Not Safe

Chapter 2

Few months earlier.

"Elara."

I groaned and pulled the blanket over my head.

"Elara, get up."

"I'm awake."

"No, you're not."

I heard my mother's footsteps cross the hallway.

The bedroom door opened.

A thin strip of morning sunlight slipped across the floor and landed directly on my face.

I groaned louder.

"Mum."

"It's seven-thirty."

My eyes flew open.

"What?"

"Seven-thirty."

I sat upright so quickly that my head spun.

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"I've been calling your name for the last ten minutes."

"You should have shouted."

"I did."

I stared at her.

She stared back.

Then she smiled.

"You didn't hear me."

I glanced at my phone.

Seven thirty-two.

"Oh, crap."

I threw the blanket aside and scrambled out of bed.

My room looked like a crime scene.

Clothes were scattered across the floor. Books were piled on my desk. One sneaker was underneath the bed, and I had absolutely no idea where the other one had gone.

My mother leaned against the doorframe.

"You could try keeping your room clean."

"I could."

"But?"

"I won't."

She laughed softly.

I grinned.

This was normal.

This was the version of my mother I knew.

Warm.

Patient.

Annoyingly responsible.

The woman who reminded me to eat breakfast, complained whenever I left wet towels on my bed, and somehow knew whenever I was lying about being sick so I could skip school.

She was my mother.

At least, that was what I'd always believed.

"Five minutes," she said.

"Ten."

"Five."

"Seven."

"Six."

"Deal."

She walked away.

I grabbed my uniform.

As I pulled my shirt over my head, I caught sight of myself in the mirror.

I stopped.

For a second, something about my reflection felt strange.

I stared at my eyes.

Grey.

Almost silver in certain light.

I'd always had them.

People noticed them.

Especially strangers.

Sometimes they stared a little too long.

I'd asked my mother once where they came from.

She'd simply said, "Your father."

My father had laughed when I told him.

"My eyes are brown."

"Exactly."

"So Mum lied."

"Your mother has a creative relationship with the truth."

I'd laughed.

I hadn't thought much about it afterward.

Now, standing in front of the mirror, I touched the skin beneath my eyes.

There was nothing unusual.

Just me.

Elara Quinn.

Eighteen years old.

Student.

Terrible morning person.

Professional procrastinator.

Human.

I didn't know why that last thought suddenly felt important.

I shook my head and hurried downstairs.

The smell of fried eggs and toast greeted me.

My stomach immediately forgave my mother for waking me up.

"You're late," my father said.

He sat at the dining table with a newspaper folded in front of him.

"I know."

"You said that yesterday."

"I was also late yesterday."

"And the day before."

"Consistency is important."

He lowered the newspaper.

"That's not what consistency means."

I smiled.

He tried not to smile back.

My father had always been different from my mother.

Quieter.

More serious.

He wasn't cold, exactly.

He just didn't talk unless he had something worth saying.

I dropped into the chair opposite him.

"Morning, Dad."

"Morning."

"You're going to work?"

"Later."

I reached for the toast.

He watched me.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You were staring."

"I wasn't."

"You were."

He folded his newspaper.

"You look tired."

"I slept."

"That's not what I asked."

I shrugged.

"I had a weird dream."

"What kind?"

He asked it too quickly.

I looked at him.

"Why?"

"Just asking."

"I don't remember."

He relaxed.

It was subtle.

But I noticed.

I noticed everything.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You're doing that thing."

"What thing?"

"The thing where you pretend you're not worried."

He glanced toward my mother.

She was standing at the kitchen counter.

For a moment, they exchanged a look.

I frowned.

"What?"

"Nothing," Mum said.

"You two are weird."

My father smiled.

"Eat your breakfast."

I took another bite.

Everything went quiet.

Then

Knock.

Someone was at the front door.

My mother froze.

It was so sudden that I almost missed it.

Her hand stopped halfway toward the kettle.

My father looked up.

The newspaper lowered slowly.

I looked between them.

Another knock.

Knock.

My mother put the kettle down.

"Stay here."

I frowned.

"Why?"

She didn't answer.

She walked toward the hallway.

My father stood.

"Wait."

She stopped.

He looked at her.

Neither of them spoke.

I swallowed my toast.

"Who is it?"

My father didn't answer.

My mother walked to the door but didn't open it.

She checked the peephole.

Her expression changed.

"What?"

She stepped backward.

My father approached.

"Who is it?"

"I don't know."

He looked through the peephole himself.

Then he locked the deadbolt.

I stared at him.

"Why did you lock it?"

"Because I don't know who's outside."

"So?"

"So we don't open the door."

I laughed nervously.

"You two are acting like there's a serial killer outside."

Nobody laughed.

That was when I stopped smiling.

The knocking came again.

Three times.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Then nothing.

We waited.

Five seconds.

Ten.

Twenty.

My father finally moved away from the door.

"He's gone."

"Who was it?"

"I don't know."

"Did you see him?"

"No."

"Then how do you know it was a man?"

My father looked at me.

"I don't."

Something about his answer made my stomach tighten.

My mother walked back into the kitchen.

Her face was pale.

"Eat," she said.

"Seriously?"

"Elara."

"Okay."

I picked up my toast.

But my appetite was gone.

My mother sat across from me.

She reached for my hand.

Her fingers were cold.

"Listen to me."

I looked at her.

"If someone approaches you today, don't talk to them."

"What?"

"Anyone."

"Why?"

"Just don't."

"That makes no sense."

"I know."

She squeezed my hand.

"If someone says they know me, don't believe them."

I stared at her.

"If someone says they know your father, don't believe them."

"Okay..."

"And if someone asks you to go somewhere with them..."

"I won't."

"No matter what they tell you."

"Mum."

"I'm serious."

I pulled my hand away.

"What's happening?"

She looked at my father.

He was standing by the window.

Watching the street.

"There are things about our family you don't understand yet," he said.

I laughed nervously.

"Then explain them."

"It's not that simple."

"Why?"

"Because you're not ready."

That annoyed me.

"Not ready for what?"

Neither answered.

I stood.

"Fine."

"Elara"

"I'm going to school."

My mother stood too.

"Wait."

"What?"

She walked toward me.

For a second, she looked like she wanted to tell me something.

Something enormous.

Instead, she simply adjusted the collar of my uniform.

"Call me when you get there."

"I always do."

"And when you're leaving."

"Okay."

"And don't walk home."

I frowned.

"Why?"

"Just don't."

I grabbed my bag.

"You're acting insane."

She smiled faintly.

"Maybe."

I walked toward the door.

My hand touched the handle.

Behind me, my father spoke.

"Elara."

I turned.

He was staring at me.

His expression was serious.

"Be careful."

I smiled.

"Always."

I left.

The morning air was warm against my face.

For the first few minutes, everything felt normal again.

Cars passed.

People walked along the street.

A woman was arguing with someone on the phone.

Two children chased each other beside a parked car.

Normal.

Safe.

I put my earphones in and started walking.

I was halfway to the bus stop when I noticed him.

A man standing across the road.

Black jacket.

Dark hair.

Watching me.

I slowed down.

He didn't look away.

I removed one earphone.

Maybe I knew him.

Maybe he'd been waiting for someone else.

I kept walking.

He followed.

My heart began to beat faster.

I glanced over my shoulder.

He was still there.

I crossed the road.

He crossed too.

I stopped.

He stopped.

Okay.

That wasn't normal.

I reached for my phone.

Before I could unlock it, a bus passed between us.

For two seconds, I couldn't see him.

Then the bus moved.

He was gone.

I looked around.

Nothing.

A strange feeling crawled up my spine.

I hurried toward school.

I didn't see him again.

But when I reached the school gate, I noticed something lying on the ground beside my shoe.

A small silver pendant.

I picked it up.

It was shaped like a crescent moon.

There was something engraved on the back.

A symbol.

I ran my thumb across it.

The moment I touched it, a sharp pain shot through my palm.

I dropped it.

"Ow!"

A tiny red mark appeared on my skin.

I stared at it.

Then at the pendant.

For some reason, I felt like I had seen that symbol before.

Not recently.

Not in a book.

Somewhere much older.

A memory that wasn't quite a memory.

White walls.

A bright light.

Someone crying.

A woman's voice whispering—

Run.

I blinked.

The vision disappeared.

"Elara!"

I jumped.

My best friend, Nia, ran toward me.

"Why are you standing here like a statue?"

I looked down.

The pendant was gone.

I searched the ground.

Nothing.

"What?"

Nia waved a hand in front of my face.

"Earth to Elara."

"Sorry."

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

I looked back toward the road.

The man was still gone.

But I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching me.

Nia hooked her arm through mine.

"Come on. We're already late."

I let her pull me toward the school building.

Neither of us noticed the figure standing across the street.

Neither of us noticed his eyes.

They weren't normal.

They were almost completely black.

And when he smiled, two sharp points briefly showed beneath his upper lip.

Then he whispered into his phone.

"She's here."

A pause.

His smile disappeared.

"No."

Another pause.

He looked directly at Elara's back.

"She hasn't awakened yet."

Then he ended the call.

Behind him, hidden in the shadow of an alley, something growled.

He didn't turn around.

He already knew what it was.

And he knew exactly what it had come to find.