Her Billionaire, Her Wolf(20)

There was a croaking sound as a crow coughed in joy, then another and another joined in to squawk as a second hand, just as deathly pale as the first, appeared.

Sara took another step back, then shrieked as the back of her leg came up against a chair.

“This will only hurt a little,” the whispering voice said, only so much closer then. “At least, I think so.”

What stepped around from the dressing screen was dressed in pinstriped pants that hung loosely upon its gangly frame. Suspenders held the pants in place, stretching up and over bony shoulders.

Another shambling step and the dim light of the banker’s light ran up the thing’s body as the crows outside screamed in raucous anticipation.

Sara screamed, too, her voice lost among that of the crows as the creature holding a battered derby hat in one hand swept toward her.

And where it’s face should have been, there was a hole. Dark...empty...there was nothing at all.

The sibilant voice of a serpent spoke in Sara’s ears as it said, “I am the Journeyman, Sara, and you will do as the Journeyman says.”

She screamed and screamed with the crows in the night as the thing took her into its arms.



Sara jumped up, sweat running down her face, the sounds of crows still screaming in her ears.

She lay upon her own bed, the threadbare sheets twisted around her as she realized that what she was hearing was not the sound of crows, but rather the sound of an ambulance siren just outside the hotel.

She got to her feet as she heard heavy steps practically running down the stairs just outside the door of her room.

Without taking time to brush her hair into any semblance of order, Sara poked her head outside her door to see Simon-something-or-other from the third floor stomping hurriedly by. She tried to slip back inside before it was too late, but he had already seen her.

“Holy cow...someone took out Mr. Jenkins,” he said, flashing his famous neon yellow grin. Sara tried to look away, but his stained teeth would not let her go.

She sighed. “What are you talking about Simon?”

“Whatta ya mean, whattum I talkin’ about?” The young, awkward man was so excited that even his acne seemed to shine like red neon.

“Someone murdalized him. Last night, I guess. Mrs. Baker only just found him a couple minutes ago.”

Then, he lowered his voice and came so close that Sara could smell the cheese puffs on his breath and he said, as if sharing the most secret of secrets, “She says he’s laying there, under his desk...” he paused for dramatic effect, then continued, “...but he’s all in pieces.”

The excitement too much for him, Simon abruptly did an about-face and practically galloped down the stairs. From that direction, Sara could hear hushed voices where a crowd must have formed.

Despite her apprehension, she followed in Simon’s footsteps although she did not run like he did. Her feet were bare, the stairway as cold as a mortician’s slab.

She only made it halfway down the last flight of stairs before she saw the people crowded around the hotel owner’s desk. They stood in rapt attention in a circle around two men wearing uniforms that resembled hospital scrubs.

The paramedics had stretched out a large black bag and one bent to pick something up from the floor.

The crowd let out out a collective sigh, as if they had just been witness to a particularly clever magic trick. But what the few who stood on the tips of their toes to see, Sara saw clearly from her vantage point upon the stairwell.

The paramedic had picked up a hand that had been torn away at the wrist.

Sara felt the gorge rising in her throat as the screaming of crows echoed in her thoughts.

Low voices murmured in the crowd, and Sara heard Mr. Johnson from the third floor.

“They say there’s no blood...tapped like a maple tree, he was.”

Mrs. Johnson hushed her husband, then said with voice meant for anyone to hear, “No dear. Poor Mr. Jenkins must’ve met his maker somewhere else and then they brought his body back here.”

She nodded to no one in particular, then said, “That’s how they do it on the Friday night mysteries.”

There was a loud squawk from the hotel’s front entrance, then she saw men dressed in policemen’s blues forcing their way through the crowd.

Seeing them broke the spell that held Sara frozen in place.

Backing away slowly until she could no longer see downstairs, she spun around and ran back the way she had come, taking the stairs two at a time.

Her breath was ragged as she slammed her door shut. Then, she ran to the few papers she kept.

On top of the pile was the brown paper envelope within which lay the handwritten letter from the evening before.

...tapped like a maple tree...

Sara stumbled to the tiny room’s sink with the letter in hand. It took her several tries because her hands were shaking so severely...