Rosemary and Rue

After a long moment of silence, I opened my eyes.

The Doppelganger had lost most of its resemblance to Gilly, thank Maeve. It was taller, wider and sexless, the angles of its body becoming inexplicably wrong. Its skin was mottled in shapeless patches of gray and green that shifted as I watched, picking up faint tinges of the colors around it. It was probably chameleonic, blending into the scenery until it was ready to strike. Not really something you want to invite to Christmas dinner.

“Run,” it said in a deep, grating voice before it smiled again. “Run now.”

I raised a hand to my bleeding cheek. “Run?” I echoed.

“Run. Don’t worry—you can’t run fast enough. I’m going to catch you. It’s still more fun for me if you try.”

I’ve never been very concerned with how much fun people have when they’re trying to kill me. That didn’t mean I could stand there and wait to die. The couch was between me and the Redcap’s gun, while the Doppelganger was between me and the front door. That left only one direction I could take, and I took it.

Ignoring the pain in my leg, I turned and bolted for the back of the apartment, slamming the hallway door as every late-night horror movie I’d ever seen flashed through my mind. The windows in the bedrooms were too high and narrow to climb through, and there were no windows in the bathroom. Unfortunately, when I rented the place, I wasn’t exactly thinking in terms of how quickly could I escape a homicidal shapeshifter without using the front door.

Lacking any other options, I ran into the bedroom, locked the door, and shoved a chair under the knob. I heard the hall door slam open, hitting the wall with a crash that almost certainly took care of my security deposit. I didn’t have time to worry about that: I was too busy scrambling to get the baseball bat out from under my bed. It was more for comfort than anything else—I wasn’t dumb enough to think I could take the thing down with a piece of dime-store sports equipment—but it gave me something to hold onto and made me feel a little less naked. I spared a moment’s longing thought for the gun in my living room. There’s nothing like heavy weaponry to cure a little spiritual nudity.

The Doppelganger’s slow, patient steps echoed down the hall. It was in no hurry. The damn thing was probably having a good time. Glad somebody was.

The taste of roses was starting to rise in the back of my throat, taking advantage of my distraction, and I could feel the wounds in my shoulder and thigh beginning to bleed again. Blood loss was going to become an issue. Of course, with no way out of the apartment and a homicidal Doppelganger on my trail, that just might be the kinder way to die.

The footsteps stopped outside the door, and the Doppelganger whispered, “Found you, little thief. And you’re scared now, even if you won’t scream. You’re so scared I can taste it from here.” I took a step back, holding the bat in front of me like a sword. I didn’t bother trying to run. Why would I? There was nowhere left to go.

It hit the door hard, bowing it inward. The cheap plywood door started to give way on the second hit. It was never meant to stand up to this sort of abuse. This was it: this was the end. I was going to die wearing nothing but a bathrobe, at the hands of a Doppelganger I’d been stupid enough to invite into my home. I was never going to find the answers I was looking for. Evening and Ross would never be avenged.

The doorbell rang.

Silence reigned as the Doppelganger ceased its assault on the door. There was a long pause, both of us sorting out what to do next.

And then I heard my own voice call, cheerfully, “Coming!”