I gather my bearings, totally baffled at what just went down. I barely know this guy yet I’m imagining having sex with him? And not just any sex at that. I’m talking lip-biting, toe-curling, back-scratching, no holds barred sex. I’m no virgin, but the thought of intimacy with Dorian not only excites me, but scares me. Scares me because I want him so damn badly. I’ve never wanted anyone more, and so quickly at that. Dorian feels like a designer drug; I know I’m not supposed to do it but I want to anyway. And for that reason alone, I know I should stay away. But will I?
In an attempt to regain some sense of composure, I reach into my purse and fish out my cell phone to check my messages before driving home. It’s a text from Morgan asking if I’m still alive and hopefully not too hungover, and the missed calls are from my parents.
Parents.
Just a day ago, that had a completely different meaning. If someone asked me who my parents were, Chris and Donna were the only names that popped into my head. Not Natalia and some mystery baby daddy. And since there was such an overwhelming lack of evidence that my birth parents even existed, I just assumed they were dead and even started telling people that. Now all of my unanswered questions have created new unanswered questions, leaving me more confused and frustrated as ever.
But at least there’s Dorian.
His unexpected arrival into my once drab existence has definitely been a bright spot. Something different, mystifying, for a change. And after years of pining after a guy who only saw me as his BFF, Dorian’s interest in me is more than welcomed.
An inkling of movement out the corner of my eye shakes me from my musings. I quickly turn my head to look in the direction of a group of tall bushes lining the side of the department store brick wall. I don’t detect anything strange so I look down at my phone, beginning my “I’m ok” text to Morgan. But before I can hit send, I sense movement again. Only this time, when I look, I can clearly see the bushes quivering, as if something, or someone, is in them. Just a raccoon, I tell myself but I can’t truly believe my own theory. I throw my phone back into my purse but when I look up again to put my car in Drive, I see that the bushes are no longer shaking. Instead there is a shadowy figure standing in front of them, not 30 yards away from me. It’s too dark and too far away to tell if it’s a man or a woman but I can tell that whoever it is, they are glaring directly in my direction.
Before I can reach the steering wheel, the figure is moving towards me. FAST. In an unnatural, ghostly way, it’s closing the distance between us in an extraordinarily rapid pace. What the hell? Is it floating towards me? Like frames from a horrifying strip of film, the figure advances towards me in flashes of ethereal light, each mutated frame more distorted than the last. In the split second it takes to pry my terrified eyes from the approaching shadow, I gather my bearings and hit the gas, the tires screeching against the pavement. Whatever that was, it was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Yet something about it was oddly, horrifyingly familiar.
I pull up to my house in record time, thanking God for no red traffic lights or police cars in my path. What the hell was that? Before stepping out onto the driveway, I check around and behind me, ensuring that the coast is clear. Then I book it down the stone path and up the three stairs to our front door. I feel slightly foolish as I close and lock the door behind me and sink to the floor, suddenly exhausted with fright.
“Hey, Kiddo, is that you?” Chris calls from his study. Crap. He’s waited up for me. I pick myself up off the floor and kick off my shoes.
“Yeah, Dad, sorry I’m late,” I call out, reluctantly making my way down the hall to him, passing numerous family and school photos hung on the walls. A hallway of memories. It all seems like someone else’s memories now.
Chris is at his large oak desk, only the light from his computer illuminating his handsome face. He looks tired and I know I’ve worried him with my tardiness. He looks up at me and grins, little lines crinkling at his brown eyes. I know all is forgiven. He seems melancholy and a pang of regret squeezes my chest.
“Went out after work?” he asks. I can tell he’s dancing around the real issue. The issue of my biological mother and his part in the concealment of her existence.
“Something like that,” I shrug.
He probably thinks I stayed out because I wanted to stall our conversation, and he’s partly right. We stare in silence, neither of us knowing how to broach the subject. On one hand, I want to know more about my mother, the Light, and this new world of magic that I’ve been thrust into by birth. How does Chris fit into all this? Is he supernatural too? How does he feel about all this Hocus Pocus, being the straight-laced, no-nonsense guy that he is? Only one way to find out.