Page 10 of The Elementalist (Four Elements #1)

Imagining Things

I paced in my apartment, waiting for the phone to ring when someone knocked on the office door downstairs.

The knocking came again, this time more urgently.

I made a living out of following cheaters and, occasionally, catching bad guys.

Hell, I’d even sent my share of criminals to jail.

Which was why private eyes kept guns around; after all, anyone who did this job long enough would certainly make a handful of enemies, ones highly prone to being more than a little vindictive.

It’s also why I had installed a cheap camera in a shadowy nook above my office door. Always a damn good idea to see who came pounding at your office door at all hours of the night. Anyway, I swiped on my phone, pulled up my security app, and opened a live feed of my office door downstairs.

The man standing there was a handsome devil: black hair, slender build.

.. and a lot of attitude. He wore a leather jacket, jeans, boots.

Looked a bit like an old-school greaser.

I’d seen him around town a few times. Okay, more than a few.

Sometimes, I’d run into him drinking at the Pines Café, hanging around some of the college kids, although he looked a little older than college.

But that could have been the confident, cocky manner in which he held himself.

Either way, he radiated trouble, and I wasn’t in the mood for any trouble.

His features were a bit hard to make out in the video feed, which was weird, since I’d gotten high def. I squinted, trying to see the problem. His face was... blurry, not sharp, smudged even. Like someone had filled him in with crayons, rather than actual skin. I shook my head, dismissed it...

Wait... what was that spot on his cheek? I took a screen shot of it, blew the image up. No, it wasn’t a spot. It was... well, nothing.

Nothing at all.

Or maybe a hole, or an empty spot.

A hole or empty spot in his face. In fact, I was certain I could see through his face.

Yes, I recognized my office window on the other side, where his cheek should be.

I rubbed my eyes, and noticed a similar blank spot in his neck.

.. and, my God, where were his hands? Confused, I went back to the live feed.

As he knocked again, I saw... nothing at the end of his sleeve.

Nothing at all. Like his hands had been perfectly camouflaged with his surroundings.

Or he didn’t have hands, and knocked with his stumpy wrists.

The knocking continued, and on the video, the end of the jacket sleeve stopped six inches or so from the door, where it would be if someone who possessed hands rapped their knuckles on my door. He didn’t have hands. Yet the physical knock reverberated through the quiet evening.

He paused and sort of cocked his head, as if listening.

My apartment was located directly above my office.

Few people knew that, especially since the apartment was leased in my mother’s maiden name, God rest her soul.

Private eyes, after all, need anonymity.

But I also liked to keep a close watch on my office.

It was often very telling who came sniffing around.

So, I stayed quiet, although there was no way in hell he could hear me in my apartment one floor above. Still, trouble sort of... radiated from him in a way that surprised me. It was almost as if I could feel his darkened energy, but that had to be paranoia on my part.

Right?

Wait. I could feel his darkened energy?

Where the hell had that hippie shit come from?

Anyway, after half a minute of listening, he gave up and started to walk away, but spotted the camera above.

He cocked his head a little and smiled, and I was certain, damn certain, he had no teeth.

.. and I could see straight through his mouth out the back of his head to the street.

What the hell was going on? When he finished smiling like a creep, he continued on down the street and disappeared out of view.

The scuff of boots disappeared shortly after that.

I half expected to hear a knock at my apartment door, but it never came.

A minute later, the phone rang, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Is this Max Long?” asked a voice on the other end.

“It is.”

“This is Michael, you emailed me yesterday about my blog.”

“Actually, this morning. Early this morning.” I paused to compose myself. “I’m sure I sounded insane in my email. Hell, I feel insane—”

“Just relax, Max. I don’t think you’re insane.”

Michael had a soft, comforting voice, one that calmed my nerves—nerves that had been on edge all day, made worse by that creep at my office door.

“Let’s just say the jury is still out,” I said. I mean, did I really see through that guy knocking at my door? Surely it had to be a trick with the camera, an error in the feed, a glitch in the compression.

He laughed softly. “Max, I’d like to ask you a few questions. Would that be okay?”

“If it helps me understand what’s happening to me, then ask away.”

He chuckled again, then got to it. “Would you say you’ve had an affinity for wind all your life?”

At least he started with an easy one. I nodded. “Definitely.”

“Would you also say you have a similar affinity for water? As in, do both elements calm you, yet also make you feel alive? Do both somehow resonate deeply within you?”

“Yes, but isn’t that the case for every—”

“How about fire, Max? Do you ever find yourself enchanted by fire? Nearly hypnotized?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“No, Max. Not everyone. Last question: do you enjoy walks in nature? Hiking, camping, backpacking? Do you have, say, a garden at home?”

I thought of the little herbal garden on my balcony—the same one that Ron mercilessly ridiculed. I thought of my many weekend hikes and once-a-month camping trips.

“Yes to everything,” I said.

“A resounding yes?”

“Yes. Now, what’s your point?”

“Max, would you be open to meeting me?”

“Sure.”

“And giving me a, umm, demonstration.”

“Like I said, if it helps me understand what’s happening to me, I’ll do anything.”