Chapter Three

 

He woke up before she did and left her in peace to join Mama at the small dining table. Mama was reading a book, her toast forgotten on a paper plate in front of her.

“Why is Emma afraid of the dark?” he asked as he sat down opposite her.

Smiling, Mama set her book aside and stretched to reach the counter, pulling a box of cereal off of it to place on the table.

“Strangely enough, Emma’s only been afraid of the dark since she’s been an adult. She was mugged in a back alley one night, not that it stops her from walking in them, so that might not really make a difference. I don’t know,” she replied.

“Do you know when she started turning on lights everywhere she went?”

“Maybe a few summers ago. I thought it was kind of cute. She leaves a trail of light behind her.”

“Her fear seems unusually strong,” he commented. “Almost phobic. Aside from kids, I’ve never seen an adult like that.”

“Are you a counselor or something?”

“I do occult consulting and routinely run across phobias or paranoia people mistake for supernatural issues.”

“Well,” Mama said thoughtfully, “a couple of years ago she was seeing a boy named Adam. Well, not a boy, a man, I suppose, though y’all are all kids to me. Don’t remember his last name. Never met him. Never knew she dated him until she broke up with him, as usual. She’s real private like that. The only thing she said about him was that he was a jackass. I guess that was about the time she started turning on lights. You’re the first boy she’s dated since then. Where are you from? Your accent is so pretty.”

“My mother is Italian, but I grew up in France,” he answered.

“Emma likes to travel. She goes places alone, all over the world.” Mama frowned. “I don’t care for that. I’m old-fashioned; a lady should always have an escort, especially overseas, but Em has her own mind.”

“That she does,” he agreed. “You don’t know what might have caused her fear of the dark?”

“Have you asked her?”

“Not yet.”

“She won’t tell me,” Mama admitted. “I’ve asked, and her response is always vague. She likes light, or light keeps her awake, or something like that. I’ve gotta call Sissy’s doc in about ten minutes. We can chat later, if you want.”

Mama swept up her dirty dishes and retreated to the kitchen. Tristan puzzled over her words, unable to piece together the information he was missing. After a dozen years alone in his attic, it had taken only a couple of days for him to feel at home with people who seemed to accept him where no one else ever had. He liked the feeling of being around a normal family.

He took a shower before retreating to Sissy’s room. Amber, he knew, would not stir for another day entirely, but Emma would be up soon enough. Tristan entered and then closed the door to the little girl’s room, his gaze sweeping around before resting on her.

Her color was already improving. Satisfied, he opened himself to the shadows and focused on controlling them.

 

* * *

Emma awoke surprisingly refreshed and set about avoiding Tristan with determination. She was relieved to see the door to Sissy’s room closed. Gratified for a chance to escape, Emma waved to Mama, grabbed a banana, and left. Isolde followed her.

She breathed the clear, warm air of autumn deeply, content to find some time alone. She bypassed her car and walked through the maze of apartment buildings to the main gate. The road leading to the 7-Eleven on the corner was narrow, undivided, and normally traveled by drivers going far too fast. Fortunately, most were at work this time of the morning. She strolled down the blacktop.

Isolde’s paws clicked rhythmically as they walked, the massive dog’s head swinging back and forth. Emma rifled through her purse for sunglasses and placed them atop the bridge of her nose.

“It’s a pretty day, angel,” she murmured, comforted by the rustling of trees and cheerful songs of birds.

She walked to the corner and crossed the street into a sleepy downtown of three-story brick buildings, mom-n-pop owned shops, and antique stores at every corner. She’d visited her sister’s many times before without giving the downtown more than a glance.

She hadn’t walked far into the downtown area when she sensed someone following her. She looked around. No one was on the street but her and Isolde. She shook off the feeling and continued, heading toward a sign pointing down a set of stairs to a used book store in the basement of one of the antique dealers. Isolde followed, and Emma waited for her at the bottom of the stairs before tugging open the heavy door. A bell jingled, and coldness washed over her.

She dismissed it as an overambitious air conditioning system and shivered as she entered. A direct stare made the hair on the back of her neck prickle, and she turned to greet the clerk, her smile freezing in place. A freak worthy of Wooster, Maryland, in black with a powdered face, fake contact lenses giving him golden cat eyes, and a black dyed Mohawk. His look was borderline hostile, his frame tensed as if to spring on her should she consider shoplifting.

“Okay, then,” she muttered and turned away.

He watched her, and it took polite perusing of the nearest shelf to convince her the AC was not the only discomfort in the small shop. It was cold-- familiar, bone chillingly cold, like standing by the ocean during winter, or maybe like …

… entering Sissy’s room. Emma tightened her grip on Isolde and glanced around. There were no signs of shadows. The shop was bright and decorated for Halloween. Just the creepy clerk stood out.

“Thank you,” she called and made her way back to the door.

No response, only an eerie catlike stare. Emma ran up the stairs and awaited Isolde, shuddering. Her phone rang. She tugged it free and looked at the display, vaguely recognizing Tristan’s number. She frowned and tucked the phone away, resumed her grip on Isolde’s neck, and walked away from the shop. The sense of being watched returned, and she glanced back over her shoulder, unnerved to see the clerk standing on the sidewalk in front of the stairs, staring after her. She turned a corner, and he was gone from view. When he didn’t reappear, she tried to tell herself it was a freak incident and continued with Isolde.

Half an hour of walking calmed her nerves once again. She stopped to peer into several antique stores before arriving at one whose windows were already decorated for Christmas. The owner had used Depression glassware to create the outline of a tree. Fascinated by the creative display, she leaned forward to study a small pink plate, puzzled by two black spots on it until they blinked. Emma jerked back, startled, and the man peering at her through the translucent plate straightened.

Another freak, this one with normal hair, dark clothes, a nose piercing, and eyes as black and hostile as a night in hell.

Isolde growled. Emma stepped back and moved on, pausing half a block away to see him step from the shop and stare after her.

She never noticed the freak population of her sister’s town to be so high! Emma turned back in the direction she came and crossed the street again. Her pleasant walk was too much like strolling down Demon’s Alley. She dug through her purse for her debit card, determined to stop for food somewhere before retreating home in defeat.

Isolde growled again, and Emma glanced up, stumbling as she sought to avoid a form in her path.

“Excuse me,” she muttered.

“No problem.” The man’s voice was cold and monotonous. Emma looked up as she passed him. He was a vision of winter with pale skin, gold-white hair, slate gray suit, and cold gray eyes the color of snow clouds.

“You dropped this,” he said and bent to retrieve something from the ground. Isolde bared her teeth, and Emma snatched the dog’s scruff.

“Keep it, it’s okay,” she said as he showed her a five-dollar bill. She turned away, walking quickly. She felt it again, the sense of someone behind her watching her. Cat-eyes stood by Mr. Winter while the man with the black eyes looked after her from the corner across from them. All watched her with intensity too black to be human.

Emma quelled her rising panic long enough to go another two blocks. She ran when she was out of sight of the freaks, the Great Dane loping beside her. She went a few blocks before resuming her path toward home.

A freak on the corner distracted her. He started to cross, as if to intercept her. She began to feel threatened by the watchers and glanced at the McDonald’s across the street. She crossed the street and paused by the door.

“Stay, Isolde,” she said.

The dog sat. Emma entered. The crew behind the counter was blessedly normal. She stood at the register for a long moment, staring at the employee gazing at her while her thoughts were on the men following her.

“Four cheeseburgers,” she said finally and pulled free her debit card with a shaking hand. She paid and exited, leading Isolde to a seat in the outdoor dining area overlooking the street. All four of the freaks following her stood across the street. Emma shuddered.

“Well, angel, we’re holed up here for a while.”

“Excuse me?” the young man holding a tray beside her table asked.

“Sorry. Talking to my dog,” she murmured.

He gave Isolde a pat and deposited the cheeseburgers onto the table in a small pile. Emma unwrapped a cheeseburger for Isolde before freeing one for herself. She stayed for two hours with the freaks watching her like crows a weakling field mouse. They didn’t try to approach her again, and she assumed they were there only to watch her. Two hours seemed to be their limit. She watched them disburse into four different directions and waited until all of them were out of sight before she rose.

Elated but suspicious, she ventured out of the dining area. They didn’t reappear. She leaned over the railing and spotted the 7-Eleven on the corner two blocks down.

“Okay, Isolde, our goal is there,” she told the dog. Relieved she thought to wear sneakers instead of sandals, she tapped the dog on the back of the neck and moved into the middle of the empty street. “Let’s go!”

She sprinted down the street, fear and exhilaration drowning out all sounds but that of her heart, her breath, and the clicking paws of Isolde. She reached the final intersection and snatched Isolde’s scruff when the dog failed to stop. Two cars whipped past, and Emma dragged the dog forward again, pausing at the other side to turn around.

Her watchers lingered on the other side but made no move to follow. Fear slithered through her. Emma moved forward at a slow trot down the narrow, undivided road. Two cars passed her, and she kept one hand on the trotting dog to prevent it from wandering too far into the road. As she heard the third car approach she gazed around her, soothed by the calm forest lining one side of the road. The scents of earth and trees were pleasant along this stretch and she shook out the tension in her shoulder.

Isolde growled suddenly. She glanced at the dog.

“It’s okay, angel,” she purred with a pat.

The dog bared its teeth, clamped them around her forearm, and planted its huge paws on Emma’s body. Emma toppled over backwards into a muddy ditch with a cry of alarm. The dog landed half on top of her, and she started to shove it off when the wheels of a car dipped dangerously close into the ditch as it flew by.

Stunned, she struggled to catch her breath and turned wide eyes to the dog. Isolde righted herself with a few grunts and clambered out of the ditch and flung mud from one paw.

“Oh, Isolde,” Emma gasped. “Oh, you beautiful dog!”

She climbed out of the ditch and hugged the animal, kissing its ugly, large face. Isolde panted and licked her. Emma straightened, shaken, and slung mud free of her arms. She glanced around, afraid to be only halfway down the road. With a tug on Isolde, she raced the rest of the way down the road, pausing for breath when she passed through the gates of the apartment community.

“Okay, Isolde,” she gasped. “Don’t tell … anyone … even Tristan.”

Isolde panted without responding. Emma leaned over to catch her breath and walked forward on spaghetti legs. She wiped as much mud from herself as possible before reaching Amber’s door. She waited outside to steady her breath and create a story of why she and the dog were caked in mud, then removed her shoes and left them by the door.

Emma pushed open the door, pausing at the sight of mail lying piled on the linoleum entrance way. The letter on top was addressed to her. Surprised, she snagged it and closed the door. Her mother and Tristan sat in the living room drinking tea.

“Hey Mama, Tristan!” she called and all but ran through the living room.

“Emma!” her mother exclaimed. “What have you been doing?”

“Cross country … um, walking!” she said and slammed the door to the bathroom closed.

She leaned against it with a sigh and pulled off her muddy clothes. She started the shower and sat down, naked, on the toilet seat. She no longer felt like crying now that she was home and Tristan was in the room next to her. She felt like … suppressing everything and never leaving the house again.

She groaned and reached for her letter. No return address. She opened it.

Adam will be back soon.

The letter fell to the floor.

“No, no, no,” she whispered. “It’s not possible!” I saw him die.

Emma slammed the cork on her spinning emotions and climbed into the shower, struggling to scrub free mud, fear, and memories. She calmed under the warm current of water and rested her head against the wall.

Tristan could fix Sissy. She would face whatever else it was that followed.

She stayed in the shower until the water grew too cold to bear. She escaped to the guest bedroom to compose herself before she joined the two in the living room playing backgammon. Her mother sat on the floor, cross-legged like a youngster, snacking from a bowl of popcorn. Tristan was devilishly mysterious in a cool green, short-sleeved cashmere shirt and camel khakis. His feet were bare, revealing well-cared-for feet and long toes. He smelled of sandalwood, night, and dark spices. Emma fought the urge to move closer, if only to smell him.

“Who’s winning?” she asked.

“I am,” Mama answered. “Wanna join?”

“Don’t really care for games. How’s Sissy?”

“Her color’s returned, and she actually smiled in her sleep,” Mama replied. “Tristan thinks she’ll wake in a day or two.”

“Will she be better for good?” Emma asked, eyes drifting to the solid, silent man beside her.

“Yes. She’ll be weak for a while,” he answered without looking at her. Emma’s eyes lingered on his dark eyes. She recalled briefly how he scared her the night before. Was he enough to counter the black witch? What if Olivia found out she failed, tracked her down, and tried to hurt the rest of her family? Once Sissy was well, and her debt to Tristan paid, would she alone be enough to keep the black witch from attacking her family?

Maybe if she surrendered to Olivia, it would be enough to satisfy the psycho. The thought weighed heavily on her.

As if hearing her disturbed thoughts, Tristan looked up to meet her gaze. His eyes were warm, and she found her face growing warm at his direct look

“Why is my dog all dirty?” he asked. “Something you want to tell me?”

Her face grew warmer with irritation.

“Tristan had to take her downstairs and spray her off. Where did you go?” Mama looked up. She couldn’t fault her mother for asking, but she could damn Tristan for instigating.

“Just wandered around and took a detour,” she said vaguely. “Isolde can eat six cheeseburgers.”

“I don’t think you should feed a dog cheeseburgers,” Mama said with a small laugh. Tristan frowned, and Emma sensed he agreed. She looked away from his gaze. “Doodle, why don’t you and Tristan go out tonight? You can get away a little and relax together.”

“We’re here to support you, Mama,” she countered. “Why don’t you take a break instead?”

“Kid, I get the mornings off. Take a break. You always overdo it,” Mama said with familiar firmness. Emma gritted her teeth, seeking some sort of excuse that would not further entrench her mother’s suggestion.

“We’ll go out for a bit,” Tristan said before she found the words.

She wanted to refuse but knew nothing she said would come out tactfully. She needed Tristan here, at least until Sissy was better. She sighed. Tristan’s hand found her wrist, and he drew it to his thigh, caressing its underside again. Her surging emotions faded once more until she felt herself ready to doze. His touch suffused her arm in warmth, his fingers freeing her tension with the slightest touch.

Her eyes closed, soothed. She stayed until their game was over and then went to change for their date.

 

* * *

Tristan knew she was stalling, but he waited, talking to Mama. Isolde climbed onto the couch and stretched its length, content after a day with some exercise and her bath. Emma finally emerged from the guest bedroom in designer jeans and a blouse that dipped low enough to enhance her full bust. The colors set off her bright green eyes. She was a beautiful girl, her allure as soft as her voice, and her voluptuous figure firm and sultry. She gave him a look that implied she’d rather be on a death march than a date with him.

“Bye, Mama,” she murmured and kissed the plump woman.

“Bye, guys. Have fun!”

Something in Mama’s twinkling eyes assured Tristan that she was rooting for him and not her daughter. He’d never met the mothers of any of the women he dated, suspecting they’d forbid him from speaking to their daughters once they met him and his shadows. He felt grateful to the matriarch of the tiny family for accepting him despite his darkness.

He took Emma’s elbow. They stepped into the soft, cool night, and she tensed, looking around. Something had happened during the day, but he didn’t know what. The foolish woman didn’t seem to understand that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her or her family.

“Do you have a preference where we go?” she asked, tugging away and starting down the stairs.

Tristan trailed, enjoying the feel of night on his skin. A breeze swirled around him, kissing him gently. He closed his eyes as shadows eased towards him, brushing him in a warm-cool combination. Emma stared at him from the first landing, uncertainty and trepidation on her fair features.

“I’d like to talk to you about something,” he said and started forward.

“Why don’t we do this. Why don’t you go out, and I’ll hide in my car for an hour or so.” The resolution in her tone almost drew a smile.

“You want to be alone after today?” he asked.

She turned away and started down the stairs. Tristan joined her at the bottom. Her gaze swept over the dark parking lot, and she shifted uneasily.

“Tristan?” Her voice was hesitant. “Are there more people like you?”

“I imagine so,” he responded. “Emma, I’m more dangerous than anything else you’ll ever meet.”

“How dangerous, Tristan?” she asked, hurrying to keep up as he started toward her car.

“Nothing bad will happen to any of you as long as I’m around.”

She slowed, deep in thought. Tristan led her into the dark parking lot, aware of her unease. She watched him with as much apprehension as she did her surroundings. He led her to her car and opened the passenger door for her. Emma murmured her thanks and sat, relaxing once in the safety of the car. She was silent again as he pulled out of the parking lot and maneuvered through the complex’s maze.

“You won’t hurt me, will you?” she asked at last. “Or my family?”

“No, Emma.”

“You can see in the dark, can’t you?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“Like a bat?”

“Bats use sonar. Mine is more like night vision. You have an odd obsession with vampires, but I’m not one.”

“I know,” she agreed. “You’re something even more unholy and foul.”

“Like what?”

“A man.”

He chuckled. She shook her head. They were quiet again. Tristan followed the signs to a highway, deftly recalling Mama’s directions to a clump of restaurants.

“I saw four freaks today that looked like they belong on Demon’s Alley,” Emma said and leaned her head against the seat rest, gazing at him warily. “They followed us.”

“Ignore them,” he advised. “Whoever you’ve pissed off doesn’t want you dead yet.”

She stared at him, her look demanding him to explain what he knew. He settled a hand on her thigh, and she looked at it before settling her hands over it.

“You don’t know what you’re dealing with, Emma,” he said softly. “Why didn’t you answer the phone when I called?”

“Maybe I didn’t hear it,” she retorted. “Or maybe you scare me as much as they do. Or maybe I feel guilty for bringing you home with me. Or maybe, all of the above. “ Her fingers tugged at his hand, and she flipped it over, tracing his palm lightly before flattening it again.

“You don’t need to fear me, Emma.”

“I know, but I can’t help it. My luck with men is awful. You have nice hands, Tristan,” she said absently. “I noticed them when we met. I mean, apart from the whole demon eyes glowing in the dark and morphing from shadows display.”

“I really like you, Emma, and I adore your family,” he said. She was quiet. He felt her eyes on him, her thoughts loud enough for him to hear her debating whether or not she could trust him. He drove the rest of the way in silence before pulling off the highway and easing the car into a crowded parking lot next to a massive building.

“You’re sure Sissy will be okay while we’re gone?” she asked.

“Positive. She’ll wake up soon and be healthy as ever,” he replied. She ducked her head, hiding the sparkle of tears in her eyes. He got out of the car and walked slowly around to her side, giving her a minute. “Do you like miniature golf?” he asked as opened her door.

A small smile crossed her face, but she looked at him quizzically. They walked into the crowded foyer teeming with adolescents and families. Tristan ignored the way people moved from his path and the looks he received, instead approaching the main ticket counter. Emma followed, and he turned when he reached the end of the line.

“This doesn’t seem to be your kind of place,” she said.

“How would you know?” he challenged.

“You just seem like a loner who probably doesn’t like people.”

“That’s accurate. But I happen to like fitting in a round of putt-putt when I’m not roasting humans on the spit in my kitchen. That was what you were thinking, wasn’t it?”

She gave a startled laugh, her face reddening with embarrassment. Her smile pleased him. It faded and was replaced by a flicker of concern. Sissy and the shadows were heavy in her thoughts.

“We’ll get through this,” he assured her.

“I hope so, Tristan.”

They played a round of putt-putt. He sensed a thaw as her smiles came more frequently. He didn’t try to question her again about her skeletons in the closet, instead distancing himself. He liked the smiling Emma and wanted to enjoy the moment away from their worries as much as she did.

She’ll trust me when she’s ready.

They played another game of nine holes, and he was pleased to see her relaxed by the time it was done. They hadn’t spoken since they started, and Tristan remained wary. No shadows or darkness dared approach her with him there, and he suspected she sensed this. After a few hours of quiet enjoyment, they left. He offered his hand as they walked through the parking lot. She hesitated but took it.

“You don’t have to, Tristan,” she said as they reached the car.

“Don’t have to what?”

“Well, court me, I guess. I agreed to your terms, so there’s no need to … I don’t know, romance me,” she said awkwardly.

He raised an eyebrow as he opened her door. Emma paused between door and car, awaiting his response. Her gaze was guarded but hopeful. He knew what she wanted him to say, that he wasn’t doing this because of their deal but because he wanted them to be more.

He wasn’t sure he was ready for such a statement, however true it was. He still had his evil to contend with. He nudged her, and she sat with a disappointed look. She rested her head against the headrest, quiet as they left the parking lot.

Tristan thought of Sissy. The girl would be awake in a day or two, at which time he would begin a thorough cleansing of the apartment. He needed Emma’s cooperation to discover what had been tagged and the person who tagged it, but he knew that would take more than a few days to earn her trust enough for her to tell him.

“How dangerous are you, Tristan?” she asked.

“People have an innate sense of danger,” he said. “I’m as dangerous as you think I am.”

“You read minds.”

“That’s one of my skills,” he said. “Do you want to know how?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll trade you one of my secrets for one of yours.”

She hesitated and shook her head. He drove for fifteen minutes before pulling into the apartment complex. Immediately, he noted the shady characters at the main gate. He glanced at Emma. Her eyes were closed.

Tristan whispered a command, and darkness swallowed the figures as he drove by.

“Did you say something?” She roused herself at his voice.

“We’re here.” He parked in a lighted area, and they exited.

“Tristan, I’ll trade you something else for an answer,” she said as she slammed the door.

He waited, watching her. Apprehension slid over her features as she watched the darkness and shadows welcome him, play around him. He wished he wasn’t this way, but he’d long since resigned himself to the knowledge he was. No one else had ever accepted this about him, even his mother, who preferred to ignore his dark half. He hoped Emma would be the first willing to conquer her fear and accept even the dark side of him.

“I’ll trade you a kiss,” she said.

Warmth and surprise flared in response, the shadows and man within him responding to her words. He joined her, moving until their toes touched, and she was forced to arch her neck back to meet his gaze.

“Dangerous,” he murmured, breathing in her scent. “You’re not afraid of me?”

“I am, Tristan, but there’s something about you …” She drifted off, gazing deeply into his eyes. She shook her head to focus. “One kiss for an explanation about reading minds.”

“I agree,” he said. “Kiss first.”

Emma nodded bravely. Tristan lowered his head.

The gentle meeting of their warm lips sent an unexpected spark of warm energy through him. He coaxed her slowly, satisfied that it took little encouragement for her to respond, for her to shake off the sense of restraint that bound her normally. It was an unhurried kiss, a long, deep kiss, of two lovers exploring each other for the first time. Emma’s full lips parted unbidden, and he tasted her, the taste of dark honey and spices, a taste that rivaled her intoxicating smell. She did not hesitate to taste him but leaned forward until her body rested against his. Warmth flared as their bodies met, and Tristan placed his hands on the full rise of her hips as she rested her fingertips on his cheeks.

He could get lost in such a kiss with her taste and scent weaving magic around him. Sleeping with this woman would be like none other. He drew away, aware he was becoming too aroused to retain control much longer. The shadows within him were restless, clamoring for a deeper taste with a need stronger than any he’d ever felt. His shadows normally ignored his sexual needs. Not with her, as if they, too, wanted her to accept all of him.

Emma gazed at him, green eyes sparkling and unguarded in the lamp light. Her face was flushed, her lips red and plumped, her breathing shallow. The woman was incredibly appealing, enough so that Tristan pushed her away until their bodies no longer touched.

“Don’t tempt a demon,” he said huskily. He clasped his hands behind his back, twitching with his need to touch her. She blinked, awareness crossing her face, and regained her balance.

“Explanation,” she commanded.

“There’s a sense, rather like ESP, that I have honed,” he said. “It’s like picking up the phone; if you’re not listening, then you don’t hear anything. If you’re listening, you hear what you want to. With you, your thoughts are strong enough to intrude on my privacy, but only when you’re thinking of me, which you do often and not always in glowing terms.”

“You can choose not to listen, right?” she asked pointedly.

“Yes, which I normally do.”

“We lesser mortals appreciate it,” she said, clearly uneasy with his admittance.

There’s nothing lesser about you, Emma. He said nothing and offered his hand, walking with her to the apartment.

 

* * *

Olivia lingered in the shadows of the stone wall marking the perimeter of the graveyard, her heart racing. Her eyes were pinned to the shadow demon she’d sent across the street to the caretaker’s shed, where a light still shone. One of the witches in her coven had scouted the area and claimed the caretaker was always gone by sunset. It was past midnight; no one should’ve been there.

The shadow demon disappeared through the wall of the shed. She heard a surprised shout and then the sound of thrashing. It stopped. Silence. She waited a minute before hurrying across the road to push open the door.

The caretaker was alive and held under the weight of the shadow demon sprawled on top of it.

“Mistress, your command,” the shadow demon said. The caretaker twisted to look at her, surprise crossing his face. She knew it was her newfound beauty; it would stun any man into silence.

She hesitated and smoothed the sweater over her hips. The middle-aged, stocky caretaker’s life was in her hands. She should be benevolent, as people with power generally were, and let him live with a warning.

Kill him. Jeffrey’s voice entered her mind again, ill-timed as usual. He’ll report you, and they’ll find you long before you have Adam.

“I don’t want to kill him. He’s just a …” she argued out loud.

A nobody? A threat? I see his thoughts. He thinks you’re weak.

“I am not weak,” she grated.

Do it, Olivia.

“Fine, but this is not what I want!” She shook her head, marveling briefly at the long, blue-black tresses that crossed her vision. “Kill him, slave.”

“How shall I kill him, mistress?” the shadow demon asked.

“Quickly. We have things to do.”

Slowly. And you will watch, Jeffrey corrected her.

“No, I-- ”Pain radiated through her. It drove her to her knees. Startled, she sat back, uncertain what had happened. Blood trickled from her nose to her designer jeans.

Do as I say, Jeffrey ordered.

“Slowly, slave,” she said, eyes on the wide eyes of the caretaker.

“How shall I kill him?” it said again.

Anger and fear filtered through her. She was here for Adam; she didn’t have time for this. Olivia launched to her feet and grabbed a shovel from the wall.

“Move, slave,” she snapped. “Hold him still.” The shadow demon obeyed. She gripped the shovel’s rough wooden staff, hesitated again, and then slammed it onto the man’s head. He grimaced. She hit him again.

The new fire in her body-- Jeffrey’s fire-- flared and consumed her. She slammed the man’s head over and over with strength that wasn’t hers, growing more frenzied as blood splattered everything around her. Only when his head resembled a smashed pumpkin did she drop the shovel and step back, horrified and satisfied at the same time.

“I will find Adam,” the shadow demon said.

Olivia wiped blood from her face and turned away, unable to face what she’d done any longer. She left the shed and breathed in the ocean air deeply. Her hands shook.

He was in the way. He would’ve taken Adam from you, Jeffrey said, his voice gentle once more.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Nothing can stand between me and Adam.” She steeled herself. She’d done what was needed to clear a path for her future with Adam. Even so, the image of the man’s bloodied body made her feel ill.

“Mistress, he is here,” the shadow demon called.

Her head swiveled toward him at his words. She ran, the caretaker forgotten. The shadow demon stood in the middle of a grassy area surrounded by tombstones. She’d walked through the cemetery many times, willing Adam’s spirit to recognize her and tell her where his body was. She’d accepted Jeffrey’s offer of finding Adam for her, and was surprised at how easy he made it seem.

Olivia approached the grave marked “John Doe” with apprehension. He’d had no family come forward after he threw himself off the bridge. She hadn’t known he was dead until a few weeks after their final fight. A couple out on their boat in the Chesapeake found his body on the shore near the bridge, and the police ruled his death a suicide. Olivia couldn’t help but feel guilty. She’d left him again after the Emma episode. He’d claimed to be sorry and begged her forgiveness, but she’d walked away. If she’d forgiven him, as her heart urged her to, maybe he wouldn’t have taken his life.

She knelt in the grass before his grave. She had eternity to make it up to him.

“Soon, my Adam,” she murmured, a new kind of excitement lighting her blood. “Dig him up, slave.”

She had Jeffrey to help her raise Adam, and now she had Adam’s body. Jeffrey was dealing with Emma. Everything was as he promised: perfect.

The shadow demon disappeared into the ground. She rose and stepped aside. A few minutes later, the demon reappeared clenching a body that reeked with the scent of death. She didn’t care; she stepped forward, gaze taking in her lost lover hungrily. She saw him not as he was in his decomposed state but as he had been and would be again.

Her eyes glowed.