Into Their Woods (The Eerie, #1)(18)
A TV is playing the news on mute on the far wall, and the muffled thump of my sock-clad feet is the only sound as I walk in. The space is open and strangely inviting—there’s an accent wall painted a warm almond color and several landscape photographs that look like they might have been done by a local artist. If it weren’t for the sheriff’s star outside, I probably wouldn’t even know what this place was.
Strike that. I move in farther and the purpose becomes clearer. About ten feet inside, there’s an abandoned welcome table with printed brochures on it with clever sayings like “Don’t Do Drugs.” There it is. Now I know I’m in cop-ville.
Behind that table are some empty desks that look like they might belong to deputies. Modern computers give off a slight electronic buzz as I move farther into the room and glance around. No one is here.
Maybe everyone’s in a meeting?
I do see a couple of office doors shut off to the right. The tension that’s been building between my shoulders moves up into my neck as I look around searching for a reasonable explanation for why this sheriff’s office looks empty.
Zombie apocalypse? That seems like a reasonable option after the night I had.
Muffled chatter and laughter seeps around the edges of one of the closed doors, and I nearly heave a sigh of relief when one suddenly opens.
A short, balding man in a stereotypical gray police uniform emerges. He’s carrying what appears to be a breakfast burrito and a steaming cup of coffee.
The smells of bacon, fried potatoes, and melted cheese waft over to me so strongly they’re nearly visible in the air, almost like those curling clouds of scent in an animation video, those finger-like scents with come-hither gestures leading cartoon animal villains to their doom.
Immediately, my body screams for food as if I haven’t eaten in a week. Maybe it’s a trauma response? I stomp down the urge to rip the burrito out of the officer’s hand, once again reminding myself of the vow I just took outside.
Bad stomach!
“Gosh, Karen, you know I love potluck day, though I have to warn you off my chili later; it’s got five-alarm heat,” the bald man calls back through the open doorway before taking a bite of his burrito, closing his eyes, and savoring it.
I wipe imaginary drool from my chin and debate clearing my throat while watching him chew, but I don’t want to startle him and make him choke, so I wait. The few seconds it takes before he swallows has me checking over my shoulder once again, neck tingling with worry.
I don’t think Ruger or Perth could have followed me here, but what about their accomplices or those roommates they mentioned?
Finally, the man swallows, turning back toward the door. “Can I just say these things are to die—” He cuts off mid-sentence when he spots me, his cheerful hazel eyes widening slightly when he takes me in. “Well, I’ll be…” He looks at me almost as if I’m a mirage before shaking himself out of it. Maybe he’s not used to people appearing in the early morning to report crimes.
Hopefully not.
Hopefully, what happened to me is not a common occurrence in this town.
“Good morning!” he greets me cheerfully as I read his name tag and see Fife written on it.
My throat dries out as I come to a stop in front of his desk. It feels like a burr has just been shoved into my windpipe—prickling and scratching and preventing me from speaking. It’s as though the reality of everything that’s happened since I pulled into this town hits me all at once and the weight of it is sitting on my throat.
The man stares at me, a compassionate expression coming over his slightly lined, middle-aged face as he absorbs the desperation I’m emanating in waves. “It’s a lot, I know. The girls around here all have their panties in a twist. Ellery’s quite a catch and they’ve been gunning for him for years. Rich, good looking, not a shit-for-brains boss like his uncle was, but you—”
My brows lift with confusion. I think this man must have mistaken me for someone else. I don’t know any Ellery…although why does that name sound unsettlingly familiar? “I need to report a crime,” I interrupt, finally dragging the words from my stone-hard vocal chords.
He stops and gapes at me with a mild sort of confusion that clearly doesn’t register the severity of this situation. But when I don’t budge and my face doesn’t crack a smile, he walks forward toward the sign-in desk. He sets down his burrito, right on top of a yellow pad of paper with zero regard for the germs probably crawling all over it.
“What kind of crime?”
His face becomes etched with concern and his brow furrows. He pulls open a drawer and grabs some kind of blank form.
I pull in a deep breath and blink back the tears that start to well in my eyes. “An assault and kidnapping.”
6
ELLERY
Sometimes, I wish I could toss people in handcuffs and leave them in cells the way humans do. Unfortunately, eeries don’t operate that way, even for a serious crime—too many magical species have issues with metals.
So even though I should rightfully be home in bed right-fucking-now, waiting for my new mate to wake up, I’ve been called in to the station. I’m stuck in a conference room the size of a child’s sandbox, with two warring factions on either side of a conference table who are making the space feel even smaller. At least they’re warring with words now, not a magical brawl in the street. Of course, the power dampening crystals in the center of the table, which resemble glowing, blood-soaked shards of glass, help ensure that.