In the early hours of the morning, I woke up. Though I rolled over and snuggled down in the blankets, expecting to drift back into sleep.
It didn’t happen. My mind buzzed, a nagging thought making its way to the surface of my consciousness.
I’d heard a noise.
The realization hit with the force of a train. I sat up, listening hard, my hand at my heart. Taking deep, slow breaths, I tried to quiet my heart so I could hear.
There. I heard it again.
A low, heavy thump.
It sounded far away, probably on the first floor. Could it be Jade coming back from a late hunt?
No, she wasn’t big enough to make a thump like that.
My heart began a heavy, slow pounding in my chest. What if someone was breaking in?
I clutched at the blankets, terrified to move or even breathe.
I tried to think of what dad would do. Call the police? Dad had a deep distrust of the police, so probably not. Besides, hadn’t Theresa said something about the police not helping much here?
Why hadn’t the protections worked? I’d covered the entirety of the house, the attic, the second floor, the first floor…
“The basement.”
I dragged a hand down my face, unable to believe I’d made such a stupid mistake.
I remembered that there was an iron poker next to the fireplace downstairs. If I could make it there and avoid whoever was in the house, I might be able to chase them out. If worst came to worst, I would fight them.
Taking a deep breath, I crept slowly down the stairs. I felt sure my frantic heartbeat would give me away any moment.
I made it to the living room without seeing anyone and snatched up the poker. It took every last ounce of willpower to go down the basement stairs. I grabbed the flashlight I’d used earlier, knowing I’d give myself away, but there was no way I was going to go down there without a light.
As I reached the basement floor, I shone the flashlight around, my poker raised. Nobody was there.
I walked towards the far wall, shining the light on the strange door at the back of the basement. It was closed. I had no desire to see if the magical barrier was still in place.
As I moved the beam of my flashlight back to the stairs, I caught sight of the cellar doors leading to the back yard.
One of them had been flung open wide, the starry night sky showing through the opening.
For one awful moment, I stood frozen. At last, I looked around and saw the same tool kit I’d used the previous day. I remembered that there was an enormous plumber’s wrench in there.
Quickly, I took it out and rushed for the cellar doors. Popping out and grabbing the door, I yanked it into place and tucked the wrench behind the two rectangular handles of the door. It wasn’t great, but it would prevent anyone else from using the cellar door to come into the basement. Then, I ran like a bat out of heck, my heart beating so fast I thought it might just give out.
I flew up the stairs, locked the basement door, and fled to my room.
Diving under my blankets, I huddled in a trembling mass.
Who had been in the house? Had they been after something? Nothing in the basement looked disturbed, but I hadn’t wanted to hang around to do a complete check.
After several long hours, I finally drifted off to sleep, not waking again until after eleven. I shuffled groggily to the bathroom, my ears perked for any unusual noises. By the time I’d dressed, brushed my teeth, and eaten some cereal and fruit, it was close to noon.
As I struggled to remember what I needed to do that day, I heard a knock on the front door. I put my dishes into the sink, then hurried to the front door.
When I peered out the window, I saw a small green Ford Focus parked in the driveway with a police car right behind it. I let out a long sigh.
“Great. What now?” I grumbled to myself.
I opened the door to see a squat, balding man wearing a police uniform. He took off his sunglasses, staring at me with a frown. Next to him stood a man with tousled, sandy-brown hair and some scruff on his chin. His greenish-hazel eyes locked on me, his expression disapproving.
“Are you Sage Black?” the cop asked. I turned my attention back to him.
“Lightwood-Black,” I corrected him automatically.
“Lightwood-Black, then. I’m Sheriff Dane, and I’ve got a few questions for you. Do you know a Miss Theresa Farrow?”
“That’s Oswald-Farrow.” The man behind him had spoken, his eyebrows lowering into a scowl. Sheriff Dane rolled his eyes.
“Does everyone here have two last names?”
The younger man shot a withering glare at the sheriff. “Everyone who matters does. Just ask your questions.”
The sheriff’s face went red. “I’m conducting this investigation, as I’m the real cop here. You can keep your trap shut.”
The younger man looked at the sheriff, his expression cool, and I found myself biting back a laugh. Sheriff Dane turned his attention back to me. “Do you know her?”
My eyebrows went up. “Yes. I met her the other day. I just moved to town not too long ago.”
