The Blueshifters (Blueshifter Series Book 1) by V. A. Jeffrey Page B

A purr that vibrated through his body and made
his teeth rattle just a bit. It slowed down and stopped for a few
seconds. He peeked out from his hiding place. The windows were black
as night. There was something else. He had thought, back at the
diner, that the car was black. It wasn't. It was a red so dark it
seemed black. Jack stood there trembling, afraid of who might come
out after him. After some seconds, it sped away down the alley.
    He was bewildered. Who was that? What do they want? What's going on? How did I ever manage to wake up? Should I be dead? Dreadful
thoughts flooded his mind all at once. Maybe that's what he was
trying to remember and couldn't. Imminent death. An angry bookie,
maybe? He thought of the waitress's grin. Werewolves? He hadn't done
any betting recently. Was he just losing his mind? Even though the
cold air bit his fingertips, he barely noticed it through the sweat
pouring off of him. He'd thought to go to the store to get some
groceries today but decided he'd had enough. He was ready to go home.
He was almost relieved that some small clue had been revealed to him.
He still didn't understand what had just happened or why but it was a
start. Someone or something was after him. Like Red Shoes, for
instance. He could work with that. Wouldn't be the first time.

    And it was far better than wandering around in the dark, trying to
recall things that wouldn't reveal themselves.

Episode 3 – The
Looking Glass

    Late that night she awoke screaming in terror. Sweating profusely,
she clutched at her shirt, choking and gagging. She sat up straight,
her stomach roiling. Once again she was waking from a nightmare.
    Breathing laboriously, thoughts scattered, she wiped the sweat from
her face and pulled her knees up pressing them against her
chest. She buried her chin between them, shivering in the cold
sitting on the bed staring into the dark. The intensity of this
latest dream burdened her with a heightened sense of dread that she
had not experienced before. Yet, she could not remember what it was
that she'd dreamed about. She glanced at her dresser across the room.
The box. That was the problem. She had to get rid of it.
    It was late dusk and the weak embers of sunlight were still hanging
on. She could still see most objects in the room if she squinted.
Wine bottles were spread about on the floor. She finally got up and
went to the bathroom, turned on the hot water, letting it run.
    Time passed, she couldn't remember how much. Hot steam billowed up
from the sink and drifted towards the ceiling. She rinsed her face.
The air became very warm and moist. Steam curled and wafted all
around the bathroom turning it into a sauna. She wet her hair,
running her fingers through it and then reached for a towel. She
frowned, looking around her. The bathroom was enveloped completely in
thick steam. She couldn't find the door. Then she heard soft clucking
noises and snapped her head around, looking for the source of the
sound. There it was again, then a soft, mocking laugh. She slowly
lifted a hand and wiped the steam away from the mirror above the
sink. There, her reflection was staring back at her. Except it didn't
behave like a reflection. It wore a dark, blood red tailored Italian
suit and a silk, ink black tie. She merely stared at it, stunned.
    “Hello, Mary. It's about time we got reconnected.” The
voice was deep and mellifluous, like oil. Her own voice. Only the
timbre was different.
    “Who. . .who are you?” Mary felt an odd sensation coming
over her. It wasn't quite terror.
    “You've forgotten already?” It smiled widely, showing a
set of beautiful white teeth. The canines were sharp.
    “Come now. It's time for me to collect, Mary. I thought that
leaving a few clues would help you remember your debt.” “Clues?”
    “The box, Mary. The box. Remember?” She slowly sank down,
seating himself on the edge of the tub, voluminous steam swirling
everywhere. A dim realization began to dawn.
    “No, no. . .