But in the real world, I can already hear sirens and have only moments to decide what's important enough to take home and what needs to be destroyed.
Flipping through the alphabetized cabinets, I find Isla's name, the folder containing a few sheets of paper, and a drive much like the others. As quickly as I can, I transport the file outside onto a thick tree branch, laying it flat enough that unless a massive storm comes through in the next two minutes, it'll remain safe and dry.
With only precious seconds left, I let kindling from the fire fall through the Aether onto the computer, then into the cabinets.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.The fire department is here too quickly. I need this entire place to fall into nothing but fucking cinders.
I leave no room unturned, sprinkling bits of flaming rugs, tapestries, and wood across the carpet, begging for enough.
As the sirens grow louder, I know my time is up, getting one last glance inside the office to ensure everything is destroyed. Satisfied that it has to be enough, I grab Isla's folder from the tree and dart through the Aether back home, somehow both happy and disappointed that my body count didn't grow tonight.
Frustration tugs at me, furious at how fucking pointless tonight was. I definitely ruined everything in that house before Kyle could glean anything useful from it.
Throwing myself into the shower before I face Isla, I wonder at how quiet she is. The TV plays, and I wonder if she fell asleep in front of it.
Emerging from the bathroom, I find the living room empty except for her phone and an empty glass next to the remotes.
She's not in her room, either, though the scent of her and tequila cling to every inch, a beckoning, a summoning spell from my favorite witch. While I can't sense her in the traditional demon way, she calls to me all the same.
And she'd better not be where I fucking think she is.
Lessons Learned
Isla
Once I reach the bottom and take two steps out, the lights flick on one by one.Do they usually do that?Something about it feels like a horror film, the somewhat damp hallway stretching and yawning open before me.
The door on my left leads to the training room/ gym. Filled with every manner of torture, including the fucking treadmill. But on the right?
Anticipation brings a wicked smile to my face as I reach for the doorknob.
Locked.
I mean, that's a pretty clear message.Do not enter.
But I've never really listened to Eamon's warnings before, have I?
Darting up the stairs to grab my tools, I stay light on my feet, hoping to make it back down before the lights turn off again.
On my knees in front of the locked door, I use the two bobby pins to move each little piece of the lock, taking far more tries than it should. It's definitely not the first time I've picked a lock drunk, but itisthe first time in a couple years.
This was just a party trick I used to get us into pools and stuff in college, and now here I am using it to break into the scariest person I know's… well, I don't know what kind of room is behind this door, but I'm about to find out.
I hear the tell-tale click and twist the second bobby pin, the door swinging into another blackened, frigid room. Triumph overrides every sense of self-preservation I have, making me almost jump up in excitement.
On my feet, I lean into the room, searching for a light switch. Once I find it and flick it up, monitors surround me, coming to life.
What the fuck?
The footage before me shows at least seven different angles all around my apartment, including a few more outside in the entryway.
Stepping further into the room, I see he has a handful of these stations. One has five cameras pointed at a warehouse, and another has ten cameras on a shipping dock.
What are these?
This psychopath has cameras in my home. And now I'm trapped in his. I have to get out of here before he finds out; I don't even want to know what he might do if he catches me.
"Was the locked door not a clear enough message?" A cold voice asks from behind me.
