Fae War Ch. 02

Settled in the huge soaking tub, glass of wine in one hand and the phone in the other, Erin laughed at the whole situation with Riley.

"Those southern cops can be a little intimidating, but wow, you got the cream of the crop!" Riley said, "I'm glad you got there safe. You set the alarms, right?"

"Yes, I set the alarms the minute I got inside," Erin responded in that "duh" tone she always took with Riley when she tried mothering her.

"Okay, then. Have a good time. Call me if you need anything, otherwise, call when you get back home Friday. Love you."

"Okay, sis. Love you, too," Erin said, then clicked off the phone and set it on the floor.

She hoped someday to have a big garden tub in her bathroom like the one she was in, and the view of the beach from the huge window over it was nice too.

She sipped her wine and leaned back, letting the hot water soothe away some of the tightness in her shoulders that had started with Henry's phone call, and only progressed with getting lost and having the flat tire.

She could laugh about the policeman now that she was safe in her sister's beach house, but at the time, it was super creepy. She wondered if the local police had any remedial customer relations courses she might suggest he sign up for. Still, he was really kind of hot, if she thought about it, dark and broody, with that strong body.

Just thinking about the police officer's body sent a shiver through Erin's body. She stroked her own breasts, wondering what it would be like to have a real man in her life. Her relationships always seemed to end before they moved into the physical phase.

She was pretty embarrassed that at twenty-three she had only reached third base a couple of times, and never actually had sex with a man. Twirling her nipples between her fingers, she felt the warmth gathering between her legs.

Gently massaging her breasts, she looked critically at her body. At five-eight and 136 pounds, she was built pretty well. Her breasts weren't huge, but they were nicely shaped, and a generous handful. Her abdomen was flat and flowed smoothly into her trimmed mound.

She trailed a finger down her belly and into that cleft between her legs. A moan slipped from her lips. She wasn't a prude. She'd love to have a boyfriend that found her irresistible, that couldn't keep his hands off of her.

Rubbing tiny circles around her clit, she imagined the cop strolling in to her darkened bathroom, slipping into the water with her and taking over the actions that would bring her pleasure. Rubbing harder, she imagined him taking her in the water, never saying a word.

Her back arched and she came quickly, immediately feeling silly for fantasizing about a guy that creeped her out, and obviously had no interest in her. She really needed to find a boyfriend that wasn't interested in respecting her.

The hair on the back of her neck started to rise, and her arms, sitting out on the side of the tub, got goosebumps. She opened her eyes, turning immediately to look out the huge window beside her.

She had left the shade up, thinking it was too late in the season for many people to be out on the beach. None of the houses had been lit up on the street when she came in. Now, as she scanned the sand for whatever had given her the feeling of being watched, she wished she had pulled the shade, or maybe just used the shower.

There was no one in the swath of light coming from the spotlights attached to the rear of the house. She squinted into the darkness and thought she saw a dark shape, but told herself it was nothing but her imagination. She blew out the candles that were providing the only light in the bathroom and surveyed the beach again.

A figure, barely visible in the outer reaches of the light, definitely moved toward the water to the south of the house. She watched closely, but it became stationary again, and she started wondering if it was just something blowing in the wind that got caught up on a pier or whatever.

She shook herself. It was just a spooky kind of night for her, and she needed to pull herself together.

She leaned until she could reach her towel, holding it up toward the window as she rose, quickly wrapping it around her and stepping from the tub. She was in such a hurry she slipped, landing hard on her hip. Glass shattered and she wondered through her pain what she had knocked down in her fall.

Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes hoping she would be able to get up without getting cut on whatever she had broken, but there was no glass around her. She pulled herself up, testing her right leg tentatively. It held. She turned to look around the tub for the broken glass.

The window behind the tub had a hole the size of a pizza pan in it. How in the world had she managed to send something flying through the window three feet above the tub?

Shards of glass lay all over the side of the tub. That didn't make sense. If she had sent something flying through that window, the glass would be in the driveway below. Something had come through the window from the outside!

She looked around the tub, but didn't see anything. Reaching in the tub, she carefully swished her hand back and forth in the water, raking the bottom of the tub. She came up with three shards of glass, but nothing else.

She rose, confused. Something came through that glass. She turned, reaching for her robe on the hook. In the dim light, she thought she saw a spider on the wall, and jumped back. Coming closer, she saw it was something embedded in the wall.

Turning, she looked from the thing embedded in the wall toward the window and beyond. It suddenly became crystal clear. The shape on the beach had shot at her!

Fighting dizziness and nausea, she leaned against then slid down the wall. Sitting in the dark bathroom, she tried to piece together what had just happened. It occurred to her, if she hadn't slipped getting out of the tub, she would probably be lying on the floor in a pool of blood right now.

Why? Why would anyone shoot at her? She was a nurse at a mid-sized hospital in a mid-sized city. There was nothing special about her: no money, no intrigue, not even a boyfriend who might be in some kind of trouble!

She suddenly realized she might still be in danger. What if the shooter was breaking into the house to finish the job?

She crawled across the floor to the phone she had put down earlier. When she clicked the talk button, she breathed a sigh of relief to have the dial tone buzz in her ear. She dialed 911 with shaking hands.

"911. What is your emergency?" a nasally, gender-non-specific voice said, almost making Erin laugh, her nerves thrumming.

Whispering, Erin explained, "I was taking a bath and thought I saw someone out on the beach. I was getting out of the tub and slipped. When I got up, I found the window shattered and what I think is a bullet in the wall."

The nasally voice responded, "So you think a trespasser shot through your window at you?"

"Yes," Erin whispered.

"Are you injured?"

"No, I'm fine," Erin hissed, "can you send the police to check it out?"

"Of course. I have the address as 84 Palmetto, in Beachcomber's Bay. Is that correct?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's it," Erin answered.

The phone line clicked off. Erin, worried the line had been cut, poked the talk button and got the dial tone again. That was weird. She thought the 911 operators usually stayed on the line with you.

Keeping the phone in her hand, Erin crawled to the bathroom door before standing and trotting down the dark hallway to the room she had her things in. She quickly dressed, and still clutching the phone, headed downstairs to wait for the police to arrive.

Within a few minutes, a car cruised down the street slowly, pulling into the driveway. It wasn't a police car. In fact, standing beside the window and peeking around the curtain, Erin was pretty sure it was the same car that had pulled off the highway to help her!

The same man got out of the car, badge still attached to his belt, and walked to the front door, where he knocked loudly.

Erin wasn't sure she should answer it. This night had been too strange, but how could he know about the 911 call unless he was a real cop? She relented and went to the door.

She opened it, expecting him to be surprised to see her again, but he barely nodded to her before walking into the hall. She closed the door after quickly glancing around outside.

"You think a gunshot broke a window?" he asked, flipping open a notepad.

Didn't this guy ever introduce himself?

"Yes, upstairs in the master bathroom," she said, starting up the stairs. She led him to the bathroom doorway, but once there he grabbed her arm and indicated she should stay where she was.

He entered the room, pulling out his flashlight rather than turning on the light. He shined it at the window, then following the probable line of fire, moved to examine the wall.

He used a penknife to dig the slug from the wall, turning it over in his fingers before slipping it into his pocket.

Erin wondered if there was any procedure in place for this sort of thing around here, since the actors on the crime shows never handled evidence bare-handed, and they put everything into those little evidence bags, not their pockets. She got that prickly feeling again.

"Did you see anyone?" he asked, peering out the window again.

"I may have," she answered, but at the quick look he gave her, amended, "I saw something move, way down the beach, but I couldn't tell if it was even a person."

He strode out of the bathroom and down the stairs. He didn't say a word, but swept on through the house to the terrace doors. Opening them, he stepped outside and looked up and down the beach. He seemed satisfied there was no one still around. Abruptly he returned to the house, locking the door behind him.

"This place have alarms?" he asked, scanning the room.

"Yes. They were on until you came. And everything was locked," she replied, trembling again that he had the same thought she did.

"Must think he got you then," the officer said, moving around the room, checking windows, pulling shades.

"Wait! What?" Erin asked, confused, "Why do you think that?"

"Because now that they've found you, they won't stop until you're dead," he said simply, moving to the dining room, still checking locks.

"Who's 'they'? And why would anyone want to kill me?" Erin faltered, real fear taking hold.

"There's a lot you don't know, and I can't tell you all of it," the man said, still stalking the house methodically, "You aren't a normal human, and the people who want you dead aren't either. You should have taken my advice and gone home."

"Who the hell are you?" she screamed, grabbing his arm and pulling her hand back just as suddenly. He was very warm, and his muscles were rope-tight and quivering under her grip.

"Let's just say I've been watching you for a long time and expecting this to happen," he said, turning away. Then under his breath, "Though the council said it wouldn't."

"Who's the council?" Erin asked, wishing he would stand still.

"Can't tell you."

"Who wants me dead?"

"Can't tell you."

"What am I if not a human?"

"Can't tell you."

"What's your name?" she asked, getting ready to mouth the words 'can't tell you' along with him.

"Luka," he said, finally turning and looking at her. His eyes were that striking silver-green, and in the semi-darkness they seemed to swirl and change. She refined her opinion of earlier, even without a smile, he was handsome, in a dark, almost sinister way. She shivered, not sure if being with him was any safer than being alone.

"You aren't a police officer?" she half-stated, half-asked.

"Not really, no," Luka answered, still looking straight into her eyes. "But I am your protection."

"My protection," she repeated vaguely.

He took her by the shoulders, giving her a little shake. "I know this is all new, and confusing, and I can't explain much, but you have to believe me. You are in danger! If we're lucky, whoever shot at you thinks he got you, so no one will be looking for you for a little while. We need to use that time and get you someplace safe."

She felt faint looking into his eyes which seemed to darken as he gazed at her. How could any of this be true? He had admitted he wasn't a police officer, and that was what she needed. She broke away from him and headed for the phone on the wall. As she lifted it, he pulled it from her grasp.

"Who do you think you're calling?" he demanded.

"The police. I've been shot at," she started to explain dazedly, like she was piecing it together for a child, "you call the police when someone shoots at you."

"The police can't help you," he said, hanging the phone back up.

She picked it up again. He just stood there with his hands resting on his hips. She dialed 911. It rang.

A simple, old-fashioned phone ring-tone emanated from Luka's pocket. He pulled out the phone and said, "911. What is your emergency?" in that nasal voice.

She hung up and immediately dialed her sister's number. His phone rang again. She hung up again. She dialed her own home number, fingers shaking, eyes growing large with fear. His phone rang again.

"H-how can you do that?" she asked, putting the phone back and trying to calculate how to get out of the house and away from this madman.

"Does it matter?" he asked, still looking into her eyes, standing calmly in her sister's kitchen, hands on hips, fake badge at his waist.

She shook her head slightly, backing away. "Who are you really?"

"I told you, I'm your protection. Now get your stuff, we need to go," he answered, following her slow retreat to the hall.

"Sure. I'll just go up and get my bag," she said, starting for the stairs.

He grunted and went to the door, peeking out a sidelight. He turned back to her as she started slowly going up the stairs backwards. "Hurry up! I don't know how long it will be before they realize you aren't actually dead."

She turned and flew up the stairs. She grabbed her bag, then decided it might slow her down, so she just pulled her purse-strap over her shoulder and headed for the upper terrace off the master bedroom. As quietly as she could, she opened the door, slipping out into the slight chill of an autumn night. She ran down the steps, hugging the outer edge of the stairs and ducking as low as she could to scoot around the lower terrace landing and on down to the driveway below. Glancing at the beach, she put her car key into her door and threw herself into the driver's seat, but as she pulled the door shut, something stopped it, and she looked up to find Luka standing beside her, grip tight on the door.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, face showing the edge of his anger.

"Let go of my door!" Erin demanded, kicking at him and hoping her sudden show of bravery might surprise him enough to get him to let go of the door. It didn't.

"I want to show you something," he said calmly, swinging the door open and beckoning her with one finger. When she didn't move, he pointed down, and still holding the car door, he started to kneel.

She hesitated, but finally moved out of the car and squatted down.

He pointed to a tiny light glowing under the dark car. "Want to know what that is?"

Heart sinking into her stomach, she turned to him, eyes huge.

"That's a bomb. And if you had started your car, it would have ignited the gas tank, taking you, your car, and the entire house down with it," he explained in the voice of a kindergarten teacher explaining why hitting is a bad way to handle a disagreement.

She stood up, teetering a little. She started to reach into the car for her purse, but stopped herself, scared to even rock the car at this point.

Luka roughly moved her aside, holding onto her arm, and leaned in grabbing her purse. He shoved it into her hands, then turned, grabbed her bag which he must have carried down, and tugged her up the driveway to his car. Opening the passenger door, he nudged her into it, then threw her bag in the backseat and walked around to the driver's side.

She didn't say anything for a long time while he drove east, sticking to the deserted highways and state routes.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked eventually.

"A place I know. They won't know you're alive for a few more hours, and with any luck we'll be there already. Once there, they won't be able to find you through the charms," he answered, giving her more information than he ever had, while still saying almost nothing.

"How will they know in a few hours? If they're watching the beach house, they already know, and if they aren't, how will they find out?" she asked, confused and exhausted.

"They'll be monitoring your life force. If it doesn't fade in the next few hours, they'll know the hit wasn't successful. Then they will start trying to find you again, so you have to be somewhere they can't penetrate with their magic."

"Magic?" she laughed, and it threatened to turn hysterical, but she settled herself down again. "Magic? Like voodoo and abracadabra?" she asked dismissively.

"Real magic. They can't kill you with magic, you're too strong, but they can use it to find you, and bullets and bombs kill just as effectively," Luka answered, looking at her intently. "Don't you feel it? The magic? Haven't you noticed how things tend to go right for you all the time?"

She immediately thought of Henry. And Chuck before him. And John, and Justin, and Derrick. No, she didn't really feel like things went right for her so very often.

"No," was all she answered.

Luka shrugged. He seemed happy enough to forsake conversation, so she rested her seat back and tried to piece together the information she was going to need when she got away from him and found the police.

And she was going to get away.