was a strong breeze blowing through the open window. It was no day for portents of disaster.
I lived on the third floor of an old colonial mansion that had been rehabbed into quirky apartments. The raucous birds had woken me every morning of the year and a half I had lived there, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. I loved birds—the noisy ones and the demure. There was something about watching them in flight that left me breathless and awestruck.
Not that I wanted to fly. I hated heights. Hated flying, I expected, because I had no interest in leaving Australia to find out more about my clouded past. I liked being safe in my top-floor apartment with its tiny bathroom stuck under the eaves. I liked my job and my friends and my boyfriend, Rolf. I didn’t want the changes I sensed on the wind.
I heard the footsteps from a distance, coming up the three flights of stairs, and an odd sense of apprehension filled me. Rolf was early. He hadn’t phoned or texted me to be down on the wide porch that surrounded the building, though I knew he disliked the old house and the climb to my aerie. And suddenly I didn’t want to answer the rapping on my door, afraid of who would be on the other side.
The knock came again, more peremptory, and I glanced out my open window, wondering whether I could climb out. … I was being ridiculous, I chided myself. Who did I think was lurking behind my door—the Grim Reaper?
I crossed the room and flung the door open, trying to ignore my relief at seeing Rolf standing there, looking hot and rumpled and bad-tempered. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?” he demanded. “I’ve been calling you for hours,”
I picked up my cell phone, glancing at the screen. There were no missed calls—no calls at all, in fact, which in itself was unusual. Though my friends knew I was going out of town, so there was a reasonable explanation for that. But no sign of Rolf’s multiple calls.
“Are you sure it was me you were calling? My phone says otherwise.”
“Then your phone’s broken,” he said in a disgruntled voice. “I can’t go.”
I should have been disappointed at the very least. Instead I felt reprieved. I did my best to look upset. “Why not?”
“Last-minute emergency. I need to fill in for another doctor on the ob-gyn floor. Everyone’s decided to deliver at the same time, and they’re shorthanded. I don’t really have a choice.”
“Of course you don’t,” I said in a practical tone. “Can you get a refund on our travel?”
“Already taken care of,” he said. “I called the resort before I tried you, so I know my phone is working. It must be yours.” In fact, if anything was ever wrong in our relationship, it was usually my fault. And it was typical of Rolf to safeguard his money before he tried to reach me. He was a very careful man.
Really, there were times when I couldn’t figure out why I put up with him, but then when I went out I remembered. For some reason, Australian men seemed to think I was irresistible. There was nothing that special about me—my curly red hair was more of a curse than an enticement, and I wore loose clothes and no makeup—yet for some reason men kept hitting on me. Having Rolf at my side kept them at bay.
Which meant my heart wasn’t broken when he had to cancel our plans. I plastered an understanding smile on my face. “When are you due at work?”
He glanced at his watch impatiently. “I should be there now.”
“Then go ahead. Don’t waste your time talking to me,” I said, shooing him toward the door. “I’ll be fine.” Of course, he hadn’t asked me if I minded. Perhaps it was time to give up on good Dr. Rolf. Surely I could find someone else to provide a buffer, though I couldn’t understand why I needed one.
I listened to him clatter down the stairs, secure in the belief that all was right in his world, then glanced at my packed bag. I moved back to the big open window, looking down into the garden, and for a moment I thought I saw a shadow near the hedge, something dark and narrow and threatening. Then it was gone, blending with the tall brush. I was getting squirrelly.
Well, if Rolf didn’t want to go anywhere, that didn’t mean I couldn’t. My bags were packed, I had time off from work, and if I stayed I’d start seeing shadows in my own rooms. I was absolutely free for the next four days—much as I loved my strange little apartment, the walls were starting to close in on me.
I grabbed my duffel and backpack and left, trotting down the stairs that Rolf hated and I loved. I always felt like a princess climbing to my turret when I headed up those narrowing stairs. I let my hand brush the dark mahogany handrail in a strange kind of caress. It was almost as if I were saying good-bye.
My tiny Holden was parked in the shade, and I climbed in, tossing both bags into the backseat. I started to back out, then turned to glance in front of me. Something was standing there, something dark and shimmering like a heat mirage, and without thinking I stomped on the gas, shooting into the street and narrowly missing my landlord’s parked car. I shoved the car into drive and took off, not looking back. Afraid to.
My heart was slamming in my chest, sweat on my forehead and palms. I didn’t want to, but I glanced in the rearview mirror. The street was empty—there was no shadowy figure following me. No slippery horror-movie creatures looming up to take my soul. I slowly eased my foot off the accelerator as I headed down the hill toward the traffic, stopping carefully. And then, like a complete idiot, I suddenly forgot I was in Australia, and I took a right turn directly into oncoming traffic.
I heard the screech of tires, the slam of metal on metal, the grinding noise of cars crumpling. Oily smoke billowed into the air. Somehow the EMTs were already there, and I watched as they rushed to my tiny car, the driver’s-side door crushed in.
“No one here!” one of the paramedics shouted. “Someone must have forgotten to put on the parking brake.”
Odd. I didn’t remember getting out of the crushed car. And no one was paying the slightest bit of attention to me, when I would have thought everyone would be screaming at me for being such a stupid American.
They were working on getting a woman out of the car I’d hit, but she was talking and looking relatively unscathed, so some of my guilt faded. I turned to the man standing behind me. “She looks okay.” And then I froze.
I had turned to him automatically, knowing he was there, comfortable with it. Ugly reality came roaring back as I looked up into his cold blue eyes. “Azazel,” I said.
