Black Silk

  Black Silk

  by Jan Gordon

  Preface

  This story came about by accident. I usually write fanfiction but one day I sat down to write a very short fluff piece in response to a challenge that had been set on an internet message board.

  After writing it, I became curious about the characters I’d invented. They wouldn’t go away. They kept shouting at me to write their story. So here it is. How they met, how they connected and what happened to them.

  I would like to thank my friends, Amy, Cheryl, Ermintrude and Rita, for their encouragement and advice. And a very special thank you to Amy and Cheryl, for their expertise and sharp eyes and their help when my characters wrote themselves into corners. Some of those brainstorming sessions came up with some wacky ideas, but they did kick start my brain.

  I’d also like to thank my husband Eric. Without his help and support I would never have had the guts or the time to write anything let alone an original story.

  I hope you enjoy the story of Vic and Cole as much as I enjoyed writing about them.

  Black Silk

  by Jan Gordon

  Smashwords Edition

  © Jan Gordon

  July, 2009

  Chapter One

  The air shimmered and the outline of the large timber wolf blurred before her eyes. Slowly her rescuer began to change shape. The snout retracted and the wolf’s body stood upright, tawny skin replaced the fur. As the air settled, Cyrrus stood before her in all his naked glory. He glanced at her and grinned ruefully as he used his magick to materialize clothes on his body.

  Gabriella threw herself into his waiting arms. “Cyrrus, my love, how could I ever have doubted you?”

  Cyrrus, framing her face in his hands, used his thumbs to wipe away some stray tears before lowering his mouth to hers...

  I made a little moue of frustration and sighed when the bell above the door signaled the arrival of a customer. I put a bookmark in my place and laid the book down on the counter. I desperately needed to make a sale, but I also wanted to finish my novel. I promised myself that when I got home that evening I would curl up in my favorite armchair, enjoy a glass of wine, and finish Gabriella’s story.

  I pasted what I hoped was a welcoming smile on my face and looked up at my customer. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Weston. How are you today?”

  “I’m well, but I’m in the mood for something with a little more spice. I’ve decided I’m tired of these insipid hospital romances.” She placed half a dozen returns on the counter in front of me. “I think I’m ready for something with a little more ‘bite’.”

  My used bookstore wasn’t large but it was well-stocked. Customers could return their books and receive half the price back in the form of credit against their next selection, and this is exactly what Mrs. Weston had done. I sold new books as well, but usually only the best sellers. I couldn’t afford to make massive orders to wholesalers in the vague hope that the people of Farmingdale would start buying new books en masse, instead of used.

  I considered Mrs. Weston for a moment or two, asking myself just how much ‘spice’ she might be prepared for. “Are you looking for thriller, romance or paranormal? The paranormals nearly always have a fair bit of sex in them, but the thrillers and romances can range from the tame to the extreme.”

  Mrs. Weston pursed her lips in distaste. “Paranormal? Isn’t that witches and the like?”

  “Yes, it can include witchcraft, but mostly the stories are about vampires, shape shifters and other magical beings. Many of the books in that genre are great sweeping romances. There are some really good series being written at the moment and a lot of them hit the New York Times’ best sellers list.” I grabbed a square of paper from a stack on the counter and jotted down the names of a few authors for her. “If you take a look at the shelves on the back wall to the left, you’ll find the paranormal section; these authors all write paranormal series with incredibly sexy heroes. Thrillers are on the bookcases to the right, and here,” I turned over the slip of paper and wrote a few more names, “are some authors I’d recommend.”

  I smiled at her as I handed her the slip of paper. I wondered if I’d managed to convert another reader to my favorite genre. I loved all things paranormal, but in this town, the only unusual being I’d be likely to meet would be between the covers of a book; a book like the one I was in the middle of reading. That thought had me reaching for my novel again as Mrs. Weston went to peruse the shelves; I was just about to open my book when the doorbell chimed once more. And that was the way it was for the rest of the day, every time I reached for Gabriella’s story something would interrupt. The comfy armchair and the glass of wine, I’d promised myself, began to look more and more inviting.

  That night I closed the store with a sigh of relief and immediately felt guilty. I told myself that I had no right to a pity party, I was lucky in so many ways. Yes, there were parts of my life that could be better, but I had a decent income, I owned my own home, and I had my health. What more could I ask for? An insistent voice at my private party whispered loud enough for me to hear. ‘A man. Some excitement. Something different.’

  I shook my head a little. Was it to shake those thoughts out of my mind or was it denial? Either way, I sternly told myself, I wasn’t going to give in to that way of thinking.

  I unlocked my car and slid behind the wheel, placing my purse on the passenger seat. Then, changing my mind, I put the bag on the floor. I know I live in a small town and we had almost no crime but you can never be too careful.

  My home is in a quiet residential neighborhood on the edge of Farmingdale. My street has neat front yards peppered with the occasional tricycle or bicycle. Most of the backyards are fenced to keep dogs in and kids safe. Houses are well-kept and clean. Normal family life in small town America. Except for my home. Oh, my house is as neat and well-kept as the next one on the street, but there’s no family living in my home. Just me and my cat, Mister.

  The house had belonged to my parents and it’s the only home I’ve ever known. The summer after I graduated college my mom and dad had been killed in a stupid traffic accident. A bunch of kids had stolen a sports car for a joy ride. Unfortunately the car had been too powerful for the young driver and he’d lost control, plowing straight into my parents’ vehicle. Memories of my parents’ life together are all over the house, I just didn’t have the heart to pack everything away. I’d done the obvious, like give away their clothes and such, but there are books and photos and even my mother’s knitting patterns still cluttering the shelves and cabinets.

  So that’s how I ended up, a single, twenty-nine-year-old woman living on a road full of families with young children.

  My neighbor, Alex Winters, was mowing his lawn when I turned into my driveway. He waved at me and shouted a cheerful, “Evening Vic”. I sent an equally cheerful wave and a smile in reply before letting myself into the house.

  I still thought of the house as my parents’ house. Legally it was all mine, just like the shop. But my parents’ presence everywhere comforted me... made me feel like they were still with me somehow.

  Where the hell had this mood come from? I hadn’t felt like this in years. Recently I’d come to realize that I was content with my lot in life. I had friends, I had a comfortable life, and I made a decent living. The only thing really missing from my life was a man. Someday...

  In the kitchen, I nuked a frozen pizza and poured myself a glass of Merlot. I took my dinner into the living room, set it down on the coffee table and pulled my book out of my bag. The rest of my evening was going to be dedicated to Gabriella and her werewolf.

  ooOOOoo

  When I woke the following morning, I had a moment of panic. I couldn’t move my legs! A croaky chuckle escaped my throat when I realized wh
y I couldn’t move. “Hey, Mister, get off my legs.”

  The large black ball of fur unfurled itself, stretched and walked up the bed to head butt me in the chin.

  “Yeah, yeah, and good morning to you, too.” I turned my head to the side to check the time. Six-thirty. That was early for a Wednesday. I didn’t open the shop until noon on Wednesdays, and during the mornings I ran errands, did the grocery shopping or just stayed home and cleaned; sometimes I would veg out with a book or the TV. I rolled over onto my front and tried to go back to sleep.

  Mister, however, had other ideas. He wanted his breakfast and he wanted it now. He had no intention of letting me lie in bed. He’d clambered up onto my back and started to knead my butt, purring away like a well-oiled engine in some European sports car.

  “Okay, okay. I can take a hint.”

  I swung my legs out of the bed and groggily found my way down the stairs to the kitchen. This was no mean feat as Mister was constantly trying to trip me up along the way.

  I only had to buy some stamps and stop by the bank that morning, so I certainly wasn’t rushed. I fed my insistent pet, and then gave myself a shot of caffeine in the form of strong coffee. Feeling my drug of choice flow through my veins and firing up my brain, I began to function like a normal human being.

  I poured myself a second cup of coffee and settled down to watch the morning news. Skirmishes in the Middle East, battles in Pakistan, fighting in Sri Lanka; I sometimes wonder if we humans ever do anything other than fight. Was there no ‘good’ news from around the world? More than a little discouraged with the news, I climbed upstairs to take a shower.

  My bathroom was my one extravagance. I’d had it remodeled a couple of years before and I now had a massive free-standing claw-foot tub big enough for two, and a shower stall with twin heads. I guess I’d been hoping that I’d meet someone I liked enough to bathe with. Sadly, I haven’t yet.

  After a long, hot and very satisfying shower, I wrapped myself in a towel and picked up my brush to start untangling my hair. When wet, my hair was dark brown, but dry it was a non-descript mousy color; I wish it would stay dark brown. I could dye it I suppose, but I was just too damn lazy. I surveyed myself in the large full-length mirror on the wall to the side of the sink. Mousy hair, gray eyes, curvy in all the right places, average height, clear skin. So what was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I meet a guy? Was it just that I knew everyone in town, and I was everyone’s friend but no one’s honey? Perhaps I should move to the city, I might meet someone there.

  Wishful thinking would get me nowhere. I couldn’t move to the city, what the hell would I do there? Here at least I had a home and my store. Maybe I needed a vacation; I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken one. Probably back when my parents were alive, I think.

  I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and declared it done. I wasn’t one for a lot of makeup so I just applied some mascara and lipstick. Back in the bedroom I had to shoo Mister off the black pants that I’d laid out before going into the shower. Damn that cat; luckily his black fur didn’t show up on the black pants. I’d left my blue silk shirt on the hanger, so at least he hadn’t been able to ruin that with his claws. Really, that animal has no manners!

  Downstairs, I collected the paper off the front porch and settled down at the breakfast bar to read while I ate some cereal. More gloom and doom. Recession, unemployment... it’s never ending. No wonder I’m in such a dismal mood lately, the world is dismal! Giving up in disgust, I turned to the funnies.

  ooOOOoo

  I arrived at my store at eleven, which gave me an hour to sort out some of the books sitting in boxes in the store room and shelve them. At noon I flipped the open sign around on the front door and sat down behind the counter. I’d dragged a box of books from the storeroom, hoping I’d be able to price them, and possibly even shelve them sometime during the afternoon.

  A steady stream of customers kept me busy and by the time I closed the shop at seven I still had a lot of books left in the box to price and shelve. I looked at the pile of books and sighed, they had to be done. I decided to finish them before going home, who knew what the following day might be like.

  It was nine-thirty by the time I climbed into my car. It’d been a long day and I was exhausted. Unfortunately, I still had to get gas on my way home. I’d meant to fill up on the way in that morning, but I’d clean forgotten. I wondered briefly if I could skip it and fill up the following morning, but my car was insistent and kept flashing the ‘empty’ light at me.

  I hated pumping my own gas, but it was a necessary evil. I pulled into the gas station and drew up to the first set of pumps and set about feeding my car. I was replacing the nozzle to its holder on the pump when I realized something was wrong inside the convenience store. There was a guy with a gun pointed straight at the clerk by the check-out.

  I froze. I didn’t panic, but I froze. I vaguely registered the sound of another vehicle entering the gas station, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the scene being enacted in the shop. I watched in horror as the gunman turned his head toward me. I thought he was sure to shoot me, but the clerk said something and the gunman turned back to face the check-out.

  Without warning, a large hand engulfed one of mine and its owner pulled me toward the side of the building and held me against his front. He put a hand over my mouth just as I gathered enough wits to scream. “Shh. He won’t want to leave any witnesses. Stay quiet.”

  I nodded and he removed his hand. “Good girl. Stay here, out of sight.”

  Again, I nodded and I felt a sudden chill at my back as he moved away. I turned to thank my rescuer but he’d disappeared. The next moment I heard something that chilled me to the bone. It was a sound unlike anything I’d ever heard before. It was somewhere between a growl and a screech and it seemed to come from the shop. Suddenly, the front door of the store burst open and the gunman ran out of the store like a bat out of hell in the direction of an old, battered truck.

  In a moment of madness I stepped away from the wall to watch the man. He was wearing a black ski mask and as he reached the door of the vehicle he pulled it off his head. As I stared at his profile, lit by the fluorescent lights of the pump area, he turned and looked straight at me. He took a step toward me and then, with a frantic glance back at the shop, he turned and opened the door of the truck before jumping in. Before I could press myself back into the shadows, he’d started the engine and the tires screeched as he careened out on to the road.

  After the vehicle had disappeared, there was a moment of complete silence, broken only by the thumping of my heart. Then I heard the sound of breathing behind me. My rescuer was back and he was leaning against the brick wall breathing heavily. I could hear sirens, but they were still far away. He looked at me and met my gaze. “I wasn’t here. You didn’t see me. You got that?”

  I couldn’t talk, although I had a hundred questions firing through my mind. All I could do was nod and watched as he ran to his car and drove off.

  I waited for the police. I’d gotten a good look at the gunman and thought it was my civic duty to tell the police what I saw. Unfortunately the gunman had also seen me; hopefully he had the good sense to get far away and not stay around town to get rid of witnesses.

  But who was the other man? And why had he been so set on keeping his presence at the scene a secret? Was he some kind of Lone Ranger wannabe?

  Well, I’d wished for some excitement in my life. I guess I should be careful what I wish for.

  Chapter Two

  It’d been close to midnight by the time the police had finished questioning me. Apparently the security cameras hadn’t been connected for some reason; therefore I was the only witness who had seen the gunman’s face. I just wish I’d had the presence of mind to make note of the license plate number of the truck.

  I was very careful not to mention the stranger and I was fairly sure they weren’t aware that I hadn’t exactly been telling the whole truth.

  One thing that had me to
tally intrigued and the police baffled, was the clerk’s story. He swore he saw a black panther in the shop and that it was the big cat that had scared the robber off. But the back door had been locked before the incident and was still locked, from the inside, after the gunman had escaped. The clerk had been quite certain that the creature had not entered or exited through the front door.

  I dragged myself into my house, wanting only to lie down and sleep. Mister trotted up to me as I entered, stopped just short and sniffed. Then he did the most extraordinary thing. He fluffed up his tail, arched his back and hissed at me.

  “What’s wrong with you, Mister?”

  At the sound of my voice he sat down but kept his tail fluffed up, as if to say, ‘I know it’s you but I’m just being careful.’ I shrugged; I was too tired to figure out the workings of the feline brain and climbed the stairs.

  I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, and if I had any dreams, I certainly didn’t remember anything about them when I awoke the next morning.

  Mister seemed to have forgotten whatever it was that had been bothering him the night before and he was as nice as pie to me, but that may have been because he wanted his breakfast. I skipped the morning news and went straight to the comics in the paper while I ate my cereal.

  That morning in the store, it seemed as if every one of my customers wanted to talk about the robbery at the gas station the night before. More than one well-meaning soul warned me that the gunman would be looking for me as I’d been the only one to see his face.

  The other topic of conversation was the old Wicks’ place. It’d been empty for almost a decade, and the family had gradually sold off the land around the old house. Now all that was left was the farmhouse, some woods and some scrubland. None of which was any good for grazing or farming. Apparently the old place had finally been bought by someone named Colburn from the city. There was speculation that it was going to be some kind of weekend retreat for him and therefore neither he, nor his purchase of the property, was going to benefit the town much.