Page 72 of Heimlock

“True.” I shove my hands into my pockets, straining to hear something; anything. The house is silent. “Do you just … go in?”

She holds up a key. “I have a key. Legally, I can say she gave me permission to have access.”

“Good enough for me. Lead the way, little girl.”

Kyrielle gives me a withering look before marching down the pathway to the front door. We pause, listening, then she slides the key into the lock.

Pause again. Nothing.

The door swings open silently into a dark foyer. No movement. My adrenaline’s kicking in, heightening my senses. There’s a small scuffling sound upstairs now.

“Shit,” Kyrielle hisses, looking down. It’s a vine laid across the floor.

The shuffling turns into full on footsteps. It must be the Forest Sprite’s version of an alarm system. Clever.

A man's angry voice sounds from above. "Hello?"

“Wait." Kyrielle looks up the stairs. Is that her fear I scent? Frowning, I examine her expression. The determination is melting into something … dread?

“What’s wrong?” I whisper.

She looks at me, shaking her head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Boots stomp across the upstairs hallway. Kyrielle takes a step back. The smell of fear spikes.

I sidle in closer. “What is it?”

“Janeeka? That better fucking be you,” a male voice snarls. I see a pair of brown boots pausing at the top of the stairs.

Kyrielle lets out a tiny whimper. Immediately, I step in front of her, focused on the boots. Who is this person that suddenly has her afraid?

“She said his name was Laurice,” she says, sounding lost, muttering to herself. “Right? Laurice. I’m sure she said that name.”

“Janeeka?” The boots walk down a couple of steps; two large hands come into view. Kyrielle shifts, taking a step back. I’m torn between focusing on her and the approaching threat.

“We have to go,” Kyrielle says, starting to sound panicked. “Come back later or something.”

“Why?” I hiss, finally chancing a glance at her. A fine sheen of sweat beads across her forehead. What the Hells?

The boots continue down the stairs. I’m forced to look back at the green-skinned man coming down. The moment his face appears, though, understanding clicks.

He’s an ugly man, even if half of his face wasn’t burned off by a small handprint. Kyrielle’s breath quickens; she takes another step back. Her panic is turning into mine, because I’m realizing the danger we’re in if she can’t engage.

A dark chuckle makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. “Cockroach, is that you?”

29

Within seconds, I’m a teenager again, with a sweaty, angry man shoving himself inside me. Cockroach. The word he would moan into my ear while I tried to fight him off.

If you’d asked me this morning if I’d dealt with my trauma, I’d have said, absolutely. I’ve dedicated my whole life to overcoming it. My days are spent helping others overcome theirs.

But a single word wipes away fifteen years of hard work.

“Kyrielle.” Trinte’s voice is laden with concern. Around his massive frame, I see Huracio come into view. The same hideous face with a long-healed brand on his cheek. My abuser looks delighted to see me.

Vines slowly slide out of his palms. Shackles at the ready. “Cockroach, I didn’t know you’d come by. What a lovely surprise. I’ve been looking for you.”

My inner child curls into herself in fear. He spent years torturing me in so many ways. I know exactly all the fucked up things those vines can and will do. My body reacts to their appearance with rolling nausea and bile threatening to fill my mouth. Flexing my fingers, everything inside me coils, ready to flee.