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Kye knew it and hated our friendship. If it were up to him, I’d be dead and a non-issue. Not so fast with my gal pal around. There would be a host of Voodoo practitioners on their asses if Chastity said so.
Lucky for Kye, she hasn’t.
The back of my neck prickled, meaning someone had eyes on me, so I kept my head on swivel mode and kept the burger in the bag until I reached my door. I decided to stay away from Mr. X's lair for now, but he will be after me soon if I didn't return of my own volition.
“All right, you ragamuffins, I'm home, and I'll water you as soon as I get something in my belly.” I gently patted the potted fern on the table by the door and dropped my keys next to it. The apartment smelled like strangers, but it made sense, considering Mr. X's employees came here to gather my things.
I scrunched my nose. Still, the psychic impressions screamed that my space had suffered multiple invasions, and for a hot second, I wished I had no magical abilities. Then I could have simply walked inside my door and pushed aside the thought that someone else had been in my home.
By someone else, I don't mean my roommate, who thankfully went to New Orleans to visit her grandma for the week. No, I meant people I don't know, beings who stunk up the place.
A thud sounded from the bathroom twenty feet away. I froze and held my breath.
Well, shit, I sure wished I had a cat right now.
I’ll have to talk to Chastity about how no self-respecting witch should be without one.
“I’m no witch,” Chastity would chide. “I am a Voodin priestess. Respect the religion.”
And I’d laugh. “Witch. Voodoo priestess. Is there a difference?”
She’d glare at me while I found something on the television to watch.
I set my greasy bag of goodness on the coffee table in the living room and fell into a crouch, my hand automatically reaching for the knife I no longer carried, the knife Kye probably still had. The fucker. Part of me wanted to call out, see if it was another of Mr. X's people who stuck around, but then I got a whiff of that haunting, familiar scent that churned my stomach.
Kye.
Not fresh. My ex wasn't the one hiding in my bathroom, but he had been here, and that meant trouble. I slipped into the kitchen and slid a chef's knife out of the block on the counter as silently as possible before tiptoeing toward the bathroom, still bent over to make myself a smaller target. At five-foot-five even, it's easy, but when you fight things that have claws and can rip you in half once they have you in their grasp, you take every precaution to limit the chance of injury.
There wasn't any other subsequent sound from the bathroom, and I waited an extra thirty seconds, then slowly crept toward the partially open door, but I couldn't tell who, if anyone, was in there. Holding back one more second to be sure, I kicked the door open.
To find no one there. However, the bathroom window painted shut two years now, gaped open, and the curtain fluttered through it in the gentle afternoon breeze. Humidity had collected in the lower left corner of the bathroom mirror over the sink.
I yanked the shower curtain back to check the tub to be sure, then looked out the window, but I already knew I had given them plenty of time to stroll away. Fucking A, I wished I was a literal wolf. I could have scented who was there. I couldn't tell whether the intruder was a man or a woman. No, I could only smell the infuriatingly insufficient info that someone had been here.
Appetite vanishing like the mist wafting up from the bayou in the sun, I slammed the window, locked it, then threw out my lunch and wiped the counter clean. I checked the other windows to ensure they were still locked. Our place was postage stamp small and thankfully, we got a lot of shade, but the air was muggy and hot outside, and so soon after healing, it made me feel even more drained.
I double-locked the front door and checked the dowel placed in the sliding picture window in the back, but I was too anxious to rest. The place still smelled too much of strangers.
My home was supposed to be a haven.
Knowing everyone and their minions had traipsed through mine made my neck hair stand on end. I placed my hand over my chest, where the black hand artifact emitted a happy thrum from behind my heart.
I wouldn't be getting any rest until I knew exactly the depth of the shit pile I had landed in. Impatient for an answer, I paced toward my closet to grab my extra knife and hiking boots, followed by a light jacket tied around my waist. It was hotter than Hades outside that afternoon, but the temps dropped quickly once the sun went down.
“Here I am, on the run because Kye got himself in trouble with the Syndicate, and somehow I ended up in the middle of it. I can't even be done with them when I'm exiled.” I muttered.
I paused my tirade as I stepped into the hall and locked the door.
The corridor was deadly quiet, with the faint sounds of residents conversing or TVs playing absently, which alarmed me. Trouble comes when I hear nothing. When the neighbors hide behind their locked doors, shush their children, and pretend they aren't home, that's the time to get scared.
So, even before the musky wolf scent hit me, I made fast tracks toward my secondary escape route.
6
I slid down the fire escape from the empty apartment three doors down that was still being renovated and hit the alley at a run, imagining the hunting howls of the pack behind me even through the usual sounds of city life. I didn't glance back. Threat pursued me.
A car honked at me as I dashed across a broad intersection at an angle and against the light. Around the corner, a crowd had gathered to listen to a girl playing guitar. I passed through the group, careful not to touch anyone, then slipped into the bodega and lingered in the refrigerated section at the back where I could scan the street out front inconspicuously.
