by Ivy Simone
How am I supposed to talk to him now?
Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, I debate on whether or not I want to add breaking and entering to my record. I kind of think I want to. After all, he started it. At least, I’m pretty sure he did.
Pulling out of his drive quickly, I park next door at my mom’s house, far back by the side of the house so that if Ryan does come home, he won’t see the car right away.
I grab a flashlight from the glove compartment and tuck it into my pocket.
After Logan left, I changed into the clothes I probably should have been wearing when I took a dive headfirst into the secret tunnel in the haunted hotel. My jeans are dark and tucked into combat boots. My dark tank is covered by a black hoodie and I’ve pulled my hair up into a haphazard bun.
Stepping out of the car, I look around and listen for noises. I hear nothing. I run around the hedge and jog up the steps to Ryan’s door. I decide to knock for good measure. Just in case. No one’s home.
My fingers close over the handle. Locked. Of course. He’s a thief, why the hell does he need to lock his door? Afraid someone’s going to come for retribution?
I take out my flashlight and examine the front windows. It’s bordering on summer, the May air just starting to heat up but still cool enough at night, he’d probably keep the windows closed. Sure enough, none of them budges.
Keeping my flashlight aimed near the ground, I hustle to the side of the house, trying to find a window. There are two basement level windows that are dusty and set low in a metal well.
Since the backyard is guarded by a tall fence and it will take longer to get in there, I climb into one of the window wells and grimace. Spiderwebs line the corners and I’m stepping on something squishy, something I hope is only wet leaves.
I curl my fingers against the lip of the window and pull, surprised when it gives way and opens. I didn’t even have to peel off a screen or anything. The window is small, but so am I, and I squeeze through, trying to drop myself slowly enough I don’t break anything below.
My feet slap on cement and I turn the flashlight toward the room. There are boxes, a recliner, and a few shelves with odds and ends. This part of the basement is unfinished and uncluttered, making it easier to maneuver my way through.
I find the stairs quickly. Not knowing how much time I have, I’d rather search for the book and get the hell out of here.
Every single stair creaks as I climb, making me wince. Shit. If anyone’s home, they know someone else is in here, too. Screw it. I rush up the rest of the stairs, open the door, and step into a hallway.
I check the living room first. There aren’t any lights on and I trip on a pair of work boots, stumbling into an end table. A lamp wobbles dangerously and I grab it before it topples.
I hold my breath, wait for someone to jump out from behind the couch and catch me. But the room stays silent. Maybe Ryan’s out for the night. At the bar. Or with the rude librarian.
Checking the coffee table, the end tables and even the shelf in the corner, isn’t helpful. It’s a major bachelor pad, heavy on comfortable furniture and electronics, short on knick-knacks and charm.
I race up the stairs. His bedroom seems like the next logical place to look. I bypass a bathroom and another room that looks like a guestroom. I find his bedroom and snort in surprise when my flashlight makes an arc across the clean space. It’s cozy, a large bed with a wooden frame, plush bedding and even a window treatment.
Logan said Ryan flips houses, so I guess he knows a little about them. The building of them and the decorating of them. Either that or he had someone do it for him. A girlfriend. I chuckle to myself. His mom, probably.
There’s a noise from below. I yank in a breath when I hear the front door.
“Shit,” I whisper, turning to leave.
But there are footsteps close to the stairs and I back up. I can’t go that way. I can’t get out. My gaze falls on a door I assume is the closet. I race over, open it up and thank God it’s a walk-in. I shut myself inside just as I hear footsteps on the stairs.
Chapter 6
I hear Ryan flip a switch and a sliver of light appears under the door. I press back into clothes‒shirts with long sleeves, some of them flannel. They smell like him, woodsy with a hint of spice.
His footsteps come close to the closet. I slap a hand over my mouth to keep quiet. My heart races, trying to jump out of my chest. I grip the flashlight, the only weapon I ever seem to have when Ryan’s around.
That and the fire inside of me. If only I could turn that on and off at will.
My hands start to shake when I see the shadow of feet under the door. I hear him clear his throat and for a minute, I’m sure he knows I’m in here. Then he moves away, shuts off the light, and walks out.
I listen until I can’t hear his footsteps anymore. Then I wait some more. Finally, I hear the front door. I listen for the sound of his car starting, but I’m too far away, buried in the pitch black closet with men’s clothes all around me.
Holding the flashlight in front of me, I slowly open the closet door. It’s dark in the room again, with only the low light of the moon glowing in the windows. It’s silent and peaceful.
My gaze narrows on the end table by the bed. Just as I reach for the drawer, the overhead lights come on.
I whip around and find Ryan standing in the doorway, a murderous look in his eyes.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Oh,” I say, glancing around like I have no idea where I am. “This isn’t my mom’s house? I thought‒”
“Cut the shit.”
He steps forward, hands fisted at his sides. His navy shirt is cut tight over his biceps, tapering down to his trim waist. He’s wearing dark wash jeans, black boots, and a scowl.
I hold out the heavy flashlight. “Don’t come any closer.”
Amusement races across his face. “This is my house and you’re the intruder. I can do whatever I want to you and no one’s going to question it.”
Fear circuits through my body, making my stomach churn. A thousand thoughts rush through my mind, but only one sticks. I have to get out of here.
With my best aim, I hurl the flashlight at his face and bolt. He deflects the flashlight as I try to shove around him, and snags me by my waist. His whips me back so hard and fast, my feet come off the ground.
In an instant, he has me pinned against the wall. My breath whooshes out. His hands hold my shoulders to the surface, so tight I wince, even as I try to fight him.
“Get off me!” I shout, trying to shove him.
I hike up my knee, prepared to get him in the groin, but he presses the entire length of his body against me so I can’t move.
“Stop it,” he snaps.
“Get off!”
“What are you doing here?”
“Let me go,” I growl through my teeth.
“Once you tell me what you’re doing here.”
“I came for my book. You stole it from my room at the motel.”
He loosens his grip enough for me to get my arms between us. Flames shoot from my fingertips, surprising us both. He jumps back and I run for it. My shoes thud on the stairs, and I slip on the last two, stumbling but gripping the post for balance.
He’s right behind me, close enough I can hear his breath. I go for the door, yank on the handle, but it’s locked.
“No,” I cry out, but Ryan’s already there, whipping me around.
I swing at him, getting in a weak punch to his jaw before he grabs me again, making us both tumble to the ground. I hit my elbow hard on the floor, and gasp when Ryan straddles me and pins my arms above my head.
“That’s enough,” he says, breath coming out rough.
I wiggle underneath him, but he won’t move. My elbow aches and I exhale. “You took my book.”
“It’s not your book. It’s your mother’s.”
My mouth opens, surprised he admitted it. “I need answers. I need to talk to my mom.”
“She’ll be back next week. You can come see her then.” He shifts, hands loosening on my wrists. “Is that what you came here for? The book?”
“Yes.”
He removes some of the weight on my waist. “If I let you go, you promise to settle the hell down?”
“You started it,” I murmur.
His lips twitch, but he lets go of my arms and gets off of me. When I sit up, I wince and cup my elbow. “You’re an asshole,” I tell him.
“I’ve been called worse.”
“Why do you want me to leave so badly?”
“Trust me, it’s for your own safety.”
When I start to stand, he eyes me warily and hops to his feet with little effort. He leans against the front door, folding his arms.
I frown. “So…what? I’m being held hostage?”
“If you promise to leave town, you’re free to go. I’ll help you pack your bags myself.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he gives a curt shake of his head. “You don’t have any reason to trust me, but I’m not lying about this. Your mom left because she’s trying to keep you and the rest of the town safe. And if you leave, too, everything will be okay. Even better, you can come back the next day. Just get out of here before Sunday night.”
“What’s Sunday night?”
“The full moon.”
“What happens when it’s a full moon?”
He sighs, drops his chin for a moment. When he finally looks up, he says, “You want to sit?”
I think for a moment. He doesn’t seem to want to hurt me. And the threats have stopped. But it still makes me uneasy sitting in his living room. Suck it up, I tell myself. This might be the only way I can get answers.
“Sure,” I say.
But he doesn’t walk to the living room. He wanders to the kitchen, so I trail behind him. I stop in the doorway to the kitchen when he leans in the refrigerator and emerges with a beer. “You want one?”
“Sounds good.”
He pops the top for me and passes it over, then grabs one for himself. We sit at the kitchen table, a round chipped piece of furniture that looks like it gets a lot of use.
“Your mom took a short vacation.” He quirks the corner of his lips. “She wanted to see Mt. Rushmore.”
My eyebrows furrow. “You must be pretty close if she tells you when she’s leaving and where she’s going.”
“We’re friends,” he says. “Have been since I moved next door to her.”
“And she left because of the full moon?”
He nods, takes a swallow of his beer before rotating it in circles on the surface of the table.
“Why?”
“Listen,” he says, meeting my eyes with his gray ones. “You seem like a decent person, and I know it sucks to show up here and be told to leave, but it’s better if you do. And it’s better if that’s all you know for now.”
I consider this while taking a sip of my beer. Him not telling me the details makes me want to know more.
He lifts his eyebrows. “I researched you.”
“Yeah?”
He nods.
“When you try to chase someone out of town, you’re really thorough.”
Ryan laughs and scoops a hand through his dark blond hair. “I researched you because I was trying to figure out the best way to get you to leave. I have a feeling the more I tell you, the more you’re going to want to know. And since you’re into all this supernatural stuff, I figure that will make you want to stay.”
“Is that what this is all about? Supernatural stuff?”
“I kind of figured you already knew that when you tried to set the library on fire.”
“I didn’t mean to.” I fold my arms. “It’s your fault.”
A muscle works in his jaw. “I don’t remember having the ability to make anything spontaneously combust.”
“You were threatening me.”
He runs his hand through his hair again. “All right. Not my best moment, I’ll admit that. I was hoping scaring you out of here would work. Instead, you showed up in my house.”
“You showed up in my motel room first.”
“True.” He stands. “I’ll get your book.”
I listen to his footsteps fade and sigh. I take another drink and consider what he’s saying. If there is some sort of danger in me staying here on Sunday night, it makes sense to leave. Especially if I can turn right around and come back.
After what I experienced in the Shadow Hill Hotel tonight, there’s most likely a story here. I might as well get some work done while I’m searching for answers about my own past.
Ryan returns and sets the book in front of me. I slide it closer on the table, flipping it open. My mother’s name is inside, with her mother’s name before her and so on. I close it and trace the raised pentagram on the front.
“She never told me any of this, you know,” I say.
“About your history, who you are?”
I nod, hating that emotion for a woman I barely remember keeps swelling inside. If I had known who I really was, I might not have been so confused by the flames. I might not have hurt anyone. I pick up the book and stand, quelling my emotions with anger. It’s her fault she didn’t want to have anything to do with her daughter. I turned out okay despite that.
“I’m going to head back to the motel,” I say. “Thanks for the drink. And for giving me the book back.”
He follows me to the front door and even unlocks it for me to let me out.
“I’ll leave on Sunday,” I tell him, turning back. “On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You tell me what’s going on when I come back.”
“Your mom will probably be back by then. You can ask her.”
“Great. If she’s back by then. If not, I want answers. Deal?”
He narrows his eyes at me. Finally, he holds out a hand. “Deal.”
I take it, and a charge hums between our palms. I look up into Ryan’s eyes. “What is that?”
“Deals between people like you and people like me are pretty serious. A bond.”
The buzz tickles and warms. I breathe out. “People like you,” I whisper. “What does that mean?”
He retracts his hand and tucks it in his pocket. “I agreed to give you answers when you come back. Not tonight.”
“Come on.”
“You keep your end of the deal first, and then I’ll keep mine.”
I meet his eyes a long moment, searching for deceit there. But I don’t see anything save for resolve and maybe a little concern.
“Okay, I’ll keep my end of the deal,” I say.
“I’ll meet you at the motel at check-out time.” He opens the door for me. “From there I can follow you to the town border.”
“I said I’d keep up my end.”
“I’m not worried about you keeping your word.”
“Then what?” I ask, clutching the book to my chest.
“Just be careful, okay? You don’t know who you can trust.”
Sounds kind of like what the whispers were telling me in the hotel. But Ryan’s included in that category. Just because he gave me the book back doesn’t mean I can trust him either.
“I’ll be careful,” I say.
He pulls a business card out of his pocket and passes it to me. “My number, just in case.”
“Thanks.” I turn for the stairs.
I walk to the end of the drive before glancing back. Ryan’s still standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets as he watches me leave.
I sigh and go around the hedge. My car is where I parked it on the side of my mom’s house. I want to go inside, to learn more about her. But then I remember my anger and the way she abandoned me and my dad when I was young.
Maybe I don’t want to know more about her. If she was so quick to forget about me, maybe I should do the same with her.
I get into the car and drive back to the motel, ready for the shower I told Logan I wanted to take. It feels lik
e so long ago. And I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be just as long.
Chapter 7
I find a local diner the next morning, sitting by myself in a small booth while the weekend morning rush keeps the restaurant busy and noisy.
My mother’s Book of Shadows isn’t exactly discreet reading, so I make notes for my potential article while I’m waiting for my meal. I need history on Shadow Hill Hotel, and maybe a family tree. If someone or something was trying to communicate with me, it could be because of an ancestral link.
When someone slides into the seat across from me, I whip my head up.
It’s the librarian.
She’s still wearing her cat-eye glasses and looking matter-of-fact. “Hi, Willow,” she says.
“I wasn’t planning on company for breakfast.”
“How about we get the heavy stuff off the table? I was rude to you, you tried to set my library on fire. Let’s call it even.”
I narrow my gaze at her.
She extends a hand across the table. “I’m Cheyenne.”
Reluctantly, I take it and feel the same hum between our palms as I did with Ryan. “You’re one of them,” I say.
“One of who?” she asks, looking amused.
“One of those people Ryan won’t tell me about until I get the hell out of Shadow Hill.”
She laughs. “Sounds like something he’d say.”
The waitress walks by to refill my coffee and I wait until she leaves before lowering my voice and asking, “What are you?”
She frowns. “That was rude.”
“You’re welcome to leave.”
The frown disappears and she laughs again. “I like you, Willow.”
“I’m still deciding about you.”
“Fair enough.” She leans in, places her palms flat on the table, and says, “I’m a werewolf.”
I glare at her. “Very funny.”
Cheyenne takes off her glasses, rubs them on the corner of her sweater calmly. “I believe we met before. In your mother’s house.”
The seat squeaks when I straighten. “You’re lying.”
“No.”
“This isn’t…I mean. Witches, sure. Psychics, yeah. Werewolves?”
