Page 20 of Cold-Blooded Creatures
I climbed up the stairwell inside one of the multiple gray apartment buildings marring the city. You could lose yourselfin the sea of them. I closed the creaking door behind me and secured the two locks it’d taken me three months to save up for.
My throat parched beyond recovery, I poured myself a glass from a crystal decanter sitting on top of the miniature kitchen table under the window, and rushed to gulp it all down in one take. Water spilled into my lungs, causing a coughing fit.
The coughs turned into snickers at the memory of how I’d stolen that decanter from my boss’s office at my last job and he’d spent a week sulking and snapping at everyone. He deserved more than a petty theft, but it was hilarious to see him fuming and not able to do anything.
If your wristband was black, crystal was hard to come by, like most items.
I refilled my glass from the decanter and placed it down on the table, so my hands were free to rip the sticky paper apart and free my cream puff. Sinking my teeth into it, I choked on the sweetness attacking my tongue.
So freaking good.
It had gotten completely dark outside, no sun on the horizon, but I kept the lights off. Stuffing the last buttery crumbs and cream into my mouth, not a single golden flake going to waste, I tracked the shadows gathering in the street, probably creating plans full of malicious intent. Other kinds didn’t exist in Ilasall.
I sucked my fingertips clean and sighed, realizing it hadn’t helped.
It wasn’t a pastry I craved.
It was the rush of the night’s breeze, the grass blades kissing my legs and back, the endless space of the forest, and not the circular wall trapping me in.
Fine, maybe my shadow too. At least I’d been safe with him in my clearing. Before. Now it was a bit questionable. Would he expect a favor from me if I met him again?
I drained half of the glass and the cool liquid grounded me back to reality: I was confined to the city and could forget everything else.
Sipping the rest of the water, I wondered if I would still have my boss’s access to all the schools’ records tomorrow. I had to find out as much as I could while I had the chance.
A yawn broke out of me, a symptom of the day’s strain overfilling me. Stretching my arms above my head, I relished the tension pulling my muscles apart and the ache spreading along the left side of my neck and shoulder. The bruises had turned purplish, and I’d spent ten minutes this morning poking them and savoring the sparks of dull pain.
Another yawn contorted my mouth, emphasizing the fact it’d been a long day. Trudging toward the bedroom, I decided against taking a quick shower. My weekly load of laundry was due for tomorrow, so what if I slept all sweaty in my tiny bed tonight? Not like someone would even know.
I halted a foot from the doorway.
My apartment was tiny and usually more than enough streetlight streamed through my bedroom’s windows to make out my bed and closet.
But now I couldn’t.
The shades were drawn.
And I always kept them open. It lowered the cost of electricity.
Someone was in my bedroom.
I staggered away from the doorway, squinting to see better in the dark.
Not a dust mote moved inside, the particles frozen in time.
A weapon. I had to find a weapon. It’d take too long to undo the two locks and run. Whoever was inside would catch up with me before I’d tear the first lock off.
I backed across the kitchen. My lower back hit the peeling laminate counter, and I felt for the utensils drawer.
The handle, the handle, where was the damned handle?
I dared to shoot a peek and yanked the metal knob so hard the drawer nearly fell out of its tracks. Two knives. I grabbed the larger one, which was probably not a good enough weapon against whoever was inside my bedroom.
But they hadn’t made their move. Not yet. Were they playing with me? Waiting for me to make the first move? If so, why was I so calm? They said fear was supposed to make you alert, not hazy.
The knife almost slipped from my quivering grip. I squeezed the brown wood handle harder, blinking to dissipate the misty fog, and leaned on the counter to catch my balance as the repetitive movement of my eyelids rising and falling was draining the last bits of my strength.
When I remembered to raise my head—there was someone in my bedroom, that was why I’d been holding a knife, I had to think,think!—a tall silhouette was leaning against the door frame, arms and ankles crossed, half their body hidden by the shadows.
