The Darkness of Sable

by Faith Bicknell

  A strangled shriek wrenched free of Sable’s lips. She yanked on the door again, but realized it opened outward, not inward. Another gale of warmth flowed over her, and suddenly the door flew open. Sable fell through it, nearly falling flat on her face on the stairwell landing. She spun and shoved the door shut.

  Quiet followed.

  Sobs burst from Sable.

  “Sable?” Hal called. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” she replied, chest heaving, her body trembling as if she’d grabbed an exposed electrical wire. “I’m just upset with all this wasted time.”

  “Hell, I told you this was pointless.”

  She glanced up at her ex-husband on the sidewalk, his hair glistening gold and white fire, body trim, toned, his sports jacket and slacks hugging flesh and bone she knew by heart. He looked so handsome, beautiful in fact, and yet on the other side of the door behind her, something ugly and evil lurked.

  Or is it all in my mind?

  “What’s taking you so long?”

  “I’m thinking,” she replied in hopes her voice sounded normal. “I can’t think when you’re yammering at me, so shut up for a minute.”

  His irritated sigh reached her.

  At that moment, all she wanted was to go back to the hotel and see Thomas. She needed him to take her in his arms and hold her, hear his deep, velvety voice as it rumbled in his chest and warmed her heart. She desired the safety of his presence, the security he always instilled in her when she was upset or frightened. For now, she had to put Cheyenne’s whereabouts on a backburner and focus on her weird encounters with the violet-eyed monsters. Were they just figments of her imagination? If she told a psychiatrist what she was seeing—wait, the thing in the basement had yanked on her hair.

  “Hal?” she called.

  “Yeah?”

  “Did you see the bag lady?”

  “Yes. What the hell kind of question is that?”

  “Never mind.”

  The trembles finally subsided, but the scalp at the base of her skull still smarted where the beast had snatched at her braid. With a deep breath and a dollop of willpower she barely managed to scrape together, Sable slowly climbed to the street.

  “You look like you just saw a monster,” Hal said. “Did you meet the Bogey Man or something?” He laughed. “Bumped into that nasty squatter down there, didn’t you?”

  She waved at the chauffeur waiting in the vacant parking lot. “You could say that.” She turned her back to him and bowed her head. “Look at the skin at the base of my skull and tell me if you see anything.”

  His fingers touched her head, parting the hair around the top of the braid. “It’s as red as a chapped ass,” he said. “What did you do?”

  “I caught my braid on something,” she answered, an odd feeling of victory and apprehension spreading through her. The thing had grabbed her braid. But what if the monster was just the result of a chemical imbalance in her brain? What if she had caught her braid on something, and her brain told her it was the creature that had hold of it?

  The white stretch pulled up at the curb. Sable hesitated getting in the back seat. What if one of those creatures was still inside the car?

  “Ma’am?” the chauffeur said.

  She blinked, realizing her driver had spoken to her. “Thank you.”

  She climbed into the back, her heart galloping so hard she couldn’t hear anything else. Furtive glances around the car showed the usual things. Hal got in beside her.

  No monster…yet.

  The limousine moved onto the street. Sable glanced back at the steps leading down to the basement. She blinked. There, watching them drive away, sat the shaggy black dog.

  Silence hung heavily in the car as the limo driver drove Hal back to his hotel. Grateful for the quiet, Sable dissected the events of the past two days and her afternoon with her ex-husband.

  Questions tumbled through her head. What had happened to the infinity-and-lily symbol back at the basement bar? Better yet, what the hell had happened to The Threshold? How could it be there and then not? Was Hal right about her having the wrong location? She could’ve sworn she had the correct place.

  And why did the big, black dog seem to show up everywhere she went? Was it also part of her imagination? She barely shook her head. No, she’d seen it, and so had Goldie’s driver. It just didn’t make any sense. For that matter, since arriving in Naples, nothing made sense.

  “Remember, you’re among friends.” The homeless woman’s words flowed through her mind on a wind of insecurity. What did she mean? And was it only coincidence that Rick and Goldie had said the same thing? People repeated phrases and sentences word for word all the time. Whenever she went shopping, clerks, friends, and acquaintances always said things like “How are you today?” and “Do you have plans for the weekend?” but that didn’t mean anything strange was going on. There was no conspiracy theory, no covert social club whispering and pointing fingers at her.

  But this was different somehow. The trouble was that she couldn’t figure out why it bothered her so much. Besides, ‘you’re among friends’ was good, right?

  What really nagged at her was Hal’s comment about her state of mind. If she wasn’t already questioning her sanity, she would’ve just brushed his words off as another attempt to antagonize her. She glanced over at him. He stared out the window, his palms flat against his thighs. By the way he clenched his jaw, she knew he was brewing a kettle of trouble.

  “Did you mean what you said about me and my sculptures?”

  He jerked. “Sorry, what?”

  “What you said about my sculptures, about me, did you mean it?”

  He frowned, and a shadow of puzzlement crossed his blue-ocean-water eyes. “What did I say?”

  She fought to keep her sigh of irritation contained. “That my sculptures are beginning to warp my mind.”

  “Oh.” He grinned. Nervous fingers searched in his jacket for his pipe and Zippo. “I just meant that you have an overactive imagination, that’s all. You’ve always had a highly creative mind, but your work has become so unusual that I think maybe your imagination runs away with you.”

  “Really?”

  A line appeared between his eyebrows. “Yes,” he said, “really.”

  “But you called me a nutcase, too.”

  Snorting derisively, he lit his pipe, his lips drawing and flexing on the stem as he puffed away. Finally, in a tired manner, he answered, “We’re all nutcases, aren’t we? Everyone has issues. We’re all neurotic from time to time. Hell, even Jacquelyn has her…moments.”

  Sable didn’t want to hear about his new wife, but at the same time she was curious, too.

  As if reading her thoughts, he asked, “Would you like to see a picture of her?”

  No, I don’t give a shit. She looked at him. His expression appeared hopeful. Good grief, he needs my approval! Her disdain and brash attitude wilted. I’m such a sap.

  She nodded.

  Hal withdrew his wallet from another inner pocket. In seconds, he slipped a photo from a clear picture insert. “I snapped this by the pool. It turned out so nice I had some wallets made.”

  Sable accepted the photo from him. Just like she suspected, Jacquelyn was a blonde bombshell with long, sculpted legs, hair that fell to breasts masquerading as emergency air bags, and curvy hips just lean enough to make her seem a few years younger than her true age. Well, this was certainly a lovely boost to my self-esteem.

  “She’s gorgeous,” Sable said and handed the picture back to him.

  “Yeah, but she knows it.”

  “Oh?”

  “She’s twenty-six, looks eighteen, and wields it like a sharp knife every time we have an argument. I know I’m quite a bit older than she is, but I get sick of hearing that she could have any man she wants, especially when she doesn’t get her way.”

  “But she married you.”

  He shrugged. “I think she really married my money.”

  The conversation left Sable
cold, disconcerted. Why was he telling her this? She didn’t want to know the gory, intimate details of his new marriage. She certainly never told Hal anything about the few flings she’d had. Nor would she ever reveal to him what she’d almost done with Rick last night or the blissful kiss she’d shared with Thomas, so why was he telling her about Jacquelyn?

  “Did you tell me this story about seeing Cheyenne to get me down here?” Hal asked.

  She snapped her gaze up to meet his. “What? No! I just showed you the bruises from the accident.”

  The frown on his face deepened. “How can you keep telling me that you saw her when it seems that—?”

  “Hal, I did see Cheyenne. Ask Thomas. He came to the ER to pick me up after I stumbled out into traffic in pursuit of her. I’m not making any of this up. Cheyenne’s real, alive.”

  The limo turned off the street and drove up onto the carport of the Seascape Hotel. Their driver waited for the car ahead to move then rolled to the entrance.

  “That means a police report was filed?” Hal asked.

  “Yes!”

  “So you didn’t call me just to get me down here?”

  “No, I didn’t.” It hit her. She gaped at him, and, for the first time in months, she actually experienced sympathy for her ex. “Oh, Hal.” Sable shook her head, fighting the overwhelming urge to comfort him. “You thought it was a last effort to get you back, and since things are rocky with Jacquelyn, you—”

  “Gotta go. I’ll call you.” He shoved out of the car before the driver could exit and walk around to Hal’s door.

  An emotion Sable couldn’t identify plowed into her with stunning force. Hal had married a young, beautiful babe to make himself feel…what? That he wasn’t older? To show that he had money, and putting it with his good looks would prove he could have any woman he wanted, or…?

  Did Hal still love her? Could he really want her back?

  Pain spread over the crown of her head and down to her eyebrows. If Hal did want her back, it was too late. He’d killed every trace of lingering feelings she’d ever had for him. How did she explain to the man that there comes a time when a person outgrows another and moves on without them?

  She blinked against the mounting headache caused by monsters, weird occurrences, uncertainties about her sanity, and now a repentant ex-husband. What next?

  Sable flopped against the seat and leaned her head back. “God, help me.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rat

  T homas had just enough time to shower and change before dinner with the wealthy art collector. The monster in The Threshold’s daylight realm had nearly caught Sable. However, the identity of the Paranorm flummoxed him. What the hell was it? Where did it come from?

  And even more so, why did these things want Sable?

  However, one more item on his list of questions nagged at him. How did Hal tie in to all of this? The stench of new magic had clung to the man that morning.

  He couldn’t go into the hotel with a massive sword strapped over his back, and if he entered his suite through his door, Sable might hunt for him in his room.

  With a sigh, Thomas parked his rental on the far side of the parking lot by a dumpster and walked around to the back of the hotel. A glance around assured him no one was nearby or lurking. He hopped onto the wall and climbed up the building’s side to their floor. A light ocean breeze cavorted around him, drying his perspiration-dampened shirt. The rough stucco beneath his palms grated his skin, and thoughts of a nice, cool shower tantalized Thomas’s thoughts.

  He’d be so relieved when this case could be put to bed, but what worried him was that it would end in disaster. Although he now realized more help was needed to protect his ward, he didn’t like the Paranorm the Judges had sent to beef up the security. Officer Rick Delmont was more than he seemed, more than a typical Old World Paranorm, and he wanted more than just to guard Sable, too. The guy’s interest was just too…too…

  Too sexual and too possessive. A growl escaped Thomas. That guy better watch his step with her.

  Upon reaching the third floor, Thomas halted abruptly. A young girl slid back the window of her room and gasped upon her discovery of a big black man scaling the building with a huge sword on his back.

  Damn, damn, and triple damn!

  He placed a finger to his lips, met the girl’s gaze, and asked, “Do you believe in monsters?”

  She nodded soberly, her blue eyes huge, clear.

  “I’m one of the good guys who kill those monsters, so not a word to anyone about me, understand?”

  “I have one under my bed no matter where I stay,” she whispered. “Do you think you can kill it for me?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Thomas smiled and winked at her. “Remember, don’t tell anyone. We work in secret, so the monsters don’t know about us.”

  “I promise.”

  He reached his window, pushed it aside, checked that all was clear, and clambered inside.

  Thomas placed the sword in its case and camouflaged its presence with magic. Instead of the large wooden storage box, an image of an end table replaced it. He stripped and showered quickly, his thoughts still centering on Sable and the strange black-smoke creatures that were pursuing her. None of it made any sense, and the clues were nonexistent. As he’d left the basement, the monster had merely studied him for a moment and then burst into dark powder to flow across the floor and up through the ventilation ducts.

  He’d have to contact Yasmine, but right now he had a business meeting, and he wanted to hurry next door to make sure Sable was safe.

  The limousine rolled smoothly through the streets of Naples toward their dinner destination. Sable wriggled under Thomas’s long, assessing looks. She’d always been lousy at hiding her emotions, but after the day she’d had, a person would have to be blind not to see she was tied up in knots.

  “You seem distracted tonight, Sable,” Thomas murmured next to her.

  “Rough day,” she said. “My headache has finally begun to ebb, so at least I feel better.”

  “Any day that involves Hal is a headache day.”

  “Exactly.” She gazed over at him. His chocolate-colored eyes held anxiety. “Have I done something to upset you?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He offered her a wistful smile. “I only want you to be happy, baby girl, so don’t worry yourself about insignificant matters. You have enough to occupy you with Hal’s presence, your daughter, and your obstinate muse.”

  She smiled and patted his leg. He captured her hand and laced his long dark fingers through her slender white ones. A gentle quietness stole through her. Calm filled her heart. She scooted closer to Thomas and laid her head on his shoulder.

  “I’ll be so glad when we can go home,” she said. The comfort he gave her spread from her heart and filtered through the highways of her nervous system. Why was it that only Thomas made her feel this way? She sighed contentedly. “The past two days have been crazy.”

  He squeezed her hand. “We can go home any time you like, but I’m betting you want to stay until you find Cheyenne.”

  “Ocean View Restaurant,” the chauffeur called.

  “We’ll discuss this later,” Sable said. “Let’s enjoy a nice meal and sell some sculptures.”

  Thomas dazzled her with a wide smile, and in doing so, Sable’s heart flip-flopped. He looks delicious in his black suit and red dress shirt. The memory of his lips upon hers flooded her mind, thus sweeping her body with heat and desire. She favored him with a last lingering glance and allowed the driver to help her from the car.

  Red tablecloths and black linens adorned the tables, and crimson tapers winked in their centers. She made a mental note to book reservations here the next time they should stay in Naples. Dinner of prime rib, sautéed vegetables, mashed herb potatoes, garden salad, and polite chatter ended with the sale of both Pensive Mother and Fighting Stallions to the art collector. Immensely pleased, the man excused
himself, claiming an early flight back to Chicago. He thanked Sable five times for meeting him in person, insisted on paying for his dinner, and left with a bounce in his step.

  Thomas leaned back and rolled his shoulders. “Do you feel like having coffee and dessert now or would you rather wait, go back to your suite, and order something later?”

  The intimate way he appraised her with his eyes prompted a wave of delight to shimmy up and down her body.

  Would he make love to her if the moment was right? Did she want him to? For an instant, she relived the feelings that had assailed her as he’d kissed her the night before. Heat rushed to her crotch. She shucked the idea, reminding herself that they were business partners, not lovers. Intimacy would only destroy everything.

  “Actually,” she said, “I’m dying for a piece of cheesecake with blueberries.”

  He nodded and signaled the waitress. “That does sound good.”

  “I’m going to go to the powder room,” she said, rising.

  He stood and helped her from her chair. “Coffee with dessert?”

  “Please.” She grabbed the strap of her shoulder purse and returned his infectious smile.

  “I’ll be waiting,” he drawled, the sound and tone of his voice launching a spear of desire that settled directly in her loins.

  Trembling slightly, Sable made her way across the dining room. His words had hinted at more than just the obvious. Had she imagined the suggestive tone, or was he just as attracted to her, too? Crossing the dining room, she sensed his gaze on her ass and the long expanse of her legs. She’d opted to wear a short, deep-green sequined dress and black three-inch Pradas, her hair pulled back at the nape of her neck in a faux emerald clasp.

  Men admired her as she strode by, but she knew that although she might not be built like Yasmine, her hair and legs certainly drew attention. A few women tossed envious looks her way, and one exclaimed in a loud whisper, “Oh, look at her gorgeous hair!”

  “Sable!”

  She halted and glanced around. There, a few yards away in a private corner, two women waved to her. She detoured to their table. “Goldie! Isa! So nice to see you.”