Chapter 4
Tudor was still puffed up, pacing the apartment like he was on patrol. I sat on the floor, back against the wall, trying not to hyperventilate. My hands were shaking too hard to dial, but I managed to hit 9-1-1 on the third try.
When they answered, I said, “Someone broke into my apartment. They’re gone now. I think. I don’t know. Please send someone.”
I gave them the address, then hung up. And then I waited.
---
The squad car showed up seven minutes later. Two officers came up the stairs: Officer Brandt, fifty-something with a sharp jawline and a notepad already in hand, and Officer Kimball, who looked fresh out of academy and tried very hard not to stare at the damage.
Brandt looked around. “Jesus. Someone was angry.”
“I didn’t make them coffee,” I said flatly. “Maybe they were offended.”
He cracked a smile and started his walk-through. Kimball took photos with his phone, mouth slightly open.
“Point of entry?” Brandt asked.
“I think they jimmied the door.” I gestured to the cracked latch. “I didn’t hear them until they were running. My cat chased them off.”
Kimball raised an eyebrow. “Your *cat*?”
“Borderline demon. Clawed their face. Left a mark..”
Tudor leapt onto the windowsill and flicked his tail like he’d do it again for fun.
I pointed out the drawers, the destroyed laptop, the missing documents. But they hadn’t taken my wallet. Or the jewelry box. Not even the old camera worth something on eBay. Just research stuff. Specific stuff.
“They knew what they were looking for,” Brandt muttered, scribbling. “Which means this wasn’t random.”
“No kidding.”
“Anyone who might want to scare you? Know your schedule?”
I hesitated. “There’s a guy.” Brandt looked up.
“Not like that. Not a boyfriend. Just… a guy who showed up recently. Welch. Drives a classic Land Rover – lurks around the library.”
“You have a name?”
“Richard. No last name. He gave me a card, but it didn’t have anything on it. Just ‘Richard.’ And it smelled like sage. Or Catholic guilt.”
Brandt blinked. “Okay.”
“We’ll file a report. But if he hasn’t made a threat…”
“You can’t do much. Yeah, I figured.”
He paused. “You shouldn’t stay here alone tonight.” “I don’t really have options.”
“Got a friend or neighbor who’d stay with you?”
Candy’s face came to mind—calm, centered, always with something baking or brewing. “Yeah. I’ll call someone.”
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Brandt nodded. “We’ll check the floor. See if anyone saw anything.”
---
First stop: 2B. Mrs. Vickers.
Somewhere north of seventy and dressed like *Sunset Boulevard* never ended. Lavender turban, matching feather-trimmed peignoir, satin slippers, and a cloud of violet perfume that hit like a Victorian séance.
She held a martini in one hand and a dog-eared paperback in the other. “Unless you’re selling biscuits or Vodka, I’m not interested.”
Brandt flashed his badge. “Police, ma’am. We’re investigating a break-in.” “Oh, that. I thought it was raccoons again.”
“Again?” Kimball said.
“Raccoons, lizard people, whoever.” She looked Kimball over and purred, “You know, if you weren’t so young I’d ask if you wanted to frisk me.”
Kimball turned the color of beet soup.
Brandt didn’t flinch. “Did you hear anything unusual?”
“I live next door to a girl who talks to her cat and brings home haunted books. Everything’s unusual.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Vickers,” I said quickly.
She winked. “Call me if you need ice—or revenge.” And she shut the door with Broadway timing.
---
Next: 2C. Mr. Durney.
The door opened slowly. A pale man in a bathrobe, hair standing on end. Copper mesh socks. Heavy breath.
Brandt greeted him like an old coworker. “Evening, Mr. Durney.” “You looking for the shadow people again?”
Kimball blinked. Brandt smiled, practiced. “We went over that, remember? Shadow people aren’t real.”
Mr. Durney nodded slowly. “They weren’t. But something’s thinning. I heard it. Low humming. Off-key whistling. The kind that makes birds disappear.”
Brandt shifted his weight. “Let us know if you remember anything concrete.”
Durney locked eyes with me. “Be careful, girl. Sometimes it’s not the veil thinning—it’s something on the other side pulling.”
And he shut the door. I swallowed.
Kimball exhaled. “What *is* this building?”
“My apartment complex. Slash paranormal funhouse.”
---
Back inside, I texted Candy. She arrived in twelve minutes.
She didn’t ask questions. Just walked in, set her bag down, and gave me a hug. “You brought tea?” I asked into her shoulder.
“Anglica, Hydrangia and Rose with honey. With a splash of vervain.”
“I love you.” “I know.”
She made two mugs while Tudor paced like a bodyguard. When she sat beside me on the couch, she looked around with that same steady gaze.
“You sure you’re okay?” “Nope.”
“But you’re okay with me here?” “I really am.”
She nodded. “Then let’s just sit for a while. You don’t have to explain a thing.” And I didn’t. Not for a few precious minutes.
---
Then my phone buzzed.
**Richard:** *Are you okay?*
**Richard:** *I’m outside.* How the hell did he know?
I stood up too fast, heart pounding, and crossed to the window. There he was.
The Defender. Parked under the one working streetlight. Richard leaning against it, coat open, like he *knew* I’d look. I was halfway down the stairs before I could stop myself.
---
“You have ten seconds,” I snapped, “before I hit you with a snow shovel.” He looked up, calm. “Sadie, I—”
“You knew someone broke in. You texted me. *How did you know?*” “I saw them leave.”
“What?”
“I was parked nearby. I saw someone run out—hood up, bleeding. I knew it wasn’t good.” “You didn’t stop them?”
“I followed. Lost them two blocks away.” “Convenient.”
“Not for me.”
He stepped closer. “I’m trying to keep you alive.” “By watching me like some brooding vampire? Lurking in the parking lot”?
“I’m not lurking,” he said. “I’m protecting. And I am not a vampire. They are really trashy.”
“You dropped Vatican X-Files on me and ghosted. That’s not protection.” “I didn’t lie.”
“No. You withheld the truth. Which is worse.” His voice dropped. “You still have the journal?” I hesitated. Then lied. “No.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“Get out of my head, Richard.”
He looked almost… hurt. “I’m not trying to be in your head. I’m trying to help you
*understand*. You’re not just a target. You’re a link.” “To what?”
He didn’t answer.
But something in me burned at the way he looked at me—like he already knew the shape of my fear. Like he’d memorized it.
And dammit, even then, I noticed how *blue* his eyes were. The kind of blue that always means trouble.
---
The door creaked open behind me.
Candy. Holding two mugs. Looking between us. “You’re tall,” she said to Richard, assessing.
“I—yes?”
She offered him a mug. “Come inside. Explain everything.” He blinked. “You want me to…”
“Yes,” I said before he could finish. “You said you’d tell me the truth. Now’s your chance.” Candy raised her eyebrows. “You’re not going to faint, are you?”
“Not unless someone’s secretly a werewolf.” Richard smiled faintly. “Not tonight.”
He stepped toward the stairs.
And behind him, the streetlight above his car flickered—just once. Like something had noticed him too.
Do you want more Richard???
