The Darkness of Sable

by Faith Bicknell

  The elderly woman nodded in greeting, her white, upswept do glistening like spun silver. “This is our favorite place to have dinner,” she said.

  “If I had known you were here, we would have invited you to join us,” Goldie said. She sipped at a glass of red wine and set the flute on the tabletop. “I was going to call you tonight.”

  “Oh? Do you have information about my daughter?”

  “Actually,” Goldie replied, “I’m meeting with some people tonight to grill them on Cheyenne’s whereabouts. Rumor has it that they’ve been seen with her, but that’s all I’ve managed to find out.”

  “Really?” Hope flowered in Sable’s chest. “Where? When?”

  “This is a group you don’t want to get involved with, Sable.” Isa stabbed a slice of Boston Crème Pie with her fork. “Let Goldie handle it.”

  “I don’t get it. Why can she talk to them but I can’t?”

  “I have a few questionable connections,” Goldie said. “I’m not proud of them, but the world of the wealthy reaches everywhere.”

  “The younger generation is into new things,” Isa said. She wiped her mouth with a napkin, placed it on her lap, and met Sable’s gaze. The expression in the old woman’s eyes sent a sliver of unease into Sable’s gut. “I’m only acquainted with such people so I can step in and protect my granddaughter if need be, but I avoid their world as much as I can, and so should you, my dear.”

  “But—”

  “I know these people.” Goldie straightened in her seat and smoothed her turquoise pyramid blouse. The restaurant’s amber lighting accentuated the brilliant colors of the roses-and-vines tattoo that climbed out of her blouse and wrapped around her neck. “These people wouldn’t take kindly to you showing up during our meeting. Trust me and let me handle it.”

  Defeated, Sable sighed. Disappointment weighed heavily on her. “It’s just that it’s so hard to sit by and wait when I’ve been searching for Cheyenne for so long.”

  A soft smile graced Goldie’s lips. “I understand that, Sable, I really do. Just let me have this meeting, and we’ll go from there, okay?”

  “Fine. Contact me the instant you find out something. I don’t care if it’s four a.m., just call me.”

  Chuckling, Goldie nodded, her blonde curls bouncing around her face. “I will. Don’t worry.”

  “It was nice to see you both again,” Sable said. “Maybe we can get together for a good meal before I return to New York.”

  Isa smiled. “Sounds lovely.”

  “I’ll be in touch,” Goldie said. “Enjoy your evening.”

  Once Thomas saw Sable detour to The Golden’s table, he rose and headed toward the corridor leading to the kitchen and the manager’s office. He rapped on the door and waited. In moments, a robust black woman answered and stood gaping up at him. Thomas took in her simple uniform. Above her shirt pocket, a nametag stated: Daneesha Tallbow, Manager.

  He held his hand out, and she accepted it. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, “but I need a private place to make a phone call. Would it possible to use your office for about ten minutes?”

  She blinked at him. “Use my office?”

  “Yes, I’m the founding agent of a huge New York City agency, and it’s necessary to make a call to seal a million-dollar deal. I’d rather not have other patrons listening in on my call, and it’s so unbelievably hot outside today. Otherwise, I’d use my cell phone.” At her indecisive silence, he added, “I’ll make sure I triple the tip I leave and pass a good word along about your establishment when I return to New York.”

  Ghostly dollar signs appeared in her dark eyes. She smiled and replied, “I have things to check on in the kitchen anyway. Take your time.”

  “Thank you so much.” Thomas stepped inside and moved to the desk where he sat down.

  The sounds of clanking pots, pans, and utensils permeated the wall behind him. Occasionally, he caught stray words and phrases from the kitchen personnel. Thomas searched in an inner jacket pocket. His fingers brushed something thin and cool. He withdrew the item, which looked like a clear piece of glass or crystal, and placed it on the desktop in front of a computer monitor. He laid his hand down on it, allowing the disc to warm from his touch, and then thought hard about Yasmine, calling her to him, insisting she contact him.

  It took a long moment, but the disc finally grew extremely warm, and Thomas removed his hand. Light rose from the glass in short, delicate tendrils as if vaporous spiders were trying to escape and only their legs could get through. The strands of illumination lengthened, blended into one, and then grew into a solid column of light the circumference of the round crystal beneath it.

  The top part of the column broke into pieces that took on the appearance of floating bubbles. They bounced and jostled one another as they climbed higher above the main source of light. Within seconds, the bubbles combined into a large one and solidified into a magical orb of communication. It floated in front of Thomas like a glass-gazing ball. It turned left then right, its colors shifting from solid white to pastels to brilliant rainbow hues.

  “Valimar?” a woman said. “What is it?”

  “Yasmine, we need to warn the Judges,” he replied gravely. In a rush, he explained what had transpired in the daylight realm of The Threshold. “So, whatever these things are that want Sable,” he finished, “they’re not of the Paranorm World—well, not that we’ve ever known, anyway.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” Yasmine’s voice filtered out of the orb. The color changed from sapphire to a deep rose. “Are you saying that we’re dealing with an unknown Paranorm? A world that hasn’t been mapped?”

  “Quite possibly.” Thomas leaned back and regarded the muted yellow and tan shimmering over the ball’s surface that indicated confusion. “The thing looked at me as if I was merely a gentle breeze that happened along. It didn’t consider me a threat in any way, but I do know that it was the same thing as the one that posed as an Asrai in my hotel bath.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “It disappeared the same way. In a puff of black dust or ash.”

  “That trait might help us pin down what these things are,” Yasmine said. “Let me talk with our historians and see what I can find.”

  “There’s something else. I think Sable’s ex-husband is connected to this case. He showed up here unexpectedly.”

  “So?”

  “He had the smell of new magic all around him.”

  “Shit,” Yasmine said. “That’s all we need.”

  “Exactly, but I’ll keep my eye on him, too.”

  “Good, I want regular updates.”

  “Oh, one other thing,” Thomas said. “There’s a girl on the third floor of my hotel. She’s Caucasian, about nine years old, and has dark-blonde hair and green eyes.”

  “What about her?”

  “She has a monster under her bed.”

  “So kill it.” The orb popped like a balloon, the sound loud in the small office.

  “Damn it, Yasmine! I don’t have time to…aw hell!” Thomas snatched up the crystal piece and pocketed it. Fuming, he hurried out to await Sable’s return from the powder room.

  In the restroom, Sable hung the strap of her purse over a hook on the stall door and used the facilities.

  “Sable.”

  With her fingers tangled in her nylons, she paused.

  “Sable…?”

  “Who’s there?”

  Water dripped.

  “Hello?” she called.

  A feminine voice replied, “I need to talk to you about Cheyenne, your daughter.”

  Excitement nudged Sable. “Just a second,” she said. “I’ll be right out.”

  “I’ll wait here.”

  Hurriedly, Sable finished straightening her nylons and pulled her dress down, passing her hands over the wrinkles.

  Shuffling reached her.

  Ploink. Ploink.

  She shouldered her purse, swung the door open, and stepped out into the bathroom. “W
hat information do you have?”

  An empty restroom greeted her.

  “Hello?” she called, her gaze sweeping the vanity booth, the changing table, and the waiting area.

  “I’m here.”

  Sable turned, gasped, and froze in shock. On the floor, a black rat sat looking at her. In a burst of dark smoke, the rodent vanished. The steel-gray vapor became a shadow that cavorted on the back wall. Although small, it grew larger, elongating and twisting as it developed into something humanoid.

  “I’m here to take you back with me,” the shadow whispered. A pair of violet eyes materialized on the wall, and the shadow took on more substance. “But if you’d like to fight, that would be lovely. I like it when they fight.”

  The thing lunged from the wall in a half-solid, half-vaporous form, its bright purple eyes flashing. Sable barely had time to register the fact that it appeared to be female with small breasts and slightly flared hips. She dodged to the side, the heels of her Pradas screeching on the tile floor.

  “Wonderful! You are a fighter!” the thing growled. It whirled and leaped toward her again.

  Sable ducked and ran into the edge of the stall door. Pain sang in her shoulder. She winced, righted herself, and spun to face the creature.

  “You’re not real,” she said, fear heavy in her voice.

  “Oh, but I am,” it answered, moving closer.

  “Wh-what are you?” If her heart slammed any harder, she’d faint and sprawl out on the floor.

  The thing slowly morphed until it solidified. Long, inky vapors twirled from its head and flowed around its shoulders as if its hair were living smoke. The female creature’s eyes blazed violet, and, in the center, a neon-green flame danced in place of irises. The she-creature’s thin lips peeled back. Sharp white fangs glistened in the lights.

  Trembles began in the soles of Sable’s feet. They traveled up into her calves, assaulted her knees, and transformed into earthquakes that rippled upward to the rest of her form. Certain she would fall off of her heels, she grasped the edge of the stall door to steady herself.

  This can’t be happening. It isn’t real!

  “Oh, but it is real, Sable,” the humanoid said.

  “How do you know who I am?”

  “We know everything there is to know about you,” the thing replied, a gleeful note in her voice. “You can’t escape us. We see all, know all. You are at fault for your parents’ deaths, your daughter’s disappearance, your divorce, even Hal’s new marriage. You must pay the price for your transgressions.”

  “What? Why?” A sob lodged in Sable’s throat. Her mind struggled to comprehend the image before her, the words it said.

  “Because you are full of sin,” it hissed. As if the word ‘sin’ tasted divine, the monster licked its lips.

  “No! None of that’s true!” Sable said.

  “It doesn’t matter.” The creature pointed at her with a long finger ending in a shiny, black talon. “You are guilty, so you must pay.” It jumped at Sable.

  Ebony claws swiped at her throat, the air from the action caressing Sable’s skin. Sable leaped to the right. She drew the door with her so the creature landed inside the toilet stall. The thing crashed into the commode and the back wall. It issued a furious shriek and whirled, facing her.

  Something awakened within Sable, something hot, indignant, and tenacious. It filled her with resolve and touched her mind with the power to fight back. The creature lunged for her, but Sable swung the door in the opposite direction, closed it with a loud whack, and held it shut. The monster smashed into it with an ear-piercing scream. The door jolted, and Sable nearly lost her grip on it, her shoes sliding across the tile.

  “Bitch!” the black nightmare hissed. “You shall pay!”

  “I already am,” Sable said, tears coursing down her cheeks.

  It grew quiet.

  Is it gone? Has it vanished?

  The door burst open, banging against the next stall. The force threw Sable backward. She teetered on her heels, heart knocking a furious rhythm.

  “We will possess you!” the creature snarled.

  Sable’s purse strap fell off her shoulder and nestled in the crook of her arm. With no other weapon available, she snatched her purse with her other hand and swung it by the strap. The first blow connected with the thing’s face. It uttered a startled sound and shook its head, its vaporous tresses snapping to and fro. Again, Sable whacked it with her purse. Sequins popped loose, rained down on the floor, and pinged off the inner walls of the stall.

  Momentarily taken aback, the humanoid retreated a couple of steps. The creature’s knees connected with the toilet, and she collapsed onto the seat.

  “Ma’am? Are you all right?”

  Sable kept swinging her purse at the monster’s head. The clasp broke. The purse opened, and her wallet, lipstick, iPhone, and a tiny cologne bottle, tumbled out to bounce across the floor. A small hairbrush fell out last.

  “Ma’am?” a voice said behind her.

  A furious sound tore from Sable’s lips. She hit the monster again only to have it vanish in a puff of gray-black smoke and a ring of dark ash. The hairbrush hit the edge of the seat and slid off into the toilet bowl. Plop!

  “Ma’am!” the voice shouted. “What’s going on?”

  Jarred out of her battle mode, Sable twisted slightly and looked over her shoulder. “What?”

  Caught in the act, shame crashed into her. A brawny black woman in a crisp white blouse and dark slacks regarded her with wide brown eyes, her face a mask of worry tinged with suspicion and skepticism. The woman probably thought she’d lost her mind.

  “Oh,” Sable said. “I’m sorry.”

  “What’s wrong? Are you okay, ma’am?”

  Shaking, Sable leaned against the doorframe. She sighed heavily and blurted the first lie that popped into her head. She noted the nametag, stating the woman’s name and title of manager. “A rat.” She watched the manager’s reaction. Well, it’s not an actual lie. It did start out as a rat.

  The woman’s eyes bulged. “A rat? In my restaurant?”

  Sable nodded forcefully. “I’m terrified of rats!” At least the tremble in her voice wasn’t an act. “I don’t know how the thing managed it, but it ran at me and jumped into the toilet to climb down the hole. I never knew rats could swim, did you?” She shivered, her nerves truly shredded, but wrinkled her nose in distaste to emphasize her story.

  “Uh…no, I didn’t.” The woman drew herself to her full height. “Are you sure it was a rat?”

  “Look at my purse!” declared Sable. “I tried to kill it, to hit it with something.”

  The manager swept one hand across her closely cropped hairdo. “Lord Almighty, what am I gonna do about a rat? Where there’s one there are others. Look, your meal’s on the house if you keep this quiet.”

  “Certainly,” Sable said. A worm of guilt for her half-lie wiggled in her gut. “I love your restaurant and would hate to see it shut down. I won’t say a word.”

  “Thank you!” The woman turned and reached for the door. “Is there anything I can do to…?” She glanced at Sable’s purse.

  She followed her gaze. “Oh. No, no. I’ll just gather my things and put them back in my bag. It’s not one of my best ones, so no worries.”

  The manager nodded and stepped through the doorway.

  Carefully, with trepidation stomping around in her heart, Sable stooped and gathered up her personal effects and checked for damage to her phone. Sequins glimmered on the floor, and a few had even landed in the toilet basin. The hairbrush could remain in the toilet bowl.

  She exited the stall, her legs quaking so hard she thought she might fall face-first on the tile. She had to get out of the powder room before that thing came back, but she couldn’t return to Thomas disheveled either. He’d take one look at her and know she’d been crying. It would raise questions, questions that she had no way of answering.

  The powder room’s door squeaked open. Sable glanced over h
er shoulder. Isa regarded her, a sympathetic expression on her lined face.

  “Oh. Hello, Isa.” A faint tremor still resided in Sable’s voice.

  “Are you okay?” the elderly woman questioned. “You look upset.”

  “I’m fine.” Fingering her hair, Sable smoothed it as best as she could. Quickly, she reapplied a coat of lipstick.

  “Your denial has manifested,” Isa said. “If you don’t do something about it—and quickly—it will do something about you.”

  Fear scampered up Sable’s spine anew. “My denial?” She met the old woman’s dark gaze in the mirror. An intense sensation emanated from Goldie’s grandmother. “What denial? And what do you know of it?”

  Another woman and her small daughter entered the restroom. The little girl chattered about having ice cream for dessert.

  Isa offered Sable a comforting smile. “Just remember that you’re among friends. There is help if you just ask.” She turned and left the restroom.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Invitation

  O nce back in her suite, Sable tossed her purse on the bed and strode to the bathroom where she slipped out of her dress and heels then shrugged into a hotel robe.

  She sat on a vanity stool. So many thoughts and questions, a tornado of mass destruction, spun in her head. Isa’s warning in the restroom had put the fear of God into Sable. And what or who was The Golden involved with that she couldn’t meet with these people, too? After all, she was Cheyenne’s mother. It was ridiculous to exclude her from the meeting.

  And what about the rat that had changed into a she-devil? She wondered for the hundredth time if she was losing her mind, but it seemed too much of a coincidence that Isa had appeared right after the encounter and warned her of—of what? That her denial was manifesting? What the hell did that mean?

  With a sigh, she wandered into the bathroom where she brushed her teeth. Back in her bedroom, she discovered Thomas standing next to the bed. He looked from the purse and its broken clasp and patches of missing sequins and then back to her, his eyes questioning and worried. “Okay,” he said, “tell me what happened back at the restaurant.”