FIRECRACKER EXCERPT

Chapter 1

Ava Cassidy jerked awake, her eyes wide in the dark. Her heart thumped. She couldn’t breathe. Something was blocking her mouth. Something crouched over her ribs. And that something was alive. The shape shifted, barely visible. For one surreal moment, she feared an incubus was pinning her down, draining her force. Ridiculous. She refocused her mind. No. This was an earthly creature. Claws pricked her collarbone, making her yelp. The cat yowled and leapt from the bed.

I don’t have a cat.

Thrusting the covers from her, Ava wrenched upright. Without thinking, she tapped her forehead, chest, and shoulders three times. A pattern learned in childhood; something her grandmother had taught her. A slice of orange light painted the bedroom floor. She stared at it, frowning, sleep muddling her mind. The room had changed. Something was wrong. She gasped with realisation, her body stiffening. The door was ajar. The door she always shut before bed. But now, inexplicably, London’s sickly streetlamps seeped through a foot-wide crack.

I’m sure I closed it.

Ava felt her senses sharpen. She held still and listened. A strange whistling sound was coming from the corridor, a sound that didn’t belong in a sleeping house. Her skin prickled in the searing cold. Not the normal cold of a November’s night in King’s Cross, although that was cold enough. This was more intense. Her breath clouded in the frigid air. The cat gave a plaintive meow.

For a few hesitant seconds, her finger hovered over the switch of the bedside lamp then pulled back. If there were anyone there, she wasn’t going to announce her approach. She slid from the bed and felt around for her dressing gown, slipping it on silently. Beside it lay her umbrella, still damp with rain. She brandished it in her fist, testing. If she had to fight, she would. Ava padded towards the light.

The hallway glowed eerily. She creaked the bedroom door open a fraction more and peered through. An icy blast stung her eyes. The front door yawned open, an invitation to the wind-torn street. Her footsteps crunched as she moved into the corridor, umbrella aloft. Autumn leaves had drifted in like snow, carpeting the cold tiles. Ava stopped still and listened. The flat was quiet, save the wheezing gusts that seemed determined to tug her dressing gown from her.

A blur. A jolt. She screamed, almost, but managed to stifle the sound. A black streak had bolted between her legs, accompanied by a screeching wail. Ava’s hand flew to her chest, calming instinctively.

Just the cat.

Her eyes followed the creature’s path, dead leaves swirling in its wake. A confusing shape emerged out of the murk. A shape that made no sense. Without quite knowing how or why, her legs carried her to the gaping door. And there it was. Astonishing in its freshness, alive against the autumn decay. A pink rose. Casually resting on the welcome mat.

The rose itself was strange enough. Its position stranger. Somehow it had come to land in such a way that it obscured the last letter of the cheery message. “Hello” had become “Hell.” Ava sucked in her breath. A curious prayer fell from her lips. She had never heard the litany before.

This is our house

None shall pass

Not living nor dead

For we are kept

In safety and health

Until the end of time

Ava rubbed her face and allowed her breath to settle.

Where the fuck did that come from?

Probably another childhood gift from her grandmother that she’d somehow forgotten. She ran a hand down the edge of the front door, bracing against the gale. The security chain dangled uselessly, the catch wobbled in its housing. She sighed. The apartment was old, the door was old, the lock was old. She’d call a locksmith tomorrow. Sleep tugged Ava’s eyelids. She crept back to bed, pulling the covers tight. The clock winked 3:33. She was asleep by 3:34.