

“Stay down,” an authoritative voice commanded. A kind, tired woman’s face hovered into view. “You may have a concussion. We have to take you to the hospital.”

“I hate hospitals,” Ever whimpered. “Meg? Tell her.”

Her best friend’s hand wrapped around her own. “It’s okay, Ev. I’ll be with you all the way.”

“I’m sorry, but you can’t come in the ambulance,” the EMT responded matter-of-factly. “You can follow behind in your own vehicle.”

“She isn’t going alone,” Meagan barked, her hand tightening around Ever’s. “Can’t you see she’s terrified?”

“Did you call Nah?” Ever asked, her panicked heart fluttering as she closed her eyes against the sun.

“Yeah, she’s gonna meet us there.”

“How’s my head look?”

Meagan laughed. “Um. Bloody. I think I can see your skull. That’s definitely going to scar.”

Ever opened her eyes, horrified that that the damage was that bad.

The two EMTs glared at Meagan, and laughter bubbled in Ever’s chest. Her best friend was just being honest — and blunt — as usual.

“What happened to Donovan?” Ever asked.

There was a long pause as they passed into the shadow of the ambulance. She hadn’t realized how warm it was outside until the relative cool of the shade enveloped them. Meagan disappeared from view as the two techs gently loaded Ever into the truck.

Meagan slid onto the bench next to the stretcher.

“Donovan?” Ever repeated.

The female EMT slammed the door and settled on the other side of Ever, her hands busy with an IV bag.

Meagan took a deep breath and bit her lip. “So, Cade Bourdain pulled him away from me.”

“Oh. What did Cade say?”

The ambulance began to move. Meagan shook her head. “He didn’t say anything, but he seemed pissed. He dragged Donovan away by his hair.”

Chapter 4

CADE

“I MIGHT HAVE figured it out,” Cade said, his voice low and urgent as he met his best friend, Mitch Allen, in the school parking lot on Wednesday morning.

It was shaping up to be warm and humid; only a little unseasonable for late October. Cade dripped with sweat in the breezeless morning and mourned the autumns of his childhood when frost in the morning was the usual.

“Figured what out?” Mitch was huge: built like a linebacker with a paunch from too many beers on Saturday nights. He kept his head so close-shaven he could pass for bald. He shut the door to his ‘92 Camaro and started walking towards the school.

Cade lengthened his stride to keep up. “How to bottle storm energy.”

Nobody outside of his parents’ limited circle knew that Cade and his parents were blood witches with natural magick. Their world was purposely small and narrow with a strict policy of secrecy, but Mitch had managed to figure out Cade’s secret when they were kids. Since then, they hadn’t keep much from each other.

“Dude, you’ve been obsessing about storm energy since that F5 two years ago.” Mitch clapped Cade on the shoulder and steered him towards the boxy, redbrick building that functioned as their school and personal hell. “Get over it. It’s not possible.”

“No. Really.” Cade stepped in front of Mitch and put up both hands so he would stop. “I was making out with Allie — ”

“Seriously, dude, you need to back off that.” Mitch shuddered and barreled past Cade. “She’s bad news.”

“She’s harmless. That’s not the point. Something happened.”

Mitch burst out laughing. “Something always happens to you. You’re a magickal disaster.”

“I take offense,” Cade said dryly. It wasn’t true, anyway. Cade may not have been as powerful as his father, but he was still one of the strongest witches in the area.

“Alright. What happened?”

“We were making out,” Cade told him again, slowly as if he were speaking to an idiot. “And I spooled the storm’s energy, but instead of releasing back to the storm, it flowed into Allie.”

That stopped Mitch. He whipped around to eye Cade. “No kidding? Did it hurt her?”

Cade cleared his throat. “I think it might have killed her.”

Mitch’s eyebrow met his hairline.

“But I brought her back,” Cade rushed on before Mitch could ask where he’d hidden the body. “I think if I found someone strong enough, I could utilize them as a vessel.”

“That’s stupid.” Mitch turned back towards the school and mounted the stairs to the side entrance.

“It’s not.”

“How long you gonna use some chick as a warehouse, dude? How long you think before she gets magick poisoning?” He paused with his hand on the U-shaped handle of the door. The double doors were made of gray metal and had iron bars over the porthole windows. It didn’t instill a lot of confidence in the neighborhood.

“Gotta find a strong girl.” Cade lowered his voice. “Someone like me. With real power.”

“Good luck with that. You’re the only one I know with real power. Catch you in gym.” With that, Mitch yanked open the door and went inside.

Cade massaged his temples as the door clanged shut. He’d had a headache since the incident with Allie the night before. The thought of eight hours of school made him want to throw fireballs at the hydrangea bushes out front and dance around them like a tribal shaman. An impromptu ritual would be wholly more welcomed than an hour listening to Fister drone on about The Great Gatsby in first period English.

The fluorescent-lit halls were packed as his fellow classmates prepared for first period and acted like the monkeys they were. Cade dodged the usual idiocy of the morning and made it to his locker in one piece, despite the tic in his left eye. He spun the combination and popped the lock, gritting his teeth against the pain between his ears.

He could feel her behind him, but he tried to ignore it. There was no reason for Ever O’Connell to cause such an intense reaction in him; they’d barely even spoken in the three-and-a-half years they’d gone to high school together. It didn’t matter that she was one of the Fluffy Bunny Wiccans with their hippie ways and narrow-minded goal to be perfect — everything about the girl made Cade weak in the knees.

Without looking at her, he could conjure an image of her. Small and petite, like a pixie without wings, she had curves in all the right places. Even the shapeless dresses she always wore couldn’t conceal that ass or that beautifully rounded chest. She had long, flaxen hair, usually braided, and knowing, bi-colored eyes. Everyone in school knew those eyes: one blue and one purple. Cade hadn’t known such a thing was possible.

She’s like a mini sun. With an intense gravitational pull. He closed his eyes, his magick reaching for her in the hallway. Not even passing students were able to break the thin thread of awareness he felt for her.

“Hey, sexy.” Allie appeared at his side, startling him from his ridiculous obsession.

Cade’s eyes drifted down to the milky cleavage spilling over Allie’s too-sexy-for-school black corset. Her purple plaid skirt was equally revealing. One of these days, she’s gonna get in trouble.

“Hey.” He turned, settling his messenger bag over his shoulders. “How are you?”

“Headache. I think probably from rolling in the grass with you.” Allie ran a single fingertip up the front of his T-shirt. “I’m allergic.”

From the corner of his eye, Cade noticed Donovan Jones barreling down the hall, an intense look on his face. He was one of Cade’s newest coven members: an angry little guy with a bad attitude. He looked like a rat with spaghetti arms.

And he was glaring at Ever.

That look worried Cade. “Uh, yeah, I think I knew that,” he said absently, turning away from Allie as Donovan rushed past.

“I’m sorry I passed out like I did,” Allie went on, as if she hadn’t noticed his attention was elsewhere. “I guess I was more tired than I thought.”

Cade blocked her out. He was powerless to stop Donovan. It was like slow motion — the angle of Donovan’s body as he headed straight for Ever, the way her head snapped when Donovan shoved her with all his might and sent her careening into the lockers.

Cade saw red.

There was a flurry of activity. The entire hall came to a standstill, and Allie burst out laughing. Meagan Stauble leapt onto Donovan, screaming like a banshee, as Ever slid to the floor with a dazed look on her face and blood already pooling on her forehead. Meagan wasn’t someone to mess with, evidenced by the way her fist met Donovan’s face and her knee made bone-crunching contact with his crotch.

Cade slammed his locker door and stalked across the hallway, his hands clenched at his sides. He wanted equally to scoop Ever up, brush her off, and tell her he loved her…

…and to rip Donovan’s arms from their sockets.

But Cade’s coven was watching. Knowing who she was, and who he was, he settled for thrashing Donovan, albeit less violently than he’d imagined.

Through his haze of red, Cade gripped a handful of Donovan’s dark, greasy hair, jerked him from the Amazon chick’s headlock, and slammed him face-first against the lockers. Shoving an arm into the back of his neck, Cade snarled, “What is your problem?”

“What the hell, man?” Donovan yelled, struggling against Cade’s bigger grip, his voice thin and reedy. “She’s a Fluff!”

“You just split her head open, you idiot.” Cade gripped both of the guy’s arms and dragged him down the hall.

“So?”

Cade fought the urge to drop him to the floor and crack his head on the tile. He opened the glass door to the front office and shoved Donovan inside. “Make your excuses to the principal.”

* * *

MITCH WAS SITTING on the heavy wooden bench in the boys’ locker room, tying his sneakers, when Cade came in for fifth period gym. The locker room always smelled like Cheetos and dirty feet, and the concrete block walls — painted yellow — were patched with a dense, gray mold. The whole room made him gag.

“Meeting tonight. Eight.” Cade opened a locker and shoved his backpack inside. He jerked back, making a face. When had he decided leaving his dirty socks inside a small, damp space was a good idea?

“Why?” Mitch dropped his foot to the floor and leaned back with one hand on the bench. “Aren’t we meeting Friday?”

Cade jerked his gym shorts from his bag and unzipped his jeans. “Because Donovan Jones is an ass, that’s why.”

Mitch chuckled. “Yeah. I heard he knocked out that Fluffy chick. What’s her name? Evan?”

Cade gritted his teeth. “Ever.”

“She’s just a Fluff, dude. Why are you freaked?”

“Fluff or not, we’re down to six. We had a full thirteen this time last year.” Cade sank to the bench and put his head in his hands. The headache still wasn’t gone. “We’re less than half a coven, dude. We can’t lose more.”

“We won’t lose Donovan. He’s like a leech.”

“He’s been expelled,” Cade barked. He rubbed a hand over his brow, trying to ease the tension in his head.

“Doesn’t mean he can’t stay in the coven.”

“Oh, come on, Mitch. Don’t be an idiot. The coven’s gonna get blamed, and his parents are gonna crack down just like the last two.”

Mitch threw his hands in the air. “Alright, dude. I get it. But I’m positive that’s not all that’s bothering you.”

Cade clenched his teeth. “That’s it. What else would there be?”

Getting to his feet, Mitch stared for a moment, amused, before he answered, “A cute little Fluff named Ever.”

Chapter 5

EVER

DESPITE MEAGAN’S CONSTANT soothing, Ever had reached her limit and was headed for a breaking point, when Nah flitted through the door.

Nah was larger than life. Her presence could illuminate a room; she could dispel any negativity or gloom simply with a smile. Her gauzy dress flowing around her like a cape, she tapped across the floor in her flats and swooped to gather her granddaughter in a hug. She smelled of ginger and orange spice. Ever breathed deep, clutching her grandmother’s bony shoulders and burying her face in Nah’s soft neck.

“Oh, my love,” Nah whispered, rocking her gently. “My sweet, sweet Ever. Does it hurt badly?” Nah pulled away, her chestnut gaze drifting to the gauze on Ever’s forehead.

“I’m okay,” Ever responded dully. She loved her Nah desperately, but she didn’t want to get into a conversation about what had happened or how it made her feel. It was a curse with her mother and grandmother — they wanted to psychoanalyze everybody.

“No, she’s not,” Meagan broke in, the wobble in her voice betraying her fury. “She’s heartbroken that someone wanted to hurt her, and she’s freaking out because she’s here. She needs out of this hospital. STAT.”

Nah reached across Ever to pat Meagan on the cheek. “That’s why I’m here sweetheart. Would you like to come home with us?”

“I need to get back to school. I have an algebra exam in sixth period.” Meagan made a face.

“Don’t hurt anybody,” Ever warned.

“Who, moi?” Meagan set her face into her most innocent look.

Ever rolled her eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

“Quit harassing the girl,” Nah broke in, pinching Ever’s cheek. “Let her be your guardian angel. Meagan, we’ll drop you back at school on the way home, dear. I’ll sign for your absence.”

“Thanks, Nah.” Meagan grinned toothily as Nah left the room to break Ever out of the hospital.

* * *

“IT’S LUNCHTIME, SWEETHEART.” Nah pulled the covers up to Ever’s chest. “What would you like?”

It was peaceful in Ever’s room. She sank into her pile of satiny pillows, the scent of lavender and chamomile wafting from the sleep sachets beneath. Soft afternoon light filtered through her gauzy green curtains, making the room look like the inside of an aquarium: dreamy, almost surreal. Her eyes were heavy, but her head throbbed.

“Nothing. Just sleep,” she told her grandmother.

Nah settled on the edge of the bed, running her soft fingers through Ever’s hair. “What if I cook you up something and put it in the refrigerator for later?”

“That would be perfect.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, Nah’s nimble fingers still working at Ever’s scalp. Beneath her motherly ministrations, Ever couldn’t help but feel abandoned by her actual mom, and, now, loathed by her peers as well.

“Does life get easier?” Ever murmured, rolling over to tuck her hands beneath her cheek.

Nah clucked. “Oh, sweetheart. Life is nothing more than a series of trials and tribulations that make you stronger every day. The manner in which you react to those trials is what will determine your character.”

“I miss Mom.”

“I do too, my love. But you know Lily — always searching for something more.”

They sat silently for some time. Nah’s soothing fingers lightly rubbed Ever’s aching head, careful to work around the bandage covering her stitches.

Ever tried so hard to be a good person. To be a good witch. How could someone want to hurt her? She didn’t even know Donovan. He had transferred from somewhere else in the state at the end of last year.

Hot tears pricked her eyes. “Why do people hate me?”

“Nobody hates you, Ever.” Nah cupped her cheek in one hand. “Most just don’t understand you.”

“I’m not that complicated.”

“But you are, sweetheart.” Nah held up her hand, fingertips glowing.

Nah’s magick was orange, heat and fire. By contrast, Ever’s was pale blue like the sky, gentle and cool. She followed her grandmother’s direction, drawing up her own power until her fingertips lit the room.

“Others always fear the things they don’t understand.” Nah entwined their fingers, the two magicks coexisting for a brief moment before she extinguished her glow and let go of Ever’s hand. “That is why we must live our lives in peace and compassion. To set the example.”

Ever pulled the covers over her shoulders. “Tell me a story, Nah.”

“The usual?”

“Yeah.”

“There once was a princess born in a far away land,” Nah began.

* * *

HER MOTHER AND father, the king and queen, were ecstatic. Her mother had dreamed of a child for many years, and after many heartbreaks, she finally got her wish.

The princess was a beautiful child. Everyone adored her perfection. Everyone who knew the king and queen brought the new princess toys and offerings as if she were a young goddess.

But on the eve of her third birthday, the princess began to show signs of true power. Strong, unending magick in a world where the average witch had little to no power, and those who did had limits. The princess was capable of greatness.

Her father, however, was not.

He saw the princess’s magick as a tool to be used in his quest for power, and when the queen uncovered his evil plans, she confronted him. How could he possibly do anything to harm their child?

There was no reaching him. The king had descended down the slippery slope of dark magick.

In the middle of the night, while the king was sleeping, the queen packed a bag with only the necessities for herself and the princess. She was going to slip away silently and disappear so that the king could not find them and could not hurt her daughter.

But the king heard her and awoke in a rage. They had a violent battle over the child, during which the princess was injured badly by her angry father.

The queen finally bested the king, because white magick always defeats dark in the end.

The queen and her princess fled their kingdom to safety on the other side of the world, where they live in peace to this day.

Nah went silent. She never said “The End.” When she was little, Ever had asked why. All of her favorite Disney fairytales ended with “The End” or “And they lived happily ever after.”

But on that day long ago, Nah had shaken her head. “No, baby. There is no such thing as an ending. Only new beginnings.”

Ever had never asked again, but she never stopped believing the princess needed her happily ever after.

“Will the princess ever get a knight?” Ever asked sleepily. “You have to give her a happy ending. That’s how fairytales work.”

“Her happy ending remains to be seen.”

The last thing Ever remembered was her grandmother’s soft kiss.

Chapter 6

CADE

“THIS IS ALL your fault.”

Cade jerked up, banging his head on the open hood of his ‘67 Ford GT500 Shelby Mustang. He groaned, moving away from the car’s engine with one hand pressed to his throbbing scalp.

“Excuse me?” he said, searching for the source of the comment. It wasn’t bad enough that his car wouldn’t start after school, but now he was getting reprimanded for something?

“Ever has stitches in her head, and it’s your fault,” the voice snarled.

Cade turned around. It was the Amazon chick. Meagan Stauble. Up close, she was fairly intimidating — taller than Cade, skinnier of course, but with some serious biceps for a girl. She was kinda cute, too. Long face, high cheekbones, eyes that were almost gray. Her ebony skin was so dark it had a bluish tint.

Isn’t it weird you’ve gone to school with this chick for almost four years and you’ve never even looked at her? Cade ignored the inner commentary; his subconscious had a way of making him feel like a self-entitled ass.

“I wasn’t the one who shoved your friend,” Cade said, wiping his hands on an oilcloth.

“Not physically,” Meagan said darkly. “But you breed hate among us. My coven is beautiful and kind, and your coven spews venom as if it were your goal in life.” She took a step forward, putting a finger in Cade’s face. “The BlackMags better stay away from my best friend, or you’ll regret it.”

Cade felt a chill as she flounced away. Fluffy Bunny or not, he was pretty sure Meagan’s threat wasn’t idle.

* * *

COALHAVEN, TENNESSEE WASN’T a big town. Population of a few thousand, maybe. So everyone pretty much knew everybody else — and everybody else’s business — even if they’d never been on personal terms.

Which meant Cade knew exactly where Ever O’Connell lived. And it wasn’t because he’d made it a point to know everything about her or watched her from afar since they were thirteen years old.

That had nothing to do with it.

The O’Connells’ gravel driveway was long. He’d never been down it, or even seen the house as tucked into the forest as it was. When the trees opened up, a three-story farmhouse loomed over a meadow full of fall wildflowers. Cade thought it looked like just the place he imagined Ever would live: white siding, one turret that rose half a story higher than the rest of the house, and a wraparound porch full of rocking chairs and tables sporting vases of dried flowers.

He parked in the loop of the driveway, right in front of the door. There were no other cars, but he knew Ever’s shiny silver Fusion was still in the parking lot at school. He had just assumed she would be home, which, in retrospect, was dumb.

Cade stepped onto the gravel, shivering in his plaid lumberjack jacket. Fall was alright, mainly because the leaves were so vivid; the chill he could live without, especially when seven o’clock this morning had been hotter than shit. The autumn weather in Tennessee was so unpredictable he carried layers in his car. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his blue jeans and took the porch steps two at a time.

The screen door creaked on its hinges as he swung it open and knocked on the front door. His first knock shoved the door in, revealing a cool, dim hallway.

Startled, he propped the screen open with his shoulder and grabbed the handle, holding the door still as he knocked again. “Hello?”

No response.

“Anyone home?” Cade pushed the door open a little more, listening intently.

Still nothing.

Should I go in? he wondered, teetering on the threshold. On the one hand, barging into someone’s home — especially someone who wasn’t necessarily a friend — wasn’t cool. On the other, what if Ever was home alone and something had happened to her?

That thought alone made his decision. “I’m coming in!”

He shoved the door open all the way, the edge dragging across the floor as if it weren’t fitted properly into its frame. The screen door slammed shut behind him, the sound an obtrusive crack in the hushed silence.

“Ever?” Cade walked forward, his eyes darting around the foyer. An opening to his right revealed a battered dining table and chairs, guarded by an impressive sideboard and a painting of a meadow. To his left, a living room with stuffed couches and no television, but a nice marble fireplace that took up nearly an entire wall.

“Hello?” Cade passed through the doorway beside the stairs and found himself in the kitchen. The oven was on, ticking into the silence. Something smelled gingery and delicious. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until assaulted by the scent. He stepped closer to the oven, curiosity drawing him to peek into it.

“I should really leave the dogs inside when I’m home alone.”

The voice, coming from behind him, startled Cade so badly he jumped, knocking over a pitcher resting on the counter. Tea gushed across the Formica and waterfalled to the floor

Ever stood in the kitchen doorway, looking pale and wan with a square of gauze taped to her hairline, but sporting an amused smile. “Yep. Should definitely leave the dogs inside. Maybe they’ll keep out snooping intruders set on spilling my sweet tea.”

“Damn, Ever. I’m sorry.” Cade grabbed the pitcher and placed it in the sink, then glanced around for a towel. “The front door was open, and you didn’t answer. I thought something might have happened to you. I didn’t know how badly…” His voice trailed off as he eyed the bandage on her head. “Did he really hurt you?”

Ever shrugged, gliding into the kitchen on bare feet. “I had to get stitches. But I’ll survive.”

Cade stood by helplessly as Ever opened a drawer and extracted dish towels for clean up. As she bent to wipe up the floor, Cade jumped forward. “No, let me. I made the mess.”

That damn amused grin again. “Alright. I’ll get the counter.”

A minute passed in awkward silence as they dried. Cade was crouched so close to Ever’s bare legs he could feel her heat. She smelled good, like something earthy, and the curve of her anklebone was fascinating. He stole glances at her smooth, golden calves, muscles clenching as she swiped at the spilled tea. He couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to reach out and touch her, to slide his fingertips up her skin, over her knee; to press his lips to the softly rounded curve of her thigh beneath the hem of her shorts.

“Why are you here, Cade?”

The question caught him off guard. He lurched forward, dish towel sliding through the puddle of amber liquid. “Um, what?”

Ever looked down, raising an eyebrow.

Horrified, Cade realized his fumble had pushed a tidal wave of tea over her foot. Another part of him noticed her tiny toes, painted a vivid shade of blue, and the silver circlet on her left second toe. Even her feet were cute.

“Sorry,” he said, avoiding her gaze and her smirk.

“It’s okay.” She lifted her foot behind her, seamlessly leaning backwards to wipe it off with her own towel.

Cade found himself mesmerized by the way her back arched. She had a neck like a swan, all grace and ease. He’d never been this close to her, close enough to notice all the little things most people ignored, like the beauty mark just beneath her jawbone or the perfect hourglass her curves made in that outfit.

He finished cleaning his mess, following suit when Ever wrung her towel out in the sink and then tossed the wet cloth through a door that led downstairs. When they were finished, they stood face to face, neither speaking. Cade wasn’t sure what to say, and Ever probably thought he was an idiot.

“If I ask you why you’ve shown up in my house, are you going to spill something on me again?” She delivered the line flawlessly in her southern accent, one corner of her lips quirking to show she was kidding. It was easy to ignore accents in Tennessee where nearly everyone had one. Cade’s mother was from New York and his father from France, so he’d never picked up a Southern drawl himself. On Ever, it was gorgeous.

“I really am sorry about that,” he said.

“It’s fine. I can make more. We have enough loose tea to withstand the apocalypse.”

Cade shoved his hands in his pockets. “I… came to check up on you. You didn’t come back to school, and your friend accosted me in the lot after school.”

“My friend?”

“The basketball player.”

Ever groaned. “Meagan. She’s too much. She didn’t hurt you, did she? She has this burning desire to blame the whole thing on your entire group, not just Donovan.”

“Well, it kinda does fall on us all.”

“How so?”

“Donovan’s mine,” Cade said matter-of-factly, not proud to be doing so. “My coven brother. What he does reflects badly on me as a leader and on him as a member. He’s been expelled from school, and I let him go from the coven.”

“What about your blood bond?” Ever wrinkled her nose.

So it was true, Cade thought. The Fluffs didn’t believe in blood magick. “He hadn’t been initiated yet. There’s less paperwork involved,” he said with a wink.

Ever giggled.

“But anyway, I’m sorry for what that dick did, and I hope you heal soon.” Cade stared into her bi-colored eyes, the purple one almost shining. How did someone end up with two different colored eyes? Specifically one that wasn’t a normal color. His next words left him before he realized he’d thought them. “I could do something for you. A healing. I’m pretty good with that kind of spell.”

Ever stared, seemingly at a loss for words. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Cade said, just as surprised as she was that he meant it. “I am.”

She was silent for so long he thought he might have offended her. Finally, she blew out a breath and smiled. “Thanks for the offer. I know what it takes for you to even say that. But my coven is coming over tonight for our weekly meeting. We’ve got it.”

Cade nodded once. Of course her coven would help her. That’s what covens did. Most covens. Maybe not his, sometimes.

“I appreciate you coming all the way over, though,” she went on with a sweet smile. “I doubt this is on your way home.”

“No. But I needed to say it.” And I needed to know you were okay.

“I’ll walk you out.”

He wanted to argue, to tell her she’d just been knocked in the head hard enough to be hospitalized and should go back to bed. But Cade had the distinct sensation Ever wouldn’t take kindly to being babied. For all her cute-little-girlishness, she was solid and strong. He could see it in the set of her shoulders and the hard glint in her eyes. He realized then how little he really knew about Ever O’Connell.

In the hallway, she grabbed a black coat from the closet and shrugged into it before leading him outside. He watched as she inhaled deeply, her eyes drifting shut.

“Someone’s got a fire going,” she murmured, her breath wispy on the brisk air.

“Do you use your fireplace?”

Ever shook her head. “No. My mom’s afraid of fire. When we moved in, my grandmother had the flue bricked up. Nah mainly just decorates it for the holidays.”

“How old were you when you came to Coalhaven? We didn’t go to school together until ninth grade.”

“I’m astounded you’ve even noticed me,” Ever said, her eyebrows near her hairline. “We don’t hang out with the same kids, and we definitely don’t have the same belief system. How have you given me any thought at all?”

Not for the first time, Cade observed how she favored her left hand. Her right was planted firmly on her hip as she gave him the third degree, but her left hung at her side, held slightly out and fingers curled. He knew she had a bum hand — that was the second thing everyone at school liked to gossip about, the first being her bi-colored eyes. He had no clue how it had happened.

“It’s a small town,” Cade finally answered, his gaze shifting to the gunpowder sky. “Looks like rain. We get storms later in the season every year now.” Inane, sure, but it was better than being forced to reveal a crush that had lasted in secret for several years. He and Ever were oil and water, or some other two chemicals in a chemistry class, equally unmixable and likely to explode on contact.

Ever looked like she wanted to press, but thankfully, she didn’t. “Well, be careful going home. Storms get bad quick around here.”

“Guess I’ll see you at school, then.” Cade nodded, at a loss for anything else to say. I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Can I stay longer? This one glimpse of who you are isn’t enough. I need more.

But instead, he got into his car and turned the key.

Silence.

“You have to be kidding me.” Cade banged his head against the steering wheel. He’d hung on to this car for so long because it was a damn classic. He was starting to think he should have taken his dad up on an offer of a brand new Lexus.

Ever walked closer, her arms crossed over her stomach to keep her jacket closed. She’d put on a coat, sure, but she was still in shorts and bare feet. Cade thought it was adorable.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Cade popped the hood and stepped out of the car. “Not a clue.”

He ducked under the hood, irritated that he hadn’t been able to make a clean break, to get away from Ever’s gravitational pull before he said something stupid. His car was cursed. He would definitely replace it with a Lexus as soon as possible.

“This car probably leaves a carbon footprint similar to that of a Boeing 727,” Ever remarked dryly.

Cade glanced over his shoulder. “Haven’t really thought of that.”

“And you call yourself Wiccan.” Ever rolled her eyes. “You BlackMags only care about looks and money and popularity. None of those things matter in Wicca. The things that do matter are so far beyond you.” She paused, glancing past him into the engine. “It’s your spark plugs,” she said simply.

Cade raised an eyebrow, wanting to be angry because she’d just insulted him, but intrigued by how sure she was about his spark plugs. “It’s not. They’re brand new.”

She shouldered her way under the hood, strong for such a small girl. Her nimble fingers worked over the spark plugs, her eyes closing and her lips moving. Finally, she straightened, her gaze settling on him.

“Go turn the key,” she said.

Why argue? Cade thought, shaking his head. It wasn’t like Ever was a real witch. That Fluffy Bunny Wiccan would probably shit if she ever saw real magick like mine.

To his surprise, the engine turned right over.

Ever tapped on his window, and he obliged by rolling it down.

“You should get something newer and more environmentally friendly.” Ever winked at him, then flitted away.

As she disappeared inside the house with an affable wave, Cade stared after her, astonished.

Had Ever O’Connell done real magick?

Chapter 7

EVER

AS SOON AS she heard her best friend’s car in the drive, Ever met Meagan at the door.

“Cade Bourdain was here earlier,” Ever said, taking a covered platter from her friend’s hands.

Meagan gaped as she folded her umbrella and stowed it on the porch. “Seriously? The one and same?”

Ever nodded. “The only. Leave your boots out here. I just mopped.”

“What did he want?”

“To ‘check on’ me.” Ever led the way down the hall and into the kitchen.

“Smells like pumpkin spice cookies!” Meagan squealed, caught off-subject by her favorite seasonal treat.

Ever grinned. “Just for you. They’re in the oven, but they’re almost done.”

“So. Cade Bourdain came to check on you.” Meagan slipped into a chair at the table, a grin crossing her face. “Maybe he’s as in love with you as you are with him. Did you swoon?”

Ever stuck out her tongue, carting a big pitcher of tea to the table — newly made after the earlier tea disaster. “I didn’t swoon. Though it was a little hard not to.” She sighed, shoving a glass closer to Meagan. “And I doubt he’s in love with me. He was just covering his butt because of Donovan.”

Meagan lifted an eyebrow. “They’re all the same.”

“That’s not true, Meg. I guess he felt responsible for Donovan’s actions., anyway That’s what happens when you’re a coven leader. I feel the same way about you guys.” Ever smiled. “Luckily, my covenmates are awesome people who would never put me in that position.”

Meagan took a drink of tea, closing her eyes in bliss for a second, before saying, “I don’t know about that. I seriously considered breaking Donovan’s neck.”

“But you didn’t,” Ever reminded her. “There’s a difference between wanting to do harm and actually doing it. We’re shaped by our choices, not our thoughts.”

“In that case, I choose to break Donovan’s fingers the next time I see him.”

Ever rolled her eyes. “Get serious.”

“How did it feel to have Cade Bourdain in your house?”

Ever went weak at the mention of his name and the memory of him standing next to her. “Weird. Like a hot, sexy alien invader. He didn’t belong, but boy, did I want him here.”

“What did you guys talk about?”

“Not much. Stupid stuff.” Ever dropped her head into her arms on the tabletop. “I’m too lame to exist.”

“No you’re not. Stop it. Drink some tea.”

From the front of the house came the sound of the door opening. Laughter drifted into the kitchen. The coven had started to arrive.

First through the door came brother and sister combo Tia and Tomas Rodriguez, both olive skinned and black-haired. Their parents were from Columbia, but they’d been born in Tennessee. They were eerily smart and known for breaking into rapid Spanish at any time.

Behind them trailed Ava, a petite, quiet brunette, and her best friend Roxy, a loud, brazen auburn-haired beauty. They were the founding members of the coven, along with Meagan and Ever. The four of them had been friends nearly their entire lives.

Moments later, the final three members came in: Claudia, whose hair was blue today with matching eyeliner; her boyfriend Nate, mahogany-haired captain of the basketball team and a closet witch; and last but not least, Ollie.

Ollie sidled straight to Ever, wrapping her in a lavender-scented hug. “I was worried about you. I didn’t hear until later.”

Ever squeezed back. Ollie was all curves that she hid beneath gauzy layers, her face classically beautiful like a Grecian statue and her curly blond hair luminous. She was fairly new to Coalhaven, having just moved there the year before, but the coven had immediately welcomed her into their ranks, and Ever had taken to her right away. There was a strange connection between the two of them. Soul friends, Ever thought.

After everyone made a plate, they took seats in the living room. Ever had already set the atmosphere by lighting a dozen candles around the room, and Native American flutes played softly on the stereo.

“First order of business, boss?” Meagan joked.

“Tonight I wanted to talk about raising money to go to the CircleEarth festival in Georgia,” Ever started, excited just to be talking about it. “As you guys already know, CircleEarth is the biggest pagan gathering in the south. People come from all over the country to be a part of it.”

“What do they do there?” Tia asked, shredded cheese hanging from the corner of her mouth. Tomas rolled his eyes and wiped his sister’s face with a napkin, earning a glare.

“Everything you could imagine,” Ever answered. “Drum circles, chanting, meditation, dancing. They do three rituals a day, and have workshops on different types of magick and spells. At night, everyone gathers around the fire and shares stories.”

“How do you know all this?” Ollie asked, her eyes wide.

“I went with my Nah when I was ten. I’ve been dying to go back since.”

“How much would we have to raise?”

Ever made a face. “That’s where the problem is. None of us are particularly rich. The weekend fee is $150 a person. Plus we’d need extra money for groceries, gas, and the craft fair, if anyone wants to buy anything.”

“When is the festival?” Claudia asked. She’d finished her plate and was nestled between Nate’s legs, the two of them wrapped around each other, as usual.

Ever always thought they were such a cute couple, but right now, their obvious adoration for each other made her heart hurt. She’d never had a boyfriend. Quite frankly, she’d never found a guy she thought was worth her time. Maybe it was Cade’s fault for storming into her house like some kind of dark angel this afternoon, reminding her how wrong he was for her. How she’d never have him.

“It’s in a couple weeks,” Ever said with a grimace. “We probably should have talked about this earlier, but I only just found out about it. So we’d have to work fast, and of course get permission from our parents.”

“Did you have an idea for raising money?” Ava asked.

“I thought we could all do some ‘spring cleaning,’ for lack of a better word, and then host a big yard sale. Nah already said she could ask Jerome if he’d let us use the truck bay at the fire house.”

Jerome was Nah’s on-again-off-again boyfriend and the local fire chief. Ever worshipped the ground he walked on; Nah simply had commitment issues.

“That’s a great idea,” Roxy spoke up. “I bet our parents would donate a bunch of old stuff to sell, too.”

“Your parents would,” Nate said quietly. “Mine won’t.”

“I’ve already thought of that,” Ever assured him. Nobody but the coven knew Nate was a witch. His parents were strictly Catholic and liable to kick him out if they discovered his secret. “You get permission from your parents to go camping. You’re already eighteen, so it’s not like they can really tell you ‘no.’ And whatever fees you can’t cover, the rest of us will make sure you’re taken care of. Right, guys?”

Unanimous consent. Her covenmates took care of each other. Period. It was a wonderful feeling.

“Any other business to discuss before we go to ritual?”

Meagan spoke up. “I make a motion to discuss the ongoing situation with the BlackMags.”

There was a murmur of agreement as Ever shook her head. “No, guys. We can’t dwell on it. We have to move forward.”

“We are moving forward,” Meagan said with a wink. “With our metaphorical fists.”

The group tittered.

“It’s not in our nature to retaliate,” Ever argued, slashing her hand through the air to make her point. “We are witches of the light. The only thing we should do is wish the BlackMags a change of heart and send them nothing but peace and joy.”

“While I adore you for your sweetness and light,” Ollie said, exchanging glances with Meagan, “I have to agree with Meagan. Putting you in the hospital went too far. There’s always been rivalry between us, at least since I’ve been here. But rivalry is shouting names and stealing the other side’s Book of Shadows. Not physical violence.”

Ever couldn’t argue with Ollie’s out of character monologue. “That doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want any of you to get in trouble on my behalf. Donovan has been punished by his own parents and by the school. It’s done. I’m the coven leader. It’s my job to take flak and protect you.”

“And it’s our job to protect you,” Meagan intoned. “You have no control over me. If I want to knock Donovan’s head off his shoulders, I’m gonna.”

No, you’re not, Ever thought, making a note to address that later when everybody had gone. “If we’re done talking about stuff we shouldn’t be talking about, can we move on to ritual? Nate, it’s your turn to be high priest. What did you come up with?”

Nate cleared his throat, sitting up straighter as Claudia moved away from him. “I wanted to do a cleansing to clear away some of the negative build up from the BlackMags.”

“Even before Donovan’s attack on Ever, they’d been getting worse,” Claudia added.

Everybody nodded in agreement.

Nate grinned at Ever. “But next week is my girl’s turn for ritual, and she agreed to do the cleansing then so that today we can perform a healing for Ever.”

“You guys don’t have to do that,” Ever said, heat rushing to her cheeks. “It’s just a little scratch.”

“I haven’t seen beneath the bandage,” Ava murmured, “but I’m sure it looks more like a Frankenstein stitch than a scratch. There’s bruising around your eye.”

“No, really,” Ever insisted. “Doctor Manikov was certain it won’t even scar.”

“Let us do this for you, Ever.” Claudia gave her a pointed look. “You give and you give for us. Let us give in return.”

* * *

THE O’CONNELL FAMILY ritual space was a source of pride. Nah, Ever, and her mother had made it together and then spent most of Ever’s life practicing magick there. After nearly fifteen years of O’Connell magick, it was a hallowed place that felt sacred to even the most mundane members of the coven.

All nine members trooped up two sets of stairs and into the cool, dim attic. Ever always thought it was like stepping into another world — especially in the fall and winter when they ascended from the golden warmth of the hallway into the almost blue glow of the upper reaches of the house.

The attic was separated into three parts: the main section at the top of the staircase, where the collections and detritus of several generations of O’Connells came to lie, and then two side rooms beneath the low hanging eaves of the house. One room functioned as an occult library: ramshackle bookshelves supporting an impressive collection of tomes compiled over the years. The second was the ritual room.

The ceiling pressed close, embracing the space as a mother might. A chalk circle was etched in the center, big enough for an entire coven to stand side by side comfortably — though Ever’s flock had never made it to a full thirteen. In the center of the circle sat a waist-high rectangular table they used as an altar.

Everybody had their assignments and knew what to do without being told. The group split to the cabinets lining the walls, removing candles, incense, charcoal, stones, herbs. In moments, the once-empty altar table was set for ritual, and Nate — in his basketball shorts and socks — took the helm.

He nodded to Ollie, who walked over to the eastern candle with a lighter.

“Hail to the guardians of the east and the element of air,” Ollie intoned, her voice strong. “Let the strength of the mighty wind blow inspiration upon this circle. Allow us to be open to the winds of change and fortune. By the power of three, blessed be.”

The rest of the coven answered, “Blessed be.”

Roxy took the lighter from Ollie and stood before the southern candle. “Hail to the guardians of the south and the element of fire. Let the destruction and rejuvenation of fire cast strength upon this circle. Allow us to be open to the flames of purification and illusion. By the power of three, blessed be.”

As “blessed be” was repeated once more, Meagan accepted the lighter and moved to the western quarter. “Hail to the guardians of the west and the element of water. Let the smooth rivers and rippling tides wash away all negativity and give this circle emotional balance. Allow us to be open to the waves of love and comfort we find amongst one another. By the power of three, blessed be.”

Ever smiled as she took the offered lighter. She stood before the northern candle and set the tip of the lighter to the wick. As it flared to life, she said, “Hail to the guardians of the north and the element of earth. Let the strong foundation of stone give us courage and the ability to stand strong as the dirt brings forth life anew. Allow us to find protection and community within ourselves and with others. By the power of three, blessed be.”

“Blessed be!” the coven said exuberantly.

Nate grasped his sword and walked behind the coven with its metal tip towards the floor. “I cast the circle once around, let our magick here be bound,” he chanted as he completed the first circuit. “I cast the circle here times two, magick called and flowing through. I cast the circle thrice about, as within so also without.”

After completing his third circle, he returned to the altar table and smiled. “Merry meet, brothers and sisters!”

“Merry meet!” Ever parroted back with everyone else.

“Take a moment to greet each of your covenmates and bless them for their presence here.”

Ever turned to Meagan. They took hands, and while Meagan kissed Ever’s right hand twice, Ever did the same to Meagan’s.

“Merry meet, sister,” Ever said, giving her a tight hug.

The ritual was repeated over and over until all of them had greeted one another personally. It was something they’d done for as long as Ever could remember, even as far back as freshman year, when Ever had first joined and their leader had been Mike Florentine. She loved this part; it felt like it strengthened their bond.

When they were done, Nate returned to the altar and held his palms out to his side. “I declare this circle complete, and now ask the God and Goddess to join us.”

Ever crossed her arms over her chest, her palms resting against each shoulder in the symbol for the god.

Nate’s voice was deep as he said, “Mighty God, horned hunter of the night, we welcome your presence in this sacred space. Lend us your energy as we work our magick tonight. Hail and welcome.”

“Hail and welcome,” Ever repeated, listening to the sound of her voice superimposed on the rest of the coven’s.

Nate lifted his arms to the ceiling, palms up. “Great Goddess, thou of the dark and fertile earth, we welcome your presence in this sacred space. Lend us your energy as we work our magick tonight. Hail and welcome.”

The coven repeated the welcome.

Nate motioned to the space in front of the altar table. “Ever, lie down in the middle.”

She complied, though she was uncomfortable with being the center of attention. Ritual was usually a group project where everybody worked together and nobody but the person acting as priest or priestess stood out. Once she was on her back, Nate lifted his hands to the ceiling.

“God and Goddess, we ask you to bring your healing energy to Ever in the wake of her attack.”

“It wasn’t an ‘attack,’” Ever argued.

“Shh!” Meagan nudged Ever’s knee with a toe.

“Everyone kneel around Ever and put the fingertips of both hands somewhere on her,” Nate went on, ignoring them.

Ever giggled and fidgeted as her friends’ hands found ticklish spots on her belly and legs. She silenced herself once they were in place, finding the weight of their hands comforting. Ollie and Meagan flanked her head. Their fingers lightly touched her face.

Nate spoke. “Imagine your awareness exists as a single ray of light. Cast that light from within you and into the stars, reaching for the infinite love and power of the Divine. Find Their warmth. Embrace Them. Let Their energy infuse your ray of light, brightening it as that energy flows towards the earth, towards you. Welcome the healing into your spirit. Feel it reach every corner of your body, spilling into you until you can’t hold it any longer.”

Ever kept her eyes open, trying desperately not to follow Nate’s instructions. It was hard to be on the outside of the spell, to not reach for the Divine with her coven. Her mind was hardwired to visualize everything she heard. It was why she was so good at magick.

“When you can’t hold that energy any longer, let it flow into Ever.”

Her friends had varying degrees of magick within them. Nate had nothing. Not a lick of real power, just a well-intentioned desire to worship nature and attempt to bring about change through ritual. The same went for Meagan, who had only joined the ranks of Wicca because of Ever. Ava and Roxy were both pretty intuitive, and sometimes Ever thought she could feel real magick from them during rituals. Tia and Tomas definitely had a bit of real power, though they were nowhere near Ever’s level and probably weren’t aware of their own abilities.

But by far, Ollie’s power was the most phenomenal of the coven, and as Ollie’s gentle magick swept into Ever, she wondered if the girl had any idea she was a natural-born witch.

Chapter 8

CADE

WHEN CADE GOT home, his dad’s Hummer was in the driveway.

Shit, Cade thought, groaning out loud. His dad wasn’t often home. The Hummer was usually parked at the airport while his father jet set around the world, but when he was in Coalhaven, he was sure to make Cade’s life hell.

And if it wasn’t bad enough that his dad was home, there was also an unfamiliar Mercedes in the driveway. Great. Company. For a brief moment, Cade considered turning the car around and heading anywhere but home. Maybe even back to Ever’s. Instead, he threw the shifter into park and got out. He had to get ready for the coven meeting.

He, his father, and his mother had lived in the same house for all of Cade’s eighteen years on earth. The house was out of place in Tennessee and a definite sign of his father’s lavish and selfish lifestyle. It was French Baroque, two-and-a-half stories tall with two square gables on either side of a larger, square-roofed portion. There was no shortage of windows — twenty-five on the front of the house alone. The sand-colored exterior had been weathered by almost two decades of storms and hot sunshine, giving it a surreal, horror-story feel.

It was where he lived. And it was what he was used to. But sometimes, he was embarrassed by it. After seeing Ever’s cozy homestead, he couldn’t help but wonder what she would think of this place.

His mother was in the kitchen when he walked in. Grace Bourdain was a lovely woman, like an aged wine with dark cinnamon hair swept into a bun, emerald eyes, and alabaster skin marred only by tiny crow’s feet at her eyes and a sprinkle of ginger freckles on her nose. She peered at him over her cat-eye glasses, a mug in one hand and the other flat on a newspaper. “Hey, baby. How was school?”

Cade dropped his backpack to a chair, then leaned over to kiss his mother’s forehead. “Good.”

“You’re home late.”

“I stopped by to see a friend who’s sick.”

“That was nice of you, sweetheart. Is he going to be okay?”

Cade had a knee-jerk reaction to correct his mother: SHE’s going to be okay. But he didn’t. That would bring a volley of questions that Cade wasn’t prepared to answer; not when he couldn’t even come to terms with his feelings for Ever, anyway.

“What’s Dad doing home?” Cade stuck his head in the fridge, searching for a Coke. “I thought he was in Austria. Or something.”

“He was,” Grace answered, her lips hovering over her mug. “He’s back now, a few days early.”

“You sound as excited as I am.”

“Well, you know your father. Nothing is easy when he’s here.” Grace sounded so sad when she said it, as if she wished she could change the world as they knew it but wasn’t sure how.

“Just let me know if I need to beat his ass.”

“Cade,” Grace warned, giving him a look over her glasses.

Cade ignored her, slumping into a chair at the table as he popped open his Coke. “How are plans for the party coming?”

Their annual Samhain party was coming up on Saturday. For as long as Cade could remember, it’d been the social event of the season for his mother. She went all out, decorating the mansion until it looked like a themed-ride at Disney World and hiring the best caterers to ply their friends and family with top-notch liquors and appetizers.

“Fantastically. The party planner has been a wonderful help.”

“Told you it’d be easier with help.”

Grace pinched his arm playfully. “Watch it, son. I might start to think you’re growing up.”

“I’m eighteen, you know.”

Grace’s eyes pooled. “I know, baby. You’re such a wonderful young man. Was your camping trip last weekend exactly what you wanted for your birthday?”

Cade leaned to kiss her cheek. “It was. And Saturday will be perfect, too.”

Their conversation was interrupted as Cade’s dad swept into the kitchen.

Rémy Bourdain was the kind of man no one in their right mind would want to meet in a dark alley. Broad-shouldered and thick-necked, he was a full head taller than Cade and a whole lot wider since Cade had inherited his mother’s slenderness. When Rémy was around, nothing dominated like he did.

“You are home. Bon.” Rémy’s thick accent filled the kitchen, like Paris and Provence in tangible form. “I have someone you must meet.”

“Rémy,” Grace scolded. “The boy just got home. Give him some time to unwind before you unleash your friend on him.”

“It’s fine,” Cade said, standing. “I’ve got a lot of homework. And the coven’s coming over. Better to meet now before I start.”

“Grace, we require hors d’oeuvres.” Rémy smiled gently at his wife. “And I have run short of soda water. Please fetch us some from the cellar.”

“Yes, my love.”

Cade rolled his eyes, preceding his father from the room. He’d always hated the way his mom jumped to do his dad’s bidding. It wasn’t that Rémy didn’t love his wife; he just seemed to think her marital duties included waiting on him like a maid. Cade knew his mother was a stronger woman than that.

There was a flight of stairs and five minutes of walking between the kitchen and his dad’s office. With substantial holdings in a massive corporation in his home country, Rémy had more money to spend than reasons to spend it, and their house was testament to that.

“This gentleman is a dear friend of mine from France,” Rémy drawled. “I expect you to be polite, oui?”

“Oui, monsieur.” Cade gave him the expected response. Rémy was big on manners and station, and Cade tried not to step out of line. Punishment by magick was not only humiliating, but sometimes painful.

Rémy lifted a hand as they reached the double doors to his office and gave a tiny wave. The doors opened to admit them entrance. He was the only one who could open them: a magickal security system.

“Ah!” The declaration came from a fair-haired, fair-skinned man sitting on the couch before Rémy’s desk. “Rémy, c’est ton fils?”

“Oui. Gilles, this is my son, Cade.”

Cade offered a hand. “Bon soir, monsieur. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Good evening to you, as well, young man.” The man had a firm handshake that he finished with a double-cheek kiss. “You are the spitting image of your father.”

“Thank you, sir,” Cade responded politely, fighting the urge to wipe off his face. The man’s pecks had left his skin feeling dirty. He wore his magick like a second skin.

“I imagine he is remarkably powerful as well?” He directed his question to Rémy.

Rémy grinned. “Absolutement.”

“I am Gilles Robidoux.” Gilles clapped a hand to Rémy’s shoulder. “I have known your father many years.”

“Cade Bourdain. I have also known my father many years.” His statement elicited a laugh from the man.

“Ah, Rémy. He has your, how do you say… spunk?”

The two men shared a laugh.

“What brings you to Coalhaven, Monsieur Robidoux?” Cade asked, trying not to shy away from Gilles’ grip on his shoulder.

“Un projet très important. Your father invited me to stay while we discuss plans.”

“What kind of project?”

“Nothing with which you need to concern yourself,” Rémy cut in, patting Cade on the shoulder. “However, I wished for you to meet Gilles in case either of us need your assistance in the coming weeks. C’est bon?”

“Oui, monsieur.”

As Cade walked out, he heard Gilles remark, “He will do nicely.”

* * *

RÉMY AND GILLES left in the Hummer for points unknown, and Grace busied herself putting together food and drinks before the coven arrived.

“Mom, you don’t have to do that,” Cade told her, taking the platter of meats and cheeses from her hands. “We can get our own food.”

“Let me take care of you.” She patted his cheek. “I like doing it.”

Cade took the pitcher and whisk from her. She always made Kool-Aid for his coven. It seemed childish, sure, but the entire pitcher would be empty before the night ended.

After a moment of silence, Cade said, “What do you make of that Gilles guy?”

Grace paused, her back tensing beneath her demure black blouse. She gently sliced through the square of French-made cheese, and Cade thought she wasn’t going to answer him.

“Gilles is not a man I like to host in my home,” Grace finally answered softly. She lifted her blue gaze to meet Cade’s. “Stay out of his way, baby. Do this for me?”

“Of course.” Cade kissed her on the cheek. “Anything for you.”

Allie was the first to arrive, which was her usual modus operandi. Cade had a feeling she just wanted to spend time alone with him before the others got there, and he’d never discouraged her. But tonight when she came in his front door in a purple velvet bustier and a black leather mini-skirt, Cade had to bite his tongue before he told her to scram. She looked ridiculous wearing all that make-up and an outfit better suited for a vampire-Goth bar.

Cade flashed on Ever. Sweet face, sweet smile, her bare feet and blue jean shorts and loose-fitting tank top with the lacy straps. She was Southern country music video compared to Allie’s screaming heavy metal. And he was positive now which one he liked better.

“Hey,” he said noncommittally, stepping back to let Allie in.

She pressed close to him, her fingertips sliding up the front of his button-down shirt. “Cade,” she purred, nuzzling his neck. “I’m feeling…”

Cade grasped her firmly by both shoulders and guided her backwards. “Not tonight, Allie.”

She gave him a wounded look but obeyed, disappearing in the direction of the kitchen where a moment later he heard her greet his mother.

“She’s like a lovesick puppy,” Mitch said, taking the porch steps two at a time. “Or one of those starving alley cats you feed and then can’t get rid of when they start pissing in your flower garden.”

“No kidding.” Cade slid a hand through his hair and sighed deeply. “She was fun for a while.”

“Now she’s just psycho.” Mitch winked. “Come on, dude. I’m starving. Did your mom make those little weenies wrapped in dough?”

Cade laughed. “Glad to see you’ve got your priorities straight, man.”

“As you all know, I’ve kicked Donovan out of the coven.”

Cade’s statement was met with silence. The six of them had stuffed their faces with all of Grace Bourdain’s dishes, and they now sat in the secondary living area in the basement. Goth-rock played in the background, and only candles lit the room.

The place Cade felt most at home was surrounded by his coven. They were flawed people, but one had to be a little flawed to practice dark forms of magick.

Big-headed quarterback Mitch was his best friend. Then of course Allie, and her friend Marie, a sturdy mocha-skinned chick who was quiet but extremely adept at ritual. And last, the token couple of the group, Emily and Greg. The two had been together so long they were starting to resemble one another: both tanned year round with blue eyes and naturally wind-blown brown hair. Separately, neither could raise even a hint of true power, but together — particularly when participating in the Great Rite — they were incredible.

“We need to address that our behavior towards the Fluffs has crossed the line,” Cade went on.

Greg scoffed. “Are you serious?”

“They’re our enemies, Cade,” Emily added.

“Why are they our enemies, Emily?” Cade retorted, unable to keep the irritation from his voice. “Because you say they are?”

Everyone in the room exchanged glances, and Cade could tell they were wondering what the hell had happened to their leader.

Mitch finally spoke. “It’s always been that way.”

“It hasn’t.” Cade opened the old yearbook sitting on the coffee table before him and flipped to the back. He slammed a finger to a black and white photo. “My freshman year, Elliott Norman was a senior and leader of the BlackMags. Do you know who his closest friend was? This guy right here next to him?”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“Mike Florentine. Leader of the Fluffs.” Cade watched everyone process this bit of information, their eyes cast on the photo. “Mike and Elliott led their groups in harmony. They didn’t always see eye to eye, but they weren’t fighting, either. It wasn’t until these two graduated that our covens’ relationship degenerated into what it is now.”

“You sound like a political documentary,” Greg remarked dryly.

The room tittered.

Cade tried to ignore them. “The Fluffs aren’t that different from us.”

Emily scoffed. “Cade, seriously? They don’t believe in blood magick. They’re insane about the law of three. They don’t even believe in doing magick for money.”

“We alienate them because their magickal preferences aren’t the same as ours.” Cade let the idea sink in. “Doesn’t that seem stupid?”

His covenmates gazed around at each other for a long minute before Mitch finally said, “Uh, no.”

Cade clenched his teeth rather than grind his best friend into the carpet like cookie crumbs. All he could think about was the innocent look in Ever’s eyes. He didn’t know her well, but she seemed so unassuming, and so willing to be the better person in any situation. She made him ashamed of his friends.

Of himself.

This conversation was going nowhere. Time to change the subject. We’ll return to this later.

“In other news,” Cade said, wishing his can of soda was spiked with something hard, “my father has agreed to foot the bill for us all to attend CircleEarth this year.”

There was a rousing chorus of cheers, so much so that Cade’s mother called down the stairs to check on them. Cade waved her away with an apologetic grin.

“Aw, man,” Mitch said excitedly. “I’m going to hook up with every chick there.” He paused, brow furrowed. “Every hot chick, I mean.”

Chapter 9

EVER

EVER SLEPT LATE the next morning, waking up at quarter after seven only because Tiff started licking her face, her tiny body shaking in desperation for a trip outside. Ever launched herself from bed and went through her morning routine so fast she forgot to put on deodorant and grabbed one of Nah’s beer cans instead of her usual Mountain Dew as she raced out the door.

If she hadn’t been so intent on checking her email on her phone, she might have stepped right on the paper bag waiting on her doorstep. But her eyes were downcast, her fingertip swiping across the lit screen, and she saw the bag before her boot fell down upon it.

Startled, Ever stepped backwards, her phone forgotten. She hadn’t noticed the smell, not until now as she noticed the bag. The brown paper smoked on her front porch, a thin trail of gray curling into crisp morning air like the tail of a snake.

Ever wrinkled her nose. Dog poop. As the surrogate mother of three canines, she’d know the smell anywhere. With the tips of her fingers, she lifted the bag, irritated. Somebody had literally set fire to a bag of dog poop on her porch, leaving it to burn out and smolder in the early morning hours. And it wasn’t just some random prank either. Her driveway was significantly longer than most. Whoever had put the bag of poop on her porch had done so intentionally.

She stalked down the steps and tossed the bag into the garbage can near the garage, using a bit of water magick to extinguish the final smolders. There was only one person she could think of that would leave her such a present — Donovan.

* * *

OLLIE CALLED WHILE Ever was driving to school.

“My car won’t start,” she whined. “And Dad’s already gone. I really don’t want to walk five miles to school.”

“I don’t want you to walk five miles to school either,” Ever agreed. “I’ll be there in ten.”

Ollie lived in an old Victorian near the downtown district of Coalhaven. The house looked like a birthday cake: salmon paint, pastel green shutters and trim. Even though the outside had seen some wear and tear, Ever thought the inside was stunning. She’d only been there once early in the semester when Ollie was sick and needed her homework, but Ever remembered it vividly. Real hardwood floors and crown molding. A grand staircase and chandelier. Every aspect of the house was beautifully restored.

Ollie sat on the front steps in an ankle-length dress and boots, her purse on its side next to her and her fingers twirling her blond curls.

“I have that dress,” Ever said as her friend slumped into the passenger seat.

Ollie grinned, then her jaw dropped as she took in Ever’s knee-length, tie-dyed dress belted with a rope. “I have that dress.”

“I like your taste,” Ever joked, putting the car into reverse. “Did you call a tow?”

“Yeah. They’re gonna come get it after school.” Ollie made a face. “I hate to ask it, but would you mind dropping me off this afternoon?”

“No, I absolutely won’t,” Ever quipped, glancing over her shoulder as she backed out of the driveway. “The extra five miles I have to drive out of my way to do so is unacceptable. I expect payment in the form of candles.”

Ollie laughed. “Deal.” She offered a pinky, which Ever shook with her own. “So,” Ollie went on, “how are you feeling today? You’ve got some serious bruising coming up. Worse than last night.”

Ever groaned. “I know. I look like a raccoon.”

“No, you don’t, silly. Maybe a kitten, but definitely not a raccoon.”

“Otherwise, I feel loads better. I even slept well.” Probably thanks to you, Ever thought, remembering the warmth of Ollie’s magick flowing into her. Did Ollie know she was a real witch? Ever wanted desperately to ask her, because she wanted desperately for someone to share her path in more than just name. But her mother and grandmother had spent the past seventeen years drilling into her one important rule — they did not speak of their magick to outsiders.

“Good. You have to be better by your birthday! Me and Meagan have plans for you.” Ollie waggled her eyebrows. “And at least Donovan’s expelled, so you won’t ever have to see him again.”

But Ollie spoke too soon. Ever pulled into the school parking lot, aiming for her usual spot in the far corner. There was a system to the senior lot — the jocks took up the first two rows, and the cheerleaders behind them. The band and choir kids had a square of spaces in the center, and the average no-club, no-clique kids formed a perimeter around them. Then at the very back of the lot were the Wiccans.

She had to drive past the BlackMags to get to her side, so she was used to seeing Cade’s muscle car next to Allie’s convertible, surrounded by a small group of kids Ever really didn’t know anything about. And this morning was no different, beyond the fact that Cade’s gaze locked on hers as she drove by, and Donovan was standing beside him.

“Shit!” Ever hit the gas, tearing her gaze from Cade and staring wide-eyed out the windshield. “Donovan.”

Ollie whipped around to stare behind them as Ever navigated the car into her spot. “What the heck is he doing here? Can’t he get in serious trouble being on school grounds after being expelled?”

“I think so.” Ever shoved the car into park a little harder than necessary. She shut off the engine, forcing a smile out the window as her crew came to meet her.

“Are you okay?” Ollie asked quietly before either of them touched the door handles to exit. “You’re tense all of a sudden.”

Ever glanced at her. “No. Not only is he here, but he’s standing with Cade.”

Ollie’s eyebrows arched. “And? He usually does. Cade’s their leader. What does that have to do with anything?”

Ever gave her a quick rundown of Cade’s visit to her house the day before.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ollie asked.

“I didn’t want everybody else to know.”

“Well, yeah. Because our groups do not friends make,” Ollie said, aghast. “He’s the enemy, Ever. Don’t forget that.”

“Why do we even have enemies, Olive? Hmm?” Ever couldn’t help the heat in her voice. “We’re witches of the light. We shouldn’t have enemies or wish ill upon anyone. We should — ”

“We should sing ‘Kumbaya’ around the campfire and pass the peace pipe,” Ollie cut in, with a sigh. “Ever, good and evil are not cut and dried. Some people are mostly good with a little bit of evil. Some people are mostly evil with a little bit of good. You can wish for a world where good is good and evil is evil, and never the two shall meet, but it’s never gonna happen. And if the rest of the coven sees you with Cade Bourdain, you’re gonna have a lot of explaining to do.”

* * *

WHEN EVER STROLLED up, Meagan was at her locker, her long, deft fingers working the combination lock. She smiled at Ever, tugging her satchel higher on her shoulder. “Hey, girlfriend. You look like someone pissed in your cereal.”

“Might as well have,” Ever said irritably. “Someone left a flaming bag of dog shit on my front porch.”

“Yikes.”

“Two guesses who.”

“I’m guessing your only current enemy,” Meagan said flippantly. “Greasy dark hair, nose like an isosceles triangle…”

“That’s not nice.”

“Sure. But it’s true.”

Ever ignored her, twisting the lock on her own locker and yanking the door open just a little too hard. She paused, her hand still resting on the cool metal handle as she closed her eyes and buried her head inside, breathing in and out, searching for balance. She could smell the sachet of sage and chamomile stashed in the bottom for just such a moment.

Donovan’s prank was childish, but the animosity towards her made her heart ache. She tried to live a life free of guilt and anger; to have such a negative emotion directed towards her was excruciating.

“He’s here,” Ever said quietly. “He was in the parking lot with the BlackMags this morning.”

Meagan had calculus tutoring sessions most mornings, so she missed the parking lot gossip. “Donovan?” She poked her head into the locker next to Ever. “But I thought he was expelled? Didn’t Cade say he kicked him out of the coven?”

“He did. But maybe he lied.” Just saying it out loud made Ever’s stomach roll. After he’d left yesterday, she’d been so sure he was a good guy. Maybe a little misguided, being the leader of the BlackMags, but… He was still the leader of the BlackMags. Ever extracted her head from the locker and sighed. “I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot. You were cowed by his pretty face and flowing locks of hair.” Meagan winked, gently sliding a finger over the edge of the bandage on Ever’s forehead. Ever had noticed it was curling up. “Don’t sweat it, sister. Learn the lesson and move on, as Nah would say.”

“Right.”

“I’ll see you in third.” Meagan squeezed Ever’s shoulder. “Don’t stress over it, okay? He’s pond scum. Lower than pond scum. He’s fish waste.”

Ever laughed despite herself, watching as Meagan’s tall, lithe form disappeared into the hall melee. She leaned into the metal locker, using her hip to leverage her weight. Her head ached, a sharp reminder of what had happened the day before. Nah had offered to let her off the hook, but Ever — always the overachiever — had decided staying home would be the coward’s way out.

“Ever?”

The voice shook her from her thoughts. Ever opened her eyes, groggily turning to find Cade Bourdain standing beside her.

He looked fantastic today. His long sleeve cotton shirt hugged his trim frame, highlighting his wide shoulders and muscular biceps. Fitted blue jeans ended in Chuck Taylors. His shaggy hair was tugged into a small, messy ponytail at the back of his head, strands dangling over his forehead.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his sapphire eyes narrowed.

Ever couldn’t find the words to answer him. He was close. Too close. She could feel the heat of his body on her arm. And she was so mad at him.

“Ever?” One golden brow launched towards his hairline.

“Yeah,” Ever burst out, slamming her locker door and avoiding his gaze. “Good. Fine.”

Cade eyed her. “Explain to me why I don’t believe you.”

“Because I suck at lying?”

“Your eye is black.” He touched the hollow beneath her eye, his fingertip trailing fire in its wake. “From the hit?”

“Unfortunately.” She finally looked into his eyes. “Why was Donovan standing next to you this morning in the lot?”

Cade looked suitably chastised by the question. “Apparently his dad knows someone on the school board, and he was pardoned.”

“You told me you kicked him out of your coven.”

“I did!” Cade swiped a hand over his face. “I got outvoted.”

“You’re the leader. How can you get outvoted?”

“We’re a democracy, Ever. Not a dictatorship.”

“I’m starting to think you’re a militia,” Ever snapped, gripping her books to her chest so tight her fingers were going numb. “I thought you were different. Have a good day, Cade.”

She whirled on her heel and stalked off, not realizing her knees were shaking until she’d taken a few steps. One foot in front of the other, she told herself. Don’t let him see your pain. You barely know him. He’s nothing to you.

Behind her, Cade let out a long breath. His Chucks squeaked on the floor as he chased after her. “I’m so sorry, Ever. Can I make it up to you? Please?”

“How do you propose doing that?” she snapped, still walking.

“By taking you to dinner.” His strong fingers wrapped around her bicep, tugging her to a halt. “Just me and you.”

A booming yell came from down the hall. “Bourdain! Dude! You gotta see this!”

One of Cade’s covenmates, Ever thought, irritated at the interruption. She thought his name was Mike or Mitch or something. He wasn’t a bad sort, not like Allie and Donovan or their ilk. But at that moment, the football player’s interruption was so unwelcome Ever considered throwing a lightning bolt his way. Just for fun.

There was also the little issue of how she’d thought Cade was a good sort, too. Yet he’d lied to her and let Donovan back in.

Cade rolled his eyes. “Yeah, hang on!” He turned his gaze back to Ever. “What do you say? Dinner?”

Everything in her wanted to scream YES. What was one dinner? He could take her to Callahan’s, the nice vegan place on the lake. It would be just two classmates having a meal together, nothing more. But Ever couldn’t lie to herself. She’d yearned for Cade Bourdain since the moment she’d first seen him, and when he showed up on her doorstep the day before, he’d wormed his way deeper into her heart.

A dinner date with him would seal the deal. Ever would be lost to him more pathetically than she already was.

Not a chance.

“That’s not a good idea,” Ever finally said. “Thank you, but no.”

“Why?” The look on his face was inscrutable.

She realized exactly how little she knew about him. Two days ago, he’d been simply a pretty face that made her heart skip a beat. It had been easy for her to dismiss her crush as nothing more than hormones and physical attraction . But then he’d come to her house to check on her. He’d spilled her tea and helped clean it up, his woodsy scent stronger when he stood so close. Suddenly, he had become more than a crush; he was a person, and he cared.

She’d thought he cared.

“We’re not friends, Cade. We can’t be.” She flicked her gaze to where his covenmates stood, dumbfounded as they watched the exchange. “We stand for different things. We would undermine our own leaderships by having dinner together.”

“Or we could forge a path to acceptance and peace.” He looked so honest, standing in front of her with a half-grin on his face and his fingers still on her arm. “Or something equally corny.”

Ever shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

“Okay, how’s this? I’ll make reservations at Callahan’s for tomorrow night. Six o’clock. If you come, great. If not, no hard feelings. Sound good?”

Without waiting for her response, Cade gave her a bright grin, and then walked back to his coven.

Chapter 10

CADE

SHE’D TURNED HIM down.

Cade tried to remember the last time a girl had turned him down and found he couldn’t pinpoint an exact time or place where such a thing had occurred. His winning streak went all the way back to elementary school when he’d asked Marcy Jackman to kiss him in the janitor’s closet. He’d always had a way with girls.

But obviously not with Ever.

He tried to focus on his coven and their morning antics, but it was impossible. The only thing he was capable of seeing — of remembering in Technicolor detail — was the hurt in Ever’s bi-colored eyes.

Donovan was in his usual seat in history class near the back. Before the incident with Ever, Cade had always sat beside him, and they buddied up to make fun of Mr. Manson for the hour. Now, Cade just gave him a dark look and took an empty seat in the front row, filled with a mixture of loathing towards Donovan and despair over Ever.

Mr. Manson turned from the blackboard, a small piece of chalk between his wrinkled fingers. “Today, we’ll be — ” He broke off as his rheumy gaze landed on Cade. “Mr. Bourdain. Did you get lost on the way to your seat?”

Irritated, Cade retorted, “I’m sorry, sir. I wasn’t aware our seats were assigned.”

“Don’t cause me any trouble up here,” the old man said shakily, his voice holding a note of steel that belied his age, “and I won’t have to make them assigned.”

“Duly noted.”

For most of the class, Cade stared straight ahead, not bothering to take notes or even pay attention to Manson’s droning voice. Cade liked school most of the time because, as his dad always said, “Knowledge is power.” But the history taught in schools wasn’t true history. Cade could run an internet search on any subject and find all the untold darkness behind certain events in humanity’s past. Schools taught a fairytale version, and to Cade, that was like treating them as if they were babies.

After history was his period as an aide in the library. Cade left the classroom and made a beeline for his locker to deposit his books, but he didn’t make it far before he heard his name.

In the hustle of the hallway, he thought it was Mitch, and turned around. Instead, he found Donovan barreling towards him, parting the crowd as if he were the plague.

“Dude. What was that about?”

Cade squeezed his hands into fists. “What?”

“Sitting in the front row like a fucking retard.”

Disgusted, Cade turned his back on Donovan and headed for his locker. How had he ever been friends with this guy? He was an ass.

“If you have a problem with me, just say it,” Donovan yelled.

A hush fell over the hallway as their classmates realized a fight was brewing.

Cade stalked back to Donovan, getting in his face as he said quietly, “I’m not going to have it out with you in front of the entire fucking school. Meet me in the courtyard in fifteen, and I’ll tell you what my problem is.”

* * *

THE LIBRARIANS WERE a disorganized lot. There were six aides, so it was easy for Cade to sign in and then disappear.

The courtyard was nestled between the redbrick school building and a wall of old oak trees flanking the junior parking lot. It held a dozen stone picnic tables clustered on a patch of vividly green grass and was a favorite hangout when the weather was warm.

Donovan waited at one of the tables, a smoking cigarette dangling from his lips. He stood and sneered as Cade walked over. “You jealous I had the balls to do something you couldn’t do?”

Cade didn’t speed up or slow down. He kept his stride until he was within punching distance and followed through with his fist as if he were aiming to put his hand through Donovan’s face.

Donovan and his cigarette tumbled to the ground. There was a long moment as Donovan strung a slew of curses into the autumn air. He finally looked up at Cade, his hands over his nose. “What the fuck, man?”

“If you ever lay a finger on Ever again, I’ll kill you with my bare hands,” Cade said calmly. His fist hurt like Hades, but he wasn’t going to let Donovan know that. “None of her covenmates, either.”

“She’s the fucking enemy, man!”

Donovan looked ridiculous, still on his back in the grass with blood trickling from his nose. Cade’s lip curled. “I’m hearing a lot of that lately. I’m starting to think it’s only people like you who feel we need enemies. You are poison in my coven.”

“What the hell kind of leader are you?” Donovan spat, finally getting to his knees. “You believe in dark magick, but not violence? How the fuck does that even make sense?”

“It makes sense,” Cade said coldly. “It makes more sense than attacking a girl who’s never lifted a hand or said a cross word to you.”

He didn’t give Donovan a chance to respond. Cade squatted beside him, and their gazes locked. “I do not expect to see you in ritual again,” Cade intoned, reaching deep inside for his power source and unfurling a blood red tendril of power towards Donovan. “You will not come near me or my coven. You will not even see Ever or her coven. You will be alone. The gods will punish you as they see fit.”

Donovan’s eyes flashed red as Cade’s magick worked its will; then he slumped to the ground, out cold. He was breathing, though, so Cade left him to bask in the sunshine and miss fifth period.

* * *

CADE DIDN’T SEE Ever for the rest of the day. He wasn’t sure if she’d planned it that way or not; with their lockers so close to one another, they were usually only feet apart between classes. He felt her absence more strongly than he’d thought possible for a girl who’d only just spoken to him for the first time the day before.

He did catch one glimpse of her that afternoon before she got in her car and left school.

When Cade returned home at the end of the day, his hair still wet from swim practice, Rémy stood in the driveway beside a fair-skinned Gilles Robidoux. His father’s face lit with a smile beneath his curled mustache, as if he were happy to see Cade’s Shelby pull up the drive.

It was simply an illusion; Cade couldn’t recall a time in his life when Rémy had been happy to see him for no reason. His father always had an ulterior motive, and it was never a good one. Where Grace had decided mothering was about respect and encouragement, Rémy had mastered the art of duplicity and bribery.

It was bribery at play here. Rémy and Gilles sidled away from one another, giving Cade an unimpeded view of the sleek black Lexus sitting beside his father’s Hummer.

Cade got out of the car with a sense of dread. This gift wouldn’t come without consequences: payment in the form of something Rémy requested of him. He was appalled to think that Gilles’ presence meant the request would involve the fair-haired man.

“What do you think?” Rémy asked in smug French.

Cade’s answer was honest. “Elle est une belle voiture.”

“It is a beautiful car,” Rémy agreed, pride in his voice. “Just as you are a beautiful son. Come to my office. Gilles and I wish to speak with you.”

Cade accepted the car keys from his father with a heavy heart. He loved his Shelby, but the thing was old and had been giving him trouble for months. With the Lexus, he could have a reliable mode of transportation while he saved up to revamp the Shelby.

But as he followed Rémy into the house, the two older men chatting merrily, Cade couldn’t help but feel as if he’d sold his soul to a demon.

Cade took a seat in an ebony, wingback chair, his ass sinking into a cushion much more comfortable than those normally found on antique chairs. Magick, like everything his father did.

As Rémy and Gilles made drinks at the bar, Cade glanced around the room. Nothing ever changed here. His father was a creature of habit and routine. The walls were dark wood on the bottom and navy blue wallpaper on the top. The floors were wood as well: real hardwood, sprinkled with rugs that cost more than the Lexus in the driveway. His father’s desk took up a large space between two picture windows that overlooked the driveway, so he always knew who was coming and going from Bourdain Manor.

“Cade, Gilles has come to Coalhaven for a very specific reason.” Rémy settled in a chair across from him. Gilles sat beside Cade in another wingback, cradling his clear drink in one hand.

“Sir?” Cade said, prompting him to go on.

“You see, I have lost someone très chère,” Gilles added, leaning on his elbow to put himself closer to Cade. “She is here, in Coalhaven.”

Cade fought the urge to lean away from the man. “If you know she’s here, how is she lost?”

“En français,” Rémy reminded him.

Cade repeated his question in French, unable to keep the biting irritation from his voice.

Gilles clucked. “She does not know who I am nor that I am here.”

“Who are you to this woman?”

Rémy interrupted. “At this point, that information has little bearing on what we need from you.”

That was his father: never giving any information that he didn’t deem necessary. Rémy was known in magickal circles for being a very secretive man, which was probably why Cade had never met this Gilles guy, even though Rémy had known him for years.

Cade wanted to press for information, but not enough to put himself in danger of being punished by his father. “Where do I fall into this?”

Rémy nodded, pleased with his son. “This girl attends your school. We do not believe you are acquainted with her yet. But today, our simple request is this…”

Gilles took up the conversation. “We wish for you to befriend her and do a little reconnaissance about her. She is believed to be very powerful. More so than even your father.”

Rémy laughed heartily, waving away the slur. “Nonsense. No one is more powerful than me.”

Cade didn’t know Gilles all that well, so he couldn’t be sure, but something flashed on the man’s face that looked like rage. The glance was fleeting, but it was directed towards Rémy.

Interesting. Maybe the men weren’t as close as Cade had first thought.

Cade relaxed, just a little. All they wanted was for him to get some info on a girl he went to school with. He was good with girls, and he was good at digging for information. Just because they needed to know about her didn’t mean they had evil machinations towards her.

Right?

“Who is the girl?” Cade asked.

Gilles Robidoux smiled. “Ever O’Connell.”

Chapter 11

EVER

EVER SAT STATUE still, stunned at what had just taken place behind her.

Fifth was her free period, and she usually spent it sitting against her favorite oak tree studying for whatever class she felt needed the most work — usually calculus. Nobody knew she came out here, not even Meagan. So of course Cade and Donovan had no idea she was hidden on the other side of the thickest tree in the courtyard during their heated exchange.

She listened to Cade’s footsteps scuff the concrete, and heard the heavy clunk of the door as he went back inside. When she was sure he was gone, she peeked around the tree to see Donovan completely unconscious in the dirt.

Like her own magick, Cade’s had a signature color. Donovan’s form was superimposed with red, wispy tendrils still undulating around him as he snored.

“Oh my goddess,” Ever murmured, whipping back around, her breath coming faster. Cade was a real witch. A real witch. Like her.

She pressed a hand to her injured head. It throbbed beneath the bandages as if her heartbeat lived inside the stitched wound.

Not only was Cade capable of real magick, but he’d cast a spell on Donovan to protect Ever. The gesture alone was enough for her to forgive that she’d witnessed Cade take away someone’s free will.

* * *

“CAN YOU TAKE me home?” Meagan asked as Ever met her at their lockers. She made a face. “Something was rattling under my hood this morning, and Mom’s freaking out about it. Her text had, like, thirty exclamation points. She’s gonna send a tow for it later tonight.”

“Yeah, sure.” Ever tugged her backpack out and shoved her math homework inside. What was it with her friends and their cars? It wasn’t that hard to keep them in good repair. Meagan’s was understandable because it was a POS her mom had bought for three hundred bucks. Ollie’s wasn’t, because her dad was loaded and she owned a brand new Miata. “I’ll take you home on one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Quit with the revenge stuff.” Ever avoided her best friend’s gaze as she said it. “Ava, Roxy, and Tia all look up to you. I don’t want anyone to do something stupid.”

“People always do stupid stuff in a war.” Meagan grinned.

“This isn’t a war, Meg.”

Meagan slammed her locker. “Why are you so concerned about a bunch of assholes?”

“I’m not!” Ever snapped, slamming her own locker door. “I’m concerned about a bunch of friends doing things they shouldn’t. What you put out into the universe comes back on you threefold. I’d rather your karma remain intact.”

“I’m a big girl, Ever. I can take care of myself.”

“Good. Then find another ride home.”

Ever stomped away, leaving Meagan gawking down the hallway.

Was she completely out of line? Ever knew she wasn’t anybody’s mom, and wasn’t responsible for her friends’ behaviors, but as coven leader, she felt responsible. That had to stand for something.

The temperature still hovered low, and the sky was charcoal gray. The way her bad hand ached, she had to assume there was rain moving in. A gust of frigid wind blew dried leaves across her path. She watched them swirl away, thinking of how the world never changed. In thirty years, another seventeen year old girl would walk down this sidewalk and watch the leaves blow by. In thirty years, Ever could be gone, living in Paris or on Mars.

Or dead.

She shook off the thought and tugged her jacket closer.

A crowd had gathered in the parking lot, situated around one of the BlackMags’ cars. Ever didn’t think anything of it until she was halfway to her car, and noticed Ava, Roxy, Tia, and Tomas laughing maniacally near Roxy’s SUV.

They didn’t, she thought, whipping around and heading back in the other direction, towards the BlackMags. Dear Goddess, what did they do?

Ever used her small size to her advantage, ducking under elbows and slipping through gaps in the crowd to make her way to the front.

She halted, staring. The scene she met was as comical as it was horrifying. Mitch Allen was on the hood of his car, frantically scraping his windshield with a pocket knife. His convertible was covered in brightly colored stickers.

“Happy Bunny” stickers.

Ever covered her mouth, attempting to hide a smile and not burst out laughing.

Happy Bunny covered every inch of Mitch’s car except for a one-square-foot section right in front of the driver’s window. Some said things like “Run along and die now” or “You suck big time.” The little pink rabbit was all over Mitch’s car in various shapes, sizes, and poses, all of them with derogatory phrases.

Ever caught Cade’s eye across the top of Mitch’s car. He stood with his hands deep in his pockets, watching with a kind of amused detachment as Mitch scraped at the stickers.

I’m sorry, Ever mouthed, rolling her eyes.

Cade shrugged, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. He looked like he wanted to walk over to her, but he didn’t.

“Who did it?” Ever asked as she got near her coven. The rest of them had shown up while she’d been trying not to laugh at Mitch’s car.

She was met by innocent looks.

“I know it was you, guys. I just don’t know if it was one of you or all of you.” She didn’t look at Meagan, still pissed about their spat earlier. She had a feeling her best friend was behind it, or at least had played a role in facilitating it. “That’s a crime. Mitch can sue us for damages done to his car.”

“He’s an idiot,” Roxy spoke up. “If he takes the car home and puts it in the garage to warm up, they’ll peel right off.”

“You can’t take stickers off in the cold,” Ava added.

“Who did it?” Ever repeated.

Tia shook her head. “If we don’t tell you, you can’t be responsible for anything.”

Ever brushed past them, her anger building. “You guys are going to get us all in trouble if you don’t stop. Ollie, are you ready to go?”

Ollie nodded, jumping to grab the passenger side door as the locks clicked.

After they were settled in the silence of her car, Ever said, “I don’t know what to do with them.”

“Behavior on both sides is out of hand,” Ollie agreed, showing Ever for the first time that she wasn’t alone.

* * *

THURSDAY WAS NAH’S day off, so she was in the kitchen when Ever got home from school.

“Hey,” Ever said, tip-toeing to kiss her grandmother’s cheek.

“Hey, sweetie. How was school?”

“Enlightening.” Ever hung her book bag over the back of a chair at the table and sank into it. “What are you cooking?”

“A casserole. For ritual tonight.”

“Oh, is that tonight?”

“Sure is. Would you like to go this week?”

Ever’s gut response was always No. She felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny of so many witches she barely knew. But after what Cade had done… she wondered if anyone in Nah’s coven knew anything about the Bourdain family. Not to mention she could use the opportunity to siphon off the coven’s power and try to subdue her own covenmates’ vendettas.

“Sure, I’ll go,” she said. “Nah, what do you know about the Bourdains?”

“Grace and Rémy?” Nah smiled. “I like Grace. Always have. A very gentle woman. Now, Rémy, he’s a bit tougher to understand. A true Frenchman. Lavish and elegant. A little too preoccupied with wealth.”

“Are they magick practitioners? Real ones, like us?”

Nah shrugged. “No clue, honey pie. You know how close-mouthed we witches can be. We’ll need to leave around six. If you’ve got homework, go do it.”

Ever took the stairs to her room, lost in thought. Who would have thought Cade Bourdain had real power? The odds of there being more than a dozen blood witches in a town the size of Coalhaven were nearly impossible. True magick practitioners were like a dying species. As more and more witches married mundanes, the bloodlines got so diluted that the magick disappeared entirely.

* * *

EVER HADN’T WANTED to go to ritual alone. Meagan was her best friend, and while she liked worshipping a dual deity, she wasn’t as into the ritual portions of Wicca. Not to mention Ever was still pissed at her.

So she and Nah picked Ollie up on their way.

Nah’s coven met at an old barn on Melody Barstow’s property. The barn was probably older than even Nah’s house, and it had holes in the roof and an assortment of live-in wildlife that Melody’s lazy barn cat didn’t bother with. But the building stood, the paint still red and the roof mostly intact.

Melody greeted them at the open double doors with a cheek kiss for both Nah and Ever. “Ah, the O’Connells are here! Ever, dear, it’s so lovely to see you. I do wish you’d come more often. How’s your mother?”

“In Thailand,” Nah answered, smiling at Ever. “I got an email this morning.”

“Of course she is,” Ever muttered.

“Lily’s always on the go, isn’t she?” Melody shook her head. She was a short, plump woman with fetching green eyes and thick, dark hair that hung to her lower back. Ever had always liked her. “And who might this be?” she asked, turning her mega-watt smile on Ollie.

“This is Olive Robey. She’s a friend of mine from school.”

“Olive, I’m Melody. Lovely to meet you, dear.”

Ollie shook her hand with a timid smile. “Everyone calls me Ollie.”

Nah lifted the casserole dish. “Where do you want the grub?”

“Same place as always. Make yourself comfortable, girls,” she continued, addressing Ever and Ollie. “We’ll begin in about thirty minutes.”

The barn was no longer an average barn; it had been transformed into a magickal haven. Ever looked up, following the strings of glittering lights that looped across the ceiling like luminous swaths of lace. Each wall sported a giant tapestry in the corresponding color of that direction — a paisley red for south, a checkerboard green for north, swirly yellows for east, and waves of blue for west. Fire, earth, air, and water.

“This is so cool,” Ollie murmured, her green eyes soaking in the people meandering and chatting in their colorful robes.

“Yeah, the coven always goes all out. They’re kind of…” Ever trailed off, unsure how to say what she wanted to say without sounding like a brat.

“Over the top?” Ollie supplied.

Ever grinned. “A little. But they’re nice, and the ritual is really intense because of it.”

“I feel like I’m underdressed.”

Ever eyed Ollie’s long gray skirt and lacy blouse. Ever herself had opted for one of her favorite ritual dresses, a bell-sleeved emerald green that swirled in handkerchief edges around her calves.

“You look beautiful,” Ever assured her friend.

They found an unoccupied wooden bench against the fire-themed wall and sat.

“In the few months I’ve been here, I don’t think I’ve ever actually met your mom,” Ollie said after a brief silence.

“That’s because my mother makes it a point to be anywhere but Coalhaven.”

“Why?”

Ever shrugged, watching Nah come to life as she approached a group of women her age. Her shirt sleeves fluttered as she grasped each one in turn, meeting their eyes with an almost thankful greeting.

“Your grandmother seems happy here,” Ollie said.

“She is,” Ever agreed. “This coven is her salvation.”

“There’s more to your family than I ever realized.”

Ever laughed. “Yep, we’re just one messed up bunch of O’Connell women.”

“So for reasons unknown, your mom can’t stand to be in Coalhaven, and your grandmother seems to love this coven enough that she likely doesn’t want to be anywhere else.” Ollie paused, long enough for Ever to turn and meet her eye. “What about you, Ev? Where do you want to be?”

Ever didn’t have a chance to answer the question as Melody clapped her hands and announced dramatically, “It is time.”

She was thankful for the interruption, though. As she locked hands with Nah and Ollie in the circle, and they swayed to the flutes coming from the loudspeakers, Ever considered Ollie’s question so single-mindedly she could think of nothing else — not even casting a spell to dampen the battle between the covens. Did she want to be in Coalhaven like Nah? Graduate high school. Find a husband from the hundreds of lame guys in town. Pop out a baby or two while making ends meet by being a teller at the bank. Die and be buried in the same graveyard where her Nah’s grandmother rested.

Or did she want to live like her mother? No roots, no solid ground as she searched the ends of the earth in a fruitless effort to find something that would save her from her past. Lily O’Connell, phoning from the top of an Alpine mountain in some kind of misguided effort to be a mother even as she dug her heels into the snow of a foreign land.

Ever couldn’t imagine either life. As the circle moved, an unbroken ring of like-minds chanting the “Song of the Goddess,” energy flowing like a real entity between them, Ever closed her eyes and tried to imagine a life. Her life.

The future seemed insubstantial. Fading threads between her fingers and reality. A tear slipped from her eye when the chant suddenly ended. All around her, witches of all shapes and sizes, all forms and degrees of true power, threw their hands in the air, releasing the energy they’d raised together.

Show me, Ever pleaded, another tear cresting her cheek. Show me my path.

In her pocket, her phone buzzed. She ignored it as she took part in the closing ceremony, and she’d forgotten about it by the time they’d finished eating. It wasn’t until Ollie was safely home, Nah had kissed her goodnight, and Ever was alone in her room that she checked her phone one last time before bed.

A text she’d forgotten she’d received in the midst of ritual. Thinking of you.

Ever didn’t recognize the number. Bewildered, she tapped out a quick response. Who is this?

Her heart pounded. The answer came so fast it was as if he’d been waiting for her.

Cade.

Chapter 12

CADE

CADE’S MIND WAS a whirl of emotions.

His conversation yesterday afternoon with his father and Gilles had shaken him to the core.

This thing with Ever had started off innocently, just a guy finally having the balls to talk to the girl he liked. Funny how Donovan’s attack on Ever was the catalyst that pushed him to do it. It wasn’t that he was thankful for Donovan’s attack — he wanted to shake the kid’s hand and then punch him hard enough to knock a few teeth out. But he was grateful to have had a reason to visit her house the day she’d been hurt. Then again last night when he’d been lying on his bed in the dark, trying not to obsess over his father’s proclamation. Out of nowhere, he’d suddenly wished he was with Ever, so he’d texted her.

For the fifth time that morning, he pulled out his phone and unlocked the screen to read her text one more time.

Thinking of you.

Who is this?

Cade.

He remembered the long pause, the heart-stopping wait for her response.

Good night, friend.

Three words, but that last one broke his heart as much as it elated him. Friends. Could they be? With all their differences, was there a place in her life for him? And if so, could that place be something far beyond just “friends”?

He groaned, letting his head fall to his locker. It was so much more complicated now. How could he keep trying to build a relationship — a friendship even — with Ever, when Gilles and Rémy would be breathing down his neck about her?

There was no way in hell he trusted either of them enough to share anything about Ever.

“What’s up with the air of desolation, dude?” Mitch appeared at his elbow, twirling the combination on his locker.

Startled, Cade locked his phone and dropped it back in the pocket of his jeans. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

“Wanna come over and have a few beers before the party tomorrow?” Mitch asked, shoving his overly-large backpack into his locker. It took three tries, but by sheer brute strength, he made it fit.

“Yeah, maybe. I’ll text you.”

“Cool. See you.” Mitch waved a beefy hand and took off down the hall.

Cade lifted his own book bag off the hook inside his locker and settled it on his shoulder as he closed the door. He glanced at the space in front of Ever’s locker across the hall, saddened to find it still empty. He’d been late to school this morning, and she’d been conspicuously absent between every class. He almost always saw her at the end of the day, but it was almost two-thirty, and she was a no-show.

He gritted his jaw as he caught sight of Donovan walking down the hall as if he owned it. Cade couldn’t remember a time he’d ever hated someone so much.

But his muscles relaxed and his lips tilted up as Meagan Stauble strolled down the hallway, long arms swinging as she aimed for the exit. Cade saw the exact moment she decided to play chicken with Donovan — it was in the sudden set of her shoulders and the look of grim determination on her face.

Cade liked this girl. She cared about Ever as much as he did.

You will not come near me or my coven. You will not even see Ever or her coven. You will be alone. The gods will punish you as they see fit.

Cade leaned against his locker, grinning. Donovan literally couldn’t see Meagan charging towards him. This was going to be spectacular.

Donovan kept moving at his usual fast pace, so Meagan sped up as well, her long legs pumping and her fists clenched at her side. When Donovan didn’t acknowledge her in any way, she bared her teeth.

The collision was one-sided; Donovan didn’t stand a chance. Meagan threw the entire force of her six-foot body into the blow, using her shoulder as a battering ram.

Donovan flew backwards, bouncing off another student before he slammed into the lockers face first.

Meagan didn’t even slow down; the heavy metal door had slammed shut behind her before he hit the floor.

Cade couldn’t help himself — he laughed out loud. Donovan didn’t see it coming, just like Ever. And now blood was running down his forehead.

You’re on your own, asshole. Cade turned his back on his former coven member and left.

* * *

THE HOURS BEFORE dinner passed with agonizing slowness.

Cade had showered, and was standing in his boxers before a pile of shirts and pants on his bed, when his mother knocked on the door.

“Sweetheart? Are you going out to eat with us?”

Cade glanced at his doorway as she peeked in. “I have plans.”

“Good,” she said, stepping into the room. She was in a robin’s egg-blue dress that fit her thin body, emphasizing what few curves she had. Her dark red hair was in a severe bun; Cade hated when she did that, because it was what his father wanted.

He raised an eyebrow. “Good?”

She bit her lip. “Your father is bringing Gilles.”

“You could fake sick.”

“You know that wouldn’t work.”

He knew that to be true. His father was eerily intuitive.

“Does he know you don’t like the guy?” Cade asked, picking up a blue plaid oxford. He hated dress shirts, but held it up to his chest and looked expectantly at his mother.

“There’s no use trying to tell your father anything. You know that.” Grace moved further into the room. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Picking a shirt.”

“Are you going to a job interview? I told you, I’d rather you finish school first — ”

Cade laughed. “No, Mom. Not a job interview.”

Grace picked up an orange polo shirt and shook it out. “Then what are you doing? You never wear these clothes.”

Flushing, Cade muttered, “I want to look nice.”

Grace studied him, then smiled. “You have a date.”

Crap. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Grace tossed the shirt down with a shake of her head and a smile that crinkled her eyes. “It’s so funny how you think I don’t know you. Who is she?” Her face darkened. “Is it Allie?”

“Nowhere close.”

Grace clapped her hands. “Oh, honey. I’m so glad.”

“Tell me how you really feel about my friends, Mom.” Cade rolled his eyes. “You don’t know her. I don’t think.”

But Dad would hound me like a dog, so I’m not sharing.

“You really like this girl, huh?” Grace tapped across the hardwood floor and opened his closet door wider.

Cade’s heart pounded. “Yeah. A lot.”

His mother’s voice sounded far away from inside the closet. “Have you known her a long time?”

“Not really. Just liked her from a distance, I guess.”

Grace poked her head back out. “Does she like you?”

“Gods, I hope so, because I can’t breathe when she’s near me.”

Tears pooled in his mother’s eyes, and she rushed to gather him in a hug, a shirt and jeans hanging from her arm. “Oh, baby. Your first love.”

Cade laughed, disentangling himself from her embrace. “Come on, Mom. It’s not that big of a deal.”

She held up a shirt — one of his favorite green henleys. “Just be you, Cade. Go as yourself. If she’s meant to be with you, then that’s what she wants.”

* * *

BY FIVE, CADE pulled into the lot at the grocery to buy Ever flowers.

He had been standing in front of the displays in the floral department for almost fifteen minutes before the florist took pity on him and stepped away from her arrangement in progress.

“May I help you?” she asked, swiping a lock of hair behind her ear.

Cade noticed the dark bags under her eyes. He smiled. “Thank you. You’re busy. I’ll be fine.”

“Is she someone special?”

Cade felt heat rise in his face. He nodded.

“Is she a romantic interest?”

“Um… she’s…”

The florist giggled. “You’re smitten. It’s obvious. I would just say roses, but I’m betting she’s not a rose girl.”

Shaking his head, Cade grinned. “No. She’s earthy. Drives a hybrid, worries about her carbon footprint.”

The florist snapped her fingers. “Then you don’t want cut flowers at all. You want a potted plant. Something that will last. Come with me.”

She led him around the counter and to the back display, four long shelves of pots sprouting all manner of leaves and flowers. Some were brilliant purple, others were white or yellow.

“Zinnias, daffodils, this entire area here. Take your pick.” The florist indicated the shelves.

Cade stared, at a loss. “Um.”

“How do you feel about this girl?”

He didn’t have to consider his answer. “I’ll never feel this way about anyone else.”

“Rosemary.” The florist reached for a small bush on the top shelf. She handed it to Cade with a grin. “It doesn’t flower, but it’s evergreen and smells amazing. Rosemary, that’s for remembrance.”

Cade raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Come on. Shakespeare?” The florist rolled her eyes. “What are they teaching in schools now? I bet your girlfriend knows the line.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Yet.” The florist winked. “Good luck, handsome.”

* * *

THE RESTAURANT WAS packed when he arrived, making him glad he’d called a few days in advance. The hostess showed him to a table in the back, overlooking Coalhaven Lake. Flower-shaped tealights floated in a glass vase of water, the crystal beneath sparkling. Cade took a seat with a good view of the door and waited.

As the digital clock on his cell phone switched to six p.m., Cade’s heart began to pound. He had no idea if she would come or not. Hell, if the situation were reversed, he wasn’t sure he’d even come.

We stand for different things. Ever’s matter-of-fact statement echoed in his mind. But Cade didn’t agree. They were both witches. They both worshipped the god and goddess, practiced magick, and believed anything was possible. The only difference was in how the treated their magick. Ever followed a strict set of rules that seemed outlandish to Cade; but Cade knew he had done things in ritual that Ever would never stand behind.

At a quarter past six, he saw a flash of blonde at the door, and he locked gazes with her extraordinary bi-colored eyes.

Chapter 13

EVER

THE PRANKS BETWEEN the BlackMags and the Fluffs had been going on for some time, so Ever didn’t think much of the Happy Bunny sticker incident. At least not until she was pulled out of AP English Friday morning by a note from the principal’s office.

Her entire coven waited in the lobby of the front office, scattered about the chairs and counters like fallen dominoes.

Meagan grinned as Ever took the seat between her and Ollie. “Fearless leader. Nice of you to join us.”

Ever rolled her eyes. “Let me take a wild guess as to what this is about.”

And she wasn’t wrong. The principal saw them all individually, burning through Meagan — who gave a ‘thumbs-up’ as she walked out; Ollie — who looked terrified and sweaty; then Tia and Tomas — who came out giggling, before he called Ever into his office. She glanced at the remaining members who all offered her supportive smiles.

Principal Joyner was a nice guy. Ever had always liked him, and she thought he did a great job keeping the school in order. He was young, which made him more empathetic, and even handsome in a book-nerd kind of way.

He pushed his glasses up his long nose and smiled as he spoke. “Ever. Nice to see you. I don’t believe I’ve had you in my office since your freshman year.”

Ever shook her head. “No, sir. I still appreciate what you did for me then.”

Principal Joyner waved a hand in the air. “It was my pleasure. Your Nah is a wonderful woman.” He leaned forward, his hands clasped on his desk as his face sobered. “Ever, I’ve called you in here because of an incident that took place in the school parking lot yesterday afternoon.”

“Oh?” Ever said, trying to keep her blood pressure from spiking.

“A student’s car was papered in stickers featuring a foul-mouthed pink rabbit.”

It took everything she had not to burst out laughing. She bit the inside of her cheek and nodded. “Okay.”

“Do you know who did this?”

She shook her head. “No, sir. I just happened to see it as I was leaving school.”

Principal Joyner stared at her, his face impassive. If he thought he could crack her with his intensity, he was sadly mistaken. Nah was the master of that technique, and Joyner couldn’t match up.

“Ever, you’re one of my best students,” Joyner said, his voice pitched to a soothing level.

She couldn’t argue there.

“You’re a good girl. And your friends are good kids. So we need to nip this in the bud before it gets out of hand.”

Irritation hit Ever, and her vision turned red. “With all due respect, it got out of hand last week when Donovan Carrell sent me to the hospital.”

Principal Joyner looked taken aback. “Of course. You’re very right.”

“Of course I am,” Ever said, wondering who on earth this girl mocking her principal was. “I know nothing about the Happy Bunny stickers. Whoever did it kept it from me, and quite frankly, I’m glad they did so I don’t have to lie to you.”

Ever stood. “Are we done?”

Joyner nodded, his eyes wide. “You’re dismissed.”

She shoved open his office door and stalked past her coven, not acknowledging any of them.

A bleeding concussion that needed stitches versus Happy Bunny stickers on some jock jerk’s car. Where was Joyner’s sense of justice? He’d allowed Donovan to waltz back into school like nothing had happened, yet he pulled her entire coven into his office over stickers.

What was it with adults? Holy Freya, she was barely a kid herself anymore. She was damn near an adult — would join their ranks in two days, to be exact. But sometimes she thought by growing up, adults lost the ability to see things that were right in front of them.

* * *

EVER’S STOMACH WAS in knots, and her room looked like a Category 5 hurricane had run rampant through the area. She desperately needed to talk to someone, but she was still giving Meagan the cold shoulder, and Ollie wasn’t answering her texts.

So she picked up the phone and called Nah.

“I’m a little busy right now, love,” Nah answered, the scanner blasting in the background. “Big fire on Main Street. I’ll call you back.”

Ever stared at her phone screen as it flashed :05. She hadn’t even been able to say a word.

“What if I’d been dying?” Ever yelled at her phone, then threw it on the bed. It bounced twice, hopped off, and skidded across the floor.

I guess if I were dying, I’d have to call 9-1-1 to get a hold of Nah.

Over the low sound of internet radio playing on her laptop, her Skype bubbled.

Ever groaned. “Great.”

So much for avoiding Meagan.

Ever crossed to her bed and sat down, clicking the Skype icon to pull up the screen.

It was her mother.

She accepted the call, her heart fluttering.

Lily O’Connell’s face lit up the screen, her blue eyes worried. “Ever. What’s wrong?”

Ever rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, Mom.”

“No, you’re not. You know better than to pretend with me. Tell me what’s going on.”

Ever stared at her mother’s face, mad at herself for being so excited to see her. Lily was an older, taller, thinner version of Ever, with matching flaxen hair in a messy bun on top of her head. Ever couldn’t remember seeing her mother so tanned before, or with such large dark circles under her eyes. She wore some kind of native, patchwork tank top.

“The better question is are you okay? Where are you?”

“Thailand. On an organic farm. And I’m fine. It was a long flight.”

Two months ago, she’d been sheep farming in the Alps. Before that, she’d been working on an archaeological dig in the Middle East. Ever could admit to wishing she got to do such interesting stuff — but her mom was like a plastic bag blowing where the wind took her.

It was going to catch up with her eventually. It looked like it already had.

“Ever, your heart chakra is on fire.” Lily leaned forward with a tiny smile. “Who is he? And why are you so conflicted?”

Ever turned to face the laptop, tugging her legs in like a pretzel. She stared down at her toes — painted red — wondering if she should spill about Cade. Her mom always knew things innately, even halfway across the world. And as absent as she was, she always knew what to say to calm Ever.

“His name is Cade Bourdain.”

Lily gasped, her hand flitting to cover her mouth.

“Do you know him?” Ever asked, confused.

“No. But I knew a Bourdain once. A bad man. I’m sure it’s a coincidence.”

“They’ve been in Coalhaven for a long time. Nah knows them.”

Lily gave her a wry smile. “When am I ever in Coalhaven, baby?”

True story. “He’s in my class. I’ve had a crush on him for… well… I guess since I started high school. Something happened this week, and we spoke for the first time.”

Ever laid out everything that had happened that week, including the bickering that had been escalating between the BlackMags and her own coven. She told her mother about Cade showing up at her house, and then asking her out.

“So I’m having dinner with him tonight,” she finished.

In the silence that followed, her mother appeared as if she were gathering her thoughts. Different emotions crossed her face: concern, fear, sadness. She finally spoke. “Baby, I know I haven’t told you much about your dad. And I’ve done that on purpose, to protect you from him. If you even knew his name, he would find you.” She shook her head, letting out a deep breath. “I want to believe your Cade is different. But I’ve been there. Your father believed in dark magick. I thought I could change his mind, teach him that life was better in the light…” She trailed off, then looked up and caught Ever’s gaze. “Be careful, Ever. Never trust anyone but yourself.”

Long after Ever said goodbye, she stared at her laptop, not really seeing it.

How could Cade be bad when he cared so much about her?

* * *

IT’S JUST DINNER. No promises, no commitment.

Ever stood in the cold evening light, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jean jacket. She took a breath to steel herself and entered the restaurant.

He was heartbreakingly beautiful tonight with his hair slicked away from his face as if he’d showered and carelessly swiped it back. His green henley hugged his broad shoulders, and he looked so very… Cade. The guy she’d crushed on for years. Goddess knew that shirt probably cost as much as her Nah’s electric bill.

A flush rose in her face as she wound her way through the tables. She’d chosen a purple, ankle-length dress and a short blue jean jacket to hide the fact her gown showed a little too much cleavage. She’d left her hair down, a cascade of honey around her shoulders.

Cade stood as she approached. “Ever.”

She smiled. “Sorry I’m late.”

“I’m just glad you came.” Cade stepped around the table to pull out her chair, and waited until she was seated before he sat back down.

“I almost didn’t.”

He paused, then asked, “Why did you?”

“I’m a glutton for punishment. And you owe me dinner.”

He laughed. “Yes, I do owe you dinner for the mad antics of an idiot. I got you something.”

Cade produced a small potted plant from beneath the table. “The florist said it’s rosemary.”

Ever’s heart skipped as she picked up the tiny pot. She pressed her nose to the needle-shaped leaves and took a deep breath. That distinct almost Evergreen scent swirled around her. “I love rosemary. Thank you.”

Cade let out a breath. “I’m glad you like it.”

Ever took a sip of water as they sat silently. Her eyes downcast, she finally said, “I heard you kicked Donovan out of the coven.”

“Again,” Cade added.

“Is the rest of your coven mad?”

Shrugging, he shifted his water glass to the right, as if opening a more direct path between them. “They’ll get over it. They’re only pissed because we keep losing people. We haven’t been a full thirteen in over a year.”

“We’ve never been a full thirteen.”

Cade raised an eyebrow. “Really? I can’t believe that.”

“I can. We live firmly on the north end of the Bible Belt. The few Wiccans in our area are usually very solitary and secretive. That makes covenmates hard to come by.”

They were interrupted as the server arrived to take their order. Ever asked for a Coke and the pesto zucchini pasta, and Cade ordered the seitan tacos.

“I’ve never had seitan,” he said as the server walked away.

“Really? It’s good. You’ll like it.”

“As good as chicken tacos?” He grinned. “That’s my favorite.”

“It always surprises me when I meet Wiccans who eat meat,” Ever said in response.

“Why’s that?” He got that wary look in his eye that said he was expecting a lecture.

But Ever didn’t lecture. She didn’t try to push her own beliefs on others. Everyone had a choice, and she didn’t believe in forcibly removing a choice. But she did share the reasons for her own choices if anyone asked. “Most animals in the agriculture industry die scared and in pain.”

Cade inclined his head. “I admit our livestock laws are — ”

“Nonexistent. But that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is that the chickens who died to make your tacos were very scared, and they’d likely had their beaks sawed off, so they were hurt, too. They grew up in a box without grass or dirt or sunlight. They never knew a kind voice. Negativity doesn’t just disappear. It’s like when you’ve got a pothole in the concrete. It rains, and the storms passes away, but the hole itself collects the water. The water sits there and spoils, attracts biting insects and disease, until the sun manages to come out and burn away the water.”

“So chicken tacos are that pothole.”

Ever laughed. “Exactly. The chickens never had a chance to be cleansed before death. So by eating their meat, you’re eating their negativity.”

Cade stared at her. “I’ve never looked at it like that before.”

“Most people haven’t.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Ever semi-embarrassed for bringing it up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lecture you. I don’t think you’re evil for eating meat.”

“It’s okay. Thanks for sharing.”

“No, it’s stupid. I’m sorry I said anything.”

Cade grinned. “Not stupid. Honest.”

“I would eat meat if I knew it came from a good farm where the farmer took care of his animals,” Ever offered.

He laughed. “Well, it’s something to think about. Negativity’s nothing to fuck with.”

“Funny to hear that coming from you.” The words were out before Ever realized she was saying them. She froze. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t nice.”

“You think my magick is negative?”

He didn’t sound pissed, but Ever didn’t want to offend him.

“Let’s talk about school. What do you think of the new vice-principal?”

“Ever, I’m serious.” He reached across the table, his hand alighting on hers briefly. “Do you think my magick is negative?”

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, feeling cornered by his unreadable gaze. “I don’t know. I mean, you practice black magick, Cade. Blood rites and…” She trailed off, remembering the way he’d stripped Donovan’s will away the day before. “You think it’s okay to take someone’s free will away. Your coven doesn’t understand that all magick has consequences. When you do a ritual for something, the result doesn’t magically appear from the ether. It comes from somewhere. We can’t will things or conclusions into existence without paying the price.”

“You’ve never done a rite for money?” Cade asked, his expression passive. “I’m sure there have been times you’ve prayed for money.”

Ever shook her head. “A rite for money steals that money from somewhere else. If we fall on hard times, we do a ritual and ask for the knowledge and ability to bring in extra money ourselves. We ask for the universe to bless us with abundance. The outcome is usually a prompt to have a yard sale or something equally benign.”

“What if you’re just taking money from someone who doesn’t need it anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter. Whether they need it or not, I won’t accept the grime on my soul.”

Cade looked taken aback. “What?”

“When you practice magick that falls outside the realm of the Wiccan Rede, you gather grime on your soul. It manifests in your aura as a black hole.”

“Like the negativity.”

“It is negativity. Each time you violate the laws of magick, you gather more and more of it in your soul. You lose part of yourself.”

“What if you were doing something that was protecting someone else? Does that add negative energy to your aura, too?”

Ever caught his eye, at a loss. Were they both thinking of his spell on Donovan? “I-I don’t know.”

Cade went silent, their gazes locked. He slid his hands over the table, entwining their fingers. “I don’t believe the world is black and white, Ever. There are gray areas everywhere and in everything. Sometimes we have to believe our choices are what make us good people. Not a list of magickal laws written sixty years ago by a couple of early Wiccans I’m pretty sure were high at the time.”

Ever couldn’t help herself; she laughed. She was lost in his green eyes. She saw so much inside him, more than she’d expected. Cade wasn’t just another cute guy. He was attractive and confident, yes. But underneath, he was different. Like Ever. She’d never seen him so clearly as she did now.

“I don’t think we’re that different,” he went on, unaware of her inner monologue. “I think we’d make a good team.”

Ever shook her head. “It’s a fairytale, Cade. Different worlds, like Romeo and Juliet. And quite frankly, I prefer being alive much more than being in love.”

“In love?” He blinked at her.

“Theoretically,” she hastened to add.

“I’m not a bad guy.”

“I honestly don’t think you are,” Ever agreed, feeling as if they were talking in circles or trying to waltz together to different songs.

“Come to my mother’s annual Samhain party with me,” Cade pleaded. “Tomorrow night. I’ll show you just how ‘different’ my people are.”

“My people?” Ever laughed. “Cade, if you have to refer to them as your personal property, then we aren’t the same.”

“You know what I mean.” He squeezed her hand. “Come on. Just do it. What could go wrong?”

“A lot of things!” Ever burst out. “Did you see Allie’s face yesterday when we were talking? She’d rather I spontaneously combust than spend time with you. And your best friend, the bald guy? I’m pretty sure he was concocting a plan to involuntarily commit you to an asylum. Your coven knows we don’t fit, Cade. You just seem to not understand that.”

He shook his head. “When I look at you, I see the sun.”

Ever almost dropped her glass on the table at the sudden change of subject. “What?”

“The sun. You radiate warmth and kindness like some kind of goodwill ambassador. The worst villain in the world couldn’t look away from your light.”

Ever snorted. “That’s so cheesy.”

His face fell, wounded. “I mean it. Even when I don’t see you coming, I feel you.”

She stared at him, her heart tapping against her ribs. “You’re the moon,” she finally said. “A cool presence, wispy and ethereal. I feel you, too.”

Neither spoke for a long moment, their gazes locked across the table.

“Come to the party with me,” Cade implored. “It’s costume. You can wear a mask, if you want to be unseen.”

“I have to work.”

“What time do you get off?”

Ever stared at him. “Cade, you really don’t want me there.”

He touched her hand again, his fingers rough and warm. “I really do.”

She stared at their hands where they touched. “My sun and your moon. Worlds colliding.”

“Sometimes worlds need to collide.” He grinned. “What time do you get off?”

Ever closed her eyes so she couldn’t see his smile and berated herself. This can’t happen, she thought. The sun and moon may ride in the same sky, but that doesn’t mean they can come together.

“Seven,” she said, defeated.

“I’ll be at your house at eight.”

Chapter 14

CADE

IT WAS BARELY nine o’clock when Cade got home. On a normal Friday night, he’d call up Mitch or one of the other BlackMags, and they’d get together, drink a few beers, and talk about girls. But Cade didn’t have it in him tonight. His dinner with Ever had taken a lot out of him mentally, not to mention he was starting to question his choice of covenmates.

She’d made him contemplate things he’d never bothered to consider before. She almost made him feel like a bad person. The only thing keeping him from worrying too much was that his beliefs were so much like his mother’s, and his mother was one of the kindest, most compassionate people he knew. There was no way his mother could be a bad person.

His dad’s Hummer sat in its usually vacant spot, the engine ticking as if he’d just arrived. As Cade passed through the garage, he noticed his mother’s car was gone, which was abnormal. Grace Bourdain was an introverted woman. Cade could only recall her having a handful of friends throughout her life, and even then, he couldn’t conjure up an image of any of them. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d left the house for anything other than groceries, and that was usually on Monday mornings.

Cade walked into a dark kitchen, flicking on the light as he passed it. Trays and bowls for the party waited on the kitchen table. They were empty now, but by six p.m. tomorrow, there’d be enough food in there to feed an army.

He grabbed a soda from the fridge and left the warmth and light of the kitchen for the dark, cavernous front hall. Cade had never noticed how impersonal their house was until he stepped foot in Ever’s. His boots echoed off the high ceilings, and the place felt empty, even though he knew his dad was somewhere in the house — probably in his office.

Ever’s house, though, felt like a home.

As he crested the top of the stairs, Cade paused, sure he’d heard voices. He listened carefully, turning towards his father’s office. He already knew his dad was home, but it wasn’t like Rémy to leave his office door open. The room was soundproof and magick-proof, and Rémy took it seriously.

He heard the low murmuring again. Without knowing why, he moved down the hallway towards the sound, his footsteps light as he hugged the wall. The closer he got to his dad’s office, the better he could hear the conversation.

“What if she will not come with you willingly?” Rémy asked in French.

“Then I take her by force.”

Cade could see the thin strip of light from between the doors of his father’s office now.

“You would hurt your own daughter?”

“I hope it will not come to that,” Gilles responded simply. “But if it does, then it does. I do not know what her mother has told her about me.”

They were talking about Ever. They had to be. And Gilles was willing to take her by force, as well as willing to hurt her if necessary. What kind of father would do that?

“I don’t believe the girl knows anything about her father,” Rémy said. “I slept with her mother once. It was a long time ago in a different place.”

Cade gripped the wall as blinding fury filled him. His parents had been married for twenty-five years. He wasn’t naïve enough to believe the sexual conquest of which his father spoke had happened more than twenty-five years ago.

Before he did something stupid like storm into the office with his fists flying, Cade turned and walked away, careful not to make a sound.

He felt somewhat better in the silence of his bedroom. He slid the bolt on his door into place and leaned against the wood, staring blankly ahead as his eyes adjusted to the soft yellow light from his nightstand.

Ever was in danger, and Rémy had cheated on Grace. Probably more than once. Cade rubbed his eyes, wishing he could forget everything he’d just heard.

But why was Gilles so obsessed with Ever? Because she was supposedly powerful? The callous way he spoke of her as his property proved he wasn’t interested simply because Ever was his daughter. There was more to it, and Cade had a sick feeling it had to do with wanting her magick. He remembered the way his car had restarted after she’d whispered over it.

That wasn’t a good enough reason to kidnap or hurt her. Not in Cade’s opinion. He’d do everything in his power to protect her.

Going for comfort, he changed into basketball shorts and a hooded sweatshirt, then booted up his computer.

A Google search on Gilles Robidoux brought back a hundred or so pages referencing his business in France, several social media accounts, and even a book he’d written on finance. Cade skimmed articles for mention of Gilles’ past or his family, but found nothing.

He hit the bookmark button for Witch Treatise, an online forum only true magickal practitioners knew about. As with any site, there were always trolls who liked to stir up trouble, but it was still a cool place. On the rare occasions he chose to visit, he skimmed through the threads but never commented. He created a new thread under “Do you know…?”

Anyone know a Gilles Robidoux? Cade typed.

Answers on Witch Treatise were never instantaneous, however, so Cade closed the browser. He’d check back in the morning.

He jumped on Facebook to waste time. As he was reading through his newsfeed — the usual bunch of crap from a group of classmates he knew nothing about — he realized he and Ever weren’t friends.

He stared at her page, captivated. Her cover photo was a staged image of her sitting in a window seat. She had her feet propped up on the wall, and her long white skirt was draped elegantly against her thighs. Her face was in profile as she gazed out the window, and the sun cast a halo around her body as if she were some kind of angel.

Cade clicked on her profile picture. A close-up from above — probably a selfie. The angle made her pretty face seem elegant and sensual. The long-haired cat on the floor behind her just added to the magical feel.

He hovered over the “Add Friend” button. If he pushed that button, he’d be asking her to publicly state they were friends, even if only virtual ones.

He clicked it anyway.

Almost immediately, he got notification she’d accepted his friend request.

Chapter 15

EVER

“I NEED A costume.”

Nah swiveled in her seat, the glow of the computer screen giving her a halo. “I beg your pardon?”

Ever sighed. “I got invited to a Halloween party, but it’s literally tomorrow and I have no costume.”

Nah tilted her head, brow wrinkling. Then she snapped her fingers and smiled. “I have an idea. To the attic, dear!”

Ever was used to taking the narrow stairway and making a sharp right to get to the ritual room. She never had any reason to be in the attic unless it was for ritual. But tonight, Nah flipped on the light, and they made their way through the main room.

The attic was so cluttered with family heirlooms it was nearly impossible to cross from front to back without shoving aside boxes full of O’Connell family regalia. Nah walked with a purpose, easily moving obstacles until they’d reached a far corner of the attic where Ever had never ventured.

There were racks of clothes everywhere. Ever thumbed through the first one, finding bell bottoms and peasant shirts straight out of Woodstock. And the next rack had fitted pencil skirts and thin sweaters that reminded Ever of Grease. But Nah walked past all of that to the back.

“These belonged to my great-grandmother,” Nah said, sliding a few gowns down the rack so Ever could see. “She died when I was a teenager. I always thought she had beautiful taste in dresses.”

A cascade of cream lace caught Ever’s eye. She pulled the hanger from the rack and held up the dress, her breath catching in her throat. The gown was made of layers of lace, from its scoop-necked bodice to the floor, and had tiny swooping falls of lace on both sleeves. A turquoise blue sash wound around the waist, and matching ribbons dangled from the shoulders.

“This is gorgeous,” Ever breathed. “Like something from the Titanic.”

“Try it on.”

Ever shed her T-shirt and shorts, and Nah helped guide the delicate lace over her head. It settled around her torso as if it had been made for her.

“Come here, my sweet.” Nah held her hand and guided her to an old, worn mirror. As Ever stared at her reflection in the mottled glass, Nah tied the blue sash.

“It’s a little long,” Ever worried aloud.

“I can fix that. Don’t you concern yourself over a little extra fabric.” Nah finished tying the bow and stepped away, gazing at Ever in the mirror. “You look so much like my mother.”

“I wish I’d known her.”

Nah wrapped her arms around Ever’s waist and squeezed. “She would have been as proud of the woman you are as I am.”

“I haven’t done anything,” Ever said with a laugh.

“You don’t need to do anything, sweetheart.” Nah gently turned Ever, cupping her face in soft hands. “You are everything I hoped you would be. You are strong like the earth. You are as fierce and passionate as a raging fire. You have the soul of the wind, and the gentle, rolling compassion of water. And your magick… Ever, your magick is phenomenal. Sweetheart, you are the perfect white witch.”

Ever thought of Cade. Would her Nah think she was so perfect if she knew Ever had a crush on a black witch?

“Where are you wearing this beautiful dress?” Nah asked, untying the sash so Ever could remove it.

“A party.”

Nah laughed. “I know that. I mean, which one specifically? I really hope it’s not the Bernards’ annual barn party. That one gets out of hand, dear.”

Ever shook her head, then lifted her arms for Nah to pull the dress off. “No, it’s not the Bernards’ party.”

She didn’t want to tell the truth. Witchcraft circles ran thin in Coalhaven — Nah knew the Bourdains were dark Wiccans, even if she didn’t know they were blood born. It was a miracle she hadn’t probed deeper Thursday night when Ever had questioned her about them. After Nah’s rousing speech about how wonderful she was, Ever didn’t want to let her down.

“It’s Ollie,” Ever said, a flush rising to her face as she lied to her grandmother. “Ollie is having a Halloween party.”

“Oh, in that beautiful Victorian? And in that dress?” Nah clapped her hands. “Take lots of pictures, Ever, honey. I wish I was off work and could go with you!”

Thank Goddess for the police department, Ever thought, trailing her grandmother downstairs.

* * *

“TELL ME ABOUT Dah,” Ever said to her grandmother as they sat on opposite ends of the couch, feet entwined and a bowl of popcorn between them. The dress hung on the coat rack in the corner — Nah had promised to adjust the hem first thing in the morning.

Nah shot her a confused look. “Why do you ask?”

Ever shrugged. “I guess I just want to know what it’s like to love someone.”

With a chuckle, Nah paused the romantic comedy that was just beginning, and then picked up a handful of popcorn. “Trying. Love is trying.”

“No it isn’t.” Ever laughed. “Don’t be silly.”

“It is, honey. Nothing about being in love is easy.” Her gaze went thoughtful, and Ever could tell she wasn’t sitting on the couch anymore. She was somewhere back in time when Dah was still alive. “Love is compromise and restraint. It’s picking your battles, and enjoying every minute of it. It’s not necessarily seeing eye to eye.” She laughed. “Me and your dah, we definitely didn’t agree on much. But always being in agreement would be boring. Only by understanding why we fight can we find the path to peace.”

Most of the time, Ever gagged at the way her grandmother could turn any life lesson into a Hallmark greeting card, but this time was different. She’d only known her dah for a short time. Diabetes had started killing him long before Ever and her mother moved to Coalhaven. But in that time, Ever remembered thinking how in love her grandparents were, right up to the last minute. To hear that things weren’t always the fairytale they seemed made her think maybe a relationship with Cade wasn’t completely out of the question.

“Your day is coming.” Nah winked. “I can feel it in my bones. And he’s gonna be a doozy of a love.”

Ever only hoped by “doozy” she didn’t mean doomed.

* * *

AFTER THE MOVIE, Ever excused herself for bed and left Nah reading a book on the couch.

She had already put off the calming spell for two days, so she had to take care of it now. Tensions between the covens had reached a high previously unknown. Ever wished she could go back in time and change her sophomore year. That’s when the trouble had started, when Mike Florentine left for college and Ava’s older brother took the leadership reins for his senior year. It wasn’t that he did anything wrong; he just didn’t have the compassion Mike did. He ignored the BlackMags and said some unfavorable things about their choices. In turn, that inflamed the BlackMags towards Ever’s coven and lay the foundation for the rift.

In her bedroom, Ever pulled a stool close to her altar and sat before it, taking a few deep breaths to center herself.

When she was alone, Ever didn’t bother with pageantry. It wasn’t that she disliked the grand gestures of ritual — on the contrary, she loved traditional circles. Within her coven, everyone knew their ritual duties. The circles were set, cast, and complete with all the pieces in place from beginning to end. But a traditional casting flowed better when performed with her coven, rather than by herself.

Ever’s altar was simple: four votives representing the elements in their respective colors; a cauldron for burning herbs; a bowl of salted water for protection; a silver pillar candle for the goddess and a gold one for the god. The altar itself was an old podium she’d painted and mosaicked to make her own. The shelves below held all manner of tools she might need in ritual.

With a single thought, Ever conjured her protective circle. The energy made an audible pop, and the atmosphere increased in pressure. Her circle was visible around her in waves of gold and blue: the colors of her aura and magick, respectively.

Ever lit the yellow votive candle. “I welcome the east and the element of air into this sacred space. Merry meet.” She moved on to the red. “I welcome the south and the element of fire into this sacred space. Merry meet.” On to west and water, and then finally north and earth.

Finally, she lit the silver and gold pillars and welcomed the god and goddess.

“Great Lady of the moon, dark huntress of the fertile earth; mighty horned God, keeper of life and death, welcome to this sacred circle. Guide me and guard me in my magick. Lend to me your strength and power.”

Ever’s skin flushed with the heat of the power she’d already raised, and she hadn’t even begun the ritual. Her power was even stronger than that of her Nah, who had been practicing for over fifty years. Ever had been raised to understand — and respect — the unusual strength of her own magick. But every time it surged through her during ritual, it still took her by surprise.

She reached for her Book of Shadows, hidden in the cabinet directly below the surface of the altar. It was her recipe book: filled with every spell she’d ever written or copied from others, as well as notes on correspondences — the way all things aligned together for intentions, from planets to herbs and stones. She rested the heavy, leather-bound tome on her knees, whispered the unlocking incantation that only she knew, and opened it.

“How can I calm this situation down without affecting anyone’s free will?” Ever asked out loud, moving her hands off the pages. Her mind was on Meagan, the worst of the offenders.

In answer to her question, the book’s pages began to flip. The sheets paused, open to a spell for binding.

Ever shook her head. “Harm none, Book.”

The pages flipped once more, landing open on a spell to relieve tension between loved ones by lightening the atmosphere.

“Closer,” she agreed with a smile.

She grabbed a pen and a blank sheet of paper and began to write, tweaking the original spell to fit her current needs.

She executed the ritual flawlessly, even though part of her wondered if she was toying with anyone’s free will in the process. If any of her covenmates or the BlackMags wanted to continue the so-called “war,” then her spell would interfere with their free will.

Maybe.

Ever released the energy into the universe and waited. She wanted a sign, something to tell her she’d done the right thing. Nothing was forthcoming.

She wasn’t used to being a part of something that made her question her morals.

Ever’s laptop was open on the bed from her conversation with her mother earlier that day. She tapped the spacebar to wake it up, and picked out a pair of pajama pants and a tank top. After brushing her teeth, she crawled into bed and pulled her laptop closer.

The very moment she opened Facebook, she got a notification she’d received a friend request.

From Cade.

She didn’t even have to think about it. She accepted.

A moment later, her chat bubble popped up.

Cade Bourdain: I had a great time this evening.

Ever shivered, sinking back against the headboard with her laptop resting on her knees.

Ever O’Connell: Me too.

Cade Bourdain: You give me clarity.

Ever laughed.

Ever O’Connell: You really confuse me.

Cade Bourdain: Why?

She pulled her hands away from the keyboard, her heart beating faster. Protected by a screen and a keyboard instead of staring him face to face, she typed quickly, before she lost her nerve.

Ever O’Connell: I don’t want to be so into you.

Cade Bourdain: You’re into me?

Ever couldn’t answer. She tried three times, aware he could see the bubble indicating she was typing. But she couldn’t do it; she couldn’t say anything else. Her cheeks were on fire, and he couldn’t even see her.

Finally, when her response wasn’t forthcoming, Cade started typing.

Cade Bourdain: I’m into you. Bad.

Chapter 16

CADE

SATURDAY DAWNED CLOUDY and cool, but there was a humidity to the air that held the promise of storms. Cade leaned against the doorframe, one hand holding a Red bull and the other deep in the pocket of his shorts. The house was silent — his father wasn’t home, and his mother was still asleep. Cade had awoken with the power of the coming storm dancing across his skin, and Ever on his mind.

His eyes on the boiling sky, Cade smiled as he remembered saying goodbye to her in front of the restaurant.

“Thank you for dinner,” she’d said, her gaze dropping bashfully to the ground as she tucked her hair behind her ear. “And for… well, everything.”

“You’re welcome. I had a great time.” He’d wanted to punch himself. He might not be suave and debonair, but he usually had better dating skills than this. Confronted with Ever he lost all ability to form sentences that weren’t lame.

He’d wanted to kiss her. She’d just put lip gloss on, and her lips were rosy in the growing twilight. Her cheeks were flushed, and the blue of her knit cap made her eyes vibrant. But before he could muster up the courage, she stepped back.

“Well, thanks, Cade. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He wasn’t an idiot — she’d stepped away from him to keep him from making a move. Ever had friend-zoned him.

But then… Gods, on Facebook chat later that night…

I don’t want to be so into you.

But she hadn’t said anything else. Even after he confessed how much he liked her. He’d waited another forty-five minutes, hoping she would say something more.

Cade closed his eyes, listening to the storm’s power whistle on the wind. What was it about Ever that so disarmed him?

He spent the morning cleaning his room and helping his mother with preparations for the party. By late afternoon, he had showered and was getting dressed to leave for Mitch’s house, when he got an email alert on his phone.

You have a reply on Witch Treatise!

Cade scrambled across the room to open his laptop. He clicked on the bookmark and logged in to the site, hoping the reply wasn’t just a troll.

Lilypad1028: I do. Unfortunately. Why are you asking?

Cade typed quickly before the responder logged off.

BlackMagCB: He’s friends with my dad. I don’t trust him.

He didn’t want to share any personal information with some stranger on the internet. Lilypad1028 didn’t need to know Gilles had threatened Ever, and Cade had made it his goal in life to protect her. He just wanted something that would give him the upper hand, in case he ever needed it.

Lilypad1028: Don’t trust him. Ever. He is the worst of the dark practitioners, with a thirst for power that surpasses even the love of his family. Steer clear of him. I’m sorry you have to know him. I wish I didn’t.

For a brief moment, as he scanned the response, he thought it read Don’t trust him, Ever. Cade re-read the message to assure himself that wasn’t the case. How could this person know Ever was involved?

BlackMagCB: Anything I should know to protect myself?

To protect Ever, really. Same thing.

Lilypad1028: He has one weakness. Pride.

A moment later, the tiny cauldron next to Lilypad1028 winked out, indicating the person had logged out of Witch Treatise.

For all Mitch’s big-man-on-campus preening, he and his mom lived alone in a trailer with two cats. It was a nice trailer, granted. Mitch kept himself loaded working construction on the weekends and in the summer.

Cade waved to the sweet elderly lady next door, who was out watering her flowers in the fifty degree weather. She waved back with the hose, sending a spray of water over the brown grass.

“She does realize her flowers are going to die soon?” Cade asked as Mitch answered his knock.

Mitch shrugged. “Miss P’s weird. Come on in.”

“Where’s your mom?” Cade asked, startled — as usual — by the humidity inside the trailer.

“Work. Want a beer?”

Cade accepted the bottle, and shooed a calico off the sofa so he could sit down.

In the silence that followed, Mitch turned on the television: a giant flat-screen that probably cost more than the trailer. He found a game and muted the sound.

“Where were you last night?” he asked, tossing the remote on the coffee table. “I called you.”

Cade fingered the label on his Budweiser, avoiding Mitch’s gaze. “Out.”

Mitch just looked at him. “Out where?”

“Dude, let’s be honest for a minute,” Cade said, changing the subject. “Why are you a BlackMag?”

Mitch shrugged. “You’re my best bud. I like the two deities. It makes sense that sex is the source.”

“What about black magick? You in that for the thrill or because you really believe it’s okay?”

“You’re freaking me out, man,” Mitch said, a thick blonde eyebrow raised.

Cade sighed, brushing his hair off his forehead. It only fell back into his eyes. “I do black magick because I don’t think it’s wrong. Our blood bond is sacred. A blood sacrifice when done right is transcendental, the highest form of praise we can give the Divine. I’m okay with taking away someone’s free will to help them or someone else. I would lay a curse on someone who hurt a friend and not think twice.”

Mitch nodded slowly. “I mean, yeah. I’ve never really thought about it, but I agree.”

“Would you curse someone if it meant you gained something from it?”

“Example?”

Cade thought about it. “Lay a sickness curse on Mr. Manson the day before a big test.”

“That seems harmless. I don’t see why not.”

“That’s where the distinction is,” Cade said with a little more zeal than necessary. “I don’t think I would do that.”

“You don’t even like Manson.”

“That’s not the point.” Cade shook his head, throwing back a swig of beer. “You would physically harm Manson just to put off a test you didn’t study for?”

“It’s just a cold, dude.”

“I cursed Donovan.”

Mitch sat forward, the corners of his lips lifting. He didn’t like the dude either. “Oh yeah?”

“I knocked his ass out, then cursed him not to see Ever or her coven.”

“Does this have anything to do with the fact he had to be helped off school grounds yesterday afternoon and nobody knows why?”

Cade smirked. “A little. That handiwork was all Meagan Stauble.”

“That bitch is a piece of work,” Mitch said, but there was only admiration in his voice.

“She could kick your ass.”

“I have no doubt.” Mitch studied him, taking intermittent sips of his beer. “You were out with Ever, weren’t you?”

“Fuck, man. How do you do that?” Cade slammed his empty bottle to the table and shoved his hands through his hair. “Are you fucking psychic? I can’t keep shit from you.”

Mitch grinned. “Yeah, let’s go with that, and not that it’s written all over your face.”

“I’m in deep, man.”

“I know you are.” Mitch heaved his bulk off the couch and went to retrieve two more bottles from the fridge. He came back, passing one to Cade. “The question is, how can you make it work when our entire coven is against her?”

“I’m not worried about the covens — mine or hers,” Cade told him honestly. “The biggest hindrance to a relationship with Ever is Ever. She’s hot, then she’s cold. She’s into me, then she runs away like I have the plague.”

“Is it just the black magick? That’s why you were asking about it, right?”

Cade nodded. “Yeah. It freaks her out. I don’t know if all dark arts freak her out, or if she just doesn’t understand there are degrees of evil. You would never kill someone with magick.”

Mitch shook his head immediately, and then lifted his chin, staring at the ceiling. “Actually — ”

“Shut the fuck up. You wouldn’t do it.”

Mitch laughed. “Got me. Obviously, I don’t have your power. But if I did, I’d draw lines. I think you have to. I mean, not just with magick. With anything in life.”

They sat in silence, staring at the television screen as players moved across the field, tackling and grappling over a football with single-minded determination.

That was how Cade felt about Ever. He had a single-minded determination to make her realize not only was he good, but he was meant for her.

Chapter 17

EVER

“ARE WE STILL fighting?”

Ever sighed at Meagan’s question. She held her cell to her ear with her shoulder and the steering wheel with one hand as she took the highway into town. She was already five minutes late for work and didn’t have time for this.

“Hold on, I’m driving. Let me put you on the speaker.”

She put a knee on the steering wheel and plugged the auxiliary cable into her phone, cursing her nearly useless left hand. The nerve damage was so extensive she couldn’t feel the object she was holding with anything but her thumb and forefinger. A normal girl could just hold the phone in one hand and drive with the other. She didn’t like the way the plastic felt against her hand. She could hold it; she just preferred not to.

“Ok, done. Can you hear me?” Ever asked.

“Yeah.” Meagan’s voice came through the car’s sound speakers.

Meagan had been her best friend since they were little. But that didn’t mean they always saw eye to eye. “It’s not our first fight, and it won’t be our last.”

“Can this one be over yet?” Meagan sounded like a petulant child.

Ever laughed. “On one condition.”

“Name it.”

Ever opened her mouth to speak, but Meagan cut her off.

“But don’t tell me to drop the issue of Donovan attacking you. I’m waiting for my moment to punch his face off.”

“Cade’s already done that.”

Silence. “Cade punched Donovan? I mean, over something else, right?”

Ever shook her head, even though Meagan couldn’t see her. “Nope. Over me.”

“Whoa.”

“Cade isn’t a bad guy, Meg. So don’t take Donovan’s ignorance out on the rest of the BlackMags.” Ever paused. “If you definitely want to punch Donovan, I won’t stop you since he’s not a BlackMag anymore. But don’t hurt Cade.”

“You really like him.”

Ever’s heart beat faster. “I really do.”

“I’m not gonna say I’m completely okay with it, just because of the bullshit that’s happened in the last couple years,” Meagan told her. “But if you like him, and you think he’ll make you happy, then I’ll support you.”

Stunned, Ever stared at her phone for longer than was safe while driving. She glanced back at the road. “Are you serious?”

“I trust you, Ev. I always will. If your gut instincts tell you Cade is a good guy, then he must be.”

The only explanation Ever had for Meagan’s soft, understanding tone was the ritual she had done last night. It had worked.

Now if only I could figure out what my instincts are telling me, Ever thought irritably.

They chatted a couple minutes longer about their plans for Sunday — Ever’s eighteenth birthday. Both she and Ollie had to work, but they’d managed to get off early enough to meet Meagan and have some girl time to celebrate.

Ever said a hasty goodbye as she parked the car on the street in front of the café. New Brews was the only coffee shop in Coalhaven, which meant it was usually busy. It was just past ten, the lull between the breakfast and lunch crowds.

Ollie was wiping down tables when Ever came in the glass front door, the bell jingling.

“Sorry I’m late!” she said. She inhaled a deep breath of the unique scent that was New Brews: a little bit of sanitizing fluid, a little bit of warmed, sweet pastries, and a lot of coffee.

Ollie chuckled, folding her rag as she followed Ever behind the counter. “You’re always late. You act like it’s a new thing. At this point, we all expect you to be late.”

Ever tucked her purse under the front counter and reached for her apron. “Has it been busy?”

“We were slammed when we opened, but it slowed down pretty fast. As you can see.” Ollie gestured with her rag to the two people sitting in the café, both holding a coffee cup and a book.

“Go take a break.” Ever waved her away, bending down to peek into the pastry case for holes to fill.

“Cool. Do you want anything?”

Ever shook her head, but an image of Cade flashed through her mind. She did want something; it just wasn’t a something Ollie could buy at the local deli.

Her day passed quickly, as it usually did. Ollie ran the register and Ever made the coffee, while their manager Hester circled the shop and cleaned, chatting with customers as she went.

Around six, Ever was alone behind the counter while the other employees washed dishes and restocked in the back. Ollie was off for the day but was sitting at the bar, chatting with Ever about a TV show they both liked. The bell jingled over the door, indicating they had a customer.

Ever stood up from storing a bin of coffee beans beneath the espresso machine, and came face to face with Cade.

He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his fitted blue jeans, a half-smile dancing as he stopped at the counter. He pushed back the hood of his sweatshirt, unzipped over a Game of Thrones T-shirt. His wavy blond hair fell forward around his face, looking silky-soft.

“What are you doing here?” Ever asked when she finally found her voice.

“I was passing time before our date — ”

“It’s not a date,” Ever rushed to add, her eyes darting to Ollie who was staring dumbfounded from her stool.

Cade smirked. “ — and I couldn’t wait any longer. So I came to see you here.” His blue gaze drifted around him, noting the crumbs on the counter and the dingy brown walls. “At work.”

“Some people have to work for a living,” Ever said, grabbing a rag from the sanitizing bucket and scrubbing furiously at the counter. In a matter of ten seconds, he’d made her gooey and then angry. If that’s what a relationship feels like, then no thank you, she thought.

Cade raised a pale eyebrow. “Are you insinuating something?”

Sighing, Ever shook her head. “No. I like working here. Don’t judge this place just because it’s a little worn down.”

“Hey.” Cade reached across the counter and took her hand, rag and all. Ever noted the rope bracelet around his wrist: black with a metal pentagram attached. “I’m not judging. Maybe you don’t judge me on my parents, either?”

“Deal.” Ever gently slid her hand out from under his. “So did you want a drink?”

He lifted his gaze to the chalkboard menu above her head. “What’s good?”

“Um, I like the caramel mocha.”

“I’ll take it.”

Ever knew Ollie was dying to ask the million questions that had popped into her head the moment Cade had walked in. But Ever rang up his order, made his coffee, and waited till he moved to a table by the window before she let Ollie speak a word.

“What on earth is going on?” Ollie hissed, turning her back to Cade. Her lips barely moved, as if she were afraid he’d read them.

Ever followed suit. “I may have agreed to go to a Halloween party with him tonight.”

Ollie gaped. “The Bourdain family Halloween party? You’re going to that?”

Ever nodded. “Is that bad?”

“No, that rocks. It’s all everybody at school has been talking about. They’re super selective about who they invite. They even have bouncers at the door to keep out anybody who didn’t receive one of their fancy invitations.”

“Fancy, huh?” Ever pulled out the coffee basket and dumped the used grounds. “I guess it will be fun.”

“You have to call and tell me all about it,” Ollie gushed, almost lying across the bar. “I’m sooo jealous.”

“Do you want me to ask if you can come?” Ever asked, adding a new filter full of fresh ground coffee to the basket and putting it back above the carafe. “I don’t mind. And believe it or not, I don’t think Cade would, either. He’s…” Ever smiled, glancing across the café. Cade was staring down at a magazine, his long blond hair dangling in his eyes. “He’s sweet.”

“Oh. My. Goddess. Ever!” Ollie shook her head. “You’re so into him. Since when did this happen?”

Ever felt the heat in her cheeks and shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe since forever. I mean, I’ve always had a crush on him.”

“What girl wouldn’t,” Ollie agreed. “He’s gorgeous. But don’t forget who his coven is, Ever. You’re going to have friction from Meagan and the rest of our group.”

“He came to check on me the day Donovan shoved me and… I don’t know. I think there’s a lot more to him than people think.”

Ollie reached across the counter and waggled her fingers until Ever crossed to put her hands on Ollie’s. Her best friend’s face was inscrutable: a mixture of relief and adoration, maybe, which made no sense at all.

“Sometimes, when everybody is caught up in the crap happening between us and the BlackMags, I think we forget that we are all people.” Ollie shook her head. “We get caught up in judging and bad-mouthing, which goes against our core directive to ‘Harm None.’”

Ever nodded her agreement.

Ollie went on. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot the past couple days. And thinking about you and how hard you fight for peace. I agree with you. I think we need to be less judgy. We need to remember there are emotions and experiences behind faces. Just because we’re all a little different doesn’t mean we should be bad to one another. And Cade really does seem like a nice guy. I think you hold back from him — and you judge him — because of everyone around you. Us. Your coven.”

Ollie paused, but Ever didn’t speak.

“Don’t let the judgment of others get in the way of this thing between you two. Okay?” Ollie said softly. “I don’t want to go to that party. I don’t even want you to ask. I want you to go to that party and spend the entire evening getting to know Cade. And when he takes you home at the end at the end of the night, you damn well better kiss him.”

Ever laughed as Ollie shook her gently. “Yes, ma’am.”

Cade must have heard their giggles, because he looked up from the magazine and they locked gazes. With the sunlight coming through the window behind him, he looked like some kind of fallen angel: a halo of dark blonde hair around his sharp features, and shadows hiding his eyes.

Ever felt something pass between them, something she’d never felt before — like fire and ice converging in her veins. The connection between them pulled tighter until it was taut and uncomfortable, holding them together by a sharp thread. She shuddered, watching his breath hitch, and his eyes glaze.

Goddess, Ever. I’ve never wanted something so bad.

Gasping, Ever jerked at the sound of Cade’s voice in her head. She hit an empty paper cup and sent it flying, breaking eye contact with him.

Had she just heard his thoughts?

Holy Hades.

Chapter 18

CADE

WHEN EVER’S SHIFT was over, Cade followed her back to her house and waited patiently in the living room while she got ready.

He waited so long he’d begun to count books on the built-in bookcases, but when she walked into the living room, the end result was spectacular.

The dress looked like it had been sewn expressly for Ever. The lavender material hugged her curves, emphasizing her tiny waist and generous hips. Lace lined the swooping neckline and the cap sleeves, and a pale turquoise sash tied in a bow in the back. To round out the costume, she had a half mask covering the top part of her face. The mask was purple, covered in gold glitter designs. She looked like she’d stepped out of the Victorian era.

Cade stood up, speechless. He had absolutely no words to tell this exquisite creature just how beautiful he thought she was.

“Is it okay?” Ever asked timidly. “I’m not going to look stupid next to everyone else, am I?”

Cade shook his head, coming back to his senses. “No. No, you’re going to outshine everyone else.”

Two pale red circles grew beneath the edge of her mask.

“You look…” Cade shook his head, at a loss for the perfect word. “That dress suits you.”

Ever beamed. “Thanks. Me and Nah found it in the attic.”

“That’s right. I heard your family has owned this property for a long time. Bet there’s some cool stuff up there.”

“I’ll take you to see it sometime.”

Ever grabbed her purse and reached for the front door, yanking it open and grunting with the effort it took to drag the wood across the floor.

“Has it always been like this?” Cade asked, grabbing the door above her head and scraping it all the way open.

Ever shook her head. “No. We got some water damage during the massive storm three years ago. It warped the floor, and the door started doing this. Nah tried to fix it with magick, but it only helped for a day or two.”

“I guess magick isn’t always the answer,” Cade told her with a wink, and then followed her into the evening.

* * *

“DON’T WORRY ABOUT anything,” Cade told Ever as he parked in his driveway. It didn’t look like a parking lot yet; most of the guests wouldn’t arrive until later.

“Are the BlackMags going to be here?” Ever asked in the silence after the engine shut off.

Cade hated the tremor in her voice. “Yes. But they won’t be able to figure out who you are because of the mask. And even if they do, I’ll punch them if they say anything mean to you.”

She giggled. “Thanks, but I wouldn’t want you to.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Non-violence for you.” Cade grinned. “It’s admirable. But sometimes, you just need to punch it out.”

“Maybe if you’re a guy,” Ever teased, reaching for the door handle to let herself out.

“No, wait. Let me.”

Cade pushed open his door and stepped into the cool autumn evening. His mom had the fireplace going; he could smell the crisp scent of burning pine.

“What about your costume?” Ever asked as he opened the door. She’d returned the mask to her face in the time it took him to walk around the car.

Cade paused, caught by how beautiful she was, even with half her face covered. “I’ll change when we get inside. You can come with me.”

As he helped her from the car, he could see round spots of red on her cheeks in the ambient light from the porch. He wasn’t sure if that blush was from the cold or from the thought of him changing near her.

The latter set his heart racing, too.

“You’ll have a great time,” Cade promised, reaching for her hand to escort her up the stairs.

Ever shied away. “Nerve damage,” she said with a shrug, holding up her hand. “It feels weird to be touched. Can you switch me sides? I’d really like to hold your hand.”

Cade hurried to do so, desperate to feel her skin on his, even if it was just her palm. “What happened to your hand?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t stepping out of line.

Ever grimaced. “My dad happened.”

“Your dad did that?” he asked, bristling. Even if she didn’t know Gilles Robidoux was supposedly her father, Cade did. He remembered Lilypad1028’s comment: a thirst for power that surpasses even the love of his family.

“Yeah. He wasn’t a good guy.” Ever smiled sadly. “He went down the wrong road. I don’t even know what really happened, but somehow I was injured. I had five surgeries before I was three years old. If you ever question why I’m so against black magic — ” She lifted her hand, displaying the large, thick scar bisecting her palm, and the claw-like nature of her last three fingers. “ — just remember this.”

Cade couldn’t keep himself from gently taking hold of her wrist and bringing that scar to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to it, marveling at the baby-smooth feeling on his mouth. When he pulled away, Ever’s cheeks were flushed.

“Um. Thanks,” she said, her bi-colored eyes meeting his.

“Do you know your dad?” Cade asked as they resumed their walking. He tried to be nonchalant about it, just a friendly question.

Ever shook her head. “No. My mom refused to even tell me his name for fear he would ‘find me.’ But it’s okay. I’m not sad about it or anything. I don’t want to know him.”

Cade squeezed her hand. There was a battle raging within him over whether or not to tell Ever what he had learned about Gilles Robidoux.

What if he’s wrong? Cade told himself as they took the front steps, Ever holding her skirt up so she wouldn’t trip. What if he just thinks he’s Ever’s dad?

But Cade suspected that was wishful thinking on his part. If Gilles was as evil as Lilypad1028 said — as evil as Cade thought he was — then Cade had no doubt Gilles had been the one who hurt Ever so badly.

Cade greeted his mother with a kiss just inside the door. “Mom, this is my date,” he said, wrapping an arm around Ever’s waist. In a split second decision, he whispered, “This is Ever.”

Ever gasped, her eyes going wide.

“It’s okay,” Cade said, chuckling. “Mom, Ever doesn’t want anyone to know who she is.”

Grace’s wide eyes swept over Ever. “Ever O’Connell. Oh, honey. Your mom used to be one of my closest friends in high school. So long ago.” She leaned in and kissed Ever gently on the cheek. “Tonight, you’ll simply be called ‘The Phantom.’”

“See? My mom’s pretty damn cool,” Cade said, squeezing Ever’s waist. “You wanna be invisible? She’ll help.”

Ever giggled. She met Grace’s gaze and smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Bourdain. Your home is beautiful.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. It’s always more beautiful when my boy is home.” She pinched Cade’s cheek. “Go get dressed, silly! Everyone will be arriving shortly.”

* * *

“I’M SORRY IF my room’s a mess. I wasn’t planning on bringing company up.” Cade slipped a key in his doorknob, and the lock clicked.

“You lock your room?”

Cade paused, realizing for the first time just how strange it was to lock your bedroom in your own house. “I don’t…” He took a deep breath. “I don’t trust my dad.”

“Oh.” Ever laid a hand on his arm and stepped forward, fitting neatly into his personal sphere as if she belonged there. “That’s hard.”

Cade wished there weren’t a sweatshirt between her palm and his bicep. He wanted to feel the softness and warmth of her skin directly on his. With just an innocent touch, she’d set his body on fire. He gazed down at her, so close but not his.

Not yet.

“Yeah. Gotta do what you gotta do, right?” Cade shoved open his door and held out a hand for her to go first. “After you.”

He watched as her gaze traveled the room, and he tried to see it from her point of view. The walls were maroon, making the large space feel cozier, he thought. He had a poster of Cernunnos on one wall, and a naked goddess image on the other. His furniture was a matching set of cherry wood; he had a feeling Ever’s bedroom had mismatched furniture and walls covered in images she loved.

He wanted to see her room. Be there in her space, like she was sharing his now.

“It’s what I expected,” Ever said with a smile.

“If you wanna have a seat, I’m gonna go change.” He pointed to his adjoining bathroom.

He left the door cracked so he could still hear her.

“What’s your costume?” she asked.

He grinned at his reflection as he yanked off his T-shirt. “Something that will look good next to yours.”

“I’m so nervous,” she said, her voice small in the other room. “Will you protect me?”

Cade couldn’t stop the burst of desire he felt at hearing her voice as he stood in his boxers in the bathroom. He wanted nothing more than to walk out there, take off that pretty dress, and make her his. She wasn’t even his girlfriend yet. But something about her made him feel so… primal. Possessive.

“Don’t be nervous,” he answered, shrugging into his shirt and nimbly fastening the buttons. “I won’t leave your side.”

“Promise?”

He was silent as he zipped his pants and tucked in his shirt, his emotions toying with him.

“Cade?”

He squirted some gel in his hands and smoothed his hair back. The finished product looked pretty damn sharp.

He opened the door to find her just on the other side, her pretty face screwed up as if her stomach were in knots.

Gods, he just wanted to hold her. To wipe that worried look off her elfin features, to feel her heartbeat against his.

She gasped. “You look amazing!”

“Bond. James Bond,” he answered, deepening his voice in a corny effort to make her laugh.

He succeeded, and her titter filled the air.

He walked forward, catching her face between his hands. “Never worry around me, Ever. I promise I won’t leave your side. Not now, not ever. I would promise you anything.”

Their gazes locked. Cade wanted to kiss her; he needed to kiss her.

Ever had other ideas. She stepped into his arms, hugging his waist. She didn’t say anything; just held him tight, her cheek pressed to his chest.

She felt so fragile in his arms. She was delicate, like a butterfly. He spread his hands across her shoulder blades, reveling in the warmth of her skin beneath the thin lace of her dress.

This was Ever in his arms. The girl he’d watched for years and never thought he could have.

“You ready?” he asked, gently tugging from her embrace.

She smiled, and it lit up the room. “Yes.”

* * *

CADE WAS ALL-too-aware of Ever on his arm as he escorted her downstairs. The party had already begun — Rémy and Grace Bourdain stood just inside the front door, welcoming guests as they arrived.

“I should introduce you to my father,” Cade murmured as they stepped off the staircase onto polished hardwood floors. “But I don’t want to…” He trailed off, at a loss for how to explain why he wanted to keep Ever away from Rémy.

“Why?” Ever asked when his answer wasn’t forthcoming.

“He’s just over the top.”

“My mother is the same way, so I’m prepared. But how are you going to introduce me without my name?”

He pursed his lips. “Good question. Fake name?”

“Do you think he knows who I am?”

Cade shrugged. “Maybe. Probably.”

“I can’t imagine anyone else in Coalhaven is known for their eye color.” Ever pointed to her mask. Her beautiful eyes were clear and bright — and definitely visible. “It’s probably silly to think no one will know who I am.”

“You do have the most extraordinary eyes,” Cade murmured, touching her jawbone with the backs of his fingers. “I could stare into them for hours and never get tired.”

A red blush crept up her neck, and she glanced at the floor. “Thank you.”

“Here’s what we’re going to do.” He took her hand. “Tonight, your name is Rose, like that chick on the Titanic movie. ‘Cause that dress looks like it came right off the set.”

“I thought the exact same thing,” Ever said, smiling.

Rémy usually cut a suave and sophisticated character, but in his Gomez Addams costume — alongside Grace as Morticia — he looked more so than usual. Not to mention Cade was flabbergasted to see his demure mother in a dress cut so low.

“Father,” Cade greeted Rémy. “This is my date, Rose.”

Rémy smiled his usual false, smarmy grin that he reserved for women. Cade hadn’t paid it any mind until now, standing in front of the man he knew had cheated on his mother. Rémy grasped Ever’s hand and bowed to kiss it. “It is a pleasure, dear Rose.”

Cade had just enough time to think Hey! We faked him! before Rémy straightened and looked straight into Ever’s eyes. His father’s surprise wasn’t nearly as noticeable as Cade’s as he turned an approving look on his son.

He knows. Shit! How did I think this would work?

“Feel free to make yourself at home, Rose. Have a good time tonight.” Rémy bowed, then turned to his next guest.

Cade tried to forget his father’s knowing look as he and Ever helped themselves to appetizers. Rémy hadn’t said anything more in the hour since, so it was possible Cade had misinterpreted it. Maybe his dad had just thought how beautiful Rose was, even in her mask. Maybe he was surprised that Cade had brought someone other than Allie to the party.

Cade introduced Ever to his covenmates as Rose, and watched in amusement as she attempted to hide her eyes from them. To their credit, everyone greeted her with friendliness. They asked her if she was Wiccan, and if she was considering their coven. She responded enigmatically, “I have my own.”

The one exception was Allie.

She approached them as soon as she arrived, cutting a swath through party goers as if she were splitting the tide.

“Hey, handsome.” She slipped an arm around Cade’s waist and squeezed. She was dressed as a Playboy bunny, complete with tuxedo corset, bunny ears, and tail.

“Allie.” He gently pushed her away and indicated Ever. “I’m here with a date.”

Allie did a double take. “Excuse me?”

Cade groaned inwardly. Of course she’s gonna make a scene.

“Can we please talk about this later?” Cade hissed, glancing at Ever. Even though part of her face was concealed, he still noted the amusement.

Allie, however, was not amused. Her glare could have curdled milk as she hauled her arm back to slap him.

He closed his eyes and waited for the impact. He deserved it, and he wasn’t about to block it and accidentally hurt a girl. But the blow never came. He opened his eyes to find Ever’s arm in front of his face, her fingers wrapped tightly around Allie’s wrist.

“If anyone is going to ‘hit’ Cade, it’s gonna be me,” she said, her usually sweet voice deep and strong. “And I don’t mean that literally.”

Cade stared at her, shocked. Not only had she blocked the hit; she’d laid claim to him sexually.

Holy shit.

Allie huffed, yanking her arm from Ever’s grip. She flounced away, her long blonde wig swishing.

Cade couldn’t speak.

Ever smiled sweetly. “Are you thirsty?”

* * *

THE PARTY WAS in full swing. Cade was relieved to have passed the night with no problems beyond Allie’s jealousy, and he was lightened even more by the fact Gilles Robidoux hadn’t shown his face. The niggling fear he would show up had worried Cade for most of the evening. He’d been ready to spirit Ever away the moment Gilles showed his face.

As Ever visited the restroom, Cade waited in the hallway, scrolling through emails on his phone. His father’s voice interrupted him.

“The O’Connell girl.”

Cade looked up, catching his father poised at the end of the hall, his face impassive.

Cade’s heart pounded. He turned back to his phone, closing out his email app as he considered his words. “She’s here with me. Not for you.”

“I am impressed you’ve come to know her so soon. The O’Connells are notoriously wishy-washy.”

Cade raised an eyebrow and shoved his phone in his pocket. “What do you know about them?”

“As much as anybody.” Rémy moved closer, studying him. “Has she shown you her powers? The O’Connells come from a powerful line, son.”

Cade remembered the day of Donovan’s attack, and the way his car had started right up after she’d fiddled under the hood.

“I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary,” Cade lied.

“Keep her close, Cade.” Rémy gripped his shoulder. “Once you gain her trust, I expect you to bring her to Gilles and myself. A union with her could make you invincible.”

Cade gently pulled from his father’s grasp. “Whether Ever has powers or not, that isn’t why I’m with her.”

“Maybe not. But it should be.”

The bathroom door opened down the hall, and Ever appeared, her smile alight as she sought Cade in the darkness.

“I’m not you,” Cade said in French, then turned his back on his dad to rejoin his date.

Chapter 19

EVER

THE EVENING PASSED more smoothly than Ever had imagined it would.

As promised, Cade never left her side. He went a step further and never let go of her hand unless she was shaking someone else’s.

She received several compliments on her dress, and was even complimented indirectly as family, friends, and acquaintances congratulated Cade on his “lovely date.” Cade snuck her two glasses of wine, and she had started to feel strangely at ease. But it wasn’t just the alcohol; it was how Cade made her feel as they danced and chatted. The run-in with Allie hadn’t even ruined her fun. On the contrary, she still felt elated over it.

Ever’s good time came to an abrupt halt when they were approached by a tall, thin blond man with a goatee and hard eyes. He bowed to Ever as he addressed Cade in a thick accent. “Who is your beautiful companion?”

“Tonight, she’s simply ‘The Phantom,’” Cade responded without hesitation.

Ever could hear a note of warning in his voice. He didn’t like this guy.

Cade put an arm around Ever, his grip oddly tight. “This is Gilles Robidoux. He’s a friend of my father’s.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Ever said, though she wasn’t so sure it was a pleasure.

“You have such stunning eyes,” Gilles said, stepping closer. “Tell me, were you born that way?”

“I-I guess so,” Ever answered, tongue-tied. She couldn’t help it — she had to take a step back. He smelled strongly of bourbon, and there was something else about him that unsettled her. A feeling of raw power. It oozed off the man like an odor.

“How quaint.” He straightened, winking at Ever. “I will leave you to enjoy the party. Until we meet again, Miss Phantom.”

* * *

“WHAT DO YOU know about that Gilles guy?” Ever asked, accepting a fresh glass of moscato from Cade.

It was just after eleven, and the party was beginning to wind down. Grace and Rémy Bourdain were seeing people off at the door as the last of the crowd mingled in the foyer.

Cade popped the top on his beer, his eyes downcast for longer than necessary. “Not a lot. Mom doesn’t like him.”

“I don’t like him either.” Ever shuddered, taking a sip of her wine to calm her nerves. Cade still hadn’t looked up from his beer. Did he know something he wasn’t telling her? “He keeps looking at me.”

Cade sidled to his left, blocking her view of Gilles. He grinned, touching her chin. “Now he can’t see you.”

“A much better view,” Ever said with a smile. She glanced over his shoulder and her heart fell. Donovan was veering through the last of the crowd, his gaze on Cade’s head. “Speaking of someone who can’t see me.”

Cade glanced over his shoulder and sighed. “Fuck. Guy’s like a damn boomerang. Toss him away, he just keeps coming back.” Then he caught what she’d said. “Wait. What?”

She smiled and pointed behind him.

“Cade. Dude. Glad I caught you.”

Cade didn’t bother to turn around. “What do you want, Donovan?”

Ever chuckled, staring into Cade’s eyes.

“So I just saw Allie. Well, a while ago, anyway. Dude, are you not hitting that anymore?”

Ever rolled her eyes. “Thinking of you with Allie grosses me out, Cade.”

He shrugged helplessly and mouthed, I’m sorry. Out loud, he said, “No, Donovan. I’m no longer seeing Allie.”

“Can I… do you mind?”

Cade blinked at Ever.

“He wants to ‘hit that.’” Ever grinned.

“Gods, man!” Cade closed his eyes as if he were pushing down the desire to knock the shit out of Donovan. “She’s all yours. Now go the hell away.”

Donovan looked confused, like a golden retriever whose owner had faked throwing a ball. But instead of commenting, he turned and left.

Cade zeroed in on Ever. “You know he can’t see or hear you?”

“I’m so tired.” Ever yawned, covering her mouth with her glass and avoiding his question.

“Are you ready to go?” Cade asked, still eyeing her ruthlessly.

She grinned sheepishly. “I’m sort of an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kinda gal.”

“Come on. I can make you talk in the car.” He took her hand and kissed her fingertips.

As they walked to the car, Ever couldn’t stop thinking about Ollie’s declaration that she had to kiss Cade tonight after the party. What if it wasn’t as amazing as she wanted it to be? What if kissing Cade was a letdown?

“I’m not letting you off the hook, O’Connell,” Cade said as they settled into his muscle car. He grinned at her, a slash of white in the darkness. “How do you know about my spell on Donovan?”

As he put the car into gear and they pulled from the driveway, Ever sighed. “I saw you do it. Well, heard you, anyway. I was studying behind a tree in the courtyard.”

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze on the road ahead. “My father said your family is a powerful line.”

Ever inclined her head. “I think so.”

“So it’s true? You’re a blood witch?”

She held up her good hand and called for her power, the pale blue glow of it dancing around her fingers. It illuminated the car.

Cade took a hand off the steering wheel and entwined his fingers with hers. A red glow flared from his skin, the two colors merging.

Ever’s heart beat as fast as if she were running a marathon, and maybe she was — a marathon that was steadily taking her closer to Cade. She felt his magick deep inside her, a warm breeze that rushed through her soul.

“Your power is phenomenal,” Cade said breathlessly.

Ever shrugged, pulling her hand from his and extinguishing her glow. “Yeah. My nah says I’m ‘destined for greatness.’”

Cade’s magick faded more gently, dimming like a light bulb until the car was inky again. “That sounds like a lot of pressure.”

“It is.”

They were silent for the rest of the ride. Ever felt like a weight had been lifted. Cade finally knew what she did — that they were both natural witches. She wanted to ask him to do ritual with her, to see what kind of amazing things they could accomplish together. But something held her back.

My father said your family is a powerful line.

What if Cade was more like his father than he let on? What if now that he knew, all he would care about was manipulating her for his own designs?

“I had a great time tonight,” Ever said as he escorted her to the door.

“Glad I made you come?”

Ever laughed. “It didn’t take that much convincing.”

She frowned at the dark house. Nah should have been home from work by now. She must have been with Jerome.

“Is your grandmother not home?” Cade asked, as if he could read her mind.

“No.”

“What’s wrong?” Cade reached for her hand.

“I don’t know. I just feel weird.”

He touched her face, his eyes glittering in the dark. “I’ll walk you inside.”

Ever nodded and unlocked the door. She stepped inside, fumbling along the wall for the light switch.

In the split second it took her to step into the dark hallway, the door slammed shut behind her.

She whirled around. “Cade?”

“Ever?” His return call was faint through the thick door. “What happened?”

“That wasn’t you?”

“No.” The door knob jiggled once, and Cade cursed. “Something’s wrong with the door.”

Ever froze, listening. Something didn’t feel right; it was worse now that she was inside. She gently laid her mask and purse on the hall table, and then hit the light switch.

The hall was empty. The familiar Navajo patterned rug glowed merrily on the hardwood floor beneath the soft, warm light. The living room was dark, but nothing seemed out of place. She could hear the dogs barking in the backyard, alerted to her presence by she and Cade yelling at each other through the door.

She reached for the doorknob. The lock wasn’t in place, so Cade should have been able to open it. When she touched the handle, it sparked beneath her fingers. Pain shot up her arm.

Magick.

Panicked, she called to Cade. “I’ll let you in the back door!”

In the kitchen, she switched on the light. Nothing unusual here, either: the coffeemaker silent, the carafe filled with cold coffee leftover from that morning. The two chairs she and Nah had sat in for breakfast were still angled away from the table because they never remembered to tuck them back underneath. The back door was still dead-bolted. Her nah had left the blinds open on the back door, and Cade’s face appeared as she drew near.

Ever hissed and jerked her hand away. The back door reacted the same as the front, sparking sharply beneath her fingers.

Cade grabbed the handle, his face grim, and jerked. The door didn’t budge. He cradled his hand against his chest. “Son of a — !”

“Maybe the cellar door,” Ever suggested, pointing him in the right direction.

Cade opened his mouth to answer, but his gaze drifted over Ever’s shoulder. Shock, then concern, then anger warred on his face. A split second later, he attacked the door, throwing his entire body against the wood and glass.

The hairs on the back of Ever’s neck stood. She stepped backwards, away from Cade’s fury, too scared to turn and face the source of his fear.

“Hello, Ever.”

She whipped around to find Gilles Robidoux standing in her kitchen.

“What are you doing here?” Ever asked, her heart pounding so loud she could barely hear over it.

“I could not speak to you freely with your boyfriend so closely attached to you, my little phantom.” He smiled, a harsh slash across his angular face. He glanced around the kitchen, wrinkling his nose. “This is where your mother chose to raise you? What a shame. You were royalty once.”

Ever backed into the door, where Cade was still desperately trying to get in. But the house had survived a millennium’s worth of storms; it could withstand forces far tougher than a teenage boy.

“Have a seat, Ever. We have much to discuss.” Gilles waved his hand.

Ever didn’t have a chance. She stiffened as his energies entangled her, forcing her forward. She crossed the room under his influence and sat at the table. She tried to fight against his hold on her, but couldn’t. His magick was too powerful.

Before Gilles could speak again, the window on the kitchen door shattered.

Gilles threw up a hand, and all the bits of broken glass paused in mid-air. He twisted his wrist and closed his hand, and the glass melted back into the frame seamlessly, as if it had never been broken. Through the perfectly smooth glass, Ever saw Cade hurl the lawn chair he’d used to break the pane into the yard, cursing furiously.

If Gilles Robidoux is this powerful, I don’t have a prayer, Ever thought, trying not to hyperventilate. She took a deep breath. Play along. Put him at ease so he’ll let you go.

Nah says you’re strong. Believe it.

“What do we have to discuss?” Ever asked.

Gilles sat down across from her. “You and I, ma chère.”

Ever couldn’t suppress the wave of disgust that crested through her. “Aren’t I a little young for you? Legally?”

Gilles looked stricken. His magickal hold on her loosened. “Ah, no, ma chère. I do not mean romantically. I take it you do not know who I am.”

“I just met you,” Ever snapped.

“I am your father, child.”

Ever gripped the table for support. She couldn’t speak as she stared at him, searching his face for proof. She saw it in the shape of his eyes and the curve of his jaw. Ever was definitely her mother’s daughter, but this man looked as if he could be her father.

“I don’t believe you. Can you prove it?”

He laughed, as maliciously entertained by the situation as she was horrified by it “You don’t need to believe me. I know it is the truth.”

“If you’re my father, what was the worst thing you ever did to me?” She covered her useless left hand. Though her mother had never told her how it happened, Ever had always known her father was to blame.

“I let your mother keep you away, and thus kept you from becoming the great witch you are capable of being.” Gilles cleared his throat. “Lily has kept you from me for far too long. Now it is my turn. If you wish to take any belongings, I suggest you pack a bag now.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Ever said through gritted teeth as she stood, fighting against the tenuous hold he had on her. She held out her bad hand. “Did you know you maimed me?”

Gilles stood as well and came to her side so fast she didn’t see him move. She let him take her hand and inspect the damage, even though the sensation of someone else touching the sensitive skin made her stomach roil.

She realized she hadn’t heard any noise from the back door since Gilles had cleaned the glass before it hit the floor. She glanced at the darkness outside — Cade was nowhere in sight, though the dogs still barked.

“I did this?” Gilles asked, catching her gaze.

Ever didn’t like the regret she saw in his eyes. If he exhibited any signs of human emotion, her own compassion would get in the way. After eighteen years of pretending her father didn’t exist, she wanted to keep doing so. “Mom says you did.”

“Why hasn’t she healed you?” He cupped her hand between his palms.

As his magick washed over her skin, Ever said, “She’s tried. So has Nah.”

Suddenly, the lights blinked out.

“What?” Gilles let go of her hand.

Thunder shook the house, and the first drops of rain began to hit the windows.

“Thunderstorms. What’re you going to do?” She thanked her lucky stars for the opportunity. She turned her voice personable, pretending to be at ease with him. “We have a flashlight in the closet. Wait one sec.”

She moved away from him, feeling for the closet. The further she got from him, the weaker his spell’s hold on her became.

“The lights go out here a lot,” Ever said to distract him. “It’s an old house, you know.”

“Why would you not simply magick the house alight?” Gilles scoffed. “Your mother. Always so barbaric.”

Ever clenched her jaw, locating the heavy MagLite. “Magick isn’t always the answer.”

“Sweet girl. I have so much to teach you. So much harm your mother has done that needs undoing.”

Mom never harmed me the way you did, Ever thought. She hit the button on the flashlight, her heartbeat speeding up. She found Gilles’ gray outline in the ambient light, then turned the beam on his face.

“You’ll never teach me anything.”

Gilles threw his arms up to shield his eyes, and Ever used the opportunity to leap to his side and bring the flashlight down on his head.

Gilles buckled to the floor, his skull bouncing on the linoleum.

In the same instant, another burst of thunder shook the house. The lights flickered back on, and Cade burst through the basement door.

Chapter 20

CADE

EVER STOOD OVER a bleeding — and definitely unconscious — Gilles. Her eyes were as big as saucers, and she still brandished a huge, black MagLite over her head like a club.

After the absolute horror of being stuck outside unable to protect her, Cade did a double-take at the scene before him.

“Obviously, you’ve got this,” he said with a grin.

Ever burst into hysterical laughter. Cade was sure she had to be working through some serious stress. As he knelt beside Gilles and checked for a pulse, Ever stopped long enough to squeak, “Did I kill him?”

“No. But you probably should have.” Cade stood and crossed to her, taking the flashlight from her shaking hands and setting it on the counter. He cupped her face in his hands, checking her for marks. “Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head, blinking fast. “No. Not really.”

“What happened?”

She gripped his arms, her gaze falling to the prone Gilles. “He says he’s my dad.”

Cade’s jaw clenched. “There’s no way you came from that. I can’t believe it.”

Ever laughed bitterly. “You haven’t met my mom. He’s exactly the sleazy kind of guy she would fall for.” She sucked in a deep breath. Her bi-colored eyes were glassy. “Oh, Gods. What if he really is my dad?”

“Hey.” Cade took her chin in his fingers and forced her to look at him. “Even if he is, it doesn’t mean anything. You are a beautiful person, Ever. No matter who your parents are or what mistakes they’ve made.”

Ever looked at him as if her entire world hung in the balance, and he was the only thing keeping her from cascading over the edge.

Cade swallowed hard as he wrapped her hair around his fingers. His heart was in his throat as he tugged her close and kissed her.

Every missing piece fell into place as her lips moved against his.

She felt solid, warm, and real in his arms. Her small hands drifted over his chest and her soft curves sank into him. She yielded to him, her lips parting so the kiss could deepen. Cade reveled in the feeling of her tongue against his, in the aggressive way she returned the kiss as if she couldn’t get close enough to satisfy her need for him. His body reacted swiftly to the feel of her pressing against him. She belonged there and always had.

They were interrupted by a pained moan, and Gilles shifted on the floor.

Cade broke the kiss reluctantly and hurled a sleeping curse at the man.

“Don’t curse him!” Ever said, swatting Cade on the arm as Gilles’ head fell back to the floor. He snored loudly, the curse already cast. Ever glared at Cade.

Cade lifted an eyebrow. “You’d rather I knock him out with a MagLite?”

She bit her lip, obviously trying not to laugh. “Smut, Cade. If you’re going to be my boyfriend, we have to get rid of the smut on your soul. You’re better than that.”

Cade’s heart skipped a beat. He slipped an arm around her waist and dragged her against his chest. “Boyfriend?”

Pink blush suffused her cheeks. “If you want.”

“I’ve never wanted anything more.” He kissed her, slow and soft, then pulled away and sighed. “Let’s call the police and get this dude carted out of here before we give him permanent brain damage.”

* * *

IT WAS NEARLY two in the morning before the police drove away with a still unconscious Gilles Robidoux. Cade left Ever in her grandmother’s capable hands and drove home.

The house was quiet; both his mom’s sedan and his dad’s Hummer were in the driveway and the porch light was off. He took the stairs to the second floor, thankful to be home. It had been a long day and an emotional rollercoaster. His feelings for Ever were confusing enough without adding a life-threatening situation and sleep deprivation on top of them. He was on the verge of passing out.

He couldn’t decide whether or not he was mad at himself for not telling Ever that he’d known about Gilles. Why had he kept it a secret? Lack of opportunity to mention it, maybe. Lack of conviction. Or some macho-man desire to protect her.

Without warning, the doors to his father’s office flew open as he passed. Cade felt tendrils of his father’s power encircle him, lifting him off the floor as if he weighed nothing. He flew across the hall and through the office doors, incapable of fighting the power.

“Insolent brat!” Rémy snapped, flicking his fingers towards the carpet.

The magick tossed Cade to the floor. He was frozen in place, unable to lift his hands to break his fall. His head slammed against the worn runner and stars burst in his vision. His breath whooshed from his chest.

Rémy’s face appeared over him. “How dare you interfere?”

Cade stared up, trying to regain his bearings. His father’s magick draped over him like a lead blanket, anchoring him so securely to the floor he felt as if he couldn’t breathe. It took him a moment to register Rémy’s French, and then he managed to gasp out. “What did I do?”

“You will speak en français!” Rémy roared.

Cade was too addled by the blow to his head to realize he’d spoken in English. Obeying his father, he repeated, “Qu’ai-je fait?”

“Gilles is behind bars because of you, and I am left to clean up the mess.” Rémy rubbed his brow, walking away.

“He was trying to kidnap Ever,” Cade argued.

He should have known better.

Rémy’s magick bore down on him, squeezing his breath from his lungs. The pressure increased until Cade felt as if he would burst. He cried out.

“Ever is his to take, just as you are mine to punish!” Rémy snapped. “You were told you would be helping Gilles. Little did I know, you’d already built a relationship with the bitch. If I’d have known, it would have saved us much trouble this night.”

Fury filled Cade. “Don’t speak of her that way.”

The pain became blinding.

“And you do not talk back!” Rémy screamed. “You are to obey me without question, Cade. Tonight, you have failed me, and you have failed my oldest friend. Once he is free, you will hand him Ever O’Connell and you will do it with a smile on your face.”

Cade could barely speak through the intense pressure, his gaze on the dark wood ceiling above him. “Ne-ver.”

“Do not fight me, son.” Rémy’s tone fell low and dangerous. “You will never win.”

“She’s mine.” Cade’s declaration exploded between them with the force of a nuclear weapon. In an instant, Rémy’s anger became a living thing.

Cade sailed through the air, able only to close his eyes before he hit the ceiling. His world turned into a blur around him as he flew, crashing into the walls, the furniture, and then to the floor once more.

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he gasped for breath through Rémy’s intense pressure. He couldn’t move his arms or legs to make sure they weren’t broken, but everything hurt.

Rémy came into view, his face twisted into a snarl. He lifted a palm and squeezed his hand into a fist. Cade cried out at the vise-like feeling around his middle.

“You will never stand against me again, my son.” Rémy dropped his hand and the pressure disappeared.

Cade struggled to breathe as his father left the room. It took him numerous tries to finally get to his feet. He stood in the dim office, lit only by a crackling fire in the grate, and tried to take stock of his injuries.

A broken wrist. Broken ribs: two or three, he couldn’t tell. His entire body ached as if he’d been put in a blender and pureed on high.

He closed his eyes, reaching for his power. It took everything in him to heal the broken bones, so there was nothing left for the general aches and pains. He stumbled from the office, using the wall to hold himself up.

In his room, he popped some painkillers and grabbed a duffel bag from the closet. He didn’t pack much — just the essentials and a couple outfits for school. His phone was destroyed in his pocket: the screen shattered from Rémy’s punishment. He tossed it in the trash, grabbed his laptop, and left.

* * *

MITCH OPENED THE door after about five minutes of Cade pounding on it.

“What are you doing here, man?” Mitch rubbed his bleary eyes. He still smelled of beer and pot from the party. “You look like shit. What happened?”

Cade rested against the doorframe for a moment. His head felt heavy enough to knock him off his feet. “I fucking knocked forever. You’re impossible to wake up.”

“I’m shitfaced, man.” Mitch stepped forward, his shorter frame fitting comfortably under Cade’s arm. “I got you. Come on.”

Cade leaned on his best friend, taking careful steps into the trailer.

“Did you piss off the old man?” Mitch asked, gently helping him onto the couch.

“Apparently.” Cade let his head fall back onto the cushions and shoved his duffel bag onto the floor. Nothing had ever felt so good as Mitch’s threadbare couch did right then. “Can I stay here?”

“Yeah, man. You wanna beer?”

That was Mitch’s answer for everything. Cade managed to chuckle, though it hurt. “No. I just want to sleep.”

Mitch stood silently for a moment, studying him. “Is that a good idea? You’ve got a killer bruise on your head. What if you have a concussion?”

Cade touched his forehead; it was tender. It was also a miracle his dad hadn’t shattered his skull. “I don’t have a concussion. I healed what I could. I just need rest to get some of my strength back.” Cade kicked off his shoes and reached for the folded blanket on the back of the couch. “I’ll be fine.”

Sometime during the night, Cade awoke, his body seizing. He felt as if he were outside himself, watching as his limbs jerked. He tried to call for Mitch but was barely able to grunt. He had no control over his muscles as they trembled violently.

Cade rolled from the couch, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. He didn’t even feel the pain of the impact, but he hoped it was loud enough to wake Mitch.

A moment later, Mitch’s heavy steps moved through the room and beefy hands gripped his arms.

“Cade? Cade!”

Then he remembered nothing else.

Chapter 21

EVER

EVER SAT OVER breakfast Sunday morning, reliving every moment of her night with Cade.

She’d imagined kissing Cade a thousand times and a thousand different ways, but none of them had involved an unconscious body nearby. Despite the circumstances, goddess, how that kiss had affected her: she’d been utterly weak-kneed, turned into a puddle of goo beneath his touch. She’d never felt so sexy, so wanted.

Just recalling it tugged at things low in her body.

She unlocked her phone and pulled up her text messages. She sent just a simple one: Thinking of you.

“Ever, honey? You’re in outer space.”

Ever shook herself. Heat rose in her face as she realized she’d been fantasizing about Cade’s hot body at the breakfast table with her nah. That was classy. Also awkward.

“Sorry,” Ever said, locking her phone and setting it face down on the table.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Nah asked softly.

She had a feeling her grandmother wasn’t talking about Cade. Ever had been so quiet and pensive, she hadn’t realized how it would look to Nah — like she was obsessing over nearly being kidnapped.

She moved her fork around her plate, separating piles of egg from pieces of gravy-soaked biscuit. She’d been so focused on Cade this morning, she’d nearly forgotten about Gilles Robidoux. “Is he really my dad?”

Nah swiveled her coffee mug on the table, seeming to search for words. “I believe so, honey. The name is right. I never met the man. I just picked up the pieces when you and Lily showed up on my doorstep.”

“Why has Mom never told me about him?”

Nah raised an eyebrow. “After last night, you still need to ask that question?”

Good point, Ever thought wryly. She hadn’t wasted a lot of her childhood wondering about her biological father. Nah had done a great job being both Mom and Dad for her. But now she definitely understood her mother’s adamant silence.

“What’s going to happen now?” Ever asked.

“The lawyer is handling it. I am going to press charges.” Nah chuckled. “It happened in the last thirty minutes of your seventeenth year, so I can still do that.”

Oh yeah, Ever thought, startled. It was her birthday. She’d gotten so caught up in Cade and the party that it had slipped her mind. “Did you tell Mom what happened?”

Nah sighed, staring at her coffee. “She isn’t answering my calls today. You know how your mother can be.”

Ever nodded sadly. She knew exactly how her mother could be.

She flipped open her phone to see if Cade had responded, but he hadn’t. She made a face. It had only been a couple minutes. Maybe he was still asleep.

“I take it the party went well before a lunatic tried to kidnap you?” Nah’s gaze was knowing. Too knowing. Ever had no idea how the woman always seemed to figure out everything.

Ever wasn’t sure she could flush hotter. “Yeah.”

“Cade seems like a nice boy,” Nah went on, then took a sip of her coffee before speaking again. “Although I do wish you had just told me you were going to the Bourdains’.”

“I thought you would be mad.”

“Sweetheart, the only thing that makes me mad is when you’re dishonest with me.” Nah turned a page in the newspaper and picked up her scissors. “Fifty cents off Fruit Loops. You like those, right?”

Ever nodded. “What was it like when you and Dah did magick together?”

Nah chuckled, the scissors clicking beneath her precise ministrations. “It was something else, honey. We were beyond powerful when we were together. And Lord and Lady, when we…” She trailed off, her brown gaze snapping up to Ever’s waiting look. “That’s not quite something I should share with a teenager. Much less my granddaughter.”

Ever rolled her eyes. “Nah, I just turned eighteen.”

Nah’s face went gooey. “Oh, honey. You’re growing up so fast.”

Sometimes that felt true to Ever. Other days, she felt so young and naïve she feared she’d never be a “grown up.”

“I kissed Cade last night.”

Nah nodded. “I could tell.”

Ever gave her a questioning look.

“Your dah and I were invincible when we made love. We could move mountains. We once did move this poor house off its foundations.” Nah chuckled, selecting another coupon to cut out. “Two natural witches together is as wonderful as it is dangerous, Ever. Cade’s magick swirled around you last night as if it wanted to make you his. He’s powerful in his own right. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

Ever remembered the naked emotion on Cade’s face as they’d broken from their kiss. “I’ll be careful.”

* * *

OLLIE CORNERED EVER in the back room the moment she arrived. Her red apron was covered in chocolate sauce, and she even had a splash of it on her cheek. She swiped her wild blonde curls from her face and planted her hands on her hips. “First — happy birthday. Second — so?”

Ever smiled, shoving her purse in her locker. “So?”

“Oh, for goddess’ sake, woman. Tell me what happened!” Ollie threw her arms in the air. “Tell me you kissed him and the world moved.”

“The world is always moving. It orbits the sun.”

Ollie glared. “You know what I mean. I need to live vicariously through you, Ever.”

“I have those shoes,” Ever remarked.

“I have that necklace,” Ollie shot back, pointing to the turquoise arrowhead around Ever’s neck. “Now give me something to talk about.”

Ever laughed. “Yes, I kissed him. It was earth-shattering. If there weren’t other — ” Ever paused, “ — things happening, I don’t know that I would have ever stopped kissing him.”

Ollie sighed. “I’m jealous.”

“Don’t be jealous.” Ever draped her apron around her neck and wrapped the strings around her waist, reaching behind her back to tie it. “Out of all two hundred guys in the senior class, I’m sure someone has a crush on you. They’re just not brave enough to show it.”

“I think you’re brave for letting it happen with Cade.”

Ever shook her head. “It wasn’t me. It was him. I tried my hardest to keep him away. He’s stubborn.”

“There’s something to be said for determination. So what other things happened last night that kept you from kissing him forever?” Ollie asked, following Ever onto the floor.

Ever caught her interested gaze, and for a moment, considered spilling everything. But this was too… close. She loved Ollie; she’d loved her from the moment she met her. But she’d just met the girl two months before when Ollie moved to Coalhaven. And really, what did she know about her? If Ever spilled the story to her — minus the magick — would Ollie judge her because of who her father was?

“Just family stuff,” Ever finally said.

Ollie rolled her eyes. “Don’t I know it. I haven’t seen Dad in days. He’s constantly doing work stuff. Sometimes I wonder if I even have a father.”

“What does he do again?” Ever pulled the bucket of espresso beans from beneath the counter to fill the bean hopper on the machine. She was pretty sure Ollie had told her once, but it hadn’t seemed like a big deal to her, so Ever hadn’t remembered.

“He’s an ‘entrepreneur.’” Ollie snorted, shaking her head. She took the bucket, now empty of beans, and headed for the kitchen. “I tell you what he’s not — he’s not a good dad.”

Ollie played it off like she was joking, but the undercurrent in her tone made it clear she was harboring some pretty harsh feelings towards her dad at the moment.

Ever could sympathize.

* * *

AROUND FOUR, MEAGAN burst into the café with her usual panache and sidled up to the counter. She wore an ungodly short miniskirt that showed off her unending ebony legs and a demure cardigan that gave her overall look an effect bordering on bipolar.

“How does she take sex and make it so sweet?” Ollie asked Ever, tossing her used rag into the sanitizer bucket as Meagan draped her torso over the counter.

Meagan grinned. “It takes talent.” She whipped an envelope from her purse and slapped it down in front of her. “Look what I found on my doorstep this morning.”

Ever picked up the card. It had a cartoon basketball on the front. She opened it and held it up so both she and Ollie could see. “I think your hot and cool,” Ever read out loud. She made a face. “What?”

Ollie took the card from her hands. “Is this, like, a secret admirer card or something?”

Meagan threw her hands into the air. “I guess. But what a lame secret admirer! ‘I think your hot and cool.’ He didn’t even spell ‘you’re’ correctly!”

Ever laughed, noting the very distinct ‘your’ written in chicken scratch. “Not to mention the different meaning of ‘cool.’ He thinks you’re hot as in sexy, but you’re cool as in awesome.”

Meagan took the card from Ollie’s fingers with a groan. “Thanks for making sure I understood, you dork. What am I supposed to do?” She shook the card so furiously Ever worried it would fly from her hands.

“Be grateful?” Ollie offered. “I wish I had a secret admirer.”

Megan groaned. “But he can’t even get his grammar right.”

“Glass houses,” Ever told her, giving her a look. “You almost failed English last year. Or have you conveniently forgotten my tutoring sessions?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Ever laughed. “Meg, it’s neat. Whoever he is, he’s reaching out to let you know he’s into you. Maybe if you make yourself more available, he’ll feel comfortable enough to let you know who he is.”

“What if he’s ugly?”

Ollie slapped Meagan’s arm. “Don’t be a jerk. What if he’s not?”

Ever nodded in agreement. “Be open to the possibilities.”

“I’m open to a cider spice latte,” Meagan said with a sweet smile.

“You’re incorrigible,” Ever told her, and then moved to the bar to make her drink.

As Ever waiting for the cider to steam, she checked her phone for the fifth time since texting Cade that morning. Her messages were sadly empty. Where was her not-so-secret admirer?

* * *

OLLIE AND MEAGAN had been planning her birthday evening for weeks, but by the time she got off work at six, Ever’s heart wasn’t in it. She sat through the movie, checking her phone more times than she wanted to admit. All through dinner at her favorite pizza joint, she managed to laugh and pretend her mind wasn’t on Cade. It was easier when she opened their thoughtful gifts: a hand-knitted scarf decorated in stars from Ollie and a thick piece of purple quartz fashioned into a lamp from Meagan.

By the time she got home, Ever was exhausted. She’d been up all night and then worked all day, and she still had homework to do before bed. She only half paid attention to her studies, her mind stuck on Cade’s silence and everything that had happened the night before.

It was late when she crawled beneath the covers, but she tried her mother’s number anyway.

After several rings, Lily answered the phone, her large, vivid blue gaze taking control of the computer screen. “Hey, baby.”

“What are you doing?” Ever asked, tears pooling in her eyes.

“Nothing much.” Lily paused, staring intently at Ever. “What’s wrong?”

“Something happened.” Ever’s voice cracked on the words. She sniffled, trying to compose herself.

Lily waited. She wasn’t a pushy mom; she never had been. The problem with that was Ever sometimes wanted Lily to be pushy. Why couldn’t she be nosey and overbearing? Dig into Ever’s life like a bloodhound?

“Who is Gilles Robidoux?” Ever asked.

Her mother’s gasp echoed across the ocean. Lily covered her mouth, something akin to terror on her face. Her voice was muffled as she asked, “How do you know that name?”

“Because he’s here. In Coalhaven.”

Lily moved her hand down resting her palm beneath her collarbone as if holding her heart in her chest. “No. How did he find us?”

Anger hit Ever with the ferocity of an August thunderstorm. “What us?” she snarled. “You’re all the way across the world. He found me. And you didn’t even bother to give me any warning. You gave me nothing to prepare myself for how dark he was.”

“What did he do, Ever?”

Lily didn’t seem perturbed by her daughter’s anger at all. Ever was fiercely pissed off by her mother’s nonchalance, by the almost ambivalent way she asked for details. As if she were categorically recording events outside herself; as if being halfway across the world made last night’s situation less dire somehow.

Ever shook her head, biting back her fury. “You know what? You can ask Nah about it. I’m going to bed.”

She disconnected the call and shut down her laptop, a sob escaping her. The sound was loud in her silent room. It startled the dogs from their slumber at the end of her bed.

That first sob set off the rest. Ever cuddled beneath her blankets, hiding her face as the tears came. She couldn’t remember a time her mother hadn’t been absent. Nah had done well as a stand in, but she shouldn’t have had to do that. Lily should have been there every day, teaching Ever magick, protecting her from the darkness in the world.

She checked her phone one more time. Still no word from Cade.

Chapter 22

CADE

CADE SURFACED FROM sleep, woozy and muddled.

The first thing he saw was his mother’s face. Her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. Traces of mascara were inked onto her pale cheeks. She swiped at her face and stood, coming to his bedside to take his hand. Her fingers trembled around his, frail and cold.

“Sweetheart.” She touched his face, then moved her hand to his forehead, testing his temperature. Her palm was cool. Cade closed his eyes, letting her magick wash over him.

“Where am I?” he asked, his voice little more than a croak. He cleared his throat and moved to brush the sleep from his eyes. His hand was connected to clear plastic tubing that led to a machine by his bedside.

“You’re in the hospital,” Grace told him. “Mitch says you had a seizure in the middle of the night. You fell off the couch and woke him up. He called an ambulance.”

“Is he okay?”

Grace nodded. “Yes. I sent him home to get some rest. He’s been with you all day.”

“I hurt,” Cade murmured, closing his eyes. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“You had internal bleeding when you got here, but no outward signs of injury,” Grace said softly. “Baby, what happened?”

Cade stared at his mom. He could see heartbreak on her face, all because he was in a hospital bed with strange injuries. If he told her what had happened, exactly why he’d been hospitalized for internal injuries, her heart would shatter. He wasn’t sure he had the strength to witness that. Not right now, floating on a cloud of pain meds.

“They gave you this.” Grace picked up a button connected to the IV by a long, gray cord. “It’s to self-administer your pain meds. It will let you do it every half hour.”

Cade pushed the button and let it fall to the sheets. “I’m tired.”

“Then sleep, my love.”

* * *

WHEN HE AWOKE again, his mother was gone, and Mitch sat by his bedside.

“Hey, man.” Cade gently shoved himself upwards, searching for a comfortable way to lay that didn’t make him feel as if Mitch were staring down at him.

“How’s it going?” Mitch asked.

The football player wasn’t one for emotions, so the worry in his gaze threw Cade.

“Am I dying?” Cade joked.

Mitch laughed, the sound a little uncomfortable. “Nah, man. But you scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry.” He paused, considering his friend. “You didn’t tell my mom what happened?”

Mitch shook his head. “Not my story to tell.”

“Good.” Cade rubbed his face, trying to wipe away the memory of his dad’s punishment. “What the fuck kind of witch am I if I can’t even heal myself?”

Mitch shifted in his chair. “Don’t blame yourself. This is all your dad’s fault.”

“I zapped myself last night trying to heal my injuries. I thought I’d managed to…” Cade trailed off. He didn’t need to say what he was thinking — that his dad had hurt him worse than he had thought.

Mitch was uncharacteristically quiet. It wasn’t that he was a talker; it was just that his one and two word sentences usually occurred more regularly than this.

“Dude…” he finally said.

Cade lifted an eyebrow.

“Your dad… I don’t know, man. I think maybe you need to talk to your mom, and you guys need to get out.”

“You disagree with the way he handled things?”

Mitch nodded once.

Cade sighed. “Me, too. Maybe I’m done making excuses for him. Maybe I’m done making excuses for everybody.” He closed his eyes and nestled into the pillows. “It’s hot in here.”

“I got you.”

Cade listened to the sound of Mitch walking to thermostat and adjusting it. A moment later, the unit kicked on, and cool air began to blow into the room.

When Mitch sat back down, his presence close and comforting, Cade said, “Hey, Mitch. Thanks.”

He didn’t mean just for the thermostat, and Mitch got that without prompting.

“Anytime.”

* * *

CADE SLEPT AWAY the evening on a cloud of painkillers. Grace returned at some point and helped him eat, and Mitch’s mom stopped by to see him just before visiting hours ended.

An obvious absence in the shape of his father made Cade that much angrier. Surely he knew. Surely Grace had told him.

Had his mother deduced what Rémy’s absence meant?

Cade slept through the night, and when he was awakened just after seven by a woman checking his vitals, he felt better. The cute, auburn-haired nurse remarked on how good he looked and then left the room.

After she was gone, Cade eyed his mom. “What’d you do to me while I was sleeping?”

Grace gave him a benign smile. “Nothing you wouldn’t have done for me, sweetheart.”

Cade’s mom wasn’t one to use her powers often. When she did, it depleted her energy so much she needed more time to recuperate than most blood witches.

“You didn’t need to do that,” he told her sternly.

“Oh, because you had energy enough to do it yourself?”

Cade rolled his eyes. “I just needed a good night’s sleep.”

“Well, now you’ve had a good night’s sleep and a healing.” Grace smiled as she adjusted his blankets. “And maybe now you’ll tell me what happened. Was it Ever?”

“No! Damn, Mom. Of course it wasn’t Ever. She wouldn’t even hurt a spider.” Cade groaned, grabbing a pillow and crushing it to his face. “I’m going to take a nap.”

“You can’t keep it from me forever, Cade.”

He didn’t respond.

Chapter 23

EVER

BY NOON MONDAY, when she hadn’t heard from Cade, and he didn’t show up at school, Ever was worried.

“You haven’t heard from him at all since Saturday night?” Ollie whispered.

They were in the girls’ bathroom on the third floor. Ever had needed to voice her concerns to a sympathetic ear. She couldn’t very well share her angst with Meagan, not with the grudge that girl still held against the BlackMags — and by association, against Cade. So after Ever and Ollie shoveled down lunch, they’d sought out some privacy. Students from the cafeteria overran the larger, first floor bathroom. But the science and math classes on the third floor were still hard at work, so the bathroom up there was empty.

“Nothing. I texted him a couple times yesterday, and now he’s not here today.” Ever shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. Her sweater wasn’t keeping her warm. “What if something happened to him?”

“Why would something happen to him?” Ollie asked, confused.

Ever still hadn’t told her about Gilles Robidoux and the events that happened late Saturday night. A niggling fear kept her from mentioning it. Ollie might worry too much, or tell the wrong people, or judge Ever for having such an evil father.

“I don’t know,” Ever lied. “Just sometimes people get hurt, I guess.”

“Do you think he would call you if something happened?”

Ever shrugged. “I thought we hit it off. He said he would call me.”

Ollie wrinkled her nose. “Most guys say that.”

“I don’t think Cade is most guys.”

“Most girls say that.”

“Don’t make me punch you.”

“Maybe he’s feeling under the weather,” Ollie conceded. “I know when I’m sick, I don’t want to do anything but sleep. He’ll call soon.”

Ever nodded, hoping Ollie was right. As hard as Cade had fought to convince her to go out with him, she would be crushed if he’d been dishonest about his intentions. She always wanted to give people the benefit of the doubt, never more so than now.

* * *

IN THE TEN-MINUTE break before sixth period, Allie accosted Ever in the hallway.

Ever had never really spoken to the girl. Even before Allie joined the BlackMags, she had run with a different crowd. Their semi-hostile exchange at the party Saturday night was the sum total of their interaction with one another.

Allie was all arms, legs, and bare skin in her black skinny jeans and tank top. The ripped piece of fabric that functioned as a long-sleeved shirt over the tank wasn’t much protection against the cold outside. It was a night-and-day difference next to Ever’s rainbow sweater dress and cream-colored leggings. Not for the first time, Ever wondered how on earth Cade had gone from that girl to her.

Allie jabbed a finger into Ever’s chest. “Stupid bitch. It’s your fault Cade’s in the hospital!”

Ever’s entire body went cold. “What did you say?”

“I don’t know what you did, but Mitch says it’s your fault. And you’re gonna pay.” Allie moved closer, hovering over Ever.

Ever was short, and Allie was tall, so the girl loomed over her by more than a head. There wasn’t much substance to her, but she was intimidating anyway.

Ever took a step back, irritated that her knees were so wobbly. Don’t let her bully you, she reprimanded herself.

“I didn’t do anything,” Ever said, even though it wouldn’t sway Allie’s ire.

“Yes, you did!” Allie shoved her with both hands.

Ever stumbled backwards, her magick bubbling up inside. It did that sometimes in tense situations, as if it had a mind of its own and wanted to protect her. She tamped it down.

“Hey!” A yell came from down the hall.

Crap. Ever whipped around.

Meagan sprinted towards them. She looked like an undercover superhero, racing to the rescue in blue jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. She jumped between Ever and Allie, snarling at the latter. “What are you doing?”

Allie crossed her arms over her chest and stood her ground. “It’s Ever’s fault Cade’s in the hospital.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.” Meagan squared up against the girl, who cowered against her bigger bulk. “Walk away.”

“Fuck off, Stauble. This isn’t your fight.”

Meagan gripped Allie’s shirt in one hand. “If it has to do with my coven, then it’s my fight.”

Over Meagan’s shoulder, Ever could see the fear on Allie’s face. But the BlackMag must have been a glutton for punishment, because she jerked from Meagan’s grasp and let loose with a punch.

Even Ever could tell the punch was mistimed and misaimed. Allie’s fist connected with Meagan’s lower jawbone, and Meagan barely flinched as she returned the favor with much more force and skill.

Allie hit the ground, blood spurting from her nose.

This is getting out of hand, Ever thought, grabbing Meagan’s arms before she could leap on top of Allie and do more damage.

It was no use. Allie was on her feet and coming at Meagan before Ever could even speak. At that point, Ever stepped back, threw up her hands, and remarked, “Dig your own grave.”

The fight was unevenly matched. Ever stayed long enough to enjoy Meagan’s technique and Allie’s screeches; then she turned her back and left.

* * *

EVER BROKE EVERY speed limit on the highway between her school and the hospital one county over. She’d have some serious explaining to do with Nah when her sixth period teacher reported her absent, but she had to get to Cade.

It was completely irrational. She knew it was. What was Cade to her? A dinner date and a Halloween party did not make them a couple. There had been an earth-shattering kiss, and a brief conversation about Cade being her boyfriend. Lord and Lady knew Ever was smitten. But that didn’t mean Cade wanted her to intrude.

When she reached the hospital, she pulled into an empty spot so quickly her tires squealed. She rushed across the asphalt, oblivious to the cold, and skidded to a stop at the nurse’s station. She spilled Cade’s name so fast the nurse simply blinked at her.

“Cade Bourdain,” Ever repeated, her heart pounding.

The nurse tapped slowly on her keyboard. Ever had to force herself to stay planted on the linoleum when all she wanted was to jump the counter and do it herself. He was in this hospital; he was so close she imagined she could feel him.

“He’s in 412,” the nurse finally said.

Ever hurried down the hall and jabbed the button to the elevator. She cursed it for moving so slowly as it carried her to the fourth floor. She had no idea what to expect.

The door to his room was open. She jerked to a stop just inside, her heart clenching in her chest as her gaze landed on Cade.

He was asleep on the hospital bed, one hand connected to an IV stand and the other resting over his stomach. His shaggy hair was splayed across the pillow like an arc of sunlight. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and his normally sun-kissed skin seemed sallow beneath the fluorescent lights.

“Hello, Ever.”

Ever glanced at the chair beside the bed, finally noticing Grace Bourdain. The elegant woman held a book in one hand, her legs crossed with one black pump dangling from her toes.

“Mrs. Bourdain. I’m sorry to impose,” Ever said quietly.

“Don’t be sorry, dear. They gave him a pain shot a couple hours ago, so he’s a bit woozy right now. You can come closer.”

Ever didn’t need to be told twice. She crossed the room in three strides and gripped the bed rail, staring down at Cade.

Even sick in a hospital bed, he was so beautiful he made her heart break.

“Is he…?” Ever couldn’t bring herself to finish the question.

Grace smiled. “He’s going to be fine.”

Relief filled every corner of her being. Ever reached out to touch his face, sliding her fingers through his silky hair. “Thank you, Goddess,” she murmured, placing a palm over his heart and closing her eyes.

“Do you love my son?”

Ever blinked, her hand frozen to Cade’s chest.

There was no judgment in Grace’s question. On the contrary, there was something sweet and almost wishful there. “I’m sorry for being so forward, but it’s all over your face, sweetheart.”

Ever looked at Cade, roaming the planes of his face: broad forehead, prominent cheekbones, wide, large eyes, even when closed. And those lips… Ever wanted to lean over and capture his lips with her own as if he were some kind of masculine Sleeping Beauty.

How was she supposed to respond to Grace’s question? It was loaded.

“I shouldn’t yet,” Ever murmured, moving to take Cade’s hand. “Before I knew him, I liked him. I thought he was gorgeous. And then I got to know him…” Ever sighed, lifting his hand to put his palm against her cheek. She closed her eyes again, reveling in his touch. “I love his smile. I love the innocence inside him. I love his kindness and compassion. He feels right. We feel right.”

Against her cheek, Cade’s hand twitched. She opened her eyes to find his emerald stare on her.

“Ever,” he whispered with a smile. He cupped her face and drew her in.

Ever forgot all about Grace’s question — and her presence — in Cade’s kiss. It was sweet, almost timid, but the heat that built between them was far from chaste.

She pulled back enough to put her forehead against his. “What happened?”

Cade shook his head, his eyes closing again. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

Grace laughed. “He tells me the same thing.”

“So you don’t know either?”

“No. Our boy is stubborn.”

Ever glowed at the mention of “our boy.”

She stayed a while longer, chatting with Grace while Cade snoozed. When it was obvious he wasn’t going to fully wake up anytime soon, she said goodbye and promised to come back tomorrow.

As Ever crossed the lobby, the front doors swished open to admit entrance to Mitch.

“I heard you’re blaming me for this.” The words were out before she realized she’d thought them.

Mitch stopped in front of her, his brow crinkled. She’d always thought he looked a little like a gorilla, and the confused look on his face did him no favors.

“I haven’t blamed you for anything.”

“Then why did Allie come after me this afternoon like some kind of deranged witch-hunter?” Ever snapped.

Mitch’s eyes widened. “So that’s why Stauble beat the shit out of her?”

Ever nodded.

“I never blamed you,” Mitch said irritably. “Allie’s a stupid bitch. Cade’s dad punished him because of what happened Saturday night. When you guys put that Gilles guy behind bars. I guess she twisted what I said.”

Ever gasped. “Are you serious? His dad did this?”

“He’s always had this thing about using magick to punish. He’s done it before for stupid stuff, but this time…” Mitch shook his head. “This time he took it too far. And now Cade’s here. Something really riled the old man up. Cade told me his dad said he was supposed to hand you over to Gilles.”

Ever sank to a chair against the wall, her legs too weak to hold her up. “So it is my fault.”

“It’s not your fault. I never said that.”

Ever let her head rest in her hands, too ashamed to look Mitch in the eye. “I knew this was a bad idea. Me and Cade.”

The chair beside her creaked as Mitch sat down. He patted her awkwardly on the arm. “I don’t think you guys are a bad idea.”

“Really?” Ever looked up, her hands falling to her lap.

Mitch shrugged. “I’ve known Cade a long time, dude. I’ve seen him go through girls.”

Ever made a face. “I don’t want to know that.”

“Sorry. I just mean no girl has ever affected him the way you do. Even before you started — ” Mitch waved a hand, “ — whatever you guys are now. Even before, he was toast when it came to you.”

Ever lay her head against the cold wall and sighed. “So was I.”

They sat next to each other in silence for a moment before Mitch spoke again. “Principal Joyner called the cops on your friend.”

Ever groaned. “Dear gods. Really?”

Mitch gave her a half-smile. “Yeah. But Stauble was really badass. I’ve never seen a chick fight so dirty.”

“You almost sound impressed.”

Mitch shrugged. “Maybe I am.”

“Thank you for taking care of Cade,” Ever said quietly. “If not for you, he…”

“Hey, fuck the what-ifs,” Mitch said gruffly. “He’s gonna survive, and you guys are gonna find a way to make it work.”

Ever shared a shy smile with Mitch and thought maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy after all.

Chapter 24

CADE

TUESDAY AFTERNOON, THE doctor released Cade. Grace followed the physician from the room to sign paperwork, and a moment later, Ever walked in the door.

“You’re awake!” she said happily, coming to Cade’s bedside. where he was fully clothed and sitting up. He was grateful Mitch had brought his duffel bag; otherwise he’d be greeting Ever with his bare ass hanging out the back of a hospital gown.

Cade’s heart skipped a beat. He wrapped his arms around her and yanked her onto the bed with him, kissing her soundly. She smelled like peppermint and felt like she’d been molded to fit his arms.

As he ended the kiss, Ever smiled and snuggled closer to his side. “Are you feeling better?”

“I was feeling pretty good. Now, I’m feeling pretty great.” He kissed her again, enjoying the feel of her curves against him.

He didn’t mean for it to be more than a simple kiss, but Ever made him mindless with need. He rolled her beneath him, their legs intertwining as the kiss deepened. Cade felt alive with her there, her power like a battery recharging him. He trailed kisses down her neck, one hand snaking to her hip. The sound of her breathing told him she was just as turned on as he was.

“Should I leave?” an amused voice asked from the doorway.

Ever gasped, jerking away from Cade.

Embarrassed his mother had caught them making out, Cade face-planted into the bed, hiding what his sweatpants could not.

“Mrs. Bourdain. I’m so sorry.” Ever slipped out of the bed, straightening her sweater.

“Don’t apologize, dear. If Cade is anything like his father, it won’t be the last time he’s caught with his hand up your shirt.” Grace winked as she skirted around the bed to where her purse waited on the chair.

Cade buried his face in the pillow with a laugh.

“Cade, you’re free to go home,” Grace said. “Are you ready?”

Cade sat up on his elbows. “I’m not going home.”

Grace stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“I’m going to Mitch’s. If you can’t take me there, Ever can,” Cade told his mother evenly, sitting up and putting his back to her as he found his shoes on the floor.

Grace spoke softly. “Sweetheart, you can’t sleep on that tiny couch. You need a bed in a warm, safe environment so you can recuperate.”

“Home isn’t any more ‘safe’ than Mitch’s trailer,” Cade snapped, glancing up to find Ever staring at him, concerned. They locked eyes.

You need to tell her. Ever’s voice echoed in his head.

Startled, Cade shot to his feet. What the hell? Had he just heard her thoughts?

Ever stepped forward, cupping his face in her hands. She needs to know the truth.

Holy shit. Cade knew she was right. He had no clue how she was communicating with him, but she was right. He’d never been good at lying to his mom. He kissed Ever’s forehead and turned to face Grace.

“On Saturday night, Gilles was waiting at Ever’s house when we got there,” Cade said. “He said he was Ever’s dad and that he had come to take her away.”

“He wants my power,” Ever added. Her small hand slipped into Cade’s, and he squeezed it.

Grace covered her mouth and shook her head. “Oh, no. Oh, Ever.”

Cade went on. “Ever managed to knock him out with a MagLite. We called the cops and he was taken into custody. When I got home, Dad was waiting for me.”

He saw the moment his mother put the puzzle together. Tears pooled in her eyes, and she dropped her purse to the bed before sinking to the chair in disbelief.

“He punished you?”

Cade nodded, letting go of Ever to kneel before his mom. “He broke some bones. I healed those, but I didn’t know I had internal injuries. I packed a bag and left, totally pissed. That’s when I went to Mitch’s, and then you know the rest.”

Grace sobbed once, wrapping her arms around Cade and holding him tightly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Cade, you are so much more important to me than anything else in this world. You should have told me. Immediately. Right after it happened.” She sat back and swiped at her tears. “I have a lot to do. I’ll start looking for an apartment. I’ve got plenty saved from your grandfather’s estate — ”

“You can’t leave dad. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

Grace touched his face. “Baby, I don’t care. No one who truly loves me would nearly kill the child we made together. Has he… Has this happened before?”

Cade’s own heart broke at the despair on her face. He wished he could tell her no. “Yes.”

“How many times?”

Cade shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t come home.”

“You can stay with us,” Ever spoke up.

Cade looked up at her on the other side of the bed: his beautiful witch with flaxen hair and bi-colored eyes. He loved everything about her, from the way her large sunglasses held back her hair to the cartoon fox on her sweater and the way her leggings were tucked into brown boots. Most of all, he loved her heart.

“If it’s okay with your mom,” she added with a blush. “I promise I’ll make him behave himself. We have plenty of spare rooms, and I’m sure Nah won’t mind if I tell her what happened.”

Grace looked to Cade for confirmation. “I’m okay with it if you are.”

Cade nodded. He wanted nothing more in the world than to be at Ever’s side.

“Don’t do anything yet,” he told her. “Let me and Dad work things out on our own. If we can’t… then you and I will find a place together. Okay?”

Grace hugged him, her tears wet against his neck as she said, “Okay.”

* * *

CADE FOLDED HIMSELF into the passenger seat of Ever’s tiny car. “This thing is roomier than it looks from the outside.”

“You shouldn’t judge things by outward appearances,” Ever teased, turning over the engine. It purred like a cat; he couldn’t even feel it, not like his car.

“Touché.”

As they pulled out of the lot and hit the highway, Cade put his head against the headrest and closed his eyes.

“Thanks for offering me a place to stay,” he said, finding her knee with his hand without opening his eyes. “Are you sure your grandmother is cool with it?”

Her cool fingers clasped his. “I texted her while you were being wheeled out. She said absolutely.” She paused. “Are you okay?”

“Physically, yeah. Mentally? I’m pissed at my asshole dad.” Cade shook his head, thankful for the black of his eyelids.

“I can’t believe he would abuse you like that. Magick or not. I can’t believe he would think that was okay to do to anybody, but… his own son?” Ever’s voice cracked.

Cade opened his eyes, turning to stare at her in the late afternoon sun. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I’ve reevaluated what my dad is capable of doing.”

“My father isn’t any better,” Ever said bitterly. “Gilles was going to take me, even if he had to use force.”

“That man isn’t your dad, Ever.” Cade leaned over, planting a kiss to her shoulder. “A real dad doesn’t hurt you. A real dad raises you.”

“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” she said sadly.

He caught her soulful gaze and felt as if they could truly see each other. “As long as we are a pair, I’ll take whatever comes.”

* * *

WHILE EVER MADE them dinner, Cade unpacked his bag and then turned on his computer. He’d been without a phone for three days, so he figured he had some missed Facebook messages and emails to catch up on.

And he did: nearly all the BlackMags had sent him well-wishes via social media. He responded to each of them, assuring them that he was okay and would be back at school tomorrow. Then he signed into his email.

When he saw his dad’s email address, he almost didn’t open the message. He clicked the checkbox and hovered over the trashcan, determined to ignore anything the man had to say. But a little voice inside him told him to open it.

He clicked on the tiny envelope icon.

I apologize for such a fierce punishment. It was done in anger.

The situation is resolved. I’ve retrieved Gilles from jail and magicked the courts to grant him a dismissal.

This nonsense about staying with the O’Connell girl had better be because you intend to deliver her to Gilles.

There was nothing more.

Shaking with rage, Cade deleted the email without responding.

Chapter 25

EVER

EVER HAD EVERYTHING set up for a dinner of sandwiches and fries by the fire pit out back. She had just placed the last log on the merrily glowing flames when Cade came through the back door.

She smiled. “Hey, you. I was just about to come get you. I hope you like veggie sandwiches, ‘cause that’s all we’ve got.”

Cade grinned, but Ever sensed a bead of unease behind it that had nothing to do with vegetables.

“Thank you for making dinner,” Cade said as he came to stand by the fire. By Ever.

His warm arms wrapped around her waist, tugging her into him. They kissed, slow and easy, as if they had all the time in the world.

“You’re welcome,” she said against his lips as the kiss ended. “What would you like to drink?”

“You got any of that delicious iced tea I once spilled all over your kitchen?”

Ever giggled. “I do.”

They ate dinner, chatting about school and other inane things. Ever told him about Meagan beating up Allie and getting taken home by the cops. Then she launched into her coven’s plans for the yard sale on Saturday.

“CircleEarth is so expensive, we needed something to offset the cost,” she said, taking a bite of sandwich. “So Nah helped us set up this yard sale. Do you want to come with me? It’s Saturday morning from eight till noon.”

“I can probably help you set up, but I’m meeting mom for breakfast at nine,” he told her, and then grinned. “You’re adorable when you talk with your mouth full.”

“We have plenty of people,” Ever said, flushing from his compliment. “So it’s up to you.”

He kissed her cheek. “I’ll be there as soon as breakfast is over. I wanna help. You know my coven is going to CircleEarth too, right?”

“Lovely,” Ever said, making a face. “Hopefully Meagan doesn’t decide to have a repeat of yesterday.”

Cade laughed. “At least this time I’ll be there to see it.”

Ever finally asked what had been bothering her since he came outside. “Something’s wrong. You’re worried. What happened between getting home and coming out here to me?”

Cade sighed, the flames casting his face in shadows. “I had an email from my dad.”

Ever didn’t say anything. She waited for him to compose himself.

“He bailed Gilles out of jail and magicked the courts to dismiss the case.”

Fear slashed through her. “He’s free?”

Cade nodded. “I’m glad I’m here to keep you safe.”

Ever hurled her empty plate to the ground and stood. “This is why black magick is bad,” she snapped. “You dark practitioners think it’s okay to throw around your powers as if no one else matters. You take whatever you want, and fuck everyone else.”

She was as surprised by the curse word as Cade. “Ever?”

“Don’t even talk to me right now. My life was so much easier before you came along.” Ever turned her back on him and stormed into the house, slamming the door behind her.

In her bedroom, the tears came freely. She fell onto her bed and buried her face in the pillows.

Life had become so confusing in just a single week, and it all went back to Cade. She wanted to return to a time when she wasn’t arguing with Meagan, when she wasn’t so conflicted over a boy her friends didn’t think was right for her. Her life had been perfectly fine before she took a faraway crush and turned it into real emotions.

“Ever.” His voice was low, drifting into her dark room from the open doorway.

Why hadn’t she closed the damn door? How could she feel so strongly for Cade but hate him at the same time? She couldn’t stand the thought of him in her space, yet she wanted him there to comfort her. She didn’t respond because she didn’t trust herself to speak.

Suddenly, Cade was beside her, pulling her onto his lap, his strong arms holding her as if she were a child to be consoled. She could barely see his face in the moonlight coming through the window: one side illuminated by the ethereal glow of the moon, the other hidden in shadow.

“I will never let anyone hurt you,” he said, pressing a line of kisses along her forehead. “I will always protect you from anybody who wants to hurt you, whether it’s Donovan or your dad.”

“How can you be okay with black magick after Saturday night?” Ever asked when she’d calmed down enough to speak.

Cade brushed her hair from her face, gazing down at her. She wondered if he could see anything but the glittering of her eyes in the dark. “I’m not. Not anymore. There are things I think you and I will never agree on, but I definitely don’t want to be anything like my dad. He’s corrupt, and you’re right — he’ll use his magick for anything, even at the cost of others’ well-being.”

Ever sniffled, turning her face into Cade’s neck. He had put on his cologne: the strong, woodsy smell she’d come to know. The scent went straight to her libido, reminding her of all the reasons she was falling for him.

She kissed his skin, thinking the move was innocent, but the way his body stilled beneath her proved otherwise. His reaction made her skin turn to fire. She opened her lips, tracing her tongue along his collarbone. Testing him.

Cade cradled her head in his hands and lifted her face, capturing her lips almost harshly. Ever’s breaths came quicker as his tongue mingled with hers, and his fingers squeezed her waist as if they wanted to be elsewhere.

Ever felt their magick rising unbidden. Almost a separate entity, it rose between them, building like an orgasm.

Without breaking the kiss, Ever shifted to straddle his lap. She linked her arms behind his neck, pressing their bodies together. Their kiss grew manic: lips, teeth, tongues. Cade’s hands moved over her back, squeezing her butt. As if she weighed nothing at all, he flipped her onto the bed.

Ever hit the covers, giggling as he bore down on top of her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, gasping as he thrust against her in a graceful, sinuous movement. Their magicks manifested in that motion — blue and red sparking around them like static electricity.

The house was quiet but for the sound of his lips on her skin and the rustle of their clothes as they moved in the dark. Ever had never felt so alive, nor had she ever felt so magickal. Her need for Cade was mindless.

But as he reached for the hem of her sweater to pull it over her head, Ever grabbed his hands.

They stared at each other in the dark, both breathing heavily. Cade kneeled between her legs, the moonlight making him look like a god.

“I can’t,” Ever said. “I want to. But… not right now. I’m not ready yet.”

Cade nodded. He let go of her sweater and crawled back up her body, supporting his weight on both hands as he kissed her, slow and sweet.

“Stay with me?” Ever whispered.

Cade slid into place next to her, tucking her against his chest. His voice rumbled beneath her cheek. “Always.”

Chapter 26

CADE

“GOOD MORNING, CADE!” Ever’s grandmother greeted him. “Hope you like pancakes.”

She stood over the stove, holding a spatula over a cast-iron skillet. Her long gray hair in a messy braid and a gauzy black muumuu over her curvy frame, she looked the part of “witch.” She cast a brilliant white smile in his direction. “There’s coffee in the carafe, or if you prefer tea, we have dozens in the cabinet next to the fridge.”

“Where’s Ever?” Cade asked. He’d been saddened to wake up in an empty bed. He couldn’t believe the sheer exhilaration of holding her through the night, so waking up alone had left him feeling empty.

“Taking care of the chickens. How are you feeling?”

Cade chose a mug from the counter — orange with the black silhouette of a witch on a broomstick. “Weirdly good. I don’t hurt at all anymore.”

“Ever said that magick flares to life between you two when you kiss. I would imagine that’s done its part in healing you.”

Cade flushed. “Ever told you…”

Nah grinned over her shoulder, the spatula scraping in the skillet. “Ever tells me everything, honey. You better get used to it.”

Cade shoved aside his embarrassment and moved on. He couldn’t very well beleaguer Ever’s honesty with her nah when he was nearly as incapable of being untruthful with his mother.

As he stirred sugar into his coffee, he said, “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

“Honey, as long as you don’t feel comfortable in your own house, you are more than welcome in mine. It isn’t a bother at all.”

The back door opened, and Ever entered with three barking dogs on her heels. She caught Cade’s eye with a secret smile, and then bustled to her grandmother’s side with a basket of eggs.

“Ten!” Nah exclaimed, picking through them. “You’d think we were feeding them Miracle-Gro.”

Ever laughed. “I love the green ones.”

Cade took his mug to peek over her shoulder. Some eggs were brown, some were cream with brown spots, and several were various pastel colors. “I’ve never heard of a chicken laying green eggs before. Is the inside green too?”

Nah chuckled, but Ever answered, “No. Just the shell.”

As Nah went back to making breakfast, Cade touched Ever’s hand. “How did you sleep?”

“Better than ever.” She tiptoed and kissed him, so feather-light he barely felt it.

As they ate breakfast, Cade couldn’t help but be in awe. Not just of Ever and her nah — their love for each other was obvious, as was the fact that Ever was cut from the same cloth. Cade could imagine Ever growing older, looking just as beautiful and self-assured as Nah. He was also awed to be in Ever’s presence, in her home as if he belonged there. Both she and Nah engaged him in conversation and made him laugh. They put their elbows on the table, and Ever even sat Indian-style in her chair. It was a meal entirely different from those held at the stoic, reserved table of the Bourdain estate.

“What are you thinking?” Ever asked with a smile during a lull.

Cade gazed at her, taking in every freckle on her face. He wanted to memorize her, and this moment.

“This is one of the best days of my life,” Cade told her.

Nah smiled behind her coffee cup. “It’s only just beginning.”

Ever parked in her usual spot in the school lot. Cade knew it was the usual spot because he’d watched her for so damn long. Now he was with her, sitting in her passenger seat with a hand on her knee.

“You ready for this?” he asked her.

She took a deep breath. “There’s going to be a lot of gossip today.”

Cade lifted her hand and brought it to his lips. “Let them talk.”

They stepped out of the car into crisp, fall air. It was Halloween morning — Samhain, for the witches — and it felt like it. Dried leaves blew across the asphalt, and the wind smelled of the coming winter. Cade hoped the last of the hot days were behind them. He lived for this time of year.

As he rounded the back of the car to stand beside Ever, Ollie waved.

“Hi, Cade!” she said happily.

“I never realized you guys look so much alike,” he remarked, glancing at Ever.

Ever looked at Ollie, her brow wrinkling. “We do?”

Ollie shrugged. “There are lots of blonde girls in Coalhaven. That doesn’t mean we all look alike.”

Cade thought he caught a glimpse of something like shame on her face, but that was absolutely ridiculous. What would she have to be ashamed of? Like Ever, she was beautiful, with elfish features and a curvier form.

One by one, the rest of Ever’s coven greeted him. He met quiet Ava and Roxy; brother-and-sister duo Tia and Tomas,; and the inseparable Claudia and Nate, the latter of whom shook his hand with a friendly welcome.

Meagan Stauble stood with her arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. “You hurt her, and I’ll kill you.”

Cade saluted her. “Aye, aye, Madam.”

He’d been expecting more friction over the two of them being together. Clearly, Stauble was the only one with a problem. But the way his salute made the corner of her scowl bounce up proved she wasn’t that bent out of shape.

Cade smiled at Ever as they headed hand-in-hand towards the school. “She means it, doesn’t she? Meagan would kill me if I hurt you. Should I worry?”

Ever sighed. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her lately. She’s taken on the role of my protector.”

“She’s really gunning for Donovan.”

“You’re not necessarily squeaky clean there, either,” Ever said as he held the door open for her.

They parted ways to get their books, but as always, Cade could still feel her behind him. The connection had been there for years, but now it was intense and inescapable.

“Saw you come in with Ever,” Mitch said, leaning on the locker next to Cade’s. He was smiling.

Cade nodded. “I’m staying with her right now.”

“I know I might not have agreed with it before, but I like her. I think I like the Fluffs.”

Cade glanced up, expecting his pal to be looking at him, but instead, Mitch’s gaze was across the hall. At first, Cade thought he was looking at Ever, but then he realized Mitch’s half-smile was for the Amazon best friend she was chatting with.

“You got a thing for Meagan,” Cade accused, laughing.

“Shut up, dude.” Mitch punched Cade in the shoulder and walked away.

The rest of his coven wasn’t so amenable.

Marie, Allie’s closest friend, was pissed. “Meagan Stauble beat the shit out of Allie! Her parents are trying to press charges! You can’t seriously be thinking about a relationship with their leader.”

Cade slammed his locker, staring down at the shorter girl. “I’m not thinking about it. I am in a relationship with Ever.”

“Then you’re not my high priest.” Marie turned on her heels and walked away in a huff, her long red curls flouncing angrily.

Emily and Greg glanced at each other, then back at Cade. “Dude,” Greg said in his slow Southern drawl. “I know what it’s like to be in love, but how are you gonna make it work when your coven isn’t okay with it?”

“I’m going to prove to you that we’re not so different.” Cade grinned, and joined Ever across the hall.

Chapter 27

EVER

“WE DO A Samhain ritual every year, just me and Nah,” Ever said as they ate a dinner of stir-fry and cornbread that evening. “And my mom, if and when she’s ever home for it.”

“You’re welcome to join us, Cade. I’d actually much prefer it if you did,” Nah added before popping a sliver of green pepper in her mouth.

Ever nodded her agreement. She wanted to do ritual with just Cade, to see exactly what they were capable of together — like Nah and Dah. But she wasn’t going to voice that just yet. Tonight was about family; she always did ritual with Nah.

Hopefully Cade felt comfortable enough to join.

He looked at ease sitting across from her at the table. He’d changed into sweats and a hoodie as soon as they got home. His long hair was tied back into a tiny ponytail. While she loved his hair down so she could tangle it around her fingers, she adored it just as much pulled back. It put his beautiful, nearly exotic face on display: sharp cheekbones, deep, wide green eyes, and long thick lashes.

They’d done their homework together in the living room before dinner, helping each other and making each other laugh. Not to mention all the stolen kisses and flirty touches. Or the way he wrapped his arm around her, tapping his pencil on his notebook, his face intense as he concentrated.

Cade opened his mouth to speak, but the doorbell interrupted him.

“Are you expecting company?” Nah asked Ever.

Ever shook her head. Wednesday was her coven’s standard ritual night . “No. We cancelled ritual tonight so we could all spend Samhain with our families.”

Nah and Ever stood as one and took the hallway to the front door.

Nate and Claudia waited on the other side, Claudia shivering in the cool evening air. Nate held a suitcase, his face grim, and Claudia’s eyes were puffy and tear-stained.

“What happened?” Ever asked, tugging Claudia into a tight hug. The much taller girl stooped to bury her face in Ever’s shoulder.

“My parents found my altar box,” Nate answered.

Claudia sobbed against Ever’s shirt.

Nah took Nate’s hand and pulled him into the house. “Come in, sweetheart. Are you hungry? We were just having dinner, and there’s plenty to go around.”

As Ever escorted a still-crying Claudia to the kitchen, she looked at Cade. His eyes were soft as he smiled at her.

The connection intensified, and Cade’s energy brushed against hers. Is this thing on?

Ever fought to not laugh, particularly because her arms were still around an upset Claudia. I hear you. Crazy, huh?

I love it. He pulled a chair away from the table for Claudia. Your family and home are the most welcoming, comforting thing I’ve ever known.

Ever didn’t know how to respond to that; she’d never known anything but Nah’s open arms and open heart. She focused on getting Claudia settled and gathering dishes for them to eat.

Over the meal, Nate told them what had happened.

“All of my Wiccan tools are in a shoebox that I keep beneath my bed,” Nate explained to Cade. Claudia, Ever, and Nah already knew that. “There’s other stuff under there too — a box of winter sweaters, some old photo albums, even a keepsake box where I put tickets and other things from my dates with Claud.”

Ever smiled at Claudia. Just a week ago, Ever had sat watching the two together in her living room, envying their love. Now, Cade was beside her. She moved a hand beneath the table and entwined their fingers.

“I guess Mom wanted to clean the floors. She pulled everything out to vacuum.”

Nah clucked. “I’ll never understand parents who offer their grown teenagers no privacy.”

Nate nodded, pain etched across his boyish features. “When I got home from school, both of them were waiting for me with my altar box. It wasn’t bad at first. But then dad smashed my chalice when I refused to ‘change my ways.’”

Ever cringed, thinking of her own beautiful chalice, the blown-glass spotted in a rainbow pattern as if someone had flung paint into the crystal before it dried. She couldn’t even imagine his pain.

Nah took Nate’s hand but said nothing, letting him continue his story.

“Mom threw the box in the trash. She told me I either started going to bible classes and mass with her, or I had to leave.” He put his face in his hands. “I left. I don’t hate their religion. I don’t even disagree with it. It’s just not for me.”

“Nathan, you can’t change your moral code and beliefs just because your parents disagree with your choice of faith.” Nah brushed a hand over his dark hair. “You’ll stay here, with us. And in a few days, you’ll reach out to them and attempt to make amends. Everyone at this table will support you one hundred percent.”

Ever glanced at Cade, who was nodding in agreement.

* * *

SAMHAIN RITUAL ON the whole was a somber engagement. Samhain was the witches’ new year, and the overall theme was of remembrance.

Ever helped Nah set up the altar: the usual tools representing air, earth, fire, and water, as well as the god and goddess statues. But then they added adornments for remembering their ancestors: a tiny teddy bear for Nah’s miscarried child, an aged photo of Dah in his dress-blues from the Marines. Nate added a Virginia Slims cigarette for his grandmother. Claudia unclasped the locket around her neck — it held an image of her mother, who had passed away just a few years before. Nah placed a large black pillar candle in the center.

“Who do you remember tonight?” Ever asked Cade as they settled on stools around the altar.

“I’ve never lost anyone close to me,” Cade answered. The flickering of the candles lining the circle reflected in his green eyes, making the flames seem as if they shone from his face. He looked at Ever, trailing his fingertips down her jawbone. “Maybe we can remember and say goodbye to the old me. He’s gone now.”

Ever smiled, stealing a brief kiss. “Yes. Let’s do that.”

When the five of them were seated, Nah began. “On this night, we welcome the dark of the year. The veil between this world and the next is at its thinnest, so we honor our ancestors, hoping they may hear our prayers.

“We will each tell a story about our honored loved ones. Ever, would you like to begin?”

Ever stood to light the flame of the black candle. She stared into the heart, smiling. “When I was eight, Dah took me fishing. I was so scared. I didn’t want to hurt the fish. But he promised me we would release them all back into the lake.

“I remember how good he was at casting the line. Fish began to bite right away. He pulled out the first one, a small white minnow, and he showed me all the different parts of the fish: dorsal fin, gills, face plate. He was quick and smart. The fish was back in the water before it even had time to gasp for air.

“That’s how my dah was. He was gentle and kind, but larger than life. I think in the Summerlands, he must be just as big.”

Nah had tears in her eyes. She nodded. “Me, too, honey. Nate, would you like to go next?”

Nate took a shuddering breath. “My grandmother didn’t like being called ‘Grandma.’ I called her Petunia, which was her first name. She smoked a pack of Virginia Slims a day, and she always smelled like them. For the rest of my life, I’ll think of her when I smell them. She was important to me because she knew the real me. She accepted me, alternative beliefs and all, maybe because she didn’t believe in anything. She bought me the chalice Dad broke tonight. Of course, she bought me beer to put in it, too.”

Everyone laughed.

“I miss how things were when she was still alive. She knew how to handle my parents. She could get me through anything. Now, I feel like I have no back-up.”

Claudia took his hand, and Nah touched his shoulder.

“You have us, baby,” Claudia murmured, then burst into tears.

“Hey. Claud. Shh,” Nate wrapped her in his arms, resting his chin on her head. “Baby, it’s fine. It’s okay. We’ll get through this.”

“It’s all my fault!” she wailed, burying her face in his chest.

Ever looked to Nate for an explanation.

“She thinks it’s her fault because she introduced me to the Path.” Nate pushed Claudia away, brushing her short, blue hair from her eyes. “I would have found the Path anyway. I’m meant to be pagan, baby. Just like I’m meant to be with you. I don’t doubt either.”

They shared a kiss, and he whispered, “I love you.”

Ever’s heart thudded in her chest as Cade looked at her.

Nah spoke of the unborn infant she never got to meet. Claudia told a tearful story of her last shopping trip with her mom before the tornado came through and changed their lives forever.

Then it was Cade’s turn.

“There was this boy,” he said softly, candlelight flickering on his face. “He was an idiot. Like his father, he thought power was everything. He would be the most powerful witch in the world one day, just like his dad.

“But then he met a white witch with a name that meant forever.” Cade looked at Ever. She saw infinite depths in his gaze. “She showed him that responsibility and power went hand in hand. She proved to him that some things were black and white. And even when the dark seemed darkest, she showed him where the light was.”

Ever’s breath caught in her throat as Cade kissed her knuckles.

“Tonight, I say goodbye to that boy, and I sit before my forever.”

Nah sniffled and pinched out the flame on the black candle. “To that, I say blessed be!”

Along with her friends and her boyfriend, Ever chorused, “Blessed be!”

* * *

IN THE MIDDLE of the night, Ever was shaken awake.

“Cade?” she murmured, reaching for him. He was little more than a shadow on the dark backdrop of her room, but she would have known his form anywhere. She had been sad when they parted ways for bed. Maybe he had come to sneak in beside her.

He kissed her, then squeezed her shoulder. “I want to go get Nate’s box.”

She blinked, unsure she’d heard him right. “His box?”

“I know where he lives. I want to get his box back and fix his chalice.” He took both of her hands, gently kissing each fingertip. “I think together, me and you can do it.”

Chapter 28

CADE

HE HAD EXPECTED Ever to argue and refuse, but instead she sat up, stretched, and said, “Then let’s do it.”

They didn’t speak as Ever drove them across town and parked a few houses down from Nate’s house. Cade opened his door, shivering as the cold air invaded the warm car.

“Do you have a plan?” Ever asked, coming to take his hand.

“Get the box, fix the chalice,” Cade said with a laugh. “Other than that, nope.”

“You’re a wild man,” Ever said wryly.

The house was quiet and dark. Cade led the way around back, to where the privacy fence blocked entrance to the backyard. Two trash cans sat near the gate, the same place most everyone in Coalhaven stored theirs.

Cade and Ever silently shifted through the trash on top. Cade had hoped it would be as simple as opening the lid and finding the box intact. But of course nothing was ever that easy. Even in his coat, Cade shivered. The night sky was clear and lit with stars, what little warmth the sun provided during the day long gone.

Ever’s teeth were chattering. He paused, turning to pull her into his arms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was so cold. Do you want to wait in the car?”

Ever slipped her arms beneath his jacket and hummed. “No. You’re warm.”

Her fingers danced over his shirt, massaging the muscles in his lower back. All of a sudden, Cade wasn’t so cold anymore.

He leaned down to kiss her, and she met him halfway, tightening her grip around his waist. The magick was immediate, Cade’s fingers glowing red in her hair as he tilted her face to deepen the kiss.

Ever moaned, pressing against him as if she wanted to become a part of him. The movement and the sound drove him crazy; he turned, pinning her against the bricks of the house.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Cade murmured, trailing his tongue down her neck, one hand sliding beneath her sweatshirt to cup her breast.

“The same thing you do to me?” Ever offered, tugging his face to hers to kiss him again.

“We need to find the box,” Cade reminded her, opening her mouth to dip his tongue in, to taste her.

“Mm-hm. The box,” Ever agreed, her glowing sapphire hands moving beneath his shirt.

There was a thud beside them.

Cade jerked to face the sound, throwing himself in front of Ever.

On the driveway in front of them was a shoebox.

Cade squatted, peeling back the lid.

“Is that…?” Ever asked breathlessly.

“Yeah.” Cade pulled out three broken sections of the chalice. Beneath those were candles, incense, a small cauldron, and an athame, as well as various other items common to an altar. “It’s Nate’s box.”

“But how…?”

Cade stood, offering her a section of chalice. “I think we called it.”

Ever stared wide-eyed at him. “Because of the magick we raised while just kissing?”

“I don’t know if that can be categorized as ‘just’ kissing,” Cade said, aware of the low growl in his voice as he remembered the way she’d moved against him.

Even in the moonlight, he could see the blush in her cheeks.

With their prize in hand, they made quick work of returning to the warmth of the car. Ever shivered violently as she turned on the vehicle and cranked the heat.

“Have you ever repaired something so broken?” she asked, removing the larger chunks of Nate’s chalice.

It was a nice piece, Cade noted. The glass was dark green and chiseled into a leaf-and-vine pattern that spilled over into the cup’s opening. His own chalice was a nineteenth-century stemmed wine glass engraved with a ‘B.’ His mother had given it to him on his tenth birthday. He felt a pang for his magickal tools. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that Rémy would destroy Cade’s altar as retribution for his cold silence.

“Not like this,” Cade replied, shaking his head. “I’m pretty good at healing broken bones on myself, but not inanimate objects. I’ve seen my dad fix things.”

“And we know how well your dad ‘fixes’ things,” Ever murmured.

Cade couldn’t help but laugh. She had a point.

He took the largest piece — the intact stem — and laid it on the center console. Ever followed suit with the rest.

“We’re missing pieces,” Ever pointed out. “Little shards.”

Cade was touched by the sadness in her voice. He was still getting to know her, but he already knew the size of her heart. He had never met anyone quite like Ever O’Connell.

He turned in his seat to face her, reaching over the space between them to touch her knee. “We’re all missing little shards of ourselves. Living is hard. But it’s the dings and scrapes and missing parts that make us who we are.”

Ever stared at him, her face giving nothing away. “How’d you get so wise?”

Cade grinned. “Mom calls me an old soul. You want me to tickle you and prove my immaturity?”

“Only if you want to be punched.” She smiled sweetly and then offered her hands over the broken chalice. “Let’s do it.”

Once they were connected, Ever’s cool palms against his, Cade reached for his magick. The electric sizzle of it danced across his skin, manifesting in red vapor swirls at his fingertips. Ever’s pale blue slithered to join his, the colors mingling until the effect was nearly purple.

Cade focused on the glass pieces, visualizing the chalice reassembling itself. He closed his eyes, seeing the pieces lift and mend in his mind. He gently shoved his magick down towards the destroyed chalice.

Several moments passed before Cade opened his eyes to find the chalice was still in pieces. Ever’s eyes were closed, her dark lashes half-moons against her pale cheeks. The tip of her tongue was visible between her lips, and her brow was scrunched in concentration.

“It isn’t working,” Cade said, “but you’re adorable.”

Ever huffed, opening her eyes. In the dark car, her blue light was much dimmer than the purple of their combined magicks had been. “You broke my focus.”

Cade snaked an arm around her lower back and tugged her within kissing distance. “You destroyed my focus the first time you said my name.”

She didn’t fight back when he captured her lips. Their kiss started slow and easy, but quickly crescendoed into the wild passion he was coming to associate with her. It made his blood sing. He forgot everything in the taste of her, in the warmth and softness of her.

There was an audible pop and a flash of violet light.

Ever gasped, pulling away from him. The chalice lay on its side upon the center console — intact and completely unmarred.

Back at the O’Connell homestead, they left the box outside the spare bedroom where Nate was sleeping. Cade told Ever goodnight with one last kiss that he felt through his entire body. Then he begrudgingly retired to his own room.

* * *

HE AWOKE BEFORE dawn, antsy and disoriented.

He’d slept plenty of nights away from home. His father was a world traveler, and for most of Cade’s childhood, he’d been dragged along. So his unease didn’t stem from waking in a strange place; being in Ever’s house definitely wasn’t a bad feeling. If anything, the very idea of her just down the hall made him hot under the collar.

Something was bothering him. Intuitively. His mother had taught him not to ignore these surges of forewarning.

He dressed in warm sweats and sneakers before stealing down the hall. Nobody stirred as his passed, not even the dogs snoozing at the foot of Ever’s bed.

Cade stopped briefly to peer into her room. Ever was little more than a mound beneath her covers. He wished he were a part of that mound, their limbs tangled and her soft breath occupying his space.

When he walked out the front door, the cold air hit him hard enough to take his breath away. He pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt and took off along the edge of the property.

The pounding of his tennis shoes on the frostbitten grass grounded him. He ran steadily, not hard, but soon began to sweat. He knocked off his hood, focused on regulating his breathing and not hitting any potholes in the meadow.

He followed the wooden fence, his gaze everywhere. He noted the dark forest that surrounded the O’Connells’ large plot of land. The fenced pasture alone covered at least ten acres, he estimated, and had probably belonged to the family for eons.

He found the source of his discomfort not far from the eastern side of the house: a faint signature of someone else’s magick.

Cade skidded to a halt, his shoes ripping up clods of grass and dirt. He ventured towards the fence, reaching for his own magick in case that same someone remained close by.

He didn’t recognize the signature. It wasn’t Ever, nor was it anyone female. The magick had a distinctly masculine feel, though it wasn’t Rémy, nor — thankfully — Gilles.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t someone who worked for those two.

Cade knew they needed to protect the house and property. Gilles was obviously unstable in his delusions that Ever belonged to him and capable of anything. If he was hiring goons to watch the house and wait for Ever to be vulnerable, then Cade had to do something about that.

Lost in thought about gathering friends and family to enchant the land, he walked right by his mother in the driveway. He registered her presence only after he’d passed her.

“Mom. What are you doing here?” He doubled back, kissing her on both cheeks.

She looked tired. Her graying auburn hair was loose around her shoulders, capped by ear muffs. The wind had put color in her cheeks and nose, but it couldn’t hide the dark circles beneath her eyes.

“I brought you this.” She handed him a box. “It’s already charged and activated. Same number.”

“Thanks.” He opened the box and pulled out a newer version of his last cell phone.

“I didn’t like not having a way to get in touch with you.” She sighed, looking up at Ever’s house. “Are you okay here?”

“More than okay.” He didn’t want her to worry about his early morning discovery. By the look on her face, she was worrying about enough. His mother appeared to have aged overnight.

“Stay out of trouble,” Grace warned.

“Don’t I always?” Cade grinned, trying to lighten the mood.

Grace lifted an eyebrow, a shadow of her usual self.

“I got an email from Dad.”

Grace shook her head. “And he hasn’t the faintest idea that anything he’s done is wrong. He hasn’t always been so… harsh.”

Cade didn’t know how to respond. Maybe his father had gone darker. Or maybe Cade’s perception, and his mother’s, had changed.

Grace wrapped him in a hug. “I love you.”

“Be careful around him,” Cade said, squeezing her. “We don’t know what he’s capable…” He trailed off. He didn’t want to finish the sentence. His dad had always been his hero — his power, his prestige, his absolute dominion. Cade had envied those things and strived to follow in Rémy’s footsteps.

Now, he would have given anything to be out from under Rémy’s destructive shadow. The equation was no longer just himself; now, he had to protect Ever.

Chapter 29

EVER

THURSDAY MORNING, EVER woke up to an excited yell from the hall. A split second later, Nate burst through her open doorway, his altar box in his hands.

“How?” he demanded, his eyes shining. He was mussed with sleep, his chestnut hair sticking up wildly and the indent of a pillow creasing his square jaw.

Ever sat up with a yawn. “In a car.”

Nate shook his head, brandishing the cut-glass mug. “But the chalice was in pieces!”

Ever loved the glow on his face. It was the look of a guy who had hit rough waters, only to be handed a life preserver. “It wasn’t as broken as you thought,” Ever fudged. “Some hot glue fixed it right up.”

She was banking on Nate being a stereotypical sports junkie who wouldn’t know hot glue from duct tape. Then he could accept a blemish-free chalice with little effort.

Ever caught movement behind Nate and watched as Cade leaned against the doorframe. His hair was down and windblown, and his cheeks and nose were tinged red. She thought his eyes seemed haunted, but he gave her a secret wink and a smile.

“Thank you so much,” Nate told her, clutching the box tighter. He hadn’t seen Cade arrive.

“Don’t thank me.” Ever gestured behind him. “It was his idea.”

Nate turned, offering a hand to Cade. “I don’t know how you did it, but thanks. I owe you.”

Cade clapped him on the shoulder. “You don’t owe me a damn thing.”

Nate excused himself to get ready for school, the box clutched so tightly in his hands the cardboard edges were crumpling. Ever wouldn’t have thought it strange at all if he refused to part with the box, and instead tucked it lovingly into his backpack.

For a long moment, Ever stared at Cade. He was beautiful in the sunlight piercing through her aqua curtains, shadows caressing his angular face. There were so many things she wished she had the courage to say to him, but none of the words felt right. Not yet.

The silence grew unbearable. Ever slipped from bed, the hardwood cold beneath her bare feet as she crossed to him. She tilted her head back to catch his emerald eyes, sliding her fingers over his sweatshirt.

She kissed him, relishing the warmth of his chest beneath her hands and the startling cold of his lips. “You did good,” she murmured.

“That felt good,” Cade replied with a disbelieving shake of his head. “Who knew salvaging a box of altar tools from the trash could make a guy so happy?”

“There are things more important than power.”

“I realize that. I was raised differently.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe that. I know for a fact you’re very fond of your mother, and she’s kind and caring. More so than my mom,” Ever added bitterly.

Cade rested his hands easily on her hips, his thumbs brushing against the strip of bare skin between her shirt and pants. “I’m surprised you don’t get along with your mom. I thought you got along with everybody.”

“Like Donovan?” Ever laughed.

Cade cringed, squeezing her hips. “Good point. But your mom. What happened there? Other than not telling you about your deadbeat dad.”

Ever leaned forward, resting her forehead against his chest. He felt sturdy, as if he’d catch her by sheer force of will were she to crumble. “What mom? She doesn’t just keep important stuff from me. She’s never here. Her life is anywhere but Coalhaven. What kind of mother does that?”

“She must have her reasons. I’m sure it has nothing to do with you.”

Ever stepped back and shrugged. She had expended so much energy over the past eighteen years trying to understand her mom’s motivations. Something about Cade’s presence made her not want to waste any more time.

“What made you want to help Nate?” she asked, changing the subject.

“I don’t know.”

Ever punched his arm. “Don’t give me that.”

“Maybe I think he and I aren’t so different. Maybe I want him to like me because I know he — and the rest of your coven — loves you. And I want to be accepted. To be good enough for you.”

Ever’s heart skipped. She moved close again, wrapping her arms around his waist as she gazed up into his beautiful face. “You are good enough for me.”

* * *

NATE WAS STILL great spirits at breakfast, laughing and teasing Nah until she blushed from his attentions.

Ever and Cade exchanged amused looks, and she thought about saying something funny in his head. But anytime she caught his gaze, she could barely speak, much less come up with something witty.

Nah picked up the cereal box from the center of the table and peeked inside. “Lord and Lady! I just bought this last week. With three teenagers in the house, I’m going to have to go grocery shopping tonight.” She chuckled, putting the box back on the table. “I’m beginning to feel like a boardinghouse. Any requests from the store?”

“If at any point I become a burden, please let me know,” Cade said.

Nah gave him a little half smile and patted his face. “Honey, I doubt you’re ever gonna feel like a burden in this house.”

“I’m sure my mom would help with groceries, at least.”

Nate, mouthful of cereal, echoed the sentiment. “I’ve got some savings from mowing lawns this summer.”

“Don’t you boys worry yourselves,” Nah said softly, refilling their coffee mugs. She smiled at Ever. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a man in the house. We consider it a blessing.”

When they were finished eating, Nah said, “Ever, honey, may I have a word with you?”

Ever froze. It wasn’t that Nah’s voice gave anything away or suggested Ever was in trouble or anything. But anytime Nah asked for a word, it meant something was wrong.

The guys disappeared upstairs without complaint, glancing back at Ever sympathetically.

Nah sat across from her at the table, her lips pursed. She had Dah’s bifocals perched on her nose from reading the paper, and it gave her a severe appearance, like an angry schoolmarm.

Ever refused to crack first. She held Nah’s gaze, the hum of the fridge filling the silence. The electric kettle clicked. Tiny droplets spilled from the leaky faucet. One of the dogs barked in the yard, breaking the spell.

“Lily called me late last night,” Nah said.

Ohhh, Ever thought. That’s what this is about.

“Did she now?”

Nah hmm’d. “Would you like to explain why I had to convince your mother she didn’t need to come home?”

“No,” Ever answered immediately, surprising herself as much as Nah. Lily should come home, even if Gilles hadn’t been released from jail.

“Excuse me?” Nah looked more confused than angered by Ever’s candid response.

“She has lied to me and withheld information from me my entire life. If I’d known who my father was, I would have had a chance to get help before he followed me home and tried to kidnap me.” Nah opened her mouth, but Ever rushed on. “She’s never here. She never worries about my feelings. Half the time, she doesn’t answer my calls. My mother shows me no loyalty. Why should I give her that respect?” Ever fell into silence. She didn’t know what else to say.

“I don’t disagree with you,” Nah murmured. “Not entirely. Lily has always been rash and irresponsible. She was that way even at your age, which is how she ended up married to Gilles Robidoux halfway across the world. But I promise you, Ever — Lily loves you. She’s sworn for a dozen years that she has stayed away to protect you.”

“How does that even make sense?” Ever whined.

Nah’s gaze shifted from Ever’s face to the small window above the sink. The sky was blue outside, dotted with wispy white clouds. “I don’t know for sure, honey.”

“But you have a theory?” Ever prompted.

Nah focused on her again. “A theory I would hate to be true. Best be off, honey. You’ll be late.”

Ever huffed. Her grandmother’s tone left no room for argument. The conversation was over.

Chapter 30

CADE

THEY RODE TO school with Nate, the three of them chatting with an easy camaraderie unfamiliar to Cade. It wasn’t that he couldn’t talk to his coven; but their constant bickering and drama put a strain on their relationships. Ever and her friends let things go more easily. They didn’t hold grudges.

Though he was able to sneak moments throughout the school day with Ever, he had swim practice at the Y that afternoon. After a pizza dinner with the crew, one of his teammates took him to Mitch’s to get his car. By the time Cade got back to Ever’s — she was already in bed.

Friday was the same; only this time Ever had plans with Meagan and Ollie to go to the mall after school. So Cade spent the afternoon at the O’Connell’s with Nate and Mitch.

“Thanks for inviting me over,” Mitch said as the fire pit crackled, the flames burning hot enough to ward off the chill in the air.

Cade slid down in his seat, resting his soda on his knee. “Yeah, man. Hadn’t seen you all week.”

Nate leaned forward and tossed another branch in the fire. “It’s cool to meet you. As friends instead of enemies.”

Mitch saluted him with his can. “For sure. Between you, Ever, and that hellion Stauble, I’m starting to think you Fluffs are pretty cool.”

Nate grinned. “It’s the truth.”

They talked for an hour about sports and CircleEarth, and then Nate left for his date with Claudia. Cade found himself alone with his best friend.

Mitch nodded. “I like that guy. Seriously.”

“Me, too.”

“You keep watching the door,” Mitch remarked with a smirk. “She’s not gonna come home any faster just because you’re willing her to.”

Cade laughed. “Am I that obvious?”

“Dude.” Mitch rolled his head to look at Cade. “It’s all over your face. You’re in deep. How are you even breathing right now?”

“Because I can still feel her.”

There was no response but the crackling of the fire as Mitch studied him. “Like how?”

Cade touched the point where his ribs separated, his solar plexus. “Right here. Something connects me to her, a thread or something.”

“Magick?” Mitch clarified.

“Yeah. And the longer we’re together, the stronger it gets. Right now, I can sense she’s happy and having fun, but I can feel…” Cade’s face felt hot, and it wasn’t just the fire. “I can feel this incredible sense of longing. For me.”

Mitch waggled his eyebrows. “Have you hit that?”

Cade crumpled his empty can and launched it at Mitch’s chest. “Fuck off, dude. Love isn’t just about sex.”

“Love, huh?”

Cade’s heart pounded in his chest. “Yeah. Love.”

* * *

IT WAS AFTER ten before he heard — and felt — Ever come home.

Nate was still out with Claudia, and Nah was at work. Cade lay in his dark room, every sense on alert as Ever moved through the house.

He waited until she was in her room, and then shoved back the covers and went to her, unable to stay away any longer.

She’d left her door cracked. Cade knocked once and gently pushed it open, not giving any thought to the fact she might not be decent. He froze in the doorway, staring.

She stood in front of her vanity brushing her hair in nothing but her bra and panties. The jeans and blouse she’d worn to school were crumpled on the floor with her boots. On the bed, her nightgown was laid out as if waiting for her to step into as soon as she was ready.

Ever gasped, dropping the brush to the hardwood floor. “Cade!”

“I’m… sorry,” Cade said, unable to find words or stop looking at her. He’d always known there were dangerous curves beneath her loose-fitting clothes, but to see them in the flesh, her ivory skin bathed in the warm glow of her bedside lamp…

Cade wasn’t sorry at all.

“I missed you,” he said.

Ever nodded. “I missed you, too.”

They stared at each other in silence, Cade mesmerized by the rise and fall of her chest, her breasts barely contained by the tiny scrap of lace that functioned as a bra. The curve of her hips, the fullness of her ass — Ever was the personification of an hourglass figure. Cade suddenly wondered why he’d ever wasted time on any girl not built like Ever. Like a woman.

He had no idea who made the first move: he or Ever. But one moment they faced each other, the expanse of her room between them, and the next, her warmth and softness was in his arms.

In between kisses, Cade said, “I can’t stand you being away from me.”

Ever nodded, her eyes wide as she paused to take a breath. “It hurts,” she said, touching her solar plexus.

Cade took her hand and put it over his t-shirt in the same spot. “Me, too.”

“What’s going on?” she asked. “Why is it like this?”

Cade shook his head, then delved back into her lips. “I don’t know. I don’t care. I don’t want it to stop.”

Ever lifted his shirt, breaking the kiss long enough to rip it from over his head. Her gaze drifted down his torso, and for a brief moment, Cade was lucid enough in his desire to hope she liked what she saw. She caught his eye, then moved her lips over his skin, down his pecs and to his stomach, her breasts brushing his erection.

He groaned, grabbing her by the elbows and pulling her up. “If you keep doing that, I’m not going to be able to stop.”

Ever’s eyes sparkled, the purple one almost glowing in the lamplight. She reached behind her back and her bra dropped to her feet. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Cade licked his lips, stunned into silence by the sight of her naked torso. He slid both palms over her breasts, reveling in the milky soft skin around her pink nipples. He brushed his fingers over the latter, his breath hitching in his throat as they pebbled beneath his thumbs.

In one swift motion, Cade lifted Ever, her legs wrapping around his waist instinctively as they renewed their kissing. He lowered her to the covers, settling his body over her, nothing between them but the thin satin of her panties and his cotton sweatpants.

The thread of connection felt painful in his chest. They rolled on top of the covers, hands, teeth, and lips on bare skin. When he couldn’t stand the pain anymore, he worked her panties down her hips, his gaze drinking in the sight of her absolutely naked beneath him.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice thick. “Stop me now if you have any doubts.”

She touched her solar plexus and then his own. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s meant to be. Make love to me, Cade.”

The innocence coupled with need in her voice was his undoing. He stripped off his pants and settled between her legs. Then her warmth enveloped him, and the light of their magicks flared to life around them.

He caught her gasp with his lips, moving his hips slowly, relishing the way he fit inside her. It started slow, two people getting to know the feel of each other, but as the pleasure built, and the magick sparked higher and more powerful than it ever had before, Cade couldn’t hold back.

He felt Ever’s body begin to tremble, and she caught his face between her hands to look him in the eye. Her orgasm rolled over her, her moans intensifying. The sight of it pushed Cade over the edge into his own pulse of pleasure.

Cade felt the moment it was sealed. The hollow beneath his ribs, the seat of his power, snapped firmly into place with Ever’s. The thread was no longer just a thread, but a living energy between them, a pulsing entity uniting them.

Chapter 31

EVER

SATURDAY DAWNED BRIGHT and clear with a cloudless sky and a brisk wind. Cade kissed Ever goodbye and left to see his mother. She and Nah loaded up the car for the yard sale.

“Evie!” Jerome boomed, opening his arms for a hug as they walked into the firehouse. She walked right into his embrace; she loved his burly man-hugs.

“Hi, Jerome. Fight any fires lately?”

He chuckled, his big, full beard scratching Ever’s forehead. He gave her one last squeeze — complete with sound effects — and stepped back. “You know how it is around here. Always fighting fires.”

Jerome was huge; not fat, just large in size and stature. He wore overalls and a Coalhaven Fire Department t-shirt. He had little hair on his head, but lots on his face, and his dark eyes were always full of mirth. He kissed Nah on the cheek. “Missus. Always a pleasure.”

Ever loved seeing Nah blush over his little displays of affection. It was easy to forget Nah wasn’t just a grandmother, but a woman with the same urges as any other hot-blooded female.

Ever grabbed a box from the trunk, her own face flaring as she thought about “urges.” Cade had still been in her bed early that morning, his warm legs entwined with hers and his arms wrapped around her in a circle she thought would never end. They’d made love again for what must have been the third or fourth time, only slower and lazier, the way a Saturday morning should have been. Then she’d kicked him out before Nah caught on. He’d kissed her senselessly, as if he didn’t want to leave her any more than she wanted him to go.

Now, an hour later, she still felt him. Even though she’d showered, she still smelled him on her skin. The knot in her torso where his magick had set up shop moved like a separate soul inside her. She could feel his emotions: his happiness to see his mother, and the loathing that burned inside towards his father. Whatever had happened in her bed last night had connected them as perfectly as puzzle pieces.

Ever spent the next hour helping her coven set up, directing the firefighters who had offered to help carry tables, chairs, and merchandise wherever needed.

The first couple hours flew by; what seemed like the entire county showed up to peruse their wares. Ever was so busy counting money and answering questions that she didn’t have time to notice the ache of being separated from Cade.

Just after eleven, the tables had been half-emptied, and there was a lull in clientele. Ever dropped to a chair beside Meagan and grinned.

“I’d call this a success,” she said.

Meagan gave her two thumbs up. “Totally. Great idea, boss lady.”

Ever pointed to where Nah chatted with Jerome and some of the other firefighters. “I can’t take any credit. This was all Nah. Though I’m pretty sure she just wanted to empty the house of meaningless possessions.”

They shared a laugh.

“I’m glad it warmed up. It’s nice to be outside when the weather is like this.” Meagan picked up her can and shook it, then made a face. “I need a new soda. You want?”

Ever shook her head.

She closed her eyes, basking in the sunshine the way a cat would. Her cat nap was interrupted as Ollie took Meagan’s recently vacated chair.

“There’s something different about you, and I can’t put my finger on it.”

Ever opened one eye, staring at her friend.

Ollie wore a pair of blue jeans and a Coalhaven High sweatshirt, vastly different from her usual dress and boots. Her make-up was done, and her blonde curls were in a ponytail. She looked casual and beautiful, like a prom queen on her day off.

As soon as their gazes met, Ollie gasped. “You didn’t!”

Ever jerked upright, narrowing her eyes. “I didn’t what?”

Ollie bounced in her seat, cackling. She leaned over, lowering her voice. “You slept with Cade. That’s what’s different.”

Ever shushed her, glancing at Nah who was hugging Jerome. “Don’t say it so loud. How the heck do you know that?”

“There’s just…” Ollie shook her head, pressing her fingertips to Ever’s stomach. “There’s something here. It’s in your aura.”

Ever thought about asking Ollie about her powers. Just a simple question: are you a real witch with real powers? An easy question she would either answer in the affirmative or with a disbelieving laugh.

To be silent, Nah always said.

It had been different with Cade. Even if she hadn’t witnessed his spell on Donovan in the courtyard, the moment their lips touched, she would have known.

Now wasn’t the time or place to question Ollie.

“Something happened. I’ll tell you about it later, okay?”

Ollie nodded, her face curious.

Ever glanced up to see Meagan returning, and, over her shoulder, a black car with deeply tinted windows easing up the road to the firehouse.

Ever expected someone destined to shop get out. Instead, the windows rolled down in unison, and five familiar faces suddenly appeared.

Emily, Greg, Marie, Donovan, and Allie. BlackMags.

Donovan drove, his eyes on the road. Ever had a moment of confusion: first, that he was still hanging out with the rest of the BlackMags. Second, that his coven members were glaring out the open windows at the yard sale, but he wasn’t. Thanks to Cade’s spell, he couldn’t see Ever’s coven.

Ever and Ollie stood, gazes riveted, as the BlackMags began to launch eggs at the yard sale. Allie popped out the passenger window with a huge soaker gun and let loose a stream of red liquid.

Ollie and Ever jumped under the tables for protection, and behind them, the firefighters began to run towards the car, shouting.

Then Meagan dashed forward, launching her full soda can at the car. Her aim was true: it sailed through the driver’s window and crashed into Donovan’s head. He flopped over like a rag doll, and the car squealed to a stop. Allie’s soaker gun hit the pavement as the BlackMags rushed to get someone else in the driver’s seat.

Before Jerome or the rest of the firefighters could reach the BlackMags, Allie hit the gas, and the car squealed away from the curb.

Meagan picked up a piece of broken asphalt from the road, racing behind the car on her long legs. She chucked the asphalt at the car, and the back windshield exploded.

In the stunned silence that followed, Meagan burst into tears.

* * *

CLEAN-UP TOOK several hours. They hosed off what merchandise they could, and chucked anything not salvageable into the dumpster.

Afterwards, Ollie and Ever drove an eerily silent and subdued Meagan home.

Shopping the day before had been fun. Meagan had seemed like her usual self, laughing and joking around as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Ever couldn’t help but think something else was going on, something that was drawing out this anger inside her.

Ollie parked on the street in front of Meagan’s house. She and her mom lived in a single-story ranch near the old fire station. The house was new, having been built only a couple years ago, after the F5 destroyed their old one.

And killed her dad.

“Something is going on that you aren’t telling us,” Ever said as the engine ticked. She swiveled to stare at her best friend in the backseat. “You’re so angry. All the time. And it’s no longer about protecting me or upholding the honor of the coven. Whatever it is, it goes way beyond that. Come clean. Now.”

Meagan let out a breath. It went on for so long, Ever thought she might not have any air left in her body. Then she said, “Mom has ALS.”

Ever felt as if she’d been shot in the chest, which was nothing compared to how Meagan must have felt. “Lou Gehrig’s. When did you find out?”

“A few weeks ago. She didn’t want me to tell anybody yet.”

Ollie reached through the seats and took her hand. “What happens now?”

Meagan shrugged, gazing at her house. “We wait to see what happens. The docs say it doesn’t affect everybody the same. She could live for a really long time, or it could progress fast enough to kill her in a few months. We won’t know until it happens.”

It made so much more sense to Ever now. Meagan had always been strong: a tough girl not afraid to talk back. But she’d never been violent. Her behavior lately had everything to do with her inability to protect her mom.

Ever reached around the seat and took her other hand. “Whatever happens, we will be there. If you need to let go of some stress or figure things out, talk to us. Don’t get in trouble trying to right wrongs just because you think it’s the only thing you can do.”

Meagan sniffled, tears spilling over her cheeks. “Is it okay if I still want to punch Donovan?”

“Baby, you knocked him out cold with a soda can,” Ollie said, laughing. “If that doesn’t make you feel better, I don’t know what will!”

Chapter 32

CADE

CADE WAS ON the couch playing on his laptop when Ever stormed in the front door.

He watched, confused, as she dropped a red-splattered soaker gun onto the coffee table in front of him.

“What’s that?”

Ever’s face was guarded. Her white sweater was spattered with red that was, thank Goddess, too pale to be blood. “Do you have any idea where your coven was today?”

Cade’s heartbeat sped up. “No. What did they do?”

“They did a drive-by on our yard sale with eggs and red-dyed water.” She motioned to the gun.

“Gods… Even Mitch?”

“No. Allie, Emily, Greg, Marie, and Donovan.”

“Donovan isn’t part of my coven anymore.”

“Apparently he is!” Ever hissed, shoving the gun off the table towards him. It landed on his feet. “What kind of fucking leader are you? Where the hell are you when your coven needs direction?”

Cade shot to his feet, hurt and anger a boiling soup inside him. “I’ve had other things on my mind. Do I have to remind you I spent three days in the hospital bleeding internally?”

“Because your father beat you up!” Ever screeched. “What kind of man does that? And what kind of man comes from that?”

Cade stilled. “What are you implying? That I’m like my father?”

“I don’t know, Cade. Are you?” She looked small but strong as she stood before him, red dye painted across her neck. Cade thanked the Lord and Lady it had been just water instead of real bullets.

“Are you like your dad, Ever?” Pain flashed across her face, and he felt instantly guilty. He hurried on. “No. You’re nothing like your father, and I’m nothing like mine. If I were, do you think I’d be staying here?”

“What’s that supposed to mean? What’s wrong with my house?”

“Nothing is wrong with your house, Ever.” Cade sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I love it here.”

“You have to give your coven leadership,” Ever said, her tone clipped. “You can’t sit around and play on your computer and let them do whatever the hell they want. They’re bad people, Cade. You have to keep them in line.”

“I’m not their guardian!” Cade snapped. “For someone so strongly against black magick, you sure have a low opinion of the strength and resiliency of other people. You act like your coven is nothing but a flock of sheep that needs a shepherd.”

Ever squeezed her hands into fists and pointed to the door. “Pack your bags and leave.”

Cade stared at her. “Where am I supposed to go?”

With three words, she broke his heart. “I don’t care.”

* * *

CADE COULDN’T GO home. There was no way. Not now, not in a pissed-off, broken-hearted state of mind. He would do something stupid like challenge his father to a duel or punch him just to prove he could.

He slammed his car door and threw his duffel bag in the passenger seat. He slammed his fists against the steering wheel, cursing as loudly as possible, wishing the steering wheel were Rémy’s face, or even Donovan’s. Both were rot in his life.

He picked up his new cell phone and sent out a group text to the coven: Meeting. Coalhaven Cemetery. Now.

He shifted the car into gear and peeled down the driveway, glancing in his rearview mirror one last time. Maybe it was hope that made him see Ever’s face in the window.

* * *

THE CEMETERY HAD always been one of their fall-back ritual spaces when Cade’s house wasn’t an option. But they hadn’t met there in almost a year.

The forty-acre plot was old, with unreadable tombstones dating back to the late eighteen hundreds. An enormous gazebo sat in the center of the landscaped graveyard, overlooking a row of tiny white Army crosses and a line of above-ground tombs.

Mitch was already there when Cade arrived. He shut down his phone and stood as Cade mounted the stairs. “What’s going on?”

“Did you hear what our coven did this morning?”

Mitch shook his head.

Cade told him what Ever had said about the yard sale.

Mitch sank to the bench, shaking his head. “Those idiots.”

“I’ve decided it’s time for an intervention. You got my back?”

Mitch cracked his knuckles and grinned. “You know it.”

Emily and Greg came first, arms around each other and smiles on their faces, followed closely thereafter by a sullen Allie.

She tossed her purse on the ground and threw herself on the bench, splaying her combat boots on either side of the bag. “Marie’s at work. What the fuck we doin’ here? We don’t have ritual till Monday.”

“I heard what you did today. With Donovan.”

“Yeah, and now he’s in the hospital!” Allie shook her head. “That Meagan bitch needs to be behind bars.”

“You need to be behind bars,” Cade snapped. He gazed around the circle: Emily and Greg, both silent and attentive; Mitch, giving him a nod of encouragement; and Allie with a look of anarchy on her face. “You destroyed public and private property. I kicked Donovan out of this coven, yet you continue to stand behind him. Even when he intends physical harm to other people!”

“People who don’t matter!” Allie shot back, stomping her boots on the concrete.

Cade held a palm up and sent a bolt of pure energy at Allie’s purse. The brown leather handbag disintegrated, leaving behind a pile of ash.

The entire coven froze where they stood, mouths open and eyes wide. He’d never revealed his powers to them before. He’d never trusted them enough to do it.

“This is getting out of hand,” Cade said dangerously, letting his magick dance around his fingertips. “I don’t care if you disagree with the Fluffs. I don’t care if you’ll never agree with them. But the violence will stop, or I will make it stop. And you don’t want to know what else I’m capable of.”

The smirk on Mitch’s face and the looks of shock amongst the rest of his coven were worth exposing his powers.

Cade extinguished his magick and sat on the bench opposite his coven. “Now. Let’s discuss CircleEarth. I’ve already bought our tickets.”

Ever couldn’t avoid him forever.

Chapter 33

EVER

“HONEY, WE NEED to have a chat.”

Ever was on her stomach in bed, reading an assignment for her English class. Nate sat in a chair at the end of her bed, his feet propped up on the mattress as he read the same book for a different class period.

Ever glanced up to see Nah’s serious face; it wasn’t an expression she ever liked to see. Nah wasn’t good at the disciplinary part of parenting, so anytime she felt the need to lecture Ever, she got the same look.

Nah smiled sweetly at Nate. “Sweetie, would you please excuse us?”

Nate gave Ever an apologetic look, and then left the room.

“What’d I do now?” Ever asked, sitting up. She turned the book over on the covers to mark her spot and looked at Nah expectantly.

Nah occupied Nate’s vacated seat. She stared silently at Ever for so long that she began to fidget.

“Cade called me.”

Ever sank against the wall at the sound of his name. It was like an arrow to her chest, sharp and painful as it entered the space where she could still feel him. His magick filled her, essentially a part of her now.

“What happened at the yard sale… That wasn’t nice. Those kids, they sure have some issues to work out. Cade has a lot of effort ahead to educate them. But here’s the thing: he isn’t responsible for their actions any more than you’re responsible for Meagan’s or anyone else’s in your coven.”

Ever opened her mouth to argue, but Nah moved on.

“Cade is a good witch, Ever, honey. I don’t know how you’ve set yourself so firmly against dark magick, ‘cause you sure didn’t get that from me.”

“Mom — ”

“Baby, your mama doesn’t have room to talk,” Nah said firmly. “She knew what she was getting into when she married your father, and she was okay with it. You can’t forget there are always gray areas in life. You’ve been given a wonderful and terrible gift. You can bring about change for the good, and you can destroy anything with the touch of a finger. Your choices make you, always. But sometimes choices are harder to make when people you love are involved.”

“I can’t — ”

“Don’t you tell me you can’t, Ever Marie. You can. Cade is willing to bend for you. You have to be willing to bend for him. The mighty oak bows before the wind, and both are stronger for it.”

Ever finally put to voice what she felt but was too afraid to say. “I’m scared.”

“Scared of what, honey? Of love?”

Ever shook her head. “I don’t know. Everything.”

“Just consider what I’ve said.” Nah stood, smoothing her long gauzy dress. She looked every bit the pagan matriarch in her heavy eye make-up and gypsy clothes. “Life isn’t easy, honey. You have to be open to every possibility.”

* * *

IN THE MIDDLE of the night, Ever awoke from a fitful sleep, the ache in her solar plexus worse than before.

She rolled to her back and pressed her fingertips to the hollow, taking a few deep breaths to ease the pain. It felt like a stretched muscle, like a charley horse where one shouldn’t have been possible.

On the nightstand, her phone dinged, the screen illuminating the room as it came on.

Ever knew before she picked it up whose face she would see.

His green eyes smiled at her from the screen; she’d taken the picture only twenty-four hours before. He’d lain in her bed, his long hair mussed from her fingers, a kind of lazy satisfaction on his face that she’d put there. She’d felt so happy, so complete. Now, agony consumed her.

Beneath his face, his message said, I miss you so much it hurts.

Tears filled her eyes. She deleted the message without responding, because she couldn’t handle it. Not right then.

She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow to cry.

* * *

EVER SPENT SUNDAY with Ollie and Meagan. Thanks to her friends’ antics, she was able to forget Cade, mentally. But the ache remained an ever-present physical reminder of him. It was constant now, and the pain sometimes took her breath away.

“Are you feeling okay?” Meagan asked, putting an arm around Ever’s shoulders as they took a break.

They were at the mall, wasting time before it closed. They’d already grabbed lunch and gone to a movie, and now they were shopping for new outfits to wear at CircleEarth. It was the third time Ever had needed to sit down. It hadn’t escaped Ollie or Meagan that whenever she did, she put a hand over her ribs.

“I’m fine,” Ever answered with a smile. “Just winded. Maybe I’m getting sick.”

“It’s that time of year,” Ollie agreed, rubbing her back.

“Do you want us to take you home?” Meagan asked.

Ever shook her head. “No. Not yet. Let’s go to the hippie store.”

Eventually, the mall did close, and Meagan dropped her at home. Nah was already at work, but Nate was sitting at the kitchen table munching on leftovers and playing on his phone.

“Hey,” Ever said, heading for the fridge. “What’d you do today?”

“Went to Claud’s. We took down the Samhain decorations and helped her mom get the Yule boxes out of the attic.”

“Isn’t a little early for Yule?”

Nate lifted an eyebrow sardonically. “You and Nah decorated for Samhain in September.”

Ever laughed, popping the top on her soda can as she joined him at the table. “Good point.”

As Ever took a drink, Nate stared at her carefully. “Hey, Ev? Are you okay?”

Ever sighed, irritated that everyone seemed to think she was falling apart. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t… Okay, don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t look good. You’re really pale.”

“I’m always pale.”

Nate chuckled. “Okay, paler than usual, ghost girl.”

Troubled by Nate’s assessment, Ever bid him goodnight and went to her room. She stared at herself in her vanity mirror, trying to figure out what it was Ollie, Meagan, and Nate had seen.

She did look a little pale, but it didn’t seem abnormal. She was Irish, and it was winter; her skin should have been lighter than usual. But there were dark circles beneath her eyes, and something did seem a little… off.

She touched her solar plexus, and a part of her reached for Cade without even meaning to. His warmth and magick filled her, swirling in her center. The pain that had been buried there since Saturday afternoon was suddenly gone, and she felt him as if he were standing beside her. She recoiled, putting up walls to shut him out as best she could.

Her phone alerted her to a new message: I felt you. GODS, I miss you.

Ever turned her phone upside down so she couldn’t see the screen and his beautiful face.

Cade’s a good witch, Nah had said.

Ever wanted to believe it. She even thought she did. But there were so many emotions inside her, so many things she had to work through before she could decide what she really wanted. Would a relationship with Cade always be fraught with difficulty? Would it always be so explosive? So passionate, both good and bad?

Ever changed into her pajamas, the dull ache back with a vengeance.

* * *

BY MORNING, EVER really was sick.

Nah bustled into her room just after six, smiling as she teased, “It’s not like you to sleep late.”

Ever rolled over, blinking into the hall light that spilled into her bedroom. Nah’s form was fuzzy and unfocused, like an image superimposed on an overexposed photo. She struggled to make sense of what she was seeing. But it was impossible to focus on anything except the ache in her gut stabbing her like a knife.

“Ever? Honey, you all right?” Nah came to her bedside. She pressed a hand to Ever’s forehead and gasped. “You’re burning up. Stay in bed, sweetie. I’m going to grab some cold meds and make some soup. You’re not going anywhere today.”

Ever nodded and closed her eyes.

Time passed as Ever slept. Nah came and went. Nate brought her dinner and helped her eat, his boyish face broadcasting concern.

She dozed, in and out of dreams. It seemed they all centered on Cade: his smile, his touch, the way their magicks danced together like a song of the universe. Her subconscious reminded her over and over how it had felt when they’d made love, two beings merged into one.

Anytime she awoke, she found yet another message from him on her phone.

I can’t breathe without you.

Come back to me.

You are my forever.

On Tuesday, he sent her a poem, line by line, so that every time she awoke from dreams of him, the poem continued.

The universe exists, but for me, only in you.

To sleep, to breathe, to live, only by you.

There is nowhere you are not: inside me, outside me.

I drift in a void, dead to anything but my forever.

Forsaken by the only light I know.

Desperate for even a glimpse of her glow.

Desperate forever. Forever’s love. Forever mine.

She took the poem back with her into her dreamland. She found lucidity enough to appreciate the devastating beauty of his words; how could anyone bad write such tender lines?

Forever’s love.

For Ever’s love.

* * *

TWO DAYS PASSED, and she only got worse.

On Wednesday morning, Nah called in the big guns.

Ever awoke to Nah’s voice filling her bedroom. “She’s been sick since Monday, but Nate said she’s looked rough since Saturday night. Do you have time to run a distance healing on her?”

“Of course, Mom. Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

Ever relaxed at the sound of her mom’s voice. She didn’t open her eyes; she found she couldn’t. They were like rocks on her face, immovable by skin.

“I know you’re busy, Lily. I don’t like to bother you.”

“Mother, Ever is my daughter. She’s more important than anything I’m doing here.”

Nah’s response was more caustic than Ever had ever heard. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

Lily didn’t respond for a long time. Ever imagined the two women, so much alike yet so very different, staring at each other over a computer screen with oceans and technology between them.

“I’m not a perfect mother,” Lily finally said, her tone sad. “But never ever think I wouldn’t drop everything for her.”

“Then do what you do best.”

It had been a long time since Ever’s mother had healed her. It was Lily’s greatest power, something even Nah couldn’t do. Lily had always promised to teach Ever, to help her hone her own innate healing powers, but she never had. She was never home.

A moment later, Lily’s energy tickled over her daughter’s skin. Ever opened to her willingly, so desperate for even a metaphysical connection to her mother, she would have left her skin behind just to reach her.

Lily’s gasp echoed from the computer screen. “Oh, Goddess… Mom, she’s Linked.”

Ever had no idea what that meant. She wanted to reach out to Nah, to let her know she was awake and wanted to understand what Lily was talking about. But her arms felt like jelly, and her head was too heavy to move even an inch.

“I didn’t even make the connection,” Nah murmured.

“Who is it?”

“Cade Bourdain. I didn’t realize they’d become so serious, so fast. And then they had a fight on Saturday. She hasn’t talked to him since.”

“She’s Withering. You have to get him there. I guarantee he’s feeling the same way. Call Grace.” Lily cursed, the word foreign in her voice. “She’s too young to be Linked. My poor baby.”

Ever listened as Nah finished her conversation with Lily, and then a moment later, addressed Grace Bourdain by name.

Chapter 34

CADE

CADE USUALLY CAME down with a cold in November; it was the time of year for it. But this one sucked. He was hot and cold at the same time. His limbs felt too weak to even open his car door, and when he did move them, it was as if they were weighted.

He left school Wednesday, his feet dragging on the asphalt. Mitch had driven him to school that morning, but had football practice in the afternoon. So Cade was going to meet Emily and Greg to catch a ride back to Mitch’s house.

Instead, he was waylaid by his mother in front of the school.

“Mom. What are you doing here?” he asked, accepting her hug gratefully. Her unobtrusive power flitted around him, as comforting as ever.

Grace squeezed him, then stepped back and felt his cheeks. “You’re warm, sweetheart.”

Cade brushed her away. “I’m fine. It’s just allergies or something.”

“It’s not,” Grace said softly. She took his hand and tugged. “There’s something I never taught you. I’ll tell you about it on the way.”

“On the way where?”

“To see Ever.”

* * *

“ARE YOU FAMILIAR with the concept of soul mates?” Grace asked as she backed out of the school lot.

Cade lay back against the headrest and looked at her askance. “Um. I guess.”

“In the magickal world — our world — there are certain people whose magicks simply fit together,” Grace said, her gaze on the road ahead. “It isn’t very common. Maybe one couple in a thousand. Even ten thousand. It is a coveted state of being, because when those two witches come together, they are unstoppable.”

“So it’s like a magickal alliance?”

“In a way,” Grace conceded. “However, this isn’t a alliance that can be severed. It is forever.”

Desperate forever.

Cade took a deep breath, feeling lightheaded. “Why are you telling me this?”

Grace went silent. Cade watched a muscle work in her jaw as she considered her words. “Did you have sex with Ever?”

“Mom!” Cade said, appalled.

“Sweetheart, I’m asking without judgment or recrimination. I need you to tell me the truth.”

He rested his face in his hands, gasping from a sudden pain in his torso. “Yes.”

Grace took a shuddery breath. “You’ve Linked with Ever. As a result of your fight and separation, she is very ill without you.” His mother glanced over, her gaze concerned. “And you’re quite sick without her.”

Desperate forever.

Cade’s voice was little more than a whisper as he asked, “What does it mean?”

Grace reached over the center console to take his hand. “For better or worse, you and Ever are stuck with each other. Forever. Your souls are connected. Your magicks are dependent on one another. Any separation will weaken you both. If anything, Goddess forbid, were to happen to Ever and she passed to the Summerlands, you would follow.”

The lightheaded sensation got worse. Cade leaned forward, laying his forehead on their joined hands. His stomach rolled until he felt like he was going to throw up. He reached for his magick and attempted to soothe his gut, but to no avail.

“I’m going to be sick,” he choked out.

Grace swerved to the side of the highway. The car wasn’t even in park before Cade stumbled out the door and to his knees in the grass.

His mother came to stand beside him, her soothing hands on his shoulders as he dry heaved. Nothing came out; he hadn’t had an appetite for days.

Because of Ever, he thought. So many things made sense now.

The crisp air and fresh smell of leaves calmed his stomach. He fell to his bottom in the cool grass and hung his head.

“Just because we had sex?” he asked, unable to meet his mother’s eye.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Grace hugged him. “No. You and Ever were meant to be and eventually would have Linked anyway. Your… night together simply sealed the deal a bit sooner. It’s my fault for never educating you; it’s just so rare. No parent ever thinks it will happen to their child.” She gripped his chin and forced him to look her in the eye. “You have nothing else to do now but embrace it.”

“Ever hates me,” Cade said miserably, horrified to feel hot tears pricking his eyes.

“Do you love her?” Grace asked.

Cade groaned. “With everything I have.”

“And so does she, even if she’s trying not to. You have to go to her, Cade.”

He nodded, taking a deep breath to clear his head. “Will you take me to her?”

Grace smiled sadly, brushing his hair from his face.

* * *

NATE MET HIM on the front porch, his hands tucked into the pockets of his khakis. “She’s asleep. Nah said her mom did what she could to make her comfortable, that Ever would be okay until you got here. But to completely heal, she needs you.”

“Is Nah here?” Cade looked over his shoulder as Grace drove away.

Nate shook his head. “No. She’s at work, and I’m going to Claud’s now.”

“Ever isn’t going to be happy to see me.”

Nate shrugged. “I think she’ll be happier than she wants to be.”

Cade shoved the front door shut behind him, rolling his eyes as it stuck against the floor. He passed the cat lapping at a dish of milk in the hall. He heard dogs barking in the backyard. Otherwise, the house was dim and quiet but for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room.

Cade could feel her in the house. He mounted the stairs, so desperate to reach her that nothing else mattered. He kicked his boots off in the hallway, and shrugged his jacket and backpack from his shoulders, letting them hit the floor just outside her room.

He gazed inside. The curtains were drawn, making the room dark. He felt her sickness in the air.

Cade crossed the room and gently opened the drapes. Sunlight, warm and life-giving, fell across her bed.

“Cade?” The lump beneath the blankets moved, and her face appeared. “I thought I felt you.”

They stared at one another. Cade was lost in her bi-colored gaze, drunk on her presence, even as thin and wan as she looked. He didn’t say anything as he kneeled on her bed, crawling to join her beneath the covers.

Neither of them spoke as Ever settled into his arms, the two of them holding on tightly as if the other might drift away. Cade closed his eyes, the ache in his solar plexus easing as her energy suffused him. With the sunlight splashing across his closed eyes, Cade fell asleep.

He awoke much later. The sun was gone, replaced by a pale swath of moonlight. Ever’s fingers were dancing over his face, her eyes glittering beneath the surreal glow of the moon.

“I feel stronger,” she said. “Is it because you’re here?”

“Did Nah tell you anything?” Cade asked. His voice seemed alien. He wanted to stay like this forever, their bodies pressed together from chest to toes. He wanted to simply lie there, drinking in the sight of her glowing like some kind of moon goddess.

Ever shook her head.

Cade shared what his mother had told him. He left nothing out, not even that he’d had to tell his mom they were sexually active. When he was done, he waited, terrified by Ever’s silence.

“So we’re kinda stuck together forever?” she clarified. Her face gave nothing away.

Cade took a deep breath. “Seems that way.”

Ever moved her fingertips down his chest. He felt her warmth through his t-shirt.

“I kick in my sleep,” she said with a shy smile.

Cade’s heart sped. “I hate mustard. Don’t even bring it in the house.”

“I never cared about mustard anyway.”

Cade extracted a hand from the covers to cup her face, tracing his thumb along her jawbone. “Can you accept me? Everything about me?”

“I can bend,” Ever said, and then closed the space between them, her lips hot on his.

Cade had no idea what that meant. But as they undressed each other by moonlight and joined together with desperate abandon, he came to understand it meant acceptance. Ever gave him everything, and he reciprocated, the power between them growing with every touch and every kiss.

Chapter 35

EVER

THURSDAY, EVER WAS able to return to school with Cade beside her.

Mitch met them in the parking lot, walking right up to Ever’s coven with a friendly smile and wave.

“Uh, hey, Ever. Glad you’re feeling better,” he said, his cheeks red. He looked like such a brute with his shaved head and bulldozer shoulders. But Ever had figured him out: he was nothing but a teddy bear.

She hugged him. “Thanks.”

As she pulled away, she caught Cade’s relieved sigh.

Emily and Greg appeared behind him, both of them looking peevish. Ever stood tall, squaring her shoulders as they stopped in front of her.

“We’re sorry,” Emily said, her voice soft. She addressed Ever specifically, but her mahogany gaze addressed each of Ever’s coven in turn. She looked a lot like Allie — stick skinny and dressed head to toe in black. But her face was kinder. “For everything.”

Ever glanced at Cade, confused. Cade just smiled enigmatically.

Ever nodded. “Thanks, I guess.”

“We won’t forgive you that easily,” Meagan added.

Ever elbowed Meagan and gave her a hard stare. “Yes. We will.”

“Where’s Allie?” Ever went on.

Greg cleared his throat. “She dropped out of the coven. Marie, too.”

Ever looked to Cade again, and judging by the expression on his face, this was news to him as well.

“I’m sorry,” Ever said. “That means it’s just the four of you.”

Mitch laughed. “I don’t think we’ll miss the excess baggage.”

As the three of them walked away, Ever and the rest of her coven gawked at Cade.

He grinned. “What? Can’t people change?”

* * *

WHEN SHE GOT home from school, Nate and Cade flanking her, Ever found Nah in the kitchen.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Ever asked, confused. Nah’s days off were always Friday and Saturday, and she hadn’t said anything about taking a personal day.

Nah pointed to the chair across from her. “Sit, honey. We need to talk.”

Ever hung her backpack on the back of the chair and sat, at a loss for what could have happened now. This “we need to talk” trend was driving her nuts. Nah already knew she was sexually active with Cade and was going to be for a very long time. Other than that, Ever kept little from her grandmother.

“I had a dream last night.” Nah took a shaky breath, and that was when Ever realized Nah wasn’t about to yell at her. She was worried. “I don’t think I can let you go to CircleEarth.”

Ever’s heart dipped into her stomach. “What? Why?”

“I have a bad feeling in my bones.”

Cade’s eyebrows knitted together. “That’s it?”

Nah just looked at him.

“Nah’s bad feelings are usually right,” Ever said miserably. “Ever since I was a kid.”

“I’m sorry if this is out of line,” Cade said sharply, “but that’s ridiculous. Tickets have been bought. They’re non-refundable. Both our covens are going. Ever and I are Linked, Nah. Nothing is going to happen with that much support and protection.”

“What was the dream?” Ever asked. She appreciated Cade’s near-reprimand, but knew it held no sway against her grandmother’s intuition.

“Fire,” Nah murmured. “Fire surrounded you, Ever.”

Ever shivered. “Maybe it was just a dream.”

“Or maybe it was an omen. I’m not sure you’ll be safe at the festival.”

Without looking at Cade, Ever told him, I haven’t told her Gilles has been set free. What if it’s true? What if he’s going to come after me?

Then he’ll have to come through me.

Cade stood behind Ever. He put both hands on her shoulder, his presence steadying. “I swear on my honor that I will protect Ever. Now. At CircleEarth. Always.”

“We can all protect her,” Nate agreed, standing beside Ever. “The entire coven. We won’t let her out of our sight.”

Ever begged. “Nah, you know how I’ve wanted, yearned, ached to go back for all these years.”

Ever suspected it was the force of three hang-dog faces that tipped the scales. Nah sighed and rolled her eyes, defeated. “Fine. But none of you are to go anywhere alone. And for Goddess’ sake, don’t you dare leave your campfire lit at night.”

* * *

BY THE END of the day on Friday, Ever not only felt like herself again, but she pulsed with elation. The excitement in her coven was palpable as Nate pulled into the lot after school with the rental van.

Cade’s covenmates were scurrying around, packing their bags in the trunk of his Lexus. He waved to his crew to let them know he was coming, and then wrapped Ever in a hug. He gripped her ponytail, tugging her head back gently so that she looked up at him.

“I can’t wait to spend the weekend with you,” he murmured. He kissed her nose, then each cheek, before finally taking her lips.

“I wish you could ride in the van with us.” Ever hated the whiny note in her voice.

Cade grinned. “Patience, Forever. It’s just a couple hours. Besides, not only will we be together every moment of the next two days, but you know I’m always here.” He put two fingers beneath her breastbone.

Ever gasped as he raised his power. It entered her solar plexus, giving her an exhilarating rush that felt disturbingly close to an orgasm. “Quit that,” she whispered, kissing him again.

A few minutes later, the two covens piled into their separate cars, and they hit the road.

CircleEarth was hosted on private farmland deep in the heart of Georgia. The parking lot was near the road, but they had to walk the rest of the way carrying all their gear. Nothing technological was allowed on hallowed CircleEarth ground — no cell phones, no laptops, not even digital watches. All had to be left in the cars.

Ever shook with excitement as a CircleEarth guard smudged her with white sage. The heady scent surrounded her, filling her senses. The guard was a petite older woman with black hair and suntanned skin. Power rippled off of her as she spread ash in a circle on Ever’s forehead and blessed her.

Combined with the sensation of Cade drawing near, his essence moving closer to her through the forest, Ever had never felt so alive.

Her coven laughed and joked as they set up camp. They had their own fire pit at the center of their circle of tents, and the Irish band playing at the pavilion echoed over the forest. Ever was glad to see Nate look so carefree as he and Claudia danced by the fledgling fire in the growing twilight. Tia and Tomas brought out a deck of Cards Against Humanity, and Meagan pulled out a case of hard cider. Everyone sucked down the booze, screeching and laughing their way through the game as they waited for sundown and opening ritual.

A horn announced that it was time. Ever drained her second bottle and linked arms with Ollie and Meagan, already tipsy. They walked to the pavilion, trying to synchronize their legs as the sauntered, failing miserably but laughing all the same.

They quieted as they joined the circle. The crowd was at least a hundred strong, a convening of witches from across the South. There were so many that the very old, the very young, and a few in between relaxed in the amphitheater and let others take part in the actual circle.

Ever searched faces by firelight until she found him. He was almost directly across from her, the heat of the flames making his form waver in the orange light. Their gazes met, and Ever felt that everything was right in her world.

The high priest and high priestess stepped forward, dressed in brilliant copper robes.

“Welcome to the tenth annual CircleEarth festival!” the priestess boomed, spreading her arms in the air.

The crowd cheered, and Ever felt power ripple across her skin. She reached for Cade with her magick and found him, embraced him until he smiled. She couldn’t stand that he was so far away.

“I am Maya, your high priestess of ceremonies. With me is your high priest, RavenFeather. Together, we are your support and encouragement throughout your stay.”

Maya went on to lay out the ground rules for their family-friendly event, and Ever listened with half an ear as she and Cade stared at one another.

He smiled and touched his solar plexus. I miss you even when I feel you.

Ever giggled, returning the gesture. I can’t wait to kiss you.

Meagan elbowed her. “You guys are disgusting.”

On her other side, Ollie laughed. “You are, but it’s a good kind of disgusting.”

Ever blushed.

The circle was cast and the quarters called. Ever relished the heat of the central fire and the rising energy of so many magickal beings in one place.

“Tonight, we celebrate all things pagan,” the high priest said, circling to face the crowd all around him. “Once a year, we come together to recognize the spirit inside one another. CircleEarth stands for the never-ending family we create as pagans and our interconnectedness with all living things. Maya and I invite you to join in as we dance for the gods.”

Maya’s strong, clear voice began to sing. “Isis, Astarte, Diana, Hecate, Demeter, Kali, Inanna.”

Ever joined in, singing the goddess chant with all of her heart. The circle clasped hands and began to rotate around the fire. Ever locked gazes with Cade, sure she could hear his strong voice above all the others as they moved and sang, faster and faster.

She recognized it the moment she felt it. She knew that energy, despite having been confronted by it only once before. Cade recognized it, too.

The circle ceased its turning, and everyone around them threw their hands in the air with a massive, “Blessed be!”

Everyone except Ever and Cade, who stood frozen as tendrils of Gilles Robidoux’s power suffused the circle.

Chapter 36

CADE

“I’LL BE BACK,” Cade called to his coven — all three of them.

Mitch snickered. “Sneaking off with your girlfriend, Bourdain?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Cade shot back, going for normal. Mitch knew about Gilles, and knew how dangerous he was. Cade didn’t want him, or anyone else, to freak out. He needed to stay focused on Ever.

He and Ever came together in the center of the circle. Her eyes were wide and haunted. “Did you feel it?”

“Come with me.” Cade tucked a hand under her elbow and hurried her away from the mingling crowd.

Meagan and the rest of Ever’s coven stared after them, laughing. Cade didn’t care if they thought he and Ever were sneaking away for a quickie. All he could think about was getting Ever away from the crush of people that was hiding her father.

It was cooler in the forest as they took the path to Cade’s tent. Ever’s hand trembled in his own. He couldn’t tell if the panic he felt was only his, or a mixture of hers, as well.

Cade threw back the flap on his tent and tugged Ever inside. It was just a two-person tent, and he’d opened two sleeping bags to make one big bed. He collapsed onto the satiny fabric, Ever falling in beside him.

“Why didn’t I listen to Nah?” she said, her voice squeaky. “I should have listened to Nah. I know better than to ignore her intuition.” She rambled, her eyes wide and tearful as she wrung her hands in her lap. “Cade, he knew I would be here. He snaked his power through the circle on purpose. He’s taunting me, telling me I’m his to take whenever he wants. Gods, what was I — ”

For lack of any other ideas, Cade leapt forward, pinning her beneath him, and kissed her.

It was the right thing to do, because she responded immediately. She embraced him, her fingers delving into his hair and her legs wrapping around his waist.

“I missed you,” she said between kisses.

“Watching you,” Cade murmured, trailing his lips down her throat, “just across the circle. It was too far away.”

“Too far,” Ever agreed with a nod as his lips moved back to hers.

For a few moments, neither of them worried about anything but the very real sensation of each other’s warmth and weight as they rolled around the tent. They were so intent on being together that nothing else mattered.

Ever finally broke the kiss and slapped him on the shoulder. “You distracted me.”

Cade grinned wolfishly. “Worked like a charm.”

“We have to figure out what to do.” Ever shoved him off her and stared at her glowing hands. “Look what you do to me.”

Cade waggled his own glowing red fingers. “Ditto, baby.”

“Cade, this is serious.”

He sat up on his knees, hugging her. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“I can feel your emotions,” Cade murmured, kissing her hairline. “I can feel how happy you are here. That alone means you should be here.”

Ever buried her face in his chest. “It was stupid of me to think he wasn’t still actively coming after me. What am I gonna do?”

“First of all, what’s this ‘I’ shit?” Cade asked gruffly, tilting her face up to his with a stern look. “You’re no longer an ‘I.’ It’s me and you. Forever.”

Ever shivered, burrowing closer.

“And second, we’ll protect you. Remember how I cursed Donovan so he couldn’t see you?”

Ever nodded, a brief smile flitting upon her lips.

“What if we do a spell to make you invisible to anyone associated with Gilles?”

“So like a reverse curse. On me.”

Cade nodded, and then tickled her belly. “I’d need your permission of course, Glinda the Good Witch.”

Ever laughed, throwing her arms tightly around his neck. The motion bumped Cade backwards, knocking the breath out of him as she landed on top. Cade watched her in the dim tent, the flicker of the fire outside barely illuminating her face. He could feel the rising motion of her chest against his. With their centers connected, Cade felt as if their magicks were mingling, charging like a battery.

“Have you ever done sex magick?” Cade asked quietly.

Ever’s breath caught in her throat, and she made a tiny eep. “No. I’ve never… Well… I was a virgin.”

Cade was sure his eyebrows had shot right off his head. “Gods, Ever. Why didn’t you tell me? You didn’t act like it hurt.” His voice lowered, going husky. “You acted like you knew exactly what to do and how to do it well.”

She shrugged. “It didn’t hurt. It felt… right.”

Cade kissed her, sliding his hands up her arms. He loved the long-sleeved shirt she was wearing. Emblazoned with the silhouette of a witch on a broomstick, it was just so her. But it was too much material between them. He wanted to trace his fingertips over her skin and feel the solid warmth of her body against him. He wanted to let their magicks swirl and work together as he cast the spell to protect her from Gilles.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

Ever kissed his chin. “Yes.”

“Sex is the strongest way to raise magick. For us, I think it’s rejuvenating. It makes us stronger, like the night we were sick.”

Ever nodded.

“We’re going to make love,” he said, aware of the way her lips parted and her body squirmed on top of his at the declaration. “When the magick is raised, I’ll cast the spell.”

Cade gripped her waist and rolled her beneath him, his lips catching hers in the same movement. The heat inside the tent ratcheted as he stripped off her clothes and his own. They locked together, their breaths mingling in the silence of the tent, their magicks bursting to life around them.

Sex with Ever was mindless passion. Nothing mattered but the scent of her skin and the way their bodies moved together in a perfectly choreographed, primal dance. His need consumed him. He merged with her as if they were one magickal entity with infinite abilities, nearly forgetting the protection spell.

He slowed his hips; he couldn’t lose sight of his goal. “Reach for my magick,” Cade said breathlessly.

Ever nodded, grasping his arms. She closed her eyes, a moan on her lips. A moment later, Cade watched as a thick rope of blue and red spiraling energy connected them at their centers.

Cade latched onto the rope and closed his eyes, quickening his movements until Ever was panting beneath him and he could barely hold onto his control. He listened and waited for his cue: the quickening of her breath and the way she grasped him as if to pull him closer. As she reached her release, Cade let go of the energy and his own control, and he cast the spell into the universe.

* * *

THE SOUNDS AND smells of morning at CircleEarth awoke him. He was on his side, Ever tucked against his chest. They’d slept wrapped around each other all night long. He always slept better sharing a bed with Ever, and he didn’t think it had anything to do with sex. He was sure it was their Link: the way they depended on one another now.

He heard laughter in the distance, and the Celtic band playing “Whiskey in the Jar.” A rumble of thunder filled the sky. Cade shivered as the power of the coming storm danced across his skin.

Ever shifted onto her back with a yawn, her beautiful eyes opening. She caught him leering at her naked torso and laughed. “Good morning.”

Cade sat up on his elbows to kiss her. “Good morning.”

“What time is it?”

Cade dug in his knapsack until he found his pocket watch. “Just after nine.”

Ever squealed. “I’m going to miss the corn dolly workshop!”

Cade sat back and laughed. She rummaged around the tent, coming up with every item of clothing but her underwear, cursing under her breath.

“I didn’t realize you even knew such naughty words,” Cade joked, his hands tucked behind his head as he watched her, amused.

Ever glared at him. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Cade sat up, crawling to her, well aware they were both still naked. He snaked an arm around her perfect waist and yanked her against his body. “I would rather die a thousand deaths than not have you for the rest of my life.”

He kissed her, which led to other things a lot more fun than festival workshops. And she was definitely late to the corn dolly party.

Chapter 37

EVER

“WHERE HAVE YOU been?” Meagan hissed as Ever folded onto the ground beside her.

The workshop coordinator was droning on about the benefits of raffia versus wheat as Ever tugged her hair into a ponytail. “Where do you think?”

Ollie leaned across Ever to stage whisper, “She’s wearing the same clothes she had on last night. Is there a walk of shame at CircleEarth?”

Ever made a show of huffing and rolling her eyes. But in truth, she wasn’t ashamed for her friends to know she’d spent the night with Cade. She hadn’t told them — and wouldn’t tell them — that Cade was literally her soul mate and last night was one of many for the rest of their lives. But she knew it, and that was all that really mattered.

Not for the first time, Ever found the thought exhilarated her just as much as it scared the hell out of her.

Ever passed the morning making a corn dolly, and then taking a hiking workshop that covered edible plants. She ate lunch with her coven at their campsite, and afterwards, dove into more workshops.

Throughout the day, the thunder drew closer, and the sky began to darken ominously. By four o’clock, the outdoor harvest ritual scheduled for that evening had been canceled. The staff was scurrying about, urging everyone to take shelter until the storm passed, and directing groups towards the handful of cabins that surrounded the main lodge.

As she was walking with Ollie and Meagan, trying to beat the intermittent drops falling from the sky, Ever felt a tug in her solar plexus. It was a weird sensation: as if the rope that connected her to Cade was a real thing, and someone had yanked on the other end.

“I’m going to run to the tent real fast,” Ever said, halting on the path.

Meagan and Ollie exchanged amused glances.

“Are you sure you’re not running to Cade’s tent ‘real fast’?” Ollie quipped.

Ever bit back a grin. She couldn’t keep anything from those two.

“I’ll catch up in a little while,” she promised, then turned and ran.

She didn’t have to go far. Cade was just ahead of her on the path to the campsites, his gaze on her as she ran to him. She leapt into his arms, giggling as he swung her around and then placed her back on her feet.

He kissed her soundly. “How did the corn dollies treat you?”

“Not as well as you,” Ever joked, playing with his hair. “What did you do all day?”

Cade glanced at the sky. “I’d love to tell you about my day, but we should get somewhere out of the rain first.”

“It’s barely sprinkling,” Ever said, amused.

Cade took her hand. “Trust me. I know storms. This one’s about to break.”

Ever took his hand. “My tent is closer.”

And he was right. The rain began to pour before they made it to Ever’s tent, so that when they fell inside laughing, they were both soaked to the bone.

“That power is incredible,” Cade said, turning his face to the roof of the tent. “Can you feel it?”

Ever nodded. “Some power is entirely too destructive.”

“There’s always balance,” Cade said softly. “Power can both create and destroy. It’s all about how you use it.”

Ever stared at him, mesmerized by the sight of him soaked by rainwater. His hair had curled, and he’d tucked the wet locks behind his ears. His long-sleeved shirt hugged his chest and arms, highlighting his muscles. For a brief moment, he didn’t look like Cade; he looked like a god, rugged and masculine. She wanted to bow down and worship him.

Ever felt a rush of desire, and she saw when it registered on his face.

They said nothing else for a time, lost in the sensation of wet skin on skin.

“Even before we spoke for the first time, I always felt you were mine,” Cade murmured.

They lay face to face, their hands linked between them. They’d already dressed, ready to leave when the rain stopped so they could join their friends. The storm raged outside the tent, but inside, all was peaceful and calm. Ever took comfort in the steady brush of his thumbs over her hands.

“We didn’t know each other at all,” Ever said.

“No but I felt like we did. Didn’t you?”

Ever flushed. “I thought we were connected. I knew when you were close.”

Cade grinned. “So it wasn’t just me?”

She shook her head. “No. But there always seemed to be so much between us to keep us apart.”

“In our own heads, maybe.” He leaned forward to kiss her. “Proof positive we’re meant to be together,” he murmured against her lips as their magickal centers flared.

Ever extracted a hand from his and put her fingers at the source of his magick. Red tendrils wrapped around her hand and arm as if claiming her.

Suddenly, a brilliant orange glow flared outside, and a second later, the wall of the tent caught fire.

Ever couldn’t move as she stared at the flames licking down the side of the tent. Cade had no such problem; he grabbed her hand and jerked her away, into the storm.

The rain didn’t dampen the blaze. On the contrary, the flames seemed to lick even higher, enveloping the space they’d just vacated.

“Do not run from me, Ever!” The voice boomed through the evening, louder than the rain, like a secondary rumble of thunder above them.

Horrified, Ever looked at Cade and saw he recognized the voice, too.

Gilles.

“Run,” Cade said urgently, and shoved her towards the forest.

Chapter 38

CADE

THE SPELL DIDN’T work, Cade thought, his breath cutting sharply through the air as he raced behind Ever. Why didn’t the spell work?

He could barely see through the pouring rain. Flashes of orange chased them, splintering trees with abandon and showering them in bark. Behind them, Gilles pursued, his cackling laughter closer with every step they took.

Ever stumbled twice, and Cade caught her, propelling her towards the lodge. All he could think of was putting walls and a door between them and Gilles.

Why can he see her? Cade wondered as wooden buildings came into view. A spark of Gilles’ magick skimmed his cheek, and Cade hissed, slapping a palm to the source of the pain.

Ever threw open the front door of the nearest cabin and raced inside, Cade on her heels. He slammed the door and flipped the deadbolt, thanking all the gods in the heavens that there was one.

Ever panted, resting her head against the wall. “The spell didn’t work.”

Cade shook his head, feeling like he’d failed her. “No. It didn’t. I’m so sorry, Ever. I don’t know — ”

She put her fingers to his lips, then followed them with a kiss. “Shh. Not your fault.”

A loud boom from outside shook the lodge. It definitely wasn’t thunder.

Shrieks issued from the next room. Whoever else was in the cabin had heard the odd explosion too.

That whoever else turned out to be their own covens. Their intuition had led them straight to their friends.

“We’re going to have some explaining to do,” Ever murmured.

Cade touched her face. “We’re going to have some planning to do to keep you safe.”

“I’m not worried about me,” she said miserably. “We just brought him to our friends.”

Cade felt a pang of regret and shrugged it off. “We’re safer in a cabin than a tent.”

Ever put a hand on his shoulder. “Lend me your power.”

Cade did so without a second thought, pushing his magick into Ever. She closed her eyes, her blue magick flashing through the hallway. A moment later, a swirling mixture of their powers protected the front door.

They hurried down the hall and into the great room, where Ever’s coven was gathered around the fire.

“What the hell was that?” Nate asked, standing as Ever and Cade walked into the room.

Cade had only a moment to recognize that his coven — what was left of it — was sharing the room with Ever’s. He felt a rush of pride, and then Ever spoke.

“I don’t have a lot of time to explain,” she said, cringing at yet another blast from outside. “I need you to trust me. There’s a man outside who claims to be my father, and he wants to kidnap me. Magick is real, and his is more powerful than anything I’ve ever seen.”

A crowd of bewildered faces gaped at them. Emily, Greg, and Mitch were less confused and more concerned — they already knew about Cade’s magickal powers. Mitch jumped to his feet. He knew what had happened the night Gilles had come after Ever, so he grasped the true danger of what Ever was saying.

Meagan stood. “Ev, what are you talking about?”

Cade didn’t think twice. He saw the hesitation on Ever’s face, and knew how fervently she believed in the rule To be silent. He held a palm towards the merrily crackling fireplace and conjured the element with a single thought. Flames leapt from his fingertips and joined the fire, rushing up the flue with intense heat and light.

The room fell silent; Cade heard every drop of rain on the roof. Thunder boomed, followed immediately by the sound of banging on the door as Gilles tried to break through.

“We have to protect this cabin,” Ever said, turning to Cade. “He’ll burn it to the ground like he did my tent.”

Cade thought fast. “Everybody circle up.”

Emily, Greg, and Mitch stared at Cade and then at Ever’s coven, who looked just as weirded out by the idea of circling together.

“Throw your differences aside and come together like fucking human beings!” Cade barked. “We are all in danger, and together, we are stronger.”

The group jumped into action, locking hands in a circle around Cade and Ever. Cade grasped her hands and brought them to his lips. “Let’s ward all the entries and place a boundary around the cabin. Are you ready?”

Her eyes were wide and fearful, but she nodded. Cade wanted to kiss her, to hold her and wipe the terror off her face. He never knew such a small creature could be so strong.

Cade closed his eyes as the circle began to chant.

It could have been that the two covens had finally come together, light and dark mixing. Mitch stood between Ollie and Meagan, while Emily and Greg were hand in hand with Nate and Claudia. Cade felt raw power coming from the group, and it began to feed him and Ever.

As usual, he could barely control his energy with Ever so close. Their magicks grew until they formed a bi-colored sphere around them, encasing the rest of the circle in their protection.

To their credit, the covens kept it together. Ava and Roxy cringed away from the sphere, and Tomas’ and Tia’s mouths were wide open. But then the coven, a full thirteen at last, began to dance, their gazes falling on Cade and Ever. Mitch began to chant.

“Cade. Ever. Cade. Ever.”

Then everyone joined in, their voices melodic, filling the room as the magick grew. Ever squeezed Cade’s hands, throwing her head back. He did the same, pushing outwards, their magicks widening until the shimmering walls of the sphere slid through the physical walls of the cabin.

Cade could see the circle glowing outside the rain-drenched window. “It worked.”

The chant fell away, and the covens dropped their hands.

“Ollie, bless the doors and windows,” Ever said. “Take Tia and Meagan with you. Keep out anything with intent to harm.”

Ollie nodded and ran towards the front door, the other two girls on her heels.

Cade pointed to his best friend. “Take the guys and physically barricade the doors. I don’t care what you use to do it. Make it happen.”

Mitch gave him a thumbs up, and motioned for Greg, Tomas, and Nate to follow him.

Ava touched Ever’s arm. “What can we do?”

Ava, Roxy, and Emily waited for orders. Cade was impressed by Emily’s sudden willingness to look to Ever.

Progress, he thought.

“Circle in the middle of the room and imagine the lodge is safe. Visualize,” Ever said urgently. “Be aware of your intent.”

As the three of them moved off, Ever turned to Cade with troubled eyes. “We can’t stay barricaded in here forever.”

Cade shook his head and sighed. “I know.”

“What are we going to do?” Ever’s lower lip trembled. “Cade, I thought we were unstoppable together. Our magick is worthless against him. He can still see me.”

Cade grasped her shoulders, massaging gently. He touched his forehead to hers, desperately trying to come up with a plan. Outside, the stormy night flared orange, and Cade jumped as Gilles’ magick burst against their sphere.

Ever shook herself. “I felt that.”

“Me, too.”

“Cade, I can’t stay here.” Ever’s voice dropped until only he could hear her. Ollie’s strong, sure voice chanted from the foyer, and heavy thuds from the back of the cabin indicated the guys had found furniture to barricade the doors. “I’m putting not only my coven in danger, but yours as well. It’s not fair. I have to protect them. I have to protect you.”

“It’s not your job to protect me, babe.” Cade traced his thumbs over her jawbones. “And I know you want to protect your coven, but does it not occur to you that they feel the same way about you?”

Another explosion rocked the foundations of the cabin. Ever stumbled as Gilles’ power chopped into their boundary. Cade felt the blow in his gut and doubled over, gasping. When he stood back up, Ever cried out.

“Your nose is bleeding.” She ripped off her sweatshirt and put it to his nose, her eyes spilling over. “We can’t hold this up. He’s too powerful. He’s going to destroy our circle, and then he’ll come after the people I love. Including you.”

Cade let her dab at his nose. Her sweatshirt held that smell that was uniquely Ever, and he knew she needed to feel in control of something.

When she opened her mouth to speak, he innately knew he wasn’t going to like what she said.

“I’m going to sneak out the window,” she said softly. “I’m going to run and hope the forest can hide me.”

“He will find you, Ever. You can’t do that.”

She shrugged, pulling the sweatshirt away from Cade’s face. “I don’t have any other choice. Maybe the barricade can distract him long enough to give me a head start.”

“You’re not going alone.” Cade touched his nose to find the bleeding had stopped. The world outside the cabin grew eerily quiet of anything but the storm. “I’m going with you.”

While the covens were occupied, Ever and Cade snuck to the kitchen, hand in hand. The door had been barricaded already, and the guys had moved off towards the front of the house. The room was dark and quiet.

Ever lifted a window. A blast of rain-soaked air brushed across Cade’s face. Ever shivered at the wet cold, but hiked a leg over the windowsill without a second thought. Cade fought the urge to grab her and pull her back inside where it was warm and they were safe.

“Ever!”

Ever paused, glancing at Cade before she looked to the figure in the doorway. Ollie stared at them, her feet shoulder-width apart and her blue eyes full of fear. She looked beautiful and powerful in her emerald, bell-sleeved dress.

Cade could feel the raw energy rolling off of her.

“What are you doing?” she asked, a note of panic creeping into her voice.

Ever swallowed visibly. “Taking the danger away from you.”

Cade gripped the window frame as another sharp blast rocketed through the night. But it came from the front of the cabin, which meant they hadn’t been seen yet.

They had a chance.

“Ollie, can you do something for me?” Ever asked.

Ollie nodded. “Anything.”

“When we break through the circle, it’s going to fall. Can you gather everyone and cast a circle large enough to protect you guys in case Gilles breaks through the barricades?”

Ollie gasped, taking a couple steps back. Cade barely knew the girl, but he knew a look of surprise when he saw it.

“Gilles?” she whispered.

Ever nodded. “Do you know him?”

Ollie looked like a fish gasping for air, unable to speak. She nodded, brushing her hair from her eyes. “I’ll protect the covens.”

“I know you can,” Ever said with a sad smile. “When this is over, you and me need to have a long chat about what we’ve been keeping from each other.”

Ollie nodded. “Go. Run.”

Ever vaulted into the night, and Cade followed, racing into the thunderstorm.

Chapter 39

EVER

FOR WHAT SEEMED a long time, but was really only seconds, Ever thought they’d gotten away.

As expected, the circle had fallen the minute she and Cade broke through. But a reassuring flash of blue from inside the cabin let her know Ollie had managed to put up a protective boundary around the coven.

Ever knew nothing but the rain in her eyes and branches whipping her face as she stumbled over fallen trees and shrubbery, her legs desperately pumping to put distance between them and her father.

Just as she’d started to feel relief, to believe they were going to make it, she heard shouts in the distance. A moment later, orange energy flashed over her head. She ducked instinctively and lost her footing, tumbling in the dark.

She flipped over, already jumping to her feet, when she realized Cade’s gaze was behind him, searching the forest for Gilles. He hadn’t see her go down. Before she could yell out a warning, he stumbled into her and collapsed over her.

He caught himself on his elbows, but the impact still stunned her. She gasped, unable to catch her breath. Cade slapped a palm to her breastbone and shoved his magick inside her.

She inhaled shakily, blinking away pained tears. “Are you okay?”

He grimaced. “I think I hurt my arm.”

The yells came from all around them in the forest now, audible over the pouring rain. Ever stared up at Cade’s face, water dripping from his hair.

I love you, she told him.

His eyes widened at her admission but then he steeled himself. It’s not over yet, babe.

But Ever knew it was. She could hear pounding footsteps now, more than one pair. Gilles had brought back up. It’s too late. I’m going to let him take me. At least I’ll know you’re safe.

Cade’s jaw clenched, and he shook his head. She saw his mind working as he tried to come up with something, anything to save them.

Ever closed her eyes as hot tears mingled with the cool rain on her face.

“Have you ever drawn power from a storm?” Cade asked urgently.

Ever opened her eyes. “What?”

“Reach for the storm,” he went on. “Draw energy through me. Use me as a vessel to capture more than you can hold on your own.”

Ever didn’t question him. If there was any hope at all, it rested in his plan. She closed her eyes and opened herself to the storm.

It had been years since she’d tried this. When the F5 ripped through Coalhaven and claimed twenty lives, she’d closed herself off to weather magick, relying instead on the earth.

But after the past week with Cade, channeling each other’s energy, Ever felt renewed confidence in her strength and control. She began to reel in the power of the storm, drawing it into Cade.

As she reached a breaking point, she opened her eyes. Cade’s face was pained, his jaw clenched as if it took everything in him to remain upright above her. She panicked; she didn’t want to hurt him.

Then his voice came in her head. Now, Ever. Let it go.

So she did.

Their magicks exploded, sending a shock wave through the forest, illuminating every tree around them. Ever cried out at the moment she felt Cade’s spell snap into place.

Then Cade was lifted off of her.

“What the hell was that?” an unfamiliar voice said. “I can’t fucking see.”

“Where is she?” This time it was Gilles who screamed.

Ever scrambled to her knees, terrified. The spell hadn’t worked. Again! He’d found them.

Cade glanced at Ever. I love you. Forever. Then he turned a stony face on Gilles. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Gilles responded by slamming a palm to Cade’s chest. Orange magick sparked on Cade’s torso and he convulsed, crumpling to the ground.

“No!” Ever cried, reaching for him.

“Idiot boy. If he’d just listened to his father. Pathetic.” Gilles snapped his fingers, and two of his cronies picked Cade up from the leaves.

He was so still and pale.

“Dad!” This voice was terrified and desperate, feet crashing through the trees towards them. Ever gasped as Ollie burst onto the scene, her chest heaving.

Dad?

“Dad, what are you doing?” Ollie cried, grabbing Gilles’ arm. “Have you lost your mind?”

Gilles shoved her away. “Know your place, Olive.”

“Sir, the girl is gone,” another man breathed heavily as he ran up to them. “We’ve lost track of her.”

Ollie stared at Ever in confusion, then purposely turned her back and inched in front of her.

She held up a palm behind her back as if to tell Ever Hang on. “Dad, let go of Cade.”

Ever had never heard Ollie’s voice so low and dangerous.

Gilles barked with laughter and began to speak in rapid fire French. Ever couldn’t keep up with the conversation as the two began to argue, although it suddenly became clear why Ollie was so good in French class.

The argument ended as Gilles clenched his fist before him. Ollie cried out and fell to the ground.

Ever crawled to her side and touched her, terrified she’d find her friend dead. She knew Gilles was capable of terrible things, even when it came to his own daughter. Ollie’s eyes were closed, but her chest was still moving.

His daughter. I have a sister.

“This brat is more trouble than she’s worth,” Gilles said, glaring at Ollie. “I should have killed her when I killed her mother.”

Ever froze, gripping Ollie’s hand. She willed him to walk away, to leave Ollie alone.

“Take the Bourdain boy,” Gilles said.

Ever sat on her knees and watched, stunned, as Gilles cut an orange gash in the air. The slash opened, a rip on the backdrop of forest. She could see rolling hills and the edge of a stone fortress on the other side. Brilliant sunlight bled through into the storm-darkened forest.

Gilles looked around one last time as his goons dragged Cade’s unresponsive body through the portal. His gaze moved past Ever as she stood, her entire body numb.

Then he stepped through the tear.

Ever rushed forward, determined to follow after him and save Cade. She leapt through the air, but with a loud crack the gash closed. Ever crashed to the drenched forest floor.

In the silence that followed their departure, Ever sat crouched on her hands and knees, staring into the inky woods. Slowly, an ache began in her solar plexus. She felt her connection to Cade tightening, stretching, as if he were so far away from her she would never be whole again.

Ever cried out as the sensation became unbearable. She clutched her chest, trying to breathe through the waves of pain. Her heart sped, and she gasped for air.

She fell onto her side, starbursts exploding behind her eyelids. Before her vision darkened and she knew nothing else, she had one last thought.

Cade.

* * *

If you liked this book, check out Priestess Prophecies, Book 2 in the Wiccan Wars Trilogy!

http://amzn.to/1PlxTBX

http://www.heathermarieadkins.com/WiccanWarsTrilogy.html

* * *

About Heather Marie Adkins

Heather Marie Adkins loves magick and words, but not necessarily in that order. She worships the moon and stars, and revels in the feel of grass beneath her bare feet. She is the author of numerous titles including Abigail (Witch Faery, Book One); Mother of All (Hedgewitch Mysteries, Book One); and Wiccan Wars, the first book in an occult bestselling trilogy. Heather lives in north-central Kentucky with the love of her life and a house full of cats.

Find out more about her at heathermarieadkins.com

Read More by this Author:

http://amzn.to/1PlxTBX

http://heathermarieadkins.com

Sign up for more bargain boxed sets at:

www.hotboxedbooks.com

JUMP TO...

A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE by NOREE COSPER

END OF DREAMS by KIM FAULKS

HAUNT by HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY

DARK CROSSINGS by ANN SIMKO

HEADSPACE by CALINDA B

THE OTHER F WORD by SUSAN STEC

UNLEASHED by RACHEL MCCLELLAN

HIDDEN INTENTIONS by STACY CLAFLIN

THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL by AIMEE EASTERLING

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS by KYOKO M

ST. CHARLES AT DUSK by SARAH M. CRADIT

WICKED BY NATURE by MADISON SEVIER

UNDERLIFE by MARISSA FARRAR

DRAGON’S REDEMPTION by EDEN ASHE

MILAN’S RETURN by GRAE LILY

THE BREAKERS CODE by CONNER KRESSLEY

THE MEDIUM by MR GRAHAM

WICCAN WARS by HEATHER MARIE ADKINS

CARPE NOCTEM by KATIE SALIDAS

A QUESTION OF FAITH by NICOLE ZOLTACK

CARPE NOCTEM

Book One in the IMMORTALIS series

BY KATIE SALIDAS

Copyright © 2015 by Noree Cosper

Becoming a vampire is easy.

Living with the condition, that is the hard part.

Newbie vampire Alyssa never asked for this life, but now it’s all she has. Rescued from death by Lysander, the aloof and sexy leader of the Peregrinus vampire clan, she’s barely cut her teeth before she becomes a target.

Kallisto, an ancient and vindictive vampire queen - and Lysander’s old mate - wants nothing less than final death for her former lover and his new toy. She’s not above letting the Acta Sanctorum, and its greatest vampire hunter, Santino, know exactly where the clan can be found.

With no time to mourn her old life, Alyssa’s survival depends on her new family. She will have to stand alongside Lysander and fight against two enemies who will stop at nothing to destroy them.

Immortalis: Carpe Noctem

EBOOK EDITION

Copyright © 2010 by Katie Salidas

Second Edition © 2015 Katie Salidas

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

SECOND EDITION

Editing by Sharazade

Interior Design by Katie Salidas

Published by Rising Sign Books, LLC.

http://www.RisingSignBooks.net

Katiesalidas@gmail.com

http://www.katiesalidas.com

LCCN: 2010900421

ISBN-13 978-0-9844196-0-9

Chapter 1

I HATED WAITING!

I shot impatient glances at my phone, checking the time displayed in green LED. It was late and I was restless.

Sounds of clapping in the background signaled that another poetry reading had finished.

It was a busy night at Café Copioh; but then, just about every night here was busy.

Copioh drew in a unique crowd from the nearby college. It wasn’t one of those fancy frou-frou coffee houses where nameless baristas slung foamy beverages to a waiting hoard of credit card-wielding consumers. This place was small, intimate, and had a bohemian feel: colorful, vibrant, and eclectic. Each wall had been painted in a different color: teal, maroon, sand, and sage. Reprints of various famous artworks lined the walls, including a large mural of Van Gogh’s Starry Night, in black light reflective paint. A plethora of flea market-style furnishings were strewn about haphazardly in the large space, completing the relaxed, homey feel.

Mike, the manager—a stereotypical beatnik-esque guy, complete with goatee and long pony-tail—set down a Styrofoam cup filled with a dark, chocolaty drink. “You adding this to your tab, Alyssa?”

I smiled thankfully, knowing I owed that man at least half my paycheck already. “Yeah. I’ll pay up on Friday, okay?”

He nodded and walked away.

I was a regular here, and Mike usually let me slide as long as I made some attempt at paying down my massive tab. I could be found here almost every night. And so could my friend, Fallon who was inexcusably late… again.

I shot another impatient glance at my phone and sighed.

“Ten p.m. C’mon Fallon, I don’t want to wait all night.”

A shrill voice blared over the café’s speaker system. I cringed. Another dreary poem.

Someone was almost always on the makeshift stage. Reading poetry was the custom here. I leaned into the cushions of my favorite brown threadbare loveseat in the front window, far away from the stage, and tried unsuccessfully to ignore the babbling. I never did care for poetry. Most of it was nothing more than nonsensical emotional ramblings, with too much use of words like dark, black, emptiness, and despair.

A hum of mumbling voices nearby tempted me to listen. Eavesdropping here was like having a front-row seat to a taping of my own personal soap opera. Tidbits of gossip about people I knew piqued my interest, momentarily stealing my focus.

The sudden jingle of my cell phone startled me. I jumped to answer it, almost knocking over my mocha. I didn’t need the caller ID to tell me who it was. Fallon was well over an hour late.

“Please tell me you’re close. You would not believe the day I had. I need to vent,” I blurted out before she had a chance to speak.

“Sorry, Alyssa, I’m not going to make it out tonight.”

Great, what else could go wrong today?

“What? No! Oh, c’mon, Fallon. Don’t leave me hanging. I need a friend today. I got fired….”

“Lyss, I don’t feel like going out tonight. I’m tired and it’s already late. Let’s just meet up tomorrow, okay?”

There was something in her voice. If I’d not been in such a bad mood I might have recognized it, but in my anger, I simply huffed in response.

“Alyssa, I promise, tomorrow,” Fallon was using her most sympathetic voice.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” I didn’t bother hiding my disappointment.

“Sorry, Lyss, I’ll make it up to you. I promise. We’ll go out tomorrow. You can tell me all about work then, okay?”

“Fine. But next time, don’t leave me hanging here by myself for an hour before you decide to cancel on me.” I breathed a disappointed sigh and ended the call.

The perfect end to the perfect day. Might as well pack up and go home. I gulped down my mocha, waved to the manager, and walked out the front door.

A hot summer breeze greeted me: a mixture of coffee, car exhaust, and the lingering tang of grease from a nearby taco shop.

I set off across the street to the University. My apartment was on the other side of campus. Just a quick ten-minute walk and I’d be home.

Being a petite woman, I never did like walking home alone, especially at night, and tried to avoid it whenever possible. This time, though, I had no choice. Fallon would have been my ride, but since she stood me up, I had to hoof it. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a keychain of pepper spray. Old Reliable.

Knives could be turned against you and do some serious damage. Pepper spray was a good enough deterrent without having the potential to be deadly. If someone managed to get it away and use it against me, the worst I could expect was stinging eyes, and that was better than a stab wound.

UNLV was quiet at this time of night. The regular classes had ended hours before and the walkways were empty. Armed with my pepper spray, I took the pathway leading toward the theater and music halls.

Just walk fast and don’t talk to anybody. I hated walking home alone.

Sounds of distant chatter caught my attention. Echoes of raised voices reverberated off brick buildings. A couple of men were arguing somewhere ahead of me.

Small lamps dotted the walkway, and floodlights hung from the corners of some of the buildings. Normally, there was plenty of light on the walkway, but tonight things seemed darker. A light on one of the buildings flickered. I noticed another building’s lights had completely burned out, leaving a portion of my path in darkness.

Imagination got the better of me though I tried to remain calm. Tightening my grip on the keychain, I quickened my pace. I gritted my teeth and fought against the weak voice of my intuition telling me to go back to the café. Almost home, just keep going.

The arguing voices faded into silence as I neared the theater. An eerie quiet sent a shiver dancing down my spine. I stopped and looked around, checking for any movement in the shadows. Intuition, no longer a weak voice in my head, screamed at me to run. Something wasn’t right.

Anxiety kicked my heart into high gear, pounding so hard I thought it might punch a hole straight through my chest. And, when an unexpected voice called out, “Excuse me,” I damn near shit myself.

“Excuse me, miss. Hello. Can you help me?” The voice called out again.

Against my better judgment, I turned around to see the man belonging to that voice.

“Sorry to bother you. I’m new here and kind of lost. Could you tell me where the library is? I’m supposed to be meeting a friend there.”

I squinted, trying to get a better look at the guy who had called out to me. A skinny, twenty-something guy passed out of the shadows into the light. He didn’t seem all that intimidating. I felt a little silly for letting myself be spooked. He looked like an average college guy: short spiky hair, glasses, and a sarcastic saying t-shirt. For a second, I thought I recognized him from somewhere. Maybe he’d stopped into Copioh before.

I took my finger off the pepper spray trigger. “Sorry, I’m a little jumpy tonight. It’s no problem. Just go down that way.” I pointed in the direction of the library.

Something tapped me hard on the shoulder. I turned around, seeing a blur of knuckles just before a fist slammed into my face.

Pain shot through my jaw. Stunned, my vision blurred out of focus. I dropped my bag and keychain as I fell, landing hard on my back. The impact knocked the wind out of me. A hot throbbing radiated from my cheek to my ear.

I looked up, trying to focus through the confusion and pain. A hulk of a man stood before me, not the skinny guy I’d been speaking to.

“Help!” I screamed.

The large man swung his foot, and hammered hard into my ribs.

I yelped as burning pain shot though my chest.

“Keep your mouth shut, slut, if you know what’s good for you,” threatened the heavyset man.

I was sure he had just broken at least one of my ribs. Bile rose up my throat. I rolled onto my knees, vomiting on the ground. Sharp pains stabbed me from within as I heaved. The contents of my late-night snack spread in a sickening puddle over the concrete.

I looked up, barely able to make out through my blurry vision the skinny man walking toward me. Fear, panic, and anxiety tore through me all in the same instant. I cowered, afraid of what would happen next.

Gone was the friendly face he had fooled me with. The skinny man’s lips twisted in a vicious smile, revealing dirty, tobacco-stained teeth. Removing his belt, he used it as a whip and struck me. The leather stung as it tore open my face.

Again I yelped. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks; stinging the bleeding wound I had just received. I tried to crawl away, but before I could get far, a foot came down hard on my hands. A large, thick-soled boot crushed my knuckles, twisting side to side as if stamping out a cigarette.

I screamed at the top of my lungs, hoping someone would hear me and come to my rescue.

“Shut up or I'll shut you up,” the skinny man commanded. “Now, we’re going to have a little fun.”

“Please…no…don’t hurt me.”

“This one is too easy, Mark,” he said to his large friend.

“Yeah, not much fight in her,” the heavyset man laughed. “But she’s got a nice tight little body. Mmmm, look at those boobs, Craig. Bit more than a handful there, huh?”

He reached out, his hand just grazing my chest.

I balled myself up on the ground.

“Are you scared, little girl?” taunted the man called Mark.

The two men hovered over me, laughing.

I tried to reach out for my keychain, hoping to grab it, but it was too far. My heart pounded, my stomach ached, and my ribs hurt. Pushing aside the pain, I stretched out as far as I could.

If I could just reach the keychain, I could pepper-spray them, and give myself a chance to run.

It was my only hope.

My fingers had just grazed the edge of one of the keys when something sharp pierced my lower back.

I screamed again. A meaty hand forced itself over my mouth. Thick arms wrapped around me, lifting me up to my knees.

“See what you made me do?” His hot breath blew against my ear as he spoke. I felt the knife as he slowly pulled it out of my back. I whimpered under his grip over my mouth. He pushed me toward the pavement.

I had no chance to break the fall. The ground came at me too fast. My head struck hard, with a crack. Throbbing pain radiated through my temples.

The man called Mark bent down, grabbed my keychain, and threw it. A faint echo sounded as it dropped, telling me I was doomed. I had nothing left, no weapon with which to fight. I was at their mercy and so utterly helpless.

In that moment, I knew my life was over. Even if they had their way and left me there, I would die.

I whimpered, trembling as he showed me the knife, freshly coated with my blood. He waved slowly it in front of my face.

“You won’t be trying a stunt like that again, will you?” he said.

I turned my head and saw the skinny man out of the corner of my eye. He busied himself rummaging through my bag, tossing aside my book, makeup, and various trinkets. After finding my wallet, he pocketed it and tossed the bag aside, shifting his focus back to me.

“Please, let me go. Please.” My voice cracked as I pleaded.

Pain flooded my senses. I couldn’t tell where the sensations were coming from. Tears streamed down my face. Shock set in and my head swam with dizziness. I tried to focus on the stars above, something, anything to ground me in reality, but my vision clouded, as if I were looking through frosted glass.

Why me? Why is this happening to me?

I had just lost my job, I had no clue how I would pay my rent, and my best friend had ditched me. Worst. Day. Ever! All I’d wanted to do was get home to my apartment. I’d done nothing to deserve this.

Why had I stopped to answer that man?

The world blurred in and out of focus. I fought to stay conscious. I don’t want to die. I don’t want this. Please, someone save me.

“You hold her down, Mark and I’ll have a go with her first, then you can have your turn,” said the skinny man, smiling, giving me a close-up of his crooked yellow teeth. I rolled sideways, curling into the fetal position.

“Why do you get to go first? I don’t want her when she’s cold.”

“If you shut up and let me take my turn, she’ll still be alive when you get her.”

I hated the way they talked. I hated the fact that the last thing I would hear before I die was their voices. I wasn’t a person to them. Just a conquest. Nothing more than an object for them to use for their sinister pleasure. I was going to die, just another statistic.

“Fine, but hurry,” Mark grumbled as he tossed the knife to his friend. He took his frustration out on me, kicking me once more before rolling me on to my back to hold me down. I knew what was coming next.

“Please…don’t,” I moaned weakly.

With one quick motion, the skinny man sliced my shirt and bra open, grazing my skin with the tip of the blade. I hissed, feeling the sting as a line of blood traced the fresh cut. He straddled me, admiring his work. Blood pooled between my breasts, thick and sticky. A sinister smile crossed his face, telling me he was savoring the fear in my eyes. His lips twisted upwards as he wiped his hand across the new wound, smearing the blood all over my skin.

The weight of his body pressed against my already broken ribs, sending new shocks of pain into my stomach. I prayed it would be over soon.

“How long are you going to take?” Mark complained again. “Hurry up. I want my turn.”

My blood oozed out onto the concrete from the wound on my back. I felt as if I were deflating. Drowsiness pulled me into darkness. My eyelids drooped. I didn’t want to be awake for what they wanted to do anyway. I welcomed the end of this torment.

A sharp sting hit me like a streak of lightening. My eyes shot open. Through the haze I saw the skinny man’s hand, cocked and ready to deliver another strike. My cheek throbbed with a warm pain.

“Oh, no, you’re not. You’re staying awake for this,” he sneered.

Mark laughed and gripped my wrists tighter, above my head. “Do that again, Craig. Give her a last parting memory.”

“Will you shut up? I can’t concentrate with you talking.”

Thankfully, I didn’t have to try blur out the image of this man on top of me. I was too weak to fight my coming death. The words of the large man holding my wrists echoed in my mind. I would be cold and dead soon.

“Is that any way to treat a lady?” a strange, deep, velvety voice asked.

A sense of hope reawakened in me. My eyes shot open again, and I saw my attackers too had turned their attentions toward the interruption.

Grateful for any new distraction, I strained to turn my head to look for this new and strange voice. Whoever he was, he might be able to stop these men and take me away.

“Get lost, bud, this isn’t your concern,” the skinny man, Craig, said.

“You would dare harm an innocent young girl?” The new voice was oddly calm and arrogant. “Such savagery. You must realize I cannot allow you to continue.”

“I said, get lost, man.” A slight shudder came from Craig. I felt the vibrations through my body. He jerked his head from side to side frantically, as if scanning the surroundings. A bead of sweat dripped from his head above me, landing right on my cheek.

A footstep echoed on the darkened path as the stranger approached. I could just make out the faint outline of a man in the shadows.

My attackers seemed temporarily frozen with fear as they watched the man emerge from the darkness.

As the light hit the stranger, I saw a pair of eerily pale eyes lock onto me. There was a moment, just a flash of feeling, but I could have sworn I felt him whisper, stay calm, in my ear. Couldn’t have though, he was so far away. He casually walked over, the sounds of his footfalls breaking the sudden silence.

I wanted desperately to get away before anything else happened to me. Intuition told me something was different about this stranger. My hair seemed to stand on end as he approached. His eyes shone with an unnatural glow. I wanted nothing more than to escape, but fear and the weakness of my beaten body kept me firmly in place. My only hope was that somehow I might survive this night.

Panic seemed to overtake my attackers; they looked as if they wanted to run, but didn’t. Mark tightened his grip on my wrists, painfully so. I thought he might crush all the bones in my hand.

The stranger knelt down next to us. He looked at Craig, sitting on my chest and waved his hand, motioning for him to get off of me.

I felt the vibrations of Mark trembling, still holding my wrists. His arms shook violently, but he didn’t let go.

Craig ignored the stranger, focusing his attention on me. His eyes locked onto mine. The arrogant expression faded from his face.

“Please, let me go, please,” I whispered.

Again, the stranger motioned for Craig to get off me. When the gesture was ignored a second time, the stranger spoke.

“My patience is wearing thin. Remove your hands from this girl. And do it quickly before my temper gets the better of me.” His voice was more than dangerous this time. Even I was ready to run, if I could.

Again, Craig ignored the request; he stared stone-faced at me. Beads of sweat dripped from his chin onto my exposed chest. Defiant as he was trying to be, I saw the terror in his wide eyes.

After a few moments, the stranger made his move. With the ease of a man throwing out a sack of garbage, he grabbed Craig, lifted him off of my chest, and tossed him, sending his body flying into a nearby wall. It landed with a dull thud.

Mark recoiled, releasing his grip on me; however, he did not run away. He stood still, like a deer caught in the headlights. The stranger turned to look at him, staring intently into his eyes.

“You will stay there.” Calm as can be, the stranger’s voice demanded obedience. “You’ll have a good view.”

Mark nodded, his eyes wide with fear. Obediently, he remained in place, just as the stranger had instructed.

I wondered what would happen next. Even if I had the strength, I dared not move after seeing what this stranger was capable of. I wanted to scream, but my voice no longer had any strength; only soft whimpers escaped from my lips.

The stranger knelt down, looking at me kindly. His eyes were hypnotic, big and gray with flecks of blue. He smiled and caressed my bruised face. His touch was cool and soothing to my angry wounds. A strange calm took over as I looked into his eyes.

“What’s your name?” He asked. His eyes narrowed and his eyebrows pulled down in concentration.

My vision flickered, but I felt his deep, blue-gray eyes probing me, urging me to stay conscious.

“A-A-Alllyssssa.” It took work just to get the name out. My body wasn’t cooperating. The simple task of moving my lips to speak was almost too much to handle.

A still, grave expression marked the stranger’s face; he bent down further, whispering in to my ear. “I’m sorry, Alyssa. I know you have suffered much this evening, but I must do this; you are too far gone.”

I managed a nod. I knew this would be the end. He placed a hand behind my back, lifting me up to him. With his other hand, he wiped the hair from my neck. His touch was so cold and soothing to my aching body.

Again, he whispered his apology as he leaned in close to me. His cool lips gently opened on my neck, followed by a tiny pinch as his teeth pierced my skin.

A wave of calm fell over me. What little strength I had left my body, and I gave way to his embrace. The pain of my wounds diminished with each passing second. Gentle numbness consumed me as I felt the life drain from my body. He supported me, holding me close so I would not slump back to the ground.

I could no longer see or hear. I passed in and out of consciousness. I wasn’t scared. I was at peace: there was no pain, no fear, just peace.

Chapter 2

AS I WAITED for the infamous light to follow to the next life, a tingling liquid trickled down my tongue. It pooled in the back of my throat. Instinct made me swallow.

My throat erupted in flames. Heat spread throughout my body, lighting a path through my insides. My skin felt as if was a shell locking in the flames.

I was ripped from my peaceful death and back into this painful new consciousness. I wanted to scream out in agony, but couldn’t. Something hard and cold covered my mouth, pressing against my face.

I tried to struggle against the pressure, but my body would not cooperate. I was motionless as a rag doll and at the mercy of this thing.

A voice broke the silence of my personal hell and commanded me, “Drink!”

I obeyed and swallowed, causing more flames to char my insides.

Slowly, my vision came back. The frightening blackness became a hazy blur of objects. I barely made out the fuzzy shapes and figures around me. I realized it was the stranger commanding me and covering my mouth.

I tried again to struggle, and this time my body responded. I jerked sharply to the side and turned my head. I tried to scream, but the only audible sound that escaped from my lips was a loud gurgle.

The stranger too jerked back for a moment. I saw deep, red liquid drizzling down his arm.

“Ugh,” I gurgled again. What the hell! Was that blood? His blood?

He quickly recovered, pulling me back to him, and forced his wounded arm back over my mouth. He held me firm, continuing to force me to drink.

I couldn’t comprehend what was happening. I didn’t want to drink anymore. I didn’t want to burn. Where was my peaceful death? I wanted it all to be over. I wanted the pain to stop. The fire was too intense. I could do nothing to stop it though. My body was motionless and uncooperative.

After what felt like a small eternity, he released me. I rolled over, curling up into a ball, thankful not to have to swallow any more of the burning liquid—his blood. I lay there trembling, my insides on fire.

The stranger clutched his wounded arm; a pained expression crossed his face. He took slow, measured breaths and stood up.

The world began to spin around me. My arms and legs twitched involuntarily. My stomach lurched. I was going to be sick. Instinctively I rolled onto my knees, heaving and convulsing; each movement sending shocks of pain down my spine. My body wanted none of this blood inside of it. But nothing came up. It was trapped inside of me.

My chest suddenly felt heavy and full. I gasped for air; feeling is if my lungs were filling with fluid. My heart pounded hard, threatening to explode from the pressure.

Just as I thought I could take no more, the burning stopped. My muscles gave in and I collapsed on the ground.

I stared blankly at the sky above as my body went cold.

Tiny pin pricks danced across my skin, like the waking of a sleeping limb. Every hair stood on its end and I flushed with goose bumps.

The ground suddenly felt hot.

My vision blanked again and darkness surrounded me. I hoped this time it would really be over. I was ready to cross into the next life. I didn’t want to suffer any longer.

“Relax, Alyssa, this will all be over soon,” the stranger said.

I prayed for death, but it would not come.

I learned a new pain as pressure mounted in my head. My jaw tightened, forcing my mouth to open wide. My ears felt like they would burst. I felt my teeth moving, shifting around in my mouth. I let out a hoarse, pain-filled moan as I struggled to pop my jaw and close my mouth. My head throbbed, aching from the pressure.

Suddenly, my vision returned, clear and sharp. I was able to focus on the stranger. He’d turned his attention to my attacker.

I tried to scream for help, but no sound escaped.

“Have you seen enough?” the stranger snickered, his voice full of mocking arrogance.

Mark remained frozen in his spot, just as the stranger commanded. Fear marked his puffy face and his eyes were still wide with fright.

“You will now pay for what you made me do here tonight.”

A wicked smile crossed the stranger’s face as he grabbed Mark by the neck, then bit down, hard.

Mark let out a faint moan as the stranger drained him. Color faded from his bloated face. His arms flailed wildly in a futile attempt to fight.

I felt no sorrow for this man as I watched his struggle. The pain of my wounds was a result of the torment he had inflicted on me. He deserved this. He deserved to die.

Mark’s eyes darkened and his arms fell limp.

The stranger unceremoniously dropped the lifeless body in a heap on the ground and turned back to me. I caught the intensity of his eyes. He was a frightening sight at that moment. I trembled, watching a small line of fresh blood drip down his chin. He exhaled a long, pleasurable sigh before wiping the blood from his face. He had saved me from those men, but I wasn’t convinced yet that he was no danger to me.

He bent down to me again, and wiped the hair out of my face. His touch no longer felt cold.  I recoiled in fear, but my body was still too weak to let me move far.

“Who…what … are you?” I asked.

“I am Lysander,” he said matter-of-factly. The tips of his fangs poked out from behind blood-stained lips. “We are not done yet. You need more blood.”

He stood up and walked over to the skinny man, still unconscious on the ground where he had been thrown earlier. Lysander grabbed him by the back of his shirt, and the man let out a faint moan as his body was dragged over to me.

“You need to drink if you want to make it through the night,” Lysander said. He picked up the knife that had been left on the ground and cut into the man’s wrist.

I shuddered, seeing blood pool to the surface of the fresh wound.

Lysander sat me up and pushed the bleeding wrist to my mouth.

“No,” I whimpered and tried, unsuccessfully, to turn away—I still did not have much control over my body.

I didn’t want to drink any more blood. I was repulsed at the thought of it. Lysander held the man’s wrist firm and offered it to me again.

“You must drink this, or you will die.” He stared at me with hard, cold eyes. His voice echoed in my head, telling me I had no other option. Lysander pushed the wounded arm to my lips.

My tongue grazed the wound, tasting the sticky wetness. This wasn’t the liquid fire I had just experienced from Lysander. It was almost sweet. I swallowed quickly, surprised that it soothed my pain as it ran down into my stomach.

“Good girl,” Lysander said in a whisper. “Keep drinking.”

With each swallow, the trembling of my limbs lessened.

Strength slowly returned to my body. I drank deeply, ignoring the thought that it was blood—it was my remedy and nothing else. I needed it to end my pain and suffering.

Soon, I was able to control and lift my arms; the trembling had stopped. A blissful fuzziness, as if I were drunk, filled my head. My mind swam with euphoric pleasure. I found myself lapping at the wound like an animal. I wanted to draw out every last bit of this healing elixir.

Lysander must have noticed. He pulled the wounded arm away from me.

“That’s enough for now,” he warned.

As soon as I stopped drinking, the pins and needles returned, tingling and pricking at my skin.

“No, I need it,” I rasped. “Please, I need more.”

An understanding smile crept across Lysander’s face. He chuckled.

“You have had enough for now, young one. There will be plenty more, when the time comes.”

Pain was already increasing as each second passed. Tingles became sharp pin pricks. My insides were no longer on fire, but every muscle in my body ached. I needed more. I did not want to feel pain again. I tried to get up, but lost balance. My stomach churned. I fell. White light flashed before my eyes as my head hit the ground.

Chapter 3

DARKNESS SURROUNDED ME. A voice spoke softly in my head. Do not die, young one. Be strong. Do not die.

I became painfully aware of liquid pouring down on me, each drop like an icy hammer hitting my sore skin. Movement echoed in my ears, telling me that I wasn’t alone. Slowly, I opened my eyes. Harsh light blinded me. My mind was fuzzy. I struggled to recall any small detail that might clue me in to what had happened and where I was.

I reached up to wipe the splattering water from my face and chanced opening my eyes again. As I looked up, I found the source of the water, a showerhead on the opposite wall. Confused by my odd location, I struggled to penetrate the blackness of my memory and figure out how I had ended up in a bathtub.

Where the hell am I?

Everything was bright, too bright, and unfamiliar.

My vision, it seemed, had become remarkably sharp while I was unconscious. I couldn’t remember ever seeing so many details in such simple surroundings as these before.

Cream-colored tiles covered the walls, each rippled with tiny imperfections. Each held an individual pattern, making them unique and special. Yellowing, porous grout, framing the tiles, appeared to be littered with dots from small air bubbles that had come to the surface, creating different patterns and shapes.

Even the plain white curtain that separated me from the rest of the room seemed unusually detailed and perfectly woven. I saw each tiny strand that had been tightly bound together to form this heavy, durable cloth.

Small specks of mold building up in the corners of the porcelain basin weren’t able to escape my new sight either.

The amazing level of detail I experienced didn’t hold my attention for long. Freezing water still poured down on me. I needed to reach the handle and end the cold assault, but it seemed so far out of my reach. I eased myself up to a sitting position, my muscles aching with each small movement. Looking down, I saw my beaten body. The water had washed away some of the grime, but what was left of my shredded clothes was stained and clinging to my skin.

“Uggh!” I moaned.

“Oh, good, you’re alive,” said a male voice from behind the white curtain.

I’d have jumped out of my skin if my muscles were working properly. The strange voice startled me so, but though it was odd, it was also very familiar. I searched my fuzzy memories to place the voice with a face. A wave of fear came over me as I remembered the attack.

Had I been kidnapped? Was I a hostage of some kind? I struggled to recall the events of the evening.

“You’ve been out for a few hours. I was worried I might have lost you,” he spoke with kindness, I almost believed him.

“What?” I called, still not sure who I was talking to.

“It doesn’t always work. Some people can’t be turned.”

“Turned?”

I again tried to run through my memories of what had happened. I remembered blood, and the feeling of my body burning from the inside.

“I’ll explain it when you’re done in there. I’ve left some clothes on the toilet. I hope they fit.” The voice trailed out of the bathroom.

I tried to stand. My muscles ached. Gripping the edge of the tub, I moaned as I pushed myself up. My legs didn’t want to cooperate; they shook as they tried to support my weight. It was as if I was learning to stand for the first time.

I felt weak and a little dizzy. I leaned against the wall, using it as a crutch to help me to balance while I removed what remained of my shredded and blood-stained clothes. I shuddered, seeing more of the wounds that covered my body. I shouldn’t have survived.

Each bruise I saw invoked a terrible memory: the man on my stomach laughing, the knife waving in front of my face, teeth biting me, a stranger drinking my blood.

I turned the shower handle to hot and let the water run down my back. The warmth soothed my sore skin. I rested my head against the wall and tried to rationalize what had happened. I blamed myself for walking alone. I knew better. I should have asked someone to walk with me or drive me. I cursed myself for relying on a stupid keychain of pepper spray as my protection.

I could hardly believe everything that had happened. I saw myself lying on the ground, drinking blood from a strange man’s arm.

What was his name? Was I really drinking blood? Why was I even alive? Did that man save me?

The thought of blood caused an ache in the pit of my stomach.

I pinched myself a few times.

Maybe this was all just a really bad dream and I just needed to wake up.

None of it made sense

Maybe someone had slipped something into my coffee at the café. I hadn’t really been drinking blood, had I?

I couldn’t stop focusing on the blood I had drunk. A sweet, sticky taste crept up from the back of my throat. I gulped at the water pouring down from the showerhead, trying to smother the flavor. My stomach retched as I swallowed, causing me to sputter and spit the water to the ground. I tried to ignore the nagging ache in the pit of my stomach. I needed answers first. I needed to know why I was here and where here was. I needed to know what the hell had happened to me.

I finished rinsing, turned off the water, and slid open the shower curtain. The light seemed brighter in the rest of this room. I squinted, letting my eyes adjust a little. The rest of the bathroom was small and narrow. Nothing more than a simple toilet, shower, mirror, and vanity sink. The only real color in the room came from the red towels hanging on the towel bar and the bath mat on the floor.

I grabbed one towel and wrapped it around myself and then noticed the clothes left on the toilet seat. They appeared to be new and for a brief moment, I wondered where he had gotten them.

“I guess this will have to do,” I mumbled as I pulled on a simple green spaghetti-strap tank top. I slid my legs into a pair of blue jeans and pulled them up. Fastening the button, I felt a small pinch in my back. I reached around, touched a hard scab, and winced, remembering the pain of the knife that had been stabbed into my back.

How was I even alive? I certainly shouldn’t have been after the ordeal I’d been through.

I checked myself out in the mirror. Most of my wounds were already healing. Bruises that weren’t covered by clothing had started turning yellow. The cuts on my back and face had scabbed over too. I noticed something on my neck. Brushing away the wet strands of my red hair, I saw a half-ring of small bruises and two very deep-looking holes.

Lysander, I thought, suddenly remembering the stranger’s name.

My memory flashed again. I remembered the pinch as his teeth sunk into my neck. I shuddered again as a chill danced down my spine.

What…who was this Lysander? He couldn’t be a…No. That’s silly; they aren’t real.

I gave the rest of my body a quick once-over in the mirror and suddenly I stopped in shock.

“My eyes,” I gasped. “Oh, my God!”

I couldn’t believe it.

How is this possible? Those are not my eyes.

All the color had disappeared. Large gray eyes stared back at me from the mirror. They were pale and cloudy with hints of blue, no longer the emerald green they used to be. These were the same eyes I looked into when I got my first glimpse of Lysander.

Wondering what else had changed, I surveyed the rest of my face: ears, hair, lips, all seemed the same. Thinking of the bite on my neck, I opened my mouth. Gone was the five-thousand dollar, perfectly straight, smile —that had taken me four years to pay off. My eyeteeth appeared to have grown larger, crowding the surrounding ones. The new, slightly larger, canine-like teeth poked down below the others, reminding me of fangs— the kind vampires from Hollywood movies were famous for. I playfully licked at them, noting how much sharper they felt as they scraped across the surface of my tongue.

“This can’t be possible.”

It was time to find this Lysander guy and get some answers.

Chapter 4

I STEPPED OUT of the bathroom into a small, dark hallway, noting doors to my left and right. Peering through an arched opening in the wall in front of me, I saw light and dancing shadows.

Maybe I should look for Lysander there.

I limped slowly through the archway, my muscles aching with each step.

The living room was cavernous, with vaulted ceilings. Though only two small lamps provided light, the room appeared as bright as if it were daylight inside. I squinted, allowing my eyes some time to adjust as I searched for Lysander. The small lamps, on top of side-tables, cast their glow on a U-shaped sitting space. A large, overstuffed black leather couch sat against a wall, flanked by two smaller matching loveseats.

Lysander sat on the couch, looking down at a book in his hands. He appeared not to notice me slowly making my way toward him.

I stopped long enough to get a good look at him. His skin was flawless, smooth as porcelain and just as pale, showing no signs of wrinkles or imperfections. He had a slightly pointed nose that hung over a pair of thin lips and his wide masculine jaw tapered down to a perfect crescent chin.

I might have thought him a statue for the still and rigid way he sat on the couch. His broad shoulders hunched as he looked down, obviously engrossed in the book in his hands.

A glass coffee table sat in front of him, littered with papers and an antique-looking book.

I quickly scanned the rest of the room, wondering if anyone else was here with us. I was barely ready to speak with Lysander, and the prospect of more people like him sent a shiver of fright down my spine.

The opposite wall housed a large set of bookshelves with a library’s worth of old-looking books. A television was mounted to the wall between the bookshelves. Its light mingled with the glow of the table lamps, creating dancing images on the bare white walls. There was no warm, homey, lived-in feel, only a stark, minimalist theme to the décor in this room. That, and the fact I didn’t see another person, gave me a small measure of comfort, confirming that we were alone.

Time to get some answers.

I steeled my courage and took a step forward. My ankle sagged. I let out a whimper as I lost balance and caught myself against the wall.

Lysander looked up. Wavy dark hair framed his oval face in a messy yet purposeful way. His dark hair emphasized the almost transparent nature of his eyes and forced me to look directly at them.

They were so beautiful.

I could get lost looking into those deep, swirling pools of gray. Small hints of blue sparkled at me like stars in the twilight sky. I was entranced. We stared silently at one another for a moment before he stood up.

“Good to see you up and moving,” he said in a smooth, velvety voice. He was at my side in a blurred flash, moving quicker than I’d ever seen anyone move before. I stifled a small gasp as Lysander enveloped me in his strong arms and helped me to stand.

I suddenly felt the brush of butterfly wings buzzing deep within my stomach. Heat flushed my face. I looked down, not wanting to meet his gaze again.

“I have no doubt you are a little confused. Here, let me help you.” He supported my weight, helping me walk.

“Where am I?” I asked meekly.

My muscles gave out and I collapsed onto the soft leather of his couch.

“This is my home, Alyssa.”

“And… who… what are you?”

My memory flashed to the darkness and the sound of his voice commanding me to drink. I shuddered for a second riding a small wave of fear.

“Do not worry, Alyssa. I will not hurt you.” He breathed a heavy sigh, taking a seat next to me. “I’ve done enough to you already.”

My hand moved instinctively to my neck. I touched the crusted scabs of two small puncture wounds. I recalled the small pinch of teeth and the pressure of his mouth against my neck.

“What exactly have you done to me?”

“I must apologize for what has happened this evening. You would have died if I had not turned you.”

“Turned? What have you turned me into?” I asked, my voice finding a small measure of strength.

“Well.” Lysander paused and took a slow, deep breath. “To put it simply—” He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. His eyebrows pulled together and small creases formed in between them.

I waited anxiously for what would come next.

“You are a vampire.”

“A what?” I shrieked.

“You are a vampire, Alyssa,” he said slowly. “An immortal.”

“No! That’s not possible.” I shook my head in disbelief. “Vampires aren’t real. They’re fiction; nothing but stories and myths.”

One of his dark eyebrows rose slightly. He cocked his head to the side. He smirked as his eyes trailed down from my face. “Did you not notice the mark on your neck? Do you not remember drinking my blood?” His fangs showed as he spoke: pure white, sharp little daggers, just a slight bit longer than the rest of his teeth. His voice carried that same arrogance I remembered from when he talked with my attackers.

My mouth hung open. No, this isn’t possible.

Things were still fuzzy in my head, but I did remember the blood, the liquid fire, I had been forced to drink. I’d hoped it had just been some drug-induced dream.

Oh, my God, it was true. I drank his blood. “I’m…a … vampire?”

“Yes.” He smiled. “Our kind are very real. And now, Alyssa, you are one of us.”

I slumped backwards into the cushions of the couch. His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I stared wide-eyed at the distant wall. This was like some terrible nightmare. I didn’t want to believe what he was telling me, but I knew he was right. There was no other way to explain what had happened to me. No amount of hallucinogenic drugs could have explained how I had survived the attack, why I had these markings, or the sharpness of my own new set of fangs.

“Does that mean I’m… undead?”

“You are immortal,” Lysander said with a casual wave of his hand. “Undead is a silly term mortals use to explain the supernatural things they cannot possibly understand. You are no more dead than you were when you woke up this morning. You are just, for lack of a better word, changed.”

Lysander gave me another toothy grin. His fangs were frightening to look at. The memory of him biting me played over and over in my mind like a video stuck on repeat.

“But you drank my blood.” My hand shot back up to cover the wound on my neck.

“Only enough to allow the transformation.”

He reached out, grabbed my hand, and pulled it from my neck.

“Don’t touch me.” I flinched, annoyed and afraid at his sudden gesture. I tried to pull my hand out of his grip, but he was so much stronger than I was. He pushed my hand to my chest, forcing me to feel the erratic thumping of my heart.

“You see,” he said calmly. “Your heart still beats.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. “But…how?” I relaxed my hand relaxed under his grip.

“Unlike some of your other organs, your heart is still necessary to keep blood flowing through your body.” Lysander let go of me. “For now, while your body is in transition, it will beat in an accelerated rhythm, but it will eventually slow itself to a more normal pace.”

I was speechless. My mind raced, recalling books and movies, everything I knew about vampire mythology. Bats, stakes, and garlic immediately popped into my mind.

“I must mention that your generation’s ideas of vampires are a bit off.” Lysander spoke with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Many of the popular books and movies about our kind are no more real than children’s fairytales.”

Is he reading my mind? I wondered how he seemed to say just the right thing as I was thinking it. “So, none of the stories are true?”

“Most of the new stories you are probably familiar with are filled with complete nonsense.”

“What about the old ones, like Dracula?”

Lysander sighed. His shoulders slumped. “Dracula is not what I would consider an old story, but yes, a few are based on some truth, however little it may be. There is much that is added to make us seem easier to deal with.” His lip curled into a crooked grin. “Mortals like to think they can hurt us. It helps them sleep at night.”

“So, you’re not afraid of crosses, then?”

Lysander shook his head. “Crosses and other holy relics are nothing more than symbols and decorations. I hardly see why an ornamental cross would stop me from doing anything. Furthermore, I think it’s time for the Christians to come up with a better symbol. One that is a little less… gloomy.”

I chuckled. “Okay, what about garlic?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “What about it?”

“Isn’t garlic bad for vampires?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Why would it be? We don’t eat, so how would it harm us?”

I nodded. “Okay… umm… stakes?”

His head tilted to the side as the corner of his lip lifted. “You can try to stab me with a piece of wood, but I doubt it will do much more than aggravate me. We heal quite fast. Perhaps a blade would work better.”

I shuddered, seeing his teeth again as he spoke. Is that how I look now?

“So, knives and swords are bad?”

“Yes. It is much harder to regenerate a severed limb. And if we are separated from our heads, it would be safe to say we would cease to exist.”

I smiled, noting the sarcasm in Lysander’s voice. I could tell he’d had this conversation before. He seemed to be enjoying my round of silly questions.

“Holy water?” I blurted out.

Lysander let out a hearty laugh. “No, you won’t melt into a pile of goo. You can throw most of that nonsense out of the window, Alyssa.”

I giggled, realizing how silly it sounded: melting into a pile of goo after being splashed with water. Maybe this won’t be so bad.

“You see, we immortals are not as ridiculous as Hollywood likes to portray us. Though one thing is true... we do survive off the blood of the living.”

The smile faded from my face. Blood; of course. That was the one true thing in all the myths.

Lysander sat quietly as if waiting for me to do or say something. After a moment of silence, the casual smile disappeared from his lips.

He had to know this revelation would be a shock to me, but I couldn’t read his now expressionless face. The silence in the room quickly turned awkward. I guessed that he was waiting for me to respond or acknowledge my understanding or acceptance of what he’d just told me.

But how do you respond to someone who tells you that you will now survive on blood? For that matter, how the hell was I going to survive on blood?

Am I going to have to bite someone? No! There’s just no way I can do that.

I sat there half dazed. As the thought of blood entered my mind, my stomach ached. Pangs of hunger nagged at me. I tried my best to ignore them. According to Lysander, hunger now meant blood; and if that was the case, I didn’t want any.

“How, why... ” I didn’t have the ability at that moment to articulate all the thoughts swimming through my head. Words spilled out of their own accord, faster than I could form sentences. “I just… blood… no.”

“It’s a lot to take in, especially since you were thrown into this,” Lysander said in his soothing, velvety voice. “It is not a common practice to turn someone who is completely oblivious to our kind. Please understand, I had to do this. You would have died if I hadn’t turned you.”

How am I going to drink someone’s blood? I can’t do it. No! I won’t do it. That’s disgusting.

Shock from this revelation tied my tongue.

“We can go into more detail about all of this after you have had a little time to accept it. There is more to know.”

More? There’s more? What else, do I have to eat brains, too? I don’t think I can handle any more.

I sat, wringing my hands as I tried to ignore the ache building in my stomach. Was it hunger? Thirst, perhaps?

Lysander’s brow furrowed as he watched me. I wondered if he understood what I was thinking or how I was feeling.

“Immortality, you might be happy to know,” he said softly, “does have a few pleasant benefits. You should already notice that your wounds are healing quite nicely. By tomorrow evening you will have completely healed, leaving almost no trace of tonight’s… unfortunate events.”

I took a deep breath, attempting to calm my nerves, and then nodded at Lysander, thankful for the change in subject. I didn’t want to hear anything more about blood.

“As you get stronger, your body will regenerate itself faster.”

I gave him a half-hearted smile.

“Also, you will no longer age. Your body is now essentially frozen in time. The way you look today is the way you will continue to look forever.”

That, I had to admit, was a pleasant revelation; to be twenty-five forever, to never have to worry about wrinkles or gray hairs. I could enjoy the idea that I would stay young forever. At least there were some perks to this.

Lysander returned my smile.

“However,” he continued, almost cautiously, “the transformation causes you to lose the natural pigment in your skin. Without the melanin to protect you from ultraviolet light, you will sunburn … almost instantly.”

I looked down at my hands. They did seem to be lighter. Blue veins showed more prominently under my pale skin.

“The same goes for your eyes. They too, are also going to be extremely sensitive to light. Even with sunglasses, the sun’s light will be quite blinding.”

Great, another truth to the old myths; real vampires aren’t allowed out in the daylight. It saddened me to think I would never be able to go outside during the day again. I had not even been given a proper chance to say goodbye to sunlight.

Guess that means tanning booths are out, too.

I wondered how hard it would be to live a nocturnal life. It seemed that now I would have no choice.

Lost in my depressed thoughts, I was vaguely aware that Lysander was still talking. “We are creatures of the night, so to speak, and you will get used to this lifestyle soon enough.”

His mention of being a creature definitely caught my attention.

“Does that mean we have to sleep in coffins?”

“Not unless you want to.” I detected a bit of sarcasm in his voice.

He sat back into the couch; a slight smirk turned the corner of his mouth up. “They are quite confining and uncomfortable. Personally, I prefer a large bed. But, if you wish, we can find you one.”

“What about the sunlight?” I asked. “Doesn’t a coffin protect us from it?”

Lysander shook his head. “We sunburn easily, but we do not burst into flames, Alyssa,” he scoffed. “Proper window coverings are enough to keep us protected during the day. Sunlight is a danger and not particularly pleasant, but not immediately deadly.”

I was silent, taking in all this new information. I desperately tried to remember the last sunrise I had seen, so I could burn the beautiful hues of orange and pink into my memory.

Why did this have to happen to me? This sucks. No more daylight. I’ll never feel the warmth of the desert sun again!

Lysander’s eyes locked on me. I felt an odd warmth radiating from him. The strange sensation broke me from my thoughts of daylight.

Did he enjoy being a vampire? Did he ever have problems with this lifestyle?

He broke the silence. “You’re undoubtedly very weak and in quite a bit of pain at the moment. I promise this will not last too long. It may take a day or so for your mortal body to completely change. Blood will help this.”

I winced at the mention of blood.

“You will need blood regularly,” Lysander said.

“Please, no.” I waved my hands in front of my face. “I don’t want to talk about this. I can’t.”

“I’m sorry, but it is unavoidable. The living energy it provides is what keeps your immortal body functioning properly. You will have to have blood … and soon.”

I looked away, turning from Lysander to the bookshelf, letting my eyes blur out of focus. I did not want to deal with this reality. My mind teeter-tottered between fear and confusion. I ran my tongue over my newly sharpened teeth.

How am I going to live off blood? Does he really expect me to bite someone?

I wanted all of this to be a dream. Lysander’s words reverberated in my head. Your body will need blood regularly.

How could I be this thing? I couldn’t do this. Why the hell did this happen to me?

I realized I’d been sitting silent for a while. I turned back toward Lysander, meeting his hypnotic blue-gray eyes. His stare questioned me, as if looking for some sign of acceptance. I wanted to speak, to say something profound, but all I could come up with was, “Why me?”

“Fate, perhaps,” Lysander said with a casual wave of his hand. “Those two men were meant to be my victims.”

A pained look crossed his face, his brow furrowed as if the mention of those men caused him some unknown suffering. “Regrettably, they attacked you first, and I couldn’t allow you to die by their hands.”

I nodded to myself as he spoke and again ran my tongue back and forth across my teeth, enjoying the new feeling of the sharp, pointed ones. I tried to grasp everything he’d explained to me. It all sounded crazy, but this was reality now.

“You’ll do best not to bring much attention to those,” Lysander said catching me lick the tip of one of my teeth.

I snapped out of my daze. “Sorry, I just can’t help it, it’s all so... so... ” I was at a loss for words. How could I describe how I felt about all of this? It was new and frightening.

He shot me a stern look. “I know this is very different for you, but you will have to learn to be discreet about your new self. The world is not that accepting of us, and we must be vigilant for fear of discovery.”

“But who would we need to fear? Didn’t you just tell me we’re immortal?”

He lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose before letting out an impatient sigh. “Immortality does not mean invincibility, Alyssa.” Annoyance tainted his voice. “Ours is a life of secrecy. The better we blend in and the less attention we draw to ourselves, the better. There are people out there who hunt us.”

“What do you mean, like actual vampire hunters?”

Lysander glanced up at the ceiling as if looking for guidance. “Yes. There are hunters out there, Alyssa. They call themselves the Acta Sanctorum—the Saints. Their church promotes the hysteria that all supernatural beings, and anyone else who might be considered different, are unnatural. They see us as nothing more than monsters. They use fear to allow them free rein to kill whomever they please, to rid the world of what they deem evil.”

“Wait, so you mean there are more than just vampires out there? What else is unnatural? Werewolves, wizards, witches?”

“Yes, there are many other supernatural beings in our world. But…” His face became serious, as if contemplating something important. “Not all of us are evil, and sometimes the hunter should be destroyed rather than its prey.”

This was way too much to handle. I didn’t want to hear anymore. I was overwhelmed. Vampires, werewolves, religious crusaders… there were too many new things to process. I tried to get up, but my muscles protested, refusing to move more than an inch. I sank back down into the couch cushions.

“Alyssa, let us try to concentrate on one thing at a time, for now. I know this is all new for you. Just try to focus on vampires, our kind, now. The Acta Sanctorum hunts—”

“Maybe we should be put down,” I snapped. My hand balled into a fist at my side.

“What?”

“Sounds to me like the Acting Santum people—”

Lysander’s eyes narrowed. “The Acta Sanctorum,” he said slowly, enunciating each word.

“Whatever. It sounds to me like they are trying to be the good guys. They hunt down murderers.”

“Being a vampire does not make you a murderer.”

“But didn’t you just tell me we have to kill and drink blood to survive? Doesn’t that make us evil?” I was freaking out. The words came out before I could stop myself.

Lysander sighed and shook his head. “It must be nice to live in such a simple world, where everything is black and white.” There was a menacing growl to his voice. He stood up and paced the length of the room, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Yes, we do survive on blood, as most people survive eating cattle, chickens, pigs, and other animals. Those animals are slaughtered for human consumption, but I don’t see you so quick to shame that carnivorous act.”

He threw a stern look at me and instantly, I felt ashamed. I knew I should have chosen my words better. Scared or not, I shouldn’t have insulted Lysander or his lifestyle. After all, he did save me, even if by doing so he condemned me in the process.

Lysander sucked in a breath before speaking again. “Being an immortal does not make you evil. You are what you are. You must survive on blood. You cannot eat food or drink anything except blood from now on. Remember this: it is how and when you feed that makes you a monster, or just another being trying to survive in this world.”

“I didn’t mean to say… ” I tried to interrupt, but I stopped myself. Annoyance showed on Lysander’s face. He glared at me coldly. I winced, remembering what he had done to my attackers. I didn’t want to further incite his anger.

After a long pause, he spoke again, his voice monotonic and controlled. “Being immortal does not deny you any of the same basic needs as anyone else. We need shelter to keep us from the elements, clothing to cover us, and food to keep our bodies running. The only difference is our food. We must drink blood.”

I nodded. There was nothing I could say to him at that moment.

“You are going to have to throw out many of your beliefs about what is right and wrong, or you won’t survive the infancy of your vampirism.”

I never wanted this vampirism.

I slouched into the couch cushions, pondering this for a moment. Lysander sat down next to me; his eyes locked with mine. It was obvious he wanted some acknowledgement from me that I understood and accepted everything he’d told me. I just didn’t know what to say.

As far as I was concerned, killing was evil, and I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that human beings were now in the same category as a cheeseburger. I was repulsed by the thought of drinking blood, especially from a living being.

How was I going to survive this infancy, as Lysander put it? If I didn’t kill, I wouldn’t live; but if I did kill, I would deserve the Acta Sanctorum coming and destroying me like a rabid dog.

I couldn’t avoid Lysander’s quiet stare any longer. “I’m sorry.” It was the only thing I could think to say at the moment.

His expression softened. I could tell Lysander understood, at least on some level, what I was feeling.

“Becoming a vampire is easy,” he said calmly. “Living with the condition, that is the hard part. It’s your choice if you wish to survive now. I saved you from mortal death; now, it is up to you to live with this knowledge of what you are.”

Chapter 5

HIS WORDS HAD been plain, lacking any emotion. He was right, though. As cold and emotionless about it as he was, his words were true. I didn’t want to accept it. I didn’t want to become something I thought was wrong. I felt so out of control at that moment, knowing what I was—a vampire—and having no way to go back.

In one night, my whole world had changed. I wanted to go back to my apartment and hide, to pretend none of this had happened to me. I didn’t want this new life.

I needed a drink. A good stiff one.

My stomach nagged at me. It had been nagging me since I woke up in that bathtub. I couldn’t continue to ignore it. I needed to eat, or drink, or feed—whatever it was called. But, feeding meant blood. I was stuck. This was some kind of a cruel joke. My body craved the one thing it needed, which was the one thing I felt repulsed to think about.

“How long can I go without blood?” I mumbled.

Lysander seemed to perk up, hearing me mention the “b” word. “You’re young; you will probably need to feed every night for a little while. When you get older, you can go days and even weeks without it.”

“And what happens if I don’t f-ff-feed?” Just the sound of that word made my stomach turn. I imagined drinking warm cupful’s of thick, gelatinous, half-coagulated blood.

A sickeningly sweet taste gnawed at the back of my throat.

“Consider it a kind of paralysis.” Lysander said matter-of-factly. “If you don’t feed, your body will simply shut down, and you will go into a comatose-like state, unable to move, leaving you at the mercy of the elements and whoever may find you.”

I took a slow deep breath to try and calm my body down. Hunger relentlessly nagged at me, but I didn’t want to accept that I needed to drink blood to stop it. My stomach ached with emptiness as my mind flashed to images of the blood I had drunk earlier.

Tingles and small prickles danced across my skin like the sensation of a limb waking from sleep. The tingles echoed the feeling I had during my transformation. It hinted that a more uncomfortable feeling would soon follow. My skin felt as if it were drying, becoming tight and itchy. I rested my forehead in my hands, closing my eyes as my mind played out the only scenario that would end this feeling.

Lysander sat beside me like a statue, as if waiting for me to say something.

How can I do this? How can I live like this? I can’t drink blood.

The aching in my stomach wouldn’t stop. My throat dried with each breath I took. A slow burning accompanied the sickeningly sweet taste clinging to my throat.

There has to be some way out of this. I don’t want to drink blood.

I remembered how quickly my pain was quenched with the sweet-tasting blood I had drunk from my attacker.

No, I can’t do that.

My body knew I needed blood. It teased me with the pain, as well as the memories of pleasure.

No, I mustn’t. I can’t do this. I don’t want to be a monster.

My mind showed me more of the lightheaded ecstasy I’d felt earlier; when Lysander had forced the wounded arm to my mouth and made me drink. The need building inside of me was overwhelming.

Finally, after reaching the limits of my endurance, I gave in to the unrelenting torment. The desire for blood had taken over. I could no longer concentrate on anything else.

I let out a defeated sigh. “I’m hungry. I need something, food or drink, just something.”

Lysander smiled widely, letting the sharp tips of his teeth show below his lips; perhaps he knew that my need for blood would overcome my rational judgment.

“I had a feeling you would be thirsty. You will need to learn to hunt.”

“Hunt?” It sounded so terrible. Hunting … people. “You mean I will have to kill someone?”

It bothered me how nonchalantly he spoke of hunting, feeding, and blood. I knew the answer to the question. I would have to do this—hunt—at some point.

He glanced down at a watch around his left arm. A frown turned the corners of his lips. “It looks like it’s too late for that tonight. The sun will be up soon, and we will have to wait until nightfall for your first real meal.”

The moment I had to do it… could I? Would I be able to kill someone and drink their blood? No! There had to be another way.

I’d never intentionally hurt anyone or given a thought to killing. What rational person does? I remembered the man’s arm that Lysander had held up to my mouth.

Did I kill that man?

My stomach churned with sudden guilt; a terrible, sickening pit of bile threatened to rise up my throat. Lysander must have sensed this. He placed a hand on my knee, grabbing my attention. I looked up, meeting his eyes. A wave of calm rolled through me, dampening my nerves.

His face was peaceful, serene, and almost angelic. His beautiful eyes beckoned me to remain locked in his hypnotizing gaze. They were magnetic, drawing me in. I could easily stare at those beautiful pools of gray forever. Guilt became a distant memory; my only focus was Lysander.

“Alyssa,” he said in his soothing, velvety voice. “We hunt to survive. Remember this.”

I nodded absently, lost in his eyes.

“Since it is too close to dawn, tonight, you may drink a little from me.” He looked down and unbuttoned the sleeve of his shirt.

I shook the fog out of my head, feeling a little drowsy. Relief washed though me, knowing I wouldn’t have to hunt just yet.

Lysander held out his arm in offering to me. My eyes grew wide as I looked down at his pale skin. A small, thin vein pulsed just below the surface. I wasn’t quite sure what he expected me to do. Nervously, I reached to hold his hand.

“You must break the skin with your teeth,” Lysander said. A small smile perked up the corners of his mouth. “Use your sharpest teeth to gently pierce the vein just below the skin.”

I ran my tongue across my teeth, as I had done before, noting the sharper ones.

He nudged his arm closer to me. “Go ahead, Alyssa. You will not hurt me. Drink.”

I glanced back up at Lysander’s face and smiled awkwardly. I didn’t want to drink blood, his or anyone’s. The ache in my stomach still nagged at me like an unyielding beast, begging me for blood. My mouth instinctively watered in anticipation seeing the pulsing vein, but I couldn’t move. I was frozen with anxiety.

Lysander raised his wrist to my mouth. “It’s okay, Alyssa. Drink.”

I couldn’t bite down. I sat there paralyzed, mouth open, his wrist just barely touching the sharpest of my teeth. I was afraid of becoming a blood-drinking monster.

I can’t do this. No. There’s no way.

I must have sat there for too long. Lysander had to have sensed something wasn’t right. I was faltering on what, to him, should have been a simple act.

He reached his other hand up and firmly held the back of my head. Before I knew what was happening, he shoved his wrist into my already-bared teeth.

I saw him wince as my teeth pierced his skin. He leaned my head backward with his wrist pressed against my lips.

A gush of blood flooded my mouth. Thick and sweet, it poured down my throat. This wasn’t the liquid fire I had experienced before. This was like a drug. It tingled as it filled my mouth. I felt every refreshing drop as it ran down my throat. Pleasurable sensations, like the full-body rush of an orgasm, rewarded me with each swallow. My head buzzed with energy. My heart felt like a pounding drum, beating hard and fast against the wall of my chest. The dry burning stopped. My muscles no longer ached. The nagging in my stomach halted. I felt quenched, though some part of me still wanted more.

Lysander released his grip on my head and pulled his wrist away. I moaned in need as he stood up and walked away, out of my view.

“You will have to learn how to do this yourself, Alyssa.” His voice trailed behind him. “I will not force-feed you every night.”

Almost as soon as I felt the high, I returned to reality. I looked down to see I had spilled blood everywhere. My tank top, my jeans, and the couch were spotted with the drippings of his blood. Lysander returned with a small towel and wiped his arm. I saw spots of blood in his shirt.

Heat rose to my face, flushing my cheeks. I sat up. “Sorry. I just—” What was I going to say? Sorry, I just couldn’t bite you? That sounded too corny to say, even if it was the truth. There was no way to explain to him how I was feeling at that moment. As much as I was repulsed at the thought of drinking blood, I enjoyed the high it brought.

I was torn, terrified of becoming a horrible bloodthirsty monster. Already my body was begging for more of his blood. The addiction had begun. The euphoric state left me almost as soon as I had felt it, and I knew only blood would bring it back.

“This is new for you. I understand.” He sat down beside me on the couch and handed me the towel.

I gave him an awkward smile and glanced into his big blue-gray eyes. I felt that strange warmth again, like a radiating wave coming from him. I looked away, taking the towel, and tried to wipe some of the blood off my body.

“It will be hard the first few times, I know. We all go through this, and we all find our way to cope with it. The blood is intoxicating, but the guilt can be crushing, if you let it.” His voice was softer now, almost caring. “The only way to survive this is to learn how to accept it. I can help you get through this if you let me.”

Lysander brought his hand up, lifting my chin. He forced our eyes to meet again.

“You are an immortal now.”

I nodded. There was nothing I could say. He was right. But the question still remained; could I kill someone?

I noticed a faint ray of light coming from the edge of the curtain-covered window. Dawn was approaching, signifying the end of this crazy night. I welcomed the thought of sleep and hoped that when I awoke, things would return to normal.

“The sun is coming up. We won’t be able to leave the house until tonight. Let’s get some sleep, Alyssa.”

Lysander stood and extended his hand to help me up. I smiled and took it. My muscles were still a bit weak. I struggled to stand. Lysander gripped my hand and pulled me up, placing his other arm around my waist for support.  My stomach knotted against his touch. Butterflies buzzed around inside of me again.

I took a shaky step toward the hallway. “Where am I sleeping?”

“I’m afraid there is only one bed in this house,” Lysander’s voice wavered. He sounded almost embarrassed for a moment before his voice regained its normal smooth tone. “I do not entertain much. For now, we are going to have to share. I hope that is okay with you. I will arrange for more furniture soon.”

“Okay.” I smiled awkwardly. I did not know how to take this gesture. It had been a long time since I shared a bed with a man.

We made our way into the spacious bedroom. A king-size, iron-framed bed sat against the far wall, made up with black sheets and a few fluffy pillows. Lysander’s stark minimalist decorating theme carried to his bedroom as well. There wasn’t much at all to this room. A simple four-drawer dresser sat against the wall to my left. Next to it was a door, which I assumed was a closet, or maybe a bathroom. Other than the simple furnishings, there was nothing else. This room, like the rest of Lysander’s home, seemed to have only the bare necessities.

Thick black drapes covered a large window and were pinned to the wall at the edges so that very little light seeped in.

Lysander guided me to the bed and I sat down. It was so soft. Giving into my muscle fatigue, I fell backwards and lay sprawled across the bed.

Lysander chuckled at me. I looked up, catching him as he readied himself for sleep. He pulled off his shirt, revealing a beautifully sculpted chest. I couldn’t help but notice the definition in the corded muscles of his arms and the perfect six-pack abs. I bit my lip, accidentally drawing blood, as he slid down his pants. He stood before me in only in a pair of maroon-and-tan striped boxers.

Heat rushed to my face.

Wow, what a body.

He threw a mischievous look my way as he finished changing. I again had a brief suspicion he knew what I was thinking. I turned away from him, crawling to the top of the bed and burying my head on one of the soft pillows.

Lysander climbed into bed. We lay there, backs to one another, as the sun rose. Lysander’s curtains worked as intended, and only small rays of light came through at the edges.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” he whispered. “It will get better.”

I didn’t reply. I had no words.

Chapter 6

THE COMFORTABLE STATE of sleep ended much sooner than I had hoped. I knew that waking up meant I would have to feed, and this time, I doubted Lysander would be accommodating. I’d have to hunt and most likely kill for my dinner.

It was the thirst that woke me, but in personal protest I refused to get out of bed. I tried to fill my mind with anything to prevent me from thinking of blood.

Staring at the popcorn ceiling above, I focused on the sounds of the house. Lysander had already gotten up and left the room. I heard him moving around the house. At one point the shower turned on, and then after a short while, stopped. I heard a TV playing in what I assumed was the living room. Sounds of laughter and applause suggested to me he had some kind of a game show on. The ringing of a telephone caught my attention, but I couldn’t make out what was being said when Lysander answered it.

Refusing to give in to the mounting need, I remained in bed. Dehydration crept across my skin, making it dry and itchy as it had been the night before. My stomach ached with emptiness, and my mind started playing tricks on me—reminding me of the pleasure I had experienced, the quenching feeling as the blood pooled in my stomach and diffused through my body. I wanted to ignore it. I knew what was needed to make it stop.

Could I convince Lysander to let me drink from him once more? Maybe if I pleaded my case, I could go one more night without having to choose between my life or that of another.

It seemed like hours had gone by. Time always moves slowly when you anticipate something. The aching beast that was my hunger was as relentless as it had been the previous night. Dehydrated and thirsty, I knew it would only be a matter of time before I had to do something.

Just as I was ready to give in and get out of bed, I heard a door close with a slam. A car engine roared to life outside, and then the sound trailed away.

Did he just leave me here, all alone?

I listened quietly. The only sound in the house came from the television. Curiosity got the better of me. I needed to see if Lysander really had left. I got up and walked out to the living room to confirm my suspicions.

I was right; Lysander was gone.

Why did he leave?

I wandered through the empty, cavernous living room. No sign or note was left out to tell me where he had gone. Only the ominous shadows created by the TV’s light stirred in the loneliness.

Thirst nagged at me. Again, a sickeningly sweet taste clung to the back of my throat. A wave of dizziness rolled through me, weakening my knees. I braced myself against the wall for support until the disorientation left me. I needed to do something about this unrelenting need. I went into the kitchen, praying I might find something my body would accept as food.

As with the rest of the house, the kitchen was bare, lacking any sign of human use. No appliances, no gadgets, no utensils of any kind; just empty, wide open counter space in a bland, white and stainless steel kitchen.

I held out a small hope that there might be something to eat in the fridge, but to my great disappointment, it was empty. Not even a cold breeze escaped from it when I opened it. I doubted it had ever been plugged in.

“This is ridiculous. C’mon, I just want something to eat,” I whined aloud.

I was glad Lysander wasn’t around to see my frustration. I remembered him telling me that it was only blood that keeps a vampire going. Vampires had no need for food. I doubted he would have given me much sympathy after last night’s feeding. He had seemed aggravated that I couldn’t even drink from him without assistance.

I clutched my aching stomach.

I need blood. I need Lysander to come back. He can’t be gone long. He wouldn’t leave me like this.

Walking out of the kitchen, I headed to the bathroom, deciding a shower might help snap me out of this feeling, or at least distract me for a little while. I hoped by the time I was done, Lysander would be back, and maybe willing to help me stop this painful ache.

The warm water of the shower had a soothing effect on my body, temporarily relieving my dehydration. I sat under the spout, soaking up all of the water until the warmth ran out.

It wasn’t until I finished showering and dried off that I realized I didn't have any clean clothes. The only items of clothing I had were the blood-spotted ones I’d been wearing since the night before.

“I’m not wearing these dirty things for the rest of eternity,” I grumbled to the empty room. So far, immortality wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

The house was still quiet. Lysander hadn’t returned, and I was beginning to feel desperate. The water’s hydrating effect had vanished as soon as I stepped out of the shower and the parched and itchy feeling returned with a vengeance. My throat dried out; each breath I took burned as if a blow dryer were aimed directly into my mouth. I needed something to quench the fire.

I turned on the faucet, plunged my hands into the cold water and gorged myself on it as it pooled into my cupped hands. The flavorless liquid cooled the burning. But that victory was short-lived. Within a few seconds of savoring my relief, I was hunched over the toilet, throwing it all back up.

My body wanted nothing to do with this liquid. Like a horrible punishment, the nagging ache of thirst returned worse than before. Lysander’s words were true; only blood would stop this pain. The ache filled every part of me.

Defeated, I gave in to the thought I’d been trying to avoid.

I need blood.

Lysander still had not returned. Past desperation—unable to sit around waiting any longer—I willed myself to get up off the bathroom floor, and put my blood-spotted clothes back on.

I walked outside, determined to find something to end my suffering. The night air smelled fresh, clean, and welcoming. It had an energizing effect on me. Looking up, I spotted the full moon. There wasn’t a cloud in sight to hide any of its light. It shone clear and bright in the darkened sky.

Sucking in a deep breath, I noted a variety of scents. Never before had I been able to discern so many different smells at once: pine trees, fresh cut grass, roses in a nearby garden, and the oily, tar smell of the asphalt in the street. Each one was distinctive and enhanced by my new sense of smell. There was something else too, an enchanting, musky perfume wafted through the air.

Mmm, what is that?

Looking around, I spotted the owner of the scent; a stray dog, wandering down the street.

I sniffed the air again noting how the smell faded as the dog walked further away.

Instinct told me to follow the scent. No way. I’m not doing that. Ewww. I shook my head. I am not chasing down a stray dog. I don’t care how good it smells.

I breathed through my mouth, attempting to avoid smelling that wonderful, tempting aroma again.

Walking down the street, I looked for signs, hoping to get my bearings and recognize something.

Maybe I can get to my apartment, and pick up some clean clothes and money. Maybe even find something my stomach will accept as food.

I didn’t want to think of blood and killing, but the nagging thirst wouldn’t stop.

Maybe I’m going about this all wrong. If I’m stuck with drinking blood, maybe there’s a way to do it without killing.

Spotting a street sign ahead of me and quickened my pace toward it.

What if I could get blood from a butcher? The animals it came from would already be dead.

I smiled, feeling very smart for coming up with this new idea.

Now, I just need to figure out where I am.

Lysander’s neighborhood was quiet, and I didn’t recognize any of the street signs. I was used to my inner-city apartment enclave just outside of the college. This was nothing like that. This was a nice, middle class neighborhood filled with one and two-story homes.

As was typical of suburban homes, they all looked alike. This neighborhood was no exception; it was filled with pink, Spanish tile roofs and white-and-cream stucco walls. The only thing distinguishing one house from the next was the choice in landscaping and even then there was not much variety.

The streets were long, and none of the names were familiar. I came across Vera Cruz and noticed it seemed to open out onto a larger street.

Another sign at the edge of the neighborhood had a symbol I recognized—the Henderson city seal—in the bottom corner, next to the name “Pecos.”

Why would a vampire make his home in a quiet suburb like Henderson? Why not right in the heart of the city? Las Vegas is Sin City, and the variety of tourists would provide a veritable smorgasbord….

I stopped and shook my head. What was wrong with me? Here I was, absolutely horrified at the thought of killing, and in the same instant questioning why a vampire —like myself—wasn’t living somewhere near the buffet line that would be the Las Vegas Strip.

I knew thirst had taken over my judgment. I didn’t know where I was or which way to go. The nagging craving made me wonder how I was going to make it all the way back to my apartment before I ended up doing something I would regret.

I turned to walk down the street, not knowing if I was heading in the right direction or not. All I knew was that I needed to keep moving. My skin itched. The dry parched feeling worsened as I walked. I scratched my legs through my jeans, fighting against thoughts of blood.

Cars sped by, and their bright headlights stung my eyes, making me squint. Two men on bicycles rode past me and I was stunned by their scent. They stopped at the stoplight a few hundred feet ahead.

“Oh, my,” I sighed, taking in a long whiff of their wonderful aroma. Theirs was so much more potent than that of the dog I had passed earlier. It was a cologne of intoxicating pheromones, drawing me toward them. They stopped at the curb, waiting for the light to turn green, signaling it was safe to cross the street.

My mouth instinctively watered as I allowed my eyes to roam over their thin, business casual-attired bodies. I quickened my pace to meet them at the stoplight, hoping it would remain red so I could have a chance to be near them and enjoy more of their perfume. My legs carried me faster than they had when I was a mortal. In the space of a few seconds, I caught up to the two cyclists.

“Why do they smell so good?” I mused. “So sugary-sweet and warm.”

I closed my eyes inhaling slowly, savoring the aroma. The beast inside of me begged for blood.

I must have looked crazy, standing there with hungry eyes, smelling them, my mouth watering. I absently licked at my fangs, not bothering to hide them, as I took another step closer to them.

Eyes wide with fear, they inched away, almost falling off of the curb into oncoming traffic as I got within arm’s reach of them.

I couldn’t hold back the thoughts in my mind. Attack them! Drink them in! They will make you feel better.

It was like a monster was speaking to me from within my own head.

Do it now! Bite them! Drink in their ecstasy.

Before I made another move, the sound of screeching tires drew my attention. A large, black Jeep SUV pulled a U-Turn from the opposite side of the street. It hopped the median and headed straight towards me. The two cyclists threw themselves to the pavement. I didn’t move. I was like a deer caught in headlights watching as it screeched to a halt at the curb.

The windows were too dark to see through, but a strange feeling, that odd warm sensation, hit me. Intuition told me it was Lysander.

The passenger door flew open, confirming my intuition, revealing Lysander’s angry, scowling face. He barked at me to get in.

Fear momentarily replaced my hunger. I stood frozen in place under Lysander’s angry glare. He looked like a predator, ready to rip me apart. Flames danced within his twilight eyes.

“What do you think you are doing?” he growled.

“I want to go home,” I snapped at him.

Lysander sighed, appearing to try and calm himself before speaking. A menacing tone still laced his voice. “Get in this vehicle…now!”

“Why, so you can trap me back in that house, all alone?”

The two cyclists were on their feet, running away alongside their bikes as we argued. A twinge of disappointment had me sighing as their scent faded.

“You have no clue what you’re doing, or what risk you put us in by wandering the streets alone like this.” A low, rumbling growl still accompanied his words. “I will not tell you again. Get in.”

Grudgingly, I got into the car. I had no other choice. I didn’t know where I was. Lysander was right, though I didn’t want to admit it. The urge I felt, to attack those men on their bikes, could have put me in a bad position.

Lysander spoke slowly, giving each word emphasis. “You will not leave the house again without my permission. Do you understand this?”

“Don’t leave me alone like that. What did you expect me to do?” I snapped back coldly. “Do you think I’m going to just sit around waiting?”

“Silence!” His voice was louder and more frightening than any scolding I’d ever been given. I shuddered. “You’re too young and inexperienced to know how to take care of yourself. You will die unless you heed my words and quit acting like a spoiled child. You will not go anywhere without my permission. Is that clear?”

I remained silent for a few moments. I knew I couldn’t argue with him, but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of an immediate answer. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was an infant vampire with no sense of how to take care of myself. Whether I liked it or not, I needed Lysander, and he knew it, too.

“Fine,” I mumbled, and turned to look out the window.

We remained silent during the short drive back to Lysander’s home. I clutched my aching stomach, trying to focus on something other than anger or thirst.

When we got back, he opened up the trunk of his SUV. Inside was a suitcase I recognized as mine.

“You can never go back there,” he snarled “You’re dead to that world now.”

I grabbed my suitcase, feeling weak as I pulled it from the back of the Jeep. An overwhelming rush of dizziness struck me as I rolled the suitcase up to the house. My head filled with a gray, hazy fog. I shook my head and tried to take a step forward. My muscles protested the movement.

Darkness crept in all around me. I felt weightless, like a floating feather, as my vision went black.

* * *

A FAMILIAR TINGLING sensation ran down the back of my throat, rousing me back to consciousness. I opened my eyes slowly, focusing though a hazy blur. My head swam with ecstasy as I swallowed the thick, sweet liquid filling my mouth.

I realized I had collapsed. I was lying in the doorway of Lysander’s home and he was holding me up while I fed from him.

I could have drunk him in for eternity, but just as I was awake enough to truly enjoy the euphoric feeling, Lysander pulled his wrist away and told me to get up.

“You are starting to become more of a problem than you’re worth,” he said under his breath as he clutched his wounded arm and stood up.

Still a little dizzy and feeling a bit ashamed, I got up and pulled my suitcase into the house. I set it next to the couch and opened it to find a clean change of clothes.

“Sorry,” I said as I rummaged through the bag. “How did you get my stuff?”

Lysander reached into his pocket and tossed a black leather wallet at me. It flew toward my face, falling just short of hitting me.

He must have gotten it off the guy who had attacked me the night before.

My I.D. fell out as it hit the floor. I picked it up and stared at my old picture. Like all DMV photos, it wasn’t very good, but it was me … or at least, it was the old me.  My lost green eyes stared back from the photo.

I tried to blink back the tears but it was no use. One streamed down my cheek, falling into my opened suitcase. I was no longer that Alyssa who lived on Cambridge Street, as the small plastic card stated.

I was a monster now.

Afraid I would burst into a fit of tears, I quickly grabbed some clothes and rushed into the bathroom.

Lysander, probably still angry, said nothing to me, and I was glad for that. I took my time in the bathroom. I didn’t want to talk to Lysander any more or see the annoyed look on his face.

I never asked to be turned into this thing. I never knew vampires existed. I thought they were just fiction stories or characters in horror movies. Now I was one.

I mumbled to myself as I stared into the mirror. Blood-red traces of tears lined my pale face.

Why couldn’t he have killed those men before I showed up? Why did he have to wait until they had already attacked me?

Lysander’s words echoed in my mind. You’re dead to that world now.

I wondered how long it would take before my friends realized I was gone. If the manager at the coffee shop would think it odd that I was no longer coming in for my regular, café mocha. The little everyday things I was used to were all gone now, replaced by this frightening new life.

I wanted to blame Lysander for what happened, but deep down I knew it was my own fault. I had played Russian roulette walking home alone and I was lucky to even be alive, or undead, or whatever the hell this was.

My reflection stared back at me with empty, cold, blue-gray eyes.

But I don’t want to be this thing, this monster!

“You still alive in there?” Lysander called out.

Washing the tears from my face, I called back, “Yeah, I’m fine.” I hurried to change into some clean clothes.

Enough time had been wasted sulking in the bathroom. I opened the door and walked back out to the living room.

Lysander was waiting for me.

“Are you feeling better?” He spoke more calmly now. Gone was the growl in his voice and the fire in his eyes.

“Yes, I’m fine, sorry about that….”

He put his hand to my lips, silencing me; his eyes met mine and again I felt that strange warmth.

“Please, forgive me. I feel we are getting off on the wrong foot. Perhaps I should have told you I was heading out to get your things. I did not realize that you might have woken up so hungry and confused. I’m not use to having…guests.”

This sudden change of attitude came as a complete shock. He sounded sincere and kind. I sensed something strange coming from him. I felt genuine sorrow for how he snapped at me. The feeling radiated in small pulses, like tiny waves, from Lysander. I’d never experienced anything like this before. I felt his sorrow as if it were my own. It was as if our emotions were joined.

“Thank you, Lysander. I’m sorry too. I’m making a mess of things, and I know you’re trying to help. I’ll do better, I promise.”

We stared awkwardly at each other for a few quiet moments before Lysander took hold of my hand. “Now that you have a little strength, you will need to hunt. Let’s go.”

Chapter 7

MY STOMACH SANK. His words hit me like a crushing blow. I had hoped somehow to avoid this, but it was inevitable. I was going to have to hunt.

“Where are we going?” I asked as I climbed into the passenger seat of the large SUV.

Lysander twisted the keys in the ignition and the engine roared to life. “We’ll start somewhere easy. Do you know the art district?”

I nodded and shut the door.

The art district was a rather seedy part of downtown. It wasn’t the downtown most people are familiar with, but the area in between the old Strip or Fremont Street and the newer Las Vegas Boulevard. It was an old area, filled with many small buildings: art studios, nightclubs, and a grid of darkened side streets. It had recently undergone the start of a renaissance. Attention had been drawn to the area in the hope of revamping it and making it a more attractive place to go.

“Yeah, I’ve been there a few times for the First Friday art festival,” I said confidently.

“Alone?” Lysander asked.

“No, that’s a place even I don’t wander by myself.”

“That’s very smart of you. Even with its popularity, that is not a place one should be walking alone. Be warned, we won’t be the only ones hunting in this area. Plenty of immortals are attracted to populated spots like this.”

“Other immortals?” I hadn’t given thought to more vampires out there. Certainly if there was one, there would have to be more. “How many vampires are out there?”

“More than I care to count, Alyssa,” he sighed. “The immortal world is as varied as the human world. There are many different covens and families; each group has its own form of government or rules to live by. Most of the time, rule number one is keep a low profile. That will be the rule here with me as well. We don’t need anyone knowing who and what we are.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling a little disappointed. “So, I guess we’re loners, then?” I wasn’t ready to meet another immortal yet; but I wasn’t happy with the idea of being a hermit, either.

“On occasion, you might befriend someone new, but don’t make that an expectation. For now, just stick to who you already know and don’t try attracting extra attention.”

“I see.” I sighed and stared out the window. Streetlights flew past in blurry streaks as we drove on. I prayed for a red light to pause us on our trip, but it seemed the traffic lights were against me. They all remained green. We would soon be at our hunting ground.

The tall, white Stratosphere tower came into view. It was an unmistakable—and phallic—landmark, long and slender with a huge glass observation deck that was accented with red neon lighting at the top. It dwarfed all of the other bulky, wide hotel casinos of downtown and looked as if it might topple over in a strong gust of wind.

My heart thumped erratically as we approached. Hunting was inevitable now.

How am I going to do this? Does Lysander ever struggle with this?

I looked over at Lysander. His face remained calm, an implacable mask, giving no clue in his expression to tell me what he could be thinking.

I thought about others, vampires, being out there in the world and what it might be like to meet them.

“Tell me about covens,” I said, breaking the silence in the car.

Lysander spoke without taking his eyes off the road. “Covens are like large families: vampires living together, ruled by some form of leader. I wouldn’t get any ideas on joining them. They tend to be very fanatical and look down on those who are not born into their house, so to speak. For now, if you wish, you can consider me your family.”

He turned to look at me. A sincere smile crossed his face. His voice softened. “Of course, once you’re comfortable with yourself and ready to face the world alone, the choice will be yours. You will be welcome in my house or free to go your own way.”

I turned away, and stared out the window, thinking about what a large family of vampires would be like. Would it be nice to have lots of people like me to interact with, or would I rather be stuck as a loner with only Lysander as a companion?

“Back to hunting,” Lysander said, sounding a bit more serious. “We’re almost there, so listen closely. We won’t be the only ones hunting. You will need to watch out for others of our kind. Pay attention to those around you. If you think a person is marked, do not try to go after him or her. We may not know one another, but as a rule, we leave one another’s marks alone.”

“How will I know who is marked?” Did we physically mark our victims?

“Keep an eye out for people being followed or a vampire showing interest in one particular person. Pay attention to your intuition. You should be able to sense when one of our kind is around. If you see or sense one of us close by, go hunt somewhere else.”

Sense? I wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by that, but I nodded anyway, pretending I understood. I was more worried about the act of hunting than the consequences of another vampire being around—though both seemed pretty scary.

Lysander pulled into the parking garage of the Stratosphere tower and drove up to the top floor. He found an open parking space near the elevators, along the wall, giving us an unobstructed view of the bustling street below.

Anxiety set my nerves on high alert. I knew there was no way out of this. I was going to have to hunt. A knot formed in my throat. I tried to gulp it down and put on a brave face.

“Alyssa, I know this is hard for you, but you can and you must do this tonight.”

I sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. I’m not ready for this.

Lysander must have sensed my anxiety. He patted my leg in a comforting gesture, and softened the commanding tone in his voice. “I want to make this as easy as possible for you. Just listen and do what I tell you.”

I can’t do this, I can’t do this.

I nodded.

“There are a few points you can easily drink from. The best places are where the blood flows freely. The faster you drink, the easier it will be on you and your victim.”

I don’t want to do this. I can’t drink blood. I can’t kill. I tried to gulp down my anxiety.

He leaned his head to one side, showing me his bare neck, and pointed out a thin blue line under his pale skin.

“You see the vein here? The neck is one of the easiest points to drink from.”

I nodded again, not wanting to speak.

He held his wrist out to me. I saw similar blue lines, boldly running down his pale arm.

“The wrist is also an easy target. Choose one of these to feed from.”

“O-okay.” How can he expect me to do this? I silently prayed. I desperately wanted to avoid this. I don’t want to kill.

“We each have to find our way to cope with how we obtain our food,” Lysander said.

“Uh-huh.” I tried again to gulp back my anxiety. Easy for you to say.

“Do you remember how you felt when those men attacked you?”

The mention of the men who attacked me sent my blood boiling. It was because of them that I was this thing. If they had never attacked me, I wouldn’t have to do this— hunt a human for their blood.

The attack was still fresh in my mind. Anger flared inside of me, as images of being kicked in the stomach and whipped with a belt flashed before my eyes.

“Yes,” I growled. “I remember.”

“Good. You’re angry. I can see it. Use that feeling, Alyssa. Use your anger. Do you want others to suffer the same injustice as you were subjected to? Do you want another person to have the same fate as you?”

“No. No one should have to go through that,” I said coldly. My mind was torn now between anxiety and anger.

“Good. Then use that to justify your hunting. I want you to seek out those that would do harm to others. Use yourself as bait. Attract them to you so they cannot hurt anyone else. Use your immortality to bring them to justice.”

Images of my attackers, those two horrible men, flashed before me again, and the anger inside of me cried out for vengeance. The monstrous voice in my head begged for blood.

Lysander smiled at me, as if he understood the battle going on inside my head: the anger and rage, mixed with fear.

“It is time,” he whispered, leaning in close so our eyes met. “You can do this.” He had such strength in his eyes; I felt I could do anything he asked, as long as I was looking into them.

Lysander exited the car. I did the same. The warm night air greeted me as I opened the door. I followed behind him, heading for the elevators.

My stomach knotted with anxiety and anger. I was soon going to find out what I was really capable of.

We remained quiet in the elevator down to the casino floor. When the doors parted, sounds of slot machines, coins dropping, mindless chatter, and an endless sea of people overwhelmed me; but it was the intoxicating aroma that stopped me dead in my tracks.

I was knocked back against the wall by the perfumes of hundreds of people. The mix of smells was almost too much to handle. Each scent was a little different. Some were sweet, some spicy, some pungent, all working together to create an enchanting and enticing aroma that threatened to unleash the monster inside of me.

Lysander must have recognized the sensory overload. He put an arm around me and held me tight against his body as he guided me towards the front doors of the casino.

I absently licked at my fangs. My mouth watered. Instinct urged me to reach out and grab one of these sweet-smelling people.

This newfound anger and bloodlust had a strange control over my mind. Gone were thoughts of if or how I could do it. The monster crying for blood had entrapped my consciousness. My thoughts jumped from person to person, trying to pinpoint the one who would satisfy me best.

The packed casino, swarming with hundreds of people, had become the buffet line I’d suggested it was earlier.

Lysander urged me forward, towards the doors. “Breathe through your mouth, young one, it will make this easier. And stop licking your fangs. You need to learn to control those instincts.”

I’m sure if I hadn’t been in the throes of bloodlust, I would have been embarrassed by Lysander’s comment. Instead, I was thankful for the advice. I needed to get my head straight and gain some control. I took a deep breath through my mouth, as instructed. It weakened the scent, though I still tasted small hints of it.

We passed an elderly man in a wheelchair playing at one of the nickel slot machines. His wrinkled skin sagged against his cheekbones. He wheezed as he put a cigarette to his lips. I noticed a particularly pungent odor from him, drastically different than the wonderful perfumes surrounding me. It momentarily broke me from my craving.

“What is that smell?” I commented, reaching to cover my nose.

“Disease,” Lysander said matter-of-factly. “That man is probably dying of emphysema.”

We exited the casino. Relief washed through me as the fresh breeze blew though my hair. The sweet fragrances still hung all around, tempting me, but they seemed to be dampened by the lack of recirculated air. It was easier now to discern the directions to which each scent belonged. The monster inside of me still begged for blood, but out here, in the fresh air, I managed to regain a little mental control.

We walked a block away from the Stratosphere. Lysander’s arm was still draped around me, keeping me restrained as he escorted me down the street, while preventing me from acting out of thirst in the crowds that passed us. Awkward as it was, I was thankful to have him there, with me.

He led me to an empty side street. “This is where we go our separate ways, for now,” he said.

“What! Wait. How am I supposed to…” I panicked. I needed him. I needed the confidence he gave me. I needed him to stop me from doing something stupid.

“Don’t worry,” Lysander said with a hint of amusement. “I will not be too far. But I can’t be seen walking with you if you’re to attract your prey.” He gave me a wicked smile. His eyes seemed to roam across my body as if sizing me up. Apparently I passed whatever inspection he was giving. He gave a small nod and continued. “Just walk around and take a few back alleyways, and I am sure you will catch something. Hold back your urges until you are out of sight. Remember to be discreet and to breathe through your mouth. Don’t sniff at the air unless you are sure you’re ready.”

I needed that reminder. Breathing through my nose threatened to drive me insane. The sweet honeyed smell of blood was too enticing. Just the thought of it had me flicking my tongue against my teeth in anticipation.

“Quit licking your fangs,” Lysander said sternly. “People will notice that.”

He reached out, brushing the side of my face with his hand. “You can do this. I will be close by, in case you need help.”

Before I could say anything, he turned and walked away. In a superhuman blur of motion, he vanished, disappearing into a crowd of pedestrians on the main street.

I stood there for a moment, scared and anxious, feeling alone and vulnerable to my new beastly instincts. I knew I was being tested now and I needed to do this, but I still didn’t want to.

Lysander had showed me as much patience as I thought he was capable of, and if I failed this time, there was no telling what would happen. People wandered by me. I caught wind of their scents and breathed in their sweet perfume.

I became very aware of my teeth and had to stop myself from licking my tongue across them over and over. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I wondered if Lysander was watching. I imagined for a moment, hearing his voice chiding me for being so obvious about my new fangs. I couldn’t help myself. Instinct urged me to attack, to bite down on something. I hoped it wouldn’t always be this way. I didn’t want to walk around like a crazed, bloodthirsty monster forever.

There. That blonde woman, alone on the corner. No one would miss her.

Oh, my God, no! What am I thinking?

I mashed the palm of my hand into my forehead, as if I could push the horrid thought out.

Oooh, there’s a handsome man crossing the street. Just take a little taste.

The monster inside of me would not quiet its desperate pleading. Blood was at the forefront of all of my thoughts.

Lysander was right. I need to breathe through my mouth. I can’t concentrate with all these smells around me. If I can’t smell them, I might be able to hold back from attacking them.

My throat dried as I took a deep breath. My mind still begged for blood to quench the thirst, but the muted scent made it more bearable.

I walked further away from the Stratosphere, hoping to keep the desperate craving at bay until absolutely necessary.

Passing a few cute little wedding chapels, I chuckled at the drunken brides falling over in their pretty white dresses. I turned left, heading down toward Charleston and Main Street.

Thankfully, the crowds were thinner the further I got away from Las Vegas Boulevard. Each time I passed a group of people, the beast in my mind screamed at me to attack. I didn’t know how long I could hold off the urges, or how I would do it discreetly, as Lysander had instructed.

I imagined the horror of letting the beast take over and the massacre that could happen.

I wonder if Lysander is still following me.

Instantly a new, frightening thought crossed my mind. What would happen if I ran into another vampire? What would they do? Would they just shoo me away, or try to defend their territory?

Lysander hadn’t said much about others like us. He’d admitted to being a loner, but said each group had its own rules and laws. What if another vampire recognized me as an infant, a fledgling vampire only a day old, and decided to destroy me?

Fear washed through me. The hairs prickled on the back of my neck. I wanted this all to be over. I’d been happy thinking vampires were just fairytales and living my boring, normal life. The reality of my new life was nothing like the fantasy. I didn’t want to have to feed on others or watch out for stronger vampires.

I turned down Main Street, heading back towards the Stratosphere, which was all but deserted. I figured if I was going to run into any questionable types, this was the place to do it. It was late, and the streets all seemed empty of tourists.

All of the small art studios had already closed for the night, leaving only a few late-night businesses open. I passed a studio showcasing an odd exhibit in its window, a wall of trash with a figure buried inside of it. I stopped, noticing the plastic eyes of a mannequin watching me. They reminded me of my own dead eyes, staring back from my reflection.

Suddenly, I caught the scent of something; a deep, musky, thick aroma with hints of warm beer and grease. I guessed it was human, but it wasn’t very appealing. Not like the succulent bouquet I’d enjoyed in the casino.

I sniffed the air, trying to discern where the scent was coming from. I remembered Lysander’s warning that I would not be the only one hunting this area. But he had said I would sense another vampire. Not really sure what that meant, I worried. Being so young, what if I didn’t know what the sensation was supposed to feel like?

Half scared of other vampires and half anxious about having to make my first kill, I shot nervous glances all around, checking to see if there were any other people in the area.

A group of men were standing in the alley between a tattoo shop and the small art studio. The scent seemed to be coming from their direction, but I wasn’t interested in attempting to attack their group.

I shoved my hands in my pockets and looked down at the pavement, walking past them casually, hoping that they wouldn’t notice me. A one-on-one confrontation was something I still hadn’t drummed up the courage for. And I was certainly not ready for four-on-one.

“Hey, Mija,” one of the men shouted “Hey, pretty girl, come here.”

Damn, they spotted me.

I had really hoped to avoid them. A lump formed in my throat. My heart sped, beating hard against the wall of my chest. I took a deep breath, through my mouth and tasted their musky scent. It wasn’t all that appealing, but my mouth watered anyway.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here all by yourself?” one of the men called out to me.

I tried to ignore the man and turned down another side street. The beast in my mind begged me to turn around, but I wasn’t ready for this.

“Mija, I’m talking to you, come back here.”

Footsteps echoed on the empty street. First, only one pair; and then I heard the others. I guessed the man and his three friends were going to make this a group effort.

I groaned in frustration. Lysander’s plan was working a little too perfectly. As a human, I knew better than to walk this area alone. I would only come here during the First Friday art festival with a group and never stray from the main streets. Strength in numbers usually kept people from doing bad things to you, but walking out here all alone was just asking for problems.

This was exactly what Lysander wanted. He knew that by using myself as bait, I would easily nab an attacker: a criminal, someone deserving of death. Images of my previous attackers flashed through my mind again. Anger flared inside of me. These men following me were no better than those men the night before.

The beast in my head roared to life, egging me on. It whispered to me about my new strength and abilities. I should be able to take them on. I could take them on. It would be so easy. I shook my head, trying to get rid of the taunting thoughts.

Lysander’s plan was perfect. Of course, I doubt he expected me to attract four victims at once.

I stopped in my tracks, looking for a way back to Las Vegas Boulevard.

The beast might be ready, but a tiny voice, my subconscious, reminded me that I had never been in a fight before. I’d never hurt anyone intentionally. I wasn’t ready for this. I needed to find Lysander.

The footsteps sounded too close now, accompanied by drunken laughter. Running away wasn’t going to be an option. Like it or not, I was going to have to face them.

My stomach knotted as I turned around.

They stood fanned out around me, barely an arm’s reach away. Stained, yellow teeth greeted me from behind the first man’s mustachioed mouth. His beer-soaked aroma wafted to my nose. He stumbled, taking a step closer to me.

I jumped back in response. “Listen, man, just leave me alone. I don’t want any trouble,” I said in a clear commanding voice. It was more of a warning to my attacker than a plea for his retreat. I didn’t know how I was going to do it, but I knew if this man kept bothering me, I was going to do something I might regret.

“Oh, no, mija. No trouble,” he slurred his words. “Pretty girl like you shouldn’t walk around all alone. It’s not safe here. Lots of bad men around.”

The group of friends laughed, exchanged high fives and bumped fists.

“Thanks, but I’m not alone. I’m meeting my… uh… boyfriend.”

Lysander, where are you? Help me!

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I had the sudden sensation of unseen eyes watching me accompanied by a strange warmth. It enveloped me in a comforting sort of way.

You can do this. You are strong. I heard Lysander’s voice like a gentle whisper in my head. Somehow, hearing his voice gave me strength.

I looked into the drunken man’s eyes and tried to discern if he was really going to be trouble or if I could manage to get away without a fight. I sensed nothing, other than the fact he was drunk.

“I could be your boyfriend,” he slurred.

His friends continued their annoying laughter.

“Yeah, we could be your boyfriends,” they chorused.

“Last time, man. Leave me alone,” I commanded, balling a fist at my side.

Anger burned inside of me. I remembered the skinny man who had innocently asked me for directions before his big friend snuck up behind me and attacked. This man and his friends were no different. No normal person would have followed me alone down a dark street with decent intentions.

“Oh, c’mon, little lady, let’s have some fun.”

The drunken man reached out to grab hold of me, and I stepped quickly out of his grip, surprising myself with the speed with which I had moved.

He fell forward, arms wind-milling as he tried to right himself. His friends took this as their cue, reaching out to grab me as well.

Anxiety left me, replaced now with the need for survival. Primal instincts kicked in. I wasn’t going to be made a victim by these men.

A blur of outstretched arms reached to grab me. I fought back, throwing punches and kicks, moving with incredible speed and grace I had never had before.

A hand grabbed hold of my wrist. In a smooth, fluid motion, I twisted out of my would-be captor’s grip, breaking free of his hold. I knocked back and threw a wild punch. My fist collided with the nearest face and I was rewarded with a loud groan of pain, and the unmistakable sound of bones cracking. My attacker fell to the ground, leaving three others still trying to subdue me.

I felt strong and powerful, knocking each man down as if he were a rag doll.

The man who had originally called out to me stumbled back onto his feet. He screamed obscenities and words in Spanish that I assumed were meant as insults. He lunged at me again.

Fueled by the need for survival and my unyielding hunger, I grabbed hold of him. Instinctively, I yanked at his hair, pulling his head toward me. I bared my fangs and sank them deep into his neck. Hot blood flooded my mouth. I savored the thick, honey-sweet elixir.

Pure ecstasy.

It was warm and smooth, filling my being with new energy. Drunk with this new sensation, I felt unstoppable. Powerful. I could stop bad people from doing awful, evil, vile things. This bloodlust had a purpose. If I was to be this creature, I would ensure my feeding helped to stop the unnecessary deaths of innocents.

Visions of the men who had beaten me fueled my rage. This man would not be allowed to go peacefully into the light. I wanted him to pay for what he would have done to me—what I had already endured at the hands of men like him. I wanted him to feel it all, pain and torment. I gnawed at his neck, and dug my nails into his dirty flesh.

He would pay with his last dying breath.

My victim moaned pitifully. His arms flailed. He beat against my back, struggling to get away. I didn’t flinch. My arms encircled his body and locked tight in a deadly embrace.

His heart thundered in his chest, pumping blood faster through the wound into my awaiting mouth.

I drained him, gulping his blood down like a refreshing drink on a hot summer day, until I heard the last pathetic thump of his heart.

Engrossed in my own personal victory, and drunk with this new blood, I failed to pay attention to the other three men.

Screams of “Vampire! Vampire!” echoed in the empty streets.

Instantly, it hit me. I was supposed to be discreet. Lysander had warned not to let others find out about us or the Acta Sanctorum would begin hunting us down.

I sprang to my feet, throwing the lifeless body to the ground, and took off after the other three with a speed I never thought I was capable of.

Thankfully, Lysander was true to his word. He’d kept a close watch on me and was already in pursuit of the escaping men. He quickly caught up to them and slammed one of them into a wall, knocking him out, and ran for the others. I followed close behind. In moments, we both overtook the two remaining men. Lysander took one for his kill and I gorged myself on the other.

We carried the bodies to the nearest dumpster and disposed of them, so as not to leave any evidence of our activities. As soon as I hoisted my victim into the bin, Lysander lit a match and threw it in. Thanks to a lot of debris, it quickly caught fire. I wondered if that would be enough to cover our tracks.

Before I could form the words, Lysander answered my unasked question. “It won’t cremate the bodies, but it should remove any traces of our involvement with their death. We must always hide our kills.”

I watched the dumpster ablaze with the victims of my first hunt.

Lysander pulled me close, his arms encircled my body. “I knew you could do this. You have a lot of strength inside of you.”

I leaned into him, still staring at the fire. “Thanks.”

“Let’s go,” said Lysander. “The night is calling.”

Chapter 8

PERHAPS IT WAS the alcohol content in my victim’s blood, or maybe just the relief that my first hunt was over. Whatever it was, my body hummed with energy. My senses awakened: lights seemed brighter, sounds were crisper, smells were more intense. Fresh blood coursed through my veins, and I felt the blissful lightheadedness of being drunk. I found myself dancing around as we made our way back towards the car.

“You have done well tonight,” Lysander praised as I twirled around him.

“What is this amazing feeling?”

“The energy of life.” He let out a small laugh as I stumbled, almost tripping over my feet. “You are drunk on pure energy.”

Lysander smiled at me as I floated around in my drunken state. There was no fear of discovery in my antics. Vegas was used to seeing drunks wander the streets, and my blood-drunk state would seem no different to any passersby.

Lysander didn’t attempt to hold or control me as we walked back through the casino to the elevators. The multitude of smells still enticed me, but my satiated state quieted the beast, making it easier to endure. By the time we reached the top of the parking garage, the lightheadedness had begun to dissipate.

I noticed a man standing next to Lysander’s SUV. Lysander must have noticed the strange man as well. His body stiffened and he held up a hand, motioning for us to slow our pace.

The man was well dressed, in a tailored, all-white suit. A black shirt peeked out from beneath his jacket, and two thick gold chains glistened at his neck. His outfit, though nice, appeared out of place on this side of town. Downtown was certainly not where the glitzy high rollers played.

A strange sensation overtook me. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and my skin flushed with goose bumps as we approached. I wondered if this was the sensation Lysander had spoken of before. I guessed the stranger must be one of us.

I scanned the stranger's face, looking for any sign of hostility, but it appeared blank of all visible emotions. The trademark blue-gray eyes confirmed my suspicion. He was a vampire.

Anxiety suddenly washed through me. I hadn’t planned on meeting another vampire this soon.

Did the screaming of my victims alert someone? Were we in trouble?

The stranger stood rigid like a statue, as if waiting for us to come closer. His long, slicked-back jet-black hair was neatly tied into a ponytail at the base of his neck. An abnormally long nose came to a point above his thin lips. I guessed he’d been turned in his early thirties. A few faint wrinkles crossed his large forehead, and there were tiny crow’s-feet at the edges of his eyes.

We came to a stop at the trunk of Lysander’s Jeep, leaving a comfortable gap between ourselves and the stranger. I turned my attention to Lysander. The angry look on his face told me he recognized this man and, more importantly, that he wasn’t happy to see him. That thought sent my anxiety level rising higher.

“Edmond…” Lysander said, nodding to the man standing at the head of his car.

“Ah, Lysander,” Edmond responded. “I haven’t seen you in quite some time.” He inclined his head to me. “And who is this pretty little thing you’re with?” His voice carried hints of a French accent. I felt his probing eyes surveying every inch of me.

I cringed as his eyes moved up to meet mine, feeling a strange sensation, as if he were trying to read me, mentally sizing me up. I shrank back to avoid his stare, stepping closer to Lysander.

“Out here all by yourself, are you, Edmond? Kallisto let you off your leash?” Lysander taunted.

“I come on behalf of my mistress,” Edmond said, with an arrogant flick of his hand.

“Oh. She has you acting as her messenger boy now,” Lysander said, his lips curled into a sneer.

“No task is to menial when it comes to the Mistresses happiness. And I would do anything to make Mistress Kallisto happy,” Edmond retorted. “Perhaps that is why she favors me. She knows she can count on me to always be there at her side.”

“You are nothing more than a puppet, Edmond.”

Lysander’s scowling face was hard to ignore, yet Edmond showed no sign of fear.

I wondered, for a moment, who Kallisto was and if she was a type of vampire royalty. They both seemed to know her and the way Edmond talked made her seem like an important person in the vampire community. But Lysander had said he was a loner and didn’t live in a coven. What would he have to do with this Edmond and Kallisto?

Lysander’s growling words snapped me out of my thoughts. “Get to the point then, Edmond. To what do we owe this occasion?”

“Always straight to the point with you, isn’t it? And I was so looking forward to reminiscing with you. How long has it been? Do you miss us?” Edmond moved toward us, smiling wickedly at me.

I gulped and took a step backward.

“Shy, are we, ma chère?” Edmond spoke softly, inching closer. Again, I felt the eerie sensation of his eyes probing me. ”Might I at least have the pleasure of your name?”

“Get the hell away from me,” I snapped.

“Leave her out of this, Edmond, and get to the point of your visit,” barked Lysander.

Edmond’s lips curled at the corners. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

I shuddered. Damn it, I probably should have kept my mouth closed. My chest became tight. My heart raced, pounding like a drum roll.

Edmond took another small step closer, reaching a hand out to me. I flinched.

Lysander stepped in front of me, blocking Edmond’s path. He knocked away Edmond’s hand. “I said, leave her alone.”

“Jealous, are we, Lysander?” He sneered. “Don’t worry. I won’t steal her. I just wish to know her name.”

An odd silence halted their verbal tennis match. It piqued my curiosity. I chanced a look at Edmond. He stood firm in his place. He and Lysander stared at one another as if each was threatening the other to make a move, but no words were exchanged.

Lysander’s face was blocked from my view, but I saw the struggle in Edmond’s eyes. His lips quivered at the corners, but he did not move or speak. His hands twitched, fisting and rising to a defensive position, and then relaxing back to his side.

The odd silence and strange behavior confused me. Lysander’s body also seemed to tense and relax in front of me. I shrank behind him, waiting for something to happen. Tension ran thick in the air. I sensed a fight was about to start. Many moments went by silently before Lysander spoke again.

“Enough mind games, Edmond. Speak your purpose for being here or leave us,” Lysander demanded.

“Fine,” Edmond huffed. “It is precisely this enchanting little urchin you have recently turned that gives us cause to have this chat.” There was a definite note of disdain in his voice.

Me? What do I have to do with anything?

A chill ran down my spine. I wanted to get out of there. I needed to escape.

Lysander’s stance became more defensive. He continued to act as a wall between Edmond and me. “She is none of your—or anyone else’s—concern, Edmond.”

“That may be your opinion; however, there are those among us who do not look too kindly on bastard fledglings turned without permission, and, well, you know the law.…”

“Those laws do not pertain to me,” Lysander said with a snarl. “I am under no one’s rule.”

“That, too, is a matter of opinion, and it would be in your best interest and the interest of your…lady friend to sort this matter out with Kallisto.”

“I have nothing to discuss with you or Kallisto,” Lysander said. “I am through with this conversation. Leave my presence before I decide to send Kallisto a message of my own, using your corpse.”

Edmond waved his hand at Lysander. “Save your childish threats for someone else.” He turned and walked away toward the elevators. “Consider this your one and only warning. You have thirty nights.”

Lysander turned to me. His eyes appeared hard and cold. “Get in the car.”

He inhaled slow, controlled breaths as he entered the car and started the engine. The scowl didn’t leave his mouth as he drove out of the parking garage. I wanted to start questioning him. I wanted to know what danger we were in, but the look on his face told me now would not be the best time.

Thankful to be leaving without a fight, my mind raced with questions.

What part did Kallisto play in all of this? Who was she? Why did Edmond accuse Lysander of breaking a law? What kind of trouble were we in? Was Lysander going to be able to settle this? What if Kallisto came after us?

“There is more for you to know about our kind,” he said, breaking the silence. “I told you there were other covens out there.”

“Yeah, it seems you left out quite a bit of information. What the hell was going on back there?”

“It wasn’t necessary to tell you everything about our kind just yet. You seemed to be having trouble handling the basics.” I heard the frustration in Lysander’s voice. “As I said before, there are quite a few covens out there. One in particular stands out from the rest. It’s the oldest known coven in existence, and Kallisto is the leader.”

I had a feeling he would say that.

“Kallisto is a very old, very powerful vampire,” Lysander said.

Great, just great. “Was she the first?” I asked.

Lysander shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. But she is the oldest vampire I know, and she feels she is the ruler over us all.”

“But if she isn’t the first, isn’t there someone above her?”

Lysander groaned. His fist tightened on the steering wheel. “Why are you so fixated on the first vampire?”

“I don’t know. I guess… well, that’s how it always goes in the stories.”

“This is not some fiction story,” he said with a hint of annoyance. “This is reality.”

Yeah, and reality was getting worse and worse every minute. “I’m trying to make sense of all of this.” I sighed and wrapped my arms around my stomach. “I’m scared, and this is all new to me.”

“I do not see why it is so important, but if you must know, no one knows who the first is. Kallisto has never claimed that title, but she is very old. She once told me of a legend that claims we were descended from the Keres.”

“The what?”

“You never studied mythology in school?” A note of impatience was evident in Lysander’s voice.

I shook my head. “Nope, I didn’t care much for that kind of stuff.” I never thought I would need it. It wasn’t like I expected to become a vampire when I grew up.

“Have you at least heard of the Greek gods?”

“You mean Zeus, Hades, Hera…”

“Yes, good. What about the Titans? Are you familiar with them?”

“Uh…no, not really.” I shook my head, feeling a little bit embarrassed at how little I knew.

“The Titans preceded the Olympian gods you’re familiar with. They were there at the beginning of creation and birthed, so to speak, the gods you know.”

“Okay, go on.”

“They were what we believe caused everything to come into being: Gaia, earth; Uranus, sky; Chronos, time; Nyx, night; and so forth. Each of the Titans had various children. Some of Nyx’s many children were the Keres: winged female blood-drinking creatures, with large claws and razor-sharp teeth.”

I shuddered, imagining such beasts. So we’re monsters.

Lysander didn’t seem to be bothered by his description or my reaction. He continued without missing a beat. “They were charged with finishing off wounded men in battle so their souls might cross over into the underworld.”

“Okay,” I said, holding up my hand to pause him. “So they were the original vampires?”

“No, they were godlike creatures to begin with. Vampires, such as we are, began as mortals. According to Kallisto’s telling of the legend, one of the Keres mated with a mortal, creating the first of our kind: half mortal, half god.”

I bit at my thumbnail as Lysander continued to rattle off more about the legend.

“The Olympian gods and the Titans were at war. The Titans were imprisoned by Zeus in Tartarus, also known as the deepest part of the underworld. Nyx, being a Titan, was unable to keep constant watch over this new immortal creation. She was forced to return to Tartarus each morning and was only allowed out as the sun set. Nyx cursed this new immortal, preventing him from coming out into the daylight, hoping to keep him a secret. This new immortal adapted well to the night, but eventually became lonely and depressed, being the only one of his kind. Nyx took pity on him, allowing him to create a mate, and taught him the secret power of his immortal blood. And so our race began.”

I nodded to myself, trying to process all of this new information. “So we really are creatures of the night?”

“According to the legend, yes.” Lysander turned to face me. “But as I have said, no one has ever met this first vampire, so the validity of the story has yet to be proven. It remains legend, as do many of the other various theories on how our kind started.”

A combination of shock and awe hit me as I put all the pieces of the story together. “So, Kallisto is basically the oldest and strongest known vampire. She thinks she is the queen of all vampires. And she is mad at us?”

Lysander leaned his head to the side, one of his eyes squinted as he pursed his lips. “Mad is probably not the appropriate word to use here,” he said.

“What about Edmond? Is he just a messenger?”

Lysander’s brow furrowed. “He’s her mate.”

“Mate? Like her husband or something?”

“Yes,” He sighed. “We are almost to my home. I have some things to show you.”

Chapter 9

WE ARRIVED AT Lysander’s home just after midnight. He gestured for to me sit in the living room as he walked to the large wooden bookshelves. Wondering what other scary revelations he was about to tell me, I sank into the soft leather of the couch, watching as his fingers darted nimbly across the spines of ancient-looking tomes. Lysander’s wide eyes flitted back and forth as he skimmed the books.

“Kallisto and I have quite a history." His finger stopped on a dusty, brown leather spine. “Ah, yes, this is the one.”

He pulled the thick book from the shelf. It was old and weathered. The leather binding looked as if it would fall apart in his hands. He opened it and carefully presented it to me.

“Is this vampire history?” I wondered, looking at the yellowing pages. The book appeared to be a diary of some sort, written in languages I did not know.

“Some of it. Technically, this would be my history. I am not old enough to know what happened in the very beginning. This is an account of my life with Kallisto.”

I admired the book, turning the pages slowly, trying not to damage them.

“What language is this?”

I scanned the text, noting the funny slashes and illegible scribbles, not finding any writing I understood until I flipped more than halfway to the end of the book.

“Each language you see represents the current language spoken when I wrote the entry. I wanted to preserve the history I was able to witness, so I documented everything I saw. It has been my life’s work to transcribe history. This book, however, is not an original. It is a copy, made by me before I left Kallisto and her coven.”

He left her. That might explain why she was sending messengers after him.

He let out a deep sigh. I caught a hint of sadness. It was as if the mention of Kallisto carried some painful memory.

“The original parchment and scrolls were left with her so many years ago, along with many of my other writings.”

I looked up at Lysander’s face. He looked lovingly on the book lying in my lap, as if it were his child. His eyes lit up as I turned the pages, revealing more writing and sketches that—I assumed—he had drawn. I felt a strange sensation of pride, like I was somehow channeling the feelings I saw as I looked up into Lysander’s eyes.

He let me flip through the book until I had seen everything on my own, then turned it back to the beginning, showing me a sketch of a beautiful grassy valley dotted with farms. The sketch was vividly detailed; each blade of grass was lovingly etched into the page. I could tell Lysander had put quite a bit of work into this tome.

“I was born in Amfissa, a valley city in ancient Greece,” he said, seating himself next to me on the couch.

“It was a beautiful, fertile land, but scarred by generation after generation of war with each of our neighbors and even Rome itself before the latter defeated us, eventually incorporating us into their republic.”

Wow, Rome and Greece. I didn’t realize Lysander was that old. I looked up at his youthful face. He has to be over two thousand years old if he came from ancient Greece.

He turned the book to the next page and pointed out a sketch of a temple filled with people in celebration.

“I had no taste for war, preferring to tend my family’s land and enjoy the pleasures of worshipping the gods. We celebrated our gods back then, toasting them with wine and food. Huge feasts were thrown in celebration of the gods, thanking them for their blessings. Special festivals were held at different points of the year to give thanks for the bounty they bestowed on us."

He spoke with such fervor. I knew this subject must be near and dear to his heart. A smile stretched wide across his face, reaching up to his sparkling eyes.

“It was at the Oscophoria, a grape harvesting festival, that I first glimpsed Kallisto.”

I lost myself staring into his eyes, watching him speak instead of looking at the book in my lap.

He pointed down to the picture, refocusing me. “Throngs of people crowded the temple in celebration as youths brought forth the finest ripened grapes from the vine.”

Lysander’s eyes closed, and his smile turned into a crooked grin. He appeared to be reliving a pleasant memory.

“She was alone, making her way through the sea of people, and upon viewing her, I had to meet her.”

Sounded like love at first sight. I hadn’t figured Lysander for the romantic type. I admired the serene look on his handsome face.

“I remember my first glimpse of her as clearly as if I were looking at her right now,” he sighed. “She was an enchanting beauty with gorgeous long black hair.”

He turned the page again, pointing out another drawing of a tall, slender woman dressed in traditional Greek style, with dark hair and a floor-length, white tunic dress.

Wow, she is beautiful.

“It was that night that I would be turned. Kallisto told me she was born of the gods and wished to bestow her gift on me. She enticed me with carnal pleasures, telling me I needed to free myself from mortality with ecstasy and wine. Only the wine she offered me was blood. We lay as lovers that night, entwined in one another’s bodies, sharing in the feast of blood. By morning I was a vampire and we retreated to the lower hidden floor of the temple.”

I nodded as Lysander turned the page, revealing more writing and a drawing of a man holding two women covered in blood.

The serene look left Lysander’s face. “I too struggled initially with the thought of killing, as I see you do,” he said. “Though my teacher was not so patient with me. The first night after my transformation, I was offered two beautiful virgins for my first meal. I refused them at first, feeling sorry for them, not wanting to end their lives. I feared becoming a monster as you do.”

Lysander spoke matter-of-factly, but his words were a relief to me. I was glad to hear I wasn’t a disappointment for struggling with my newfound need for blood.

He continued, “This enraged Kallisto, and in her fury, she attacked me. Her strength outmatched mine. I was a newborn vampire, weak and unable to stop her. She tossed me around like a rag doll and threatened to abandon me to the sunlight as punishment. It was made clear from the start that there would never be a choice in who was to be sacrificed. I was to drink the blood of the living or die for showing disrespect to my mistress for her gift.”

“So she made you kill the virgins?” I gasped, covering my mouth with my hand.

“Yes.”

“She sounds cruel and heartless,” I said, under my breath.

“Kallisto was a strict mistress, but also a talented lover. She used the pleasures of the flesh to reward my obedient behavior, allowing me to perform any act of carnal desire with her as long as I accepted her as my mistress. Over the years, I grew to love Kallisto and wanted nothing more than her happiness. We became partners, a kind of husband and wife, and it was just the two of us living in the temple.”

He turned the page again, showing another drawing of a large city. “Time moved on, and soon the Romans commanded Greece.”

I recognized the huge coliseum in the center of the picture, surrounded by a tight network of streets and wondered how he managed to get such detail into his drawings

“Kallisto grew restless and soon tired of living in the temple. She decided we would move to the heart of the empire and add to our family. So, we left Amfissa and headed to Rome.”

“You left your home for her?”

“Yes, I loved Kallisto. I wanted to make her happy. Also, a vampire can only stay in one place for so long before people get too suspicious.”

“Yeah, I guess you do have a point there.”

I smiled, leaning in attentively as Lysander continued his story.

“We made it to Rome, and our timing could not have been better. We arrived just after the assassination of the great Gaius Julius Caesar. All of Rome was in an uproar as political powers scrambled to reestablish order. Kallisto loved the chaos and used it to establish the first members of our coven. She sought out and quickly befriended Roman patricians and anyone with homes and money. Using the gift of immortality as trade, she gained access to riches and palatial homes. The upheaval in the aftermath of Caesar’s death left many fearing they would be murdered for their political alliances, and for them, immortality was the only way they would survive. It was a good plan, and our family grew to a few dozen in just a month after our arrival in Rome.”

He turned another page, revealing a drawing of a palatial home filled with people dressed in long, colorful tunic dresses, shawls, and togas.

“Oh, how beautiful.” I admired the various women with long hair, adorned with glittering decorations.

“We lived in the lap of luxury, just as Kallisto wanted, and she and I were worshipped as rulers among our fledgling family.”

Why would Lysander leave the coven, then? I looked up, trying to glean some information from his expression. He ignored my questioning gaze, continuing with his story.

“Rules soon had to be established to maintain order amongst our group. Fledglings began turning their mortal lovers, and our homes overflowed with too many vampires. Kallisto and I came up with and instructed our brood on the five laws that would rule our coven.”

He turned the page again, showing me what appeared to be a list marked by large, ornately drawn Roman numerals. He pointed them out as he read them to me.

“Number one. We do not walk among men as equals. We are hidden gods, revealing ourselves only to our victims before the moment of their deaths, or to our children before bestowing our gift upon them. Death shall be your reward for revealing our true nature to mortals.

“Number two. Our gifts shall not be squandered. Only the unique among mortals will be granted immortality and approval shall be sought before performing the act. Death shall be you and your child’s reward for siring without consent.”

My heart skipped a beat. I gasped, realizing now why Edmond was sent to warn Lysander. Lysander turned me, and now Kallisto wanted us dead.

Lysander continued reading, seemingly unaware of my panic.

“Number three. The rules governing mortal crimes shall be enforced among immortals. Murder and thievery will not be tolerated among your brethren, and your mistress will judge you on the severity of your crimes.

“Number four. Discretion in your feeding is your duty, and no trace should be left of your nightly activities, or you risk exposure of our kind to mortals. Death shall be your reward for breaking our veil of secrecy.

“And finally, number five. Your brethren’s victims are theirs to have and feed from. Do not covet or attempt to take them from your brothers and sisters. We must all respect one another as family. Exile shall be your reward for covetousness.”

Lysander finally looked at me. “I told you covens were fanatical.” Though I was horrified by this revelation, his tone hadn’t changed. He spoke plainly, as if he were not affected by what he was telling me.

“Punishments were harsh in our coven. We had to keep the rules strict to maintain order among our brood.”

“But you broke one of those rules by turning me.”

“Whose rules are they?”

I thought for a moment before speaking. “Kallisto’s.”

“Exactly. Not mine. I am no longer a member of that coven.”

“But you helped establish them. Kallisto sent someone to tell you that you broke a law. And if those rules are still in effect, you signed both our death warrants when you turned me.”

“Get a hold of yourself, Alyssa. I told you, I do not belong with her any longer.”

I couldn’t hide the fright in my voice. “If she is sending messengers, then she might still think you do.” How could he be so calm about all of this?

“Alyssa, please understand. Her coven is not the only coven out there. Her laws, though she might not want to admit it, do not govern the entirety of the vampire world.”

I wasn’t entirely convinced. If Kallisto sent a messenger out to warn us, there had to be some real reason behind it.

“Even as Kallisto and I were making these rules for our new coven, there were already many other vampires populating the world. Remember, Kallisto must have been turned by someone before coming to Amfissa. Logic will tell you there had to be others out there. Now, shall I continue with my story?”

“Fine, go on.” I took a deep breath, trying to calm my frantically beating heart.

Below the five marked rules was another group of words in Latin. Lysander looked back down at his book, translating the words.

“ ‘To be exiled is to be lowered in status, equal to that of mortal men. Members of the coven are free to prey upon the exiled and condemned, and use their blood to strengthen themselves.’ ”

My hand clenched into a tight fist in my lap. Oh, God, that’s how they are going to do it. They are going to hunt us down and feed on us.

Lysander looked up from the book, meeting my frightened eyes. “Our laws were not met with approval from many in our newly enlarged family. When we began enforcing them, a small faction decided to break off and start a new coven. Even in a city as large as Rome, it was hard to contain two covens, and for at least a century, a feud was fought between our coven and the members of the new house. The feuding spilled over into the streets of Rome, and the city became victim to the fighting of our two families. On many occasions, the streets of Rome erupted in flame as immortal brothers attacked one another, trying to gain control of the city.”

He turned another page in the book and pointed to a frightening picture of streets ablaze and people running in terror.

“Rome was changing around us. The old gods were being replaced by Christianity, and the Romans saw many emperors come and go. I and many of our family grew tired of the feuding between the covens. We had stayed in Rome too long, so I pleaded with Kallisto to give up control and move our coven somewhere else.”

Okay, this might be good. Kallisto listened to him back then. Maybe there was some hope here.

“After much debate, she agreed, and we left Rome, searching for a new place where our family could live in peace. This started a trend that would continue throughout the modern era. We would move to a location and set up a home. After a century or so, we would move on. A period of peace and prosperity among our coven lasted through the twelfth century. Life was extremely comfortable, and we were happy to watch the world developing around us.”

Again, the thought crossed my mind. Why would Lysander want to leave, if coven life was so wonderful?

“We eventually made our way to what is now France, and it was there that we met the gentleman you saw tonight.”

He turned the page, showing a large drawing of Edmond. Lysander’s body tensed and his eyes narrowed.

“Edmond was a wealthy land owner and immediately took Kallisto’s interest.” He spoke in a carefully controlled tone. “We had lived as rulers and mates for more than a thousand years without much incident until he came along. She turned him, and his home became our own. Kallisto took to spending all of her time with this new fledgling. She lavished affection on him and saw to his education personally. They would disappear together for days at a time, leaving me to maintain order among the coven, whose numbers had reached above fifty.”

Wow, that’s a huge coven.

Lysander’s lip curled into a sneer. “Edmond’s mortal status secured for us our home and wealth, and Kallisto used this to grant him a position of power in the coven, a title and award, which she had not done for others in the past. This brought unrest among the coven again and threatened to split our house apart, as had happened in Rome.”

He let out a long sigh.

“Edmond was rapidly promoted to her personal adviser, and rumors threatened that I was about to be unseated as Kallisto’s mate and king. My supporters wanted to wage war and destroy Kallisto and her new consort, but I would not allow it. I loved Kallisto, despite her infidelity and politics, and could not bear to harm her. I never did have a taste for war, so I prepared myself to leave the coven.”

He turned the page again. This picture was horrific, a twisted and deformed blob of people and blood. I cringed and looked away from the picture.

“To my knowledge, there has never been a coven of this magnitude in one location again.”

Lysander’s voice became somber.

“My announcement that I wished to leave was not met with any resistance until followers of mine stepped forward, announcing their intentions to leave as well. Kallisto did not want to lose her followers and commanded that all deserters be put to death. A bloody battle raged that evening, brother against brother. Family members who had been together for centuries turned on one another. I lost many an old friend that night. Before morning, I, and those who had survived and were still loyal to me, fled to safety.”

Lysander paused, and his hands rose to his face, covering his eyes. He took a silent moment. An odd sensation hit me. Sadness, sorrow; but those weren’t my feelings. Again, I felt as if I were channeling the feelings from Lysander.

The moment passed. Lysander reached out and turned the page again, showing another upsetting picture, a city ravaged by death. Bodies lay in the streets, and the living people looked pale and diseased.

“Our small clan of immortals eventually made its way to England. It was a dirty and depressing place. The Black Death was new to the area and began spreading like wildfire. People were dying all around us, and the city reeked of disease. We were a small group now, and we were poor. Kallisto’s knack for allying herself with the affluent and respected in society was not available to us, and our meager clan of vampires was not as politically minded.”

He turned to the next page in the book, revealing a group of people crowded into a small room. I counted no more than six: a man resembling Lysander, a short, dark-haired man, a brunette woman, two blond men, and a red-headed woman.

“Who are they?”

“All who were left. We managed to secure a small home in central London where the plague seemed at its worst. The deaths around us easily masked our nightly feeding, but drastically reduced the numbers of healthy mortals on whom to feed. It wasn’t long before our small clan dwindled away, each person leaving for various reasons. I bore them no ill will. They had stood for me when it had counted, and I would not deny them their own way in life, so I let them go.

“I soon found myself alone, depressed and not willing to go on. I decided I had had enough of immortality.”

He looked up at me, his blue-gray eyes filled with sadness. “The years can wear on you when you’re happy, and so much more so when you aren’t.”

I wanted to reach out and hold him. The feeling of sadness was almost overwhelming. Poor Lysander. I nodded silently, telling him to continue with his story.

“I had lived to see the centuries pass and witnessed the greatness of social evolution. I saw the height and fall of Rome, observed countries develop from bands of fighting factions, and watched as the old gods and traditions were replaced with a new and more powerful deity.”

He took a deep breath. Turning his attention back to the book, he flipped the page. I saw a large, empty room and a man, whom I assumed was Lysander, lying on the ground.

“I sealed myself into a newly built tomb. I lay down on the soft dirt within and waited for death from starvation.”

The odd feeling of sadness ended. Lysander took another deep breath, reaching again to the book to turn another page.

“Death was not to be mine,” he said. “Hunger eventually turned to paralysis, and I became immobile, like a living statue destined for eternal sleep.”

How horrible. To be paralyzed forever.

“During my centuries of sleep, Kallisto’s coven came under attack by a new group of crusaders: vampire hunters with the backing of the Roman Catholic Church. It was the first time anyone had seen a group such as this, and although mortal, they were able to hunt and destroy groups of vampires.

“Kallisto came to England and found my tomb.”

He turned the page, and I saw the two lovers in one another’s arms, lying in the dirt of Lysander’s tomb.

“I found myself awakening to the taste of her blood as I lay in her lap. She fed me and brought me back from my deathlike sleep, offering me a home again with her and all that remained of her coven. I wanted to rejoin her and for a short time I tried, but Edmond was still there—her right hand. The coven had a mere fraction of its original strength. I was no longer the respected and beloved king. Kallisto still wanted me, but her mate was now Edmond. I could not bear to live with them and made my intentions known that I would be leaving again.

“Kallisto was unhappy and threatened death, warning me to be careful in my choice. At that point, death was preferable to living with her coven.”

Lysander’s face became serious again. “Edmond stepped in as Kallisto was delivering her sentence. He suggested another alternative: loneliness and exile. I was told if I would not live with the coven, I would live alone and walk through eternity with no one by my side.”

“Loneliness and exile: So you can’t have any friends or partners?” Great, another reason why turning me was a problem. So Kallisto didn’t want Lysander dead, she wanted me dead.

Lysander scoffed. “They are so arrogant. They think they control the world. My ties to them ended there.”

But they still consider you under their rule, I thought, not wanting to state the obvious out loud for fear of angering Lysander.

“The New World had been discovered while I slept. It was far away from everything I had known. I felt it could be a place of new beginning for me. I booked passage on a ship bound for America, saying goodbye to my beloved Kallisto. From that moment on, I would never consider myself part of her or her coven again.”

He closed the book, taking it from my lap and setting it on to the coffee table.

“The goodbye did not last as long as I had hoped. Kallisto followed me. After my arrival in America, I lived in Boston, then Chicago, then Texas, and finally, here. Each place I called home was not mine for very long. Eventually she made her presence known.”

“So what can we do? Do we face her, or do we move somewhere else?”

Lysander stood up and paced in front of the couch.

“I’m not sure what I am going to do at this moment.”

Great, just great! He’s supposed to have the answers and he doesn’t know what to do.

“That wasn’t the answer I was hoping for.” I stretched out, across the couch, and waited for Lysander to stop his pacing and give me some idea of what would happen to us. This Kallisto woman sounded pretty hard to deal with, but Lysander hadn’t escaped her in the nearly thousand years since their first parting. It didn’t seem likely that moving was going to solve anything, and I had a feeling that was why he was unable to give me an answer.

“Try not to worry, Alyssa. I will take care of this. For now, we must concentrate on your education as a vampire.”

Chapter 10

A FEW NIGHTS passed after our encounter with Edmond. We hadn’t heard anything new from the coven, and Lysander had not yet told me how we planned to deal with the threat they posed to us. It appeared that Lysander was waiting for them to make another move. The potential threat of Kallisto was a constant worry. Even though Lysander tried to reassure me that he could handle her, his words didn’t do much to relieve my anxiety. I wanted to know how, but he wouldn’t say anything further. I had no choice but to trust his word and hope for the best.

Lysander focused on bringing me up to speed and teaching me how to be, as he called it, a proper vampire. He told me that would be key to my survival. He did have a point. I wouldn't know the first thing about defending myself against a two-thousand-year-old ex-lover with a grudge.

I learned that some things about being a vampire were pretty cool. There were definitely benefits to being immortal. Really, it was only the hunting for blood that bothered me.

My new abilities began to develop quickly. I could sense other living things around me: people, animals, and vampires—although I had really only had Lysander as a test subject for the last one. Even if I couldn’t see or smell them, I could sense the presence of something alive near me. An odd feeling would strike me, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, and I would know someone was around. I sensed the unseen presence near me and knew the exact direction to look and find it. At times I sensed emotions as if I were feeling them myself.

Each time I was near Lysander, I felt that strange warmth radiating from him. I wondered if he felt it too, and if it meant something.

Lysander showed no hint of any feelings; always the teacher, he focused strictly on my vampire education. He instructed me to go after only those people who were evil. It was his way to justify the hunt. If we had to survive off blood, it should only come from those who would spill it themselves. After my first hunt and the feeling of power, as I took down the man who might have raped me (or worse), I understood this philosophy.

Guilt at the thought of killing still hung in the back of my mind. My victims, evil as they were, were still human, and it went against my nature to end their lives.

“I don’t want anyone to have to die,” I protested. I tried to stall, holding out as long as I could each night before hunting.

“Waiting too long to hunt and letting the thirst take over and control you will cause you to mistakenly attack someone who wouldn’t deserve to die,” Lysander cautioned.

I could tell my reluctance bothered him. As patient as he was, I knew he was tiring of my protests and arguments.

“Would you be able to handle that kind of guilt? Blood is how we survive. Someone has to die. There is no way around this. If you let your hunger take over, you will become the bloodthirsty monster you fear.”

I huffed and crossed my arms in frustration. I couldn’t argue with him. His intentions were right, and there was no getting out of the need for blood.

“If you hunt when you are not starving, you will be able to control yourself enough to choose your victims wisely,” Lysander said, placing a hand on my shoulder for comfort. “Keep hunting criminals and justify their deaths.”

He continued to take me to the seedy parts of town, staying close enough to keep a watch on me as I hunted, making sure I didn’t get into trouble. It was a little annoying to be constantly babysat like this, but Lysander refused to let me hunt alone.

Even though it seemed futile, I was stubborn, and continued to argue and question if there were any other ways to feed.

Eventually, Lysander obliged by showing me another, less pleasant method of survival: feeding off the blood of animals.

He took me out with the intention of hunting feral strays. Not exactly a better option, in my opinion.

We spotted a chocolate lab, wandering down a quiet neighborhood street.

“You can’t expect me to go after that dog,” I protested.

Lysander crossed his arms in front of his chest. His eyes narrowed and he shot a stern look at me. “Why not? You said you didn’t want to hunt people. What else did you expect to hunt?”

“It’s probably someone’s pet,” I stalled. Killing a defenseless animal just didn’t sit right with me.

Lysander pointed in the direction of the dog. “I doubt that. Look at how skinny the mangy thing is.”

The dog stopped for a second and sniffed the air. I saw the outline of its ribs underneath its dirty, matted fur. It turned its head in our direction, taking one more sniff before bolting down the street at top speed.

“Go get it,” Lysander urged.

“No!” I stomped my foot like a child throwing a fit. I had never been much of a pet lover, but killing defenseless animals seemed crueler to me than killing a rapist.

“If it’s not enough to satiate you, we can always find another. Consider this one a snack,” Lysander said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I would much rather destroy a murderer, rapist, or even a pedophile than an innocent dog or cat. This just seems heartless.”

A life was a life, and it just felt wrong to me to end such an innocent one with my hunger.

“You have eaten chicken and cow, have you not?” Lysander asked.

“Yes, but I never had to kill them myself. I think I might have turned vegetarian if I had been forced to.”

Lysander laughed at me.

“They are innocent,” I snapped at him. “How can I destroy a harmless creature who has done no wrong?”

“You asked for a way to avoid killing humans. Animals are your only other option. Of course, you don’t have to hunt them. You can keep taking out criminals, if you find that more justifiable.”

“Is there no other way around killing?”

“No, I’m sorry. You must have live blood.”

“Please, Lysander, there has to be another way,” I begged. I wanted—I needed—there to be some other way.

“Why must there be some other way? This is how we live. We must drink blood.”

“There are other ways of obtaining blood, though.” I was not giving up yet. “Can’t we try something else? Please?”

“I see you aren’t going to let this go,” he sighed. “Fine, you can have your way. I will show you what it is like to have blood without hunting for it. But, I can guarantee you will like this less than the animals.”

* * *

HE TOOK US to a local butcher, and asked him to package up a container of blood for us. The butcher, a balding, overweight man, complied while blankly staring at Lysander, as if he were in a trance. It seemed odd to me that the butcher asked no questions or even gave Lysander a second glance when he requested a pint of blood. I had a sneaking suspicion that Lysander had done something to make the butcher seem so docile.

My questions were easily forgotten when we exited the building. I eagerly awaited my first trial with the stored blood. Rather than wait to get it back to Lysander’s house, we took the container of blood around a back alley behind the butcher shop to have a little taste. I was so excited for this new alternative to my nightly feeding that I could hardly wait for him to open the container. My mouth watered with anticipation. I prepared for the dizzying rush of energy I was accustomed to feeling when I drank.

If this works, I’m stocking Lysander’s fridge full of blood.

I was eager to end my need to kill.

Lysander must have known what I was thinking. He had a mischievous smile on his face as he offered me the container of blood.

I took it greedily, yanking off the top of the container, and inhaled a long whiff of its scent.

My nose crinkled.

Odd, this does not smell sweet or fragrant at all. It smells like an old rusty penny. Maybe this is what Lysander meant when he said I wouldn’t enjoy it?

Against the protest of my nose, I put the container to my lips and took a sip.

Here’s to no more death!

“Ugh!” I gagged.

It was exactly what I had first imagined drinking blood would be like: cold, gelatinous, half-congealed, runny goop. The stale, metallic taste made me want to throw up.

Lysander laughed as he watched me trying to choke down the contents of the container. I could only handle a few sips before I dropped it to the ground, trying to control my gag reflex.

“Tastes horrible, doesn’t it?” He chuckled. “That is why we drink from the living, Alyssa.”

I ignored his mocking smile as I scraped my tongue against my teeth and spit a coagulated chunk on the ground. The stale, metallic taste hung in my mouth.

“It’s disgusting. I can’t drink this at all,” I screeched. “It’s terrible.”

“And it has no energy and therefore no sustenance for us. Drinking this will do nothing for you. It is the energy in live blood that you take in. That’s what makes the blood worth drinking.” Lysander continued to laugh at me.

“I guess I learned my lesson,” I grumbled and kicked the container on the ground, spilling blood all over the asphalt. Lysander was right. Like it or not, I had to survive off living blood.

Chapter 11

AFTER OUR EXPERIMENT with the cow’s blood from the butcher shop, I had a new eagerness for the taste of fresh blood. I was also getting better at sensing people around me as I hunted, and after telling this to Lysander, he decided it was time for me to learn more about my abilities.

I was ready for my next lesson and eagerly readied myself for his instruction.

Lysander came out of the bedroom dressed in a pair of plain carpenter jeans and a very loosely buttoned black shirt that revealed a tempting view of his neck and chest.

I couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was. I licked my lips, enjoying the view as he walked across the room.

“We are going to work on something tonight before you hunt,” he said slyly, calling me over to take a seat at the head of the dining room table.

I happily did as I was told and took a seat in the chair closest to where Lysander stood.

“I am going to show you how to direct the feelings of your victim to make him submissive.”

A smile crept across my face. This sounded like it could be fun.

Lysander must have recognized my excitement. He returned my smile, showing just a hint of teeth beneath his lips.

“Everyone, mortals and immortals alike, is susceptible to suggestion. You can use this to your advantage by hypnotizing and relaxing them, making your victim more submissive and willing for you to take them.”

The docile butcher from the night before suddenly made sense. Lysander must have done something like that to him.

“How’s that possible?” I asked.

“We are gifted with stronger minds than we had previously as mortals. You’ve already shown your powers are developing quickly. Your ability to sense the presence of others without seeing them is proof of that. But that is only a small hint of what you will be capable of. If you can concentrate and harness this new power, you can do much more with it.”

Up to now, my victims had all been criminals of some kind, and a kill was usually the result of me fighting with them, dragging them down in self-defense as I drained them of their life.

I was intrigued by the thought that I could make someone just want me to end their life. I imagined a murderer throwing a knife to the ground and begging me to bite him.

A small giggle escaped me and I quickly covered my mouth with my hand to stifle it.

Lysander continued, “As your senses develop, you will easily be able recognize the feelings of those you come in contact with. You can use that ability to know what they are feeling and then change it to match whatever you want them to feel.”

He looked down at me. His eyes met mine, probing me for understanding.

“Can you sense what I am feeling?” he asked.

I sensed the warmth that seemed to join us, but never anything more. I remembered feeling the sadness that came from Lysander when he told me his story. I’d been looking into his eyes when I felt it.

It must be the eyes.

I tried to quiet my mind, focusing on him. His eyes were hypnotic and powerful. A rush of excitement took me over. He was like my own personal Greek god, statuesque and beautiful, the image of perfection with flawless features and those hypnotically beautiful eyes. It had been the nicest perk of my immortality, that he was my maker.

I lost myself, staring into the deep gray pools of his eyes, admiring the blue flecks sparkling at me. Lysander was a perfect specimen of man. I suddenly wanted to pull him close and feel his body next to mine. I wanted to give in to my secret urge to be close to him.

We remained locked in this stare for a few moments, as I imagined feeling his lips on mine.

I shook my head, blinking a few times, realizing I wasn’t concentrating on my task.

Focus! I need to focus! I can do this.

I blinked again before refocusing on Lysander’s eyes.

“Fear,” I whispered timidly. It was a guess. I couldn’t sense what he was feeling. A tiny voice in my head whispered to me and urged me to pull him closer.

“Concentrate on my feelings, Alyssa, not your own. Try again.”

I took a deep breath before looking into Lysander’s eyes again. I found it hard to see past the feelings of desire for him. I tried hard to quiet my nerves. There was no silence in my head. This need, this urge to be close to him, was all I felt. It took a moment before I realized it must be coming from him as well.

My heart fluttered at the thought that he might want me too. “Desire,” I whispered.

“Good,” Lysander said calmly, showing no outward signs of his feelings. “That is the first step. You will need to read the feelings of your intended victim.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, happy I was able to perform the first part of this task.

“Next, you must create a very strong feeling in yourself. You have to feel it if you’re going to make your victim feel it,” Lysander continued.

That doesn’t sound too hard.

“When you have your strong feeling, you must will that feeling to your victim, so they feel it too.”

A wicked grin crossed his face. I knew he was about to do something to me, but I didn’t know what it was.

“Now, imagine your victim feeling this as you attack.”

He lifted his hand and brushed the side of my neck. His touch caused my skin to pimple with gooseflesh. He looked down into my eyes; I felt the power of his stare intensify. A gray haze filled my head, and I suddenly felt weightless in my seat.

My heart fluttered wildly, like a humming bird buzzing in my chest. A feeling of want took me, an overwhelming need for him to be close to me. I swooned, falling back into the chair. I caught my balance just as Lysander bent down eye level with me.

His hand knotted in my hair. He gently pulled my head backwards. Hot breath grazed the sensitive skin on my neck as he drew closer; it set my blood on fire. I suddenly needed to touch him, to feel his body against my own. I closed my eyes, exhaled slowly, and arched my neck towards him in anticipation. I knew now what was coming. I didn’t want to struggle. I wanted him to bite me, to take my blood, my essence, into him.

His lips parted on my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.

A sigh escaped my lips as his teeth pierced my skin—a momentary pinch. I whimpered but didn’t struggle against him. The sensual pull as he drew the life out of me quickly replaced the pain.

I wanted this. I wanted to be taken—to give all of myself to Lysander. Whatever he wanted from me, he could have. I would die in his arms if he only asked.

As quickly as he advanced, he finished his lesson, gently releasing me, letting me sink into the chair. Part of me wanted to cry out. I wanted more of his kiss. My body ached for his closeness.

Lysander pulled away and sat himself down on the floor. His eyes caught mine as I slowly regained control over my body. We sat gazing at each other. I wondered if he had shown me some of the real feelings simmering underneath his usually emotionless exterior.

It took a few minutes for me to completely recover from Lysander’s advance. I sat back up on the chair, breathing slowly, trying to calm my pounding heart.

“Now, Alyssa, I want you to try that on me. Make me feel that same way, make me want to die in your arms.”

I don’t know that I can do that.

His gaze had been so powerful and commanding. He had taken control of me before I knew what was happening. I didn’t know if I would be able to match that intensity and control.

I breathed slowly and steadily, trying to center myself. I needed to quiet my own yearning before I could gauge the emotions from Lysander. The lingering effects of his advance on me still took center stage in my mind. I couldn’t deny the ache, the desire to touch him.

I wanted him. I wanted to share myself with him. I wanted to be close to him.

I slid off the chair and onto his lap, on the floor. Our eyes met, and I again felt the warmth, the connection between us. I focused on his beautiful eyes, calling up any power I might have in myself.

I want you, I want all of you.

Willing Lysander to feel my need, I leaned in, pressing my lips to his. He didn’t reject me.

I want you, Lysander.

His lips parted and our tongues collided, dancing together, playfully licking against sharp teeth as we explored one another’s mouths. We locked in an embrace as new lovers on his dining room floor. I savored the feeling of his lips—so soft, like two silken pillows—pressing against my own.

I willed my feelings on him, hoping they were strong enough for him to want me as I wanted him.

Kissing wasn’t enough; I needed a taste. Thirst nagged at me, and I needed blood to satiate it. I broke from the kiss and ran my hands through his silky hair, gently pushing his head sideways, exposing his bare neck as I searched for the pulsing blue vein.

He shuddered as my teeth broke through the soft flesh of his neck. His blood; the tingling ecstasy, the warm, sweet, honey liquid flooded my mouth, and a dizzying rush of energy washed through me.

Instinctively, as if I had been doing it my whole life, I willed Lysander to share in this feeling.

A low, rumbling groan of pleasure came from him.

I drew his blood into me, slowly feeling my need for him increase. I wanted to have him, all of him. I willed that thought and feeling to Lysander and drank him in deeply.

His arms surrounded me, tightening in an embrace, pulling me in close, silently telling me to take him. A hard knot formed in his pants. I felt it pressing against me as I sat in his lap.

Warmth spread between my legs. I reveled in the feel as he embraced me against him.

His heart beat in a slow, powerful rhythm, like a drum urging me to move and dance.

I ground into his hardness, matching the beat of his calling heart. Lysander’s chest vibrated against me as he let out another rumbling groan of pleasure. His hands raked down my back. Pulling me in close, he forced my body to press harder and harder against him. His hands sank lower down my back. He squeezed and kneaded my ass as he guided the motion of my hips.

My head swam with pleasure as I drank in my fill. My body flooded with energy. I ached with need for more. Erotic images played in my mind. I had not had the pleasure of a man in so long. I needed to feel him inside of me. I imagined him on top of me, taking me. I willed him to see that image and feel that desire.

Oh, God. I need you Lysander.

I released his neck. Lysander’s hand reached up, cradling the back of my head as his lips found mine. In one fluid motion he rolled us over, laying me gently on the ground below him.

It was as if he had heard my thoughts. I flushed with excitement, looking up into his eyes.

Flames of passion burned brightly in the swirling twilight.

Lysander blinked a few times. His lusty gaze suddenly returned to a flat, emotionless expression as if someone had flicked on a light switch.

I silently cried out, What happened?

“That was a good try, Alyssa,” Lysander said, as he rolled backward and sat against the wall. “If you can do something like that to your victims, they will have no reason to fight you or call for help…” There was a pause as he caught his breath before speaking again. “…though there is really no need to take it that far.”

Was that all just my doing? Didn’t he feel the same way? What the hell just happened?

Blood and warmth rushed to my face. My heart pounded hard in my chest.

“I... um... well…” I didn’t know what to say. The desire I felt was so real, I thought he must have felt it too. “Yeah. Right. I’ll keep that in mind.”

I got up and bolted to the bathroom to throw myself into a shower.

I was embarrassed, not knowing what to make of Lysander’s words or actions. He always remained hard and cold on the outside, but every so often, during the short time I had known him, a little glimmer of something could be seen below the surface.

Chapter 12

I TOOK A long time in the shower, letting the warm water wash over me. It was ecstasy against my cold skin. I stood under the spout, soaking it all up.

I wanted to hide in the shower forever. I couldn’t believe how I had acted with Lysander. Our kiss had felt so real—the desire, the passion—but, in a matter of seconds his hard, cold exterior had returned as if nothing had ever happened.

This isn’t me. Why did I kiss him? Why did he kiss back?

His words echoed in my head. There is really no need to take it that far.

I wondered if the feelings I had felt from him were real or just a good bit of hypnosis.

I’m so dumb. I should have never kissed him. He was just teaching me a lesson. There were no real feelings there. Lysander doesn’t see me that way. He doesn’t have real emotions.

I vowed not to speak of it to Lysander again.

Once the warmth had run out, I knew I couldn’t hide in the bathroom any longer. Stepping out of the shower, I took a towel and wrapped it around myself.

There was a hard knock at the front door. The sudden noise startled me, and I almost dropped my towel. I heard Lysander’s footsteps and the creak of the door as he answered it. A woman’s voice echoed from the foyer. My heart skipped a beat.

Oh, no, it’s Kallisto, she’s found us! I pressed my ear hard to the door, attempting to catch a hint of what was happening.

“…it’s been ages, Lysander,” the woman said.

“Yes, much too long,” Lysander replied. “Please, come inside.”

Thankfully, Lysander sounded friendly and relaxed. I took a calming breath. Even though I was unable to make out all of what was being said, I realized it was safe.

I wonder if this new guest is a vampire, like us.

I slipped into a pair of dark, boot-cut jeans.

How much of the immortal world has been out there right under my nose all this time?

I was so eager to meet this new guest, I almost ripped my teal Henley shirt as I thrust my hands through the armholes. I tossed my hair into a loose ponytail and hurried to make myself look presentable.

By the time I’d finished dressing and made it out to the hallway, Lysander and this new woman were deep in conversation. They didn’t notice my entrance.

“Yes, California was beautiful,” she said. “We picked up a new member, Damon. We’re hoping he and Jessie will get along well. She could use a mate to help calm down her wild streak.”

“I don’t believe I’ve met this Jessie,” Lysander said.

“No, you wouldn’t have. She joined us about three years ago.”

“Be careful not to grow your family too large,” Lysander warned.

I stood in the hallway listening and watching, trying to glean information about this woman in our home. The strange woman was short, perhaps no more than five feet tall. Even in her thick-heeled sandals, she only came up to Lysander’s shoulders. She wore a bohemian-style, multicolored wrap skirt and a black tank top. Her neck was adorned with silver chains with crystal pendants, and her arms were decorated with large, colorful bangle bracelets. She looked like a perfect gypsy, straight out of a renaissance festival.

From what I could tell, she and Lysander were old friends. A loving smile stretched across his face as he and the strange woman talked. They spoke freely with one another, a drastic contrast to the anger and attitude Lysander had displayed with Edmond. A small pang of jealousy nagged me as I watched them interact.

“I understand you, too, have a new fledgling,” the strange woman said.

Lysander looked up, finally acknowledging me. He waved for me to come over and join the conversation. “Here she is now…” He pointed as the woman turned to greet me.

“This is Alyssa.”

The woman was beautiful, a brunette with milky white skin. Her gorgeous blue-gray eyes sparkled at me as she gave me a small, delighted smile.

“Pleasure to meet you, Alyssa.” Her voice was soft, carrying hints of a long-faded English accent. “My name is Rozaline.” She held a hand out to me in greeting.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, a little too excitedly, while shaking her hand. It was so good to meet another friendly vampire after our previous encounter with Edmond.

“Rozaline is a member of the Peregrinus clan, and a longtime friend of mine.”

“The Peregrinus?” I asked. “Who are they?”

“Travelers,” said Rozaline. “Nomads, to put it simply. We’re a family of wanderers.”

Lysander ushered us to the dining room table, continuing his chat with Rozaline as if I weren’t there.

It bothered me a little, watching Lysander pay attention to Rozaline. His focus was solely on her. He hung on her every word. There was respect there, a reverence of some kind. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but there was definitely a connection between these two. Jealousy threatened to flare up inside of me. I fought against the wicked sensation. The kiss still lingered in my mind. I needed to shut it out so I could pay attention to what was being said.

She told Lysander of her own encounters with Kallisto’s coven and her recent travels. I sat listening quietly, enthralled by the tales Rozaline told of her travels. We learned that Kallisto had only just arrived here, having moved from California a few months ago and set up her home in the newly built high-rise towers near the north end of the Strip. Her coven had grown to almost fifty, and she was busy sending her messengers all over the city to seek out local vampires and gain their allegiance.

“She can’t be serious. In this day and age … trying to control an entire city!” Lysander said.

“She is one of the oldest among us,” Rozaline replied.

“Yes, old,” Lysander snapped. “But not very smart if she thinks she can bully a city into following her.”

“She commands a large coven. Her strength is in her numbers, and I’m sure no one in this city wants to challenge her. Alone, she might be weak; but as it stands, she has too many backing her. And many lone vampires would rather join ranks with a coven of her caliber anyway.”

“Large covens don’t work, and taking over a city—that’s just ludicrous.” Lysander’s voice rose sharply. “We are not meant to be a communal people to that degree. The more we try to organize our kind, the more problems we create.”

He stood up, shaking his head, and paced around the table. “Look at what has happened every time a group has tried to control a city or grown too strong in ranks. Rome, Paris, London—none of these cities could ever support our kind in such large numbers. If we aren’t fighting amongst ourselves, we’re drawing too much attention from the human population.”

I remembered Lysander’s story, and how his coven had split so many times due to internal conflicts.

He slammed his fist down on the table, causing me to jump in my seat. “And what of the Acta Sanctorum? An amassing of immortals like this in one place has to have alerted them!”

Rozaline sat stiffly in her seat. Lysander’s frustration, it seemed, put us all on edge. “The last I heard, they were recalled to Rome. The Saints haven’t been noticeably active lately. In fact, we haven’t heard news of any hunts at all this year.”

Lysander grimaced. He spoke through clenched teeth. “That only means they are planning their next attack.” He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “They have never been inactive for long without good reason, and I can guarantee, when they do finally attack, it will be big.”

“Let’s hope for your sake that Kallisto hasn’t brought too much attention to herself or this city,” said Rozaline. “You might be forced to move again.”

I eagerly listened to the back-and-forth between these two immortals, a little confused about the connection between Kallisto and the Acta Sanctorum.

“My apologies, Alyssa,” Rozaline said, halting her conversation with Lysander. “You’re young. You probably have no idea what we’re talking about. Do you know of the Saints?”

“Not really.” I shook my head. “Lysander’s only mentioned them briefly.”

“Well, to start,” Rozaline said, “they are a secret order of the Roman Catholic Church. They seek out and destroy anything that is deemed Unnatural. Their Church, as do most organized religions, feel we are all evil. They are ruthless and use any method possible to locate and destroy us.”

I shuddered. Her revelation was abrupt and shocking. Despite all of our strength, there was a group of humans out there that could destroy us. Lysander had made it sound like we were relatively safe from humans.

Rozaline leaned in close, crossing her legs under the table. “We think they started sometime around the 14th or 15th century. Rome’s Church started a crusade against the Unnatural, as they called us, and began forming groups to hunt us down. They quickly learned of our weakness to sunlight and fire, using those methods to destroy us. Our homes came under attack in the daylight. They set them ablaze in an effort to get rid of us. Eventually, they learned that fire alone wouldn’t kill us if we were able to put it out before it engulfed us. They began dismembering the remains of any bodies left over from the fires they set. They studied us to learn all they could about our kind.”

I cringed.

“Remember, we are considered monsters to them,” Lysander added as he sat back down. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned back into the chair.

“And that’s not the end of it.” Rozaline’s voice became low and serious. “Rome realized long ago that in order to successfully fight a vampire, one must be a vampire. Our weaknesses are few and hard to exploit. Most mortals lack the strength and ability to subdue us. Those that manage to attack us do so with great skill, meticulously planning their strategies. But simply attacking our homes during the day isn’t always enough to get rid of us. Rome recognized quite a few centuries ago that to eradicate us, they needed to fight us on the same level.”

“But wait,” I held up a hand to stop her. “If immortal creatures are condemned by the church, how could they use them to fight us?”

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” Rozaline scoffed. “Rome makes its own rules. I’m sure those willing to sacrifice their lives for the greater good are told they will be guaranteed pardons in heaven. So long as they do the Church’s bidding.”

“So there are vampires hunting vampires,” I said, shocked by the revelation.

“A few. Rome wouldn’t be stupid enough to have more than they could handle,” said Rozaline.

“But we kill to survive. The church couldn’t condone that,” I said.

“No doubt they starve themselves on the blood of animals until they catch one of us.” She pointed to herself. “We are their rewards for a job well done. They feast on immortal blood.”

The room fell silent. I bit my lip, almost piercing it with my fang. I realized that anyone could be my enemy; between vampire covens and Saints, I wasn’t sure who, if anyone, I should trust.

“Remember this, Alyssa,” Rozaline cautioned, breaking the silence. “If they don’t know you’re here, they won’t hunt you. Keep your profile low, and they will have no reason to attack.”

“If there were no covens, we would have less to worry about,” Lysander added. “It’s much harder to track down and destroy an individual immortal than it is a whole group of them, parading themselves around publicly like Kallisto’s group is doing. ”

“Speaking of groups, Lysander.” Rozaline spoke again with a hint of anxiety in her voice. “As I mentioned when I called earlier this week, the Peregrinus will only be in town for a short while, and we need shelter for a few days. Is it possible for us to stay with you?”

Her timing was terrible. All of this talk of not giving away your home location and keeping a low profile; now she’s asking to bring her whole group to stay with us?

“Of course,” Lysander said, without giving it a second thought. “I have two other bedrooms—although they are unfurnished—that are at your clan’s disposal.”

What? No. What if the Acta guys are following them?

I shot Lysander a worried look, but he paid me no attention. I couldn’t understand how he could just let some strange group of vampires stay here after the conversation we’d just had.

“What of the windows? Are they covered? Is there some form of light protection in there?”

Who cares about windows? What about the coven, Kallisto, and the Saints?

Lysander got up from the table. With a wave of his hand, he suggested we follow him to the hallway.

“Yes, all of my windows have UV tinting film on them and blackout curtains. You will be well protected from the sun’s light. Come and have a look.”

Rozaline followed, remaining close to him. I chose not to go with them as they disappeared into the spare bedrooms.

I didn’t like the idea of strangers in this house, and this woman was preparing to bring her whole clan here.

“This is a bad idea,” I said under my breath.

When they returned from their short tour of the house, Rozaline left us to gather her clan. “I’ll return with them before dawn.”

“Wonderful. That will give us time to hunt.” Lysander waved goodbye to Rozaline.

I saw this as a perfect opportunity to have some alone time for myself. “Why don’t I go out tonight… by myself? You can fix up the house for the clan’s arrival while I’m gone.” I was still a bit embarrassed about what happened earlier and didn’t want to be alone with Lysander.

“You’re not ready to hunt alone,” he said dismissively.

I sighed. You have to let me off the leash sometime. “I’m ready to hunt without someone looking over my shoulder.”

“We don’t have time to argue about this tonight. Rozaline and the rest of her clan will return soon. We can leave this fight for another time.”

“I don’t understand why you’re letting Rozaline’s whole group stay here. Didn’t you just say we have to keep a low profile? How are we supposed to do this with a huge group of vampires running in and out of this house?”

“Don’t worry about the Peregrinus. They will not be a problem.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Must you constantly question my judgment? I trust Rozaline. That is all you need to know.”

“But what about the rest of her group? Do you trust them too? How do you know one of them won’t do something stupid, or bring those Acting Sanctorum people here?”

“The Peregrinus and I have a longstanding history. And they would no sooner bring the Acta Sanctorum here than I would. I worry more about you alerting them than Rozaline and her family doing so.”

Heat rose to my face. This was clearly a losing battle. I groaned and threw my hands up in frustration. Obviously, my opinion doesn’t matter here. “I need some space, okay? Just let me hunt alone tonight.”

“Alyssa, I said no. Not tonight. You will either hunt with me, or you will starve. Make your choice.”

“Fine. Let’s go before they come back,” I grumbled. I better not have to spend the rest of my immortality being treated like a child.

Reluctantly, I left with Lysander. I tried to focus my efforts on the hunt and use my new skills, but there were too many thoughts running through my mind. No matter how much I tried to shut it out, I kept thinking of the kiss.

Even though I was frustrated by how Lysander was treating me, there was still an attraction there. Every time I looked at him, I thought about the softness of his lips.

Needless to say, my hunting trip that night wasn’t much of a success.

We had only just arrived back at Lysander’s house when Rozaline returned with five others.

“Alyssa, allow me to introduce the Peregrinus to you,” she said happily.

They looked like a scruffy band of misfits. I wondered how long it had been since their last shower. They all were in need of serious grooming. They filed one by one out of a big, dirty RV, smiling and holding out a hand in friendship, and introducing themselves as they passed me.

Nicholas passed me first. He was a man of average height, perhaps no taller than five foot nine. Rozaline introduced him to me as her mate. He had a weathered, mountain man look to him; dark brown wavy hair —matted from lack of grooming. He had a prominent nose, and his chin was cleft and almost hidden by a permanent five o’clock shadow.

Lysander stepped out in front of me to greet him. “Old friend, how are you?” He embraced Nicholas, patting him hard on the back.

“Tired, and in need of a shower,” Nicholas said. “It’s been a long drive.”

“Yes, you could do with a shower,” Lysander joked, “but first let me introduce you to Alyssa.”

Nicholas looked to me with tired eyes.

“Nicholas is one of the founders of this clan,” Lysander said enthusiastically. It was the most excitement I had seen from Lysander since I’d met him. I guessed these two men were old buddies.

“Nice to meet you, Nick,” I said feigning interest. Lysander’s excitement wasn’t enough to change my mind. After all that I had heard about the Saints, from Rozaline, I didn’t want any of these strangers here.

“I prefer, Nicholas,” he said gruffly.

“Sorry, Nicholas.” Great, he’s a jerk. I hope they don’t stay long.

“Don’t mind him,” Rozaline interrupted. “We haven’t hunted in a few days. His attitude will change once he is cleaned and has had a chance to feed.”

Nicholas shuffled past me into the house.

Jessie greeted me next. She was tall, unlike Rozaline, with chestnut-brown hair. She had a muscular, athletic build, appearing to be in her early twenties. As she passed me, she mumbled a hello, keeping her eyes on the ground as she walked.

Crystal enthusiastically thanked me as she approached. “It is so wonderful of you to allow us to stay here.”

Don’t thank me. If it were up to me, you guys would be staying in that beat-up old RV. I don’t want any strangers in my new home.

Crystal smiled so genuinely, I could not ruin her mood with my annoyance. I forced a smile and accepted her hand in friendship. Like Rozaline, she was also a short woman. Her hair was a thick cascade of wavy, brown locks falling just below the center of her back. She wore a beautiful crimson tank top with lace trim and a black floor-length skirt.

Crystal’s mate was an extremely tall man who towered over me as he approached to make his greeting. He offered the same shaggy, weathered appearance as Nicholas; however, his hair was sandy-brown with hints of gold. He wore a plain brown t-shirt, blue jeans, and boots.

“Nice to meet you, Alyssa,” he greeted, looking down at me and smiling. “I’m Andrew, but you can call me Drew.”

“Nice to meet you too.” My annoyance faded. They did seem like they could be interesting people. Still, the worry of Rozaline’s warning and the threat of the Acta Sanctorum kept me wary of any strangers.

Last, there was Damon, a large, muscular man who could have probably been a bouncer in any club in Vegas. You would have never known he was a vampire. Dark skin masked his true self so well that only his eyes could give him away to a passerby. Those pale gray-blue vampire eyes were a complete abnormality next to his dark-brown skin. He filled the entire doorway as he approached me.

“Hey,” he said, giving me a quick nod and a smile.

We were now eight in this small, three-bedroom house and one would have laughed to see such a band of misfits all in one place.

Rozaline assured us that they would only stick around for a few days and wouldn’t be a bother. They just needed shelter and a few warm showers before heading off to their next destination.

Chapter 13

THE FIRST NIGHT after the arrival of the Peregrinus, I found myself not wanting to leave the comfort of Lysander’s bed. The newcomers seemed friendly enough, but they were strange to me, and I wasn’t ready to start socializing with them.

I lay awake, staring up at the old popcorn ceiling, wondering how I was going to deal with this new challenge. My life had been completely turned upside down in the span of a week and my head was still spinning from all of the changes. Before I had met Lysander, I had been blissfully unaware that vampires existed and had no clue that Kallisto and her coven were trying to take over the city. I hadn’t known, nor cared, who the Acta Sanctorum were. And, most of all, I had nothing to stop me from going out alone at night.

Lysander tossed and turned a bit, as he normally did just before rising. I tried not to make a sound, hoping he too would leave me alone.

He rolled close to me, raising his hand to gently stroke my cheek. I allowed myself to look at him. His face looked so angelic among the soft sheets. I remembered our kiss, wondering again what had caused him to stop so abruptly. I gazed into his eyes, probing him silently for some echo of the emotion he had showed me the night before, but there was nothing.

Sitting up quickly, I looked away towards the dark curtains, not wanting to show Lysander the disappointment in my eyes.

I heard the sounds of others moving around in the house. There would be no chance for more personal time with Lysander while strangers were around.

“Don’t be afraid of them,” he said softly.

“I’m not afraid,” I said, looking back into his angelic face. “I’m just not ready to deal with them.”

I wish I could know what he is thinking, what is behind those gorgeous eyes.

“Go out and meet them, get to know them. They are good people,” he urged.

“Maybe after I hunt.”

“You’re hungry already?” Lysander asked as he sat up. The bed sheets fell down to his waist, exposing his gorgeous, muscular chest.

“I will be soon,” I said, trying to hide my admiring smile.

“Wonderful. We will get an early start tonight.”

I softened my approach and spoke cautiously. “Perhaps I could go out for a little by myself. I would only be gone for a little while.” I felt a little distance between myself and this house might help me clear my head a bit.

“No.” Just like the night before, his answer was instantaneous.

“And why not?” I found myself snapping back at him. I hated that I was not allowed to leave the house without his permission.

“No,” he said again, with a measured note of anger this time.

“No, that’s it,” I said coldly, throwing my hands into the air. “You tell me I need to learn to accept what I am. I need to hunt and feed on my own. How am I to learn if you won’t let me try? How am I to survive on my own if you don’t let me go?”

I could tell my words had struck a chord with him, but his expression wasn’t angry; there was pain in his eyes.

Was it the fact that I pushed for some freedom, or the fact that I wanted freedom that bothered him?

Whatever it was, Lysander didn’t appear pleased with my choice of words.

“You’ve only been immortal a week and still know nothing of what you are. I will not have you parading around the city causing attention to come to us. There are too many dangers out there for a young vampire like yourself.”

“I’m capable of taking care of myself, you know.” I glared at him angrily, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

“Oh? You can care for yourself, can you?” he asked, his tone painfully condescending. “That’s why I found you beaten and nearly raped back there at the college. You took care of yourself pretty well that night, didn’t you?”

That was a low blow, but I wasn’t about to let Lysander guilt me. I gritted my teeth, trying to bite back the anger in my voice. “You can’t keep me leashed to this house or you, Lysander.” Whoops. I said that a little louder than I had planned. “I need some breathing room.”

For a moment there was silence. Lysander took a deep breath before speaking. “You obviously don’t see, or can’t comprehend, that I am trying to protect you.” His anger was beginning to show as the volume of his voice rose.

“Protect me!” I rolled my eyes. “You’re protecting me from what? Myself?” My words became shouts. I had no doubt anyone in the house could hear our argument now.

“You seem to have forgotten about our little issue with the coven.” His gaze dared me to challenge him further.

“If you were so worried about the coven you’d have done something already,” I snapped at him. My fists balled up in anger. “If they’re so scary, why let me out of the house at all? Why don’t you bring me my dinner, then?”

“You are an arrogant little child, and you don’t deserve the life I gave you.”

His words hit me hard. Arrogant little child. I knew better than to keep pushing, but anger got the better of me. I’ll show him arrogant.

“Oh, yes. Thank you, Lysander, for turning me into a goddamned blood-sucking monster. Is that what you want? Thanks for ruining my life?”

He sat silently for a moment, his eyes shooting daggers at me. I turned my head, avoiding his angry glare.

“If you’re unhappy with this life, I can easily remedy that.”

Maybe I went a little too far. I gulped. “No, I don’t want to die, if that’s what you’re threatening.”

“I’m not threatening. I’m giving you a solution to your problem.” His voice was a cold monotone.

“I never said I wanted death. What I want is freedom.” I softened my voice again. “You want me to learn to live the life I have now, but you won’t let me do it myself. Just because Kallisto’s coven is out there, I can’t hunt—”

“No! It is because you are a selfish, ungrateful little whelp. Perhaps when you grow up, I will allow you some freedom. You don’t seem to have the maturity to handle that at this moment.”

His words stung. I had never been called selfish before. I knew he didn’t understand my basic need for freedom. I just needed to be alone for a while, to clear my head and accept everything.

“How dare you!” Again I spoke before thinking. “I ask a simple thing. To hunt and return back to the house alone, and you insult me.”

“You will not go out alone,” he barked at me. “And I will have no more discussion of this.”

I didn’t respond. I leaped out of bed and headed for the door, slamming it hard as I left his room.

I went outside to the back patio, hoping for a little peace and quiet. The silence and cool night breeze welcomed me.

The patio and backyard continued the modest theme that I’d found all over Lysander’s home. It was a simple slab of concrete, covered with a cream-colored aluminum pergola. The yard itself was basic rock, a desert landscape with two pine trees anchoring each end. On the patio was a frosted glass table and chairs with a weathered black futon set against the wall.

I took a spot on the futon. Resting my head on the cushion, I looked up through the open slats of the pergola at the twinkling stars. Noises could still be heard from inside of the house. Rozaline and Nicholas were sitting in the living room just on the other side of the sliding glass door. They were deep in conversation, sharing information regarding the goings-on in the city. With my supernatural hearing, the sounds of the news on TV and the rustle of newspapers could be heard easily through the walls.

A few of the clan still rested in the back bedroom. I saw faint shadows moving across the shaded window.

I tried to enjoy the peace and quiet on the patio, but as I looked up at the stars, my thoughts turned to my old life and my favorite café. I wanted nothing more than to sit on my comfy couch and listen to the endless stream of bad poetry just one more time. Lysander would never allow that. I was dead to that world now. I wanted to hate Lysander for how he was treating me. I felt like a prisoner in this house. I wasn’t even allowed out unsupervised. I may be alive, but what kind of life is this? I have no freedom.

I wondered if anybody missed me. Has the manager of the café noticed I wasn’t around anymore? Had any of my friends found it odd that I wasn’t there?

In the week since my transformation, everything had changed, and I was no longer able to enjoy the simple pleasures of my old daily life.

A tear streamed down my face.

I felt like I had lost all control of my life. It was an insult to my pride that I was trapped here.

I struggled with the paradox. Up to this point, I had done what I wanted and gone where I wanted. All because of one unfortunate night, I was now under the rule of someone else.

This must be some form of cruel penance for my years of careless freedom.

Emotion came flooding to the surface. Everything had happened so quickly, and I hadn’t allowed myself time to properly grieve for the loss of my life, my friends, and my independence.

“I miss them,” I sobbed to myself.

I wanted to see my friend Fallon and tell her what had happened to me. If she hadn’t left me alone that night, my life wouldn’t have changed. I wouldn’t be this thing. I wouldn’t be here, a prisoner in Lysander’s home.

I needed the comfort of my familiar surroundings. I missed the stale smell of cigarettes and coffee.

Would Fallon even understand if I told her? Could she? Vampires are works of fiction, not walking, talking people.

I tried to think of ways I could tell her what I was without her thinking I was a cold-blooded killer. If I ever see her again, can I make her understand the fact that blood keeps me alive? That I must feed every night, and because of that, I choose to feed from those who do harm to others?

Even to myself, it sounded stupid. I sounded like some form of bastardized superhero.

There was no use. I was not meant to deal with humans or society as an equal anymore. No matter how I thought about it, I knew there was no way she could accept it. I had hardly accepted it.

How could I still maintain a mortal friendship, being what I was? She would shun me, ask me how many I had killed, and secretly wonder if I would look to her for food.

If she didn’t run away screaming in terror, she might want to be turned, too, and I couldn’t pass this thing on to another person.

I’m damned now, only able to associate with those of my kind, if they will accept me.

The tears kept streaming down my face. I wiped them as they hit my cheek, noticing they had a faint brownish tinge to them. Blood.

I could do nothing anymore without blood. I cursed it. I don’t want to be this thing. I don’t want blood. I want to be normal again!

“Why did Fallon have to ditch me that night?” I sobbed.

The sliding glass door opened, and I heard the footsteps of someone coming outside. I quickly folded my arms around my knees and lowered my head down so my face could not be seen.

“There you are,” Crystal said. “I was wondering where you had gone.”

“I just want to be alone.” I didn’t want to look up and show my tears to this strange woman.

“It’s okay, Alyssa,” she said. Her voice was so calm and soothing. “You’re young, aren’t you? When were you turned?”

“A week ago,” I sobbed, hiding my face in my knees.

Crystal sat down next to me and put her arm around me. “Poor thing, and all you have is grumpy old Lysander to help you through this.”

I chuckled through my tears at the sound of it. Grumpy old Lysander. I had not heard anyone describe him in such a way, but after the argument I just had, it did seem to fit.

“I feel so out of control.”

“I know, it’s hard at first. You give up a lot sometimes. But you must remember, immortality is a gift.”

“But I didn’t ask for this.” My sobs grew louder.

Crystal pulled me in close. I leaned in, still covering my face with my crossed arms.

“Life doesn’t always play out the way we plan it. That’s what makes it such a great adventure. You never know what is around the next corner.”

I tried to stifle the sounds of my sniffles.

“Tell me something,” Crystal asked. “If you were still mortal, what would you be doing right now?”

I didn’t need to think about it. The answer came out as quickly as she had asked it. “I would be at the café, waiting to meet my friend Fallon, like I do every night.”

“Ah! You see, you would have done the same old thing you always do. Where is the adventure in that?”

I hadn’t considered that I had been living in a bit of a rut of work, college, café, and friends. I had become a bit stagnant in my daily life.  It still didn’t stop me from missing my friends or the comforts of home.

“But my friends...”

“There is no doubt that you had the best of friends. We all did. The start of any new journey is usually met with sadness for the things and people we will miss. Take comfort that they are still out there, alive and well.  At some point, when you’re more at ease with yourself and what you have become, you may be able to see them again. You’re in a hard transition right now. It will take time to separate your old life and your new one. You have to concentrate on becoming more comfortable with the new you, right now.”

She leaned her head to my shoulder and stroked my hair slowly.

“Perhaps our arrival here was perfectly timed. You look like you’re in desperate need of some fun and excitement. How would you like to go out with me tonight?”

I lifted my head and wiped my tear-stained face. The idea of getting away from the house was tempting, but I doubted Lysander would allow it.

“We can go without Lysander,” she said, as if she had read my thoughts. “I’ll have a word with him.”

“Yeah, sure, let’s get out of here.”

Chapter 14

I DID MY best to wipe my face clean of tears before entering the house. The last thing I wanted was for anyone, especially Lysander, to see that I’d been crying. I rushed inside and made my way to the bathroom. Crystal followed close behind.

I grimaced at the reflection staring back at me in the mirror. Bloody trails of tears marked my pale face.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, and we’ll have a girls’ night out on the town. Do you have anything else to wear?” Crystal asked.

I looked down at my linen pants and pink camisole. “Um, no. I don’t really have much here. Lysander tried to collect some of my things after…”

“Not to worry,” she said with a mischievous smile. “I think I might have something sexy that will fit you.”

Crystal disappeared and returned quickly holding a silky blue and purple swirl-patterned halter top and a very short, pleated black miniskirt.

“Wow… um, thanks!”

Crystal winked, handing over the clothes to me.

I tied the halter top at the back of my neck. I felt a little awkward. I almost never wore skimpy clothes like this.

Crystal’s hand brushed against my tattoo as she helped me tie the lower portion of the halter at my mid-back.

“What a beautiful butterfly,” she said, running her finger over the tribal design.

“Oh, thanks. I forget it’s there sometimes.”

“Is it symbolic of anything?”

“Yeah, freedom.” I turned to look at her. “You know, a butterfly has to break free of its cocoon before it can fly. That kind of thing.”

“Then you should do the same. Break free of the weight of your old life and learn to fly with the new opportunities you have been given.”

I gave Crystal an understanding smile. “Thanks.”

“Now, if we’re going to be around people, we need to look the part,” Crystal said, grabbing a makeup compact out of a small black bag sitting on the counter. “Best not to attract any more attention than you’ll already get, wearing this outfit.” She gave me a quick wink and brushed powder on my face with a short, fat kabuki brush.

Jessie walked by the bathroom. Crystal spoke without turning to look at her. “Care to join us?” she asked, smiling as she held up the compact of face powder.

“Uh, sure,” Jessie said slowly with a hint of unease, as if she questioned our motives. “What are you doing?”

“We’re going to take Alyssa out for a night of fun.”

Jessie hesitated before responding, “Yeah, all right. Sure. I’ll go, too.” She took a few steps down the hallway, disappearing out of view. Her voice trailed behind her. “Give me a bit of time to get ready, okay?”

“Sure thing,” Crystal cheerfully replied, and continued applying the powder to my face. “Jessie is young, too, you know. She’s only been with us for a couple of years.”

“And what about you?” I asked. I realized the question sounded rude about two seconds after the words escaped from my mouth. Thankfully, Crystal didn’t seem to take offense. She continued with my makeover without missing a beat.

“Oh, I’ve been around for a little longer,” she said, reaching for a tube of lipstick. “My husband, Andrew, and I were turned a few hundred years ago. We gave Rozaline and Nicholas shelter once in our home.”

“You let vampires into your home when you were human?”

“Well, we didn’t know it at the time.” She chuckled, and held my chin to steady my face while she applied the deep red lipstick. “They claimed to be lost travelers in need of shelter. We befriended them, and they turned us, offering us the opportunity to explore the world with them.”

“Wow, that’s pretty cool, I guess. Speaking of your husband, he won’t mind you going out tonight without him, will he?”

“No, of course not, Alyssa. Why would he mind?” She gave me a quizzical look before returning to her makeup bag. She dug through the contents, setting aside various containers.

I blotted the dark red lipstick with a tissue while her back was turned. “Most guys don’t want their women going out dressed like this, without them.”

“Not to worry, Alyssa.” She chuckled again. She turned and faced me, armed with a dark brown eye pencil. “Our marriage has seen the centuries turn. We are well beyond the simple and juvenile ideals of man and wife. We are partners and choose to remain partners without limitations on what each can and cannot do. I must say I do get a laugh at the modern concept of marriage. Most people can’t make it five years, let alone five hundred.”

She finished my makeup and picked up a brush and comb. I watched her reflection in the mirror as she slowly pulled the brush through my hair. She appeared to be enjoying each stroke, smiling serenely, like a mother doting on her small child. I was happy to be sitting there with her, and wondered why I had been so opposed to them staying with us in the first place. I never imagined that immortals, vampires no less, could be so kind.

She worked my hair into a tight, high ponytail, leaving a few choice strands to hang by my face. When she was finished I stood up, admiring myself in the mirror, pleasantly surprised at the reflection staring back at me.

I’m me again.

It was like she had given new life to my dead, blue-gray eyes. My face no longer appeared pale. Thanks to the makeup, it again carried a light peach tint with soft hints of rose at my cheeks.

“Acceptable?” Crystal asked, with a questioning look.

I turned back towards her with a smile so wide I was sure it reached my ears. “I look like my old self again. Thank you so much.” I threw my arms around her in a quick embrace.

Lysander appeared at the doorway to the bathroom. “Alyssa, I…” He looked momentarily stunned. His eyes grew wide as he stared at me. “You look…”

I smiled coyly.

“Lysander, can I have a word?” Crystal asked.

Lysander seemed unable, or unwilling, to look away from me. “Uh, words. Yes. What do you need, Alyssa, I mean, Crystal?”

“I’d like to take Alyssa out tonight.”

I enjoyed the way he stared. I caught a hint of desire in his beautiful eyes and savored it for a moment, before winking flirtatiously and turning away.

“Lysander, did you hear me?” Crystal asked. “I’d like to take Alyssa with me tonight.”

“What?” He blinked and turned to Crystal. “No. I don’t think that is a good idea.”

Great, here he goes again. My smile faded.

“She is young and inexperienced. I don’t want her going out without me.”

Crystal laughed and patted Lysander on the shoulder. “Nonsense. You act as if I have not sired before. She will be perfectly safe with me. I’ll make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble.”

“She is my charge, not yours.”

“And smothering her will not teach her anything.” Crystal’s voice remained calm and firm as she spoke. “She must have freedom to develop.”

Lysander’s eyes flashed from Crystal’s to mine and met my pleading, hopeful gaze with a stern look. He took a slow, deep breath, and then reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he huffed. Go.”

I bit my lip, trying to hide my excitement. I wanted to squeal like a teenage girl, but I couldn’t let Lysander see that.

He turned around quickly and disappeared from view. I heard the bedroom door at the end of the hall slam.

I knew Lysander was mad at being forced to go against his will by Crystal, and I didn’t care. I was happy to be able to leave, even if it was just for one night. I wanted a little fun.

Crystal quickly readied herself, and the three of us, Jessie, Crystal, and I, set out for our girls’ night. We took Lysander’s Jeep to get us from the suburbs into the heart of the city.

Crystal drove us around while I pointed out various clubs. The drive took forever, as none of us could agree on a place to stop.

Finally, we found a small club located just off the main Strip. A bright neon sign flashed, and a large crowd queued at the door.

“What a wonderful-sounding place. ‘The Drink.’ Don’t mind if I do.” Jessie’s excitement was a little unnerving. Until she said this, I had almost forgotten that I was in a car filled with vampires. Her desire to drink meant some poor soul probably wouldn’t be going home tonight.

That thought reminded me that it had been a little while since I last hunted. Thankfully, the beast was calm; but I knew I would have to be on guard, careful to not give in while surrounded by so many people.

We parked and headed towards the end of the line, which stretched around the corner, almost to the back of the building.

Gentlemen waiting in the line didn’t hide their lustful gazes as we sauntered towards them. I could almost feel their eyes undressing me as I stood there.

My nerves got the better of me. I remembered Lysander’s advice and breathed through my mouth. I didn’t want to allow the beast inside to ruin my night of fun.

Jessie wasted no time, walking up to one of the ogling men. He was a tall, skinny man dressed in a royal blue button-down shirt and black slacks. She started up a conversation with him and within moments, they walked around the back of the building and disappeared.

“Where is she going?” I whispered to Crystal.

“Do I really have to tell you?” Her eyebrow rose slightly and her lips pulled up into a toothy grin.

“Oh, that.” Guess we don’t all hunt criminals.

We waited at the end of the line for Jessie to return. There was no sound of a struggle or any indication of what she was doing. Only Crystal and I knew the truth.

Jessie returned a few moments later, wobbling a bit, looking a little drunk. Her hair was slightly askew. She appeared to be counting out dollar bills. Jessie giggled and tossed aside what looked like a man’s wallet. “Only a hundred on that guy.”

She smiled as if nothing sinister had just taken place.

“Did you just… rob him?” I asked in shock.

“Well, he wasn’t going to need the money anymore,” Jessie snapped at me, pocketing the small wad of cash. “We need money, too. We’re not all rich elders, you know.”

I hadn’t thought about money, but it did make sense.  We might not need food and drink, but we still needed clothing and shelter, and those didn’t come free. Lysander had not given me a reason, yet, to need money. In fact, he had not even mentioned it to me over the course of the last week.

“She meant no harm, Jessie,” Crystal cautioned.

I gulped down my revulsion. “No, I’m not judging or anything. I was just surprised. I just didn’t think of that. Sorry.” I hoped I sounded convincing enough.

Need or not, I couldn’t believe she’d just attacked, killed, and robbed a guy while we stood in line for the club.

What was worse, was the fact that I was already feeling the small pangs of my own hunger. All it took was the thought of blood to awaken the beast.

“Okay, whatever, it’s fine.” Jessie ran her hands through her hair, smoothing out the pieces that had been disturbed while she had fed. “Listen up,” she added smartly, “a frat guy waiting on line for a club usually has cash on him so he can buy drinks for ladies. Target them and you could get a couple hundred easy.”

She spoke so nonchalantly about killing a man and robbing him of his money. What she was doing made sense, but the complete disregard for the person she’d just killed made my stomach turn. At that moment she embodied the monster I was afraid of becoming. I worried that Jessie might sense my feelings. I nodded and forced a smile on my face, trying hard to hide my revulsion.

“Uh, let’s try and see if we can bypass this line,” I said, trying to change the subject. “Let’s head to the front of the line and see if we can get in without the wait.”

We sashayed to the front door. All it took was a little flirty smile and the burly bouncer opened the velvet rope. He smiled, waved his hand, and told us to go inside, ignoring the complaints of the angry people waiting in line.

Wow, it worked. Just like in the movies.

Eyes from all over the black-lit room zeroed in on us as we walked towards the dance floor. Men turned and stared. Women gave us the evil eye.

I allowed myself to breathe in the tantalizing smell of humans all around me. I momentarily lost the mental hold on the beast inside. Pheromones, sweat, and hundreds of perfumes filled my nostrils.

Damn, this place smells so good. Shit, why didn’t I hunt earlier? Okay, breathe through your mouth, Alyssa. Don’t mess this up. These are all innocents in here.

A syncopated bass beat thumped in my body like a second heartbeat, commanding me to move. I loved the feeling. Like a puppet on a string, I let it pull me out to dance. Laser lights, flashing strobes, and colorful spotlights lit the dance floor. My body swayed and rocked, matching the beat of the drum and bass music.

It was only a few moments before various men surrounded me and began to dance with me, each trying to rub against me, hoping they might have a chance to take me home.

A mix of sexual and primal instinct made me select and continue dancing with one.

I knew I shouldn’t get too close, but instinct begged me to breathe him in and savor his aroma. His scent was intoxicating, more so than others in the room: a sultry mix of cologne, sweat, and pheromones. He was mouthwatering, and I wondered if he would taste just as good as he smelled.

Erick had short, spiky blond hair, a chiseled jaw, and gorgeous emerald-green eyes. He wore a pair of loose carpenter jeans and a silky, black button-down shirt with a metallic blue dragon across the bottom.

We danced together, moving and rubbing our bodies rhythmically with the music. He pulled me in close and nibbled at my neck. The gentle graze of his blunt teeth felt odd after Lysander’s bite, yet it was still enticing. Erick whispered things we could do together privately in the VIP room—awakening more than just the bloodthirsty beast.

I gulped as his breath blew against my ear. Breathe through your mouth, I reminded myself as the hunger inside of me whined and nagged, urging me to go further, to take a small taste. I knew privacy would be a bad thing. I needed to stay out in the public eye.

His heartbeat pulsed hard. I felt each tempting thump as he pressed his body to mine.

“Come have a private drink with me,” he urged.

“But I just want to dance.” No, no, no drinks. Bad idea.

“Please, baby, we can dance in there and get to know each other better.” His hands slid down my side.

Crap, I need an excuse. “I can’t leave my friend all alone.” Coming here was a bad idea.

“Where is your friend?”

I turned and pointed to the bar. Jessie sat with a full glass of some alcoholic drink in front of her and looked bored. “There she is, in the pink tank top at the bar.”

“Bring her too.” His breath blew against my ear again, sending a chill dancing down my spine.

Oh, this is a bad idea. I sighed. Why didn’t I hunt before we came in here? Jessie had spotted me looking at her. I waved her over and mouthed the word “help.”

“C’mon, let’s go.” Erick grabbed me by the hand and pulled me towards the VIP area.

I knew it was a bad idea. I knew I should have said no, but it’s so hard to do that when a cute guy is lavishing attention on you, calling you beautiful, and whispering of the dirty things he wants to do to you. I might be a vampire, but I was still a woman.

He immediately ordered a bottle of champagne as we walked into the room.

The VIP rooms were darkened corners of the club, curtained off with deep purple velvet, allowing for a little privacy. They contained a loveseat, two cushy ottomans, and two small drink tables set on either side of the love seat. Music was only slightly muffled in this VIP area. Jessie and I danced and pretended to drink the glasses we were offered. I had no need for champagne; the smell of Erick’s cologne was stimulating enough. Thirst nagged at me, but I fought it. Erick was an innocent and I didn’t want to live with that guilt.

Realizing that my thirst was starting to get the better of me, I tried to maintain a safe distance as we danced. Erick drained the first bottle of champagne himself, thankfully not noticing that Jessie and I weren’t having any.

I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold out. I needed an escape plan. I couldn’t believe I agreed to this in the first place.

“Jessie, we can’t stay long.” I spoke low enough to not alert Erick.

“Huh, what?” she asked. She danced, rocking her hips back and forth to the music. She seemed to have Erick under a spell. He watched lustfully, his eyes following each movement of her hips.

“I have to do that thing tonight, you know,” I said, with a little urgency to my voice.

“Yeah, sure, we will get to that,” Jessie said with a groan.

“Alyssa, aren’t you having fun?” Erick asked, momentarily dropping his focus from Jessie’s gyrations.

“Yeah.” I tried to smile as innocently as possible. “I just have this little thing I need to do tonight.”

He patted the space next to him on the loveseat. “Don’t leave. I thought we were going to get to know each other. You need more champagne.”

“Yeah, more champagne,” Jessie blurted out, pretending to be drunk. She grabbed the bottle of champagne and put it to her lips as if drinking. “Mmmm, have a drink, Lyss,” she said with a wink.

She leaned in, handing the bottle to me, and whispered, “Have a little fun. Don’t you want him?”

Jessie didn’t give me time to answer. She immediately returned to her hypnotic gyrations. Erick watched me, so I too lifted the bottle to my mouth, pretending to drink the bubbly beverage.

I used to like champagne, when I was mortal. Now, just the smell of it made me want to retch. Bubbles tickled the tip of my tongue. My stomach flipped, threatening to heave if I swallowed so much as a drop. I lowered the bottle with a fake smile plastered on my face. “Mmm, we need some more of this.”

Erick got up and pulled me close to him. He pressed his hard body to mine, rocking side to side with the beat of the music. “You’re absolutely right. Let’s get some more.”

Erick’s advances became more sexual the more he drank. Halfway through the second bottle, he pulled us both on top of him on the love seat.

I must admit, I savored the delicious warmth of his hand as he squeezed my butt. He lavished attention on both of us, alternating between kissing Jessie and me. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t help myself. I let my hands explore his body as he claimed my mouth. Under his loose, silky shirt was a perfect washboard stomach. I traced each ripple down to his obvious arousal, cupping the tent in his jeans.

He moaned into my mouth. I knew I should stop. The beast inside roared to life, begging for just a small taste.

Erick’s hand slid down between my legs. His fingertips traced the outline of my sex through my thong.

“Ah, hmmmm.” I sighed, enjoying his touch.

It had been so long since I had had the pleasures of a man, and his gestures were quite tempting.

I lingered too long. I should have stopped myself, but his smell, his touch, his heartbeat, his warmth—it was all too tempting. I wanted so badly to taste him. I needed to taste him. Just one taste wouldn’t hurt, right?

My thirst, my hunger, the nagging sensation won. I concentrated on my desire to have Erick. I needed to have him, a taste of him. I left his hot mouth and moved my kisses down towards his neck. His succulent vein thumped against my lips; blood pulsed below the surface of his skin, just begging me to take it.

I tried one last time to fight the urge. No, he’s an innocent. He’s done no harm to anyone.

His fingers slid underneath my thong, dipping slowly into my wet opening.

I lost control, giving in to my desire. Opening my mouth wide, I sank my teeth into his neck, severing the vein. My reward was a satisfying rush of hot blood, flooding my mouth.

He moaned, a pleasurable sound. I hoped he was caught in the moment and had not realized what I had done. I didn’t need him knowing I was sucking the life out of him.

His hands still explored my nether regions, confirming my suspicion.

Don’t fight it, let me take you. I willed my desires on him as I drank in his blood. I wanted him, all of him. Every drop of his blood was ecstasy.

His hand went limp beneath me.

Shit!

A moment of clarity hit me. Stop! He’s an innocent!

I hoped I’d realized this before I was too close to ending his life. I pulled away and rested my head on his chest, trying to regain composure. I listened for the sound of his heart. The soft, fading beat told me I was too late. I had taken too much blood. His heart struggled as it slowly came to a stop. No!

Erick was dead.

I slid off his lifeless body onto the floor.

Oh. My. God! What have I done?

Jessie, unaffected by the death of the man, went through his pockets and found his wallet. She spilt up the money and offered me a handful of bills.

“You could have saved some for me,” Jessie said in a mocking tone.

“What have I done?” I whispered to myself. It was one thing to kill a criminal, to end the life of someone who would have done it to me—but an innocent? What was his crime? He was just an overconfident guy. And I killed him!

Jessie held out the bills, waving them in front of my face. “Aren’t you going to take this? It’s your cut.”

A strange numbness consumed me. I had only wanted a taste. Why did I give in to temptation?

The background music seemed muffled and distant. The only thing I could hear was the thought in my head repeating over and over, He was an innocent.

Jessie must have sensed the mental torture going on inside my head. She shook me out of my trance. “Listen, girly, we’re not done yet.” She inclined her head toward the lifeless body. “We’ve got to get rid of Casanova over here.”

Panic brought me back to reality. How could we carry a corpse out of here without being noticed?

Jessie shoved the bills onto my lap and sat down next to the dead body. She lifted the collar on his shirt, inspecting the bite mark on his neck.

“Nice set of fangs you got there, sister. Why don’t we cover this little, ahem… hickey… up with something.” She flipped the collar all the way up in an attempt to conceal the wound on his neck. “Hmm, that’s not going to work well, now, is it?”

“Can we sneak him out of here? We can’t leave a dead body lying here in the VIP lounge. People saw us go in here. Someone will find him and wonder which one of us is the mangy animal who mauled him.”

“Great idea, Lyss.” She jumped to her feet. “You grab one arm and I’ll take the other. We’ll both hold him up and walk him out the front door. If anyone asks, we’ll say he had too much to drink and we’re taking him home to sleep it off.”

It wasn’t the brightest idea I’d ever heard, but it was the best we had to work with. Thanks to vampire strength, we both easily supported his weight on our shoulders and slowly made our way to the door, trying to look as natural as possible. Crystal spotted us from the bar and followed close behind. We’d just passed through the entrance. I thought we were home free when the bouncer stopped us.

“Hey, ladies, is he all right?” the bouncer asked.

I froze. My heart skipped a beat. Shit, we’re busted. We’re going to be outed right here in front of what looks like fifty people. I’ve just mistakenly given away our kind, our secret, with one moment of bloodlust.

Jessie spoke, her voice a little shaky. “Uh, yeah, he’s just had a bit too much tonight. We’re gonna take him home.”

The bouncer’s eyes narrowed. A crease formed above his eyebrows. “He looks unconscious. No. I can’t let you leave with him like that. I’m calling an ambulance.”

Crystal appeared out of nowhere and glided over to the concerned bouncer. Her face the picture of calm, she spoke in hushed tones, leaning into the bouncer’s ear. I could just barely make out what she told him.

“Sir, he has a known drinking problem that is a bit of an embarrassment to our family. The girls called me when he finished his third bottle in your VIP room. Clearly, your staff ignored the fact that he had drunk enough to cause alcohol poisoning. I’m sure your establishment would like to avoid any legal troubles. If you will just let us go without anyone else’s involvement, our family will avoid bringing any official attention to this.”

She extended her hand to the bouncer. He shook it, and I caught the hint of money being transferred. The bouncer smiled and sent us on our way.

We loaded the body in the car with us and drove a few miles before dumping it in a deserted alley. Crystal bit her tongue.

“What are you doing?” I asked, baffled, watching her trace the wound on the dead man’s neck with her bloody tongue. “Are you going to turn him?”

“No, dear, he is already dead. You can only turn one who is at the edge of death. It takes a bit of skill and quite a bit more blood. I’m just concealing the wound.”

“You’re what?” I asked in amazement.

“Has Lysander not taught you this yet? Our blood, in very small doses, can help conceal the wounds you create when you feed. The enzymes in our saliva, mixed with a very small amount of our blood, can help skin heal faster. Within an hour, his skin should seal around the puncture wounds, and by the time the police find this man, he will have what will only look like odd bruises.”

I stood dumfounded for a moment. That was a very nice little parlor trick, and I couldn’t believe Lysander hadn’t told me about this yet. “Must have slipped his mind, I guess.”

This new revelation on how to hide our nightly feeding was a welcome surprise. I liked having more options than just half-cremating or burying a body.

“It’s not a perfect process, and since he is already dead, it won’t heal the wound completely, but it will help hide the telltale fang marks.”

We loaded ourselves into the car. Crystal took the wheel again as we headed back to Lysander’s home.

I sat silent, deep in thought. Terrible guilt sat like a lead weight in my stomach. I wanted to cry for the loss of Erick’s life. A part of me wished the bouncer had caught us and exposed us for what we were. Erick hadn’t deserved death. He was just a drunk guy. He’d just gone out for a night of fun, and it had ended with his death. If I had stopped drinking that man to death, could I have let him go without killing him?

“The answer is yes,” Crystal said, not taking her eyes of the road as she drove. “But it takes great self-control to do it.”

The shock of her answer to my thoughts didn’t stop me from pushing me to know more. “So, in theory, you could feed from multiple people, like taking sips, and not kill anyone?”

“In theory, yes. But the reality is, those you feed from will know what you are. There is no way to erase the memory of you drinking their blood. You run a real risk of exposing us to mortals and the Acta Sanctorum by trying to make that your nightly feeding routine. However, a situation like tonight might have been okay because of that man’s level of inebriation.”

Jessie turned around from the front seat to look at me. “Man, you really are new at this, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

She gave me a toothy smile. “You’ll toughen up soon. First few kills are awkward.”

“Yeah… thanks.” I didn’t need her advice. Jessie, it seemed, had no problem with killing, innocents or not. I knew she wouldn’t really understand. There was no use trying to explain it to her.

The remainder of the ride home I sat quietly, watching the streetlights and buildings pass by. I tried to avoid thinking about the guilt and shame of killing an innocent, but images of Erick’s face kept flashing into my mind.

He wasn’t supposed to die.

We arrived home just before sunrise, and I was grateful for that. I wanted nothing more than to bury myself in the sheets of Lysander’s bed and pretend this night had never happened.

Chapter 15

I SPENT A few nights in solitude, mourning the death of Erick, before Crystal managed to convince me to go out again.

Avid travelers, the Peregrinus never stayed in one place for very long. They took advantage of the time they did have by enjoying all the amenities each city had to offer.

All of us—everyone except Jessie, who had left early that night—decided to explore the Strip. The boys wanted to try their hand at gambling and the girls wanted to see the changes to the Strip since their last visit. Since I was a native, I offered to act as their tour guide.

I’d done this plenty of times before, playing tour guide, when members of my family or old friends came to visit. It’s a tradition for Las Vegas locals and usually the only time we make it to the Strip ourselves.

All eyes were wide, mouths hung open, and mumbles of “wow,” came from the clan as we drove down Las Vegas Boulevard.

“The Peregrinus have not been to Vegas in well over thirty years,” said Rozaline as she eyed the large buildings we passed.

“The city has changed quite a bit in the last few years. I doubt you will even recognize the Strip anymore,” I said, trying to sound knowledgeable.

It was true. In the last thirty years the Strip had grown and reinvented itself more than once. Many of the old casinos that lined Las Vegas Boulevard had been imploded and rebuilt.

Towering structures and neon lined the famous boulevard; multicolored replicas of the New York skyline, a Camelot castle, a great black pyramid, exploding volcanoes, and pirate ships amazed the clan as we took our slow drive down the Strip.

Drew and Crystal were delighted by the whimsical Camelot castle, as well as the golden lion on the great pedestal at another casino. Each hotel we passed was a treat to their eyes.

“Ah, this is wonderful,” exclaimed Crystal, watching a rollercoaster zooming around the front of another casino. “Things have certainly changed.”

“Yes. This was all probably a dirt lot the last time you were here,” I responded, still trying to show off my knowledge.

As is the custom in Vegas, the Strip was always expanding. New casinos popped up every few years, each one bigger and flashier than the ones prior.

“Amazing,” Rozaline said, as a small replica of a volcano began its explosive show. It sent watery blasts, colored with orange lights, shooting up to the sky. The effect resembled boiling lava.

“If you think that’s cool, you should check out the pirate ship battle next door.” I chuckled at their astonishment. Just like any other tourist, they pointed while they oooh-ed and ahhh-ed at each casino. It was a refreshing sight to see, and a reminder that even though I was a vampire now, I could still enjoy some of the simple pleasures of being alive. Monster or not, everyone loves to be entertained—and Vegas was never short on that. I made a mental note to come back to the Strip more often and really allow myself to take it all in with my fresh, new eyes.

A longstanding Vegas tourist tradition is to see the Strip on foot. I would have been a horrible tour guide if I denied them that wonderful opportunity, so I made the suggestion. “Let’s park and go see some sights.”

No tour is complete without the crowds of people, the smut peddlers, and the chance for photos in front of the various attractions.

We parked and made our way into a casino.

I’d forgotten how strong the scent of the people around me would be. I was getting much better at controlling my urges and the monster within. Still, being surrounded by so many people, I was briefly startled by the aroma as we entered the recirculated air of the casino.

The flood of smells rushed toward me. My mouth watered with anticipation as I filtered through the scents in the air, finding one in particular that enticed me. I found myself slowing down as we passed a pair of ladies sitting at a blackjack table. I slowly breathed in their perfume as my eyes fixed on the exposed neck of a blonde woman.

Citrus with a hint of vanilla: her scent was tantalizing. My mouth watered as my tongue traced the edges of one of my sharp fangs.

Lysander must have caught my interest. “Discretion, Alyssa,” he cautioned, grabbing my arm while pushing me forward.

It was the first time we had spoken since our fight a few evenings ago.

I bit my lip and snapped to attention, wishing I had taken time to hunt before allowing myself to be surrounded by so many people. I didn’t need another repeat of the club incident. Breathing slowly through my mouth, I tried not to smell the air.

The memory of Erick and the guilt that followed his death helped me push the monster down.

I was still angry at Lysander for the harsh words during our fight, but I was thankful for his presence. Though annoying at times, he did prevent me from making mistakes. Being surrounded by tons of humans, I knew I’d need his guidance tonight.

He escorted me through the casino as we tried to catch up to the rest of the clan. They must not have noticed my pause. They swiftly maneuvered through the crowds, heading to the front door that led to the Strip.

Outside the casino was a sea of people. The pirate show in the front always drew a huge crowd. Swarms of people packed themselves onto the small replica of a pier, between two battling ships. There was no way to make it through the crowd. We were stuck until the show ended. I didn’t mind that much. It had been years since I’d seen the pirates.

I settled in to watch the battle when a familiar sensation struck me.

I was being watched.

The skin on the back of my neck prickled and my hair stood on end. There were so many people around that I couldn’t tell from which direction the odd sensation was coming. I did know one thing, though. The source was another immortal nearby.

In the short time I’d been a vampire, this sensation was the only telltale sign of another immortal’s presence. I’d gotten used to the feeling as the clan came and went during their stay at Lysander’s home.

I turned my head, looking left and right, hoping to spot the person who was causing this paranoid feeling. The rest of the clan was out of sight, so I assumed it wasn’t one of them I was sensing.

The crowd of people was so tightly packed it was almost impossible to move. The loud shouts of pirates and the boom of fake cannons sounded to the left and right. A flash of light accompanied a cannon blast. The flames from the cannon fire illuminated the cause of my worry.

I saw him on one of the rocks; the unmistakable face of Edmond. He stared intently at me from the top of the fake cliffs decorating the entrance to the hotel.

Oh, shit!

Lysander’s grip tightened on my arm.

“Did you just see…”

“Yes,” he said curtly.

I looked back to the rock cliff. Edmond had vanished.

“Are we in danger?”

“No. We are probably just in his hunting area.”

“Are they hunting us already?” My heart sped. My mind buzzed with images of other vampires with demonic faces. I felt the false rock walls closing in on me. I remembered the warning given in Lysander’s book. I was a bastard fledgling, turned without permission, and sentenced to death. Lysander and I would be hunted down and our blood used to strengthen Kallisto’s coven.

“He won’t attack us in public. Not now.” Lysander remained calm as ever. His face unnerved me; there was so much at stake.

My voice cracked as I spoke. “But how can you be sure?”

“He may be an arrogant ass, but he does have respect for the rules of engagement. He gave us thirty nights. He will not act until that time has expired. We still have time.”

The pirate show ended, and the sea of people dissipated. We made our way out on to the street and found the clan heading inside another casino.

“You’re sure he won’t attack us?” I asked, giving Lysander a worried look.

“Yes, Alyssa, I’m sure. I know Edmond, better than I wish to. He will not act out of turn.”

Man, I hope he’s right about this.

We caught up with the clan inside. I noticed that Nicholas had stopped by a cave-like room filled with tables. He watched intently as men sat stoically, playing with cards and colorful ceramic chips. Damon walked over to Nicholas, and he too took an interest in the game.

They both looked entranced, standing still as the dealer placed cards on the oval felt-covered table. The men sitting around the table each took turns, deciding what they wanted to do with their cards and chips.

The poker boom had hit only a few years ago, after some Internet player won a few million dollars in a big tournament. Suddenly, every casino was putting in rooms dedicated specifically to this game.

Hold’em…Texas Hold’em, to be precise. I wasn’t a grinder, but I had dabbled a bit here and there. I knew the basics of this game and could scratch a small profit if I concentrated on good strategy. I found it funny and ironic that vampires would be so interested in the vices of humans. But, then again, maybe we really weren’t all that different.

Feeling a little cocky, I walked over to the boys. “Ever played?” I asked with a sly smile.

“You shitting me? Everyone knows Hold’em,” Damon immediately responded. “You play, Lyss?”

I liked Damon. He wasn’t a man of many words, but he was a friendly and easygoing kind of guy.

I inclined my head towards the tables. “Yeah, once in a while. You guys want to get in on a game?”

“This is not the poker I remember,” Nicholas said. A puzzled look crossed his face. We all watched as one of the men at the table pushed a huge stack of red, ceramic chips into the center of the table.

“I’m all in, boys,” the gentleman exclaimed loudly, and stood up.

“Call,” came a calm, quiet voice from the opposite side of the table.

The boisterous gentleman clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously. “C’mon, dealer. One time!” A huge grin covered his face.

We all watched as the dealer, dealt out a single card onto the table. The loud gentleman’s reaction was instantaneous. The smile faded. He wiped his brow. A slight quiver played at the corner of his lips. After a millisecond of silence, the loud man cursed and slammed the table. The dealer didn’t seem to care. He pushed the huge pile of chips to a silent man wearing huge headphones and sunglasses sitting opposite of him.

I laughed inside, watching the scene play out before my eyes. I shouldn’t revel in others’ misery, but it was nice to see it happen to someone other than me. I’d been in that position so many times. So sure of myself. So sure of my hand, and then…fate deals you out. Nice to know it happens to us all.

A wicked grin spread across Nicholas’s face. “I think I want to play,” he said. His eyes remained locked on the table. “How do I get into this game?”

I pointed Nicholas to the counter to get a seat for the game and some chips. The casino representative asked Nicholas what game he wanted to play. For a moment, he stood silent, looking lost, as if he didn’t know how to respond.

“I want to play that ‘all-in’ game you have, over there, at that table.” He pointed to the table we had just been watching.

The casino employee, an older, balding man, snickered “All in,” under his breath, as he prepared a rack of chips for Nicholas. “That’s two hundred, sir, for one two no-limit, table twelve.”

Damon and I purchased racks of chips, too, and asked to take seats at the same table. We took our places on either side of Nicholas at the long, oval table.

“You wanna post now or wait till the blinds?” the dealer, a rail-thin man, asked.

Nicholas’ brow furrowed. He looked to his chips and then at the dealer. “Post? Post what? Ante?”

“We’ll wait for the blinds,” I answered.

The dealer nodded as Nicholas shot me a puzzled look.

Damon leaned in, speaking to Nicholas’s ear. “The blinds are how you get the pot started, man. Check this, seats one and two after the dealer button have to put money in the middle to get the betting going.”

Glad to see one of the clan was versed in the game, I smiled at Damon and nodded my approval of his instruction.

“Ah, yes, that makes sense,” said Nicholas.

I leaned into Nicholas’s other ear. “Just watch the order in which everyone bets and try not to go out of turn.”

I saw, out of the corner of my eye, the hungry look on some of the other players’ faces. Nicholas was clearly a newbie. All of the wannabe sharks at this table were readying themselves to take all of Nicholas’s chips.

“You’re going to get two cards to play with, and the dealer will deal out five more cards, face up, on the table at different intervals.” I continued with my quick lesson. “Three cards on the flop, one card on the turn, and one card on the river. These are community cards. Each time a new set of cards is dealt, you get a chance to bet. There is no limit to how much you can raise. You want to make the best five-card hand out of your two cards and the five cards that will be dealt.”

Nicholas gave me an understanding nod, and we watched as the cards were dealt around. I noted the different players at the table, all men. Poker was a man’s game. It wasn’t common to see women sitting at the table. I felt waves of excitement radiating from the men as I sat there. I wished I could read their minds, but I guessed they were thinking that I, too, would be easy money.

“I’ll go easy on you, darlin’,” said a drunken man to my right, wearing a crisp white cowboy hat.

“Aw, thanks.” I smiled innocently. “I’d hate to lose all my money my first time in Vegas.” It was a small lie, yes. But if they wanted to think I was a noob, I was going to act the part. “Wanna give me a few pointers?”

“How about I buy you a drink?” he said, leaning into me.

I accidentally allowed myself to breathe in his scent. You could give me a drink. My tongue traced the tips of my teeth as I thought of tasting this man’s blood.

“When do we get to play?” Nicholas asked.

Good timing. “Uh, soon. We will be in the blinds soon.” Down, girl. Breathe through your mouth. What would Lysander say?

“He your boyfriend?” the cowboy asked me.

“Something like that.” I smiled and winked.

A few hands went by before we were able to post our blinds and start playing. Nicholas eagerly placed his chips on the table, just past the betting line, and snatched his cards as the dealer tossed them out. I glanced at the cards dealt to me. Unimpressed, I set them out, ready to fold when it was my turn.

I sensed worry from one of the gentleman sitting across from me, and it dawned on me that my mental abilities might make this game a bit more interesting. All of the faces at the table were hard and cold. Each person was trying as best as he could to maintain that stoic look, never giving away that he might hold a monster hand in his cards; hoping to sucker some poor fool into giving away all his chips.

The silent man, with the large headphones and sunglasses, at the end of the table placed a few more chips into the betting area, calling “Raise” as he did it.

I folded my cards when it was my turn, but Nicholas didn’t. He placed his chips inside the betting area.

“Don’t risk it all on your first hand, bro,” Damon warned.

I agreed with Damon. This was only the first hand. There was plenty of time to make dangerous moves after studying your opponents.

Nicholas didn’t seem to pay any attention to Damon’s warning. His eyes fixed on the man in the sunglasses— who had previously taken the stack of chips from the overzealous player.

The dealer dealt out the three flop cards.

I sensed a hint of worry in the quiet man. Nicholas crossed his hands in front of his face, appearing to ponder what to do. It was his turn again to bet or to fold.

I had no doubt that Nicholas could sense the feelings from this stranger and perhaps even read his thoughts as I had seen other vampires of the clan do.

Nicholas sat silent for a long while. I wondered if this was a ploy, a dramatic pause to force the man on the other side of the table to show some outward sign of the strength of his poker hand.

For someone unfamiliar with the game, he was playing quite well. I was almost certain he was using some kind of sense to tell him what to do.

“Check,” said Nicholas letting the man with the headphones lead the betting.

The man with the headphones called “Raise,” again, shoving more chips in to the middle. Nicholas didn’t visibly react to this; he simply lowered his hands and pushed more chips in as well.

The turn card was dealt, with betting going exactly as it had before, and finally the river card came out. Nicholas must have decided it was now time to make his move. He confidently announced “All in,” shoving the remainder of his dwindling chip stack into the center of the table.

I shook my head. I really hoped he knew what he was doing. At that point, he'd played one hand and committed all of his money, a two-hundred-dollar buy-in, to the center of the table.

“Slow down, bro, you really want to bet it all on one hand?” Damon cautioned again.

The man sitting opposite of him thought long and hard on what to do. I sensed he didn’t want to call. He was worried about something. Perhaps the strength of his hand was not as he was pretending. I guessed he hadn’t expected Nicholas to play back at him. Silent moments went by before the quiet man slid his cards to the dealer, folding his hand.

A small smile stretched the corners of Nicholas’s mouth. He happily scooped the large pot to himself and appeared eager to start the next hand.

“Thought you didn’t play Hold’em?” Damon asked.

Nicholas laughed. “Beginner’s luck.”

I knew otherwise. He was silently controlling his opponent, forcing him to fold, relinquishing all of his chips. Once I had caught onto this tactic, I used it as well.

Screw robbing my victims. I’m playing poker for money. I’ll be rich in no time.

Mind control brought a whole new dimension to the game. We played for a few hours while the rest of the clan explored the Strip.

The three of us ran the table, piling our chips high. Two hundred dollars quickly turned into two thousand before the rest of the group returned, beckoning us to join them. They wanted to continue exploring the Strip. Apparently, we’d spent too much time at the poker table, and they had grown tired of the casinos within walking distance.

The night was still young, and there was much more to see and do. We continued our way north toward Downtown.

Although often confused by many people not native to Vegas, Downtown and the Strip are two entirely different places. Old Vegas has a gritty charm and presence all its own, separate from the bright shining new jewels that lined Las Vegas Boulevard.

This was more of what the clan expected of Las Vegas; older casinos with a rough and aged vibe, worn carpet, and the stale smell of cigarette smoke. This was the Vegas they knew from the last time they’d visited.

The block of Downtown casinos was located near the intersection of Main Street and Fremont Street. This was where the gambling town had gotten its start.

We made our way down Fremont Street just in time to see the overhead light show. The street went dim as the music started. A long metal canopy ran the length of the block of hotels and acted as a projection screen of sorts, showing images dancing to the beat of the music which played over loudspeakers lining the street.

The clan stared in amazement as colors flashed above us. Amusing images of stars set to rock music enticed us to move with them as they danced up and down the canopy.

Once the light show ended, it was decided we’d all split up. Many of us, myself included, needed to hunt. Everyone went their separate ways, leaving me almost alone. Lysander, however, remained as my chaperone. We walked down the street, taking in the sights and sounds.

“I’m sorry we quarreled the other night,” he said softly. “I understand that you need your freedom.”

We hadn’t really spoken since the fight. It was nice to hear the softness in his voice. I wanted to remain mad at him for the mean things he’d said to me, but deep down, I knew he was partly right. I had a knack for pushing too hard to get my way. Though I needed freedom to clear my head and accept all that had happened to me, I still needed his guidance. The incident with Erick was proof of that.

“I am just trying to protect you,” Lysander continued. “You’re young and there is still much for you to learn.”

I stopped and looked up at him. His big, beautiful blue-gray eyes met mine and I felt his warmth again. He looked at me kindly.

“I know you’re trying to teach me and I’m very thankful for that, but you can’t deny me my freedom. I can’t live feeling like a caged rat. I have to be free to accept—”

“Alyssa, please have patience. Your freedom will come when you are ready. Let me teach you more before you attempt to make your way alone.”

“I’m not asking to leave you, Lysander. I just want the freedom to come and go as I please. I need to find some semblance of control over this new life. I need something to grasp onto. This whole change has turned my world upside down.”

There was a look of relief in his eyes. I wondered if he thought my pressuring for freedom was a request to leave him. A small hope entered my mind. Maybe he did have some feelings for me. Maybe there was more to him than the cold, hard shell he showed me.

“Look, I’ve never had to live under someone’s rule before,” I continued. “Even as a child, I had freedom from my parents. I have to do things for myself, and all I ask is the freedom to do that. ”

“I see my warnings have no effect on you,” Lysander sighed. “I do not wish to get into another quarrel with you, Alyssa.”

“Then don’t keep me prisoner. Trust me and let me have my freedom, and we won’t have a reason to fight.”

“Fine. I will allow you to hunt alone, provided you promise to be careful and let me know where you’re going. Until the threat from Kallisto and her coven has been taken care of, it is still very dangerous out there.”

“It’s a start,” I agreed. It was a compromise, and it seemed the only way to end our current fight. I forced a smile on my face and nodded to Lysander.

He brought his hand up to my chin, lifting my head just slightly, and kissed my forehead.

“I just wish to protect you. You are important to me,” he whispered.

We walked to the end of the Fremont Street canopy. My hunger had been kept at bay long enough.

“I need to hunt now. Will you let me go?”

I sensed the worry and saw the reluctance in his eyes.

“Go,” he said, almost whispering.

“I’ll return when I’m done. I won’t be far.” It was a small test to see if he would really let me go. Lysander slowly turned towards the crowd of tourists.

Thank you. I sighed and headed off into the darkened street ahead.

Chapter 16

MY SOLO HUNT on Freemont Street had gone well and Lysander, seemed to be relaxing on his overprotectiveness. Things were beginning to look up.  Thankful for the newfound privacy, I planned to take my first unaccompanied trip into the city, with one little detour. I needed to go home, to see it one more time, and say goodbye.

I knew it was forbidden. Lysander had made it very clear that I was dead to the mortal world now. I didn’t care. I had to have some closure and since I would have this little bit of privacy to do it, I felt it was time.

The only way I would be able to accomplish this was to leave without drawing attention to myself. I didn’t want to have to tell Lysander where I was going, and he always seemed to know what I was thinking.

An opportunity to leave presented itself as if fate wanted me to go. Lysander sat in the dining room, engrossed in a new project. Papers covered the large mahogany table. He worked with various colored pencils, drawing new sketches for his book. I knew that would keep him occupied. Lysander was meticulous, sparing no detail in his work. I could only guess at the amount of focus it took to complete such beautiful works of art. I knew one thing, though; he should be occupied all night.

I borrowed the keys to his SUV, walking out as quietly as I could. A small sense of unease struck me as I shoved the keys in the ignition. I wondered, for a moment, how mad Lysander would be if he knew what I was up to. But mad or not, I had to do this.

Miles flew by quickly as I headed into the heart of the city. Before I could mentally prepare myself, I was there, in the parking lot of the familiar strip mall that held my favorite café.

I managed to park in a spot close enough to allow me to see in through Copioh’s front windows. I hoped no one would be able to see me, though. I wasn’t ready for questions. In all honesty, I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to do when I got there. My planning had ended with taking the car and driving; one of the downfalls of my often quixotic nature. Now that I was here, I was kind of at a loss as to what to do.

Copioh was the same as it had always been—not that I had expected much to change in a week.

I cracked the window, lowering it just an inch so I could take in the familiar smell. I used to love the fragrant aroma of espresso and chocolate that leaked from the old coffee house.

The smell seemed different now. The thick, sweet aroma of the people standing outside altered the scent. While it was very appealing, it no longer gave me the same feeling of home. My throat dried up as the scent teased my hunger, reminding me of my need to hunt for the night. I pushed back the thoughts of blood and concentrated on the café.

Had anyone noticed that I hadn’t been around?

I surveyed the parking lot, looking for familiar faces, before turning my attention back to the front window of the café.

I’d hoped I would be missed. I wanted to see a missing person sign posted in the window, something to tell me my disappearance had some effect. I didn’t want to be another nameless, faceless statistic. College girl goes missing. No! I wanted someone to care that I was gone.

I stared into the café’s front window, spotting a thin blonde girl sitting on my favorite couch. My heart skipped a beat. It was Fallon, my longtime best friend. I looked at my watch.

Nine o’clock. Right on time as usual. Too bad she couldn’t have been on time a week ago.

I should have guessed she would be there waiting for me. In my mortal life, we were always there, together, right after work. She jerked her head towards the door as it opened.

I ducked below the dashboard in reaction—not that she would have been able to see me behind the heavily tinted windows of the SUV.

Peeking up, I saw disappointment flash across her face, as if she were expecting someone and he or she hadn’t shown.

Is she waiting for me?

The Goth teenagers meandered in front of the café as usual. Their mindless wandering aggravated me. Every few moments, a black cloak or rail-thin person blocked my view into the front window.

Her face looked so sad. I wanted to go inside, greet my friend, and tell her everything that had happened to me.

No, I can’t do that. There are too many people here; someone will recognize me. There would be too many questions to answer.

I couldn’t risk staying any longer. If she were to spot me, or if someone recognized me, there would be trouble. Lysander would never allow our secret to get out like this.

I started the engine and backed out of the parking space. As much as I wanted to talk to Fallon, I just couldn’t.

Driving slowly out of the parking lot, I headed towards my old apartment.

* * *

MY STREET WAS dark and quiet. For the regular people who didn’t live a nocturnal life, the evening was winding down. Most of the lights in my apartment complex were dark. The quiet hum of air conditioners and the low sounds of thumping bass music, from the surrounding apartments, comforted me.

I reached the door of what had, until recently, been my home and noticed a wrinkled piece of paper taped to it. It looked official, a notice of some kind. I laughed, reading it. My rent was a week late.

“Never shy about getting the rent money.” I yanked the note off the door, crumpled it, and tossed it on the ground. “Try getting rent out of me now.”

I turned the knob, noticing it was already unlocked. That’s odd, I thought, and then I remembered Lysander had stopped by to pick up my things. No need to lock a door when you never plan on returning.

Slowly, I pushed against the door. A strange feeling came over me, like I was being watched, but I couldn’t sense any human presence. Not that it mattered if there was. It would have been all too easy to take care of any robber stupid enough to attack me, and it would take care of my need to hunt for the night.

Tiny hairs prickled at the back of my neck. I recognized the sensation. There was a vampire nearby. I looked over my shoulder, scanning the surrounding area, but I didn’t see anything that would clue me into who or what could be watching me. There was no immediate scent of humans in the air, only the musky odor of a few stray cats.

The street was quiet and dark. I decided it was best to get inside. If another vampire was hunting in this area, I didn’t want to give him or her a reason to bother me.

The door creaked against my weight as I pushed it open. Moonlight flooded the darkened living space. A familiar aroma greeted me as I stepped over the threshold.

I was home.

A peaceful feeling came over me. I flicked on the lights and the room came alive. My apartment was a stark contrast to Lysander’s barren home. Every inch of space in the large studio apartment had been filled. I was a packrat, a collector of sorts. Knickknacks, treasures, books, movies, you name it; I crammed them all into this apartment.

Fallon had always joked that I decorated in what she liked to call ‘early garage sale,’ pretending there was some artsy theme to my decorating scheme. In reality, I was just a poor girl using whatever furniture I could find to keep myself from sleeping on the floor, and spending the rest of my money on novelties and junk.

An old, beat-up, black metal futon that doubled as my bed sat against the wall, flanked by two overflowing bookshelves. They leaned sharply, threatening to collapse under the weight of all of their books. Posters of my favorite movies lined the walls in cheap, metal frames, covering up the dingy, yellowing walls.

I stepped off the four-square linoleum tiled entry onto the old, green shag carpeting. The cracked, aging pad underneath the carpet made a familiar crunching sound as I walked on it.

My apartment may have been cheap and horribly maintained, but it was home.

I inhaled deeply, taking in each and every one of the smells that presented itself to me. There was always something about the smell of home that had an instant, calming effect on me.

Soft hints of my favorite perfume wafted in from the laundry basket in the bathroom. Dry, bitter coffee grounds scented the trash, and the dusty smell of my piles of books created a unique bouquet. I stood for a moment, slowly inhaling and savoring the scents. A jar of my favorite lotion sat half-opened on the counter. The lemongrass and tea tree smell called out to me. I reached out taking the lotion and scooped out a small bit. I savored the clean scent and creamy texture as I rubbed it into my skin.

I crossed over from the kitchenette and dining area into the living room, noticing a blinking red light on the answering machine. Curious to see if anyone had missed me, I hit play.

“Hey, lady, it’s Fallon. Sorry about ditching you last night. Call me.” The voice was like music to my ears.

Another message followed.

“Hey, Alyssa, where have you been? I tried your cell. Are you mad?” A tear welled up in my eye. I heard worry in Fallon’s voice.

I waited with anticipation each time the machine beeped.

“Lyssa, it’s Matt. I haven’t heard from you in a while, where have you been? Anyway, a bunch of us are going to Mount Charleston this weekend, please come. Call me.”

I knew I should stop the machine, but I kept listening, desperate to know I’d been missed.

“Alyssa, I’m getting worried. Where are you? Please pick up the phone.” Worry had turned to fear in Fallon’s voice. My heart swelled with emotion.

I pressed the button to stop the messages, wondering if I should delete them.

Was there any report about my attack on the school campus? Did anyone suspect something, was I just another missing person, or had the events of my assault remained unknown to everyone but Lysander and myself?

Those questions would have to remain unanswered. I couldn’t speak to my human friends now. Hearing the sounds of their voices made me long to talk to them, to tell them I was okay.

I went to the bookshelf, pulling a thick photo album out of the topmost shelf. Collapsing on the futon, I opened the book and flipped through the photos. All of the memories of my former life were in those plastic-coated pages.

A pair of green eyes belonging to a ten-year-old version of myself stared back. I was hugging a sleepy-looking brunette wearing a Santa hat. It was one of the few pictures I had of my mother before she spiraled out of control.

She’d never been much of a figure in my life. Most of the memories of my childhood involved being shuffled back and forth between babysitters when my mom wanted to go out for a night of fun.

I hated how messed up she used to get. There were more than enough vices in Vegas to turn any soccer mom into a gambling-addicted alcoholic, and unfortunately, after Dad left, my mom took to trying out as many as she could. I had been left alone to fend for myself most of the time. I was never one to be told what to do or where to go: one benefit of absentee parenting. I learned quickly how to do everything for myself.

Can I blame you for this, Mom? Maybe if I had been raised differently, or had more responsible and caring parental figures, my life would have turned out differently.

“No, I can’t blame her,” I sighed.

I turned the pages, reminiscing. Friends, road trips, parties: all of my fondest memories lived here, in these pages. The ache of emotion pulled at my heart. I felt like an outsider now, looking in through the window on someone else’s life. I knew I did not belong with the people in those pictures any longer.

I surveyed the apartment, seeing the trail of clothes left by Lysander’s hasty attempt to pack up my things. All of my mortal possessions were here, but somehow they didn’t feel like they belonged to me anymore. They belonged to the me that used to live here, the mortal Alyssa who struggled to pay the rent and hated her job. The Alyssa who spent all her free time with friends sitting in a silly little college café.

I wasn’t that Alyssa anymore. I wasn’t sure who I was now. I only knew how different I felt.

Maybe Lysander’s been right all along. I don’t belong here anymore.

The photo album slid from my lap, almost falling to the floor. I caught it and set it aside as I continued to look around at the remnants of my mortal life. A small stand next to me held a wooden box. I grabbed it, opening it as I brought it to my lap. A small white gold, diamond, and sapphire eternity ring sat inside of it. My mother’s wedding ring. I took it out of the box, placing it on my right ring finger.

I’m not leaving this behind. I’m not losing everything from my mortal life.

The shrill ring of my telephone snapped me out of my depression. I wanted to answer, to hear the voice on the other side of the line. Knowing it would be a friend calling, I stopped myself.

I’m dead to them.

The answering machine picked up, and I heard my recorded voice telling the caller I wasn’t at home and to leave a message.

“Okay, Alyssa, I’m really worried now. It’s been over two weeks. Where are you? Why aren’t you answering your cell? I don’t care if you’re mad at me. I’m coming over to check on you.”

It was Fallon.

I wanted nothing more than to talk to her. To tell her what had happened. To let her know I was okay. The fear in her voice was unbearable.

The phone disconnected and the room fell silent. Temptation told me to stay, to wait for my friend to show up. Unlike the café, my apartment was quiet and secluded. I could tell her everything and say my good-bye without fear of others overhearing.

I thought of Lysander. What would he say? I knew he wouldn’t approve; I was already going to be in enough trouble for coming back here.

Rule number one was to maintain a low profile. Divulging my new secret to another person, a human, wouldn’t be tolerated. These older immortals all seemed to be able to read the thoughts right out of my head, and I knew I couldn’t protect my mind to keep this forbidden meeting a secret.

What would Lysander do if he found out a mortal knew of us? He might just kill her to protect our secrets.

As much as I wanted to stay, I knew I should go. She was my best friend, but I couldn’t put her in any risk by telling her my secret. I left the photo album open on the futon, showing a picture of the two of us, happily smiling for the camera, standing on a sunny beach.

Goodbye, Fallon. Remember the good times.

I didn’t know how she would take this sign, but I hoped some idea of my message would get to her. It was better she thought I was gone. At least then she could start the healing process.

A lump formed in my throat as I left the apartment. I made no effort to lock up or turn off the lights. I left the door wide open, inviting her inside to see that I was gone.

I decided not to stick around and find out what she would do. Seeing her again might tempt me to come out and comfort her, and I couldn’t risk it. This gesture was the only way I could say goodbye. The night was calling and I needed to move on.

* * *

THERE WAS STILL one more place I needed to see before I returned to Lysander’s home.

I walked slowly down the street, with hardly a glance upward to tell me where I was going. I had walked these steps so many times in my mortal life I could take them blind.

I made it back to the campus of UNLV, walking down the path towards the theater hall. The grounds were all but deserted, and silence filled the air. I soon caught an all-too-familiar scent.

Blood.

I looked up, seeing the burned-out lights I had noticed before. The path was dark but my supernatural sight allowed me to see. I knew exactly where I stood.

Sadness welled up inside of me. I had found the spot where my life changed forever. I could tell someone had tried to clean up the mess. The pavement looked clean. No human would see the evidence of the attack, but I could still smell it. Faint traces of copper and a hint of lemongrass, my favorite scent, still clung to the area.

Flashes of memory played the nightmare of my attack over and over.

Excuse me, miss, a voice echoed in my head, as I remembered the skinny man, drawing my attention while his heavyset friend snuck up behind me.

I witnessed the whole scene play out as if I were a ghost, watching as I was knocked to the ground. I saw the knife enter my back as I reached for my keychain, desperately hoping I could fend them off with the pepper spray.

See what you made me do? I said stay down, you dirty slut. The voice of the heavyset man echoed in my head.

My fist clenched at my side. My heart ached with each shallow thump. I fought against the tears welling in my eyes.

I saw the look of terror on my face as the skinny man mounted me, preparing to rape me. I looked so helpless, so weak—lying there, accepting my fate.

Echoes of footsteps signaled my savior had come to rescue me, only these echoes weren’t shadows of my memory. The sound was real.

The hair on the back of my neck prickled. The familiar sensation of being watched from behind struck me. Then I felt a calming warmth.

I watched as again, he stepped from the shadowed path, just as he had the night he had turned me.

“Lysander,” I gasped. “What are you…how did you…”

I was shocked and scared, seeing him standing in front of me.

“I knew you would come here,” he said calmly. There was no anger in his voice, but I knew I was in trouble for coming back here. I just hoped he wasn’t too mad at me.

“How did you know I—?”

“You’re not the first I’ve turned, Alyssa.”

I gulped down a knot, forming in my throat. “Please don’t be mad… I—”

“I know.” Lysander smiled. “You needed to have one last look. It’s okay.”

“Really?” I was confused by how calmly he was acting. He was supposed to be angry— no, make that livid— that I had chosen the place of my mortal death to come back to.

“It’s hard to say goodbye to your mortal life. I’m proud of you for leaving your apartment when you did.”

“You’ve been following me this whole time, haven’t you,” I said coldly, remembering the vague feeling of being watched.

“Yes.” He sighed. “I had a feeling the moment I let you out alone, you would want to come back.”

“But—”

“And I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Lysander, I’m…” I was torn between fear and confusion. He was acting too calm about this.

“Don’t worry, I’m not mad,” he said, raising his hand to quiet me. “You have acted very maturely about this. I should have let you come make peace sooner. For that, I am sorry.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. At least I wasn’t in trouble.

He motioned for me to walk with him.

“You are a special case, Alyssa. Most mortals are turned knowing full well what they’re getting themselves into.”

We found a bench along the walkway and took a seat.

“Normally, when we wish to turn someone, it is because they mean something to us beforehand. There is plenty of time to let them know the sacrifice they will be making. To warn them of the difficulties they might face. You weren’t given this opportunity.”

I thought about my friend; she must have made it to my home by now and found the apartment empty.

Would she go looking for me? Would she understand my meaning when she saw the photo album? Would she understand the message I was trying to convey? If only I could have said something to her. Just one last conversation to say good-bye.

“Please try not to dwell on your mortal life,” Lysander cautioned, interrupting my train of thought. He was right. I was dwelling. I didn’t want to give up ties to my old life.

I had not been given a choice. I had not been prepared for this sacrifice.

It was easy to deal with the loss of my apartment and job; but my friends, on the other hand, had been like family. It was hard to accept that I could no longer call on them for support. I could no longer share in the good memories or be there as comfort for the bad ones. To be dead to them was the hardest sacrifice to make.

“I don’t know if I could have prepared myself for this,” I said. Tears welled up again in my eyes. My chest ached with sadness. “I wouldn’t have asked for this.”

I wiped my face, trying not to let the tears run down.

“It is a lot to ask of anyone. Giving up your life is something that most are unable to do. I am proud of your strength, that you have dealt with this so well.”

Lysander’s words were comforting. He gently wiped a tear from my face.

I looked up, finding his eyes; the faintest hint of emotion was there, just below the surface.

“Did you ever go back and say good-bye to your life?” I asked.

“Yes.” He put his arm around me and pulled me in close. “We all go back and say good-bye in our own way. I visited my family’s home and looked in on them once, but never spoke to them again. I knew, just as you do, that it would do more harm than good to tell them what had happened to me.”

I nestled my head into his chest, listening to the faint beat of his heart. It was good to know that Lysander, too, had shared my pain.

“I’m sorry I did this to you,” he whispered.

“Oh, no, please don’t think I resent what you have done for me. I’m glad you saved me that night,” I said, pulling away slightly to show him the sincerity in my face. He’d been my savior. Even though I was saddened by the loss of my mortal life and friends, I knew he’d given me a second chance at life.

“I shouldn’t have let it get that far, and for that I am sorry. I should have stopped them before they hurt you.”

That thought had crossed my mind more than once during the past week. But there was no use dwelling on that fact. You can’t change the past. As much as I wanted to complain, it would do no good.

“I’m still alive, and that’s what’s important,” I said, in a small attempt to return the comforting gesture.

“You would not be talking to me right now if I had taken care of them before they hurt you.” Lysander was beginning to sound as depressed as I felt. “You would have gone on with your life, completely unaware of our existence.”

“Yeah, and maybe, next week or the week after, I would have been attacked by some other stranger.” I gave Lysander a goofy smile, trying to lighten the mood. One sad vampire was enough, and I didn’t like the depressed look on his face. “If you hadn’t noticed, I don’t really protect myself that well.”

Lysander returned my smile. “You do have a point there.”

I loved that smile. He really was a handsome man. And I felt pretty lucky to be stuck with him. Lysander pulled me in close again. His faint heartbeat lulled me. I snuggled in tight against him.

“I’ll get used to this,” I said softly.

“Can you?” he asked.

“Yeah.” As long as you’re here with me.

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s not so bad.”

“You’re not a very good liar.”

“No, really. I’m happy to be alive and here with you.” It wasn’t a lie. I was happy to still be alive, and I did enjoy his presence, when we weren’t arguing. “I just need a little more time to get used to things.”

“You have all the time in the world.”

“I just wish there was some way I could say good-bye.”

Lysander’s chest expanded as he sucked in a deep breath. I could tell that this constant dwelling on my old life frustrated him. “There is nothing you can say that will make her or any other mortal understand. She will find the photo you left out. She will come to the conclusion that you are gone. Don’t torture yourself or her by leaving any more uncertainty out there.”

I nodded against his chest, not wanting to speak.

Lysander always seemed to be right about things; an advantage of his age, perhaps. It would be much easier for my friends to accept my death than an explanation that I was a newborn vampire stalking the streets of Las Vegas. There really was no gentle way to break that kind of news to someone. If she thought I was dead, the healing process could start for her. I remembered Crystal’s comforting words. I was thankful Fallon was alive and well, and even if I couldn’t see her or any other of my old friends, I knew they were still out there, living their lives.

Lysander took my hand; his finger ran lightly across the top of my ring.

“What is this?”

I looked down. “It was my mom’s. She gave it to me a long time ago.”

“I see.”

“I don’t want to lose it. It’s the last thing I have of her. The last—”

“Keep it. There is no harm in taking a small memento. Let this be it, okay? Let the rest go.”

I looked back towards the spot where I had been attacked. I knew I needed to let go. I needed to leave my old life here, behind me, and move on.

“I think I’m ready to go now, Lysander,” I whispered.

Chapter 17

MY SKILLS WERE developing fast. Our senses and abilities were supposed to grow with age. According to Lysander, it could be years before I would be able to accurately read a mortal’s thoughts. Perhaps more than a century before I could peer into the mind of an immortal. However, at this point, it required almost no effort to look at someone and instantly discern what he or she was feeling.

I was happy with this empathic ability and worked to focus it whenever I was near enough to someone to use it. I focused on the clan, Lysander, and anyone near enough for me to use as a test subject.

Besides the strange warmth that accompanied Lysander’s presence, I sensed happiness and a desire to be close. You would never know this by his outward appearance. His expression rarely gave way to the feelings he kept locked deep inside.

I couldn’t deny I had my own warm feelings for Lysander; but, after the embarrassment of our previous kiss, I wasn’t going to make an idiot of myself again.

Still, I loved that he would smile at me as he rose every evening. Each time, I wanted to lean in and kiss him, but I wouldn’t let myself. I sometimes wondered if he liked me, and just didn’t want to act on it. Was there a secret reason he held back? Some unknown fear of commitment?

A few days had passed since saying good-bye to my mortal life when I found myself alone in the house with Lysander. The clan members were all out in the city on their own, enjoying its plethora of entertainments.

Lysander sat in the dining room. He’d spent the last couple of days camped out there, papers sprawled all over the table and a large book in front of him.

Normally, I would have left him alone to his writing, but curiosity got the better of me. He seemed so engrossed, passionately scrawling words across a page of the large book.

I sensed a mix of emotions, some happy and some sad. They filled the space around him, like an aura surrounding his body. Whatever he was writing had a connection deep inside of him. Having only seen brief glimpses of true emotion in Lysander, this new sensation piqued my curiosity.

I walked behind him, peering over his shoulder. There was a drawing of a woman that looked like me.

This must have been what he was working on a few nights ago.

His talent for drawing, in my opinion, outmatched his ability to write. Every sketch I saw of his seemed to come alive on the page. I grinned, admiring the picture. It was like staring into a mirror. He had captured every small detail: each long strand of red hair, the high arch of my widow’s peak, the faint smile lines around my mouth, and the full pout of my lips. I’d always been given compliments on how naturally full my lips were.

Next to the picture was the word rebirth.

I was flattered he was writing about me, though it should not have surprised me. Lysander wrote down everything. He had a passion for writing and the ‘documenting of living history,’ as he put it.

I heard him say so many times, with sadness, that Kallisto had his original work. According to him, there was so much more of his history documented than he was able to scribble into the old and weathered tome he’d showed me earlier.

This book he wrote in, though old, was much less worn than the previous book. My picture and the words he wrote fell toward the end of this tome, telling me it couldn’t have held more than a century or two of his recent writings.

I hovered over Lysander a bit too long, and I felt him stealing glances at me from the corner of his eye.

“Do you need something, Alyssa?” he asked gruffly.

I sat down next to him. “Sorry, I just noticed your drawing.”

“It’s a crude likeness,” he said, a note of sarcasm in his voice. “But it is not the picture that matters as much as the story that goes with it.”

“It’s beautiful,” I said. “You’re very talented.”

“I should be, after a few thousand years of practice.”

I giggled. “I guess practice does make perfect then.”

He returned to focusing on his work as I glanced over at the words he had written under the title.

Fate brings us opportunities when we least expect it.

I had not made an attempt to turn another in more than a century. The memories of the deaths of my previous children haunted me. For years, I was destined to be alone. I had resigned myself unto this fate, the punishment for my own desire for freedom.

As fate would have it, I happened across a pair of very appealing strangers one night on my evening hunt. Their minds were filled with thoughts of sexual conquest and their energy was a succulent mix of power and adrenaline. I savored the thought of their blood as I peered into their minds. They planned their attack, not knowing they would soon be my prey. Morbid curiosity stopped me from acting before it was too late, and Alyssa became their prey before I took my chance to attack.

I regret that my fascination with the brutality of their attack prevented me from stopping them before they had done too much damage. I should have acted before she crossed their paths.

She was an innocent. A young woman. Too young to die.

I knew she was far too injured to survive if I left her. My sloth in attacking would be the cause of her innocent death, and I could not allow it. She did not deserve death, so I granted her immortality.

The sincerity in his words was so refreshing. It seemed the wall he’d built up around himself couldn’t hide emotions from his written words. Perhaps there was some real feeling there.

I reread the passage again.

The memories of the deaths of my previous children haunted me. For years, I was destined to be alone.

“What happened to your other children? You’ve been alone for a long time, haven’t you?” I asked cautiously.

I had a feeling. Intuition. I knew what the answer would be before I’d even asked the question. The warning we had received from Edmond and the prior history lesson Lysander had given me was enough to tell me Kallisto had had something to do with it.

“I do not wish to talk about it, Alyssa.” His voice sounded hoarse, as if he struggled to keep the emotion down. “You do not need to know those details.”

I sensed the ache in Lysander’s heart. It must cause him physical pain to bury the memories, and I was just drawing them out with my questioning. His reaction confirmed my suspicion.

I leaned over, wrapping my arms around him in a comforting embrace. “Forget I said anything. I’m sorry I mentioned it.”

Lysander returned the gesture. I felt his muscles relax as he let out a deep breath.

We sat there for a moment, wordlessly holding one another before I released him. I pulled back, finding his eyes and held their gaze, admiring the beautiful flecks of blue.

This time, to my surprise, it was he who leaned in and gently pressed his lips to mine. The flood of emotions came rushing to the surface like an electric charge.

He tightened his arms around me, embracing me, guiding me closer to his body as our lips and tongues danced together.

I lost myself in the moment, knowing the desire was truly mutual between us.

His lips were soft and sweet. I could have spent an eternity kissing them. Flames of desire ignited inside of me.

Without warning, he pulled away. “No, we can’t do this,” he said, turning away from me. He covered his mouth with his hand.

“What?” I gasped, catching my breath. This wasn’t the reaction I expected from him. Did I do something wrong?

“No. We can’t do this,” he said again.

I turned away, too, feeling embarrassed, rejected again by Lysander.

“No, Alyssa, it’s not that I don’t want you.” He reached out and grabbed my hand, stopping me from getting up and escaping to the bathroom again. “Believe me, I would love nothing more than to be with you. I just can’t. Everyone I care for—everyone I bring into this life—dies.”

It was the first time I had seen emotion like this from him. I took his face into my hands, looking deeply into his eyes.

“You have already saved me from death once, Lysander.”

“Once may not be enough.”

I felt his emotional battle, and understood the mix of signals I had been getting from him. I realized that chance had brought us together that night on campus and his refusal to let me die had entwined our fates.

He didn’t want me to die, but turning me might have sealed that as my future fate anyway. Kallisto’s looming threat weighed heavy on his heart. His other children must have somehow fallen to their deaths by her command.

“Once was probably more than I deserved,” I whispered.

“You deserve to live without worry.”

“There will always be something to worry about, Lysander. You’re telling me you won’t get close to me because I might die someday.”

“You are sometimes surprisingly wise, Alyssa, far beyond your short years.”

“Not wise enough to avoid walking darkened streets at night,” I added with a wink and a giggle, hoping to lighten the mood.

Lysander shook his head. “You certainly don’t make this any easier, tempting fate as you do, by always wanting to go off alone. You never listen to my warnings. Kallisto’s threat is real, and I still have not figured out what to do about her coven.”

“What is the deal with this Kallisto lady anyway? Why does she hide behind messengers and her coven?”

“That’s the source of her power. She’s smart, and she’s very good at manipulation. She has an entire army of vampires at her command. That is why she wields so much power.” He sighed. “And, I feel like I can’t protect you, Alyssa. You’re too stubborn for your own good.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m not used to people caring for me.”

“I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose another person I care for, but if you won’t listen to me, if you won’t let me protect…”

“What if you got her alone?”

“Easier said than done, Alyssa. But…” He held a finger up. His eyebrow arched and a smile crept across his face. “Though you do have a point. Without her coven, she is nothing. She has no real strength or skills to fight.”

“So that’s it! Get Kallisto alone and take care of her. Then our problems with the coven are over, and you can stop worrying about me.” I smiled. “I do like you, Lysander, and I want to get closer to you.”

I leaned in for another kiss.

What was I doing? Shocked again by my own forwardness, I pulled back quickly, looking bashfully into Lysander’s big blue-gray eyes. “Sorry, I…”

He pulled me onto his lap. I straddled him on the chair. The bulging evidence of his desire in his pants grew larger as I brushed against it.

His lips again found mine, claiming my mouth. I ground into his hardness. His hand snaked up my back and took a fistful of my hair.

A shiver raced down my spine. Gently, he pulled my head backward, trailing kisses down the bare skin of my neck. He awakened feelings I had been trying so hard to ignore. Heat pulsed between my legs. I ground harder into his body. The familiar pinch came as his teeth broke through my skin. I moaned softly, arching my neck further, allowing him to drink. The slow gentle pull of his soft lips at my neck made me swoon.

My body melted as desire burned throughout me. I needed this. I needed Lysander.

I reached out, my hands finding his face as he released my neck. I pushed him toward my lips again and traced the outline of his mouth with my tongue, savoring the tiny drops of my blood left behind. The sugary-sweet taste excited me further. I gripped his hair, tangling my fingers in his feather-soft tresses.

In one quick motion, Lysander got up, lifting me with him out of the chair. Our lips did not part as he carried me to his bedroom.

Chapter 18

I AWOKE THE next evening wrapped in Lysander’s arms. I smiled to myself as I rolled over to greet my new lover.

It wouldn’t take an empath to know that Lysander was happy. I saw the serene look on his face.

“Good evening,” he said as he reached out to run his fingers through my hair.

“Yes, it is good,” I sighed.

I rested on the pillow, looking up at my Lysander. I liked that thought. My Lysander.

Memories repeated like a broken record, replaying the pleasures of the previous evening over and over.

God, that was good.

Lysander chuckled. “Your mind is like an open book, Alyssa,” he teased. “You make no effort to hide your inner monologue.”

Hide my inner monologue? “What?”

I can hear your thoughts. His voice was in my head, speaking as loudly as if he had said the words, but his lips hadn’t moved.

“Stop that,” I demanded. “Get out of my head.”

Lysander gave me a boyish grin. You will have to learn to stop me, then, he taunted playfully, speaking inside of my head.

Heat rose to my cheeks. I rolled away to hide my red face.

“I did not mean to embarrass you, Alyssa. I am happy I could please you last night. I want you to be happy.”

I felt the pressure of his hand as he rubbed lightly on my back.

“I don’t like you in my head like that,” I grumbled into the pillow.

He ran his fingertips down the length of my arm. “Alyssa, I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you could do this? You’re supposed to be teaching me. How long have you been eavesdropping on my private thoughts?”

He took a deep breath. “I see we are already back to arguing. That did not last long.”

“We wouldn’t argue if you weren’t always hiding things from me. And don’t give me any of that crap about it being in my best interest.”

Lysander sighed. “You are right. I should have tried. I wasn’t sure you were strong enough yet. It can take centuries for young vampires to learn the mental arts.” He pulled at me, trying to get me to roll back over and look at him.

“How long have you been poking around in my head?” I asked.

“It comes naturally to me, Alyssa. It is one of our abilities. I don’t intentionally read you, but you speak so clearly in your own head, it is hard not to hear you.”

I rolled over, shooting him an angry look. I wondered how many times he’d read exactly what I was thinking. What embarrassing information had he been able to glean from my thoughts?

“I was going to teach you how to block this when I thought you were strong enough.”

“How do you know my strength if you don’t test it? Quit coddling me!”

“Fine.” He paused for a moment. His brow furrowed and a faint growl rumbled in his chest. “You always have to find something to fight with me about, don’t you?”

I snapped at him, mocking his tone. “Maybe if you treated me like an adult, instead of—”

“Fine, you want to be tested,” he interrupted, sitting up against the headboard.

“Yes.”

“It won’t be easy.”

“I don’t care.”

“I’m not sure you’re ready for this.”

“Quit acting like I’m a baby.” I rolled my eyes.

“Fine, then bite me.”

“What?”

“Just like I showed you before. You are so strong and powerful, try to bite me and make me want it,” he commanded. He crossed his arms, his face suddenly blanked of any emotion.

I closed my eyes and centered myself, calming my nerves. When I opened them, I focused on Lysander, trying to glean his emotional state.

I felt defiance.

Hmm, this is different.

His emotional wall built up again, blocking my read, not allowing me to see what was lying beneath. The hard, cold exterior I’d come to know was back. He returned to the Lysander he’d been before we’d had sex.

I gave him my most determined stare, trying to match the power in his eyes with my own.

You want me as I want you, I thought, calling up the desire I felt for him, willing him to feel the same. Lysander broke my stare. He yawned and stretched, completely unaffected by my attempt.

“You’re not off to a very good start, are you, Alyssa?” His tone mocked me.

What the hell? Why isn’t this working?

I again tried to call up my feelings and regain our connection.

I mounted him, pushing him down to the mattress, and stared down at his face. Again, I tried to will my feelings to him, but Lysander’s face was not placid, it was determined. He was fighting against my efforts, and I could see I was having no effect on him.

Am I doing something wrong? Why isn’t this working?

“Because I do not allow it.”

His eyes remained locked into mine, giving me the full force of his powerful stare. A gray haze rolled into my head and suddenly I felt stricken with unexplainable fear.

Lysander pushed me off him, and I flopped backwards on the bed. He rolled me onto my back and forced my hands above my head. Terror filled me, paralyzing me as he held me to the mattress. He straddled my torso and lowered his head to my face.

“Fight me,” he taunted, showing me his sharp fangs.

Lysander towered over me. His eyes glowed eerily. His face appeared twisted with rage.

“Do you think you’re strong enough now?” he growled. “Is this what you wanted?”

I couldn’t move. My heart raced, pounding in my chest. I gasped for air as he inched his evil face closer to mine. His teeth grazed my skin.

I shouted, “No!”

Lysander retreated, sitting next to me on the bed.

Still panic-stricken from his mental attack, I lay there trembling, wondering why he had done this.

He stroked my hair. “It’s all right, Alyssa, calm down. It was only a test.” His voice became soft and almost melodic. “You asked for this. Remember, it does not pay to be filled with hubris, for Nemesis is always close behind.”

The soothing effect of his voice helped ease me back into reality as the fuzziness left my head. I was able to think clearly again.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I groaned in frustration.

“It means don’t get a big head, or someone might pop it.”

“I thought I was ready. I guess I’m still too weak.”

“You are not weak because you couldn’t defend yourself against me,” Lysander said soothingly. “I have well over two thousand years of experience, and you’re still quite new to this.”

I was only slightly comforted by Lysander’s words. I still felt weak though. Sitting up, I looked at Lysander’s face. Gone was the frightening expression; he had returned to the beautiful Greek god I had found myself falling for.

“Why don’t we try to match you with someone a little closer to your age?” he suggested. “We can ask Jessie to assist us. She will be a better match for you.”

“Okay.”

He pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me. “You are not weak. Stubborn, yes, but not weak.”

Lysander left me alone to compose myself while he went to join the clan in the living room. I sat quietly in the darkness, struggling with my insecurities.

What if I’m unable to stop a young vampire, too? What if Lysander is wrong? What if pairing me with Jessie proves I really am weak?

I knew I couldn’t hide in the bedroom forever. I would have to face Lysander and the clan. In my arrogance, I had demanded this test, and now I would have to take it.

Slowly, I walked out into the living room. As usual, the house was already abuzz; the clan members were all early risers.

Lysander and Nicholas sat in the living room, deep in discussion. I joined them, giving Lysander a meek smile as I sat down.

“Nicholas, I need to test Alyssa’s defenses, but I’m afraid I am too much to handle for one so young.” Lysander winked at me. “Do you think Jessie might assist us?”

“If you can find her, ask her,” Nicholas responded, a hint of irritation in his voice.

“Find her?” I asked.

“She doesn’t stay with the clan much,” said Rozaline, entering the room. “Lately, she’s been a bit of a loner. Out at sunset and back before dawn most nights.”

Rozaline joined us on the couch, taking a seat next to her mate. “Since our last trip to California, she has become more and more reclusive. It’s a little troubling.”

“She is planning to leave us,” Nicholas added. “She seems to enjoy this city.”

“Why would she leave you?” I asked.

“We’ve seen it many times before,” said Rozaline. “The young ones tire of constant travel very quickly. Once we move to a city that they think they will like, they try to set down roots, asking us to leave just before we head out again.”

“We have no need to keep her if she wants to leave us,” said Nicholas.

“What he means is, we don’t force anyone to stay with us if they do not want to,” Rozaline added.

Nicholas gave Lysander a telling look. “Of course, if she is planning to stay here, she may ask to stay with you. That is, until she is settled.”

“We will discuss that if and when it comes up,” Lysander said sternly.

I doubted Lysander wanted to have a random vampire living in his home. It was one thing to bring in the clan as a group. But a young, single vampire looking to escape her family posed new problems, especially one who constantly disappeared without a word.

I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I didn’t trust Jessie. She wasn’t like the other clan members. I wondered why she was with them. She never wanted to do anything with them as a group.

“I still need some assistance with Alyssa’s training. What about Damon?” Lysander asked, bringing the conversation back on point.

Rozaline perked up. “I’m afraid Crystal took Damon out tonight. I would be happy to help. What do you need me to do?”

A small frown played across Lysander’s face. “I was hoping to match her with someone younger. She had a bit of a struggle with me.”

Embarrassment washed over me again. It felt like Lysander was broadcasting my weakness to the whole world. I lowered my head staring at the carpet, not wanting to face Nicholas or Rozaline.

Rozaline seemed to understand my embarrassment. “She is still very young, Lysander. You can’t expect her to defend against an ancient when she has only been recently turned.”

Rozaline moved, sitting next to me on the loveseat. She placed her arm over my slouching body. “You must learn to walk before you can run,” she whispered.

I sat up slowly, looking at Lysander and then at Rozaline. “Please, teach me,” I said, my voice wavering with a flood of nervousness.

Rozaline’s lips stretched into a smile, reaching all the way to her sparkling eyes. “The first thing you must know is that a vampire need only look at you to glean the information from your mind. To control it, however, a vampire must first have eye contact. The eyes are the window to the soul. Once inside, a vampire can make you feel whatever she wants.”

I nodded, turning my eyes back to the floor. I didn’t want another surprise attack.

“Good, Alyssa.” Rozaline chuckled. “That’s your first defense. Don’t give a vampire the opportunity to attack you. Unless you’re mentally prepared for an attack, avoid eye contact with strangers.”

Anxiety crept into my mind. I suddenly felt like everyone was watching me, hoping to see me fail. I gritted my teeth and kept my focus firmly on the carpet, not wanting to make any eye contact with the others in this room.

Don’t be afraid, Alyssa, Lysander whispered in my mind.

“Please, Alyssa, don’t be afraid. This is how you learn. We won’t mock you,” Rozaline said soothingly. She lightly rubbed my back. “Remember, we want you to learn.”

“Clear your mind, and close your eyes,” Lysander said. “Note the darkness, and focus on it. Think of that darkness surrounding you and your thoughts.”

I did as instructed, closing my eyes. Everything went dark. Following his instructions, I imagined the darkness as a thick curtain between us.

I hope I’m doing this right. I focused on blocking out Lysander and the others, keeping my thoughts shielded behind this dark curtain.

“Now, open your eyes,” Lysander said.

I did it and instantly the curtain faded. My mind opened as my eyes flooded with light.

I can’t do this.

“Keep your mind in the darkness, Alyssa. Don’t let a little light affect you,” Rozaline prompted.

I closed my eyes and focused again, again imagining the darkness like a thick curtain blocking Lysander and the others on the outside. Slowly, I opened my eyes, focusing hard on separating myself from the others. My mind was silent as I looked up to Lysander.

“Good,” he praised me.

I smiled, feeling accomplished. I took a deep, cleansing breath and tried to keep my mind blank.

“Now,” said Lysander. “The same principle applies to defending against a mental attack. You must put up a barrier and break eye contact immediately.”

Drew entered the room. “What’s going on?’ He questioned.

“Drew is younger than we are. Try him. I think he would be a good match.” Nicholas turned towards Drew. “Come here and help us, will you?”

Drew walked over with a puzzled look on his face.

“We’re teaching Alyssa to block her mind,” Nicholas continued.

“This should be fun,” said Drew. “What should I do?”

“Fear,” said Lysander.

“Or lust,” added Nicholas.

“Lust is a fun one to work with.” Drew gave me a small wink.

“No,” Lysander interrupted. My eyes flashed to his face. I saw the slight curl of his lip, revealing a bright, white fang, hinting his annoyance at Drew’s suggestion. “Fear will be fine. She should learn to defend against that first.”

Drew nodded at Lysander, and without a word, his friendly smile faded. Drew’s face wasn’t one I would associate with fear. He seemed a gentle giant, almost always carrying a smile; but at that moment, all that gentleness vanished. He stood rigid in front of me. His hands clasped behind his back. His mouth hardened into a grimace as his eyes narrowed, focusing on me.

“Look at me, Alyssa,” he commanded. His voice was harsh as he ordered me to look into his eyes.

I knew the second my eyes met his, I would feel that dizzying rush. My head would become fuzzy as it filled with terror. Lowering my head, I locked my vision on the grain of the carpet below my feet.

“Look at me,” he commanded again.

I shook my head. “No, I don’t want to.”

“You must try,” urged Rozaline. “This is how you learn.”

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I tried to focus on the darkness, the emptiness, the safety behind the imaginary barrier that would shield me from any outsider.

Slowly opening my eyes, I looked up. Drew’s face was hard. His smile twisted with the horror he wanted me to feel. His eyes pierced mine and forced me backward into the couch. I forgot about protecting my mind. My defenses dropped. The room spun. My mind suddenly felt clouded with irrational fear.

I gasped for air as he inched closer to me.

“Fight him,” Rozaline said. “Block him out. Look away.” She sounded as if she spoke from a great distance, even though she sat next to me.

I couldn’t turn my head. I couldn’t focus on anything else in the room. I couldn’t take my eyes off his.

Drew’s stare pierced into my soul.

Part of me knew I should fight, the same part that heard Rozaline pleading with me to look away, but I was powerless.

My body remained frozen in place as Drew continued to draw closer, bringing himself down to my level. My eyes remained locked in his frightening stare, as the echoes of pleading from Rozaline slowly faded into silence.

A hand waved in front of my face. The cloudiness in my mind faded. The room stopped spinning and I saw Drew on his knees in front of me.

“Are you all right, Alyssa?” he asked. Gone was the harshness. Just as with Lysander, as soon as it was over, he returned back to his friendly and kind appearance.

I breathed a sigh of relief at being released from his frightening gaze.

I nodded, trying to find the strength to answer.

“I’m sorry, I know this is hard,” Drew said. “If it’s any consolation, Crystal still keeps me under her power.” He winked and gave a little chuckle.

I smiled.

“No one gets it the first time, hon,” Rozaline comforted me.

Technically, that would be the second time tonight.

I sat up, breathing slowly, trying to regain composure.

“I want to try it again,” I said weakly. “I need to get this right.”

I was determined not to fail. I didn’t want to be weak and vulnerable. If the others could do it, I would learn to do it as well.

“Give yourself a few moments rest, Alyssa,” said Lysander.

“No! I want to do it again,” I demanded, regaining my will.

“So stubborn,” Lysander sighed, shaking his head.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes again and called on the dark emptiness to shield me.

“Are you sure you’re ready, Alyssa?” Drew asked, a note of concern in his voice.

I sucked in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Okay.” Drew shrugged his shoulders. “You know you don’t get points for determination, right?”

“I have to try.”

I met Drew’s cold stare. His face had regained the horrifying twisted smile. I fought the dizziness as the clouds rolled into my mind. My body pushed back into the couch again as my heart raced in my chest.

Blink, I thought. Blink, break eye contact.

My vision fluttered for a moment. Flashes of black and white light passed before my eyes

“She’s fighting,” I heard Rozaline’s distant voice say.

Drew’s eyes bored further into my head. My mind became foggy. Flashes of darkness and light, as my eyes opened and shut, floated into my consciousness, but I couldn’t break the connection. My head ached as I fought to keep blinking.

“That is enough for now,” Lysander said.

I felt a comforting arm around me. The hazy feeling receded.

Rozaline hugged me. “You’re off to a good start, dear. Please remember, it takes time to master this skill.”

“You’re doing pretty well,” Drew said. “But let’s try not to burn your brain out in one night. Remember, I’ve got a few hundred years on you. The fact that you were able to blink is an achievement. Give it a rest now.”

I accepted the small victory, not wanting to attempt another round. Trying to stop the mental advance of one who was many hundreds of years my senior had taken all my energy.

“We will work on this more later, Alyssa,” Lysander said. Together, his voice whispered in my head. “Let that be enough testing for one night.”

Will I ever be able to hear your mind? I asked in my mind, hoping Lysander would hear me.

Yes, but it takes a long while to develop your skills. We will work together on this, he whispered mentally.

“Yeah, my head is aching. I’d like to go hunt now. Thank you all for your help.” My head pounded and the pangs of hunger nagged at me. It was best I headed out to hunt.

Lysander decided to join me, giving us a chance to have some quality time together.

Chapter 19

THE PEREGRINUS WERE preparing to leave, claiming they’d spent too much time visiting. As the saying goes, all good things must come to an end.

Though I cared for Lysander, I wasn’t ready for him to be my sole companion. Having the clan around made me feel like I was part of a large family. That was something I’d never really experienced before. My human family had never been close.

The call of the open road and the unknown was irresistible to them. The Peregrinus were always on the move, never settling in one place for too long.

I pleaded with Rozaline to stay just a few more days.

“I’m sorry, Alyssa,” she said. “The clan grows restless when we stay in one place for too long. We will be back again, I promise.”

“But it’s only been a couple of weeks. Why travel so soon anyway? It’s not like you’re heading home.”

“We only meant to stopover for a couple of days. I’m flattered you want us to stay, and we will miss you, but the open road is our home and we must be on our way.”

“How can the road be anyone’s home?” I asked stubbornly.

“I wish there were a good way to explain this to you, Alyssa. It is hard to appreciate, but traveling is what keeps us going. Life cannot stagnate if you are always on the move.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re quite young still, and do not yet know the weight of the years,” said Rozaline. “We travel to keep moving with time, and experience all the changes of the world. Eternity is a very long time. How long will it be before you too tire of just existing, before you bore yourself with the daily grind of hunting and sleeping in this city?”

I had never given thought to eternity and how long it was. Immortality was still a vague concept to me. If that was the case, why didn’t Lysander travel like the Peregrinus?

“Alyssa, every immortal must find their own way in this world. Ours is the way of the road. You’ll find yours in time.”

I wondered if I would ever get used to having my mind read so easily. It took so much energy to close my thoughts. I didn’t bother at most times.

Rozaline’s words didn’t make sense to me. I didn’t understand how the years had weight.

“The first couple hundred years might slip by before you realize the full weight of eternity, Alyssa. Life can get boring very quickly if you do not take opportunities to experience all you can. Boredom has led to the suicide of many an immortal. They lose the spark of life that keeps us going.”

I remembered Lysander’s history lesson. He too talked of once wanting to end it all, to give in to eternal sleep. It seemed writing was what kept him alive, just as travel kept the Peregrinus going.

“The world is constantly changing,” Rozaline added. “Through our travels, we get to watch those changes unfold.”

I knew there was nothing I could do to convince them to stay any longer. I retreated to the loveseat in the living room. Depression washed through me. I wasn’t ready for them to leave, and a small part of me wanted to go with them. I’d hardly gotten over the loss of my mortal friends. The Peregrinus had kept me busy, teaching me and training me, leaving me no time to dwell on the things and people I’d lost. Now that they too would be going, I would have no distractions to prevent me from dwelling on my losses.

Ten o’clock came and I heard the familiar Action News theme music playing on the TV. News anchors began teasing the top stories of the night. Nicholas walked into the room and took his usual spot on the couch.

He had a fascination with the news, and since the arrival of the Peregrinus, the news was everywhere in our house. Papers were strewn about the living room: small press journals, large city newspapers, and sometimes even a tabloid or two could be found stuffed into the couch cushion. I was tired of hearing random stories of murders, car accidents, stock market reports, and the housing boom, so I paid no real attention.

I sat back on the loveseat, daydreaming about traveling and seeing new places with the clan.

I wonder if I could convince Lysander to travel, for a vacation or something small, just something to get us out to see some new sights. We could easily make it to the beach in his SUV.

Something was said that caught Nicholas’s attention. I saw him quickly grab the TV remote. He upped the volume, drowning out the sounds of the rest of the house. The Authoritative voice of the female news reporter stole my focus from daydreaming.

“…will be welcoming these visitors as they tour local parishes in the city. Quentin Kagan, a spokesperson from the Vatican, has been working with local parishes to...”

“They’re here,” Nicholas growled.

Lysander came into the room with a concerned look on his face. “Who’s here?”

“The Saints,” Nicholas growled again, as he threw down the remote control.

I sank into the loveseat. Fears of the Saints breaking in through the windows, exposing us to daylight, filled my mind.

“Are we sure it is the Saints, the real Acta Sanctorum—not just a bishop or a cardinal here for some feast day or church opening?” Lysander asked, a note of concern in his voice.

“They said Quentin Kagan. He’s Santino’s handler. It wouldn’t matter if they hadn’t said his name. Think about it, Lysander. Why would Rome choose to send any visitors from the Vatican to Vegas? Sin City has never before deserved their attention. Why now?”

Drew entered the room. “Did I just hear you say the Saints are here?”

“How many times am I going to have to repeat myself? Yes, they’re here,” Nicholas replied. “You can thank Kallisto for that. She’s drawn too much attention to that coven of hers.”

“If you’re right,” Rozaline said, “we must be extra careful not to make the same mistake ourselves.”

“No! What we need to do is leave. Now,” Nicholas said.

My heart sped up, beating frantically against my chest. I agreed with Nicholas. I wanted to get the hell out of this city, now. I didn’t want to end up a victim of the Acta Sanctorum.

Lysander took a spot next to me on the loveseat, placing his hand on my knee, a gesture I assumed was meant to comfort me. “Let’s not jump to conclusions too quickly—”

Nicholas interrupted. “Do you want to take a risk that I’m wrong? You want to be a sitting duck when they attack?”

“If they are here, they are here for Kallisto,” Lysander said calmly. “And that takes care of any problems I’ve had with her.”

“Lysander, you know it is not wise to be in the city when they are actively hunting,” Rozaline protested. “Any suspicious activity will come under great scrutiny now.”

“If Kallisto knows of you, then the Saints will find you,” Nicholas said coldly.

“Nicholas is right,” Drew said with a heavy sigh. “Lysander, is it really worth waiting to see if they attack you?”

“You all make a strong argument,” Lysander said.

“Travel with us,” urged Rozaline. “It would do you good to get out of the city for a little while.”

“Can we go with them?” I pleaded. I wanted nothing to do with the Saints. If they were here, I wanted to be far away. I was sold on the idea of travel before Lysander had even begun to think about it. The Saints threat was a perfect excuse to get Lysander to go.

“Lysander, you know you must go with us,” Rozaline urged.

“There is no use risking yourself and Alyssa,” Nicholas added.

“We can make room for you in our vehicle,” Drew said.

Lysander nodded slowly. “You are right, for the safety of all, it is best we leave. At least until this threat is over.”

I breathed a sigh of relief.

I wanted to go immediately, but preparations had to be made before we left.

The clan was told to start packing as soon as they returned from their evening’s hunt. Crystal and Damon rushed to start packing the RV as soon as they arrived at the house, while I helped Lysander secure all of his prized books and writings. He couldn’t bear to be away from them and refused to leave them, in case the house was attacked.

While packing them into a box, I noticed the book that Lysander had recently been writing in.

I opened it, scanning the pages and admiring the various sketches. I saw drawings of vampires I recognized. Members of the Peregrinus had pages dedicated to them. I smiled, finding pages for Nicholas, Rozaline, Crystal, and Drew.

As I flipped further into the book, I noticed a frightening sketch of a grizzled older man. Surrounded by a lion’s mane of salt-and-pepper hair, his face was ugly and horribly scarred. The man seemed to stare me down from the page as if he would jump out and grab me. There was a note written under the picture.

Santino Vitale. First among the Holy Damned.

Lysander walked into the room as I stared at the sketch. “Ah, I see you found the Saint.”

“Who is he?” I asked.

He jabbed his finger at the picture. “He is the reason the Acta Sanctorum has become so powerful.”

“One man? How does one man strike so much fear into the hearts of immortals?”

“Do you remember Rozaline mentioning that Rome wanted to fight us on our own level?”

I nodded.

“He is how they did it. He is the first Acta Sanctorum hunter. A vampire like us, and a cold-blooded killer.”

“But why does he kill his own kind? How did the Acta Sanctorum convince a vampire to turn on his own kind?”

“They own him. He’s their attack dog. They granted him his immortality.”

That didn’t make any sense. “How did the Church give him immortality?”

Lysander stared at the ceiling for a moment, as if trying to recall a memory.

“I’m not quite sure of all the details, but I’ve been told the Acta Sanctorum had been mildly successful in taking on small covens. But they struggled to find new ways to eradicate our kind. The casualties of fighting a war with immortal creatures, the Unnatural as they called us, left their ranks depleted of willing soldiers. They decided to try to level the playing field.”

Lysander took the book away from me; he stared at the picture for a moment before turning the page. “No one knows his mortal name. He’s been Santino since he first appeared with the Acta Sanctorum. What I do know of his mortal life is that he was a mercenary, and quite an accomplished killer. He loved war and fighting. It didn’t matter who he fought as long as the price was right. Eventually, as happens to all mortals, he aged. He lost his strength and ability to fight. Illness took hold of him. His time drew to an end, as it does with all men. Legend says that at his last rites, a priest made him an offer: a cure for his illness and age.”

“Immortality,” I gasped the words.

“Yes. In exchange for his service as a soldier of the Acta Sanctorum, they would make him immortal.”

“But how is that possible? You turned me by feeding me your blood.”

“Somehow, they managed to entomb a vampire. No one knows how they did it. Maybe they killed the vampire and drained him, or they convinced the poor vampire to do it willingly. However it happened, Santino was turned and dubbed their new immortal soldier. He heads up the team of hunters that has raided covens all across Europe.”

“Teams? There are more than one?” My mouth hung open at this fresh disturbing news. A shiver danced down my spine. I dropped the book into the box next to me.

“Careful with that book,” Lysander snapped. “I don’t know how many are out there. I’ve been told he has sired at least two others in the last hundred years, but there could be many more.”

I shuddered. I now had a face to put to my nightmares of the Saints.

Lysander put his hand on my shoulder. “They are ruthless killers and expert hunters. When the main force of the Acta Sanctorum raids a coven house, he and his disciples wait and hunt down those that try to escape.”

“So the Acta Sanctorum controls him?” I asked. “There is no reasoning with him?”

“They have him so brainwashed that he will do anything they ask of him,” Lysander said scornfully. “He thinks he will be granted pardon for all his earthly sins once he destroys the last of our kind. They have told him that when it is over, he will be welcomed into Heaven.”

“Doesn’t he see that he is one of us? That he is our kind and is no better than we are?”

Lysander shook his head and sighed. “He doesn’t associate himself with us. To him, we are all monsters to be put down, and he is working God’s will by destroying us.”

“Won’t the Church just destroy him when they are all done?”

“Of course.” Lysander laughed. “But he won’t listen to that blasphemy. He will not listen to reason. He only listens to the Acta Sanctorum and its leaders in Rome.”

“You sound like you have dealt with him before.”

Lysander’s face contorted into a grimace. “I’ve escaped him on a few occasions, yes. He’s grown quite strong, feeding off the blood of other immortals. He is quite a force to be reckoned with. If Nicholas is correct and he knows of my home or learns of it through his dealing with Kallisto, we will not be safe. The Acta Sanctorum will attack by day, and those that survive will be hunted down by nightfall.”

“So shouldn’t we leave now?” I asked, tossing a few more things into the box.

“My guess is they will go after the main coven first. That is the big target. We should have a few days before they attack the smaller locations. But, to be safe, we will leave at dusk tomorrow. Now, let’s finish getting packed.”

The urgency brought on by the threat of the Acta Sanctorum’s presence could be felt all over the house. We managed to pack everything we needed in only a few short hours, leaving no real time for me to hunt.

Hunger would be a problem. I needed blood more frequently than the older ones. Most of the clan had already gone out to hunt for the night, and those that had returned didn’t wish to risk another outing.

“Will you hunt with me tonight, Lysander?” I asked sweetly. I wanted him to go with me. The new threat of the Saints made me feel like enemies were all around.

He and Nicholas were busy planning a safe spot to retreat to. He barely took his eyes away from the map on the dining room table. “Please try to find someone else to go with you tonight.”

“Everyone has already gone for the night,” I whined.

“I’m sorry, Alyssa,” he said. “There is still much to do.”

I sat sulking out on the front porch when Jessie arrived. She’d been away most of this evening, as usual, and seemed unaware of the situation with the Acta Sanctorum. She was my last hope for a hunting partner.

Thankfully, and much to my surprise, she jumped at the idea of going out again. She smiled and eagerly offered to take me out. “I’ve got the perfect spot to take you, Lyss,” she said happily. “You’re going to die when you see this place.”

Chapter 20

WE DROVE LYSANDER’S Jeep toward Downtown. Jessie seemed excited about our hunt, but refused to tell me exactly where we were going, saying only that it would be “unforgettable.”

I mentioned the threat of the Acta Sanctorum, and she didn’t seem to be concerned at all, unlike the rest of the coven.

“I’ve heard the bedtime stories,” she scoffed. “It’s just a way to get us to keep a low profile. I haven’t seen or heard of one coven they’ve destroyed since I was turned.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, believe them or not, we’re all getting out of here.” Shaking my head, I turned to look out of the window.

“Good,” she snapped. “The Peregrinus can leave. I’m not going anywhere.”

“What? Are you stupid?”

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I’m sick of travel. I’m sick of the road. I’m sick of wasting my immortality. We never stick around long enough to enjoy the places we stay. If the Peregrinus are gone tomorrow, that’s fine with me. I don’t want to be with them anymore.”

“But the Saints. Where will you stay?”

“Don’t worry about me, Lyss. I’ve got everything all figured out.” Her voice picked up a menacing tone. An odd feeling came over me. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but I knew something was wrong.

“Do whatever you want, Jessie. Just remember to stay safe.”

I returned to looking out of the window. Either Jessie had a death wish, or she really didn’t believe in the Saints. In any case, nothing I told her was going to make any difference. She had her mind made up.

We arrived at a group of residential towers. Three huge white towers stood tall against the sky. I knew each one held beautiful and lavish condo homes. High-rise condos were the new trend in Vegas. A fenced-off area separated these gleaming white buildings from a partially built one on the same property.  As we entered the main gate, a guard greeted Jessie by name.

“Wow, they know you here?” Rule number one was to keep a low profile. This was a bad sign.

“Uh…yeah,” she stammered. “I’ve been coming to some parties here.”

The thought of parties reminded me of Erick and the night at the club. I wondered if she was tossing bodies in the construction site next door.

Jessie drove past the guard, heading towards the parking garage. “There are plenty of anonymous strangers and enough alcohol to keep people from remembering what happens to them,” she said arrogantly. “Just don’t kill them.”

Party or no party, I still found it odd that we would be hunting inside a residential high-rise tower. This went against everything Lysander had tried to teach me about lying low and not drawing attention to myself.

Maybe it was a good thing she didn’t plan on staying with the clan.

Jessie led the way inside and we soon reached the elevators. She pressed the topmost button, sending us to the penthouse floor.

Intuition nagged at me. This situation was fishy. Something was up. I tried to think of an excuse to back out of this. I’d rather starve than risk exposure.

“Trust me, Lyss, this is going to be great.” There was a mocking note in her voice. I felt anticipation rising inside of her.

Panic took me. I had a sudden realization. Rozaline had spoken of Kallisto’s coven in association with a high-rise tower on the north end of the Strip.

We reached the top and the elevator dinged, announcing our arrival. A large man with stunning blue-gray eyes greeted us. I knew before he said anything. I had been betrayed. Jessie had led me right to Kallisto.

“Here she is!” Jessie exclaimed.

“Wonderful.” The large man motioned for me to exit the elevator. “This way, please.”

My stomach sank. My heart thundered in my chest. I frantically scanned the area, searching for some way to escape.

The large vampire grabbed my arm to escort me. His fingers bit into my skin as he jerked me toward him. I looked over my shoulder to see the doors of the elevator close, sealing my fate.

We headed to the main entrance of Kallisto’s penthouse. I tried to gulp down my anxiety. Two blonde women greeted us in the foyer. They escorted Jessie down a long hallway. She smiled and waved as she left me.

The large vampire led me into a large, dimly-lit room. I was momentarily shocked by the opulence of this coven house. Kallisto’s coven was as lavish as I had imagined it.

Beautifully dressed men and woman sat atop couches and chaise lounges randomly situated throughout the room. Columns held up the high ceiling and provided small breaks in the large space. The walls were decorated with large paintings that would have been appropriate in a museum. Upbeat music played in the background, and men and women chatted amongst themselves, engrossed in different conversations.

I paused for a moment, taking in my surroundings while trying to find an escape point.

A marble-framed fireplace had been built into the far left side wall; its gas-fed flames cast dancing shadows across the room.

A small, unused modern kitchen took up a corner of the large space. Small or not, it was still larger than what I’d had in my apartment. Sandy-colored granite-topped counters and shiny stainless steel appliances added to the rich feel of it. I understood why some preferred the life of a large coven. It certainly had some perks.

I tried to gulp down my fear as my escort pushed me forward. There had to be a way out of here.

Chatter amongst the men and women stopped briefly as I walked by.

A large but simple patio comprised of a slab of concrete and a half-wall was clearly visible through two glass French doors.

Could I get away through there? Maybe the balconies are close enough to jump to the next one. What would happen if I tried to jump to the ground?

My escort pushed me toward the open patio doors. I felt eyes watching me as I was led outside toward two figures standing by the wall.

Edmond was one of them. Even with his back to me, I recognized his dark, neatly tied ponytail. Dressed in another ultra-modern white suit, he stood next to a dark-haired woman.

Tall and slender, with long black hair that fell halfway down her back, she was elegantly dressed in a black, floor-length, sleeveless sheath dress. They turned to greet us, and I was in awe of her beauty. Her oval face was gorgeous; she had a slender nose and stunning blue-gray eyes surrounded by thick, dark lashes and shaded by perfectly arched eyebrows. Her hair fell like a cloak around her back and shoulders, and as she turned to greet me, I caught a glimpse of fangs peeking out from behind full, pouty lips.

Edmond looked at me contemptuously. “It would appear your plan has worked, mis—”

“Silence, Edmond,” Kallisto snapped. “Let me greet our guest.”

Edmond let out an impatient sigh.

“This must be the beautiful, Alyssa.” Her voice was thick, deep, and seductive. It carried an accent that I couldn’t quite identify. There was aged quality to her voice that seemed odd in contrast with her youthful appearance.

“Welcome to my home, child.” She opened her arms to receive me in a welcoming embrace.

I didn’t move. I tried to gulp down the fear that threatened to paralyze me. How do I respond to this?

A moment passed; she lowered her arms and narrowed her eyes, giving me a disapproving look. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the gentleman who had brought me to her, and signaled for him to close the patio doors behind him.

“You are bold, little one, but I will allow you this one little indiscretion. You have not been properly taught respect.”

I can’t believe I am here standing in front of her. Why did I leave the house? Why did I follow Jessie here?

Kallisto continued. “I am your queen, and you will soon learn to treat me with the respect I deserve. I am the reason you stand here before me today. I am Kallisto.”

No introduction needed, lady. I know exactly who you are. I’m so screwed! Lysander’s been trying so hard to keep me away from her, and I had to go walking right into her lair. God, I am so dumb. “My apologies, Kallisto.” I lowered my head and eyes in a standing bow.

I felt Edmond’s eyes on me, sizing me up as he had the first night we met in the parking garage.

Wonder what happened to Jessie.

Kallisto smiled widely again, showing her teeth behind those big, pouty lips. “Do not worry about Jessie. She is receiving her… reward for delivering you to us. You will see her soon enough.”

Shit, she’s reading my mind. Okay, empty thoughts.

Kallisto motioned for me to come closer to her. “You’re a special case, my child. You were brought into this completely unaware of the rules and laws of our kind. It is so sad that a beauty like yourself is an illegitimate child.”

She reached out and slowly stroked my hair; twisting a few strands between her fingers, then frowned as if I had not passed her silent test.

“We generally do not tolerate bastards,” she said coldly. “Could you imagine what the world would be like if we decided to fill it with our kind?”

I didn’t know how to respond. I entertained the idea of jumping from the balcony. I wanted to get away, far away.

Kallisto continued before I could think of a decent response. “There must be order, and children should be carefully chosen. Not everyone is worthy of immortality.”

Was she informing me of my death sentence, or offering me some kind of second chance?

I thought of Lysander, and wondered if this was what had happened to all of his other children. I looked over the edge of the wall, down at the city below. I saw the Las Vegas Hilton and its huge sign. Behind it was the east side of the Las Vegas valley, a beautiful sea of lights.

Would I survive the fall if I jumped?

Kallisto cackled behind me. “Do you think jumping would save you?”

I shook my head and let out a defeated sigh. “What do you plan to do with me?” My voice cracked as I spoke, giving away my nervousness.

“Your fate will be decided soon, my dear. Before that can happen, we must bring your maker to justice. Your assistance in this matter will sway the final decision.”

My stomach sank. She couldn’t expect me to go against Lysander or my friends.

I looked at Edmond, who remained silent. His eyes had not left me, nor did he flinch as I looked him in the face. Our eyes met, and again I felt an odd sensation, as if he was searching me. I remembered what Rozaline told me and quickly broke eye contact, returning my focus back to Kallisto.

“What would you have me do?” Maybe I can stall for time. I’ve got to do something.

“Nothing yet, my dear. I want you to meet your new family first. See the life you could have, if you’re obedient. Lysander’s time will come soon enough.”

Kallisto held out her arms, signaling me to come closer and embrace her, renewing the offer she had made the moment she met me. I responded this time, placing my arms around her and leaning my head into her chest. I cringed as she patted me on the head and stroked my long hair.“I think you will do well, my child; but now, let us dress you and present you properly to your new family. There will be plenty of time to deal with your maker.”

She released me and waved at the glass doors. Immediately they opened, and a handsome man came out and bowed low to Kallisto.

“Take Alyssa; prepare her and see to her initiation. Return her to me when you’re finished.”

Kallisto pushed me toward the man now getting up from his bow. He was gorgeous. It seemed all the members of Kallisto’s coven were chosen for their beauty. Men and woman alike were all prime specimens of humanity before they were turned. This man was definitely no exception to the rule. He had broad, muscular shoulders, a strong jaw line, and gorgeous waves of sandy blond hair dusting the tops of his eyebrows. He offered his arm to me and introduced himself as Collin. Then he guided me back through the living room and into a large bathroom.

Just like the living room, the bathroom was cavernous. Almost every surface from the floor to the countertops was marble. A large tub with jets sat in the left corner. Next to it stood a steam shower with benches built for two. The opposite wall was entirely devoted to vanity and sink space with large, decorative light fixtures. At the far corner was a water closet and another entrance to the bath. At the center of the floor was a beautiful teak bench, running almost the entire length of the room.

“I would be honored to bathe you now, miss,” Collin said with a wide grin.

I blushed at the thought of this handsome—but strange—man bathing me.

“Umm...” I struggled with what to say. “Okay, I guess.” This was odd.

Collin guided me to the teak bench. He knelt down and reached for the button of my pants.

“Whoa, whoa, I can do that.” I batted at his hands.

“Please, miss.” He looked at me with questioning eyes. “It is my honor to attend to you tonight.”

“Really…um…I don’t need all of this attention.” I stood there half in shock, but a little intrigued.

“All new children must be prepared before we turn them. I know you have already been changed, but Kallisto wants me to treat you as if you were still human. You will be initiated, just as we would any other mortal.”

Initiated, huh? I smiled, removing my hands from my pants, and allowed Collin to undress me. He caressed my legs as he pulled the pants down, sending a shiver up my spine.

As he moved back up, his hands slid under my shirt, tickling my skin with soft fingers. Goose-flesh erupted all over my body. He smiled seductively and pulled the shirt over my head.

I felt nervous and exposed. My hands instinctively moved to cover my breasts.

He turned around and drew a bath in the large tub.

Collin removed his shirt, revealing his well-defined abs and muscular chest. He turned to the side and caught me admiring his figure. He flexed his arms and chest while giving me a wicked smile.

Heat rose to my face. I bit my lip, accidentally drawing blood, and nervously looked away.

“We are all chosen for our beauty,” he said, his voice echoing off the marble-tiled walls. “You should not be shy for appreciating it. You, too, are beautiful enough for our coven. I will take great pleasure in attending to you tonight.”

He removed his pants and underwear, revealing a well-groomed patch of curly hair and his obvious arousal. He stood for a moment, giving me an eyeful of his endowments before tossing aside his garments and turning to test the water that had been filling in the tub.

He was quite a sight, a beautiful specimen of naked man. A wicked little smile crossed my lips.

He turned off the water and waved at me to enter the tub with him. He’d filled the hot water with wonderfully scented oils. I sat down and leaned my head back against the rim. The heat of the water stung my skin at first. It took a moment before I warmed to match the temperature.

The tub was large enough to accommodate three people easily. It had a triangular shape and three seats with jets. Collin got in after me and picked out a soap and sponge. The perfume from the oils was heavenly: a beautiful, clean fragrance that reminded me of ocean spray and sitting on the coast at night.

“Please, relax while I clean you,” he whispered, positioning himself at my knees.

“Yeah, relax. That’s easy for you to say. What exactly do you have planned for me?”

“Nothing more than you wish to happen, Alyssa.” His voice was soothing and hypnotic. He stared into my eyes and for a moment I felt that familiar dizzy sensation.

It took all the concentration I had to shut my eyes before he could take control of my mind.

I heard an impatient sigh from Collin; then I felt the sponge drizzling water down my neck and chest. He rubbed lightly on my breasts, tickling the nipples as he worked the sponge in circular motions. Slowly, he worked his way down to my navel and below. Arousal melted my thoughts as he brought the sponge between my legs. But Collin wasn’t the object of my desire. I wished he were here with me right now.

My lips parted as I let out a peaceful sigh. The smooth pillows of Collin’s lips pressed gently against mine. It startled me and I jerked my head to the side.

“Sorry, no, I-I-I can’t…” I stammered.

“Perhaps another time, then.” I heard disappointment in his voice, but he didn’t stop washing me. He continued to glide the sponge over my body, meticulously cleaning every spot from my face down to my toes before leaving me to soak in a wonderful state of calm and enjoyment of the warm, perfumed water.

When I had soaked for long enough, Collin returned. He wrapped me in a long, fluffy white towel and guided me back into a long hallway filled with doors. I heard low moaning coming from behind one of the closed doors and wondered if it was Jessie. I cursed her name.

I bet she’s in there screwing some beautiful man as a reward for bringing me in.

Collin guided me slowly to the last door, pushing it open with his free hand. Inside were racks of clothes lining the walls; a row of four vanity mirrors stood in the center of the room.

“This is our closet, Alyssa.”

My eyes widened in awe of all of the beautiful clothing hanging all around me. Collin disappeared momentarily, allowing me to take in all the treasures of the room.

Kallisto’s coven had one thing going for them.

Upon his return, I was given a basic black silk kimono robe with a red sash to wear, a disappointment after viewing all of the beautiful clothes around me.

“You will have plenty of time for these things later,” Collin said, noting my disappointment.

“Why is she making me a member of the coven?” I asked.

“Do you not wish to join us?”

“I…uh...yeah, I do. I just don’t understand why she is so willing to accept me.”

I focused my thoughts, trying to block out my mind so he would not be able to read me.

“I have already told you, Alyssa, you’re considered beautiful enough to join our ranks. You should feel special.”

Hopefully, my mental block was working. I decided not to press the issue further. There was no use questioning Collin; he was just a servant to Kallisto, and I wasn’t going to get any real answers out of him.

“Thanks,” I said. I smiled and let him help me into the robe. He clipped my hair above my neck and ushered me out into the hallway again. I felt more naked in the robe than I had being led down the hallway in the towel.

“The rest of the coven has been gathered in the great room. Are you ready to be initiated?” he said with a hint of excitement in his voice.

“Sure,” I said weakly. Were they really going to do the whole turning thing again?

“Just relax, and it will be over soon. You already went through the tough part when you were turned,” he said.

What else were they going to do?

“When we are done, you will be brought before Kallisto for an inspection.”

“Okay.” I sighed. Great.

Collin guided me to the open living space. Couches and chaise lounges were now filled with members of the coven waiting to begin the initiation process. I felt all of their eyes watching me. Collin brought me to the center of the room and told me to sit on an ottoman placed in front of the waiting crowd.

He placed his hands on my shoulders as he stood behind me.

“My brothers and sisters, welcome. I present to you Alyssa, who will be initiated into our order.” Collin’s voice echoed in the silent room.

I felt a mix of anticipation and excitement from the members of the coven as they stared at me.

“We will re-baptize her in our blood and wash away the foul stench of mortality. May the gods of old grant her transcendence above the mortals she once called brothers.”

He placed his hand on the top of my head and gently leaned it to the left as he bent down and bit into my neck. His teeth felt rough as they pierced my skin. Weakness settled into my limbs as Collin quickly drained my blood. His mouth was like a vacuum on my neck. He cradled my head in his hands as I lost the ability to move it. I felt dizzy and heavy, losing all ability to hold myself upright. I slumped into Collin’s body.

My thoughts turned again to Lysander, remembering how it had been when he had turned me, the tranquility as he gently drained me. Collin wasn’t being so kind. My vision went dark, just as it had before.

Finally, he released me, letting my body rest against his.

A familiar tingle filled my mouth and instinctively I suckled at it, drawing it into me. Immediately, I felt the regenerating effects. I became aware of people queuing up behind me. The members of the coven were lining up to feed on me and share their blood with me.

The initiation went on for what felt like hours. Each member of the coven drained my blood, and before I was too weak to move, returned that blood back to me by allowing me to feed on his or her blood.

* * *

WHEN THEY HAD all finished with me, I was left lying on the cold marble floor. My head was spinning from all the powerful blood I had been allowed to drink. I was paralyzed in a euphoric state. I could feel sensations all around me. Emotions swam in my head: excitement, fear, lust.

I felt powerful and out of control.

Collin remained by my side as I lay sprawled on the floor. I tried to lift my head, but my disorientation caused it to come crashing down with a painful thud.

“You have done well, Alyssa,” he said cheerfully. “Try not to move yet. It might take a few moments for you to regain control.”

He lifted my arms and slipped something silky down my skin. Chancing another painful head slam, I moved to see what he was doing.

He slipped my arm through one sleeve of the robe; gently pulling me up, he grabbed my other arm.

How the hell did I lose my robe?

My head slowly cleared as Collin helped me fix my robe and hair again.

When I was finally able to get up, he guided me beyond the main common room to a den behind the kitchen. Kallisto had created a private throne room there; she sat at the end of the room upon a very tall, cushy, white chair. Edmond stood just behind her, his left arm resting at the top of the high-backed chair.

Collin presented me and bowed low to Kallisto, motioning for me to do the same. I lowered my head and my eyes, looking at the floor.

“Alyssa. Please come join me, my dear.”

I obeyed and walked to Kallisto’s fancy chair.

“How do you like my coven?” she asked.

“It is…nice, Kallisto.”

“From now on, you will address me as mistress.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“M-is-tress.” Wow, really? She wants me to call her mistress now?

“My coven is just nice, is it? It doesn’t sound to me like you really appreciate all that I can offer you. Perhaps I don’t need to keep you around, then.”

Play nice. Lay it on thick. “Oh, no, mistress, it is beyond words. I’m just tongue tied. It is so…wonderful here.” I hope she’s buying this.

I could tell by the scowling look on her face that she wasn’t impressed. I wasn’t sure I was capable of blocking my mind well enough to keep her out of my true thoughts.

“I think I must impress upon you the gravity of this situation. We do not tolerate bastards. You’re being given a special opportunity.” She waved a hand at her guard, and a moment later, three people came into the room. I recognized one immediately. Jessie! She appeared to have been beaten quite terribly. Her eyes were puffy and splatters of blood covered her clothes. She wasn’t standing on her own. She hung limply from the arms of her escort, barely conscious. The other two people, a pair of blond women who must have been twins, dropped her onto the ground at Kallisto’s feet.

“This little one here is a bastard.” Kallisto sneered and pointed a perfectly manicured red nail at Jessie. “She was not born of this coven. She was given the chance to join us, as you were, but she did not prove herself worthy. Be warned, Alyssa, my tolerance is very thin.”

“You said I could join you,” Jessie gurgled, crawling to Kallisto’s feet, “if I did what you asked. I brought her to you.”

Jessie’s pleas fell on deaf ears. Kallisto kicked hard, knocking Jessie backward onto the floor.

“Take her back to his house and drop her on the doorstep,” Kallisto commanded.

“No!” Jessie screamed. “I did what you asked. Please, no!”

“If you had done what I had asked, you would have brought them both here. Now, go, and don’t forget to tell Lysander where his precious little Alyssa is. We will be waiting for him and his little band of misfits.”

With another wave of Kallisto’s hand, the two women picked up Jessie, turned, and carried her out of the room. Jessie’s cries echoed through the penthouse as they left.

“You see, it’s best to stay in my good graces.” Her voice softened. “Now, you’re almost done with your initiation, my child.” Kallisto’s words sent chills down my spine. “I only have one request of you, and I will grant you pardon from your maker’s crime. Then you can become a full member of my coven.”

She stared into my eyes. I felt her peering into my soul as she spoke to me. I tried to remain calm, clearing my mind. I knew Kallisto could read whatever I was thinking, even if I tried to block her out. I had to keep my mind clear. Still, I wondered what else she had in store for me and for Lysander.

“What is your request, Kallisto—I mean, Mistress?” I asked timidly.

“When Lysander comes to claim you with his little band of wanderers, we will destroy them. I want your help with this. Do I have your allegiance?”

My heart sank as I imagined watching Lysander and the others being put to death.

I hoped Jessie’s message would not get to them and they would assume I was dead. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing any of them die.

Kallisto wasn’t happy with my lack of response. An angry scowl wrinkled her perfect mouth. She didn’t tolerate insubordination.

“You will do this, Alyssa, or you will die. I have no use for you otherwise, and it will mean nothing to destroy you. Do not take my generosity lightly. I offer you life or death. You decide.”

Kallisto’s face told me she would require an answer soon or she would kill me herself.

“Why?”

An evil, toothy grin crossed Kallisto’s face. She looked like a madwoman.

“Lysander will suffer for his sins against me. What better way to suffer than to have the things you love stolen away from you and turned against you? What better insult than to be destroyed by the thing you create? There is no victory for me in simply destroying him like a dog. He needs to suffer as he dies, and he will—as you will be the one to kill him.”

I couldn’t speak. A tear streamed down my face as Kallisto cackled madly.

I can’t kill Lysander. I won’t!

Kallisto knew this and was punishing us both, enjoying the mental anguish I was going through.

She waved me off, sending me out of her sight. “Your test will come. Perhaps you need time to think on what you will do. Remember, Alyssa, life or death.”

Collin escorted me back down the long hallway, opening up a door just after the bath. This was a closet-sized room in comparison to the other rooms in the house. There was a simple, twin-sized bed and a table with a lamp. A small, square window offered a view outside.

“You will sleep here today,” Collin told me as he pushed me inside. “I will be back to get you in the evening.” He quickly locked the door behind me.

Chapter 21

A SLIVER OF pink edged the horizon. My eyes were wide as I stared out of the small window.

Dawn was approaching.

A wave of fear struck me. There were no coverings on this window. There was no place to hide in this tiny closet of a room. The sun would be up soon. I had not yet experienced sunlight on my newly immortal skin, but I’d been well warned that burns would occur rather quickly.

How long can I stand to be in direct light? Can I cover myself with sheets? How badly am I going to burn? This is some cruel joke. Kallisto must have planned this. She’s probably sitting right outside of this door, waiting to hear my screams.

Just as the thoughts entered my mind, a buzzing noise sounded in the room and shutters descended slowly from the ceiling.

I breathed a sigh of relief as they covered the window, completely blocking out the early rays of morning light. The only light left in the room was the fluorescent glow of the bedside lamp.

My clothes had been left in a pile on the floor. I changed out of my robe before collapsing on the bed.

The tiny room that was my prison did indeed remind me of a cell. No pictures, no fancy furnishings like the rest of the penthouse; just the bed, nightstand, and lamp. I cursed myself for being so stupid.

I shouldn’t be here. Intuition told me something was wrong with Jessie, but I blindly followed her as she led me straight into the hands of Kallisto. I wonder if Jessie delivered her message.

I knew Lysander would be horrified to know what happened, and I had no doubts Jessie would be destroyed after her message was delivered.

Would Lysander do it himself? Would he rip her limb from limb, or bleed her dry? Would the Peregrinus try to stop him?

I bit my lip, hoping the pain might help hold back the emotions threatening to explode within me; anger, fear, sadness, and regret all came rushing to the surface.

How long will Kallisto keep me here? There has to be some way to escape. I can’t—I won’t—harm Lysander. She has to know this.

I remembered the look of agony in Lysander’s eyes when he told me I didn’t need to know the details of what had happened to his other children.

Was this how it happened to them? Will he come and try to rescue me?

I heard footsteps and the sounds of others outside of my door. Members of the coven must have been making their way to their rooms for the morning’s sleep. Had I not been so trusting, I too would be sleeping now, but in the comfort of Lysander’s bed.

Tears welled in my eyes, spilling over and streaming down my face. I thought of Lysander holding me. He promised me he would not lose me. He should have been the one to go hunt with me. He should have known better. Why hadn’t he been able to sense that Jessie could not be trusted?

I shoved my face into the pillow to stifle the sounds of my sobs. I wished I was home with him and the rest of the clan.

In my heart, I knew he would not leave me here. Kallisto knew this, too. She was counting on it. That was the only reason I was being kept alive. She had no other need of me. Kallisto knew Lysander would come, and then, she would take her revenge.

If he didn’t come, Kallisto would have me destroyed anyway. Her generosity was no more than a trap for us both.

Bloodstained tears soaked the pillow. Mentally, I said my goodbyes to Rozaline and Nicholas, Crystal and Drew, and Damon. If the Peregrinus kept to the plan, everyone should be gone soon, leaving town at dusk. I prayed Lysander would be with them, and that Kallisto’s rage and my death would be quick.

* * *

IT WAS SOME time before I ran out of tears. Pulling my head from the pillow, I saw the ugly brownish stains the tears had left behind. I wiped off my face, sniffling and trying to compose myself.

I can’t just sit here crying. I need to find a way out of this place.

A faint whispering outside my door caught my attention. Someone was talking, but I couldn’t quite make out what was being said.

Slowly, I crept out of bed, got dressed, and made my way over to the door. I cursed softly as my shoes squeaked against the polished marble floor. I cringed, thinking the sound might have given away my sneaky intentions, but the mumbling continued. Kneeling on the ground, I placed my ear against the door.

“…confirmed that the rumors are true,” a man’s voice whispered in a thick French accent.

I leaned as close to the door as I could, hoping to hear the speaker better.

A woman’s voice spoke this time. “Is everything in order for our departure?” I recognized the unusually accented voice of Kallisto.

“Of course, Mistress. We shall depart as soon as you’re ready.”

“Excellent. I will leave before midday.”

“What of the rest of the coven?”

“Leave them.” Kallisto’s words were cold as ice.

“But, mistress,” the man protested. “They are your children.”

“And if the Saints come and find this penthouse empty, they will continue to hunt us down. Do you want that?”

“No, mistress. I…”

Of course. With all the activity this evening, I had forgotten about the Saints. I should have expected she would know of them. If Nicholas could gather that information from a television newscast, surely the coven would have the same information and know they were in town.

“The others will sacrifice themselves,” Kallisto said. “You will bring only my guard.”

“Mistress, could we not spare a few more?”

“We can make more,” Kallisto snapped. “If you’re so concerned, Edmond, stay with them, and you can all greet the Saints together.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I tire of your attempts to go against my will, Edmond. I am the ruler of this coven, and you will do well to remember your place.”

I could only imagine the angry expression that must have been on Kallisto’s face. By the sound of it, Edmond was quickly losing favor with her.

“Mistress,” he pleaded. “I only suggest what is best for the cov—”

“Enough,” she snapped. “I’ve tolerated enough of your insubordination.” Kallisto’s voice rose sharply. “You have not yet been forgiven for failing to bring Lysander here yourself.”

Panic laced Edmond’s words. “Mistress, I... He is much stronger than… I was… being diplomatic… I warned him of his crimes… ”

“You’re pathetic and weak, Edmond. I should have you replaced.”

She really is a piece of work. I snickered. I could imagine the bowing and scraping that Edmond would be doing.

“Mistress, I am sorry, I only thought—”

“You should have brought him to me as I ordered. This business about thirty nights was a ridiculous waste of my time. If you couldn’t bring him in yourself, you should have had someone else do it. Did you not see how easily I brought in his pet? Now Lysander will be forced to come to us.”

“Mistress, I promise, I will not disappoint you again.”

“From now on, you will follow my orders to the letter. Remember, you’re nothing without me. Is this clear?”

“Yes, my Mistress.” Edmond’s voice was a low whisper. “Please accept my most sincere apologies.”

“You had better not fail me. You’re fast becoming useless. I can easily have you replaced.”

“I will have the car set up immediately for your departure.”

“Good.”

“If I may ask one more question?” His voice trailed away, muffled by the echo of his footsteps. “What shall I do about the girl?”

I pressed my ear harder to the door, trying to make out the words as they walked further away, but it was no use. The penthouse was silent again.

It’s now or never. I have to get out of here.

I reached up to the knob of the door, turning it slightly.

Damn, it’s locked.

I reared back and thrust my shoulder into the door with as much strength as I could muster. A loud thud sounded as I collided with the door, but it didn’t budge.

Ouc! Damn, that hurts!

Pain radiated through my shoulder.

So much for brute force. Guess I’m not as strong as I thought. What the hell is this door made of, some kind of reinforced wood?

Pressing my ear to the door again, I listened for any signs of the coven. The penthouse was still quiet.

Kallisto probably expected me to try an escape. I’m sure this room is well sealed.

I made my way back to the bed, collapsing on it and staring up at the blank white ceiling.

What the hell am I going to do?

Death was certain if the Saints were coming.

I remembered what Lysander told me about the Saints. They attacked during the day, since that was when we were weakest. The Saints’ game plan seemed almost too perfect. Horrible burns and blinding light kept us at bay and allowed them to corner us in our homes and cut us down one by one. Those that did manage to escape the daytime slaughter would be followed and hunted down by Santino’s group.

I imagined what it would be like. Death was imminent. I was trapped and there was no escape. I no longer had the tears left to cry for the impending loss of my life.

At least, Lysander and the clan would be spared. He wouldn’t come to the coven house with the threat of the Acta Sanctorum out there.

* * *

I LAY IN bed, silently awaiting my fate. Occasionally, I heard shuffling past my door, making me think the Saints had arrived. An hour passed, maybe two. I’d lost track of the time as I fell in and out of consciousness. My body wanted rest, but my mind raced with anxiety.

Keys jingled a moment before my door burst open, slamming into the wall. I shot straight up as a figure entered the room. A blob of black fabric flew through the air, hitting my chest before crumpling to the floor.

What the hell?

“Put these on,” a muffled male voice shouted.

I was momentarily stunned, thinking I was about to die, when I realized the blob at my feet was clothing.

“Who are you?” I asked, as I cautiously pulled on the thick sweater and hooded jacket that had been tossed to me.

“No time to talk. Take these, too.” He held out a pair of sunglasses.

Taking the glasses, I chanced a look at the stranger, but couldn’t see past his black ski mask. It concealed his identity, leaving only his blue-gray eyes visible.

“What is going on? Who are you?” I asked, reaching out toward the mask.

He snatched my wrist in a tight, painful grip. I winced in pain, biting my lip to stifle a cry.

“Don’t touch me,” he barked. “Do as you’re told. Finish getting dressed.”

He released my hand and I recoiled, falling backward on the bed.

I quickly finished dressing, and the masked man ushered me out the door.

“Be quiet and do as you’re told,” he commanded.

His voice sounded so familiar, but who was he?

I kept quick pace with my escort, down the long hallway, into the foyer, and out of the front door. We rounded the corner to the elevators.

I saw the glow before we had reached it. A wall of windows illuminated the waiting area for the elevators. My hands instinctively rose to shield my eyes. The sunglasses seemed to have no effect. Intense, blinding sunlight filled the hallway, stinging my eyes and face as we approached. I pulled my hood over my head as far as it could go, covering my face, and still it wasn’t enough.

The heat from the light felt like flames licking my skin. My hands throbbed in pain, soaking up the light as I shielded my face.

I collapsed to the ground, turning my back to the light, my face and hands stinging with pain.

“Get up,” the harsh male voice ordered.

“It burns, I can’t—”

“Get up,” he barked again.

I slowly rose to my feet, keeping my back to the windows. Even turned away from the direct source of light, I could still feel the heat all around me.

I have to get out of this.

I took a quick step back toward the penthouse, but a hand caught me, whipping me back around.

“Please, no! I have to get away,” I yelled.

Another hand reached to cover my mouth.

“Wait here, or go back there and die,” The man whispered into my ear. “Whatever you choose, keep quiet!”

I nodded, closing my eyes to the blinding light ahead of me.

Waiting for the elevator to arrive at the topmost floor took an eternity. I felt as if my flesh would melt away from my bones before the elevator could arrive.

The blessed ding sounded and the doors parted, allowing us to retreat into the dim, fluorescent-lit cave that was the elevator. I praised the builder for choosing to leave this elevator fully enclosed. My red, stinging hands throbbed. I watched them pulsing as my immortal skin tried to heal itself. The ride down to the garage was too short and soon we were back in the open and exposed again to direct sunlight.

Once the doors parted, light flooded in from all directions, blinding me. In my disorientation I stumbled, smashing into a wall. My sunglasses fell to the ground and the brightness intensified. It washed out everything, leaving a white haze inches from my face. The heat licked at my skin, stinging me as I reached out, trying to feel my way around to find my lost sunglasses.

An arm grabbed me, jerking me over to a van parked at the curb. Its back doors sat open waiting for us to get inside. I quickly hopped in, followed by my escort.

The van was already filled with others dressed in the same funny manner as I had been. There was a sheet pinned up behind the driver and passenger seats blocking the light from the front windows. The doors closed and I breathed a sigh of relief, welcoming the darkness.

The van lurched forward as it pulled out of the garage. I reached above my head to pull my hood down, and a hand caught my wrist.

“Leave it until we reach the safe house,” the muffled voice said.

Safe house, I thought to myself. Who are these people? After hearing Kallisto’s complete lack of care for her own children, I couldn’t believe that that she would be responsible for sending me to a safe house, and I didn’t think Lysander could have come to my rescue this soon. I sat quietly, trying to figure out the identity of my rescuer.

The van tilted from side to side as it moved through the streets of Las Vegas. We all rode in silence; no one seemed willing to speak. I sensed the anxiety and fear coming from many of the hooded figures I was riding with. The danger of our daytime ride weighed heavy on all of their minds.

After a long drive, we finally came to a stop. I heard the sound of a garage door closing outside, and there was a quick, patterned rapping at the back of the van before the doors parted.

I breathed a sigh of relief at seeing the dimly lit garage. Pulling the hood off my head, I broke the silence.

“Where the hell are we?” I asked.

I only heard mumbling from the other inhabitants of the van as we filed out one by one.

“A safe house.” A man spoke, pulling off his ski mask and revealing himself to be Edmond.

Edmond? What? Why did he bring me here?

My eyes were wide with amazement. I had not thought anyone from Kallisto’s coven would think to save me from the Saints. I had assumed I would be left to die with the coven as Kallisto had said earlier.

“No doubt you’re aware of the Acta Sanctorum,” said Edmond, addressing the inhabitants of the van as he tied his hair back into a neat ponytail.

I nodded, as did the others, who were now removing their coverings.

“They will attack the coven house before nightfall.”

The others from the van were clearly shocked by this news. It appeared that not everyone knew about the Saints’ arrival in Vegas. Those just now pulling off their masks, sunglasses, and hoods revealed horrified faces. It seemed that the mere mention of the Acta Sanctorum drove fear into the heart of every immortal.

“What about the others?” a voice from the crowd asked.

“They are gone, and you will not think on them again.” Edmond’s voice was strong and commanding, though the look in his eyes said otherwise.

Hmm. It really does seem to be bothering him that he couldn’t save the others.

“Your mistress,” he continued, “has chosen you to continue on with the coven. You should be honored you were spared.”

I felt the anger around me, but no one spoke any challenge to Edmond’s words.

We entered the darkened house. It had the appearance of being recently vacated by its human owners. As we passed through the kitchen on the way to the living room, I could see food-speckled dishes still soaking in the sink and smell the scent of rotting garbage leaking out of a lidded trash can. The windows and doorways had been hastily covered with bed sheets and blankets to block out the light, giving the home a cave-like appearance.

Edmond retreated to the hallway, telling us to settle down in the living room until nightfall. Although tired from lack of sleep, I couldn’t immediately shut my eyes. I found a spot just below the couch and curled myself into a ball. My mind ran amok, replaying all of the events in the last two weeks that had brought me here.

Why had I been spared?

Chapter 22

THE FAMILIAR ACTION News theme music played in the background as my eyes slowly opened and focused on the ceiling. The room was dim, lit only by the TV and a small lamp. I watched the shadows on the ceiling dancing to and fro with the music.

For a brief moment, I thought I was back in Lysander’s home and had dreamed the whole Kallisto encounter, but as I stretched and looked around the room, reality hit me. This wasn’t Lysander’s living room, and it was not Nicholas watching the evening news. My eyes met hers as I glanced up towards the couch.

I was still with Kallisto.

The anchorwoman spoke in the background and my attention was momentarily drawn to the TV.

“…continuing coverage on what the fire department is calling the worst high-rise fire in Las Vegas history. From our sky-cam shots, you can see the top floor, which previously housed two lavish penthouses, engulfed in flames. A call was placed to 911 at approximately 5 p.m. this evening when someone spotted smoke rising from the top of tower three. Sources say the cause of the fire is still unknown, and fire crews have not been able to get the flames under control, due to the height of the buildings and a mysterious fire sprinkler malfunction. The flames were allowed to spread unchecked for least an hour before fire crews were able to get the sprinkler system running again. It is unknown if the inhabitants of the penthouses were able to make it out of the building before it was too late.”

I saw with horror the charred top of the building I had been in only a few hours earlier. The helicopter taking the video circled slowly, rotating around the burning building. A huge plume of smoke rose hundreds of feet into the sky.

I shuddered. I could have been left there. That was supposed to have been my fate. I should have died, locked in that small closet of a room.

Others wandered into the living room, their eyes locked onto the screen. I saw the horror in their faces as they watched the scene on the TV. Kallisto’s lips curled into an evil smile.

“I will accept your thanks and praise for sparing you this fate,” she said expectantly.

The room was a mix of fear, anxiety, and anger. I knew if I felt it, Kallisto could too; no doubt she knew the thoughts of her subjects. They were mad that their family had been sacrificed, left behind to be brutally murdered by the Acta Sanctorum as they slept.

The obedience Kallisto commanded outweighed any outrage in their hearts, and although there was anger, each person offered their thanks to Kallisto, probably fearing her retribution if they didn’t. I sat still, uncertain what to do.

“Why did she bring me here?” I whispered. With the coven destroyed, Lysander would assume I was dead and there would be no need for him to come after me.

Edmond entered the room and ordered the others to their feet, giving them assignments to guard the perimeter of the house. I watched as the others scurried out of the front and back doors, leaving only the three of us in the room.

Kallisto spoke, “Alyssa, I do not feel you truly appreciate that I have spared your life.” Her cold eyes glared at me, expecting some response from me.

I had not expressed any thanks to her. I remained still and quiet, sitting on the floor. I realized I was angering Kallisto, but my mind was stuck on thoughts of the Acta Santorum’s raid on the penthouse. I turned away from her, glancing back to the TV as the news helicopter circled. A dark gray tower of smoke continued to rise into the sky.

“You let them all die,” I said, my voice creaking as I tried to call up strength. I felt the anger rising in Kallisto. “Why save me? I am of no use to you.”

“Oh, I see. You do not wish to live with us,” she asked, emphasizing the word live.

I thought for a moment, choosing my words carefully, making them sound as pleasing as possible. “Of course I am grateful you spared me.” My eyes remained locked on the TV. “However, I wonder why you’ve… spared me. I fear I will not be able to finish my initiation. Lysander must assume I am dead now.”

She paused for a moment as her mouth formed an evil smile again, showing the tips of her teeth.

“My simple little child. You thought you would get out of this so easily.” Kallisto gestured for me to join her on the couch. “You will still have the opportunity to prove your loyalty to me.”

I obeyed, sitting on the far end of the couch. Edmond moved toward us, taking a spot in an easy chair just behind where I was sitting.

I tried to keep my eyes on Kallisto, but my nerves got the better of me. Edmond’s cold stare bore through me. He was like a guard dog, patiently waiting for an opportunity to defend his master —or in this case, his mistress. I watched him out of my peripheral vision as he sat there, hands folded in his lap, patiently waiting for Kallisto to signal she was through with me.

“W-what will you have me do, then?” The anxiety could be heard in my voice. I fought back a lump in my throat. I needed to keep calm.

“Lysander does not think you are dead, child,” she laughed. “He can feel you, and I assure you, he knows you’re alive.”

“But how?” The moment the question escaped my lips I realized what she was talking about.

The warm sensation I had always felt when Lysander was around: he must feel it, too. It was more than just an emotion. It was a beacon between us. I closed my eyes and tried to recall it, quieting the thoughts in my head. At first, there was nothing. I thought of Lysander, picturing his face and eyes. I concentrated on him, imagining he was standing right in front of me.

There it was: the warmth. It quickly pulsed like a heartbeat in my chest. I felt him as if he were standing right there next to me. Emotion welled up inside of me: fear, anger, hope, despair. I knew he was coming, and I knew it meant death for us both.

“Ah, good. You do feel it,” Kallisto said mockingly. I hated that she could read my thoughts. I couldn’t control my thoughts enough to block her. Fear gripped me. Kallisto’s trap was set, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Each second drove the nails further into our coffins.

“He’s close, you know.” She closed her eyes and appeared to be silently meditating for a moment. “Very close.”

A tear built up in my eye as I fought back the emotions. I didn’t want to show Kallisto my pain. She didn’t deserve the satisfaction. I bit down hard on my lip, focusing on the immediate sting as my teeth broke the skin.

“You see, we can always feel our children, Alyssa, just as they can feel us. Lysander will soon be here, and when the time comes, you will still serve your purpose.”

I hate you!

I could hear Edmond chuckling behind me.

Anger and pain clouded my mind. “Why do you have so much hatred for him?” The words escaped my mouth before I could stop myself.

Kallisto’s face hardened, and her smile turned into a scowl. I knew I had hit a nerve. She was quiet for a moment, cupping her chin in her hands before speaking.

“Do you know what it is like to give everything to someone, and have them toss you aside?” she hissed.

I shook my head slowly.

“Lysander was mine. I gave him everything, I made him a god among men, and how does he repay me?”

Her eyes narrowed.

“He leaves me.” She leaned toward me, lowering her voice and staring straight into my eyes.

“When I met Lysander, he was a simple farmer. He was nothing. Pathetic. A simple human.”

Remembering the book Lysander had showed me, I thought back to the temple he described in Amfissa.

“I made him,” Kallisto said arrogantly. “I saw the raw beauty and I preserved it in this immortal flesh. I gave him everything, anything his heart desired: riches, palatial homes, servants. I did it all for him. He was more than just my child. He was my love. We were mates, he and I, and we were meant to be together for eternity. All I ever asked of him was to worship me.”

Yeah, I’m sure the riches and palatial homes were all for Lysander. Does she really think I am buying this? What about Edmond?

Edmond was still in the room listening. I looked over at him, watching his face. He sat like a statue. I saw the strain as he tried to control his emotion. His jaw was clenched tight as he stared blankly at Kallisto.

How can she say all of this in front of him? She is a real piece of work.

Edmond made no move to leave the room. He sat there, patiently waiting for Kallisto to instruct him.

“I believe he did love me in the beginning, but as time moved on, he lost interest in me and our way of life. We were gods among men and rulers of our children. We were mates, and for hundreds of years, we happily shared the rule of our family. But he changed. The years had an odd effect on him. I was no longer the object of his desire. He stopped worshipping me as his goddess. He became reclusive and disobedient. I was ignored and neglected, no longer his mistress.”

Kallisto paused for a moment. Rage radiated from her. The memory of Lysander seemed to have a strong emotional hold on her.

“I am still a woman, you know.” The bitterness was palpable in Kallisto’s voice. “And I will not be ignored.”

I sat on the edge of my seat, waiting to hear more.

“I hoped finding us a new home would change things.” She regained her smooth tone. “We’d stayed in one place too long. I thought the change of scenery might invigorate his spirit and renew his love for me. So, we moved to France. It was there I met Edmond.”

I glanced quickly over to Edmond. A faint hint of a smile crossed his face at the mention of his name.

“He instantly took to the ways of our kind, unlike many of my children before him. He fascinated me with his lust for blood and power. Lysander took my fascination with Edmond as an insult. His reclusiveness got worse. He spent days locked away, writing and drawing, paying no attention to me. Only the administration of the coven would interrupt his hobby. He would attend to nightly business and then retreat to his private chambers. He felt Edmond was a threat to his position in our family and decided to leave us.”

I can’t blame him for leaving, either.

“His departure tore our family apart. He destroyed us from the inside, leaving a gaping hole where he once was. Our family was divided, fighting amongst one another. We were plagued by hunters and the Acta Sanctorum for centuries after Lysander left us. We fled from country to country, eventually ending up in London.”

I looked back at Edmond, still silent in his chair.

“It was there I felt him trying to end his life with eternal sleep,” Kallisto continued. “I thought healing him and bringing him home would be a new chance for us and our coven. We could rebuild again to our former glory, but he wouldn’t have it.”

She paused again. I saw the start of a crimson tear in her eyes. She quickly wiped the moisture away before speaking. “After all I have done for him, he would rather shun me than love me.”

I heard an annoyed sigh behind me from Edmond.

For a moment, I felt sorry for her. Kallisto, as evil as she was, was still a woman who felt scorned and discarded. She was warped by her anger, and the desire for revenge fueled her. I wondered if it was the only thing she had to live for.

Edmond, though an obedient servant, seemed no more than that. Kallisto didn’t love him. I gathered he served no real emotional purpose to Kallisto. Lysander must have always held her heart.

“But you have Edmond,” I blurted out. I looked over my shoulder again. I saw Edmond’s chest rise as he sat up in his seat.

“Yes, of course, I have Edmond. My puppet,” she retorted. “I can have any man I want. That is not the point.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Edmond’s chest deflate.

Ouch. That must have hurt. “You don’t need Lysander. You have another mate.”

“Edmond is not my mate,” she scoffed. “Oh, he wishes he were. He serves me well enough in bed, but no, he is not my mate.”

Wow, did she really say that with him sitting here? I wouldn’t need to look back to see Edmond’s expression. I could just imagine how crushing her words would be to him.

“Lysander was my mate,” she growled. “If he will deny me, then I will deny him. He shall suffer as he has made me suffer all these years.”

“But why punish others for Lysander’s crimes against you?” I asked.

“You call my offer to you, a second chance at life, a punishment?” Anger leached out with her words.

I knew I should have chosen my words better. I had crossed the line this time.

She fixed me with a cold stare. “You forget, child, you’re a bastard to my coven, and under normal circumstances, you would have been put down like a dog. You should thank me for my generosity.”

Kallisto glared at me as she raised herself up to her full height.

“I didn’t mean to say you were punishing me.” I tripped over the words to get them out before Kallisto’s rage erupted.

“Oh, I see. He’s bedded you, and now you think him your love. How sweet.”

“It’s not that, he saved me, I can’t—”

“Spare me your emotional drivel. Your mortal life is of no concern to me. If you were meant to die, then you should have. Lysander did nothing more than condemn you by going against my wishes and turning you. Perhaps I should show you what we do with bastards.” Kallisto nodded at Edmond. I saw his shadow tower over me as he rose from his seat.

“I have no need of defiant little fledglings in my coven anyway. If you can’t take orders, then you are of no use to me.”

“No, wait,” I pleaded. “I didn’t mean…I’m…” Crap!

Edmond pulled me backward. I looked up into his eyes, silently begging him not to do anything, but he didn’t acknowledge me.

“You have exceeded the limits of my tolerance,” Kallisto growled.

Panic took me. I jerked forward, but Edmond held me firm. Kallisto leaned over me, pressing her body on top of mine. Her face was a mere inch from mine, and her breath felt heavy on my face.

“Please, I beg you… don’t….” I tried to jerk out of Edmond’s grip.

Kallisto smiled widely, purposefully showing me her teeth before sinking them deep into my neck. The pinch as they broke the skin sent a shock through my body. I felt the blood leaving me as Kallisto voraciously drained the life from my body.

My eyes rolled back. Weakness settled into my limbs. My head felt heavy. Fighting against the dizziness, I tried to keep conscious. My life flashed before my eyes: I saw my childhood, the attack on campus, Lysander’s kiss, the transformation, and my baptism into the coven.

My heart slowed; my body felt thin and deflated as it gave way, sinking into the couch. Edmond must have realized I had no strength left; he released me. I focused on the ceiling, trying desperately to fight against the weight of my heavy eyelids. I didn’t want to sleep forever, to die in this place.

Chapter 23

LAYING IN A daze, unable to move, I fought against the weight of my eyelids, needing to keep conscious.

Kallisto licked the blood from her lips and returned to her seat on the couch. “That should keep you silent,” she cackled. The sound of her laugh was muffled, but it echoed all around me. My hearing was distorted; sounds seemed to bounce off the walls.

The familiar dehydrated sensation returned to me, the burning inside my body. Hunger welled up inside me. I needed blood. I desperately tried to will myself upward, but it was no use. I couldn’t move; my body was heavy and my limbs would not respond.

“You did not kill her, mistress?” Edmond asked.

“Not yet. Lysander needs to feel she is still alive.”

“You’re brilliant, my queen.” Edmond’s words, though in praise, sounded more rehearsed than real. His calm face showed no sign of emotion. I wondered if Kallisto’s recent revelation had some effect on his thoughts.

Kallisto reveled in her victory over me. No amount of will power, it seemed, could get my limbs to move. I was paralyzed and unable to defend against her taunts and advances. She wiped my wounded neck with her finger and showed it to me, waving the smeared blood in front of my face.

I wanted to cry out, but my lips wouldn’t move. I could only let out a soft whimper.

She licked her fingers clean, moaning with pleasure as her eyes rolled back into her head. “I can taste his essence in your blood.” She appeared to swoon. “Edmond, would you like a taste?”

Again, she wiped the blood from my neck and offered it to Edmond.

“No, thank you, mistress,” he responded in a low monotone.

She ignored his words, wiping blood on his lips, letting out a girlish giggle as she did it.

I wanted to lash out in anger, but my body was heavy and unwilling to move.

Move, damn you! Get up, do something!

I willed my hand to move, to do something, but it would not cooperate.

Kallisto must have recognized the struggle in my eyes. “Hungry, dear?” She taunted. “Did you want some too?”

Once more she wiped the blood from my neck, tracing it with her finger on the outside of my lips.

“Enjoy,” she cackled.

Rage tore through me, but I had no way to unleash it. I needed blood to reanimate my lifeless body. I was a motionless lump, unable to perform the simple action of licking my own lips.

A commotion outside stole Kallisto and Edmond’s focus.

“Ah, here is your knight in shining armor now, Alyssa.” Kallisto gloated. Her eyes lit up in anticipation. “Right on time.”

“Shall I call your guard, mistress?” Edmond asked.

I heard distant shouting and sounds of a struggle. Someone yelled. Shrieks of men sounded outside of the front window.

Excitement showed on Kallisto’s face “I think they already know,” she said with a smirk. “Let him come to me.”

The sound of crashing glass filled my ears. A limp figure flew through the window, ripping off the sheet that had been used as daylight cover. The body hit the floor with a dull thud.

Kallisto’s and Edmond’s attention was drawn to the gaping hole that had been the living room window.

Edmond slowly bent down to inspect the lifeless body on the ground. “Mistress, this one is one of ours: Collin.”

Kallisto shook with rage. “Go out there and bring Lysander back to me. He will pay for this.”

Edmond disappeared in a rush.

The sound of crunching glass filled the room. Kallisto looked up towards the broken window.

The expectant look on her face suddenly turned to horror. Her mouth hung open. Her eyes grew wide. I heard the footsteps of someone climbing though the broken glass. I could tell this was not someone she had expected to see. I cursed my fragile body, but was unable to move. I wanted to know who it was that could cause such fear in Kallisto’s eyes.

I tried hard to glimpse this character out of the corner of my eye, but it was no use. Unable to turn my head, I couldn’t see who it was.

I heard the sounds of fighting continue outside. This person, whoever it was, wasn’t alone. The others who had been sent to guard the home were now undoubtedly locked in battle with whoever was audacious enough to take on Kallisto’s coven.

“Kallisto, I presume. At last we meet,” the stranger said.

Marked by age, his voice was new to me, not a voice I had heard before. I wracked my brain to think of who it might be.

Terror struck me as I thought of the only person who brought fear to the hearts of most immortals.

The Saints. Of course. It must be Santino.

I couldn’t speak it, even if my lips had been willing to move. Death was here.

He must have had the van followed. Surely our escape had drawn some attention. It wouldn’t have been hard to keep the building under surveillance, and a group of hooded people in sunglasses jumping into a darkened van had to have alerted them.

“Santino,” Kallisto greeted him with a note of superiority. She raised herself to her full height as she sat defiantly on the couch.

“How is it you have escaped me all these years?” Santino asked.

“Leave my house immediately, Saint,” Kallisto hissed.

“You know as well as I do that this isn’t your home, Kallisto. I can smell what’s left of the poor mortals you slaughtered to acquire it.”

“Your reverence for those poor mortals is truly awe-inspiring, Saint,” Kallisto said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

A low bass growl rumbled from Santino’s direction. I wanted desperately to see him for myself. Struggling against my failing muscles, I finally found some strength. My head moved, flopping over on its side.

Santino Vitale came into view. Lysander’s sketch didn’t do him justice. He was frightening to look at. A ghostly white face scarred by battle, wrinkled and creased with age. His hair was a rat’s nest, a mess of gray and black hanging wildly about his face like a lion’s mane. Fresh blood speckled his face, and he breathed heavily with a hoarse and raspy sound.

“It does not matter how I came by this house. It is my home now, and you will leave,” Kallisto demanded.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Santino said calmly. “I’m sure you understand the nature of my visit.” He reached toward his belt, unsheathing a large serrated knife. He smiled wickedly, looking up at Kallisto and flashing the blade in front of her face. A large, gold-inlaid cross was carved into the handle. Writing of some kind, a scripture perhaps, was etched into the blade.

Kallisto’s eyes seemed to be focused on the large knife. After a few moments of silence, she seemed to regain her composure. “You have the audacity to come here, to address me—you, who kills your own kind for sport?” Her voice was hesitant. I sensed fear. She was stalling for more time. She must have been hoping her guard would come.

Santino growled, “It is not sport that drives me to my tasks, madam. It is duty. You and your kind are an abomination in the eyes of God.”

“What god do you speak of?” Kallisto snapped. “Zeus, Allah, Jupiter, Shangdi? Or do you speak in the name of some other deity?”

“I speak for the one true God and His Church,” Santino said proudly, his chest thrust out as he spoke.

“You speak for Rome and whatever Rome tells you.” Kallisto’s voice regained a little of its power. “I knew Rome in the days of Jupiter. Did your precious Church teach you anything about its history? Let me enlighten you. The Romans stole their gods from the Greeks, then after they had altered their meanings and become tired of worshipping them, they threw them aside, choosing their new Christian deity—the one you now serve. Do not speak to me of one God. I’ve lived through many. Talk to me in another thousand years and your God will have become myth, just as many others have before. Mortals have short attention spans for their deities.”

“I’m afraid you will not be around to speak to in a thousand years, madam,” Santino laughed. “And I’m not here to discuss your religious beliefs; however, I will send you to your maker so you can discuss it with Him. By order of the Holy Roman Catholic Church, you are—”

“Spare me your babble, Saint,” she spat at Santino.

“—hereby sentenced to final death.” Santino ignored her protests and reached out, grabbing her arm.

Kallisto screeched as Santino pulled her down and ripped her dress, knocking her off balance.

She quickly recovered and swung her foot forward in an attempt to kick Santino. He fell backward, just out of the way of her foot, and swiped at her other leg. She fell to the ground with a thud.

The corner of Santino’s mouth rose in a crooked grin. He bent down, knife at the ready.

Kallisto pawed at Santino, grabbing a handful of his hair. She yanked his head sideways, exposing his neck. Baring her fangs, she let out a primal growl.

I cursed my weak body. I couldn’t escape, even while these two were caught in battle with one another.

They seemed very evenly matched. Santino’s aged look was only a cover for the immortal energy beneath.

In a blur, Santino stood and threw Kallisto into the wall. Drywall cracked and the whole house groaned and shook with the impact.

She fell to the ground, stunned.

Santino quickly mounted her. He pinned her to the ground, delivering merciless punches to her face. Blood splattered into the air; droplets landed on me as Santino pummeled her.

Kallisto’s arms flailed. She clawed at his face. “Get off of me,” she screamed.

Santino bared his fangs and bent down to Kallisto. She jerked and writhed under him suddenly, with strength I had not thought it possible she still had. She grasped him and sent him tumbling to the ground, crashing into the couch where I lay.

Thankfully, no one took any notice of me, but the jolt from the impact rolled my head back, forcing me to look straight up at the ceiling.

I had no control over my body, and now I could only hear the struggle as it continued below me on the floor. Limbs flashed over my head. Yells, grunts, screeching, and moaning filled my ears. The walls shook as the two vampires continued to destroy the room in their struggle.

I wondered what would happen next.

If Santino kills Kallisto, will he come after me? Will he chase after Edmond, thinking me dead? Are Kallisto’s followers still outside of the house, or have they, too, been destroyed?

The room fell silent. Desperately, I pushed my body to move. I needed to see what was happening. I willed my muscles to work. Slowly, they contracted, allowing my head to roll.

Santino and Kallisto came into view. Santino had again mounted Kallisto, and his head was buried in her neck. Her arms were wrapped around his body, nails digging into his clothes, slowly clawing away at his back. I sensed the weakness in her. One of her hands fell limply to the floor. She let out a feeble whimper. Then, the other hand fell. Her body shuddered, then stilled.

Santino looked up as my head came to rest, and our eyes met.

Oh hell!

A rush of fear took over. I’d been ignored up to this point. Now Santino knew I was alive.

Santino grabbed his large knife and cut into Kallisto’s neck, sawing it down to the bone. Seconds later, a loud crack sounded as he snapped the neck with his hands.

A chill went down my spine. I knew that was the final blow. What little blood there was dripped down to the floor as he finished slicing the last strings of flesh attaching her head to her neck.

The sweet smell of blood permeated the air, reminding me of my thirst. Small droplets of blood dripped from the severed head as Santino held it up. He made the sign of the cross and mumbled something in Latin, before tossing the head into the living room fireplace.

Sounds of struggle could still be heard outside of the house. I wondered what had happened to Edmond, if he had attempted an escape or if he was trying to locate reinforcements.

Santino stood and walked to the fireplace. A small metal key jutted out from the wall. He turned it and a faint hissing came from within the wall. Santino mumbled again under his breath. His hand searched the surrounding wall until he found a light switch and flipped it up. Flames quickly erupted in the fireplace. The burning smell of hair and flesh immediately attacked my senses. The fire quickly engulfed the severed head. Kallisto was no more.

Santino grunted and looked over his shoulder at me.

Chapter 24

PARALYZED, I WAS an easy target. Santino turned and took a step towards me.

If I could have screamed, I would have, but I made no more than a whimper.

“Looks like someone got to you first,” he said in a low voice.

I couldn’t answer. I was weak; my heart couldn’t even beat to match the fear I felt. I whimpered.

Please, no! Leave me alone. Go after Edmond.

He grabbed my head, moving it from side to side, examining my wounded neck.

A man yelled outside, and the sounds of fighting suddenly stopped. Santino arched his eyebrow and turned to look over his shoulder. Silence surrounded us, and after a minute, he returned his attention to me.

“Not going to be much of a fight, are you?” he asked, grabbing his large knife again. Blood coated it from his recent kill. Kallisto’s blood. I caught the scent of it. My body cried out for it. I needed blood. I needed to live. I needed to get out of this mess.

The sound of Kallisto’s neck cracking and popping as Santino snapped it echoed in my ears. I knew those sounds would soon be coming from me if I didn’t somehow move.

Santino’s eyes closed. He made the sign of the cross and mumbled a prayer.

I called forth all the strength and energy I could muster.

One final time, I willed my muscles to listen. Move, I yelled in my head. Move, damn it! But my body would not respond. I had nothing left. There would be no escape.

Santino’s eyes opened. He stared down at me with disgust, as if I were a mangy animal and it was beneath him to have to put me down. His lip curled into a sneer. I shuddered beneath him. His gaze sent shivers down my spine. I knew death was imminent.

He breathed a deep, growling breath and placed the blade to my neck. I felt its deadly weight and sharpness.

“Santino!” a man shouted from the broken window.

I recognized this voice and the warm feeling that accompanied it.

Santino turned to view this new interruption. Reaching down, he put his hands into his pockets and pulled out a small remote. Pressing it, he dropped it to the ground. It flashed back and forth from red to green, emitting no sound as it fell out of my view.

Though his body blocked most of my view, I could make out two figures standing in the window. One of the figures, a man, was struggling.

“Let me go,” he shrieked.

Santino took a few steps closer to the pair, and as he moved out of my view I saw Lysander, Edmond, and the Peregrinus Clan at the window.

A brief feeling of relief washed over me.

“What is this?” Santino asked. “You all come willingly to repent and meet your God?”

Lysander held Edmond firmly by the arm. He stepped inside the house, pulling Edmond with him. Glass crunched under his feet. The sound was music to my ears. Surely the Peregrinus and Lysander could take on Santino, and we would all be safe.

“Still Rome’s lapdog, are we, Santino?” Lysander growled.

I was never more happy to see a man’s face than I was at that moment. Lysander looked so strong, so masculine, so powerful, standing there in front of Santino.

Lysander shoved Edmond forward, sending him crashing to the floor. He turned as if looking for an exit, but the Peregrinus clan blocked his escape. They quickly followed through the broken window. Edmond frantically scanned the room, probably looking for some way out.

As Kallisto’s decapitated body came into his view, a look of horror crossed Edmond’s face. He fell to his knees, grasping the lifeless hand of his former mistress.

“Kallisto, no!” he screamed.

Santino paid no attention to Edmond. “Lysander, it’s been a long time,” he said. “I knew I would find you again. Please, regale me with some witty insight. Make me see the light, as you like to say. Tell me why I should let you and your kind live.”

Lysander stepped forward. “My kind? You seem to forget, Santino: you are one of us too.”

“You will have to do better than that,” Santino snapped.

“Just remember, Santino, Rome condemns us all.” Lysander continued to slowly step closer to Santino. His face was hard and stern as he prepared for battle.

“I have no worries about my afterlife. It is you who should be considering yours, and you will meet it quite soon.” Santino stood his ground.

Lysander stopped a few inches away from him. “Do you think when you finish your mission—destroying us all—they will grant you some heavenly pardon?”

The Peregrinus watched in silence, waiting for some cue to make a move.

“My place in heaven is already secure. Worry about your own afterlife,” said Santino.

“Your guarantee to heaven is determined by whom, Santino? Some Pope who died centuries ago?”

“I do God’s work. I have no fear of meeting him and accepting his praise when I am done.”

“You are no different than I, Santino. You think killing immortals makes you better than killing a mortal? You still end life, and your Church, no matter what they tell you, won’t condone that.”

“I destroy evil,” Santino said coldly, the first hint of emotion I had seen from him.

“I know the commandments you are supposed to abide by. There is no fine print in ‘Thou shall not kill.’ Go on and maintain that holier-than-thou attitude. When it is all over, I’ll still see you in Hell, if that’s where we’re meant to go.”

Santino sneered, his lip rising to reveal his fangs. “At least I’ll have the pleasure of knowing you’re there waiting to greet me.”

They stared at one another, each seeming to mentally size up his opponent. The air remained still in the house. Everyone waited for the first move to be made.

It seemed as if they were locked in a stalemate, neither one making the first move to attack the other. They continued their posturing, staring into one another’s eyes and scowling.

Something was wrong, I sensed. Santino was taking too long to make a move. What was he waiting for?

Lysander’s gaze shifted quickly from Santino to me.

Save yourself. Something isn’t right.

His eyes narrowed in anger, then suddenly softened. I saw a hint of worry there.

Santino took the opportunity and lunged forward. Lysander fell to the ground with Santino on top of him.

“No, Lysander!” I moaned through motionless lips. A blurry mass of bodies wrestled on the ground in front of me. Santino let out a yelp. His body flew across the room.

He recovered as soon as he crashed to the ground. “You will have to do better than that, monster,” he snarled at Lysander.

“You’re as much a monster as I am, Santino.” He shifted his gaze to one of the clan. “Get Alyssa out of here,” he yelled.

A strange noise came from outside of the house. I could make out the sounds of someone else approaching. A shadow moved around the window where Damon stood guard. Some of the others must have heard the noise, too. Crystal turned just in time to see Damon’s face grimace as a ball of flame shot through the broken window and enveloped him. The heat of the fireball filled the living room as Damon’s clothing began to burn. He turned towards the window and another fireball blasted through it.

Damon screamed in pain, falling to the floor as the flames engulfed him.

The clan members scattered to avoid the fire.

Panic struck me. I realized that a second wave of the Acta Sanctorum had arrived.

That must have been what Santino had been waiting for.

Damon’s screams filled the room as he rolled on the ground. Unfortunately, there was no saving him.

The carpet caught fire, and it quickly spread around the room.

More flames shot through the front window, igniting the furniture: chairs, tables, and cabinets all blackened as they burned. The Peregrinus took cover, avoiding the blaze and trying to find a way out of the burning building.

Santino laughed as the flames encircled Lysander and himself. “There is no escape, Lysander. Welcome your death.”

“Only if you come with me.” Lysander’s fists moved at blurring speed as they made contact with Santino’s face. He pummeled Santino with a fierceness I had never witnessed in him before. Reflections of the flames glinted in his eyes. Santino looked as if he would be defeated, but in a move faster than my eyes could comprehend, he spun out of the way and delivered a blow to Lysander’s side.

He fell with a loud crash out of my view.

Oh, no. Get up, Lysander. Get up!

The lifeless body of Kallisto began to singe and burn. The gross stench of burning flesh filled my nose.

Flames crawled up the side of the couch, and I felt the heat warming my skin. Being burned alive wasn’t the way I had wanted to die. I didn’t want to endure the slow death from the fire.

Lysander was up again, holding a flaming piece of broken chair. He flung it across the room, and it smashed into pieces against Santino’s body.

Bone-chilling laughter erupted from Santino. “Is that the best you’ve got? I’m surprised. I expected more from an ancient like you. But I guess you are all soft like Kallisto.”

Lysander growled, teeth bared, hatred painted over his face. He moved in a blur. His fists collided with Santino’s face.

Santino groaned, but didn’t fall. He smiled wickedly and pulled his large knife from its sheath. Lunging forward, he plunged it straight into Lysander’s chest. A dull thud sounded as they both collapsed onto the floor.

Lysander. I struggled but couldn’t do more than wiggle; my body was still paralyzed. No, Lysander. You can’t die.

A hand grabbed hold of my arm. My world turned upside down as I was lifted into the air and tossed over someone’s shoulder. My still body hung limply. Flames licked my face from the ground and singed the ends of my hair. Someone was carrying me out.

No, we have to go back and save him!

My savior flung me off of his shoulders to the ground. I landed hard on the grassy lawn.

Edmond? I focused on his face, shocked that he, of all people, would risk his life to save me from the fire.

He knelt down beside me and bit his wrist.

“Drink!” he ordered.

He parted my lips and held his bleeding wrist over my mouth. Warm, thick blood drizzled down into my throat. The sweet, honey-like taste awakened my senses. My limbs reanimated, and I was quickly able to raise them and hold Edmond’s wrist to my mouth. I greedily sucked, pulling the saving blood from the wound, swallowing huge gulps.

Edmond moaned in pain, but he allowed me to drink in my fill. He made no motion to stop me, even though I was draining him of his life. His arm went limp in my hands. I released him and he collapsed to the ground.

“Why did you save me?”

Edmond’s eyes appeared sunken and bruised, the white of his face exaggerated; hints of the veins underneath his skin had become more pronounced. I knew I had taken more blood from him than I should have.

“Forgive me,” he pleaded. “I have been a monster.”

“I can’t do that. Your fight is with Lysander. Only he can pass judgment on you.”

I saw fear in his eyes as he lay weakly before me on the ground. I didn’t quite know how to feel. He had saved me from the fire and from the Saints at the penthouse, but he had condemned my Lysander in the process. I pushed myself up, standing to survey the area. It felt good to have control of my limbs again.

Sounds of the struggle with the Saints filled my ears. Looking around, I spied Crystal feeding from a motionless figure lying on the ground. I searched the grounds. A small flame could be seen at the end of a strange weapon lying a few feet from where I was standing.

A flame thrower: perfect. These Saints really know how to choose a weapon.

I saw Nicholas locked in a battle with another figure, who appeared to be an immortal like us. I assumed he was one of Santino’s children, another Saint. Nicholas knocked the man to the ground and lunged at his neck.

Thank goodness the Peregrinus have things under control.

I couldn’t see Rozaline or Drew. Thick, acrid smoke filled the air around us. The house was quickly succumbing to the flames.

I moved to get the abandoned weapon, but Edmond grabbed my arm.

“No, you mustn’t,” he cautioned. “You’re not strong enough.”

“I won’t leave my friends,” I yelled, jerking my arm out of his weak grasp. “I’m not going to let them die.”

I ran to pick up the gun-like weapon and spotted Rozaline. A man had her pinned and appeared to be bending down to her neck. She writhed beneath him, struggling to get free.

I grabbed the flamethrower and slung the backpack over my shoulder. Yelling for Rozaline to stay still, I caught the attention of her attacker. He briefly looked at me as I pulled the trigger on the gun. A stream of fire shot right at his head. He fell away from her, screeching and flailing, trying to extinguish the flames.

My plan had worked too well; Rozaline was too close to the inferno and had caught fire. She rolled on the ground, screaming.

No!

I spotted a hose attached to the house and rushed over to it. Turning it on, I drenched her, extinguishing the flames.

“I’m so sorry,” I apologized, tears streaming down my face. “I thought I would just hit the Saint.”

I panicked. Her face and arms were badly burned. She couldn’t speak; wounds covered her lips. She whimpered in pain on the ground. I remembered what Crystal said about our blood and its healing properties. I bit into my wrist, wincing as my teeth broke the skin. Blood rushed to the surface instantly. I drizzled it over her face, squeezing my arm like a wet towel, soaking her wounds.

Her mouth opened and I placed my wrist over it, allowing her to drink.

The wounds appeared to scab over. Drew arrived and dropped to his knees before her, immediately offering his blood, too.

I kept apologizing profusely, unable to hide my tears. I felt terrible for hurting her.

“She will heal, Alyssa,” Drew said.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Annoyance played in Drew’s voice. “The time for apologies is later. Right now, she needs blood.”

Edmond came to join us, followed by Crystal and Nicholas. All were bloody and injured, but still alive.

“What the hell happened here?” Nicholas yelled, seeing his wounded mate.

“Alyssa used the flamethrower against one of the Saints and Rozaline got caught in the middle,” Drew answered.

Nicholas thrust me harshly out of the way, kneeling down to Rozaline. He offered her his wrist.

“Nicholas, I’m—”

“Don’t speak to me,” he growled.

Police sirens sounded in the distance; no doubt someone had called in this fire. Headless, mutilated, and burned corpses lay strewn about all around us. Mortal and immortal Saints alike, as well as the remainder of Kallisto’s coven, were all dead.

“We must quickly rid the grounds of the bodies,” said Drew.

“What about Lysander?” I yelled.

“If he’s alive, he’ll make his way out of the building. There is no way for you to get him now. We need to get rid of the evidence,” Drew commanded.

The clan quickly rushed to gather corpses and toss them inside through the broken window. The flames sparked and popped as bodies were engulfed in the fire.

The sounds of the sirens got closer. Lysander had still not emerged. Drew urged us to leave before the police and fire department arrived.

I could no longer hear the sounds of the struggle inside of the house.

Tears poured down my face. Please come out, Lysander.

“Alyssa, let’s go,” Drew urged.

“Yes, Alyssa, we need to leave now,” Crystal pleaded.

I stood paralyzed, eyes transfixed on the fire, not wanting to leave. “I can’t leave Lysander,” I yelled.

Someone grabbed me from behind and tossed me over his shoulder.

“No! Lysander,” I screamed.

Chapter 25

SMOKE FILLED THE air; the scent of burning flesh surrounded us. I kicked, screamed, and punched as I was carried away.

“We can’t leave him,” I yelled.

“Shut up!” Nicholas growled at me.

Kallisto had chosen her safe house in a neighborhood close to the one Lysander lived in. Even as we arrived at his house, locking ourselves inside, the sirens sounded as if they were right outside the door.

Edmond tossed me on the couch. Nicholas gently laid Rozaline out on the loveseat near me and went to turn on the TV. A helicopter flew over the top of the house as more sirens echoed in the night.

As expected, the media had been alerted to the fire, and they interrupted local broadcasts to present this breaking news.

The helicopter circled wide above the neighborhood, broadcasting images of the burning house.

Eyewitnesses looking for their fifteen minutes of fame threw themselves in front of news cameras to give their account of the events, calling our fight a violent gang war.

“They had flame throwers and guns and they tore that poor house apart…” said a middle-aged balding man.

“It’s those damn gang bangers,” another witness said. “It’s not enough they do drive-bys. Now, they are committing arson right in our quiet neighborhood. Nowhere is safe anymore.”

An image flashed on the screen: the house we had just been in, smoke billowing high into the sky as flames shot out of the second-story window.

Tears poured down my face. I thought of Lysander. He had risked his life to come back and save me.

I shoved my head into the cushions of the couch, punching my anger into them, crying.

It is because of me that Lysander is burning alive inside of that house.

“I’m sorry, Lysander,” I whispered.

“He’s not dead,” Nicholas snapped at me. He didn’t look at me. He carefully tended to Rozaline’s wounds. “Can’t you feel him?”

I thought about him, picturing his beautiful eyes, remembering our night together and the smile on his face as we woke in the evening.

A warm feeling came over me. I barely recognized it at first, as I was concentrating so hard on his face, burning his features into my memory. It was him! He was alive somewhere. I felt that strange warmth, his presence.

I shot up from the couch. “He is alive,” I exclaimed. “I feel him close.”

“We know,” croaked Rozaline from the loveseat next to me. She looked frightening, her face badly wounded from the flames. Nicholas tried to comfort her in her pain.

“But how could you know?”

“We are his children too,” Nicholas growled. I could tell he was upset with me for hurting his mate. I sensed the emotions he felt. He made no attempt to hide his feelings from me.

Aren’t all of his children dead?

“Lysander liked to keep that fact a secret,” Rozaline rasped, choking the words out.

I thought back to our first meeting and my initial jealousy, remembering how Lysander had seemed so happy to see Rozaline and hung on her every word. It made sense to me now why Lysander looked on Rozaline with such caring. Not like a lover, but like a father.

That’s why he was so willing to let them stay with us. They were loyal to him and he trusted them because they were his children.

They could have fled the city, leaving Lysander to deal with Kallisto and the Saints. Any other immortal would have just left as soon as the Acta Sanctorum was mentioned, but they had stayed and fought next to him.

I could see why he kept their relationship secret; he had never even written their connection into his memoirs. After Kallisto had destroyed all of his other children, he couldn’t risk it.

Why won’t they go save him now?

An image of Lysander, lying helpless and hurt, barely clinging to life in that burning house, flashed in my mind.

I looked down, seeing the pain on Rozaline’s face and the terrible burns she had suffered in only a few seconds of fire.

“He needs help,” I shouted. “Shouldn’t someone go after him?”

“There is nothing we can do now,” Nicholas said.

“Why did we leave him in the first place?”

Anger marked Nicholas’s voice. “Listen, Sparky, we couldn’t have gone into that burning house to save him. The fire would have destroyed us, too.”

“We didn’t have to run away,” I snapped at him, shooting him an angry glare.

“We couldn’t provide any support against Santino from outside the house,” Nicholas barked back at me.

“But we didn’t even try to help him. We just ran away.”

“We took care of the others. Regrouping here to tend to our wounded is the only choice we had left. That house is swarming with mortals, there are cameras everywhere. If we’re caught, we expose ourselves to more than just a few people. You know the rules against that. Lysander wouldn’t have wanted us to expose ourselves to go after his corpse.”

I cringed to hear Lysander’s name followed by the word “corpse.” He will be a corpse soon if someone doesn’t go help him.

“Well, we can’t just leave him out there now. Someone needs to go after him.”

“We’re not going back there until those humans are gone. We’re not risking exposure.”

“That may be too late. What if he is dying? If you won’t do it, I’ll go after him. It’s my turn to do something. I’ll go save him myself.” I shot up from my seat on the couch.

“No. You stay here. We have had quite enough of your heroics.” Nicholas rose from his seat and walked towards the kitchen.

I felt the anger Nicholas had for me. I looked at Rozaline, seeing the pain in her face.

I wanted to say something. It seemed Nicholas hated me for causing harm to come to her, but Rozaline didn’t look on me with hatred. I had already apologized, but it didn’t feel like enough.

“I’m sorry for what I’ve done. Please forgive me,” I begged, falling to my knees at the base of the loveseat.

“I will heal. What matters is, I am alive,” she said. Her raspy voice was still kind, even though I had almost killed her.

“I do not deserve your patience, Rozaline.”

“What you did was done out of good intentions. Your methods may have been questionable, but you meant me no harm. I forgive you.”

“I doubt Nicholas will. He seems pretty angry.”

“He will get over it when I am better. He is very protective of me, just as Lysander has been protective of you.”

The mention of Lysander’s name caused tears to well in my eyes. Another image of Lysander flashed in my mind. I saw him slowly sinking in a dark murky pool.

“I have to go after him. I’ll do it alone if no one will go with me.” I shot up and walked to the door. A hand grasped my arm.

“You’re really going after him, aren’t you?” Nicholas asked.

“Yes. Let me go!” I yanked my arm from his grasp.

“And what do you plan to do if a human sees you?”

“I’ll figure that out when I get there.” I’ll kill them if I have to. I’m not coming back without him.

Nicholas smirked. I wondered if he had read my mind. “You do care for him, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course I—”

“Fine, I’m going with you.”

We stepped outside into the smoky air. The burning house was close. Nicholas stood rigid for a moment. His eyes closed and his head slowly turned from side to side.

“What are you doing?”

His answer didn’t come. He stood rigid in one spot, slowly turning his head. He lifted his head up slightly, appearing to sniff at the air like a dog.

“This way.” He took off in a sprint. “We will try to come in from the back yard.”

I followed as he hopped over a large stucco wall.

“Try to keep up,” he yelled, bounding over the walls behind houses as if they were mere racing hurdles.

I stumbled, trying to keep up. My foot caught the edge of a wall, sending me crashing to the ground.

“Damn it, I should have done this myself,” Nicholas grumbled.

Heat rose to my face. “I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

“I didn’t ask, because no, I don’t care. We’re here for Lysander, not you.”

“I would have preferred to do this myself.”

“And the last time you tried to be a hero, how did that turn out? Do you know how much pain she is in?”

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—“

“Just shut up. Do as I say, and keep up.”

We hopped the last wall, making it to the yard of Kallisto’s safe house. The heat from the fire was intense; the air was choked with black, acrid smoke. I spotted the pool and a large mass floating on the surface.

“Lysander,” I gasped, and ran toward him.

Nicholas held out his arm and stopped me.

“Wait,” he snapped as he looked around the yard.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s get him out of there.”

As I spoke the words, a man in a bright yellow fireman’s coat ran around the back yard. He must have spotted Lysander’s body floating in the pool. “One body back here,” the fireman shouted into a small speaker at his shoulder.

“Crap,” I said. “What are we going to do about him?”

“Didn’t you say you would do anything to save Lysander?”

“It’s not polite to read minds.”

“Never said I was polite. Go get him.” Nicholas pointed at the fireman. “I’ll watch your back in case there are more.”

The fireman reached out into the pool, stretching to grab Lysander’s body.

I walked quickly and quietly over to him.

How am I going to get rid of him without exposing myself? Should I knock him into the pool? Should I feed from him? No, that would kill him. He’s an innocent. I can’t do that.

I reached the edge of the pool. The fireman was still attempting to pull out Lysander’s body.

I could knock him unconscious. If he didn’t see, me he would never know what had happened. Perfect.

I smiled, proud of myself for coming up with the plan. I slammed his head against the side of the pool. The fireman fell to the ground unconscious. His head fell limp into the water.

Crap. I hope I didn’t do too much damage.

I pulled him away from the pool and laid him out on the grass. I could still hear his heart beating.

He’s alive. Good. When he wakes up, he’s going to have one hell of a headache.

A new voice boomed into the back yard. “Mason, why aren’t you answering your radio? What’s up with that body in the back yard?”

“There’s more of them.”

“Let’s get a move on, sweetheart,” Nicholas called out to me. “No time to play with your food.”

“I wasn’t planning on killing him.”

“No time for explanations, there are more of them coming. I’ll get him out.” Nicholas barked. “You get back over that wall.”

He walked over and caught Lysander’s hand. He dragged the limp body out, tossing it over his shoulders.

“How will we get him out of here?”

“I’ll try to take him with me over the wall. You go first and catch if necessary.”

Catch?

There was no time to question. I did as Nicholas said and made my way over the wall and waited for Nicholas to come over.

Nicholas was extremely strong, even by vampire standards, but the added weight of Lysander’s limp body made hopping the walls a much harder task. I could tell the dead weight of Lysander threw him off balance. He groaned as he landed, almost toppling over a few times before we made it back to Lysander’s home.

Nicholas laid Lysander out on the couch. He was weak and unresponsive. I could see now that his skin and clothing were singed, and he looked just as monstrous as Rozaline. Water dripped from his clothes, soaking into the couch.

The battle he and Santino had fought had taken its toll on him, and he was unable to move or speak. He lay there silently, staring up at the ceiling as if dead.

“Thank you, thank you,” I said to Nicholas, throwing my arms around him. I could still feel his animosity, but he accepted my thanks.

“Take care of him. He needs you,” he grumbled.

“I hope so,” I said trying to hold back the tears of joy.

Edmond joined us in the living room. “Is there anything I can do to help? Does Lysander need blood?”

Gone was the powerful demeanor; he appeared now a defeated and pathetic man, a mere shadow of his once former proud self. He held out his arm in offering to Lysander.

“Why are you still here?” I asked.

He turned to look at me, his eyes sad, traces of tears lining his cheeks. “I must make things right with Lysander.”

“Why?”

“It is the honorable thing to do. I have caused your master much grief in my time. Now that my mistress is destroyed, I will submit and pay for my crimes however Lysander deems fitting.”

“Are you ready to die now?”

“If that is Lysander’s wish.”

Chapter 26

OUR EFFORTS TO tend to the wounded showed quick progress. By the next evening, Rozaline and Lysander both began to look more like themselves. The burns on both their faces had become scars and were slowly disappearing.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, joining Lysander on the couch.

He didn’t respond, staring at the distant wall as if watching something important on a television.

“No need to answer me now; just know I’m so happy you’re alive.” I nuzzled into his chest, listening to the faint sounds of his heartbeat.

Edmond walked into the living room. I had almost forgotten that he was still with us.

His presence had an effect on Lysander. He turned and stared; a growl rumbled in his chest. Hatred flooded the room, as if seeping straight from Lysander’s pores.

He pointed directly at Edmond. “Destroy him.”

Edmond looked at the finger pointed at his head; he frowned, but didn’t say a word. He was already defeated, just waiting for his sentence.

“He helped to save Alyssa and assisted us last night,” Crystal said as she entered the room.

“A night of good deeds is not worth the pardon of a millennium of evil.” Anger was audible in Lysander’s voice.

“Save your death sentences for later, Lysander. There are more important things to discuss, like Santino and the rest of the Saints,” said Drew, joining the conversation.

The whole clan gathered in the living room.

“Yes, Lysander. What happened in there?” Nicholas asked, sitting on the edge of his seat.

Lysander seemed to emerge from a trance, looking shocked to see us all sitting around him.

“Did you kill Santino?” Crystal asked.

Lysander’s raspy voice sounded so old. He was still not fully healed from his injuries, despite his appearance. “I don’t know.”

The room filled with quiet anticipation of Lysander’s explanation. Our worst fear was that Santino had survived.

“The fire forced us out of the living room,” he said. “Flames licked at our heels as we attacked one another.” He winced in pain. “I made for the stairs, hoping to avoid the burn of the flames. Santino followed. His strength was much greater than I had expected. I imagine Kallisto’s blood had helped him with that extra boost.”

Edmond sighed loudly at the mention of Kallisto. He dropped his head to hide his face from view.

“The flames followed us as we fought up the stairs; we were surrounded,” Lysander continued. “Everything was burning. No matter where I turned, the flames trapped me. At that point, I was determined to keep him in the house, so I could be sure we burned together. The flames ate away at our skin.”

I cringed, trying to imagine the searing pain.

Lysander took a deep breath before speaking. “I grabbed hold of Santino, determined not to let go. He threw me down and attempted to break out of the back window. I remember lunging forward, knocking him to the ground. I held onto him, shouting that we would die together. We tumbled and rolled around on the floor. Again, he escaped my grasp. I’m not sure exactly what happened next; I was at the point of blacking out. We must have crashed through a bedroom window and rolled off the balcony into the pool. When I opened my eyes again, Nicholas was fishing me out of the water.”

“So Santino may still live?” asked Nicholas.

“It is a possibility, although I doubt he poses any immediate threat at this time. His injuries would equal mine, and I am assuming he would not have had the benefit of his children to heal him.” He smiled at us.

Nicholas sat back into the cushions of the couch. An arrogant smile was painted across his face. “Yes, I believe we took care of his backup.”

“There were more than we had anticipated. There were at least five that attacked us,” added Rozaline hoarsely.

“That doesn’t include the first wave that must have taken out Kallisto’s guard. We cast nineteen bodies in the fire before we left,” Crystal added.

Edmond flinched again at the sound of Kallisto’s name, drawing Lysander’s attention back to him.

“I want him dead,” Lysander hissed. “He should have been destroyed with her coven.”

“Let him live. He’s earned at least that much for helping us,” said Crystal.

“I agree,” said Drew. “He’s earned at least his life.”

Lysander thought silently about this. I felt the anger inside of him. He wanted to punish Edmond for all the years of problems he had caused. I believed that Kallisto had been telling the truth when she said Lysander had loved her and Edmond’s presence had destroyed that love. I doubted that he ever really gotten over that pain.

“You do not know the problems this man has caused me over the last few centuries,” Lysander growled. “Nicholas, Rozaline, you two are my children. You know of the pain I have endured: the secrecy, the fear. What say you?”

Nicholas opened his mouth to speak, but Rozaline hushed him, raising her scarred hand to his lips. “We cannot make this decision for you. It is up to you to decide,” she rasped.

“Send him away, exile him. He doesn’t deserve death now,” said Drew. “Be the better man, Lysander.”

“Please accept my apologies, Lysander,” said Edmond quietly. “I have been a monstrous creature. I have no excuse for my actions.”

Lysander spoke in a low monotone. “I want you dead.”

Edmond appeared more defeated now than he had before.

The house was silent. No one dared say anything. Lysander had decided Edmond’s fate, and none of us would go against him.

Edmond stared at Lysander for a moment and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for the suffering I’ve caused. Perhaps I could offer you something.”

“You have nothing to offer me.”

“Perhaps the knowledge of your old writings.”

“You know where they are?” Lysander perked up at the mention of his lost memoirs.

“Yes,” Edmond answered. “She wanted them protected, since they were all she had left of you. You will find them in Boston, inside of a building that was once your home.”

Lysander’s eyes lit up. “That information means a great deal to me.”

“It is not much, but it is all I can offer for the torment I have caused you.”

Lysander sat quietly for a moment.

“Go, Edmond,” he whispered. “Leave now and never show your face to me ever again. Wander the earth alone and friendless as you wished me to do all those years ago.”

Edmond’s eyes seemed to sparkle with relief, but his face remained stoic. Lysander had decided to spare him.

“Thank you for your leniency.” Edmond bowed and silently left the house.

“What was he talking about?” I asked. “What could be worth so much to you?”

“My original writings.” A smile played across Lysander’s face. “I will have them once again, all the history I thought was lost by my hasty retreat from the coven.”

Even in my short time with Lysander, I had heard him say more than once that he wished he hadn’t lost his original works. Now that he knew where they were, he would soon be reunited with them.

What a smart move by Edmond, to use them to bargain for his life.

“You will let him go?” Nicholas asked calmly.

“Drew is right. He should live.”

“What?”

“He has nothing left, no family, no friends, no mistress. To kill him now would put him out of his misery. I want him to live with this feeling for a long time.”

Chapter 27

MOST OF THE Peregrinus had survived the ordeal. Now that the danger was over, the clan had time to mourn the loss of their two youngest members. They burned all of Damon and Jessie’s possessions in a midnight ceremony in Lysander’s backyard.

Rozaline remained outside alone after all of the others had finished making their peace with the loss of their clan mates. She appeared to be having a tough time dealing with loss. Her face was somber. I saw a slight glistening in her eyes, as if she were trying to hold back tears.

“You’re sad for Damon, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I will miss him. He was so young and new to this life. We wouldn’t have turned him if it weren’t for Jessie.”

“Jessie,” I scoffed.

Rozaline breathed a heavy sigh. “It is her death that saddens me most.”

“Why mourn the loss of Jessie?” I asked. “She led me right to Kallisto.”

“She was my child, Alyssa. I brought her into this life.”

I bit at my lip, not knowing how to respond.

“She wasn’t all bad, just young and impressionable,” Rozaline continued. “I believe she was enticed by the splendor of Kallisto’s coven. Life on the road is hard, and not everyone can handle it.”

That’s no excuse for betrayal. “I would’ve ripped her apart if I had the chance.”

“I understand your anger. You have every right to hate her for what she did to you.”

“You’re too forgiving, Rozaline, first with Jessie, and then with me.”

“You have eternity, Alyssa; don’t spend it holding grudges.”

I huffed, looking down at the makeshift fire pit in the rocks.

“If it makes a difference to you, Alyssa, she didn’t go unpunished.”

It occurred to me then that I had not given thought to what had happened after she was sent back here. I assumed Kallisto’s minions had just killed her and left her to rot on Lysander’s doorstep.

“She was still alive when she was left here,” Rozaline said, clearly reading my mind again.

“What? Then how… who killed her?”

“I did.”

“What!” I gasped. Rozaline was too sweet, too motherly, too caring. I couldn’t picture her killing one of her own.

She killed her child for me?

“Lysander raged when he learned what happened. It took all of the clan to hold him off as she delivered her message from Kallisto. He wanted to tear her limb from limb.”

Wow, all that for me. I hid my smile. Warmth rose to my face.

“Her life was put to a vote, and it was decided that she must die. It was only fitting that I be the one to do it.” She breathed a heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry you were forced to do this.”

“She was my responsibility as my child. I did what had to be done.”

“I’m sorry things ended this way.” I didn’t know what else to say. How do I comfort someone who had to kill her child?

Rozaline remained silent for a few moments, staring up into the night sky.

“Some are not meant for this life. Immortality is a precious gift. But it doesn’t always last forever.”

She didn’t look at me as she turned around and slowly walked back into the house.

* * *

I SPENT SOME time alone outside on the patio, thinking about what Rozaline had said. I should have been dead countless times in the last month.

Were Rozaline’s words a warning to me? Was I not meant for this life?

I quietly pondered the events of the last month.

Each time, I had been spared. Maybe I am meant for this life.

I had spent so much time cursing this changes in my life, never really considering the gift that I had been given.

Time to quit fighting things. I need to accept what I am. Maybe, unlike Damon and Jessie, I was meant to be a vampire.

The sliding glass door opened, and Lysander stepped outside.

“Not disturbing you, am I?” He gave me a cheerful smile. The tips of his fangs poked down below his lips.

Being a vampire wasn’t so bad.

I smiled back. “No. Not at all. Please, join me.” I patted the spot next to me on the futon mattress.

Lysander sat down immediately, putting his arm around me.

“How are you holding up?”

“I’m good. I feel safe now.” I always feel safe in your arms.

“Good.” He pulled me close.

“Rozaline told me you went a little crazy when Jessie showed up.”

“I’m sorry I let you go out with her that night. I should have protected you better.”

“No, it’s okay. Everything ended well, and I have you to thank for that.”

“You’re starting to sound like Rozaline, now,” he chuckled.

His hand moved up and down my arm, gently stroking my skin.

“Well, she is a smart lady.”

“Hopefully you will be around as long as she’s been.”

Blood rushed to my face.

“You are very important to me,” he continued. “I don’t ever want to lose you. You don’t know how much you mean to me.”

I turned to face him, heat spreading to my face.

“You have brought me happiness. You’ve allowed me to accept love into my life again.”

“Lysander, you’re the one who has saved me. All I do is get into trouble—”

His hand rose, covering my lips.

“It is because of you, and the trouble you’ve brought into my life, that I am smiling today. You’ve given more purpose to live than I have had in centuries. You are a troublemaker, the wrecking ball of my life, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I smiled behind his hand and used my own to move his away.

“I think we’ve both wrecked one another’s ‘normal lives.’”

“Then let us rebuild a new life, together.” He pulled me in close and his lips met mine. “We can concentrate on the fun parts of immortality.”

I rolled over, straddling him on the futon.

“I’m ready to learn.” I said with a smile.

* * *

Don’t miss the next installment of the Immortalis series. HUNTERS & PREY (Immortalis Series Book 2)

Available Now!

http://amzn.to/1lq1GRH

http://www.katiesalidas.com

* * *

About Katie Salidas

Las Vegas native, Katie Salidas is a Jill of all trades. Mother to three, Wife to one, and slave to the craft of writing, she tries to do it all, often causing sleep deprivation and many nights passed out at the computer. Author of the Immortalis series, Chronicles of the Uprising, and various other paranormal works; writing is her passion, and she hopes that her passion will bring you hours of entertainment.

Find Katie Salidas online at:

KatieSalidas@gmail.com

Facebook

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Katie-Salidas-Author/214780936916

Twitter

http://twitter.com/QuixoticKatie

* * *

Read More by this Author

http://amzn.to/1lq1ySe

http://www.katiesalidas.com

Sign up for more bargain boxed sets at:

www.hotboxedbooks.com

JUMP TO...

A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE by NOREE COSPER

END OF DREAMS by KIM FAULKS

HAUNT by HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY

DARK CROSSINGS by ANN SIMKO

HEADSPACE by CALINDA B

THE OTHER F WORD by SUSAN STEC

UNLEASHED by RACHEL MCCLELLAN

HIDDEN INTENTIONS by STACY CLAFLIN

THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL by AIMEE EASTERLING

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS by KYOKO M

ST. CHARLES AT DUSK by SARAH M. CRADIT

WICKED BY NATURE by MADISON SEVIER

UNDERLIFE by MARISSA FARRAR

DRAGON’S REDEMPTION by EDEN ASHE

MILAN’S RETURN by GRAE LILY

THE BREAKERS CODE by CONNER KRESSLEY

THE MEDIUM by MR GRAHAM

WICCAN WARS by HEATHER MARIE ADKINS

CARPE NOCTEM by KATIE SALIDAS

A QUESTION OF FAITH by NICOLE ZOLTACK

A QUESTION OF FAITH

Magic Incarnate Book One

BY NICOLE ZOLTACK

Copyright © 2016 by Nicole Zoltack

It’s not everyday you learn you’re the incarnation of magic.

After learning her birth mother sought the help of witches to conceive her, fifteen-year-old Crystal’s previously unwavering faith is shaken. God hasn’t been answering her prayers like she thought–she was.

Crystal’s limitless magical potential is put to the test when her boyfriend’s mother is in a life-threatening accident. Surely God won’t mind her using magic to help people, but the miraculous outcome leaves Crystal wondering what she is capable of and worrying that her magic will damn her to Hell or, worse, prove she has no soul to condemn.

After her aunt is threatened, Crystal sets out to master her power, but flying and conjuring fireballs attracts dangerous attention. A witch hunter kidnaps her boyfriend, and shamans and witches hunt Crystal, desperate to use her to end a centuries-old war between the supernatural races. Her magic is an uncontrollable time bomb. If Crystal can’t figure out what she’s capable of, she won’t just fail to protect those she loves and end the war—she might start the apocalypse.

Copyright 2016 by Nicole Zoltack

Published in the United States of America

Publish Date: 2016

Cover Artist: Sylvia Frost

Cover Art Copyright by 2016

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher.

Ebooks are not transferrable, either in whole or in part. As the purchaser or otherwise lawful recipient of this ebook, you have the right to enjoy the novel on your own computer or other device. Further distribution, copying, sharing, gifting or uploading is illegal and violates United States Copyright laws.

Pirating of ebooks is illegal. Criminal Copyright Infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, may be investigated by the Federal Bureau of Investigation and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of up to $250,000.

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used in a fictitious situation. Any resemblances to actual events, locations, organizations, incidents or persons – living or dead – are coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

Chapter 1

OUR ATTIC DOOR is always padlocked. Always. Mom does it to keep the mice up there. We don’t exact have the money for an exterminator, and since mice freak me out like snakes do Indiana Jones—which is a more legit fear, I know—and Mom’s not the bravest either, lock it is.

I stand beneath it in the upstairs hallway. Never really gave it much thought before, but it’s ugly, if you ask me.

“Crystal, there you are. I’m off to the bakery. Want to come?” She brushes strands of dyed strawberry blonde hair behind her shoulder with her small fingers.

I shake my head, surprised she’s giving me a choice. “I’ll pass.”

Her lips purse.

“Come on. I’m turning sixteen in two days. Don’t you trust me? I mean, you’ll be gone, what, a half hour?” I follow her to the kitchen.

“Of course I trust you.” She tousles my short chocolate brown hair and grabs her purse from the counter.

“Then it’s past time you leave the house in my very capable hands.” I grin and stare out the window above the sink. It’s a beautiful Saturday, the buds on the apple trees promising warm spring breezes and sunny days. The sun catcher I painted years ago hangs from the top corner of the window, a butterfly so faded and sad-looking I can’t believe Mom keeps it. “Besides, it’s almost time for Vince’s cookout.”

Her eyes narrow in a disapproving way. “Didn’t you mention you have a report due soon?”

“Yep.” I rub the worn spots on the counter. “A huge one for Mr. William’s class. Lydia and I were assigned The History of Witches. I wanted to do it on religion versus magic, but he vetoed it, said it wouldn’t be impartial.”

“Some people do consider themselves witches.”

I can’t help my scoff. “Magic’s just a bunch of stupid hocus pocus mumbo jumbo.”

Mom straightens the sun catcher, her lips a thin line that relaxes when she chuckles. “Impartial, huh?”

My cheeks grow hot, and I look away, fingering a not quite ripe apple in the fruit bowl on the counter.

“Have you finished it?” she asked.

“Just about.” It needs to be typed up. Lydia and I haven’t decided who gets that honors yet.

“I really shouldn’t let you go to the barbeque without having your report done… Just make sure you finish it in time. I’m off,” she says with a waggle of a short index finger.

We hug, and I walk out to the small living room and watch as she leaves. Wow. Almost can’t believe I’m here alone. She’s the world’s most overprotective mom. We might not have a lot, but we have each other.

Geez, that’s sweet enough that we don’t need desserts.

Chuckling, I head back upstairs to the hallway and pause beneath the attic door. Wonder if she braved the mice to hide my birthday presents up there.

Speaking of, her birthday is coming up too. She’s a little behind on paying me my meager allowance—actually, I think she owes me for an entire year. I slip inside her room. Maybe she has a few extra dollars in here. I’m not that crafty so making her something is out. Besides, she deserves something nice.

My gaze falls on the tip of a tan heel poking out from beneath her bed. It’s the only pair of her shoes I like. I pull out the heel, dig around for its mate, knock over the ugliest boot in the world—can’t count the number of times I’ve told Mom to get rid of them, that it’s almost a sin to wear something so tacky—and hear a faint sound. Puzzled, I stick my hand inside and remove a small, metal object. A key.

Unable to stop staring at it, I abandon my search for the other heel and for money and return to the hallway. Sure enough, the key fits into the attic padlock, and the stairs descend into the hallway like a lolling tongue from a dark mouth.

A sudden gust of wind leaves me shiver. The thought of spying makes my stomach churn. My conscious is a little overactive. Mom’s trusting me for the first time ever, and what do I do? Try to find some money—albeit for a good reason—and contemplate sneaking into the attic.

The mice. It’s not worth it. Just thinking about them freaks me out.

I’m ready to right everything, to put the stairs back up and lock the attic again, when a sudden thought comes to me. What if there aren’t any mice? What if Mom just doesn’t want me to go up there?

For fifteen years? What secret could be that big?

Curiosity isn’t a sin, right?

Seconds later, I find myself in the stuffy, cramped attic. The tiny bulb hanging from a wire barely illuminates the small area. I rub my nose and promptly sneeze. The light fizzles and burns out.

Lovely. Refusing to see this as a sign that I should stop snooping, I stumble back to the stairs and retrieve a light bulb from the top of the refrigerator. Quick as I can—Mom will be back soon—I change the bulb, but the place still isn’t that bright.

Boxes and books litter the room. The first box contains old tests from grade school. Mom’s such a pack rat! I’ll be lucky to find anything worthwhile.

If there is anything worthwhile besides mice.

Hugging myself, I glance around and listen hard. No peeps. No scratching of tiny feet on the wooden floor. Not a sound but my raspy breathing and the faint hum of electricity from the light bulb. There isn’t a hint of mice traps or droppings or mice anywhere.

I give a huge sigh of relief for that, although I’m even more curious now. If Mom lied about the mice, she must be hiding something.

A bunch of books are stacked beside some boxes. The Ultimate Witches’ Guide to Potions, Herbs, and Rituals. Book of Spells. Magic and Its Healing Properties. Witchcraft, Magic, and More.

Why would Mom have this stuff? I flip through the top book. In the margin of a love potion spell, I recognize Mom’s practically illegible scribbling. Squinting forces the marks into letters and words I can decipher—something about an ingredient being extinct. She actually thinks magic is real? Why didn’t she say anything when we were just talking about it?

Because you aren’t impartial about it, a part of me reasons.

Or because she doesn’t want you to know.

Believing in the possibility of magic is one thing. That I could accept. But trying spells?

Maybe I shouldn’t fault her for being curious, especially since that’s why I’m up here in the first place.

I slam the book shut and drop it onto the others. Dust billows everywhere. Coughing, I wave it away and notice a box half hidden in the darkest corner of the attic. My interest piqued, I drag it into the light.

A name is written on the top in Mom’s chicken scratch. Marian Wynter.

Who’s that?

Someone Mom doesn’t want me to know.

My heart pounds furiously as I flip open the flaps and shift through the mounds of paperwork. A picture falls out. An old newspaper article catches my eye. “Car crash kills mother, baby safe.”

I sink to my knees and read the article. Marian Wynter’s brakes stopped working during a snowstorm, and she died in the resulting crash when her car slammed headfirst into a large snow bank. The driver of the car behind her witnessed the whole thing and tried to save her, but she had died instantly. The baby, only seven months, survived.

Marian Wynter was survived by her daughter Crystal, her brother Richard Miller and his wife Patricia.

I stare at the words so long they swim before my eyes. This can’t mean what I think it does… That Marian Wynter is my birth mother. And my mom is really my aunt.

I grew up thinking my last name was Miller.

I’m not Crystal Miller.

I’m Crystal Wynter.

Mom has been hiding a secret up here all right. A secret fifteen years in the making.

Chapter 2

MY THOUGHTS FLY around, fuming, hostile, like buzzing bees startled from their nest. Mom isn’t my birth mother. She lied to me. Kept secrets. I have nothing of my birth mom’s. No memories. Just this one picture.

I stare at it. A tall man flashes a broad smile, white salting the sides of his dark hair. He looks young though, prematurely whitening. The woman beside him wears the same big grin. Her chocolate brown hair touches her shoulders, and her soft brown eyes are more turned toward the man than the camera. Her hair, her eyes, the tilted smile…

It’s as if I’m looking in the mirror at an older version of myself.

Any doubt I might have been trying to form withers away.

All these years, I thought I looked like my dad, that that was why I didn’t look like my mom. Actually, I am the spitting image of my mom, my real mom. I’m dying to know more about Marian.

I never even knew Dad… Richard… had a sister. What other secrets has Mom been keeping from me?

As much as I feel betrayed, I also feel like I’m breaking my bond with Mom. Patricia. She’s been a true mother to me all these years. When I was five, I saw a special on TV about Jesus. Ever since, religion fell into my lap. Although she isn’t a strong believer, Mom pulled me out of my public school kindergarten and struggled to afford to send me to a Catholic school. My high school is public because there’s no way she can afford that. She worked so hard to give me what I wanted, even though it wasn’t something we shared.

Turns out, there’s a lot more we don’t share—our blood.

A witch book teeters from the top of the stack and thuds onto the floor. That’s why Patricia doesn’t have faith. Because she thinks witches and magic exist.

Talk about weirdness to the max.

I glance at my watch. “Mom” should be back any minute now. These mixed-up and confused feelings—I don’t have time to process them now.

After carefully tucking the photo into my jean pocket, I smuggle the Marian Wynter box down the steps, close and lock the attic, return the key to its hiding place, and carry the box to my room.

A knock on my closed door has me scrambling to find a spot to stash it. I toss the box into my closet and shut it right before my mom—my aunt—enters.

“I have goodies.” She holds out the box. “Two cupcakes. Do you want yours now?”

It takes a moment for me to respond. A part of me—a huge part—wants to ask her about Marian, but what’s to say she won’t deny everything, that she’ll finally tell me the truth after all this time? Considering she had the perfect opportunity to talk to me about witches the last time we spoke and she didn’t, I have no reason to think she’ll start sharing the true with me now.

I shake my head. “It’s time for me to get going.” At her blank face, I add, “For the barbeque.”

To avoid looking at her, I grab a hair tie and squeeze my strands through it. It’s bad enough my best friend Brianna called earlier to say she was grounded for getting pulled over. She only got a warning, but she drives like a racecar driver. Inevitably, she’ll get a ticket. The cookout won’t be as much fun without her, but no way can I stay in this house.

“Oh.” She blinks in surprise. “Do you want me to drive you?”

“Nah, I’ll walk.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Can’t trust me too much, huh?” I try to sound light, but from the expression on her face, I fail.

Nothing convinces her to let me go by myself, so I’m forced to enter her old Taurus. Geez, she doesn’t know she can’t trust me and she already doesn’t.

I yank the car door open, sit, buckle, and cross my arms. Just knowing the photo’s in my pocket unnerves me.

Mom keeps glancing over, so I shift my focus to the window. Claymore is a quaint, boring town in Pennsylvania. Mr. Williams pulls out of the large brick apartment complex, and I slide down in my seat to avoid being seen. He’s by far my least favorite teacher. He waves to Mom, and she waves back, her face relaxing for a brief second before resuming its strained expression. She knows something’s up.

The drive to the Fullers takes forever. Finally, she parks out front of the small Cape Cod. My heart pounding, wanting to put as much distance between us, I nod instead of kissing her cheek and jerk the door open.

“Do you want me to pick you up when you’re done?” she asks.

I shake my head, not bothering to turn around, afraid she’ll know that I know if she sees my face. “One of my friends can give me a lift.”

“Oh, all right. If that’s what you want.”

My exhale is one of relief.

“Be home no later than nine,” she adds.

And she’s gone. Delaying my confrontation won’t help any, but I can’t deal with the possibility of her spewing more lies. Nothing good can come from this.

The scent of fire and smoke mixed with burgers and hot dogs fills the air, and my stomach rumbles. At least I still have my appetite.

I so need this distraction.

A car slows and parks. Lydia, the new girl at Claymore High and the latest addition to my crew, smiles at me. “Crystal, hey,” she says as joins me on the sidewalk. “I added some final touches to our report. Typed it up and everything. We’re good to go.”

My laugh is a little incredulous. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a partner before who did more of the work than me. You’re making me feel bad.”

“Don’t.” Her dark eyes bright, she waves away my concern. “I just meant to find a few books and then call you to meet me at the library, but I started reading and got sucked in. Did you know there’s supposedly magic in Mount Claymore? I wish we had more time so we could have investigated it.”

“Seriously?” My eyes bulge, and I blink a few times. No way am I traipsing around some mountain to try and prove magic exists.

She giggles. “You should see your face! I’m just teasing. They really do say that about the mountain, but I don’t think magic is real, even if there are some things science can’t explain.”

Because of miracles, not magic, but I keep the thought to myself. My hand brushes against my jean pocket, and I remove the photo for a quick peek.

“You look deep in thought.” She tugs on the ends of her short black hair. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.” She averts her gaze, shoulders slumped.

Wonderful. The last thing I want is for her to think we aren’t friends.

Before I can fix things, she adds, “What a nice picture of your parents!”

I shake my head, brown hair flying everywhere.

Her thin eyebrows arch upward. “You look just like her. And you have your dad’s long fingers.” She points to his hand.

I do have piano fingers, like my grade school music teacher used to say. Something else that helps to prove what I already know to be true. Can’t quite accept it though. Probably won’t be able to until I hear it from Mom’s lips.

That right there is why I ran away instead of confronting her. Because I want to stay in this time, before it descends into chaos. Whatever the truth is, it’s going to change everything, and the before was pretty great. The after? Doubt it’ll be so awesome.

My tongue’s all tied up, and I can’t say anything. Crazy how the only friend of mine who sees the photo is the only one who hasn’t met my mom… my aunt yet. Or maybe not so crazy. I don’t believe in coincidences.

Lydia gives me a smile, not realizing my world is falling apart, waves to Vince’s mom, and heads to the backyard.

His mom’s tending to her garden. Sweet flower perfume washes over me as I tuck the picture away and walk over. “Hi, Mrs. Fuller.”

She finishes digging a small hole for a bulb and leans back onto her knees. Wiping her forehead with her gloves leaves a trail of dirt across it. I gesture, and she laughs, smearing it in her attempt to wipe it away. “Everyone else is out back. Have fun.”

“Thanks.” It’s not easy to act like everything is normal, but I nod and try to smile. Mrs. Fuller has always been nice to me.

“Are you all right?”

Should’ve realized she’d notice. “Just hungry.” The partial truth.

“There’s plenty of food. Go enjoy.” She returns to her flowers.

I wasn’t about to be a black cloud and spoil my friend’s fun, so I push away my confusion and unhappiness and try to soak in the warmth of the day. By the time I reach the backyard, I’m feeling better already.

Brian sidles up to me. “No brownies?”

I slap my forehead. It completely slipped my mind with the whole attic snooping and Mom-really-my-aunt thing. “I’m sorry. I meant to but…”

He sighs. “You’re gonna starve me.”

Lydia approaches in time to overhear, and we both laugh. Despite all the food he eats, and he eats a ton, Brian’s lanky.

We follow him to a table covered with food: potato chips, pretzels, white cheese curls, potato salad, pasta salad, toppings for burgers, and more.

Brian cuts himself a piece of chocolate cake.

“You know you’re supposed to eat healthy food before dessert, right?” I shake my head.

“Yeah, ‘cause hot dogs and hamburgers are so healthy.” He rolls his hazel eyes and brushes his dark blond hair back.

Vince mans the grill next to the food table, and he waves tongs in the air. “Crystal. How was church, bible thumper?”

“I’m going tomorrow.” I slap his shoulder playfully, but my scowl is genuine. “And stop calling me that.”

He shakes his head, his longish brown hair falling into his eyes, his joking demeanor disappearing. “I don’t understand how you can trust in God and all that.”

Vince’s worse than an agnostic; he thinks God’s apathetic. Even I’ll admit he has a legit reason for feeling that way. Almost two years ago, his little brother died from leukemia.

“How can you pray to someone who doesn’t bother to…” He runs his fingers through his hair.

“He helped me yesterday. I couldn’t find my homework for geometry class, but I prayed and found it in my folder. The same folder I’d just checked before praying.”

His lips twist into a grimace. “How naïve can you be, Crystal? You missed it the first time. That was you, not God.”

I smile, unfazed by his tone. No one understands my relationship with God. Everything I pray for happens. Well, within reason.

“Wanna come to church with me?” I ask.

“You already know that answer to that.”

Unfortunately, yes.

Vince tends to the food. Alan, Brian, and Sean are throwing a Frisbee to each other. The girls, including Lydia, have broken off into a smaller group. Everyone’s here but Bri. How can I be around so many friends and still feel so alone?

I open the blue cooler, grab a can of coke, and open it as I lean against the wooden fence. Soda fizzes against my upper lip and burns on the way down my throat.

A quiet voice says, “Earth to Crystal.”

Her hushed tone makes me jump, but I manage to smile.

Lydia has a basketball under her arm. “Are you okay? You look a little sad.”

“I’m fine.” Ready to burst into tears, I hang my head. If only Bri was here. “Actually, I’m not. Can you keep a secret?”

She mimes locking her lips and throwing away the key.

“I haven’t even told Brianna this,” I warn. “You can’t tell anyone.”

Her dark eyes widen, and she nods slowly, a serious and promising gesture.

This is the first time I’m sharing a secret with someone other than Briana since kindergarten. For a second, I feel guilty. Then again, she isn’t exactly known for her secret keeping.

I waver. No one is paying attention to us. It’s now or never. A deep breath settles my nerves a little, so I plunge ahead. “I think I might be adopted.”

Adopted, adopted, adopted. The word echoes in my mind, sounding alien, foreign. My stomach tightens. I couldn’t bring myself to be completely honest with Lydia. It hurts telling her this much.

She feigns opening her lips as if they really are locked shut.

I smile a little at her antics, grateful she’s trying to lighten the mood but wishing I hadn’t said anything. Talking makes it all too real. “Go ahead.”

“Why do you think you’re adopted?”

I retrieve the photo.

“You think they’re your real parents?” Lydia cocks her head to the side. Her hairband falls onto her forehead, and she removes it.

I rub the back of my neck and shrug.

Her thin lips curl downward. “You only live with your… Wow, I have a big mouth.”

“Lydia, no. Actually, I’m glad you… It’s kinda nice to talk to someone about this.”

“I take it you haven’t talked to your mom about this.”

“Not yet.”

“Wow.” She furrows her brow. “I’m sorry?”

I laugh weakly. “Don’t be. This might be nothing.”

A lie. It’s not nothing. It’s my life.

Heather and Paula walk over and pull Lydia away. I close my eyes, sinking into my isolation, and a vision comes. Vince and Ned are working on the grill when a sudden large flame bursts up and singes them. The scent of burning hair and flesh fills the air, and I gag.

I open my eyes. Vince and Ned are flipping hamburgers. No fire in sight.

Yet.

A fire burns in my stomach, just like the one from my vision.

“Hey, guys, quick, come here,” I call.

“We’re a little bit busy here,” Ned says.

“Just for a second.” I try to keep the desperation out of my voice as I frantically wave them over. “Hurry up!”

Ned hands his tongs to Vince, who puts the two sets down. They walk over, but neither looks happy about it.

“What’s up?” Vince asks.

With a whooshing sound, the grill catches on fire. Flames shoot up, sparks flying everywhere. A burnt smell that ruins my hunger replaces the delicious aroma of cooking meat.

“Oh my God,” Heather exclaims.

The boys run back over. Everyone else crowds around the grill, trying to put out the fire, but I’m rooted in place. Vince and Ned could have died. I cover my mouth with my shaking hands. The vision… the premonition. God must have sent it. He saved my friends—through me.

A few dreams have come true, sometimes that day, sometimes a week later, but this is the first time it happened while I’m awake.

Within minutes, everything is under control. The first batch of meats is charred beyond belief, but at least no one got hurt.

In a much better mood now, I keep the guys company as they put more hot dogs and burgers on the grill. The second and third batches are perfect, and I load ketchup on my hot dog and cheeseburger. When I glance over the few remaining desserts, I wish Bri had come with some of her made-from-scratch cupcakes. Of course I miss her more than her cupcakes. Tomorrow, as soon as I wake up, I’ll call her and tell her everything.

Shortly thereafter, the cookout winds down, and Lydia offers to drive me home. I’m tempted but decline.

“Need some time to yourself?” she asks softly.

“Yes. Thanks for the offer.”

“I understand. If you need anything, I’m here for you.”

I smile as she drives off. She’s quickly becoming a good friend. Almost as close as Bri, but not quite.

For early spring, it’s cold, and I rub my arms. Should’ve grabbed my jean jacket. When I walk past the library, I double back and duck inside to warm up.

The photo is burning a hole in my pocket. I pull it out and notice a tiny speck by Marian’s left ear. It’s not dust or dirt. Swallowing hard, I touch the front of my left ear, the location of my birthmark. A wave of nausea hits me.

I close my eyes. Dear Lord, I need to learn more about these people… my parents.

With a sigh, I open my eyes. For the first time, I notice that Marian and her husband are standing in front of a volcano. I hurry to the computer lab, where a quick photo search enables me to recognize Diamond Head, Hawaii. They look so happy. Did they go there on their honeymoon?

My focus returns to Marian. She and I, and Dad, all have identical sloped nose. Only Dad isn’t really my dad. This man is.

My dad… uncle… died of a heart attack when I was five. My fingers refuse to cooperate, and I have to type and delete several times before I can search for Richard Miller’s obituary. The second to last line makes me pause: He was preceded in death by his parents, Walter and Erica Miller, and his sister, Marian Wynter.

Now my fingers are flying as I search for Marian Wynter and marriage. Bingo. Daniel Wynter.

Marian and Daniel Wynter.

I trace my finger over their faces. “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad,” I whisper.

“Nine-fifteen already,” a college-aged girl at the computer next to me mutters.

Crud. Mom wanted me home by nine, but I hesitate, staring at the couple. I love my mom. Sure, we don’t get along all the time, but she’s always there for me. Even though it feels like I’m betraying Mom, I have to learn more about my parents. Is Daniel alive? Something inside tells me no.

Which might mean I’ve discovered I’m adopted and who my real parents are only to also learn they’re both dead.

Heart heavy, I close out of my windows. Mom’s gonna go ballistic especially since she wanted to pick me up in the first place. If I had a cell phone, I’d call her, but no, I have to be the only junior—probably the only teenager in Claymore—who doesn’t own one. And how fair is it that she has one?

Part of me wants her to worry, and I hate myself for feeling that way.

Still holding the picture, I push open the library door. The drooping sun streaks cherries and mangoes across the sky. My bag bounces on my hip as I walk the quiet streets. I nod to the few people I pass. Soon, I’m alone as night descends, and a few stars begin to twinkle in the sky.

Before I can tuck the photo into my pocket, a gust of wind blows it away. Whenever I try to snatch it, the wind pushes it out of reach. Down an alley, into an empty street, beyond stores, away from the well-lit part of town and toward the rundown portion. Finally, the photo just stops, lying on the sidewalk, as if waiting for me to snatch it.

Once I shove it into my pocket, I glance around. My heart skips a beat. Nothing looks familiar. Darkness colors the brick buildings, giving them a sinister appearance. Icy tendrils of fear glide along my skin, raising goose bumps on my flesh.

I look at my watch. Chasing after the photo somehow ate up twenty minutes. Where am I?

My head high, I turn around and march back the way I think I came. The town looks different at night. The trees seem bigger, the pavement more uneven, the shadows larger. The growling of a dog makes me pick up my pace.

A figure rounds the distant corner.

A cloud shifts and blocks the moon. The void of light reignites my panic, and I reach for the first door I find, some kind of watch store. It’s locked, closed already, so I duck down an alley, wanting to put some distance between me and the scary man. It’s darker here, and the stench of rotting garbage sears my nose. Breathing through my mouth to avoid the stench, I start to run. If I can locate a recognizable landmark…

At the next corner sits a dark building, no sign of anyone nearby. Still lost, I turn onto another street. Dilapidated buildings line the streets. I stumble over a crack in the sidewalk and step into a pile of I-don’t-know-what and slow down to shake it off. Glass crunches beneath my sneaker from a broken warehouse window. Graffiti covers the walls.

Night steals over the land, increasing darkness and my dread. It’s quiet, eerily so. The only sounds are my heavy breathing, my sneakers slapping the pavement, and rushing water as I pass an open manhole.

Running, I hurry down the next street and slam into someone.

“Hey there, pretty thing.”

It’s the stranger. He reeks of body odor and garbage.

I back into a trashcan. The lid clatters to the ground, as loud as thunder.

My hand flies to my mouth. My heartbeat pounds, deafening, drowning all other sounds. The man leers. He reaches out, his fingernails covered with dirt. I stifle a scream and creep around the trashcan, retreating until my back slams into a wall.

Please, dear Lord, keep me safe!

But God, who normally answers my prayers, is silent, and nothing happens.

The man touches my face.

“Help!” I scream, squeezing my eyes shut, willing God to hear my plea and save me.

Chapter 3

MY WOBBLY KNEES shake, and I slink to the ground. Another scream builds up in my throat but refuses to come out. Only then do I realize the man isn’t touching me anymore.

I open my eyes and blink several times. The stranger is gone.

Within seconds, I’m on my feet and racing away. My footsteps echo louder than my heartbeat. The man—I hadn’t heard him leave. It’s as if he vanished.

At the next intersection, I spy a broken down truck parked a block away. To avoid it, I hang a left. The stench of the sewers and fermenting vomit churn my stomach. A rat scurries past my foot. I shriek. I have to get out of here.

Please, dear Lord, help me find a way home.

The wind picks up, howling eerily, and blows to the right. Not having a better idea, I change course, so I don’t have to walk into the gust. Several times, the wind alters direction, and I always avoid heading into it.

A minute later, the surroundings are still unfamiliar, so I pray again.

Just then, the cloud moves, and moonlight bathes the world below. When I stand on tiptoes, I spy a familiar site several streets away—the steeple of my church.

With a sigh of relief and a quick prayer of thanks, I hurry home. I wish I could pray and ask God for more information about my parents, but He never answers those types of prayers. I discovered that years ago, when I prayed for the answers to a test I forgot to study for, a test I ended up barely passing.

Fifteen minutes later, I climb my porch steps, never happier to see the worn front door.

Before I can reach for the doorknob, Mom opens it and envelopes me into a tight hug. “There you are. I was worried sick! I was about to call the Fullers. What happened? And you walked home? Why didn’t you get a ride?”

I stand motionless in her embrace. A waft of her lilac perfume assaults me. “I’m fine. It’s just…”

“Just what, honey?”

My throat’s too tight to talk.

Mom stiffens then hugs me again. “You had me so scared.”

I refuse to return her hug. As much as I am upset with her, it’s a huge relief to be home.

“Did you have fun at least?” she asks.

“Yep.” Once I stopped focusing so much on myself.

She gestures to the dining room table. Great. She wants to sit and talk awhile.

I slouch in a seat and stifle a yawn. More than anything I want to see what’s in the box. Might not be a smart idea to look through it while Mom’s home though.

“How is Vince doing?” Mom looks at me pointedly.

“Same old, same old.” I pick an imaginary crumb off the tan-colored tablecloth to avoid the teasing look I’m sure is on her face.

“He still hasn’t asked you out yet?”

“Mo-om. You know I don’t think of him that way.” I hate it when she brings this up.

“I wish you would. He’s a nice boy, loves his mom. He’d treat you right.” She wags a finger at me.

“Not gonna happen.” Mom’s good friends with the Fullers and got it into her head that Vince and I should start dating. We’re friends. Never thought of him as anything more than that.

“What about Brian?”

I wrinkle my nose. “He’s not my type.”

“Oh, so now you have a type?”

She’s like a piranha when she hones in on something. Sinks her teeth into it and never lets it go. Normally I don’t mind. “Why do you want me to have a boyfriend so badly?”

Mom reaches over and pats my hand. There’s compassion in her eyes. No matter what the circumstances of my birth, she loves me. I don’t doubt that.

“I just want you to be happy. Are you?”

After a slight hesitation, I say, “Of course.”

“Then that’s all that matters to me.”

Suddenly, I’m not quite so tired anymore. “Mom, why do you hardly ever go to church?”

She blinks rapidly. “Sometimes I’m tired. I know that’s no excuse, but—”

“Do you believe in God?”

“Of course! Where is this coming from? Do you want me to go with you more often?”

“Do you think witches can use magic? Or do spells?” I hold my breath, willing to bet she’ll fail my test.

She crosses her arms then relaxes with a short chuckle. “Is this stemming from that silly project? I believe in God, not magic, not witches. My soul is safe.”

But after a moment, she touches the side of her neck.

Likely story. Mom always touches her neck when she lies to Aunt Martha about how delicious her meatloaf is.

So Mom really does believe in that garbage. And she isn’t willing to tell me the truth. Okay, it’s not surprising she’s keeping that magic crud from me, but why didn’t she just raise me as her niece? Why lie about that?

She failed the first test. Time for test number two.

“We were talking about genetics in class the other day.” Avoiding eye contact, I tap my fingers on the table. I’m not lying—I’m testing the water, seeing if she’ll tell me anything. “I was wondering where I got my long fingers from.”

I lift my gaze to see Mom look at her own short, pudgy fingers. “Your father,” she says.

She doesn’t touch her neck, although she lifts her right shoulder, her head tilted toward it. I can’t remember Dad’s fingers, but I recall how his scruff used to tickle my cheek when he kissed me and how he used to sing all the time.

Her eyes grow wet. “Richard. He died too young. He always saved for tomorrow, too invested in the future to actually live his life. But you… promise me you’ll always live for today, no matter what tomorrow may bring.”

“I promise.” It’s almost a question.

“Enjoy life. You never know how much longer you’ll have.”

It means so much to her. “I promise,” I echo, this time with a little more feeling.

She wipes her tears away. “You know, you never did tell me what you wanted for your birthday.”

I try to smile. “I just want to spend my actual birthday with… my mom.” A lump forms in my throat, and I stumble over the last two words. The desire to say “my birth mother” almost unravels me.

“Your buttering up skills have improved over the years. Remember how you used to throw tantrums because I wouldn’t get you a certain doll—”

“It was the Barbie kitchen set. I used to cry myself to sleep.”

“Money wasn’t easy to come by back then. I never deprived you, did I?”

Only of the knowledge that you’re my aunt, not my mom.

“Of course not. I had a wonderful childhood,” I say, and I do mean it.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Marian. My mother. How different would my childhood have been if Marian survived the crash?

A sudden chill has me shivering, and I can’t push this off any longer. “Mom.” My voice cracks. “I need to show you something.”

“What’s wrong?”

I yank out the photo—the first time I’m not gentle with it—and shove it into her hand. “I want my present to be a talk. About her. Marian Wynter. She’s my mother, isn’t she?”

Aunt Patricia drops it onto the table as if it burned her. “Where did you find that? I thought… And how do you know her name?” Her voice is low, almost a whisper, thick with emotions—despair, dread, sadness. She looks… defeated. “You’re very much your mother’s child,” she murmurs, shaking her head as if in disbelief. “You look just like her.” She covers her face with her hands. “I-I want you to know I was going to tell you eventually.”

“When?” I flinch at the coldness in my tone. Please let me know what to say so I don’t hurt her.

“On your eighteenth birthday.” Aunt Patricia places her hands on the table. There’s hurt in her eyes, pain of a different sort than the kind I’m feeling. “I… It’s not that I didn’t think you were ready, it’s just…”

“I’m Crystal Wynter.”

She winces and inhales deeply. “Yes, that’s your birth name. Your mother was a very religious woman. She prayed all the time. So kind and caring, completely devoted to Daniel, her husband. Richard and Marian were siblings.”

“So you’re my aunt.” I rest my elbow on the table, my hand cradling my chin.

“Yes, but I do love you as if you are my own.” She smiles sadly.

I know this is true, but I refuse to back down and point to the picture. Silence falls between us, heavy and oppressive like a thick fog. I break it first. “‘Was.’“

“I’m sorry?” Some of the pain etched into the lines on her face is replaced with confusion.

“You said my… birth mother… was a religious woman.”

“Yes. She died in a car crash.”

I retrieve the photo and run my thumb over my mother’s face. The picture’s old and worn, cracked and bent, but I have every inch of it memorized. It’s a perfect picture.

So far, everything Patricia told me I already knew to be true. Time for uncharted territory. “And my father? Daniel Wynter?” Let me be wrong. Let him be alive somewhere.

Her eyes fill with tears. “I’m sorry. I… You caught me completely off guard. I wasn’t expecting this tonight.”

“Is he alive? Can I meet him?” I can’t contain my growing excitement. Please, dear Lord, let her agree to a meeting.

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. He died while your mom was still pregnant with you.”

I slouch. My stomach muscles tighten as if I’ve been sucker punched. My father never even laid eyes on me. “How?”

“He had cancer.”

Now I understand why Vince lashes out at God. The injustices of the world are sometimes too cruel to handle.

“Daniel was an architect,” she added. “One day, he was working, and a brick hit his head. He was fine, but during the tests the hospital ran, they diagnosed him with cancer.” She pauses then shakes her head. “I don’t remember what kind. They started treatment right away until he decided no more. He lived only one more month after that.”

“How many months pregnant was she when he stopped treatment?”

She looks down at the table. “I don’t know.”

“Think.” I lean forward in my seat, the table digging into my chest.

“Um…”

She’s stalling. “Please, Patricia.”

A tear trickles down her cheek. “I’m your mom.”

The hurt look on her face cuts into me like a knife. Even so, I correct her, “You’re my aunt.”

Her hand covers her mouth and muffles her words. “Your mom was three months pregnant when—”

“When he decided I wasn’t worth fighting the cancer for.” I want to lash out and scream and rage and cry.

“Oh, honey, that’s not true.” She reaches over to hold my hand, but I shift back in my seat, increasing the space between us. “Even if he continued treatment, he only had three more months at the most. He still wouldn’t have lived long enough.”

My vision grows blurry. “He could have tried. People live beyond their life expectancies all the time.”

“I don’t think so, but I know he would have loved you.”

I don’t want to talk about him anymore. “Tell me about my… Marian.”

She gives the tiniest of smiles. “Marian worked as a Catholic school teacher and taught second grade. Her favorite part was getting the kids ready to receive their First Holy Communion. She loved her students as if they were her own. She would have been an amazing mom.” Her voice drops to a whisper.

“It’s because you left me alone in the house,” I say softly as I pick up the photo. “I never meant to… I never would have found out otherwise. Why did you finally give in?” I dropped hints for months that she could leave me in the house by myself. Always a no until one day it wasn’t.

Patricia shrugs. She looks worn. Tired. Drained. “I don’t know.” She bites her lower lip. The gesture makes her seem younger. “You’ll think it’s… well… It was something I felt I had to do. Like someone told me to…”

I gasp and clasp my hands together. The photo bends slightly, and I place it on the table again. “Do you think—”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I know how close you are to him, and I wish I was too. Maybe it was him. I don’t know.”

My elation dissipates. What if she’s only saying this because she thinks it’s what I want to hear?

I search her face for clues for honesty or deceit. How could we have grown so far apart in such a short amount of time?

She brushes her dyed hair back from her shoulders. Her natural brown is a much lighter shade than my dark chocolate coloring.

My gaze falls to the picture. The resemblance to my mother is striking… and eerie. It was too exact… almost unnatural. I don’t just look like my birth mother… I am her.

A crash of thunder rumbles, and I jump.

“What’s wrong?” Patricia asks.

“The thunder startled me.”

She glances out the window at the lovely evening.

I flush. I must have been mistaken.

Another silence descends upon the room, and we sit there for a long time. I want to cry. My worst fear came true when I learned my father was also dead, but to learn he’d given up is unforgivable.

“Why?” I whisper.

Evidently Patricia knows, or suspects, what I’m referring to because she says, “They placed their faith in God and prayed for a miracle.”

“Well, they didn’t get one.” I sound so much like Vince. All I want to go is run out of the house and go to his, to talk to him about all of this. If anyone can understand how I’m feeling right now, it’s him.

“Yes, they did.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“They had you.” Aunt Patricia blinks several times and covers her mouth with her hands. Her face is serene, almost peaceful, when she moves them away. “Your mother was infertile, just like me. And your father, the cancer treatment, that could have made him just as infertile. So you being conceived, that was their miracle.”

“I was a miracle baby?” I’m dumbfounded, almost numb. The rage, the anger, it all melts away.

“Yes.” Tears stream down her face.

I run around the table and hug her. “Thanks… for… Mom.”

She cries harder, and I sob too.

Chapter 4

MOM’S STILL IN her pajamas, eating an omelet, when I walk downstairs in my black-and-white wraparound dress. I know it’s awful, that I should want her to go to church with me, but I’m glad she’s not coming.

The service is nice, the music lovely, but even here, in my special place, I can’t concentrate. When I shake Father Joseph’s hand afterward, he asks, “What’s troubling you, my child?”

I wince inwardly. “I’m sorry, Father.”

“Is something bothering you?”

Father Joseph has been our parish priest since before I was born. I do want to talk to him about Marian and Patricia, but not when other people an overhear us.

“Are you still praying every day?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say a little guiltily. I do pray every day but only when I need things.

And he knows my praying habits. “Do you remember to thank Him?”

“I try to. I’m fine, Father. Don’t worry about me.”

He smiles. “Of course I will.”

With a heavy heart and my head low, I exit the building. To my shock, a familiar blue Mustang is waiting out front. “Get in,” Bri calls.

I climb in. “Thanks for the ride.”

Giggling, Bri floors it. “Hold on tight!”

I rush to buckle my belt. “Did you go to Mass?”

“Nah. Haven’t gone since my birthday.”

When her parents stopped forcing her to go.

A minute later, I’m laughing until I’m snorting. She’s the only one who makes me laugh hard enough to do that. I’m way too happy to bring up anything concerning Marian and Patricia.

Brianna turns on the radio and fiddles with the dial until she finds a rock station. She sings along, slightly off key. Before it ends, she pulls up in front of Lydia’s house and grabs a folder from the backseat. “We’ll only be here for a second. We’re doing a project together, and I have to give her my research. Wanna go say hi?”

“Why not?”

We climb out, she knocks on the door, and we walk inside. It’s dark. Then the light comes on, and there’s a loud chorus of “Surprise! Happy birthday!”

I gasp and cover my mouth. “Thank you?” I’m so shocked it comes out as a question.

My mom steps forward to hug Brianna and me. “Weren’t expecting this, were you?” Her face lights up.

For right now, everything between us melts away. “Not at all!”

“Happy early birthday.” Mom kisses my cheek.

The Hall’s huge living room has been transformed. Black and red balloons blanket the floor; matching streamers hang from the ceilings. A black tablecloth with red roses covers the dining room table, a wide assortment of food on it, as well as black plates, red napkins, and red plastic silverware. Balloons jump up and down as I walk around them to give my friends hugs.

I laugh and enjoy myself, and the food. The veggie dip’s amazing, tangy but sweet, a new flavor Brianna’s been raving about. There’s chili, beef barbeque, potato and pasta salad, regular salad, and more. Similar fare to the cookout, but I could eat this kind of food seven days a week.

Lydia slides over to me. “Happy?” she murmurs.

“Yes.” I glance over my shoulder at Mom, who’s talking to Bri’s mom a few feet away.

“Bri thought about having it at her place, but I volunteered to host at the last second. Felt right.” She shrugs.

“It’s amazing. You’re amazing.” I grin.

Bri saunters over, as proud as a peacock. “Cake or presents first? The birthday girl gets to decide.”

“Cake, of course!” I laugh.

Vince brings it out and places it on the coffee table in front of the couch. I gasp. My face is on the cake, an exact likeness.

After everyone sings loudly and slightly off-key and I blow out the candles, I cut myself a slice. “Mmm.” I close my eyes. Moist and beyond fresh, the cake is the best Brianna ever made. “You really outdid yourself.”

“I try.” She tosses her hair back then cuts up the rest of the cake. While Lydia finds out who wants ice cream with their cake, Vince delivers the guests their desserts.

Soon, Bri deems it present time.

There are gift cards, some gag gifts, and a few thoughtful ones too. Brianna grabs her purse from beneath the couch and pulls out a small box.

Inside rests a beautiful, ornate cross on a golden chain. “It’s beautiful. Thank you,” I say as I put it on.

Once I opened the last present, the party guests start to filter out. Mom, Brianna, and Lydia gather the trash.

“Let me help,” I insist.

“No. Sit down and read the math book Vince got you,” Bri suggests with a smile.

One of the gag gifts. I collapse onto the couch with a snort. “I must have gained twenty pounds.”

“You’d never know it by looking at you,” my mom says. “I hate you and your metabolism.”

“Yeah, once you hit fifty, I hear it majorly shuts down,” I tease. “But don’t worry. You don’t look a day over forty-nine.” My mom’s only forty-five and looks much younger than her age, when her job doesn’t leave her exhausted. She works a lot of late hours to help pay the bills.

“You better watch it.” Mom wags a finger at me, mock stern-like. “You don’t get your present from me until your actual birthday.”

I make a halo with my hands and hold it over my head while batting my eyes.

Lydia throws a balloon at me. I toss one back, and a balloon war breaks out between us girls, with none of us the clear victor.

When the house is clean, Brianna gives me a tight hug. “Gotta jet. Have to babysit Julie. Happy birthday!”

“Thanks for everything!”

“Take care and drive safely,” my mom calls. “Time to load up the presents.”

Lydia and I help. Not all of them fit in Mom’s car so Lydia offers to fit the rest in hers, and we drive home. They start to unload the presents into the living room, refusing to let me help anymore.

When Mom walks out the front door to bring more presents inside, an idea seizes me. “Can you drive around back?” I whisper to Lydia.

She furrows her brow and nods.

While she does that, I take the stairs two at a time and smuggle the Marian Wynter box from my closet into the kitchen and out the back door.

“Marian Wynter?” Lydia asks. “Who’s that?”

“My birth mother. I found it up in the attic. Can you take it to your place?”

Her dark eyes widen. “Sure. Whatever you need.” She pops the trunk. “I swear I won’t open it, and you can come over any time to read it, but I can’t promise I won’t read over your shoulder.”

I grin. “Of course. Thank you.”

“Not a problem at all. See you tomorrow!”

I walk back inside, relieved and happy. I’m dying to know what’s in the box, and now I have a way to look at it without worrying Mom’ll find out. I’d been too tired after our talk to risk going through it last night, and I doubt Mom’ll leave me alone in the house again anytime soon.

Mom locks the front door. “I didn’t get to say goodbye to Lydia. I wanted to thank her again for hosting.” She settles on the couch. Exhaustion forms lines on her face. “Want to have a ladies’ night? We can order a pizza and rent a movie—your choice.”

I pat my belly. “I’m not hungry so I’ll take a rain check. Gonna take my presents upstairs.”

“Okay.”

I grab some bags and hurry upstairs, not wanting to see the hurt in her eyes. My heart aches. The one person I want to spend time with is my birth mother, but that’s impossible. She’s dead.

Chapter 5

MONDAY’S MY BIRTHDAY. To my surprise, Bri rolls up before I can get on the bus.

I slid inside her car. “Surprised your parents are letting you drive.”

“Oh, I’m still punished. Can only drive to and from school. And to pick you up for your party yesterday.” She grins then screeches to a halt a little past the stop sign.

“You know… you might wanna slow down a little. The next cop might not give you a warning.”

She shrugs. “You only live once.”

“Wouldn’t it be cool if we could live more than once?”

Brianna glances over, eyebrows raised. “You believe in reincarnation?”

“Of course not. But if you could come back, would you?” It would be interesting to hear her thoughts on the subject. Some of her beliefs are really out there. She does believe in God, but she also thinks the stars and planets affect our lives. She even said once that plants are more powerful than we give them credit. Bri had to be joking about that, though.

She screeches to a halt at a red light. “I’d rather think about past lives. I’m sure I was a princess in the Middle Ages.”

“And you died in childbirth.”

Brianna grimaces. “I don’t know if I want kids.”

“But you love Julie.”

“Yeah, she’s kinda cute for a five-year-old. I’ll never understand why my parents waited so long to have another one.” She starts to go, wrongly thinking the light was going to change, and jerks the car to a stop. “Maybe I was an Egyptian princess instead.”

“And you married your brother?”

She sighs. The light finally changes, and she floors the gas. “What about you in your past lives?”

“I don’t know. What about the future? Maybe I’ll come back as someone powerful, with the ability to change the world.”

“Don’t go into politics then.”

We giggle. Brianna’s father is the town mayor. He grumbles about his job all the time, but he really has done a lot for Claymore.

“I’m not sure what I’ll be.” I tap my fingers against the dashboard.

“Are we still talking about the future you or you in the future?”

“Huh?” I pause my beat for a second.

“Reincarnated Crystal or your future as in two years from now, five years from now, twenty years from now?”

“My real future. I haven’t thought about the SATs yet. Haven’t even gone through the prep programs my mom bought. I have no idea where I want to go for college, no clue what I want to study…”

“Most of us don’t know either yet.”

“Yeah, but you do.” A twinge of jealousy fills me, and I cross my arms.

Brianna shrugs. “Just because I know I want to own my own bakery doesn’t mean it’ll be easy. Besides, everyone in town will never go to another bakery. Mrs. Pullman’s has the monopoly. I’ll have to move away. And I can’t decide if I should get a business degree first or go to culinary school, so I don’t have all the answers either.”

“Still, you have a firm goal. I have nothing.” I stare out the window. Trees and buildings pass by in a blur. Dear Lord, what should I do with the rest of my life?

There’s no answer, no illuminating burst of knowledge.

I hold my breath. Maybe God’s whispering to me, and I can’t hear Him.

But then I remember my vision with the grill fire. Whatever I do, I want to help people.

* * *

AFTER SCHOOL, I borrow Lydia’s cell. “Hi, Mom. Lydia’s going to tutor me in geometry. I’ll come straight home afterward.”

“You sure that’s how you want to spend your birthday?” She sounds a little lonely.

“Aren’t you the one who’s always trying to get me to make straight A’s?”

“True.” She can’t argue against a study session. She also doesn’t seem to notice that I didn’t ask for permission. “Be home before dark!”

I hand Lydia the cute pink phone. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” She tosses it onto the backseat and backs out of the spot. Ten minutes later, she parks in front of her large two-story house. “Come on.” She runs to the front door.

Laughing, I chase after her. “You’re almost as excited as I am!”

We hurry up the stairs to her room. She locks us in. “Brothers,” she explains.

The box is filled with papers. We spread them out, and true to her word, Lydia reads over my shoulder. Some of the papers are related to Marian’s infertility. There are two more articles about the car crash and the obituary that features my dad’s death. He died of thyroid cancer. Everything seems to match up with what Patricia told me, and I release a long breath. I almost expected to learn she lied to me.

“I’ll be right back.” Lydia jumps up. “Don’t read anything else without me.”

I wait a long minute, but when she still hasn’t returned, I seize a small white, unmarked envelope. It’s thick, as if several pages are folded up and shoved inside.

When the knob jingles behind me, I shove the envelope down my shirt. For some reason, I want to learn its contents by myself.

Nothing else in the box proves insightful, much to my—our— disappointment.

“Want to stay for dinner? I have to cook so it’s only going to be macaroni and cheese and chicken nuggets,” Lydia warns.

“Sounds good to me.”

After a fun-filled dinner—Lydia has one older brother and one younger, both are clowns and have us laughing the entire time—she drives me home. “Whenever you want to sneak the box back up to your attic, let me know.”

“Will do. Thanks, Lydia.” I grab my backpack. Before dinner, I slipped the envelope into it.

Happier than I’ve been since before learning about Marian, I enter the house.

Mom’s sitting on the couch. She glowers at me, her arms crossed. “Where is it?”

“Where is what?” My heart sinks.

“Where is the box?”

I clear my throat and swallow hard. “What box?”

“You must have been snooping around! How else did you find that photo?” Aunt Patricia slams a fist into her open palm. “I never should have kept it.”

“Kept what?” I don’t want to start a fight, but I’m not about to let my aunt start keeping secrets from me, not when I’m so close to learning the truth.

“Don’t toy with me, Crystal. You found the box I labeled Marian Wynter.”

I tap my foot. “Considering that Marian is my mother, everything that was hers is now mine. Besides, what’s so important in that box? What don’t you want me to see?” The envelope. That must be what she’s worried over. Nothing else in the box contained anything my aunt would have wanted kept secret. I have to read it!

She sighs. “I just don’t like the idea of you sneaking around and—”

“And what? Keeping secrets from you? Guess you’re the only one who’s allowed to do that.”

My aunt stands and walks toward me, but I brush past her and run upstairs to my room. I slam my door shut and lock it.

She pounds on the door a few seconds later. “We aren’t done talking, young lady. Open this door right now.”

“I have to work on a paper. We can talk tomorrow.”

“Crystal!” The doorknob jiggles.

I look around my room and gasp. My closet and most of my drawers—desk and bureau—are opened, their contents rifled through. “You searched my room?” I screech.

“You took something of mine.”

“That’s an invasion of privacy!”

“Children don’t have the right to privacy. And if you keep back talking to me, I’m going to take the lock off your door.”

I feel betrayed on so many levels. “You know what? This is the worst birthday ever. I wish I could spend it with my real mom!”

The banging, her yelling, it stops instantly. I should feel guilty. I don’t.

A few moments later, I hear her go downstairs, her footfall heavier than normal. Good. I snatch my backpack and remove and open the unsealed envelope. With trembling hands, I pull out the pages and unfold them.

Marian,

I know you don’t want to hear this, but I really think this may be your only solution. God hasn’t answered your prayers, so what makes you think he ever will? Daniel’s health is only getting worse. The treatment is wreaking havoc with his body. He won’t live much longer.

You both desperately want a child, Daniel even more so. There’s no time for fertility treatments. Medicine can’t help you. Only magic can at this point.

I know you don’t want to believe, but magic has its place in this world. I’m not a witch myself, but I do know three very powerful ones who might be willing to help you.

What’s the harm in talking to them? Go see what the price is for a child. Right now, that’s your only options. God will understand. After all, didn’t he say he helps those who help themselves?

Patricia

I read and reread the pages. My being a miracle baby—that had to have been the result of God and nothing else. Not witches. Not magic.

The books in the attic… Patricia believed in magic enough to try to convince her sister-in-law to seek out witches for help conceiving a child.

Shaking my head, I close my eyes. Does she really believe in all that nonsense? Maybe I’ll convince her to come with me to Mass this Sunday.

A weight lifts from my shoulders, and I try to get some homework done, only I can’t concentrate and my mind turns to the English report on witches. Mount Claymore supposedly has magical properties. Should I take a hike to the mountain after school? Will I have enough time to find the witches?

If they’re even still there. I was conceived almost seventeen years ago.

Patricia has never been so furious with me before. She’ll never allow me to go to Bri’s or Lydia’s house, even under the pretense of homework. Not now.

School isn’t more important than finding out the truth.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING, I ride the bus but instead of walking through the big school doors, I duck toward the parking lot and wait for the students to go to class. Then I head north.

It isn’t easy to avoid people, and I stick to the back roads as much as possible. I can’t risk being caught by a truant officer.

My watch says nine when I reach the base of the mountain. It looks like it always does—tall, normal, nothing out of the ordinary or even remotely magical.

With a lot of grunts and grumbling, I scale the mountain. The higher up I climb, the darker the sky becomes. A thunderstorm is rolling in. Wonderful.

A loose rock slides beneath my feet, and I start to fall. A scratchy bush hugs me, breaking my fall. So far, I haven’t seen one cave or anything else witchy-like.

Maybe they live on the other side of the mountain.

I sigh. This whole thing is crazy.

As I climb back down, the sun peeks through the clouds. Maybe it won’t storm after all. On a hunch, I climb a few steps. Sure enough, the sky blackens again.

My mouth grows dry. Never did believe in coincidences. What is going on?

I descend until the world is bright again. Careful not to ascend, I walk around the mountain and stop when a cottage comes into view. Despite looking cozy, the place appears abandoned.

I approach and knock on the door. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

No answer.

I knock again. “Hello? I’m looking for…” Can I really say witches? Do witches live in cottages?

Still no answer.

The white lace curtains of the nearest window are pulled aside. I walk over and peer inside. “My name is Crystal Wynter and…”

The front door swings open.

I head toward it. No one stands in the doorway.

My skin begins to crawl. Talk about creepy.

I hesitate at the threshold. “Can I come in?”

No answer. Even though the storm never materialized and the sunlight is almost blinding, the interior of the house is black.

I take a small step inside.

The door slams shut behind me.

Maybe coming here isn’t such a good idea after all.

Chapter 6

SUDDEN LIGHT FLOODS the room and blinds me. When I can see clearly, two women stand before me.

The first has her arms crossed over a plain red gown that reminds me of the field trip my class took last year to the local Renaissance Faire. Her lips are pinched with small lines at the corners, but other than that, she looks about twenty.

The second’s sharp, gray eyes pierce into my soul. It’s unsettling, but there’s more warmth from her than the first one.

I fidget uncomfortably. My back itches, but I don’t want to scratch it in front of them. “Hi. I didn’t mean to barge in, but the door was open and—”

“Why have you come here?” the first woman demands.

“Oh, Silver Tiger, be nice. We know why you’re here.”

“You’ve been expecting me?” I wouldn’t have been able to hide my shock even if I tried. I’ve never had a poker face.

“Yes.”

“Why not tell her everything, Sapphire Belladonna?” Silver Tiger says sarcastically.

“First, let’s learn what she already knows.” Sapphire Belladonna waves her arm, and a small round table and three chairs appear out of nowhere. “Please, sit, Crystal Wynter.”

“How… Where…” I stare at the furniture and glance around the room for mirrors. An illusion must have hid the furniture.

Sapphire Belladonna spreads her black floor-length skirt and sits gracefully. Silver Tiger somehow manages to nimbly flop into her seat.

Can’t help feeling uncomfortable and underdressed in my T-shirt and jeans. I’m more than a little unnerved. Maybe I should just leave now.

And not learn anything? To either confirm or deny what Patricia told me? No. I need answers. My curiosity is morphing into an obsession.

I slowly walk around them to the vacate seat, glancing all around me. The cottage is mostly barren with a clock on one wall, a mirror on another. There’s a sooty fireplace. The table and chairs. Beneath the clock is a curio cabinet filled with glass figurines. A line of keepsakes rests on top of a mantel. It’s not exactly homey. A few plants might spruce up the place a bit.

I sit gingerly, half expecting for the furniture to not be solid. It’s real and plush, not too firm nor soft. Perfect.

They’re staring at me, waiting on me. I clear my dry throat. “I found a note that led me here.”

“What did the note say?” Silver Tiger presses.

“Relax and let her talk. The poor child is trembling like a leaf.”

Good cop, bad cop. Or good witch, bad witch?

I wring my hands. “I think my mom might have come here years ago and asked witches for help conceiving a child.”

It sounds ridiculous. No, it is ridiculous. I never should have come here. Curious or not, everything about this feels wrong.

The two exchange a long glance.

“You think we’re witches?” Sapphire Belladonna asks.

“I… I don’t know. I don’t know what to think.” Neither of them says anything so I continue, “Did Marian Wynter seek out your advice almost seventeen years ago?”

Another long glance.

“She doesn’t know,” Silver Tiger murmurs.

“Know what?” I don’t bother to keep the annoyance out of my voice. These women, witches, obviously know something, and they aren’t sharing their information.

“You, my dear—” Sapphire Belladonna starts to say.

“Did Marian Wynter seek you out seventeen years ago?” I repeat, all pretenses of being polite gone. I’m too sick of lies and half-truths to play games anymore.

“Yes.”

“Did you help her?”

“Yes.” Silver Tiger points to the table, and three cups and saucers materialize. “Drink.”

It looks like tea and smells like tea, but it doesn’t taste like tea. It’s hot and spicy and yet sweet. Delicious. It warms my insides, and some of my frustration melts away. Too late, I question whether drinking their tea is a smart idea.

“Yes, we offered to help Marian. And she accepted our terms.” Sapphire Belladonna sips her drink.

“Terms?”

“That doesn’t matter. We helped her.” Silver Tiger chugs her drink.

“How?”

Silver Tiger’s smile churns my stomach. “We’re witches. How do you think we helped her?”

“So what are you saying? I was born of magic?”

“More like you are magic.” Sapphire Belladonna’s eyes seem to pierce through me again.

I don’t like the feeling of having my soul read, so I stare at the rose-painted ceramic cup in my hands. “Am I a witch?”

I can’t be. I don’t feel like a witch. I’m just me.

“No, my dear. You are magic incarnate. You are magic.”

Silver Tiger taps her fingers on the table until Sapphire Belladonna touches her sleeve.

“Magic?” I shake my head. My mind refuses to work. “I don’t believe in magic. And what does magic incarnate even mean?”

Silver Tiger laughs. “How else do you explain the table and the chairs and the witch nectar?”

I frown and stare at the empty cup in my hand. Witch nectar?

“You must have hid the chairs and table with an illusion,” I counter even though I doubt I’m right. “Like a magician. A magic show. It’s not real. Magic belongs in books and in movies—”

“You believe we’re witches, yes? But you don’t believe in magic?” Silver Tiger rolls her eyes.

“Silver Tiger, shut it,” Sapphire Belladonna snaps. She turns to me, her face revealing nothing. “Crystal, has anything strange ever happened to you?”

“No.”

“Have you ever dreamt of the future?”

Does the vision/premonition of the grill catching on fire count? No. That came from God. I don’t want to believe them, but a sense of fear chills my body. My hands grow sweaty, and I drop the cup onto its saucer with a clang and wipe my hands on my jeans.

“Have you ever wished for something and it happened?”

I shake my head. “No, but if I pray for something, God answers my prayers more times than not.” I stare at Sapphire Belladonna in a silent challenge for the witch to deny the truth.

Silver Tiger snorts. “It’s not God answering your prayers, honey. I hate to break it to you. He doesn’t care about us mortals.”

“That’s not true!” I say hotly.

Sapphire Belladonna glowers at Silver Tiger. “Do not make me silence you,” she says, her voice low and deadly.

Silver Tiger mockingly wiggles her shoulders.

“Silver Tiger does have a point,” Sapphire Belladonna says begrudgingly. “You were the one to make those things happen, not God.”

My scoff echoes in the small room. I caused the wind to help me find my way home? I caused that creepy man to leave me alone? Not likely. Not possible.

No way.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you. I don’t believe this. If I’m magic…” I make air quotes. “Am I still human?”

“No, you aren’t. You are magic, the only one whose magic has limitless possibilities.” Sapphire Belladonna smiles. She looks young, although not quite as youthful as Silver Tiger, but her eyes are old, ancient.

“Right. I’m magic. How come I look like Marian then? If she was just my—”

“Surrogate?” Silver Tiger cuts in. “We used her hair and some drops of blood from her husband. You are… were… their daughter to some extent, but you aren’t human.”

Despite not believing a word they say, I’m terrified. I’m not human? What does that mean about my soul? Do I even have one?

I slide my chair back. It scrapes against the wooden floor. “If I’m magic,” I say slowly, my skepticism heavy, “then I must be important. Why did you leave me in Marian’s care?”

“Would it make you feel better to know we’ve been keeping an eye on you?” Sapphire Belladonna asks.

“You mean spying?”

“Following you around in trench coats and magnifying glasses? No. Try scrying,” Silver Tiger interjects.

No, that doesn’t make me feel any better. “So my mom came to you because she gave up on God and medicine giving her a child.”

“Yes.” Sapphire Belladonna smiles for only a second. She’s too serious, the other one too mean. I don’t know if I can trust either of them even though Marian had.

“Did she know her child wouldn’t be human?” I ask.

The two witches stare at each other.

“Just tell me the truth,” I say wearily. Not that I’ll necessarily believe them.

“Not exactly,” Sapphire Belladonna murmurs.

“Of course not.” As much as I’m curious, I can’t believe a word they say. They’re delusional—they have to be. That my birth mother got mixed up with them made me willing to listen, but I’ve had enough. “I’m outta here.”

I stand and start to walk away when Sapphire Belladonna grabs my hand. “You are powerful, my dear, and you must learn to control yourself. The more you use your power, the more the others will become aware of your presence in this world. Your life will be in grave danger.”

“The others?” I yank my arm free. “Forget it. I don’t want to know who they are. I don’t even want to know who you two are. I’ll rather go back home and return to my life.”

“What life do you have to go back to?” Silver Tiger says. At first, I think she’s being snide, but the more the witch speaks, the more I realize she’s being matter-of-fact. “Your grades are slipping because you no longer care about the mundane world. You feel called to do more with your life, yes? You do not know what the future holds.”

My grades have been slipping. Even before finding out about everything with Marian and Patricia. And lately, I’ve been praying to God more and more, and they’re almost all coming true… except about my future.

“I have no idea what I want to do,” I admit in a whisper.

“We can help with that.” Silver Tiger claps her hands. The table disappears, and a large gray cauldron takes its place.

Now that’s much harder to try to explain away as an illusion.

“Shouldn’t it be black?” I mutter, unnerved by the display of “magic.”

“Change it to black yourself then,” Silver Tiger snaps.

I smirk and raise my chin. Although I have a sudden strong impulse to try, I know I’ll fail and won’t give Silver Tiger the satisfaction.

“Give me your hand,” Sapphire Belladonna says.

Is she going to read my palm? I comply.

A dagger appears in Sapphire Belladonna’s hand, and before I can wiggle free, she cuts my hand. I can’t hold in my gasp of surprise and pain.

She turns my wounded hand over, and one, two, three drops of blood fall into the green mixture already in the cauldron.

Silver Tiger yanks three strands from my head and drops those in. She mumbles a few words while waving her hands over the concoction. The liquid bubbles, changing from green to blue to red to clear.

“Go ahead, and look inside.” She steps back. So does Sapphire Belladonna.

I glance at the older witch.

“Only you can see your future,” Sapphire Belladonna says. “Go on.”

I feel torn. As desperate as I am to know my future, what I should do with my life, shouldn’t I create my own path, forge my own way?

Then again, if I am magic, it’s only natural to use magic to learn what I’m supposed to do.

Not that I think I’m magic.

But what harm can looking do? After all, if I don’t like what I see, I can always change it. The future isn’t written in stone.

Although my conscience prickles—magic, after all, is against my religion—I step forward and peer at the clear liquid. My reflection stares back at me for a second before it flickers and wavers away.

A scene forms in perfect clarity. I see myself with my friends in the cafeteria. An unfamiliar student sits next to me. I have my hand on his shoulder, and he’s staring at me as if I’m the most beautiful girl in the world.

The view shifts to home. Mom looks happy to see me, as if we never fought.

Then I see Paula and Sean. They’re fighting, and Paula’s in tears. I watch my watery self mouth some words. Sean wipes Paula face, and they kiss.

What kind of future is this? This isn’t helpful. What about my future career? I didn’t even know Paula liked Sean.

The water turns silver, and the scene alters again. I now see a slightly older me. My eyes are different, no longer brown. Darker. My pupils are barely visible. The same boy from the first vision stands beside me. We’re fighting, in a forest somewhere. Other people approach, and a sense of doom fills me.

The image changes. I’m helping young children at a grade school or a daycare. Again, I only look to be a few months older than I am now.

Why isn’t the cauldron showing me in college? What I’ll become?

The liquid turns dark, and I can no longer see myself in it.

“What did you see?” Silver Tiger asks eagerly.

I narrow my eyes. “Nothing.”

All of this, it’s way too much to handle. I dart past them. With each step I take, my mind refuses to stop thinking about the witches and magic and my future.

Chapter 7

I CLOSE THE cottage door behind me but before I walk off the short porch, I hesitate. What if the reason why the spell didn’t show my future is because I don’t have one?

Now that’s a scary thought, even more frightening than the whole magic thing.

I whirl around and walk back inside, not having to open the door because it already is. The two witches haven’t moved since my outburst. It’s eerie, how still they are.

The liquid inside the cauldron is green again, as if the spell was never performed.

“Do the spell again,” I instruct.

“We can’t,” Silver Tiger says.

Sapphire Belladonna glares at her before turning to me. “It can’t be done again. The spell—”

I rip the knife out of her hand and reopen my cut, careful to only drip three drops into the potion. Then I add three strands of my hair. Not bothering to look up, I demand, “Now what?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see them exchange a long glance.

“Seriously, stop doing that.” I clench my fists together. My wounded palm aches, and blood plops onto the wooden floor. I’m not sure if I’m angrier with them or myself. I shouldn’t be here. Everything inside me wants me to run away. How could Patricia and Marian believe in this nonsense? And yet, why am I still here? Ready, eager even, to attempt a so-called magic spell? It all feels so wrong.

And yet… almost natural.

“Repeat after me,” Silver Tiger says. “The past unchangeable, unbreakable. The present unmistakenably malleable Make the future unshakeable.”

I repeat the words, “The past unchangeable, unbreakable. The present unmistakenably malleable. Make the future… unshakeable.”

The mixture fizzles. My reflection flickers away. This time, I think of my birth.

I see myself, an older version of myself. No, that’s not me. It’s Marian. She was rubbing her arms together, her threadbare coat offering little protection from the storm’s harsh raging winds. Lightning cast eerie shadows across her path. Thunder roared like an angry lioness. Sleet slashed across her cheeks, mixing with her tears.

She desperately wanted nothing more than to snuggle with her husband in front of a roaring fire, far away from the storm.

Well, that wasn’t completely true. There was one thing she wanted more than that.

This is so strange… It’s as if I am Marian. I can feel the storm around me. And I can hear her thoughts, too. I don’t question it. It’s not a vision; it’s the past. What an awesome way to see my mother! I hug myself, at first from excitement and then to rub away my goose bumps. It’s chilling, too.

Lightning struck a tree a few feet in front of her. She slipped on the mud, and rocks cut her palms and knees.

Daniel didn’t know where she was going tonight, and she wasn’t certain he’d approve. But she was desperate. They both were.

She hurried through the rocky terrain up the mountainside. A small cottage with lights flickering through the windows offered both shelter from the storm as well as her salvation.

The wind whipped around more fiercely the closer she approached the cottage. She stumbled forward. The storm seemed almost unnatural.

Marian raised her hand, but before she could knock, the lights went out in the cottage. Her courage fled, and she even took a step backward.

No. She’d come too far to leave now.

She knocked on the door—five short taps followed by two quick ones, just as she had been instructed.

Nothing. No movement within the cottage, no sound other than thunder and the pounding of sleet against stone.

She wanted to try the knock again, but she had been told specifically not to do that.

All she could do was wait.

Something hard hit her in the head—a large egg-shaped piece of hail. She pressed against the door and tried to shield herself as best she could. Still, the sleet and hail pummeled her.

More tears leaked, running down her face to her cracked lips, the salt bitter and tangy. If they wouldn’t help her, no one could.

Daniel didn’t have much time left. Marian couldn’t bear the thought of being all alone.

“Please!” she shouted. “You have to help me. You have to help us!” The wind whipped at her wet hair. “Please, for Daniel!”

They were supposed to be the answers to their prayers.

Another large rock of hail slammed against her head. Her vision blackened for a few seconds.

“If not for Daniel, then please… please… for the…”

The door opened, and the storm instantly died. Three tall figures blotted out any light from inside the cottage.

“Come in,” a hard voice said. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Marian hesitated for a long second. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a good idea after all.

I watch Marian enter the same cottage I stand in now. Sapphire Belladonna and Silver Tiger are there, as is another witch with long white hair.

The scene flickers, and Marian approaches a sickly looking man lying down on a bed. Daniel hardly resembles the happy man from the picture.

No wonder he refused treatment after a while.

Marian brings his hand to her belly. Delight and love shine in his face, transforming him completely. He sits, seemingly without much effort, and rubs her still flat belly.

He did love me. A rush of love and thankfulness envelope me for a man I never saw before.

The scene flickers to nothing, and I think about my future.

There I am, lying down, blood trickling out of the corner of my mouth. Everything around me is darkness and in shadows. I can only clearly see myself.

Dead.

With slightly longer hair than in the previous scenes I saw earlier, but I don’t look more than a few months older than I do now.

The liquid turns green again. The spell is over.

“You must believe now,” Silver Tiger says, her voice breathless. “No witch can perform that spell twice for the same person.”

“There is nothing that she must do.” For the first time, Sapphire Belladonna sounds riled up.

“Besides, I’m not a witch.” My voice is hollow. I am hollow. I still don’t think of myself as magic, but maybe… maybe magic does exist.

“Do you want to talk about what you saw?” Sapphire Belladonna wraps her arm around my shoulder.

I shake my head but allow the witch to touch me. “Does the spell ever fail? The future it shows, it is really unshakeable? Unchangeable?”

“The spell never fails,” Silver Tiger scoffs.

“Then again, it never works twice for the same person,” I point out, wringing my hands together. “You say I’m magic.”

“Because you are!” Silver Tiger stomps her foot. “Believe already.”

I ignore her. “Has there ever been someone like me before?”

“No,” Sapphire Belladonna whispers. “It never happened before.”

“What about God? And His Son?” My faith, my beliefs… I’m not ready to give them up yet, but is my very existence incompatible with my religion? If I’m not human, can I one day go to Heaven, or is that road forever closed to me?

Is there no God at all?

No. God exists.

Doesn’t he?

Silver Tiger’s lips pinch. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Try. Please.” My voice trembles. So do my hands. I hold them to stop their shaking.

“Magic and faith go hand in hand,” Sapphire Belladonna says.

“How else do you explain Jesus’ miracles?” Silver Tiger crosses her arms.

“They were miracles!” I exclaim.

“Performed by magic,” Silver Tiger counters.

“So were… are they magic then?” Maybe I’m not alone.

“They are outside of the mortal realm. The laws of magic, and of time and life, don’t apply to them as they do us.” Sapphire Belladonna touches my necklace. “Where did you get this?”

I glance down at it. “My best friend gave it to me. It was a birthday present.”

“Humph,” Silver Tiger snorts.

“Why? Is there something magical about it?”

“No, of course not. It’s just a pendant.” Silver Tiger’s nostrils flare a little.

“Some claim that all religious items, whether they be crosses or statues, all contain a form of… religious magic, if you will.” Sapphire Belladonna flicks the cross so it swings back and forth on the chain.

“And that’s how miracles happen to this day,” I surmise. “Miracles are proof that He cares.”

“That, or it’s witches having fun messing with people of faith.” Silver Tiger laughs.

“I don’t like you!” I snap.

“I don’t care!”

“You should care.” The harshness in Sapphire Belladonna’s tone puts to shame the nastiness in Silver Tiger’s, and I’m glad it isn’t directly to me.

I had so many questions, too many, but to ask them means I believe, and I’m not quite ready for that, not yet at least.

“I’m surprised you find so much comfort in your religion,” Sapphire Belladonna muses. “Then again, the human race has been using various religions to try to explain the unexplainable for years.”

“And you know the real truth? Nothing is unexplainable for witches?” I’m still smarting from Silver Tiger’s dismissal of my faith.

“Faith and reason do not always coincide,” Sapphire Belladonna says, as if reading my thoughts.

Wonder if the witch can read my mind. I hope not.

“But no,” she adds, “there is plenty in this world we witches do not understand.”

“You may well be the key to unlocking the secrets of the universe.” Silver Tiger hangs her head, but I don’t think the witch is truly repentant.

“Oh, right, because I’m magic.” I flop into the nearest chair. “Why me? Why wasn’t another baby chosen?”

“A lot of things had to fall into alignment, but that’s a tale for another day.” Sapphire Belladonna points to the door.

“But—”

“We aren’t going anywhere. You need not worry. We will never stop watching over you.”

Although the witch most likely did not intend for this, her words eerily echo throughout the small cottage, and I shudder.

“We never left you alone.”

Something in Silver Tiger’s tone suggests she won’t mind doing just that.

They want me to leave. Fine with me. “I guess I’ll come back another time.”

“Tomorrow night, when the moon is at its apex,” Sapphire Belladonna instructs. “Silver Tiger, give her a reason for being late for school.”

“With pleasure.” Silver Tiger’s vicious smile has me retreating until I bump into the wall next to the curio cabinet.

“With magic,” Sapphire Belladonna adds.

“Must you always ruin my fun?” Silver Tiger taps a long finger against her cheek before pointing at me.

A strange force presses against me, and I shriek. I don’t like the coldness, the threat, and I cover my face with my arms.

“She warded it off,” Silver Tiger murmurs.

I lower my arms.

Admiration shines in her eyes for a moment before it vanishes. “You’re older. You do it,” she snaps at Sapphire Belladonna.

The older witch stares at me as if I’m a puzzle, and I wish I could disappear. “No,” she says. “It appears she’ll have to do it herself.”

“Give yourself a black eye and dirty your clothes. Someone attacked you.” Silver Tiger watches me with interest.

I shake my head. “I’ll figure something out myself, thanks. I’ll come back tomorrow night.” I bolt out of the cottage.

Maybe I’ll return.

Maybe I won’t.

Chapter 8

I WALK BACK into town without a thought as to where I’m going and soon pass my church. In the back is the cemetery, a place I only visited twice before, once for my dad’s—my uncle’s—funeral, and more recently for Tommy Fuller’s. Aunt Patricia prefers to visit his grave alone, and I respect that, but now I’m wondering if there’s another reason why she tried to keep me from the graveyard.

The wrought iron gate opens with a groan, and I meander through the gravestones. Years ago, during the funeral, the cemetery terrified me. Now all I feel is peace, a completeness, as if the cycle of life to death is the natural order and whether or not there is life after death doesn’t matter.

Although, of course, I do believe in Heaven.

I’m just no longer certain I’ll do there one day.

When I reach the back row of the cemetery, I read each name on the stones and the corresponding epitaph. Although I hardly know any of them personally, I recognize several surnames.

It doesn’t take me long to find Tommy’s grave. I kneel and pray for him and his family, especially Vince. None of the Fullers have found peace with his passing. Maybe a memorial service will help. The two-year anniversary of his death is coming up.

Wiping away a tear, I stand and resume my search. Under the sole tree in the back of the cemetery, I find the graves I’m searching for.

Marian Wynter, devoted wife and loving mother. Absent from the body, present with the Lord.

Daniel Wynter, devoted husband and loving father-to-be. Absent from the body, present with the Lord.

I trace their names and dates. Loneliness fills me, and I finally understand Vince’s pain, his anger.

“Crystal, you know you can talk to me at any time.”

I don’t turn around, don’t stand. “Father Joseph.”

“My ears are always willing to listen.”

How can I talk to a man of God about witches and magic? Father Joseph has been like a father to me. The last thing I want to do is disappoint him, for him to think I’m headed down the wrong path.

I point to the graves. My throat grows dry, and I clear my throat, wincing at the burning sensation that accompanies it. “Did you know them?”

“Yes. They were parishioners here many years ago. A wonderful couple, very much in love. God must have loved them just as much to call them to Him when they were still young.”

A knot forms in my stomach, and I cover my mouth for a few minutes, unable to talk for fear I’ll hurl. Eventually, I manage, “You knew.”

He squeezes my shoulder before walking forward to stand between the headstones. “Please understand it was not my place to tell you.”

“I know that. But why did she… why didn’t Patricia raise me as her niece? I could have known all along about my real parents.” The resentment and hurt in my voice mirrors the pain I feel inside. The knot tightens painfully.

“I don’t know for certain.”

“But you have a guess.”

“Yes. Marian and Daniel prayed for years to have a child, many, many years. You were their miracle. Patricia and Richard also wanted a child but never prayed and blamed God for their inability to have one. When the Lord took your parents home, I think Patricia and Richard saw their chance to finally have their own child, even if that child was not completely theirs.”

A squirrel scurries across the ground and climbs into the tree, making so much noise it shatters the silence that has fallen.

Father Joseph touches Marian’s stone. “I still pray for her each day.”

“She’s been dead for almost sixteen years. She’s had to have found peace by now.”

“Not all souls find peace.” He glances at his watch. “I have a meeting. Perhaps we can talk more tomorrow. Say, after dinner?”

His way of saying I should go to school tomorrow. I grin. “Yes. Thank you, Father. I would like that.”

“Good.” He nods and walks away, his retreating form solid and strong.

Who knew my parents better—their priest? Or their sister-in-law? I doubt my mother talked to Father Joseph before deciding to follow through with Patricia’s suggestion to contact witches.

Why didn’t Patricia seek them out herself?

* * *

BETWEEN THE WITCHES and the cemetery, I’m spent. No way am I going to school. It’s the first time I’ve cut, and Mom’s sure to learn about it, so instead of returning home, I head for her work. By now, it’s noon, and my stomach’s rumbling, but it might be from nerves rather than hunger. More than a little nervous, I walk toward her desk.

A mountain of paperwork covers her workspace, and my mom lifts her head to peek above the stacks as I approach.

“Crystal.” Mom doesn’t sound or look surprised to see me. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem upset either.

“I’m sorry I didn’t go to school today.”

Her eyebrows furrow then relax. “I guess I can’t really blame you. Yesterday was not how I expected your birthday to go.”

“Me neither.” I shrug.

“Let’s start over and talk this time. I promise I won’t yell anymore.” She pulls up her sleeve and looks at her watch. “Lunchtime already. Times just flies here,” she mutters. “Let’s go eat.”

I smile at everyone Mom says goodbye to and follow her two doors down. The place is quaint and cozy, and the scent of fresh soup fills the air. Never ate here before. Other than some treats from the bakery, we don’t eat out a lot. Mom doesn’t make a lot as a secretary.

She pats my back. “Pick a seat. I’ll order for us.” Mom stands in line.

Only a few booths are available, and I claim the one all the way in the back.

The bell from the door opening jingles, and a police officer walks in.

Great. I slide down in my seat. Even if Mom’s with me, I can still get in trouble for not being in school. My first instinct is to pray he doesn’t see me, but what better chance will there be to prove I’m not magic than by failing to use it?

So I sit up straight. How does one use magic? You don’t see me. You don’t see me. You don’t see me…

He walks past my booth and enters the bathroom.

Must be one oblivious police officer. I definitely look my age, especially since I didn’t put on makeup today.

Mom sits down a few minutes later and removes a sandwich and a drink from the red tray. “The rest is yours.”

The French onion soup is phenomenal, the cheese on top melted to perfection, nice and stringy, just the way I love it. My turkey sandwich has a strange but yummy glaze on it, and I devour my food as if I haven’t eaten in days. A cherry soda completes my meal.

“Do you want to talk?” she asks after I’m done eating.

“I visited their graves.”

“Honey, you could have asked me to go with.” Mom reaches across the table and pats my hand.

Don’t let this ruin lunch. I’m not sure if I’m praying or trying to use magic again. Either, I guess. “I did go through the box. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you yesterday.”

She inhales sharply.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” a male voice asks.

Crud. I forgot all about the police officer. My mouth open, I glance up at him.

“Oh, hello, Ms. Miller. Is this your girl?”

Ms. Miller? How does he know Mom?

“Yes.” She colors slightly. “She needed a… mental health day today.”

Mental? Great. Now he’ll think I’m crazy.

“Don’t we all sometimes. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t. Thank you, Officer Wallace.”

The police officer looks to be in his early forties, clean cut with blond hair, a hint of gray at the temples. Good looking enough, I guess, and from the way Mom is smiling, she agrees.

He tips his hat and walks away.

“What’s Officer Wallace’s first name?” I ask, more than willing to delay talking about Marian.

“Francis,” she answers without hesitation before popping the last bit of her sandwich into her mouth. Her already pink cheeks turn red.

“And how long have you two been dating?”

She coughs, pounds her fist to her chest, and drinks some of her tea. “We aren’t dating. What makes you think that?”

“Then you’re hoping he’ll ask you out.”

“Crystal, how long have I been pushing you to Vince?”

“Forever.”

“And how long have you suggested that I go out and start dating again?”

“Forever.”

“Maybe we should start taking each other’s advice.”

I smile as I lower my gaze from her face to the beige table. My newfound understanding of grief does have me looking at Vince in a different light. I always thought him cute. Who knows if he thinks of me as only a friend… or something more?

Maybe Mom has been pushing me to date Vince because of her own loss.

“Does Officer Francis Wallace have anything to do with you dying your hair strawberry blonde?” I ask.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Mom shakes her head, her hair falling forward over her shoulders. “Now, what were we talking about?”

Distraction time is over. Don’t let her get upset. “We were talking about the box. I don’t understand why you got so upset. Everything inside it just confirmed what you had told me.”

I don’t want to lie, but I’m not ready to mention the witches yet or their theory that I’m magic. Better to take things slow, and work to rebuild our strained relationship bit by bit.

Mom exhales. “I don’t know why I got so upset myself.” She glances at her watch. “I’d love to talk more, but I have to get back to work. You should go straight home. No more playing hooky.” She wags her finger.

“Yes, Mom.”

That had been too easy. Does Mom now think the letter is kept somewhere else? How did she know the witches in the first place? She’s not an extremely religious woman, but she fears God and goes to church a few times a year. At least I think she believes in God. Does she dabble in witchcraft in her spare time?

Mom gathers our trash and throws it away. With a wave, she walks out. Strange. She normally always hugs me goodbye. I miss our closeness already. For so long, it’s just been the two of us. Now there’s ghost Marian and Daniel. And the witches.

Life is getting way too complicated.

After a long minute, I leave the store and return home. I’m oddly tired, so I climb into bed. Gradually, sleep claims me, and my dream feature a replay of all the scenes the spell showed me.

Chapter 9

BRIANNA BRINGS OVER my missed schoolwork and joins us for dinner. Now we’re sitting on my bed. Bri’s painting her fingernails a bright pink while I work on my history homework. She’s gossiping about classmates, but I don’t care about high school drama and clothes. Not after all I’ve been through the past two days.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Come in,” I call.

Mom pops her head in. “Did you tell Brianna yet?”

“Tell me what?” she asks.

I swallow hard. There’s no reason why my best friend can’t know about my mom really being my aunt, but I won’t tell anyone about the witches, not Brianna, not Lydia, not Mom.

Staring at my textbook, I mumble, “I’m adopted.”

“You are?” Brianna jerks back so suddenly nail polish spills onto the comforter. “I’m such a klutz. I’m sorry.”

Mom leaves and returns a moment later with a damp cloth. She wipes up the polish then gives me a meaningful look. “I’ll give you two some privacy.”

I stare at the now closed door. “She’s not my mom.”

“I figured that much when you said you’re adopted,” Bri says lightly.

I rock back and forth, my arms around my knees. “She’s my aunt. My real mom died in a car crash shortly after I was born.”

Bri squeezes my arm.

A huge sigh bursts out of me. “My dad died a few months before I was born. I never… I never got to see him. Not even as a baby.”

“Wow, Crystal. I’m sorry. So that’s why you stayed home from school today.”

I nod miserably and start to cry. It’s one thing to learn I was adopted and that my parents are dead. It’s another to have my faith, the one thing I counted on more than anything, be turned upside down. The whole magic thing… I don’t want it to be true.

“Is there anything I can do?” She looks uncertain, not at all like the overly confident girl she normally is.

“No.” I swallow past a lump in my throat. In the short time since I learned about my birth parents, they’ve become real to me, and I grieve my loss. After a moment, I retrieve the photo from my pocket—I’ve been carrying it around with me since I found it—and hand it to her.

“You look just like her.”

The lump prevents me from answering.

“They look so happy. Wow, oh wow. How messed up is that? All these years you thought your aunt was your mom. Why didn’t she just raise you as her niece from the beginning?” Bri flops onto the bed and holds out her left hand so she can blow on the wet nails.

“It is messed up,” I agree. And she only knows half of it.

“You have more in common with Vince than we thought.”

I hope I’m not blushing, but my cheeks are definitely warm.

“Speaking of Vince and boys, there was a new boy at school today. Tall, tan, totally hot. Seems like a loner. Lauren tried to sink her claws into him, but he wanted nothing to do with her. I say one of us should go after him. Fresh meat and all that. The rest of the boys in our school are so… lame.”

“Vince included?” I grin, grateful for the change in topic.

She knows me all too well. “So you like Vince now?”

I shrug. “Don’t know.”

“Tell you what. I’ll try to get new hottie tomorrow, and if he gives me the cold shoulder like he did Lauren, you can have him. Or Vince. He’s a friend, but I definitely don’t see him that way. You know who’s looking fine these days?” Brianna doesn’t wait for a guess. “Sean.”

I shake my head. “Paula likes him.”

Does she? I’m just basing this on the vision. Maybe it’s wrong.

“Really? How did I not know this? Oh, yeah, because Paula doesn’t know how to flirt or get a guy. Forget new guy, you can have him. I’ll help make sure Paula gets Sean.” She taps a finger to her lips. “Sean would be her first real boyfriend, right?”

“I think so.”

“Yeah, I gotta help her out. Once I’m done with Paula, he won’t be able to ask her out fast enough.” She giggles. “Maybe I should start a dating service.”

I laugh. Brianna and her projects. She always has one, some baking, some not. Knowing Paula, she’ll appreciate any help she can get.

And if Bri can prevent that scene from the spell from happening, so much the better. I don’t want Sean to make Paula cry, and I sure don’t want to use magic to get them to kiss.

Bri rolls onto her stomach. “I’m sorry you never got to meet your real parents.”

“Me too.”

“We don’t have to talk about them unless you want to, okay? I’ll never bring them up again.”

“Thanks, Bri.” No one understands me like she does.

Her cell rings. “Oh, hi, Mom.”

I stare at the picture of my parents. A sense of loss burns within me. I’ll give anything to meet them.

Somehow, I know magic can’t make that happen. That spell was the closest I’d ever come to seeing them.

Bri closes her phone and slips it into her jeans. “Gotta run. My mom needs me home, and I have to pick up milk. Eat some chocolate. Chocolate makes everything better.”

I laugh again. Chocolate can’t make this better, not unless I eat a ton of it, and even then, I’ll probably just gain twenty pounds.

We hug, and my best friend leaves.

Not even a minute later, Mom cracks open my bedroom door. “I forgot to give you your birthday present.”

“Come in.” I plaster a smile on my face, both wanting to be alone and wanting company.

She holds out a small box. “Be careful with this,” she warns. “It used to be my great grandmother’s.”

I open the box to reveal a small delicate bracelet. It’s golden with small lilacs carved into it. As I press my fingers against the largest lilac, a soft hum sounds.

“Do you hear that?” I ask.

“Hear what? I’ll help.” She clips the bracelet onto my right wrist.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you, Mom.” I hug her, and it almost feels like good times.

She fiddles with her earring. “You don’t have to call me Mom anymore if you don’t want to.” She holds my arms near my elbows. “You can call me Aunt or Patricia or whatever makes you most comfortable.”

I smile, but since I don’t know what I want to call her, I say nothing.

“Now get some work done.” She waves and exits the room.

As much as I want to push aside my homework, I remember Silver Tiger’s comment about my grades so I study until sleep claims me, this time for the night.

* * *

THE NEXT DAY, I weave my way through the crush of students, drop my library pass into the basket, and smile at the librarian. In the back near the reference books is a small, metal table with two computers on it. So much more privacy here than at the computer lab.

Eager to get started, I sit down at a computer and log in. A few clicks later, and I’m searching for more details about my dead parents. Can’t risk looking up witchcraft here. I’ll have to do that sometime when Patricia isn’t home.

A few minutes later, someone sits down next to me. I continue working until the person asks, “Password?”

I look over and do a double take. He’s the guy from the cauldron, the one who looks at me as if I’m beautiful, the one who fights with me in the forest.

To recover my surprise, I clear my throat. “All students have the same password. It’s claymore. Not very original if you ask me.”

“Thanks.” He types some. “There we go.” Dimples appear when he grins. “I’m Gavin.”

“Crystal. So you’re the new guy.”

He grimaces. “Hate that term, but yes.”

“I’m sorry. Do you move around a lot?”

Gavin nods. “My dad’s job requires a lot of relocations, but supposedly, we’ll be sticking around here for a long time. I hope so.” His deep blue eyes brighten.

I grin. “Good. You’ll like it here. It’s a small town, one where everyone knows everyone—”

“Which makes ‘the new guy’ stick out all the more.” The shine in his eyes fades. “Sorry. I’m sure it’s great here.”

I think of witches and of my supposedly being magic, and suddenly living in Mount Claymore doesn’t seem so safe anymore. Doesn’t magic always have consequences in books and movies? Drawbacks? Limitations? What are mine?

Have I a lot of questions for the witches tonight!

I retreat from my thoughts. “I’ve lived here my whole life.”

“Must be nice to have roots.” He runs his fingers through his gelled dark blond hair, messing it up a little. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually so…”

“Open?” I supply.

His laugh is a pleasantly deep sound. “I was going to say moody.”

“I’m sure you’ve been to more interesting places than Mount Claymore.” My research all but forgotten, I shift in my seat to face him better.

His eyes darken. “Some good, some bad. Interesting, yes. One place we only lived for a month. The town was filled with such shady people, and my mom begged my dad to move every day. Finally, he called up his work and asked for a transfer.”

“Wow. What kind of work does your dad do?”

“He’s in business.” Gavin shrugs. “I don’t pay much attention to it, except for when it makes me start all over again.”

“It must be hard to leave so many friends behind.”

“I don’t usually bother to make friends. The longest we’re stayed in a city was six months. It’s not worth it.”

Geez. “That’s so sad. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your pity.”

I swallow back another apology. “No friends means no girlfriend, right?” Heat floods to my cheeks. That’s bold for me.

He arches his eyebrows. “No girlfriend. I’ve never had one.”

Now that’s hard to believe. He looks tall even while sitting, and he has some muscles on him, not bulky like football players, but sculpted, toned. His features are strong, and his tan skin makes his teeth look dazzling white.

“You approve?” he asks.

I sit back in my seat, staring at the screen. My face has to be bright red. “I’m sorry—”

He shakes a finger at me. “Stop saying you’re sorry.”

“Sorry.” I grin. “Whoops.”

We laugh as the bell rings.

“Now I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you from your work.” He nods toward my computer.

I log off. “Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t for school.”

“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t important.”

Perceptive.

I wait while he logs off. “I have lunch now.”

“Me too.” He stands and runs his fingers through his hair, making some ends stick up. Kinda cute, and wow, he’s tall, around six foot. I don’t even come up to his shoulders. “I know for all my macho talk about being a loner this is going to sound kinda lame but—”

“Sure you can sit with me and my friends.”

“Thanks.”

We walk out of the library together. “You didn’t get to use the computer either,” I point out.

“That’s ok. I just wanted to get away from the stares and whispers in study hall. No big deal.”

Somehow, we beat all of my friends to our normal table in the cafeteria. I jerk my thumb to the long line of students waiting to buy food. “The food’s actually pretty good here.”

“I’ll have to keep that in mind. I packed lunch today.” He sits down.

“So did I.” I sit across from him, remove my lunch bag from my backpack, and begin to eat my ham and cheese sandwich.

I spy Sean and Paula in line, talking and laughing. He tweaks her nose before walking away to talk to another friend farther back in line.

Paula colors slightly.

“Oh…” I gasp. So Paula does like Sean! She looks so content, sneaking peeks at him.

Gavin raises his eyebrows.

“Be right back.” I hurry over and knock my shoulder into Paula’s. “When did you start liking Sean?” I whisper.

Her blush deepens and spreads to her neck. “I-I don’t k-know.”

Wow, she has it bad. She mastered her stutter back in grade school.

I stop teasing. “You two would make a cute couple.”

“We’re just friends.”

“For now.” I nod knowingly. “Talk to Heather and see if you and Sean and her and Alan can go see a movie together.”

“Like a double date?” She fiddles with her hair.

“If you and Sean want to consider it that. Heather’s dying for someone to double with them.”

Her smile lights up her face. “I’ll go ask her. Maybe Friday. Thanks, Crystal!”

“Anytime.” I grin and return to my seat. Between Bri and I, hopefully Paula and Sean will happen.

But now I need to take a step back and leave it up to Bri and Paula. I don’t want my helping them through magic to become a possibility.

Another vision from the spell comes to me, the one where I’m dead. I’ve been trying to block it from my mind, but that darkness, the shadows, me bleeding… The sight won’t leave me alone.

Someone plops down beside me.

I look over and shriek. “What did you do?”

Vince rubs his head self-consciously. “It’s not that big a deal. It’s just a haircut.”

“It’s so short.” Before I think about what I’m doing, I rub his head. Soft peach fuzz, that’s all he has left of his longish, always-in-need-of-a-cut hair.

He raises his eyebrows and grins. “Isn’t that the point of a haircut?” he teases.

I gasp. The visions of my future—my hair had been a little longer than it is now. Can a simple haircut be a way to ensure the future is changed?

Why not find out? I certainly don’t want to die any time soon.

“You inspire me, Vince.” I smile, almost giddy. “I’m gonna get my haircut tonight.”

“Really? Haven’t you been trying to grow it out for forever?”

I blink, surprised he knew that. “It doesn’t matter. It never grows past my shoulders.”

“How short are you going to get it cut?” Gavin cuts in.

I slap my cheek. I’m so rude! “Gavin, this is Vince. Vince, Gavin.”

Gavin laughs easily. “Don’t worry about it.”

“He has a point.” Vince juts his chin toward Gavin. “How short?”

I shrug one shoulder. “Haven’t thought that far yet.”

Gavin leans across the table and touches just below my left ear. “You would look good with it cut really short.”

“You think?” I hold my breath, not wanting to move. I never had a real boyfriend, never really worried about dating and boys and all that. Now that I’m starting to think about Vince in a different way, along comes Gavin. Boys are so much simpler when you only think of them as friends.

“Nah, that’s too short. Here.” Vince touches halfway down my neck.

Gavin tilts his head. “That could work too I guess. I’m no hair expert.”

“Hair?” Bri bounces into view. “Ack! Vince! Your hair! It’s gone.”

“You should be a detective.” He snorts.

“Crystal wants to get her hair cut,” Gavin says.

Brianna looks from Gavin to me to Vince to me again. Her broad grin makes me squirm. She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and starts to sit down but pops back up. “There’s Paula. Gotta go.”

I shake my head. Poor girl. Paula will never be the same.

The rest of my friends show up, and the conversation shifts from hair to classes and movies. Gavin grows quiet and only talks to Vince or me.

Before lunch ends, I screw up my courage and turn to Vince. “Do you think you could walk with me to get my haircut?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.” My heart sinks. He doesn’t seem that enthused. Not that a haircut is a date, but for so long, Patricia pushed me toward Vince and now that I’m finally willing, Vince seems oblivious.

The bell rings, and Gavin quickly grabs his schedule from his backpack. “English,” he mumbles to himself.

“Do you know where that is?” I ask.

“Yeah. I had history next to it earlier. I got lost yesterday, though. Could have used your help then.”

“I needed a mental health day.”

Vince snorts again. “There’s nothing wrong with you mentally, other than your obsession with religion.”

I bat my eyes. “I am going to talk to Father Joseph tonight. Wanna come with?”

Vince looks down at his sneakers. “Gotta get to class.”

I’m such an idiot. Father Joseph performed the funeral service for Tommy.

I nod to Gavin and hurry to catch up to Vince. “I’m sorry.” I wince. All I’m doing today is apologizing. “I was going to mention this during our walk, but I was thinking about organizing a memorial service for Tommy, if that’s all right with you and your parents.”

“Yeah, that would be nice. Thanks.”

He has an amazing smile. His entire face lights up. I never noticed that before.

We walk to science class together. Before we reach the door, he turns to me. “I don’t mean to be such a jerk about religion all the time,” he mutters.

I touch his arm and then pull back as if I’ve been burned. Flirting’s definitely not my thing. Maybe I should be Bri’s project instead of Paula. “I know you don’t mean it.”

“Maybe not all of it.” His eyes sparkle as they always did when he teases me so I’m surprised when he adds, “You know, you aren’t like most girls. They just care about clothes and makeup and all that.”

“Haircuts.” I fluff my hair as we sit down in our seats. Class’ll start any minute, but I pray for time so we can finish our conversation.

He waves my comment away. “You’re more serious. Grounded. Real. I like that.”

I grin. “Thanks.”

I don’t mind if class starts now.

And it does.

Chapter 10

AFTER SCHOOL, I wait for Vince outside the main entrance. It’s silly to feel nervous. I’ve known him for forever. Gah, stupid butterflies.

Bri jogs over. “Crystal. Good. You haven’t left yet.” She brushes her bangs back. “There’s been a setback. Sean said yes to the double-date-that’s-not-really-a-double-date. Later on, I was talking to Paula about it, and well, he overheard me and asked me to come along.”

“What did you say?”

Vince exits the door and walks over. “You ready to go?”

I hold up a finger. “Just a sec.”

Bri frowns, looking miserable. “I said I was busy. He insisted so Paula insisted. And then he asked me out.”

“For a date?”

“Yeah. I said no, but Paula’s devastated. I don’t know what to do. I kinda like him, but Paula’s such a sweetheart and I don’t wanna hurt her. Why can’t he just like her? Would make life so much easier.” Her sigh is epic. Everything is epic where Bri’s concerned.

“Nothing about life is easy. What’re you going to do now?”

“Still help Paula. Makeover tonight, clothes shopping tomorrow.” She shakes her head. “Can’t believe you’re cutting your hair. You’ve always wanted long hair!”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t grow. It’s time for a change.”

“See ya. Bye, Vince.” With a wave, she runs toward the parking lot.

“Paula likes Sean?” Vince asks. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah.”

“And Brianna does too.”

“For now. You know her. She likes everyone for a week or two.”

“Still, it’s nice that she’s not trying to steal Sean away from Paula.”

We fall into step beside each other. “Yeah, she wants to help her.” I bite my lower lip. Talking to Vince used to be so easy. How many times am I going to say “yeah”?

“Makeover and stuff.” Vince grimaces. “Don’t tell me you want your haircut because of a silly makeover for some guy.”

I laugh. Nothing could be further from the truth. “Nope.”

“Good. You don’t need a makeover.” His cheeks are a little red. “Neither does Paula.” Vince clears his throat. “A memorial service would be nice. I don’t think my parents will mind at all.”

“I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.”

“Step away.” He knocks his shoulder into mine, and I giggle. “Why are you going to talk to Father Joseph tonight?”

I stop walking. He continues for two steps before he stops and turns around. “I just found out that my parents died when I was really young, my dad before I was even born.”

“But your mom—”

“Is actually my aunt.” For some reason, it’s much easier to tell Vince than it had been with Brianna.

“Wow.” He rubs his nearly shaven head. “That’s crazy.”

“Isn’t it?” I suppress the urge to tell him everything. One step at a time. Besides, he’d never believe me about the whole magic thing anyhow.

“You don’t remember your real mom at all?”

“No. I was a baby when she died.”

“You don’t blame God for taking them from you.” It isn’t a question.

“Would I have liked to know them? Of course. Do I miss them even though I don’t know them? Yes. Does that make this God’s fault? No.”

“How did they die? Or do you not want to talk about it?”

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have brought it up.” I hesitate then ask, “Can I borrow your phone? I have to tell my mom I’ll be late.”

He hands it to me. After I leave a message explaining where I’m going, he asks, “You still call her mom?”

“I guess. It’s habit, and she did raise me, but sometimes I think of her as Patricia now. It’s weird.”

“I’ll bet.”

The look in his eyes… I can’t bear to see it, so I start walking. Down the block, we have to wait for the light to change.

I glance over. He’s listening but not prying. I really appreciate that. “My birth mom died in a car crash. Slid into a snow embankment. I was in the backseat.”

“And your dad?”

Several cars drive past before we can safely cross the street. “He had cancer,” I whisper.

Vince’s stance grows rigid. He wraps his arm around my shoulders. “Do you want me to come with you when you talk to Father?”

A lump forms in my throat. “You would do that?”

“I may clown around and joke a lot, but in here…” He pounds his chest with his other hand. “I don’t think a lot of people know how I really feel. You understand me. You’ve never given up on me. I know you want me to stop blaming God, and I probably will someday. Just not today. If you need someone to come with you, I’ll be willing to go.”

“You might have an easier time talking to Father Joseph by yourself,” I blurt out.

He kicks a stone and clasps his hands behind his back.

I stare at my feet as we walk and wish he still had his arm around me.

He doesn’t move to touch me.

Of course. My wishing something doesn’t make it happen.

We walk the rest of the way to the hairdresser’s in silence. When the young stylist asks me what I want, I say, “Something shorter but not too short. Something different.”

She snaps her bubble gum and grimaces. Probably wished I was more specific. She washes my hair and directs me to the middle chair. Snip, snip, snip. Clumps of hair fall to the ground. Ever since a horrific haircut in the fifth grade, I’ve been trying to grow my hair long, but my hair grows abnormally slow.

More proof that I can’t make things happen just because I want them too.

“Almost done.” The stylist grabs a brush and blow-dries my hair. “Finished. Take a look. Do you like?”

I look completely different. My hair is short, way short, although longer than Gavin suggested. In fact, my hair’s about halfway between what the two boys said. Instead of being cut straight, the front is more layered, so I have long bangs in the front. I play with my hair and then toss it back and forth. “I love it.”

“Great.” The hairdresser smiles, her relief evident. “That’ll be sixteen dollars.”

I take a twenty out of my wallet and hand it to her. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks!”

Vince is staring at me peculiarly as I walk over to him. I touch it self-consciously. “You don’t like it.”

“It sure is different.” He cocks his head to the side. “Turn around.”

I turn, feeling more like a duck than a model. “Well?”

“You look… good.”

“Good? Just good?” I aim for teasing, but it comes out whiny.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure Gavin will compliment you up and down tomorrow.” He scowls.

“Wait, what?” The only other customer in the place and the hairdressers are staring at us, so I grab his arm and yank him outside. “Where is this coming from?”

“Oh, get off it, Crystal. I saw how you were looking at him.”

“And why should you care?” I snap. Vince is so infuriating! I like him one minute, and the next, I want to punch him.

“Of course I care. Why wouldn’t I care? Haven’t you been listening to me at all today?” He shoves his hands into his pockets and stomps down the sidewalk. After a few steps, he halts but doesn’t turn around. “You coming?”

Wordlessly, I follow him.

When we reach my front door, he touches my arm. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t like me,” I guess. “You just don’t want me to be friends with Gavin.”

“If I didn’t like you, would I do this?” He cups my face and gently presses his lips to mine.

I stare at his closed eyes for a second before I shut mine. By the time I pucker my lips, he’s already pulling away.

He laughs softly. “You’ve never been kissed before.”

“Brian kissed me in the first grade.”

“Doesn’t count.” He tucks some of my hair behind my right ear. “Let’s try that again.”

This time, I’m ready. I pucker my lips and kiss back. It’s sweet and tender and everything a first kiss should be, even if it really is our second.

“Have a good night,” he says when he pulls back. “Call me if you want. We can talk about your meeting with Father.”

“I’d like that.” Not knowing what else to do, I wave awkwardly. After he walks down the sidewalk and out of sight, I open the door and shut it behind me.

“Finally,” Mom says.

I jump. Heat rises to my face.

She looks so pleased, and so smug. “I’m so happy for you two.”

“You were spying on us?” A tiny thrill squeezes my heart at the thought of us meaning me and Vince. I hold out my hand in a “stop now” gesture. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Dinner’s ready.” She walks to the table, her back to me but I can hear her smile in her voice. “You look wonderful. Do you like it?”

I touch my short hair. “I do, but it’s going to take some getting used to.”

Smiling, I sit in my spot at the table. We concentrate on eating, and the conversation dies. Once my plate is almost picked clean, I start to tell her about my appointment with Father Joseph when the phone rings.

“I’ll get it!” I jump up and run to the kitchen. “Hello?’

“Hi, Crystal. It’s Vince. I was wondering if you wanted a ride to the rectory. My mom said it’s okay if I drive you.”

My breathing grows rapid. I hope he can’t hear it. “She has to come with, right?”

“Yeah. I almost have enough supervised hours to get my real license.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, Vince.”

“Great. We’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

We hang up, and I touch my lips. I doubt Vince will kiss me again in front of his mom, but I like to think he’ll kiss me again sometime soon.

“Who was it, honey?” Mom carries our dirty dishes into the kitchen.

“Vince.”

“Already? Wow.”

“He offered to give me a ride to Father Joseph’s.”

Is it my imagination, or did Mom pause for a moment before rinsing our plates?

“That’s fine. I just want you to know there’s nothing you can’t talk to me about. I don’t mind if you want to talk to Father, but always know I have two ears for you.”

“Ew, Mom. That sounds gross. Don’t go all Picasso on me.”

“You’re cracking bad jokes. Must be love.”

I ignore her and run upstairs to brush my teeth. Should I bother with lipstick? Nah. It would be too obvious.

A few minutes later, there’s a knock at the door.

Taking a deep breath, not wanting to look too eager to see him, I slowly open the door.

He leans against the frame, his arms crossed. “Ready to go?”

I nod. “Bye, Mom,” I throw over my shoulder and close the door behind us. Self-consciously, I adjust my purple shirt as I approach the black car. “Hi, Mrs. Fuller.”

“Hello, Crystal. Vince tells me you want to have a memorial service for Tommy.” Her blue eyes shine with unshed tears. “I want you to know how much that means to Vince’s dad and me.”

“It’s no problem.”

Vince opens the door for me, but before I climb into the backseat, Mrs. Fuller says, “I’ll sit in the back.”

“You don’t have to,” I protest, but his mom insists. She moves to sit behind Vince so I claim the passenger seat.

Vince sits next to me and grins. “Don’t worry. I’m a much safer driver than Brianna.”

“I think everyone is.” I giggle.

He turns on the car and drives down the street. Vince puts on his left turn signal and slows to a stop at the stop sign. After looking both ways twice, he pulls out and turns.

“You drive like a grandpa,” I tease.

“Hey, it’s scary learning to drive. You never know what the other drivers are going to do. And the highway, merging? Just you wait,” he warns.

I bite my lower lip. “I never thought of it like that before.”

“Yeah, and teenagers get into a lot more car accidents than any other age group.”

“Maybe I’ll hold off on getting my permit.” Skipping kindergarten means I’m the youngest out of our friends.

His laugh warms me. “I should be going for my test within a week or two, right, Mom?”

“As long as you don’t do anything to screw it up,” she says.

I twist around to see his mom. “So more like a month or two, right?”

“At least.” Mrs. Fuller and I laugh.

“Very funny.” Vince stops at another stop sign and glances over at me. “Anyhow, I can be your personal driver if you want.”

I grin. “I’ll hold you to that. I’ll be more likely to turn seventeen if you drive me everywhere instead of Bri.”

“Is she really that bad of a driver?” Mrs. Fuller asks.

“Worse.” Vince shakes his head.

The church is still a mile away. He stops at a traffic light. A car drives through, its tires squealing, spinning onto our street much faster than the speed limit. It keeps on turning until it plows hard into our car.

Chapter 11

MY HEAD SLAMS into my window, and bright lights flicker before my eyes.

I scream, Vince curses, but his mom says nothing.

“Are you ok?” he asks.

I nod, but the movement makes my head pounds. There’s a huge bump on my forehead. No blood though.

Vince has a small cut on his forehead, and he winces as he unclicks his seat belt. He rubs his chest. “Mom?”

I twist in my seat. Mrs. Fuller’s head is covered in blood. The impact of the other car had been directly at her seat, and the car door juts into her.

“Oh my God. Mom!” He tries to open his door, but his is jammed shut.

Despite my shaking hands, I manage to unbuckle my seat belt and open my door. A wave of dizziness washes over me, but I fight through it and step out of the car. More vertigo. Some breaths help, and I reach back inside to help a wobbly Vince climb over my seat and out of the car.

The other car backs up. The driver glares at me with hatred in his eyes. Tires squealing, he peels away.

I shiver.

“Mom!” He runs around the car and tries to open the ruined door.

“Vince, we have to call for an ambulance,” I say.

He doesn’t stop his struggle with the door.

My hand squeezes his shoulder. He doesn’t respond when I ask for his phone, so I slip a hand into his pocket and take it. My fingers keep hitting the wrong buttons, but finally I dial 911 and tell the dispatcher about the accident and our location.

I hang up and pocket the phone. “Vince.”

He whirls around, rage in his eyes. Tears stream down his face. “He can’t. He can’t take her too.”

“He won’t.”

His hand rubs his face. “I’d never forgive him.”

“Don’t worry about that now.”

“Will you pray for her?” he asks desperately. “He listens to you.”

“Of course.”

Sirens wail in the near distance.

“Come on.” I shove him to the other side of the car and open the back seat on the passenger side.

Vince pushes me aside so he can dash into the car. “Mom, please say something.” He brushes hair out of her face. “She’s bleeding. Her face, her arm, her chest… So much blood.”

I don’t want to ask, but I have to. “Is she breathing?”

After a long moment, he says, “I think so.”

“What happened here?” a deep voice asks.

I whip around to see the new guy. “Gavin. A car hit us and drove away. Vince’s mom is really hurt and—”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, and so is Vince.” I wave his words away.

Vince comes out of the car. His eyes are frantic, and he looks like a madman. “I don’t think I should move her. Her seat belt is jammed anyhow. The stupid car door is cutting into her side, and she’s really bleeding, but I can’t get to the wound to stop the flow.” He glances around wildly. “Where the hell is the ambulance?”

“It’ll be here any second.” I grab his hand and squeeze it. The ambulance siren grows louder.

With his free hand, he runs his fingers through his hair. “Can’t lose her too,” he mumbles.

“You won’t,” I say fiercely. If I can will Mrs. Fuller back to health, I will.

Why shouldn’t I try? I can pray to God and try to use magic or whatever to save her too. What harm can it do?

“Pray with me, Vince,” I plea. Now more than ever, he needs Him.

“I can’t.” His voice sounds hollow, and he looks like a lost little boy. “I don’t remember how to.”

“Just talk to Him like you would me.”

He starts to shake then leans over to a nearby bush and retches. I rub his back and whisper in his ear that everything will be all right, but I’m terrified. Mrs. Fuller can’t die. Vince needs her too much. He’s suffered so much already. His entire family has.

The sirens blare dangerously loud, and the ambulance appears. Several people rush about, and the car is attacked so Mrs. Fuller can be rescued. A police officer talks to Vince and me. I don’t say much. The flashing lights hypnotize me. I’ll rather watch them than see the car being wrenched apart or the panicked apprehension in Vince’s eyes.

Gavin stands on the sidewalk, hidden in the shadows as night descends. After the police officer walks away, he approaches us again. “I know this is a bad time, but do you still want to talk to Father Joseph? I can walk you. You could ask him to pray for Vince’s mom.”

My jaw drops.

Before I can object, Vince says, “Please, go to the church and pray. He’ll listen to your prayers long before he’ll listen to any of mine.”

“But—”

“The EMT said you didn’t have to go to the hospital,” Gavin interjects.

Only because I lied about not having a headache.

“I shake my head even though the movement churns my stomach. I’m not leaving you, Vince. I can pray at the hospital.”

He smiles despite his pain. “I guess I can try to pray there too.”

“But Father Joseph will be worried about you if you don’t show up,” Gavin says.

Why is he so insistent I go to the rectory? “Could you go to the rectory and explain to him what happened for me?” I give him directions. “Thanks. I don’t have a cell to call him.”

Gavin nods. “I hope your mom’s okay, Vince.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and strolls down the street.

Vince pulls me close. He appears to have finally gotten a grip on his emotions, but he breaks down again when they finally pull his mom out of the half-wrecked car.

All I can do is pat his back and try to comfort him.

With all my heart, I pray God will save and heal Mrs. Fuller.

With all my desire and mind, I will Mrs. Fuller to be okay.

I almost wish I am magic, if only so I can make sure she lives and so Vince won’t forever turn his back on God.

* * *

BECAUSE I GO with Vince to the hospital, I’m examined by a doctor. I answer every question truthfully and pass a concussion test. They give me some pain medication for my headache. Vince has a mild concussion, nasty bruises from his seatbelt, and some minor scraps.

After he’s cleaned up and bandaged, we sit huddled together in the ER waiting room. Vince is almost in shock and keeps repeating himself. Whenever I attempt to get him to pray with me, he gets worse. We hold hands, and I alternate praying for Mrs. Fuller and willing her to make it.

A doctor approaches sometime later. “Vincent Fuller?”

It takes Vince a moment to notice him, and he nods slowly.

“We took your mom to surgery. I’ll update you when I can.” The doctor walks away.

“She’ll be fine,” I tell Vince.

“I wish I had your faith,” he mutters. His eyes are bloodshot, and he rests his head on my shoulder.

“You aren’t supposed to sleep.”

“I know, but I’m so comfortable.”

The seats are hard, and the cushion scratchy and decidedly uncomfortable, but I don’t bother to correct him.

Something vibrates in my pocket, and I pull out Vince’s cell. It’s Ned.

“Here.” I hand him the phone.

Vince ignores the call. “I can’t believe I haven’t called Dad yet.” He presses some numbers. After a hurried explanation of what had happened and a promise to keep his dad informed, he shuts the phone. “He can’t leave work now, not yet anyway. Stupid construction. Roads take so long.”

“He’ll come as soon as he can.” My hand slips into his, and I squeeze reassuringly.

We stop talking. I lose track of time and start to doze when I sense someone approach.

Mom. Looking so pissed off. “What happened? Why didn’t you call?”

I have to give her credit. She isn’t making a scene. Her voice is low.

Shifting slightly, I open my mouth when Vince stirs and wakes.

“Any news?” he asks through a yawn.

“No. Get a soda. It’ll help you stay awake.” I shove my hand into my jeans pocket and give him my change.

He stumbles to the soda machine in the corner.

Now that I don’t have to put on a brave face, I feel myself start to crumble on the inside. “I’m sorry. I should have called.”

“Father Joseph called to ask if you changed your mind.” She crosses her arms but doesn’t look too upset. More worried than anything.

Why didn’t Gavin tell him like I asked him to? My headache dulled slightly before my nap, but now the pain is back, and I rub my head. My mouth is dry, my eyes wet. Crumbling on the outside too. “We were stopped at a light when… a car hit into ours.”

“Did you get the driver’s information?” She sits down beside me.

“Nope.” A fierce fire burns within, and my unshed tears dry. “The bastard drove off.”

“Crystal.” Mom purses her lips.

“What? He is one. Mrs. Fuller’s in surgery now. Vince has a concussion.”

“And you?”

“I’m fine.” Now that I’m awake, I’m trying to pray and will Mrs. Fuller to health, and my headache morphs into a migraine, and my dizziness returns. Despite this, my lips curl slightly. “You know, I would’ve been able to call you if I had a cell.”

She crosses her arms. “This is hardly the time to discuss that.”

Vince returns with two sodas and give me one. “Hello, Ms. Miller.”

“Hi, Vince. I’m so sorry about your mom.”

“It’s not your fault. Damn bastard.” He shakes his fist.

I smile inwardly. We’re on the same wavelength.

“I take it you want to stay here longer?” Mom asks. “It’s almost nine.”

No wonder she’s been so worried. Wait, nine? At midnight, I’m supposed to go to the mountain tonight. With all of the hullabaloo of the car accident, I almost forgot.

“Go. I’ll be fine.” Vince holds up his can. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Of course I’m gonna worry about you.” I don’t want to leave him. Not for the witches. Not for anything.

“I’m serious,” he adds. “I’ll call you when we hear back from…”

The doctor from earlier approaches. “Vincent Fuller?”

He stands, and I do too. “Well?”

The doctor holds out his hands in a confused manner. “It was touch and go for a little while, but she’s doing much better now. It’s a miracle, really, how she’s bouncing back so quickly.”

“Can I see her?” Vince bounces up and down, almost jumping and looking younger than his sixteen years.

“You can.” He glances at Mom and me. “Are you family?”

I shake my head.

“I’m sorry. Family only.”

“That’s okay. They were just leaving anyhow.” Vince kisses my forehead. “There’s no need for you to stay. Go home.”

“I told you God wouldn’t take her from you.”

His face twists to despair and then shines with joy. “He didn’t. I really thought he was going to, but he didn’t. Maybe I should start praying again.”

“Are you coming, Vincent?” the doctor asks.

“Yes, sir.” He hugs me then my mom and rushes over to the doctor.

“Vince, wait.” I hurry over and hand him my unopened soda. “You need this more than I do.”

“Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”

My heart flips somersaults. Did I save Mrs. Fuller? Or had God?

Does it matter?

Chapter 12

MOM ASKS ME questions, but I’m silent for the duration of the ride home. After she parks the car, I jump out and run into the house and upstairs to my room.

My bed calls out to me, and I curl up on top of my white comforter. I cry for Vince and his mom. Cry for Tommy. Cry for myself and my birth parents.

Self loathing fills me. I should be with Vince. After Tommy died, I gave him space. In fact, we just about stopped being friends. Vince withdrew into himself and hardly talked to anyone. He saw a therapist, might still be seeing one. It took him almost a year to open up again. Now he jokes all the time.

Probably a defense mechanism for pain, or something like that.

About an hour later, Mom’s footsteps approach. She’s going to bed. A half hour creeps on by, each minute longer than the previous one, but enough time has passed that I’m willing to sneak downstairs.

I log onto the computer. First I search for Silver Tiger. Nothing about the witch turns up. Next I try Silver Tiger and Mount Claymore. Still nothing. Sapphire Belladonna and Mount Claymore also turns up no results.

Then I try Mount Claymore and witches.

A few articles pop up. Supposedly, witches came to Mount Claymore long ago because of the rumored magical properties within the mountain itself. Strange deaths occurred to all who tried to use the supposed magical properties, however.

Interesting. That might explain why I only met two of the three witches who helped my mother become pregnant with me.

If Lydia only knew how close to the mark her research had brought her…

Five minutes until I have to leave, enough time for me to check my email. Brianna sent me a joke. Heather wanted to do a project for science class together.

A new email pops up with no sender. I delete it. Might be spam or a virus.

Another new email, the same as the previous one.

Delete.

A third appears.

Okay… A little perturbed, I open it. “Crystal, don’t come tonight. –SB”

Once again, I delete the email. After shutting down the computer, I grab my jean jacket. I’m going all right. Since I can’t be with Vince, nothing is keeping me from the mountain.

* * *

MY FLASHLIGHT HARDLY brightens the darkness. Shadows hide rocks and divots, and I stumble and fall several times. The moon provides no light. Whether it’s covered in clouds or a new moon I don’t bother to check.

All’s quiet, eerie and haunting. Far later than I would have liked, I start to climb the mountain. That surreal silence? Shattered by something that sounds like fireworks or a gunshot.

Maybe I should have taken the email more seriously.

Maybe coming here isn’t such a good idea after all.

With a click, I turn off the flashlight. I don’t want to make myself an easy target. But what if it isn’t a gun? What if it’s magic? Seeing into the future is scary in it’s own right, but using magic to harm someone… Whatever’s causing that noise, it sure isn’t peaceful.

Like a deer staring into the blinding headlights of a car, I stand frozen. Without light, there’s no way I can climb up or down the mountain.

Can I leave the witches to their fate? Can I help them?

Should I?

I don’t know anything about them. Who knows? Maybe they’re the evil ones.

I shudder. Marian came to them for help conceiving a child and instead was given a nonhuman girl who was magic.

And died months after giving birth.

Coincidence?

Suddenly, I’m not so sure.

Without realizing it, I’ve started around the mountain again, moving slowly, testing each foothold. Gradually, the cottage comes into view.

Someone cries out in pain.

There’s definitely a battle going on. A magical one?

I can’t see or hear any signs of the witches. Despite wishing I stayed home or at the hospital, I creep forward until I reach the back of the cottage. Standing on my tiptoes, I peer through a window.

The inside of the cottage is completely bare. The mirror, the furniture and the keepsakes, everything is gone.

Two shadows move around inside. One lowers itself to the ground, its head low and moving from side to side, as if sniffing. A dog?

The front door slams open, and a new figure appears in the entryway. Sapphire Belladonna. A glowing Sapphire Belladonna. Fire forms above her outstretched hand. She whips the fireball. The dog-like creature whines and claws at the floor to scramble away from it. Tendrils of smoke fill the air. The fire connects with its fur. The animal vanishes.

Dead? Or did it teleport somewhere?

The witch enters the cottage, hovering slightly above the floor. Her glowing body illuminates the cottage and the other shadow—a man dressed in a long brown robe.

“You should never have come here,” she admonishes. Her voice sounds deeper than I remember, more powerful, lyrical… more magical.

“We will come back.” He sounds dark, haunting… evil.

I catch a glimpse of his face, long enough for me to think he looks familiar before he lifts his robe to cover his face. When he lowers his arm, his hand is clenched. Moving far too quickly, he throws whatever he’s holding onto the ground. A sound like a gunshot rings out. A huge billow of vapor appears from the point of contact.

Sapphire Belladonna holds her arms out then claps them together. A funnel of wind blows the smoke away.

“What are you doing here?” a nasty voice whispers in my ear.

I twirl around. A strong grip on my shoulder prevents me from falling. “Silver Tiger?”

“Shuddup.” Silver Tiger drags me away from the cottage.

“What’s going on?” I ask. Her pace is so swift I can barely keep up with her.

“Not now. You need to go back home.” Her grip on my arm tightens.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

Another shot-like noise pierces the prevailing stillness of the night.

I wince. Each time I hear the deadly sound, I expect to feel pain. “And who’s shooting who?”

“No one’s shooting anyone.”

“But that sound—” I stumble over a rock, and she snickers.

“They aren’t known for using their magic quietly.”

“Who?” Aggravation begins to overcome me, displacing my fear. Why can’t she answer any of my questions?

“I said not now!” Her hold tightens to the point of serious pain, but I refuse to whimper. “Go home. You’ll be safe there.”

I snort. “If another driver doesn’t hit—”

She jerks to a halt, and I almost fall over. It’s hard to tell in the darkness, but I think her face might’ve paled some. “What do you mean another driver?”

“I was involved in a car accident today. My… Vince was driving, and the car was hit.”

“A hit and run?”

“Yes.”

“Where was the car hit?”

“Why? Do you think it was somehow related to…” I shrug free of her grasp and gesture back toward the cottage. We’re near the base of the mountain. Not quite far enough away yet, if you ask me.

She darts off, leaving me no choice but to follow. Times passes, enough that I doubt she’ll respond, when she finally says, “You’re around and about so that would suggest no, it’s not related but…”

I stop walking, and the witch glowers but doesn’t protest. By now, we reentered the town, and the bright streetlights make me squint. My headache threatens to return. The glimpse of the other driver, the hatred in his eyes…

“He thought I was in the back seat,” I say slowly, horror coloring my voice. “I was going to sit there, but Mrs. Fuller insisted I sit up front. It’s all my fault she got hurt!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You weren’t the one who drove into her.”

There’s a long pause, and my hatred for Silver Tiger grows.

“Will she be all right?”

Too her to long to ask, but at least she had. “Yes. The doctor said she’s recovering miraculously.”

“Let me guess. You prayed, and she got better. Still think it’s all God and not you?”

I don’t know who saved Mrs. Fuller. “How can you be so certain I’m magic? I mean, what have I done that would prove it?”

“Most of the time, you use it during school.”

“Making the bell ring.”

One of my biggest abuses of power or prayers. If I don’t know the answer to a question, that’s my big thing. End class.

And, geez, if she knows how I’ve been using my power, they really have been keeping tabs on me.

I shake my head as we turn onto another street. “How can I make the bell ring? Wouldn’t everyone notice the bell was ringing at the wrong time?”

“That’s just it. You aren’t making the bell ring. You’re speeding up time so the bell rings when it’s supposed to.”

“Oh.” Now that’s a lot to digest. Speeding up time sounds like powerful magic. An uncomfortable knot forms in my stomach. “This way.”

She points to the left. “This way is faster.”

“Yes, but I don’t want to walk past the accident.” I suppress a shudder.

“Suit yourself.”

We walk in silence for a few blocks before I ask, “Who was Sapphire Belladonna fighting?”

“That wasn’t Sapphire Belladonna.”

I furrow my brow, distracted, and stumble over the uneven sidewalk.

“You’re such a klutz.” Silver Tiger holds out her hand, and a light appears. “Sapphire Belladonna had to leave. She’s talking to the heads of several nearby covens.”

“Why?” I pray it isn’t because of me.

“Of course it’s because of you. They want you for themselves.”

I cross my arms, annoyed she’s reading my thoughts. “Who…” I don’t even bother to finish my question. She’ll just ignore me again.

Silver Tiger releases a loud sigh. “I always thought it was wrong to keep you in the dark all these years, but Sapphire Belladonna was so certain you would find us.”

“And I did.” Still not sure how I feel about that.

“Yes, but it may well be too late.”

“Too late for what?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“The more you use magic, the more they can sense you.”

How surprising that she ignored my question. I wrinkle my nose. “The more I use magic? But that doesn’t make any sense if I am magic.”

“How else do you want me to explain it?” Silver Tiger growls. “Do not annoy me or else—”

“Are you threatening me?”

“You don’t know how to use your power. I do not fear you.”

I will her to be thrown to the ground, but nothing happens. Of course I won’t dare pray for someone to be injured. Not that I thought God would ever answer that kind of a prayer.

The witch laughs. “You have much to learn. Now stop fooling around or else I’ll stop talking.”

Fine. I’m still not convinced I’m magic, but I’m desperate to learn whatever she’s willing to tell me, even though it’s probably not much.

“Good. The shamans want you. They think you are their salvation, the one who will lead them to the next step of their journey.”

“That doesn’t sound evil.”

“They want to use you as a puppet, to have you do their every bidding. They will drain you of your magic until you die.”

The vision of my bloody, lifeless body floats before me, and I blink it away. “I take it witches and shamans don’t get along.”

She snorts. “That’s the understatement of the past two millennium. Witches and shamans have been battling for control of Earth and all of magic ever since there were witches and shamans.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I always thought shamans were supposed to be peaceful. With trances and rain dances and stuff like that.” Considering my knowledge of them comes from movies, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to learn I’m wrong.

“A few remain outside the war, yes, and are somewhat peaceful. But for the most part, they do not care for this world or their bodies. Their minds and their soul, their spirit, that’s all they care about. And that makes them dangerous, very dangerous. They have magic that us witches do not usually invoke.” Body rigid, she walks briskly, staring straight ahead.

“What magic?”

“They can shape shift.” There’s disgust in her tone.

“You mean like werewolves?”

“Yes, but they can change into various animals, not just wolves.”

The dog I saw inside the cottage—was it a shaman? “You said shamans want to use me. Do the witches want me to help them in the war?”

“Right now, our only concern is to keep you from the shamans so they don’t drain you.”

That doesn’t exactly answer my question. Am I on the wrong side? Not that the shamans sound like they’re a better option.

“Can’t I be impartial?”

“Doubtful, unless you want to spend the rest of your life running.”

“Running sounds better than dying.”

“Enough people have died because of you already.” Silver Tiger stomps up my front porch steps. “When one of us tells you not to come, don’t come.”

“Who was that other witch? There were three witches the night Marian came to you. Was she the other one?”

She opens the door and shoves me inside. “No,” she says curtly. “Do not leave your house again until morning.”

The door closes gently behind me, but I flinch as if it slammed shut.

I fling it open, but the witch is already gone.

Chapter 13

MY MIND’S OVER-STIMULATED with fear and worry, and I don’t sleep much that night, unable to stop mentally watching the car accident, hearing the crunch of impact, and smelling Mrs. Fuller’s blood.

Then there’s the issue of the war between witches and shamans and how at least one side wants to use me as a pawn.

And the question of my soul’s existence. If I do have a soul and help the wrong side, even unknowingly, surely I’ll go to Hell. But if I stay out of the war entirely, I’ll be killed.

So much has happened. While I do think magic exists, the idea that I am magic… that I still can’t accept.

Can’t or won’t?

Maybe now’s the time to talk to Mom about the witches and magic. It’s possible she doesn’t know I’m supposedly magic or that my conception might’ve been the result of witches’ helping.

No. I can’t possibly risk dragging her into the middle of the war. Better keep my mouth shut.

But, boy, is this weighing heavy on my shoulders. If I could only tell someone, anyone…

There’s always God. Before, I would’ve talked to Him immediately, been talking to Him all along. It bothers me that I haven’t, but I can’t bring myself to start now. I want to have a back-and-forth conversation with someone about all this, and someone other than the witches.

Sunlight gradually peeks through my sheer blue curtains, and I climb out of bed. My balance is off, maybe from my sleep deprivation or the aftereffects of the accident. I stumble my way into the bathroom. The bags beneath my eyes are so heavy my face almost droops. Colorful bruises cover my forehead, and the bump hasn’t shrunk any yet.

I drag myself downstairs and start a pot of coffee. Normally I never touch the stuff, but I’ll never make it through today without it.

The phone rings before I take my first sip. “Hello?”

“Hey, Crystal. I’m not going to make it into school today. Do you think you could get my books and homework from my teachers?” Vince recites his locker combination.

“Sure, no problem. How’s your mom doing?” The background noise of people walking around and doctors being paged make it hard to hear him. “Still at the hospital?”

“Only for a few more hours. They’re releasing her today.”

“That’s wonderful!”

“The doctors keep talking about how amazing and swift her recovery has been. She should’ve died, Crystal. The car door cut into her liver. She was leaking poison into her body. They saw it in their imaging, but when they cut her open, it was gone. All of it. And her liver’s starting to heal itself. They don’t know how.”

I desperately want to ask if he knows how but don’t want to press my luck. “I’ll stop by your house after school with your work. Do you want me to bring food or anything? Does your mom need anything?”

“Just my stuff. Thanks, Crystal. I knew I could count on you.”

I hang up.

Mom enters the kitchen with a yawn. “Oh, coffee. Thank you.” She makes a beeline for the pot and pours herself a big mugful. One sip, and she puckers her cheeks.

“That bad?”

“It’s not bad at all, honey.”

I drink mine and nearly spit it out. “That’s awful!”

“Coffee’s an acquired taste.”

“Maybe so, but you’ll have to teach me how to make a proper pot before I’ll drink it again.” Even though it’s wasteful, I pour mine down the sink. Drinking that would be a sin.

Mom touches my shoulders. “How are you?” she asks quietly.

“I’m fine.”

She raises her eyebrows. We both know I’m lying. “Do you want to stay home from school today?”

I shake my head, not bothering to consider it. “Nope.”

“If you’re sure…”

Before she can say more, I run upstairs and change into jeans and the first shirt I yank from my closest. Even though I’ll need a thick layer of makeup to look passable, I only slap on some concealer and run out the door as I shove my makeup bag into my backpack. I don’t have time to apply foundation and powder since I want to catch the bus and not have to use magic to do so. Once or twice—okay more like a dozen times—I wasn’t late for it when I should’ve been. My bus driver is never late and never waits.

Am I really starting to believe I have magic? Having magic is a lot easier to swallow than actually being magic.

At the beginning of my classes that I have with Vince, I ask the teachers for his work. In between my classes, I run around to the teachers he has that I don’t. By the time I collapse into my seat for study hall before lunch, I’m exhausted. I lower my head and close my eyes.

It seems like the bell rings a minute later. I slept the entire period, but I don’t feel rested. Yawning, I wipe my mouth. Ew. Drool.

Head low, I walk to the cafeteria. My friends already sit at our table. Although I love them all, the one I want to see and talk to the most isn’t there.

“You’re here?” a deep voice asks.

“Gavin. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He raises his eyebrows.

For some reason, my temper flares nearly out of control. “Why didn’t you go talk to Father Joseph for me like I asked you to?”

His lips twist into a scowl. “I was on my way there when my mom called. My sister was sick, and I had to run to the store and get her medicine.”

“Oh.” I offer an apologetic smile. “Do you often go for walks?”

“Yeah, it helps to clear my head.” He waves me ahead, and we sit down at the table.

Brianna jumps up and forces Brian to scoot down so she can sit next to me. “Are you ok? I heard about the accident.”

“I’m fine.” I lower my voice. “How are things between Paula and Sean?”

“Not now,” she mouths. Aloud, she asks more questions about the accident, and for the next ten minutes, I find myself going over every detail of the crash. Each time I finish, someone else asks me to start over so they can hear it.

To catch a break, I gather my half-eaten food and walk over to the trash. I have no appetite, had to force myself to eat what I had.

Lydia follows me. “Crystal? I have a confession to make.”

At first, I want to scream—I just want a minute to myself—but she looks so forlorn. “Lydia, relax. Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”

She points to a secluded part of the cafeteria, and we head there. “You know my dad’s a doctor, right?”

I nod.

“Well, I asked him questions about thyroid cancer and treatment options and timelines, stuff like that. The thing is… your father should have had a much longer time period to live. In fact, most people don’t die from it.”

“But Dad’s doctors said he only had three more months to live if he continued treatment. That doesn’t make any sense.” My stomach churns, and I’m glad I didn’t eat all of my lunch.

“I know. And I know I should have asked before talking to my dad, but I’m thinking about becoming a doctor myself so I was curious…”

“Curiosity isn’t a bad thing. I don’t care that you talked to him.” A simpler, and much more likely, explanation comes to me. “Could he have been misdiagnosed?”

“That’s definitely a possibility. My dad did mention that.”

A dark idea percolates in my mind. What if someone knew he was going to be the father of magic and wanted to get him out of the way? And then did something to my mother’s car seven months after magic was born?

Why would shamans kill my parents? They haven’t even known about my existence until recently.

If it hadn’t been the shamans…

I shudder. Maybe Sapphire Belladonna is on my side, but that doesn’t mean that other witches are, and that includes Silver Tiger. If fact, either, or both of them, could have been responsible for my parent’s deaths.

“Crystal.” Lydia waves her hand in front of my face. “The bell just rang.”

Blinking, I return to reality. “Lydia, seriously, don’t worry about it. I want to know the truth. I should call the hospital. I doubt they’ll still have his file on record, but I’ll learn who his doctor was and maybe talk to him or her.”

She smiles widely. “Oh, good. I was so worried about telling you. I thought you would hate me.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Bye!” Her wide smile isn’t enough to make me feel better, but at least she’s happy.

It’s not easy maneuvering my way through the horde of students to get back to the table and claim my backpack. As I run to class, I pass Gavin. His head hangs down. A pang of regret shoots through me. I had no business being so rude to him, especially since he had a legit reason for not helping me out.

I wave to him, but he doesn’t see.

The rest of the day flies by, and I lug my heavy backpack onto the bus. “Hi, Mrs. Carson, could you drop me off at Vince’s stop? I have his homework.”

The bus driver purses her lips and nods. “Just this once, Crystal. You know I normally need a note.”

Five stops later, I get off the bus and trudge down the driveway to Vince’s house.

His dad opens the door. “Hello, Crystal. I’m so glad you weren’t badly hurt.”

“Hi, Mr. Fuller. Thanks. Is Vince home?”

“Vince!” his dad calls as we walk into the living room.

“How is Mrs. Fuller doing?” I ask.

“Just fine,” Mrs. Fuller says as she walks into the room. Although she moves gingerly and bruises mark the side of her face that had slammed into the window, she looks wonderful.

Impulsively, I hug her. “I’m glad you’re home.”

“Me too. Vince told me what a comfort you were to him last night in the waiting room.”

My cheeks grow uncomfortably warm. Does she know we’re… Are we together?

“Come on up, Crystal,” Vince’s familiar deep voice calls from upstairs.

Mrs. Fuller crosses her arms. “Leave your door open.”

“Mo-om.” He thunders down the stairs and waves me over.

I giggle nervously and follow him to his room. He sits on his computer desk chair, so I sit on the edge of his bed. My hands are clumsy as I remove his books and his list of assignments from my backpack.

“Don’t I even get a hug?” he asks.

My face feels like it’s on fire. “Sure.”

We stand and awkwardly embrace. Some of the closeness we had last night seems to have disappeared, much to my dismay.

“Did you miss me?” he asks as he sits back down.

“Yes.” I reclaim my seat on his bed.

His grin affects me like never before. He’s always been able to make me smile, and I’m more than happy to do the same to him, especially now.

“I missed you too. I…” He wrings his hands together.

“You what?”

His gaze on the red carpet, he mumbles something.

“Excuse me?”

“I said I tried to pray last night.”

I raise my eyebrows. “How did it go?”

“Not well. I haven’t talked to him in so long. Normally I just yell at him or ignore him. Talking isn’t my strongest suit, not with him at least.”

“Did it help any?” I suppress any eagerness from my tone.

“Yeah, I think so. I thanked him for saving Mom.” His voice cracks.

I reach over and pat his knee.

He places his hand on top of mine, and we sit like this for a few moments, not saying anything, just enjoying each other’s company.

“Vince? Is your girlfriend staying for dinner?” His mom’s voice floats upstairs.

He looks at me. “Can you?”

My blush returns, almost too warm. “I… I don’t want to burden your mom. She just got back from the hospital today.”

“It’s probably pizza.”

I do love pizza. “Let me call my mom and ask.”

Without my having to ask, he hands me his cell.

After I receive the okay from my mom, he shouts downstairs, “She’s staying.”

“Good,” Mrs. Fuller calls.

His crooked grin makes another appearance, and he leans back so far in his seat I’m surprised it doesn’t fall backward. “You are, right?”

“Are what?”

“My girlfriend?” He’s obviously trying to look nonchalant, but his eyes are begging me for confirmation.

My heart skips a beat to see it. “Yes,” I whisper.

Vince lets out a whoop and picks me up off the bed. He whirls me around and lowers me to the ground. His lips press against mine, both soft and hard. I’m not sure where to put my hands.

Before I can work up the courage to put them on his shoulders, there’s a knock on his open door and the sound of a throat clearing. “Dinnertime,” Mr. Fuller says.

Certain my face and neck, probably my whole body, are red, I jump away from Vince, my boyfriend.

After we eat, Mr. Fuller drives me home. Vince tags along. His dad offered to let him drive, but he shook his head. After what happened the last time he got behind the wheel, I don’t blame him. None of us talk much. Sometimes, silence can be comfortable.

I wave goodbye and enter my house.

Mom’s watching TV. Without hesitation, she grabs the remote from the coffee table and clicks it off. “How are the Fullers?” she asks.

“Doing well.”

“Good.”

I sit on the love seat so I can easily face Mom on the couch. Time for another inquisition. It’s the only way to keep her from prying about Vince. For now, I want to keep him to myself. “We’re learning about something really interesting in history right now.”

“What about?”

“The witch trials.” I pay strict attention to her face. “Did you know that they used to bind a person they thought was a witch and throw him or her into a river? If they sank, they were innocent of witchcraft, but if they managed to get free, they were deemed a witch and were killed.”

“Yes, I did know that.”

“Do you believe in magic?” I ask point blank. She’s already hedged about this topic every other time I’ve brought it up, but I both want and need the truth.

“Well…”

I close my eyes and see a dark man. He throws a fiery blast at Mom, and she chars instantly.

My eyes fly open. I tuck my trembling hands under my thighs. It couldn’t have been scrying. Even I know you have to look into something, like water or liquid or a mirror or crystal ball, to scry, and I hadn’t. It’s probably just from my overactive imagination.

Or a premonition from God like at the cookout?

For the first time, I want God to not exist. Immediately, my conscience threatens to tear me apart.

Trying to backpedal, I rush to add, “I don’t. Everything can be explained. There’s always a reason for everything. Like you raising me as your daughter instead of your niece. You so badly wanted a child, even if I wasn’t biologically yours.”

“Yes.” Her gaze isn’t on me though, and she doesn’t seem to have noticed my sudden fright. I mean, I’m sweating, but I have the chills.

Dear Lord, help me to stop talking.

“Do you believe in magic?” I ask again. My lips and tongue are moving against my will. Guess my desire to talk to someone is bigger than my fear for Mom’s safety. I’m too young for this responsibility. War and magic and all that—I can’t figure it out by myself.

If Mom doesn’t know much, I’ll stop involving her.

“You just made such a fine argument that rationale and reason can explain everything. How could there be magic then?” Her laugh sounds forced.

“So you don’t believe in witches then?”

“Honey, where is this…” Her face blanches. “You lied to me. You read the letter.”

“Why not tell me the truth instead of bits and pieces? Why didn’t you go to the witches to have a child yourself?” The words tumble out of my mouth in a rush.

She hangs her head. “I’ll tell you what I know, all of it, but promise me first that they’ll be no more secrets between us.”

I nod. Fair enough. The rift between us has to stop growing, or we’ll never again be close.

Her face doesn’t lose its pained expression. “I promise too. The witches… I wasn’t willing to pay the price they demanded. I knew Marian had no other choice, that she would be willing to make the necessary sacrifice.”

I shudder. “What sacrifice?”

“I don’t know the exact terms of her deal. I never asked her. It wasn’t my place to.”

“How did you know them in the first place?”

“Magic always fascinated me.” A light shines in her eyes. She’s still drawn to it. “I studied it, but I never could learn how to control magic, not even the simplest of spells.”

“Do you know what I am?” I whisper.

“What you are?” Mom furrows her brow. She’s not faking her surprise.

She answered my question. Time to repay her trust. “I went to see the witches.”

“You what?” she shrieks. “What did they say?”

Me and my big mouth. Maybe I should’ve kept that to myself. I pick at my nails and try to remain calm. “Did my dad really die of cancer?”

“What else would he have died of? Don’t try to change the subject.”

“What weren’t you willing to sacrifice?” I press.

“That’s none of your concern, Crystal.” Her tone, her body language, that glare—she’s getting pissed.

But I can’t stop myself. “What weren’t you willing to sacrifice?”

“I… Crystal…” Tears fill her eyes.

I get up from the love seat, sit with her on the couch, grab her hand, and give it a squeeze.

She nods and gives me a smidgen of a smile. “In-In order to give life, life must first be taken away. They… they needed my mother’s heart.” Those tears stream down her face. “I said no. Actually, I had a lot more choice words than just no.” She places her other hand on top of ours. Her sigh cuts through me. “My mom ended up dying of a heart attack two days later.”

How horrible! Did the witches cause the heart attack?

I really don’t think highly of the witches, do I?

How could the witches live with themselves, asking for such a thing? While a part of me reasoned that they might have needed the heart to perform the spell to bring forth a pregnancy, another argued that Daniel and Marian had been killed after she had given birth.

What had Marian been asked to sacrifice? Patricia must’ve thought Marian was so desperate she’d do anything the witches demanded.

Mom yanks a tissue from the box on the coffee table and blows her nose. “After I called the ambulance and they said she couldn’t be revived, the first thing I thought of was that I should have told them yes. How could I have thought that? What kind of a daughter was I? I’ve never been able to forgive myself.”

I can almost feel her pain through our held hands. “Why didn’t you tell me about the witches when I confronted you about my birth parents?” I ask.

“How would it have sounded? ‘Yes, dear, I adopted you from my brother and sister-in-law. Oh, and by the way, you were born through magic because your mom made a deal with witches based on my advice.’“

“Well… when you put it that way, I would have thought you were crazy.”

“See?” She smiles wanly. The tears have stopped, their tracks glistening on her cheeks.

“But I still wished you would have told me.”

“I’ve made so many mistakes with you over the years. I’m sorry.” Mom stands and grabs her purse from the coffee table.

“Where are you going?”

“To get us some goodies from the bakery.”

Our ritual. Whenever one of us has a bad day or is depressed or needs a pick-me-up, we always devour delectable baked goods.

“What about your diet?” I ask.

“One day won’t ruin it. I’ll be back as quick as I can. Then we can finish talking.”

Guess she needs a little breather. I do too. “Thanks.”

The door closes behind her. I appreciate the gesture, I do, but I realize something. Patricia isn’t my mother. A mom wouldn’t have left in the middle of such an important conversation, not for anything.

I’ll call her Aunt Patricia from now on.

Chapter 14

TO KEEP MY mind occupied and to avoid thinking about whatever horrible thing Marian agreed to, I do my homework until my head starts to hurt. The advil’s in the kitchen, and I spy the oven clock as I get myself medicine. A half hour has passed since Aunt Patricia left.

Maybe she bumped into Officer Wallace.

From my perch on the love seat, I return to my work, but I’m too distracted now. Every few minutes, I peek out the front window to see if Aunt Patricia’s walking up the sidewalk.

Finally, I throw my books aside, grab my purse, and walk toward the bakery. The entire way, I tell myself I’m overreacting, but I still pray that she’s all right.

A large crowd has gathered out front, and I push and elbow my way through, murmuring half-hearted apologies. Through the window, I spy Aunt Patricia crying beside the glass display of baked goods.

I fling the door open so widely it bangs against the wall and rush inside. “What happened?”

“I was mugged!” My aunt pulls me close. “I don’t know what the world is coming to,” she whispers. “First the car accident, now this.”

I stiffen. Why would anyone go after my aunt? And for money? No, the mugger couldn’t have been a shaman. It doesn’t make any sense.

From the corner of my eye, I see a police officer climb out of his car. “Back it up, people,” he directs. “Unless you saw the incident, I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave.”

Most of the crowd outside the store leaves, but two women and a man follow the officer inside the shop.

“Are you the one… Ms. Miller.”

“Please, call me Patricia.”

I grab the last napkin in the dispenser on the counter and hand it to my aunt, who rubs off her smeared makeup. Sure hope Officer Wallace is better at police work than he is at dating.

“Well then, Patricia.” He gestures to the only table in the bakery. After we sit, he removes a notepad from inside his jacket. “Tell me what happened.”

“I was walking here because I wanted to get my… Crystal and I some cupcakes.”

I wince. It’s as if my aunt already knows I want to think of her as my aunt and not my mom.

“You know the alley right before the shop?” she continues.

Officer Wallace nods.

“He jumped out from there, grabbed my purse, and ran. I screamed and thought about running after him, but he was so fast…”

“Did you recognize him?”

Aunt Patricia shakes her head. “It all happened so quickly.”

“Do you remember what he was wearing?”

She closes her eyes. “He had one a black winter hat, which I thought was strange. A dark shirt, dark pants. Um, he was wearing sneakers.”

“Did you see any distinguishing marks? How tall was he?”

“He was tall, over six foot.” She rubs beneath her left eye, wiping away the last of her ruined mascara. “No, no tattoos or anything like that, at least not that I saw.”

“Did he say anything to you? Did you struggle?”

“He yelled, “Hey,” when I walked past the alley. I turned to see who was talking, to see if he was talking to me or someone else. That’s when he jumped forward and grabbed my purse. The strap broke, and he ran away.”

“Is there anything else you can think of?”

She fiddles with the napkin and tears it into small pieces. “This is going to sound silly, and it won’t help you at all…”

Officer Wallace reaches across the table and touches her hand for a brief second. “You can tell me anything.”

“His eyes. They were dark, black. There was so much hatred there, but I swear I never saw him before. Why would he hate me if he doesn’t even know who I am?”

Goose bumps cover my arms. The hit-and-run driver had the same look in his eyes. Are the mugger and the driver one and the same after all?

Officer Wallace turns his attention to me. “When did you get here?”

“A minute or so before you did. When… when Aunt Patricia didn’t come back home, I got worried and came here to see if anything had happened.”

He shoots Patricia a confused look.

“She adopted me when I was a baby. She’s biologically my aunt,” I explain.

Patricia gives me the tiniest of smiles. She understands. Thank you, God. I breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Ah. Weren’t you involved in a car accident last night, Crystal?”

I have to give him credit. He has to be curious. Maybe he’s hoping Patricia’ll tell him the whole story soon.

Why am I focusing on my aunt’s love life right now? Probably because I want there to be something good in her life right now.

The police officer is staring at me, and I think back to his question. “Yes, there was a car accident last night.” Had it only been last night? So much has happened since then it feels like a lifetime ago.

“I’m going to have to talk to the officer handling that case,” he mutters as he writes in his notepad.

“You think it’s related?” Aunt Patricia cuts in. “Why would it be?” She looks at me, her eyes sharp and clear, completely unlike the fragile woman I hugged when I first arrived at the shop.

She knows they’re related.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I say. “Aunt Patricia wasn’t in the car.”

“True, but it is suspicious that you and your aunt were both involved in crimes in such a short period of time.” He stands. “Stay here, please. I want to talk to the witnesses.”

He walks over to the women and men and starts interviewing them.

“Well?” I whisper.

Thankfully Aunt Patricia doesn’t beat around the bush, at least not with this. “He said a lot more than just “hey.” He said that if I knew what was good for me, I would leave town. I said I would never leave you here without protection, and he laughed. Laughed! Asked what a wannabe witch could do. Then he saw them.” She nods toward the witnesses. “He grabbed my purse and ran, as if he was nothing more than a common mugger.”

My skin crawls. Just by being my aunt, she was involved in this whole mess. “How did he know so much about you?”

“I have no idea who he was or how he knows so much about us. I can only assume he knows the circumstances of your birth and—”

“Yeah, Aunt Patricia, about that…” I have no choice now. I have to tell her the truth about myself.

Officer Wallace approaches. “I need you to show me where exactly the mugging took place.”

Aunt Patricia and I stand.

He shakes his head. “You can stay here, Crystal. Don’t worry. Your aunt’s safe with me.”

I smirk at their backs as they head toward the door. “Just ask her out already.”

Whoops. I hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

They slowly face me, already in sync, scandal on her aunt’s face, surprise and then happiness in his.

“After I finish investigating, I’ll do just that. A police officer always keeps his word.” He smiles at me and winks at my aunt before they, and the other witnesses, leave.

Now’s the perfect opportunity to figure out the connections between the crimes, but I can’t concentrate even though my headache is gone. The aroma of desserts makes my mouth water. I wander over to the baked goods display. Decadent brownies, huge cupcakes, decorated cookies stare back at me as if begging to be eaten.

“Go ahead and pick one.” Mrs. Pullman approaches the counter from the back room. “And one for your mom too. It’s on the house.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I protest, but my stomach picks that moment to rumble.

Mrs. Pullman smiles, and I hope she didn’t hear my noisy belly. Although she’s in her fifties, she looks much younger. She bakes all of the desserts herself, and her daughter does most of the decorating.

“I wasn’t trying to overhear, but it sounds like you and your mom have been through quite a lot lately. Chocolate always helps.” Her flour-coated finger points to a huge brownie with chocolate icing. “I know you love chocolate and peanut butter.” She nods toward a marvelous-looking chocolate and peanut butter pie topped with Reese’s peanut butter cups around the edges.

I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “There’s too many choices!” I complain.

Mrs. Pullman chuckles. “From where I stand, that’s a good thing. Should I box up the pie?”

In the end, I choose a red velvet cupcake for my aunt and a triple chocolate for myself. She hands me two boxes.

“The pie?” I ask suspiciously.

The baker tries to look innocent, but the corners of her mouth tug upward.

“At least let me pay for the pie.”

Her full lips purse. “You can pay for the cupcakes.”

The cheaper of the two options. I pay the eight dollars and drop the change into the cancer jar. Mr. Pullman died of cancer several months ago.

“Mrs. Pullman?” I ask.

“Yes, dear?”

“Did you know my parents?”

She stops wiping the counter. “Patricia finally told you?”

“I know the truth.” There’s no point in going into all the details.

“Marian was a sweet woman. Completely devoted to her husband. Would have been a wonderful mother. Not that Patricia hasn’t raised you well. You’re a fine daughter, and everyone here is proud of you.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” It’s so bizarre that all of the adults knew while I’d been in the dark for so long.

“It wasn’t our place to.”

Just like Father Joseph said.

“Besides, blood isn’t what makes a family. Love is. Patricia might be your aunt, but she’s also your mom.”

Tears wells in my eyes. Patricia would do anything for me. She was even threatened and mugged because of me. And how did I repay her? By wanting to reduce our relationship to mere labels.

I’m an awful daughter.

“Roger had been your father’s football coach in high school, and they became close friends. Your mom would often come over and help me bake or decorate before my Jillian was old enough to. Your dad and Roger used to watch sports or throw the football around. We often had cookouts and picnics.” She smiles wistfully.

“Mrs. Pullman? Do you need help with the shop?”

To do something my mother did, even if it’s as simple as baking and decorating cupcakes, would mean the world to me. I try not to get my hopes up high; after all, Jillian already works there.

“We can work something out, dear. I’ll give you a call sometime this weekend, and we can iron out a schedule.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Pullman!”

The baker reaches beneath the counter. “And so you know that there really is a position available…” She lifts a “Help Wanted” sign. “I was going to put this in the window tomorrow. Now I don’t have to.”

The bell jingles, and my mom and Officer Wallace walk in.

“Thank you for your time and cooperation,” he says to Mom.

“Thank you for helping.”

Mrs. Pullman bustles over. She’s shorter than my mom, maybe five foot, and she’s pleasantly plump. “Can I get you two a cup of coffee or interest either of you in something sweet?”

Mom glances at me, and I hold up the bag. “I’m good. Thanks.”

For the moment, I just want Mom home safe and sound. But tomorrow…

I glare at Officer Wallace.

He blushes. “Another time, Patricia?” he asks softly.

“I’d like that.”

“Good.” Mrs. Pullman beams. “I do hope, Officer, that you are going to walk these ladies home?”

I giggle as his blush deepens and travels down to his neck.

“Of-Of course. If you’re ready, ladies?” He gestures for us to go ahead of him as he holds open the door.

Before I leave, I hug the stout bakery owner.

“Take care, dear.”

“You too, Mrs. Pullman.”

Chapter 15

THE WALK HOME is uneventful. I feel bad for the couple. It’s obvious they care for each other—they both stare at the other when they think the other won’t notice—but their conversation is awkward, now that they aren’t talking about the mugging. I try to help them along, but worry nags at me that they’ll have nothing to talk about whenever they finally go out on their date. To some extent, it feels ordinary to play matchmaker. I need a little normalcy in my life.

To let them say goodbye in private, I hurry inside the house, but Mom follows me in immediately. “Good night and thanks again,” she says, and she shuts the door.

I place the boxes on the coffee table then cross my arms and flop onto the love seat. “I thought you liked him,” I complain.

“I do, but now is not the time to start a relationship. Crystal, I’m concerned.”

“Mom…”

Her face breaks into a wide smile, and all of her frustration and anxiety melt away. All from a simple word.

“Mom, do you trust witches?”

She sits on the couch. “Not all of them, not blindly, no. Do you trust everyone in your junior class?”

“No.” Of course not.

“I do trust the witches I sent your mom to, though.”

“Sapphire Belladonna, Silver Tiger, and…”

“Scarlet Blood.”

I rub the back of my neck. Belladonna makes sense. It’s a flower. Tiger, an animal. But blood?

“There are ranks within the witches. The animal and the plants are beneath the element class. There are six elements in the world: earth, air, water, fire, metal, blood,” Mom explains.

“So only the most powerful of witches are within the elemental ranking?”

“Exactly. There are only ever six in that ranking. I do not know who the new Blood is.”

Some of the puzzle pieces are beginning to fall into place. “Scarlet Blood died.”

“Yes.”

“When I was born?”

She shakes her head. “When you were conceived. Powerful magic brought up into this world.”

A sudden chill sweeps over me. “Dangerous magic?”

“Yes.”

“Black magic?”

“There is no such thing as white magic or black magic or good magic or evil magic. Magic itself is amoral. How magic is used is all that matters.”

If magic is amoral, does that make me amoral too? What about my religious beliefs?

I’m far from perfect, though, and sin all the time. The lying, the sneaking out, cutting school… I can hardly be considered righteous.

Speaking of righteous, I still need to reschedule my appointment with Father Joseph.

“You started to say something at the bakery,” Mom says. “Something about your birth, I think. What was it?”

Here it goes. Unable to look at her, I stare at the taupe carpet. It hasn’t been vacuumed since before my birthday. “The witches… Sapphire Belladonna and Silver Tiger… they told me that I am magic.”

Her face oddly blank, she stands. “That explains everything.”

“What does it explain?” I wrinkle my nose and frown.

Mom walks back and forth in front of the coffee table. “So many times when you were growing up, if you had a temper tantrum, if you really wanted something, you got it.”

She never paces unless she’s aggravated. “What else?”

“There’s nothing else.”

“Mom, no more secrets,” I plea, desperate for us to work together to rebuild our relationship.

She pauses then starts up again, even faster now. “Elizabeth Mitchell and I first met at summer camp after the fifth grade. We became very close. The camp was next to an old cemetery, and we used to sneak there at night, hoping to see ghosts or spirits. As we grew older, Elizabeth started to experiment with magic to try to connect with the ghost of her dead mother. She came from a long line of witches, and her mother had died before teaching Elizabeth. She never did find a way to communicate with her, at least not that I knew of.”

“Elizabeth Mitchell?” Mom’s never mentioned her before.

“She goes by Silver Tiger now. She was the one who introduced me to the world of magic and witches. I wanted so badly to be just like her, but all of my attempts at magic failed.”

“Why?”

“Magic, from my limited understanding, is a kind of energy. It’s within everything and everyone.”

“And in all the elements.”

She nods, and her pacing slows to a halt. “Yes. There are some who believe God used magic to create the world. Magic and faith don’t have to be mutually exclusive. Science and faith don’t have to be either.”

This I can readily understand. After all, I believe God used evolution to change His creations.

“Magic can’t be taken lightly. It comes with remarkable authority and even greater accountability.”

Mom still hasn’t answered my question, so I try again. “Why can’t everyone use magic?”

“It’s hard to explain. Magic cannot be tapped by one who lacks the capacity to.”

“Basically, you don’t know why you can’t use magic.”

With a groan, she sits back down on the couch again. “You’re right. I don’t know why exactly. All of my attempts failed. Nothing happened. When Elizabeth was first trying, sometimes her spells backfired. I couldn’t get any results at all.”

I open the cupcake box and hand Mom hers before removing the wrapper from mine. It’s really late, and I fight back a yawn. “I still think you know more about me being magic than you said.”

“When I talked to Silver Tiger about having a child, she told me the child would not be human, but she wouldn’t give me any more details, no matter how hard I pressed. I don’t think the witches bothered to tell Marian that much. They were running out of time.”

“Time for what?” I lick the last of the icing off the wrapper. Decadent. I can’t wait to start working at the bakery.

Oh no. Brianna’s going to kill me. She should be the one working for Mrs. Pullman, not me. An issue for tomorrow.

I wearily rub my face, trying to piece everything together in my mind. “They needed a surrogate. Without a woman to give birth, they had no means to bring magic in human form into the world.”

“Yes, but they also had to draw power from all the elements.”

“Blood was from Scarlet Blood sacrificing herself. Earth…” I recall the article I read about the supposed magic within Mount Claymore. “Maybe from the location?”

She nods. “Fire and air came from a specific always-burning comet that had never before and never will again pass by the earth. I don’t know how water and metal were incorporated into the spell.”

The wrapper easily crumbles in my hand, and I toss it. It lands on the coffee table in front of the box. I do and don’t want to be magic. With Mom sitting here, I feel safe enough to try. Magic and faith don’t have to be exclusive, I remind myself. Taking a deep breath, I point at the wrapper and will it to jump into the box.

“Relax. You’re trying too hard.”

I almost jump, her voice breaking my concentration. “I thought my magic only works when I really want something to happen.”

“It doesn’t have to require that much effort, or so I’ve been told.”

The sadness in her voice haunts me. Here I am, magic incarnate, trying to harness my power in front of my mom who has never used magic.

But her nod and smile are encouraging, so I close my eyes and picture the wrapper floating in the air and landing in the box. I don’t feel anything, so I try again, this time imagining an invisible hand picking up the wrapper and placing it in the box. Mom inhales softly. I bite my lip and open my eyes. The wrapper’s in the box.

“Cool,” I say, but my voice shakes.

I didn’t pray for it to happen. I did it myself.

Has God never answered any of my prayers? Have I unknowingly answered them all myself like Silver Tiger said?

Does God even love me since I’m not human and not one of His creations?

Tears prickle at the corner of my eyes. I don’t know what to think, what to feel, who to believe, who to trust…

Her eyes filled with admiration and pride, Mom holds her wrapper in her open palm. “Try with mine.”

She loves me despite of what I am. No, she loves me for who I am. She loves me, pure and simple.

A weight lifts off my shoulder, and I’m willing to try again. I close my eyes.

“Keep them open this time.”

Swallowing hard, I try to replicate what I did and felt the first time, but it’s much harder with my eyes open. The wrapper lifts off Mom’s hand several times, only to fall each time. Impulsively, I lift my right arm while imagining the wrapper floating and moved my arm to the left. The wrapper mimics my movement and drops into the box when I lower my arm to my side.

“Wonderful.” Her clapping echoes throughout the living room.

I don’t feel any different physically even though a storm of emotions is welling up inside me, the foremost one being tempered excitement. “Doesn’t all magic come with a price? If I do something major, will I get a headache or have a nose bleed or pass out?”

“With you being magic, I hardly think there will be side effects to you using it.”

“But if the shamans get ahold of me, they’ll drain me of my power and I’ll die.”

There goes my big mouth again.

Mom jumps to her feet. “What are you talking about?”

I recount the events of the night I sneaked out to see the witches and finish with, “Did Silver Tiger tell you anything about shamans?”

Her eyebrows are pinched, but I can’t tell if it’s because she’s angry with me for sneaking out or for keeping this from her or if it’s because she’s upset and worried. Probably all of it. “No, but they must be behind the car crash and the mugger. This is much worse than I could have ever imagined. I want you to come straight home from school every day.”

I sheepishly smile. “I guess now would be a bad time to tell you that I have a job.”

Her eyebrows arch. “Where?”

“At the bakery.”

“Oh, Crystal, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? We can’t stop living because they learned about me and what I can do.” I hold back the other reason why I don’t want to be under house arrest. More of a who. Vince.

Mom grimaces. “I’ve been thinking about how they know everything about us already and…”

Her tone makes my stomach churn.

“Maybe we should think about moving.”

“No!” I pound my fist into the coffee table. Where did that outburst of anger come from? Get a grip, Crystal. Anger is one emotion I don’t often feel. “My whole life is here.” Our home, my friends, Vince, my parents’ graves, my high school, even my new job. So many reasons to stay. Mom doesn’t look convinced so I add, “Besides, they’ll just follow us wherever we go. Might as well stay here where we have roots.”

Mom frowns, and wrinkles form around her eyes. “Don’t think this discussion is closed. I have to do what I feel is best to protect you.”

Scowling, I cross my arms and sink into the flat cushions. “Since when do we run away? You always taught me to stand up for myself, to not back down.”

“This is different. This isn’t teasing or bullying.”

I leap to my feet and grab my books and backpack. “I have homework to do.”

As I run upstairs, Mom calls, “It’s Friday. You have the entire weekend to work on your homework.”

I yell back, “It’s late. I’m going to bed.”

I’m not about to let anyone—not shamans nor witches nor Mom—dictate my actions. I’m going to live my life the way I want to.

Chapter 16

MY BAD MOOD still hovers over me like a storm cloud when I wake the next morning. As much as I don’t want to move away, I don’t want to spend the day in my house.

The kitchen’s empty. Mom must be sleeping. Breakfast is simple, some orange juice and a large bowl of Cheerios. After I place my bowl in the sink, I dial Brianna’s house.

“Hello?” she answers on the first ring. I swear she could be a gymnast the way she’ll bowl over things to get to the phone first. I’ve seen her do it so many times, and it never fails to make me smile. Except today, I’m not ready smile, at least not yet.

“Hi, it’s me.”

“Dad had on the evening news last night. How’s your mom? I can’t believe she got mugged the day after you were in a car crash!” The worry in my best friend’s voice forces that smile out of me after all.

“She’s a little shaken up about it, which is understandable, but she’s going a little too far.”

“Uh oh. Does that mean you and Vince aren’t gonna happen?”

My eyes widen. I can’t believe I haven’t told her already. “Actually, we are dating.”

Bri squeals so loudly I hold the phone away from my ear. “That’s great! You make such a cute couple. And who knew you two had so much in common.”

Death—such a lovely thing for two people to bond over. Not. All that matters is that I enjoy spending time with Vince.

But does Mom have a point? Are the shamans so desperate to get to me they’ll hurt the ones I care about? And the witches… what do they want? Because I’m willing to bet my life they have plans for me too.

Brianna has been talking as my mind wanders, and I shift my attention back to her as she says, “Tonight’s the big night.”

“The double date?”

“Yeah. I really hope Paula remembers what she needs to say and do.”

“You coached her?” I feel the apples, testing their ripeness. None are quite there yet.

“Of course! She still thinks like a little schoolgirl.”

“She is a schoolgirl,” I point out. On second thought, I’m glad I’m not Bri’s project.

“Yes, but if she wants to land a hottie like Sean, she needs to come out of her shell more and go after him.”

Paula does need to open up more, but if she and Sean are going to last for more than one date, he has to like her for her.

“How did you get out of going?” I ask.

“I told Sean I have a family obligation. When he asked about Sunday, I told him I have to wash my hair.”

I burst out laughing. “You didn’t!”

“Yes. It’s the first thing I thought of. Poor Paula. I thought she was going to burst into tears, and I wanted to slug him in the face. Oh well. Whatcha up to today?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Gonna spend the day at lover boy’s?”

Another laugh bubbles out of me. “We may have kissed a few times—”

“You guys kissed already? Geez, girl, give me some details!”

I’m grinning so widely my cheeks hurt. “That’s all there is to tell. And please don’t call him lover boy.” It’s beyond mortifying, especially since we aren’t in love.

Yet, hopefully.

“Fine, since you said please. I’ll call him... prince.”

“Prince?”

“You know, as in prince charming.”

I groan. “Just don’t call him that to his face.”

“I make no promises.”

“Ugh. What are you up to today?”

“Spending the day with Paula and Heather. Gonna get Paula all ready for her date. Wanna join us?”

“No thanks.”

“‘Cause you want to spend the day with lover—prince.” She sings this gleefully.

I smack my hand to my forehead. She’s never going to drop this. Time for another subject change. I inhale and plunge ahead with the real reason why I called. “I have a new job.”

“Really? Where?”

“At Pullman’s Sweets.” I wait for her to wail and cry out about the indignation of it all.

“That’s awesome! I hope you enjoy working there.”

My jaw drops. “Really? You aren’t upset?”

“No! For one thing, I wouldn’t want to work there. Then everyone will think I got my recipes from her. Mrs. Pullman’s a great baker, but still, we’re enemies. And besides, if you like working there, maybe you’ll consider going into the bakery business with me someday.”

I release a sigh of relief. Should’ve known she’d be happy for me. “Wait. Going into the bakery business with you?”

“I’ve been thinking,” she says slowly, more serious than ever. “You could always help me with my business. A partnership. We could go to business school together and everything. You like to bake.”

“Yeah… from a box.”

“So? You can learn. That’s what culinary school is for.”

“I guess.”

“Promise me you’ll think about it.”

I shrug even though she can’t see me. “Sure.”

I can just picture her lips twisting into a disappointed pout. When she gets an idea in her head, she expects everyone else to fall in line and do what she said. But I have a mind of my own, and I don’t think I’ll be happy as Brianna’s partner. Maybe at first, but not for the rest of my life. I don’t know if our friendship could withstand being business partners.

“I’m sorry?” For some reason, it’s not a statement.

“Don’t worry about it. Just an idea I had. Didn’t mean to spring it on you.”

She sounds happy again. Good. I’m having a hard time dealing with my emotions lately—there’s been so many ups and downs. “You know, my real mom used to help out there, at the bakery.”

“How cool is that? You get to share something with her even though…”

Yeah, thinking before she speaks is not one of Brianna’s strongest suites.

There’s a commotion in the background.

“Gotta go. Pray for Paula!”

“I will.”

I hang up. Since there’s still no sign of Mom, I call Vince. The line’s busy, so I try Lydia next.

“Hey, it’s Crystal. Are you up for some detective work?”

“About your dad?” Her excitement bubbles over the line.

“Yep.”

“I’m game. Want me to pick you up?”

“Sure.”

“Cool. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Now that I’m leaving the house, Vince and I have no way to get ahold of each other. I have got to convince Mom I need a cell. No way am I just going to stay home and wait around for him to call. I’m not one of those girls who is nothing without her boyfriend.

After I change into a jean skirt and a soft pink top, I softly knock on Mom’s door and ease it open.

Mom sits on her bed, a huge old book in her lap with several more scattered around her. Bags darken beneath her eyes. “Hi, honey.”

“Did you sleep at all?” I sit on the edge of the bed.

“Not really.” Her yawn is so big I can see all of her teeth. “I’ve been going through some books Elizabeth—Silver Tiger—gave me. There’s nothing in here about magic or magic incarnate or even the shamans. I’m trying to research them. I always thought they were peaceful.”

“That’s what I said!” My smile melts away. The shaman who fought the witch was definitely far from peaceful. Was he the same one who threatened Mom?

The only ones I can ask are Sapphire Belladonna and Silver Tiger, but who knows if Sapphire Belladonna is back, and I don’t want to have to spend time alone with Silver Tiger, not if I can help it. Regardless of Mom’s connection to her, I don’t care for the haughty witch.

Besides, it might be better to wait until the witches seek me out. That’s bound to happen sooner or later, and probably the former.

“I’m gonna spend the day with Lydia,” I announce.

Mom’s lips twist into a frown.

“I’m going,” I say firmly. “I won’t go anywhere by myself.”

She dips her head to the side then nods. “What about Bri?”

“She’s busy.”

“And Vince?”

I lift one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Maybe tonight?” My cheeks burn.

Her sad smile cuts through me. “You’re growing up. Spreading your wings.”

“Come on, Mom, don’t start that ‘time to leave the nest and fly’ crude.” I stare out the window at the sky. “Can witches fly?”

Her laugh echoes in the mall room. “Yes. I’m sure you could too, if you practiced.”

“Huh.” Now that’s awesome. Scary, but wicked awesome.

My ears prickle at the sound of faint knocking downstairs. “There’s Lydia.”

“Have fun.”

“Oh, and, Mom? Can you think about my having a cell phone? It would really mean a lot to me. You’ll worry less because I’ll call and check in all the time and—”

“I’ll think about it.”

Score! Whenever Mom says, “I’ll think about it,” it always turns into a yes. Whenever she says, “We’ll see,” it means no.

I run downstairs and ask Lydia to head to the hospital. Once we arrive, I stroll up to the information desk, Lydia right behind me. “Hi,” I say to the thirty-something receptionist. “Can you tell me how long medical records are kept for patients?”

“Are you asking about your own record?” She holds her fingers poised over the letters on her keyboard.

“My father. He was a patient here seventeen years ago.”

The woman relaxes her posture, and her hands slip away from the keys. No strands slip out of her serious bun as she shakes her head. “I’m afraid it’s highly unlikely we kept records from that long ago. Has he been here recently?”

“No. He died sixteen and half years ago.”

“Then I can’t help you. Federal law only requires that we keep records for seven years.” She grabs a post-it note. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll do some digging, and if I find anything, which I probably won’t, I’ll let you know.”

I give her my name, my father’s, and my phone number. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful. Have a nice day.”

A dead end. So frustrating. I grimace and turn to Lydia. “That was a dead end.”

She touches my arm. “We aren’t leaving yet.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“Let’s head up to the oncology department.”

Why not? We ride the elevator to the sixth floor. The smell of antiseptic spray and sickness fills the air. The walls are a bright white, but the tile floor’s a yucky green color that reminds me of vomit.

Lydia leads the way. “My dad works in a different department, but he’s friends with some of the doctors up here. Hello, Dr. Ericson.”

A tall man, early forties with little goatee, stops walking down the hall. “Hello, Lydia. What brings you here?”

“My friend just learned she was adopted. Her dad was a patient here seventeen years ago.”

“A cancer patient?” He glances over at me and nods in greeting.

“Yes. She wanted to learn more about him since his cancer took him. His name was…”

“Daniel Wynter,” I supply.

“Do you know if any of the doctors have been here for seventeen years?” Lydia asks. “I know it’s a stretch.”

“Just Dr. Anderson but he’s on vacation. You can try again next week.” He smiles apologetically. “I have to get going. I have patients waiting.”

“Of course,” Lydia says.

“Thank you,” I call, but he’s already ducking into a room.

“At least that’s a little more hopeful.” Lydia grins, her red hairband falling forward over her short black hair. “Wouldn’t it be great if Dr. Anderson was your father’s doctor?”

I shiver despite the comfortable temperature in the hallway. A sinking feeling settles in my stomach. Although I have no reason to think this, I’m sure Doctor Anderson hadn’t been my father’s doctor.

A nurse places several charts on the counter and faces us. “Did you say Daniel Wynter was your father?”

“Yes.”

The nurse smiles and brushes her graying blond hair from her face. “I remember him. He was one of my first patients.”

Thrilled with this surprising turn of events, I smile back. “Do you have some free time?”

“A few minutes. Dr. Jenkins had been your dad’s doctor.”

My stomach relaxes. I don’t know whether to be relieved I knew Doctor Anderson hadn’t been the right doctor, or scared.

“He’s retired now. Lives in the big house by the mountain.”

I blink. Coincidence? Highly doubtful.

“Your dad seemed like such a happy man despite being so sick.”

“The treatment didn’t help him?” Lydia asks.

She rubs her chin. “Now that you mention it, he actually seemed to get sicker. I remember not being surprised when he refused it after a while. Didn’t blame him. There was nothing medicine could do to save him. It was only a matter of time.”

Medicine couldn’t save him.

Because magic had been at work?

All the more reason not to trust the witches.

Chapter 17

NURSE OLIVIA LEWIS gives me her number and tells me to call if I have more questions for her. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this optimistic.

“Now where to?” Lydia asks as we climb into her car.

“Field trip to Dr. Jenkins’?”

“You got it.”

We drive with the windows down, and Lydia’s hair flutters wildly. “You know,” she says, “I’m really enjoying this. Maybe I’ll be a detective instead of a doctor.”

“Don’t you have to be a police officer before you can be a detective?”

“I think so. Nah, I don’t want to be a cop. Doctor it is.”

We arrive a few minutes later, and Lydia parks on the street. She whistles. “Now that is one sweet house.”

With two chimneys and a three-car garage, the brick mansion has to be Doctor Jenkins’ place. I glance at the mountain. How could a place that looks so peaceful harbor powerful magic?

“Let’s go.” I swallow past the knot in my throat. Maybe he isn’t home.

My finger taps against the cool doorbell.

A minute later, a pleasant old woman answers the door. “Hello? May I help you?”

“Hi, we’re looking for Dr. Jenkins,” I say.

“You are?”

“I’m Crystal Wynter, and this is my friend—”

“Let them in, Jane,” a worn voice calls from within the house.

“Come in.” Jane Jenkins ushered us inside and nods to the right. “He’s in the parlor. Would you care for some tea and biscuits?”

“Yes, please,” Lydia says.

We enter the parlor while Mrs. Jenkins strolls down the hallway.

“Have a seat.” Doctor Jenkins is an old man now, with age spots and white hair. He’s sitting in a large, plush red armchair.

Although the furniture looks too elegant to be comfortable, it’s so soft, and I sink into the cushion.

“You want to know about your father.” Doctor Jenkins stares at me with shrew, ice blue eyes.

“Yes, if you don’t mind. Daniel Wynter,” I add, although I have the feeling he doesn’t need me to.

“We have some questions,” Lydia says.

He points a gnarled finger at her. “I know you. Aren’t you one of Hall’s kids?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to be a doctor too?”

“That’s the plan right now.”

Doctor Jenkins reaches for his cane beside his chair and fiddles with the top. “I remember your father’s case quite well actually. Daniel came to the hospital originally because he had been hit in the head. They did a thorough evaluation when he mentioned he had been having neck pain and hoarseness on and off for several months. Combined with enlarged lymph nodes, they did further testing to see if it was a thyroid nodule. Most nodules are benign, but, unfortunately, his was malignant. He had papillary thyroid cancer.”

“Isn’t thyroid cancer one of the easiest to cure?” Lydia asks.

“Yes.”

“Why did he die then?” My voice is desperate.

Doctor Jenkins’ light blue eyes pierce through me, and I feel vulnerable, as if he can see my soul. Is he a witch or in league with them somehow?

“He died because it was his time to.” His words leave a trail of cold sweat down my back.

Mrs. Jenkins enters and places a silver tray on the elegant black-and-white marble coffee table. “Help yourselves.” She bustles out of the room.

Lydia pours herself some tea, but I don’t move.

“His time? By whose watch?” I ask, watching him closely.

His features might look tired, but his eyes are sharp and focused. “There are lots of different watchmakers in the world, Crystal.”

“But only one who can come back to life,” I counter.

Confusion written on her face, Lydia looks at us as if watching a tennis game.

“I’m a man of faith.” His weathered fingers clutch his cane.

“One faith or more than one?”

“Many. I am a man of faith, and of science.”

And of magic. Somehow I know it to be true, but he won’t dare say so in front of Lydia.

“A lot in this world can’t be explained,” I say slowly. My head is starting to hurt from our riddles. “People die before their time. Mistakes are made—”

“No mistakes were made concerning your father,” he says calmly.

“Ignorance doesn’t give one the right to seek absolution.”

“I never had reason to seek absolution.”

“Hold on. I’m so confused.” Lydia places her teacup into a saucer. “Mistakes, absolution, faith, science. Let’s get back on track. Mr. Wynter had a curable cancer.”

“No cancer is completely curable in every cases,” the doctor says.

“His timeline didn’t match his diagnosis.” She tugs on the end of her hair.

“Medicine evolves over the years. Nowadays, yes, he would have lived longer, perhaps have been cured. Remember, this was seventeen years ago.”

His memory is astonishing, the seemingly total recall of my father’s case.

“Why didn’t he respond to treatment better?” Lydia tries.

“Because it was his time,” Doctor Jenkins repeats.

Lydia opens her mouth then shuts it. She looks at me and shrugs. “Can I use the bathroom?”

Mrs. Jenkins stands in the doorway. “You may. Follow me.”

I wait until they’re out of sight before leaning forward in my seat. “Please tell me the truth.”

“I have told no lies.”

“You’re holding back.” Frustration creeps into my voice. I’m gripping my hands together so tightly I’m hurting myself.

“Your friend has no idea.”

“None.”

“Keep it that way. Knowledge is power, and power is deadly.” He twists off the top of his cane. “Your father did not die from cancer.”

I knew it. “Witches,” I breathe.

“Part of bringing you into the world required many things.”

My eyes widen. Does his knowledge have no bounds? Shakily, I nod. “The six elements.”

“Yes. And also life and death.”

Another puzzle piece clicks into place. “My parents were never told that the witches would demand their lives.”

“No. Who would agree to such a price? I tried my best to keep your father alive, but there was only so much I could do.”

My eyes well with tears. “There was no way the witches would have allow him to see me born.”

“Yes, but I tried anyhow.”

“Why didn’t they punish you for interfering?”

Doctor Jenkins stares at the window behind me, pain and bitterness etched in the deep lines on his face. “They forced me to cover up their deeds. I was their pawn for many years…”

“My father had been sick for some time before the deal with the witches had been made,” I muse.

“Yes. He did have thyroid cancer, and we did manage to cure him, but around that time, the deal must have been made because he never fully recuperated. His symptoms changed, and he grew sick and sicker. It became quite clear to me that he would never recover.”

Tears sting my eyes, and I stare at my lap, hoping the doctor doesn’t see them. “So his having cancer wasn’t related to why he died?”

“Not at all.”

I bite my lower lip. Some of the reason why Marian had been desperate enough to seek out the witches had been because of Daniel having cancer. God, not the witches, not magic, had given him cancer. Could that mean God had been involved in my birth indirectly, even though I’m not completely human?

I smile at the notion, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being naïve, that I want this to be true even though it might not be.

“I have something for you.” He pushes a crocked finger inside his cane and eases out a letter. “Keep it to yourself.”

Hands trembling, I accept it. I want to open it and burn the words into my brain, but I hear approaching muted footsteps on the fine rugs, so I tuck it inside my shirt.

Lydia reenters the room and takes her seat.

Trying to act inconspicuous, I help myself to a cookie. It melts in my mouth. “This is delicious.”

“Thank you.”

I smile at Mrs. Jenkins, who now stands in the doorway. She must have incredible hearing to know exactly when to appear.

Mrs. Jenkins smiles back. A cross swings on the simple golden chain around her neck. It resembles the one I wear.

“Any more questions?” Doctor Jenkins asks.

Lydia shakes her head, shoulders hunched, lips slightly curled downward.

I bite the inside of my cheek. As much as I hate to keep my friend in the dark, there’s no way I’m telling Lydia what she wants to know. A car accident, a mugging… what if a car jacking is next? Maybe it would be better for us not to grow so close. If anything should happen to her or any of my friends, I’d never forgive myself.

But I still can’t wrap my head around the idea of leaving Claymore.

Doctor Jenkins holds out his hand. I stand and walk over to him so I can shake it. “Thank you for your time,” I say loudly then drop my voice to a whisper. “Thank you for everything you did for my father.”

“My pleasure.” He, too, wears a cross, and I wonder if it keeps the witches at bay, prevents them from using him anymore. I hope he can one day forgive himself for what he did under duress and send up a quick prayer that he will soon.

Mrs. Jenkins sees us out, and we climb into the car.

While Lydia is buckling, I shove the letter into my purse.

“That was a disappointment,” she says. “I’m sorry I even brought it up in the first place.”

“Don’t be. It was nice to talk to people who knew my father.”

She smiles. “At least some good came out of today. How about we get some lunch?”

My stomach rumbles. Cheerios never fills me up for long.

Lydia giggles. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Before she can put her car into drive, her cell rings. She glances at it and tosses it to me.

My face warms when I see who the caller is. Vince. “Hello?”

“Hey, Crystal. Your mom told me you were with Lydia. Whatcha up to?”

“We’re going to eat lunch.”

“He can come with,” Lydia says.

I hold the cell away from my mouth. “You sure?” I ask her.

“‘Course. How about Claymore Grille?”

“Great,” Vince says, obviously having heard our exchange.

“See you then.”

We arrive at the Grille fifteen minutes later. Vince stands by the front door, leaning against a window. A lazy smile crosses his face as we approach.

“Hey.” I’m not sure how affectionate to be—the last thing I want is to make Lydia feel like a third wheel after everything she’s done for me—but I want to acknowledge him and our dating, so I settle for a one-arm hug.

He kisses my forehead. “Hi, Lydia. Let’s get a table.”

I glance at her as Vince opens the door. She puckers her lips teasingly, and we start to giggle.

The Grille’s packed, but we don’t have to wait long for a table. I slide into a booth, Vince next to me, Lydia across from us.

After we place our order, Vince drapes his arm across the back of the booth. “What have you girls been up to?”

I stir my iced water. “We paid a visit to my dad’s doctor.”

“Oh, wow. Did you learn anything?”

“Medicine’s come a long way. If he had been diagnosed with thyroid cancer now, his recovery would have been almost a lock.”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s not much, but I am.” The warmth in his tone eases the knot tightening in my chest. I hate keeping secrets from him, from everyone.

“Hey, guys. Mind if I join you?”

I was so focused on not revealing anything on my face I didn’t see Gavin approach.

“Go ahead.” Lydia smiles and shifts over to make room for him.

He sits, and our waitress approaches. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Diet coke. And I’ll take the…” He scrambles to open a menu.

“If you’re hungry, man, try the Claymore Monster. It’s amazing,” Vince suggests.

“Ok, I’ll take that.”

“How do you want that cooked?” the waitress asks.

“Medium.”

“You got it.” She walks away.

“What is there to do here on a Saturday night?” Gavin asks.

I go to answer until I realize he’s asking Lydia. A wave of jealousy washes over me, and I clench my teeth. I don’t know Gavin. I have no claim over him, and besides, I don’t want Gavin. I have Vince.

Turning to my boyfriend, I say, “I’m glad you called.”

“Of course. You need to get a cell of your own, though.”

“Working on it.”

“Good.” He brings his arm down from the top of the booth so it rests around my shoulders.

I’m so glad to have time with Vince. He grounds me. Makes me feel… well, human.

“How’s your mom?” I ask.

His smile tugs at the knot in my chest, loosening it even more. “She’s fine. A little tired and sore, but other than that, you wouldn’t even know she’d been in an accident. Our insurance will cover the cost of the car damage.” His lips twist into a grimace. “The police said it’s highly unlikely they’ll be able to find the guy who hit us. Who the hell does that? Hit and run?”

“No one good.” Major understatement.

Lydia and Gavin are deep in conversation, their heads close together. No worries about third wheel now. Good for them. Seems like everyone is pairing up.

Vince drinks some of his soda. “I meant to tell you, I started working at a daycare center.”

“You?” Of all the places he could work out, he picks a daycare?

Vince puts a hand to his chest. “I’m hurt. I like kids.” A shadow flashes across his face. “When I had gone to my therapist, he mentioned it might be a good idea for me. ‘Have little brothers and sisters,’ he’d said.” He shrugs. “It’s actually a lot of fun.”

“That’s great.” I don’t know what makes me happier—that he no longer needs to see his therapist or that he’s found something that makes him happy. He never looked so proud of himself before.

“Yeah, reading to them is great. Their little faces light up. Art time is cool, but it’s so messy. I swear I should wear a cover or something to protect my clothes.”

“Do you mean an apron?” I tease, knocking my shoulder playfully into him.

His hand squeezes my shoulder. “No, more like a… a smock!” He snaps his fingers. “That’s the word. Anyhow, there’s another opening. We could work together, and I’ll be able to drive us to and from work. It’s four to six on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.”

It’s tempting, sorely tempting. I’ve always enjoyed kids, I wish I have siblings, and a few times, I’ve babysat Julie for Bri’s parents.

The almost nonexistent knot in my chest sinks to my stomach and grows to the size of a basketball. One of the future scenes from the cauldron was of me working at a daycare.

“I might be able to,” I say slowly. “I just told Mrs. Pullman I’ll start working at the bakery.”

“Oh, ok. Don’t worry about it.”

I squeeze his hand on my shoulder. “I see if I can handle both. The daycare sounds like fun.”

Our food comes, and I enjoy my bacon cheeseburger. My eyes bulge when my peas rearrange themselves to spell “mt.”

Mountain.

Now or tonight?

The peas roll around and form into a moon.

Tonight.

With my fork, I scrap the peas together. Although I have questions for the witches, I’m not sure I can believe anything they tell me. I won’t drop everything and run to the mountain. No one is going to dictate what I’m going to do.

And I’m not about to let the fear of dying dictate my actions either.

Chapter 18

AFTER LUNCH, WE congregate outside the restaurant. It’s so refreshing to talk and joke around. It’s so normal. So human. Just what I need.

Vince’s phone rings, and he steps aside to answer.

“I have to get going,” Lydia says. “I told my parents I’d be home by one. Do you need a ride home, Crystal?”

I glance at Vince. From the few phrases I overhear, he’s talking to his mom. “I’ll be fine. Worse comes to worst, I’ll walk home.”

“Sounds good.” She smiles widely at Gavin. “It was nice talking to you.”

“You too.” He seems so relaxed. Good. We all have issues, and that includes Gavin, and if Lydia can help him, I’m thrilled. Maybe they’ll only be friends, but sometimes friendship can lead to something more. Just like me and Vince.

Lydia climbs into her car and drives away.

I watch Vince, who’s still on his phone. He’s waving an arm around. It’s cute how he talks with his hands sometimes.

Gavin blocks my view. “Have you talked to Father Joseph?”

“No. I was thinking maybe tomorrow, after Mass.”

“That’s good.”

“Why do you care so much?” I ask, my tone light.

He shrugs. “I think religion is important. Faith is important. You are what you believe.”

“Interesting philosophy.”

“If more people genuinely believed in religion, there would never be war. No more world hunger.”

“And all cancers would be curable?” Geez. Bitter much?

“Maybe God will one day enlighten someone to the cure cancer when He feels that the world deserves it.”

It’s refreshing to talk about religion and faith with someone my age. “How do we know God hadn’t already picked someone to cure cancer and the child was aborted?”

“I hope that isn’t true.” He shakes his head. “Each child is a miracle, and miracles are magical.”

I blink. Did I really hear that? “Now that’s even more interesting. I didn’t think many religious people believed in magic.”

He laughs easily. “It’s not as if I believe in witches. Magic, yes, though. There’s too much in this world that’s unexplainable.”

“Give me an example.” I cross my arms and tap my foot.

“Fortune tellers.”

A scoffing sound escapes my lips. “Frauds.”

“Not all of them. Some have the ability to see the future. Have you ever had a dream that later came true? Or a vision?”

I clamp my lips shut, not wanting to lie, but unwilling to share the truth.

“I had a dream about you before we met.”

This is getting to be too much. Uncomfortable, I step closer to the restaurant so I can see Vince. “I think I better be going.”

“I know you’re with Vince. I’m not trying to steal you away, but please let me tell you about my dream.”

Despite myself, I’m curious. I stare at the concrete and nod.

“You were at a mountain. Tears streamed down your face. You looked so sad. Like you had lost everything.”

“Was anyone there?” Even though the slight breeze is warm, a chill makes me shiver.

“Several people. Four, five maybe. I didn’t pay attention to them.” He rubs his neck and shrugs. “I don’t want you to get hurt. That mountain, it’s not a safe place for you.”

I swallow hard. Just how much does Gavin know? Four or five people or witches? Sapphire Belladonna had gone off to talk to other covens. If she brought back a few…

Vince walks over. “I gotta go. My mom needs to rest, and she’s refusing to. I’m gonna make her since Dad’s doing more roadwork. Want me to give you a lift home?”

“That would be great, thanks.” I don’t want to seem clingy, but I hug him tight, not sure if it’s for him or for me. Both of us, maybe.

He rubs my back. “Are you ok, babe? You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine.” I breathe in deeply. He feels so strong, and I relax against him.

Vince steps back, holding my hand. “You need a ride, Gavin?”

“No. I’ll walk home.”

A weight lifts from my shoulders. I don’t want to spend more time than is necessary with Gavin. He’s beginning to scare me. I don’t want to think he’s cute or talk to him about religion or dreams about mountains or magic. Definitely not magic.

Vince and I climb into his car. He holds the key in his hand, poised to put it in the ignition, but he lowers his arm. “Driving here was hard,” he admits. “I’m not supposed to be driving without another licensed driver present, but with Mom having to take it easy, she told me just this once… It was the first time driving since… since the accident.”

“You didn’t have to.” His house isn’t a super far walk from here.

“I wanted to see you, and I thought maybe a short drive wouldn’t be so bad.” He gives a forced laugh, and his jaw muscles tighten. “I told you the scariest part of driving was other drivers. Just give me a minute.”

To give him time to compose himself, I root through my purse for my chapstick when I see the letter from my father. With an unsteady hand, I pull it out.

“What’s that?”

“The doctor Lydia and I saw? He had a letter my dad had written.” I flip it over and over. Another letter. The last one I read compelled me to investigate witches. Will this one be as life altering?

“That’s a little strange. I mean, it’s great, but… I don’t know. Why…”

“Why didn’t he seek me out and give it to me years ago? I don’t know.”

“Have you read it?”

“No.”

“What are you waiting for?” He leans against the driver side door.

“I don’t know.”

“Sometimes not knowing is easier.” A faraway look dims his eyes.

I glance around the unfamiliar car. “Whose car is this? Your dad’s?”

“My grandmother’s. She’s letting us borrow it until we can get another one. Mom’s is totaled.” He taps the wheel with nervous energy. “Shortly after my brother died, I found his journal.”

“Did you read it?”

“No. Like I said, sometimes not knowing is easier. A month before he was diagnosed with cancer, we got into a huge fight. It was stupid. I can’t even remember what it was about.”

“Tommy looked up to you. He loved you.”

“I know that. But you love and hate your siblings. It’s just how it is.” He slumps forward a little, knuckles white on the wheel.

“If you want… if it wouldn’t be stepping on toes… I could read it and let you know what it says,” I offer.

He stares at me. “You would do that? For me?”

“Of course.”

“Step away.” Light brightens his eyes.

I giggle. I love making him happy.

Vince clears his throat. “Do you want me to read your dad’s letter?”

I hesitate. Marian had been the one to seek out the witches’ help. Had much had Daniel known?

Better not to risk it.

“I’m not ready.”

“If you want me to be there when you do read it, say the word.”

“I will.” I smile shyly. Yes, of course I want him to be there when I do read it. Just might not be able to let him peek over my shoulder like Lydia had. “We better get going. You need to get to your mom.”

Vince sighs and mouths something.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that.”

His cheeks turn red. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

Praying. He was praying. Warmth spreads from my heart to the rest of my body. Although my relationship with God is a little rocky, I want Vince to believe.

The ride should have only taken seven minutes, but it takes twenty. This time, I don’t tease him about his overly cautious driving.

I lean over and kiss his cheek. “You don’t have to walk me to the door.”

He loosens his deathgrip on the wheel, and color returns to his knuckles. “I’ll call you tonight.”

“Tell your mom I said hi and to not overdo it.”

Vince winks.

I climb out and wait until his car turns off the street before entering my house. “Mom?”

No answer.

She’s still in her room when I open her door, same position on her bed, too, although a different book is in her lap.

“Have you eaten, Mom?” I grab the nearest book. Witchology: A Study of Herbs and Spells.

“No.” She closes the book with a thud. “I didn’t learn much. Witches live in covens. They don’t have to use objects to perform their magic, although some spells do require them. They use magic to alter reality in some way. Only the most powerful of witches can control the weather.”

“Alter reality. Interesting. Anything about shamans?”

“They usually live in communities. They can fly and shape shift into animals. As for the weather, they can make it rain, but that’s it. They always have to use objects to use their magic. They’ve mastered the magic of trances, and most of their magic is to further their journey of mind and soul.”

“Journey of mind and soul.” The witches mentioned that. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Shamans believe there are layers to life. With each step in the journey, they become closer to the person they were always meant to be. They grow stronger with each step, each level. Their magic also grows, and that’s where the danger lies. The stronger their magic, the more they crave, but when they only desire magic for magic’s sake, they move backward in their journey.”

Which is why they want me. They can use me to gain more magic and reach higher levels of self, without backtracking on their journey.

“If I find anything else out, I’ll let you know.” She opens the book again.

An obvious dismissal so I go into my room. It’s great to finally be able to talk to Mom about the witches and magic, but will I ever be able to tell Vince? I better be able to protect him first. Once the shamans realize how much he means to me, he’ll be a target.

I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but I’m a believer.

Both frightened and excited, I try to levitate different items. I manage to lift a pencil a few inches before it falls. Books are too heavy, but I’m able to elevate a mini notepad before my head aches.

Not wanting to overdo it, I work on organizing the memorial service for Tommy for the rest of the night.

I am magic. I know that now. Accept it. Maybe one day, I’ll be able to save someone from cancer. I will learn to master myself, to do whatever I can to help those who need it.

I finally know what I’m meant to do with the rest of my life.

Chapter 19

THAT NIGHT, I’M restless, unable to get comfortable. When morning finally comes, I wake from a disturbing dream where several women gather together, their purpose dark.

Are the women witches? Is the dream a premonition? Or is the dream just because I feel both empowered and guilty over ignoring the witches’ request that I come to the mountain?

I go to Mass even though I don’t know if I belong anymore. Vince’s parents come, but he doesn’t. At least, he’s praying. Progress.

I pray for Vince, that he’ll find peace.

I pray for Mom, that she can forgive herself.

I prayed for myself, that I’ll be able to use my power for good.

After the service, I wait in line to talk to Father Joseph.

“Hello, Crystal. I heard about the accident. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine. Do you think we can talk today?”

He nods. “Go ahead to my office. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

I thank him and leave the church for the rectory next door. His small office is located in the back. Many pictures of parishioners dot the walls. One picture brings tears to my eyes. The Fullers, all four of them. Vince and Tommy are so young in it. Even then, Vince was a cutie.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Father Joseph enters the room and sits at his desk. “What do you want to talk about first? Your real parents?”

“Father Joseph…” I take a deep breath. “Do you believe in magic?”

“Magic? As in witchcraft?” He furrows his brow and clasps his hands on top of some papers on his desk.

I squirm under the scrutiny of his gaze, my heart hammering in my chest. “My mom was infertile, but she had me.”

“She prayed for many years to have a child, and God answered her prayers.”

“Did you know she sought the counsel of witches?”

He lowers his head. “We discussed that matter often. She was torn. It wasn’t that her faith was lacking, but she was desperate to make her dream of becoming a mother a reality.”

“So you did know.”

“I only knew she thought about it. But that would explain why she ducked me after Mass for months before you were born.” He leans forward. “Some do believe in magic and witchcraft. That path leads to darkness. I caution you not to follow it.”

My stomach twists in knots. “All magic is evil?”

He straightens some papers on his desk.

“Because if magic is evil, and I was conceived through magic…” I can’t go on.

Father vocalizing my biggest fears makes me want to crawl up into a ball and die. But I can’t die. I’d go to Hell. Or maybe not. Maybe I don’t have a soul, and I’d just stop existing.

I gulp and wring my hands together.

“You are not evil, Crystal. Even if witches did have a hand in your being conceived, God still had a hand in your birth. Magic, as with everything in this earthly realm, is ultimately controlled by God.”

My body stops trembling. My breathing comes easier. My heart stops pounding so fiercely against my chest it felt like it was bruising my ribs. “Thank you, Father Joseph.” I stand. That’s all I need to know.

“Do you want to talk about your parents?”

“I have enough to think about right now.”

“My door is always open.”

I nod and pass through the threshold when he adds:

“I’m worried about you, Crystal. You are in my prayers.”

I leave without saying anything. The breeze feels wonderful, and I enjoy my walk through town, refusing to dwell and magic and Hell. Just living in the moment.

Down the street is Pullman’s Sweets, and I head toward it.

“Crystal.”

I slow to a halt. My throat closes, my mouth grows dry, and my palms become sweaty as Gavin approaches, a large dog by his side.

A dog I saw before.

A dog that looks very much alive and normal despite having a fireball thrown at it and disappearing.

“You have a… dog,” I manage to say after a long moment.

“Yeah, it’s my dad’s. Why? You a cat person?”

I ignore his teasing. “You said your dad’s in business, right?”

“Yeah.” Lines form on his forehead as he frowns.

“What kind of business?”

His laugh sounds fake. “It’s boring.”

I cross my arms. “Gavin, is your dad a… shaman?”

“A shaman?” The confusion in his blue eyes seems genuine.

“Gavin, please tell me the truth.” I inch away to put more distance between myself and the dog.

The dog sniffs and whines before growling deeply. It lunges toward me, and I shriek.

“Down, Calder. Easy, boy.” He yanks back on the leash. After the dog relaxes somewhat, he runs a hand through his blond hair. “You really want to talk about this now? Here?”

“Yes.” I don’t like the gleam in Calder’s piercing eyes. He looks too intelligent to be an ordinary dog. He can’t be just an ordinary dog.

But if he isn’t the shape shifter form of a shaman, what can he be?

Gavin steps close to me, keeping the dog away. He glances up and down the street. “My dad’s a witch hunter,” he whispers.

My jaw drops. “That’s a far cry from a businessman!”

He smiles, dimples visible. “I guess you could say he’s in the business of magic.”

“And him?” I gesture toward the dog. Calder curls his upper lip at me, revealing huge teeth.

“He’s a witch hunter too.”

“Are you one?” I frown. “But that dream you had…”

“I told you, I’m not interesting in Dad’s business. I’m not training to be a witch hunter. I like to pretend that Calder here is an ordinary dog who needs to go out on walks.” He shrugs, his shirt tight against his shoulders.

“A dog witch hunter. I saw him disappear the other night!”

His eyebrows rise up enough up on his forehead to hide beneath his hair. “He may hunt witches, but he has some enhancements and spells = to keep him safe. Fight fire with fire.”

Calder growls again and leaps toward me.

Gavin struggles to keep him back. “He’s reacting to you for some reason.”

“Your dream,” I insist, refusing to cower even though I want to run away like a scaredy-cat. “Do you do magic?”

He kneels down and pets Calder. The dog doesn’t seem to like the gesture but leaves me alone. “I’m not a witch. Or a… What did you say before? A shaman? I’m just a guy.” His dimpled smile makes another appearance.

I snort. “Or you’re a witch and you just don’t want your father to find out.”

“I’m not a witch!”

“So you lied about the dream?”

He straightens. His face, it’s more open now. I hadn’t realized how guarded he was before. “Did my dream come true?”

I bite my lower lip and stare at his sneakers.

“You stayed away from the mountain. You trusted me.”

“More like I don’t trust the witches,” I mumble.

He nods vigorously several times. “Good. You can’t believe anything a witch tells you.”

All of my energy drains away, and I rub my forehead. Another headache is brewing. I don’t want Gavin to know what I am. I don’t want to be talking to Gavin right now. I want Vince.

Who also doesn’t know what I am. At least Gavin knows about witches. It wouldn’t be such a huge leap for him to learn and accept that I’m magic. But Vince? How can he possibly understand?

“I have to get going.” I brush past Gavin.

Calder snarls and jumps toward me.

My legs tremble. The dog is huge, made of pure muscle, its teeth long and sharp. It doesn’t need magic to harm a witch, or anyone else for that matter. How Gavin can walk around with that monster as if it’s an ordinary pet baffles me.

The dog leaps forward, and the leash flies out of Gavin’s hand. He runs toward me, his teeth bared.

Although I instinctively want to shy away to protect my face, I hold out my outstretched hand.

The dog stops and whines, clawing at the air.

Gavin stares at me then touches the air where Calder is blocked. “Why does he want to attack you? Why can’t he move? There’s nothing there.”

“Of course not.” I whirl around and hurry to the bakery, praying they don’t follow.

Mrs. Pullman is serving several customers. Once she’s done, I approach the counter. She greets me with a warm smile. “Crystal, I was going to call you, but the weekends are so busy.”

“I can see that.” I giggle. Between her happy nature and the wonderful smells, it’s almost impossible to be stressed here.

A couple enters the bakery, and I step away from the glass so they can eye the treats.

“Do you mind coming in on the weekends? Say, noon to four? That’s when I need the most help.”

“That’s perfect.” I would still be able to help out at the daycare, if they’ll have me, and I’ll go to an early Mass. On one hand, everything is coming together.

But on the other hand, it still feels like my life is falling apart.

“Great. You can start next weekend.” She focuses on the couple. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Snodgrass. Have you decided what you want?”

I wave and leave the bakery. Luckily, Gavin and that demon dog are nowhere in sight. The mountain looms in the near distance. It hardly seems scary now, with the sun shining on it.

Will the witches be upset with me for not showing up last night?

Do I care?

A half hour later, I stand before the cottage. Before my knuckles can rap against the wooden door, it opens.

“Hello?” I call. The cottage is fully furnished again, although with new, modern furniture.

“You’re late.” Sapphire Belladonna shakes her head, hands on hips. Given her medieval attire, she looks like an annoyed queen.

“Hours late. Why didn’t you come last night? We know you receive the message.” Silver Tiger scowls and steps forward out of the shadows. Her black dress makes her look like a stereotypical witch, a mean one.

I scowl right back. “Why did you let me think that shamans attacked the other night?”

“Shamans? What night?” Sapphire Belladonna asks.

“The night you went to talk to the other covens. Amethyst Wolf handled it,” Silver Tiger answers. Her glower is potent enough to wilt flowers, but I don’t flinch or look away.

“Handled what, Silver Tiger? And why are you only mentioning this now?”

The witch wrinkles her nose and bares her teeth at me as if this is all my fault. Which, I guess, it is. “A puny witch hunter and its mangy pet.”

“Calder,” I cut in.

“Do they still breathe?” Sapphire Belladonna crosses her arms, lips pursed.

“Yes. I knew you wouldn’t be happy if I gave the go ahead to kill them while you were away.”

So Sapphire Belladonna has seniority over Silver Tiger. Good.

“Why did you call for me?” I interject. We’re standing by a triangular glass table with onyx chairs, but none of us move to sit.

“Your powers are manifesting more and more each day. Shamans are becoming aware of you, and your training must start now,” Sapphire Belladonna says. “You must learn to protect yourself.”

Silver Tiger drops gloves on top of the table.

“What are those?”

“Deerskin leather gloves,” she says. “Set them on fire.”

I step back, hands raised. “Not yet. I want to know what you told the other witches.”

Sapphire Belladonna nods. “Only that you returned to us and are willing to accept who you are.”

I doubt that.

“What do you want from me?” I ask.

“Right now, for you to set the gloves on fire.” Silver Tiger sidesteps the table to sit on a couch and eyes me as if I’m a TV.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Sapphire Belladonna touches my hair. “We promised your mother we would look after you. We are honoring that promise.”

“After you had her killed?” I don’t recognize my voice. It’s so cold.

“All magic comes with a price,” Silver Tiger says, but her normal harshness is gone, replaced with almost tenderness.

“Even mine?”

“That remains to be seen.” Sapphire Belladonna pats my head as if I’m a young child.

Not comforting but also not unexpected. “I’m the first one, aren’t I? The first magic incarnate.”

“First and perhaps only. It’s possible another powerful enough celestial event will never occur while the earth revolves for another one to be…” Sapphire Belladonna waves her hand.

Created, made, brought forth… I get the idea. If I didn’t feel like a freak before, I really do now.

“There’s really no secret agenda?” I ask.

They exchange a long glance.

“I really hate when you do that.”

Silver Tiger opens her palm, and fire appears. She closes it, and the flame extinguishes. “Other witches can also sense your growing power. They want to use you to destroy the shamans so the war will be over once and for all.”

“You two don’t want that?”

“We do want the war to be over, but to drag you into it, no, we do not think that would be wise,” Sapphire Belladonna explains.

“And Amethyst Wolf, who is that?”

“Our coven is just the two of us,” Sapphire Belladonna says. “Silver Tiger stayed here to keep an eye on you, so I asked Amethyst Wolf to stay with Silver Tiger while I spoke with the other nearby covens.”

“She looks just like you.”

Sapphire Belladonna’s laugh reminds me of bells. “That’s because she’s my sister.”

“Oh. Why aren’t you in the same coven?”

“That’s a long story and one you don’t need to know.” Sapphire Belladonna points to the gloves. “I answered most of your questions so now please try to set them on fire.”

I’ll never be happy doing what they dictate me to, but I do want to be able to protect myself and those I love, so I imagine the gloves on fire.

Nothing happens.

“Haven’t you been practicing?” Silver Tiger asks snidely.

“I was able to lift a pencil.” Wow, does that sound pathetic. A pencil. Hardly a weapon worth bringing to a fight.

“How did you do that?” Sapphire Belladonna glares at Silver Tiger.

“I concentrated really hard and failed a bunch of times, but I have a headache. It’s hard to concentrate.”

“You need more focus.” Silver Tiger points to the gloves, and an image appears—Vince’s face. “Imagine that if you don’t burn these gloves, he’ll burn in Hell.”

“That’s not funny!” I protest. “Don’t mock my beliefs.”

The witch shrugs. “Focus your anger then. Put it to good use.”

My stomach churns so violently at the thought of Vince in Hell I think I’m going to throw up. I prayed for him for years, worried he would never make peace with God. It’s one of my many fears.

I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. Slow and steady. My stomach relaxes, and the knot of tension in my neck disappears. Even the pain from my headache vanishes.

In my heart, I find my feelings for Vince. I care for him deeply and know that one day, I might grow to love him. It’s a powerful feeling, and I harness it. I take the power out of me and open my eyes.

I can almost see the glimmer of magic hovering before me and will it to enter the gloves. They now glitter but don’t burst into flames.

If Vince needs me to save him, will I be able to?

Or will I fail then too?

Chapter 20

“YOU’RE ALMOST THERE,” Sapphire Belladonna says softly.

The connection to my magic disappears. “I can’t.”

“Don’t think so much. Feel. Magic is about emotions.”

“But it’s hard,” I whine.

“Only because you have a mental block.”

Mental block? “Is that why my mom can’t use magic?”

Silver Tiger rolls her eyes. “Your mother is dead.”

“I mean Patricia Miller.”

Silver Tiger’s lips twitch upward. “Yes, Patricia can’t use magic because of a mental block. She’s too scared to actually use it. Anyone can use magic, but that doesn’t mean that everyone will.”

“I know this is hard, Crystal.” Sapphire Belladonna sits beside Silver Tiger on the couch. “We aren’t exactly sure how we can help you. Magic for us has to be different than magic for you considering that you are magic.”

Right. If I’m magic, then shouldn’t I have a magical touch or something?

Taking a deep breath, I touch a glove and shove hotness toward it. The gloves grow warm. Sweat beads on my forehead, but still I pour energy into creating heat. Finally, just before I give up, a tiny spark flickers, and the gloves catch on fire.

“There.” I back away from the table, feeling accomplished.

The flame extinguishes.

I groan and slouch, wanting to curl up into a ball. What a joke.

“That’s a start.” Sapphire Belladonna stands, glides over, and wraps her arm around my shoulder.

“Why doesn’t it come easily for me anymore? Before I used magic without even knowing!”

“It’s always harder to do something on purpose. Although you controlling time, that is impressive.” Silver Tiger grins. “Ready for your homework assignment?”

“Do I have a choice in the matter?”

She ignores me. “If you see the witch hunter, the man in the cottage that night, run away. Do not confront him.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Stay away from his son too.”

“That’s impossible,” I protest. “We go to the same high school.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to be friends.”

“But Gavin isn’t a witch hunter!”

“Maybe not, but when one is forced to make a choice between friends and family, one always chooses family,” Sapphire Belladonna says. “We consider you family. I know you think this Gavin is on your side, but he isn’t.”

Actually I’m not sure if Gavin is on my side, but I do think he’ll help if shamans come. “What else?”

“Use magic however you can, whenever you can. Even if it’s only picking up pencils.” Silver Tiger’s grin stretches even wider. “Although you might want to try books soon. At least they’ll hurt.”

I can’t stand her smug look. “Pencils would hurt vampires, right?”

“If vampires existed. Which they don’t.”

Finally, a bit of good news. “What about the shamans?”

Sapphire Belladonna smiles maternally. “We’ve been monitoring the village. None have entered the city limits, although we do know that two, maybe three, have been spotted nearby. Two we can handle without outside help. Any more than that…”

“That’s why you spoke with the other covens. For help.”

“Yes.” She points to the front door, and it opens.

“Wait,” Silver Tiger says.

I grimace. What snide remark does she have now?

“You might find it easier to stop thinking of yourself as having magic and having power. You are magic. Remember that, and it might be easier for you to master yourself.”

I really need to stop being so judgmental. “Thanks for the tip, Silver Tiger. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Emotions churning, I leave and return home. The rest of the afternoon and evening fly by, and I fall asleep holding the still unopened letter from my father.

* * *

BEFORE LUNCH THE next day at school, I go to the bathroom to wash my hands when I hear sniffles coming from the last stall.

“Are you all right?” I ask through the door.

“Crystal, is that you?”

I barely recognize Paula’s voice. “Yes. What’s wrong?”

The door swings open, and Paula comes out. A few tears run down her face. “It was a disaster! All Sean talked about was Brianna, and who can blame him? Long blonde hair, blue eyes, she looks like a real live Barbie doll! How can I compete with her?”

Oh no. My heart breaks for her. “If Sean can’t see you for the great girl you are, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

Paula rips a paper towel from the dispenser and blows her nose. “That’s easy for you to say. You have Vince.”

“What about Brian? Or Ned?”

“No. It’s not like I can just snap my fingers and stop liking Sean, and I don’t like those guys, not like that. I guess I won’t be going to prom.”

“Not if I can help it.” I head toward the door. “You coming?”

Paula shakes her head. “I think I’ll eat lunch in here.”

“Ew, that’s gross. Come on. We don’t have to sit with everyone else.”

“Really?” A little bit of light comes back to her eyes.

“Sure.”

She smiles. “You’re a great friend, Crystal. Vince can sit with us too. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your prince charming.”

“Ugh! Bri told you?”

Her giggle echoes in the bathroom.

We enter the cafeteria and claim an empty table. Vince joins us a minute later. “Why’re we sitting over here?”

Paula stiffens. “Sean’s a…”

“Say no more. Go ahead and bash away. I hear that helps.” He props up his chin with his hands and fails miserably at looking serious.

Paula and I laugh.

My throat’s dry, and the water I brought isn’t going to do it for me. “I’m gonna get a soda. Be right back.”

I walk over to the soda machine, the entire time sending mental demands to Sean that he’s thirsty.

He falls into line behind me.

Huh. Maybe I’m getting better at this.

I pretend to just notice him. “Oh, hi, Sean.”

“Hey. Where’s Paula? She hasn’t come to the table.”

I stare into his green eyes. “What game are you playing?”

“What?”

Is he that oblivious? “Paula really likes you. She’s a great girl, and you would be lucky to have her.”

“She does?” He raises his eyebrows.

Completely clueless. “I can understand if you like Brianna, but that doesn’t mean you have to be so rotten to Paula. Stop hurting her.”

He frowns and rubs the back of his neck. “Did she think it was a double date?”

“How could she when you wanted Brianna to come with?”

“I never knew she liked me!” Sean throws his arms out wide.

“Well, keep being a jerk, and she won’t anymore.”

“I do like Bri,” he says quietly. “I didn’t mean to hurt Paula though.”

“Well, intentionally or not, you did.”

The guy in front of me gets his soda and walks away. I shove some coins into the machine and press the button for a Diet Coke. When I whip around to confront Sean some more, he’s already walking back to our normal table. Bri sits across from him, but he isn’t paying attention to her. Or anyone else. He seems to be thinking.

Good. Maybe he’ll decide he does like Paula.

I grin. While I won’t force Sean to like Paula, planting the seed is a reasonable compromise.

Chapter 21

I MANAGE TO ignore Gavin in the few classes we have together that afternoon. When the final bell rings, I race to my locker. Vince is already there, waiting with an easy smile.

“I called Mrs. Davis yesterday. She can’t wait to meet you. Hopefully everything will work out and you can start on Wednesday.”

“Great.” Yeah… I really need to mention my possible second job to Mom. Whoops.

I borrow his cell and leave Mom a message that I’m with Vince. After I hang up and grab my books, he holds my hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hand is warm, his grip perfect—not too tight but not too loose either. We walk to the parking lot.

“I noticed you haven’t talked to Gavin much lately. You can be friends with him. I’m not the jealous type.” He puffs out his chest, trying to appear macho. He doesn’t exactly fail at pulling that look off, that is, until he crosses his eyes.

I burst out laughing. I toss my backpack behind my seat and climb in. “Don’t you still need an adult in the car when you drive?”

He nodded. “Pray I don’t get pulled over.”

“Vince.”

“It’s just for another ten days. Then I can take my driver license test and pass, and it’ll be fine. My parents are okay with it, so long as I don’t get caught. Besides, you didn’t have an issue the other day.”

I shake my head but can’t complain too much. I like having Vince all to myself.

Even though it’s only a short drive, I close my eyes and attempt to see the future. All I see is blackness, but then I spy a man dressed in dark clothing. He opens my bedroom door. I’m sleeping on my bed. The man approaches and removes a dagger from his clothes. As he lifts it high above his head, I gasp and open my eyes.

“Something wrong?” Vince asks.

“No, I’m fine.” Not even close to being okay.

“You haven’t opened the letter from your dad, have you?”

“Nope.”

Why do I keep putting it off? It’s the only connection I have to him. I have to open it. Just not yet.

For the rest of the ride, we talk about the memorial service. Tommy’s favorite color had been green, and I plan on using green tablecloths for the tables at the fire station. “Unless you think it’s corny.”

“It’s a nice touch.” Vince parks the car, and I climb out. “You know, girls complain all the time that chivalry’s dead.” He rolls his eyes playfully. “But they don’t wait for their guy to open the door for them.”

“Oh, I see. So it’s the woman’s fault?” I tease.

“In this case, yes.”

“Do you want me to get back in the car?”

“Yes, actually.”

I giggle and do just that. Vince makes a production out of exiting the car, closing his door, and walking around to mine. He opens the door and holds out his hand. “There you go, milady.”

I playfully rub his short hair. “Thank you.”

He kisses my cheek. “You’re welcome.”

We hold hands as we walk along the sidewalk to the daycare center. Vince opens the front door and waves me inside.

The sound of children laughing and talking greets me. About twenty kids play throughout the large room. Toys are scattered all over the floor, and I carefully place my feet to avoid stepping on any. A car zooms toward me, right beneath where I’m about to step. I teeter, and Vince grabs my arm and rights me.

Only two adults watch all of the children. The younger one approaches us. “Glad you’re here early today, Vince. I need to jet. Sam isn’t feeling well, and I want to see if I can get him in to see his doctor before the office closes.”

“No problem, Kim.”

Kim picks up a four-year-old who has bright flushed cheeks, says goodbye to the other kids, and is out the door within thirty seconds.

“Vince, Vince, want to see what I drawed today?” A short, chubby boy runs up to him and tugs on his arm.

“Sure thing, Ryan.” My boyfriend turns to me and glances around. “Mrs. Davis is… Huh. Maybe she’s in her office.” He nods toward the door on the right. “Don’t worry. She doesn’t bite.”

“Mrs. Davis doesn’t, but Betty does.” Ryan points to a cute girl with high pigtails.

Vince nods and mouths, “Ouch.”

I smile. “I’ll try to stay away from her teeth. Thanks for the warning, Ryan.”

As I head toward Mrs. Davis’s office, I overhear Ryan say, “Who is she? She’s nice.”

“Can you help me?” a soft voice asks.

I turn around to see a little girl sitting on the ground, one shoe off.

“I don’t know how to tie my shoes.”

“It can be tricky.” I kneel down and loosen the laces so I can easily slip the shoe on and tie the shoe.

“Thanks!” The girl beams, revealing a few missing teeth.

“You’re welcome.”

Finally, I reach the closed door and knock. No response, at least none that I can hear. The children are being really noisy so I open the door.

Mrs. Davis sits behind a small desk covered in paperwork. She stands and holds out her hand. “You must be Crystal. Vince has told me so much about you.”

“Thanks.” I shake her hand and sit down. Butterflies flutter in my stomach. My first official job interview. The bakery doesn’t count. I rub my hands together. They’re sweaty. Wonderful. I just shook her hand.

Mrs. Davis also sits. Should I have let her sit first before sitting? Fingers moving quickly, she fumbles through some papers and pulls one out. She brushes back loose strands from her ponytail and clicks open a pen. “Crystal Miller, right?”

“Yes.” I make a mental note to ask Mom if my name had been legally changed to Miller.

“Do you have an experience working with children?”

“I’ve babysat over the years, since I turned twelve.”

“Do you enjoy working with kids?”

There’s a loud crash and some wailing. A low murmur, maybe Vince’s, and the crying stops.

“I do. I think kids are a miracle.”

Mrs. Davis laughs. “After a few days here, you won’t always think that. Don’t get me wrong, they’re all great kids, but when you have so many young children in the same room, there’s bound to be fighting.” She writes on the sheet. “We use a time out chair. We never hit the children, not even small taps on the rump.”

I nod.

“If we see someone playing nicely above and beyond, there’s a small chest they can pick something out of, stickers, small gooey creatures, things like that. There are a few babies, so the small toys have to be kept out of the playpens. Mostly Kim and Val will be taking care of the babies, so you won’t have to worry about diapers and bottles.”

“Babies make me a little nervous,” I confess. “I hadn’t been around a lot of them. All of the kids I babysat were at least three years old.”

She leans back in her seat. “Have you held a baby?”

I think a moment. “Not that I can recall.”

“If you want to, you can. Have a seat on the couch, and Kim can bring one over to you. It helps to be sitting if you aren’t comfortable holding one.”

“I think Kim left for the day already.”

Mrs. Davis snaps her fingers. “That’s right. Sam’s sick.” She touches her temple with the end of the pen. “I forget things sometimes. It can be so hectic here. Normally, help watch the kids, but today, there have been so many phone calls and parents wanting to drop off their kids early or pick them up late.” She wags her finger at the phone. “Don’t ring again until we’re done talking.”

I laugh, already liking Mrs. Davis. Working here will be a lot of fun.

After a moment, I will the phone not to ring. It’s almost like a habit.

“I brought on Vince because a lot more kids have been enrolled lately, but we need even more help. You’ll be working the same hours as Vince. No time off, I’m afraid, unless it’s an emergency. State law requires a certain child to staff ratio, so the more notice you can give me the better.”

I nod. “That sounds reasonable.”

“Do you want the job?”

“Yes!”

“Excellent.” She grabs a few more forms. “I’ll need you to fill these out, and then we’ll be all set. How soon can you start?”

I accept the forms and the offered pen. “As soon as you need me to. Today, if need be.”

“Go for it. Fill out the forms first, though. Oh, and you’ll have to bring in your birth certificate and social security card to be added to payroll.”

The phone rings.

Mrs. Davis smiles. “Perfect timing.”

I stifle a giggle. Sometimes, using my magic, using myself, is almost becoming second nature.

* * *

I’M SURPRISINGLY SORE when I ease into Vince’s grandmother’s car after we finish working.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Vince asks eagerly.

“Yes.” I stifle a yawn.

“I was exhausted at first,” he says as he starts the car, “but you get used to it.”

“It’s amazing how much energy they have for being so little!”

He laughs. “I know. Samantha really took a shining to you.”

“She’s a sweetheart.”

“She normally hates new people. She never comes near when I read the stories.”

“Maybe you scare her.” I love teasing him.

“Me? Scary?” He wrinkles his nose. “Nah, that can’t be it.”

“Well, you did kinda have the loner look going on before you got your haircut.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Uh… I’m glad you got it cut.”

“Me too. It was a pain, always falling in my eyes. Girls never seemed to go for the head flip.”

I giggle. “That’s because they were too busy getting out of the way so your hair didn’t poke them in the eye.”

“Oh, so that explains it! No wonder they didn’t find it hot.” He shakes his head. “Silly girls.”

We laugh. I love how we can joke and laugh and how we can also be serious at times.

“Do you think I might be able to come over to your house tomorrow?” I ask. “I need to talk to you and your parents before I start to make all of the final arrangements for the memorial service.”

“I don’t see why that would be a problem.”

“Great.”

He parks in front of my house. “Crystal, I like hanging out with you. I really do.”

Uh oh. This doesn’t sound good. My stomach sinks.

“I like hanging out with you too,” I say slowly.

“It’s just that… I’m glad you told me about your real parents, but ever since, you seem closed off. You can tell me anything. I swear I’m not going anywhere.” He squeezes my hand.

This noticing means so much to me, but how can I tell him the truth? He’ll think I’m a freak all over again. I swallow hard. “I’m not going anywhere either. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“That’s the thing. I worry all the time. I don’t know if it’s because of the accident, but I can’t… I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I repeat softly.

“Good.” He taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I didn’t after Tommy.”

I trace the seam of my jeans. “I always wondered if I should have tried talking to you more back then, if stepping back and giving you space was the right thing to do.”

“It was what I needed. I didn’t talk to anyone, not even my parents. Eventually I opened up to my therapist. Every so often, I’ll call him. He’s kinda cool. We talk about sports and other stuff. I just want you to know I won’t bring up your parents again unless you do first.”

“Thanks, Vince.” I pat his arm.

Deep inside, I want to blurt everything out, but telling him the truth will forever alter our relationship, and not necessary for the better. Can I risk us when we only just got together? But can our relationship ever move forward if he doesn’t know every aspect of my being?

“I’ll take you up on that,” I promise. “Soon.”

“Whenever you’re ready.” He opens his car door and gets out.

I open mine but close it before climbing out.

Vince opens my door and leans against it, shaking his head. “I’m gonna have to break you of that.”

“Guess I’m just not used to have a boyfriend,” I say shyly.

By the time we reach my porch, Mom stands by the front door. “Hello, Vince. How’s your mom doing?”

“Much better, thanks. I’ll tell her you asked about her.”

“Come on inside, Crystal. Dinner’s waiting.”

She makes no move to leave, so I look pointedly at her then the door.

With a wink, Mom tussles my hair and goes inside.

Vince glances at the window and pecks my cheek. “See ya at school tomorrow.”

“See ya.”

Thanks a lot, Mom.

Chapter 22

THAT NIGHT, I climb into bed, yawning and rubbing my eyes. I have the nagging feeling that I’m forgetting something.

Or someone.

With a start, I fling the sheets away.

God.

Faith has always been a huge aspect of my life. I know Mom thinks faith and magic don’t have to be exclusive, but I have been distancing myself from my beliefs.

I never was one to kneel beside my bed when saying nightly prayers, but tonight I do. “Dear Lord, I know I haven’t been praying a lot lately, and I’m sorry for that. I’ve been busy, what with learning that I’m magic, and the witches and the shamans and that dog witch hunter.” I shake my head. “It’s a crazy world, isn’t it? I used to think magic was hocus pocus nonsense. Now I know that’s not the case.”

My right leg cramps, so I shift my weight. “I’m magic. It’s so strange to say it out loud. Magic. Me.” I close my eyes and lean my forehead against my bed. “If I’m magic, it’s because You wanted me to be magic. So there’s no harm in my altering time or learning to set things on fire, is there? I guess it’s like everything else—okay in moderation, and if used for good and not ill.”

Opening my eyes, I raise my head and look out my window. Stars shine, banishing some of the darkness of night. “But I don’t always know what’s good and what’s not when it comes to magic. I need Your help. And please look over Vince and his parents and my mom.”

I make the sign of the cross. Tears sting my eyes. The feeling of peacefulness I normally feel after I finish praying—I don’t feel it. Did God hear me?

Is my faith waning?

I climb into bed, but sleep eludes me. I think about trying to pray some more. Then I think about Silver Tiger and how the witch played with fire in her hand. Now that’s something worthwhile to practice.

Focusing on my palm, I open it, my thoughts on fire and heat. My hand burns, but no fire appears. I mentally picture the fire above my hand, but that doesn’t work either. Agitated and annoyed, I mime lighting a match and dropping it into my right palm.

The fire appears. My hand literally feels like it’s on fire, so I lower my hand. The fire now hovers a few inches above it. Closing my hand extinguishes the fire.

Immediately, I opened my hand again, willing the fire to return. It does. Ten times in a row, I open and close my hand, the fire reappearing and leaving each time.

Take that, Silver Tiger!

My doorknob twists suddenly, and the vision I saw in Vince’s car springs to mind.

With a gasp, I jump to my feet. “Mom?”

My doorknob jingles.

“Mom!”

No answer.

I jump forward and turn the lock.

The knob jingles some more and unlocks. The door slowly opens.

Terror overwhelms me. Without thinking, I conjure the fire. Like a baseball pitcher, I wind up and throw the fire at the door.

My door bursts into flames.

Memorized by the flickering fiery tongues, I can’t see anyone, but I do hear footsteps.

“Mom!”

My attempts to return the fire to my palm fail. My door smolders. At least it hasn’t spread to the walls or the rest of the house.

If I can’t quench the fire like I did before, maybe I can extinguish it another way. I try to bring forth water, but my fright, as well as never using that element before, prevents me from conjuring even a droplet.

“Mom!”

Again, footsteps sound.

“Crystal?” she calls, maybe from the stairs.

“I’m sorry, Mom.” My voice is hoarse. “I didn’t mean too.”

“What in the… Your door’s on fire!”

I wince at the panic and disapproval in her voice. Tears blur my vision. Magic is not a plaything. Hadn’t I just prayed that I use magic for good and not ill?

“I’ll get some water. Stay away from the door,” she instructs.

How can Mom be so calm? I rub my eyes to prevent myself from crying and sniff. The fire. Nothing smells like it’s burning.

I creep toward the door. The heat of the fire stings my eyes, but I refuse to back down. Taking a deep breath, I press my hand onto the fiery door.

The heat is immense, but my hand doesn’t burn.

Closing my eyes, I withdraw the fire into my palm. It resists me at first, as if it wants to stay alive, but I force it to listen to me. Slowly, each flame trickles back, and the ball of fire in my hand is five times as large as the one I’d conjured. Once I retrieve all of the fire, I close my palm.

“Here’s the… It’s gone. The fire.” Mom glances around, eyes wide, jaw lowered, a large bucket of water in her hands.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I was practicing, and things got out of control…”

She carefully places the bucket onto the carpet and hesitates before touching the door. “It’s still hot,” she murmurs, “but it’s not charred, and there’s no smoke either.”

“Maybe I didn’t really conjure fire. Something like fire.”

Mom scratches her head and pulls her robe together. “I wish I knew more, that I could help you more. All that matters is that you’re all right and the house is fine. Go back to sleep.”

Nodding, I close the warm door, climb back into bed, and close my eyes. No way will I be able to fall asleep, not after that.

Darkness closes in around me. Calder stands in an empty field, sniffing, hunting. I approach him. He growls but stays focus, bounding down the trail. From the field, we enter a forest, even though there aren’t any near Claymore. The forest opens up into a clearing, a large oak tree in the center. A tall figure emerges from behind the tree.

Calder wags his tail and jumps onto the person’s chest, the big dog almost knocking down his owner. Gavin’s father.

I keep my distance, wary. This is just a dream, right? Maybe, maybe not, but I find the courage to step forward a pace or two to better see his face. The witch hunter.

As if he knows I’m there, he stares at me. Hatred burns in his eyes.

I gasp and stumble back, falling to the ground. Although I should have felt grass and dirt, I feel nothing but ice.

“Begone.” He sneers and throws something glittery at me.

Letting out a strangled cry, I wake up.

Gavin’s father, the witch hunter, is the hit-and-run driver and the mugger.

Chapter 23

SOMEHOW I’M ABLE to fall back asleep, and I wake a few minutes before my alarm would have gone off. A throbbing headache greets me, and I groan. Today is not going to be a good day, I can tell.

I force myself to concentrate on my classes. Over the years, I’ve prided myself on my academics. This year shouldn’t be any different. I worked too hard to allow magic and witches and witch hunters to ruin my academic life.

Although I can just magically give myself A’s…

But if I do that, I won’t know the material. That’s more important than a letter grade.

At lunchtime, I dawdle and enter the cafeteria a good five minutes later than I normally do. Our table is full. Sean sits next to Paula, although they don’t look at each other.

Focus, Crystal.

Gavin sits on the end. Brian’s next to him but is deep in conversation with Heather. The new student’s shoulders are slumped, and he looks uncomfortable.

A pang of pity hits me, and I wave to him. He doesn’t see me.

Look up.

Gavin meets my gaze. I motion him over.

He gathers his things, throws his trash away, and saunters over. “What’s up?”

I bristle with anger. It vibrates in my ears, and some kind of charge tingles along my skin. If he touches me, I’m sure there would be a spark.

“That night… did you know?” I spit out. A few kids glance over, and I mentally suggest they don’t pay us any attention.

“What night? Know what?” He holds out his hands in a disarming fashion. “Back up and start over.”

“The night you went for a walk. The night of the accident.”

“Okay, with you so far.”

“Did you know it was your dad who plowed into the car and almost killed Mrs. Fuller?” Somehow I manage to not scream at him, but my low tone is just as threatening.

“What!”

“He had been gunning for me. I was supposed to sit there, but Mrs. Fuller insisted that I sit up front.” The cloud of energy around me electrifies, and I pray my hair isn’t standing on end. There I go again, praying only when I want something. Focus.

“Why would my dad…” He stops, frowns, and starts again. “Calder doesn’t like you. Are you a…” He glances around and moves closer to me. “Are you a witch, Crystal?” His voice is hardly audible.

“Stop trying to turn this back on me.” I jab my finger into his chest and force him to back up. “You and your family are no longer welcome here. Go and find somewhere else to live.”

I brush past him. At the last second, something makes me turn back.

Gavin is staring at me, his face an array of emotions—disbelief and betrayal.

And pain.

He hangs his head and leaves through the nearest exit.

Like a popped balloon, all of my anger and the magic field around me dissipate. Gavin has no control over his father, just like I have no control over the fact that I was born through magic, that I am magic.

He only wants to find a place to fit in, maybe even started to hope it might be here. And now I’m trying to run him and his family out of town.

Even so, my guilt does not begin to compete with the fury I feel toward his father. Mrs. Fuller almost died. He terrorized and threatened Mom.

I have more pressing matters to worry about than whether or not to trust the witches. I have a witch hunter to deal with.

* * *

AFTER SCHOOL, VINCE and I go to his house. “My mom should be home by now,” he says as we walk to the front door. “Last week, she went back to work part time. She’s going back to full time now.”

“I’m glad.”

“Dad’ll be home in about a half hour. We can get started on the memorial planning then.”

Mrs. Fuller opens the door for us and gives me a hug. “Crystal, it’s so good to see you.”

“You too.”

“We’re gonna do some homework until Dad comes home,” Vince says.

“Go ahead and use the dining room table.” She sweeps her arm toward the dining room.

Vince pouts. “Do we have to?” he whines comically.

“Yes. I trust Crystal, but I don’t know if I trust you.” She rubs his hair, the same way I do, then shakes her head. “That just doesn’t have the same feeling anymore,” she complains. “Not since you cut it.”

“Don’t you like his new look?” I ask.

His mom grins. “It matters more what you think. I’ll be in the kitchen making dinner. You’re more than welcome to stay, Crystal, if it’s okay with your mom.”

Vince hands me his phone before I can say anything.

“I’ll mention it to her again tonight,” I promise.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you were thinking it.”

He winks. “You know me well.”

Smiling, I call Mom and ask for permission to stay.

“That’s fine. Just try to be home before dark.”

No set curfew? Wow. That’s unbelievable. And on a school night too. “I will. Thanks, Mom.”

For the next half hour, we study history for our test tomorrow. As soon as Mr. Fuller comes home, dinner is served—amazing chicken piccata. Finally, it’s time to work on the memorial planning.

My papers, laid out in order, cover a good portion of the table. “Mrs. Pullman said she would be willing to donate some baked goods. I already called the fire department. The hall’s available.”

“Sounds good. Do you know how much it is to rent it out?” Mr. Fuller asks.

I consult my notes. “Two hundred to rent for four hours. I did check out a few other places, but some were booked already or were kinda pricey.”

“Money’s no object,” Mr. Fuller says. “I’ll write out the check for the fire hall right now.”

“I talked to the grocery store. They’re willing to knock a percent off the food purchased for the memorial.”

“That’s wonderful!” Mrs. Fuller says. “I wouldn’t have thought to ask.”

“I used to be a bag boy, and sometimes Tommy tagged along,” Vince points out.

“True.” Mrs. Fuller beams. Only her eyes look a little sad, but she seems to be hanging in there. I don’t know how she can be so strong. All of them.

“I’ll need pictures of Tommy to decorate the fire hall. I’ve already purchased some other decorations, just little things.” I used the little money I had to get Mom a birthday gift. Next week, I’ll get my first check, and I’ll use it to buy her something nice.

“How much?” Mr. Fuller hands me the check for the fire hall and poises his pen above his checkbook again.

I wave my hand. “If you don’t want to purchase food from the grocery store, we can use the food from the fire department.”

Vince makes a face. “Alan’s birthday party was there. The food was gross.”

Yeah, the food had been greasy and undercooked. First time I left a party hungry. “There is one other option. If you want it catered, Mrs. Simpson said she would be more than willing to do it, but she needs to know by Wednesday. Catering would be more expensive, though.”

“Yes, but it’s worth the convenience of not having to cook the food and keep it warm.” Mrs. Fuller looks at her husband. He nods.

I hand them Mrs. Simpson’s catering brochure. “I don’t know if she’ll give a discount or not. The service will be next Saturday at eleven. Father Joseph will talk some, and I thought you all might. I also asked some of Tommy’s friends. Heather will sing, and Mr. Jackson will play the piano, like they do every week for Mass. Once it’s done, everyone can go to the hall for food and refreshments.”

“And my slide show,” Vince says.

I gasp. “I thought you wanted to keep that a surprise!”

He shrugs and rubs the back of his next. “I’m not telling anyone else.”

“That’s wonderful, Vince.” His mom beams, any trace of her earlier sadness gone.

“Yeah,” he mumbles.

I shuffle through my papers. “I think that’s everything.”

“Great. Let us know if you need us for anything else.” Mr. Fuller half-smiles, the line around his lips stretching in happy sorrow.

“How can we ever thank you?” Mrs. Fuller hugs me. She smiles at Vicne and I then gestures to her husband, and they leave the room.

I look out the window. “It’s getting dark. I should be going.”

Vince sticks out his lower lip and heaves a sigh. “Already? Fine. Mom, I’m gonna drive Crystal home.”

“Wait a minute. I’ll come with,” his mom calls form another room.

“Lovely,” Vince groans. “Why now?”

“It’s not for much longer.”

“I know.” He leans back in his seat and clasp his hands behind his head. “I’ve been meaning to ask you… Prom is coming up. Wanna go?”

“Dances aren’t your thing.”

“Nope, but I’ll try not to step on your feet… unless you don’t want to go.”

“I love you.” Wait. What did I just say? “I mean, I’d love to.”

Vince colors, but I’m sure I’m a brighter shade of red. “Great. Love to too.” He grins recklessly. “Love you too.”

“I didn’t mean…”

“So you don’t love me?”

“It’s a little early to be talking about love. Right? I… Don’t you think?” I want to sink into the floor and melt away.

He holds out his hands. “You’re the one who said it.”

“I misspoke.”

Sighing, he clasps his hands to his heart. “You wound me. First you confess your love for me, and then you take it away. What evil must fill your heart to be so cruel.”

I swat his hands away. “You should try out for the school with your flair for the dramatics.”

“And here I was going for comedy.” He hangs his head. “I’m losing my touch. What have you done to me, girl?”

I gather my papers and shove them into my backpack. “All I know is that I’m glad you stopped trying to shove a thousand french fries into your mouth.”

“Hey, now. That was Brian and Ned.”

“So you’ve never tried that?” I tap a finger against my cheek. “Why do I find that hard to believe?”

“It was a long time ago,” he protests.

“Like last month?”

“More like two months ago.”

I giggle. “You’re so mature.”

His chest swells with pride. “I am a working man, after all. Been saving up. Don’t know what I’m gonna buy with it though. Maybe a dog. Do you know Gavin has one?”

I force myself not to shudder. “Yes.”

“It’s a karelian bear dog. Know why it’s called that?”

“No. Why?”

“Because they’re trained to hunt bears.”

More like karelian witch dog.

“There aren’t any bears around here,” I point out.

“I know, but wouldn’t it be cool to have one?” He rolls his eyes. “Doubt I’ll get Mom to agree. She’ll want me to save up for college.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.” I really don’t want there to be two karelian bear dogs in town. While I might be able to enforce my will on Vince, I’d never do that. Never ever. Even if it meant dealing with a dog that reminds me of one that wants to rip out my throat.

“I guess, but that’s just so…”

“Mature?”

“Boring. College is two years away.”

His mom comes downstairs. “Sorry for making you two wait.”

“It’s no problem, Mrs. Fuller.”

Vince dangles the keys in his hands. “Let’s hit the road.”

The three of us chat about inconsequential things during the ride. I insist on sitting in the back. If Gavin’s father wants to hit us again, I’m not going to let Mrs. Fuller get hurt again. But what if he thinks I’m still in the back? Well, I’ll just have to keep my guard up and be ready to give him a flat tire if he tries to hit us again. Or maybe stall his engine.

My planning and worrying is pointless. We arrive safely.

Vince parks and unlatches his seat belt. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

“Don’t worry about it. Drive home carefully. I’ll see you tomorrow. Take care, Mrs. Fuller.” I reach forward from the backseat to squeeze his shoulder. As much as I enjoy kissing Vince, I’m uncomfortable locking lips in front of his parents.

I wave as they drive away and climb the front porch steps.

My hand touches the doorknob. The hairs on the back of my neck rise. Goose bumps spread on my arms. Someone is watching me.

One of the witches?

Or a shaman?

Chapter 24

I DON’T FEEL afraid, only curious. Without hesitating, I step away from the door. The feeling of being watched increases as I approach the side alley. My hand tingles, warming almost to the point of discomfort. Okay, so maybe I’m a little wary. I’m ready to call forth fire if I need to.

A tall man rested against the house, a hat covering his face.

“Who are you?” I keep my right hand behind my back and bring up a flame. Is there a way to tell just by looking at a person if he or she is a witch or a shaman? I might have mastered fire—at least somewhat—but there’s so much I still don’t know.

The man straightens. He’s a giant, nearly seven foot. He adjusts his hat, but the brim shadows his face. “No one of import.”

“Why are you here?” I keep my hidden fire burning.

“I only wanted to see you for myself.” He takes a step toward me.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” I warn. I extinguish the flame and bring my hands forward. Until I learn for sure that he knows who I am—what I am—I can’t risk exposing myself, but I’m confident I can bring it back like that.

“Pure magic. I can smell it on you.” He sniffs.

The icy tendril of fear wraps itself around my rapidly beating heart. Only a shaman would sniff like that, like a dog. “Who are you?” I repeat.

He retreats a step and shoves his hands into his pockets. Although he might have a concealed weapon, I doubt it, and my fright vanishes. “It’s a shame, really.”

“What is?”

“You’re being born. It’s against the law of nature for you to even exist. So many will come for you and will try to use you for their gain.”

“Does that include you?” I thrust my chin toward him.

He laughs cynically. “My magic has been stripped. I can do you no harm, not that I would.”

“Who stripped your magic?” I don’t think a shaman could do something like that, and besides, why would one do that to another shaman?

“A witch.” He spits onto the ground.

“Why did you come here?” Not that I know how to give him his magic back, if that’s what he wants. Not that I necessarily would either.

“I want nothing from you. Be careful, Crystal Wynter. They will come for you.”

“Other shamans?” I press, wanting him to confirm my suspicion.

“Yes. Witches too. All those who know magic are called to you. There’s no point in running. You can’t hide.” His voice is oddly devoid of emotion. I can’t figure him out.

“You came to warn me?”

“I haven’t had any contact with magic for twenty-five seasons now. I only wanted to be in your presence. I’ll go now.” He starts to walk away.

“Wait. What’s your name?”

He pauses but doesn’t turn around. “Why? So you can tell your witchy friends?”

“No. So I can pray for you.”

The ex-shaman glances back. “Pray?” At my nod, he says, “My name was once Stormtide.” He plods away, as if he doesn’t want to leave my presence.

I rush back to the porch and open the door. Mom sits on the couch, the television on. “You’re home late.” She holds up her bowl. “I got some ice cream at the store today if you want some.”

“No thanks.”

Mom stares at me. “Did something happen?” The lines around her eyes tighten with concern. “Don’t tell me you and Vince are already done?” she asks in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood.

“Nothing like that.” I bite my lower lip.

“Well then? I’m not a dentist. Don’t make me pull teeth.”

No more secrets. I sit on the love seat, elbows on my knees, chin resting on my fists. “I just had an interesting conversation with an ex-shaman.”

“Who? What? Where? When?”

I give her a small smile. “You should’ve been a reporter.”

“Crystal.” She glowers and sets her bowl on the coffee table.

“Eat your ice cream before it turns into soup.” I’m deflecting, and we both know it. “Nothing happened. He just wanted to see me. A witch stripped his magic. He couldn’t have hurt me if he tried.”

“Magic or no, he could have kidnapped you. People can be dangerous without magic.” Her voice is tight, high-pitched.

At seven foot, he would have had no problem snatching me if he had wanted to. Maybe I had been a little reckless. “Relax, Mom. Everything’s so confusing.”

“What’s there to be confused about?” She furrows her brows.

“We know why the shamans want me, but I don’t trust the witches. I know Silver Tiger’s your friend, but there’s something about her I don’t like. While I think I can rely on Sapphire Belladonna, what about the other witches? I can’t help feeling they want to use me too.”

Mom’s lips twist into the biggest frown I’ve ever seen. “Always trust your instincts.”

I hardly hear her. “And then there’s the witch hunter…”

“What witch hunter?” she all but shrieks.

Oh, yeah. I never mentioned that to her. Whoops. “Finish your ice cream first.”

“Stop trying to distract me!” Mom stares at the bowl as if it contains dead spiders instead of chocolate and peanut butter ice cream. She eats the rest of the bowl in two large spoonfuls then slams the bowl onto the coffee table. “There. Now you can’t stall anymore.”

Here we go. Time to rip off the band aid. “A new student at school, his dad is a witch hunter. His dog, Calder, also hunts witches.”

It scares me to see her so frightened. “This witch hunter… have you met him?”

“Only in my dreams.” I snort and roll.

“The mugger.” Mom shakes her head. “Wannabe witch,” she mutters. “He knows I’m not a threat. Crystal, I’m your mom. I should be able to protect you from all of this. Maybe he’s right. Maybe we should move away.” She covers her face with her hands.

Any “advice” Gavin’s father gives I’m gonna ignore. “There’s no point. Wherever we would go, they’ll follow. There’s no escape.”

She lowers her hands to her lap. “Maybe you working isn’t such a good idea, and you should come home right after school.”

“Mom, we’ve been over this. I’m working, and there’s nothing you can say that will stop me. And… ah… Vince mentioned there’s an opening at the daycare center where he works, and it doesn’t conflict with the bakery, so… Regardless of all this…” I wave my hands to encompass everything. “I want to live as normal of a life as I can. That’s probably impossible, but I just want to plan the memorial service and figure out what I’m going to wear to prom.”

“A second… Crystal, even under ideal circumstances, do you really think—”

“My life isn’t normal, Mom, I know that, but that doesn’t mean I should just run away and hide and not live at all.” She has to understand.

After a long moment, she sighs. “You won’t give up on this, will you?”

“No. And you wanted me with Vince for so long, do you really want me to break up with him?”

Her jaw muscle jumps. “You should be a lawyer,” she mutters. Tears swim in her eyes. “What do we do now?”

“I practice. You practice. Once you get over your mental block, you should be able to use magic.”

“A mental block? Who told you that?”

“Silver Tiger.”

Mom glares at the window above my head. “She could have told me that years ago.”

“Now do you see why I don’t like her?” I huff.

“Did she tell you how to overcome it?”

“Nope.” I kinda wanna smirk, but Mom’s eagerness changes it into a smile instead.

She mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ignorant cow.

I giggle. “You know, Mom…”

“Uh oh, I know that tone. What do you want now? Two jobs aren’t enough, and you want to start working somewhere else? Or organize a retreat or—”

“Hilarious, Mom. If you’re so worried about me working, then that’s all the more reason for me to have a cell. I can even use my birthday money to buy the phone.”

Her hair flies about as she shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I just don’t see the need for teenagers to have cell phones. I’ve told you for years now that you can have one once you go to college. Now go upstairs and clean your room. It’s a mess.”

At least she is allowing me to have the two jobs. I’m pushing the limit as it is. “What about your mental—”

“That’s something I’m going to have to get over myself.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Silver Tiger said it’s because you’re a scaredy-cat.”

“Go clean your room, Crystal!”

I rush up the stairs. My room’s not that messy. I know where everything is and… what’s that? Sitting on my desk is a new cell phone. With a squeal, I grab it, barrel down the stairs, and bear hug Mom. “You’re the best!”

She squeezes me, pats my back, laughing all the while. “It’s only a pay as you go phone. You don’t need that texting garbage.”

I squeal again.

“You’re welcome. Now go clean your room.”

* * *

THAT NIGHT, I stay up as long as possible. I don’t want to have any more premonitions. My body fights me and wins, but I only sleep about three hours before my alarm sounds. No dreams. No premonitions. I’ll take it.

I breeze through my history test. It feels good to be back in the swing of things academically.

I’m still in a good mood when I walk into lunch. Gavin’s in a corner, hunched up, as if he doesn’t want to be seen. With him being so tall, that’s not an easy feat.

I approach him. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

He doesn’t acknowledge me.

Can’t blame him. I sit next to him and place my hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry for acting the way I did yesterday.”

“I can’t help what my dad does.”

“I realize that. I’m sorry I took my anger out on you. That isn’t something friends do.”

“Friends.” He snorts and finally looks over at me. “I don’t have any friends. It’s not worth it. Dad’ll kill the witches here sooner or later, and we’ll move on to the next town. It’s the same old story.”

I remove my hand as if I’ve been burned. Although he isn’t looking at me as if I’m beautiful, this scene is too similar to the one in the cauldron for me to be comfortable. “Why hasn’t he already killed them? He went after them the other night.”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t lying when I said I’m not involved in his work. It’s a messed up world we live in, with or without witches. I want no part in it.”

I can so understand where he’s coming from. “What does your mom think?”

“She doesn’t know. Completely in the dark. I think it’s wrong, but…” He hangs his head. “I swear I didn’t know he caused the accident. I swear.”

The pleading in his voice increases my guilt. How could I have been so cruel to him?

“I believe you.”

His face doesn’t change from its serious, depressed expression. He breaks a cookie in half. “Want some? My mom makes great cookies.”

I accept it and take a bite. “It is good,” I agree, some crumbs flying out of my mouth.

He nods toward my table. “Vince keeps looking over. You should go to him.”

“In a minute. Do you think your dad might know anything about shamans?”

Gavin shrugs. “He’s never mentioned them to me.”

“Could you find out for me?”

“You want me to play the other side? Crystal, I don’t think that’s smart.”

Despite my being a, well, a witch to him, he still cares enough about me that he doesn’t want me to get hurt. I would smile, but he has a point. “You’re right.” I sigh. “Does your dad have a directory or something like that on witches?”

He makes a weird noise, almost like a laugh and a snort rolled into one. “Something like that.”

“Maybe you can see if there’s a mention of a Stormtide.”

“I take it this Stormtide is a shaman.”

“Ex-shaman,” I clarify. “A witch took away his magic.”

“I’ll look.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate it.” I stand. I’m hungry, and I wanna go to talk Vince.

“Crystal, wait.” He grabs my arm. “You asked for a favor. Now I have my turn to say something.”

I owe him that. “Go on.”

“End it with Vince.”

“What? Why?” Of all the things he could ask for…

“You know you should. It’s not fair to keep putting him in danger. He doesn’t know anything about all of this. No good can come of this.”

I close my eyes and concentrate on my breathing, counting to ten before opening them. “Vince and I are none of your business.”

“Hey, it’s not like I want you two to stop dating so I can date you.”

Good, because I don’t want to date you. I keep the thought to myself. “You did seem to hit it off with Lydia the other day.”

“Lydia’s not my type.”

“Why not? What’s your type?”

He shakes his head. “You don’t want to know.”

Is that a challenge? “Tell me.”

“I like fragile girls, short ones, ones I can protect.”

I’m short, but I’m not fragile, and I certainly don’t need him for protection.

“That’s a strange type,” I say after a moment.

“Well, if you want the more superficial one, I don’t usually go for blondes.”

“Lydia isn’t blonde.” I walk away and try not to think that I’m not blonde either.

Chapter 25

LATER THAT DAY, Vince and I drive over to the daycare center. “Be on the lookout,” he says. “They can smell fresh meat. They’ll test your patience today to see what you’ll let them get away with. Be strong, be firm.”

“I’m good. It’s not as if I’ve never babysat before.”

“Have you ever watched this many kids at the same time before?”

“I did fine on Monday.”

“Yes, but that wasn’t for the entire two hours.”

True. The interview and paperwork took up a considerable amount of time so I only ended up working for about a half hour.

“I’ll be fine.”

He parks. As soon as Vince opens the door, a rush of kids runs over.

“Vince, Vince, want to play with me?”

“Crystal, read me this story.”

“No, read me this story!”

Vince grins and mouths, “Good luck.”

I swat his shoulder and bend down to address the two girls holding up books. “How about I read one story and then I’ll read the other?”

The girls look at each other and back to me. “But which story first?” the blonde girl asks.

“I’ll tell you what. Whoever has to wait until second gets to pick two books.”

“I only want you to read this one.” The blonde girl hugs the book to her chest.

“Wait. I go get another one.” The brunette runs away and comes back holding a very thick book of nursery rhymes. It’s so thick her tiny arms can hardly hold it.

I smile wanly. Maybe Vince was right after all.

I read until I’m hoarse, tie shoes, hand out snacks and help paint—although a lot of the paint ends up on the kids and me rather than the paper. Weary, I steal a minute to sit on a chair. My back is killing me, but I’m having a blast.

Val walks over, carrying a tiny baby. “How are you holding up?”

“Tired but good.”

“Mrs. Davis mentioned you never held a baby before. Do you want to?” Her smile makes it impossible for me to refuse.

“Okay. How do I…” I hold out my arms.

“Put your arms like this. Good.” Val hands me the baby. “Keep your elbow up and support her head. There. There’s nothing to it.”

I stare at the small, precious baby in my arms. Such chubby pink cheeks and bright blue eyes. “Hello,” I breathe.

“Talking soothes them. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes. Tiffany needs her diaper changed.”

I’m too mesmerized to nod. “You’re so cute. Yes, you are.”

The baby coos. She grabs some of my hair and yanks.

“Ouch. You’ve got a good grip, girl.” I maneuver my neck so as not to jerk the baby but still free my hair, or at least attempt to. Her hold is really tight.

Vince walks over. He holds out a finger for the baby to grab on to. “I see you’ve met Becca.”

“Hi, Becca.”

Becca smiles, her toothless grin adorable.

“She likes you,” Vince says.

Becca turns to stare at him.

“And you too,” I say.

He leans closer to Becca, and closer to me too.

My heart pounds. I always enjoyed babysitting, but I never thought about having a baby. In this moment, I know I want to be a mom, would do anything to be one.

Only I can’t.

I’m not human.

I’m magic.

Tears burn my eyes, and I blink them away.

“Something wrong?” Vince asks.

“She got ahold of my hair and pulled hard.” The lie quickly rolls off my tongue.

“Becca’s grip is stronger than any of the other babies. She’ll rip your hair out if you aren’t careful.”

More like rip my heart out.

Once our shift is over, I climb into the car and buckle my seat belt. “Do you want kids, Vince?”

He puts the key in the ignition but doesn’t start the car. “Someday, yeah. Not until after I’m married and that won’t be until after college.”

“What do you want to major in?”

“Not sure. Still have plenty of time to figure all of that out.” He looks at me. “Where’s all this coming from?”

“My mom—my real mom—it was really hard for her to get pregnant.” I wring my hands. I don’t want to lie, but how can I tell him the truth? “She was supposed to be infertile.”

“You were a miracle. Just because your mom was infertile doesn’t mean you will be. And besides, if anyone has God on her side, it’s you. God will give you anything you want.”

When Mom called me that, my heart warmed. Hearing Vince say it warms my soul.

He starts the car and drives away.

But my happiness drains away with each passing house. I stare out the window. My closeness with God is slipping away. Will Vince also one day slip away?

No. I will never let that happen. Vince means too much to me.

* * *

THAT NIGHT, I wait until Mom’s snoring to sneak out of the house. I run along the familiar route to the cottage.

The door’s closed, and for the first time, I have to open it. It’s surprisingly heavy.

Five witches fill the room—four female, one male. Five pairs of eyes turn and focus on me.

Maybe coming was a bad idea. Too late now.

I swallow hard. “I need to speak with Sapphire Belladonna and Silver Tiger.”

The three unfamiliar witches snap their fingers and disappear.

“Why are you here?” Silver Tiger growls. She plops onto the sofa.

“Grouchy as always. It’s nice to see you too.”

“Is something wrong, Crystal?”

I ignore Sapphire Belladonna and stomp over to Silver Tiger. “I told you about the car crash.”

“Yes.”

“Want to know who did it?”

She’s staring at her nails, and I fight the urge to slap her. I’m not a violent person, but something about her makes me want to lash out. After a moment, she glances up at me. “It wasn’t a shaman, I know that much.”

“You’re right. It wasn’t. It was the witch hunter.”

Silver Tiger whistles. “He was a busy man that night. Busy failing. Didn’t kill any witches, didn’t hurt you.”

“He landed Mrs. Fuller in the hospital!”

“Who is fine now, thanks to you.” Sapphire Belladonna touches my shoulder.

Or God, I think stubbornly.

“Why aren’t you doing anything about him?” I demand.

“He’s a pawn. We have more important matters to attend to,” Silver Tiger says lazily. “Unless you want us to kill him?”

Witch hunter or not, he’s still Gavin’s dad. “I guess not.”

“Something else is bothering you.” Sapphire Belladonna gestures for me to sit, but I shake my head.

“You said I’m not human.” Coldness sweeps over my body with each word.

“To be human, you have to be formed from an egg and a sperm. That was not the case in your birth.”

“Then why do I look like one? Age like one?”

“You can look any way you want. You aren’t limited to this form,” Sapphire Belladonna says.

“Oh, make your hair purple. That would be fun.” Silver Tiger claps her hands.

I furrow my brow. “I don’t understand. If I can change my appearance, why does my hair never seem to grow? I never have split ends, but even if I don’t get haircuts, it never grows past my shoulders.”

“That would be my fault, dear.” Sapphire Belladonna lowers herself beside Silver Tiger. “I thought it would be comforting to you to have a resemblance to your birth mother, even if you didn’t know about her. This isn’t your true form.”

“My true form?”

“She isn’t ready,” Sapphire Belladonna murmurs to Silver Tiger.

Silver Tiger silver’s eyes bore into mine. “I say you’ve been holding her back for too long as it is. Why not? What harm could come of it?”

The older witch sighs. “I don’t know…”

“Please?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “You would have to do that yourself.”

I close my eyes and reach into my heart, where I now always feel the pulse of my magic within each beat of my heart. Not sure what I’m supposed to do, I bring the energy to my hands but instead of bringing forth fire, I contain it. Gradually, I allow the magic to wash over my entire body, to strip away this shell, to show my true form.

Even before I open my eyes, I can see myself. I glow, brilliant light radiating from my limbs, my body barely visible beyond the brightness.

My eyes see more perfectly than an eagle’s and allow me to perceive the hard, long years Sapphire Belladonna tries to hide with her magic. The witch has to be centuries old.

I can hear small nocturnal animals running around outside, scavenging for food. An owl hoots. Car breaks screech in the distance.

There’s a full-length mirror tucked in a corner of the cottage. It levitates and settles before me. My body is truly a sight to see. Different streams of color blend in with the light, and I shine with magic.

I truly am magic.

Blinking, I revert back to my human form. The magic slips back inside, where it belongs, but it doesn’t feel some much a part of me. The magic and me… we’re one.

The rush of power I felt—the complete sense of self—whole and complete… I only felt that way a few times before, always during prayers, long before I knew about being adopted.

I am magic. I’m not human.

The thought both thrills and terrifies me. What exactly am I? What can I do? What can I become?

I stand tall even though I’m short. I know one thing for certain that I’ll be. “I will one day be a mom,” I vow.

The witches glance at each other.

I walk over to the door. “By the way, does the name Stormtide mean anything to either of you?”

Silver Tiger winces. Why am I not shocked?

Sapphire Belladonna looks from Silver Tiger to me. “No. Why?”

“He’s just an ex-shaman, that’s all,” I explain.

“An ex-shaman was able to seek you out? That is not good.” Sapphire Belladonna holds unnaturally still. “Silver Tiger, we don’t have much time.”

“Time for what?” The high I felt from being me, accepting me, is starting to dim.

“To figure out a way to save your life.”

“But—”

“Trust us for once. Not all of the witches are as glad to see you as we are, but even they agree that your death could cause bad things for those who survive.”

What does that mean? “Could you be more cryptic?” I complain.

Silver Tiger gives a half smile. “Probably not.”

Chapter 26

MY LIFE SLOWLY falls into a routine. I enjoy both jobs and work hard on my school work. When I’m not busy, I’m either spending time with Vince or practicing. Each night, I dream, although most of the time, I wake up unable to remember them, or if I do remember, I’m unable to determine if they’re a premonition.

I don’t seek out Gavin, but I don’t ignore him either. Each time I see him in the cafeteria, I wish he’d pull me aside with information about Stormtide or witches, but he never approaches. Sometimes he sits with my friends; other times he sits by himself. He never looks completely comfortable either way.

A week later, Vince notices me staring at Gavin a few tables away. “He’s a loner.” He shrugs. “We all try to be nice to him.”

“A hot loner,” Brianna cuts in, “but not sociable enough for my liking.”

“Is anyone to your liking?” I tease. We’ve been talking and hanging out more even despite my being with Vince and her still not knowing my magical self. Makes me feel like life is almost ordinary again.

She tosses her hair back and dramatically raises one shoulder. “Maybe I’ve outgrown the boys here. I’m mature enough for a college freshman, don’t ya think?”

“Um… nope,” I deadpan.

She sighs dramatically. “Remind me not to ask you to boost my ego.”

I grin. “Done.”

Bri looks slyly at Vince. “Just because you found your—”

“I take it back! You could definitely land a college freshman.”

“Or sophomore.” She giggles, and I just shake my head. I love how she’s always so optimist.

Bri starts to talk to Heather, so I focus on my guy. “Vince, why don’t you go sit with him?”

He makes a face. “Sick of me already? You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

I bat my eyes. “Please?”

His laugh washes over me. More than anyone, he’s keeping me sane. “You look like you’re crazy when you do that.”

“Maybe I am crazy. After all, I’m going out with you.” Just for fun, I bat my eyes again.

“Touché.” He winks and heads over to Gavin.

Gavin looks up at him then over to me. I wave. He shakes his head, frowning.

Too bad. You don’t get to decide how I live my life or who I date. Besides, despite the witches’ worrying, nothing has happened. Gavin’s father hasn’t killed anyone, and no more shamans, ex- or practicing, have shown up.

Life almost feels perfect.

* * *

THE NEXT DAY is Thursday—Vince’s big day, when he can take his driver’s license test.

“Are you nervous?” I ask. We’re waiting for his mom to pick us up from school. It’s beautiful outside, warm, green, and colorful. Flowers are starting to bloom.

“A little. Driving’s not all fun and games. It can be dangerous.” He kicks a rock.

No one knows that better than we do.

“What about you?” he asks. “Gonna study and get your permit soon?”

I shrug. “I don’t see the point. It’s not as if I would have access to a car even if I did have my license. Might as well wait.”

“Guess it doesn’t hurt that in an hour, you’ll have a handsome chauffeur at your service.”

Giggling, I bump my shoulder into his. “Don’t forget modest.”

“And witty. Don’t forget witty.” He bumps back.

“True, but you have to admit, I’m the smart one.”

“Just because you skipped kindergarten doesn’t make you smarter than me. Who helped you get that B plus on your last math test?”

His mom pulling up spares me from answering his question. “Hi, Mrs. Fuller.”

“Hello, Vince, Crystal. You sure that having Crystal around won’t make you nervous?”

He slides into the backseat next to me. “Nah. If anything, she makes me relax.”

“Good. I don’t want to hear you whining every day that you failed because of her and that you want to go back every day.” She grins at him through the rearview mirror.

“Don’t you have to wait a certain amount before they let you retest?” I ask.

“Why are you all so certain I’ll fail?” He shakes his head. I’m still not used to him not having bangs fall onto his forehead when he does that, but his hair is starting to grow in some. “You people have no faith.”

I force myself to giggle. His words hit too close to an uncomfortable truth. Although I go to church on Sunday, I’m unable to focus, always thinking about new ways to experiment. Mom won’t talk to me about her magic and I don’t know if she’s making any headway past her block.

Maybe I should talk to Father Joseph again. Ever since our last talk, I find it hard to look at him. In fact, I duck out of Mass as soon as it’s over to avoid him.

Mrs. Fuller and I wait in the ridiculously crowded driver license center while Vince stays in the car where the tester will find him. I flip through a free permit book.

“I’m nervous about Saturday,” Mrs. Fuller says.

I close the book. “Everything’s all set. My friends are going to decorate the fire hall on Friday night after bingo.”

“It has nothing to do with that. You’ve done a wonderful job planning and organizing this. Heck, you could turn this into a career and be an event planner.” Mrs. Fuller absentmindedly pats my arm. “I’m nervous I won’t be able to keep myself together. I was a wreck when he died. I bawled throughout the funeral service. I couldn’t tell you what songs were sung, what Father Joseph said, who showed up…”

“Mrs. Fuller, no one expects you not to cry.”

“When does it get easier? The pain? The sense of loss?” She looks away, tightly gripping her purse strap.

“Time helps, but I don’t think it ever goes away completely.”

She rummages around in her purse, removes a tissue, and dabs her eyes. “Tommy was only twelve. He had his whole life ahead of him!”

“Tommy lived for twelve years. He was cared for and loved for twelve years. Some people aren’t that lucky.”

The dampness in her eyes blinks away. “You always know the right thing to say, Crystal. I’m glad you’re dating my son.”

I blush. “Thanks. I’m glad too.”

A tall, burly man bursts through the doors and walks to the front of the line. Vince trails behind him and pauses to give us the thumbs up sign before answering a few questions.

Mrs. Fuller’s smile flips downward. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Now he’ll want a car.”

“He does have a job, and he told me he’s saving his money.”

“It’ll take him awhile to save up for one, and in the meantime, all I’ll hear is, ‘Mom, can I borrow the car?’ And I’ll probably never see him.”

I watch as Vince sits down in a chair and smiles. A few minutes later, he walks over as he shoves the license into his wallet.

“No, hand it here.” His mom holds out her hand.

“But—”

“No but’s or else I’ll drive home.”

Vince hangs his head but takes it out and tosses it to her.

Mrs. Fuller looks at it then hands it to me.

“Five foot ten, huh? I wondered how tall you were. You aren’t the most photogenic, are you?” I tease, giving it back to him.

“Everyone has a bad license photo. A rite of passage or something.”

Mrs. Fuller removes her license from her wallet. “I don’t know. I don’t think mine is that bad.”

I look over her shoulder. “That is a nice picture.”

Vince dangles the keys in front of us. “If you two don’t start being nice to me, you can walk home.”

I stick out my lower lip. “I was only trying to be witty, like you.”

He snorts and throws up his hands in the air. “Why can’t I stay mad at you?”

I grin and bat my eyes. “Because I’m perfect.”

“You are. It’s scary.”

* * *

THAT NIGHT, I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. I don’t know what possessed me to say I’m perfect. I’m far from perfect. My grades aren’t, although they’ve greatly improved this past week.

I’m far from a perfect girlfriend. Vince has no idea about the full details of the circumstances of my birth or that I’m magic and not human.

I’m far from perfect with my relationship with God. I hardly pray anymore, and although it bothers me, I do nothing to change it.

I’m also far from perfect with my relationship with my mom. We hardly see each other. Mom’s working longer hours and her free time is spent locked in her room, but I could press the issue more.

My room feels suffocating… or is that my misery?

I open my bedroom window and inhale a deep breath of the cool, refreshing air. Thousands of stars litter the nighttime sky, and the moon shines like a lighthouse’s beacon.

One magical aspect I haven’t attempted is flying. Wouldn’t it be amazing to soar through the air?

I climb out my window onto the ledge and close my eyes, taking a deep breath. If I focus on how I feel while in my true form, it’s much easier to do whatever I want.

Magic gathers around me, and I smile until I look down at the ground. The second story seems very high.

Please, dear Lord, keep me safe.

I grin. I haven’t prayed impromptu in a long while.

After a moment, I will myself to fly and jump. I fall several feet before I can focus enough to hover. The pull of gravity weighs me down, but I fight it and zoom into the sky. Rebelled too much, it seems.

I adjust my height so I’m well above the buildings and fly around town, whooshing past my high school, Vince’s house, and the church.

Near the site of the accident, I notice someone walking, the first person I’ve seen. Before I can fly away, a large rock whizzes past my right ear.

Startled, I fall. I manage to avoid crashing onto the road and fly backward and over to the other side of the street. A tall tree is the perfect hiding spot, and I crouch on a branch and peer around leaves and flowers. Flooding my eyes with magic, I transform them into eagle mode. It takes me a moment to adjust to the darkness. Before I can focus on my assailant’s face, something grabs my leg and yanks me out of the tree. “Woah!” I land on my butt, the pavement hard and unforgiving beneath me.

A snarl sounds.

I crab crawl back a few steps. “Easy, Calder,” I say as soothingly as I can.

He snarls again, and my blood turns to ice. If Calder’s here, Gavin’s father can’t be far away. Had he been the one to attack me?

Calder leaps on top of me. His saliva drips onto my shirt, his teeth dangerously close to my throat, and I struggle to shove him away.

“Calder, down! Heel, boy!”

Gavin. I could have cried with relief, but Calder’s still on top of me, and I can scarcely breathe.

“Come on, Calder.” He tugs on the dog’s collar until the beast frees me.

I gasp and grab my chest, choking down air.

“What are you doing here?” a raspy voice calls out from the darkness. A figure steps forward from the shadows.

I glower at Gavin’s father and jump to my feet.

Gavin puts a hand on my shoulder and almost imperceptibly shakes his head. “Just going for a stroll, that’s all.”

“Why did Calder go berserk like that?” His dad creeps closer, his gait slow and deliberate. His focus shifts toward me. “Who’s this?”

Gavin stares at me, panic in his eyes.

His father scares him. This frightens me all the more.

“My…” The look in Gavin’s eyes is pleading. “My girlfriend.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders.

My first instinct is to shove him away, but his dad’s so close to us now I can smell his breath. Heavy on garlic and onions.

“We were going out for a walk. It’s a beautiful night out.” Gavin gestures toward the sky.

“Humph,” his dad says. “My son has no manners. I’m Mr. Venator.” He holds out his hand.

I feel rather than see Gavin imperceptivity shake his head again. Great, I can’t touch him. Not that I want to.

I fiddle with the cross on my necklace. “Venator. That sounds like an old name.”

Gavin’s dad laughs. It sounds deep and booming but not sinister. “Older than you’ve been around, that’s for sure. What’s your name?”

“Lydia Hall,” Gavin supplies before I can.

I stare at him. I planned on lying, but not with one of my friend’s names!

“I hope Calder didn’t scare you, Lydia.” Mr. Venator is staring at me peculiarly.

“I met him a few days ago. Maybe that’s why he came over. Calder doesn’t scare me.” Unintentionally, the words come out as a challenge.

Mr. Venator snorts. “He can hunt bear, moose, boar… the larger the game, the better.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m not a bear or a moose or a boar.”

He frowns before laughing again. “Take her home, Gavin. It’s one thing to go out for a walk during the day, but at night, who knows what could crash your party.”

Gavin steers me around, and we walk down the block and hang a left. As soon as we’re out of his father’s sight and hearing range, I shove Gavin away. “Don’t ever touch me again.”

“That’s a fine thank you for saving your hide!”

“I didn’t need to be saved!”

“Oh yeah?” He lowers his voice. “That’s twice now Calder’s reacted to you. He hates witches, was bred to, but with you, he reacts differently. More violently. He wants to tear you from limb to limb.”

I shudder.

“Why, Crystal?”

I’m so not doing this. No way can I explain everything to him before I do Vince.

I run away.

He catches up to me easily. “I think I deserve an answer.”

I don’t slow down even though I’m already breathing hard. Maybe I should give myself the endurance of an athlete with a little magical juice, but there’s no way Gavin wouldn’t realize that something strange is up.

“No, you don’t deserve an answer.” I suck down air before adding, “Thank you for what you did back there.”

He opens his mouth and hesitates then sighs. “Fine. Be that way. One day I’ll learn your secret. I can help you, Crystal.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t need help.”

“Everyone does.”

My pace slows until I’m simply walking. “Lydia, huh?”

“First name that came to mind.”

“She on your mind a lot lately?” My desperate attempt to change the subject.

“No. Vince is my only friend here, if I have a friend.” When I don’t correct him, he adds, “Yeah, didn’t think you still thought of yourself as my friend. Can’t understand why, though. I’ve been nothing but nice to you—”

I bark a laugh.

“You think I haven’t been nice?”

I stop so suddenly he continues a few steps before realizing and turning around to face me.

“You come here, professing you never bother to make friends but make it quite clear you wouldn’t mind being friends with me. I try to get my friends to include you, but you don’t care about them. I start dating Vince, and you give me unsolicited advice—to break it off with him. And that’s not even mentioning your witch hunter of a father or witch hunting dog.”

“You think…” His jaw drops. “I don’t like you.”

Without meaning to, I smile a little. I said the exact same thing to Silver Tiger what felt like ages ago.

I clear my throat and hope he didn’t see my smile. Things are too complicated as it is. “You don’t have to walk me home.” I stomp away.

“Because you’ll fly the rest of the way?”

I pause mid-stride. “It was you,” I say slowly. “You missed hitting me with—”

“Purposely missed. I’m a decent slingshot.” He tugs the small weapon free from his jean pocket.

“Your father didn’t see anyone flying, did he?”

“I wanted to make sure he didn’t.”

Despite my best efforts, he’s getting too close to the truth for comfort. “Thanks for that. Good night.”

I race the rest of the way home with a little magical speed.

Chapter 27

ON FRIDAY, SCHOOL and the daycare are a blur to me. I eat dinner with Mom, an increasingly rare occurrence as I spend about half of my time at the Fuller’s between last minute planning for the memorial and spending time with Vince or Bri or my second best friend Lydia.

Guilt plagues me. Dear Lord, should I tell Mom about being able to fly? Or will it only make her mental block worse?

Mom and I, when we do talk, never speak about magic anymore.

I grab a romantic comedy from our pathetic DVD collection and find Mom in her room. “Lt’s watch a movie. It’s been forever.”

Gentle snoring answers me.

With a smile, I close the door and tiptoe away. Mom needs her sleep more than she needs to watch a movie about misunderstandings with corny jokes.

Wonder how things are going with Officer Wallace. Did they ever get coffee and dessert?

I walk into the kitchen. The stove clock reads almost seven. Another three and a half hours yet before I can head over to the fire department to decorate for the memorial service.

The phone rings, and I run to pick it up before it wakes Mom. “Hello?”

“Whatcha up to?” Bri asks.

“Not much. You sound upset. What’s wrong?” I sit on a kitchen stool even though it stretches out the cord more than Mom likes.

“I think I really screwed things up between Paula and Sean.”

Oh no. “What did you do now?”

“Why must you assume it was me?” she whines.

“Because you said you screwed things up.”

Her laughs lacks her normal jovialness. “You know how I’m friendly with everyone? Well, I think Sean is reading more into it than I intend. I do still like him, but even I think it’s a turn off that he’s doesn’t seem to notice Paula. She’s trying so hard to get him to notice her.”

I rub my forehead. So much for my little chat with him. “What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know.” She sighs. “I don’t want to stop being friends with him over this. You’re the one who always says the majority of high school relationships don’t work out for the long haul. Even if Paula and Sean do get together, there’s no guarantee they’ll last.”

“True.” The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Will Vince and I buck the odds? “Have you tried talking to Sean?”

“That’s the thing. Yes. I saw him at the mall last night, and I asked him if he wanted to get some pizza with me. I told him I only wanted to be friends, but I don’t think he got the point, and then Paula walked by.”

“If Sean likes you and you like him, Paula will get over it.” Eventually. I feel for Paula, I really do, but one thing I won’t do is manipulate Sean into feeling something for her that isn’t true. That wouldn’t be fair to either of them.

“Here’s the thing, I think Paula would be better for him. She can tame him, and he opens her up more. They’re better suited for each other. If Sean and I dated, one of us could end up killed, daring each other to do stupid, reckless stuff.” Bri sounds thoughtful and more mature than ever.

“If he doesn’t like her—”

“I think he likes both of us, and that’s why he doesn’t know what to do.”

I drum my fingernails on the counter. “Are they both helping tonight?”

“I know for sure he is.”

“I’ll talk to Paula and explain things to her,” I offer.

“Thanks, Crystal. She won’t answer my calls.”

As soon as I hang up, the phone rings. Vince.

“You can’t wait a couple of hours to talk to me?” I tease.

“Guess not. I’m a glutton for punishment.”

I giggle. “I’m punishment?”

“Yeah.”

Something isn’t right. His heart doesn’t seem to be in his banter. Of course that’s the case. Tomorrow’s the memorial service.

“I need a distraction,” he says, as if reading my thoughts.

“Come over.” My heart pounds in my chest, and I make up my mind about something I’ve been debating for a while now. “We can look at that letter.”

He whistles. “You sure you’re ready? You can’t unread it once it’s read.”

“How profound!” I tease. “I’m sure.”

We hang up, and I dial Paula.

“Hi, Crystal, I know you what you’re going to say—”

“Really? Because I’m not sure myself. All I know is that—”

“It’s silly to lose friendship over a guy. Brianna, Sean, and I have been friends for years now. A silly crush shouldn’t ruin that. Either one day he’ll realize he likes me or he won’t. I’m not going to sit around and wait for him. I’m done crying. I asked Ned to go to prom with me as a friend.”

“Good for you! What if Sean wakes up between now and then?”

“I’m sure Ned will let him have a few dances.”

I grin. Paula never sounded more sure of herself than she does right now. “That’s great.”

“It was such a relief when I decided all this. Like a huge weight was lifted from my shoulders. I’m not sure if I like Sean, or if I like who I am around him, but who says I can’t still be that girl even if Sean and I aren’t together? That’s why I asked Ned.”

“Just pray they don’t serve french fries.”

She giggles. “I already told him there will be no green bean stuffing in the mouth.”

“Oh, man. Can you just imagine it? The guys in suits, looking all fancy, and shoving food into their mouths?”

“I can. That’s why I told him not to already!”

We burst out laughing.

The doorbell rings.

“I have to get going. Are you still planning on helping decorate tonight?” I ask.

“Of course. See ya then.”

After I hang up, I run to the door and open it, a huge smile on my face. “Let me get the letter.” I put my finger to my lips. “Mom’s sleeping, so we’ll read it on the porch.”

Vince nods, and I turn to go when he touches my arm. “That’s not how you greet your boyfriend.”

I wiggle free from his grasp, throw him a wink, and hurry up the stairs, careful to avoid the creaky second step. I grab the letter and my parent’s picture from my nightstand.

We sit on the top porch step. He wraps his arm around me, and I lay my head on his shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready,” he says.

“In a minute.” Regardless of what the letter contains, I’m glad I’m sharing this with Vince. I’ll let the letter’s contents decide for me whether or not to tell him about the circumstances of my birth. If my father mentioned the witches, it’ll be a sign I should tell him.

My hands shaking a little, I unfold the letter. It takes a moment for the swimming lines and squiggles to form into letters and words. I’ve only read the heading—Dear Daughter—when I realize Vince is looking across the street.

“You can read over my shoulder.”

He kisses the top of my head. “You read it first. Then I’ll read it.”

How sweet. I smile and give him a quick kiss. After readjusting so we can cuddle again, I read:

Dear Daughter,

We haven’t decided on a name yet. I want Crystal, but your mom likes Marie. I think Marie’s too common of a name for our miracle girl, because that’s what you are—a miracle.

I’ve been sick for a while now. I had cancer. My doctor said he cured it, but something else is wrong with me. I’ve been having troubling nightmares, and I have this awful feeling that I won’t be around to see you grow up. It kills me a little inside. It’s also why I’m writing you this letter. Hopefully Dr. Jenkins will never have to give it to you, that I’m just being paranoid… I would leave it in your mom’s care, but she’s convinced I’ll be fine. I’m not so sure.

On the nights I don’t have nightmares, I dream about you. You’re going to be a beauty. You look so like your mother in my dreams. Even if I’m not alive when you’re born, I’ll still be there. I’ll always be watching over you, caring about you, loving you. You and your mom give my life meaning. Without the two of you, I would be nothing.

Here I am, getting all sentimental. Maybe I should just start over. Just know that whatever you set your mind to can and will happen. You have the power to change the world, my baby girl, so use that power wisely.

Love, Dad

P.S. It felt great to write that. Dad.

P.P.S. I love you.

I reread the letter several times. Only the last two lines suggest he might have known something, but even that isn’t concrete.

A sense of peace that I haven’t felt in a long while settles over me. I pass the letter to Vince and wipe my face dry from the few tears that had fallen.

After a moment, Vince hands it back. “He loved you very much.”

“I wish I could have known him.” I trace the outline of his face on the picture.

“He was right about two things. You are beautiful, and you do look like your mom.” He juts his chin toward the picture.

“Vince…”

“Yeah?”

Screw waiting for a sign. “I wasn’t a miracle baby. My birth mom—”

The door opens, and I turn around to see Mom pop her head out. “There you are. I had no idea where you were.” She yawns.

“Still tired?” I shake my head. Why couldn’t she have slept for five more minutes?

“You need to leave notes for me when you leave.”

I hold out my hands to show the porch. “I never left.”

“Still. Hello, Vince.”

“Hi, Mrs. Miller. We didn’t want to wake you.”

“Come on in, you two.”

I tuck the picture and the letter in my pocket, and we follow her inside.

Mom closes the door behind us. “Have you decided what color dress you want to get?”

My heart is still racing from the foiled attempt to come clean with Vince, so I’m slow to figure out what she’s referring to. “Dress?”

“For prom.”

Vince groans and collapses onto the couch. “Clothes. I have nothing to say.”

I cross my arms and sit down next to him. “You need to know what color my dress is.”

“Why?”

“So we can match. And for getting me flowers.”

“I have to get you flowers? Geez, what else?”

“A limo ride,” Mom supplies.

“A limo? What do I look like, a million bucks?”

“Definitely not.” I cover my mouth to conceal my grin.

He looks down at his T-shirt and jeans. “Next you’ll be wanting me to take dancing lessons.”

“My toes would appreciate that.”

With a sigh, he rolls his eyes. “You’re killing me.”

Immediately, the atmosphere in the room turns gloomy at his poor word choice.

Vince blanches and jumps up. “Gotta run to the pizza joint. Mom and Dad ordered pies for everyone. I’ll come back to grab you, and we can head over.” He leaves in a rush.

I slump over, my hands on my knees. Why didn’t he ask for me to come with?

“He’s still not completely over Tommy’s death,” Mom remarks.

Is the memorial service doing more harm than good? The thought further depresses me. “Do you ever completely get over someone dying?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

Wonder if that’s the case even if you don’t personally know the person.

What a depressing topic. I clear my throat. “Is that why you haven’t gone out with Officer Wallace?”

“We’ve gone out.”

“You did? Why didn’t you tell me?” I pat the now vacant seat beside me.

Mom sits next to me. “Two nights ago. It didn’t go well. Neither of us knew what to say, and it was so awkward. What did I expect? Getting back into the dating game at my age…”

“Right, because you’re so old.”

“The entire time I thought about your dad.” Guilt’s written on her features, in her rigid posture.

“Wouldn’t he want you to be happy?” I lay my head on her shoulder like I used to do when I was younger.

“I am happy. I don’t need a man in my life to be happy. All I need is you. My daughter.” She kisses my forehead then leans back and eyes me. “Red would be good. A deep, ruby red. Or green or blue.”

I grin. “I should wear only gemstone colors, is that what you’re saying? Ruby, emerald, or sapphire?”

“With your coloring, yes.”

“If Vince were still here, he would have made a crack about my name.” I laugh.

“Do you like your name?”

I hadn’t really thought about it until reading Dad’s letter. “Yes. It suits me.”

“Your mom was dead set on calling you Marie.”

I wince. Everyone’s making poor word choices tonight. “So my dad wanted me to be called Crystal?”

“No, dear. The witches did.”

My face falls, and I pat the letter through my jeans. “But—”

“I never knew what name your dad wanted to call you, but Silver Tiger herself told me the child had to be named Crystal.”

“Why?”

“She never said.”

Another question for the witches—what significance does my name hold? “My dad never knew anything about the witches, did he?”

“I don’t think so, honey. Your mom wanted to protect him.”

Could it be a coincidence that he wanted to name me Crystal too? I’ve never been one to believe in coincidences…

Chapter 28

MOM PUTS ON the movie I picked out. Not too long into it, I glance at my watch. Vince should have been back by now. We need to start decorating.

Lugging the heavy box of supplies downstairs isn’t fun, but I manage and place it on the front porch. For a long moment, I look down the road, but his car doesn’t make an appearance.

“Crystal?” Mom’s voice faintly floats to me from inside the house. “Brianna’s on the phone. She wants to know where you are.”

“Be right there.” I hurry to the kitchen and take the phone. “Vince hasn’t swung by to pick me up.”

“Everyone else is here except for you two and the decorations. Want me to come get you?”

I bite my lip. “Sure. Vince has my cell number. Mom can tell him you picked me up.”

Five calls to Vince’s cell all go to straight to voicemail in the three minutes it takes for Brianna’s car to screech to a halt in front of the house. She helps me shove the box into the backseat.

I climb in and wring my hands. Something doesn’t feel right. Nerves or something more? “Think we can swing by the pizza place?”

“You two are joined at the hip, aren’t ya?” Bri laughs and slams her foot on the gas, and her tires squeal in protest.

“It’s a wonder this thing doesn’t need new brakes already,” I mutter as I quickly buckle up.

She laughs again. Her window’s down, and her long hair billows in the car-created breeze. “Live a little!”

“Pay attention to the road.”

Bri glances over. “You’re that worried about him? He’s probably talking with Gavin. He just started working there, I think.”

Hopefully she’s right, but the knot of worry in my stomach tells me something’s wrong. Very wrong.

And Mom told me to trust my instincts.

Bri eases on the brakes.

“Drive faster,” I complain.

She sighs. “I just can’t win with you. Make up your mind, girl!”

It feels like forever until we reach the pizza place. I open the door before the car’s in park, and I fall onto the pavement. Only Gavin is inside, no customers, no other workers. The hairs on my arm stand up.

“Has Vince come here?” I ask even though I’m certain I already know the answer.

Gavin shakes his head. “Nope. Vince was supposed to pick up his order twenty minutes ago. They might be getting cold.” He nods to the pizzas to my right.

“Great.” My fingers are like ice. My magic’s simmering. I force myself to calm down, and my fingers warm a little.

“What’s wrong?” The easy-going tone in his voice takes on a sharper edge.

The bell on the door jingles as Bri enters. “Hey, Gavin. This our pizza?”

He nods again. “Yep. Already paid for. “

She grabs them. “No signs of Vince?”

“No.” I cross my arms, almost hugging myself.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll head to the fire department. It shouldn’t be that hard to figure out the decorations, and if it’s not perfect, no one will know. You go look for Vince. Maybe his car broke down.”

I try to smile. “Thanks, Bri.”

Gavin walks around the counter and holds the door open for her. Bri leaves. Even she isn’t smiling.

“What’s going on, Crystal?” he asks, his voice low and full of sympathy.

“Vince left my place a half hour ago to pick up the pizzas.”

“He never made it here.”

My stomach bottoms out, and my vision blurs as I sink to the floor. Despite my shut eyelids, I see Vince. His fright floods through me, vivid and real. All I can feel is his pain. After a moment, I gather enough sense to look around, but try as I might, I can’t see where he is.

“Hold still,” a familiar voice says.

Someone binds Vince, gagging him, trapping him.

My eyes fly open.

“Are you all right, Crystal?” Gavin kneels beside me, his hand on my forehead. “You’re all flush.”

“I’m fine.” I brush him away and stand wobbly, my knees shaking.

His eyebrows disappear beneath his blond hair. “Be right back.” He disappears into the back and returns with keys in hand. “I’ll leave early. The place closes in a half hour anyhow.”

Questions burn in his eyes, and my begrudging respect for him grows when he doesn’t ask them.

We leave the pizza joint. I speed-walk along the path Vince would have driven to get there even though a voice in the back of my mind whispers that Brianna and I had already driven it and didn’t see him. Another call to his cell goes to voicemail.

“Do you have a plan?” Gavin asks quietly.

I almost forgot he was there. Good thing I haven’t taken to the sky to fly around! Then again, he already saw me fly…

“Did you ever find out anything about Stormtide?” I ask desperately.

“Does he have Vince?”

I nod miserably, still hearing Stormtide demand Vince hold still. At least an ex-shaman has him, not a shaman or a witch.

“Actually, I did find an entry about him earlier today. An Amethyst Wolf stripped Stormtide of his magic after he cursed a land.”

I furrow my brow. “Why would he curse a land? I thought shamans were supposed to protect land, and that’s why they did rain dances.”

“I don’t know. But he doesn’t have magic, so that’s a good thing.”

Maybe the witch who stripped him has to be the one to restore it. Gavin’s dad faced Amethyst Wolf, but he didn’t kill her, and he knows of Stormtide. Are they working together?

But why Vince?

I stumble over the uneven pavement. “Me.” I gasp. “They took Vince because of me. They’re using him as bait.”

Chapter 29

“THEY WHO?” GAVIN’S blue eyes darken, his eyebrows furrowed.

I shake my head. Unless I have proof that his father’s involved with the kidnapping, there’s no reason to mention my suspicions to him.

“Where are you going?” He has to jog to keep up with my swift, magical pace.

“We have to find him!”

“Do you know where he is?”

“No.” Exasperation bleeds through that singular terrible word.

Gavin grabs my arm and force me to stop. “We need a plan.”

“Do you have one?” I snap.

He sighs and releases me. “Do you want me to help or not?”

“I’m sorry. I’m just so worried. If he gets hurt…” My voice is barely a whisper.

There isn’t a trace of I-told-you-so in his voice or facial expression, but his earlier advice echoes in my ears.

Can I will Vince here? Doubt I’m not strong enough for that. I should’ve practiced more or left with him to get the pizzas. Never should’ve talked to the ex-shaman in the first place.

“We need more information.” He rubs his chin.

Berating myself isn’t going to accomplish anything. I can’t risk falling apart.

“How?” I ask.

Gavin stares off into the distance. We’re in the middle of our sleepy town. No one is around. Although it’s dark out, I’m not afraid. At least not for myself.

He glances at me sideways. “We need someone who can scry.”

“Can you?” I ask hopefully.

“No.”

“Are you sure?” He had a premonition dream. Maybe he’s a witch but doesn’t realize it yet or doesn’t want to accept it. God knows how long it took me to believe that I’m magic.

“Can you?” he counters. “You practice magic. I’ve seen you fly.”

“I’ve never tried to scry before.”

“You need something to look into.” Gavin roots through his pockets and pulls out a small crystal. “I found it while going through my dad’s things.”

I seize the crystal from him. It feels strangely warm, as if alive, and I swear it pulsates in my hand. “Now what?”

“You’re the witch,” he says with a shrug.

I don’t bother to correct him. He can believe what he wants.

Concentrating on my breathing, I reach into my heart, where my magic is the strongest. My hands shake, and my concentration falters. Too much is at stake. What if I’m not strong enough?

Why hadn’t I practiced scrying instead of flying?

Please, dear Lord, help me save Vince. Don’t let me be too late. Please don’t take him from me!

Water drops onto the crystal. There aren’t any clouds in the nighttime sky. It’s not rain. It’s tears. I’m crying.

Water. One of the elements. Maybe I can channel it to strengthen my magic and be able to scry despite my nerves.

I focus on the water and its fluidity. A light shines within the crystal and refracts through the teardrops. Hundreds of tiny, breathtakingly beautiful rainbows appear. A faint humming echoes in my ears. Familiar humming, the same humming from the gold bracelet Mom gave me.

The humming grows louder the closer I move the crystal to the bracelet.

“What are you doing?” Gavin asks.

“Sh.”

I hold up the crystal to my face, level with my nose. Its inner light is almost too bright. My magic touches it. The illumination exits the crystal and grows until it blocks everything else from sight. Within it, I see Vince. He’s bound and gagged, shoved into a corner of a huge garage, behind a car with a hospital parking pass sticker on the back.

A hand on my shoulder breaks my concentration and ends the scrying.

“No wonder Calder goes crazy around you.”

“Why do you say that?” I turn the crystal over in my hand, not wanting to let go of it. It’s my only connection to Vince.

“When scrying, only the witch using the object is able to see.” His tone is incredulous. “But I saw everything.”

There’s wonder in his eyes. No trace of fear. No trace of contempt even though his father’s a witch hunter and most likely tried to force his prejudice onto his son.

I can tell him my secret. It won’t change anything between us.

A sharp edge of the crystal jabs into my hand, reminding me of the danger Vince is in and how little time we have. “Let’s go.”

“Lead the way.”

There’s only one place in Mount Claymore with a huge car garage that belongs to a hospital employee—or former hospital employee. Doctor Jenkins’.

Maybe the old doctor is in trouble too. He did so much to help my father and me already that it’s impossible to believe he would willingly be a party to kidnapping.

Before I realize it, I’m flying.

“Crystal!”

I ignore him. I’ll be able to reach Doctor Jenkins’ much faster this way. Although… between the ice fingers earlier and now the flying, I’m spilling magic out of me like never before. Before, my limited control meant I couldn’t do what I wanted, but now, I’m doing things I haven’t even consciously thought about doing.

It’s terrifying.

“I’ll drive!” Gavin shouts. “It’s better if we’re together.”

Power in numbers. He has a point. I lower myself to the sidewalk nearly a block away from him.

We run back to the pizza place and hop into his car. I direct him to the doctor’s. Gavin’s driving rivals Bri’s, but I doubt he normally drives so recklessly. I appreciate his speed even if the neck-breaking turns and the screeching tires tighten the growing knot in my stomach.

Hang in there, Vince. I’m coming. I’ll save you.

I call home. One ring, two…

“Hello?” Mom answers.

“Mom—”

“How’s the decorating going? You almost done?”

“Listen, Vince is missing. I need you to go to the mountain. Tell the witches to meet me at Doctor Jenkins’. Thanks. I love you!”

I hang up before she can say anything. Gavin’s so focused on driving I don’t think he heard my conversation.

An eternity passes before he parks the car. I jump out. The still night unnerves me. Not even crickets chirp, as if even the insects know that something is wrong.

I stand in front of the garage. Would it be better to check if there are any signs of Stormtide outside before bursting inside? Or would that just be wasting time?

Gavin joins me. “You sure we can do this ourselves?”

Of course not. I’m terrified my lack of control will be Vince’s undoing, that I’ll fail, that Vince is hurting…

He walks over to the garage door and struggles to open it. “Locked.”

I roll my eyes. Did he really think it wouldn’t be?

Focusing, I will the garage door to open and lift the handle. It doesn’t budge.

My impatience grows. To be so close to Vince, knowing he’s trapped behind this metal door, is almost too much to bear.

Please.

I try to shove my magic toward it again and again. Magic fails me. In frustration, I scream and yank one final time. The garage door handle melts from the fire in my hands.

Dumbfounded, I stare at the molten twisted metal. What had I done? I hadn’t called on fire.

My emotions… can they help to unlock more of my magic? Can that be some of the reason why I seem to have so little control over them lately?

The handle’s reduced to nothing, and neither of us can get it to open. I ruined the easiest route to Vince.

“Come on,” Gavin says.

A little numb from what just happened, I allow him to take my arm, and he half drags me, half pushes me away. After he peeks into windows, he takes me to the back door. He puts a finger to his lips then leans close, too close, and whispers in my ear, “Don’t use magic.”

I’m our only weapon, and he wants me to sit back and do nothing? My frustrations boil within me. The call of my magic is strong, its allure great, and I can’t control it. I have to rein in my emotions, or else Gavin and I will need to be saved, as well as Vince.

I give a curt nod and take a step back. My arm brushes against a tall weed. It shrivels and dies. Death touch. I killed a weed without meaning to. My eyes widen, and I increase the space between Gavin and me.

“No magic! They might be able to sense it.”

Infuriating, insufferable jerk! Why does he have to be the one with the cool head?

Gavin barely touches the doorknob and turns it. Locked.

He backtracks several paces and gears up his shoulder. Before he can start running, I lift up the corner of the mat. Nothing there. I point to a nearby metal light fixture.

Gavin removes a key from the top of it. With a sheepish smile, he unlocks the door.

The kitchen’s dark and cold. I open the first door I see. It leads to a pantry closet.

“Stop,” Gavin mouths.

I hold my breath and listen. At first, I only hear the frantic beating of my heart, so I will it to slow. A little too slow, and I reach for the nearest object—Gavin—to keep myself from falling. Too late, I’m touching him, but he’s fine. We both are. Vince, though…

Gavin holds onto my arm and rubs my back while glancing around. “No one’s here,” he says, the statement almost a question.

My breathing hitches. Are we too late? Was Vince moved?

Not worrying about sneaking around anymore, I run to the next door and open it. The garage. Bingo.

Chapter 30

THE ROUGH, TEXTURE wall prickles my fingers as I fumble for a light switch. The darkness banishes. The car is gone. So is Vince.

His presence lingers. Closing my eyes, I fall to my knees in the corner Vince had been kept. I can almost feel his arms around me, his lips on my cheek.

Footsteps approach behind me, and for a second, I wish it’s Stormtide. Even if I can’t control my magic. Even if he overpowers physically. But it’s only Gavin.

“What?” I ask dully.

“There might be a clue somewhere in the house that can help us figure out where they went.”

My body feels numb. I feel numb. Somehow I climb to my feet.

He leaves the garage. After one last look around the cluttered garage, I follow. Gavin goes into the dining room, so I enter the parlor.

Doctor Jenkins sits in his chair, his eyes closed, resting. I touch his frigid neck to feel for a pulse even though I know it’s his final sleep.

Did he try to stop Stormtide? How is he connected to the ex-shaman?

Gavin sucks in a deep breath from the doorway.

“I’m going to look around upstairs,” I whisper even though the doctor can’t be disturbed anymore. “You take the rest of this floor.”

He nods, not moving, his gaze still glued to Doctor Jenkins.

I walk around him, my hand briefly touching his shoulder as I pass. So much death, so much needless, senseless death. Is that always the way it is with magic? Someone having to pay the ultimate price?

Even though Stormtide doesn’t have magic, at seven-feet tall, he’s still a formidable foe, and clearly one capable of dastardly actions.

Upstairs, I locate the master bedroom and breathe easier when I don’t find Mrs. Jenkins there. Please, dear Lord, let Mrs. Jenkins be safe. Can’t imagine how the kindly old woman’s heart would have handled the strain of seeing a boy kidnapped and her husband killed. Although Doctor Jenkins doesn’t have a wound, I know he was murdered.

The piercing ring of my phone makes me jump. I practically rip my jean pocket as I scramble to retrieve my cell. The hope in my heart dies when I see the caller.

“Hey, Brianna.” I sound dead. Empty.

“I guess you haven’t found Vince.” Her voice is soft.

“Not yet.”

She makes a weird sound into the phone. “His parents just showed up to see if we needed any help. What should I tell them?”

Wonderful. Of all the nights for Vince to be kidnapped, it has to be the night before his brother’s memorial service.

“Stall if you can.”

“Crystal, I’m starting to get worried.”

It takes a lot for the devil-may-care Brianna to be worried. My stomach churns in such tight knots I cover my mouth, afraid I’m going to be sick. “I’ll handle things. Don’t worry.”

“We’re almost done anyhow. The place looks great. You wouldn’t even know it was a fire hall. You couldn’t have set it up better yourself.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” I lie. I may have spent hours organizing the event, but it’s the last thing on my mind. “Call if Vince shows up.”

I hang up and leave the bedroom. The next room appears to be Doctor Jenkins’ study. Several bookcases line the walls. Behind a massive cherry oak desk is a tall leather chair—an occupied chair.

“Mrs. Jenkins,” I exclaim. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”

The old woman frowns, and several thick lines appear on her forehead. “Hardly, dear child. I’m far from all right.”

I don’t know how to respond. “I’m sorry…”

Her bitter laugh completes her transformation from joyful but absent hostess to a somber hag of a woman. Mrs. Jenkins closes her eyes and leans her head back. When she opens her eyes again, she looks slightly more relaxed. “It’s not your fault.”

“What happened?”

“Several hours ago, a man showed up at the door and forced his way in. He spoke with my husband. After the man left, Hal wouldn’t look at me, and he wouldn’t talk to me. Whatever they talked about, it distressed him, which in turn distressed me. I made Hal his favorite food to try to pull him out of his spell, but he didn’t want to eat.” She opens the roll-top desk and removes an envelope. “When he finally did talk, he told me I would find this here and that it belonged to you. If anything was to happen to him, I was to make certain you received it.”

I cross the room in three strides and claim the envelope. “What is this?”

“Apparently the first letter Hal gave you was a fake. It hadn’t been written by your father.”

“Who wrote it?” My mind’s blurry, and my concentration’s shot. I can’t find it in me to care about the deceit over the letter or that I have a supposedly genuine one in my hands now. All I care is Vince.

“The fraud? That I do not know. Maybe Hal. Or one of the witches.”

I jerk back. “You know about the witches?”

“Do I know about the witches and the long talons they have in my husband, forcing him to do their bidding?” She blanches, and some of her anger and hostile melts away. “Had.”

She shifts her body to face the window, and I follow her gaze. Clouds block the stars, the moon invisible on this dreary night. Vince has to be so scared and confused. Has Stormtide told him anything? Or is Vince still clueless, not knowing what he’s in the middle of?

“For the longest time, I didn’t know,” Mrs. Jenkins continues. “When Hal did tell me, I refused to believe at first. It was the darkest time during our marriage. I honestly thought he was crazy. Witches? Magic? That stuff didn’t exist.” She stares at me, her eyes sad but piercing. “It was almost too late before I believed.”

“Is it better to know?”

“Yes. And no. Nothing about magic is simple, but then, I have a feeling you already know that. Now where was I? Ah, yes. Hal told me about your letter. It was of the upmost importance that I be sure you were given it. He also wanted me to apologize for him not giving you the real one in the beginning, but he was afraid it would fall into the wrong hands.”

The wrong hands meaning the witches? Or the shamans?

“Then he told me to come up here and to not leave this room.”

I’m crestfallen. If Mrs. Jenkins was up here for hours, she can’t possibly know about Vince or where Stormtide took him.

“Relax, dear child. You look like someone’s died.” A shadow crosses her face. “Other than my husband, no one else has. I don’t always do Hal’s bidding. I do have my own mind, even if some couples seem to operate as one if they’ve been married as long as we’ve been. Anyhow, I know the man came back, this time with a teenage boy. Hal was livid and attacked the man. How he thought he could win, I don’t know, and… The man took the boy, and Hal’s cane, and left.”

“Do you have any idea where?” Don’t get your expectations up.

“Yes. The Forest of Shadows.”

Never heard of such a place. Could it be the forest from my visions? Doesn’t matter if it is. “Where’s that?”

“About an hour’s drive north of here.”

“Did you happen to see Vince? Did he look all right?” My voice is so colored with hope and wistfulness I don’t recognize it.

“Every time I caught a glimpse of him, he had his head down, his eyes closed, his hands together. His lips were always moving.”

A large lump forms in my throat. Vince. My Vince. Praying.

Please, dear Lord, keep him safe. Don’t take him away from me. I need him.

I will save him. No matter the price I have to pay.

“Thank you, Mrs. Jenkins.”

“Be careful, Crystal. There are dark forces at work here. I can sense it. Although that tall beast of a man doesn’t have any magic himself, he’s more than capable of violence and destruction.”

“I’ll be careful.”

I run downstairs then turn around and reenter the study. “The man, Stormtide… he stole Dr. Jenkins’ cane. Do you have any idea why?”

“I believe the witches use… used the cane to contact Hal.”

“Is it possible to contact the witches through it?”

“I don’t know, but it may be that this… Stormtide, did you say? He may think that is possible.”

This is definitely a trap. Stormtide wants me, so he can force the witches, specifically Amethyst Wolf, into restoring his magical powers.

My feet pound down the stairs. “Are you up for…”

The question dies on my lips. By cutting my hair, my future changed slightly from the vision in the cauldron. Gavin and I aren’t together, and I haven’t used magic to get Paula and Sean to kiss. But to go to a forest that could be the one from my dreams… the place I fear will be where I die… What if going there tempts fate to start correcting things? That is, if fate is real and if fate cares about me.

“You know where Vince is.” Gavin clenches and unclenches his hand.

“Yes.” My throat is so tight I can scarcely get the word out.

“Then let’s go.” Gavin starts toward the front door then glances over his shoulder and stops. “You don’t want my help anymore?”

I jut my chin out stubbornly. “I can take it from here.”

“Look, Crystal. I don’t know who you are or what you are. You aren’t exactly a witch, but you definitely have magic in you.”

I half snort, half giggle. “And you’re a witch descended from a witch hunter.”

“I’m not a witch!” His nostrils flare.

“Neither am I,” I say coolly. “I don’t have time for this.”

He blocks me but knows enough not to touch me. “At least tell me where Vince is. Maybe it’s time to call the police.”

“And tell them what? That an ex-shaman kidnapped my boyfriend? I don’t think so. Besides, they won’t file a missing person case until twenty-four hours have passed.” I sidestep him and leave the house.

He follows me. “That’s actually a TV myth, the whole waiting thing, but if you don’t want to involve them, fine. Is it far?”

I don’t answer.

“I’m sure we can get there faster by car. Even faster than if you fly.”

He might be right. I don’t know how fast I can fly if I really push myself, but I need to conserve my strength and energy. Heavy magic usage always drains me. After my initial flying escapade, I slept until noon. Mom called school to let them know I was sick.

“Fine, drive.” I need to be as well rested as possible before confronting Stormtide and whomever else we might meet.

He grins and cracks his knuckles. “Where to?”

“Drive north until we reach a forest.”

“The Forest of Shadows?”

I blink in surprise. “You know the place?”

“I’ve been there once or twice,” he mutters. His blue eyes look black. Obviously it hadn’t been a joyous occasion.

I climb into the car first. “Move it. We gotta go.”

Chapter 31

THE RIDE’S A quiet one. The genuine letter from my father burns my hand. It’s too dark for me to read it, and besides, I want to read it with Vince, not Gavin.

I peek sideways at Gavin. Why do I feel the need to push him away? Is it because of the cauldron or because I do feel a connection with him? It’s different than how I feel for Vince, but it’s there.

There’s no reason why we can’t be friends. And, if I’m honest with myself, I’m glad I’m not alone.

“Would you mind telling me about the Forest of Shadows?” I ask.

He clenches his jaw, and his body tenses. “I’d rather not.”

Bitterness fills my mouth with a nasty taste, and I struggle not to feel frustration. “That’s fine.”

“It’s just…” The dim illumination from the dashboard allows me to see how white his knuckles are around the steering wheel.

“Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to share anything you don’t want to.”

“Like you share much.”

“Just not with you,” I say lightly. The world zooms by as he drives. We’ve left the town behind, and the road stretches out endlessly into the darkness.

He glances over. “The Forest of Shadows is close to the small town of Glass Lake. We moved there when I was ten.”

“You don’t have to share your life story,” I protest.

“No. You need to hear this. It might be important.” Gavin shivers.

“It’s chilly in here.” I flip on the heat, setting it on low, even though I have the feeling his shivering has nothing to do with the temperature.

“Over the years, my dad made comments that made me think he was crazy. Stuff about good and evil, life and death. Shortly after my tenth birthday, he asked if I wanted to go for a walk, and he took me to the forest.”

Can anyone tell a quick story anymore? But I don’t press. We have a long ride. Might as well fill it with conversation.

Gavin slows the car. “Hold on. There should be a dirt path somewhere around—ah, there it is.” He turns onto a gravel path. Rocks and stones ping against the car. “Anyhow, it was around noon when we got there, but you could hardly see anything. The forest earns its name.”

Now I’m the one to shudder. Forest of Shadows sounds sinister.

He clears his throat. “My dad led me to a small clearing. A man was tied up there. I ran to loosen the bindings, but my dad yelled at me to get away, said the man was dangerous. I couldn’t understand how a bound man could be a threat. His eyes. I’ll never forget his eyes. They were green, a deep, dark green. I never saw the face of fear until that day.”

Goose bumps appear on my arms. The amount of fear I’m feeling, is it similar to the level that man felt?

He leans his head against his hand, his elbow against the closed car window. His driving this fast with only one hand on the wheel makes me nervous, but I don’t say anything about it.

“I’m sure you already guessed it, and, yes, the bound man was a witch. My dad killed him. Cut out his heart and burned it. Said that was the only way to prevent his magic from lingering here on earth after the witch died.”

I gasp, my hand flying to my chest. Cutting out someone’s heart is unimaginably cruel.

Gavin runs his fingers through his gelled hair, and some of the short ends stood straight up. “I didn’t talk to anyone for an entire week after that. Dad kept me out of school to tell me about our ancestry. I didn’t care about witches and right and wrong. All I kept seeing was that guy’s green eyes and my dad holding his still beating, bloody heart.”

My hands cover my mouth. My eyes are open, but instead of seeing the dark road ahead of us, I see a cute, young Gavin, his dad covered in blood, and the lifeless emerald green eyes of the dead witch. I strangle a cry as Mr. Venator throws the pulsating heart into the fire. There’s a popping sound, booming, like a firecracker, and a huge plume of green smoke appears above the fire. Young Gavin opens his mouth as if to scream, but no sound comes out. The dead witch’s skin melts away until only his bones are left.

I blink, and the vision wavers and disappears.

“My dad later told me that the place has been used over the centuries to kill witches. Not all of them were killed properly, though. There’s a lot of untapped magic there.”

What will happen when I—magic incarnate—come near untapped magic? Nothing good, especially with my limited control.

I swallow hard. “Why would Stormtide bring Vince there?”

“I don’t know.”

For the next fifteen minutes, we drive in silence. Tension radiates from Gavin, and it heightens my nervousness. I can’t concentrate on anything, not praying, not trying to figure out the actions of Stormtide.

“How much farther do we have to do?” I finally ask.

“Are we there yet?” He laughs.

I slap his arm, but I’m glad one of us can relax a little. “Well?”

“Another twenty minutes or so.”

I’d feel better if it was only five minutes, or better still, one.

“I can’t go any faster.”

“I know.”

The gravel path is full of twists and turns. My stomach churns as we fly over a hill.

“Is this a road or a roller coaster?” I mutter.

“Don’t you like amusement parks?”

“Yes, actually, but not when…” Not when lives hang in the balance.

Another silence descends, although this one is not quite as nerve-wracking as before.

I grab my cell and call Mom. Only have ten minutes of talking time left before more have to be bought. “Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I whisper.

No answer.

Had she contacted the witches?

Why can’t I try?

For the next minute, I attempt to send a mental message to Sapphire Belladonna. Then I shift my focus to Vince and try to tell him not to worry, that I’m coming. Whether or not they hear me, it makes me feel better to do something.

I open my eyes the moment Gavin slams on the brakes. My seat belt slashes against my throat and chest. “What’s wr—”

A stranger stands in the middle of the dirt path, only a few feet in front of us. Although the car’s lights are shining in his eyes, the man doesn’t seem to care, his gaze fixated on me.

“You ok?” Gavin ask.

I nod and unbuckle my seat belt. After I put the envelope into my purse—why I held it the entire car ride I don’t know—I reach for the door handle. For some reason, Gavin stops me. I glower at him and lower my window. “Sir, are you all right?” I call.

He steps forward. His eyes are dark, his hair dark too, even his clothing. If not for the bright lights of the car, he would be almost impossible to see.

“Sir, is something wrong?” I try again.

The man sways back and forth and falls down onto his stomach.

I yank my arm free from Gavin’s grasp, open my door, and run to the man. “Sir?”

He doesn’t move.

I shake him. “Sir?”

Gavin hangs back, in front of the car instead of sitting inside it at least. “I didn’t hit him.” His voice is haunted. He’s almost as shaken up as if he had hit him.

The man is big, so it takes quite a bit of effort to roll him onto his back. With a trembling hand, I reach two fingers to his throat.

Without warning, the man removes a small vial from his coat and throws it at my face.

Instinctively, I cover my face with my arms. The glass cuts my skin, painful in its own right, but the vial’s contents hurt even worse. My skin makes a hissing sound, and I scream.

“What’s wrong?” Gavin runs over.

I’m quaking with rage. Every second we waste is more time Vince is in the hands of Stormtide in a location with untapped magic. Maybe Stormtide is trying to, or already found, a way to restore his power.

What if he needs or needed a sacrifice?

“No!” I scream.

My magic bubbles to the surface, and I lose control. Layer by layer, I can feel my skin heal itself, the process both agonizing and satisfying. It wouldn’t surprise me if my true form is visible where I healed myself.

“Get back in the car, Gavin,” I say. My voice sounds lyrical but dangerous, nothing like my normal tone.

He hesitates only a second then complies.

The man stands and fumbles through his coat.

A plan forms in my mind, and before I weigh whether it’s smart or not, I implement it, holding my fists together in front of me before ripping them apart at shoulder height.

The man’s coat tears down the back.

When I lower my arms, the ruined coat slides off his shoulders.

I mime throwing something. The two pieces ball up and fly through the air, landing somewhere in the dark, hopefully far away.

The man glowers, his face a mask of darkness, shadows, and danger. “You are an abomination.”

The air around me crackles with the hum of magic. “What’s your name?”

He closes his lips into a tight, thin line.

Holding up my hand, I spread my fingers apart.

“Thunderstruck.”

A shaman. I should have known. “Why are you here?”

The man says nothing.

“Answer me!” The air around me crackles. If I wasn’t so angry, I might be frightened of what I’m capable of.

“You need to die.”

I scoff. “You stand no chance against me.”

“Maybe not.”

“Where are your brothers?” I make a show of looking around. “You’re all alone. Let me guess. They don’t want me dead. Only you do.”

He shuffles his feet, staring at the ground.

“Ah, I thought so.” My power surges around me, and a wind billows my clothes.

A natural wind or one I created?

I step forward until we’re almost touching. At this moment, I don’t trust myself. The thought of killing someone is one I’ve never contemplated before, and yet I might commit that act right now. “You’re going to leave here and not come back. If I ever see you again, I will kill you. Do you understand me?”

His eyes would have cut me into a million pieces if they could. With every beat of his heart, he wishes me dead. I feel the hate swirling within his body. “Kill me now,” he hisses.

“Go.”

Some of the hate alters into fright, and he races away.

I close my eyes and breath in deeply. My magic, I’ve never been more in control. Paradoxically, I’ve never been so close to losing myself in it. Nearly drunk with power.

Can’t leave immediately. I have to expel some of energy, or else I’ll explode. Stones litter the ground, and I shove magic into them. They glow brightly.

Better not leave the coat behind. What if he has other vials in it? I make a come here motion, and the two balled-up pieces return to me. Carrying the coat and the stones, I rush to the car. “Let’s go.”

Gavin’s eyes are hooded. “No. You have some explaining to do.”

Chapter 32

I GAPE AT him. “Drive! We have to save Vince.”

Scowling, Gavin grabs the wheel but doesn’t start the ignition.

Willing to do anything to get moving, I offer sweetly, “I’ll talk if you drive.”

“Deal.” He smiles broadly, his dimples appearing. The car roars to life, and we speed off into the night.

Where to start? I open and close my mouth. No words come.

“You aren’t a witch?”

“No.”

He applies some pressure on the brake.

“Fine! I’m not a witch, but I’m not exactly like the rest of you.”

“What do you mean?” Gavin shoves his foot down on the gas, and we jump forward.

“My birth mother sought out help from witches to be able to conceive me.”

“So you were born because of magic. Interesting.”

No point in correcting him. “Yes.”

“That must be why Calder reacts to you like he does. You claim you aren’t a witch, but you could be one, obviously.”

Turnabout is fair play. “You don’t want to be one, obviously.”

He shoots me a quick glare. “We aren’t talking about me now. We’re talking about you. Uncontrolled magic can be dangerous, potentially fatally so. Even for the magic user.”

Lovely.

“Drive faster,” I urge.

Gavin makes an exasperated noise but returns his attention to the road.

I examine the torn coat. The outside pockets contain gloves. On the inside, there are many small compartments, most filled with vials of various shapes and sizes. Should I bother to bring some to the fight? Better not. I have no idea what they contain and what they can do.

“What’s all that?” he asks.

“From the shaman.”

“Another shaman?” he mutters.

“Don’t be afraid. We won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

Worry’s etched into his grimace. Worry for me.

I shift away from him and stare out the window. We pass several trees, but gradually they appear closer together.

A minute later, Gavin kills the engine. “We have to go by foot now.”

I throw my door open and jump out. A ball of fire for light hovers above my left hand.

Gavin walks around the back of the car to my side, a flashlight in his hand. “Let’s use this instead.”

I send the fire away and fall into step beside him. “Don’t tell me magic scares you.”

We pick our way through the closely grown trees, and I step over a huge tree root. Large shadows loom all around us. An animal howls. A wolf? Or a shaman transformed into a wolf?

Being scared won’t help Vince.

Gavin clicks off the light. “Hold my hand,” he whispers. “We’re almost there.”

We fumble in the almost complete darkness until we find each other’s hand. Holding his is different from holding Vince’s. I always feel safe and happy with Vince. Now I’m petrified.

“You ready?” he asks.

I shake my head. What if I’m too late? If I fail? If Vince is dead?

After a good ten minutes that feel more like an hour, we eventually make our way to the clearing I saw during the vision of Gavin’s memory. Farther ahead, thousands of small candles illuminate the area. The sudden brightness blinds me a few moments. A single monster of an oak tree looms before us, a large caldron beside it.

“Stormtide,” I breathe, not bothering to raise her voice.

The seven-foot man walks out from behind the tree. “I knew you would come.”

Anger and rage fill me. I try to ignore the swirling emotions. Concentration will be crucial. The pull of alien magic, also rancorous in nature, tugs at my willpower. The witches improperly killed beg to have their vengeance, and the magic they unwillingly left behind equally beseeches to be used.

“Where is he?” I demand. Gavin no longer stands beside me, for better or for worse.

“That doesn’t matter right now.”

“Where is he!”

The flames leap into the air, hovering above their candles.

“Ah, yes.” Stormtide tilts his head back, his eyes closed. “I can feel your power. It’s invigorating, isn’t it? Once one has tasted the true power of magic, nothing else matters.”

He’s been consumed with desire to get his magic back for a long time. A desperate foe makes for one willing to risk everything.

“There’s no need for you to hate me,” Stormtide adds garrulously.

My hatred continues to grow, which makes my control that much weaker. “Then why take Vince?”

“I’ve been watching you for weeks now. I had to find a way to lure you here.”

“And Dr. Jenkins?”

Stormtide waves his hand nonchalantly, but his gaze flickers to the flames floating in the air.

I make him nervous. If only I didn’t make me nervous too…

“I needed a backup plan,” he says, “in case you can’t help me.”

“Why would the witches help you?”

He grins, looking the part of evil incarnate, his eyes blazing, half of his face covered in shadows. “It’s all about leverage.”

Bait. First Vince, and now me, if I can’t figure out a way out of this mess. Where are the witches? Where’s Mom?

Stormtide glances around the clearing.

I can’t help smirking. “If you’re waiting for Thunderstruck, I don’t think he’ll be joining us.”

“Thunderstruck?” Stormtide laughs. “I doubt he would. He’s been dead for twenty years.”

I swallow. Had the man been Thunderstruck’s ghost? Or had he stolen his name? And I had been feeling so powerful and righteous over how I handled the whole Thunderstruck situation too.

“The magic in this place… I know you can too.” Stormtide bends down and picks up some dirt. “The earth here is drenched in it. The fire’s ready. Metal…” He pulls out a serrated dagger from his belt and points it to the caldron. “ Water. Air, you can handle. As for blood…”

My timid hold of control is slipping. If the alien magic combines with mine, there’s no way I’ll be able to control the result. “Use mine,” I say, my voice hollow.

Stormtide laughs, the sound surprisingly friendly. “Don’t worry. I don’t need your precious boy’s.” He cuts his left hand with the dagger. Drops land in the cauldron. The dagger joins the mixture next.

The ex-shaman’s obviously crazy, and magic in the hands of a crazy person is hardly a good idea, but I have no idea what to do, how to save Vince, how to get us all home safely.

“If…” I have to stop to clear my throat. “If you want my help, I first have to see that Vince is all right.”

“No, dearie. Leverage, remember?”

“Then I won’t help you.” I close my eyes for a second. When I open them, all of the flames extinguish.

Stormtide fumbles around. A match strikes and burns, and he drops it into the cauldron.

The liquid bubbles and froths.

He pats his hands above it, and dirt falls into the mixture. “Next is air.”

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” I warn.

“You’ve never controlled the wind?”

I scowl, not liking his tone, not liking any of this. “You know what I mean. Magic this powerful, magic with all of the elements…”

“Don’t be scared, young Crystal. You can do this. If not, Vince will die, I can assure you of that, and then I’ll kill you.”

“You’ll have no leverage with the witches then.”

He sighs as if I am very stupid. Maybe I am. “Wind. Now.”

I can’t think. My thoughts are all jumbled up, and I can’t figure out a plan. Where’s Gavin?

“What if I mess up? By accident?” I ask, stalling.

“By accident.” He snorts. “Don’t even think about double crossing me.”

“What if I can’t give you back your magic?”

“You won’t know unless you try.”

I slowly call for a mild breeze. Dirt swirls around my ankles, and I float a pebble to my hand. The alien magic pulsates within the stone, its allure intoxicating. All that remains of the dead witch, Emerald Lion, is his want of destruction not only toward Mr. Venator but toward all those on Earth.

A flick of my wrist and I toss the pebble back onto the ground. If I give Stormtide magic, it won’t be his but theirs. I can see the twisted blackness of revenge already living in his heart. To have the power and the added vengeance of the countless witches—he’d become even more consumed by revenge, and the world would become the focal point of his wrath. No matter what, I can’t allow that to happen.

Trying to call back the mild breeze only makes it stronger. The dead witches are funneling their power into it, as if they know how close they are to having a vessel for their blind vengeance.

I’m powerless to stop it as the wind increases its strength. My clothes and short hair billows around me, and I have to firmly plant my feet on the ground to not be knocked over.

“Yes, yes,” Stormtide cheers. “Add it to the cauldron!”

Breathe. Limitless magic, remember? I can do anything.

With every fiber of my being, I fight and battle the wind, twisting it together, forcing it to bend to my will. A wind funnel forms, and I direct it toward Stormtide.

“No!” he shrieks. He starts to run, but the force of the winds captures him. His wailing sounds horrifying, louder and quieter depending on whether or not he’s facing me.

What have I done? I only meant to stop him, not hurt him!

My attempt to lift the funnel and send it away fails. The wind turns against me. The dead witches will not be denied. Their voices shout at me mentally. They speak of how they died, who killed them, and what they would do once free: destroying everything that those still living loves.

“No!” My cry echoes Stormtide’s. Nothing I do to temper the airstream back or to halt the funnel works. The gale refuses to die.

What looks like a windy arm pulls free of the funnel. I focus all of my energy and power on the arm, and it slowly reaches toward the tree. If I can slow the gust down…

But the arm refuses to listen. It picks up a large rock and throws it.

The first several rocks I jump or duck out of the way of until a large one plows into my left shoulder. A loud popping sound echoes in my ears, and I collapse. Another rock connects with my head, and I see flashing bright lights. “No…” I say weakly.

“Crystal!”

Gavin!

“Where are you?” I ask, but the roar of the funnel makes it hard for even me to hear myself.

My vision dims and loses focus. At times I can see clearly; other times, my vision darkens to the point where I’m not sure my eyes are open. Somehow, I spy Gavin. He’s crawling toward the cauldron, but the wind fights against him, so strong it looks like it might be tearing at his skin.

I have to do something.

With shaking legs, I climb to my feet. “Take me. Use me!” I shriek.

The collective mind of the dead witches stops for a second then focuses on me.

That second is all I needed. I force the arm to grab the tree. It wraps its fingers around the bark. The funnel slows ever so slightly. Good. Very good.

But the force of the wind is too strong and starts to uproot the tree, and a groan cuts through the howling gust.

Gavin’s screaming, but I can’t hear his words. He tips the cauldron over. Purple smoke fans out everywhere and covers the clearing like a heavy fog.

Something falls from the top of the tree. Acting on impulse, I run to catch it. Time seems to stand still as the tree collapses with a roar that eclipses Stormtide’s screaming, the funnel slows more but remains intact, and the bundle continues to fall. I almost want to force the funnel to slow the blanket-covered item’s descent, but I’m not willing to risk using magic here. Somehow, I catch the heavy large bundle and land on my butt. The blanket covers…

Vince!

He’s still as a stone, his body cold. I kiss his forehead then his lips. He doesn’t stir, and through my magic, I know that although he isn’t dead, he isn’t completely alive either.

Chapter 33

MY VISION BLURS again, this time from tears. I look to the heavens. Dear Lord, you aren’t supposed to take him. His family has lost so much already. Vince has lost so much already. Don’t take him yet. Don’t. Please don’t.

If anything happens to Vince…

How could God allow so much evil in the world? Has my faith for all these years been in an entity who doesn’t care about our plight? Or does God not exist in the first place?

Through my tears, I watch Gavin reach around on the ground for something. The dagger. He picks it up and slowly advances toward the funnel. It spins, but most of its power is gone. Blood runs down Stormtide’s face, his clothes torn and tattered, the ex-shaman still trapped in the gust. In the back reaches of my mind, I hear the mutterings of the dead witches, but they’re dimmed, as if I’m hearing them through earplugs.

A subtle shift in the air above me startles me. Three figures appears above my head and float to the ground. I make no move to stand and rearrange myself so Vince’s head is in my lap. They might be more shamans, but I can’t make myself care. All of me is consumed by Vince, my every thought, my every action.

The figures land a short distance from the funnel. In one voice, they chant, “Air, leave the wind. Air, leave the wind. Air, leave the wind.”

The funnel slows even more and dies. Stormtide collapses to the ground. He doesn’t have time to brace himself for impact, and his face greets the dirt.

“Stormtide,” one of the figures says in an unfamiliar, powerful voice. “You were stripped of your magic years ago for a reason. You are selfish and seek what you want, regardless of how it affects others. I had hoped… The time for hoping has passed. You have crossed us too many times, Stormtide.”

Gavin glances at the witches then back at Stormtide. With a yell, the dagger high in the air, he races toward Stormtide’s fallen form. Silver Tiger lifts her arm, and the dagger flies out of his hands.

Gavin whirls around. His chest rises and falls swiftly as he gulps down long, deep breaths, his eyes dark and cloudy. “Let me do it.”

Amethyst Wolf—somehow I know it’s her—shakes her head. “Blood should not stain your hands. Not yet anyway.”

Stormtide lifts one foot into a kneeling position. He leans heavily on it to push himself up to stand. “You,” he croaks, his voice breaking. “Give me back my magic.”

“Stormtide, you are nothing but evil. Your time here on Earth has expired.”

A growing numbness fills my body. The witches are acting like they’re God. Is it fair that they are about to execute this broken man before them?

I can’t bring myself to care about Stormtide or his fate. I caress Vince’s face. Once the witches are done with Stormtide, they can help me bring Vince back from wherever he is.

“One last chance,” he begs, falling to his knees. “I’ve done nothing wrong since you stole my magic.”

“Is that so?” Silver Tiger says dryly. “What of the people of Stonecoast?”

His face contorts and twists, turning purple with violent fury, and he jumps to his feet. “I was their shaman. It was my duty to protect them.”

“You left them to suffer through a famine without aid,” Amethyst Wolf says.

“I had no way to help them after you stripped me of my magic!”

“You could have helped them move to more fertile ground, or you could have found new crops to grow,” Sapphire Belladonna says.

“Instead you abandoned them. Tell me, Stormtide, do you wish to know their fate?” Amethyst Wolf asks.

He shakes his head, but his tongue betrays him. “Yes,” he whispers.

“I helped them move more inland. We found a flowing river. The embankment had much fertile land, and after the harsh drought of the winter, they were able to start farming. Only three lives were lost due to the famine.”

“You… you helped them?” The disbelief in his tone is genuine. “Why?”

“They should not be punished for having an evil shaman.”

“Please, help me now. I’ve seen the errors of my ways.” He clasps his hands together.

“All you’ve seen is your impending doom,” Amethyst Wolf says dispassionately. “Your death will come now.”

Stormtide whirls around in a frantic circle until he spies me. “You have to help me. Save me!”

I can’t feel pity for him. Stormtide is beyond saving.

The ex-shaman releases a piercing wail, but I keep my gaze on Vince’s face. The witches murmur a chant, and after a moment, Stormtide stops yelling. Only then do I look up.

All that remains are his clothes.

Silver Tiger makes a come here motion, and the dagger floats toward her. “It has to be destroyed.”

“Why?” Gavin asks. His eyes remain on Stormtide’s clothes, and he looks traumatized, much like he had ten years ago.

“It’s too powerful,” Sapphire Belladonna says. “Now that there’s so many elements within it, it’s possible that if you had tried to kill him with it, he may have, instead, been giving his magic back.”

“Not his magic,” I cut in. My voice is raspy, as if I haven’t spoken in days.

“What’s that, child?”

“Not his magic. There’s old magic here. Can’t you feel it? Dormant and powerful…” The voices of the dead witches have dimmed even more, almost to the point of sounding like gnats buzzing, annoying but harmless.

The three witches glance at each other.

Sapphire Belladonna glides over to me. “Crystal, we should leave this place.”

“No. Not until we save Vince.” I hug him, pulling more of him onto my lap.

The other witches approach, Gavin trailing behind them. Amethyst Wolf tucks the dagger within her long, flowing skirt. Maybe the old magic makes it a bad idea to try to destroy it here. Silver Tiger roots through Stormtide’s clothing and retrieves Doctor Jenkins’ cane.

How can they be worried about artifacts when Vince needs our help?

“He’s here, but he’s not all here,” I try to explain, placing my hand on his heart. His heartbeat’s slow but steady. Even though his chest doesn’t rise and fall, air and blood circulates throughout his body.

The other witches take turns touching him before stepping back and talking amongst themselves in hushed tones.

Ignoring them, I cup the sides of his face and look into his mind.

That’s where the problem lies. My Vince is trapped within his mind.

I look up, relieved to have figured out that much, but the witches wear identical somber expressions. “What’s wrong? Can’t you fix him?”

“No, Crystal.” Sapphire Belladonna clasps her hands behind her back. “That spell is ancient one, one that was never to be used again. To be trapped in one’s own mind, to never be able to move again, to never feel anything but fright…”

“Fright?” My heart pounds in my chest.

“Yes. You are doomed to a life trapped in your worst nightmare.”

“No.” I gasp. “There has to be a way.”

Once more, I place my hands on his cheeks. Closing my eyes, I’m able to see inside his mind, to see his nightmare.

The car crash happens again, only this time, I’m not wearing my seat belt and I fly through the window shield. Mrs. Fuller also dies. Only Vince survives.

The scene shifts to the school cafeteria. I watch as I smile at Vince but positively glow when Gavin walks into the room. On my tiptoes, I kiss him.

Again, the scene changes. Vince is at home when the doorbell rings. Officer Wallace is at the door. He gives his heartfelt apologies, but there was an accident, and his father didn’t make it.

On and on, each scene brings with it pain and anguish.

Somewhere inside of here is Vince, the real Vince. I have to find him before the pain of repeatedly losing his family and loved ones proves too much and snaps his mind.

Chapter 34

FOOTSTEPS BREAK MY concentration, and Gavin kneels beside me. “It’s been a long night. You should get some rest and try in the morning.”

“In the morning?” I make a noise similar to a dying laugh.

He nods toward the witches. “They don’t think you can save him, but I do.”

A knot forms in my throat. At least someone believes in me.

I glance at him, unable to look away from Vine for long. “You’re hurt.”

He touches his bleeding forehead. “I’m fine.”

If he isn’t, the witches should be able to handle a simple head wound. At least I hope so. I’m starting to doubt their abilities. What good is their magic if they can’t help people?

I jerk my chin toward the witches. “Ask them where my mom is. And how Stormtide could have done this.”

Gavin’s face twists into a sad grimace. “I fear I may know who.”

My heart sinks. “Your father?”

“Yeah.” He stands and brushes dirt from his jeans. “It’s a wonder you don’t hate me.”

“You can’t choose who your parents are.”

But sometimes, someone can choose to be a parent even when they can’t have children biologically.

He smiles sadly and joins the circle of witches.

With surprising ease, I shut down all contact with the outside world, blocking out Gavin’s and the witches’ voices and the few crickets that started to chirp. All I hear is my thudding heart. I concentrate on my breathing to slow it down. Vince’s eyes are closed, and he looks peaceful, as if he’s sleeping.

If only that was true.

I close my eyes and reenter his mind. The nightmares replay without end, some the same as before, others new ones.

The Vince involved in the nightmares isn’t my Vince, but a dream projection of him. Somewhere else is the real one.

Without hesitating, I imagine my body within the nightmare landscape. The car crash nightmare begins again. Vince stops at the light. My hand goes through the door, as if I’m a ghost. How weird. I hurry to put on my dream self’s seat belt.

But I’m too late. The other car collides with ours, and my dream body flies through the windshield.

Even though it’s only a nightmare, I feel the glass shards cutting into my dream body. I look at my hands. Cuts and bruises appear on my imagined body.

Vince runs to the dead dream Crystal’s side.

I back away from the car. The other car, Mr. Venator’s, is reversing.

And Mr. Venator is staring directly at me.

Can he see me?

I gulp and suppress a shudder.

The nightmare fades after Vince learns of his mother’s death. When the new one initiates, the wounds on my arms remain.

To stop the bleeding, I press my right hand to my left wound and do the same for my other arm. Even though this isn’t my real body, I’m in pain. Just a construct of the nightmare? My mind playing tricks on me…

I hope so, because if dream Mr. Venator knows I’m here and manages to kill me, will I die in the real world?

I don’t want to find out.

The car crash nightmare replays. This time, I run in the opposite direction of the car. At the end of the block, there’s only a drab grayness.

A new nightmare starts. I search for something outside the norm of the bad dream. On the edges of the scene is the same grayness, almost a nothingness.

When the scenery changes again, I race to the edge. I can sense the end of the nightmare, so I brace myself and jump into the grayness. Nothing happens at first, but then I’m yanked backward, forced to renter the dream.

Well, that was unexpected.

The nightmare alters again, and I wait throughout several, not moving, not daring to breathe. Each time Vince dreams a nightmare in which I get hurt or killed, new wounds slice through my body, the intensity increasing with each new injury. It takes effort, but I ignore the throbbing and harness my energy. I will not fail.

As soon as another nightmare begins, I find the edge, imagine myself within a bubble, and leap into the nothingness. As soon as I land, I feel the tug and shed the bubble. Only the bubble is brought back to the nightmares.

I shiver and rub my bleeding arms. The nothingness is freezing.

“Vince?” I call. “Are you here?”

Far in the distance, a figure appears.

“Vince!” My legs refuse to cooperate. It’s like I’m walking through quicksand. With barely a thought, I hover inches above the grayness and fly toward…

Mr. Venator.

His smile is the nastiest smile I’ve ever seen. “Hello, Lydia.”

Lydia? Why is he calling me—oh, right. Because Gavin lied about my name.

I flip my hair back. “Mr. Venator, it’s good to see you again.”

He raises an upside down V-shaped eyebrow. “Lies don’t become you.” A dagger appears in his hand, and he uses it to pick at his teeth.

My mouth grows dry. “You wouldn’t hurt your son’s girlfriend?”

As if bored, he starts to pick at his fingernails. “Why would you think that?”

I say nothing.

“You aren’t my son’s girlfriend.”

There’s no point in lying, but I maintain my silence.

“My son is such a disappointment. He doesn’t want to continue in the great Venator witch hunter line. Why I don’t understand. Witches aren’t natural. Magic brings out the worst in people. It makes them greedy, selfish, self-centered. It needs to be eradicated from the Earth.”

I can’t keep quiet any longer. “Gavin can choose to live his life the way he wants to.”

“Not if I don’t agree.” Mr. Venator tosses the dagger from one hand to the other, his gaze always on me, not the weapon, but he never comes close to hurting himself. Such reckless disregard, yet he seems to be in complete control.

“He is not a failure—”

“He cares for you deeply, even though you do not return his affection. You care for him.”

I clench my teeth, my heart aching for Vince, hurting me more than my wounds. The moment has finally come. I’m in love with Vince. I love him, will always love him.

“Let him go,” I growl.

“Now why would I do that?” He turns his back to me then whips around, throwing the dagger at me.

My hand raises, and the dagger stops, hovering in mid-air, a good foot away from me. It spirals in place, the metal gleaming in contrast to the dreariness around us.

Ropes materialize in his hands, and he twirls a lasso above his head. He throws it at me.

At the last second, I sidestep it. He yanks it back, but I grab it and set it on fire. The flames zoom across it, back toward his hand. Before he’s burned, the rope disappears.

Mr. Venator disappears too.

I race away. The scenery never changes. Bitter coldness seeps into me. If anything, it’s getting wintrier, and I half expect there to be snow on the ground.

Turning, I switch directions and proceed to the south. After running another four minutes, my chest heaves and my side aches from a sticker. It’s surreal, my feeling pain within Vince’s mind.

I bend over, hands on my knees, gasping down air. It would easy to magic this away, but I’m not sure if I should. I need my power to battle Mr. Venator, but I can’t have my physical body weak.

After a brief rest, I continue on, this time walking. The cold fades away, replaced with moisture as rain pours from the sky. Within seconds, I’m drenched.

Is this grayness a part of the nightmare, or separate? What does Vince hate the most? Besides losing family and friends, that is. Not the cold, not heat. Rain. Yes, he hates rain, sleet, hail, snow.

If this is still a part of the nightmare, then the real Vince might be trapped somewhere nearby.

I hope.

The wind picks up, rain giving way to hail, and I raise my hand to protect my face. I walk and walk and walk. Nothing ever changes. No Vince. No Mr. Venator either.

I stop. If I turn eastward, I’ll return to the cold region. To the west, I suspect, will be heat. There’s no point in continuing south. With this weather, I’ll never be able to find Vince. Which leaves north. Who knows what waits for me there?

Lacking a better idea, I rush northward, sneezing several times from the precipitation. I can’t stop shivering. Eventually the hail reverts into rain, and finally, the rain stops.

Even though I try to think only of Vince, my thoughts betray me, and I fear what I will find if I continue this way. My biggest fear lies not with the sun or lack thereof nor with precipitation.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it…

Just like a little child, the more I try not to think about it, the more I think about it. My earliest memory. I was four. My parents took me to the beach. My dad thought it would be a great idea to bury me in the sand. I screamed and screamed, terrified of being trapped in the sand.

Two years later, Mom and I visited a cousin in California. A few days before Christmas, the earth rocking and rolling woke me. I turned on the news in time to watch a building collapse. That night, I had a nightmare—the earth beneath me gave way and swallowed me whole. Whenever I’m overly stressed or worried, I have the same nightmare.

The gray I walk on shifts beneath my feet. I barely have time to react before I’m in the air. The gray ground cracks apart, opening like a giant mouth, the hole pure darkness.

I gulp. Flying will hopefully keep me safe from earthquakes.

Is this part of the nightmare a construct for me?

Regardless, I have to hurry. If Vince is here, he won’t be able to fly to avoid the cracked openings that splinter everywhere.

The landscape transforms around me. The blackness from within the cracks zoom up as if to eat me, and suddenly there are walls around me, the grayness far above, the path stretching before me wide. A low rumbling sounds, and the walls close in, rocks and pebbles raining down. I fly straight up and manage to leave the crevice beneath me. It seals itself back up as if it had never been a fissure to begin with.

I don’t have time to sigh with relief. Before me is a reddish brown color, and when I cross over, my magic fails me. I drop to the ground with a thud, my wounded arms unable to prevent me from slamming my face onto the ground. One of my shoulders aches horribly. I may have separated it earlier. In my worry for Vince, I hadn’t felt the pain of it until now.

Using my good shoulder and arm to stand, I scramble to my feet and stagger forward. If more earthquakes are coming, I won’t be able to outrun them. I’d fall, perhaps to my death.

And if I die here, will my physical body also die?

Chapter 35

MY ACHING LEGS won’t allow me to run. My body’s shutting down. I can scarcely catch my breath, my ears ring, and my vision dulls around the edges.

Whatever you do, don’t panic.

Too late. My throat closes, and bright lights explode before me. I sway on my feet.

Calm down. You can do this. Think about Vince.

Closing my eyes helps to clear my head. My breathing returns to normal, and I’m in control again.

I open my eyes. One foot in front of the other. After several paces, I attempt to fly again, but an invisible force field grounds me.

No fire comes when I open my palm.

My magic truly is blocked.

Panic threatens to overwhelm me again, but I shove it away. Even if I can’t do anything magical here, I’ll still find a way to save Vince. His life, and maybe mine too, depends on it.

Even so, every few steps, I attempt to do something with my power and fail each time.

In the distance is a dark speck. Vince? I race toward it.

No. It’s a large hole. Bits of the red ground crumple beneath my feet and fall like small rocks into the cavernous opening. I back up slowly.

The ground rumbles. My body trembles uncontrollably from the force of the earthquake. Several feet away, the ground cracks open, splinters forming, some heading straight for me.

I can’t risk falling, so I start to climb down the large hole. The walls shake, pebbles and rocks flying all around me. My fingers dig into my handholds as the small foothold I stand on crumples to nothing. My lower body slams into the wall.

Don’t look down. Don’t look down.

Of course I do. Only emptiness awaits me.

My fingers can’t hold on any longer when my feet finally find holes, and I resume my descent. Time’s running out. If I don’t find, and save, Vince soon, he’ll be lost to me forever. I know this in both my mind and my heart.

The walls shake, more violently than before. Large chunks of the wall break off and fall on either side of me. I pick up my pace. A foothold, another, a handhold, another, a foothold…

Without notice, something heavy falls on my head. Instinctively, I bring up my hands, and I lose my grip on the wall. I plummet. So does the massive rock that hit me. If a boulder that size hit my head in the real world, I would’ve died. My mind grows fuzzy, pounding from the collision. I turn my head to the side and vomit. Great. Do I have a concussion? Just what I need.

The freefall lasts forever, the huge rock only a few inches above me. I fail to blast it into a million pieces with my magic.

I’m going to get crushed… unless there is no bottom. Just an endless hole. I’ll spend the rest of my life falling…

No. I’m not ready to give up.

I grab the rock and climb until I’m on top of it and sat down. The walls stop shaking. The earthquake’s over. How many more I can survive, I don’t know and I don’t want to find out.

The scenery never changes. Darkness below, reddish brown walls on either side. I’m stuck.

I stare into the darkness. Vince, wherever you are, I’ll find you. Don’t be scared.

Within my mind, I swear I hear a response. Crystal, whatever you do, don’t come here.

In my excitement, I start to stand. The rock shifts, circling, and I crawl to keep on top of it until it stops spinning. I settle on top of it again.

Vince, can you hear me?

Yes.

My heart warms to hear his voice, even if it’s with my mind and not my ears. Where are you?

Don’t worry about me. It’s not safe for you here.

I snort. And it’s safe for you?

No answer.

Is he still there? Desperation and fright worsens my headache. Vince, I—

I know.

So you know why I have to—

Love isn’t always enough.

He’s given up. Isn’t willing to fight anymore. The Vince I hear in my mind sounds broken, lost. As if everything important has been stripped of him, and all he has left are hurts and regrets.

Why can’t it be? I send to him.

I used to think… It doesn’t matter now.

I slam my fist onto the rock. What about your parents, Vince? Do you think they can handle losing another son?

He doesn’t respond.

And what about me? You matter to me, Vince. I care about you. I—

Don’t you see, Crystal? This isn’t about love.

I slam my fists onto the rock. My stomach’s churning, but I refuse to be sick again. Then what is it about?

It’s a trap.

How could I have been so stupid? All of this is just another trap for me, Vince still the bait, only now instead of only his body, it’s his mind. First Stormtide, now Mr. Venator…

Vince, are you alone right now?

Yes.

Where are you?

I can’t move. I can’t see. I can’t do anything. His frustrations bleed through into his thoughts.

Are you tied up?

A few moments pass. No.

Then why can’t you move?

Because I’m in a confined space. I have just enough room to breathe.

I gasp and cover my mouth with my hand. Is it possible? He does sound close, even if his voice is only in my mind.

Having nothing to lose, I dig into the top of the rock. Pebbles and dirt erode away from the surface. A fingernail bends back, but I keep tunneling.

Crystal? Are you still there? I’m probably going crazy. Imagining her voice in my head.

I’m here, Vince. And don’t worry. A trap won’t keep me from coming.

But, Crystal—

But nothing. I scrape so much a hole forms. Can you see light?

Nope.

Refusing to accept that my wild theory is wrong, I dig harder, faster. Time seems suspended in this place. I glance at the walls. The rock and I are still falling.

Then I lean over and glance down and immediately wish I hadn’t.

The seemingly endless hole isn’t bottomless. And I’m heading straight for the cave floor.

Chapter 36

TERRIFIED, I SCREAM.

What’s wrong?

I stop yelling. “You heard me?” I ask aloud. Is my crazy, desperate theory accurate?

There’s a short pause. “Yes.”

Hearing Vince’s voice, with my ears and not just inside my mind, destroys me. A single tear rolls down my cheek and drops into the hole I carved into the rock. It’s too cruel, finding Vince inside the boulder when we’re a minute away from being smashed into smithereens.

Maybe our close proximity allowed for our mental communication.

Mental.

Mental block.

Maybe that’s why I can’t access my magic here. Because Mr. Venator somehow gave me a mental block!

Now that I know what to look for, I can feel the block against my mind like a physical entity within me. Precious seconds tick by as I slam into it with mental fire, with wind, with a tsunami, but nothing prevails against it. The barrier—I can practically see it, all gray and prison-bar like—refuses to be broken.

“What’s wrong, Crystal?” Vince asks.

I close my eyes. Within my heart is my magic, as well as my love for Vince. If anything can help me save him, it’s that.

Please, dear Lord, I need your help now more than ever. I know I’m not human, that I’m magic, but I still want to be one of Your children. Please heed my cry and help me, and Vince.

My heart burns, and I gasp from the pain. Energy courses within me from my heart to every part of my body. My magic is still within me, has always been there. It flows throughout my body, and I assume my true form. The barrier shatters.

There’s no time to waste. With my mind, I create a small seed and throw it to the ground that’s racing up to meet us. My magic nurtures the seed, forcing it to grow as if each second is a hundred years. It blossoms into a huge, leafy tree. I bend the branches to form something similar to a baseball mitt.

A second later, the rock crashes into the tree. The impact jars me so harshly I’m yanked back into my human form. A large fissure splinters down the sides of the rock.

Vince?

“Vince!”

If the collision injured him… if it did worse… I should have figured out another way to save us…

I push the two sides of the rock apart with my feet. With a cracking sound, the rock fissures open like an egg. There’s not enough light for me to see inside, to see if Vince is all right.

“Not bad. Not bad at all.”

I glance wildly around until I locate Mr. Venator. After one last look at the rock, I float down to stand several feet away from him. “What do you want from me?”

“Do you know how special you are, girl?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not here to talk or answer questions. I just want to save Vince and go.”

“Ah, yes, the boy. Encasing him in that rock seemed so clever at the time. How was I supposed to know that your biggest fear was an earthquake? Or that one would dislodge his rock from its hiding spot? But all that is immaterial. You may have found him, but you haven’t rescued him yet, and you certainly aren’t leaving.”

“Why do you hate me? Because I’m a…” What had the supposed Thunderstruck called me? “Because I’m an abomination?”

“You aren’t an abomination. You are the rebirth, the renewal. You are the one who will finally destroy all those with magic.”

He wants me to end the war between the witches and the shamans, but not by choosing one side and helping them win. No, he wants both sides annihilated.

How anyone could think I’d be a party to a massacre I don’t know. “And what then? If I did destroy them?”

“Then I will kill you.” His lips curl into a nasty smile.

“And the world will no longer have any magic within it.”

“None.” Looking like a cat that caught the canary, he steeples his fingers and lifts his eyebrows, as if daring me to defy him.

Defy him I will. Despite this hellish place he’s created, he doesn’t scare me. Nothing he can say or do will get me to do as he wishes.

I float higher above him. “Mr. Venator, do you believe in miracles?”

He narrows his eyes. “What’s your point?”

“Only that you can’t decide whether or not there is magic in the world. I can’t either. It’s not up to us.” I look upward even though the sky isn’t above me.

“Superstitious religious nonsense.”

“You are an ignorant fool.” I sound convincing, firm, but I’m still questioning it myself. Does God exist?

“I’m not some heathen like the shamans,” he growls.

I rub my chin and lower myself to the ground. “Do you kill them too, or only witches?”

“My family has hunted down the witches for centuries now. My father and I are the first to pay attention to the shamans.”

“You mean use them for your gain.”

“In some instances.” He holds up his hand. “But enough talking. We can go on and on, arguing politics and religion and the purpose of the world, but not now. There is something I need you to do.”

The audacity of the man! “What’s that?”

“I’ll allow you and that boy…” He juts his chin toward the rock in the tree. “To leave if you promise to convince my son to follow his legacy and embrace his right as a witch hunter. I know you, good little religious girl. You always keep your word.”

I smile inwardly. Could it be that simple, that easy? I may be religious, but I’m no saint, and I’m far from perfect. In fact, my most common sin is lying.

“Don’t even think about crossing me,” he adds idly. “It was all too easy for me to convince Stormtide to kidnap the boy. I could do so myself next time. Or I could just kill him.”

My anger bubbles up within me, igniting beyond the point of control. With an inhumane yell, I raise my arm and blast Mr. Venator.

He disappears.

Strong hands grip my throat. I claw at him, but he doesn’t loosen his grip. Blackness dots my vision. I lift my foot and kick backward, connecting with his upper thigh.

Mr. Venator releases me and staggers back. A small vial is in his hand. He winds up. Before he can throw it, I shatter the glass. A puff of green smoke escapes and dissipates into the air. To my disappointment, he’s unfazed.

“I’ve hunted a lot of witches over the years,” he remarks.

A decent-sized rock sits on the ground behind him. My emotions are too scattered for me to be able to lift it magically.

“Killed most of ones I’ve met. If you won’t join me and help my cause, then there’s no reason for me not to kill you too.” A knife appears in his hand.

How? He’s not a witch, I know he isn’t, and even if he had a vial, he isn’t a shaman either. Can he only use magic like this because this isn’t the real world? Anything can happen in dreams… and in nightmares.

The knife’s gone from his hand. Where did it go?

I gasp at the shock of pain that floods my system as the knife buries itself into my stomach. Ignoring the agony, I concentrate on the rock. It shakily floats, and I magically lob it at Mr. Venator’s head.

With a groan, he collapses. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. “This isn’t the end,” he promises before vanishing.

My arms feel too heavy as I struggle to lift them. My fingers slide on the hilt before I can grasp it enough to remove the knife. My pain doesn’t lessen. Blood gushes from the wound. Somehow, I’m walking toward the tree. My foot slips on the puddle of blood forming beneath me.

Looks like I will find out whether or not dying here will cause me to die in real life.

A hand brushes my hair back. When had I closed her eyes? I open them. Vince, dirtier than I’ve ever seen him, handsomer too, kneels before me.

“You came,” he whispers.

“I told you I would never leave you.”

He chokes back a sob. “I thought… Tommy did.”

“Not by choice.” My hand shakes as I grasp him, my blood coating our joined hands.

“Never by choice.” He brings my hand to his lips. “You need to sleep now, Crystal.”

“I am tired.” My voice sounds far away. “But—”

“Sh.”

My mind is beginning to turn cloudy. My heartbeat is slowing. I can feel myself slip away. But there’s something I want to say… something I have to say…

Vince strokes my cheek. “I know you love me.” His voice is so soft I hardly hear him.

“I know you love me.” My lips won’t cooperate. I can’t smile. The pain vanishes, replaced by a numbness that scares me even more. “Am I dying?”

He shakes his head. “No. The only one here who can die is me.”

I struggle to sit up.

“Don’t move.” Vince eases me back down.

“How… how can I save you? Get you out of here?”

“That’s simple. We just have to go to sleep.”

“And then we’ll be free?”

“Yes.”

How can he be so certain? I gulp. Sleep is so tempting, but what if I never wake up? “Will we remember everything that went on here?” I ask, stalling.

“I won’t. You might.”

So he won’t know I love him. I pray I’ll have the chance to tell him again.

“Go to sleep now,” he urges.

“Not without you,” I mumble.

Vince lies down beside me, and we cuddle. Too exhausted to fight it any longer, I fall asleep within seconds.

Chapter 37

WHEN I OPEN my eyes, I’m back in the clearing, my body whole and pain-free. Vince’s head rests on my lap, and I caress his cheek. He feels warm, his chest rising and falling, his heartbeat strong.

“She’s trying to save him,” Gavin says, and I glance up to see him standing with the witches.

“It’s not possible,” Sapphire Belladonna says. “That curse is—”

Has no time passed?

I clear my throat, and they look over. “He’s sleeping now.”

Sapphire Belladonna grimaces. Her disbelief wounds me.

Silver Tiger smiles like the giant cat she’s named after. She walks over and stares at Vince then touches his forehead. “She’s right.” There’s no trace of surprise in her voice. Her smile grows even larger, haughtier. “Didn’t I not tell you that you can do anything?”

I’m too happy to be annoyed she’s claiming some of the credit. “Thank you all for coming. I’m glad Mom was able to send you word.”

Silver Tiger frown. “I haven’t seen Patricia in many years.”

My grin dies. “Then how did you know I needed your help?”

“Scrying.” Sapphire Belladonna glides over.

“You’re still spying on me?”

Sapphire Belladonna opens her mouth.

I hold up my hand. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter.” Careful not to jar Vince, I grab my cell and dial Mom. It goes straight to voicemail.

I lean down and kiss Vince’s forehead. As much as I hate being separated from him, I have to find out what happened to Mom. A sinking feeling fills my stomach. I long to rouse him, but he would have too many questions, and his waking up here would cause him so much confusion. If letting him sleep longer saves him from fear, I’m more than willing to wait to be reunited with him.

“Gavin.”

He approaches. “What do you need?”

“Take Vince home. Try to keep him asleep.”

“What should I tell his parents?”

I shrug. “You guys had to leave the fire hall to get something. Then you decided to get some coffee and dessert after setting up for the memorial. Lost track of time, your cell phones died. I don’t know. Make up something.”

“Will do.” He smiles.

His willingness to help me makes me feel badly. His father hadn’t lied. Gavin does care for me deeply. I can see it in his face. “Thank you. You’re a wonderful friend.”

His smile spreads from cheek to cheek. “Friends are overrated. I don’t need them, remember?”

I laugh and squeeze Vince’s hand as Gavin struggles to lift him.

After I jump to my feet, I magically lift Vince for him. How can I feel so strong after the abuse my imagined body went through?

Gavin returns to the car, and I slip Vince into the backseat. “Put his seat belt on,” I call.

He does and drives away.

Loneliness fills me, an emptiness that only my loved ones can fill. A wave of exhaustion sweeps over me, and I sway.

“Relax. You’re doing too much.” Silver Tiger grabs my arm.

I brush her away. “I’ll be fine. I can do anything, right?”

Is that… concern in the witch’s eyes?

“Before Gavin and I came here, I asked my mom to go to the mountain to find you.” I swallow hard. Vince is safe, but Mom might not be.

“Then we’ll go to the cottage.” Sapphire Belladonna touches my shoulder. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

I take a long look around the clearing and into the surrounding darkness of the forest. I’m about to leave the place where I had been fated to die. A sense of invincibility empowers me. Nothing can stop me. I will find Mom, and all will be well again.

The four of us leap upward and tear through the air, the wind frigid but not nearly as cold as it had been in Vince’s mind. Although we have a great distance to travel, it feels like the journey only takes a minute before we land in front of the cottage, the door half off the hinges.

“We’ll go first,” Amethyst Wolf says.

I ignore her. “Mom!” I hurry inside, the witches on my heels.

The cottage is ransacked, the furniture overturned, mirror broken, the keepsakes from the mantel shattered against the floor.

“She’s not here,” I whisper to myself.

“Do not fret, child. We can do a spell to learn what happened here.”

I’m not paying them any attention, not even sure which one spoke. I approach the mantel and stare at my reflection through the large spidery cracks of the mirror. There’s some dirt on the glass, and I wipe it away with my hand.

Not dirt. Dried blood.

Imbedded into the crack is a strand of reddish blonde hair. Mom made it to the cottage. Where did she go? And did she go willingly?

“Spell?” I repeat. “What is it? Let me help.”

The witch sisters right the couch, and Silver Tiger bodily forces me to sit on it.

“Conserve your strength,” Silver Tiger says. “We can handle this.”

I want to argue, but she’s right, plus I’m exhausted. My eyes close despite my trying to stay awake, and I enter a trance-like state. I’m not sleeping, but I’m not completely awake either. I can see and hear the witches, even though it’s dark and they’re muffled, like through sunglasses and ear muffs.

They hold hands and chant, “Time rewind and give us new eyes. Give us insight into the past. Time rewind and give us new eyes. Give us insight into the past. Time rewind and give us new eyes. Give us insight into the past.”

The air in the cottage shifts and becomes older, staler. The furniture rights itself, and the door closes.

Knock, knock. The door opens. I almost abandon my trance when I see Mom.

She looks around, anxiety written in the lines on her forehead and around her mouth. “Elizabeth?” She closes the door and walks around the cottage before sitting down on the couch beside me.

Every five minutes or so, Mom gets up, paces for a little, and then sits down again. During her third pacing, the door slams open, and several unfamiliar men and women flood the cottage.

Silver Tiger mutters something.

Mom jumps to her feet. “Who are you?”

A man glares at her and shoves his trench coat behind him. “Who are you?” His voice is raspy. He furrows his unibrow at her.

Mom silently sits down.

More people enter. A woman walks over to the mantel and, with one sweep of her hand, knocks off all of the keepsakes from it. Most break, shattering into several pieces.

“Stop!” Mom stands again. “What are you doing here? What do you want?”

“For one thing, for you to shut up.” The unibrow man removes an open zipper from his pocket and zips it shut.

Mom’s lips form an impossibly small, thin line. She visibly makes an effort to talk but isn’t able to.

Several of the people trash the cottage, and it’s evident they’re looking for something or someone.

The witches. They thought they were hiding somewhere.

Which meant the people have to be shamans.

Of all nights, they picked this night to battle the witches, the night when Mom’s alone in the witches’ cottage, the night when a rogue shaman kidnaps Vince, the night before the memorial service.

A few minutes later, the cottage looks almost identical to when we entered. All of the shaman leave the cottage save for the unibrow man and the mantel woman.

The man stomps over to Mom. He holds up the zipper and opens it. “Where are they?”

She crosses her arms and taps her foot. “Do you think I would tell you?”

The woman slaps her. “Where are they?”

“If I knew where they were, don’t you think I would be with them?”

I have to snicker. Mom giving the shamans lip is hilarious.

“She’s useless. We might as well get rid of her,” the woman says.

“I’d like to see you try.” Mom doesn’t sound, or look, the least bit frightened. Love floods me, giving me more strength and energy.

The woman tilts her head back and roars with laughter. “What can you do to stop us? You’re nothing.”

“Nothing?” Mom says calmly.

I’m anything but calm. Now completely removed from my trance, I stand beside my ghost-like mother’s form, wishing I could give her some of my power.

If something happened to Mom while I saved Vince…

But I hadn’t realized that sending Mom to the cottage would be dangerous.

Even so, Mom needed me and I hadn’t been there. What kind of a poor excuse of a daughter am I?

Mom stares at the floor in front of the mantel.

The man shrugs. “Do what you want. We don’t have time for this. Something must have tipped them off.”

A broken figurine on the floor slowly spins in a circle.

Mom focuses on the woman. “If you kill me, you’ll never know where they are.”

The woman wrinkles her nose. “You know nothing.”

The figurine floats an inch off the floor then falls back down.

“Are you willing to take that risk?” Mom asks.

The woman’s lips twist into a cruel smile. “I’ve been known as a risk taker. Might as well live dangerously.”

“You like danger? Here’s some danger.” Mom holds out her hand, and the figurine jumps into it.

I gasp. Mom finally found a way past her mental block!

She smashes the figurine on top of the woman’s head.

The woman’s eyes turn red. She grabs Mom by the neck and shoves her backward, their feet practically hovering above the air they move so quickly. The woman only stops after Mom’s head connects with a mirror hanging on the wall, the impact shattering it.

I try to yank the woman away from Mom, but my hands go through her ghost-like form.

“Stop fooling around. They aren’t here,” unibrow orders.

“That was obvious a while ago,” the woman snaps.

“We should leave. If you want to kill her, kill her.”

“Go ahead.” Mom’s voice sounds hoarse as the woman still holds her pinned against the mirror.

“She obviously knows the witches. She may prove useful,” the woman says disgustedly, as if she would rather kill Mom and be rid of her.

“Then bring her, but she’s your responsibility.”

The woman physically drags Mom behind her. Mom grabs ahold of the door.

The woman yanks her hair. “Don’t press your luck. If I decide you don’t deserve oxygen, you’ll die of suffocation. I’ve killed many a witch by various means. I can figure out a new way to kill one especially for you.”

They leave the cottage and disappear. The spell ends.

“Shamans,” I say, hoping one of the witches will disagree.

“We’ve been keeping an eye on the perimeter of the city,” Sapphire Belladonna says. “In the last two weeks, shamans were spotted in nearby cities, but none made a move near Mount Claymore. Although it’s rare for so many shamans to be in such close proximity, we thought it harmless as long as they didn’t set foot within the town.”

I can’t contain my rising temper. “You didn’t think I should have known about this before now?”

“We didn’t want to worry you,” Silver Tiger says.

I throw my hands up. “I thought you wanted me to be protected and safe. How can that happen when I don’t know an enemy is closing in?”

Silver Tiger’s eyes flashes. “An enemy? What other enemies do you mean? We took care of Stormtide tonight.”

“Yeah, but there’s also Mr. Venator.” And I’m still not convinced all witches want what’s best for me. I turn to Sapphire Belladonna. “You said shamans don’t normally gather in groups, but they must have before in order for there to be a longstanding war between them and…” I gasp and cover my mouth with my hands. “They want to fight another battle,” I whisper, my words muffled.

“No, my dear,” Sapphire Belladonna says softly. “They want to fight the final battle.”

Chapter 38

I GULP. FINAL sounded so… well, final.

My lips turn downward, and I shake my head. “I don’t understand. The shamans know about me, but they didn’t know that Patricia is my mom.”

“They know of you. They’re drawn to your magic,” Silver Tiger says.

“As we all are,” Amethyst Wolf adds.

Enough talking. I rub my hands together. “Let’s go find—”

The door slams opened.

“I can’t believe it. She was actually telling the truth.”

That voice. It belongs to the woman from the vision of the past.

I start toward the door. Silver Tiger grabs my arm and shakes her head. The witch brings her finger to her lip and points to the couch. The idea of hiding makes me want to rip out my hair—or maybe Silver Tiger’s—but I kneel behind the couch and wait.

The man and woman from earlier waltz inside the cottage. The man steps before Sapphire Belladonna. “Where is it?”

I bristle. It? Does he mean me?

“Where is Patricia Miller?” Silver Tiger cuts in.

My opinion of the witch increases by several notches. Maybe she isn’t as mean-spirited as I think she is.

“That woman who fancies herself a witch but can barely control her magic? I killed her,” the woman says, her tone nonchalant and matter-of-fact, unmoving, uncaring.

Without thinking, I leap to my feet. “You better not have,” I warn, my voice low, my tone dangerous.

The woman sizes me up. “Who are you?” she asks in a bored tone.

Silver Tiger glowers at me. Even Sapphire Belladonna doesn’t appear pleased. I don’t bother to look at Amethyst Wolf.

“No one,” I finally say after a short pause.

“Aren’t you a creative liar? No one.” The woman smirks and walks over to me, a good six inches taller than my five-feet frame.

“Moonshine, leave her be. She’s of no consequence to us.”

I stare the woman down as best I can from my shorter height. As long as I keep my emotions in check and don’t accidentally leak magic, the shamans won’t realize I’m the one they’re searching for.

Moonshine steps back to stand beside the man as a unified front. The three witches face them. The soft hum of magic fills the air between them. If I walk there, I know I’ll have no control of myself, and my true form will be revealed.

“Patricia Miller is not dead,” Silver Tiger says. “She and I are bound together as blood sisters. I would know if she had been killed.”

“If you two truly are blood sisters, you would not need to ask where she is,” Moonshine counters.

I sit on the couch and pretend to ignore the power struggle.

“We’re not here because of this Patricia,” the man interjects.

“Actually, we are. Before I sliced her throat, she said it would only be a matter of time before you wenches returned to your quaint little dwelling place.” Moonshine sneers.

I glance up at Silver Tiger through blurry, tear-filled eyes. Silver Tiger does not look alarmed in the slightest. Does that mean the woman is bluffing?

“Why are you here?” Sapphire Belladonna asks.

Calm, collected, together, always the leader—at this moment, I’m not sure if I like the way Sapphire Belladonna takes charge of every situation.

Once Mom is safe and this awful night is over, things are going to change. I’m not going to be a doormat for anyone anymore.

“You know well why, Sapphire Belladonna. Don’t play games with me.” The man crosses his muscular arms.

“I don’t play games with your kind, Starlight.”

He grins and moves closer to her. “There was a time when you thought differently.”

I furrow my brow. Even confusion crosses Silver Tiger’s features for a second before returning to her disinterested gaze.

“That was a long time ago, and before I knew what you truly wanted.”

Starlight laughs heartily. “We all want the same thing. That’s why we’ve been fighting for so long.” His smile disappears, and his face grows serious. “You know where to find us. Come within the hour, or else sacrifices will commence.”

Starlight and Moonshine clasp hands. With their free hands, they throw something to the ground. A large cloud of smoke appears. Once it dissipates, the witches and I are alone.

“Where are they?” I demand.

“To the south there is an old cemetery,” Sapphire Belladonna says.

“The site of the first battle between witches and shamans,” Amethyst Wolf explains.

Lovely.

“Sacrifices?” I ask, my voice cracking. Please let that be a ruse.

“Witches use a different means to tap into their magic than shamans do,” Sapphire Belladonna says. “Witches use chants and the connection between themselves and magic. Although shamans are obsessed with their bodies, minds, and souls, they use their magic through outside means. The more powerful the spell a shaman wishes to use, the stronger the object they must use.”

“Let me guess… the strongest element is blood.” My mind churns. Since they don’t know Patricia is my mom, they won’t know who my friends are, but that doesn’t mean I want innocents to be killed because of me.

Silver Tiger nods.

“Is Mom really still alive? Are you and she really blood sisters? What does that mean?” I ask her.

“Before I realized I truly was a witch, I dabbled with magic, not knowing what I was doing. We pledged to be lifelong friends, and we sealed that vow with blood. We are indeed blood sisters. Yes, she is alive.”

“For now” is unspoken, but I read it in the haunting look in her eyes.

I rub my forehead. This night is proving to be nothing more than a series of traps. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

Amethyst Wolf tilts her head. Three long, loud howls echo in the room. She clears her throat and faces me. “We wait for the rest of my coven.”

We need all the help we can get. I pace the room, unable to relieve some of my anxious energy. “Then what?”

“Then we go to the cemetery,” Silver Tiger says. “You still want to save your mom, I would imagine.”

“Of course!”

“It is a setup, Crystal,” Sapphire Belladonna warns, “but we are not young witches. We know much about the ways of magic. We will not fail you.”

I want to believe her. After all, if it wasn’t for her and Silver Tiger and Scarlet Blood, I never would have been born. To bring about the birth of magic could not have been an easy feat.

But now my blood is ice within my veins. What if I had been wrong in my assumption that the forest had been the location of my death? What if it turns out to be the cemetery instead?

Does it matter?

No. Mom is in danger because of me. I’ll do anything to save her, even if it means reigniting the war between shamans and witches, even if it means I might die. Patricia is my mom. I’d never turn my back on her.

“Is there anything I can do to prepare myself?” I ask. After all the earlier events of the night, my body is nearly taxed to the limit.

Sapphire Belladonna holds my hands within her own. “Just breathe and relax,” she murmurs.

Strange warmth radiates from the witch’s hands and travels up my arms, through my chest, to my heart. Foreign magic washes over me, and I gasp, shocked at how different and yet similar it feels to my own power.

Sapphire Belladonna steps back and breaks our connection. “How do you feel now?”

“Better. As if I’ve slept for an entire week. How did… what did you do to me?”

“I recharged you. It’s more important for you to be at your full potential than I.” The faintest of lines have appeared around Sapphire Belladonna’s eyes and mouth. Recharging aged her physically.

“Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it.”

Amethyst Wolf has been standing by the open window, her head outside. She ducks back within the cottage. “They’ll be here in a minute.”

“Tell them to hurry,” I plead.

“They’ll be here in a minute,” Amethyst Wolf says coolly.

Just as she said, a minute later, two more witches enter the cottage. Amethyst Wolf points to the one on the right. “Amber Lynx. And Azure Rose. Girls, this is Sapphire Belladonna, Silver Tiger, and Crystal.”

I hold out my hand to the newcomers. Azure Rose ignores it, but Amber Lynx pumps it enthusiastically. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she says in a bubbly voice. She looks to be about my age. Although the other witches also appear young, Amber Lynx actually is.

“Thanks.”

Amethyst Wolf quickly updates her coven.

“Should we not ask for others to come to?” Azure Rose’s voice is brash and harsh.

She should have been named Azure Thorn.

“It’s possible some of our sisters and brothers are already alerted to their presence and have moved on their own,” Sapphire Belladonna says.

“We don’t have another moment to waste,” I break in.

Azure Rose ignores me. “How many shamans are there?”

“Nine,” Silver Tiger supplies.

I hadn’t bothered to count how many shamans had entered the cottage in the memory spell thingy. Nine versus six. Not the best of odds, but I’m not about to sit here any longer. My body hums with energy.

“Let’s go,” I demand. If they aren’t willing to leave now, I’ll leave without them.

Chapter 39

NO ONE ARGUES further, much to my relief. The “A” crew flies first, with Sapphire Belladonna beside me and Silver Tiger bringing up the rear.

We pass above the sleeping town of Mount Claymore. I spy Vince’s house and try to tell if he’s still sleeping, but our mental connection is no longer there. Bitterness squeezes my heart. We’ve been through so much, and I alone know of the pain we overcame, the complete closeness we shared. One day, I will tell him everything. One day, I will say I love you to him, and he won’t interrupt me, and he’d say it back.

I hardly traveled beyond the walls of my small town. While I’ve been on several vacations over the years and gone to California to visit my cousin many times, I’ve never seen before the land we fly over now.

Like a flock of birds, we maintain our formation. Stars wink at me, their beauty promising everything will be all right.

I bump into Amber Lynx’s legs. “I’m sorry.”

As one, the three “A’s” stop and change position from flying prone to standing upright, hovering hundreds, if not thousands, of feet above the ground.

Azure Rose glowers at me. “We haven’t far to go. Stay silent.”

Pain stings against my mouth. Did the witch magically slap me? She makes Silver Tiger look like a day-old puppy.

I open my mouth to say, “You better watch it,” but refrain. Mom and I need her help.

As we resume flying, I realize Silver Tiger is quickly becoming one of the nicest witches I know. Not many magical beings are polite.

What does that make me?

On the crest of a large rolling hill, large tombstone stick out of the ground like giant stone thumbs. We land in the thick forest that ends before the hill.

I shudder. Another forest.

The witch sisters look at each other. Sapphire Belladonna nods and walks first. Not caring if I’m supposed to wait, I follow her and don’t bother to look behind to see the rest of the order.

We march in single file up the hill. I watch my feet so I don’t stumble over the gravestones, while Sapphire Belladonna just glides along as if there aren’t any obstacles in her path.

Wish I knew that trick. I’m not exactly clumsy, but I’m not graceful either.

The air hangs heavy around us, as if it passed on like those buried here. Long gone is the sense of peace I felt when I discovered my birth parents’ graves. Anxious energy surges within me, and my magic simmers, ready for another battle, this one in the real world where life and death is no guarantee.

Sapphire Belladonna reaches the crest of the hill and stops. I halt beside her. The rest of the witches fan out.

From behind tombstones, the shamans rise, like ghosts in the night. First Starlight, then Moonshine, and the rest.

I step forward, wanting to demand my mom’s release, but something makes me look back at Sapphire Belladonna. Although the witch stares at the shamans, she shakes her head.

Fine, I’ll do it her way… for now. I nod but neglect to move back beside her.

Neither side says or does anything, and my gaze falls to their feet. Bodies lie there, motionless, some under blankets.

They’re not dead. They’re not dead. They’re not dead… My short hair dances in a breeze, a breeze I’m creating. I’m starting to lose control. Already. Not good. Not good at all.

Starlight’s attention shifts over to me. So do the rest of the shamans. “I knew you were more than you seemed.” He turns back to Sapphire Belladonna. “A young girl? Really? You hid magic within a human girl?”

The utter shock and disbelief in his tone makes me want to giggle, and my anxiety melts away. The shamans do not understand what exactly I am. Somehow, I’ll use that to my advantage.

“I don’t care about your war.” I step over a grave and then another until I’m alone in the no man’s land between the two sides. “All I want is Patricia Miller back.”

Moonshine snorts. “What’s so special about her? She your mom or something?”

“Or something.” I smirk. Patricia’s so much more than just my mom.

“You’re young, too young.” Starlight doesn’t move closer, but the distance between us decreases. “What lies have they told you about us?”

“I can make up my own mind, and I’m neutral.” Even if Silver Tiger’s right and I’ll have to spend my life running, I’m not about to allow myself and my mom be dragged into some magical war.

One of the other shamans laughs. “Naïve girl. One day you’ll have to make a choice. There is no middle ground.”

“Just give me Patricia Miller, and we’ll go.” I glance behind me. Instead of five witches, there are eight. Another coven has joined the fight.

I gulp and struggle to remain calm. This is hardly the place for a fight, and there are so few shamans and witches. This can’t be the locale for the final battle, right?

The sun slowly climbs. Dawn’s approaching. Instead of being relieved at seeing the golden face, I’m even more worried. I can see the bodies at the shaman’s feet more clearly now, and they’re all people I know—friends and Mrs. Pullman. The shamans know more about me than they let on.

Fury and anger crash into me like a tidal wave, and I can’t hold back anymore. The mental dam within me shatters, and I hold out my arms as I transform into my true form.

“Give me Patricia and the rest of the humans,” I say in that voice that isn’t quite my own. “Or face my wraith.”

The shaman who laughed at me releases a low growl. He yanks the covering from his victim and flings it around his shoulders. It’s not a blanket after all—it’s a wolf skin. His nose twitches, and his entire body trembles violently. The sound of muscles growing and tendons snapping, bones breaking and skin stretching, echo despite our being out in the open. I can’t imagine that’s not a painful process, but his still human lips are stretched into an eerie smile. Not thirty seconds later, the shaman is no longer in human form. He’s a wolf.

The shapeshifting shaman lunges forward, jumps onto a large tombstone, and leaps into the air. His mouth hangs open, and saliva drips down his chin.

Unafraid, I float several inches above the ground and wait until he’s close enough that I can smell his breath—metallic and a mixture of spices—before I twist to the side. The wolf collides with a tombstone, a loud cracking sound rending the air, and he whimpers and whines.

By now, several other shamans have taken on animal form. One’s a rhinoceros, another a strange bear-dog hybrid creature. Fireballs whizz through the air, and lightning bolts sizzle as they connect with more gravestones than the shamans the witches are aiming for.

The fight escalates. As much as I want to remain free of the fray, the wolf stalks me. He leaps at me again, and this time, his teeth connect with my glowing leg-like limb.

I zoom up several miles before I bother to shake him loose. He plummets to the ground, howling all the while until he smashes against a tombstone. The wolf vanishes, replaced with the shaman, now dead.

My insides churn, and I make the sign of the cross. I killed him. He continually attacked me, would have slaughtered me without blinking a yellow eye. Had he known better? Or had life been cruel to him, and he didn’t know the way?

I lower myself to hover above the ground. The air around me pounds and shakes. The rhinoceros is bearing down toward me. The massive creature destroys the tombstones in its path, its head lowered, its horn glittering and glowering, reflecting the firelight and lightning bolts.

Nimbly, I jump onto its back and touch either side of its head. She came from a long and proud history of shamans. Most stayed away from the war, but she joined after a witch hunted down and murdered the rest of her family.

So much anger. So much despair. So much grief. Her emotions cripple her. Through our connection, I force the shaman to think of happier times, when she played with her younger brother and taught him how to rain dance, when she learned how to crack a rock to make water flow. The rhinoceros slows and eventually stands still.

It’s amazing how unafraid I am despite the chaos and destruction all around me. A lightning bolt lands on the gravestone to my right. The air crackles with electricity and hums with magic. I’m in my element here, and—for now at least—I’m in complete control.

I climb down and pat the rhino’s face, trying to let her know I mean no harm. “Be free,” I whisper.

Doubt and confusion swim in the creature’s eyes. The dark orbs change into human eyes then become animalistic again. The rhino lowers its head and brings it up swiftly. I don’t have time to react. The horn pierces me, goring me.

Chapter 40

I HOLD ONTO the animal’s head as she races through the graveyard once more, the horn lodged deep into my midsection. With every booming, earth-shaking fall of her massive feet, I grow weaker, but I don’t feel pain. I know the lethal wound won’t kill me. No blood, not even a trickle leaks out around the horn, only radiant light.

Although it requires a great deal of effort, I force myself to fly and unimpale myself. Some of my trickling light falls into her mouth. The rhino transforms back into the female shaman Moonshine.

Light covers the lower half of her face and neck. She touches it, and her hand starts to glow. Moonshine brings her hand to her heart and collapses.

Footsteps sound behind me, and someone runs by. Starlight. He rolls Moonshine over. The light disappears, winking out of existence. Moonshine is dead.

Did my magic overload the shaman?

Starlight whirls around, his expression one of shock. “You killed her.”

“Let me guess, I’m an abomination,” I say dryly. Her death doesn’t bother me as much as the wolf’s. His was intentional. I honestly tried to help Moonshine, to get her to, well, see the light, that revenge wasn’t all she had to live for.

“No.” There are so many conflicting emotions in his eyes—hatred, wonder, fear, and, surprisingly, respect.

Wonderful. Just what I don’t want. For the shamans to realize my true power.

“You saved her. Sent her to the next plane.”

I shake my head. “No, I…”

Wonder shines predominately in his eyes, but there’s something else too. Grief. He loves Moonshine.

The air crackles around me, and I zoom into the air. The lightning bolt pierces Starlight through his chest. He flies backward into a grave, and his body crumples. The scent of burnt flesh sears my nose.

From up high, I watch the fight. Although many on both sides have fallen, countless more have joined the fight. The final battle has indeed begun.

Magic fills the air. My energy and power expand within me as the magical people below expend theirs.

If I’m not careful, I will kill many more people before the sun rises.

I have to stop the battle. I’m on a timeline. For what? For who?

Vince.

My magic surges, and I have to stop thinking about my boyfriend. The stronger the emotion I feel, the less control I have with my power.

Like a mystical bird, I swoop down, scoop up Mrs. Pullman, drop her off in the forest, and untie her bindings. Mrs. Pullman doesn’t stir. As if knowledge just comes to me, I know what to do. I touch Mrs. Pullman in the center of her forehead. “You will remember nothing except that you went for a long morning stroll. You will return to the bakery and go about your business as normal.”

Mrs. Pullman opens her eyes. “I need to return to the bakery,” she says to herself, and she walks away.

It will take her a good two hours to return to Claymore, I figure, leaving her more than enough time to gather the goodies and bring them over to the fire hall before the memorial service starts.

Sudden heat explodes into my back, and I wince. An uncontrolled fireball must have hit me. I swallow up the heat, and the pain disappears. The consumed magic feels alien and strange, so I use it to close the gaping wound from the rhino’s horn. No more light spills out, although I still glow brighter than any star.

I dodge flying witches and more animals, skirting air blasts and flying tombstones. Without any complications, I save Heather and Brian and send them to their homes.

Even more witches and shamans are battling. A small cloud formed from the overload of magic hovers above us, blotting out the rising sun. A lightning bolt crashes into me, as if the cloud is sentient and wants to consume me.

The cloud obscures the world with darkness, and I zoom around, struggling to find the humans and ignoring the fight as best I can. A sudden, wicked gust almost knocks me into a tombstone. Father Joseph lies down in the next row of graves, and I save him and three acquaintances from high school.

Sapphire Belladonna scoops up Paula. I pause my frantic flying pace and allow myself a small smile. I’m not the only one concerned with the innocents.

But why haven’t I found Mom yet?

Silver Tiger battles a large Bengal tiger. Although the witch appears to have everything under control, I fly over.

The witch looks up. “Don’t fret.”

How can I possibly not worry?

Silver Tiger faces me, and the tiger readies to swat at her with a giant paw, its claws curved and knife sharp. I blast him with huge gust of wind then pull one of those claws back with another squall. The tiger whelps in protest.

Silver Tiger doesn’t glance behind her, unfazed by my helping. “I already saved Patricia. She should be home in her bed sleeping by now.”

My smile is a little forced. Although I believe Silver Tiger, I wish I saw Mom, made certain she was all right, before she returned to Claymore.

I open my mouth to thank her when I spy Amber Lynx. The young witch is turning cartwheels in the air and doing loops when a mammoth eagle, at least three times the animal’s normal size, collides into her. The eagle’s talons pinch into Amber Lynx’s shoulders, and it tries to peck her eyes out.

Like a lightning flash, I rocket over, grab ahold of its tail, and yank it backward. Its talons are too entrenched into Amber Lynx’s shoulders, and it drags the screaming witch with it.

I hesitate. Burning the talons might hurt Amber Lynx too. Wind would just force the two of them away together. There has to be some way to lure the eagle away from her.

Glancing around for inspiration, I notice long, blonde hair near one of the few erect headstones. Brianna.

A wail has me refocusing on Amber Lynx. The witch struggles as the eagle flies them up high above the battlefield. The eagle releases its claws. Instead of flying, Amber Lynx plummets straight toward the ground.

Oh no! I hardly know her, but she’s already one of my favorite witches. I rush over to catch her, but the eagle swoops down and bites into her chest. With its beak, it rips out her heart.

My own heart beats frantically. Just like that, Amber Lynx is gone. Dead. And it’s my fault. If I hadn’t hesitated…

A stream of fire bursts from my hand. The eagle engulfs in flames and looks like a phoenix, only this bird will never return to life again.

Tears do not come. Is crying too human for me when in this form?

Grief-stricken, I gaze down at the remains of Amber Lynx’s body. Her face is frozen, but not in fear. No, the young witch has a strange little smile on her face. Her body shimmers with a light similar to mine and then vanishes.

I want to lash out. My control is slipping. There’s something I had been about to do, something important, more important than releasing my frustration and guilt…

Attempting to temper back my magic, I fly up high and spin around in a tight circle. There. Brianna.

But I stay there, suspended, as if time and space have no place in my world. A tiny thread of fear threatens to grow into hysteria. I’m losing myself, my emotions, my control, my feelings. I no longer know who I am, what I am becoming.

And yet the power within me… If I give myself over to it completely, nothing, and no one, will be able to stop me.

Not even myself.

Chapter 41

UNLIKE SOME OF the others I rescued, Brianna isn’t wrapped in an animal skin. My best friend is in that same strange suspended state, but she shivers although the air isn’t cold.

Wanting to conserve my magic—or maybe afraid to keep using it—I touch down to the ground near her. It feels strange to walk again, almost alien.

A bear of a man holds something long and thin in his hands. He snaps it, and the nearest witch—Azure Rose—hardly winces as her right arm bends at an impossible angel.

Azure Rose holds out her hand and slowly closes her open palm into a fist.

The shaman touches the sides of his head and screams. His eyes bulge.

I walk around them, but Azure Rose circles behind some fallen graves, forcing me to be in the middle of their fight.

Someone attempts to touch my mind, trying to use me or tap into my power. Not going to happen. I lash out mentally, shoving the influence away.

Azure Rose staggers back a few steps.

What the—

A grunt is the only warning I have. I duck, and a massive piece of rock, broken from a gravestone, flies over me and lands at Azure Rose’s feet. The stone pulsates, growing and shrinking a little before it shatters, pieces of rock flying in every direction like tiny missiles.

With slow and steady deliberation, Azure Rose lifts her good arm. The ground beneath the shaman and I rises at a frantic clip, forcing us close to the magical cloud that has now doubled in size.

I glower at the witch, even though she’s too far below us to see it, and that’s if my face is visible despite the light radiating from my body. Is she attacking me? Why?

The shaman jumps onto me, and we tumble off the witch-made mountain and fall toward the ground. I roll with him so he’s beneath me. He breaks my fall. He also breaks his back.

Careful not to step on him, I stand. The air tingles. A lightning bolt is heading my way. I leap to the right, but it still singes me, grazing my right arm.

Azure Rose. There’s no denying it—the witch is attacking me for some reason.

To avenge Azure Lynx? I won’t bet on it. Number one, I hadn’t been the one to kill her, and number two, Azure Rose made it quite clear she didn’t like me in the few minutes we spent together before the battle.

If the witch wants a fight, then she’ll get one.

Feeling like a female Thor, I call forth lightning bolts, one in each hand, and throw them simultaneously, one at Azure Rose, one at the magical cloud.

The cloud erupts and hurls thousands of lightning bolts to the ground. Some hit witches, others hit shamans, and the rest connect with the ground. The hill shakes in protest from the onslaught.

A bolt zaps Bri before I can do more than blink.

I have to get a grip of myself and my power. Unintentional consequences can prove deadly.

Please, dear Lord, don’t let my folly have harmed her! Trying not to panic, I focus on my best friend. She’s still breathing, but I don’t know how much longer she can hold on.

I send a zap of magic to the cloud. It absorbs my power, eating it, but instead of making it grow, the cloud shrinks a little and stops launching lightning bolts to the ground.

Azure Rose slowly climbs to her feet. Soot and dirt cover her. She’s dizzy, dazed, so I dash toward Bri. A sudden geyser bursts out of the ground and plows into me. My light dims slightly, but I don’t slow down. I’ll deal with Azure Rose soon enough.

More geysers rip the hill apart, some gushing water, others fire, and I fly around them all until a huge fiery one encircles me. Smoothly, I alter my course and fly upward, racing against the enclosing heat. The flames’ light makes me glistening even brighter. With my magic, I reach down into the earth. Plenty of water fills the cracks within the soil, and I call on the element. The water answers, and the fire stops growing higher and eventually starts to shrink.

Instead of extinguishing the blaze, I hover above it and clap my hands three times. A small whirlwind appears. It chases after a flying Azure Rose. Although the witch zigzags and flies with incredible speed, the whirlwind catches up to her and dumps her within the fire she conjured. She shrieks and screams and eventually falls silent.

I drown the lingering flames. Only the burnt remains of the traitorous witch survive.

Azure Rose still breathes, her darkened chest rising and falling laboriously as I land beside her.

I hold my hand above her. Azure Rose does not have to die. She can yet be saved, if I chose to. “Why?” I demand.

“Amber…”

“Don’t lie.”

The witch looks away, her burned face twisting into a grimace. “I was trying to save…”

“Save who?”

“The…” Azure Rose struggles to breathe.

“Here.” I touch the witch’s right shoulder, where she isn’t badly burned.

“No, let me die.” She can barely whisper now, her voice beyond raspy. A nasty cough rattles her body.

“Who were you trying to save?” I press.

The witch dies. I’ll never learn the answer.

The fighting all around me is vicious. The crackle of magic in the air is mesmerizing, but the stench of burned hair and bodies, the reek of death, and shrills of the wounded, aid my control. Fireballs, lightning bolts, gusts, claws, teeth, talons… I avoid them all and race to Brianna. The shamans’ spell protected her from the lightning bolt. Brianna is not singed at all. I want to cry with relief, but tears still will not come.

Easily, I pick up my best friend and deposit her within the forest. “Go home, Brianna. Call Vince and tell him I’ll be over as soon as I can. Run!”

It takes longer to stir her than the others had, but eventually she hears my command and races away without looking back.

After she’s gone, I face the hill. All I want to do is leave. What do I care about the war? But until I know for certain that all of my friends are safe, I have to go back.

Racing like lightning, I jump into the air and return to the cemetery. My magically enhanced vision allows me to see through the clashes of magic flying about. I scout for any humans, but the battle proves too distracting. A small gang of shamans surrounds a large group of witches. It’s impossible to figure out what exactly the shamans do, but the witches fall, one by one, dead.

All along, neither side has overwhelmed the other. How could the shamans have gained the upper hand that quickly?

I scan the hill with a more critical eye, refusing to be preoccupied, and spy only one human remaining. A minute later, I land beside the body, bend down, and roll her over. It’s Lydia, her blue shirt stained with blood, eyes closed.

Now I know how the shamans enhanced their powers. They sacrificed Lydia to increase their magic.

Chapter 42

SO MUCH FOR human emotions not affecting me in this form. The floodgates are opened, and grief, rage, and guilt consume me. I magically lift Lydia’s body, choking back a sob at the sight of her arms and legs dangling uselessly.

“Thank you for helping me learn about my father,” I whisper into her ear. After I clean her face, I strip the blood from her clothes. At least she’ll be a slightly less shocking sight when her body is discovered. “Go home now, Lydia, and be at peace.”

Her body flies away.

My true form glows with a darker hue. “How could you?” I shriek.

Lydia never had a bad thing to say about anyone. She was a sweet girl, a little quiet. Her brothers, her parents… they’ll miss her. All of us will miss her.

“How could you!” I scream again. The first time, I meant the shamans. This time, I meant someone else.

So much evil in the world, too much evil. I’ve seen too much of the destruction of the world. Because if God exists and he allowed Lydia to be a sacrifice for a war that shouldn’t even be fought in the first place, I’d never ask him for anything again.

There was a time when I believed and Vince had no faith. Now his faith is growing. And mine? It’s gone.

God is dead to me. He doesn’t exist. There is no God.

My body burns with barely suppressed emotion. I zoom into the magical cloud, not feeling the zaps from lightning bolts it throws my way, and blast it with my raw power until it disintegrates around me. That had been no easy feat, smiting the cloud I couldn’t even touch earlier, but I have more energy to release. If I don’t, I fear I’ll explode.

“Leave now, Crystal.”

I glance around wildly. The voice sounds strangely familiar, but I never heard it before. “Who are you?” I ask.

No answer.

How can I leave? If I return home, I risk doing more harm than good, especially if I try to suppress myself. Uncontrolled magic, untamable magic… I’m a bomb waiting to explode.

Beneath me, the witches and shamans still battle. Why? Both sides are wasting their magic, their power. They should be helping people, bettering the world. Instead they’re killing each other and for what? Control of the world? To reach a higher level of cognition?

It’s because of their war that my friends were kidnapped, Mom taken, Lydia murdered.

Heady rage and the need to lash out conjure a wild wind, strong and powerful. A dark cloud forms above me, massive, its shadow covering the magical people in darkness. Large hailstones, the size of my head, hurl down toward them. Lightning bolts crash down, brilliant and beautiful with their destructive power.

Around the hill, the battles stop as shamans and witches alike glance up. I control the winds, the hailstones, the lightning bolts. The storm and I are one. I send bolts near the feet of the witches. Hailstones narrowly miss the shamans. They will listen to me. They will do what I say.

“Stop fighting,” I demand. I do not raise my voice over the terrible storm. My audience is a captive one. “The earth is not your playground.”

“You’re a child yourself. What do you know of magic?” a shaman scoffs.

I blink, and a lightning bolt spears her. The shaman chars instantly.

“I am magic.” I float up higher, hovering a few inches underneath my massive storm cloud. “Go back to your homes. The war is over. Put the past behind you, and move on with your lives.”

“Or else?” a witch I never saw before asks.

“Face my wraith.”

The witches and shamans look at one another, and for a moment, I feel victorious. Then the bear dog shaman swats at a witch, and many fights break out again throughout the destroyed cemetery.

Why won’t they stop? They have to stop. They must be stopped.

If it’s my final act, I will stop them.

From within my cloud, I rain down lightning bolts and hail and rain and snow and sleet. The wind rips at them, tearing through their clothes. One witch attempts to fly through the swirling winds and crashes into a tree.

Lydia, her senseless death, the kidnappings, their betraying and using me… I pour my raging emotions into the cloud, giving over some of my power. The cloud expands and grows, heeding my orders.

I should’ve known better. I’m not human. Emotions should be beneath me. Giving into them, feeding them into the cloud… I shouldn’t be surprised when a part of the cloud breaks off, ignores my command, and flies away.

With the hope that it’ll stop the bolts and hail, I send a jolt of magic into the cloud above the cemetery and rush after the rogue one. It streaks eastward and halts over a tiny town, blotting out the sun. Rain pours down. Someone exits a building and screams in agony when the water touches his face.

What is going on?

I descend. Rains drenches me. In human form, my skin would have bubbled, blistered, and burned from the contact. Acid. Highly corrosive.

A lightning bolt pierces my head.

Uh oh. I gulp. This cannot be happening.

The cloud is sentient.

Every human who is crazy enough to step outside, the cloud kills.

And now the cloud is trying to kill me.

With a burst of speed, I zoom inside the cloud. Blasting it with magic only increases its strength. Trying to strip it of its magic fails and drains me. Giving it commands, attempting to control it, to stop it, all fail.

Only by blotting out every thought and fear for my friends and loved ones, by ignoring every bit of my human side, can I force it to retain its lightning bolts and hold back its hailstones. The electric charge within the cloud increases so dramatically light posts and even cars are lifted up, drawn to its magnetic pull.

Like a weaver, I combine all of the lightning bolts and the electric charge into one gigantic lightning bolt. My body grows numb from the force of it. I cock back my arm and throw the lightning bolt to the heavens.

It explodes like a firecracker the size of Texas.

While tending to the lightning, my hold on the hailstones faltered. The stones have grown in size, pooling from every drop of moisture within the cloud. Acid rain, at least, no longer falls. Instead, huge chunks of ice are unleashed onto the earth. Houses are dented, windows smashed, sidewalks cracked and broken from the force and weight of them. A few even land on the already dead humans.

To my horror, a young child, maybe four, runs out of a house and into the street. A huge hailstone torpedoes toward her. She skips around, her blonde pigtails swirling in the wind.

I zoom down, pick her up, and whoosh away, turning to see the hailstone crash deep into the earth where we just were.

“Are you an angel?” the girl asks.

“No. Go inside, and stay there. It isn’t safe outside.” I lower the girl onto the porch of the house she left from.

“Okay.” The girl pouts then waves, a big smile on her small face, and hurries inside the house.

I return to the crater the hailstone created. The stone’s a monster chunk of ice, weighing at least ten pounds. With steady hands, I slice open my gored wound with the jagged ice. Light magic spills forth. My power weakens, but I fly back into the cloud, which has tripled in size.

Light pierces through the darkness of the cloud, shattering it into pieces. The acidity of the rain neutralizes, the hailstones shrink into nothing, and the wind stops howling. The sun once again shines on the town, although the cloud’s destruction remains.

As much as I want to help the town’s inhabitants, I have to check on the witches and shamans—and the other main cloud. If it turned sentient too…

The journey back takes much longer than it should have. I fly limply. Destroying the cloud has taken a toll on me.

Lightning rains down, the sparks of light flickering like a roaring fire. The witches and shaman are no longer fighting each other; they’re attacking my storm. Witches throw fire at the hailstones, melting them before they can do damage. Shamans hold up rods that rerouted the lightning bolts back to the cloud. Instead of lessening the storm’s might, the cloud grows with each blast. Now it encompasses many miles, at least twenty times larger than the other cloud.

If it continues to grow at this rapid pace, will it eventually encompass the entire world?

A sentient, magical storm… no one will be able to stop it. Maybe not even me.

Have I unknowingly doomed the world? Am I not only magic incarnate but also the bringer of the apocalypse?

Chapter 43

MY HEART POUNDS in time with the lightning that bounces between the cloud and the lightning rods and back again. If magic feeds into the cloud, even I might not be able to destroy it.

But I have to at least try.

A half dollar-sized hailstone collides into my head. In my weakened state, I collapse to the ground. Staggering, I roll over to my feet and accidentally knock into a shaman.

A lightning bolt sears through me. I shudder. It takes all of my willpower to climb onto all fours and push myself up into a standing position. My light isn’t brilliant anymore. It’s beyond dull. Both light and blood pour from my wound. This terrifies me, if I have the energy to be terrified. My true form… Is it dying?

A raindrop lands beside me in a perfect bubble. I scry within it. This cloud will continue to grow until it covers the entire world. The cloud will bring about the destruction of the earth. I am, indeed, the bringer of the apocalypse.

Not if I can help it.

I grab the rod from the shaman and dip it into my blood. The rod glows a brownish red color. Blood and metal. Next, I manage to catch a small hailstone on it. Water.

Silver Tiger comes over. “You look like—”

I don’t bother to waste words and point to the now purple rod. “Fire.”

The witch zaps it with a small fireball.

Too tired to talk again, I nod to show my appreciation and smear some dirt onto it. All I need now is wind, which the storm itself supplies.

My attempt to fly is pathetic. My body refuses to comply. I’m too weak.

The storm is growing in magnitude, and witches and shamans are grabbing onto trees to remain grounded. I jump into the air, and the wind picks me up and hurls me straight to the heart of the storm.

It has been waiting for me. It knows me as its creator. It’s hellbent on killing me.

Hailstones pound me from every direction. A large, sharp one slams into my wound, and I almost drop the rod. Lightning singes me, and I convulse from the charge. The clock is ticking down, and time’s almost up. I can’t take much more.

Slashing wildly with the rod, I cut the cloud apart like butter.

The pieces reform, somehow doubling in size.

The rod isn’t strong enough.

I need a sacrifice.

Vince. Mom. Bri.

Unwavering, I shove the rod into my heart. A pure ray of magic shoots out, piercing through the cloud, disintegrating it.

Without the cloud holding me up, without the wind to lift me, I plummet to the ground and land face first in the muddy hill, narrowly missing a broken gravestone.

That horrid sound… What is it? Is that awful wheezing me? I can scarcely breathe.

A sacrifice is only a sacrifice if the lamb dies.

The rod is gone, and blood is flowing freely down my chest, drenching me. No light remains. Somehow, I’ve reverted back to my human form.

To die.

Tears stream down my face. Not because of pain or the growing coldness. I don’t fear death. No, I’m crying because I’ll never have the chance to tell Vince I love him.

Vince… Vince, I love you.

I want to wipe my tears away, but my arms won’t move.

Please, dear Lord, I know I don’t believe in you anymore. I shouldn’t even be praying now. But please, if I’m wrong and you do exist, please… Vince… watch over him. Help him. I never wanted to leave him. Please let him turn to you this time. Please… Vince… And my mom… she’s lost so much. Bri… my friends, everyone, please watch over them. Please keep them safe and happy and…

With that final prayer, I breathe my last and die.

Epilogue

I’M DEAD. I know I am. There’s nothing around me.

No Heaven.

No Hell.

Just a huge vast emptiness.

Suddenly, there’s an incredible brightness I can’t bear to look at.

“Crystal.”

That voice… It’s so familiar, but have I heard it before?

“Your time has not come yet. Are you ready to go back?”

“Yes!”

* * *

If you liked this book, check out:

A MATTER OF DOUBT

(Magic Incarnate Book Two)

http://amzn.to/1OIfxLA

http://nicolezoltack.blogspot.com

* * *

About the Author

Nicole Zoltack loves to write speculative stories for all ages. When she’s not writing about knights, superheroes, or witches, she loves to spend time with her loving husband, three energetic young boys, and precious baby girl. She enjoys riding horses (pretending they’re unicorns) and going to the PA Renaissance Faire, dressed in garb. She’ll also read anything she can get her hands on.

Read More by this Author

http://amzn.to/1JZyzjT

http://nicolezoltack.blogspot.com

Sign up for more bargain boxed sets at:

www.hotboxedbooks.com

JUMP TO...

A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE by NOREE COSPER

END OF DREAMS by KIM FAULKS

HAUNT by HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY

DARK CROSSINGS by ANN SIMKO

HEADSPACE by CALINDA B

THE OTHER F WORD by SUSAN STEC

UNLEASHED by RACHEL MCCLELLAN

HIDDEN INTENTIONS by STACY CLAFLIN

THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL by AIMEE EASTERLING

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS by KYOKO M

ST. CHARLES AT DUSK by SARAH M. CRADIT

WICKED BY NATURE by MADISON SEVIER

UNDERLIFE by MARISSA FARRAR

DRAGON’S REDEMPTION by EDEN ASHE

MILAN’S RETURN by GRAE LILY

THE BREAKERS CODE by CONNER KRESSLEY

THE MEDIUM by MR GRAHAM

WICCAN WARS by HEATHER MARIE ADKINS

CARPE NOCTEM by KATIE SALIDAS

A QUESTION OF FAITH by NICOLE ZOLTACK

Table of Contents

MAIN TOC

A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE

Brimstone/Prologue

Brimstone/Chapter 1

Brimstone/Chapter 2

Brimstone/Chapter 3

Brimstone/Chapter 4

Brimstone/Chapter 5

Brimstone/Chapter 6

Brimstone/Chapter 7

Brimstone/Chapter 8

Brimstone/Chapter 9

Brimstone/Chapter 10

Brimstone/Chapter 11

Brimstone/Chapter 12

Brimstone/Chapter 13

Brimstone/Chapter 14

Brimstone/Chapter 15

Brimstone/Chapter 16

Brimstone/Chapter 17

Brimstone/Chapter 18

Brimstone/Chapter 19

Brimstone/Chapter 20

Brimstone/Chapter 21

Brimstone/Chapter 22

Brimstone/Chapter 23

Brimstone/Chapter 24

Brimstone/Chapter 25

Brimstone/Chapter 26

Brimstone/Chapter 27

Brimstone/Chapter 28

Brimstone/Chapter 29

Brimstone/Chapter 30

Brimstone/Chapter 31

Brimstone/Chapter 32

Brimstone/Chapter 33

Brimstone/Chapter 34

Brimstone/Chapter 35

Brimstone/Chapter 36

Brimstone/Chapter 37

Brimstone/Chapter 38

Brimstone/Chapter 39

Brimstone/Chapter 40

Brimstone/Chapter 41

Brimstone/Chapter 42

Brimstone/Chapter 43

Brimstone/Epilogue

END OF DREAMS

Dreams/Chapter 1

Dreams/Chapter 2

Dreams/Chapter 3

Dreams/Chapter 4

Dreams/Chapter 5

Dreams/Chapter 6

Dreams/Chapter 7

Dreams/Chapter 8

Dreams/Chapter 9

Dreams/Chapter 10

Dreams/Chapter 11

Dreams/Chapter 12

Dreams/Chapter 13

Dreams/Chapter 14

Dreams/Chapter 15

Dreams/Chapter 16

Dreams/Chapter 17

Dreams/Chapter 18

Dreams/Chapter 19

Dreams/Chapter 20

Dreams/Chapter 21

Dreams/Chapter 22

Dreams/Chapter 23

Dreams/Chapter 24

Dreams/Chapter 25

Dreams/Chapter 26

Dreams/Chapter 27

Dreams/Chapter 28

Dreams/Chapter 29

Dreams/Chapter 30

Dreams/Chapter 31

Dreams/Chapter 32

Dreams/Chapter 33

Dreams/Chapter 34

Dreams/Chapter 35

Dreams/Chapter 36

Dreams/Chapter 37

Dreams/Chapter 38

Dreams/Epilogue

HAUNT

Haunt/Chapter 1

Haunt/Chapter 2

Haunt/Chapter 3

Haunt/Chapter 4

Haunt/Chapter 5

Haunt/Chapter 6

Haunt/Chapter 7

Haunt/Chapter 8

Haunt/Chapter 9

Haunt/Chapter 10

Haunt/Chapter 11

Haunt/Chapter 12

Haunt/Chapter 13

Haunt/Chapter 14

Haunt/Chapter 15

Haunt/Chapter 16

Haunt/Chapter 17

Haunt/Chapter 18

Haunt/Chapter 19

Haunt/Chapter 20

Haunt/Chapter 21

Haunt/Chapter 22

Haunt/Chapter 23

Haunt/Chapter 24

Haunt/Chapter 25

Haunt/Chapter 26

Haunt/Chapter 27

Haunt/Chapter 28

Haunt/Chapter 29

Haunt/Chapter 30

Haunt/Chapter 31

Haunt/Chapter 32

Haunt/Chapter 33

Haunt/Chapter 34

Haunt/Chapter 35

Haunt/Chapter 36

DARK CROSSINGS

Dark/Chapter 1

Dark/Chapter 2

Dark/Chapter 3

Dark/Chapter 4

Dark/Chapter 5

Dark/Chapter 6

Dark/Chapter 7

Dark/Chapter 8

Dark/Chapter 9

Dark/Chapter 10

Dark/Chapter 11

Dark/Chapter 12

Dark/Chapter 13

Dark/Chapter 14

Dark/Chapter 15

Dark/Chapter 16

Dark/Chapter 17

Dark/Chapter 18

Dark/Chapter 19

Dark/Chapter 20

Dark/Chapter 21

Dark/Chapter 22

Dark/Chapter 23

Dark/Chapter 24

Dark/Chapter 25

Dark/Chapter 26

Dark/Chapter 27

Dark/Chapter 28

Dark/Chapter 29

Dark/Chapter 30

Dark/Chapter 31

Dark/Chapter 32

Dark/Chapter 33

Dark/Chapter 34

Dark/Chapter 35

Dark/Chapter 36

Dark/Chapter 37

Dark/Chapter 38

Dark/Chapter 39

Dark/Chapter 40

Dark/Chapter 41

Dark/Chapter 42

Dark/Chapter 43

HEADSPACE

Headspace/Preface

Headspace/Chapter 1

Headspace/Chapter 2

Headspace/Chapter 3

Headspace/Chapter 4

Headspace/Chapter 5

Headspace/Chapter 6

Headspace/Chapter 7

Headspace/Chapter 8

Headspace/Chapter 9

Headspace/Chapter 10

Headspace/Chapter 11

Headspace/Chapter 12

Headspace/Chapter 13

Headspace/Chapter 14

Headspace/Chapter 15

Headspace/Chapter 16

Headspace/Chapter 17

Headspace/Chapter 18

Headspace/Chapter 19

Headspace/Chapter 20

Headspace/Chapter 21

THE OTHER F WORD

FWord/Chapter 1

FWord/Chapter 2

FWord/Chapter 3

FWord/Chapter 4

FWord/Chapter 5

FWord/Chapter 6

FWord/Chapter 7

FWord/Chapter 8

FWord/Chapter 9

FWord/Chapter 10

FWord/Chapter 11

FWord/Chapter 12

FWord/Chapter 13

FWord/Chapter 14

FWord/Chapter 15

FWord/Chapter 16

FWord/Chapter 17

UNLEASHED

Unleashed/Chapter 1

Unleashed/Chapter 2

Unleashed/Chapter 3

Unleashed/Chapter 4

Unleashed/Chapter 5

Unleashed/Chapter 6

Unleashed/Chapter 7

Unleashed/Chapter 8

Unleashed/Chapter 9

Unleashed/Chapter 10

Unleashed/Chapter 11

Unleashed/Chapter 12

Unleashed/Chapter 13

Unleashed/Chapter 14

Unleashed/Chapter 15

Unleashed/Chapter 16

Unleashed/Chapter 17

Unleashed/Chapter 18

Unleashed/Chapter 19

Unleashed/Chapter 20

Unleashed/Chapter 21

Unleashed/Chapter 22

Unleashed/Chapter 23

Unleashed/Chapter 24

Unleashed/Chapter 25

Unleashed/Chapter 26

Unleashed/Chapter 27

Unleashed/Chapter 28

Unleashed/Chapter 29

Unleashed/Chapter 30

Unleashed/Chapter 31

Unleashed/Chapter 32

Unleashed/Chapter 33

Unleashed/Chapter 34

Unleashed/Chapter 35

Unleashed/Chapter 36

Unleashed/Chapter 37

Unleashed/Chapter 38

Unleashed/Chapter 39

Unleashed/Chapter 40

Unleashed/Chapter 41

Unleashed/Chapter 42

Unleashed/Chapter 43

HIDDEN INTENTIONS

Hidden/Chapter 1

Hidden/Chapter 2

Hidden/Chapter 3

Hidden/Chapter 4

Hidden/Chapter 5

Hidden/Chapter 6

Hidden/Chapter 7

Hidden/Chapter 8

Hidden/Chapter 9

Hidden/Chapter 10

Hidden/Chapter 11

Hidden/Chapter 12

Hidden/Chapter 13

Hidden/Chapter 14

Hidden/Chapter 15

Hidden/Chapter 16

Hidden/Chapter 17

Hidden/Chapter 18

Hidden/Chapter 19

Hidden/Chapter 20

Hidden/Chapter 21

Hidden/Chapter 22

Hidden/Chapter 23

Hidden/Chapter 24

Hidden/Chapter 25

Hidden/Chapter 26

Hidden/Chapter 27

Hidden/Chapter 28

Hidden/Chapter 29

Hidden/Chapter 30

Hidden/Chapter 31

Hidden/Chapter 32

Hidden/Chapter 33

Hidden/Chapter 34

Hidden/Chapter 35

Hidden/Chapter 36

THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL

Bloodling/Episode 1

Bloodling/Episode 2

Bloodling/Episode 2/Chapter 1

Bloodling/Episode 2/Chapter 2

Bloodling/Episode 2/Chapter 3

Bloodling/Episode 2/Chapter 4

Bloodling/Episode 2/Chapter 5

Bloodling/Episode 2/Chapter 6

Bloodling/Episode 3/Chapter 1

Bloodling/Episode 3/Chapter 2

Bloodling/Episode 3/Chapter 3

Bloodling/Episode 3/Chapter 4

Bloodling/Episode 3/Chapter 5

Bloodling/Episode 3/Chapter 6

Bloodling/Episode 3/Chapter 7

Bloodling/Episode 3/Chapter 8

Bloodling/Episode 4/Chapter 1

Bloodling/Episode 4/Chapter 2

Bloodling/Episode 4/Chapter 3

Bloodling/Episode 4/Chapter 4

Bloodling/Episode 4/Chapter 5

Bloodling/Episode 4/Chapter 6

Bloodling/Episode 4/Chapter 7

Bloodling/Episode 4/Chapter 8

Bloodling/Episode 4/Chapter 9

Bloodling/Episode 5/Chapter 1

Bloodling/Episode 5/Chapter 2

Bloodling/Episode 5/Chapter 3

Bloodling/Episode 5/Chapter 4

Bloodling/Episode 5/Chapter 5

Bloodling/Episode 5/Chapter 6

Bloodling/Episode 5/Chapter 7

Bloodling/Episode 5/Chapter 8

Bloodling/Episode 5/Chapter 9

SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS

Monsters/Preface

Monsters/Prologue

Monsters/Chapter 1

Monsters/Chapter 2

Monsters/Chapter 3

Monsters/Chapter 4

Monsters/Chapter 5

Monsters/Chapter 6

Monsters/Chapter 7

Monsters/Chapter 8

Monsters/Chapter 9

Monsters/Chapter 10

Monsters/Chapter 11

Monsters/Chapter 12

Monsters/Chapter 13

Monsters/Chapter 14

Monsters/Chapter 15

Monsters/Chapter 16

Monsters/Chapter 17

Monsters/Chapter 18

Monsters/Chapter 19

Monsters/Chapter 20

Monsters/Chapter 21

Monsters/Chapter 22

Monsters/Chapter 23

Monsters/Chapter 24

Monsters/Chapter 25

Monsters/Chapter 26

Monsters/Chapter 27

Monsters/Chapter 28

Monsters/Chapter 29

Monsters/Chapter 30

Monsters/Chapter 31

Monsters/Chapter 32

Monsters/Chapter 33

Monsters/Chapter 34

Monsters/Chapter 35

Monsters/Chapter 36

Monsters/Chapter 37

Monsters/Chapter 38

Monsters/Epilogue

ST. CHARLES AT DUSK

Dusk/Prologue

Dusk/Chapter 1

Dusk/Chapter 2

Dusk/Chapter 3

Dusk/Chapter 4

Dusk/Chapter 5

Dusk/Chapter 6

Dusk/Chapter 7

Dusk/Chapter 8

Dusk/Chapter 9

Dusk/Chapter 10

Dusk/Chapter 11

Dusk/Chapter 12

Dusk/Chapter 13

Dusk/Chapter 14

Dusk/Chapter 15

Dusk/Chapter 16

Dusk/Chapter 17

Dusk/Chapter 18

Dusk/Chapter 19

Dusk/Chapter 20

Dusk/Chapter 21

Dusk/Chapter 22

Dusk/Chapter 23

Dusk/Chapter 24

Dusk/Chapter 25

Dusk/Chapter 26

Dusk/Chapter 27

Dusk/Chapter 28

Dusk/Chapter 29

Dusk/Chapter 30

Dusk/Chapter 31

Dusk/Chapter 32

Dusk/Epilogue

WICKED BY NATURE

Wicked/Chapter 1

Wicked/Chapter 2

Wicked/Chapter 3

Wicked/Chapter 4

Wicked/Chapter 5

Wicked/Chapter 6

Wicked/Chapter 7

Wicked/Chapter 8

Wicked/Chapter 9

Wicked/Chapter 10

Wicked/Chapter 11

Wicked/Chapter 12

Wicked/Chapter 13

Wicked/Chapter 14

Wicked/Chapter 15

Wicked/Chapter 16

Wicked/Chapter 17

Wicked/Chapter 18

Wicked/Chapter 19

Wicked/Chapter 20

Wicked/Chapter 21

Wicked/Chapter 22

Wicked/Chapter 23

Wicked/Chapter 24

Wicked/Chapter 25

Wicked/Chapter 26

Wicked/Chapter 27

Wicked/Chapter 28

UNDERLIFE

Underlife/Chapter 1

Underlife/Chapter 2

Underlife/Chapter 3

Underlife/Chapter 4

Underlife/Chapter 5

Underlife/Chapter 6

Underlife/Chapter 7

Underlife/Chapter 8

Underlife/Chapter 9

Underlife/Chapter 10

Underlife/Chapter 11

Underlife/Chapter 12

Underlife/Chapter 13

Underlife/Chapter 14

Underlife/Chapter 15

Underlife/Chapter 16

Underlife/Chapter 17

Underlife/Chapter 18

Underlife/Chapter 19

Underlife/Chapter 20

Underlife/Chapter 21

Underlife/Chapter 22

Underlife/Chapter 23

Underlife/Chapter 24

Underlife/Chapter 25

Underlife/Chapter 26

Underlife/Chapter 27

Underlife/Chapter 28

DRAGON’S REDEMPTION

Dragons/Chapter 1

Dragons/Chapter 2

Dragons/Chapter 3

Dragons/Chapter 4

Dragons/Chapter 5

Dragons/Chapter 6

Dragons/Chapter 7

Dragons/Chapter 8

Dragons/Chapter 9

Dragons/Chapter 10

Dragons/Chapter 11

Dragons/Chapter 12

Dragons/Chapter 13

Dragons/Chapter 14

Dragons/Chapter 15

Dragons/Chapter 16

Dragons/Chapter 17

Dragons/Chapter 18

Dragons/Chapter 19

Dragons/Chapter 20

Dragons/Chapter 21

Dragons/Chapter 22

Dragons/Chapter 23

Dragons/Chapter 24

Dragons/Chapter 25

Dragons/Chapter 26

Dragons/Chapter 27

MILAN’S RETURN

Milan/Chapter 1

Milan/Chapter 2

Milan/Chapter 3

Milan/Chapter 4

Milan/Chapter 5

Milan/Chapter 6

Milan/Chapter 7

Milan/Chapter 8

Milan/Chapter 9

Milan/Chapter 10

Milan/Chapter 11

Milan/Chapter 12

Milan/Chapter 13

Milan/Chapter 14

Milan/Chapter 15

Milan/Chapter 16

Milan/Chapter 17

Milan/Epilogue

THE BREAKERS CODE

Breakers/Chapter 1

Breakers/Chapter 2

Breakers/Chapter 3

Breakers/Chapter 4

Breakers/Chapter 5

Breakers/Chapter 6

Breakers/Chapter 7

Breakers/Chapter 8

Breakers/Chapter 9

Breakers/Chapter 10

Breakers/Chapter 11

Breakers/Chapter 12

Breakers/Chapter 13

Breakers/Chapter 14

Breakers/Chapter 15

Breakers/Chapter 16

Breakers/Chapter 17

Breakers/Chapter 18

Breakers/Chapter 19

Breakers/Chapter 20

Breakers/Chapter 21

Breakers/Chapter 22

THE MEDIUM

Medium/Prologue - the end

Medium/Chapter 1

Medium/Chapter 2

Medium/Chapter 3

Medium/Chapter 4

Medium/Chapter 5

Medium/Chapter 6

Medium/Chapter 7

Medium/Chapter 8

Medium/Chapter 9

Medium/Chapter 10

Medium/Chapter 11

Medium/Chapter 12

Medium/Chapter 13

Medium/Chapter 14

Medium/Chapter 15

Medium/Chapter 16

Medium/Chapter 17

Medium/Chapter 18

Medium/Chapter 19

Medium/Chapter 20

Medium/Epilogue

WICCAN WARS

Wiccan/Chapter 1

Wiccan/Chapter 2

Wiccan/Chapter 3

Wiccan/Chapter 4

Wiccan/Chapter 5

Wiccan/Chapter 6

Wiccan/Chapter 7

Wiccan/Chapter 8

Wiccan/Chapter 9

Wiccan/Chapter 10

Wiccan/Chapter 11

Wiccan/Chapter 12

Wiccan/Chapter 13

Wiccan/Chapter 14

Wiccan/Chapter 15

Wiccan/Chapter 16

Wiccan/Chapter 17

Wiccan/Chapter 18

Wiccan/Chapter 19

Wiccan/Chapter 20

Wiccan/Chapter 21

Wiccan/Chapter 22

Wiccan/Chapter 23

Wiccan/Chapter 24

Wiccan/Chapter 25

Wiccan/Chapter 26

Wiccan/Chapter 27

Wiccan/Chapter 28

Wiccan/Chapter 29

Wiccan/Chapter 30

Wiccan/Chapter 31

Wiccan/Chapter 32

Wiccan/Chapter 33

Wiccan/Chapter 34

Wiccan/Chapter 35

Wiccan/Chapter 36

Wiccan/Chapter 37

Wiccan/Chapter 38

Wiccan/Chapter 39

CARPE NOCTEM

Noctem/Chapter 1

Noctem/Chapter 2

Noctem/Chapter 3

Noctem/Chapter 4

Noctem/Chapter 5

Noctem/Chapter 6

Noctem/Chapter 7

Noctem/Chapter 8

Noctem/Chapter 9

Noctem/Chapter 10

Noctem/Chapter 11

Noctem/Chapter 12

Noctem/Chapter 13

Noctem/Chapter 14

Noctem/Chapter 15

Noctem/Chapter 16

Noctem/Chapter 17

Noctem/Chapter 18

Noctem/Chapter 19

Noctem/Chapter 20

Noctem/Chapter 21

Noctem/Chapter 22

Noctem/Chapter 23

Noctem/Chapter 24

Noctem/Chapter 25

Noctem/Chapter 26

Noctem/Chapter 27

A QUESTION OF FAITH

Faith/Chapter 1

Faith/Chapter 2

Faith/Chapter 3

Faith/Chapter 4

Faith/Chapter 5

Faith/Chapter 6

Faith/Chapter 7

Faith/Chapter 8

Faith/Chapter 9

Faith/Chapter 10

Faith/Chapter 11

Faith/Chapter 12

Faith/Chapter 13

Faith/Chapter 14

Faith/Chapter 15

Faith/Chapter 16

Faith/Chapter 17

Faith/Chapter 18

Faith/Chapter 19

Faith/Chapter 20

Faith/Chapter 21

Faith/Chapter 22

Faith/Chapter 23

Faith/Chapter 24

Faith/Chapter 25

Faith/Chapter 26

Faith/Chapter 27

Faith/Chapter 28

Faith/Chapter 29

Faith/Chapter 30

Faith/Chapter 31

Faith/Chapter 32

Faith/Chapter 33

Faith/Chapter 34

Faith/Chapter 35

Faith/Chapter 36

Faith/Chapter 37

Faith/Chapter 38

Faith/Chapter 39

Faith/Chapter 40

Faith/Chapter 41

Faith/Chapter 42

Faith/Chapter 43

Faith/Epilogue