window near the back door. “Is she okay?”
He narrowed his gaze on her so intently that she felt as if he’d physically touched her. Over the heart. And she suddenly wanted to know that touch for real. She’d not been touched by a man before. Maybe. She couldn’t remember if she had. Oh, woe, if she had not.
“She’s...been better,” he offered.
Arms sliding defensively across her chest, she studied his eyes again. Both of them now, for his hair blew away from his face. A curious gray and some fleck of brighter color. Violet? They had softened, though she could see the sharpness in them as if a cut to her hope for his kindness.
When he asked, “Did the Darkwood denizen send you?” her mouth fell open.
Because Zenia knew what a denizen was. Yet that knowledge startled her. Why did she know the word for a group or gathering of demons?
Because there are demons in this world. As well as angels, vampires, witches and other things most didn’t believe in.
Did she believe in them? No, such things were mythology. Fantasy bred into wild stories designed to entertain the masses. Which made this guy, as handsome as he was, some kind of wacko.
“I am not a demon.”
She turned to march around the side of the house. She wasn’t going to find what she was looking for here. And most especially, she did not want to deal with a crazy man. Even if he was the most remarkable specimen of male she’d seen. Ever.
A hand grabbed her by the arm, halting her near the picket fence that hugged in the front yard. “Yet you are familiar with the terminology?”
She shrugged. Annoyance felt new to her, and she didn’t like the feeling so she tried to look beyond it. Was his hair so black it gleamed blue? When the sun shone on it, it appeared blue. Kinda cool. She wondered if it was as soft as it looked.
Oh, Zenia, do not let his good looks distract you!
“I know a lot of things,” she offered when he gave no sign to leave her alone. “Except who I am.”
“So then how can you be sure you are not a demon?”
Zenia slammed her hands to her hips. “Are you for real? Demons are myth, buddy. Stories. Fantasy. I think it’s time I got some facts from you. Who are you?”
“Blade Saint-Pierre.” His shoulders stretched back proudly, yet his eyes remained dark. Uncertain? “I live on the outskirts of Tangle Lake. I was helping Mr. Larson across the street fix his trellis.” She followed his gesture to the yellow rambler across the street and spied the climbing purple flowers on the side of the house. “And who are you? Oh, wait, you don’t remember.”
“Zenia,” she offered with a lift of her chin. “It’s the name I’m using until I learn my real name. And I’m quite sure you and your weird fantasy ideas will be of no help to that quest, so if you’ll leave me alone, I’ll be on my way. Do not follow me!”
Stalking away from the man’s accusing stature, she strode through the long grass toward the sidewalk. Her truck was parked down the block. Feet shuffling quickly, she landed on the sidewalk and did not look back. A weird feeling that she was rushing forward, walking toward knowledge, flittered into her brain, and as quickly, fluttered back out.
And yet...it had been a familiar feeling. She’d felt the very same when she’d been walking this sidewalk previously. Before the bus had changed her destiny.
Destiny?
Hmm... It felt right to think that. At least, nothing in her being screamed, No, you’re on the wrong path. Interesting. Maybe she had gathered a bit of her memory by retreading her footsteps? Albeit, memory she didn’t know how to decipher. A quest for knowledge? It meant nothing to her.
The man followed so close behind her she could hear the trod of his boots on the concrete sidewalk. His name was Blade? Interesting name. Sharp and dangerous. It certainly matched his demeanor.
And he was stalking her.
“I have a weapon!” she called out, and scrambled for the truck keys in her skirt pocket.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said firmly.
“Says the serial killer before he dumps the girl in the pit,” she called over her shoulder.
Where had she mined such macabre information? It was frustrating to Zenia that she knew things—weird, odd things—and yet, knew nothing about herself.
“A knowledge walk?” she whispered as she neared the truck. Her stalker’s black truck was parked across the street from it. The truck bed was loaded with lumber and tools. So he’d been telling the truth about helping the old man. He earned trust points for doing a kind thing. Right?
“I need to make sure you are safe,” Blade said as he strode beside her, intent on not leaving her alone. “If you’re not from around here, and you don’t remember anything, you could be in trouble.”
“I appreciate that,” she said, still walking. “Really. Kindness of strangers, and all that. But I don’t know what I have to worry about. Wait. The old lady. I should have checked on her.”
“She’s...fine.”
“You said that with a pause. As if maybe she’s not fine. As if maybe you’ve just murdered her.”
He managed to overtake her rapid steps and stop before her on the sidewalk, planting his boots and slamming his fists akimbo. “Will you quit with the serial killer bit? I didn’t kill...the old lady. She wasn’t in the house when I went in there. I promise. There were others inside. Others who mentioned you.”
“Me? Really?” She turned at the hip to eye the pink house, then swung back to Blade. She had to tilt her head to meet his gaze; he was a tall one. “Who were they? They must know me. Maybe they can tell me who I am.”
“They were demons.”
He said it without a smirk or a wink. And that pulled the cord on Zenia’s freak-out alarm.
She shoved the guy away and ran toward her truck. Keys in hands, she opened the door, slid in and started the ignition. She’d be damned if she was going to talk to him one moment longer and risk his kind of crazy.
“Demons?” she muttered. “Talk about attracting a weirdo. I’ll have to return later, after he’s gone. If someone in that house knows about me...”
She shifted into gear, and rolled quickly by him. He waved, but it was more of a dismissive gesture. In the rearview mirror, she saw him get in his truck and turn it around on the narrow street. She quickly turned at the intersection, hoping to lose him.
“Demons,” she whispered again. “Can’t be. No. I won’t believe it. He’s a crazy madman that I was lucky to get away from him. This is bad.” She pressed a palm against the thumping heartbeats under her rib cage. “Really bad. Now I’ve got to shake a serial killer. I don’t want to die. I can’t die. I don’t even know what name they’d put on the tombstone.”
The image of a fresh grave made her miss the next stop sign. A shout alerted her to the pair of teenaged girls who had stepped off the curb, and now shook their fists at the truck.
“Oops. Sorry! Concentrate, Zenia. You don’t want to be arrested for murder.”
She glanced in the rearview mirror. The big black truck still followed.
“But who might be more guilty of such a heinous crime?” she muttered to herself.
He’d said there were others in the house who had asked after her. What had happened to the old woman?
She was the prettiest woman in Tangle Lake. Demons wanted her. And