Beyond the Veil Read Free Page B

pedestrian crossings. Walk, don ’ t walk. I didn ’ t want to walk. My apartment, as small and insignificant as it was, felt like a real home. I ’ d never had that before, and I wasn ’ t about to walk away from it.
    I opened the window, breathing in the South Boston air. The sounds of children playing drifted from nearby Buckley Playground. I caught snippets of a conversation from a couple passing beneath my window. A car rumbled by, and I soaked up the familiar sounds of life. The cacophony of human activity grounded me firmly in normality.
    The meeting with Akil, although brief, had rekindled an ache I thought I ’ d long ago cured. He exuded power, wore it like cologne, and the primal creature curled at my core refused to ignore the attraction. My demon, she ’ s all about need, and she made it clear she needed Akil. It didn ’ t help that Akil was one of the Seven Princes of Hell; demon catnip to the likes of me.
    Flicking on the coffee machine, I grumbled a few choice words. They could all go to hell, or the netherworld, to give it its proper name. I wasn ’ t giving up my life, not for anyone. It might seem quaint to the many varieties of demons who stalked me, but it was mine.
    Opening the fridge, I took out the milk and closed the door. A creased photo caught my eye, the corner trapped against the fridge with a cat-shaped magnet. Sam and me. I smiled. He had his arm around me, his broad grin genuine. The picture had been taken a few months ago, in the summer. We ’ d hiked up a woodland trail and found a small waterfall off the beaten track. Water rushed just out of the shot. Sam ’ s jeans were wet with the spray. His salt-and-pepper hair had a damp and ruffled chaos about it. How I loved to run my fingers through his hair.
    The flowers I ’ d just thrown away had been from him. An apology for something he didn ’ t need to apologize for. I ’ d lied to him. A lot. Especially about why it was never going to work between us.
    While pouring the milk into my coffee, I caught a glimpse of a blinking light from my antiquated answering machine. Six messages, more than I usually get in a month, I thought, taking a sip of coffee . The machine wasn ’ t the most reliable at the best of times and had a tendency to delete or overwrite messages.
    I jabbed PLAY on the machine.
    “ New message received Sunday, eleven-fifteen-pm, ” an automated female voice said. “ Hi, Charlie. ” Sam ’ s deliciously smooth tones instantly soothed my strung-out nerves. “ You really need to get a phone at the workshop, or get a cell phone. Everyone has a cell these days. Even my Aunt — and she ’ s nearly eighty. ” He talks too much, always has. “ Anyway. Look, I can ’ t make Tuesday. A potential contract has come up … you know how it is. I can ’ t say no. I ’ m really sorry. ” He paused, his silence weighted with unspoken words. “ I want to see you. Miss you. ” He hung up.
    I groaned. Break ups are never easy, especially when neither party really wants to separate. I shouldn ’ t have agreed to meet him even though our planned ‘ date ’ was a friendly one, no strings attached.
    Tuesday? Today was Tuesday. I clasped my hands around the hot mug of coffee. My slouch deepened. Now that he ’ d cancelled, I realized how much I needed to talk to him. Sam made me forget myself, who and what I was. He had such a light-hearted outlook. So quick to smile. He loved his work as an architect, and his enthusiasm for life infectious. It was one of the reasons I ’ d let our relationship go on for as long as it had.
    “ New message received Monday, nine-oh-nine-am. ” Silence followed.
    Strange.
    “ New message received Monday, nine-oh-eleven-am. ” Silence, then static and click. “ New message received Monday, nine-oh-fifteen-am. ” More static.
    I frowned into my coffee and glared at the answering machine. Its digital display blinked PLAY back at me. The messages continued to play their static nonsense