by Kim Faulks
Her head snapped up. Home. That’s the last place she wanted to go, but it was where Claire had gone, wasn't it? She’d gone there for Helaine. The car park shifted under her feet, causing her to sway. Helaine reached for the elevator doors, taking strength from the cool steel. Home. She had no choice. Thoughts of the alley last night invaded her mind. Those people, that club. Something called to her a sense of familiar. No, she had to go on her own. She hard to find Claire. Helaine looked up at Marie and nodded. "Yes, please. It's not far from here. I live on Martin Street."
The older woman nodded. "Sure, let's get you home safe and sound." Helaine didn’t miss the way the older woman’s alarm faded to relief.
Do I sound that crazy?
Safe and sound. Those words haunted her as she followed Marie to her car. She climbed into the passenger's side and slammed the door shut behind her.
Marie backed out of the parking space and drove down the exit ramp. What if Claire isn’t there? Another thought chilled her. What if she is… and there isn't anything wrong? What if this is really all in my head, would Claire call Mark? Will they have me committed? She closed her eyes, already feeling the restraints around her wrists and the sting of the needle in her arm. Images of betrayal surfaced in her mind. Please not again.
"Is this the right place, Helaine?" Marie's voice broke through the paralysis her memories brought. She stared up at her second-story balcony. Sunlight glinted off the glass. Shards of light pierced her eyes, obscuring any view into the apartment. Her headache cranked up a notch.
Helaine reached for the car door handle. She was stopped by a hand on her arm. "Honey, are you okay? You're starting to worry me. Do you want me to take you someplace else? The police maybe?"
"No." Helaine snapped, her heart hammering. “Not the police. Not again.” She softened her tone. "Thank you. I'll be fine. Just fine." The last two words came out as a whisper.
Helaine grabbed her bag and opened the car door. Scanning the street behind her, she spied Claire's red hatchback. Her hopes rose, but no one was inside.
So Claire’s inside my apartment. Dread seeped through her veins. She’d have to go inside.
"Okay, well, if you—“She slammed the door, cutting Marie short.
Helaine trod the worn pavement, staring up at the apartment, searching for movement through the glass. A reflection of the rundown neighborhood was all she could see.
She pushed through the front door, adding her fingerprints to the filth on the glass. The rev of Marie’s engine as her co-worker drove away underscored the fact that she was alone.
She tried to ignore that voice inside her head, forcing herself to take one more step. There's nothing to worry about. Claire's fine, she just forgot the time. The thought was like concrete, hardening her nerves.
There was no going back now. Nowhere she could hide. No choice but to face whatever waited upstairs. Though irrational, she couldn’t shake the idea that something besides empty rooms lay in wait. Her heart tattooed Claire’s name to the inside of her ribs, but fear made her footsteps lag. The building was quiet, except for the sound of a news report somewhere on the first floor.
And her heartbeat.
Run.
Gripping the rail, Helaine forced one foot after the other, climbing the stairs. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck.
She opened the door on the landing a crack and peered inside. The hallway was empty. No mysterious voice called from inside her head. She scanned left and then right, catching sight of her apartment door, slightly ajar. Claire’s still in there.
She forced leaden legs to move. Helaine pushed the handle and peered inside her empty kitchen from the hall.
"Hey, Claire. Did you forget me, or something?"
There was no answer. She stepped into the kitchen, leaving the door open behind her. "Claire?"
An eerie stillness swallowed her. Not even the ticking of her grandmother’s wooden mantle clock penetrated the void. She glanced at the round dial, the black metal hands moving ever so slowly while she tried to control her breathing, tried to still the thunder of her heart, and quieten the voice as it whispered. Run.
She skirted the kitchen walls and shuffled past the table. Her things no longer looked like hers, as though they were somehow tainted.
Get out of here. Call the police, call anyone—just leave. She fixed her gaze on her bedroom doorway, searching for the flicker of shadows.
"Claire, if you're in there, answer me."
Helaine pinned her trembling lip with her teeth as she stepped into her bedroom. She skimmed the room, catching sight of Claire's bag on the bed.
Maybe she's hurt. Maybe she's slipped in the bathroom. She could be knocked out, maybe she needs me? Her heart slammed as she shot forward, clearing those last few steps in one leap.
Her shoulder hit the door frame. Pain shot along her neck. She stumbled and reached for something to hold onto, but her feet slid from under her.
Blazing red splattered the black-and-white tile walls and dripped from the basin. Blood—everywhere. Her grip tightened, but her hold on the sink wasn’t enough. Her knees connected painfully with the ceramic floor.
That knowing voice inside whispered.
I told you to run.
CHAPTER THREE
"So, do you want to tell everyone what happened last night, or do you want me to?"
Creed jerked his head up and stared into black pools. Nile leaned over, boxing him in.
He held his brother's gaze. "You wanna move that hand? Cause if you don't, you're gonna lose it, and no amount of Egyptian magic will bring that back."
One thick, dark eyebrow shot high. Nile slid his hand back slowly and muttered. "Jesus, someone needs a damn Happy Meal."
Creed tried to focus on the family’s lunchtime banter, hoping to hell the merriment would calm his frayed nerves. Loc hunched over his plate at the end of the table, shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth at an alarming speed. The mountain-sized man’s biceps bulged. Movement rippled along his shoulders and neck in a never-ending wave, down, up, down, up, down, up. The piece of bone jutting from his earlobe see-sawed as he dipped his head.
Loc enjoyed himself last night, sowing his wild, Aztec oats. He should be happy and content. Anyone else would, but not this brother. In the hundreds of years they'd been family, Creed had yet to see the mountain smile.
His brother stopped the rhythmic plunge and heave, snagging Creed's stare in his own. The overhead light reflected from his eyes, making them shimmer like black marbles. There was judgment in his eyes, even though he hadn't said a fucking word. Creed clenched his fist, trapping the fork.
The woman who’d crashed their party last night plagued him. She had the distinct scent of naïve about her. But there was no way a naïve would be able to find their way into the covenstead. There’s just no way.
Keeping her a secret from the others was wrong—deep down he knew that, and still, something kept him from telling them about her. He broke Loc's stare to look down at his own plate, piled high with sausages, homemade muffins and something that looked like a damn dried egg yolk trapped in pastry.
He stabbed the small rectangle with his fork and the pastry crumbled. "What the hell is this?"
"It's an apricot Danish. Do you like it?"
Creed caught the flutter of an apron in the corner of his eye and glanced up at Heath. The man looked fucking ridiculous, bulging muscles wrapped in a crisp white apron edged with... Jesus, is that fucking lace?
"It's my own recipe. I made it from scratch." Heath stood there waiting for a reaction like some needy housewife.
Creed stared down at the wounded pasty and then raised his eyes again, trying to find the right words. He caught the flicker of hope in Heath's eyes and then watched it die. "It looks delicious, Heath. You've made us a bloody feast, brother."
Heath's smile widened instantly. "I knew you'd like it. I—"
A thump and scream wrenched Creed’s attention to the hallway. A crack of thunder r
everberated along the wall. What now? He shot to his feet. His chair clattered to the ground. A scream tore through the air.
"Heath! If you don't come and get this fucking pig, I'm gonna make us pork belly pies for dinner. I swear to Nemesis, I will."
"Shit," Heath muttered, looking to Creed for safety. "I gotta go save the pig, but whatever happens in there, promise me one thing.”
Creed nodded, waiting for his brother to finish while Heath’s familiar squealed like a banshee.
“Don't. Ever. Let. Her. Cook."
Creed shuddered with the thought of Fate turned loose with a hot oven and cast iron pans. They'd all starve—by choice. "Then you best hurry up."
Heath strode forward, wiping his hands on the apron as he disappeared through the doorway. Creed tensed, waiting for the battle to begin. Heath was the only male witch he’d ever known with a female Goddess. Hestia, in all her hearth-witch glory, was his perfect match.
Creed shook his head. The dude looked fucking ridiculous most of the time. But no one was game to tell him that, least of all Creed. The brother was sensitive about the subject. Heath and Hestia were a perfect match. He wasn't soft—far from it. He fought the Corrupt just well as the rest of them. No one called him soft. Not to his face, anyway.
"You’re fucking soft, Heath. Soft! Do you hear me?"
Creed groaned as Fate stormed through the doorway, eyes blazing, hair disheveled. Leather and metal shone under the frayed fabric of her cloak. "That pig has got to go. She just trashed my room and tore my robe!"
From behind him, Nile’s sigh was audible. "Fate, it's a damn pig. It's not out to get you. Heath, tell her."
"Oh yeah? When's the last time she trashed your room?" She snarled, flouncing into the seat opposite Creed. Heath walked in and glared at Fate’s back. The pink bundle in his arms squirmed and squealed.
They waited for Nile to answer. When he didn't respond, Fate mumbled, "Yeah, that's what I thought. The damn bitch is out to get me. I know it."
"Well, she's female and you like female, right? So maybe you should try out some of those sexy moves that women seem to love sooo much?" Nile crooned.
Creed stooped for the fallen chair. This was his cue to leave, before the shit in here turned nasty. He grabbed his plate and stalked to the end of the table, taking refuge with the silent Loc. He was not about to get in the way of Fate's fury and end up getting stabbed.
"You're bloody jealous, aren't you Nile? Fuck, you're pathetic. It was one girl. One fucking girl." Fate snarled at Nile like a lioness. “You never even knew her name for fuck’s sake.”
Nile stabbed his finger in her face. “Yes, I did. It was… Monica… Melanie….”
“Megan. Her name was Megan.”
The argument was an old one, and going nowhere. There were bigger problems to contend with. Creed looked to the other members of his family. Miro kept his gaze straight ahead, trying his best to ignore the bickering. He balanced a throwing spear in the palm of his hand, showing the weapon to Ned. The two brothers were more alike than anyone else in the coven. Both came from the bush. They were the protectors of the land. Miro was of dark skin and wide brown eyes, while Ned was fair with cropped hair and a bushy beard with bright hazel eyes that held you.
Like Creed, all were here for the same reasons—to fight the Corrupt.
Miro and Ned were the newest additions to the Crux Coven. They'd once been members of Hallowed Land, a coven who called Melbourne home. Or they had, before the last battle... before he'd lost Lila.
Creed swallowed the pain and pulled her memory from his heart, where he kept the pain of her loss safe—and alive.
He forced his attention to the two new members again. They depended on him to survive. They trusted him, with not just their lives, but their destiny. Guilt flooded him. He couldn't lie to his family. He couldn't keep something this important from them, no matter how he felt.
Creed slammed his fork down and spoke. "I believe the woman from last night is a danger to us. If she comes around again, I don't want anyone approaching her. Come and find me. I’ll deal with her myself."
"Whoa, there. Hold up. What woman?" Nile stood.
He kept his voice steady. "The woman who broke through my wards last night."
"Wait. What?" Nile's gaze hardened. He looked from Fate to Loc and then back to Creed. "What do you mean, broke through your wards? That’s impossible."
Creed grimaced. "Apparently not. Fate can describe her. But I don't want anyone going after this woman until I can figure out who the hell she is and what she wants with us." Creed stared at each of his family in turn. "I mean it."
"What? You expect us to abandon our home and run to you with our tail between our legs like a whipped fucking dog?" Fate snarled. The others barked in agreement. Except Loc. The mountain just stared at him.
“First Sarah shows up. I don’t trust a witch with no coven. Why’s Sarah so determined to go it alone? That bitch uses this place like some damn motel, just coming to show off her new slave. And now you’re saying there’s a naïve just waltzing through the door?” Nile got to his feet, sweeping Creed’s plate aside with a huge forearm. Leaning across the table, he glared into Creed’s eyes before cutting Loc a sharp glance. “What the fuck’s going on?”
Wasn’t the fact that Loc and Sarah had some sort of... connection… enough to deal with? Uneasiness slithered down Creed’s spine. He'd watched them in the back room with her new piece of meat last night at the party. Collared and dominated was not his thing, but the mountain had looked like he enjoyed the show... a lot. Enough to participate.
Creed’s stomach twisted, but his wince had nothing to do with his physical discomfort. Was he really going to question his brother's motives? This entire fucking situation made him question… everything.
Anger and desperation ripped through him. Defeat was not in his nature—it wasn't in any of their natures.
"I know you don't like living like this. I don't either." Fate muttered in the background. He ignored her and continued. "I don't think she’s an Elder. I'd know if the Corrupt breached my wards. But until I figure out who—or what—she is, I'm not about to risk the safety of this coven."
Suspicion flickered in their eyes. He was supposed to be the family’s leader. How could he lead when he couldn't even protect their home? His stomach rolled. He shoved his plate away and stood. He needed to get out of here. He needed to—
A wave of power slammed into him, knocking him backwards. His teeth gnashed together, slicing through his lip. Blood filled his mouth. Darkness moved over him like a predator, stealing his sight and breath. Creed dropped to the floor. His chest tightened as one panicked thought filled his mind. I can’t protect them… I can’t even protect myself. He clawed the air, feeling heavy steps shake the floor.
Fate's voice sounded no more than a whisper. He slipped into the suffocating night, the terror in Fate’s eyes unable to hold him.
Something waited for him in the dark. Something so powerful that it stole his mind, just as it did his breath. He tried to lift his arm, but the limb didn’t obey. Ares, help me....
Your god cannot protect you here, witch... No one can....
A voice of midnight warned as an image filled his mind. It was the woman who plagued his thoughts. She was screaming and running. She was in trouble. Something was chasing her... the Corrupt.
Help her, the voice around him whispered. Help her....
CHAPTER FOUR
Helaine's hand fluttered to her mouth. The scream felt like a stone lodged in her throat. She followed the crimson smear on her bathroom floor with her gaze. A bottle of tangerine shampoo lay on its side. The contents spilled, mixing with the blood in a viscous sea of orange and red.
Blood spatter trailed over the basin where her hair brush lay, snapped in two. One jagged end dripped with gore. Her lungs were on fire. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn't move. She couldn't stop the terror from overwhelming her. What the hell happened here and where was.... "Claire?"
The red slick ended at her feet. She stumbled backward, searching the carpet for the bloody trail. The gore was confined to the tiled floor, trapped by the marble threshold. She scanned the carpet, catching sight of dark drops. She followed the trail. Helaine hugged the wall, unable to bring herself to step on —dear god, please don’t let that be Claire’s blood. The trail led to the living room. Where is she? If Clare is hurt, then where is she? Dark thoughts forced their way inside her mind. What if she’s dead? There wasn't enough blood in the bathroom for her to be dead, was there? Hurt badly yes, but dead... Please, no.
She gripped the chairs as she passed through the dining room... please Claire, be alive. A low creak cut through the silence.
She wrenched her head up, searching the shadowed room. The grating sound came again. There. The wardrobe.
She squinted at the massive wooden cupboard against the dining room wall. The door appeared closed, but the windows in this room faced an alley and looked out on a blank brick wall. The light switch quit working a few weeks back. Her requests to maintenance were met with broken promises. She strained to see in the growing shadows. Helaine held her breath and stepped closer.
The door swung open.
She scrambled backward into the kitchen, unable to take her eyes off the cupboard door. There were no open windows. No breeze to blame for the movement. Her hand skirted the utensils on the sink. The serrated edge of a blade dug into the soft flesh of her palm, piercing her wound. Her fist clenched the knife. Her sense of the sharp outweighed the pain as the thin blade sliced through her palm. Will this be enough? It has to be.
The wardrobe was filled with books. Books didn't open doors. Chill bumps ran along the nape of her neck, standing her hair on end. Her voice came out like a squawk. "Claire, is that you?"
There was no answer. There was nothing but a slow groan as the crack widened. A growing shadow held Helaine transfixed. Nothing explained why the dark shape grew bigger. There was no shift in the light. Out of the gloom, something moved. Claws reached out to scrape against the wood. The blood-splattered bathroom flashed through her mind.
