by Simone Pond
“You can’t keep avoiding your destiny, Fiona.”
“My destiny is to become an award-winning journalist. And in order to do that, I need to work hard and focus my time and energy on my real job.”
“You can still do those things, just as your parents did. But you must also fulfill your duty as a Protector of Light, whether you like it or not. I’ve been assigned to be your Guide. Why not make this easier on both of us?”
“How is being a part-time demon hunter going to make things easier?”
“The more you avoid it, the more dangerous this dimension becomes for you. I need to equip you with your suit of Armor. Without that suit or proper training, you’ll be an easy target for mages, demons, witches, shifters, and whatever else.”
“Yeah, you mentioned that already. Look, I’ve been fine the last four years, and I’ll be fine now. And P.S.—I’m not walking around the city in some suit of armor.”
Ezra laughed until tears brimmed in his gleaming eyes. “It’s not an actual suit of armor … It’s supernatural. It has powers. Powers you’ll need if you want to continue living.”
“Why not just give me the suit and be on your merry way?”
“You need to be trained. There’s a lot I need to explain to you.”
I glanced down the street and saw Asher walking toward the restaurant. “Look, Ez, I’ve got a hot date. Maybe we can talk about this at a better time? You know, like never?”
Ezra’s jaw clenched. He was so incredibly over me. “You can try to shirk your responsibilities, but it won’t do you any good.”
“I’ve never shirked anything a day in my life!”
“It’s not safe for you anymore. Others will be tracking you. You must be careful.” He glanced in Asher’s direction, then back at me. “No one is to be trusted.”
“My personal life is none of your guardian angel business.”
“I’m not a guardian angel.”
“Please. I demand that you go away!” I yelled.
Ezra vanished into a glimmer of light just as Asher walked up to give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Who are you talking to?” he asked.
I must’ve looked insane—yelling into thin air. I made a mental note to keep the conversations with Ezra on the telepathic channel.
I held up my phone. “Just a telemarketer trying to sell me some crap.”
Suddenly, my phone started buzzing.
“Popular tonight,” he teased.
I didn’t recognize the number, so I ignored it and shoved my phone into my pocket.
“Sorry. Are you ready to eat and talk shop?” Ugh. I hated myself for saying that, but Asher smiled and opened the door to the restaurant.
My phone buzzed again. That time it was Somer Barrett and blowing her off was not remotely possible. “I’m sorry, I have to get this. It’s my boss.”
I stepped back outside to take the call. Somer went on to explain that while she appreciated how quickly I turned in my story outline for my piece on historical homes, the tone was way off—it was supposed to be an entertaining piece about the history of Victorian design, but I had turned it into some property conspiracy angle about how a bunch of old houses were being used as mafia real estate money laundering fronts.
Which was absolutely true.
But it wasn’t what Somer wanted. I tried to argue my point, but it was very clear that no one has ever won an argument with Somer Barrett. I told her I’d revise the outline by tomorrow morning. I went back into the restaurant only slightly defeated.
ten
Back inside the restaurant, the hostess sat us at a table near the window. Asher ordered a bottle of Pinot, and I relaxed a little as I showed him my folder of vision boards that Charlotte and I had put together the previous night. Everything was happening at the speed of light; I had just met Asher the day before, and there we were discussing how to remodel my home.
“You really put some planning into this. I’m impressed,” he said.
“I’ve been dreaming about moving into my grandmother’s house for a while. I’m a firm believer in going after what you want…. Was that last bit too much?”
He smiled and scanned over my boards, nodding and setting some aside. I eased back in my chair and listened to his commentary about what would work within my budget. I could’ve listened to him read the menu for forty hours straight—he had the deepest, most alluring voice.
A tapping on the window disrupted our conversation. I looked up to see Lilith outside waving and motioning that she was coming in. Un-fucking-believable. Did she have a tracking device on me? I was never a believer in coincidences. She came rushing over to the table, dragging some banker looking dude with her; his tie was loose around his white shirt and his hair messy. There might’ve been lipstick on his neck, but I chose to look away.
Lilith leaned down to kiss my cheek. “Fiona! So good to see you! Isn’t this restaurant lovely? And right in our very own neighborhood.”
I made another mental note: never meet Asher at any restaurants, bars, or coffee shops in Pacific Heights. I would take the ferry to Sausalito before risking another surprise encounter.
She stood next to Asher and beamed a sparkling smile accompanied with a hair flip. “I’m one of Fiona’s best friends. We roomed together in college. I’m Lilith Amon.”
“Asher Wells. Fiona’s contractor.”
She leaned in closer, batting her long eyelashes and cooing, “Ooh, contractor. How niiiice.”
I needed to put the kibosh on the situation immediately. “Yes, and we’re discussing business. So, if you don’t mind….”
“We should share a table!” she squealed.
I was shaking with fear, knowing where things would go if she dug her claws into Asher. The sense of urgency to make her go away was strangling me. I simply shouted, “No! Nope. Can’t do it. Not tonight.”
Lilith squinted her eyes, trying to intimidate me, but I refused to give in. It worked in college, but those days were over. She would not steal Asher Wells from me—not if I could help it.
My phone buzzed again, and it was the same number from earlier that I didn’t recognize. I decided it was probably important, so I answered. One of my neighbors informed me water was gushing from my house. Great. I had a sneaking suspicion that Lilith was behind it. Ezra was right—no one was to be trusted.
“So, my house is flooding. I have to take care of that. Asher, it was a pleasure. Take a look at my ideas and let me know what you think.”
I left the restaurant calmly, but when I turned the corner, I sprinted all the way home. I told myself the tears streaming down my cheeks were because of the cold wind blasting my face and had nothing to do with losing Asher to Lilith before we had a chance to start.
By the time I got to my house, a small audience had formed on the sidewalk. Water gushed from somewhere, rolling down the steps and into the street like a rogue fountain. I stood there with my neighbors, not quite sure what to do. Ezra sat on top of a parked car, his eyes gleaming in my direction. He waved and winked. I assumed he was responsible for the busted pipe. If he weren’t already dead or whatever he was, I would’ve killed him.
“Hey, Fiona!” Asher’s voice echoed in my direction.
I turned around to see him running over, carrying the bottle of wine he ordered before everything went to shit.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“We didn’t get to finish our conversation. Or our wine.” He grinned and his gorgeous eyes twinkled.
I laughed. “Do you have any idea what’s happening here?”
“I’m hoping we can talk about your ideas for the remodel and maybe get to know each other.”
My cheeks heated up a few degrees. “I mean … about the water that’s flooding my front yard?”
He smiled and walked up the sloshy steps toward the house, leaving the bottle of wine on the porch. I went in after him, hoping to help.
We went down to the creepy basement to find the source of the massive l
eak. Water rose upwards of about two feet. But that didn’t deter Asher; he calmly waded across the basement to the main water line. As he made his way through the water, he jerked his head to the left as though something had startled him, but then he kept walking. I glanced across the room and noticed something propped up in the back corner next to a broken wardrobe. It looked like the silhouette of a body with a faint glow to it like an opal stone. I inched closer to investigate. I realized I was staring at my grandmother’s suit of Armor. Quickly, I splashed back to the stairs, hoping Asher hadn’t seen the suit—then I remembered it had always been invisible to me, so he couldn’t possibly see it. But suddenly I could. Happy twenty-first….
He made his way back to me. “I might need to readjust that estimate,” he said.
“I figured your numbers were low.”
He was standing incredibly close. I could see beads of water dripping from his hair into his long dark eyelashes. His blue eyes gazed into mine as he moved in closer. I quivered with excitement and fear—the heat from our bodies seemed to warm the water we were standing in. He rested his strong hands on my shoulders and leaned down to kiss me. His lips were soft and wet. Everything was wet—we were standing in water. For someone who didn’t have much experience, I fell right into step. Kissing Asher felt right. We moved like the water around us; no beginning and no end.
My insides began to radiate—a heat I had never felt before—almost like I was about to spontaneously combust. And I didn’t care. I wanted to burst into a billion pieces. Asher scooted me backward, edging me up the steps. His kisses deepened with a growing passion I knew would be the end of me. Or at least the end of my virginity….
And then, his phone rang.
“Sorry, I have to get this. Business.”
Upstairs, as he walked out the front door, he paused his call to let me know he’d send the contract the next day and could start working as soon as I signed it. I watched him strut up the street in his beautiful masculine form, the heat from his kiss still lingering. He had forgotten to take the bottle of wine that was still sitting on the front porch. I sat down in my wet jeans on the wet steps and took a few swigs straight from the bottle.
Ezra was still perched like an owl on the parked car across the street. I took another gulp and went back inside. The night wasn’t a complete wash—at least Asher hadn’t fallen under Lilith’s spell. And he was a helluva kisser. I went back into my dark house, changed into my warmest pajamas, and pulled out my laptop to revise my story outline on historical homes. I found it only slightly ironic that I was holed up in one that didn’t have electricity or running water.
eleven
The next day at work, I knocked on the glass window of Somer’s office to get her attention. She waved me in, all smiles.
“I got your revised story outline,” she said. “Much better.”
“Sorry about the first draft being off tone. I’m just eager to take on some bigger challenges.”
“That’s understandable, coming from your background. But remember, we all have to start somewhere. So start with this story on historical homes, and if it goes well, you can cover the Stockton Homeless Shelter. There’s definitely something shady going on there.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Okay, thanks, Somer. Thank you.”
I practically ran out of her office before she changed her mind. I was going to take Somer’s advice and write the piece from my personal experience about moving into my grandmother’s house and wanting to maintain the integrity of the original structure. I spent the rest of the morning trawling the internet for details about the first homes built in San Francisco, and by noon, I had gleaned all I could from the internet. I needed more intricate details, so I decided to hit up the San Francisco Public Library to expand my research.
I checked my personal email before I left to see if Asher had sent the contract. His email was at the top of my inbox. I glanced over the details, sent back my signature, and transferred a deposit into his business account so he could start as soon as possible. He wrote back right away, saying he’d get started within the hour. He also offered to take me to dinner since the night before got cut short with the pipe bursting. I texted back: Yes, please. Then I added: Tommaso’s in North Beach at 8pm. Lilith hated North Beach.
On my way to the library, it seemed like the entire city was buzzing in an obnoxious way. I loved being in San Francisco, but everything was amplified and painfully so. I didn’t notice any of the beautiful buildings or shops; I could only see the grunge and dirt and dregs of society milling about. I accidentally turned down an alley that happened to have a lot action going on—two burly men were shoving around a woman that looked like she had been living in her pink nighty for quite some time. Another lady was screeching incoherently into a dumpster, and there were a few homeless people strewn along the crevices of the brick building; their sleeping bags were filthy and stained. I probably should’ve turned around, but something compelled me to keep going.
A heavy shadow soared overhead, blocking out the sun for a moment. Every bone in my body tingled, and not in a good way. Then the shadow swooped down from the sky and melded into the cement. The dark matter slithered like an oil stain toward one of the sleeping homeless people. I stood, frozen, trying to make sense of the scene. That was just one more incredibly bizarre thing I had witnessed in the last couple days. I was starting to realize I hadn’t been hallucinating; I was actually seeing inter-dimensional shit. Ezra had warned me, but seeing it was another story.
The shadow moved under the sleeping bag and straight into the homeless man’s body. He began seizing and flopping around trying to fight off the black shadow until finally he just stopped. Everything stopped. And then the homeless man crawled out of his sleeping bag and stalked off as though nothing had happened. I had just witnessed some crazy shadow creature take possession of an innocent person. There was no way I was not following him. The library and my research on historical homes could wait. I needed to know what was going on, so I trailed behind the guy.
He walked down Polk Street with the confidence of a professional going to work, not a barefoot homeless man wearing a flannel shirt that looked like he had been wearing it since the 90s. He walked right up the steps to San Francisco City Hall and into the building without a care in the world. I lurked behind, tailing him at a safe distance, following him inside. He strolled right past security; not a single guard took notice. But when I tried to get by, a stocky woman stopped me in my tracks.
“I’m here to pick up my marriage certificate,” I lied.
“Alone?”
“My husband just walked in. He’s over there.” I pointed to the homeless man who was halfway down the hall. I expected the lady to question my sanity, but she looked at him and let me through the metal detector.
I was onto something and my investigative journalist instincts weren’t going to let the lead get away. I ran after the homeless man, and followed him all the way to the office of Emmett Stone, City Controller. I watched as he walked right by the assistant’s desk and into Stone’s office, shutting the door behind him. Did he have an appointment? Why was some homeless man who had just been attacked by a supernatural shadow walking into Emmett Stone’s office? I was very confused.
“Excuse me, miss. Can I help you?” snipped Stone’s assistant, an older woman wearing a tan polyester pants suit.
“Oh, I—um—I wanted to see Mr. Stone.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
I fumbled for a brief second. No, I didn’t have an appointment, but I wasn’t about to tell her I had been on my way to the library when I saw a shadow take over some homeless man’s body, and now that man was currently in Emmett Stone’s office. That sounded nuts. So, I banked on my credentials and lied. “I do. I’m Fiona Farrow from Lifting the Fog. I’m doing a story on Mr. Stone.”
The lady squinted her eyes, looking me up and down, then scanned her computer from behind her large oak des
k.
“Sorry, but I don’t see your name.”
I leaned down, peering at the screen for any information I could glean quickly. I noticed something on the calendar that said “Stockton Shelter.”
“That’s it right there.” I pointed. “I’m doing a story about his work with the homeless shelters throughout the city.”
She batted my hand away. “I think there’s been a mistake. He’s already in a meeting with someone.”
I felt myself getting desperate, the tightness in my chest cutting off the air. I remembered all the lessons my father had taught me and eased back, smiling politely. Play it cool.
“I apologize. I’m just really jazzed up about this story. It’s my first piece and I’ve been following Mr. Stone’s progress since college. I’ve been dying to do a story on him. I guess my assistant forgot to make the appointment.” I brushed away a false tear and lowered my head as I humbly turned to leave.
“Wait,” she said. “I can squeeze you in after this appointment. But only ten minutes, okay?”
“Thank you so much!” I wasn’t sure what I’d find out, but if I discovered Emmett Stone was up to no good, I planned to write a story and mention the whole department.
twelve
As I sat in the reception area waiting for Emmett Stone to finish up his meeting with the homeless guy who had just wandered in off the streets, I started digging up information on Stone. He was a big shot and the chief officer responsible for the city's financial operations and monitoring the budget. So why in the hell did a homeless man from an alley strut into his office on a Tuesday afternoon? As I dug deeper, I started finding underground articles on financial scandals, previous problems with the city budgets, and allegations of slightly nefarious activities involving missing funds for homeless shelters. My brain began to work overtime, searching for the similarities and underlying common denominators in each of the stories. All of the dots led back to the Stockton Homeless Shelter, and Stone was involved in one way or another. Somer Barrett was right about something shady going on, and I couldn’t wait to sink my teeth deeper into the story. I noticed that it wasn’t only financial discrepancies, but there had been a string of strange disappearances of homeless residents. Sure, it was the Internet, and while there’s a ton of information available, that didn’t mean it was all true. That didn’t mean it wasn’t either. I learned from my parents, a good investigative journalist sifts all leads.
