Chapter 6
SUMMER
Happy and content, I sigh as I look around the busy farmer’s market. A week has somehow both stretched out languidly and flown by. There has been no word yet from Max, but still I’ve been able to mostly shut off the worries about my stalker.
I’ve spent much needed time by myself, working out in the mornings, fixing myself meals, and reading. God, reading. I didn’t realize how little time I was leaving myself to enjoy a good book. I’ve gone through two this week, picturing the man from the bookstore as the main character in each one.
I can’t stop thinking about him. I’ve even dreamed of him, waking wet and needy—to the point I ordered myself a little vibrator. Different from the one I left at home, this one is a simple C-shape that hits my inner walls and my clit perfectly. My fingers were fine, but having that vibration on my clit is next level. With my imagination providing the image of the man from the bookstore doing all sorts of things to me … well, I’ve worn myself out a few times.
The buzz of the farmer’s market fades as I daydream of bookstore man’s black hair and silver eyes. The way he looked at me, like he was trying to figure out a puzzle … the memory makes me shiver.
Mira laughs, bumping my shoulder with hers. “You should ask that tomato on a date if you’re going to fondle it like that.”
Looking down, I realize I’m rubbing my fingers over the tomato in my cupped hand. I shake my head with a smile, paying the man behind the table, then dropping the fruit in my bag. Mira loops her arm through mine, pulling me towards where Paine is in line at the pastry tent. The sun comes out from behind a cloud. The bright rays cause my eyes to water, and as I blink them clear, I nearly stumble.
Not again.
Transparent wings flare from Paine’s back, and barely-there curling horns spear from his head. I glance down at my sandaled feet, and when I raise my head, Paine looks normal.
Mira squeezes my arm. “You okay?”
I smile, hiding my growing anxiety. “Yeah. I forgot my sunglasses.”
We join Paine in line, and I grip my shopping bag to keep from running my hands through my hair. Why do I keep seeing these things? I’ve caught glimpses of wings, a tail, and horns at least half a dozen times this week. And not just on Paine.
Yesterday, there was a woman exiting the bookstore, and I swore she had beautiful silver wings. And the day before that, when I was taking out my trash, I ended up slamming the lid too hard when I saw a shifting of sparkling shadows. The setting sun of dusk made it hard to see what it was, and then it was gone.
I step forward, Mira and Paine letting me order first. As the woman behind the table bags my loaf of sourdough and my chocolate croissant, I dig cash out of my crossbody. Slipping the pastries into my shopping bag, I step to the side to wait for my new friends.
My mind wanders to earlier in the week when we discovered I was renting the house right across the street from Mira and Paine. Mira and I laughed at the coincidence, but Paine … he didn’t seem thrilled at the coincidence. He had mumbled something, and that mirage of horns appeared on his head for a split second.
I’m pulled from my thoughts as a little girl squeals from behind me, and I turn, quickly stepping out of her way as she runs giggling from her scrambling mother. I watch, chuckling to myself. The girl is cute, but the mom looks frazzled. I’m glad I don’t have kids. My desire to remain childless has chased off a surprising number of boyfriends. Kids are great … from a distance, but if I were to choose to have a dependent, I’d get a dog.
The mom finally catches her little girl, lifting her into her arms, juggling toddler and groceries.
A shiver tingles down my spine.
Behind the mother and daughter, there’s a faint outline of bronze wings draping gracefully from a man’s back. The feathers are so beautiful, the color like a gilded sunset. The more I stare, the more solid the wings become. The man shifts, drawing my eyes to his black hair. There’s something familiar about him. I take a step towards him without thinking about it. As I creep closer, the wings fade and disappear. The man turns just slightly, giving me the barest glimpse of his profile.
Bookstore man?
My flip flops are hard to jog in, but I rush to keep up with him. I lose sight of him as he goes around a large tent, and when I make the turn, he’s gone. Damn. Rising on tiptoes, I strain to look over the crowd, but even with the few extra inches, I’m still shorter than everyone except the kids.
A deep disappointment settles in my chest. When I take a deep breath, it shudders like I’m about to cry. My brow crinkles as I try to shake off my melancholy. I attempt to laugh at myself for feeling so down, but I can’t seem to manage more than a weak smile.
What the heck? Why is my throat burning with the threat of tears? A compulsion comes over me. I need to see him. Just one more time. I push back to my tiptoes, biting my lip, looking around. Where did he go?
“What are you looking for?”
Paine’s deep voice drops me to flat feet, and I spurt out the first lie that comes to mind. “I saw someone with an Irish Wolfhound. I love those dogs. I wanted to ask if I could pet it but lost them in the crowd. Being five-two sucks.”
Mira chuckles, reaching up to interlace her fingers with Paine’s whose arm is draped around her shoulders. Her strange bracelet catches the sunlight, refracting a rainbow of colors. Paine lifts his chin, easily looking over the crowd for a dog that I made up.
And now I feel guilty.
After a minute, Paine turns back to me. “Sorry. Don’t see it.”
I shrug. “No biggie.”
We stop at the lemonade stand. Mira orders a classic, and I order a limeade. Drinks in hand, we exit the market. It’s only a short walk to our row of townhouses, and the plastic cup sweats in my hand as I take leisurely sips of my tart drink with a hint of sweetness. So refreshing on this perfect summer afternoon.
We part ways on the street, and I shift my grocery bag to my shoulder as I wave goodbye to the adorable couple. Paine kisses the top of Mira’s head as they go inside their house.
Locking the front door behind me, I pause in the foyer, a smile on my face. Tomorrow is all about me. I plan to spend my entire day reading and snacking up on the rooftop terrace. I’ll work on my tan, drink all the water, then maybe finish the day with a margarita. Or two.
After checking my email to see if there is anything new from Max—there isn’t—I put away the few dishes I left out to dry this morning. I clean the sink, then turn out the lights as I make my way upstairs. After a long, hot shower, I pull on my sleep shirt and slide into bed. I grab my e-reader and snuggle into my pillow.
I jerk awake, the warning siren pulling me from my dream. I lift my e-reader off my chest where it must have fallen when I fell asleep. Setting it on the side table, I lay back and stare through the darkness at the ceiling. The edges of the dream I was having clings to my mind. There was beautiful bronze light everywhere. And there were wings. So wide, they took up my entire view. I could have spent my whole night dreaming of those wings.
The second warning siren goes off, the automated voice blaring through the streets. “One minute until The Divide breach.”
I count down in my head until the final siren goes off, and as it fades, the world around me goes silent. I hold my breath, waiting for the sounds of monsters. Nothing. It’s quiet outside. I pull my covers up to my nose, unable to shake the feeling of being watched.
Stalker.
No. I’m not going to think about that right now. Besides, that’s impossible. I’m an ocean away, and The Divide is down. I’m safe.
Still, I toss and turn, unable to get comfortable. No matter how many breathing techniques I try, no matter how many stupid sheep I count, I can’t seem to fall asleep.
With a huff of frustration, I kick the covers off my body and stomp downstairs. I gulp down a glass of water, but that only seems to wake me more. I could watch tv. Glancing towards the living area, I stand in the center of the room. TV doesn’t sound appealing right now. Should I go back upstairs and try to read again?
Back in the kitchen, I open and close drawers and cabinets, the soft banging sounds echoing quietly through the house. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but I find myself staring into the small pantry, not really seeing the contents. I’m not hungry anyway. But … I need something to do. It feels like I had an entire pot of coffee. I can practically feel my blood racing through my veins. I’ve felt this way a few times over the years, but never to this extent. The kitchen almost vibrates around me.
I shake my arms, getting my shoulders involved until my whole body is wiggling, like I’m trying to expel these jitters. I laugh as I shimmy and shake in the middle of the kitchen. I know I must look absurd, but who cares. It’s just me, and this is making me feel better.
I’m still wide fucking awake, though.
A glint catches my eye, and I turn to look at the row of kitchen knives hung on a magnetic board secured to the wall. Hmm. Crossing the room, I pluck one and press my thumb to the tip. There’s no accompanying sting, and I tsk, talking to the knife. “You are not living up to your potential, sir.”
From my earlier perusal, I know there’s a sharpener in the third drawer, so I retrieve it and go to work. One after the other, I draw the edges of the blades across the stone slab. It’s satisfying to see the knives grow shiny under my attention. I grab the last one. A filet knife. Carefully, I set it against the stone. This type of knife is difficult to sharpen since the blade is so thin and flexible.
As if my thoughts cause my hand to slip, I yelp, looking down. A long line of bright red blood spreads from right below my pointer finger to the base of my palm. Lifting my hand, I realize the cut is really deep. Like, really, really deep. And now that I’ve noticed, the pain explodes. I grab a towel, pressing it to the wound. The pressure makes it worse, and I hiss, doubling over.
“Shit. Fuck. Son of a bitch!”
I pull the towel away to see it soaked in blood. I’m surprised I can’t see bone. Blood drips on the floor, so I lean over the sink. I turn on the water and curse again as my blood gushes down the drain. I can’t see how deep it actually is, but I think I’ll need stitches.
A heavy thud sounds from outside, and I jump. I hold my breath, listening, and then I hear a snarling growl, a yelp of pain, and a sickening wet crunch. Monsters. Did someone get caught outside or are they fighting each other?
I obviously can’t go to the hospital right now. The Divide will be down for several more hours. Recalling I saw a tool kit in one of the cabinets, I wrap the bloody towel tightly around my hand and hunt down the bag I’m looking for. I rummage around before grabbing the little tube, holding it over my head. “Ah ha!”
Okay, now for the hard part. Going back to the sink, I strip the towel away. Spreading my fingers wide until the cut opens, I squeeze the superglue into my wound.
“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.” My eyes water, and I grit my teeth as I relax my hand, letting the edges of my sliced skin come together. I add more glue, then drop the tube and use my free hand to pinch the wound closed. I dance in place as pain spears all the way up my arm. It’s far from perfect, but as the glue starts to dry, the blood flow slows, then stops.
Looking around, I sigh. “Shit. I should have found bandages or something before doing the glue.” I don’t want to reopen the cut, so I keep my hand close to my chest, trying to protect it as I move towards the stairs. Hopefully, there are some band-aids in the bathroom … something to hold me over until I can get to a doctor.
The front door rattles as something large slams into it. I scream, falling against a wall. My hand flexes involuntarily, and hot blood once again spreads over my palm. I don’t care about that right now. The windows along the front of the house vibrate with banging thuds, and I’m sure the glass is going to shatter. The curtains are drawn, so I can’t see what’s out there. I don’t know if that’s better or worse. When the front door shakes again, I run up the stairs. Glass breaks behind me, but I don’t turn. I keep running, slamming the bedroom door behind me. I dash into the bathroom as one of the windows in the bedroom cracks.
What the fuck is happening?