by Mason Sabre
Her alarm blared, making her flinch. “Shit,” she said as she reached out and slammed her hand blindly against her phone to hit the snooze, again, for the about the hundredth time that morning. Not that it was one hundred, but it damn well felt like it.
She shoved her head under her pillow, crushing it in and struggling to dull the pain in her temples. She didn’t remember having so much to drink that her head would thump in the way it was doing now.
Trying to pry her eyes open, Louise squinted and wiped clumps of last night’s mascara from her eyelashes. Had she really been so out of it she would forget to remove her make-up? Damn. She didn’t need this today–the hangover from hell and a good dose of, you look like shit. Her ears were still ringing from the music, a faint hum on her radar. Usually, that buzz was a welcomed white noise—a trophy for listening to such a great band, but right now, it was just another annoyance in her head that had her ready to roll over for another six hours of sleep.
She would have done that, too, if she didn’t have to get up for work. Sighing, she rolled onto her side, her head pounding in protest at her movement, and her eyes streaming as she attempted to adjust to the goddamn awful light. Why, oh why couldn’t Raven have these bands playing on nights when she didn’t have work the next day?
Work … the thought of it made her stomach sink like a fucking submarine. She didn’t dislike her job, quite the contrary; it was a good laugh and the people she worked with were great. It wasn’t even glamourous or a choice of dream career, but it was hers. She worked in the centre of the main town, in a small boutique. It kept her social skills up at least, and gave her independence so she wasn’t the little woman living off Lee’s earnings. That was the main reason. No man would ever be her keeper. No way. She’d seen her friends do that and seen what happened when shit blew up and the relationship was over. Screwed … that’s how they all ended up. She wanted to be with Lee because she wanted to be with him and not because she depended on him to live.
The store was Human owned. Oddly, none of her colleagues figured she was Other—a woodland nymph, and that suited her fine. Did it matter what species she was just to sell pairs of knickers?
Part of the reason she was one of the best sales reps was due to her allure as a nymph. They didn’t realise that, of course, but it paid in her interest. It also meant that she could laugh and joke with the women she worked with. She was lucky that they didn’t know what she was; she didn’t have to feel like she was an outsider. But she wasn’t a fool, either. She would never disclose that she wasn’t quite one of them. They would have her ass for that.
Sitting herself up with a grunt, her stomach lurched along with the awful rattling of her brain. She rubbed her eyes at the same time as moving her feet down to the cool floor. Rolling her shoulders, she tried to ease the knots out. She must have been out of it and slept the whole night in one position. Every inch of her body throbbed, even in places she didn’t know it was possible to ache. She stretched, yawning, her arms out to the side and the coolness of the open window dancing across her naked skin.
Wait? She peered down, eye’s wide. Naked? How the hell had that happened? Pressing her hands to her bare breasts, she grimaced. What the fuck had she done last night? She didn’t sleep naked. Not that she was a prude, but shit … had she been so fucking hammered that she hadn't even bothered to finish getting changed?
How many bottles had she had? Two? Three? Three bottles wouldn’t get her drunk. Had she left her drink somewhere? She tried to mentally scan over the night. She didn’t think she had. She had walked through the crowd several times and the only time she had used the bathroom, she had taken her drink with her. She wouldn’t leave it, though. The only person who had handled the bottles was Raven, and he sure as hell wasn’t into slipping shit into women’s drinks. God knows, he didn’t need to. He just needed to wink and most women would drop their panties for him.
But then … how had she got home? Did she even remember that part?
The whole night was so distorted in her head that it seemed like it was days ago, not just a few hours back. She had watched two bands, Angel Death and Molotov. She had helped Raven close the bar up. No one had been left there. He had paid her and she had left. But then what? She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, leaning forward. “Think, damn it. Think.” Where had she gone then? She would have walked home. She would have just gone through the woods. “Fuck. Why can’t I remember?” she groaned, bending forward as if that might help start her thoughts.
She could imagine herself walking home from the bar, but then, was that her memory from last night or was it just that she had done it so many times the journey was engraved in her memory?
She held her breath, trying to search her mind for what happened after she had closed the door to Raven’s bar. She’d not talked to anyone. She’d not seen anyone.
She hadn't been drunk.
“Fuck,” she rasped out to herself as her thoughts and memories meshed together in one great tangled mess, evading her. It was almost like the memory of last night was just around the corner in her mind, and she couldn’t move to see it, and it wouldn’t come out to her. Maybe I had just been more pissed than I realised? She thought to herself. “But that doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense.”
It didn’t matter, did it? No. She’d just get dressed, go to work and try not to agonise over whatever this was. As if that were possible. She knew herself. She’d try at least. This would linger in her mind until she knew. If she didn’t have to go to work, she would have got dressed and gone outside to trace her steps, just to try to jog her memory. Maybe she could do that later?
Slipping her hand under her pillow, she felt for her bed clothes. It was where she usually stashed them after getting changed for the day, but her hands came up short and there was nothing under her pillow. As she reached further along the bed, twisting in a painful angle, her hand hit something cold, hard and clammy.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” she shrieked, leaping from the bed, trapping her foot in the bed sheet and falling to the floor, sending her on her backside a foot from the bed. She scurried toward the window, heart pounding wildly in her chest, eyes on the vacant spot she had just left. “No. Fucking no.”
She let herself sit for a moment, breathing. Not even daring to look back over to her bed. She bit on her bottom lip, as she stayed, immobilised on the floor. Her backside ached from where she landed, but she stayed there as her mind tried to reconcile what she had seen. Backing up all the way to the wall by the main window, she could see only the top of her bed.
Slowly, she used her hands on the wall behind her, to help herself stand. Her stomach rolled and bile rose in her throat, as her eyes roved over the bed. All she could do was stare.
Her phone rang just then, bringing another yelp from her and sending her pulse so high that it hammered between her ears and threatened to knock her over again.
She carefully reached for it, stepping sideways, slowly as if she might disturb something. Her eyes on the bed, she clicked accept on the call and brought the phone to her ear. “Hello?” she said, into it.
“Lou? It’s Raven.”
“Hey Raven,” she said, flatly. “What can I do for you?”
She heard the sound of something banging in his background, creating a strange split in her head for a moment as life echoed down the phone, but in her room, it was just death. “Everything okay?”
Louise nodded, wide eyed and trembling as she pressed herself into the wall so much it was almost like she could make herself sink into it and escape what she was seeing. She almost moved the phone and forgot that Raven was even there.
“Lou?”
“Yeah?”
“You okay?”
“I’m fine … “
“Are you sure?”
“Sore head.” She sucked in her breath and closed her eyes, focusing on the deep breathing Raven was doing on the other end of the line to calm herself and give her mind a semblance of peace for a moment. H
e’d been running by the sounds of things. She pictured him in her head, out in the sunshine, running through the woods … finding her house … seeing what was in her bed … No. She made her mind stop. “Sorry. Everything good with you?” She angled herself so that she was facing the wall, and not her bed.
“Yeah. Listen. I know you worked last night, but we have a band on tonight, too. Nothing big, but Vet’s called in sick so I need to work the bar, which means I can’t watch the crowd.”
She pressed her hand against the wall, leaning on it for support. “Vet’s sick? How does that work?” Yvette was a vampire. She worked for Raven behind the bar; vampires don’t get sick. They’re either dead, or … undead.
“I don’t know. Some emergency thing at home. Anyway. I am one down. I know it’s a big ask, but can you cover?”
“Sure,” she said without really thinking about it.
“Well that was easy,” he said. “I was about to offer you double pay.”
“It’s fine, mate,” she said cutting him off. “I’ll come in. Usual time? Eight?”
“Yep. See you then.”
She hung up before he could say goodbye, cutting herself off again from the outside world and leaving her alone in the room … with … Shit. She could hardly think the word for it, much less admit what it was. She was in so much trouble. She didn’t even know where to begin.
What the hell had she done last night?
Locking her phone, she let her arm hang by her side as she pivoted round, slowly. Maybe she had been seeing things. Maybe it was all just a mistake from her very hung-over mind.
But no.
Still there … still dead.
A body. In her bed. Blood everywhere. Eyes open … a dead body.
But not just anybody. Nope. That would be too easy.
Louise swallowed hard, trying to calm herself. Odd blond hair stood up from the head on the other pillow. Stood up like a damn sore thumb.
Chapter 3
Pulling on her bathrobe, and knocking back two painkillers and a shitload of coffee, Louise dared to stare at the body in her bed. Dared being the operative word. She had spent the last fifteen minutes in her kitchen trying to force herself to believe there was no body; that she had been imagining it and she just needed to wake up. But no, she had gone back to the room, and it was still there. Dead as the night.
She could just about stand in the room, and not run out of the house yelling for someone to come and deal with it, instead of her. Why? Why the fuck was this happening? She wasn’t squeamish, at least she didn’t think she was, but shit, there was a lot of blood from what she could see, and she hadn’t even looked that closely at him.
She puffed out her cheeks, her stomach already shaking and making her regret the coffee. “You can do this,” she said, standing by the door to her bedroom. “He’s dead.” She had pulled the blinds down in case anyone came knocking and peeked through the window to see if she was in. She also locked and dead bolted her front door–paranoia setting in—sure that there might be a giant neon flashing sign above her house, reading, Body in here. She did it.
Except, she didn’t, did she?
She didn’t have a bloody clue. Clenching her fist around her phone in her pocket, she chased away the thoughts about calling the law. She should. Any law-abiding citizen of the Society would …
But?
What was she meant to say to them?
Sorry sir, I woke up with this dead guy.
Did you kill that man, Louise?
Well, you know officer, I don’t actually remember. I might have.
If she called DSA—Department of Supernatural Affairs—she’d have a shitload of explaining to do and even now, she couldn’t make sense of it. How would she tell some official what had happened without coming off like a lunatic? She had all the relevant numbers for the DSA. Cade MacDonald, being the name listed at the top for matters such as this. She didn’t know him, but she was pretty certain he wouldn’t come here as a friend, take the body away and then just leave her about her business.
“Why does this shit always happen?” she huffed out, throwing her head back a moment ready to throw herself into some full-on tantrum. She would have done too, if it would have worked.
Sighing inwardly, Louise stepped into the room, almost having to make herself do it. One leg forward, and then the other, before her head flew into panic mode.
Standing beside him, she pressed her lips tightly together and exhaled long and hard through her nose. “Gloves,” she said suddenly, realising that she couldn’t touch a thing. Gloves … She nodded at herself like a child who had just realised they could get out of the homework they didn’t want to do. She dashed to the bathroom and yanked open the drawer to her dresser. There was a box of latex gloves in there that she used when she was dying her hair. Disappointment swirled in her gut at the idea she might have got out of having to examine the body … but then what?
It didn’t matter.
She went back into the room, her hands safely covered with the gloves and her hair tied back. She had seen those CSI programmes. She knew anything could fall from you and land on those bodies. It just took one hair, and then you’re screwed, game over. She would not go to the execution table because of one hair.
Okay ... a little at a time. "Let’s do this." There is a perfectly good explanation to this. She clutched the edge of the duvet, which was positioned just enough that all she could see was the blond's head and the pillow with the red halo. That much blood ... she wasn’t stupid. Holding her breath, she peeled the cover back inch by inch, revealing his neck. "Ah, shit." His throat had been slashed; opened like a zipper by the looks of things. She closed her eyes and let her mind take that in. The image now burned to her brain like a red happy smile in the wrong place.
Pressing her lips tightly together, she opened her eyes again, lowered her head and pulled the cover back more. His chest was clear of blood; it hadn’t gone past his collarbone level, but red lines went in two directions across his chest. "Shit, are those?" she stared at them. Those weren’t slashes done by a blade or a claw. Nope. That would have been better. These were the scratches of a lover. Thin red nail marks like someone had done them mid-coitus.
She stared at the back of her gloved hand, suddenly alien to her and throbbing with her guilt. "Shit." She had to know. She let the cover back down on the man’s chest and then popped her glove off and looked at her nails. The middle one was broken, the jagged edge staring at her like a guilty verdict. Putting her hand into a claw like pose, she examined under the nails, her heart sinking at the sight of what was clearly skin under there. "No. I didn’t do it," she murmured to herself, shaking her head.
She had to step back a moment before she lost it on the guy. She hadn’t done this. She hadn’t. She’d be covered in blood, right? If she had slit a man's throat?
"There is a perfectly good explanation to this," she said to herself, out loud this time, as if that would give it more credit. Pulling her glove back on, she lifted the cover again. Inching it back. His stomach was clear. His taut muscles bulging at his midriff. She went lower still, pulling it back to the top of where the pubic hairs started. They were dark, unlike his head hair. "Jesus, no," she said, shaking her head as she pulled the cover back to his thighs. "Fucking naked."
She couldn’t have been so drunk last night that she would have had sex with this man. She loved Lee. She wouldn’t cheat on him. Not ever. This was impossible.
She gritted her teeth, trying to halt the mental chatter that was taking her way off course. "Okay. Think Louise. Let’s go over this."
She stared at him, her mind trying to lock into the right places and assess everything, but her eyes were damn determined to focus on the fact that he was naked and in her bed, in Lee’s spot. She had to pull the cover back just to his abdomen.
“Right. Shit together time.” Instead of staring at his genitals, her eyes went to the gash in his throat and the blood. She would say there was a lot, based on what sh
e had seen on the television, it wasn’t nearly as much as that. But then that was the movies, right? It didn’t mean they were accurate all the time. But they had to be based on truth.
The cut on his throat was neat. She could tell that much just from where she was without having to touch him. There was no blood on his chest, either, which meant he was lying down when his throat was slit, right?
“Right,” she nodded at her own thoughts, ticking off a mental checklist as if she knew what she was doing. She leaned in closer to him and sniffed. Nothing. Not that she had the senses of a shifter or an Other like that, but … oh hell. She leaned in closer so her nose was almost at his skin.
“Fuck,” she said, scrambling back, as her nose latched onto that acrid tang. “Human.” She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and heaved. “Oh god,” she said, turning suddenly and dashing out and into the bathroom. She only made it in time as she threw back the toilet lid and vomited all the coffee back up.
Fucking Human.
It wouldn’t matter who she called or what she said, now. Dead Human in her bed, she was fucked. She could have been on a trip out of the country and the Human authorities wouldn’t care. To them, it would be a reason to pop off another Other and they would take it. She didn’t have the Society to back her and fight in her corner on this one. She wasn’t important. She didn’t pay for that level of membership with them.
Shit.
Pulling the gloves off, she ran cold water and splashed it onto her face, calming herself. Her hands shook so badly that she couldn’t even hold herself still enough to do that. “I'm so screwed,” she cried as she stepped back and sat on the edge of the bath. “God.”
What the hell had she done last night and why couldn’t she remember? It was that, that was pissing her off more than anything—the not remembering. At least if she had killed this guy, or even had sex with him, she should have had some kind of memory of it, right? But it wasn’t there. Nothing was. It was like someone had managed to hit the erase button on that section of her brain. But the Humans wouldn’t give a fuck when they found one of their own in her bed, dead.
