Witching Hour (Witching Hour Series Book 1) Page 2

  His eyes glanced at the open doorway to his bedroom. The dark figure of a woman greeted him, casting a shadow across the opposite wall, then disappeared.

  Don't acknowledge it. It can't come out here.

  Kyle shifted his gaze to the rest of his apartment. The single couch set a few feet away from his flat screen, separated from each other by an old, ash brown coffee table. The shelves flanked one wall, lined by volumes of books. The thin rug that looked like it had seen better days, worn at the edges where strands of thread lay sprawled lazily across the floor. And the desk where his laptop sat idly, unused, forgotten, collecting dust.

  His bedroom door slammed shut. Kyle flinched, but kept his eyes averted.

  He poured his coffee, picked his cellphone up from the coffee table and stepped out onto the small balcony. Balancing the mug on the balcony railing, he unlocked his phone and reached for his cigarettes, the pack of Lucky Strikes left in their exact same place from the night before. He often wondered why he still smoked out on the balcony when there was nothing stopping him from lighting one up indoors. He could almost hear his wife's firm voice, asking him to take that filth outside where it belonged.

  Kyle allowed himself a rare smile as he lit the first cigarette of the day. He inhaled deeply, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs before exhaling. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face, and his head began to swim.

  ***

  "Oh my God!"

  Kyle balanced the birthday cake as best he could and he pushed through the bedroom door, making sure he didn't get tangled up in Michael. The six-year-old raced past him and jumped onto the bed. Jennifer smiled as her son threw himself into her arms, and even with her unkempt hair and drowsy eyes, Kyle could see the happiness glowing on her face.

  He had been planning this for weeks, unsure if she'd approve of the fact that he was carrying a chocolate cake into their bedroom with tiny flames dancing atop. He had imagined a hundred different reactions, but the loving look she gave him as she cradled their son in her arms topped them all.

  "I'd sing happy birthday," Kyle said, "but we both know how that'll end."

  Jennifer laughed. "That's okay, I’d rather not start the day with a headache."

  "Mommy, can I sing?" Michael jumped on her lap.

  "Yes, you can," Jennifer tickled him, and the boy broke out into a loud and off-tune version of the song that had both Kyle and Jennifer cringing and laughing. "He has his father's ear," Jennifer said.

  Kyle sat down carefully on the edge of the bed and held the cake out carefully, making sure nothing fell on the sheets Jennifer kept meticulously clean. "Talent comes in many forms," he said.

  "It sure does," Jennifer said, winking at him before her eyes scanned the cake. "You got the number of candles wrong."

  "Aren't you twenty-five?"

  "I believe you're thinking about your mistress," Jennifer smiled.

  "Oh, right," Kyle mused. "Damn, sorry."

  Jennifer playfully punched him, and Michael joined in just for the hell of it.

  "Okay, both of you, stop," Kyle laughed. "I don't want to drop this."

  "What are you going to wish for, mommy?" Michael asked, grabbing Jennifer's face in both hands and turning her head so she was looking at him.

  "I don't know," Jennifer said. "What do you think I should wish for?"

  "A new bike!"

  "That's your wish, monkey," Kyle said.

  "It can be mommy's wish, too!"

  Kyle looked at his wife and smiled. "It can be your wish, too, mommy."

  Jennifer smiled back and leaned in. "One bike, coming up," she said, blowing out the candles.

  "You're not supposed to say your wish!" Michael scolded.

  Jennifer frowned and pouted at him. "I'm not?"

  "You're really bad at this," Kyle chuckled.

  Jennifer laughed along, reached out, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him to her for a kiss.

  "Eww!"

  "Happy birthday, honey," Kyle whispered, ignoring Michael's discomfort.

  "Thank you." Jennifer kissed him again. "Now get that cake out of here before you make a mess."

  "Yes ma'am," Kyle stood up. "Come on, monkey, let's let mommy wake up. Who wants chocolate cake for breakfast?"

  "Me!" Michael yelled out as he raced past Kyle.

  "Absolutely not!" Jennifer called after them.

  "Too late, mommy!" Kyle called back and closed the door.

  ***

  Aley Davis had come to Kent to escape.

  It had been a split second decision. There hadn't been any big plans beforehand, no nights wasted pondering whether or not it was the right thing to do. There was just this incessant need to get out of New York, to escape the Big Apple and leave the noise, stress and general malaise behind. Besides, there was nothing left for her back home, nothing to keep her stuck in her Manhattan studio apartment where the rent ate into half her salary and the rest was just enough to help her get by.

  It hadn't even been very hard to do. After she burned her pink slip from a dead end editorial job, she had simply pulled out a map of New England, closed her eyes, and pointed at a random location. Packing took less than an hour, her meager possessions fitting into one large backpack. By the next morning, she had slipped her key with the final month's pay under her landlord's door, and boarded a Greyhound.

  She had only been in Kent for three weeks, but looking back, it had been the best decision she ever made.

  So far, the town had been good to her. She found a place fairly quickly, spotting a 'For Rent' ad right after stepping off the Greyhound; a small one bedroom above Maureen Chandler's garage. Aley had immediately fallen in love with Maureen the minute she had opened the door, the scent of cinnamon wafting out to greet Aley along with the elderly woman's winning smile. And from there, things had only gotten better.

  Aley loved the solitude and the general laid back demeanor she hadn't been able to experience back in New York. The fresh air was good for her, and she reveled in the fact that there were still people on this planet that greeted you with a smile and a cheerful 'good morning'. Not to mention Maureen treated her like a long lost daughter, constantly checking in to make sure she was okay, always ready with a cinnamon cake and hot cocoa.

  She had even offered Aley a job.

  "Some help here."

  Aley turned to where Maureen was waving at her, expertly balancing a box of ketchup bottles on one arm as she tried to make her way to the counter. Aley hurried to help, relieving Maureen of the box and placing it down beside the aisle where she would empty it later. It was her first day and she was still trying to learn the ropes. It amazed her how much work went into Maureen's small grocery store.

  "You could have asked me to do that," Aley said

  Maureen stretched, one hand on the small of her back, and waved. "Been doin' this for twenty years, honey," she said with a smile. "Won't stop now."

  She leaned heavily against the counter and eyed the two narrow aisles that needed restocking. "I think it's time to show you where everything goes."

  Aley nodded, rolled up her sleeves and used the hairband on her wrist to tie her chestnut hair back into a high ponytail.

  Maureen watched her and chuckled. "It's not construction work," she joked, and Aley couldn't help but smile back.

  The door chimed, and Aley turned to look at the man walking in, clad in a lumberjack coat and faded jeans, his Timberlands squeaking on the tiled floor. She frowned at the unkempt hair and two-day stubble, feeling like she recognized him. He made his way to the counter, his green eyes fixed on her for a moment before they shifted to Maureen and a smile appeared on his face.

  "Morning, Mauri," he said, his voice low and hoarse, as if he had just woken up.

  "Kyle," Maureen greeted. She glanced at Aley quickly, smiled, and then moved around the counter and to the cash register. "The usual?"

  Kyle Ashfeld nodded. "Two," he said.

  Maureen turned to the cigaret
te display, grabbing two packs of Lucky Strikes before reaching for the morning paper. Aley watched Maureen run her fingers across the register and bag the items, sliding them across the counter to Kyle and taking the bills he had ready for her. Kyle turned, his eyes fixing on Aley again. He gave her a small smile and nod, then thanked Maureen and walked out. Aley watched him go, her mind spinning as she tried to remember where she had seen him before.

  "Quite a looker, that one," Maureen cut into her thoughts.

  Aley shook her head, realizing just how ridiculous she must have looked to the woman. "Sorry," she said quickly.

  "Nah, don't worry about it," Maureen said as she crossed around the counter and patted Aley on the shoulder. "If I were a few years younger, I'd probably have that same look on my face."

  "It's not that," Aley said with a smile.

  "Oh?" Maureen raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing her.

  Aley laughed. "Seriously, it isn't," she assured the woman. "The lumberjack look isn't really my type."

  "Sweetheart, when it comes to Kyle Ashfeld, you don't need a type," Maureen replied.

  The name instantly jolted her, and Aley finally knew where she had seen him before. "That's Kyle Ashfeld?"

  Maureen nodded. "You know him?"

  "Are you kidding?"

  Maureen frowned for a second before her features softened and she nodded in understanding. "I forgot you worked in the publishing business."

  Aley looked back at the grocery store door just as Kyle pulled away. She remembered the first time she had met him, at a book signing of his latest bestseller, years before she had decided that she wanted to work in publishing. At the time, he had been the biggest horror author of the decade, easily outselling Stephen King and Dean Koontz, an almost overnight sensation. She remembered critics calling his work 'the concoctions of a very disturbed mind'.

  And then he had just disappeared, dropped off the face of the planet after his wife and son died. Kent was the last place Aley would have expected to find him.

  "What's he doing in Kent?" Aley asked.

  "Hometown," Maureen answered. "His mother was my English teacher back in the day."

  "I thought he was from Los Angeles?"

  Maureen clicked her tongue and shook her head. "He's all Kent, born and raised," she said. "New England breeds the best horror writers, honey. Now how about helping me stock the shelves?"

  Aley nodded and bent down to grab the first few bottles of ketchup.

  Chapter 2

  "An all-nighter, sugar."

  Helen Lint jumped as the files landed on her desk, the stack dislodging from itself to spread out like a carpet in front of her. She eyed the pile and looked up at the smiling face of Jack Tucker, Senior Accountant, womanizer and all-round asshole. He winked at her, a new gesture he had adapted during the past few months, one that never failed to disgust her.

  "What is this?" Helen asked, trying to reorganize the files in a way that didn't make them look like they would take forever to go through. Piled one on top of the other, they looked even worse.

  "We're going to need these done tonight," Jack said. "Client wants it all in the morning."

  Helen's jaw dropped. She had promised her husband she would be home for dinner today. She was already treading on thin ice since her promotion, the one that came with a hefty raise and an even heftier workload. Both had caused a significant rift in her marital relationship. She couldn't even remember the last time she had tucked her son in and read him his usual bedtime story.

  "I'm going to be here all night," Helen protested.

  "We're going to be here all night, sugar," Jack winked again, and Helen clenched her fists against the urge to slap him across the face. "Just the two of us, alone in the office, well into the AM." Jack sat one leg on her desk and folded his hands on his knee, looking at her in a way that made her cringe. "You better call your husband and let him know you're not coming home tonight."

  Helen's lips thinned and she clenched her teeth tight. She knew how Steven was going to react if he knew she was spending time alone with Jack. Her husband hated the smug bastard even more than she did. When she had brought her family to the company's last Christmas party, Jack was quick to share his thoughts on just how impressed he was with Helen's figure, and that Steven was a lucky man. The ride home that night had been silent, but there was no describing the shit storm that hit once they had gotten home.

  No. She was definitely not going to tell Steven who she was spending the night with.

  "I can't stay tonight," Helen tried, hoping she could find a way out of this. "I have plans."

  "Sugar, you can have all the plans you want," Jack smiled. "Work comes first. Always does, always will. Besides, you wanted this job, didn't you? Or should I tell management you're not up to it?"

  Helen frowned and bit her lower lip, running various scenarios in her head of what she could say to Steven that wouldn't result in a fight the minute she got home. She flinched when Jack put a hand on her arm and squeezed.

  "Don't worry, sugar," he said. "We'll be done before you know it."

  He winked at her again, stood up and straightened his suit jacket, then walked out of her office. She watched him leave, a part of her urging her hand to reach for the phone, call HR and file a sexual harassment report against him. She didn't, though. Jack Tucker was the company's biggest asset, not to mention the heir to his “daddy's life's work.” She would probably be kicked out before she even hung up the phone.

  Helen looked at the files on her desk again and shook her head in dismay, running a hand through her hair. She took out her cellphone, swiped it open and dialed Steven's number.

  ***

  Jennifer looked stunning.

  He had picked the dress out himself, knowing she would look good in it. But only after she had worn it was he able to truly appreciate the beauty she radiated. She did a cute little twirl and struck a pose before giggling and breaking character.

  "You look incredible," Kyle said.

  "What can I say," Jennifer replied, walking up to him and wrapping her arms around his neck. "My husband has good taste."

  "Red suits you."

  Jennifer kissed him, a long and passionate kiss, before pulling away and adjusting his tie. "Just remember to give some of the other guests a little attention as well. They're there for you after all, and I don't want to steal the spotlight."

  Kyle smiled. "Looking like that, you probably will."

  Jennifer slapped his arm and moved to the chair by the door where she sat down to put on her heels. Kyle turned to the small mirror beside it, eyeing his reflection as he rolled his shoulders and loosened the tie a bit. He hated suits, detested them really, and a part of him was already counting down the hours until the night was over and he could untie the velvet noose around his neck that Jennifer had specially bought him for this occasion.

  "Stop it," she cut into his thoughts. He turned to her and watched her bend down to get her bag, his eyes immediately going to her ass.

  "What?" he said, feigning innocence.

  "I can hear the protests in your head," she said, grabbing her coat and handing it to him so he could help her into it. "The tie stays."

  "I hate suits," Kyle said simply.

  "Dozens of people are coming to this dinner to celebrate your new book," Jennifer said. "You're not showing up at the gala wearing jeans and a tee-shirt."

  "Who ever said that there was a dress code for these things?"

  "The people who are paying you to write and look at least a little presentable," Jennifer replied, turning around and planting another kiss on his cheek. "I can't carry us both forever, you know."

  Kyle grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close. He lost himself in her clear blues and the scent of his favorite perfume, which she wore for special occasions like these. He was about to tell her how much he loved her when a second, subliminal scent found its way to him. He frowned, unable to tell what it was, until he began to see the smoke coming from be
hind her.

  "Honey?"

  The second scent became clearer, quickly drowning out the perfume, and he jerked his hands away as the first flickers of flames singed his skin. He took a few steps back, his eyes wide in horror.

  "Kyle, what's wrong?" Jennifer frowned.

  Kyle shook his head quickly, unable to speak, his voice caught in his throat as he stared in horror at the flames that were erupting from her back.

  "Kyle?"

  Kyle closed his eyes, trying to shut out what he was seeing.

  "Kyle!"

  ***

  Kyle's eyes flew open, immediately dropping the book in his hands.

  "Kyle!"

  He turned to where the voice was coming from, no longer Jennifer's, but belonging to a petite blonde who had been interning at the library for the past two months.

  "Jesus, where did you go?"

  Kyle shook his head, then bent down to pick up the book he had dropped. Dante's Inferno added a little irony to the situation. He placed the book back onto the shelf.

  "Sometimes I worry about you, just drifting off like that."

  "Sorry, Tracey," Kyle mumbled. "Must have dozed off."

  "Couldn't sleep again?"

  Kyle smiled weakly at her. "Actually, slept like a baby."

  Tracey leaned against the opposite shelf of books and folded her arms. "You know, I never understood that idiom. I mean, don't babies wake up all the time?"

  Kyle looked at her for a beat, then went back to returning the books in his cart onto the shelves. "Did you want something?"

  "Oh, right, yeah," Tracey said. "Weird guy came in asking for you. Dressed up all in black, looks like some kind of priest. Only he isn't. You know what I mean?"