by D. N. Hoxa
But that didn’t matter. I watched him take his cake and leave the shop with his head down, and when he walked out the door, he turned around to look at me once more. I don’t know what it was about it that made me turn away, but it did.
When he left, I could breathe deeply enough to calm my racing heart. Whatever the deal with this Adrian guy was, I just hoped I would never see him again.
Chapter Three
Things kind of…happened when I got angry. Like, really angry.
“Talk to me, Willow,” my mom said, her hands on her hips as she looked at me like I was ten years old all over again.
“I am talking to you!” I said, trying my damn hardest to keep my voice down. George was by the kitchen counter pretending not to hear us when he could, which I hated even more though it wasn’t his fault. He knew as well as my mother did that I didn’t like to have one of these talks in front of him, but she just didn’t give a shit.
“Where were you last night? How many times do I need to tell you not to leave the apartment without telling me?!” Mom snapped.
Sometimes, I looked into her dark brown eyes and tried to tell her without words that she needed to cut it off, just stop before I lost it. Sadly, it never worked.
“I’m twenty-one years old, for God’s sake! I don’t have to tell you anything!” It was bad enough that I couldn’t even leave the apartment she and her boyfriend shared, but I had to go through this bullshit every time I went out?
“You might be twenty-one, but you’re still my daughter, living under my roof!” she shouted, her voice shaking. We were minutes away from her bursting into tears, which made me even angrier because I couldn’t stand the sight of her like that. I didn’t want to hurt her, damn it, but she made it impossible to be nice.
“Only because you make me,” I said, standing up. “Look, can we just knock it off? I’m tired. I just want to get some sleep.”
She turned away from me, which hurt more than if she’d slapped me across the face. “Then go.”
“Mom, come on!” I didn’t mean to upset her like that, but it seemed anything I said got us to this point, no matter what it was.
“Just go, Willow. Go sleep.” Her voice shook. She was already crying.
So I went.
My room was on the other side of the hallway from theirs, but I still heard them sometimes. I still had to get up extra early to use the bathroom and dress in there after my showers because I didn’t want George to see me wrapped up in a freaking towel. I still had to make extra noise when leaving my room because I didn’t want to catch them by surprise doing something in the living room. I still felt like a kid who couldn’t escape her childhood, and I needed to, so, so badly.
There were times when I wanted to just sit down and tell my mom everything. About Dad, about the demons, about what I did when I went out at night. I wanted her to see why she didn’t have to worry about me. I could handle myself, and I was not going to kill myself like Dad, damn it. How else could I tell her this?
But no matter how many times I gathered the balls to do it, one look at her face and I changed my mind. I couldn’t do that to her. I couldn’t tell her that the man she married and loved held so many secrets from her. I couldn’t tell her that her own daughter did the same. It was too much.
That night, I didn’t go out, despite my need to let out the anger before it let me out. It hadn’t happened very often, only three times. The first time was when my dad died. They called us from his office—he was a psychiatrist—and told my mother he’d hung himself. She came to my room in hysterics, crying, screaming, trying to pull out her hair, and she told me that my father was a coward, that he’d taken his own life because he was a selfish bastard who couldn’t bring himself to put his own daughter before him. I don’t know what did it for me—what he did or what she said. Maybe it had been both, but I remember that awful feeling like it was yesterday. I began to shake, and everything else in my room shook with me. My windows broke, my aquarium broke and my little goldfish Jimmy died. All the pictures I’d hung on the wall fell, and everything else on my desk hit the floor.
I don’t know how I snapped out of it, just that when I woke up, I was lying on the floor, my mother still in the bathroom screaming. I don’t even know if she saw what happened, but she never talked about it, and I never asked because I was convinced that everything in my room broke because I broke it. Like, with my hands. I’d just hallucinated the whole thing because stuff like that wasn’t possible, right?
Then came my father’s funeral. I couldn’t stand to see people walking up to the podium to speak about him like they knew him when I never did. I ended up breaking the toilet, sink and mirror in the church’s restroom. Don’t ask me how because I don’t know. My father never mentioned anything like it. He never mentioned a lot of things, like what could possibly drive him to kill himself, even after he knew what was out in the world and what he could do to make it better. Because he could fight much better than I ever would. He felt the demons much more clearly than I ever did, and the intentions of people around us were as easy to read for him as a book. He could make the world a better place. He just chose not to.
The third time it happened was soon after I’d tried to leave my mom’s place but decided not to at the last second. I tried not to blame her for the way things were. God knows I tried, but I still did. We had one of our fights because I’d gone out and hadn’t come home until six in the morning, chasing a demon who almost cost me my life. And when she saw me all bloodied and bruised, she lost it. I lost it, too. Told her that she was the coward for refusing to move on, that she was selfish for putting her own needs before her daughter’s.
As I said those words, I saw her break right in front of my eyes. I’d never hated myself—and her—more. I usually had a good grip on my feelings, but that day I didn’t. Didn’t want to. Almost wished for it to happen, just so I could tell her everything and be free of all my secrets.
But when almost everything in the living room broke, and all the cabinets of the kitchen opened, she decided that it was an earthquake. She began to cry and hug me, telling me how thankful she was that I was okay, because that earthquake could have killed me.
Maybe she already knew. Maybe she just didn’t want to admit it. Either way, I knew that I was never going to try to tell her again. Hurting her with words was one thing, but I could have hurt her for real. I could have killed her with whatever the fuck it was I did, and that was the one thing that would have driven me to end up like my father had.
So now, to drown out the anger, I turned the volume of my old stereo up all the way and drowned myself in music until I could no longer find my own thoughts. Strangely enough, that night, I lost all my thoughts except one: that of Adrian Ward.
I was going to talk to George. That was my plan. Just as soon as I went home, I was going to ask him to come to my room to have a word with him about my mother. Maybe I couldn’t get my mother to let go of me—literally—alone, but he could help. He didn’t want me there; I knew he didn’t, so he would help me. We could start small, arrange a vacation for him and Mom far away from here. France, Italy—anywhere in the world that required a plane ticket. There, she’d see exactly what she’d been missing, and then we could convince her to let me get my own place. I had more than enough money from my savings, without even considering the money Dad had left me. Unless I absolutely had to, I vowed to never touch it.
I was putting the cakes in the back five minutes before five when the door opened and those annoying bells rang. I was going to tell whoever it was that we were already closed and to call Cece on her phone for orders, but when I looked up, I saw Adrian Ward coming toward me with a bright smile on his face.
My heart skipped a long beat at the sight of him, not entirely in a bad way, which pissed me off. I slammed my hands on the counter because I wasn’t there to make him feel welcome. Quite the contrary.
“We’re closed,” I said, putting as much venom behind my words as I could
.
“Really?” He made a point of looking at the sign on the door that still said Open. “Couldn’t tell.”
Crossing my arms in front of me, I sighed. “Cut the crap, Adrian. What do you want?”
Raising his hands up, he shook his head. “I came to apologize.”
“Apologize?” That certainly was a surprise.
“Yeah. Whatever I did yesterday, I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
What the hell? Some of the anger let go of me, making me feel a bit lighter.
“You didn’t do anything,” I said, despite my better judgment. I was right—it wasn’t something he did. Just the way he was, and that hadn’t changed. I looked at him, and I still couldn’t see anything clearly besides his face and body. His aura was no aura, but confusion hung onto him in its stead.
He shrugged.
“Good to know,” he said with a wide grin that did things to my stomach I didn’t want to think about. “And if that’s the case, then you can make it up to me over a drink after work.”
Oh, he was a really funny guy.
Actually, he acted like any guy would. He was asking me out, and it wasn’t his fault that he felt wrong to me. As much as I’d have liked to, uh…see the head of his snake tattoo, it wasn’t going to happen. My (father’s) number one rule was to never get caught unprepared. With Adrian Ward, I didn’t know what to expect, so there was no way to prepare for anything.
“Sorry, bud, but I’m busy after work,” I said, reminding myself why I was turning him down again because I seemed to forget whenever I looked into his eyes.
His smile faltered. “Tomorrow, then?”
I flinched. “Just that I’ve got this rule against dating customers, so…sorry,” I said with a shrug.
“Who said anything about a date? We’d just be sharing a conversation over drinks, that’s all.” He literally defined a date, and he looked damn cute doing it, too.
“Look, I—” I was going to turn him down again, hopefully for the last time, when the door opened, and the entire shop seemed to drown in darkness for a second. An extra large ice cube slid down my neck, making all the hair on my body stand at attention.
The man walking into the shop looked nothing out of the ordinary. Like, nothing out of the ordinary. His eyes were a dull brown, his blonde hair reaching all the way to his chin, and his green shirt was even stained in several places. There was only one possible explanation for this: a shape-shifter.
My senses never lied. I’d found that out the hard way, and the only demons who could change the color of their eyes from that freaky yellow were the shifters, who could take on the form of whoever they ate. It didn’t even have to be that much—a couple of hairs out of a person’s head would do it.
I know, gross.
But here I was, staring at him like the sky had fallen, unable to catch my breath, when he stopped in front of the counter. I’d broken my own rule—he’d caught me completely unprepared. Just that never before had a demon simply waltzed into the shop like that.
Clearing my throat, I tore my eyes from his face and looked at Adrian, who’d stepped to the side and was looking at the tiles like they were the most interesting thing in the world right now.
“Hello,” I said to the demon, begging my voice to not let me down. “Welcome to Treat Yourself. How can I help you?” Polite was my middle name in that moment. I knew what he was, but he had no idea who I was, and that right there was my only advantage.
“Hey, pretty girl,” the shifter said, making me want to dig my nails into the countertop. “I’m here for the coffee cake. A friend of mine recommended it.”
Forcing a smile was harder than it sounds when you’re facing evil incarnate, but I did it anyway. “Then you’ve got good taste in friends—and cake.” Now, forcing a laugh was a completely different story. I couldn’t do it for the life of me, but the shifter laughed enough for the both of us.
“I’m not so sure about that. He didn’t mention the girl behind the counter, which is a shame.” He leaned on his elbows and closer to me, looking at me like he meant to mesmerize me with his eyes. He wasn’t bad looking, but I’d sooner do what my father did to himself than get any closer than I had to right now. But there was one thing I could do. I could get him his cake.
I wrapped a big piece up as fast as I could, my hands shaking. I don’t know if it was because he’d caught me off guard, because Adrian was standing there with his eyes open so wide I feared they were going to fall out of his head, or because the adrenaline that took over me before a fight was missing.
“What’s your name, pretty girl?” he said taking out his wallet.
“Willow,” I said, and before he could tell me his, I put the cake on the counter. “You know what, it’s on the house.” I batted my lashes at him like the world was going to end any second.
“All right!” he said, reaching out for the box, but I pulled it back.
“If you tell me where you’ll be tonight.” I know you wanna hi-five me.
The shifter couldn’t have been happier. The broad smile on his face was a clear indication of that. He grabbed a napkin from the counter, and I offered him a pen so he could write down the address where he was going to die tonight. I almost pitied him, and then I remembered what he really was.
“I’ll be there at ten. Bring your friends if you want to,” he said, sliding the napkin back to me.
I only winked—there was no need to say anything else. I watched him leave the shop with his cake, a huge smile on his face, and I thought about what it would feel like to sink my knife into his heart and watch him turn to ashes.
“Really?” A high-pitched voice said, making me jump.
Fuck. Adrian Ward. He was still there.
Rolling my eyes, I folded the napkin and put it in my back pocket. Tonight was going to be a good night.
“Seriously, Willow? That guy?” he continued, stepping in front of me on the other side of the counter.
“It’s none of your business,” I mumbled. Believe it or not, I did feel kind of like shit. Here was a guy I actually wanted to get drinks with, but instead, I was going to have to put up with a fucking shifter for God knows how long tonight before I could get him alone and finish the job.
“What happened to I don’t date customers?” He no longer looked at me in disbelief. He just seemed…disappointed. Which sucked.
“Look, I need to close the shop. It’s already past five. Can you just give me a break?” I said, my voice rising because I never knew how to handle situations well when I felt guilty. Reminding myself of why I couldn’t go out for drinks with him wasn’t helping, either.
I expected him to argue, to even call me names, but instead, he just shrugged.
“Sure,” he said, his forehead shining with sweat. Without another word, he turned around and left me alone. I got a good taste of that disappointment he felt, too, but I had a shop to close and a demon to kill, so I didn’t allow myself to think about it for too long.
The ledger Dad always kept with him served to record the killings of demons. He’d started it soon after he told me the truth about them, and after he died, I continued to keep count. His small office in the apartment was exactly as he’d left it. Mom wouldn’t even let me talk about giving his stuff away. I thought it would offer us both closure. She thought it needed to be cleaned once a week and left exactly as it was.
I used to spend a lot of time in there when I was younger, reading the books he had, checking his laptop, the files of his clients, trying to understand what it was that had made him want to give up that badly. I never got a single clue, but his ledger remained in the top drawer of his desk, and that’s where I left it every time I used it.
He drew an upside down triangle with a black pen every time he killed a demon, and I now did the same. He never told me why he’d chosen that, if the symbol had any meaning, and in the four pages filled with the same symbol, there was only one upright triangle. No idea when he drew it, just that
it was on the second page, and I don’t know why it was different from the rest. It was just another question mark in my long list of them when it came to my dad.
Before leaving the apartment that night, I drew an upside down triangle for Yellow Tank Top and put the ledger away in the drawer. Mom was in the living room, watching TV, and she smiled when she heard me coming, right until she saw the leather jacket in my hand.
“Going out?”
I smiled. “Just to get a drink. I’ll be back by midnight.” I hoped I wasn’t lying to her, but I didn’t know for sure. Who knew how much time I’d need to bag the shifter?
“Or you could stay here with me and we could open one of your dad’s wines,” she said. Her heart wasn’t into it because she already knew I’d say no.
“It’s okay, Mom. You can do that with George.”
“George is away on business, but of course you hadn’t noticed,” she whispered. As if I’d just realized that we were alone, I took a look around the apartment. She was right—I hadn’t seen George since the night before. He was a car salesman, so he did go away for a couple days at a time at fairs and such. In the past, I’d always noticed.
“I’ll be back by midnight,” I repeated, and I made for the door. I could talk to George about taking Mom on a long vacation after he returned.
“Who are you going out with?” she called before I could leave. “You have no friends, Willow. Who are you getting drinks with?”
Biting my tongue, I stepped outside and closed the door.
I was aware that I had no friends, thank you very much. No need to rub it in my face. I wanted to have friends. God knows I did, but how would I explain what I did to a friend? I’d never be able to go out because I only ever went out to hunt demons, and you couldn’t exactly share that kind of thing with others. I wouldn’t put anyone in that kind of danger, and nobody would understand. Hell, I didn’t understand shit at first, and I felt the demons. It wasn’t a risk I was willing to take. No one could know about what I did, and if that meant I was doomed to a life of solitude, so be it. I’d rather die alone than do what my father did to me to a child. My child.
