Lost Girl: Hidden Book One (5 page)

I got out of bed and tiptoed toward the stairs, avoiding all of the places where the floorboards creaked. Down the stairs, and I could see a light on in the kitchen.

What kind of asshole burglar turns the light on?

I walked into the kitchen, to see a woman sitting at the kitchen table, looking thoughtfully at the fruit magnets on the refrigerator. At least, that’s what I thought she was looking at.

She looked like a kindergarten teacher. Curly blond hair. Blue eyes. A long flowing skirt and white polo shirt. She even had a dimple when she smiled at me, for Christ sake.

I didn’t like her. At all.

The feelings coming from the woman were nothing good. Anger, haughtiness, superiority. I wondered for a minute if she was crazy. She could have been. But she was also evil. I could just feel the sliminess emanating from her. I rubbed my hands on my pajama pants, feeling dirty just by being in the same room.

“Well, why don’t you make yourself at home? Can I get you a cup of tea? Sandwich, maybe?” I asked, strolling toward the table and leaning on the back of one of the chairs.

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, dear,” the woman said.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” I asked, power filling my voice.

“Ah ah ah. That doesn’t work on me. Impressive, though,” the woman said, shaking her finger in a way that made me want to rip it off and shove it down her throat.

“Then I’ll ask a second time. Who are you? What are you doing here? Don’t make me ask again.” I could hear the snarl in my voice, could feel my power spiking.

MY damn house. The one place in the whole city where I could catch a break. And this slimy bitch was sitting in it. I glared at her.

“Manners, manners,” the woman said. “Really, I’m not surprised. Rude child,” she muttered. “I am known as the Puppeteer. I have a proposition for you.”

I laughed. “The Puppeteer? Seriously? Someone’s been reading too many 1960s comic books.”

“It’s the only name that matters,” the woman snapped. “As I was saying, I have a proposition for you.” She smoothed her skirt and folded her hands delicately in her lap.

“So, spit it out.”

“We will have to work on your manners. Come and work with me. I could use someone with your talents. You would be shocked at the amount of power available to you.”

I took a deep breath. Despite my wisecracking, this woman made me feel physically ill. “I work alone. Not a team player. And I’m not all that power-hungry right now, thanks.”

“I won’t make this offer again. Perhaps I need to be more persuasive,” she said softly, appraisingly, in a voice that chilled me through and through. I was about to tell her where to shove it, when I felt an oiliness invade my mind.

“Oh, delicious,” the woman purred. And I was flooded with visions I’d spent most of my life trying to forget.

Basement. Pain. Darkness. Flames. Blood.

Despite the vileness I was reliving, I could hear the Puppeteer sighing in what could only be described as ecstasy. “Oh, how very interesting,” the woman moaned.

And all I could feel was a filth, a greasiness, writhing through my mind. Dread filled me. Fear. Overwhelming terror. Hatred. Everything was so intense, it made me dizzy and nauseous.

I gagged. The visions stopped, almost as if they’d never been there at all.

“Join me,” the woman purred, and the sound of her voice, like she’d just finished eating the world’s most satisfying meal, was sickening.

I took deep breaths. My legs wanted to collapse under me. Here’s the thing: I fucking
hate
feeling weak. I Hulk-smashed my way through life, mostly to avoid having that feeling ever again.

And I had just gone from merely annoyed to flat-out enraged.

The hatred I had for the woman sitting in my kitchen was stronger than my fear, at least for now.

“Time to bleed,” I muttered, lunging across the table and throwing a hard right cross at the Puppeteer’s (seriously, how ridiculous is that name?) face. It dropped the woman to the floor, and when she got up, I was on her, hit her with a left, knocking her back into the table. A cup and a vase fell off the table, crashed to the floor. I kicked out, caught her in the stomach. The Puppeteer bent double, then recovered just enough to throw a coffee cup from the kitchen sink at me, and I ducked, snarled. It was just enough time for the bitch to make a mad dash for the open side door, and she was out, running into the night. I followed, sprinting as fast as I could. My bare feet hit stones, broken glass, but I kept running, the Puppeteer just a few houses ahead of me, glancing back with a look of “oh, shit” on her face every few seconds. It would have been funny if I didn’t still feel her slime all over my psyche.

I put on a final burst of speed. Running had never been my strong point. I usually just smashed.

I almost had her. Almost. And then a car pulled up and the Puppeteer jumped into the passenger seat.

She glared out at me, nose bleeding profusely onto her perfect white shirt, I noted with more than a little satisfaction. “I don’t give second chances. Go, you idiot!” she shrieked at the driver. Then the car squealed away and I was left on the corner, trying to catch my breath. I bent over, resting my hands on my knees. Shook my head.

After a few seconds of sucking wind, I limped back to my house. I really did need to take up running. Somewhere in all my free time, I guess.

My feet stung. They’d heal, but it hurt like hell. I tried not to think about what the Puppeteer had forced me to see, but images swam before my eyes, the types of things I lived over and over again in nightmares.

I got back, walked in the side door, and locked up. I’d have to get the window fixed. More damn money I didn’t have.

I plopped down at the kitchen table, took a look at my feet. One large shard of jagged glass protruded from my heel. I grasped it and pulled it out, gritting my teeth against the pain. The bleeding stopped as the gash closed up.  I put my elbows on the table and rested my head in my hands. Looked at the broken coffee cup on the floor.

“Bitch broke my Jadeite,” I muttered to the now-empty kitchen. ”She’s gonna pay for that.” I sat there until the sun came up, staring at the floor, afraid to focus on anything else.

Chapter Five

I showed up at Farmer’s Restaurant a little after eight. After the night I’d had, the last thing I wanted to do was sit and chit-chat with Nain, have him poking around in my mind. I felt nauseous, still slimy, reliving the Puppeteer’s invasion of my memories.

I walked into the restaurant, looked around, and spotted Nain in a booth across the room. A waitress came to seat me, and I pointed to Nain, headed to the table where he was sitting. He stood up as I approached.

I sat down and ordered coffee, and Nain settled back into his seat. The aromas of coffee and frying bacon, usually two of the best scents on the planet, were doing a number on my stomach. I swallowed and tried to ignore them.

“Have you been here before?” he asked, and I got the sense, somehow, that he was making an effort to be sociable.

I nodded. “Yes, a few times. Good pancakes,” I said, messing with the green Jade ring on my right index finger.

“Jade?” he asked, gesturing at the ring. I nodded.

So, awkward silences were apparently our specialty. The waitress brought my coffee, refilled his, and took our order. Then we sat there for a few more minutes of awkward silence. Well. I felt awkward. He just seemed patient. Unnaturally patient. It was annoying. I looked at the sign on the wall next to our booth.”We’re a few eggs short of a dozen!” it said. Yeah.

“Rough night?” Nain finally asked.

I took a sip of my coffee, after mixing in plenty of sugar and creamer. “You could say that,” I muttered.

“What’s wrong?”

I shook my head. “I had a visitor last night,” I said finally. “Someone broke into my house around three.”

He was quiet a minute. I wondered if he was reading my thoughts.
Fuck you
, I thought at him. No response at all from him.

Finally, he said, “Are you okay?”

I shrugged. “Sure.” I took another sip of coffee. “Have you ever heard of someone calling herself the Puppeteer?”

“Yes. We’ve come up against her and her little army a few times. She is vile,” he said, and the disdain in his voice made me smile a little.

“Yeah. Vile is a good word,” I said.

“You mean she was the one who broke into your house? Not one of her puppets?”

“I had the pleasure of meeting her face to face,” I said. “What’s her story?”

“She takes people. Erases their thoughts and memories. And then she uses them for muscle for her crime syndicate. She’s into all kinds of evil. Drugs. Human trafficking, prostitution. Her puppets are a thoughtless, perfectly-programmed defense force.”

“Who does she take?”

“Whoever she can. She seems to prefer them big and strong. She prefers that they already know how to shoot or kill. Less training required that way,” Nain finished, watching me. “What happened, Molls?”

I raised my eyebrow at the nickname, shook my head. “She had a business proposition for me.” I fiddled with the sugar packets on the table between us. “Join her. Unlimited power and luxury. Be her second in command. Own this city. Blah, blah.”

“You said no.”

“Obviously,” I said, glaring at him. “She wasn’t happy about that.”

“What happened?” he asked.

I was silent for a few seconds. Remembering. Then I shrugged. “She tried to be more persuasive,” was all I finally said.

I felt something in my mind, and realized Nain was in there. I stood up. “That’s it. I told you to stay out of my thoughts. This was a bad idea. I’m not a people person. Just stay the hell away from me.” And then I left, stalking out and slamming the door open hard as I left the restaurant.

Violation. Theft. Assault by psychic methods. That’s exactly what that was, and I felt my power spike with my rage. I stalked toward my car, my power practically burning through me, and I snarled when I heard heavy footsteps behind me.

“Molly,” Nain shouted, running to catch up with me. I walked faster. So did he.

He closed in on me, reached out and grabbed my elbow.

I don’t think I planned what happened next.

I turned, and rewarded Nain with a growl and a blast of pure energy that sent him across the service drive and slammed him into the chain-link uprights on the bridge.

Oh, shit.

Well. He did have it coming.

I took a second to watch him pulling himself out of the mangled chain link. And he was pissed. Royally, royally pissed. My rage still burned within me, and his washed over me just as strongly.
I did tell you to stay out of my thoughts
, I thought at him.

I jogged to my car, got in. Sat there, trying to breathe. “What the ever-loving fuck was that?” I asked the empty car. I could feel myself starting to panic, feel my power spiking again.

It hurt. I gritted my teeth against it. And of course, just then, the son of a bitch was knocking on my window. I snarled, pushed the door open.

He towered over me, three hundred pounds of very pissed, very powerful demon. “Explain,” he said, and it sounded as if it was taking him some effort to control himself. This wasn’t gonna be good.

I could feel my power building within me, burning hotter in response to his anger, my own fright. It happened sometimes, when I was very emotional, and being near him just seemed to magnify everything. I glanced up at Nain, and I could tell from the way he positioned his body, defensive, that he felt it, too.

“I felt you in my mind, again,” I said, aware of the threat in my voice.

He just looked at me, seething.

“I told you to stay out. Between you and the Puppeteer, I have had entirely too many people violating my conscience in the last day or so.”

I felt a tiny bit of guilt from him, but not much. “What did she do to you?”

“She dug out some old shit I’ve been trying to bury. Turned my thoughts against me,” I finished, hating the tremor in my voice. “I couldn’t even move. I was just stuck there.” I hated remembering that feeling of absolute helplessness. I’d spent my entire adult life doing what I could to avoid feeling that, ever again. I balled my hands into fists as my power surged.

“So, did she just decide to leave, or?” Nain asked finally, nervousness from him.

I looked at a spot just over his shoulder. “After she was done, she made her offer again. And it just pissed me off.”

“And?” Nain asked.

“I punched her in the face. Twice.”

Nain let out a short laugh. I felt his rage dial back, just a little. “I never would have thought of that,” he said.

“I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to hit her. Hard. Anyway, after a few hits, she ran for it. I chased her about a block, determined to hit her some more. But she had a car waiting.”

We stood, leaning against the side of my car. I took deep breaths, trying to draw down my power. He looked at me. “That still doesn’t explain your reaction to me,” he said quietly. “What the hell was that?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” I muttered.

“That’s never happened before?”