Loose Changeling: A Changeling Wars Novel (3 page)

“What!? That bastard. When did this happen?”

“Last night.”

“Did you need a place to stay, dear?”

I considered. It would be nice to get out of the house. But I knew what it was like at Lainey’s place. She’d been the wild child before she met Mark, her husband, and then
bam!
Before I consistently remembered his last name, they were married with a baby on the way. I would enter their house frazzled, black hair uncombed and unwashed, and Lainey would be sitting on the couch, breastfeeding her baby with the practiced calm of some sort of earth mother while my favorite (and only) nephew, Tristan, ran circles around the coffee table. Mark would be in the kitchen cooking a steak or something rugged and manly, and in the midst of this they’d lift their eyes to look at one another—smiling, glowing, and in love. I’d feel ill, then jealous, then ill for feeling jealous…no. Not right now. “That’s okay. I’ll be fine here.”

“So you’re going to divorce him?”

“I guess.” I hadn’t thought of it in those terms yet. Divorce seemed so final.

“Look, honey, why don’t you and I go out and grab a drink? It’ll be like old times. You can tell me all about it.” A baby began to wail in the background. “Oh, damn it. I have to go. Call you back, okay?” The phone clicked.

Owen’s footsteps sounded from above, the sound of shuffling. How long would it take him to pack a bag? I took a deep breath, trying to pull myself together, and went to the foot of the stairs. “You’ve got ten minutes!” I yelled up at him.

“Where am I supposed to go? My brother’s out of town. There’ve been two murders downtown in the past six months—you want me sleeping on the street? It’s my house too!” he shouted back.

“I fronted the down payment and I’ve been paying the mortgage for six months. Who do you think a judge would award it to?” Oh, wonderful. We were already arguing about how to divide assets. Day one: find husband cheating on you. Day two: fight over who gets what. Day three: murder? Probably.

Owen appeared at the top of the stairs. He had a backpack slung over his shoulders and a half-zipped duffel bag, clothes spilling out and threatening to take up residence on the staircase. “Maybe,” he said, and I’d never seen him look so serious, “maybe we should talk.”

It felt like someone had my brain in a vise. “Talk about what? That woman in our guest bed? I don’t want to hear her name. Ever.”

“Jane?” He looked at me with bleary eyes, brows drawn together.

“Get
out!
” My fingers found a death grip on the stair railing as I relived the scene, one more time.

He practically ran down the stairs, his hand slapping against the railing as he passed, the acrid smell of smoke filling the air. Was the…was the seat of his pants on
fire
? What the hell was going on in my life? But then he was gone and the door was shut and I was alone once more.

CHAPTER THREE

“Great,” I said to no one in particular, throwing my hands in the air. My husband was gone, the dog was gone, and my house now smelled faintly of dark chocolate. I stopped and sniffed. It was definitely dark chocolate, and it was definitely coming from the stair railing. I leaned toward the darkly varnished wood. It didn't look any different than it normally did. For a moment—remember, I'd watched my throw pillows disappear the night before—I thought the railing might have somehow turned into chocolate. I touched it.

It felt like polished wood. And the smell was gone.

A knock sounded at the door. God
dammit
would he just leave me alone? I would rather pay money for Owen to sleep in a five-star hotel than to have him back in the house, so on my way to the door I pulled up a list of nearby hotels on my phone and grabbed my purse. I opened the door.

It wasn’t Owen.

“Hello, are you Nicole Philbin?” The man who stood in my doorway looked as if he’d stepped out of an Armani advertisement. His dark brown hair was cut short and styled to look somehow casual and formal at the same time. Brows lay low over hazel eyes. He had a jaw that defined the word “chiseled,” high cheekbones, and only the faint shadow of stubble along his chin. I had to look more than a little up to meet his gaze, which at five foot eight was unusual for me. All the moisture seemed to leave my mouth; my stomach and my heart felt as though they’d decided to tussle somewhere in my midsection. It took me a moment to realize the man was dressed in a black suit, crisp white shirt, and black tie. He held a black leather briefcase in his left hand.

“I...what?” My mind raced, trying to remember what it was that he'd asked me. I became acutely aware of my rumpled and unwashed work attire—I still hadn’t changed out of it from yesterday.

“Forgive me,” he said, gaze traveling over the purse beneath my arm and the phone in my right hand. “You were expecting someone else.”

“I forgive you,” I replied without thinking.
Idiot, idiot, idiot!
I chastised myself.

He looked at me oddly, but didn’t comment. “Are you Nicole Philbin?”

I gathered myself. Distantly, I saw one of my neighbors jogging past, her head turning to check out the ass of my visitor. “Yes, that's me. Are you selling something?” Somehow everything would make sense if he were selling something.

“In a manner of speaking,” the man said. “You contacted me earlier. You were looking for a divorce lawyer?”

I had? I didn’t remember contacting divorce lawyers. But something brushed over my unease, burying it. Sometimes I was so efficient I surprised myself. “Oh. I was. I mean, I am.”

“I apologize for coming over like this, but I have a very limited schedule, and it was on my way.” He held out his hand. “Kailen.”

I slipped the phone into my pocket and took the proffered hand. Warm, firm grip. My wits began to assemble themselves into an orderly line. I’d never mooned over a man before anyway, even if he was tall, handsome, a lawyer, and had warm hands. “Nice to meet you, Kailen. Why don't you come in and we can discuss business? How long do you have?” Kailen...had I contacted someone named Kailen? All these lawyers went by things like Teagan, O'Farrell, & Associates. I just didn't recall.

He checked his watch—brushed silver with a thick band. Something clicked and whirred. “Twenty minutes, give or take five.”

I stood off to the side as he brushed past me and into the house. The faint scent of cologne followed him—slightly sweet and with a hint of spice. I found myself leaning in a little and breathing it in. What was wrong with me? He was a divorce lawyer—D-I-V-O-R-C-E. I’d been speaking to my husband not five minutes before. I shook my head. “This way,” I told him as I took the lead. “We can sit in the kitchen.”

I settled myself in the chair closest to the window, my customary spot. Kailen set his briefcase on the surface of the table but didn't open it. Odd. I folded my hands on the tabletop. “Are you part of a firm?”

He shook his head. “No, I used to be. I work independently now. I find it allows me to better focus on my clients. When I worked as a part of a firm, I felt the clients were treated more as paychecks than as people. I think each client deserves individual attention.”

He drew out the last two words, made them sound slick as damp silk. Oh god. Was I blushing? “And how many years of experience do you have?”

He shrugged. “I have plenty of experience. Six years. How much experience are you looking for? My previous clients seemed to think I was well-versed.”

I’m sure they did. A man who looked like that probably had women throwing themselves at his feet. Experience, experience—why'd I choose that word? “Oh. That sounds fine. So,” I said, “why should I hire you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you always cut to the chase like that?”

“I do when I'm paying for an employee out of my own pocketbook.” Finally, back in familiar territory, no innuendos to speak of.

“Fair enough. You should hire me because I won't cost you an arm and a leg, I'm able to settle most of my cases out of court, and you think I'm ridiculously handsome.”

“What?” I was with him until that last part.

He met my gaze with those hazel eyes and my knees went suddenly weak. “Don't you?”

“What if I did?” I brushed a hand over my black hair, wishing I were wearing something a little more appealing. My gaze focused on his lips and my heart pounded in my chest. Was I...was I flirting with my possible future divorce lawyer?

“Nicole”—he reached his hands across the table and took mine between his—“you're young, you're beautiful, and your husband just cheated on you with someone you don't even think is attractive. Don't you ever just want to live a little? Do something a bit crazy?”

My husband
had
just cheated on me with Mousy Jane. Wait. “How do you know I don't think she was attractive?” I asked.

He gave my hands a squeeze, one that left me thinking about what else his hands could do. “Let’s get out of here, you and I. I'll buy you a drink.”

“I thought you only had twenty minutes.” My wits stumbled over themselves, jumbling together in an incoherent mass. Somewhere I knew what he was doing, an old sales trick—change the subject when the customer asks a question they won't like the answer to.

Kailen glanced back down at his watch. “Ahh shit.”

I looked over at the microwave. “It's only been four minutes.” Some of the fog in my mind cleared. “Is your watch broken?”

He sighed, and when he turned his gaze on me again, the playful seductiveness had disappeared, replaced only with steel. “Get up.”

I was on my feet before I'd registered what he'd said. A knot of tension formed at the back of my neck. You know that moment when you realize that things are about to go from bad to worse? Everything goes sort of hazy and clear at the same time, and you don’t even feel like the things that are happening are happening to you. You just retreat inside your head.

The events of the past day blazed through my mind, bright and clear as pictures on a wall. I hadn't written an email to divorce lawyers. He couldn't possibly know where I lived. I'd invited a stranger into my house and I was alone. “Who are you?” I'd have been proud that I kept my voice steady if my hands hadn't been shaking like two little hairless dogs.

“As I said, I'm Kailen, and I'm a lawyer.” He stood up and hit the clasps on his briefcase. “I'm also here to protect you.” The case fell open and he pulled out a long piece of metal. In two movements I couldn't quite follow, he snapped his wrist up and out. The piece of metal unfolded and clicked into place.

It was a sword. A fucking sword.

“What are you doing? Get out of my house!” I didn’t even try not to be shrill. Protect me? The guy was nuts.

“Nicole.” He reached out with his free hand and grabbed my upper arm. “I'm going to need you to listen to me very carefully. In about one minute, things are going to get very strange. Your instinct will be to run. Don't. Stay by me and I'll keep you safe.”

“Strange?” I laughed, and even I heard the hysterical note in it. “You don't know what my life has been like these past few days.”

“Yeah, I smelled your signature a mile away, just like everyone else in the area. But whatever it is you've been doing here, it won't compare to this.” Firmly, he pulled me into the living room, pushed me toward the wall, and stepped in front of me. “Stay put. There are going to be quite a few of them.”

“Them?”

The watch on Kailen's wrist beeped out an alarm, and the sunlight coming in through the windows went dim. Dark spots began to form on my beige Berber carpet and on the linoleum of the kitchen. They grew—about ten of them—black and pooling like liquid. When they'd each reached the diameter of a trashcan lid, they began to bubble.

Kailen was right. Things got strange.

Out of the puddles, as if they were stepping up and out of a swamp, came shadowy humanoid figures, one for each pool of liquid. They looked like they were made of a thick and dark fog—I could see through them if I looked hard enough. In place of eyes were two yellow, glowing slits. Each had three shadowy pairs of arms and was as tall as Kailen.

They all turned in unison, focusing on me. Their eyes didn't have pupils or irises, but I was sure they were staring at me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
This isn't happening. This can't be happening
. I had the sudden urge to flee upstairs. If I ran upstairs, maybe I would find out that this
wasn't
happening. I could close my bedroom door, and leave Kailen and the shadowy figures to do whatever it was they did, as long as it didn’t have anything to do with me. I tensed, took a step toward the stairs.

Kailen's free hand came up and blocked my way. “Don't move!” he hissed at me. “They'll follow you, and they kill their prey so quickly that I won't have another chance to save your life. They're here for you, not me. Trust me.”

“Why should I trust you?” I shot back.

“Because if you don't,” Kailen said, as he slowly removed his hand from in front of me, “you'll die.”

The shadowy figures rushed us all at once.

I think I screamed, but I'm not sure. Neither the creatures nor Kailen paid it any mind if I did. They lumbered across my carpet, multiple pairs of arms reaching and grasping. As soon as they came within striking distance, Kailen moved, as quickly as he had when he’d unhinged his sword. He ducked and swayed, moving with the grace of a dancer, all the while remaining in front of me. He never let them get a grip on him. The blade cut through the creatures’ heads, torsos, legs, and arms, dissolving them into smoke and black drops of foul-smelling liquid. One. Two. Three, four, five, six. Four were left, one replacing the next as soon as it had fallen. A thought occurred to me—would the fluid stain? The thought vanished when one of the monsters reached past Kailen to put one of its six hands on my arm.

It felt cold, like being gripped by someone who'd just come in, gloveless, from a walk in a snowstorm. The chill seeped through my sweatshirt and through the T-shirt beneath that. Shadowy though the hand was, it felt real to me. Something pricked at my skin. Claws. “No!” I cried out.