Chapter Three
Lauren Jakes walked quickly along the broad sidewalk that led around the edge of Saint Armand’s Square. Later on, around lunchtime, the entire expanse of white concrete would be filled with the idle rich—tourists mostly, who had come to see Sarasota, one of the richest small cities in the US. The beaches with their sugar fine sand and tropical blue waters were lovely any time of the year and if the rich got bored with baking their oiled bodies, they could always come here.
The Square was actually many interconnecting squares, all lined with specialty shops and expensive, chic little eateries. Marble statues of Greek gods and goddesses stood like sentries on the well trimmed verge, as pale as ghosts in the dim early morning light. Lauren’s shop, The Sweet Spot, was located between the Florida Olive Oil Company which specialized in flavored oils and aged balsamic vinegars and A Little is a Lot, a clothing store that sold only overpriced and undersized bathing suits.
Both shops were dark and quiet as Lauren fumbled for her keys. Neither one would really pick up until the lunch crowd arrived, hours from now. But while her neighbors could afford to sleep in, Lauren couldn’t. The Sweet Spot was a specialty cupcake store and she had to get the day’s inventory started or she would have nothing to sell. “Everything from scratch, everything fresh, every day,” was her motto.
“Should’ve decided to sell overpriced thongs and banana hammocks to rich old men and their trophy wives instead of baked goods,” she muttered to herself as she finally found the right key. “Then I could still be home in bed.”
But getting up early was a small price to pay to do what she loved, she reminded herself. She’d always enjoyed baking—her vanilla bean and passion fruit surprise cupcakes had won a national bake-off by the time she was twelve. Her mom had encouraged her to go to college and Lauren had, as a business major. Somehow, though, she wound up baking muffins and brownies for study sessions with her friends more than she actually ended up studying. Her grades weren’t great but her cupcakes were.
At last her mother had bowed to the inevitable. She’d helped Lauren finance the shop and given her a place to live in one of the condos she owned, just blocks from the Square. Lauren had only been open a few months but so far The Sweet Spot seemed to be a moderate success. Of course, she’d have to be much more than moderately successful in order to pay back the loan. But her mom didn’t seem worried. “Take your time, my darling,” she always said. “Enjoy your life. I just want you to be happy.”
Thinking of her mom always gave Lauren a warm feeling inside. Family was very important to Abigail Jakes—maybe because she’d become estranged from her own family back when she’d become pregnant with Lauren. She didn’t talk about it much but Lauren had gotten the idea that her loved ones had hurt her deeply—which made her mom that much more sensitive toward her own daughter. They’d always had a wonderful relationship—even back when Lauren was a teenager. And now as an adult, they were more friends than mother and daughter.
“Although I still want my mom when things don’t go right,” Lauren muttered, making sure the door was locked behind her. She wished she had her mom with her right now—she would put her to work. Her assistant, Jennie, had quit the day before which meant she had to man the whole shop herself until Lorenzo came in.
Thinking of Lorenzo with his sleek blond hair and tan good looks made her sigh. He was much better at looking good behind the counter than he was at baking. In a moment of weakness, Lauren had let him kiss her and now he thought he owned the place. She’d been putting off his advances ever since and had been planning to replace him before Jennie quit. Now it looked like she was stuck with him for awhile. Still, he was good at selling cupcakes. Especially to rich, older women who liked a little eye candy to go with their culinary confections.
Lauren went through the shop, flipping on lights on her way to the bathroom. To hell with the electricity bill—it was creepy being in a dark building all alone. And besides, for the past few days she’d had the feeling that someone was watching her. She knew it was crazy and completely impossible but she kept finding herself looking over her shoulder. Feeling like a pair of invisible eyes was watching her every move.
“Stop being stupid,” she muttered to herself as she tucked her long, silky black hair into a hairnet and checked her reflection. The girl in the mirror had smooth mocha skin and large eyes the color of fine whiskey. A tip-tilted nose made her cute rather than exotic, despite the eyes, but her full lips pushed cute to beautiful when she smiled—or so Lorenzo said when he was feeling poetic.
God, what was wrong with her? Why did she always fall for jerks and players? Just once Lauren wished she could meet someone genuine. Someone who was exactly what they seemed to be. But with her work schedule now and trying to keep the shop open seven days a week, she wasn’t going to have time to meet anyone but customers.
“Not that I have time for a love life even if I did meet someone,” Lauren muttered to herself. “As if—”
The words died on her lips. For a moment she could have sworn she saw a pair of eyes behind her in the mirror. Red eyes.
She whirled around, her heart pounding, to see…nothing.
“Of course it’s nothing. There’s no one here but me.” The sound of her own voice made her jump and Lauren put a hand to her chest to still her beating heart. It was time to stop being silly and get down to business. Today she had a brand new recipe she wanted to try out—a strawberry hazelnut with cream cheese frosting. She’d tried a small batch in the kitchen in her condo and they had come out nicely but—
Suddenly there was a popping, humming sound like electricity and the air around her seemed to be full of lightning. Every hair on her head stood on end and her nerves twanged like plucked strings. Danger—you’re in danger! an inner voice shouted. The voice of instinct—the same primitive voice that must have warned the cavemen when a fire or flood was on the way.
Lauren wanted to run—tried to run—but everything happened too quickly. The crackling electrical charge seemed to close around her, like a vast hand, and suddenly she felt herself dissolving. Looking in the mirror she could almost see it happening in slow motion—her body had been broken into a million tiny particles that were all vibrating against each other in deadly harmony. Her clothes, however, remained unaffected. In fact, they fell away from her, landing in a heap on the floor.
No! No, what’s happening?
There was no answer but suddenly she saw the eyes in the mirror again. Red eyes—blood red and laughing at her pain, her fear. She could almost feel the evil in that crimson gaze—the intent to cause harm—the desire to wound and mutilate and kill.
Before she could think anything else, the tiny white tiled bathroom of The Sweet Spot disappeared and she felt herself flying through the air in pieces. It was the most bizarre sensation she had ever felt in her life—as though someone had put her entire body through a cheese grater and shot the results into the air at supersonic speed.
I’m dying. This is dying, right?
Again, no answer. But suddenly she felt herself reforming—all the tiny particles finding their places and sticking together again. Oh, thank God! She felt her arms and legs frantically, making sure she was all in once piece. She was naked but she was whole and at least nothing seemed to be missing.
“Here ssshe isss at last. Sssee, my ssson, ssshe bears the mark. The mark the prophesy ssspoke of.”
A long, skeletal finger suddenly appeared in front of her and pointed between her breasts. Lauren looked down to her small, pale birthmark reflexively—it was shaped like a star and stood out against her creamy brown skin. She’d always had it and never even thought about it anymore, though it looked strange when she wore a bikini.
A feeling of dread filled her as she looked up, up, up the long arm clothed in billowing cobwebs and into the burning red eyes she’d seen in the mirror.
“Yesss,” hissed a voice Lauren knew she’d been hearing in her dreams for the past few weeks. “Yesss, ssshe isss the one. At last I have her. Ssshe isss mine.”