When I pull into the garage, the Bolo-Hat man, the first ghost I ever saw in this city, stands at the edge of my peripheral vision by the stairwell door, hat brim dripping rain that isn’t there.I’ve never seen him outside of my kitchen.You’re being watched.
“By choice,” I mutter, clutching my bag.
Not by him.The flicker he gives isn’t the warm, familiar kind; it snaps bright, a warning.Cold slides under my jacket.I hook my keys between my fingers and scan the rows of cars, the puddles, the exit sign humming.My bootsteps sound too loud.By the one who waits,lands next, clear as verbal language.My throat tightens.I count my breaths, five in, seven out, and keep walking without speeding up, like that will keep the future from noticing me.
Logan watches me enter the lobby, then peels off for his days with Katy.
Victoria is already in my office, coffee in hand.
“Hey girl.”Victoria turns in her chair.“You survived our drinks.”
“Barely,” I say, hanging my purse on the hook by the door before taking my seat behind my desk and opening my laptop to catch up on emails.“Are you planning to give up your office?”
“Eh, maybe,” Victoria says.“I like your company.”
“Me too.But don’t get any ideas.I’m sober from here on out.”
“Yeah, yeah, tell me that again on Friday when we’re both ready for a drink.”
Victoria and I fall into an easy rhythm.She sits at the front of my desk and me behind it.She offers to go get lunch and bring it back, so I have twenty minutes of weird silence.I’ve gotten used to her already.I finish my handwritten edits while she’s gone which means I’ll spend the afternoon transferring them to the digital copy for the author.
Victoria comes back with two heavy containers of street tacos and I force myself to take a break before diving right back in after lunch.Working with Victoria is easy, because she isn’t distracting.She doesn’t try to keep me from getting things done, and when we both need a break the conversation comes without effort.
I stare at my laptop’s webcam every few minutes, wondering about the man looking at me through the camera.Adrian.Logan said his name is Adrian.Well Adrian, let’s see how good you are at your job.
I open up my email and leave thetoandsubjectlines blank.I type directly in the message box.
Hello Adrian.
Hello Melinda.
His reply appears like magic on the unaddressed email.
So you are watching me.
This is too weird.
I’m not watching anything.I’m blind.I’m listening.
To me and Victoria talk and work?
Yes.Caleb is who watches.Atlas too.
Seems all the Ashenheart brothers are honest.You’d think at least one of them would keep me in the dark.One does.
Caleb?Atlas?
Our other brothers.
Is Cassius back?
Not yet.He should be home about the time you get off.
The prospect of seeing Cassius today is overwhelming.I want to yell at him for always spying on me.I want to scream at him for involving other people in his weird spying.I want to tell him he’s crossing lines.Above all that, I want to step into his embrace.
I close the email, wave at the camera like an idiot, and force myself back to the manuscript.Every few pages, the temperature in my office drops and it’s not the AC.The man from the grocery store perches on the filing cabinet, swinging phantom wrists and smirking.
He’ll get you hurt.
