A House of Cloaks & Daggers (The Gift War #1)

3. Jonah

Chapter three

Jonah

I burst through the front door, bell clanging behind me, and didn’t wait to hear whether it slammed closed again or not.

The voice in my head had been surreal—an inhuman snarl of warning that chilled my blood, so intense and lifelike that it could have belonged to somebody else.

Boots smacking against the cobblestone, I ran down the street in the direction of my townhouse. At the intersection across the base of the sloping road, I ducked around the corner and pressed my back against the wall of a closed shop.

My breathing was ragged, my heart beating hard and fast.

Forcing myself to think pragmatically, I scanned the river that ran along the border of the shopping precinct, separating it from the residential villages on either side of the bridge leading out of town. The voices of fishermen packing up for the night carried across the whispering rush of the water.

Taking shallow breaths, I waited to hear footsteps behind me.

Belgrave was a small town—a small, quiet town. I’d met most of the people who lived there, and nobody ever did anything that somebody else didn’t know about. Tourists came through for holidays and weekends. The Water Dragon had rooms available for overnight stays, but the vacancy sign was never turned over. We didn’t even have a local police station.

Nothing sinister ever happens in Belgrave out in the open like this…

And yet the bell from Dante’s Bookstore jingled again.

My heart lurched, knees threatening to give out as the echo of the door closing swept down the road.

Throwing my head back, I squeezed my eyes shut against the silhouettes of fruit bats shooting across the evening sky like dark stars. I let my mouth fall open, greedy for air, and tried to think through the haze of my fear.

I left the door unlocked with my keys on the front desk.

Frantically, I patted my pockets and the pockets on my bag, searching for my phone.

I must have left that behind, too.

A string of filthy words rang out in my mind, but the truth was that even if I had my phone, I had no one to call. Amelia wouldn’t answer when she was out drinking. John lived too far out of town. And my mother was at home with my little sister.

A small whimper caught in my throat as the realisation drove itself into my racing heart like a roughly carved wooden stake.

I’ll lead them straight to my family if I go home. If I make it home.

Footsteps resounded on the road.

Slow. Confident. As if they knew exactly where I was and exactly what kind of indecision was keeping me pressed against the wall.

I searched for the voices of the fishermen again, but I could no longer hear them. I could no longer hear anything except the heavy tread of shoes scraping on the road behind me and the bang of my heart, riddled with splinters, slamming against the inside of my chest.

Move!

The voice in my head came back with a vengeance. I could feel the rage in its tone, furious that I hadn’t gotten any further away from the bookstore. Realistically, I couldn’t blame it.

I tried to move my feet, but they were glued to the ground by the panic shrieking through my veins. My knees locked against the trembles racing down my body, starting from the pinprick of fear that was rooted into the nape of my neck.

Don’t look back.

Too late.

My internalised voice of reason came too late.

Two figures were in the middle of the road, drifting between the circles of white light cast by each streetlamp. One was impossibly tall and thin; the other short, wide, and bent in ways that looked entirely unnatural. Both were cloaked in darkness, hoods pulled up to conceal any distinguishing facial features.

I forced my legs to move, and I ran.

Sprinting out into the middle of the road, I made a beeline for the bridge. The sound of rushing water grew louder as I approached, rivalling the whoosh of my blood pulsing in my ears. Stone was replaced by wood, rattling hollowly beneath my shoes, sending vibrations up my legs as I charged across.

The shorter one looked as if their size might hinder their speed. Perhaps if I can lose them, I can go home .

Up ahead, the road cut through the two residential villages. To my left, stand-alone cottages and large houses were set along a maze of streets, their interior lights flickering on like a cave of fireflies waking up. That side of town belonged to the upper-class residents of Belgrave. To my right, the lower-class dwellings sat hunched against the cobalt horizon. Rows and rows of small townhouses piled up on top of each other like a small-scale metropolis were flashing with the blue light from television sets by the windows.

I ran for my life towards the housing estate on the right, my bag aggressively smacking against my legs. I did not dare another glance over my shoulder.

The breeze turned icy, blowing the scent of freshly pollinated flowers and chopped grass over me. It swirled and circled, changing direction until the smell of brine and algae from the docks took over and paired with a distinct reek of rotting flesh.

Not fish from the river.

Something else.

Something old and discarded, left to gradually decay in an untouched corner of the world.

Gagging, I covered my mouth and nose with one hand and gripped my bag with the other as I stumbled over a ditch where the road had become unpaved. Drawing closer to the estates, I could make out the furniture in the windows of the grand houses to my left and the washing, strung up with fishing line across the balconies, billowing out over the edge on my right. I was close enough to be heard if I screamed.

But if I scream—

Headlights blinded me when a car pulled out of the wealthier estate.

I skidded to a stop along the side of the road while the vehicle slowed, gravel grating beneath my shoes. The automatic window rolled down with a faint buzz as the car crawled towards me.

“Auralie?” a masculine voice called out. I recognised it as belonging to Jonah Young, the son of The Water Dragon’s owner. “Are you okay?”

Silently, I turned and stared down the road, following the harsh beam of headlights shining brightly onto the bridge in a wide yellow glow. The reeds along the riverbed were bent over and rustling in the breeze, and a few dinghies knocked against the docks. Across the water, dotted like stars in the suddenly full night sky, the streetlamps lined the upwards slope into the heart of town on either side of the empty road.

Empty—because nobody was standing there anymore.

And the smell of death was utterly gone.

My body started to warm again.

“Auralie?” Jonah repeated. The engine of his car hummed impatiently.

“I’m okay,” I gasped, spinning around to face him. My heart stuttered as heat bloomed across my cheeks, burning logic and sense out of my head. I took a few steps towards the car until I was past the perimeter of its headlights. “I think I left my phone behind at Dante’s.”

Painted blue in the constellation of lights from his dashboard, Jonah’s features smoothed and softened. He looked the same age as me, though he was a senior when I started school. It was the kindness in his eyes.

“Oh,” he remarked. “Well, hop in. We’ll get your things, and I’ll take you home.”

“Thanks,” I whispered through numb lips.

My skin burned on the surface, emotions heating in the magma chamber hidden far from reach, but the chill in my blood persisted like frostnip. Flexing my fingers, I walked around to the other side of Jonah’s car and climbed into the passenger seat, placing my bag at my feet while I clipped my seatbelt into place. It was new and expensive; the interior smelled like freshly cleaned polyester and vinyl.

As I looked up, I noticed my reflection in the side mirror. Shadows clung to my eyes, which were blue and bright with fear. My hair was the colour of an auburn sunset, but it looked darker than it should—more like blood—and flatter, with no trace of my usual bouncing curls. In my haste, my clothes had become ruffled, the strap of my tank top falling off one shoulder beneath my cardigan. And the clasp of my necklace had slipped around the wrong way, pulled taut across my throat like a choker collar.

It was no wonder Jonah had stopped to ask if I was okay.

He took his foot off the brake, easing the car into a crawl. “Katie really wants a burger from Mac’s,” he began conversationally. His eyes were tired but vivid when he glanced at me, nodding to the baby car seat strapped into the backseat. “Pregnancy cravings, you know?”

I forced a smile onto my face—forced because I did know from my mother’s second pregnancy and forced because, for some reason, I still had the feeling I should scream. “How much longer?”

“Six weeks.” He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as we crossed the bridge, then slowly brought the car to a stop in front of Dante’s.

The sound of the handbrake groaning into place was too loud.

“I’ll be out in a moment,” I breathed.

He was still tapping his fingers against the wheel. “No rush.”

Dante’s was completely dark. The front door was closed, though the sign on the door was still turned to Open.

I reminded myself that I was tired from months of poor sleep. I had an overactive imagination and a bad habit of forgetting the medication I’d only recently been prescribed. On top of that, I spent most of my time alone in the store, immersing myself in everything from dark contemporary romance to thrillers.

And I lived in Belgrave.

Climbing out of the car with my bag in hand, I let the fresh night air clear my head as I took a step towards the bookstore.

Jonah’s car door opened and closed behind me.

The voice in my head went silent.

Approaching the building, I glanced at the window to find Jonah’s reflection cast by the streetlamp, circling me like a barrier. He was standing between his headlights at the front of his car with his head cocked to the side, watching me.

My fingers curled around the doorknob as tightly as I could manage with the sweat beading on my palm.

I knew Jonah from school. He was a member of the choir and the maths club. He and Katie had been together since they were juniors. She was the editor of the yearbook the year they graduated. He was the school captain. His father owned The Water Dragon—a business he was set to inherit. And a few weeks ago, when Amelia had dragged me out of the house for a belated birthday celebration, Jonah had driven us home when we were too drunk to stand. I knew him. I’d known him all my life, but the way he was looking at me…

Sickness pooled at the bottom of my stomach as I pulled the door open and slipped inside. The bell above me jingled, and I wanted to rip the goddamn thing down for the way that sound twisted my guts.

But Jonah didn’t move. He remained in place between the headlights, staring up at me from the road as if he was caught in some sort of trance.

My keys and phone were on the front counter. I moved towards them, planning to call my mother to let her know I was coming home.

But in the unreliable glow from the streetlamp outside, I didn’t see the body on the floor until it was too late.

The toe of my shoe connected with something lifeless, something that squelched on impact. I threw myself backwards, recoiling from the deep-rooted shudder that raised the hair on my arms. My bag fell to the floor as I twisted away and slammed my forehead into something as hard as granite.

Not something— someone .

I bit back a rising scream as two large hands gripped my shoulders from behind, pulling me away from the pectoral muscles of the person I’d hit with my face.

“Aura,” John whispered in my ear. His voice was coarse and low, but my heart pounded a few beats out of order at the sound. “Are ye hurt, lass?”

I shook my head, stunned.

John’s grip eased, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the stranger looming over me. He was enormous—a tower of muscle, clad in a long black shirt and loose-fitting pants that did nothing to downplay his physique, accessorised by a belt of weapons and eyes that shone like solid gold through the dark. He folded his arms across his chest as he stared down at me, a strand of his tousled hair falling across his forehead.

“You are joking ,” the strange man said. His voice was deep, disbelieving and unnervingly familiar. “I told you to run…and you just come right back ?”

That voice. I clenched my teeth to keep my mouth from falling open.

He was here earlier tonight!

John swore quietly behind me. “Isnae the time,” he muttered.

The stranger arched a sculpted brow, but his eyes remained locked with mine as he spoke. “Fine. Get her out of here.”

“Nae.” Throwing his hands up, John stepped in front of me, pointing at the window behind the tall man. “There’s still two out there with the portal wide open—”

“I’ll deal with them.”

“And if more slip through when ye go back?”

The stranger’s golden eyes flashed. “Then I won’t go back.”

Blinking furiously, I managed to tear my gaze from the molten eyes that hadn’t moved from my face and set it upon the old man at my side. He looked frazzled, distracted, and…frail.

John was unwell, and he’d declined rapidly since the last time he visited. I should have realised, judging by the thickness of his accent—it was always stronger when he was stressed, distracted, or in poor health.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded softly.

His dark eyes darted towards me as if he’d somehow forgotten that I was right there. “Alarm went off,” he mumbled, gesturing non-specifically to the contents of the bookstore.

“We don’t have an alarm system,” I reminded him.

“Wasnae that kind of alarm.”

I threw a helpless look at the strange man. His full mouth quirked to the side, eyes glinting with wicked amusement.

John began pacing from the display window to the staircase, leaving me within striking distance of his new companion, who was looking at me with near-predatory intensity.

“I should call Trish,” I decided, peering around the dark-clad body of rock positioned between us.

“Nae. Keep the lass out of this,” the old man replied, shaking his head. He stopped pacing and turned to me. His face was illuminated in the half-light from outside, and there was guilt written all over it in a language universally understood. “Ye must go, Aura. I’m sorry, lassie, but ye must go.”

My forehead creased. “Are you... firing me?”

John looked as though he didn’t understand the question, but before I could clarify, a guttural scream rang out in the street, and I remembered that I’d left Jonah by the car.

All of a sudden, the display window beside the counter behind me exploded in a spray of glass, sending books and ornaments flying as something large and heavy landed on the floor with a dull thud.

I didn’t have time to react before the golden-eyed man snatched me with hands that felt like they were made of steel and spun me into the nearest wall, away from the shrapnel. The impact knocked the breath out of my lungs, but one of his hands curled around the back of my head, softening the blow. His other hand was fastened around my waist, putting his nose a hair’s breadth away from mine.

Despite the fear that had a chokehold on me since dusk, something warm awakened in my chest and stretched soothing tendrils throughout my body. It caught the scream in my throat and replaced the burning, acrid tang with a flood of honey-sweet relief. Musk and ink and midday sunlight wrapped around me, the scent emanating from my unsuspecting assailant like cologne. And his eyes—I saw the colour moving, shifting like his irises were truly made of smouldering gold.

The moment, the feeling, lasted for no more than a single heartbeat before he jerked away from me so quickly that I couldn’t be sure of what I’d seen, scented, or felt.

Heavy breathing filled the silence, followed by the crunch of glass and wood coming from the broken window.

I smelled it first—that putrid, festering decay that had blown towards me across the bridge, carried by the breeze wafting inside through the broken window. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the shadowed, deformed figure from the street beginning to haul their large and lumpy body into the bookstore.

Glass fell from the display, clinking against the hardwood floor. The figure stopped in the beam of light shining in from the street to smile at me.

My stomach churned. Ice-cold sweat trickled down my spine.

It was not a person.

Not a person at all.

As if he had read my thoughts, the strange man pulled out a dagger and said tightly, “No, it’s not.”

The thing—the creature —was not human and not of this world.

It had a head that might have belonged to a mammal if its eye sockets did not look like small mouths filled with blunt teeth and narrow, forked tongues. The creature’s actual mouth was empty and cavernous, taking up the entire width of its face, and its thin, chapped lips were pulled back across the dark void of its exceptionally wide throat in a hideous grin. The rest of its body was rat-like; short arms, hind legs and a scaly tail poking out from beneath the tattered black cloak it wore.

It was not human. I was not even sure the strange man with glowing gold eyes was human. But Jonah…

Jonah was .

And he was lying on the hardwood floor, his head propped up against the side of the front desk, with his neck twisted in a permanent and unfixable way.