Darkness Loves Company: A Tides of Darkness Prequel

by Sarah Blair

  Darkness Loves Company

  Tides of Darkness Series

  Darkness Loves Company

  Darkness Shifting

  Copyright © 2020 Rock Manor Studios, LLC

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  First Printing, 2020

  ISBN: 9798694178525

  Cover Design: Laura Oliva and Sarah K. Roussel

  This book is for Maureen Ruka Ouellette

  Hakuna Matata, ‘Eenie.

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Darkness Shifting

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Before you go…

  One

  Mitchell Harris had blood on his hands. The deep rusted auburn of Sidney Lake’s hair was a constant reminder of the indelible stain he carried. Twenty-five years with the Bureau had given him plenty of cases he hadn’t solved, but only the Lake murders had left a mark on his conscience.

  Most of the time he kept the guilt tucked in the back of his mind without even thinking about it, like an old, wadded up gum wrapper shoved way down deep in the bottom corner of his coat pocket. Occasionally, a small twinge of regret would catch in his chest that would fade as quickly as it came. And then there were the small moments, few and far between, that grabbed him by the throat and yanked him into the past more effectively than any time machine ever could.

  The worn hardwood floor of his private investigation agency creaked when he entered. Sidney heard and shifted her gaze from the computer screen.

  In a blink, Mitch was nine years in the past, standing on the polished parquet of Alexander Lake’s study. Sidney wasn’t the determined young woman in front of him now, but a frightened twelve-year-old whose entire world lay torn to bits on a blood-soaked Aubusson carpet in the other room.

  “Hey.” Her aquamarine eyes narrowed intuitively as she watched him.

  “Morning.” Mitch cleared the knot from his throat, fighting back the acid burn that seared his esophagus. He squeezed his shaking hands into tight fists, continuing past her desk on the way to his own glass-partitioned office, hoping she hadn’t noticed the hitch in his step.

  She yawned and stretched, then followed.

  “I wasn’t expecting you this early.” He put the fresh coffee and donut down on his desk, shed his overcoat, and hung it on the rack in the corner. “I’d have brought you something.”

  “It’s okay. I could use a walk.” She leaned her shoulder against the door frame, that distinctive hair cascading in a mess of waves around her face. The morning sun peeked over the Brooklyn Bridge across the street, sending golden light through the window over his shoulder. It washed out her complexion, making her even more ethereal, except for the sprinkling of freckles across her nose.

  Mitch examined her through his gold-rimmed glasses, wondering what she was thinking when she looked at him that way. God help him, if she could see his thoughts. He stared down at his feet, recalling the way her parents’ blood had pooled so thick it oozed up over his shoe covers.

  He sat down, and pretended he could erase the memory when he massaged the top of his head. It’s not like there was any hair left up there to hinder the process. It never worked, but that didn’t stop him from trying.

  “Did you make any progress on the Flenson case?” He tested his coffee. The smell of the roasted beans and the scalding heat on his tongue grounded him in the present.

  “Each appearance of the ghost bear occurred on a full moon.” Sidney’s bright eyes sparked with the excitement of a lead. The weight inside his chest lightened incrementally, allowing each new breath to come easier than the last.

  “Intriguing,” Mitch said. Her enthusiasm eased away the last vestiges of his waking nightmare, and he was able to fully focus on the present once again. “What does that tell you?”

  “Not a whole lot, but a pattern is a good place to start.” She plopped down in the visitor’s chair, reaching across the desk to tear off a bite of his donut. Glaze flaked off on her lower lip. Her pink tongue darted out to swipe it away before she swallowed.

  Mitch dusted sugar off of his brushed wool trousers, directing his gaze to the vicinity of his knee. A fresh kind of guilt flushed hot and stinging across the back of his neck for an entirely different reason. That was a line of thinking he didn’t dare entertain.

  “Makes me wonder if it’s not really a ghost, but a spell.” She pulled in a deep breath, like her body was so intent on her thoughts it had forgotten to breathe.

  “Keep searching,” he said. “I’ll run it by Peters. If there’s anything there, we’ll find it.”

  “Now that we have a pattern, it might be good to keep an eye on the place.” Sidney sucked the melted sugar from her thumb. His pants shrank a size. She clamped her teeth down on the tip of her thumb before she glanced up.

  Mitch squared his shoulders and studied the report in front of him, but the words all swam together. It could have been written in Sanskrit for all the sense it made to him in that moment.

  Focus.

  The little girl from his memory didn’t exist anymore. A vibrant and tenacious young woman sat in front of him now, and he had to tread carefully. One tiny, harmless indulgence at New Year’s in the haze of champagne and fireworks had been one too many. The line of professionalism was clear between them, and it was his job to guard it.

  “Williams and I could do a stakeout,” she said. “It’d be a great opportunity for me to get in some fieldwork practice.”

  And there it was.

  She’d been hinting lately, and he’d been able to dodge easily enough. Asking outright like this, he would have to give her a straight answer sooner rather than later. She probably wasn’t going to like it, either.

  “There’s a lot to consider, Lake. It takes years of experience and training before you get into the field.”

  She jumped up to the edge of her seat. “I’m ready. I can—”

  He held up his hand. “I’ll consider it.”

  “Really?” Her face lit up brighter than the Rockefeller Christmas tree.

  The enthusiasm radiating from her was contagious, and he fought back a grin. He, too, had been anxious to get out in the field in his early days. If he had the chance, he’d go tell himself to slow down, there’d be plenty of time to witness the awful things people could do to one another. Plenty of time to see the things he couldn’t unsee. He couldn’t tell himself, but he could tell her. Now he had a chance, a duty, to keep Sidney saf
e from further exposure to the darkness.

  “That’s not a yes.” He gave her a pointed stare over the top of his coffee cup and tested the heat.

  Mitch’s cell phone rang, and he was so grateful for the distraction, he answered without checking the I.D.

  “Harris.”

  “Monsieur Harris!” A desperate tirade of French followed the greeting. Mitch winced and lowered the volume on his phone while he tried to make sense of the words gushing over the line.

  “Evangeline? Arrêtez.” He recognized the housekeeper he’d hired to clean the Upper East Side condo for his ex-wife, Deirdre. He jerked his chin toward the outer office, signaling to Sidney. “I need to take this.”

  She got up and eased the door closed behind her. Mitch spoke back to the housekeeper in French. “Take a breath. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “It’s Madame Harris. She fell down. I don’t know what to do!” The woman exploded in tears.

  Another twinge tugged at his chest. “Is she conscious?”

  The only answer he received was a loud wail. He sighed and reached over to his office landline to dial the building manager’s number.

  “Henry, it’s Mitchell Harris,” he said.

  “Oh, hi there, Mr. Harris. What can I do for you?”

  “Sorry to bother you with this, but Dee’s housekeeper is on the other line saying she fell. I’m downtown right now. Do you mind going up to check on things?”

  “Sure, don’t worry about it.”

  “I appreciate it.” Mitch hung up the landline and went back to the weeping woman. “Evangeline, listen carefully. Henry, the building manager, is on his way up. Talk to me until he gets there. What did you eat for breakfast this morning?”

  “For breakfast?”

  “Oui.” Mitch stood and paced back and forth a few times before he turned to the window.

  Sunlight warmed his face. Cars rolled across the bridge. The river sparkled. He reached around and squeezed the back of his neck to ease the tension gathering behind his eyes while he listened to Evangeline try to calm herself enough to answer.

  “Yogurt and blueberries.” She sniffled.

  “That sounds a lot healthier than my donut. How did you get to work this morning?”

  “On the subway. The express was crowded, so I had to take the local. Maybe if I had gotten here sooner—”

  “No, this isn’t your fault.” Mitch gritted his teeth, repeating the words as much for his own good, as well as the housekeeper’s. “It’s just. . . she drinks. Sometimes too much. I’m sorry you have to deal with this. I’ll give you extra cash this week for your trouble.”

  “But Monsieur, I couldn’t—” Her breath hitched again as she held back another sob. “Someone is here.”

  “That’s Henry. You can let him in.”

  Mitch listened as the sound of her voice fell away, and she greeted Henry. His head throbbed and the street below blurred when the manager’s curse carried over the line. Fumbling sounds came through, followed by Henry’s voice, loud and clear.

  “Mr. Harris?” The unmistakable tone of urgency carried over the line, tangible, filled with a vibrating undertone of panic. Mitch had heard it before on other cases throughout his career with the FBI, and afterward in his current work at the agency. It signaled a moment when everything changed. For better or for worse.

  Intuition told him this was the latter.

  “I’m here.” His voice was tight and hoarse as he braced himself for the inevitable.

  “Mitch, she’s not—I’m so sorry.”

  “Okay.” Mitch pulled in a deep breath through his nose. Years of crisis training kicked him immediately into auto-pilot. “On my way. Hang up and dial 9-1-1. Emergency services will be there in two minutes.”

  He didn’t wait for Henry to say anything else. He hung up and grabbed his coat. Sidney was on his heels like a Border Collie as soon as he shot out of the office.

  “What’s going on?” She trailed him through the open loft space. “Was that Tom? Did the results come back on the pathology report?”

  “No. Don’t worry about it, Lake.” He dashed down the stairs, taking two at a time. “Stay here. Keep researching the Flenson case. There’s got to be an element we’re missing. I have to go take care of some personal business.”

  “Are you okay?” The genuine concern in her voice was almost enough to knock him off his carefully constructed rails. He had to keep moving forward. Like a shark. Swim or drown.

  “It’s nothing you need to worry about.” He burst out of the back door, blinking against the instant brightness of the crisp cerulean sky.

  She followed, relentless. “But, what happened?”

  “God damn it, Sidney.” He spun on her. “Just once, can’t you do what you’re told?”

  Tears sprang up in her eyes, but she kept her jaw set and didn’t blink. So brave. So fierce.

  He was such an asshole.

  “I’m sorry.” He dropped his chin to the knot of his tie. “That was way out of line.”

  “It’s fine. None of my business.” She spun and went to the door without turning back.

  “Lake!” He called after her, but she went inside. The door slammed. “Fuck.”

  As much as he wanted to follow her, to smooth things over, there wasn’t time. He had to get to Deirdre. He unlocked his Land Rover and slid behind the wheel.

  He checked his phone to make sure there weren’t any new updates from Henry. The message Deirdre had left him last night remained unplayed. She’d called while he was focused on a case file, and he ignored it. The last time he’d spoken with her was when he hired the new housekeeper a few weeks ago.

  Acid churned in his empty stomach and he remembered the donut and the rest of the coffee sitting on his desk. Instead of returning upstairs, he reached for the antacids he kept in the glove box and tossed a few back before he started the engine and pulled out.

  Two

  Sidney Lake pounded back up the stairs, keeping her bottom lip tucked firmly between her teeth. The rush of unused adrenaline drained away leaving her limbs loose and her whole body shaking. Anger flushed out in the form of hot tears.

  “Not today, asshole.” She stormed into the empty office. “No tears for you.”

  She went into the bathroom, splashed some cold water on her face, and tried to fan away the puffy red splotches blooming across her skin.

  Mitch had been there that awful morning after her parents were found. He’d walked the scene. He read the reports. Hell, he’d written most of them. Though it hadn’t come up that often in the three years she’d been working here at the agency, he never once contradicted her story about what happened. While the other officers on the scene—and especially her grandfather—patronized her and tried to convince her that what was in her mind wasn’t real, Mitch accepted her words at face value.

  She’d only been twelve years old, but that didn’t mean she was wrong about what she saw that night. It wasn’t a nightmare, or her vivid imagination, or her mind compensating for the loss.

  Claws. Fur. Teeth.

  Hot breath on her face.

  Whatever that monster was, it was real, and it had never left her. Nearly ten years had passed, and she still slept with the lights on.

  Like some miracle, Mitch came back into her life again after she returned to New York from her English boarding school. He found her at a time when she was lost, with no true friends or family to turn to. The tabloids and internet gossip sites loved having another party girl with a trust fund to burn through. Nothing her grandfather threatened her with had made a difference.

  The lights. Music. Pills. It was all just a distraction she craved to keep the monster prowling inside her head away. But, Mitch saw through it all. He pulled her out of it and placed her at the agency, showing her that the darkness was real, giving her something tangible to fight against.

  Learning about the supernatural world hidden in the shadows, researching and organizing reports for the paranormal detectiv
es, Williams and Peters, gave her a reason to believe that maybe she didn’t have to live the rest of her life thinking all the creeping, dangerous creatures lived only inside her head. A monster out there might have taken her parents, but that didn’t mean she had to let the same thing happen to anyone else.

  As the chief, Mitch was supposed to be different from everyone else in her life who never believed her, but apparently he expected her to shut up and stick to the line just like her grandfather. It stung a particular nerve, and her faith in him snapped and frayed like the raw end of a broken rope.

  “Stupid.” She shook her head at her reflection in the mirror.

  On the way back to her desk, she spotted the donut and coffee he’d left. He didn’t mention how long he’d be gone. Instead of let it go to waste, she sank down in his chair and ate her feelings while she watched the morning line of traffic creep across the Brooklyn Bridge.

  Sidney grabbed his abandoned coffee. The moment her lips touched the lid at the same place Mitch’s had been, she felt a connection. She was transported back to that rooftop garden and the New Year’s party she’d invited him to at the last minute.

  Fireworks. Snowfall. Magic. The gentle touch of his lips were just as real and tender in her mind now, ten months later. But, everybody kissed at midnight on New Year’s.

  Maybe not with as much tongue as she’d used . . . .

  It hadn’t meant anything. None of it did. He was her boss for fuck’s sake. More than twice her age. It was completely inappropriate to be sitting here daydreaming about the heat of his palm radiating through the thin silk of her gown as he slid his hand down her—