Chapter 27 Aurora
Aurora
Once I hang up with Eve, I return to my coffee and my book.
I read for another hour, then busy myself around the house trying to make it look more … human.
I dig out and unbox all the kitchen items I might need from the pantry, including a toaster, a blender, and a very expensive set of pots and pans. Why Ezra even has these things is beyond me. I guess you can’t live as long as he has without being prepared.
Once the kitchen is situated, I order groceries and a salad for lunch using my own credit card. As sweet as Ezra’s gesture is, I don’t want to take advantage of his kindness.
While I eat my salad, I glance out of the huge kitchen window and notice a patch of beautiful wildflowers blooming in Ezra’s front yard. I’m hypnotized by the small patch of rainbow-colored flora swaying lazily in the breeze.
With a smile, I grab a pair of scissors and walk out the front door.
Ezra’s empty, monotone home could definitely use some color.
Orange butterfly milkweed, purple flox, yellow and red coreopsis, yarrow, coneflowers, daisies, Queen Anne’s lace, and, to my absolute delight, lupines and asters greet me happily in the yard.
What a beautiful late-October gift. Briefly setting aside the dumpster fire that is currently my life, I cheerfully gather a few handfuls of each type of flower.
The sun is warm on my back, a cool wind kicks up my hair, and for the first time in days, I feel at peace.
And then, something shifts.
The moment stretches too long.
The quiet is too perfect.
A shiver crawls up my spine, and the bugs roar back to life under my skin, their legs scraping at my ribs.
Someone’s out there. Watching.
I feel it, even if I can’t see it.
Did the Disciples find me already?
I turn toward the edge of the woods, my eyes wide as I scan the black areas between the trees. I don’t see anything, but I have to remind myself that I didn’t see Ezra—and he wasn’t even trying to stay hidden.
Quickly gathering my flowers, I hurry back to the house.
As I reach for the front door handle, my foot knocks against something metallic. It clatters against the stone step, and I freeze.
No, no, no.
My pulse slams against my ribs.
Those fucking bugs skitter like they’re trying to crawl out of my pores.
A coffee mug that says, “Freak in the Sheets.”
Identical to Jameson’s.
I’m certain it wasn’t there when I came out to pick flowers. My clumsy ass would have tripped over it.
But then … that means someone was on Ezra’s property.
Someone who knew Jameson.
Someone who knows me.
Knows Ezra.
Fuck.
Could they have gone inside?
I would have heard the beep from the security door. That damn thing beeps if you look at it wrong.
I should be safer inside.
Right?
My fingers clamp around the mug, nails scraping against the chipped metal surface.
I hesitate. Just for a second.
What if they’re already inside, waiting? I’d be walking straight into their hands.
A shadow moves in the trees.
Or maybe it doesn’t.
Maybe my brain is lying to me.
But the feeling of being watched gnaws at me.
I don’t think.
I move.
Pushing inside, I slam the lock into place and press my back against the door.
The house is silent.
My footsteps echo against the bare walls as I move, my pulse pounding in my ears.
First, the back door.
Then the windows.
Check. Check. Check.
Returning to the kitchen, I circle the mug on the table like it might grow fangs and attack me.
I mean, maybe it could. I don’t know shit about magic.
I can’t check Jameson’s truck to see if the travel mug is missing because Ezra “got rid of it.” I don’t know what that means, and at the time, I didn’t give a shit as long as I didn’t have to see it again.
Once I’m certain the mug isn’t going to do something terrible, I check the locks one last time.
The house is silent. Still.
Thankfully, the open floor plan doesn’t leave many places to hide.
Fire poker in hand, I creep upstairs toward Ezra’s bedroom.
Finding nothing, I walk back down the hall to Louie’s room and put my ear against the door.
More nothing.
“Please wake up soon,” I whisper through the silence.
Louie may be confused and upset when she wakes up, but I know she wouldn’t let anything hurt me.
Now to deal with the fucking mug.
Dragging my battered, exhausted body back to the kitchen, I pace like I’m playing a one-person ping-pong match.
Am I in danger? Obviously.
But where would I even go?
Eve’s place? Too risky.
My dad’s? No fucking way.
Staying put is the only option. Plus, Louie’s here. Sort of.
Ezra’s only been gone a few hours. He won’t be back anytime soon, and I can’t call him.
If I tell him, he’ll drop everything and come running.
I need him to deal with the vampires. I need him focused.
He’d know what this means. He’d probably already have a theory.
It would be nice to have that.
But I don’t.
So, I’ll figure it out myself.
I sift through the kitchen drawers until I locate a large Ziploc bag. Picking up the mug with my thumb and forefinger, I drop it in like I’m some kind of fucking CSI at a crime scene.
I don’t need it sitting there, looking at me like it knows something I don’t, so I toss it into the pantry with the unboxed kitchen stuff. Let future-me deal with that shit when Ezra gets back.
Then, because pretending things are normal is apparently my new coping strategy, I grab a few water glasses and start arranging flowers.
I’m still terrified, and the bugs under my skin twist and squirm, but what else can I do?
At least if my hands are busy, my mind doesn’t collapse in on itself. For now.
When I’m satisfied with the way my arrangements look, I place one in the kitchen, one on the coffee table, and one on the vanity in Ezra’s bathroom.
My flower-arranging skills are just as wild as the flowers, giving them an edge of beauty that instantly warms my chest, burning a few of those fucking bugs in the process.
Plus, the way the colorful flowers seem to glow against the sparse white and steel accents of the house makes me happy.
I snap a picture of the flower arrangement in the bathroom and send it to Ezra. He won’t respond, but I’m hoping the colorful collage of blooms brings him a little joy, too.
I close my eyes, press my hand against my chest, and breathe. The thread between us tugs, more echo than touch. Just enough to remind me he’s gone.
The silence settles over the house, stretching into every room, trying to swallow me whole.
The bugs under my skin thrash and jitter, but I push past them.
Because I have dinner plans, a best friend to face, and apparently, a crown to fucking claim.