Iwoke up to a lightning bolt taped to my bed post . . . a cartoon-esque lightning bolt that would have done Looney Tunes proud. Cut out of glittery-gold paper, no less.
It fluttered in the slight breeze from the air conditioner.
I reacted to the sparkly paper lightning bolt as any normal person would—
I screamed and scrambled backwards on my bed, hunching into a ball atop my pillows, hyperventilating.
Soooo, maybe not the most typical response, but . . . when the lizard brain kicks in, you just react.
I unfurled slightly from my armadillo-pose and stared at the lightning bolt, trying to stop my freaked-out psyche from launching into a full-blown panic attack.
Lightning and I . . . there was a history there. And, no, I didn’t want to talk about it.
I just wanted answers as quickly as possible. Where had the lightning bolt come from? Who taped it there? And why?
There had been no paper lightning bolt when I finally went to sleep last night. I was currently alone in the apartment despite having slept in late.
Glancing on the floor next to the bed, I noted scissors, tape and scraps of shimmery paper. So that solved thewherepart of the lightning bolt. But thewhoand thewhyremained a mystery.
I sat upright gingerly, ordering my fight or flight reflex to stand down.
Crap.
After the events of the previous night—the mystical warnings, the reference to lightning, the close run-in with a member of the Tempeste family—it was no surprise that blood pulsed loudly in my ears.
Understanding flashed through me like, well . . . lightning.
Crap, crap, crap.
The lightning bolt was the Tempeste’s calling card, a scribbled black mark left atop dead bodies. Did they use glittery, gold paper for people they left alive?
After last night’s encounter, I had zipped the audio file and the little bit of video together and sent them to Enzio before going to bed. His response had been fast:
Let this go and don’t say a word to anyone.
But . . . there werechildreninvolved. I couldn’t live with myself if my silence got little kids killed. So I had texted Enzio back:
I’m so sorry, Enzio. You know I gotta do this.
Please, don’t. I’m not a fan of funerals, particularly yours.
Yeah, but I’m the one that has to live with myself. I’ll make sure I keep your name out of it.
It was nice knowing you.
Ha-ha. That Enzio. Always a jokester.
I had sent the audio and video to a friend within the police department. Who knows what they would do with it, but I had to at least pass along the information. My conscience wouldn’t let me do otherwise.
Besides, what were the chances the Tempeste family would associate me with the leaked information? And so quickly? Slim-to-none, right? That had been my comforting thought as I had settled into a movie and some ice cream to help me fall asleep after my eventful night.
I stared at the lightning bolt again. Clearly, I had miscalculated. Enzio’s paranoia didn’t seem quite so misplaced now.
Wasthe glittery gold lightning bolt from the Tempeste clan? And, if so, what did it mean?
We’re coming for you?
Good-morning sunshine?
