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“He came in yesterday, took the same booth until close, then left. Came back again soon as we opened tonight. Odd fella. ”
All-night drinkers were not so unusual here, so for Howard to single this man out as odd gave me an uneasy feeling. I sniffed the air, but all I got was the ripe scent of Bear’s armpit sweat and the lingering smells of booze and testosterone. I watched the man in the mirror until he shifted his glance and our eyes locked in the glass. For one long, breathless moment we remained in that stare, until he looked away. My heart was pounding, which was not such an easy feat. His expression had been so smug and unflinching. Something was definitely wrong.
I stared into my beer, my skin suddenly cold and beaded with uncomfortable sweat. The way he had stared at me set off every alarm in the book, and there was a nagging feeling in my bones that I needed to find out what was up with this mysterious stranger. When I turned back to the mirror to check on my scary new friend with the crew cut, my breath caught in my throat.
His booth was empty.
I spun around in my chair, pulse hammering. He wasn’t anywhere in the bar. I took a five out of my pocket and put it on the bar.
“Thanks, Howard. ”
“Leaving already?”
“Yeah, sorry,” I said, already halfway out the door. “Thanks. ”
Outside, the air had grown colder and the town had gone to sleep for the night. A cool breeze ruffled the short hairs at the back of my neck as I stood on the empty road in front of the Elm Tree.
“Where are you?” I asked to myself, listening for any trace of movement. On cue, I heard the soft crunch of gravel coming from the path behind the bar. I hesitated for a moment, knowing it couldn’t be so easy. But I had to know who he was. I followed the sound to the back of the bar and took the path as it sloped down a hill to Howard’s storage shed.
The shed was on the edge of the forest, but even with my ability to see in the dark, I couldn’t discern anyone in the trees.
I walked all the way up to the shed, then stopped. I rested my hand against the rough barn-wood exterior of the small building, hoping to feel the vibration of someone hiding behind or within, but there was nothing. Just like in the woods the night before, all traces of my quarry had vanished. The air smelled heavy with ozone and anxious peat.
Rain was coming.
Closing my eyes, I concentrated harder. I heard the rumble of thunder still miles away but approaching as steadily as a Hun raiding party. I could smell night blossoms turning their hungry faces towards the sound. One by one, crickets and cicadas stopped singing so they could take shelter.
I looked into the blackness of the woods. On a branch, a large barn owl with heavily lidded eyes turned his head to me. I almost dismissed the bird, until I realized he was staring at me.
Staring with a cold, unflinching glare.
Icy fear began at my toes and spread through my whole body in seconds. I wanted to run. Running was the only instinct I understood, but when I tried to move, I found myself frozen in place. My eyes widened with the horror of understanding, and the owl kept its focus on me.
“Who,” the owl said.
My pulse sped up and blood screamed behind my ears until all I could hear was my body’s panic. Without warning, I was bombarded by the fragrance of wolf. The same smell I’d chased the night before. It was so close I should have sensed it sooner, but it seemed to appear out of nowhere, without warning. The wolf was right behind me, but being frozen as I was, I couldn’t turn to face him.
The owl stretched his wings, then pushed off from the branch, flying towards me. Mid-flight, a ripple of blue light shivered over the bird and burst outward in an explosion of white-hot radiance and feathers. The air reeked of burning, and once my vision readjusted to the dark, the owl was gone.
Where the bird has been there was now a man. The olive-skinned man from the bar was about ten feet away from me, straightening his tie and smoothing feathers off his suit. There were no bird shapeshifters, which meant he must have performed a transfiguration spell.
“Witch,” I spat, my jaw aching from the effort.
Transfiguration was an energy-consuming, high-level spell. Grandmere, the best spell caster I knew, had once confessed she was unable to do it. This man had been able to reverse the spell mid-flight and without wrinkling his clothes. The fact he’d managed to do the spell without losing his clothing altogether was all the more remarkable.
“Good evening, Miss McQueen,” he greeted, his voice thick with the melodic accent of a foreign country. North African, I guessed. He sounded and looked like he’d walked off the set of Casablanca. He came closer and lifted the tiger’s-iron pendant from my neck, turning the stone over in his hand before he let it fall back. He smiled.
I growled.
“I have no interest in harming you. I will, however, need you to be on your best behavior in order to conclude our business together. ”
Business?
“I’m afraid I don’t think we can trust you to have a nonviolent reaction, given the circumstances, so I apologize for this next bit. Precautions, you understand. ”
I had enough time to feel a break in the air over my head, and an instant later something hard and heavy cracked me on my skull.
I saw stars, then
