Free The Twilight Before Christmas by Christine Feehan Page B

appearance rather than a festive one. Matt wished he had brought a weapon with him. He was a good hand-to-hand fighter because he was a big man, strong, with quick reflexes and extensive training, but he had no idea what kind of adversary they faced.
    Something hit him in the back, skittered down his jeans, and fell to the street. Matt whirled around to face the enemy and found nothing but fog.
    “What is it?” Kate asked. Her voice was steady, but her hand, on the small of his back, was shaking.
    Matt hunkered down to look at the object at his feet. “It’s a Christmas wreath, Kate. A damned Christmas wreath.” He looked around carefully, trying to penetrate the fog and see what was moving in it. He could feel the presence now, real, not imagined. He could hear the strange, labored breathing, but he couldn’t find the source.
    As he stood, a second object came hurtling out of the fog to hit him in the chest. He heard the smash of glass and knew immediately that the wreath had been decorated with glass ornaments. “Let’s get out of here, off the street at least,” he said.
    Kate was stubborn, shaking her head. “No, I have to face it here.”
    Matt pulled Kate to him, shielding her smaller body with his own as more wreaths came flying through the air, hurled with deadly accuracy at them from every direction. He wrapped his arms around her head, pressing her face against his chest. “It’s kids,” he muttered, brushing a kiss on top of her head to reassure her. “Always playing pranks; it’s dangerous in this fog, not to mention destructive.”
    He hoped it was kids. It had to be an army of kids, tearing wreaths off the doors of the houses and throwing them at passersby as a prank. He heard no laughter, not even running footsteps. He heard nothing but the rough breathing. It seemed to come out of the fog itself. The nape of his neck prickled with unease.
    “It isn’t children playing a prank, Matt.” Kate sounded close to tears. “It’s much, much worse.”
    “Kate.” He stroked a caress down the back of her head. Her hair was inside the hood of the cape, but his palm lingered anyway. “It isn’t the first time a group of kids decided to play around, and it won’t be the last.”
    The Christmas wreaths lay around them in a circle, some smashed or crushed and others in reasonably good shape. Kate lifted her face away from his chest and took a breath. “I can smell it, can’t you?”
    Matt inhaled deeply. He recognized the foul, noxious odor of the gases in the old mill. His heart jumped. “Dammit, Kate. I’m beginning to believe you. Let’s get the hell out of here before I decide I’m crazy.”
    She pulled free of his arms. “Is that what you think about me? That I’m crazy?”
    “Of course not. This is all just so damned odd.”
    Her sea-green eyes moved over his face, a little moody, a little fey. “Well, brace yourself, it’s going to get damned odder. Stay still.”
    The fog swirled around them, their faces, their feet, and bodies, spinning webs of charcoal gray matter. As at the cliff house, Matt got the impression of bony fingers, and this time they were trying to grab at Kate. Without thinking, he caught her up and started to run, the urge strong to get her away from the long gray tentacles, but the blanket of fog was thick around them.
    Kate pressed her lips to his ear. “Stop! I have to try to stop it, Matthew; it’s what I do. We can’t outrun the fog, it’s everywhere.”
    “Dammit, Kate, I don’t like this.” When she didn’t respond, he reluctantly put her down and stayed very close to her, ready for action.
    She turned in the direction of her home, her face serene, thoughtful, yet determined. She radiated beauty, an inner fire and strength. She whispered, a soft, melodic chant that became part of the night, of the air surrounding them. She wasn’t speaking English but a language he didn’t recognize. Her voice was soothing, tranquil, a soft invitation to a place of