Chapter Three
RJ
To call my apartment a ‘disaster’ would be an understatement.
After Libby and I broke things off, the place had reverted to its usual disheveled state. Piles of plates and laundry were stacked up haphazardly, with only enough room between them to allow one to stagger through the place after dark and be reasonably certain you wouldn’t trip and break something.
When Poppy texted and asked to bring friends over, I thought she’d meant an evening of playing board games with Henner and Darla.
That meant I’d have about an hour or two to shove the takeout containers into the trash and run my dishes through the dishwasher.
The laundry would have to be folded another day, but I could at least shove the piles in an out-of-the-way corner until our friends left.
“He’s up here!” I heard a woman’s voice.
I did not expect my guests to arrive promptly. And I especially didn’t expect Wanda to come waltzing into my bathroom, followed by the rest of them. And especially not when I was already in there, showering as quickly as I could.
“Ahem,” she’d called out as she wrapped her knuckles on the door. “You’ve got visitors.”
There was enough mist in the air to obscure everything long enough for me to tug the shower curtain down over my junk. It made the rings rasp, drawing every eye toward me. And more importantly, to what I was trying to hide.
“Wanda, he’s in the shower!” Poppy said, her face all shades of red.
“And we don’t have time for him to be in the shower,” Wanda responded.
It was odd to see speculation on so many female faces.
Even odder that my friends should be gathered around the walk-in shower like a group of curious onlookers.
I recognized almost every single woman who’d stopped to stare.
Poppy, who’d aimed her eyes toward the ceiling the second she realized what she’d walked in on.
Wanda, who was brazenly staring at my chest with an amused smirk on her face.
Betanya, who seemed amused but largely unimpressed, Olga, who looked like she was planning to commit my image to paper and finally, Lydia.
My heart thumped a little unevenly, and furious heat roared into my face.
The embarrassing truth was, I’d liked Lydia since she came to town.
She was smart and funny, and her store had the best section on cryptids I’d found in recent years.
She’d always special-order books if I asked for a copy she didn’t own.
If she hadn’t been so clearly into Angelo Stedham, I might have asked her out on a coffee date.
But she wasn’t looking at me at all. Not in embarrassment, the way Poppy had reacted. She looked agitated, dark circles seeming to have carved themselves beneath her eyes overnight. There was a haunted look in those beautiful blue eyes.
I wanted to ask her what was wrong, but what came out was, “Um... guys... in case you didn’t notice… I’m naked.”
“Why, yes, you are,” Wanda said, smirk widening. I wasn’t sure if I should be flattered or slightly creeped by the appraising look she was giving me. “Poppy, you never told me your mundane friend was so ripped.”
Poppy smacked Wanda’s bicep. Or well, she tried to.
She mostly ended up flapping her hand in midair in Wanda’s direction, clipping Wanda’s shoulder with her fingertips on accident, not by design.
That’s because Poppy was too busy examining my ceiling to pay attention to what direction she’d swung.
And she was the only one who was still standing in the hallway.
At least one person was trying to respect my modesty.
Everyone else seemed to be admiring the view with obscene relish, not that I minded that much.
I mean, when did a guy ever find himself in the buff in front of a bunch of attractive women. This was a first for me...
Well, not just attractive women, but also a pair of men who were standing near Poppy in my hallway. If I thought I’d been flustered before, it was nothing to the flush of discomfort that rose in me when I realized I recognized both faces.
The first was unmistakably Wanda’s cousin and business partner, Maverick. I saw him around town enough to exchange pleasantries, but definitely not enough to have him standing in my hall like he owned the place. The other face was arguably worse.
Angelo Stedham was objectively perfect. So perfect it was creepy, if you asked me.
There’d always been something about his too-symmetrical face that had fallen firmly into uncanny valley.
None of the women around town seemed to agree with that assessment, instead going on and on about how hot he was.
So I’d pretty much kept my thoughts to myself.
I expected him to be sneering at me in that characteristically arrogant way he had.
Instead, he barely looked at me. He only had eyes for Lydia, looping his long fingers around her wrist, tugging her away from the tub and my nudity. Lydia’s expression creased into a haughty, scornful look and she tugged her hand free.
“Hands off, incubus. We don’t have time for that.”
The reaction to his touch was so different from what I’d observed a few days ago that it took me a second to realize what she’d said.
Incubus? As in, the sex demon from mythology?
Sure, he was good-looking, according to most of the women he met, but I wouldn’t go so far as to call him a sexual demon.
Hmm, maybe that was just like her pet-name for him? God, that was almost worse.
“We’re wasting time,” Angelo said in a low, growling undertone.
“Bring him or don’t, but we need his truck.
I want to be out of here in the next ten minutes.
I’m going to sort through the musty mess I can smell outside this door and get the keys.
Explain the situation to him and then let’s get the hell on the road.
I’m not risking Lydia’s body. She’s coming back to it, and you’re going to vacate. Understand me?”
I felt like a sports spectator with only a fraction of the knowledge I needed to understand what was going on. In fact, I was trying to figure out if I was drunk, but then I remembered I didn’t drink. So, no, this was really happening.
The pair were throwing verbal and ocular punches now. I wasn’t even sure what to make of it, except to feel defensive on Lydia’s behalf. If her boyfriend was being a jerk, I’d call him out for it...
When I had pants on.
“Um... guys...” I began cautiously, grateful when Angelo turned and waded further into my house. Something I’d never thought I’d be thankful for. I was half-convinced that I was having one of those dreams that a therapist would pay a fortune to dissect. “What’s going on?”
Maverick gave me a brief smirk before disappearing down the hall behind Angelo. He called over his shoulder, loud enough so I could hear it.
“Get him up to speed, Wanda. Angelo might be an ass, but he’s not wrong. We need to leave before they get the bright idea to guard the roads in and out of town. We’ve got an hour before this all goes to hell in a handbasket, mark my words.”
Wanda’s eyes narrowed, thankfully swiveling toward her cousin’s retreating back instead of admiring my body like she was at a strip show. I tried to keep in shape, and I liked women as much as the next guy, but no one expects the entire troupe of a well-cast soap opera to waltz into their bathroom.
“Gaining second sight, cousin mine?” Wanda shot back at Maverick.
“Nope. I’ve just worked with Tally long enough to get a feel for when the shit is about to seriously hit the fan. And I can tell you right now that the manure is flying. It’s in our best interest to duck while there’s time to avoid a collision.”
Wanda shrugged as though she couldn’t refute his logic.
It made a convoluted amount of sense to me, even if the rest of the word salad hadn’t penetrated.
If I was hearing things right, Poppy, Wanda, and their friends were in some kind of trouble.
I wasn’t sure how that trouble was connected to me or what I had to do with it.
Wanda reached up and plucked a navy blue bathrobe that was hanging on a hook near the door and tossed it over her shoulder at me.
I had to fumble the curtain to catch it.
I was pretty sure I managed to flash half the women in the room as a result.
Which made me root for the idea that this was all a dream.
I had so many apologies to make if this was real.
“Get dressed,” Wanda said, motioning for the rest of the women to follow her out. “And meet us all in your garage. We need a ride out of the Hollow. Angelo or Maverick can explain what’s going on while the rest of us shelter in the bed of your truck.”
I shrugged into the bathrobe, trying hard not to look at any of the faces around me.
I couldn’t help a glance up when I caught Lydia trailing out.
Our eyes met. She stared brazenly at me, without any hint of what she thought of the show.
She looked... weary. I wanted to tuck her into my bed and demand she sleep.
I could probably bore her into a good night’s sleep, just by citing the cryptid facts I knew.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
I wasn’t sure why I was asking. Maybe it was dream logic, and I hoped something she said would make sense. But the sorrow on her face seemed too raw and real to be conjured just by my subconscious.
“We’re in danger,” she said simply. “And it’s my fault.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
Her lips twitched just once. It was the only animation on her face. She looked like a ghost. Frail and wispy, as though one good gust of wind would blow her out of the room.
“Save your judgments. I’m sure Angelo will enumerate the many ways this situation is entirely my fault.”
“Well, to hell with that guy,” I said, belting the bathrobe with clumsy fingers. “If he’s not going to treat you right, you shouldn’t care what he thinks. I can hit him if you want.”
Another spectral flicker of animation on her pretty face. “As amusing to watch as that might be, I’ll have to pass. Just don’t believe every word the incubus says, okay? He’s biased.”
Then Lydia turned on one heel and strode out of the bathroom, leaving me wet, shivering, and confused. And yeah, a little excited. She hadn’t looked away from me. That had to mean she was interested, right?
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
But no one answered. Lydia was already gone.