Chapter 6
Laurie
When I first caught wind of the trouble at Ikea, the one not too far from my block, I had rolled my eyes.
I assumed a clash between customers got out of hand.
But then the rumors started up online: half the store trashed, a few employees missing, evidence whisked away all too neatly, too quickly—then I started to wonder.
When I dug a little deeper and discovered eyewitnesses suddenly unsure of what they’d seen, despite their earlier statements, I began to suspect something a little more sinister than a simple shopping mall spat.
A trashed store, but no reported injuries. People going back on their earlier statements, insisting that they’d seen nothing unusual at all: “An argument gone wrong, that’s all it was”. All evidence pointed to some kind of supernatural cover-up.
But why? What were they hiding? What exactly went down at Ikea, of all places?
I had to know. Maybe it was all a major dead end and I was due to start wearing a tinfoil hat to signal my spiral into conspiracy theory hell. Or maybe there was something there that could lead me to the heart of the mysterious organization. Either way, I had to investigate.
Night had long since settled over the city when I crept into the parking lot.
The place was still roped off with police tape, the entire perimeter lit by a lonely floodlight that cast harsh shadows along the building’s facade.
A couple of unmarked cars sat out front, but no sign of officers actively patrolling.
Maybe they’d already left—whoever orchestrated the cover-up must have been thorough.
I found a side entrance, a door with a twisted lock that someone must’ve forced open recently.
Perfect. I inched past the snapped police tape flapping in the breeze and squeezed through the gap.
My heart hammered with the thrill and tension of trespassing, but it wasn’t enough to scare me off.
Fear was an old familiar and I was on a mission.
My entire reason for living hinged on unearthing the truths that lurked just out of sight—and putting my enemies in the ground. If this place had been the site of a supernatural scuffle (and it sure seemed that way), I needed a closer look.
Inside, the store lay in eerie disarray. Overturned shelves and random pieces of furniture lay scattered across the showroom floor. The sharp scent of something acrid—blood or chemicals—clogged the air.
I picked my way through the wreckage in the dark, ignoring the prickle of goosebumps along my arms. A lamp display near the bedding section had been ripped from its mount, and glass shards crunched under my sneakers.
The hush felt oppressive, like the store itself was alive and holding its breath.
Another aisle boasted a toppled sofa, stuffing strewn everywhere like someone had gone at it with a hacksaw.
I scoured the floors for evidence, blood stains, anything that might hint at what had happened, and paused by a battered shelving unit, scanning the gloom.
Nothing. My chest ached with frustration.
All real evidence had been neatly sanitized.
But the gravity of the destruction told me enough: something big, something fierce, had happened here. A clue in itself, I guess.
Somewhere in the distance, a faint clank echoed, sending a jolt up my spine. On instinct alone, I ducked behind an overturned display cart, breathing shallow breaths through my nose.
After a moment, silence returned. Maybe it was just the building settling, or debris shifting.
Maybe I really was losing my mind. But if the truth was what I suspected, then some supernatural creatures had gone berserk in here, maybe hurt some people—and the real damage had been quickly and quietly polished away. Why?
Because they do that. They always do that.
Then a new sound reached my ears. Voices. Faint, but clear enough in the sprawling space. Adrenalin spiked in my veins and I crouched lower behind the display cart, fisting a hand to my mouth.
“…told you we should’ve come sooner.” A feminine voice, slightly testy, echoed from somewhere nearby.
“Dylan, enough,” came another voice, exasperated.
I squinted into the darkness and listened: two—no, three sets of footsteps. Shadows moving in the gloom.
“I’m just saying, if you were as committed to this mission as you are to your yoga mat—Ow!”
I heard a scuffle, and then a third voice, speaking slowly, sounding out each syllable. “Stop bullying River and focus. If you two keep bickering, we won’t find a thing.”
My chest seized, and my back went ramrod straight. River. She’s here. I was right about her. It had to be true. She was working with them. She was one of them. Why else would she be there?
Forcing back a shaky breath that would no doubt give away my position, I shifted slightly and peered at the trio edging slowly through the wreckage.
As my eyes adjusted, I could make out three shapes.
One lithe and wiry, another much the same—but there was something off about that one.
It was a woman, I was sure, but her body was swathed in a swirl of unnatural darkness, trailing shadows like living tentacles.
My blood ran cold. That’s… not normal. And another figure, shorter than the others, her posture tense. She tossed her hair and murmured something to the one cloaked in shadows. I noticed a flash of sharp, pointed teeth.
An echo of white corridors and metal tables slammed into my mind, an avalanche of memory—of fangs. I clamped a hand over my mouth, but a stifled gasp burst between my fingers. Not human. They were not human. Which meant they were just like them.
Dizziness clutched my head, gripped my throat, threatening to haul me into a flashback. No, no—keep it together, Laurie. I curled myself tighter, heart thudding so loud I was sure they’d hear it. But they were focused on each other.
“…pretty obvious who trashed this place.”
I recognized that low, measured tone from a few nights back. Her expression was lost in the shadows of the store, but I could picture that placating look on her face. Long lashes. Dark brown hair tumbling down her shoulders. River.
I had to get out of there.
I tried backing away, stepping carefully over a cluster of broken furniture. But my shoe crunched on a fragment of plastic—and out there in the darkness, all three silhouettes went still. Unnaturally still.
Then the woman clouded in swirling shadow—Dylan, they’d called her—whipped around in my direction. Her voice was a hiss, and her stance predatory. “Someone’s here.”
Panic swelled, scorching hot in my veins. Instinct roared at me to run and a half-strangled noise escaped my throat. Then the other two turned, and in the faintest trickle of light, I saw three sets of glinting eyes focus directly on me.
No, no, not again. I jerked upright and jolted into a sprint, rushing blindly back the way I’d come.
But they converged behind me in a heartbeat.
I could feel their presence at my back—and panic in my veins.
It would atrophy my muscles if I paused for even a second.
But I was lost, disoriented, and I couldn’t find the exit.
Every wrecked aisle looked exactly the same in the dark.
I hit a dead end, a blank wall, and turned to glimpse my pursuers. They crossed the space between us and I was cornered. Cornered. My mind reeled, flashes of old captivity fueling my terror. They’re going to take me back, I don’t want to go back. I won’t go back—
“Wait—that’s…” Someone was speaking, but I was scrambling for an escape, a weapon, a time machine to wind back the clock to before I decided to do this alone. This was my penance for being reckless. They were going to take me back.
“Hey,” the calmer voice—River—called out, a note of alarm in her tone. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
Like I’d believe that. I fumbled for anything: a shard of glass, a broken chair leg, something that could serve as a weapon. Why didn’t I bring a weapon? My trembling fingers seized a snapped metal bar from the floor and I brandished it wildly. “Stay—stay back!”
I swung it from one shadowy figure to the next, screeching through gritted teeth, “I know what you are, and I won’t go back! I won’t—”
The other woman advanced a fraction, hands raised to subdue me.
Shadows danced around her arms. I hated the way that darkness looked, too eerily reminiscent of my nightmares.
That all-encompassing darkness that swallowed me whole.
No, please. A strangled sob threatened my throat and my chest heaved to keep up with my rapid pulse.
“It’s okay.” The fanged woman, the shorter one, tried to approach. Her hands were moving strangely. She looked almost regretful. “We just—”
That was it; I couldn’t handle it. I let out a ragged scream, winging out my makeshift weapon in frantic, wild arcs. My body moved on primal instinct—flight or fight, and flight was impossible. It was only bared teeth and bloody knuckles that could save me now.
But there were three of them, and I was alone. The odds weren’t stacked in my favor. My vision blurred with panic.
“Wait.” The third figure—River herself—slipped forward, weaving between her companions.
When she reached for the pole in my grasp, I swung again. I put my back into it. But she batted it away, and it glanced off her palm like it was nothing. The adrenaline left my body in a rush and the crash that followed left my knees weak. It did nothing. I could do nothing. They had me.
I backed up until my shoulders hit the wall behind me.
“We’re not your enemies.” River kept her voice low, a gentle hush that wormed its way past my terror, and raised her palms up in a universal sign of surrender. Her eyes flicked to the dented pole in my hands. “Can you put that down? Please?”
My chest heaved, my head spun, and black dots crowded my vision. They had fangs, they had powers. They’re not human. Why wouldn’t they just disarm me? They clearly had the advantage. But River took another slow step forward, witch hazel eyes fixated on me—bright and vibrant even in the gloom.
“Hey,” she murmured, “I’m River, remember? We’ve met before.”
I sucked in a breath, pressing my back to the wall. My legs buckled and locked again and tears burned hot in my eyes. She was one of them. She was a monster just like the rest.
But she’d also seemed… not cruel. Not monstrous at all. Some faint thread of rational thought reminded me that she’d let me return her things, and she hadn’t attacked me. She stood in front of me now, and she clearly had the upper hand—and she still hadn’t attacked me.
I wavered, gripping the metal bar with white-knuckled intensity.
“Laurie,” River spoke softly, a hush over the roar in my ears, “you’re safe here. I swear it.” Her bright eyes in that dim light looked honest. “We don’t want to hurt you.”
She waved a hand behind her and the other two fell back. The swirling shadows receded.
My breath came in ragged gulps. Every muscle in my body screamed to take off running, to kick and bite and scratch, but some deeper weariness rooted me in place. Slowly, painstakingly, my shaking arms lowered.
The makeshift weapon slipped from my grip, clattering to the floor. The sound reverberated, loud in the sudden stillness. My head felt light and airy, and I felt myself sway on my feet.
River let out a careful breath. Then slowly—ever so slowly—in tiny, careful increments, she crossed the last bit of space between us and rested her hands on my shoulders.
Her warmth radiated through my jacket, and I flinched at the contact.
But I didn’t lash out. I was caught up in her gaze, paralyzed by those ochre eyes.
“That’s good,” she murmured. “You’re all good.” Her voice stayed quiet, soothing.
Before I could register what was happening, she was guiding me to the floor, sinking down with me like we were both too tired to stand. I felt her arms circling me and couldn’t find it in me to fight. I melted all at once, overcome with fatigue that went right down to my bones.
My chest felt tight, my lungs starved for air, and I gasped out a sob into her shoulder as I buried my face in the crook of her neck. I shook uncontrollably, battered by adrenaline and bad memories I couldn’t fight—and this woman I barely knew rocked me gently in her arms.
The slight motion was cathartic, like I was floating in space, not crumpled on the dusty floor of a desecrated Ikea.
“Breathe,” she whispered, breath soft against my ear. “You’re safe. I promise.”
I wanted to deny it, to scream and wail that nothing was safe, but I couldn’t find my voice. I was overwhelmed, I was exhausted—and she was solid and sturdy and sure.
And no one had ever held me like that before.