by Grey, T. A.
Abbigail turned her head to stare at green metal shelf that held cardboard boxes, stacks of printer paper, more paperwork, and a bunch of her mother’s witchcraft knicknacks. She tried to focus on the paper she was looking, to read the words there, but it didn’t distract her enough. She couldn’t remove herself from this situation because she needed to hear this. She just didn’t want to, not really.
“I was afraid, I knew, that I could never compete with that. She went missing; she’s probably long dead by now and he never stopped looking for her. He would have treated you different. There’s no way he wouldn’t. He worshipped his kids, honey. God, I’m making a mess of this. But we were different.”
Abbigail finally turned to look at her mother. She had her head buried in two hands, her shoulders sagging forward. She looked much older then, weak. Her mother looked at her, her wet eyes sad, her lips turned down in a frown.
“I was always second. I had no choice but to be that. I didn’t...I couldn’t...” she scrubbed her hands over her face and shook her head as if to get rid of a bad thought. “I’m sure I was wrong, but it’s like...he was holding back something from me so I...so I...”
Oh my god. So that was it, Abby thought. “He held back part of himself from you, so you kept me from him. Talk about petty, mom.”
Anger sliced in her mother’s eyes. “I’m not the only one who’s petty. Who’s made mistakes.”
Her words hit home just like she wanted to. She’d never become a practicing witch like her mother wanted her to. She’d never carry on her mother’s legacy, and yes she actually had a bit of one. And yes she did it just to spite her mother.
“Yeah, I guess we’re both petty, mom.”
Abby stood up but couldn’t meet her mother’s eyes. Her mother started to say something but the phone in Abby’s pocked buzzed.
She took it out and answered it.
“Yeah?” she said. “Got it.” She closed the phone and pocketed it. “I gotta go. A case.”
She left to her mother’s silence and got into her car. That was good. For the best.
Warm air had gathered in the car suffocating her in its heat. She started the engine then rolled down the windows to let in some air. The breeze made her sigh, the tight muscles in her back release. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep from crying.
Chapter Four
Night set by time Abby got home from the lab. The dead shapeshifter case was going to be a hard one for detectives since apparently no one witnessed the crime. Either that, or anyone who witnessed the crime wasn’t coming forward. Some people got scared in situations like this and didn’t want to come forward. Usually in those cases they recognized the killer which may or may not be in their benefit. The knife used to commit the murder still hadn’t been found and until all the blood and evidence was processed nothing could be done. It was a waiting game until they got another hit.
“What a day,” Abby said as she unlocked her front door and stepped into her house. It wasn’t really her house, just a rental but she loved it all the same. It had three bedrooms and two baths and a single-car garage to boot. Going from college dorms to the small apartment she shared with her friend Jenna after college to this was like hitting the lottery.
Her stomach growled; she hadn’t eaten since breakfast that morning but her body was so tired she just wanted to pass out and not wake up for a week. She couldn’t do that though, nope. She had to face her problems. She needed to contact her step-sisters.
She wondered: what would they think of her? Would they like her, accept her? She doubted it. She couldn’t say she’d be so agreeable to accept a step-sibling that she didn’t know about until now. Still, she had to try. As soon as she got some sleep, she’d do some research and find some addresses then track down her sisters. She wasn’t looking forward to it, but a spark of hope filled her that maybe, just maybe, they’d be wonderful. She’d only ever had her mom and no one else. She’d had friends but that wasn’t the same as family. Jenna was always there if she needed her, but they weren’t as close as they’d been while in college.
Abby set her lab bag on the kitchen table, snagged a yogurt out of the fridge and spoon from the kitchen drawer, then headed to the bedroom. She needed to get a pet, a cat or maybe a dog. Something so the house wouldn’t feel so empty every time she got home.
She scrubbed her face and changed into her pajamas as she finished her yogurt and tossed it into the trash bin. She’d just pulled down the comforter, ready to let her exhausted bones rest, when a bang came at a door.
Not a knock, a bang.
She jumped, her heart starting a fierce, hard pounding in her chest. Her hand went to her chest, her eyes flew wide. She checked the clock: ten o’clock. Who the hell would be banging on her door like that? It was the kind of knocking SWAT officers used before breaking down the door when they had a search warrant.
Getting control of herself, Abby opened her nightstand drawer and pulled out her gun. She had a permit for it and she knew how to shoot. The banging persisted.
BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! It never relented, never paused.
Abby creeped down the hall on the balls of her feet as her heart thundered in time to the knocking. She kept her thumb over the safety on her gun, ready at a moment’s notice to flick it off and use it if necessary.
Just as she reached the door, the banging stopped. She froze, straining to hear something. No whisper of breath, no sound of movement, she only heard the cacophonous thud of her own heartbeat. She breathed as quietly as she could in and out as she tried to slow her racing heart. She was glad the lights were off in the house. Maybe whoever was there would assume she wasn’t home and leave.
Then the banging came again, even harder. She flinched, her hand tightening around her gun, warming the cool metal as the door shook in its sturdy frame. God, whoever it was must be strong. She wished like hell she had a peephole or even a window at the door but she had neither. The nearest front window only showed as much as the driveway. The front of the house blocked the doorway from view.
Only a door stood between her and the person knocking.
BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!
Finally finding her voice, she called out in a hard voice, “Who’s there?” Well, she’d tried for a stern voice but it still came out sounding scared, alert.
The knocking stopped as if it never happened. Only a resounding echo and her racing heart showed she wasn’t crazy.
She heard a muffled voice, deep, unintelligible.
“What?” she said, yelling louder through the door. She wasn’t stupid enough to open it. Hell no. Her thumb traced over the small safety lever on the gun, itching to release it.
“Abbigail Krenshaw,” the deep voice said.
Her stomach fell to her knees. Fuck, what did she do now? Somehow this man, it was definitely a masculine voice, knew her name and that scared the shit out of her. She looked around, feeling as if dozens of eyes were watching her, but she didn’t find any only her empty dark house. The green clock from the kitchen stove still lit the kitchen up in a dim glow and nightlights in the hallway and living room were dim but showed enough to see that no one waited to jump her.
“What do you want?”
The voice didn’t answer. All went silent. Abbigail swept her gaze around her house again as if, at any moment, a window would burst and some crazed maniac would jump through her window ready to gut her like the victim she saw this morning.
“Open this door.” It was a command, an order. Abbigail had no intention of answering it.
Instead she slowly raised her gun, her thumb still near the safety and pointed it at the door as she slowly stepped back towards the kitchen and to her phone.
BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! The knocking started again.
Her breath caught at the sound of cracking wood. Her eyes darted around the door trying to see a crack but couldn’t see any broken wood, but she’d heard the crack. He knocked again, louder, the banging sound ringing in her ears amidst more s
plintering sounds. God, he’s breaking down the door frame, tearing it out!
She turned and ran to the phone. She faced the door, gun ready as she dialed. Her fingers slipped in their haste and she had to end the call and try again twice before she got the three digits dialed--911.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“A man’s trying to break into my house,” Abbigail whispered, but her voice sounded just as panicked as she felt. The knocking continued, never stopping. “Oh my god, do you hear that?”
“What’s your address ma’am?” Abby related it quickly. “Ma’am, get to a back room with a lock on it and lock yourself in there. Stay on the line. Patrol officers are on the way.”
Abby started towards the bedroom then stopped as she felt the cord to her phone pull taut. “I can’t take the phone with me. It’s not wireless.” God, she felt really stupid now. She thought the corded, old-fashioned phone was cute and trendy when she bought it; it was one of those vintage dark yellow ones that hung on the wall.
“Then set the phone down but do not hang up if you can. Patrols will be there shortly.”
No sooner than the operator declared that, the door shook violently.
“He’s kicking it,” she said, part in fear, part in disbelief.
Abby waited no longer. She turned and ran for the bedroom just as she heard the door burst open in an explosion of splintered wood. It bounce off the wall with a resounding crack just as she entered her bedroom, slammed the door closed and flipped the measly turn lock.
Her thumb swept the safety off her gun and she sprinted into her bathroom as another bang came at her bedroom door. No way would that weak wood door last nearly as long as the front door.
She slammed the bathroom door shut, locked it, then moved as far back as she could wedging herself between the toilet and shower. Shaking and scared out of her mind, she raised her gun, index finger poised over the trigger and waited.
BAM! BAM! CRACK!
The bedroom door slammed open. She heard it beat against her nightstand with another blast. She started praying for the police to come. She didn’t want to be another body like the ones she found for a living. Her arms shook. As she looked down the peephole of the black gun, the hole wavered, wobbling around in waves that she tried to steady but couldn’t.
She kept waiting for him to come. Kept waiting to hear the banging on the bathroom door. But it never came. A minute passed. Then another. And another.
A part of her told her to check the door, open it just an inch and peer outside. Maybe he was gone and she had a gun after all. She could shoot if he charged at her, but the smarter part of her mind told her to wait there. Wait for the police. They shouldn’t be that long. After all, she lived close to her job and her job was with the police department.
Sure enough, another minute passed and she could hear the faint howling of sires in the distance. As they got louder, her heart rate slowed, her muscles relaxed, but she never dropped aim no matter how hard her arms shook.
She heard men entering her house.
“Abbigail Krenshaw!” a voice hollered out her name.
She’d never been more relieved to hear another person’s voice in her life. She collapsed against the toilet. “Mike, I’m in the bathroom!” Footsteps bounded in her bedroom but something made her stay in the bathroom. As if she had to be certain it was safe and this wasn’t all some gimmick.
A soft triple knock came at the door. “Abbigail are you all right?”
Mike’s voice was tense, not that she was surprised. He was a sweet guy, a good cop, and she’d probably just scared the shit out of him with her call. She stood on legs that didn’t feel like her own and unlocked the door. She opened it slowly, peering out as she’d wanted to before. She met his dark blue eyes and light head of hair then let the door open all the way.
He had a hard look in his eyes; the kind he used when surveying a crime scene. “You okay?” His eyes traced her quickly from head to toe ensuring all parts were accounted for.
She nodded, then before she knew it he wrapped her in his arms. It was beyond unprofessional but she hugged him back. After the insanity she just went through, the least she deserved was a hug, right?
She pulled back first and gave him a tight-lipped smile.
“Now tell me why your doors are busted in and what the hell happened.”
Abby shrugged then told him. His frown got deeper and deeper as it went on. No matter how hard she tried to describe how terrifying it all was, she couldn’t. No words could describe that.
“Stay in a hotel tonight. Use cash.”
It was Abby’s turn to frown. “What? No, why?”
He lifted a dark blonde eyebrow at her. “Because you don’t have a front door.”
Her face flushed and she nodded. “Right.”
She packed a bag, being sure to put her gun in there, then left with the detective unit making a crime scene out of her home.
Mike watched her walk to her car from the front door. She didn’t like his scrutiny, didn’t like that she’d needed help like this. These were good cops and had much better cases to be working on then spending time in her house. But Mike insisted.
This whole thing was all so bizarre. Too many questions rang in her head: who was at her door and why did he want her?
She opened her car door and tossed her hastily-stuffed duffel bag into the passenger seat. Strange, she didn’t feel tired now. She felt like she could run a mile at a full on sprint and not even be out of breath.
“Damn, hey Abby.” Mike took a step towards her then stopped.
Abbigail blinked. What the.... he didn’t stop, he froze. No, not just him, everything froze. The air that had been stirring the hair around her face stopped, dropping the strands flat against her. The trees swaying from the breeze stopped, freezing the trees up and down the street leaning in mid-sway as if reaching for something. The voices in the house ceased. All went quiet, dark.
She felt him before she saw him. A roar filled her ears. She turned around, leaning back against the car for support. Time seemed to slow or maybe it was just her adrenaline pumping and making it seem like time was slowed. What was that sound, the roar? Shoot, it was her heart racing.
“Mike!” Her one last chance for help, she called out. She darted a glance at Mike and saw him still frozen, one foot forward, his body in mid-step, eyes locked on her, unblinking.
It dawned on her then...magic. The man coming for her was using magic. She should have realized it sooner but she was so out of touch with it...
She felt him coming.
Spinning around, she stared at her neighbor’s dark house. Her neighbors were older and paranoid; they always kept their outdoor lights on and several inside the house. Now the house sat completely dark, empty looking. Somewhere in the back of her mind she realized the streetlights were off too leaving everything dark with only the moon light to guide her eyes.
The man appeared before her very eyes. A cloaking spell to disguise his presence? That took strong magic. He didn’t move towards her, just faced her.
Her breath caught, heart stuttered. The first thing she noticed were his eyes. The darkest eyes she’d ever seen. Too dark to be human. Pitch black. Her eyes moved away from his face, curiosity digging at her to learn more about him. Just who was this and what did he want with her?
“Abbigail Krenshaw.” Her stomach trembled at his voice. Deep, almost sexy, more bordering on terrifying. The way he said her name was unusual too, Abb-ee-gyle Kreenshaw.
She sensed the question in his voice though she hadn’t heard the upward inflection normally there in a question. Maybe it was fear, the strangeness of everything, but she answered. “Yes.”
He started towards her. Coming closer, out of the shadows, she could see him more clearly. Long dark hair, shaggy, dirty and black as the empty pit of his eyes. His hair came down to his shoulders but was cut unevenly at the ends, not straight. Dark ebony skin, dark to the point of being black and not brown. He wor
e a strange looking shirt that reminded her of a tunic. Black and knitted, long-sleeved but with an open color and black pants, tall black boots. That didn’t keep her attention, because as he came closer she saw the glint of metal on his back. Two weapons, swords strapped in an X pattern across his pattern.
“What are you?” she whispered. He was handsome, tall, and looked strong enough to pick her up and snap her in two. He also didn’t look entirely human.
He stopped so close she could feel the heat from his body. For some reason, she found she wasn’t scared. Maybe it was finally seeing her pursuer but she didn’t get the vibe this man would slit her throat and leave her for dead. It was dangerous, but she was trusting her instincts to be right on this. She looked up, craning her head to see his face. No, he wasn’t handsome. He was stunning.
His hair formed from a peak at his broad forehead. His nose was long, straight, masculine; cheek bones high and giving definition to his concave cheeks. Dark stubble covered his jaw line and chin, but underneath that she could see was straight and hard. His lips were shaped almost too perfectly, the top just thinner than the bottom. All of his features, on closer inspection, were too perfect, shouldn’t have formed a good-looking face, but somehow it came together in a way that drew attention.
“Demon.”
His voice drew her out of her inspection. She’d forgotten she’d asked him a question. He’s a demon? She knew about them. Most humans just pretended they didn’t exist or only did in a religious, mythical way, but she knew the supernatural lore. Her mother had spoon fed her the lore of great wars long ago fought and of different species and beginnings of creatures not too different from humans. She knew they were real.
Weapons manufacturer and wealthy tycoon, Telal Demuzi had come out publicly when the heat got on him about his strange appearance years ago. He’d admitted to being a demon, embraced it. Said he was over a thousand years old. It’d shocked many, and many more had called him a liar and still believed he used makeup and hair dye to achieve his unique look. They said it was a marketing gimmick.