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CALLIE

"Look what you got us into," I tell my reflection with an exasperated sigh. The mirror is foggy from the steam of my shower, but I can see myself well enough.

Unsurprisingly, my cat self doesn’t reply. She never does.

At least I’ve met the neighbors now.

I’ve been trying to catch a look at the firemen ever since I arrived here three days ago, but my mission and unpacking kept me too busy. It’s the number one rule when moving to a new town. Check to see if the firefighters are hot.

In this case, check and check.

But having them see me naked? That was not in the plan. Not one bit.

Damn cat!

"I swear, one of these days, I’m going to fix you," I mumble to my cat.

It’s an empty threat, and she knows it. She and I are one and the same, whether I like it or not. And I have no desire to get fixed, in cat or human form.

"Maybe I should just pack up and run for it."

The idea of seeing the hot firefighters again makes my cheeks heat. I'm going to put that off as long as humanly possible. But then my embarrassment fades, and I find myself thinking of them again. I didn’t even get their names.

And yet, I remember the guy I’d woken up to with crystal clarity. He had the softest-looking brown hair I’d ever seen in my life, cut short. Even right after he woke up, his hair wasn’t messy. And when he smiled, there were little crinkles at the sides of his mouth.

Unconsciously, I touch my lips and then catch my reflection in the mirror. I look turned on. Maybe I am. There was something about him that made everything inside me flutter.

And then there was the other guy. He was his own kind of sexy. With blond hair and hazel eyes, he had a softer feel to him. Not that he wasn’t big and muscular, because he was. Again, it was a feeling I had.

I could be wrong.

Shaking my head, I scold myself for obsessing over the hotties. Turning, I leave my bathroom and walk into my bedroom. The suitcase in the corner draws my attention, and I admit I’m not going anywhere. As embarrassed as I was about my encounter with the firefighters, I’m here for a reason. Last night was the closest I’ve ever been to finding out the truth, and I’m not going anywhere until I get my answers.

Which reminds me, time to get to work!

I wrap my hair in a towel and swap the one around me for a fluffy robe. One of the best things about working from home is that no one will ever know I write most of my articles naked. The ones for my freelance job, as well as the ones for my secret paranormal blog.

This isn't the time for article writing, though. I have research to do first.

A shiver moves down my spine, and I freeze. Flashes of the night before leave me frozen for a long minute. I saw a golem. I watched it kill someone.

And it almost killed me.

When I realize my heart is racing, I sit on the edge of my bed. "I’m fine. Nothing happened," I tell myself.

My cat stirs within me as if to say I can lie to myself but not to her. Last night was scary. I was scared. But that wouldn’t stop me from discovering the truth. No matter the risk.

Because I’ll never figure out what happened to them, and I’ll never stop this curse. Not if I don’t follow this lead, no matter how dangerous it is.

"I’m going to find out every fucking thing about golems, and my next blog entry is going to be the best one of my career."

My cat stays silent, and I can’t help but hope that’s because she agrees with me.

A lot of people insult my blog in the comments section. They even insinuate that it's completely made up, but no one can accuse me of not researching what I put out. I won't say a word about the golem I saw without looking into the background and mythology surrounding it.

My readers deserve the best information I can find.

Because, like me, many of them suspect there’s more to this world than most people believe. And, like me, many of them have suffered because of their ignorance.

And lost people they love. But I don’t dwell on those painful memories because they’re useless. And I have work to do.

I power up my laptop, trying not to let my gaze stray to the firehouse. I might need to find somewhere else to work. I can already tell I'm going to get distracted waiting for the sexy-ass firemen to come back.

Delicious firemen.

I lick my lips. The temptation to set a fire so I can see them again is far higher than I want it to be. I've never had the urge to be a pyromaniac before.

I thought you were thinking of running away. I push the teasing thought away, hating that the sexy men in uniform have gotten into my head already. No man ever gets into my head when I have work to do, so this is not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.

When my laptop is ready to go, I straighten, determined to stay focused. "Enough thinking about hot men. You've got work to do."

Kids used to tease me about how much I talk to myself. I'm sure adults think mean things in their heads when they hear me, too, but that doesn't stop me, ever. Talking to myself helps me think things through and work out where I stand, and I'll be damned if I let anyone change me.

I pull out a pad of paper and sketch what I remember of the golem while uploading the videos and still images from the night before onto my laptop. I'm not the world's best artist, but I'm good enough to get by. Not that anyone will be seeing this. Just like they won't see any of my other sketches of things I've seen. It’s another part of my process.

Leaning back in my seat, I study the drawing and wonder where I can start on the searching. If I type in golem, all that will happen is me ending up down a winding path of Lord of the Rings memes. I've been there before and don't have time for that. It's already been too long since I last posted on my blog. Moving takes so much time. I hate doing it, but I have to go where the research takes me, or I'll never find any real witches.

And damn, do I need to. I know the cat side of me wants to take control. She always does. In her mind, I work too hard, while she just wants to curl up in the sun.

"No luck for you," I tell her, despite the fact I know she doesn't pay much attention to me when I'm in my human form.

I type a short description of the golem, hoping it'll match a book online somewhere. It's amazing what people have written about over the years.

Sure enough, one pops up.

"Why are you not an eBook?" I whine at the screen as I click on the buy button. It'll arrive in a couple of days, but that's so far away. What's the point of having the internet if I can't have the instant gratification of information at my fingertips?

Stupid, modern world, trying to convince me it can give me everything I need but is only fucking with me.

My frustration grows as I scroll through the other hits. There are plenty of books about golems, but most of them are fiction. One even seems to be about three super attractive golems loving one woman.

I look over my shoulder before clicking buy and sending it to my e-reader. I know no one is watching me, and yet part of me feels the need to check before downloading such a risqué book. I could pretend it'll contain the kind of information I need, but I'd be lying to myself. I want something to keep me company at night.

Though there are sexy firemen next door that would do the trick.

A shake of my head clears the errant thoughts. I can't focus on men; I have work to do.

The next link looks a bit more promising. There are a couple of fuzzy photographs that almost look like the thing I saw, but I wouldn't put money on it. But it does suggest that there's something real in the reports I'm seeing.

I scan through them, jotting down a couple of notes. Most of what's on here is utter trash, but there's some stuff about how to summon one. According to this site, there needs to be earth splashed with holy water and scattered with the ashes of a sacrificed virgin.

There's no containing my eye roll.

How cliche. Why is it always a virgin? At least it means I'll never be used in some kind of weird sacrificial ceremony.

It's more than I had before, though, so I happily accept what I'm given. Hopefully, the book I've ordered will reveal more information about them because there's nothing at all mentioning witches in what I'm reading.

I swipe a hand over my face, hitting the towel turban and knocking it askew. I lurch to try and catch it, but it's already too late; the whole thing comes tumbling down.

The hair turban: yet another secret of womanhood that I don't have the hang of.

Ignoring the pile of towels on the floor, I turn to my screen. There has to be something else here. There just has to be.

My eyes start to stick together, and my throat itches. I should get myself a coffee machine to keep next to my laptop; at least then, I might be able to stay awake long enough to do the work I need to.

At a complete loss for what else to do, I pull up my favorite paranormal-spotters forum. I use a fake name, naturally. It's full of weird people who don't have a clue what they're talking about most of the time, but sometimes there's something worthwhile.

I start a new thread, hoping it won't be spammed like the last one. Not that it was anyone's fault but my own. I should know better than to start a thread about whether or not the Loch Ness Monster is real. I thought I had some evidence that would change things forever. I was wrong.

The drawing next to me calls my name. Perhaps I should break my own rule and upload a photo of it. That's probably quicker than describing it. But I don't want to alert the wrong people with an accurate drawing. People have died over less.

Content that my normal avenues of research were all in place, I switch to searching for more about the man who had died yesterday.

Why couldn't he have told me his name? That would make things so much simpler.

As it is, he told me enough that I may be able to find him, but it's not going to be the easiest task. All I have to do is cross-reference lottery winners and people in the area. That should only take a little bit of illegal snooping.

He said he'd won a day after he'd made the deal, which was five years ago yesterday. That's some pretty specific information and should be enough for me to get started.

Hopefully.

It takes me all of ten minutes to find him. Which is ridiculous. If he's so easy to find, why wouldn't he have told me his name?

I try to hold in the snort as I look at the name on my screen.

Richard Cockburn, known to his friends as Dick. No wonder he doesn't want to tell people.

Didn't. He's dead now, and I can't forget that. Remembering makes it feel kind of icky that I'm laughing at his name. The poor man must have been teased mercilessly at school.

And in death, apparently.

Nothing in his online presence tells me what I need to know. Though it would be foolish of me to think a witch would make her contact details known online. That would be too easy, and if there's one thing I've learned about the paranormal community, it's that they're damn good at secrecy.

I sigh and lean back in my chair. I should get some coffee. Maybe that will spur my brain into gear and help me connect my non-existent dots.

Getting to my feet, I pad out of the room and down the big staircase. I don't know the history of this house. It was a bargain to rent, but it's huge and has a grand air that I don't live up to. Yet. Maybe I will when I finally find a witch and get my life sorted. Turning into a cat could be fun sometimes, but otherwise, it's annoying and makes it pretty hard to be anything but a mess. At least the house came with the necessary tree near an upstairs window, so she can come and go as she pleases, whether I like it or not.

I switch on the coffee maker, hearing it make the familiar grinding sound I'm used to. I need to get another one, but every time I think about it, I'm busy making coffee and not in a position to do something about it, so I keep forgetting.

The doorbell rings, making me jump and bash my hip against the hard surface of the sink.

"Ow." I throw it a disapproving look. How dare it hurt me that way? I've never done anything to it that deserves such betrayal.

The bell rings again.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming," I mutter to no one in particular.

With a forlorn glance at my coffee maker, I head to the front, rubbing my hip. Depending on who is at the door, it could be anywhere between five minutes and an hour until I can have a cup.

I trundle towards my front door, a little on edge. No one in this town knows me, so no one should be coming to visit. Unless it's the witch who somehow discovered I saw her golem. That could be problematic.

Only one way to find out.

Taking a deep breath, I grip the handle, trying to still the shaking. I don't normally give in to nerves, but something is putting my hackles on edge.

Hmm. Maybe it's my cat self being so on edge. Perhaps whoever is on the other side of the door is a dog person. That would explain it.

I pull the door open, knowing there's no other way around it.

"Hi, I'm Sugar." The woman I met earlier beams widely at me, not at all fazed by the fact I'm wearing a dressing gown and not much else.

"Hi. How can I help you?" I ask.

And what kind of name is Sugar? That’s not a very nice thought, but I find that I’m still annoyed by our meeting at the fire station. Who exactly was this woman to demand my name and try to keep me from getting myself out of an awkward situation?

"We're with the local fire department and wanted to make sure your alarm is in working order."

We? I hear a door slam, and my pulse speeds up. Their fire truck is parked out in front of the station. The guys I’d planned to avoid for a while are walking up my driveway at this very moment.

"I'm sure my alarm is fine." I stumble over the words, my eyes straying to the three gorgeous men walking into view—one of whom is the owner of the bed I woke up in. "Thanks for checking, though."

I start to close the door, but her hand flies out and counters my actions. She's stronger than I expected, and the door ends up wide open.

"I must insist on us coming in. We wouldn't be doing our duty if we didn't check things ourselves." She smiles so sweetly that her name makes sense.

Or it’s ironic, given her pushy nature.

But I stand there, unable to think of a single thing to say.