Page 9 of Dima's Vision
He clears his throat. “Next street over, two story, run down porch, shitty brown door.”
I nod, turning the corner, scanning both sides of the street until I find the house he described exactly. I park down the road a little because I mean, I don’t want to draw too much attention to ourselves. Although I want to draw some, just to see if what Dima says is true. Eying his long, lean body, dressed in black, I could see how he may be somewhat sneaky, if the other person was blind maybe. He’s fucking gorgeous and has an air of mystery about him. Total Russian god if you ask me.
He turns to me, eyes searching my face. He must find what he’s looking for because he tips his chin and opens the car door, unfolding his tall body to stand. He turns toward the house, striding down the middle of the road, moving like night itself. I watch with fascination as two mothers walk down the street, pushing their children in strollers, not batting an eye at the Russian god walking toward them. He steps onto the curb in front of the house. I blink once and he’s… gone. Just like that, Dima, Russian God and panty wetter has vanished. I snort at “panty wetter” and vow to come up with a better name as I too, get out of the car and follow the route Dima took.
“Afternoon!” The two moms wave at me as I walk past, and I smile in amusement. Seems the Russian witch is as sneaky as he says.
Well, two can play that game. On silent feet I move along the side of the house, pressed against the cracked, peeling paint. Theplace is a shit hole, but it’s a shit hole that somebody at some stage loved. There are remnants of a happy family here. Old kids’ toys litter the yard, there’s a basketball hoop and a trampoline frame. I gingerly step over some random litter, moving around the long grass growing out of a broken drain pipe to stop dead in my tracks, my pulse quickening at the sight of Dima. Tall, broad, fucking handsome and dangerous with a large doughy man casually thrown over his shoulder, striding my way.
“Crack me open like a crawfish and suck me dry,” I mutter to myself.
“Kristiana Ferone!”
“Uh oh.”
Chapter 5
Dima
Ipick my way through the debris that surrounds Glenn Leggat’s nightmare house, trying to push the last time I was here from my mind. Those three little girls have a long way to go before they heal, but at least they are now home, safe and sound, but forever changed.
I nod at the old woman, the one person who sees me when others don’t. Her lips lift in an almost smile as she rocks back in her chair. I huff, shaking my head as I follow the overgrown path to the back door. In my vision Glenn was sitting on the couch watching some anime porn crap, his limp cock in hand. Walking in through the back door my silent footsteps bring me to the shadows of the living room.
“I know you’re there, Witch.” His head tips to the side. “Or is it Ghost?” I remain silent, not giving him the answer he wants. “Either way, I don’t give a shit,” he takes a long pull from his beer. “I know who you are. I know what you do.” He turns, looking directly at me, like he did when he drove past, holding my gaze. “We’re the same, you and me.” He grins, his yellowed teeth crooked and broken in his mouth.
“We are nothing alike.”
“Oh? We don’t both use our gifts to find people?” He stands, his gaze holding mine, never wavering. He moves closer, his heavy footsteps silent on the wooden floor until we’re standing almost toe to toe. “I use mine to find the purest little souls before I dirty them all up.” His smirk morphs into a chuckle and then a full blown laugh.
His head tipped back, his jowls vibrating at the unhinged laughter coming from him. He’s grotesque, evil in all ways. Heat rushes through my body, as if I’ve been stabbed, it burns in my head, behind my eyes and my hands as they lash out, hitting him square in the throat, cutting his windpipe off abruptly but not enough to kill him. With another hit he crumples to the ground like the sack of shit he is.
I open and close my fists, breathing deeply for four, exhaling for four. Shaking out my hands I calm myself as much as I can, not wanting to scare the little witch waiting for me outside. Not that she probably would be. She’s brave and strong and yes, possibly a little unhinged.
Bending, I drag Glenn up off the floor enough to get my shoulder in his gut, fireman lifting him so I can get him outside. Leaving the way I came I kick the back door open, moving down the crappy steps to the side alley of the house.
“Crack me open like a crawfish and suck me dry,” she whispers to herself, her hazel eyes snapping to mine.
“Kristiana Ferone!”
“Uh oh.”
La Strega’s eyes grow wide as saucers, the hazel orbs slowly glancing toward the voice before she spins on her Docs, hands on her lush hips.
“Mama Celene! What are you-”
“Ah ah, chile, wha’ I tell ya bout dat mouth?”
My punk pixie’s shoulders droop slightly, “That my mouth has the power to bring men to their knees?” She glances over her shoulder at me, waggling her brows up and down.
“No chile! Don’ make me come down dere, ya hear?”
“Fine! You told me not to talk like a gutter snipe. I’m a well-bred woman and I should speak like one.”
The dark woman’s gaze flicks to mine over La Strega, no,Kristiana’sshoulder. “You gon make him pay, witch?”
“Yes.”
La Strega’s gaze snaps to mine as we answer in unison. My lips twitch at her annoyed gaze.
