Nope. The only person I want to be around is myself.
I’m a loner by design. Why else would I have been dumped on a doorstep as a baby? If my own parents hadn’t wanted me, why should anyone else?
Someday I’ll find a place to live where no one will bother me. Somewhere no one will judge me.
That’s life goals, as far as I’m concerned.
“So, what are you up to today?”
I shrug. It’s not as if I lead an exciting life. “I thought I’d stop by the Waldorf for high tea later.” I wink as I chew my bit of egg to let her know I’m teasing rather than being smart with her.
“Oh, yes,” she replies, playing along, “I hear their spread is absolutely divine.”
“I can’t imagine it holds a candle to this feast.”
Is that French toast?
I’ve only had that dish once before. When I was about eight or nine the foster family I was living with decided to celebrate my birthday with a sugary breakfast. That was one of the better days.
Brushing aside melancholy thoughts, I bring a piece of syrup-soaked bread to my mouth.
Heaven.
“This is delish.”
“Thanks.” Her smile reaches her eyes and her whole face lights up. I love that about her—how one facial expression conveys so much emotion. “It was actually my grandmother’s recipe.”
“Mm-mmm,” I mumble as I stuff my face with a third bite of the treat.
“So, I was wondering something.” Karen presses her lips together as she regards me. Something about the sudden stiffness to her posture causes a rock to form in my stomach. I swallow hard and chase the food with a sip of orange juice while I wait for her to continue.
Years of intuition tell me my meal is over.
“I’ve never seen you without a hat. Would you mind if I ask what color your hair is?”
It’s a harmless question, but a red alarm starts screaming bloody murder inside my head. My intuition has been right too many times to ignore it now.
Standing swiftly, I grab my bag and backpedal, never taking my eyes off Karen.
“Lizzie, what are you doing?” A worried line appears between her eyes as she stands too—her height rivaling my own almost-six feet—and takes a step forward. She holds her arms up in front of her, palms facing me in the universal gesture for “calm down.”
Is she trying not to scare me off?
Too late for that.
“Thanks so much for the breakfast. And for everything. But I should probably get going.” I don’t stop my steady retreat, but she halts. That leeches some of the paranoia out of my system.
She isn’t coming after me. That’s good.
“Was it because I asked about your hair? You don’t have to tell me, I was just—”
A crash inside the diner has both our heads swiveling to the back door.
A normal person would assume it’s the cook or one of the wait staff.
A normal person wouldn’t shoot an accusing glare at the person kind enough to feed her.
A normal person would smile warmly, sit down, and eat as much of the amazing breakfast as she could fit in her belly.
I’m far from a normal person.
“Emberly, this isn’t—”
That one word causes my adrenaline to spike ten times stronger than my morning wake-up call.
Emberly. She knows my name. My real name.
Chapter Two
The widening of Karen’s eyes reveals she hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
I should be running right now.
That’s definitely what I should be doing, but bursts of lights flash along the periphery of my vision, freezing me in place.
This is bad. This is so bad.
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We’ve been searching for you for a very long time. We just weren’t sure if you were the one we were looking for.”
Uh-uh. No way. That’s creeper talk.
Starbursts of light or not, I am out of here.
Turning so quickly my bag slaps the side of the restaurant, I take off. No holding back, a full-on sprint I never use because it draws too much attention. I can run faster than a normal person should be able to, and right now, I welcome the speed.
In a split second I’m at the front of the restaurant, but it’s already too late.
I skid to a halt. The chest of a tall, broad shouldered, dark-haired man only inches in front of my nose.
Backpedaling several steps, I check over my shoulder to see Karen standing twenty feet behind me.
“She’s over here,” the man shouts, his deep voice booming.
It takes no time for several more people to join the giant of a man, creating a human wall in front of me.
I catalog the threat.
Eight people total. Men and women. All tall. All dark-haired.
I’m definitely not getting through them. That leaves Karen behind me. If I jump the fence in the back, I can escape through the rear alley.
“You’re coming with us,” says Goliath’s twin.
Yeah, I think I’ll pass.
Flashes of light start overtaking the central portion of my vision.
No no no no no no no!
This is not the time to slip out of reality.
“Deacon, you’re scaring her. This isn’t the way to do this,” Karen argues.
“We don’t have time to baby her like—”
Flee, instinct roars at me.
I have to get out of here.
Right. Now.
I have no idea who these people are, or what they want. But what I do know is that if I wait around any longer, I’ll be a sitting duck. Stuck between this reality and the other, I’ll be easy pickings for these weirdo kidnappers as I run from monsters no one else can see.
Turning, I run directly at Karen, dipping to the right at the last moment to edge around her. The movement should be too fast for a person to track, but her hand shoots out and snags my pack as I skirt her.
Dropping my arms and shoulders, I slip out of the backpack. There isn’t a material possession I own that is worth sacrificing my independence for.
Jumping, I land on the fence like a squirrel, at least six feet in the air. The metal wires bite into my hands as I scramble to scale its height.
Light explodes in my vision as I drop to the ground on the other side.
“She’s phasing!”
When I pop up from a crouch, my realities have merged.
No! This can’t happen right now!
Structures from the real world remain, but it’s as if a Technicolor screen has overlaid them.
The building to my left must be an apartment because it’s bursting with light. A mix of colors pulsate around it like a giant rainbow aura. Reds and blues dominate the assortment, with sparks of yellow, green, and purple.
Currents of air move around me in tangible waves of light and sound, causing the hair on my arm to rise and a sticky-sweet aroma to tickle my nose.
I ignore all of it, because it’s the dark smudges high in the lavender sky that have captured my attention.
They are the creatures of my nightmares and this distorted reality: shadow beasts.
I’m not frightened of the dark, but I am scared of them. They’re the real monsters that go bump in the night, and I have the scars to prove it.
Black splotches jerk through the air like bats, making their trajectory almost impossible to gauge.