by Debbie Gould
Tears welled, and a sob tore from her lungs. A horrible ache writhed in her chest, squeezing her lungs and forcing her body to curl into a tight ball. Oh God. Unable to ignore the pain stabbing her heart, she let the sorrow of his rejection free and cried until she soaked her pillow with countless droplets of salty misery.
At last, exhaustion shrouded her body, and she drifted on the edge of oblivion. Oh please, let me wake tomorrow and be able to put Andy behind me and move on. But a voice deep within her soul whispered he was the one guy she would never get out of her heart.
She couldn’t breathe. A hooded man with bony fingers stood next to her bed and held a smoky scented cloth over her nose and mouth. Panic raced through her, and she fought to break free. She dug at his arms and kicked at his legs as she struggled against her attacker.
In a blur, he skittered on top of her, his face so close she could easily make out the rotting flesh and oozing pustules in the gloom. Releasing the rag, he slipped his icy hands around her neck and squeezed. “Nothing personal, Calista. Your aunt should have known better than to mess with a darker, stronger power. Someone has to pay, and you’re it.”
“No!” She gagged and bolted upright, jarring herself awake. She pressed her fingers against her throat, unnerved to find the skin cold beneath her touch. Still foggy from the nightmare, she frowned and inhaled a deep calming breath. Instead, she coughed, and her eyes burned. What the…?
Squinting, she glanced around. Even in the darkness, she could tell the room was filled with dense smoke.
She reached over to switch on the bedside lamp.
Click.
Nothing.
Tamping down the panic clawing at her chest, she dug around in the comforter for her cell phone and, finding it, crawled to the far side of her bed. She slid off the mattress, sank to the floor on her hands and knees.
Heart pounding, she tried her phone. No service. This is crazy. She always had service in her house.
The smoke billowed and thickened. Her eyes burned. She struggled to get a full breath but couldn’t without coughing. The room seemed to tilt and spin.
Calista threw herself to the carpet, searching for a pocket of decent air. Unable to find one, she crawled across the floor. Dear God, just let me get outside before I pass out.
Feeling her way with her hands, she came to what should have been her open bedroom door.
Shut? The door is shut?
Her pulse hammered. Her mind raced. She’d left it open. She was certain, without a doubt her bedroom door had been open before she’d lain down. She never closed it. Even as a child, she’d always needed to have it open.
Pushing to her knees, she twisted the knob and yanked, but the door refused to open. Fear consumed her, and sobbing, Calista jerked the knob again and again.
The window.
Returning to the floor, she crawled past her bed. Smoke burned her lungs, her eyes. A jagged bout of coughs racked her body, stealing even more air. Her fingers skimmed over the carpet until she found the baseboards. She slid her hands up the wall, reaching…reaching….
Her fingertips touched cold glass.
Closed. The window was closed. Closed.
Wait, hadn’t she left it open to listen for Andy coming home when she’d gone to bed? She tried to shove the frame up, but it wouldn’t budge. Stretching higher, she twisted the lock and tried again but to no avail. The damn thing wouldn’t open. Balling her hand, she slammed her fist against the window in a desperate attempt to break through to fresh air.
Tired. I just…can’t….
She slapped at the glass in vain, and her palm slid down to the sill. She collapsed to the floor, a whimper escaping her lips. This couldn’t be how she died. What about all the things she wanted to do with her life? Being a lawyer, a wife, a mother.
What about…Andy?
Chapter Eight
Andy shuffled up the walk to his house, every muscle in his body on fire from the long, arduous day at the restaurant. His head pounded despite the handfuls of ibuprofen he’d tossed back all day long. All else aside, what he wanted—no, scratch that—what he needed was to see Calista, to tell her how much he loved her and hoped she would be part of his life.
He’d made several attempts during the day and night to call her, but whether his cell service had been down or some unforeseen emergency distracted him, he’d been thwarted at every attempt. It was as if some higher power out there was trying to keep him from her.
He glanced at his watch in the dim glow of his back porch light. Twelve twenty. The urge to wake her just to see her sleepy, whiskey-colored eyes consumed him. To caress her supple skin, to taste her sweet mouth…. Images of Calista, pliant in his arms, her dark hair fanned over the couch cushion as he took her filled his mind. Damn, she’d been all he’d dreamed and more. His body reacted to his erotic thoughts. The idea of another intimate encounter with her overpowered him, and an instant erection jammed against his zipper, demanding he pursue her.
Pausing on his patio, he turned and looked across from his yard to hers. Shadows pooled beneath the brooding oaks, but enough moonlight illuminated the well-worn trail he’d created during the last eighteen months. Heck, the worst she could do was not answer the doorbell.
While he crossed the path to her home, a whiff of smoke hit him. Not the slick, greasy scent that had permeated his clothes and continued to linger since the kitchen fire. No, this smelled of wood. Shifting his gaze higher, he scrutinized her house but detected nothing out of the ordinary. Still his skin crawled, and an unshakable sense of doom settled over him.
Something wasn’t right.
Taking the porch steps two at a time, Andy jabbed his finger on the doorbell as he yanked open the screen door. Trying the knob, he was surprised to find it unlocked. He shoved the door open and rushed inside. Reaching for the foyer light switch, he switched it on, but nothing happened. He tried a second time with the same results. Crap. Not good.
“Calista?” He scanned the dark room, glimpsing the outline of the couch and a hint of the end table next to it. Maybe he should go home and grab a flashlight—if she was passed out on the floor, he might walk right past her. His stomach clenched at the possibility, and a fleeting echo of her aunt’s confession as she spoke over the speakerphone with her rang in his ears. “Death is after you, child.”
His mind twisted new meaning to the older woman’s words. Everything that had occurred throughout the day—the kitchen fire, his top chef walking out, the market fire which sent him across town for supplies, seeing that bastard Ben waltz into the restaurant with some slut on his arm, the lack of cell phone reception…. Good Lord, nothing seemed coincidental any more.
Thump.
Andy lifted his gaze to the ceiling. Her bedroom.
Heart banging against his sternum, he hurried through the living room and bounded up the stairs. At the top, he strode down the short hallway to her closed bedroom door. The unmistakable scent of smoke assaulted his nose. He tried the knob. Locked.
“Calista!” Only seconds passed, but when no response came, he shoved his shoulder against the heavy wood slab hard enough to jar it open. Pushing his way into the room, he squinted while smoke billowed around him, burning his eyes. Why hadn’t the damned smoke alarms gone off? He frowned. No flames, no crackling of burning wood. Where was the fire that should have engulfed the entire house?
Shielding his nose and mouth with his arm, he stepped across the threshold but stopped short when he glimpsed a dark shadow rushing toward him. A deep, feral growl shuddered against his skin. What the…?
An inhuman wail sliced the air followed by a sudden explosion. The door blew shut, slamming against him and tossing him backward down the steep stairs. Tumbling ass over ears, he landed at the bottom, pain detonating in his shoulder and arm, stars bursting behinds his eyes. Unable to catch a full breath, he lay on the hardwood floor, trying to calm his racing heart. What the hell was that?
Thoughts of Calista’s safety pervaded his mi
nd, and Andy rolled to his knees, using his good arm to push himself to his feet. Agony shot through his elbow and sent his head spinning. Shit, his shoulder was dislocated. Cracked his forearm, too. Gritting his teeth, he stared at the landing above.
“Coincidences my ass,” he muttered. Her crazy aunt had been right. Calista was in trouble. Deep shit. Forces, supernatural or otherwise, were trying to keep him from getting to her.
With the room spinning around him, he climbed back up the steps leading to the woman he loved, prepared to battle whatever wanted to stop him from reaching her. She was his. His heart, his soul, his life. Nothing and no one would keep him from her.
Rearing back, he kicked the door open, splintering the wood casing enough for him to squeeze through. Smoke rushed out, enveloping him in a suffocating embrace. His throat burned, and his vision blurred with sooty tears.
“Calista!”
Only the silence of the foggy room greeted him. God, was he too late? He shoved the thought away, unable to consider the possibility. Pushing aside the throbbing in his arm, he fell to his knees and prodded around the floor. He ran his hands over the bed where she should have been sleeping but found it empty.
“Calista, baby, answer me.”
A bright haze danced in front of the window, and somehow he knew it was a sign. Follow the light. He shuffled across the hardwood, his limbs heavy from his shallow breaths. Please let her be—
Something cold brushed over his calf, twined around his ankle.
His heart jackhammered. Oh, shit!
His leg jerked out from under him, and his chest slammed to the floor. Something dragged him away from the window. Andy twisted and flipped onto his back.
Holy mother of—
Fear grappled his lungs, and icy tentacles wound around his throat and squeezed. Amid the swirling smoke, a hooded figure towered over him. Bony fingers dug into his calf, and he kicked to free himself. The thing skittered onto his chest, an impossible weight crushing his ribs.
“She is mine,” the fiend gurgled, his putrid breath washing over Andy’s face.
Death. The Grim Reaper. The Ferryman. He stared into the beast’s soulless, glowing orbs while his brain struggled to process the truth. Good God, it isn’t a fairytale.
Death loomed closer, his decaying nostrils flaring. “You have interfered. You, too, are mine.”
“No.”
The Reaper’s jaw shifted, bone popping over bone. “You have no say. It is done.”
“But it was a mistake.” Andy struggled for air and coughed.
“There are no mistakes. I will take you both.” The fiend opened its mouth, rotting teeth glinting with puss. Wider and wider still, and inside a pit of darkness. Death’s maw gaped, the Soul Eater preparing for its meal.
With his last strength, Andy jerked against the bony shackles holding him captive. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. He’d always imagined a long relationship with Calista filled with laughter and love.
Love.
The only thing Death could never steal.
“I curse you,” he gritted out, and choked on the smoke invading his throat.
The fiend jolted, his grip tightening until Andy was certain his clavicle would crack. “You dare?”
“I curse you….” He struggled to suck in air. “With our love.”
Death jerked back, releasing his hold, a screeching hiss grating Andy’s brain. He cringed, as claws seemed to rake through his mind. Barely able to think, he focused on his true love.
“You can not curse me,” he roared.
“Yes.” More than anything, more than his next breath, he wanted to spend his life with his golden-eyed love. “For as long as our love lasts, I curse you to stand aside, to never interfere in Calista’s life, to allow her a peaceful death whenever that is fated to occur.”
Death bolted into the air, gray clouds swirling around him. The walls vibrated with his deep growl, the reverberations rattling Andy’s bones. Pain speared his ligaments, his tendons stretched to a mere thread. Oh shit, I’m going to shake apart.
The Reaper exploded, a mass of ash and cinder missiled through room.
Andy rolled and crawled across the floor, the window light guiding him. Fingers questing, at last he found her.
“Calista.” Heart pounding, he grappled in the dark for her neck and any sign of a pulse.
Nothing.
Ah, God, no. He couldn’t be too late. He wouldn’t accept that. Pressing his mouth to hers, he gave her two rescue breaths and began CPR. “Come on, baby. Breathe damn it.”
He pulled her close and buried his face into her hair. His tears fell freely as he poured out all the love he held in his heart and prayed she could feel it in hers. Everything he’d said had been true. He would love her forever and live for the day they could be together again.
Without warning, the lights flickered on, and the windows slammed open.
Calista drew in a deep, sharp gasp. Startled, Andy stared into his beautiful soul mate’s eyes. Alive and warm in his arms, she met his gaze.
“You’re here,” she rasped. “What happened?”
“Oh, God, baby! I thought I’d lost you forever.” Somehow he’d managed to curse Death, and they’d survived it. Joy warmed him to his very soul. He would spend his life with this woman. “Dear Lord, how I love you.”
She returned his embrace. “I love you, too.”
Chapter Nine
Three Weeks Later
“He’s a wonderful man, your Andrew.” Aunt Nadya sipped her coffee.
Calista shifted her gaze, her tummy fluttering as she caught a glimpse of Andy’s shirt before he disappeared into the restaurant’s kitchen. “Yes, he is.”
“And he was very kind to invite an old woman like me on his date.” She set her cup on the linen-covered table.
Calista turned and patted her aunt’s hand. “It’s not a date, Auntie. This is his restaurant.”
Her aunt snorted. “Well, all I know is that was the best Crawfish Etoufee I’ve tasted in…well, ever.” Grabbing her fork, she scooped up a healthy bite of Cherries Jubilee and shoved it in her mouth, chewing slowly. She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and moaned. “Dear Lord, child. Heaven, pure Heaven. He’s a keeper, that one.”
Calista smiled. Yeah, she thought so, too. All these years of broken hearts and pining after whichever latest boyfriend had dumped her. What a waste of time—except for the fact they’d led her to the most giving and wonderful man she’d ever met. All the others were nothing compared to her Andy.
A potent heat swirled through her chest, increasing her pulse and snagging her breath. Her Andy. Oh, yes. She liked the sound of that.
Her gaze shot toward the kitchen door again. He’d said he loved her, but his confession had come at the culmination of a terrifying night where they’d both almost died. He hadn’t said the words again since. Not that she expected him to tell her he loved her every ten minutes, but surely he would have repeated the sentiment sometime during the last three days.
She narrowed her gaze on the doorway. He did love her, didn’t he? Her Andy.
Beyond everything she knew, she loved him. There was no doubt he was the one she was meant to spend the rest of her life with. He was unlike any other man she’d ever known, and she was at a loss for how she could’ve been so blind over the last eighteen months. Wasted time.
She fiddled with the napkin in her lap, her fingers knitting the soft cloth only to smooth it out again. Of course, she hadn’t repeated those three little words she’d uttered in her smoke-filled bedroom to him either. Why not? She knew the truth in her heart.
“Calista,” her aunt’s quiet voice called her attention.
She turned, meeting the older woman’s gaze. The woman who’d watched over her since she was a child. The woman who’d cursed Ben Walker because he’d broken her heart. The woman who stared at her now, a sage expression in her eyes—pride, love, and something else indefinable swirled in her golden stare.
Aunt N
adya reached up and tucked a strand behind Calista’s ear, her mouth curving into a gentle smile. “Don’t over think things, child.”
“I’m not,” she lied. “I was just wondering what was taking Andy so long.”
“Things take as long as they will.” Auntie patted her hand. “Now fix yourself. You should look nice for your Andrew when he returns.”
Peering at the napkin she clutched in her lap, she spotted the dark peach stains on the white cloth. She grabbed her purse and fished out her lipstick.
“There you are,” her aunt remarked after Calista had swiped the color onto her lips and returned the tube to her bag. Aunt Nadya sipped her coffee. “Perfect.”
“Sorry I was gone so long.” Andy slipped into the seat next to her. “Chefs can be so temperamental. Not me, though.”
“Of course not.” Giggling, she stared into his dark gaze, and her heart stuttered. God, he was gorgeous. Everything about him called to her, and she took a deep breath. No more waiting. Her heart belonged to him, so why not tell him?
“Andy, I wanted to—”
“Calista—”
She laughed. “Okay, you first.”
His expression sobered. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” A few more seconds wouldn’t change the way she felt or what she intended to say.
His gaze flicked to Aunt Nadya and then back to her. He swallowed and glanced down as though gathering his thoughts. Good Lord, what was he about to tell her?
Dread flooded her chest. Oh no. He was getting ready to dump her. Her lungs squeezed, and tiny darts of pain pricked her heart.
“I’ve lived next door to you for a year and a half,” he said, his voice so serious each word jarred her nerves. “And these last few days have been….” He lifted his gaze to her aunt again. “Enlightening.”
Aunt Nadya gave a quiet snort and tapped her finger on the table.
The corner of his mouth twitched, and he shifted his attention to Calista. Taking her hand, he drew her focus. “Your aunt’s, um, special talents. I mean, she cursed a guy. And not that I ever believed in any kind of magic, but some really strange things happened afterward. Scary things. Whatever she did, she worried how the consequences would affect you.”