Legacy

chapter Two


I awoke late that morning with a headache more indicative of the personal consumption of a bottle of Grey Goose instead of a simple late night bath and blurry dreams. I’m talking full-blown, head-pounding, wish-I-could-die-and-get-it-over-with pain. I stumbled into the bathroom, less impressed with its opulence now that my demise seemed imminent. I managed to dig out three ibuprofen from my travel case and dry swallow them. I was afraid even a sip of water would make me lose the meager remaining contents of my stomach. I longed for a cigarette, or even some second-hand smoke.

I made my way back into the bedroom and found myself grateful for the heavy gray curtains that were keeping the daylight at bay. I sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the pills to take effect. When I became certain I wouldn’t be sick, I lay down on my side and cradled my head on my arm. I again slept without dreaming.



The next thing I was aware of was someone knocking at my door. I slid off the bed, disconcerted, and slipped on the hotel’s bathrobe, stumbling toward the door, running fingers through my bed-head. The headache had, thankfully, abated. I was curious but not alarmed about my visitor. Someone probably had the wrong room. I peeked through the fish eye and gasped, spinning around to press my back against the door, all vestiges of sleep gone in an instant. With a sudden rush my dream from early this morning came roaring back into my conscious memory.

My visitor knocked again, harder, and I jumped, making a disgusting “Eep!” sound that is generally restricted to startled women and stampeding sheep. I hate that. I took three large steps away from the door and spun to face it, more like I was dueling with the damn thing rather than contemplating my visitor on the other side. Maybe I was mistaken and this was another dream. I scrubbed my hands over my face, my heartbeat already beginning to slow. That only made sense. Now how had I woken myself up earlier? Something about—

“Maddy?” he called through the door, interrupting my train of thought. “I need you to open the door. There’s much to do tonight.”

How had he first invaded my dreams and, second, found me in person? And what did he mean tonight? I hadn’t even been up for the day yet. I peered around the corner of the bathroom wall and looked at the clock on the bedside table. It read 7:07, but there was no a.m. or p.m. It was only logical that it was evening, though, since I’d woken up earlier today and been relieved the sunlight was blocked.

“Maddy? I know you’re awake. Open the door, sweetheart.”

“What do you want, Bahlin?” I asked, taking a strange leap of faith that I recognized him from that dream. Besides, I was curious and feeling brazenly safe on my side of the door.

Something that sounded like “Bleedin’ faeries,” came through the door.

“What?” I asked, confused. Clutching my robe to my chest, I crept closer to the door.

“Nothing. Look, open the door and we’ll talk.”

I stood there, undecided.

“It would be easier if you’d willingly open the door, sweetheart.”

I kept the security bar on the door flipped closed and opened the door about two inches, my heart thundering in my chest, breaths shallow and fast. He was even bigger in the flesh. I began to hyperventilate and tried to slam the door shut. He shoved his giant sneaker-clad foot into the door and forced me to keep it marginally open.

“Don’t make this difficult, love. Open the door so I can rightly introduce myself to you,” he said, voice cajoling.

“Who. Are. You.”

“You’ve already answered that, Maddy. I’m Bahlin, and you’re about to be in over your head.”

“Oh right. Get me to open the door by threatening me. Brilliant.” I stepped away from the door, figuring that if I couldn’t get his foot dislodged, the very least I could do was grab some clothes and lock myself into the bathroom while I dialed front desk security. I turned away from the door and heard it shut with a clear snick. My shoulders sagged a little bit. Thank heavens he was gone. Maybe I should call for security before—

The security latch flipped back with a thunk and the electronic lock hummed right before the door swung open. Bahlin stood in the doorway scowling, wearing the same outfit he’d been wearing in my dream, plus the shoes.

“What the he-hell—” I stuttered, eyes nearly bugging out of my head.

“I told yeh it would be easier all around if yeh’d open the door, woman,” he interrupted, stepping inside the room and shutting the door. He shoved his hand through his hair, stalking into the room. “But no, yeh couldn’t answer the door like normal folk. Just like yehr great-grandda yeh are…” He stopped at the small secretary, yanked out the chair and sat.

It was like my brain suddenly engaged and thoughts clicked into place: The dream? Click. The lock disengaging itself? Click. The door opening? Click. My great-granddad? I passed out cold.



I have no idea how long I was out. All I knew was that I came to with Bahlin leaning over me and pressing a cool cloth to my forehead.

“Gaaaa,” I yelled, sitting up so fast I should have hit him in the face. He sat back on his heels, apparently anticipating my physical reaction to his nearness. My head was pounding again, but nothing like it had been before. I could live with this. Now, what exactly had happened? Oh, yeah, he opened the door from the outside and said something about my great-grandfather. In a rush of adrenaline, I crab walked backward, putting some distance between us and likely flashing my cookies in the process. He stayed squatted on the balls of his feet, watching me.

“Are you going to listen now?” he asked, voice much calmer, brogue much less pronounced now that he wasn’t upset. What a shame. About the brogue, I mean.

“Listen to what? You confirm that you’re a maniac? Got it in one, Bahlin.” I crouched back against the bed, wedged into the side rails as if they could provide me with some type of protection. It was obvious, even to me that I was thinking clearly.

“Did you not get my message then?” he asked, standing and walking over to the desk.

I cringed back even further, nearly shoving myself under the bed.

“I’ll take that as a no.” He sat in the chair and dropped his head in his hands.

“What note,” I whispered, voice flat, eyes wide. I should have made for the front door, but in my panic to get away from him I’d put myself almost as far from it as I could have. Dumb, dumb, dumb. And then I remembered the two pieces of vellum-like paper that had come into my possession: one left in the car and one left here at the hotel.

As if reading my thoughts, he said, “I left a note for you at the front desk.”

“I got it,” I said quietly. “I just haven’t opened it yet.”

“What? Why the hell not?” His eyes flashed strangely in the lamplight as he shoved himself to standing and towered over me.

And it was then that I decided that if this lunatic was going to threaten me, I was going to give him a fight. I wasn’t going to get killed my first day in a foreign country and become a statistic so easily. No, I was going to at least make him bleed. I shot up off the floor like I’d been launched from a catapult, and he took a fast step back. But not fast enough. My upper cut caught him on the chin, snapping his head back. The pain blossomed in my hand as if I’d hit a brick wall. I’d never hit anyone before and the satisfaction was gratifying in the face of my determination.

“Bloody hell, woman.” He recovered before I could do more than turn to make a break for the door, and he grabbed me from behind. His arms were like steel bands wrapping around me and lifting me up off the floor. I’m no petite wallflower, so his strength was evident. I struggled, cursing him as actively, violently and creatively as I could. I kicked and struggled, but it was no use. He held me as if I were no more than a big load of laundry. It was humiliating.

“Stop,” he commanded in a cajoling voice, and for a moment I felt like obeying him. Yeah, that passed pretty quickly.

“Up yours.” I kicked some more, managing to wiggle an arm free, and I swung it down and back as hard as I could. Contact. He dropped me like a bag of grain, going to his knees and cupping his groin protectively, knocking the chair over as he went down. He bellowed with rage and was already getting up as I got away.

I sprinted across the room and went straight to the first open door I saw, the bathroom. I locked myself in and, breathing like a racehorse, I sank to the floor.

“Damn it all to hell, this is not happening,” I said, gasping for breath. There was nothing in the bathroom to shove under the door handle, so I turned around and set my back against the door itself, bracing my feet against the marble floor. I grabbed the telephone and called down to the front desk.

“Guest services. How may I help you?” came a pleasant voice over the receiver.

“Call security. There’s a strange man in my room and I’m afraid he’s—”

“Open the damned door, Maddy. Now,” Bahlin yelled.

“Ma’am? Do you require assistance?” asked the voice, now concerned, on the other end of the line.

“Screw you, Bahlin,” I screamed at him, panting. “I’m calling for security.”

He laughed, a dark and threatening sound. “Good luck with that, Maddy. Open the door, girl, or I’ll be in there with you in a heartbeat.”

“Ma’am? I’m sorry. I can’t call security on Bahlin. I can only assure you that, unless provoked, he won’t hurt you. Thank you for choosing the Pemberton. Have a nice evening.” And the cultured front desk voice hung up on me.

What the freaking hell? What kind of hotel had I checked into?

I dialed back, and the same voice answered.

“Send security now you coward. You better get someone up here before I come down there and—” Click. He hung up on me.

I threw the phone across the bathroom only to have it careen back when the cord drew tight. Now I felt like the idiot. I sat there breathing hard and thought about what the front desk clerk had said. I wondered if punching Bahlin in the ’nads counted as provoking him? I was going to go out on a limb and say yes. And since I’d been advised he wouldn’t hurt me unless provoked, and I had deduced he’d been provoked by my person, I was in deep shit.

“I’ll ask yeh one last time, woman,” Bahlin growled through the door. Uh oh. The heavy brogue was back.

Stalling, I called out, “What about the note? What’s in it?”

The answer was an extended silence, and then I could hear him moving about the room.

“Where have you hidden the damned thing?” he muttered. It sounded like he was going through my things. “Ah ha. Here we are. What’s this?” I heard him pull the chair back into its upright position. He groaned when he sat down. “I doubt I’ll be able to function properly for a week.” There was the rustling of heavy paper, then total quiet.

I sat with my back to the bathroom door, listening to him first mumble to himself and then sit in silence. How had this happened to me? First the recurring nightmares, then my delusional experiences at the stones, then the notes left in my car and at the desk, then the morning’s strange dream, and now the evening’s even stranger reality. It was all so farfetched it was unbelievable. But then, the notes were solid. I’d touched them. The dream was real. I’d recognized Bahlin and known his name. The man was real. I’d felt him. Using modus ponens, if this was tangible then it must be believable. Ergo, it was very believable. Wait. I was using logic to make sense of this? And where the hell had I come up with modus ponens? I began to shake. First the imaginary events at the stone circle and now this. I was losing my mind.

I heard footsteps approach the door.

“Maddy,” Bahlin said softly, a complete change of character from only moments before. “Maddy, open the door. Please.”

I didn’t respond.

“Maddy, I will open this door, but I would prefer you do it yourself.”

I stood, my muscles shaking from adrenaline overload and the fear of my apparent break with reality. I turned and put my hand on the bathroom door handle. If I believed what was happening, then I knew Bahlin could open this door. Even if he couldn’t use telekinesis, he’s strong enough to force his way in. I turned the door handle, pulling the door open and jumped back. He was leaning against the door jam, eyes closed, arms at his sides. I took a quick step backward, wondering how I would defend myself in such a small space. Hair gel to the eyes? Then I realized he was holding both pieces of vellum in one hand.

“You went through my pants?” I shrieked, realizing where he had to have found the papers.

“You weren’t in them so don’t screech at me,” he answered, never opening his eyes.

I stood there, not sure whether to push past him and retrieve my clothes or stand in front of him, indefinitely, in my borrowed bathrobe. I chose clothes.

“Uh, excuse me for a moment.”

He didn’t move.

“Seriously, Bahlin, I want to put on some clothes before we talk about whatever was so important to you that you felt justified in breaking into my room, accosting me, and then digging through my pants.” I turned to the side and squeezed past him; he moved back a small step. I retrieved the clothes I had intended to put on earlier—jeans, navy T-shirt, underwear, socks. I went back into the bathroom and started to shut the door.

“Leave it open,” he said quietly.

“No,” I answered, equally quietly. “I’m closing it. I won’t lock it, because that appears to be a useless means of keeping you the hell out. But I won’t leave the door open. Get your jollies somewhere else, asshat.” I shut the door in his face, and he didn’t stop me.



I dressed in record time standing wedged in the space between the edge of the bathtub and the hinges of the door. I’d chosen to leave my shoes out in the room because I figured if I took them, Bahlin would assume I was going to try to run. Good assumption. While I was in the bathroom I finger-combed my hair but skipped make-up. What was the point?

I walked back into the room and found Bahlin sitting in the desk chair again, leaning with his head back, eyes closed, hands folded across his stomach. He appeared relaxed if you didn’t look too closely, but the tension radiating off of him killed the superficial impression. I sat on the edge of the bed farthest from him and closest to the front door. That he wasn’t forcing the issue about me sitting closer to him was a good thing. It gave me a sense of control of the situation, however false it might be.

“I’m ready to read the notes,” I said softly.

His eyes opened to slits and shifted to look at me. The rest of him stayed very, very still. “They’re here on the desk.” It was an open challenge to get near him again.

“Fold them back up and toss them over here.” I wasn’t about to get within an arm’s reach of him without being forced, so he could toss the papers over.

“Afraid?” he asked, sitting up and looking at me in a predatory way.

“Cautious,” I replied. “I don’t know you, yet you’ve starred in a dream of mine, then you’ve shown up here and basically assaulted me. So yeah, consider me cautious.”

“Why not try for the door then, sweetheart?” he asked in a snarky tone.

“I have a feeling you’d do some freaky telekinesis crap, and I’d be stuck anyway.”

“Smart girl.” He folded the papers up and, standing, leaned over a part of the bed. I stood and moved away from him, taking a couple of steps toward the door. But all he did was toss the papers toward me and sit back down.

I edged to the bed in small steps, watching him like a field mouse watches a predator circling the sky overhead. But he only sat and settled in the chair, waiting, it seemed, for me to open the two notes.

“Open mine first,” he ordered, and I looked at him. “Please. It’s the one with the wax seal.”

I picked up the note, lifting it in unspoken question. He nodded and I broke the seal, opening the note. Written inside the heavy paper, in flowing script was the following message:



In the lobby

7:00 p.m.



I looked up at him and couldn’t help but smile.

“You expected me to take this seriously? This is stalker material, and I haven’t been here long enough to be stalked. Or to know anyone that would inspire me to respond by showing up.” I snorted, dropping the note on the bed.

Bahlin stood up and growled, literally growled, from deep in his chest. “You do not get to mock me for trying to make this easier, nay safer for you. I made a promise, and I’ll keep it.”

“What promise, Bahlin? We don’t know each other, you are completely unfamiliar to me, and no one knows me here, so there’s no promise you could have kept.”

“Read the other damned piece of paper and we’ll discuss it.” He dropped back into his chair with amazing, unnatural grace for a man of his size.

The hair on the back of my neck began to stand up and the skin underneath got hot. I suddenly didn’t want to open the other piece of paper, but I’ve never been a coward (see above regarding the strange man with the aching balls in my room). I reached across to pick it up and open it. I must have been too tired yesterday to notice that my name was on the outside in small, neat print. I began to unfold the sheet of paper and time slowed to a crawl. I could see everything in slow motion, even Bahlin standing up from the chair as he moved minutely closer to me. Inside was a family tree, drawn carefully and in great detail, with the Niteclif name at the top. I looked at the tree, beginning with the bottom, but most of the names flashed by my eyes without meaning until I came to my name nearest the top, and all by itself, on a defined limb. “Madeleine Dilys Niteclif” was written in, with my date of birth and an open-ended date for death. I raised my eyes and looked at Bahlin, the question evident in my gaze.

“Look three generation down, and read carefully as you go,” he said softly, almost with compassion. Strange.

I saw the names of my parents. Then I saw my grandparents’ names, no surprise. Then I saw my great-grandparents’ names. There was no surprise here, either, since my mom had been an amateur genealogist. Then I looked closely at my great-grandfather’s name: Aloysius S. Niteclif, more famously known as… What the hell? Sherlock Holmes. Wait. Was he telling me my great-granddad was a famous 19th century fictional detective, not a real person? Why was he on my family tree? I knew Aloysius Niteclif as my great-grandfather, but no way was he some fictional icon. That was so far off the crazy scale that it had come back around to probable. No way was this even remotely—

Bahlin interrupted my internal ramblings, my thoughts scattering without pattern or reason. “Aloysius Niteclif was a great man, a great detective, in our world. But he became disillusioned with the constant battles, the killings, and he wanted out. So he met a mundane man that he liked and respected, and they struck a deal. This mundane man was an author, and he would write Aloysius’s memoirs as if they were fictional tales with human characters and human mysteries. In return, Aloysius would give him a peek into the world of the supernatural. It worked well. Three men ended up immortalized, and Aloysius was able to purge his conscience without fear of recrimination.” He paused to look at me. “Do you understand what this means?”

I was sitting there, the family tree hanging from my fingertips. Did I understand? Of course I did. Bahlin was a certifiable nut bunny. Oh good. How was I going to get out of here without—

“Maddy? Your middle name. What does it mean?” he asked, speaking slowly like he was trying to talk me off a ledge.

“I don’t know,” I muttered, looking at the family tree and seeing nothing but that name.

“In Welsh it means genuine and your last name, Niteclif, is a Welsh derivative of detective. It’s a play on words. You are, quite literally, a genuine detective.” He paused searching my face for reaction. “I’ll ask again. Do you understand?”

“Understand?” I looked up at him. The family tree drifted from my fingers to the floor. Let him down gently, I thought to myself, but the words were out of my mouth before I could stop myself. “Understand what, Bahlin? That you’re off your medications? That the men from your cinder block institution are looking for you? That I understand. This—” I waved my hand at the fallen family tree, “—this is nonsense. I cannot be related to a fictional character—”

“Whose stories were based on the real life of your great-grandfather.”

I got up and began pacing the small area from the bed to the front door, nine strides forward and nine strides back. I never considered I could just leave once I reached the door. I was overwhelmed with this information, hungry for any sense of belonging now that my parents were dead. My parents… I spun to face Bahlin. “Did my mom and dad know?”

“Your father knew, as you’re a direct descendant on his side. I spoke to him shortly before his death about disclosing your relation to Aloysius and its implications for your future. Your mother, as a genealogist, suspected something was off kilter in your history. But your father said they had never discussed it.”

“There wasn’t time,” I whispered. No time before they died. My heart ached. I missed them so much. And I wanted to talk to my dad now, to find out if this unknown man’s wild claims held even a grain of truth. I was so hungry for family that a small part of me hoped he was being truthful. He claimed he was a connection to a past I thought I had lost, someone who could share the sound of my father’s voice with me.

Bahlin stood and walked slowly toward me, treating me like a skittish horse, hands out to show he was harmless, movements slow and precise, eye contact steady but non-threatening. I stopped, staring at him.

“Maddy?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

I held up a hand toward him, palm out and fingers pointed up in the universal sign for stop, and he did. “No, I’m not okay. This is cruel. You’re not well, Bahlin—” I began, but he interrupted me. Again.

“Maddy, this is all true. I swear it.”

“Stop. Interrupting. Me.”

“I apologize. Go on with your previous thought,” Bahlin said, shoving his hands in his front pockets. He looked contrite. Apparently he was going to let me work this out on my own. He sat on the edge of the bed nearest my current position, which was standing close to the bathroom door.

I rolled my shoulders, then returned my thoughts to the family tree. “If I’m a direct descendant of a fictional character—albeit one whose stories were based on fact—what does that make me?”

“Maddy, what have you done since you came here?” Bahlin’s eyes burned with curiosity. He shifted on the bed, drawing one knee up so he could turn to face me.

“I’ve rented a car, driven to Stonehenge… Stonehenge. I made a wish, a wish that my reality would be altered…” Surely not. I mean, seriously, I made a wish as in star light, star bright, that kind of thing.

“You wished for an altered reality, sweetheart, and you got it.” Bahlin looked almost sympathetic. He didn’t move, but sat there watching me work out the details of what I’d done.

“So my wish, it changed everything?” I wracked my brain, thinking back to the stone circle and the compelling need to wish for a changed reality. I remembered the spinning night sky and the wind breathing a strange phrase through my mind. Could it mean…surely not.

“No, the wish didn’t change everything,” he said, standing and moving toward me.

I stood there, too overwhelmed with all of the information to move. He came close enough that he reached out and traced my jaw with his fingertip.

“Your wish made your old reality fade or, more accurately, become transparent, thereby revealing your direct relation to that most famous of detectives. In case the family history can’t be passed on, it’s the way of the Niteclifs. And historically there’s always been a choice to be made.” Bahlin scrubbed his hands over his face. “Your granddad and father both refused their legacy in order to raise their own families. But every third generation must accept by the age of thirty and pick up the mantle of service for a minimum of ten years. Certain skills are inherited to make this easier for each Niteclif. And now that there’s only you, and you’re also the third generation removed from your great-granddad. I’m afraid you’ve no choice in the matter.” An unrecognizable look passed over his face. Sympathy? Compassion? Maybe it was pity. “But, Maddy, there’s always a significant event that sets off the family tree when the verbal story can’t be passed on. You’ve had two events. First, you lost your parents. Then you say you wished upon a star, yes?”

I nodded.

“Do you remember which star it was?”

I arched one eyebrow at him and said, “Oh, sure, let me run out and point it out to you in the night sky. I don’t have a freaking clue which one it was, Bahlin! I think it was in the southern sky, not too bright. That’s all I know.”

“And which stone circle were you at?” he asked, still standing right in front of me.

“I thought it was Stonehenge… How many are there?” Panic fed into my voice.

Bahlin reached out to stroke my face again, and I calmed a little bit. He drew his eyebrows together and stroked me again. “Dozens.”

“Can I undo this if I get back to that stone circle?” I pulled away from his touch, desperation painting my voice. Maybe I didn’t want to change my reality so much after all. I hadn’t fit into my old life once my parents died; how was I going to fit into a new life here? Then I slowed down and thought about it. My parents were gone. No matter where I was, I was going to have to carve out a new spot for myself. There was no getting around that. Suddenly something Bahlin said earlier flashed through my mind, supernatural.

Bahlin, still stuck on my last question and not privy to the discursiveness of my mind, answered me. “I don’t know that it can be undone without serving the ten years, Maddy. Maddy?” He had picked up on a change in my facial features, probably noticing they’d gone slack with confusion.

“Supernatural?” I asked.

“What? What are you talking about?” He looked confused, running both hands through his hair and pushing it off his face. And then understanding dawned on him. He turned and walked back to the desk, seeming to gather himself with every step. He sat in the chair, shifting it slightly so it faced me. “Let’s work out the family tree issue first, yes?”

“Let’s pretend I can make the stretch and believe that my great-granddad, Aloysius, is who you’re claiming he was. Now go back to the supernatural statement. Explain it to me, please.” My knees had begun to shake and the reality of one of the dream men showing up in person really hit me. I sat abruptly, jarring my spine as I hit the floor. Delayed reaction sucks.

Bahlin jumped up in a flash of movement, intent on coming to me, but I held up my hand again. He sank back to his seat with a small sigh and leaned forward, forearms on his knees, face tilted slightly to the side. “Do you believe in anything supernatural?”

I folded my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them tightly in an effort to keep myself from falling apart. I gave a rigid shrug.

“I’m serious, Maddy. Okay, do you believe in mythology?”

“I don’t know,” I said through clenched teeth. “I’m not sure which mythology you’re referring to.”

“Much of it in general.” He had begun to look uncomfortable, his eyes finding anything to look at but me, and it was making me nervous. “For now, though, we’ll focus on the Isles.”

“The Isles?”

“The Emerald Isles—England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales. Because that’s where you were pulled to, isn’t it?” he asked as if he already knew the answer.

“I felt a need to be here, but I don’t think it was supernatural. I think it was simply a need to get out of my old life.” My death grip on my knees had rendered my hands numb, but I didn’t let go. “But there were the dreams, the nightmares.”

Bahlin’s eyes flashed again, an otherworldly look passing through them that gave me pause.

“Nightmares?”

I shrugged and he let me have my privacy.

“Maddy, dreams or no dreams, you could have gone anywhere in the world but you chose to come here.” He stared at me, and I shrugged stiffly again.

“So?” I asked a little belligerently.

“Back to the point. You must realize that much mythology is actually based in



fact—”

“Right,” I said, my voice quavering but the sarcasm still crystal clear.

“Do you think I’d lie to you?” He looked incredulous.

“I don’t know you,” I said through gritted teeth, and I pushed myself to standing, using the wall for support. I was thrown by all the what ifs in my life. What if I’d never come here? What if my reality had been changed with a wish? What if I was related to one of the greatest sleuths of all time? What if there was truth behind a lot of fictional tales? What if—

Bahlin interrupted my mental wanderings again. He was really good at the interrupting thing. “Maddy, I want you to sit on the bed. I’m going to prove a point.”

“Uh, no. I don’t think I’ll get any closer to the bed, but thanks for the offer.”

He rolled his eyes and stood.

“Don’t take a step closer to me,” I ordered, pushing away from the wall and fisting my hands at my sides and doing my best to ignore my watery knees.

“I won’t have to touch you in order to prove my point,” he said. His eyes flashed, pupils becoming elongated and the irises turning an icy blue nearly devoid of color.

There was a buzzing in my brain. What the—? I didn’t manage to finish the thought.

The bones in his face seemed to shift and elongate, his head getting larger and his shoulders widening, his fingers curling into claws. Muscles moved in ways that no human body would allow. He grinned a huge grin, showing me sharp white teeth.

“Take a good look, Maddy,” he said in a voice approaching a difficult-to-understand growl.

And I did, too…right before I passed out. Again. Crap.