Elena Cain clutched her balled-up clothes and tiptoed across the hardwood floor. Liam, the handsome guitarist she’d met the previous night, was splayed on his stomach on the creaky bed in the corner, a threadbare gray blanket thrown across his legs. Despite the enormous quantity of tequila they’d consumed, he’d brought her to climax several times before collapsing into a drunken stupor.
So, this is my life now. An endless string of one-night stands.
She’d had a chance at love, once. Before life had gotten in the way. She remembered fixing her gaze on the road until her eyes burned from strain, bouncing her knee until her bladder ached. Passing gas station after gas station until the car sputtered to a stop three miles outside Chicago city limits.
Abandoning the only man who had ever truly cared about her.
Sebastian.
She’d never stopped dreaming of him. When times got tough, it was memories of their time together she fell back on to remind herself that life was worth living.
She found a relatively clean patch of floor and shrugged on her bra and panties, keeping one eye on the man in the bed. Although she had seen no ink on him during their lovemaking, she’d been spectacularly drunk.
Liam grunted and flipped over, revealing a neon pink pig tattooed on his stomach. She froze, gaze fixed on the spot, shoulders tensed, but the pig only stared for several long seconds before trotting down the man’s torso and vanishing beneath the blanket.
She hastily shimmied into her tight-fitting black dress, twisted her long black hair into a ponytail, and was digging through a pile of crumpled T-shirts on the floor, looking for her wallet, when the pins-and-needles sensation started in her right hand. She checked her palm, and there it was—pink body, beady black eyes, curled tail, and all.
Fine. But don’t try anything.
The pig blinked as if to protest its innocence.
“Leaving so soon?” Liam asked. He had thrown the blanket off his legs and rolled to face her.
She clenched her hand reflexively before relaxing it. It wasn’t as if he could see the pig, anyway.
“Thanks, but I have to get home,” she said. As nice as their time together had been, she didn’t want to pick up any more shades. Although mostly harmless, each was a drain on her already slim reserves.
She hurried out of the apartment, closing the door softly. When she turned, an old woman stood at the end of the hallway. Her shock white hair was tied in a severe bun, her wrinkled hands clutched an ebony cane, and her eyes were pools of black tar. She grinned, revealing a mouthful of sharpened teeth.
“Hello, dearest,” the woman said in a grating, masculine voice.
Elena shuffled backward until she hit a wall, then searched for the elevator button and slammed her index finger on it repeatedly.
“Such a clever girl,” the old woman said. “Doubling back on your trail like that. But now that we’re reacquainted,” the woman lurched forward, but the door to 205 opened, and a tall man wearing a sleek black raincoat stepped out. When he closed the door, the old woman was gone.
Elena abandoned the elevator and took the stairs to the main floor. When she entered the foyer, chest heaving, there was a young boy with blonde curls and pitch-black eyes standing in her path.
“Running away already?” the shade asked through the boy’s mouth. “So rude. At least give me a taste.”
“Leave me alone.”
The tickling in her hands returned, accompanied by pressure filling her head like an inflating balloon. She held her breath and mentally pushed back on the encroaching presence, but alcohol and lack of sleep had worn her defenses thin. With a sound like tearing paper, the shade thrust her consciousness into the dark void. She could still see the marble floors and silver elevator doors of the entryway, but it was hazy, like looking through a pane of frosted glass.
The shade possessing her body dug through her pockets, found her phone, and used her fingerprint to unlock the device. It dialed a number, then the phone rang three times before a young female voice answered. “Hello?”
“Hi, Wendy,” the shade said through her mouth. “You thought you’d never hear from me again, didn’t you?”
“Huh?” The voice warbled.
“I just wanted you to know I haven’t forgotten you,” the shade said. “We’ll be seeing each other again very soon.”
“T-this isn’t funny,” the voice sobbed. “Don’t call me again!”
The line disconnected.
The shade’s rage washed over Elena. It made her dizzy, like wearing someone else’s glasses. She thrashed against the restraints, but the shade was too strong, and her world dissolved.
He closed his gloved hands tightly around the whore’s neck, silencing her incessant squawking. Her once-blonde hair was blackened with soot and mud, her right eye swollen shut. Blood trickled from her nose and dripped onto his wrist.
She squirmed beneath him, kicking with her bare feet and thrashing from side to side, but he held on tight, adjusting his grip until he found the perfect pressure to keep her gasping without knocking her out.
Her jerking movements weakened and then stilled.
Elena twisted out of the memory, unwilling to experience any more. How had the bastard found her so quickly? She’d been careful, changing her appearance, zigzagging across the state, and keeping a low profile. But it didn’t seem to matter how far or how fast she ran. The Harvester always caught up with her.
Cackling laughter echoed in her ears, then the pressure in her head deflated, and she was sucked back into her body in the now-empty foyer. Her rubbery legs buckled, and she braced herself against the wall. When her arms had stopped trembling, she checked her hand and felt a twinge of remorse that the pig was gone.
That was what made the Harvester so dangerous. It jumped between hosts, consuming shades and growing ever more powerful. Eventually, it would tire of their game, and then she would be royally screwed.
She pushed away from the wall. The important thing was to get back to her apartment before another shade took advantage of her weakened state. She exited the building and fast-walked ten blocks until she was back within the safety of her apartment. Then she leaned against the door and looked at a framed photo on the wall. In the picture, a tall woman with dark hair smiled and waved at the camera from atop an oversized picnic chair.
How did you do this for so long, mom? How did you find the strength to keep fighting?
Her mother’s soft voice trickled into her mind, humming a familiar melody. A powerful wave of homesickness washed over her.
Thump. Something heavy hit the door, rattling the security chain.
Thump. She hooked a chair from the hall with the tip of her shoe, edging it closer.
Thump. The chair clattered to the ground. She cursed and let go of the door for a split second to grab the chair and fit it against the handle. The door rattled once more, then stilled.
She resisted the urge to scream. Instead, she pulled out her phone and dialed a number with shaking fingers.
A voice thick with sleep answered. “Hello?”
Elena’s shoulders relaxed. “Hey, Aunt Martha, it’s me.”
“Hello, dear! How are you?”
“I’ve, uh, I’ve been better.”
A long squeal, like nails scraping against glass.
Thump The chair lodged under the door shifted but held.
Her aunt’s voice rose. “What was that?”
Elena’s mouth dried. She swallowed, but it didn’t help. Pressure built at the back of her eyes as she slid down the wall. “It’s found me.”
“Already?” A gusty exhale. “You can’t keep running, dear. Come home. Let us help you.”
“No,” Elena said quickly. “Anything but that.”
After leaving Stillwood, she’d spent several years living with her aunt, if such a life could even be called living. Unlike her mother, Aunt Martha held the belief that the only way for the gifted women of their bloodline to remain safe was to sequester themselves from the outside world.
Might as well join a convent.
It hadn’t been all bad, of course. She had occupied those long, boring years scouring her aunt’s impressive collection of occult tomes, learning about her gift, and searching for a way to defeat the monster that had taken her mother.
“There must be something else,” Elena said. “Can you check the archives? Maybe I missed something.”
“Well, I suppose—”
The line disconnected.
Elena looked at her phone, then dialed again, but it only rang and rang without connecting. Eventually, she gave up and shoved her phone back into her pocket.
The sound in the hallway had stopped, at least.
She buried her head in her arms and wriggled her fingers and toes to chase away the numbness settling on her like a chilly blanket. She confirmed the chair was still in place, rubbed away her tears, stripped off her dusty clothes, and dumped them in a hamper. When she was in the shower, with the water coursing down her body, the tension of the day faded away. She stood in the stream until the hot water ran out, then wrapped a towel around her body and returned to the kitchen, intent on trying her aunt’s number again. Even though she refused to accept her aunt’s protection, she needed help. Her best bet to lose the Harvester was to leave town immediately, which meant she needed money.
The line connected, and a robotic voice said, “The number you are calling is out of service.”
I don’t have time for this.
It wouldn’t take long for the Harvester to regroup, and she had to be out of town before that happened. She scrolled through her contacts, tapped a name, then waited as the phone rang.
“Smythe and Ernest,” a cheerful woman said.
“Hi, I’m a client of David Smythe,” Elena said. “I need to talk to him.” She paused, then added, “It’s important.”
“Hold please.”
“Wait,” Elena said, but it was too late. A gentle melody played on her speaker. Three soothing songs later, the line clicked, and a male voice spoke. “Hello?”
“David, hi, it’s me.” She shot a glance at the door. “I need your help again.”
A sigh from the other end. “Elena, I’m not your piggy bank. Now, if are interested in liquidating assets…”
She gritted her teeth. “That’s your angle, is it?”
There was one thing her mother had left her that could help. As much as she had been avoiding returning to Stillwood, it wasn’t as if she had any other choice.
I’m sorry, mom.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll sell the damn house.”
“I’ll leave the keys in the mailbox,” David said. “The place is in decent shape. A local real estate agent checks on it once a week.”
She said goodbye, hung up, then threw open the hallway closet and grabbed the bag inside. Then with a final, longing glance at her cozy apartment, she slid the window open to the back lane and stepped onto the grated metal fire escape.
She was halfway down when glass shattered above her, followed by the tinkling sound of shards falling onto metal. She looked up and through the grating spotted a hulking, human-like shape crawling out her window.
She grasped the edge of the railing and vaulted over. She landed waist deep in a pile of garbage, kicked herself free, and shot out of the alley as fast as her legs could carry her.
****
Elena slammed the door of her car and shielded her eyes with her fingers. The old, craftsman-style house perched at the top of a small ridge, draped with green vines as if born from the earth.
Her childhood home and the only thing of value she had left.
Gravel crushed underfoot as she approached the steps curving up the hill, carved into the earth, set with wooden logs at even intervals like keys of a great piano. She walked with care, her feet sliding on the weather-worn ground. After Chloe broke her arm one winter, her mother had declared the steps off-limits.
It hadn’t stopped the girls.
She treasured the memories of taking steps two at a time, laughing as she or Chloe fell and tumbled to rest, breathless, at the base of the hill.
And then there was Sebastian.
The thought of seeing him again sent little waves of pleasure rippling up from her stomach.
Get over it. He probably moved away years ago.
She arrived at the top of the hill and winced at the state of the building. Decent shape, David had said. The man was an eternal optimist. Gaps in stucco showed plastic sheeting beaded with moisture. Vines blanketed the house. Someone had boarded up two smashed-in windows on the main floor with plywood.
It was worse than she’d expected but better than she’d feared.
Unfortunately, she didn’t have the time or money to invest in repairs. At least the house was worth far less than the land.
It’ll be enough. It has to be enough.
Selling the house would be hard, like giving up a piece of her past, but she had no choice. She had to get back on the road before the Harvester found her.
Tension squeezed around her like a vice, forcing her to take shallow breaths. She stared at the steps leading to the front entrance, then crouched. The undersides were rotten. She walked around the porch and vaulted over the railing in a single smooth motion.
She smiled. “Still got it.”
A crow fluttered across her path and landed on the railing. It squawked at her.
“What do you want?” She stuck out her tongue.
The bird nodded its head and fluffed its feathers.
“Yeah, yeah. You’ve had your run of the place, but that ends now.”
She stepped over another rotted board and dug the keys from her pocket, fanning them in her hand. Front door, back door, shed. Two copies of each. David had labeled them, but the labels had peeled off in her pocket, leaving her with a half-dozen options.
She selected a key at random and placed her palm on the door.
It swung open.
“Hello?” she called.
She walked inside, hesitated, then locked the door behind her. Less for security and more to avoid unannounced visitors. She’d left her car as close to the trees as she could so it wouldn’t be seen from the street, but there was always the risk a neighbor would spot it and stop by to say hello.
A soft thud came from inside the house. Scenarios flitted through her mind, none of them good. She palmed the keys between her fingers like claws and tucked her fist behind her back.
“Hello? Is anyone here?”
When there was no response, she took a cautious step forward.
Another sound, like a moan. She raised her foot, then stepped down on the same spot. The wood groaned as it flexed. She laughed at her own skittishness. Next, she’d be jumping at shadows.
She avoided the hallway and the closet that still gave her nightmares and tossed her keys on the island countertop. She remembered her mother dressed in overalls, patching a hole she had made in the wall after attempting to play baseball indoors. A stubborn woman with a bright smile before the shades had corrupted her beyond recognition.
While her heart wallowed in the past, her traitorous mind was already three steps ahead. Furniture could go to O’Connor’s Auction House, two towns over. For a hefty commission, he’d be willing to send a truck to pick everything up. Artwork would go into storage as its value was sentimental. She’d need boxes and garbage bags to gather clothing and personal possessions to donate to local charities.
As soon as she found a real estate agent to handle the sale and signed whatever forms they required, she’d be back on the road. It would mean living lean for a while, but she was used to that.
Then a flash of movement drew her gaze to the back of the house, where a sliding glass door exited out to the deck.
She walked closer and made out a shape bobbing in the rippling water of the in-ground pool.
She grasped at the door frame.
A woman in an apricot-colored sundress floated face-down in the water, hair fanned about her like a shroud.
Elena forced the air out of her lungs. It couldn’t be a body. There had to be some other explanation. She slid the door open, and the cool fall air whipped her hair, bringing with it the distinctive smell of decay.
Her knees wobbled.
Who was she? What was she doing here?
A writhing shape faded into view on the woman’s bare shoulders, large and yellow, a snake. She’d seen another like it in the flesh years ago, visiting a zoo with her mother. A friendly keeper had asked if she’d wanted to take a picture with a boa constrictor, and she’d agreed, hanging onto her mother’s skirts. The man had loaded the snake onto her shoulders, where it had hung like a dead weight, its chubby body smooth despite the scales.
Her neck tingled, and then, with a sound like rushing water, the snake faded from the woman’s shoulders. A sharp pinch told her the shade had materialized on her chest. She peeked beneath her shirt to see a slitted snout staring up at her. The snake’s mottled yellow and white body was curled into a heap with only the tip of its triangular-shaped head peeking out from the folds.
The snake flicked its tongue at her. Its memories itched at the back of her mind, but as she mentally reached for them, they squirmed away. She tried again, stretching herself thin, hoping to feel some flicker of intelligence, and found a wisp, the last remnants of the soul’s consciousness. She grasped onto it and was catapulted into a memory.
“Please! No!”
Hands clasped like iron bands around her neck and pushed her face-first into the pool. The murky water flooded her mouth and burned in her lungs. She fought, kicking against her assailant, but the cold sapped her strength and burned her eyes.
Through the rippling water, her attacker grinned.
The memory dissolved like sand blowing in the wind, and Elena gasped with recognition. She touched the snake’s head with her fingers and sniffed.
“I’m so sorry, Chloe.”
She rubbed away the tears on her cheeks and was about to cross the deck when she heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning in a lock.
She closed the sliding door with a soft click and crouched under the kitchen window, back pressed to the stucco exterior of the house.
Be quiet. Don’t let them know you’re here.
“Hello?” A man’s voice, low and rumbling.
Footsteps approached, then stilled.
She inched up and peeked through the window. The man’s back was to her. He was tall, with tawny brown hair and deeply tanned skin. He crossed his arms, his shirt tight enough to show off wide shoulders and a narrow waist.
She focused on a splash of emerald on the man’s neck. It was another shade, a green tree python. She caught only glimpses of it coiled around the man’s shoulders beneath his shirt like the branch of a large tree.
Her fingers were numb because they were clenched so hard.
I have to get out of here.
She looked around the backyard. The cultivated landscaping of her childhood was a chaos of overgrown plants and weeds. She could sprint for the fence, but the windows in the kitchen gave a clear view of that path.
Maybe if she waited, he would leave?
The man turned, and Elena’s heart fluttered. He was stunning, with long, dark eyelashes and high cheekbones dusted with stubble. His wide lips thinned as he searched the room, heavy eyebrows drawn close together. It had been years since she’d seen him last, but she recognized him at once, and his name left her lips before she could claw it back.
“Sebastian?”