Inescapable (The Premonition Series)

by Bartol, Amy A

  “I’m looking forward to boarding. I can’t wait to see how angels can slay a mountain,” I whisper in his ear, letting my cheek brush over his in a caress.

  “I was created to slay,” Reed replies with a smile that almost stops my heart.

  “I found it!” Buns’s tone is smug as she swivels in her chair to face us. “It’s a five star resort a few hours north of here. It says they’re booked for the holiday, but we know what that means,” Buns laughs, swiveling back.

  I glance at Reed’s face, then Zephyr’s; they both do seem to know what she means by that. “I’m sorry, Buns, does that mean we can’t go?” I ask in confusion.

  “No, sweetie, of course not. That just means they only have the really killa suites left for the VIPs.”

  “Oh—are we VIPs?” I ask, trying not to sound ignorant. This makes Zephyr laugh like I have made a joke. His eyes sparkle at me like he is waiting for me to say something else amusing.

  Buns smirks, too, and replies, “You know it. Reed, get her a black card.”

  “Already done. She just has not been anywhere to use it,” Reed replies.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask in suspicion. I think I might know what it is they are saying, because I’ve seen the black credit card Buns uses to burn through cash like she printed the benjamins herself.

  “I have a card for you. I don’t plan on us separating anytime soon, but you can carry it and use it however you would like,” Reed says, and frowns as he watches my mouth drop open. “What did I say?”

  “I can’t take your money,” I reply, watching his face get darker.

  “Why not?” Reed asks in confusion.

  “Because it’s not right,” I reply.

  “Why is it wrong?” he asks.

  “Because it’s yours,” I reply evasively. Does he really not get that taking his money is completely grody?

  “But, when I give it to you, then it is yours,” he says, smiling at me because he thinks what he is saying is logical.

  “Buns, you get why I can’t take his money, right?” I ask, looking for help.

  “No…it’s just money,” she shrugs, and I’m beginning to believe they are printing it somewhere.

  “I have my own money, Reed, but thanks,” I say in embarrassment.

  “Evie, you have a few thousand dollars—that is not money, that is…” he trails off when he sees me duck my head to hide my deepening blush of mortification. My house is for sale, but no one seems interested in it, since the previous owner was viciously murdered in it. Most of our things have been removed and put into storage, for which I will need to reimburse Reed when the house is sold. Although, I don’t think he’s going to let me. The funeral arrangements for my uncle had probably cost a lot, too, but no one will tell me who paid for it, or how much it cost. “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” Reed asks, trying to make eye contact with me.

  “No…I just have to start looking into Internet gambling and see if I can beat the odds,” I reply, since there is not a lot I can do right now to earn money. Having a homicidal angel, like Alfred, bent on beating the soul out of me is seriously hurting my chances of getting and maintaining gainful employment.

  “Evie, we can consider all of this a loan, if it makes you feel better, and you can pay me back later,” he says, holding up my chin and looking into my eyes.

  “When am I going to be able to pay you back, sugar daddy?” I ask him in a worried tone.

  I watch the way his sensual lips curve cunningly as he tries not to smile. He notices I am not smiling, so he says, “Let me take care of you. It’s all I want to do.”

  I sigh. “I have no choice right now but to rely on you for help, but I’m not taking the credit card,” I say firmly.

  “Evie,” Reed’s tone is cajoling.

  “Reed,” I reply as I dig in.

  “What’s a sugar daddy?” Reed asks me, and then laughs when he sees my blush deepen. “That bad, huh?” he asks.

  “Yeah, that bad.” I reply. “When are we leaving, Buns?” I ask to try to change the subject away from my waifish existence.

  “I’m going to call them and make the arrangements. How long do you two need to plot and scheme?” Buns asks Zephyr and Reed.

  “A couple of hours. We’ll be ready by tonight.” Zephyr replies and Reed nods.

  “Sick! We can go tonight and be on the slopes after breakfast tomorrow,” she says happily, and then she jets out of the room in an eighth of a second to get her phone and make the arrangements.

  “I’ll go pack.” I say, feeling the mixture of excitement and dread again. I speed to my room in seconds so that they will all think I am just excited.

  Alone in my room, I go to my closet to get my suitcase. As I pull it down from the top shelf, a box that had been partially hidden falls down with it. Kneeling on the ground to retrieve the box, I freeze. It is a wooden box with dragonflies encrusted on its lid. Someone must have gotten it from my dorm room when they had brought over my things. My hand shakes as I reach for it.

  My touch is light as my fingertips brush over the wood, feeling the intricately carved images covering the surface. Freddie gave me this for my birthday, I think, as I lift my fingertips from the box as if I have been scalded by it. He had been telling me what he is with his gift, only I hadn’t realized it at the time. I shudder as I recall touching his paper-like dragonfly wings that had buzzed and vibrated in agitation.

  I’m so stupid. How could I have let this happen? Guilt and shame hit me. I open the lid to the box and see the small, silver makeup compact inside; on the lid is etched an ornate dragonfly with inlayed opals that comprise the torso of the dragonfly. The stones gleam evilly in the dim light of the closet.

  I didn’t see what he was, and as a result, many people had suffered and died including my uncle, I think, as my hands curl into fists. This gift is a physical representation of my stupidity. It is a reminder that I have to look at things differently from now on. I can’t afford to be stupid and naїve anymore or the ones I love will suffer for it. This is my bitter reality. I pick the compact up, hugging it to my body in despair. I can’t fail again because the price is too high.

  Feeling the small latch on the compact beneath my fingertips, I flip the compact back over and look at it. Depressing the button, it opens with a soft click, dispelling a small gasp of air that was trapped inside. I raise the lid, revealing the mirror. For an instant, all I can see are my eyes looking back at me. I look haunted: deadened by the thing I hold in my hand. But then a movement in the mirror distracts me from the image of myself. It startles me so I look behind me to see what could possibly have moved. There is nothing there. I peer in the mirror once again, noticing that the image of me is murkier, less crisp.

  Something moves in the mirror that is not a reflection; a truly distorted and shadowy shape shifts within the glass. The longer I watch it, the closer it seems to be coming and the more it takes on a definite form…as if a shadow is running toward me down a long corridor within the mirror that is in no way a reflection of any room I have seen in this house. But it isn’t just a shadow, it’s a swarm of flies all working together to form the shape of a man.

  Coming to my senses in the next instant, I try to snap the lid of the compact shut, but it is levered open and refuses to close. Tossing the compact away from me, it crashes to the floor. Hissing emits from the mirror, casting a stench in the air that I had prayed I would never smell again. Black clouds of flies come pouring out into the air, billowing from the mirror to sway and undulate grotesquely until their dark mass implodes into a single image of a man—a shadow man. He is like the one I had seen in Coldwater with Freddie. It only takes the shadow man a fraction of a second to grin at me evilly before he lunges forward to kill me.

  About the Author

  I live in Michigan with my husband and our two sons. My family is very supportive of my writing. They often bring me the take-out menu so that I can call and order them dinner. They listen patiently when
I talk about my characters like they’re real. They rarely roll their eyes when I tell them I’ll only be a second while I finish writing a chapter…and then they take off their coats. They ask me how the story is going when I surface after living for hours in a world of my own making. They have learned to accept my “writing uniform” consisting of a slightly unflattering pink fleece jacket, t-shirt, and black yoga pants. And they smile at my nerdy bookishness whenever I try to explain urban fantasy to them. In short, they get me, so they are perfect and I am blessed. Please visit me at my website: www.amyabartol.weebly.com