Love & Curses(17)

Something wasn’t right.

Taking the porch steps two at a time, Andy jabbed his finger on the doorbell as he yanked open the screen door. Trying the knob, he was surprised to find it unlocked. He shoved the door open and rushed inside. Reaching for the foyer light switch, he switched it on, but nothing happened. He tried a second time with the same results. Crap. Not good.

“Calista?” He scanned the dark room, glimpsing the outline of the couch and a hint of the end table next to it. Maybe he should go home and grab a flashlight—if she was passed out on the floor, he might walk right past her. His stomach clenched at the possibility, and a fleeting echo of her aunt’s confession as she spoke over the speakerphone with her rang in his ears. “Death is after you, child.”

His mind twisted new meaning to the older woman’s words. Everything that had occurred throughout the day—the kitchen fire, his top chef walking out, the market fire which sent him across town for supplies, seeing that bastard Ben waltz into the restaurant with some slut on his arm, the lack of cell phone reception…. Good Lord, nothing seemed coincidental any more.

Thump.

Andy lifted his gaze to the ceiling. Her bedroom.

Heart banging against his sternum, he hurried through the living room and bounded up the stairs. At the top, he strode down the short hallway to her closed bedroom door. The unmistakable scent of smoke assaulted his nose. He tried the knob. Locked.

“Calista!” Only seconds passed, but when no response came, he shoved his shoulder against the heavy wood slab hard enough to jar it open. Pushing his way into the room, he squinted while smoke billowed around him, burning his eyes. Why hadn’t the damned smoke alarms gone off? He frowned. No flames, no crackling of burning wood. Where was the fire that should have engulfed the entire house?

Shielding his nose and mouth with his arm, he stepped across the threshold but stopped short when he glimpsed a dark shadow rushing toward him. A deep, feral growl shuddered against his skin. What the…?

An inhuman wail sliced the air followed by a sudden explosion. The door blew shut, slamming against him and tossing him backward down the steep stairs. Tumbling ass over ears, he landed at the bottom, pain detonating in his shoulder and arm, stars bursting behinds his eyes. Unable to catch a full breath, he lay on the hardwood floor, trying to calm his racing heart. What the hell was that?

Thoughts of Calista’s safety pervaded his mind, and Andy rolled to his knees, using his good arm to push himself to his feet. Agony shot through his elbow and sent his head spinning. Shit, his shoulder was dislocated. Cracked his forearm, too. Gritting his teeth, he stared at the landing above.

“Coincidences my ass,” he muttered. Her crazy aunt had been right. Calista was in trouble. Deep shit. Forces, supernatural or otherwise, were trying to keep him from getting to her.

With the room spinning around him, he climbed back up the steps leading to the woman he loved, prepared to battle whatever wanted to stop him from reaching her. She was his. His heart, his soul, his life. Nothing and no one would keep him from her.

Rearing back, he kicked the door open, splintering the wood casing enough for him to squeeze through. Smoke rushed out, enveloping him in a suffocating embrace. His throat burned, and his vision blurred with sooty tears.

“Calista!”

Only the silence of the foggy room greeted him. God, was he too late? He shoved the thought away, unable to consider the possibility. Pushing aside the throbbing in his arm, he fell to his knees and prodded around the floor. He ran his hands over the bed where she should have been sleeping but found it empty.

“Calista, baby, answer me.”

A bright haze danced in front of the window, and somehow he knew it was a sign. Follow the light. He shuffled across the hardwood, his limbs heavy from his shallow breaths. Please let her be—

Something cold brushed over his calf, twined around his ankle.

His heart jackhammered. Oh, shit!

His leg jerked out from under him, and his chest slammed to the floor. Something dragged him away from the window. Andy twisted and flipped onto his back.

Holy mother of—

Fear grappled his lungs, and icy tentacles wound around his throat and squeezed. Amid the swirling smoke, a hooded figure towered over him. Bony fingers dug into his calf, and he kicked to free himself. The thing skittered onto his chest, an impossible weight crushing his ribs.

“She is mine,” the fiend gurgled, his putrid breath washing over Andy’s face.

Death. The Grim Reaper. The Ferryman. He stared into the beast’s soulless, glowing orbs while his brain struggled to process the truth. Good God, it isn’t a fairytale.

Death loomed closer, his decaying nostrils flaring. “You have interfered. You, too, are mine.”