Serenity Blake

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

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New York City in January. A time when ghosts made themselves scarce for a little while.

It had always been like this for me right after the holidays. Just when the partying crowds dried up and the snowbirds left in pursuit of higher temperatures, leaving behind them the dregs of bubbly in champagne flutes, the otherworldly city inhabitants quietened their activity. Usually, I’d catch several floating about, lingering around some hapless stranger. A few might even try to make contact and talk to me.

Today, my tally was zero—on the very day I wished these souls were there to keep me company. To distract me from the crazy thoughts I was having. Every little sound felt like a threat. Every caress of the chilly air on my face a harbinger of something dark and hostile…

Why?

I must have been on my sixth mile. I wasn’t sure as I’d left my fitness tracker at home, intending to just go for a short walk and be back within an hour, at most. But then, walking had turned into a light jog, and as my pulse raced and my body heated, waging battle against the onslaught of cold air, I simply kept going. This was what I needed, what I craved, and I couldn’t stop.

The last few weeks had been full of restless nights. Not to mention the haunting thoughts and voices. The stifling feeling of foreboding. Now that wasn’t normal at all … not even for me. Even at that moment, as I ran, I kept warding off the waves of energy that flowed through me with a stark note of warning.

Lately, I hadn’t been much for going out. After those brutal nights, which totally sucked, I was lucky to make it through the day. My daily workload at the antique shop, normally easy to complete, felt like the twelve labors of Hercules had been child’s play. All I had to do to go to work was enter my penthouse elevator and make it directly to the ground floor office at the back of the store. I literally didn’t have to step one foot outside to reach Hidden Treasures, but that didn’t matter.

This midnight jaunt had been an act of impulse, born from a sudden desire to break free from the oppressive four walls of my home—and from the memories of those bad dreams. Just me, the nippy night air, and the music to soothe my mind and soul. Around me, the winter wonderland rolled its white carpet with indiscriminate abandon. With my earbuds firmly in place, the sounds of the city faded in the distance.

I made it beyond my habitual route. Here I was, a lone woman in a questionable area at night. Was I crazy? Were it not for the unexplainable leaden weight burdening my heart, I would have likely turned around at this point. I tensed, my stomach spazzing out when the cloak of night seemed to lower itself over my shoulders. Clouds hid the stars from view, and the moonlight dimmed. Was my imagination playing tricks on me?

When shadows moved around me, I paused and turned down the volume. I sensed something … different in the air. A presence, as though I was being followed. But that was ridiculous. No doubt it was burnout. Had to be burnout. Why didn’t I just stay home?

Because tonight, I didn’t want to go to sleep. Just tonight, I needed a break.

Unfreezing my feet from the spot, I walked on. I hadn’t yet returned to my jogging pace when my cellphone buzzed, the sound cutting through the music. Pulling it out of my jacket pocket, I noted the number. Alistair McKnight. The man, who made a living chasing bounties and valuables for his clients or procuring merchandise for businesses like mine, would not be seen dead in New York right now. Like the snowbirds, he gravitated to his other home in Miami, where he spent his days fishing, lounging on the beach, and chasing skirts.

In seconds, another text came in: a picture of a giant mojito and grilled fish platter next to it, with the caption, ‘Too big for one person. Come help me with it?’

With a snort, I pocketed my phone and let yet another two calls go to voicemail—then stopped in my tracks when I spotted a small cluster of people on the sidewalk, about fifty feet ahead. More than I’d counted seeing since I’d left my building, and all gathered in one spot.

No, not gathered, but confronting each other. Judging by the look of things, the couple standing there didn’t seem too happy with the others facing them. Fear oozed off them like steam from a pressure cooker. The three thugs blocking their path stared at their prey with anticipatory delight. Mangy dogs after a hunk of meat. Up to no good.

Shit. Now, I couldn’t in good conscience not get involved. Sighing inwardly, I resumed my pace, not slowing down. Ever since I could remember, I’d always moved with purpose. Like I had somewhere to go, even when I didn’t. Walk like your dreams depend on it—Daddy had always told me. My heart constricted in my chest at the memory.

I’d always listened to my dad’s teachings, but also added some rules of my own along the way. I was my own person, after all, and times had changed. Rule number one: never leave home without the nunchucks and the shuriken set—the former in my messenger bag, the latter cleverly concealed in my leather armlet, below several layers of clothing, yet still within reach. A couple of throwing knives would usually be hidden in custom pockets inside my boots, too, pretty much making me a walking arsenal.

Shame I had no place to slip a sword in, and I often forewent guns because most attackers carried one, anyway. If push came to shove, I could make do with theirs. A regular knife or dagger—sometimes, I also carried one of those in a sheath under my jacket, but it wasn’t a must have. Like today, I wasn’t feeling it, so I didn’t bother. If people ever got a glimpse of me armed to the teeth, they’d probably wonder why I haven’t been committed yet.

Never a victim again … never unprepared. Dad would have approved, too.

Though I never looked for trouble, I wasn’t so naïve as to think it wasn’t looking for me. Even a homebody and introvert like me couldn’t shake off these lessons I’d learned at a young age.

With gloved hands, I slowed a moment to pick up a big hunk of snow and then took my time making snowballs while observing the scene playing out before me. The male of the couple stood in front of the woman, shielding her with his body. Good. A man with spine, I was pleased to see.

Thirty feet. Wicked knife blades glinted in the moonlight. One of the attackers did wield a g*n, and another, something I couldn’t identify at first. When I got closer, I saw it was a shank. Typical robbery attempt on the little guy, which might at any point lead to r**e and/or murder. Who knew what might happen, with unstable people like these? I was surprised there weren’t more than three. Probably an impromptu job.

Fifteen feet.

“Hey, you. Have a light?” I called out, frozen air emitting from my mouth with every word.

Five pairs of eyes turned to me as I made it to ten feet, or thereabouts. I showed the scumbags the snow in my hand.

“I also found a couple of balls here. Did you lose any?”

Lifting my arm, I threw one hard at the closest thug, and the second in quick succession onto the one behind him, hitting them both in the groin. They doubled over, cursing and moaning in agony. Sighing, I rubbed my gloves together to shake off the excess snow.

“Not very fair, is it, three loaded bastards ganging up on two clearly unarmed people … most likely on their first date? Can I join in the fun? Just to balance things out a bit.”

I jogged in place and exhaled in short bursts to get my adrenaline flowing, no doubt coming across as though I was prepping for an Olympic sprint race. Always confuse your opponent. Gives you an edge.

I hadn’t felt this alive in a while.

Blank looks abounded. Clearly, this bunch wasn’t used to a female smartass dishing out a challenge. I rolled my eyes.

Recovering from his surprise, the one I’d hit first spoke up.

“Yeah.” He eyed me with curious intent—and not in a good way. “Feel free to join in. Whatcha think, fellas? Nice piece of a*s we got here. We gonna have fun tonight,” he said with a jerk of his head at his cohorts behind him. “Two for the price of one!”

He guffawed at his own joke, his sheeple snickering behind him. Raising an arm to halt the raucous laughter, he narrowed his eyes and scanned me boldly from head to toe. He curved his lips on one side, giving his oversized chin the prominence it did not need.

A number of approving grunts followed in response.

I sighed again. Idiots.

“I must say, I just love your extensive vocabulary and choice of words. So classy.” I turned my gaze briefly to the couple. “Please stand back. I’ll take this round first, if you don’t mind.”

The pair started inching back, but stopped when the man with the g*n trained it on them again and shouted at them to stay.

Lifting my bag off my shoulder, I slipped the nunchucks out and made a big deal of stretching them in front of me, rotating them and showcasing some quick moves, Bruce Lee style. Although not a show-off by nature, I just couldn’t put a price on the looks on their faces as I carried on with that display.

Straightening my spine, I swung the weapon, catching one of the sticks under my arm in the ready position and holding the other upright in my hand, chain stretched taut. Whatever persons passed for men in front of me chuckled nervously, clearly judging me a mixture of delusional and possible psycho.

“You’ll go first.” I pointed my chin at the one laughing the hardest—again, the one I’d first hit in the crotch. Annoying little jerk, and the most confident-looking. Unlike exam papers when you tackle the easy questions before the hard ones, you always went with the badass first in a fight, especially when you wanted to get it over with quickly.

The fool came on with half-assed boxer moves, acting like a wannabe Mohammed Ali in the ring with Bambi. Totally underestimating me. To his credit, his fists were the size of ham hocks. The little neck space he had stretched wide, like a solid beam attaching his watermelon-sized bald head to never-ending shoulders. Mr. Clean didn’t have anything on this guy. Most people would be intimidated just by the sight of him.

He finally stopped close enough, taking a fighting stance. Wait, that couldn’t be hesitation I just registered in his body language. Technically, he dwarfed me with his size, although I wasn’t that short. But no, he was just cutting his gaze here and there to make sure there’d be no witnesses to what he was about to do. Cowards like him weren’t known for their moral principles.

“Don’t be shy,” I said with a grin. “I like it rough.”

So bold. It never ceased to amaze me how, when it came to a good old-fashioned fight, I became a totally different person.

Bold. Certain.

Seen.

The man smirked and swung his fist at my jaw. I countered with a whirlwind frontal strike of my nunchucks, rapping him hard and fast on the knuckles. He howled in pain as I brought the stick back to its original position.

Swiveling my body around, I raised a leg and kicked him square in the face with my running shoes before he finished feeling sorry for himself. He fell to the ground, staining the concrete and snow with the blood from his nose. The beanie cap holding my long hair started to prickle as the adrenaline rushed like a high wave inside me, and beads of sweat collected on my brow. The cold could barely touch me now.

“In case you misunderstood, I meant I like to rough up a bully like you,” I said when I’d smoothly regained balance on my feet and shifted into a sharp fighting pose. I motioned at the guy with the g*n. “You’re next.”

Laughing, he pointed the firearm at me. The fool.

Slipping out a deathstar from my hidden armlet—I’d made an art out of extracting them with my gloves on—I threw it at him before he had the chance to blink. The steel nicked his hand and forced him to drop the weapon. More blood stained the ground as he cried in pain, even though he still had all his fingers. My aim was killer, and I’d taken it easy on him.

“Next time you try that, I’ll take your pinky,” I told him, drawing an expression of pure horror from him.

I looked at the last one, whose eyes goggled like a deer’s in headlights. Spinning my body while jumping over the guy who lay still stunned from a broken nose, I angled my arm and hand in a chopping move, aiming for the neck of this third man, the one holding the shank.

I got him straight under his ears, then brought a leg up to catch behind his knees, knocking him backward on the ground. When he fell flat on his back, I heard something snap. He screamed. I rolled over, swinging the nunchucks at the ankles and legs of the first guy, who’d managed to stand by now. Losing balance, he landed flat on his friend, who gasped out a foul curse, followed by pitiful groans. The three motherfuckers made more noise than a bunch of tween girls at a BTS concert, or whatever latest sensation everyone went nuts for.

“Are we done now?” I asked the men who could barely let a coherent word out. “You’re about to bust my ears with your moaning, so I assume it’s a yes?”

The g*n owner’s gaze fell on his discarded firearm.

“Don’t even think about it,” I warned, picking it up, removing the bullets, then throwing the piece into a large trashcan.

I threw a glance at the couple as I picked up my bag and slipped the nunchucks back inside. I then retrieved my throwing star and cleaned it on a patch of snow. They looked terrified out of their wits.

“You can go now. They can’t hurt you,” I said softly, offering a reassuring smile.

Both mumbling a thank you, they turned around and hightailed it around the corner, out of sight.

“Well then, guys. It was fun, but it’s getting late. Be good. Don’t let me catch you later.”

Putting two fingers to my temple in salute, I negotiated my way around the carpet of writhing bodies and walked away from the scene.

Energy buzzed in me as though a ghost passed through me like a speed train. But I was alone, so I relished the moment.

Relief, though, was short-lived. A heartbeat later, that bizarre sensation of being watched returned. Steady footsteps sounded behind me, matching mine. Not again? I frowned while my heartbeat sped up, the beats seeming to ring like alarm bells in my head.

The sounds echoed in the empty street. Stopping when I stopped, resuming when I started back. I forced a steady pace—no running this time. My mind whirled, undecided what to think, but I resisted the strong urge to run, refusing to obsess over this. I needed rest—that was all.

Any suspicious sounds blended in with the hubbub of gentle activity when I turned onto a busier street. A few more minutes, and I’d be opening my front door.

I put my earphones back on. As always, Alicia Keys was just what the doctor ordered. Yep. This girl was on fire. Nothing would get in the way. I’d talk to myself that way until I returned to the four comforting walls of my private sanctuary.

Despite my fears, what happened tonight reminded me I knew how to take care of myself. Ever since the attack at the boarding school sixteen years earlier, where I’d been left for dead in the woods, I’d vowed to be like this. I’d gone on to weather Sensei Vella, Sifu Kaldon, Cliff at the MMA club, and all the hours, days, and years of grueling training … and that was just the physical part. Now, with me pushing thirty, that part of my life seemed so long ago.

Yet, the feeling of foreboding stayed with me through every beat of Keys’ song and the ones that followed. Fear nipped at me like a woodpecker drumming on a tree. Hard to ignore, though I tried my damnedest to do that.

I had no reason to feel the way I did. I was in my city, doing what I loved to do: handling objects which marked the legacy of different owners, places, and historical periods. Getting a hold of individual stories told through once prized possessions. Things that had once meant something to someone. How cool was that? No better way to utilize a doctoral degree in history, and further studies in archaeology and anthropology. This kind of work stretched my knowledge into new areas of human experience.

My phone buzzed again. Had to be Alistair. Definitely not Darcy, my antique store manager, or Danny, my website administrator and all-around tech guru. Tomorrow would be their free day, and the only way they’d make contact at this hour was if they were trapped in a cage of hungry tigers or dangling over the pit of an active volcano. I’d check when I got home.

Ignoring the living world around me, I went on, feet crunching on snow and the odd piece of debris as I stepped in time with the rhythm of the song toward my destination.

Home. To my bed. My refuge. Guess this has been enough fun for one night.