Page 30 of Dark

Darth Roast: Someone called in. Closing now. Pizza and Walking Dead?

A new text notification popped up. Ellie.

CadburyFunny: I work tonight. Quick queso and guac at Guillermo’s?

Me: What about lunch tomorrow?

CadburyFunny: Meera wants you to come with us to NYC.

Ellie was convinced Ethan had me locked in his cellar. Telling her I turned into Beowulf every day at sunset would get her on the Council’s hit list. Which left option three: lie.

Me: You know I can’t. Huge gig next wknd.

CadburyFunny: She’s worried. We all are. Maybe some time away would be good.

Me: I can’t.

CadburyFunny: Ninja-cat GIF.

Me: Call off the hounds

The three little dots seemed to blink forever as I pictured Ellie walking out to her car rage-texting.

CadburyFunny: Is he there right now?

Me: no…

My phone exploded with All Along the Watchtower, the picture of me and Ellie smashed together on the screen compacting my heart into a little tinfoil ball. Tears pricked my eyes as I sent it to voicemail.

Darth Roast: miss you

I clicked on the attached image. A yellow post-it was taped to the serving counter downstairs at Dark. On it was a latte with a heart swirled into its depths. I swiped my cheeks.

Darth Roast: You okay?

Before I could find a GIF of Vikings ransacking a shopping mall to appropriately convey the not-okay-ness of my mood, my screen lit up again, this time with a call from an unfamiliar number. I hesitated, thumb hovering over Decline. But what if it was August or Cal calling to say there was some sort of problem with Ellie? I tapped to accept.

“Hello?”

Silence. Chills trickled up my spine. I checked the screen just as the call dropped. Rubbing my temples, I debated whether I really wanted to listen to Ellie’s message.

The phone buzzed in my hand. Same number. A weird feeling twisted in my gut. Fingers shaking, I swiped.

More silence. I lowered my head, stomach in knots. Cal and I had been over the expected after-effects of a traumatic event. Nightmares. Panic attacks. Anxiety. Anger. I’d been mugged. Assaulted. Freaking out over everyday things like slammed doors and unknown callers was normal.

Taking a breath, I ended the call.

Dropping the phone, I paced the length of the room. Okay. Talk to Ethan. But tell him what, exactly? That a random hang up call had me so completely freaked I needed him to swaddle me in werewolf bubble-wrap? So not happening.

I rubbed my arms, tearing open Ethan’s drawer in search of one of his hoodies. Okay, maybe not werewolf bubble-wrap. But I was totally stealing his clothes.

Frowning, I pulled the drawer open when something thumped inside. There beneath sloppily folded pajama pants and a kelp forest of black socks was a flat, heavy box. Checking the door, I set the box down on top of the dresser. There was a latch, but no lock. Chewing my lip, I lifted the lid.

A shadow moved in the doorway.

Startled, I knocked the box off the dresser. Instinctively, I lunged for it, my fingers closing around something cold and metallic. White-hot pain seared through my flesh.

I screamed.