Chapter 1 Sydney

Chapter 1 Sydney

 

 

“Aunt Lydia?” I called. “Are you here?”

I was met with silence. Something was wrong. I felt it in my gut. My heart hammered, and my gaze swiveled around the living room warily.

Aunt Lydia’s strange phone call earlier had me rushing home after my last class. My ever-calm aunt had sounded off… distressed even. I frantically searched the first floor for her.

She wasn’t in the kitchen baking as she was most afternoons. I peeked through the window to see if she was in the backyard and stooped in her garden. She wasn’t there either. When I turned to the staircase, and my foot landed on the first step, the hairs on my arms stood on end. It was as if my body detected danger when my mind hadn’t yet processed it.

As I advanced up the stairs, my unwelcome feeling intensified. My steps faltered when I spotted a dirty footprint on the cream carpet of the passageway. Aunt Lydia was a clean freak. Even as a kid, I’d been careful not to be messy. My Uncle Sam knew the rules of the house, too—no muddy shoes on the carpet.

Aunt Lydia is going to flip,I thought.

One dirty footprint led to another and another. I followed the trail all the way to my aunt’s favorite room—her office. Aunt Lydia fancied herself a skilled researcher of the supernatural. The shelves in her workspace were filled with books on the subject—like shape shifters, ghosts, witches and everything that I considered absolute insanity. But my aunt’s eccentricities didn’t make me adore her any less.

Her office door was ajar, which was strange. It was always locked, and Uncle Sam and I had strict instructions to stay out of her office. I used to joke about her possibly hiding evidence of UFOs and little green men in there. I just didn’t get what all the secrecy was for.

“Aunt Lydia, are you in there?” I tried to peek through the crack in the door, but all I could see was one side of her shiny mahogany desk. I lifted a hand and hesitated only a second before knocking.

Shaking my head, I pushed the door open. Aunt Lydia could lecture me about going inside without permission later. Right now, I was worried.

“Aunt Lydia, the door was open, and I—”

My breath left my lungs with a whoosh. Lying on the floor beside her upended chair was my aunt. Shock held me rooted to the spot for a moment. Her skin was deathly pale, and a pool of blood surrounded her. Jolted from my paralysis, I let out a cry and sprinted to her. Dropping to my knees, I shook her shoulders and begged her to wake up. She remained lifeless and cold. I knew she was gone, but I couldn’t help trying to rouse her.

I surveyed the room properly for the first time. There was evidence of a struggle. The drawers of her desk were opened, and it seemed someone had rummaged through them. A few of the bookshelves had been emptied, and books were scattered on the floor. The same muddy footprints I’d followed in the hallway were all over her office.

Through my confused, terrified haze, I wondered if this was a robbery. Coming out of my stupor, I scrambled to the phone still on the desk to call the cops, but something caught my eye. On the floor, among the mess of books and papers, was a small box. It was wedged under one of the leather sofas as if it had been hurriedly pushed under there.

It caught my interest because it was the same box Aunt Lydia had snatched from my ten-year-old hands once. The memory played in my mind. I’d wandered into her office out of child-like curiosity because she’d been so adamant about me staying out. The box had been on one of the bookshelves. I’d reached for it and removed the cover. Just as I caught a glimpse of a picture on top, Aunt Lydia walked in and grabbed the box from me.

I’d been confused about her reaction to me wanting to look at a few photos. Maybe she had pictures of her sister, Sophia, my mother, in there. Aunt Lydia was always tight-lipped about my mother, and I never understood why. She wouldn’t even show me a photo of her.

I dragged my attention away from the box and reached for the phone. Before I could call the police, a voice filled with rage stopped me.

“What did you do?”

Gasping, I turned to see my uncle standing in the doorway. His imposing stature always made me uneasy. I’d been terrified of him since I was two years old. I guess he never wanted my aunt to adopt me after my parents died, and he’d made his resentment of me very clear over the years.

“What?Me? I…” How could even think I’d do anything to hurt the one person who loved me? I wasn’t being dramatic. All my life, it felt as if my aunt was the only one who accepted me. My chronic social awkwardness made it hard for me to make friends—I just never felt like I fit in. All of Uncle Sam’s relatives treated me like a pariah. So, it had always felt like Lydia was the only one I had in this world, and she was gone. The thought made me want to break down into tears, but I kept my composure.

Uncle Sam charged into the room.

I dropped the phone, prepared for him to strike. He never could keep his hands to himself where I was concerned. I’d gotten many bruises courtesy of his hate for me. However, he didn’t attack as I expected. He crouched beside my lifeless aunt, and his expression twisted in agony.

I watched as he checked her pulse and then hung his head after a heavy sigh. The man’s one redeeming quality was that he obviously loved his wife. Their relationship seemed strained recently, however, and I couldn’t help thinking it was my fault. He never got over my aunt, deciding to take me in.

“I should call the police,” I said. I didn’t even recognize my own wispy voice.

Uncle Sam practically snarled when he glanced at me, his brown eyes darkening with fury. “Are you mad? This isn’t police business.”

I blinked. “But—”

“This is your fault!” He stood up, pointing an accusing finger at me. “I warned her not to get involved with your kind. I told her to take you back when she brought you here seventeen years ago.”

I could only gawk because confusion had me tongue-tied. Maybe Uncle Sam was having a mental breakdown after seeing his wife’s dead body. What did he mean bymy kind?

“Get out,” he roared, his pudgy face turning scarlet. “Get out before you get me killed, too.”

My jaw hung on its hinges as I gazed up at him, wondering what he was going on for.

“They’ll come back looking for you soon, I’m sure.”

Finally, able to speak, I asked, “What are you talking about?”

“Your werewolf kind. They did this. I want you out of this house before they come back. The further you are away from me, the better. You’ve always been nothing but trouble. If Lydia had listened to me, she’d still be alive now. I knew she’d eventually pay for getting involved in shifter business.”

As I stared at Uncle Sam, my mind raced. Shifter business?Werewolves? He’d completely lost his mind.

Slowly, I got to my feet, palms opened. “Okay, Uncle Sam, maybe you should—”

“I’m not your uncle.”

Granted, he really wasn’t. He was just an in-law, but he didn’t have to be so nasty about it. Despite being a callous monster to me my entire life, sympathy for him flooded me. The pain of losing his wife must have sent him into temporary insanity or something. But he needed to get it together. I couldn’t stay here another minute arguing about nonsense over my aunt’s dead body.

“Okay, but we need to call the cop. Now. We have to find out who did this to Aunt Lydia—”

“She isn’t your aunt you half-human abomination. She was nothing to you. Lydia had pity on your werewolf mother and took you away before they killed you, too. She should have left you in Louisiana to rot.”

Stunned into silence and still stuck on “half-human,” my eyes remained glued to my uncle’s flushed face. Clearly, he was just as shocked as I was from finding Aunt Lydia dead. The man was spouting nonsense.