Not high heels specifically.Herheels. The slow, deliberate cadence of the footsteps that always warned of her impending arrival.
Always a minute too late to escape.
“Baz? Is that you, sweetness?”
Her voice echoes across the Iron and Bone common room, as thick and cloying as her perfume.
Even as her vile scent closes around my throat like a fist, even as my vision swims and my head pounds and my heartbeat sets off running like a damn jackrabbit, I refuse to believe it. Refuse to believe that the monster who haunted my adolescence is here, in person, calling my name.
“Baz?”
Memories punch me in the gut, and I’m no longer a grown man sitting by the fire before the crush of another Monday. I’m no longer an Arcana mage tasked with protecting magick and all who wield it for the greater good. I’m not even a slacker college student nursing himself through a weekend hangover, hiding out here instead of going to class.
Wouldn’t be the first time.
But today? Nope. Today I’m nothing but a terrified fucking kid again, fourteen years old and no idea how to fight back against the dark shadows sneaking into my bedroom.
It’s all I can do not to piss myself.
Andthatpisses me right off. But that’s the power of a true monster, isn’t it? They can retract the claws and put on a painted smile, let you think you’ve escaped, let you think they’ve forgotten you. But all it takes is a scent, a sound, a single name whispered between dark red lips, and those claws are slicing right through your guts again.
I drop the travel magazine I was reading, rise from the chair, and turn toward the entrance with my eyes squeezed shut, still hoping that every last one of my senses is teaming up to trick me.
The cloud of perfume thickens, and I open my eyes.
Please let it beanyoneelse…
But of course it isn’t.
The woman beaming at me as she saunters across the room is none other than Janelle Kirkpatrick, Carly’s mother, dressed in a tight leopard-print dress, black blazer, and those awful black heels, her lips painted the same blood-red I remember, her dyed black hair skimming the tops of her shoulders.
In the handful of years since I’ve seen her in person, she hasn’t aged a day. Now that I think of it, I’m pretty sure she hasn’t aged a day since Carly and I were kids.
Wonder whatthat’scosting her…
“Baz Redgrave? Itisyou! Oh, honey, it’s sogoodto see you.”
I brace myself for the unwanted press of her body, holding my breath against the onslaught of her perfume as she wraps her arms tight around my chest. Everything about her makes me twitchy. All I want to do is fucking bolt.
But of course I can’t. Our arrangement requires my cooperation.
But it doesn’t require my affection. Not anymore.
“What are you doing here, Janelle?” I ask, stepping out of her toxic embrace. My voice comes out a hell of a lot colder than I mean it to, but a lot fucking warmer than I feel toward her.
“Are you joking?” Janelle presses a hand to her chest, glaring at me as if I’ve just told her she stinks. “The moment I heard about the attack on students—by an esteemed professor, no less—I was on the next flight out from Boston. My daughter’s well-being is my top priority. I couldn’t rest until I saw with my own eyes that she was safe.”
“Student,” I correct. “One student was attacked. And it wasn’t Carly.”
“It may as well have been her. Or you, for that matter.” She reaches up to cup my chin, her nails grazing my jaw. To anyone else, the gesture might look motherly. But anyone else wouldn’t notice the slight pressure, the sharp nails digging into my skin, the warning in her eyes. “If anything were to happen to either of you… I just couldn’t forgive myself, Baz. You know you’re like a son to me.”
I jerk away from her touch, swallowing down the bitter taste in my mouth.
“Professor Phaines was a friend of yours, no?” I ask, reclaiming my seat by the fire.
Uninvited, she takes the chair across from me, perching on the end like an exotic bird. Preening, as always.
“Apparently not,” she says, picking imaginary lint from her stockings.
