Glimmer Read online

  There was silence on his end, but I could imagine his smile, grinning in triumph. The image had my stomach clenching in anticipation.

  “Lombardo’s on fifth, seven o’clock.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you then.”

  “I’m looking forward to it, Nina.”

  Turning to the desk, I set the handset back into its cradle, my hands quivering ever so slightly.

  Diana stood in front of the desk looking at me. “Who was that? You’re blushing.”

  I scratched my nose, the guilty itch plaguing me. “Just Rick from the lab calling about one of the patients.”

  “Was he flirting?”

  I nodded. “A little.”

  “Yeah, he’s like that, the little leech. He once had the nerve to call me babe. Can you imagine?”

  “No.” Biting on the inside of my cheek, I smiled up at her. “And you, who were you yelling at?”

  “Dr. Lee Song from oncology. He’s such an asshole.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that.”

  She smirked. “All right, I guess I better be off to save some lives or something.” She saluted me then wandered off to exam room four.

  I watched her go then returned to my work. As I typed information into the computer, I noticed something odd about my hands again. The skin almost seemed transparent. I could see the veins and little capillaries clearer.

  I set them on my lap and flexed them seeing if that helped. Again I looked at them, and my skin seemed normal. Well, as normal as I ever got.

  Was the evidence becoming stronger that I wasn’t like everyone else? Was my fae-ness showing through more?

  I had been feeling different lately. As if something was going to happen, as if something was going to change for me soon. In a way, the sensation was like puberty all over again. I could feel the changes slowly moving over me, rippling under my skin, waiting to burst through.

  I just hoped I had enough strength and humanity to keep them at bay. At least until I could figure out how to control them. Or find some way to cleanse them from my blood.

  I glanced at the clock on the wall, and I heard the tick tick tick of the second hand and knew I didn’t have much time before something monumental happened.

  ***

  Chapter 6

  It was past midnight when I finally shuffled through the front door of my house, dog tired with a migraine digging at my right temple. Tossing my bag and keys onto the table at the front entrance, I toed off my shoes and then padded into the kitchen for some tea. If the tea didn’t soothe my head, I was definitely going to pop pain meds so I could get some decent sleep.

  The kettle whistled, knocking me out of my reverie. I poured the hot water over the herbal tea bag. As I dunked, I looked out the window into the garden. The night was beautiful, clear skies without any breeze. I wondered if my father had spent some time outside today. Although I warned him to stay away from the garden, I knew he wouldn’t listen. He was stubborn. That was one trait we shared.

  Yawning, I rubbed my eyes. I took a sip of my tea and hoped the brew would do its thing and relax me enough to let me sleep soundly. There’d been too many nights with troubled thoughts and strange dreams.

  Tea in hand, I turned to go upstairs to bed when something out the window caught my eye. Squinting, I stared into the garden near the pond. Something glimmered there, a flash of something white. Was it wings? Were more pixies coming to finish the job?

  Setting down my cup, I reached for one of the butcher knives from the wooden block. If the tiny fae were back, they would soon wish they’d picked another house to flutter over. Holding the knife, blade down, in a defensive position, I slid open the deck doors and crept outside in my bare feet. Heart pounding so hard it hurt, I moved toward the garden, searching the plants for any movement.

  Every breath I took burned my lungs. Fear gripped me tight, but I kept putting one foot in front of the other. I wouldn’t let anything injure my father, no matter how big or how mean it turned out to be.

  When I reached the edge of the garden, I scanned the area. Nothing moved. No breeze whispered. The only thing I heard were crickets chirping nearby in the grass.

  I stepped into the dirt between the rows of night blooming moon flowers. Feeling the earth between my toes grounded me a little. I’d always possessed an affinity to the ground, the dirt, and the flowers and plants that grew in it. During my childhood years, I spent as much time as I could in our garden, running my fingers through the soil, touching the leaves of the plants. I didn’t realize why then, but I knew now my actions were because of my fae blood. I was connected to the earth.

  As I continued through the garden, I trailed my fingers over the dark petals, feeling for anything out of place. Anything not of plant origin. When I reached the pond, I turned and looked over the path I’d just come. Nothing out here. Maybe my fatigue was playing with my mind. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  As I let go the breath I’d been holding, something caused me to turn toward the pond. Normally, there were two frogs living in it. I eyed the rippling water, searching for the tops of their warty heads. I didn’t see them, but the water continued to ripple as if stirred by something beneath the surface.

  While I stared into the undulating dark pond, I felt something tugging at my mind. A phantom hand pulling on a string attached to somewhere deep within my psyche. Resisting its lure, I tried to move away, but my feet wouldn’t obey. I stayed standing in that spot, watching the movement of the water.

  Buzzing rang in my ears. Like static, sound hummed against my eardrums. Between the waves of nothingness, I heard whispering. The murmurs were seductive. I strained to hear more. I wanted to hear more.

  Dropping the knife to the ground, I fell to my knees and leaned toward the pond. Was the whispering coming from the water? Something was trying to communicate with me. Something alien but sensual in its promise. What was it saying? I needed to know.

  Panic gripped me and I leaned even closer. I could see the moon reflected in the water. Something about the light urged me closer, tempting me to touch it, promising me that I could hold it in the palm of my hand. I’d always wanted to hold the moon. Knowing it would feel cool and pleasant on my skin like caressing porcelain.

  Settling my hands on the water’s edge, I leaned even further, my nose nearly touching the dark ripples. I stared at my reflection, illuminated by the pale moonbeams. My eyes glowed green like the orbs on a traffic post. It might’ve been a trick of the light, but I felt like the luminosity was coming from within. Somewhere deep inside me burned bright with emerald fire.

  My pale skin seemed even paler--as white as alabaster. That too could’ve been a deception by the moon’s rays, but from the same place that sizzled green flame radiated the white glow of my skin.

  Wide-eyed and ferocious, my appearance startled me. I looked like a dark warrior not of this world. The cut on my cheek added to the battle-scarred effect. The fae blood coursing through my veins showed through my human façade. There was no mistaking it. Not now, with the glow of moonlight cascading over my flesh, urging the glow from within. I looked fierce, as if I could take down a man with one blow.

  I liked that. A lot.

  The whispering continued and I strained to hear the beautifully haunting words. Balancing on my knees and hands, I was close to falling into the water. But I didn’t care. The promises in the murmurs were too seductive to pull away from. My whole existence resided on those words, if only I could decipher them. If only I could understand.

  Then the words stopped. Dead. Like a vacuum had sucked up all the sound around me. Even the crickets stopped chirping.

  Frantic, I eyed the water, searching for the source of the whispers. I wouldn’t be denied the knowledge that I knew lay within the murmured words. A cold sense of dread crept over me. As if I had lost the warmth of a sweater during an icy winter storm.

  So lost in my hunt, I never saw the thing that reached for me from the pond.

  There was no time to ta
ke in a deep breath before it yanked my head under the water. Frenzied, I clawed at the thing clutching me. I felt hard cold flesh under my fingers and nails. Plumes of blood floated up from the wounds I had inflicted. Something, or someone, had a hand bound in my hair pulling me down, keeping me in the water, drowning me.

  As I scratched and kicked against the hold on me, I wondered how I could drown in the shallow pond. When I looked down through the water now, I sensed it went on forever. As if I had an endless ocean in my garden.

  I pulled and yanked back my head, fighting desperately to get away. Even as I struggled, I could feel the air pushing out of my lungs. Pressure on my chest made my head pound and my eyes bulge painfully. I wouldn’t hold out much longer… the urge to open my mouth and gasp for air burned through me.

  With a last ditch effort, I clawed my nails across the icy flesh holding me, tearing divots into it. A faint cry of agony floated up in a bubble and the grip on my hair loosened. It was enough to raise my head and gasp for breath.

  As I filled my aching chest with oxygen, gulping mouthfuls of air, I saw the hand that had grasped me coming for my neck. White flesh covered long bones and angles. On the end of elongated skeletal fingers were jagged nails, black and rotting under the cuticles. Gray and mottled scales dotted the skin.

  What in hell was it? Before I could come up with an answer, I was pulled under the water again.

  Dagger-like claws dug into my throat as I thrashed about trying to get free. But the grip was a solid one. I wouldn’t get away so easily this time. Wrapping my hands around the bony wrist, I yanked and pulled and scratched and clawed but to no avail. Another minute more under the water and I was going to die.

  I thrust my hands out of the water blindly. Scrambling against the edge of the pond, I searched for the knife I’d dropped. If I was going to live, I needed a weapon. Fingertips brushed the handle but I couldn’t get a grip. Thoughts were fading from my mind, replaced by an eerie serenity. As if I was already dead and my soul was quietly slipping from my body. But I wasn’t ready to die. I had too much to live for. Too much to do still. I couldn’t slough off this mortal coil. It was too soon.

  Hands reaching, I touched something metal. I wrapped my fingers around the handle and brought it down into the water. Without thought, I slashed at the arm holding me. Then I saw what I had in my hand--a small hand rake with three sharp prongs. The weapon had to be enough.

  I slashed again and again, unsure if I met my mark every time, or at any time. Soon my vision was obscured by blood mucking the water. Like I was looking through crimson-colored glasses.

  A high-pitched shriek pierced the muffled garbling of the water. As I felt the pressure at my neck loosen, I saw the fury-filled face float down into the black depths. The face of something non-human and alien, like from a fairytale. But not those told by Walt Disney, no these stories were from a more sinister venue where a happily ever after wasn’t on the menu— children were.

  Lifting my head, I pushed up as hard as I could and rolled onto my back at the pond’s edge. Lungs burning like acid, I gasped for air, greedily taking in as much as I could stand. When I could think straight, I scrambled further from the water and rolled onto my knees, nearly retching from the pain that ripped through my chest. Reaching for the knife, I grasped it tight and pushed to a stand.

  Blade poised, with my hair stuck to my forehead and water dripping into my eyes, I stood over the pond and waited to see if my assailant would follow me out of the water. After a few minutes, I realized nothing would come bursting out to attack me again. The thing was gone. For now, at least, it had failed its mission.

  The water rippled again, and I raised the knife to strike. A green warty head broke the surface. The frog jumped out of the pond and landed near my bare foot, now caked in mud. Bulgy eyes blinked up at me expectantly.

  I glared down at the fae ambassador and fumed with rage. I wanted to lift my foot and press it down onto the green mass, hoping to split open its skin and mash its insides until it twitched no more. Instead, I pointed the tip of the blade at the slimy frog.

  “I will not be an easy target. Tell them I will kill any they send to harm me or my father.”

  It croaked once as if in answer, then hopped back into the pond, disappearing beneath the dark water. I hoped after it delivered my message, it would drown in the return trip to this realm. From this point on, I had a real hate-on for frogs.

  As I continued to stare down into the pond, I pondered how the portal worked. Because obviously that was what the water hole was--a gate between this realm and Nightfall. That was how the pixies arrived, and maybe this was the spot where my mother had disappeared all those years ago. The pond was a door. A way to travel back and forth. And it needed to be blocked forever.

  Tucking the knife into the belt of my pants, I marched toward the tool shed. I opened the door, grabbed the long handled spade, and hauled it back to the garden. Unconcerned about the vegetable plants and flowers, I stuck the blade of the shovel into the ground and scooped as much dirt as I could lift. Without pause, I tossed it into the pond.

  Two hours later, back aching and muscles quivering, I had filled in the pond. A sense of smug accomplishment filled me as I surveyed my handiwork. Although the rest of the garden was ruined, with the tomato plants in shambles and most of flowers ripped from their soil beds, I had closed the portal. No one from Nightfall could bother us again. Not unless they found another way in.

  Too exhausted and sore to do anything but crawl up the stairs to my bed, I decided to think on that later. Right now, I just wanted to sleep. Despite the fact my hair was still damp and my shirt still clung to my body, muddy with bits of grass and plant stuck on, I knew I’d fall asleep the second my head hit the pillow.

  I let the shovel fall from my hand and I shuffled, head down, eyes drooping into the house. Once I climbed the stairs, I pushed open the door to my room and ambled to the bed. But before I collapsed on top of the comforter, I had the presence of mind to slip the knife from my belt and slide it under my pillow. The fact I was dead to the world didn’t mean I had any intention of staying that way permanently.

  ***

  Chapter 7

  Sipping a glass of orange juice, I folded my omelet over mushrooms and cheese. Today was my day off and I intended to enjoy every second, including a fabulous breakfast, something I hadn’t enjoyed in a while. I’d always been too busy to stop and even eat one, let alone cook such a meal.

  I scooped the omelet up and onto a plate just as my father shuffled into the kitchen. “Mm, what smells so good?”

  “Mushroom and cheese omelet. Do you want one?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  Grabbing the plate, I slid it onto the kitchen table toward my father with an accompanying fork. As I did that, I made sure to keep my neck covered by the collar of my shirt. I hadn’t had time yet to cover the marks with makeup. I didn’t really want to alarm him so early in the morning with the dark bruises and scratches around my throat.

  He dug into the food eagerly, and asked around a mouthful, “Why aren’t you at work?”

  “It’s my day off, Da.” I cracked more eggs into a bowl and whipped them, then added a little milk to make them frothy. “I have some errands to run.” Taking a sip of my juice, I asked, “Why are you up so early?”

  “Dolores and I are going bowling.” Dolores was Mrs. Duka, the widow from next door. “She belongs to a league. I’m thinking of joining.”

  “I think that’s a great idea. You should get out of the house more.” And be around regular human people. But I didn’t voice that last part.

  As I finished the other omelet and slid it onto a plate, Da shuffled up next to me and set his dirty dish in the sink. I didn’t move my head in time and I knew by the widening of his eyes that he had seen the marks on my neck.

  He reached for the collar of my shirt. “What happened?”

  I pulled away from his reach, but he could be spry when he really wanted to be and managed
to grip the fabric between his fingers.

  “I’m fine, Da. Really.”

  “That definitely doesn’t look fine. Looks like someone tried to choke you to death.”

  Giving up the ruse, I turned to face him. And that was when he paled. I’d already seen in the mirror what he was staring at, so it didn’t surprise me when he looked wide-eyed. Viewing it for the first time myself, the injuries had nearly knocked the breath from my lungs, and I’d already been prepared for it.

  “My God, Nina.” He took a distancing step away, as if I was contagious. “Who did this to you?”

  I sighed. “A mermaid maybe. Or an undine. Although I don’t think the elemental is usually spiteful like a mermaid can be.”

  “You think a mermaid did this to you?”

  “Something from Nightfall did this. Something that can survive in water.” I touched my neck, running the tips of my fingers over the scabbed-up nail-sized divots.

  Shaking his head, he dropped his gaze. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Well, you better start to. This was the second assassination attempt on this family.”

  “Nina, you’re talking crazy. Assassination attempt? That doesn’t make any sense.” He frowned.

  I ripped down my collar to expose all the marks and bruises. Four prints on one side and one large black circle on the other, the size of someone’s thumb. “Does this look crazy? A figment of my imagination?”

  He refused to look at me.

  “First pixies attack you, then this mermaid tried to drown me in the pond. This isn’t a fairytale, Da. Those from Nightfall are not our friends. They mean us harm, and always have. Including her.”

  He raised his head then, a look of unexpected fury crossing his face. “Don’t talk about your mother like that. She has been nothing but kind to me, Nina. And she loves you. She would never hurt you.”