Angela Parker pushed her door shut and fell against the cool metal as she gasped for breath. She’d always been a fan of running, but ever since her injury, her daily jogs had taken on another meaning.

Being shot changed a person. It put you on a different level. It made you a survivor. It made you stronger. And it also made you weak.

So every time she completed the three-mile loop around her neighborhood, she was reminded that she was still a strong, capable officer no matter what pieces of metal had ripped through her thigh.

But she was learning that things that made her feel strong a few weeks ago just didn’t get the job done anymore. Every time she thought about what she’d learned in the past few days, her mind would spin and she’d have to find something to remind her that even though it felt as though the world was coming apart at the seams, she still stood on the solid ground.

Magic. The word had been so abstract before. Even rather pleasant as she thought about the shows she’d watched growing up. Hell, she’d begged her parents for a black cat for years after becoming addicted to Sabrina the Teenage Witch. But it was almost impossible to reconcile the happy-go-lucky TV show with the man she’d shot.

Jackson. And the bullets hadn’t been enough to stop him, either. According to Pierce, he’d been trying to raise some dark force that could destroy the world or something. She was a narcotics officer. She was used to fighting addictions and users and abusers. Dark forces that could destroy the world wasn’t what she signed up for.

And it would take a hell of a lot more than a three-mile jog to make her feel as though she were capable of handling this.

She went to the kitchen sink and filled a glass with water, which she downed in a few deep gulps before she refilled it and headed for the bathroom. She set the glass on the bathroom sink as she pulled off her sweaty clothes and threw them on the ground before she turned on the shower.

As soon as her sweatpants were off her thighs, she looked at the scar left from the bullet. She didn’t like to think that she was obsessive, but every time she got dressed or undressed, she looked at that scar. It never changed. It wasn’t all that ugly. For the most part, the pain was gone. But she had to constantly check it.

She was sure the psychiatrist would have something to say about that, but as soon as she was done with the three required sessions, she’d stopped going. Because if she wanted to be mentally stable, she would’ve picked a line of work that didn’t involve getting shot. She kept the water cool as she stepped under it, but as she came down from the run, she turned the temperature higher and higher until it almost felt like a massage against her back.

She let her eyes drift shut and was just about to lose herself under the spray when she heard the sound. She whipped the shower curtain back and looked out at the bathroom. The harsh fluorescent lights illuminated every corner of the room. Had the sound come from outside? No. It had been so clear....

But there was obviously nothing different about the room. She must’ve imagined it. Letting out a deep sigh, she let the shower curtain fall back into place and quickly finished her shower, rinsing out the conditioner from her hair and running the soap over the essential areas.

Considering there were no more suspicious noises, she was feeling more confident that her nerves were getting the best of her. She stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel off the rack to run over her hair and dab at the droplets of water. Once she wasn’t as drippy, she reached for her glass of water, but there was nothing there. She frowned at the empty countertop and saw the glass was at the very end of the counter. It hadn’t been there when she looked out of the shower curtain. She was sure of it. She looked around the bathroom and then yanked the door open to peek outside down the apartment hallway.

Nothing. She went back to the bathroom and the damn glass was right where it was supposed to be. Angela rubbed at her eyes and looked again. This had to be her mind playing tricks on her. Would this be magic? She tried to think about everything Derek had told her about magic. Nothing about inanimate objects moving randomly. Instead of doing her usual moisturizing routine or even brushing her teeth, she just flipped the light switch off and left the bathroom. She’d get a new glass of water.

She pulled on a tank top and her pajama shorts, leaving the towel around her shoulders to keep the damp hair off her shoulders. She always needed time to wind down after a run, so it would be at least an hour before she tried to get some sleep. Instead, she went for the corner of her living room where her desk was set up with a dock for her laptop. She couldn’t afford much on her salary, so she didn’t have an extra room for an office. She had a bedroom, bathroom, and one common area that included the kitchen, living room, foyer, and office. So basically standard New York living.

She went to the news sites to keep up on current events when the flat-screen television on the wall flipped on.

Angela jumped up and twisted around to look at it. Okay, this wasn’t her imagination. She looked around, hoping she’d see the remote nearby and realize she’d accidentally leaned on it or something, but it was all the way across the room on the end table next to the recliner.

Her mind immediately scrolled through all the possible explanations. Could someone have gotten into the Wi-Fi and turned on the TV? She did have Netflix set up, though she was pretty sure that had nothing to do with the turn on and off capabilities.

She crossed the room and hit the power button, turning off the TV. If it was just that, it would be one thing, but the thought of that glass moving on its own was still in her mind. She was a cop. She didn’t have the luxury of believing in coincidence.

After doing a quick circle to make sure nothing else strange was going on, she walked to her desk and pulled out her personal handgun. She’d rather be alive and paranoid than dead and reasonable.

She sat back at the computer, gun resting to the right of the laptop.

A few minutes later, she was almost able to forget about what happened when the TV flipped on again. She bit out a curse and, picking up the gun in her right hand, went back to the remote and flipped the TV off. Then she stood there for a minute, not moving and waiting to see whether it flipped on again.

The apartment was filled with a loud whirring sound and she jumped—grateful her finger wasn’t on the trigger—and ran to the kitchen to turn off the blender, which had started up on its own. She’d just pulled the plug out of the wall when the damn TV came on again.

Fine. If she had to unplug everything in the apartment, that was what she’d do. She didn’t bother with the remote and went right for the outlet with the big extension port to accommodate all her electronics and unplugged the whole thing. This also turned off the main light and she was plunged into darkness save for the soft blue glow of her laptop.

“Is that all you got?” she said into the darkness, not caring whether she looked like an idiot. She wasn’t going to let some fucking poltergeist or whatever come into her home and try to scare—

The pain in her neck was sudden and her windpipe was compressed under a crushing force. She was yanked back, losing her footing, and put all of her weight against whatever was strangling her.

Her free hand clawed at the pressure in her neck, trying to rip through it with her nails, but the firm, rubbery cord wasn’t budging. So she went nuclear and aimed the gun behind her before she fired. But the pressure didn’t lessen even a fraction. She elbowed behind her, but her arm didn’t connect with anything. It was air, but not any air. Cold and thick, almost like a fog. It was there and not there at the same time....

As she ran out of options to fight back and the need for oxygen grew, she became desperate. She kicked and clawed, but nothing helped. And right as she could feel unconsciousness swirling around the edges, she shot at the entity behind her again, pulling the trigger over and over, willing something to happen.

And then it did. The door to her apartment exploded open and just like that, she was dropped, collapsing on the floor in a heap. She didn’t look at who had rescued her, instead trying to see what had attacked.

But there was nothing there. Just cold, empty air.