I crashed through the bathroom stall, toppling both door and toilet paper dispenser to the floor.

Foul.

A slew of curses growled from my swollen lips. My vision blurred, but every other sense heightened as I pushed against the toilet seat to stand, then stumbled from the wreckage of the campus lavatory.

My mother’s pendant went cold, the Demon’s Eye eliminating any chance that this was just an accident. A laugh huffed within my lungs, mixing with a strange yet inviting excitement. They had caught me off guard, something I trained hard against.

Technically, school had precedence over supernatural garbage, and I was going to be late to study group. Not even the sacred privacy of the bathroom had stopped these two, but I wouldn’t look at this as anything but the gift it was. I wiped the grime from my palms onto my pants and took a moment to spit the blood from my mouth.

“Couldn’t even let me wash my hands?” I asked, my words echoing against the tiled walls. “How did you find me?” The better question: why they had taken so long?

The click of a lighter grated against my nerves. At the opposite wall next to the sink, smoke wafted from a girl’s lips, the cigarette’s flame emphasizing the black abyss of her eyes. She inhaled deeply, tipping her chin high to savor the taste of the nicotine.

Again, foul.

“We have our ways, Ava.”

The muscles in my left eye twitched at the use of my name. My real name. Fantastic.

I smiled. The fluorescents overhead flashed, silhouetting a second person who blocked my exit. I jerked when I recognized him as Isaac, the twenty-year-old self-proclaimed genius and pothead who usually slept on his desk at the back of class. A wave of apprehension washed over the excitement, dousing my haphazard, half-concocted plan.

Masking any shock, I tsked, wagging a finger at him in mock scorn. “Are you supposed to be in here?”

He ignored me. “Hurry up, Maya.” Anxiety ebbed at the edges of his sharp tone even though he didn’t dare move to help. Bulky winter clothes did little to mask his diminutive build.

“Let me enjoy myself,” Maya said, tapping the ash from the butt of her cigarette.

Glancing between these new friends, my senses spiked, picking up the most significant difference between them. Maya was a mortal clearly possessed by a demon; however, Isaac wasn’t a demon or a possessed, just a boy with a very confused soul.

“You should know, Maya, I’m not easily possessed,” I said with a polite yet wary tone. “And what if we’re interrupted? We could take this to a more secluded place if you’d like.”

“That’s very thoughtful, but we won’t be bothered. This bathroom is out of order, you see. Isaac’s seen to all proper notifications.”

I hummed my response. It would be easy enough to deter most innocent bystanders from using a public toilet and, therefore, was most likely safe to resume.

Swallowing hard, I examined Isaac’s bloodshot eyes and pale face. My words slowed. “Isaac, I don’t think you realize what you’ve gotten yourself into.” Heaven knew I still had no clue after years of this bull, but that thought wasn’t at all encouraging, so I dropped it.

“Let me help you.”

I almost groaned. If I could hear the lack of confidence in my own voice, why in the world would he believe me? I was cursed, after all, and other than reading about exorcism (strange and mostly unsuccessful theatrical performances), I had no experience in rescuing those tempted by evil beings. Imagination and sheer luck would be my guide.

“How sweet,” Maya said. “You want to save his soul, Ava? And what makes you think he wants help?”

“I’m good at reading people. I could help you both, or at least the human you have infested.”

To be possessed by an evil spirit one had to be susceptible to influence. This wasn’t hard. Humans were easily tainted; it was trickier to stay pure than not.

Maya took another inhale of her cigarette, then huffed it quickly into the air. “You think you have that power? Can you really fix us?”

I stared harder into Maya’s eyes, trying to force my own feelings into the mortal heart—to the girl somewhere inside—to convince her she was losing her soul to a parasite. “I’m just a kid. Like Isaac.”

Then I turned that same attention to Isaac. “I’m no different than you.” It was only a little lie yet what kind of idiot would I be to not try all options?

Isaac shook his head, his long unkempt hair falling into his face. “I’m not stupid.”

Maya tsked, her bottom lip jutting out in artificial distress. “Of course you’re not. You found her. None of this would be possible without you.”

Huh. A mortal had turned me in. I tried to ignore the sting. “Very well,” I said. “I really do wish you would have waited until later. The bathroom is not ideal for an interrogation, but I won’t be picky.”

“Who said anything about an interrogation?” Maya asked.

“Oh, no, not you.” I shook my head, wishing I’d had even the smallest amount of warning. Maybe I could have recorded the conversation. “I will be doing the interrogation.” After all, it was my life they were constantly disrupting. My fate.

“Interesting,” Maya said, a curious glint in her black eyes.

I caught a quick glimpse of myself in the mirror and growled again, trying to flick my matted hair from my cheek. It didn’t work. “We’ll start off with the basics. Again, how did you find me? How did Isaac know?”

Maya tipped her head to the side, scrutinizing me from bottom to top, but she did not respond.

I tried not to let it bother me and attempted something else. “I couldn’t help but notice your kind is a lot more subtle around less-aware individuals. Why me? Why so lucky?”

Still nothing.

A muscle in my cheek twitched as I fought the easy frustration that simmered. “Maybe…” I shook my head, grasping for words. “Maybe we could help each other. I’m sure there’s something I could offer.” You know, something other than my soul. I’d hoped that would be obvious enough. “Those in your position have never been successful in the past. Do you want their same fate?”

Her voice was soft. “But daddy’s not here to protect you.”

The fact she knew that probably should have worried me.

“No, he’s not,” I said, my lips twitching upward. “I think you’ll find I am more than willing to communicate. Just help me out a little here. Who is your master? How long is this going to continue?”

She looked at me from under thick lashes. “Tell you what . . . all of your little questions? You can ask her yourself if you’d like.”

I flinched. “Her?”

She smiled, nodding. “Mm-hmm. Why don’t you come with us? I’ll take you to her.”

“No thanks,” I said. I was meant to die, and most likely soon, but I wasn’t suicidal. There was a difference. At least I thought so.

“That’s it,” Isaac said. He ran his hands through sweat-laced hair. “We do this now or I’m out of here.”

My heart rate skyrocketed as he pulled a knife from his pocket and threw it to his friend. Maya caught it and flipped it open with a flick of a wrist. My own weapon sat deep within the front pouch of my backpack, unavailable. Maya was right. Salvation always came at the hands of my father, but that was no longer an option.

“Sorry, Love,” Maya said, bringing me back to the present. “I guess we’re in a hurry.”

I swore beneath my breath.

When she lunged, I jolted to the side. My hand lashed out, grasping the thick material of her long-sleeved shirt. I yanked hard. At the same time, the back of my other fist slammed into her face. She screamed and blood gushed from her nose, but I wasn’t done yet. I snaked my arm over her shoulder and across her neck while applying pressure to her opposite wrist. Almost instantly, her weapon clattered to the ground.

I twisted her around and pulled her close as one would with a sweet embrace—a sweet embrace that burned my flesh in agony. I ignored the pain that came with demonic touch and shuffled several awkward steps forward. Power surged into my core. I discharged the energy. Maya jetted into an unsuspecting Isaac. Then I released a second wave, propelling them both through the door. They crashed to the ground, limbs splayed and twisted in an ungainly heap. The door swung shut on their cries. 

“Nicely done,” a male voice said.

I jumped, my hands flying out defensively, but it was a familiar face that greeted me.

My angel. Literally.

“Not a good time.” I ran for my backpack where it had been slung in the corner but not for my knife. Zip ties, or even duct tape, were the perfect weapon in this situation. Both tools were easily concealed and used, and I looked forward to chaining Maya and Isaac around the base of a toilet.

“They’re gone,” Aaron said.

“No.” My heart dropped. I froze, my fingers hovering over my zip ties, and waited one second, two seconds… a minute later, and still they hadn’t returned. I cursed as frustration seared my chest. In any normal situation, a simple shove through the door lacked the proper weight needed to stop the kind of demon that hunted me. Additional persuasion (and bruising) was necessary to convince most self-preserving demons to leave me alone.

My first memories of dark beings began at age six, and yet I remembered each attack in vivid detail: a demon’s horrible breath when he shoved me into the trunk of his car; the heat from the flames devouring our house; the sting of spectral nails scratching at my face. Attacks were considered rare, but they were frequent enough in my life that they once haunted my nights and set me on edge during the day. But not anymore.

Could my father be involved? I immediately dismissed the thought. No. History taught that he did not have the fortitude to protect me without upending life as it was—again.

Peering over my shoulder, I examined my angel. “Did you do something to take care of my new friends?” I asked.

It was just like an angelic caretaker to dash my plans to pieces, but Aaron only shook his head. Dressed in standard mortal clothing, nothing attention-worthy, his reddish-brown hair flowed back to expose a fresh face and deep green eyes. I had forgotten how young this caretaker appeared, although I knew that was not the case. He would refer to himself as an old spirit, but angels didn’t age.

Aaron’s voice reverberated within the chambers of my heart, interrupting my thoughts. “You’re still not in the clear.”

With a heavy sigh, I straightened and then went to the sink to wash away the lavatory filth and search for wounds. Besides a simple split lip, the contact burns were the only other injury sustained. “One of the attackers was possessed,” I said to the spirit behind me.

“What did you do about it?”

“What could I do?” I slammed the faucet handle down, then dried my hands on a paper towel.

And I had gotten so close! Or had I? Maya had said that I could ask her—was she referring to the devil or an actual woman, non-demonic in nature? Had my questions produced anything other than this mysterious she? And even if my questioning would have worked, then what? Would I have let them go? Made them promise never to look for me again? As if that would happen. Okay, so my plan wasn’t a plan at all.

Using my fingers, I combed my hair the best I could and dabbed lightly at my mouth. There was nothing special about a fat lip, and it wasn’t bad. It would be gone in no time. Maybe ten minutes. I registered the pulsing sting and puckered flesh of my burns. Those I could fix. Closing my eyes, I pictured the injuries in my mind instead—because that’s all it was, in my mind. I mentally wrapped the burns and applied a soothing balm of energy around them.

The sting lessened, then completely disappeared. I didn’t need to look to know it was healed.

Four months. I had been out of hiding for four months and was already failing miserably at my new life. My existence was like a game, except I was a lone pawn on a blank board facing invisible enemies I couldn’t predict.

“You were helpful as always,” I groused, but the angel ignored the comment. I wasn’t sure which was worse: demons lurking in the shadows; a super paranoid, super controlling father; or an angelic bystander.

“And yet when I try to help, you don’t listen. I told you not to let him in your dreams.”

The muscles in my forehead tightened. “What are you talking—?” A name slipped into my mind without a moment’s hesitation. Jonathan? “You think he sent them?” Heat threatened to give away deep-seated guilt.

The angel nodded. “As your caretaker, I suggest proceeding with caution.”

If it was Jonathan, caution would be necessary. He was a newcomer to this game I played and was vastly different from the others, which could be the reason I had let him stay. Out of half hope, half curiosity, I wondered if giving audience to the malevolent being would provide answers I sought. If anything, this demon’s psychological temptations were an interesting, even intoxicating, change from the norm. Because of that, I indulged them further.

Night after night, Jonathan proved his supernatural strength by entering my dreams and stalking my thoughts and desires. This might be intrusive to some, but since my dreams were routinely nightmares of death and carnage, his calm influence was welcome.

Perhaps I was suicidal.

I cleared my throat, ignoring the blush that colored my cheeks. “And you can’t tell me anything about this evil spirit or why he’s so persistent?”

Aaron ticked his head to the side. “No.”

Of course not. “Fine.” I gave him a pointed glare. “How do I make sure my dad doesn’t find out about this this little…” I rotated my finger around in a circle, “…incident?” He couldn’t.

“I don’t think it will matter,” Aaron said.

Swallowing against a suddenly swollen throat, I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the angel’s meaning. Instincts warned it was only a matter of time before his premonition—the same premonition that grew behind every current facet of my life—came true.

The thought of my own death should have terrified me, but my reaction was always the same. I avoided it.

I refocused on the heavenly being. “Aaron, I’m serious. My dad—”

But he threw up both hands. “How’s he going to find out? I’m not a snitch.”

“You’re not a snitch, but neither are you any help.”

“Ouch.”

Angels served a purpose; I just wasn’t sure what that was. Technically, I’d only met the one. Per usual, they were beings my father declined to discuss in detail, but whatever they were, they didn’t help with what I thought was important. Apparently, they weren’t allowed, and interrogating an angel was more than ridiculous. At least my opinion of demons was worse.

I patted Aaron on the shoulder as I passed, regretting my anger, then collected my backpack. The high-pitched cry of the bathroom door grated when I cracked it open. I snorted when I saw a handwritten out-of-order sign taped to the door and yanked it off, tossing it to the ground.

Falling snow glistened beneath beaming light posts. Only a few students walked the darkened campus, rushing to their next night class. An icy breeze bit the ridge of my ear with its cold breath. I wasn’t afraid, but even still, I shivered in my own skin, grasping my pendant for false courage.

“See ya.” Without a backward glance I pushed outside to carefully navigate the icy sidewalks, all the while scanning my surroundings. Maya, Isaac, and the mysterious Jonathan were nowhere in sight, but that didn’t mean they weren’t watching. I quickened my pace. I couldn’t bother with them anyways.

Night classes at a no-name community college weren’t my first choice, but it beat online. The haunted couldn’t be picky. Heaven forbad a normal life where attending a school during the day was an option. Perhaps some would think the opposite would apply, but no. A small town did apply, though. In a large city, I was vulnerable among too many people—people that were easily possessed by a passing demon.

I peered upward. Snow danced in a romantic ballet, spinning and fluttering to the ground. Unhurried. Stunning. But it didn’t fool me. I drove forward to the library, barely feeling the icy flakes falling on my face, on my repaired mouth. I touched the bottom lip where only the slightest scab could be felt. Nice.

I was a quick healer. A very quick healer. Rapid recovery was just another way I was different, but my father never treated it as anything special. I was your typical, run-of-the mill young adult. Homeschooled. Isolated. Forced to observe the world through the cold windows of each new house we moved to. Yep. Nothing to see here, people.

My paranoid father taught me more than just math and history; things common people never consider, like how to fight, to survive, to run, and how to mistrust everyone and everything—even a simple snow flurry. In a matter of seconds what looked innocent could turn deadly.

Low campus lights set the library in a dreary glow. Failing automatic doors were slow to open in welcome, but once inside, a savory aroma wafted on the air and cheered my sullen mood. Coffee brewed at a small, unmanned café situated on two long tables with a mini refrigerator in the middle. For fifty cents anyone could enjoy grocery-brand coffee in a disposable cup, or twenty-five cents if you brought your own mug. Another fifty cents and you could grab a store-bought muffin tossed down with milk in a carton, or orange juice if you felt fancy. These choices were oddly tempting after a long day.

All monies went into a glass jar set atop a low-built reference desk. At the end of the week, my favorite librarian and supernatural junky, Cheryl, would collect the proceeds and restock the supply.

A sudden anticipation swelled, but not for the coffee. Cheryl was a new acquaintance acquired in my four months of real life. She was a lethal combination of sweet and smart, though she lacked any formal education. Her commitment to reading anything and everything surpassed most dedicated scholars, and her passion for all things spooky was the icing on that cake. A treasure trove of information, I enjoyed our regular, although brief, conversations.

This evening a man clutched the back of Cheryl’s chair as the two leaned forward to stare at the computer screen in front of them.

Curses.

As I neared, all hopes of a conversation with my friend were dashed to pieces. I recognized the man with the salt-and-pepper hair and the overly casual way in which he dressed.

Double-curses.

Sporting khaki pants and a black polo shirt, my teacher, Dr. Raymond Stevens—although he preferred to be called Ray—looked like he would be attending a barbeque instead of simply working late. Since transferring to the small community college, the somewhat young and handsome history professor quickly became a campus favorite. But there was only one person that seemed to garner his attention, and since Cheryl was his senior by five or six years, I could only cheer on the match.

Making myself as small as possible, I skirted passed them both. Only a dozen or so people occupied the tables located in the center of the small building, but not my classmates. Honestly, I didn’t need a study group, nor was there anything left to study for the semester. I was ready for my finals. Almost all would be multiple choice that I’d breeze through, all except for Professor Stevens’s class. Professor Stevens required a paper, a paper that I had already finished; however, I needed a reason to leave the house.

I continued past the other students. Despite not being able to focus, it was a lack of courage that stopped me from sitting among my peers, especially viewable from open windows. I claimed an empty table farthest away from the center of the room and sat with a huff.

For several moments I watched my fellow undergraduates. Mortals were both fascinating and frustrating. Oblivious. Self-centered. Yet, I couldn’t help but wonder what made the difference between their lives and mine. Were they hunted by the supernatural? And if not, did I envy them for that reason? Why did I view myself as separate from them?

Absentmindedly, I grabbed the chain from around my neck, palming the pendant. I closed my eyes and ran my finger across the black oval stone. For the longest time I imagined my mom was a guardian angel that watched over me and that this special jewel was magic—a talisman blessed to bring me strength when I was scared. Now I knew otherwise, and angels sure as heck didn’t guard anything.

I squeezed the token in my palm, then let the chain slip back beneath the neckline of my shirt. Fed up with my random thoughts, I escaped to the rows of bookshelves that towered at the opposite end of the room.

My father was indifferent to books. He didn’t have much patience for reading himself, but it kept me adequately preoccupied, so he indulged the habit. On top of scholarly studies, I often delved into paranormal reading with single-minded determination to discover my own significance and purpose. Unfortunately, exploring the supernatural was similar to a dark labyrinth—boggling twists and turns and possibly no exit at the end. Now I supplemented with other subjects to help calm frayed nerves.

Passing the books common to academic core classes, I journeyed to my back corner and to the small selection of manuscripts I desired. My heart quickened. As I rounded the corner, I automatically closed my eyes, allowing my fingers to trail along the faded spines of my favorite books. Cherry-picking one among the many, I thumbed the pages. It was thinner than most, but the leaves were well-worn. Grimy. I examined the cover.

The Fury of Love.

Perfect. Romance novels were my brain candy, an escape from the absurdity of my life.

“Here you are, among the bodice rippers,” a deep, familiar voice said.