L.L. Foster - The Awakening

Luther laughed. He supposed to a guy barely out of his teens, thirty-something did seem old. "I don't mind a young'un like you giving me shit, but Ann here, she can be deadly. You should show more caution."

"Indeed," Ann said.

Unconcerned, Gary launched into speech. " Servant is an underground graphic novel. Really cool, too."

"A comic book?" Ann asked with disdain. "You're still reading those?"

"God save us." Gary dropped the mail pouch and scowled at her. "It's not a mere comic book. Graphic novels are books with illustrations, and Servant is a great story with awesome drawings. Trust me. It's some super-creepy shit." He nodded at Luther. "Including bad guys who morph."

Luther met Ann's commiserating gaze. "Yeah, well, somehow I think we're talking about two different things. But thanks anyway."

Irked at their ignorance, Gary retrieved his mail and stalked away to finish his intern duties.

"Crazy kids these days." Ann swung one foot. "You're a detective, Luther. If you want to know what sort of disease someone has, just ask."

He had—and got a foul-mouthed reply instead of an answer. "Most people would be irked at that kind of nosiness."

"Maybe. So ask someone who knows the person." Ann lifted herself off his desk. "But whatever it is, it sounds horrid, and unlike anything I've ever heard of."

Watching Ann leave, Luther admired her curves in a detached yet automatic way. He'd known her a long time, but he wasn't an idiot so he kept work and his social life separate.

Except that he'd slipped up with Gaby.

He still couldn't believe he'd copped a feel. And of what? The woman barely had any curves to speak of, and what she did have she kept protected beneath of a lot of poisonous thorns.

Yet he hadn't been able to help himself. It was a part of his personality he'd never encountered before. He always kept his head, always controlled himself.

Fuck,

After running a hand through his hair, Luther looked at the not-quite-finished reports and made a fast decision. He'd come back to them later.

He pulled out a clean sheet of paper and a pen and made himself a list.

Background check on Mort. He'd start with a face-to-face and see what he could find out just through chatting.

Investigate morphing. God, that word sucked, but he couldn't think of one better, not to describe the way Gaby had altered right in front of his eyes.

Check into her mother's death. One of the few times he felt Gaby had been straight-up honest was when she mentioned her mother.

Luther started to fold the list, and on impulse scrawled, Cancer in background . The mutilated man had a strange sort of cancer. Yet when he'd told Gaby, she kept such a stony expression that he couldn't read her at all. Perhaps cancer had touched her life in some way. Maybe it even had something to do with the odd way she changed appearance.

Tucking the note into his pants pocket, Luther left his desk.

He'd start finding answers now by first visiting with Mort. And maybe when he finished that, he'd visit with Gaby again, too. The woman had secrets that might, or might not, be related to the grisly murder of an old man consumed with cancer.

Until he found out, Luther knew he wouldn't be able to get her out of his mind.

Gaby pushed her lank hair away from her face and realized it now hung an inch or so below her shoulders. Time to cut it off again. She got out her shears, big and sharp enough to be lethal, and in one fist, gathered the hair together at the back of her neck. Doing it this way wouldn't make an even cut, but who gave a flip?

She didn't.

She eased the blades around the hank of hair and was just about to hack it off in one big chunk when a strange sensation crawled over her. She went rigid, jerked back, and the point of the scissors gouged her in the top of the shoulder. A single drop of crimson blood trailed over her pale skin and down to her collarbone.

The evil was back.

Dropping the scissors into the sink, Gaby strode to the window and looked out. At late afternoon, the sun held high in the sky, casting tree shadows around the surrounding area. Kids of all ages scuttled around the playground, shrieking, jumping, creating a boisterous sonance of laughter and ephemeral happiness.

Gaby tuned them out to listen for other sounds, baser sounds. Besides the kids, nothing stirred, not even a breeze, and yet, she felt it. Hot.

Sticky.

Calculating.

Close to the innocent children. But uninterested in them.

By rote, Gaby reached behind her and fingered her knife, safe in its sheath beneath her baggy T-shirt. She inhaled slow and deep, once, again, a third time. Her senses sharpened, but not by God's will.

No, this was mere human instinct, pathetic in comparison, but all she had at her disposal.

So the evil didn't plan anything. Yet. It only watched her. But why?

And what difference did that make? One way or another, she had to destroy it. She felt it studying her so she knew it was close. She sensed it lurked just beyond the playground, so it had dared to come within reach. It wanted to hide, but that wouldn't do.

Gaby would go to it, force a confrontation, and then demolish it.

Turning away from the window, she strode to the side of her bed and slipped her feet into her flip-flops. Key in her pocket, she went out the door and rushed in silent haste down the steps.

Thankfully, Mort didn't appear. She didn't want any interruptions that might give the evil an opportunity to escape.

Keeping half her attention on avoiding Mort, Gaby shoved open the entry door—and almost Collided with Luther Cross.

They didn't make actual contact, so he had no reason to grasp her arms. But he did anyway.

"Well, well. Going out for another stroll. Gaby?"

Sensations exploded. Thoughts of Luther had plagued her all through the long, lonely nights, until she concluded that she'd have to get rid of him.

Permanently.

Other than the possession of her knife, he had no solid reason to suspect her of anything.

That meant, as aberrant as it might be, his interest came from a different source.

Strange bastard. Didn't he know that put him on a level with goofy Mort? Surely, he couldn't want that.

Cold with deliberate and somewhat feigned disdain, Gaby looked down at his hands on her arms. "Let go."

He stupidly ignored that. "You're cut." Using his hold, he tilted her to the side and examined the bead of blood on her pale skin. "What happened?"

"I'm fine. Now let go."

"Cut yourself shaving?"

His attempt at humor only incensed her further. "I said. Let. Go."

Dark lashes lowered over narrowed eyes. "You're in one hell of a hurry, you look pissed, and you have blood on your neck. I think I have good cause to ask a few—"

This time Gaby gave him no warning, and for some odd reason, he wasn't as prepared as he'd been during their first scuffle. Her bony knee slugged hard against the inside of his thigh. She hit high up, close to his groin, hard enough to cause him to cringe not only with pain, but with inborn defense of his jewels.

When he lurched forward trying to cover himself, Gaby brought her elbow up and in, and then shot it back into his jaw in a clean strike. His head snapped back, his arms flailed, and his foot landed just beyond the top step. He tumbled backward in an awkward heap.

Gaby jumped down around him, sprinted across the street, and scaled the chain-link fence around the playground—all before Luther had picked himself up off the steps. After that one quick glance back, Gaby kept her attention focused forward. Somehow she knew he wouldn't follow her, but even if he did, once she'd wound her way in and out of alleys, he'd have a hell of a time finding her again.