It moved through the glutinous muck with an ease that spoke of familiarity, and made no real sound other than a soft clicking that reminded me of claws on floorboards. It circled around us, getting ever closer to where we lay. Fear surged, and my breath caught in my throat.
A nail scraped the concrete to my left, and my gaze darted that way, briefly catching sight of a scaly, almost bird-like foot with black claws as long as my hand. My heart was pounding so damn hard, it felt ready to leap from my chest, and it was all I could do to hold in the scream that ripped up my throat.
The stranger’s grip on me tightened, as if in warning, and awareness surged. Of his weight, of his lean but powerful length pressed so intimately against me. Of his smell—warm wood and deep spices, with undernotes that reminded me a little of vanilla but deeper, smokier.
But most of all, I became aware of his silence.
He exuded no energy. No pulse of life. This man, whoever he was, was the island of peace I’d so briefly felt in the warehouse.
Had he been following Monica? Had her father also called in a private contractor to help protect his daughter? If that were the case, though, why the fuck wasn’t he racing through the muck to rescue her? Why was he here, lying on top of me, protecting me from whatever prowled through the shadows?
Not that I was complaining, mind. Aside from the fact I didn’t want to end up as breakfast for whatever the hell that claw-footed creature was, it was rather... nice... having his body pressed so close to mine.
Seriously, Hanna, concentrate on the situation, not the man.
Which was an easy thing to think, but in truth, concentrating on the man made the terror of the situation that much easier to bear.
Another scrape, and the shadows stirred, this time revealing the claw not three inches away from my face. I tensed, not daring to breathe as I waited for it to strike, to tear at flesh, muscle, and bone....
For several achingly long seconds, it didn’t move. Then the thick black curtain swept in again, and it disappeared. The soft clicking moved away and faded into nothingness, then the foul wave of energy washed across the night once again. This time, it held no threat and no sense of increased danger.
Whoever was behind that foulness had left, meaning it was just me, the stranger, and the threatening shadows.
“The curtain should start folding in on itself within the next few minutes,” the stranger whispered, his warm breath dancing delightfully across my right ear and cheek. “Do not move until then, because the whips remain on guard.”
“Who are you?” I replied, perhaps a little more breathily than was warranted. “Why do you know so much about the curtain? And what the hell was that thing stalking us?”
“That thing was a comp demon,” he replied. “As for the rest of it—well, I walk in the same world.”
And with that, his weight lifted from my body, and he disappeared. There were no trailing shadows, no sense of movement. No magic, even. He was simply gone.
The urge to jump up and run after him was so damn strong that I tucked my arms under me and half pushed up. The movement stirred the rapidly fading shadows, and a dark whip struck at my face, cutting the cheek that still tingled from the warmth of the stranger’s breath, drawing blood. I stopped and waited, as ordered.
It seemed to take forever for the curtain to fully fade.
As the last shadowy whip disappeared, the sound of approaching sirens suddenly sharpened, suggesting the curtain had also dampened external sound.
I pushed fully upright, brushed the grit and dust from my clothes and stomach, then looked around for my shoes, finding them several yards away. After slipping them back on, I walked on, gaze scanning the empty mall, looking for any clue as to what had happened to Monica. There was no sign of a struggle, and the few spell fragments still floating on the light breeze spoke of clean energy rather than darker, which was odd given the greater amount of foul-feeling spells that had been cast.
It only strengthened the feeling that something was off—something other than the whole operation going tits up—though if anyone had asked me why right there and then, I couldn’t have said what.
The earwig began vibrating, meaning Jack was trying to get hold of me. I ignored him and walked over to the area that held the brightest cluster of spell fragments. While nearly all witches could see them, we Kangs could often get some sense of the caster through the remnants’ resonance. I tugged off a glove then carefully raised a hand and let them play across my fingers; no matter what Monica’s voice had implied, these tiny blips of fading energy spoke of determination and exhilaration rather than outrage and fear, andthatwas just another ill-fitting piece in the puzzle.
The earwig buzzed again. I swore yet again and finally acknowledged it.
“What’s happened?” Jack asked immediately. “You’ve been basically stationary for the last five minutes.”
It had been that long? It had certainly felt like forever at the time, but I’d figured that was due more to a combination of the situation and my own fear.
“We were attacked.”
“By whom?”
“That is the great unknown.”
“And Monica?”
“Has disappeared.”
