Instead, I make myself a cup of tea and head over to the couch and pull a blanket over my legs. The thermostat is not acting up tonight, which means I feel the chill of the dark winter night. But I welcome it in my bones. There is something about being surrounded by cold and being able to cozy up in a blanket with a nice horror novel.
I open my current read, a classic Stephen King. The pages are wrinkled with water stains from the previous owner, but forless than a dollar as a garage sale I now own one of my favorites. Someone might find me perverse for finding comfort in killer clowns, but I find it so very soothing.
Soft paws ascend into my lap. "Oh, hello." I raise the book over my head in surprise, making room. The cat tucks its legs under itself, forming a kitten loaf on my blankets before it looks up at me and meows, showing off its sharp little fangs.
The cat loves back scratches but until now, we’ve maintained a respectful distance from each other. It has never crawled onto me like this before. I swallow down something lumpy in my throat and lower my fingers to stroke the soft fur.
The purring immediately kicks up, like a little engine. If I want, I could raise my book in one hand and resume reading, but I set it down, open on the couch arm to hold my place. Warmth spreads out along my lap from my friend’s body.
I trace along the bony spine and ribs that stick out a little too much. Just like mine actually. "I don’t know who you are staying with when you aren’t with me, but I don’t think they are feeding you enough."
The cat gives me a slow heavy-lidded blink, enjoying my attention. "I think you may need the other can of tuna before you go." I pause. "It feels weird to talk to you. Nice, but weird. The only one I ever talked to before was Shadow. With Miguel, I listened more than spoke. Comfortably though," I rush to qualify, as if the cat has any idea or cares that I might have unintentionally spoken poorly about Miguel.
Bringing up my friend, who is in the hospital because of me, makes my heart swell with discomfort.
"He doesn’t deserve this," I say after a beat. The backs of my eyes sting with tears, but I blink them back. I don’t get to feel sorry for myself. Not even to a cat. I don’t get to do that. I’m not the victim. I’m the one destroying other people’s lives.
The cat remains unconcerned about my or Miguel’s affairs. Suddenly, I feel like an idiot. Don’t people do this all the time? Talk to pets, or friends, or family? Am I just bad at it?
Suddenly the cat is up, hackles raised and hissing. Not at me, but in the direction of my bedroom.
"What is it?" I murmur stupidly, as if the cat can answer.
The cat leaps off my lap and races toward the front door.
Shit, is thereanothermonster coming?
I open the door so the cat can slink out to safety, but I'm not an idiot. I shove my feet into my boots and grab my coat. I have it halfway on when the shadows in my apartment darken. I pause my mad rush to get out the door.
"Evie." My name travels into the living room on a monstrous growl from the bedroom. It’s Shadow.
I barely make him out in the darkness, his form obscured but his presence unmistakable.
I almost peel the coat back off, but something stops me. My heart beats in my temples and causes the hair on the nape of my neck to rise like needles.
Fear. Fear is stopping me. Something in his tone of voice is off. I know him too well.
Tendrils of shadow slither around and grip the edges of my bedroom doorframe. My heart races and my palms are slick with sweat. Every part of my body is telling me to run like hell, that I’m in danger. But why do I feel this way? I’ve never been in danger from Shadow.
Still, some part of me knows better, simply from the hue of the darkness, from the crackling energy in the room. It feels… hungry.
The shadows in the room twist and writhe like living things, a macabre dance I find both beautiful and terrifying.
"Evie." As Shadow’s deep, guttural growl fills the air again, I can't help but feel like prey caught in the gaze of a predator. The fear is tangible, a cold hand gripping my heart.
It's Shadow, but not.
"What’s wrong?" I ask, one arm still in my coat. I’m rooted to the spot, my survival instincts screaming at me to flee, yet transfixed by the hypnotic movement of the shadows.
"I can smell you." The words are drawn out, almost slurred. "You smell delicious."
It’s almost as if I can tell he is licking his chops in the darkness. I still can’t see his eyes, or his body. Tendrils of shadow extend further into the room, the feelers of my dark, otherworldly beast. They move with purpose, slinking across the floor, climbing the walls.
"Do you need me to go out and get you a heart from the butcher?" I offer. Something tells me Shadow is hungry. Hungry past the point of reason.
"No." His snarl snaps through the air with a cruelty I’ve never heard before. "The livestock will not sate me."
My heart pounds harder in my chest, a frantic rhythm that echoes the growing sense of dread. I know Shadow, but this part of him—this feral, predatory side—is something new, something dangerous. I caught a glimpse of it in that restaurant after he consumed the monster’s heart, after his horns elongated.
