A Touch of Midnight (Midnight Breed 0.5)

A wash of fear swept over her, leaving her skin prickled with goosebumps, but she summoned the most threatening tone of voice she possessed. "You'd better get out of here right now, asshole, unless you want to spend the night in jail."

Through the soughing of his breath, a chuckle. Low and malicious. Not quite sane. Maybe not quite human.

Oh, God.

Savannah swallowed hard. She was trapped in the stall, didn't know whether to scream and bring someone else into her nightmare, or remain silent and pray that this was just another trick of her fracturing mind.

At least the threat was on the other side of the door. The metal panel wasn't the most sturdy, but it was locked from the inside. So long as she kept that door barred between them, she was safe.>He watched her fumble , his expression sober now. "I shouldn't be here at all, is that what you mean, Savannah? I shouldn't be alive when your friend is dead."

"No." She shook her head, embarrassed that he misunderstood her clumsy choice of words. "I didn't mean that. I would never think that."

"I tried to protect her. I tried to save her, Savannah." He heaved out a deep sigh. "There was nothing I could do. I hope you believe me. I hope you can forgive me."

"Of course," she murmured. "I'm sure you did everything you could. No one could blame you for what happened to Rachel."

As she spoke to reassure him, she couldn't keep the image of the monster's face from forming in her mind's eye. The horrible fangs. The fiery coals that were its eyes. Her skin went cold at the memory, sending a bone-deep shudder racing up her spine.

And yet Keaton seemed strangely unaffected. He seemed somehow removed from the terror of what he'd endured that night. Calmly accepting of the miracle of his survival following an attack by something inhuman, hellish. Either he truly didn't know the depth of the horror he endured, or he was hiding it from her.

Unless it was Savannah's gift that couldn't be trusted. It had never been fully in her control, but maybe it was becoming unreliable. Maybe she wasn't going crazy after all. Maybe she was simply losing her grasp of the ability she'd tried for so long to keep a secret from the rest of the world.

"I can't imagine how awful the experience must've been for you, Professor Keaton. You and Rachel both." She looked at him closely, searching for any cracks in his demeanor. "When you were trying to save her life, were you able to get a look at the attacker?"

"Yes," he replied, not so much as blinking. "I got a brief look, just before I was knocked unconscious."

Savannah's breath froze in her lungs. "Have you told anyone?"

"Of course. I told the police this morning, when they came to see me in the hospital as I was being discharged."

Savannah swallowed, not at all certain she wanted to hear her terror voiced by another person. "What did you tell them, Professor Keaton?"

"I told them what I saw. A vagrant who likely wandered in off the street, looking for something of value to pawn for his drug money. Rachel and I surprised him, and he attacked us like a wild animal."

Savannah listened, unable to speak for a moment. It didn't make sense. Not that what she saw in the glimpse from Rachel's bracelet made more sense, but she could tell Keaton was lying. "Are you sure about that? You're sure it was a vagrant, not...someone else?"

Keaton laughed then, a short bark of humor. He turned the radio off abruptly, his movements too quick. "Am I sure? I was the only one there to see what happened. Of course, I'm sure. What's this all about, Savannah? What's going on with you?"

"Nothing." She shook her head. "I'm just trying to understand what happened."

"I told you." He leaned farther across the cockpit of the Firebird, reaching for the door handle on the passenger side. "Where are you heading, anyway?"

"English Department," she replied woodenly, an inexplicable sense of unease spreading through her. "I have to meet with my professor about taking some coursework home with me on my leave of absence."

"You're leaving school?" He sounded surprised, but his face remained oddly unchanged, blank and unreadable. "Is it because of what happened?"

"I just need to go." She backed away from the door, careful to keep her steps subtle and her voice light as she hurried to formulate a protective lie. "There are some problems at home right now, and my family needs me there."

"I see." Keaton nodded. "I'm sure you've heard that Rachel's funeral is in Brookline later this week. I know you're all alone in Boston, so if you'd like, I could take you--"

"No, thank you." She had heard about the service, of course, and had already given her condolences and regrets to Rachel's mother when the distraught woman called to let her know the date and time of the gathering. "I'm leaving tonight for Louisiana. I've already got my bus ticket reserved and waiting for me."

"So soon," he remarked. "Well, then, at least let me give you a ride over to the English Department now. We can talk some more about all of this on the way."

Savannah's unease around him deepened. There was no way in hell she was getting near him the way he was acting. "I'm late as it is. It'll be faster if I cut across campus on foot." She forced a casual smile. "But thanks for offering, Professor Keaton. I really gotta go now."

"Suit yourself," he said, then turned the radio on again. "See you around, Savannah."

She gave him a bright nod as she retreated backward to the safety of the sidewalk and the hundreds of students still milling around on their lunch break. Savannah watched as Keaton drove away.