Page 163 of Lock Up the Darkness

I made my way around the back of the house, feeling the three of them near and growing closer. There was no outward sign of them, though, their stealth game really on point.

I climbed the rickety old steps of the near-dilapidated porch, much like the overall state of the house itself. It just served to add to the creep factor of an abandoned house in the middle of the woods. It was kind of like a Hansel and Gretel thing, just without the gingerbread and treats. Wasn’t sure who the witch was in this scenario. Maybe the overarching threat of the Infidels? What was it with me and these Brothers Grimm references coming to mind? Maybe the fact that twisted fairytales were fitting with the world we lived in?

Focus up!

I reached the swing door, opened it, then pushed open the one the figure had left ajar.

I stepped inside a small kitchen covered in dust and grime, the tiles fractured. A soft glow caught my eye coming through the hallway beyond the kitchen door.

I followed it, making a left toward another room just a few steps down from the kitchen.

I walked in to find a single lamp on in the far left corner and the figure still cast in shadow on the couch opposite.

“Amethyst?” I spoke.

They started.

Then a harsh demand followed. “Step under the light.”

“What?”

“Step under the lamp. Now.”

Well, the jig was already up.

Fine by me, it would just mean us getting down to business faster.

I walked to the corner so that the light shone down on me. I lifted my baseball cap enough that they could see my true identity. As much as it would be better to remain anonymous for our own protection, there was no way she’d do business with unknowns.

A choked gasp escaped her when she took me in.

“You’re Samuel Carmichael’s boy.” She shot to her feet, rounding the couch, using it as a barrier between us. She threw her arm out behind her toward the foyer just beyond the living room wall. “He’s waiting out there? How far away?”

“What? No. Hell, no. If he was, I’d be fairing just as badly as you.”

That pulled her up short. “What does that mean?”

I moved closer and she tensed up.

I unzipped my jacket, then shoved up my tee beneath.

She watched as I pulled away the gauze pads to reveal the nasty injuries he’d inflicted with that chain that had taken chunks out of my torso. Injuries that would still leave some nasty scarring even after they’d fully healed.

“He inflicted this a few days ago because I didn’t fall in line. Because I embarrassed him.”

She stared at me for a moment, then rounded the couch and came to stand before me. She pulled at her blonde hair, then it came away, just a wig. Beneath was a thick mane of silky black hair that brushed the shoulders of her black bomber jacket. She was wearing camo pants that had blended in well with our surroundings. A black messenger bag was slung over her middle.

But the most prominent things of all were her eyes. Fucking purple.

I’d never seen anything like them.

As I re-sealed the gauze pads and pulled my shirt back down, she looked me over studiously and more than just a bit suspiciously, her gaze dipping to my gun holstered at my right hip.

“So, you’re painting yourself as a disgruntled rich boy? Or are you going as far as to label yourself as his enemy?”

“The latter. And either way, I’m not your enemy.”

“Really? You manipulated me here under false pretenses.”

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