Page 5

5

CALLIE

My finger scrolls listlessly through the links about golems. I'm six pages deep in internet search crap, and I still can’t find anything with the smallest grain of truth to it. Part of me feels like I’m wasting time, but the other part of me hopes to find something useful in case my Plan A falls through. Because if my seemingly legitimate book gets delivered and ends up being crap, I don’t want to find myself without a lead.

But if there’s any truthful information about golems on the internet, it's buried. Or obscure. Or, like my blog, hard to find for reasons of safety. I've got that blog buried under so many layers of security it's not funny. I probably spent more time researching how to redirect my location online than I do researching paranormal creatures.

And I’m guessing anyone else like me is doing the same. So, I keep scrolling.

Nothing, nothing, nothing. Damn it! Frustrated, I get up and check the window one more time. How long does it take a mailman in this tiny town? I'd paid for the book to be overnighted.

And it better be.

Every minute I'm not focusing on the golem, my mind drifts next door. When I'd woken up and seen the half-naked man, it had almost distracted me from the fact that I was naked.

Almost.

It's certainly on my mind now. On repeat. Like a stuck record. I picture Hank smiling at me from his bed. His tousled brown hair, his stunning hazel eyes. Everything about that moment feels unreal. How many men wake up to a naked woman, grin at her, and offer her a blanket? None that I know of.

I want to think of Hank as all sweet, so sweet he makes my teeth hurt. But his muscles? Yum, there was nothing sweet about that.

Like Will’s. Angrily, I push the thought of his delicious muscles straining under his tight uniform out of my mind. But again, the image lingers.

I don’t like bad boys. I don’t! I’ve always been drawn to the sweet guys. But when Will leaned on my door and looked at me with those pale green eyes, I’d felt like all I wanted to do was have him grab me, throw me against that door, and do wild, nasty things to me.

The worst part of it all is that I could see it in his eyes. That’s exactly what he wanted to do to me, too. And for a long minute, I’d had trouble remembering that bad boys aren’t my type.

A treacherous thought leaps into my mind. I wouldn’t have to marry him or anything.

I picture us in my bed, and heat prickles over my flesh.

Damn it, where is that book? If I had the book, I’d be thinking about my mission. About figuring out who made the golem and hopefully moving one step closer to finding out who cursed me. Not thinking about sexy firefighters.

I need a break. Heading downstairs, I make a beeline for the coffee maker and decide that drinking several cups might be the thing to get me thinking clearer.

As I'm pouring my third cup of coffee and contemplating the advisability of drinking said cup when my legs are already jiggling, I hear the telltale creak of the mailbox on my front porch.

"Yes," I squeak, gulping the piping hot coffee as I scurry to the front door. I'm already showered, dressed, fed, and caffeinated. When that book gives me the information I need, I’ll be ready to hit the road and find that damn witch.

As soon as I'm in proximity of the front door I realize the mailman is still standing on the porch. I sidle up to the window beside the door and peek out of the tiniest crack I can make in the blinds, then jump back, sloshing coffee all over the hardwood floors.

"Son of a bitch," I whisper. Can't leave that there. So, I set the coffee on the little table under the window and return to the kitchen for paper towels and the spray cleaner. After I clean up the coffee, I peek out the window again. He's moved farther away and is now standing on my walkway, mail in hand, sorting.

"Dude," I hiss. "Get on with it!"

As if he heard me, he turns and looks at the house for a couple of seconds before moving on down my walkway and up the street. I angle myself until I can see him go around the corner, one leg cocked up in the air, bent over the stupid little table. Of course, I lose my balance, falling against the table, sloshing more coffee out of the mug I'd left there.

A low growl rumbles in my throat as I clean up the coffee and swig the rest of the unspilled coffee before I fool around and dump it, too. When I’m done, I yank the front door open, reach one hand out and around, and snag the package sticking out of the ancient metal mailbox.

My sleeve catches on the edge of the mailbox, and I hear a ripping sound as I pull my arm and the book into the house.

With a sigh of defeat, I close and lock the door. "Can I get a do-over? Go to bed and restart this day?" I look around as if someone is going to answer me, then remember what's in my hand.

I finally have my book and don’t want to wait another second to open it. Hurrying up the stairs, I yank off my soaked shirt and toss it in the laundry basket before putting on a clean one. Then I tear open the standard manila envelope.

I’m surprised when a note flutters out. Frowning, I unfold it and scan the words.

Dear Reader,

A spell of intent is done before every book of mine is shipped. If the spirits were against you owning my tome, I would have refunded your money. As it is, the spirits are in your favor, so I've included a website that is password-protected so that you may browse my other volumes should you need them. I wish you luck in your search, whatever it is, and may the spirits be your guides. If you find yourself in trouble, remember they are there.

May the light of goodness always protect you,

Francine Martin

Holy freaking crap on a cracker. Either the author of this book is a complete crackpot, or I’ve found the lead I’ve been looking for. Holding my breath, I put the note on my desk and look at the book. The cover is basic. Dark blue, no dust jacket. The title and author’s name on the spine are the only sign of what sort of book it is. Golems. Basic title, basic cover.

Taking a breath, I will myself not to feel too disappointed if it isn’t what I’m looking for. But I already know that it will be. This is my only lead. If it ends up being crap, I’m back to square one.

As soon as I open the book, I discover it's anything but a basic book. The picture inside the cover is a golem that looks exactly like the one I'd seen but drawn by someone with far more artistic talent than I have.

And then there’s the actual writing. It has everything I can imagine. The history and mythology surrounding golems and golems in popular culture, but I skip those areas as I come to the last section. Creating and maintaining your golem. Bingo.

The writer has given specific warnings about using a golem for dark magic and the repercussions of doing so. She warns that the old adage, "Everything comes back tenfold," is very true. I skip ahead of the warnings and discover the spell. Most of the ingredients make no sense to me. But one thing makes me pause. It requires a misplaced soul?

The golem had a soul inside it. Fucking shit. How can that not be dark magic, even under the best circumstances?

Not for the first time, I wish I had someone who could explain all this stuff to me without me having to fight for every morsel of knowledge. But all I have is this book, and it’s better than nothing, so I keep reading.

Finally, I find something simple that makes sense to me. Every golem has a piece of paper inside its chest with a spell of intent, a lot of incantations I don't understand, and the golem's specific mission. As soon as the mission is complete, the golem disintegrates into a pile of whatever substance it's made from. Usually mud or clay.

The paper makes the spell more powerful if it's ripped from the pages of the witch's grimoire.

If I can find that paper, maybe I can somehow track it to the witch, then force her to figure out how and why I'm cursed with shifting into a cat.

My plan has holes. I don't know how I'll force a probably powerful witch into helping me, and I don't know how I'll use the paper to track her, but it's a lead and more than I've ever gotten before.

I grab my messenger bag and tuck the book inside. Locking my front door, I hurry across the street. It's a short walk to the beach from my house. I can follow the shore down to the spot where the golem dissolved. Hoping that, by some miracle, the paper will still be there.

The beach hasn't even had time to shift under my feet before I realize someone is following me. I've always had a bit of a sixth sense about being watched or followed. I figure it's the cat in me. Or the me in the cat, whatever. But if I was in my fur at the moment, it would be standing on end.

The people in this town like their privacy. Will’s warning rings through me. The firefighter might have thought the rich people here were dangerous, but he doesn’t know about the magic and the golem.

Whoever’s following me might know what I suspect.

Which means I could be in a lot of trouble.

I pick up my step, knowing I’m exposed on the open beach. The area I need to go to has dunes I can hide behind, but it's still a good quarter mile before I'll get there. There are beach houses to my left and nothing but open water to my right.

Should I run for the beach houses? If someone or something wants to hurt me, I doubt it’d do it with an audience. Right?

I pick up my pace again, just shy of running. Without looking behind me, I have no idea if the person or creature is close to me or if I'm freaking myself out.

My instincts tingle again, and goosebumps break out all over my body. Someone is following me. The dunes grow closer, and the first one is big enough for me to slip behind. If I can get the person behind me to go on past, I can attack them at an advantage. And if they follow, I can circle back around and run for the houses.

It's the best plan I've got, especially if I want to figure out who it is and why they'd follow me.

I slow down slightly, trying to seem like I'm in a hurry and not running from someone. I walk casually behind the sand and grass mound, then duck and press myself against it as much as I can. If I'm lucky, they'll move on past.

C'mon, cut me a break here.

Hell, yes! The person who was following me passes me by. It's a man, and he's so focused on looking forward he doesn't see me at all. Run or attack?

But I already know my answer. If I want to get rid of my curse, I need to know who this man is. And running away? Well, that won’t accomplish anything.

Let’s do this! I leap forward with a deep-throated yell, jumping straight onto his back.

He twists around, his hands going to my arms. "What the hell, Callie?"

I've got one of my daggers pulled and at his throat before I realize it's one of the damn firemen. Of course it is!

Scrambling down, I end up on my ass in the sand, dagger beside me. Smooth.

Will’s eyes are wide as he looks at me. "Did you attack me?

"Were you following me?" I challenge right back.

He sighs, like I’m irritating him, then holds out his hand, offering to help me up.

Reluctantly, I take his hand, trying to preserve whatever dignity I still have. "I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you, or I wouldn't have pulled my weapon."

"But you would've still jumped on my back?" he asks, raising a brow, then leans down and grabs the dagger before handing it to me.

"Probably." Shrugging, I answer without thinking, then put the weapon away. "You were following me, after all." I furrow my brow and give him my meanest look. "Why were you following me?"

He shrugs. "For some reason, you strike me as a woman who gets into trouble. And since I’m one of the guys who gets called when someone does something stupid, I figured I'd check on you before you ruin my day."

Snorting, I pick my bag up and walk around him. "Please, I’m not the least bit of trouble. I wanted to spend a relaxing day on the beach."

"With a dagger?" he asks, like he doesn’t believe me.

"Yes." I tilt my head a little higher.

"In fifty-degree weather?"

"Yes," I say again, trying to sound confident.

He shakes his head. "No one enjoys the beach in fifty-degree weather. I mean, look around you; see any other women strutting around not looking for trouble?"

"That’s because you don’t know me at all. I happen to enjoy cool weather and time by myself," I mutter and keep walking.

"Why don’t you tell me about yourself then? So that, in the future, I don’t worry every time I see you doing something potentially dumb."

I stop and stare at him, every curse word imaginable exploding in my mind. Why does this man make me so grumpy? I’m usually so good at ignoring idiots.

Yeah, he's hot, that's for damn sure. But he's cocky-hot like he knows he's a stud and expects women to fall at his feet, legs spread and ready for him.

No, thank you. Why does he affect me so badly?

My cat purrs as I look at him critically. Shut up, you. He's not our type.

She purrs louder as if to say, He’s everybody’s type.

"You going to stare at me all day? Not that I mind. But you did imply you’re some exception to all logic, and I’m here waiting to learn why."

My cheeks heat, and I stand up straighter, trying to push all thoughts of his sexy body out of my mind. "Sorry to disappoint, but I can’t think of a single thing I want to say to you."

He flashes me a crooked smile that makes my underwear melt. "Boy, you’re defensive. Haven’t you ever had anyone just be friendly with you?"

"Friendly? Yeah, right."

My heart is beating a little too fast as I continue to stare at him. Cursing myself, I turn and walk, distracting myself by searching the sand for the little paper. But my cat is aware of every inch of him, and she’s starting to make it very clear what she thinks I need. I get the sense she’s urging me to grab his hand or his dick or something.

Yeah, right. Because humans do that to strange men all the time.

I try not to snort and reprimand her out loud, throwing my head back and sucking in a deep breath.

Mistake, that. Not watching where I'm going on the beach, my foot snags on a branch on the ground, and I flail forward.

I'll be damned if I'll be rescued by the jerk, though, so before he can reach out and help—which he immediately tries to do—I tuck and roll, a move I learned when I took self-defense classes. Springing to my feet, I continue on my way, leaving Will standing in my clumsy, yet hopefully impressive, dust.

But then his voice comes to me, so freaking smug. "That was lucky. A twisted ankle might have meant you being stuck out here, which could’ve meant some unlucky firemen having to drop everything to help you."

I glare at him. "But I didn’t twist my ankle."

He shrugs. "Just thought I’d mention one of the many reasons walking out here alone was a bad idea, and me following you was a good one."

I toss my hair over my shoulder and keep walking. "Some men will find any excuse to follow me around."

His laugh reaches my ears. "And some women are plain delusional."

I’m about to give him a piece of my mind when I realize we're close to the spot where the golem attacked the man. The firefighter fades into the background, and my mind sharpens. This is why I do this. For these moments when I feel like something significant is about to happen.

I want to pull out my recorder and camera and make some notes about how I got here to keep the details fresh in my mind for my blog, but I can't do that with Fireman Will standing over my shoulder. I keep walking slowly and try to remember as many details as possible.

The inlet that the golem had dragged the man into is immediately ahead, as is the wall I'd pressed myself against. I can see now why there's a wall on this part of the beach. The inlet leads to a marshy area. We didn't go very far the other night, but now I see the wall before the inlet was the lower part of a shower stand. A long boardwalk trails off the concrete shower and bathroom, snaking inward toward the touristy part of town.

Okay, so somewhere in the edges of the marsh should be a pile of mud and, if I'm lucky, a very important piece of paper.

"Callie, I'm trying not to be a drag here, but haven’t you proven your point or whatever?" Will looks all around the area like a nervous grandma.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. This whole thing is stupid."

I study him.

He throws up his hands. "Fine, I don't get a good feeling from this place. Call it a fireman’s intuition."

"Then go," I say, trying not to let his nervousness make me rethink my decision to come here.

"Why don’t we both go? We can head to your place, and, well, you could tell me more about your blog. I couldn’t find anything about it online."

He’s trying to distract me, and I hate that it works.

"You looked it up?" I ask.

He shrugs, dashing the flicker of hope that had risen inside of me. "Some nights I get so bored on duty I’d do about anything, even look up a dumb blog about fairytales and shit."

Ass!

I glare at him. "I don’t write about fairytales."

"Then show me what you do write about," he insists, stepping into my path.

I frown at him. Is all this about his instincts or his concern I’ll get hurt? Or could he know something about the golem?

Probably not. He’s probably weirded out by a woman walking around with a dagger. Something I don’t exactly blame him for.

"If you’re so concerned about me, hang out; I can’t stop you. But shut up, okay? Because I’m over you driving me nuts."

"Suit yourself," he says, but he looks like he’s as angry as I am.

Which makes no sense. He’s the one bugging me, not the other way around.

Looking toward the waves, I try to judge how far up the water would come during high tide, and I'm not optimistic. If the mud was thinner, the water would've washed it away already. As it is, it's not as big of a pile as I remember there being the night it happened.

The chances of the paper being here are slim.

"Damn it!" I exclaim, turning in a circle. The area is easy to search, and there's no paper here.

The tide is low, so the water is pretty far away. I walk toward it, contemplating my options. I could dig through the mud and see if the paper might still be toward the bottom, but it'd probably be ruined even if it's there.

As I stand there lamenting the insanity that is my life, I see a little piece of white out of the corner of my eye. Down the beach, a little way, in the middle of a small patch of grass, sits a piece of paper.

Could it be? Could I get this lucky?

Probably not, but here's for trying. I stumble my way over to it, the sand is uneven and hard to walk on. Will trails behind, his scrutinizing gaze pushing against my back, but I continue ignoring him.

Avoidance. Helping me get through life for twenty-one years.

The paper flutters in the breeze coming off the water, but it's snagged by a branch in the grass. I disentangle it and open it.

It's the spell. It's far bigger than I pictured. Instead of being paper in the modern sense, it's yellowed parchment. It's old. I don't know how it didn't crumble or disintegrate between the water, grass, and wind, but I’m glad it didn’t.

The symbols are completely foreign to me at first, but as I study them harder, I realize the language is Latin. I can’t read it, but I see it a lot in my research. And if I can get it home, I can use the internet to translate.

I'm ready to leap for joy, completely blown away that I found the paper, when Will catches up. "What is that?" he asks suspiciously. He holds his hand out, but I fold the paper and tuck it into the front pocket of my bag.

"So, I guess you weren’t out for a nice day on the beach?"

I glare at him. "What’s it to you?"

He moves closer, his big body towering over mine, and my breath catches as I gaze up into his intense green eyes. "You told me you were here to research stuff for your blog. Does this have anything to do with that?"

I open my mouth, then snap it shut as a shudder moves over my body.

Oh shit, my cat is about to take over.

"Excuse me, I need to use the bathroom," I say, then make a beeline for the shower and restroom building.

He catches my hand. "Callie, I wasn’t kidding about leaving the people in this town alone."

"It’s not your problem," I grit out, then clamp my teeth as another shudder moves over my body.

Tugging my hand free of his grip, I rush toward the restroom.

"This conversation isn’t over!"

"It is for now!" I shout back. "Now, leave me alone. I’m going home after this, and you better not be around when I come out."

He shouts something back at me, but I can’t hear it as I sprint into the bathroom.

I make it into a stall before I start to shift. My bones break. My skin fades, and fur sprouts and I grow smaller and smaller until I’m my cat, sitting in a pile of my clothes. She shakes her fur and stretches as if awakening from a long nap. I consider trying to convince her to attempt to tuck my clothes into my messenger bag, but there's no point. She couldn't get the shoes in there anyway. And I know she won’t try.

She steps lightly, walking out of the bathroom where Will waits.

With a tail twitch, she considers him before lifting her nose into the air and sniffing.

Turning toward a smell that appeals to her more than Will does, she takes us away and toward the houses lining the beach.

Great. Now, where are we going? I hope Will doesn't have the nerve to look in the women's bathroom and find my bag.

Or consider how I managed to climb out of the tiny bathroom window.

Or why a normal woman would do such a thing in the first place?

This curse, it’s put me in worse positions before. But still, I kind of hate the idea that Will already thinks I’m a weirdo.

New town. Same old reputation.