Something new.
Am I the something new? Do I want to be? Could the connection between us ever measure up to what he had with his old love, a love that has followed him for over a century?
I can’t believe that’s possible. But I want to believe it, with all my heart.
Shit, I’m in serious trouble.
He lets me hug him a moment longer before pulling away. “So…you don’t have a guest room. The couch, then?”
But I can tell he really isn’t a fan of the idea of sleeping on that couch. I don’t blame him. It’s far too short for his frame, and while it’s decent for sitting, it’s not super comfortable to lie on. Plus it smells a little funky. Not sure what happened to it during the years Aunt Jessie owned it, and I’d rather not think too hard about the possibilities.
“Go back to the Chandler, Dorian,” I tell him. “If anything happens, I’ll text you, and I’ll call 911. Plus I’ve got my nosy neighbor to keep an eye on things.”
“Don’t let her in again,” he warns. “These fanatical religious types can be just as dangerous as the skriken.”
“Got it.” As he heads for the door, I push him along. “Now would you relax? Nothing is going to happen.”
He whirls around, staring. “You didnotjust say that.”
“What?”
“Baz, have you ever watched a horror movie?”
“I think it’s fairly obvious that I have. Many of them, in fact.”
“Then you should know not to say things like ‘Nothing is going to happen.’ It’s the best bloody way to tempt fate and ensure that something terriblewillhappen.”
“Good thing we’re in real life, not a horror movie.” I hesitate with my hand on the door, softening my tone to ask, “Are you all right?”
“I’ll pace the penthouse and brood awhile, I think.” He gives me a mournful half-smirk. “Seems like the thing to do for beautiful long-lived bastards like myself.”
“Now who’s been watching too many movies?” I shoo him out the door. “Drive safely. Watch out for beasties in the dark.”
He gives me a laughing grin and the finger at the same time. Chuckling, I close the door, just in time to prevent Screwtape’s sudden dash for the exit. He actually bumps his nose against the doorframe and skitters away, claws scrabbling on the hardwood. Immediately he picks himself up and stalks proudly away to the litter box, as if that’s where he intended to go all along.
I’d better empty it when he’s done. Like I don’t have enough shit to deal with.
After Screwtape has done his business, I take care of cleaning the box and adding fresh litter. I knot up the garbage bag I used and head for the side door, the one that opens onto my viewless porch and the ribbon of a driveway. I keep my big garbage can out there. The exterior bulb is out, but I turn on my phone light and hold it high as I hurry along the porch to the large trash can.
As I lift the lid with my phone hand, something scuttles through the darkness.
My heart bolts right out of my chest. I drop the garbage can lid with a bang and swivel my phone up, shining the pale light around a silver swath in the black night.
But I don’t say “hello” or ask “who’s there?” That’s pointless. Because who really wants the things that crawl and creep through the dark to answer back?
It was probably a squirrel or a stray cat or a possum or a raccoon—could have been any number of normal nighttime critters.
I shine my light over the scraggly hedge near the back of the property. Just leaves and twigs. Nothing scary, just—
Just some branches sliding out of the bushes, looking for all the world like a black paw with broken-twig claws.
The rest of the creature emerges from the hedge, a jerky, hitching, crumpled mass of debris and thorns and branches.
I should drop the trash bag and run. But I don’t.
A cold tingle of awareness unfurls along my spine.
I’m staring at something magical—or folkloric, at least. Something like me. A piece of a lost world that’s coming back to life.
