Page 16 of Monsters' Manor

“Do you have a ride home?” I ask, ignoring his question. “Or do I need to take your keys?”

“Gotta ride,” he slurs. “But they’re still in the manor. Wanted to talk to you.”

“I’m busy.”

Edgar’s Acres hospitality be damned. I am absolutely not about to entertain this asshole.

Turning to head back toward the booth, I only make it a few steps before a warm, sweaty hand closes around my wrist.

Damn, this drunk is quick.

“Get your hand off me.”

Snapping my arm out of his grasp, I whirl around and come almost face-to-face with him. He’s about my height, with a stocky build, blond hair, and a round face that really needs a shave. His eyes are watery and red-rimmed, and he’s scowling at me now, all his inebriated good humor disappearing in an instant.

“Don’t hafta be such a bitch,” he says, stepping even closer. “I’m just tryna’ talk.”

“And I have no interest in talking to you. You need to leave.”

Yeah, did I really expect that to do anything? The man grunts unhappily, sways toward me, and lifts his hand like he’s going to touch me again.

Without thinking, I put both my hands on his shoulders and shove.

But it turns out the drunk is a lot more sturdy and steadier on his feet than he looks, because even though I give him a small shove back, what I mostly manage to do is throw myself off balance.

As I stumble back, I run into… something. More solid than air, but not solid enough to keep me from wobbling a few more steps before I catch myself just as I’m about to go sprawling into the dew-damp grass.

“I’m here.”

Silas’s voice is little more than a breath of wind in the night, low and reassuring. As if to prove he’s real, he curls his darkness around me in a ghostly embrace. When he speaks again, his voice is even lower, more urgent, tinged with worry.

“Do you want some help getting rid of this idiot?”

“Uh, yeah,” I mutter, a little breathless at the feel of his magick surrounding me. “That would be great.”

“Then use my shadows, Rosemary. Make them your own.”

I’m confused by what he means, until I feel the brush of those shadows sliding over my shoulders, down my arms, caressing my wrists and hands. Like a living thing, they encircle me completely, and my breath catches in my throat when I feel the thrum of his power growing stronger against my skin.

I look back up at the drunken guest and his eyes are wide, darting back and forth, up and down, as his sluggish, mead-soaked brain tries to make sense of what he’s seeing.

“How… what’re you…” He can’t quite form a full sentence as he stares at me and sputters.

“You feel my power, yes? Make it yours.” Silas’s darkness continues to spread, whispering along my skin and down my limbs as he hums in warm satisfaction. “Just like that, Rosemary.”

Suddenly I’m the one cloaked in darkness.

It fills me with a wicked sense of delight, a buzzing, humming magick that envelopes me and feels as natural as breathing. From within, my own magick stirs to life. Slight, tentative, drifting up to my palms and the center of my chest.

“Let him see what happens to a man who dares meddle with a witch like you.”

The low taunt is so unlike the Silas I know that I nearly laugh out loud in surprise. And, like he can feel that laughter bubbling up in my throat, he pulls his shadows in tighter, reminding me to focus.

Focus, yes, I can focus.

Power sparks along all my nerve endings, some strange melding of me and Silas that feels like embers and moonlight against my skin. When I breathe in, I can taste it. Fallen leaves and the first hard frost, a faint hint of smoke and the crispness of an autumn morning.

“I gave you a warning,” I tell the man, raising my arms and sensing the darkness move with me. “You should have listened.”

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