It was the only thing that had the power to pull me from my existence and place me in the skin of another. The magic of a written word could transform me into a wolf or a giant or a sorcerer so awfully wicked that his hands were caked with a millennium of blood instead of earth.
There’s no one here.
Previously, I wouldn’t have believed myself.
These days, I’d learned to trust my instincts.
Slowly, I relaxed.
The room was empty. Just me, a few cockroaches, and the resident raccoons who’d set up home in the attic above.
But why is the window open?
Pushing it further, I glanced down to the roof of the ten-car garage. To the small overhang where the bottom level spread out wider than the second story above.
There, on the dusty metal, were footprints.
My footprints.
My shoulders crumpled in relief.
I hadn’t gone out the door. I’d used the window. The trap I’d set to alert me if anyone tried to break in had been disarmed. The string attached to the ladle that would crash to the floor had been simply ripped off the handle and set aside.
It should probably worry me that I could do something like that when I had no memory of where else I’d been, but this was an old habit.
A habit I’d outgrown...or so I thought.
Where did I go?
Find out.
Nodding, even though I didn’t truly want to know where I’d gone last night, I left the dormitory. I traveled naked with my back still prickling with warning, stalked down the narrow servant stairs, cut through the kitchen, and barged out the back door.
Sparrows took wing with insulted squawks. Vines shuddered, dropping a few leaves onto my shoulders as I ducked under the overgrown arch that led to the woods and away from the chef garden.
It was warmer than usual today. Muggy and heavy, living up to the stifling summer so far. The ground was dry after being damp from the thunderstorm only a few days ago, and a couple of fallen leaves rested beside dusty indents of my journey last night.
I was skilled at tracking. I’d hunted for years. I’d read game books and how to preserve caught meat.
It was strange to be hunting my own footfalls, but I did it because I had to know.
Had to see if I’d regressed.
My hands balled into fists as I followed the trail into the forest. It wasn’t too far from the house. I’d needed it to be close enough back then, but now, it seemed as if darkness had claimed it as its own.
Nothing grew here. No grasses, no berries, no trees.
A blank scar in the dirt.
A blank scar with nail marks on the perimeter and handfuls of fresh earth piled on top.
I backpedaled.
Fuck.
Grabbing my hair, I yanked at the roots, wishing I could rip out the memories that continued to swarm inside me.
Why had I come here?
What was I trying to do last night?
The answer to that question almost made me vomit all over my recent claw marks.
A flurry of birds suddenly took flight behind me. Squawking indignantly, their wings creating a fluttering raucous of feathers. They bolted from the treetops ringing my ravine.
I spun in panic.
Had they spooked because of me? Because they sensed my rising terror?
They squawked again, circling over the top of the cliff where I’d never ventured. They hovered and dived, investigating something I couldn’t see before taking off in a choreographed cloud.
Something’s out there.
Self-preservation sliced through me.
Rage and hate sent violent possession for my valley down my legs.
No one else was welcome here.
Ever.
I broke into a run, back the way I came, slamming to a stop by the cliff to look up, up, up the craggy ravine that both imprisoned and protected me, through the crisscrossed branches that blocked out the sky, to the swaying treetops beyond.
I waited for another flock to spook.
My eyes darted in the new sunlight, searching for whatever had made them take off. I’d lived here long enough to read the forest, and birds didn’t suddenly perform a mass exodus unless a predator was in their midst.
Was it the bear from last summer?
The coyote that I’d snared and then let go?
I strained to hear. I listened for far longer than usual because something felt off. Something wasn’t quite right.
Nothing.
Silence. Just the bicker of birds, the rustle of leaves, the soft hum of insects.
No other hint that anything stalked me from above.
No enemy to hunt.
I was alone, like always.
I waited another few minutes before turning back toward the house. I tried to relax, to prepare for my morning run. However, foreboding iced my naked skin. It drew daggers down my spine and latched hooks into my flesh.
Something was out there.
Something was inside me.
Nowhere was safe.
CHAPTER FIVE
YOU MIGHT AS WELL admit it.
You’re lost as hell and need to give up the idea of climbing and head back.