Vote Then Read: Volume I

by Carly Phillips

  “They’ll protect you, just like your parents did.”

  She bit her lip, her focus on the door so unlike the one at home. “But Momma keeps talking to me,” she whispered. “She needs help.”

  So much heartbreak.

  Sadness.

  Momma’s all alone.

  Astasiya’s lips trembled. The dreams scared her the most. All that water with nowhere to go. She drowned over and over and over.

  And it hurt. So, so much. Astasiya woke screaming every time, that madman’s eyes fresh in her mind.

  They were just supposed to play hide-and-seek. But Daddy never came for her. She tried to find him instead, and she did, but her angel friend appeared and took her to a safe place with lots of trees. He promised to keep her safe, like he always did when he visited.

  But Momma isn’t safe.

  “I’ll search for your mom,” he said to her now, his voice soft yet stern. “While you live here, okay? And then one day, we’ll go find her together.”

  “Promise?” she asked. ’Cause if he did, then he’d have to see it through. Because that’s what Daddy always told her—a promise can’t be broken.

  “I vow it,” her angel friend replied, squeezing her hand. “We’ll find her.”

  She nodded. “Together.”

  “Together,” he agreed.

  “Gabriel,” a soft voice whispered through the cool air, causing the hairs along Astasiya’s arms to dance. She couldn’t see anyone other than the angel holding her hand, but she could feel the new presence.

  Another angel. This one was misting like her momma sometimes did when they played hide-and-seek. Technically, it was cheating because Astasiya couldn’t see her momma when she did that. Just like the unfamiliar angel who had joined them without revealing herself.

  Astasiya’s heart gave a big jump in her chest, her lips wobbling again. Can Momma mist under water? Does she have her wings?

  “Astasiya,” her angel friend murmured. “You won’t remember me when we meet again, but I will make sure you know the truth when the time is right.”

  Her eyebrows crinkled. That didn’t make sense. “But I know you.”

  “Yes, but to keep you safe, I need you to forget me. For now.” He looked toward the space where the chiming voice originated—at the invisible angel.

  Astasiya wished she could see, but she wasn’t old enough yet. Had to be a grown-up, her parents always said. But she so badly wanted to see the feathers, especially the blue ones her daddy once described.

  “Your mother has the most beautiful wings, little angel. A light blue with traces of white and sapphire. You’ll see them one day.”

  “Everything from this week, including Osiris if she saw him,” her angel friend said to the empty space.

  “What about the death?” the chiming voice asked.

  What color are your wings? Astasiya wanted to ask, but she knew it was rude to interrupt. She’d ask when they finished talking.

  “She needs that to grow,” he replied. “And Ezekiel needs to be the villain.”

  “I can do that. Anything else?”

  “Yes. Give her doubts about Caro’s true nature.”

  “That’s going to be difficult.”

  “Indeed, that’s why I called the best memory manipulator in existence for assistance.” His light eyes met Astasiya’s again with a sadness in them that reminded her of her dreams. “Consider me your personal Seraphim, Astasiya. I’ll always be watching over you.” He kissed her on the forehead and straightened. “Now, Vera.”

  The air tingled with energy. That feels weird.

  “Already started,” the chiming voice whispered.

  I don’t understand, Astasiya tried to say, but her lips didn’t move. Something felt… weird. Like floating. Another dream? But she didn’t want to sleep. Not yet.

  These people, who were they? Her new parents.

  No. She had parents.

  They… they died.

  No, they didn’t!

  Momma… water…

  Their house went up flames. Her mother and father inside.

  That’s not… It didn’t… What are you doing?

  Black eyes, flickering with gold embers.

  Drowning…

  She shivered. That face belonged to the devil. He lit a match and watched them burn. Astasiya had been trapped, hiding, watching it all happen. Every scream. Her name from her mother’s mouth.

  In my dreams, she calls for me. Not de—

  There was nothing she could do. Just watched them die. A horrible, painful death. That’s what happened when Astasiya persuaded—those around her were hurt.

  No! Daddy said it wasn’t my fault!

  Except, maybe, no. She shouldn’t have compelled that man for the ice cream. Her parents were found because of it. She would be found, too, if she ever did it again.

  They’d kill her.

  Just like her parents.

  She had to be good. She had to behave. She had to hide.

  With her new family. The Davenports.

  Astasiya blinked. Her head felt funny. Like she’d fallen down and hit it.

  Momma?

  She sniffled. No. Her momma was gone. She’d never see her again. And not because of the misting game. Or were those part of her dreams? Astasiya scrunched her nose, confused. It all felt so… wrong.

  “Goodbye, little sister,” a voice whispered in the wind, causing her brow to pucker.

  What was that?

  The doorbell rang, startling her from a daze. Had she just done that? Her fingers curled at her sides. She must have because no one else stood out here. Someone had just dropped her off.

  So fuzzy.

  And cloudy.

  “Astasiya?” a warm voice greeted, the female before her unfamiliar, but her eyes were kind. She smiled, holding out a hand. “Welcome home, sweetheart.”

  Home.

  She frowned. This isn’t my home.

  But she belonged here now. Because her parents died.

  That’s not…

  “Oh, Henry! Astasiya is here!” The woman sounded so happy. So welcoming. She even smiled a nice smile.

  Trustworthy.

  Astasiya felt her lips curl. This could be okay. Maybe she’d stay.

  But Momma needs me… She just couldn’t remember why. Something about water. No, a fire. It engulfed them, killing them, leaving her here.

  With the Davenports.

  Her new parents.

  My new home.

  Fate Comes Knocking

  Seventeen Years Later

  “Good morning,” Jeffrey greeted, smile firmly in place.

  Stas Davenport didn’t know how the elderly man always appeared so cheery. And in New York City, of all places. No one smiled here, especially not at this ungodly morning hour.

  “Hi,” she replied, forcing her lips upward. “Just here for Owen.” Who couldn’t be bothered to meet me at the café for coffee.

  “Of course, miss.” He never called her Stas even though he knew her name. “Go on up. I’m sure he’s expecting you.”

  “Thank you.” Stas managed another grin before stepping into the waiting elevator.

  You better be awake, Stas typed as the doors closed. And holding a coffee cup with my name on it.

  No reply.

  He’d texted her this morning reminding her to come over. If he fell back asleep afterward, she’d kick his ass.

  After her coffee, of course.

  She selected his floor and narrowed her gaze at the numbers overhead.

  “Let’s meet Saturday at seven,” she mimicked, doing a poor impersonation of her friend’s voice. “No interruptions that way.” Fuck. Not even her internship at the Catastrophic Relief Foundation (CRF) made her move around this early. Maybe she’d nap on Owen’s couch while he practiced his dissertation. The slides for his presentation were all correct. He just needed to follow along.

  She glanced at her screen again as she stepped out onto his floor.

  Stil
l no reply.

  He totally went back to sleep.

  Well, he wouldn’t be sleeping for long.

  She slid the phone back into her pocket, preparing her fists for a beating against his door. Except a man dressed in a tailored suit stood in her way, his focus on his hand.

  Stas frowned. Odd. Owen usually preferred bulky, blond men, not athletically lean males. This one was much taller than her close friend’s usual conquests, and prettier, too, in an aristocratically perfect kind of way.

  She could see the appeal, especially in the way his suit pants cut across his strong thighs.

  “So, you’re why Owen’s running late this morning,” she said in greeting. “I suppose I can forgive him, as long as there’s coffee waiting.”

  Striking blue eyes met hers, making her heart skip a beat.

  Pretty had been too feminine a word.

  Gorgeous was the more accurate adjective.

  His high cheekbones and chiseled jaw were a deadly combination with those midnight irises. Lizzie would be elbowing her repeatedly right about now, her not-so-subtle way of calling attention to a handsome man. Good thing Stas left her back at the condo.

  The elegantly dressed male glanced over her, his gaze exuding indifference before returning his attention to the phone in his hand.

  Not even a hello.

  Doorman Jeffrey would be so disappointed.

  “Right, well, nice to meet you, too.” She couldn’t help the sarcastic note at the end. Not smiling, she understood. Outright ignoring someone, especially after fucking her friend, qualified as rude.

  His alluring gaze shot upward, holding her in place when she would have moved around him for the door. “You’re talking to me?”

  Stas glanced up and down the empty hallway, her brow furrowing. “Who else would I be talking to?”

  He cocked his head to the side, renewed interest flaring in his pupils. “You can see me.” Not a question, but a statement.

  A tingle crept down her spine, centering at the base and flaring outward across her skin. She almost shivered, her breathing uneven.

  Something’s not right.

  She couldn’t tell what. Just an inkling. An instinct. It curdled against her insides, kicking up her pulse.

  I should—

  The man pushed off the wall, his over-six-foot frame dwarfing her five-foot-eight one.

  “You really can see me,” he repeated. “How intriguing.” His deep voice held a touch of a foreign lilt that she couldn’t put her finger on. English, maybe? But not exactly. The accent seemed aged somehow.

  “Uh, yeah. I can see you.” She doubted he escaped much female notice, but his personality left a bit to be desired.

  Her lips flattened as the stranger began to circle her, his midnight gaze roaming over her slowly and purposefully, touching on every curve and detail along the way. She swallowed, his blatant appraisal causing the hairs along her arms to dance in warning.

  That is not how a gay man looks at a woman.

  “Are you one of Jonathan’s new toys?” he asked. “Come to review the details before the authorities arrive?”

  “Jonathan?” What the hell is this guy talking about?

  “Hmm, perhaps not, then.” His irises finally returned to her own. “I doubt he’d send such a young candidate to survey the scene. Too brutal an introduction, but what is life without death?”

  Her blood chilled. Okay. Owen brought home a crazy person. A good-looking one, sure, but the man was clearly mad.

  “Right.” She took a step away from the lunatic and another toward the door. “I’m just going to go in and talk to Owen now. You have a good day, okay?”

  She took a third step, her fist raised to knock—

  The air whooshed out of her as she was yanked backward into something hard. Her lips parted on a scream, only to be covered by a warm palm. A band of steel came around her middle, holding her arms in place when she tried to squirm.

  Stas blinked.

  What the fuck just happened?

  Owen’s door remained closed beside her as she faced the hallway.

  The man stood behind her, his chest to her back, his solid arm around her waist, and his hand over her mouth.

  How?

  “Shh.” Warm lips brushed her ear. “I’m not done with you yet.”

  His tense form held hers with ease, his back brushing the wall behind him.

  Oh, hell no. Gorgeous man or not, she was not okay with being held against her will.

  She threw her elbow backward just as the door beside them opened.

  Thank. Fuck. Her muscles relaxed, relief settling over her shoulders. Owen would—

  Her nose twitched. What is that smell?

  So acrid.

  So potent.

  So familiar.

  Burning flesh. A distinct scent, one she would never forget, and it was coming from inside her friend’s apartment. Vivid memories overwhelmed her, locking her in place.

  Her parents screaming in the flames, telling her to hide.

  An evil man with eerie gold-flecked eyes.

  Laughter.

  Death.

  “He says to leave it,” a deep voice announced, stirring her from her memories, her palms clammy. “Someone will discover it soon.”

  “Works for me,” a second male replied, grunting.

  Both stepped through the threshold from Owen’s apartment in matching black outfits, their hulking sizes far more intimidating than the male behind her. Not that she trusted him any more than she trusted them.

  The one with lighter hair wiped his hands against his dark pants. He looked like the kind of man who went by Hank, while his olive-skinned friend was more of a Brutus.

  And neither of them appeared the helpful sort.

  They exuded an air of danger and malice, not because of the guns proudly displayed on their belts, but because of the grim satisfaction radiating from their expressions.

  Stas froze. What have you done to Owen?

  Because she knew that scent. It reminded her of death.

  No. That’s ridiculous. Maybe he burned breakfast, or popcorn, or something.

  But then who the hell are these guys and why are they here?

  A chill skittered down her spine, her heart in her throat.

  Don’t panic. It could—

  She held her breath as Hank turned to close the door. Why he scared her more than the man behind her did, she didn’t know. It was all driven by instinct.

  And he would see them in three, two…

  He looked right at them.

  Nothing.

  “All right, let’s go.” It was directed over her head.

  Oh, right. Because they’re working together.

  Of course they’re working together.

  Why else would the deranged man be here, holding me against my will? He’d clearly been waiting for these goons in the hallway.

  I just need my mouth free, then I can get to Owen.

  “Nah, something seems off out here.” Brutus searched around them. “You feel it?”

  Hank glanced up and down the corridor, his gaze passing over them in the process. “Yeah, I feel it. It’s probably a residual from that.” He gestured at Owen’s door.

  Stas shivered, not liking the insinuation or the stench still wafting around them. What happened? Where’s Owen? she wanted to demand. She started to squirm, only to be held tighter by the man behind her, his palm practically smothering her mouth.

  Does he know what I can do?

  Are they here for me?

  Impossible.

  Brutus shuddered. “Yeah, that was bad.”

  Hank didn’t seem as bothered and continued walking. “Let’s just go.”

  Yeah, no thank you.

  Stas had played this game of quiet mouse long enough. All she needed was to free her mouth. One demand would solve the problem.

  Wiggling hadn’t worked.

  So she stomped her heel against the man’s expensive shoe instead, eliciting
a wince from him. She lifted her foot in an attempt to loft a kick backward into his shin and only met air.

  Her shoulder blades protested as her captor slammed her into the wall. Hard.

  Fuck.

  She struggled to move but couldn’t. Both of her wrists were in one of his hands above her head. The rest of her was pinned between the wall and his body. Her chest heaved against his at the wasted effort. She would have screamed, but his other hand had never left her mouth.

  Blue fire swirled in the depths of his gaze, the intensity of it scattering goose bumps down her arms. Fury poured off of him in waves, intoxicating her, thrilling her, terrifying her.

  Who are you? she wanted to ask. What are you doing to me?

  “What the fuck was that?” Brutus stared right at her, his murky eyes emanating confusion.

  Stas waited for her captor to reply, but he didn’t. He seemed to be concentrating very hard on holding her against the wall despite her lack of a struggle.

  “Probably one of the neighbors waking up. We gotta go, dude.” Hank stood at the top of the stairwell. “Now.”

  “Nah, that was something else…”

  “Man, I’m leaving with or without you. Your choice.” He went through the door, leaving Brutus in the hallway. His dull eyes passed over them again without focusing. Almost as if they weren’t actually there.

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  He can’t see us.

  The male’s irritated expression said, Finally.

  Oh…

  His earlier statement, “You can see me,” suddenly took on a whole new meaning.

  Her eyes went wide. No… That’s not possible.

  And yet, entirely plausible.

  Stas knew better than anyone that the supernatural existed. Not the kind kids enjoyed reading about or the stuff of fairy tales, but the real kind. The scary kind. The kind that killed.

  But she’d been so careful. No one knew about her psychic talents—no one alive, anyway.

  The door to the stairwell slammed, the finality of it shuddering down her spine.

  Blue eyes burned into hers, the intensity stealing her breath away. He’s one of them—a supernatural. And now he knew she existed.

  Her father’s smile had been so sad…

  “You have to play today, little angel. For me and your mom. Just in case the bad men come, okay?”

  “ ’Cause of the ice cream?” she whispered, her heart breaking. Daddy always said not to use compulsion on strangers. Bad things happened. Now the bad men were coming. Because of her.