Page 13 of Ladybirds

Sara’s thoughts stall.

Others?

“Everything’s clear,” the officer says, confirming what Sara already knows. His posture is more relaxed now, his hand at his side instead of hovering over his gun. Sara wishes his eyes would focus on the smirking man standing mere feet away from her. Then his gaze snags on the blood staining her leg—drying now that the wound has begun to scab—and he frowns. “What happened there?”

“Oh, um, I broke a mug.”

He must have noticed the pieces of ceramic littering her kitchen floor, because he nods without questioning her further. “If anything happens, or if you feel like you need help, don’t hesitate to call us back.”

She nods, her blood humming with what feels like the beginnings of shock. “Right. I will. Thank you.”

He tips his head and gives a practiced “anytime” before walking out the door. Sara closes it behind him, staring at the wood grain and trying to grasp the reality of her situation. She can feel her heart battering rhythmically against her rib cage.

“Well, I thought he would never leave.”

Her blood boils. “How do I get rid of you?” she hisses.

“Lovely question,” he hums, distractedly. “But I’m afraid past experience leads me to believe that you don’t.”

Impossible. He said there were others, which means they had to have managed to escape him somehow. “How’d the other ones get rid of you?!”

A brow—infuriatingly well-shaped—arches. “Considering they died, I do believe that makes me rid of them. But, to each their own, I suppose.” He waves a hand dismissively. “It’s all just semantics, really.”

She pales, her anger cooling into fear. “Are—are you saying you killed them?”

“I said they died,” he scoffs, mouth twisting into a frown. “Honestly, there is a vast difference.”

His answer does little to ease her fears, and he must notice because he rolls his eyes. “I believe I already confirmed there is nothing for me to gain by hurting you. So you can stop looking at me like that. I’m hardly planning your murder.”

When she still refuses to let her guard down, he sighs. “So timid. I expected more, to be honest. Particularly after that brave little face you put on at the hospital.”

In the narrow hall, he still feels too close, but she’s afraid if she moves he will follow. “You—I thought you were human.”

He waves a hand. “Details.” Head tilting, his stare is piercing in its intensity. “Perhaps some introductions would set you at ease? You may call me Seth.”

The bridge of her nose creases skeptically. “Is that actually your name?”

“It actually is. Should I be concerned about your, increasingly apparent, trust issues?”

“I don’t have trust issues,” she snaps. “I have you issues.”

“Oh look, your spine has grown back. Splendid news.” His arms cross under his chest, a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth. “This is, however, typically the part where you offer your name in exchange.”

Her eyes narrow. “What if I don’t?”

“Well, I suppose I will be forced to inform you of how incredibly ill-mannered you are and proceed to find out anyway?”

Somehow, she doesn’t doubt that he would. “… Sara.” Never has she said her own name with such grudging reluctance.

“Sara,” he echoes, a strange sort of half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Sara has the distinct feeling that he’s laughing at some joke she’s not in on. “I suppose it will do. Now then, clean yourself up, Princess. I was rather serious about blood stains. They’re right irritating to get out of upholstery.”

Sara doesn’t ask how he knows—or about the odd nickname, despite the way it makes her bristle. Instead, she takes it as an opportunity to escape; the wall sliding against her back as she moves away from him before bolting to the bathroom and locking it behind her.

CHAPTER EIGHT

It’s hours before she opens the door. Hours of sitting on the bathroom floor, her back against the tub, with her eyes flitting between her phone and the locked door.

Her search history is a horror show—a mismatch of supernatural and things like, ‘where can I buy sage in bulk’ and ‘how to disconnect fire alarms’. There’s no one-fits-all answer to her (very real) problem. Especially since she doesn’t really know what he is, but one thing stands out.

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