Monster in My Closet

by R. L. Naquin

  “How do we do that? Do we go to a showroom and pick it out?”

  “We could. Or I could bring a sample book by and we could go through it.”

  She clapped her hands. “I like flipping through samples. I had loads of fun picking out drapes for the house.”

  “Is that sarcasm?”

  “Sadly, no. I really do like it. It’s a dirty little secret.”

  I thumbed through my appointment book. It was something I didn’t do very often in public, conscious of how much of a relic it was. It may have looked behind the times, but I liked my ratty appointment book. It was substantial. Sturdy. I knew where everything was and how to get to it without clicking buttons or keeping it charged.

  “Tomorrow…” I ran my finger down the page. “Nothing. God, really? I have nothing tomorrow? How’s tomorrow look for you?”

  “Tomorrow’s good. I have Pilates at eight, but I’ll be home by nine-thirty. That okay?”

  I penciled the time into my schedule. “Nine-thirty. That works. I’ll bring the book and we’ll make some decisions so I can place the order.”

  We stood up and gathered our things. As I slung my bag-o-crap over my shoulder, I glanced at her tiny designer bag. How could she hold anything in it? My big clumsy satchel suddenly felt awkward. Maybe Andrew was right. I should find a replacement. Something a little less bulky and a little more dignified. At the very least, this one wasn’t very professional.

  I knew Helen had crossed the line from client to friend when she made a face at my monster purse.

  “How about we go shopping sometime for something more suitable?” she asked. “Something lighter and easier to search through.”

  I sighed and agreed. It was time to give in to the masses and replace my old standby.

  We tossed our empty cups in the trash and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

  “My car’s that way,” she said, pointing up the street.

  “I’m the other way. I’ll see you in the morning. Have a safe trip home.”

  There was an awkward moment where a hug sometimes goes. She was my client, and despite having had a good time hanging out with her, we weren’t exactly BFFs. We were in that weird gray area. If we were men, we’d say something gruff like “See ya, buddy” or “Take her easy.” We would then slap each other on the back or shake hands. Guys had it so much easier. Frankly, I was grateful for the awkwardness. Had she given me one of those bizarre air-kisses near my cheek, the whole afternoon would have been spoiled.

  I settled for a short wave of my hand. She waved back, then turned and walked down the sidewalk to her waiting car.

  In that moment, my amulet did something odd. The fact that it did anything at all was enough to be alarming. I was beginning to get used to monsters and myths popping up, but if inanimate objects started doing things on their own, I was turning in my resignation.

  The chain went icy cold against the back of my neck. Not just chilly, but so cold it burned. It stung as I wrapped my fingers around the disc and pulled it over my head, frowning. Feeling silly, I looked up to see if anyone was watching me.

  A pair of emerald-green eyes stared at me from a cluster of people across the street. The amulet bit into my fingers and ice crystals flaked from the links.

  The light changed and the pedestrians at the corner crossed toward me, a quarter of a block away. I couldn’t get my feet to move. Deep breaths, Zoey. Deep breaths.

  I could see Sebastian’s dark head bobbing up and down in the middle of the crowd, his eyes focused on mine across the distance. Frantic, I reached inside myself and jammed a mental chunk of crystal into the hole I’d made earlier. I sealed it up as well as I could, but the circumstances were not ideal. I needed a quiet place to do it right. I needed to concentrate. I needed to breathe.

  The crowd dissipated around him, and he stood still on the corner by himself, facing me. I hammered and nailed and sanded my mental wall, trying to seal the cracks before he got to me. I was sure he could read the hysteria on my face. Faster, Zoey, faster. He’ll be here any second and Andrew won’t be here to save you.

  Sebastian nodded his head at me, acknowledging me acknowledging him. The oiled curl in his beard jutted out at me in greeting. If I could get my feet unstuck, I might’ve been able to dart into the coffee shop until he was gone.

  I wasn’t going anywhere.

  He lifted his hand in a half wave, the frilly white sleeve of his pirate shirt fluttering over the crimson smoking jacket.

  Like an idiot, I nearly lifted my arm to wave back.

  He spun on his heel, and with a casual swagger, walked away from me down the street.

  Chapter Eleven

  Maurice was not happy. He paced across my living room, his high-top sneakers galumphing over the Egyptian rug. I worried for the integrity of the weave.

  “You’re not going to work tomorrow, that’s the first thing.”

  I didn’t know what to say. He was right, of course. In the face of an incubus, I’d frozen, and I couldn’t be let out alone.

  “This is ridiculous. I don’t have to go into the office tomorrow, but I do have to go out. And I can’t hide the rest of my life.”

  “I can’t protect you when you’re out there.” His pacing became more frenetic. “Did the amulet work, at least?”

  “It got cold. Really cold. Is that supposed to mean something?”

  “It’s a warning. Next time, don’t wait, just run.”

  “How did you know about the amulet? I only found it this morning. Did you tell Bruce to leave it for me?”

  “I did.” Molly hopped onto the coffee table and stared up at me, her face solemn. “I told him about the incubus, and he said he had just the thing. It will warn you if you are in danger.”

  “Thank you, Molly. I appreciate it. If Bruce comes back, please thank him for me.” I caught Maurice by the elbow as he made a circuit past me. “Hey. Don’t worry so much. I let my guard down. It won’t happen again. After my appointment tomorrow, I’ll spend the day working on my defenses. I’ll be all right.”

  He looked doubtful, but the pacing had stopped for the moment. That was a good thing. Time for a tactic I’d mastered: changing the subject.

  “I got you a present,” I said. I grabbed my +2 Bag of Holding and rummaged around for the Best Buy bag. With my arms almost elbow deep, I managed to pry the price tags off, then I freed the plastic sack. “For you.” I handed it over.

  He looked surprised. Not as though he was surprised that I would think of him—more like surprise because he’d never received a present in his life. He stared at me wide-eyed, clutching the bag without looking inside.

  “Open it,” I said. Seeing his shock, I almost wished I’d taken the time to gift wrap it. If presents were so rare, I should have made it more special. Well, lesson learned. I decided I’d make up for it at Christmas.

  Christmas? That was three months away. Apparently, I had settled on the idea he was staying.

  He peeked inside the bag. I couldn’t tell if he was excited or worried something would jump out and bite him.

  His breath sucked into his chest in one enormous gulp before he ripped open the bag like a little kid at Christmas. “An iPod! Oh, Zoey, that’s crazy! Molly, I got an iPod!” He pulled out the other box and erupted a second time. “A clock radio, too?” He danced around with the boxes, doing what looked like an impromptu merengue.

  Thank goodness I hadn’t cheaped out. This was the most fun I’d had in ages.

  When the initial excitement wore off, Maurice stopped dancing with his boxes and tore into them. He spent the next hour pouring over directions, charging the devices and perusing iTunes on my laptop for music to transfer.

  Crisis averted. Just call me queen of the subject change.

  I was pleased my laptop was getting some us
e. I’d only purchased the damn thing because Sara kept harassing me about living in the dark ages with my flip-phone and my battered appointment book. We had a website built for the business, and when reminded, I checked e-mail in case prospective clients were looking for information. I knew it wasn’t a priority though; Sara checked it religiously. I was more of phone girl. On the rare occasion I found an e-mail in there, I called with the requested information. It drove Sara nuts. Twitter and Facebook were beyond my patience.

  While Maurice was absorbed, Molly and I moved into the kitchen.

  Having successfully bashed a hole through my carefully constructed barriers, I was unsurprised by the headache clamping my brain in a stranglehold. Thanks to Andrew, I was prepared. I offered to make Molly something else, but she insisted on trying the tea I’d brought home from Andrew’s shop. I warned her about the sweat-sock aftertaste, but she said she was game and had a small headache herself. I shrugged and set it to brew.

  Over one giant cup for me and a tiny Barbie cup for her, we sat in the warm, cozy kitchen, chatting like old friends.

  “How’s your eye?” I asked. “It looks a lot better.”

  In reflex, her hand went to the side of her face. “It is much better, thanks to your friend. My people know a great deal about herb lore. It is not so common for one of your kind, especially one who is not of the Hidden.”

  I sipped at my tea, feeling the headache unclench inside my skull. “He knows a lot of things. I think I owe him my life.”

  She nodded, her face solemn. “That you do.”

  I pulled the necklace from inside my blouse and examined it. Both the chain and the amulet were warm to the touch. I must not have noticed it earlier, since I’d worn it outside of my shirt.

  “How does this work, exactly? It was freezing when Sebastian showed up. Would it do that for anything that threatened me?”

  “The amulet cannot warn you of impending disaster, say a car accident or a lightning strike. There must be a conscious mind in the vicinity, someone who wishes you ill.”

  “I see.” I traced my fingers across the filigreed edges. “How did you know Bruce had this? Where did it come from?”

  “Dragons hoard. One cannot know what they have in their treasury, or how they came by it. I explained the danger. He brought you this.”

  “I’m grateful to you both. After a lifetime of taking care of others, lately I need constant help just to stay alive.”

  “There is no shame in needing others, Zoey. We all need help sometimes.”

  I nodded, thoughtful. “I suppose you’re right.”

  Maurice stuck his head in the kitchen. “Zoey? Can I borrow your credit card?”

  “For what?”

  He rolled his yellow eyes. “I have to pay for the downloads, Zoey. Piracy is illegal, you know.”

  I stifled a smile. “No, of course. I wouldn’t want you going to jail.” I rummaged in my purse for my wallet. “Dammit. I’m going to have to admit defeat and give up this purse. Everybody’s right. It’s too big. I can’t find a damn thing.” At the bottom, wedged between a pack of cheese-and-peanut-butter crackers and a mini toolkit, I finally found my wallet. I handed over a credit card.

  Maurice reached for it, and I pulled it away. “Don’t go overboard.”

  He nodded, smiling, and I gave it to him. He disappeared around the corner, humming Abba. I shuddered to think what he was downloading.

  “Your kindness is what draws the Hidden to you,” Molly said. “You have a kind heart.”

  I shifted in my seat and stared down at my hands folded on the table. “I don’t feel particularly kind, Molly. I just don’t like people to be unhappy.”

  She shook her head and placed her pink cup on its pink saucer. “Most people are not so concerned with the feelings of others. Your gift makes you vulnerable, but it also makes you special.”

  “I’m just getting used to this whole empath thing. Up until a few days ago, I thought everyone’s brain worked this way. I honestly don’t know how people communicate without it.”

  She smiled. “We get along the best we can. And if we misread one another, we try again. It is how regular folk do it, human and Hidden alike.”

  We sat in silence for a few minutes, each deep in our own thoughts. I was concerned about Molly. I’d helped people in abusive relationships a time or two in the past. Based on my experiences, the chances were high that she would end up going back to him for another round. I had to broach the subject with some delicacy so I didn’t drive her in his direction. But I couldn’t remain silent on the subject.

  “Molly, you know, I love having you and the kids here.” I took a sip of my now tepid tea. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

  She nodded her thanks and dabbed at her mouth with a torn square of paper towel. “We like it here very much, Zoey. Thank you. We will not stay forever, but it is good to know we have a safe place to be for now.”

  I wanted to blurt out the question foremost on my mind, whether she was planning to go back to the asshole, but I toned it down. “Do you have any plans?”

  “I have to think about my children first,” she said. “Even drunk, Walter would never touch the little ones. But Fred is older. He broke my boy’s arm. That is inexcusable.”

  She sat up straight and tall, and I was struck again by how much dignity was packaged into such a tiny, delicate person. “Molly, hitting you is inexcusable as well.”

  She nodded. “I know this. If he did not drink…” Her voice trailed off.

  “But he does.”

  “He could change.”

  “Yes, he could. Or he could kill you.”

  “There is that possibility.” She lifted her hand and ran her fingers over her darkened eye.

  “You don’t have to make any life-changing decisions right now, Molly. You’re here to heal, and it’s only been a few days. You have all the time in the world.”

  “Until he figures out how to get past the fairies.”

  “That won’t happen. I promise.”

  That was an easy promise to make. After everything I’d gone through so far, I knew Maurice had spared no favors on security.

  Molly excused herself to check on the kids and get some sleep. As tired as I was, I still had some work to do. I’d used what amounted to an imaginary jackhammer to tunnel through my walls earlier in the day, and stray emotions blew in through the gaping hole I’d left. What was supposed to be a small, controllable leak was more like a burst pipe.

  What I needed was some beach time on my rock to sort it out. After changing out of my work clothes and into sweats and sneakers, I headed out for a walk.

  As I crossed the fairy line on my way out of the yard, I was accosted.

  “Woman, where’s my damn family?”

  I looked down at my feet, puzzled. It was fairly dark, and the small, brown figure was difficult to make out. I bent lower. An irate, male brownie shook his fist at me.

  Ah, this must be Walter.

  “Sleeping,” I said. “If you don’t mind, I have things to do.” I took a step forward and fell flat on my face.

  From the ground, I could see him much better. He had a handsome face, though the unwashed hair, grizzled beard and hateful expression erased any good impression it might have made. I sat up and examined my shoes. Nice. The laces were tied together. “Real mature,” I said, picking at the knots.

  The little bastard took advantage of my diverted attention and launched himself onto my knee. This placed him within inches of my face. Despite his diminutive size, his whiskey breath packed a hell of a wallop from such close range.

  “You have no right keeping them from me,” he said.

  “Whoa,” I said, pulling my face away. “One, breath mint, and two, personal space.”

  I lowered my knee
and nudged him off with the palm of my hand.

  “Pushy bitch,” he said in a low voice. “Somebody needs to teach you a lesson.” I didn’t think he intended for me to hear him.

  I had a strong urge to pick him up by the back of the shirt and dangle him several feet over the grass. I wanted him to feel helpless in the hands of someone bigger and stronger. I wanted him to suffer for what he’d done to his family.

  But I was never that kind of person. Even if I wished I could be.

  I ignored him and retied my shoes in silence. Then I rose, brushed off my pants and made my way toward the beach.

  Of course, he followed me.

  All the way through the forest and out across the sand, he yammered.

  “You can’t get away with this,” he said.

  I said nothing.

  “I’ll get through eventually. You can’t keep them from me.”

  I plopped on my rock and began to meditate.

  “Look at me, woman!”

  He was beginning to go past irate and into ballistic. If he spontaneously combusted, that would certainly solve a number of problems.

  I was surprised by how easily I was able to tune him out. It was becoming simple for me to flush out the day’s collection of unwanted emotional debris. From there, I had to decide whether to take down my walls and rebuild, or try to patch up the hole I’d hacked out earlier.

  This posed a problem. Better to take the whole thing down and rebuild from scratch. A patch job, imaginary or not, wouldn’t feel very secure—and since the whole thing was in my mind, the illusion of security was important. However, taking it down in front of Molly’s husband was an invitation for all sorts of emotional crap I did not want to own.

  I opened my eyes and returned my attention to the small man next to me.

  “…tell her that I love her, and then I’ll go.”

  I sighed. “Are you drunk right now?”

  “I’ve had a few, but that’s not your business.”

  “No, it’s really not. Neither is anything else you’ve been saying. Molly is currently healing from the beating you gave her. Fred’s arm might be broken. Go sober up. You have no business with them or me right now.”