Page 44 of Veil of Blood and Bone

So I shouldn’t like it because this dude is cocky and a little arrogant. He didn’t even buy the Dostoevsky.

The sign clatters against the front door to herald his exit.

We always want what we know will damage us. I’m on my way to my own existential crisis with hours to spare before lunch. But why is that so hot?

Chapter 9

Helene

An hour later, I’m still anxious and squirming.

The black-haired man takes up too much room in my head, room better spent thinking about how to organize the shelves to make both Barnes and me happy people.

At least he’s well on his way to something happy-adjacent thanks to his initial call with the insurance company.

The door clanks, followed by a curse.

I glance up sharply from the bottom shelf near the collection of drinking horns, a check of the grandfather clock showing noon. “Audra?”

Another clank, another string of swear words, and then, “Can someone help me? My crutch is stuck on one of those stupid jugs.”

I race up fast enough to go lightheaded. The entry is clogged with odds and ends, fine for a normal person to maneuver, but not a young woman with mobility aids.

“I didn’t realize how late it was,” I say, helping her extract her crutch.

She’s red-faced and sweaty, her curls pulled behind a checkered leather headband cracked by age. “Yeah, well, you have chores to do. You’re busy.”

“You had Laverne drop you here?”

I nudge a hand to Audra’s back and pull up short. She hikes herself forward on her crutches toward the step stool we push to the side of a barrister’s bookshelf for occasions like these.

“I thought it would be better to keep you company than sit in the apartment alone and wait for your break,” she replies.

“You might as well get some work done. You know how Barnes feels.” Together, we recite, “If you’re here, you’re working.”

The knot is back in my chest but having Audra here soothes it. Until⁠—

A prickle of awareness shoots up my spine. Someone is watching me. I stall at the desk. The road is packed, the tragedy yesterday drawing crowds, but none of them take notice.

Finally I spot him. There. On the other side of the street. A man stands with his face shielded by shade, a high collar brushing the back of his neck.

And I felt him before I saw him.

Run.

That’s the right instinct and my first one under general circumstances. Unsettling dudes checking you out this way will lead to final girl syndrome, if you’re lucky. If you’re not, you're a skin suit.

I...

Don’t want to run away.

Not like I should. Not when something hits me with a punch to the gut and a voice in my head that doesn’t belong to me. There you are. It’s you.

I’m stared at. Studied. His eyes are on me, and I’m...safer? No. Safer is stupid.

There are no creepy vibes coming off him, only the eerie tingle of hair lifting, the way anyone’s would, being watched.

“Helene? Are you listening to me?”