Home renovations proved efficient to heal from his ex-wife’s cheating.
Brian fixated on the luxury surrounding him before he could spend too much time analyzing the state of his heart, the depth and extent of his feelings for Helen.
She would love the spa showerhead with the LED lights and seven different massage settings to pamper the scalp. After a decadent, steamy shower, he’d dry her off in one of his fluffy towels. Wrap her in a bathrobe and make her a fine cup of imported English tea.
Whistling a song he’d written after leaving Denver, Brian turned on the hot water and soaped his hands under the steaming jet. What was the most impressive thing he knew how to cook, for when he made her dinner? Shrimp scampi. He dried off. No, braised rabbit. Shite. Was she a vegetarian? There was still a lot to learn about the bewitching brunette from Minnesota.
A litany of stabbing pains, a thousand times sharper and more penetrating than any of the needles he’d allowed to breach his body, assaulted a spot above his groin. Brian doubled over, eyes watering, and gripped the lip of the sink so hard he feared he’d rip the basin from the wall.
“Ow. Fuck.” Jamming a hand under his undone pants, he fumbled at the area, mind blanked by shredding agony. Though he expected to brush his trembling fingers against a scorpion or shard of glass picked up from God knows where, he groped at nothing but his own glimmering, throbbing skin.
Brian shoved his pants down, lips parting when he targeted the source of his grief.
A bruise, the size of a golf ball and mottled hideous shades of black and mustard yellow and livid magenta, marred the skin right under his waistband. Had he whacked his side on a hard surface? No. He would have noticed and remembered a wallop like that, considering he didn’t drink to excess or do drugs and thus moved with balance and clarity.
Another disturbing detail came into focus as Brian gawked at his wound. He blinked. Two sets of red puncture sticks lined the top and bottom of the injury. He’d been bitten by some animal.
His mind spun. Hand shaking, he flung open the medicine cabinet and pawed through contents. A plastic jar of vitamins and a travel size container of shampoo clattered into the wash basin. He snatched a small tube of ointment, wracking his brain.
A stink washed over him, the unmistakable rot-sweet of decomposing flesh. Meaning a rat or similar had crawled into a crevice unseen and died.
The slow creak of a door. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a shimmery, glittery flash. Beside himself, numb from the confusing barrage of sensory input he struggled to categorize, he glimpsed.
Helen, or a woman who could have been Helen’s twin, stepped out of the shower wearing the slinky metallic gown Tilly described. This was not the woman he’d spent time with in Denver. The thought registered in an instant. Her eyes, though the right color, were dead. Too dark, dull as coal.
“Who are you?” he whispered.
“Oh, Brian, oh yes maestro. Fuck me. That feels so good. Come all over my face. You two idiots are making this so damn easy for me.” Her laugh was ugly. She stepped closer.
The lights flickered. One bulb above his medicine cabinet blew out in a minor detonation of pop and fizz. Another light bulb sparked, the explosion’s aftermath leaving a sooty stain on frosted glass.
“You’re behind the vase and the live wire in the interview, aren’t you? The knife in the garbage disposal, the hot crystal and pains in my palm?”
She shrugged one creamy shoulder, her hateful facial expression rendering Helen’s breezy beauty malevolent and garish. “Primitive attempts from my pre-corporeal self, when I was merely some amorphous hitchhiker without form, following the path blazed by the hex. But now magic has fully lifted the veil, and I’m getting smarter every day. Looks like my boss has his hooks in you, so to speak.”
Feminine fingers brushed the mark on his side, a hand identical to the one he’d held, yet alien in the most important ways. A chill iced his nerves following her invasion of his personal bubble, but the tactile element of her touch didn’t register.
There was no opposing pressure, no protection offered by the boundary of his form. Her digits slipped right through his pelvis and slid out of an area near his pubic bone.
Brian backed away, skin crawling at this imposter’s death touch, the impossible and violating penetration.
“Of course you know where the missing crystals are. Joe’s messing with them, isn’t he? And I’m going to guess that you’re working for him and know the precise location of those stones.”
“I serve a far mightier master than your sad little wannabe warlock. He’s but our pawn, our puppet. Once we’re through with him, we’ll eat his flesh on a platter along with yours and your girlfriend’s.” She drawled the words in his ear, a breathy rumble bringing with it a rotten, diseased stench.
Brian coughed, turning his head and guarding his nose against another blast of bacteria breath. “You don’t scare me. Helen will be here in the morning, and she’s preparing a spell to send you and your so-called master straight back to hell where you belong.”
No idea how true that was, but he damn sure better project toughness right now.
Indulging fear would cloud his thinking, pump him full of stress hormones, and compromise his ability to make good decisions.
“Unfortunately for you, we’re a grab bag of surprises. You’ll never see us coming. And that’s a cute threat, but as we both know, your moronic novice witch couldn’t divine an answer from a Magic Eight Ball without sowing utter discord in the force.” She poked a finger into his bruise, setting off another spray of icicle bullets through his bloodstream.
“I don’t need to see you. I can smell you across the
