Jane Kindred - Kindling The Darkness

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Oliver did a double take when he came to unlock the door. This was a decidedly different look for Lucy. In a pair of well-worn jeans and a gray rugby shirt that said University of Oxford, she was wrapping her loose hair into a makeshift knot at the nape of her neck as she stepped inside. Her beet-stain lipstick was even more striking with the casual clothing.

“They’re in back, having some hot chocolate.” Oliver nodded toward the Hendersons sitting on the couch by the counter. “They were pretty spooked, but they’ve calmed down some.”

Despite her uncharacteristic attire, Lucy introduced herself to the couple with her usual cool professionalism. “I’m Lucy Smok. Can you folks tell me what you saw?”

Mrs. Henderson held her mug between her hands as she looked up. “We found one of those old mine shaft openings out near the park. You’re not supposed to go inside, but we just wanted to take a quick look around, and I think we...woke...whatever it was.”

Her husband continued. “I thought it was a dog, but it was huge, like a wolfhound. Shaggy.”

“And it smelled terrible,” Mrs. Henderson put in.

“I figured it must be a stray, and I took a step toward it...and its eyes shot open.” Mr. Henderson shuddered. “They weren’t...right. We hightailed it out of there, and thank God it didn’t follow.”

“Tell them what you heard,” Oliver prompted.

Mr. Henderson hesitated. “It’s going to sound ridiculous.”

“It spoke,” said his wife.

Lucy had been looking slightly bored and annoyed at the pedestrian encounter, but she perked up at that. “It spoke ?”

“It’s crazy, I know. But I swear—”

“What did it say?”

Mr. Henderson studied Lucy with surprise. “What did it say?”

“You said it spoke. I assume you mean words. What did it say?”

“Sorry. I just didn’t expect you to believe us. I mean, Mr. Connery was very understanding, and—”

“What did it say?”

He swallowed. “It said, ‘Give my regards to the...the Queen of the Damned.’”

“It had to have been someone in a costume,” Mrs. Henderson cut in. “I mean, it was very convincing, horrifyingly realistic, but of course it must have been a person.”

Lucy was quiet, obviously thinking intently.

Oliver pushed himself away from the chair back he’d been leaning against. “We really appreciate you letting us know about this, no matter how odd it may seem. Ms. Smok is absolutely the best person to figure this out.”

Lucy gave him an odd look.

The couple rose, recognizing that their exit was being announced, and Mr. Henderson shook Oliver’s hand. “Thank you, Mr. Connery. Ms. Smok. I’m not sure how much we helped.”

“You’ve been a great help,” Oliver insisted as he walked them out. He turned around after locking up and shuttering the door to see Lucy sitting on the couch, staring at her hands poised on her thighs. “Did that mean something to you?”

Lucy’s head shot up. “What the hell could it possibly mean to me?”

Oliver tucked his hands into his pockets as he neared the couch. “You just looked pretty startled.”

“I was shocked that it would speak to a victim.”

“But maybe they weren’t intended to be victims. Maybe it was sending us a message.”

“Or me, you mean. You think I understood the message.”

“Do you?”

Lucy’s eyes narrowed. “It means I need to get out there and find this damn thing.” She rose decisively. “It’s getting dark. I’m going to go check out this mine shaft. Where is it?”

“That thing tore your shoulder open last night. You need to let it heal.”

“I told you, I’m fine. I’m a fast healer.” She tried to walk past him, but he sidestepped in front of her.

“Let me take a look at it. You should have gone to a hospital today instead of rushing off to wherever hunting things.”

“As a matter of fact, I saw my doctor. She took a look and said it was fine. She approved of your stitching skills.”

“Is that so? Then you won’t mind if I verify that you’re healing.”

If Lucy’s eyes could start a fire, he was sure they would be doing it now. “Are you serious?”

“Very.”

Lucy glared at him for a moment. “I’m trained in Systema. Russian martial arts.”

“I’m familiar with it. I’m pretty sure I can take you.”

“ Take me?” Lucy’s stance seemed to turn instantly rock hard and immovable, a promised threat emanating from her, though she hadn’t moved. “I seem to recall you ending up on the ground under me the last time you tried.” After a split second’s pause, her skin grew flushed. With anger, presumably. But he was getting a weird vibe.

“I wasn’t actually challenging you to a fight.”

“You just said you could take me.”

“You brought up your Systema skills. Which seems pretty strange, because all I suggested was that you let me look at the stitches and see how you’re healing. Is there some reason those are fighting words to you?”

Lucy let out a slow, deliberate breath, as if trying to breathe out her own anger—a gesture he was familiar with. “No, I suppose not.” They stared each other down for another few seconds before Lucy unexpectedly crossed her arms in front of her waist, grabbed the hem of her shirt and whipped it up and over her head. She turned her bandaged shoulder toward him. “Well? Take a look. I haven’t got all day.”

Oliver stepped closer and peeled back the edge of the bandage. The skin was healthy looking. No redness or swelling. Little bruising. And soft. Really soft.

He drew back his hand with a jolt as though he’d touched a hot stove. “You’re right. It looks good. Glad to see it.”

She turned to face him, the T-shirt still balled in her fist. “Now let’s see yours.”

“Mine?” Oliver had to check himself from reflexively covering his crotch.

“You have some interesting scars. They looked fresh.”

“Scars?” Oliver tried to keep his voice even, his expression believably puzzled.

“On your chest. From bullet wounds.”

“ Bullet wounds?” If he pulled this off, he deserved an Oscar. “I think your sleep deprivation may have gotten the better of you last night. It’s understandable if you were a little confused.”

“Was I?” Lucy’s fists went to her hips. “Then take your shirt off and let’s see.”

“This is silly.”

“It’s a little weird that you won’t just do it if I’m being silly.”

Oliver blinked at her. “Maybe you should just put yours back on.”

Lucy swore and yanked the shirt over her head, shoving her arms into the sleeves with two sharp jerks. “Quit stalling and take your shirt off, Oliver. Or I’m going to assume my suspicions are correct.”

“And what suspicions would those be?”

“That you’re something I should be hunting.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” His temper threatened to spike. He hadn’t meditated yet today. Oliver pulled off his T-shirt and held his arms out at his sides. “Satisfied? No bullet wounds.” He tried to keep his breathing steady as she stepped toward him, her nose scrunching with disbelief.

Lucy’s fingers settled lightly on the pale thin line beneath his bottom right rib, and Oliver drew in his breath sharply. “What is this?”

“A scar from an accident I had a while back. If you think that’s from a bullet wound, you need your eyes examined.”

She glanced back up at his chest. She hadn’t moved her hand except to relax it against his side. “I was sure I saw them.” Lucy shook her head. “Maybe it really was sleep deprivation.” She raised her eyes and met his gaze, her thumb stroking absently along the scar.