by Kit Colter
“Can I help you?” Lauren said, smiling. Then her eyes narrowed on Erin’s face. “What on earth happened to you?”
“Uh, yeah. I mean maybe. I’m not really sure.”
“You’re not sure what happened?”
“Oh. No. That—my face—that was just a car wreck.”
Lauren frowned at her. “Well, do you know what you’re looking for?”
“Oh, it’s not for me. My friend sent me to pick something up for her.” Erin sighed, irritated with her cliché cover story. “Do you have anything to keep stuff out?”
“It depends on the stuff you’re referring to,” Lauren said, still looking at Erin’s bruises. “We have a free instructional booklet for casting a circle as well as a rounded selection of titles that deal with enhancing positive energy while minimizing negative energy.”
“I don’t know what any of that is, but I need something to keep out stuff like ghosts. Don’t you have holy water or something?”
Lauren chuckled. “You need to banish malevolent beings? Is that what you mean?”
“Sure, yeah, malevolent beings,” Erin said.
“By the look of it, I’m really not sure we have what you need. I think you’d be better off at the police station, to be honest. Or a better motorcycle helmet.”
Erin shook her head. “Totally unrelated,” she said, gesturing toward her face. “Something else completely.”
“Alright, then,” Lauren said, unconvinced, and led Erin to a display case full of daggers, feathers, crystals, talons, necklaces, scrolls, and other occult objects. She slid the glass panels aside. “These are all protective talismans. Since you’re not sure what you’re looking for, the best way to do this is to go with what feels right. Something in here should emanate a comfortable or protective aura to you. Just look around and touch whatever you want. When you find what you like, I’ll fill you in on how it works and what to do.” She frowned again, nodding toward the display case. “You know, I have some pepper spray behind the counter. You can have it, if you want.”
Erin shook her head and tried to smile. “It’s okay. Really.” Then she stared down at the esoteric assortment and tried to feel something. The daggers seemed like the obvious choice, but somehow she couldn’t see the practicality in stabbing a ghost. The crystals and feathers looked pretty, but she didn’t need pretty. She needed tough. She needed powerful. She needed something just like that.
Erin had no idea what the object was, but it was perfect.
The large hoop of dark wood was branded with arcane looking symbols. Eleven silver threads intersected at the center of the hoop, suspending a single white feather. She checked the price tag. Fifty-six dollars.
Erin lifted the hoop out of the case and walked to the register.
“Will this thing work?”
“If you let it work,” Lauren said.
Erin frowned and counted out sixty dollars. “I don’t need the change.”
Lauren slipped the hoop into a plastic bag. “Just nail the talisman into the ceiling above your doorway face down. It helps to sprinkle salt beneath the charm and around the doors and windows. After you put the talisman up, don’t let anyone touch it. If you feel that it isn’t working properly, we can send out a professional to program the energy for a small fee. ”
Erin gave her a weak smile, took the bag, and pushed through the double doors. Sliding into her Honda, she stared at the storefront through the windshield. Salt? Energy? Malevolent beings? It all screamed rip-off, but she didn’t have any other options. She had to try something. Erin frowned into the bag and spotted something extra at the bottom.
A small, black canister of pepper spray.
Erin pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway, heading back to her apartment. It wasn’t smart. The smart choice would be driving to Stephanie’s place to see if she could stay there until she figured out what was going on. But hiding was useless. He had followed her all the way to Las Cruces. Then back to Phoenix. He had inexplicably known she was on the roof top of her apartment building. Who the hell was this guy? And if he had seen that thing in her bedroom, did that mean it was real, too? Or had he somehow forced her to see it? Was this really, truly happening?
He was real.
She couldn’t possibly have punched herself hard enough to do that kind of damage.
He had to be real.
* * *
Erin pulled back into her apartment parking lot, hardly surprised to see Andrew’s jeep out front. She pulled up next to him, mildly amused when he didn’t notice. He was sitting in the driver’s seat, windows rolled down with the stereo booming, his nose buried in a Playboy magazine. She watched him open the centerfold and tilt it for examination. Erin smirked. Shoving the charm-talisman-thing beneath her seat so Andrew wouldn’t see it, she slipped out of her car and crept up to the passenger window.
“She’s pretty,” Erin said, leaning in.
Startled, he tossed the magazine out of his hand and bumped his head against the car door. Andrew frowned, moving one hand to his head and staring at her. “What the heck happened to your face?” he asked, gawking.
Erin had entirely forgotten about her face. “Oh.”
Andrew got out of the jeep and walked over to her, still staring. “You look like you got hit by a freaking train.”
“I, uh—I crashed my car.”
Andrew’s brows furrowed. He looked past Erin to her Honda, which was virtually pristine besides a thin coating of dust.
“In Cruces.”
“Well, what happened?” he pressed.
“Hit and run. Um, right in front of my parents’ house, actually.”
“Really? Where did it hit?”
“Oh, the back. On the side. Sorta.” Erin pointed toward the rear of the Honda. “My dad has a buddy who does body work. You can’t even tell anything happened.”
Andrew frowned and circled the Honda. “Yeah, you can’t.”
“He’s probably the best in Cruces. My dad swears by him.”
Stepping up to Erin, Andrew swept her bangs to one side, studying the bruises. “Really?” he asked.
She nodded convincingly.
“You don’t have any idea who hit you?”
“Of course not,” Erin said. “And what are you doing here anyway?”
He frowned and looked at the grocery bag in her left hand. “What’s in the bag?”
“Groceries,” she said flatly. Then, because she felt guilty, she added, “You want a peanut butter sandwich?”
Andrew thought about it, then shook his head. “I’ll be late for work.”
Erin nodded, gave Andrew a hug, and headed up to her apartment without a backward glance as her Not-Boyfriend drove away. She knew Andrew didn’t have to be at work for another hour. He was mad at her, and he ought to be. She’d run off to Las Cruces without a word to him and ignored a dozen calls because she didn’t know what to say to him. But right now she didn’t want to think about it, didn’t have time to think about it. She had bigger problems. Slipping into her apartment, Erin stuffed her grocery bag, including the pens and camera, into the refrigerator. Then she took a single glance at her laptop—a long suffering machine, now archaic by most standards but still good for writing papers—and walked back out of her apartment and down the hall to the third door.
It took a minute of persistent knocking—she knew he was in there—but the door finally opened and a tall, athletic man with no shirt appeared.
“Dude, what happened to your face?”
“Car crash,” she replied.
“Damn, you really took one.” He squinted at her face. “So, come back to cash in your rain check?”
Justin had asked her out on a date three months previously, knowing perfectly well that she was sorta-dating Andrew. And Justin and Andrew were sorta-friends. It was a whole sorta-mess, but Justin remained unfazed.
“Nah. Can I borrow your computer?” she asked.
“Sure you don’t want to cash in that rain check?”
he asked, giving her a cheesy smile.
“Positive,” Erin said.
He frowned. “Yeah, alright,” Justin said, standing aside. “Want some Fruit Loops?” he asked.
“Sure,” Erin said. She quickly made her way around the strewn clothes to his computer, which sat in the corner of the living room. Justin set a bowl of cereal down beside the keyboard, tossed in a spoon, splashing milk on the keys, then flipped a chair around backwards and sat beside her.
“Wutcha after?” he asked around a mouthful of neon colored cereal.
Erin wiped the milk off the keyboard, then typed ghost into the search engine and pressed enter.
“Killer,” Justin said. “Hey, if your apartment’s haunted, you can spend the night over here,” he said, again with that signature, half joking, half sleazy grin. “I’ll even let you have the bed.”
“Rain check,” Erin said.
“You know rain check means you’re going to do it later, right?” he asked.
Erin looked at him, both annoyed and amazed by his persistence. “Not in this case,” she said.
“Ah, so you say.” Justin walked into the kitchen. Erin grinned when she saw him pouring sugar into his cereal.
“I’ve got to get ready for practice. Hang around if you want, just lock the door on your way out,” he said.
“Okay,” Erin said, listening to him trudge down the hall. Justin was used to her by then. She visited on a regular basis for research projects and to use his printer. He didn’t seem to mind. Every time Erin saw him on campus, he asked whether or not she’d be stopping by soon. Erin had promised herself she’d buy him some paper and printer ink for Christmas.
Chapter 4
Erin stepped back into her apartment, adjusting both locks behind her. She placed a few printed pages on the table, then frowned at the clock. 10 p.m. She’d been at Justin’s for most of the day while he came in and out from practice, class, and a date. Erin had uncovered nothing but nonsense about sacred circles, magic oils, dead lovers and poltergeists. Nothing real. Nothing that could help her. Nothing that could counterbalance the subtle tone of despair in Espy’s voice when she said go see Grandma, Erin.
Erin’s frown deepened. She guessed it was dark enough that no one would notice her bringing up that ridiculous charm thing. Probably a huge waste of money.
She reached for the door handle, then froze as it began to turn on its own.
Despite everything, her first thought was not about shadows. Not about strangers. It was about Coach. Standing in the hallway. Outside her home. Waiting. She’d caught him by surprise last time—when she’d tried to kill him—but she wasn’t sure things would go the same now that he knew what to expect.
Erin leapt forward, grabbed the door handle, and found it locked. She gazed through the peep hole and saw nothing. She glanced at her cell phone lying on the counter, weighing her options, then retrieved her softball bat from the bedroom closet. She flicked off the lights in the kitchen, bedroom, and living room. The hallway outside her apartment was lit by fluorescent lights, so the split second it took his eyes to adjust to the darkness of her apartment would give Erin an advantage. Just for an instant.
Then she backed into the corner of the kitchen, three steps from the door, and waited.
A strange sound met her ears. Something like metal creaking.
The fire escape.
Erin held her breath as the window slid slowly open. She’d locked it. Hadn’t she?
She felt her body sliding sideways, angling deeper into the kitchen and away from the window as a dark figure climbed through. She told herself to attack, to kill, but she was already turning toward the door. Turning to run. Then a hand came down on her shoulder, and she whirled around with everything in her body.
Plus a wooden bat.
She felt the impact vibrate all the way through the bat, up her hands, wrists, and into her shoulders. A cracking sound split the air, and Erin watched the figure tumble to the ground. She started to drop the bat, then stopped herself, and flicked on the lights.
It was him. The stranger from the alley. Blood oozed down his face from a wound hidden somewhere in his hair. For a moment, Erin thought he was dead. But then his eyelids fluttered, and she realized she had a decision to make. She could be safe and run away. Or she could use this opportunity to get information she needed.
She had to move fast.
Erin retrieved a roll of duct tape from a kitchen drawer. She positioned a dining chair on the floor and jammed it against the man’s body. Then she started taping. Hands first. Just in case he woke up. Then his ankles. Torso. His neck. His hands again.
When she ran out of tape, Erin quietly knelt and grabbed the chair-back. She took a glance at the enormous, unconscious man covered in duct tape—wondered if she’d lost her mind after all—then heaved the chair into an upright position. She felt a rush of uneasiness. There was a law about this. About intruders. She could kill an intruder, couldn’t she? Surely, taping one to a chair had to be legal, too?
She told herself she’d already committed to this, and retrieved her new instant camera from the refrigerator, where she’d stashed it earlier along with the groceries. She’d bought it to take pictures of the wounds on her face—for permanent, physical evidence that she wasn’t crazy. But this was much, much more convincing.
Erin held up the camera and pressed the shutter button. There was a flash of light. The camera ejected a small square picture. The intruder remained motionless. Erin had the sudden, distinct impression that he was already awake. Just waiting. Listening.
“Hey,” she said, sounding much less aggressive than she wanted.
He remained motionless.
“Hey!” Erin jabbed him with the end of the bat. She wondered if she ought to call an ambulance.
He lifted his head. Something in his expression made Erin think he had been awake all along. Waiting. Listening to her.
“You’re lucky I didn’t smash your face in with this thing,” Erin said, tossing the camera and picture aside. With her left hand, she clutched the bat tighter to keep herself from shaking.
He just looked at her, his brown eyes sweeping across her face with an almost imperceptible glint of interest. Erin had the sudden suspicion that he was actually enjoying this.
“If you haven’t already figured it out,” Erin said, “I’m really good with a bat.” She checked his expression. “And you’re taped up.”
His expression remained relaxed and unreadable. Just watching. Erin could feel him measuring the timing of her breaths, the angle of her hips as she moved, the cascade of her bangs across her forehead.
“I suggest you cooperate here,” she said.
Silence.
Erin edged closer and snagged the handle of the bat on the open collar of his shirt. She felt her heart pounding in her chest as she did, a sudden surge of adrenaline making hands her tremble. Then she slowly tugged his shirt collar down three inches, revealing a flat, white scar. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she had buried her knife in that exact spot.
Erin took a quick step back, feeling a sudden rush of dizziness, of nausea—panic. It wasn’t possible. She took several deep, slow breaths, waiting until the pounding in her chest died away.
“I want to know who you are, why you’re following me, and ... I want to know what you are,” she said finally.
Hints of a grin curved his lips.
Erin sighed in irritation. “You’re going to make me beat you, seriously?” When he didn’t respond, her features darkened. “Look, if you’re expecting me to beg you to tell me what’s going on, then you’ve got another thing coming.”
He just watched her.
“I have a bat.” Erin raised it for his clear viewing.
His grin widened subtly. Just enough for her to notice.
Erin shrugged. She’d hit him before. She could do it again. She took a step forward and raised the bat, targeting his left shoulder. She swung.
“Alright, Erin.”
“What would you like to know?” he asked.
Erin stared at him, thinking. “What’s your name?” she asked.
“Sirian.”
“Sirian?” she asked skeptically.
He watched her.
“Why are you following me?” she asked.
“You already know why,” he said, that subtle grin lingering on his lips.
Erin frowned.
“Alright then, what are you?” Erin asked.
“What do I look like?”
Erin glared at him. “Like a guy taped to a wooden chair,” she snapped. “You know I’ll hit you with this.” She gave the bat a half swing.
He nodded calmly.
Erin shook her head. It was this or the psych ward. She held up the bat, pulling back a little.
Sirian rolled his shoulders slightly, then simultaneously jerked back with his arms and stood, shattering the wooden chair. Erin stumbled back as Sirian ripped the tape off his arms. He jerked a piece of wood off the back of his right leg and tossed it aside. Gazing up at Sirian’s face, Erin recognized the same creeping pleasure she’d seen that night in the alley. Intent. Waiting. Planning. The expression wavered, and his focus moved past her. Behind her. She turned just as a silhouette of shadows glided right through the door. She gasped as something grabbed her, then realized it was Sirian. She turned to swing, but Sirian ripped the bat from Erin’s hands and pulled her behind him. The shadow surged forward. Sirian stepped back, shielding Erin with his body.
Then the door swung open and a nude man stepped into the room. The doorframe burst into flames behind him. He glanced at Erin—his gaze dark and hot and terrible—then pinned his eyes on the shadow. Erin watched in horror as the man dissolved into a blistering whirlwind of fire, surging up the wall and across the ceiling in a trail of charred paint. Then the fire smashed into the shadowed silhouette. The shadow thrashed across the floor, dark tendrils whipping in all directions. Flames lashed over the shadow like a cascade of molten lava.