Free Entity Mine by Karin Shah Page A

closed and put away.
    “Looks good, huh?” she said to the Honey, who lay half in the kitchen and half in the bedroom.
    The dog lifted her head an inch. Her back end was in shadow, but Devon could hear the thump of her fluffy, scimitar tail whacking the carpet.
    Devon smiled. “Well, maybe not good, but neat anyway.” She groped her way to the kitchen wall, fumbling for the light switch.
    The bulb in the fly-specked dome overhead flared on and then winked out, killing her night vision and leaving her standing in darkness so total her eyes conjured nonexistent patterns in the inky blackness. “Damn.”
    She felt behind her on the wall for the switch by the front door, and flipped it up.
    The light came on, filling the small foyer and spilling into the kitchen.
    She gasped, her heart rate skyrocketing. Every carefully closed cupboard door hung completely open. She swallowed. “I hope that was you, Ethan.” But somehow she knew it wasn’t.
    A black figure coalesced in the doorway to the living room then crawled toward her, exuding oily menace.
    Frozen in place, Devon cleared the huge lump in her throat and fought to suck air into her foundering lungs.
    Honey barked machine-gun fast, her woofs as deep and threatening as a dog twice her size, and, hackles bristling, charged the now man-sized shape. Passing through the smoky apparition, she yelped as if stung, collapsing in a heap of sandy-red fur and whimpered.
    “Don’t you hurt my dog, you bastard!”
    “Devon.” Her name rasped low and long through the dim room.
    The sound raised the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. The black shape dissipated, but the foul pressure it’d brought only intensified. The phantom had vanished, but not left.
    Ethan came awake with chilling suddenness. He remembered lying back on the sofa, going ten rounds with himself about the dreams, and listening to the soothing sounds of Devon working in the kitchen. He must have dozed off.
    Now, darkness shrouded the house and a familiar ear-popping dip of air pressure and dirty smell propelled him to his feet.
    The demonic.
    His heart thudded against his chest. Where was Devon?
    The kitchen.
    He cleared the doorway just in time to see a cartoon-printed juice glass smash to pieces at Devon’s bare feet.
    “Ah!”
    Drops of blood bloomed on the slim ankles exposed by her capris.
    The God damn thing had hurt her. A growl slipped from Ethan’s lips. He turned his head, cleaving the shadows for a hint of the spirit’s location.
    A blur of movement whizzed past him. Devon lunged to the side, catching herself on the countertop just as a Daffy Duck juice glass shattered into a thousand glittering shards on the battered wooden cupboard behind where she’d been standing.
    She shook her fist at a spot near the shelf that held the glasses. Her hair glinted red-gold in the light from the foyer. Peach stained her cheeks. Her sherry brown eyes shot sparks. She looked like an avenging angel. “Those are collectibles, you creep!”
    A smile quirked his lips. Such a vigorous defense for probably twenty-year-old juice glasses.
    All humor disappeared as a Bugs Bunny glass slid to the edge of the shelf and launched into the air, firing toward her with the force and precision of a line-drive.
    Everything slowed.
    Devon’s eyes widened. She lurched to the side, but not far enough. An image exploded in his mind. It would strike her on the temple with deadly accuracy, dropping her to the ground, unconscious, or worse.
    Adrenaline spearing through his veins like shrapnel, he vaulted forward, every atom of his body caught up in one thought. Catch that glass .
    It all happened in slow motion. His leap. His arm shooting out. And then, for the first time in months, his hand closed around a solid form. The cool, slick surface of the glass met his palm. He’d done it.
    While his tripping heart absorbed the near miss, his mind scrambled to come to grips with the fact that his palm actually cradled something concrete. He