Hotblood (46 page)

I walked down the sidewalk past the cheerfully lit houses feeling lost and trapped, desperate for something, anything to stop the panic. I turned a corner and headed down a street on the edges of town not so well lit, somewhere I wouldn’t accidentally blow up a streetlight, if that had been me. After I was halfway down the block I had a feeling like I was being watched.

“
Good evening,” a voice said out of the darkness.

I froze and searched the shadows, wishing I’d chosen a better lit street to wander down, but of course I hadn’t really chosen it since wandering wouldn’t work very well if you used a map and compass to plot your course. I shook my head and forced myself to stop the inner dialogue that was only making me slightly hysterical.

“
Evening,” I said politely to the general air and forced myself to continue walking. My heart pounded in my throat as I walked and heard the sound of ice cracking. I shivered in my coat and wished I had my knife on my leg. I hated feeling defenseless, being defenseless. Of course I could always bite him. The idea of someone’s blood in my mouth made my stomach roil. Maybe not. Maybe it would be better for me to be defenseless and die so that other people wouldn’t have to.

“
Giving up without a fight? I didn’t think you’d have it in you.”

I spun around and started yelling. “I’m sick of disembodied voices, and I’m sick of fighting. You don’t know me and you don’t know what’s inside of me. If you did you’d stay far away because people who get too close to me don’t end well. Friends as well as enemies, and disembodied voices have never gone over too great with me. So get lost!” This last was so loud it echoed strangely on the dark snow covered streets. I startled myself with my intensity, my rapid breathing and clenched fists reflecting the anger that burned inside of me. It didn’t burn like a fury, but more icy and cold, scary and dark.

“
Disembodied voices in the darkness represent your inner demons. If I showed you a face, any face at all, you’d be unable to realize that what you see is only a reflection of who you are.”

“
Is that supposed to be funny? Typical that the reflection of my inner turmoil would be a crackpot philosopher. At least I won’t have trouble falling asleep at night.” I kept walking towards the corner where a street light burned hoping that once I got there I’d find relative safety.

He grabbed me by the back of my coat. I spun around to knock his hands off me, but slipped on the ice and went down instead. I banged my knee but rolled to my feet as quickly as I could. Unfortunately I still couldn’t see him and the footing was very bad. I took a breath to scream, to yell, something, and it was like all the air was sucked out of me. He gripped my face with icy fingers that dug into my skin until it felt like they sunk through the skin into the bone, into my brain with pain that seared through everything I’d ever known until I forgot myself, forget everything besides one name I whispered before the explosion of agony collapsed into darkness.

“
Lewis.”

Acknowledgements

I’d like to thank my first fan, Sabona, who did therapy on my characters until they knew who they wanted to be. I’d like to thank Davy, Dana, Melissa, Mom and Dad, and of course my brilliant husband John, who all added fantastic feedback to help my world come alive. Thanks Loreta, you are the grammar queen. Thanks to the Athens branch, Angie and Brett, many of whom put up with my nonsense. Thanks to the Athens writer’s guild, Jamie, for being so patient with my endless tirades about annoying characters. Thanks to my husband for the design work he donated to my book. Lastly, thanks to my God with whom all things are possible.