Chapter Two
My hands were pulsing with infernal heat as I closed the door behind me. The skin of my palms burned, itching for relief. I unfurled my fingers, still long, gray, and misshapen, and let the flames erupt.
The fire covered my claws in the blink of an eye, orange and red flames licking my skin, enveloping my hands up to the wrist. If anything, I was even scarier now, a nightmare with her hands ablaze. But unlike the nightmarish illusion that cloaked me, the flames were real, my body’s reaction to the mixed anger and fear inside me. They would burn for a few moments until I calmed down. I considered waiting out there in the hall until the flames—and the nightmares’ effect—subsided. But it stank, and I didn’t want Big Dumb Dan to have a change of heart and find me standing just outside the door.
I left the apartment building, my flaming hand leaving the front doorknob pulsing with heat. To my chagrin, the man in the trench coat was still outside. He had moved slightly, and now stood directly by my bicycle. To retrieve it, I would have to approach him, looking literally like a nightmare.
What I had done just now was bad enough. These men would tell their friends about this, and it would start a rumor about a witch, or a monster, or the bogeyman. A local tabloid might hear about it, publish an article. It would get some undesired attention. And that was bad. It was the one thing we all agreed upon. Magicians, witches, alchemists, demons, monsters—all the creatures beyond the veil tried to avoid being discovered. Because if there was one thing more deadly than us, it was the mass hysteria of regular people.
No, I wouldn’t risk another man seeing me like this. In a few minutes, the effects of the nightmare powder would wear off, the flames on my hands would dissipate, and I would look like a regular human being again. I turned my face quickly away, trying to hide my burning claws with my body. I walked a few feet into the gloom, away from the dim streetlights.
In the dark, I glanced at my blurry reflection in a rain puddle, and nearly recoiled in horror. The eyes staring back at me were the eyes of a demon—orange and dark, something flickering inside them. My tongue was forked and black, and my hair was styled in a manner popular among Medusa and her friends. No wonder those guys were terrified.
I gazed at the puddle, wondering what would happen if I took a selfie and posted it on Instagram. Woke up a bit cranky this morning. #NeedMoreCoffee.
Someone cleared his throat behind me. It was that man. “Are you okay?”
I nodded brusquely, not turning around. I clenched my fists, trying to hide the flames.
“Isn’t that your bicycle over there? I hope I didn’t scare you away.”
“I’m fine,” I said sharply. My voice was echoed by the sound of a tormented, agonized shriek.
There was a moment of silence. “You don’t sound fine. Cigarette?”
Damn it. I turned around, face full of fury, giving him an eyeful of a creature from hell. “Leave me alone!” I snarled, and bared my teeth, unfurling my claws to let the flames rise.
His eyes widened. Now he would pee in his pants and run into the night, screaming about a demon.
Instead, something almost like amusement touched his eyes. He rummaged in his pocket, taking out a cigarette. He put it in his mouth and then, to my utter shock, leaned forward and lit the tip with the flickering flame on my palm. I gazed at him in confusion as he straightened, meeting my stare with intense, grass-green eyes.
Now, up close, I saw him clearly. His hair was jet black, and had a richness to it that made me want to run my fingers through it. He was unshaven, with sharp cheekbones, his lips quirked in a seemingly perpetual half-smile. An aura of smugness emanated from him, as if he was in on a million secrets I didn’t know.
He exhaled the smoke sideways, then took the cigarette from his mouth and offered it to me. “You look like you need it.”
“I don’t smoke.”
“Worried it’ll blacken your tongue?”
“What do you want?” I contemplated walking to my bicycle, but curiosity got the better of me.
“Just wanted to talk.” Despite his casual behavior, his tone had an iron edge. “You’re selling dreams to those people up there. You really need to stop.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His smile widened. “I thought we’d be beyond the stage of denial by now, what with your whole horror-movie getup. What’s someone like you doing with guys like these, anyway? You seem like a…” He paused, hesitant.
“Nice girl?”
He let out an amused laugh. “Well, maybe not right now. But when you’re not wearing your nightmare costume.”
My claws were slowly morphing back into regular hands. My skin looked healthier. The effects of the powder were wearing off, though the flames still danced around my fingers. “You don’t know me. And what I’m doing is none of your business.” The tormented shriek was gone.
“You’re wrong.” His smile disappeared. “What you’re doing is my business. You’ll stop selling those dreams, girl. And trust me when I say those people are nothing but trouble. Stay away.”
His eyes flickered for a moment as he spoke, the green color shimmering, changing to jet black. Then he blinked, and the color shifted, becoming green again.
I wanted to come up with a retort. Lou Vitalis didn’t let strange men tell her what to do. I opened my mouth, but then shut it, the words momentarily gone.
He flashed me a final smile as he dropped the cigarette on the ground, stubbing it out with his shoe. “I personally prefer this look on you. It’s a mild improvement.”
Turning away, he went over to the door of the apartment building. He pushed the door, which opened easily. I clearly remembered shutting it behind me. It should have been locked.
Instinctively I knew he was going to Ronald’s apartment.
I decided not to stay around to see what happened when he got there. My anger gone, the flames on my hands had shimmered away to nothing. I whipped the chain off my bike, leaped onto it, and furiously pedaled away.