Devour my Soul

My anger was what triggered it.

It had been four weeks since leaving my sandwich untouched on Evan’s kitchen bench. And in that time I had suspected, almost expected, to be taken again. It took a week for me to venture out of my apartment and even then I kept to crowded routes with a steak knife strapped to my forearm. Not the best weapon, but I was sure that if I came running down the street with a butcher’s knife clutched in my fingers, I would probably get arrested.

The day I left my apartment, was the day I found a package lying in wait at my return. It was small. A purple bag sitting ominously in front of my apartment door, and it took me almost an hour to finally build up enough courage to approach it. Inside was an iPod, and the next day I took up running again.

It was another week before I started noticing the signs. My anger was what triggered it. It began deep in the pits of my stomach as I impatiently attempted to circle the busy sidewalk. I’d chosen the wrong time to take a jog, so by rights it was my own fault. Still, annoyance at the dawdling walkers sprouted into a flowering rage, and somehow I’d sent my steak knife flying across the street faster than I could catch.

From then, even the tiniest hint of anger set my world into a confused stage of chaos. In time I’d come to know that I’d gained some sort of telekinetic power. A power that only I seemed to see, and wasn’t so much focused on levitating objects, but fuelling them with a charge.

It had been four weeks now, since I returned to work with barely an answer as to my whereabouts. My roses were long dead. I hadn’t heard a word from Hayden, and Antheon was giving me the silent treatment. But it was one person who lingered at the forefront of my mind. Someone who had only recently been snapped wrapped comfortably around his latest Australian model.

“Hello, dear, you must be Selena Darling.”

Her voice snapped me from my daydream as I pulled the earbuds from my ears and paused mid-step on the stairs to my apartment building. At first I couldn’t be sure that I’d heard correctly. That I didn’t, in fact, hear my name being called. Until I turned to see an elderly woman standing patiently at the bottom of the steps with a kind smile on her face.

Hesitating for a fifth of a second, I gave a small smile back, unsure whether I should let my guard down. Even with older women.

“Yes,” I replied cautiously. “Might I enquire who is asking?”

The woman gasped in embarrassment, her hands clasped to her chest as they clutched feebly at a handkerchief. “Oh, how rude of me,” she exclaimed. “And after what you went through, I can only imagine.” She paused, stepping closer and giving me an eerily familiar smile. “My name is Charlotte. I’m Evan’s grandmother.”

A blush rose to my cheeks as the realisation dawned on me. Behind her wispy white hair, and paper thin wrinkled skin were bright green eyes of the glittering sea and a smile that could dazzle the toughest man. “Mrs Phillips,” I breathed, hastily meeting her on the footpath and offering her a hand. “What a surprise,” I continued. “If you had only called, I might have had some tea ready. Please come inside.”

Her soft warm hand rested lightly against my own, smelling faintly of sweet roses. “Jacky told me you were a pretty one,” Charlotte chuckled. “But you’re just gorgeous.”

My blush deepened as I settled the woman into my lounge and set about to make tea. It felt strange to have my soul mate’s grandmother perched sweetly on my couch as she silently trailed her eyes over every aspect of my living room.

“So, Mrs Phillips,” I smiled, handing her a cup of tea. “Was there something you wanted to speak to me about?”

Tentatively taking a sip of her tea, Charlotte smiled, her rosy cheeks bright against her pale white skin. “Oh! Yes, yes,” she nodded, setting her cup down and turning her body to face me. “It is my idiot of a grandchild and his behaviour. I can’t express how ashamed I am that he would – with that harlot – oh, my dear, I do apologise.”

Her eyes stayed on mine awkwardly, waiting for a response though I had no idea what to give. Her patience was unsettling, as if pushing me insistently with her mere body language. It was all I could do scream out that all was forgiven and send her on her merry way. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the heart to ever wrong such a gentle soul.

“Please, Mrs Phillips, it’s not Evan’s fault at all,” I answered, finally. “You see, I did leave him, and that gives him every right to do as he wishes.”

Charlotte pursed her lips together thoughtfully, peering at me gently. “Even so, dear,” she noted. “His behaviour is unacceptable, and I assure you his partying ways are not from my side.”

I smiled politely as she spoke; nodding gently in the hopes that she would let the matter go. As much as I denied it, my heart was starting to crack as if made of delicate glass. At last I thought this was it. She had finished her cup of tea, and I assumed she would be up and ready to go now. I held in the groan that threatened to rumble to the surface when she remained delicately planted upon my couch.

“Oh there was someone else I would like you to meet,” she smiled, her wrinkles deepening.

There was a moment of silence as Charlotte clicked her fingers. It was loud and strong, and one that I would never have suspected the elderly woman would be able to manage with her thin fingers. My brows rose in utter shock, when a young girl suddenly appeared, standing behind Charlotte’s seat on the couch as if protecting her.

“This is Lauren,” Evan’s grandmother explained. “And I do apologise for my abruptness over the matter, but we really haven’t much time left.”

Eyeing the girl warily, I straightened my posture and crossed my legs. The girl was beautiful, for sure. A mane of red hair tied hastily into a plait only accentuated her soft brown eyes. “Time left for what?” I asked suspiciously, knowing that Evan’s grandmother had this on her agenda all along.

“Lauren has been targeted for her special gift,” the woman answered. “And I’m afraid we just can’t let her fall into the wrong hands. I’ve guarded her thus far, but my power is weakening. I cannot keep her concealed any longer.”

“And that’s where I come in,” I stated, and Charlotte nodded. I looked to the mysterious girl again, narrowing my eyes at her. “What exactly am I guarding?” I demanded.

Lauren gave me a hard look, clearly trusting me about as much as I trusted her. Rounding the couch, the girl positioned herself in front of the window, blocking the sun for my view and enveloping my body within her cold shadow.

Involuntarily, my arm lifted, followed closely by the other and I gasped as I suddenly leapt from the couch. Goosebumps rose on my skin, my brain working hard to break the trance my body seemed to be in, until suddenly I slumped back down and my muscles felt the release of painful pressure.

I looked to Lauren, confusion written over my features as guilt filled hers.

“I am a shadow master,” she whispered.